The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 26, 1902, Page 5

7 c«;uld not refrain from making ind. ve ye one poundin’ that ye'd re- F Jazon. if I could get to c twisted-face, . peeled-headed, mouthed, aggravatin’ scamp!” a'med. not thinking how high his v strong voice was lifted. *“Ican fool but a damn fool!™ the concluding epithet d its meaning. Moreover, himself the target at which ergetically launched. Where- sromptly turned back and gave a kicking that made his body re- not uniike a drum. here it was that Oncle Jazon over- elf. He was so delighted at wk that he broke forth gig- ereby drew against his own derable improvement of Long- applications. ' whined the old ‘ma the Indian had gone away agall Mary! Jee-ru-sa-lem! They's me left "at’s not splintered toothpicks! S'pose yer satis n't ye. S| Kenton? Ef ye ain't o satisfy ye the fust time I rce at ve, ve blab-mouthed k14 nswauy e this conversation was ended a egan to fall. and it rapidly thick- a desultory shower to a roar- npour_ that effectually quenched not only the fires around which the sav- ages were dancing, but the enthusiasm of the @ancers as well. During the rest of oon and all night long the fall incessant, accompanied by a cold, g. wailing southwest wind. y lay on the ground, face up- the rawhide strings torturing his . the chill of cold water searching his bones. He cou'd see nothing but the &im, strange canopy of flying rain, against 2 the bare boughs of the scrub oak were vaguely outlined; he could hear nothing but the cry of the wind and the ewash of the water which fell upon him and ran under him. bubbling and gurgling as if flendishly exuitant. The night & ed on through its ter- rible length, dealing out its indescribable horrors, and at last morning arrived. with a stringy and uncertain gift of light slowly ine: ing untfl the dripping trees appeared forlornly gray and brown against clonds now breaking into masses that gave but little rain. Beverley lived through the awful trial gnd even had the hardihood to brighten inwardly with the first flash of sunlight that shot through a cloud-crack on the eastern horizon. He thought of Alice, as he had done all night; but now the thought ‘&mook somehow of the glow yonder ve old Vincennes, although he could only see its reflection. There wes a great stir among the In- dians. Long-Heair stalked about scruti- nizing the ground. Beverley saw him come near time and again with a hideous. inquiring scowl on his face. Grunts and laconic exclamations passed from mouth to mouth, and presently the import of it all could not be mistaken. Kenton and Jazon were gone—had escaped during the night—and the rain had completely oblit- erated their tracks. The Indians were furious. Long-Balr sent' out picked parties of his best scouts with orders to scour the country in all directions, keeping with himself a few of the older warriors. Beverley was fed what he would eat of venison, and Long-Hair made him understand that he would have to suffer some terrible pun- ishment on account of the action of his companions. Late in the day the scouts straggled back with the report that no track or eign of the fugitives had been discovered, and immediately a consultation was held. Most of the warriors, including all of the young bucks, demanded a torture enter- tainment as compensation for their ex- ertions and the unexpected loss of their own prisoners; for it had been agreed that Beverley belonged exclusively to Long-Heair. who objected to anything which might deprive him of the great reward offered by Hamilton for the pris- oner if brought to him alive. Tn the end it was agreed that Beverley should be made to run the gauntlet, pro- vided that no deadly weapons were used upon him during the ordeal. CHAPTER XIV. A PRISONER OF LOVE. Alice put on her warmest clothes and followed Captain Farnsworth to the fort, g that no pleasant experience awaited her. The wind and rain still prevailed when they were ready to set forth, and, although it was not extremely a searching chill went with every that marked the storm’s waves. lights shone in the village houses. erbead a gray gloom covered stars and making the darkness in the watery eets seem densely black. Farnsworth offered Alice his arm, but she did not accept it. “I know the way better than you do,” she said. “‘Come on, and don’t be afraid that I am going to run. I shall not play trick on you.” throb No - ery well, Mademoiselle, as you like. I trust you.” 4 “Well, then, shall we go on to the ort 7 “You may go where you please, Made- moiselle.” She turned her back upon him and with- out an answering woi walked straight to the lantern that hung by the gate of the stockade, where & sentinel tramped to and fro. A few moments later Captain Farnsworth presented her to Hamiiton, who had been called from his bed when the news of the trouble at Roussillon place reached the fort. “So you've been raising hell again, bave you, Miss? he ed, with an n’!{ frown darkening his face. beg_your on,” sald Farnsworth, “Miss Roussilion was not to blame ” “In your eyes she’d not be to blame, sir, if she burned up the fort and all of us in it” ton gruffly lnterru&ghed. ~» “Miss, what have you been doing? at are you here for? Captain Farnsworth, ou will please state the tpt.l'tlc\.lll.l'! of trouble that I have just heard about. d I may as well notify you that I wish to hear no ‘fl)eclu lover’s pleading in _this girl’s behall.” sworth’s face whitened with anger; he bit his lip and a shiver ran through his frame; but he had to conquer the pas- sion. In & few words blunt and direct s musket-balls, he told all the circum- stances of what had taken place, makin gonceslments to favor Alice, but bold- {7 Dlaming the officer of the patrol, Lieu. tenant Barlow, toflr}‘o:ln his e-g and at- tacking e you n her own home. o :fn hwnt‘mm Barlow,” said Hamil- ton, after listening attentively to the ory. “But take this girl and confine er. Bhow her no favors. I hold you ble for her until to-morrow morn- . You can retire.” ere was no room for discussion. Farnsworth saluted and turned to Alice. “ e with me’” he said gently. ton lopked after them ss French girl, either—decidedly He nn;nmd his shoulders, 0 's a8 3 In love with can’t see out. Bg And ph the d% eyes. And plus e z {11 bef“lg' heed low’ll be daft about er next! s, nomtb-unfllnm lightness of his inward comments, {lton regarded the incident as rather serious. He knew that the French inhabitants were secret- 1y his bitter enemies, yet probably will- jng, if he would humor their peculiar so- cial, domestic and commercial prejudices, to refrain from active hostilities, and even to ald him in furnishing his garri- son with a large amount of needed sup- lies. The danger just now was twofold; is Indian allies were deserting him, and e flotilla loaded with provisions and am- munition from Detroit had fafled to ar- rive. He might, if the French rose against him and were joined by the Indians, have great difficulty defending the fort. It was clear that M. Roussillon had more influence with both creoles and savages than any other person save Father Beret. Urgent policy dictated that these two men should somehow be won over. But to do this i* would be necessary to treat Alice in such a way that her arrest would aid, instead of operating against, the desired result—a thing not easy to manage. Captain Farnsworth took his fair pris- oner straightway from Hamilton's pres- ence to a small room connected with a considerable structure in a distant angle of the stockade. With a huge ‘wooden kev he unlocked the door and stepped aside for her to enter. A dim lamp was burning within, its yellowish light flick- ering over the scant furniture, which consisted of a comfortable bed. a table with some books on it. three chairs. a mall Jooking-glass on the wall, a guitar “"d some articles of men's clothing hang- g there. A heap of dull embers. smol- dered in the fireplace. Alice did not fal- ter at the threshhold, but promptly en- tered her prison. “I bope you can be comfortable,” said he Jove, she is Farnsworth in a low tone. “It’s the best I can give you.” ““Thank you,” was the answer spoken quite as if he had handed her a glass of water or picked up her handkerchief. He held the door a moment, while she stopped, with her back toward him, in the middle of the room; then she heard him close and lock it. The air was al- most too warm after her exposure to the biting wind and cold dashes of rain. She cast off her outer wraps and stood by the firepiace. At a glance she com- prehended that the place was not the one she had formerly occupled as a prisoner, and that it belonged to a man. A long rifie stood in the corner, a bullet-poucl and powder-horn hanging on a projecth hickory ramrod; a heavy fur top-coa lay across one of the chairs. Alice felt her situation bitterly enough; but she was not of the stuff that turns to water at the touch of misfortune. Pioneer women took hardships as a mat- ter of course, and met calamity with admirable fortitude. There was no wring- ing of hands, no frantic wailing, no hol- low, despairing groan. While life lasted hope flourished, even in most tragic sur- roundings; and not unfrequently succor came, at the last verge of destruction, as the fitting reward of unconquerable courage. A girl like Alice must be ac- cepted in the spirit of her time and sur- roundings. She was born amid experi- ences scarcely credible now, and bred in an area and an atmosphere of incom- parable dangers. Naturally she accepted conditiops of terrible import with a sang froid scarcely possible to a girl of our day. She did not cry, she did not sink down helpless when she found herself once more imprisoned with some uncer- tain trial before her; but simply knelt and repeated the Lord's prayer, then went to bed and slept; even dreamed the dream of a maid's first love. Meantime Farnsworth, who had given Alice his own apartment, took what rest he could on the cold ground under a leaky shed hard by. His wound, not yet healed, was not benefited by the expo- sure. In due time next morning Hamilton or- dered Alice brought to his office, and when she appeared he was smiling with as near an approach to affability as his disposition would P‘m‘l He rose and bowed like a courtler. 3 “I hope you rested well, mademoiselle, he said in his best French. He imagined that the use bfn her language would agreeable to n with. The moment that Alice saw him wear- ing that shallow veneering of pleasantness on his never prepossessing visage she felt a mood of perversity come over her. She, too, smiled, and he mistook her expression for one of reciprocal amenity. She no- ticed that her sword was on his table. “I am sorry, monsier, that I cannot sa; as much to you,” she gllbly responded. “If you lay upon a bed of needles the whole night through, your rest was better than you deserved. My own sleep was quite refreshing, thank you. Instantly Hamilton's choler rose. He tried to suppress it at first, but when he saw Alice actually lluxhlng. and Farns- worth (who had brought her in) biting his lip furiously to keep from adding an uproarious guffaw, he lost all control of himself. He unconsciously picked up the rapler and shook it till its blade swished. “I might have known better than to ex- pect decency from a wench of your char- mcter,” he sald. “T hoped to do you a fa- wvor, but I see that you are not capable of accepting kindness politely.” “I am sure, monsieur, that I have but spoken the truth plainly to you. You ‘would not have me do otherwise, I hope.” Her voice, absolutely witching in - its softness, freshness and suavity, helped the assault of her eyes, while her dimples twinkled and her r shone. Hamiiton felt his heart move strangely, but he could not forbear saying in English: “If you are so devilish truthful, miss, you will probably tell me where the flag is that you stole and hid.” It was always the missing banner that came to mind when he saw her. “Indeed I will do nothing of the sort. she promptly replied. * en. you see that flag again you will be a prisoner and I will wave it high over your head. She lifted a hand as she spoke and made the motion of shaking a banner above him. It was exasperation sweetened al- most to delight that took hold of the sturdy Briton. He liked pluck, especially in a woman; all the more if she was beau- tiful. Yet the very fact that he felt her charm falling upon him set him hard against her, not as Hamilton the man, but as Hamilton, the commander at Vin- cennes. “You think to fling yourself upon me as you have upon Captain Farnsworth,” he said, with an insulting leer and in a tone of prurient innuendo. “I am not suscep- tible, my dear.” This more for Farns- worth’e benefit than to insult her, albeit he was not in a moed to care. “You are a coward and a liar!” she ex- claimed, her face flushing with hot shame. “You stand here,” she quickly added, turning flercely upon Farnsworth, *and quietly listen to such words! You, too, are a coward if you do not make him re- tract! Oh, you English are low brutes!” Hamilton laughed, but Farnsworth looked dark and troubled, his glance go- ing back and forth from Alice to his com- mander, as if another word would cause him to do something terrible. “I rather think I've heard all that I care to hear from you, miss,” Hamilton presently said. “Captain Farnsworth, you will see that the prisoner is confined in the proper place, which, 1 suggest to you, is not_your sleeping quarters, sir.” “Colonel Hamilton,” sald Farnsworth, in a husky voice, “I slept or the ground under a shed last night in order that Miss Roussilion might be ) “Humph! Well, see that you do not do it again. This girl is guilty of harbori a spy and resisting a lawful attempt o my tp capture him. Confine her in :g:‘plam &repntr;d for pfilsloneu and see she stays there until I am ready to flx%l;l‘ pflx:uhm‘ent."n 5 o ““There is no place fit for a yo! rl to stay in,” Farnsworth ventured. */ l’: can have no comfort or—"" ““Take her along, sir; any place s good fixln(ough for her so long as she behaves e a—"" “Very well,” Farnsworth bluntly inter- rupted, thus saving Alice the stroke of a vile comparison. *“Come with me, please, Miss Roussillon.” He pulled her toward the door, then dropped the arm he had grasped and mur- mured an apolofi‘ She followed him out, holding her head high. No one looking on would have sus- gected that a sinking sensation in her eart made it difficult for her to walk, or that her eyes, shining like stars, were so inwardly clouded with distress that she saw her way but dimly. Hamilton laughed and elevated his shoulders as if to shake off an annoying load. Just then a young officer with a white bandage around his neck entered and saluted. He was a small, soft-haired, blue-eyed man of reckless bearing, with marks of dissipation sharply cut into his face. He saluted, smiling self-consciously. “Well, Barlow,” sald Hamilton, ‘the kitten scratched you, did she?” “Yes, slightly, and I don’t think I've bee!nl trutz?gl fairly in the matter, sir.” “How 807" “I stood the brunt and now Captain Farnsworth gets the prize.” He twisted his mouth in mock expression of maudlin disappointment. “I'm always cheated out of Lge sweets. I never get anything for gallant conduct on the field.” ““They have been telling me a cock-and- bull story concerning the affair at the Roussilion cabin,” Hamilton said, chang- ing his manner. ‘“What is this about a disguised and wonderful man who rushed in and upset the whole of you. I want no romancing; give me the facts.” Barlow's dlssolute countenance became troubled. ““The facts,” he said, speaking with seri- ous deliberation, “‘are not clear. It was like a clap of thunder, the wl{ that man performed, As you say, he did fling the whole squad all of a heap, and it was done that quickly (he snapped his thumb and port) nobody could understand it.” Hamfiton looked at his subaltern with a smile of unlimited contempt and said: “‘A pretty officer of his Majesty's army, you are, Lieutenant Barlow! First a slfi of a girl shows herself your superior wit! the sword and wounds you, then a single man wipes up the floor of a house with you and your guard, depriving you at the same time of both vislon and memory, s0 that you cannot even deseribe your assail- ant?’ priest,” somewhat comfort- “He was dressed like a mut- tered Barlow, evidently frightened at his commander's scathing comment. “That was all there was to e “A priest! Some of the men ll{ the devil. 1 wonder—' Hamilton hesitated s Father and lgoked at the floor. ‘“This Ee;st, he is too old fof such a thing, isn't e “I have thought of him—it was like him —but he is, as you say, very old to be so tremendously strong and active. Why, I tell you that men went his hands against the walls and floor as if shot out of a mortar. It was the strangest and most astounding thing I ever heard of.” A little later Barlow seized a favorable opportunity and withdrew. The conversa- tion was not to his liking. Hamflton sent for Father Reret and had a long talk with him. but the old man looked so childishly inoffensive in spirit and so collapsed physically that it seemed ‘worse than !oollzhgesl to accuse him of the exploit over which the entire garrison was wondering. Farnsworth sat by dur- ing the interview. He looked the good priest curiously and critically over irom lead to foot, remembering, but not men- toning, the most unclerical punch in the side received from that enérgetic right arm now lying so flabbily across the old man's lap. ‘When lphe talk ended and Father Beret lll‘umbty took his l“fi‘:ie' Hamilton turned to farnsworth and said: “What do you think of this affair? I have cross-questioned all the men who took part in it, and every ome of them says simply priest or devil. I think old Beret is boih: but plainly be eouldn’t hurt a chicken; you can see that at a glance,’ Farnsworth smiled, rubbing his side reminiscently, but he shook his h"en.d. “I'm sure it's puzzling, indeed. Hamilton sat in thoughtful silence for a while, then abruptly changed the subject. “I think, captain, that you had better send out Lieutenant Barlow and some of the best woodsmen to kill some game. We need fresh venison, and, by George, I'm not going to depend upon these French traitors any longer. I have set my foot down., They've got to do better or take the consequences.”” He paused for a breath, then added: “That girl has done too much to escape severest punishment. The garrison will be demoralized if this thing goes on without an _example of authority rigidly enforced. I am resolved that there shall be a startling and effect- ive public display of my power to punish. She shot you; you seem to be glad of it, but it was a grave offense. She has stabbed Barlow; that is another serious crime; but worst of all, she aided a spy ‘aril.‘ddrgslsted arrest. She must be pun- shed. Farnsworth knew Hamlilton’s nature and he now saw that Alice was in dread- ful danger of death or something even worse. Whenever his chief talked of dis- cipline and the need of maintaining his authority, there was little hope of soften- ing his decisions. Moreover, the provoca- tion to apply extreme measures really seemed sufficient, regarded from a mili- tary point of view, and Captain Farns- worth was himself, under ordinary cir- cumstances, a disciplinarian of the strict- est class. The fascination, however, by which Alice held him overbore every other influence, and his devotion to her loosened every other tie and obligation to a most dangerous extent. No sooner had he left headquarters and given Barlow his in- structions touching the hunting expedi- tlon, than his mind began to wander amid visions and schemes by no means consistent with his military obligations, In order to reflect undisturbed he went forth into the dreary, lane-like streets of Vincennes and walked aimlessly here and there until he met Father Beret. Farnsworth saluted the old man, and was passing him by, when seeing a sword in his hand, half hidden In the folds of his worn and faded cossack, he turned B!ll‘d addressed him. Fnther}:"' u}:‘e dyou :rr;hl this lmtsrnh;g, ? e demanded ve leasantly. “Who is to suffer now?"” Y i “I am no‘! on the warpath, my son,” replied the priest. “It is but a rapler that T am going to clean of rust spots that are gathering on its blade.’ “Is it yours, Father? Let me see it.” held out his hand. “No; not mine.” Father Beret seemed not to notice Farnsworth’s desire to handle the wea- pon, and the young man. instead of re- ]Jeaflng his words, reached farther, near- y grasping the scabbard. “I eannot let you take it, my son,” sald Father Beret. ““You have its mate; that should, satisfy you.” “No, Colonel Hamilton took it,” Farns- worth quickly replied. “If T could I would gladly return it to its owner. I am not a thief, Father, and T am ashamed of—of—what I did when I was drunk.” The priest looked” sharply into Farns- worth's eyes and read there something that reassured him. His long experfence had rendered him an adept at taking a man’'s value at a glance. He slightly lifted his face and said: ““Ah, but the poor little girl! why do you persecute her? She really does not deserve it. She is a noble child. Give her back to her home and her people. Don't sofl and spoll her sweet life.” It was the sing-song voice used by Father Beret in his sermons and prayers; but something went with it indescribably touching. Farnsworth felt a lump rise in his thraat and his eyes were ready to show tears. “Father,” he sald. with difficulty mak- ing his words distinct, “I would not barm Miss Roussillon to save my own life. and I -vould do anything—'"" he paused slightly, then added wijt passionate. force: “I would do anything, no matter what, to save her from the terrible thing that now threatens her.” changed Father Beret's countenance curfously as he gazed at the young man and said: “If you really mean what vou say, you can easily save her, my son.” “Father, by all that is holy, T mean t what T sav.” “Swear not at all, my son, but give me your hand.” The two men stood with a tight grip be- tween them and exchanged a long, steady searching gaze. A drizzling rain had begun to fall again, with a raw wind creeping from the west. “Come_with me to my honse. my son,” Father Beret presently added; and to- gether they went, the priest covering Alice’s sword from the rain with the folds of his cassock. CHAPTER XV. VIRTUE IN A LOCKET. Long-Hair stood not upon ceremony in conveying to Beverley the information that he was to run the gauntlet, which, otherwise stated, meant that the Indians would form themselves into two parallel /lines facing each other about six feet apart. and that the prisoner would be ex- pected to run down the length of the space between, thus affording the war- riors an opportunity, greatly coveted and relished by their fiendish natures, to beat him cruelly during his flight. This sort of thing was to the Indians, indeed, an ex- quisite amusement, as fascinating to them as the theater is to more enlight- ened people. No sooner was it agreed up- on that the entertainment should again be undertaken than all the younger men began to scurry around getting every- thing ready for it. Their faces glowed with a droll cruelty strange to see, and they further expressed their lively expec- tations by playful yet curiously solemn antles. The preparations were simple and quick- 1y made. Each man armed himself with a stick three feet long and about three- quarters of an inch in diameter. Rough, weapons they were, cut from boughs of scrub-oak, knotty and tough orn. Long-Hair unbound Beverley and stripped his clothes from his body down to the walist. Then the lines formed, the Indians What Would 'Yeu' ONCEIVE {f you can what your feelings would be in a position like this. They are a few lines from the opening pages of “The Leopard’s Spots,” by Thomas Dix- on Jr., who has written the best book of the “late unpleasantness” that has ap- peared in years. They are virile, strong, masterful, .buman. They speak vol- umes for the skill of the author: “‘Mrs. Gaston had lived daily in a sort of trance through those four years of war, dreaming and planning for the great day when her lover would return a hand- some and bronzed and famous man. She had never concelved of the possibility of a world without his will and love to lean upon. The preacher was both puzzled and alarmed by the strangely calm man- ner she now assumed. Before leaving the home he cautioned Aunt Eve to watch her mistress closely and send for him if anything happened. “When the boy was asleep in the nur- sery, adjoining her room, she quietly closed the door, took the sword of her dead lover-husband in her lap and looked long and tenderly at it. On the hilt she pressed her lips in a lingering kiss, “ ‘Here his dear hand must have rested last,’ she murmured. She sat motionless for an hour, with eyes fixed without see- ing. At last she rose and hung the sword beside his picture near her bed and drew from her bosom the crumpled, worn let- ters Nelse had brought. The first was addressed to her. “‘In the Trenches near Richmond, May 4, 1864.—Sweet Wifle: I have a presenti- ment to-night that I shall not live to see you again. I feel the shadow of defeat and ruin closing upon us. I am surer, THE ' SUNDAY CALL. in each row standing about as far apart as the width of the space in which the prisoner was to rum. This arrangement gave them free use of their sticks and plenty of room for full swing of their fithe bodies. In removing Beverley’s clothes Long- Hair found Alice’s locket hanging over the young man’s heart. He tore it rudel; off and grunted, glaring viciously, first a it, then at Beverley. He seemed to be mightily wrought upon. N “White man damn thief,” he growled deep in his throat; “stole from little girl!” He put the locket in his pouch and re- sumed his stupldly indifferent expression. ‘When everything was ready for the de- lightful entertainment to begin, Long- ir waved his tomahawk three times over Beverley's head, and pointing down betlv’ve;n the ywn.lt.ln( lines said: “Ugh, run!” But Beverley did not budge. He standing erect, with his arms, dee%y creased where the thongs had sunk, fold- ed across his breast. A rush of thoughts and feelings had taken tumultuous pos- session cf him and he could not move or decide what to do. A mad desire to es- cape arose in his heart the moment that he saw Long-Hair take the locket. It was as if Alice had cried to him and bidden him make a dash for liberty. “Ugh, run!” The order was accompanied with a push of such violence from Long-Hair's left elbow that Beverley plunged anq fell, for his limbs, after their long and painful conflnement in the rawhide bonds were stiff and almost useless. Long-Hair in no gentle voice bade_him get up. The shock of falling seemed’ to awaken his dormant forces; a sudden resolve leaped into his brain. He saw that the Fndlans had put aside their bows and guns, most of which were leaning against the boles of trees here and yonder. What if he could knock Long-Hair down and run away? This might posstbly be easy, con- sidering the Indian’s broken arm. His heart jumped at the pgssibility. But'the shrewd savage was alert and saw the thought come into his face. “You try git 'way, kill ead!” he snarl- ed, lifting his tomahawk ready for a stroke. “Braine out, damn!” Beverley glanced down the walting and eager lines. Swiftly he speculated, won- dering what would be his chance for es- cape were he to break through. But he did not take his own condition into ac- count. i “Ugh, run!” y Again the elbow of Long-Hair's hurt arm pushed him toward the expectant rows of Indians, who flourished their clubs and uttered impatient grunts. This time he did not fall; but in trying to run he limped stifly at first, his legs but slowly and imperfectly regaining their strength and suppleness from the action. Just before reaching the lines, however, he stopped short. Long-Hair, who was close behind -him, took hold of his shoul- der and led him back to the starting place. The big Indian’s arm must have given him pain when he thus used it, but he did not wince, “Fool—kill dead!" he repeated two or three times, holding his tomahawk on high with threatening motions and frequent repetitions of his one ‘echo from the profanity of clviliza- tlon. He was beginning to draw his mouth down at the corners, and his eyes were narrowed to mere slits. Beverley understood now that he could not longer put off the trial. He must choose between certain death and the torture of the gauntlet, as frontlersmen named this savage ordeal. An old man ight have preferred the stroke of the atchet to such an infliction as the clubs must afford, considering that, even after all the agony, his captivity and suffer- ing would be only a little nearer its end. Youth, however, has faith in_the turn of fortune's wheel, and faith’ in itself, no matter how dark the prospect. Hope blows her horn just over the horlzon, and the strain bids the young heart take courage and beat strong. Moreover, men were men who Jed the van in those days on the outmost lines of our march to the summit_of the world. Beverley was not more a hero than any other young, brave, unconquerable patriot .of the frontier army. His situation simply tried him a trifle harder than was common. But it must be remembered that he had Love with him, and where Love is there can be no cowardice, no surrender. Illémg-Hnlx‘ once again pushed him and said: gh, run!” - Beverley made a direct dash for the narrow lane between the braced and watchful lines. Every warrior lifted his club; every copper dace gleamed stolidly, a mask behind which burned a stran; 3 atrocious spirit. The savages stand- ing at the end, nearest erley ck at him the instank he reached them, but they were taken by surprise when he checked himself between two of them and. leap- ing this way and that, swung out two powerful blows. left and right, stretehing one of them flat and sending the other reeling and staggering half g dozen paces backward with the blood streaming from his nose. This done, Beverley turned to run away, but his breath was already short and his strength rapidly going. Long-Hair, who was at his heels, leaped before him when he had gone but a few steps and once more flourished the toma- hawk. To struggle was useless. save to Insist upon being brained outright., which just then had_no part in Beverley’s con- siderations. Long-Hair kicked his vic- tim heavily, uttering laconic curses mean- while, and led him back again to the starting-point. genuine sense of humor seems al- most entirely lacking in the mind of the American Indian. He smiles at things not in the least amusing to us and when he laughs. which js very seldom. the cause of his merriment usually lles in something repellantly cruel and inhuman. ‘Whén Beverley struck his two assaflants, hurting them so that one lay half stun- ned, while the other spun awav from his fist with a smashed nose, all the rest of the Indians grunted and laughed rau- cously in high delight. They shook their clubs, danced,” pointed at their discom- fited fellows and twisted their painted faces into knotted wrinkles, their eyes twinkling with deviiish expression of glee auite indescrihable. . “Ugh. damn, run!" said Long-Hair. this time adding a_hard kick to the elbow- shove he gave Beverley. The young man. who had borne all he ~could, now turned unon him furiously and struck straight from the shoulder, setting the whole weight of h's body into the blow. Long-Hair stepped out of the way and quick as a flash brought the flat side of his tomahawk with great force against Beverley’s head. This gave the amusement a sudden and disanvointing end, for the prisoner fell lmp and sense- less to the ground. No more running the gauntlet for him that day. Indeed it re- juired protracted application of the best ndlan skill to revive him so.that he could fairly be called a living man.” There had been no dangerous concussion, how- Leopard®s Spots 2 day by day that our cause is lost, and surrender is a word I have never learned to speak. If I could only see you for one hour, that I might tell you all I have thought in the lone watches of the night in camp or marching over the desolate flelds. Many tengler things I have said to you I have learned in these days. I write you this last message to tell you how more and more beyond the power of words to express your love has grown upon me, until your spirit seems the breath I breathe. My heart is so full of love for you and imy boy that I can’t go into battle now without thinking how many hearts will ache and break in far- away homes because of thr work I.am about to do. I am sick of it all. I long to be at home again and walk with my £weet young bride among the flowers she loves 5o well and hear the old mocKing- bird that bullds each spring in those rose- bushes at our window. “‘If I am killed you must live for our boy and rear him to a glorious manhood in the new nation that will be born in this agony. I loye you—I love you unto the uttermost, and beyond death I will live if only to love you forever. * ‘Always in life or death your “'‘CHARLES. _“For two hours she held this letter open in her and seemed unable to move. And mechanically, she & d }h- one addressed to ‘“‘Charles on Jr.": “‘My Darling Boy: I send you by Nelse my watch and sword. It will be all I can bequeath to you from the wreck that'will follow the war. This sword was your great-grandfather’s. He held it as he charged up the heights of ;{m “Mountain against Ferguson and hel; ' ‘was broken. Beverley, sore, haggard, forlornly dis- heveled, had his arms bound again and ‘was made to march apace with his nimble enemies, who set out swiftly eastward, their disappointment at having their sport cut short, although bitter enough, not in the least indicated by any facial ex- pression or spiteful act. ‘Was it really a strange thing, or was it not, that Beverley’s mind now busied itself unceulngly with the thought that Long-Hair had "Alice’s picture in his pouch? One might find room for discus- sion of ‘a ecerebral g:oblem like this; but our history cannot be delayed with analy- ses and speculations; it must run fits di- rect course unhindered to the end. Suf- fice it to record that, while tramping at Long-Hair’s side and growing more and ore desirous of seeing the picture again. Beverley began trying to converse with his taciturn captor. e had a consider- able smattering of several Indian dia- lects, which he turned upon Long-Hair to the best of his ability, but apparently ‘without effect. Nevertheless he babbled at intervals, always upon the same sub- Ject and always endeavoring to influence that huge, stolid, heartless savage in the direction of letting him see again the child face of the miniature. A stone, one of our travel-scarred and mysterious Western granite bowlders brought from the far north by the an- clent ice, would show as much sympathy as did the face of Long-Hair. Once in a while he gave Beverley a soulless glance and sald “damn’” with utter indifference. Nothing, however, could ?uench or even in the slightest sense allay the lover's desire. He talked of Alice and the locket ‘with constantly increasing volubllity, say- ing over and over the phrases of endear- ment in a half-delirfous way, not aware that fever was fermenting his blood and heating his brain. Probably - he would have been.very {ll*but for the tremendous physical exercise forced upon him. The exertion kept him in a profuse perspira- tion 'and his robust constitution cast off the malarial poison. Meantime he used every word and phrase, every grunt and gesture of Indlan dlalect that he could recall, in the iterated and reiterated at- tempt_to make Long-Halr understand what he wanted. ‘When nlsht came on again the band camped under some trees beside a swollen stream. There was no rain falling, but alnost the entire country lay ,under a flood of water. Fires of logs were soon burning brightly on the comparatively dry bluff chosen by the Indians. The weather was chill, but not cold. Long- Hair took great pains, however, to dry Beverlgy's clothes and see that he had warm s and plenty to eat. Hamil- *ton’s large reward would not be forth- was good property, well worgh careful at- tention. To be sure his sdalp. in the worst event, would command a sufficient honorarfum, but not the greatest. Bev- erley thought of all this while the hig Tndian was wranping him snugly in skins and blankets for the .night. and there ‘was no comfort in it, save that possibly if he were returned to Hamilton he might see Alice again before he dled. , A fitful wind cried dolefully in the leaf- less treetons, the stream hard by gave forth a rushing sound. and far away some wolves howled like lost souls. Worn out, sore from head to foot, Beverley, deep buried in the blankets and skins, soon fell into a profound sleep. The fires slowly crumbled and faded; no sentinel was posted, for the Indians did not fear an attack, there being no enemies that they knew of nearer than Kaskaskia. The camp slumbered as one man. At about the mid-hour of the night Long-Hair gently awoke his prisoner by drawing a hapd across his face, then ‘whispered in his ear: “Damn, still!"” Beverley tried to rise, uttering a sleepy ejaculation under his breath. “No talk,” hissed. Long-Hair. “Still!"” There was something in his voice that not only swept the last film of sleep out of Beverley's brain, but made it perfectly clear to him that a very important bit of craftiness was being performed) just what its nature was. however, he could not surmise. One thing was obvious, Long-Hair did not wish the other Indians to know of the move he was making. Deftly he slipped the blankets from around Beverley, and cut the thongs at his ankles. “Still!” he whispered. ‘“‘Come 'long.” Under such circumstances a competent mind acts with lightning celerity. Bev- erley now understood that Long-Hair was stealing him away from the other sav- ages and that the big villain meant to cheat them out of their part of the re- ward. Along with this discovery came a fresh gleam of hope. It would be far easier to escape from one Indian than from nearly a score, Ah, he would fol- low_ Long-Hair, indeed he would! The needed courage came with the thought, and so with immense labor he crept at the heels of that crawling monster. It was a painful process, for his arms were still fast bound at the wrists with the rawhide strings; but what was pain to him? He shivered with joy, thinking of what might happen. The voice of the wind overhead and the noisy bubbling of the stream near by were cheerful and cheering sounds to him now. So much can a mere shadow of hope do for a hu- man squl on the verge of despair! Al- ready he was planning or trving to plan some way b{ which he could kill Long- Hair when they should reach a safe dis- tance from the sleeping camp. But how could thre thing be done? A man with his hands tied, though they are in front of him, is in no excellent con- dition to cope with a free and stalwart savage armed to the teeth. Still Bever- ley's spirits rose with every.rod of dis- tance that was added to their slow pro- gress. Their course was nearly parallel with that of the stream, but slightly converg- ing toward it, and after they had gone about a furlong they reached the bank. Here Long-Hair stopped and, without a ‘word, ‘cut the thongs of Beverley's wrists. . This was astounding: the young man could scarcely realize it, nor was he ready to act. “Swim water.” Long-Halr said in a guttural murmur barely audible. “Swim, damn!” Agaln it was necessary for Beverlev's mind to act swiftly and with prudence. The camp was yet within halling dis- tance. A false move now would- bring the whole pack howling to the rescue. Something told him to do as Long-Hair coming should the prisoner g‘e. Beverley ordered, so with scarcelv a perceptible hesitation he scrambled down the bushy bank and_slipped into the water. fol« lowed by Long-Hair, who seized him by one arm when he began to swim. and struck out with him into the boiling and tumbling current. Beverley had always thought himself a master swimmer, but Long-Hair show- ed him his mistake. The giant Indian, with but one hand free to use, fairly rushed through that deadly cold and tur- bulent water, bearing his prisoner with carve the nation out of a wilderness. It ‘was a sorrowful day for me when I felt it my duty to draw that sword against the old flag in defense of my home and my people. You will live to see a reunited country. Hang this sword back beside the old flag of our fathers when the end has come, and always remember that it was never drawn from its scabbard by your father or your grandfather, who fought with Jackson at New Orleans, or your great-grandfather in the Revolution, save in the cause of justice and right. What ever you do in life, first, last and always do what you belleve is right. Everything else is of little importance. With a heart full of love, your father, ) 'CHARLES GASTON." “This letter she must have held open for hours, for it was 2 o'clock in the morning when a wild peal of laughter rang from her feverish lips and brought Avnt Eve and Nelse hurrying into the ” Toom. X “The Leopard’s Spots” is a book that “tells the story of the Civil War in the Bouth as it has never been told before— as it doubtless never will be told again. Following The Sunday Call's new liter- ary policy,,it will be published complete, free, with the magazine section, begin- ning right after ‘“Alice of Old Vin- cennes,” now running, on November 9, and be completed by the end of the month. There is an bpportunity truly amazing. The best fiction of the day— free, Just read the list to follow: “The Gos- pel of Judas Iscariot,” the religious and literary sensation of the two continents; “When Knighthood was in Flower, %flm From Indian: . “"The Turnpike House, him, despite the wounded arm, if towing him at the stern of a pirogue. True, his course was down stream for a cansiderable distance, but even when presenty he struck out boldly for the other bank, breasting a current in which few swim- mers could have lived, much less made headway, he still swung forward rapidly, splitting 'the waves and scarcely giving Beverley freedom enough so that he could help in the progress. It was a long. cold struggle, and when at last they touched the sloping low bank on the other side Long-Hair had fairly to lift his chilled and exhausted prisoner to the tof. “Ugh, cold” he grunted, beginning to und and rub Beverley's arms, legs and ggdy. ‘“Make warm, damn heap!” All this he did with-his right hand, hold- ing the tomahawk in his left. It was a strange, bewildering, experi- ence out of which the young man could not see in any direction far enough to ve him a hint upon which to act. In a ew minutes Long-Hair jerked him to his (ef[ safd: It was just light enough to see that the order had a tomahawk to enforce ,it withal. Long-Hair indicated the direction lndlddrove Beverley onward as fast as he could. “Try run 'way, kill, damn!"” he kept re- peating, ile with his left hand on the Jouns man's shoulder he gulded him from ehind dexterously through the wood for some distance. Then he stopped and grunted, adding his favorite expletive, which he used with not the least knowl- edge of its meaning. To him the syllable “dln?n" was. but a mouthful of forcible wind. They had just emerged from a thicket into an open space, where the ground was comparatively dry. Overhead the stars were shining in great clusters of silver and gold against a dark, cavernous look- ing sky, here and there overrun with ca- reering black clouds. Beverley shivered, not so much with cold as on account of the stress of excitement, which amounted to nervous rigor. Long-Hair faced him and leaned toward him, until his breath- ing was audible and his massive features were dimly outlined. A dragon of the darkest age could not have been more re- pulsive, {Ugh, friend, damn!” Beverley started when thes: words were followed by a sentence in an Indian dla- Tect somewhat familiar to him, a dialect in which he had tried to talk with Long- Hair during the day’s march. The sen- tence, literally translated, was: “Long-Halr is friendly now.” A blow in the face could nof have been so surprising. Beverley not only started, but recolled as if from a sudden and dead- ly apparition. The step between supreme exhilaration and utter collapse is now and then infinitesimal. There are times, moreover, when an expression on the race of Hope makes her look like the twin sis- ter of Despair. The moment falling ju: after Long-Hair spoke was a century con- densed in a breath. “Long-Hair is friendly now; will white man be friendly 2" Beverley heard, but the speech seemed to come out of vastness and hollow dis- tance; he could not realize it fairly. He felt as if in a dream, far off somewhere in loneliness, with a big, shadowy form looming before him. He heard the chill wind in the thickets round about, and be- yond Long-Hair rose a wall of glant trees. “Ugh, not understand?’ the savage fil’%sently demanded in his broken Eng- sh. “Yes, yes,” said Beverley, “I under- stand.” “Is the white man friendly now?” Long- Hair then repeated in his own tongue, with a certain insistence of manner and voice. “Yes, friendly.” Beverley said this absently in a tone of perfunctory dryness. His throat was arched, his head seemed to waver. But e was beginning to comprehend that Long-Halir, for some inscrutable reason of his own, was desirous of making a friend- ship between them. The thought was be- ‘wildering. Long-Hair fumbled in his pouch and took out Alice’s locket, which he handed to Beverley. ‘‘White man love little girl?” he inquired in a tone that bordered upon tenderness, again speaking in Indlan. Beverley clutched the disk as soon as he saw it gleam in the starlight. little girl for ) ““White man going to have his squaw, en?” “Yes, yes,” cried . Beverley, without hearing his own voice. He was trying to open tue locket, but his hands were numb ana trembling. Wnen at last he did open it he couid not see the chiid face within, for now even Exe starlight was shit off by a scudding black cloud. “Littie. gir1 saved Lunqfi?fil life. Long-Hair save white warrlor for little BirL.” A dignity which was almost noble ac- companiea these simple sentences. Long- Hair stood proudly erect, like a colossal dark statue in the dimness. The great truth dawned upon Beverley that here was a characteristic act. He knew that an Indian rarely faiied to repay 2 kindnegs or an injury, stroke for stroke, When opporiunity offered. Long-Hair was a typical Inwan. That is to say, a type of inhumanity raised to the last power; but under his hideous atrocity of nature lay the indestructible sense of gratitude so fixed and perfect that It did its work al- most automatically. It must be said, and it may or may not be to the white man’s shame, that Bever- ley did not respond with absolute prompt- ness and sincerity to Long-Halr's gener- osity. "He had suffered terribly at the hands of this savage. His arms and legs were raw from the biting of the thongs; his body ached from the effect of blows and kicks laid upon him while bound and helpless. Perhaps he was not a very emo- tional man. At all events there was no sudden recognition of the favor he was re- ceiving. And this pleased Long-Hair, for the taste of the American Indian delights in immobility of countenance and reserve of feeling under great strain. ““Wait here a little while,”” Long-Hair presently said, and without lingering for reply, turned away and disappeared in the wood. Beverley was free to run if he wished to, and the thought did surge across his mind; but a restraining some- thing, like a hand laid upen him, would not let his limbs move. Down deep in his heart a calm voice seemed to be repeating Long-Hair’s sentence—'“Wait here a little while.” A few minutes later Long-Hair returned bearing two guns, Beverley's and his own, the latter, a superb weapon given him by Hamilton. He afterward explained that he had brought these, with their bullet pouches and powder horns, to a place of concealment near by before he awoke Beverley. This meant that he had swum the cold river three times since nighttall; once over with the guns and accouter- ments, once back to camp, then over again with Beverley! All this with a bro- ken arm, and to repay Alice for her kind- ness to him. Beverley mdy have been slow, but at last his appreciation was, perhaps, all the more profound. As best he could he ex- réssed it to Long-Hair, who showed no w‘-—‘l‘?flflrut whatever in the statement. In- Do in Thris Situation Tn < The stead of responding in Indian, he said “damn’” without emphasis. It was rather he had yawned absently, red, Delay could not be thought of. Hair explained Meflw.t he thot it Beverley must go to kaskia. He come across the stream in the direction of Vincennes in order to set his warriors at fault. The stream mu:f be recrossed, he said, farther down, and he would help Beverley a certain distance on his ' then leave him to shift for h!mlelt'go had a meager amount of parched corn and buffalo meat in his uch, which would stay hunger until they could kill some game. Now they must go. The resilience of a youthful and power- ful physique offers many a problem to the biologist. Vital force seems to find some mysterious reservoir of nourishment hid- detn “'t“ in '.ha’l nt%“ml Beverley set out upon thaf impossible undertaking with renc'na.dy.ncrp:y. It could not have been the ounce of parched corn and the bit of jerked venison from Wwhich he drew so much strength; but, on the other hand, could it have been the miniature of Alice, which he felt pressing over his heart once more, that A&Mfid a subtle stimulus to both mind body? day- dawn. Long-Hair leading, Bever] ress- ing close at his heels. %( ofkt’h.’ way led over flat prairies covered with water, and they therefore left no track by which they could be followed. Late in the forenoon Long-Hair killed a deer at the edse of a wood. Here they made a fire and cookeéd a supply which would last them for a day or two, and then on they went again. Bu follow them step by step. When Long- Hair at last took leave of Beverley the occasion had no ceremony. It was an abrupt, unemotional parting. The stal- ‘wart Indian simply said 1n his own dia- lect. pointing westward: “Go that way two days. You will find your friends.” Then, without another look or word, he turned about and stalked east- ward at a marvelously rapid gait. In his mind he had a tale to tell his ‘warrior. when he should find how Beverley escaped tha; e ————————— e —— e ever, and on the following morning camp - he followed him a long, long chase, only o lose him at last under the very of the fort at Kaskaskia. But before he reached his band an incident of some im- portance changed his story to a consid~ erable degree. It chanced that he came u})an Lieutenant Barlow, who. in pursuit of game, had lost his bearings and. far from his companions, was beating around quite bewildered in a watery solitude. Long-Hair promptly murdered the poor fellow and scalped him with as little com- punction as he would have skinned a rab- bit. for he had a clever scheme in his head, a very audacious and outrageous scheme. by which he purposed to recoup. to some extent, the damages sustained by letting Beverley go. Therefore. when he rejoined his some- what disheartened and demoralized band he showed them the scalp and gave them an eloquent account of how he tore it from Beverley's head after a_long chase and bloody hand to hand-fight. They listerted, believed. and were satisfled. CHAPTER XVIL FATHER BERET'S OLD BATTLE. The room in which Alice was now im- prisoned formed part of the uvper story of a building erected by Hamilton in one of the four angles of the stockade. It had no windows and but two oblong port- holes made to accommodate a small swiv- el, which stood darkly scowling near the middle of the floor. From one of these apertures Alice could see the straggling roofs and fences of the dreary little town, while from the other a long reach of watery prairie, almost a lake, lay under view witht the rolling, muddy Wabash gleaming beyond. THere seemed to be no activity of garrison or townspeople. Few sounds broke the silence of which the cheerless prison room seemed to be the center. Alice felt all her courage and cheerful- ness leaving her. She was alone in the midst of enemies. No father or mother, no friend—a young girl at the mercy of soldiers, who could not be expected to regard her with any sympathy bevond that which is accompanied with repulstve leers and hints. Day after day her lone- liness and helplessness became more agonizing. Farnsworth. it Is true. did all he could to relieve the strain of her situation: but Hamilton had an eve upon what passed and soon interfered. He administered a bitter reprimand, under whigh his subordinate writhed in speech- less' anger and resentment. Father Beret's paternal love for Alice— we cannot characterize it more nicely than to call it paternal-was his justifica- tion for a certain mild sort of corruption insinuated by him into the heart of Farnsworth. He was a crafty priest, but his craft was always used for a good end. TUnquestionably Jesuitic was his mode of circumventing the young man’s military scrunles by offering him a puff of fair weather with which to sail toward what appeared to be the shore of delizht. He saw at a glance that Farnsworth's love for Alice was a consuming passion in a very ardent yet decidedly weak heart. Here was the worldly lever with which Father Beret hoped to raze Alice’s prison and free her from the terrible doom with which she was threatened. The first Interview was at Father Re- ret’s cabin, to which, as will be remem- bered. the priest and Farnsworth went after their megetine in the street. It actu- ally came to nothing. save an indirect understanding but half sugzested bv Father Beret and never open'y sanctioned by Captain Farnsworth. The talk was insinuating on the part of the former, while the latter slipped ‘evasively from every proposition. as if not able to con- sider it on aceount of a curious obtuse- ness of perceotion. Still, when they sen- arated they shook hands and exchanszed a ;eaflr‘chlnl look perfectly satisfactory to oth. The memory of that interview with the priest was in Farnsworth's mind when, boiling with rage, he left Hamilton's rresence and went forth into the chill February air. He passed out through the postern and along the sodden and aueachv edge of the prairie. involuntarilv making his way to Father Beret's cabin. Hi's indignation was so great that he trem- hled from bead to foot at every sten. The door of the place was open and Father Beret whs eating a frugal meal of scones and sour wine (of his own make, he said), which he hospitably bee- ged to share with his visitor. A fire smoldered on the hearth, and a flat stone showed. by the grease oking over its hot surface, where the cakes had been baked. “Come in. my son.” said the priest, “and try the fare of a poor old man, Tt is plain, very plain, but good"™ WHa smacked his lips sincerely and fingered another scone. “Take some, take some.” Farnsworth was not tempted. The ac'd bouauet of the wine filled the room with a smack of vinegar, and the smoke from rank scorching fat and wheat meal 414 not suegest an agreeable feast. ““Well, well, if you are not hungry. mv son. sit downr on the stool there and tell ma the news.” Farnsworth took the low ssat without a word. Ietting his eyes wander over the walls. Alice’s rapler, the mate to that now worn by Hamilton. hung in its curt- onsly engraved seabbard near one corner. The sight of it Inflamed Farnsworth. “Tt's an outraze.” he broke farth. “Governor Hamilton sent a man to Rous- sillon place with orders to bring him the scabbard of Miss Rovssillon's sword, and he now wears the beautiful weapon as {.f' he had come by it honestly. 17" ““My dear, dear son, you must nat soil your lips with such language!” Father Beret let fall the half of a well bitten cake and held up hoth hands. ; “I beg your pardon, father: I know T ought to be more careful in your.pres- gncle: ut—but—the beastly, hellish scoun- rel—>* ‘‘Bah! doucement, mon fils, doucement.” The old man shook his head and his fin- ger while Speaking. “Easy, my son, easy. You would be a fine target for bullets were .your words to reach Ham- flton’s ears. You are not permitted to revile your commander.’ “Yes, T know: but how can a man re- strain himself under such abominable conditions?” Father Beret shrewdly guessed that Hamilton had been giving the captain fresh reason for bitter resentment. Moreover. be was sure that the moving cause had been Alice. So, in order to draw out what he wished to hear, he said very gently: ‘“How is the little prisoner getting along?” - Farnsworth ground his teeth and swore; but Father Beret appeared not to hear; he bit deeper into a scone, took a sip of the muddy red wine and added: ‘‘Has she a comfortable p&e‘? Do you think Governor Hamilton let ‘me visit her?™” “It is horrible!” Farnsworth blurted. “She’s penned up as if she were a dan- ous beast, the' poor girl. And that O ¥ h0 use to try, T ean't halp 1 “Oh, it’s no use s A Father. The whelp—"" ‘“We can converse more safely and in- telligently if we avold 5 un- due emotion, my son. Now, if you will quit swearing, I will, and 1f you will be calm, so will 1.” i {our opinion of a man who tum- les a poor, defenseless girl into rison and then to let her decently cared for? How do you ex- press yourself about him?” “My son, men often of which they ought to be ashamed. heard of a young officer once who maltreated a Ift- tle girl that he met at night in the ‘What evil he would have done, had T T o the ribs, I dare not surmise.” dese: “Surely you do, my son, you do; you will not let me give you pain. all men's Ah. we its have to loads. ir backs are however, very broad, my son,” “And your fists devilish heavy, Father,§ devilish heavy.” ‘The gentle smile flickered over the priest’s weather-beaten face as he ::.-;ced sideways at and “Sometimes, sometimes, my pal weapon must break Spiritual one. But ite rarely have one. we ve Eunl physical meutr,“;"ut dependence '0_be sure; certainly,” Farnsworth interrupted, rubbing his side, “your de- pendence is upon tgc first that of- fers. I've had many a blow; yours T rtume, Father Betetr Ty Mot e, Fa to = STiE L ee L fresh mutual syntpathy.