The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 26, 1902, Page 6

our intercostals were somewhat on account of a contact sy sore for a time, with priestly ckies, doubtless there soon set in 4 corresponding uneasiness in the region of your conscience. Such shocks are often vigorously alterative and tonic—eh, my son?” “You jolted me sober, Father, and then I was ashamed of myself. But where does all your tremendous strength lie? You don't look strong.” 4 rnsworth leaned near rasped his arm. The . for his finge in- Father Beret young man s stead of closing around a flabby, shrunk- en old man’s limb, spread themselves up- on a2 huge, knotted m: of iron muscles. With a quick movement Father Beret shook off Farnsworth’s hand, and said: “I am no Samson, sum qualis eram.” Ther light subject for a gr: and added: “I supose there nothing that c be done for little Alice.” l e led the tall, strong girl *little i so she seemed to him. e direct effort nk of tly maturing woman. spoiled_pet the Holy nd what do I know? Surely, my vou see how utterly helpless an old 1 R st all you British. And “Father Beret” Farnsworth huskily Interrupted, ‘s there a_place that you know of anywhere in which Miss Rous- & could be hidden, i dear son.” I mean it.” ® Pardon an old man’s What are you talk- n Beret glanced furtively about, uickly stepped through the door- way, walked entirely around the house end came in again before Farnsworth could respond. Once more seated on his then stool he added interrogativel “Did you think you heard something ng outside?” mov o. “You were saying something when I went out, Pardon my interruption.” Farnsworth gave the priest a search- ing and not wholly confiding Jook. “You did not interrupt me, Father Be- ret. 1 was not speaking. Why are you #o watchful? Are you afraid of eaves- @roppers?” “You were speaking recklessly. Your words were incendiary: ardentia verba. My son, you were suggesting a danger- ous thing. Your life would scarcely sat- isfy the law were you convicted of in- sinuating such treason. What if one of your prowling guerds had overheard you? Your neck and mine might haiter. Quod avertat dominus.” crossed himself and in a solemn voice sdded in English: “May the Lord forbid! Ah, my son, we priests protect those we love. . “And I, who am not fit to tie a priest’s ghoe, do likewise. Father, I love Alice Roussilion.” “Love is a holv thing, my son. Amare divinum est et humanum.” ather Beret, can you help me piritually speaking, my son? “] mean, can you hide Mademoiselle Roussillon in some safe place if 1 tak her out of the prison yonder? That's just what I mean. Can you do it?” “Your question is a remarkable _one. Have you thought upon it frofh all direc- tions, my son? Think of your position, your duty as an officer.” A shrewd polemical expression beamed from Father Beret's eyes, and a very ex- pert physiognomist might have suspected duplicity from certain lines about the old man’s mouth. 2 . “1 simply know that-I ‘cannot stand by end see Alice—Mademoiselie Roussillon— forced to suffer treatment too beastly for an Indian thief. That's the only direc- tion there is for me to look at it from, and you can understand my feelings if you will; you know that very well, Fath- er Beret. When a man loves a girl, he loves ber; that's the whole thin 4 The quiet, inscrutable half smile flick- ered once more on Father Beret's face; e?” but he sat silent some time with & sinewy forefinger lying along- ide his nose. When at last he spoke it was in & tone of voice indica- tve of small interest in what he was say- Ing. His words rambled to their goal with the effect of happy accident. “There are places in this neighborhood in which a buman being would be as hard to find as the flag that you and Governor Hamilton have so diligently and unsuc- cessfully been in quest of for the past month or two. Really, my son, this is a mysterious little town.” Farpsworth’s eyes widened and a flush rose in his swarthy cheeks. “Damn the flag!” he exclaimed. ' “Let it lie hidden forever; what do I care? I tell you, Father Beret, that Alice Roussilion is in extreme danger. Governor Hamilton means to put some terrible punishment on her. He has a devil's vindictiveness. He showed it to me clearly awhile ago.” “You showed me something of the same sort to me, once upon a time, my son.” “Yes, 1 did, Father Beret, and I got a load of slugs in my shoulder for it from pistol. She saved your ow I ask you to help me save hers; not life, what is infinitely more, her honor.” “Her honor!” cried Father Beret, leap- ing to his feet so suddenly and with such hat the cabin shook from base to What do you say, Captain Farns- was terrible to see, with its narrow, burn- ing eves deep under the shaggy brows, its dark veins writhing snakelike on the tem- ples and forehead, the projected mouth &nd chin, the hard lines of the jaw, the jron-gray gleam from all the features—he Jooked like an aged tiger stiffened for a spring. Parnsworth was made of right soldierly stuff, but he felt a distinct shiver fiit slong his back. Hif“pust life had not lacked thrilling adventures and strangely varied experiences with desperate men. Usually he met sudden emergencies rather calmly, sometimes with phlegmatic indif- ference. This passionate outburst on the priest’s part, however, surpried him and awed him, while it stirred his heart with & profound sympathy unlike anything he had ever felt before. Father Beret mastered himself in & mo- ment, and passing his hand over his face, @s if to brush away the excitement, sat down again on his stool. He appeared to collapse inwardly. “You must excuse the weakness of an " he in a voice hoarse and shaking. “But tell me what is going to be done with Alice. Your words —what you said—I did not understand.” He rubbed his forehead slowly, as one who has diffculty in trying to collect his thoughts. “I do not know what Governor Hamilton means to do, Father Beret. It will be something devilish, bowever—something that must not happen,” said Farnsworth. Then he recounted all that Hamilton had done and said. He described the dreary and comfortiess room in which Alice was confined, the miserable fare given her, and how she would be exposed 1o the leers and low remarks of the sol- diers. She had already suffered these things, and now that she could no longer have any protection, what was to become of her? He did not attempt to overstate the case, but presented it with a blunt sincerity which made a powerfully real- istic impression. Father Beret, like most men of strong feeling who have been subjected to long years of trial, hardship, multitudinous Qangers and all sorts of temptation, and ‘who have learned the lessons of seif-con- trol, had an fron wili and also an abiding distrust of weak men. He saw Farns- worth’s sincerity, but he had no faith in his copstancy, although satisfied that while resentment of Hamilton’s imperi- ouseness lasted he would doubtless remain firm in his purpose to aid Alice. Let that ‘wear off, as in a short time it would, and then what? The old man studied his com- {n.nion with eyes that slowly resumed heir expression of smoldering and al- most timid geniality. His priestly experi- ence with desperate men was demanding of him a proper regard for that subtlety of procedure which had so often com- passed most difficult ends. He listened in silence to Farnsworth's story, When it came to an end he began to offer some but half relevant sugges- tions in ghe form of indirect cross-ques- tiops, by’which he gradually drew out a minute description of Alice’s prison, the best way to reach it, the nature of its door fastenings, where the key was kept, and everyvthing, indeed, likely to be help- ful to one contempiating a jail @elivery. Farnsworth was inwardly delighted. He felt Father Beret's cunning approach to the central object and his crafty method of gathering details. The shades of evening thickened in the stuffy cabin room while the conversatis went on. Father Beret presently lifted a puncheon in one corner of the floor and got out a larse bottle, which bore a mil- lewed and faded French label, and with it 2 small fron cup. There was just light enough left to show a brownish sparkie when, after pugplng out the corl he ured a draught in the fresh cup and in & own. . “We may think more clearly, my son, if we taste this old*guor. I have kept it 2 long while to offer upon a proper occa- sion. The occasion is here.” A ravishing bouguet quickly imbued the air. It was itself an intoxication. “The Brothers of St. Martin distilled this liquor,” Father Beret added, handing the cup te Farnsworth, “not for common social drinking, my son, but \for times when a man needs extraordinary stimula- tion. It js said to be surpassingly good, because St. Martin blessed the vine. The doughty captain felt a sudden and imperious thirst ~scize his throat. The liquor flooded his veins before his lips touchefl the cup. He had been abstaining lately; now his besetting appetite rushed upon him. At cne gulp he took in the fiery yet smooth and captivating draugh Nor did_he notice that Father Beret, stead of joining him in the potation, merely lifted his cup and set it down again, smacking his lips with gusto. There followed a silence, during whigh the aro : breath of the bottie in- creased its dangerous fascination. Then Father Beret again filled Farnsworth's cup and : > “Alr, the blessed mon! little thought they ‘that their match! brew would éver be in a_poor missionary’s hut But, after all, my son, why not here as well as in sunny France? Our object justifies”any impropriety of time and place.” “You are right, father. I drink to our object. Yes, 1 say, to our object.” In fact, the drinking preceded his speech, and his tongue glready had a loon in it. The liquor stole through him, a mist of bewildering and enchanting infiu- ence. The third cup broke his sentences into unintelligible fragments; the fourth made his underjaw sag loosely; the fifth and sixth, taken in close succession, tum- bled him limp on the floor, where he slept blissfully all night long, snugly covered ith some of Father Beret's bedclothes. “Per casum obliquum, et per indirec- tum,” muttered the priest, wien be had returned the bottle and cup to their hid- ing place. “The end justifies the mean: Sleep well, my son. Ah, little Alice, lit- tle Alice, your old father will try—will try!” He fumbled along the wall in the dark until he found the rapier, which he took down; then he went out and sat for some time motionless beside the door, while the clouds thickened overhead. It was iate when he arose and glided away, shadow-like, toward the fort, over which the night hung black, chill and drearily silent. The moon was still some hours but smothered by the clouds; a fog drifted from the river. Meantime Hamiiton and Helm had spent a part of the afternoon and even- ing, as usual, at cards. Helm broke off the game and went to his quarters rather early for him, leaving the Governor alone and in a bad temper, because Farnsworth when he had sent for hirs'couid not be found. Three times his orderly returned in as many hours with the same report— the captain had not been seen or heard of. Naturally this sudden and comp'ete disappearance immediately after the re] rimand suggested to Hamiiton an ua- pleasant possibility. What if Farnsworth had deserted him? Down deep in his heart he was conscious that the young man. had good cause for almost any de: perate action. To lose Captain Farns- worth, however, would be just now a ca- lamit The Indians were drifting over rapidly to the side of the Americans, and every day showed that the French could not long be kept quiet. Hamilton sat for some time after Helm's departure thinking over what he now feared was a foolish mistake. Pres- ently he buckled on Alice’s rapier, which he had lately been wearing as his own, and went out into the main area of the stockade. A sentinel was tramping to and fro at the gate, where a hazy lantern shone. The night was breathless and si- lent. Hamilton approached the soldier on duty and asked him if he had seen Cap- tain Farnsworth, and received a nega- tive reply, turned about puzzled and thoughtful to walk back and forth in the chill, foggy air. Presently a faint yellow light attracted his attention. It shone thrbugh a port- hole in an upper room of the blockhouse at the farther angle of the stockade. In fact, Alice.was reading by a sputtering lamp a book Farnsworth had sent her, a volume of Ronsard, ‘that he had picked up in Canada. Hamiltoh made his way in that direction, at first merely curious to know who was burning oil o late; but after a few paces he recognized where the light came from and instantly sus- pected that_ Captain Farnsworth was there. Indeed, he felt sure of it_Some- how he could not regard Alice 28 other than a saucy hoyden, incapable of wém- anly virtue. His experience with the worst element of Canadian French life and his peculiar cast of mind and char- acter colored his impression of her. He measured her by the women with whom the coureurs de bois and half-breed trap- pers consorted in Detroit and at the posts eastward to Quebee. Alice, unable to sleep, had sought for- getfulness of her bitter captivity in the old poet'’s charming lyrics. She sat on the floor, some blankets and furs drawn around her, the book on her lap, the stu- pidly dull lamp hanging beside her on a part of the swivel. Her hair lay loose over her neck and shoulders and shim- mered around her face with a cloudiike effect, giving to the features in their re- pese a setting “that intensified their. sweetness and sadness. In a very low but distinct voice she was reading, with a slightly quavering intonation: ““Mignonne, allong voir si Que ce matin avait desclose Sa robe de pourpe au soleil, ‘When Hamilton, after stealthily mount- ing the rough stairway which led to her dcor, peeped in through a space between the slabs and felt a stroke of disappoint- ment, seeirg at 2 glance that Farnsworth was not there. He gazed for some time, not without a sense of villainy, while she continued her sweetly monotonous read- ing. If his heart had been as hard as the iron swivel balls that lay rose, ness which had heretofore alwa; her features when she was in hig pres ence. A dainty gentleness, touched with melancholy, gave to her face an appeal- ing logk, all the more powerful on ac count of its unconscious simplicity of ex- pression. The man felt an impulse pure and no- ble, which would have borne him back down the ladder and away from the building had not a stronger one set bold- ly in the opposite "direction. There was a short struggle with the seared remnant of his better nature. and then he tried to open the door; but it was locked. ~ Alice heard the ht noise, and break- ing off her reading/turned fo look. Ham- ilton made another effort to enter before he recollected that the wooden key, or notched lever, that controlled the cum- brous wooden lock hung on a peg beside the door. He felt for it along the wall, and &oon laid his hand on_ it. Then again he peeped through to see Alice, who was now standing upright near the swivel. She had thrown her hair back from her face and neck; the lamp's flickering light seemed syddeniy to have magnified her stature and enhanced her beauty. Her book lay on the tumbled wraps at her feet, and in either hand she grasped a swivel-shot. Hamilton’s combative disposition came to the aid of his baser passion when he saw once more a defiant flash from his prisoner’s face. It was easy for him to be fascinated by opposition. Helm had profited by this trait as much as others had suffered by it; but, in the case of Alice, Hamilton’s mingled resentment and admiration were. but a powerful irritant to the coarsest and most dangerous side of his nature. After some fumbling and delay he fitted the key with a steady hand and moved the wooden bolt creaking and jolting from its slot. Then flinging the clumsy door wide open, he stepped in. Alice started when she recognized the midnight intruder, and a second deeper Jook into his countenance made her brave heart recoil, while with a sinking sensa- tion her breath almost stopped. It was but a momentary weakness, however, fol- lowed vigorous reaction. “Wh#t are you here for, sir?” - manded. “What do you want ) dn *I am*neither a burglar nor a’ murder- er, mademoiselle,” he responded, lifting his hat and bowing, with a smile not in the least reassuring. “You look like hoth, v Stop where you “Not so loud, my dear Miss Ro 3 I am not deaf. And besides the ::!r'l!}:;ln needs to sleep.” “Stop, sir; not another step.” She poised herself, leaning slightly backward, and held the iron ball in her right hand ready to throw it at him. He halted, still smiling villainously. “Mademofselle, T assure you that ybur excitement is quite unnecessary. I am not_here to harm you.” “You cannot harm me, wretch!” “Humph! Pride goes before a fall wench!” he retorted, taking a_half step backward. Then a thought arose in his mind wiich added a new shade to the repellant darkness of his countenance. you cowardly ‘Miss Roussillon,” he sald In and with a changed voice, which to grow harder, each word deliberately emphasized, “I have come to break some bad news to you.” “You would scarcely bring me good news, sir, and I am not curious to hear the bad.” He was silent for a little while, gazing at her with the sort of admiration from which| a true woman draws away ap- pnllei. He saw how she loathed him, saw how impossible it was for him to get a line nearer to her by any turn of force or fortune. Brave, high-headed, strong ag’a young leopard, pure and sweet as a rose, she stood before him fearless, even aggressive, showing him by every line of her face and form that she felt infinite superiority and meant to maintain it. Her whole personal expression told him he was defeated; therefore he guickly seized upon a suggestion caught from a trans- action with Long-Hair, who had re- turned a few hours before from his pur- suit of Beverley. 7 1t peins me, 1 assure you, Miss Rous- on, to tell you what will probably rieve you deeply,” he presently added; but I have not been unaware of your der interest in Lieutenant Beverley, t and when I had bad ‘news from . him, I thought it my duty to inform you.” He paused, feeling with a devil's satis- faction the point of his statement go home ‘to_the girl's heart. The wind was beginning to blow out- side, shaking open the dark clouds and Jetting a#eams of moonlight flicker on the thinning- fog. A ghostly ray - came through a crack between the logs and lit Alice’s face with a pathetic wanness. She moved her lips as if speaking, but Ham- ilton heard no sound. he Indian, Long-Hair, whom I sent upon Lieutenant Beverley's trail, reported to me this afternoon that his pyesuit had been -quite successful. He e€aught his game. Alice's voice came to her now., She drew in a quivering breath of relief. “Then he is here—he is—you have him a prisoner again?” #AF t.m, Miss Rouss'lion. Enough to be quite sure that there is one traitor who will trouble his King no more. Mr. Long-Hair brought in the lieutenant’s scalp.” Alice received this horrible statement in silence; but her face bianched and she stood as if frozen by .the shock. The shifty moon-glimmer and the yellow glow of the lamp showed Hamilton to what an extent his devilish cruelty hurt her. and somehow it chilled him as if by refiection; but he could not forego anuther thrust. “He deserved hanging, and wotld have got it had he been brought to me alives So after all, you should be satisfied. He escaped m. engeance and Long-Hair got his pay. Yo‘ see I am the chief sufferer.” These words, however, fell without ef- fect upon the girl's ears, in which was booming the awful storm-like roar of her excitement. She did not see her perse- cutor standing there; her vision, unhin- dered by walls and distance, went straight away to a place in the wilderness, where all manglea and disiigured Beverley iay ead. A low cry broke from her lips; she dropped the heavy swivel-balls; and then, like a bird, swiftly, with a rustling swoop, she went past Hamilton and down the stair. For perhaps a full minute the man stood there motionless, stupefied, amazed; and when at length he recovered himself, it, was with difficulty that he followed het. Everything seemed to hinder him. When he reached the open air, however, he quickly regained his activity of both mind and body, and looked in all directions. The clouds were breaking into parallel masses with streaks of sky between. The moon hanging aslant against the blue peeped forth just in time to show him a flying figure wuich, even while he looked, reached the postern, opened. it and slipped through. 1 With but a breath of hesitgtion between giving the alarm and following Alice si- lently and alone, he chose the latter. He was - a swift runner and light footed. With a few bounds he reached the little gate, which was still oscillating on its Linges, darted through and away, strain- ing every muscle in desperate pursuit, gaining rapidly in the race, which bore castward along the covrse twice before chosen by -‘Alice in leaving the stockade. CHAPTER XVIL A MARCH THROUGH COLD WATER. On the 5th day of February, 1779, Colo- nel George Rogers Clark led an army across the Kaskaskia River and camped. This was the first step in his march toward the Wabash. An army! Do not i Fewer than 200 men, it is true, answered the rollcall when Father Gi- bault hfted the cross and blessed them; but every name told off by the company sergeants belonged to a hero, and every voice making response struck a full note in the chorus of freedom's morning song. 1t was an army, small indeed, but yet an_army; even though’ so rudely equip- ped that, could we now see it before us, we might wonder of what use it could possibiy be in a military way. ‘We shoule nevertheless hardly expect that a hundred and seventy of our best men, even if furnished with the latest and most deadly engines -of destructicn, could do what these pioneers cheerfuliy undertook and gloriously accomplished, in the savage wilderness which was to be the great central area of the United States of America. ‘We look back with a shiver of awe af the 300 Spartans for whom the Simonides composed his matchless epitaph. They wrought and died gloriously; that ~was Greek. 170_men, who, led by the backwoodsman, Clark, made conquest of an empire’s area for freedom in the west, wrought and lived gloriously; that was American. It well to bear in mind this distinction by which our civilization sep- arates itself from that of old times. Our heroism has always been of Hft:fbour he- roes have conquered and lived to see the effect of conquest. We have fought all sorts of wars and have never yet felt defeat. hington, Jackson, Taylor, Grant, all lived to enjoy, after success- ful war, a triumphant peace. ‘“These flmeflmn!." said a witty Frenchman, are either enormously ‘lucky, or pos- sessed of iraculous vitality. You rarely kill them in battle, and if you wound them their wounds are never mortal. Their history is but a chain of impossi- bilities easily accomplished. Their under- takings have been without preparation, their successes in the nature of stupen- dous accidents,” Such a statement may ap&enr critically sound from a Gaelic point of view; but it leaves out the domi- ‘nant element of American character, namely, heroic efficiency. From the first we have had the .courage to undertake, the practical common sense which over- comes the lack of technical training, and the vital force which never flags under the stress of adversity. Clark knew, when he set out on his mareh to Vincennes, that he was not in- dulging a visionary impulse. The enter- prise ivas one that called for all that manhood could endure, but not more. With the genius of a born leader he measured his task by his means. ];e knew his own courage and fortitude, and understood the best capacity of his men. -He had genius; that Iis, he possessed the secret of extracting irom himseif and from his followers the last refinement of devotion to purpose. There was a certainty, from first to last, that effort would not flag at any point- sbort of the topmost possible strain. The great star of America was no more than a nebulous splendor on the horizon in 1779, It was a new world forming by the law of youth. The men who bore the burdens of its exacting life were mostly stalwart striplings who, before tne down of adolescence fairly sprouted on their chins, eould swing the ax, drive a plow, ciose with a bear or kill an In- dian. lark was not yet 27 when he made . his- famous campaign. A tall, brawny youth, whose frontier experience had enriched a native cnaracter of the best quality. he marched on foot at the head of his little column, and was' first iu test every opposing danger. Was there a stream to wade or swim? Clark en- thusiastically shouted, *“‘Come on¥ and ‘n he plunged. Was there a lack of food? “I'm not hungry,” he cried. ‘“Help your- selves, men!” Had some poor soldier lost his blanket? ‘‘Mine is in my way,” said Clark. “Take it; I'm glad to get rid of it!” His men loved him, and would cie rather than fall short of his expecta- tions. The march before them lay over a mag- nificent plain, mostly prairie, rich as the delta of the Nile, but extremely difficult to traverse. The distance, the route led, was about 170 miles. On ac- count of an open and ralny winter ail the basins and flat lands were inundated, often presenting leagues of water ranging in depth from a few inches to thrce or four feet. Cold winds blew, sometimes with spits of snow and dashes of slect, while thin ice formed on the ponds and sluggish streams, By day progress meant wading ankle-deep, breast-deep, with an occasional spurt of swimming. By night the brave fellows had to sleep, if sleep they could, on the cold ground in goaked clothing under wa- ter heavy blankets. They flung the leagues behind them, however, cheerfully stimulating one another by joke and challenge, defying all the bitterness _of weather, all the bitings of hunger, all the toil, danger and deprivation of a track- less d houseless wilderness, looking only eastward, following their youthful and intrepid commander to cne of the most valuable victories gained by Ameri- can soldiers during the War of the Revo- lution. Colonel Clark understood perfectly the ‘strategic importance of Vincennes as a post commanding the Wabash, and as a base of communication with the many Indian tribes north of the Ohio and east of the Mississippi. Francis Vigo (may his name never fade!) had brought him a comprehensive and accurate report of Hamilton's strength and the condition of the fort and garrison. This information confirmed his belief that it would be pos- sible nog only to capture Vincennes, but Detroit ‘as well. Just seven days after the march be- gan the little army encamped for a night’s rest at the edge of a wood; and here just after nightfall, when the fires were burning merrily and the smell of broiling buffalo steaks burdened the damp air, a_wizened old° man suddenly ap- peared, how or from where nobody had observed. He was diety and in every way disreputable in appearance, looking like /an animated mummy, beafing: a long rifle gn ‘his shbulder, and walking with the spmewhat Halting a et vivacious and energetic simian. old Of “ceurse - it s Oncle Jazon, “Oncle Fis," as Father Beret had Jazon sui gene: dubbed him;, # 7 “Well, here I am!” he cried, approach- ing the ‘fire’ by which Colonel Clark and some of his officers were cooking supper, “but ye can't guess in a mile 0’ who I am to save yer livers and lights.’ He danced a few stiff steps,which made the water gush out of his tattered moc- casins. then doffed his nondescript cap and nodded his scalpless head. In saluta- tion to the commander. Clark looked inquiringly at him, while the old fellow grimaced. and rubbed his shrunken chin. “I smelt ver fat a fryin’ sompin like a mile away, an’ it set my in'ards to grum- blin’ for 4 snack; so I jes' thought I'd drap in on ve an’ chaw wittles wi’ ye.” “Your looks are decidedly against you,"” remarked the colonel with a dry.smile. He had recognized Oncle Jazon after a little sharp scrutiny. *I suppose, how- ever, that we can let you gnaw the bones after we've got off the meat.” ““Thank 'ee, thank 'ee, plenty good. A fellow at’s as hongry as I am kin go through a bone like a feesh through peiy water. Clark laughed and said: “I don’t see any teeth that you . have ty of a very, worth mentioning, but your gums m: be ‘unusually sharp.’ 5 “Y-a-a-s, 'bout as sharp as yer wit, Colonel Clark, an’. sharper “n your eyes, a long shot. Ye don’t know me, do ye' Take enother squint at me, an’ see'f ye kin 'member a good leokin’ man!” “You have somewhat the appearance of an old scamp by the name .af~Jazon that formerly loafed around with:a wortl g gun on his shoulder and used to run: m every Indian he saw down yonder.in Ken- tucky.” Clark held out his hand and added cordially: Eas “How are you, Jazon, my ol& friend, and where upon earth have you come from?” ] Oncle Jazon pounced upon the hand and ipped it in his own knotted fingers, gaz- ng delightedly up into Clark’s bronzed and laughing face. “Where'd I come frum? I came frum ever'wheres. Fust time I ever got lost in all my born days. I've heen a trompin’ ‘round in the water seems like a week, crazy as a pizened rat, not a knewin’ north, f'om south, ner my big toe fom a turnip! Who's got some tobacker?” Oncle Jazon's story, when presently he told it, interested Clark deeply. In the first place he was glad to hear that Si- mon Kenton had once more escaped from the Indians; and the news from Beverley, although’'bad enough, left room for hope. Frontiersmen always regarded the chances better than even, so long as there was life. Oncle Jazon, furthermore, had much to tell about the situation at Vincennes, the true feeling of the French inhabit- ants, the lukewarm friendship of the larger part of the Indians for Hamilton, and, indeed, everything that Clark wished to know regarding the possibilities of suc. cess in his arduous undertaking. The old man’s advent cheered the whole camp. He soon found acquaintances and friends among the French volunteers from Kas- kaskia, with whom he exchanged creole gestures and chatter with a vivaeity ap- parently inexhaustible. He and Kenton had, with wise judgment, separated on escaping from the Indian eamg. Kenton striking out for Kentucky. while Oncle Jazon went toward Kaskaskia. The information that Beverley would be shot as soon as he was returned to Ham- ilton caused Colonel Clark serious worry of mind. Not only the fact that Beverley, who had been a charming friend .and a most gallant officer, was now in such im- minent danger, but the impression (given by Oncle Jazon's account) that he had broken his parole was deeply painful to the brave and scrupulously honorable commander. Still, friendship rose above regret, and Clark resolved to push his little column forward all the more rapidly, hoping to arrive in time to prevent the impending execution. ; Next morning the march was resumed at the break of dawn; buf a swollen stream caused some hours of delay, dur- ing which Beverley himself arrived from the rear, a haggard and weirdly unkempt apparition. He had been for three days following hard on the army’s track-which he came to far, westward. Oncle Jazon saw him first in the distance, and his old but educated eves made no mistake. “Yander’'s that youngster Beveriey,” he exclaimed. “Ef it ain’t I'm a squaw!" Nor did he parley further on the sub- ject; but set off at a rickety trot to meet and assist the fagged and excited young man. Clark had given Onkle Jazon his flask, which contained a few gills of whisky. This was the first thing offered to Bev- erley, who wisely took but a swallow. Oncle Jazon was-so elated that he waved his cap on high, and unconsciously falling into French, yelled in a piercing voice: ‘“Vive Zhorzh Vasinton! Vive la ban- niere d’Alice Roussillon!” Seeing Beverley reminded him 6f Alice and the flag. As for Beverley, the senti- ment braced him, and the beloved name brimmed his heart with sweetness. Clark went' to meet them as they came in. He hugged the gaunt lieutenamt with genuine fervor of jo¥, while Oncle Jazon ran around them making a series of grotesque capers. The whole command, hearing Oncle Jazon’s patriotic words, set up a wild shouting on the spur of a gen- eral impression that Beverley came as a messenger bearing glorious news from ‘Washington’s army in the east. It was a great relief to Clark when he found out that“his favorite lieutenant had ,not broken his parole; but had instead boldly surrendered himself. declaring the obligation no longer binding, and notify- ing Hamilton of his inténtion to go away with the purpose of returning and de- stroying him and -his command. Clark Jaughed heartily when this explanation brought out Beverley's tender interest in Alice: but he sympathized cordially; for he himself knew what love is. Although Beverley was half starved and éfll suffering from_ the kicks and blows i ven him by Long-Hair and his warriors, . ‘his exhausting run on the trail of Clark and his band had not worked him serious harm. All of the officers and men did their utmost to serve him. He was feast- ed without stint and furnished with everything that the scant supply of cloth- ing on the pack horses could afford for his comfort. He promptly asked for an assignment to duty in his company and ~took his place with such high enthusiasm that his companions regarded him with admiring wonder. _ None of them save Clark and Onkle Jazon suspected that love for a fair haired girl yonder in Vin- cennes was thé secret of his amazing zeal and intrepidity. In one respect Clark’s expedition was sadly lacking in its equipment for th: march. It bad absolutely no means of transporting adequate supplies. The pack- horses were not able to carry more than a little extra ammunition, a few articles of clothing, some simple cooking utensils and such tools as were needed in improve ising rafts and canoes. Consequently, al- though buffalo and deer were sometimes plentiful, they furnished no lasting supply of meat, because it could not be trans- ported, and as the army neared Vin- cennes wild animals became scarce, so that the men began to suffer hunger when within but a few days of their journey's nd. Clark made almost superhuman efforts HEN Joseph Joachim has any- thing good to say of a violinist you can rest assured that it must be so—for Josepn Joachim e of the Berlin Hochschule, the rgreatest conservatory of music in the world, is chary with his praise. Another critic almost as well kncwn and highly recognized in“the world of music is Emanuel Witth and he, too, praises only when the performer possesses ability of more than exceptional merit. Here is what these two great men say of a Danish violin virtuoso, Herr Max Schluter: “We know Max Schluter as a thorough musician, a fine artist and a dashing player.” It is'evident that the judgment of these great critics has also met with the popu- lar approval of the great masses as well, for Herr Schluter in his tour around the world seems to be making a greater fu- ror even than the famous Ysaye did om his first visit to this- country. Fortunately for San Francisco she will soon have the pleasure of satisfying her own curiosity concerning the ability of this new light in the musical firmament. Herr Schluter comes to us direct from Sydney, Australia, where the people have gone wild with enthusiasm over this mod- ern Paganini, . It‘is said that he is all the master of technique in its delicacy that is particu- larly exemplified in the playing of the Latin races—for example the wonderful execution of the kind that placed the name of Sarasate on every tongye. Further he combines with this that foundation of perfect’ intonation and breadth of tone so characteristic of the German school. In his recent concerts the marvelous technical perfection of the player, al- though most remarkable in fitself, has been overshadowed by the personality of of the various selections of his repertoire. It is said that he holds the feelings his audiences at will on tne tones of violin to move them to laughter or tears. He possesses to.a degree that rare qual- ity of perfect sympathy with musical composition which is o often lost in the laboer of its techmical proauction. Herr Schiuter will be the first really great violinist that has Visited us in years, so undoubtedly he will recsive a warm reception. He comes to us, not recommended for his long hair or his erratic manners or his curious cranky- isms—but because he can play! Whe knows, perhaps Herr Schluter will prove the old Paganini come to life! § the man and his wonderful interpretation <t Violinist WHO 1s 2 Modern Paganint « followers ¢could not flag and hesitate Far Yl g and rbreaking ice an inch thFc in urging forward his chilled, water-soak ed, footsore command; and when hunger added its tortures to t __dis- heax g ndlt?ons, hfi“%%{ e to burn stronger and briglit~ léy -amas al VS -i‘at ‘Mst side e any tagk, accep ard e his xt:ge glow, and Re thrive upon hardships. The two ‘Were. a awrg of lnsplnuon—g;fig the influence of their example. “Toward the end -of the'long march a decided fall of temperature added ice to the water through which our:'dauntiess atriots waded and swam for miles. The Wwind shifted northwesterly, taking on:a searching chii. Bach gust, indeed, seem- ed to shoot wintry splinters into the Very marrow of, the men's bones. The weaker ones began to show the approach of eX- haustion just at the time when a final spurt of unflinching power was needed. True, they struggled heroically; but na- ture was nearing the inexorable limit of endurance. Without food, which there was Do prospect of getting, collapse was sure to_come. Standing nearly waist-deep in freezing ‘water and looking out upon the muddy,. sea-like flood that stretched far away to the channel of the Wabash and beyond, Clark turned to Beverley and said, speak- ing low, so as not to be overheard by any other of his officers or men: Is it possible, Lieutenant Beverley, that we are to fail, with Vincennes almost In sight of us? “No,_sir, it is not possible,” was the firm reply. “Nothing must, nothing can stop us. Look at that brave child! He sets the heroic example.” Beverley pointed, as he spoke, at a boy but 14 years old, who was using his drum as a float to bear him up while he cours ~ageously swam beside the men. Clark’s clouded face cleared once more. “You are right,” he said; ‘‘come on! We must win or die.” “‘Sergeant Dewit,” he added, turning to an enormously tall and athletic man near by, ‘“take that little /drummer and his drum on your shoulder and lead the way. And, sergeant, make him pound that drum like the devil beating tan-bark!” The huge man caught the spirit of his commander's order. In a twinkling he had the boy astride of his neck with the 'kettle-drum resting on his head, and then the rattling music began. Clark follow- ed, pointing onward with his sword. The half frozen and tottering soldiers sent up a shout that went back to where Captain Bowman was bringing up the rear under orders to shoot every man that straggled or shrank from duty. Now came a_time wifeu not a mouthful of food was left. A Whole day they floun- dered on, starving, growing fainter at every step, the temperature falling, the ice thickening. They camped on high land; and next morning they heard Ham- ilton’s distant sunrise gun boom over the water. 5 “One half-ration for the men,” said Clark, looking disconsolately in the direc- tion whence the sound had come. “Just five mouthfuls apiece, even, and I'll have Hamilton and his fort' within forty-eight hours.” “We will have the provisions, colonel, or I will die trying to get them,” Bever- leHesponded. “Depend upon me.’ ey had constructed some canoes in which to transport the weakest of the men. “I will take a dugout and some pickéd fellows. We will pull to the wood yon- der, and there we shall find some kind of ame which has been forced to shelter _from the high water.” It was a /cheerful view of a forlorn hope. Clark grasped the hand extended by Beverley and they lonked encourage- ment into each other’s eyes. Uncle Jazon volunteered to go in the pirogue. He was ready for anything, everything. “]’can’'t shoot wo'th a cent,” he whined as they took their glaces in the cranky pirogye; “but I might jes’-happen to kill a squirl or a elephant or somepin "nother.”” “Very well,” shouted Clark in a loud, cheerful voice when they had paddled away to a.considerable distance, *“bring the meat to the woods on the hill yoa- der,” pointing to a distant isiand-like ridge far beyond the creeping flood. “We'll be there ready to eat it! He said this for the ears of his men. They heard and answered with a strag- q_l.fllng but determined chorus of approval ey crossed the rolling current of the ‘Wabash by a tedious process of ferrying, and at -last. found themselves once more wading in back water up to their armpits, k as they went. It was the closing struggle to reach the high waoded lands. Many of them fell ex- hausted; but their stronger comrades lift- ed them, holding their heads above water, B T S weys Teaaing, always inspirh ark, always leading; inspiring, ‘as first to set foot on dry \and, | He shouted triumphantly, waved his sword, and then fell to he!&ing the men out of the freezing flood. is accomplished, he ordered fires buiit; but there was not a soldier of them all whose hands could clasp an ax-handle, so weak and numbed with cold were they. He was not to be baffled, however. If fire could not be had. exercise must serve its purpose. Hastily uring some sowder into_his hand he mpened it and blackened his face. “Vic- tory, men, victory he shouted, taking off " his hat and beginning to leap and dance. ‘‘Come on! ’I1 have a war dance and then a feast, as soon as the meat ar- rives that I have sent for. Dance! you brave lads, dance! Vietory! victory!” The" strong men, understanding their colonel's purpose, took hold of the deli- cate ones: and the lel.lng, the capering, the tumult of voices Yand the stamping of slushy rpoccasins with which they as- saulted that stately forest must ‘have frightened every wild thing thereabout into a deadly rigor. Clark’s irrepressible energy and optimism worked a_veritable charm_upon his faithful but almost d?’- ing companions in arms. Their trust in him made them feel sure that food would soon be forthcoming. The thought afford- ed a stimulus more potent than wine; it drove them into an ecstasy of frantic mo- tion and shouting which scon warmed them thoroughly. It is said that fortune favors the brave. The larger meaning of the sentence may be given thus: God guards those who de- serve his protection. History tells us that Jjust when Clark halted his command al- most in sight of Vincennes—just when hunger was about to prevent tfje victory so close to his grasp—a party of his scouts brought in the haunch of a buffalo cap- tured from some Indians. The scouts were Lieutenant Beverley and Oncle Jazon. And with the meat they brought Indian kettles in which to cook it. ‘With consummate forethought Clark ar- ranged to prevent his men doing them- selves injury by bolting their food or eat- ing it half-cooked. Broth was first made and seryed hot; then small bits of well brofled steak were doled out, until by de-/ grees the fine effect of nourishment set in, and all the command felt the fresh cour- age of healthy reaction. “T ain’t no gin’ral, nor corp’ral, nor nothin’,” remarked Oncle Jazon to Colo- nel Clark, “but 'f I's you I'd-h’ist up every dad dinged ole flag in the reg’ment, w'en I got ready to show myself to 'em, an’ I'd make 'em think, over yander at the fort, 'at I had 'bout ninety thousan’ men. Hit 'd skeer that sandy faced gov'nor over there till he'd think his backbone was a comin’ out'n 'im by the roots.’” Clark laughed, but his face showed that the old man’s suggestion struck him for- eflflvv’ n{\d ssflol\:lytn Bt . “We'll_see abou at_presently, Oncle Jazon. Wait till we reach the hill yonder, from which the whole town can observe our maneuvers. then we'll try it, maybe.” Once more the men were lined up, the roll call zone through with satisfactorily anikthe quesunnfiouté “Are we ready for another plu through the mud and water?" i The answer came in the affirmative, with a unanimity ‘not 30 be mistaken. The weakest heart of them all beat to the time of the charge step. Again Clark amz' Beverly clasped hands and took the ead. When they reached the next hj, ground they gazed in siflence .cms‘3 sl‘ushn pruh;lde ‘r}lint to where, on a slight elevation. ol ncennes and - ville Tay in full view. Yo Backe everley stood apart. A wus! tions affected him so that hehll%o.kenlm one whose strength is gone. His vision was blurred. Fort and town swimming in a mist were silent and still. Save the British flag twinkling above Hamilto headquarters, nothing indicated that the place «was not deserted. And Alice? With the sweet name’s echo Beverley's heart bounded high, then sank fluttering at the recollection that she was either yonder at the mercy of Hamilton, or already the vietim of an unspeakable cruelty. Was it weakness for him to lift his clasped hands heavenward and send up a ' volceless thus Oncle Jazon cam: softly to his side and arm, m!;hrk’ mthln‘ touched his . “The nex’ g1l be to s! - lastin’ gizzards outen ‘em, ’vlv%l::t':"i’te?‘e'v:;e :}(‘l l.na‘z'n“l.ng:mh 'l‘l‘a Jes” a eetchin’ to lfifil:v"‘fil onto u“'."v mor. Ef I don't ey drew a deep breath and pmmgg‘y: back from his dream. ltc:v‘:: now le Jazson’s turn to assume a re- mood. He looked prayer’ While he stood Twenty-seven years ago I camped here wi’ my wifeoninth one. ef 1 'mn:fi; correct—jes’ fresh married to ‘er; sort o honeymeoon. 'Twus warm an’ sunshiny an’ nice. She wus a poorty squaw, mighty “peorty, an’ I wus as happy as a tomtit any /on a sugar trough. We b'iled sap yonder jon them nobs under the maples. It wus glor'us, . Had some ‘seyéral wives 'fore an” lots of ‘em sense: but she wus sweet- es’ of 'em all. Strange Row a feller 'mem- bers sich things an’ fesi80rt o' lonesome v e The old' man’s-mouthi drooped at the corners and he hitched! up his buckskin trousers with a Judicrous suggestion of pathos:iin evéry line of his attitude. Un- consciously: he sidled closer to Beverley, remotely feéling that he was giving the young man very effective sympathy, welk knowing - that Alice was the sweet bur- den of his thoughts. It was thus Onele Jazon honestly tried to fortify his friend i»‘zalmt what probably lay in store for ‘him. But Beverley failed to catch the old ‘man’s crude comfort thus flung at him. The analogy was not apparent. Oncle Ja- -zon probably felt that his kindness had been ineffectual, for he changed his tone and added: “But I s'pose a young feller like ye can’t onderstan’ w’at it is to love a "om= an an’ ‘en hev ’er quit ye for 'nother feller, an’ him a buck Injin. Wall, wall, wall, ‘that's the way it do go! Of all the livin' things upon top o' this yere globe, the mos’ onsartin’, crinkety-crankety an’ slippery thing is a 'young ‘oman 'at knows she’s poorty an’ ’'at every other man in the known world is blind stayin’ crazy in love wi’ 'er, same as you are. She’ll drop ye like a hot tater 'fore ye know it, an’ ’en look at ye jes’ pine blink like she never knowed ye afore in her life. It's. so, lieutenant, ‘shore's yer born. know, for I've tried the odd number of ‘em, an’ they're all jes’ the same.” By _this time Beverley’s ears were deaf to Oncle Jazon’s auerulous, whining voice, and his thoughts once more fol- “lowed his wistful.gaze across the watery plain to where the low roofs of the creols town appeared dimly wavering In the twi- light of eventide, which was fast fading into night. The scene seemed unsubstan- tial; he felt a strange lethargy possess- ing his soul; he could not realize the sit- uation. In trying to imagine Alice, she eluded him, so that a sort of cloudy void fell across his vision with the effect of baffling and benumbing it. vain efforts to recall her voice, things that she had said to him, her face, her smiles; all he could do was to evoke an elusive, tantalizing, ghostly something which made him shiver inwardly with a haunt- ing fear that it meant the worst, what- ever the worst might be. Where was she? Could she be dead, and this the shadowy message of her fate? Darkness fell, and a thin fog began to drift in wan streaks above the water. Not a sound, save the suppressed stir of the camp, broke the wide, dreary silence. Oncle Jazon babbled urtil satisfled that Beverley was unappreciative, or at least unresponsive. “Got _to hev some terbacker,” he ve- marked. and shambled away in search of it among his friends. A little later Clark approached hastily nd sajd: “I have been looking for you. The march has begun. Bowman and Charle- ;mlle are moving; come, there’s no time o lose.” CHAPTER XVIIL A DUEL BY MOONLIGHT. ‘When Hamilton, after running some distance, saw that he was gaining upon Alice and would soon overtake her, it added fresh energy to his limbs. He had quickly realized the foolishness of what he had done in visiting the room of his prisoner at so late an hour in the night. ‘What would his officers and men think? To let Alice escape would be extremely embarrassing, and to be seen chasing her would give good ground for ridicule on the part of his entire command. There- fore his first thought, after passing through the postern and realizing fully what sort of predicament threatened him, was to recapture her and return her to the prison room in the blockhouse without attracting attention. This now promised to be an easier task than he had at first . feared; for in the moonlight, which on account of the dispersing clouds, was fast growing stronger, he saw her seem to falter and weaken. Certainly her flight was checked and took an eccentric turn, as if some obstruction had barred her way. He rushed on, not seeing that, as Alice swerved, a man intervened. Indced he was within a few strides of laying his hand on her when he saw her make the strange movement. It was as If, springing suddenly aside, she had become two persons instead of ome. But instant- ly the figures coincided again, and in be- fi?m!ng taller faced about and confronted m. Hamilton stopped short in his tracks. The dark figure was about flve paces from him. It was not Alice, and a sword flashed dimly but unmistakably in a ray of the moon. The motion visible was that of an expert swordsman placing himself firmiy on his legs, with his weap- on at guard. Alice saw the man in her path just in time to avotd running against her. Light- ly as a flying bird, when it whisks itself in a short semicircle past a tres or a bough, she sprang aside and swung around to the rear of him, where she could continue her course toward the town. But in passing she recognized him. It was Father Beret, and how grim h looked! The discovery was . made in twinkling of an eye, and its effect instantaneous, not only checking the force of her flight, but stopping her and turning her about to gaze before she had gone five paces farther. Hamilton’s nerve held, startled as he was, when he realized that an armed man stood before him. Naturally he fell into the error of thinking that he - been running after this fellow all the way from the little gate, where, he Sup- posed, Alice had somehow given him the slip. 1t was a mere flash of brain light, so to call it, struck out by the surprise of this curious discovery. He felt his bellicose temper leap up furiously at be- ing balked in a way so unexpected and withal so inexplicable. Of course, he did not stand there reasoning it all out. The rush of impressions came, and at the same time he acted with promptness. Changing the rapier, which he held in his right hand, over into his left, he drew a /Gmall pistol from the breast of his coat and fired. The report was sharp and loud; byt it caused no uneasiness or inquiry in the fort, owing to the fact that In- dians invariably emptied their guns when coming into the town. Hamilton's aim, although, hasty, was not bad. The bullet from his weapon cut through Father Beret's clothes between his left arm and his body, slightly creas- ing the flesh on a rib. Beyond him it struck heavily and audibly. Alice fell limp and motionless to the soft wet ground, where cold puddles of water wers splintered over with ice. She lay piti- fully crumpled, one arm outstretched in the moonlight. Father Beret heard the bullet hit her and turned in time to see her stagger backward with a hand con- vulsively pressed over her heart. Her face, slightly upturned as she reeled, gave the moon a pallid target for its strength- ening rays. Sweet, beautiful, its rigid features flashed for a second and thes galf turned away from the light and wen own. Father Beret uttered a short. thin cry and moved as if to go to the fallen girl, but just then he saw Hamilton's sword pass over again into his right hand and kpew that there was no time for any? thing but death or fight. The good priest did not shirk what might have made the readiest of soldiers nervous. Hamilton was known to be a great swordsman and proud of the distinction. Father Beret had seen him fence with Farnsworth in remarkah'e form. touching him at will, and in ministering to the men in the fort he had heard them talk of the Governor's incomparable skill. A priest is, in perhaps all cases but the last out of a thousand, a man of peac not to be forced into a fight: but the e ceptional one out of the ten hundred it is well not to stir uo if you are looking for an easy victim. Hamilton was in the habit_of considering every antagonist im- mediately conquerahle. His demineering spirit could not. when onnosed, reckon with any possihility of disaster. As he sorang toward Father Beret there was a mrtual recoenition and. we speak guard- edly. samething that sounded evactly like an evchange of furions execrations. As for FatFer Beret's words. they may hove heen a mere priestly formula of objurga- tion. The meon was accommodating. With a heavt!ful whits snlendar it entered a spaee of elondless siv. whera it seemed to sWip along .the Anskv hive surface arong the stars. far over in the west. “Tt's you. Is 1+ FHamiltan exclatm between teeth that almest crushed o xfimer. “You prowling hypocrite of (Concluded next week.*