The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 17, 1905, Page 15

(Copyright, McClure, Phillips & Co.) 't that I object to.” protested the Easter: 1g forward from the rough log wall to nger sis to his words, “for I believe in every one hav- ing his fun his ewn way. If you're going in for or- gles, why, have 'em good orgles, and be done with it. ¥ kick’s on letting these innocent young girls who out for the fun—it's awful!” hell! ’ > Westerner, cheerful w, 1ook at that pretty-creature over there—" followed h anion’s gaze through as though in doubt as to he tried it again. asked, puzzled. she— had in red seen corr y an?” he Now. orted irrepre with you?” ibly. inquired the Easterner, middle and instantly se solemnity. It was as n the wind asserted with brevity of candle had blown ou “Beg pardon. Nothing,” he n. “Go on.” e girl in red was standing tiptoe on a bench under nterns. She was holding her little palm nney, and by blowing against it wa amp, Her face was very serious and np would flare up a little and with a pretty gesiure of ne would threaten to scorch it. unded and applauded her. : propristor of the dance I say,” the LDasterner and innocent as a of her young life, a good time and nothing it means a lot else. I tell end’s flushed face with eeded in blowing the ge, aren’t you, Bert?” distressed and bor- can you do?” Take her o of thi 2 girl— bench. e beg- His banter- nills,” he breath- few to p a fact or so concerning that our other adjec 1tain flower b . bt y bec y one 18t she have come wonderingly. Easterner, as they make ° e a year a little 1 very there o} ser, in dazed animated face > mi 1 repulsion he girl's responded careless- > the nearest arms, nd flitted away down the e accordion from beneath the tall man’s siap, nd ran, evolving ampering in and The men trip up the pursuer, , to show they were not ting. Finally she ran into g from lighting the big lamp. ng angry, rescued the accordion rough- pouted and cast appealing glances at responded to a man. The pro- Miners darted here and toward & 3 ssed women, and, seizing them about the waist, held them close to their sid a claim of proprjetorship before the whole world. Pe ring mas- ters of ceren , self constituted and drunk, rushed back a semblance of the guadrilateral erybody shuffled feet impatiently swirl of noise and hilarious ded to the hi She was uldn’t she? She had had d by nature with nd an insignificant bump of reverence. v thy of body, red of blood, and reck- less of consequer ire appealed to her; the stir of the delight of flow of high spirits, thrilled ough every fiber of her being. She had no beliefs, as far as she knew. If she could have told of them they would e proved simple in the extreme—that life comes to those 10 live out their possibilities and not to those who deny And Anne had mar possibilities, and was living fe ost physically the beat of pleasure atmosphere about her, and from it she reacted to a zher pitch. She had drunk three glasses and her was not strong. Her feet moved easily, and she was very certain of her movements. She had become just hazy enough In her mental processes to have attained that happy difference to what is likely to happen in the immediate ire, and that equally happy disregard of consequences ch the virtuous never experience. Impressions reduced selves to their lowest terms—movement and noise. room was full of rapidly revolving figures. The was incessant, and women’s laughter rose shrill . like wind above a storm. Anne moved amid it e controller of its destinies, and wherever she went to her to be one stable point in the kaleido- angs. Men danced with her, but they were mean- ingless men. One b 1 her to dance with him, but Anne stopped to watch a youth blowing brutishly from pufted cheeks, 50 the man :d and left her for another girl Beyond the puffing youth lights were dancing, green and red. Anne paused and looked at them gravely. people, the room, the sounds seemed to her to e and go in great burs Between these bursts Anne ng except that she was happy; above all else sappy. As incidents men kissed her and she drank; e things were not essentially different from the and the bursts of consciousness. Anne began to take everything for granted. After a time Anne paused again to look gravely at strange lights. But this time they seemed not to be red cen, but to be of orange, in long, fiery flasifes, like n:- The as into the various sets. The dance began ¢k the or g ¢ thrown suddenly out and as suddenly withdrawn. For a mo- room, noise stopred and was succeeded by a buzzing. ment the girl's blurred vision saw clearly the still, exeept for a man huddled in one corner andor floor a slov thering pool of red. Some one thrust her out of the dc with others, d she began to step ain ly, uncertainly, along the b BYC SIEWARD She caught the sound of the stream, and went to it. The red-bird retr ed citcumspectly, silently. She knelt at the banks and splashed the icy water over her face and throat, anotlier red-bird, another wild thing pulsing and palpitating with life. Then she arose to the full height of her shlendid body and looked around. of the brook. : Lo son. o (02 0000000 0000= (000 002002 TP FGEEITED ARLTRZLE THZ7 ZE SO, oK ITE She feit dimly the difference between the hot air of the dance hall and the warm air out of doors. The great hills and the stars and the silhouectted houses came and went in visions, just as had tife people and the noise inside the hall. The idea of walking came to her and occupied her mind, to the exclusion of everything else, and she set about it with great intentness. How far she went and in what direction did not seem to matter. When she moved she was happy; when she stopped she was miserable. She wandered on in the way she knew, and yet did not know, out of the broad streets of the town, through a wide cleft in the hills, up a long, grassy valley that wound slowly and mounted gradually, following the brawl of the stream, until at last she found herself in a little fern-grown dell at the entrance of Iron Creek Pass. She pushed her fingers through her fallen hair and idly over the shimmering stuff of her gown. Far above her she saw waveringly the stars. Finally the idea of sleep came to her just as the idea of walking had come to her before. She sank to her knees, hesitated a moment, and then, with the sigh of a tired child, she pillowed her head on her soft round arm and closed her eyes. by Vick The poor-wills ceased their plaintive cries. A few smaller birds chirped drowsily. Back of the eastern hills the stars became a little dimmer, and the soft night breeze, which had been steadily blowing through the darkened hours, sank quietly to sleep. The subtle magic of nature began to sketch in the picture of day, throwing objects for- ward from the dull background, taking them bodily out of the blackness, as though creating them anew. Fresh life stirred through everything. The vault of heaven seemed full of it, and all the ravines and byways caught up its overflow in a grand chorus of praise to the new-whitening morning. The woman stirred drowsily and arose, throwing back ber heavy halr from her face. The flush of sleep still dyed her cheek a rich crlmson, which came and went slowly in the light of the young sun, vying in depth now with the silk P 72,7 7 ; /‘/mf, SILET OF of her gown, now with the stfll deeper tones of a mountain red-bird which splattered into rainbow tints the waters The morning swept through her like a river and left her clean. In the eye of nature and before the presence of nature’s Innumerable creatures she stood as innocent as thoy. She had entered into noisome places, but so had the m-~=sh-hawk poising grandly, on motionless wing there ~aove. She had scrambled in the mire, and she was ruffled and dragglied and besmirched; so likewise had been the si- lent flame-bird in the thicket, but he had washed clean his plumes and was now singing the uniyersal hymn from the nearest bush-top. She stretched slowly, lazily, her muscles, one by one, and stood taller and freer for the act. The debauch of the last night, the debauches of other and worse' nights, the acid-lke corrosion of that vulgarity which is more subtle than sin even, all these things faded into a past that was d and gone and buried forever. The present alone was important, and the present brought her, innocent, before an innacent nature. As she stood there dewey-eyed, wist- ful, glowing, with loosened hair, the grasses clinging to her, and the dew, she looked like a wide-eyed child-angel newiy came to earth. To her the morning was great and Lroad, like.a dream to be dreamed and awakened from, something unreal and evanescent which would go. Her Leart unfoided to its influence, and she felt within her that tenderness for the beautitul which is nearest akin to holy tears, As she stood thus, musing, it seemed natural that a Luman figure should enter and become part of the dream. It seemed natural that it should be a man, and young: that he should be handsome and bold. It seemed natural that he should rein in his horse at the sight of her. So inevi- table was it all, so much In keeping with the soft sky, the brooding shadow of the mountain, the squirrel noises and the day that she stood there motionless, making no sign, looking up a& him with parted lips, saying nothing. He was gnly a fraction, a small fraction, of all the rest. His fine brown eyes, the curl of his long hair, the bronze of his features m red no more to her than the play of the sun- light on Harney. Then he spurred his horse forward, and something in her seemed to snap. From the dream-present the woman was thrust roughly back into her past. The sunlight faded away before her eyes, oozing from the alr in drop after drop of golden splendor, the songs of the birds died, the murmuring of the brook became an angry brawl that ac- cused the world of wickedness. The morning fled. B From a distance, far away, farther than Harney, far- ther than the sky, the stranger's brown eyes looked pity- ingly. Her sin was no longer animal. It had touched her soul. Instcad of an Incldent it had become a condition which hemmed her in, from which she could not escape. Suddenly she saw the difference. She dwelt in darkness; he, with his clear soul, dwelt in light. She threw herself face downward on the earth, weeping and clutching the grass in the agony of her sin. Then a new sound smote the air. listened. Around the bend she heard a high-pitched voice de- claiming In measured tones. z “‘Thy kingdom {s an everlasting kingdom, and thy dominion endureth throughout all generations,” the voice chanted. “‘The Lord upholdeth all that fall, and raiseth all that be bowed down."” . The speaker strode in sight. He was one of the old- fashioned itinerant preachers occasionally seen in the Hills, filled with fanatic enthusiasm, journeying from place to place on foot, exhorting by the fear of hell fire rather than by the hope of heaven's bliss. half-crazy, half-inspired, wholly in earnest. His form was gaunt. He was clad in @ shiny black coat, buttoned closely, and his shoes showed dusty and huge beneath his carefully turned-up trousers. A beaver of ancient pattern was pushed far back from his narrow forehead, and from beneath it flashed vividly his fierce hawk-eyes. Over his shoulder, suspended from a cane, was a carpet bag. He stepped eagerly forward with an immense excess of nervous force that carried him rap- idly on. Nothing more out of place could be imagined than this comical figure against the simplicity of the hills. Yet for that very reason he was the more grateful to the wom- an's perturbed soul. She listened eagerly for his next words. P 4 He strode fiercely across the stones of the little ford, declaiming with energy, with triumph: de She sat upright and < /B 0010 A N N < | DESEN I S LA 000 00000 ~ LR - 0 OO0 00020000 == v A\ s of all wait upon thee, and thou givest them eason. t thine hand, and satisfieth the desire of The ey thefr meat in due *“Thou openc ery living thing. “‘The Lord is righteous in all his ways, and holy in all his works. *““The Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon hkim, to all that call upon him In truth. “‘He will fill the desire of all that fear him; he also will hear their cry and save them.""” Anne saw but two things plainly in all the world—the clear-eyed stranger llke a god; this flery old man who spoke words containing strange, though vague, intimations of comfort. From the agony of her soul but one thought leaped forth—to make the comfort real, to find out how to raise herself from her sin, to become worthy of the good- ness which she had that morning for the first time clearly seen. She sprang forward and seized the preacher’'s arm. Interrupted in his ecstasy, he rolled his eyes down on her but half comprehending. “How? How?" she gasped. do?” She held out her empty hands with a gesture of appeal. The old man's mind still burned with the fever of his fanat- ical inspiration. He hardly saw her, and did not under- stand all the import of her words. He looked at her va- cantly, and caught sight of her outstretched hands. “‘And to work with your hands as we command you, " he quoted vaguely. then shook himself free of her detaining grasp and marched grandly on, rolling out the mighty syl- lables of the psalms. “To work with my. hands; to work with my hands,” the woman repeated looking at her outspread palms. “Yes, that is it!” she sald, slowly. . “Help me! What must I o5 e Anne Bingham washed dishes at the Prairie Dog Hotel for a week. The first day was one of visions: the second one of irksomeness: the third one of wearisome monotony. The first was as long as it takes to pass from one shore to the other of the great dream-sea: the second was an age; the third an eternity. The first was rose-hued; the second was Qull: the third was filled with the grayness that blurs activity turned to mechanical action. And on the eighth day. occurred the monthly pay-day dance of the Last Chance mine. All the men were drunk, all the women were drunker, but drunkest of all was the undoubted favorite of the company, Bismarck Anne. Two men standing by the door saw nothing remarkable about that—it had happened the last week. But in that time Bis- marck Anne had had her chance, she had eaten of the fruit of the Tree. and so now was in mortal sin.