The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 4, 1906, Page 2

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. The final chapters of Geral- { dime Bommer's movel, “The Pio- & 8 meer,” are published in today’s $ § sSumday’s Call, and in mext Sun- & $# day's Call the first lnstaliment £ of Albert § duction, “Mister BUlL” a story & 2 that dea # ing and the methods of the £ iastern manipuintors, will ap- & The story is & strong 3§ tn which the suthor has 33 Lyon's latest pro- & with Western min- 2% § carefully selected hix charme- 3 :..: ters, and in which he cleverly 3% 4 depicts the scenes about which ¥ his story s written. “Mister & $ BI™ will be concluded In five 3 3} tssues of the Sunday Call, prac- R ¥ tically giving ithe readers a # #1.50 book for 25 cents. § made him ay from her her t the room. the open the dinir room he saw white square of table glimmering in the twilight, with one place set, the crumpled nap cloth, the single wine glass, a scattering of cri e glaze of a plate. er shoul- 3 send- was to send the ights when he dines w never thought about rying to look o r is heart that the col- evening at least, well And it w: do as well as that,” she o remember re colonel does me."” i was adjusting n & side table. As ked over the bright he smile that held here, isn't bled and she bit ment her contro @ it she bent over arrange the wick 1 she = n her t has been rather d to Rosamund's She cross the room to the sofa and sat down in the corner of it, Rion taking patted her skirt she sald, her eyes ' time to get for going so r it they ever Dan send the colonel into Emplire?™ she faltered “Do you remember what I asked you » San Fran- d sald merv- Two years back is a long way to re- pember. ™ some broken not cate d passed round fa, where she stood, her h. 3 back, her face ave made no attempt 1 don't know much about women continyed. “I don't know how to to them e the only one of m I've ever fe! ; and I'm pretty sure I i o to any other. I jove you. I've to stop it and I can't. It's strow han I am” She made no and after walting s moment, he said, his voice slightly 'Well, say something to me.” I don't know what to sav,” she mur- mured, her face turned away He made & step toward the sofa, and as she heard him she drew back as if trightened. He stobped instantly, regard- her with a sudden frowning fixity of are for me, June?' he irse—so much, so much Rion—" it him, one of rd him off. and, but th ck and ciasped it drew it b faltered; “not the g to Say no to me again?’ " she pleaded. u care for me? Answer. Don't the bush.” you immensely. I've always you, but lately it's been some- e different, something much ou've been so kind to me. about my kindness; do —not—" she stammered a nnected words and came arer to her and sald oice: “Answer me in the lowest tone ' she said, hear. en it's no ag 4 . Or 3 £ no it was before.” at do you mean by that? There's ¥y one kind of no in a matter like is, it's s is a different kind. It must kind. It mustn’'t be a no kes us strangers as it did be- fore. He gave a suppressed exclamation, an- violent, and turned to the table not a fool or a child,” he be spoken to like that.” llowed his movements, saw him his hand for the hat, and cried: “Oh, don’t go—don't go this way—don't be angry with me—iet me explain.” He turned and looked at her with a face grown cold and hard. . is there to explain? I want you wife. You don't want to. That's “Oh, no it isn't. It's not like it was the other time. I didn’t care then, but I do now, more than you think., much more. Everything's different. I can't r to have you go. I can't bear to ose you.” Is that the reason you've looked so pleased whenever I came? Was that the reason you told me just now that you wanted me to come so much you didn't think I would?. I've been a fool, mo doubt, but it seems to me that a smarter man than I might have thought you meant it.” She h “I aid voice Hope sprang to his face and he came close to her: Then if you meant it. say you love me, ou’'ll marry me. That's the only thing I want you to say to me.” up to her hair. she sald In a low She shrank away agaln and without . waiting for her answer he turned—the light gone from his face—and reached for his hat Don't go; don't go,” she begged ““There are things I want to say to you" —but this time he did not let false hopes beg “Good-by,” he sald, gruffly, and walked to the door. As he passed her she slipped round the sofa and came after him: “It mustn’t be good-by. Say I won't let you say good-b “It's good-by this time, young woma he sald grimly. “Good-by for keeps.” She laid her hand on his arm and that stopped him. With an air of enforced patience he stood, his face turned from her, waiting. For a moment she did not speak, and he sald: ‘Come, what is it? If it's that I'm to dangle round as I've been doing for the past two months, let's not waste time over that; I'm not that kind of a man. There's too much for me to do to waste my time and thoughts banging round & girl who's only .fooling with me.” “I was pot fooling,” she said humbly; “I meant it all.” “Bvidently we didn't both mean the ood night. *“No, but now that we understand, don't g0 off this way saying it's to be good- by for keeps. I shall be so lonely with- out you. I trust in you so. I lean on “Lean on the colonel,” he interrupted, almost brutally. “He's & more reliable staff than I a “But we can still be friends,” she urged, bt appearing to notice his harshness. No, we'll not be friends."” Looking down at her he forgot his sternness and his voice grew suddenly roughened with feelings he could not dis- gulse. “I can't be your friend, June Allen There may be men who can be the friend of the women they feel to as I do to you, but I'm not that kind. I can be your husband, only that. There's to be no play at friendship where I'm concerned, no taking your hand to shake when I want to take vou in my arms and keep vou there, where no other man In the d can lay his finger on you or think you as something he can try to win. 1 must belong to me, want to belong me, come to me of your own fres will, or else we must be strangers.” He took her hand, lifted it from his arm nd with a short “good-by” turned and left the room. e od under the chandelier listen- € to his retreating footsteps as they assed along the hall and then down the utside stairs. She remained motioniess, lo down, her ear strained to catch the diminishing footfalls as they reached the end of the steps and were deadened in the dust of the street, He was leav- ing her never to come back, disappearing from her life and the place he had of late taken in it, into the night and the dla- tance. As ghe listened her heart moment- ly grew heavier, the sense of empty de- sertion about her became suddenly over- whelming. “Everybody I care for is going away from me,” she whispered to herself. “Soon there won't be anybody left.™ CHAPTER V. “Her Feet Go Down to Death™ Jerry was in & bad temper. For some days be had been disturbed by rumors of Rion Gracey's attentions to June. In the long twilights of the summer evenings Rion had been constantly seen mounting the steps of the Murchison mansion. The single state of the Gracey boys had long been & matter of comment, and as their riches grew it was regarded with increas- ing wonderment. Black Dan's heart may have been buried in the grave of his child wife, but Rion had never paid any at- tention.to any woman. Therefore, when it was knowa of men that he was a frequent visitor at tae Allens’. the little world in which he was a marked man began to whisper Jerry did not at first hear these rumors. He was not only kept busy from morning till night, but he was entirely preoccu- pied in his own affairs. His feminine love of intrigue for its own sake was over- powered by such respect and honest ten- derness as he still possessed for June. After his interview with her he deter- mined not to see her again. June was not like Lupe Newbury aund his feeling for her was differe: He said to himself with a sense of magnanimity that no un- happiness should ever come to her from him, and in order to be on the safe side he would keep away from her. As had been the case with Jerry all his life, there was method in his morality. He had galned at least one thing by his marrisge and that was his connection with the all-powerful Graceys. Though he disliked both.men, who. he knew. re- sarded him with secret contempt, their pafronage was too valuable to be jeo- pardized. June's happiness and honor were precious things. but no more so than his own connection with the owners of the Cresta Plata. So he stayed away from her, feeling himself a paladin of virtue, ar ntimentally \thinking of her alone in the Murchison mansior, dreaming of him. This agreeable arrangement of the situ- ation was suddenly disrupted by the stories of Rion's attentions. Jerry's high thoughts of renunclation were swept 11ES away in a Tlood af jealous indignation. At first he refused to belfeve it. He was absolutely confident of June's constant and long-suffering affection for him. That she should marry somse one else he had deemed impossible. But one of the Gracey boys—it did not much matter which—the owners of ons of the richest mines on the Comstock, was & very dif- ferent matter. Money loomed the eml The thought of her—his own especial lumphantly mar- rying a ml ving him, as it Yo comment, “and that's the kind that it takes most hold on. He's go! An't hide it. It's out on him for any one to see, like the measles.” Jerry's jealousy and alarm bolled past the point of prudence. He made up his mind to get off early that afternoon and g0 to see June, and, as he expressed it in his own thoughts, “have it out with her.” He had no idex’ what he intended to say, but he was going to find out what her attitude was to Rlon. and, it need be. accuse her of her perfidy. J would take it for a spin along the grade road and report his opinion of it. Dan's requests in this way were exceed- ingly like commands. But ne one, from Barney Sullivan, the smartest superin- tendent in Virginia, to the youngest miner working on the ore-breasts, had ever dared to question them. With his face red with rage Jerry bowed his head acquiescence, and that afternocon at the hour when he had hoped to be confront- ing June in her own parlor he was fiying along the roag toward Carson, cursing to himself as he held the reins over the back of Black Dan's new horse. The afternoon was magnificent. held in a diamoné-like transparence and bl with sun. The mountain air its heat. As Jerry flew along that re- markabie road which curves, g lingering enameling of SNOW on its sum- mits, spread before him. Rising high in tumbled majesty, mosaics of snow set in between ravines of swimming shadow, it looked unsubstantially enormous and un- real like scenery .n dreams. Between it and Mount Davidscn vast, alry gulfs-of space fell away that scemed filled, as a glass might be with water. with a cgystal stiliness. The whole panorama, clarified by thin alr, and with clear washes of shade lald upon it, was like a picture In its still, impersonal serenity. Jerry, in his rage, let the horse have its ar opportunity to look at her and say In dz most compelling tone: “{ gnly want you to drive up & mile oF tw: with me. It's a glorious alterncom, and it's worth something to. ride behind a horse like this. I'm not going to say anything to you you won't like to hear. You needn’t be afraid. You and I are too old friends not to trust each other.” and making an urgent upward movement with his ¢ that seemed to draw her into the buggy as his hand might. She put he: foot on the step and the naext momert was beside him. The s forward ard tde ros like a yolic For scm: , they werq s:iss? Jerry with @ road abead. They whifled Ing spurs of long curve b he' turned a: as they me “I've been he said, you mean.” she t sort of things™" gs in the worid I She looked away. making no answer and he said: e heard that Rion Oracey is la love with you.” “Oh, is that it " she commented in a low voice. Her marner irritated him. She did not seem to realize the seriouspess of the charge. “Yes—that's it he repiled, continuing to regard her with a look, of pugnacious fll-humor. She again made no reply and he per- sisted angrily: % “Is he? “[ don't want to talk about it. It's not fair. You've no right to dsk.” “No right to ask!” exciaimed In en- raged amazement. o right to ask! My God, that's a remark for you to make to me!” He turned his face to the harse, his mouth set, his lips compressing words that he dared not utter. it was evidently all true. The thought that she might be already engaged to Rion entered his mind, carrying with it a sensation of appalling blankness. With a flash of revealing truth he saw that his life, with June completely gone from it, would be for- ever savoriess and without meaniig. He had not realized before how much he cared for her. For a space there was silence. They sped round another buttress and saw aa unobstructed semicircle of road before them. Without lcoking at her he sald abruptly: “Are you going to marry him™ she answered. “No?" he almost shouted, this time turning to stare at her She turned her face away, repeating the negative. “Why not?" “I-I—don't—oh, Jerry, don't Qquestiom me this way. If's not fair.” “But he has asked you? Y “And you've refused him?®™ “Whyt “I haven't got that sort of feeling for him. I admire him I respect him above all men. I can't tell you how much he was to me, how I leaned on him, depend- ed on him. but— She stopped, looking down. Jerry, hold- ing the reins in his lcosely gloved hand, leaned toward her and into her ear ‘whispered: “But you don’t love him.™ He turned back to. .the horse with his face alight with triumph. The relief that she was still his, that love of him bad made her refuse such an offer, intoxicated him. He could have sung and shouted. He was silent, however. his eyes on the horse, consclous in every fiber of the proximity of the woman who, he now knsw, had not the power to break from his influence. Neither spoke again, till the bugsy. cresting the last rise, came out on the shoulder of the mountain., whence the road loops downward through the sage to Washoe Lake. Below them, at the base of the Sierra. the lake lay. a sheet of pure biue. banks shading from the gray of the surroundings to a vivid green where the water moisiened them. There ‘was something human in this evidence of the land’s readiness to bloom and beautify ftselt wher the means were given it. It was a touch of coquetry In this austere, unsmiling landscape that seemed so in- differant. Stient, the man and woman look=d Jown, against the sky, eagerly sniffing the keen alr, his head motionless in a trance of alert attention, his ears