The Hennessey Clipper (Hennessey, Okla.), Vol. 26, No. 31, Ed. 1 Thursday, January 6, 1916 Page: 3 of 12
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THE CUPPER. HENNESSEY, OKLAHOMA.
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CHAPTER XXIV—Continued.
—12—
The school buildings slept In silent
shadows. except that from the open
door of the room where her piano
stood there came a soft flooding of
lamplight—a single dash of orange
In the nocturne of allrer and gray.
He went up rery quietly, pausing to
drink of the fragrance of the honey-
suckle, and there drifted out to him,
•a he paused, the music of the piano
and the better music of her voice.
] Bhe was singing a love song.
Though he had sent no word of his
coming, she was once mbre In eve-
ning dress, all black save for a crim-
son flower at her breast and one In
tier hair. But this time the sight of
her in a costume so foreign to the
Mils did not distress him; it was a
night that called for wonders.
She rost as the man's footstep
Bounded on the floor, and then, at
memory of their las! meeting, the
color mounted to her cheeks and he
took her again in his arms.
She raised her hands to his shoul-
ilere and tried to push him away, but
he held her firmly, and while she
■ought to tell him that they must find
their way back to the colorless level
of friendship, he could feel the wild
flutter of her heart.
"Listen," she protested. "You must
listen."
But Bad Anse Havey laughed.
"Ever since the first time I saw
ye," he declared, "I've been llstentn'.
It has been a duel always between
you and me. But the duel's over now.
an' this time I win."
She looked p and her pupils begai
to wldon wit that Intense gaze whlol
la the dr-wh.g aside of the curtains
from a woman"? soul, and as though
nhe realized that she could not trust
lierself to his eyes, she turned her
tjpee away. Only In Its profile could
he rend the struggle between mind
and heart, and what he read filled
film with elation.
"Anse." she said in a very low
■voice, "give me a true®. For one hour
let me think; It involves both our
lives for always; let me at least have
the chance to be sane. Give me an
hour."
The man stepped back and re-
leased her, and she turned and led
the way out to the porch, where she
nank down In the hammock wltli her
face burled in both hands. When at
length she looked up she was smiling
rather wanly.
"It can't be, dear," she said. But
-while slie argued with words and os-
tensible reasons, the night was argu-
ing. too—arguing for him with all Its
sense steeping fragrance and alluring
cadences and appeals to sleeping fires
In their hearts!
And while she talked he made no
response, but sat there silently atten-
tive. At last he looked at his watch
and put it hack In his pocket. He
rose and said quietly, but with a tone
of perfect finality:
"Your truce Is over."
"But don't you see? You haven't
answered one of my arguments."
Anse Havey laughed once more.
"I didn't come to argue," he said;
"I came to act." He drew from his
pocket the license and the ring.
"Brother Anso Talbot is waitln' over
at my house to marry us. Will you
go over there or shall I go back an'
fotch him here?"
Site took an Involuntary step to-
ward him with lifted arms, and then,
with a strong effort, as If struggling
against a spell. Bhe drew back again,
•nd her voice came very low and
broken.
"I can't—I can't!" she pleaded.
"But I wish to Qod I could."
Then Anse Havey began to speak.
"Ye've talked, an' I've listened to
ye. Ye've taken my life away from
me an' made It a little scrap of your
own life—ye've let ub both come to
needin' each other more than food an'
drink an' breath. For me there's no
Hfe without ye. In all the earth there's
Just you—you—you! For every true
woman In the world a day comes when
there's Just one man. an' for every
man there's just one woman. When
that day comes nothln' else counts.
That's why all 4hem reasons of youri
don't mean anything."
His voice had the ring of triumph
as he added: "You're goin' to marry
me tonight. Come!"
He raised both arms and held them
out. and though for a moment she
hung back, her eyes were still irresist-
ibly held by his and the magnetism
that dwelled In them. With a gasp-
ing exclamation that was half surren-
der and half echo of his own triumph
ahe swept Into uls embrace.
As she locked her fingers caressing-
ly behind his dark head she wished
for words fine and splendid beyond the
ordinary to tell him of her love. Hut
no phrases of eloquence came.
Then she felt his arr-.s grow ab -"pt-
ty rigid and be was pressing her from
him with a gentle Insistence, while bis
lace turned to peer Into the moonlight
with the tensity of one who is listen
ing not only with bis ears, but with
•very nerve of his being.
Slowly he drew back, atlll tense
and alert, and from his eyes tbe ten
4er |K* died until they narrowed nd
hardened and the Jaw angle stlflened
and the Hps drew themselves Into
their old line of warlike sternness.
She looked again Into tbe face of tbe
mountaineer, the feudist, of the xlld
creature turning to stand at bay.
For a moment they remained mo-
tionless, and her fingers rested on
his arms and felt the strain on bis
tautened biceps.
"God!" he muttered almost In-
audlbly.
"What is It?" she whispered, but
he replied only with a warning shske
of the head.
Once more he stood listening, then
gently turned her so that his body
was between her and the outside
world. He thrust her back into the
open door and followed her inside.
"What Is it, Anse? What did you
hear out there?" Her face had gone
pallid and she clung to his arms with
a grip that indicated no Intention of
release.
"Nothln' much. Just the crackin' of
a twig or two; Just some steps In the
bush that was too cautious to sound
honest; little noises that wouldn't
mean much If I didn't know what they
do mean. They weren't friendly
sounds. They're after me."
"Who? What do ye>u mean?"
Her voice came In a low panic of
whispering, and even as she spoke the
mah was listening with his head bent
toward the closed door.
He laughed mirthlessly under his
breath.
"I don't know wha they've picked
out to get me. It don't matter much,
does It? But I know they've picked
tonight. I've been lookln' for It. but
it seems they might h.ive let me have
tonight—" His lips smiled, and for
an instant his eyes softened again o
tenderness. "This was my night—
our night."
Suddenly he wheeled and caught
her fiercely in his arms holding her
very close, and now her heart was
beating more wildly than before—beat-
ing with a sudden and sickening ter-
ror.
He bent low and covered her tem-
ples and cheeks and lips and eyes
with kisses.
"God knows, when 1 came here to-
night." he declared, talking fast and
passionately, "I didn't aim to ever go
away again without ye. Now I've got
to go, but If 1 come through, an' there s
a breath or a drop of blood left In
me, I'll be back. I'm a comln' back,
dearest, if I live."
Her answer was a low moan.
He released her at last and went
over to the gun-rack.
Standing before her shrine of guns,
in her temple of disarmament, he
Bald slowly: "Dearest, I was about
the last man to leavi my rifle here,
an' I reckon I've got to be the first
to take It out again. I'm sorry. Will
you give it to me ir must I take it
without permission?"
She came slowly over, conscious
that her knees were trembling, and
that ice-water seemod to have taken
the place of hot blood In her veins.
"If you need It," she faltered, "take
It, dear—nothing else matters— Which
cne shall I give you?"
"My own!" His voice was for the
instant imperious. It was almost as
if someone had asked Ulysses what
bow he would draw In battle. "I
reckon my own gun's good enough for
me. It has been till today."
She withdrew the rifle from the
rack herself, and he took It from her
trembling hands, but when he had
accepted It she threw her arms about
blm again and clung to him wildly,
her eyeB wide with Bllent suffering
and dread.
The crushing grasp of his arms burt
her and she felt a wild Joy In the
pain Then she resolutely whispered:
"Go, dearest, go! Time Is precious
now. 'God keep you!"
"Juanlta," he said slowly, "I have
refused to talk to you In good speech.
I have clung to the rough phrases and
the rough manners of the hills, but
I want you to know always, most
dear one, that I have loved you not
only fiercely, but gently too. No ten-
derer worship lives In your own world.
If I don't come back, think of that.
God knows 1 love you."
"Don't, Anse!" she cried with a
smothered sob. "Don't talk like a soft-
muscled lowlander! Talk to me In
your own speech. It rings of strength,
and God knows"—her voice broke, and
she added with fierce tenderness, "God
knows, dear, eagle-heart, you need all
the strength of wing and talon to-
night."
Then she opened the back door very
cautiously on the shadows that crept
Into inky blackness, and saw him slip
away and melt instantly Into the
murk.
CHAPTER XXV.
Out there the moon was setting.
Soon, thank God, It would be dark
everywhere. The man she loved
needed all the chance that the thick-
ening gloom could give him. It was
terribly quiet now, except for an oc-
casional whippoorwill call and the qui-
etness seemod to lie upon her wltb
tbe oppression o( something unspeak-
ably terrifying. The breath of bill-
aid* and sky was bated.
A* las: tnere came to ner oars tbe
sound of heavy fee' crashing through
the brush, but he had been gone ten
minutes then. Perhaps they had just
awakened to his escnpe and were cast
lng aside Btealth for the fury of open
pursuit. She even thought she heard
an oath once, and then It was all quiet
again; quiet for a while, and at the
end of the silence, like the punctua-
tion of an exclamatlon-mark, came the
far-away snap of a rifle.
She had dropped to a chair and
sat taere tensely, leaning forward, her
ilps parted and her ears straining.
Had she heard one shot and Its echo,
or had there been several? Her Imag-
ination and fears were playing her
tricks now, and she could hardly be
certain of her senses.
The passage of time was a thing of
which ahe had lost count. Each mo-
ment was a century.
Then, wltb a violent start, she sat
up. Now Bhe knew she heard a sound
—there could be no doubt this time.
It came from out beyond the front
door, and she bent forward, listen-
ing
It was a strange sort of sound which
she could not make out, but In a sub-
tle way it was more terrifying than
the clatter of rifles. It was as if some
heavy, soft thing were being dragged
up the steps and rolling back.
She rose and took a step toward
the door, but halted in doubt. The
sound died and then came again, al-
ways with halting intervals of silence
between, as though whoever were
dragging the burden had to pause on
each step to rest. Then there was a
scraping as of boot-leather on the
boards and a labored breath outside—
a breath that seemed to be agonized.
She bent forward with one hand
outstretched toward the latch, and
heard a faint rapping. It was seem
Ingly the rap of very feeble lingers,
but that might all be part of a ruse.
Was It friend or enemy out there. Just
beyond the thickness of the heavy
panels? At all events, she must see.
She braced herself and threw the
door open. A figure which had been
leaning against it lurched forward,
stumbled over the threshold and fell
in a heap, half in and half out. It
was the figure of Anse Havey.
How far he had hitched himself
along, foot by foot, like a mortally
wounded animal crawling home to die,
she could not tell, but for one horrl
fled instant she stood gazing down on
him in stupefaction.
He had gone out a splendid vital
creature of resilient strength and pow-
er. He hr I come back the torn and
bleeding wreck of a man, literally
shot to pieces, as a quail is shattered
when It rises close to a quick-shooting
gun.
In the next moment she was stoop-
ing with her arms around his body,
striving to lift his weight and bring
him in. She was Btrong beyond all
seeming of her slenderness. but the
man was heavy, and as she raised his
head and shoulders a sound of bitten-
ofT and stifled agony escaped his white
lips, and she knew that her efforts
were torturing him.
It was an almost lifeless tongue
that whispered. "1 was skeered—that
1—wouldn't get here."
Then as she staggered under his
inert bulk he tried to speak again.
"Jest help—drag me."
The few yards into the hall made a
long and terrible Journey, and how
she ever got him In, half hanging to
her, half crawling, stopping at every
step, she never knew Still It was
done at last, and she was kneeling on
the floor with his head on her breast
No wonder they had left him for
dead and gone away content. He
looked up and a faint smile came to
his almost unrecognizable face. The
blood which had already dried and
caked with the dust through which he
had crawled was being fed by a fresh-
er outpouring, and, as she held him
close to her, her own bosom and arms
were red too, as red as the flower
pinned in her hair.
She must stanch bis wounds and
pour whisky down his throat before
the flickering wisp of life flame burned
out.
"Wait, dearest." she said In a bro-
ken voice. "I must get things you
need."
"it ain't"—he paused a moment for
the breath which came very hard—
"scarcely—worth while—I'm done."
But ahe flew to the cupboard where
there waa brandy. She tore linen
from ber petticoat and brought water
from the drinking bucket that stood
with Its gourd dipper on the porch.
But when she pressed the flask to
his Hps he closed them and shook hla
head a little.
"1 ain't never touched a drop in my
life," he said, "an' I reckon—I might s
well—finish out—'twon't be long. It's
too late to begin now."
For a while he lay gasping, then
spoke again, weakly:
"Just kiss me—dearest—thet's what
1 come lor."
After a pause be spoke again.
"There's one thing—I've got to ask
ye: Why did ye swear—ye didn t care
for me—in court?"
Her head came up and she an-
swered steadily:
"Dearest, I'd never asked myself
that question until the lawyer asked
It. 1 didn't know the answer myself,
but If I did love you, I meant to tell
you first; It was our business, not his.
1 was there to help you, and It
wouldn't have helped you to tell them
that I was fighting for my own heart
And, besides, 1 didn't know theu,
quite."
Sbe went on bathing and stanching
his wounds as beat (be could, but a
spirit of despair settled on her. There
were so many of them, and they wars
so deep and ragged!
"I didn't—come tor help," he told
hsr, and through the (rims and blood
flashed a ghost of his raio -nd boy.s
smile. "I'm past mendln' now I
came because-—I'm dyln'—an' I wanted
to die In your arms!"
"You shan't die," she breathed
fiercely between her teeth. "My arms
shall always be around you."
But he shook his head and his fig
ure sagged a little against her knees
"I know—when I'm done," he salu
slowly. "It's all right uow-^l've done
got here. That's enough—I loves ye."
For a time she wondered whether
he had lost consciousness, and she
laid him down slowly and brought
cushions with which to soften his po-
sition. It was almost daybreak now.
She sat there beside him, and bb her
heart beat close ttfhlm he seemed to
draw from It some of Its abundant vl
tallty, for he revived a little, and
though his eyes were closed and sbe
had to bend down to catch his words,
his voice grew somewhat stronger.
"I ain't never felt lonesome—before.
But out there—dyln' by myself—the
last of my family—1 had to come.
Dyln ain't like llvln'—I couldn t die
without ye."
"You aren't dying," she argued des-
perately "You shan't die."
"It ain't that—" His breath came
with great difficulty. "They'll come
back here. They'll get me yet—an" I'd
ruther die first."
She laid his head very gently on the
pillows and rose to her feet. In the
instant she stood transfigured. Deep
in her violet eyes blazed bucIi a blue
fire as that which burns at the hot-
test heart of a flame. Around her lips
came the grim set of fight and blood
lust.
The crushed flower on her bosom
rose and fell under a violent tempest
of passion. The skirt of her evening
gown had been torn in her effort to
carry him. Somehow one silk stock
ing was snagged above her slipper
His blood reddened her white arms
and bosom. She drew a deep breath
and clenched her hands. The dig
ciple of peace was gone, and there
stood there In Its stead the hot-
breathed incarnation of some valkyr
hovering over the din of battle and
urging on the fight.
Yet her voice was colder and stead-
ier than he had ever heard It. She
pointed to the door.
"Get you!" she exclaimed Bcorn
fully. 'No man but a Havey crosses
that threshold while I live. I'm a Ha
vey now and we live or die together
Get you!" Her voice broke with a
wild laugh. "Let them come!"
No bitterly bred daughter of the
hijls was ever so completely the
mountain woman as this transformed
and reborn girl of the cultured East.
She moved about the place with a
steady, indomitable energy. With
strength borrowed of the need, she
upset the great oaken table and bar-
ricaded the door, laughing aB she
heard the clatter of pedagogic vol-
umes on the floor. Fox's "Book of
Martyrs" fell at her feet, and she
kicked it viciously to one Bide.
She went and stood before her rack
of guns, and ber lips curled as she
caught up a heavy-callbered repeater
with all the fierce desire of a drunkard
for his drink. She stood there loading
rifles and setting them In an orderly
line against the wall. She devastated
her altar of peace with the untamed
joy of a barbarian sacking a temple.
Then she turned and saw In the
man's eyes a wild glow of admiration
that burned above his fever, and she
Bald to him once more, "Now let em
come."
He shook his head, but strangely
enough her love and awakened feroc-
ity had strengthened and quickened
him like brandy, and he pleaded:
"Drag me over where I can get Jusi
one shot."
Then Juanlta blew out the lamp and
stood silent in the hush that cornea
before dawn. She did not have to
wait long, for soon she heard hoof
beats in the road, and they stopped
Just at the turn.
'Hello, stranger!" she shouted and
it took all her strength to command
her voice. "Halt where you are."
There was an InBtant'l silence In
the first misty gray that was bringing
the veiled sunrise.
A stifled murmur of voices came
from the road, and she caught the
words. "Hex In thar all right." A
moment later someone called out sul-
lenly frooj the shadows:
"We gives ye three minutes ter
leave thet house. We're a-comin' In.
an' we'd'rather not ter harm ye. Git
out quick."
"Ye can't save me, dearest. It's
too late For God's sake, go out."
pleaded Anse Havey tensely.
Her answer was to cry out Into the
dawn In a voice that could not be mis
understood. "Anse Havey's In here.
Come and get him." and for added em
phaeiB she crouched behind the over-
turned table and fired a random shot
out toward the voice that had offered
her amnesty.
From the earlier happenings of the
evening the men out there knew that
the school property was empty save
tor the man and the girl, and they
knew that the man was terribly wound-
ed.
Their peering eyes, in the dim gray,
could juat make out an empty door.
Back of It was one woman, and they
were five men. Ordinarily they would
have moved slowly, coming up from
several sides, but now every minute
was worth an hour at another time.
It behooved them, when full daylight
came, to be well away from sure ven-
geance. Tbe obvious demand of tbe
exigency was to rush the place.
Killing women was. even to them,
distasteful, but they had offered ber
Immunity, and she had declined.
At a whispered word they started
forward.
She saw figures climbing the fenoe
n shadowy, almost Impalpable shapes
and as the first dropped Inside and
started on at a crouching trot she
aimed quickly but steadily and fired
A little cry of primitive and savage
Joy sprang from her lips as she saw
the man plunge forward in the hall
light and lie there rolling on the
ground.
But at that warning the others
leaped down and came on at a run.
The tempo quickened and became con
fusing. They were firing as they ran
and their answering bullets pelted
against her barrier and over her head
on the walls. She heard window panes
shivering and glass falling, and yet
her elation grew—two more advancing
flgureB had crumpled Into tnert
masses Unless there were re-enforce-
mentB she would stem their oncoming
tide. Even a mountain marksman can-
not target his shots well while he Is
running and under lire. It takes
championship sprinting to do fifty
yards In five seconds—on the smooth
ness of a cinder path
Up-hill lo a constant spit of fire
and lead It requires a little longer.
There were only two left now, and
one of them suddenly veered and
made for the cover of a hickory trunk
oft to one Bide—he was In full flight
Hut the other came on, throwing tbe
rifle away and shifting his heavy mag
azlne pistol to his right hand.
It was easy now, thought the girl—
I she could take her time and be very
I sure.
Yet Bhe shot and missed, and the
j man came on with the confidence of
one who wears a talisman and fears
no harm. Now lie was almost at the
steps and his pistol was barking vi
ciously—then suddenly something In
the mechanism of Juanita's rifle
jammed and it lay useless and dead
in ber bands. She struggled with it.
frantically jerking the lever, but be
fore she had conquered Its balking
obstinacy she saw the oncoming figure
leap up the steps at one Btride and
thrust his weapon forward over the
table. She oven caught the glitter of
Ills teeth as a snarling smile parted
his lips.
Then a rifle spoke behind her—a
rifle in the hands of the man who had
dragged himself to tho firing line, and
with his foot on the threshold Jim
Fletcher reeled backward and rolled
lumberingly down the steps to the
ground.
"You got him!" she screamed. "You
got him, Anse!"
It had been perhaps five minutes
since she had called out to the men
In tl.e road, but it seemed to her that
Bhe had sustained a long Biege. She
saw the man who had fled crossing
the fence and disappearing. Then
very slowly she rose and turned to
the room again.
Anse Havey was lying on his face
and the gun with which be had killed
Jim Fletcher lay by his side, but his
posture was so rigid and his limbs
so motionless that the girl caught at
her breast and reeled backward She
would have fallen had she not bi.en
supported by the table. Had the fight
been lost, after all?
Slowly, and in a daze of reaction
and fright, she moved forward And
turned his body over and laid her ear
to his heart.
It was still beating. The rifle pad
only jolted his weak and pain-racked
body Into unconsciousness, and as she
held his head to her breast ber (.yes
went about the room, where the pal-
lid light was stealing now, and by the
mantel she saw hanging the horn that
Jerry Everson had given her.
Why had she not thought of that be-
fore? she asked herself accusingly
Why had she not sent its call for
help out across the hills long ago?
Then there came back to her mind tho
words of the mountain man when he
had brought It over and had Imitated
the Havey battle-call.
"Don't never blow thet unlesaen ye
wants ter start hell. When them calls
goes out acrost tbe mountains every
Havey thet kin tote a gun's got ter
git up an' come."
If ever there had been a time when
every Havey Bhould come It waa this
time. She laid Anse's head once more
on the cushions and went to the man
tel. Then, standing in the door, she
drew a long breath.
She set the horn to her Hps and
blew. Out across the melting vague
ness of the dim world floated the three
long blasts and the three short ones
She waited a little while and blew
again. That signal could not reach
Anse Havey's own house, because the
ridge would send it echoing back In a
shattered wave of sound It would be
better heard to the east, and after a
time there came back to her waiting
ears, very low and distant, yet very
clear, an answer.
It came from the house of Milt Mc-
Hrlar and Juanita's heart, torn and
anxious as it waa, leaped, for she
knew that for the first time in the
memory of man the Havey call to
arms had been heard and was being
answered by a chief of the McBriars,
and that as fast as horses could carry
them he and his men would bring suc-
cor.
An hour later, when the mountain
slopes were unveiling In miracles of
Iridescence and tender color, young
Milt McBriar and his escort flung
themselves from their steaming
mounts.
The girl was weeping Incoherently
over an insensible figure and crooning
to it as a mother sings to quiet a
wakeful child, and on the floor at her
aide lay a piece of paper reddened and
spotted with blood — a marriage
license.
"Milt," she cried out. "get Brother I
Anse; get him quick!" and she wared
the piece of smeared paper In the
boy's face.
Kneeling with ber 09 the Boor. Milt
took the license from her kstid. and
when he saw what It was he
his head.
"I'm afraid," he told her gravely,
"I'm afraid hit's too late. He kaln't
hardly live."
"Get Brother Anse." she insisted
wildly. "Get him quick. I'm going to
be his wife." Her voice broke into a
deep sob as she added: "If 1 can't be
anything else, I'm going to be the
Widow Havey."
And when Brother Anse came he
found Anse still alive, smiling faintly
up Into the face of the woman who
sat with his head In her lap.
"I'm sorry," said the missionary
simply, "thet ye hain't got a preacher
thet kin marry ye with due ceremo-
nies. but 1 reckon I hain't never been
gladder ter do nothln' in my life- -ef
only he kin git well."
'Brother Anse," Juanlta Havey told
him, as she put a hand on each rough
shoulder, "I had rather It should be
| vou than the archbishop of Canter-
| bury."
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Teople In the mountains still talk
of how, while Anse Havey lay on a
white cot In the little hospital, young
Milt McBriar set out toward Peril. He
stopped for a moment at the house of
Had Anse Havey, and within twenty
minutes the hills were being raked.
Young Milt killed a horse getting to
Jeb McNash's cabin on Tribulation
and Jeb killed another getting to
Peril. Then from Lexington came two
surgeons as fast as a special train
could bring them, and, thanks to a
dogged life spark, they found Anso
llavey still lingering on the margin.
When they removed him from the
operating table back to Ills cot and
he opened his eyes to consciousness,
the sun was coming through the shad-
ed window, but even before he knew
that, he Baw lier face bending over
him and felt cool fingers on his fore-
head.
As his eyes opened her smile greet-
ed him, and she brushed hlB Hps with
her own. Then, In a tone of com-
mand, Bhe Bald: "You mustn't talk.
The doctors say you may get well If
you obey orders and fight hard. It's
partly up to you, Anse."
Once more there hovered around
the man's Hps that occasional boyish
smile.
"1 reckon," he said slowly, "they'll
have the hell of a time ktllin' me
now!" Then he added In a tone of
more grimness: "Besides, there's a
Bcore or two to settle."
The girl shook her head and smiled.
Her fingers rested caressingly on the
dark hair that fell over his forehead
"No, Anae," she told him. "1 settled
most of them myself."
• •••••
Even the detachment of the murder
squad that had played Its part in tbe
woods and started for Peril before
the five turned back did not reach
their destination, but scattered Into
tbe hillsidoB. When morning brought
the news of their attempt they tried
to make their escape across the moun-
tains to Virginia.
But there was a grim and relentless
system about the movement of two
posses that set out to comb the tim-
ber. Daring to approach no bouse for
food, the fugitives united and took up
their stand In a stanch log cabin
which had been deserted, and died
there, grimly declining to surrender.
Of course the railroad came up Trib-
ulation and crossed through the notob
in the mountains at the gap, but tbe
railroad came on terms quite different
from those which Mr. Trevor and bis
ilk had planned.
One day there rode away from the
college a gay little proccsslon on Its
way to the McBriar domain. At Its
bead rode Young Milt, and on a pil-
lion behind him, as mountain brides
had always ridden to their own
houses, sat Dawn McBriar. That was
some years ago, and at the big log
house there Is a toddling, tow-headed
young person now whose Christian
name is Anse Havey, though his fa-
ther Insists be Is to be ultimately
known as "Bad Anse" McBriar.
One autumn day, when the air waa
as full of sparkle as champagne, and
the big sugar tree Just outside the
hospital window was flaming In an ec-
stasy of color. Miss Dawn Havey
opened ber eyes on the world and
found it accepUUle.
Jeb McNasb was riding through the
country that October seeking eleettea
to the legislature.
He drew bis horse down by the
fence.
"Anse." he said In his slow drawl.
"It's a pity she's a gal now. halnt ItT"
Anse shook his bead. "I reckon,"
he said, "she's got more chance to be
like her mother. Her mother made
these hills better for being here, and
besides—"
He looked cautiously about and
dropped his voice, as if speaking of a
forbidden subject, yet Into It crept a
note of pride. "Besides, young feller,
have you got any more notches on the
Btock of your gun than she has?"
THE END.
Dyes for Carpets.
Aniline dyes have not added to the
reputation of the carpets of Persia,
lately Invaded by the Turks. At one
time the only dyeB used In the Persian
carpet Industry came from Indigo, mad-
der and vine leaves. From these were
evolved mnny delicate shades Impervi-
ous to tbe action of sunlight. With
aniline dyeB the colors fade much
more rapidly. In Persia you may seo
new rugs spread on the floors of ba-
zaars. so that many feet may tread on
tbem By such hard wear provided
the colors are fast—the genuine arti-
cle Improves In appearance acquiring
an attractive gloss. A Persian carpet
of the best kind has a marveloas nam
ber of stitches, snd a hearth rag of
•ore silk may cost hundreds of i
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The Hennessey Clipper (Hennessey, Okla.), Vol. 26, No. 31, Ed. 1 Thursday, January 6, 1916, newspaper, January 6, 1916; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc106006/m1/3/: accessed April 19, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.