The Inola Register. (Inola, Okla.), Vol. 8, No. 26, Ed. 1 Thursday, February 5, 1914 Page: 3 of 8
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INOLA, OKLA., REGISTER
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ILLUSTRATIONS V DLSVOITOi TOUN©—
SYNOPSIS.
Francois Beaupre, a peasant babe of
three years, after an amusing Incident In
which Marshal New Hgures, la made a
H'hevalier of France by the Emperor Na-
poleon, who prophesied that the boy
might one day be a marshal of France
under another Bonaparte. At the age of
ten Francois visits." General Baron Oas-
pard Oourgaud, who with AUxe, his
.seven-year-old daughter, lives at the
Chateau. A soldier of the Empire under
Napoleon he tires the boy's Imagination
with stories of his campaigns. Tub gen-
«ral offers Fruncols a hotne at the Cha-
teau. The boy refuses to leave his pa-
rents, but In the end becomes a copyist
for the general und learns of the friend-
ship between the general and Manjuls
Zappl, who campaigned with the general
under Napoleon. Marquis Zappl and his
•on, Pletro, arrive at the Chateau. The
general agrees td care for the Marquis'
non while the former goes to America.
The Marquis before leaving for America
asked Francois to be a friend of his son.
The boy solemnly promises. Francois
goes to the Chateau to live. Marquis
2appl dies leaving Pletro as a ward of
the general. Allxe. Pletro and Francois
meet a strange boy who proves to be
Prince Louis Napoleon. Francois saves
Jiis life. The general discovers Francois
loves Allxe. and extracts a promise from
him that he will not Interfere between the
girl and Pletro. Francois goes to Italy
as secretary to Pletro. Queen Hortense
plans the escape of her son Louis Na-
poleon by disguising him and Marquis
Zappi as her lackeys. Francois takes
Marquis Zaupl's place, who Is 111. In the
«scape of Hortense and Louis. Dressed
as Louis's brother Francois lures the
Austrian* frctn the hotel allowing _ the
prince and ills mother to escape. Fran-
cols Is a prisoner of the Austrians for
tlve years In the castle owned by Pletro
In Italy. He discovers in his guard one of
Pletro's old family servants.
aee the peaceful little village and the
stream that ran through It, and the
steep-arched bridge, and the poppy
fields, and the corn! The gray castle
with Its red roofs, and the beech wood,
and the dim, hlgh-walled library, how
he wanted to see It all! How his heart
ached, madly, fiercely! This was the
worst moment of all his captivity. And
with that, Battlsta was over him, was
murmuring words again. Something
was slipped under the bedclothes.
"Paper—pens. The signor will write
letfer this afternoon. And tomor-
row little Battlsta will take It."
And the heart of Francois gave a
sudden throb of Joy as wild ae its an-
guish. He could speak to them before
he died; it might be they could Bave
him. His hands stole to the package
under the coarse blanket. It seemed
as if .In touching it he touched his
mother and his sweetheart and hiB
home.
CHAPTER XIV.—Continued.
A person of more importance than
Battista had fallen under the spell of
Francois' personality. The governor
himself had been attracted by the
young Frenchman. The governor,
■Count von Gersdorf, was a vain, dis-
contented, brilliant Austrian, at odds
with the world because he had not
risen further in it. He was without
society in this mountain fortress of
liis, and longed for it; he had a fine
-voice and no one to sing to; he liked
to talk and had no one to talk to.
Francois, with hie ready friendliness,
with his gift of finding good in every
one, with his winning manner and
simplicity which had the ease of so
phistication, was a treasure-trove of
.amusement to the bored Austrian.
Things stood so with the prisoner
at the time of his discovery of the
Identity of his Jailer and of hie Jail.
The governor at that time was away
on a visit to Vienna, looking for a pro-
motion; he came back elated and
good-humored in the prospect of a
change within the year. But the heart
of Francois sank as he thought what
the change might mean to him.
" 'Some day a marshal of France un-
der another Bonaparte, " he said to
himself one day. staring through the
bars at his window—he called the sky
*o. He smiled. "But that is nothing.
To help place my prince on the throne
of France—that Is my work—my life."
He talked aloud at tlmee, as prison-
«rs come to do. He went on then. In
a low voice.
"If there were good fairies. If I had
three wishes: Allxe—the prince made
emperor—Francois Beaupre, a marshal
of France." He laughed happily. "It
Is child's play. Nothing matters ex-
cept that my life shall do Its work.
Even that is so small; but I have a
great desire to do that. I believe 1
shall do that—I know it." And he fell
to work on a book which he was plan-
ning, chapter by chapter, in hie brain.
But, If he were to escape ever, the
chance was increased Infinitely by the
going back and forth to the governor's
room. A new governer might keep
him shut up absolutely, it had been
to while the count was away; then he
bad been 111, and the Ueutenaut in
command would not let a doctor see
him till he became delirious; that was
the ordinary treatment of prisoners.
Francois, thinking over these things
on a day, fell with a sudden accent
on the steady push or his longing for
freedom, the conviction that be must
get free before the count left, else op-
portunity and force for the effort
would both be gone forever. And on
that day Battlsta brought In his mid-
day meal with a look and a manner
which Francois remarked.
"What is it, Battlsta?" he asked
softly. _ ^
The man answered not a word, but
turned and opened the door rapidly
and looked out. "I thought I had left
the water-pitcher. Ah, here It is—I
am stupid," he spoke aloud. And then,
finger on Up dramatically, he bent over
the young man. "My son—the little
Battiata—has had a letter. The young
master wishes him to come to him in
France, to serve him. He is going in
two days."
It was whispered quickly, and Bat-
tlsta stood erect.
"The signer's food will get cold If
the signor does not eat It," he spoke
gruffly. "I do not like to carry good
food for prisoners who do not appre-
ciate it. I shall bring less tomorrow.''
But Franco!*, hardly hearing the
surly tones, had hfs hand on Battista's
arm. was whispering back eagerly.
"Where does he go. In France?"
"To Vieques." the low answer came.
Francois sank back, tortured.
Going to Vieques, the little Battlsta!
From Caatleforte! And he, Francois,
must stay here In prison! His soul
was wrung with a sudden wild home-
sickness. He wanted to see Allxe. to
■ee his mother, to see the general; to
CHAPTER XV.
Good News.
In the garden of the chauteau of
Vieques, where the stiff, gray etone
vases spilled again their heart's blood
of scarlet and etching of vines; where
the two stately lines of them led down
to the sundial and the round lawn—on
one of the griffin-supported stone seats
Allxe and Pletro sat, where Allxe and
Francois had sat five years before.
As they sat In the garden, they had
been going over the pros and cons of
hi* life or death for the thousandth
time. Pletro's quiet gray eyes were
sad as he looked away from Alixe and
across the lawn to the beech wood.
"God knows I would give my life
quickly if I could see him coming
through the trees there, as we used to
see him, mornings long ago. In his
patched homespun clothes."
Allxe followed the glance consider-
ingly, as If calling up the little, brown,
trudging figure so well remembered
Then sh tossed up her head sharply
—"Who?"—and then she laughed. "I
shall be seeing visions next, like Fran-
cois," she S3 id. "I thought it was he
—back in the beech wood."
"I see no one." Pletro stared.
"But you have no eyes. Pletro—I can
always see a thing two minutes before
you," Allxe threw at him. "There—the
man."
"Oh," Baid Pletro. "Your eyes are
more than natural, Alixe. You see in-
to a wood; that is uncanny. Yee, I
see him now. Mon dieu! he la a big
fellow."
"A peasant—from some other vil-
lage," Alixe spoke carelessly. "I do
not know him," and they went on talk-
ing, as they had been doing, of Fran-
cols.
And with that, here was Jean Phil-
lippe Moison, forty now and fat, but
still beautiful In purple millinery, ad-
vancing down the stone Btepa between
the tall gray vasee, making a sym-
phony of color with the rich red of the
flowers. He held a silver tray; a let-
ter was on it.
"For mademoiselle."
Mademoiselle took it calmly and
glanced at it. and with that both the
footman and the Marquis Zappi were
astonished to see her fall to shiver-
ing, as if In a sudden Illness. She
caught Pietro's arm. The letter was
clutched in her other hand thrust back
of her.
"Pletro!"
"What is It, Allxe?" His toice was
quiet as ever, but his hand was around
again at the big coat aleeve crowding
against her: "Pletro! See, aee! The
date—It is only two months ago. He
was alive then; he must be alive now;
he la! I knew it, Pletro! A woman
knows more things than a man."
With that she threw up her head
and fixed Jean Phllllppe, drinking In
all this, with an unexpected Btern
glance. "What are you doing here.
Moison? What manners are these?"
Then, relapsing in a flash into pure
human trust and affection toward the
anxious old servant: "My dear, old.
good Molaon—he is alive—Monsieur
Francois Is alive—in a horrible prison
in Italy! But he Is alive, Moison!"
And with that, a sudden Jump again
Into dignity. "Who brought this. Mol-
aon?"
Jean Phllllppe was only too happy
to have a hand in the Joyful excite-
ment. "Mademoiselle, the young per-
son speaks little language. But he
told me to say to monsieur the mar-
quis that he was the little Battieta."
Pletro looked up quickly. "Alixe, it
is the servant from my old home of
whom I spoke to you. I can not imag-
ine how Francois got hold of him. but
he chose a good messenger. May I
have him brought here? He must have
something to tell us."
Alixe, her letter in her handB, strug
gled In her mind. Then: "The letter
will keep—yes, let him come, and we
can read it all the better after for
what he may tell us."
So Moison, having orders to produce
at once the said little Uattista. retired,
much excited, and returned shortly—
but not so shortly as to have omitted
a fling of the great news into the
midst of the servants' hail. He con-
ducted, marching behind him, the lit-
tle Battista, an enormous young man
of six feet four, erect, grave, stately.
This dignified person, saluting the lady
with a deep bow, dropped on one knee
before his master, his eyes full of a
worshiping Joy. and kissed his hand.
Having done which, he arose silently
and stouu waiting, with those beaming
eyes feasting on Pietro's face, but
otherwise decorous.
First the young marquis said some
friendly words of his great pleasure in
seeing his old servant and the friend
of his childhood, and the big man
stood with downcast eyes, with th
color flushing his happy face. Then,
"B3ttista," asked the marquis, "how
did you get the letter which you
brought mademoiselle?"
"My father," answered Battista la-
conically.
"How did your father fcet It?"
"From the signor prisoner, my slg-
nor."
Alixe and Pietro looked at him at-
tentively, not comprehending by what
meanB th's was possible. Pietro. re
membering the little Battista of old.
vaguely remembered that he wa* in-
capable of initiative in speech. One
must pump him painfully.
"Was your father in the prison
where the signor is confined?" Alixe
asked.
wood, his face hardly older thag when
he had come to Vieques, but sterner
and sadder; bis still soldiery gait less
buoyant than it had been five years
ago.
He saw Allxe and Pietro coming
Joyfully toward him, running light-
heartedly, calling to him with excited
gay voices. It stabbed the general's
heart; a quick thought came of that
other who had been always with them,
now dead or worse, of that other whom
these two bad forgotten. And with
that they were upon him, and Allxe
was kissing him, bugging him. push-
ing a letter Into his hand, up his
sleeve, Into bis face—anywhere.
"Father—good news—the best news
—almost the best! Father, be ready
for the good news!"
"I am ready," the general growled
Impatiently. "What is this foolery?
Sabre de bois! What Is your news,
then, you silly child?"
And Allxe, shaking very much, laid
her hand ou his cheek and looked
r-,
"You Must Save Him!"
earnestly into his eyes. "Father,
Francois 1b alive!"
For all his gruff self-control the gen-
eral made the letter an excuse shortly
to sit down. Queer, that a man's knees
should suddenly bend and give way
because of a thrill of rapture in a
man's psychological make-up! But the
general had to sit down. And then
and there all that had been extracted
from little Battista was rehearsed, and
the letter read over from' start to fin-
ish.
"But he is alive, father! Alive!
That is happiness enough to kill one.
I never knew till now that I feared he
was dead."
"Alive—yes! But in prison—in that
devil's hole of an eld castle!" And
Alixe looked at Pietro and laughed,
but the general paid no attention. "He
must be got out. There is no time to
waste. Diable! He is perishing in
that vile stable! Wtu.t was that the
lad said about the doctor's speech.
I that only a long sea voyage could save
The little Battlsta turned his eyes ' him? One must get him out, mon dieu,
on her a second, approvingly, but I quick!
briefly. They went back without delay
to their affair of devouring the lace
of his master. But he answered
promptly. "Yes, signorlna; he is there
always."
"Always?" Pletro demanded In
alarm. "Is Battista a prisoner?"
"But no, my signor "
"What then? Battlsta, try to tell
us."
So adjured, little Battlsta made a
violent effort. "He is one of the Jail-
ers, my signor."
Alixe, her hand on his arm, put her
head down on it suddenly and stood
so for % moment, her face hidden.
Pietro, his hards thrust deep in his
pockets, looked at the general with
wide gray eyes, considering. With that
Alixe flashed up, turned on the young
Italian, shaking her forefinger at him;
her eyes shone blue fire.
"That is for you, Pletro. If we
should lose him now. Just as we have
found him! Now is the time for you
to show if you can be what is brave
It Was Whispered Quickly.
her shaking fingers, and he held them
strongly. "What Is It, Allxe?"
She drew forward the other hand;
the letter shook, rustled with her
trembling. "It Is—from Francois!"
Jean Phllllppe Moison having
stayed to listen. as«he ought not, lift-
ed his eyes and his hands to heaven
and gave thanks in a general way,
volubly, unrebuked. By now the un-
steady fingers of Allxe had opened the
paper, and her head and Pietro's were
bent over It, devouring the well-known
writing. Allxe. excited, French, ex
ploded Into a disjointed running com-
ment
"From prison—our Francois—dear
Francois!" And then: "Five
Pletro! Think—while we have been
"Jailers? For the Austrians?" The and strong, as Francois has shown. It
face of the marquis took all the joy-
ful light out of theTace of little Bat-
tista.
"My signor," he stammered. "It
could not be helped. He was there. He
knew the castle. They forced him at
first, and—aud It came to be so."
"Knew the castle!" Pietro repeated.
What castle?"
Battista's eyes turned to his Mas-
ter's like tbo8e of a faithful dog. trust-
ing hut not understanding. "What cas-
tle, my signor? Csstelforte—the sig-
ner's own castle—what other?"
A sharp exclamation from Allxe
summed up everything. "Your castle
is confiscated; they use it as a prison.
Francois Is a prisoner there, Pietro!
All these years—In your own home!"
"I never dreamed of that," Pletro
spoke, thinking aloud. "Every other
prison in Austria and Italy I have tried
to find him In. I never dreamed of
Castelforte."
At the end of the interview the little
Battista put his band Into his breast
pocket and brought out another letter.
thickly folded. Would mademoiselle
have him instructed where to find the
mother of the signor prisoner? He hsd
promised to put this Into her own
hands. He must do It before he
touched food.
And Jean Phlllippe Moison. who had i youth seemed dried up; his eyes were
lurked discreetly back of the nearest ; bloodshot, his skin yellow; there was
stone vase, not missing a syllable, was | no flesh on him. The waiting and
given orders, and the huge little Bat- doping had worn on him more than
tista was sent off up the stone steps < the dead level of the hopeless years
Is your castle; you must save him."
Pietro looked at the girl, and the
color crept through his cheeks, but he
said nothing.
"Alixe, my Allxe," her father put an
arm around her. "One may not de-
mand heroism as if it were bread ard
butter. Pletro will not fail us."
"Allxe always wished me to be br'l-
llant like Francois," Pietro spoke
gently. "But I never could."
"Yet, Pietro. It Is indeed your time,"
Allxe threw at him eagerly. "Francois
must be rescued or he will die."
"Yes," Pietro answered quietly.
"Francois must be rescued."
He was silent a moment, as If think-
ing. His calm poised mind was work-
ing swiftly; one saw the Inner action
in the clear gray eyes. The general
and Allxe, watching him. saw It.
"I think I know how." he said.
CHAPTER XVI.
The Stone Staircase.
Battista's prisoner stood at the
barred window high up the steep side
of the castle and stared out wistfully
at the receding Infinity of blueneas—
his meadow. In the three months
slncp his letter had gone to France, be
had grown old. The Juices of hla
between the scarlet (lowers, up the
velvet slope ot lawn. In charge or the
purple one.
Half an hour later the general
walked up from the village, walked
tree!" And then, with a swift clutch alowly. thoughtfully through the beech breath.
before. There was a new tenseness
In the llghtly-bullt figure, even In the
long, delicate, strong finger*. The
prisoner had caught a whiff of the air
of home and was choking tor a tall
"You are not well, my friend," said
the governor. "The doctor must see
you."
But Francois refused lightly and
laughed and fell to singing an old peas-
ant song of France which ha bad re-
membered lately; he got up on the
table and droned It to an Imaginary
fiddle which be pretended to play after
the manner of,old Jacques Arne, who
played for dances in Vieques. And the
governor was taken with a violent
fancy for it. He roared at It, and sang
It over in fragments till he bad learned
It, and then he aang It and roared
again and slapped bis knee; there was
a droll comedy In Francois' rendering
also, not to be explained—and the
count said that Francois muat come to
his rooms the next night for dinner
and aing him the song again and also
listen to a new one of his own.
So Francois waa taken down the
stone staircase and conducted to the
two rooms which were the governor's
suite. He knew them well, for he had
dined many tlmea with the count. But
tonight he waa left alone a few mo-
ments In the outer room, the living-
room. while the governor was In the
bedroom, and be looked about keenly
with a strained attention which grew
out of the suppressed hope of escape.
Who knew what bit of knowledge of
the castle might be vital,' and who
knew bow soon ? He noted the swords
and pistols hanging on the wall, and
marked a light saber whose scabbard
waa brightly polished as if the blade
also were kept in good order. On the
table he saw the flint and steel with
which Count von Gersdorf lighted his
pipe; he stepped to the window and
bent out, scanning the wall. A stone
coping, wide enough for a man's foot,
but little more, ran, four feet below;
ten feet beyond the window It ended
in the roof ot a shed, a sloping roof
where a man could drop down, yes, or
even climb up with ease. A man, that
is, who had climbed when a boy as
Francois bad climbed—like a cat for
certainty and lightness. But what
then, when one was In the courtyard?
It was walled about with a stone wall
sixteen feet high; these old ancestors
of Pietro, who had built this place, had
planned well to keep Pietro's friend In
prison.
So Francois, not hopeful of a sortie
by that point, drew in his head from
the open window and took to examin-
ing the wails of the governor's room.
There were three doors—one from the
hall by which he had come, one be-
hind which he now heard the count
moving in his bedroom, and a third.
The count had gone through this last
door one night a month before, into a
dark, winding, stone staircase, and dis-
appeared for three minutes, and
brought up a bottle of wonderful wine.
"A fine stock they put down there—
the Italians who ruled here for eight
hundred-odd years," he had said. "I've
lowered it a bit. A good spacious wine-
cellar and grand old wine. You will be
the better for a little." And Francois
had watched him as he put the brass
key back on the chain which hung
from his belt.
At this point of memory the bed-
room door opened, and tbe governor
came out, in great good humor and
ready to eat and drink as became an
Austrian Boldier. The dinner was
brought in, but. Francois, for all his
efforts to do hla pnrt, could not swal-
low food, or very little. The fever, the
unrest burning in him, made It Impos-
sible. Count Gersdorf looked at him
seriously when dinner waB over; ss
yet Francois, talking, laughing, sing-
ing. had eaten not over halt a dosen
mouthfuls.
"Certainly you are not well," he eald.
"I think the doctor should se^ you."
And then he nodded bis head and his
small eyes gleamed with a brilliant
thought. "I know a medicine better
than a doctor's." He stood up and his
fingers were working at the chain of
keys at his belt Francois watched
them and saw the thin, old, brass key
which he slipped off. "A bottle ot
wine of our Italian ancestors—yours
and mine, Beaupre"—the count
chuckled—"that will cure you of your
Ills for this evening at least." He slid
the key into the lock and said, half to
himself. "My little brass friend never
leaves the belt of Albrecht von Gers-
dorf except to do him a pleasure, bless
him!" And then. "Hold the candle
Beaupre—well, come along down—It
can do no harm and I can't manage a
light and two bottles."
So Francois followed down the twist-
ed. headlong, stone staircase and found
hlmrelf. after rather a long descent,
hcld r.g the lan/p high, gazing curious-
ly about the walls of a large stone
room lined with shelves, filled with
bottles.
"A show. Isn't It?" the Count von
Gersdorf demanded. "Here, hold the
light on this side," and he went on
talking. "The wine Is so old that I
think it must have been stocked be-
fore the time of the last lord of the
castle."
And Francois, holding the light, re-
membering the Marquia Zappl, thought
so too. The count pointed to a square
stone in the wall which projected
slightly, very slightly.
"That is the door to a secret stock
of some sort, I have always thought."
be said. "Probably some wonderful
old stuff saved for the coming of age
of the heir, or a great event of that
sort. 1 wish 1 could get at It," and he
stared wistfully at the massive block.
"But I cannot stir It And I don't let
anyone but myself down here—not L"
The count turned away and they
mounted the two stories of narrow
atepsK for the governor's rooms were
on the second floor, and the staircase
ran from It between walls, down un-
derground. "The old chape must have
thought a lot of their wine to have the
cellar connect directly with their own
rooms—for Battlsta tells me these
ware always the rooms of the Ee—ot
the lords ot tha castle." the govaraor
And to Francois, considering It, tft*
fact seemed an odd one. And the*
the governor set to work drinking
Pietro's wine, and little thought, as
he urged it on hie prisoner, bow much
more right to It the prisoner hsd thaa
he. It was a wonderful old liquid,
full of a strange dim sparkle, and of
most exquisite bouquet. As hs draah
It Francois silently toaated its owner
on hla return to his own again. Ha
took so little aa to dlaguet the gov-
ernor. but it put freeh life Into him.
and when at laat he could leave tha
count, who was by that time more
thsn fairly drunk, he went up to his
cold prison under the roof quieter aad
more at peace than he had been tor
months.
CHAPTER XVII.
A Leaf of Bread.
The next morning Battiata came In
with a manner which to the observing
eye of his prisoner foretold distinctly
some event. He talked more than
usual, and more gruffly and loudly, but
at laet, after wandering about tha
room some minutes, all the time talk-
ing, Bcoldlng, he swooped on Franoola
and thrust a thick paper Into bis coat
and at the same Instant his heavy left
hand waa over Francois' mouth.
"Not a word," he whispered, «nd
then— "The loaf of bread."
Francois, itruck dumb and blind,
turned hot and cold, and hla shaking
hand In his coat pocket clutched tha
letter.
But Battlsta prodded him with his
hard forefinger. "Be careful," he mut-
tered, and then again, "The bread"—
with a sharp prod—"The loaf of bread"
—and the door bad clanged. Battlsta
waa gone.
A strong man, who had not beea
shut away from life, would likely have
read the letter inatantly. would la-
Btantly bave examined the long round
loaf lying before him. Francola waa
111 and weak and It waa the first word
for five years from his own people,
which lay In his hand; be sat aa If
turned to stone, touching the paper aa
if that were enough; he sat perhaps
fifteen minutes.
Then suddenly a breathlessnese
came over him that something might
happen before he could read It—this
writing which, whatever it should say,
meant life snd death to him. Taking
care not to rustle the paper, deaden-
ing the eound under hla bedclothes,
he read It, kneeling by the bed. It was
four . letters—from hla mother and
Alexe and the general and Pletro;
but the first three were short He felt,
indeed, reading them, that no words
had been written, that only the arma
of the people he loved had strained
about him and their faces laid against
his, and that so, wordlessly, they hsd
told him but one thing—their undying
love. Weak, lonely, his intense tem-
perament stretched to the breaking
point by the laat three months of tear-
ful hope, it waa more than, he could
bear. He put the papers against his
cheek and his head dropped on tha
bed, and a storm of tears tore his soul
and body. But It waa dangerous; ha
must not be off his guard; he remem-
bered that swiftly, and with shaking
fingers he opened Pietro's letter—•
Pietro's letter wtoch, yellowed and
faded but diBtinct yet. In the small
clear writing, is guarded today with
those other letters in the mahogany
desk in Virginia
"My dear brother Francois," the let
ter began, and quick tears came agala
at that word "brother," which said so
much. "My dear brother Francois—
this is not to tell you how I have
searched for you and never forgotten
you. I will tell you that when 1 aea
you. This Is to tell you how to get
out of that houae of mine which haa
held you as a prisoner when you ought
to have been Its welcome guest Whea
Italy Is free we will do that over; hot
The Count Pointed to a Square Stows
In the Wall.
we must get you free first
I am now within five miles of:
The man on his knees by ths prison
bed gasped; the letters staggered be-
fore bis eyes.
"I am living on a ship, and I wOl
explain how 1 got It when I see you. la
a few days now, Francois. Kvery night
for a week, beginning with tonight,
there will be a person watching tor
you in Riders' Hollow, from midnight
tin daylight After that wa shall ga
away for two weeks so aa to avoid giv-
ing suspicion, aad then repeat the ar-
rangement again every night tor a
week. You do not know Riders' Hol-
low, and It la unnecessary to talt yn
more about it thaa that it Is a lonely
place hidden In treaa. and supposed ta
be haunted by ghoets of men oa horse
back; ths people about will not ga
there tor love or money
broad daylight
cto an com iinutix)
One may be batter thaa hta
tton or his conduct bat
mm
mm
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The Inola Register. (Inola, Okla.), Vol. 8, No. 26, Ed. 1 Thursday, February 5, 1914, newspaper, February 5, 1914; Inola, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc180620/m1/3/?q=%22Business%2C+Economics+and+Finance+-+Advertising%22: accessed June 28, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.