The Ralston Tribune (Ralston, Okla.), Vol. 1, No. 33, Ed. 1 Friday, February 2, 1917 Page: 2 of 8
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tMe RALSTON TRIBUNE, RALSTON, OKLAHOMA
; i
*
li
IIPPECANOE
Belnf a True Chroalcla of
Certain famic* Batwaaa
DAVID LARRENCE and
ANTOINETTE O’BANNON
of the Battle of Tlppacaaoa
la the Indiana Wilderness,
and of Whal Befell There*
after la Old Corydoa and
Now First Set Forth
By SAMUEL McCOY
lllestretleea by DaAltoa Valletta*
..... ...... ....... ......................
Tu>pjr.*bt, uitt. The Bubba-MarrUl Conpan»)
CHAPTER XVII.—Continued.
—10
"Great Ood, how did that Injun get
In here, Mr. Larrence?” ejaculated
IVinrod. ns the candles showed him the
huddled form of the dying savage.
“Don’t ask me, Ouptaln Conrod,” re-
turned the other cheerfully. “Tour
door was open when 1 got here and he
Jumped on me when I came In; aud
he'd have got me If It hud not been for
this man.”
And he laid Ills hund gently on the
■boulder of the hysterical figure
crouched on the floor.
“Holy rattlesnukes I” burst from the
astonished Conrod. “It's Doc Elliott 1“
David Larrence lifted his rescuer to
his feet. “Here, let's see your fuce,
my friend.”
The man looked up slowly.
“Ned Scull 1“ said Larrence In a
ghastly whisper, and stuggered buck-
ward.
The man bowed his heud again.
Larrence spoke like a muu In a
dream:
“Scull 1 1 have found you at last I”
“I um Innocent, I swear It!” cried
Scull. “I never betrayed you!”
The others looked from one to the
other of the two men In amazement.
Where had they known each other be-
fore? By what name did Larrence cull
Elliott? What was their secret? The
momeut was tense with waiting.
David turned to the little group.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “muy I talk to
this man alone for a moment?"
“Sure ns shootln’,” said Conrod after
n pause, “but let’s get this Injun out of
here first.”
He bent above the filthy body and
turned the limp shoulders over.
“Why, It’s that wutliless I'lankeshaw
come In lust week to sell his skins;
been drunk ever since. He'll be sober
a while, now.”
With scant ceremony they dragged
the heavy body with the dark red stain
between the shoulder blades Into the
ruin. One Indian less on Hie wilder-
ness border whs better luck than bud.
The liulf-shut eyes stared blunkly up-
ward In the beating ruin.
“Fury ldin In the uiornln’.” directed
Conrod; and Scull—whom the village
had known only us “Elliott”—and Da-
vid Lurrence were left alone together.
“Now,” said Larrence with deadly
calm, “tell ine how you got here!”
The man Scull clusped his hands In
entreaty.
“1 left Nottingham because 1 heard
you had sworn to kill me. I sweur to
you liefore God 1 was not responsible
for your father’s—”
Larrence checked the word on Scull’s
lips.
“How cam* you here?” lie repeuted.
“1 hoard you had gone to America
and I came across the Atlantic to find
you; I thought 1 might show yon I
was Innocent. I sweur I niur Innocent.”
“You lie,” returned David calmly,
“you lie In every word. You Informed
falsely on my father, nnd be tiled on
the gallows because of you. You be-
came a British spy. You fled from
England to escape me; you never
thought to find mp here. Nor did 1
think to find you here, under nil as-
sumed name, pretending te be u phy-
sician.''
Scull looked at him In terror.
“God I” he whispered, his lips dry
with fear.
A door that led to an Inner room sud-
denly swung open aud a woman
stepped quickly out.
A cry of fear escaped her as she saw
David towering inennclngly above
Scull's hewed head. She was face to
face with David uud he looked at her
In astonishment.
“Lydia Crnuuicr!”
The girl flung herself between the
two men und clasping Scull lu her
arms sho turned defiuntly toward
David.
“No, not Lydia Cranmer," she cried,
“but Mistress Scull!"
“Ilusli. Lydia,” commanded Scull
dully. "Go back, let us end our busi-
ness.” lie swallowed convulsively uud
stroked her luilr as though soothing a
child. "Go buck, dear."
“Not I. Neil!" she answered. “Whnt
does this mail wunt? Oh. Nod, there
Is no dungcr, Is there? Tell me, vvhut
la wrong T'
As David looked at the two he felt
the wild anger dying down lu his
breast, and Insteud there arose a feel-
lag of aelf-plty. Ah. If only a woman
bi'd throws bur arms about bis neck
und faced the world tor htin, believing I »n« by the rocky ledge, he prayed, as |
In him! An unbearable pang shot; » shrine.
through him. His eyes were hot with
the bitter envy of one who looks Into
the windows of a bouse where love
and light and warmth stand firm
against the desolate world without, and
who knows himself a homeless wan-
derer on the earth. When be spoke, It
was In a changed voice:
“Are you this woman’s husband?”
“We were married a month ago,”
said Scull. He seemed almost to have
forgotten David's presence and hla
band curessed the girl's cheek with a
strange gentleness.
Dnvld looked at them for a moment
In silence, then drew a deep breath.
He had made up his mind. He was
glad that he could be merciful, to an-
other, though life might be never mer-
ciful to him. He thrust the pistol back
Into the bosom of his hunting shirt
and his hand fell upon the knot of
ribbon Tolnette hud given him.
Do you see this?" he asked, as he
drew It out.
Scull turned paler. He had freed
himself from the girl’s clasp, and sud-
denly his knees loosened beneath him
nnd he sank at David’s feet. Lydia
threw her arms around his shoulders.
‘The mark I” cried Scull, raising
trembling hands.
David looked at the ribbon with a
sturt. “Why, yes, It is purple. But I
do not show It to you as a sign that I
nm keeping my oath of the Brother-
hood. No.” As he continued his voice
grew tender; he seemed to be speaking
to himself or to some vision which the
wretched figure kneeling at his feet
could not see.
You saved my life Just now,” he
went on. “I would have thanked you
for ending It, us you ended the love
of the one 1 loved most In the world.
For the sake of that dead love I prom-
ise you that no one shall know from me
whnt you have been, what you are. I
break my oath of the Brotherhood.”
The groveling creature at David’s
feet raised a face of Incredulity.
You give up the Brothers’ ven-
geance?”
“Absolutely.”
“You will not hold to your oath?"
“I have said no.”
Scull looked up at him, a radiance
transfiguring his face.
“God bless you, Larrence,” he said
chokingly. “You do not know what
death means. You have only your own
life; 1 have—God help me I—two lives
to live fori”
Lydia stooped quickly and lifted Da
vld's hand to her lips.
She went hastily from the room. The
two men stood facing each other and
for a while there was silence. Then
David spoke slowly:
“Are you going to remain here?”
Scull straightened himself up.
“No I we shall go back to England.
I have robbed you of everything, and
you have given tie everything. You
do not wish to see my face again. But
before 1 'go 1 will tell Tolnetto the
truth. I—”
David nodded wearily and went out.
A cold and dreary rain was still fall
lug. but a ray of light shone from the
tavern door on the upturned face of the
dead Indian. David stopped and
looked down upon the sightless visage
for a moment nnd then laughed. The
dreadful features were twisted Into a
smile us to ultimate victory, und a
little rivulet of ruin trickled uncea:
Ingly from the corner of the mouth.
No more of wretched life; no more of
firewater I
David s nnnd stole unconsciously to
the pistol tliut hung heavily within the
folds of his own blouse. Ills fingers
tightened on It nnd his Ups drew to-
gether In a harder line. . . . Why
not? . . . The thing so easily, so
quickly done. . . . Why not?
Was there anything remaining to
make him hold to life any longer?
Whnt though Blackford did believe In
him? Whnt though a hundred friends
believed In him? Whnt mattered all
their friendships, their stupid greet-
ings. the little kindnesses of dally In-
tercourse? Whnt did his dreams of
great things to he done In this new
land amount to? Petty dreams, petty
tasks, buying and selling, aquubblings
over pennies, wrangllngs over little
gains—a sordid prospect, the heritage
of fools!
The rpln fell steadily, chilling blm
to the very bones. Through Its gray
unceasing torrent he plodded, unchal-
lenged In his^lonellness, to his own
rooms In the village. Sodden with the
cold flood, sodden with quenched hopes,
he sunk heavily upon a chair and
bowed his head upon his hands, there
to sit for hours In a numb wrestling
with bitterness that were beyond bis
putter to shake off.
After a long tthlle, he rose and drew
the pistol from Its place—wiped the
dampness from Its shining barrel an<
gazed ut It with unseeing eyes.
An end of all things hod come to
David. Hla long quest was over and
the surf of hla passion had spent Itself
In foam. Had It been worth while to
forgive? All that he had lived for was
torn from him. Tolnette would know
that she had Judged him unjustly; but
would that knowledge bring back what
he had lost of her? He had been a
hot-tempered fool, he had Insulted her
beyond forgiving. The breach hud
widened beyond bridging. He looked
across the gulf that lay between him
nnd Tolnette end felt the bitterness of
ruined hopes. He thrust his hand In-
to hla hunting shirt and drew forth
the dueling pistol be bud taken from
Blackford’s room. For n long while he
stood looking at U In silence.
A light step rustled the dead leaves
underfoot and he turned quickly. Toln-
ette stood beside him, a Joyous smile
on her face.
“1 was sent to find you,” she greet-
ed him astonishingly.
He stared at her as though at a mes-
senger from the skies. Her silver
laughter rang out as It had In days
gone by.
Do not deceive yourself,” she
smiled. “I am no angel—I’m
Tolnette I”
David did not believe her denial;
never believed It.
“Father sent me for you. He’s go-
ing to give a great dinner at the tav-
ern and you’re to sit lu the place of
honor. Come, you mustn’t keep your
cook waiting.”
And she held out her hand.
But David did not stir.
The look of haggard suffering had
returned to his face. Her loveliness
was an arrow that seat all the poison
of his despair once more burning
through hla veins. For the first time
he found u voice, a voice trembling
with emotion.
I cannot ... I cannot
please got”
She opened her eyes wide and shot
blue radiance of hurt surprise at
him. Then she went swift nnd straight
to the point, a woman not to be put
aside by evasions:
Indeed, I will not You mustn't
stay here alone.'
He had regained control of himself,
but the struggle left him deadly pule,
He could not bear to face her as be
spoke.
"I am going away. 1 cannot live
without you.” The words were hard
ly more than a whisper.
She took two quick steps forward.
Her hand fell upon his shoulder, light
as a floating strand of gossamer. But
he felt It and thrilled through all his
being. Slowly, slowly, he raised Ills
David. “1 knew a butcher's son once
upon a time.”
“Once upon a time!” she repeuted.
'That sounds like a story. That's tbs
way they always begin.”
And so It wus the beginning of a
story; but David did not tell It to her
then.
They went home together.
At Totnette’s door, Uttle Mr. O’Ban-
non hailed David with a shout.
“I sent my dove Into the wilderness,”
he said, his eyes twinkling, “but you’re
the most sizable olive branch 1 ever
saw I”
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Uttermost Instant.
It was the day following Scull’s de-
parture. David walked swiftly, deep
Into the leafless forest, and strode
along Little Indian Creek, gurgling
umler Its Ice. to the spot where Toln-
ette OTlnnnon had first smiled tt bins
In the April oooo. It was there hla
new Ufs had begun. And there, to eel-
CHAPTER XIX. 'tj“
The Story Begins.
In the little stone courthouse on that
Sabbath morning a hundred voices
were lifted In the stirring music of
Glardinl’s triumphal hymn. The peo-
ple of the countryside had gathered to
give thanks to God for the victory over
their savage foes. The vigor of the
Chant swelled Id a stern strength which
wus made beautiful by the rough voices
of the pioneers. In the little room the
hymn echoed with the majesty of s
cathedral chant:
Come, thou Almighty King;
Help ue thy name to sing.
Help me to praise!
Father! all glorloua.
O’er all vlctorloua.
Come and reign over us;
Ancient pt days!
Dnvld felt himself thrill In every
nerve; his wife’s hand trembled In his
and he knew that. Uke himself, site
felt the mighty glory of life and love,
of trial undergone, of good triumphant
over 111, of yearnings toward the Inef-
fable. Tears of huppiness stood In hla
eyes. The penn of victory ceased.
The minister, a man of God. rose slow-
ly to his feet. He, too, felt tears rising
from the depths. Love had made him
the apostle of the people of the wil-
derness and he had knit their hearts to
his with bands of humble ministry. Ue
hud never before addressed so large an
audience as this. Sunday after Sun-
day, the ten or twelve who made up
hts little Calvtulstlc flock, lacking a
church building, gathered In the homes
of his elders, Henry Rice and James
Armstrong; the foundations of Goshen
chapel had been scarcely planned; but
today he found a hundred men and
women watching him, expectant of
spiritual comfort. No one appreciated
better than he the sufferings, the be-
reavements through which they had
pnsseA In his meek nnd heroic spirit
he thanked God for the high honor be-
stowed upon Mm. that to him should
be given the words to address so great
a company. In a voice that rang
with prophecy, he rend aloud that
being. Slowly, slowly, he raised hlsl thrilling call which concludes the fopr-1 mlneraT with which ire am preserve
head and ahe suv^hl^fnce. thafhe bndKeenfh Chapter Uf the Gospel of Lufih; |m,P Yon all know how lubo-
goqe Into the valley of the shadow of | nntj as t,e lifted his eyes from the
useless to say that we will never tow-
get whnt )’*»•• have done for ua. Gen-
eral Clark la now a penniless nnd pal-
sied cripple In hla sister's home. Do
not expect that .a republic widen has
no rewards for the lender will be less
forgetful of the man In the ranks.
“You have not entered on thla death*
lessly heroic struggle with the wilder-
ness with the expectation of material
reward alone: you have come here
•rom the old quiet places In Virginia,
in Massachusetts, In Connecticut, In
Pennsylvania and New Jersey because
you have the fighting spirit In you;
and you stay here because the fighting
spirit stays lu you.
“‘For which of you. Intending to
build a tower, sltteth not down first,
nnd counteth the cost, whether be have
sufficient to flulsh It?'
'Lest haply, after he hath laid the
foundation, and Is not able to finish It,
all that behold It begin to mock him,
“ 'Saying. “This ninn began to build,
and was not able to finish.”' .
“The tower that you have begun te
build is nn Invisible tower: a new and
mighty nation. Today you alt down to
count the cost of the building, to see
whether you have sufficient with which
to finish the vast edifice. Wbut is the
cost? The world watches you. and not
only Its generations of todny but those
uuborn generations who will weigh
your work to see whether It was good
or bad. I know that you hove counted
the cost and are willing, ready to pay
It: n treasure of sacrifice, a treasure
of blood nnd wounds and dreadful
agoules nnd fittter tears. But you will
pay it. You will pay It to the utter-
most. holding yourselves to the grim
uccouut with Irou wills, forcing your-
selves on with unconquerable resolve.
“Not of you shall It ever be said:
After he hath laid the foundation, and
Is not able to finish It, all that behold
it began to mock blm.
* 'Buying. “This man began to build,
nnd was not able to finish.” '
“For the tower which you build la
not built with hands, but with souls.
“ ‘So likewise, whosoever he be of
you that forsaketh not all that he hath,
he cabnot be my disciple.
“‘Salt Is good: but If the salt have
lost Its savor, wherewith Shull It be
seasoned?'
All of you know how hard It Is to
get salt In this uew country—how we
have to haul bushels of salty earth
from the spots which the red deei 'w
the forest hove discovered, the 'detr
licks.’ • You put this salty earth In un
ash hopper, pour water over It end
catch the water In a trough after tt
has leaked through the dirt. And then
you boll the salty water down rill
there is left a little<of the precious
death. In the hush of the wilderness
his scarcely audible words seemed to
fall on their hearts with the measured
beating of an inexorable Judgment.
What did she see la the wilderness?
A dry reed, shaken In the wind of de-
spair? But her voice rang like a song
In the morning:
“It Is not brave to turn back from
the plowing. 1 have heard my father
say that courage should be lifted to
such a height as to maintain Its great-
ness even In the midst of miseries,
holding ull things under Itself."
David smiled.
“1 call the Immortal truth to witness
that no fear, either of life or death,
can appall me, having long learned to
set bodily pain In the second form of
my being. And I do now think It the
net of a coward to die.”
The girl had grown paler as she read
hla determination In his face, white
and rigid as a mask.
David was silent In the morning
sunlight that dappled the little glade,
the frozen branches of the trees stood
motionless. A white snowflake danced
across the spuce before David's eyes
and his vision followed it up, up. Into
the cloudless blue beyond. In the quiet
it seemed to Tolnette as if she could
hear her own heart beating. David
spoke again, slowly:
“And If we be lieutenants of God In
this troubled world, do you uot think
then that we have right to choose a new
station when be leaves us unprovided
of good reason to stay la the old?”
“No, certainly I do not” she said,
with a rebuke lovelier because It lay
In her sweetly troubled voice, “since
It Is not for us to appoint that mighty
majesty what time he will help us;
the uttermost Instant Is scope enough
for him to revoke all things to one's
own desire.”
And she sealed her llpa*wtth the
moistness of her tears, which followed
still one another like a precious rope
of pearls. Dnvld suddenly realised
how InelTubly sweet life was; wouder*
ful, tragic. Joyous worthy of music,
worthy of tears.
The pistol fell to the ground unbeed
ed. David took a step forward.
But she checked him.
“No,” she said, “do not tell me. Doc-
tor Elliott hns told me ull. He and
Lydia have gone. Forgive me, forgive
me, David I Let the dreadful past go
with them! See, you have made me
cry—aren't you sorry? And by this
time there’s no dinner for either of
us."
They laughed together. They were
young.
"I’ll get dinner tor feu,” promised
book, he found resting on him the clear
steady gaze of the threescore back-
woodsmen.
“I um going to speak to you about
tenacity of purpose,” he began, “the
quality of soul which enables you to
hang ou to the thing you have begun
until you have finished It
“Not one of you men nnd women but
despises a tnan who gives up In the
midst of a fight. This feeling Is a part
of your very blood, for you have been
brought up In the midst of dangers
such ns no other generation of men
bus known. It Is upon resistance up to
the last notch that your lives them-
selves depend. That man among you
who surrenders Imperils the lives of
all of you. There Is not oue of you
whose resolution has not been tried
and tried sorely by the almost Insuffer-
able burdens of this new land. A hun-
dred times you have said, 'Why did I
not remuin in the land which my fa-
thers have made safe and pleasant for
roe?* And a hundred times you have
fought off that feeling of discourage-
ment
“You ore about to be put to a test
more severe than uny you have yet un
dergone. You have won the fight at Tip-
pecanoe; but do not he mistaken: all
the pitiless warriors of the forest will
gather aguin aud crush you out en-
tirely If they can; and behind them la
the power of thut nation across the
seas, whose tyranny our fathers hove
overthrown at such tremendous cost
“'Aud whosoever doth do* bear his
cross, and come after me, cannot be
my disciple!’
"The words are those of the greatest
fighter of all. They are the words of
a man who, without a single follower,
proclaimed his convictions before the
most hostile nnd unfriendly of all gen-
eratIons. The whole crushing weight
of Its hate fell upon him, but he clung
to those beliefs to the very lust—gave
up his life, rather than give them up.
He, of all men, knew what It mean to
cling to a purpose In the face of tre-
mendous difficulties. Yet he says that
whoever cannot equally endure the
burdens of the mnreb through life Is
not fit to be a man.
“Thirty-two years ngo a little band
of men—settlers like you. nnd not so
many ns are now before me—followed
George Rogers Clark through unimag-
inable hardships across the wintry
prairies from Knsknskla to Vlucennea.
I*ast week I passed by the crumbling
timbers of the old fort and found their
bullets sunken In the logs Inside the
embrasures. Home of you men lu thla
audience were with him lo that ter-
rible march aud darluf assault. It Is
our meats. You all know how labo-
rious and tiresome a process It Is. and
how much the suit means to the set-
tler. How the cattle moo for u tnsfe
of It I What would our children do
without ndlk!
“We can all understand this manner
of speaking: ‘Suit Is good: hut tf the
salt have lost Its suvor. wherewith
shall It be seasoned?*
“That greut soldier, Christ, means to
say that he looks to his followers not
only to begin greut tasks, but to con-
tinue in them; for there nrc no greater
soldiers thnn the soldiers who fight In
a good cause. The man who stops mid-
way In his fight Is like salt thut loses
Its essential quulity. There Is no
longer any reason for Its existence.
Better not be ut ull, than to cease from
being strong. For then who lb left to
give new strength to the salt? There
Is no one for you to fall buck on—>ou
have chosen a certnin work In life and
you mast stick it out to the end.
“I want you to remember this
through all the great struggles which
are left before you. Today we srs
waiting, and waiting for the appear-
ance of n terrible foe. They muy coma
to raise the war-whoop or they may
come In pence. Hut however they may
come they mill find us ready, like the
wise king who hath consulted and
found himself ready to meet the force
thut cometh against hltn. For you
have learned to fight the greater strug-
gles of the spirit. You have learned to
be cool, tcu>!»erHte und steady, first of
all; and having learned these virtues
of manliness and pluck and mastery
over self, you mill add to them the su-
preme virtue of tenacity: to keep, 14
hold, to grip as In a vise the purpose
to which you have consecrated youn
selves.
“Aud then, some day, the tower nt
this new and beautiful nation wilt
stand ns a dream made visible. The
foundations Washington laid, nad
Clark and Harrison have added to; tb«
greut timbers of the walls which you
are raising will he strengthened by
mighty girders which your sons will
heave Into plnre and fasten together
like a welded yoke; and their sons will
rear the roof above, and still another
generation will muke It a house shut-
ting out the four minds of the earth;
and your grandsons’ sons will make It
beuullful within. We nliull uot sea
that tluy nor reap any of Ita rewards;
but of us shall the uuseen corner*
stone lie made. Today la the glory of
victory; tomorrow begins the clamor of
toll. ‘Where Is the bouts that yt build
unto me? Where Is tbo place of ma
restf ..." ^
THE KNU,
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Browning, Orrin L. The Ralston Tribune (Ralston, Okla.), Vol. 1, No. 33, Ed. 1 Friday, February 2, 1917, newspaper, February 2, 1917; Ralston, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc907805/m1/2/?q=led+zeppelin: accessed June 5, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.