The Fairland News (Fairland, Okla.), Vol. 5, No. 39, Ed. 1 Friday, December 13, 1912 Page: 3 of 10
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Oklahoma Digital Newspaper Program and was provided to The Gateway to Oklahoma History by the Oklahoma Historical Society.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
Persons
:rc3
Homance
■y ( Cyrus Towmerxd Bi-aly
i Author of TficWmS,andtfce^an,f * ■<
'WmLemdt^jrWaTtf _ _
"Tfolskind of K«tf®nerat4«K,' . N-V\~
& Better Ma<"W«ari and
the Hitflway-"-5? As '< ' '
ffy Ppwajii, " ......a * * -
f>y CTswortVVound
OopyrtjC^-* t9«X &y V.q.Ch^pWaw
SYNOPSIS.
Enid Maltland, a frank, free and un-
polled young Phalladelphla Rlrl, Is taken
to the Colorado mountains by her uncle,
Robert Maltland. James Armstrong,
Mm I Hani's protege, falls In love with he>.
His persistent wooing thrills the girl, but
■he hesitates, and Armstrong goes east
on business without a definite answer.
Enid hears the story of a mining enK'"
neer, Newbold, whose wife fell off a elm
and was so seriously hurt that he was
compelled to shoot her to prevent her be-
ing eaten by wolves while he went for
help. Kirkby, the old guide who tells the
•tory, gives Enid a package of letters
"which he says ware found on the dead
woman's body. She reads the letters and
at Klrkby's request keeps them, vvhlle
bathing in mountain stream Enid Is at-
tacked by a bear, which Is mysteriously
ehot. A storm adds to the girl's terror.
A sudden deluge transforms brook Into
raging torrent, which sweeps Enid Into
gorge, where she is rescued by a moun-
tain hermit after a thrilling experience.
Campers In great confusion upon dlscov-
Ing Enid's absence when the storm
breaks. Maltland and Old Kirkby go in
search of the girl. Enid discovers that
her ankle Is sprained and that she is un-
able to walk Her mysterious rescuer
carries her to his camp. Enid K°es to
sleep in the strange man's bunk. Miner
cooks breakfast for Enid, after which
they go on tour of inspection. The her-
mit tells Enid of his unsuccessful attempt
to find the Maltland campers. Tie admits
that he is also from Philadelphia. The
hermit falls in love with Enid. The man
comes to a realization of his love for her.
but naturally In that strange solitude the
relations of the girl and her rescuer be-
come unnatural and strained. The strang-
er tells of a wife he had who Is dead,
and says he has sworn to ever cherish
her memory by living in solitude. He and
Enbr, however, confess their love for
each other. She learns that he Is the
man who killed his wife In the mountain.
Enid discovers the writer of the letters
to Newbold's wife to have been James
Armstrong. Newbold decides to start to
the settlement for help. The man is
racked by the belief that he Is unfaithful
to his wife's memory, and Enid is tempt-
ed to tell him of the letters in her pos-
session. Armstrong. accompanied by
Kirkby and Robert Maltland, find a note
that Newbold had left in the deserted
cabin, and know that the girl Is in his
keeping. Fate brings all the actors to-
gether. Newbold returns from hunting
(fame and sees a man near the hut. It
s James Armstrong, who has at last lo-
cated the missing girl, and he enters the
cabin. Armstrong pleads his love for
Enid, but she reminds him of his affec-
tion for Newbold'ft wife. He grows in-
sulting and Enid orders him from her
presence. Newbold returns opportunely.
He discovers the truth about Armstrong
and would have killed him but for the
Interference of Kirkby and Maltland,
who came upon the scene.
CHAPTER XXIII.
m
The Becoming End.
"Why did you Interfere?" asked
Newbold when at last he got his
breath again, of Maitland who still
held him firmly although restraint was
now unnecessary, the heat and fire of
his passion being somewhat gone out
of him. "I meant to kill him."
"He'd oughter die sure nuff," draw-
led old Kirkby, rising from where he
had been kneeling by Armstrong's
side," but I don't Unow's how you're
bound to be his executioner. "He's all
right now, Miss Enid," said the old
man. "Here"—he took a pillow from
the bed and slipped it under his head
and then extending Ills hands he lift-
ed the excited almost distraught wo-
man to her feet—" 'taint flttin' for you
to tend on him."
"Oh," exclaimed Enid, her limbs
trembling, the blood flowing away
from her heart, her face deathly white,
fighting against the faintness that
came with the reaction, while old
Kirkby supported and encouraged her.
"I thank God you came. I don't know
what vould have happened if you had
not."
"Has this man mistreated you?"
asked Robert Maitland suddenly, tight-
ening his grip upon his hard breath-
ing but unresisting passive prisoner.
"No, no," answered his niece. "He
has been everything that a man should
be."
"And Armstrong," continued her
uncle.
"No, not even he."
"1 came in time, thank God!" ejacu-
lated Newbold.
By this time Armstrong had recov-
ered consciousness. To his other
causes for hatred were now added cha-
grin, mortification, shame. He had
been overcome. He would have been
a dead man and by Newbold's hands,
If the others had not interfered. He
almost wished they had let his en-
emy alone. Well, he had lost every-
thing but a chance for revenge
them all.
"She has been alone here with this
man in this cabin for a month," he
said thickly. "I was willing to take
her in spile of that, but—"
"He made that damned suggestion
before," cried Newbold, his rage re-
turning. "I don't know who you
are—"
"My name is Robert Maitland, and
I am this girl's uncle."
"Well, if you were her father, 1
could only swear—"
"It isn't necessary to swear any-
thing," answered Maitland serenely.
"I know this child, and 1 believe I'm
beginning to find out this man
"Thank you, Uncle Robert," said
Enid gratefully, coming nearer to him
as she spoke. "No man could have
done more for me than Mr. Newbold
has, and no one could have been more
considerate of me As for you," she
turned to Armstrong, who now slowly
got to his feet, "your insinuations
jigulnst me are nh a par with vour
charges against the dead woman, be-
neath contempt."
"What d-id he say about her?" asked
old Kirkby.
"You know my story?" asked New-
bold.
"Yes."
"He said that my wife had been un-
faithful to me—with him—and that he
had refused to take her back. Great
God!"
"And It was true," snarled Arm-
strong.
It was all Maitland could do to
check Newbold's rush, but in the end
it was old Kirkby who most effectively
interposed.
"That's a damned lie," he said quiet-
ly with his usual drawling voice.
"You can s^y so," laughed Arm-
strong, "but that doesn't alter the
facts."
"And I can prove It," answered the
old man triumphantly.
It was coming, the secret that she
had tried to conceal was about to be
revealed, thought Enid. She made a
movement toward the old man. She
opened her mouth to bid him be silent
and then stopped. It would be use-
less she knew. The determination
was no longer hers. The direction of
affairs bad been withdrawn from her.
After all it was better that the unlov-
ing wife should be proved faithful,
even if her husband's cherished mem-
ory of ler love for him had to be de-
stroyed thereby. Helpless she list-
ened, knowing full well what the old
frontiersman's next word would be.
"Prove it," mocked Armstrong, j
"How?"
"By your own hand, out of your own I
moutft, you dog," thundered old Kirk- !
by. "Miss Enid, where are them let- j
ters I give you?"
"I—I—" faltered the girl, but there
was no escape from the keen glance of
the old man; her hand went to the j
bosom of her tunic.
"Letters," exclaimed Armstrong.
"What letters?"
"These," answered Enid Maitland,
holding up the packet.
Armstrong reached for them, but
Kirkby again interposed.
"No, you don't," he said dryly.
"Them ain't for your eyes yet. Mr.
Newbold, I found them letters on the
little shelf where your wife first struck
when she fell over onto the butte
where she died. I figured out her
dress was tore open there, and them
letters she was carrying fell out and
lodged there. We had ropes an' we
went down over the rocks that way.
I went first an' I picked 'em up. I nev-
er told nobody about it, an' I never
showed 'em to a single human bein'
until I give 'em to Miss Maitland at
the camp "
• "Why not?" asked Newbold, taking
the letters.
"Ther j wasn't no good tellin' nobody
then, jest fer the sake o' stirrin' up
trouble."
"But why did you glv« them to her
at last?"
"Because I was afeered she might
fall in love with Armstrong. I sup-
posed she'd know his writin', but w'en
she didn't I just let her keep 'em
anyway. I knowed it'd all come out
somehow; there is a God above us in
spite of all the damned scoundrels on
earth like this 'un."
"Are these letters addressed to my
dead wife?" asked Newbold.
"They are," answered Enid Mait-
land. "Look and see."
"And did Mr. Armstrong write
them ?"
"He'll deny it, I suppose," answered
Kirkby.
"But I am familiar with his hand
writing," said Maitland.
Taking the still unopened packet
from Newbold, he opened it, examined
one of the letters and uanded them all
back.
"There is no doubt about it," he
said. "It's Armstrong's hand, I'd
swear to it."
"Oh, I'll acknowledge them," said
Armstrong, seeing the absolute futil-
ity of further denial. He had forgot-
ten all about the letters. He had not
dreamed they were in existence.
"You've got me beat between you; the
cards are stacked against me. I've
done my damndest"—and indeed that
was true.
Well, he had played a great game,
battling for a high, stake he had stuck
at nothing. A career in which some
good had mingled with much bad was
now at an end. He had lost utterly;
would he show himself a good loser?
"Mr. Armstrong," said Newbold
quietly, extending his hand, "here are
your letters."
"What do you mean?"
"1 am not in the habit of reading let-
ters addressed to other peo; le without
permission, and when the recipient of
them is dead long since, I am doably
bound."
"You're a damned fool," cried Arm-
strong contemptuously.
"That kind of a charge from your
kind of a man Is perhaps the highest
complaint you could pay me. 1 don't
il|gi
. A
It Was the Woman Who Broke the Silence.
know whether I shall ever get rid of
the doubt you have tried to lodge in
my soul about my dead wife, but—"
"There ain't no doubt about It," pro-
tested old Kirkby earnestly. "I've
read them letters a hundred times
over, liavin' no scruples whatsoever,
an' in every one of 'em he was beg-
gin' an' pleadin' with "her to go away
with him an' flghtin' her refusal to do
It. I guess I've got to admit that she
didn't love you none, Newbold, an' she
did love this here wuthless Armstrong,
but for the sake of her reputation, I'll
prove to you all from them letters of
hisn, from his own words, that there
didn't live a cleaner hearted, more vir-
tuous upright feemale than that there
wife of you: 1, even if she didn't love
you. It's God's truth an' you kin take
it fron) me."
"Mr. Armstrong," cried Enid Mait-
land, interposing at this juncture. "Not
very long ago I told you I liked you
better than any man I had ever seen.
I thought perhaps I might have loved
you, and that was true. You have
played the coward's part and the liar's
part In this room—"
"Did I fight him like a coward?"
asked Armstrong.
"No," answered Newbold for her, re-
membering the Btruggie; "you fought
like u man."
Singular perversion of language and
thought there! If two struggled like
wild beasts that was fighting like men!
"But let tlAt pass," continued the
woman. "I don't deny your physical
courage, but I am going to appeal to
another kind of a courage which I be-
lieve you possess. You have showed
your evil side here in this room, but
1 don't believe that's the only side you
have, else I couldn't have liked you in
the past. You have made a charge
against two women; one dead and one
living. It makes little difference what
you say about me. 1 need r.o defense
and no Justification In the eyes of
those here who love me, and for the
rest of the world I don't care. But you
have slain \his man's conlidence in a
woman be v<nce loved, and who he
thought lovei him. Ab you are a man,
tell him that It was a lie and that she
was innocent of anything else although
Bhe did love you."
What a singular situation, an obser-
ver who knew all might have reflect-
ed! Here was Enid Maltland pleading
for the good name of the woman who
had married the man she now loved,
and whom by rights she should have
jealously hated.
"You ask me more than I can "
faltered Armstrong yet greatly moved
by this touching appeal to his better
self.
"Let him speak no word," protested
Newbold quickly. "I wouldn't believe
him on1 his oath."
"Steady now, steady," interposed
Kirkby with his frontier instinct for
fair piay, "the man's down, Newbold,
don't hit him now/
"Give him a chance," added Mait-
land earnestly.
"You would not believe me, eh?"
laughed Armstrong horribly, "well
then this is what I say, whether it is
true or a lie you can be the judge."
What was he about to say? They
all recognized instinctively that his
forthcoming deliverance would ne a
final one. Would good or evil domin-
ate him now? Enid Maitland had
made her plea and it had been a pow-
erful one; the man did truly love
the woman who urged him; there was
nothing left for him but a chance that
she Bhould think better of him than
he merited; he had come to the end
of his resources. And Enid Maltland
spoke again as he hesitated.
"O, think, think before you speak."
she cried.
"If 1 thought," answered Arm-
strong quickly, "I should go mad. New-
bold, your wife waB as pure as the
snow; that she loved me I cannot and
will not deny, she married you in a
fit of jealousy and anger after a quar-
rel between us in which I was to
blame, and when 1 came back to the
camp in your absence, I strove to
make It up and used every argument
that I possessed to get her to leave
you and to live with me. Although
she had no love for you she was too
good and too true a woman for that.
Now you've got the truth, damn you,
believe it or not as you like. Miss
Maitland," he added swiftly. "If I had
met you sooner, I might have been
a better man. Good bye."
He turned suddenly and none pre-
venting. Indeed it was not possible, he
ran to the outer door; as he did so
hie hand snatched something that lay
on the chest of drawers There was
a flash of light as he drew In his arm
but none saw what it was. In a few
seconds he was outside the door. The
table was between old Kirkby and the
exit; Maitland and Newbold were
nearest. The old man came to bis
senses first.
"After him," he cried, "he means—"
But before anybody could stir the
dull report of a pistol come through
the open door!
They found Armstrong lying on his
back in the snowy path; his face as
white as the drift that pillowed his
head, Newbold's heavy revolver still
clutched in his right band and a
bloody welling smudge on bis left
breast over his heart. It was the wo-
man who broke the silence.
"Oh," she sobbed, "it can't be—"
"Dead," said Maltland solemnly.
"And It might have been by my
hand," nuttered Newbold to himself
In horror.
"He'll never cause no more trouble
to nobody In this world, \Miss Enid an'
gents," said old Kirkby gravely. "Well,
he was a damned fool an' a damned
villain in some ways," continued the
old frontiersman reflectively In the si-
lence broken otherwise only by the
woman's sobbing breaths, "but he had
some of the qualities that go to make
a man, an' I ain't doubtin' but what
them last words of hlsn was mighty
near true. Ef he had met a girl like
you earlier In his life, he mought have
been a different man."
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Draught ot Joy.
The great library was the prettiest
room in Robert Maltland's magnificent
mansion in Denver's most favored res-
idence section. It was a long, low-
studded room with a heavy beamed
ceiling. The low book cases, about
five feet high, ran between all the
window3 and doors on all side-; of the
room. At one end there was a huge
open fire place built of rough stone,
and as it was winter a cheerful fire
of logs blazed on the hearth. It was
a man'i room pre-eminently. The
drawing-room across the hall was Mrs.
Maltland's domain, but the library re-
flected he. husband's picturesque if
somewhat erratic taste. On the
walls there were pictures of
the west by Remington, March-
and, Dunton, Dixon and others,
and to set them off, finely mount-
ed heads of bear and deer and buffalo.
Swords and other arms stood here and
there. The writing table was maeslve
and the chairs ea3y, comfortable and
inviting. The floor was strewn with
robes and rugs. From the windows
facing westward, since the house was
set on a high hill, one could see the
great rampart of the range.
There were three men in the room
on that brilliant morning early in Jan-
uary something like a month after
these adventures In the mountains
which have been so veraciously
set forth. Two of them were the
brothers Maitland; the third was New-
bold.
The shock produced upon Enid Malt-
land by the death of Armstrong to-
gether with the tremendous episodes
that had preceded It had utterly pros-
strated her. They had spent the
night the hut in the mountains and
had decided that the woman must be
taken back to the settlements some
way at all hazards.
The wit of old Kirkby had effected
a solution of the problem, using a
means certainly as old as Napoleon
and the passage of his cannon over
the Great St. Bernard—and perhaps as
old as Hannibal! They had made a
rude sled from the trunk of a pine
which they hollowed out and provided
with a back and runners. There was
no lack of fur robes and blankets for
her comfort.
Wherever It was practicable the
three men hitched themselves to the
sled with ropes and dragged it and
Enid over the snow. Of course for
miles down the canon it was impossi-
ble to use the sled. When the way
was comparatively easy the woman,
supported by the two men, Newbold
and Maitland, made shift to get along
afoot. When it became too diflicult
for her, l.ewbold picked her up as he
had done before and assisted by Mait-
land, carried her bodily to the next
resting place. At these times Kirkby
looked after the sled.
They had managed to reach the tem-
porary hut in the old camp the first
night and rested there. They gath-
ered up their sleeping bags and tents
and resumed their journey in the
morning. They were strong men, and
save for old Kirkby, young. It was a
desperate endeavor but they carried it
through.
Whea they hit the open trails the
sledding was easy and they made
great progress After a week of ter-
rific going, they struck the railroad,
and the next day found them all safe
in Maltland's house In Denver.
To Mr. Stephen Maitland his daugh-
ter was as one who had risen from
the dead. And indeed, when he first
saw her, she looked like death itself.
No one had known how terrible that
journey had been to the woman. Her
three faithful attendants had surmised
something, but in spite of all even
they did not realize that in these last
days she had been sustained only by
the most violent effort of her will. She
had no sooner reached the house,
greeted her father, her aunt and the
children, then she collapsed utterly.
The wonder was, said the physician
not that she did it then but that she
hiad not done It before. For a short
time it appeared as if her illness might
be serious, but youth, vigor, a strong
body and a good constitution, a heart
now free from care and apprehension
and a great desire to live and love
and be loved, worked wonders.
Newbold had enjoyed no opportunity
for private conversation with the wo-
man he loved, whlcu was perhaps just
as well. He bad the task of readjust-
ing himself to changed conditions; not
only to a different environment, but to
strange and unusual departures from
his long cherished view points.
] He could no longer doubt Arm
j strong'L final testimony to the purity
of his wife, although he had burne#
the letters unread, and by the same
token he could no longer cherish the
dream that she had loved him and him
alone. Those words that had pre-
ceded that pistol Bhot bad made <t
possible for him to take Enid Malt-
land as his wife without doing violence
to his sense of honor or his self-re-
spect. Armstrong had made that
much reparation. And Newbold could
not doubt that the other had known
what would be the result of his speech
and had chosen his words deliberately;
score that last action to his credit He
was a sensitive man, however; bfl>
realized the brutal and beast-like part
he and Armstrong had both played be.
fore this woman they both loved, how
they had battled like savage animal*
and how but for a lucky interposition
he would have added murder to his
other disabilities.
He was honest enough to Bay to him-
self that he would have done the same
thing over under the same circum-
stances, but that did not absolve Itaia
conscience. He did not know how the
woman looked at the transaction or
looked at him, and he had not enjoyed
one moment alone with her. In all
that had transpired since that morn-
ing in the hut, the four had naturally
and inevitably remained inseparably
together.
They had buried Armstrong in the
snow, Robert Maitland saying over
him a brief but fervent petition in
which even Newbold joined. Enid
Maitland herself had repeated elo-
quently to her uncle and old Kirkby
that night before the fire the story of
her rescue from the flood by this man,
how he had carried her In the storm
to the hut and how he had treated her
since; and Maitland had afterward*
repeated her account to his brother in
Denver.
Maitland had insisted that Newbold
share his hospitality, but that young
man had refused. Kirkby had a little
place not far from Denver and easily
accessible to It, and the old man had
gladly taken the younger one with
him. Newbold had been in' a fever of
anxiety over Enid Maltland's Illness,
bu^ hls alarm bad soon been dispelled
by the physician's assurance, and
there was nothing now left for him
but to wait until she could see him.
He Inquired for her morning and even-
ing at the great house on the hill;
he kept her room a bower of beauty
with priceless blossoms, but he had
sent no word.
Robert Maitland had promised to let
him know, however, so soon as Enid
could see him, and it was In pursuance
of a telephone message that he was in
the library that morning.
He had not yet become accustomed
to the world; he had lived so long
alone that he had grown somewhat shy
and retiring; the habits and customs
of years were not to be lightly thrown
aside in a week or a month. He had
sought no interview with Enid's father
heretofore; Indeed had rather avoided
It, but on this morning he had asked
for it, and when Robert Maltland
would have withdrawn he begged him
to remain.
"Mr. Maitland," Newbold began, "I
presume that you know my unfortu-
nate history."
"I have heard the general outline*
of it, sir, from my brother and others."
answered the other kindly.
"I need not dwell upon It furthe(
then. Although my hair is tinged wltX
gray and doubtle>s I look much older.
I was only twenty-eight on my last
birthday. I was not born In this seoi
tion of the country, my home was in
Baltimore."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Hard Work to Find Publisher.
It Is not generally known that J. H.
Shorthouse had some difficulty in get-
ting his famous historical romance,
"John Inglesant," into print
Shorthouse was engaged ten year*
In writing the book, and every page
as he wrote it he submitted to the
discriminating criticism of his wife.
When the story was finished no pub-
lisher would accept It. Four years
passed away and then Shorthouse re-
solved to publish 100 copies at his
own expense. When this was done a
copy came into the hands of Alexan-
der Macmillan, who recognized the
merit of the novel, and published It,
with the result that all the world
knows.
Matters of the Memory.
Savages have good memories. They
rarely make a false or erroneous mo-
tion. They have mastered their sur-
roundings and there are no new
things to distract their attention.
They keep their memory celli un-
crowded. The civilized man 1b at a
great disadvantage. He sees some
new thing every hour. H1b brain cells
are a veritable, dancing, whirling,
seething nest of memories. It is not
any great wonder that he cannot re-
call the one he needs Just when he
needs It
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
Lee, Albert Sidney. The Fairland News (Fairland, Okla.), Vol. 5, No. 39, Ed. 1 Friday, December 13, 1912, newspaper, December 13, 1912; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc99570/m1/3/: accessed April 18, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.