Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 269, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 November 1911 — Page 3

The RING and the MAN

PROLOGUE

U QUARTER OP A CENTURY BEFORE. The Storm Within. The storm was one of the worst that had ever burst from the mountains and swept across the plains. The wind came in wild bursts of tremendous speed. Even in the lulls, which were only comparatively such. It blew perhaps 20 mileeanhour. The fierce blasts were laden with fine snow—frozen spindrift from a white ocean of cold! Needles of ice sharper than their prototypes of steel cut the bare flesh of those whom evil fortune kept abroad on' such a night, 'bringing the blood to the freezing skin. The onslaught of the sogeamllng tempest drove the hapless cattle mad with pain and terror. The thick lanow compelled them to huddle together at last, and shelterless to suffer, freeze, Mid die in the pitiless hurHcane . ' - : : ........ ; Just where the foothills lose themeelvets in the prairie lay huddled a little town or camp. Every door fend window was shut and barricaded against the searching storm. . In one of the poorest and most miserable shanties on the outskirts of the town a. woman waited alone. A common kerosene lamp stood on a table before the window, set there as If In signal. The house, a mere shack which shook and Quivered 'under the tremendous assaults of the storm, and might have been blown down If It had hot been buttressed and protected by heaps of snow yet threatening to overwhelm It, contained but one room. In the corner farthest from the door stood a tumbled, frowzy bed. A rickety chest of drawers, a kitchen table, a rusty cook stove, a few uncertain chairs of the plainest and cheapest Quality, were all the rest of the furniture. A few clothes hung from pegs driven In the boarded walk A saddle In one corner, a pickax and shovel, a heavy quirt, and a rifle hanging from (pegs beneath a shelf sufllciently pointed out the avocations of the lowner. ( -Yet she was a z woman who, whatever her Outward circumstances, showed no poverty of spirit. She raged up and down the room as a prisoned tiger paces the narrow confines of his cage. Sometimes she paused and stopped by the window, to rest her head beneath her hand on the sash and peer eagerly, passionately, out into the failing snow. She could see nothing, and after having stared with increased disappointment and further mutterings of angry words, she would resume her restless backward and forward march. Had there been any spectator when ahe assumed that picturesque position at the window, where the light, however It failed to illuminate the snow, threw her own face and person In high relief, the observer would have been surprised at the coarse ted yet not unattractive beauty of her face and figure. She was fuH Upped and deep bosomed, tall, . lithe, strong. Her cheeks were full of dolor, her hair black and coarsely crisp and curly. Her hands, which she clasped and unclasped nervously, were large and reddened by toll, but they were shapely nevertheless. But there was neither refinement nor goodness tn her face. There were great possibilities of evil which experience could have detected. Hers had been a hard life, and it had made her a hard woman. She was perhaps twenty-five years old, but Iboked older. For hours the woman had waited in that hut alone. It had been storming badly when she began her vigil, and ithe vlblence of the tempest had increased until she feared that no human soul could brave IL- That she very much wanted some one to attempt K, that she very keenly, ardently, longed for that, was quite evident Great Is the power of love. Even Its counterfeit—that which passes for it in the eyes of the Ignorant and inexperienced—may stir men and women to mighty deeds. This woman Waited the arrival of one who fancied Ihimself a modern Perseus about to release another bound and helpless Anidromeda from a devouring monster. Whether the man who fatuously filled that role—or the boy, rather, for he had not reached man’s years or estate—would arrive before her husband, was the problem that filled the woman’s mind. In view of the blizzard raging, she might have wondered whether, tn case either of them nought tike house, they could find it or reach it alive. If she had stopped to wauflder that phase of the possibilities, she would have been profoundly iglad had both ventured and had both [wandered on In the night until beaten Mown and mastered by the spirit of lhe storm, so that the searchers, after (them frozen to death as many* another boor fellow was found frozen thereniter. For while the woman loathed tidJbated her drunken brute of a husIfoollsh young tenderfoot who had wandered out west to spend a summer

With some incident al

By CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY

kivsmw&fs &

holiday and had lingered on through the winter, fascinated by her exuberant attractiveness, and flattered by her bold and artful pursuit of him. ' She had thought to amuse herself in her dreary, wretched, sordid life by his fresh? frank, open admiration. The woman’s drunken husband had cared little at first; but lately, under the jibes, sneers, and innuendos of his companions, he had become fiercely jealous. Then In maudlin fury he had forbidden the boy the house, and had sworn that he would kill him on sight. ■ ;. . 5' ' The woman thereupon swiftly made up her mind to break the thraldom'of her matrimonial bond, and in the young stranger’s company or by his agency to leave the country. She neither desired nor intended to be tied to the boy a half dozen years younger than she. Once In civilization it would be easy to break away from him, she knew. Thereafter she had no fear but with her beauty, her wit, and her courage, with her utter unscrupulousness, she could make her way in the east which she had never seep. And this was the night on which they had agreed to take their departure. Since her husband’s wild outbreak of jealousy, she had seen the boy only -once. In that surreptitious Interview they had concocted their plans. Her husband spent the greater part of the nights, whenever he had any money, In gambling and drinking at the saloon. By a lucky chance a short time before in an all night trial with Fortune he had won something over 11,000. The bulk of ft In hard cash

"You Are Going on a Longer Journey Than You Planned,” He Panted.

still reposed In. the chest of drawers. That, with what the boy could contribute, would provide fdr the expenses of the journey. She had got itbut and tied It up in a little canvas bag. It lay on the table near the lamp. Fifteen miles south the Union Psiclflc railroad ran across the continent It had been her plan to ride thither and take the first train eastward, losing themselves in Chicago, and thence by whatsoever route pleased them making their way to New York. Whether her husband would pursue her or not she could not tell. He *wouM be without the money, since she meant to take all with her. He would hardly be able to follow her very soon. But ft he did, that was a risk she must take. > -• Engrossed In the present the boy thought nothing at all about the future. The woman’s predicament bulked so large to his immature imagination that there was nothing else on the horlson. There was no other horizon than she, In fact And his one desire was to get her away to free her. - And now this storm bads fair to render the whole plan impossible. Misunderstanding his temper she feared that the boy would bo frightened by ths bllssard. Yet there was more In the boy than she imagined; for when she had about made up her mind finally that ho would not ootne. the door was thrown open and ho stag-

gered Into the room. The woman screamed slightly and stepped toward the snow-covered. Ice-incrusted figure. The young man forced the door shut, turned and faced her. He tore off his fur cap and throw It on the floor. He stretched out Ms icy gauntletted hands toward her. To reach the cabin he had been compelled to face the blizzard. His face .whs white yet bleeding. The woman shrank back from him. "Is this my welcome?” he said In a voice manly enough In spite of. his youthful aspect “You’re so wet and so cold," said the woman. “The horses?” "They’re outside,” returned the boy. "But you didn’t think of venturing In this blizzard? Why, it’s like hell itself, or would be if hell was cold!” * *Td risk anything,” said the woman fiercely, “to get away from Mm! You won’t fail me now?” "But my God, girl!” answered the boy with that assumption of superior age which so satisfied his pride, "we’ll die in this blizzard." “No,” persisted the woman. “See, the storm comes straight from the north. Our way Is due south; we’ve only to keep it at our backs.” “All right” said the boy cheerily. He turned and stared out of the window. “You’ve no idea how terrible it is, though.” “I don’t care.” “Get ready, then.” “Fm ready," she-replied, “bee!” She lifted the skirt of her dress and showed him a pair of horseman’s boots with a pair of her husband’s trousers tucked tightly in them. “It’s a good thing he has a small foot” she sneered. “Curse him!” said the boy. *Td like to settle with him before we go.” “You'll settle with him enough," said the woman cynically, “when you take me away from him.” She turned and took down from one of the pegs a heavy fur overcoat The boy assisted her to put It on. From a holster hanging on the wall she drew a small silver-mounted 82callbered revolver. “I’m ready,” she said again. “Let us start, then," cried the boy, stepping forward. On the Instant a whirl of wind dls-

closed to them that the door had suddenly opened. They'turned to face a drunken, Infuriated, leering figure. He had on a short, thick fur jacket, which left his hips completely uncovered. A heavy revolver had dangled in his holster. He dragged It out as he spoke and trained it on the boy. “You’re going for a longer journey than you planned!” he panted thickly, as he strove to steady the weapon and cover the other. The boy was fumbling at the fastenings of his coat His own revolver was not get-at-able Instantly, as ft should have been and would have been had he been a native to the west “Fumble at ’em, you fool!" cried the man. “Before you get ’em open, HI shoot you dead. I don’t do it now, cause I want you to taste death and hell as long as possible before you go Into ’em. You thought you’d make a tool out of me, did you. and you, too, you—” He flung a frightful, mordant word at his wife which stung not less because ft was In large measure undeserved, at least so far as the boy was concerned. '/ •*”, ' ’ - ■ *TU settle with you when I get through with him. Your time’s up!” be continued, as the boy at last suoeeodnd in reaching Me weapon Ho was game, that boy, although his face under Its blood was whiter than

tt bad bm when he entered the cabin, while the other man'*, similarly snow wounded, was red with rage; and. though he was covered and even a drunken man could scarcely miss at such range, he nevertheless drew his own weapon. But before he could raise it there was a sudden movement back of him. The man tn the doorway turned sharply. *4; ? % "What!" he cried to Ms wife. “You would, you—” < At that instant the boy was conscious at a sudden flash of light and a sharp detonation. The room was filled with noise, a little cloud of smoke blew down on him. Standing with his own pistol butt clasped tight in his hand, he saw the man in the doorway reel. The arm that held his weapon dropped to his side. With a convulsive movement he pulled the trigger The bullet buried Itself in the floor, while the man sank down on his kneep, swayed a moment, a frightful look in his eyes, and then pitched forward on his lay still. “Good God!” whispered the boy turning to his companion, “you’ve shot him!” He stared at the Woman, who still clasped the little» sliver-mounted weapon she had used with such terrible effect. ? “It was his life, or your life or mine,” was the answer. “I did It for you,” she said Quickly, seeing a loq£ of horror and repulsion spreading over the face of her companion. "Yes-yes! I know,” he replied; “but—” - ■. .. "Come, we must get out of here immediately.” “Of course, of course," whispered the boy nervously, “we can’t stay here now.” “Drag him Into the room and shut the door!" t \~ l * The lad hesitated.

“Are you afraid?” sneered the woman, making as if to do so herself. “Certainly not,” was the answer; but the boy nevertheless was afraidafraid of death, with more fear than he had ever felt for any one living. Yet something had to be done and at once.. Forcing himself to the task at last, he stooped down, seized the man by the shoulders, turned him over on hie face, and dragged him farther into the room. Then he shut the door. The two stared a moment at the prostrate figure. “He’s not dead yet,” said the boy slowly. "No; but he soon will be." The woman stooped oyer and unbuttoned the man’s coat and waistcoat “There!” she said, pointing to a ghastly hole. “I struck him fair in the breast Would to God it’d been in his black heart!” she added. "Don’t you see that we must go now and quick? Come, we can’t delay any longer." "I’ll take the blame on myself if we’re caught,” said the boy. "It was my fault and you saved my life.” “That’s noble of you,” returned the woman indifferently; “but we won’t be caught" "Well, then, Til save your reputation before I go," continued the other quixotically. There were a few tattered books on the shelf. He took one down, tore out the flyleaf, drew a pencil from his pocket, scribbled on it a few words, signed it held It to the woman to read, laid the leaf down on the body of the dying man, and thgik turned to the door. He opened it and the woman followed him out into the night.

The room was very stilt Except for the long, slow, faint, and fainter breathing of the man, there was not a sound within the hovel. Death hovered over him the long night through. The morning found him still alive, yet barely breathing. He was trembling on the eternal verge later in the day when men seeking him burst into the room. They found the letter of confession still lying where it had been placed. They revived the man sufficiently by stimulants to enable him to speak a pregnant word or two before his lipa closed forever. The confession, the bullet that had killed him, the empty revolver, and the man’s last words, solemnly attested by those present, were carefully preserved by the leader of them all. They might be useful some day; who knew? For the rest it was evident what had happened. The boy and the woman were gone from the camp. No search was made tor them; none was possible. The blizzard had spent Itself by that time; but the prairie was' covered deep with drifted snow. A period of intense cold supervened. It was hardly within human possibility that the two fugitives could have got safely away. They must be burled somewhere to the southward in the vast drifts. Spring might reveal their fate. It might remain forever a secret So far as the denizens of the country were concerned, the tragedy—one of the numberless ones of the frontier—was over. In a day or two it was forgotten. ;;

(TO BB CONTINUED.)

Slightly Modified.

Little Viola had developed the habit of bolding her thumb in her mouth, even while eating. Mother had resorted to all sorts of methods to correct the child and finally tn desperation said: “Viola, the first thing you knbw you will swallow your thumb, and thou what will you do?" “Well, mother, I should hate to swah low it because I’d have a heaven of a time without It** “Why, Viola," aaM the astonished mother, “where did you hear an exprea ■fan like that?" r.' ,• “Well, veil." hesitated the little girt. -I didn’t hear ft exactly like that, mother, but I thought it would sound better.” ■. W ' '■ »

BEADS POINT TO STRANGE THEORY

INDIAN GIRL MAKING BEADS

A STRING of little black beads, linked together with gold, brought to Indianapolis a few days ago is regarded by antiquarians of the far west as substantial evidence in support of the theory that the American Indians are of old world descent The beads Were a present to Mrs Claire Bell, 428 North Alabama street from her mother, Mrs. B. I. Canfield, who is a teacher In the Sherman institute, a school for Indian children at Riverside, Cal., and they are the work of the girls In the school The beads are pellets about the size of a pea and jet black. They are hard and metallic to the touch, but are as light as paper. The wonderful peculiarity about them is that they have a strong, agreeable odor df roses, an odor that nevef will leave them, and it is this peculiarity that makes them of such Interest to antiquarians. For, according to Mrs. Canfield, who received her information from a paper published by a California antiquarian who became absorbed in the study of the beads —not this particular string, but others like them made by the Indian girls of the southwest—beads remarkably similar to these have been found in the pyramids of Egypt and in temples of oriental antiquity. Those beads, in spite of the fact that they had been buried for scores of centuries, still retained a -strong, delicate scent of roses.

A comparison of these beads with rare strings of beads in the possession of Indians of the southwest, who are supposed to have migrated north from the Inca settlements In Peru, showed them to be identical, As the beads Were wholly unlike anything else of known existence, the conclusion was reached that the ancestors of the Indians must have been either the makers of the beads found inf the pyramids or their ancestors.

White men were deeply puzzled over the composition of the beads, and it was supposed that the manufacture of them must be one of the lost arts. But when the Indians discovered the interest that had been aroused tn their relics, they found that the method of making them bad been transmitted through the tribe by tradition. They set to work, accordingly, and duplicated the pellets, to the astonishment of the white men. The secret of the Indians did not remain exclusively tribal for very long, however, since a great demand arose at once for the rose-scented beads. The art was taught to a large number of the Indians, and from them it leaked out, until now there is no longer a mystery about their manufacture.. But the novelty of it Is just as Interesting as the mystery. The secret of the scent of roses is that the beads are actually made of rose petals. . "The Indian girls at our school hold parties to make the beads," said Mrs Canfield, “much on the order of the fudge parties of their white sisters, or more like the old-fashioned spinning or quilting parties.

“They gather bushels and busbela of rose plants, which grow, as you know, in profuse abundance In California. They grind these petals up very fine, running them through a grinder seven times seven times—you mustn’t say forty-nine times, for there is a mystic significance to them in the expression ‘seven times seven* which la lost in the prosaic ‘forty-nine,* and this mysticism, they believe, has an important part in the result of their labors. ‘When the petals are properly ground they are put into iron pans and tincture of iron is poured over them. That ends the first party, for It Is necessary to let the mixture set for several days, so that the tincture will eat into the Iron of the pan and color the composition black. Every time one of the girls passes a pan during thia period of ’ripening’ she stirs the mixture with bar hands, so that it

will have the proper color and consistency all the way through. | "After the mixture has ’ripened' tho girls gather again to make it into beads. It is a black, viscous substance, thick enough to remain in anyf shapo into which it may be rolled. The moisture in It has been supplied by. the juice of the rose petals, which runs cut in surprising quantity during the process of grinding, and by the tincture of iron. “The girls take small quantities of this viscous substance from the pans and roll them into pellets such as you see in this string. They are very deft| at the work and very painstaking, non stopping until the pellet is perfectly! "These pellets are then pierced with hatpins, and are strung on the’ pins to dry. When a big beadmaklng> party is given at our school there is a hatpin famine in Riverside, for the* girls buy up all they can find at thei stores. "Then the Indian maidens stretch strings across their bedrooms and from these strings they suspend the hatpins to allow the beads to dry. The process of drying consumes several days, and during this time the girls very jealously avoid raising dust in their queerly decorated rooms. “When the beads are dry they are taken off the hatpins and the little rough spots caused by piercing them are carefully polished off. You have then a neatly-pierced, black, permanently rose-scented bead ready for the jeweler." Mrs. Canfield has been in the government service for 17 years as a teacher of Indians, first in the reservation schools and finally in picture esque Riverside, and she has an abundance of first-hand information of Indian life and character that is highly interesting. Learn White Man's Petty Grafts.. One of her regrets is that the dian artisan, engaged in the making of blankets, baskets and other beautiful curios, is learning the vices of thw; white man, so that now Inferior articles are being made and sold so extensively that only an expert is free ’ from the danger of being swindled. Their education at the Sherman fn*i stitute consists of the common school education, including the eighth grade, and In addition they are given industrial training. Upon graduating fronts the school the Indians are at liberty to do as they please Some of them go to the higher institutions of learning,: such as the Carlisle school, and some, whose parents can afford it. enter other large American colleges. Others go back to their reservar tions, where they become teachers In the reservation schools or enter into the active life of the tribe, where their, superior education soon makes themleaders. Still others, attracted by| their , summer work, hire themaedYW out as skilled servants to the Californians. A few go to the cities and become a part of the great active world of America, putting themselves upon wf equal footing and in competition withhave more than made good in the battle of the big city. Romances begun at the echoed M| rmentlv culminate in marriage after having proudly claimed a bashful Mini marries a white man, or an Indian? zufltn a white ffirl blit to Vto it _

The Silent Father.

"Hl bet that man is the tether W / h 4 the