Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 108, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 May 1912 — The Chalice of Courage [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Chalice of Courage

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By Cyrus Ta wnsend Brady.

pc SYNOPSIS. ' |f Enid Maitland. & frank, free and unI spoiled young Philadelphia girl, Is taken V 'to the Colorado mountains by her uncle, f Robert Maitland. James Armstrong, ■Maitland’s protege, falls In love with her Mis persistent wooing thrills the girl, but RSh «be hesitates, -and Armstrong goes east Sr on business without a definite answer. Sr lSnld hears the story of a mining engljneer. Newbold, whose wife fell off a cliff and whs so seriously hurt that he was compelled to shoot her to prevent her being eaten by wolves while he went for Surtp. Klrkby, the old guide who te is the *tory, elves Enid a package of letters ; Which he says were found on the dead woman's body. She reads the lettere and If at Klrkby’s request keeps them. While - bathing In mountaing stream Enid is attacked by a bear, wblch is mysteriously shot. A storm adds to the girl s terror. A sudden deluge transform brook j n i° : raging torrent, which sweeps Enid into 1 gorge, where she Is rescued by a mountain hermit after a thrilling experience, ss Campers in great confusion upon discovlne Enid's absence when the storm 3", .breaks. Maitland and Old Klrkby go in search of the girl. §2 i CHAPTER VIU. (Continued.) Jpt Ever as they went they called and I celled The broken obstructions of K the way made their progress slow. L.„. What they would have passed over ordinarily in half a day, they had not traversed by nightfull and they had seen nothing. They camped that night ? far down the canon and in the morn- ■ ing, with hearts growing heavier evv ery hour, they resumed their search. About noon of the second day they came to an immense log jam where ? -the strealn now broadened and made a sudden turn before it plunged over v a fall of perhaps two hundred feet p into the lake. It was the end of their I* quest. If they did not find her there, they would never do so. With still - ' hearts and hated breath they climbed ; v out over the log jam and scrutinised it. A brownish gray patch concealed £ beneath the great pines caught their I - eyes. They made their way to it Bpi “It's a b’ar, a big Grizzly," exclaim--3 ed Klrkby. Hi'-. The huge brute was battered out of all semblance of life, but that it was V ~ a Grizzly Bear was clearly evident f Further on the two men caught sight [ suddenly of a dash of blue. Klrkby 3 stepped over to it lifted It In his hand ■and silently extended it to Maitland. :It fag a sweater, a woman’s sweater, i They recognized it at once. The old : \ map shook his head. Maitland groaned aloud. “See yere,” said Klrkby, pointing to ■the ragged and tom garment where

evidences of discoloration still remained, “looks like there’d bin blood OB it. ** |“G*Eat God!” cried Maitland, “not that bear; I’d rather anything than "Wateyer it is, she’s gone,” said §§&# Old man with solemn finality. "Her body may be in those logs the lake,” answered Kirkby, gloomily, shut Were ever she Is we ffit to her now."

"We must come back with dynamite to break up this jam and ” “Yep,” nodded the old man, “we’ll do all that, of course, but now, after we search this jam o’ logs I guess there’s nothin’ to do but go back, an’ the quicker we git back to the settlement, the quicker we can git back here. I think we can strike acrost the mountains an’ save a day an’ a half; there’s no need of us goia’ back up the canon now, I take it” “No,” answered the other, “the quicker the better, as you say, and we can head off George and the others that way.” They searched the pile eagerly, prying under it, peering into it, upsetting it, so far as they could with their naked hands, but with little result, for they found nothing else. They had to camp another day, and next morning they hurried straight over the mountains, reaching the settlement almost as soon as the others. Maitland with furious energy at once organized a relief party. They hurried back to the logs, tore the jam to pieces, searched it carefully and found nothing. To drag the lake was impossible. It was hundreds of feet deep and while they worked it froze. The weather had changed some days before, heavy snows had already fallen; they had to get out of the mountains without further delay or else be frozen up to die. Then and not till'then did Maitland give up hope. He had refrained from wiring to Philadelphia, but when he reached a telegraph line some ten days after the cloudburst, he sent a long message east, breaking to his brother the awful tidings. And in all that they did he and Klrkby, two of the shrewdest and most experienced of men, showed with singular exactitude how easy it is for the wisest and most capable of men tp make mistakes, to leave the plain trail, to fall to deduce the truth from the facts presented.- Yet it is difficult to point to a fault In their reasoning, or to find anything left undone in the search!_ Enid had started down the canon; near the end of it they had discovered one of her garments which they could not conceive any reason for her taking off. It was near the battered body of one of the biggest Grizzlies that either man had ever seen, it had evidence of blood stains upon it; still,

they had found no body, but they were as profoundly sure that the mangled remains of the poor girl lay within the depths of that mountain lake as if they had actually seen her there. The logic was all flawless. It so happened that on that November morning, when the telegram waa approaching him, Mr. Stephen Maitland had a caller. He came at an unusually early ‘hour. Mr. Stephen Maitland, who was no longer an early riser, had indeed Just finished his

breakfast when the card of Mr. James Armstrong of Colorado was handed to him. “This, I suppose,” he thought testily, “is one of the 1 results of Enid’s wanderings into that God-forsaken land. Did you ask the man his business, James?” he said aloud to the footman. "Yes, sir. He said he wanted to see you on important business, and when I made bold to ask him what business, he said it was none of mine, and for me to take the message to you, sir.” “Impudent,” growled Mr. Maitland. “Yes, but he is the kind of a gentleman you don’t talk back to, sir.” “Well, you go back and tell him that you have given me his card, and I should like to know V?hat he wishes to see me about, that I am very busy this morning and unless it is. a matter of importance—you understand?” "Yes, sir.” , " “I suppose now I shall have the whole west unloaded upon me; every vagabond frlen<jl of Robert’s and people who meet Enid,” he thought, but his reveries were shortly interrupted by the return of the man. “If you please, sir,” began James hesitatingly, as he re-entered the room, “he says his business is about the young lady, sir.” “Confound his impudence!” exclaimed Mr. Maitland, more and more annoyed at what he was pleased to characterize mentally as western assurance. "Where is ne?" “In the hall, sir.” 1 “Show him into the library and say I shall be down in a moment.” “Very good, sir.” It was a decidedly wrathful individual who confronted Stephen Maitland a few moments afterward in the library, for Armstrong was not accustomed to such cavalier treatment, and had Maitland been other than Enid’s father he would have given more outward expression at his indignation over the discourtesy in bis reception. “Mr. Jameß Armstrong, I believe," began Mr. Maitland, looking at the card in his hand. . “Yes, sir." “Er—from Colorado?” “And proud of it.” “Ah, I dare say. I believe you wished to see me about —” “Your daughter, sir.” “And in what way are you concerned about her, sir?” “I wish to make her my wife." “Great God!” exclaimed the older man in a voice equally divided between horror and astonishment. “How dare you, sir? You amaze me beyond measure with your infernal impudence.” “Excuse me, Mr. Maitland,” Interposed Armstrong quickly and with great spirit and determination, “but where 1 come from we don’t allow anybody to talk to us in this way. You are Enid’s father and a much older man than I, but I can’t permit you “Sir.” said astounded Maitland, drawing himself up at this bold flouting, “you may be a very worthy young man, I have no doubt of it, but it is out of the question. My daughter—” Again a less excited hearer might have noticed the emphasis in the pronoun — “Why, she is half-way engaged to me now,” interrupted the younger man with a certain contemptuous amusement in his voice. “Look here, Mr. Maitland, I’ve knocked around this world a good deal. I know what’s what I know all about you eastern people and I don't fancy you any more than you fancy us. Miss Enid is quite unspoiled yet and that is why I want her. I’m well able to take care of her, too; I don’t know what you've got or how you got it, but I can come near laying down dollar for dollar with you, and mine’s all clean money —mines, cattle, lumber —and it’s all good money. I made It myself. I left her two weeks ago with her promise that she would think very seriously of my suit After I came back to Denver—l was called east —I made up my mind that I’d come here when I’d finished my business and have it out with you. Now you can treat me like a dog if you want to, but if yon expect, to keep peace in the family you'd better not, for I tell you plainly, whether you give your consent or not I mean to win her. All I want Is her consent and I’ve pretty nearly got that” Mr. Stephen Maitland was black with anger at this clear, unequivocal, determined statement of the case from Armstrong's point of view. “I would rather see her dead," he exclaimed with angry stubbornness, “than married to a man like yon. How dare you force yourself into my house and insult me in this way? Were I not an old man I would show you, I would give you a taste of yohr own manner.” The old man’s white mustache fairly quivered with what be believed to be righteous indignation. He stepped over to the other and looked hard at him, his eyes blazing, his ruddy

cheeks redder than ever. The two men confronted each other unflinchingly for a moment, then Mr. Maitland touched a bell button in the wall by his side. Instantly the footman made his appearance. “James,” said the old man, his voice shaking and his knees trembling with passion, which he did not quite succeed in controlling, despite a desperate effort. "Show this —er —gentleman the door. Good morning, sir; our first and last interview is over.” He bowed with ceremonious politeness as he spoke, becoming more and more composed as he felt himself mastering the situation. And Armstrong, to do him Justice, knew a gentleman when he saw him, and secretly admired the older man and began to feet a touch of shame at his own rude kray of putting things. “Beg pardon, sir,” said the footman, breaking the awkward silence, “but here is a telegram that has Just come, sir.” There was nothing for Armstrong to do or say. Indeed, having expressed himself so unrestrainedly to his rapid-ly-increasing regret, as the old man took the telegram he turned away in considerable discomfiture, James bowing before him at the door opening into the hall and following him as he slowly passed out. Mr. Stephen Maitland mechanically and with great deliberation and with no premonition of evil tidings, tore open the yellow envelope and glanced at the dispatch. Neither the visitor nor the footman had got out of sight or hearing when they heard the old man groan and fall back helplessly Into a chair. Both men turned and ran back to the door, for there was that in the exclamation which gave rise to inktant apprehension. Stephen Maitland now, as white as death, sat collapsed in the chair gasping for breath, his hand on bis heart; the telegram lay open on the floor. Armstrong recognized the seriousness of the situation, and in three sthps was by the other’s side. “What is it?” he asked eagerly, his hatred and resentment vanishing at the sight of the old man’B ghastly, stricken countenance. “Enid!” gasped her father. ‘1 said I would rather see her—dead, but —It Is not true —I James Armstrong was a man of prompt decision, without a moment’s hesitation he picked up the telegram; it was full of expliclty, thus It read: “We were encamped last week In the mountains. Enid weht down the canon for a day’s fishing alone. A sudden cloudburst filled the canon, Washed away the camp. Enid undoubtedly got caught in the torrent and was drowned. We have found some of her clothing; but not her body. Have searched every foot of the canon. Think body has got into the lake, now frozen, snow falling, mountains impassable; will search for her In the spring when the winter breaks. lam following this telegram in person by the first train. Would rather have died a thousand deaths than had this happen. God help us. “ROBERT MAITLAND.” Armstrong read it, stared at it a moment, frowning heavily, passed It over to the footman and turned to the stricken father. v "Old mafa, I loved her,” he said, simply. “I love her still; I believe that she loves me. They haven’t found her body, clothes mean nothing. I’ll find her, Til search the mountains until I do. Don’t give way; something tells me that she’s alive, and I’ll find her.” “If you do," said the broken old man, crushed by the swift and awful response to his thoughtless exclamation, “and she loves you, you shall have her for your wife.” "It doesn’t need that to make me find her," answered Armstrong grimly, “she Is a woman, lost In the mountains in the winter, alone. They shouldn’t have given up the search. Til find her as there is a God above me whether she’s tor me or not” A good deal of a man, this James Armstrong of Colorado, In spite of many things in his past of which he thought eo little that he lacked the grace to be ashamed of them. Stephen Maitland looked at him with a certain respect and a growing hope, as he stood there in the library, atern, resolute, strong. Perhaps

CHAPTER IX. _ "Over the Hills And Par Away." Recognition—or some other more potent Instantaneous force—brought the woman to a sitting position. The man drew back to give her freedom of action, as she lifted herself on her hands. It was moments before complete consciousness of her situation came Jjg her} The surprise was vet too great, idle saw things dimly through a whirl of driving rain, of a rushing mighty wind, of s seething sea of water, hat presently it was nil plain to her acainu She had caught no fair view of the man who had shot " Vi .;A ’-MZ'JS&t i

the bear as he splashed through the creek and tramped across the rocks and trees down the canon, at least she had not seen him full face, but she recognized him immediately. The thought tinged with color for a moment her pallid cheek. “I fell into the torrent,” she said feebly, putting her hand to her head and striving by speech to. put aside that awful remembrance. “You Jiidn’t fall in,” was the answer, “it was a .cloudburst, you were caught in it.” "I didn’t know.” “Of course not, how should you?’ “And how came I here?”

had not weakened. Now his coming desire was to get this woman whom fortune —good or ill! —had thrown upon his hands to his house without delay. There was nothing he could do for. her out there in the rain. r. Every drop of whiskey was gione, they were just two half-drowned, sodden bits of humanity cast up on that rocky Bhore, and one was a helpless woman. *• ' ‘ . “Do you know where your camp Is?" he asked at last. / He did not wish to take her to her own camp, he had a strange Instinct of possession in her. In some way he felt he had obtained a right to deal

“I was lucky enough to pull you out." , "Did you Jump Into the flood for, me?” The man nodded. “That’s twice you have saved my life this day,” said the girl, forcing herself, womanlike, to the topic that she hated. “It's nothing,” deprecated the other-” "It may be nothing to you, but it is a great deal to me,” was the answer. “And now what is to be done?” “We must get out of here at once," said the man. “You need shelter, food, a fire. Can you walk?” ,\~;f “I don’t know." “Let me help you.” He rose to bis feet, reached down to her, took her hands fla the strong grasp of his own and raised her lightly to her feet in an effortless way which showed his great strength. She did not more than put the weight of her body slightly on her left foot when a spasm of pain shot through her, she swerved and would have fallen had he caught her. He sat her gently on the rock. “My foot,” she said piteously. *T don’t what’s the matter with it” Her high boots were tightly laced, of course, but he could see that her left foot had been badly mauled or sprained; already the slender ankle was swelling visibly. He examined it swiftly a moment It might be a sprain, it might be the result of some violent thrust against the rocks, some whirling tree trunks might have caught and crushed her foot but there was no good in speculating as to causes, the present patent fact was that she could not walk; all Hie rest was at that moment unimportant. This unfortunate accident made him the more anxious to got her tO a place of shelter without delay. It would be necessary to take off her boot and give the wounded member proper treatment For the present the tight shoe acted as a bandage, which was wefl. - _ When the had withdrawn himself from the world, he had inwardly resolved that no human being should ever invade his domain or share his lolitade and during his long, sojourn in the wilderness Us determination ’• r.

with her ias he would, he had saved her life twice, once by chance, the other as the result of deliberate and heroic endeavor, and yet his honor and his manhood obliged him to offer to take her to her own people if he could. Hence the question, the answer to which he waited so eagerly. ‘lt’s down the canon. lam one ol Mr. Robert Maitland’s party.” The man nodded, he didn’t know Robert Maitland from Adam, and he cared nothing about him. “How far down?” he asked. ‘1 don’t know, how far is it from here to where you—where—where—we ” “About a mile,” he replied, quickly fully understanding her reason for faltering. ' “Then I think I must have come at least five miles from the camp this morning.” "It will be four miles away, then,” said the man. The girl nodded. “I couldn’t carry you that far,” he murmured half to himself; “I question if there is any camp left there anyway, Where was it, down by the water’s edge?” “Yes.” r “Every vestige will have been swept sway by that, look at it," tie pointed over to the lake. “What must we do?” she asked instantly, depending upon his greater strength, his larger experience, his masculine force. . • ’1 shall have to' take you to my camn.” ■* “Is It farr “About a mile or a mile and a half from here.” “I can’t walk that far.” “No, I suppose not You wouldn’t be willing to stay here while I went down and hunted for your camp?**■■■■l The girt clutched at him. “I couldn’t be left here for v a moment alone,” she said In sudden fever of alarm. T never was afraid before, but now— —i”, “All right,” he said, gently patting her as he would a child. "Well go up to my camp and then I win try to find your people and " , -- “But I tell you I can’t walk." “You don’t have to walk " saM the

It Was a Woman’s Sweater.

“What Is It?” He Asked Eagerly.