Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 85, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 April 1913 — Molly McDonald A TALE Of THE FRONTIER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Molly McDonald A TALE Of THE FRONTIER

SYNOPSIS. ■' Major McDonald, commandln* an army pest near Fort Dodge. seeks a man to mteroept his daughter, Molly, who is headed for the post. An Indian outbreak ■ threatened. "Brick” Hamlin, a sergeant who had lust arrived with mesaages to McDonald, volunteers for the mission and starts Slone. Molly arrives at Fort Ripley two days ahead of schedule. CHAPTER lll.—Continued. “Good Lord, miss,” he exclaimed swiftly. "Do yer mean to say ye’re Soln* to make that trip alone?” “Oh, not to Santa Fe; only as far as the stage station at the Arkansas crossing," she exclaimed hastily. "I am going to Join my father; he—he commands a post on the Cimarron — Major McDonald.” "Well, Hl be damned,” said the ■tan slowly, so surprised that he forgot himself. "Babes in the wilderness; what, in Heaven’s name, ever induced yer dad to let yer come on such a fool trip? Isn’t thar no one to meet yer here, or at Dodge?” "I—l don’t know,” she confessed. "Father was going to come, or else send one of his officers, but I have seen no one. I am here two days , earlier than was expected, and—and I haven’t heard from my father since last month. See, this is his last letter; won’t you read it, please, and tell me what I ought to do?" The man took the letter, and read the three pages carefully, and then turned back to note the date, before handing the sheets across the table. "The Major sure made his instructions plain enough,” he said slowly. "And yer haven’t heard from him since, or seen any one he sent to meet yer?” • The girl shook her head slowly. “Well, that ain’t to be wondered at, either,” he went ton. "Things has changed some out yere since that letter was wrote. I reckon yer know we’re havin’ a bit o’ Injun trouble, an' yer dad Is shore to be pretty busy out thar on the Cimarron." "I— l do not think I do. I have seen no papers since leaving St Louis. Is the situation really serious? Is It unsafe for me to go farther?” The man rubbed his chin, as though undecided what was best to say. But the girl’s face was full of character, and he answered frankly. "It’s serious *nough, I reckon, an* I oertainly wish I wus safe through to Fort Marcy, but I don’t know no reason now why you couldn’t finish up your trip all right I wus out to the fort last evenin’ gettln* the latest news, an’ thar hasn’t been no trouble

to apeak of east of old Bent's Fort. Between that and Union, thar's a bunch o' Mescalo Apaches raisin’ thunder. One lot got as far as the Caches, an* burned a wagon train, bnt were run back into the mount'ns. Troops are out along both sides the Valley, an* . thar ain’t been no stage held up, nor station attacked along the Arkansas. I reckon yer pa’ll have an escort waitin’ at the crossin’?” “Of course he will; what I am most afraid of Is that I might miss him or his messenger on the route.” “Not likely; there’s only two stages a week each way, an’ they have regular meeting points.” She sat quiet, eyes lowered to the table, thinking. She liked the man, and trusted him; he seemed kindly deferential. Finally she looked up. "When do you go?" "Today. I was goln’ to wait 'bout yere a week longer, but am gittlng skeered they might quit runnin’ their coaches. To tell the truth, miss, It looks some to me like thar wus a big Injun war cornin’, and I'd like ter git borne whar I belong afore it breaks loose.” "Will —will you take me with you?” He moistened his lips, his hand's clasping and unclasping on the table. "Bure, if yer bound ter go. I’ll do the best I kin fer yer, an* I reckon ther sooner yer start the better chance ye’ll have o' glttin’ through safe." He hesitated. "If we should git bad news at Dodge, is there anybody thar, at the fort, you could stop with?" "Colonel Carver.” "H t ’s not thar now; been transferred to Wallace, but, I reckon, any o' those army people would look after yer. Ye’ve really made up yer mind to try it, then?” "Yes, yes; I positively cannot stay here. I shall go as far as Dodge at least. If—if we are going to travel together., 1 ought to know your name.” "Sure yer had,” with a laugh. "I /ergot all ’bout that—lt’s Moylan, miss; William Moylan; 'Sutler Bill’

RANDALL PARRIS

Author of "Keith of the “Border? My Lady of

they call me mostly, west o’ the river. Let’s go out an’ see 'bout thet stage.” As he rounded the table, Milly rose to her feet and held out her hand. "I am so glad I spoke to you, Mr. Moylan,” she said simply. “I am nit at all afraid now. If you will wait until I get my hat. I’ll be down in a minute.” "Sutler Bill” stood In the narrow hall watching her run swiftly upstairs, twirling his hat in his hands, his goodnatured face flushed. Once he glanced in the direction of the bar-room, wiping his lips with his cuff, and his feet shuffled. But he resisted the temptation, and was still there when Miss McDonald came down.

CHAPTER IV. The Attack. Slightly more than sixty miles, as the route ran, stretched between old Fort Dodge and the ford crossing the Arkansas leading down to the Cimarron; another sixty miles distant, across a desert of alkali and sand, lay Devere. The main Santa Fe trail, broad and deeply rutted by the innumerable wheels °of early spring caravans, followed the general bourse of the river, occasionally touching the higher level plains, but mostly keeping close beneath the protection of the northern bluffs, or else skirting the edge of the water. Night or day the route was easily followed, and, in other years, the traveler was seldom for long out of sight of toiling wagons. Now scarcely a wheel turned in all that lonely distance. ( The west-bound stage left the station at Deer Creek at four o’clock in the afternoon with no intimation of danger ahead. Its occupants had eaten dinner in company with those of the east-bound coach, eighteen miles down the river t t Canon Bluff, and the in-coming driver had reported an open road, and no unusual trouble. No Indian signs had been observed, not even signal fires dunng the night, and the conductor, who had come straight from Santa Fe, reported that troops from Fort Union had driven the only known bunch of raiders back from the neighborhood of the trail, and had them already safely corralled in the mountains. This report, seemingly authentic and official, served to relax the nerves, and the west-bound driver sang to himself as he guided the four horses forward, while the conductor, a sawed-off gun planted between his knees, nodded drowsily. Inside there were but three passengers, jerking back and forth, as the wheels struck the deep ruts of the trail, occasionally exchanging a word or two, but usually staring gloomily forth at the monotonous scene. Miss McDonald and Moylan occupied the back seat, some baggage wedged tightly between to keep them more secure on the slippery cushion, while facing them, and 'clinging to his support with both hands, was a pock-marked Mexican, with rather villainous face and ornate

dress, and excessively polite manneM. He had joined the little party at Dodge, smiling happily at sight of Miss Molly's face when she unveiled, although his small knowledge of English prevented any extended effort at conversation. Moylan, however, after careful scrutiny, engaged him shortly in Spanish, and later explained to the girl, in low tones, that the man was a Santa Fe gambler known as Gonzales, with a reputation to be hinted at but not openly discussed. They were some six miles to the

west of Deer Creek, the horses still moving with spirit, the driver's foot on the brake, when the stage took a sudden plunge down a sloping bank where the valley perceptibly narrowed. To the left, beyond a fiat expanse of brown, sun-scorched grass, flowed the widely-spreading waters of the Arkansas, barely covering the treacherous sandy bottom, and from the other side came the more distant gleam of alkali plains'; to the right arose the bluffs, here both steep and rugged, completely: shutting off the view, barren of vegetation except for a few scattered patches of grass. Suddenly a man rode out of a rift in the bank, directly in front, and held up his hand. Surprised, startled, the driver instantaneously clamped on his brake, and brought his horses to a quick stop; the conductor, nearly flung from his seat, yanked his gun forward. "None of that now,” called out the man in saddle quickly, both hands uplifted to show; their emptiness. “This .is no hold-up. I’ve got news.” He spurred his pony forward slowly, the animal seemingly barely able to move, and swung out of the saddle beside the front wheel, staggering a bit as though his limbs Were cramped as his feet felt the ground. "I’m from Fort Union,” he said, "Seventh Cavalry, sent through by way of Cimarron. Springs. There is hell to pay west of here; the stations at Arkansas Crossing and Low Water were burned last night.” "The devil you say,” burst out the driver hoarsely, his startled eyes sweeping the horizon. “Injuns?" "Sure, plenty of signs, but I haven’t seen any bucks myself. As soon as I discovered what had happened at the Crossing I on to the plateau, and cameJK*und that way to warn those fellows iit Low Water. But when I got sight Of that station from off the bluffs yonder it had been wiped out Then I thought about this stage going west today, and came on to meet you. Must have ridden a hundred an' twenty miles since yesterday; the mustang is all in.” Moylan stuck his head out the nearest window.

"Look like they had much of a fight at the Crossing?" he asked. “Not much; more like a night raid; two whites killed, and scalped. The third man either was taken away, or his body got burnt in the building. Horses all gone.” "What tribe?” "Arapahoes, from the way they scalppd; that’s what made it so serious—if those Northern Indians have broken loose there is going to be war this time for sure." The men on the box looked at each other questioningly. "I don’t see no use tryln’ to go on, Jake, do you?” asked the driver soberly. "Even if we do git through, thar ain’t no bosses to be had." The other shook his head, rubbing his gun-stock. "Most likely those same red devils are layln’ for us now somewhar between yere an’ Low Water; whar the trail runs in between them two big rocks, most probable,” he concluded. “Not havin’ no ha’r to lose, I’m fer goln’ back.” With an oath of relief, the driver released his brake and skilfully swung the leaders around, the coach grbaning as it took the sharp turn. The man on the ground caught a swiftly passing glimpse of the young woman’s face within, and strode hurriedly forward as the coach started.

"Hold on there, pardner,” he commanded sternly, "This poor bronc’ won’t travel another mile. There's plenty of room for me Inside, and I’ll turn the tired devil loose. Hold on, I say!" The driver once again slapped on the brake, growling and reluctant, his anxious eyes searching the trail in both directions. Hamlin quietly uncinched his saddle, flinging it to the coach roof; the bridle followed, and then, with a slap on the haunch of the released animal, he strode to the stage door, thrust his Henry rifle within, and took the vacant seat beside Gonzales. With a sudden crack of the driver's whip the four horses leaped forward, and the coach careened on the slope of the trail, causing the passengers to clutch wildly to keep from being precipitated into a mass on the floor. As the traces ' straightened. Miss Molly, clinging desperately to a strap, caught her first fair glance at the newcomer. His hat was tilted back, the light revealing lines of weariness and a coating of the gray, powderft dust of the alkali desert, but beneath it appeared the brown, sunscorched skin, while the gray eyes looking straight at her, were resolute and smiling. His rough shirt, open at the throat, might have been the product of any sutler’s counter; he wore no jacket, and the broad yellow stripe down the leg of the faded blue trousers alone proclaimed him a soldier. He smiled across at her, and she lowered her eyes, while his glance wandered on toward the others. "Don’t seem to be very crowded today,” he began, genially addressing Moylan. "Not an extremely popular route at present, I reckon. Mining, pardner?" "No; post-trader at Fort Marcy.” “Oh, that’s it," his eyebrows lifting slightly. "This Indian business is a

bad job tor you then.** Bln eyes taO on his seatmale. "Well, if this isn’t little Gonzales!—You’ve got a good ways from home.” ”81, senor!” returned the Mexican brokenly. “I tink I not remem,” 1 “Nd, I reckon not. I’m not one of your class; cards and I never did agree. I shot up your game once down at Union; night Hassinger was killed. Remember now, don’t you?” “Si, senor,” spreading his hands. “It was mos’ unfortunate.” "Would have been more so, if the boys had got hold of you—Saint Anne! but that fellow on the box is driving some.” The thud of the horses* feet under the lash, coupled with the reckless lurching of the coach, ended all further attempt at conversation, and the four passengers held on grimly, and stared out of the windows, as if expecting every instant that some accident would hurl them headlong. The frightened driver was apparently sparing neither whip nor tongue, the galloping teams jerking the stage after them in a mad race up the trail. Hamlin thrust his head out of the nearest window, but a sudden lurch hurled him back, the coach taking a sharp curve on two wheels, and conn ing down level once again with a bump which brought the whole four together. The’.llttle Mexican started to scream o^t! I‘h 1 ‘hi‘‘Spanish oath, but Hamlin grippe his throat before it was half uttered, while Moylan pressed the girl back into her seat, bracing himself to hold her firm. “What the devif—” he began angrily, and then the careening coach stopped as suddenly as though it had

struck the bank, again tearing loose their handhold on the seats and flinging them headlong. They hoard the creaking clamp of the brakes, the dancing of frightened horses, a perfect volley of oaths, the crunch of feet as men leaped from the top to the ground; then, all at once, the stage lurched forward, swerving sharply to the left, and struck out across the flat directly toward the bluff. Hamlin struggled to the nearest window, and, grasping the sill to hold himself upright, leaned out. He caught a momentary glimpse of two men riding swiftly up the trail; the box above was empty, the wheelers alone remained in harness, and they were running uncontrolled. “By God!" he muttered. “Those two damn cowards have cut loose and left us!"

Even as the unrestrained words leaped from his lips he realized the only hope—the reins still dangled, caught securely in .the brake lever. }nch by inch, foot by foot; he wiggled out; Moylan, comprehending, caught his legs, holding him steady against the mad pitching. His fingers gripped the iron top rail, and, exerting all his strength, he slowly pulled his body up, until he fell forward into the driver’s seat Swift as he had been, the actlou was not quickly enough conceived to avert disaster. He had the reins in his grip when the swinging pole struck the steep side of the bluff, snapping off with a sharp crack, and flinging down the frightened animals, the wheels crashing against them, as the coach came to a sudden halt Hamlin hung on grimly, flung forward to the footrail by the force of the shock, bls body bruised and aching. One horse lay motionless, head under, apparently instantly killed; his mate struggled to his feet, tore frantically loose from the traces, and went flying madly down the slope, the broken harness dangling at his heels. The Sergeant sat up and stared about, sweeping the blood from a slight gash out of his eyes. Then he came to himself with a gasp—understanding Instantly what it al! meant, why those men had cut loose the horses and ridden away, why the wheelers had plunged forward in that mad run-away race—between the bluffs and the river a swarm of Indians were lashing their ponies, spreading out like the sticks of a fan. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

"The Major Sure Made Hie Instruc tions Plain Enough,” He Said.

"There Is Hell to Pay West of Here."