Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 127, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 May 1913 — Page 2

MOLLY McDONALD A TALE OF THE FRONTIER

SYNOPSIS. Major 'McDonald, commanding an army Boat near Fort Dodge, seeks a man to intercept his daughter, Molly, who Is headed for the post. An Indian outbreak Is threatened. Sergeant "Brick Hamlin meets the stage in which Molly is traveling. They are attacked by Indians, and Hamlin and Molly escape In the darkness. Hamlin tells Molly he was discharged from the Confederate service in disgrace and at the close of the war enlisted in the regular army. He suspects one Captain LeFevre of being responsible for his disgrace. Troops appear and under escort of Lieut. Gaskins Molly starts to Join her father. Hamlin leaves to rejoin nls regiment. He returns to Fort Dodge after a summer of fighting Indians, a,nd finds Molly there. Shots are heard in the night Hamlin rushes out, sees what he believes la the figure of Molly hiding in the darkness and falls over the body of Lieutenant Gaskins, who accuses Hamlin of shooting him. The sergeant is proven Innocent. He sees Molly in company with Mra Dupont, whom he recognises as a former sweetheart, who threw him over for LeFevre. Mrs. Dupont tells Hamlin LeFevre forced her to send him a lying note. Hamlin declares he has been looking for LeFevre to force him to clear his record. later he overhears Dupont and a soldier hatching up a money-making plot Molly seeks an interview- with Hamlin. She says her father seems to be in the power of Mrs. Dupont, who claims to be a daughter of McDonald’s sister. Molly disappear*-and Hamlin sets out to trace her. McDonald is ordered to Fort Ripley. Hamlin discovers that the man who left on the stage under the name of McDonald was not the major. He finds McDonald’s murdered body. Hamlin takes Wasson, a guide, and two troopers and goes in pursuit of the murderers, who had robbed McDonald of $30,000 paymaster's money. He suspects Dupont. Conners, soldier "accomplice of Dupont, is found murdered. Hamlin’s party 1g caught in a fierce blizzard while heading for the Clmmaron.

CHAPTER XXV.—-Continued. They plunged Into It, plowing a way through the drifts, the reluctant horses dragging back at first, and drifting before the fierce sweep of the wind, in spite of every effort at guidance. It was an awful journey, every step torture, but Hamlin bent to it, clinging firmly to the bit of his animal, his other arm protecting his eyes from the sting of the wind. Behind, Wasson wielded a quirt, careless whether its lash struck the horse’s flank or Carroll. And across a thousand miles of snow-covered plain, the storm howled down upon them in redoubled fury, blinding their eyes, making them stagger helplessly before its blasts. They were still moving, now like snails, when the pale sickly dawn came, revealing inch by inch the dread desolation, stretching white and ghastly in a slowly widening circle. The exhausted, struggling men, more nearly dead than alive from their ceaseless toil, had to break the film of ice from their eyes to perceive their surroundings. Even then they saw nothing but the bare, snow-draped plain, the air full of swirling flakes. There was nothing to guide them, no mark of identification; merely lorn barrenness in the midst of which they wandered, dragging their half-frozen

They Were Still Moving, Now Like Snails.

horses. The dead body of Wade had stiffened into grotesque shape, head and feet dangling, shrouded in clinging snow. Carroll had fallen forward across his saddle pommel, too weak to sit erect, but held by the taut blanket, and gripping his horse's ice-cov-ered mane. Wasson was ahead now, doggedly crunching a path with his feet, and Hamlin staggered along behind. Suddenly some awakened instinct in the numbed brain of the scout told him of a change in their surroundings. He felt rather than saw the difference. They had crossed the .{and belt, and the contour of the prairie was rising. Then the Cimarron was near! Even

NOT QUITE PROPER TRIBUTE

Effusive Indlanlart Rather Bpoi!ed the Effect of Pralee Bestowed on "Joe" Jefferson. » Jefferson was once strolling through the corridor of a hotel in Terre Haute. Ind., when a very pompous man came up to him and, extending his hand, said: “Mr. Jefferson,' you do not know me, but 1 know you very well, sir. lam very glad to see you in our citjr. You are a great actor. I have

By - RANDALL PARRISH

JtSorof "Keith ofutc “Borderr My Lady Doubt? My Lady c/i»G connaam m by ajC.m*cuiro * ca.

as the conviction took shape, the ghostly outline of a small elevation loomed through the murk. He stared at it scarce believing, imagining a delusion, and then sent his cracked voice back in a shout on the wind. “We’re thar, ‘Brick!* My God, lad, here’s the Cimarron!” He wheeled about, shading his mouth, so as to make the words carry through the storm. “Do you hear? We’re within a half mile o’ the river. Stir Carroll up! Beat the life inter him! There’s shelter and fire cornin’!” As though startled by some electric shock, Hamlin Bprang forward, his limbs strengthening in response to fresh hope, plowed through the snow to Carroll’s side, and shook and slapped the fellow into semi-conscious-ness. * “We’re at the river, George!” he cried, Jerking up the dangling head. “Wake up, man! Wake up! Do you hear? We’ll have a Are in ten minutes!’’ The man made a desperate effort, bracing his hands on the horse's neck and staring at his tormentor with dull, unseeing eyes. “Oh, go to hell!” he muttered, and went down again. Hamlin struck him twice, his chilled hand to the blow, but the inert figure never moved. “No use, Sam. We’ve got to get on, and thaw him out. Get up there, you pony!" The ghostly shape of the hill was to their right, and they circled its base almost waist-deep in drift. This brought the wind directly into their faces, and the horses balked, dragging back and compelling both men to beat them into submission. Wasson was jerking at the bit, his back turned so that he could see nothing ahead, but Hamlin, lashing the rear animal with his quirt, still faced the mound, a mere dim shadow through the mists of snow. He saw the flash of yellow flame that leaped from its summit, heard the sharp report of a gun, and saw Wasson crumble up, and go down, still clinging to his horse’s rein. It came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that the single living man left scarcely realized what had happened. Yet dazed as he was, some swift impulse flung him; headlong, into the snow behind his pony, and even as he fell, his numbed fingers gripped for the revolver at his hip. The hidden marksman shot twice, evidently discerning only dim outlines at which to aim; the red of discharge cut the gloom like a knife. One ball hurtled past Hamlin’s head; the otfier found billet in Wade’s horse, and the stricken creature toppled over, bearing its dead burden with him. The Sergeant ripped off his glove, found the trigger with his half-frozen fingers, and fired twice. Then, with an oath, he leaped madly to his feet, and dashed straight at the silent hill.

CHAPTER XXVI. Unseen Danger. Once he paused, blinded by the snow, flung up his arm, and fired, imagining he saw the dim shape of a man on the ridge summit. There was no return shot, no visible movement. Reckless, mad with rage, he sprang up the wind-swept side, and reached the crest. It was deserted, except for tracks already nearly obliterated by the fierce wind. Helpless, baffled, the Sergeant stared about him into the driving flakes, his ungloved, stiffening hand gripping the cold butt of his Colt, ready for any emergency. Nothing but vacancy and silence encompassed him. At his feet the snow was still he could see where the man had kneeled to fire; where he had run down the opposite side of the hill. There had been only one—a white man from the imprint—and he had fled south, vanishing in the smother. It required an effort for the Sergeant to recover, to realize his true position, and the meaning of this mysterious attack. He was no longer numb with cold or staggering from weakness. The excitement had sent the hot blood pulsing through hiß veins; had brought back to his heart the fighting instinct. Every desire urged him forward, clamoring for revenge, but the aroused sense of a plainsman held him motionless, staring about, listening for any sound. Behind him, down there in the hollow, were huddled the horses of, his outfit, scarcely distinguishable from where he stood. If he should venture farther off, he might never be able

seen you ever since I was a little boy" —he looked fully as old as Jefferson —“and I have always looked forward to your visit to thiß place." Presently Jefferson interrupted the stream of praise to say: “I thank you very much. You are very kind.” If the incident had only ended here! But the Terre Haute gentleman went on: "I tell you, everywhere in this town people are glad to see old Josh Whitcomb." There was a moment of silence, and then Mr. Jefferson sand: “I think you are mistaken. I play Rip

to find s way back again. Even in the gray light of dawn he could see nothing distinctly a dozen yards distant. And Wasson had the compass. This was the thought which brought him tramping back through the drifts— Wasson! Wade was dead, Carrqil little better, but the scout might have .been only slightly wounded. He waded through the snow to where the man lay, face downward, his face still gripping the rein. Before Hamlin turned him over, he saw the jagged wound and knew death had been instantaneous. He stared down at the white face, already powdered with snow; then glared about Into the murky distances, revolver ready for action, every nerve throbbing. God! If he ever met the murderer! Then swift reaction came, and he burled hiß eyes on the neck of the nearest horse, and his body shook with half-sup-pressed sobs. The whole horror of it gripped him in that instant, broke his iron will, and left him weak as a child. But the mood did not last Little by little he gained control, stood up again in the snow, and began to think. He was a man, and must do a man’s work. With an oath he forced himself to act; reloaded his revolver, thrust It back into the holster at his hip, and, with one parting glance at poor Sam, plowed across through the drifts to Carroll. He realized now his duty, the thing he must strive to accomplish. W«de and Wasson were gone; no human effort could aid them, but Carroll lived, and might be saved. And it was for him alone now to serve Molly. The sudden comprehension of all this stung like the lash of a whip, transformed him again into a fighter, a soldier of the sort who refuses to acknowledge defeat. His eyes darkened, his lips pressed together in a straight line. Carroll lay helpless, inert, his head hanging down against the neck of his horse. The Sergeant jerked him erect, roughly beating him ihto consciousness; nor did he desist until the fellow’s eyes opened in a dull stare. "I’ll pound the life out of you unless you brace up, George,” he muttered. “That’s right—get mad if you want (o. It will do you no good. Wait until I get that quirt; that will set your blood moving. No! Wake up! Die, nothing! See here, man, there’s the river just ahead.” He picked up his glove, undid the reins from Wasson’s stiffened fingers, and urged the horses forward. Carroll lurched drunkenly in the "saddle, yet retained sufficient life to cling to the pommel, and thus the outfit plunged blindly forward into the storm, leav-. ing the dead men where they lay. There was nothing else to do; Hamlin’s heart choked him as he plowed his way past, but he had no strength to lift those heavy bodies. Every ounce of power must be conserved for the preservation of life. Little as he could see through the snow blasts there was but one means of passage, that along the narrow rift between the ridges. The snow lay deep here, but they floundered ahead, barely able to surmount the drifts, until suddenly they emerged upon an open space, sheltered somewhat by the low hills and swept clean by the wind. Directly beneath, down a wide cleft in the bank, dimly visible, appeared the welcome waters of the Cimarron. The stream was but partly frozen over, the dark current flowing in odd contrast between the banks of ice and snow. The Sergeant halted, examining his surroundings cautiously, expecting every instant to be fired upon by some unseen foe. The violence of the storm prevented his seeing beyond a few yards, and the whirling snow crystals blinded him as he faced the fury of the wind sweeping down the valley. Nothing met his gaze; no sound reached his ears; about him was desolation, unbroken whiteness. Apparently they were alone in all that intense dreariness of snow. The solemn loneliness of it—the dark, silently flowing river, the dun sky, the wide, white expanse of plain, the mad violence of the storm beating against . him—brought to him a feeling of helplessness. He was a mere atom, struggling alone against Nature’s wild mood. Then the feeling clutched him that he was not alone; that from somewhere amid those barren wastes hostile eyes watched, skulking murderers sought his life. Yet there was no sign of any presence. He could uot stand there add die, nor permit Carroll to freeze in his saddle.

Foot by foot, feelihg his passage, he advanced down the gully, fairly dragging his own horse after him. Behind, held by the straining lariat, lurched the others, the soldier swaying on the back of the last, swearing and laughing in delirium, clutching at snowflakes with his hands. At the end of the ravine, under shelter of the bank, Hamlin Jrampled back the snow, herding the animals close, so as to gain the warmth of their bodies. Here they were well protected from the cruel lash of the wind and the shower of snow which blew over them and drifted higher and higher in the open space beyond. Working feverishly, the blood again circulating freely through his veins, the Sergeant hastily dragged blankets from the pack, and spread them on the ground, depositing Cartoll upon them. Then he set about vigorously rubbing the boI-

Van Winkle. You must mean Mr. Thompson: he plays Josh Whitcomb” The effusive gentleman paused long enough to collect his wits, and then said cheerfully: "Oh, yes. So you are the old fellow who played Rip Van Winkle? Well, you’re good, too.” —Mary Shaw in the Century.

Relics of Captain Cook.

Relics of Captain Cook, the great English navigator, have been discovered at St Petersburg. The relics were given to the governor of Kams-

dler’s exposed flesh with mow. The smart of. It, together with the roughness of handling, aroused the latter from lethargy, but Hamlin, ignoring his resentment, gripped the fellow with hands of iron, never ceasing his violent ministrations until his swearing ended in silence. Then he wrapped him tightly in the blankets, and stood himself erect, glowing from the exercise. Carroll glared up at him angrily out of red-rimmed eyes. “I’ll get you for that, you big boob!” he shouted, striving to release his arms from the clinging blankets. "You wait? I’ll get you!” “Hush* up, George, and go to sleep,” the other retorted, poking the shapeless body with his foot, his thoughts already elsewhere. "Don’t be a fool. I’ll get a fire If I can, and something hot into you. Within an hour you’ll be a man again. Now see here —stop that!' Do you hfcar? You lie still right where you are, Carroll, until I come back, or I’ll kick your ribs in!” He bent down menacingly, Bcowling into the upturned face. “Will you mind, or Bhall I have to hand you one?’’ Carroll shrank back like a whipped child, his lips muttering something indistinguishable. The sergeant, satisfied, turned and floundered through the drifts to the bank of the stream.

He Buried His Eyes on the Neck of the Nearest Horse.

He was alert and fearful, yet determined. No matter what danger of discovery might threaten, he must build a fire to save Carroll’s life. The raging storm was not over with; there was no apparent cessation of violence in the blasts of'the icy wind, and the snow swept about him in blinding sheets. It would continue all day, all another night, perhaps, and they could never live through without food and warmth. He realized the risk fully, his gloved hand gripping the butt of his revolver, as he stared up and down the snowdraped bluffs. He wished he had picked up Wasson’s rifle. Who was it that had shot them up, anyhow. The very mystery addec} to the dread. Could it have been Dufcont? There was no other conception possible, yet it seemed like a miracle that they could have kept so close on the fellow’s trail all night long through the storm. Yet who else would open fire at sight? Who else, indeed, would be in this God-forsaken country? And whoever it was, where had he gone? How had 'he disappeared so suddenly and completely? He could not be far away, that was a certainty. No plainsman would attempt to ford that icy stream, nor desert the shelter of these bluffs in face of the storm. It would be suicidal. And if Dupont and his Indians were close at hand, Miss McDonald would be with them. He had bad no time in which to reason this out before, but now the swift realization of the close proximity of the girl came to him like an . electric shock. Whatever the immediate danger he must thaw out Carroll, and thus be free himself. ,He could look back to where the weary horses huddled beneath the bank, grouped about the man so helplessly Bwaddled in blanketß on the ground. They were dim, pitiable objects, barely discernible through the flying scud, yet Hamlin waß quick to perceive the advantage of their position —the overhanging bluff was complete protection from any attack except along the open bank of the river. Two armed men could defend the spot againßt odds, And below, a hundred yards away, perhaps—it was hard to judge through that smother—the bare limbs of several stunted cottonwoods waved dismally against the gray sky. Hesitating, his eyes searching the barrenness above to where the stream bent northward and disappeared, he turned at last and tramped downward along the. edge of the stream. Across stretched the level, white prairie, beaten and obscured by the storm, while to his left rose the steep, bare bluff, swept clear by the wind, revealing its ugliness through the haze of snow. Not in all the expanse was there visible a moving object nor track of any kind. He was alone, in the midst of indescribable desolation —a cold, dead, dreary landscape. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

■ chatka, Honolulu, by Captain Cook's party after the death of Cook. These relics were sent by the governor to St. Petersburg, where they remained until two or three years ago, when the boxes containing them were opened, but no one knew where they came from. Luckily a professor In Bt. Peters university, who had been at Honolulu. recognized them. The relics are very choice, although there Is nothing new amongst them except a black feather helmet, which la a rare curl osity.

CAP and BELLS

YOUNGSTER GIVEN HIS KISS Conductor Obligingly Holds Train Not Due to Start Until Mother Caresses Her Youngest. She wasrutffilng across lots to catch the 1:62 train for New York. It was precisely 1:52%, and the train already was panting into the station. At her heels was a youngster making as good time as he could, and he was crying. By the time she reached the station Bteps she was a good hundred yards ahead of the little boy, but he kept at, crying louder and louder. The conductor was holding the train for her. “Madam,” said the conductor as she climbed up the car steps, “who is that little boy?” “My youngest," she said, perfectly breathless. “What’s he crying for?" “I didn’t have time to kiss him goodby.” “Well, you get right off this train and kiss. We can wait better than he can.” The conductor stood with his hand on the signal cord while the operation was performed, and then the train went off, leaving the youngßter happy and smiling.

Maternal Spirit.

“Janice, take Fidokins out for an airing.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Where’s Master Tommy?” "He’s playing in the street, ma’am.” “Very well. And Janice?” "Yes, ma’am.” “Be careful with Fidokins when you come to a street crossing. I can’t bear the thought of the little darling being run over by a trolley car or an automobile.”

Unruffled.

“I have my good points,” said Wasserby. “I fail to see them,” said Pickledorf. “That’s all right,” answered Wasserby.. “I cannot find it in my heart to blame a fellow man because he is afflicted with myopia, which may possibly be still further complicated by strabismus.”

A Militant Lady.

“Did you ever think that you would make a good king?” “Never thought about that. But in one respect my wife would shine in regal circles.” “In what way?” “She would make such a good colonel for one of those royal regiments. You know the custom of appointing ladies?"

FORCE OF HABIT.

Clovertop—That old hose you sold me Btopped right in front of the church as the bell struck one, and he never moved till It struck two. Cyrus Snodgrass—Oh, yes; I forgot to tell you he’d been in a horse car, and that it took strokes of the bell to start him.

Hiking Home.

He had telegraphed his wife for money. “I shall count the hours until 1 see you,” he wound up, with a touch of pathos. “Also the ties," she briefly wired back.

The Effect.

“That baby of yours gets on my nerves.” "Now why does the little darling affect you so?" "He has such a creepy way about him."

Seeking a Handicap.

"I wonder why it is that a woman like a giantess marries a man like a pygmy?" "I don't know, unless it's because she’s too much of a woman to take a chance on a fair fight”

FORM OF EXQUISITE TORTURE

Unfortunate Fact That Hunger le AH ways Accompanied by Visions of Most Delectable Food. Captain Amundsen, in a lecture atl Madison, Wis„ told of the especially the hardships of hunger,! attendant on arctic expeditions. “And it is an unfortunate fact,” saidj the discoverer of the south pole, “that! hunger i& always accompanied by n vivid remembrance of the most d«-< lectable food one has ever eaten.! While compelled to live for six months! on one month’s provisions, helped out,) perhaps, by a little seal meat and! seal blubber, you are tormented byi visions of former banquets, Christmas! dinners at home and certain favorite) dishes. Yes, If you are hungry the) thought of fine food is exquisite toiM ture. “And in this connection,” the capJ tain continued, “I am reminded of ai story about the governor of*a cer* 1 tain German-prison. “One morning this governor said to the chief warden: “T say, Fritz, No. 76 is behaving worse than ever. Put him on bread, and water.’ “ ‘But he is already doing two fast! days, sir.’ “ "Then,’ ordered the merciless governor, ‘give him a cookbook, and see that he reads it’"

Muffled Knocks.

“Indeed, Miss Squallop, I’ve heard worse voices than youro, and that’s’ saying a good deaL” “There’s one thing I admire about you, Billus; you can sidestep into a saloon quicker and lesß noticeably, than any man I ever saw.” “You are looking so beaming and generous today, Mr. Spooner, that I am almost sure you are going to ask me to go with you to a nickel show.” “Yes, I know it’s awfully hard for a new doctor to build up a practice in a big city, old chap; you could do lots better keeping' a candy store.” “I’ve heard that ,story 60 times; 1 Clugston, but you tell It better than the other fellows do.”

HER GREAT LOSS.

Lawyer—Quite a severe loss, Mrs. Wedly. Mrs. Wedly—Yes, and poor Ned was just going to take out an sxtra insurance policy.

Late but Acceptable.

“Wombat is the most popular conr gressman we ever had:* 1 " “Why so?” “Always thinking up ways of pleasing his constituents." “Free seeds and documents, eh?” "Yes, and personal ways. Why, h® just had a lot of old fellows thanked by congress for gallant conduct during the Mexican war.”

Not a Minute Wasted.

“Can’t I get my pants pressed whlla you cut my hair?” “Certainly, sir.”

“All right. Boy, shine my shoes at the same time and hand me that newspaper. By the way, get the restaurant next door to send in a couple of sandwiches, and I can be eating my lunch.”

Time for Diplomacy.

“Do you suppose a demonstration by the powers will have any effect on the Montenegrins ?’’ “Well, it ought to have a very pronounced effect If a giant 50 feet high were to shake his fist at a pigmy, I should think it would be high time for the pigmy to give the giant a polite hearing.”

Too Plentiful.

“I’ve discovered one thing while Journeying through this vale of tears,” said the Sunday editor, who was waiting for a fresh bowl of paste. “And what is that?” asked the fourth assistant copy reader.' “The minor poets are not in the minority.”

In the Spring.

“What is a kiss?” asks Yvonne, 1* “Madame Sherry.” “A kiss,” answers her uncle, “la nothing divided by two.” At this season of the year the world seems to be full of youths and maidens who are willing to Bpllt “fiftyfifty” on that kind of proposition.

Not That Kind.

“Why was Mr. Jabbs ashamed to do business openly? Was there anything wrong about him?” ' “*What do you mean by not doing business openly?” “I heard pa say he made his money in corners.”

"Steps Down the Street”

“Little walks are good for a man’s liver." “Not the kind -of little walks Jagsley takes. There’s a drink at the end of every one.”