Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 175, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 July 1914 — Page 2

Joseph Hayward, an ensign in the United States army, on his way to Fort Harmar, meets Simon Girty. a renegade whose name has been connected with all manner of atrocities, also headed for Fort Harmar, with a message from the British general, Hamilton. Hayward guides him to the fort. General Harmar's headquarters Hayward meets Rene D’Auvray. who professes to recognize him, although he has no secollectlon of ever Having seen her before. Hayward volunteers to carry a message for Harmar to Sandusky, where Hamilton is stationed. The northwest Indian tribes are ready for war and are only held back by the refusal of the friendly Wyandots to join. The latter are demanding the return of Wa-pa-tee-tah, a religious teacher, whom they believe to be a prisoner. Hayward’s mission is. to assure the Wyandots _that. the man is not held by the soldiers. Rene asks Hayward to let her accompany him. She tells him that she is a quarter-blood .Wyandot an± a missionary among the Indians. She has been in Search oT her father. She insists that she has seen Hayward before, but in a British uniform. Hayward refuses her request and starts for the north accompanied by a scout.named Brady and a private soldier. They come on the trail of a war party and to escape from the Indians take shelter in a: hut on an island. Hayward finds a murdered man in the hut. CHAPTER Vl.—Continued. I stood staring at it, and then down Into the face of the dead man. D’Auvray: Her name! The same name she had given me! The face of the girl came back instantly to memory, distinct, living. There was a "familiarity, a resemblance, now that I thus connected the two together. She had told me her father was a French officer- — but dead, killed in action. Perhaps she Thought so; had Been deceived' into this belief. Yet I was convinced now that this was the man; that he had been living up to a few hours before, and had met his fate here in the wilderness by a foul and treacherous blow. Her father! The knowledge seemed to shock me, to leave me helpless; I could hot divorce my mind from the remembrance of the daughter. Where would she be that night? Safe at Harmar? or in theklark woods with Girty? Did she know about this hidden cabin? This island rendezvous? Surely this could be no mere coincident of name and history, yet what was the mystery that enveloped, both? Why was this Captain D’Auvray hiding here, and why did she deny that he was still living? The more I thought, the more tangled grew the skein. Brady called me, and I stepped back into the other room, still dazed, grasping the medal in my hand. “Well, what is it?” he asked gruffly. “What have you found out?” I told him briefly, describing the appearance of the body, and handing him the medal. He turned it over in the light of the torch. “French, ain’t it? What does it say?” “An army decoration for gallant conduct given, to Capt. RaoelD’Auvray, Fifth Cuirassiers.” “You think it belonged to him?” “Beyond doubt; it was pinned to his shirt—the one thing he treasured in his exile.” “D’Auvray,” he repeated, as if the name had familiar sound. “I’ve heard of him before. Wait a bit; now I have it —he commanded Hamilton’s Indians at Vincennes when Clark took the town. I saw him once.” He got to his feet with my help, and braced himself in the doorway, lobking intently at the upturned face, as I held the torch extended. “That’s the man,” he said soberly. “I remember the white beard; some one told me the Wyandots called him the

I Stood Staring Into the Face of the Dead Man.

white chief. And he was in the French army.?.- An officer? Poor devU! I winder what happened to drive him to this.” He stared about among the shadows at the miscellaneous articles littering the shed, his trained eyes noting things 1 had overlooked in my excitement, “He was murdered all right, lad," he commented slowly, "and by a white man. This was not Injun work. Here Is the imprint of a boot heel; you can •ven see the nails. That's odd; I didn’t Suppose there was a boot worn in this

The MAID of the FOREST

PARRISH ' - D. J. LAVIN

country exceptby British officers. What is that red garment lylng on the: box? I thought so; an English infantry jacket, made in London, and it never belonged to D’Auvray.” He held it up. “It was a big fellow who wore this coat, about your size.” I brew up the bench, and sat down. "There is more to this than you have discovered, Brady," I said, determined to explain. “Did you chance to see a French girl back at Fort Harmar?” He shook his head. "Not as I remember; who was she?” “That is what I would like to know. I hoped you might have picked up some information. She was at General Harmar*s office—a young girl, not much over twenty, I should judge, with dark eyes and hair, speaking broken English, her dress half rhdlan ' and half border French. She was one in a thousand, to my thought. What name do you suppose she gave me?” His eyes, Interested, questioned me, but he. sat silent. “Rene D’Auvray; and she explained her father was a French officer, killed in battle.” “And her mother?" “A woman of the Wyandots, but a half-breed." “D’Auvray! The same as the dead man yonder! And he was a soldier. ’T is an odd case. What else do you know about her?” “Precious little, Indeed, for she seemed an adept in deceit. She eyen pretended to know me, and actually spoke my TfamebeTdre Ts haff been told' her. How she; ever learned it is more than I can guess. The little minx is full of tricks, but plays them so sauclly it was not in my heart to become angry. By heavens! one glance in her eyes would disarm any man—” “Yes,” he Interrupted, “but whence came she there, and for what purpose?” ' I told him all I knew, and he listened eagerly, his eyes on Schultz puttering about the fire. . “She must have jested in her threat to travel hither with the renegade.” “I fear it was not jest,” I said soberly. “She Ayas in a mood to do even that, and I do not think she feared the man. They may be on our trail now; ay! close at hand, Brady, for they both know these woods better than either of us. 'T is my thought, now, the dead man yonder was the lass’ father, and she would know his cabin.” His eyes turned to the door, and then to the food Schultz was placing on the table before us, but whatever hie thought it remained unuttered. As we sat there eating, he was apparently turning it all over in his mind, trying to draw the tangled ends of the skein together. As we finished the meal, some newly awakened curiosity caused me to glance out again into the rear room. It was gloomy with shadows, the bodies of man and dog beyond view; yet what I perceived brought from my lips a sudden exclamation. “Brady, some one has been in here! The outer door is unlatched—yes—and the soldier’s coat is gone!” We searched the room carefully, but discovered no sign of its having been entered, except for the door standing slightly ajar, and the disappearance of the red coat. We dare not carry a torch into the open, and the night was too dark for us to trace marks on the ground. Brady stood in the glow of firelight, looking to the priming of his rifle, his face shadowed. “I am going out awhile, Hayward,” he said finally. “Yes, I am all right now. I meant to take yffu along, but, I reckon, it will be safer not to leave the Dutchman here alone. However, I don’t think there will be any more visitors tonight." He slipped out the back way, disappearing Instantly, and I picked up my own rifle, bade Schultz remain where he was, and followed, with the purpose of scouting about the Island. I could perceive the new danger we were in. Suppose the assassin, eager to save himself from suspicion, should be attracted to that camp of raiders, and, relying on their friendship for protection, charge us with the murder of D’Auvray. What mercy could we hope for at their hands? Beyond doubt the band was composed of ambitious young warriors, who had already tasted blood, and under control of no chief able to restrain them, if their wild passions should be appealed to. But I emerged into darkness and silence. Quickly as I had made this decision I was too late. The scout had already disappeared across,the narrow open space, and vanished into the fringe of trees. There was nothing to guide me, except a vague sense of direction, yet I felt my way forward through the dense tree growth, hearing no sound of movement, and compelled to move slowly until I emerged at the shore, and could perceive the stars reflected on the surface of still 11 1 -i-mr r—r~ —rm— — ihitt--* ■ - —. .. .- water. As I lingered there clear of the woods* shadow, my courage gradually returned, and our situation appeared less ■ desperate. Whoever the fellow was who had killed D’Auvray he might have as much cause to fear the Indihn raiders as we did. The mere fact that ho wore a red coat was no direct proof ■ha was, a British soldier; doubtless many a forest renegade had picked up bits of discarded uniforrh. Besides, why should any soldier desire to kill

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

CO/W/GHT

D’Auvray? He had led his Indians to action nnder Hamilton. Mpre like!v the fellow was French, and the murder the end of some private feud. His only desire then would be to get away safely, to escape unseen. Brady would learn all this, and he would be back presently. I do not know how long a time only I had circled the house twice, ekirtlng the edge of the woods in my rounds, keeping well in the blacker shadows, and moving noiselessly, every nerve alert. Back of the house I discovered a mound of earth, heaped as a roof, over an Opening in the ground, evidently a cellar of some kind. So far as I could discover, by groping in the darkness, there was nothing concealed within, but the enI sat down there where I could eee in every direction, with my rifle across my knees. The stars yielded a spectral light, and no one could move across the clearing unobserved; I sat there for ten minutes, seeing and hearing nothing, gradually growing drowsy in the silence, my head sinking back against the earth mound. Yet I remained awake and watchful, although when I first perceived a figure flitting out of the black fringe of woods, I half believed it a dream. But it was no dream, and I sat up suddenly, my heart beating like a triphammer, and stared. I could see little, not enough to determine whether the intruder was savage or white, merely perceiving an inffistincLform,. crouching low, yet advancing directly toward me. There was no hesitancy, no evidence of fear, but merely the natural caution of one traveling alone in the wilderness. At first I believed it to be Brady returning, yet hesitated to step boldly forth, for the figure appeared small and unnatural, barely perceptible against the darker background of earth. To render myself more secure! drew cautiously back a step within the cellar entrance, and waited breathlessly, bracing myself to meet either friend or foe. I could no longer see the intruder, and the caution of his approach made me certain the man must be an enemy. Surely Brady, even while exercising every precaution, would never hesitate like this, and grope his way forward inch by Inch. I felt the hot blood leap In my veins; then the fellow, still crouching low, but with rifle barrel advanced, appeared around the edge of the pile of earth, scarcely two yards distant. All I saw qjearly was a hat with a feather in it, an indistinct outline of fbrm, and the black rifle barrel. My rifle came up to the shoulder, and I slipped into the open. “Stop where you are!” I ordered sharply. “Drop your gun, and stand jid!"..l _ J I heard a quick breath of surprise, almost an exclamation; the stock of the rifle sank to the ground, but the hands still clung to the barrel, as the startled figure straightened up. I could not distinguish the face, only the white outline shadowed by the hat, yet the short, slender form was that of a boy. The relief at this discovery brought a laugh to my lipa “What does this mean, lad?” I asked. “Have children gone to war? Come, answer me; you are no savage.” • “ ’Tis not a lad with whom you deal, Monsieur Hayward,” replied a soft voice, trembling a bit nevertheless, though attempting boldness. “You know me now?” She flung the concealing hat into the grass, the silvefy light of the stars on her face. “You here! you!" I exclaimed in swift surprise at thft unexpected denouement, and feeling the hot blood flush my face. "You came with Girty?” She ventured to laugh lightly at my tone and manner. “We traveled together—yes. What of that, monsieur? The wilderness is not a parlor where we can choose associates. Did I not warn you I would come with him when you refused ,me? An’ you think I did what was wrong?” “I?” puzzled by her direct question. “What is it to me, mademoiselle? You would not care what I think. ‘ Yet were you sister of mine I would speak plainly enough; we all know what Simon Girty is.” “Oh, no, monsieur, the Amerlcains do not,” and her voice rung with earnestness. “He is to them an enemy, a fiend. He wars on the other side, and as the Indians make war. Why not? He has lived in our wigwams, and sat at our council fires. He belongs with us, save for the birthmark of a white skin. To me he is not enemy, but friend. I have known him always, from childhood;' there is no fear in my heart; did he desire, he would not dare harm me—l am a Wyandot” “The swift words were a defiance, a challenge. “Have it as you will,” I said coldly, "but nothing you may say will ever make me think well of that renegade.” "You!” she exclaimed passionately. “Why do you say that, Joseph Hayward? Why do you keep up this masquerade with me? We are no longer at Fort Harmar where it was safer for you to guard your speech.

I knew you would be here; that was "why I "came talk to each other, and no longer lie.” I stared at her face in the starlight, my memory suddenly reverting to the dead man within. “You knew I would be here?” “I guessed it, and my Instinct was true. Why not, monsieur? You alone knew the house was here, and who lived in it.” CHAPTER VII. Mademoiselle Meets Her Father. There was evidently no use of my groping longer in the dark. The girl was in earnest; she firmly believed me to be another. There could be no understanding between us until this mystery of Identity was cleared" away. Her discovery of me here had only served to Increase her hallucination. “Mademoiselle D’Auvray,” I said earnestly, and I stood bare-headed before her, “there is a serious mistake being made. I am not willing you should deceive yourself any longer. I am going to be perfectly frank with you, and in return I ask you to be equally frank with me. Who do you believe me Jp be?” < gazeOptraight into-ihy faeept®-* swering: —“-Monsieur Joseph -Hay ward.” “Of course,” smiling, “you heard the name at Fort Harmar.” "But! did not; it was never mentloned in my presence. I recognized you.” “Which would imply that we had met before, yet I have*’ no recollection, not the faintest, of such a meeting. You are not one it would be easy to forget” “Unless one particularly desired to do so,” she replied swiftly, "and that I am beginning to suspect is the tease." She straightened her slender figure, throwing back her shoulders and using a clearer English than before, as if throwing off disguise. “You ask me to deal with you frankly, monsieur; very well, I will. Down in my heart I have never trusted you—never! My father did, and I made pretense to please him. But from our first meet-

“You Cail Me a Spy, but I Am Not."

Ing my womanly instincts told me you were false.*’ Now I know it! You are not with us, but with our enemies; you are a traitor! a spy!” _ i; The words stung; they were like the thrifts of a knife. Was the girt insane—mad ? "You call me a spy,” I said soberly, as her breath failed, “but I am not. To me this is all mystery. But what about yourself, mademoiselle? Why were you at Fort Harmar? What purpose brought you there?” “I went there openly, and in no disguise,” ehe replied, restraining herself with an effort. “I was not a spy, nor a victim of curiosity/ I told the truth when I said I was seeking my father.” "Yet you left at once to return north without finding him?” “Because I had-learned he was not there, not in the Americain forts. T heard the generail tell It to you.” “To me! the name was not mentioned. We spoke only of a medicine man—Wa-pa-tee-tah.” "Yes, the White Chief. He came to the Wyandots with the Christ message. He was there before the priests, and it is through his efforts there has been peace. Yet why should I tell you all this? You have met him in council, have eaten at his table,, and shared his bed. He alone has stood, and blocked your plans of war.” "Mademoiselle,” I- said, “let us forget this controversy, this misunderstanding, for It Is that, and be friends for this night at least I wish to help you, ahd not be held as an enemy. You have been in my mind ever since we first met; I have not' been able to drive you from memory. I must bring you evil news, but my heart is fun of kindness and sympathy. tou will believe this?” (TO BE CONTINUER) /

AT THE BOOKING OF F ICE OFF-STAGE COMEDIES

WASITACTINGOR REAL LOVE? Margie Walters—(dramatic woman) —Did you read where Winnie King and her hubby— ,■■■—.-•» Tom Finerty (a single)—What—trouble again? Margie Walters^—No, Indeed, , sir. They were just offered a hundred a week apiece in separate shows and they refused to separate. Such devotion in a young couple I never did see. Tom Finerty—Young couple? He’s young, but it’s “grandma” parts for ’tobr-after this."WhaFyott^aean 4 ls, it was fine of them not to separate when they couldn’t deliver the goods. Whpn they played on a bill with me—oh! It that manager wasn’t a kind-hearted old gink they’d be sentenced for life on the small time. Margie Walters —I meant from an affectionate standpoint, Tom. It showed what a loving couple you will find In the show business every so often. . Alys Daly (of the Daly sisters) —I knew a couple like that one timetor two weeks. Then he got an offer of one show a day less —Blooey! Them hams ain’t got no more affection than a chink laundryman, take it from me. Edna Mav Sims (child Impersonar tor) —Didn’t the man spurn the offer to be with his loving wife, Alys? Alys Daly—Lovin’ wife? She’s playin’ In the Bronx and he’B billed for San Diego the last half of next. Dad Wadell —Such family disruption was not the rule in my day. I remember— • .*. Gene Bally (comedy juggler)—Look at me, crowd, if you want to see a sample of connublallstlc happiness. Wife’s playing Chicago and I’m here. Margie Walters—Connubial bliss is

"Look at Ma, Crowd, If You Want to See a Sample of Connubiallstic Happiness. Wife's Playing Chicago and I'm Here.”

easy under such conditions. If Mr. H. V. Walters had stayed 20 hours’ railroad distance from me we would never have a word. Algy (late of the ’Alls) —I’ll bet you’d get lonesome and write, me young lidy. Margie Walters —Write my husband? Never! I did, however, send him a dozen telegrams when we separated. I sent theqj “charges collect," and all I said in them was, “You mean brute!” Mr. H. V. Walters will ruq the day— Gene Bally—Don’t think my case is anything like that. Cruel fate is what separates us. If someone will tell me how to frame up an act we can play together, something for a comedy juggler and a leading lady—which she Is —I’ll give ’em my chicken farm. Algy—l’ll try to think of a w’y. But first give me a description of the place. If it’s more than a mile from Broadway I don’t want It. Margie Walters —Here’s how Winnie’s case was. Winnie and George were with us in “Oh, Oh, Claudine.” After we were out two weeks they were married. A week later Puton & Takeoff cut down the company to 97 people. When the notice was posted at Ft Wayne Winnie and George went up to read it What did they see? Winnie was let out altogether and they let George do the juvenile and double as the cot nt in the last act Tom Finerty—That was an awful responsibility to give to that ex-bell-hop. Dad Wadell—ln "Midsummer Night’s Dream” I played Bottom and — Algy—l’d ’ate to’ve been there w’en r did it Edna May 81ms —When George and Winnie saw that notice did they carry on something awful, Margie? Margie Walters—Not a-talll They stool clasped in each other’s arms. Winnie looked up into George’s face, her big brown orbs filled with tears. George looked at poor little Winnie, and— — Gene Bally—l got an idea for an act out of this mush. A leadin’ lady befriends a poor juggler from a stranded side-show; That night the hotel burns and the juggler carries her down On one arm—my balancin’ stunt The juggler turns out to be nor old schoolmate — <.. ..

ly Will Bradshaw j

Algy—Keep your old chicken farm! .Margie Walters —Yes, m’ dears, they just stood there looking at that callboard. Dad Wadell —A pretty situation, I’d call it A dramatic moment. Algy—l’d call it a piffle scene, I would. Margin Walters—Winnie drew herself up to her full height; she choked her sobs. "George,” she said, “it seems that we must part.” Algy —It seemed, eh? Margie Walters —“Don’t let me be a burden to you any longer," she cried. “Don’t let me hold you back from the career that is yours. Take the juvenlle job, let me go my w, and, when you are great, all I ask is that you think of me—sometimes.” Edna May Sims—ls I witnessed that scene I’d burst out weeping. I’m that tender-hearted. Dad Wadell —My dear young lady, it you «"w' tup> in “Henry of Navarre" you’d weep. Algy—By jove, you’re a candid ol’ top! Gene Baily—That was George’s chance to act as I'would under the circumstances. , I■. 1 ■. Margie Walters —He did, Gene, George took her in his manly arms and said right out loud, “Kid, you’re not a burden to me. You’ve always played your halfUbTThe sketch. Ned Ward can have the juvenile job—the show will close soon, anyway. We’re both going to quiFnow and go back East, back to your uncle’s farm for the summer.” George King is made of manly material. Edna May Sims —I don’t know Winnie or George, never saw their act, but from those words I’d say he is every inch a man. Algy—Back to uncle’s farm for the summer, eh? ’Oo’d blame the rotter?

I’d s’y the same thing if I 'ad a wife's uncle like ’lm. Tom Flnerty—But George said the right thing at the right time. Gene Bally—My words. Dad Wadell—“Tin death do us part” meant something to them. Tom Flnerty—That George is a wise one. He thought of free board at uncle’s and knew he couldn’t get by next season without Winnie in his act. Edna May Sims —If I thought that was in his mind, I'd hate the villain. Dad Wadell—None can fathom the subtle workings of a man’s mind. Gene Bally—His spiel then at that time did sound a littletjtoo “melo” to be real heart stuff. Algy—l’ll bet 'e ’ad the part re* hearsed. Edna May Sims—How about Winnie? k Alys Daly—She’s a wise old actress, that girl. She knows she can’t get booked next season without Georgie. Booking Agent (entering)—Who wants Saturday night at Yonkers? (Copyright, 1914. by W. G. Chapman.)

Very few people are really free from liability to stage fright, and the veteran in public life is just as likely to be affected as Is the novice. Attacks, moreover, frequently come when they are least expected. Hence no speaker or artist can face an audience and feel sure that he will not have to suffer from the tortures of this particularly painful form of nervousness. Musicians, of course, are the worst sufferers. The performer on a stringed instrument is helpless if his hand .trembles, while the clear enunciation of a singer can be ruined by that "catch in the throat” cr that twitching of the lips which is perhaps the simplest and most common manifestation of stage fright 4

“Who Is that man who U being cheered by the crowds?" asked this stranger. “Thai 1b John Smith,” replied the bystander. “What did he ever do?” asked the Stranger. "He invented the noiseless phonoclnnatl Enquirer. 1

Stage Fright

Greater Than Edison.