Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 63, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 March 1916 — THE SUPPLANTER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE SUPPLANTER

By H. M. EGBERT.

Marie Renfrew had thought she was a boy until she was nine years old. Then she learned the truth about her father's obsession. Ten years before Andrew Renfrew, tired of the struggle for life in the cities of eastern Canada, had taken his wife and household goods and. moved to the north of Saskatchewan. There he had become a trapper. They lived entirely alone in the wilderness. Their little sod cabin held a good deal of happiness, none the less. Both were satisfied, the woman, because she loved her husband, the man, because some primitive strain 4t4Um came out and answered to the call of the far North. Besides, there was Marie, their only child. Then Maggie Renfrew closed her eyes for ever upon the earthly scene, leaving the desolate man alone with the child. And because he had always longed for a son, he brought her up as a boy. Her only companions were the Indians who came, rarely enough, to the little place to offer furs —for Andrew had started -a small trading post now that he was getting too weak to trap. Once in a great while, too, some officer of the police would offsaddle at the little cabin for a day or so and bring news of the outside world. “You ought to send that girl South to school,” said Robert MacFarlane, the second time he came, looking at

Marie, who, now sixteen, still dressed in a boy’s furs, and wore her shortcropped, flaxen hair about her ears. Old Andrew thumped his fist upon the table. “I’ve brought her up as a boy,’’ he said. “She’s been a son to me. That’s enough. I’m not open to argument.’’ MacFarlane thought it a shame. He began to pass that way more often. Each time it was clearer that Andrew could not live very long. He had meant to broach the subject again, but when he came for the fourth time, Marie being now nearly eighteen, to his surprise it was the old trapper who brought up the matter. “I haven’t long to live, Robert,” he said. “I’ve been thinking over what you said to me, and —I guess you’re right, Bob. But she don’t need no schooling. * Books she’s had a-plenty. I guess she could hold her own with any of them so far as schooling’s concerned. But what’ll come to her after J’m gone?" “You ought to take her South,” said MacFarlane. “She wouldn’t want to go South,” answered the old man. “It may be I made a mistake in bringing her up' in the wilds. But it’s become nature now, and it’s her life. Bob, I want to get her married to a good man. You’re only forty, Bob. You never married. What would you think of Marie for a wife?” As he finished speaking the girl came. She was dressed as a woman now, and she blushed shyly when Bob looked at her. The officer had never thought of her in that way. His heart leaped. —“Think it over, Bob,”said old Andrew when they parted. “There’s plenty of time. Let me know when you come back next year. I won’t be dead by then." -Wto hs had gone Andrew asked Marie: “How would you like to marry Bob?” ' The girl looked at him drearily. "I never thought of marrying, father,” she answered. “But won’t always have me, child,” he answered, as gently as he could. “And you can’t live alone here." She began to cry,,, and Andrew said no more. But the next day she came tp him and consented. The foliowingspringßob camebaek. With him was a young man of twen-ty-two,, whomhe Introdhced to the old trapper. He did not think it necessary to introducFTifinTto Marie. “This is Mr. Milvaine, ah Englishman,” he aaid- “He takes the factor’s place at the Fort next month. country.” MacFarlane continued: “I’ve been thinking over that"prop- - tuition of yours all winter. Renfrew,

and it suits me. I guess 1 can make her happy, and forty-one isn't too old, neither.” . —He did not sav that he had thought over the proposition until his whole heait had gone out toward the girl.' Tie wanted her more than anything on earth. But ha did not think it necessary to say that, either to Andrew or to the girl. When Marie came in Andrew took her hand and gave it to Bob. ; “You'll suit each other,” he said. fet you to brihg the Reverend Spears along with you when you come for her. I’ll be glad to see her off my bands. I won't last through the year.” He did not last through the month. A stroke during the night left him unconscious, and MacFarlane found himself tied to the place, waiting for old Andrew to breathe his last before taking the girl South to the priest at Fort Barry. Days passed, and Andrew, sinking daily, still continued alive. During that time the girl and Milvaihe found themselves constantly together. He could not take his eyes from her. — It seemed to him that he had never seen a woman so beautiful before. And she, vaguely disturbed, allowed herself the. happiness of his company without understanding what it portended. They had been spearing fish together for the night meal when he found himself unable to control what was in his heart. * “Your father will not live long, Marie,” he said. “Next week should see the end of everything.” “Yes,” she said monotonously. “The end of —all.” “The end of our companion ship.' She nodded, and two tears stole down her cheeks. “Do you love MacFarlane, Marie?” asked the young man, taking her hand in his. J . “No,” she whispered. “Then why are you going to be his wife?” “My father wishes it.” Swiftly he caught her in his arms. "But I love you,” he cried. “Do you love me? You do. I can see It in your face.” Their lips met in their first kiss. And the world, which had always been so drab, became suddenly heaven to the girl. At once he pressed his plans upon her. As soon as her father was dead they would take the two horses and ride to Fort Barry, to be married there. The sweetness of their secret filled their lives. They dared trot look at each other in the cabin, they hardly spoke. And Bob suspected nothing. Not even when Andrew breathed his last, nor when he was laid beneath a pile of stones to keep off wandering beasts, did“fie - suspect that MiTvainA was planning to steal his sweetheart from him. “Tomorrow we’ll start,” he told her that evening, as he went to his bunk. And for the first time it occurred to Marie that he had never kissed her. He did not hear the horses being led out at dawn. Trembling, the girl let Milvaine lift her to the saddle, and they rode away together. Often they reined in their horses to exchange embraces. An hour later MacFarlane arose and discovered what had happened. His slow Scotch blood was afire. He put on his snowshoes and followed doggedly in the horses’ wake. He knew that, soft as the ground was with melted snow, a mah could trayel as fast as a horse. The fugitives saw him five miles away, from the crest of a hill. They hurried their steeds; but the beasts’ hoofs, injured by the plunging through the half-frozen crust, werejunable to ■ support them. They let them go, watching them trot back along the trail, and went themselves on snowshoes. At night MacFarlane was three miles distant. He went more slowly, but“ tirelessly. All the while, by the light of the moon, he watched the trail. Here they had halted, here they j had gone more slowly. He knew they were tired. It would not be dawn before he caught them. He had let the horses go past him. Afoot he was their match. And alone, unaided by man or beast, he meant to wreak revenge with the revdlveF carried in his right hand. The tracks were fresher. He was nearly upon them. And he halted, satisfied to rest for an hour. His prey was almost in his hands. When the dawn came up in red and gold he continued onward. He saw the tracks turn aside. They led toward a little rocky recess beside the river bank. And there he found them. They had fallen asleep from exhaustion. They lay sleeping, side by side, hands still clasped. MacFarlane stood looking down on them, the weapon in his hand. He had slipped three cartridges into it. He could not kill a sleeping man, but he could awaken him. The gfcl smiled in her sleep and her fingers tightened upon those of the young man. fe Suddenly MacFarlane fert himself choking. He lowered the * revolver. Then, stooping, he laid it softly at the girl’s feet and, turning, began to make his way back toward the cabin. - (Copyright. 1916. by W. G. Chapman.)

The Fugitives Saw Him Five Miles Away.