Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 289, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 December 1916 — Page 2

TIPPE CANOE

Suppose that a man who hated you went to the girl you loved and told her you were a thief. If she believed the unwarranted accusation enough to ask you for an explanation, would you give it? Or would you think that a girl whose faith In her lover was so weak as that'‘didn’t deserve an explanation? How David Larrence handled a problem of that sort is told in this installment of “Tippecanoe." David, you’ll remember, had come all tho way from England to the frontier settlement of Corydon, Indiana territory, to kill an enemy. He makes friends with the Americans and falls in love with charming Toinette O’Bannon. Incidentally, he discovers that Job Cranmer is a British spy plotting with hostile Indians against the whites. The last installment closed with, Larrence at the Cranmer home, calling on Lydia Cranmer. Her father teases them coarsely about love-making.

CHAPTER Vlll—Continued. David flushed with resentment at the man’s coarseness, but he gavO him a civil good night He planned to watch the house and confront, Cranmer when Lydia was not present. “You won’t stay a bit longer? I’ve been kept overlong with the young men across the river—they’re a set of jolly dogs. You won’t stay? Good night, my boy!” The man was evidently laboring under an excitement not wholly due to wine; David had not taken a dozen steps when he heard Cranmer burst out in an exultant whisper that was louder than he realized: “Well, daughter, my work is done!” “Hush!” said Lydia sharply, and drew him within doors. David stopped short in his tracks. There was not a moment to lose. Without doubt, Cranmer had finished his work as a spy and was ready to leave, laden with information that would be of value to the British, should war ' actually be declared. What a jolly, ingenuous guest the Kentuckians must have found him I He set his jaws firmly together and took a quick step toward the cabin. It might not be too late. A thread of light shone from the crack of the heavy door. “Mr. Cranmer!” he called. There was the sound of a chair moved hastily back from a table, and the figure of Cranmer was outlined in the candlelight. “Well?” he asked suspiciously. “I have forgotten a matter that I wished to speak to you about, sir,” said David. His voice was without a trace of agitation. There was a moment’s pause. Cranmer peered into the darkness. “Well, if it’s no great matter I’ll just step outside again.” He closed the door behind him and came forward with hearty, friendliness in his voice: “What can I do for you, my lad?” David breathed a sigh of relief. It was time to come to action. “Til trouble you for those plans, Cranmer,” he said quietly. The man recoiled a step and David heard him draw in his breath sharply. But the night hid his expression and he summoned a blustering: “Plans? What plans? Young man, you choose a strange hour to joke in.” “You are well aware this is no joke, Cranmer. I want those plans of Fort Steuben.” “Fort Steuben! Well, damme, if this isn’t impudence! If you’ve somewhat to say, say it, and be done with this foolishness.” David took a step forward. “You know well enough what I mean. I know that you *re here as one of England’s spies. You have made notes concerning Fort Steuben. I want them.” An inarticulate roar of rage burst from Cranmer. His voice shook with suppressed fury. “So that’s what you’ve been doing, you dirty whelp! Spying on me while you pretended to court .jaiy "daughter! I’ll break you with'my“two hands, you dog! I’ll—”

He choked with rage and hurled his bulk at David; But, with a litheness newborn in the wilderness, David stepped quickly to one side and,drove his long right arm full at the Englishman’s distorted face. The blow went, straight to the jaw, with the momentum of a sinewy body behind it, and the spy went down with a grunt. In a flash David had leaped upon him, pinioning his arms with his knees, while he tore open the man’s waistcoat and thrust his hand quickly into his pockets. A fat bundle of papers ■ rewarded his search and he rose to Ihis feet with an ejaculation of thank- | fulness. Cranmer groaned weakly and strove in vain to rise. “Get up!” said David grimly. “Your game is done for. One word from me, and you hang at sunrise. But, for your daughter’s sake. I’ll give you a chance for your life. Get out of Clarksburg tonight and I’ll hold these papers. You know where to go—your Indian friends will find a hole for you in the wilderness, doubtless. Go! And may God forgive you!” He was conscious of no feeling of elation, but only of an unbearable regret that life should be so sordid; add of a sickening sorrow for the poor gli\ whose father had forced her with him .along this shameful road. When he had gained the tavern, he examined the bundle of papers with a heavy heart —damning evidence, sketches of a dozen forts along the frontier, detailed descriptions of the garrison of He folded them up oursfully

By SAMUEL McCOY

and replaced them In his coat with a sigh. At dawn he set off again for Corydon. But Cranmer tottered back into his daughter’s room with the face of a dead man. “It’s all up!” he cried In a ghastly, whisper. “I must get away from here tonight. There’s only one chance to win yet—you’ll have to stay here, my girl; I’ll see Scull tonight and set him upon this Larrence; and If he succeeds In getting the plans back, you are to bring them on to me at Detroit. God, how came he to suspect! You—did you—no, you’re true! Goodby! Do as I bid you. Goodby! Scull will be over soon—he’ll take care of you. I’m glad you are soon to be married.”

He strained the weeping girl to his breast and hprried away. A boat across the 4 foaming river and a stumble through the dark brought him to Scull’s door. A cautious tattoo summoned the man from his bed and the story was told, while terror seemed to fix its icy hands more and more deeply in Cranmer’s throat with every hurrying moment. Scull looked at his white face and exulted secretly at his collapse. A seeming contempt for the man before whom he had so often cringedJfllled his heart. “And what do you me to do?” he asked coldly. - A flash of his old truculence returned to Cranmer. “Do?” he whispered hoarsely. “There’s but one thing for you to do, my pretty man. You will have to get those plans back from that skulking rackabones. It’s your own business how. Then give them to Lydia. You may think you’ve done a fine thing in giving up the work that you came here to do, but I promise you that England has a tong .arm. You’ll not escape if ypu fail us.” Scull shrank again from his menacing gesture. His abject protestations of faithfulness fell hastily from his trembling- lips, and the spy, with a growl of satisfaction, stole out again into the dark and silent night. At Vincennes, two days later, old “Horsehead” Gibson, the Ueutenaht governor, sat writing a letter to Capt. Billy Hargrove, who was riding miles away in the wilderness at the head of a dozen forest rangers. The old man

“I’ll Trouble You for Those Plans, Cranmer."

wrote slowly, with a hand more used to. a rifle than a pen.- The letter, when he had finished it, ran: Vincennes, Indiana Territory, July 29, ISII. For about ten days a man has been around Fort Steuben who had such good papers of recommendation that he was permitted to go where he pleased and was all through the fort and barracks, He has disappeared and took with him a very fine saddle horse which belonged to Col. Luke Decker, together with a fine saddle and a 'pair of heavy, pistols in the holsters. It was thought he Went toward the Maumee river and may come near some of your stations. There is no doubt he is a British spy and it is very desirable to -capture him. A description of him given by those with whom he was is: A heavy man, five feet ten inches in neight; would weigh about one hundred and eighty pounds; dark hair, black eyes, and he wore a fine velvet vest and a dark blue long-tailed, coat, both ornamented with silver buttons. A pair of fine white dressed buckskin knee breeches with silver buckles at his knee; a pair of fine I leather shoes wit* Over buckles; a sw'.v-

. THE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENSSELAER. IND.

( by Bobba-Merrill Co.)

eled hat, made out of beaver skin. Have your men keep a good lookout for him. JOHN GIBSON. Acting Governor. By the hand of a friendly Delaware Indian. Return him in two daye with anything that you wish to say. CHAPTER IX. Sacrifice. The tall young physician from Louisville rode his sorrel mare into Corydon next day and drew rein at Patrice O’Bannon’s door. Toinette, In the early morning sunshine, was rapturous bird-song made into woman, a flower dew-bright, a carol, an embodiment of earth’s rejoicing. She Elliott with a smile that made him wonder, with a ready vanity, if he had not been mistaken in the rebuff she had once administered. If he had pressed her more hardily—did she really love Larrence? Ah, if he could only drive the man out of Corydon! The black beast of his jealous hatred rode on his back and he went straight to his purpose: “I have sad news for you, Toinette.”

The smile faded from her face and she looked at him with a slow alarm growing in her eyes. “It is very hard Tor me to tell you. It is about Larrence.” “David!” The name was wrung from her like a gasp. “I cannot believe the truth You remember that I told you once that I suspected Larrence of being in league with the Englishman, Cranmer? I have learned the certain truth since then —Cranmer has fled and Larrence is left to finish his work —the work of a spy!” “Who says this?" , “Captain Bullitt at Louisville told me. It will be common talk in another day. I do not know what to do. I have not slept all night. Only one thing has been clear to me —my love for you.” “What part has that in this?” she asked proudly. “Everything. It is because I love you that I have come to you now. I—you—told me once that I could not hope ever to win you. I tried to turn you against the man I feared. But I know now that my love for you is stronger than mere’ desire. I want you to be. happy, even though I suffer. And so I have come to tell you fifst of all. No one here knows that Larrence is in England’s service. Let it be known, and his life is forfeited. I have come to give you the greatest gift that is In my power. I give you the life of this man. Warn him, and there is yet time for him to escape. I shall be happy if you are happy. Only remember that I loved you, Toinette!” Tjip halting ‘sentences seemed to come from the depths of his. soul. He finished and stood before her humbly, his head bowed. H “God bless you,” she said very softly. She spilled the precious ointment of her innocent faith in his words upon the dross of his heart. He raised his head and thanked her mutely, while his pulses leaped with exultation. She had believed him! But would she warn Larrence? He scarcely dared to hope as he whispered: “If you wijl warp him . . . at midnight my mare will be at his doqr, ready to ride.” But the girl answered in a voice that seemed to come from beyond the grave, so full of a soul’s agony it was: “There will be no need ... I shall give him up. . . Ob. David, David, David!” ‘ He turned to hide thj mocking smile that lighted up his face. * The girl’s face had grown pale as the white rose she held in her hand. But she forced herself to go on—unhesitatingly, but in a voice from which all life had fled, so weighted with unutterable anguish it was: “You had better inform Judge Boone at once.”

“You don’t understand, Toinette. I shall not raise a finger against Larrence. He shall never say I am responsible for his exposure. You alone in Corydon know his secret. It is for you to decide.” "Go,” she said quietly, “I will do my duty.” “Have I done mine, Toinette? Do you forgive me?” “Yes, you have done well,” she answered mechanically. “I may see you again? Oh, Toinette, let me still hope!” “I cannot answer now. But —” her throat seemed to choke her and she was unable to finish. But through the young doctor’s mind there'flashed the belief that he would yet make her his. She would forget Larrence —only let time heal tHe wound! He raised her hand to his lips, flung himself upon the red mare and was gone. To Toinette the next minutep were an unreal procession in which a girl named Antoinette O’Bannon /moved strangely upon 'her task, dry-eyed, steady-voiced. She saw this girl go down the lane to the tavern, where Ike Blackford sat deep in a book of law; heard her ask him to go with her to David’s store; saw him bow with unquestioning courtesy; 1 saw them cross the courthouse square and enter the little storeroom, just then empty of customers; saw David advance

An absorbing chronicle of stirring events that grew out of the battle of Tippecanoe in the Indiana wilderness a century ago

toward them gravely, with the proud dignity he had worn since the day she had refused his love. She heard a voice speaking —was It her dwn? “I have brought Mr. Blackford to be a witness between us.” The two young men looked at the girl 'in silent wonder. She swept on in the cold torrent of her resolution, checking their unspoken question with uplifted hand: “We have known you but a little while, Mr. Larrence. You have made your home among us; we have taken you into our friendship. You have pretended to become an American; we have trusted you. befriended you, be-

Slowly He Drew Out the Packet of Papers He Had Wrested From Cranmer.

lieved In you. And you have repaid us! The colled snake fsom which you saved me was less vile! Oh, Ido not forget*what you did! It is tfiat which makes what you have done all the more terrible. I owe you my life. You might have had it, if you had chosen. But you have chosen Instead the lives of all these people in the wilderness—these settlers, these men who'have never harmed you, these women, these little children. To betray them, who have only loved you, who have been your friends! To give them into the hands of England and to the knives of the Indiansl”

Her voice broke. At her first words Blackford’s face had taken on an expression of amazement, which grew deeper and deeper as he listened and glanced from one to the other of his two friends. Now, as her voice faltered, his astonishment broke out: “Toinette, in heaven’s name, what is the miTtter?”

She answered wearily, listlessly, her voice sinking to a whisper, so that she seemed like an exhausted bird that is scarcely able to skim above the waves of the sea: “He has been here as a British spy!” Blackford started, then laughed incredulously. “Toinette, you’re joking!" But she buried her face in her hands and spoke through sobs that shook her from head to foot. “Oh, if it were not true! . . . Ask him. ...” Blackford turned to David. His Mend had taken a step backward at Toinette’s first rush of reproach and now leaned against the low counter, trembling, pale as one who has received a mortal wound. The shock of her accusation coming on the heels of the very moment when he had isked his life to confront Cranmer, stunned him. Only his high, indignant..pride rose against the sorry riddle —a stubborn pride which bade him listen to her wild charge in silence, holding himself in his angry conceit above the violence of contradicting her, above stooping to drag their love in the dust of quarrel. Blackford, striving to pierce beneath the mask of that white, tense face and the inscrutable eyes, cried out in alarm at David’s silent acceptance of her words. “It’s not true, is it, David? My God, it can’t be true!”

David was silent. • Blackford tried to laugh off his own alarm: “You two are playing some silly joke on me, of course. All right—l’ll own you gulled me. Satisfied, Toinette?” Toinette threw back her head proudly. The blue eyes that had so often danced with merriment were blazing sapphires. “Search him, Mr. Blackford,” her voice rang out. "I do not doubt but you will find evidence enough to satisfy you!” > Ilze’s eyes looked'into those of his friend with a passion of pleading for denial. But David’s voice answered evenly, coldly: “There is no need to search. 1 presume that these papers are the ones which Miss O’Bannon wishes.” And with steady fingers he unfastened his coat and waistcoat, and, while Blackford gazed in horrofy slowly drew out the packet of papers he had wrested from' Cranmer. He put them in Ike’s hands and bowed to Toinette with a touch of ironic courtesy. “You will find them all there,” he said. - s ' ' ' P

A single glance made Blackford realize their meaning. “Oh, David, David!” he cried. A thousand voices, the confused murmur of a mighty throng, seemed ringing In Toinette’s brain, and she fought against a sickening giddiness that made the walls whirl around her. “That is enough, Mr. Blacjcford?” she asked weakly; and on tottering knees she turned and left the two men alone. “Surely you can explain this, Davy!” cried Ike; his faith in his friend clung to him in stubborn defiance of the documents’ mute accusation. “Do you think it necessary to explain?" said David harshly. The anger which he had withheld from Toinette had mounted slowly until now his Iron will had reached a white heat of furious resentment. “By God, I explain to no manl” Ike looked him straight in the eyes. “No man on earth can use that tone to mg,” he said quietly, “ —except you, David, old man.” He laid his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder and the angry light in David’s eyes was suddenly quenched. “It isn’t true,” he said, and was silent once again. _ “That’s the only explanation you and I need, David,” Ike answered with a grave smile; and David crushed his hand in a mighty grip. “Ike, you understand I You believe in me!” he cried in a voice that showed how cruel the strain upon his nervous pride had been; and the two young men smiled straight into each other’s eyes.

David had meant to keep his own counsel,- but now the burden of his heart .flooded over at Ike’s trust in him. He told of what he had learned concerning Cranmer; told how he had come into possession of the secret agent’s maps and documents. , “I had already sent word to Vincennes to search for Cranmer,” he said, “and I meant to take these papers there at the first opportunity. How Toinette guessed that I had them, I cannot uhderstand. But, by heaven, Blackford, I can’t explain to her! Don’t you understand? I wanted her love. 1

thought she had given it to me, But if she doubts me, then —” Hia voice faltered again. “She has worried herself over some rumor —poor Toinette, she’s strung to the breaking-point,” said Ike gently. “I want you to do something for me, Ike,” replied David, unheeding the excuse. “I cqnqot stay in Corydon after tins. I cannot be indebted to Mr. O’Bannon any longft-. I must go.” “You know best, Davy. It’s not my business. But where?” “Vincennes, -I suppose. I may as well stay on there, after I have delivered this evidence to General Gibson. It doesn’t make any difference. But I want you to see Mr. O’Bannon and turn my accounts over to him. Will you do this for me, Ike?” “Willingly, Davy. But, oh, I’ll hate to give you up!” “You’re l:he best friend I ever had. So I shall have to lose you, as I have lost everyone I ever loved." David smiled bitterly.

“Davy, don’t go! You’ll win yet! She can’t hold to this silly mistake. Why, I’ll explain things to her! Go back, you sore-headed old bear, and —” But David checked him. “I shall never enter that house. And I forbid your speaking to her on this subject. Do norspeak of her again.” His tone was unyielding, final; and grieving in silent sympathy for his friend’s shattered hopes, Ike helped him close up the meager affairs of the little store and bade him good by. . . . To Ike remained no question of David’s honor; but the poison of Elliott’s words had found an abiding hold in the girl’s heart. Toinette had reached her father’s house she knew not how. She gained the harbor of her own chamber, closed the door, and sank upon her bed in a paroxysm of grief. She had saved the frontier from the traitor, she thought; but she had broken her own heart. * * • ■ * • ■ • • , David’s back was toward Corydon and all his hopes. His face was toward the north. The trace through the forest stretched away toward Vincennes and he marched along resolutely. There he handed over to the territorial officers the plans that he had taken from Cranmer; had from them their blunt thanks, and found employment in the ancient trading house of the Spaniard, Vigo.

How soon do you think David will forget 'Toinette and become smitten with some pretty French lass in Vincennes? (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Yes, Indeed.

“Is your son fond of academic pursuits?” * “I guess so. He’s a pretty regulai attendant at the billiard and bowling academy.”

Certainly Not.

> Bill—According to a court ruling the National Guardsmen in the fields need not pay alimony. . Jill—Of course. Why should he be obliged to fight in two placeg at onoet

ADRIFT

By ELIZABETH SHIELDS.

Her hair was golden and her large, inquiring eyes were brown. They flashed with great hopes and the wonderful dreams of youth. She arrived in New York with the conviction that an amazing adventure was waiting for her each time she turned a corner. Shelived alone for one week in the goal city of the United States and, of course, it happened. On the first day of her second week’s stay in the oldfashioned brown-stone boarding house, she descended the dark, musty-smell-ing halls, with the dim gas jets burning to the dining room for luncheon. Claire was not only dewy, fresh and rosy, she f/ad cultivated an air of dash and she was wistful, but of this latter quality she was utterly unconscious. When she entered the dining room she found a stranger at her table. New York is overfilled with pretty girls, but Gilbert Brown sat up when he looked at Claire. Claire looked him over completely without, apparently, taking her eyes from the cream pitcher in front of" her. He was too big, she decided. She shrank from men so broad and with such square chins. There was something. so delicate about her, she seemed a little beyond Gilbert Brown, but he started to talk anyway. # Luncheon finished, they went up the stairs to a still gloomier room, known as the library. After another halfhour’s acquaintance he felt free to inquire, “Haven’t you anyone to look after you?” She answered with a lilting laugh, “No one’s ever taken care of me. I only have Aunt Annie, who was glad I came to New York.” “Go back home, child,” he warned her; “you won’t stand being banged about here.” She gave the man a long, speculative glance. “I haven’t any home to go to,” she laughed lightly, dismissing the subject forever. A thought flashed into her golden head that here was a chance for adventure. She wanted to dance and dine in the restaurants, and herweek in New York proved that she probably never would, unless she went alone. She astonished the man by telling him this. All her girlish desires for experience beamed trustfully from her brown eyes qs she talked. “I’ll take you to a show,” he offered eagerly. “First, we’ll have dinner with a cabaret, then # show after,” he urged. Still Claire hesitated. The opportunity so suddenly presented took her breath away. His eyes were burning into hers in an uncomfortable w-ay. The temptation to seek adventure was too strong to deny. Upstairs in the tiniest hall bedroom ever built into a boarding house Claire dressed for the evening, aglow with the wonder of the adventure on which she was starting. When she met Brown her eager brown eyes looked directly into his. Her tight grasp on his arm gave him the feeling of being a protector in a deeper sense than ever before. She carried her head high, animated with the joy of living. She intoxicated Brown. The* cheap dazzle of Broadway wearied him, but Claire laughed up at him in childish excitement.

“Do you like this sort of thing?” he questioned wonderingly. “I can’t thank you enough for taking me,” she chirped; “it’s all more beautiful that I ever dreamed, much more wonderful!” She started for home willingly when he suggested it. “You must not come again,” he cautioned her; “other men will ask you.” “But I want to come again,” she protested. Secretly Brown made up his mind that in the morning he would look up the first train to her home town and see that she took it, if he had to take her to the station himself. Aloud he said, “You’re the nicest little girl I ever saw!” Claire placed her soft palm over his mouth. “You’ve told me every minute that I’m pretty.” He caught her hand and held it. He knew he should drop it, but she looked at him with bright, happy eyes and smiled. Brown’s heart always ruled his head, and at the touch of her soft little arm against his, he drew her close to him. He covered her kisses. “I want you with me always, sweet one,” he whispered in a trembling voice, “I don’t want to let you go.” She put her arms around him and kissed him. Releasing her he drew his' breath in sharply. “I shouldn’t have talked to you at all. You’re tqo good for men like me. Tomorrow —” he continued. Smiling sweetly into his face Claire interrupted. “Tomorrow we’ll go adventuring again.” Brown clenched her hands in his strong grip. “I don’t want to let you go out of my life* but-—” “I shan’t. We’ll be perfectly happy together.” Claire laughed rind cuddled! closer to him. Then she whispered, "This Is my first proposal!” It was several minutes before Gilbert Brown could speak. In his heart, which was big, he was glad for the innocence of her. “Little treasure,” he murmured, “Til be a good husband to you.” '(Copyright, 1916, bv the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)

Then the Ice Formed.

- Her —No doubt you think I am old-' er than I really am. Him—Not at all. I’m sure yon are not as old as you look.