Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 January 1917 — Page 2

TIPPECANOE

By SAMUEL McCOY

CHAPTER XVll.—Continued. -10“ ' ' . | “Great God, hQW did that Injun get ,in hqte, Mr. Larrenee?” -ejaculated * Conrod, as the candles showed him the huddled form of the dying savage. “Don’t Hsk me. -Cantata Goarotl.” returned the other cheerfully. door was open when I got here and he jumped on me when I came in; and he’d have got me if it had not been for this' man.” And he laid his hand gently on the shoulder of the hysterical figure crouched on the floor. “Holy rattlesnakes!” burst from the David Larrenee lifted his rescuer,to his feet., “Here, let’s see your face,; —my-frien(L”>——— : —. ———r— ~™~ The man looked up slowly. “Ned Scull!” Larrenee in a ghastly whisper, and staggered backward. The man bowed his head again. Larrenee spoke like a man in # dream : _ > —s “Scull! I have found you at last!” “I am innocent, I swear it!” cried SculL “I never betrayed you!” The others looked from one to the other of the two men in amazement. Where had they known each other before? By what name did Larrenee call Elliott? What was their secret? The moment was tense with waiting. David turned to the little group. “Gentlemen,” be said, “may I talk to thtw man alone for a moment?” “Sure as shootin’,” said Conrod after a pause, “but let’s get this Injun out of here first” He bent above the filthy body and turned the limp shoulders over. ' “Why, it’s that wuthless Piankeshaw come in last week to sell his been drunk ever since. He’ll be sober a while, now.” With scant ceremony they dragged the heavy body with the dark red stain between the shoulder blades into the rain. Ope Indian less on the wilderness bolder was better luck than bad. half-shut eyes stared blankly upward in the beating rain. > “Bury him in the mornin’,” directed Conrod; and Scull—whom the village had known only as “Elliott” —and David Larrenee were left alojpe together. “Now,” said Larrenee with deadly calm, “tell me how you got here 1” The man Scull clasped his hands in entreaty. “I left Nottingham because I heard you had sworn to kill me. I swear to - you before God I was not responsible for your father’s —” Terrence checked the word on Scull’s dips. } “How came you here?” he repeated. 1 “I heard you had gone to America and I came across the Atlantic to find “ you ; I thought I mlgttt-show you 1 was innocent I swear lam innocent.” ! “You lie,” returned David calmly, j “you lie in every word. You informed falsely on my father, and he died on the gallowsbecause of you. You became a British spy. You fied from" England to escape me; you never thought to find me here. Nor did I think to find you here, under an assumed name, pretending to be a physician.” Scull looked at him in terror. “God!” he whispered, his lips dry with fear. A door that led to an inner room suddenly swung open and a woman stepped quickly out A cry of fear escaped her as she saw David towering menacingly above Scull’s bowed head. She was face to face with David and he looked at her in astonishment “Lydia Cranmer!” Tile girl flung herself between the two* men and clasping Scull in her; arms she turned defiantly toward David. “No, not Lydia Cranmer,” she cried, “but Mistress Scull!” “Hush, Lydia,” commanded Scull dully. “Go back, let us end our busi-i ——ness.” He swallowed convulsively and stroked Tier hair as though soothing a; child. “Go back, dear.” “Not I, Ned !” she answered. “Whatdoes this man want? Oh, Ned, there is no danger, is there? Tell me, what Is wrong?” As David looked at the two he felt the wild anger dying down In his breast, and instead there arose a feeling of self-pity! Ah, if only a woman had thrown her arns about his neck and faced the world for him, believing in him 1 An unbearable pang shot through him. His eyes were hot with the bitter envy of one who looks into the windows of a house where love and light and warmth standi firm against the desolate world without, and who knows himself a homeless wanderer on the earth. When he spoke, it was in a changed voice! 1 ‘‘Are you this woman’s husband?” ' "We were married a month ago,” said Scull. He seemed almost to have forgotten David’s presence and his hand caressed the girl’s cheek with a strange gentleness. 1 David looked at them for a moment in silence, then drew a deep breath. He bad made up hla wind. He was glad that he could be merciful, to another, though life might be never merciful to him. He thrust the pistol back into the bosom of hifl hunting shirt and hlis hand fell upon ■ the knot-of ribbon Toinette had given him. “Do you see this?” he asked, as he drew it out. ,

(Copyright, 1916, by Bobbe-Merrill Co.)

Scull turned paler. He had freed himself from the girl’s clasp, and suddenly his knees loosened beneath him lift'd he' sank at David’s feet. Lydia threw her arms around his shoulders. “The mark i” cried Scull, raising imubllhg hamia." •» .:' —-Baviy looked - iltroon witn a start. “Why, yes, it is purple. But I do not show it to you as a sign thatT am keeping my oath of the Brotherhood. No.” As he continued his voice grew tender ; he seemed to be speaking to himself or to some vision which the wretched figure kneeling at his feet could not seer" “Yotr"saved my life JusrTrowT~he went on. “I would have thanked you for ending it, as you ended the love of the one I loved most in the world. For the sake of that dead love I promise you that no one shall know from me what you have been, what you are. I break my oath of the Brotherhood.” The groveling creature at David’s feet raised a face of incredulity. - “You give up the Brothers’., vengeance?” ■— > ■ “Absolutely.” “You will not hold to your oath?” “I have said no.” Scull looked up at him, a radiance transfiguring his face. “God bless you, Larrenee,” he said chokingly. “You do not know what death means. You have only your own life; I havt*—God help me! —two lives to live for 1” - ; ■ Lydia stooped quickly and lifted David’s hand to her lips, “ She went hastily from the room. The two men stood facing each other and for a while there w T as silence. Then David spoke slowly: “Are you going to remain here?” '■ Scull-straightened himself up. “No! we shall go back to England. I have robbed you of everything, and you have given me everything. You do not wish to see my face again. But before I go I will tell Toinette the truth. I —” David nodded wearily and went out. A cold and dreary rain was still falling, but a ray of light shone from the tavern door on the upturned face of the dead Indian. David stopped and looked down upon the sightless visage for a moment and then laughed. The dreadful-features were twisted into a smile as to ultimate victory, and a little rivulet of rain tricUed unceasingly from the corner <>rHhe mouth. ■No more-of wretched life; no more of firewater! David’s hanjl stole unconsciously to the pistol that hung heavily within the folds of his own blouse. His fingers tightened on it and his lips drew together in a harder line. . . . Why not? . . . The thing so easily, so quickly done. . . . Why not? Was there anything remaining to make him hold to life any longer? What though Blackford did believe in him ? What though a hundred friends believed in him? What mattered all their friendships, their stupid greetings, the little" kindnesses of daily intercourse? What did his dreams of great things to be. done in this new land amount, to? Petty dreams, petty tasks, buying and selling, squabbllngs over pennies, wranglings over littfw gains—a sordid prospect, the heritage of fools! The rain fell, steadily, chilling him to tfte very bones. Through its gray unceasing torrent he plodded, unchallenged in his loneliness, to his own

Scull Looked at Him in Terror.

rooms in the village. Sodden with the cold flood, sodden witfc quenched hopes, he sunk heavily upon chair and bowed his head upon his hands, , there to sit for hours in a numb wrestling with bitterness that were beyond his power to shake off. t After a long while,, he rose and drew the pistol from its place-*—wiped the dampness from Its shining barrel and gazed at it with unseeing eyes. ' ■, ' CHAPTER XVIII. The Uttermost Instant. It was the day following Scull’s departure. David walked swiftly, deep into the leafless forest, and strode along Little Indian Creek, gurgling under-it« Tee,“ to -the spot "wtietfe Teinette O’Bannon had first smiled at him in the April noon. It was there ftls new life had begun. And there, kneel-

UHE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENSSELAER, IND.

Recounting the advCnturqs and love which came into the lives of David Larrenee and Antoinette O’Bannofi, in the days when pioneers were fighting fed savages in the Indiana wilderness . ,V: j-

ing by the rocky ledge, he prayed, as at a shrine. 1. An end of; aU things hqd come to David. His long quest was over and the surf of his passion had spent itself ifi foam. Had it hpen worik-while-fo forgive? All that he had lived for was 4ora from-bim, -Toinette wotrtd knowthat she had/judged him unjustly; but would that knowledge bring back what he had lost of her? He had been a hot-tempered fool, he had insulted her beyond forgiving. The breach had widened beyond bridging. He looked across the gulf that lay between him and Toinette and felt the of ruined hopes-. -He- thrust his hand-Ta—-to his hunting shirt and drew forth the dueling pistol he had taken from Blackford’s room. For'along while he stood looking at it in silence. A light step rustled the dead leaves underfoot and he turned quickly. Toinette stood beside him, a joyous smile on her face. .. - “I was sent to find you.” she greet-"edjtom-astonishingiy. —- He stared at her as though at a messenger, from the skies. Her silver laughter rang out as it had in days gone by. “Do not deceive yourself,” she smiled. “I am no angel—l’m Toinette!” David did not believe her denial; never believed 1L sent me for you. He’s going to give a great dinner at the tavern and you’re to sit ini the place of honor. Come, you mustn’t-keep your cook waiting.” And she held out her hand.

But David did not stir. The look of haggard suffering had returned to his face. Her loveliness was an arrow that sent all the poison of his “despair once more burning through his veins. For the first time he found a voice, a voice trembling with emotion. , “I cannot . . . I cannot ... please go!” She opened her eyes wide and shot a blue radiabce of hurt surprise at him. Then she-Wenj/swift and straight to the point, altoan not to be put aside by evasions: - “Indeed, I will not. Yon mustn’t stay here alone.” . He had regained control of himself, but the stnujgle left him. deadly pale. He could nOT bear to face her as he spoke. “I am going" away. —I cannot live -without vou.” The words,were hardly more than a whisper. She took two quick steps forward., Her hand fell upon his shoulder, light as a floating strand of gossamer. But he felt it and thrilled through all his being. Slowly, slowly, he raised his head and she saw Ms face, that he had gone into the valley of the shadow of death. In the hush of the wilderness his scarcely audible words seemed to fail on their hearts with the measured beating of an inexorable judgment. What did she see in the wilderness ? A dry reed, shaken in the wind of despair? ■ But her voice rang like a song in the morning: “It is not brave to turn back from the plowing. I have heard my father jsay that courage should be lifted to such a height as to maintain its greatness even in the midst of miseries, holding all things under itself.” David smiled. “I call the immortal truth to witness that no fear, either of life or death, ctin afcpall me, having long learned to set bodily pain in the second form of my being. And I do now think it the act of a coward to die.” The girl had grown paler as she read his determination in his face, white and rigid as a mask. ' David was silent. In the morning sunlight that dappled the little glade, the frozen branches of the trees stood motionless. A white snowflake danced across the space before David’s eyes and his vision followed it up, up, into jhe cloudlessJhlue-beyond. In-the qulet, it seemed to Tdinefte us if she could hear her own heart beating. David spoke again, slowly: “And if we be lieutenants of God in this troubled world, do you not think then ’that we have right to choose a new station when he leaves us unprovided of good reason, to stay In the old?” “No, certainly I do not,” she said, with a rebuke lovelier because it lay in her sweetly troubled voice, “since it is not for us to appoint that mighty majesty what time, he will help us; the uttermost instant is scope enough for him to revoke all things to one’s own desire.” And she sealed her lips With the moistness of her tears, which followed still one another like a precious rope of pearls. David suddenly realized how ineffably sweet life was; wonderful, tragic, joyous worthy of music, worthy qf team The pistol-fell to the ground unheeded. David took a step forward. But she checked him, — “No,” she said, “do not tell me. Doctor Elliott has told me all. He and Lydia have gone. Forgive me, forgive me, David 1. Let. the dreadful past go with them! See; you have made me cry—aren’t you sorry? And by this time there’s no dinner for either of uslV V’ V They laughed together. They were young. ' • r “I’ll get dinner for yon,” promised David. “I knew a butcher’s son once upon a time.” ■. ■, ■, ■ /it- * HPI, e . - y '. l t ■ *’■ j ,

“Once upOn a time!” she repeated. “That sounds like a story. That’s the way they always begin.” And so It was the beginning of a story; but David did not tell it to her then. 1 __ * They went home together. ‘ _ At Toinette’s door, Mr. O’Bans non hilled David with a shout. ? 1 ! “I sent my dove into the wilderness,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “but you’re Jibe most sizable olive branch I ever saw 1” ■ CHAPTER XIX. ■— 7 The Btory Begins. ETffiellttie stone courthouse on that Sabbath morning a hundred voices were lifted in the stiiririg music of Giardini’s triumphal hymn. The people of the countryside had gathered to give thanks to God for the victory over their savage foes. The vigor of the chant swelled in a stern strength whieh was made beautiful by the rough voices of the pioneers. In the little room the hymn echoed with the majesty of a cathedral chant: Come, thou Almighty King, , -—Hulp us thy name to sing, Help me to praise! -Father! all glorious. O'er all victorious. Come and reign over us, Ancient of days! David felt himself thrill in every nerve; his wife’s hand trembled in his and hq knew Unit, like himself. sha_ felt the mighty glory of life and love, of trial undergone, of good triumphant over ill, of yearnings toward the ineffable. Tears of -happiness stood in his

“I Am Going Away—I Cannot Live Without You.”

eyes. The pean of ceased. The minister, a man of God, rose slowly to his feet. He, too, felt tears rising from toe depths. Love had made him the apostle of the people of the wilderness and he had knit their hearts To his with bands of humble ministry. He had never before addressed so large an audience as this. Sunday after Sunday, the ten or twelve who made up his little Calvinistic flock, lacking a church building, gathered in the homes of his elders, Henry Rice and James Armstrong; the foundations of Goshen chapel had been\?carcely planned ; but today he found a hundred men and women watching him, expectant of spiritual comfort. No one appreciated better than he the sufferings, the bereavements through which they had passed. In his meek and heroic spirit he thanked God for the high honor bestowed upon him, that to" him should bp given the words to address so great a company. In a voice that rang with prophecy, he read_ aloud that thrilling call which concludes the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel of Luke; and as he lifted his eyes from the book, he found resting on him the clear steady gaze of the threescore backwoodsmen. “I am going to speak to you about tenacity of purpose,” he began, “the quality of soul which enables you to 'hang on to the thing you havfe begun until you have finished it. “Not one of you men and women but despises a man who gives up in the midst of a fight. This feeling is a part of your very blood, for you have been., brought up in the midst of dangers such as no other generation of men has known. It is upon resistance up to the last notch that your lives themselves depend. That man among ydu who surrenders imperils the lives of all of you. There is not one of you whose resolution has not been tried and tried sorely by the almost insufferable burdens of this new land. A hundred times you have said, ‘Why did I, not remain in the land which my fa-" thers have made safe and pleasant for me?’ And a hundred times you have fought off that feeling of discouragement. “You are about to be put to a test more severe than any you have yet undergone. You have won the fight at Tippecanoe ; but do not be mistaken: all the pitiless warriors of the forest will gather again and crush you out entirely if they can; and behind them is the power of that nation across the seas, whose tyranny our fathers have overthrown at such tremendous cost “ ‘And whosoever doth -not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot horny disciple!’ ~ yy. “The words are those of the greatest fighter of aIL They are the words oij a man who, without a single follower, proclaimed his convictions before the most hostile and unfriendly of all generations. The, whole crushing weight of its bate fell upon him, btit he clung to those beliefs to the very last—gave up 'his life, rather than give them up. He, of all men, knew what it mean to cling to a purpose in the face of tremendous difficulties. Yet he says that whoever* cannot equally - endure the

bWlens of the march through life Is notHfc to be a man. l~g_ ' “Thirty-two yeapi ago a little band of men—settlers like you, and not sO are now before me—followed George Bogeys Clark through, unimaginable hardships across the wintry prairies from Kaskaskia to Vincennes. Last week I passed by the crumbling timbers of the old fort and found their .bullets sunken in the logs inside the embrasures. Some of you men in this audifence were with Kim in that terrible march and daring assault. It is useless to say that we will never forget what you have done for us. General Clark is now a penniless and palsied cripple irr lfis Do not expect that a republic which has, n<j rewards for the leader will be less forgetful of the man in the ranks. “You have not entered deathlessly heroic struggle with the wilderness with the expectation of material reward alone: you have come here from the old quiet places in Virginia, in Massachusetts, in Connecticut, in Pennsylvania and New Jersey because you - have'the fighting spirit TiF you; and you stay here because the fighting spirit stays in you. “ ‘For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it?’ “ ‘Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to.flnish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, “ ‘Saying, “This man began to build, and was not able to finish,’” “The tower that you have begun to build is an invisible tower : a new and mighty nation. Today you sit down to count the cost of the building, to see whether you have sufficient with which Jo finish the vast edifice. What is the cost? The world watches you, and not only its generations of today but thosS" unborn generations who will weigh your work to see whether it was good or bad. I know that you have counted the cost and are willing, ready to pay it: a treasure of sacrifice, a treasure of blood and wounds and dreadful agonies and bitter tears. But you will pay it. You will pay it to the uttermost, holding yourselves to the grim account With iron wills, forcing yourselves on with unconquerable resolve. “Not of yoq shall it ever be said: ‘After be hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it began to mock him. “ ‘Saying, “This man began to build, and was not able to finish.” ' “For the tower which you build is not built with hands, but with souls. “ ‘So likewise, whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple. “ ‘Salt is good: but if the salt have lost its savor, wherewith shall it be seasoned?’ “All of you know how hard It is to get salt in this new country—how we ■ have to haul bushelsofsalty earth from the spots which the red deer of the forest have discovered, the ‘deer licks.’ You put this salty earth in an ash hopper, pour water over it and catch the water in a trough after It has leaked through the dirt. And then you boil the salty water down till there is left a little of the precious mineral with which we can preserve our meats. You all know how laborious and tiresome a process it is, and how much the salt means to the settler. How the cattle moo for a taste of it! What would our children do witlfbut milk! ■ “We can all understand this manner of speaking: ‘Salt is good: but if the salt have lost its savor, wherewith shall it be seasoned?’ “That great soldier, Christ, means to say that he looks to his followers not only to begin great tasks, but to continue in them; for there are no greater soldiers than the soldiers who fight in a good cause. The man who stops midway in his fight is like salt that loses its essential quality. There is no longer any reason for its existence. Better not b'e at all, than to cease from being strong. For then who is left to give new strength to the salt? There is no one for you to fall back on—you have chosen a certain work In life and you must stick it out to the end. “I want you to remember this through, all the great struggles which 'are left before you. Today we are waiting, and waiting for the .appearance of a terrible foe. They may come to raise the war-whoop or they may come in peace. But however they may come they will find us ready, like the wise king who hath consulted and found himself ready to meet the force that cometh against him. For you have learned to fight the greater struggles of the spirit. You have learned to be cool, temperate and steady, first of all; and having learned these virtues of manliness and pluck and mastery over self, you will add to them the supreme virtue of tenacity: to keep, to hold, to grip as in a vise the purpose to which you have consecrated yourselves. ’

“And then, some day, the tower of this new and beautiful nation will stand as a dream made visible. The foundations Washington laid, and Clark and Harrison have added to; the great timbers of the walls which you are raising will be strengthened by mighty girders which your sons will heave into place and fasten together Mce a welded yoke; and their sons will rear the roof above, and still another generation will make it a.houke Shutting out the four winds oj/the earth; and your grandsons’ sons Will make it beautiful within. We /shall not see that day nor reap any of its rewards; but of us* 31 shall the unseen cornerstones be made. Todayjs the glory of victory; tomorrow.begins the clamor of toil. ‘Where is the house that ye build unto me?* Where is the place of toy rest?’ * . •" :: THE END. - —7;::, yv, ■ :

GOO EVER PRESENT

Christian Finds Happiness in the Words, “I Will Be as the . Dew Unto Israel.” The dew is one of the most impressive symbols of spiritual things we have Jn the whole realm of nature. In this respect it is like the starry firmament. What jnan can look up into the heavens at night jylthojit some sense df the divine? He must be a man'of coarse sensibility who can meditate upon the mystery of the dew without some quickening of the spiritual sense. Consequently this symbolism is common not only among the Hebrew people but also among the pagans and among us who live in the Christian environment; in all lands and in all ages. Men’s interpretations have not always been correct; but in them all we see the ever-present Idea o*f the di- . vine. Underneath many and varied superstitions there lies an essential and .permanent truth.—Turning from these Imaginations, let us gather, the divine significance of the symbolism from the Word of God. The first and principal meaning of the symbol is: Cod’s personal presence. Though invisible, he himself is actually and ever near us. the supply of our life. “I will be as the dew unto Israel.” The elements that make the dew are in the atmosphere that enfolds the parched vegetation The plants breathe it and live in it even before it takes Its visible form. I can imagine a thirsty flower whose petals are abouf to wither crying out, “Oh, carrle down from the mountain and the *fei©ud, thou sweet dew, and save my beauty.” But the dew does not fall from heaven, nor from the clouds. It Is simply the moisture suspended in the air and, under certain conditions, condensing in the refreshing water drops. Even so our richest blessings lie not far away from us in point of space and time, but are with us here aqfi now. Man Slow to Learn. This fact we are slow to learn. We are stirred with big’desires and strive with mighty -effort to secure from afar what is right in our presence, ours even now if we -would only believe it. In nature we know It is the outward circumstance that determines the quality of the plant. The palm will not lift its fronds in the Arctic cold. Adirondack mountains. Wheat will not ripen in the Scottish highlands or- on the tundras of Siberia. But man is not so dependent. If he only will, he can be happy, great and good anywhere. It is altogether a matter of inward qualiiication, choice, desire, energy, faith. If he will only look net afar off, but just here, he will discover that he is encompassed \vtth blessing, “like the dew.” We see the principle illustrated all about us In varied ways. What triumphs an unfaltering will has made over the most unfavorable conditions 1 Even in matters intellectual it is true. “This is the victory that overcemeth the world, even our faith.” Witness the triumph of stuttering Demosthenes with pebbles in his mouth talking to the sen; and blind Huber investigating the mysteries of the beehive; and 'deaf Beethoven composing the inimitable Sonatas; and Helen —; Keller, blind, deaf and dumb, charming the world w r ith her original thought and amazing us with her speech. Never say “Fate is against- me.” The infinite God who has placed you where you are. is as the dew unto you. V Spiritual Blessings Everywhere. What I have said of the dew of his presence in o'Ur outer life is specially true of our inner life. Spiritual blessings enfold us as the moisture in the atmosphere, even before they become evident in the dewdrops. They are already provided for us in, Christ; - iton, the gift of the Holy Ghost, all those virtues that' arise out of the indwelling of the Spirit, the fullness of promise, the life eternal, are already ours by Christ's act. If we do not realize them it is because we do not believe that we have them. Hence the force of that peculiar condition which Jesus states in order that we may realize them in expeciegpe: pray, believe that iVereJeive them, and ye shall have thtm!” The Spiritual Canaan Is already yours by God’s free gift; now make it yours by conquest. The point we are trying to make dear in this feature of the symbolism IS that the heavenly treasure does not lie off in some distant Mecca w’hlch we can reach only by a long and painful pilgrimage, or at the tomb of the Savior w’hlch w’e rescue from the Turk in bloody battle. It is here at your door. Ilemember lioweirs song of the fioly Grail. The knight sought the holy cup afar and_long, and hy_dire suffering, but found it not till he returnee! home in despair and paused at the gate to draw a cup of water for a poor beggar. The beggar was the glorified Christ; the common cup Was the Grail. —Rev. A. H. Tuttle, BrD. ~ ~

God’s Beneficence.

God has connected the labor which is essential to the bodily sustenance with the pleasures which are healthiest for the heart; and while he made the ground stubborn he made its herbage fragrant and its blossoms fair. I—John Buskin.

Prejudicss.

No wise man can have a contempt for the'prejudlces of others ; and be should even stand irf a certain awe of his own, as if they were aged parents and monitors. They may .in the end prove wiser than he.—Hazlitt.