Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 278, Indianapolis, Marion County, 31 March 1923 — Page 8

8

Alice of Old Vincennes By Maurice Thompson COPYRIGHT. 1908. BY ALICE LEE THOMPSON

BEGIN HERE ALICE, foster daughter of CtASPaBD ROUSSILLON, was loved bv LIEUT. FITZHUGH BEVERLEY. American Arjiy offioer, who with CAPTAIN HELM, surrendered Vincennes to the English general. GOVERNOR HAMILTON, during the Revolutionary War. Roussillon, a fugitive from Vincennes, stole home to see his family when Hamilton’s patrolmen rushed in. Rousstllon escaped and Alice wounded one assailant before CAPTAIN FARNSWORTH arrived. Because of his Infatuation ‘or Alice. Farnsworth, though an Englishman, eagerly listened to FATHER BERET S plan to spare Alice the Punishment Hamilton has Intended for her. Beverley escaped to get help for Vincennes. but was captured by Indians whom Hamilton had sent in pursuit. LONG HAIR seized from Beverley a locket belonging to Aiice. When Beverley was made to run the gantlet he tried to escape, but due to previous exposure and brutal treatment felt his strength fast leaving. LONG-HAIR, who was at his heels, leaped'before him when he had gone but a few steps and once more flourished the tomahawk. To struggle was useless. save to insist upon being brained outright, which just then had no part in Beverley’s considerations. Long-Hair kicked his victim heavily, uttering laconic curses meanwhile, and led him back again to the start-ing-point. A genuine sense of humor seems almost entirely lacking in the mind of the American Indian. He smiles at things not in the least amusing to us and when he laughs, which is very seldom, the cause of his merriment usually lies In something repellantly cruel and Inhuman. "When Beverley struck his two assailants, hurting them so that one lay half stunned, while the other spun away from his fist with a smashed nose, all the rest of the Indians grunted and laughed raucously In high delight. They shook thedr clubs, danced, pointed at their discomfited fellows and twisted their painted faces into knotted wrinkles, their eyes twinkling with devilish expression of glee quite indescribable. “Ugh. damn, run!” said Long-Hair, this time adding a hard kick to the elbow-shove he gave Beverley. The young man. who had home all he could, now turned upon him furiously and struck straight from the shoulder, setting the whole weight of his body into the blow. Long-Hair stepped out of the way and quick as a Hash hrought the flat side of his tomahawk with great force against Beverley’s head. This gave the amusement a sudden and disappointing end. for the prisoner fell limp and senseless to the ground. No more running the gantlet for him that day. Indeed, it required protracted application of the best Indian skill to revivq him so that he could fairly be called a living man. There had been no dangerous concussion, however, and on the following morning camp was broken. Beverley, sore, haggard, forlornly disheveled, had his arms bound again and was made to march apace with his nimble enemies, who set out swiftly eastward, their disappointment at having their sport cut short, although bitter enough, not in the least indicated by any facial expression or spiteful act. Was it really a strange thing, or was it not, that Beverley’s mind now busied Itself unceasingly with the thought that Long-Hair had Alice's picture in his pouch? One might find room for discussion of a cerebral problem like this: but our history cannot be delayed with analyses and speculations; It much fill its direct course unhindered to the end. Suffice it to lecord that, while tramping at LongHair’s side and growing more and more desirous of seeing the picture again, Beverly began trying to converse with his taciturn captor. He had a considerable smattering of several Indian dialects, which he turned upon Long-Hair to the best of hi3 ability, but apparently without effect. Nevertheless he babbled at Intervals, always upon the same subject and always endeavoring to Influence that huge, stolid, heartless savage in the direction of letting him see again the child face of the miniature. A stone, one of our travel-scarred mysterious western granite bowlders brought from the far north by the ancient Ice, would show as much sympathy as did the face of Long-Hair. Once In a while he gave Beverley a soulless glance and said “damn” with utter indifference. Nothing, however, could quench or even In the slightest sense allay the lover’s desire. He talked of Alice and the locket with constanly Increasing volubility, saying over and over phrases of endearment in a half-delirious way. not aware that fever was fermenting his blood and heating his brain. Probably he would have been very ill but for the tremendous physical exercise forced upon him. The exertion kept him In a profuse perspiration and his

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robust constitution cast off the malarial poison. Meantime he used every word and phrase, every grunt and gesture of Indian dialect that he could recall, in the iterated and reiterated attempt to make Long-Hair understand what he wanted. When night came an again the band camped under some trees beside a swollen stream. There was no rain failing, but almost the entire country lay under a flood of water.. Fires of logs were soon burning brightly on the comparatively dry bluff chosen by the Indians. The weather was chill, but not cold. Long Hair took great pains, however, to dry Beverley's clothes and see that he had warm wraps and plenty to eat. Hamilton's large reward would not be forthcoming should the prisoner die. Beverley was good property, well worth careful at tention. To be sure his scalp, in the worst event, would command a sufficient honorarium, but not the great est. Beverley thought of all this while the big Indian was wrapping him snugly in skins and blankets foi the night, and there was no comfort in it, save that possibly if he were returned to Hamilton he might see Alice again before ha died. A fitful wind cried dolefully in the leafless treetops, the stream hard by gave forth a rushing sound, and far away some wolves howled like lost souls. Worn out, sore from head to foot, Beverley, deep buried in the blankets and skins, soon fell into a profound sleep. The fires slowly crumbled and faded; no sentinel was posted, for the Indians did not fear an attack, there being no enemies that they knew of nearer than Kaskaskia. The camp slumbered as one man. At about the mid-hour of the night Long-Hair gently awoke his prisoner by drawing a hand across his face, then whispered In Ills ear: “Damn, still!” Beverley tried to rise, uttering a sleepy ejaculation under his breath. "No talk,” hissed Long-Hair. “Still!” There was something In his voice that not only swept the last film of sleep out of Beverley’s brain, but made it perfectly clear to him that a very important bit of craftiness was being performed; just what its nature was, however, he could not surmise. One thing was obvious. Long-Hair did not wish the other Indians to know of the move he was making. Deftly lie slipped the blankets from around Deverley, and cut the thongs at his ankles. “Still!” he whispered. “Come ’long.” Under such circumstances a com petent mind acts with lightning celerity. Beverley now understood that Long-Hair was stealing him away from the other savages ar.d that the big villain meant to cheat them out of their part of the reward. Along with this discovery came a fresh gleam of hope. It would be far easier to escape from one Indian than from nearly a score. Ah. he would follow Long-Hair, indeed he would! The needed courage came with the thought, and so with immense labor he crept at the heels of that crawjlng monster It was a painful process, for his arms were still fast bound at the wrists with the rawhide strings; bur what was pain to him? He shivered with joy. thinking of what might happen. The voice of the wind overhead and the noisy bubbling of the stream near by were cheerful and cheering sounds to him now So much can a mer f-hadow of hope do for a human soul on the verge of despair! Already he was planning or trying to plan some way by which he could kill Long-Hair when they should reach a safe distance from the sleeping camp. But how could the thing he done? A man with his hands tied, though they are in front of him, is in no excellent condition to cope with a free and stalwart pavago armed to the teeth. Still Beverley's spirits rose with every rod of distance that was added to their slow progress. Their course was nearly parallel with that of the stream, but slightly converging toward It. and after they had gone about a furlong ttyey reached the bank. Here Long Hair stopped and, without a word, cut the thongs from Beverley's wrists. This was astounding; the young man could scarcely realize It, nor was he ready to act. “Swim water.” Long-Hair said in a guttura} murmur barely audible. “Swim, damn!” Again it was necessary for Beverley's mind to act swiftly and with prudence. The camp was yet within hailing distance. A false move new would bring the whole pack howling to the rescue. Something told him to do as Long-Hair ordered, so with scarcely a perceptable hesitation lie scrambled down the bushy bank and slipped Into the water, followed by Long-Hair, who seized him by one arm when he began to swim, and struck out with him into the boiling and tumbling current. Beverley had always thought himself a master swimmer, but Long-Hair showed him his mistake. The giant Indian, with but one hand free to use, fairly rushed through that deadly cold and turbulent water, bearing his prisoner with him despite the wounded arm, as easily as if towing him at the stern of a pirogue. True, his course was down stream for a considerable distance, but even when presently he struck out boldly for the other bank, breasting a current in which few swimmers could have lived, much less made headway, he still swung forward rapidly, splitting the waves and scarcely giving Beverley freedom enough so that he could help in the progress. It was a long, cold struggle, and when at last they touched the sloping low bank on the other side, Long-Hair had fairly to lift his chliled and exhausted prisoner to the tdp. “Ugh, cold,” he grunted, beginning to pound and rub Beverley’s arms, legs and body "Make warm, damn neap!” All this he did with his right hand, holding the tomahawk in his left. It was a strange, bewildering experi once out of which - the young man could not see in any direction far enough to give him a hint upon which to act. In a few minutes Long Hair Jerked him to his feet and said: “Go.” It was just light enough to see that the order had a toiJLjxiwk to enforX it withal. indicated the direction and drove Beverley onward as fast as he could. “Try run ’way, kill, damn!” he kepi repe.Jing. while w, h his left hand on the w man’s shoulder he guided

DOINGS OF THE DUFFS—

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him from behind dexteriously through the wood for some distance. Then he stopped and grunted, adding his favorite expletive, which he Uf*.d with not the least knowledge of its meaning. To him the syllable ‘‘damn” was but a mouthful of forcible wind. They had just emerged from a thicket into an open space, where the ground was comparatively dry. Overhead the stars were shining in great clusters of silver and gold against

OUT OUR WAY—I3j WILLIAMS

THE OLD HOME TOWN—By STANLEY

a dark, cavernous looking sky, here and there overrun with careering black clouds. Beverley shivered, not so much with cold as on account o. the stress of excitement whi< 1 amounted to nervous rigor. Lon:, Hair faced him and leaned towan him, until his breathing was audiblt and his massive features were dlmh outlined. A dragon of the darkest agt could not more repulsive. "Ugh, friend, damn!”

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

“Many Are the Hearts That, Are Weary Tonight’*

Beverley started when these words were followed by a sentence In an Indian dialect somewhat familiar to him, a dialect in which lie had tried to talk with Long-Hair during the day’s march. The sentence, literally translated, was; “Long-Hair is friendly now.” A blow in the face could not have been so surprising. Beverley not only started, but recoiled as If from a sudden and deadly apparition. The step

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSER

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between supreme exhilaration and utter collapse Is now and then lnflnitesimaL There are times, moreover, when an expression on the face of Hope makes her look like the twin sister of Despair. The moment falling Just after Long-Hair spoke was a century condensed in a breath. “Long-Hair is friendly now; will white man be friendly?” Beverley heard, but the speech seemed to come out of vast ness and

OLE LUAIiDIAL HoUiSE—By AHERN

hollow distance; he could not realize It fairly. He felt as if In a dream, far off somewhere in loneliness, with a big, shadowy form looming before him. He heard the chill wind in the thicks round about, and beyond LongHair rose a wall of giant trees. “Ugh, not understand?” the savage presently demanded in his broken English. "Yes, yes,” said Bevegjey, “I understand.” “Is the white man friendly now?”

SATURDAY, MARCH, %

—By ALI®

—By AL ROSEN

Long-Hair then repeated In his own tongue, with a certain insistence of manner and voice. “Yes, friendly.” Beverley said this absently in a tone of perfunctory dryness. His throat was parched, his head seemed to waver. But he was beginning to comprehend that Long-Hair, for some inscrutable reason of his own. was desirous of making a friendship between them. The thought was bewildering. (To Be Continued.)