Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 April 1904 — The Blazed Trail By STEWART EDWARD WWHITE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Blazed Trail By STEWART EDWARD W WHITE

By STEWART EDWARD WHITE

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. Chapter I—Morrison A Daly, lumbermen on the Saganaw waters of Michigan, drive a hard bargain with Radway. a contractor. II and lll—Harry Thorpe, having left his dependent sister Helen, at service, tries for work at Morrison A Daly's, fails and takes a job at choring until he can go to Radway’s camp, IV—Thorpe at Radway’s making lumber road. The men attempt hazing. Thorpe puts on the gloves and knocks out the champion. V ana Vl—Radway runniug behind owing to slack management. Thorpe a "swamper.'’ Death of his chum, Paul. The men "chip in for the widow.” Radway goes home for Christmas, leaving Dyer, the scaler, in charge. VII and Vlll—Long delay waiting for roads to freeze. Thorpe hurt and sent to Sisters' hospital. Radway falls Thorpe out of work. IX—Thorpe demands pay of M. & D. for work done by Radway. Tlie contract was illegal, and the firm have profited by the work done. M. &.D. settle the account. X-Thorpe provides for Helen’s education and goes into the north woods to locate valuable tract. Makes a friend of Injun Charley and a Chicngo hov tourist. Wallace Carpenter. XI and Xll—Wallace has capital and helps Thorpe buy land. Dyer, the old scaler for Radway, is out looking for land for M. A D. Thorpe goes to Detroit to head off his rivals’ land purchase. XIII and XlV—Wallace sends telegraph order to Thorpe at the land office just in time to head off M. A I). in a $30,000 purchase. M. <4 D. offer to buy. Thorpe won't sell. War declared. XV and XVl—Tim Shearer, former foreman for M. <4 D., hires with Thorpe. Thorpe takes forcible possession of a dock M. A D. have built abutting his new purchase. The rival firms agree to work in harmony. XVII—M. A D. close a gate in the dam above Thorpe's logs. Thorpe puts out a sentinel with a Winchester. Mischief ends, but M. A D. bring two suitsaginst Thorpe. XVIII. XlX.XXand XXl—Thorpe has a poor ease in court, buthe buys a government tract which M. A D. have robbed of timber, to play off against them. Wallace loses heavilv in speculation, and Thorpe's firm puts up $60,000 to save him. Five years pass, and Thorpe is bewitched by a dream girl.

CHAPTER XXl—Continued. The words were vulgar, the air a mere minor chant. Yet Thorpe’s mind was stilled. His aroused subconsciousness had been engaged in reconstructing these men entire as their songs voiced rudely the inner characteristics of their beings. Now his spirit halted. Their bravery, pride of caste, resource, bravado, boastfulness —all these he had checked off approvingly. Here now was the idea of the mate. Somewhere for each of them was a “Kitty,” a “daisy Sunday girl.” At the present or in the past these woods roisterers, this Fighting Forty, had known love. Thorpe rose abruptly and turned at random into the forest. The song pursued him as he went.

"I todk her to a dance one night, A mossback gave the bidding; Silver Jack bossed the shebang. And Big Dan played the fiddle. We danced and drank the livelong night. With fights between the dancing. Till Silver Jack cleaned out the ranch And sent the mossbacks prancing." And with the increasing war and turmoil of the quick water the last shout of the Fighting Forty mingled faintly and was lost. "Bung yer eye! Bung yer eye!" Thorpe found himself at the edge of the woods facing a little glade into which streamed the radiance of a full moon. There he stood and looked silently, not understanding, not caring to inquire. Across the way a white-throat was singing, clear, beautiful, like the shadow of a dream. The girl stood listening. Her small, fair head was inclined ever so little and her finger was on her Ups as though she wished to still the very hush of night, to which impression the Inclination of her supple body lent its grace. The moonlight shone full upon her countenance. A little white face it was, with wide, clear eyes and a sensitive, proud mouth that now half parted dike a child’s. Her eyebrows arched from her straight nose in the peculiarly graceful curve that falls just short of pride on the one side and of power on the other to fill the eyes with a pathos of trust and innocence. The man watching could catch the poise of her long white

neck and the molten moon fire from her tumbled hair—tbs color of com silk, but finer. Behind her lurked the low, even shadow of the forest where the moon was not, a band of velvet against which the girl and the light-touched twigs and bushes and grass blades were etched like frost against a black window pane. There was something,

too, of the frostwork’s evanescent spiritual quality In the scene, as though at any moment, with a buff of the balmy summer wind, the radiant glade, the hovering figure, the fillgreed silver of the entire setting would melt Into the accustomed stern and menacing forest of the northland, with its wolves and its wild deer and the voices of its sterner calling. Thorpe held his breath and waited. Again the white-throat lifted his clear, spiritual pote across the brightness, slow, trembling with ecstasy. The girl never moved. She stood in the moonlight like a beautiful emblem of silence, half real, half fancy, part woman, wholly divine, listening to the little bird’s message. For the third time the song shivered across the night; then Thorpe, with a soft sob, dropped his face in his hands and looked no more.

CHAPTER XXII. E" OR several days this impression satisfied him completely. He did not attempt to analyze it; , he did not even make an effort to contemplate It. Curiosity, speculation, longing—all the more active emotions remained in abeyance, while outwardly for three days Harry Thorpe occupied himself only with the needs of the Fighting Forty at Camp One. He was vaguely conscious of a great peace within him, a great stillness of the spirit. Little by little the condition changed. The man felt vague stirrings of curiosity. He speculated aimlessly as to whether or not the glade, the moonlight, the girl, had been real or merely the figments of imagination. Almost immediately the answer leaped at him from his heart. Since she was so certainly flesh and blood, whence did she come? What was she doing there in the wilderness? His mind pushed the query aside as unimportant, rushing eagerly to the essential point. When could lie see her again ? His placidity had gone. That morning he made some vague excuse to Shearer and set out blindlv down the river. And so, witb-

out thought, without clear intentions even, he saw her again. It was near the "pole trail,” which was less like a trail than a rail fence. When the snows are deep and snowshoes not the property ofyevery man who cares to journey, the old fashioned "pole trail” comes into usq) It is merely a series of horses built of timber, across which thick Norway logs are laid about four feet from the ground to form a continuous pathway. In summer it resembles nothing so much as a thick one rail fence of considerable height, around which a fringe of light brush has grown. Thorpe reached the fringe of bushes and was about to dodge under the fence when he saw her. So he stopped short, concealed by the leaves and the timber horse.

She stood on a knoll in tlie middle of a grove of monster pines. There was something of the cathedral in the spot. The girl stood tall and straight among the tall, straight pines like a figure on an ancient tapestry. She was doing nothing—just standing there—but the awe of the forest was in her wide, clear eyes. In a moment she stirred slightly and turned. Drawing herself to her full height, she extended her hands over her head, palm outward, and with an Indescribably graceful gesture bowed a ceremonious adieu to the solemn trees. Then, with a little laugh, she moved away in the direction of the river. At once Thorpe proved a great need of seeing her again. In his present mood there was nothing of the awestricken peace he had experienced after the moonlight adventure. He wanted the sight of her as he had never wanted anything before. The strong man desired it. And finding it impossible he raged Inwardly and tore the tranquillities of his heart. So it happened that he ate hardly at all that day and slept ill and discovered the greatest difficulty in preserving the outward semblance of ease winch the presence of Tim Shearer and the Fighting Forty demanded. And next day he saw her again, and the next, because the need of his heart demanded it and because, simply enough, she came every afternoon to the clump of pines by the old pole trail. But now curiosity awoke and a desire for something more. He must speak to her, touch her hand, look into her eyes. He resolved to approach her, and the mere thought choked him and sent him weak. When he saw her again from the shelter of the ixfie trail be dared not and so stood there prey to a novel sensation, that of being baffled in an intention. As he hesitated he saw that she was walking slowly in his direction. Perhaps a hundred paces separated the two. She took them deliberately. Her progression was a series of poses, the one which melted imperceptibly Into the other without appreciable pause of transition. In a moment she had reached the fringe of brush about the pole trail. They stood face to face. She gave a little start of surprise, and her band leaped to her breast, where it caught and stayed. Her childlike down-dropping mouth pasted a

little Thore, aricT the breath quickened through it. But her eyes, her wide, trusting, innocent eyes, sought his and rested. He did not move. One on either side of the spike-marked old Norway log of the trail they stood, and for an appreciable interval the duel of their glances lasted—he masterful, passionate, exigent; she proud, cool, defensive in the aloofness of her beauty. Then at last his prevailed. A faint color rose from her neck, deepened and spread over her face and forehead. In a moment she drooped her eyes. “Don’t you think you stare a little rudely, Mr. Thorpe?” she asked. The vision was over. “How did you know my name?” he asked. She planted both elbows on the Norway and framed her little face deliciously with her long pointed hands. “If Mr. Harry Thorpe can ask that question,” she replied, “he is not quite so impolite as I had thought him.” “How is that?” he inquired breathlessly. “Don’t you know who I am?” she asked In return. “A goddess, a beautiful woman!” he answered Ridiculously enough. She looked straight at him. This time his gaze dropped. “I am a friend of Elizabeth Carpenter, who Is Wallace Carpenter’s sister, who, I believe, is Mr. Harry Thorpe’s partner.” She paused as though for comment. The young man opposite was occupied in many other more important directions. “We wrote Mr. Harry Thorpe that we were about to descend on his district with wagons and tents and Indians and things, and asked him to come and see us.”

The girl looked at him for a moment steadily, then smiled. The change of countenance brought Thorpe to himself. “But I never received the letter. I’m so sorry,” said he. “It must be at the mill. You see, I’ve been up In the woods for nearly a month.” “Then we’ll have to forgive you.” “Bdt I should think they would have done something for you at the mill”— “Oh, we didn’t come by way of your mill. We drove from Marquette.” “I see,” cried Thorpe, enlightened. “But I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry you didn’t let me know. I suppose you thought I still at the mill. How did you get along? Is Wallace with you?” “No,” she replied, dropping her hands and straightening her erect figure. “It’s horrid. He was coming, and then some business came up, and he couldn’t get away. We are having the loveliest time, though. I do adore the woods. Come,” she cried impatiently, sweeping aside to leave a way clear. “You shall meet my friends.” Thorpe imagined she referred to the rest of the tenting party. He hesitated. “I am hardly in fit condition,” he objected. She laughed, parting her red lips. "You are extremely picturesque just as you are,” she said, with rather embarrassing directness. “I wouldn’t have you any different for the world. But my friends don't inind. They are used to it.” Site laughed again. Thorpe crossed the pole trail and for the first time found himself by her side. The warm summer odors were In the air; a dozen lively little birds sang in the brush along the rail; the Bunlight danced and flickered through the openings.

Then suddenly they were among the pines, and the air was cool, the vista dim and the birds’ songs inconceivably far away. He said little, and that lamely, for he dreaded to say too much. To her playful sallies he had no reposte, and in consequence he fell more silent with another boding—that he was losing his cause outright for lack of a ready word. And so the last spoken exchange between them meant nothing, but If each could have read the unsaid words that quivered -on the other’s heart Thorpe would have returned to the Fighting Forty more tranquilly, while she would probably not have returned to the camping party at all for a number of hours. "I do not think you had better come with me,” she said. “Make your call and be forgiven on your own account I don’t want to drag you in at my chariot wheels." “All right. I’ll come this afternoon,” Thorpe had replied. “I love her; I must have her. I must go—at once,” his soul cried, “quick—now—before I kiss her!” “How strong he is,” she said to herself. “how brave looking, how honest! He is different from the other men. He Is magnificent.” > That afternoon Thorpe met the other members of the party, offered his apologies and explanations and was graciously forgiven. He found the personnel to consist of first of all Mrs. Cary, the chaperon, a very young married woman of twenty-two or thereabout; her husband, a youth of three years older, clean shaven, light haired, quiet mannered; Miss Elizabeth Carpenter, who resembled her brother in the characteristics of good looks, vivacious disposition and curly hair; an attendant satellite of the masculine persuasion called Morton, and last of all the girl whom Thorpe had already so variously encountered and whom be now met as Miss Hilda Farrand. Besides these were Ginger, a squat negro built to fit the galley of a yacht, and three Indian guides. They inhabited tents, which made quite a little encampment. Thorpe was received with enthusiasm. Wallace Carpenter's stories of his woods partner, while never doing more than Justice to the truth, had been warm. One and all owned a lively curiosity to see what a real woodsman might be like. When he proved to be

handsome and well mannered as well as picturesque his reception was no longer in doubt. Nothing could exceed his solicitude as to their comfort and amusement. He inspected personally the arrangement of the tents and suggested one or two changes conducive to the littler comforts. Simple things enough they were —lt was as though a city man were to direct a newcomer to Central park—yet Thorpe’s net? friends were profoundly impressed with his knowledge of occult things. The forest was to them, as to most, more or less of a mystery unfathomable except to the favored of genius. A man who could interpret it even a little into the speech of everyday comfort and expediency possessed a strong claim to their imaginations. When he had finished these practical affairs they wanted him to sit down and tell them more things—to dine with them, to smoke about their camp fire In the evening. But here they encountered a decided check. Thorite became silent, almost morose. He talked in monosyllables and soon went away. They did not know what to make of him and so were of course the more profoundly interested. The truth was his habitual reticence would not have permitted a great degree of expansion in any ease, but now the presence of Hilda made any but an attitude of hushed waiting for her words utterly impossible to him. However, when he discovered that Hilda had ceased visiting the clump of pines near the pole trail his desire forced him back among these people. He used to walk in swiftly at almost any time of day, casting quick glances here and there in search of his divinity.

“How do, Mrs. Cary,” be would say. “Nice, weather. Enjoying yourself?” On receiving the reply he would answer heartily, “That’s good,” and lapse into silence. When Hilda was about he followed every movement of hers with his eyes, so that his strange conduct lacked no explanation or interpretation, in the minds of the women at least. Thrice he redeemed his reputation for being an interesting character by conducting the party on little expeditions here and there about tb© country. Then his woodcraft and resourcefulness spoke for him. They asked him about the lumbering operations, but he seemed indifferent. “Nothing to interest you,” he affirmed. “We’re just cutting roads now. You ought to be here for the drive.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

The girl stood Listening.