Rensselaer Republican, Volume 23, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 March 1891 — THE MASTER OF THE MINE. [ARTICLE]

THE MASTER OF THE MINE.

By Robert Buchanan.

CHAPTER XXVll— Continued. •»I mean—about yourself. 1 ’ How she trembled! I could feel the •udden leaping of her heart as I proceeded. 4-. r.~: .. . . <•1 hare had my awn thoughts al 1 along, but I have kept them to myself. You know what I said to you long ago about George Redruth? Was 1 right or wrong?” “Do not ask me now.” she sobbed. “Some day soon too. you shall know everything—but not now! not tonight!’' I saw her agony, and forebore to question her further. But we did not go in at once. Lingering at the gate) we talked of old times, of her father, of many things near to our hearts, but no more of the one thing that was nearest to mine. All my anger against her, all indignation at the trouble she had wrought, died away in tender brotherly sympathy and affection. She was my little cousin again, my confidante and friend. The peace of the still night fell upon us, touching our spirits with a beautiful consecration. Never shall I forget that gentle time of parting. ••Whatever happens,” I said, as we turned to go in, ‘‘remember that I am your loving brother.” “Dear, aear, Hugh!” she answered. “I have not loved you half enough. Ah, if I had trusted you at first! Bat maybe it is not too late, even now. God help me and I will tiy to make amends!” -7— —~ CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CHAMPION OF GWENDOVEY. Soon after daybreak the next morn' ing I took the road. All I carried was my staff and a small knapsack on my back; my other worldy possessions had gone on. days'before, by carrier. My aunt and Annie watched me from the door; my uncle walked with me through the village, and a short distance up the highway. He was in his working clothes ready for his day’s work in the mine. Scarcely a word was spoken between us till I reached the point whence I meant to strike off across the moor. Here l paused, and held out my hand; he griped it with both of his, and looked into my lace. He was never one of the crying sort, but I saw now that biß eyes were dim. ~ “—~ '“H gh, my lad, I knaw you’m nawt , going far away, but suramat tells me as it may be a lang while afore we meet again. I ha’ever loved *ee like my awn soc.Qlf aught happens to me.you'il be a son to the awld woman stil?” “Ay. that 1 will!” “And Annie, poor lass—you’ll be a broth 1 ' r to poor Annie?” ••Be sure of that.” I answered. “But keep a good heart. We shall ail be together soon." t He garod at me sorrowfully, with eyes in which there was no earthly hope. • Maybe lad, maybe; but lookee.l be an awld man now, a’most done wi’ life. There be surnmat here i’ my heart, gnawing like, and I feel like that chap 1’ the Bible as were ate up by worms. But I mun wait and bear, wait and bear; only promise me again, lad, to look arter the old woman and our little lass.” I promised with all my heart He still gripped my had,and seemed about to say Wore, but with a moan, he b.essed me and burned away. Greatly moved and troubled, I left him, and walked away across the open moor. The day was bright and still; one of those calm days early in the year, when the chili of winter is still about the dark bones of the earth, but when —there are quickening ~ir~The~ -*tr, and mesme-icadmonitions of a vernal resurrection. The dew sparkled upon the heath, and strung its silver threads upon the bare branches of gorse and broom. A lark was rising from the ground and singing heavenward. as if it were spring indeed. Following & thin sheep track, I was soon out upon the wi.d moor. Turn - ing at last, I saw St. Gurlott’s reddening in the sun’s rays, while away beyond glimmered the sparkling expanse of the sea. My heart swelled within me with love for the dear old place. I might have been a pilgrim to the Antipodes. instead of a man merely jour., eeying to the next county. But in this world of ours distance is measured by sympathy, not by mileage; and never having been much of & wanderer I was inexperienced enough to undergo the pangs of exilo—though the place of my banishment was to be only the adjoining parish. With a sigh of farewell to St, Gurlott’s I turned and faced the track again. Around me on every side the moor stretchod like a sea, flat for the most part, but here and there rising to rocky knolls or descending into green hollows where the sward was damp and spongy under foot. From time to time I passed a lonely cutting turf or gathering furze for fuel, with whom I would exchange greetings and stand talking for a few minutes before wandering on. Bui for 'the most part the place was solitary, haunted only by stray sheep and wild cattle. Hawks and ravens were numerous, for it was their happy hunting ground. Trouble had made me a Uttle superstitious, * and I eyed these birds, especially the black croaking fellows and their kindred vagabonds the hooded crows, with little favor.

As 1 went on the prospect grew wilder. Tall blocks and tors of granite were scattered everywhere. , lixe the fragments of some submerged world: and, indeed, I knew well, that the ground whereon I walked*had once been the bottom of the sea, and that the mighty stones had been washed by Mightier waves, and deposited there long ere the oemlag of mad. Mile after hkUe as v*aeuy K - v - 1 - >

stretched the stony blocks—some UU and huge monoliths, pencilled ever by green mess and grey lichens; seme flat and recumbent, like mighty tombstones —as indeed thpy were. Verily It was Tadmor of the wilderness; broken up confusedly, as if an earthquake had just passed. BuT though the scene was wild and! bleak below the sky was calm above! it. calm and flecked with delicate filmy clouds that stretched gently over the brilliant blue ofthe far-off ether. Had mv heart been less sad,! should hate exulted in the beauty and wonder of the scene- Even as it was, I drank in the keen moorland air with a quickening sense of life. Gradually the dark shadows flitted from my brain, and the strength of my manhood returning j upon me, I passed on rapidly across the open waste. J More than* once in my passage I struck the road again, and found myr self among moorland villages and pasturages, with intervals of leafless wood.« At midday I halted at a farmhouse, situated many miles from human habitation and surrounded by pastures watered by a wild moorland stream. As I approached .the door, a troop of wild shepherd dogs sur* rounded me. so savage that I had to beat them off with my staff; but thesimple occupants welcomed’mewith true pastorial hospitality, regaled me royally with scones and milk. The coming of a stranger was an event in lonely lives, and they bad a hundred' questions to ask concerning myself,my destination, and the unknown region whither I was bound. The sun was setting when I sighted Torborne, the inland village where 1 had arranged to sleep, which was close on fifty miles from my old home by the roa. It was a mining settlement, and as I approached I found myself abreast a rough tram-r6ad 06 mmu nicating with the mines- A busy sound of clattering and clanking, clashing and rushing, broke upon my ear; great wheels suddenly appeared,revolving in the air above my head, together with a lofty chimney, skeleton platforms, and iron chains clanking oyer iron pulleys. Flocks of women and children soon appeared, busy on the surface. Close by tfibm ran a brawling stream, copper-colrred by the refuse* of the mine. They greeted me merrily, as I paused to look at them. I noticed that they spoke a dialect somewhat different from that of the district where I had lived 90 long. I slept at Torborne, and at daybreak next morning proceeded on my way. Soon after mid-day I reached my destination, another mining settlement on the very borders of two counties, Cornwall and Devon. I found it to be, as rumour had informed me. a ‘lonesome 1 place, situated on the banks of a small river, and surrounded on every side by the wild blocks and tors of the moor. The mines on which I had been engaged belonged to Lord .who had a residential castle close by, and whose representative, a solicitor, resided in the village, I reported myself In due course,and was forwith installed in my positiou. Before the day was out, I quite understood the motives which ted to the engagement of a man with a ‘rift’ in his character. The miners were a wild, godless lot, and the last overseer, an elderly man, had more than once gone in danger of his life. As a person still suspected of violent proclivities, I had j been chosen to take his place. The truth was, the place bore the worst names, and few men would have aooepted the situation, at any price. The agent, during our first interview hinted that the miners needed an iron hand to rule them; and I was rather j glad than otherwise of the Information | for I wanted work, the more desperate : the better. That varV alternoonlinspected the place,and found myself inspected Tn tiivb by as villainous a—set effaces asQl had ever encountered. There was much muttering and murmuring, for the fellows wanted to be under the direction of one of their own ' number, one Michael Looe.a red-haired i giant, who had this one advantage over his comrades—that he could read and write.

The very next day, the first after my installation, I found out the sort of opposition with which I had to reckon. As l stood by the open mine, giving some directions, that same Looe ran iup against me. with a pickaxe on his ' shoulder and almost capsized me. A hoarse laugh greeted this performance. | i “Can’t ’ee look where you’m gaun,; j measter?” the fellow grinning savagely, to the huge delight of the throng— i men, women and children. I looked him steadily in the'face. as one looks in the eye of a furious bull. What I saw there did not daunt me. The fellow was a bully,and I had dealt with bullies before. If I was to retain any authority in the place, I must bring i him to his senses. “What’s your name?” I said quietly. “My name?” he repeated, leering round at the others. “Mike Looe, if you maun knaw. As good a name as yourn I’ll wager.” Another laugh greeted this touch of primitive humor* •♦My natho is Hugh Trelawney: and. as I am master here. I’ll trouble you to remember it. If you don’t,„my man, I’ll find a way to impress it on your memory,” *

“You will, will ee?” said the giant. ‘•And so you be measter? Mates,” he added, looking round, "d’ye hear ’un? Take off your hats to ’un! This tine gentry p&p be measter i’ the mine, j Take off your hats to 'un. I say!” And suiting the action to the word, hd bowed mockingly before me. My blood was now up, and I faced him resolutely. ‘-Go back to your work,” I said. **Ko more words. Do as I bid you.” ’ IJts manner changed from mockery , to Bavage determination. 1 ••Who’ll make mes” he said, brandishtng bis pick a*a Before a* knew what 1 wee sheet. 1

wrenched the weapon from Us hand, and flung it oa the ground. He j clenched his fist and made a rush at | ; me. I waited for him, hnd landed a blow which made him stagger back, dazed. The med flocked around us, murmuring and threatening. But Michael Looe had confidence in his own prowess. He weighed fifteen stdhe, and had the fists of An&k; so that I, though a tall, strong man, looked no match ior such a giant. He uttered I a fierce oath, and bade the men stand ! back. i—■—V - j “Fair play, .lads!” he cried, grinning again. “Lea’the new chap to me, Don’t 'ee see he means fightin?” With that men made a ring, while their champion stripped off his waistcoat and began quietly turning up hisroleeves, showing an arm with muscles like iron bands. For a moment! shrank back, not that I feared the ruffin, but because I felt ashamed to take part in such a brawl. The men saw my hesitation, and uttured a derisive cry. •‘Look at ’un! He bo afeer’d! Hit 'un in the ’ee!” At this juncture an old man, one of their number, but superior in manner to the rest, whispered in my ear: x ••You’d best bolt, measter. He’ll smash ’ee like an egg, as he did chap afore’’ee!” My answer was derisive. Off went my coat, down went my hat on the ground, and clutching my fi9ts, I faced the giant. This rather turned the tide of feeling in my favor; at any rate, it, elicited a fesble cheer. The men pre- j [ pared themselves for enjoyment; a real! stand up “fight” was Imminent. Ware I acquainted with the beautiful vocabulary of the ring, I might com- j pose a prose poem on this episode: * but alas! I am as one uninstructed,and after all, it is too absurd. Annoying as the aftair was at the time, I laugh at it now. Mike Looe came at me like Gohath, but at the first encounter I discovered that he had no science. I myself had a littlvr. and though far his inferior in 1 weight, possessed muse'es and sinewsh of steL*. due to my healthy life and] constant exercise, from boyhood 1 upward, in the open air. The result is easily predicted, lu matters ofrfis- | tiana, science, combined with pluck, is 1 everything. Before many minutes had I passed. Michael Looe had received as ! sound a thrashing as man could desire. He lay on the ground, his head sup- | ported on the knee of one of his com. • rades, and looking stupidly up into my face. i I turned to the men with as much good humor as I could assume under 1 the ornaments of a black eye and a bleeding forehead, whereon myoppon-! ent’s fist had descended with the force ' of a steam rami ••Well, my lads,” I cried, “you seo I’ve paid my footing. If any of jou! ' think I haven’t paid enough, let him stand up, and i’ll give him a little more.” j This speech, quite in the humorous manner of my late opponent, completed my victory. It was greeted with ;an uproarious laugh and a cheer. To my astonishment, the men crowded round me, and began shaking hands. Then Mike Looe, rising slowly, approached me, and held out his enormous fist. “Shake hands, measter,” he said. I “If you can lick me, you can lick any two r o ’un. Eh; Lord, but you knaws how to feet, don’t ’un mates? Gi’e me yur han. You may sac me to-neet and willing, but I’ll go bail you’m the right sort to be measter here!” So we shook hands, and from that moment my physical supremacy was undisputed. Instead of dismissing my late opponent, as he anticipated, I kept him in his place, and he, afterwards"became my righthand man. After that day I had very little trouble in retaining my due authority as over* seer of the Gwendovy Mine.

CHAPTER XXXIX. A NEW SCRPKISE. ' My life at Gwendovv was quiet and unoveutful enough. I found a decent lodging in the house of one Mark Drew—the elderly man who had advised me, in a friendly way, to run for it. just when I was about to tackle the champion of the mine. It was a white, washed cottage on the skirts of the moor, and sufficiently removed from the noise and bustle of the mine itself. I had a bedroom and small parlour, so that when I got around me my small stock of worldly goods, including a few books, I was tolerably comfortable. and as contented—well, as contented as one crossed in love can be A fortnight passed away. Short as was the time, it seemed an age to me, hungering as I was for some news from home. I had received one letter, written by Annie, in which she told me that no change had taken place since my departure, but ihiade no mention whatever of Madeline Graham or George Redruth. To this I had replied in as cheerful a strain as possible, but shamefacedly keeping silence on the subject nearest my heart. I was full, .therefore, of secret anxiety. (To be continued.) Could Not Hit Him. Texas Siftings. Justice—You say that tho prisoner threw stones at you? Witness—Yes, 6ir. He threw over a dozen at me. Did any of them hit you? No, sir; I dodged them. How far was the prisoner from jnn when he threw? About twenty feet. And do you mean to say that the prisoner threw a do/.en stones at you, at a distance of twenty feet, and did not hit you? Yes sir. You see. I used to be a base ball umpire, and am used to dodging. Yea, ! I thought there was some reason toe jour not being hit