Richmond Palladium (Daily), Volume 32, Number 259, 26 October 1907 — Page 7

By CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY "i M

Copyright, 1907, by Thomas H. McKee. DYLON was the last representative of possibly the first European family on the Continent. Vasquez D'Ayllon, prwpositus of the long line, bad entered the new land in the wake of Coronado. Unlike his great captain, once In he had stayed, for he had married a native woman, daughter of an Arizona Cacique, and had settled down in the country he had helped to discover and explore. Other settlers had come after a while and, in the long course of history, the "Dylons" for so the name had finally got itself abbreviated had intermarried with the various racial strains which conglomerate to make the American of to-day. The characteristics of the original Spanish predominated even in the twentieth contury exponenof the race, for Dylon was short in stature, vigorous in person and graceful in bearing, while swarthy of face, dark and brilliant of eye and black of hair. He was still Spani3h in appearance, but in disposition exhibited an alertness foreign to the inhabitants of the Iberian peninsula. Perhaps this was due to some Celtic cross in the genealogical lines, possibly derived from the forgotten daughter of the forgotten chief, the red Eve of the composite race. By profession Dylon was an artist. The remains of the once extensive patrimony of his family which had at last vanished after three centuries and a half of careles3 usage, had enabled him to cultivate a natural talent with the brush. The high tablelands of Arizona, his birthplace, had furnished him with local color; for there he had made the first application of his genius. His course had been from Paris to the deserts and thence to New York. Behold him in his atelier, the top floor, with the necessary skylight, of a broken-down New York dwelling that had seen better days before it became the resort cf the exclusively Bohemian. The two rooms of the suite were In that delightful disorder which usually mark3 the outward and physical sign of an inward and spiritual quality to see things a3 they are. Dylon had been in New York about half a year, and Fortune had not yet deigned to manifest herself to him in any very tangible shape. He wa3 almost at the end of his resources, financial, that is, but he was optimistic and cheerful. There were sign3 of clearing on the horizon. Several of his pictures had been exhibited and had attracted attention. Possibly buyers were not beyond range of chance, and with the opening of the winter season he felt encouraged to hang on. The chief product of bis brush stood on an easel before him. He had completed it long since, but in certain moods he would fain add loving touches. It was a large canvas worthy of a great subject. The room was filled with pictures that glowed with the light and 'color of the desert, or in which the spirit of the pines, or the romance of the deep and mighty canons was caught with a fidelity and a charm that told of ja keen appreciation coupled with net a little skill. But there was no picture In the room quite like the one he loved. How well he remembered the day in which the scene he had striven to reproduce had first burst upon his astonished vision. From his camp In the highlands among the great silent, towering pines, he had chanced upon the dry bed of an ancient rivulet early one winter, morning. In the bright sunlight he had followed it through its many widenings and deepenisgs until miles away it debouched upon a deep, a tilent, eafionv Its sides were deeply furrowed and grooved by torrents of ages past, and to the lofty walls clung here and there clumps of pines. Far up ou one side, his keen vision marked evidences of human handiwork in the shape of tiny walls whose gaping windows and unclosed doorways bespoke habitations empty, peoples gone, races past. He had never before felt so attracted to a place as j on that morning. The desire for a nearer inspection posbtbscd him. He sought eagerly to bring it about. Meandering up the walls of the cliff he discerned at last a narrow, broken, rock-encumbered trail, probably untrodden by human feet for who knows how many centuries. At peril of his life he crept along the dizzy ledges until, with tattered clothing and bleeding hands, he stood upon a broader though still narrow way that led along the precipitous face to the little houses of the cliff-dwellers. Time and change through untold years had done their work. Perhaps nomadic and savage hands had assisted. The hut walls were broken, the gaping cave-houses empty. With a strange sense that the experience was not a new one, he traversed the jagged, seamy street, keeping toward the houses and away from the ledge that overhung the vast depth of the canon. At the upper end of the village, or town, beneath a clump of shrubs that hid it from all but a careful scrutiny like that ho gave, he found one dwelling practically intact. Clearing away the underbrush and squeezing through the narrow door, which he would have been unable to enter had he been of larger build, he stumbled over the keeper of the place, a small but fully developed skeleton lying across the entrance. There was a hideous break in the skull, caused evidently by the blow of some blunt and jagged instrument. Save for this grim guardian of the threshold and a small odd-shaped pot of common clay, curiously marked by parallel ridges, maybe thumb-nail impressions, perhaps the imprint of some straw matrix from which it had been moulded, the place was empty. He brought the pot away with him, and when he reached the solid ground again he made the sketches which had enabled him to reproduce the scene on the canvas before him. There it stood in all its yellowbrown stillness. The deep blue of the sky overhead accentuated the dull monotones, fit colors in which to define the silent, voiceless, recordless past. There, too, on the table by his side stood the cliffdwellers' pot. With the picture and one other thing it occupied the chief place among his Lares and Penates. ;The other object was a vase of similar shape, although of greater size, latest product of the finest pottery of the Continent. It was decorated with the sleepy flowers of the wild poppy, and exhibited under the vellum-like glaze the soft brown colors of the monotone of the land he loved. This modern vase was so exactly the shape of his treasurefrove that he had seriously depleted his tore cf ready mo-.ey to place it as an accompanying

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piece upon the table. And there they stood, a thousand years of history between them. Like all products of the great pottery, the newer vessel wa3 initialed. He had striven to discover the name of the decorator, and had succeeded. "G. F." stood for Genevieve Forsyth. As to who Genevieve Forsyth was, or rather as to where she might be found, that was another matter. The people at the pottery could only tell him that she had been employed as a decorator for seme time, and had left the works and gone to New York. They informed him that they had learned she was a young woman of means who had taken up the work to indulge her fancy. The New York directory did not furnish him any information. The pot and the name, however, were enough for a pcet and artists are poets of the brush! to build a romance. . If fate should ever bring him in touch with Genevieve Forsyth, he felt that he should love her. Indeed he embodied her in visible form, and in the secret portfolio in which men who draw and paint a3 men also do who write express those things that are sweetest and nearest to the heart, were a number of ideal heads, each cne of which was she. Dylon had two objects in life to find Genevieve Forsyth, and to make a name for himself as the painter of the great Southwest. Comes now the opportune knock at the door! ThCT stage being set, enter the dramatis per&on'E in t shape of one important and one unimportant flgu: Man, reversing the usual order cf courtesy, being the foreground, it follows that the entrant flgu: were women. One is old, the other is young; one h white hair, the other light brown, with a complexi that bespeaks a darker crown, and with the dark eye and red lips the rich colors that accompany tl South and her dark children. A mother and daught" apparently. Lifting a lorgnette the weaker vessel in two spoke. "Are .you Mr. Con " shortened from Coronadc"Dylon?" "Yes, madam," said the young man bowing with the courtliness and grace of a Spanish hidalgo, which three centuries and a half cf Americanism had net been able to eradicate. "The artist?" "Yes." "And did you paint that picture of an ArizonCanon in the exhibition at " "There it is, mother!" said the young girl, wlr had been swiftly encompassing the room and the pi tures in her vision while the elder woman srohe. "So it is," continued the matron. Lifting he lorgnette again, she stepped nearer to it and scrutin ized it . "The very same," she ejaculated in please satisfaction. "My daughter and I " She pause vaguely, hesitant as to whether to mention her nam or not. Again youth intervened. "I saw that place last summer. I was oorn in Ari zona. I seem to have known that canon fcr" sipaused "centuries," she ad led vaguely. "My chili," interposed the mcther deprecating!" with what might have been a blush in younger do. was it of shame? "It 13 not necessary to go i::t these personal details, and " "I, too, wa3 bcrn in Arizona," began the young nn eagerly responsive to the unconscious appeal cf ej charming a ecmr.atriot. "Yes, I have heard cf the Dylons of that section. Are you one?" "Not only one, but the only one," he returned frankly. "And as I saw the place last year and admired it. I should like to have the beautiful picture ycu exhibited for my own." "It is net fcr sale," answered Dylon abruptly. "Why net " "My dear," interposed the metier anin, "the gentleman is not obliged to give us reasons for retaining his picture." "I am glad to do so," responded Dylon, "although T fear I can scarcely explain. But any of these other things are at your service." "I want that, and that alone," said the young lady firmly. "I am very sorry, but the place has associations for me. I get this" he picked up the cliff-dweller:' pot "there." "And that other pot?" said the girl. "Is that f : -sale, too?" "I am most unfortunate," returned Dylon. "Thr: things that I value most seem to be the oily ones ' attract ycur attention. I cannot part with the pi ture or either of the rots." "Are there associations with the pots also that ' "My dear Genevieve," beran the mcther reprovingly, "I really must suggest that you do not " There was a second knock at the door. Dylon turned to answer it and came face to face with a short, gray-haired man. ''Is Mrs. Forsyth " he began, before he noticed either of the people in the room. That was enough for the artist. He turned with astonishing abruptness, leaving this latest visitor staring in surprise. Two steps took him to the side of the girl. "Is your name Genevieve Forsvth?" "It Is." "Did you paint that vase?" "I did." "You shall have the picture for nothing. I am glad to give it to you." "This is most extraordinary," exclaimed Mrs. Forsyth, staring in amazement. "Henry," she caught a glimpse cf her husband, "ccme in." Dylon turned toward the nan. "Are ycu General Forsyth?" "I am." "Mis3 Fcrsyth says she knows of the Dylon family in Arizona, where she v.-r.s bcrn." "I wa3 in the army at the time and stationed there," said Fcrsyth in explanation cr justification cf that fact, whose proclamation seemed to annoy the mother. "She was fortunate." went cn Dylon gravely. "Delightful," laughed the girl. "You, too, have probably heard of the Dylon family," continued Dylon. "I have; everybody in Arizona has," answered the General. "I am its last representative. I graduated at the Ecole de Beaux Arts in Paris, studied under Jerome, went to Arizona and have taken up the career of an artist." "I believe ycu will do well by it," said the General, kindly, "judging frcm these" his glance swept the room "and now, how much for the picture? That Is it, is it not, Sarah?" He turned to his wife. "It is," she replied.. "As I have said. General Fcrsyth. I won't sell the picture, but I shall be glad to present It to Miss Forsyth because she was born in Arizcna and is not ashamed of it." The girl laughed again. "Why, I was not only born in Arizona, but way back, hundreds of years ago, there is a streak of native Indian-Spanish blood In me, and I am proud of that, too." "As I of mine," said Dylon gravely. "My first ancestor was an Indian waman " "Of course we cannot accept the picture as a gift,"

A J- HT 13 TT"

By Theodosia Qa

broke in the General somewhat impatiently at this juncture. "And I cannot sell it," persisted Dylon firmly. "Well, then, perhaps we can find something else." "I shall be glad to dispose of anything but the picture and the pets." said the artist eagerly. But the young lady would have nothing but what she might act possess, and the interview so far as bargain anoTsale were concerned was seen at an eni. It did have one pleasant result, however, an d that wa3 an invitation from the old General, who had known his father, for Dylcn to cail. A man cf less sturdy fibre might have felt himself cut cf place In the great hcuse on upper Filth avenue in which the Forsyths lived. Eut Dylon car 1 nothing fcr convention, and it appeared that Miss Forsyth wa3 equally indifferent to such matters cn occasion! A friendship sprang up between the two, a friendship cn the girl's part, but with the man, a bacis cf passionate admiration, carefully concealed. He was a persistent, determined fellow, and the young lady was yielding and compliant at times. By and by. although he was net a portrait painter, he prepesed to paint her 1 ieture. She gracefully accede! to his decire. She gave hlrn several sittings, an! in the cpr-crtr'ne i-.U-nacy between a portrait painter and his subject, te finally loot the reserve cf self-ccntrol, and cne day poured cut hi3 heart and soul to the girl. The alliance he had the temerity to propose was a preposterous cne frcm a worldly point of view. Dylca was poor, ibscure. unknown. Social standing and ancient lineage in Arizona counted for nothing in New

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HE HELD THE LITTLE York. Miss Fcrsyth was wee.lthy, beloved, admired. No cne had so far touched her heart or influence i her as had this ycung artist. With the circumstances other than they were, she would have said "yes" gladly, but she was net yet sufHeiently emancipated frcm convention fcr the acquiescent mccd. She ea'd "no" tut gently, and with a lingering reluctance, which in spite cf her intention, gave Byhrn hepe. The picture was nearly finished. He would fain take it to the studio and give it the final treatment. She agreed, and arranged to ccme and see it v,?hen ha notified her that it was ccmplote. With a hecrt in which sadness and here strutted fcr existence Dylca prepare! to add the finishing touches. He had painted the woman he loved in a ball gown. Frcm masses cf white, rcse the exnuisite shculJers crowned by the ncble head. Around the neck a rivi ire cf diamonds glittered. In the Elightiy powdered banwas a jeweled aigrette. Yea!th and beauty potent alliance made themselves felt cn the canvas. Yet something seemed lacking. What it was he could net say. Dylcn stared at the face a long time dreamily. Presently something misted before his vision. Back cf her he saw the mountains, as it were, through the vista cf a thousand years. Slowly he took the brush and began to work. Without scund or pause he paintel steadily on fcr hours, becoming mere and mere absorbed in what he was cbout. He was unconscious cf everything arcund him until a hand was laid upon his shoulder and the voice he loved said in surprise: "Mr. Dylon, what have ycu dene with my picture?" As sunlight the mist, so that wcrd and tcuch cleared his vision. He stared from the woman he loved, whose beauty was enhanced cr disguised, according to the view point, by every accessory of the modem dressmaher. to the figure upen the canvas. He stared in great amazement, fcr the face that locked at him from the easel was the face cf a savage woman! Bears' claws had taken the place cf diamond pendants. The aigrette was an eagle's feather. The hair was drawn back and thrown wildly about the head like a burnished halo. Lace and tulle had been displaced by a striped panther's skin. And yet, startling as these changes were, it was still a veritable picture cf Genevieve Forsyth. No cne could deny that, and though it was barbaric. It was more beautiful than ever.

"What have you done," exclaimed the girl, indignant yet fascinated, staring with him. "Why that I3 h.01 I. It is an Indian girl. How have you dared?" "I don't know. I dent understand," confusedly muttered the man, utteily unable to explain. "I did net realize." "I hurt myself." said the c'.rl, feeling faintly for a chair. "I turned my foct .3 I c;23 the itaira, an J " He noticed hew white she Ltd grown. Cure evidence cf her interest in the li.ture that she hud fgotten her pain fcr a moment. He sprang to her si.'. caught her with one strong zt, anl 1 eked quick. 7 fcr v. hat might be cf assistance. On the table with the two rets steed a Cask cf eld Ch r.nti that he hal brought frcm Italy an 1 never ue.1. lie set her down in the big chair before the 1 ieture, crenel the bottle quickly, f.nJ without thinking poured a measure into the little cliff-dwellers' ret wh:;h 1 e fcc!J to her lips.

Feebly pretesting she drank it. into Lor face. She lifted h:re:l and uared orcein at the pi :t re "It is really I, and to Lenutlf Again he notice 1 hew w n! It really seerr.el mere actually The c c.cr came back nlljktly on her arms, :!." she sail, rful wis the likeness, the woman than the picture he he. 1 cri;'na!ly painted. She passed her haul cere cm Lr I. rev.-. "That wine." ska continued in a far-eff, faint voice. It was a nil 1 cr. 1 insp ect dr::k, anyhow, ccr had the token encurh to aSec t a child. A lock cf terror sprang into Lcr c; cc-. They flittered in affright. Hold me," the cried, sulienly, "ycu wen't let them " She tauaht his hand in bcth her own and W.zmyy 1 tu . POT TO HER LIPS. clung to him. " i..e wine I drank," she whispered. "Ycu will Lxl;) " Half ur.ccnc-cicusly he lifted the cup to his own lips. Was anything tha matter with it? He drank long and deeply, and found himself in the night Save for a skin caught around hi3 waist a bearskin an j thrown over hi3 shoulders, he v.C3 naked. From the thong that bound the breech-clout hung a rude stone ax. Over hl3 back wa.3 slung a quiver and a bcw. In his hand te carried a stone knife. He was clambering nciselescly up a steep but narrow trail cut frcm the rugged sides cf a deep and vasty caficn. Looking up along the sheer fa-"? cf the cliff, he cculd see stars swimming in the dark distance. The mccn wa3 rising over the other side, but the wall was yet in the deep shaacw. Yith a circumspect, cat-like trend he clambered up and up. lie noticed that the rceh3, although sharp, did net cut Lis callousei feet and hands. Hl3 heart was beating rarely, yet he pursued his way cautiously upward, clinging 111:2 a fiy to the fe.ee cf the cliff until he gained a narrow spct sheltered by a projecting jagged reck. The way he. I been purposely made so narrow that cne watchman might hold, it against a thousand enemies. Us na'e r.o scun 1. Ki3 fe'-t d'd ret even (LlS.niz'i a pelble ever the cliff to his r!!:t, le.t it should betray his presence. He storpe i his beating heart and listened. Cn the ether side cf the reck he could hear the dcc: long bre: thing cf a human being. It vna a man, a ocntr", and sound cclec He crcrt' ci!:t!y around tl.e projection. r!"e! ; Ii stone l:ru;?, end rtru 1; it deep ic to the threat cf t .3 sleeping man. The v.-nrm bleed gushed cm ever Li? hand. Strrnre to soy he felt no repulsion, enly a wild, zzv-"2 thrill ef e::ult"ticn at w: h he n;rveled! There wos a convulsive, silent struggle as he held the sleeper, an 1 then all was still. A few feet belcw the rath ran a shcrt shelf cr leio'e. Seizing the dead man by his long hair, he lowered him carefully down to it and r-sed rn. A wcia.'h dog sprang from a dark corner, bnt ere he cculd bark, two sinewy hands seized him by the threat, end although the brute struggled fiercf !y and tore the man's breast with hi3 paws, he was slowly choked to death and cast aside. He was abreast cf the huts cow. He ran rapidly along rast each one like a silent ghost in the darkness until he came to one farthest frenx the entrance. -ft11 (Liii rrison

backed up against the cliff where it fell away Int sheer nothingness for a thousand feet below. He go down on his Lands and knees by the narrow door an listened. At tht instant the mocn rose full over U ether side and cne ray fell thrcugh the trees Into ta rccra. lie rccrc.i wlth!ri. A man lay across the door. Ill detp breathlrtj; inJiea.e! slumber. He, like all th cther3 ia the village, tired cut frcra their fora: agaiast a ceiohlcring cc -ttunlty. hal gone to sleep tle-eadent urea the wau ulness cf the faithless sen t;y at the pc-ss. Quietly Dy'en thrust h!3 cbslilan knife Into thi loop in his girdle. He locscned the stone ax, lifted it and drove it with cne sharp, quick blow fairly Inti the head cf the sleeper. The man was killed in stantly. Dyl n stepped within the hut Bound with leather! thengs in the corner farthest from the door lay t woman. She wa3 awake and watching. Her eyei glittered in the moonlight, but she made no sound To cut her bonis was the work cf a moment. Sh had teen captured the day before and "had lain bount for hcurs. Her hands and feet were numb and use less. By her side stood a small pot with some fierj liquor in it. He tasted and pave it to her. With rapii and skillful hands he chafed her hands and feet am limbs until she could stand upright and walk. Liki him, she was clad only in a shirt of sln. He said no word, but held cut hi3 hand to her, anf together they stepped across thai threshold. All wai still. The moon had risen higher now, and the fae cf tl e cliff wa3 flooded with pale light. They rar rapidly along the way tcward ths descending trail "heir belies cast black shadows across the succes Ive decrways. Someone awoke within. There wai a wild cry in the night. They were almost at the end of the ledge when t man Etepped frcm a doer and tarred the way. Dylor. c truck him down with the stone ax. The force of the llow twioted the weapon from his hand, and It went twirling Into the darkness beneath. The man struggled and followed it Into the abyss, but the ledge waa filled with peop'.e now. Shouts and cries rent the air. An arrow whizzed by his car. The woman was In no condition for a long flight. Capture appeared Inevitable. He thought quickly. "Go," he said, and in a language strange to his ears, yet whose significance he knew thoroughly, I will keep them back. You will find the remnant of the tribe over the hills to the right. You will be free." They had reached the narrowest part of the ledga where the sentinel had stood. He crouched behind the jutting rock. He would hold it against a thousand fcr her. The woman threw herself upon him. She did not li3S him. Kisses were for later days and ether times, he dimly realized. She strained him to her breast and then was gone without a word. Quick as thought ho unslung his bow. He fitted an arrow into it, and drove it Into the throng of little men swarming along the trail. The configuration of the paes was as good for his purpose as it had been for defence against an advancing foe. He shot and shot. Shrieks and groans in the half light told him that his arrows went home. But the enemy were not Idle. Clambering like monkeys up the side of the cliff thejr reached places whence they could overlook him. Arrows grazed him. Stones fell upon him. Axes and clubs whizzed by his ear. . The desperate blood lust of the man at bay possessed him. He rose gradually to his feet and stood in the way, but half protected by the jagged rock. The mountain swam before his vision. The path rocked and reeled beneath his feet. The moonlight appeared blood red before him. His arrows were spent now. A jagged stone rankled ia his left shoulder. His brain was racked from a great gash cut by a war club which he had barely dodged. But he stood undaunted still. Strange war cries burst from his lips. He lifted up a great rock from the trail and sprang forward, determined that if he must die It would be by no man's hand. He stopped suddenly ere he made his leap. A woman's cry, wild and shrill, rose above th hoarser shouts of the men. Then it was lost In a great volume of rumbling sound. The mountain above his head seemed to be trembling, A. great bulk cf rock heaved itself into the half light and came crushing upon the pass. A moment of silence super vened, broken by the wails of anguished, dying men. He understood In a moment. To make defence more sure huge boulders, lightly balanced, had been placed at convenient places on the brink of the canon above the trail. One of these had fallen Just as he was about to die. and effectually barred the way, preventing the men of the village from getting at hlrj. What had caused IU fall? He looked up. On the dizzy verge thrown Into relief by the moonlight stood a woman, the woman he had rescued. She had not fled like a craven. She had crept up the cliff and by a superhuman effort of her vigorous young arms had dislodged the rock cf defence. Love had saved him. Dragging the arrow from his 6houlder he scrambled up the trail, growing fainter and fainter as he prorrcssed. The last few feet were sheer and precipitous. He stopped, sprang up and caught the ledge, and found further effort beyond him. He hung desperate. A brown band reached down and caught his wrist. The woman who had moved mountains for her lover was net willing that their efforts should fall now. The wall was surmounted. He fell prone at her feet upon the scft grass of the plateau. A voice came faintly to his ear. The sunlight swept the mists away. He was standing in bis studio. By hi3 side was the picture of the canon. Before him the splendid face cf the woman he loved, and she she was in his arms. She held him tightly S3 he held her, and he kissed her with the kisses cf another century and another day. '"You will never go away?" hewhispered. "Never," she replied, clinging to him. "It was all so real, you knew, and " There was a rap at the door. It opened. Entered the General and his wife. "Genevieve!" exclaimed Mrs. Fcrsyth, scandalized. "What does this attitude mean?" The -girl made a faint effort to disengage herself frcm his arms. He relaxed the pressure by which . he held her sufficiently to enable her to turn around, but he did net entirely loosen his hold. He had won her by force of arms, and never intended to release her again. "I leve ycur daughter," he cried swiftly. "Y.'bat?" reared the General aghast. "And It means that she loves me," he continued imperturhcbly. ' Genevieve!" cried the mother. "It ii quits true," said the girl. "I have loved him fcr thousands cf years." She flashed a look up at Lim that evidenced the truth of her assertion. "That r'cture," cried the General. "It i r.-.!ze," answ-red the girl. "I looked like that v.hca I loved him first" she turned toward the picture r f the cafion "there." she continued. "Will you let me marry your daughter, General?" qccoti-r.eJ Dylcn flerroly. "I Eunncse I shall have to," said the General in bewilderment. "Matrimony is the enly cure for such La!lu"in-ti:ns." "Ch, Genevieve." exclaimed her mother, sinking back in a chair. "I feel so faint," General Forsyth sprang to the table. He saw th wine cup and the c!i2f-dweller3 pet. He lifted it instantly, but before his wife could drink frcm the mysterious vessel, Dylon caught the General's hand. "Not In that cup. General," he said quickly, proffering another vessel. "There Is no knowing what may happen after a draft from that," be added, smiling at Genevieve.

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