Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 10, Number 24, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 13 December 1879 — Page 2

THE MAI I.

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE

TERRE HAD FK. HEO. 13, 1879

^MOTHER'S WAY.

Oft within our I! tleeoita.e As tbe shadow* gemly fat], While the sunlight t.»uche» uoflly

Oae »w *t lace upon the wali, $$&&& Do we leather acne together, And iu hu-betl and ieuJ«r ione, Sum**. ea«h «tin»r'« fall foiglvcue**

For the w.otig that eacn hasdone. Hhoalo you wonder why thi* custom At the ending of the ua\ Eye and voice would quickly anawer, "It was once our mother's way!" |^j*i If onr home be bright and cheery, *^v,

If lthoid a wtlcome tiue, Opening wide Uadoor oi greeting -f,* Co tb« many, not ihe few If we share onr father'* bounty

With the uei-dy day by day, T:B bicm« our he irt* r« m»-inber This wa erer niutberV way.

Domettm^*, when our hands grow wea^y Or our laslci M!jm vrry loog IX When #ur burdens took too he .vy.

And we deem the right all wrong, Then we i?*lu anew (mli courage. AH we rlue to promlly nay: •'•Let n« do our duty bravely,

Thl* was our ear mother a way."

Thu* we keep her memory precious, While w«? never ceaae to pray That at Ia*t, while lengthening shadows

Mark I he evening of our day, They may And waiting calmly, To go home our mother way!

From the Novelist.

Blind Nell

-OR, TH fi

ll H3HKI.H ItKDWING, .....

CHAPTER I.

THRHTHANtlB ABDUCTIO.W

"Made'lne, w^iere it Ralph where is •our boy?" A tall, dark haired man stood ou the atej a 01 a little cnttajo 'hat neatledclose down by river' bank, hhadowed by

gis

reen forest tree*

the iiack. He held

bat in bis baud and bent forward, peering into the open doorway as be pat ihe question iu an unsteady voice. "I have not aeon him since shortly after noon. I thoiwht he frai with you at the aiuar fiuip, George," a woman's voice Hiiftwered from within. "He hat riot hewn with me this afternoon.

Mrs. Belwood oams" hastily to the do r. A tall, queenly woman, with midnight hair and eyna, neatly dressed, and very handsome.

She looked into her husband's eyes and read th* nameless fear that lurked la their depths. A sudden chill entered her heart. The river was close at band, and little R*lph was too young to swim.

Night was coming on. "Not with you to-day, Ralph hot been to the sugar camp?" exclaimed Mrs. Bellwood, In a. tremor of excltement. "I have not seen seen him since

noon." "Have you searched for him, George?" "No [supposed him ai home, bat when I came up and all was silent aboat the house, I feared something was wrong It was careless in you to allow him to off alone, Madeline." "I know it. God forglvo me if anythin« haa happened to Ralph," criei the •woman, clasping her hand* and reeling baokward. "We inust search for hljnatonce. It is growing dark. Light the lantern, Madeline, while I look down toward the river. He may have gone over to one of the neighbors'. Will Brandon was over here this morning, playing with Ralph."

George Belwood's search was unrewarded, however. No trace of little Kalpb was to be fflund." "Taking the Ian torn from the hands of his wile, Bel wood hastened down the forest road letdlug to Brandon's, the nearest neighbor. Mr. Brandon met him with a pleasant senile. "Ralph? No, he hasn't been hore to day. returned the former, In answer to tbe anxious inquiry of the father of the raising boy. "Ttvn he«in the river! God holp me!" groaned Belwood, reeling back with a cry of pain and anguish. "Perhaps it a not so bad as that, Mr. Belwood. I will call out the hired man and we will assist you in the search. It's not beet to give up without an effort," «ald Brandon, cheerily, hoping to cheer the drooping spirits of bis afflicted neighbors.

Until after midnight the three men searched the country for some trace or little Ralph Belwood.

As hour after hour passed, with nothing to reward their search, Georgo Belwood believed the worst.

Rtluh had strayed down to the river's bank, and, losing his balance, fallen in. Thi* was Belwood's theory, and at midnight he returned home, to find his wife tnxtnnsty awaiting his coming.

Well/George ?'Y wM "Ralph has not been found." ••Then he Is lost, he is dead J" exclaimed the woman, in a tone of deep griet and remorse. "There ia one ray of hope left, only one," said Belwood.

His wife looked appeallngly Into bis

^"Th^lndlans at Mound Hill." "lUph never would have gonethere." "He might." "N». no he la dead, drowned, and I aui his murderess!" wailed the woman, burvlna her faoe In her hands, giving way to a tit of uncontrollable grief. {hi wood «t **i regarding her, his eye« full of the pent up sorrow In his great heart. IV.ttie R«lph was their only child, the idol of the household. He we* no iriy lour \etrs old. strong and intelligent for his years, and George Bel*

Kiiod wam proud «*t his little son. To have th* boy anawhed from them tbis Idenly was mwt terrible.

George Belwood was a a man of strong wM,*«d the great agony he suffered that night was unrevw»led on the surit«! knew terrible the blow rm yo»tn wif*, nnd would nvt *14 it i»/ -*hi ing bly own

lb# the search was «ed.

At M« t»«lian

vtllaite nothing

r- basing Wy. hl»

'ass^- in tl« e^rj-o-nc, *«d Balwood -thank! ic«v* j»»oJfer,

I* ttp fiver :h» f«W»«»« «***&• I hUneighboni rh sh -rest.., ... whoeetCTlo*r b«r to and walked about l* .nr. ..ir Ur 4 nl sor

taar.^Uw-'utb Meantime, Belwo* rlwHnxwV wn«id ireal,l«lt OH

hon-»e

mlgt

Under an oak, just on the edgeof the forest, not ten rods trom the cottage, she came to a sudden halt.

A little hut of huabes and leaves had been built agaisst the broad trunk of the oak. and bad been used as

play

bouse by little Ralph. In front, the ground was soft and

damp. Tracks

were plainly visible in the yielding earth. A small track and

larger one.

Madeline bent down and examined the ground closely. She recognized Ralph's lootprint#, and in several places one of much larger size.

The hirger footprint was long and narrow w'th a delicate heel. It was the print of a woman's shoe. Madeline started to ber feet with a little cry. It bad rained tbe night previous to Ralph's disappearance, and therefore this track was made within tbe past twentyfour hours. This was an important discovery.

Brandon was the nearest neighbor. Had any of his family been here, they would certainly have called at tbe bouse. None of tbe Indian women wore shoee, therefore It -eemed a reasonable sapposition that this woman's track had something to do with little Ralph's disappearance. For a moment Mrs. Belwood breathed easier. Perhaps her boy was not drowned perhaps be had fallen into the handa of some one who would ere long leturn bim to bis borne.

Madeline was on the point of returning to tbe house for the parpose of communicating her discovery to ber husband as soon as possible, when something white, lying half hidden in tbe leaves of tbe little but, caught ber eye.

Quickly securing It she found it to oe a piece of white paper, on which was scrawled a few hastily written lines.

Over tbe writing was a rude design, drawn in pencil, of a grinning skull and

cross bones. Madeline read tbe note, ber face blanching, her eyes starting from their sockets As sbe finished, a faint, gasping cry fell from ber white lips, and she sank limp and lifeless upon the damp eartb, with that fatal paper clutched tightly in her grasp.

Thus her husband found ber an hour later. lie raised her fn his arms and bore her to the house.

Tbe paper was still clutched in her white hand. Belwood disengagad tbe fingers and drew forth the paper and read, his face growing pale sad and stem as he did so.

MADELINK BELWOOD—Tbe arm of vengeance does not rest. You remember uiy vow? The tender cbeek of little Ralph' shall feel tbe horrid stinging, curdling of the iron brand. He shall be disfigured for lite, that yon may suffer some of tbe torments inflicted on poor, bliud Nell. Tbe time will come when your own dainty fieah will turn crisp and be disfigured under the brand. When next you see your boy, he will be a loathsome, scarred wretch, and one step in the march of Nemesis will be taken BLIND NELL.

Alter reading the note, Belwood turned bis attention to his wife. Tbe reading of those few lines had awakened strange sensations in tbe heart o! the border farmer. Tbe name signed to the note was not new to him. Blind Nell had once been his boyhood's friend, his more than friend but Providence, as be believed, bad interfered and separated bim from ber. 1 be reading of this strange note was opening his eyes to facts which bad never before come to bis notice.

Madeline came to herself after a time. There was a wild, scared look in ber eyes, and she seemed to avoid meeting tbe gaze of her husband.

He sat beside'her, a questioning look on bis face. "Ralpb?" she moaned. "Haa not been found," be returned. "Yet he is n«t dead," "Not dead what do you mean, Madeline?" "I have made discoveries." "You have?" "Yes,'' and thereupon Mra. Belwood related tbe circumstance of her finding the woman's track, with Ralph's, near tbd little hut. "And from that you infer—" "That she has been abducted." "By Blind Nell."

Madeline started with a cry of anguish. "What is it, Madeline?" he questioned tenderlv. "What reason bad Nell Graford to bate you?"

Mra. Belwood sat upright, trembling and cowering before her husband like the veriest criminal. "You have eead the note?" she questioned eagerly.

"Yes." "You do not understand it?" "I do not." "I have no time to tell the story of tbe said effort.

Kjavu lit* klUIQ fcU iuw owt/ past, no wish to do so, George," Mrs. Belwood, slowly, with evident

Nell Graford, after the terrible mishap that befell ber, became insane. Crazy people often hate their best Irieuds. It Is so with poor Nell evidently. That note, with her name signed at the bottom, stunned and terrified me. Of course you must know that Nell Graford died years *vo." "How should I know?"

"From reports." "Which might be false." "Perhaps, but I do not believe that she is living. This is a trick resorted to by Home person to thr^w us off the track. Ralph has been abducted by some avaricious person, or else by some lunatic."

Belwood noticed that his fe was laboring under intense excitement while she talked, that she trembled bodily and was far from being satisfied with her own explanation.

There was only one course to parsne, however.

The search must be renewed In another direction. Toe In Jiana were put upon the trail, B*lw.»od offering a large reward if tbey succeeded in finding bis child.

Toe renewed search met with no better suec««». Every constable for miles about waa notified of the abduction, and the reward increased to the lucky finder.

Every nook and corner of tbe sUte was m• ured. Bet- cUvee were put on the scent in all the large cities, and Oeorge Belwood Mt certain tnat the aMactors could not 1 n« remain hidden lr un tbe lynx eyed detective*.

Weeks and months pawed and brought no news of the loat boy. George Balwood grew sad and moroa©. He never smiled now, and suffering was leaving tell tale marks upon his hand a a

Hi* sufferings were fully equaled by hi* wile. Pale and worn with anxious watching, she grew weak %nd ill and required the almost exclusive attention of ber husband. At one time he feared that he was be doubly bereaved, but God in hU rcy spared him this doable trial, and Mrs. Belwood alowly regained bealtb and strength.

After :1 passage of a year, all hope Hog B-'rh waa given up. He waa!-^ :*«sadetv ongsiace.

of ev

that

tht lead «52^ rv* -tats*

gnaca.

Thr .-*m home waa at-.-.s.^u-adiva, and m-'i cad hia intention of leaving the farm and journey westward, where the

growl nggloomy George Belwood cti of leaving the

TBRKE HATJTB S A TURD AT

sorrows of the past might find no reminders to keep them alive. His wife waa only too glad to go from the spot, which now was no longer home to her, and a day was fixed open for their departure for the far west.

CHAPTER

II.

TBI BURNING MILL.

A little border settlement in the far west. A dozen board bouses, roughly made, standing in a cluster at the foot of a long hill a broad roofed lumber mill at tbe right, near the river

large

wood colored house on tbe bluff above tbe mill, tbe whole shut in by a dense pine forest, and you have the settlement of Pine Ridge, as it appeared at the time we look upon George Belwood in his new home.

He is seventeen years older now. His dark locks are tinged with silver threads and many a wrinkle has feand its way into his face. "Seventeen years ago thia night, George."

"What is that, Madeline?" Mr Belwood looked over toward bis dark haired wife, whose old time beauty was not yet wholly obliterated, as she sat 8ewing at tbe opposite side of the table. "I was thinking of that terrible night seventeen years ago, George, when we lost our darling boy. To-night is the anniversary of that sad event." "And you have not ceased to brood over that time, Madiline." "No. It's tbe uncertainty of poor Ralph's fate that troubles me more than aught else." "Our brocding over tbe past will not serve to lighten the burdens of the futare, Madeline," returned her husband. "I have prospered in business beyond my most ardent expectation. God has seen fit give us a blessing in the shape of Alma to take Ralph's place. We have much to feel thankful lor, Madeline." "Ay, much I doubt not. By the way, is not Alma remaining away late this evening?" .., "'Tis not yet ten." v! "No, but ten is a late hour for her to be out." "It matters little," returned Belwood, "young Bonsteel will nee that she has safe escort home." "Arthur Bonsteel," said Mrs. Belmont, with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. "I do not fancy Alma's intimacy with such as he." "A true gentleman, Madeline." "Nothing but a mill band." "Well, what of that?" "Alma shall never wed beneath her with my consent." "Nor with mine." "Yet you favor this young Bonsteel." "Because he is every inch a gentleman and worthy of Alma. But sbe is far too young to think of marriage. Arthur has too much sense to press his suit at present." "There is Mr. DeWolf now." "Owen DeWolf!" exclaimed Belwood, sharply. "I cannot look upon that man without a feeling of dread. I would not trust bim far. To my notion he is a wolf in sheep's clothing,"

Mrs. Belwood's brow clouded. It was evident that she did not share her husband's opinion.

Just then tbe dcor opened, and a man entered unannounced. He was met with a cordial welcome from Mrs. Belwood, with a frigid nod from her husband. "Mr. Belwood, I am going below tomorrow and thought perhaps you might wish to send for something," said tbe visitor, taking the chair proffered by Mrs. Belwood. "When will you return "In a day or two."

Belwood's brow clouded. "We are in need of some things at tbe mill," be said, "but I shall send a team down to Rlngwood next week, so I will not trouble you Mr. DeWolf." "No trouble to do you a neighborly turn, George." "Well, perhaps not. I have a small check on the bank. Perhaps you might get the money on that." "Certainly, sir, with pleasure."

The black eyes of DeWolf glittered avariciously, as the lumberman placed the strip of paper in bis white palm. "Anything further he questioned. "Nothing. Be careful of the money, DeWolf. You know the reports that are flying around." "Yes, I've heard of them. A gang of thieves and outlaws are raising Ned up north, but I don't think they'll get near here right away." "Perhaps not. It pays to be careful, though." "Of course. By the way, where is Miss Alma to-night I haven't seen her yet. Maybe she would wish to send for something," and Owen DeWolf smiled, revealing even rows of white teeth under the black mustache. „]t "She's out just now." "Ah. Very well. I may see her in tbe morning1"

After chatting for

few minutes long

er, the young man departed. Mrs. Belwood looked into her husband's face in evident surprise. "What now, Madeline he said, noticing tbe wonder in her face. "I thought you distrusted Owen DeWolf?" "Soldo." r"Yet you trust him with a check for a large amount of money. Surely you meant not what you said when yoa spoke of him as a wolf—"

A low laugh interrupted her. "I am about to try bim, Madeline," be said. "I want to prove to you and Alma tWatOwen DeWolf is a villain." "How will you do that?" "Slxiply by allowing bim to prove himself one." „, "Well?"

"That check calls for $200." "Very good." "I am willing to lose that much to satisfy my suspicions." "I understand, and predict that

"You are emphatic." "No more so than tbe facta demand." "We shall see." "Ye*, we shall see." Mra. Belwood glanced at the clock

**A look of uneasiness crossed her face. ••Nearly eleven, and Alma still absent. What can keep the girl said Mrs. Belwood.

Her huaband rose to hla feet "I will go over to Wilson's ana hasten ber lagging steps," be said donning bis hat. ...

He opened the doorv but started back with a cry of alarm. A blight glare auddenly illuminated the heavens.

A great volume of lurid flame abot up skyward, mingled with sparks and hia-

^jfm^Siwood dropped ber aewing with a startled aeream. "Great heaven! what ia tbe matter?" ahe cried, tale with fright. "The mill ia on fire! ejaculated George Belwood, stunned and powerless to aay more Inst then.

He gathered his feealttea a moment Inter and ruabed forth with a cry of fire un hn lies.

In less than ten minutes the whole

It was about nine or

Wolf will disappoint your expectations. "I do not believe it. He has the stamp of villain upon his face."

kV I-jNT.'s

settlement was oat, but it was too late to save anything from the raging fire. Roaring, hiaslng, and surging like a sea of flame, the scene was grand and awe-inspiring.

George Belwood stood with folded arms, compressed iipe, and corrugated brow, gazing upon tbe ruin wrought by tbe fire fiend.

The larger part of his property was bound up in the mill. It was uninsured, and be was a ruined man.

Sad, bitter thoughts surged through his brain. Grief and despair clutched despsrtately at his beart. Seventeen years ago he bad been robbed of an only ohil«t. To night, on the seventeenth anniversary of that event, fell misfortune again overtook him, and George Belwood was well nigh crushed under tbe blow.

For a time be spoke to one, but paced up and down on tbe bill, under tbe lurid glare of tbe burning mill, his face struck with a deathly pallor.

Some person approached at last and touched his arm. He turned and met a young and handsome man face to face. "Arthur Bonsteel!" be exclaimed with a groan. "Yes, Mr. Belwood," answered the youth, "I noticed how pale and troubled you were. You must not give way -to your feelings now, my dear sir." "But I am ruined, Arthur." "Not so bad as that, I hope. You can rebuild the mill."

Belwood shook his head. The two men walked away together At tbe bouse Madeline met them, pais and agitated. "The mill is gone, Madeline," said ber husband. "Nothing saved?"

N in "What was the cause of the fire?" "I do not know." "Where is the watchman "I have not seen him." "Have you seen Alma? Is she out there with those people?" questioned Mrs. Belwood, suddenly, having forgotten her daughter for a time under the influence of this last trouble. ••No. Has she not been home since I went out?" "No "Strange. Have you seen Alma this evening, Arthur?" turning to the young man.

Young Bonsteel confessed that he had not. It was after midnight now. Had she intended remain'ng at Wilson Clarke's, the neighbor's whither she had gone, she would certainly have returned home on discovering tbe burning mill.

The Belwood's became alarmed now, and Arthur and Mr. Belwood started at once for the ho«9e oi Clarke.

Clarke was Belwood's half brother, and having a daughter about Alma's age, Miss Belwood ofteri visited there.

Before reaching the house they met Wilson Clarke, who with others had been called out by the fire. "Alma left lor home two hours ago," said Mr. Clarke In answer-to Mr. Belwood's questioning.

Belwood grew stek with alarm for his daughter's safety. "But she never reached home," be said, half choking with emotion. "She may have stopped in by the way at some house," suggested Clarke. "I will inquire," said young Bonsteel, hurrying on through tbe settlement.

From bouse to house the youth went, but the answer to bis questioning was always the same, Alma had not been seen that night.

One man said that he remembered hearing a woman scream, down near tbe mill, about nine in the evening, but thought nothing of it at the time. "Near tbe mill, you said questioned Arthur Bonsteel eagerly. "Yes, just at tbe foot of the hill leading up to Mr. Belwood's house." "How long before the fire?" /.» "An hour anyhow, mebbe two."

little later that

Alma left Clarkes. At the foot of the hill, in front of tbe mill then, something had happened to ber, something that bad spirited her away most mysteriously.

Bonsteel was terribly alarmed for the maiden's safety. He remembered hearing her speak of Owen DeWolf, a man who had pestered ber somewhat with his attentions. Whatever bad happened, DeWolf was at tbe bottom of it Bonsteel felt sure.

Ha hastened to the bouse of the Belwoods with bis information which, meager and unsatisfactory though it was led tnem to suspect foul play.

No one had seen Owen DeWolf while tbe mill was burning. If he had been in tbe settlement he would most certainly have been out to witness the conflagration.

No sleep visited the inmates of the Belwood house that night. Bonsteel remained out until daybreak, doing all bo could to find a clew to tbe missing girl.

At early dawn be oace more crossed tbe threshhold at Belwood's. As he pushed open the door a white paper fluttered to the floor at bis feet.

Stooping, tbe youth picked it up and scanned the missive closely. The upper edge of the paper was adorned, or rather disfigured with a rude drawing in pencil of a grinning skull and cross bonee. Underneath were tbeee lines written in a feminine band: "MADKLIMK: Remember the vow of Blird Nell. Tbe arm of vengeance is upraised. Retribution follows you. Alma, puny, pale faced Alma, is in my bands. Sbe la a perfect picture of her mother at her age just as deceitful, perhaps. Ere another sun rises and sets tbe skeleton brand shall sear and scorch ber tender flesh then will I return ber to your arms, to be scorned of all men, to be bated of herself, a picture too frightful to behold. My revenge will ere long be complete. Remember Blind Nell and her vow."

The note was an enigma to yoang Bonsteel. Alma's, name was mentioned in connection with a horrible intimation.

He hastened In and placed tbe letter in George Belwood's trembling bands. He grew asby pale as be read. "Good heavens! tbe curse follows us here, even here!" be groaned, sinking weak and trembling into a seat.

When Madeline Belwood read tbe terrible note from Blind Nell she sank down in a dead faint as she bad done on a similar occasion seventeen years before.

"Gracious heaven! what is the meaning of all thia?" cried young Arthur Bonsteel, staring first at Belwood, then at tbe limp and ilfelees form of hia wife upon the floor.

CHAPTER HL XUKDKR MOOT VOCU

George Belwood, as we have aaid, waa a man of strong will and iron nerve. The sudden disappearance of his daughter cast all other troubles from hia mind for tbe time.

That DeWolf waa at the bottom of hia tronblea he believed.

ThemyafceriotM peraonage knownaa BUnd Nell parried him somewhat. Hie terrible effect of ber communication upon hia wife alarmed and mystified him too. He remembered tbe warning that had come immediately after little Ralph's disappearance seventeen yean

MAIL

before. Was it poeslble that hia daughter had been stolen from him by tbe same person or persons who had taken hia boy? It had that appearance, at all events.

After Mrs. Belwood returned to consciousness, the lumberman and young Bonateelheld a consultation. "Thia is

deep laid plot to rain my

familv," said Belwood. "You havei heard' of tbe gang of outlaws carrying terror through tbe northern counties, Arthur." "I have, indeed." "It must be that they are working in this quarter now." "That is a reasonable supposition." "Have you seen DeWolf this morning?" "No." "I half suspect that he has a hand in this vile work." "It may be so."' "He was at my bouse last evening." "Yes." "He made inquiries after Alma." "Ah." "Yes he has taken a deep ibterest in ber. He was not present during tbe time the mill was burning last night. Had be been in tbe settlement he would certainly have been out." "Most certainly."

As the last words fell from the lips of Bon81eel tbe door opened, and who should appear but tbe subject of their conversation, Owen DeWolf himself.

He advanced, with extended hand, toward the mill owner. "Allow me to express my sincere regret at what has happened, Mr. Belwood," he said, in a sympathetic tone. "Early this morning I learned that your mill was in ashes, and I hastened here to render you any assistance In my power." "You cannot help matters, Mr. DeWolf." "I can lend you money to rebuild, if you wish."

The mill owner eyed the speaker sharply. Perhaps his suspicions were unfounded, ana he had wronged the man by entertaining them. "I thank you, sir lout my first efforts shall be turned in tbe direction of finding Alma. I care nothing for the mill while she is missing." 'Alma missing! How's that?" and DeWolf looked profoundly surprised.

Belwood related what he knew regarding bis daughter's mysterious absence. A sudden paleness stole into tho dark face of DeWolf. "This is, indeed, terrible news," he said, compressing his lips. "Tbe villains who burned your mill may have carried Alma off. I am glad now that I did not leave for Ringwood. It shall be my duty to assist you in recovering your daughter, Mr. Belwood. Have you any clew to the course taken by her abductors?" "I have no certain knowledge that she has been abducted." "Yet you Rurmise that such is the case." "Perhaps." "Mr. Belwood, do you lear to trust me?"

DeWolf asked thia question, as he noticed the cool demeanor of Belwood toward him. "I know not whom to trust, Owen DeWolf," returned Belwood bluntly. "Our supposed best friends sometimes prove our worst enemies." "That is true. I shall, however, do what I can to prove my earnest friendship by leaving my business and searching for Alma. Here is the check you gave me last evening. I shall not go to Ringwood for tho present." "Where were you last evening?" de manded Arthur Bonsteel, turning suddenly upon DeWolf.

Their eyes met, a look of enmity and defiance passing between them. "Here, at Mr. .Belwood's, young man." "Ah! early in the evening, yes at a later hour at tbe time or Alma's diaappearance at tbe time tbe mill was burning?" "Perhaps I may not choose to reply to your insolent questioning, young man." "Perhaps you cannot, or daro not." "What do you meau?" sharply. "You canndt explain why you were not present at the fire." "I will not bandy words with you," retorted DeWolf with a sneer "but for Mr. Belwood's benefit, as he is a gentleman whom I respect, I will state that I was four miles away on the road to Ringwood, at the house of Ell Norton. Early this morning I learned of the fire, and returned at once to the settlement." "Why should tbe news bring you back?" "To see Mr. Belwood and offer bim condolence and assistance." "Very plausible, indeed," muttered Bonsteel In an undertone.

It was evident that tbe two young men held no great love for each other, yet both claimed firm frieudship for Belwood and bis daughter.

The mill owner's suspicions regarding DeWolf were slowly evaporating. He seemed friendly, and there was nothing in his acts or appearance to justify any conclusion to the contrary at present.

The reception of Blind Nell's letter was known only to Bonsteel and tbe Belwoods, and they resolved to keep this knowledge to emselves for tbe time being.

Tbe news of Alma's disappearance spread through the settlement, and every one of tbe settlers turned out to hunt for tbe missing girl. No one was more earnest in his endeavors than Owen DeWolf. He even exceeded Bonsteel in bis apparent earnestness in the search.

Another night settled down over the little settlement of Pine Ridge, and tbe fair Alma waa still missing.

Mrs. Belwood was completely prostrated under tbe blow. Sbe alone knew tbe fell, terrible meaning or Blind Nell's episte. Away back in tbe past was a horrible scene pictured on ber brain—a scene of cruel, unmerciful wrong, that was now coming borne to herself with a terrible retribution. Mr. Belwood suspected a part of tbe truth, yet he did not know all tbe awful details of that crime, committed in tbe long ago. Had be fully realized tbe truth, he would have ahrunk back appalled at tbe knowledge of hia wife's cruel treachery and vindictiveneaa.

That was, indeed, a night of wretchedness at Belwood's.

But tbe morrow was to bring forth still greater surprise, horror and dismay.

At early dawn a messenger came in hot baste to Belwood, pale, breathless, terrified. "What now?" cried the mill owner, aa tbe man stood trembling and gasping for breath on the tbreebbold. "Marderi murder, sir, moat foul," gasped the man. "Who ia tbe victim now?" queationed Belwood, nnder hia breath. "Your brother." "Wilson Clarke?" •'Yea please comeatonCe. The whole household is turned uptrfde down, an' Miaa May's clean dead too, tbey think."

With ash odder, Bel wood aelzsd bis bat "Where are yon going, George wh« baa happened now?" aaid the weak voice of Mrs. Belwood, from tbe next room.

"To Clarke's I'll return shortly," answered Belwood, not daring to mention the truth. "Bat I don't like to be lelt alone. "I will send in one of the neighbor women to atay with you till I return."

Madeline made no reply to this and Belwood hurried away.

Tbe man had indeed spoken truly. Everything was in utter confusion at his brothers house.

In tbe lower front room Wilson Clarke lay dead, with a knife wound in his beart.

Mrs. Clarke was crying and wringing ber bands in another room, while her daughter May lay In a dead faint on the bed.

It was with difficulty that Mrs. Clarke related the scene enacted that awful night.

Sometime near midnight the house had been stealthily entered by four 4 masked men, who seised, bound and gagged Mrs. Clarke and her daughter, ana murdered the husband and father before their eyes. Then, after ransackthe bouse, tbey pinned a paper to the bosom of the murdered man and left vbe house.

About daylight Mrs. Clarke succeeded in removing tho gag from her mouth, and her screams brought neighbors to her ashistance.

This was the substance of the story told by the dead man's wife. Belwood, pale and horror stricken, went in and stood over the body of bis murdered half brother.

The paper were still on his breast. Besides this, a grinning skull and oross bones was stamped in black paint upon his forehead.

Belwood felt sick and faint as he gazed. He had strength enough, however, to secure tbe paper and read the ominous words contained thereon: "May it ever be thus with the accursed race of Belwood. Blind Nell and her vow," "Blind Nell again! Great l.oaven, what demon from Hades is thia that delights in such hellish crimes?" groaned Belwood, as he reeled against the wall for support.

Out from the bouse tbe mill owner passed like one in a dream. His heart grew stern and hard as adamant. His brow was contracted, his teeth shut hard, while agleam of fierce determination flashed from his eyes. Reaching his own house, Belwood took from its hooks the long unused rifle and examined it closely.

One of the neighbor women was with Mrs. Belwood, and tbe mill owner did not intrude on them but went outside, cleaned and oiled his gun carefully. After this be loaded the weapon and walked away. "Whither now?" questioned young Arthur Bonsteel, as be met tbe mill owner, gun In hand, at the foot of tbe bill near the ruins of the mill. "I seek revenge," said Belwood, sharply. "My brother was murdered last night in cold blood, by four masked men they cannot have gone far I must find them." "You will not go alone?" "Not if I can find men willing to follow me." "Of course you can I'm with you to tbe death, and there's Ned York and Nate Ellis will gladly step to the front. But the great trouble is to find where these villians are. They may be in our midst, they may be miles away," said Arthur Bonsteel earnestly. "We must track them." "It will puzzle us to do that, I fear. If Ike Munson was only here now. He's tbe best trailer in tbe northwest." "Where is DeWoll?" "I haven't seen them this morning."

"Perhaps be can assist us," said Belwood, his old suspicions having been pretty much dissipated. "I won't trust him," returned Bonsteel. "I'm confident he knows more of Alma's abduction and this murder of last nigbt than people imagine. That not from Blind Nell is a ruse to oover up bis tracks, I'm thinking." "Do you imagine that DeWolf wrote that epistle?" "I think so." "God pity him if it should so prove," ground Belwood from between close shut teeth.

The news of the murder of Wilson Clarke spread through the little settlement liko wildfire. Before noon a dozen armed men were collected on the hill in front of Belwood's house. They wore young, athletic, determined men, and woe to tbe enemies of law and order that crossed their path.

Arthur Bonsteel was unanimously chosen captain of the little band. What they were to do, whither go, they hardly knew. A terrible murder bad been committed tbe fairest maiden of tbe settlement had been abducted and no person was Bafe while tbe perpetrators were at large. Something must be done at once.

Bonsteel stated

BLB

"We will consider ourselves a vigilance committee, with power to arrest, try and punish anyone who has violated the law," said Bonsteel in conclusion.

At this point in tbe proceedings a youth came up tbe bill and spoke to Bonsteel:

"Miss May Clarke wants you, sir." "Wants me?" "Yes she's come to ber senses at last," said tbe youth, "and wishes to see you or Belwood at one*. She bassomething to communicate abotot tbe affair of last night. She said you must come at once, as it was of tbe utmost importance." "I will go. Mr. Belwood will you accompany me?"

Tbe mill owner assented and tbe two hurried away, wondering what May could have to tell. [TO BK CONTINUED.]

BASY

shows are tbe fashion now, bat

as long as mothers continue to nurse tbetr little ones with laudanum or other oplatea, tbey cannot expect their Babiea to look bright. If your Baby needs medicine get a good and harmless one each «s Dr. Bairs Baby Syrup. =r=====

Listen To Ikl*.

/•i

plan, wbick was

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*1'.,,

T.-wrk'i

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