Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 36, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 28 February 1885 — Page 3

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

Wyllards Weird.

Qmtmued from Second Page. Bat because sbe WM an actress and ber admirer a man of fashion tbere was a teas." "Then joa do sot consider such murder interesting?" asked Heatbcote. "Assuredly not," replied Wyllard. **To be interesting a murder must be Mysterious. Here there was no.mys tery." "Pardon me. I think yoa must have forgotten tbe details of the atonr. Tbere was a mystery, and a profound one, but that mystery was the cbaracter of tbe nan Georges, wbe was known to have been Marie Prevoi's devoted lover, and wbo was. by some, supposed to have been her husband." "Ah, yes, I remember," answered Wyllard. "Those things come back to #ne's mind as one discusses them. Georges was the name of the supposed Murderer. He got off so cleverly as to baffle the keenest police in Europe." "Did yoa know anything of him ••Nothing. He was a nobody, I be rfeve. A man of ample means, but of nc social standing." "His life was asocial mystery, and it Is in that mysterious existence that I tod an interest surpassing anything I have hitherto met with in tbe history of •jrime." "Really," exclaimed* Julian Wyllard, with something of a sneer in bis tone. "I perceive you have begun tbe business •f amateur detectine on a large scale. I understood from Dora that you were coming to Paris solely with a view to finding out anything tbere was to be discovered about that poor little girl who tumbled off the viaduct, and whom, I think, you call Loulst LemoiDe." "Leonie Lemoine. That was the girl's name. Lemoine's death is only the last )ink in a chain of events beginning with tbe murder of Marie Prevol."

Julian Wyllard started impatiently from bis chair. "My dear Heatbcote, I thought you tbe most sensible man I ever met, but really this sounds like rank lunacy. What in heaven's name can the murder at Saint Germain ten years ago have to do with tbe death of that girl the other day?" "Only this much. Leonie Lemoin9 was Marie Prevoi's niece, and I have the strongest leason for believing that she went to London to meet the murderer of her aunt." [TO BBOOKTXKUBD.J

Hodson's Hide-Out.

A TRANSCRIPT FROM SAND MOUNTAIN

{Maurice Thompson in March Century] Where tbe great line of geologic upheaval running down from Virginia through North Carolina, Tennessee and •eorgia finally breaks up into a hopeless confusion of variously trending ridges and spurs, tbere is a region of country somewhat north of tbe center of Alabama, oalled by the inhabitants thereof "The Sand Mounting." it is a wild, out-of-the-way, little-known country, whose citiBens have kept alive in their mountain fastnesses nearly all that back woods simplicity and narrowness •f ambition peaullar to their ancestors, who came mostly from the Oarolinas, in the early part of the presaut century, following tbe mountain lines in their migrations, as flsb follow streams. They are honest and virtuous, as mountain folk usually are, rather frugal and simple than industrious and enterprising, knowing nothing of booics, and having very indefinite information touching tbe doings of the great world whose tides of action foam around their moun-tain-locked valleys like an ocean around some worthless island. They have heard of railroads, but many of tbem have never seen one. Tbey do not take newspapers, they turn their backs upon missionaries, and they narse a high disdain for the clothes and the ways of city lolk. Most of tbem are farmers iu a small way, raiding a little oorn and wheat, a "patch" of cotton now and then, a few vegetables, and a great deal •f delicious fruit.

In tbe days of secession the men of Sand Mounting were not scalous in tbe Southern cause, nor were they, on the other band, willing to do battle for tbe Union. So it happened that when the Confederate authorities began a system of oonscrlptlon, Sand Mountain was not a healthful place for enrolling officers, many of wnom never returned therefrom to report tbe number of eligible men found in the remote valleys and •pockets."

One citizen of the mountain became nortorloas, if not strictly famous, during the war. His name was Riley Hodson, better known as Gineral Hodson, though he never had been a soldier. He may nave been rather abnormally developed to serve as a representative Sand Mountain figure In this or any other sketch of that region. The reader may gather from the following outlines or Hod son's character, drawnby certain of his neighbors, a pretty fair idea of what the picture would be when filled out and properly shaded and lighted. "Gineral Hodson air not jest eractly what ye'd oall a countreo man, but he a mighty p'lnted an' a' orful sot in 'is wav sort a feller," said Sandy Blddle, who stood six feet two tn his home-made shoes, and weighed scarcely one hundred and twenty pounds, "an* ef anybody air enjoyin' any oncoramon de•ires for a fight, be may oall on the gineral with a reas'nable expectation of a-ketchln' double-barrel thunder an' hair-trigger lightnln'." "He never hev be'n whipt," observed old Ben Iley, himself the hero of some memorable rough and tumble fights, "an' he hev managed to hev his own way, io spite o* 'ell an' high water, all over tbe mounting for more 'n forty

year

ter my sarting knowledge." "When it come ter doctorin'. es the scripter plntedly do show it, be kin

EIble-bangers

reach all round any o' yer Meth'diat 'at ever I see, don't keer «f ye do call 'im a Hardshell an* a Fortygallon, an' a* Iron-Jacket Bantus," was Wee. Beasly's tribute "an' I kin rurder say," he added, cutting a quid from a twist of Sand Mounting tobacco and lodging it In his Jaw, "'at Gineral Hodaon air hones', an' when he air a feller's frien' he air a good on. an' when be don't like ye, then hit air about fer ye ter git up an' brittle oat »n the moontin*."

Turning from theae verbal sketches to look at Riley Hodson himself, we shall

height be is six feet three, abou'dered, strong limbed, nigged, griasled, barah-faced, unkempt. He

looks like tbe embodiment of obstinacy. Nor is he out ot place as a figure in the landscape around him. Nature was in no soft mood when she gave birth to Sand Mountain, and, in this particular spot, such labor as Riley Hodson had bestowed on its betterment bad rendered tbe offspring still more nnsightly. Some

ellowieh clay fields, washed into ruts tbe mountain rains, lay at all sorts

angles with the horizon tbe fences were grown over with sassafras bushes

iof

and sour grape vines, and there was as small evidence of any fertility of soil as tbere was of careful or oven intelligent husbandry. It was in tbe spring of 1875, I ten years after the close of the war, that

Riley Hodson leaned on that gate and gaced up tbe narrow mountain trail at a man coming down. "Bit air

peddler," he mattered to

himself, taking the short-stemmed pipe from bis mouth with a grimace of toe most dogged dislike, "bit air a peddler, an' ef tbeui weeming ever git iber eyes sot onto 'im, hit air good-by ter what money I bev on ban', to a dead sartinty." He opened tbe gate and passed through, going slowly aldng the trail to meet the coming stranger. On^e or twice he glanced furtively back over bis shoulder to see if his wife or daughter might chance to be looking after him from tbe door of the old nouse. He walked, in tho genuine mountain fashion, with long, loose strides, bis arms swinging awkwardly at his sides, and bis bead thrust forward, with bis chin elevated and his shonlders drawn up. He soon came face to face with a young man of rather small stature and pleasing features, wbo carried a little pack on tbe end of a short fowling-pieoe swung across his left shoulder.

Hodson had made up his mind to drive this young adventurer back, thinking bim an itinerant peddler but a strange look came into the old man's face, und he stopped short with a halffrightened start and a dumb gestnre of awe and surprise.

The stranger, David D'Antinac by name, and an ormtbologist by profession, was a little startled by this sudden apparition for Riley Hodson at best was not prepossessing in appearance, and be new glared so strangelv, and his face had such an ashy pallor in it, that tbe strongest heart might have shrunk and trembled at confronting him in a lonely mountain trail. "Well, ye blamed little rooster!" exclaimed Hodson in a breathless way, after starting for a full minute.

D'Antinac recoiled perceptibly, with some sho* of excitement in bis face. He wa% well aware that he was in a region not held we.l in band by the law, and he bad been told many wild tales of this part of Sand Mountain. "Ye blammed little rooster repeated the old man, taking two or three short backward steps as if half alarmed and half meditating a sudden leap upon D'Antinac, wbo now summoned voice enough to say: "How do you do, sir?"

Such a smile as one might cast apon the dead—a white, wondering, fearful smile—spread over Hodson's face. It seemed to Antlnac that this smile even leaped from the- face and ran like a ghastly flash across the whole landscape. He will remember it as long as be lives. '•W'y, Dave, er that you?" Hodson asked, in a harsh, tremulous tone, tak log still another backward step. "My name certainly is David, but I guess you don't know me,"said D'Antinac, with an effort at an easy manner. "Don't know ye, ye poor little rooster! Don't know ye! W'y Dave, are ye come ag'in?" The old man wavered and falterej), as if doubtful whether to advance or retreat. "Don't know ye?" he repeated, "Wy, Dave, don't you know met Hev ye furgot the ole man

I beg your pardon, sir, but I believe I never saw you before in my life," said D'Antinac, lowering his little pack to tbe ground and leaning on his gun. "You are certainly laboring under some DQi8tftk6i^ "Never seed me afore!" exclaimed Hodson, his voice showing a risiug belligerency. "Ye blamed little rooster, none o' yer foolin', fer I won't stand it. I'll jest nat'rally war' ye out ef ye come any o' thet air."

Hodson

now advanced

a step or two with the threatening gestures. Quick as lightning, D'Antinac flung up his gun and leveled it, bis face growing very pale. "Another step," be cried excitedly, •a nd I'll shoot two holes through you

Hodson stopped and said in a deprecating tone: "W'y Dave, ye wouldn't shoot your daddy, would ye, Dave?" "If you run outo me I'll shoot you," was tbe firm response. "W'y, ye blasted mean little rooster!" thundered Hodson, and before D'Autinac in his excitement could pull trigger, the old man had him down and was sitting astride of him as he lay at full length on his back. "Now I'll jest nat'rally be dinged, Dave, ef I don't whirp ever' last striffln o' hide ofFen ye ef ye don't erbave yerself!" He bad both of D'Antinac's arms clasped in one

scarcely

nasty little rooster, a-comin' back an' a-tryin' ter shoot yer poor ole daddy fer notbln*. I'll jest wear ye out an' ballsole ye agin ef ye open yer mouth!"

D'Antlnec lay like a mouse under the paw of a Hon. He was afraid to attempt to speak, and it was quite impossible for bim to move. The old man's weight was enormous. "I'm er great notion ter pound the very daylights out'n ye afore I let ye up," Hodson continued. "Hit makes me mad 'nuff fur ter bite ye in two like er tater an' jest nat'rally obaw up both pieces, on'y ter think 'at ye'd deny yer own daddy, What's larruped yea many a time, an 'en try ter shoot Im! I'm teetotally ershamed of ye, Dave. An' what'll yer mammy my J"

Antlnfte la possessed of a quick mind, and he had schooled it in tbe art of making the most of every exigency. He baa been several years in tbe mountain regions of tbe South, and bad discovered that tbe mountaineer* liked nothing better than a certain sort of bamor, liberally spiced with their peculiar slang. "8pealting of biting a tater in two," be ejaculated rather breathlessly, "reminds me that I'm as hungry as a sitting ben. Have yoa got anything like a good mellow iron wedge, or a fried pine-knot in your pocket?"

Hodson's face softened a little, and he smiled again, in that half-ghastly way, as he said: "Te dinged little rooster! W'y, Dave, der ye know the ole nan now Say, Dave, do ye?" "Ob, yes, perfectly never knew any one better in my lite," promptly responded D'Antinac. **Yonr face Is quite familiar, I assure yoa. How're the folks?"

Hodson chuckled deep down in hie throat, at the same time somewhat relaxing his bold on the young man's arms. "Sarah an' Mandy *11 Jest nat'rally go ttraeted over ye, Dave, an I want ye ter 'have yerself an' come on wi' me down ter tbe bouse, like er write boy. This

here foolin' *m not gwine ter do ye no good.^ Ye've got ter toe tbe mark,

up, you're mashing me as fiat as a fly-ing-squirrel." .-j "Well, I don't whant ter hurt ye, but soon turn up to afore I ever let ye up, you mast prom- barrassment, I eee me one thing," sua Hodson. covering that "What is it? quick, for you really are making jelly of me," D'Antinae panted forth, Ske Encelados under 8icily. "Thet ye'll not deny yer mammy ner Mandy an' ef ye do deny 'em, I'll jest nat'rally be blamed ef I don't whale yer

Jacket tell ye won't know yer bide from a meal-sifter. Do ye promerse "Yes," said D'Antlnao, though, in fact, he did not understand the old mountaineer's meaning. The young man's mother bad died in his babyhood, and be felt safe in promising never to denv her.

Hodson got up, leaving D'Antinac free to rise but the old fellow got possession of the gun and pack and then said: "Now oome 'long home, Dave, an le's see what yer manny and Mandy'11 say ter ye. Come 'long, I say, an' don't stan' ther' a-gapin' like er runt pig in er peach orchard. I do 'spire er tool. Come on."

It is probable that no man was ever more bewildered than D'Antinac was

Jtimself

ust then in fact, he could not command sufficiently to do more than stand tbere, after be had risen, and stupidly stare at Hodson. Tbe latter, bowever, did not parley, but, seizing one oi the young maa's arms in a vise-like grip, be began jerking him along the trail toward the bouse.

It was a subject fit for an artist's study. The old giant striding down the path, with the young man following at a trot. D'Antinac could not resist. He felt the insignificance of his physique, and also his will, when compared with those of this old man of the mountain. "I bet yer mammy 'ell know ye, soon es she lays eyes on ye, spite of yer blamed new-fangled clo's an' yer fancy mustachers. An' es fur Mandy, don't s'pose she'll 'member ye, case she wns too little w'en ye—w'en ye war'—w'en they tuck ye off. She wus notbln' but a baby, nutber, but er little gal like, le's see. sbe air sevingteen now well, sbe wer' 'bout five er six, er sich a matter, then. Mebbe she mought know ye too."

D'Antinac, as he listened to this, began to understand that in some way he bad been identified in the old man's mind as a long-lost son, and it seemed to him that his only safety lay in ready and pliant acceptance, if not in active furtherance, of the illusion. He was roughly hustled into the Hodson dwelling, a" squat old house, built of the halves of pine logs, with tbe cracks between boarded over with clapboards. "Sarah, der ye 'member this yere little rooster?" Hod&on exclaimed, with a ring t,f pride iu bis harsh, stubborn voice, as be twisted D'Antinao around so as to bring him face to face with a slim, sallow, wrinkled little old woman, who stood by an enormous fire place smoking an oily-looking day pipe.'

Don't be jest bev a sorter nat'ral look ter ye Bev he be'n killed in tbe wa,' Sarah, eb

Tbe woman did not respond immedi ately. She took tbe pipe from hor mouth and gazed at Antlnac. Her face slowly assumed a yearning look

IBCC biuwiv iWBUUJCU a

During this ordeal be got broken glimpses of a bright girlish face, a heavy rimpled mass of lemon-colored hair, and a very pretty form clothed in a loose homespun gown. "Mandy, hit air Dave come back, yer brother liave do yer 'member 'im he heard the old mau say. "Do yer 'member the little rooster 'at they oonscriptured an' tuck erway ter the wa'? Well, thet air's him, thet air's Dave! Go kiss Mm, Mandy.

The girl did not move, nor did she seem at all inclined to share the exoitement of her parents. "Go kiss yer bud, Mandy, I say," Hodson eommanded. "He wusn't killed no wa'. Kiss the little rooster, Mandy." "Won't" stubbornly responded Mandd. "Well, now, I'll jest ber dinged, sis, ef this yere hadn't jest too bad," tbe old man exclaimed in a whining, deprecatory tone ol voice, quite different from be gruff, bullying sounds usually emitted Dy him. "I wouldn't er thort 'at e'd

rfuse

rIhe

ter be glad w'en yer little

rother come." 'Tain'thone o' my brother, neither," she said, blushing vermilllon, as she half-sbyly gazed at D'Antinac, with her finger in her mouth.

Mrs. Hodson bung upon the young man for a space that seemed to him next to interminable, and when at last she unwound her bony arms from his neck she pushed him back, so as to get a good look at him, he felt such relief aa oomes with the first fresh breath after a season of suffocation. "Ye air be'n gittin' rich, hain't ye, Dave? an'ye air fatter'n ye wus, too," she remarked. Then sbe went back to the hearth and relighted berptoe, meantime eyeing him curiously. D'Antinfc never before bad found himself so utterly at a loss for something to do or say.

occasion was a singularly dry, queer, and depressing one. He felt the meanness of his attitude, and yet a side llance at Hodson's stubbornly cruel face and giant form was enough to enforce its continuance.

"Yer mammy jest es poorty es ever, hain't sbe, Dave?" said tbe old man, with a wheedling note in his rasping voiee, "she hain't changed none, hev she, Dave?" "I don't know—I gness—well, perhaps she's more flesh—that is, atoutei than when—than when "Ye-e-s, that air bit, Dave," said Hodson, "sbe air fatter."

Nothing could have been more ridiculous than this assertion. Mrs. Hodson, like most old mountain women who live on salt pork and smoke tobacco, wu as thin and withered and dry as a last year's beech leaf. D'Antinac sheepishly glanced at Maady. Tbe girl put her band over her really sweet-look-ing moutb, and utte ed a suppressed titter, at the same time deepening ber blushes and shrugging her plump, shapely shoulders. "Well, Dave, jest es I 'spected, Mandy bev furgot ye," said Hodson "but be know she wer' not nobigger'n a nubbin o' dry-weather con'n w'en ye were' tuck away. But hit's all right, Dave, yer mammy an' me hev alius felt like ye'd turn up some day, an' lo an' bebole, ye hev."

Ones more D'Antinac bravely tried to deny this alleged kinship to tbe Hodson household, bat tbe old man instantly

TERKK HAtltfi SATURDAY ITV15NTN"( MAIL.

"Oh, 111 bebave," exclaimed D'Anti- Hev I got ter down ye ag'in nae, "I'll do whatever you want me to. D'Antinac could not help himaelf. He 1 was enly joking net now. Let me made a full surrender, and aooepted, for the time, his role of returned son and brother, trusting that something would free him from the em-

Re was not long in dis

covering that Mrs. Hedson's faith in his Identity was much weaker than the old man's, and as for Mandy, she very flatly refused to accept him aa a brother.

It was now sundown, and tbe even ing shadows were gathering in the valley. Far and near, the brown thrushes, tbe cardinal grosbeaks, and the cat-birds were singing in the hedges of sassafras that overgrew the old worm lences of the Hodson form. The woods along the mountain-sides were almost black with

their heavy leafage, and the stony peaks of the highest ridge in the west, catching the reflection from the sunset clouds, looked like heaps of gold. A peculiar drynesa seemed to prevade earth, air, and sky. as if some underground volcanic heat had banished every trace of moisture from tbe soil, whilst the sun had dessieated the atmosphere. Even the clouda, scudding lasily overhead, had the look of being orisp and withered.

With alia Sand Mountain man's faith in the universal efficacy of fired bacon, Hodson ordered supper to be prepared. Mandy rolled np tbe sleeves of ber homespun dress, showing arms as white and plump as those of a oabe, end proceeded to cut long slices of streaked "side-meat," as tbe mountaineers term smoked breakfast bacon, while her father started afire on the hearth. The supper was rather greasy* but not unpalatable, the fried corn-bread and the crisp meat being supplemented by excellent coffee. During the meal Hedson plied D'Antinac with questions as to where he he had spent all these years of absence, questions very hard to answer satisfactorily. Mrs. Hodson silently watched the young man, with a doubting, wistful look in her wateiy eyes, as if sbe could not make up her mind to trust him wholly, and yet was anxious to accept him, as her long-lost son. Mandy scarcely lifted her face after she sat down at tbe table, but D'Antinac fancied he could detect a dimpling ripple of suppressed merriment about her rosy cheeks and mouth.

When supper was over and Mandy had washed the dishes and put tbem away. Hodson proposed music he was almost hilarious. "Ye ricollec' Jord, don't ye, Dave Our old nigger feller—course ye do, yer boun' ter ricollec' 'im, couldn't never furgit 'im mean old viliyun, but er good baud ter hoe cotting an' pull podder. Well, he's jest got in from the up per oo'n fiei', an' is er feedin' 'is mule Soon es he comes ter 'is cabing, I'll call 'im in ter pick the banjer fur ye, an' 1 don't whant yer ter say nothin' 'bout who ye air, an' see ef he 'members ye."

Of course D'Antinac assented there was nothing else for him to do. In fact, he was beginning to feel a sharp interest in the progress of this queer farce. He tried to get a look into Mandy's roguish eyes, that he might be sure of sympathy, but sbe avoided him, her cheeks all the time burning with blushes, and her yellowish hair tossed loosely over ber neck and shoulders. Presently Hodson went out to fetch in Jord and the banjo. It was

aud at length, with a sort of moaning during his absent, and while Mrs i-«- Hodson was stooping over the em ben. on tbe hearth, trying to scoop up a coal

cry of recognition, she fell upon him and clasped him close, kissing him anc* wetting bim with tears. Her breath heavy with the malodor of nicotine, al most strangled him, but be dared not resist.

I, JlgUb use pipe, iu»« P"' B"' up and walked across the room. As sbe passed D'Antinac, she whispered "Ye must 'member Jord soon es ye see 'Im—don't ye fail. Save er rumpus." "All right," wbispered D'Antlnac.

Hodsor re-entered in due time, followed by a slender, bony negro man, whose iron gray wool and wrinkled face indexed bis age at near seventy years.

Jording, derye know this yere gentleman?" said Hodson. "Naw, sah, don't fink er do," answered the negro, twirling his banjo in a self-conscious way, and bowing obse-

qUMra?lfiodson

and Mandy interchang

ed quick, half-frightened grimaces, followed by furtive glances toward the master of the house. "Jording," said Hodson, "ef ye don't tell me who this yere feller air in less'n a minute, I'll jest nat'rally take tbe ramrod out'n Hornet," pointing to a long rifle that bung over the door, "an' I'll jest wax hit to ye, tell ye'll be glad ter 'member mos' anybody." "Why, Jord, old fellow, don't you remember Dave!" exclaimed D'Antinac, taking a step forward, and simulating great joy and surprise. ««W-w-w'at Daveisyertarkin' 'bout?" stammered the poor old negro.

Hodson's face instantly swelled with rage, and he certainly would have done something desperate had not D'Antinac just then closed up tbe space between himself and Jord. Mandy, too, joined the group and whispered: "Don't beer fool, Jord, say hit's Dave come back f'om the wa'."

Jord's wits and conssience were a little refactory, but Mandy's advice found an able auxiliary in the fact that Hodson had by this time got possession of tbe rifle-ramrod, and was flourishing it furiously. "W'y, Mars Dave! dis yoa 'Clar' ter goodness de ole niggab's eyes gittin' pow'ful pore! Didn't know yer no mo'n nuffln* at fus but yer look jes es nat'ral es de ole male ter me now. Wba' ye been all dis time. Mars Dave 'Glar' ter goodaess ye s'prise de ole niggah's senses mos' out'n am, yer does fo' sbo'!"

While Jord waa thus delivering him self, he kept one eye queerly leering at D'Antinac, and the other glaring wildly at tbe wavering ramrod. "Tber», whatM I tell ye?" exclaimed Hodson, vociferously "what 1 tell ye Jord 'members 'im! Hit air Dave, sbo 's ye bo'n, Sarah! Hit air my boy, fnr a fae\ the blamed little rooeterl He waen't killed in no wa', Sarah! I alias tole ye'at he'd come back, an', she' 'naff, yer he air! Hallooyerl" as he spoke, he capered awkwardly over tbe floor, to tbe imminent danger of every one's toes. When bis ecstacy bad somewhat abated, he tamed te Jord, bis faee beaming with delight. "Now, Jording," he said, "give na my favoryte aong an', Jording, put on the power, pat on tbe power! This ye re's a 'cash un of onlimeted rejoidn'! Hain it, Sarah "Hit air," responded Mrs. Hodson, poffing lazily at ber old pipe.

Hodson took a chair, and, placing it close beside bis wife, sat down, and, with bi« band canning her shoulder, whispered in her ear: "Haint this yere jest glor'as? "Hit air," sbe answered, lifelessly.

Mandy's face was as pink as the petals of a wild rose and her heart in

was flatter-

^/Antinae," keenly alive to the dramatic situation, and somewhat troubled

flew into a passion and tbeatened sorts ©f condign punishment, not tbe iwu., •*«*, wont of which was "swiping" him "all turbation, became aware of tberude but over a* acre o' groan'." -*-1 —ThmtAne "Bat, my dear sir, I cant afford to have you fo? a moment think i»«—™ a..," "Dry up! ye Utile snivlin' oonecript, dean puncheon poor, .jjj^ er TU mop op this yere floo* wl' ye in a locked rifle, the huge minate! Haint ye got no aenee all? fire-place, the broad, roughly laid hearth

and the smoke-grimed wooden crane, all taken together, made an entourage in perfect accord with tbe figures, the oostumes, and tbe predicament.

Jord tamed his banjo with some show of faltering, and presently he began to ring. The following, were tbe closing stanzas, will serve to

play and siufj were tbe doa: givn an idea of tbe performance: "Ab'um Ltnkuin Kay be gwine tar Free ole nicgah in de wah, Bat Man Hodsen says he mine ter Bee how Ab'um do dat dar!

Hoop-te-l«ody, how ye gwine ter When Mara Hodson noter mine tsr Den ole Ab'um Mk/s: 'You free am!'

Bat Mars Hodson cut an' shoot, An' say vo Ab'um dat hs see nm At de debbil fore he do t!

Hoop-te-loody, how he gwine ter When Mars Hodson noter mine ter

"That air a fao'," exclaimed Hodson, almost gleefully, "that air a fac'. Here's what never guv in yit, Dave! Tbey tried far ter mek me figbt fnr tbe Confed ret States an' tbey never done hit, an' 'en they tried ter conscrip' me, like tbey did you, Dave, but I cut 'em an' shot 'em an' hid outaroun' in these yere woods tell tbey guv my place the name o' Hide-out, an' tbey didn't conscrip me, nutber an' 'en tbe totber gov'ment prodamated and sot ever'body niggers free, but yer daddy hel' on ter his one lone nigger jes' ter show 'em 'at ht* could fur tber's not a gov'ment onto the top side o' yeartb 'at kin coerce er subjergate yer daddy, Dave."

Jord bung bis head in tbe utmost humility while bis master was speaking. A keen pang of sympathy shot through D'Antinac bosom. Tbe thought that this kindiy-faced old negro was still a slave, the one lone man ot his race whose shackles remained unbroken, was touchiug beyond oompare. And yet it seemed quite in consonance with the nature of things that such a person as Hodson should be able, situated as he was, to resist, for any length of time, the tide of the new regime. This easy turn from the absurd to the pathetic gave anew face to the situation, hardening and narrowing its setting, whilst it added infinite depth to its meaning. Here, indeed, was the very heart of Sand Mountain, and well might it be called Hodson's Hide-out, where slavery's last instance had been bidden safe from tbe broad eyes ef freedom.

D'Antinac could not sleep when at last he bad been left by Hodson in a little dingy room, whitber his gun and pack baa also been transported. The bed was soft and clean, and the moonlight pouring though a low* square, paneless window invited to sleep but he lay there pondering and restless. Hodson's last words, before bidding bim good-night, kept ringing in his ears: "Thet ole Jording air a livin' ezample o' my 'termination au'ondurence, Dave, an' hit shows what stuff yer daddy made out'n. Tbe whole etarnal worl' kin never free that air nigger. He er mine ter keep, es the ole hymn say,

Whatever mayer pose.'" D'Antinac was small of stature and not at all a hero mentally but he had oome of a liberty-loving ancestry, and was, despite his foreign-looking name, an American to his heart's core. No doubt the wild, roving life be bad for years been leading, as an emissary of an ornithological society, had served to emphasize and accentuate bis love of freedom in every sense.

He had turned and tossed on his bed for several hours, when a peculiar voiee, between a chant and a prayer in its intonations, came in through the little window, along with the wjaite stream of moonlight. He got up and softly went to tbe aperture. The voice came from a little detached cabin in the back yard. It was Jord praying. "Lor', hab'de ole man «arb ye well an' true Mus' I die er slabe an' come 'ome ter glory wid de chain on What I done. Lor', 'at ye zart me when IV ole? Is I nebber gwine ter be free? Come down, Lor', an' 'stain de ole man in he 'fliction an' trouble, an' oh, Lor',

5om'im

ib oleeyes one leetle glimp' ob freeafore he die. Amen." Such were the closing words of the plaintive and touching prayer. No wonder that suddenly d'Antinac's whole life focused itself in the denire to liberate that ole slave. He forgot every element of bis predicament, save bis nearness to tbe last remnant of human bondage. He drew on his clothes, seized bis pack and gun, and slyly crept out through the little window. The cool, sweet mountain air braced bim like wine. Thi* ought to be the breath of freedom. These rugged peaks surrounding tbe little "pocket" or valley ought not to fence in a slave or harbor a master.

Riley Hodson slept soundly all night, and did not get up before breakfast was ready. "Let the little rooster sleep hit air Sunday, anyhow let 'ifli git up when he wants ter," said the old man, when d'Antlnac failed to appear.

Mandy bad fried sotne bam and eggs for breakfast, and sbe came to tbe table in a very becoming blue calico gown. Mrs. Hodson appeared listless, and her eyes bad no cheerful light iu tbem.

Tbe old man ate ravenously the choicest eggs and tbe best slices of ham, with the ait of one determined upon vicariously breaking fast for the entire household. But Mandy had saved back in the frying-pan some extra bits for tbe young stranger.

Annour passed. "Guess tbe blamed little rooster air a-

Eetter

oin' ter snooze all day. Mebbe I'd wake 'im," Hodson at last said, and went to the little bedroom. He tapped on the door, but got no response. Then he pounded heavily and called out: "Hullo, Dave!"

Silence followed. He turned and glared at Mrs. Hodson, then at Mandy. "The blamed little rooster he muttered, flinging open tbe door. For many seconds he stood peering into tbe room. Presently he clutched the door-post to steady himself, then he reeled round, and bis face grew white. "Dave eijgone!" he gasped. "Dave er gone! Lord, Sarah, be air gone ag'in!"

Almost involuntarily Mandy went to the bedroom door and confirmed ber father's assertion. Mrs. Hodson was uiet. The whole house was quiet. In-

tbere seemed to bave fallen a perfect hush over the valley and tbe mountains.

Riley Hodson soon rallied. He sprang to his feet like a tiger. "Mandy," be stormed, "go tell Jording ter bridle an' saddle the male, quick!"

Mandy went at hie command, as if blown by his breath. In a few minutes sbe returned, white ae a ghost, and gasped: "Jord er gone!" "What! How! Oone! Jording!" "He air gone," Mandy repeated, hold ing out a two-dollar "greenback" Mil in one hand and a piece of writing-peper in tbe other. "I got these yere ofl'n Jord's table."

With great difficulty and in a breathless way, sbe read aloud what was hastily scrawled on tbe paper: "MB. HOMOS. "Dteu-mr: Yon are greatly mistaken I am not yoar son. I newr »w you In my life before yesterday. Yoar wife and daogh tersxe both well awan of yoar curloos liiu-,

dom, knows that I am not your lost aon. In fact, I am, Very respectfully DAVID D'ANTINAC.yours, "P. S. A letter to me will reach me if directed in care of the Smithsonian Institution at Washington,'D. C. I inclose two dollars to pay for the trouble I have given you."

Hodson caught his mule, bridled it and saddled it, and rode away up the zigzag mountain trail in pur-uit of the fugitives but he did not eaten them. At nightfall he returned in a somber mood, with a look of dry despair in his eyes. For a long while be did not speak but at length, when his wife came and f«t down dose beside bim, he mattered: "Wer' hit Dave, Sarah "Hit wer' not," sbe answered "Dave never hed no mole onter 'is chin."

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