Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 21, Number 51, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 13 June 1891 — Page 2

nntaid Dream.

Br JOSEPEOTE A BOWER

(Copyright by American Preas Association.) CHAPTER

Knight and I never get tired. Yea, 1 will tell you the story. Throw a few more logs into the stove, will you? Cold ont doors? "Cold? I suppose so thermometer 40 below, but I'm blest it I feel it much. Your mountain air is wonderful to me. Been living oniteversinoe lcamewest."

Oh, we soon get used to it, and then our only wonder is how we .ever consented to live where the deadly damp and chill is like a chronic ague. No more of it for me. The valley states have theit good features, of courseorchards and corn fields and all thatgood to look at when there are no mountains in sight but of what uee would they be hero? Plenty of fruit to be had if you want it. Gad, how I used to work when I was a kid! Wading through the black soil of Illinois, dropping corn as soon as I shed my dresses then covered and hoed and plowed and hudked until I got disgusted, cut the whole business and lit out "Wasnt cut out for a king of the soil, eh?"

King of nothingt If a boy wanta a taste of Inferno let him live on a farm and have a Dutchman for a father. "Granted but perhaps you inherited from your good Gorman ancestors the artistic talent which enabled you to get on so well after you did cut and run.**

Weil, may be so. At any rate I have mo quarrel with the old man now. He •likes his farm and his fat cattle—I like my den hero in the mountains, and my paints and brushes. So here I mean to atay. Pile in somo moro pine, Jim. I tell you, you might freeze to death and .never know it "Smooth way to pass over the range to Paradise. But I say, Gus, dont you ever eat here? I am as hungry as a bear."

Eat? Open that oven door and take & whiff. That is the finest roast of venison in Montana, and ranch potatoes which are a poom. Nearly done, old man. Hero, let mo set the table: Two plates, two knives, two glasses, and there you are—or would you like some coffee? Havo it ready in three minutes. Talk about the refinements of civilization! I suppose you newspaper fellows havo to havo a printod programme with your grub, a napkin and a silver fork and all that sort of trumpery bat as for mo, give mo liberty or give me doath. Snppe»is ready. Better keep your hat on. "All right that doesnt bother me any but say, Gus, give me that yarn. That is what I am here for, aud I have just two hours to get back to Helena."

You're going to stay all night or no story. I don't have a visitor ofton, 1 can tell you. and you don't givo me tho cold bhake. Stay till morning, get a good snoozo oneo in your life— you look as if you needed it-—and I will see you over the range in time to catch the 0:30 train. Is it a go? "Well, I guess so. 1 ought to bo in Denver in thirty-six hours, but I will trump up some Ho to satisfy tho manager if I am too late for the Sunday issue. By the way, Gus, what a happy life yours is. Sleep as long as you please, lross as you please, eat when you are hungry and work when the fit comes on. Happy man I"

That's all right, Jim—for me. You would loathe yourself in a week, if yoo should try it Don't quarrel with your destiny. Yon area man of action—-your place is in the world. I am a dreamer,« mixer of paints and—a failure. "A failure. ar* you? If you oouM hewthe oomu**U» on ywu«B»0tywe and €he stir it has made Dc^wryoa wwjtWfottqfE another Utile, swear. You wq*Id bo as proud as a peacock—and, by the way, I was to aak von if she is for sale.**

Who? Oh, my picture! No not if 1 was starving. That picture is apart of my life, Jim. My heart's Wood-mixed the colors ou that canvas, and when Helmor begged the loan of it for a month I did not suppose that he was going to place it on exhibition for a lot of idiots to gabble over. "Of whom I am the chief."

Not at all, Jim. I know you have a heart, although you may not believe it, or I would never tell you the story of my "Mountain Dream/* "Well, proceed. I will admit the heart if you will get down to businesa—note book and pencil all ready.*

It was away back in TO that I built a cabin here, thinking that it would be a good studio for the summer. 1 bad no notion then that would occupy it more thm a few months. I enjoyed it immensely for a time and »t to work with will, making sketches of the soaaery. It was new and xmy fascinating work, Ux\ *Tbe atmospheric effects wore ao different from anything I had ever experienced, tb» ooloriag so new, %hat I wa® in a sort of artistic Creasy ft* cmee in tny life, and esarcely knew whether I or not.

I had been hamaboot rfsvwkiaad tad made a good mnj afeadfefc wfetokl

vWit

meant to nnjsn up wnen 1 returned to the east. I was in earnest and ambitious then, and had my dreams of fame and my hopes of the future as other men have, I suppose. I had seen no one with the exception of a few prospectors on the hunt for gold and silver. They minded their own business, as men soon learned to do in those days, Mid I was not bothered nor my privacy intruded upon. But one day as I sat busily painting I heard a step, a soft rustle and looked up to see a vision in my doorway. A young girl, but little more than 15 years of age, stood there with her hand resting upon the head of a great mastiff dog. The sight was so unexpected that for a moment I thought of optical illusions and rubbed my eyes, expecting the picture to vanish but instead, it advanced, and the dog came and poked his cold nose into my hand, asking, after the manner of his kind, for notice and caresses. As for his mistress, she stood looking about her as a child might have done, and indeed she was but little more. "Have you lost your way?" I asked her gently. "Oh, no, sir," she said with a faint smile. "Knight and I never get lost Do we, Knight?"

At the mention of his name the dog turned and stood by her, and I was glad to see that he would indeed be a reckless man who would dare molest her. "Will you sit down and rest?" I asked, pushing one of my two camp stools toward her. *f" "Knight and I never get tired, do we, Knight?" she asked but she sat down and put her arm around the dog's neck. "Do you live-here?" she asked.

I replied that I did, and fell to wondering where the child could have strayed from. She now caught sight of my work and drew near me with wonder in ber eyes. "You must be like God," she said, "to make mountains and canyons like that." "You give me greater praise "than I deserve," I said "but here are some more pictures—will you look at them?"

I turned them for her, and it was a strange sensation to watch her face, filled as it was with wonder and awa "Do you like pictures?" I asked. "I never saw any before," she said, "except black and white ones —little ones, you know, in papers and books. I liked them, but thesef Oh!"— She clasped her handB and I saw thai she was trembling. "1 didn't think that anybody in the world copld make pictures like these."

While ehe looked at them I looked at her, and my wonder grew as I gazed. She was a slender little creature, olive skinned, and with a great mass of dusky hair gathered into a braid which hung below her waist Her features wore delicate and regular, her eyee large, Urown and full of tho slumbering fires of unawakened womanhood but her mouth was the feature that caught and riveted my attention. It was so unchildlike, so inexpressibly sad in the pathetic curves of the small red lips. "Does your Knight like pictures?" 1 asked, trying to win a smile. The faintest ghost of one crossed her face. "Yes, he likes whatever I like," she answered. "Knight knows as much as any of us."

I returned to my sketching in some embarrassment Had she been, indeed, the Child 1 at first supposed, to question her or ainuso her would have been easy but as it was I could only await her pleasure. Presently she came to my side. "My mother used to say," she said timidly, "that if I prayed to the Holy Mother Mary sho would hear me and give me wtuvt I asked for. Do you think she will?" "I hope so, with all my heart," I answered, "but what do*you wish for most of all?" "To make pictures, as you do." "You say your mother used to tell ybn so. Is sho, then, no longer living?" "She is dead. She died years ago, when I was a little girl, but I remember what she told me. My father has another wife now. She has Mexican blood: she is cruel." "Not to you?" I said doubtfully. "Yes, to me and everybody except Knight She is afraid of Knight" "I am glad of that," I replied "but surely she cannot hurt you very much now. You are almost a woman and can defend yourself." "Sho is large and strong and cruel. She shakes me." went on the plaintive voice, "But your father surely if knew" "He knows, but he loves her." "He loves you, too, I suppose?" "He hates me," she answered in same sad, level voice, "and so I jkwq* wbqM can atd^r

he

the run

oliday.w

"Ami wheat you hoftjeT *Tfiey "beat mo sometimes." In the interest and sympathy awaked txl by her confession I forgot my reserve. „,t, "What Is your nameT I asked. "Carol Cleaves." "Cleaves!" I sprang to my feet in astonishment, for that was the name of a notorious outlaw, whose record was black with crime. And this lovely child, could it be possible that she claimed such paternity?

She looked at me wistfully. "I will go now," she said. "Stay a moment,1" 1 entreated, In perplexity. Was there no way in which I could help her? I thought rapidly for a few moments. "Will you come again," I asked, "and tei nSe painta picture of you and KxughtT

Her eyes answered me such a look of glorified surprise came into them. "Oh, will you? Qua your "I can and will, if yon will come here a little while as often as convenient" "I shall have to run away, but 1 will corofe." "And if they as$ *ngryand punish youf* "I shall not care, but they will namr know wher» I am. If ManntH* toe* she would Mil She said sbft would kill me if ever spoke to any maa." "Sfce shall not harm you," I boldly promised.

"m

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL

"Do you go out alone as often as fou wish?" "Yes only when they have men at the house and want me to help." "Very well, then. Come every day, tf you ran, and I will see if there is not some way that I can help you."

She laid her little hand on the head of her dog and they went away, the noble creature trotting by her side with a wise and protecting air that was almost human—or, shall we not rather say, if we reflect a little, superhuman? |gp

CHAPTER H. |J?

"Well, came, of course"—— Yes, I found myself unable to go on with my landscapes from the moment that she left I called myself an idiot and tried to shake myself into reason and common sense, but it was of no use. That sweet, pathetic little face haunted me, and I was in a fever of impatience to see her again. Well, about noon of the next day she came, as before, with her dog by her sido. It was more like a dream than reality, she was so little like other girls. "I am glad that you have come," 1 said quietly, "and I am going to ask you to unbraid your hair Mid let it fall over your shoulders will you?" Without reply she untied the ribbon, slowly unbraided and shook loose her wonderful hair. It fell around her like a shadowy mist, and so etherealized her that I began to doubt whether she were indeed a mere human child or I the victim of a mental hallucination. I began to outline my picture, but decided, as much as I love a good dog, to leave hers out and make an after study of him to please his little mistress for I wanted that face, with its pensive lips and wonderful veil of hair, to be what it has since become— a mountain dream. She came, day after day, always gliding in and loosening her hair without further request from me and she glided as silently into my heart In ten days' time I knew that I loved her better than my own life that 1 would protect and defend her with my last drop of blood.

We had talked but little all this time. I had asked her if she was missed at home, and she said that her father was away and that Mannella had some Mexicans visiting her ."and I think they are glad to have me away," she said, "but they quarrel terribly, and although I can't understand all they say I think they are talking about me."

Here was danger. What step should I take? Should I ask this child to fly with me? Never! Better death for both of us than dishonor for her. The censorious world would never have believed that I would have died to keep my Dream, as I called her in all my thoughts, pure and innocent, until the time came when she could "lay her sweet hands in mine and trust to me." Should I go to this nest of Mexican cutthroats and boldly declare myself her lover, claiming the right to protect her, and trust to fate? Most likely the result of such a step would be death for me and worse than death for her No, I must take care of myself for her sake. To go to her father was impossible. He was a fugitive from justice—perhaps swinging from some irbpromptu gallows in gorge or canyon. I had no friends in all the great northwest to aid me, I must act alone—but how?

The picture was nearly finished. You have seen it, Jim—the sweet pathos of the face, the mystic eyes, the cloud of shadowy hair, the form half veiled in mist, the background a faint vision of the mountains. I was satisfied. It must have been an inspiration it was the inspiration of love—for to save my immortal soul I could no more paint such a picture now than I could bring the dead to life. She looked upon it as a miracle, and upon me as the foll6wers of Christ may have looked upon him.

All this time no word of love had passed my lips. I must see my way clearly before I spoke, and I waited and pondered. Did it never occur to me that she might be followed and watched? Yes, I had thought of that, but this cabin, as you may have observed, commands a view of niiles. I had watched her going and ooming after the first few days. I could see the little figure far away as it advanced in coming or faded in the distance when she departed, and always she seemed unmolested—and with her faithful guardian by her side 1 trusted that she was safe.

AM

r/ii

I finished her picture.

That smoke gets into my eyes, Jim. What do you say? Tears! Well, I am not ashamed of them. Perhaps you would not hams fallen in love with tm outlaw's daughter, but I did. I loved her so that no other woman will ever have any charm for me. However, I determined to cay no*word of my feelings toward her until I could by some means place her in safety.

It waa while my mind waa in this state of love and anxiety that I finished her picture. .She looks at you from the canvas juart as she looked at me—moon* fol and tender as a wounded dove.

tm excuse for further visits 1 told her that I must sow paint portrait of Knight, and she gladly assented. I prepared my for Mer next visit*

It was autumn by this time—autumn gloriously beautiful, as it can only be in these mountains. Not with the ag£e&dar of variegated forests, although tibegr am very beautiful, too. sometime# drat

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my eyes and my imagination pictures our old home in Illinois, especially as it used to look in the fall of the year. The low hills which surrounded our valley farm were covered with oak, maple, hickory, cherry, hackberry and many other trees, and at that time of the year they were russet and crimson and gold with the first kisses of decay.

Wild grapevines swung from branch to branch filled with small purple clusters, acid, to be sure, but nectar to a boy's taste. Black and red were hung in tempting profusion. Nuts lay thick in the fallen leaves or came rattling down through the hazy air. The sumach, most gorgeous of American plants, blazed in glory and offered its spikes of velvet berries. Crows called from the treetops. Bluejays added a bit of pare azure to the mosaic of color. Blackbirds rose in clouds frbm the cornfields and squirrels chattered over their abundant stores. Along the roadside, in the fence corners, bittersweet hung its coral berries among great purple and white wild asters and the large, pale pink blooms of horsemint A little river bordered the form on one side, and we could hear its waters plunging over a milldam just out of sight

You know how short lived this beautiful time is in that latitude. But while Nature was calling me in her most alluring voice to come out and be happy 1 husked com from early morning till night Then, after the horses were cared fdr and the milking done, 1 crawled into iiy small, low chamber under the roof, tbo tired even to rest and sleep.

*1 CHAPTER EEL

Crying to Ood for vengeance.. B*t let us come back to the mountains, ere we had none of this, but instead describable colors of the great the golden splendor of the sun through an atmosphere like wine. I breathed balsamic odors, ed over fragrant beds of pine uud searched for the latest mountain wild flowers unin all the northern world—and 1 edof my love. No matter what her might be, 1 remembered that her motf^r had taught her to pray, and believe bie,' Tim, it is the mother who makes us what we are.

My own mother, who died when I was a child, was a passionate lover of beauty. 1 have seen her kiss the early flowers that I used to bring her 1 have seen her tender blue eyes watch the sunset with a look of longing in them as if she were tired of her hard life and would be glad to go where there was reet. Had she been alive 1 would have asked her to come, and 1 would have placed my love in her motherly arms and felt that she was safe. But I had no ona

While sitting in my cabin waiting for her I was startled by a rapid step, a rush of the dog and in fehe came, panting and white as death. "What is it, Carol? What is it. child?* I cried, springing toward her. "Oh, she frightened me so—Mannella! Sho found it out that 1 came here, and she and Jose were talking last night and they said that I must be put out of the way! Oh, Mr. Von Ranke! where is they would put mer

5

"They shall not harm you," 1 said, as calmly as I could, for 1 wished to quiet her. I did not feke her in my arms, as 1 wish that I had, but we men are not so bad as the erotic school of novelists paint us—at least some of us are not. I know that to me she standing there in her helpless, unprotected innocence seemed so sacred that 1 felt it would be profanation to lay my hands upon her. even in the tenderest love. "Tell me, Carol," I said, "if you know why they wish to put you out of the way. You are safe now don't be frightened, but try to think." "Oh, I know," she said, bursting into tears "they have my mother's mousy, her jewels—all that was hers—and they think that 1 will want them. They think that 1 will tell some one who will take them away."

All my irresolution, my miserable dallying. was now at an end. Here was a case for the Vigilantes. 1 would go at onc£ and lay the matter before them, and I would also go to the legal authorities, if any could be found, and have a guardian appointed for my love. Pool that I had been, to sit dreaming over her portrait when her sweet life was at stake. ••Carol," said L, "can you stay here with your dog while 1 go to Helena? You

must never go back to your home. You are my little girl now, and I must find another home where there is some good, kim? woman to $ake care of you. Dare 1 leave you? You have Knight and you see there are atrong bolta on the door and window shutt«cs»,*p^^^

She gave me a look that will go with me to my grave. Adoration and gratitude shone from her soul lit ed as they were in tears. «I am not afradd today," she said, -for Mannella and Jose are drinking so hard, sod they expect some friends, and they will all dance and eat and drink and forget all about me until they get sober tgjun." ••But they are watching yoof "Mannella never remembeia anything when she Is drinking.- f| "Very well, then. If you do not

Hke

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to shut yourself up in the dark while I am gone put Knight on the watch, and watch yourself. You can see far down the gorge, and there is no other way for them to come. Keep strict watch, Carol, and if you see any one bolt the door and window. Keep your dog with you and you will be safe until I can rerarn—so go«d-by f^r a little while I shall not be gone a moment longer than I can help. You are used to being alone, Carol?" "Oh, yes Knight and I are not afraid in your house," she said, "and we have tho other Carol, my twin, to keep us company."

She tried to smile through her tears, ind 1 turned and left her. Iran half the way to Helena. I was a good pedestrian in those days, aud my feet seemed winged, like those of Mercury-

V- 'v"

1

When I reached town and hurriedly told my story there was intense excitement "Deserve to be hanged yourself," growled some one whom they called "X" "If you knew that this Cleaves was in the vicinity why, in God's name, were we not told?" "I know nothing of him," said I, "or his whereabouts. I am here to get protection for the child." "And you shall have it," said twenty voices, and as many men were examining revolvers and tightening paddle girths, a fierce, determined band—the famous Vigilantes of Montana. 1 provided myself with a horse and we rode rapidly away. Pew words were spoken—none was needed. Every man in that company knew his duty.

We never slackened our pace until we reached my cabin. There the first object we saw was the mangled body of the faithful dog, showing that he had died in fierce conflict How-I got down from my horse I never knew. I only know that I had my dead darling in my arms—my dead darling with a Mexican dagger in her hearts—and was crying to God for vengeance. "Vengeance is ours!" said a deep voice. "Forward, men! Vigilantes of Montana, do your duty!"

In less than two hours, as I was told afterward,5 the Mexican gang were swinging, with blackened faces, from the limb of a blasted pine.

Look from the window, Jim. You see that marble cross? It marks her grave, and her faiihful Knight sleeps at her feet and some day I shall lie down beside her—my pure, unsullied bride in death. Call it German mysticism, or what you will, but this place to mo is filled with her presence and I can never remain away from it That face, the face of the picture, seems to float in the light clouds about the mountain's crest, and the «ilvery mists which rise from the valley cast a divine radiance around it, making all other women seem earthly and oommor.place. I have dedicated my life and my work to her memory, and wait for death as my wedding day.

That is the story of ths picture, Jim. What, old man! crying? So you newspaper fellows have hearts, after all. Let's turn in. The night is devilish cold, although you may not realize it. But under hulf a dozen California blankets and a buffalo robe you will sleep like a toff.

May you write it out in full? Yes they "have the picture—let them ha\e the story to sanctify it.

THE END.

Shirley Dure.

Shirley Dare, a nom do plume well known and beloved among women readers, conceals the identity of one of tho most gifted woman journalists of the day. She Is sensitive, reticent and intangiblo in personality, in person fair, with hazel eyes and red gold hair. The gentle melancholy and tenderness of her nature may be due to tho sad story of her husband's loss of reason, which took place early in their married life.—New York Letter.,

[Queen Elizabeth's Jewola. Queen Elizabeth was only better off than Helen of Troy and Queen Hnsliop, bride of Thothees I in that she had jewels cut into faucets, on diamonds, rubies and sapphires, and more brilliant aud resplendent than those of Lollia Paullinia, because the jewelers had learned to cut them. A gold cloak clasp of Queen Elizabeth had

six

sapphires, sixty pearls, eighteen rubies and four emeralds.—Jenness-Miller Magazine.

Isiiift'

A Girl.

Readers of John Ruskin's works will probably not recognize his master band iu the following comment ou the lines:

No fountain from a rocky cave E'er tripped with foot so froe Sho seemed as happy aa a wave

That daocca on the sea.

"A girl is always like that when everything is right with her." Both Saint and Sinner. It troubles tho sinner it troubles the saint, It's a troublesome, trying and nasty coxnDon't^thlnk it incurable I tell you it ain't.

Excuse the grammar it's the truth I'm after, whether grammatically or ungrammatically told. The truth i*, that catarrh can be cured. The proprietors or Dr. Sage's Catarrh Remedy offer $500 for an incurable case of Catarrh in the Head.

THE SYMPTOMS OF CATARRH.—Headache obstruction of cose, discbarges falling into the* throat, sometimes proluse, watery and acrid, it others, th'ck, tenacious, mucous, ptsrulent, bloody, putrid and offensive eyes weak, ringing in the ears, deafness offensive breath, smell and taste Impaired, and general debility. Only a few of these symptoms likely to be present at once. Dr. Sages Remedy cures the worst cases. Only o0 cent*. 8old by ruggists, everywhere

B. V. M*r»hall, Attorney, ... oe: Boom 11 Beach Block.

yOTICB TO NOX-REBIDENT.

State of Indiana, Vigo.County^m. Before A. B. Fwtoentbal, 3. FW Harrison Stevens and William S. H.W1J-

Where**, It appeam by the return of the eonstable to the summons herein y1**1 the defendant was not found In his bailiwick, and it also appearing by the affldavltof plain tiff ttml the defendant towffg tion »*reK»ize1 under the laws oftheStafeo tion iMfaaiwKl under the laws Jfortb Carolina.

Safd foreign corporation Is therefore hereby notified of the pendency of waidaetton against ber and that tbe Sisne will be beam before me at toy office»» TweHaute. In saWCoon ty and State, on Wednesday, Inly S5th, HOI "and aad seaLlbl* 22nd day of

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Successors to CILft, Williams A Co. J. H. W2M4AXB, President. Cm*t,Sec*y and Treat.

MAXVTAOTVWn* OT

Sash, Doors, Blinds, etc.

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LUMBER, LATE\ 8HINOLE8 &LA88, PAINTS, OILS AND BUILDERS' HARDWARE.

Mulberry street, corner 9th. fV1

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