The Lancaster Herald. (Lancaster, Tex.), Vol. 29, No. 50, Ed. 1 Friday, January 7, 1916 Page: 3 of 8
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' :CHAPTER XXIV—Continued.
—12—
The school buildings slept in silent
shadows, except that from the open
door of the room where heir piano
stood there came a soft flooding of
lamplight—a single dash of orange
te the nocturne of silver and gray.
He1 went up very quietly, pausing to
drink of the fragrance of the honey-
suckle, and there drifted out to him,
as he paused, the music of the piano
and the better music of her voice.
She was singing a love song.
\ Though he had sent no word of his
coming, she was once niore in eve-
ning dress, all black save for a crim-
son flower at hef breast and one in
her hair. But this time the sight of
her in a costume so' foreign to the
hiils did not distress him; it was a
■ night that called for winders.
She rose as the man's footstep
sounded on the floor, and then, at
memory of their last meeting, the
color mounted to her cheeks and he
took her again In 1118 arms.
She raised her hands to his shoul-
ders and tried to push him away, but
he held her firmly, and while She
sought to tell him that they must find
their way back to the colorless level
of friendship, he could feel the wild
flutter of her heart.
“Listen,** she protested. "You must
r listen.”
But Bad Anse Havey laughed.
f. .-“Elver since the first time I saw
ye,” he declared, "I’ve been listenin’.
It has been a duel always between
you and me. But the duel’s over now,
an* this time t win.”
She looked up and her pupils began
to widen with that intense gaze which
is the drawing aside of the curtains
from a woman’s soul, and as though
die realized that she could not trust
herself to his eyes, she turned her
face away. Only in its profile could
he read the struggle between mind
and heart, and what he read filled
him with elation.
"Anse," she said in a very low
voice, “give me a truce For one hour
let me think; it involves both our
lives for always; let me at least have
the chance to be sane Give me an
i
SEW, "The man stepped back and re-
toaawt her,, and she turned and led
m
the way out to the porch, where she
sank down in the hammock with her
face buried in both hands. When at
length she looked up she was smiling
Either wanly.
‘It can't be, dear," she said. But
while she argued with words and os-
tensible reasons, the night was argu-
ing, too—arguing for him with all its
r sense-steeping fragrance and alluring
cadences and appeals to sleeping fires
in their hearts!1 ■
• And while she talked he made no
response, but sat there silently atten-
tive At last he looked at his watch
and put it back in his pocket He
rose and said quietly, but with a tone
Of perfect finality:
"Your truce is o
1
over/
•:>
R,
.
JS&sp
h*: ■-
%
1.
Wt
m
‘i*
s
“But don’t you see? You haven’t
answered one of my arguments.”
Anse Havey laughed once more.
* "I didn't come to argue,” he said;
"I came to act" He drew from his
pocket the license and the ring.
“Brother Anse Talbot is waitin’ over
at my bouse to marry us. Will you
to over there or shall I go back an’
fotch him here?"
She took an involuntary step to-
ward him with lifted arms, and then,
with a strong effort as if struggling
against a spell, she drew back again,
and her voice came very low and
broken.
"I can’t—I can’t!” she pleaded.
"But I wish to God I could.”
Then Anse Havey began to speak.
"Ye’ve talked, an* I’ve listened to
ye. Ye’ve ^ taken my life away from
me an’ mabe it a little scrap of your
own life—ye’ve let us both come to
needin’ each other more than food an’
drink an’ breath. For me there’s no
life without ye. In all the earth there’s
just you—you—you! For every true
woman in the world a day comes when
there’s lust one man, an’ for every
man there’s just one woman. When
that day comes nothin’ else counts.
That’s why all them reasons of yours
don’t mean anything."
His voice had the ring of triumph
as he added: “You’re goin’ to marry
me tonight. £ome!"
He raised both arms and held them
out, and thotrgh for a moment she
hung back, he^Ayes were still irresist-
ibly held by"hiB and the magnetism
that dwelled in them. With a gasp-
ing exclamation that was half surren-
der and half echo pf his own triumph
she swept into uis embrace.
As she locked her fingers caressing-
ly behind his dark head she wished
for words fine and splendid beyond the
ordinary to tell him of her love. But
no phrases of eloquence came.
Then she felt his arms grow ab-»’pu
ly rigid and he was pressing her from
him with a gentle Insistence, while his
face turned to peer into the moonlight
with the tensity of one who is listen-
ing not only with his ears, but with
every nerve ef his being.
Slowly be drew back, still tense
and alert, apd from his eyes the ten-
der glow died until they narrowed r nd
l-
hardened and the Jaw angle stiffened
and' the lips drew themselves into
their old line of warlike sternness.
She looked again into the face of the
mountaineer, the feudist, of the vild
creature turning to stand at bay.
For a moment they remained mo-
tionless, and her fingers rested on
his .arms and felt the strain on his
tautened biceps. ,
“God!” he muttered almost in-
audibly.
“What Is it?” she whispered, but
he replied only with a warning shake
of the head.
Once more he stood listening, then
gently turned her so that hie body
was between her and the outside
world. He thrust her back into the
open door and followed her inside.
“What is it, Anse? What did you
hear out there?” Her face had gone
pallid and she clung to bis arms with
a grip that Indicated no intention of
release.
“Nothin’ much. Just the crackin’ of
a twig or two; just some steps in the
bush that was too, cautious to sound
honest; little noises that wouldn’t
mean much if I didn’t know what they
do mean. They weren't friendly
sounds. They’re after me.”
“Who? What do you mean?”
Her voice came in a low panic of
whispering, and even as she spoke the
man was listening with his head bent
toward the closed door.
He laughed mirthlessly under his
breath.
“I don’t know who they’ve picked
out to get me. It don’t matter much,
does-U? But I know they've picked
tonight. I've been lookin’ for It, but
it seems they might have let me have
tonight—” His lips smiled, and for
an Instant his eyes softened again .o
tenderness. “This wafl my night—
our night.”
Suddenly he wheeled and caught
her fiercely in his arms holding her
very close, and now her heart was
beating more wildly than before—beat-
ing with a sudden and sickening ter-
ror.
He bent low and covered her tem-
ples and chqeks and lips and eyes
with kisses. . ’
“God knowd, when I came here to-
night,” he declared, talking fast and
passionately, “I didn’t aim to ever go
away again without ye. Now I’ve got
to go, but if I come through, an* there’s
a breath or a drop of blood left in
tne, I’ll be back. ■ I’m a cornin’ Back,
dearest, If I live.”.
Her answer was a low moan.
He released tier at last and went
over to the gun-rack.
Standing before her shrine of guns,
in her temple of disarmament, tie
said slpwly: “Dearest, I was about
the last man to leavo my rifle here,
an’ I reckon I’ve got to be the first
to take It out again. I’m sorry. Will
you give it to me tr must I take it
without permission?”
She came slowly over, conscious
that her knees were trembling, and
that ice-water seemed to have taken
the place of hot blood in her veins.
“If you need it,” she faltered, “take
it, dear—nothing else matters— Which
cne shall I give you?”
“My own!” His voice was for the
Instant imperious. It was almost as
If someone had asked Ulysses what
bow he would draw In battle. “I
reckon my own gun’s good enough for
me. It has been tin today.”
She withdrew the rifle from the
rack herself, and he took it from her
trembling hands, but when he had
accepted it she threw her arms about
him again and clung to him wildly,
her eyes wide with silent suffering
and dread.
The crushing grasp of his arms hurt
her and she felt a wild joy in the
pain. Then she resolutely whispered:
“Go, dearest, go! Time is precious
now. God keep you!”
"Juanita,” he said slowly, ”1 have
refused to talk to you in good speech.
I have clung to the rough phrases and
the rough manners of the hills, but
I want you to know always, most
dear one, that I have loved you not
only fiercely, but gently too. No ten-
derer worship lives in your own world.
If 1 don’t come back, think of that.
God knows I love you.”
“Don't, Anse!” she cried with a
smothered sob. “Don’t talk like a soft-
muscled lowlander! Talk to me in
your own speech. It rings of strength,
and God knows”—her voice broke, and
she added with fierce tenderness, ”God
knows, dear, eagle-heart, you need all
the strength of wing and talon to-
night.”
Then she opened the back door very
cautiously on the shadows that crept
into inky blackness, and saw him slip
away and melt instantly into the
murk.
mM I; ill
CHAPTER XXV.
Out there the moon was setting.
Soon, thank God, It would be dark
everywhere. The man she loved
needed all the chance that the thick-
ening gloom could give him. It was
terribly quiet now, except for an oc-
casional whippoorwill call and the qui-
etness seemed to lie upon her with
the oppression of something unspeak-
ably terrifying. The breath of hill-
side and sky was bated.
At last there came to her ears the
sound of heavy feet crashing through
the brush, but be had been gone ten
minutes then. Perhaps they had just
awakened to his escape and were cast-
ing aside, stealth for the fury of open
pursuit. She even thought she heard
an oath once, and then it was all quiet
again; quiet fdr a while, and at the
end of the silence, like the punctua-
tion of an exclanlation-mark, ca*ne the
far-away snap, pf a rifle.
She had dropped to a chair and
sat there tensely, leaning forward, her
lips parted and her ears straining.
Had she heard one shot and its echo,
or had there been several? Her imag-
ination and fears were playing her
tricks now, and she could hardly be
certain of her senses.
The passage of time was a thing of
which she had lost count. Each mo-
ment was a century.
Then, with a violent start, she sat
up. Now she knew she heard a sound
—there could be no doubt this time.
It came from out beyond the front
door, and she bent forward, listen-
ing.
It was a strange sort of sound which
she could not make out, hut in a sub-
tle way it was more terrifying than
the clatter of rifles. It was as if some
heavy, soft thing were being dragged
up the steps and rolling back.
She rose and took a step toward
the door, but halted in doubt. The
sound died and then can^e again, al-
ways with halting intervals of silence
between, as though whoever were
dragging the burden had to pause* on
each step to rest. Then there was a
scraping as of boot-leather on the
boards and a labored breath outside—
a breath thkt seemed to be agonized.
She bent forward with one hand
outstretched toward the latch, and
heard a faint rapping. It whs seem-
ingly the rap of vary feeble fingers,
but that might all be part of a ruse.
Was it friend or enemy out there, just
beyond . the thickness of the heavy
panels? At all events, she must see.
She braced herself and threw the
door open. A figure which had been
leaning against it lurched forward,
stumbled over the threshold and fell
in a heap, half in and half out. It
was the figure of Anse Havey.
How far he had hitched himself
along, foot by foot, like a mortally
wounded animal crawling home,to die,
she. could not tell, but for one horri-
fied instant she stood gazing down on
him in stupefaction.
He had gone out a splendid vital
creature of resilient strength and pow-
er. He hr I come back the torn and
bleeding wreck of a man, literally
shot to pieces, as a quail is shattered
when it rises close to a quick-shooting
gun.
In the next moment she was stoop-
ing with her arms around his body,
striving to lift his weight and bring
him in. She was strong beyond all
seemlngof her slenderness, hut the
man was^neavy, and as she raised his
head and shoulders a sound of bitten-
off and stifled agony escaped his white
lips, and she knew that her efforts
were torturing him.
It was an almost lifeless tongue
that whispered, “I was skeered—that
I—wouldn’t get here.”
Then as she staggered under his
inert bulk he tried to speak again.
“Jest help—drag me.” r
The few yards into the hall made a
long and terrible Journey, and how
she ever got him in, half hanging to
her, half crawling, stopping at every
step, she never knew. Still It was
done at last, and she was kneeling on
the flqpr with his head on her breast.
No wonder they had left him for
dead and gone away content. He
looked up and a faint smile came to
his almost unrecognizable face. The/
blood which had already dried and
caked with the dust through which he
had crawled was being fed by a fresh-
er outpouring, and, as she held him
close to her, her own bosom and arms
were red too, as red as the flower
pinned in her hair.
She must stanch his wounds and
pour whisky down his throat before
the flickering wisp of life-flame burned
out W
“Walt, dearest,” she said in a bro-
ken voice. * “I must get things you
need.”
“It ain’t”—he paused a moment for
the breath which came very hard-—
"scarcely—worth while—I’m done.”
But she flew to the cupboard where
there was brandy. She tore linen
from her petticoat and brought water
from the drinking bucket that stood
witn its gourd dipper on the porch.
But when she pressed the flask to
his lips he closed them and shook his
head a little.
“1 ain’t never touched a drop in my
life,” he said, ”hn’ I reckon—I might’s
well—finish out—’twon’t be long. It’s
too late to begin now.”
For a while he lay gasping, then
spoke again, weakly:
“Just kiss me—dearest—thet’s what
1 como for.”
After a paqse he spoke again.
“There's one thing—I’ve got to ask
ye: Why did ye swear—ye didn’t care
for me—In court?”
Her head came up and she an-
swered steadily:
“Dearest, I'd never asked myself
that question until the lawyer asked,
it» I didn't know the answer myself,
but if I did love you, 1 meant to tell
you first; it wal our business, not his.
I was there to help you, and it
wouldn't have helped you to tell them
that I was fighting for my own heart
And, besides, l didn’t know then,
quite.”
She went on bathing and stanching
his wounds as best she could, but a
spirit of despair settled on her. There
were so many of them, and they were
so deep and ragged!
“I didn't—come for help,” he told
her, and through the grime and blood
flashed a ghost of his rare and boyish
smile. “I'm past mendin’ now. 1
came because—I’m dyin’—an’ I wanted
to die in your arms!”
“You shan't die,” she breathed
fiercely between her teeth. “My arms
shall always be around you.”
But he shook his head and his fig-
ure sagged a little against her knees.
“I know—when I’m done,” he said
slowly. “It’s all right now—I’ve done
got here.' That’s enough—I loves ye.”
For a time she wondered whether
he had lost consciousness, and she
laid him down slowly and brought
cushions with which to soften his po-
sition. It was almost daybreak now.
She sat there beside him, and as her
heart beat close to him he seemed to
draw from it some of its abundant vi-
tality, for he revived a little, and
though his eyes were closed and she
had to bend down to catch his words,
his voice grew somewhat stronger.
”1 ain’t never felt lonesome—before.
But out there—dyin’ by myself—the
last of my family—I had to come.
Dyin’ ain’t like livin’—I couldn’t die
without ye.”
“You aren’t dying,” she argued des-
perately. “You sha’n’t die.”
“It ain’t that—” His breath came
with great difficulty. “They’ll come
back here. They’ll get me yet—an’ I’d
ruther die first.”
She laid his head very gently on the
pillows and rose to her feet. In the
instant she stood transfigured. Deep
in her violet eyes blqzed such a blue
fire as that which burns at the hot-
test heart of a flame. Around her lips
came the grim set of fight and blood-
lust.
The crushed flower on her bosom
rose and fell under a violent tempest
of passion. The skirt of her evening
gown had been torn in her effort to
carry him. Somehow one silk stock-
ing was snagged above her slipper
His blood reddened her white arms
and bosom. She drew a deep breath
and clenched her hands. The dis-
ciple of peace was gone, and there
stood there in its stead the hot-
breathed' incarnation of some valkyr
hovering over the din of battle and
urging on the fight.
Yet her voice was colder and stead-
ier than he had ever heard it. She
pointed to the door.
"Get you! ” she exclaimed scorn-
folly. “No'man but a Havey crosses
that threshold while 1 live. I’m a Ha-
vey now and we live or die togethy.
Get you!” Her voice broke with a
wild laugh. "Let them come!”
No bitterly bred daughter of the
hills was ever so completely the
mountain woman as this transformed
and reborn girl of the cultured East.
She moved about the place with a
steady, indomitable energy. With
strength borrowed of the need,' she
upset the great oaken table and bar-
ricaded the door, laughing as she
heard the clatter of pedagogic vol-
umes on the floor. Fbx’s “Book of
Martyrs” fell at her feet, and she
kicked it viciously to one side.
She went and stood before her rack
of guns, and her lips curled. as she
caught up a heavy-callbered repeater
with all the fierce desire of a drunkard
for his drink. She stood there loading
rifles and setting them in an orderly
line against the wall. She devastated
her altar of peace with the untamed
joy of a barbarian sacking a temple.
Then she turned and saw in the
man’s eyes a wild glow of, admiration
that burned above his fever, and She
said to him once more, "Now let ’em
come.”
He shook his head, but strangely
enough her love and awakened feroc-
ity had strengthened and quickened
him like brandy, and he pleaded:
"Drag me over where I can get just
one shot.”
Then Juanita blew out the lamp and
stood silent in the hush that comes
before dawn. She did not have to
wait long, for soon she heard hoof-
beats in the road, and they stopped
just at the turn.
"Hello, stranger!" she shouted, and
it took all her strength to command
her voice. “Halt where you are.”
There was an instant’B silence In
the first misty gray that was bringing
the veiled sunrise.
A stifled murmur of voices came
from the road, and she caught the
words, “He’s in thar all right.” A
moment later someone called out sul-
lenly from the shadows:
“We gives ye three minutes ter
leave thet house. We’re a-comin’ in,
an’ we’d rather not ter harm ye. Git
out quick.”
"Ye can’t save me, dearest. It’s
too late. For God’s sake, go out,”
pleaded Anse Havey tensely.
Her answer was to cry out into the
dawn in a voice that could not be mis-
understood, “Anse Havey’s in here.
Come and get him,” and for added em-
phasis she crouched behind the over-
turned table and fired a random shot
out toward the voice that had offered
her amnesty.
From the earlier happenings of the
evening the men out there knew that
the school property was empty save
for the man and the girl, and they
knew that the man was terribly wound-
ed.
Their peering eyes, in the dim gray, j
in shadowy, almost impalpable shapes,
and as the first^jlropped inside and
started on at a crouching trot she
aimed quickly but steadily and fired.
A little cry of primitive and savage
joy sprang from her lips as she saw
the man plunge forward In the half
light and lie there rolling on the
ground.
But at that warning the others
leaped down and came ot^ at a run.
The tempo quickened and became con-
fusing. They were firing as they ran
and their answering bullets pelted
against her barrier and .over her head
on the walls. She heard window panes
shivering and glass falling, and yet
her'elation grew—two more advancing
figures had - crumpled into inert
masses. Unless there were re-enforce-
ments she would stem their oncoming
tide. Even a Aiountain marksman can-
not tai%et his shots well while he is
running and under fire. It takes
championship sprinting to do fifty
yards in five seconds—on the smooth-
ness of a cinder path.
Up-hill in a constant spit of fire
and lead it requires a little longer.
There were only two left now, and
one of them suddenly veered - and
made for the -cover of a hickory trunk
off to one side—-he was in full flight-
But the other come on, throwing the
rifle away and shifting his heavy mag-
azine pistol to his right hand.
It was easy now, thought the girl—
she could t!tke her time and be very
sure.
Yet she shot and missed, and the
man came on with the confidence of
one who wears a talisman and fears
no harm. Now he was almost at the
steps and his pistol was harking vi-
ciously—then - suddenly something in
the mechanism of Juanita’s rifle
jammed and it lay useless and dead
in her hands. She struggled with it,
frantically jerking the lever, but be-
fore she had * conquered its balking
obstinacy she saw the oncoming figure
leap up the steps at one stride and
thrust his weapon forward over the
was he
•hook1
when he saw what It
his head.
“I’m afraid,” he told her gravely.
“I’m afraid hit’s too late. He kaln’t
hardly live.”
“Get Brother Anse,” she insisted
wildly. “Get him quick. I’m going to
be his wife.” Her voice broke into a
deep sob as she added: “If I can’t be
anything else, I’m going to be the
Widow Havey.”
And when Brother Anse came ho
found Anse still alive, smiling faintly
up into the face of the woman who
sat with his head in her lap.
“I’m sorry,” said the missionary
simply, “thet ye hain*t got a preacher
thet-kin marry ye with due ceremo-
nies, but I reckon I hain’t dever been
gladder ter do nothin’ in my life—ef
only he kin git well.”
“Brother Anse,” Juanita Havey told
him, as she put a hand on each rough
shoulder, “I had rather it should bo
you than the archbishop of Canter*
bury.”
Pi
SJl
CHAPTER XXXVI.
People in the mountains still talk
of how, while' Anse Havey lay on a
white cot in the little hospital, young
Milt McBriar set out toward Peril. He
stopped for a moment at the house of
Bad Anse Havey, and^ within twenty
minutes the hills were being raked.
Young Milt killed a horse getting to
Jeb McNash’s cabin <5n Tribulation
and Jeb killed another getting to
Peril. Then from Lexington came two
surgeons as fast as I* Special train
could bring them, and, thanks to a
dogged life spark, they found Anso
Havey still lingering on the margin.
When they removed him from tho
operating table back to his cot and
he opened, his eyes to consciousness,
the sun was coming through the shad-
m
is
ed window, but even before he
that, he saw her face bending
him and felt cool fingers on his
head.
As his eyes opened her smile j
table. She even caught the glitter of-^ed hlm, and she brushed his lips
his teeth as a snarling smile parted "
his lips.
Then a rifle spoke behind her—a
rifle in the hands of the man who had
dragged himself to the firing line, and
with his foot pn the threshold Jim
Fletcher reeled backward and rolled
lumberingly down the steps to the
ground.
“You got him!” she screamed. “You
got him, Anse!”
It had been perhaps five minutes
since she had called out to the men
in the road, but It seemed to her that
she had sustained a long siege. She
saw the man who had fled crossing
the fence and disappearing. Then
very slowly she rose and turned to
the room again.
Anse Havey was lying on his face
and the gun with which he had killed
Jim Fletcher lay by his side, but his
posture was so rigid and his limbs
so -motionless that the girl caught at
her breast and reeled backward.. She
r;V~t
INI
her own. Then, in a tone of
mand, she said: “You mustn’t talk.
The doctors say you may get well if
you obey orders and fight hard. It’s
partly up to you, Anse.”
Once more there hovered around
the man’s lips that occasional boyish
smile.
' “I reckon,’
have the hell of a time killin’ me
' tone of|§
he said slowly,
Then he added in a
there’s
m
jers rested caressingly on
l/ that fell over his forehc
could just make out an empty door.
Back of it was one woman, and they
were five men. Ordinarily they would
have moved slowly, coming up from
several sides, bufudw every minute
was worth an hour at another time.
It behooved them, when full daylight
came, to be well away from sure ven-
geance. The obvious demand of the
exigency wal to rush the place.
Killing women was, even to them,
distasteful, but they had offered her
immunity, and .she had declined.
At a whispered word they started
forward.
She saw figures climbing the fence
now!
more grimness: . “Besides,
score or two to settle.”
The girl shook her head and smiled.
Her finge;
dark hai:
“No, Anse,” she told him. “I
most of them mysdlf.”
**•*•••
Even the detachment of the
squad that had played its part in
woods and started for Peril
the five turned back did Hot
their destination, but scattered
the hillsides. When morning
the news of their attempt they
to make their escape across the
tains to Virginia. - „ - \ —
But there was a grim and Tel
system about the movement
posses that set out to comb the
her. Daring to approach no house
food, the fugitives united and took
their stand in a stanch log
which had been deserted, and
there, grimly declining to surrender.
Of course the railroad came up Trib-
ulation and crossed through*the
in the mountains at the gap, but
railroad came on terms quitk
from those which Mr. Trevor
ilk had planned., .
One day there rode away from
college a gay little procession on
way to the McBriar domain. At
head rode Young* Milt, and on a
lion behind him, as mountain
had always ridden to their
houses, sat Dawn McBriar. That
some years ago, and at the big
house there is 4 toddling, tow-h
young person now whose Christian
name is Anse Havey, though his te-
ther insists he is to be ultimately
known as “Bad Anse” McBriar.
One autumn day, when the air
as full of sparkle as champagne, and
the big sugar tree just outside the
hospital window was flaming in an ec-
stasy of color, Miss Dawn Havey
opened her eyes on the world and
* 1
- r- - v, ____________■ _
would have fallen had she not been
supported by the table. Had the fight
been lost, after all?
Slowly, and in a daze of reaction
and fright, she moved forward and
turned his body over and laid her ear
to hie heart.
It was still heating. The rifle had
only jolted his weak and pain-racked
body into unconsciousness, and as she
held his head to her breast her ayes
went about the room, where the pal-
lid light was stealing now, and by the
mantel she saw hanging the horn that
Jerry Everson had given her.
Why had she not thought of that be-
fore? she asked herself accusingly.
Why had she not sent its call for
help out across the hills long ago?
Then there came hack to her mind the
words of the mountain man when he
had brought it over and had imitated
the Havey battle^ealL
“Don't never blow thet unlessen ye
wants ter start helL When them calls
g?es out acrost the mountains every
Havey thet kin tote a gun’s got ter
git up an’ come.” *
If ever there had been a time when
every Havey should come it was this
time. She laid Anse’s head once more
on the cushions and went to the man-
tel. Then, standing in the door, she
drew a long breath.
She set the horn to her lips and
blew. Out across the melting vague-
ness of the dim world floated the three
long blasts and the three short ones.
She waited a little while and blew
again, That signal could not reach
Anse Havey’s own house, because the
ridge would send it echoing back in a
shattered wave of sound. It would be
better heard td the east, and after a
time there came back to her waiting
ears, very low and distant, yet very
clear, an answer. 1
It came from the house of Milt Mc-
Briar, and Juanita’s heart, torn and
anxious as it was, leaped, for she.
knew that for the first time in the
memory of man the Havey call to
arms had been heard and was being
answered by a chief of the McBriars,
and that as fast as horses could carry
them he and his men would bring suc-
cor. Dyes for Carpets.
An hour later, when the mountain Aniline dyes have not added to the
slopes were unveiling in miracles of reputation of the carpets of Persia,
iridescence and tender color, young lately invaded by the Turks. At one
Milt McBriar and his escort flung time the only dyes used in the PersiaA
themselves from their steanfing carpet industry came from indigo, mad-
mounts. der and vihe leaves. From these
The girl was weeping incoherently evolved many delicate shades impervt-
over an insensible figure and crooning ous to the action of sunlight. With
to it as a mother sings to quiet a aniline dyes the colors fade much
wakeful child, and on the floor at her more rapidly, fd Persia you may sea
side lay a piece of paper reddened and new rugs spread .on the floors of ba-
spotted w ith blood — a marriage i zaars. so that many feet may tread on
license. j them. By such hard wear—provMed
• Milt,” she cried out. “get Brother j the colors are fast—the gehuine artl-
Anse; get him quick!” and she waved cle improves in appearance, acquiring
found it acceptable.
Jeb McNash was riding through the
country that October seeking election
to the legislature.
He drpw his horse down by the
fence.
“Anse.” he said in his slow drawl,
“it’s a pity 8be’s a gal now, hatnt itf*
Anse shook his head. - “I reckon,”
he said, “she’s got more chance to be
like her mother. Her mother made
these hills better for being and
besides—” I
He looked captiously knout and
dropped his voice, afr-4t-speaking of a
forbidden subject, yet into it crept *
note of pride. »“Bestdes. young feller,
have you got any more notches on the
stock of your gun than she has?"
THE END.
-m
the piece of smeared paper in the
boy's face.
Kneeling with her on the floor, Milt
took the license from
an attractive gloss. A Persian carpet
of the best kind has a marvelous num<
ber of stitches, and a hearth rug of
_______________ ,, ,,__'
her hand, and pure silk may cost hundreds of dollatv
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Tufts, Minnie Wetmore. The Lancaster Herald. (Lancaster, Tex.), Vol. 29, No. 50, Ed. 1 Friday, January 7, 1916, newspaper, January 7, 1916; Lancaster, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth543002/m1/3/: accessed May 22, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Lancaster Genealogical Society.