the heart of
NIGHT WIND!
A STORY Of THE GREAT NORTH WEST
Gy VINGIE E. ROE
ILLUSTRATIONS 6y fay COST'S fcS
COPY/?/CfiT OY POOP, MEAD ACID COMPANY *
4
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—Siletz of Daily’s lumber
ejunn watchi s a stranger mishandle his
horse in climbing the ridge and directs
him to the camp.
t Ff APT ER TI—Walter Sandry Introduces
John Daily, foreman. as “the
Dillingworth Dumber Co., or most of it.”
CHAPTER III—Sandry makes acquaint
ance With the camp and the work he has
come from tin* East to superintend and
make successful.
< HARTER IV—Sandry wisely decides to
leave immediate supervision in the hands
of Daily and writes to his father that
he intends to get a handful of the wealth
in the uncut timber of the region.
CHAPTER V—Sandry gives SiWz per
mission to ride Black Bolt, his saddle
horse.
( HAPTER VI—Sandry In an emergency
finds himself no lumberman, but proves
to the foreman that he does not lack
Judgment. Siletz tells Sandry of the
Preacher.
f’HAPTER VII—Sandry discovers that
Filet z hears the sign of the Slletz tribe
of Indians and wonders what her sur
name is. In the flush of a tender moment
lie calls her “the Night Wind in the
pines” and kisses hi r.
CHAPTER VIII -Poppy Ordway. a mag
nzlne writer from New York, comes to
Daily’s to get material fo» a romance of
}>'*• lumber region. Hampden of the Yel
low Pines Co. wants Sandry to k'*ep off t
tract of stumpage he claims title to and
Sandry thir.ks he has bought as the East
CHAPTER IX- Hampden pels up a
cabin on the East Belt ami wains tres
passers off. Pandry can find no written
• valence of title to the tract. IUs men
pull down the cabin. Pandry compares
Siletz and Poppy.
CHAPTER X-Sandrv’s and Hampden’s
men fight over the disputed tract. The
Preacher stops the fight.
CHAPTER XI Pandry finds that the
deed to the East Belt has never been re
corded. He din ides to get out his con
> trai t first and fight for the stuinpagc aft
, erw ai d.
’ CHAPTER XII - Poppy scents trickery
and flirts with Hampden to gain his con*
iftdenee. She tells Sundry that Hampden
is crooked and that slie’ii get him.
I
CHAPTER XIII—Poppy goes to Salem
in search of evidence against Hampden.
Pandry and Siieiz ride to the seashore
and Siletz secs tire ocean for the first
time. Sundry's men desert him for Hamp
den. who has offered more money.
CHAPTER XTV—Sllotz goes to tier
friends the Stwashes and persuades them
to work for Sundry to save his contract.
CHAPTER XV—Poppy tells Pandry that
she lias proof of Hampden's filing bogus
entries in collusion with the commission
er She sees Siletz and Sandry talking
together and becomes tealotis.
“Boys,” said Daily tensely, “all wlio
can swim got into the water quick!
Sandry was standin’ alone at her nose.
It's a hundred to one he's done for!"
No one asked a question, the Indians
accepting with their pathetic fatalism
this disaster which would have set the
tongues of white men flying.
Silently the five who were unharmed
except for bruises slipped into the
heavily running tidewater and disap- -
peared amid the flotsam and jetsam of
the long hay which traveled always
aimlessly back and forth.
The groaning of the raft grew in vol- :
ume for a few minutes, then subsided |
as it locked and settled. Daily on the
shore began threshing the ferns, filling i
the night with his stentorian voico as 1
he called upon Sandry’s name. From
time to time he listened. Then he
lighted a torch and widened his circle,
peering into every covert of fern, be
hind every log. and even searching the
branches of the trees. He had seen
the pines bear ghastly fruit a time or>
two when a blast of giant powder had j
gone wrong.
After a long time he straightened
and his muddy face was blanched.
“Done for!” he said aloud to the
dusk of the forest, bitterly. “Down an'
done for—an’ him so damned good for
an Easterner'”
Rut even as he spoke a cry sounded
from the water far ahead- another an- !
swered, another and another, as the
Siletz drew in to each other some
where out in the dim moonwash. and
he knew they had found him.
So they had—a limp body lying bent
back across a floating log. the pearl
buttons on its breast shining and its
r
\ rj \
*V
“Go Back to Ma Daily, Child.”
hair dabbling in the water. They
pushed the lug with its burden In to
short; and big John Daily, wading out.
picked up his employer as a mother
lifts a child, carried him back up the
hp.uk and bent to listen for life In the
still breast. It was there. The timber
man ran a great hand, experienced and
gentle, over the sprawling an: s.
“Busted!” he said bitterly, "legs too!
He’s crumpled like a broken tule' 11
1 don't take is out of Hampden, I
hope I'll burn in hell!"
He gathered the scattered blankets
from ush and tree branch and laid
the Easterner upon them Then this
simple an of the 'd" country went off
bv himself into the shadows to .hink
W hat should he do?
Here was is employer this East
erner who. was going hrough the or
deal by fire to win his right to live
and fight in ti e wilt; and, ana he was
all but worsted, down and out. Hi
life was not worth copper—that coin
of which the large West takes no no
tice—and far on the shores ot the
ntber ocean was that old father ot
whom he had told Dally in ihe quiet
balks at night. It would take quick
work to gei Sandry to a doctor and
word should be sent East at once
On the other hand, if Sandry should
live and the contract had been lost his
fight would lie over. Those mort
gages of which he had spoken vaguely
would be foreclosed anil the Online
worth would become a thing of the
past the East Belt go by the board and
Hampden would be supreme m the
bills
“No, by heaven, ne'd want h.er in go
through (lead or alive, an' I'll see her
there!'" was Daily's uli itnatum as he
rose from the log in the pink flare of
sunrise, and mind he, nave known all
that Sandry would lose with that con
tract and the Hillinvwnrth his hatred
of Hampden would have been deeper
still, for Sundry was his friend.
He went back to the huddled Indians
and the silent figure on its blankets,
" Menirr«i!oo he said decisively,
“make quick a pole si'ing You an'
big Hill an' Multoowah an Jim Pine
tree will take Sandry back to camp
flo llrst to Toledo an' get Hoc Hooker
—have him do what he can there an'
go along to camp Tell him to stay
with Sandry day mi night till 1 get
! back. Hurry now.”
Without a word, the four Indians
picked out by name set about their
j appointed task. In less time than a
white man would take to hegin they
had laid clean saplings along blankets'
edges warped a short spreader at top
and bottom to hold the poles the width
of a man's shoulders apart, and the
-ling was ready.
“Now,’ said Daily grimly, “travel
like hell, hoys, hut carry him soft, for
he's broke like the ferns when a pine
falls.’ '
Tenderly they lifted the owner of ■
the Dillingworth and laid Him iii the
hollow' of the blankets.
His foreman cast one took at him as
the Indians swung away on the back
trail and turned liis face to the
jammed raft He studied the problem
from all sides. Then lie took his re- j
maining Indians, for none of them
were beyond work from tli dr shaking
up, got off the mooring chains and
snubbed the monster to lie shore
pines tore and aft. Then he calmly
prepared to wait the turn of the tide
She would loose herself.
The damage at the prow was slight.
The lift had come a moment too soon
to hurt the big raft much. Several of
the binding chains at the exti me
head of her had been broken, loosen
ing the ends of the logs which slid
downward and apart, giving her the
appearance of a ragged broom.
Snamishta, like all the coast Indi
ans, was a good waterman, lit of
fered to dive for the broken chains !
and Daily let him go. In three hours
lie had found all the ends fastened
to them hauling lines, which the others
used to bring them up, the breakage ,
was repaired, ai d Daily was ready to |
mend the broken nose as well as he
could. He needed to circle the loos
ened logs with the chains again, and
he went about it in a,simple manner.
There was no getting under the raft |
from the front because of the jam I
against the shore, even if Snamishta !
could have managed ihe tide and en- ,
dured the time under water. There
fore it must be done from the other
end.
So Daily laid the chains across the
spreading nose, attached a long tow
line to the shore •'‘nils and dropped
them into tne water. The line was 1
then led to the stern, under the moor
ing chains, around and forward to the
prow.
He then lay down for a needed rest
until the sucking green water grew
slower and slower and finally stopped
altogether.
With the first insidious movement of
the flood tide the groaning and creak
ing set up again throughout ihe giant,
and the foreman was on nis feet at
once as she began, almost impercep
tibly, to back out from the shore The
ends of the chains were nauled up,
slipped forward and fastened securely
after the logs had been tcoaxed to
gether as much as was possible with
rope and peavey and cant hook.
“By jingo!'■ said Daily, "but that
wras a blast. 11k* son-of agun must
have had a wagon loan o sticks. An
It watt a plant, all. right. Must vc had
si'mo 1) tt ries an' a trigger wire. Rut
he hail, t smart enough to figger out
such things. Twa’nt ill right slant,
or she'd a hit us amidships an opened
us up proper—an' we’d a gone to sea
in pieces.’
The hours of the flood tide were irk
some to him. waiting, wondering how
it fared with Sundry swinging tie
tween the Indians, and thinking hit
terly of Hampden, who was proving
himself a dangerous enemy.
| But he thought also ot the steamer
plowing down from Portland, which
would stand in at i’aquina, and he
knew he would be ready to turn over
the raft in spite of all.
"Be a damn hard matter to tow bv
j that head, he told nimself; ‘ guess
we can drift her out an’ turn ner tail
on.'
Then he fell to wondering ii San
drv would evei know of tlie big meek,
or if it would travel east with him to
j th old man in the wheeled chair on
Riverside drive mute evident e jt the
tenderfoot 8 first and last fight:
CHAPTER XVII.
A Hard Knock
ft was a sweet spring day, blue
arched and fitfuiaircd with a riot ol
bird songs in the pines when ihe little
l cavalcade boro Walter Sandry up tiie
vivid val.-'w
They him mi tiie slope and
into the uitici and held him while St
i'tz flew to the house tor many more
, blankets to pile high on the spring
cot. and presently they laid nim a
sadly broken thing upon it. The color
had drained from the dark ta'e of the
girl and her hands shut hard, hung
tensely in the folds of her skirt as a
silence fell with the easing of the man
upon the bed.
' Doctor—” she said hoarsely; "doc
tor--" and could get no further.
The dowor had known her for the 1
several years he had been in the coun
try and he studied her face a moment
before answering.
“(’lose call S'letz,” he said gently;
“maybe he'll live—maybe not.”
For a moment she swayed upon her
feet, flinging her bands across her
eves, while her breath came in catch
ing gasps.
"Hut God sits above the sea!" she
cried at last, tragically. "Oh. Father,
spare him, for he is an unbeliever!”
At this tense moment Poppy Ord
way. who had been watching from the
background with parted lips and kin
dling eyes, stepped forward.
“Doctor—Mrs. Daily,” she said,
this terrible thing forces me to speak
“No, by Heaven, He’d Want Her to
Go Through.’’
of something which I—and Walter
also—had not intended to make known
at present. 1 am Mr. Sandry’s prom
ised wife and as such 1 will take
charge of him. ’
All her life had this woman taken
chances, sharp chances, fraught with
swift danger and trying to nerve and
skill, but never had she done a harder
thing than to face this little group of
Westerners whose instinct matched
her art.
They turned upon her in thunder
stricken silence -the doctor, with a
clean amaze, the Indians in stoical
quiet, Ma Daily with an astonishment
that was only the forerunner of antag
onistic reaction. Hut of them all it
was the face of Siletz, fallen upon her
knees beside the cot, that shook the
heart in her, chilled her bold spirit.
It lifted itself, panting, white and
awful, its lips wh re the broken Sign
stood plainly out, fallen apart and col
orless. The dark eyes stared upon her
with an uncomprehending horror that
irritated her.
“1 know something of nursing and
we’ll do out best—”
But here Siletz sprang up to her
slim height and her voice smote the
hushed room like the snapping of a
taut wire.
“No!" she cried in anguished pro-|
test. “No! He kissed me and 1 am
his woman!’'
They faced each other across the
unconscious form of the man, these ,
two women from the ends of the earth,
and war raised its banner between
them. Unnoticed, tlie four Indians
shifted gently until they stood, a back
ground for the pallid girl in the rough
western garb. Miss Old way smiled,
though a hard brilliance cuune into her
face.
"Perhaps,” she said, "lie has kissed
many. It is the way of the outside
world.”
She turned to the physician.
"When do you think he will recover
consciousness?"
Her cool voice terminated the scene.
3he was mistress of the liot:r.
With both hands extended before
her Silotz went blindly out into the
sunlight. She stood a moment, her
I breath coming and going in great
I gasps, like that of a doe mortally
wounded, and in her eyes was no light
Like the wounded doe. she fled to
! the hills lor sanctuary. Coosnah
swung into his pace behind her; and
! presently, after an hour's climb, they
reached the great fir stump on the
crest of the ridge. Here the girl flung
herself on her kiioes, gripping her
braids in savage fingers, and for a wild
space something within her that she
had never known in all her life arose
and shook her. She had gone back a
thousand years. Blind rage was upon
her—she wanted to light as the pre
historic female fought n.. her mate.
So sho knelt and rocked in the lust
of fury while the little clouds sailed
in an azure sky and the hill streams
trickled to the valleys, and suddenly
a bird in a high pine top dropped a
string of notes, clear, silvery, spar
kling. tor all the world like the dia
mond notes of a flute and instantly she
cowered under them covering her eyes
in instinctive guilt.
"Th» Preacher!" she gasped aloud,
"oh. father! What have I done! I
have shut my ears to the winds of
Cod!"
w h>>n, an hour later she came up
! on the cook-shack porch and stood
leaning in the doorway, spent with
her wild passion, Ma Daily grimly ted
tne lire in the range, setting about
the supper tor the men left at camp 1
"Mother,’ said Siletz dully, "sat!
Ued.
“Yes—I know it. But k bat you goln’
to do, child ? Vou love him au' you re
right—so would I ef 1 was thirty year
younger, for he s a man, East or no
East.”
The general turned to her work and
u sigh heaved her ample breast.
"It s ail m the day's work,” she
thought, an' you had to take your
chanct, Johnny—but you're strong, my
son, you re a strong uiuu—liae yer
daddy.”
So began a strange time in camp, j
Daily came home in three days, eager
and grim-lipped, and in the pocket of
his flannel shirt he carried the big
check for which Sandry had worked
and struggled. He had delivered the
raft in safety, along with the scaler's
report receiving the payment which :
had been ready In the hands of a |
U»iii gray man who leaned from the I
steamer's rail to exchange a few curt j
words.
Ma Daily cornered him in the kitch
en late in the night as he finished
his careful rounds of the camp
■'Son.'' she said gently, "tliey's a
hard knock cornin' to you an' 1 want
to give you warnin’, though 1 know
you'll take it standin', Johnny, as yer
daddy took all o' his, an’ I’ve seen
him take some corkers.
“I know wliat you've always thought
o’ S letz. son, sence she was a teensy
chap—I’ve watched her quiet ways
open yer heart an' seen her walk in.
an' I've hoped myself some day it'd
all work out, fer she's always turned '
to you in trouble. It's instinct. But !
son—son, haven't you seen nothin' j
sence Sandry come among us? Hain't I
ye read tlie signs?” The foreman had
stopped at the sink and lifted a tin !
dipper of water for a drink. At the j
last words he put the vessel slowly
down untouched and turned an amazed :
face toward the old lady. His blue |
eyes were wide, and the mother glo 1
ried like a girl in the good man- j
strength of him -the broad shoulders. !
the muscled arms, bare to the elbow,
the shapely back and the straight hips
of the hill-climber.
"What you talkin of. ma?" he asked.
“Jest tliis. S letz laid out her heart
fer all to see when they brought Sandry
home an' that—that Jezebel woman
shamed her before us ail. She said,
on the heels o’ tIt' child's cry of love,
that she was Sandry s promised wife, j
I think she lied—but S’letz is breaUin’ j
her heart fer the Easterner.”
Here, without another word, Ma
Daily opened a door behind her and
creaked through, closing it softly.
Of such inherent tact was she she
did not wish even his mother to see
big John Dally take his hard knock,
even though l.e "took it standin’,” with
only a tremor of the hand that held
the dipper.
When lie met Siletz in tile morning
he looked at her with eyes a little
more haggard—there was a deeper
line at the corners of his mouth.
The girl boie traces of the first an
guish she had ever known in the pal
lor of her face, the dull look of smol
dering flame under the dare of help
lessness.
There was no one in tli => eating room
besides t emsolves. Collins was out
in the hills with the crew, for at the
first sight of Sundry still alive. Daily
had given orders to go on with the
work and Sfletz had stopped between
tlie ‘allies at supper time.
"Will the Siletz stay?" she had
asked simply and it had taken no more
than that. The c-amp went ahead in
definitely.
Now Daily stopped her with a great
hand on her shoulder and looked him
grily Into her face.
“Slot*," lie said softly, "is it true?" |
She raised her eyes to his and an
sw’ered as simply. "Yes."
There was no need of many wrords
among these people of strong lives,
of straightforward principles.
The big man straightened up a bit
and stmt his lips hard, as if he hit
upon pain, looked after the vanishing
figments of all his dreams that had
peopled the hills if the future. His
mother had seen that look in the eyes
of John Daily the first- who had
"took his hard knocks standin' " that
look of patient strength. For it she
had fo’lQM’ed UJru into the hard life
of a lumber camp and never regret
| ted it.
Now it spent itself on the rising
hill, visible through the open door
across Sdetz’ dark hiad, and John
Daily the Second was ready to face
his loss.
“Siietz," he said gently, “always re
member that I'm the best friend you
1 got on earth—I'll be waitin' all my
| life to help you ef you ever need
me.” And he smoothed his hard
hands easily down her arms. lingering
a moment with her hands folded in
Ms palms. Then he turned away to
the day s work. There was a small un
dertone of softness in his voice at the
last words that was never to leave
it again.
CHAPTER XVIII.
"Say ‘Sandry’!”
Palnly Poppy Ordway took charge
of the stricken man in . the pine of
fice. All of the day and as much of
the night as her strength would per
mit she was beside him. soothing his
restlessness, tending him with a
skill that showed intelligent training
Outwardly she was as quiet as the
spring days. Inwardly she panted and
suffered with the abandon of the pas
sionate nature which sees its desires
in danger. More and more she grew
to fear and hate the silent, soft-footed
girl whose {ace between its dark
braids was a mask of tragedy. With
her woman's instinct and her almost
unnatural cleverness she knew that
way lay danger. Kelfishly, in self
centered passion, this woman loved
and to gain the object of that love she
felt within her heart that she could
“The Preacher!'’ She Gasped Aloud.
wreck the universe. And its objeci
was in twofold danger—from Sandry’s
death and from Siletz.
Therefore she began to watch Siletz
with catlike glances from utfider her
lashes, and to think with all her bril
liant brain of some way to eliminate
her from the question, of some bond
stronger than her work with damp
den to bind herself into Sandry’s life,
should he recover.
As for Sundry himself, he was far
on that road which has no turning
Kor a day or two he had lain m tor
por, to rouse at last, as a high fever
set in, to delirium. He began to talk,
first in a rambling, reminiscent whis
per of his early life. He was a charm
ing, eager, high-souled boy again, and
the woman beside him saw clearly into
the clean depths of his life.
But on the second day of his de
lirium something seemed to fall upon
him from the past that drew a line of
trouble around his lips and set some
great, hard question in the hot, blue
eyes. For long intervals he lay silent,
as if the tired mind were turning and 1
returning some important thing, to
break out suddenly in excited speech.
“No!” he cried out suddenly; ”no.
by heaven! Not while I'm alive to
right it!”
And again:
"Legitimate! My God, it’s done le
gitimately!”
This was as the sun, a soft, golden, ]
bpnign sun of early spring, dropped
over the western ridge, sending long,
blue shadows across the narrow val
ley. As the shadows darkened into
twilight Ma Daily, bearing some
strengthening brew, loomed hugely in
the office door.
"I ll take watch now,” she said,
"you ben on guard a long while. Bet
ter go get some rest.”
But Poppy Ordway, who was bend
ing closely over the cot, sprang sud
denly erect. Her cheeks were (lusl)ed.
and in her face was a strange excite
ment. “No,” she said firmly, “I shall
stay the night out. He is delirious
•still and I cannot leave him."
Ma Daily, that shrewd old general
of men and meals, took keen note of
every small thing in (tie hushed room. I
set down the broth and turned away !
her whole kindly heart tilled with sus |
piciun.
Outside in the darkness Siletz stood j
a little biter and looked through lint!
open window at the figure on the j
white cot. and the watcher beside it.
Her hands were clasped tightly to j
gethor and her dark eyes were heavy -
with unshed tears.
"If he—dies ” she gasped dryly be- I
tw een her parted lips. "I'll kill her and
go with hint to hell, for he has no
God!"
But Sundry did not die For a week
he traveled on strange paths of mem
ory. calling on Until to come out of
the gloaming of a far land, standing
c-ide wutfdi Naomi send back the
out sharply, "Oh, Absalom! My son,
my son!" Again he laughed bitterly
and spoke of lost faith in men.
Throughout the week Poppy Ordway
stood such a vigil as only a woman
who loves, be she good or bad, can
stand. With a clever jealousy she kept
everything under her own capable
hands, only giving grujghig place to
Ma Daily when she could no longer
command her overtaxed strength.
One night she refused to leave San
dry at all, iirrnly dismissing Ma. who
raged inwardly but was no match for
her in the open ways of bluff. At mid
night the owner of the Dillingworth
suddenly opened his eyes, weak and
I tired, but sane. He saw. on the dim
background of faint light from a shad
ed candle, the transfigured face of
the watcher, and with a feeble smile
of utter content dropped back to ob
livion—this time the oblivion of heal
ing sleep.
With that look, that weak smile, the
woman knew that he had turned his
face toward life and would journey
back to it, and the surge and sway
of passionate joy rocked her soul in
a storm of emotion.
She stepped lightly and restlessly
about, straightening a cloth on a table,
tipping the candle shade at a better
angle, for she felt imperatively the
need of action. She picked up an
empty pitcher and in the starlit dark
ness went up the path to the cook
shack. still with that bounding, light
step of victory, and entered the porch
where the pump stood.
There, alone in the night, leaning
against a post of the porch a slim
little figure kept also a midnight vigil.
The woman looked at her and all the
danger that lay that way arose sud
denly before her, rousing her hatred
swiftly, and something ugly aud cat
like prompted her to strike.
She laughed, a little, low. musical
laugh, and spoke in a caressing tone.
“Congratulate me,” she said softly,
“the fever has left him. I’ll have him
up before the first flowers bloom in the
valleys. Dear boy—dear Walt!”
Siletz, a moment before drooping,
whirled upon her like a fury. Even
In the dusk Miss Ordway saw the hid
den fire leap up uncovered in her eyes
and heard primal danger whimper in
her voice.
"Walt!” she cried, springing toward
her and lifting a hand whose slim fin
gers threatened her throat, "say San
dry!”
Miss Ordway in her broadcloth
sprang back against the rough planks
of the c.ook-shack wall, her face gone
white in the shadows and sudden, grip
ping. choking fear in her throat. She
put up a useless hand—a trembling
hand, palm outward—and strove to
speak—once, twice.
Then, “Sandry,” she faltered like a
craven. She was whipped, scared, her
! power gone
j But the wild thing died in Siletz as
it had lived, on the turn of a moment,
and she let out a great breath and
j covered her face with her hands after
a fashion she had.
“No,” she whispered in her palms,
"he kissed me and I am his woman!
Oh. I am unworthy! What would 1
have done?" And she shuddered, as If
in fear.
She did not go near the man in the
office. Instead she rode afar on Black
Bolt. Hour upon hour she spent on
the ridges, sitting with her knees
clasped in her arms and her suffering
eyes sweeping the dropping hills. N'ot
for a moment did she doubt Sandry.
He had kissed her. That was suffi
cient. She was his woman. With the
voicing of the fact that night In Ko
lawmie’s house it had come to be a
part of her daily thoughts. Only with
it there had come a mighty yearniug
for perfection. What would Sandry
have her do or be? That would sho
do and be. To Black Bolt and Coos
nah she took her trouble, faithful lov
ers who nudged her breast with a soft
nose, licked her hand and watched her
with wistful eyes.
So the camp went forward. John
and bis silent crew cut steadily into
the timber at the north and sent the
logs down to the backwater. Here he
kept a guard, for although there was
nothing of importance that Hampden
could do since he had played for the
Dillingworth contract and failed, still
he could steal the logs which lay alt
too close to the mill at the mouth of
the slough—and John Daily was strung
to a higher pitch than he had ever
been in all his lifelong timber war
with the Yellow Pines.
As soon as Sandry was able to bear
it.. Daily told him of the safe delivery
of the raft, of his trip home hi the
Indians’ sling, of his subsequent de
lirium. and at last showed him tlvt'
big check. At sight of the pajsw\
sweated and creased from pocket-wear.,
the sick man’s face flushed and hi*
eyes sparkled with blue flame.
"We won, John,” he said, "we all
won—you, 1, Miss Ordway and—%
S’letz."
There was a little pause before thus
Inst word and then he went on. ,
“1 want to shake hands with ns all
when I m able. We re a winniog
bunch.”
As soon as Daily had gone Toppr
Ordway leaned so elose that the subtle,
perfume of her garments intoxicated*
him strangely, and said exultantly
"And now for Hampden. Walter--.,
I’m ready to go after him right.”
Sandry looked up at her from hts
pillow and then out along the spring
tinted hills, and drew his brows to
gether in thought.
Presently he spoke. <
TO BS CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.
Tell us the news for the New&