THE HEART Of
NIGHT WIN®#
A STORY OF THE GREAT NORTH WEST
Gy VINGIE E. ROE -^kJKu L
ILLUSTRATIONS 6y
|. QOPYPJCMT GY DODD. MEAD AMD COMPANY ' '
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—Siletz of Daily's lumber
eaniD watches a stranger mishandle his
horse in climbing the ridge and directs
him to the camp.
CHAPTER TI—Walter Sandry Introduces
himselt to .John Daily, foreman, as “the
Dlllingworth Dumber Co., or most of it.” j
CHAPTER III—Sundry makes acquaint- ;
ance with the camp and the work he has
come from the East to superintend and ,
make successful.
CHAPTER IV—Snndrv wisely decides to !
leave immediate supervision in the hands
of Daily and writes to his father that
lie intends to get a handful of the wealth
In the uncut timber of the region.
CHAPTER V—Sandry gives Siletz per
mission to ride Black Bolt, his saddle
horse.
I
CHAPTER 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.
CHAPTER VII—Sandry discovers that
Siletz bears the sign of the Siletz tribe
of Indians and wonders what her sur
name is. In the flush of a tender moment
he calls her “the Night Wind in the
pines” and kisses her.
CHAPTER VIII—Poppy Ordwav. a mag
azine ^ writer from New York, comes to
Daily's to get material for a romance of
tin? lumber region. Hampden of the Yel
low Pines Co. wants Sandry to keep off a
tract of stumpage he claims title to and
Sandry thii.ks he has bought as the East
Belt.
CHAPTER IX—Hampden sets up a
cabin on tlie East Belt and warns tres
passers off. Sandry can find no written
evidence of title to the tract. His men
pull down the cabin. Sandry compares
Siletz and Poppy.
CHAPTER X—Sandrv’s and Hampden’s
men tight over the disputed tract. The
Preacher stops the fight.
CHAPTER XT—Sandry finds that the
de<-d to the East Belt has never been re
corded. He decides to get out Ids con
tract first and fight for the stumpage aft
jerward.
1 CHATTER Xlt—Toppy scents trickery
and flirts with Hampden to yarn his < on
, fldence. She tells Sandry that Hanrpden
is crooked and that she'll (jet him.
| CHAPTER XTTT—Poppy gno* to Salem
In search of evidence against Hampden.
Sandry and Siletz ride to the seashore
and Siletz sees tne ocean for the first
time. Sandry’s men desert him for Hamp
den, who has offered more money.
"S'letz,'’ said Sandry then, “RlarV
Holt is yours. None other shall evei
ride nlm again.'
She said nothing, but her fingert
tightened in the gallant crest tossing
before her.
When they rode up across the small
bridge that spanned the slough Delow
Ihe foot-log the foreman was standing
beside the namraer-biock. He reached
up nuge, bare arms and swung the
girt jightly down, sending a glance
across her shoulder that arrested the
owners attention instantly
"Mr. Sundry,’ he said simply,
“Hampden s got us. There nain‘i a
Jack in the' camp but Collins. He s
bought the mill at Toledo an offered
a two-doilar-a-day raise to every tim
berjack an’ riverhog in the county.
Kven Harris, ' Daily's big voice deep
ened with bitterness, “that we was
payin' seven dollars a day—an' he was
worth it, for there nain’t a tiler like
him this side o’ ’Frisco—has gone—
for nine! Hampden come to the very
gate up there on the road an’ gath
ered ’em out fer a talk—an’ they come
back an’ packed like sheep! Damn
their hides! He had contracks fer
two years at them wages—an’ they
signed like fools—scrambled fer the
chance! An’ some ot ’cm’s ben fight- !
In’ him a couple o’ years! He had
wagons waitin’ in a string at the bend
o’ the road—ready to move ’em that !
had cabins! Burson an’ Click an’
McMasters—they all loaded their I
duffle an’ hiked. An’ I don’t know of
another bunch o’ loggers this side o’
Portland!”
Sandry, his face gone white as sand
under his hat brim, stared at the blank
windows of the cabins.
“Eat, son,” said Ma Daily firmly
when he entered the long room, "eat j
first an’ think after. A empty stom- 1
rniek’S a poor boiler for workin |
steam.”
And Sundry, looking into her kindly't
old face, saw the sanity of her ad
vice. He took her fat hand—and a
spoon ana the end of a dish towei
also—holding it tight in his own for a
moment.
“Right you are, ma,’ he answered,
and sat hint down.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Call of the Wind.
The night lay thick over the Siletz
country. High above, the pine tops
sang with a roar, soft-voiceu but far
reaching as thunder. Mystery and
loneliness pressed upon the wilder
ness like a finger. It quivered the
snarp ears of Black Bolt pricked for
ward, listening, it padded the feet ol
Coosnah running ahead in the trail,
but upon Siletz its touch was lost.
She, too, was of the forest on a night
like this; she, too, was free of its hid
den paths. Hour after hour they
threaded the familiar way, and pres
ently the forest lightened, fell away,
left them at the steep shore of the
Siletz river, gurgling along in the
darkness, swift and shallow.
Fields and pastures lay here upon
right and left and cabtns stood squat in
the shadows. Tilts was the headquar
ters of the reservation. Through the
small settlement, up a lane and across
a woods-lo't won't fhe trio, and pres
ently Siletz drew rein where a sorry
shark crouched forlornly beneath a
mammoth fir. The sound brought to
its door a bent figure that came and
stood at Black Bolt's head like a
shadow.
Siletz spoke in jargon, slid down,
trailed the reins on the earth ana en
tered the little house.
An hour later she stood against its
closed door, facing a dusky circle oi
squatting figures, her trim form
straight in the lamplight, her shirt
open a bit at the throat her slim
hands eloquent in quiet gestures
Near the pine table that held the
fitful light stood old Kolawmie, a
splendid illustration of the white
man’s ways.
He might have been fifty years of
age, he might, have been a hundred.
Pure blood of chiefs ran in his veins,
and he had memories of the time when
the Oregon country reached from the
northern sound to the valley of the
Sacramento, but the burden ot prog
ress hung heavy on his shoulders his
fingers trembled from much devotion
to the Spirit of the Burning Water.
Broken in heart and soul and tribe,
he dreamed out the long last days in
the monotony of the reservation, send
ing his sons to the red-roofed school
on the hill, turning them aimlessly
loose upon their lands when they
were through—but still throughout the
country where the sign of the Siletz
was seen, there were known his wise
precepts, there would his call bring
followers. About him gathered now a
silent circle, young men who could
speak good English and write essays
on the evolution of man. older ones
who accepted the modern modes with
reservations, and a few like himself of
the ancient time.
To them Siletz was speaking.
“Trouble has fallen upon the Night
W inu,' she said sweetly, “and she
comes to her friends for help. Sandry
at the camp is deserted by his men.
The camp fails, the work is stopped,
the engines are silent at their posts,
and a big contract that means much
ib ready to be lost—ana Hampden ot
the Yellow Pines laughs in glee, for ho
nas done this thing. Men there are
not in the country—and to go to Port
land means loss of time on the great
contract. Therefore Sandry sits with
his head in his hands, thus—"
With swift art she bent her dark
head forward upon her palms, drooped
her slim shoulders, and instantly De
spair loomed before the dusky circle.
“For which the heart of S'ietz sick
ens, for she is Sandry s woman.”
There was silence for a space The
girl was an artist.
“She would help him. Therefore
she conics to her friends, whose hearts
are large with friendship, though their
hands are soft with leisure. The Si
letz need not work. Will they give
the free gift of labor for the Night
Wind s man ?
it was a heart-speech, it was in jar
gon and it was successful, for with
the early dawn, biue-gray with mist
and sun shot with crimson, Sandry
who had not slept, standing with fur
rowed brows on the office step, heard
sounds of hoofs at the valley's head.
He looked and beheld a cavalcade of
horsemen, riding with ease on theii
ragged pontes, and led by Siletz upon
Black Bolt, who still stepped proudly
after his day-and night's journey,
while Coosnah rolled with swinging
ears at his side.
“Here,” said the girl as she rode up,
"they will work for the big contract."
And she slid down with a little sigh
of weariness before Sundry could of
fer his arms.
“Gosh!” said Daily to himself in the
shadow of the office, “the Siwaslies!"
“Mr. Sandry,” he said to the owner
when the long tables were filled in
every place with the best of the van
ishing tribe that Si'etz could pick.
“I’m kickin’ myself that I didn’t think
of the Indians myself, thdugh Lord
knows if we can whip ’em in line, for
it would take the devil himself to
make a Siwash work.”
But it did not take his majesty. It
took only tho word of Kolawmie, who
had given a command which a quiet
half breed who seemed the leader of
the crew artlessly repeated to Sundry
"We will work till the contract's
saved," he said; "in giving to you we
give to S'letz, who is your woman.’
And Sandry. astounded beyond meas
ure, opened his mouth and closed it
without speech.
And it was work indeed for all. San
dry himself, as he had grimly threat
ened once, "learned how" and tended
hook. Collins took Hastings' place at
the roading donkey, selecting a slim,
brown boy as fireman, while the fore
man proved his worth a dozen times
over, by being everywhere at once,
by filing things down to the most
rigid system, by planning, executing,
finishing, with the hand and mind of
cn artist.
It would have been contrary to hu
man nature if Sandry had not felt a
thrill of triumph when he next ran
across Hampden at Toledo.
The Yellow Pines owner grinned.
"Siwashes?" he said insolently. "Si
washes!7’
"Ves” flamed (he younger man. “Sl
washea—but I have five million feet
of logs at the mouth of my slough!
I’ll float my contract on time, Mr.
Hampden—and then I’ll look into the
little matter of my Hast Belt.”
That day he got his tirst letter from
Poppy Ordway. It was heavy and
satiny and it breathed an insidious
perfume.
Also it was brilliant with excitement
and hinted at great things.
"I'm certain Hampden’s crooked,”
she wrote; ‘Tve found a man who
knows him and he’s in the commis
sioner’s office. He’s young and he.’s
susceptible and he thinks I’m one of
the ‘ring!’ Oh. hut it’s exciting. I
passed him a tip’—isn’t that the way
you men would say it?—that I had a
snap’ in view, but that I already had
Mystery and Loneliness Pressed Upon
the Wilderness.
a homestead in Arizona—and the
thing progresses. The mention of !
Hampden and 'snap' did ror him—and
I’m all but over the brink of a fraudu
lent entry even now! He’s offered—
in my case, specially—to come down
on the price of my patent’ two hun
dred dollars—of course clandestinely; !
I’m to say nothing about it to the
‘ring!’ Ye gods! I’m wild with the
luck. More later.”
February was passing. The days of
fitful sunlight were becoming more
frequent. The camp was humming
with business. Silent; bent on the
thing in hand, the Indians worked
without need of encouragement.
The slough was bank-full and its
surlace was covered from dawn to
dark with a floor of logs slowly drift
ing on every tide downward to the
backwater.
At the slough's mouth a huge cradle
was slowly forming in its braces.
Here the little loading donkey puffed
and tooted, grappling manv-ton tim
bers with its two drag-hook3, placing
them here and there. The mass of
cnains covered the bottom of the
cradle a tew feet apart.
Twelve men worked continually at
the great marine monster, packing tne ;
logs inside the cradle, carrying the !
giant chains up and over as the snug
floor reached ihe top, lacing the whole
together and at last lifting the center
gentiy. tnus giving to the thing its
likeness to a vast cigar.
A timber-scaler, sent down by the
Portland thin, was constantly in at
tendance.
A snack had been thrown un at the
head 0.. tne raft and a watch uas kepi
oy day and nignt.
“We can’t trust Hampden a minute.
John,” said Sandry; “I’m learning sus
picion.” Indeerl he was learning many
things. Only John Daily In the sanity
of his just nature watched this Johnny
Eastern take his rough knocks and
come up with his teeth set.
These two were growing together in
a slow affection. The big room had,
in a sense, become home to Sandry,
and the evenings when Ma sat in her
little rocker and Siletz braided her
mats with Ooosnah beside her filled j
his toif-worn soul with peace.
The Preacher had slipped away as
silently and mysteriously as he had
come, with a blessing upon all and a
promise to return—"when you shall
need me, my children."
CHAPTER XV.
“There Is No Law for a Genius.”
March came in like a lamb with
delicate weather, crystal clear and
opal bright, and with It came Miss
Ordway. Sandry was glad to see her,
but the critical point was at hand and
he scarce took timo to eat or sleep
from the great work of the contract.
The mammoth raft was ready, the
largest, according to Daily, that the
camp had ever sent out in all its life,
and a special boat from the Portland
Mills company would lay off Yaquina
to receive it on the sixteenth.
On the night of the second, Daily
caught a glimmer of white on the lin
tel. It was a paper, stuck in with a
thumb-tack.
“Watch your raft,” it said, “for pow
der.”
That was all, and it was unsigned.
Daily told Sandry of the incident and
showed the warning.
So for the remaining nights the
great raft was lighted from end to
end and four of the Indians patrolled
it in shifts, armed with rifles and un
der orders to shoot at the tirst sign ot
trouble.
The work went forward rapidly. The
Siwashes, born and raised in the tim
ber country, knew all the work of the
canrp and they needed no driving.
They were a gousuiia to SaTuIry Hi ,
the pressing days and he came to look
u;«n them with a wide tolerance
“ ‘In serving you we serve S’lctz.' ’’ j
he quoted to himself, “ 'for she's your
woman.’ " And an odd sensation
prickled his skin, tingled at the roots
of his hair. Some way somehow,
these were Siletz’ people—these silent,
shiftless, well taught creatures, who
made no use of their talents, yet who '
did hard, unnecessary labor at the call
of the blood
That night with the raft and even
the two engines under guard and all
the length of track patrolled, he came
in tired, worn to a thin edge with
sleeplessness, tense and taut as a sing
ing wire, to meet Miss Ordway.
She slipped her hand into his arm
with a little, familiar gesture and
turned him about.
“Come along and relax,'' she said,
“you’re almost hysterical.”
“1 believe I am,” said Sandry wea
rily, though as he stepped out into the
night, soft already with the breath of
spring as is the way with the coast
country, where the seasons shoulder
each ol her suddenly for place, he
looked uneasily for Siletz.
“Let’s go up to the old railway. It's
deserted and I have tilings to tell
you—Oh, many things!”
She laughed, her little rippling
laugh that was so soft and rich and it
Soothed the man’s strained nerves like
a narcotic.
Miss Ordway sat down, or rather
climbed up. on a log that lay beside
the railway and drew her gray broad
cloth aside.
Sandry settled himself beside her
and took off his hat The soft, changed
breath of the night air was grateful
to him.
“Who-ow! I'll bo thankful when this
strain is over, that raft headed out to
sea and my contract fulfilled! 1 never
knew business was so strenuous.”
Miss Ordway looked at him through
the dusk with admiring eyes.
“But look how you're succeeding!
Why, it's great!”
“Yes—hut for how much of it can
I thank myself? Hampden has me In
a bad hole about my great Hast Belt— ;
the best timber in the region and the
base, practically, of the Dillingworth's
future—and but for these Indians I
would be now—well, 1 hate to think
where I'd have been ”
"S'h!” said Miss Ordway; “rot so
fast about that bad hole. Instead, Mr.
Walter Sanary, we’ve got your friend
Hampden in the deepest hole he was
ever in in all his life. In fact, when
we say the word, hell turn over the
Hast Belt with both hands.’’
Sandry held out a hand and Miss
Ordway took it, not after her usual
manner of hail-fellow, but with a
gentle, proprietary motion. She tapped
the breast of her princess gown.
“I have right here copies of filings
on sixteen claims, all duly put through
by cash entry by as many different
men—and 1 know that Hamptien owns
j all these numbers, that he furnished
j the money for building the cabins for
j filing fees, for advertising, for final
proots at the land office and tor the
government price of the land, in re
turn for ail this these bogus pntry
men—your drifting gentry ol the
spiked boots and the turkey’ in roos
cases—received four hundrea dollars
eacn tor the Dreaking ot their faitn
with the government. No wonder
Hampden is rich!’
f or a long moment Sandry sat in
a silence so deep that he ceased to
breathe. He was grasping the magni
tude of the man s daring—the gigantic
risk tie ran with his safety in the un
certain hands ot sixteen men.
And also he was beginning to com
prehend wondcringlv, the daring of
this woman, her finesse, her clever
ness and her success.
‘‘Wonderful!’’ he said at last; "it is
past belief! And how. for the love of
heaven, did, you ever wind up that
commissioner to put his own head in
the noose by giving’you those proofs?"
Miss Ordway looked away down the
fast darkening slough, and there was
that in her narrowed, smiling eyes
which, had Sandry seen, would have
shocked him from her.
“He didn’t give," she said oddly; “I
took.”
And something in the speech si
lenced the man.
"Sometimes," went on this clever
woman, “one will take — providing I
there is a great enough incentive. I
had a great incentive.”
She ceased, waiting, and against his
will Sundry supplied the question.
“What?”
“You,” said Miss Ordway in a wills
per.
With her pretty, inimitable gesture 1
of daring she put up a hand, laid it
against his cheek and drew his face
toward her.
“Boy,4’ she said in a curiously
;hoked tone, as if emotion dominated j
aer, ‘oh, boy! With your youth and
|
your eagerness, your inherent strength
and your losing battle! Did you not
know that you were as fire to me?”
She slipped off the log and stood be
fore him. iter hands clasped across her
breast and all her magnificent beauty
a lure jn the spring dusk.
"Ah!” she laughed recklessly, “you
have set me flaming, like a line of fire
at night! And I care nothing that 1
tell you—there is no law for a gen
ius!”
And, turning swiftly, she went down
the slope, away from him, leaving him
as she bad done once before with bis
head whirling under the spell of her
beauty and her daring. But this time
she had left far more, fpr within him
there surged and rioted emotions that
defied control—joy and triumph and
savage desire to even scor s with the
man who had so cruelly pressed him,
relief at the prospect of saving so eas
ily his Hast Belt and bis futare; and,
bursting Through Ihe fesT, the 'tingle
of her words, the amazed comprehen
sion of them.
The days that followed were hard
ones for the young owner of the Dil
lingworth. He did not see that he had
taken the silent little girl of the hills,
and that the dominant, clever woman
of the world had taken him. Yet such
were the facts in the vague, half
formed shape that affairs had as
sumed.
With a sp'endid tact Miss Ordway
kept eway from him, presenting at
such times as they chanced to meet
a serene poise that was as charming
as her abandon had been that night
by the rollway. On the other hand, j
Siletz watched him with troubled eyes. I
There was that in features and voice
that frightened her. as a loving woman
is ever frightened when trouble rides
the shoulder of the beloved.
Therefore one night soon after San
diys talk with Miss Ordway, Siletz
followed him as he went to the office
after supper. It was a black night,
and Sandry was not aware of her pres- j
ence until a touch fell on his slioul-1
dor, almost as light and soft as that
of the mist upon bis. face.
“Sandry,” said Siletz.
lie turned swiftly and all the vex
atious ache of his heart seemed to cul
minate suddenly in a desire to take
her in his arms.
"Yes? he said, yielding to the in
fluence of the misty darkness and the
nearness of this girl who typified the
wild so alluringly, “the Night Wind
breathes upon my heart. Why is it,
Little S'letz?”
“Why—why,” stammered Siletz, “I
hardly Know. Yet—there is some
thing."
She fell silent a moment, standing
beside him.
“The winds of God are heavy on my
soul. Sandry,” she said at last, ear
nestly, "and they tell me that you
are sad. What can 1 do—oh, what can
1 do to help?’
There was in her voice the simple
cry of a sympatny so intense that it
was anguish, and Sundry’s tips tight
ened in the darkness.
For a heady moment he could scarce
resist the bidding of the lawless thrill
that she was ever capable of sending
tnrough nim, to take her into his arms
as he had done that daj when she
beheld the sea. But a tardy thought
of Miss Ordway shut his hands upon
themselves and steadied his voice.
lie put his hands upon ner slioul
ders and turned her round.
“Go back to Ma Daily, child,” he
• 7"
Under Orders to Shoot at the Flr*t
Sign of Trouble.
said, but his voice had fallen to a
whisper, a whisper that was a caress
laden as heavily with wistful sadness
as a whisper might be, "and don't fret.
1 am ail right."
Without a word, obedient to him as
the primal woman ever is to man,
Siletz went away in the night toward
the cook-shack.
As she passed up the path she al
most brushed the garments of Poppy
Ordway, standing in rigid silence, her
hands shut in the folds of her gowi ,
her rose lips ashen, her eyes strained
wide.
"Fc-ol! Fool! Fool!” the woman
was thinking in a rage of passion.
“Why didn’t I suspect? She is some
thing to him-—she has her charm.
There is danger in her to me—oh,
Sandr.v, you stupid, simple heart!”
For Poppy Ordway had heard the ca
ress of that lowered voice. The new
passion in her took fright, and a furi
ous, choking rege sent the blood hot
upon her heart..
The next morning he found upon his
window-ledge a handful of fern and a
spray of tiny, yellow, waxlike flowers
that were beginning to show where
the little streams tore down the moun
tains, lining their rocky beds. He
took them in and put Ihem away in a
drawer among his papers, silent voice
of a sympathy that was as delicate as
it was strong.
That morning when Poppy Ordwnv
encountered Siletz the bright smile
she gave her covered a sudden hatred
that had sprung, full grown, from a
man’s low whisper; and the bad times
that followed for the girl had their
inception then.
CHAPTER XVI
i":"
Vf.
The Big Raft.
On the fourteenth of March the
wheezy tug pulled the great, brown
cigar-shaped monster thut meant so
much to Sundry and the fortunes of
the Dillingworth from its moorings
out to the narrow, deep neck of the
bay that would take it to the sea.
Sundry Tor The Hr£I time In Tils life
felt ..he slow, sliding motion as the
great oval floor responded to the
screeching tug and the ebb tide.
On board with Sandry were Daily
and eight Indians, all armed and wait
ing for anything that might develop.
But Hampden had no notion of meet
ing John Daily in his present mood
and it seemed as If all was to go
smoothly. As the raft drew majes
tically abreast of the mill at Toledo
the Yellow Pines owner was conspicu
ous on the dock, though he did not ap
pear to see anything beyond the pile
of raw, bright lumber he was marking.
His florid face wore a sardonic grin.
"Wait till yer damned little gasoline
bobtail gets down to th’ water!" he
said under his breath, "jest wait!”
And Just as the raft swung slowly
into the straight canallike mouth of
the bay, which it almost filled, the
little tug faltered, coughed, sent up
a protesting flutter and was dead as
death.
The Portland scaler was running it,
and he spent two blasphemous hours
alternately working at the engine and
shouting to the men on the raft.
"It’s a mighty good thing we got her
headed out before this happened," said
Daily, "or we’d never a-got her turned
straight in God’s world. 1 bet Hamp
den’s done somethin' to th’ tug. She
hain’t never gone dead before.”
As the strong outrunning tide drew
them along the little town receded,
the low banks gave way to the trees,
and the hills rose sharply about them,
ending, as the waterway cut through
the ridges.
Sandry saw what an ideal holding
the Dlllingworth was, with Its un
bounded revenue of forest. itB deep
natural harbor, its strong tide suction
for the rafts.
The scaler loosed his useless cable,
worked the drifting tug to the side
with a couple of heavy paddles, finally
edged her clear, lassoed a passing
snag and let the raft go by.
“Tell them I’ll be up by train to
morrow," he called, "and I’ll send
someone down for the tug with a
dray."
“John,” said Sandry, “it’s a wonder
Hampden didn’t do something surer to
hinder us—Jam the bay with logs or
tie us up some way.”
“Might, only I’ve had John Teeter
pole an’ Klamath Sam walkin’ th’
shores fer five days—an’ they’re the
two worst Siwashes on th’ reservation.
Hampden knows they're workin' fer
S’letz, an’ that when I said shoot or
cut they’d shoot or cut—of It took four
years an’ a dark night to do it."
That first day drifted by very swift
ly, soft and sunny between showers,
and by four o’clock the ebb of the tide,
grown slower and slower, had ceased
altogether. Daily and the rest tied up
the raft, head and tall on both sides.
using heavy steel ropes and chains, to
which they gave plenty of alack. They
cooked supper ashore and Pandry
thought he had never tasted batter
fare. Afterward they lay about the
fire all together, smoking, and only
the silence of the Siletz marked the
line of color. Triumph filled the heart
of the young financier and his last
! drowsy thoughts were of the steamer
that was even now plowing down from
Portland to meet them, the huge check
that would follow his delivery of the
logs—how he would lift a certain
mortgage of the load that hung upon
the Dillingworth, Its greatest menace
in point of time.
He waked to see the heavy chains
drawn taut, to hear the mass of tim
bers creaking and grumbling as it
strained upstream, and knew that the
tide was in. The Siwash cook waked
the men by moonlight for breakfast.
They must be ready to take advantage
of the first motion toward the sea.
The casting loose, the slow start,
the moving of the night shores—Sau
dry wished Miss Ordway might see
it—it might be a bit of local color in
the mysterious book she was writing
in the little south room. His mind
went over that, little room. He saw
the stand with the ancient Hible. He
shuddered a bit with the night chill
as he saw again the words, "Oh, Ab
salom! My son, my sou!"
Those were the last words that the
mind of the Easterner were to know
for many days. The nose of the raft
where he was standing suddenly rose
under him like a thing of life. The
night opened, flame shot upward from
the dark waters, immeasurable sound
smote his eardrums to silence, pain
that was unendurable stretched and
tore his limbs. He sailed away into
night ar.d the world was not.
When the thing was over John Dally
picked himself up from where he had
been blown clear of the raft and the
water, landing In a tangle of blueberry
vines, and screamed a curse at the
serene heavens.
“Oh, God damn his soul to hell!" he
cried, half after the manner of a
prayer; “he’s blowed her up at last!"
In the awful silence that fell in the
first moments there set up a great
groaning of the timbers. The wrecked
nnd opened prow of the raft slewed
to the right, jammed into the shore,
and was holding the rest, while tins
strong tide urged it hard upon itself
Above it. Daily lifted his voire and
railed his Indians, and there was an
guish In his heart.
"Koottah! Snnmishta! Mommlloo!'*
From hero and there voioea an
swered. some far. some near and pres
ently figures crept fearfully into the
moonlight from the matted ferns, gath
ering about the foreman.
Hero one dragged an injured ankle,
another stanched the blood from a
ragged scalp with his hands, and there
one wavered drunkenly from the fall
he had got. bi^t all eight accounted for
themselves.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK,