The HEART Of
NIGHT WIN&Sf
A STORY OF THE GREAT NORTH WEST
0y VINGtC E. ROC
ILLUSTRATIONS by f&f WLr^fcik
QCPYP/CfiT OY POOP. HEAD AM COMPAPY ' ^
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—Siletz of Daily’s lumber
cjrnm watches a stranger mishandle hi*
horse in climbing the ridge and directs
him to the camp.
CHAPTER IT—Walter Sundry introduces
i *° John Dally, foreman, as “the
Dillingworth Dumber Co., or most of it."
CHAPTER III—Sundry makes acquaint -
since with the camp and the work he has
come from the East to superintend and
make successful.
^ HAPTER TV—Pandry wisely decides to
leave immediate supervision in the. hands
of Daily and writes to his father (hat
he 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. «
CHAPTER VI-Sandry In an emergency
"nds himself no lumberman, but proves
to the foreman that he does not lark
lodgment. Siletz tells Sandry of the
Preacher.
CHAPTER VII—Sandry discovers that.
Siletz bears the sign of the Siletz tribo i
of Indians ami wonders what her sur- j
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 I
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 sturnpage he claims title to and
Sandry thii ks he has bought as the East
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—Sundry’s and Hampden’s
m< n fight over the disputed tract. The
Preacher stops the fight.
CHAPTER XI—Sandry finds that the
dec d to the East Belt has never been -re
corded. He decides to get out his con
tract first and fight for the sturnpage aft
erward.
She fed sugar to Black Bolt, sat on
the seven-foot fir stump on the ridge
with an arm over the staid shoulders
of Coosnah, watched the wonderful
gold lights in Miss Ordway's hair, and
dreamed more than ever. TTpon the
Preacher she waited hand and foot,
with a devotion beautiful in its un
consciousness.
Ma Daily went about her business
in an unusual silence; and she, too,
took In all the details of the author
from the East, but with a far different
e?e.
"Don't like her smile," she solilo
quized in the steam ot her important
realm, " tain t thick. It’s spread on
mighty thin—like a step-ma’s jam.”
But to Sandry, when he found one
ot his rare half-hours of cessation
from the rushing work, that same
smile, brilliant and well-poised and
of the distant world, was a refreshing
wind.
’’You’re working too hard, Mr. San- I
dry,’ Miss Ordway often told him,
‘ why don't you go after this Hump-;
den man?”
“Haven’t time. This contract may ■
mean the slow gain of years. I must
save it first and Dy all means.”
‘‘H'm. I'm keen for the unusual.
There may be a lot in this. 1 believe
I'll do a little investigating. You
know I spoke ct it and you said go
ahead—V
“1 wouldn't mix up with that man.
Miss Ordway. He’s the coarsest type
I ever met with ’’
“Trust me,” said Miss Ordway brief
ly, and the next moment could have
shaken herself for the salf-slar.gy,
halt-boastful expression.
And upon the word she put her in
tention into action, for with her usual
far-sightedness she saw an almost un
canny opening and dovetailing of
plans.
The next day but one a fitful, blowy,
tearful day, she ventured forth, clad
In a smart suit of corduroy that nail
done service on many a bridle path in
the far metropolis—and she sat Black
Bolt like a soldier! Sandry watched
her go with an unconscious pride in
her urban appearance. She rode
astride in his saddle, mit though he ad
mired every line of the splendid pair,
he was conscious of a comparison
which left something to De desired
Black Holt with Siletz swinging drunk
enJy to the dip and lift of his running
stride, had been one. They had been
the West. This was the East—and it
was artificial.
'"'•ile Sandry stood at the block
v 'ling Miss Ordway cantering down
the valley, he heard a light step Be
hind and Siletz came around the filing
shed. He turned to her, smiling into
her eyes, which lighted slowly as they
rc. ted on him.
‘Where have you been, Little
Squaw V no asked.
"Over the hog back. ’
“Eight miles! You shouldn't go of!
like that, child. Don't you know you
might lose yourself in this wilder
ness?"
Sandry moved slightly and Siletz
glanced across his shoulder down .he
valley. A gasp, as of indrawn breath
made him look up.
Her lips were open and intense as
tonishment sat upon her face. For »
moment she stared at the distant
rider. Then she whirled, so swiftly
thut one of her long braids wnipped
across Sandry’s face like a lash, and
dashed into the lean-to.
Wh^n sh^ emerged the dark color !
hart drawn out of her cheeks and lips. |
leaving them ashen. Her face worked t
and Sandry' fell back a step at sigh 1
of her eyes. They were all savage
I
V7 "I
"Where Have You Eeen,
Squaw?”
W
Little
flaming with a rage which astounded
him
"Why — why — S'letz!” he cried
catching her by the wrist as she
passed him. “1 didn't know you felt
like this about the horse!”
Hut she flung his grasp loose in a
perfect fury and dashed up the steps
to the kitchen, tne sobs coming wildly
With an indescribable sensation
sending shivers down his spine, the
young owner went to his office.
When Miss Ordwav returned late in
the day her smart habit was stained
with mud, her little cap was charm
ingly awry, and she bore ail the ear
marks of adventure.
"But I know Hampden of the, Yel
low Bines,’’ she whispered intimatelj
as Sandry assisted her to dismount,
j "if I did have to manage a rather
spectacular fail and ruin my coat in
your unspeakable mud. I think he’ll
furnish admirable data,”
"What?” cried Sandry, "you did
that? Well, for the love of heaven!
No wonder you can portray other
folks emotions! You simply go out
and make your situations!”
CHAPTER XII.
Glimmerings of the Great Game.
The work went forward swiftly
along the new line. By the end of the
week the new cutting wras in full
swing, the long saws singing, the
buckets' broadaxes flashing among the
everlasting green, the whole inl|ceil
mass of detail working together.
"What do you think of our chances
now, John?" asked the owner.
“A-l. Hain\ no reason why we
won’t win. Th’ Dillingworth,” said
John Daily whimsically, “she’s ben
furnishin’ th goods ever sense 1 can
remember.”
“True. But she was in pretty close
straits for cash. You know she's
i worth, standing timber, land, options
I and equipment, something like a mil
! lion .a hundVed and fifty-nine t housand
dollars, at the pinch price I fiaid of
I fifty cents a thousand feet on the
i stump. At anything like her face
i value she'd easily double it. And of
course you know she’s mortgaged to
j her neck—the East Belt and all the
northeast stumpuge—”
Daily shook his head. "I’m gettin
completely mussed up," he said.
"Well she was. Her mortgages ag
gregated a half million—in three dif
ferent places. About half of them 1
paid. The rest is hanging lire. Frazer,
who should have been a mighty rich
man, got out with a quarter of a mil
i lion Hat. l don't understand him."
"Neither do 1, but I'd stake my head
I on old man Frazer. Why I've worked
j for him ten years! He bought in in
! ‘eighty-nine."
"Well, there’s a lot of mystery some
where about, and as soon as l‘m at
j liberty I intend unearthing things."
i Miss Ordway was working fever
ishly these days. Her rose-leaf cheeks
were flushed " each noon when she
came from the little south room, and
her sea olae eyes were full of an in
ner excitement.
“She 11 make good,” Sundry told him
self, “She’s got the dreamer’s look, the
pride, the joy, the mighty, arrogant
; egotism. And shas drunk on the at
mosphere of the wilderness, the lone
liness, the sense of world's-end."
Young and of abundant health, abun
I dant vitality, tilled with the urge of
ambition, abetted by an unusual clev
erness. Miss Ordway was indeed in tho
way of great things and she knew it..
! Also witn her clear vision she was be
ginning to see something else that
added to the flush in her cheeks, some
thing as great as her goal of fame, and
she faced it with her high courage and
confidence.
Th* ■ the meaning to her of Wal
ter Sandry.
About this time she began to widen
her range of vision, to see all over the
wild, green country, it seemed to her,
and to catch glimmerings of things
that sent her to Sandry, so full ot vital
prescience that she was as a charged
w ire in her eagerness and her delight
"Mr. Sandry,’ she said one evening
as they stood together on the toot-log
and watched the brown tidewater go
ing down toward the distant sea, "1 m
going to tell you something. 1 be
lleve Hampden is crooked as hades,
and I'm going after him.'
“That's funny. ’ said Sandry, "do
you know, I’ve had the same notion?’
She stretched out her hand.
"Let’s go after him together. What
do you say?”
“W-e-11,”—Sandry took the- hand, an
exquisite thing, and held it in his own
a moment, warmly, closely—“1 am
pleased and flattered by your offer,
but I don’t just fancy yonr knowing
his Hampden man. He’s—he’s coarse
and bad. Miss Ordway.”
"But isn’t it worth a little risk?
What big thing is ever accomplished
without some risk? And think, Mr.
Sandry—isn't Hampden trying to ruin
the Dillingworth company? In other
words, to ruin you?’
There was a tingling, suggestive tim
hre in her low voice, a subtle, flatter
ing tone that thrilled the young owner
strangely.
"Miss Ordway," he said admiringly.
as a man s friend you're simply
great!”
“I may have to make frequent de
mands on Black Holt,” she said fur
ther, "for 1 cannot navigate in your
deluged valleys. Ira a poor mariner.”
"S-s-h h!" warned Sandry, "you don't
want to speak about this climate that
way. Why, haven't you noticed that
the Oregon mist doesn't wet through?”
They laughed together after the
fashion of youth and health, though at
tho last turn of words he felt a vague
uneasiness. He remembered Siletz’
lark face between her braids and the
tears falling on her cheeks.
"Poor little girl!” he said to him
self. And on Thursday of that week
another horse made its appearance at
the camp, a wiry, long-limbed bay,
picked up at Toledo.
“This is for you, Miss Ordway,” he
told the novelist, “so you may come
and go at will. No one will have him
when you wish to ride. You can al
ways put your hand on a mount at a
moment’s notice. Black Bolt is so
frequently gone when you might need
him.”
So it came about that the young
woman from the East “wrent after
Hampden,” and the sharp, crude man
of the hills was to be no match for
her. By another week she could not
fare forth upon the road to the Siletz,
i ride into Toledo, where she was a
| matter of wonder in her beauty and
her smart clothes, or take the least
canter on the rangy bay but what
Hampden met her—by the merest
chance. She was a revelation to him.
In his crude way he was soon at the
point where he would have laid down
his world for her little finger, and In
his loose-fibered soul he swelled with
self-approval beneath her notice.
What delicate flattery she employed
only she herself knew. It was suffl- '
clent at least, for he unwound to her
his somewhat eventful and picturesque
life with the simplicity of a child, i
They rode and talked, traversing the i
lonely ways, piercing the mist thread- j
ing trails where Hampden had to ride !
close at her side to keep the wet foli- i
age out of her face, and she saw the :
passion growing in him to the point ;
of idolatry—which filled her soul with ,
rioting laughter.
“I’ll get it—I’ll get It!” she told her |
self, and there was no place in the uni
verse so interesting as this rain
soaked country, this land of mysteri
ous operations.
“What are these little, deserted
huts?’’ she asked him one day when
they had climbed high on a wooded
ridge and come upon a tiny cabin, win
dowless and roofed with shakes. “I’ve
seen several of them.”
“Homesteader's cabin,” he answered
“Ah—and where's the homestead?
For goodness' sake, did any man ever
intend a woman to live here?"
It was a staggering question to the
lumberman, who knew more than any
other man In those hills about those
deserted shacks. He had been pains
takingly correct in all his dealing with
her. it was something he did not un
derstand, some’ blind instinct of his
better self serving his one great pas
sion.
“Well,” he said reluctantly, “you see
—that is,—no. They don't often come
here to live. This here's a snap.”
“Ah—yes”—there was a note of
VRgue puzzlement in Poppy's golden
voice—"and what is that?”
“Why, a feller comes up an’ takes
a claim—proves up on it, you know—
gets his patent—an’ then sells out.
Relinquishes his right to the buyer.”
“Oh—and this is only a temporary
arrangement.’ She waved a hand
around ?.t the dreary clearing among
the lesser growth. “The man who
built this didn’t intend to stay nt the
beginning. And who w as smart enough
enough to buy him off when he got
tired of staying, 1 wonder?”
"1 did,’ said Hampden promptly,
flushing at the Imputation of brains.
“Rasy,” said Miss Ordway to her
self. Aloud-she said wonderingly:
"Well, what do you know about
that! 1 fancy you marie a pretty pile—
or will—out of such a ri al. Mr. Hamp
den? Just think of the perfect oceans
and oceans of pretty clothes even a <
dozen of these groat trees would buy!
Pardon- I think in clothes because I
love them."
The deference of that ‘pardon" did
for Hampden—and the subtle implica
tion peshpd the »Uvint-igB. |
His face was flushed' and he sat
straight on Ms nurse his khaki-anri
blue flannel ciau figure making a not
ungraceful picture against the back
ground ol vivid green. He whipped at
his laced boots, wet from the ferns,
and presently spoke out of a full heart. '
Ves,’ he said carelessly, ‘it does take
brains. A man has got to think to
| mane money—an' it takes money to
buy the things of this life pretty
clothes, a woman's clothes, Miss Ord
way. ,
He suddenly leaned over anil laid
his rough hand over hers on the pom
mel.
“livery tree would buy a dozen
trunks full- an’ i own millions of
trees. ’
Her heart, was poun Mug and the
sparkle was dancing in her > s.
"Millions? Why, that must cover
a great deal of land! Millions of
trees ?”
'‘V ( s—billions,” promised Hampden
rashly. He rose in his saddle and
looked through a natural opening in
the forest down over the dropping
ridges.
“Why, look! All that—all that, as
far as you can see, to that other
ridge and over bfyond it and down
into the other valley—is mine. I’m a
rich man. Miss Ord ,vay, an’ 1 got it—
just, by this—”
He tapped his forehead significantly
and smiled.
“Truly 1 do admire you,” lied Poppy
with the naivete of sixteen. “Brains—
brains—why. they are nine-tenths of
the battle of success and a man with
out th<‘m is beaten at the beginning.”
"Partner,” she whispered to Sandry
as she passed him that night in the
eating room, “I've been working.
Where can we talk a little by our
selves?”
Sandry, looking at her swiftly, saw
the excitement in her eyes, and took
fire instantly.
“Alone? Why—let's see. Are you
afraid to come, out to the forked stick
by the road?”
In the darkness Miss Ordway
laughed—a little, low ripple of mirth
soft and subtle.
“A tryst!” she said, in that small,
intimate whisper that suggested infi
nite mystery. “Are we out of earshot
here?”
“Yes,” said Sandry, lowering his
voice to hers.
“Do you happen to know' where Fra
zer got all the holdings of the Dil
lingworth? How he got them?”
“Why. no,” said Sandry wonderingly,1
“I suppose he bought them, as any
comiitny would do.”
“Yes. So far so good. You know
that all this land was government land
—that there are still claims lying far
back in the mountains open to filing.
But all this fine timber close in—all
: that has a chance of being got at—has
: bean taken—and have j'ou noticed that
all of it, cr nearly all. belongs to ei
ther one or the other of these two
lumber companies?’"
“By George!” said Sandry, “I hadn't
thought of that!”
“And have you noticed that none of
these claims seem to have been taken
in good faith? That none of the fliers
have complied in spirit with the home
stead law? 1 have scoured these hills
for seven miles every way—except
west—and at every tiling there is tin
barest hold of tenure—a windowless
shack—just enough to nail the law by
its letter. Nowhere nave 1 seen a
cleared field, nor one sign of tillage
; “The Man Who Built This Didn't In
tend to Stay.’’
; Mr. Samlrv, I believe we have stum
bled upon a bilge government swindle
a ease of land-fraud gigantic in its pro
portions.’
Sundry was aghast.. “Why, what do
you mean? Miss Ordway, do yon mean
that the companies are crooked?
I "Not so fast. I nelieve Hampden
is crooked, and that possibly Frazer
was. For the latter—it is too late1
and not in our scheme to nail him.
Hut Hampden well hang high as Ha
man -and that before he can filch the
East Belt with its store of wen'th.’ j
She was leaning very near as site
whispered this, and in the burst of
mental light which followed her words
Sandry put his hands on her shoul
ders.
“You are positively wonderful!” be
breathed “the most wonderful woman
in the whole world. How on earth did
you rind these things out?"
“Hantp'en.' said Poppy with a shrug
of her shoulders under Sundry's hands;
“he's furnishing data with a ven
geance."
“But why? For tin- love of heaven,
why are you doing all this? 1 can 1
just understand."
i \Vit_h a little, so11 motion, charming
in the airy acceptance of its own Jar
ing. the woman of the world put ut
her hand and laid it with a caress ove:
the one on her shoulder.
Her face, tilted upward in the dark
ness, shone like a flower ana he couu.
just oarely see the curving line in ter
lips, dark against its light
In the mist and the chill the suntle
perfume, that always seemea to strike
one s senses only alter she had passed,
suddenly thickened and Sandry beneid
on the instant lights and Powers, gay
gowns and evening dress ot men- tlie
thousand intimate things and sounds
of home flashed hefore him.
Under I he touch of nor velvet palm
his own gi ip tightened and Poppy urd
wav. quick to feel ter first reai en
trance into his inner consciousness,
pushed the sudden advantage.
“Why?” she said softly, "why? For—
you. Do vou, think i, who am trained
in investigation’ —she halted with a
little catch of voice and breath—‘who
have to dig uito every promising situ
ation because of my—work—could sit
by and see that man down you without
plunging into the breach? indeed no.
And we ll win. my—friend—we ll win.”
With an inimitable gesture, at once
daring and hesitant, she lifted his
hand from her shoulder, brushing it
as if unconsciously, across her cheek,
held it a moment and turned away
toward the camp.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Red Bar on the Waters.
A day later Miss Ordway packed an
expensive bag of real alligator and
made ready for a departure.
“I'm going to Salem, partner,” she
said. “If Hampden gets anxious
enough to inquire openly, tell him I'm
after—clothes.”
She smiled to herself, thinking of
those millions of trees. For its own
sake, the pursuit of Hampden was be
ginning to enthrall her professional
instinct, but there was a flicker of j
passion tinder her lashes, a sleepy look
or anticipation, as ehe glanced side-1
wise at Sandry on the step beside
her.
“1 may be away a week—maybe a
month. I'll drop you a line occa
sionally.”
A yearning sense of loss and loneli
ness gripped Sandry as he took her
hand at parting, lending to his clasp
an unwonted tightness, and to his
voice a sense of huskiness. She was
home and the things thereof, this
woman who was an orchid among the
pines, and with her going went some
thing he had scarcely realized, yet
which he would sorely miss.
The camp seemed more than usually
dreary in the days that followed. The
fog ribbons twined and twisted con
tinually along the hills, the pines
brought their marching ranks closer
in upon the shrinking valley, and San
dry was taken with an acute attack of
the blues.
| “S’letz,” he said abruptly as he met
| the girl one noon at the pump, “will
you ride with me tomorrow? It’s Sun
day and we can take a lunch. What
do you say?”
She did not meet his eyes, her own
somber ones glancing down the slough.
“Yes,.’ she said quietly.
They were up betimes the following
morning. Ma Daily cooked an early
breakfast and Sandry sat down for the
first time with the girl at table. Con
versation languished until a gentle
tread sounded on the floor and the
Preacher came in, his delicate face i
aglow from the touch of icy water J
lohn Daily, too, lumbered in at the I
same moment.
"Sleep well, father?" he a^ked.
"As always, son. The hovering of!
God’s band is like the sound of many
wings—hushing—ah, so hushing. Isn't
it so,—ah —ah—1 have forgot—"
The pathetic, childlike eyes searched '
Sundry’s face in straining inquiry.
"What is it I would remember?" he
asked plaintively.
"Nothing, father. It is all well."
Siletz had pushed back the bench for
him. Now she laid her slim hand lov
ingly upon his and looked in his face
a smile curving up the lips above the
broken sign. As the two hands lay
upon the oilcloth Sandry noticed them
—one white and fine veined and shape
ly. with the slender, pointed fingers of
a dreamer—the other olive and shape
ly and with the same slim-pointed fin
gers.
"Alike,” he mused, “how very much
alike. Why, they are counterparts!’
As he led Black Bolt to the hammer
block for Siletz to mount he neard
snatches of song from the bunkhouse.
Collins was outside, stretching a fresh
deerhido against the pianks
The owner turned in his saddle and
looked back at the camp—his camp—
as they trotted away down the green
valley. It lay snuggled tight against
the pine-clad hills, a primitive force in
1 primitive country, and he thrilled to
its suggestion. As they passed the
lower railway he stopped and stir
veyea the brown slough, a solid floor
of logs as far as he coukl see, even un
til it lost itself between its low, tide
edged banks.
“Fine!” lie said aloud, "our logs are
drifting clear to the backwater at To
ledo. We’ll meet our date all right.’
"Of course," said Siletz, and it was !
the lirst word she had spoken.
At a natural clearing they reined in \
to breathe the horses, and Sandry i
turned to the girl.
"S’letz," he said, “tell me now it is
that you have lived all your life so
near the ocean and have never seen it,
when you have wanted to so much?
1 be rare smile lighted her face and
she turn d to him. s
"I was afraid, ’ she said.
“What? Afraid! Afraid of what?"
“Of now it might look in truth. 1 j
ki'ow how it looks in my own pictures
It it might not—look the same
kill a moment Uit nun, wail silent
before the subtle fineness of tne
thought, amazed to find It in this sim
ple child of the logging country.
"And why now?" he asked curiously.
'Why do you go now?"
"You go,' said Siletz as simply as
Koiawmi© would speak in his govern
ment cabin at tne reservation 10 the
north.
■‘You're a groat dreamer, S letz,"
said Sandry.
Sne nodded.
Tne horses, having taken their re
quired rest, started forward of their
own will attei the manner of hilt-bred
horses, and silence prevailed, save lor
tne swish and slip of the iron-shod
hoofs, it took an hour to ream tne
crest of the range.
Siletz had fallen a-dreaming, sway
ing unconsciously to every motion of
Black Bolt, one hand swinging out
ward as encouragement to the dog
wnose anxious eyes were raised from
time to time toward it.
'1 ney traveled steadily, and present
ly the long roll ol the surf began to
sound insidiously through tne thick
ets ot vine maple, to war witn the nign
song of the dominant pines.
"Ho!” said Siletz at last, softly,
“hear it! Hear it! Hear it singing witn
a thousand tongues! Ho!—ifo:"
Sandry looked swiftly back an odd
excitement taking him at the note in
her voice—an alien note, beyond nis
understanding. She had reined up
and was sitting erect, her heac up
high, her lips fallen part, her eyes be
ginning to glow with a hidden fire. He
knew that somewhere in the recesses
Sandry Sat Down for the First Tim*
With the Girl at the Table.
of her nature a great tide of emotion
was banking in, full flow.
They did not strike YMquinm bay, tor
the trail led straight west from Daily’s
j and he knew they would come out on
t the great cliffs below the lighthouse
on Cape Foul weather. Here the land
reared itself—as one who shields him
self, palms outward—against the in
sistent thunder of the sea. They
mounted the lifting rise of the clifls
and stood at the edge of a thin fringe
of stunted firs where Sundry tied the
horses. Siletz had slipped down al
once, and he noticed that she was
tremblftig in every limb.
She plunged ahead strongly and
Sundry followed, his eyes on her face
lest he lose one expression, one small
scene of the unfolding of this flower
soul. Without warning it burst upon
her around a hummock the great
heaving ocean under a dull skv—ami
it was gray as tier own mist indeed
wide and mysterious and forever inov
ing In its place, fringed with the roll
ing surf that broke white upon its
sands a hundred fe-'t below.
“Gray!” she cried shrilly "I knew it!
A floor under the fc-et of God!”
To the left a steep path, cut by stops
in the sandy earth, led its perilous
way down to the beach Turning
swiftly she dropped into it between
its walls and began leaping down.
“S’letz!” cried Sandry sharply, "b«
careful! ”
Even as he spoke she lost her footing
and went headlong down the cliff, roll
ing over and over in the sliding sand
to bring up fifteen feet below where
the path turned sidewise on a little
shelf. Without heed she gathered her
self, threw back her braids and rushed
on, leaping downward like a deer.
When Sandry reached her she war
ankle deep in the surf, gazing with all
her starved nature in her eyes, that
yet shone with a martial fire Thou
suddenly, through some rent in tbt
sodden sky, a beam ot liglW shot
through the mist, transfiguring it. 11
was middr-.y and not the time for thr
reds and purples of the sunset, but frt
some reason beyond the minds of rjv'U
the blue-gray mist caught up the iigntt
and turned it into a wondrous bar ob
crimson, edged with fairy gold, and ill
lay out across the waters, a path to at
the world.
Sandry saw the look of intoxication
creep into her eyes, the drunkenness
of emotion that dulled them drowsily
Lines drew in her oval cheeks and
slowly ner face broke into a look --j
anguish. She put up an arm aim ■
erod it, turning toward the yoach
Sandry caught her in ills ar^n* aim
held her, weeping hard. nis
breast.
"I cannot bear it! ’ cried Sfletz frr.ni
this shelter, '’oh, I hurt: T hurt!'
"S'h! S'h!” whispered Sandry huslc
ily, it Is too great—too great—io«
the Night Wind to behold.’
The ride home was silent, with San
dry In the lead, nis spirit still stirred
and shaken by what he nari beheld
They did not speak again until tin
can"; ipv nefo-e th.'rn ->t tj-.p big hend
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK..,