Newspaper Page Text
In fact, only one
novelist could
have conceived
so remarkable a
tale. And that
novelist Is Eden
Phillpotts.
Synopsis of First Chapters,
Dsnlol, only son of *
Hweetland, head gMHekefper nf
Hlr Reginald Vivian's estate ,n
Mlddlecott. refuse* to follow hi*
father's trade and obtain* work
In * nearby ml"* He *>»ti n pas
sion for stealing aam* from the
neighboring preserv.-s and win* a
reputation a« t daring and Inrky
poacher. He, however, promise*
Matthew, on oath, never to mol-
Mt the Mlddlecott preserve*.
Minnie Marahall. a pretty hous
maid, la loved by Duo and by
the latter'a dearest ft lend. Tltua
Sim. footmau at Mlddlecott lull
Rh< become* engaged to I>*n.
and Tltua outwardly aubmtta. A
burglary ha* been committed »t
Weatoombe, a nearby e*l*te. and
atiaplelon at Arst points to I*im
He and Minnie rent a houae <»n
the moor* bearing the gruenome
name of Hangman's Hut Dan
furnlahe* hi* lonely aiewle tor
hi* future wife and »iorka It*
larder On the eve of the »<■ I
ding he deeldea that a brare of
pheasant* will be * pleaaant addl
tlon to their provlaloua. ao goea
by night to Westeombe woods,
where he shoot* the two bird*,
ualng a haadsmo gun given him
a* a wedding preaetit by Hlr
Reginald’* eon, Henry, a boyhood
playmate of Dan and Tltua. While
In Weatcombe wood* he hear*
gun*hot* In Mlddlecott preaerve.
On hi* way to and from Hang
man'* Hut <whither he goea to
leave hi* gun and hide the bird*)
be twice catches sight of a man
running aiong the moorland road.
On reaching hi* father* collage
Dan And* that Matthew and the
latter’* a»*l«iant, Adam Thorpe,
have had a bru*h with poacher*
and that Thorpe ha* been *hot.
Directly after the wedding next
day, Dau 1* arreated, charged
with Thorpe* murder. Hl* K»n
ha* been found near the *cene of
the crime. He leave* hi* wife -
In charge of the wife of Johnny -
Beer*, an Innkeeper. *nd *tarta
off toward Plymouth Jail with the ■
local policeman, an ln»pector, -
and Corder. a plaln-ckithe* man. 1
While cro*»lng the moor he tell* -
the trio that he know* where the
valuable* stolen from Weatoombe
are hidden, and ways he will *how
them the «pot lr they will ahare
the reward with hi* wife. They
conacnt, and he lead* them to a
lonely »|>ot, where he *el» them
to digging. Dan know* hi* gun
wa* placed near Thorpe’* body
by tome enemy, and whiilh to
he free In order to track down
that unknown enemy, whrtm he 1
believe* to he the real murderer. 1
Hl* atory of the hidden treasure •
I* only a ruse to throw hi* cap- '
tor* off their guard While they <
are digging ho overpower* two of <
them, elude* the third, and e*- ■
cape* on the horse that had -
drawn the official cart. «
Meantime Daniel H»<>otland was
riding bar® backed over Dartmoor to
hl» new home
Hq knew the way very well, and
threaded many a bug and leapt a |
stream or two then breastud a hill
and looked down where, like a alow j
worm, one little warm light slimmer
•d In the wtlver and ebony ot the noc
turnal desert.
For the flint time that day his
bean grew soft "Her all alone'" he
thought. *'l might have knowed she'd
emir. That's her place now; an'
mine l>« alongside her!”
He tkirmed the resolution to see
Minnie et any cost.
'Te’ll cat supper alone together for
once, though the devil gets the reek
ontng." he said. "I lay my pretty
have had no stomach for victuals this
night."
Five minutes later e horse stopped
at Hangman'a Hut. and Minnie, un
locking the door, found herself lu her
husband's arms.
"Han't much of a wedding night,"
he said; "but auch as Its us'll make
the most of It. I've foxed 'em very
nice with a yarn about that burglary,
of which I know no more than the
dead really. nut you'll hear tell
about that presently. An' tonight
they'll have a pretty walk to Prince
town, for the only horse, except this
one within live miles, belongs to
Johnny Beer; au' 'lts tired out after
the Journey to Morebm,"
Minnie was far less calm than when
•he left him tn the morning Kvcn
her steady nerve failed hei now, for
the only time In his life Daniel saw
her weep
"Don't you do that," he said. 'Ban't
no hour for tears. Fetch In all the ,
food tn the house, an' that bottle of
wine I got for 'e. t'an't stop long,
worse luck.”
"I know right well you'tn an In
nocent man, Daniel; an' I'll never be
happy again until I’ve done my share
to prove it," she said
•"Tis Just that will be so awful
hard Anyw-ay. I felt that the risk
of a Dial was too great to stand. If
there was s chance to eecupe Aud
the chanre offered. The lies I've
told' But 1 needn't waste time with
that Keep quiet about ivy visit to
night Ban't nobody's business bul
ours A purty honeymoon, by God'
All the same, 'tie better than none."
Minnie hastened to get the food:
then, when she had brought It. he put
out the Him and flung the window
open
'Ts must heed what may hap.
They might come this way by chance,
though there's little likelihood o' It.”
He listened but there was uo
Sound save the sigh of a distant ,
Daniel Sweetland
A GREAT AMD FASC/MAT/MG CHARACTER CREATION
MW—-( Copyright, 1906, Eden PhillpotO. JtU Ri/thtt ftnorvd) ..
(stream and the stamp of the horae'a
hoof* at the door.
“To leave you here In thl* for-
I saki-n place!” he cried. "You musn'l
slop You shall not."
"But I *hall, for 'tla ao good a* any
other,” she answered. "Ive got to
: work for you while you are far off.
!Daniel I've got to clear you; an' I
will, God helping What a woman
; can do, I’ll do for
’’An' more than any woman hut you
could do! I know right well that If
irmli U lo fume in llghi, twill he
your brave heart And* It. You an'
Hint. True*, him. He'll do what a
friend may He'll work for me with
,1111 hi* might.”
“An' whai will you do?” she asked.
“Make myself scarce," he gnawer
k(| 'Tl* all I can do for the pres
ent. No good arguing while the rope *
round your neck. T can't prove I'm
Innocent, ho ‘tl* vain whipping to do
It. I mean to get to Plymouth afore
morning an' go down among the
ship*. Then I'll take the tlrnt job
any man offer* me. an' ts my luck
hold*. I ought to be In blue water to
morrow."
"They'll trace you by the horse If
: you ride,”
"So they would, of course.. 'Tl*
the horse I trust to help me again v*
jhe've helped tonight. Like enough,
when you hear next about me, they'll
tell you a* I've been killed by the
horse. Hut. don't you feel no fear. I
shall lie to Plymouth very comfort
, a hie,”
She ministered to him and he ato
and drank heartily.
"Onp hour I'll tilde aiong wl' my
own true love, tb«n off I must go,"
*ald Daniel "I've hit poor Gregory
rather hard, hut I hope he'll get
over It. Anyway. It had to be done.
Only you go on being yours* If. Min,
an' keep up your courage, an' All
'your time working for me The case
la clear. Home man have *hnt Adam
Thorpe; but he didn't shoot him with
my gun. because my gun was In my
own hand when Thorpe fell, an' [ wa*
a good few mile away. To he ex
act, I wa* getting pheasant* for ‘e In
Weatcombe wood* at the time —you'll
And 'em In the well; an' 1 heard the
shots Ared at Mlddlecott quite clear,
though 1 was Ave mile off. But the
thing he to show that f wa* Ave mile
off.''
"And your gun, Daniel?"
"I put my gun back tn the raao In
it he next room to this long afore mid
night yesterday," be said.
"Then 'twas fetched away after
midnight ?’*
“Yea, It was; an' If you eau And
ithe man as took my gun. then you’ll
j find the man who killed the keeper."
" 'Twill be lbe tlrsl thought an*
prayer of my life to do It. Daniel."
"An’ you will do It—-if Him don’t,”
he prophesied
Within the hour Daniel reluctantly
prepared to leave his home.
"‘TIs a darned shame 1 must go." he
said, "but I've no chance now. Only
mind this. Minnie Sweet land. Don’t
you think you’tn a widow tomorrow
when they comes an’ tells you so. If
they bring my corpse to 'e then be
lieve It; but they won’t."
"Take care of yourself. Daniel," She
answered, "for your life's my life. I'll
only live an' think an’ work an’ pray
for you. till von come home-ahmg a
gain "
“Trust me,” he said. "You'm my
star wheresoever I do go. Dp or
down, so long as I be alive. I'll have
you tlrsl in thought, my own 11 1 wife.
Nought shall ever come at ween me
an' you but my coffln-lld. Au' well
God knows It."
"Go.” she said. "An' lei me hear
how you be faring so soon as you
can."
"Be sure of that. If I daren't wlrte
to you. I’ll write to Him. Hut, re
number: It may be an awful long
time. If I have to go acroaa seas."
"Write to me—to mo direct," she
begged earnestly. "Send my letter
through no other man or woman.
'Twill be tny life's blood renewed to
get It. An' 1 can wait; I can wait as
patient as any stone Time's noth
Ing so long as we come together again
some day. We've got our dear mem
ories, an' they'll never grow dim.
though we grow gray."
"Not the memory of this day an'
night, that's brought the greatest 111
an' the greatest Joy Into my life at
once." he answered. "Green for ever
more 'twill be."
Then again and again they ktssed.
and Daniel Hwcetland rode nwny.
At tho top of the next dark hill he
turned and looked back, but he saw
nothing Minnie had not lighted her
lamp again She stood aud watched
him vanish. Then she went to her
bed In the dark snd prayed brave
prayers until the dawn broke
CHAPTER 111.
The Bad Ship "Peabody."
Daniel Sweet land had decided on
his course of action before he hade
his wife farewell. Now he rode back
to Furnum Regis, found the King's
Oven empty as he expected, and turn
ed his horse's head to the south. He
crossed the main road, struck down
a bridlepath, and presently approach
ed Vltlfer Mine. Here the land was
cut and broket) Into a wild chaos of
old lime excavations and deep, ua
tural galleys and Assures. The place
was dangerous, for triffle disused
shafts opened here, and a network of
rails and posts marked the more peri
lous tracts and kept the cattle out.
Hwcetland knew this region well, and
now , dismount Ing. he led his horse
to n wide pit known as Wsll Hhaft
gully, and tethered It firmly, where
miners, going to their work, must see
It on tho following morning. An an
clent pit lined with granite yawned
below, sud local report said that it
was unfathomable. Two years be-
for*- a man had accidentally destroy
ed litiiiKcif in falling Into Ha Ml
though the fact was known, the na
ture of the place made It Impossl
hie to rncuvcr hi* corpse.
Now Daniel took a pencil anil pa
lier from his pocket Then, under
the waning moon, he wrote the words,
"good-bye, all.
my wife, D. Hweetland," Next he
took a stick, stuck It up. and aet hi*
message In a cleft of It; and lastly
he kicked and broke the soil at the
edge of the shaft, so that It should
seem he had east himself In with
reluctance. That dons, he set out
for Plymouth at hi* best pace, con
sulted hi* watch and saw that, If all
went well, he might reach the shelter
of the at reel k by 4 o'clock In the
morning.
That Information respecting his
escape must he there before him. he
knew, a* xoon a* the polio- reach
ed Prlncetown, telegram* would fly to
Kxeler and Plymouth and elsewhere.
But Daniel trusted that curly news
would come from the Moor. Then.
If once |t wa* supposed that he had
destroyed hinotelf. the s« verity of the
search at Plymouth and elsewhere
was certain to relax
Hl* estimate of the distance to be
traveled proved Incorrect, and the
runaway found hlntself surprised by
the Mrst gray of morning long before
he had r<ached the *kirts of town.
He turned, therefor**, Into the deep
woods that lie among those outlying
fortress* s which surround the great
seaport Inland; and near the neigh
borhood of Marsh Mills, where the
River Pl.vm runs b> long, shining
reaches to the s* a. Daniel hid close
under an overhanging hank beside
the water. Here he -was safe enough
and saw no sign of life hut the trout
Hint roso beneath him. Thu food (but
Minnie made him carry was soon
gone, anil another nightfall found
Hweetland ravenous. At dusk ho
lowi'roil himself to the river and
drank his All, hut not until midnight
was past did he leave his snug re-;
treat and set forth again.
By three o'clock on the following!
morning he was In Plymouth and turn
ed Ills steps straightway to the Barbi
can. For Daniel sought a ship. He j
had debated of alt possibilities and
even thought of hiding upon the Moor
and letting Minnie feed him by night, j
until the truth of Thorpe's murder
eame to lie known, but the futility of
such a course was manifest. To Inter
veno actively must be impossible for
him without discovery; he felt it
wiser, therefore, to escape beyond
reach of danger for the present. Then.j
once safe, he hoped to communicate
with his friends and hear from them
concerning their efforts to .prove his
Innocence.
The Barbican grew out of dawn
gradually, and Its picturesque aud ven
erable details stood clear cut In the
light of morning It woke early, aud
Daniel hastened*where a coffee-stall
oil wheels crept down to the quay
from an alley-way that opened there
He was the first customer, and he
made a mighty breakfast, to the satis
faction of the shopman. Daniel was
cooling this third cup when other way
farers joined him Some were Ash
ermeu about to sail on the tide; some
were Spanish boys. Just setting out on
their rounds with ropes of onions;
some were sailors from the ships.
A thin, hatchet-faced man In Jack
boots and a blue Jersey attracted Dan
iel. He wore his hair quite long In
ptly ringlets; gold gleamed In his
ears; his Jaws were clean-shaven and
his teeth were yellow.
"Have any of you chaps seen a
THE AUGUSTA HERALD.
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Judas-colored man this morning?" he
asked of the company “His myne's
Jordan, and he carries * great red
I beard afore hint, and the Lord know*
where he's got to. Went off his ship
last night and never came hark."
A flshermun was able to give In
, formation,
"I need the very man last night. He
was drinking along with some pals
and females at the 'Master Mariner 1
that public house at the corner He's
got Into trouble, mister.”
"Of course, of course; ! might have
knowed it. He's a man so Aery a*
his color. Have they locked him up?"
"That I couldn't tell 'e. There was
a regular tipstorc an' i»ewter mug*
dying like birds. First a woman
scratched ihe man's fare; then three
chaps went for him all at onee. The
police took Tilm away, hut whether
he's to the lock-up or the hospital !
couldn't tell ’*■. One or toother for
sartaln.”
The sailor with the ear-rings show
«-dno great regret.
'l<et him stop there, the rranky.
■ld' Arlng varmint But we sail after
mid day on the tide, and the question
la where am I going to pick up a car
penter's male between now and then."
"What's your ship?" asked Daniel
Sweetland.
' . ..e 'Peabody,' bound for the West
Indies, and maybe South America at
(«r."
"How long will you be away from
England?"
'T'an’t say to a month. Might be
twelve weeks, might be twenty; but
most like we shall be home by end of
February.”
"I'll ronie," said Daniel." I want a
ship, an' I want it quick."
iJ'you know your Job?"
"Ess. fay; an’ what I don't know I’D
larn afore we'ni off the Eddystone
lighthouse."
Come on. then." answered the
other. "I'm In luck seemingly. You're
all right—eh? Ban't running away
from anybody?”
"I'm running away from my wife,”
answered Daniel frankly.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, well, that’s a home affair —
your business, not twine. Sometimes
there's nought better than h bit of
widowhood for females. You”ll make
friends when you go back, no doubt.”
"Very likely we shall."
"There was one man shipped with
me who told that story, and I thought
no more of It at the time. But after
wards I found that the chap had mur
dered his missis afore he ran away
from her. You haven’t done that. I
hope ?”
"No. no—just left her for her good
for the present,” explained Daniel.
"An' who be you, if I may ax?"
"My name is James Bradley, and
I'm mate of the 'Peabody,'" answered
his companion. "I’ll not deceive you.
I'm offering you nothing very well
worth having The 'Peabody's' and
old tank steamer, aud rotten as au
over-ripe pear Sometimes I think
the rats will put their paws through
her bottom. A bad. under-engined,
undermanned ship.”
"Why do you sail it) her, then?"’
"That's not here/or there. I'm
mate, and men will risk a lot for pow
er. Besides. I'm a philosopher. If you
know what that is. and I've got a no
tion. picked up lu the Hast, that what
will happen will happen. If I'm going
to be drowned, i shall be drowned.
Therefore, by law an' logic. I'm as
sate in the Peabody’ as I should be
In a battleahlp. But perhaps your
mind Is not used to logic?"
"Never h'card of It,” said Daniel.
“I'll larn you.” answered Mr. Brad
ley. "There's a ship alongside that
You Should Not Fall to Read
DANIEL SWEETLAND j
PHILLPOTTS FAMOUS ACTION NOVEL
4
Cut out the Sections as they appear in the Herald and save them to read at your leisure.
quay. I’ll lay Von never suw a
uglier."
The "Peabody" w a * not an attract
ive craft. Tmt Daniel had no eye for
u ship and merely regarded the
steamer a* an ark of refuge until bet
ter days might dawn. She lay low ' n
the water, had three naked, raking
masts an*l bluff bow*. Her engines
were placed right aft. The well of
the ship was not Ave feet above the
water line.
Mr. Brradley, Ignorant of the fact
that* the new carpenter's mate hau
seldom seen a ship In his life, anil
never been upon one, supposed that
Daniel wa* taking In the steamer with
a sailor'* eye.
"A better weather-boat, than you'd
think, for all she's »o low. Ten knots
with a fair wind. We're taking out
a mixed cargo, and we shall bring
back all sort* and probably cruise
around on the South American coast
t..i we can All up somehow."
"What sort of a captain have you
got?"
“A very good old matt. Too good
for most of us. A psalra-smiter, 'n
fact."
"I’ll come an' see the captain, an
have a bit more breakfast. If you've
no objection.'' said Daniel.
"He won't be there. He's along with
his wife and family at Devonpor-.
He'll only come abroad an hour afore
we sail. But I'm in command now.
Well sign you on right, away. What
sort of a sailor are you?”
“Never knowed what. It was to be
seasick in my life," said Daniel,
laughing to himself at the joke.
"Lucky for you. The Peabody
Anr!s the weak spots in a man's sys
tem when she's In a beam sea—that I
promise you. I'm always ill for a
week after I've been asno.-e a fort
night. Here's Chips."
The man addressed as "Chips" was
standing at the entrance of the fore
castle as Bradley and Daniel crossed
a gangway and arrived on the deck of
the ship.
He came forward to the mate.
“Have -’e heard or seen aught of
Jordan?" he asked.
"Seen nought; heard all I want.to
hear. He's either in hospital or police
station. There won't be time for hint
to come bark now. even if he wants
to. Tell the boy to pack his kit-bag,
and send it ashore to the 'Maste* Ma
riner.’ They’ll know where he’s been
taken. And this man has come in
his place. What's your name, my
i son?"
"Bob Bates."
“Come and eat your breakfast, Bob
Bates," said the carpenter. “Then I'll
And a plenty to do afore we sail."
“I'm a thought out of practice, hut
I’ll soon get handy," answered Dan
iel.
"Where's your papers?” asked the
mate.
“Haven't got none,” answered the
other.
"Old man will never take you with
out papers."
The carpenter, who liked the look
of his new mate, intervened.
“Leave that, Bradley. Cap'll will lis
ten to me, If not to you. Seeing this
man ships in such a devil of a hurry,
'twill be all right. Then, if he's the
proper sort, old man will soon forget."
“You can pretend I’m a stowaway,
an' not And me till we're out to sea,'
suggested Daniel.
“No need, no need: 'twill be al!
right," answered the other.
Time proved that the carpenter o’
the "Peabody” was correct. His in
jured mate did not reappear, and in
the hurry of sailing no questions were
asked. That night, in a weak sjiip,
rolling gunwales under. Sweetland
made acquaintance with the ailment
he had never known, and Mr. Bradley,
who found him under the light of an
oil lamp in an alley way, regarded
the prostrate wreck of Daniel with
gloomy triumph.
“I told you as this ship would twist
your Innards about a bit. I'm awful
bad myself. Drink a pint of sea
water; 'tis the only thing to do. If
it don't kill you, it cures you."
The landsman grunted inarticulate
ly. He was thinking that to perish
ashore, even with infamy, would be
better than the dreadful death that
now prepared to overtake him.
But after twenty-four hours the
“Peabody" was ship-shape and pant
tug solidly along on an even keel.
Daniel quickly recovered, and what
he lacked in knowledge, he made up
iu power to learn and power to please,
i Chips, of course, discovered that his
; new mate was no carpenter, and
Bradley also perceived that Daniel
had never been to sea before. But
your land-lubber, if he be made of the
i ri ßht stuff, will often get on with a
ship's company better than a season
ed suit. Sweetland was unselfish, hard
working and civil. The men liked
him. and the captain liked him. He
prospered and kept his own dark
ernes hidden.
i To detail at length the life on ship
, board is not necessary, since no events
! of importance occurred to be chroni
cled. and within a few weeks of sail
ing. accident withdrew Sweetland
from the "Peabody” forever. The
usual experiences befell him; the won
ders of the deep revealed themselves
| him for the first time; but only one
thing that the sea gave up interested
Sweetland. and that chanced to be an
English newspaper. It happened thus:
When off the Azores, on the Sunday
after sailing, a big sterner overhauled
the "Peabody," went past her as If she
was standing still, and in two hours
was hull down again on the horizon.
" Tis the Don." said Bradlev. "One
of the Royal mail boats from South
jampton for Barbados and Jamaica."
Sweetland frowned to himself and
wondered how it came about that the
vessel’s name should be familiar to
him. Then he remembered that It had
entered his ear before the tragedy.
Henry Vivian lutended to sail by thl*
ship. Doubtless he was on her now.
The liner passed within two hun
dred yad* of the tramp. Then. Just
as she drew ahead, somebody pttrhed
a newspaper over her taffrall Into the
water. It was crumpled up. and the
sea being smooth, the Journal Aoated
and a current dlrfted It across the
bow* of the "Peabody." A man for
war*, saw It. guessed that It contained
later news than on the ship, and pre
pared to Ash It up. Three sailors
with lines were ready for the Aoatlng
paper as It passed the side of the
steamer, and the second angler se
cured It. It proved to be the "Dally
Chronicle" of a date one day later
than the sailing of the "Peabody.”
The Journal was carefully dried and
then. In turn, each man who cared to
do so studied It a- leisure.
For Daniel Sweetland it contained
one highly interesting paragraph, and
he smiled to see how successful his
crude deception had proved.
The Item of news may be repro
duced. for It deAnes the supposed situ
ation left behind by Sweetland, and
Attingly close this chapter of his life’s
story.
“The Tragedy In Dartmoor.
"A sensational sequel Is reported to
the arrest of the man Daniel Sweet
land on his wedding day.lt will be re
membered that Sweetland. a notorious
poacher, was suspected on the evi
dence of his own gun. to have mur
dered a gamekeeper m tne woods of
Mlddlecott Court, estate near the let
tie town of Moretonbampstead. De
von. Three ofAcers arrested him and
started to convey »..m to Plymouth.
But accident detained the party in the
lonely central region of the Moor, and.
their horse falling lame, they spent
some time at a solitary public house
known as the ‘Warren Inn.’ Here
Hweetland, taking the police in hi*
conAdence. confessed to being an ac
complice in the recent famous bur
glary at Westcombe —the seat of the
Giffards, not far distant from Mlddle
cott Court."
The journal, after giving a very ac
curate account of ail that had hap
pened at Furnum Regis, proceeded;
"The hoodwinked officers lost no
time in reaching Princetown, and
from the convict establishment at. that
village telegraphic communication
was --- up with the neighboring dis
ticts. But early morning brought the
sequel to the incident, for at dawn cer
tain laborers proceeding to their work
in Vituer Mine, some few miles from
the King's Oven, discovered the horse
on which Sweetlanfl had ridden off. It
was tethered in the midst of a wild
and savage region full of old work
ings. where lie some tremendous and
unfathomable shafts, sunk in past
years but long deserted. Here the un
fortunate poacher appears to have de
lioeratelv taken his own life, for at
the head of Wall Shaft Gully— a fa
mous aperture which has already
claimed human victims in the past—a
stake was discovered w-ith a letter fas
tened to the top of it. The words in
scribed tliereon ran as follows: ‘Good
bye. all. Let Sim break news to my
wife. D. Sweetland.’ The writing
bears traces of great agitation, but
those famioar with Sweetland's pen
mauship are prepared to swear that
these pathetic syllables were actually
written by him. Absolute proof, how
ever, is imposlble, since the profound
dep hs of the Wall Shaft Gully cannot
be entered. In the case of an acci
dent during 1883. when a shepherd
was seen to fall tn. all efforts to recov
er his body proved fruitless, owing to
the fact that foul air is encountered at
a dept It of about one hundred yards
beneath the. surface of the ground,
me man 'Sim' alluded to in the
poacher's last message is a footman at
Middlecott Court, and appears to have
been Sweetland's only friend. We
understand that he has carried out the
trust imparted to him by his ill-fated
companion. Search at the King s
Oven has proved unavailing. It is
clear that no treasure of any kind was
secreted there."
• That's all right.” said Daniel. ' Now
the sooner I get back to help 'em find
out who killed Thorpe, the better. If
I'd known that 'twould all work out so
smoot an' easy, I'd not have gone at
all. If It weren't for the thought <t
Minnie an' mother, I could laugh.'
CHAPTER VIII.
Mr. Sim Tells a Lie.
Though Daniel had expressly asked
Minnie to tell his friend TUur Sim
that he was not at the bottom of Wall
Shaft Gully, but far away in pres
ent safety, the wanderer's wife did no
such tiling. She would not trust her
self to associate Sim with her hus
band's tragic misfortune; for she
could not yet feel certain that the
footman was all he pretended and de
clared. His conduct after Sweetland's
disappearance proved exemplary. He
fulfilled the mission left behind by
Daniel with all possible tact and Judg
ment. Alone he visited Minnie and
broke the news to her that she was a
widow. But she surprised nlm more
than he dismayed her.
"I pray that you an' everybody be
mistaken. Mr. Sim.” she said. “I hope
my Daniel's not at 'be kn-tom
awful place. But whether his days are
over an' he lies there, or wheuier ue s
safe an' beyond the reach of those
who want to take him. my part is
the same. I'll never rest till I've done
all a faithful wife can do to clear his
memory of this wicked thing. You
know so well as I do that he was an
innocent man."
"Yes. and trust me to prove him
so. if wit and hard work can do It.”
"Those who loved him must labor
to clear him. Let them who want my
good word an' goodwill right Daniel.
Tis the only way to my heart, an' 1
don't care who knows It."
Perhaps those words were the clev
erst that Minnie had ever uttered. At
|any rate, they produced a profound
I effect on Titus 81m. Hi pondered
deeply before replying; then he nodd
ed thoughtfully to himself more than
once.
•"Tie the greatest task before ue all:
110 make hi* memory sweat. Rest sure
enough that I'll do my *h*re." he
promised.
But Minnie Hweetland found her dis
like of Sim not lessened by hi* correct
attitude during these dark *nd trou
bled days. She avoided him when
IKisstble. Hhe kept the secret of her
husband* Aight. very cloee. Indeed,
two living soul* alone knew it beside
Minnie, and they were her husband's
parent*. Dan need have been lu small
concern of hi* mother, because, on
the morning after the poacher's Aight,
Minnie had private speech with the
Sweetland* and made them under*
stand the truth. The woman wa* wise
and. perceiving her son's salvation
probably hung upon this secret, she
kept It. Matthew Sweetland also pre
served silence. His melancholy was
profound, and only Minnie had any
> power to lift, him out of It. Her en
ergy and determination deeply im
pressed him; her absolute belief and
I trust In her husband'* honor put life
I Into hint He told her all that he
knew concerning the death of Arlan*
Thorpe, and promised to take her to
the scene of the outrage, that sba
might study it for berself.
"If only we can prove he had no
hand In It,” said Matthew. "But there,
tis vain to hope so—look which way
you will. If he wa* Innocent, why for
did he run?"
“Innocent men have done so for
nought but terror,” she answered.
"Maybe; but not Daniel. He was
never afeared. No —no; he's gone with
blood on his hand*. Twill never be
known till Judgment D*y. Then the
record will be cried from the Book."
“Why for shouldn't us believe him”"
she asked. "Ne never told me a lie
in his life. Can you call home that
you ever catched him in one?"
But the father refused to argute
"He may have throwed himself
down Wall Shaft Gully for all he told
you" he would not. And no man would
have taken on that, dreadful death If
he wasn’t In fear of a dreadfuller.
However, you can come to the place
an’ welcome. I'll show you where one
man got me down an' nearly whacked
the life out of me; an' I’ll show you
where the other man let moonlight
Into poor Thorpe. The detectives have
tramped every - yard of the ground, but
they found nothing good or bad. The
man or woman as can prove my son
innocent will have my blessing, I
promise you. though to well l know
he’s guilty. I’ve heard him threaten
Thorpe myself.”
In process of time, therefore. Min
nie visited the coverts of Middlecott
Court and traversed the exact ground
where Daniel was supposed to have
destroyed Adam Thorpe. Many other
more highly trained observers’ had
done the like; but public interest in
the affair perished with Sweetland’*
supposed suicide; and even the Police,
when the events of Furnum Regia and
Wall Shaft Gully came to their ears,
pursued their operations at Mtddle
cott Lower Hundred and elsewhere
with less ardor. Their labors threw
no light upon the past; nor could
they find Daniel’s accomplice. Mr.
Sweetland swore to a second poacher;
for one man fought with him and
broke his finger, while the other fired
on Thorpe; but both rascals had worn
masks, and no trace of either appear
ed after the afTray. -excepting only the
gun—Henry Vivian’s gift to Daniel.
Proceedings presently terminated
tamely enough, and It was not until
a fortnight affer the last detective
had left Middlecott that Minn, , with
her father-in-law. visited the theatre
of Thorpe's death.
But they took a detour, for Sweet
land had fresh troubles upon his
hands.
“We'll go by Flint Stone Quarry in
the east woods,” he said, “for thire it
was that more birds were killed law
night. You’d think the anointed ruffi
ans had done enough; but they be at
it still. 'Twas a great roosting place
—very th.ck an' warm, with snug
shelter from north and east. They
might have killed scores o’ dozens for
all me an’ the new keeper could do.
For all I know, they did. Of course,
when us got there all was silent as
the grave; but Thomas went again
first thing this morning and found on*
dead bird, an' one lamed but living,
stuck in a tree fork. An' there was
feathers everywhere an' marks o’
feet. Ten pounds' worth of birds at
least they took.”
The girl listened qflietly.
"Maybe *tis the old hands, father?”
Or new ones, as have lamed their
wicked tricks from my dead son."
"I shall never love you while you
say these things against Daniel."
The keeper did not answer: He
waR surveying the glaring evidences
of another poaching raid. A stone
quarry stood In the center of heavy
woods here, and gleamed white with
flint and yellow with gravel where it
had been gouged out of the hillside.
All round It there crowded trees, and
an undergrowth of Juniper and rhodo
dendron grew to the forehead of the
clett.
“Ix»k!” said Matthew Sweetland.
“The scamps corned down there; an’,
one slipped. I reckon. See how the
soil be tored away. I lay he fell pret
ty heavy. 'Twas this here more (•)
catcbed hts foot an' over he corned.
Here's feathers an' blood where he
fell.
f)More. A tree root.
To be Continued.
In the course of time the
dollar of a spendthrift Is sure to coni/
out on top..