Newspaper Page Text
In fact, onlv one
novelist could
have conceived
so remarkable a
tale. And that
novelist Is Eden
Phi llpotts .
Synopsis of First Chapters.
Daniel, only *<>n of Matthew
Hweetland, head gamekeeper of
Mr Reginald Vivian's estate In
Mlddlrcntt. refuses to follow lila
father's trade and obtain* work
tn a nearby mins. He has a pas
don for stealing game from the
neighboring preserve* and wins a
reputation a* a daring and lucky
poacher. He, however, promises
Matthew, on osth. never to mol
est tlte Mlddlecott preserves.
Minnie Marshall, a pretty house
maid, Is loved by D»n and by
the latter’s dearest friend, Titos
Sim, footman at Mlddlecott Hall
She become* enraged to Dsn.
and Tltu* outwardly submit*. A
burglary ha* been committed »•
Westcombe. a nearby estate, anil
suspicion at first point* to Dun
H* and Minnie rent a house on
the moors bearing the gruesome
name of Hangman's Hut. Dan
furnishes hi* lonely abode tor
hta future wife and stocki It*
larder On the eve of the wed
ding he decide* that a brace of
pheasants will be a pleasant addi
tion io their provisions, so goes
by night to Westcombe wood*,
where he shoots the two bird*,
using a handsme gun given him
as a wedding present by Mr
Reginald's sou, Henry, a boyhood
playmate of Dan and Titus. While
in Weatcomla- wood* ho hears
gunshot* in Mlddlecott preserv<
On his way to and from Hang
man's Hut (whither he goes to
leave hi* gun and hide the birds)
he twice catches sight of a man
running along the moorland road.
On reaching his father's cottage
Dan finds that Matthew and the
latter's assistant. Adnin Thorpe,
have had a brush with poachers
and that Thorpe has been shot
Directly after the wedding, next
day. Dan I* arresicd, charged
with Thorpe'a murder. His gun
has been found nesr the. scene of
the crime. He leaves hi* wife
in charge of the wife of Johnny
Beers, an Innkeeper. »ud Hiatts
off toward Plymouth Jail with the
local policeman, an Inspector,
and oorder, a pluln-clothea man.
While crossing the moor he tells
the trio thnt he knows where the
valuables stolen from Westcombe
are hidden, and says he will show
them the spot If they will share
the reward with his wife. They
consent, and he leads them to :i
lonely spot, where he sets them
to digging. Dan knows his gun
was placed near Thorpe* body
by some enemy, and wanla to
I* free In order to track down
that unknown enemy, whom he
belleves to be the real murderer.
His atory of the hidden treasure
Is only a ruse to throw his cap
tor* off their guard. While they
arc digging he two of
them, eludes the third, and es
capes on the horse that had
drawn the official cart.
Meantime Daniel Bweetland wm
riding baro-b*ck*d over Dartmoor to
hla new homo.
Me knew the way very well, and
threaded many a bo* and leapt a
at ream or two then breasted a hill
and looked down where. Ilko a glow*
worm, on.* little warm light glimmer
ed In the allver and ebony of the noc
turnal deaert.
Kor the Aral time that day hla
heart grew aoft. "Her—all alone!" he
thought. "I might have knowed she'd
eutne. That'* her place now: an*
mine be alongside her'"
He formed the resolution to ace
Minnie at any cost.
“He'll eat supper alone together for
once, though the devil get* the reck
oning." he aald. "I lay my pretty
have had no stomach for victuals thl*
night.”
Five minutes later a horse stopped
at Hangman's Hut. and Minnie, un
locking the door, found herself Itt her
husband’* arm*.
"Ban't much of a wedding night."
he said: “but such ns 'Us tis'll make
the most of tt. I've foxed 'em very
nice with a yarn about that burglary,
of which I know no more than the
dead really. But you'll hear tell
about that presently. An' tonight
they'll have a pretty walk to l’rlnre
town, for the onl* horse, except this
one within five mites, belongs to
Johnny Beer an' 'tie tired out after
the Journey to Morcton."
Minnie was far less calm than when
she left him In the morning. Kvon
her steady uerve failed her now. for
the only time In hi* life Daniel saw
her weep
"Don't >ou do that.' he said. "Ran t
no hour for tears, Fetoh In all the
food In the house, an' that bottle of
wine 1 got for >. t’an't stop long,
worse lurk."
"I know right well you'm an In
nocent man, Daniel; an' I'll never be
happy again until I've done my share
to prove It," she said
*' ’Ti» Just that will be so awful
hard. Anyway. 1 felt that the risk
of a trial vn too gr.at to stnml. If
iher* was a chance to escape Amt
the chance offered. The Ilea I've
told! But 1 ne.dn't waste time with
that Keep quiet about my visit to
night. Ban't nobody'* business but
ours A purty hone* moon, by Qod'
All the same, 'tl* better than none"
Minnie hastened to get the food:
then, when ah* had brought It. he put
out the llg.it and flung the window
ejmn
‘Ts must heed what may hap.
They might come this wav by chance,
though there's little likelihood o' tt."
He listened, but there was no
•ound save the sigh of a distant
Daniel Sweetland
A GREAT AMD FASCINATIMG CHARACTER CREATION
■ -(Copyrlg St, 1906, Eden Phillpottt. Jtt l Rightt Rrtrrvd) ■ ■
stream and the stamp of the horse's
hoofs at the door.
“To leave you here In this for
|Hakeu place!" he cried "You musn't
jstop. You shall not."
"Hut 1 shall, for 'tla so good as uny
other," she answered. "Ive got to
| work for you while you are far off.
'Daniel, I've got to dear you; an' I
I will. Hod helping. What a woman
lean do, I’ll do lor 'e.'\
"An' mor« than any woman Hot you
could do! I know right well that If
jtruth Is to come to light, 'twill be
your brave heart finds It. You au'
Him 'I mg', him. He'll do what a
friend may. He'll work for me with
all his might."
"An’ whai will you do?" she asked.
“Make myself scarce," he answer
• ed, " Tl* all I can do for the pres
’ent. No good arguing while thn rope'a
j round your neck. I can't prove I'm
Innocent, ho 'tin vain stopping lo do
jit. 1 mean to got to Plymouth afore
morning an' go down among the
ships. Then I'll take the flrat Job
any man offers me. an' If my luck
holds, I might 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 m« again, as
he’ve helped tonight. Like enough,
|when you hear next about me, they’ll
tell you as I’ve been killed by the
horse. Ilut don't you feel no fear. I
shall he to Plymouth very comfort
able."
Hhe ministered to him and he ate
and drauk heartily.
“One hour I'll bide along wl' my
own true love, thin off I must go."
said Daniel. "I’ve hit poor Gregory
rather hard; but 1 hope he'll got
over It. Anyway. It bud to be done.
Only you go on being yourself, Min.
an' keep up your rournge. an' fill
vour time working fno me. The case
In clear. Home man have shot Adam
I Thorpe; but he didn't shoot him with
j tuy gun, because my gun was In my
own band when Thorpe fell, an' I was
a good few mile away. To tie ex
act. I was getting pheasants for 'e In
| Westcombe woods at the time —you'll
llnd 'em In the well; an' I heard the
shot* llrod at Mlddlecott unite clear,
though I was five mile off. Hut the
thing be to show that I was live inllo
off."
"And your gun, Daniel?"
"I put my gun back In the case tn
the next room to this long afore mid
night yesterday," h« said.
"Then '(was fetched away after
midnight?"
"Yf*. It was; an' If you can fln-1
i the man as took my gun. then you'll
jflnd the man who killed the keeper "
" Twill l»- tin- llrM thought an'
prayer of my life to do It. Daniel."
“An’ you will do It If Bint don't,"
he prophesied.
Within the hour Daniel reluctantly
prepared to leave his home.
•“Tl* a darned shame 1 must go." he
said; "hut I've no chance now. Only!
mind this, Minnie Sweetland. Don't
you think you’m a widow tomorrow
when they come* an’ lell* you so. If
they bring my corpse to 'o then be j
Iteve tt; but they won't.”
"Take care of yourself. Daniel," She j
answered, "for your life's ray life. I’ll I
only Mve an' think an' work an' pray
|for you. till you come hotne-along a-
I gain "
“Trust me," he said. “You'm my j
star wheresoever 1 do go. Up or,
down, so long as f be alive. I'll have '
you first In thought, my own ll'l wife, j
| Nought shall ever come at ween me
an' you but my coffin lid. An' well
Hod know* It."
“Go," she said. “An" let me hear
how you be faring so soon as you
can."
“Be sure of that. If I daren't wlrtc
to you. I’ll write to Mm. But. re
member It may be an awful long
time. If I have lo go across sen*.'
"Write to me-to me direct," she
begged earnestly. “Send my letter
through no other man or woman.
Twill he my life's blood renewed to
get It. An' I can wait; 1 can wait an
patient as any stone. Time's noth
ing so long a* we come together ugaln
some day. We’re got our dear mem
ories. an' they'll never grow dim.
though we grow gray."
"Not the memory of this day an'l
night, that’s brought the greatest 111
an' the greatest Joy Into roy life at
once," he answered. ‘'Oreen for ever-!
more 'twill be "
i Then again and again they kissed,
and Ihmlel Sweetland rode away.
At th,. top of the next -lark hill he
turned and looked back, but he saw
nothing. Minnie had not lighted her
lamp again. She stood and watched
hint vanish. Then she went to her
bed In the dark and prayed brave
prayers until the dawn broke.
I
CHAPTER 111.
Th# Bad Ship "Psabody."
Daniel Sweetland had decided on
hi* course of action before he bade
his wife farewell. Now he rode back
to Furnum Kcgls, found the King's
Oven empty a* he expected, and turn
ed his horse's head to the south. He
crossed the main road, struck down
a bridle-path, and presently approach
ed Vltlfer Mine. Here the laud was
cut and broken luto a wild chaos of
old-time excavation* and deep, ua
tural galleys and Assures The place
was dangerous, for trtftlc disused
shafts opened here, and a network of
rails and posts marked the more peri
lous tracts and kept the cattle out.
Sweetland knew this region well, and
now. dismounting, he led his horse
to u wide pit known a* Wall Shaft
sully, and tethered It Arntly. where
mini rs. going to their work, must see
It on the following morning. An an
cient pit lined with granite yawned
below, and local report said that It
j w-» unfathomable. Two your* be-j
fore a man had accidentally destroy
ed himself by falling Into It. and
though the fart wa* known, the na
lure of the place made It lmpo*sl
i hie to recover hi* corpse.
Now Daniel took a pencil and pa
lter from his pocket. Then, under
the waning moon, he wrote the worda.
"good bye, all. J.et, Him break It to
my wife. D Hweetland." Next he
took a stick, stuck It up. and abt hla
message In a cleft of It; and Unity
lie kicked and broke the soil at the
edge of the shaft, ao that It should
seem he hud cast himself In with
reluctance That done, he set out
for Plymouth at hla heat pace, con
sulted hU watch and saw that, If all
went well, he might reach the shelter
of the Ktrecta by -I o'clock In tho
morning.
That information respecting hi*
escape must be there before hint, he
knew Aa twin a* Die police Touch
'd Prlncetown, telegram* would fly to
Exeter and Plymouth and elsewhere.
But Daniel trusted that early news
would come from the Moor. Then.
If once'|l wa* supposed that be had
destroyed him self, the severity of the
Heareh at Plymouth and elsewhere
was certain to relax
His estimate of the distance to be
traveled proved incorrect, and the
runaway found himself surprised by
the ttrst gray of morning long before
he had r<ached the skirt* of town.
He turned, therefore, into the deep
woods that lie among those outlying
fortressr* which surround the great
seaport Inland; and near the neigh
borhood of Marsh Mills, where the
River Plym runs by long, shining
reaches to the *«a, Daniel hid close
under an overhanging bank beside
the water. Here he was safe enough
and saw no sign of life but the trout
that rose beneath hint. The food that
Minnie made him carry was soon
gone, anil another night fall found
Hweetland ravenous. At dusk ho
j lowered himself to the river anil
| drank his fill, but not until midnight
was past dlil he leave his snug re
treat and set forth again,
i By three o'clock on the following
morning he was in Plymouth and turn
ed hi* steps straightway to the Barbi
can. For Daniel sought a ship. He
1 had debated of all possibilities and
even thought of hiding upon the Moor|
and letting Minnie feed him by night,
until the truth of Thorpe's murder
eaitie to be known; but the futility of
sueh a course was manifest. To inter
vene actively must bo impossible for
him without discovery; he felt It
wiser, therefore, to escape beyond
reach of danger for the present. Then,
once safe, he hoped to communicate
with his friends and hear from them
concerning their efforts to prove his
Innocence.
The liarbicun grew out of dawn
gradually, and its picturesque and ven
erable details stood clear cut in the,
light of morning. It woke early, and
Daniel hastened where a coffee-stall
on 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. 1
faction of the shopman. Daniel was
cooling this third cup when other way
farers Joined him Borne were fish
ermen 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
hoots and a blue jersey attracted Dan
iel. Ho wore his hair quite loug In
oily ringlets; gold gleamed in his
ears; his jaws were cleanshaven and
, his teeth were yellow,
j "Hire any of you chaps seen a,
THE AUGUSTA HERALD.
Seventh of The
Herald Scries or
Brilliant Fiction
Complete Novel.
Each Month
Without Extra
Cost.
Judas-colored man thi* morning?" he
asked of the company. "Hl* name s
Jordan, and he carries a great red
i beard afore him. and the l/»rd know*
where he's got to. Went off hla ship
last night and never came hack."
A fisherman was able to give In
, formation.
"I seed the very man last night. He
was drinking along with some pal*
and females at the ‘Master Mariner’
—that public house at the corner. He's
got Into trouble, mister."
"Of course, of course; I might have
kno wed It. He's a man so Aery as
his color Have they locked Him up?"
"That I couldn't tell 'e. There was
u regular upalore an' pewter mugs
Aylng like birds. First a woman
scratched the man's face; then three
chaps went for hint all at once. The
polio- took him away, but whether
lie's to the lock-up or the hospital I
couldn't tell 'e. One or t’other for
sarlain." .
The sailor with the ear-rings show
edno great regret.
'Let him slop there, the cranky,
spit firing VBrmint. Hut we gall after
mid day on the tide, anti the question
la where am I going to pick up a car
penter's mate between now and then."
“What's your ship?" asked Daniel
Hweetland.
’-. ..e Peabody,’ bound for the West
Indies, and maybe South America af
ter.”
"How long will you be away from
England?"
“Can’t say to a month. Might be
twelve weeks, might be twenty; but
most like we shall he home by end of
February."
“I’ll come," said Daniel.” I want, a
ship, an’ I want it quick.”
Li'you know your Job?"
"Ess, fay; an' what I don't know 1J!
Urn afore we nt off the Eddystone
lighthouse."
‘Come on, then." answered the
other. "I’m in luck seemingly. You're
all right—eh? Ran'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 mine. Sometimes
there's nought better than a 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
uo 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 uame is James Bradley, and
I'm mate of the 'Peabody,’" answered
his companion. "I’ll not deceive you.
I'm offering you uothlng very well
worth having. The 'Peabody’s' and
! old tank steamer, and rotten as an
over-ripe pear. Sometimes 1 think
the rats will put their paws through
her bottom A bad. under-engined,
under-manned ship."
"Why do you sail in 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 in the East, that what
will happen will happen. If I'm going
]to be drowned, I shall be drowned.
1 Therefore, by law an’ logic. I'm as
safe in the 'Peabody' as I should be
in a battleship. But perhaps your
mind Is not used to logic?"
"Never heard of it,” said Daniel.
"I’ll iarn you,” answered Mr. Brad-
I ley. "There's a ship alongside that
You Should Not Fail to Read
DANIEL SWEETLAND
PHILLPOTT’S FAMOUS ACTION NOVEL
Cut out the Sections as they appear in the Herald and save them to read at your leisure.
quay. I'll lay you never saw a
uglier."
The "Peabody" w»* not an attract
ive craft, but Daniel had no eye for
a ship nud merely regarded tho
at canter as tin ark of refuge until bet
ler days might dawn. She lay low In
the water, uad three naked, raking
masts and bluff bows. Her engines
were placed right aft. The well of
the ship was not Avo feet above the
water Hue.
Mr. Brradley, Ignorant of the fact
that the new carpenter's mate had
seldom soeu a ship In his life, and
never been upon one. supposed that
Daniel was taking in the steamer with
a sailor'* eye.
"A better weather-boat than you'd
think, for all she's ao low. Ten knots
with a fair wind. We're taking out
a mixed cargo, and we shall bring
back all sorts 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 man. Too goon
for most of us. A psalm-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 Devonport.
He'll only come abroad an hour afore
we sail. But I’m in command now.
We ll sign you on right away. What
sort of a sailor are you?"
"Never knowed what it was to be
sea-sick in ray life," said Daniel,
laughing to himself at the Joke.
"Lucky for you. The 'Peabody
Ands 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 h
week after I’ve been asnc.-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 lo the mate.
"Have 'e heard or seen aught of
Jordan?" he asked.
"Seen nought; heard all I want Jo
hear. He's either in hospital or police
station. There won’t he time for him
to come hack now, even if he wants
to. Tell the boy to pack his kit-bag,
and send it ashore to the ‘Master Ma
riner.' They’ll know where he's been
taken. And this man has ■ come in
his place. What’s your name, my
son?"
“Bob Bates.”
“Come and eat your breakfast. Bob
Bates,” said the carpenter. "Then I’ll
find a plenty to do afore we sail."
"I'm a thought out of practice, but
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'n will lis
ten to me, if not to you. Seeing this
man ships in such a devil of a hurry,
'twill be nil right. Then, If he's the
proper sort, old man will soon forget."
“You can pretend I’m a stowaway,
an' not find me till we’re out to sea,"
suggested Daniel.
“No need, no need; 'twill be all
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 ship,
rolling gunwales under, Hweetland
made acquaintance with the ailment
ho had never known, and Mr. Bradley,
who found him tinder 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
ing solidly along on an even keel.
DaDiel quickly recovered, and what
he lacked in knowledge, he made up
in power to learn and power to please.
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 bo made of the
right stuff, will often get on with a
ship's company better than a season
i fd salt. Sweetland was unselfish, hard
working and civil. The men liked
him. and the captain liked him. He
prospered aud kept his own dark,
cares hidden.
i To detail at length the life on ship
board Is not necessary, since no events
iof 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
dors of the deep revealed themselves
|to him for the first time; but only one
i thing that the sea gave up interested
j 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 Bradley. "One
of the Royal mail boats from South
ampton for Barbados and Jamaica.”
Sweetland frowned to himself and
wondered how If came about that the
vessel's name should be familiar to
him. Then he remembered that it had
entered hla ear before the tragedy.
Henry Vivian Intended to sail by this
ship. Doubtless he was on her now.
The liner passed within two hun-
I dred ysd* of the tramp. Then. Juat
aa she drew ahead, somebody, pitched
n newspaper over her taffrnll Into tho
water. It was crumpled up. and the
, sea being smooth, the journal Hosted
and a current dlrfted It across the
bows of the "Peabody." A man for
wan. saw It, guessed that It contained
later new* than on the ship, and pre
parea to fiah It up. Throe sailors
with lines were ready for the floating
paper as It passed the side of the
steamer, and the second angler #<••
i cured it. It proved to be the "Daily
I Chronicle” of a date one day later
; than the- sailing of the "Peabody.”
The journal was carefully dried and
Jthen, 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 defines the supposed situ
ation left behind by Sweetland, and
1 fittingly close this chapter of his life's
istory.
"The Tragedy in Dartmoor.
"A sensational sequel Is reported to
1 the arrest of the man Daniel Sweet-
I land on his wedding-day.lt will be re
membered that Sweetland. a notorious
i poacher, was suspected on the evi
-1 dence of his own gun. to have mur
dered a gamekeeper in tne woods of
Mlddlecott Court estate near the let
tie town of Moretonhampstead, De
von. Three officers arrested him and
I started to convey mm 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
Sweetland. taking the police in his
confidence, confessed to being an ac
complice in the recent famous bur
glSrv at, Westcombe —the seat of the
Giffards. not far distant from Mlddle
cott Court.”
The journal, after giving a very ac
curate account of all 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 Vitiier Mine, some few miles from
the King's Oven, discovered the horse
on which Sweetland had ridden off. It
was tethered In the midst of a wild
I and savage region full of old work
! iugs. where tie some tremendous and
unfathomable shafts, sunk in past
years but long deserted. Here the un
fortunate poacher appears to have de
liberately taken his own life, for nc
the head of Wall Shaft Gully— a fa
mous aperture which has already
claimed human victims in the past a
stake was discovered with a letter fas
tened to the top of it. The words in
scribed thereon ran as follows: ‘Good
bye, all. Let Sim break news to my
Wife. D. Sweetland.’ The writing
bears traces of great agitation, but
thQso faminar with Sweetland's pen
manship are prepared to swear that
these pathetic syllables were actually
written by him. Absolute proof, how
ever. is imposible, siuce 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 In, all efforts to recov
er his body proved fruitless, owing to
the fact that foul air is encountered at
a depth of about one hundred yards
beneath Uie surface of the ground,
ine man 'Sim' alluded to in the
poacher's last message is a footman at
Mlddlecott 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 uo treasure of any kind was
I 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 cl'
Minnie an' mother, I could laugh.
CHAPTER VIII.
Mr. Sim Tells a Lie.
Though Daniel had expressly asked
Minnie to tell his friend Titus 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 thing. 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 ntm more
than he dismayed her.
"I pray that you an' everybody be
mistaken. Mr. Sim." she said. "I hope
my Daniel's not at *b° bn*rom *'”t
awful place. But whether his days are
over an" he lies there, or wnetner ue s
safe an' beyond the reach of those
who want to take him. my pan 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 au
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' I
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 Tltua Sira. H* pondeiert
deeply before replying; then he nofd
ed thoughtfully to hlmaelf more twin
once,
“'Tl* the greatest task before us .11:
to make hi* memory sweet. Rest sire
enough that I'll do my share," he
promised.
But Minnie Sweetland found her dis
like of Sint not lessened by hi* corttet.
attitude during these dark and trou
bled day*. She avoided him wlcn
possible. She kept the secret of ler
husband's flight very cloae. Indwd,
two living aoul* alone knew it beddo
Minnie, and they were her husbatd'a
parent*. Dun need have been In snail
concern of hi* mother, because, on
the morning after the poacher - * flljrht.
Minnie had private speech with the
Sweetland* and made them unter*
stand the truth. The woman wa* vis*
and. percdvlng her *on'* salvation
probably hung upon thi* secret, »he
kept It. Matthew Sweetland also pre
served silence. His melancholy was
profound, and only Minnie had xnv
power to lift him out of It. Her en
ergy and determination deeply Im
pressed him; her absolute belief and
| trust in her husband’s honor put life
! into him. He told her all that he
knew concerning the death of Adam
Thorpe, and promised to take her to
the scene of the outrage, that she
might study It for herself.
"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 was 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 hands. Twill never be
known till Judgment Day. Then the
record will be cried from the Book "
“Why for shouldn't us believe him?"
she asked. “Nc never told me n lie
in his life. Can you call home 'hat
you ever catchcd him in one?"
But the father refused to argue.
“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 blessink, I
promise you, though to well I know
he’s guilty. I’ve heard him threaten
, Thorpe myself.”
In process of time, therefore, Min
nie visited the coverts of Mlddlecott
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 interdst In
the affair perished with Sweetland's
supposed suicide; and even the police,
when the events of Furnum Regie and
Wall Shaft Gully came to their ears,
pursued their operations at Middle
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; hut both rascals had worn
masks, and no trace of either appear
ed after the affray, excepting only the
gun—Henry Vivian's gift to Danlei.
Proceedings presently terminated
lamely enough, and it was not until
a fortnight after the last detective
had left. Mlddlecott that Minnie.' with
her father-in-law, visited the theatre
of Thorpe's death.
But they took a detour, for Sweet
land had fresh troubles upoii his
hands.
“We’ll go by Flint Stone Quarry in
the east woods,” he said, “for there ’t
was that more birds were killed last
night. You’d think the anointed, ruffi
ans had done enough; but they be at
jit still. ’Twas a great roosting place
—very th.ck an’ warm, with snug
shelter from north and east. They
1 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 fouud one
dead bird, an' one lamed hut living,
stuck in a tree fork. An' there was
feathers everywhere an' marks o’
feet. Ten pounds’ worth of birds at
least they took.” t
The girl listened quietly.
"Maybe 'tis the old hands, father?"
Or new ones, as have larned 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
was surveying the glaring evidences
;of another poaching raid. A stone
i 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
i clen.
"lx>ok!” said Matthew Sweetland.
"The scamps corned down there; an’
! one slipped, I reckon. See how the
i soil be tored away. I lay he fell pret
ty heavy. ‘Twas this here more (•)
| catched his foot an' over he corned.
Here's feathers an’ blood where he
fell.
, * *» ! ' *
In the course of time the bottom
; dollar of a spendthrift is sure to come
jout on top.