The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, November 04, 1876, Image 1

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( V A Story next week—A Legend of Hot Springs. VOL II. JOHN H. SEALS, ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 4. 1876. 'T’TT'TJ ATQ j PER ANNUM LJL±\iVlk\j IN ADVANCE. NO. 25 [For The Sunny South.] A SONNET. BY MBS. AMELIA V. PUBDY. It is as true as li^ht, that not one man In legions cun preserve his soul from stain If fortune lifts him to her star-lit height, Or keeps him in Adversity’s drear rain; Either way he shall degraded be. Had Grant but died when victory's peans rung A conquering people would throughout all time Have mourned their chieftain and his praises sung. He lives too long, who lives to know defeat; In the zenith of success let great (?) men pass, For if they live, and petty traits are hid By the moment's sparkle- they will show, alas I And our hero-idol—is not sevres fine. Not diamond-dust, as we had fondly thought, But dust o’ the highway, and our god lies prone, Or retrocedes to the old ignoble lot From which fate flung him rocket-like, to blaze His little hour, and pass. It is because So few are bright that brightness blinds our sight, And the day’s scintilla hides unsightly flaws, Then Time, all merciless lays bare, and hence Who goes not home while yet his bays are green, And the simple folk all kneel, will live to see The man drawn out before the golden screen. fFor The Sunny South.] The Outlaw Lancers; OR, IN AT THE DEATH. A TALE OF “GULCH RIVER ” AND THE FLAINS. BY YVM. R. EYSTER, Author of “Cedar Swamp," "Lost," “Through Water and Fire," “ The Haunted Hunter," "King Vick," "Free Trapper's Pass." "Branded and Mad," "Ianthe,” etc., etc. CHAPTER, XIII. Of course Mariau Dorn was ignorant of the meeting between Lieutenant Priestly anti Cap tain Ronald, with its strange ending. The out law came walking slowly back to camp, evi dently in deep thought; but he said nothing with regard to what had happened, and the ab- of Priestly -who had been known to the outlaws as Tom Brent—was unnoticed. During the day Marian was possessed of a demon of unrest. She fretted and chafed under her wound and imprisonment. At every opportu nity she looked anxiously for the sentinel who had spoken to her, hut saw nothing of him. It was well that Ellen fancied the light shining in her eyes was born of fear; had she not, she would have suspected that there was some hid den hope or reason, and might have taken meas ures that would have effectually precluded all chance of escape. That she was now held as a prisoner, Marian could not doubt; for what rea son, was more than she could tell, and she shrank from making a guess at her future des tiny should she be left in these hands. One thing seemed certain: in some way she had awakened a strong interest in the outlaw’s sis ter. From time to time she felt her flashing eyes turned upon her with a gaze that could not be of love, and she sometimes feared might be of hate. There was a consciousness, too, about the look that almost led Marian to believe that something of her past life was known to those around her. How, it was not easy to explain, unless she had dropped some hints of its bitter history during those hours which seemed like a blank to her. The day passed, scouts came and went; the camp still remained in the same spot, without any appearance of immediate change. Then the night came down, cool and calm; the little camp-flres shane dimly, and above the stars looked down from the great blue heavens in all their serene grandeur. The outlaw’s sister shared the hut with Marian; but though they had been thrown together for some days, there seemed but little likelihood of the two becom ing better friends than at the first moment of their meeting. There was a natural aversion to be got rid of before Marian could see even those outside beauties of form and manner, which were actually a fact, of this strangely handsome woman. Cold, reserved, even haughty in her manner, the traces of a sorrow that were so plainly marked upon her features did not strike Marian as they would have done under more favorable circumstances. If she saw them at all, they awakened no pity, since she judged her as nine women out of ten would have done; thought the worst of her from her presence amidst such surroundings, and deemed that her sorrows sprang from the lingering remains of womanly pride. This evening Ellen sat long in silence; so long, indeed, that Marian Dorn, feigning sleep, several times caught herself napping, and feared that in spite of her resolution she might lose consciousness altogether and sleep soundly through the night. Nights seemed to pass, and hours did pass, ere Marian, possessed of strength far bejond that credited to her by Ronald and his sister, arose and noiselessly glided out of the hut, past guards and videttes, and made her way in silence and fear down through the deep shadows which lay along and over the stream. She almost smiled when she saw how easy it was to make her exit from the camp. But any such flight as this, alone and on foot, could bring but temporary safety in case Captain Ronald chose to maintain his assumed right of property in his prisoner. She must have a mount or meet with friends, else the expert trailers in the camp could run her down before the sun was half a dozen hours high, and it was in hopes of meet ing these that she turned her footsteps in the direction of the spot indicated by Lieutenant Priestly. There was not much difficulty about finding the place. The bluff-line ran straight ahead, whilst the stream gave a great curve. Exposed though the spot was, she did not hesitate, but went onwards until she reached the shelf of rock which she had been ^expecting to find. It was tenantless, but somewhat to her surprise there were a few still smoking, smouldering em bers there, the remnants of a small fire which had doubtless been lighted but a few hours be- lore. As Marian knew but little concerning prairie- strange ocean this prairie is that throws np strange things; what next will come ?” Advancing as he spoke, Captain Ronald stretched out his hand and that of the other closed over it with a grip so hard and firm that it seemed t ti’i lively at variance with his apparent exhaustion. Rising, the elder man straightened his tall fig ure and looked from one to the other. “Ronald ! Ellen ! Who speaks of dishonor? Ah! the stained honor of a Bayne must be avenged.” Ellen hid her face with the light wrapping that clung to her shiulders, her form quivered, and she gave vent to a deep sob, which only escaped her after a severe struggle, bhe heeded not her broth er’s horror. Ah, his mind wanders— I must win him to camp and see to this. What has he said to you ?” “Nothing. He takes me for a spirit, I fear. It is too cruel, this pun ishment for no crime that I have willingly done. Pray lead him away. I shall follow at a distance, and perhaps when his mind is more composed he can bear the sight of poor, miserable me." The Tangled Skein—A Knotty Question. craft, the idea that it had been used for signal pur poses never once struck her. Whatever it was, it was deserted, and the first thought, which struck her with a cold chill, was that the friend or friends whom she had hoped to meet had come and gone. Anxiously she sought for footprints, but the hard, bare rock gave no sign. Patient in fear, she seated herself to col lect her thoughts, and decide what was the best for her to do. As she gazed out into the dim, vast solitude, her heart grew cold, and she bowed her head, shutting out the light with her hands. Just now Spencer Boyd had no place in her thoughts. She forgot that trouble in the present profound fears. Hark! She started up, for she heard I he sound of some one approaching; in fact, the footstep was very near. A man was coming slowly and cautiously up the declivity on the hin der side, so to speak, of the bluff. At sight of Marian, he halted, gave one glance, and then sprang recklessly up. In an instant, he was by her side, gazing into her face, trembling with astonish ment and full of emotion. At the very moment when the mad desire to see Spencer Boyd —or Ray Moulden, as he was now known — seemed about to begone, perhaps forever) lo ! he appeared. They stood facing each other, with feelings too deep for utterance. She knew him upon the instant, despite the army blouse which he wore—knew him as well as if he had left her side bat a moment before. And Ray Moulden knew her, too, and a load was lifted off his soul. In a moment of hot anger and turbulent thought, he had done that which he deeply regretted when he once had an inkling of what might be obtained from the let ter given to him by Burke, the scout. Minnie Farwell was beautiful as a dream and rich as Crcesus, but the road to her heart and posses sions was long and tortuous, whilst Marian Dorn, who had beauty enough to at one time fetter his conscience and lead him to danger, was, or might be his, with all her late-found wealth. All of this flashed through his mind, and in a moment he had matured his plans, yet scarce knew how to approach this woman, whom he acknowledged he had scandalously treated, yet whom he knew was searching for him. When Moulden saw that he was recognized, he started back as if in astonishment, and ex claimed: “ Marian Dorn I” “Yes, Marian Dorn,” she answered, flinging aside from her face the rich wreath of her long, streaming hair with a proud toss of her head, and reading his eyes with a steady look that seemed to pierce to the very bottom of his soul. “ Marian Dorn, or Marian Boyd—or what ? I am she who once was Marian Dorn—you best know what I should now be called, and it is to find it out that I have traversed all these weary miles, to come at last straight by fate to you.” The directness of her attack non-plussed Boyd, whose coolness had not altogether re turned. He began to talk, to gain time. In a tone a little tremulous, he went on: “ Marian, in this fortunate meeting let us for get all the cruel wickedness of the past. That ! you have been faithful, I admit with all shame ! and regret for my own past villainy—-for I shall call it by its true name. Is this meeting of chance or fate?” “Away with your platitudes—you do not an- I swer me my question. Who am I?” “My wife,” he answered steadily, and ad vancing a step or two, he made a motion as though he would stretch out his arms. Repelling him, she stepped back. With a gesture, she bade him keep his distance. The love-light that would have shown a greeting in her eyes a few weeks since, was all gone. “Nay, hear me,” he continued. “I am not all had. I was, at my own request, sent out with a body of troops to follow some maraud ing savages, and by chance came upon the train with which yon had traveled. Their unburied i straight and smooth. Many moments did not I tween his lips. j woman who might be and probably was a cap- corpses lay a spectacle of horror. I learned elapse before he came in sight of the rock and } At length he revived, After a time he even tive. Once or twice , however, he had thought that you had been with the train, yet I found its occupants. In the gray light he could see j went so far as to sit up. Without uttering a of her, and now, just when he had leisure to no traces of you, and fearing that you were a that they were two, a man and a woman. The j word, he stared at the woman with great, wild , unravel the secret and attempt to protect and captive, I followed on in hot-footed pursuit, man sat crouched in a strange-looking heap, eyes, she returning the gaze with a look scorn- save her, she dropped into his hands. Literally To-night I saw two pillars of signal smoke, and with his back to the woman, who was walking ful and as silent. dropped, since it was his arm that had arrested hesitated towards which I should turn my steps, backwards and forwards with a nervous stride. He passed his hand feebly over his eyes and her in her downward flight, and snatched her I came hither, though, drawn, I firmly believe, Much to his surprise, he recognized in this wo- looked again. The phantom was still there, j back from the chasm into which she was falling, by the magnetism of your presence. My men man his sister. “Where am I, who am I, who are you?” at Parsons had marked two columns of signal wait yonder in the shadows; let us join them. Scarcely halting to dismount, Captain Ronald length he found strength to utter. smoke at the hour of sundown that evening, your guidance for the present, since it is some thing that any woman in such plight might ac cept—once in safety and the tardy reparation rendered, which I shall doubtless wring from you, and we shall never see each other’s faces again.” “Say not so,” he exclaimed. “ Give me at least a chance to explain, an opportunity to re gain the possible heaven that I have lost. I see life and joy for us in store, in the future.” A hard step fell upon the ears of both, and Marian had just time to give one quick glance over her shoulder, to give a wild scream as she saw springing towards them Allan Bayne. She recognized him in a moment, despite the grizzly beard that now showed itself upon his face, and some trifling change in his clothing. Under the sombrero that now shaded his face, she saw the begriming of the mark which she herself had made there, and his eyes glared upon her with the same insane fire as at their first meeting. “ And I see—death !” he shouted, and at the word was on them. Rapidly as Moulden drew his sabre, the mo tion was too slow. Under that powerful grip, the two quivered for an instant like reeds shaken in the wind. Then, as if they were children, the madman raised them, one in either hand, and cast them from him straight over the edge of the cliff. And at that moment, just a second, as it were, too late, Ellen, the outlaw’s sister, rushed madly forward and threw her arms around the neck of the Texan, exclaiming: “ Merciful heavens ! Are you mad ?” that man, look at him, | will be the meeting when he comes to you lying and say if it was strange j helpless here and fulfills his oath of revenge-” that I should scream.” J A shudder ran over the frame of Ray Moulden Ronald moved a step as he listened to this enumeration. He stretched or two closer; the man out his hand to stay the bitter flood of speech, looked up and was reeog- j and when she had ceased his face was, if any- nized. , thing, whiter than before. “What wave cast you I “Spare me,” he moaned. I am broken by my up upon this rock? A fall. I am lost without help. I acknowledge ' all, but save me; by the memory of our former love, which was great, save me.” “And that other woman—was it to meet her that you came here to your doom? Where is she, and is she another of your poor victims.” “No, no; I swear to you I know nothing of her; she is nothing to me; I met her here by chance. She is mad, crazy. Where is she ? I will look her and all the world in the face and say I meant to be honest and trne to you.” “ Spencer Boyd, or whatever your name may be, you lie. Shock or fear has unmanned you, and you seek to save the remnant of your worth less life at any cost. Well, it shall be saved, if I can effect the saving. For Marion I care nought. Doubtless her corpse lies somewhere among the jagged rocks here, that you have escaped yourself by only a miracle. For you I will make an effort, at least.” She raised herself and seemed about to de part. “ Oh, do not leave me; I am helpless and will perish if left alone—Ellen, Ellen !” “ So far as his power went, he threw all of plaintive pleading that could be imagined into his magical voice. By a mighty effort he caught at the very soul-strings of the girl, and bound her in his chains as securely, apparently, as he had enchanted her of old. “I will return,” she said sadly. “Already I have done what little was possible toward veil ing you from those who, for good reason, would take your life. I have sent father and brother from the spot; but a word from the former may send the other here. Was not his brain disor dered, that word would have been spoken long age. I must leave you to allay and prevent their suspicions, and procure those things you need to sustain you, and perhaps aid in your escape.” “ I have men not a mile distant. Could you not take word to them ?” “No; it might bring on a conflict. I am as mad, as foolish as ovfci.; I will aid you, but in raj own way. I have much I would say to you, yet “ I will,” answered her ! your safety is the first thing with me, and I say, brother, and set himself for the present, farewell.” She tied away with a light, elastic step, leav ing Moulden to gaze after her in a mystified, wondering way, feebly trying to put together the many threads which had become a tangled web in his hands. At the same time a man, burly in form, his face and head covered with a thick mass of hair, came cautiously from a crevice near the top of the rocky ledge from which Moulden had fallen, and began a cautious descent. to the task, which did not prove difficult. The re action had come, and after his fierce burst of passion Allan Bayne proved plas tic enough, under the moulding hands of his son. And all this time Marian Dorn seemed to have dropped entirely from the thoughts of both. Ronald, or Ronald Bayne, led away his father, and without a question left Ellen to 1 ier own reflections. It would have seemed singular, however, if Ellen Bayne had totally forgotten the double tragedy which, a little too late, she had striven her best to prevent. Such, indeed, was not the cause; she had her reasons, and very good reasens they were, for acting as she did. Hardly had the retreating footsteps begun to sound perceptibly fainter, when she sprang to her feet and with agile steps sought a road to the front of the bluff over which she had seen the two cast. Although her ears had been ever bent in that CHAPTER XIV. The wild scream of Marian pealed out omin ously upon the night air, and awoke the echoes for miles around. It pierced into the recesses of Captain Ronald’s camp, where the outlaws were peacefully sleeping, ignorant of the fact that one they considered a prisoner was off and away. In a moment the Captain was upon his feet and rushing to the hut near by. He found it tenantless. Then, giving a hasty order that half f once more, a dozen of the men who came pouring around him should follow, he mounted his horse and dashed away in the direction of the spot from whence the sound seemed to have proceeded. By leaving the line of timber he was able to head for the spot over a road that was both CHAPTER XV. The sight of the gaunt Texan, Allan Bayne, leaping towards her, was sufficient to fill Marian with all possible terror. He came upon her sight with all the ghastliness of a midnight spectre, since, up to this time, she had believed that the shot from her revolver had proved fatal. Often, even in the midst of the soul-trying events around her, had she thought of him ly ing dead and festering in the long grass of the river bottom. Often had she looked at her slen der, delicate hand, and wondered why she had been forced to stain it with the life-blood of a fellow-mortal. direction, no sounds of any kind from below j He came, then, as a mental relief as well as a | had reached them to show that there was aught : terror. Once more she felt his firm grip upon j of life there. Yet, she was determined to see j her arm, but this time she had no weapon of I for herself, and, nerved for some ghastly spec- j defense, and she was borne, save the one wild | tacle, <he ran to explore the mystery of the | scream, unresistingly along, and from the edge j chasm. I of the cliff was flung like a feather, whilst her I She rushed headlong downward; she pushed renegade husband came whirling after, through the interlacing shrubs and rank grasses, j No time to wonder why, or grasp at the hidden looking this way and that for some sign of Ma- , reason of Bayne’s persistent efforts to take her rian or the other. ^ life. She was falling, falling. At length she found him. He lay stretched She closed her eyes as she passed over the prone at the foot of a huge tree, the branches of ; brink, and every nerve grew tense as she waited which seemed to have broken what was at best a in despair the sick inevitable ending of her flight, terrible fall. A little puddle of blood stained j And yet it lasted but a second. In fact, ere the ground nigh to his face, and his breathing ; her body had fairly acquired a downward mo- was short and labored. i mentum, she was snatched from death to life, She sank down at the side of the man with a and lay motionless upon the floor of a little low moan and gazed at him long and earnestly, i cavity, scarce large enough to be called a cave; The rising sun cast its rays into the little canon I and over her bent the form of Jacob Parsons, or gorge, and showed her the pale face and the somewhat strained, and panting after his late cruel, firm-set mouth, smutched now with crim- { exertion. son. j He watched her a moment and scratched his Was he dead? was her first question; and head in a dubious manner. The face of the girl when she saw that he was not, was he dying? j seemed familiar to him, but he could not for Then she raised his head up, dragged him j some time recall under what circumstances he into a more comfortable position, and bending ! had before seen it. down once more, threw her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. When he groaned and moved uneasily with the first efforts of what appeared to be returning consciousness, she grew cold and self-possessed She drew herself up like one gath- Parsons had a quick eye and a good memory; his mind was a perfect repository of names and faces; neither could he be puzzled long. Like a flash it come to him that this was the woman he had seen a few nights before, for the second that his rifle had illuminated the hut into which ering all her senses together with a firmly-knit | the outlaws were endeavoring to force an en- resolve, and when she bent over Ray Moulden ; trance. again she seemed like a different woman. J The old trapper-scout was not a sentimental- A canteen lay by his side. On trying it, El- j ist; he and his comrade had then duties to per- len found that it contained water, and with this j form, and they had gone about them without she bathed his forehead and dropped a little be- : any farther effort to solve the mystery of the I shall place you in safety; we will forget the past; I will repair the wrong I did you, we will love and be happy.” “And how about those barriers between us?” “They are gone; I have broken them down; they are cast aside; they exist no more. Come.” “Never!” she answered, drawing herself up proudly. “In these wilds I have had a revela tion. I neither fear nor love you. I shall fight leaped from his saddle and hastened to the side of the girl, who desisted from her walk and awaited his coming. “What is the meaning of this tomfoolery?— “ And can you find it necessary to ask who I and turned aside to investigate the cause of the am?” answered Ellen. “Who you are, may well nearest one. Having learned about all that he be a question, since you bear many different wanted to know, with a reckless bravery that _ __ names and float between many places. Well, it perhaps was the best thing for him to do, he who is yonder man ?—and what became of your makes little difference; you are a villain at all camped right down in the midst of what he pet prisoner ? Was that your scream that time. I would save you if I could, but it is ; well knew was danger. His horse was lariated aroused the camp?” He cast out his questions in a bundle, with a tone which showed that his humor was none useless to try. I am she once known as Ellen not many rods from the base of the cliff, in a Bayne, whom you basely led astray and deserted, small circle of rye-grass overhung by conceal- I am the daughter of the man who but lately at- ing trees, whilst he himself sought this niche INSTINCT PRINT