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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
$
- Suardian - ^Blizzard.
CHAPTER IX.
DEATH.
Following his conductor along the lane,
Doctor Maroney was led through an open
gateway, thence down a slight declivity, to a
poor hut on the banks of a bayou. The fami
ly here residing belonged to the poorer class
of emigrants who yearly move to and fro.
They had come here in early fall to share in
the cotton-picking, but before the next plant-
ing time they would probably be back in
Arkansas, or elsewhere seeking the idler
Elysium.
Finding the poor woman in a dying condi
tion, and knowing he could do her no per
manent good, the doctor administered an
anodyne, then prepared to follow his friend
to the Halford farm. While mounting his
broncho he said to a rnan who stood near:
“Is there no thoroughfare by which I may
reach the Halford farm snorter than around
that long serpentine road through the vil
lage ?”
“Oh, yes,” responded the man, “you may
go straight up the bayou till you come to the
ford where the roads fork, then take the left
hand road, and you’ll be there in less time
than it would take you to ride back to the
village. ”
Thanking him, Doctor Maroney departed,
and reached the house in due time. All
was dark and silent within, except one light
that dimly shone from a breach in the heavy
curtain of a window in the rear ol the house,
where he knew his fair patient reclined.
“Faith! ond its passing strange,” he
ejaculated, “only one loight ond company in
the house. The-Blizzard must -have gotten
up a blaw, and have blawn me frinds away
or sint thim supperless to bid. Sorry I did
no’ come with thim, since the poor, burned
crature could have been little the worase of a
few more pains. ”
Knocking the door, he received no answer,
and being pretty well acquainted with the
moods of he eccentric hostess, he- opened it
and went in. _ cne lighted cham-
- Imo-tounded on the threshold,
--ocuted in one corner, near a smouldering
fire, was the Blizzard with a new born infant
in he/ arms, and glaring on him with dry,
red eyes, she exclaimed wildly, as pointing to
the bed:
•‘Look, look, what your dilatory stupidity
has done! You might have saved her if you
had come an hour sooner.”
Then rocking herself to and fro, she wailed
Urf the excess of grief :
“Oh, my poor, lost, murdered Rosa! Oh,
srny wronged darling!”
“Do no’ take it so to heart,” said the
kind-hearted ^doctor, in a clumsy attempt to
offer consolation. “She has lift ye another
darling to cherish.”
“And why did you not tell of this, instead
of palavering about lung and bowel consump
tion ? ”
“And surely ye had enough to bear, with
that same fatal knowledge, without throub-
ling ye about what I thought would be buried
in the grave with the mither, who would
doubtless, have been as innocent as this little
fellow if she’d had a fair chance.”
“She would, she would!” sai'd the Bliz
zard, wildly wringing her hands, and sway
ing to and fro, so that the 6 ;doctor, fearing she
imight drop the infant, took it from her lap,
: saying:
“Foine little fellow, born on Saint Peter’s
•day, or rather noight. We must call him
Peter, and thrust that he may do as much in
the worark of christianizing the hathen as
,did his respictable prediscissor. ”
Then laying the child on the couch, the
doctor turned back the coverlet and gazed on
the cold, calm face of the mother—beautiful
even in death.
“Ah,” he murmured, replacing the cover
ing, “aven the King of Tirrors has rio’
robbed the impty casket of its incomparable
beauty. ”
There was the sound of approaching foot
steps, and a moment later Jerry Topham, who
had gone to the village an hour or so ago,
came in with his wife and two or three other
females.
Taking a last look at the dead, the Bliz
zard directed the women to prepare the body
for interment, then, with unutterable agony
straining every lineament of her face, she
preceded Doctor Maroney to another apart
ment, where, kindling a fire, she stood facing
it.
“I’ve had a rough road in this world, Dr.
Maroney,” she said; “for ever since I have
been old enough to understand injustice, or
to resent injury, I’ve been trying to right my
wrongs and take vengeance on my enemies.
But now, when I have traveled half the jour
ney of life according to the term commonly
allotted to mortals, I find my wrongs and
injuries accumulating, and my deadliest foes
still live and exult in my degradation. But I
swear by heaven, that I will no longer sub
mit! I am going away now, and I will never
return till I wreak vengeance on her mur
derer !’
“ ‘Vengeance is moine,’ ” quoted the doc
tor. “Lave it to him.”
“Don’t preach to me, Doctor Maroney.
You do not understand, you can have no
idea of what I have suffered. But listen, and
I will tell you of this last, my crowning sor
row.”
Taking a chair opposite him, she began :
“He, the arch-fiend, Mansfield, is her mur
derer. For this crime the law will not touch
him. But he also killed her brother, and for
that deed a price is on his head.”
“I canno’ understand how it so nearly con
cerns you, seeing you are not the mither,^if
it is thrue, as I’ve been tould, that these
orphans have no near relations.”
“Admitting that to be true, is it not the
more reason that some one should take their
part ?”
“Will, yes, I suppose so. But, how came
he to kill the brother?”
“Lewis being suspicious of the infamous
relations existing between Mansfield and
Ro-a, taxed him with it, whereupon the in
carnate fiend, taking deliberate aim with his
gun, killed Lewis instantly. Then, direct
ing Rosa’s removal to a farmhouse on the
border, he escaped. As soon as I learned of
Rosa’s whereabouts, I went and brought her
home. He sent for her repeatedly, and even
now, one of his emissaries is locked in that
room,” (pointing), “I saw him ride by and
linger about the place thfs evening, and to
night, when she was. dying, he came to my
door. I only took time to lock him in then,
but now, I will bring him out and force him
to guide me to Mansfield. By his aid I will
bring that double-dyed traitor to justice.”
“Where’s me frindx” asked the doctor,
suddenly remembering Mr. Washington.
“I don’t understand you.”
“Me irind, Mr. Washington and his
daughter pracaded me by an hour. What
has become of thim ?”
“I have not seen them, they must have lost
their way, or changed their minds, for they
have not been here.”
“That is too bad!” said the doctor, rising.
“I must go and look thim up, the little leddy
will be sick with fasting, and the noight
dews.”
“Stay, doctor, help me to bind my pris
oner, and I will go too.”
“What will ye do with the little one, sure
ly ye will not lave little Peter to grapple his
way all alone?”
“N o, he shall be cared for. Come !”
And, with a rope in one hand, she led the
way to the chamber where Mr. Washington
had been locked in. Unlocking the door,
while the doctor held the lamp, they entered.
The room was empty.
A spasm of pain for an instant contracted
the woman’s visage. Then noting the open
window, she articulated, in a husky tone:
“Gone!”
“Yis, ” said Doctor Maroney, following
the direction of her eyes with his own, “the
spalpeen has smashed the bloinds, and is-
caped. Will, it is comfortable to have sich
vermin out of the house. Now, ye can stay
at home and take care of little Peter, for
the rogues, hearing that she is dead, will
cease to molest ye. And in toime the old
wounds will sear. Promise me,” holding
out his hand in farewell.
Grasping his hand with nervous energy,
accompanied with a lugubrious shake of the
head, she said :
“You are not the victim, doctor, therefore,
you can not understand.”
CHAPTER X.
A BOLD ROBBER-
Mounting his horse, Doctor Maroney rode
rapidly back to the village, where, arousing
almost every household, he made diligent in
quiry for his friends, but could learn nothing,
no one having seen them. Then, thinking
that they might have tried to follow him
around the lane, he turned into it. His horse
was tired, and the road rough and narrow, so
his progress was slow, and dawn was just
lighting up the eastern horizon when he dis
covered a solitary horseman coming towards
him.
It was Mr. Washington, who, with haggard
face brightening at sight of him, inquired:
“Where is she?”
“Who?” asked Doctor Maroney.
“My daughter. I have been looking for her
all night.” “Ond its mesHf that’s been look
ing for ye both. How did ye lose your-
sil ves ?”
“I left Vi waiting at the gate while I
knocked at the door,and that vixenish woman
collared and locked me in before I could say
anything. And when I got out Vi was gone.
And thinking she had gone in search of you,I
followed,and have bgen searching all night.”
“Hoily Mither!” exclaimed the doctor.
“What a muddle, to be sure.”
He then explained how the Blizzard had
mistaken Mr. Washington for Colonel Mans
field’s messenger.
“But my child, what has become of her?”
“Ah, what?” and the doctor relapsed into
silent wonder for some minutes, then turning
his broncho, he said :
“She must be at some house in the village,
let us go and awaken ivery one.”
Slowly, almost mechanically, they returned
to Sylvan Green, where, arousing the drowsy
inhabitants, put them in a furore by telling
them of the missing young girl. Three com
panies of men were soon formed, and started
in different directions in the search.
In the meantime, a quiet funeral took place
at the Halford farm, and as the aged minister
closed the service with the usual formula
“ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the grave
was rounded up, and the wronged, the sin
ning, the suffering, and the beautiful Rosalie
Grayson was forever safe from the world’s
censorious shafts.
Stunned with grief, and almost mad with
rage, the Blizzard induced Jerry Topham,
with his family, to take charge of the farm,
the house, and little Peter. Then, intent on
her threat of vengeance, she went forth, no
one knew whither.
“Its a burnin’ shame,” said Jerry, “that
anybody should suffer for the misdeeds of
others as that ’oman is now a-sufferin. ”
“Yes,” assented his wife, “but I can’t un
derstand why she should take on so when
she ain’t no kin that anybody knows of. To
be sho’, Rosa called her mother, but Jjjevery-
body knows that the poor gal’s mother died
when she was a baby. But takin’ care of her
ain’t the only good deed that the Blizzard’s
done hereabouts, for, in my opinion, her
runnin’ off that triflin’ Dick Shelton was a
good riddance, though,some folks say that he
could a-kept the farm, and a-run her off if
he’d a-had the grit of a bantlin’ rooster.”
“Ah,” replied her husband, “it would take
a dozer such as Dick Shelton to hold his own
agin such a woman. And right or wrong,
its a blessin’ to have him out o’ the neigh
borhood. And furder’n that, as we’ll get a
snug home here for no tellin’ how long, and
everything handy, it’s not our business to
meddle with her or her kinnery, who they
are, or aint, is no matter to us, so long as
she does the square thing by us. So you take
care o’ that baby, and keep mum, for if you
say or do anything to rile her, the devil ain’t
a match for her. I know, seein’ I’ve worked
here through the crop season.”
“I’m not goin’ to say anything to anybody
but you, but I cain’t help wonderin’ what
her rale name is,and is she’s akin to the Gray
son’s by the father’s or the mother’s side. Did
you ever hear her say?”
“No, she never told me more than she did
other folks, and that was next to nothin’.”
“Come now,” persisted Mrs. Topham,didn’t
she tell you her rale name?”
“Nary time,” replied her husband. She
has only one name or everybody. But it
needn’t concern us, so long as she does the
square and handsome thing by us, as she
always has done heretofore.”
“That’s so,” agreed Mrs. Topham, and the
subject was dropped.
As Mr. Washington and Vi stopped at the
gate, the discourteous cavalier who had passed
them at their luncheon, was waiting outside
at short distance from the gate, under a group
of bois dare trees. This individual, Richard
Shelton by name, had been intrusted with the
delicate mission of conveying Rosa Grayson
to O—, a village overj the border, not many
miles distant from Colonel Mansfield’s present
quarters. Richard had^come to the farm early
in the morning, hoping to see Rosa without
encountering her formidable guardian, whom
he feared more than any one power, whether
human or divine. After watching round for
some time without seeing Rosa, he concluded
to ride out to Sylvan Green, and wait till
night, when he might return and see Rosa
while the Blizzard was out about locking up
the barn and other outbuildings. So he rode
on too the village and finding he still had
time to spare he^went some miles beyond,
and was returning when he passed our party
at their luncheon.
He had not seen Rosa for some years before
and so fell into an error caused by a similari
ty of figure and contour which Doctor
Maroney had observed as existing between the
two girls. Convinced that Vi was the one
he sought he returned to the farm and was
waiting near when Mr. Washington knocked
at the door.
Going cautiously round till he was inside
the gate before Vi became aware of his pres-
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ence, he took hold of her bridle and led the
horse briskly towards an old out-house on
the roadside. “If you wish me to put up my
horse, you may as well bring yours too,
father, and we shall get done sooner,” said
Vi, laughing.
Receiving no answer, she was becoming
alarmed, when Richard suddenly mounting
his own horse, grasped her arm, and started
off at a gallop.
Vi was so frightened and surprised, that
she hardly realized her position for the first
half mile. Then the villain, feeling secuie
by distance, relaxed his hold of her arm, say
ing :
“Now, my pretty bird may take breath, and
air her plumage, for she’s safe from the
blows of the Blizzard, and going where she’ll
have a golden cage, and be fed on nuggets
instead of linnet seed.”
“Release my arm, and bridle, sir, and
allow me to return to my father.”
“Your father, pshaw! Your father is a
hoax, a prodigious joke! But he pays me
well to escort you to him, and I’ll do it.”
Thinking she was in the power of a mad
man, Vi was more frightened than before.
But assuming a temerity she was far from
feeling, she said :
“It is only a short distance back to my
father, come, your money will soon be
earned.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the ruffian, “why, even
the Bible says we can’t serve two masters,
unless they pull together. No, no, my pretty
one, if you’ve found another father you may
tell Colonel Mansfield, but it’s a waste of
words to talk to me.”
“Who is Colonel Mansfield?” Vi asked.
A mocking laugh was the only answer, and
the young girl’s heart sank within her as she
reflected on her helpless condition.
After a journey of several days, in which
they had only halted long enough for refresh
ments and a change of horses, her conductor,
speaking in a low, cautious tone, said :
“We shall soon reach our first resting
place, a Federal fort. And mind, if you
peach, I will say you are crazy, and that I am
taking you to an asylum.”
Trembling with apprehension, Vi said:
“Oh, please let me go back home.”
“Oh, you needn’t be alarmed, its a nice
place—the boys are all jolly, clever fellows,
who will, no doubt, greatly admire you. But
you must be very circumspect, no going back
on the old one—one father is enough for any
girl.”
Here a sentinel called out:
“Who goes there?”
“A friend with the countersign,” said
Richard.
“Advance friend, and give the counter
sign,” lowering his weapon.
Advancing, Richard whispered in an audi
ble key, “Emancipation.”
“Pass in,” said the sentry, and holding
fast Vi’s trembling arm, Richard proceeded.
They had proceeded only a short distance
when they were challenged by another picket,
and the same pass-word was repeated. And
Richard, with his fair captive, was admitted
to the encampment.
Leaving their steeds tied to a post at the
entrance to the street running the entire
length of the village of tents, Richard led his
charge past several dark, silent tents, to one
at the extreme end, where a faint light glim
mered through its smoked door-flaps.
“I thought the reporter would be up,” he
said, “for he never sleeps as long as he can
think of anything to scribble about.”
Raising the door-flap, he, without further
ceremony, pulled Vi into the tent.