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VGMl XLII—NUMBER FORTY-THREE.
-4-—
Traleda,
Atlanta,
Week Ending December 24, 1904.
50c PER YEAR—SINGLE COPY 5c,
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Blue Ridge
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By LCXfcELLE B'JRTZ.
Sunny South
I -tit tt ORE than a hundred years
ago. when the red man
wandered over the slopes
of the Blue Ridge in
search of ga me and fished
for the speckled trout in
the sparkling waters of
the Coosawatee, there liv
ed In the wil.’s of the
mountains an old Chero
kee chieftain, Z^linwitz.
with his only daughter,
Traleda.
The beauty of this young
Inin lcess had been celebrated
thKg! many nations. Braves from
; Ivibe had sought time an-1 again
tolke to their ivigwa.ms. while war-
rii fruf,offered the choicest from
tit sloreiponies, robes and beaded
tifures rfifts in exchange for the
nl- n. If old Zalinwitz gave the
s.t an~ufo all:
raledafill do as her heart tells
Iv She ll mate as the birds of the
stand *j happy songs, like thelr’s.
si be mfift for letting her go. Seek
tin.nkb Jt is with her.”
suitoirame and went, and Zalin
as daiJter answered ‘‘no” to them
luntll t'.tiee came, dauntless and
I . theiwer of the Cherokee youths,
fo.'d r’f’s heart was gladdened when
|nv tip a brave of his own people
j to bqfier choice, a.nd he was well
Iait til he had the princess to
pe forrierself alone,
je ev.ing in the midsummer when
f W lid gone down behind the hill
tops and his last rays wandered hack
to kiss the world good night, as the two
lingered among the green verdure of the
mountains where the cool shadows lay,
Seltice told his lot e, and they plighted
their troth by tlie bright eyed stars as
they cot no out in the fast darkening sky.
But tlie sweet summer days soon end
ed, and with the chill of October winds
a great chief came to the home of the
CTlvrokees from the land of t>e Monte-
z urn. as. j\'o sooner had ins eyes i'aiten
Tradela than her charm ensnared his
heart. He forgot the mission that had
sent "him among her people; and. instead
returning to his own land at ttie ap
pointed time, he remained, vowing to the
Great Spirit that he would not go back
to his tribe nor join in battle with them
again until the maiden would listen to
his words with favor and go also to be
the favorite of his squaws.
For many weeks he remained in tlie
land of the Chcrokees, and time and time
again he laid ‘his heart and love at Tra-
leda’s feet, though she scorned his woo
ing, and inspite of the tales he told her
or nts great treasure in the Mexican
lands, remained loyal and true to th<
lover of her Choice.
Encheaskive’s naughty spirit was bow
ed to the dust. By his vow to his God
he could never return to his own peo
ple, never raise the spear and tomahawk
in battle with them twgain, unless he
could bend the spirit of this maiden of
tiie halls.
“I wiil sue at your feet once again,
proud maiden; but patience shall he mine
for only a few more days. If you still
defy me, I shall leave you for a time,
hut I shall come back, and when that
day comes you shall be the one who
kneels, not I!”
Traleda laughed his threatening word' 5
to scorn.
-Boos the chief of the Montezumas
think he has power to frighten tlie prin
cess of the Chcrokees? He little knows
her race. Traleda fears him.not. When
be returns she will be the bride of Seltice
‘n r own true love. The wigwam of En-
rTieaskive will never know her, let him
say what he will!”
Moons came and \aned, and the glow
ing days of the Indian summer passed on.
\\ re n the last had fled at the t-ou.’h of
winter’s chilling frosts. Bn oh ea skive kept
his vow, and with the warriors of his
tribe returned to the home of the Ohero-
kees.
Reaving his braves hidden among the
rocks and caves in the mountains, he
sought the Indian girl first alone.
“Queen of the woods and mountains,
hear me. This is the last time the chief
of the. Montezumas will lay his life at
your feet. If you scorn his love now
lie will never pray you take it again. But
be warned in time! Encheasklve makes
no idle threats. If you go to this wigwag)
you shall be queen of his tribe—the mighty
Montezumas. In the beautiful world
which surrounds that home you will find
happiness and peace. If you refuse you
shall go as the captive—then Encheas-
kivo's ears may be deaf to your cries;
then his heart may be closed forever
against your love!”
”1 have listened to you. proud chief,
now let Traleda speak. Though you
prayed me an hundred times more 1
would not accept your love. Take my an
swer for the last time—it is the same
that it has ever been.”
"So he it, princess of the Chcrokees,”
he said with darkening fact, and turning
on his heei he disappeared in the moun
tain fastnesses.
) o :i- - -e ■ Umly til'- ■ - n ■' e
mac* the summer be....come. v>„ck to
the girl with the eerie sob of the pines.
‘‘Would his words come true! Should
she ever kneel to him and pray for fa
vors that would never be granted? Nay,
her fears were idle ones. Encheaskive
had gone forever; he would never seek
her more, and when the spring flowers
bloomed Seltice would claim her for all
time to come '
‘‘Seltice, Seltice. ’ It was his beloved
name the wind whispered now. She
turned to ga, with a smile on her lips,
but it froze in its birth. With noiseless
feet Encheaskive had crept from the
woods again and barred her path. Betoio
she could speak he sr-iz.-d her in His- arms
and dashed away through the forest and
over the mountain to where his braves
awaited him on th' other side.
Toward the south—the fur away land <v
the Montezumas—Encheaskive and his
warriors fled with his beautiful captive.
She was closely guarded s«,ct cfjuhly
watched by the jealous eys of her re
jected suitor. Vet in tiiis hour of her
captivity, in the time, of her sore need,
Traleda made no wign of the anguish of
mind which she suffered, and her bright
eyes watched eagerly for some chance of
(scape, but none offer'd. T-. the right,
to the left, in front and behind, were
the Montezuma warrior- and at iter side
in sullen silence rode their mighty chief.
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i be Dusky Lovers Wandered 'Where the Cool Shadows Lay.
All night they rode, and with the first
gray streaks of dawn her courage arose,
for she felt sure that before the shadows
of another evening fell her people would
miss her and their braves start in pur
suit.
But the short i**'iter day passed with
out their coming and night came on again.
A chilly, bitter night it was. The wind
whistled through the trees and brought
heavy snow clouds over head, and be
fore the second morning dawned the
ground w;u covered with a mantle of
whitf.
The Indian maiden gazed with a sink
ing heart up to the leadened colored
skies above and over the waste of track
less snow.
The trail was covered—they could not
trace her now. Without the great
Spirit's voice spoke to them from the
clouds siij was lost to her people for
ce er
Koch day's journey she grew more and
more hopeless, and when they reached the
land of the Montezumas, her heart was
sick and her body was weary.
The return of their braves from a suc
cessful tr.'s'Si a caused general rejoicing
in the camp of the Monti zeumas, and the
arrival was celebrated with great pomp.
I.'u-heaskive brought the captive prin
cess and tried to make her join in the
ceremo'.ms; tut ti is she refused to do,
and she stood in disdainful silence as the
frenzied crew dai ced about her with
screams of joy ar d triumph.
It was a strange, wild sce-ne. The
flames leaped higher and higher, the)
snow lay pure and beautiful on the
ground; and the tail trees with their
whitened coats s-emed like stately ghosts
in the deep, dark forest.
Nearer the light were . the swarthy
fares and writhing forms of the Indians
naneing in their mad glee around the
captive princess; while Traleda stood
with folded arms, her long black hair
lying -ike a v< i' about her.
The weird beauty around her only
serve! ti (Hopeit thi pain in her heart,
and make her longing for home and Sel-
ii -e greater; and the voices in the wind
seemed to mot rn to her ot lost happiness
and a life from which all hope had fled.
Neither sorrow nor joy can tell the
moving hand of time. Nothing can stop
the moments as they drop one by one
from tho old monaieh's steady grasp as
be turns th-ni from l:is glass of years.
So th j vlr.ler passed and spring blessed
the earth agt'n, cut the sweet rays of
sunlight whioli found their wav into
ICnehc.askive’s wigwam could leave none
<: their bright no.:.-' in Traieda's face.
The medicine man of the Montezi umas
shook his la ad w i en he tried again and
•again ail his el> vet remedies, and none
seemed to do the maiden any good.
She made no sign, she spoke no word;
but she drooped like a flower that had
been torn from, its itsling place’; and
when the- summer’s heat was greatest,
with her face- turned' toward the north,
when far away Per telcved mountains
lay, she died.
In hi- iv:n..'se at her wast'd life an-1
broken heart. En?hoaskiv-» carried out
what had been th« last wail of her
broken sj irit. lie carried her back to the
home site loved s-• dearly, and buried her
there.
t -if.- foot of the great hills where n<
wa.nd-r.-d ,n her early love and happiness
a mound of stones marks her grave; bu:.
iradui n says, her spirit in ever restless,
and when the day is done and the silence
of nignt falls over the mountain, the
wraith of ‘he lost princess flits about, and
her soft, plaintive voice echoes from
crag to crag as she calls her love’s name:
“Sehiee! Seltice! Seltice!”
LOOKED STRANGE TO HIM.
Mrs. Newell—Tom, I think you are just
as mean as you can be.”
Newed—Why, what have I done to merit
that remark?
Mrs. Newel—Here I've cooked your fa
vorite dish, and you have eaten every
bite of it without a single word of
i raise.
Ncwed—I beg pardon, my dear, but
honestly 1 didn't recognize it.
Barndoor’s Romance
By CARRIE HUNT LATTA
d/>g Sunny South’s Series of Short Stories
^ By Prominent Authors ^
ruped a thin old voice.
Byron Theodore Lonsber-
ry grinned, jerked his red
handkerchief from his
trousers pocket, blew his
nose vigorously and entered
his grandmother’s room.
"It's only me. granny,"
he said, rather sheepishly,
shifting his suspenders in-
to place..
“Ain’t any use whatsum-
who if is. Byron Theodore,
ain't anybody else in the fanvbly
nocks like they was hopin' to break
d .or in. What a monstrous big fel-
you're gittin’ to be. Ef you keep
•ouTl outgrow all your uncles.”
plum man, ain't I, granny?
rrc-at boy asked, surveying bis long
and large feet clad in heavy boots.
•T.ow me. vis, in size. You're big
enough to be out in the field doit)’ a
man's work. tVhat do you want. hone> ?
Why ain’t you out plowin'?”
‘ I come in while the folks is out to
have a talk with you, granny. Pa's down
in the far field, an’ ma’s lookin' over
garden seed in the smoke house. I sent
tiie ehildern down to the crick so's we
e-nild talk. You see, granny—er—I want
t > git married.”
Grandmother Beck coughed violently
then said with pretended indifference:
“Well, that ain't so surprisin’. Most
folks, if they're sensible, wants to git
arried some time in their lives.”
“But I want to git married right
away.”
“Nor that ain’t surprisin'. Young
folks is mostly in a hurry to git into
somethin' they don't know nothin’ ’bout.”
Byron Theodore's face flushed.
“I've been thinkin' 'bout it for a long
time, an' so's she."
“She? T.izy Ann Perkins. I reckon.”
“You know better, granny.”
“But your ma and pa want you to
marry Liz.v Ann. when you do marry. 1
reckon they ain't countin' on you mar
t-yin’ fer some time to come. Lizy Ann's
a good worker an’ a good manager. I
reckon they ain't a girl in this part o'
the country as done as well with chickens
as she did ias’ year.”
“Chickens!” Byron Theodore grunted
disdainfully.
"Yes, chickens! An' they's money in
'em, too. Folks says they’ll be sum- prop-
puttty fer Lizy Ann. an’ it won’t be so
onfiandy fer you and her as you think.”
“Fer me and her? No. not fer me an’
her. 1 can't see. granny, how she ll vi r
git any propputty. Her pa's only got
40 acres o’ land, and they's seven chil
dren now. Hm! Propputty!’
“Well, they’ll be enough fer a piece
'bout the size of a town lot for each
child. Byron Theodore. Hit'd make 'nough
ground fer a chicken yard, an' it'd be
well enough to own one’s chicken yard,
wouldn’t it?”
She leaned over for a handful of carpet
rags anti to hide a smile.
“Not with lazy Ann throwed in.” he
answered savagely.
• •• c -«-‘6 •»- 6 -»•»-®- * •«
"Wy, honey, they s -'t a religiouser girl
in this section."
"Ncr a fonger-fa-ej one, granny.”
"Oh, well, hit tabs some folks tnnf
way. Religion mak ; some folks' fa re-
ion g, an' some it trikes wide out. The
wide out kind suit: me best; but fer
ill that Lizy Ann Perkins is a good
girl. Byron Thocdor."
■ Aw, what's th< use of lookin’ like
you're to a funeral n the time. I won’t
never marry Lizy .bn, never. I thought
you'd help me, grnny. Drat it, any
how."
11- thrust his harjs deep in his pockets
and sighed. His ran dm other regarded
'him thoughtfully.
"I nin’l said ! wouldn't help you.
Honey. T.emme b you something. Lis'
Sunday when we me out of the meetin’
house Lizy Ann t.^s walkin' jest ahead,
her an’ another g:. an’—”
“Was it Libby teele, granny?"
“They's other tis beside Libby, ain't
they. Byron The ore? As I was a-say-
in’, when you Inhered me. Lizy Ann
an' another girl ras walkin' jest ahea-l
of me, an’ vhe: Lizy Ann come to the
dr-or ar,' looked jt she says, so doleful
it almos’ move me to tears. 'Oh, 1
jest know hit’Rioud up and be rainin’
by to-niorry. ( dear!’ And the other
girl says, withher eyes a-dancin’ and
her lips a-srrUl—”
“Til:--n it wa-L,ibby. granny: I know
it was,” ByroiTheodore said eagerly.
•'An' what 1ft was? Ain’t they other
gfcris with sin o’ faces besides Libby?
As I was a-sa.o', with her eyes a-danc-
: n' an' her 111 a-smilin,’ she says. ‘Aw.
what if it ds, I^izy Ann? We can’t
■ 9 |
'xpect to have ail sunshine. 'Sides,
things'd make a 'pore out at growin’
ef we didn't have some clouds an' rain.
Wy, tihis is as purty a day as I ever
seen. Lc-'s in joy it. What, if it do ;s
rain tomorrow?’ But Lizy’s face was all
clouded up, jest ready fer a rainstorm,
an’ 1 says to myself, ‘My land! T
wouldn't have our Byron Theodore marry
a girl as lived on the north side of life
like Lizy Ann, an' thinkin’ of clouds
an’ rain the whole endurin’ time, not if
she had a hundred acres o’ land comio’
to her.' Though, Byron Theodore, to
teach you good business judgment, I
will say that a hundred acres would
ease up matters some, even with Lizv
Ann.”
She rocked fast and furiously for a
time, winding carpet rags as she rocked.
”1 knowed you’d take my part ’bout
Lizy Ann, granny. An’ you know well
an' good that it’s Libby I want. You
know Levi Stringer's folks is goin’ to
move up to Five Points right away, an'
Libby she don't want to live in town.
Says they’s too much style on' goin' an'
cornin' to suit her. Beside, I^em Stringer
is a-makin’ a fool of hisself if ever a
fellow did. He seems to think jest
b’cause Libby’s lived there ever sine®
her ma died thet him an’ Libby’s jest as
good as ingaged. He ain't spoke to me
for two months.”
“Hm! He ain't? Had a quarrel, I
reckon. I r'member when you traded
dogs I thought you got the worst of it.
but seems to me you’d be the one to be
mad, Byron Theodore.”
“We ain’t never said nothin' ’bout them
dogs, granny. You know it ain’t that.
Anyhow, the other mornin' Lem went to
tlie milk house, pertendin' he was thirs
ty; he’d took a jug of water to the field
with him an’ didn't need no drink, but
l;e says. 'Libby, gimme a good cold uiink
o' milk.’ An’ she says, ‘They's some in
thet pitcher, Lem; help yerself.’ An' ho
says, ‘Hit'd be so much better if you'd
pour hit out fer me.’ SIhe didn't pay no
Mention whatsumever, but went on with
lier work. Then he says, 'T reckon.
Libby, hit's he jest the thing fer us, you
and me, to git marritd and go on livin'
here and let the folks move to town.
1 don't want to live in town neither
An’ Libby she jest douses the cream in
the churn with a big splutter an’ says.
‘I^?m, I can't churn with you standin’
about de.in’ nothin’.' An’ he says, ’Lem-
me churn, Libby?’ An’ she says, ’Al
right,’ an’ goes off to the house after
shuttin’ an' lockin' the milk house door.
An’ after a while she went back an’
opened the door, and there was Lem.
waitin’ to git out. He’d fetched the
but-ter, and had splattered cream from
Han to Barsheepy. He says now as he'll
marry her jest fer spite.”
"Well. Byron Theodore, it’d be a good
chance for Libby. I ain't never heard
anything against Lem Stringer, ’cept
that ho cheated in that dog trade, an’
that’s a good farm an' a comfitablo
house. Lev! Stringer is right well off.
and his family ain't so big. I think
Jjbby'il be doin' the wors-t thing she cun
think of if site lets that chance slip by.
Lem Stringer d make her a good man.”
“But Libby says she’s lived there so
long that Jjem seems like her brother.
like
marry
an' she wouidn t
brother.”
“But he ain't her brother, Byror, Theo
dore, no mere’ll you are. And if I was
a girl an' had a chance to git a good
man. with propputty, who'd give me a
good home, I’d git over that a-kin feel-
in' soon's possible.”
“But, granny, she don't love Lem. She
loves me. t love her and we’re goin' to
marry right away, so's when the foiK.s
move to town she’ll have a place to come
to right away. We’re goin’ to live in the
old house, if you’ll let us. I’m goin’ to
run a petition through one of them big
rooms an’ make two rooms for bed
rooms ”
Grandmother Leek's lips tightened to
a hard line and her eyes snapped.
“Run a petition, are you? Byron Theo
dore Lonsberry, your gran'pa on’ mo
planned that house an' we lived in it fer
years an' years. An’ -if it don't suit you
as it is, then you’ll not live in it. They
ain't no change goin' to be made in thai.
house while i live.”
She wiped her eyes with her apron
and looked at her grandson defiantly.
“Wy, wy, granny, I didn't know that
you'd care. The house has been empty
for so long an’ pa's talked ’bout storin'
hay an’ fodder there.”
“But you’ll take notice ho ain't never
do-ne it, Byron Theodore. Nor he won't,
while I live. You can live in the house
if you won’t make no changes an'h
see that things is took good care of.
I'd be livin’ there myself if I’d had my
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE.
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