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ZEN of the Y. D.
A Novel of the Foothills
Bv ROBERT STEAD
. ’'The Cow Punehtr”—‘Tht Homa-
Autb ° r o „Jders^‘Ntiihb^. u tU. •;
Cp.ri.ht by ROBERT STEAD ' .
CHAPTER XVI — Continued.
-19- S
T[ ,e name of Phyllis Brace came to
♦,lm with almost a shock. He had
been so occupied with his farm and
_ ltll Zen that he had thought but little
of her of late. As he turned the mat
ter over in his mind now he felt that
be bad used Phyllis rather shabbily.
Grant lit a cigar and sat down to
smoke and think. The matter of
Phyllis needed prompt settlement. It
afforded a means to burn his bridges
behind him, and Grant felt that it
would be just as well to cut off all
possibility of retreat. Fortunately the
situation was one that could be ex
plained—to Phyllis.
He had told himself, back In those
days in the East, that it would not be
-fair to marry Phyllis Bruce while nis
heart was another's. He had be
lieved that then; now he knew the
real reason was that he had allowed
himself to hope, against all reason,
that Zen -Trnnsley might yet be his.
He had harbored an unworthy desire,
and called it a virtue. Well—the die
was cast. He had definitely given Zen
up. He would tell Phyllis everything.
That Is, everything she heeded
to know.
It would be best to settle it at once
—the sooner the better. He went to
his desk, and took out writing paper.
He addressed a note to Phyllis, pon
dered a minute In a great bush In the
storm, and wrote:
“I am sure now. May I come? Den
nison.’’
This done he turned to the tele
phone, hurrying as one who feafrs for
the duration of his good resolutions.
He gave the number of Linder’s
rooms In town; It was likely Linder
had remained In town, but it was a
question whether the telephone bell
would waken him. He bad recollec
tions of Linder as a sound sleeper.
But even as this possibility entered
his mind he heard Linder’s phlegmatic
voice in his ear. *"
“Oh, Linder! I’m so glad I got you.
I’ve a message I want delivered to Miss
Bruce. . . . Linder? . . . Lin
der!" ’ , \ ■
There was no answer.. Nothing but
■a hollow empty sound on the wire, as
though it led merely Into the universe
in general. He tried to call the oper
ator, but without success. The wire
was down.
He turned from it with a sense of
acute impatience. VVas this an omen
of obstacles to bar him now from
Phyllis Bruce?
Suddenly came a quick knock at the
door; the handle turned, and a
drenched, hatless figure, with dishev
eled, wet hair, and white, drawn face
burst in upon him. It was Zen
Transley. -
CHAPTER XVII
‘Zen!"
“How Is lie —how Is Wilson?" she
demanded, breathlessly.
“Sound as a bell,” he answered,
Harmed' fey her manner. ; The self
assured Zen was far from self-assur
ance now. “Come, see, he Is asleep."
He led -lipr into the whim-room and
turned up the lamp. The lad was
sleeping soundly, his teddy-bear clasped
In his arms, his little pink and white
face serene Under the magic skies of
slumberlund. Grant expected that Zen
would throw herself upon the child In
her agitation, but she did not. She
drew her fingers gently across his
brow, then, turning to Grant:
“Itather an unceremonious way to
break Into your house," she said, with
a little laugh. “I hope you will pardon
me. ... I was uneasy about Wil
son."
“But tell me—how —where did you
come from?”
“From town. Let me stand In your
kitchen, or somewhere.”
“You’re wet through. I can’t offer
you much change."
“Not as wet as when you first met
me, Dennison,” 6he said, with a smile.
“I have a good waterproof, but my hat
blew off. It’s somewhere on the road.
I couldn’t see through the windshield,
so I put my head out, and away It
went.”
"The hat?”
Then both laughed, and an atmos
phere that had been tense began to
settle back to normal. Grant led her
out to the living room, removed her
coat, and started a fire.
They sat In silence for some time,
and presently they became aware of a
gray light displacing the yellow glow
from the lamp and the ruddy reflec
tions of the fire. “It Is morning," said
Grant. “I believe the storm has
cleared.”
He stood beside her chair and took
her hand In his. “Let us watch the
dawn break on the mountains,” he
said, and together they moved to the
windows that overlooked the valley
and the grim ranges beyond. Already
.. :* , j.--■
shafts of cflmsoq light were firing the
scattered drift of clouds far over
head. ,• •'' i - \
“Dennison," she said, at length ( turn
ing her face to his, “1 hfppe j-oti will
Understand, bUt—l have thought it all
dver. • 1 have, not hidden my heart
from you; For*’ the boy’s sake, and
for your sake, and for the sake of ‘a
scrap of paper’—that was wbat the
war was over, wasn’t,it?— ’’
“I know,” lie whispered. “I know.”
“Then you have been thinking,
too? ... 1 am so glad I” In the
growing light he could see the mois
ture In her bright eyes glisten, and It
seemed to him this wild, daring daugh
ter of the hills had never been lovelier
than in this moment of confession and
of high resolve.
“I am so glad,’’ she repeated, “for
your sake —and for my own. Now,
again, you ure really the Mnn-on-the-
Hlll. We have been In the valley of
late. You can go ahead now with your
high plans, with your Big Idea. You
will marry Miss Bruce,, and forget."
“I shall remember with chastened
memory, but I shall , never forget,’’ he
said at length; “I shall never forget
Zen of the Y.D. ‘ And -you—what will
you do?”
“I have the boy. I did not realize
how much I had. until tonight. Sud
denly It came upon .me thnt he was
You won’t understand,
Dennison, but ns we grow older our
hearts wrap up around our children
with a love quite different from that
which expresses itself. In marriage.
This love gives—gives:—gives, lavishly,
unselfishly, asking nothing: In return.”
“I think i understand," lie said
again. "I think 1 do;”
They turned their eyes to the moun
tains, • and as they looked the first
shafts of sunlight fell on the white
peaks and set them dazzling like mighty
diamond-points against the blue bosom
of the West. ‘
-it is morning on the mountains —
and on you!” Grant exbiaimed. “Zen,
you are very, very beautiful.” He
raised her hhnd and pressed her fin
gers to Ids lips.
As they stood Watching the sunlight
pour into the valley a sharp knock
sounded on the dobr. “Come,” said
Dennison, and the next moment It
swung open and liiyllls Bruce entered,
followed Immediately by Linder. A
question leapt Into her eyes at the re
markable situation which greeted
them, and she paused, in embarrass
ment.
“Phyllis!” Grant exclaimed. “You
here!”’
“It would seem that; I .was not ex- ,
pected.” - • - \ ” '
“It is all very simple*." Grant ex
plained, with a laugh. “Little Willie
Transley was xpy guest overnight. On
account of the storm h!s mother be
came alarmed, und drove out from the
city early this morning lot him. Mrs.
Transley, let me introduce Miss Bruce
—Phyllis Bruce, of whom I have told
you."
Zen’s cordial handshake did more to
reassure Phyllis than any amount of
explanations, and Linder’s timely ob
servation that he knew Wilson was
there and was wondering about him
himself bad valuable corroborative
effect? ■
“But now —your explanations?” said
Grant. “How comes It, Linder?"
“Simple enough, from our side.
When I got your telephone call all I
could catch wus the.fact that you were
mighty glad to get me, und had some
urgent message for. Miss Bruce. Then
the connection broke.' 1
“I see. And you, of course, assured
Miss Bruce that I wus being murdered,
or meeting some such happy and ef
fective ending, out here In the wilder
ness 1”
“Not exactly that, but l reported
what I could, and Miss Bruce Insisted
upon coming out at once. The roads
were dreadful, but we had daylight.
Also, we have a trophy."
Linder went out and returned In a
moment with a sadly bedraggled bat
“My poor bat I" Zen exclaimed. I
los't It on the way."
“It is the best kind of evidence that
you had but recently come over the
road,” said Linder, significantly.
“I think no more evidence need be
called,” said Phyllis. “May I lay off
my things?”
“Certainly—certainly,” Grant apolo
gized “But I must Introduce one
more’ exhibit.” He handed her the
note he had written during the night.
“That is the message I wanted Lin
der to rush to you,” he said, and as
she read It he saw the color deepen in
her cheeks. „ „
“I'm going to make breakfast, Mr.
Grant ” Zen announced, with a sudden
burst ’of energy. "Everybody keep
out of the kitchen.”
-Guess I’ll feed up for you this
morning, old chap,” said Linder know
ingly. At the door he glanced back.
“I think Miss Bruce has something to
khv to you,” he added, mysteriously.
They were alone— Phyllis and Den
nison. He caught her hand in bis and
led her to the French windows. The
sun was filllm, the valley with a flood
THE DANIELSVH.LE MONITOR! DANIELSVfLLE, GEORGIA.-
of silver, and there was syhsjiine, ,to<\
In the heart of Denntsou Grant, ke
had drunk his cup of renunciation, but
he had not dreamed that at the bottom
could lie c. penrl so beautiful.
“Phyllis—Phyllis,” he breathed. He
reached out to take her in Ills arms,
but she held him gently away; when
he looked In her eyes they shone back
at him through tears.
“Oh, Denny, you mustn’t 1 I’m so
sorry. You know what you have been
to me. But you were so long, so long 1
Yesterday I promised Linder.”
In the days that followed Dennison
Grant drank his cup of renunciation
anew. He worked his fields early and
late; he noted the tiny spirals of smoke
ascending like Incense from Zen’s cot
tage; but he went no nearer the
Transley home than the end of his
furrow. He had handed back Trnnsley’s
wife from the edge of the abyss; he
had made up his mind; that much was
settled.
The battle that raged within him
now centered about Linder and Phyllis
Bruce. When he had recovered from
the first shock of Phyllis’ revelation
and was able to think sanely he was
sure that her heart might still be his
If he went ufter It —and took It. It
was another case of a man being worth
his salt. But Linder was not Transley.
He had spared Transley; could he be
less generous with Linder? And what
of Phyllis? Would she be happy with
Linder?
Then Truth stood up before him In
the furrow, ns he plowed Its slow
length one hazy summer afternoon,
and called him a hypocrite. He heard
the voice as clearly ns the champing
of his horses on their bits. “Hypo
crite 1" cried Truth to him. “You make
a great virtue of your generosity to
Linder. Easy generosity that, while
you continue to love—Zen Transley!”
Down by the river a spiral of smoke
wound upwards from the Transley
chimney, and even ns Grant looked he
saw an automobile trailing dust about
the shoulder of his hill. It was Trans
ley returning to his home.
Trnnsley’s wife had fortified her
good resolutions behind an outburst of
activity.
But there were rimes when the crav
ing to be quite alone, where she could
re-survey her life and bask for a mo-
“Phyllis—Phyllis," H Breathed.
ment In the luxury of old Imaginings,
becamfe Irresistible. On such occa
sions she would follow the road that
skirted the cliffs of the river bank to
a point where It turned in the basin of
u now deserte*d quarry. The old quarry
lay edge of the hills like a
cup from which n side had broken nnd
fallen into the river which boiled In a
green foam a hundred feet below. The
only access to this cup was by the
road, no longer frequented, which Zen
had chosen for her solitary rambles.
Once Inside the quurry she was Iso
lated from the world; here her vision
could sweep the sloping bluffs across
the valley, or the circle of blue sky
above, and her thoughts could rove at
will without prospect of being Inter
rupted. The roud by which she en
tered the cup was the rond by which
any Intruder must enter It. It was
also, as Zen was suddenly to discover,
the only road by which one could es
cape.
It was upon the afternoon when
Truth confronted Dennison Grant In
his furrow that Zen made that discov
ery. Her self-imposed tasks com
pleted for the day, she scoured the
fruit stains from her hands, changed
her frock, and took the now familiar
trail up to the quarry. “I’ll be back
in an hour,” she told Sarah; “I’m go
ing to the quarry Just to ‘loaf and In
vite mj sou!.”’ The quotation was
lost upon Sarah, who took refuge In
her gift of silence.
At a point where the rond rose high
enough to command view of the sur
rounding valley she stopped and swung
a slow, half-guilty glance to the south
ward. There, sure enough, was the
plow team of Dennison Grant, warping
Us slow shuttle hack and forth across
the brown prairie. For a long minute
she fed her eyes and her heart: then
•V *
resumed liftr-slow couyso.to the quarry
Inside the great, cup. she was con:
selous of a sense of.security.
Zen seated herself in a-half reclln
Ing position on a great slab of rod
and fell Into a day-dream, watchlnj
the while, with unseeing eyes the pro
cession ;of white cimfds • which droVi
across the disc of blue sky above her
Perhaps it was because of the posl
tion which she had taken, or her un
conscious study of the sky, that six
caught no hint of the presence of o
man at the point where the rond eft
tered the quarry. From an ambush ol
willow scrub he had seen her stop nnd
survey the fields where Dennisoi
Grant was at work, and had followed
her stealthily down the trail which led
to her trap. Now he had her.
“How do, Zen?” he said, suddenly
stepping Into the open. “Ain’t you
glad to see me?”
The girl sprang to her feet nnd
turned stnrtled eyes toward the rond
—the only exit from this stone dun
geon.
“Who are you? What do you wantl
Go away I I don’t know you at all —"
The offensive smile broadened
"Thnt Is where I have the advantage
of you, Mrs. Transley. I have changed,
I admit, but you—you are as beauti
ful as ever."
“How dare you speak to mo In such
n way I You hnve learned my name,
It is true, but I do not know you at all.
Now will you go, or must I call mj
husband to throw you Into the river?"
“Thnt would be some shout, seeing
that your husband Isn’t at home, nnd
hasn’t been for two weeks. You see, 1
may be a stranger, but I know some
things. And even If lie wns at home,
wouldn’t you be more likely to call
Dennison Grant?”
The mnn hud gradually advanced,
but still kept himself well between
Zen and her only avenue of escape.
“Who are you?” she demanded
again. “Why do you follow mo here?”
“An old friend, Zen; Just an old
friend, coine to collect an old account,
Buy up quietly nnd there’ll be no
trouble, but raise a fuss nnd I’ll throw
you Into the river. Thnt wouldn’t
leave much evidence, would It? It’i
wonderful how a person who has been
drowned disappears and Is soon for
gotten.”
Zen’s eyes hnd gone large and hei
limbs were shaking. “Drazk!” she
exclnimed.
“Itlght enough; your old friend,
George Drazk.” lie came up close to
her nnd extended Ids hand. “Ain’t you
goln’ to shake hnnd„ with your old
friend. Zen?” he smirked before her.
“You were no friend of mine—
never,” she flared back, while her brain
was hunting wildly for some plan of
escape. “I thought I had killed you.
And I wns sorry I hnd done It. Now
I’m sorry 1 didn’t.”
“Well, now, Zen, thnt’ij too bad. 1
was willin’ to forgive you, and hopin'
we’d be friends. Don’t you tldnk It
.would be better to be friendly-like,
Zen?”
There wns a menace r.nder his oily
words thnt gripped her In terror. She
decided to play for time. Perhaps
Sarah —perhaps Denny— If only Den
nlson Grant would cornel
“Sit down, George, nnd tell me about
it,” she said. “I suppose I owe you
an apology. Tell me how you got
away, nnd where you have been all
this time."
“That’s better. We’re goln’ to be
good friends, eh, Zen? The best of
friends, eh, Zen? You and George ’ll
Just sit down and talk It over.”
She led him to the rock where she
had been seated, nnd let him sit down
beside her. He seized one of her
hands In his; she would hnve with
drawn It, but he held It tighter.
“No, we’re goln’ to be good friends,”
lie reminded her “The best of
friends —”
“Yeß, but first tell me about your
self. How did you get out of the
river that day?”
“Oh, I drifted ashore. Can’t kill
•eorge Drazk. I wns pretty full of
water, and I lay on the bank for quite
a while, but I came around In time.
Then I seen what lmd happened about
the fire, and I reckoned this was a
good time to make my getaway. So I
beat It right out o’ the country, and
nobody bothered followin’.”
“Yes, yes, go on,” she urged, eager
to keep him absorbed in hls story.
“That was very clever of you. And
then what did you do—after you got
out of the country?”
“Got a Job. No trouble for George
Drazk to get a Job. Then when the
war came I tried to get on, but some
how they wouldn’t have me. Said I’d
be more useful at home. So I stayed
on and had some pretty good Jobs and
some pretty nice girls, Zen, but I
never got you quite out o’ my head
and I kept sayln' to myself, ‘Some
time I’ll go back and make It up with
Zen.’ And here 1 am. Ain’t yoji glad,
Zen ?’*
“Yes —In a way I am." (Oh, will
nobody ever come?) “But—how did
you find me? You knew I’ve been
married since then?”
"(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Lake Formed by Quake
Reelfoot lake, thirteen miles long
and about five miles wide. In Ten
nessee, was formed by an earthquak*
In 181 L
6000 PS
RQADSFcI
HIGHWAY BUILDING
UNDER FEDERAL AID
Since, 1010, when the federal aid
road act was passed by congress, up
to March 1, 1924, federal-aid High
ways which had been completed in the
United States totaled 33,080 miles.
There were under construction at that
time 13,500 additional miles of roads.
These were reported us 59 per cent
complete on that date.
The total cost of tlds great work. In
cluding the roads under construction.
Is estimated by Thomas H. MacDonald,
chief of the United States bureau of
roads, as $844,489,300, of which $872,-
721,900 wns paid by the federal gov
ernment and the balance by the vari
ous states In accordance with the co
operative terms of the law'.
For the fiscal year 1925, beginning
July 1, 1924, the government lias ap
propriated for further federal-aid road
construction a total of $73,125,000,
which brings the total government
financial outlay for this purpose since
the enactment of tin* law to $445,846,-
900.
The apportionment of the federal
aid fund for the fiscal year 1925 for all
the states, which has Just heed an
nounced by the bureau of public roads.
Is as follows:
States Amount
Alabama $
Arizona 1,053.003.56
Arkansas
California • 2,1114,1190. i 8
Colorado .7.7 MG1..482.0S
Connecticut llf.’Sl?'
Delaware
Florida. 8q7,330.5
Georgia 1,989,022.99
Hawaii 865,825.00
Idaho .. 936,698.01
Illinois 8.203,867.99
Indiana 1,939,903.82
lowa* 2.078.248.33
Kansas 2,081,230.04
Kentucky'' !
1 _H iiiv * oiR ni
Maryland bm'mS M
Massachusetts oil,
Michigan HSS’gsJ ™
Minnesota f is?’#?? as
Mississippi
New Hampshire 521
New Jersey •• • ■ . ,
New Mexico
New York
North Carolina i’?7h 7^813
North H&kOtA
... 2,795,80499
uregon * • • • • I 'iar 91
Pennsylvania 'iSr/ftiu *7
Rhode Island nßi'n7Bl7
South Carolina J’SmiSM*
Tenn h esVce kota ' !!!!!!!'.! I.fi2K. 74f> u 7
Tennessee 4,410,109.79
, I ,f x . nH . 847.74 1.90
L tuh -I . 395,625,27
Virginia 1113 308 17
Washington 7<4x'im 14
West Virginia , *7? so'*s
Wisconsin ••••• 93537213
Wyoming
Total
Highway Costs Exceed
Connecticut Auto Fees
More than $1,400,000 In excess of
automobile fees was spent toward Im
proving the highways of Connecticut
during the W>23 fiscal year. Motorcar
fees received by the state for the year
aggregated '54,1(,140, while flit* ex
pense for highway work was $5!>74,-
540.
Statistics jnst compiled by the state
highway department show that since
Ipl.'l the number of motor vehicles In
creased from 27,181) to 180.559 In 1023.
This Includes commercial trucks and
passenger curs. At the same lime the
mileage of surfaced roads Increased
from 023 at the close of 1013 to-1,779
for 1023.
Connecticut's automobile registra
tion for the year wns 180,359
para. New Haven led all other cities
with a total of 17,088, represented by
13,716 passenger pars and 4,272 trucks.
Hartford was a close second with 17,-
427, exceeding New Haven In passen
ger vehicles with 14,058, but fell below
In trucks with 3,360. Bridgeport came
third, with a total of 14,615 cars, fol
lowed by Waterbury, 8,482; New Brit
ain, 5,833, and Stamford, 5.819.
Contracts pending In Fairfield, New
Haven, Middlesex and New London
counties on the Improvement of the
Boston I’ost road will materially In
crease In a few months the payments
made In these districts.
Better Roads Stimulate
Raising of Live Stock
The raising of live stock has been
greatly stimulated through the devel
opment. of good roads. Proof of this
statement Is found In the great In
crense In the number of hogs which
now' go to market via the motortruck.
The old custom was to drive the stock
to market with the resulting loss due
to overheating and shrinkage, which
caused a drop In the market price. But
now, through the medium of good
roads and the motortruck, the, farmer
is enabled to haul his cattle, hogs and
sheep to the railroad siding or, better
yet, directly to the stock' yards, at a
•rrent saving of time and money.