Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.