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18
SYNOPSIS.
Enid Maitland, a frank, free and un
■polled young Phailadelphia girl, is taken
to the Colorado mountains by her uncle.
Robert Maitland. James Armstrong.
Maitland’s protege, falls In love with her.
His persistent wooing thrills the K lrl -"“J
she hesitates, and Armstrong goes east
on business without a definite ah®’'®,
Enid hears the story of a m'nlng engi
neer, Newbold, whose wife fell off a cn
and was so seriously hurt that he was
compelled to shoot her to prevent her Be
ing eaten by wolves while he went *
help. Kirkby, the old guide who tells tne
story, gives Enid a package of letters
which he says were found on tne oea
woman’s body. She reads the l etter JL hn
at Kirkby’s request keeps them, w
bathing in mountain stream Enid is
tacked by a bear, which is myst
shot. A storm adds to the girl s terr .
A sudden deluge transforms brook neo
raging torrent, which sweeps Enid 1
gorge, where she is rescued by a m
tain hermit after a thrilling
Campers in great confusion upon discov
ing Enid's absence when the
breaks. Maitland and Old Kirkby g°
search of the girl. Enid discovers that
her ankle Is sprained and that she Is un
able to walk. Her mysterious rescuer
carries her to his camp. Enid B°®®.
sleep In the strange man s bunk. Miner
cooks breakfast for Enid. after Jr
they go on tour of inspection. The her
mit tells Enid of his unsuccessful attempt
to find the Maitland campers. He admits
that he is also from Philadelphia. The
hermit falls in love with Enid. The man
comes to a realization of his love for n .
but naturally in that strange solitude the
relations of the girl and her rescuer be
come unnatural and strained. The strang
er tells of a wife he had who is dead,
and says he has sworn to ever cherish
her memory by living In solitude. He ang.
Enid, however, confess their love for
each other. She learns that he is the
man who killed his wife In the mountain.
Enid discovers the writer of the letters
to Newbold’s wife to have been James
Armstrong. Newbold decides to start to
the settlement for help. The man _is
racked by the belief that he is unfaithful
to his wife’s memory, and Enid is tempt
ed to tell him of the letters In her pos
session. Armstrong, accompanied by
Kirkbv and Robert Maitland, find a note
that Newbold had left in the deserted
cabin, and know that the girl is in his
keeping. Fate brings all the actors to
gether. Newbold returns from hunting
game and sees a man near the hut- It
is James Armstrong, who has at last io
cated the missing girl, and he enters the
cabin.
CHAPTER XXI.
The Odds Against Him.
The noise of the opening of the
door and the inrush of cold air that
followed awoke Enid Maitland to in
stant action. She rose to her feet and
faced the entrance through which she
expected Newbold to reappear—for of
course the newcomer must be he —
and for the life of her she could not
help that radiating flash of joy, the
momentary anticipation of which fair
ly transfigured her being; although if
she had stopped to reflect she would
have remembered that not in the
■whole course of their acquaintance had
Newbold ever entered her room at any
time without knocking and receiving
permission.
Some of that joy yet lingered in her
lovely face when she tardily recog
nized the newcomer in the half light.
Armstrong, scarcely waiting to close
the door, sprang forward joyfully with
his bands outstretched.
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i 4 ¥#c«” 3te» Exclaimed, Almost in Terror.
“Enid!” he cried.
Naturally he thought the look of ex
pectant happiness he had surprised
upon her face was for him and he
accounted for its sudden disappear
ance by the shock of his unexpected,
unannounced, abrupt, entrance.
The warm color had flushed her
face, but as she stared at him her as
pect rapidly changed. She grew paler.
The happy light that had shone in her
eyes faded away and as he approached
her she shrank back.
“You!” she exclaimed almost in ter
ror.
"Yes,” he answered smilingly, ”1
have found you at last. Thank God
you are safe and well. Oh, if you
could only know the agonies I have
gone through. I thought I loved you
when I left you six weeks ago, but
now —"
In eager impetuosity he drew nearer
to her. Another moment and he
would have taken her in his arms, but
she would have none of him.
“Stop,” she said with a cold and
inflexible sternness that gave pause
even to his buoyant joyful assurance.
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“The matter? Everything, but —”
“No evasions, please,” continued the
man still cheerfully but with a grow
ing misgiving. His suspicions, in abey- ■
ance for the moment because of his
joy at seeing her alive and well, arose
with renewed force. “I left you prac
tically pledged to me,” he resumed.
“Not so fast,” answered Enid Mait
land, determined to combat the light
est attempt to establish a binding
claim upon her.
“Isn’t it true?” asked Armstrong.
“Here, wait,” he said before she could
answer, “I am half frozen, I have been
searching for you since early morn
ing in the storm.” He unbuttoned and
unbelted his huge fur coat as he spoke
and threw it carelessly on the floor by
his Winchester leaning against the
wall. "Now," he resumed, “I can talk
better.”
“You must have something to eat
then,” said the girl.
She was glad of the interruption
since she was playing for time. She
did not quite know how the interview
would end, he had come upon her so
unexpectedly and she had never for
mulated what she would say to him,
that which she felt she must say. She
must have time to think, to collect
herself, which he in his part was quite
willing to give her, for he was not
much better prepared for the inter
view than she. He really was hungry
and tired, his early journey had been
foolhardy and in the highest degree ’
dangerous. The violence of his admir
ation for her added to the excitement
of her presence, and the probable near
ness of Newbold as to whose where-
abouts he wondered were not conduc
ive to rapid recuperation. It would
be comfort to him also to have food
and time.
“Sit down,” she said. "I shall be
back In a moment.”
The fire of the morning was still
burning in the stove in the kitchen; to
heat a can of soup, to make him some
buttered toast and hot coffee, were the
tasks of a few moments; she brought
them back to him. set them on the ta
ble before him and bade him fall to.
"By jove,” exclaimed the man after
a little time as he began to eat hast
ily but with great relish what she had
prepared, while she stood over him
watching him silently. "This is cozy.
A warm, comfortable room, something
to eat served by the finest woman in
the world, the prettiest girl on earth
to look at —what more could a man de
sire? This is the way it’s going to be
always in the future.”
“You have no warrant whatever for
saying or hoping that,” answered the
girl slowly but decisively.
"Have I not?” asked the man quick
ly. “Did you not say to me a little
while ago that you liked me better
than any man you had ever met and
that I might win you if I could? Well,
I can, and what’s more, I will in spite
of yourself, Enid,” —he laughed. “Why,
the memory of that kiss I stole from
you makes me mad.” He pushed the
things before him and rose to his feet
once more. "Come, give me another,”
he said, “it isn’t in the power of wo
man to stand against a love like
mine.”
"Isn’t it?”
“No, indeed."
"Louise Newbold did,” she answered
very quietly but with the swiftness
and the dexterity of a sword thrust
by a master hand, a mighty arm.
Armstrong stared at her in open
mouthed astonishment.
"What do you know about Louise
Rosser or Newbold?” he asked at
last.
“All that I want to know.”
“And did that damned hound tell
you?”
“If you mean Mr. Newbold, he nev
er mentioned your name, he does not
know you exist.”
“Where is he now?” thundered the
man.
“Have no fear,” answered the wo
man calmly, “he has gone to the set
tlements to tell them I am safe and
to seek help to get me out of the
mountains.”
“Fear!” exclaimed Armstrong,
proudly, “I fear nothing on earth. For
years, ever since I heard his name in
fact, I have longed to meet him. I
want to know who told you about that
woman —Kirkby ?”
“He never mentioned your name in
connection with her.”
“But you must have heard it some
where,” cried the man thoroughly be
wildered. “The birds of the air didn’t
tell it to you, did they?”
“She told me herself,” answered
Enid Maitland.
"She told you? Why, she’s been
dead in her grave five years, shot to
death by that murderous dog of a hus
band of hers.”
“A word with you, Mr. Armstrong,”
said the woman with great spirit.
“You can’t talk that way about Mr.
Newbold; he saved my life twice
over, from a bear and then in the
cloudburst which caught me in the
canon.”
“That evens up a little,” said Arm
strong. “Perhaps for your sake I will
spare him.”
“You!” laughed the woman con
temptuously. “Spare him? Be advised,
look to yourself, if he ever finds out
what I know, I don’t believe any power
on earth could save you.”
“Oh,” said Armstrong' carelessly
enough, although he was consumed
with hate and jealousy and raging
against her clearly evident disdain.
“I can take care of myself, I guess.
Anyway I only want to talk about
I you, not about him or her. Your fath
! er —”
“Is he well?”
“Well enough, but heart-broken,
crushed. I happened to be in his house
in Philadelphia when the telegram
; came from your uncle that you were
lost and probably dead. I had just
asked him for your hand,” he added,
smiling grimly at the recollection.
“You had no right to do that.”
“I know that.”
“It was not, it is not, his to give.”
: “Still when I won you I thought it
would be pleasant all around if he
knew and approved.”
“And did he?”
“Not then, he literally drove me out
of the house, but afterwards he said
if I could find you I could have you;
and, by Heaven, I have found you and
I will have you whether yor like it or
not.”
“Never,” cried the woman decisive
ly.
Tl» situation has got on Arm
strong's nerves, and he must perforce
show himself in bis true colors. His
only resources were his strength, not
of mind but of body. He made anoth
er most damaging mistake at this
juncture.
“We are alone here, and I am mas
ter, remember,” he said meaningly.
“Come, let’s make up’. Give me a kiss
for my pains and —”
“I have been alone here for a month
with another man,” answered Enid
Maitland who was strangely unafraid
in spite of this threat. “A gentleman,
he has never so much as offered to
touch my hand without my permis
sion; the contrast is quite to your dis
advantage.”
“Are you jealous of Louise Rosser?”
asked Armstrong suddenly seeing that
he was losing ground and casting
about desperately to account for it,
and to recover what was escaping him.
“Why, that was nothing, a mere boy
and girl affair,” he ran on with a spe
cious good humor as if it were all a
trifle. “The woman was, I hate to
say it, just crazy in love with me, but
I really never cared anything espe
cially for her; it was just a harmless
sort of flirtation anyway. She after
ward married this man Newbold and
that’s all there was about it.”
The truth would not serve him and
in his desperation and desire he stak
ed everything on this astounding lie.
The woman he loved looked at him
with her face as rigid as a mask.
“You won’t hold that against me,
will you?” pleaded the man.* “I told
you that I’d been a man among men,
yes, among women, too, here in this
rough country, and that I wasn’t
worthy of you; there are lots of things
in my past that I ought to be ashamed
of and I am, and the more I see you
the more ashamed I grow, but as for
loving any one else, all that I’ve ever
thought or felt or experienced before
now is just nothing.”
And this indeed was true, and even
Enid Maitland with all her prejudice
could realize and understand it. Out
of the same mouth, was said of old,
proceeded blessing and cursing, and
[rom these same lips came truth and
falsehood; but the power of the truth
to influence this woman was as noth
ing to the power of falsehood. She
could never have loved him, she now
knew; a better man had won her af
fections. a nobler being claimed her
heart; but if he had told the truth re
garding his relationship to Newbold’s
wife and then had completed it with
his passionate avowal of his present
love for her, she would have at least
admired him and respected him.
“You have not told me the truth,”
she answered directly; “you have de
liberately been false.”
“Can’t you see,” protested the man
drawing nearer to her, “how much I
love you?”
“Oh, that; yes I suppose that is
true; as far as you can love any one
I will admit that you do love me.”
■^So far as I can love any one?” he
repeated after her. “Give me a chance
and I’ll show you.”
“But you haven’t told the truth
about Mrs. Newbold. You have calum
niated the dead, you have sought to
shelter yourself by throwing the bur
den of a guilty passion upon the weak
er vessel; it isn’t manlike, it isn’t—
Armstrong was a bold fighter, quick
and prompt in his decisions. He made
another effort to set himself right. He
staked his all on another throw of the
dice, which he began to feel were
somehow loaded a’gainst him.
“You are right,” he admitted, won
dering anxiously how much the woman
really knew. “It wasn’t true, it was
a coward’s act, I am ashamed of it.
I’m so mad with love for you that I
scarcely know what I am doing, but
I will make a clean breast of it now.
I loved Louise Rosser after a fashion
before ever Newbold came on the
scene. We were pledged to each oth
er; a foolish quarrel arose, she was
jealous of other girls—
“ And had she no right to be?”
“Oh, I suppose so. We broke if off
anyway and then she married New
bold, out of pique I suppose, or what
you will. I thought I was heart-brok
en at the time. It did hit me pretty
- hard; it was five or six years ago; I
was a youngster then, I aura man
now. The woman has been dead long
since; there was some cock-and-bull
story about her falling off a cliff and
her husband being compelled to shoot
her. I didn’t believe it at the time,
and naturally I have been waiting to
get even with him. I have been hat
ing him for five years, but he has
। been good to you and we will let by
gones be bygones. What do 1 care
for Louise Rosser, or for him, or for
what he did to her, now! lam sorry
that I said what I did, but you will
have to charge it to my blinding pas
sion for you. I can truthfully say that
you are one woman that I have ever
craved with all my heart. I will do
anything, be anything, to win you.”
It was very brilliantly done; he had
not told a single untruth; he had ad
* mitted much, but he had withheld
the essentials after all. He was play
iryg against desperate odds, he had no
knowledge of how much she knew, or
where she had learned anything. Ev
ery one about the mining, camp where
she had lived had known of his love
for Louise Rosser, but he had not sup
posed there was a single human soul
who had been privy to its later devel
opments, and he could not figure out
any way by which Enid Maitland could
have learned by any possibility any
more of the story than he had told
her. He had calculated swiftly and
with the utmost nicety, just how much
he should confess. He was a keen
witted clever man and he was fighting
for what he held most dear, but his
eagerness and zeal, as they have oft
en done, overrode his judgment, and
he made another mistake at this junc
ture. His evil genius was at his el
bow.
“You must remember,” he continued,
“that you have been alone here in
these mountains with a man for over
a month; the world —
“What, what do you mean?” ex
claimed the girl, who indeed knew
very well what he meant, but who
would not admit the possibility.
“It’s not every man,” he added,
blindly rushing to his doom, “that
would care for you or want you—aft
er that.”
He received a sudden and terrible
enlightenment.
“You coward,” she cried, with up
raised hand, whether in protest or to
strike him neither ever knew, for at
that moment the door opened the sec
ond time that morning to admit an
other man.
•
CHAPTER XXII.
The Last Resort of Kings and Men.
The sudden entrant upon a quarrel
between others is invariably at a dis
advantage. Usually he is unaware
of the cause of difference and general
ly he has no idea of the stage of de
velopment of the x affair that has been
reached. Newbold suffered from this
lack of knowledge and to these dis
advantages were added others. For
instance, he had not the faintest idea
as to who or what was the stranger.
The room was not very light in the
day time. Armstrong happened to be
standing with his back to it at some
distance from the window by the side
of which Enid stood. Six years nat
urally an^ inevitably makes some dif
ference in a man’s appearance, and it
is not to be wondered that at first
Newbold did not recognize the man be
fore him as the original of the face in
his wife’s locket, although he had stud
ied that face over and over again. A
nearer scrutiny, a longer study, would
have enlightened him of course, but
for the present be saw nothing but a
stranger visibly perturbed on one side
and the woman he loved apparently
fiercely resentful, stormily indignant,
confronting the other with an up
raised hand.
The man, whoever he was, had af
fronted her, had aroused her indigna
tion, perhaps had Insulted her, that
was plain. He went swiftly to her
side, he interposed himself between
her and the man.
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"You Cowart I” She Cried
। “Enid,” he asked, and his easy use
of the name was a revelation and an
illumination to Armstrong, “who is
this man, what has he done?”
It was Armstrong who replied. If
Newbold were in the dark, not so he;
although they had never spoken, he;
had seen Newbold. He recognized!
him instantly, indeed, recognized or
not, the newcqmer could be no oth
er man in the mountains. He had ex
than he. There was doubtless no oth
pected to find him when he approach
ed the hut and was ready for him.
To the fire of his ancient hatred and
Jealousy was added a new fuel that
increased its heat and flame. This
man had come between Armstrong and
the woman he loved before and had
got away unscathed; evidently he had
come between him and this new wo
man he loved. Well, he should be
made to suffer for it this time and by
Armstrong's own hands. The in
stant Newbold had entered the room
Armstrong had thirsted to leap upon
him, and he meant to do it. One or
the other of them, he swore in his
heart, should never leave that room
alive.
’ But Newbold should have his chance.
Armstrong was as brave, as fearless,
as intrepid, as any man on earth.
There was much that was admirable
in his character; he would not take
any man at a disadvantage in an en
counter such as he proposed. He
would not hesitate to rob a man of his
wife if he could, and he would not'
shrink from any deceit necessary to
gain his purpose with a woman, for
good or evil, but he had his own ideas
of honor, he woutd not shoot an en
emy in the back for instance.
Singular perversion, this, to which
some minds are liable! To take from
a man his wife by subtle and under
hand methods, to rob him of that
which makes life dear and . sweet —
there was nothing dishonorable in
that! But to take his life, a thing of
infinitely less moment, by the same
process—that was not to be thought
of. In Armstrong’s code it was right,
it was imperative, to confront a man
with the truth and take the consequen
ces; but to confront.a woman with a lie f
and take her body and soul, if so be she
might be gained, was equally admir
able. And there are other souls than
Armstrong’s in which this moral in
consistency and obliquity about men .
and women has lodgment!
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Chance for One-Armed Man.
•Tm looking for a one-armed man,” *
said the patron of a New York restau
rant. “If you know of a man who has
only a right hand I can make him a
good business proposition—one that
will save him a lot of good dollars and
save me the same amount. His right
hand, however, must be a No. 7%.
“It’s this way: Several months ago
I sprained my ankle and for many
months was obliged to lean heavily on
a cane. To protect my left hand I
wore a glove on that hand, but did
not use one on the ri^ht. The result
was that 1 wore out dozens of left
gloves, but the right hand ones I nev
er put on.”
