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XIX.
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Hie Captain’s Doughter.
By W;4. PERRY BROWN,
th or of “The Courtin’ of Pole Bryson,” “The
Shootln’ Match at Possum Trot,”
“Darthuly,” Etc.
PROLOGUE.
Durin* the nii'ht after the second clay’s fight
at Chickamauga, parties of confederates with
torches were moving here and there in search
of the wounded. (Inc of these, led by a stal
wart Georgian, came upon a young federal
lieutenant of cavalry whose arm had been
shattered by a fragment of shell, while a con
sequent fall from his horse had dislocated his
collar bone.
By the lantern’s light the captain gazed upon
a pain-distorted, boyish face. As he held a
canteen of water to the parted lips, his hand
was grasped by the unwotmded hand of the
sufferer, and during the youth’s removal to a
Stretcher his eyes followed the bearded Geor
gian’s face with the appealing constancy of
■conscious helplessness.
“Do not leave me,” lie said, as the captain
was about to give way to the approaching sur
geon.
“I can do you no good now,” replied the
other. “Your’s is a case for the doctor; lie’ll
attend to you.”
“Do not leave me,” pleaded the sufferer
with strange persistency.
“What about him, Meigs’” asked the cap
tain of the surgeon.
“The left arm must come off. The collar
hone we can set in a jiffy, so move yourself,
my man. We have no anesthetics, as your
cavalry captured our medicine chest. But
hero is some whisky.”
The young federal shook his head and again
grasped the captain’s hand, holding it despite
the. latter’s gentle efforts to prevent it, during
the amputation .which immediately took place.
The young man’s nerve was wonderful, not
withstanding his slender physique. Such
patient repjpssion of the signs of agony strong
ly touched the captain. But when all was
concluded, with a gasping sigh, the patient
swooned away.
“G< >d grit,” remarked the surgeon, forcing
a few drops of the rejected stimulant between
the pal, id lips.
“D—d if he hasn’t,” replied the Georgian as
he prepared to go.
Just then he saw a soldier remove a ring
from a finger of the amputated hand.
••Give it here,” he said. “None of that work
with -his poor boy’s property.”
The captain took the ring, intending to re
store it to its owner when the latter became
conscious and able to claim his own. But a
half hour later an unexpected move of
Thomas’s corps caused this particular point to
be temporarily abandoned. When at daylight
the confederates reoccupied it, the young fed
eral with other wounded men left there were
gone.
Then the captain thought of the ring. It
was of gold, with a heart—haped garnet flanked
by two small diamonds, bearing on the inside
a rudely carved imvription which the Georgian
failed to decipher. The chances of war are
proverbially uncertain. He. neither saw or
heard of the officer again, and not knowing
either bls name or regiment had no retracing
clew by which to return it.
The war swept on and, in time, came to an
end. The Georgian retired to a devastated
plantation and fought as manfully for subsist
ence as he had fortrn rly done for glory. Ho
became stout and grizzled, and children in
time grew up around him.
The ring still lay unclaimed in his wallet.
Was its owner still alive? He yet nourished a
faint hope of one day restoring it, despite a
growing fear that the riddle of ownership
Would lorever remain unsettled.
1.
Paterfamilias sat with chair tilted back and
his feet on the piazza railing. The local paper
was in his lap and a cob pipe was in his mouth.
His son stood at the foot of the piazza steps
booted and spurred.
“Tl.e Cheever place has been sold, father,”
he said.
“Well, who bought it, Bud?”
“A yankee, as usual. Ono of those ever
lastingly smart fellows who corne down south
to show ‘we no’ robs’ how to farm. His name
is Barker, I believe: a Wisconsin man, and an
old soldier in the late unpleasantness;.”
‘T’mglad ho has smelled powder!” exclaim
ed tl.e planter. “Doubtless he has got over
being in id at us, and won't go crazy over the
ji-gn.es.”
The young man strolled off and his father
dropped into a reverie. Twelve years since
the surrender of Lee, and what changes!—not"
among the least of which was the gradual
alteration of his own sentiments regarding the
results of that internieine conflict wherein lie
>..«! fought so hard to win yet bad lost all but
honor.
A feminine voice was heard trilling a fa
miliar air.
“Here, Lucy,” he called, “bring mo a
drink.”
A trim young lady, with saucy yet refined
features ami dark red hair, brought out a
gourd of water.
’•< licever's sold out,” ho said briefly, after
drinking.
“I’m glad of it,” slio replied, promptly.
“Pe: haps now he'll go off and let me alone.”
“Poor fellow! I reckon he can’t help liking
you, Puss.”
“Why, papa, he is old and round-shouldered
and course and jealous. Then, too, he drinks
like a fish.”
“Yet Cheever has his good points.”
“I don't know w here they are, papa. But—
there comes some one.”
A horseman was coming up the drive loading
(torn the public toad up to the house. He dis-
mounted, fastened his horse, and walked upto
the piazza steps.
“Captain Claggett lives here, I believe?” he
asked, touching a trim Derby hat to Lucy, who
acknowledged the courtesy by the slightest
kind of a nod and immediately w ithdrew'.
“That is my name, sir,” replied the planter.
“Walk in. Lucy, bring another chair.”
“My name is Barker.” returned the stranger.
“I have just purchased the Cheever place, and
have called on you as one of Mr. Cheever’s
securities, to learn something more of the
mortgage which the McGlinn heirs hold against
it, and which I have partially agreed to as
sume.”
The captain regarded his visitor gravely,
then said, rather irrelevantly:
“ You are a northern man, Mr. Barker, and
a soldier in the late war, I understand?”
“Oh. yes,” said Barker, carelessly; “but
when the war ended I quit fighting. I hope
my southern friends won't think any the less
of me on that account.”
“Not at all, sir,” replied the other heartily.
“If the soldiers on either side could have set
tled things, our after troubles wouldn't have
lasted so long. But—a—come into the sitting
room. We'll see about that mortgage. The
McGlinns are as close as 11—1, sir: yet I trust,
we can fix things so as tolet poor Cheever out.”
As they entered the room. .Miss Lucy, who, I
regret to say, had been listening surreptitiously
behind the door, darted hastily out and, col
liding with Barker’s immaculate Derby, sent it
spinning to the floor.
“I—l beg pardon,” he said, assuming with
true politeness all the blame.
Lucy, with flushed cheeks, made him an
elaborate courtesy, and fled without a word to
the piazza, where she stood looking out among
the tall pines before the house, with a pretty
pout on her lips, and feeling that there had
been times when she had appeared to better
advantage than just then. When Barker and
the captain finally reappeared, a few common
place remarks ensued, and the visitor took his
leave.
“He says he received a body wound at Chick
amauga,’’ said the captain. “And that re
minds me, Pet, I might have told him about
that ring.”
“Very likely he would have claimed it,”
remarked Lucy, with an entrancing frown,
quite as uncalled for as her words.
“Why, Puss!” said her father in careless re
monstrance, at the same time taking the ring
from his wallet.
“Isn’t it lovely!” cried she,trying it on,and
viewing the effect upon her shapely little hand.
“Papa, you must let me wear it until after the
picnic. We girls have so few pretty things,
since that horrid war you’re always' gloating
over.”
“Have you forgotten whose ring it is?”
“I have not forgotten that you don’t know
any more than I do, papa,“she answered, with
a saucy smile.
“Suppose Barker, as you say, should put in a
claim for it?” he said, playfully.
“Barker? He shall claim me first, or I—”
She stopped abruptly, and blushed at the
uulhought of implication involved in her
words.
“He’d have d—d poor taste if he didn’t,”
laughed the captain, whose sense of humor was
I a little coarse.
Limy flirted herself into the house at this,
leaving her father to enjoy his joke alone. But
she carried the yug off with her.
11.
Miss Claggett, in a dark riding habit, mount
ed on Gordon—a mud-colored, vicious looking
Texas pony—was out for a gallop through the
: “piney” woods, on a sunny April morning, a
week or two after Barker’s call upon her
father. Gordon’s friskincss, when not sulking
with drooped ears over some youthful nn mory
of western cowboys and prairies, was of that
abnormally uncertain .kind vvhi< h called for
care and good horsemanship.
Her spirits rose with Gordon’s, yet at times
the sough and glamor of the pines plunged her
in careless reveries, quite unassociatcd with
sundry buckings and prancings of that volatile
quadruped, when the reins hue - loose. During
one of these abstracted interludes a man rose
up suddenly from behind a large “lightwood”
log by the roadside.
Gordon saw his opportunity and at once used
it so effectually as to leave Lucy sitting in the
sandy road, rather rumpled and frightened,
while he, with a final flourish of his heels
toward the skies, scampered off homeward, as
though a legion of his oid foes, the cowboys,
were after him.
The man at once approached her. She saw
j with alarm that ho bore :i seedy, trampish
. aspect. Yet Lis figure was slight, and ho had
but one arm, while his sac . despite a prema
turely old look, seemed boji.sh and confiding.
Ho stopped at a respectful distance, and touch
ing a battered hat, said:
“Pardon mo, ma’am. Are you hurt? Can
I help you?”
This was hardly the language and manner
of a tramp. Perhaps she was in for an advent
ure. Ho coughed, and she noticed that he
was hollow-chested and pale. Poor fellow!
There could bo no harm in being civil to him,
here in the interminable privacy of these
woods.
“No,” she replied. “I'm all right, I believe.
I shall Lave a couple of miles to walk, but I
don’t mind that.”
Then she attempted to rise, but sank back
with a faint cry of pain.
“What is it?” he asked quickly.
i “1 tear—l have sprained my foot,” she said,
| faintly. ' E-e-e! jfow it hurts!”
There was a branch close by. and he rushed
i off, returning with his hat full of water.
“Have you a handkerchief?” bo inquired.
' “If you will undo your shoe I will pour water
■ on the .sprain, then you can bind it up.”
, The situation was embarrassing, yet the pain
I grew worse. Coyly she exposed a fair;-like
, foot and attempted to remove her boot. But
her trembling bands failed, and she sank back
| with a low moan of pain. Without a word,
the man deftly unlaced the little boot with hist
i one hand, took it carefully off. and then
poured the cooling watei on theswollen instep.
Then he brought another hatful, wet the hand-
I kerchief she gave him, and, with a touch as
; light as a woman's, wrapped it round the sprain
I and slowly poured more water on it.
i Lucy watched him witli lips compressed and
i hot flushes, not altogether caused by pain,
• chasing each other over her face.
“There,” he said at length, “you must rest
quiet here :.nd 1 will get help to von as soon as
I possible.”
Just then be saw the captain’s ring on her
finger, eyed it furtively for a moment, then
.• aid:
| “Excuse me, but will you let me look at that
■ ring just one-minute?”
He held out his hand and she, wondering if
“he really coveted it in r< turn for his Samaritan
j services, handed it to him, not knowing hardly
I how to refuse. He examined it, looked eagerly
! at the inscription inside, then returned ft
without a word. Yet she fancied that his
! manner became graver, and that something
like dignity seemed somehow t , be for the mo-
I ment impressed upon him.
At length the pain of Iter sprain decreased
ami ho prepared to go for asubtaiice, when
there came a sound of trampling hoofs through
the pines. Looking up they saw two men
approachin l '. Lucy colored ami grow haughty
and reserved at once. The trainpdrcw further
I away from iter, and replaced his soaked and
, misshaped hat upon his head.
The surprise which George Barker may Lave
felt at seeing Miss Claggett sitting by the road
i side in such company was veiled in a look of
| solicitude at the sight of her bandaged foot and
discarded shoe. Torn Cheever, his companion,
looked inquiringly from the lady to the tramp,
■ and dismounting, said to her:
“Why, what's the matter, Lucy? Has this
fellow insulted you?”
“Not at all,” she replied, vaguely nettled at
( his words. “Gordon taw fit to throw tue, run
ATLANTA, GA. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1887.
away and sprain my foot. This—-a—man hap- ’
penvd to be near, and kindly rendered every
assistance possible.”
“Who are you, anyhow?” demanded (’hoover i
rather brutally of the tramp, who was regard- :
ing Parker attentively, and ignored the ques
tion.
Meanwhile the latter alighted and now said I
to Lucy;
“My horse is quite gentle. If Miss Claggett
will honor me by using him. we will soon Fave 1
her at home.”
“Thanks,” she returned, not noticing :
Cheever, who scowled furtively at thorn both', j
She readily resigned-*?rsoM into Barker’s '
hands, and he lilted her skilfully into the
saddle. Lucy then turned to. the tramp and ;
said kindly:
“Come with us. please. My father w ill want ;
to know of your kindness Io his daughter.”
They started at once with Barker at Lucy’s *
bridle rein, while Cheever followed sulkily.
The tramp sighed and quietly fell in behind
them all.
The reserve with which Lucy had treated
Parker on their previous meeting now melted
into a real enjoyment of his efforts to entertain '
her. He was polished and deferential; yet his
persuasive tones evinced a strength and self- ■
confidence ever pleasing to women when felt '
by rather than obtruded upon them. Cheever I
watched them vindictixcly, his mien oppress- <
ing the resentment he silently felt. The ,
tramp’s eyes rested on’ Parker oftencr than 1
elsewhere. A yearning expression at ‘inn’s !
came over his feeble features as he noted the
northerner’s eager attentions to the lady; then,
when Cheever’s manner would more strongly
evince his dislike, the tramp’s face would
harden into a frown that seemed to evince any
thing rather than a liking for Tom Cheev< r ’
And so at length they arrived at Captain ;
Claggett’s, where Lucy was consigned to the
care of her mother and “Black Mannny” and
disappeared, leaving with Barker a ravishing j
smile as a remembrance un! il —they met again. !
The tramp went to the kitchen and received !
a kind and indulgent welcome from both j
whites and blacks. Biul thanked him, and ;
the captain swore ronmlly that he should “lay !
around and oat bog and hominy as long as his j
laziness allov cd him to remain.”
Cheever i liked awhile on business matters •
with the planter and Barker, and then, still 1
sulky and suspicious, took bis leave. As for
Barker —lie staid until the next morning, find
left with a rose on his coat lappel, pinned there
by Miss Jaicy as she sat in an easy chair on the
broad piazza,• while the tramp regarded them
wistfully from his lounging place on the sunny
side us the kitchen.
111.
George Parker rode with the Claggetts to
the Sunday-school picnic. Cheever had remon
strated with the captain for showing these 1
“h-1 fired northerners” so much social <n- !
couragement, but the latter had said einphati- ■
cally: .
“Barker’s a gentleman, and he’s sol’d fmnn- ;
cially as you well know. Lucy seems to like j
his company, and tier pleasure is mighty apt to i
bo her oid pappy’s law. Be. ides, what does '
our old-fashioned conservatism amount to now,
when we’re all scutiiing for bread together in
the. same furrow ?”
Our friend the tramp, attired in one of the
captain’s half-worn suits, a good size too large
for him, was also along. Lucy and 1-nrkcr rode ,
side byside on horseback,as though this dispo
sition of themselves was the mostnatural th mg
in the world.
The we: therwns good, the attendance large,
and Oak Grove, down by the Ilhiloo river, the
very place to please everybody. The dinner
was simply immense, making our tramp long
for the stomach of an anaconda when he found
that sated-nature, would endure no more, even !
of syllabub and pound cake.
The picnickei s had .scattered through Ihe
woods. L* :'t to himself he wandered off to
smoke a pipe and perhaps be overtaken by a
nap. and finally laid down near the edge of a
precipitous bluff overhanging a sheltered nook
by the riverside, where a fringe of oak bushes,
interlaced by muscadine vines, concealed him
from the ejc.s of casual strollers. Lighting his
pipe, he la; ilv indulged in that full-fed con
tent of mind and body/which is the usual result
of a good dinner well enjoyed. Then—he fell
asleep.
After a lime his senses were
tickled into activity again by a murmur of
voices below him. He peered over tiro brow
of tiie clid’ and beheld Barker and Lucy
engaged in a private conversation. She was
seated with her back against a pine, playing
nervously with along fern, while he reclined
at her feet, his hat thrown to one side and his
whole manner expressive of soft, persuasive
appeal.
'l'hc tramp ncsth’d doser <l<ovn among the
bushes and watched them. At length Barker
possessed himself of Lucy’s hand, which she
surrendered with an air of shy, yielding re
luctance il it bore its own sweet interpreta- j
tion. A half smothered imprecation met the I
trump’s car. and peering cautiously around, ho
saw Tom ( hceve.r also watching the se ne
below from behind a great rock that had
hitherto concealed these two eavesdroppers
from each other, in his silent fury the latter
had thrust himself forward into view. Barker
raised the Jillle hand to his lips, kissed it pas
sionately while Lucy seemed to be slowly yield
ing io the concessive promptings of her heart.
But voices were now audible from Un- river
side, and soon Lucy was called away by a Levy
of gill', having Barker at last alone. He
started up the bluff, wrapt in a pleasing reverie,
until he came to a deep gorge separating him
from the open woods beyond. A long foot-log
spanned its nanowest pait. The place was
is'dated and wild, none of the picnickers appar
ently being near.
Cheever stoic after him, his face alive with
the malevolent passions that were consuming
him. 31JC tramp, suspecting foul play, crept
after them both. As Barker approache d the
log Cheever drew near and slipped behind a
large sweetgum tree. The former, still wrapped
in pleasant fancies, started slowly across the
chasm, here fully eighty feet deep" with huge,
jagged rocks ;•! Ihe bottom,w here a tiny rivulet
ran on towtoi’ the river. Cheever, darting
forward, sei • <i a long hand-pole that lay near.
Ono shrewd push from behind, and all Lucy’s
bright fancies concerning this, her latest lover,
would be sti at rest forever.
At that m unent he felt a sharp tap on the
shoulder. H< ' urned quickly and found him
self confremb dby the tramp, who whispered,
jerking hi thumb towaid the bushes;
“Buck v u go there, with me!”
Caught in the act, with every move intx rpre- ■
tative of his murderous intent, raging inward- i
ly, yet remixing the ncrx*ssity of secrecy ami I
of—obedience, he turned. Barker went on his ,
v.ay, seemingly unsuspicious, while the two '
others again crouched among the bushes, i
glaring dumb defiance at each other.
“Now, Mr. Cheever,” said the tramp, as ,
Berber disappeared from sight, “you needn’t |
explain. Bm I’ll just give you a pointer, ii j
you want this little affair kept dark, sm I of
forgotten like, you must let that man alone, i
If yon ever try to harm a hair of his head, i
blame me if I don’l publish your little mistake I
here, - m ic Hwy’ll be sure to waul an ex try '
cdfalif n. tlii'i 11 clrkilate just where you won’t
wm ' to it read.”
With Hi he turned abruptly and sauntered
l.’/ii\ away,leaving< heever in a state of mind ’
more easily imagin' d than described.
IV.
T1 < ’ . eks rolled on. Barker’s attentions to
Miss Claggett continued. Cheever si ill hung
around, saying little, doing !<• h, ami nursing (
in futility the worst suspicio ns of others that a |
nr.rr w, jealous nature could inspire. Our
friend tho tramo also lingered, dividing his
time between Barker’s and the captain’s pretty
evenly. His health grew worse, and a recur
rent cough racked his slight frame, while cer
tain ominous hectic flushes now rarely left Ids
cheeks.
One day the captain ami Barker, with sev
eral of their neighbors, vent driving for deer
down in the greet Tuckaboo swamp. Barker
was to dine w ith the Claggetts on their return.
Lucy sat in the piazza sewing and indulging in
pleasing bits < f reverie, during one of which
sii pri< ked her finger. While . qurozinga thiy
blood drop from its ivory background, (’hoover
walked in, with an air of having something
important to sav.
“Maw ning,” he said, dropping uninvited into
a chair.
Lucy nodded, and just then the tramp ap
peared with a bucket of water, which ho placed
on Hie uat< r-shclf and lounged out, the per
sonification of indolent discouragement. When
out of sight, however, ho slipped into the dark
ened s:iting-room, and enseonsed himself in a
listening attitude behind the wall against
which ( hoewr had tilted his chair.
• (’ap’ gone on a hunt?” asked the latter.
“Yes. they’ve al) gone, ami 1 was expecting
a quiet morning for work, but—” Here she
pouted slightly and rot ked her foot impa
tiently.
“But now 1 ’in hero the chance is gone, you’d
say. If I’d a boon Barker now’, work and quiet
might l.avegone to the devil for all you’d have
cared.”
“51 r. Barker is too much of a gentleman to—
to —be rude to ladies,” she replied, indignantly.
“Barker a gentleman? Don’t you bo toosuro
of that. He pretends to be of good family, and
all that.yet he’s got a brother whoisa common
vagabond and a probable thief.”
“I’ll not believ it on your word,”said Lucy,
hotly, while the tramp inside clutched at his
heart and seemed about (o fall, but recovered
and again listened witli haggard features and
the hue of a corpse.
“Perhaps you won’t,” returned (’hoover,
allowing a cruel smile to disfigure his face.
“ But Major Teague, onr sheriff, has got a letter
f ym the peili< e at Barker's old home up in
Wisconsin, asking if this brother- Sain Barker
•y name—hadn’t turned up hero. He is
anted back there forsonie crime or other, and
has been known as a common tramp for years.
They' think your Barker, Lucy, secretly helps
him and probably knows wheae he is.”
Lucy looked straight, before her, and her
Wo) k lay neglected in her lap. Cheever watch
ed h« r, while tierce de>ir< s contended with tho
bitter thoughts that almost maddened him,
under a senseof the dislike with which his
presence inspired her. A her a long pause he
again spoke, in a changed, intensely earnest
tone.
“Lucy, you have known mo for years, and I
have loved you for years. You hain’t en
couraged me much, yet what can a follow do,
when he ge-s so infernally wrapped up in a
pretty face that he sees no rest, day or night?
1 might have done better if you’d have shown
me some chance.”
“Am I to blame for your dissolute habits and
your misspent life?” she asked, still gazing
out through the pines.
“And now,” ho continued, ignoring her
question, “along comes this fellow Barker,
v.ith his smooth ways and oily tongue, ami all
my years of devotion—yes. by God, Lucy I 1
have h>\ed you for year - all t his, 1 say, goes
for nothing when he sets his cursed eyes on
you.”
Miss Claggett rose, saying coldly, though in
wardly hot and indignant:
“AB this is useless, sir. sfy father will bo
Lack by and by. He may put up with your
very disagreeable ways better than 1 can.
Good morning.”
Then she marched straight through the
great hall, dropping her work along the floor,
ami so on out into regions near thekitchen.
Cheever sat for a moment or two silent and
motionless. Then, slapping his hat on his head,
he strode off w ithout a word to w heie he had
left his horse. While mounting the tramp
lounged up.
“Mr. Cheever.” said the latter, “I s’pose
you haven’t forgot that little confab we had by
the high foot-log on the day of the picnic?
What 1 said then I mean to stand now.”
“Who in the h—l cares? 1 don’t.”
With this parting shot, < ’heever rode off.
V.
After the hunt Barker remained at the Clag
getts’ over night “to eat his share of the veni
son,” as the captain jovially nut it. To her
admir'T Lucy vouchsafed only a few w r ords,
that seemed quite Jost under a chilling cere
moniousness of manner. Barker wondered,
and alter supper waylaid her in the hallway,
saying :
“I wonder how f can have offended? I
know something is wrong.”
“I’m not aware of being offended—myself,”
she said grandly, yet with a compunctious
inward tingle.
Her serenely cool manner baffled him. Then
M rs. (.'laggott called her daughter, and Lucy
sailed away with a sweeping courtesy, her
dark, red hair reflecting the glint of the lire
light.
The next morning Barker lingered on.
Something was on his mind, and while the
captain sat smoking, with his feet perched as
usual on the piazza railing, he said, aft« r a
long silence:
“Captain, tliere is something I wish to speak
to you about today.”
1 he captain emitted huge vohtrnesof smoke,
w hile Barker hesitated, aproci < ding so unusual
with him that the former at length said, with
LI tin I. cordiality:
“Plain sailing, ibe sailors say. soonest loads
to port. So out with it, Barker, if it concerns
mo.”
“You have no doubt observed my attentions
to Miss Claggett. Aly future happiness Las
now become o strongly invok'd in their
favorable reception, that 1 have felt— that is—
I desire—”
“ You w ant to marry her, I suppose?” inter
rupted the cafitahi, blowing out a cloud of
smoke that must have completely filled him
from the waist up.
“I love her, captain,” returned Barker in a
slightly tremulous tone.
A silence ensued, during which the planter
smoked on, while Barker watched his features;
but he might as well have observed a stone as
far as expression went. Meanwhile our tramp
sat, with his Lack to the smokehouse wall,
lazily whittling. 4 noise of approaching luiols
was heard, ami two men appeared in sight,
riding through the pines.
“Barker,” said the < aptain. suddenly, “we’ll
talk this over at another time. I’ll he frank
with you: You are a northerner, and 1 don't
know yet whether to like that in a son-in-law
or not, but you seem to be a square man and a
good neighbor, ami these are two things I do
like powerful well.”
Tom Cheever ami a tall, narrow-eyed man,
with a h'-avy chin beard now walked up rhe
step-. Barker was introduced by < aptain
Claggett to •'Major 'League, our sheriff, and a
d d good sheriff too.”
Whereat the sheriff srnih d, said “howdy,”
and leisurely picked some very large, yellow
teeth with a pine splinter, while hi- wan
dered toward the tramn,who now lacked lazily
across the yard toward the piazza, ( heever
v. as rest less and avoided Barker both by word
and look.
After a few moments’ clint over various
■ v • j suggested by Major Teague's
nresenco, the latter turned to Barker ami said
in a dry, unemphasized tone:
“We re lookin’up a brother o’your’n, Mr.
Bairj r. 1 got a letter from the porlicc. at Osh
kosh, Wb<« nsin, inquirin’ alter him and you.
It ’s an old case of assault with intent to kill,
ami—it did kill. Your brother baked out and,
from what them thar pci lice say, I reckon ho
come to be a common tramp. Sorry to say
this, Mr. Barker, but truth’s truth, and thar’s
worse behiml. 'I hese here perlice have studied
over the case putty considiblo, and as they
haven’t been able to find your brother they
may want—yon.”
“Me!” exclaimed Barker, with a rising color
he could not repress.
The had looked on In riUtjut wonder,
but Cheever’s greedily vindictive face caused
him to say in an aside:
“Tom, this is some of your work.”
*‘No, no,cap,” returned that worthy. “This is
a Barker business from a toizzard; if it isn’t
I’m d-d.”
The trainp now slowly entered the piazza.
“Yes. sir, you,” continued IMajor Teague,
looking steadily nt Barker, who as steadily
returned his gaze. “They think you can
prejudice that thar brother of your’n, if you
want to. In fact, you stand charged as bein’
an accessory after (ho fact.”
“The charge is false!’’ said Barker, emphati
cally. “ I had a brother who did as you de
scribed, but whether I have one now or not I
do not know. 1 have not heard of him in nine
years.”
“ rhe pcrlice,” resumed the sheriff imper
turbably, “have thought you might possibly
know w here your brother* is. They have got
word from some one that a tramp stays round
your place a great deal -a feller like your
brother, with one arm, and—”
“Why, that - that—” stammered the cap
tain : then seeing ( .leever’s cruelly oxpie. sive
smile, heiignhi turned on him, saving:
“Tom, it’ this isn’t your work it looks might
ily like it. Why, d nit, sir! this man you
speak of has been with me more than at
Barker's, and bo’s as harmles • as a child.”
“Gentlemen,” said Major Tcaguo, “let mo
get through with my arrant and you can all
have tho floor, II it’s not for me to argy agin
ymir suppositions, but 1 have a warrant for
this tramp, mid if he is your brother, Mr.
Barker, that lets you out, pro\ bled you liaven’t
know ingly nid« d in concealin'him from jus
tice. Bui ii this isn’t him, them thar pci'lico
want, you, ■ nle •; you prove your innereenco of
helpin’ him outen the scrape.”
Tho tramp now’ advanetd with an air of
nervous, fidgety resolution, ami said:
“Mr, Shmiff, I am George Barker's brother,
and though hr hasn't, known hide nor hair of
me in nine years, as his brother. 1 don’t bolh vo
he’d have four bark on me if he had. Would
you, George?”
Ho. turm d toßarker with a dumb longing in
his watery ('yes, while the latter stared at him,
feeling certain vague misgivings concerning
this friemiloss waif now merged into a sudden
conviction of tho sad truth they had fore
shadowed. I’hoever’s cruel smiio grow ex
ult all f, while the eiiptaiii ejaculated :
“(lood God ’hnighty
Tho tramp turned to the latter, sayin ::
“Do you remember, sir, a. young federal
officer whose hand was taken ‘off the night
al h r < ’hi< kamauga in your
“I do. God help mo! 1 do!” exclaimed
the veteran.
“1 was that lieutenant, captain. 1 had a
ring—”
“Yes, yes. my poor fellow. I can :ht one of
our boys making off with it. 1 took itjnlend
ing to restore it to you when you were able to
claim your property.”
‘‘When I came to,” continued the tramp
stolidly. “1 was in the bands of our boys again.
I saw that ring when I first met Ml« (Taggett
in the woods. Inside are the words ‘con
aiiiore,’ carved by myst If for one to w hom the
line 0111 e lielonged, and who, curse her! was
all- 1 wards the cause of my doing the deed for
w hich I have been wanted so long.”
Barker now grasped bls brother’s hand, say-
“Snni, why didn’t you make yourself known ?
1 ought io have recognis’d you: hut, myGM!
how changed you arc! 1 would have stood by
you, and i’ll stand by .you now ”
“I always felt that you would, George; but
the affair broke mo up. 1 went from bad to
worse after I disappeared, until L became an
alien and an outcast. I came hero quite by
accid' iit, saw that ring, recognized you. and
just islayed on because I hadn’t the nerve to
ha\o under the kind treatment [ received.
Bui. 1 never thought of bringing trouble on
you,<reorgo.”
“I believe it,” said Barker. “Now, gentle
nun, IN me say that this poor man has been
more sinned against than sinning. Ile married,
years ago, a woman older than himself, who
made his life a hd), ami finally ran away with
the, man whom he bl rm k in a moment of
passion.it is true, y t openly and in fair fight.”
“1 believe you, Barker,” said tho captain.
“I saw his hand off, and it hardly phazed
him, though lie wouldn’t even take a.dram to
nerve himself. And I say, d—n a man who
wii’t defend hir. honor! Hero, Lucy!”
That astute young lady, in lingering about
the hallway, had heard enough of tho fore
going conversation to divine Low the land lay.
She now' appeared.as demure as though mih s
had intervened between b rswo« 1 self and all
surreptit ioiisly :icquir» d knowledge. Yet she
contrived to shoot a swift, tender glance a,t
Barker, who was no laggard in const ruing it as
a gaze of recoil' iliation.
“Well, Lus’.’’ said her father, “here’s an
owner for our ring at last.”
As Lucy qui( Ily held it forth Major Toaguo
took ;t, saying :
“I reckon I’ll have to take charge of it for
awhih*, if it. belongs to your brother, Mr.
Barter. This less you out, but, unless your
brother <a’n give a pretty stiff bond lie’ll nave
Io goto jail until llm \\i cousin officer g'ts
here with the reck is shun.”
“If you’need more bail, Bark er, "said ('aptain
('la? ''i t, “.send foririo. Stick to your brother,
1 say, lor blood should be thicker than water
any w hero.”
jLc tramp, lookin', it ■ i eever, now said to
Barker:
“George, look sharn whenever that man
comes about you. 11 d have pushed you over
the foot log the d;i , <»f the picnic.”
Thon he briefly but pointedly related the
circumstances.
“H’s a. lie!” cried CheCicr, boldly.
“it's the truth, : ontlenicn,” said Barker,
suddenly. “One o; niy hands, who was hunt
ing muscadines, saw the whole affair from a
distance and told m< about it. 1 said nothing,
»" • an e I thought ( heever ?t fi iend of Captain
Claggett’s.”
I’m <1 <1 if he is any more, if that's his
game!” returm d Ihe captain.
('hoover utt< inpted to blnstc r, fail' d, ami
found himself g» norally ignored. A dispersal
of th*' party m.w' took place. Major 'League
carrying off bis prisoner. Barker w hispered to
Lucy:
“1 must stand by my brother. Will you wish
me good hick ?”
For an answer her hand softly returned the
furtive pressure of his own.
“Lucy,” said he' father when the two were
left alone, “do you like him?”
Lm y looked hard at a rose bush, then stead
ily into the captain's eyes, while the fcll-tale
color slowly sfinuul over her face. Then she
lowered her gaze to the floor and stood,a muto
stafuc of unwilling confer don. Her father
understood, chuckled a little, ami said:
'Lhat’ball right, Pct. I like, him myself.”
She flaslu d one n ore glance at him and fled
without a word.
VI.
There Is little ni'ie to ti 11.
Barker manfull; food by his brother until a
jury of his peers pronounced a verdict of jus
tifiable homicide, ‘ hall not a man defend the
honor of his heart h ?
One week then • ft< r the latter died, esteem
ing death less of t bi rden than life had long
be< n to him. On bis dying bed he said to
Barker:
“G< orgc, Miss < la »gett seemed to like that
ring of mine. H; ou don’t think my own i-nd
luck will follow i», give it to her as coming
from a poor devil who didn’t have any latter
MjißO than to send it.”
(xi (>rgo did s but not to remain unrepro.
gented in that I no himself, bought another
one w hich, on I s return to Georgia, he insist
ed that Lucy should wear on a certain s ig
gesiivc finger. Os course, Lucy coniplicd.
As for('hcex( r. he lingered around, unfor
getting yet seemingly forgotten or ignored,
though he eventually found out that the earth
was si ill solid ami H at his anpelitq yet re
mained to remind him that he waft human.
PRICE FIVE CENTS.
BETWEEN THE LINE?.
By WALLACE P. REED.
I.
“War is a bad thing,” said Captain Hay, aft
we sat together one summer evening in front
of his mountain cottage.
The captain had been.entertaining mo with
some of his war experiences. He had seen a
rough time in Fast Tennessee. Between tho
f< dorals and the union bushwhackers, who
uere quite numerous in that region, ho had
found it ncce sary to do some hard fighting
and some swift, running.
“ \'os,” continued the captain, “war is a ter
ribb* business. It is not so bad between two
armies. Kegular soldiers expect to kill and be
killed, hut such a war as we Imd right here be
tween the. lines, with friends ami neighbors
and brothers cutting each other’s throats— l
tell you, sir. it was rough.”
1 looked out upon the clusters of m hite farm
bouses dotting the hillsides and resting in the
valleys. Il seemed to mo that p<‘a«e had
reigned there forex er.
“Did you have much trouble right armind
here'.’’ I asked.
“Weil, you would have thought so,” ro
plied the captain, gloomily. “Do y«m remem
ber speaking t<> me about the Widow Scot! and
renmrkine that she had a very sad luce?”
“\es,” 1 answered with some interest,
“was she the Ix ii 'n * < r tlio victim of soinft
war tragedy?”
“ A vi< tim,” .vid the captain, jerking the
words out with .something of an effort.
“\<»u know,” ho io limed, “that, wo were
about half union ami hall ' « nf( derate in this
iii'i';liborlyod. W('!l,as l'a*«i is the boys were old
enough lo .honlder a mil Ar I, they slipped off,
some going to tho f- iL r tls, ami others joining
the confederates.
“Ho Ihing.. reeked along unt'l Burni-ide was
in h no\\iih’,!’nd I .<-ug..t r* 1 t m .0; advancing on
him 1 hrougli the inoiintiiin ; At that time I
had I ' ii away from In ce foi about two years,
but wh n Longs'). 1’.4 1 .'.lil wng got over
yonder l> hind lh« (.m e, I camo Loro with
b'lusd of < a\airy m pick up as( w conscripts.
“Whew! But, w. found a regular hormt’s
nest, ’i’liorc were some good ct *.ft'ile .■. of
course, but th< 11 iln re x\- ro i is ol unionists,
and we saw trouble all t'n- tim -.
“We shot a num’.> r of Imshw lun Lors just aft
w ? e found them, w i.lmiit going through tho
formality of a trial. I have novi r regretted
that. 1 iie.x were robber . and assa in *', Id-ling
in the wood. 1 and making war up<»n belli sides,
sparing nothing, tliat e.-me in I In-ir \\ ay. No,
I see nothing t<» »< ri t in all that.”
The xeteran whilicd away x ..orously at hir
pipe.
“You raid something about tho Widow
Scott,” I suggested.
“Yes, I believe 1 did. Well, it, is still a sore
subject with me, but I will tell you the story.
In those times you must undt 1 !and that ibis
valley war regarded by connm n ecu. 'nt ns a
sort of neutral ground. There was no agree
ment to that effect between military men, but
we naturally fell into it, and it was a < •eimoii
thing for some of Burnside’s men to run enwn
and visit I heir honn.H, w hile some of Lmig
streot's soldiers would slip over here for the
game purpose.
“Among tho uni'mists in tho valley xx'as a
ynung fellow named John Hcott. We had
played together, g« no to the *.ame school, and
courted the same girls, and 1 was sorry enough
when I came along in the fall of ’sixty-four, to •
find tbat John had joined Burnside. A week
before my arrival John had paid a flying visit
to the. valley and had married Alice Dav is, th9
prettiest girl in East 'Leiim sseo..
“Some, of my men did not like John. They
had an old grudge against, him, and flu v urged
me to capture him xvln n he made, his next
visit to his bride. 1 ki-ked a.'.iin ! this. I
t >l<l them th d John wa no Im hwhacker. Ho
was a brave soldier, and if ho wanted to sco
his little wife I had no objection. Besides, f
told them that xve were between tho lines and
our old friends considered it neutral ground,
ami we xvere in honor bound to n pect their
xvishes. 1 made the point that we J eoutined
our operations to the next county. We had
simply made our headquarters in tho valley,
ami had never moh sted Ihe p« ople, there.
“I might as well have talked to the wind.
Three of my mon swore that they would cai»-
turcJohnor kill him. 1 nothing, but
k« pt my eyes wide l open.
“One night I found the.'.o three fellows miss
ing. A few cautions inquiries ralistied m®
that there was trouble ahuad. In some way
the rumor had got out thaf John was coming
home that night, and my three men. rein
forced by several ('(.nfi dm'dte sympalhizeis,
had decided to make, it-l ot for him.
“J started off on foot uj> the valley in th®
direction of the cottage W'here John’s wih>
lived. I hardly knew' v. led to do. jf [ |. ; ,d
know n the man’, route, I could have headed
him/>ff, but, not knowing anything ab-cit it, f
decided to hunt up my men, ami see, if I could
not break up their arrangeim nts.
“Just by the roadside in from of the cottage,
fifty yards from tin hon. ”, wa . a little grov®
ofliM . It was a bright nmonllgLl night,
and anyone statioiu dln the gro 1 •• could see
anybody approa< hingor leaving the house. It
struck me that John’s cncmi s xveuhi s-leeft
Hie giove as their hiding place, and without
stopping to consider the d.-ngcr, I plunged
hea'llong Info it.
“ Lhe rtt icals had .‘•(•en me, and almost before
J knew it they had me tied tea tree ami
gagged ho that I < ould mal'.e no otib ry. it
was all done in a second, and lx-fore 1 could
recover from my surprise, I heard somebody
at a distance whistling ‘The Girl 1 Left Be
hind Me.’ The whistler rapidly approached
us until he came in sight; and 1 recognized the
fare and form of John Scott !
“Somebody in the house heard the familiar
tune. A slender girl with a bunch <>f llowerft
at her throat opem d He door and stood expec
tantly on the piazza. I bad a good view of
her. and I had never seen her look prettier.
“With a brisk, eag( r step .John came down
the road. His wife ran down the step ', ami f
could nee her dress jhittering ay she apt d to
wards the gate.
“John opened the gate and shout of
boyi h delight. On<? step forwauf and ii, > w ifo
would hav been in his arms.
“'Bang! bang!* went two shots from tho
grove, and the brave young fellow staggered
and fell forward on Ids face!”
'Lhe captain paused and brushed away a
tear.
“1 < ried then,” ho said, *‘Yes,sir, cried like
a baby, and it unnerves me whenever I think
us it. Those scoundrels rushed off in a hurry,
wb'>oping like devils as they ran. J made a
mighty effort and tore myself loose from my
bonds, ami went up to Alice. She had John’s
head In her lap and was kissing him, and sob
bing as if her heart would break. Tho {root
girl’s father came out from the house, and we
carried John In. Poor follow! He was dead,
'l he first shot had killed him.
“I never found out who murdered John,”
raid the captain de pendent'/. “Thu threeb
men I suspected denied it. They laid it on
their comrades, and they denied it in turn.
We had to get away from there the next day,
and 1 did not return until the war had been
over for a year or more.
“You know n£>w why tho Widow Scott ba*
such a sad face, and you will understand mg
interest in her.”
1 I'x kcd away from the captain, and my rov
ing eyes took in the (pdet beauties of the lovely
valley w ith the hush of peace brooding ox er it*
('-mid It I t’nt less t!..'D a generati« n ago a
set of <lex ils, in tho fthapu ui men, had hold
high carnival there?
The captain saw inv look and understood it.
“Yes, ’he muttereu, as he rose to go In*
“war b a bad thing—a bad thing, six I”
