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JBIfIW
VOL. XX.
Through Gotos of Gold.
From All tbs Year Round.
CHAPTER. I.
The Lady Betty was swearing. She was not
drunk, however. Under the present conditions
reigning at the fort, it would have been diffi
cult to have attained to any such indulgence
of body and mind. For there was little left to
drink; still less to eat; while desperate
ftnxiety darkened every face, and the shadow
of death loomed close at hand. Yet, black as
matters looked, with hundreds of Indians
infuriated with blood-thirst closing them in on
all sides, with only a dozen men to hold the
fort and protect the two women shut up there
with them, with ammunition running short,
with food and water distributed on principles
of the strictest economy, with a blazing sun
overhead to add to the torture of the long hours
with their ceaseless dread and expectation,
with no prospect but death at the hands of a
cruel, merciless fpe; yet The Lady Betty was
not swearing at the present conditions of her
existence, but at the’dne other woman shut up
with her in that besieged fort.
It would have been difficult to say, looking
at her now as she stood within the stockade,
drawn back into the doorway of one of the
buildings to avoid meeting the other woman
who had just passed by, why she had ever
gained the title of “The Lady Betty.” The
usual tawdry finery with which she delighted
to adorn herself was faded,torn and dirty,there
being no opportunities in that doomed, out-of
the-world fort, peopled only by that handful of
desperate men, for repairing deficiencies of
toilet. There was no dignity in tho reckless
abandonment of herself to the low, vulgar
passions that convulsed her. The coarse
beauty of her face was disfigured by hate,rage,
and desire of revenge.
But some one in her past had given her the
nickname, and it had stuck to her ever since.
She had been little mere than a child then ;
die was but just a woman now, a year or two
still off thirty, but the years through which
that name had clung to her might have
reckoned as a century if their experience of
reckless life were measured instead of time.
The Lady Betty had enjoyed herself after her
own fashion.
But this afternoon, in a vague, dumb wav,as
some maddened, pain-tortured brute might
resent the agony of the lash brought on itself
by its own ungoverned passions, she felt that
those years of reckless folly had brought their'
own punishment.
Until a fortnight ago—when this girl with
her father had been rescused aud brought into
the fort under a hailstorm of bullets, which
had cost the lives of three of the garrison who
had made a sortie to save the strangers—The
Lady Betty and ‘‘the boys” shouldered her
title side by side with them. She had taken
her share in tho watches; she had oaten,
lived, laughed with them, fearless as they of
tho death that threatened them. Now all this
was changed. Though The Lady Betty, even
thinking over it calmly, which she nover did—
«h<j-ver" thought thought of these two stran
. ,-e advent i i th- for. had been
baptized by the loss of three of the bravest and
brightest of the boys, filling her with rage—
could hardly have defined the change or how
it first began.
The boys were never unkind to her. She
knew that they went on ; iiort rations, so that
they she, as v. ell as that gill stranger, should
have moro. But this knowledge only made
her more furious. Had not she been a good
comrade with them? She did not want them
to shorten their allowance for her, as they did
for that delicate, pale-faced girl, who scarcely
knew one end of a gun from the other—at least,
she did not when she came. Now she could
handle and load one; Serry Crew had taught
her. The Lady Betty set her teeth, as she re
membered watching tho h .-sons tho girl had
begged for. All tho boys had wanted to teach
her. But it was Sorry Crew who had given
the lesson. As Tiie Lady Betty remembered
the look on Lis handsome face as he stood by
her. showing her how to handle liis ritlle, she
drew her breath with a sharp, short sob, as if
that first shot fired by the girl had gone
through her ov.n heart.
But though the boys were as good to her in
their rough, familiar way as they bad always
been, something seemed to have come between
them and her. They were no longer so reck
lessly cheerful in her society. When sbeswore,
they seemed always af.aid that that girl would
hear her. They evidently preferred now to
keep their lives to themselves, aud desired tier
to do the same.
The old happy-go-lucky fam’liarity in which,
if there were no respect, there was no trouble
some question of etiquette, had vanished-
This invisible though j erfoctly tangible barrier
against which she fretted ami raged was im
passable. Once when she had broken out and
stormed at and reproached ; nd cursed on.: of
the men, asking why they all kept so aloof
from her, ho had looked perplexed for a
moment or two, and then answered her:
“Wa’al.l guess wc don’t forgitashowyou’re
game,” he said, awkwardly and doubtfully;
“but you see you're a woman, and so’s she.”'
Ah! that “she.’’ How site hated her! It
all started from her. The bo>s only thought
of her now. They would haw laid themselves
down for her to walk over. To get a word or
a smile from her they would have g".e to their
death. It was for her they had given up
cursing, gambling, and The Lady. Betty. Pour
Lady Betty!—it was hard. She who hud shared
their perils as well as thvir pleasures to bo put
aside for this pale, quiet faced girl, who had
been a total stranger to their lives a fortnight
before. They were ashamed of her, too. ‘They
did not care to seo her near that proud-eyed
girl. They were uneasy if she joined them' in
net presence. The girl’s father would openly
show his dislike. He would t.iko the girl away
when she drew near them ; ho would look as if
ho feared pollution for his beloved, spotless
daughter from the very touch of The Lady
Betty’s garment. At first Tho Lady Betty
had defied him, as she had defied the boys and
forced herself upon them, and taken a pleas
ure in startling that delicate piece of goods
with her reckless out-garnished talk. She
took a malevolent pleasure in arousing that
frightened, shrinking, wondering disgust on
the lovely face that had so bt witched th.
boys.
But even she had at last been cowed by the
stern coldness and contempt of Mr. Gn sham
as bo turned away with his daughter, and now
she avoided them, too. Was it only tho scorn
and icy harshi.oss of the father which had
cowed her? Was not there something in the
pitiful, shrinking eyes of tho pure girl which—
out no! Tho Lady J tty only broke into more
furious rage when she thought of this. That
that girl should master her! Tho rage that
desperately defied the thou; lit was full on her
at this iustant, as Miriam Gresham went by
with Horry Carew. She hissed out a curse
after them. The young man heard it; his face
grew white to the lips. He did not look at bis
companion; but he knew how the delicate akin
fluahed acarle* and then paled-bant ith
the gratuitous insult, and his eyes blazed with
fury against the woman who had dared so to
li rt her. Yet th’ re had been a yesterday
when bis eyes bad glowed with u different
light as they looked on tb.it woman,and it was
the remembrance <4 that past which touched,
With its chill hand of his Io .rt t< day.
They did not apeak till they ranched that
part of the low wood buildings in which rooms
nad brill given her and her father. It was
Xlirlain who broke the awkward silence.
“Why Jd’jea she hate mo so?*’ she asked,
looking up al bUu with eyes still bright with
her hurt. ‘‘lt seems hard, when she and I
are the only women here—and when tomorrow
we may be dead.”
Her voice caught and fell into lower tones.
They had not told her what manner of
woman The Lady Betty was. She thought
her coarse, vulgar, insolent, soul-mouthed, but
she believed her honest. Her father and the
other men had kept up tho delusion, sprung
Ijke an angel’s fancy from her own pure oul.
“You must not mind her,” said Sorry
Carew, awkwardly, remembering her faith’.
“She's brave and she’s true. Slio has faced
death with us, and —” lie stopped short. As
he looked into the girl's sweet, h.df-imiignant,
half-pained eyes, he felt it sacrilege to even
speak of Tho Lady Betty’s good qualities.
Poor Lady Betty!
“I don’t mind her!” a little pettishly. She
had herself discovered some beauty in Tho
Lady Betty, and she remembered that fact
now, as she listened to Sorry Carew’s praises
and saw how his handsome face flushed as ho
stammered and broke down.
“I dare s.-.y he thinks her lovely, dressed up
in that tawdry, dirty finery!” she thought.
Aud then she remembered how near death
was, and her heart grow tender and true again
under the chastening thought.
“Oh, how wicked I nm,‘Mr. Carew!” she
exclaimed, her eyes filling with pitying, re
morseful tears. “Tell her not to hate meso!
Tell her wo ought rather to love each other!”
And she ran into the house, shutting the door
between her and the young man. He stood
there aghast, dismayed, bewildered at her
tears, at her passonate self-accusation to which
he had no clue; his mind refusing any possil
biiity of there being the simplest flaw in her
goodness and sweetness. And her message to
The Lady Betty filled him with consternation
and despair for himself, passionate wonder and
admiration for the sender, and shairre and
angry remorse for The Lady Betty.
CHAPTER 11.
But each hour brought the doom of that
little fort, so splendidly held for so long,nearer.
Haring, coolness, endurance, the simple self
sacrifice and unselfishness of these dozen men,
who had become so many heroes, were to bo
all of no avail.
Tho same night another council of war was
held. The Indians would not stay in
active much longer; the only wonder was that
they had kept quiet so long. If they had con
tinued the active attack first made the ammu
nition of the fort would long ago have been ex
pended. But their inaction gave no case. It
would only boa prelude to
worse deviltries. Some of the
men there, worn out with the ceaseless
watching, the intolerable heat, the insufficient
food, and the terrible anxiety, would have
preferred the rush and shock of a'desperate
charge, and then have had it all over, meeting
death as an honorable friend. But there were
the women to be thought of. .Already gloomy
shadows darkened the men’s eyes as they
looked at the beautiful girl. By what dread
ful means must she be delivered from tho
hands of those devils? But tho girl hadal
ready decided for herself.
“You will know what to do for me, father,
when the time comes,” she said to him quietly
one night, as sue bade him "Good-night” in
the starlight. He caught her close to him,
and kissed her without a word: but she knew
that he understood. Tho luut satiate dis
cussing the 'sitv.atb n.
If only C, loiff Sha'.v, -rho must 1 ce
reached by this time Fort .fames, could hear
of their position lie would hasten to their as
sistance. Provisions would bold out —dividing
them into the smallest portions sufficient to
keep them alive —for another four days; am
munition, if tho Indians proved troublesome,
half that time. But who was to go and has: m
Shaw’s advance?
It was certain death to leave the fort. Not
that any of the boys troubled about that, ns he,
personally, was concerned. But the loss of
each life made the chance of the rest less. And
“the rest” always now meant the women, in
the men’s thoughts. Besides, the discovery of
an attempt to leave tho fort for aid would, to a
certainty, precipitate the plans of the Indians.
Shaw would surely soon hear of the enemies’
force concentrated at Fort. Buff, and advance
rapidly to their rescue. Thor? was nothing to
do but wait for him. Not that even this hope
of his arrival brightened their prospects. Each
man knew—though ho did not say it—that it
was far more than probanle that the instant
the Indian scoats discovered the approach of
tho soldiers, their doom would be sealed. The
Indians would fire the fort and massacre its
defenders long before Shaw could reach them.
I’otbing but the most subtle tactics on Shaw's
side, to disguise his movements, could prevent
the catastrophe. If only a messenger could
reach him to acquaint him with all the diffi
culties of the situation!
The men separated, some to sleep, some to
keep up tho ceaseless, harassing watch, with
out having been able to decide upon anything
better than to wait.
The next day dawned. There were signs of
activity once more among the Indians. They
rode out singly, or in bodies, from their places
of shelter,pointing and gesticulating inearaged
derision, toward tho fort, breaking out into
wild war whoops, which curdled the blood in
the girl’s veins. Shots were fired, too. which
the men in the fort, though burning to avenge
each one with a dozen, dared not return, for
not a bullet could be wasted. They would
need them all for the last struggle. The
w omen—or rather Miriam, for The Lady Betty
had scouted, in savage mockery, the idea—had
been kept inside th ■ building to be out of the
way of the shots. The long, we >ry day pas-cd,
tho afternoon waned. Miriam, rebelling
against her captivity, ventt.red to disobey
orders. As the st”?pod outside ho caught
sight of Tho Lady Betty disappearing into a
small shanty, built on rising ground at the
other end of the stockade. She looked about
her; none of the boys were near. A sudden
impulse—for which tho girl could never ac
count. unless it were a simple womanly desire
for the sympathy of her own sex at this
supreme moment of peril—made her run across
the space between the building she occupied
and the shanty. She reached the door, which
The Lady Betty had left ajar. The girl called
her softly. There was no answer, and.pushing
the door open, Miriam looked in. There was
a square opening for a window at the end of
the room, and through this opening poured
the golden light of tho western sun. It rolled
in waves of dazzling radiance into the room,
and in the midst of it, bathing her as in a sea
of fiery light, stood, ligid still, gazing through
the opening, The Lady Betty. She seemed to
bo seeing a vision, so pale was her face, so
staring and fixed her eyes.
The girl spoke again gently, but the woman
did not stir, and Miriam, stepping half fear
fully, for she did not know how she would bo
received, went up to her. But as she reached
the woman’s side, and instinctively followed
the gaze of her rapt eyes, ami exclamation of
awed delight and wonder broke from her Bps.
Through a break of tl.o wood-lined h!'! -,
facing the window, the sun was setting in a
perfectgl»ry of red and gobi. The whole
liorrizon, narrowed to th< a by those liilbi,
seemed a sea of fire, which stretched on in
liquid, quivering waves of llglit from heaven
to them, as thev stood on tho earth. And as
the gill 1 kad ’ sb•• for,- ■ the i. deott ■ rl<
them, must wait on death; aud a great jh ace
fell on her.
"It is like the golden gates of heaven she
cried under her breath. “And wo shall pass
through them, and then tho amrow ami tho
sighing will seem so short, lor they will Lu no
more!”
She was not conscious of speaking aloud.
The Lady Lett) start. -1. a elm der was It of
Imto and nr.;*?, • r <>f a spiritual <lr< «<1 of the
mynUty <A death ? sbuuk bur hum Lead to
f::4.
bbo turned sbarjfly, stupidly fur a
ATLANTA GA.. TUESDAY. OCTOBER 23. 1888.
second at Miriam. her eyes blinded with
radiance into whion she bad been gazing*
Then, as she understood who bad spoken, lur
eyes blazed, and she flung out her hands as if
to dash the girl aside.
“Git!” she cried, in a hoarse, chokod voice,
‘ you shan't take this from me, tool’*
But Miriam caught at her hands.
“Oh. tb n’t let us quarrel!” sho cried with a
half sob. “Ho r;y friend! How can we go
through the golden gate with hate between
Us ! ’ ’
The woman broke into a re Ale jeering
laugh, vh-'sc bitterness appalled diogirl.
“J heard on them golden gates’. I reckon
oz now. they jvn’t fur sich ez me. Only for
tine folks ez you!”
‘‘Oh erb 1 the girl. “What makes you so
hard? Il l have done you any wrong without
knowing, forgive me; and take my hand.’’
But The Lady Betty struck it from her with
such savage force that the delicate fingers were
bruised, and a faint cry of pain wa3 forced from
the girl. Au imprecation oroke on the air,and
Sony Carew, who bad reached the doorway
just in time to see the blow, sprang forward
and caught the poor little wounded hand iu
li is,
“Come away!” lie cried, hoarsely, to tho
trembling girl. “It is not lit that you should
be here. Stand He made a fierce
gesture to The Lady Bettv.
She toil back, mastered by the look in his
eyes and the merciless gesture. But she could
not got out of the light that was now filling
the cabin.
But tho meaning of tho woman’s dreadful
recklessness, of th * man’s gesture, broke in
some strange way—for {•he had had. in her
protected schoolgirl existence, no knowledge
of tho evil of life—on tho girl’s understanding.
She drew her hand from the young man’s
grasp, and ran over 1o where the unhappy
woman stood scowling and cowering in the
corner of the light-filled room.
“See!” sho cried, her sweet voice unsteady
and strained with the passion of infinite pUy,
that swept as a wave over her heart,and winch
made it seem as if that knowledge must have
come direct from hoavc i, itself. “You cannot
get out of tlio light.’ It is because tho golden
gates are open so wide—so wide that there is
room for you to enter as well as me.”
And then she tied from tho room, and the
young man did not dare protect her any
more.
Ho went out into the air with a look on bis
face which had never been there* before.
And there was no sound left in the room,
save tho wild, choking sobs of the woman,who
had flung hen-elf down in tho dust, with the
red light streaming full upon her,
CHAPTER 111.
It was midnight. There was no moon ; but
the night was luminous with the starlight,and
The Lady Betty, creeping like a gliding
shadow from tlie shanty to the building where
Miriam slept, muttered an oath, which she
choked immediately, then glanced round with
a fiorc.e, half-shamfacrd expression, as if defy
ing any one who might have overheard the
suppression, to prove that sho was growing
more virtuous.
But even this faint light angered her, for
she did not want any one to see her. Since
his arrival at the fort, Mr. Gresham had taken
his share in all the duties of their situation,
and at this moment he was slmriiig the watch
with some of the others. The Lady Betty
knew this, open thooiit?? of
the building-Jkn«-•« mi; xrai tb-re wiv 1.0 cmSn'Ce ■
of meeting hi.m. Miriam slept in an inner
room, and to this, w ifh her swift, steady feet
The Lady Betty crept. The girl lay fas
aslecp in the starlight, shining through a win
dow over her head Tho woman with her
eager, bloodshot eyes, siuud gazing down upon
her, with a look in which fierce aespair,"jeal
ousy, and rage struggled with gratitude and
awe. How peaceful and beautiful she lookes!
The angels that went in and cut of thed
golden gates must be like her. She sank dow’e
on her Knees by tho bed .ide with a sharp cry
Miriam sprang up, her heart beat till she was
nearly suffocated from the suddenness of tho
awaking, her eyes fall of anguished fear.
Were the Indians hero at last! Then her
eyes fell on the woman, and a different fear
seized her. From tiie exaltation of that in
finite pity a reaction had set in. She was not
an angel—only a woman. Young, intolerant,
as all youth, strong in in its own purity, al
ways is. That afternoon Fho had been in
spired, raised to her highest level—perhaps
above it—for she still had much to learn by
endurance and suffering. Since that supreme
'moment she bad had time to tbink, ami her
horror, her bitter scorn of the sin, had over
whelmed her pity for the sinner.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice
cold, unsteady with her fear and dislike.
‘T reckon cz how J jess kem up to ask you a
question,” sai l The L dy Betty in a hard voice,
but it was no longer bitter or reckless, though
she felt to the quick the change in the girl,
who sat up v» Ith the starlight shining on her
w’hite. proud face. “It mayn’t be ez what
you’d like, to answer. But 1 ain’t foolin’. The
red sk ms is sorter too close for thet. Do you
love Sorry Carew?”
Miriam stared at her spee' hlesa, a rush of
scarlet blood sta'ning her face, threat, and
eve n ears. She was revolted, shamed, enraged,
half stunned with the shock of the question.
Every nerve in her quivered with it. It was
as if a rude, brutal hand had suddenly rent
aside the veil that shiiltered the modesty and
delicacy of her maiden heart.
Love! What was it to her still, but a vague,
beautiful fancy, scarcely breathed yet to her
seil. And now that this woman—this woman
should dare —! The Lady Betty stumbled to
her feet. She took the girl’s silenco of intol
erable humiliation for an answer in the affirm
ative. Such a phase of feeling torturing the
girl was incomprehensible to her—wasted and
degraded as all her own finest instincts of wo
manhood were. For one second a sence of her
own sacrifice—a bitter wild rebellion against
its nee<l —a dreary consciousness of her misera
ble, empty life fell on her and it seemed im
possible. In some vague way she felt, too, in
her soul, that this love of hers for Carew
bad been the ono redeeming feature in her
own Jost womanhood It had been true. He
had toon tired of her, and sho had agpepti <1 I
her desi-rtion with an outward philosophy, 1
whicli had hidden the deepest wound her <
heart had ever known. The ono thing that '
had kept up her courage to play her part was |
a wild, desperate hope that he might ono day !
return to her. Now was sho to kill even that |
hope? And upon her, as upon Miriam that j
afternoon, a great inspiration fell. She sud
denly understood the girl. Sho was great to '
love and hate as well as to pity. Kir- felt cer
tain that if she gave her one hint of the pact '
betweon herself and < arew. the girl would
scorn him with the whole fuoco of her untried, 1
undisciplined nature. A great ;nd fearful
temptation convulsed The j.ady Betty with ‘
such a storm of despair, agony, longing, that ;
she dug her nails into her pahns not to < ry out
the words. And then suddenly upon her pour
stonn-racked soul there seemed to shine that I
golden light of the afternoon, and she remem- ’
b red how this girl had come to her in It, and ■
touch d her with her pure hands, and begged ’
her, The Lady Betty, to enter those golden \
gates, side by side, with her!
“J reckon ez now I’ll try and get through '
across her Bps.
Shu was gone before tho girl could speak, or ’
had even understood.
Tho Lady Betiy glided back to her own qnar*
tern, wh< r<* In* hastily made a few prepara
tions. Fort James, which Shaw was supposed
to have reached by this time was full seventy
miles away. She Lad made up her mind t» Ihj
the mvflH* nger to him. She Lad a'Minted at I
that conlei• iii u liio night before, and knew I
how dt qieratu matters were. She know, t<>o,
every peril taut would besot bet. The coun- I
| try between this and Fort .Tunics was sw uni
! in;; with Indians. She would carry tier life in
I her hand; but she did not think of that, she
l was only a woman, am! her loss would be noth
ing. But her loss might entail tho death of
tho others! She knew ns well as the boys that
’ she must not bo discovered. How to elude
those vigilant £oe»? But sho bail spent all
' her childhood among a tribo of Indians, and
was as subtle ami as learned in their craft and
I stratagems as themselves. She must go on foot.
I She would not risk tho boys discovering her
i plnnsby taking a horse: besides, sho could
| on foot, conceal herself better. (I renter safety
; v. o i!<l counterbalance the i,r. liter speed. She
i would take little ainunition, for not a shot
i could well be spared; but. then—save a bullet
i for herself if sho wore caught—she would need
; none. She had not to tight, but overmatch
I her foes by cunning. Sho would even take no
so- 1, for those left behind would need every
iiioutlifnl. .
And now to leave tho fort. The boys must
not know till she was gone. A great desire to
take ono last look at Sorry Carew, who had
■ just tinned in and lay sleeping only twenty
yards from her iu one of the outhouses, shook
tier cool courage. But she conquered. Wlu ro
v.astho good? Sho had given him up for
ever. She was out of tho fort at last; and
how to commence tho deadly task.
At the third dawn from that nijit, about a
mile straight from Fort .James, a woman stag
gered and fell at the feet of some of Shaw's
men. It was difficult to recognize her woman
hood—such a disfigured, disheveled, tattered
thing she was. Her fuco was crusted with
dust and blood, for she hud been severely
wounded, hor lips wore bla. k and parched,
her feet blooding and torn. They thought ns
they raised her that she was dead. Under tho
"■blazing sun, through tl:o blackness of night;
hunted down by her bloodthirsty foes; lying
hidden from them for hours in the water, in
holes in the ground; creeping out again to
stagge.ton, starving, fainting from loss of
blood, pain, and those awiiil miles upon miles
of march, she had yet brought her message to
Shaw.
It was marvelous bow sho had done it.
Nothing but that resolve, which grow as the
hours went on, into almost a madness of de
sire to save Miriam and Carow, carried her
through it all. At first sho could force no
sound from lips and throat; but, at last they
understood. Even nowT.he asked to go with
flic relieving party, dreading their ignorance
of Indian warfare', which might hurry on tho
catastrophe. But she relapsed into uncon
sciousness as sho spoke, ami was dolorious
when she awoke again. She was tenderly
nursed. She was tho heroine of the hour a
fact which, when she had recovered a little,
she resented with the whole force of her vo
cabulary.
But the nows they gave her one afternoon
made her turn her face to tho wall and lie
silent and still for a long time. Her friends
Were saved. Sho insisted upon getting up
ami going about the next: day. Nor would she
wait till the relieved garrison reached Fort
James.
The evening before they were to arrive sho
left. 'The sun was sotting across the level
prairie as she rode out of the fort ami all the
west was radiant with its glory. Sho turned
her horse’s head toward it for a moment, witli
a wi.iful, rapt gaze in hor eyes, looking
atraigl i into th® radiance, tlooding earth and
sky, before her.
, Then .die turned to the people who had
I flonn tif'•ee l.'/'T su.rt t )
“Tell Miriam Gresham and Sorry Carew ez
h>w I'm goiu’ toward them golden gates—
she’ll know—and I reckon cz how I’ll never
koer fur to come back.”
Aud she rode away into tho golden light.
Nor did those who hid once known her ever
see her come out of it again.
Mine lilnemy.
From the Detroit Free Press.
A battle is not always a whirl of confusion
and uproar, with men firing at will or random.
At Fair Oaks, when we swept down in the gray
of morning on Casey's division, wo found two
thirds of it unprepared for our reception. I
was a sergeant in my company, and, as we be
gan firing, I noticed a federal sergeant of my
own rank displaying the utmost energy in ral
lying the men around him to check us.’ Some
of our men noticed him as well r and two or
three called out that lie looked near enough
like me to boa brother. JZy his own individu
al efforts he rallied enough men to check us
temporarily, but after g,?ew minutes wo drove
them again and vcrq'Tn the federal camps.
Then our lines brek , and each num fought for
himself. I had s’ .glcd out tho sergeant and
fired twice at hr,l. and it was a fact that ho
also had singl'd mo out and fired at me alone.
We kept ail, ancing slowly, and by and by, as
we crowded them from their shelters, I got a
fair view of the sergeant. For a moment I
forgot that there was any ono else in all that
battle. Ih id raised my gun when ho wheeled
and raised his, and wo both fired together. I
went down like a log, having received his bul
let in tho right shoulder, and for two hours I
hugged tho earth beside a log to escape being
hit again by the missiles of friend or foe.
When tho fury of tho l attle had passed on I
was lame and stiff, ami as tho locution was
strange to me, and I did hot know whetlier wo
were still advancing or in retreat, I could not
make >ny way off the field. 1 pou’d not tell
front fr mi rear, nor was there one chance in
ten of finding a field hospital. After pulling
myself up, anil holding to a tree for a few min
utes I fell belter and advanced to the spot
where 1 had last seen the federal sergeant. I
found him lying on his back. Aly bullet bad
struck him in tiie side, and he was fatally hit.
As I knelt down.beside him he recognized mo
and said :
“You have given me my dcalli wound.”
“But you sought to kill me,” I protested, in
extenuation.
"Yes, I fired at you. Some of the men raid
you looked like me, and I felt a desire to kill
you.”
“Lot us bo friends,” I said, as I knelt beside
him. “J can use ono band and arm, aud per
haps I can stop the bleeding.”
“It is too late!” his whispered.
So it was. Ho had lost a great quantity of
blood, ami it was still pouring out and .‘linking
I away into the black soil of the forest. As my
i hand touched his he grasped it and said;
"We were enemies. Let us be friends. Give
mo water.”
I held my canteen to his lips until his thirst
j was satisfied, and then 1 sat beside him and
: held his hand and watched tho shadow of
' death coining nearer. ,110 lay with his eyes
I closed for a long lime, and at last whispered:
“Tell Mary aud the children I am coming!”
My heart smote me as I thought of the wife
I and children who would never nee him again
I —of the black prill ol sorrow which would set
; tie down over a happy household.
“ And tell father and mother!” ho gasped.
| “Have them all come to the old home to meet
| me.”
And there was a father- and a mother—and
brothers and bister? I And my bullet would
i bring tears and sobs nnd wails ami mourning.
; And ti o sim.-hin of life would go out of many
’ hearts for mouths and years—perhaps forever.
I 1 prayed him over and over to forgive mo. ami
j as death came nearer I dared not look away
from Ills pale face for fear that 1 should meet
I t.'.o accusing glam <»•» of widow and mjai.nis
*’
I finally came he clut< lied my hand with firmer
grip, looked into my ‘eyes with a last etlort and
■ faintly whispered:
"It Is War, horrible war! Let us bo friends!
God bl< >s Mary ami tho children!’’
Wo llnvo *1 hem Hero.
From the N«»w York Herald.
In tvcry presidential year there h a largo
crop of I<jt who know it aIL Tney miaUika a
gU-i eye fuf prophetic vhluo. The uumlier ol our
fellow (Utiaone this year who have daltvoyau
I powun to too uoxoerouM tv p’cutlun.
IN THE SHADOW OF MASSANUTTEN.
By Eeonora Beck.
For Tho Constitution.
“But I have loved you all your life, sweet
heart. Have you not oven one hopeful word
for mo tonight?”
“Theo, I believe you are actually handsome
in that coat. No, it is not you; it is tho uni
form that looks so handyomo.”
“Well, I would rather have you praise this
precious gray than.praise mo. I have longed
to wear it for t\o ye ws, you know. But even
now I have scarcely overcome my mother’s
terror of having her youngest enlist. Yeti
must disregard tho unspoken entreaties in her
eyes, for a force stronger than I am impels
me. But, Lesley, let mo talk to you tonight
about something elso as dear to my heart as
tho cause I would bo proud and glad to die*
for.”
“Don’t torment me,” half pouted tho pretty
lips. “Let mo seo your lovely now sword.”
Then, as he drew the gloaming blade, “Put
it back; it looks so cruel. O, Theo, I want you
to distinguish yourself, and come back crown
ed with honors, and all that, but don’t kill
anybody.”
Moro closely liis strong hand gra pod tho
sword’s hilt.
“Nobody, love, that you would care to spare.
Lesley, tako my sword in your little hand and
smite mo on the shoulder as I kneel, and so
confer knighthood upon mo.”
“Rise, Sir Theodoro Floyd, and go forth to
battle for God and the right as a true and
loyal knight!” Her lips curved into a smile,
but her eyes wore sweetly serious.
First pressing his mouth against a fold of
her soft dross, he arose and stood looking down
into her flower-face.
“Thanks, my liege-lady. Ami, forevermore,
every throb of my heart that is not my coun
try’s shall bo yours. You know I join Her
bert's company tomorrow, and it may be many
months before I can seo you again. Will you
not give me the sweetest of promi os to tako
with mo for light and gladness until I return,
that you will be mine if I come back with a
bravo record when wo have won?”
She stood quite quiet for a little space that
seemed an eternity to the youth whose quick
heartbeats shook his heavy frame. Her deep
gaze rested on tranquil Massanutten, moon
crowned.
“No, dear,” she said at last. “Mother is
right. Wo are both too young, to bind our
selves, too inexpc rienced oven to know our
selves. No!” with a little imperious gesture,
as he would have spoken. “Don’t urge me
again!” Then she laid her hand on bis arm,
as he turned away with a f ice of pain.
“But, Theo, be? ause I have cared for you all
my life next to mother, and you are* going
away now, and because my whole soul is in tho
cause you may die for 1 will kiss you once be
fore you go,”
♦»»
No fairer June than that of ’Gt over lavishly
scattered her crimson andaniberr > (*sthrough
out lovely Luray VaPey. Fair as that same
June, uiuf ring tj.emost o£
roses—tbp crimson io match huiTip ~ and twe
amber her hair—Lesley Lindon walked in the
shadow of »oleum Massanutten at the close of
a perfot t day.
The slim, handsome officer at her side, with
his arm in a sling, does not wear the gray that
L'- hiy e\ nre sed such modor.ttion 'or last J u,ne
time. Nor docsshe give him the (rank glances
and kindly smiles that met faithful Thco’a I
brown eyes. And yet it might bo safer if she did. |
“No, Captain Elmer,” she was s tung, “you
do yourself injustice and me no honor in urg- .
ing such a suit. Speak of it no more, and we
may part friends tomorrow.”
“Lesley, you shall not u .cape my love. You
shall not crush my heart— yes, and mar your
own life—imply becau:?”, by an unfortunate
incongruity, the proudest Virginian blood flows
through your veins, while my pretty mother
trusts Knickerbocker descent. It Is absurd to
Jet such things separate us. What though to
day 1 wear the blue and you worship the gray?
That docs not alter tho fact that wo two were
destined for each other froni tho beginning of
the world. Our wisest men <1 dare that this
fratricidal war cannot last another year. It
must end—aud end soon-in victory for the
stronger cause. Don’t, turn from mo trembling,
darling. Twenty-five years hence, when wo
celebrate our sih er wedding, we will scarcely
care, which side triumphed.”
“I shall emo fore . <*.r.’’she passionately cried,
“and we two must bo forever apart! Leave
mo now.”
“I will not, Lesley, unless you declare that
you do not love, me.”
“I detest tho uniform you wear!”
“But you love njol”
“I loathe the government you obey!”
“But you love nu n!”
“I hate your cruelty to me!”
The hJt Virginian morn could not smile
away the frown from savage Massanutten
when, half an hour later, two figures walked
slowly up the avenue, ami Ja sley’s yellow
curls were blowing over the blue coat she de
tested.
•* Vanburgh, must you leave mo so soon?”
sho asked with a sign.
“Yos.” he replied: “I must go tomorrow. I
shall bless always tho southern bullet that al
most shattered my poor arm, but gave me yen,
f oul of my soul. But now even the j»rot< ction
of Lindon Place might not rave me from being
made a prisoner soon, lb sides, f beg to insist
that you and your mother leave the valley fur
u few months, at least. 1 trust that in the late
autumn I can come back to you.”
A little tremor shook her iorm. but bo drew
her elosur as sho would have slippe d from him.
“You mast not do that, Lesley. 1 swear by
tho immutability of yonder grim mountain that
neither prejudice, nor pride, nor defeat, nor
victory, not any other thing shall separate mo
from you, the ono love of my whole life!”
Tho nineteenth day of October, '('4, when
tho Virginian valleys wore tho soft, hyacynth
ino glories of late Indian sainmer, was a j
fateful day for thousands of men there. Ex- i
acdy one month before—and not mnny mih y •
distant -had been fought the battle of the
Apegnon—Winchester’s disastrous day.
Captain Vanburgh Elmer, of the Fifth Uni- I
ted States cavalry, under Brigadier-General '
Merritt, had cause to remember that 19th of
September and the A peg non with unph-asant
vividness, i’or ay he pressed on tho retreating
c<mfederates that day a young cavalryman,
with olose-cut chestnut curls and shining
brown eyes, had turned, and taking steady
aim, had sent a bullet through hU shoulder, :
while Elmer’s return shot had only grazed the ,
gray sloe ve.
But tho wound had not boon as severe as the I
officer < ported, and by the middle of October
he whs able to join his men again.
Four mornings afterwards, in the midst of
darkness and fog, dawned tho 19th, when tho
union army awoke to hear Kershaw tiring
'l'hobiH n'u captured guns. The retaking drama !
cold M. mutt n lifted bis L- <•! througfi tno ’
heavy n t. to tho southwest to gaze drearily I
on a scene from which even Lucifer's subjects
must turn with sickening. What did he sue
duiing that long day of carnage?
lie law a thousand souls sent precipitately
bch re their maker who must n< edi bo stern |
to them, «*m , rhnxoned ai they w r« s with broth- I
or*'blood, Hoibw mure than four thou, nd
sidHU quiver 'ng to » ;pe from tlio ugoiyv.ud
(radios that imprisonu-l thmti. llu sav« con
ifrdutato troop* first vi l orlon^k veering every
position, siting, uaplutlu*, uUtUUIM the
PRICE FIVE CENTS.
fused union forces. He saw them before noon
relaxed in tho ratal security of a too easy
triumph. Then ho saw Phil Sheridan,the idol
of his mon, dash up from his long forced ride.
And onco more the day was lost and won ; and
for one side calamity followed glory, and for
the other glory was plucked out of calamity.
Near sunset, Theo Floyd was reluctantly
olx'ying orders to retreat when his horse was
shot down under him, ami he narrowly escaped
capture by slipping into the thick, skirting un
derwood. A lew rods within, a young federal
officer rose to a sitting posture to face him, and
Floyd recognized (.t once the enemy with,
whom ho had exchanged shots on the Apog
non. Aflame with the defeat following th*
mocking victory of tlio morning, ho Was about
to start the man without allowing him to draw,
when tho latter groaned and fell back. Theo,
ashamed, stooped to examine his wounds, and
saw at once that undoubtedly they wore unto
death. And when the white lips murmured,
“water!” ho ran, forgetful of his own loss of
blood, to a little stream close by and filled his
oaticred canteen. When the dying officer had
drained it, he drew from his breast a long,
golden curl and a little vehot case, and ftofuy
and brokenly said:
“Seek out my beautiful lady, and toll her
that, though wearing the blue. I did as abravt
num should ; and that her carl aud hcr sweet
pictured face at niy lips and her love at my
heart saved me agony in (h ath.”
“I vill,” promised the young eonfederat*,
looking into tho frank grand eyes so fast film
ing.
“Now, pray fnr mo,” breathed the other.
Theo sent up a low full words to tho God of
battle, who is also the God of pitiful love.
Then he laid his ear close to tho manly heart!
it had but few more pulsation*
to make. Why should his own stir so wildly
when his eyes came closer to that amber ourlT
Me calmed himself. That other heart would
never stir again. Ho would take tlio minia
ture as a duo to guide him in tho search he
had undertaken, for the officer had strangely
forgotten to give tho name of his “beautiful
lady.” He gently unclasped the fast stiffen
ing lingers. Then a great darkness tell upon
his soul, for he bad recognised, w ith one wide
eyed, tortured gave, tho laco us Lesley Lindon.
Ten years mossed tho graves in the Virgin
ian valleys. Ami ’7l saw many a homo smile
airain that ’<>4 had ravaged and desolated, and
many lares and pcnales restored that had
seemed exiled forevermore.
Again on a Juno day two figures were stray
ing down the long avenue of Lindon Place. A
man’s deep, subdued tones were heard:
“< )neo more I have come back to your feet,
my liege lord—st’ll your iojal knight. Will
not your gracious hand bestow at last tho one
gift I crave?”
“Theo, do you really care to tako what X
have left to give?”
“('an you doubt it, Tasley? Have I lived
for anything else7”
Tho gold-brown head and lovely mournful
fiice found a resting place, and Theo’s faithful
heart was never again to be wholly sad.
J ust at that moment an aureate cloud haloed
the brow of benign Mossamitien.
THE IKEJ.D CONVICT.
From the New York Graphic.
The morning wind rustled the green corn aa
he passed by, ami Hire v a cool shower of deW
upon his sleeve. It did not shrink from him,
but pascod through the coar.-.e striped cloth
and trickled over his skin the same as if h*
were an honest man. He was a felon, Wing
driven to work in a brickfield. The month,
was June. Thu rdr was sweet and clem ; th*
mountain beyond (ho L .kc, flecked with purple,
brown ami ;v sight to make .any
•heart glad. But wi at < ared he forth - b’-auti
fill ? He who worked in the summer sun from
down to dusk, molding clay for other men’*
use and prolit. The guard, gun in hand, cruel
faced and lynx-eyed, staud at a d.stance,
ready for a break for liberty, and inwardly
wishing that one would be made that ho might
•have work to do.
No; the felon had no need for trees, or
or lakes, or singing birds, or wav
ing corn. He must make brick, make brick,
make, brick; keep at it, keep at it, keep at it;
only thus tho elements spoke to him.
While Lending to his task a swallow flitted
by his face ami shot like an arrow away.
Quick as its sjeed his eyes followed it. Away
it went, ovo** tue gnu n corn, zigzag through
tho garden, down tho valley, up the hill,
across the lake, and was lost to Hight in th*
milky ether beyond. Ho straightened l.im
sull up and followed it. When he leached th*
corn a gunshot called him to hissem.es. What
had ho done? Made a break for freedom I Th*
thought made cv< ry nerve tremble, and cold
sweat covered his body from head to foot. In
an instant he was a man again. The corn
was kind to him, for while it seemed io giv*
way as he went, it caught the bullets that fol
lowed.
He gained the hill just us a mlsfllo clipped *
twig above his head and dropped it at his feet.
The lake Hhlnimorml in the sunlight, as h«
hail Been it when a boy, ami seemed to beckoa
him to tako an old tiino bath iu its bosom,
lie plunged in.
The guard appeared upon the hill, cruel
facod,smiling, calm. The swimmer made *
tine; tho guard patiently waited. The swim
mer rose, almost at the opposite shore. Thor*
was a report ; tho powder smoke faded in th*
Juno air; tho swimmer lay upon tho sand, and
the tawny water around him blushed a dark
red.
The convict was free.
..
Success Comes High.
From the Galveston News.
What can any so-called success, however
great and Illustrious -intellectual, professional, tt
naiicial, social or poliUcul—be worth to the winner
at tlio c<»t of shattur<Gl nerves, Impuhed digestion,
weakened charater or corrupted conscience? Th*
rogue may think he succeeds with his Ing* tiiou*
thieving tricks, but he cheats nobody so badly s*
hirnsclf. The men who contrive to pile up fabu
lous hoards with Incredible rapidity by procuring
or cultivating s]>ecial advautages of
wrongful legislation may think they succeed. But
they arc dupes and victims all the same. 1 hey lake
out of them helves the elements of hanplnvss lb*
more they rdd to their needless stores. There Is *
necessary limit to these stores, but none to ti o avsr
i tco whose iuhnite apatite makes ftmin* for
the lord of so much treasure. Ikon conus another
1 and gr«’ater puahhinent in the shape of a mighty
I tear. For the eternal moralises have decreed that
' fear shall inevitably follow wrong, and that there
aiittll be no e > ape trom its scorpion scourge by th*
w rong do- ras long ar he remains uapurjp 1 of th*
wrong. A like tragedy of delusion and dint-ter at*
tends every glittering but hollow semblance of po
litical hUecciw. “Tho farmer,” as Emerson has well
i ai<l, "luiHgitios power and place are fine tbiag*.
B it the president huit paid dear fir Lis white hotw*.
i it has commonly coM him all hla peace, and lb*
r best of his manly attributes. To preserve for a short
I time so conspicuotui an appearance be loro tb*
J world, be Is content to cat dust before the real mas
ters, whu stand erect behind the tbroue.”
Nothing New.
From the New Y’ork Bun.
“The tank a new thing in the drams!*
. . . . u,; •, hu!. H.-m v. “It’S no smh thmg.
! lx;ok nt Shakspearc. What were B r Toby jHelcb,
j Andrew Aguechurch. Chrhtoplur Sly but Maki in
i human form? I tell you the drama (Yom the tim*
I ui Bhukspeuru down to the present day, has
the Wj ai>utheosU us tank, and don’t you Uigei
it”
* ffru I ...
“Tl>« Quick or ll.<> tor In.touc..
Frmn iliv Detroit Froo From.
TLo oxprrlrnco of tho publhhor of » werfar*
.tot, t>opcr uu4 chetip libruty I. th.t a .k.ry by a
woman u.»er wll.llkaouoariltou by a mau, tia
rnatlcr wbat ilia aublKt. Wuintß U.iliaM k> bo,
i h.tti aud uieu i.ium.