The Knoxville journal. (Knoxville, Ga.) 1888-18??, September 07, 1888, Image 7

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The Knoxville journal., September 07, 1888, Image 7

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Newspaper Page Textwith thee. K f I could know that after all I lliese heavy bonds have ceased to thrall, I We whom in life the fates divide I Should weetly slumber side by side— I That one green spray would drop its dew I softly alike above us two, I |] All At last, would dear be loving well; for heart, I should with be thee! * I] I tfingling, Sow sweet to know this dust of ours, will feed the self-same flowers— If The scent of leaves, the song bird’s tone, I At once across our rest be blown, | One breadth of sun, one sheet of rain BfMako Bj green the earth above us twain! Ah, sweet and strange, for I should be, p At last, dear tender hear, with thee! R But half the earth may intervene | Fhy And place leagues of rest of and mine between— i land and wastes of waves I, May stretch and toss between our graves. Thy bed w,th summer light be warm. | [.While My pillow, snow drifts whose heap, in wind and storm, I one thorn will be, Beloved, that I am not with theel j But if there he a blis-ful sphere |Where homesick souls, divided here, 1 And wandering wide in useless quest, Shall find their longed-for heaven of rest, jfWe jjlf in that the higher, joys happier birth meet wo missed on earth, y Ail will be well, for I shall be, | At last, dear loving heart, with thee! . —Elizabeth Akers Allen. THE MOOHSHINEES. - The g’rl closed the door o"f the crumb ling spring house. Her express.on was Alert and e pectant—her movements sluggish, almo t dilato y; and yet a chilling of the wind wh stled down the holes and chinks rotten between roof, through the long gaps worm eaten her logs; it tossed her brown hair,crimsoned pi e ty cheek, all unheeded. Miriam Sagsby did not feel the northerly gale. Her gaze fastened itself upon the thickets of laurel, sassafras and creep¬ ing few bramble, where a narrow path, only :a yards awav, abruptly disappeared. The spring bubbled out from under a huge rock, behind which ran a deep ravine where sunlight never penetrated the great pines, e .en at - midday. The sp >t could not have been more w Id,y sombre; but thei'e was a safety in that black abyss, serviceable more than once with n Miriam’s memory. Her smi'e broadened into a pleased laugh as the lapping bushes were pushed aside, and a man looked warily about him before -quitting their shelter—a man in the rough homespun of a mountaineer, but with the handsome face, soft hands and indescribable aspect of one used to ease and lti .ury. in “It’syou, Dr. Heathe!" she exclaimed well feigned surprise. “Who aid you think it was, Miriam?” glance inquired darting Dr. Heathe, with lightning his keen, rapid into nook and shadow, rapidity There every remote hensive was in something painfully appre the watchful scrutiny con itinually in t’no-e restless, suspicious ■eyes, as well as the firm, half menac.ng hold upon the rifle always carried or at hand for instant use. “Have you seen any strangers!” he questioned. don’t “strangers? How should I? Strangers come this a-way, onliest they’re arfter the moonshiners,” she laughed. “Don’t they?” life said, without echo ing the laugh. “There are worse things than free stills, t ou d you, at the peril of your life, save men tracked like wild beasts?” “If ’twur father, now, I’d like to see ’em catch him while I’m about, onliest father don't have no mo’ to do with the flee stills. When he did, I kep’him safe, en’give him the signal if ever a stranger Miriam; prowled the ridge,” returned “but you ain't no moonshiner?” “No, Miriam, not a moonshiner; but would you stand by me in that way, my girl, and care what- became of a stranger-” “iou have been on the ridge six monthsor better—youare not a stranger,” she interrupted. “No; not a stranger as these people see it,” was the half ironical reply. “But, Miriam, would you care enough to marry me? I mean to stay here in the moun tains all my life—spend my days in these pines where no one will ever see me. Does it matter to you that I don’t want any one to see or know of me?” Under A more the vigilant intensified apprehension gathered suspense. She had hesitated and averted her face. The crystal surface of the water at her feet reflected the superb grace and manly beauty of this stranger, so unspeakably different from the rugged sun-hardened inhabitants of ridge and hollow. The girl “I turned slowly toward him. know you’ve got summut to hide from,” she said, quietly; “but for all that, Dr. Heath, you’re better than I am —you’re qual.ty bred, and I am only the old moonshiner’s daughter—” what “Hush, Miriam! What does it matter I was?” he broke in passionately. “Vou are too good for me. Only say that you will marry me and care for mo, scoundrel that I am,” added the man bitterly. A dauntless resolution depicted itself upon Miriam’s countenance, as she lifted her lustrous eyes and held his shifting glances their depths. by the subtle force and tire in “^es, I’ll marry yon, en’ stand by you, too—stand by you en’ help you— true shiner’s en’faithful, if I am onliest a moon¬ it, ef daughter. be I’ll say it en’promise so you as true en’ faithful to me.” The harassed tension of Ileathe’s coun¬ tenance relaxed. The girl laughed, and Heathe opened the door and went in. “Mirrv kin tie ter whomst she pleases,” her father said, when Heathe, taking ad¬ vantage of Miriam’s absence in the shed, told him of his hopes. “Hit’s a good leetle gal as you’ll git, en she’s a smart gat, Mary is—h’ain’t afeered o’ nothin’, bhe’ll stick ter you, spite o’ole Nick his self, less'u you go back on her; ’twouldu't be overly safe fur you then,” and Ab chuck ed, while the great quid of tobac¬ co oscillated in his cheek. Abner relaps d into bis moody enjov me,lt of the huge crackling blaze. Grand ,n °ther Sagsby came in, and soon dozed ovei 'her knitting. Miriam came in and sat ? n the hearth opposite Heathe. The firelight glowed over her beautiful face and strong, shapely figure, fitter repose and the defight ful warmth con ^ uce( f that half drowsy ha iness and abandon of perfect rest. The one excep tion was 1 1m stranger. Apparently he ne er resle id. The watchful, listening. wide awake look seemed never beguiled by any charm whatsoever. Two or three dogs that slept on the floor near Ab be¬ came somewhat restless. An old hound opened his eyes and pushed himself Iiea,er the door. The movement was sb brand noiseless, but Miriam sat up and noted the animal for an instant, then left her seat and stepped slowly past him the shed room. The dog followed her i ,lt0 fee chilly starlight beyond. Then sbe sto PPed short and observed the hout ! d ; I ifting his nose high, he sniffed suspiciously “Whatis and gave a low growl, it, Miriam?” The stated. Heathe was beside ter ’ an a S° n y of apprehension in his countenance even as he grasped his gun and held it ready to tire. “Summut straD ge is around. Leader never rais¬ takes,” she whispered, creeping closer to h,m - “ Do you think they are hunting for you?” “Yes, I know it. They are on my track at last. They are hunting for me if they are hunting for anybody, but I’ll never be taken, Miriam—never!” “Taken? No. It’s not many get taken in the mountings,” was the scorn f J l re ply. “Leader’ll give tongue time enough; and remember the big hollow tree back of the clearing—the rope is always there to let you down in it,” she directed, in quick, low tones, lieve “Miriam,” he whispered, “don’t bc their black story of me—don’t be¬ l'eve it. I was there—I saw it—but I didn’t do it. I never intended the worst, I can’t prove my innocence, but I sol emnlytell you I aminnocentof the worst —the very worst you will hear ” Miriam laid her hand gently on his arm —^ er face grew tender—her voice soft and tremulous. “I care for you, John, whether it were lower—quiet or not. Go—now; Leader sniffs there, Leader—summut’s closer!” The girl’s startled, suppressed voice became suddenly shrill in its terror. Heathe sprang forward with an agile, cliamois-like bound and vanished in the pines. The dogs inside the cabin as well as out set up a simultaneous howl. There was no doubt of an alien presence near at hand. Miriam rushed into the house and fasteued the door behind her. - “We know he’s in there 1” shouted a rough voice. “He’s there! Give him up! We’re goin’ to have him!” chorused rougher voices. “It’s better ter let ’em come, Mirry.. He’s done swung hisse’f in ’gainst now." Ab unbaTred the door, and opening it stepped on the threshold in cool con templadon of the scene. Instantly a revolver was on each side of his gray head. “What be you arfter, Shurf?” he asked, outside thrusting rushed him aside. The men “You might rudely past him. as well give him up, Ab,” answered the Sheriff. “They’ve tracked him out heie, en’ it’s ’gainst, the law ter shelter a crim.nal. I don’t want'er ’rest a neighbor. The fellow goes by the name of Hualhe.” “We’ve got to search ihe premises, Sheriff,” bristled a ferret-laced min, more than usually energetic in his ef¬ forts. The Sheriff smiled significantly. “J£f you kin sarch these ’ere prem’ses, why jes’ go ahead, Mr. Paxton—course, sir,” he dryly responded. “I’ve followed th.s Heathe for a year and I won't be beat now. There’s a re ward out for him—dead or alive—so you m.iy as well tell me where he is.” fihe man Paxton turned sharply upon Miriam as he spoke. “Heathe is not his name neither, Miss, and I’ll make it worth your while to tell of him.” Miriam heard him in silence, a set reso ute expression upon her face. “You shall have part of the reward” “I don’t touch blood money!” she interrupted, fiercely. “It don’t matter. I’ll catch him yet. He’s a cold-blooded villain—wanted for murder. ” “Murder?” The girl shivered. Her face paled into a whiteness Ab had never seen blanch “Murdered its deep, healthy hues, an old man for his money. They’re sure to lynch him if they got hands on him. Murder and robbery. I’m certain to nab him sooner or later,” answered the detective, with the profes¬ sional gusto of a man who had bagged human Miriam listened wearily while they the terrible tale to Ab. She watched father narrowly. The quasi moonshiner might condone offences against the rev¬ enue, but murder!—she knew that had a superstitious horror of a man blood ou his hands. “He h’ain’t titten tor git off, he whispered, while the search went on in the angry thoroughness of threatened discomfiture, “lie’ll fotch us tumble luck, ef lie’s done h’it; en’, Mirry, shan’t have you, noways. We ll git inter trouble long o’ him ef we don’t tell. “Father. I’ve helped en stood by you, hev’n't I?” asked the girl, a passionate pleading “True’nuff, in every lineament aud accent. Mirry; you’ve helped pow'ful;but rejoined, ’twur never murder,” murder.” uneasily. J’H’it’s no a-holpin’ do “No, no! I wouldn’t it he says he is innocent, father.” “Innercent? Mayhap he is. an’ he huin’t; likely he’s jes’a-fooliu’ you.kase he’s sartin vou’ll help him out’n his troub’e,” shrewdly interposed Ab. “Father, he says he didn’t he says so,” she repeated; “then you tu’n against shan’t us.” The “17s?, He hev you.” girl clung to him iu desperate, terror-strickeu violence. “No, I won’t never so” go with him till you give recklessly! the say father,” she promised “But he didn’t do it-he is innocent, en I’ll hold to till it comes all right ” Ab turned away-his wrinkled countenance had grown hard and stern in aspect. He wished he had heard it all before they told Miriam, or before they had come into the house and the girl had reminded him of the time when her vigilance and devotion had stood him in good stead wh le “Guv’menters” hunted for the free distillery. Angry and disappointed of the gains for which they served justice, the de tectivescame in from their futile search. They had found the two or three brush thatched outhouses an infinitesimal shred of the “prem.ses,” compared with the black ravine, the dense thickets, and the great pine forest stretching away into untold labyrinths. , They had taken themselves off, down the ridge, some time before Ab said, with a satisfied chuckle: “Mind you, gal, you hnin’t got my say so ter tek’ no mail cs commits mur der, en’ you’ll never git h’it, kasc he don’t mean you right, en’ li’it’s onlneky. The girl knew her father too well to remonstrate. She knew, too, that Heathe was only safe while she adhered to Ab’s her promise permission. not to marry The him cold without winter tightehed its grip, and still au uneasy sense of surveillance and danger hung over them. The old moonshiner's family had once been full of expedients for de luding doubtful visitors,, They seemed to come back to Miriam, a'ong with thousands of ingen'ons devices for the comfort and safety of her lover. All the winier long he was never seen nor heard of at Ah’s cabin, but all the winter long tempest—the neither rain nor snow nor raging tempest of the mountains —prevented in the girl’s daily pilgrimage to the hut the black ravine. Ab would watch her go out in the whirling snow wreaths, with the basket on her arm, but he never questioned her errand. So the winter dragged its ice cold lengths away. The fine frosty flakes of snow be¬ tokened a fierce storm coming over the ridge—already it had sifted like white powder into crack aud crevice, shutting out the rigid wind roaring savagely among the pines outside, but passing al¬ most stantial contemptuously cabin the warm, sub¬ The deadene crouching beneath them. snow l all sounds without, the dogs gave no howl nor warning, when suddenly the door was thrown open, and with the sweeping gust two men came in. They were the Sheriff and a stranger. “Don’t make a stir, Ab!” shouted the Sheriff. “Ic’s all right—t’other fel'er’s confessed. Heathe d dn’t do it. This here’s his brother—t’other feller owned up when he’s adyin.’ Ab smiled grimly. “I wouldn’t hev tuk nobody’s wu’d for hit but your'n, Shurf.” “Yes, we’ve kem a-puppose ter get him,” added ihe satisfied Sheriff. “You see Heathe kem in on ’em, en folks knowed thar’s bad blood ’twixt ’em, so they pitched on him, en’ wouldn’t be¬ lieve nothin’ else. ’Twur a clear case ’gainst him: but he’s innocent, and me’n liis brother have kem for him. He’s all right now.” him, —h’it’smysay ‘Votch Mirry so.” “You had a close call young man; they’d hev hanged you sure, if they’d caught when you,” the Slteritf said an hour later, explanations had been made, and Heathe stood among them, beside his brother, free and innocent. “I must have bad an inevitable and final call this winter but for this true and loving woman,” answered Heathe. as he looked down into Miriam’s lustrous eyes and beautiful face, softened and aglow with joyous tenderness. “And now, Ab, there is nothing to hinder—we will be married tomorrow at Odd Corners.” And they were .—Frank Leslie's. The Wily Counterfeiter. The professional counterfeiter rarely, if over, places his own work into circula¬ tion. lie sells to what is known as the “second party,” and the latter in turn to the “shover” or “layer down.” Ex¬ perienced detectives claim that the “sec¬ ond party,” as a rule, pays about thirty percent, of the lace for the “queer” si uff, and he in tinn sells to the “shover” at an advance of from fifteen to twenty per cent, 'i he “shover” generally travels in company with a “pal,” who carries the bulk of the “queer.” This is done in order tliut if the counterfeit is fastened upon the “shover,” and his arrest fol¬ lows, and no other counterfeit is found on his person, it relieves him in a measure .rom the suspicion of being a “profes si ?“ al ,” The P™ es P aid ' ary, of course, g‘« a ’er or less degree of work manshl P ,a the counter.eit, and so is the “ anuer of Cltcu ’ at,oa ada P led to tbc circumstances. f Smaller notes are pretty £ enera11 ^ circulated without regard to unison in action, but if big bills have to ^ ‘‘"“f ™ nts qU< T are made b r Ho ‘ simultaneously-dowu • i a to mmute-u. • large city and every in j Umer ? US P. ,ace ’ of ,‘' ach Thi. .» “pointers, ° ue . to «“ from eufc aa y telegraphic another sent one city to the discovery oi counterfeits. - HWi ^ tm StaK What’s the Tatter With This? A subscriber writes: “A friend asks me to multiply by $5. I do so and announce the result as $25. All right, how multiply the 501) in cents by 500 cents, giving answer cents pure and sim j,i e . not as fractional part i of a dollar. I do so and am surprised to see the figures climb up250,0(10 cents, whi< h is $2500. As $5 and 500 cents are equivalent, the. result is puz./ling. It cannot be urged that decimal marks should be used. A cent, as such, is as distinct a unit as a dollar, and, as result is to be announced iu cents, the decimals cannot be pleaded in extenuation of the rather surprising result. Bu there is clearly something wrong. What is it?”— Penman's Art Journal. — - Prince Henry of Prussia was the first German Prinso who ever sailed round tho worl 1, ...