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(Continued From Our Last Issue.) “I know more of your career than you think, Grey. You have been a spy as well as a traitor. And now you are crowning your infamy by weaving some spell over my cousin. I can do not hope that you appreciate the honor am doing you.’ pele black boy ran down the steps and presently Ephraim was in the shadow of the thicket. “Give one to Mr. and the other to me.” “Ephraim, ’ warned Erskine, “take this pistol. You may need It, to pro tect yourself.” “Indeed, yes,” returned Grey, “and I kindly instruct him not to use it to protect you. For answer Erskine sprung from the shadow——discarding formal courtesies. “En garde!” he called sternly. The two shining blades clashed tightly and quivered against each oth er in the moonlight. Grey was cautious at first, trying out his opponent’s increase in skill: “You have made marked improve ment. — “Thank you,” smiled Erskine. our wrist is much stronger.” ‘Naturally Grey leaped backward and parried just In time a vicious thrust that was like a dart of Ighht ning. ; “ah! A Frenchman taught you that.” . Ephraim, “A Frenchman taught me all the little I know.” *I wonder if he taught you how to meet this. “He did,” answered Erskine, parry ing easily and with an answering thrust that turned Grey suddenly anx ious. Grey began to breathe heavily. “FE think, too,” said Erskine, “that my wind is better than yours—would you like a short resting spell?” From the shadow Ephraim chuck led, and Grey snapped. “Make that black devil— a‘Tyeep quiet, Ephraim! broke in Erskine sternly . Grey was getting angry now and beginning to pant. “Your wind is short,” said Erskine with mock compassion. “I will give you a little breathing spell presently. Grey was not wasting his precious breath now and he made no answer. “Now! said Erskine sharply, and Grey’s Llade flew from his hand and lay like a streak of silver on the dewy grass. Grey rushed for it. “Damn you! he raged, and wheel ed furiously — humor and caution quice gone—and they fought now in deadly silence. There was the sound of voices, and it was evident that the game had end ed in a quartel and the players were coming up the river-bank toward them. Erskine heard, but if Grey di he at first gave no sign—he was to much concerned with the death that faced him. Suddenly Erskine knew that Grey had heard, for the fear in his face gaveay to a diabolic grin of triumph and perished suddenly into defense—if he could protect a t only a@hile longer! Erskine had de layed the finishing stroke too long and he must make it now. Grey gave way step by step—parry ing only. The blades flashed the tiny bits of lightning. Erskine's face, grim and inexorable, brought the sick fear back into Grey's, and Erskine saw his enemy’s lips open. He lunged then, his blade went true, sank to the hilt, and Grey's warped soul started on its way with a craven cry for help. Erskine sprang back into the shadows and snatched the pistol from Ephraim’s hand. “Get out of the way now. Tell them I did it.” Once he looked back. He saw Bar bara at the hall-door with old Mammy , behind her. With a running, leap he vaulted the hedge, and, hidden in the bushes, Ephraim heard Firefly's hoofs beating ever more faintly the sandy road. XXIII Yorktown broke the British heart, and General Dale went home to Red Oaks. He had pieced out the full story of Barbara and Erskine and Dane Grey, and wisely he told her first of Grey's dark treachery, and the girl listened with horrified silence. IT have never understood about myself—and that man,” she said, “and I never will, “IT do,’ said the general gently, ‘and I understand you through sister who was so like you. Erskine’s father was as indignant as Harry is now, and ying to, act toward you I did toward her.” The ciry pressed her lips to one of his hands. “I think Ve better tell you the whole story now,” said General Dale, and he told of Erskine’s father, his wildness and his wanderings, his mar riage, and the capture of his wife and the Httle son by the Indians, all of which she knew, and the girl wonder ed why he should be teling her again. The general paused: “You know Erskine’s mother was not Killed. He found her.” The girl looked up amazed and incredulous. “Yes,” he went on, “the white oman whom he found in the Indian age way-his mother.” . “Father! She lifted her head quickly, leaned back with hands raught tight in front of her, looked up into his face—her own crimsoning and paling as she took in the full meaning of it all. Her eyes dropped. Then,” she said slowly. “that In dian Mora—is his half sister. Oh, ahi .A great pity flooded her heart and eyes. “Why did Er skine take them away from the In dians? “His mother wouldn't leave them.” And Tarhara understood. “Poor thing—poor thing?” I think Erskine is going to try one “Did you tell him to bring them here?” The general put his hand on her head. ‘I hoped you would say that I did, but he shook his head.” “Poor Erskine!” she whispered, and her tears came. Her father lean ed back and for a moment closed his over. “There is more.” he said finally. “Erskine’s father was the eldest brother—and Red Oaks—” The girl sprang to her feet, agon ized, shamed. “Belongs to Erskine,” she finished with her face in her hands. “God pity me,” she whisper. “4, “I drove him from his own home.” “Noe,” said the old general with a_ ‘gentle smile. He was driving the barb deep, but sooner or later it had to be ‘done. . . . ‘Look here!’ He piled an old piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. Her wide eyes fell upon a rude boyish scrawl and a rude drawing of a buffalo pierced by an arrow: “It make me laugh. I hats no use. I give hole dum plantashun W rlara.” “Oh! gasped the girl and then— “where is he?” “Waiting at Williamsburg to get his discharge.” She rushed swiftly down the steps, calling “Ephraim! Ephraim And ten minutes later the happy, grinning Aphraim, mounted on the thoroughbred, was speeding ahead of a whirlwind of durt with a little scented note in his battered slouch hit: “You said you would come when ‘ever I wanted you.” I want you to come now~—BARBAILA” The girl would not go to bed, and the old general tron: his window saw her like some white spirit of the night motionless on the porch. And there through the long hours she sat. The dawn came and with it Ephraim. The girl waited where she was. Ephraim toke off his battered hat. “Marie Erskine done gone, Miss Arbury,’’ he said brokenly. “He done gone two days.” ~ The girl said nothing, and there the old general found her still mo tionless—the turn of her note and the tron bits of Erskine's crawling deed scattered about her feet. XXIV : On the summit of Cumberland Gap Erskine Dale faced Firefly each and rocked his fast on the forests that swent unbroken back to the river Jn thot winter he made his clearing on the land that Dave Yandell had fed out for him. and in the center view up a rude log hut in which to House his mother remem brance of her made h imve that she would prove In the early sprn he brought his mother home. she said that Black Wolf had aped and gone farter into, the wi —that Barly Morn had gone with him. Erskine, not knowing at Barbara was on her way to find him, sorted on a hunting tr In an few arbara arrived and found his mother unable to leave her bed, and Lydia Noe sitting beside her. Barbara was dismayed by Erskine's absence and his look of suf fering and extrem iening and extreme weakn touch of her cold fingers. There was no way of reaching her son, she said—he did not know of her illless. Barbara told her of Erskine’s giving her his Inheritance, and that she had come to return it. Meanwhile Erskine, haunted by his mother’s sad face, had turned homeward. To his bewilderment, he found Barbara at his mother’s bed side. A glance at their faces told him that death was near. His mother held out her hand to him while still holding Barbara's. as in @ dream, he bent over to his, and with a last effort she joined ¢ eis hands, clasping both. A great peace transformed her face as she slowly looked at Barbara and then at Erskine. vith. ¢ : head sank tower, and her wising eyes passed into the final dark. TRUELY. , In that spoke of the life before them. of its hardships and dangers. and then of the safety and comfort of Virginia. Barbara smiled. You choose the wilderness, and your choice is mine. We will leave the same choice. . . She flushed suddenly and went her head. To those who come after us, fin ished Erskine.
Newspaper Details
Danville Bee
Danville, Virginia, US
Sat, Feb 25, 1922
Page 4
Full Page
Clipped by
Da S.
