Lincoln County leader., August 31, 1906, Image 2

for The Term of His Natural Life
By AURCUS CLARKB j
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Rufus Dawes sat in a new cell. On
tbe third day North came. His manner
was constrained and' abrupt. Ilia eyes
wandered 'uneasily, and he seemed bur
dened -with thoughts which be dared not
utter.
"I want you to thank her for me, Mr,
North," said Dawes.
"Thank whom?"
'"Mrs. Frere."
The unhappy priest shuddered at hear
In g the name.
"I do not think you owe any thanks
to her. Your irons were removed by the
commandant's order."
"But by her persuasion. I feel sure
of it. Ah, I was wrong to think she had
forgotten me. Ask her for her forgive
ness." "Forgiveness!" said North, recalling
the scene in the prison. "What have
you done to need her forgiveness?"
"I doubted her," said Uufus Dawes.
"I thought her ungrateful and treach
erous. I thought she delivered me again
Into the bondage from whence I had
escaped. I thought Bhe had betrayed
me betrayed me to the villain whose
base life I saved for her sweet sake."
"What do you menn?" asked North.
"You never spoke to me of this."
"No, I had vowed to bury the knowl
edge of It in my own breast; it Is too
bitter to speak."
"Saved his life!"
"Ay, and hers. I made the boat that
carried her to freedom. I held her in
my arms, and took the bread from my
own lips to feed her!"
"She cannot know this," said North,
In an undertone.
"She has forgotten It, perhaps, for
he was but a child. But you will re
mind her, will you not? You will do
me justice in her eyes before I die? You
will get her forgiveness for me?"
North could not explain why such an
Interview as the convict desired was lm
poslble, and so he promised.
"She Is going away in the schooner,"
said he.. "I will see her before she goes,
and tell her."
"God bless you, sir!" said poor Dawes.
"Now, pray with me;" and the wretched
priest mechanically repeated one of the
formulae his church prescribes.
The days passed swiftly, and Blunt's
preparations for sea were completed. On
the morning of the 19th of December,
lie declared himself ready to set sail, and
in the afternoon.
Rufus Dnwes, gazing from his win
dow upon the schooner that lay outside
the reef, thought nothing of the fact that
after the commandant's boat had taken
away the commandant's wife, another
boat should put off with the chaplain.
The hot afternoon passed away in a
sultry sunset, and It was not until tha
shades of evening had begun to fall that
ltufus Dawes distinguished a boat de
tach itself from the sides of the schoon
er and glide through the oily water to
the jetty. The chaplain was returning,
and in a few hours, perhaps, would be
with him, to bring him the message of
comfort for which his soul thirsted. He
stretched out his unshackled limbs, and
throwing himself upon his stretcher, fell
to recalling the past his boat building,
the news of his fortune, his love and
his self-sacrifice.
North, however, was not returning to
bring to the prisoner a message of com
fort, but he was returning on purpose to
see him, nevertheless. The unhappy
man, torn by remorse, had resolved upon
a course of action which seemed to him
a penance for his crime of deceit. He
had determined to confess to Dawes that
the message he brought was wholly ficti
tious, that he himself loved the wife of
the commanduut. "I am no hypocrite,"
he thought, in his exaltation. "This
poor wretch, who looks up to me as an
angel, shall know me for my true self."
He had ingeniously extracted from
Blunt the fact that he "didn't expect a
wind before dark, but wanted all ship
shape and aboard," and then, just as
darkness fell, discovered that it was Im
perative for him to go ashore. Blunt
Said if the chaplain Insisted upon going,
there was no help for It,
"There'll be a breeze In less than two
hours," said he. "You've plenty of time,
but If you're not back before the first
puff I'll sail without you, as sure as
you're born." North assured him of
his punctuality. "Don't wait for me,
captain, if I'm not here," said he, with
the lightness of tone which men use to
mask anxiety. So the boat set off. Frere
observed with some astonishment that
the chaplain wrapped himself in a boat
cloak that lay in the stern sheets. "Does
the fellow want to smother himself In a
night like this?" wag the remark. The
truth was that, though his hands and
head were burning, North's teeth chatter
ed with cold. Perhaps this was the
reason why, when landed and out of eye
shot of the crew, he produced a pocket
flask of rum and eagerly drank. The
spirit gars him courage for the ordeal
to which he had condemned himself, and,
with steadied step, he reached the door
of the old prison. To his surprise, Gim
blett refused htm admission.
"But I have come direct from the
commandant," said North.
"I can't let you fn, your reverence,"
aid Gimblett.
"I want to see the prisoner Dawes.
I have a special message for him. I
bare come ashore on purpose."
"Upon my honor, sir, I daren't," said
Gimblett, who was not without his good
points. "You know what authority is,
Ir, as well as I do." '
North was In despair, but a bright
thought struck him a thought that In
his sober moments would never have E
tered his head he would buy admission.
He produced the rum flask from beneath
the sheltering cloak. "Uome, don't talk
nonsense to me, Gimblett. You don't
suppose I would come here without au
thority. Here, take a pull at this, and
let me through." Gimblett's features
relaxed into a smile. "Well, sir, I sup
pose it's all right, If you say so," said
he. And, clutching the rum bottle with
one hand, he opened the door of Dawes
cell with the other.
North entered, and as the aoor closed
behind him, the prisoner, who had been
lying apparently asleep upon his bed,
leaped up and made as though to catch
him by the throat.
North, paralyzed no less 'by the sud
denness of the attack, than by the words
with which It was accompanied, let fall
his cloak, and stood trembling before
the prophetic accusation of the man
whose curses he had come to earn.
"I was dreaming," said Rufus Dawes.
"A terrible dream! But it has passed
now. The message you have brought
me a message, have you not? Why,
what ails you? You are pale your
knees tremble. Did my violence "
North recovered himself with a great
effort. "It is nothing. Let us talk, for
my time is short. You have thought me
n good ninn one bleed of God, one
consecrated to a holy service; a man
honest, pure and truthful. I have re
turned to tell you the truth. I am none
of these things." Rufus Dawes sat star
ing, unable to comprehend this madness.
"I told you that the woman you loved
for you do love her sent you a mes
sage of forgiveness. I lied."
"What?"
"I never told her of your confession.
I never mentioned your name to her."
"And she will go without knowing
Oh, Mr. North, what have you done?"
"Wrecked my own soul!" cried North,
wildly, stung by the reproachful agony
of the tone. "Do not cling to me. My
task Is done. You will hate me now.
That is my wish I merit it. Let me go,
I say. I shall be too late."
"Too late! For what?" He looked
at the cloak through the open window
came the voices of the men in the boat
the memory of the rose, of the scene in
the prison, flashed across him, and he
understood it all. "Great heaven, you
would follow her?"
"Let me go," repeated North, In a
hoarse voice.
Rufus Dawes stepped between him
and the door. "No, madman, I will not
let you go." North crouched bewilder
ed against the wall. "I, say you shall
not go. You love her! 'So do I; and
my love Is mightier than yours, for it
shall save her!"
North lifted agonized eyes. "But I
love her! Love her, do you hear? What
do you know of love?"
"Love!" cried Rufus Dawes, his pale
face radiant. "Love! Oh, it is you who
do not know it! Love is the sacrifice of
self, the death of all desire that is not
for another's good. Love is godlike!
Listen. I will tell you a story.
North, inthralled by. the other's over
mastering will, fell back trembling.
"What do you mean?"
"I will tell you the secret f my life,
the reason why I am here. Come closer."
CHAPTER XXIX.
The house of her husband was duly
placed at the disposal of Mrs. Richard
Devine. It only remained that the lady
should bo formally recognized by Lady
Devine. The rest of the ingenious pro
gram would follow as a matter of course.
John Rex was well aware of the posi
tion which, In his assumed personality,
he occupied In society. He knew that
oy the world of servants, of waiters, of
those to whom servants and waiters
could babble; of such turfites and men
about town as had reason to inquire con
cerning Mr. Richard's domestic affairs,
no opinion could be expressed, save that
"Devine's married somebody, I hear."
He knew well that the really great
world, the society, whose scandal would
have been socially injurious, had long
ceased to trouble itself with Mr. Rich
ard Devine's doings in any particular. If
it had been reported that the Leviathan
)f the Turf had married his washer
woman, society would only have Inti
mated that "it was just what might
have been expected of him." To say the
truth, however, Mr. Richard had rather
hoped that Lady Devine would have
nothing more to do with him, and that
the ordeal of presenting his wife would
not be necessary. Lady Devine, how
ever, had resolved on a "different line of
conduct The Intelligence concerning
Mr. Richard Devine's threatened pro
ceedings nerved her to the confession of
the dislike which had been long grow
ing In her mind; aided the formation of
those doubts, thp shadows of which had
now and then oust themselves upon her
belief In the Identity of the man who
called himself her son.
"His conduct is brutal," said she to
her brother. "I cannot understand it."
"It is more than brutal; It Is unnat
ural," returned Francis Wade, and stole
a look at her. "Moreover, he Is mar
ried." "Married!" cried Lady Devine.
"So he says," continued the other, pro
ducing a letter sent to him by Rex at
Sarah's dictation. "He writes to me
stating that his wife, whom he married
last year abroad, has come to England,
and wishes us to receive her."
"I will not receive her!" cried Lady
Devine, rising and pacing the room.
"But that would be a declaration of
1 war," said poor Francis, twlstlns sa
Italian onyx which adorned his irreso
lute hand; "I would not advise that."
It was with some trepidation that Mr.
Richard, sitting with his wife, awaited
the arrival of his mother. He had been
very nervous and unstrung for some
days past, and the prospect of the com
ing Interview was, for some reason he
could not explain to himself, weighty
with fears. "What does she want to come
alone for? And what can she have to
say?" he asked himself. "She cannot
susper?...iing after all these years,
surely?" He endeavored to reason with
himself, but in vain; the knock at the
door which announced the arrivnl of his
pretended mother made his heart jump.
''1 feel deuced shaky, Sarah," he said.
"You are quite sure that you are ready
with your story?"
He rose with affected heartiness. "My
dear mother, allow me to present to
you " He paused, for there was that
in Lady Devine's face which confirmed
his worst fears.
"I wish to speak to you alone," she
said, ignoring with steady eye's tbe
woman whom she had ostensibly come
to see.
John Rex hesitated, but Sarah saw the
danger, and hastened to confront it.
"A wife should be a husband's best
friend, madam. Your son married me of
his own free will, ami even his mother
can have nothing to say to him which
Is not my duty and privilege to hear.
I am not a girl, as you can see, and I
can bear whatever news you bring."
Lady Devine bit her pale lips. She
saw at once that the woman before her
was not gently born, but she also felt
that she was a woman of higher mental
caliber than herself. Prepared as she
was for the worst, this sudden and open
declaration of hostilities frightened her,
as Sarah had calculated. She began to
realize that if she was to prove herself
equal to the task she had set herself,
she must not waste her strength In skir
mishing. Steadily refusing to look at
Richard's wife, she addressed herself to
Richard. "My brother will be here In
half an houl1," she said, as though the
mention of his name would better her
position in come way. "But I begged
him to allow me to come first, in order
that I might speak to you privately."
(To be continued.)
THE USE OF DOGS IN WAR.
Important Factor In Military Affair
In Dark Agea.
The use of dogs In the Japanese
Russian war, which attracted much
attention, was really nothing new, says
Leslie's Weekly. Far back In the an
tiquities dogs were employed In mili
tary operations with great success.
The acuteness of the animal's senses,
bis affection for his master, his docil
ity and Intelligence made him valuable
centuries ago, both In defense and at
tack. Iu the dark ages dogs were often
posted In towers to warn the garrison
of the enemy's approach, and were even
clad In armor to guard military camps.
They were frequently used to defend
convoys and luggage and to bring con
fusion to the ranks of the enemy's
cavalry. Even fires were placed on the
dogs' backs to set fire to the enemy's
camps.
In the fifteenth and sixteenth cen
turies several military powers had
enormous packs of dogs and it was not
uncommon for the animals to meet
In skirmishes and between themselves
fight out big battles. Napoleon, In his
Italian campaign, used dogs as scouts,
and In 1882 the Austrlans trained dogs
to scent ambushes.
More recently the Germans have
been training and experimenting with
dogs, while Italy, Russia and France
have also taken them up. Of the Eu
ropean powers only England has left
dogs entirely out of consideration in
military affairs.
Although changes In warfare have
greatly lessened the opportunity for
employing dogs they still may be used
to advantage In many ways In mili
tary operations. In modern campaigns
the night attnek appears to be taking
a foremost place, and here especially
the dog can play an Important part,
for he can detect an approaching party
and prevent a complete surprise. . In
foggy weather or In thickets well
trained dogs can be used where sig
nal systems cannot be operated, al
though the use of telephones has near
ly crowded the animal out of this
branch of warfare. Dogs as an auxil
iary to ambulances are. a gseat aid In
locating wounded soldiers. In the
Franco-German war the dog played an
important part In the work of sav
ing the wounded from dying alone, out
of reach of medical assistance.
In marches the dog can be used ef
fectively as a scout for the body of
troops to which be Is attached, and
might often prevent a detachment from
being ambushed. The animal has also
been used to transport ammunition and
to carry relief to the wounded, while
In many other ways his warrior-master
has made use of the dog's keen
sense and docility.
Shadow of Discontent.
"It Is upon the farmer that the great
ness of this country really depends,"
said the persuasive statesman.
"Yes," answered Farmer Corntossel,
"but sometimes I think I'd like to be
one of the fellers that didn't have so
mach dependln' on 'em so's I could
have time to wear good clothes and go
to a few parties." Washlnann Star.
i i in
Home-Made Milk Cooler.
It Is not an easy task for those who
have but a small quantity of milk to
care for to do It with economy. Tha
large cooling tanks or refrigerators
which dairymen on a large scale can
afford are not for the man tflth the
single can, hence he must resort to
some plan on the home-made Idea.
Take a box, which may be bought at
any store for a low prk'e, high enough
to contain a barrel of good dimen
sions. Fill In the bottom of the box
several Inches deep with sawdust, and
on this set a barrel cut down so that
when a milk can Is set Into It It will
come just below the level of the top
of the barrel. Around this barrel,
eight inches deep, pack sawdust. Set
the can of milk in the barrel and pour
in cold water and, if possible, add sev
eral large pieces of ice. Arrange a
faucet which shall run through the
barrel and the box so that the water
may be drawn oft when It gets warm.
The Illustration shows the idea plain
ly. In the small drawings at the bot
tom "M" represents the box, "L" the
barrel and "A" the can of milk, and
In the drawing to the left "G" shows
how the faucet Is placed near the bot
tom of the box. Any one can readily
make this milk cooler at small ex
pense. Indianapolis News.
Lime and Salt Keep Ears;.
The water-glass method Is not the
only one of keeping eggs In fairly good
condition for quite a long period. Some
years ago the Rhode Island Experiment
Station tested a number of different
methods, and found that salt brine and
lime water stood second only to water
glass as a preservative. The eggs were
held over a year In the pickle, and all
came out good. The station reported
as follows: The surface of the liquid
was crusted, and considerable silt had
settled to the bottom of the Jar. The
shells of the eggs which were sunken
In this silt appeared very fresh. The
exteriors of the shells were clean and
clear. The air cells were not Increased
In size. The whites and yolks were
normal In appearance. The whites beat
up nicely, but had a slightly saline
taste. Several used as dropped eggs
appeared to be nice, but had a slightly
sharp taste. This old-fashioned method
of preserving eggs Is thus again proved
effective.
Economy In the Lcgrume.
Agricultural chemists tell us that
while two tons of timothy hay, or a
good average crop from an acre, takes
away fifty pounds of nitrogen, a crop
of clover of same weight takes over
eighty pounds j likewise while the tim
othy hay takes off thirty-six pounds of
potash, the clover takes nearly ninety
pounds. With phosphoric acid It Is dif
ferent; the timothy takes twenty -one
pounds and the clover only fourteen
pounds. But the nitrogen which Is the
most expensive element Is drawn from
the air, to a large extent, In tbe case of
clover, and so need not be supplied In
the fertilizer. Here Is the economy In
growing the legume, which has the
power, as It were, of making Its own
fertilizer, or most of It
Summer Grain for Ponlir.
It is not to be expected that th
rowis can ne laisen care or wholly on
the range during the summer no mat
ter how extensive It may be so that the
grain must be fed In a greater or less
amount. During the summer we do
without the mashes and the corn too.
Ing wheat and buckwheat and, begin
ning m duuu, mum or less cottonseed
meal, adding It In very small quanti
ties and Increasing It gradually until
about one-tenth of the dally ration con
sists of the oil meaL
GOOD MILK COOLER.
.1 1 i
Grain and Silage.
The object of an experiment at the
Ohh station was to determine whether
silage might not be substituted for a
considerable portion of the grain usual
ly fed to dairy cows. Two rations were
fed carrying practically the same
amount of dry matter. In one ration
over 50 per cent of this dry matter was
derived from silage, and less than 18
per cent was derived from grain. In
the other ration over 57 per cent of
the dry matter was derived from grain,
no silage being fed. The cows fed the
slloge ration produced 9G.7 pounds of
milk and 5.08 pounds of butter fat a
hundred pounds of dry matter. The
cows fed the grain ration produced 81.3
pounds of milk and 3.0 pounds of butter
fat a hundred pounds of dry matter.
The cost of feed a hundred pounds of
milk was ?0.G87 with the. silage ration
and $1.05 with the grain ration. The
cost of feed a hundred pounds of butter
fat was 13.1 cents with the silage ration
and 22.1 cents with the grain ration.
The average net profit a cow a month
(over cost of labor) was $5.8(54 with
the silage ration, and J52.4G5 with the
ra!u ratiuii.
Hnrar-Hoof Cntter.
If In reshoelng a horse the horse
shoer does not trim the hoof smooth
ly, and the shoe consequently does not
fit the foot perfectly, the horse there
by feels uncomfortable, would be a
question very difficult to answer. It
is natural to Infer, nevertheless, that
when such is the cose the horse Is un
cier more or less strain. To accom
plish a more uniform and even par
ing of the hoof a Canadian Inventor
has devised the hoof-cutter shown In
the Illustration. In this cutter two
knives are pivoted to a central bar,
which terminates Into a hook. This
hook Is clamped In position on the
hoof as shown. The operator then
grasps the center handle and one of
the knife handles firmly In one hand.
With the other hand he swings the
remaining handle back to the point In
dicated by the dotted lines. Thus
with one stroke he Is able to pare one
side of the hoof from heel to toe. The
other knife Is then swung back in the
TKIMS THE HOOK.
same manner, trimming the other side
of the hoof. A quicker or more effi
cient nianer of trimming a horse's hoof
would be hard to Imagine.
Mnnnre Aid to Frnlt Trees.
A Pennsylvauian states that lm ho.
never used commercial fertilizers In an
apple orchard. If the ground' Is too
poor to produce apples, nothing ls bet
ter man Darnyard manure, uhl.h .
swers every purpose, both for a mulch
or for enriching the ground. In plant-
nig an appie orenara the ground should
be farmed every year for ni.t
years, growing such crops as potatoes.
uuck, etc., so that the ri-onnrt ln -o
manure as often as the crops will re
quire It, and that will be sufficient for
the growth of the apple trees and fruit
After that time the
down and occasionally farmed and
...a,.u.cU sumcienriy to keep the land
In a fertile condition.
Greateat Alfalfa Field.
Kansas has the largest eontlnnn,,., i
falfa field in the world. This belongs
to Colonel J. W. Robinson, Eldorado,
and Includes more than 2,500 acres, the
product of which brines a mn'
tune to Its owner each yenr.
Save Ammonia from Manure.
All stable manure will ho
"yiuvel
If potash In some form Is added, espe-
cmiy vi me poiasn salt. Kanlt has
been found useful for this nnn.
f ifmt J
Is crude sulphate of potash and con
tains a large proportion of nif t
arrest the escape of ammonia and prove
uumuie vi useii wnen applied to the
land. It is also excellent on land in
fested with grubs, though not a com
plete remedy for such pests. It Is cheap,
and should be used more extensively
where manure Is being saved.