THE FATE OF THE "MIWAKA"
"So this isn't your house, Judah?"
"No, Alan; this is an Indian's house, but it is not mine. It is Adam
Enos' house. He and his wife went somewhere else when you needed this."
"He helped to bring me here then?"
"No, Alan. They were alone here--she and Adam's wife. When she found
you, they brought you here--more than a mile along the beach. Two
women!"
Alan choked as he put down the little porcupine quill box which had
started this line of inquiry. Whatever questions he had asked of Judah
or of Sherrill these last few days had brought him very quickly back to
her. Moved by some intuitive certainty regarding Spearman, she had
come north; she had not thought of peril to herself; she had struggled
alone across dangerous ice in storm--a girl brought up as she had been!
She had found him--Alan--with life almost extinct upon the beach; she
and the Indian woman, Wassaquam had just said, had brought him along
the shore. How had they managed that, he wondered; they had somehow
got him to this house which, in his ignorance of exactly where he was
upon the mainland, he had thought must be Wassaquam's; she had gone to
get help-- His throat closed up, and his eyes filled as he thought of
this.
In the week during which he had been cared for here, Alan had not seen
Constance; but there had been a peculiar and exciting alteration in
Sherrill's manner toward him, he had felt; it was something more than
merely liking for him that Sherrill had showed, and Sherrill had spoken
of her to him as Constance, not, as he had called her always before,
"Miss Sherrill" or "my daughter." Alan had had dreams which had seemed
impossible of fulfilment, of dedicating his life and all that he could
make of it to her; now Sherrill's manner had brought to him something
like awe, as of something quite incredible.
When he had believed that disgrace was his--disgrace because he was
Benjamin Corvet's son--he had hidden, or tried to hide, his feeling
toward her; he knew now that he was not Corvet's son; Spearman had shot
his father, Corvet had said. But he could not be certain yet who his
father was or what revelation regarding himself might now be given.
Could he dare to betray that he was thinking of Constance as--as he
could not keep from thinking? He dared not without daring to dream
that Sherrill's manner meant that she could care for him; and that he
could not presume. What she had undergone for him--her venture alone
up the beach and that dreadful contest which had taken place between
her and Spearman--must remain circumstances which he had learned but
from which he could not yet take conclusions.
He turned to the Indian.
"Has anything more been heard of Spearman, Judah?"
"Only this, Alan; he crossed the Straits the next day upon the ferry
there. In Mackinaw City he bought liquor at a bar and took it with
him; he asked there about trains into the northwest. He has gone,
leaving all he had. What else could he do?"
Alan crossed the little cabin and looked out the window over the
snow-covered slope, where the bright sun was shining. It was very
still without; there was no motion at all in the pines toward the
ice-bound shore; and the shadow of the wood smoke rising from the cabin
chimney made almost a straight line across the snow. Snow had covered
any tracks that there had been upon the beach where those who had been
in the boat with him had been found dead. He had known that this must
be; he had believed them beyond aid when he had tried for the shore to
summon help for them and for himself. The other boat, which had
carried survivors of the wreck, blown farther to the south, had been
able to gain the shore of North Fox Island; and as these men had not
been so long exposed before they were brought to shelter, four men
lived. Sherrill had told him their names; they were the mate, the
assistant engineer, a deckhand and Father Perron, the priest who had
been a passenger but who had stayed with the crew till the last.
Benjamin Corvet had perished in the wreckage of the cars.
As Alan went back to his chair, the Indian watched him and seemed not
displeased.
"You feel good now, Alan?" Wassaquam asked.
"Almost like myself, Judah."
"That is right then. It was thought you would be like that to-day."
He looked at the long shadows and at the height of the early morning
sun, estimating the time of day. "A sled is coming soon now."
"We're going to leave here, Judah?"
"Yes, Alan."
Was he going to see her then? Excitement stirred him, and he turned to
Wassaquam to ask that; but suddenly he hesitated and did not inquire.
Wassaquam brought the mackinaw and cap which Alan had worn on Number
25; he took from the bed the new blankets which had been furnished by
Sherrill. They waited until a farmer appeared driving a team hitched
to a low, wide-runnered sled. The Indian settled Alan on the sled, and
they drove off.
The farmer looked frequently at Alan with curious interest; the sun
shone down, dazzling, and felt almost warm in the still air.
Wassaquam, with regard for the frostbite from which Alan had been
suffering, bundled up the blankets around him; but Alan put them down
reassuringly. They traveled south along the shore, rounded into Little
Traverse Bay, and the houses of Harbor Point appeared among their
pines. Alan could see plainly that these were snow-weighted and
boarded up without sign of occupation; but he saw that the Sherrill
house was open; smoke rose from the chimney, and the windows winked
with the reflection of a red blaze within. He was so sure that this
was their destination that he started to throw off the robes.
"Nobody there now," Wassaquam indicated the house. "At Petoskey; we go
on there."
The sled proceeded across the edge of the bay to the little city; even
before leaving the bay ice, Alan saw Constance and her father; they
were walking at the water front near to the railway station, and they
came out on the ice as they recognized the occupants of the sled.
Alan felt himself alternately weak and roused to strength as he saw
her. The sled halted and, as she approached, he stepped down. Their
eyes encountered, and hers looked away; a sudden shyness, which sent
his heart leaping, had come over her. He wanted to speak to her, to
make some recognition to her of what she had done, but he did not dare
to trust his voice; and she seemed to understand that. He turned to
Sherrill instead. An engine and tender coupled to a single car stood
at the railway station.
"We're going to Chicago?" he inquired of Sherrill.
"Not yet, Alan--to St. Ignace. Father Perron--the priest, you
know--went to St. Ignace as soon as he recovered from his exposure. He
sent word to me that he wished to see me at my convenience; I told him
that we would go to him as soon as you were able."
"He sent no other word than that?"
"Only that he had a very grave communication to make to us."
Alan did not ask more; at mention of Father Perron he had seemed to
feel himself once more among the crashing, charging freight cars on the
ferry and to see Benjamin Corvet, pinned amid the wreckage and speaking
into the ear of the priest.
Father Perron, walking up and down upon the docks close to the railway
station at St. Ignace, where the tracks end without bumper or blocking
of any kind above the waters of the lake, was watching south directly
across the Straits. It was mid-afternoon and the ice-crusher _Ste.
Marie_, which had been expected at St. Ignace about this time, was
still some four miles out. During the storm of the week before, the
floes had jammed into that narrow neck between the great lakes of
Michigan and Huron until, men said, the Straits were ice-filled to the
bottom; but the _Ste. Marie_ and the _St. Ignace_ had plied steadily
back and forth.
Through a stretch where the ice-crusher now was the floes had changed
position, or new ice was blocking the channel; for the _Ste. Marie_,
having stopped, was backing; now her funnels shot forth fresh smoke,
and she charged ahead. The priest clenched his hands as the steamer
met the shock and her third propeller--the one beneath her bow--sucked
the water out from under the floe and left it without support; she met
the ice barrier, crashed some of it aside; she broke through, recoiled,
halted, charged, climbed up the ice and broke through again. As she
drew nearer now in her approach, the priest walked back toward the
railway station.
It was not merely a confessional which Father Perron had taken from the
lips of the dying man on Number 25; it was an accusation of crime
against another man as well; and the confession and accusation both had
been made, not only to gain forgiveness from God, but to right terrible
wrongs. If the confession left some things unexplained, it did not
lack confirmation; the priest had learned enough to be certain that it
was no hallucination of madness. He had been charged definitely to
repeat what had been told him to the persons he was now going to meet;
so he watched expectantly as the _Ste. Marie_ made its landing. A
train of freight cars was upon the ferry, but a single passenger coach
was among them, and the switching engine brought this off first. A
tall, handsome man whom Father Perron thought must be the Mr. Sherrill
with whom he had communicated appeared upon the car platform; the young
man from Number 25 followed him, and the two helped down a young and
beautiful girl.
They recognized the priest by his dress and came toward him at once.
"Mr. Sherrill?" Father Perron inquired.
Sherrill assented, taking the priest's hand and introducing his
daughter.
"I am glad to see you safe, Mr. Stafford." The priest had turned to
Alan. "We have thanks to offer up for that, you and I!"
"I am his son, then! I thought that must be so."
Alan trembled at the priest's sign of confirmation. There was no shock
of surprise in this; he had suspected ever since August, when Captain
Stafford's watch and the wedding ring had so strangely come to
Constance, that he might be Stafford's son. His inquiries had brought
him, at that time, to St. Ignace, as Father Perron's had brought him
now; but he had not been able to establish proof of any connection
between himself and the baby son of Captain Stafford who had been born
in that town.
He looked at Constance, as they followed the priest to the motor which
was waiting to take them to the house of old Father Benitot, whose
guest Father Perron was; she was very quiet. What would that grave
statement which Father Perron was to make to them mean to him--to Alan?
Would further knowledge about that father whom he had not known, but
whose blood was his and whose name he now must bear, bring pride or
shame to him?
A bell was tolling somewhere, as they followed the priest into Father
Benitot's small, bare room which had been prepared for their interview.
Father Perron went to a desk and took therefrom some notes which he had
made. He did not seem, as he looked through these notes, to be
refreshing his memory; rather he seemed to be seeking something which
the notes did not supply; for he put them back and reclosed the desk.
"What I have," he said, speaking more particularly to Sherrill, "is the
terrible, not fully coherent statement of a dying man. It has given me
names--also it has given me facts. But isolated. It does not give
what came before or what came after; therefore, it does not make plain.
I hope that, as Benjamin Corvet's partner, you can furnish what I lack."
"What is it you want to know?" Sherrill asked.
"What were the relations between Benjamin Corvet and Captain Stafford?"
Sherrill thought a moment.
"Corvet," he replied, "was a very able man; he had insight and mental
grasp--and he had the fault which sometimes goes with those, a
hesitancy of action. Stafford was an able man too, considerably
younger than Corvet. We, ship owners of the lakes, have not the world
to trade in, Father Perron, as they have upon the sea; if you observe
our great shipping lines you will find that they have, it would seem,
apportioned among themselves the traffic of the lakes; each line has
its own connections and its own ports. But this did not come through
agreement, but through conflict; the strong have survived and made a
division of the traffic; the weak have died. Twenty years ago, when
this conflict of competing interests was at its height, Corvet was the
head of one line, Stafford was head of another, and the two lines had
very much the same connections and competed for the same cargoes."
"I begin to see!" Father Perron exclaimed. "Please go on."
"In the early nineties both lines still were young; Stafford had, I
believe, two ships; Corvet had three."
"So few? Yes; it grows plainer!"
"In 1894, Stafford managed a stroke which, if fate had not intervened,
must have assured the ultimate extinction of Corvet's line or its
absorption into Stafford's. Stafford gained as his partner Franklin
Ramsdell, a wealthy man whom he had convinced that the lake traffic
offered chances of great profit; and this connection supplied him with
the capital whose lack had been hampering him, as it was still
hampering Corvet. The new firm--Stafford and Ramsdell--projected the
construction, with Ramsdell's money, of a number of great steel
freighters. The first of these--the _Miwaka_, a test ship whose
experience was to guide them in the construction of the rest--was
launched in the fall of 1895, and was lost on its maiden trip with both
Stafford and Ramsdell aboard. The Stafford and Ramsdell interests
could not survive the death of both owners and disappeared from the
lakes. Is this what you wanted to know?"
The priest nodded. Alan leaned tensely forward, watching; what he had
heard seemed to have increased and deepened the priest's feeling over
what he had to tell and to have aided his comprehension of it.
"His name was Caleb Stafford," Father Perron began. "(This is what
Benjamin Corvet told to me, when he was dying under the wreckage on the
ferry.) 'He was as fair and able a man as the lakes ever knew. I had
my will of most men in the lake trade in those days; but I could not
have my will of him. With all the lakes to trade in, he had to pick
out for his that traffic which I already had chosen for my own. But I
fought him fair, Father--I fought him fair, and I would have continued
to do that to the end.
"'I was at Manistee, Father, in the end of the season--December fifth
of 1895. The ice had begun to form very early that year and was
already bad; there was cold and a high gale. I had laid up one of my
ships at Manistee, and I was crossing that night upon a tug to
Manitowoc, where another was to be laid up. I had still a third one
lading upon the northern peninsula at Manistique for a last trip which,
if it could be made, would mean a good profit from a season which so
far, because of Stafford's competition, had been only fair. After
leaving Manistee, it grew still more cold, and I was afraid the ice
would close in on her and keep her where she was, so I determined to go
north that night and see that she got out. None knew, Father, except
those aboard the tug, that I had made that change.
"'At midnight, Father, to westward of the Foxes, we heard the four
blasts of a steamer in distress--the four long blasts which have
sounded in my soul ever since! We turned toward where we saw the
steamer's lights; we went nearer and, Father, it was his great, new
ship--the _Miwaka_! We had heard two days before that she had passed
the Soo; we had not known more than that of where she was. She had
broken her new shaft, Father, and was intact except for that, but
helpless in the rising sea...'"
The priest broke off. "The _Miwaka_! I did not understand all that
that had meant to him until just now--the new ship of the rival line,
whose building meant for him failure and defeat!
"There is no higher duty than the rescue of those in peril at sea.
He--Benjamin Corvet, who told me this--swore to me that, at the
beginning none upon the tug had any thought except to give aid. A
small line was drifted down to the tug and to this a hawser was
attached which they hauled aboard. There happened then the first of
those events which led those upon the tug into doing a great wrong.
He--Benjamin Corvet--had taken charge of the wheel of the tug; three
men were handling the hawser in ice and washing water at the stern.
The whistle accidentally blew, which those on the _Miwaka_ understood
to mean that the hawser had been secured, so they drew in the slack;
the hawser, tightened unexpectedly by the pitching of the sea, caught
and crushed the captain and deckhand of the tug and threw them into the
sea.
"Because they were short-handed now upon the tug, and also because
consultation was necessary over what was to be done, the young owner of
the _Miwaka_, Captain Stafford, came down the hawser onto the tug after
the line had been put straight. He came to the wheelhouse, where
Benjamin Corvet was, and they consulted. Then Benjamin Corvet learned
that the other owner was aboard the new ship as well--Ramsdell--the man
whose money you have just told me had built this and was soon to build
other ships. I did not understand before why learning that affected
him so much.
"'Stafford wanted us' (this is what Benjamin Corvet said) 'to tow him
up the lake; I would not do that, but I agreed to tow him to
Manistique. The night was dark, Father--no snow, but frightful wind
which had been increasing until it now sent the waves washing clear
across the tug. We had gone north an hour when, low upon the water to
my right, I saw a light, and there came to me the whistling of a buoy
which told me that we were passing nearer than I would have wished,
even in daytime, to windward of Boulder Reef. There are, Father, no
people on that reef; its sides of ragged rock go straight down forty
fathoms into the lake.
"'I looked at the man with me in the wheelhouse--at Stafford--and hated
him! I put my head out at the wheelhouse door and looked back at the
lights at the new, great steamer, following safe and straight at the
end of its towline. I thought of my two men upon the tug who had been
crushed by clumsiness of those on board that ship; and how my own ships
had had a name for never losing a man and that name would be lost now
because of the carelessness of Stafford's men! And the sound of the
shoal brought the evil thought to me. Suppose I had not happened
across his ship; would it have gone upon some reef like this and been
lost? I thought that if now the hawser should break, I would be rid of
that ship and perhaps of the owner who was on board as well. We could
not pick up the tow line again so close to the reef. The steamer would
drift down upon the rocks--'"
Father Perron hesitated an instant. "I bear witness," he said
solemnly, "that Benjamin Corvet assured me--his priest--that it was
only a thought; the evil act which it suggested was something which he
would not do or even think of doing. But he spoke something of what
was in his mind to Stafford, for he said:
"'I must look like a fool to you to keep on towing your ship!'
"They stared, he told me, into one another's eyes, and Stafford grew
uneasy.
"'We'd have been all right,' he answered, 'until we had got help, if
you'd left us where we were!' He too listened to the sound of the buoy
and of the water dashing on the shoal. 'You are taking us too close,'
he said--'too close!' He went aft then to look at the tow line."
Father Perron's voice ceased; what he had to tell now made his face
whiten as he arranged it in his memory. Alan leaned forward a little
and then, with an effort, sat straight. Constance turned and gazed at
him; but he dared not look at her. He felt her hand warm upon his; it
rested there a moment and moved away.
"There was a third man in the wheelhouse when these things were
spoken," Father Perron said, "the mate of the ship which had been laid
up at Manistee."
"Henry Spearman," Sherrill supplied.
"That is the name. Benjamin Corvet told me of that man that he was
young, determined, brutal, and set upon getting position and wealth for
himself by any means. He watched Corvet and Stafford while they were
speaking, and he too listened to the shoal until Stafford had come
back; then he went aft.
"'I looked at him, Father,' Benjamin Corvet said to me, 'and I let him
go--not knowing. He came back and looked at me once more, and went
again to the stern; Stafford had been watching him as well as I, and he
sprang away from me now and scrambled after him. The tug leaped
suddenly; there was no longer any tow holding it back, for the hawser
had parted; and I knew, Father, the reason was that Spearman had cut it!
"'I rang for the engine to be slowed, and I left the wheel and went
aft; some struggle was going on at the stern of the tug; a flash came
from there and the cracking of a shot. Suddenly all was light about me
as, aware of the breaking of the hawser and alarmed by the shot, the
searchlight of the _Miwaka_ turned upon the tug. The cut end of the
hawser was still upon the tug, and Spearman had been trying to clear
this when Stafford attacked him; they fought, and Stafford struck
Spearman down. He turned and cried out against me--accusing me of
having ordered Spearman to cut the line. He held up the cut end toward
Ramsdell on the _Miwaka_ and cried out to him and showed by pointing
that it had been cut. Blood was running from the hand with which he
pointed, for he had been shot by Spearman; and now again and a second
and a third time, from where he lay upon the deck, Spearman fired. The
second of those shots killed the engineer who had rushed out where I
was on the deck; the third shot went through Stafford's head. The
_Miwaka_ was drifting down upon the reef; her whistle sounded again and
again the four long blasts. The fireman, who had followed the engineer
up from below, fawned on me! I was safe for all of him, he said; I
could trust Luke--Luke would not tell! He too thought I had ordered
the doing of that thing!
"'From the _Miwaka_, Ramsdell yelled curses at me, threatening me for
what he thought that I had done! I looked at Spearman as he got up
from the deck, and I read the thought that had been in him; he had
believed that he could cut the hawser in the dark, none seeing, and
that our word that it had been broken would have as much strength as
any accusation Stafford could make. He had known that to share a
secret such as that with me would "make" him on the lakes; for the loss
of the _Miwaka_ would cripple Stafford and Ramsdell and strengthen me;
and he could make me share with him whatever success I made. But
Stafford had surprised him at the hawser and had seen.
"'I moved to denounce him, Father, as I realized this; I moved--but
stopped. He had made himself safe against accusation by me!
None--none ever would believe that he had done this except by my order,
if he should claim that; and he made plain that he was going to claim
that. He called me a fool and defied me. Luke--even my own man, the
only one left on the tug with us--believed it! And there was murder in
it now, with Stafford dying there upon the deck and with the certainty
that all those on the _Miwaka_ could not be saved. I felt the noose as
if it had been already tied about my neck! And I had done no wrong,
Father! I had only thought wrong!
"'So long as one lived among those on the _Miwaka_ who had seen what
was done, I knew I would be hanged; yet I would have saved them if I
could. But, in my comprehension of what this meant, I only stared at
Stafford where he lay and then at Spearman, and I let him get control
of the tug. The tug, whose wheel I had lashed, heading her into the
waves, had been moving slowly. Spearman pushed me aside and went to
the wheelhouse; he sent Luke to the engines, and from that moment Luke
was his. He turned the tug about to where we still saw the lights of
the _Miwaka_. The steamer had struck upon the reef; she hung there for
a time; and Spearman--he had the wheel and Luke, at his orders, was at
the engine--held the tug off and we beat slowly to and fro until the
_Miwaka_ slipped off and sank. Some had gone down with her, no doubt;
but two boats had got off, carrying lights. They saw the tug
approaching and cried out and stretched their hands to us; but Spearman
stopped the tug. They rowed towards us then, but when they got near,
Spearman moved the tug away from them, and then again stopped. They
cried out again and rowed toward us; again he moved the tug away, and
then they understood and stopped rowing and cried curses at us. One
boat soon drifted far away; we knew of its capsizing by the
extinguishing of its light. The other capsized near to where we were.
Those in it who had no lifebelts and could not swim, sank first. Some
could swim and, for a while they fought the waves.'"
Alan, as he listened, ceased consciously to separate the priest's voice
from the sensations running through him. His father was Stafford,
dying at Corvet's feet while Corvet watched the death of the crew of
the _Miwaka_; Alan himself, a child, was floating with a lifebelt among
those struggling in the water whom Spearman and Corvet were watching
die. Memory; was it that which now had come to him? No; rather it was
a realization of all the truths which the priest's words were bringing
together and arranging rightly for him.
He, a child, saved by Corvet from the water because he could not bear
witness, seemed to be on that tug, sea-swept and clad in ice, crouching
beside the form of his father while Corvet stood aghast--Corvet, still
hearing the long blasts of distress from the steamer which was gone,
still hearing the screams of the men who were drowned. Then, when all
were gone who could tell, Spearman turned the tug to Manitowoc.... Now
again the priest's voice became audible to Alan.
Alan's father died in the morning. All day they stayed out in the
storm, avoiding vessels. They dared not throw Stafford's body
overboard or that of the engineer, because, if found, the bullet holes
would have aroused inquiry. When night came again, they had taken the
two ashore at some wild spot and buried them; to make identification
harder, they had taken the things that they had with them and buried
them somewhere else. The child--Alan--Corvet had smuggled ashore and
sent away; he had told Spearman later that the child had died.
"Peace--rest!" Father Perron said in a deep voice. "Peace to the dead!"
But for the living there had been no peace. Spearman had forced Corvet
to make him his partner; Corvet had tried to take up his life again,
but had not been able. His wife, aware that something was wrong with
him, had learned enough so that she had left him. Luke had come and
come and come again for blackmail, and Corvet had paid him. Corvet
grew rich; those connected with him prospered; but with Corvet lived
always the ghosts of those he had watched die with the _Miwaka_--of
those who would have prospered with Stafford except for what had been
done. Corvet had secretly sought and followed the fate of the kin of
those people who had been murdered to benefit him; he found some of
their families destroyed; he found almost all poor and struggling. And
though Corvet paid Luke to keep the crime from disclosure, yet Corvet
swore to himself to confess it all and make such restitution as he
could. But each time that the day he had appointed with himself
arrived, he put it off and off and paid Luke again and again. Spearman
knew of his intention and sometimes kept him from it. But Corvet had
made one close friend; and when that friend's daughter, for whom Corvet
cared now most of all in the world, had been about to marry Spearman,
Corvet defied the cost to himself, and he gained strength to oppose
Spearman. So he had written to Stafford's son to come; he had prepared
for confession and restitution; but, after he had done this and while
he waited, something had seemed to break in his brain; too long preyed
upon by terrible memories, and the ghosts of those who had gone, and by
the echo of their voices crying to him from the water, Corvet had
wandered away; he had come back, under the name of one of those whom he
had wronged, to the lake life from which he had sprung. Only now and
then, for a few hours, he had intervals when he remembered all; in one
of these he had dug up the watch and the ring and other things which he
had taken from Captain Stafford's pockets and written to himself
directions of what to do with them, when his mind again failed.
And for Spearman, strong against all that assailed Corvet, there had
been always the terror of the Indian Drum--the Drum which had beat
short for the _Miwaka_, the Drum which had known that one was saved!
That story came from some hint which Luke had spread, Corvet thought;
but Spearman, born near by the Drum, believed that the Drum had known
and that the Drum had tried to tell; all through the years Spearman had
dreaded the Drum which had tried to betray him.
So it was by the Drum that, in the end, Spearman was broken.
The priest's voice had stopped, as Alan slowly realized; he heard
Sherrill's voice speaking to him.
"It was a trust that he left you, Alan; I thought it must be that--a
trust for those who suffered by the loss of your father's ship. I
don't know yet how it can be fulfilled; and we must think of that."
"That's how I understand it," Alan said.
Fuller consciousness of what Father Perron's story meant to him was
flowing through him now. Wrong, great wrong there had been, as he had
known there must be; but it had not been as he had feared, for he and
his had been among the wronged ones. The name--the new name that had
come to him--he knew what that must be: Robert Alan Stafford; and there
was no shadow on it. He was the son of an honest man and a good woman;
he was clean and free; free to think as he was thinking now of the girl
beside him; and to hope that she was thinking so of him.
Through the tumult in his soul he became aware of physical feelings
again, and of Sherrill's hand put upon his shoulder in a cordial,
friendly grasp. Then another hand, small and firm, touched his, and he
felt its warm, tightening grasp upon his fingers; he looked up, and his
eyes filled and hers, he saw, were brimming too.
They walked together, later in the day, up the hill to the small, white
house which had been Caleb Stafford's. Alan had seen the house before
but, not knowing then whether the man who had owned it had or had not
been his father, he had merely looked at it from the outside. There
had been a small garden filled with flowers before it then; now yard
and roofs were buried deep in snow. The woman who came to the door was
willing to show them through the house; it had only five rooms. One of
those upon the second floor was so much larger and pleasanter than the
rest that they became quite sure that it was the one in which Alan had
been born, and where his young mother soon afterward had died.
They were very quiet as they stood looking about.
"I wish we could have known her," Constance said.
The woman, who had showed them about, had gone to another room and left
them alone.
"There seems to have been no picture of her and nothing of hers left
here that any one can tell me about; but," Alan choked, "it's good to
be able to think of her as I can now."
"I know," Constance said. "When you were away, I used to think of you
as finding out about her and--and I wanted to be with you. I'm glad
I'm with you now, though you don't need me any more!"
"Not need you!"
"I mean--no one can say anything against her now!"
Alan drew nearer her, trembling.
"I can never thank you--I can never tell you what you did for me,
believing in--her and in me, no matter how things looked. And then,
coming up here as you did--for me!"
"Yes, it was for you, Alan!"
"Constance!" He caught her. She let him hold her; then, still
clinging to him, she put him a little away.
"The night before you came to the Point last summer, Alan, he--he had
just come and asked me again. I'd promised; but we motored that
evening to his place and--there were sunflowers there, and I knew that
night I couldn't love him."
"Because of the sunflowers?"
"Sunflower houses, Alan, they made me think of; do you remember?"
"Remember!"
The woman was returning to them now and, perhaps, it was as well; for
not yet, he knew, could he ask her all that he wished; what had
happened was too recent yet for that. But to him, Spearman--half mad
and fleeing from the haunts of men--was beginning to be like one who
had never been; and he knew she shared this feeling. The light in her
deep eyes was telling him already what her answer to him would be; and
life stretched forth before him full of love and happiness and hope.
THE END
ZANE GREY'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of
frontier warfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is
captured by bandits. A surprising climax brings the story to a
delightful close.
THE RAINBOW TRAIL
The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great
western uplands--until at last love and faith awake.
DESERT GOLD
The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with
the finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl
who is the story's heroine.
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon
authority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of
the story.
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones,
known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert
and of a trip in "that wonderful country of deep canyons and giant
pines."
THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a
young New Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the
girl shall become the second wife of one of the Mormons--Well, that's
the problem of this great story.
THE SHORT STOP
The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and
fortune as professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are
followed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty
ought to win.
BETTY ZANE
This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful
young sister of Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers.
THE LONE STAR RANGER
After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along
the Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds
a young girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings
down upon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on
one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws.
THE BORDER LEGION
Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless
Western mining camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she
loved him--she followed him out. On her way, she is captured by a
bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots Kells, the leader--and
nurses him to health again. Here enters another romance--when Joan,
disguised as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A
gold strike, a thrilling robbery--gambling and gun play carry you along
breathlessly.
THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS.
By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey
The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," as told by
his sister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his
first encounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express rider,
then near Fort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later engaged in the
most dangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very interesting
account of the travels of "The Wild West" Show. No character in public
life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than
"Buffalo Bill," whose daring and bravery made him famous.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
JACK LONDON'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
JOHN BARLEYCORN. Illustrated by H. T. Dunn.
This remarkable book is a record of the author's own amazing
experiences. This big, brawny world rover, who has been acquainted
with alcohol from boyhood, comes out boldly against John Barleycorn.
It is a string of exciting adventures, yet it forcefully conveys an
unforgetable idea and makes a typical Jack London book.
THE VALLEY OF THE MOON. Frontispiece by George Harper.
The story opens in the city slums where Billy Roberts, teamster and
ex-prize fighter, and Saxon Brown, laundry worker, meet and love and
marry. They tramp from one end of California to the other, and in the
Valley of the Moon find the farm paradise that is to be their salvation.
BURNING DAYLIGHT. Four illustrations.
The story of an adventurer who went to Alaska and laid the foundations
of his fortune before the gold hunters arrived. Bringing his fortunes
to the States he is cheated out of it by a crowd of money kings, and
recovers it only at the muzzle of his gun. He then starts out as a
merciless exploiter on his own account. Finally he takes to drinking
and becomes a picture of degeneration. About this time he falls in
love with his stenographer and wins her heart but not her hand and
then--but read the story!
A SON OF THE SUN. Illustrated by A. O. Fischer and C. W. Ashley.
David Grief was once a light-haired, blue-eyed youth who came from
England to the South Seas in search of adventure. Tanned like a native
and as lithe as a tiger, he became a real son of the sun. The life
appealed to him and he remained and became very wealthy.
THE CALL OF THE WILD. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin and Charles
Livingston Bull. Decorations by Charles E. Hooper.
A book of dog adventures as exciting as any man's exploits could be.
Here is excitement to stir the blood and here is picturesque color to
transport the reader to primitive scenes.
THE SEA WOLF. Illustrated by W. J. Aylward.
Told by a man whom Fate suddenly swings from his fastidious life into
the power of the brutal captain of a sealing schooner. A novel of
adventure warmed by a beautiful love episode that every reader will
hail with delight.
WHITE FANG. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.
"White Fang" is part dog, part wolf and all brute, living in the frozen
north; he gradually comes under the spell of man's companionship, and
surrenders all at the last in a fight with a bull dog. Thereafter he
is man's loving slave.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
B. M. Bower's Novels
Thrilling Western Romances
Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated
CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Delia
Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr.
Cecil Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is
very amusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher.
THE HAPPY FAMILY
A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen
jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we find
Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many
lively and exciting adventures.
HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT
A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners
who exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montana
ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and
the effusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities.
THE RANGE DWELLERS
Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist.
Spirited action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and
Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without
a dull page.
THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS
A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among the
cowboys of the West, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "Bud"
Thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim
trails" but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love.
THE LONESOME TRAIL
"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional city
life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with the
atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large
brown eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story.
THE LONG SHADOW
A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a
mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game
of life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start to
finish.
Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
Original, sincere and courageous--often amusing--the kind that are
making theatrical history.
MADAME X. By Alexandra Bisson and J. W. McConaughy. Illustrated with
scenes from the play.
A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not
forgive an error of her youth. Her love for her son is the great final
influence in her career. A tremendous dramatic success.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable stranger meet and
love in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged this season with magnificent
cast and gorgeous properties.
THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By Lew. Wallace.
A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting with
extraordinary power the siege of Constantinople, and lighting its
tragedy with the warm underflow of an Oriental romance. As a play it
is a great dramatic spectacle.
TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace Miller White. Illust. by Howard
Chandler Christy.
A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University
student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of
those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the
season.
YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester. Illust. by F. R.
Gruger and Henry Raleigh.
A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each of
which is just on the safe side of a State's prison offence. As
"Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably the most amusing expose of
money manipulation ever seen on the stage.
THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse. Illustrations by Will
Grefe.
Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary
adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of "A Gentleman
of Leisure," it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. Illustrated by Wm.
Charles Cooke.
This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for
two years in New York and Chicago.
The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge directed
against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three
years on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent.
WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. By Robert Carlton Brown. Illustrated with
scenes from the play.
This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is
suddenly thrown into the very heart of New York, "the land of her
dreams," where she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers.
The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in
theatres all over the world.
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco. Illustrated by John Rae.
This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, as
Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success.
The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, powerful,
both as a book and as a play.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit
barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness.
It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play has
been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.
BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ By General Lew Wallace.
The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on
a height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached.
The clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect
reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere
of the arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramatic
success.
BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow.
Illustrated with scenes from the play.
A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an
interest on the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid
in New York, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor.
The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which
show the young wife the price she has paid.
_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
JOHN FOX, JR'S.
STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree
that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the
pine lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and
when he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but
the _foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely,
piquant, and the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young
engineer a madder chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine."
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come."
It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which
often springs the flower of civilization.
"Chad." the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he
came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood,
seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and
mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming
waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in
the mountains.
A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of
moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the
heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two
impetuous young Southerners fall under the spell of "The Blight's"
charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in
the love making of the mountaineers.
Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some
of Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives.
_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK