Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis >i. grist, proprietor. J 5in Inbeptitknl ^amilg lltlosppfr: J;or % ^romofion of ffe political, Social, ^gricnltural anb Commercial $itfmsts of % Soufjj. { terms--$2.00 a year, in advance. VOL. 34. YORKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1888. NO. 43. I&e Jtotg icllrt. TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. BY JAMES T. M'KAY. * [Copyright] L PRENT. "Will you ever be done collecting, Prent?" "Oh, I hope so, Nell. I think I'll get through the best of it today. I expect to bring you home $20,000 to-night." "Hush!" shesaid. "You're foolish to talk so. I wish you were well out of the business, Prent" "Pshaw, Nell!" he answered, "there's no danger. I'd like to leave it in Bath & Westbury's safe in Caramore, but Bath told me yesterday they wouldn't have any more. There's been a safe robbery down west, and they're afraid. I don't blame 'em, though." "Where are you going today?" "I'm going south, through Dixon and J * WABf 1\TT f KQ l/&HM>QOrp VCI OilUiUy ouu vuwu n wow wj vu? south country road to Seaville and Plumley, and then home by Caramore. It is a long pull, but I haven't much work to do, and 1 guess Driver'll do it by dark." He got up from the breakfast table and prepared to go out. "Well, don't be rash, Prent." "Oh. I'll look out. Don't you fear. Good-by, Nell." She saw him ride brown Driver through the gate and trot away down the south road. At 12 Prent rode out to Shore, and held on east along the wide South pike; at 2 he was in Seaville Center. In Plumley he was delayed. To get home by dark he should have been at Caramore by half past 4. The sun was low on Three Pine . hills when he rode up to Bath & Westbury's general country store. He hitched Driver to a post, went in and warmed his hands at the stove. "?evenin', Broom," said Bath. He beckoned and passed through to the back Btore. Prent followed and shut the door behind him. "Broom," suys Bath, "you've got to take that money along with you, an' all I got to say is the sooner you get shet of it, the better for you." "Why. what's to pay now, Bath?" asked Prent. "There was two regular sporters stopped at Jim Crickett's last night. They come by different trains, didn't know each other at all, at first, but got very thick afore the night was out. The first one gave his name as William Paddlebox, and when the other fellow saw it on the book, he put his'n down James M. Walkingbeam. Last week, too, there was a fellow in here pretended he was agent for a Bellamy tobacco company. I asked him some quizzing questions that showed he wasn't up to the tobacco trade at all, I'd be swore. I saw him examine the lock of the north door, and walk all around the building when he went out. I'm mighty mistaken if somebody ain't broke into before long. Leastways, you must take that package outof our safe to-night. I've changed off the small money for you and got it into as small bulk as I could. And, look here, Broom," he added, "the money being in our safe's been talked of over to Wimble's, and it's no more'n right you to drop in there and happen to mention its been took out." "Well," said Broom, "if you say so. I don't want you to run anyrisk by me." The*e were one or two persons in the store as he passed through, took *he pdfckage from Bath, and buttoned it under his coat. "You ought to be armed, Broom," Bath whispered. Prent opened his coat a little way; the butt of a pistol showed on his left breast. He stepped over to Wimble's hotel, bought a cigar at the bar. Wimble came up. ' How do, Broom? Comin'over t' the raffle to-morrow? Lem me git you a ticket, only a dollar?" "No, guess not," says Prent. "Got to go t' the city." "Going to take them tenthousan' Ben Bath's got in his safe u' your'n?" "Bath hasn't no ten thousand nor ten cents of mine," said Broom. He went out and started on. The sun was set. He had nineteen miles to do yet. He kept Driver going smartly, though he began to lag a little with his long day's tramp. The road lay north, through level, waste plain lands, covered with stunted pines, scrub oak, and smaller matted undergrowth. The road is a single wagon track cut down through the thin surface soil into the white, fetlock deep sand underneath. It was a dreary ride enough. Broom kept his horse at a steady pace, urging him now and then a little faster. Nell would be looking for him now, and eighteen miles with a tired horse between them yet. Four miles of the same monotonous waste; then, far away across the level, he caught sight of the buildings of Camarack station on the line of the railway. He heard the whistle of a train coming west, and presently saw it roll in and stop. It moved off, hissing and clanging, just as he came up. Crossing the traek. he was hailed bv a man he knew. "Hello, Broom! hold on." He stopped and the man came out. "Look here, Broom," he said; "half an hour ago I got this telegram. What the deuce does it mean?" It was dated, "Half past six, Brammerley," ten miles west on the line. It was uddressed to Henry Tarlow, and read thus: "Prentiss Broom will pass through C about 7. Tell him this: Don't go beyond Brame's to-night." It was signed "A Friend." "I don't know what it means- Good night, Tarlow, I've got fourteen miles before me." He rode on, keeping Driver well up to his work. It was five miles to Squire Brame's tavern; five miles of the same dreary waste around and the same clogging sand under foot. The road bent more to the west now; it was fast growing dark. Two miles short of Brame's he caught sight of a wagon also going north. He pushed the brown ahead to overtake it, and coming up recognized the sturdy person and gray hair of the stout old squire himself. The squire was a fast friend of Prent's, and he was glad enough to see him jogging home. "Hold up, square," he called. What's your hurry?" "Whoa, Bill," answered the squire, in his hearty voice. "Well, now, if it ain't Prent Broom." "Give's a ride, square. I been in the saddle all day." He dropped off Driver and got in with the squire. "I want some advice, square," he said. "Look here?or hold on; you can't see it now, but I'll tell you what's in't." He read and explained the message. juon t go oeyona urame s to-nigni, the squire repeated. "Well, that's good advice anyway, Prent. How much have you got on you?" "Nineteen thousand dollars and odd." "Whew!" the old man whistled. "You better take a friend's advice. Don't go beyond Brame's to-night. Your horse is tired, too. Look how he hangaihack." "But I've got to go home. Nell's all alone." "Then you better leave the money with me." "No, no, square, I ain't going to get you into any trouble like that. And, besides, I'm going to town with it in the rooming. I won't lose sight of it anyway." "Well, Prent, if you won't do that, I'll tell you what. Put up Driver at my house. I'll put your saddle on to my roan mare, Skylark, and she'll take you that nine miles in forty-five minutes easy. Slip that package under tho seat here. You get on to Driver and ride in slow. I'll cut round by Big Pines and come in on the other road. I'll stow the money under the saddle for you; it '11 be safer there. Come, tumble out. Whoa, Bill." "Good, square, I'll do it, and thankful. I'm blest if you ain't the cleverest old trump that's going." "Oh, sof 6oap's cheap, Prent. None o' that sort." He whipped up his horse and skurried away through the sand. Prent came among the hills uqw: the land was much better; the sand and scrub pines and oaks dropped behind. There were cultivated fields on either hand, here and there a house. He came to the Big Pines crossroad, and could dimly see Bill's fresh tracks turning off to the left He held straight on a mile, over the Maddon hills, and so down to where the road ends at the broad middle pike. Then west half a mile to the little hamlet of Filmore, with Brame's tavern in the center. As he rode up to the door old Brame came out of the courtyard at the left. He came up. 'How do, Prent?" he called, in his loud, cheery voice. "Glad to see ye. Where y' , bound now? Been rather givin' it to Driver, ain't ye? Have him rubbed down i and eat some oats 'forey' go on." , There were several idlers hanging about, j Broom took his cue. He said nothing j about the roan mare. i "Well, square, guess I will come in a i bit," he said. i The hostler took away Driver to the j stable. They went in. i "Come inside and have a bite," says the ] squire. i And Prent followed him through the 1 bar into on inner room. ( "Prent," said the squire, "I don't like j the looks of things at alL There's been a -1?in n Vinrrrrt? TTo 1 bbiuugcr ucio wui^uw iu ? ?v j was dressed in the best; had a beaver on, 1 and leg o' mutton whiskers and long hair. ] Looks amazin' like a swell parson, only parsons don't gin'ally sit in hotel parlors ] and smoke cigars, with their legs on to the table, and drink no end of brandy hot 1 and hot. He went off just now. I say I ] don't like it, Prent." < "Can't help it, square," I said. "I must < goon." < (There?it's out at last. So, gentles, by ] your leave, we'll drop this round about j third person for the downright first. My 1 name is Prentiss Broom). < "Well, if you must," he said, "look 1 here." He showed me a pad of tow cloth, made i up to fit under a saddle. It was stuffed with wool; he ripped one side with his ) knife and showed me. ? "Now, I'll put the money in place of this wool. Don't fear. No one can hear or see us here. Your saddle is worn thin; this will fit under it prime. I'll fix it my- 1 self. Let me see your arms." 1 I showed him my pistol, Colt's make, 1 six barrels. t "All charged ?" he asked. I nodded. He examined it carefully, nipple and 1 trigger. "You'll do, I guess," he said. "Prent Broom," he asked seriously, "there's one word I want to say to you. It's one thing r. to be brave, and another to be rash, t When you turn off the pike to-night put t Skylark into a run, and give her her head. Don't stop her for man or devil till you're ? safe home. If any one tries to stop you 1 drive her at him and fire. If anything ? serious happens let the mare go and give t in. She'll bring the money to me if she 1 can. ? "Now, sit down and eat; I'll have the mare round in five minutes." 3 I mounted her at the door. Old Brame whispered: ] "Take care, Prent, and remember ^ Nell." 8 "Good night, square," I called, and g started down the pike. It was a mile to the fork where our Hilbury road turns north. Skylark Is a fiery beast, powerful J in breast and quarter, lithe of limb and "j flank, a long, small head and ears, quick, t bright eyes and a very deer to run. I i trotted her sharply down the pike, she pulling hard. Coming to the fork, we j turned it sharply. I chirruped to her, broke her up and gave her her head. She shot away north like a flight. I just f guided her, kept the bit in her mouth and i let her run. Soon she settled down to a J long, low, regular lope that was very easy i riding, and dropped the miles behind like i a swift gliding panorama of night in the lonely hills. Up hill, along the level, down j the long decline, through the level meadows and pasture lands, up again breezily, striding, striding?ever the same long, easy, bounding lope. x There was Jason's place now, up on the i slope of Kinnel hill?seven miles more to i Nell at Sicklefleld. I thought of her t watching for me, anxious enough, I knew, j I whistled to the mare. She leaped to it gayly, and we whirled along, down the c long mile that skirts round Kinnel hill and the Elder swamps, on again north over Harmony flats, till we struck the hills again at Nine Mile rock, on the Joram road. So we held on through the Brandon hills, keeping the long, low, flying lope. Leaving the hills, the road dips down 1 into Treacle hollow, and runs a straight, r. smooth mile, through thick, dark woods t of hickory and oak. I felt a little anxious about this mile of gloom ahead. It 1 was not just the road one would choose to e ride on a dark night, with $20,000 in e notes and bonds. I tapped up the mare, and we dashed down the Blope and into the wood's black shade. She was a brave horse as ever trod or tramped, that fiery i roan mare, Skylark. I let the rein hang loose. She doubled her neck, snrancr out. and galloped fierce as fire. I kept a keen lookout, though I might have saved my 3 pains. It was dark as the pit in that c close grown tunnel of shade. Once out of 1 this gloomy hollow, I should not fear. 1 There were only two miles of the open < high road beyond, with houses scattered s every little way. We tramped along through the hollow; I kept the maro up to her best. The long level slipped ] behind. The woods began to thin 1 and lighten a little. A little fur- t ther on we struck a slight ascent?the 3 foot of our Hilbury hills. A minute e more and we should be clear of the woods, t and safe. I felt the ground steepen under c us. Skylark Blackened her pace. The r road was steep before us; I had ridden 3 her hard, up hill and down. I felt safe c now. I didn't care to urge her. She e labored up the ascent, breathing quick and hard. A bright glare flashed in my eyes ! A crash in the bushes?the mare shied nnd 1 plunged. A man's form, dimly seen, was hanging by her bits. I struck my heels g in her flanks, drew my pistol?fired. The mare was plunging wildly; I was blind 1 with the glare in my eyes?I missed. I felt myself grasped from behind, drawn t heavily backward. I felt the mare going t from under me. I kicked at her furiously 1 ?flung the pistol "t her head as I fell. 1 She snorted and plunged, made one great, g frightened leap high in the air, flung the c fellow that held her heavily into the fence, and shot away up the hill. 3 As I fell the light glanced one side from my face nnd showed me the man who held irift full and nlnin Tall and liVhfc made, with small, white hands, pale face, black, silky side beard and mustache, keen pray eyes, thin lips and perfect teeth, long hair, glossy and jet black. He was dressed in fine black cloth, linen spotless and unruffled, and a high silk hat. I saw the light glance from his polished boots, from u diamond ring on his hand. lie had a cigar In his mouth. There was no passion or excitement in his face, lie looked as cool, jus fearless, jis devilish jis ever I hope to sec the fjice of man, jis he dragged me hack and threw me 011 the ground?held me down by the throat. "Jiber!" he called. "Quick, will you!" I did not fight. The niare was off with the money. I knew there were two others at hand. I was unarmed. I knew they could quiet me quickly enough. I knew that thjit cold, white, cruel face above me would kill me without remorse if it came to need. I thought of Nell, and lay still. The mjm called Jiber came crashing out with his dark lantern in his hand. He wore a slouched black hat, was roughly dressed?altogether a commoner, rougher man than the other, with a cunning, sneaking iace, written all over in straggling characters with his proper name of thief. He lighted an open ljintern and Bet it on a stone. The third robber crawled up out of the bushes and stones where the mare had thrown him. The others called him Chisel. He wore a cap and a suit of dark gray coarse cloth. I did not see his face. He plainly studied to hide it?kept it in the shadow or turned away. He seemed younger than either of the others?not stout, but lithe and quick as a cat. It was only a minute's time from the first Hash tiil I wjis lying quiet 011 my back in the road, with that white faced, jeweled devil holding me down, and the others kneeling by ns. They called him the parson. They called the rough one, with the brutal face and slouched hat, Jiber, and the other Chisel, as I said. "Chisel," he said?his voice was clear and calm?"Chisel, hold the lantern. Jiber, cock your pistol. Put it to his head. Are you ready?" "We're ready, Parson." It was Jiber who spoke. The other held the lantern between my face and his. Jiber cocked his pistol, examined the cap, and put the muzzle close to my head. I felt the cold iron touch my skull. A strong, convulsive shiver went through me, shook me from head to foot. I knew there was little danger?that it was not to their interest to peril their precious necks. But I saw the ruffian's villainous face, and I knew that a single twitch of the brutal fellow's hand was all that 9tood between me and the awful mysT? /In rr U')ipn ucijr ucjuau. iu uiuwu uuj, v?w Is no present danger, when life swells 3trong in pulse and limb, when the pale horse gallops far off beyond the sunset hills of hope, I take as calm a view of that certain but shadowy consummation h the rest, I suppose. But when the grisly phantom comes quite close?when jrou feel his terrible numbing touch and his blasting breath on your cheek?well, ''not all the preaching since Adam has made death aught but death." "If he makes any trouble, Jiber," the parson said, "blow out his brains." He loosened his hold. The tramp of the flying mare had died away over the hills. I had not $5 about me. I lay inite still. The parson searched me thormghly. He took my pocketbook, took )ut the money and threw away the book. His face grew terrible to see when he began to be convinced that T had not the sonds about me. He pulled off my boots, sxamined the lining of my cap. He gave ip the search. He turned to Jiber. "Could he have thrown away the pack* ige?" "Didn't throw away nothin' arter I flinked him, 'cept it was his shooter," mswered Jiber, doggedly. The parson turned to me. "Get up," he said. Ho spoke as he might to a dog he had ticked. That woke the devil in me. I ay still and glared back at him. I lis perfect teeth set hard between . ,hin white lips. He took out a pistol, cocked it. "Look here," ho said, "where is th noney?" I sat up and gavo him stare for stare. "What's that to you?" One second I thought he would kill me. rhen he governed himself and turned iway. He spoke to Chisel apart; then ho urned back to me. "Look here, you what's-his-name," he (aid, "three miles from here there's a ittle house, at the fork of Carrom lane ind the south road. There's a little voman in that house to-night, and she's i handsome little woman, and she's all done." He saw me shudder. I had forgotten (fell for one moment. He went on: "I'm going to ask you some questions. t you answer square, all right. If not, ve tie you up, carry you into the woods ind make her a visit. Do you underitand?" "I understand," I snid. lie went on: "Last Friday night you put $10,000 in 3ath & Westbury's safe, in Caramore. iTou put in more on Monday. You was ,o have taken it out to-night. Where s itl" "I haven't seen a dollar of it since Bath >ut it into the safe," I answered. I had not. I counted it over to Bath vhen I left it. He made a package of it or me. I saw only the wrapper. Was t, morally, a lie? Well, as you will. Dr. Tohnson held that one m'ght be justified n denying the authorsh.p of "Junius," vhether he wrote the letters or not. "You say you did not take it out of heir safe to-night?" "Yes." I did not. I took it out of Bath's hand. He turned to the others?talked hurriedly apart. I made out that they did lot know the roods across the plains, rhey had, without doubt, come out from he city on the middle turnpike. The larson turned to me. "I have a wagon close by. You must | Irive me to Caramore. Will you promise?'' "I'll drive you," I said. I did not say where or how. "How far is it?" "Seventeen miles." He turned to the others. "Bring out the horses." He held the lantern?stood by me careessly, turning his pistol in his hnud. Chey led the horses out of the wood hrough a length of fence thrown down. Tiber brought out a buggy with a fine ilack mare before it. Chisel led out a .tout bay cob and leaped lightly into the laddie. "Get in," said the parson I stepped in?took the reins. He whispered to Jiber, then ho jumped n. "Drive on," he said. "Not if that man stops behind." "What do you mean? Look here, roung man, I'll have no trilling, llow :an he go when you have his place? Jiber, nake straight for the castle. Tell this dng. If we're not in by 7 come to the :ave. The word's 'Mavoureen.' Now, iir, drive on, or I'll drive you home." "Get up," I said. I knew what I had to do. I made my dan. I sent the black mare down tho oad at a swinging gait. She was a bcauiifulmare?coal black, graceful, spirited, ret nowise nervous or Highly. 1 never law a better to trot and endure. She ook a long, smooth, rolling stride, withtut jerk or break, never spurting or flurying, except at any steep rising ground, vhich she always took with a short, quick barge below, and passed with a strong wing. After a mile or two lie spoke: "How quick can she make it?" "Seventeen miles? Two hours." I knew she could do it in half an hour ess. He looked round?a sneering, scornful ;lance. "I've driven her nine miles in half an lour. Shake her out A "I quickened her pace. We made a 'our minute gait on the levels. He leaned lack and smoked his cigar. I watched urn askance. You could read no more in lis face than in this blank page before I icrawl it over. Chisel galloped the bay dose behind. "Can you strike the Caramore road without passing Brume's tavern?" "I can." "How much farther?" "Half a mile longer to the Ocean road." "Do it, then." I couldn't have asked for a better :hanee. The straight road to Caramore tins past Brume's door. You would itrike the Ocean road at Bradley's, four nilcs north of Caramore. By turning off nvnwl f In* enniro'o vmi tnL'i* tlip Lindcsley road, which is half a mile j onger to the Ocean road, but strikes it : en miles northeast of Bradley's at hookad hill. Wetook the Lindesley road, swept.away >ast, the black mare trotting smooth and square, the bay horse galloping close belind. We had the wagon cover up; the rnrson leaned back in his corner and smoked. When one cigar burned short ic lighted another and smoked on. I lid not turn ruy head or eyes, but I (vatched him all the while. Though le appeared so careless, I felt that he vatched my every motion. I saw that he inew nothing of the roads. I made up ny mind how I should drive, and drove )u steadily. I knew that any hesitation svould betray me. I took every turn and ;orner as certainly as if I had been drivng my own brown Driver homo, instead if this wild robber's race across country, 4 ivith that lie faced, fine clothed villain for ny companion, and the end of the jourley less than an hour off, but God alone inew what or where! We sat and whirled on in silence. I kept the mare at a steady, rolling pace, icver slackened for rise or descent. As ve skirted round the base of Lookout hill ind turned south at Kerriraain mill, he .ook out his watch, knocked the ashes off sis cigar and held the spark close to the irystnl. It was 11:30. We curved round X) the east and turned the corner sflarply X) the right. ''Is this the Ocean road?" "Yes." Y{e "bowled away down It. I had my mind made up. At Browner's Fork the Shore road splits of! and bends west. The angle at the junction is so sharp, the two roads so nearly alike, that no stranger could say Which was the straight road and which the branch. When we came to the fork I held the mare's head west and took the road to Shore. He seemed to doubt me here. He put his head out and looked down the other road. Turning again, he eyed me keenly. I chirruped to the mare and we swept ahend. "Is this the right road?" he said, his eyes upon my face. "This is the right road." Right, yes?but hardly for Caramore. "Where does the other lead?" I felt that defiance was my only course now. I pulled up the mare, faced him full and square. "I'll drive the other road, if you like." "Get up!" ho called to the mare. "Let her go, do you hear?" He glared at me fiercely; his hand leaped Tip to his breast, lifted the flap of his coat. Dimly I saw the hilt of a sheath knife under the fold. f, ' "Young man," he said, "if you play me faljae JL'll put my knife through your heart?" I gave him no answer. I gave him glance for/ glance, turned my face and drove on. I understood him. He bad made sure of finding the money upon me. Failing that, he had thought that I might possibly drive him right. There was little danger to him at least, and it was his only chance. He knew that the money would be put beyond reach to-morrow, if he should not get his hands upon it that night. But he was a fool for his pains for all that. I knew I could not deceive him much longer. He was plainly suspicious now. The mare was beginning to fag a little. She kept her long, rolling gait well up on the levels yet. But she had not the same grit at taking the hills, and she shambled a good deal going down. I saw that she was tired, that only her tireless mettle kept her legs up to the pace, and I hated to force her on. But I saw no way out of it yet; so I kept her up to her work. I struck in for Burrow Jb'iat. ir you nave ever driven through that region, you know what a labyrinth of roads and lanes centers and diverges at Burrow's. They cross and wind and interlace iu every way, and at all sorts of curves and angles. I struck for this point, in through Bracken Hollow, and then southwest by Poulter's blacksmith shop. I knew every turn and lane, and I used them with all my skill. I curved this way and that, wound and crossed till 1 had twisted him out of all sense of direction, edging round ull the while farther and farther west and north. At 12:30 we struck the Caramore road at last, and rolled along it, heading for home. The parson was plainly uneasy; I heard the bay horse still galloping behind. The mare was getting much distressed; her breathing sounded plainly, quick and hard. "Is this the Caramore road?" His face had a baffled, murderous look. "This is the Caramore road." "IIow far is it now?" "Four miles and a half." Four miles and a half behind! He leaned forward and looked in my face. I gave him back as good. Again his hand stole back to his breast. "You said it was seventeen miles. We've come twenty and more. What do you mean?" "I mean it's Ave miles to Caramore." I looked him straight in the eyes? straight and defiant. I never saw such a look in another face as he gave me then. His hand was in his breast. "If we're not in Caramore in half an hour"?his words came slow and wickedly calm?"I'll put you out of trouble." He leaned back and I drove on. I never tfontml 1-ill Vvnf. rmn m n n T tVii'nlr T know how a murderer feels who beats and tramples a man's life out in a sudden fury of hate. I hated that white faced villain with a murderous hate. I longed to have him alone in soino wild place, with only my hands and his for armor, and none between us two. The end was near. But it was not yet. II. XELL. The dusk drew on. She came out to the door and listened. There came no sound of horses' feet. She went in, laid the cloth and set the table for tea. The clock moved on to 8. She grew- anxious. She listened at the window, at the door, opt in the road. She went in again. No sign or sound of Prent. She sat at the window and watched. I need not tell you how she fretted and feared. The hands of the clock moved slowly round. It struck 9 at last. Still no sign or sound. She got up, took the spoons and forks, unlocked the iron safe and put them in. (The safe was Uncle Clitton's when he had the old store at Lindesley). She meant to start south if Prent did not come before long. She saw that the doors were fast, shut the blinds, straightened things up a little, put on her shawl and went out. She leuned over the gate and listened. She had stood there a long time. She turned to lock the front door; she could not wait longer. But she stopped. What was that! It's gone now. No?there it is again. It dies away; then bursts out again with a clearer clamor. Trample, ^ ^ 1- T trample, irampie, n am pic. uuuu? nearer every moment?the regular pattering, scurrying trump of a horse at a wild, free run. \ quick pain shot through Nell's heart. She knew that was not the tramp of a horse under guidance of man. She knew that lie carried an empty saddle as certainly as if she had heard the flying stirrups rattle and clank. She ran along to the harnyard gate, threw it wide open, caught up a long pole, and stood across the road. The flying horse came on, trample, trample, trample. Round the bend now, along the orchard fence, past the house, and close upon her, head down, and running wild. She shouted, flourished her pole, struck at the horse's head. It swerved and leaped through the gate. She knew it was not Driver. She shut the gate. The horse ran round the yard, then slower, then trotted, head up, snorting and stepping high. Then she stopped at the barn and looked around. Nell went up. The mare drew off at first, but Nell coaxed her, and got her hand on the bridle after a minute or two. She patted the mare's smooth neck and head, talked to her: "So-o, Nancy." Nell led her up to the house, where the light shone out from the window. She knew the mare?Brume's roan, Skylark. The squire had driven her over only Inst week. Saddle and bridle she knew, too; knew them und trembled with a horrible fear. They were Prent's? There was the rent in the skirt that she darned two days ago. There was the new stirrup strap on tlie near side und the new ring bit in the bridle. She hitched the mare to the gate, went in, put out the light and locked the do#r. She opened the gate, tlung over the off stirrup, stepped up on the gate, and leaped on. Past the house and the garden. Under the shadow of the orchard trees, trotting faster and faster. She has the mare well in hand. There is only one thought in her mind?to get to Brume's. She calls to the mare, and breaks her into a run. From that it is one long hurling flight all the nine clattering miles. Along thp clear high road, by fields and orchards, level and slope. Down through Treacle Hollow, mile long tunnel of gloom, through over arching trees. Up again? out through the hills?out with a rush, and away. Hill and level, dip and rise, straight stretch and winding curve, no J>renk or halt , horse and rider as one, flying, flying, flying. The panting mure stopped at the tavern door. ' Halloa!" she called. "Quick, there? halloa!" The squire came out with a frightened face, lie knew the voice. He saw his mare, Sk.> lark. He looked in Nell's face, lie knew what it was. "Ain't you seen him, Nell?" She shook her head. She stepped upon the piazza. "What shall I do?" lie slipped his hand under the saddle. He caine close to her and whispered: "The money's here?under the saddle. They can't have hurt him. He wouldn't fight when he knew the bonds were Bafe. Don't fear, girL" ' r'I must tlnd him, Squire Bramo," she Baid. "You will help me, won't you?" * "Wait a hit," he said. "We'll go together." He led the mare round to the barn, took off the 3addle and the precious pad. He shut the doors, dug out a hollow in the side of the mow, stuffed |he pad in and covered it over. Nell was jraiting outside. He camo out. * "I'll call up Pont," he said. "He's three-quarters Ingin, and tracks like a hound." He ran in, and camo back after a minute. Nell went into the barn. Driver stood at the rack, quite fresh and rested now. They saddled three horses, sidesaddle on Driver. They mounted and rode away. West down the pike to the turn north. Pont got down with his lantern, and the Squire followed. Pont crossed the road from xence to xence, searcning me grounu at the turn. "Track ob Massa Prent and Skylark, goin' out. Missy Nelly an' Skylark cotnin' in. Sporter's black mare goin' nord. Two strangers come from west and gone nord." ^ At every turnoil they stopped. At the Lindesley road they saw the tracks of a buggy and two horses bound east. They kept on. north. At every turn the tracks were the same. There is no turn off in Treacle Hollow. At the Hilbury road they got down. Pont crossed the road, bent low. "Skylark goin' and comin'. None more but one gone nord." "Trickle Holler!" said the squire. "Jest what I thought." They started back, leading the horses, searching the road for tracks. "Squire," said Nell, "I'll ride home. He may have gone there. I'll come back." She headed Driver north, struck into a gallop, and was off. Ten minutes later she turned the bend half a mile from home. She sturted and gave a joyful cry. Out of the east window a bright light shone. A little farther on she heard a sudden sound that drove the hope out of her heart?the whinny of a horse in a wood to the right. She got down, tied Driver to a tree and ran on. She crept in softly through the open gate aud round to the'east side. She looked in, but she did not seo Prent. By the safe in the corner a man wafc kneeling, with a slouched black hat and a suit of rough, worn clothes. His back was toward her. Her own lamp stood ignited on the top of the safe. With a drill and a heavy mallet, padded at the end, he was picking a hole in the iron ' door, JllSU auove Llie iUL'h., imu umu oaic Prent hud put, only the night before, $3,000 and odd of taxes tnken at Carrom. On the table just behind him lay his pistol. She saw the copper gleam of the cap under the hammer. As she looked the man stood up, threw oil his coat and raised the window. He took a red handkerchief out of his hat, wiped his forehead and got down again to his work. The pistol lay close by the open window now. She crept round to the window and peered in. The burglar was picking away at the iron plate. Moving very Cautiously, she raised her arm, and then, timing the motion by his regular stroke, and holding her breath, she thrust in her arm, lifted the pistol anil drew it out. She aimed it at liis head, expecting to see him turn; but he did not hear?picked away at the plate. She came back to the front and watched him. His drill went through the plate as she looked. He worked it back and forth?probing the opening inside. It was just above the chamber of the lock. He picked out the hole a little larger. Then he got up and took from the pocket Of -his coat a flask and a length of fuse. She saw him put the flask to the opening and pour the chamber full of powder. He inserted the fuse and let the end hang down. Taking a match from his pocket, ho struck it. It was time to net, Nell thought. The match flashed and went out. She ran round to the back. The kitchen door stood ajar. She passed in, silent as death, caught a match from the shelf, lit a candle and stepped through the passage to the door of the east room. The door was open. She held the candle outside in her left hand, stood in the doorway and pointed the pistol. He had not heard her. More matches had missed. He struck one now and held the flame dowu. It caught and flared up bright. Ho put it to the end of the fuse, threw it down, and stood up. He faced round and stared one instant. A girl stood fronting him, with as brave, calm face, white and Bet, as ever looked out on peril. He saw his pistol in her hand, aimed steady and true. He stared one moment, then leaned quickly and blew out the lamp. She saw the spark glowing slowly but steadily up the fuse. She brought the candle forward and threw the light upon him. She stepped forward into the room. "Go back," she said; "step backward to the wall. If you turn or lift your hand I will kill you!" He knew that she would. He backed away. She advanced step by step. She set the candle down upou the safe. She did not move her eyes from his face. She kept the pistol steadily aimed, her finger on the trigger. The spark had climbed half way along the fuse. She bent down, drew out the fuse with her left hand. With a quick backward motion she threw it through the open sash. Then she spoke, calm and deliberate, her eyes never leaving his face, the pistol pointed straight at his breast. "Take off your hat." As ho stood against the wall the slouched brim shaded his face. She wanted to see his face when he answered her. He put up his hand and took it off. "Look in my face," she 6aid. He lifted his eyes and looked at her with a sullen, sheepish, villainous face. "You are in my power," she went on. "I will have two men here in fifteen min-, utes, at most. You know the penalty of this night's work?ten years in a prison cell. If you answer me truly I'll let you go your way. If you try to get away I'll fire, and I shall not miss." She paused a minute, then went on: "Where is the man you waylaid?" She never doubted that he knew. "Parson's got him," he said, in a low, hoarse voice. "What do you mean? Speak plain?I'll nave no snamming. "I ain't a shamrain'. Parson's got him." "Who's the parson?" "Parson's our cap." "Where is he now?" "I dun' know." "Where did he go?" "Said ho was goin't' Caramore." She saw it all at a Hash. "To Bath & Westbury's store?" "Yes." "He did not know the road?" "No." "He took him to show it?" "Yes." "Are there any more?" "One more." "Did they take him on horseback?" "No." "How?" "In the buggy, along of the parson?" She felt sure he told tho truth. A man can lie with a bold face, may lie with a face more brazen than one who speaks the truth. But he cannot look in your eyes and lie, however boldly, exactly as he would tell true. Nine times out of ten the lie will show through, one way or other. I should like to see the man who minlrl InnV mv Vol] Rfv.nVht, in the eVCS and lie without some sign. I should not like to see him. "I believe you," she said. "Pass out, unlock the door to the right, open it, go out." She followed him out through the gate, pistol in hand. "Get your horse," she said. She followed him up the road; he might find Driver. He turned of! into the wood, brought out fta horse, got up and started west. She heard him gallop down the Packerton road till his horse's tramp died away. Then she got Driver and rode away south. The squire and Pont were riding north to meet her. She waved them back, came up and galloped past. "To Caramore," she cried, "come on." She led the way. They followed. They swept away south through the night. I and the parson turned into the Caramore road, and rolled on north. "If we're not there in half an hour," he had said, "I'll put you out of pain." The mare was suffering severely now. I had driven her twenty-five miles across country, hill and sand and mud. I had kept her well up to her speed every rod oj tlie way, and she had held out nobly. It went against me to keep her up, but it was life and death to me, and we were headed home. The pace was plainly much slower, though. "Can't you work her up?" he said, with a fierce, impatient glance. "Don't you see the mare's dead fagged?" I answered. He put his head out and called: "Ride ahead, Chisel. The mare's playing out. She'll follow better. He came up and went by. "Straight on?" ho called. "Straight ahead," I answered. He rode on. "We followed. The mare went slower and slower. I knew the end Tiro a nnnrl "Whip her," he said. I looked him in the lace. "Do you think I'm a brute?" He caught up the whip and struck her sharply. She leaped out wildly and went on faster, gasping, now, every breath. I turned upon him with set teeth. It must come to that at last; it might as well come now. "If you strike her again," I said, "I'll"? He struck her quick and sharp. I threw down the reins. "You may drive yourself." He threw down the whip. His hand leaped up to his breast. His face was deadly white. A gleam of devilish hate glared out of his keen gray eyes. "Take them up," he said, through his teeth. He drew out his hand. I saw tho bright steel glitter from the sheath. Then I leaped upon him. I grasped the hand that held the knife, pressed his head back with my left, with all my might. I turned the point in toward him and pricked it sharply into his breast. "Let go." I cried, "let go, or I'll drive it through you!" I dug my nails into his hand. I tore the knife away, flung it, away, behind. Then we grappled close. The mare swerved out one side; the wagon tipped on a stone. We rolled out locked together, fell heavily on the ground. lie was underneath, I upon him. He was stunned one instant, I got my hand in his breast and drew his pistol out. I put the barrel close to his face. "Yield, or I Are?" He was no coward at least. Ho glared up at me fierce as a tiger. "Shoot and he hissed. I flung the pistol back. It struck the fence and went off. I felt that I could kill him; but I wanted no coward's advantage. I ground his head into the sand; I gripped my hand in his collar, and tore out the spotless shirt front. I wanted to soil, tear, smash, blacken, bruise, disfigure his fine, smooth dress, his hateful, lying face, his glossy hair and beard. He twined his arms round my neck, and choked me down. I got my hand on his face, and pressed it into the ground till he loosened his hold. I struck at his glittering mouth; ho caught my hand in his teeth and bit it through. I clutched my fingers in his silky beard, beat his head on the ground with all my might, tore and pounded him I knew not how. I heard the tramp of a horse close by, felt myself grasped behind, lifted and thrown down heavily. I was under now, and there were two of them! I heard the rush of a dozen tramping hoofs; saw gleaming lanterns flash; heard shouts and curses and oaths and a pistol's report. Then I was lying looking into loving eyes, my head upon Nell's breast. Chisel is in Lindesley jail with a broken arm. The parson has never been seen or heard of.?The Galaxy. FOUR GEORGIA BOYS. These four started, a few years ago, selling newspapers. They made ten cents apiece the first morning they went to work, and for two winters thereafter they went barefooted, through the snow and sleet in the freezing dawn, on their morning rounds. From the very first they saved a certain percentage of their earnings, which they wisely invested in Atlanta real estate. The oldest of them is now eighteen years of age, and the youngest twelve. They have supported an invalid father and their mother all the time, and now have property worth considerably over $5,000, houses from which the rent is $20 per month, and $200 stock in a building and loan association. They have educated themselves, the meanwhile, remaining from school this year in order that they might work the harder and build a home for their parents that is to have a front parlor and a bay-window in it. These little fellows have been carriers, newsboys, errandboys, and- apprentices about the Constitution office, and one of them is now assistant mailing-clerk. Their net savings from their sales and salaries, exclusive of their rents, have been $20 per week for this year. Next year they can do better, and by the time the oldest of the brothers is of age they ought to have a comfortable little fortune. What these boys have done other boys can do. The whole secret is steadiness, sobriety, industry, and economy. There are few lessons more important for boys than that the smallest income will make a man independent, if he will only Live inside of it and compound his surplus. If these boys will only keep cleanly hearts, and genial souls, and broad, hearty impulses, they will not only be rich, but useful men.?[Atlanta Constitution. A Touching Story.?Congressman Blackburn," of Kentucky, is quoted as telling this story : "Four days before I went to the front with my regiment we had a little girl baby. She is now grown, and you always see her with me at my social gatherings. Well, in our army, the fur loughs came very rarely. When we got into line there was no great chance for a man to get home. It was about three years afterward that a few of us were one night going down the Mississippi on a river steamer. I had been sick and was returning to my comand, but pretty well broken up even then. As for money, we did not have any. The night was hot, and I lay down on deck, my throat almost parched with thirst. Pretty soon a little girl came along with a big glass of lemonade. I tell you it looked good to me. She saw me eyeing.it, stopped a minute, looked doubtfully at me and finally came to my side. 'You look as if you wanted something to drink,' she said and offered me the glass. It wasn't quite the square thing to do, but I took it and handed it back Ti * -nv to her empty, it was jikb ueuuu iu me. Then I thanked the little creature and sent her away. Soon after, just like every child, she came back, leading her mother to see the poor soldier. It was my wife, and the little girl was the baby whom I had last seen just born. You can imagine the reunion. They were with my brother's family, and happened to be going down the river. That was the only time during the four years fighting that I saw my wife and baby ; and, under these circumstances, what mau would ever forget it?" 560- When God has a great work for any one to do in the world, he usually gives him a peculiar training for it; and that training is just what no earthly friend would choose for him ; and sometimes it is so long continued that there seems to be but little time left for work. a?1" The only people who make no mistakes are dead people. I saw a man last week who had not made a mistake for four thousand years. He was in the Egyptian department of the British museum. Jrlcrted ? oettg. GIRLS' W RONGS. JiY LUCY B. OBKOU. I read not long ago about The rights and wrongs of boys And how they never have a chance To make enough of noise. If those same boys were in my place On music-lesson day, And had to make a noise by rule, I wonder what they'd say. I've very little fault to find With common jolly boys; Their games are really ex tra fine, And I admire their noise. But they are very ignorant If they don't understand That girls have wrongs as well as boys, And snubs on evory hand. I do not mean sweet little girls, Just higenough to pet, But awkward, romping girls like me, Not quite young ladies yet. I tried to run about with boys A little once or twice; Butsoon I found my brothers thought That was not very nice. They said they'd like my company If 'twasn't for the looks; But girls were made to play with dolls And look at picture books. Now that was sucha dreadful snub, I took a lengthy pout, And acted like a naughty girl I've not the slightest doubt. Whene'er I try to do my best, I show mv greenness worse; And Aunt Jerusha Ann's remarks Are more acute and terse. So when accomplished people call With all their polished airs, I beat a shy but sure retreat Upon the garret stairs. I've always heard that going down Afforded poor relief; And so I try by going up To soar above my grief. There I can hear the boys without, Piping their merry songs; Oh ! how I long to be with them, With them forget my wrongs. pisaUanrous Reading. THE FARMERS IN COUNCIL. Add res a of W. P. Elder, President of York Countg Partner's Alliance, at a Meeting of the Alliance, in Yorkville, October S, 1888. Gentlemen and Brethren: lam no public speaker. Never having felt myself gifted with oratorical powers, I havealwaysrefrained from appearing in public as a speaker; hence you need not expect me to entertain you with flowing periods and flowery dashes, but I will simply try to give joua short talk on the Farmers' Alliance. When I heard the objects, aims and purposes of the order explained by Capt. J. D. Smith, who was sent out by the National Alliance as au organizer for the Fifth Congressional district of South Carolina, I perceived that the workings and operations of the Alliance were similar to those of the Grange, an organization which I considered one of t le best and the most suited for the farmers that we have ever had, and which, through bad management and lack of zeal on the part of its members, has almostdwindled into insignificance?a result which has been and ever will be the case with any society or organization if the members fail to bestir themselves and instill life and interest into its operations. And now, brethren, I know whereof I speak. I wasa member of the Grange for four or five vears and became | well acquainted with its workings; and having seen and reaped many benefits from it, and feeling, as I presume many of you did, that the times and existing circumstauces demanded that we farmers, as a class, needed to do something to raise us from the slough of depression and oppression into which we had sunk, I was ready to unite with my fellowfarmers and organize an Alliance. What is the Alliance? It is an organization for the improvement and protection of the farmer; and it is patent to the most casual observer that we need improvement in every respect. Why, attend one of our county conventions, or any assembly, and you will see the whole affair manipulated by a mere handful, and they mostly lawyers and merchants, who are ever on the alert for their own interests, and are well tickled at how easily they have made dupes of us. How many of our farmers are competent to become members of the Legislature? You all know that they are like hens' teeth?few and far between. Now, why is this? It is not for a lack of common sense, but for a want of proper training and culture of the mind. We exercise the muscles, but we allow the mind togrowdull and torpid. Hence, I urge the necessity of our reading more, and to ponder, think over and discuss what we do read, and in this way post ourselves concerning the affairs of State'and other things peculiar to our interests. It was well enough as it was before the war, to leave the management of the government, <fcc., to professional politicians; for then the farmer owned both land and labor and was generally in wellto-do circumstances; but if heshould get into a tight place, he could sell a negro or two or borrow money from his neighbor at 7 percent, and relieve himselfof the pressure. But things were changed after the war. The farmer had nothing left him but his land, and perhaps it was encumbered with debt. The customs and habits of the people were also changed. We would raise cotA ? ? nrki/tK ot*a_ IOI1 mill uuy uui bujh.iiic.-7, niui.ii ojrotem then was almost a necessity, from the fact that it was almost an impossibility to keep a hog or a cow. Hence we drifted into the habit of buying, and, eventually, buying on credit. The merchant, seeing his chance, adopted two plans of trade, cash and credit, which last has been the ruin of most of us farmers. It has become quite common for the farmer to buy almost entirely on credit, and if his crop will bring enough to pay him out, he is satisfied and will arrange to run on the next year on a larger scale, taking no thought as to what per cent, over the cash price he is paying the merchant for the advances furnished, thus making himself a worse slave than was the negro before the war, and ruining himself morally and financially; for it is human nature for a a man, if he works hard from year to year and comes o\it behind, to become careless and reck leas, and eventually become an outcast of society. But enough of this. How will the Alliance improve? Its aims are high and its purposes noble. Search the world over and you will find no better code of morals than those inculcated in the Alliance. If an individual will only put them into practice, in my opinion, he will be enabled to place himself as near perfection as it is possible for man to attain. 4 : r. m A lit? LtrttUIU Uga Ul tuu ^xuiaiitc aic pure and sincere. Their foundation is truth, and if we will only study and apply them in our daily walk and avocations, we will find ourselves gradually improving, morally, mentally and socially, and be better fitted to improve our financial condition. The leading feature of the Alliance is philanthropic, and until this feeling pervades the minds and hearts of each and everyone of us, and drives, out that wicked notion of self first, which has been growing and increasing in us for a number of years, and almost depriving us of working together for ourgeneral good, our aims and objects will be futile. But how is this evil, this growing evil, to be eradicated and this better condition effected ? I answer, by every one of us takingan interest in our meetings, each feeling that it is his duty to attend and show by his acts, if not by his words, that he is willing to do his part in striving to carry out the teachings of our order. The aims and purposes for which our organization was established cannot be accomplished in a day, a monm or a year, it win taae ume; so we must not weary in well doing, but press on with vigor, hoping and trusting that God, the author and giver of all good, will eventually crown our efforts with success. Hence I urge the necessity of punctuality in the attendance of our meetings, which will tend to advance the social feature of the order, and that you take part in the deliberations and debates, and thus improve your minds. Be honest and upright in all your dealings with your fellowmen. Adopt the golden,'TtII^J**ft>' unto others as you would have them do to you." Thus the brotherhood, which our order requires, will be established, and all prejudice and selfish motives and desires will be dissolved in the sunlight of brotherly love. Let me again admonish you that no great innovation or change is ever accomplished in a day, a month or a year, and that we, a class, who for the past twenty years have borne all ii. _ i i i nil . j _ii x i i me Duroens ana nnea an me places and positions as menials, cannot, nor ought not, to grow weary in seeking relief. Under various forms of organization, and at divers times, the tillersof the soil have endeavored to extricate themselves from their depressed condition, but never before has there been such a united, determined, increasing effort as is now being made throughout the South and West. Those who in times past ridiculed our attempts and antagonized our efforts, are now ready to give encouragement and offer a helping hand. The declaration of purposes, as set forth by our order, are so laudable and conservative that none have the audacity to openly oppose us, and only by subterfuges and dodges are we meeting any opposition. This we may expect, for it is as hard for some to release their hold upon us as it was for the old master to give up his slave. I have heard many of our farmers cursing, bemeaningand blaming the merchant, the lawyer and other professional men as being the cause of our depressed condition. This is all wrongand contrary to the declaration of purposes as set forth by our order. They are only following their legi timate avocations, the same as we are doing, and as the success of their business is dependent on ours, I am magnanimous enough in my views and opinions to think that the majority of them would rather see us on the high road to wealth and prosperity and occupy the positions that properly belong to us, than to lend a helping hand to drag us down into the lowest depths of degradation to rise no more. We ourselves are solely to blame for our pitiful condition, and if through the want of organization, unanimity of sentiment and concert of action, we let the few, compared with our numbers, become masters of the situation, we deserve a worse affliction than we have ever suffered or endured., Now, brethren, I think we are on the right track. Let us never grow weary or tired in our cause, but remain true to our obligations, to each other, and to the principles as set fnri-h in nnr Honiaratinn nf nnrnnaoa and my opinion is that success wili crown our efforts. HOW TO ACT IN EMERGENCIES. If an individual is endowed with common sense and can exercise self control when it is necessary, a slight knowledge of physiology will enable him to act in an emergency. A boy is brought home with a severe cut on the arm. The blood > spurts out of the wound, showing plainly that an artery has been sev r~ -i.. ~ C /* >v% /\rv> K/\M zvf ereu. 11 is luriuuniB n a. iucujuci ui the family can come forward and bind two pieces of cloth tightly around the limb directly above and below the wound, the blood will cease to flow, and even if there should be unavoidable delay in the arrival of a doctor, he will be able to save a life that would certainly have been sacrificed if the prompt treatment mentioned had not been resorted to. A whole family were thrown into a state of excitement by the youngest child rushing into the house and declaring that a hie snake had "bited" him. The mother swooned, the father paced the floor frantically, while the rest of the family embracd the child and cried over him until, between the wound and the excitement, the little fellow came near being thrown, into convulsions. A sensible neighbor, hearing the excitement, came into the room, and taking the child into her arms, murmured words of encouragement, then turning to a member of the family she asked for carbonate of soda. Moisteninga small portion of the soda with water, she applied it to the wound ; when the soda became dry she moistened it again; and at the expiration of an hour was overjoyed to see upon the white surface of the application unmistakable evidence of snake virus. Itusty nails make ugly wounds, which, if not attended to at once, may cause great suffering, perhaps death. Smoke the wound with wool or woolen cloth ; fifteen minutes in the smoke will remove the worst ease of inflammation.?[Good Housekeeping. Women Who Never Rest.? Many women never rest. They seem not to understand wnai rest? real rest?means. To throw one's self down with a newspaper or a book is not rest; it is only a change of occupation. To sit down and keep the fingers flying over some sort of fancy work, as if one was pursued by a demon of unrest, is certainly not rest. But to lie at full length upon a hard surface, arms extended at the sides, head back, with no pillow, eyes closed, all cares and worries dismissed?this is rest; this will smooth away wrinkles in face and in temper; this will give an air of repose to the tired, anxious, nervous woman; this will take away many an ache and straighten out rounded shoulders and crained necks. Father of His Country Only. Most of the Washingtons now living are descended from George Washington's brother Samuel. George found himself fully occupied in being father of his country and left it to Samuel, who was married five times, to father the family. .1