Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1873-07-03

| erOsit will make him
| fling broadcast with
out re of the recipient.
| His h now, when Miss
| Martels whisper has the effect of keeping
| it there
81 wouldn't, if were you He looks
| like perfect wretch"
There are times when it is well to call a
spade spade, as everybody knows; and
again there are times when such candor is
far from discreet. Whether the man
hears Miss Martels precise words or
does not hear them, cannot be stated.
Anyhow the disguised look that her face
wears quickly finds answer in his own
irate scowl.
can so yell keep an honest man from
gettin' few pennies, will We, my fine
misss" he growls hoarsely. "More's the
shame on yer name spirit"
Dalgrish has drawn his brows together
savagely, long before the last insolent
word is spoken.
Look here, my man." he breaks out,
with sharp force of tone, "I'll thank you
to be off and have no more to say"
The man half turns, his unwashed, I'M
slightly face one glover of sullenness.
Then he pauses and faces Dalgrish again;
he has remembered, perhaps, that they
are on no public road, but out of view and
hearing of anything more professional
than those few cows in the near meadow.
And it would seem as if the recollection
has emboldened him accordingly; for,
moment later he had given vent to such a
burst of oalhful personality as makes Miss
Martel raise both hands to her ears with
short, shocked cry.
Her companions grasp tightens about
the slim little walking stick he is carry
ing. you internal scoundrel!' he shouts
furiously, "if you're not off this instant
I'll give you the sort Of thrashing that you'll
not forget for weeks"
The object of this Indignation replies
with a husky, guffawing laugh, drops his
red bundle, and settles hand on each
hip.
Thrash me, will yer, young CENT?
S'pose yer try"
Dalgrish feels his blood on fire now.
He does try, but with i'll success at first.
In making belllcosc dive at the mans
coatcollar he receives a staggering blow
beneath one of his eyes. The blow is
magnificently returned in seconds time;
for Dalgrish, like many another American
youth, was proficient in most athletic
| gan. After this the two opponents came
| TO very close quarters; they grapplc, and
| for little while it looks an even chance
which will first throw the other. Bulk at
| length triumphs over agility and practised
sinew; they fall, Dalgrish beneath. But
| Just as the ruffian's "vast and filthy hand"
has reached his assailant's throat, an i'm
| mensity of reserved force on the part Of
Dalgrish sends him rolling over on his
| back, piniOns him powerfully between
wrist and forearm, and so turns the tables
with mingled entirety and permanence
"You needn't struggle, you devil'
| presently roars Dalgrish. It's of no use.
| I've a good mind to choke the life out OF
you before / get up. However, I'll give
you one other chance Of being off.
| don't think you'll show much more fight,
| now that you've found out who is the bet
ter of us two"
With this he springs nimbly to his feet,
his eye fixed, keenly watchful, on the fallen
| man. 1t was correct prophecy. There
| is no more fight shown-nothing further,
indeed than the slow erection OF that
gaunt body, the picking up of red
bundle, and the skulking descent down
an adjacent hill-slope.
When fifty good yards lie between him
self and his late antagonist, Dalgrlsh turns
| to look for Miss Martel. He seee mass
Of whitish drapery glimmering close by
at the foot Of little rocky eminence. 1t
will not require severe penetration On the
readers part to infer that this whitish
drapery is in some manner connected with
the object Of his search. He believes at
first that she has tainted, but on drawing
near he makes the discovery that she has
merely resolved herself into the most
| crouching attitude conceivable by wo-
man, and has buried her dropped head in
both hands.
Dalgrish makes rapid work of placing
himself In position very similar to her
own. miss Martel," he murmurs, excit-
edly, GILLIAN" Then he stops short,
and colors little at his own boldness,
while she shows him an ashen-pale and
tear-stained face.
The next moment she has caught both
his hands in both hers.
"Oh, you dear, splendid, brave man
Don't think that I've been doing this all
the time; only got down here and began
making fool Of myself when ! was sure
it was over and you were not much hurt.
Are you much hurt?" she rattles on with
| the incest kind of feminine logic, sob
now and then breaking her pell-mell SEN
fences. at was all my fault. If l hadn't
said what did say, that wretch would
never have behaved SO horribly"
Don't let us talk about the wretch"
Dalgrish answers. His palms are tingling
where her warm hands press against
them. The tears she has shed because
of his danger made her, in her sympathetic
woman's weakness, diyinely beautiful to
him.
"Have you forgiven me?" she questions
TREMENDOUSLY.
"Pshawl what is there to forgive? l
didn't think honestly didntD that you
cared enough about me toto"
"Well?"
ITO mind much what became Of me-"
he finishes, with lips close against her
ear, as though unwilling that even the
silence and solitude shall hear him.
. Al II