The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1876-03-01

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Suddenly he stopped, with an abrupt
ness which nearly threw the rider, who,
reaching, touched what seemed to be
the trunk of a tree. Extending his hand
higher, he grasped what was certainly
the limb of tree, and then all doubt
disappeared.
he was at the Lone Tree, only five
miles from home and safety. Here, In
deed, was hope, but not unalloyed. Two
elements entered to vitiate it. One, the
horse, seemed to be failing the other,
the tree, was one hundred yards from
the highway, a variation which showed
that the faithful animal had 30 far erred,
and limited why not further variation
in proportion as he lost strength and
confidence.
lhe only solution was to move on.
It might be ct the bidding OF chance
still motion was absolutely essential to
prevent the blood from oongealing to
the very heart. The rider found it
was necessary to make the horse feel the
rein, to endeavor to impart confidence
to him and to urge him forward.
A long time elapsed-it seemed to
Dalton many hours-but his only meas
ure of time was his bodily and mental
suffering. He endeavored to penetrate
the darkness, straining his eyes to a
painful tension, in the hope of seeing
some friendly light or hearing some
human sound-something to tell him he
was not all alone.
Fate was mocking him. The horse
stood trembling with exhaustion, and
could not 90 another step. He tottered
and almost fell on his rider, who, rising
and staggering about in the deep snow,
struck heavily against an upright OBJ
ject.
Could it be the signboard post which
stood on the little knoll just east of his
home2
Oh, no! Horror more chilling than
the wind and snow! It was the Lone
Treel All those terrible hours he had
been moving in circle!
All this brave struggle had been for
nothing. Here was a crisis. One min
ute of indecision, and the paralyzing
cold would conquer; but early training
and noble nature decided. Faithful
to the last, Dalton quickly took the
mail. bag from the saddle, nerved him
self for a final effort, and then went
foundering in the snow to reach-wher-
ever his destiny would lead him.
Time wore on. Strength and will were
ebbing fast. In desperation the unfor-
tunate man endea1ored to cry out for
help, but his indistinct utterances were
forced back by the kissing, merciless
wind. He was fast losing his mind. His
steps were numbered. A lightness came
over him.
Was it cruel mirage that trifed with
him9 Over the drift, through the night,
shone the bright, cheerful light of a
fire, inviting him to comfort and home.
Too late! He uttered faint cry, then
fell in the soft, yielding, deceptive
snow.
The storm was the victor.
Jane Dalton was cherry, chubby,
little woman. Of education she could
not boast books and figures were to
her unknown quantities. Her world was
limited to the little town in which she
lived, the capital being bounded by the
white fence of her little cottage. But,
withal she was of humble nature, she
knew how to love and fulfilled every
duty as John Dalton's wife. Thrifty
and tidy. she managed we'll the scanty
means at her command, and kept the
tins and children's faces shining. A
happy wife and mother.
At six o'clock of the day in question
everything was in readiness for her good
mans return. The children in bed
asleep, the easy shoes and warm coat
near the blazing fire on the hearth, and
supper prepared. 1t was time for his
arrival, and he was usually very prompt.
Yet be tarried.
The change in the weather had not
taken place unnoticed, but had produced
in her kind of indefinite uneasiness, a
slight restlessness, and yet it had no
particular importancein connection with
the absence of her husband until the
clock on the mantel struck seven. Then
the wind whistling around the house
corners, rattling the doors and shutters,
and the snow beating so persistently
against the window panes, acquired a
painful significance. Her. husband was
oat in the storm, and might at that mo-
ment be perishing with cold on tn"
prairie.
This dreadful thought transformed
her whole being; the genial expression
of her face changed into terrified look.
She went to the window and drew wide
the curtain that the bright freight
might shine out as q haven to guide him
who was the light of her humble life.
She paced to and fro, under rapidly
increasing excitement. The weird
sounds mad, by the storm messengers
us they whirled by in the fulfllment of
their mission made her start and trem-
BILE.
1t had grown late, it was half-past
eight, and yet no tidings. She fell back
into chair and burst into tears; but
this weakness was temporary only. She
looked resolutely down into the fire and
made her plan. 1t was n desperate one,
but love is more desperate than hate. If
John Dalton did not come by nine
o'clock she would start out and find
him.
She took from the closet pair of
overshoes and q cloak for herself, q
blanket and flask of brandy for him
she was going to seek. Her simple
preparations completed, she stood wait
ing.
1t lacked quarter of nine. There was
a noise at the door, like knocks repeated
by one who desired entrance. To Jane
Dalton's overwrought senses it was the
sound of hand on the door knob. She
rushed to the door to admit her hus-
band; she opened it to admit the howl
ing blast which almost dashed her to the
floor. Sadly disappointed, but still
courageous, she returned to the place
before the clock.
In five minutes more the time would
be up. Her cloak and hood we're on,
and STE was ready for whatever God had
in store for her. She watched the clock
like one who waits for some supreme
moment in life. The wind seemed to be
roughly calling her. Then it lulled O
few seconds and she heard a cry-a
moan-which seemed to freeze her
blood.
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