Connecticut western news., 1881-05-25


 with 8 sort of fury. He rarely spoke, never smiled, and Jane could only guess at the thoughts that fixed on his rugged features the expression of 8 de- mon. He said little to her about hav- ing saved his life, but on leaving he flung into the baby's lap purse of money.
 "What's that ?" cried Dick Oscar. He snatched the child up, and the purse fell to the floor. He kicked it toward Lame Jerry. "We don't want none of the money you was bought with,'' said the stern husband of Janey Bleylock.
 Lame Jerry did not go back to his now hateful home, but lived on the mountain as simply as wild beast, hid ing from men, indifferent too all things save the set purpose of his life. It was known to but few that he had survived the moonshiners' attempt to kill him. Jane and Dick Oscar were silent peo pie, and news travelled slowly in that mountain country.
 Lame Jerry lay in wait for Discoe, and saw him continually as he lounged about his occupation-hunting, fishing, hoeing his little patch of ground, riding down the mountain to join the boys in frolic. But he never shadowed Cordy's lover as far as his cabin door. He would not see his child until
 The day came at last. Discoe was cleaning his gun in the woods, unarmed, inert, unsuspicious. Behind him, huge and misshapen, the hunchback crawled and coiled and sprang. There was little resistance-the surprise was too con- plete-and Lame Jerry's arm was nerved by hate and madness. When Discoe was dead, the murderer dragged his body to Caney Fork, and weighting it with rocks, saw it sink beneath the hiding waves. Then he went to his daughter.
 "Cordy"
 At the sound of his voice, and at sight of him, the girl fell, screaming. She fully believed her father dead, and being slow of wit, now conceived that his ghost stood in her doorway.
 "Don't you know your father, Cor dy?"
 "You are h1s spirit"
 "No, am flesh, my girl. Come to me-"
 "You were killed by Welch's boys.'
 "I was hurt, but I got we'll"
 Still, incredulity and fear were in the girls big, wandering blue eyes. eff you ain't ghost" said she, timidly, ''taste my soup on the fire.'
 "No, my girl. won't taste Discoe's soup. But, look here."
 He threw himself on the high, soft feather bed, and rising pointed to the impress of his form. She came forward her hands outstretched, like one who is blind. He seized them and gazed into her face. Yes, it was the same white, fragile Cordy, not altered by line or a trace of thought. The same wide, sim pie blue eyes; the same weak, red baby mouth; the light hair falling in smooth plait; the skin clear and colorless. But was his gaze distracted, that he fancied a change in the slim girls figure?
 "Oordy Cordy p He clasped he1 in his arms, and she wept. But before he kissed her, he wiped her face ferceIJ as though rubbing off a stain. "Anc so, my girl," he said, gently, after they had talked 8. long while, '.you didn l think you was doin' any thing wrong tt take up with Discoe-and no preacher to make it honest ?'
 She twisted her fingers nervously. ss- didn't know what to do. They said yo1 was dead. An Discoe said he'd like t. have me. An he's a nice, well-mad, man. An was so dull with fright an grief that didn't much care. But , care now. An he's goin' to marry m, pappy, when-when the baby comes." "He's black-hearted devil"
 ''No, pappy, no. You don't knoy l him s as I do. He's been powerful good to me-"
 , Lame Jerry sat long in Discoe's cabin 2 affecting not to see Cordy's restles glances down the mountain path. 3 "I'll go now," he said, "'nless vol . like t have me stop with you tonight Cordy."
 F "Better not, pappy. Discoe mightn' like it. But I'll tell him about yo1 l when he comes home, an to-morrer yo1 s come t see him.''
 s Her father came with the morrow, t find Cordy but slightly annoyed at Dis coe's non-appearance. "I reckon he D off somewhere with the boys," she said t ''I ain't no call to fret"
 Days passed; weeks dragged along |, Lame Jerry spent all his time now il
 Discoe's cabin, but Cordy rarely spok g to him. All her soul was absorbed il
 watching and waiting. Her hearin d grew to be so finely attuned that sh
 heard all strange sounds of nature tha
 hide from dull ears. But never tn ), sound for which she waited. e "Cordy," said her father one day a ''it's lonely here."
 d 'Not for me, pappy. I have to kee f. things ready for Discoe."
 ''He won't come, girl"
 Cordy smiled-that dim, vacant smil :, that Jerry was learning to dread.
 "Come with me, honey; let us g
 away"
 '1 must wait here, pappy."
 "You don't feel as if you could giv d him up, my girl, for me as loves you S
 much, much more ?" Il And Cordy answered, very simpl, 't ''How can give him up, pappy ?-he
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