Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1884-07-03
CHAPTER XII.

Father Dane, | am here,' Storm
said.
Yes, child; come closer to me, for |
am tired and sick and my voice is weak.
Come and let me lay my face against
your sunny hair, for feel the need of
one friend as the terrible end draws
near And Jim's voice was low and
tremulOus.
1t was now quite dark. Storm looked
upon the man whom she had been ac-
customed to fear and obey. She saw
his arms bound to his sides and his
limbs fettered to heavy wagon wheel.
She saw the strong man humbled, as q
whipped child; agony upon his brow
misery in his heart, and her gentle soul
was touched at the sight.
Fanny, my child,'' he continued, 81
love you-as God is my witness, l love
you. / hankered to tell you some
things that you should know, and that's
the reason sent for you tonight. for
tomorrow morning that rope up there
will stop all further talk from me-"
Jim paused and pointed toward the
moose that swung.to and fro through the
darkness, and Storm shuddered. Then
he continued:
"My mind goes back to a distinct
night in the long ago. 1t was seven
teen-yes, eighteen years ago. Several
Indians came to my cabin, and wrapt
in blanket, or deer skin, they brung
little baby which the same was Yourself.
They wanted me to 60 out and help kill
that cunning little baby-they did upon
my word; they wanted to start a cold,
clammv grave yard upon my premises.
How lonesome you'd bin in that sew
enty-mile prairie boneyard all alone,
Fanny. 1t makes me sick now to think
on it. But did Jim 60 back on the lit
tic white girl? No. He fought them
single-handed; he risked his own life,
and had his barn and horse burned, to
save you. Fanny, loved you them
love you now Never mind my tears,
child, for could have died like man
this morning, but all day long those
old DAYS have galloped around the back
yard of nv head and they have turned
over sile that thought would never be
broke, till it's come to that pint where
Jim hates to turn his toes to the grass
roots. Fanny, the man who saved you
and raised YOU is in a buffalo waller
that he can't git out of-the muck's too
deep. Will you save me, Fanny? d. I.
Nobody slept in this camp last night, so
they will have to sleep tonight. After
my guards snooze off, you can crawl
over them and cut my ropes; you can
have my horse outside in the dark, and
Jim Dane Will be heard of no more on
earth. Will you do it, Fannv?"
Jim's eyes peered through the dark
ness into Storm face with an intensity
that is indescribable while he waited
her answer. She was very much agi-
tated while considering the question,
but grew quite calm when at last her
mind was fixed to decision.
Father Dane, 1 can't do it. | hate
to refuse, because | would really like to
see YOU free and safe. | believe
YOU saved my life and am grateful for
it; but you should remember that | had
no word in the matter of your rescuing
me; that / had committed no dark
crime whose remuneration is death
that YOU perpetrated no wrong in TAX
ing a stolen child The living you saw
fit to bestow upon me in years passed
has been counterbalanced by hard work
on my part, so that really owe you
nothing on that score. Why did you
kill the best friend | ever possessed
What possible excuse can you give fol
doing that? Father Dane, | can't save
you
Jim did not break into a passion al
/ this refusal, as Storm expected him Il
do. He stood perfectly quiet for a long
time; his breath came heavy and hi
body heaved like troubled deep. Tn,
mighty pressure on his mind was tear
ing something loose from its ivory walls
was preparing to debar tenant long il
possession: was about to unwind tn
last LAYER of thread on the chance-spoo
of life. When he at last spoke, hi
voice was very low and earnest. but hi
words were as distinct as llghtnin,
flashes.
.Fanny Dane, there are few NOR
things must tell you before / die. TIL
night my bay mare Jessie was burne