Lancaster daily intelligencer. [volume] (Lancaster, Pa.) 1864-1928, 1889-08-03
MYSYERY OF DEHDMANS
a ROMANTIC STORY OF THE FAR
WEST.
BY the Author Of Love Lie. !" "winning Her In
heritance," Etc.

The next morning Mr.. John Smith
made an earnest attempt to induce Mr..
Snaresbrook to leave the place. He
walked into Deadman's Flat soon after
daybreak, experience having taught him
that that early hour was, In general
way, the only one that saw Mr.. Shares
brooks intellect at all equal to grasping
any situation with q necessary amount
OF clsarness. The attempt, however. was
astill more disastrous failure. Mr.. Snares-
brook had received his arguments, en-
treaties and reproaches with dogged
sullen silence, only relieved by an oc-
casional angry CLEAN In his eyes, as II he
resented the young mans interference in
his affairs, but the daughter received his
entreaties in manner that sent him from
her dumb with dismay.
He did not see her till MONDAY, for
she had been keeping out of his way.
He met her at last on the outskirts Of
the town. just as she was returning from
long walk. thinking by this time that
he would have gone back to his claim at
Red Mactarvish. She had gathered
spray Of azalea somewhere in her wan
derings, and as she came down the road
holding il in one hand she was absently
pulling to pieces the delicate pink bios
SONS with the other.
Athis unexpected appearance the warm
blood rushed to her pale face, and she
stood looking at him over that rosy cloud
of blossoms, her breath coming fast, her
bosom rising and falling with the rapid
beating of her heart.
Her evident mental distress put an end
to his self control and he blurted out the
reason of his seeking her, without any
regard for eloquence or dignity of
speech. He was only conscious Of a
wild, passionate desire to get her out of
that place.
She looked at him first compassion
ately; but, as he went on with his
earnest. if rather incoherent advice, her
compassion slowly gave place to astonish-
ment Then suddenly that silent as
tonishment was turned to such passion
of anger. contempt and loathing-such a
scathing, pitiless storm of words, that he
stood aghast.
''Go awayl' she exclaimed, stretching
out her slender quivering hand towards
the red, dusty road. Never speak to
me again! Whatever I thought you'll
did not imagine you were base, con-
temptible cowardl Go away, and never
let me see your face again.
He turned away without another word
and walked obediently down the road
pointed out for him by that trembling
hand. He had no idea where it led to-
except that it was out Of her sight. As
he turned away, he saw her sink down,
all her strength exhausted i'm that out
burst of passion, the beautiful little brown
head bowed over the pink blossoms. He
caught family the sound of choked
sob, but he did not turn back to help her
She had told him to go, and he was going.
CHAPTER VIII.
That evening. as John Smith sat smok-
ing on the trunk Of tree before the door
of his cabin, Jack Newenham arrived in
the camp of Red Mactarvish. He made
straight for the isolated cabin of John
Smith, guided thereto by some of the
miners, most of whom were knocking
off work. This proud man of stainless
honor felt ashamed of himself. Tho first
glimpse he caught of that lonely motion
less figure reminded him forcibly that
he had come to Red Mactarvish not to
see the camp, but to beg the pardon Of
the man he had SO wronged the night
before.
John Smith sat there, smoking hard,
and staring at a landscape he did not
even see, so blinded were his eyes by
that vision of beautiful, scornful face,
looking at him over those pink azaleas.
He did not hear Jack Newenham's ap-
proach till the latter touched him on the
shoulder Then he turned with start,
flushing a dull, deep red, and rising 81
lently to his feet as he saw who his yis-
itor was.
going to the point at once, like the stur-
dy downright Englishman he was. 'Td
like to shake hands with you, if you've
no objection"
The dull flush faded slowly from John
Smiths face, as he stood looking away
towards the distant sierras that stood
out clearly against the red evening sky.
mot even the touch of your clean
hand can make mo an honest man
again." he said.
"No," said Newenham simply; "but
the present and future can; and the past
is gone by"-and he held out his hand.
John Smith took it. The action looked
only like an ordinary greeting, but that
silent hand clasp between the two men
was the seal of friendship which never
faltered so long as life lasted.
Jack Newenham stayed some time
with Smith, the latter doing the honors
ST the camp. He was invited by several
then to spend the night there. but he had
his own reasons for getting back to Dead.
mans Flat The affair of the murder
was growing very serious; indeed it grew
more serious every moment he spent in
John Smiths company, for, If this John
Smith were the man he imagined him to
be, then that letter was terrible weapon
in the hands of those judges in Dead
mans Flat. Not that he for one moment
believed in the young mans guilt, for, II
Redfern Churchill and John Smith were
one and the same man, he was certain
that he could not have done SO base and
cowardly thing as to shoot down in
cold blood his most deadly enemy
Others, however, might not see matters
in the same light; and there was always
that ugly piece of evidence in the shape
of a letter against him.
They had been walking for some time
in silence, John Smith accompanying
him little way on the road back to
Deadman's Flat. when suddenly Newen-
ham stopped, unable to keep silence any
longer under the pressure Of his ankle
ties and fears. He glanced about him
and saw that the road was lonely and
silent
Are you Redfern Churchill!" he
asked, lowering his voice.