Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-04-11


 1.-The Denver police have sent me a photograph of Captain Gordon. Good looking rascal" handing over the card. ''We can't miss with that"
 Bronson scrutinized the likeness care fully
 ''It's marked face. That scar across the forehead is peculiar and not easily hidden"
 Want to see it, Helen? If in your walks abroad you meet Captain Gordon, you'll know him."
 She glanced at it and turned a livid face toward him.
 ''Harry, it's Payne-Payne Morse" (. "What the dickens am to do? Poor Helen, she's made trouble for some body her whole life through. I'm head and front of it all, and I can't go ahead with the thing now, for her salze-and you're no better off. I'll go down to- night, put the thing into Mason's hands, and clear the country till it's over with. We'll have to start for Denver to- morrow without an hours delay, and Helen will have to stay here alone. I'll get Mason's wife to come over, if she will have her. It's the best way see out of bad bargain
 That was Harry Tryon's way settling every thing off-hand, but the plan was carried out, and Helen found herself solitary. Mason's wife came over, but was quickly recalled by the needs of sick badly. Happily Helen had steady nerves and controllable imagination. Of real danger there was very little, and she was glad to be alone.
 Of what was going on about her she knew nothing. She had never taken much interest in the happenings of the country, and gave no thought to the subject that had been Harry's great in- terest for so long. Sam Lees work be. ing done, he had sauntered off to the cabins down in the timber. Helen was swinging in her hammock as usual, dreaming dreams and seeing visions in 1 such dreary fashion as her past gave reason for. Still, with all the sadness, there was dreamy quiet that was not wholly pain, and with the silence and the starlight, and the slow, monotonous rocking of her swinging cradle, she fell asleep.
 "HelenI'
 "Yes," she said drowsily, and fell | asleep again.
 "Helen!'-the word was spoken lit tie louder; a hand touched her; she sprung up broad awake now. Payne Morse stood before her. He was bareheaded, without his coat, blood-stained sling held his right arm, torn handkerchief was knotted round his head; he was haggard and ghastly. She knew it all at once-it was two l hours since she had heard shots in the timber, and had lain idly speculating about echoes and the distance the sound 1 had come.
 ''They are after me. Can you help me?" he said, in hoarse gasp.
 "What can do?''-but 1t was not a 1 question of helplessness; she was think ing hard.
 "They will come here," he said.
 "Yes, suppose so-yes, will do my best" slowly.
 'I've been hung and shot," with a most unmirthful laugh. 1.-The rope broke and the fool that fired didn't break any thing. I ought to get off after that.''
 She answered him not a word, but, after a moments thought: ''You can come in here," opening the door of her room. One end had been partitioned off as a closet and store-room. She dragged down a mattress and blankets
 'I will do my best," she said again, slowly. She did not look at him; she spoke as if her lips were stiffened
 ''You're plucky little soul," lightly. The mans daredevil recl1lessness was uppermost again. "You know who you are entertaining?-not an angel un- awares; I'm Captain Gordon"
 "Yes, know.''
 "All right, then. Mind one thing; they are not likely to use you-a woman roughly. If it comes to that I shall appear on the scene"
 "I'm not afraid. Don't talk any more, please" in tired sort of way.
 Then she lighted her room and began dressing leisurely. The occupation had its object; sitting still was impossible while she waited.
 But when sharp rap sounded per emptorily through the house, she started with every nerve. Her voice was steady enough, however, as she went to the curtained window.
 "Who is it?"
 "Morgan, from over Point.''
 ''Captain Morgan. Yes, know. Ii you will find your way in I will join you presently"
 She heard the tramp of feet making their way uncertainty into the lighted room. She did not hasten, every soft fold of lace about her throat was set tied carefully to its place, and she went back to adjust a slipping braid of hail as if the most critical and fastidious o1 morning callers awaited her. Some thing of the dramatic instinct must have been born in her. She stood in the doorway presently, holding the lamr far above her head that she might sec her visitors, a graceful. white-clat shape, with shining eyes and flushed checks. The men rose involuntarily.
 ''I am Mrs. Morse," she said, quietly ''My brother, MT. Tyron, is not a home."