The Dalles daily chronicle. [volume] (The Dalles, Or.) 1890-1948, 1891-04-15


were met by the farmers wife, her
sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
'tAhi John Martin and Davel Back
from the fair? Come in
Eyes, Mary, on the way home. Where
is Andrew? David here had a turn on
the road coming along below, and we
want Andrew to mix him something.
The sun was too strong for him, think"
Eyes, yes. Andrewi Andrewr She
raised her voice and called into the
house over her shoulder. s.Come in,
both of you. He is somewhere about.
1t is cool in the house at the shady side,
and Dave can lie down there"
David cast one brief glance backward
as he followed the others into the house.
In the road just beyond the gate, and
looking over it, stood the one that fol-
lowed.
Old Andrew was held in high esteem
among the mountain people as half doc
tor, half wizard, with his knowledge of
the use of roots and herbs. He brewed
muddy, pungent tea which David
drank, and Mary, the wife, placed extra
plates at the table and insisted ON the
travellers taking supper.
''Let David rest," she said, ''and if he
is better after supper you can go home
in the evening by the short cut. There
will be moon; or he may stay the night
if not strong enough to go home
So it was arranged. Old Andrew and
John talked together of the simple, worn
subjects of their rude ives-the poverty
of the soil, the long season without rain,
the many hardships that befall the
farmer.
The wife piled David with questions
about the town. "Was there a big crowd
at the fair? And the weather-was it
fine every day? Did you see the COWS
from the Duncan farm" and SO on. Da-
vid answered absently, thinking of the
waiting stranger outside the gate.
When the twilight fell the young man
felt able to go on, and was anxious to
reach his family, SO the two men set out
along the path through the rocky fields.
AS they reached the base of 1.-The Rocks
and began the steep ascent the moon
rose.
John led the way, stepping cautiously,
calling back to the other to avoid the un-
certain footholds.
But David, climbing after, thought of
nothing but the somber shape that had
waited outside and had followed close
across the fields after them, and which
ne felt climbed up and up behind him,
step for step.
There was no sound, except when at
intervals a loose stone rolled down, dis
lodged by their feet. The night was beau
tiful, the broad faco of the cliff shone in
the moonlight. Here and there along
the edge of the path, where there was
danger, rude ratings had been placed to
protect the traveller; these were silvered
by the moon. At some places rock
jutting out cast below it a dense shadow
amid the surrounding whiteness.
AS they climbed, David tried to force
himself to turn and face the man in the
black cloak, and question him, his name,
his mission, why he followed, gaining
steadily, step by step, but he lacked
courage. Once he had met that cold,
steady gaze; he could not brave it again
He watched his comrade climb above
him slowly. Slowly he climbed after,
and, glancing down, saw the edge of the
black cloak blown upward against his
legs.
He stopped and put his hands over his
eyes. WHO are your he said in low,
broken voice. "Why do you follow.
pressing nearer and nearer?"
And a voice answered at his ear, while
the folds of the cloak, blown upward,
tapped about him, "You shall know
my name when you are at the end of
your journey"
mo, nowr' whispered David hoarsely.
"Now, your namer'
Further on!'' came the voice. "When
you reach the next railing"
And they climbed on again in the
moonlight. John had gone round turn
of the path out of sight. David ad-
vanced feebly, rising laboriously from
step to step, pausing often. He could
feel the other pressing up behind him,
ever nearer.
When they reached the railing above
David stopped, with his hand upon it.
CHOW, your name"
"Do you not know?'
The moonlight fell with tender beauty
over the broad valley below, upon the
white road, upon the forest trees, upon
the small brown house at the foot of the
cliff. The black cloak foated about his
head, before his eyes, coming between
them and the fair picture. A hand fell
upon his, grasping the railing.
'sYour namel-your namer'
David's hand closed firmly on the
wooden rail, and he leaned heavily
against it for support; an arm closed
round him.
81 am SO near-so near. Do you not
known
There was a sharp sound of breaking
wood as the rotten timber parted in two,
and David fell outward, his struggling
feet scraping along the rock. AS he fell
the folds of black swept round him, the
arm embraced him more closely and they
went down together. And David knew
that the one that followed was Death
Charles Edward Kinkead in Pittsburg