Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1892-11-16
THE TRAITORS DOOM.

The SKY was clear ana serene. NOt
a cloud hecked its broad expanse
except away to the westward where
II few heecy ones hoated lazily,
now unfolding, now contracting
like banners stirred by a gentle
breeze.
The afternoon was fast wasting
away. In an hours time the sun
would hide it's face behind the
western hills. At most times the
scene where our story opens, was
an unattractive spot. A broad ex-
panse of heath stretched out on
either side. 1t was not a flat plain
us heaths sometimes are. There
were slight hills and deep depres-
sions in it, and now and then a
running stream amid the dark and
stagnant pools which lay hidden
amid the brakes and bushes.
Blackwater Heath the place was
called, and the name had not been
misapplied. Under the bright sum
shine, the place did not look at this
time, as dismal as usual. The sky
rejecting upon it, lent to it por-
ton Of its own beauty. 1t was
when the sky was leaden, and the
tempest was gathering, that its
great desolation was made manifest.
Over this wild waste, II horse and
rider were daShing at II breakneck
speed.
The rider was girl, young and
fair, with face as pale as the win
ter's snow. Still it was not through
fear for her own immediate safety
that made her pale. Wild as was
the career of the horse, and rough
as was the way over which it was
springing, she sat firmly in her
seat us though she was conscious
that she was master of the situa-
ton.
Rocks and water-courses were
nothing to the steed. 1t sprang
over them almost as easily as though
possessed Of wings.
Wild as was It's flight, it seemed
that it did not go fast enough for
its intrepid rider. Now and then
when it showed signs of Stacking
off. she would give it IL touch with
the slender riding-whip she carried.
1t was evident that she was in wild
haste to reach some point as soon
possible. From her haste it would
seem that her crrand was one upon
which life or death depended.
On, on she went; never pausing,
never stopping, never turning from
the course she was pursuing.
There was no road, no path, no
visible sign to guide her along the
way she was going. 1t seemed
that she must be guided by some
instinct, or else that she was rush
ing madly and heedlessly on, not
knowing or caring whittier she was
going. Still this could hardly be
so, for her eyes were fixed away i'll the
distance as though upon some one
point which she was endeavorIng to
reach with all haste possible.
Now and then these words fell
from her lips:
"Shall ] be too late, too late?"
There was no one to make an
swer to this. The horse plunged
onward, as though he was endeav-
oring to do his best to carry out
the wishes of his rider.
Let us no longer keep the reader
in suspense, but make known to
them at once the errand of her who
is dashing along i'll such headlong
haste over Blackwater Heath.
Her name is Grace Willoughby.
From the great house on Sunrise
Hill she has come, dashing along at
the same breakneck rate of speed.
The errand on which she was 60
ing. was one which admitted of no
delay.
Two men, two friends as she had
called them were in terrible dan
ger. One was wounded unto death,
and the other was under arrest for
having done the deed.
But she had been the cause. -
Both of them had been suitors for
her hand, for upward of a year past.
Only one she had favored. The
other could not say that she had
ever given him cause to think that
she cared for him in the light she
would lover.
Duke Haskell had annoyed her
with his attentions, when it seemed