Fisherman & farmer. [volume] (Edenton, N.C.) 1887-19??, 1892-09-02

night-the very night before the day the
marshal sent him the telegram concern
ing the missing bank president-Mr.
Stiles and confrere had sat in game
with a supposed ''sucker" from the
mines, who turned out to be very much
of player himself, and that Mr.. Stiles
and his friend rose from the game
"busted," and each owing the house for
several stacks of chips, and Mr.. Stiles
stood on corner, this bright afternoon,
looking very down hearted and sadly out
OF his usual spirits, when the boy came
along with his telegram.
HIM! Tall man-black whiskers-
dark completed - gray eyes I'm!
Greet I'll look after We t'morruh,
Mister d'Vfies"
He had been walking as he read, and
had reached the postoffice by this time.
In response to his inquiry, the clerk
handed him an official looking envelope.
He retired to corner to read 1T, and the
contents made his eyes dance. "Sta
buenoi Hyar's luck fer ye, Bobby, OF
boy! Five hundred dollars r'ward
Thanks, Bobby, we don't care eff we do;
oh, no, not any" And as Mr.. Robert
Stiles walked up the street to his usual
''hang-out," he felt quite cheerful, and
| whistled as though the five hundred dol
| lars we're already in his possession, for
he knew right where he could find GER
tain Thomas Rudey, ex-moonshiner,
urgently wanted for the murder, several
months previously, of a revenue officer
who had raided Mr.. Rudey's still, in a
| neighboring State.
Next morning, bright and early, the
! deputy marshal rode gayly forth. He
had made small ''borrow," and won a
hundred or so. the night before; he
would make five hundred dollars and
some fees to-day; and these facts, to-
| gether with the brightness of the morn
ing, the beauties of nature and the ex-
cellent breakfast he had just eaten, con-
spired to make him, if anything, more
cheerful than usual, and that was very
cheerful, indeed. There was only one
thing that troubled him, and that was
the fact that no reward was offered for
the arrest of de Vries, whose history he
had read in the papers.
eth idee" the deputy-marshal said
to himself. "Hyar's this high toned cuss
firm Ohio-busts bank, robs is fr'en's,
an takes tn bread away firm orph MS an
widders, an gifts away; no r'ward FIR
him! Hyar's poor moonshiner, got
nothin' but still t. keep is family on,
an thinks he's got jest's much right t.
make whisky as anybody else; shoots
a revenoo offuser th't mos likely shot at
him first, an Uncle Sam offers five hun
dred fer I'm! It's tough, no use talkin'."
And Mr.. Stiles chirped to his horse,
which was nibbling at the branches of
the trees by the roadside.
| Four hours later Bob Stiles, deputy
marshal, rode into a little valley into
which the by-road had led him from the
main trail. He looked to his revolvers
carefully, to see that they were all right
for the emergency which was quite prob
able, and decided on a plan of action.
He dismounted, and proceeded on foot
toward the shabby, tumble down log
cabin that stood in little clearing on
the hillside above him.
AS he reached the edge of the clearing,
he halted, and took note of the cabin
and its surroundings, observing, with
some surprise, the neat appearance of the
garden and yard and the unavalling re-
pairs that had been attempted on the old
cabin. "Kind O decent, pears like, "
thought the deputy marshal, as he
sneaked around to advance on the house
from the rear. "Wonder where all tn
folks ISL"
AS he emerged from the thicket at the
rear of the house and started toward it,
two or three scrawny ours rushed at him,
barking fercely, but no one appeared to
silence them. He spoke to them quietly,
and presently they drew off, somewhat
Modified, but still growing suspiciously.
Then the deputy-marshal tiRtoed quietly
up to the open window and looked in.
On a tumbled, forlorn-looking bed, at
the other end of the long room, lay,
propped up with the bed-clothing, a
young woman, evidently in the last stages
OF consumption. She was breathing in
short, quick gasps-fghting bravely for
a few minutes respite from the end that,
Bob could see, was so near. Her wasted
hands rested on the heads of two little
children who were crying softly, in their
uncomprehending way, in sympathy with
the ad-shouldered man who, with his
arms about che dying one, asif to hold
her back from the awful shadows, was
sobbing his heart out.
ooh, Sue, CANT let ye go! Don't
90 an leave needn't! An Tom an
Moll-they-they-"
"Don't, Tom," came in weak voice
from the form on the bed. sits drettul