Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1893-08-10
CHAPTER X.
Dead or AIives
Ghostly fen the snowi

'ti'NttN zen llIt SllpWs
Like a curtain, a shroud, 1t had
Edna Deane that wild. tempestuous
night, when the poor child of destiny
had sunk exhausted and despairing
at the very threshold Of safety.
The siren-hearted Beatrice Mercer
had sped to sunshine, luxury and gold,
with no thought of the real fate of the
girl whose name she had assumed.
whose loyal lover she had determined
to win.
More merciful than she, the soft
snow had drifted gently over the In
animate wanderer, striving to shut out
from the rigor OF the storm and tenn
pest the frail form that had succumbed
to the chill Of winter like u tender
lily.
Upon that same eventful night an
other figure braeved the storm and
breasting its fierceneSs, took his way
along the same road, down which Ed
ma Deane's dumb guide had SO nearly
led her to shelter.
"A night to get housed. I pity the
homeless OF belated!" breathed hearty,
putting John Blake, as he struggled
through the deep drifts. "Ah! nearly
home. There's the dear old wife wait
ing to welcome me to a warm supper,
I'll warrant
Farmer John neared the unpreten-
tious cottage that resembled a lap
landers hut, with its caves hung deep
with snow festoons. A doleful neigh
from the wagon shed aroused his hui
name heart, however, to turn from his
path. He found there the exhausted
animal that had led Edna hither, be-
slowed the wandering brute in It's stall,
and started again for the house.
"Ho, there, my dear" sang out the
bluff, great-hearted old fellow. as he
made up a huge snow ball and sent Ii
six feet away dashing against the
door Of the cottage.
1t opened. An eager, motherly face
showed in the lamplight.
Dear, dear! Is it you, John? I've
been so worried. Always a boy. throw.
ing snow balls and singing out like Il
pirate. Will you never mend?"
Never while this ieiy reminds
me of our school day sleigh rides, and
your pretty, blooming face. you dear
ED sir!n' retsftaaa happy John. Come.
throw me a broom to beat q path, 81 /
won't be dragging the snow all over
that ras carpet you think more Of than
You do of me-"
did you ever!'
Been loncsome?" sang out John, In
dustriously sweeping a path to the
door
''Terrible!l Did you just come. john"
did / just Gomez You wager |
haven't been ~promenading around for
fun, with snow chuck two feet down
my neck, and that nice warm supper
on the table,
Because I thought / heard some
one cry out a bit ago."
Pigeons, maybe"
"No. 1t was a human cry for help"
"Pshaw! Fancies. The wind toots
like an engine whistle to-night-lawsy
mel"
Farmer John uttered a sharp cry,
stumbled. recoiled. The broom fell
from his hand, and there he stood star
ing blankly down at the ground at his
feet.
What now, JohnY" calculated his
wife, peering too.
Something In the path. Bag Of oats
IA sheep-no! Jane, lookr'
He had leaned over to examine the
object at his feet.
His great, soulful eyes glowed like
two stars.
Into view he had dragged a human
hand, limp and nerveless.
A soggy dress sleeve followed and
then a terrible cry rang from his wife's
lips.
Out into the SHOWS he dashed. Down
beside the inanimate form. olsen
shrouded from its snowy mound. she
knelt.
John! john she walled, peering
into the white, cold face of the insen-
sible Edna Deane-'it's a woman-a
young girl. oh, John! look ut the bon
ny face and the quick tears rained
down In wild, motherly pity. "Oh,
John! dead or alive-whichT