The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1899-05-21

orcial could fully decfpher the name.
1t is for me-" he said quietly, and he i
walked out of the door.
That evening at dusk a man with a |
heavy brown beard called at old Morris |
front gate.
You are Mort Reed, are you not?" he
asked, as that worthy came out in re-
Spouse to his halloo
"Yassir. Thets whut my ma called me-
ez the feller sez."
Isn't there stranger stopping in this
neighborhood, | think at old man Vel
delFs?"
Seems ter me they is. Why?"
well, he's one of the most dangerous
from Jordan, twenty-five miles up the
road and we have just heard that he was
down here"
wal, 1 mistrusted ez much all along.
The boys wanted ter be a leetle brash,
but l tor EN- ter go slow, fur we had
! right smart o trouble over Link Cole
KILN that deputy"
But this man means business, and if
he stays around here there won't be muca
mountain dew to wet our whistles with"
What We goin' ter do about it7''
I'VE must get rid of him."
"sposin he won't leave? He's a perky
Teller. an won't bluff worth a cent"
| well"
The man with the brown beard eyed
| around.
Take him off by freight, reckon"
he said, in low voice. The man with the
| brown beard nodded.
You know he has the southwest room
and there are no curtains"
Mort bowed in assent
Now, don't fail to kill, for it's all up
with us if you don't make a sure thing
of it."
90 I amt so old but what / kin knock
the eve outen a squirrel in the biggest tree
roun' hyer with OF Molly"
'Ail right! Try to make it at $3.50,
sharp, for l won't rest easy until it's
done"
That night the stranger wrote a letter
in his room. That it cost him a tremen-
dous effort could be seen from the tightly
compressed lips and the slow, heavy trac-
ing of the pen over the paper. The an
guish in his face was transferred to every
hard-wrung word. 1t was brief, though
it told story of suffering:
Marion:
Your letter destroyed my last hope of
forgiveness. My insurance policies, in
closed herewith, are payable to you, and
will give you the competence which
failed 10 obtain. 1t is to your interest not
TO inquire too closely into the circumstance
os of my DEATH as it might vitiate the poll
icies. Suffice II to say, l do not die by
my own hand. My broken, misspent life
ends here in the wilderness II.
He put certain documents with the let
ter and sealed them up In a large envel-
:. ope, After addressing 1t he gave it TO
Yelldel with Instructions to mail that
night and paid him literally for his trou-
BILE.
Then he packed his few effects into the
? small valise he had brought TO Persim-
mon Gap a few weeks before, and walked
txrffb
tread The pine knots blazed upon the
hearth with a swapping, CHEEKY warmth,
, but the rudy glow impaired q ghostly
pallor TO the strangers white, stern-set
: countenance. He looked at his watch, and
, pied more fuel on the fireplace The
flames leaped higher as they licked the
tlnder-dry bark, and the shadows danced
grotesquey on the walls
He glanced at his watch again. The
lines grew still lighter about his mouth
The strident cries of the disturbed geese
= out side gave warning of some nocturnal
; prowler. Involuntarlly he thought of the
7 time when the hoarse-voiced fowl had
saved an empire. He hesitated moment
Then he ground his teeth together and
took his pipe and lit 1t with coal as h,
e sat down by the window. The roaring
= fire cast MONDAY radiance about the
g room, and the weird shadows flung theli
= arms with a wilder frenzy.
T. The pipe went out The stranger III 4
# again and leaned back in the cane-bot
e toned rocking chair. The sharp report o.
+ rife made the geese fly with rasplng
T. djscordant cries of terror.
: Old Mort was duly appraised of the new,
e next morning, and he went down to Yell
: deATs as a matter of form The strange,
S still sat in the chair by the window. br
q this time he waited for the coroner.
e charred pipe with an amber stem Law II
d the cold, gray ashes of the hearth. on III
low bed was a false beard. brown in color
/ Mort picked il up and looked al the figur
1t in the chair. His eyes glistened aud ;
y softer look came into his hard, weather
e beaten visage.
a wal, dern my time! Pore fener. neve
q had no gun ter 10 do 1t with. mebbe DIV,
a know whut l think o We. Mister-whut'
yer Nance"
l. But The stranger with his peaceful coun
3 tenance and the little red clot above tn
'e temple, neither knew nor cared
Id A Boston Boy Could Not.-Lady Wis