The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1900-07-18

the more impressive by the little breaks
| of sound-the ripping Of the stream or
an occasional tut fitting overhead, with
a gush Of melody. Scarcely leaf stirred
| in all that green wilderness. Here and
there, where a shaft Of sunlight had found
its way through, spotted lizards lay bask-
ing among the dry leaves and fragments
of brown and silvery bark that covered
the moist black earth on every side.
| Above were myriads of leaves and
| branches; below, myriads Of ferns.
| Presently n man came limping into
sight He was covered with dust from
| head to foot, and great beads Of perspira-
ton rolling down his face had made run
| let's through the dust, and gave him
| strange, CHASTITY look. His eyes were like
! those of a hunted animal; his tongue loll-
ed out in the heat like a dogs.
| He made straight for the stream, and
| painfully scramblingl down the edge OF
| the gully, among ferns and creepers, he
| flung himself over the water and drank
| eagerly. LAYING his face in the stream as
| he drank. Then he drew a deep breath
Of relief and lay back, his arms behind
! his head, in state Of exhaustion.
He had thrown aside his hat, and his
hair, wet with sweat, lay Imply on his
brow He was a stalWartly built fellow,
| with a keen, hard face, and hands rough
ened by years of toll His clothes were
old and. rough; on the knee of one trouser
was a stain like that of recently spilled
blood.
AS he Law pillowed among delicate fern
fronds, still hot, and painting now and
then, a wild pigeon came close above
him on a fallen tres bough. The mild,
innocent creature looked at him with full
red eye and showed no sign Of perturba-
ton; its kind had not yet learned to be
afraid of man. This man lay and watched
it a while in silence. His eye marked It's
no
snowy breast, its red bill, the lovely
mingling, red and purple on its wings and
back. He had opportunity to examine it
fully, for it sat there with great compo-
sure, only now and then pulling off a
green leaf and eating 1t. At last the man
reached out his hand for big pebble; he
could knock 1t down easily without chang
ing his position. He had his hand ready
to throw when a swift compunction
seized him, and he flung the pebble crash
ing through the distant underwood
mo, I'm darned," he muttered, 'if I
can hurt the pretty, innocent thing, after
ALI! tn
At the noise of the falling pebble the
bird rose with loud wf1irr of its mag
nificent wings and passed on to another
tree. The man was sorry; he wished that
it had stayed where it was that he might
watch it. Then things gradually grew
indistinct, and he fell asleep as easily as
| a child.
He slept heavily for a time Then his
sleep became broken; dreams troubled
! him-ugly dreams of things that had hap
pened since this summer sun rose.
Again he was at the little village pub
lice house, smoking and drinking with his
mate. Bill Harris. The drink was bad,
but the day was hot, and both men were
thirsty after hours of work in the scorch-
ing sun. Then they turned out again,
going back to their telling and saving Of
| timber AS they went a quarrel sprang
up between them and grew fierce Then
Bill, in an unhappy moment, reminded
| his mate Jack of the G30 he had been
| owing him these three months past. This
| brought Jacks wrath to a climax; he
| raised the ak he was carrying and struck
Bill, who fell like a log on the dusty
road, the blood spouting from his wound.
! Jack knelt down and gazed stupidity; Bill
was dead. The shock sobered him on the
instant He dragged the dead man into
! the shade Of the bushes and fed for his
| life, feeling the hot sbreath of the aven-
| gers behind him every second.
| Bill dead? Bill? Oh, confound 1t all,
no! Things were getting mixed up in his
| brain It was he himself who had been
| Ill for weeks together in the winter-nigh
| at deaths door-and Bill had nursed him
and waited ON him with the tenderness
| of a woman. Yes, 1t was Bill who had
saved his life-brave, honest old Bill, who
! had faced the sun and storm with him for
! three years past. Aye, he was such
mate as fellow didn't often chance to
get. And then, to say that he was dead!
| Oh, how absurd.
Wildly thoughts and images fioated
| through his brain, leaving only a dim,
haunting sense of trouble. Then he slip
| ped back to the English meadows of his
childhood-daisy sprtnl1led grass, and
| gray river edged with pollard willows
| that broke into green loneliness every
| spring. How well he remembered 1t ALL
He used to battle there as a boy, and
| dream Of striking out bravely for him
| self In the great river of life. The skies
| above him were not higher than his as
| pirations. And now 1t had all come to
| this-that he had struck down his friend,
| and the word murderer was written In
letters Of fire across his soul.
| He shivered, drew a long breath, and
| awoke. There was a refreshing undercur-
rent of GOODNESS in the air. and golden
| lights slanted down along the ferns. 1t
| must be evening then He looked at his
watch; it was o'clock. He rose, still
shivering little, and looked around him.
What should he do? Self preservation
urged him to some Immediate course, but
where had he best turn for safety
He stumbled on listlessly for a while,
swearing hard now and again at the tam
giles of creeper and brambles through
which he had to force his way. All at
once he stood stock still, trembling in
every limb. He rubbed his hand across
his eyes to assure himself that he was
not dreaming, and then grew a worse
feeling-that madness had come upon him.
He had often heard of murderers being
haunted by the corpses of their victims,
and. ali! here the CHASTITY thing had come
upon him! Bins body lay almost at his
! feet, and already 1T was oyerarched by
! long, luxuriant ferns
! He knelt down with a little stif1ed cry
and hid his face. When he looked again
! 1t was still there; ebut as he looked q
| sudden ray Of hope darted into his mind
| This thing wore a coarse plaid. 1t could
| not be Bill. The sudden, oyerpowering
| sense of relief made him sick and dizzy.
| Then. recovering himself, he examined
| the body carefully. with a new gentle
| ness of touch and new reverence.
| Slowly he identified it as that OF an old
| stockman who had lived in a lonely hut
| on the ranges; and thsn the whole story
| came back to him The man had gone
| away to town, and nothing further had
ever been heard of him He had lived SO
solitary a life that he had not been miss
| ed at once, and little wonder was raised