The National tribune., 1901-11-14
A MISSOURI PIONEER.

1Ouy you dlS Il uCdu Ilhu III luitt
utes"
who are you, and what do you wantT'
| asked the Sheriff, surprised, and hoping TO
parley until he could recover his wits and
prepare to meet the bellicose youth.
1T makes no difference who | am. You
are stealing that child"
Il am not, sir. am the Sheriff, and
| taking her to her legally-appOinted guar
| dian"
Il don't care what you are, nor what
are your intentiOns-take her one foot far
| ther and I'll send bullet through your
| head"
He talked SO fiercely and held the rifle
with such a practiced hand, that the
| Sheriff knew he would do as he said. He
| was silent, and George cried:
Jump out, Eunicei he wont dare hin
der you"
The girl, pale as death, trembling with
| dread, and longing to escape, leaped from
the vehicle and stood, trembling, at the
roadside.
Drive on-drive onr' cried George an
grily. Drive on, or the buzzards II have
Il feast Off'n your carcass"
The baffled Sheriff rode away, hoping
| by some means to take the young pioneer
off his guard, but every time he looked
about he found that deadly rifle a barrier
between him and the subject of the hdbeas
| corpus. So he set out alone for st. Charles.
'Eunice"' said George, when the Sheriff
had disappeared over the hill
George
Come here
Timidly she approached his side
Don't be afraid; he shall not take you
away"
But, George" she stammered, as he
dismOunted, he has authority; he has
law"
Here is both law and authority" the
daring pioneer declared, tapping his rifle.
-
defyln' law and authority, especially when
such devils as old La Boone use them
to swindle and impriSon people"
He lifted her to his saddle, having
thrown one stirrup over, to make a side
saddle for her, and then, holding the rein
lightly in bis left hand, with his rifle on
his shoulder, walked briskIy along the
road, occasionally casting glances behind
to assure himself the Sheriff was not re-
turning.
Eunice told him all that had happened,
and as far as she knew the legal effect
of the hGbeas corpus.
Il can understand it now," he said, as
he walked by the side of the rescued waif.
He learned that you were an orphan, and
under age, then had himself appointed
guardian to take you away and control
you"
But why should he want me, George"
Il do not know. He knows something
Of you which we do not. Do you know
if your fathers people in New York were
rich?"
Il do not; never saw any of them.
| have heard mother say that when father
married her his people discarded them,
and she never saw them. She would never
talk about them to me-"
He knows more'n we do" George re
sponded.
They arrived at home late that night,
and found the family still awake, much
against the rule of FraHklin's of ''early
to bed and early to rise" The universal
grief was changed to shouts of joy at the
restoration of Eunice, and George was al
most worshiped as hero. His "olc
Mamihy." Aunt Liza, hugged him and
called him her dear boy, and Aunt Dorcas
said he wus "braver'n Gineral Jackson"
the highest compliment that could be paid
to any mans courage in that day
His mother, pale and more fearful, yet
calmer than the others, took him to her
room and, gazing into his clear, blue eye,
asked:
George, did you kill anyone?"
No, mother"
God be praised. George, did you hurt
anyoneT
mo one"
Heaven bless you, my boy. Now tell
me how you did it,"
He sat by her side, and, holding her
had rescued Eunice.
She heaved a deep sigh at the conclu-
sion, though the troubled look was still on
her face.
"Oh, George, l am so glad you have
not the blood of a fellOwman on your
hands. But | am afraid for you, my boy.
The man was an officer of the law
HE was the tool of n scoundrel."
She could make no answer to this, and
after few moments said:
Your father will come back. and then
We will see what can be done"
During the night, owing to the excite
ment. the fres went out A light rain
had fallen, and the steel and flint failed
TO Ilindle quickly. so George went over to
their neiGhbor, ''old Mrs. Bernard" to
borrow fire"
That night Mr.. McNair returned.
One of the black boys took Mr. Me
Nair's horse, and. after rubbing him down,
stabbed and fed him.
The fathers face was very grave and
sad. He was not at all surprised at see
ing Eunice and his son, but said nothing
until alone with them, and Mrs. McNair
had come into the room.
1T was you who did it," he asked, |
turning to George.
Yes; how did you learn of it?"
The Sheriff told me-
Was he mad?"
He is furious, and is going to summon
Il posse and arrest YOU"
For whatI"
"Rcslsting the law. | was on my way |
to st. Charles when he overlook me, told
me Il young hunter had halted him with |
a cooked rifle and took his charge from
him. Then. after making the most awful |
threats, went on. | fell behind until he |
was. out of sight, and suspecting who |
the hunter was, came home"
y silence fell on the group which a few |
later was broken by sob. Eu- |
nice was weeping. When asked the cause |
she tearfully Responded:
'Oh, that | should be the cause of bring |
ing so much misery upon people SO good |
to mer'
The kind heart of Mrs McNair could
not endure this, and clasping the dear
girl in her arms, she whispered:
Don't grieve yourself, my dear; you
are not to blame. We are taught to share
one another's burdens. Surely, God will
not permit the wicked to always trouble
u.s."
Then the little household grew more
calm. Mr.. McNair "SaId grace" at the
evening meal. and they ate in silence. A
hushed awe had come over the negroes
in their quarters.
Isaac said he 'knowed sumfin' war
gwine ter happen, an he'd like ter know
lfo' he lef de house."
To this Big Jack, who was all work."
answered:
'''Taint none o yo' business, Ike. inc
Tom say for us to do we wu'kin an he do
lie thinkin'. Spect him air a doin' a
pow'ful sight o thinking right now"
When they were assembled in the great