Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1901-07-05
A YEAR AND A DAY

Like white thread carclessly caught
on the dark skirts of an untidy wo-
I man lay the dusty road across the
dun brown earth. One solitary trav-
eler alone gave n touch of life to the
deadly monotony of landscape made
up of low sky and high hills, continual
ly meeting and falling apart in endless
undulations From the earth itself
arose the soft, shining simmer of in
tense heat, and through 1t, with a sort
of automatic unconsclousness, plunged
the figure whose gun and game bag be-
spoke the hunter-a hunter and a
mighty man as well, whose broad
shoulders, 1.-THE limbs and lean, un-
handsome face bore the unmiStakable
stamp of breeding and refinement.
For hours this man had tramped, ut
terly lost to the discomforts of the
present, in the intense pain of vivid
retroSpection, retrospection suddenly
interrupted by spectacle of human
misery as grewsomc as 1t was pathetic.
Quite alone, yet within the shadow
of n hastily improvised shelter of bend
ing boughs, lay the worn and wasted
figure of a man, a man upon whose
brow lay damp and cold a ghastly dew,
whose limbs had already fallen into
the absolute immobility of coming dis
solution and whose passing life seemed
caught and focused in wide opened,
anguished eyes.
Startled out of his long day dream,
Serge Vernon knelt beside the sufferer,
pressing his brandy flask to his lips.
stranger" said he, God sent you. l
am dyng-dying with my work un-
done. Out yonder I've a daughter look
ing for water, a pretty girl and good
one, raised lady with her mothers
people, but she left them all for me-
didn't ask 1t. At first l even tried to
send her back. Ranch life is hard on
some women, but she loved it-loved
everythlng-the dogs, the horses, the
wild, free life that was glad and beau
tiful TO us both-until he came, n man,
rich, handsome and educated like her.
self, man whose speech was the
speech of her own people and who
brought to his wooing all the subtle
arts of civilization. | never thought of
danger, never dreamed of treachery,
until the black hearted scoundrel had
gone-gone denying the private mar
riage into which he had entrapped her
and hinging her shame in her face.
What could | do but follow and wipe
out that shame in his hearts blood?
Murder they called 1t; just Judgment |
knew 1t, but for her sake guarded well
the secret that she has never guessed,
that she must never know. But trou-
bic came of it and loss until now, when
| must leave my poor girl penniless and
alone in a strange land. They have of
fered reward for the murderer
$1,000 for him alive or dead. The
proofs are all here" laying purple
hand across his laboring breast
stranger, she needs it. viii you get
the money for my girl? When the end
comes, she has promised TO go home.
Then find the murderer of Jim Ran
mas and send the blood money to the
woman who, before God, is his widow"
Jim Rannis! Serge Vernon lived in
that moment year of misery-the long
year Sllltt Iolcllu hHESOeU Duu cIOSpU
between his love and his cousins for
tune, the cousin who cared so little for
the treasure won that he soon left it
for a taste of pleasure and adventure
in the new world. All that he had
found and deserved death as we'll Lit
tie liking the task, Serge had crossed
the water, had learned the evil story
of n wasted life, lived under false
name, ended in disguise and disgrace,
had offered a reward for the apprehcn-
sion of the murderer and had found
him.
There was a rustling among the wild
rose bushes, and, looking up, Serge
saw them part above the head of
girl, tall, fair and like n rose herself
Their perfume caught in her wind
blown hair, their bloom on perfect lip
and cheek lip and cheek that paled at
sight of the dying man as, with a low
cry, she dropped beside him.
In the pocket of Serge's hunting shirt
lay letter, sweet and gracious ap-