The Kennewick courier. [volume] (Kennewick, Wash.) 1905-1914, 1906-06-22

brush wood. with Sylvia sitting near
him.
He is better" said Mrs. vickers, dis
daining to refer to the scene Of the
morning. "Sit down and have something
to eat, Mr.. Frere."
Are you better?" asked Frers, alb
ruptly.
To his surprise, the convict answered
quite civilly, II shall be strong again in
a day or two, and then l can help you.
sir"
Within a week from the night on
which he had seen the smoke Of Frere's
fire, the convict had recovered his
strength, and had become an important
parsonage. He was skilled in all the
mysteries of the prison sheds. He knew
how to sustain life on as little food as
possible. He could fell trees without an
| ak, bake bread without an oven, build
weather-proof hut without bricks or
mortar. From the patient he became
the adviser; and from the adviser, the
commander.
AS the time wore on, and the scanty
stock of provisions decreased, he found
eAi"e hio outhOA1lS SlCW uOIc anu mOT0
powerful. Did question arise as to the
qualities of strange plant, it was Rufus
Dawes who could pronounce upon it.
Were fish to be caught, it was Rufus
Dawes who caught them. Did Mrs.
Vlckers complain of the instability of her
brush wood hut, it was Rufus Dawes
who worked a wicker shield, and plas-
terlng it with clay, produced wall that
dehed the keenest wind. He made cups
out OF pine knots, and plates out of bark
strips. He worked harder than any
three men. Nothing daunted him. moth.
ing discouraged him. When Mrs Wick.
ers fell sick, from anxiety, and inspff1-
clent food, it was Rufus Dawes who
gathered fresh leaves for her couch, who
cheered her by hopeful words, who vol.
UNFAIRLY gave up half his own allowance
of meat that she might grow the strong
er on 1t. The poor woman and her child
called him "Mr." Dawes.
But the days stole on and no vessel
appeared. Each day they eagerly scan
ned the watery horizon; each day they
longed to behold the bowsprit of the re-
turning Ladybird glide past the juttins
rock that shut out the view of the har-
Dor, but in vain. Mrs. vickers' illness
increased, and the stock of provisions
began to run short. Dawes talked of
putting himself and Frere on half allow
ance. It was evident that, unless sue
cor came in a few days, they must
stsrve.
One day Sylvia was sitting in the sun
reading the English History" which.
by the accident of fright, she had
brought with her on the night of the
mutiny. "Mr. Frere." said she, sud
denly, what Is an alchemist?'
"a man who makes gold," was Frere's
not very accurate definition.
did the ancient Brtons know it?"
mo; not so old as that"
Sylvia suddenly gave a little scream.
The remembrance of the evening when
she read about the ancient Britons to
poor Bates came wildly into her mind.
and though she had since re-read the
passage that had then attracted her at
tention a hundred times, it had never
before presented itself to her in its full
significance. Hurriedly turning the
well-thumbed leaves, she read aloud the
passage which had provoked remark:
"The ancient Britons were little bet
ter than barbarians. They painted their
bodies with woad, and, seated in their
light coracles of skin stretched upon
slender wooden frames, must have pre-
sented wild and savage appearance"
"a coracle! That's boat! Can't we
make a coracle, Mr.. Dawes?'
The convict knitted his brows gloom
lily.
"Come, Dawesw cried Frere. forget
ting his enmity for an instant, in the
flash of new hope, cant you suggest
something's"
Rufus Dawes, thus appealed to as the
acknowledged head of the little society,
felt a pleasant thrill of dissatisfaction.
II don't know" he said; II must think
of it. 1t looks easy, and yet" He
paused as something in the water caught
his eye. 1t was mass Of bladdery sea-
weed that the returning tide was watt
ing slowly to the shore. This object.
which would have passed unnoticed at
any other time, suggested to Rufus
Dawes a new idea. EYES," he added,
slowly, with a change of tone, lit may
be done, l think l see my way. How
far do you think it is across the bay?"
he asked Frere.
about four miles,"
The convict sighed. ''Too far to swim
now, though l might have done it once.
But this sort of life weakens a man.
1t must be done, after all"
What are you going to do?" asked
Frere.
ITO kill the goat"
CTO be- continued.)
Wanted 1t Reversed.