Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1909-06-16
CHAPTER xxxIII.
Duty.

The stir of the town over the shoot
ing of Banks seemed to Marion, in her
distress, to point an accusing finger at
her. The disgrace of what she had
felt herself powerless to prevent now
weighed on her mind, and she asked
herself whether after all, the respon-
sibility Of this murder was not upon
her. Even putting aside this painful
doubt, she bore the name of the man
who had savagely defied accountable
ty and now, 1T seemed to her, was
dragging her with him through the
slough Of blood and dishonor into
which he had plunged.
The wretched thought would return
that had she listened to him, had she
consented to go away, this outbreak
might have been prevented. And what
horror might not another day bring
what lives still closer to her life be
taken? For herself she cared less;
but she knew that Sinclair, now that
he had begun, would not stop. In
whichever way her thoughts turned,
wretchedness was upon them, and the
day went in one Of those despairing
and indecisive battles that each one
within his own heart must fight at
times with heayiness and doubt.
McCloud called her over the tele-
phone in the afternoon to say that he
was going west on the evening train
and would not be over for supper.
She wished he could have come, for
her loneliness began to be insupport-
able.
Toward sunset she put on her hat
and started for the post-ofice. In the
meantime, Dicksie. at home, had
called McCloud up and told him she
was coming down for the night. He
Immediately Cancelled his plans for
going west, and when Marion returned
at dusk she found him with Dicksie
at the cottage. The three had supper.
Afterward Dicksie and McCloud went
out for a walk, and Marion was alone
In the house when the shop door
opened and Whispering Smith walked
in. 1t was dusk.
Don't light the lamps, Marion" he
said, sitting down on a counter-stool
as he took of his hat. II want to talk
to you just a minute. IL you don't
mind. You know what has happened.
I am called on now to go after Sin
clair. have tried to avoid It, but my
hand has been forced. Today I've
been placing horses. I am going to
ride tonight with the warrant. have
given him a start of "a hours, hoping
he may get out of the country. To
stay here means only death to him in
the end, and, what is worse, the kill
ing Of more and innocent men. But
he won't leave the country; do you
think he will?"
"oh. do not know! am afraid he
will not"
Il do not thinkI have ever hesitated
before at any call of this kind; nor at
what such a call will probably some-
time mean; but this man have
known since we were boys"
III had never seen him!''
THAT brings up another point that
has been worrying me all day. I
could not help knowing what you have
had to go through In this country. It
Is tough country for any woman.
Your people and mine were always
close together and 1 have felt bound
to do what I could to-"
Don't be afraid to say it-make my
path easier"
Something like that. though there's
been little real doing. What this stu.
alton in which Sinclair Is now placed
may still mean to you I do not know,
but would not add q straw to the
weight Of your troubles. came to-
night to ask plain question. II he
doesn't leavs the country l have got
to meet him. You know what, in all
human probability, that will mean.
From such meeting only one OF lis
can come back. Which shall 1t be ~
I'm afraid / don't understand. you
do you ask me this question? How
can know which It shall be? What
IL It you mean?"
II mean viii not take his life In a
pdght-if II. comes to that III Ssou