The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1910-08-12

IL was luorc, as ne cOulQ tell by the
noise of kissing steam when the cross
cut was reached. But the parked
wooding Of the pasture still screened
it. How near could he go without be-
ing near" in the transgressing sense
of the word? There was only one way
of finding QUITO keep on going until
his conscience pricked sharply enough
to stop him. 1t was a great convent
ence, Thomas Jefferson's conscience.
AS long as it kept quiet he could be
reasonably sure there was no sin III
sight Yet he had to confess that it
was not always above playing mean
tricks; as that of sleeping like a log
till after the fact, and then rising up
to stab him till the blood ran.
He was halfway across the pasture
when the crash of falling tree stop
ped him in mid-rush And in the vista
opened by the felled tree he saw a
sight to make him turn and race home
ward faster than he had come. The
invaders. hundreds strong, had torn
down the boundary wall and the earth
for the advancing embankment was
flying from uncounted shovels.
Caleb Gordon was at work in the
blacksmith shop, Sunday repairing
while the furnace was cool, when
Thomas Jefferson came flying with his
news. The iron-master dropped his
hammer and cast aside the leather
apron.
you hear that, Buck?" he said,
frowning across the anvil at his helper,
a white man and the foreman of the
pouring floor.
The helder nodded, being a mai of
as few words as the master.
We'll. reckon we-all hain't got any
call to stand by and see them Nightly
ers ride it roughshod over Major Dab
ney thataway," said Gordon, briefly.
go down to the shanties and hustle
out the day shift. Get Turk and Hard
away and every white man you can Law
hands on, and all the guns you can
find And send one o. the black boys
up the hill to tell the Major Like as
not, he amt up yet"
Helgerson fastened away to obey
his orders, and Caleb Gordon went out
to the foundry scrap yard. In the
heap of broken metal lay an old cast
iron field-piece. relic of the battle
which had one day ragged holly on the
hillside across the creek. A hundred
times the ironmaster had been on the
point Of breaking it up for remelting,
and as often the old artilleryman in
him had stayed his hand.
Now it was quickly hoisted in the
crane shackle = Thomas Jefferson
sweating manfully at the crab crank
clamped on the axle of pair of wag-
on wheels, cleaned, swabbed, loaded
with quarry blasting powder and pieces
of broken iron to serve for grape, and
trundled out on the pike at the heels
of the ore team.
BY this time Helgerson had come up
with the furnace men, a motley crew
in all stages Of Sunday morning dis
hevelment. and armed only as a mob
may arm itself at moments notice.
Caleb. the veteran, looked the squad
over with slow smile gathering the
wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
You boys'll have to make up In
fierceness what-all you're lacking in
sold1er-looks," he observed, mildly.
Then he gave the word of command
to Helgerson. Take the gun and put
out for the Majors hawss-lot. I'll be
along as soon as I can saddle the
mare"
Thomas Jefferson went with his
father to the stable and helped silent
ly with the saddIing. Afterward he
held the mare, gentling her in sup
pressed excitement while his father
went into the house for his rife.
"That'll do, Buddy he said. when he
came back. Run along in to your
nanny, now"
But Thomas Jefferson caught again
at the bride and held on, choking.
20 pappy! take me with you! I-I'll
die if you don't take me with you!"
Who can tell what Caleb Gordon saw
in his sons eyes when he bent to loos-
en- the grip OF the small brown hand
on the rein? Was it some sympathet-
ic reincarnation of his own militant
soul striving to break its bonds? With
out word he bent lower and swung
the boy up to seat behind him. Hold
on tight. Buddy" he cautioned. "Til
have to run the mare some to catch up
with the boys"
When the one-piece battery dashed
at clumsy gallop through the open
gate Of the Dabney pasture and swung
with q sharp turn into the vista Of
felled trees, Thomas Jefferson beheld q
thing to set his heritage OF soldier
blood dancing through his veins.
Standing fair In the midst of the AZ
and shovel havoc and clearing q wide
circle to right and left with the sweep
of his old service cavalry saber. was
the Major, coatless. hatless. and crying
them to come on. the unnumbered host
Of them against one man.
Opposed to him the men Of the cons
struction force. generated by the young
engineer In brown duck and buttoned