Condon globe. (Condon, Gilliam Co., Or.) 189?-1919, 1913-04-25

Jan dragged Dixon from the spruce
forest Into the opening at the post
There were no lights burning. aud he
went with his half conscious burden
TO the company's store. lie awakened
Croisset. who let them IN.
Take care OF Dixon" said Jan. "and
don't arouse any OF the people tonight,
Il viii be time enough TO tell what
has happened In the morning."
Over the stove In his own room he
cooked meat and coffee. and for long
time sat silent before the tire. lie had
brought back Dixon. In the morning
Melisse would know. First she would
go TO the EnglIshman. then-then-
she would come TO him.
He rose aud went TO the rude board
table In the corner of his room.
"No. Melisse must not come TO me In
the morning." he whispered to himself
"She must never again look upon Jan
Thorcau."
He took pencil and paper and wrote,
Page after page he crumpled In bis
hand and flung into the nre, At last.
swiftly and desparlngly, he ended with
half dozen lines. What he said came
from his heart In French:
have brought him back 10 you. my
Melisse. and pray that the good God may
give you happiness, | leave you the old
violin, and always when you play II will
tell you OF the love OF Jan Thoreau.
He folded the page and sealed II In
one OF the company's envelopes, Very
quietly he went from his room down
into the deserted store. Without strik.
ing a light. he found n new pack, few
articles of food and ammunition. The
envelope addressed to Melisse he left
where Croisset or the factor would
find It In the morning. His dogs were
housed In n shack behind the store. and
he called out their names softly and
warningiy as he went among them AS
stealthlly as their master they tralled
and close under the old spruce that
guarded the grave Jan stopped md
silently he stretched out his arms TO
the little cabln.
The dogs watched him. Kaznn, the
rue eyed leader. glnred from him into
he dimness OF the night. whining soft.
" a low, mourning wind swept
through the spruce tops. and from Jams
throat there burst sobblngIy wnrds
which he had heard beside this same
grave more than seventeen years be-
fore when Williams choking voice had
risen In last prayer for the woman.
MAY the great God care for Me-
isseg'
He turned into the trail upon which
Jean de Gravois had fought the Eng
lishman. led his dogs and sledge In
twisting path through the caribou
swamp and stood at last beside the
lob stick tree that leaned out over the
edge OF the white Barrens. With his
knife he dug out the papers which he
had concealed In that whisky Jack hole.
1t was near dawn when he recovered
the rifle which he had abandoned on
the mountain top. A little later It be-
gan to snow. He was glad, for 1t would
conceal his trail.
For thirteen days he forced his dogs
through the deep SHOWS into the south.
On the fourteenth they came to lie
Pas. which is the edge of civilization.
1t was night when he came out Of the
forest, so that he could see the faint
glow of lights beyond the Saskatche-
wan.
For few moments, before crossing.
he stopped his tired dogs and turned
his face back into the grim desolatlon
Of the north, where the aurora was
playing feeby In the skies and beckon.
ing to him and telling, him that the old
life srof centuries and centuries ago
wouldpwalt for him always at the dome
Of the earth.
''The good God bless you and keep
you and care for you ever more, my
Melisse," he whispered. And he walk.
ed slowly ahead Of his dogs across the
river and into the other world.
ITO ha oontinued \