The Ocala evening star. [volume] (Ocala, Fla.) 1895-1943, 1914-04-02

'ys.x'.$%S1H
"A Hole! Surely 1t Was No Acci-
dent"
way, MISS" he stammered, $50 maybe
we better go. Are you ready, sir?"
yes, run out the canoe; I'll be
there in a minute Mademoiselle."
She turned toward me- as he went
noiselessly across the sand beach. Her
hand was not extended, but had the
courage to reach out and grasp it in
my own.
do not say good-by to me-" whis-
pered, feeling my voice tremble Il go
because you wish it, because it seems
to be the wise thing to do; but will
not believe we are never to meet
again."
yet that Is not likely, monsieur"
"If 1 seek you 1t might be-
1T will require more than peaceful
travel to do that" she replied soberly.
There is going to be war;
War! The Indians Of the north
west?"
Yes; the time has come-is here
The council at Sandusky was for no
other purpose. Girty's message was
merely an excuse for the Wyandots
to join the other tribes. He confessed
as much to me. 1t was because my
father realized his helplessness long
er to restrain British influence, that he
disappeared. 1t is war, monsieur
But not between u.s." l insisted,
shocked at the picture. "Mademoiselle,
come with me. There is nothing left
to hold you to this life among saw
ages. With your father dead, why
should you continue to bury yourself
in these woods? You have education,
refinement, gentleness; why should
you not go now, before war breaks
along the border?'
And desert my people?'
But they are not your people; you
are white, not red. That small drop
of Indian blood in your veins does not
make you a Wyandot. You have moth.
ing else in common with them. Why
not be yourself, choosing life among
those of your own racer"
l thought she hesitated, and
grasped her hand more closely, the
hot blood leaping in my veins. In the
dim light l could see her lowered face
the eyes downcast.
mo, monsieur" she said at last
very low. "It is good of you to think
thus of me, but-but l cannot do that
hn dofe
need me-more now that my father il
gone than ever before. They are my
people; was born to them, and played
as a child in their villages. They love
me, trust me, and l help them BY
teaching them the Christ. To desert
| them would be to desert him. / can
not do that, monsieur, merely to graft
| fly myself"
But have no call upon your" in
| sisted in desperation.
No, monsieur" and she was look
| ing at me now with some amazement
| 1T is scarce an hour since | believed
| you murderer. We do not know eacf
| other. Let me trust, and believe il
| you; do not speak like that"
Il meant nothing wrong, mademoi
| selle," broke in hastily, stung by hel
| words OF reproof You have come Il
me out OF the woods like a new life.
| know it is strange, all strange, bu
there is already something between
US that can never be severed"
rs there, monsieur"
Yes; race makes no difference.
/ thought it did once When YOU sai(
/ back there in the shadow O. the stock
| ade that you were { WyaDdCt it va
as if you srIck me a blow IL the face
| swore then would think or you IL
more, yet, even that night, you we're il
/ my dreams, and ever since your Iac,
has been in my memory
felt her hardclasp tighten On mine
! although her body remained motion
| less.
You do not believe Ite in earnest?
u, How can l, monsieur? | thinl
you jest, you amuse yourself. Let u
stop it all now You go back to you
people, | to mine, and We will bot
forget. No, Do not say more! | vii
not listen. Come with me to the boat
| followed her down the bank
words burning on my lips she gave N
no chance to speak, for she move
with quick decision. The two me-
had the canoe turned over, at the yer
edge of the water, and the scout wa
upon his knees in the sand. He locke
I'D hastily at our approach