The Ekalaka eagle. [volume] (Ekalaka, Mont.) 1909-1920, 1914-07-10
MONTAGUE
The Life of a Willful Boy
Who Set Upon Himself the
Responsibility Of Aveuging
His Fathers Murder : !:

God knows l do, Mary" he said,
in a shaken voice.
Then" she cried, "ef yer goin' ter
Civ yer life ter yer hate, can't yer
Civ yer love jest one little hour? Oh.
Dave. Dave! Can't yer?' she begged.
her lips almost against his. Don't Civ
yer hate everything; Civ Yer love one
little hour" she breathed.
For a space David hesitated, then
suddenly the full rush of his passion
leaped up, and. turning, he caught her
in his arms and kissed her hard upon
the lips.
Fer an hour I'll wait" he said.
And Mary drew a long exhausted
breath and freed herself from his arms.
Come into Their house, she said in
a weary voice. Il reckon dinner must
be most ready"
At dinner David ate in silence, with
scarcely a word flung into the general
conversation, which ran along ordinary
topics, guided there by Mary's anx-
ious maneuvering, aided by Mrs. Red
din, who guessed with a quick instinct
something of the situation.
The heat had increased and the at
mosphere was lifeless and oppressive
with the promise of the approaching
storm, which, with the remembrance
of the scene at the schoolhOuse, at
which the older members of the family
had been present, together with Da-
vid's somber face, all combined to
y,,o1.o <Lo v,,~oI ~o> - @,,ln--o-~~N
constraint. Yet for all that they sat
long V it, delayed by Mary. who I'M
troduced one topic after another few
erishly, for she knew instinctively that
when they rose David would slip away
from her.
At length, however, even she could
detain them no longer, and her father
pushed back his chair with a decisive
scrape. David got up and, leaving the
kitchen abruptly, went through the
small living room and out to the porch.
I'm goin' now, Mary" he said, turn
ing to the girl who had followed him.
Without a word she turned back quick
ly into the house and. catching up her
sunbonnet. reappeared again.
I'm goin' err piece er Their way with
Yer. Dave she said quietly.
He hesitated a moment, but in the
end made no objection or comment,
and together they went down the path
leading to the yard gate, bordered on
either side with the fresh brown earth
where Mary had hidden the coxcombs.
bachelors buttons, maid in the mist
and all the little assembly of seeds
that Martha Lamfire had given her.
David's face had lost it's surprised be-
wilderment, but its quietness of deter
mination was more terrifying to Mary
than the other had been.
Outside the gate he wavered a mo-
ment and finally turned in the direc-
ton of the path leading over a low
ridge of Drupe mountain, past the
Hull graveyard. The same path that
Mary had taken OF her way home
from Martha Lamfire's.
I'm goin' by Their path" he said;
"hit strikes inter ther road nearer home
than Their lane"
Relief leaped up in Mary's eyes.
eyer goin' home?" she cried gladly.
"Yes-fer my gum" he answered, and
his voice was absent, as though Mary's
presence We're half forgotten.
For a moment everything went dir
lilly black before the girls eyes and a
wave of sick fear engulfed her: never
theless she kept bravely on by his side,
and together they made their way into
the woods. They walked in silence
until they gained the crest Of the hill
and came on on to the level spot where
the burying ground lies. "Dave,"
Mary said wistfully as they passed it
and she saw the withered bridal wreath
still lying on .Amabel ILamtire's grave,
Dave, do you remember what hap
pened here last week.
But David gave no reply, and, look
ing up at him, Mary saw that her
words had gone unnoticed. She felt
as though he We're slipping away from
her: as though every step, though she
kept even pace with him, was drag
ging them miles and miles apart. She
put out her hand desperately and took
hold of his. clinging to it. for somehow
she realized her touch had more power |
owe him than anything else. AS her
hand closed on his David came back
Il little from his alOofncss and looked
down ut her with a faint tightening OF
his sOmber face.
What vas hit yer said, honey:' he |
said.
"Nothin', nothin'," Mary answered, |
not repeating her words, for she knew
it was useless. And again they fell
silent, and again Mary felt the dis
lance yawn between them.
at length they came to the last fence
where the path runs out into a steep
little field, and so down to the main
road Of the Draft, which here it over
hangs.
David paused and turned to Mary
resOlutely.
"Goodby. sweetheart" he said again,