The Kansas City sun. (Kansas City, Mo.) 1908-1924, 1915-03-06

Larry had a revolver in his coat
pocket.
Yet his object was less to be re
venged upon Collins than to preserve
Dorothy's good name, to save her from
herself.
He rode hard. The moon came up
and lit the mountain way. Time and
again he thought he heard the Butte
train snorting up the incline In the
distance, but always the sound proved
imaginary. And now he was nearing
the railroad track, which ran, a mar
row, edged ribbon, beneath him. He
spurred his horse down the mountain
way.
At last he dismounted and, turning
the beast adrift to Craze, waited be-
side the rails. Terrible thoughts as
sailed him as he waited there. What
if, instead of killing Collins, he we're
to place n of the huge fallen frs
across the rails. dislodging the engine
from the metals as it came swinging
round the curve? He could destroy
Collins and a hundred others, sending
them to their death among the bowl
ders far below the grade, and escape
unknown in the confusion.
Was Dorothy worth the sacrifice of
his own life in %retribution?
The temptation grew stronger, until
the man shook with the agony that
assailed him. At last he went toward
the tallest Of the frs, a giant tree as
hard as ebony, which lay with its
trunk projecting only a few inches
from the rails. With the exercise of
all his strength he could shift it a
few inches down the incline. He knew
that just where it lay the curve was
the most dangerous. He stopped.
Then, in the distance, he heard the
putting of the engine as she forced
her way up to the summit before de-
scending on the grade that leo to the
siding. There was just time.
But the sight of the fiery eyes of
the monster above him paralyzed his
mind, and he could not turn his mus
Giles to the accomplishment of the
task. And now the engine was de-
scending the grade, numbering and
screaming as she made her way toward
the siding. Larry stood still. 1t was
too late now. But it was not too late
to carry out his original purpose.
Suddenly the moving mass seemed
to stand still. She swerved, reared,
and then, with a scream of escaping
steam, the engine left the metals and
toppled upon its side, followed by half
the cars, yet cliuging almost miracu-
lousy to the mountain side.
Flames burst out among the wreck.
age. The screams of the injured
reached Larry's ears plainly. Entire
ly forgetful of his purpose, the man
ran at full speed toward the scene of
the accident. Men and women lay
half buried beneath the wreckage Lar
ry ran along the side of the over
turned cars, searching 'or Dorothy.
And he found her. She was unin-
jured, and, on her knees, she crouched
beside a man with a CHASTITY wound
across his breast. Larry knew Col
Inns, though the face had been bat
tered almost out of recognition, He
must have been killed instantly.
He touched Dorothy upon the arm.
There is nothing to TO-" h" said.
1T is too late"
Yes she answered, rising to her
feet in a mechanical manner and NOV
ing away. She seemed stunned by the
catastrophe. She hardly realized
where she was,
Larry devoted hour aftel hour to
aiding the injured, until the hospital
train hat was rushed out from Butte
came up. Then he found Dorothy again.
She was standing neal the body of her
companion, looking uncertainty about
her.
What are you going to do?" asked
Larry.
Il don't know" she answered calm.
ly. She seemed to have lost all power
of feeling. go on to California, | sup
pose. You see, | have my ticket"
But what will you do there?"
What does that matter to you?
Anything"
Dorothy, you said you did not love
that man." said Larry.
"Well?" she returned.
Dorothy, in the old days I used to
love a little girl in Wales. She was
highstrung and willful sometimes, but
she was never bad. Nobody could
have said that of her. And one day,
after a quarrel-she didn't know |
took it, but took a VOW. 1t was that
| would always protect her, against
herself even. And though that was
long ago, and she is married now, do
you suppose that makes any differ
ence. Dorothy, l am never going
back. | am going to California too.
Is it to be together?"
And suddenly she was weeping upon
his neck in an agony of shame.
Copyright. 1915. by w. C. Chapman.)