The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1915-02-18

do bear you enmity? Listen! I
hate the air you breathe an the
ground you walk on. l hate the
clothes you wear an the food you eat.
You bested him always. an then you
killed him, an hate you till the soul
of me aches with hatred of you an Of
your brother. An 30 will till the end
OF the feud"
That night the soft snow lost itself
in the wet misery of rain-drenched sur
faces - it vainly tried to cover the
harsh outlines Of things, and black
thoughts were stirred in the mind Of
Tim O'Curran by the distorted mem
cries Of the years.
The next morning Tom Garrison
was found in the northwest corner Of
the freightyard, thin film Of snow
jeweling the blackness Of his clothes
and glazing his face.
It was the chief who found him
his brother. He was sitting on the
ground. propped against fiat-car
wheel, his head thrown back and his
dead eyes staring into space, as though
anxiously following the fight of his de-
parted spirit.
An ugly dent marred the fine out
line Of his forehead, brutality sufficient
for its murderous purpose.
The chief dropped onto his knees
and ripped the stiff gloves from the
stir fingers, trying. with something OF
hysteria, to chafe life back into the
loved hand. Then he ripped open
overcoat, coat, vest, and shirts-but
beyond the cold flesh the heart was
still forever.
The crunching of heavy footsteps
aroused him, and he turned the agony
Of his strong face to the eyes OF Tim
O'Curran, the yardmaster. At the
sight of 1t the black vengeance died
from the heart of Tim O'Curran like
q small fire of hate before q deluge of
pity. The sorrow of the grief-strick-
en- man leaped straight to the sorrow
of O'Curran's own grief-stricken heart.
The quickened memory Of his own
anguish wrapped itself around the
anguish Of his enemy and bound him
closer than kin or love.
He ran forward, white as the dead
face, and in his heart he wished that
God would end his grief and remorse
with humiliation. Tenderly Clark
son let the stiffening form rest against
the wheel and arose.
1.-THE yeggmen have got him, Tim"
he said hoarsely, grateful for the pale
sympathy Of O'Curran's face. O'Cur-
ran. In desperate hope. bent down to
the lifeless clay. from which he knew
the life had gone six hours before.
"'Twas cruel Decd" he muttered.
"Twas q cruel Decd" but his fast
falling tears would not warm back the
life his own hand had taken. Together
they carried him to the freight shed.
The O'Curran and the Garrison plots
were side by side. and two days later
| they laid him beside the man whom he
had sent on the journey so short q
while before him.
But the spirit Of tragedy still how
cred over the freightyard Of San An
dora, for Tim O'Curran knew that this
was not the end Of the feud.
With bent head he stood by his
brothers grave and fought the matter
out with his soul.
At length he found strength for the
resolve he would make.
"'Twas q cruel vengeance ! took for
the life Of you, Martini" he muttered,
but It's the grief Of the living an not
the ghost Of the dead that has haunted
me ever since-the grief of the woman
your true heart loved. an the grief OF
the strong man that saw like little
child. can feel the love an the ache
Of his heart, for did l not feel 1t for
yourself. An now his is added to my
own.
"'Twas q cruel an senseless feud
made in my own mind as 1t is borne
in my own heart, an it's myself only
can end II. So will go to Jim Clark
son an / will say:
"'My pity has eaten the heart Out
Of my revenge, but tits by the mercy
of God. So now. end the feud, but dc
1t by the way Of the law, an SO gain
ease for your grief an rest for my
SOUL"
He knelt for moment by the grave
then, arising, turned to go, and, bright
er than the moonlight, looking into his
own were the eyes Of Jim Clarkson.
Snow began to sift through the still
air. For an eternity they stood and
stared into each others eyes. Finally
Clarkson spoke.
$50 1t was you who killed my broth
err" he said.
"Jim," said O'Curran, IT was crazy
with grief for the poor boy coming
home As for the dead, Jim, It's but g
little Fastening on the road; but fol
yourself my heart has broken itseli
over your sorrow, an my spirit has
/. brooded over yours as a mother try
ing to comfort a child, and twas the
punishment of God that l could give
you no comfort. So now, take me, an
end the feud an ease your grief"
Il will end the feud," said Clarksor
quietly. pity has eaten the heart on,
of my revenge, too. and over these
graves let us end the feud"
With wonderful gentleness he tool
: the hand of O'Curran. The snow fel
/ softly, white and clinging, as the
honiaou NJ haayo