Pierre weekly free press. (Pierre, S.D.) 1889-19??, 1916-05-25

never quarreled with Buck now. She
never leased him. Oftentimes, rest
less and dissatisfied himself, the young
fellow wished she had. In some subtle
way she had receded from him into a
more unapproachable distance.
In truth. Jess was on guard. A
wonderful thing had happened to her.
Even in that shocked moment when
she had stood looking down upon
Blass Cardross' dead body it had been
OF Buck that h had thought. He had
saved her. He was thereby himself in
danger.
Strang, nameless emotions stirred
in her heart as she had watched him,
so clean and capable, so fine and hui
man, so wholly hers in his love. The
scales a fallen from her eyes, yet
even as her admiration had grown and
that first sweet, wild sense Of her
power over his power, fear had grown,
too, in Jess Kilrain's awakened heart.
So Jess q ridden from him that
day, her soul In a tumult Of feelings
of which not the least were the wonder
and marvel at herself for her blind
ness, her folly, the new, quick bound
ing capacity within her for joy that
seemed to be sweeping her off her feet,
a sudden zest for life which not even
the thought of death as she had just
seen 1T, avenging and terrible, could
serve to daunt.
Yet her fear daunted 1t, and even
before the news of the dire results Of
Bucks exploding of the dam became
known, Jess had determined she would
plead with him through his love for
her to be silent bou Cardross' death.
She had been quick to avail herself
of the impression that had at once es-
tablished itself in every one's mind as
to the source Of that explosion. and
she had likewise been quick to see that
Buck was not going to take shelter
under 1t. So she had gone to Worth
ing.
Her action there had come at the
moments inspiration. Love and life
were in the balance, and Jess threw
in her woman's soul to give full meas
ure. she had won, as she knew She
would. Then, having won, Jess drew
the woman's caution about her-drew
it all the closer because Of the exposure
she had made.
And as though to put the past yet
more remote, the face Of nature now
underwent a change.
The long drought broke, and the au-
tumn came in with rains that seemed
endless. Where the creek and river
beds had lain dry as bleached bones
the water rushe in freshets that
spread over the banks and swirled like
maelstroms among the trunks of the
trees, drowning some runks Of the
w q AVN WIN IGN pSOA
perishing of thirst.
The forced inactivity Of the days
wore on Jess Kilain. One morning she
stood by the window watching the
downpour and wishing she lac a mans
work that would take her out in 1t.
There's plenty Of woman's work you
might do" said her aunt. to whom Jess
had unwisely communicated her desire.
MY hands would drap off If they hung
as idle az yours, Jess"
rs that why you keep your tongue
goin' SO, Aunt Agnes?" asked the girl.
Though l don't b'lieve it would stop
flndin' fault with me if it did drop off,
Agnes busted vigorously not to say
virtuously.
My tongue find no more fault
than there's fault to find" she de-
clared.
"You think too much bout men, Jess
Kilrain. I'd ha' thought you'd learned
that lesson"
The girl drummed for a moment
upon the window pane with indignant
fingers. Then she turned about.
You should ha' married a parson.
Aunt Agnes" she observed as she
passed her aunt "Your children
would ha' been a~ngels-an' horrid lit
tie brats."
She went on to her room, donned
rubber boots n over her riding
clothes put on a black slicker Even
the hat she wore was a man's with
rubber cape about the neck.
In the stable she saddlied her horse
and rod forth.
The heavy black earth stuck like
wax until she reached the plains, soft
and soggy under her pony's hoofs.
There she broke into a splashing can
ter, the cold rain whipping in her face,
the smell Of the drenched earth sweet
to her nostrils.
Agnes Kilrain had been right.
Jess was thinking not of men, but
Of one man in particular; thinking of
him with an intensity that now and
again frightened her lest it rob her of
her secret and bring to happen that
very thing h yearned for hungrily,
But she had learned her lesson, that
lesson OF a singing shame that even
when h remembered the way she had
cheapened herself. with Blass Cardross
Never, she swore to herself, would she
do the shadow Of that again.
Rather would h let Buck think her
old antagonism toward him once more
lived In her heart.
He was avoiding her, she knew, and
Jess could imagine the rebellion in his
heart. She had bought his compliance
with her wishes, n then refused the
payment-the only payment that could
have salved his hurt manhood. But
just oCauS jess Hdu udTeu SO DTdVely
that night did she shrink the more now
And already the torturing doubt that
Buck despised her for her conduct
that his love for. her had died under
the exaction h had put upon twas
forming vaguely in Jess mind. Gould
she blame him. she asked herself now
with forlorn candor. if guessing hei
tlove he should deem It a platry thing:
He should guess 1t again. She
had scorned and repulsed him often
Not by the lifting OF an eyelash would
she have him think she played for him
now.
She rode into the river woods
Heavy drops from the trees fell upon
her coated body like shot. Her pony
Ialipped and slid on the sodden loan
Iof the forest.
Reaching the ford. Jess saw at 4
glancs that Il would be q hazardoul
thing for her TO attempt to make It
So she drew her pony back toward the
higher o~verhanging bank. n sat him
there watching the mad race Of the
lrtver at her feet.
CHAPTER XXX.
AN UNHEARD DECLARATION.
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