Belington progressive. [volume] (Belington, W. Va.) 1912-1927, 1916-02-17
CHAPTER XIII.
Proof at Last.

Proof at Last.
The summer was upon the hills with
a vengeance
Mighty onusual," said Ma Daily,
this here heat. Hottest it's been fer
many year; "it's a-goin' to be a
mighty dry season an it's a-comin'
early"
Which prophecy seemed due to be
| fulfilled. A blue heat haze lay deep in
| the valleys, hung amid the hills. The
| deep floor of pine needles in the big
| woods was already dry as powder. and
| it was only late July. The camp was
humming ahead with the work They
had exceeded their expectations in
getting out logs. sending out more
than they had planned.
Miss Ordway, still mistress of the
| little south room, worked feyerishly
at the new story of the timberlands
| A bit of her brightness. some OF her
painstaking cheeriness, was gone with
the summers heat. She had thought
that long before this she would have
won that the engagement she had so
daringly announced would be a fact.
She could not understand his holding
out against her.
Sandry had made many trips to
| Salem, consulting with the lawyer he
had summoned from the East, who was
turning heaven and earth in an effort
| to prove what Sandry knew to be
80 To-, n ~
ing The young commissioner at Sa-
lem was ION to his job" and the weeks
| flew by with not one raveled end to
| the ball Of fraud and deception and
| criminal intrigue which lay snug in the
| doctored records of the state land of
| flee Miss Ordway had dropped her
| filing for the timber claim and the
young commissioner was uneasilv
searching his Offices for the two let
| tiers and missing account book He
did not family suspect that the last
| time he had seen them was during the
visit to Salem of the charming new
acquisition to the ring In fact.
some of those days we're still shroud-
ed in nebulous haze OF mystery-red
wine and red lips and heady infatua>
| ton.
But things were approaching an
| other change in Daily's lumber camp
One day in late July Sandry wrote sew
eral letters and Poppy Ordway lean
ing Familiarity over his shoulder.
reached ont a hand for them
I'm going up TO the forked stick"
10 lu "a n
. them"
The dainty fingers we're all but
trembling with eagerness. for she saw
that one of them was addressed to
John H. Musseldorn, at town in New
| Jersey. There was none to observe
her on the sunny Siletz road behind
the low growth of spruce. and when
she strolled down the little meadow
again toward the cook-shack. that par
| ticular letter lay safe inside the bosom
| Of her dress
She went straight to the south room.
entered and closed the door. Her
| hands trembled violently, but there
was no compunction for what she was
about to do in her heart. She was
pretty we'll armed with knowledge that
would give her hold on Sandry in
case she was forced to use it, bur
here, she believed. would be proof pos
tive the actual written word that she
might hold before his eyes in some
hard event of the future
| With strong excitement she slit the
envelope, drew out the sheet and be-
| gan to read. Faster and faster came
her hot breath redder and redder
grew her cheeks, while triumph spar
Killed. in her eyes. She moved slightly
on her slippered feet, little motion
of satisfaction that set her garments
whispering-as when the tiger, scent
ing its prey, squirms before the leap.
With eager haste she sat down at
her typewriter and began to write.
When she had finished an hour later
after long intervals Of study, there lay
under her hand a very creditable brief
of the famous Whitby case-a verba-
tim copy of President Whitbys last
letter, a concise history of Walter San
dry's life since college. the notes in
the red morocco book. plainly speci-
fed as his delirious words, and copy
It this letter to Musseldnrn. Taken