Belington progressive. [volume] (Belington, W. Va.) 1912-1927, 1916-03-23

| up, something fell from the hidden
| heavens and splashed upon his face.
1t stopped him in his tracks. Then
another fell and another, big. plash-
ing drops that struck him like stones
In their portent. They thickened
swiftly, beating up the light ashes in
tiny puffs, and from the gathered men.
busy with roll-call and accounting,
there came first astounded exclama-
tons and then, as the drops gathered
Roadway, mighty cheer that rent the
covered skies, even as heavy clap of
thunder shook the hills,
"The rains!" they cried, the rains!
| The first rainsl"
And it was even SO. Nature took
a hand and sent Destiny skulking
from the havoc of her carnival. The
| plashfngs turned to a downpour.
Among the mountains the effect was
indescribable. The thing that took place
was too big for man to grasp. 1t was
| greater than the fires had been alone
Long sheets of water fell athwart
the world slanting from some tilted
sea of the infinite. They dashed in
among the canyons, played along the
ridges, dashed slope and ledge and val
ley. The smoke was beaten to the
| earth in blanket that spread over a
hundred miles and more. It writhed
| and twisted and was lost In the clouds
of steam that fed, kissing, high above
the hills. The gods played with the
Coast country Daily turned his face
away from any man and the general
went to the little south room in the
cook-shack for unaccustomed prayer.
The world turned blue with rain rs
1t had been white with smoke
And the pygmies, men, who had
fought SO long and failed, tossed their
blackened hands in triumph and shout
ed with the last of their voices.
For an hour, two, it rained, until
the black spikes on the devasted
slopes were blotted out.
IT'S mighty unusual, rains hard's
this-specially the first rains" said
man from Toledo, earnestly Don't
ever remember ones hard D'you,
Bill?" And Bill didn't.
Presently, in the second hour of the
downpour. a strange procession doomed
out of the gray-blue sheets, startling
the men who were out in it, too glad
to shirk its worst, standing like ducks
in the ashmud
1t was the long, shining body of a
giant dog, still Juggling at the reins
tied to his collar, dripping black
horse, tired to the point of falling, and
woman who sat fastened to the can
tie with strips of broadcloath, and
whose face was not good to look upon.
1t bore upon its features the brand of
too much horror.
They flocked around her with cheers
and eager hands, and questions that
tumbled over each other. But John
Daily thrust them all aside to seize
her wrist and demand word of Sandry
and Siletz.
They're - up behind = the Hog
Back" she shuddered as she spoke
that name. 1--WE found Hampden-set-
ting the-fires-with candles"
Here there were awed mutterings.
'He-shot that-Preacher. He said
the East Belt deed-was recorded
all right-but that--he owned-the
recorder"
She seemed duly bent on straight
ening out some tangle. "Sandry is-a
man-despite all. Get Hampden-if
hes alive. No, / don't mean-that.
He-sent me down The horse was
near done" AS she slid down into
Daily's arms she said with her last
ounce of strength but with such COM
manding spirit that he knew she was
in deadly earnest. Get me-a convey
ance-at once. want to be in Toledo
for the-night train-out.'
Thus it came, that, as night closed
down blue with rain over the tortured
country, two things of import to the
fortunes of the Dillingworth and it's
owner were taking place. Poppy Ord
way stood on the platform OF the
dreary station at the lost little town
on the backwater, bound for the out
side world and the far cities.
AT the same moment yet one more
procession was coming slowly down
from among the peaks, line of men
long line, for weary as they were
dozens had followed the foreman into
the wrecked, mud-deep forest-who
bore tenderly among them two sings.
It was significant fact that scat
tered along that scarecrow line was
every man of Sandry's old crews who
had gone over to Hampden
In one sling there swung gently the
still figure of the Preacher, it's Book
upon it's breast, it's martial flute beside
it, its glimmerings of the Past for
gotten, its wistful searchings ended.
In the other lay Sandry, his right
hand clasping two small dark ones
whose owner trudged faithfully beside
him refusing all offers of assistance.
A holy Joy was in his heart, his lips
moved noiselessly in the rolling Latin
of ''Te Deum." This was the hour
for which he had carelessly learned 1t
at college.