The herald-advance. (Milbank, S.D.) 1890-1922, 1916-12-29

afforded glilnpses OF the canoes-mere
blurred outlines-and occasionally the
figure Of q man. only recognizable rs
he moved.
l was still staring at this dim pic
ture when some noise, other than the
wind, startled me and I drew silently
back behind a great stump to avoid
discovery. My thought was that some
one had left the mission house-Cas-
sion perhaps with final orders to those
on the beach-but a moment later l
realized my mistake, yet only crouched
lower In the shadow man was ad-
vancing from the black ~conceaiusnt
OF the woods and crossing the open
space.
he moved cautiously, yet boldly
enough. and his movements were not
those OF an Indian, although the low
bushes between us and the house
shadow, prevented my distinguishing
more than his mere outline. It was
only when he lifted his head into the
CLEAN OF light. and took hasty survey
through the window Of the scene with
In, that I recognized the face Of
D'Artigny. He fingered scarcely a
moment, evidently satisfied with what
he saw, and then drew silently back,
hesitating a brief space, as though de
batting his next movement.
I waited breathlcss, wondering what
his purpose could be. half inclined to
intercept and question him. Was he
seeking to serve my cause? to learn
the truth OF my relationship with Cas-
sion? or did he have some other OBJ
ject, some personal feud in which he
sought revenge? The first thought
sent the warm blood leaping through
my veins; the second left me shivering
as II with sudden chill.
Even as l stood, hesitating. uncer-
tain, he turned and retraced his steps
along the same path Of his approach,
passing me not ten steps away and
vanishing into the wood. thought
he paused at the edge and bent down,
yet before l found voice or determin-
alton to stop him. he had disappeared.
Ny courage returned, spurred by cur
iosity. Why should he tax so round
about a way to reach the shore? What
was that black, shapeless thing he had
paused to examine? l could see some
thing there, dark and ~motionless.
though to my eyes no more than a
shadow.
I ventured toward It, creeping be-
hind the bushes bordering the path,
conscious Of an odd fear as I drew
closer. Yet 1t wal not until I emerged
from the fringe Of shrubbery that W
the faintest conception Of what the
object was l saw occurred to me-.
Then I stopped, frozen by horror, for
confronted q dead body.
For an instant l could not utter a
sound or move q muscle OF my body.
Ny hands chung conyulsiyely to a
nearby branch, thus supporting mo
erect In spite Of trembling limbs and
stared at the gruesome object,
black and almost shapeless in the
moonlight. Only part OF the trunk
was revealed. the lower portion con-
cealed by bushes, yet l could no longer
doubt 1t was a mans body-a large,
heavily built man, his hat still crushed
on his head, but with face turned
away.
What courage overcame my horror
and urged me forward l cannot tell;
I seemed impelled BY some power not
my own, q vague fear Of recognition
tugging ut my heart. I crept nearer,
almost inch BY inch, trembling at
every noise. dreading to discover the
truth. At last l could perceive the
ghastly features-the dead man was
Hugo Chevet
I nerved myself to the effort and
turned the body sufficiently to enable
me to discover the wound-he had
been pierced by a knife from behind:
had fallen, no doubt, without uttering
a cry. dead ere be struck the ground.
Then It vas murder. foul murder, a
blow in the back. Why had the deed
been donsl What spirit Of revenge.
OF hatred. Of fear, could have led to
such an act1 I got again to my feet,
staring about through the weird moor
light, every nerve throbbing, as I
thought to grip the fact and find It's
ause. Slowly I drew back. shrinking
in growing terror from the corpse,
until I was safely in the priests gar
den. There I paused i%rresolute. my
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