The Lamar register., 1917-07-04

with her-if she hadn't, he'd We
dropped one or both of us off FL Capt.
tan. We were pinned against the wall
like a couple Of targets. If there were
soft-nose bullets in her rifle it's be-
cause she uses them on game-bobcats
and mountain lions. l never thought
of 1t till this minute. That is 1t"
"What l came up to tell you has to
do with Dave Sassoon. From what
happened today in the gap 1 thought
you ought to know it now. Gale and
Duke quarreled yesterday over the way
things turned out; they were pretty
bitter. This afternoon Gale took it up
again with his uncle, and 1t ended in
Dukes driving him clean out of the
gap"
where has he goneP
Nobody knows yet. Ed Wickwire
told me once that your father was shot
from ambush a good many years ago.
1t was north of Medicine Bend, on "a
ranch near the Peace river; that you
never found out who killed him, and
that one reason why you came up into
this country was to keep an eye out for
clue
"MnNt hDOul llE hohtu Dc SPoiht
his tone hardening.
81 was riding home one night about
month ago from Calabasas with Sas-
soon. He'd been drinking. | let him
do the talking. He began cussing you
out, and talked pretty hard about what
you'd done, and what he'd done, and
what he was going to do" Nothing,
il seemed. would hurry the story.
Finally, Sassoon says: That hound
don't know yet who got his dad. II
was Duke Morgan; that's who got him.
was with Duke when he turned the
trick. We rode down to De SPANS
ranch one night to look up a rustler.
That" concluded Pardaloe, "was all
Sassoon would say"
He stopped. He seemed TO wait.
There was no word of answer, none of
comment from the man sitting near
him. But, for one, at least, who heard
the passionless, monotonous recital OF
IA murder of the long ago, there fol-
lowed a silence as relentless as fate,
a silence shrouded in the mystery of
the darkness and striking despair into
two hearts-a silence more fearful
than any word.
Pardaloe shuhied his feet He
coughed, but he evoked no response. Il
thought you was entitled to know"
he said finally. Nov that Sassoon will
never talk any more"
De Spain moistened his lips. When
he spoke his voice was cracked and
harsh, as IL with what he had heard he
had suddenly grown old.
You are right, Pardaloe. 1 thank
YOU. when lin the morning. Par
| daloe, for the present, go back to the
gap. 1 will talk with WIckwire-to-
morrow"
Good night, Mr.. de Spain"
Good night, Pardaloe."
Bending forward, limp, in his chair.
supporting his head vacantly on his
hands, trying to think andsfearing to
think, De Spain heard Pardaloe's meas
ured tread on the descending steps,
and listened mechanically to the re-
| treating echoes of his footsteps down
the shaded street Minute after min
/ ute passed. De Spain made no move.
| A step so light that it could only have
/ been the step of n lelicate girlhood, a
step free as the football of youth,
| poised as the tread of womanhood and
| beauty. came down the stairs. Slight
as she was, and silent as he was, she
walked straight to him in the dark
ness, and, sinking between his feet,
wound her hands through his two
arms. ~ heard everything, Henry
she murmured, looking up. An invol-
untary start of protest was his only
response. 81 was afraid Of a plot
against you. | stayed at the head OF
the stairs. Henry, l told you long ago
some dreadful thing would come be-
tween us-something not our fault
And now 1t comes to dash our cup OF
happiness when 1t is filling"
She stopped, hoping perhaps he
would say some llnle word, that ht
would even pat her head, or press hei
hand, but he sat like one stunned. I'll
lit could have been anything but this r
she pleaded. low and sorrowfully. "Oh
why did you not listen to me before
we were engulfed! My dear Henry
You who've given me all the happiness
have ever had-that the blood of my
own should come against you anC
yours I" The emotion she struggled
with, and fought back with all th'
strength Of her nature. rose in re
sistless tide that swept her on, in th'