Newark leader. ([Newark, Ohio]) 1917-1946, 1921-11-18

David Moreland himself had arisen
from the tomb and uttered it, it would
not have struck John X. Dale with
greater force. He grew weak, as
though with fatal sickness. He sank
to his knees in the snow, and his iron
gray head fell forward to his breast.
Elizabeth Littleford knelt in the snow
beside him. She tried to find comfort
ing words, for she loved him and was
sorry for him, but no words would
come.
There was a slight sound, the muf-
fed breaking of a dry twig in the
snow just beyond the palings in front
Of them. Elizabeth Littleford looked
up to see the giant figure Of John
Moreland, whose face was white and
whose eyes were filled with the fire OF
hate and anger, who held rifle in his
cold, bare hands. The rifles hammer
came back, and the fine trigger caught
It with faint click.
Moreland took another step forward
and leveled the weapon across the
palings.
EFF it was any use fo' ye to pray,
Carlyle" he said, and his voice was
shaking and hoarse and choked, "Pd
give ye time. But it amt no use at all.
Look up. Face it. Try to be man fo'
one second in yore low-down life"
Old Dale raised his head, saw David
Morelands brother, and realized all
there was to realize. His eyes widened
a little; then look of relief fitted
across his heavy countenance.
"Shoot and even up the score" he
said bravely, and his head was high.
According to your code, it is just. And
I'll be able to forget at last, at last. So
shoot and settle the account"
Moreand WINGED perceptibly. The
big, crooked finger came way from the
hair-fne trigger. He had never expect
ed to hear the man whom he knew as
John K. Carlyle say that which he had
just said. 1t had never entered his
mind that John K. Carlyle could be
sorry.
Then the great and bitter desire for
ACfCuSC IuSliCu lnlO Ills UIdl dSdlLI
and his head went down, and his keen
right eye looked along the sights and
to the kneeling mans breast. His trig-
ger finger began slowly to crook
Until this instant Elizabeth Little
ford had been as one frozen, had been
as a figure carved in stone Now she
sprang to her feet and went between
Moreland and his ancient enemy.
"Put at gun down-wait ontel 1 tell
ye, John Moreland, what I've got to tell
YEP she cried tensely lapsing into the
old dialect in her excitement. While
Moreland stared, she went on:
"It wasn't Newton Wheatley at put
up the money to start yore coal mine
a-gOin' it was this man here And the
Alexander Crayfield Coal corp'ration-
which has been a-payin' you two prices
fo, yore coal-that was this man here!
Mr.. Hayes was hiS-his ally through it
all. And he's sorry, John Moreland,
this man is-sO sorry that he wants to
die; and CANT ye see it, John More
landw
She caught her breath again and
continued tearfully: "Oh, he don't
desarve to be killed, and eff he did
you're too good man to kill him.
He's done paid-you don't know, like
1 do, how he's paid. You mustn't
fo'get that. And you mustn't fo'get
Bill Dale, his son. Put down that gun,
John Moreland Yore people is saved,
as David wanted 'em saved. Now
d-d-don't go and s-s-spoil 1t all, fo'
Gods sake"
The big mountaineer's eyes were
wide with amazement, for Elizabeth
Littlefords every word had borne the
ring Of truth. He was too dazed to
understand her allusion to Bill Dale
as his old enemy's son. The rifle came
back from across the palings, and its
steel-shod butt found place in the
snow beside John Moreland's foot
Slowly John K. Dale arose and
drew close to him, and then from
John K. Dale's soul came pouring the
pent-up anguish of remorse that had
scared it through the years. The tor
rent Of words flowed on, while the
mountaineer stood rigidly regarding
him with a strange light in his pierre
ing eyes.