The Pulaskian., 1921-11-17
CHAPTER xlx--continued.

-ID-
 Moreland winced perceptibly. The big, crooked finger came way from the hair-fne trigger. He had never expect ed to hear the man whom lie knew as John K. Carlyle say that which he had Just said. It had never entered his mind that John K. Carlyle could be sorry.
 Then the great and bitter desire for revenge rushed into his brain again, and his head went down, and his keen right eye looked along the sights and Co 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 T figure carved In stone Now she sprang to her feet and went between Moreland and his ancient enemy.
 'sPut mt gun down--wait ontel I tell ye, John Moreland, what I've got to tell vel" she cried tensely, lapsing into the old dialect in her excitement. While Moreland stared, she went on:
 Tt 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 expiration 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 cain't ye see it, John More Iand?"
 She caught her breath again and continued tearfully: "Oh, he don't desarye to be killed, and ef he did you're too good a man to kill him. He's done paid-you don't know, like T 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, iJohn Moreland! Tore people is saved, as David wanted lem saved. Now ld-d-dont go and s-s-spoil 1t all. fo' Gods sake!"
 The big mountaineer's eyes were wide with amazement, for Elizabeth Littleford's 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 it's 'steel-shod butt found place in the snow beside John Moreland's foot. i 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 1t through the years. The tor rent of words flowed on, while the mountaineer stood rigidly regarding him with strange light in his piere- ing eyes.
 ''I can't ask you to forgive me-" Dale finished brokenly. 1T don't ex- pect forgiveness; my crime was too great. But can't you, for the sake of the boy, let me keep on trying to atone for my sin?"
 John Moreland looked long and searchingly into the face of the plead ing man before him. The bitter struggle that was going on within him was mlrrored on his rugged coun- tenanee. But gradually the bitterness faded; his huge frame trelnbled; he put hand slowly down on the others shoulder
 "The boy" he muttered-"Bill Dale: is he yore boy? Tore name was Car lyle then"
 My boy, yes-my boy, Bill Dale. Carlyle is an old family name. My father was at the head of a big coal concern; he sent me down here in- .cognito to get line on the Moreland vein. Maybe he thought the price would be high if it were known that lie wanted it; I don't know. I-I can't remember
 Ben Littleford's daughter was watching closely, hoping against hope, praying to heaven with all her heart and then she saw John K Dale put his right hand up to John Moreland's hand, take 1t and press it-and she saw John Moreland, his bearded mouth jerking, give the answering squeeze that meant something very akin to forgiveness.
 She ran out at the gate, ran up to the giant hillman and put her arms around his neck; she drew his great brown head down and kissed him on the cheek And John Moreland let his rifle fall unnoticed to the snow, put his arms around her shoulders as though she were his own daughter, bowed his head and sobbed out a few words she did not understand.
 
 Night had fallen when they reached Ben Littlefords cabin home The girl was welcomed with much joy; old Dale was received with almost affec- donate cordlality. roaring fire was soon going i'll the best room, and old Dale was given the eosiest of the sheepskin-lined rockers. Ben Little ford, washed scrupulously clean of coal smut, sat near the guest of honor. John Moreland, who was so thought ful that he seemed to hear and see ol< &-