Omaha daily bee., 1921-11-12
By RUBY AYRES.

rather shabby brown boots with
rough stick which he had pulle
from hedge.
II was his eight-and-tweniiet
birthday. and he had exactly eight
and.twenty shillings in the worlc
Perhaps il was this fact that was re
sponsible for the preoeeupied loo
on his face and his total oblivion 4
the fact that the top OF the gate wa
bordered with barbed wire to III
exceeding danger OF his already well
worn suit. I.
IL was 4 warm evening in earl.
September The trees all aroun'
were beginning to be family tinge'
with autumn eoloring, and tain
grey mist was rising from the bed o
the river which flowed by on III
other side OF the field at his back.
Eigh,-and-twenty shillings. Th'
Fortune Hunter took the coins iron
his pocket, looked at them, laughed
and jingled them back again.
He had been in many tight cor
ners during the past 10 years OF hi
rowing life and always had managec
10 struggle out OF them, but toda,
somehow his usual optimism seemed
10 have failed him. Perhaps 1t was
the silence all around that depresset
him, for at any rate he sighed-s
most unusual thing for the Fortune
Hunter to do-and passed a hand
wcarily across his eyes.
For a fortnight now he had tramp
ed England, waiting for something
to turn up, for he was firm believer
in his luck. and this was the first time
he had allowed himself even to con-
slider the possibility that it might be
going to fail him after all these years.
To begin with, he was hungry. and
hunger makes a man pesslmist
more quickly than anything on earth
but there was sort OF unwillingness
in his heart TO break into that last
cight-and-twenty shillings until he
was absolutely forced to do so.
When things were at their worst.
something always turned up-or
such, at least, had always been the
case with him, and with the sort OF
feeling that he must get away from
his thoughts and shake off his grow
ing depression, the Fortune Hunter
Jumped down from the gate and
started walking up the road again.
He was tall man and he looked
like a gentleman i'll spite of the fact
that his clothes were shabby and his
boots wanted heeling. Yet there
was all undcniable air OF breeding
about him, and he walked with fine,
athletic swing. despite his weariness.
His hair was short-cropped and
showed touches Of grey here and
there, and his face was burnt by
exposure TO sun and weather.
For a fortnight he had slept in
woods or barns, or rout i'll the
hedges; anything served him for
a bed; he had roughed it III all four
corners OF the world, and never quar-
relied with the pillow provided by
circumstances.
A little further on the road forked;
one way leading straight along, was
evidently the main road, and sthe
other, turning into a narrower path,
ultimately ending in shady wood.
The Fortune Hunter hesitated,
then turned into the wood, where
neither heat nor dust had penetrated
and everything was cool and fresh.
He took of his hat and let the
soft air beat on his forehead, walk
ing mechanically along until sudden
ly he tripped and almost fell over an
obstacle half hidden in the thick
,racken overhanging the narrow foot
path.
The Fortune Hunter recovered
himself and swore good-naturedly,
glancing down to see what had trip
ped him. then his face changed and
he caught his breath on a muttered
ejaculation as he saw the huddled
form Of man lying face downward
amongst the green underground.
Drunk" was his first thought,
and he half moved aside to pass on.
Then some inexplicable instinct re-
strained him, and, STOPPING down, he
pulled the tall bracken aside, peering
more closely at the PROSTATE figure.
Another second and he was on
his knees beside it, his deft brown
hands feeling under the coat for
heart beat, his tanned face pale with
horror, For the man was dead.
The Fortune Hunter had seen
death too many times to be mistaken,
but it gave him an unusual shock to
have come across it here in the heart
of a shady English wood.
Turning the dead man gently over
on his back, he looked into his face.
Quite young face it was and not
unlike his own, he thought vaguely,
with its clean-shaven lips and smooth
skin, from which even death had not
been able to obliterate the tan.
He wore rough tweed suit that
looked rather colonial in cut, and a
soft gray hat lay little distance off
in the bracken.
The Fortune Hunter rose to his
feet and stood looking around him
with feeling Of helplessness. What
ought he to do? Inform the police.
he supposed. He turned his eyes
again to the still form at his feet.
Whatever the cause of death, it
had come peacefully enough, for the
lace was quite calm and unlined by
pain and the lips little parted as If
in sleep.
If only someone would come
along! The Fortune Hunter had no
idea how far he was from the nearest
village, but he was turning to re-
trace his steps to the main road,
When he caught sight of a bulky
package lying almost at his feet,
He stopped and picked it up. It
was a shabby leather pocketbook
held together by an elastic band and
bulging with papers or letters.
The Fortune Hunter turned il
over uncertainty; then. with a
little shrug OF the shoulder, he
pulled off the band and glanced