Bisbee daily review., 1922-01-04
Continued from Last Issue.)

ginia's ear. You were with Bill
when he found it."
Il can-but l won't" she replied,
coldly
Gold, gold, gold" he whispered to
himself Heaps and heaps of it
what I've always hunted. And Bill
had to find it, That devil had to
walk right into it."
He was sickened by the thought
that except for his own cowardice he
would have accompanied them into
the den. Then he would have been
in position to claim half the mine
and get it, too.
He found a match. The white
skeleton lay just at his feet.
He drew back, startled, but in
stantly regained his poise He knelt
with unexplicable intentness. He, too,
saw the CHASTITY wound and it's grim
connection with the rusted pick. And
he bent, slowly, like a man who is
trying to control an unwonted eager
ness, lifting the pick in his arms.
Oh, it was easy to handle and lift,
How naturally it swung in his arms!
What a deadly blow the cruel point
could inflictI
XIV
Bill made plans for an early start
to his Twenty-three Mile CABIN
III leave before dawn-as soon as
it gets gray he told Virginia as he
babe her good night. I'll COME back
the next day with a backload of sup
plies. And with the little we have
left, we will have enough to go on.
We can start for Bradleyburg the day
after that"
Virginia took no pleasue in bid
ding him goodby.
Her voice sank almost to wis
per, and her tones were sober and
earnest. "Ill pray for you. Here's
my hand, BILL"
He CROPPED for it, found it at last;
it was swallowed in his own palm,
and the heart of the man raced and
thrilled and burned.
He mushed on, his snowshoes
crunching on the white crust The
powers of the wilderness gave him
good speed-almost to the noon nour.
Then, he was suddenly aware that
the fine edge of the wilderness ST.
lcnce had been dulled. There was a
faint stir at his ear drums The stir
grew to a faint and distant murmur.
the murmur to a long swish IKE Il
million rustling garments. A tree
fell, with crash, far away Then
the wind smote him.
1t was from the southeast.
No man of the northwest provinces
is unacquainted with this wind. 1t
is prayed for in the spring because
its breath melts the drifts swiftly,
but it is hated to death by the trav-
eler caught far from his cabin on
snowshoes.
1t did not occur to Bill to turn
back. Already he was nearly half
way to his destination. The food sup
plies had to be secured, sooner or
later; and when Chinook comes no
man knows when it will go away. He
mushed on through the softening
snow.
The truth suddenly dawned upon
him that he was face to face with
one of the most uncomfortable stu
ations of all his years in the forest
He didn't believe he would be able
to make the cabin before the fall of
night
His woodsman's senses predicted a
bitter night
Through the black hours he vuuiu
have TO fight off sleep so that he
could mend the fire and cut fuel.
Late afternoon already the shadows
law strangs and heavy IN the distant
tree aisles. And all a once he paused,
thrilled in his tracks.
A little way to the east, on the
bank of small creek, his father and
his traitorous partner had once had
mining claim-a mine they had
tried unsuccessfully TO operate before
Bronson had made his big strike.
They had built a small cabin, and
for nearly thirty years it had stood
moldering and forgotten.
Exultant and thankful, Bill turned
in his tracks and mushed over to-
ward it.
There was plenty of heart-0reaking
work to do when Bill finally reached
the little cabin. He couldn't force
open the door so he hacked a hole
in it through which he entered.
After looking about he turned TO
the toll of making fire just outside
the hole.
Tired out, he climbed inside again
and lay down on the dry dirt, put
ting his arm under his head.
All at oace he was aware that his
eyes were fastened upon an old cigar
box on a shelf against the wall.
AS he reached to seize ii, he had
q distinct premonition of misfortune.
1t contained single photograph.
1t was a typical, old-fashioned pho
tograph-two men standing in stiff
and awkward poses in an old-fash-
toned picture gallery-prmted IN the
time-worn way.
One of the men was his own father.
And he stared at the other face-a
rather handsome, thin-lipped, sardonIc
eyed face-as if he were looking at
a ghost.
Great Cod" he cried. IT'S Ilar-
old Lounsbury!"
But instantly he knew it could not
be Harold Lounsbury. .--reaGy nc
knew. 1t was no other than Ruthe
ford. the man who slew his father.
His deductions followed with dead !