Newark leader. ([Newark, Ohio]) 1917-1946, 1923-01-05

turned. Bruces tracks were some
what dimmed by the snow, but the
Killer interpreted them truly. She
saw too late that he had crossed them.
read their message, and now had
turned into the clouds of snow to trace
them down.
For an instant she gazed at him In
speechless horror; and alreaoy lhe
furries had almost obscured his gray
figure. Desperately she tried to call
his attention from the tracks She
called, then she rustled the branches
as loudly as she could. But the noise
of the wind obscured what sound she
absorbed in the hunt to turn and see
her. AS always, in the nearing pres
ence Of foe, his rage grew upon him.
Sobbing, Linda swung down from
the tree. She had no conscious plan
of aid to her lover. She only had a
blind instinct to seek him, to try to
warn him of his danger, and at least
to be with him at the death. The great
tracks Of the Killer, seemingly almost
as long as her own arm, made plain
trail for her to follow. She too struck
off into the storm-swept canyon.
.
And the forest gods who dwell some
where in the region where the pine
tops taper into the sky, and who pull
the strings that drop and raise the
curtain and work the puppets that are
the players of the wilderness dramas,
saw chance for great and tragic
Jest in this strange chase over the
snow. The destinies of Bruce, Linda
and the Killer were already converg-
ing on this trail that all three followed
the path that the runaway horse
made In the snow. Only one of the
great forces of the war that had been
waged at Trails End was lacking, and
now he came also.
Simon Turner had ridden late into
the night and from before dawn; with
remorseless fury he had goaded on
his exhausted horse, he had driven
him with implying strength through
coverts, over great rocks, down into
rocky canyons In search Of Bruce and
Linda, and now, as the dawn broke,
he thought that he had found them.
He had suddenly come upon the tracks
of Bruce's horse in the snow.
If he had encountered them farther
back, when the animal had been run
ming wildly, he might have guessed
the truth and rejoiced. No man would
through that trailless stretch. But at
the point he found the tracks most Of
the horses terror had been spent, and
it was walking leisurely, sometimes
lowering its head to crop off the shrub
berry. The trail was comparatively
fresh too or else the fast-falling
snow would have already obscured it.
He thought that his hour Of triumph
was near
But 1t had come none too soon. And
Simon-out of passion-t1lled eyes
looked and saw that 1t would likely
bring death with 1t.
He realized his position fully. The
storm was steadily developing into
one Of those terrible mountain bliz.
yards in which, without shelter, no
human being might live. He was far
from his home he had no blankets
and he could not find his way. Yet
he would not have turned back If he
could. The securing of the document
by which Bruce could take the great
estates from him was only trifle now.
He believed wholly within his own
soul that the wilderness-without his
aid-would do his work of hatred for
him; and that by no conceivable cir
cumstanCes could Bruce and Linda
find shelter from the blizzard and live
through the day. He could find their
bodies in the spring If he by any
chance escaped himself. and take the
Ross -Folger agreement from them.
But it was not enough. He wanted
also to do the work Of destruction.
Even his own death--if 1t were only
delayed until his vengeance was
wreaked-could not matter now. In
all the ancient strife and fury and
ceaseless war of the wild through
which he had come, there was no pas
sion to equal this The Killer was con-
tent TO let the wolf kill the fawn for
him. The cougar will turn from Its
warm, newly slain prey, in which its
white fangs have already dipped, at
the sight of some great danger In the
thickets. But Simon could not turn
Death lowered its wings upon him as
well as upon his enemy, yet the fire in
his heart and the fury in his brain
shut out all thought of 1t.
He sprang off his horse better to
examine the tracks, and then stood,
half bent over, In the snow.
Bruce Folger headed swiftly up the
trail that his runaway horse had
made. 1t was. he thought. his last
effort, and he gave his full strength
to it. Weakened as he was by the
cold and the wound, he could not have
made headway at all except for the
fact that the wind was behind him.
The snow ever fell faster, In larger