Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1923-05-16

"We're not done for" said Loving
ton.
March seemed not to hear. "Helen
does not love me, scarcely cares to
make my acquaintance, never wished
to see me. Perhaps that is my punish
ment for thinking of her always as an
infant, with a glorious mother And
Eithna has been dead for years"
Lexington was alarmed concerning
his friend, who was slipping deeper
into dependency. He forgot his work
for the United States government, his
long labors in the name of humanity,
and all his thought conferred upon his
personal disaster. He was close to
tragic unbalance. Lexington said
quickly:
"But Helen says her mother is not
really dead You have yourself told
me that this life is but the camp of
one night in a long journey, that the
better air of the hills is just beyond"
Slowly March smiled, and sadly.
"The camp of one night. Yes, long,
dark night"
"We have work to do, now" urged
the younger man. work that may
bring our dawn"
1t was useless to try to cheer the be-
reaved man, who merely replied:
"They are causing little Helen to for
get all her mother gave to her; they
are giving her to that yellow man
doll"
''No!" cried Lexington. "Not yet"
Andrew March laughed at him, bit
terly.
| In some subtle, potent manner, the
| Cobb was too much for white men.
! They could not remain the same.
March was slipping down hill. Lev
| ington was not his former self, easy
going and slow to kindle a dreamer.
He had grown tense of nerve, keyed
up strangely high, with a whole new
set of passions in his breast. He was
expanded, set free, despite the pitchy
caverns.
He arose now and moved away
from his cOmrade, elbOwed through
the shifting crowds, a Goliath by con-
trast. They made way for him. The
Arab called something he did not
catch. He had a desire for breath
of upper air, and was going toward
the base of the shaft.
It was dark at the top, still night,
the blot of a sentinel there. Con went
up by the aid of the long vine, which
had been worn smooth. by the pulling
of many hands, day after day. The
hunched one who watched at the .Op
made way for him, but did not offer
a hand. The stars were fading by
the nearness of new day. Leaving be-
hind him all the smoldering life be-
low-the warped, Slapped, wasted hun
dreds with the mentalities of sad
children-Levington left the mouth of
the shaft and strobe up the rise. He
drank the cool air of the open.
To the east a low band of dusty
yellow, above and around the pale
smooth smoke of waning night. Only
the larger stars remained aloft, white
and friendly points, familiar, seeming
closer than America. Westward the
city, its palace like something built IN
a mighty yesterday by giants, and left
behind for men-dark now, but plainly
outlined. From the crest Lexington
viewed the shadowy secrets of the Sha
Mo, and presently his eyes stopped
on a point in the road, at the head of
the ravine. He stared through the
twilight and saw motionless horse
man there.
He must know. Taking his former
path, down the further side of the
ridge and around to the cut, he has
tened in the loneliness of that gray
dawn. Creeping near he could not
mistake the large, limp hat, the dis
tinctive fling of the cloak, the pony.
He stood up and ran toward Helen.
''What is it," he asked.
"They are coming for you at sun
RISE" she said. They will kill YOU"
''We are ready to receive them"
be said. THE miners are not at work.
and are not sleeping. They are wait
ing, armed. The plan is to fall upon
the soldiers if they come into the
mines"