The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1926-12-03


And she, vaguely disturbed, allowed
herself the happiness Of his company
without understanding what it por-
tended.
They had been spearing fish togeth-
er for the night meal when he found
himself unable to control what was in
his heart.
"Your father will not live long,
Marie" he said. Next week should
see the end Of everything" '''s
"Yes," she said monotonously. 1.-THE
end of-all."
'sThe end Of our companionship."
She nodded, and two tears stole
down her cheeks.
"Do you love MacFarlane, Marie7"
asked the young man. taking her hand
in his.
"No." she whispered.
"Then why are you going to be his
wife?"
"My father wishes it."
Swiftly he caught her in his arms.
But love you," he cried. do you
love me? You do, l can see it in your
face"
Their lips met in their first kiss.
And the world, which had always
been so drab, became suddenly heaven
to the girl. At once he pressed his
plans upon her. AS soon as her father
was dead they would take two horses
and ride to Fort Barry, to be mar
ried there.
The sweetness of their secret filled
their lives. They dared not look at
each other in the cabin, they hardly
spoke. And Bob suspected nothing.
Not even when Andrew breathed his
last, nor when he was laid beneath
pile Of stones to keep off wandering
beasts, did he suspect that Milvaine
was planning to steal his sweetheart
from him.
Tomorrow we'll start" ne told her
that evening, as he went to his bunk.
And for the first time it occurred to
Marie that he had never kissed her.
He did not hear the horses being
led out at dawn. Trembling, the girl
let Milvaine lift her to the saddle.
Often they refined in their horses to
exchange embraces.
An hour later MacFarlane arose and
discovered what had happened. His
slow Scotch blood was afire. He put
on his snowshoes and followed dog
gedly in the horses wake. He knew
that, soft as the ground was with
melted snow, man could travel as
fast as a horse.
The fugitives saw him five miles
away, from the crest of hill. They
hurried their steeds; but their beasts
hoofs, injured by the plunging through
the half-frozen crust, were unable to
support them. They let them go,
watching them trot back along the
trail, and went themselves on snow
shoes.
At night MacFarlane was three
miles distant. He went more slowly,
but tirelessly. All the while by the
light of the moon, he watched the trail.
Here they had halted, here they had
gone more slowly. He knew they were
tired. It would not be dawn before
he caught them.
He had let the horses 60 past him.
Afoot he was their match. And alone,
unaided by man or beast, he meant
to wreak revenge with the revolver
carried in his right hand.
The tracks were fresher. He was
nearly upon them. And he halted, sat-
isfied to rest for an hour. His prey
was almost in his hands.
When dawn came up in red and
gold he, continued onward. He saw
the tracks turn aside. They led to-
ward little rocky recess beside the
river bank.
And there he found them. They had
fallen asleep from exhaustion. They lay
sleeping, side by side. their hands still
clasped.
MacFarlane stood looking down on
them, the weapon in his hand. He
had slipped three cartridges into it.
He could not kill sleeping man, but
he could awaken him.
The girl smiled in her sleep and
her fingers frightened upon those Of
the young man.
Suddenly MacFarlane felt himself
choking. He lowered the revolver.
Then, STOPPING, he laid it softly at
the girls feet and, turning, began to
make his way back toward the cabin.