Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1929-09-19

something INTELLECTUALLY colonial. 1t
had been landscape gardened.
Mrs. Whitman's arrival there had all
the secretive quality of a circus parade.
The hotels press agent tried to inter-
view her for a syndicated column. She
was photographed. Being the very rich
Mrs. Whitman, she was pursued by
casual friends, forced into Supplying
bridge games. Worse, Miss Henrietta
Wiley, a spinster whose mole starred
face explained her virginity, chose
Joan. The choice was violently one
sided and drove Joan to lonely rambles
ened to break the bargain with her
self, pack, and go home.
Il don't know anything" she con-
feSSed on n Of her solitary walks.
That morning the woods had been SEN
~suously beautiful. But she thought on:
Even now, 1 can't balance my accounts
unless Johnnie helps. George kept me
in a harem. UndevelOped. Un@'
A great blue boulder vas looming
out OF the forest; garlanded with vines
at its base.
Something like yesterday she had
been on the brow Of that old blue
rock-so many years ago!
She climbed reminiscently up the
rock and perched there.
A rifle in the foliage and she looked
down to see a mar sketching on a
small pad. She had an impression Of
a gentle, rather Monaghan face, burn
ing gray eyes, dark hair. A noble head,
she thought. His sudden appearance,
his shabby clothes, might have fright
ened her; but the apparition seemed
normal as leaves on the trees. Then
he looked up without embarrassment
"Ah, madame!" He was tall, distin-
guished. 81 did not know"
This isn't my rock" She laughed
at his proud apology.
She was getting down. May l heir
you? It's a bit Steep" He held out q
fine hand, a we'll bred gesture.
He ripped a page from his pad. tore
it INTO shreds, let the fragments futtei
away like small white butterflies. A
youthful gesture, it set her wondering
about his age. Under thirty-five.
II could not let you see the botcf
I was making" Sweeping his hand.
toward the flying paper.
You come here to work."
ITO work?" His brow puckered unit
he understood. ITO paint, you mean
Then, almost in a whisper, "They tool
that away from me. too
who took your painting from you?
she asked.
The man shrugged his shoulders
There are SO many stories like tina
in this sad period"
But you can't steal a mans talent,
she objected. That's part Of you"
II should SO like you to believe me,
he said. But that would be a littl
difficult. War is cruel in other way
than bullets. 1t often kills withou
wounding."
Aching to question him, she was afrait
to seem too curious.
"You like Russian cigarets?" h
asked, showing hs brownish ones Will
long paper tubes.
II like the idea rather than tn
taste"
Perhaps that describes my country,
putting moodily.
Romance crept through the forest
He had been in the war, a RUSSIAN
imperialist. She remembered one tor
mented woman who had come to Ney
York and begged the world to believ
you've been here long?" asked Joar
"Quite a while" He seemed indif
ferent.
But how could they take your paint
ing away from you?"
MAYBE it was arranged by destin
that / should tell you" His strang
ewes seized hers. Il do not tell man
people. Madame"-words seemed t
f1ood-"I was q young officer in tn
imperial army. Under Kerensky l be
came a major. Then the Reds cap
tured us at Kiev. Those bloody day
became-what shall I call TIA stock
yard. ! can always see them as I di
from my window, waiting to die. Hun
dreds Of brother oflcers standing ther
before the butchers. Also they kille,