The Coolidge examiner., 1931-05-15

He picked up his hatchet and his
bow and rose to his feet. He had
not lost sound of the mill wheel
even when Toinette's sobbing had
seemed to be at his side. 1t was
crying at him now, but before he
turned toward it his eyes rested
on Tonteur's wooden peg. 1t was
half cut off, mark Of grim humOr
on the part of a butcher. The mill
wheel was forcing his attention to
that fact 'Look-lOOk-lOok"-it
said, and then repeated the old
song, calling him an English beast.
He faced it in a fash of resent
ment, not because of the wheel
alone but on account of what lay
at his feet and what he knew he
would find nearer to the walls of
the manor. His mind was hurl-
ing anathema at the wheel. He
wanted to tell it that it lied. In
this hush of death he wanted to
cry out that he was not of the
murderous breed who had sent the
killers. Proof was over there, in
the valley which at last was well
named. His mother. His father
His Uncle Hepsibah. Not one of
them had been of this breed in their
hearts, and all of them were dead
by its hand. He had been left alive
by chance. That was proof. The
wheel lied.
He looked at TOnteur again,
strengthening himself to 90 little
farther and find Toinette. He
knew how it would be. TOinette's
young body, even more pitifui than
his mothers. He forced himself
to turn toward the smOldering
walls. Toinette-dead His father
might die, and Tonteur, and all
the rest of the world-but these
two, his mother and Toinette, in
separabIe in his soul forever, the
vital sparks which had kept his
own heart beating-hOw could
they die while he lived? He ad-
vanced, pausing over one of the
slaves, a woman almost unclothed,
inky black except the top of her
head which was red where her
scalp was gone. In the crook of
her arm was her scalpless infant.
White, black, women, babies-the
loveliness of girlhOod-it made no
difference.
JeemS scanned the earth beyond
her, and where the smoke lay in
a white shroud he saw a small,
slim figure which he knew was
Toinette. Another young body
might have lain in the same way,
Its slenderness crumpled in the
same manner, a naked arm re-
veaIed dimly under its winding
sheet of smoke. But he knew this
was Toinette. The diZzying haze
wavered before his eyes again,
and he put out his hand TO hold it
back. TOinette. Only a few steps
from him. Dead, like his mother.
Odd went ahead of him halfway
to the still form and stopped. He
sensed something Jeems could not
see or feel through the smoke mist
which undulated before their eyes.
Warning of impending danger
the dog, and he tried
to pass it to his master. In that
moment, a shot came from the
mill, and a flash of pain darted
through Jeems' arm. He was flung
backward and caught himself to
hear echoes of the explosion beat
ing against the forested hills and
the wheel at the top of the mill
screaming at him.
He answered the shot by
dropping his bow and dashing to-
ward the mill. Death might easily
have met him at the threshold,
but nothing moved in the vaultlike
he had entered, and there
was no sound in 4 except that of
his own breath and his racing
heart. Odd went to the flight of
narrow steps which led to the
tower room and told Jeems that
what they sought was there.
Jeems ran up, his hatchet raised
to strike
He must have been an unfor-
gettable and terrifying object as
he appeared above the floor into
the light which forced its way
through the dusty glass of three
round windows over his head.
There must even have been
little of the monster about him.
He had left some of his garments
with his mother and father, and
his arms and shoulders were bare.
Char and smoke and the stain OF
earth had disfgured him. His
face appeared TO be painted for
slaughter and a greenish fire gilt
tered in the eyes that were seek
ing for an enemy. Blood dripped
to the oaken planks from his
wounded arm. He was a Franken-
stein ready to kill, dishevelment
and fury concealing his youth, his
stature made appalling by his
eagerness to leap at something
with the upraised hatchet.
If the hatchet had found a brain,
it would have been Toinette's. She
faced him as he came, holding the
musket which she had fired
through a slit in the wall as if
she still possessed faith in it's
power to defend her. Her eyes
had in them a touch of madness.
Yet she was so straight and tense,
waiting for death, that she did
not seem to be wholly possessed
by fear or terror. Something I'M
conquerable was with her, the
soul of Tonteur himself struggling
in her fragile breast to make her
I'M q froi6 fn die nnH u hn,