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Show THE TIMES-NEW- NEPHI, UTAH S, O LA GWYN By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON Copyright by Dodd. Meal "SHE'S GONE!" SYNOPSIS. Kenneth Qwynne was rive years old In the spring of 1112 when his father ran away from Kentucky with Rachel Carter, a widow. They took with them Mlnda Carter, Rachel' baby daughter. In the fall Kenneth's mother died of a broken heart. His grandparents brought him up to hate the name of Rachel Carter, "an evil woman." Kenneth, now a young lawyer, seeks lodging; for the night at the farm of Phlneas Striker, near Lafayette, Ind. It appears that Ken's father has recently died and that he Is on his way to take possesaloa of extensive lands he The Strikers has Inherited. bought their farm of Ken's faa ther and mortgage runs to his father's widow the Rachel Carter. A beautiful nineteen-year-ol- d girl, who says she knew his father well and refuses to give her name. Is visiting the Strikers. Ken Is much interested In her. CHAPTER Continued. II lie pried open the tight little win- dow, letting a draft of fresh air rush Into the stifling attic. Then he sat on the edge of the tick for a few minutes, ruminating, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the sputtering. Imperiled candle. He said his prayers he never forgot to say the prayer his,niother had taught him blew out the candle, pulled the blankets up to his chin, and was soon fast asleep. He did not know what time It was when he was aroused by the barking of Striker' dogs, loud, furious barking and ugly growls, signifying the presence In the Immediate neighborhood of the house of some Intruder, man or beast. Shaking off the sleep that held him, he crept to the window and looked out'. The moon was gone and the stars had almost faded from the'lnky black dome. : Suddenly his gaze fell upon a light moving among the trees some distance from the cabin. As he watched he heard spme one stirring In the room below. Then the cabin door creaked on Us rusty hinges and almost Immediately a Jumble of subdued hoarse olces came up to him. He felt for Ms pistols and realized with something of a shock that he had left them In the kitchen with Zacharlah. The dogs, .admonished by a sharp word or two, ceased their barking. Thls reassured him, for they would obey no one except Phlneas Striker. .Whoever was at the cabin door, there 'was no longer any question In his 'tntnd as to the peaceful nature of the !visit He crept over to the trapdoor 'and cautiously attempted to lift It an Inch or so, the better to hear what was going on, but try as he would he could not budge the covering. The murmur of voices went on for a few minutes longer, and then he heard the oft, light pad of feet on the floor below; sibilant, penetrating whispers; a suppressed feminine ejaculation followed by the low' laugh of a man. a laugh that might well have been described as a chuckle. For a long time he lay there listening to the confused sound of whispers, the stealthy "shuffling of feet, tli quiet opening and closing f a diKir, and then there was silence. Several minutes passed. He stole back to the window. The light in the forest had vanished. Just as he was on the point of crawling into bed again, another soutid struck his ear: the r unmistakable rattle of wagon jwhecls on their axles, the straining of harness, the rasp of tug chains 'quite near at hand. Presently the front door of the cabin squealed on Its binges, the latch snapped and the bolt fell carefully Into place. He could not go to sleep again. Ills brain was awake and active, filled with unanswered questions, beset by endless speculation. The first faint sign of dawn,' creeping through the window, found him watching eagerly, Impatiently for Its sppeuratice. The square little aperture was clearly defined against the graying ky before lie distinguished signs of activity fn the room below. Striker was tip and moving about. Kenneth, despite his longing for this very hour to come, now perversely wished to sleep. A belated but bpatlflc drowxiness seized hitn. He was only of the noise that attended the lifting of the trapdoor. "Wake up I Time to git up," a distant voice was calling, and he suddenly opened his eyes very wide and found himself staring at a shaggy, unkempt head sticking up out of the I ! s floor. "That you, Striker?" he mumbled. Time to git up. Five "Yep It's me. o'clock. Sleep well?" I was awakened some "Passably. time In the night by your visitors." Striker was silent for a moment. 'Thought nisybe you'd be disturbed, plte of all we could do to be as quiet s possltle. People from a farm 'tother side of the plains." The head disappeared, and In a very few minutes flwynne, carrying his Coat and ws.stcrat. the adder Info 'jtt presence of a roaring fire. Eliza was preparing breakbe mad fast. In U.e gray half-ligdeaf-ende- out Striker and Zacharlah moving about the barnlot A rough but clean towel hung across the board wall of the well, while a fresh bucket of water stood on the shelf inside, Its chain hanging limply from the towering end of the "h'lstlng pole." They ate breakfast by candle light. Striker and Eliza and Kenneth. There was no sign of the beautiful and exasperating girl. Phlneas was strangely glum and preoccupied, his wife too busy with her flapjacks to take even the slightest Interest In the desultory conversation. "A little too early for my fellow-gueto be up and about, I see," ventured Kenneth at last, taking the bull by the horns. Ills curiosity had to be satisfied. Striker did not look up from his plate. "She's gone. She ain't here." st "Gone?" "Yep. Left Jlst a little while 'fore sun-up.- " "Her ma sent for her," volunteered Ell.a. "Sent fer her to come In a hurry," added Striker, trying to be casual. "Then it was she who went away In the wagon last night." said the young man, a note of disappointment In his voice. "I trust her mother Is not 111." "No tellin'," was Striker's response. It was quite apparent to Kenneth that they did not wish to discuss the matter. He waited a few moments before remarking: "I saw a light moving through the woods above here a lantern, I took It to be just after I was awakened by the barking of the dogs. I thought at first It was that which set the dogs off on a rampage." Striker was looking at him intently under his bushy eyebrows, his knife poised halfway to his Hps. "Hunters, I reckon, goin' down stream for wild duck and geese this mornln. There's a heap o' ducks an' geese passln' over " "See here, Phlnons," broke In his wife suddenly, "what's the sense of You know It wasn't sayln' that? duck hunters. Nobody's out shootlug ducks with the river as high as it is down this way, an Mr. Gwynne knows It, If he's got half as much sense as I think he has." "When I heard people out In front of the cabin shortly afterward, I naturally concluded that the lantern belonged to them," remarked the young . man. "Well, it didn't," said Striker, laying down his knife. "I guess It won't hurt you to know now somethin' that will be of considerable Interest to I ain't betrayin' noyou later on. body's secret 'cause I said I was go-Ito tell you the whole story." "Don't you think you'd better let It come from somebody else, Phin?" en, so good lookln' an' all, an' so dif- ferent from the farm boys aroun' here. Alius got good clothes on, an' they say he has fit a couple of duels down the river. Somehow that alius appeals to young girls." Gwynne was decidedly upset by the revelations; a vague dream, barely begun, came to a sharp and disagreeable end. "She actually had planned to run away with this man Lapelle?" he exclaimed, frowning. "It was all arranged?" "So I take it." said Striker. "The fellow must be an arrant scoundrel," declared the young man angrily. "No gentleman would subject an innocent girl to such " "All's well that ends well, as the feller says," interrupted Striker, arising from the table. "At least fer the present. She seemed sort of wlllln' to go home with her ma, so I guess her heart ain't everlastingly busted. I thought It was best to tell you all this, Mr. Gwynne, 'cause I got a sneak-Iidee you're goin' to see a lot of that girl, an" maybe you'll turn out to be a source of help in time o' trouble to her." "I fail to understand just what you mean. Striker. She is an absolute stranger to me." "Well, we'll see what we shall see," said Striker, cryptically. Half an hour later Kenneth and his servant mounted thetr horses in the barnyard and prepared to depart "Follow this road back to the cross-Ian' , turn to your left," directed Striker, "an' 'fore you know it you'li be in Lay-flaas they call It down In Crawfordsvllle. Remember, you're alius most welcome here. I reckon we'll see somethin' of each other as time goes on." He walked alongside Gwynne's stirrup as they moved down toward the road. "Some day," said the young man, "I should like to have a long talk with you about my father. You knew him well and I by the way, your lovelorn friend knew him also." The other was silent for half a dozen paces, looking straight ahead. "Yes," said he, with curious deliberation. "She was sayin' as how she told you a lot about him last night what sort of a man he was, an' all n' n' t, that" "She told me nothing that " "Jist a moment, Mr. Gwynne," said Striker, laying his hand on the rider's Kenneth drew rein. "I guess knee. maybe you didn't know who she was talkln' about at the time, but It was your father she was descrlbln'. We n' Interposed his wife nervously. 'Cause why? "No, I don't, Eliza. 'Cause I think he'd ort to know. Maybe he'll be able to put a stop to her foolishness. We didn't know until long after you went to bed that her real reason fer comln' here yesterday was to run off an' get married to Barry Lapelle. She didn't tell you no lies about her clothes an' all that' 'cause her ma had put her foot down on her takln' off black. They had It all planned out beforehand, her an' this "Lapelle. He was to come fer her some time before daybreak with a couple of hosses an' they was to be off before the sun was up, on their way to Attica where they was to be married, an' then go on down the river to his home In Terry Hut, Me an' Eliza set up all night In that bedroom, tryln' to coax her out of It. I don't like this Ltipelle feller. He's a handsome cuss, but he's as wild as all get out drinks, gambles, an' all setch. Well, to make a long story short, her ma must have found out about their plans, 'cause she come here herself with two of her hired men an' old Cnp'n Scott, a friend of the fam'ly, an' took her daughter right out from under Harry's nose. It was them you heard down here Inst night. I will say this fer the girl, she kinder made up her mind 'long about midnight that It was a foolish thing to do, runuln' off like this with P.urry, an' Ifke as not when the time come she'd have backed out." "Her mother don't want her to marry lapelle. She's dead sot ag'inst It. It's a mighty funny way fer the girl to act, when she's so fond of her mother. All the more reason fer her to stick to her mother when It's a fact that the old woman ain't got what you'd call a friend In the whole deestrlct. She's a queer sort of woman close an' stingy as all get out. an' as hard as a hlrkory log. 'Course. I understand why she's so sot ag'inst She's purty well off an' the Harry. girl will be rich some day." "Shucks I" exclaimed Eliza. "Ili.rry Lapelle's after her 'cause she's the purtlest girl him or anybody else has ever seen. He's got plenty of money himself, so they say, o why " "I ain't so sure about that," broke In her husband. "There's a lot of talk about him gnmhlin' away most everything his father left hlrn. 1 guess she's kinder lost her head over blui. He's an awful feller with wois "We All Thras K no wed Somethin' That You Didn't Know." all three k no wed somethin' that you didn't know, an' It's only fair fer mo to tell you the truth, now that she's out of the way. That girl was Viola " (Jwyn, an' she's your half-sister.- CHAPTER III Reflection and an Encounter. The sun was barely above the eastward wall of trees when Kenneth and his man rode away from the home of Phlneas Striker. The master was In a thoughtful, troubled mood. What he had Just heard from the lips of the settler disturbed him greatly. That beautiful girl his The child of his own father and the hated Rachel Carter! Rachel Carter, the woman be had been brought up to despise, the harlot who had stolen his father away, the scarlet wanton ut whose door the death of his mother was laid! That evil woman, Rachel Carter! Could she, this foulest of thieves, be the mother of so lovely, so sensitive, so perfect a creature as Viola Owyn? He revlsualized the woman he had In known his earliest childhood. Strangely enough, the face of Rachel Carter had always remained more firmly, more Indelibly Impressed upon his memory time, that of his own mother. half-siste- Company, Inc. This queer, unusual circumstance may be easily, reasonably accounted for: his grandfather's dogged, almost daily lessons In hate. He was not allowed to forget Rachel Carter not for one Instant. Always she was kept. before him by that bitter, vindictive old man who was his mother's father even up to the day that he lay on his deathbed. Small wonder, then, that his own mother's face had faded from his memory while that of Rachel Carter remained clear and vivid, as he had known it now for twenty years. Then there had been little Mlnda tiny Mlnda who existed vaguely as a name, nothing more. He had a dim recollection of hearing his elders say that the babe with the yellow curls had been drowned when a boat turned over far away In the big brown river. Some "one had come to his grandfather's house with the news. He recalled' hearing the talk about the accident, and hia grandfather lifting his fist toward the sky and actually blaming God for something ! He never forgot that. His grandfather had blamed God! Striker had explained the somewhat distasteful scrutiny to which he had been subjected the night before. All three of them, knowing him to be Viola's blood relation, were studying his features with interest, seeking for a trace of family resemblance, not alone to his father but to the girl herself. This had set him thinking. There was not, so far as he could determine, the slightest likeness between him and his beautiful there was absolutely nothing to Indicate that their sire was one and the same man. Pondering, he now understood what Striker meant In declaring that he o.ught to know the truth about the frustrated elopement. And Kenneth felt a new weight of responsibility as unwelcome to hira as it was certain to be to Viola ; for, when all was said and done, she was her mother's daughter and, as such, doubt less looked upon him through the mother's eyes, seeing a common enemy. r and, Still, she was his whether he liked It or not, he was mor ally bound to stand between her and disaster and If Striker was right marriage with the wild Lapelle' spelled disaster of the worst kind. He had only to recall, however, the unaccount able look of hostility with which she had favored him more than once dur Ing the evening to realize that he was not likely to be called upon for either advice or protection. He mused aloud, with the shrug of a I fear me I philosopher: "Heigh-ho- ! shall have small say as to the conduct relation. The only of this newly-foun- d tie that bound us Is gone. She Is not only the child of my father, whom she feared and perhaps hated, but of mine enemy, whom she loves so the case Is clear. There Is a wall between us, and I shall not attempt to surmount It. What a demnltlon mess It has turned out to be. I came prepared to find only the creature I have scorned and de spised, and I discover that I have a sister so beautiful that, not knowing her at all, my eyes are dazzled and my heart goes to thumping like any silly schoolboy's. Aye, 'tis a very sorry pass. Were it not so demned upset ting. It would be amusing. Fate never What ho, played a wilder prank. Zacharlah! Where are we now? Whose farm Is that upon the ridge?" Zacharlah, urging his horse forward, consulted his memory. Striker had mentioned the farms they were to pass en route, and the features by which they were to be Identified. "Well, Marse Kenneth, ef hit ain' de Sherry place hit shorely am de Sheri dan place, an' ef hit ain't nuther one o' dem hit in us' belong to Marse Dimmit er Is yo' gwlne to stop dere, Marse Kenneth?" "No. I shall ride out from town some day soon to look the place over,' said his master, with a pardonable lordliness of mien, becoming to a landed gentleman. "Our affairs at present lie in the town, for there Is much to be settled before I take charge. Striker tells me the man who Is farming the place Is an able, honest fellow. shall not disturb him. From what he says, my property Is more desirable In every way than the land that fell to my father's widow. Her farm lies off to our left. It seems, and reaches almost to the bottomlands of the river. We, Zacharlah, are out here In the fertile prairie land. Our west line extends along the full length of her property. So, you see, the only thing that separates the two farms Is an Imaginary line no wider than your little finger, drawn by a surveyor and established by law." They passed log cabins and here and there pretentious frame houses standing back from the road In the shelter of. oak and locust groves. Their passing was watched by curious women and children In dooryards and porches, while from the fields men ware greeting and farewell with the single sweep of a hat. On every barn door the pelts of foxes and raccoons were stretched and nailed. Presently they drew nenr to a lane reaching off to the west, and apparently ending In a wooded knoll, a quarter of a mile away. "There," said Kenneth, with a wave half-siste- r; half-siste- of bis band, "Is where I shall some day erect a mansion, Zacharlah. that will be the wonder and the envy of all the people in the country. For unless I am mistaken, that is the grove of oaks that Striker mentioned. Behold, Zacharlah, all that la mine. Four hundred acres of a fine farm land aa there Is In all the world, and timber unparalleled. Yes, I am right There Is the bouse that Striker described, the place where my father lived when he first came to the Wea. Egad, 'tis not a regal palace, is It, Zacharlah? The most Imposing thing about It Is the chimney." They were gazing at a cabin that squatted meekly over against the wall of oaks. It was. In truth, the most primitive and insignificant house they had seen that day. "He was one of the first ro build In this virgin waste," mused the young man aloud. "Rough and parlous were the days when be came to this land, Zacharlah. There was no town of Lafayette, no neighbors save the rude, uncultured trappers. Now see how the times have changed. And, mark my guess, Zachariah, there will be still greater changes before we are laid away. There will be cities and Ha! Look, Zachariah, to the right of the grove. It Is all as Striker said. There is the other house two miles or more to the westward. That is her house." He drew rein and gazed at the distant house. His face clouded, his jaw was set, and his eyes were hard. "Yes,, that would be Rachel Carter's house," he continued, harshly. "Her land and my land lying side by side, with only a fence between. Her grain and my grain growing out of the same soIL What an unholy trick for fate to play. Perhaps she is over there, even now. She and Viola. It Is not likely that they would have started for town at an earlier hour than this. And to think of the damnable situation I shall find in town." And so they rode again, at times breaking into a smart canter where the road was solid, but for the most part proceeding with irksome s!ow,ness through the evil slough. Ahead lay the dense wood they were to traverse before coming to the town. Suddenly Zacharlah called his master's attention to a horseman who rode swiftly, even recklessly, across the fields to their left and well ahead of them. They watched the rider with Interest, struck by the furious pace he was holding, regardless of conse quences either to himself or his steed. "Mus4 be somebody pow'ful sick, Marse Kenneth, fo' dat man to be ridin' so fas'," remarked Zachariah. "Going for a doctor, I sup Begad, he must have come from Rachel Car ter's farm There Is no other house In sight over In that direction. I wonder If " He did not complete the sen tence, but frowned anxiously as he looked over his shoulder at the distant house. Judging by the manner and the direction In which he was galloping, the rider would reach the main road a quarter of a mile ahead of them, about at the point where It entered the wood Kenneth now made out an unfenced wagon road through the field, evidently a short cut from Rachel Carter's farm to the highway. He permitted himself a faint sardonic smile. This, then, was to be her means of reaching the highway rather than to use the lane that ran past his house and, no doubt. crossed a section of bis farm. Sure enough, the horseman turned into the road some distance ahead of them and rode straight for the forest. Then, for the first time, Gwynne ob served a second rider, motionless at the roadside, and In the shadow of the towering, leafless trees that marked the portal through which they must enter the forest. The flying horseman slowed down as he neared this solitary figure, coming to a standstill when be reached his side. A moment later, Both riders were cantering toward the wood, ap parently in excited, earnest conversa tion. A few rods farther on, both turned to look over their shoulders at g the travelers. Then they stopped, wheeled about and stood still, awaiting their approach. Kenneth experienced a poignant thrill of apprehension. What was he to expect: a friendly or a sanguinary en counter? He slipped his right hand Into the saddle pocket and drew forth a pistol which he shoved hastily Into his waistcoat, covering the stock with the folds of his cape. "Keep a little way behind me," he said to his servant, a trace of excite ment In his voice. "Yas, suh," said Zachariah, with more alacrity than valor, the whites of his eyes betraying something more than a readiness to obey this conservative order. It was a foregone conclusion that Zacharlah would turn tall and flee the Instant there was a sign of danger. When not more than fifty yards sep arated the two parties, one of the men. with a word and an Imperative Jerk of the head to his companion, advanced slowly to meet Kenneth. This man was the one who had waited for the other at the edge of the wood. Gwynne beheld a fall, strongly-buil- t young man, who rode Ms horse with the matchless grace of an Indian. Al though his companion was roughly dreised and wore a coonskln cap, this man was unmistakably a dundy. His high beaver hat observed a Jaunty, rakish tilt; his coat was the color of wine and of the latest fashion, while his snug fitting panta loons were the shade of the mouse. There were silver spurs on his stout riding boots, and the wide cuffs of hi gauntlets were embroidered In silver. He was a handsome fellow of the type described as dashing. Dark, gleaming eyes peered out beneath thick, blaca eyebrows, which met In an unbroken line above hi nose. Set In a face of unusual pallor, they were no doubt rendered superlatively brilliant by contrast Uls skia was singularly 1 slow-movin- hrnss-biiMone- d white above the bluish, freshly-shavecheeks and chin. His hair was black ad long and curling. The thin lips, set and unsmiling, were nevertheless drawn up slightly at one corner of the mouth In what appeared to be a permanent Stamp of superiority and disdain, or even contempt Altogether, a most striking face, thought Gwynne, and the man himself a person of importance. "Good morning," said this lordly gen tleman, bringing his horse to a stand still and raising bis "gad" to the brim of his hat In a graceful salute. Gwynne drew rein alongside. He had observed in a swift glance that the stranger was apparently unarmed, ex cept for the short, leather gad. "Good morning," he returned. "I am on the right road to Lafayette, I take It?" "You are," said the other, "From Crawfordsville way?" "Yes. I left that place yesterday. I come from This la a strange country to me." "It Is strange to most of us. Unless I am mistaken, sir, you are Mr. Kenneth Gwynne." The other smiled. "My approach appears to be fairly well heralded. Were a afar,-howeve- r. "I Am on the Right Road to Lafayette, 1 Take It" I a vain, person I should feel highly complimented." "Then you are Kpnneth Gwynne?" said the stranger, rather curtly. "Yes. That Is my name." "Permit me to make myself known to you. My name is Lapelle Barry Lapelle. While mine no doubt Is unfamiliar to you, yours is well known to me. In fact, it Is known to every one In these parts. You have long been expected. You will find the towi anxiously awaiting your appearance. I am on my way to town, Mr. Gwynne, so If you do not mind, I shall give myself the pleasure of riding along with you for a short distance. I shall have to leave you soon, however, as I am due in the town by ten o'clock. You are too heavily laden, I see, to travel at top speed and that Is the ' way I am obliged to ride, curse the luck. When I have set you straight at the branch of the roads a little way ahead, I shall use the spurs and see you later on." "You are very kind, I will be pleased to have you Jog along with me." CHAPTER IV Barry Lapelle. So this was Barry Lapelle. Tills was the wild rake who might yet become his brother-in-law- , and whose sprightly enterprise had been frustrated by a woman who had, herself, stolen away in the dark of a far-of- f night. As they rode slowly along, side by side. Into the thick of the forest Kenneth found himself studying the lover's face. He looked for signs of the reckless, dissipated life he was supposed to have led and found them not. Lapelle's eyes were bright and clear, bis skin unblemished, his hand steady, his Infrequent smile distinctly engaging. The slight, disdainful twist never left the corner of his mouth, however. It lurked there as a constant reminder to all the world that he, Barry Lapelle, was a devil of a fellow and was proud of It. While he was affable, there was no disguising the fact that ht was also condescending. Unquestionably hewr.s arrogant, domineering, even pompous 6t times, absolutely sure of himself. A lordly fellow, decided Kenneth, and forthwith took a keen dislike for him. Nevertheless. It was not difficult to account for Viola's Interest In him ; nor, to a certain extent, the folly which led her lo undertnke the exploit of the night before. Barry Lapelle would have his way w ith women. "You come from Kentucky, Mr. Gwynne," Lnpelle was saying. "I am from I.onloiHna. My father came up to St. Ixmls a few years ago after establishing a line of steamboats between Terr Haute and the gulf. Two nf our company's boats come as far north as Lafayette, so I spend considerable of my time there at this season of the year. I understand you have spent several years In the East at college and In pursuit of your study of the law." "A tall woman In black peared In the doorway." ap- (TO Ba CONTINUED.) Genius seldom amounts to much less backed by ootntnoa tits un- |