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Show jf BcfnlBe Sfcry cfxCertaify Persons IJiil -e- ' -Tfj Defter flantVarl air3 fry Ppoft . ' S i of his wife, although he had burned 'the letters unread, and by the same token he could no longer cherish tn dream that she had loved him and hin alone. Those words that had preceded pre-ceded that pistol shot had made it-possible it-possible for him to take Enid Mait-land Mait-land as his wife without doing violence to his sense of honor or his self-respect. Armstrong had made that much, reparation. And Newbold could not doubt that the other had known what would be the result of his speeclfc and had chosen his words deliberately, score that last action to his credit. H was - a sensitive man, however; her realized the brutal and beast-like part he and Armstrong had both played before be-fore this woman they both loved, how they had battled like savage animalg and how but for a lucky Interposition he would have added murder to hia ' other disabilities. He was honest enough to say to himself him-self that he would have done the same thing over under the same circunv instances, in-stances, but that did not absolve his conscience. He did not know how the- : woman looked at the transaction or, looked at him, and he had not enjoyed-', one moment alone with her. In all that had transpired since that morning morn-ing in -the hut, the four had naturally and inevitably remained inseparably together. They had buried Armstrong in the snow, Robert Maitland saying over him a brief but fervent - petition in which even Newbold joined. Enid Maitland herself had repeated eloquently elo-quently to her uncle and old Kirkby that night before the fire the story of her rescue from the flood by this man, how he had carried her in the storm to the hut and how he had treated her since; and Maitland had afterwards' repeated her account to his brother iD Denver. Maitland had insisted that Newbold share his hospitality, but that young, man had refused. Kirkby had a little" place not far from Denver and easily-accessible easily-accessible to it, and the old man had gladly taken the younger one with him. Newbold had been in a fever ot anxiety over Enid Maitland's illness,, but his alarm had soon been dispelled by the physician's assurance, and-there and-there was nothing now left for hiro-but hiro-but to wait until she could see him. He inquired for her morning and even ing at the great house on the bill;-he bill;-he kept her room a bower of beauty with priceless blossoms, but he had sent no word. Robert Maitland had promised to let blm know,' however, so soon as Enid-could Enid-could see him, and it was in pursuance of a telephone message that he was iff the library that morning: He had not yet become accustomed-to accustomed-to the world; he had lived so long-alone long-alone that he had grown somewhat shy and retiring; the habits and customs' of years were not to be lightly thrown ' aside in a week or a month. He had' sought no interview with Enid's father' heretofore; Indeed had rather avoided' it, but on this morning he had asked' for it, and when Robert Maitland ' -would have withdrawn he begged hire to remain. "Mr. Maitland," Newbold began, "f" presume .that you know my unfortu1 ' nate history." "I have heard the general outlines1 of it, sir, from my brother and others" answered the other kindly. "I need not dwell upon It further" ihen. Although my hair is tinged wltfr gray and doubtless I look much older 1 was only twenty-eight on my lasf birthday. I was not born In this section sec-tion of the country, my home was If ' Baltimore." (TO BE CONTINUED.) It Was the Woman Who Broke the Silence. woman's sobbing breaths, "but he had some of the qualities that go to make a man, an' I ain't doubtin' but what them last words of hisn was mighty near true. Ef he had met a girl like you earlier in his life, he mought have been a different man." CHAPTER XXIV. The Draught of Joy. The great library was the prettiest room in Robert Maitland's magnificent mansion in Denver's most favored residence res-idence section. It was a long, low-studded low-studded room with a heavy beamed ceiling. The low book cases, about five feet high, ran between all the window3 and doors on all side-, of the room. At one end there was a huge open fire place built of rough stone, and as it was winter a cheerful fire of logs blazed on the hearth. It was a man's room pre-eminently. The drawing-room across the hall was Mrs. Maitland's domain, but the library reflected re-flected he husband's picturesque if somewhat erratic taste. On the walls there were pictures of the west by Reininglon, March-and, March-and, Dunton, Dixon and others, I and to set them off, finely mount-: mount-: ed heads of bear aDd deer and burfalo. ' Swords and other arms stood here and i there. The writing table was massive I and the chairs easy, comfortable and ! inviting. The floor was strewn with ; robes and rugs. Prom the windows j facing westward, since the house was ' set on a high hill, one could see the ! great rampart of the range. There were three men in the room on that brilliant morning early in January Jan-uary something like a month after these adventures in the mountains which have been so veraciously set forth. Two of them were the brothers Maitland; the third was New-bold. New-bold. The shock produced upon Enid Maitland Mait-land by the death of Armstrong together to-gether with the tremendous episodes that had preceded it had' utterly pros-straled pros-straled her. They had spent the night p. the hut in the mountains and had decided that the woman must be taken back to the settlements some way at all hazards. The wit of old Kirkby had effected a solution of the problem, using a means certainly as old as Napoleon and the passage of his cannon over the Great St. Bernard and perhaps as old as Hannibal! They had made a rude sled from the trunk of a pine which they hollowed out and provided with a back and runners. There was no lack of fur robes and blankets for her comfort. Wherever it was practicable the three men hitched themselves to the sled with ropes and dragged it and Enid over the snow. Of course for miles down the canon it was impossible impossi-ble to use the sled. When the way was comparatively easy the woman, supported by the two men, Newbold and Maitland, made shift to get along afoot. When it became too difficult for her, i.ewbold picked her up as he had done before and assisted by Maitland, Mait-land, carried her bodily to the next resting place. At these times Kirkby looked after the sled. They had managed to reach the temporary tem-porary hut in the old camp the first night and rested there. They gathered gath-ered up their sleeping bags and tents and resumed their journey in the morning. They were strong men, and save for old Kirkby, young. It was a desperate endeavor but they carried it through. Whe.i they hit the open trails the sledding was easy and they made great progress. After a week of terrific ter-rific going, they struck the railroad, ind the next day found them all safe in Maitland's house in Denver. To Mr. Stephen Maitland his daughter daugh-ter was as one who had risen from the dead. And indeed, when he first saw her, she looked like deatli itself. No one had known how terrible that journey had been to the woman. Her three 1'nlthl'ul attendants had surmised something, hut in spile of nil even I hoy did not realize that In these last days site had been sustained only by the most violent effort of her will. She had no sooner reached the house, greeted her father, her mint and the children, then she collapsed utterly. ! The wonder was, said the physician, not that she did it then but that she had not done It before. For a short 20 SYNOPSIS. Enid Maitland, a frank, free and unspoiled un-spoiled young Philadelphia girl, Is taken to the Colorado mountains by her uncle, Robert Maitland. James Armstrong, Maitland's protege, falls In love with her His persistent wooing thrills the girl, but she hesitates, and Armstrong goes east on business without a definite answer. Enid hears the story of a mining engineer, engi-neer, Newbold, whose wife fell off a cllrr and was so seriously hurt that he was compelled to shoot her to prevent her being be-ing eaten by wolves while he went for help. Kirkby, the old guide who tells the etory, gives Enid a package of le'te" which he says were found on the dead woman's body. She reads the letters and at Klrkbv's request keeps them, while bathing in mountain stream Enid Is attacked at-tacked by a bear, which is mysteriously ehot. A storm adds to the girl's terror. A sudden deluge transforms brook mo raging torrent, which sweeps Enid into Borge, where she Is rescued by a mountain moun-tain hermit after a thrilling experience. Campers In great confusion upon dlscov-ing dlscov-ing Enid's absence when the storm breaks. Maitland and Old Kirkby go In search of the girl. Enid discovers that her ankle is sprained and that she Is unable un-able to walk. Her mysterious rescuer carries her to his camp. Enid goes to sleep In the strange man's bunk. Miner cooks breakfast for Enid, after which .they go on tour of inspection. The hermit her-mit tells Enid of his unsuccessful attempt to find the Maitland campers. He admits that he is also from Philadelphia. The hermit falls In love with Enid. The man comes to a realization of his love for her. but naturally In that strange solitude the relations of the girl and her rescuer become be-come unnatural and strained. Tine stranger strang-er tells of a wife he had who is dead, and says he has sworn to ever cherish her memory by living in solitude. He and Enid, however, confess their love for each othr. She learns that he is the man who killed his wife tn the mountain. Enid discovers the writer of the letters to Newbold's wife to have been Jamrs Armstrong. Newbold decides to start to the settlement for help. The man is racked by the belief that he is unfaithful to his wife's memory, and Enid is tempted tempt-ed to tell him of the letters in her possession. pos-session. Armstrong. accompanied by Kirkby and Robert Maitland, find a note that Newbold had left in the deserted cabin, and know that the girl is in his keeping. Fate brings all the actors together. to-gether. Newbold returns from hunting . game and sees a man near the hut. It Is James Armstrong, who has at last located lo-cated the missing girl, and he enters the cabin. Armstrong pleads his love for Enid, but she reminds him of his affection affec-tion for Newbold's wife. He grows insulting in-sulting and Enid orders him from her presence. Newbold returns opportunely. He discovers the truth about Armstrong and would have killed him but for the Interference of Kirkby and Maitland, who came upon the scene. CHAPTER XXIII. The Becoming End. "Why did you interfere?" asked Newbold when at last he got his breath again, of Maitland who still held him firmly although restraint was now unnecessary, the heat and fire of his passion being somewhat gone out of him. "I meant to kill him." "He'd oughter die sure nuff," drawled draw-led old Kirkby, rising from where he had been kneeling by Armstrong's side," but I don't know's how you're bound to be his executioner. "He's all right now, Miss Enid," said the old man. "Here" he took a pillow from the bed and slipped it under his head and then extending his hands he lifted lift-ed the excited almost distraught woman wo-man to her feet " 'taint fittin' for you to tend on him." "Oh," exclaimed Enid, hef limbs trembling, the blood flowing away from her heart, her face deathly white, fighting against the faintness that came with the reaction, while old Kirkby supported and encouraged her. "I thank God you came. I don't know what would have happened if you had not." "Has this man mistreated you?" asked Robert Maitland suddenly, tight-'. tight-'. ening his grip upon his hard breathing breath-ing but unresisting passive prisoner. "No, no," answered his niece. "He has been everything that a man should be." "And Armstrong," continued her uncle. 'fr "No, not even he." fi. ' ' "1 came In time, thank God!" ejacu- if lated Newbold. By this time Armstrong had recovered recov-ered consciousness. To his other causes for hatred were now added chagrin, cha-grin, mortification, shame. He had been overcome. He would have been a dead man and by Newbold's hands, If the others had not interfered. He almost wished they had let hia enemy en-emy alone. Well, he had lost everything every-thing but a chance for revenge on them all. "She has been alone here with this man In this cabin for a month," he said thickly. "I was willing to take her In spite of that, but " "He made that damned suggestion before," cried Newbold, his rage returning. re-turning. "1 don't know who you are " "My name Is Robert Maitland, and I am this girl's uncle." "Well, If you were her father, J could only swear " "It Isn't necessary to swear anything," any-thing," answered Maltl-nd serenely. "I know this child, anit I believe I'm beginning to find out tliM man." "Thank you. Uncle .-tohert," said Enid gratefully, coming nearer to him an she spoke. "No man could huve done more for mo than Mr. Newbold has, and no one could have been more considerate of me. Ah for you," she turned to Armstrong, who now slowly got to his feet, "your InslnuaWons against mo are on a par with your charges against the dead woman, beneath be-neath contempt." "What did he say about her?" asked old Kirkby. "You know my story?", asked New-bold. New-bold. "Yes." "Hb said that my wife had been unfaithful un-faithful to me with him and that he had refused to take her back. Great God!" "And It was true," snarled Armstrong. Arm-strong. It was all Maitland could do to check Newbold's rush, but in the end it v.-as old Kirkby who most effectively interposed. "That's a damned lie," he said quietly quiet-ly with his usual drawling voice. "You can say so," laughed Armstrong, Arm-strong, "but that doesn't alter the facts." "And I can prove it," answered the old man triumphantly. It was coming, the secret that she had tried to conceal was about to be revealed, thought Enid. She made a movement toward the old man. She opened her mouth to bid him be silent and then stopped. It would be useless use-less she knew. The determination was no longer hers. The direction of affairs had been withdrawn from her. After all it was better that the unloving unlov-ing wife should be proved faithful, even if her husband's cherished memory mem-ory of :ier love for him had to be de- stroyed thereby. Helpless she listened, list-ened, knowing full well what the old frontiersman's next word would be. "Prove it," mocked Armstrong. "How?" "By your own hand, out of your own mouth, you dog," thundered old Kirkby. Kirk-by. "Miss Enid, where are them letters let-ters I give you?" "I I " faltered the girl, but there was no escape from the keen glance of the old man; her hand went to the bosom of her tunic. "Letters," exclaimed Armstrong. "What letters?" "These," answered Enid Maitland, holding up the packet. Armstrong reached for them, but Kirkby again interposed. "No, you don't," he said dryly. "Them ain't for your eyes yet. Mr. Newbold, I found them letters on the little shelf where your wife first Btruck when she fell over onto rhe butte where she died. I figured out her dress was tore open there, and them letters she was carrying fell out and. lodged there. We had ropes an' we went down over the rocks that way. I went first an' I picked 'em up. I never nev-er told nobody about it, an' I never showed 'em to a single human bein' until I give 'em to Miss Maitland at the camp." "Why not?" asked Newbold, taking the letters. "Ther.3 wasn't no good tellin' nobody then, jest fer the sake o' stirrln' up trouble." "But why did you give them to her at last?" "Because I was afeered she might fall in love with Armstrong. I supposed sup-posed she'd know his writin', but w'en she didn't I just let her keep 'era anyway. I knowed It'd all come out somehow; there is a God above us in spite of all the damned scoundrels on earth like this 'un." "Are these letters addressed to my dead wife?" asked Newbold. "They are," answered Enid Maitland. Mait-land. "Look aL'".see." . "And did Mr. Armstrong write them?" "He'll deny It, I suppose," answered Kirkby. "But I am familiar with his band writing," said Maitland. Taking the still unopened packet from Newbold, he opened it, examined one of the letters and nanded them all back. "There Is no doubt about It," ho said. "It's Armstrong's hand, .I'd swear to it." "Oh, I'll acknowledge them," said Armstrong, seeing the absolute futility futil-ity of further denial. He had forgotten forgot-ten all about the letters, lie had not dreamed they were In existence. "You've got me beat between you; the cards are stacked against me. I've done my damndest" and indeed that was true. Well, he had played a great game, battling for a high stake he had stuck at nothing.. A career In which some good had mingled with much had was now at an end. lie had lost utterly; would he show himself a good loser? "Mr. Armstrong," Haid Newbold quietly, extending bis hand, "hero aro your letters." "What do you mean?" "I am not In the habit of reading letters let-ters addressed to other peo;:lo without permission, and when tho recipient of them Is dead long since, I am doubly hound." "You're a damned fool," cried Armstrong Arm-strong contemptuously. "That kind of a chargo from your kind of a man Is perhaps the highest complaint you could pay me. I don't know whether I shall ever get rid of the doubt you have tried to lodge in uiy soul about my dead wife, but " "There ain't no doubt about it," protested pro-tested old Kirkby earnestly. "I've read them letters a hundred times over, havin' no scruples whatsoever, an' in every one of 'em he was beg-gin' beg-gin' an' pleadin' with her to go away with him an' fightin' her refusal to do it. I guess I'ye got to admit that she didn't love you none, Newbold, an' she did love this here wuthless Armstrong, but for the sake of her reputation, I'll prove to you all from them letters of hlsn, from his own words, that there didn't live a cleaner hearted, more virtuous vir-tuous upright feemale than that there wife of yourn, even if she didn't love you. It's Cod's truth an' you kin take It from me." "Mr. Armstrong," cried Enid Maitland, Mait-land, Interposing at this juncture. "Not very long ago I told you I liked you better than any man I had ever seen. I thought perhaps I might have loved you, and that was true. You have played the coward's part and the liar's part In this room " "Did I fight him like a coward?" asked Armstrong. "No," answered Newbold for her, remembering re-membering the struggle; "you fought like u man." Singular perversion of language and thought there! If two struggled like wild beasts that was fighting like men! "But let that pass," continued the woman. "I don't deny your physical courage, but I am going to appeal to another kind of a courage which I believe be-lieve you possess. You have showed your evil side here In this room, hut I don't believe that's the only side you have, else I couldn't have lilted you in the past. You have made a charge against two women, one dead and one living. It makes little difference what, 1 you say about me. 1 need no defense j and no just ification In tho eyes of j those here who lovo me, and for the rest of the world 1 don't care. But you have slain this man's confidence In a woman he onco loved, and who he thought loved him. As you are a man, tell him that It was a Ho and that she was Innocent of anything else although she did love you." What a singular situation, an observer obser-ver who knew all might havo reflected! reflect-ed! Here was Enid Maitland pleading for the good name of tho woman who had married the man she now loved, and whom by rights she should have jealously haled. "You ask nie more than I can " faltered Armstrong yet greatly moved by this touching appoul to his better self. "Let him speak no word," protested Newbold quickly. "I wouldn't bcllove him on his oath." "Steady now, steady," Interposed Kirkby with IiIb frontier Insllnct for fair play, "tho man's down, Newbold, don't hit him now." "Give him a chance," added Malt-land Malt-land earnestly. "You would not believe me, eh?" laughed Armstrong horribly, "well then this is what I say, whether it is true or a lie you can be the judge." What was he about to say? They all recognized instinctively that his forthcoming deliverance would he a final one. Would good or evil dominate domin-ate him now? Enid Maitland had made her plea and it had been a powerful pow-erful one; the man did truly love the woman who urged him; there was nothing left for him hut a chance that she should think better of him than he merited; he had come to the end of his resources. And Enid Maitland spoke again as he hesitated. "0, think, think before you speak," she cried. "If I thought," answered Armstrong Arm-strong quickly, "I should go mad. New-bold, New-bold, your wife was as pure as the snow; that she loved me I cannot and will not deny, she married you in a fit of jealousy and anger after a quarrel quar-rel between us in which I was to blame, and when I came back to tho camp In your absence, I strove to make it up and used every argument i that I possessed to get her to leave you and to live with me. Although she had no love for you she was too good and too true a woman for that. Now you've got the truth, damn you, believe it or not as you like. Miss Maitland," he added swiftly. "If I had met you sooner, I might have been a better' man. Good bye." He turned suddenly and none preventing, pre-venting, Indeed it was not possible, he ran to the outer door; as he did so his hand snatched something that lay on the chest of drawers. There was a flash of light as lie drew in his arm hut none saw what it was. In a few seconds he was outside the door. Tho table was between old Kirkby and the c:;it; Maitland and Newbold were I nearest. The old man came to his senses first. "After him," he cried, "he means " Bui before anybody could stir the dull report of a pistol come through the open door! They found Armstrong lying on his hack In the snowy path, his face as white as tho drill that pillowed his head, Newbold's heavy revolver still clutched In his right hand and a bloody welling sniudgn on his loft breast over his heart. It was the woman wo-man who broke the silence. "Oh," she nobbed, "It can't be " "Dead," said Maitland solemnly. "And It might havo been by my hand," nultered Newbold to himself In horror. "He'll never cause no moro trouhlo to nobody In this world, MLss Enid an' gents," Bald old Kirkby gravely. "Well, ho was a damned fool mi' a damned villain In some ways," continued tho old frontier-Milan rellectlvely In tho si lunco brokon otherwise only by tho tune it appeared as u ner Illness might be serious, hut youth, vigor, u strong body and a good constitution, a heart now free from care and apprehension and u great desire to live and lovo and he loved, worked wonders. Newiwdd had enjoyed no opportunity for private eonveisntion with tho woman wo-man ho loved, whl.m was perhaps Just us well. Ho had tho task of readjusting readjust-ing himself lo changed conditions; not only to a different environment, but to strange and unusual departures from his long cherished view points. Ho could no longer doubt Arm-strong'!, Arm-strong'!, final tcntlniony to tho purity |
