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Show THE BRANDING IRON p . tired, angry, he bad been drinking her Ignorance, her Inexperience led her to put little emphasis on the af-fects of the poison sold at the town saloon. When he was warm and fed and rested he would be quite himself agRln. She went about preparing a meal In spite of his words. He did not seem to notice this. lie had taken his eyes from her at last und was busy with the Are. She, too, busy and reassured by the familiar occupation, ceased to watch him. Her pulses were quiet now. She was even beginning to be glad of his return. Why had she been so frightened? Of course, after such a terrible journey alone In the bitter cold, he would look strange. Her father, when he came back smelling of liquor, had always been more than usually morose and unlike his every-da- y self. He would sit over the stove and tell her the story of his crime. They were nor- - Set after thera fellers too soon. It's a country where you can easy come hy what you want, but where it ain't so easy to hold onto It. If it ain't yer land It's yer hosses; If it ain't rer hosses it's yer wife." He looked at Joan and laughed. Pierre went white and dumb; the chance shot had Inflamed his wound. He strapped on his snowshoes and bade a grlra good-b- y to Joan, after the man had left. "Don't you be wastln' oil while I'm away," he told her sharply, standing In the doorway, his head level with the steep wall of snow behind him, and he gave her a threatening look so that the tender-ness In her heart was froren. After he had rible home-coming- horrible evenings, but the next morning they would seem like dreams. Tomorrow this strange-ness of Pierre's would be mistake and unreal. "I seen your In town," said Pierre. He was squatting on his heels over the fire which he had built up to a great blaze and glow and he spoke In a queer sing-son- tone through his teeth. "He asked after you renl kind. He wanted to know By Katharine Ncwlin Burt' Copyright bjrKtharIn N.Burt . SYNOPSIS Jon Landls, eighteen old, wife of years Pierre. Is the daugh-t- r of John Carver, who mur-dHeerred her mother for adultery lonely life, with her father' In a Wyoming cabin, unbearable Joan leaves him to work In a hotel In a nearby town. Joan meets Pierre, and the two, mutu-ally attracted, are married. Carv- er telle Pierre story of Joan's mother. Pierre forges a cattle brand. Frank Holllwell, young minister, present books to Joan. Pierre forbids her to read them. CHAPTER ,, "There's poetry this time," he said. Get Pierre to read It aloud to you." The suggestion was met by a rude laugh from Pierre. MI wouldn't be wastln' my time," he Jeered. It was the first rift In his cour-tesy. Holllwell looked up In Bharp surprise. He saw a flash of the truth, a little wriggle of the green serpent In Pierre's eyes before they fell. He flushed and glanced at Joan. She wore an almost timorous air, accepted Ms remarks in silence, shot doubtful looks at Pierre before she answered questions, was an entirely different Joan. Now Holllwell was angry and he stiffened toward his host and host-ess, dropped all his talk about the books and smoked haughtily. He was young and no more master of himself in this Instance than Pierre and Joan. But before he left after supper, refusing a bed, though Pierre conquered his dislike sufficient-ly to urge It Holllwell had a moment with Joan. It was very touching. He would tell about It afterward, but for a long time he could not bear to remember It - She tried to return his books, com-ing with her arms full of them and lifting up eyes that were almost traslc with renunciation gone, "Pierre, gay a real good-by- , say good-by,- " she whis-pered. Her face cramped and tears came. She heard his steps lightly crunch-ing across the hard, bright surface of the snow; they entered Into the ter-rible frozen silence. Then she turned from the door, dried her eyes with her sleeve like a little village girl, and ran across the room to a certain shelf. Pierre would be gone a week. She would not waste oil, but she would read. It was with the appetite of a starved creature that she fell upon her books. CHAPTER VI Pierre Takes 6teps to Preserve His Property. A log fell forward and Joan lifted her head. She had not come to an end of Isabella's tragedy nor of her own memories, but something other than the falling log had startled her; a light crunching step upon the snow. She looked toward the window. For an Instant the room was almost dark and the white night peered In at Her, its gigantic snow-peak-s pressing against the long, horizontal window panes, and In that Instant she saw u face. Joan came to ber feet with pounding pulses. It had been Pierre's face, but at the same time the face of a stranger. He had come back how you was gettln on with the edlca-tlo-n he's ben handln out to you. I tell him that you was right satisfied with me an' my ways an' hed quit his books. I didn't know as you was hevln' such a good time durln' my absence." Joan was cruelly hurt, nis words seemed to fall heavily upon her heart. "I wasn't hevln' a good time. I was mlssln you, Pierre," said she In a low tremolo of grieving music. "Thera books, they seemed like they was all the company I hed." "You looked like you was mlssln' me," he sneered. "The sin-bust- an' I had words about you, Joan. Yes'm, he give me quite a line of preachtn' about you, Joan, as how you hed oughter develop yer own life In yer own way along the lines laid out by him. I told him as how I knewed best what was right an' flttln' fer my own wife; as how, with a mother like your'n you needed watchln more'n learnln'; as how you belonged to me an' not to him. An', says he, Sht don't belong to any man, Pierre Lan-dls- ,' he said, 'neither to you nor to me. She belongs to her own self.' I'll see that she belongs to me,' I said. 'I'll fix her so she'U know It aa' every other feller will.' " At that he turned from the Are and straightened to his feet. Joan moved backward slowly to tha door. He had made no threatening sign or movement but her fear had come overwhelmingly upon her and every Instinct urged her to flight But aha tnnchait that hanrila of the "I can't be taking time to read them, Mr. Holllwell," she said, that extraordinary, voice of hers running an octave of regret; "an someway Pierre don't like that. I should spend my evenln's on them. 8eems like he thinks I was settln' my-self up to be knowln' more than him." She laughed ruefully. "Me knowln' more'n Pierre 1 It's laughable. But tfnyways I don't want him to be think-I- n' that So take the books, please. I like them." She paused. "I love them," she said hungrily, and blink-ing, thrust them Into his hands. He nnt them down on the table. five days too soon and something ter-rible had happened. Surely his chanc-ing to see her with her book would not make him look like that. Besides, she was not wasting oil. She had stood up, but at first she was Incapable of moving forward. For the first time In ber life she knew the paralysis of unreasoning fear. Then the door opened and Pierre came In out of the crystal night "What broughf you back so soonT" asked Joan. "Too soon for you, ehT" He strode over to the hearth where she had lain, took up the book, struck It with his UCl V V Dw door, he flung himself with deadly, swift force and silence across the room and took her In his arms. With ail her wonderful strength, Joan conld not break away from him. He dragged her back to the hearth, tied her el-bows behind her with the scarf from his neck, that very scarf he had worn when the dawn had shed a wistful beuuty upon him, waiting for her on a morning not so very long ago. Joan went weak. "Pierre," she cried pitifully, "what are you to do to mef He roped her to the heavy post of a set of shelves built against the walL Then he stood away, breathing fast. "Now whose gel are you, Joan Carver?" he asked her. "Tou know I'm yours, Pierre," she sobbed. "You got no need to tie me to make me say that." "I got to tie you to make you do more'n say It. I got to make sure you are It. II won't take the sure-ne-ss out of me after this." She turned her head, all that she could turn. He was bending over the Are, od when he straightened she saw thst he held something In his hand . . . a long bar of metal, white at the shaped en!. At once her memory showed her a broad glow of sunset falling over Pierre at work. "There'll "You're wrong, Joan," he said quickly. "You mustn't give In to such a foolish Idea. You have rights of your own, a life of your own. Pierre mustn't stand In the way of your learning. You mustn't let him. Til speak to him." "Oh, no I" Some Intuition warned her of the danger In his doing this. "Well, then, keep your books and talk to Pierre about them. Try to per-suade him to read aloud to you. I shan't be back now till spring, but I want you to rend this winter, read all the stuff thnt's there. Come, Joan, to please me," and he smiled coai-lngl- "I ain't afraid of Pierre," said Joan slowly. Her pride was stung by the suggestion. "I'll keep the books." She sighed. "Good by. When I see you In the Rprlng. I'll be a right learned schoolmnrm." She held out her hand and he took end held It pressing It In his own. He felt troubled about her, unwilling to leave her In the snowbound wilder-ness with that young savage of the smoldprlng eyes. "Good-by,- " said Pierre behind hlra. His soft voice had a click. Holllwell turned to him. "Good by, Landls. I shan't see either of you till the spring. I wish you a good winter and I hope" He broke off and held out his hand. "Well," snld he, "you're pretty far out of everybody's way here. Be good to each other." "D n your Interference I" said Pierre's yes, but he took the hand and even escorted Holllwell to his horse. Snow came early and deep that win-ter. Pierre had cut and stacked his winter wood ; he had sent his cows to a richer man's ranch for winter feed-ing. There was very little for him to do. After he had brought In two buckets of water from the well and had cut for the day's consumption a piece of meat from his elk hanging outside against the wall, he had only to sit and smoke, to read old maga-tine- s and papers and to watch Joan. Then the poisonous roots of his Jeal-ousy struck deep. Always his brain, fai.oW Interoretlng her wistful silence She Turned Her Head, All That She Could Turn. hand as though It had been a hated face, and flung It Into the fire. "I seen you through the window," he said. "So you been happy readin' while I been away?" "PlI (ret you supper. I'll light the lamp," Joan stammered. Pierre's face was pa'e. hli D,ack nn,r lay In wet streaks on his temples. He must have traveled at furious speed through the bitter cold to be In such a sweat. There was a mysterious, controlled disorder In his look ami there arose from him the odor of strong drink. But he was steady and sure In all his movements and his eves were deadly cool and reason- - be stock all over the country marked with thera two bars." he had said. "The Two-Pa- r brand, don't you fer-g-it It !" She was not likely to forget It now. She shut her eyes. He stepped close to her and Jerked her blouse down from her shoulder. She writhed away from him, silent In her rage and fear and fighting dumbly. She made no appeal. At that moment her heart was so full of hatred that It was hard-ened to pride. He lifted his brand and set It against the bare flesh of her shoulder. Then terribly she screamed. Again, when he took the metal away, ahe screamed. Afterward there was a dreadful silence. Joan had not lost consciousness. ner healthy nerves stanchly received the angnlsh and the shock, nor did she make any further outcry. She pressed her forehead against the sharp edge of the shelf, she drove her nails Into her hands, and at Intervals she writhed from head to foot. Circles of pain spread from the deep burn on and shrank. The her shoulder, spread bones of her shoulder and arm ached terrlblv; fire still seemed to be eat-ing into her flesh. The sir was full or the sm-- ll of scorched skin so that she tasted It herself. And hotter than her hurt her heart horned, K and l"-- e and tru-- t. , own tender (TO f'K CONTlNVn-- ' ) Bl,e only It was the reasonableness of Insanity, reasonableness based on the wldlest premises of unreason. "I don't want no supper, nor no light," he said. "Firelight's enough fer you to read parsons' books by ; It's enough fer me to do what I oughter done long afore tonight." She stood In the middle of the small, room, arrested In the act of llKhtlng a match, and stared at him with troubled eyes. She wns no longer afraid. After all, strnnK ns he looked, more strnnpely as he talked, he wns hr Pierre, her man. The con-fidence of her heart had not been seri-ously shaken by his coldness and his moods during this winter. There had boon I'mes of fierce, possessive tender-nous- . She wns his own woman, his property; at this low counting did she rate herself. A sane man does no In-jury to his own possessions. And Pierre, course, was suns. He was she was thinking of the parson, hun-gry to read his books, longing for the open season and his coming again to the ranch. In December a man came In on snowshoes bringing "the mall" one letter for Pierre, a communication which brought heat to his face. The Forest service threatened him with a loss of land: It pointed to some flaw in his title; part of bis property, the most valuable part, had not yet been surveyed. . . . Pierre looked up with set Jaws, every fighting Instinct sharpened to hold whut was his own. "I hev put In two years' hard work or. them acres," he told his visitor, "an' I'm not plnnnln' to give them over to the first fool favored by the Serv-ice. My title Is as clean as my hand. It'll take more'n thievery an' more'.i spite to take It sway from me." "You better go to Robinson," ad-vised the bearer of the letter; "can't 0 Tike it hone to the kids. J Have a packet in your pocket for an 4& ever-read- y treat TVrjlIT Km and an aid to fjr 1 1 "4J Y the teeth, appetite, '."; Jrwiy Th Economy BAKING POWDEH W35& the next time you bake give it just one honest and fair trial. fv8Bt,g One test in your own kitchen " vvill prove to you that there la a QjpftpE) big difference between Calumet ;VqVrrni and any other brand that for igjrJitiBlto8 , uniform and wholesome bak iiSM ing it has no equal. 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EATS CAKE TO ESCAPE TAX Irish Woman Thwarts Customs Col-lector Who Attempted to Confis-cate Her Pastry. The customs cordon between north-ern and southern Ireland Is, of course, a great nuisance to people whose mar-ket town lies across the border, and the Indignation of those making ac-quaintance with the law's vagaries for the first time sometimes leads to amusing Incidents. The other day a market woman was taking home in her basket a good solid "family" cake. On finding that the duty would amount to as much as the price of the cake Itself she de-clined to pay. "Refuse ye may," said the official, laying hands on the not uninviting looking confection, "but we confiscate The School of Marriage. "After all, my dear, one of a pair of lovers Is always more deeply In love and that Is the one that suf-fers." "Yes, but the other one Is the bore4 party and I find that thought con-soling." La Vie Parlslenne. 5 Some men are fully aa contrary m some women. Time and Trees. A consideration not given much thought at the time of selecting trees (or planting Is the matter of perma-nency, Bays the American Tree asso-ciation of Washington, D. 0. The as-sociation welcomes you to the tree-plantin- g army and asks you to report your tree planting. Entire streets, sometimes a whole town, are planted with short-live- d and inferior trees, when a little additional forethought and patience would have brought about an equally desirable and more lasting effect. It Is, therefore, much more desirable to plant comparatively long-live-d trees, such as the oak and sycamore. Girl (of the new school of nntatlon) "Come on, uncle shall we do the crawl, or the thrash?" TJncle George "Thank you, my dear, I think I'll Just have a swim." Punch. Beware. Advice to young mun about to write a love letter: "Anything you say will be used as evidence against you." Toronto Telegram. Grew in Eden. The greater purt of the black lic-orice Is derived from Spain, where It Is made from the Juice of the plant and mixed with starch to prevent It from melting In hot weather. The licorice plant Is a shrub that attains a height of three feet, and It grows wild where Its roots reach the water. It flourishes especially on the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. Since the valley of the Euphrates contained one of the earliest civilisations In the world, the probability Is that licorice Is about the oldest confection of ail, and the taste which the boys and girls of today like so well was enjoyed by the youngsters of three thousand years ago. Too Far Off. People would try much hnrder to win God's commendation If . He wera a nextdoor neighbor. Duluth Herald. Grsal Sold er', V.'raknrfs The treat nuke ,f Well'tt-.- ' a believer In oinws. The ""v told that he would not t:.n!c of any day that he met or w.v u yel.rv dog cross his piith. |