Logansport Pharos-Tribune from Logansport, Indiana on December 9, 1897 · Page 22
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Logansport Pharos-Tribune from Logansport, Indiana · Page 22

Logansport, Indiana
Issue Date:
Thursday, December 9, 1897
Page 22
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' CH \TTEKS l.-At the berlnnlnsf of the civil •war Valentine Weldoa was auspHCted of the murder of tils brother Fred Tljk, wbo hurt 4is- appeared. IT. Blan^hurd married their sister. He became u widower, und ye^rs ufter the supposed murder went west with hie children. Howard, Alice and Clarti.Citpiain Uran don t-o ducted the train whoa It reached the far west. Two bad cnaraeters. Henry Kyle ard front, Kobb. joined thftu 11—Henry Kyle soon leaves the tra'n and vUlis her futner and Bister Norn, who attempt to tui-j him from his evil llfo. Ill—Two lawyers named Blis* come to the WPSt from Virginia to attempt to force too Blanch irds to relinquish the We.don estate, fno Ull'BfS ally themselves *lth one JJiuionand hispHDtr, who are ready for nay vlllai iy IV—Louis Kyle. Henry Kyle'e brother warns Captain Brandon against Bouton's L-ang V.—The aliases accuse Or. Blancnrd of bav- injr murdered hla wife. Vf—Louis Kyle enlists a flirhtinij hermit called the Prophet in .1 behalf of the Hlunchards against Boutou.. -j» ' CHAPTER "VTt. . In a former chapter it vras said that Captain Brandon placed the utmost reliance in all bnt one of his men, and to this man he could not openly%how his suspicion. His name was Patch, and he was employed at Omaha to drive one of the mule teams. Short, thickset, and bullet headed, Patch looted an ideal prizefighter, an effect heightened by a broken nose and the absence of front teeth. Patch was very taciturn beyond the professional swearing at his mules, profanity being considered on the plains as essential to the mule's progress and tisefulness as harness. He rarely spoke, and he never joined the people about the campfire in the evenings. His great delight was to sit on the •wagon box and chew tobacco. He actually devoured great black slabs of it From this perch he would watch the immigrants, or rather he would watch one of them, Clara Blanchard. He followed her every movement with his red rimmed eyes, and at times was so fascinated as to fall into a mesmeric state and sleep on the box all night. Patch submitted to Captain Brandon's discipline. He had a dread of the tall guide, and would have offered no resistance had that person kicked him, but behind this show of obedience the debased spirit was in revolt. He would have deserted at once but for the fascination that kept, him within the sight of Clara Blanchard. Through his dim brain the thought crept, ' 'If I was to help bust this outfit up, them Bouton chaps mout let me have charge of her like a kinder reward.'' 'While watching his mules that day Patch discovered something which had escaped the notice of Captain Brandon and which could not have been thought of by Bouton's party—viz, the river, on which the semicircular corral wall abutted, was so shallow at the upper part of the camp and for many yards xip the river that it could be waded without reaching a depth above the knee, and in this way the place could be surprised and taken in the rear. Patch . was on guard the first half of the night, and it can be said that he was too much absorbed in the contemplated treachery to give any thought to the duties or dangers of his position. He listened eagerly to everything that was said, and the instant he was relieved he resolved to test the practicability of his own scheme. He succeeded in reaching the outlaw camp and was brought before Bouton, who at once asked: "Are there many more like you over in that camp?" "No, boss, there ain't another one. I •was mighty lonely over there, aad that's why I left." ' 'Left?'' repeated Bouton. "Yes. Lit out." "You're a deserter, then?" "As full blowed and fresh a one as you ever clapped eyes on,'' chuckled the wretch. "I can give you a few wrinkles that'll open your eyes." "Well, what are they?" Patch lowered his voice to make his words more impressive and confidential, and then told of his discovery and offered to guide Boutou and his men. ' 'But what if yon are a spy and want to lead us to destruction?" asked Bouton, who in his heart felt that the wretch was sincere in his villainy. "Couldn't you shoot me down at once if you seed I was giviu you away?" Bontou believed tho renegade and •was resolved to try his plan at once. Two hours of daylight remained, time, sufficient to win and to have an hour to spare. • "One-half of the force will be sufficient," said Boutou. "Get ready, men, as I call your names." He was selecting his men when Black Eagle sped in from the darkness and stood pxspins in their midst. "What is it. Black Eagle? Speak!" shouted Bouton. alarmed ac the manner of tho young Shoshone, "Henry Kyle"— "What of him?" "Killed, we fear! Come, cornel Captain Brandon is back in the hills!'' And Black Eagle waved his arms in the direction from which he had come. After Captain Brandon left the camp —ostensibly to find the man who had been firing at them all day, but really to spy out the enemy and to get a good •Idea of their force and raise the siege if feasible by a bold dash—he crept to the summit of the cliff and found the rifleman's post deserted. From this vantage ground he could count tho men about there and see exactly where the vedettes V^ere posted. Satisfied with the surrey and resolved to lead a dash on the Bleeping outlaws, he started back to his own camp by a circuitous route that led him farthest away from the enemy. He had gone saf ely over half tie distance when he came to a .haltibj.hear< Ing low voices near by. Captain 'J don crouched down behind a rock and listened. The voices soon ceased, and he could hear the light, quick step of an "Are there many more like you over in that camp?" Indian as he glided back to the outlaw camp. He also heard the clicking of Henry Kyle's rifle as he paced the hill with a step as noiseless as the falling of a leaf. In this trying situation Captain Brandon never lost bis presence of mind. He reasoned that it would be fatal to bring on a conflict there and that if he could strike the river at a point higher up he could swim down till ho reached his own camp. He started to cany out this plan, but in a short time found his course blocked by a precipitous mass of rocks that was the extension of a mountain spur abutting on tho river. He turned with the intention of finding a path to the water, when suddenly, on rounding a bovdder, he found himself face to face with Henry Kyle. With the strength of a giant and the quickness of a tiger the captain threw himself upon this man and bore him to the ground. The rifle fell from the younger man's grasp as lie was in the act of falling, and the captain did not attempt to use his. Henry Kyle's first impulse was to shout to his companions for aid, but the lion in his nature asserted itself before the cry rose to his lips. He had a young man's pride in his strength and activity. Man to man he felt himself to be the peer of the best. Why should he fear this white headed man single handed? Ho did not fear him. With an effort that amazed the captain Henry struggled to his feet and tried to reach his knife, but the iron grip on his arm tightened and he could feel his muscles crushing and his veins swelling painfully below where the hard hand grasped him. "Not a word, Surrender at once," hissed the captain, "or I will crush you to death." ' "You surrender," replied the young man with a fierce oath, "for you cannot get away from me.'' ' 'Deluded wretch! If I could meet all your band one or two at a time this way the work of destroying them would be simple, but I have pity for you, pity for the mother that they say still loves you,'' said the captain. And as he spoke he seized the knife in the young man's belt and sent it rattling down the rocks. "I do not want your pityl Curse you! Release me or I will go at you with my teeth!" This was shouted in a voice of mingled anger and pain, and the cry was heard down the river by the Indians. "Hold him, Henry! Hold him!" cried Black Eagle. "Hurry, hurry!" was the response. Captain Brandon heard the Sioux and Shoshones advancing, and knew that self preservation demanded prompt action. "On your own head be 'the blood, then," he said. The young man tried to tear himself away, but he was as a child in this man's hands. He felt himself being lifted bodily into the air and poised there for an instant; then he knew no more. Tho Indians, who came a moment afterward, found Henry Kyle crushed and bleeding ou the rocks. CHAPTER TTEL "Do not try to change me," repeated Louis Kyle. It was an appeal to his father rather than an assertion of his own inflexible determination. "I cannot read your past," he went on, "but I see my own present, and I must work for my own future. This I will do with love for you, my mother and Nora, but do not force me to disobey by asking me to run counter to my own sense of dury." "He has his uncle Frederick's spirit and his uncle Frederick's ways. 0 God, O God!" cried the agonized father, and >iia fingers again interlocked and his head fell forward on his breast. "Aji uncle Frederick!" exclaimed Louis. ' 'I never heard you speak of him before." "He is dead," wailed the distracted father. "Oh, Valentine! Tell him all! Tell Vn'-m all!" cried Mrs. Kyle, coming over and kneeling beside her husband, with her white hands pressed about his, so hard and brown. "Ease your heart by telling Louis all. A knowledge of the one rash act of your life will not quench his love." '.'Ob. my father, there can be mo act rounded poonfuls are required, of BAKING POWDER, not heaping ones. in the past that woulll change me. You have been to me from my earliest memory my ideal of all that is brave, self denying and noble. I ask not to lift the Bi^zrMH »i your iTvst. iiuc he.ir me—believe me that I r/ould die to save you now; that I am ready to bear with you all the troubles of tho past and to share with you all "the burden they have brought. For many years I have noticed that the shadow of a great affliction hung over your J;-arr., and I have yearned to dispel i' civ the sunshine of my own love. But do not let us yield to despair; there arc four of us left, "he continued, drawing Nora to his side and kissing her wet. cheeks. "If need be, I will give up all else to make you happy, but I should scorn myself if I did not follow the light that I have, and that light leads me to act for your good as well as mine.'' "Trust him, husband. Trust Louis," pleaded Mrs. Kyle. Valentine Kyle heaved a sigh, and, compressing his lips, raised his agonized face to the ceiling. Could he open his heart to his own son—to this only son, for the other was worse than dead— and show him there the blood stains that had remained fresh through all the years since that awful night? The conflict between desire and shame, duty and love, the confirmed habit of secrecy and the fear of letting in more light, and of knowing what his son might think of him, was fearful but brief. "I will tell Louis all, all, "he said, straightening up, with such an expression on his face as brave men wear when the ship is sinking beneath them. "Shall Nora and I withdraw?" asked Mrs. Kyle, taking her daughter's hand and leading her toward the door. "Yes, wife, and tell her the whole truth. The years have made our secret too big aud heavy for two to bear. We thought that time would obliterate it, but it has grown and grown and gnawed into my soul like rusting fetters on the limbs of a prisoner." Mrs. Kyle bowed and with Nora left the room and quietly closed the door behind her. When they were alone, Louis said, ' 'Let us sit side by side, fattier, and let me hold your hand as when I was a child.'' "No, no, Louis, you cannot hold my hand till you have heard my story, for as I speak you might fling it from you with scorn, and that would kill me.'' ' 'I swear to you by that God whom you taught me to worship that I could not do such a deed if I saw your arm reddened by the blood of the innocent to the shoulder,'' cried Louis with impassioned intensity. "Do you see this hand, my son?" Mr. Kyle held his right arm up and spread out the fingers. "I do, father." "Does it differ from other hands?" "It is brave and gentle and strong. Yes, yes, it differs from every hand in the world. It is my father's hand.'' "It is the hand of a murderer," said the father, sinking his voice and speaking so rapidly that his nostrils dilated and his hungry eyes were eating into his son's startled face. "Of a murderer?" Louis trembled and tamed pale under the blow. "Yes, of a murderer; of a fratricidal murderer. I slew my brother 18 years ago—my brother Frederick, your uncle, " It is tho hand of a, murderer." and the bravest, finest man on whom God's sunshine ever fell. That is why I took my wife and two baby boys and fled into this -wilderness. That is why I thought the shadow of these everlasting hills would shield my face frorn men and my sin from heaven. Bnt the very solitude that promised relief has but intensified the consciousness of the crime that has blasted my life." Overcome with emotion, Valentine Kyle kneeled beside foe bed and buried his face: in his hands. This startling but indefinite confession overwhelmed Louis for a moment, "but only Tor a moment. Springing from his chair he went over aud knelt beside his father, and, encircling his nock with his right arm, he raised his face with the other, and, kissing it. said: ' 'Malice never acts rashly, and your life has atoned f cr your rashness. I have heard your sin, and, looking back on the past that has resulted from it, I feel that reparation has been made. But, be that as it may, know this, my father, my heart has gone out more and more to you for this confidence. God pity the man who ever refuses the hand of the old father that cared for him as you have for me. Do not draw it away. I shall take it. See, father, see! I am pressing that right hand to my lips as I often did when a child, and I am bathing it white with the tears of my love. " Louis Kyle did take the trembling hand and hfe did kiss it, aud the hot tears of his pitying love fell on it like a cleansing hyssop. ' 'Oh, my sou, my son! 0 God, I thank thee!" The father turned as one turns from the darkness in which he has been groping to the golden ray that pierces the gloom and marks the pathway up to the light. His arms were about his boy— again his baby boy, though the cheeks he pressed were bronzed and bearded. And thoy knelt there side by side, their hands cl asped and their heads bowed and their suppressed sobs breaking the stillness. So they were kneeling when Nora and her mother came back and softly tiitered tli& room and bowed down be- Kde them. Louis was the first to rise, and he reached down and lifted his father up beside him, and there was a light ou Valentine Kyle's face that had never been there before. The burden had fallen off, aud he felt as one who has come to vhe mountain tops from the Stygian depths. "My brother Frederick," said Mr. Kyle, as we shall continue to call Valentine Weldon, after all had composed themselves, "at the time of the great war was a strong Union man, and I as strongly advocated the other side. Up to this there never had been a misunderstanding between us—even as boys we never quarreled, as the best of brothers are apt to do. But at the beginning of that terrible war men were seized with excitement, and the stronger the past love the stronger seemed the hate that flamed up between those that took opposite views. "I never knew Frederick to drink before that day, and I, ever excitable and impetuous, had never drunk so much. I was not myself. A friend had presented me with a sword, and in my mad vanity I had strapped it to my side and wore it as I rode home with my brother: We got into a dispute about the north and south. He was cool, so cool that it maddened me. A storm came up, and by the flashing of the lightning I could see his pale face and gleaming eyes, and, as God is my judge, when we halted on the banks of Beaver creek to see if the rain had swollen the ford, I thought I saw a pistol in Frederick's hand. Too late I learned my mistake. Excepting that cursed sword I was unarmed. How I drew it and how, by the lightning's flash, I saw it splitting down his face seems like the memory of a fevered dream. "He fell from his horse with a cry of 'O God, my brother!' The next instant I was down and beside him. I hurled the sword into the current. I felt his face and the blood spurted out on my right arm. From forehead to chin the blade had cut. By the lightning's gleam I saw that he was dead. I heard horsemen behind me aud a craven fear came upon me. I flung myself into the saddle and dashed into the stream. I reached home; told my wife all; kissed my baby boys and fled into the mountains. There I remained for months without taking part in the conflict that was raging around me." "Then it was that you knew of the Blanchards," said Louis, coming back to a subject that would assert itself. ' 'Dr. Blanchard's wife was my sister Mary, your aunt," replied Mr. Kyle. "And these young ladies and Howard Blanchard are our cousin?" "They are." "And it is because of your misfortune —for a terrible misfortune it was, rather than a wrong—that you do not wish your relatives to know of your whereabouts, and why you want me to keep away from them?" "Yes, Louis, that and more," replied Mr. Kyle. "What more?" "Perhaps I should not tell you, but it is better that yon. should know all" Mr. Kyle hesitated and his wife said, "Tell them all, Valentine^ tell them "The Weldons were a rigid, stem and religions people until they began to intermarry with the Blanchards. But perhaps I should not cry down blood that runs in ray ovru veins. Still it has cursed us and you should know it. Some one child of each such union has become reckless and gone to the bad, but they have wronged themselves more than they have others. My grandf ather, John Weldon, hated them, and I blamed him much for his treatment of the Blanchards. But since I have had years to think it over I feel that the alliance-was bad. Each in its purity was good enough, but the French Hugueuot ami the Scotch-Irish strain made a bad mixture in our case,'' "And for this reason you would have mo remain aloof?" "For this reason, my SOD, and another that is even greater," replied Mr. Kyle. '"You mean the fear that Henry and I shall meet?" Mr. Kyle nodded his head, but did not. dare to speak. ROAST GOOSE. HOT to Select the IJird and How to Cook It. Geese are generally in prime condition at this season of the year, and if young and fat aud properly stuffed with sage aud potato dressing make most acceptable roasts. A goose over a year old is a strong, greasy bird aud is not now considered fit for food. Select ona«for roasting that weighs about four or five pounds. A larger bird is too tough. An old one has tough wings, and the lower part of the beak has hardened. If the beak does not break easily, and if the tip of the breastboue is not flexible, the bird is too old. It is said that unscrupulous poultry dealers try to break the breastbones of old geese so that thoy will be flexible, but it is doubtful whether this could be done without the fraud being detected. The fat of an old goose is dark, that -of a young one light and translucent. After picking and drawing the bird carefully remove all the fat that can be reached under the skin and from the inside. This should be saved and fried out later for goose grease, but it is of no value in cooking, and if left in the bird gives it a coarse, rank flavor. Wash the bird inside and outside and wipe it dry. If you desire, use the time honored stuffing of potatoes and sage. Season the goose on the inside with salt and pepper, stuff it with the dressing and truss it into shape like a turkey. It can be stuffed with tho same dressing as a turkey, bnt an extra flavoring of chopped onion should be added to it. Put the goose on its back on a rack in a dripping pan, dredging salt, pepper and a liberal amount of flour over it, and set ic in an extra hot oven to roast. When it begins to boil, put a pint of boiling water under it and turn it over on its side. In a few minutes begin to baste it, dredging it with salt, pepper and flour after each basting. Let it cook a full hour and a half, basting and dredging it every 15 minutes. Let it roast for the last quarter of an hour or longer on its back. When it is well browned and thoroughly done, put it on a platter. Skim off all the fat in the dripping pan, add a cup of water or of stock, if convenient, and thicken with flour. •When the mixture boils up thoroughly, season. Strain and serve it as gravy with the goose. Always serve a dish of tart apple sauce with roast goose. A goose from 3 to 4 months of age is called "green." It is then esteemed a special delicacy. It is never stuffed, but is treated like a game bird. How to Ward Off "the Appearance or Age. The theory that nerve troubles seriously affect the complexion has been generally accepted now. If you become aged, looking for clouds instead of sunshine, seek the latter and make those around you admire your bright face and cheerful manner. To evade the invasion of age, the face and neck should be thoroughly massaged by a magnetic person. After the muscles and nerves are in a normal condition through a course of this treatment the face and neck can be kept in this healthful condition by a course of personal care. Devote 10 or 15 minutes daily, and always use for these treatments an oil which acts as a substitute for soap and water and which will cleanse the pores of all effete matter. Only such oils should be used as tire indorsed by reliable physicians. Steaming is very beneficial before the massage is given, but the face should be first anointed with the cleansing oil. Intense steaming should never be resorted to as it parches the skin. How to Dress Scant Locfe». Cut into different available lengths all the hair except just enough to make one loop, which, fastened with a handsome com b and backed by an aigret, a loop of ribbon or a bow, will take the place of a coil. The short lengths should then be curled, wa^ed and poffed. In this way the head will be loosely dressed and the effect required will be secured. It seems accepted that the outline of the head at the back must not be followed. In case of the much to be desired stacks the great coils or loose loops sufficiently disguise at that point, but where the hair is thin the outline must be hidden by fluffed out locks. Fluff does not mean what it used to— mere dryness and feathery lightness will not do now. The round of each ringlet, the curve of each puff, must shine. This means that the hair must be absolutely clean and that it must then be bmfihed or dressed to gloss. How to Clean Piano Key*. When the keys of a piano are dirty, they should be cleaned with a little gin and whiting mixed to a wet paste. Bub a little on each key; then polish with a soft dry cloth, or an old silk handkerchief is best Care must be taken not to Vat the paste get between the key*. 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