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y Townsend y y b ILLUàTRAT/O/ià ÔY MretJ •BPW WC»r, 1909. ar me CH*PMA*. COPraiCHrmçaeATSfHTAM jJa DABY^é Ymfre*j It was the second thing he had learned. The first ray of light in bis dawning consciousness had illumin ated the ego, the personal, the con crete. He was learning now the sig nificance of a verb and an abstract idea was being bred in him and soma concept of constraint was entering his being. The first of those long checks that circumstances impose upon free dom in order that civilization may be gin to be was then meeting him face to face. He had slept in that cave, she imagined, for years, and suddenly n« Was thrust out. There was no hard ship in that, except the hardship In the necessity for obedience, if hard ship that might be. The night was balmy and pleasant; no shelter was needed. It was the fact that he had to go; that be was subject to another will and purpose; that something higher than himself was overruling him which might be hard. It would have been hard for the woman. She thought, however, that the limited comprehension of the man might not enable him to realize it. He stood a long time on the sand while she watched him. Had she con quered? Had he learned his lesson? Had she laid foundations upon which consciousness of life and its relations might be builded? Would she be free from the terror of molestation, which in spite of herself sought expression in her voice and manner? Would she be permitted to pass the night undis turbed? Was her power over him suf ficiently definite to be established and to be of value? Suppose she had not succeeded in mastering him, in dom inating him? She shuddered at the probabilities involved. Of all the beasts of the field, the most terrible when he is a beast is man. She was not a weak woman. She Was above the middle height, athletic, splendidly developed, accustomed to ftU the Stood for Long Sand. Time on the exercises of the gymnasium and the field, but her strength was no match for his. One ray of safety ap peared in the fact that she believed him ignorant alike of the extent of his power or of the possibilities of the umber Company (»emploie l ine of LIMB I! R Sash & Doors II >11, PLASH:!*, GEMENT S Our aim is Satisfaction Roundup, - Montana • I M I MlWIIMHIM I H i NW—NMMMI I HMIH I IM I ywiiiwfliwiiiwiki^^ FOR MEALS LIKE MOTHER USED TO MAKE GO TO The St. Paul Dining Room Mrs. Theo. Schmitz, Prop. Meal Ticket* 21 Meals for $S.SO OPPOSITE C. M. & St. P. DEPOT, ROUNDUP. MONT v j? 3 ) * : S i 9 • ; • ; * 9 9 j situation. She wondered what strange thoughts were going on in that latent brain over which by the use of moral force and courage she was striving to establish domination. She rejoiced to find that even In the midst of her anx ieties she could think so clearly about the situation. Did he know his lesson, she won dered. She could only hope. If she only had a weapon, she thought, the weakness of sex might be equalized. There was nothing. Yes, her thought reverted to the womanly pair of scis sors. With trembling hand she drew them forth and clenched the little tool of steel tightly. It was a poor depend ence but the best she had. And then she drew quietly back into the re cesses of the cave and sat down lean ing against the wall, her eyes bright with dread, anticipation and curiosity. She watched and waited, resolved if necessary to remain awake the long night through. Outside the man had stood motion less a long time after the final repulse. The dusk had not yet melted into dark out there and be was easily visible against the sky framed by the opening as a dim picture. She was hardly aware of the Intensity with which she watched him and she was greatly sur prised when Bhe saw him at last kneel down upon the sands. She saw that the palms of his hands were pressed together In front of him; that his head was bowed, that his attitude was that of prayer! He was saying some thing. She could hear him without difficulty. She could distinguish no words in the rude succession of sounds that seemed to come from his lips, but her acute and quickened per ception seemed to recognize a nearer resemblance to articulate speech than anything she had yet heard from him. What was he doing? In a flash the woman realized that the man was praying. The realization smote her like a blow, for this woman had long since put away prayer. In her philoso phy of life there was no place for God; in her scheme of affairs the Divine was unimminent. And yet alone on that island, in the darkness, despite her attempt to mock away the con sciousness, she was relieved at that sight. The little ritual on the sand ended with the one word her pupil knew. "Man!" he said striking his breast again and staring upward toward the heavens. "Man!" lie cried as if in his new consciousness he would fain in troduce himself to his Maker, the woman thought. "His Maker!" her lips writhed into a bitter smile that was half a sneer. What would he do next? He rose to his feet and peeped toward the door. She grasped the scissors tight er and held her breath. But he had learned hiB lesson. With indescribable relief she saw him turn aside and cast himself down upon the sand where he lay motionless, if she had had any faith she would have breathed "Thank God!" As it was, she was very glad. She watched him a long time, spec ulating on the questions she had asked him on the hill in the morning; who he was what he was; whence he came; where he had learned that bab ?»•••••••«•• >le of prayer; why he was devoid of ipeech; what was the God to whom be prayed? She would study those things. The problems fascinated her. The desolation and loneliness of the Island might have crushed her. Re lieved from her immediate apprehen sions the man delighted her. She would investigate him, analyze him, lynthesize him, teach him. She would mother him as a woman a child. No luch opportunity as was hers had ever presented itself to a human being, free, as Bhe imagined herself, from inherited prejudices, devoid of old su perstitions, crammed with new learn ing, illuminated with new light, ab horrent of narrow things, she fancied herself well fitted for that strangely maternal and preceptive role in which ehance had placed her. She would play upon that mind virgin to her touch, if •he might use a woman's word, until it ran In harmony with her own. Alone upon that island, the rest of the world sway, she would find occupation, in terest, inspiration in that nascent man. He lay so stijl and so quiet that presently she arose and tiptoed softly to the entrance where unseen she could look down upon him. The moon rose back of the hill. Although he was in the shadow, there was still re fraction sufficient to enable her to see his face. He was asleep. The quiet, dreamless, unvexed sleep of a healthy animal, she thought. Their positions were reversed. He had watched her before when she was off guard and asleep with what dim, dumb, inchoate effort it might be to comprehend her. Now it was her turn. He took no disfavor in her mind after her inspec tion. He was a bold, splendid piece of . . . what? Clay. She would put a soul in him, her soul. Her soul was the only thing she knew. She forgot, or if she remembered it, disdained the ancient concept that before the dust of the earth became alive it had to be permeated with the breath not merely of man or woman, but of God. She came back at last and sought her corner, disposed her limbs to rest and kept through silent hours her lonely vigil. So long as he slept she was safe. When he awakened, what then? So long as his mind slept, his soul slept, his consciousness slept, she was safe, but when they, too, awak ened, when whatsoever light there might be that dawns in personality dispelled the night of idle dreams in which he lived, what would happen then? Instinctively she shrank from the thought of the future. She was as one who had a potent talisman in her band and feared to put it to the touch. So the fisherman in the Arabian tale, if he had known the contents of the corked bottle thrown up from the sea, might have hesitated ere he drew the stopper and spirit. She must watch, she must wait, she must be on her guard. She forgot that when she had called him "Man" and laid her hand upon his shoulder she had begun an evolution which no human power could stop. to a was that the was in she the had on she the it of released , the prisoned It of Never had the hours seemed so long and so strange to her. Nothing hap pened. liven the capacity to think gives out in the strongest mind, the acutest brain, temporarily or other wise. She was very tired; the silence was oppressive; the rusty scissors fell from her hand and at last she slipped down upon the sand and drifted away into that slumber, that suspension of consciousness in which for the mo ment she was even as the man. The upper edge of the sun was just springing from the sea when its level rays woke her. She opened her eyes to find the man standing in the open ing. at CHAPTER III. The Word of the Book. This awakening was not as had been that of yesterday. She prided herself on being in full possession of her fa 2 - ulties at once and she arose instantly and stepped out upon the sand. The man gave way to her respectfully as she passed through the entrance. The mind is brightest in the early morn : ing after sleep. She would give him i another concept before the uses of the day, impaired his receptivity. She had ; differentiated him from the rest of cre ; ation when she taught him that he was a man. She would show him now that his was a divided empire by de j daring herself a woman. She laid her hand upon her own breast and said clearly; "Woman!" giving the first syllable the long "o" and definitely accenting the second. She pointed to him and repeated "Man;" to herself and re peated "Woman." Patiently over and over again she said the word until by and by he could say It, too. The baby begins his language with monosyllabic sounds which mean lit tle and yet which have been identified with the mother. It was fitting that this man who was as a child and yet as a man should begin with something deeper than infantile babble. Man and woman!—she drove these two ideas into his consciousness be fore she ceased her task. If bis idea of man was at first infinite, she gave him tbe concept of limitations imme diately following. He was avid for instruction. Once be bad learned the words, he babbled them "man, woman, man, woman," until the Iteration was almost mad dening. While aha washed her face and banda at the stream he plunged into a brimming pool fed by the brook ere it descended to the sea. She noticed that he could swim like a fish itself, naturally, instinctively, in an un trained way of course, without the fancy strokes in which ehe had been taught, but brilliantly and well, never theless. She would have given the world for a dip. but it was not to be, not yet, that is. Than they breakfasted and she tried ' to teach him "No" and "Yes" and the meaning thereof. She intended to make a circuit of the island later, but there was no hurry. She began to realise that time was nothing to her or to him, and so she idled under the trees, setting him tasks as the picking of fruit and then stopping him with "No" and encouraging him with "Yes" i antil he had some idea of those words be also. It was a relief to her to get ' them firmly fixed in his mind, for they provided him with alternatives to the man and woman words on which he harped. After a while they started around the island. It was perhaps six or eight miles in circumference. There was a sand beach everywhere, except in one place where the rocks came sheer down to the shore, from what she could tell by an inspection of the surface there was an under-water en trance to some cave in the rocks which some day might be worth ex ploring. - On the other side of the island from the cave, which was already denomi nated home in her mind, she came It, across the remains of a ship's boat ! deep bedded in the sand. The boat had been perhaps wrecked and broken on the barrier reef, or possibly it had sailed through the entrance near at hand—the only opening in the encir cling guard of splintered rock which she had seen—and had been hurled upon the beach where it had lain through years until burled in the shifting sand. Only the gunwales of the boat and the stem and the stern were exposed. She had no idea as to what its condition was, but she prom ised that so soon as she could she would make shift at something for a shovel and dig it out. She gazed at it for a long time wondering if it were an explanation of the presence of the solitary inhabitant of the is land, but nothing was to be gained by wonderment and speculation. A little stream she noticed trickled from under a thick covert across the sand toward the sea. She turned and idly walked away from the beach, fol lowing the stream. The man, who had stood with her watching the boat, did not for a moment notice her, but so soon as he discovered her direction, ran after her and without offering to touch her barred the way with ex tended arms. "No, no!" he cried, his first real spontaneous use of the word. She stopped, reflected, waved the man aside and went on. There was something in the coppice that he feared. She had not known that he possessed the faculty. Her curiosity was too strong to be denied. She must see what it was. She quickened her pace as if to shake him off, but he easily kept by her side plaintively ejaculating his monosyllabic negative. It was evident that he knew the mean ing of the word, she was glad to see. When she reached the undergrowth of the coppice, she hesitated in appre hension of she knew not what, but summoning her courage parted the reeds and peered in them. She shrank back with a sudden cry of horror, for at her feet, the vegetation springing through in every direction, lay a skeleton, a human skeleton. It lay ere un the the be, m s V w « up of ly in a ' ' She Shrank Back with a of Horror. Sudden Cry athwart her path and at the feet was a smaller skeleton which she judged to be that of a dog. With instinctive repugnance she released the rushes and turned hastily away. "Yes, yes," said the man by her side with an expression of unusual re lief on his face which she could scarcely fail to notice. She knew that she could not thus evade her duties or shrink from her problems. She had marked the gleam of metal amid tbe bones. She knew that she would have to come back and examine those last remainders of hu man presence, other than their own, There was nothing else that she ; discovered on her tour about her pris on until Bhe returned to tbe cave. It was afternoon by this time and she de termined to employ some of her hours in a more careful inspection of it Realizing that the lesson of the night before if re-enforced and maintained would stand her in good stead, she made the man remain outside while •he went within. Her hop* was to eg tabliah In his mind * custom of avoid ance of that recess which should de velop into n fixed habit, else she could not be free. She could always secure a few moments respite from his pres ence. at least she had done so hereto fore. but she Mid not dare to try how he would sustain longer absences, hence the necessity for establishing herself In the cave as a harbor of ref uge, a sanctuary. At first glance there waa nothlag ____........................... ...... upon the island, but she could not do it just then. ' within the little apartment, washed out ages ago from the hard atone by very knew what action of water she could well i some imagine, but as she scrutinized it closely she noticed in a recess a part where the rock wall cropped out in a sort of low shelf. On the shelf—won der of wonders!—lay a book. Next to humanity, a book, she thought, would be the most precious sharer of her solitude. It was a small, leather-bound vol ume. Dust in the form of tiny par ticles of sand lay thick upon it The cave was sheltered from the prevailing winds else it might have been buried, but under the circumstances it might have lain there for ages and In that dry, pure air have suffered no deterio ration or decay. Crusoe was petrified when he saw the footprint in the sand. The woman was not less startled or less amased when she saw the book on the rock. With a little cry of delight she stepped toward it, bent down, lifted it up, handling it carefully in spite of ner vous exultation, shook the dust from It, and opened 1L She instantly let it fell from her hands with a look of dis* appointment and disgust. One glance was enough. The book was the Bible. She had no interest in the Bible, a col lection of ancient genealogies and time-worn fables, myths for the credh lous and Impossible lengends, mixed up with poetry whose inspiration was trivial and history whose details were false. For this woman, who had for gotten how to pray and who had abol ished God, had little use for the Book of Books. Rather any other printed page, she had thought bitterly, tban that one. She had acted upon impulse, notin her disdain for the Bible and that for which It stood—that. was grounded upon reason and philosophy, she fond ly believed—but in her action In cast ing it from her. ft had no more than rolled upon the sand at her feet when, with swift reconsideration, she stooped and lifted it again. It had occurred to her that there might be writing there in and that the writing might give her a clew to the mystery of the man. She knew that births and deaths were fre quently entered upon the blank leaves interposed between the Old and New Testaments. Unfamiliar though she was with the contents of the book, she easily found the place and eagerly looked at tbe leaves. Alas, they were blank. She turned to the fly leaves at the beginning of the book. There was a name written there and in a woman's hand. "John Revell Charnock," she read. Below was a date 25 years before the moment of her landing. John Revell Charnock. It was a strange name, English in part, with a suggestion of France in the middle name. It meant nothing to her. Was this John Revell Charnock who stood outside looking at her? If so, who was John Revell Charnock? The problem was not greatly elucidated. There was no evidence that the book belonged to the man or the man to the book, or even that the one appertained remote ly to the other. There was a certain likelihood, however, that they had come to the island together. She had been sure that the man was a white man. She had thought that he looked like an American, an Eng lishman, an Anglo-Saxon, and the longer she looked at him with the Bible in her hand the more sure she became. She had been disappointed that the ' book had turned out to be the Bible, but at least it would serve one useful ' purpose. By it, without the laborious effort involved in making letters upon the sand, she might teach the man before her to read. She wished she had a worthier volume from her point of view through which to intro duce him to the world's literature, but she would do the best she could with that. It was pitiful, as she saw it, that with a nascent soul to work ments, of remain indeed all blouse worn ly He gave across of stantly It the two ing The tender and to the stern some had into the as mains in less her they vision. piece gleam tance found from came fancy and come boat, rier away found it had for lifted the She it from and to to the the of the do she j was ! Tbe unfit ; a tbe she no with, she should be compelled to e«- i the lighten it through the medium of time worn superstition. Below the shelf, not quite buried in the sand, there was a small metal box. She knelt down, scraped the sand away and presently uncovered it. It appeared to be of silver. It was of such a size that she could clasp it easily in her hand. She opened it not without some difficulty and found with in it—nothing!.. Well, not exactly nothing, but certainly that for which she could see little value. There were several hard pieces of stone of a red dish color chipped and shaped in curi ous fashion. She turned the box over and examined it on all sides. There were initials upon it, a monogram. She rubbed it clean with her hands and studied it carefully—"J. R. C." The book and the box had belonged to the same person, John Revell Charnock. She laid the box aside and searched the cave further. There was abso lutely nothing else to be seen. Disap pointed vaguely, although she had ex her and no her the of ; It it eg de ref pected nothing and had gotten more, indeed, than she might have Imagined ! if she had thought about it, she laid the book and box down upon the ledge and went out again. She walked along tbe sands until she came to the place where she had landed the day be fore. Tbe tide was low. She could see tbe wreck of her boat, partly on the barrier reef and partly in the water. It would have been no trick for her to swim to it in the stillness, yat she hesitated to attempt it Cer tainly weighted down by all her cloth ing it waa a matter of difficulty und Inconvenience. If it wera not for thla fwn by her side! Bhe tried to think of some way to restrain him, keep him nway. but nothing occurred to her. In vention was paralyzed by the situation In which she found herself. Desperately bidding him stay where he waa, she went back to the cave. Bhe waa face to face with a crista which had to be met. Indeed, tha question of clothes waa becoming • very serious one with her and she knew she should have to decide upon some course of action immediately. For the present, she took off her gar ments, hoping and praying in a shiver dread and anxiety, that he would remain where she had left him, which indeed proved tbe fact. She laid aside that she bad worn except the blouse and skirt, including her sadly worn shoes and stockings. Thus light clad she came out on the sand again. He did not notice any change in her condition. As a matter of fact she gave him no time, for she flashed across tbe sand at full Bpeed and plunged boldly into .the smiling water the lagoon. He followed her in stantly and swam by her side with scarcely any exertion whatever. It was not long before she reached the barrier reef. It stood up a footer two above the water now, th* tide be ing low, and aha clambered upon It. The sharp rocks cut bar naked and tender feet, unused to such exertions and unfitted to such demands, but aha persevered. The boat had bean beaten places. It had been forced over the reef by the hurl of the sea. Th* stern had been wedged In between some projecting rocks. The rest of it had been torn away and had fallen into the lagoon. There was no wind, the sea was unruffled. She could see as if through a glass the wrecked re mains of the boat. There was nothing it except the battered motor, use less for days before she landed, since her supply of gasoline had been ex hausted. Everything else had been washed out of it and carried Into the deeper recesses of the lagoon where they were Inaccessible to the human vision. Stop! Under what remained of n piece of thwart she caught a little gleam of metal. Calculating the dis tance nicely, she plunged in and dove. Keeping her eyes open she easily found the piece of metal, dislodged It from the place where It had fallen and came to the surface with it. It waa a sailor's sheath knife with a bit of lanyard fastened to It She had had- a fancy to wear It In her sallor'a blouse and she had missed it since she had come ashore. But there was nothing else in the boat, not a thing; nothing on the bar rier reef. She tried to pull the atern away where it had been wedged, but found that Impossible. She tugged at it valiantly, but could not move it In despair she turned to the man who had watched Bilently as usual and pointed. He seemed to understand, for he came and with great effort lifted the torn part of the boat from the rocks and laid it down at ber feet She threw it into the water, where, of course, as it was wood, it floated easily. Then, with a nod to him she plunged in and together they guided it to the shore, he taking his cue from her action. She had a fancy to test his strength and she managed to convey to him by signs, mainly by trying herself in vain to pull it apart, what she wished him to do. The impossible to her was child's play to him, and in a moment the several pieces of the boat which made up the stern were scattered on the beach. There was one straight piece which went across the stern of the boat and made a little box for the coxswain to sit in, which would do for a shovel. It was too wide, but she broke it against a big stone and was possessed of wbat she wanted. Tbe ends were rough and serrated and unfit for her hands, but these she smoothed by tbe aid of her knife. She sharpened tbe other end and soon had a rude semblance of a shovel. She in tended to use that on tbe boat on tbe sand the next day. Finished with tijis, she looked at tbe man and sighed in despair. Could she ever get rid of him? Instantly there flashed into her mind that which she had before overlooked as of no moment. A long, heavy boat rope, the boat's painter, she bad noticed when she dove lay floating by the side of the boat from which it had not been severed. An idea came to her. Dropping the shovel and followed by her satellite, she plunged in once more and again swam to the boat. Wasting no time, she dove as before, found the rope and having previously opened her knife, cut it quickly and came to the surface gasping. There were perhaps 10 or 12 feet of it. It was a stout piece of rope, of unusual quality, as had been every thing on board the yacht. Tbe very best of stuff had gone into it and she did not believe any man on earth could break it. She had amused her self on the cruise by learning the rudi ments of seamanship and she could tie knots like any sailor. This little ac complishment was to stand her in good stead. She wrapped the rope around her neck, plunged in tbe la goon for the third time, and swam once more to the shore. (To be continued.) Meets every First und Third Wednesday t the Month lit the Pioneer Hall. <JEO. N. Gbifpin, Master. H. B. Thompson. Secretary. ! Unity Lodge A. F. & A. M. OF ROUNDUP ROUNDUP NEST No. 106 Brotherhood of Owls Meets 2nd and 4th Tuesdays of every month, in Pioneer Hall Hay Hagak, Executive. Carter Jackson, Secretary. Roundup Aerie No. 1817 F. O. E. Meets in Pioneer Hall Every Second and Fourth Wednesday in the month. Visiting Members invited. Carl N. Thompson, Worthy Pres. A. T. Miller. Worthy Secretary. I. O. O. F. Miracle Lodge No. 84. Meets In Pioneer Hall every Friday Even ing at 7:30 o'clock. F. A. APPLEMAN, Noble Or-• " A. Shaw, Secretary.