Fame and Fortune Weekly, No. 801, February 4, 1921

by Various

  CHAPTER II.

  The Result of the Young Lawyer's Keen Management of the Smollett Case.

  "Where did you move to then?"

  "Seventy-nine-eight Locust street."

  "How long did you live there?"

  "Only three weeks. The plumbing was bad."

  Lew kept on in this line of questioning for several minutes more, bywhich time Smollett had testified that he had moved thirteen timesduring the past three years, in each instance telling the address ofthe house he had lived in and the length of time he had lived there.

  "This is astonishing," said Lew. "You certainly possess a remarkablememory, Mr. Smollett."

  "I think I have got a good memory," complacently said the witness.

  "There is no question about that," said Lew. "I very much doubt if anygentleman on the jury could have remembered so much and so positivelyas you have done, and yet you have apparently forgotten that you workedfor the Continental Iron Works for one entire week since the date ofyour accident!"

  A murmur of surprise went around the crowded courtroom. The witnessgrew pale and then flushed fiery red, and shifted uneasily in his seat,while the members of the jury glanced at each other in a significantmanner.

  Smollett's lawyer half arose as though to make some objection, and thenseemed to realize the hopeless nature of the situation and sat downagain with a scowl on his face.

  The witness was trembling, and Lew went at him savagely.

  "I have here a sworn copy of the time-book of the Continental IronWorks, in which your name appears as having worked from the seventh tothe thirteenth of June in the year you were injured," he said, fixingthe unhappy witness with his piercing eyes. "Do you deny that you didthat work?"

  (To be continued.)

  THE NEWS IN SHORT ARTICLES.

  "NO JOB; NO BRIDE."

  The extent and the effect of unemployment in Detroit was shown recentlywhen it was learned that twenty-six bridegrooms have recently returnedtheir marriage licenses to the county clerk. All gave the same reason:"No job, no wedding," they said.

  BABY OSTRICH SCRAPPY.

  Jonathan, the first ostrich chick hatched in Canada, is progressingunder the care of Zoo Manager F. Green in Stanley Park, Vancouver.It was at first believed that the rare and valuable bird would notlive, and it was taken from its parents and placed in the Green home.Appearance of weakness proved deceptive, for Jonathan quickly whippedthe house cat and won a decision over the family spaniel.

  CRACKS SAFE, GETS 16 CENTS.

  William Redke, forty years old, with no permanent residence, out ofemployment and broke, is in the Washington County jail, Pennsylvania,a confessed burglar and attempted suicide. Redke's cracking of thesafe in the Pennsylvania Station at Houston the other night, he toldthe authorities, netted him but 16 cents. Discouraged over the smallhaul, he turned on all the gas in the station office. Five hours laterhe awoke still in the land of the living. In disgust he surrendered tothe officers. He pleaded guilty and was committed to jail in default of$1,000 bail.

  WHERE DO SEALS SPEND THE WINTER?

  No one knows where the seals go in the winter. In Alaska they begin toappear on the Islands of St. Paul and St. George about the end of Aprilor the first of May, and toward the latter part of August or in thefirst weeks of September they disappear as strangely and mysteriouslyas they came. This is one of nature's secrets which she has kept mostsuccessfully hid from scientists as well as the prying eyes of themerely curious and inquisitive.

  Even in the days, years ago, when the seals numbered five millions ormore, apparently some signal unknown to man would be given and the nextday the fog-wreathed rocks would be bare, the seals having deserted theislands. With their slipping off into Bering Sea, all trace of them waslost until their return the following spring. Then some morning theywould suddenly reappear, disporting themselves in the water or on theshore.

  ABOUT SCENTED WOODS.

  With the woods of the world to choose from one can easily arrange awhole scale of scents from the sweetest and most delicate of perfumesat one extreme to rank and overpowering odors at the other, says theAmerican Forestry Magazine. The stores of the perfumer's shop will notyield a greater variety than one can find in woods.

  The most famous of all scented woods is the incomparable sandalwood.The true sandalwood (Santalum album) is an Oriental tree, the use ofwhich for perfumery and incense began thousands of years ago, and itspopularity remains undiminished. The later Greeks considered it one oftheir greatest luxuries, and no festivities were complete without it.There are many false sandalwoods, at least three from India, one or twofrom the Philippines and Java, one from Australia and another from theWest Indies and Venezuela.

  In some parts of the Himalayas and in the Khasia Hills the yew tree iscalled deodar (God's tree), the name that is elsewhere applied to atrue cedar. The wood of the yew is burnt as incense, as is also thatof the cypress. One of the favorite woods for incense in the Buddhisttemples of India is the juniper. In parts of South America a woodclosely related to the lignum-vitae is called palo santo (sacred wood),because of its use for incense in churches.

  The Northwestern Indians nearly always made their totem poles out ofWestern red cedar, but this choice was probably due more to the factthat the wood is easy to work and extremely durable rather than to itsfragrance. It may be taken as a very good general rule that woods thatare scented are resistant to decay and insect attack and have goodcabinet qualities.

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  THE RENEGADE'S FATE.

  By Kit Clyde.

  "Then you will not listen to me?"

  "No. I believe you to be a wicked man, and I will never consent tosacrifice my child to such as you."

  "But if she loves me?"

  "She does not--she cannot! She knows your evil reputation, and herheart is another's."

  "I will wait. She loves me, and will be mine. I am sure of it."

  "Never! And now, as we have already prolonged this meeting beyondreason, go, and never speak to me on the subject again."

  "Very well, Giles Raynor, I shall not. I shall speak to your daughterinstead."

  "Do so at your peril, Tom Walden! Now go!"

  "Good-morning, Farmer Raynor, and a better temper to you when we meetagain."

  The man whose suit had been refused went away with a smile upon hisdark face, and without the least threat against his rival, or the manwho had given him his dismissal, nor the least suggestion that he meantotherwise than to honestly win the girl whom
he professed to love.

  Giles Raynor was a settler in the far Northwest, and a man ofimportance in the little town which he had founded.

  Tom Walden had come among the settlers within a year, and had affecteda great liking for Grace Raynor, the farmer's daughter, and had askedfor her hand in marriage.

  Walden claimed to be a lumberman, but there were those who said that hehad come into this lonely region to get ahead of an evil reputation,and although he might be what he avowed, he was no honest man seekingto make a living in these wilds.

  It was said, although not too openly, that Tom Walden was a gambler anda thief; that he had fled to escape punishment for his crimes, and thateven now, in his new home, he was not above suspicion, and that manyhad been made victims of his unscrupulous methods.

  Grace Raynor had expressed an open dislike to him, and was reportedto be engaged to marry Jack Woodson, an honest young fellow at workin the sawmill in town, the only support of a widowed mother, and asfree-hearted, generous-handed a young man as one could meet.

  No one knew definitely if the young people were engaged, for they kepttheir own counsel, and when slyly questioned about the matter repliedthat people would know all about it as soon as it became necessary forthem to do so.

  Tom Walden left the farmer's house, ostensibly to go to work in thewoods, and Giles Raynor gave little thought to him, having othermatters to occupy his mind.

  He left his daughter to look after the house, as usual, when he wentinto the fields, saying nothing to her about Walden's proposal, notdeeming it necessary to worry her.

  When he came home at noon his wife said that Grace had gone to anothertown to make some purchases, being unable to obtain what she wanted intheir own village, expecting to return by the middle of the afternoon.

  When evening came she had not returned, and the farmer began to feela vague alarm concerning her, although Walden had uttered no threatsagainst her, or any one in whom she was interested.

  At nightfall a boy brought a note to the farmer, saying that it hadbeen given him by a woman closely veiled, an hour before, on theextreme verge of the town.

  The note read as follows:

  "Dear Father: I have gone away with the man I love--Tom Walden. Do not pursue us, for we will not be brought back alive. By the time you receive this we will be married.

  "GRACE."

  The farmer handed the note to his wife, his face expressing theastonishment he felt.

  "It is not true," said Mrs. Raynor. "Grace told me only this noon thatshe loved Jack Woodson, and that they intended to be married in thefall, but that they did not want it generally known just yet."

  "Then this scoundrel Walden has carried her off!" cried the farmer.

  "Grace never wrote that letter," said the wife. "She is a truthfulgirl, and has told me often that she never loved any one but Jack, andto-day, as I told you, she said that she and Jack had fixed on the dayfor their wedding."

  The farmer took the note, put on his glasses, and read it again, morecarefully.

  "It's her handwriting, as sure as I sit here," he said; "but thatscoundrel has made her write it, and has carried her off."

  "Grace would die sooner than write a lie," said the mother.

  At that moment Jack Woodson entered the room.

  "Where is Grace? What is this story I hear?" he asked excitedly.

  The farmer handed him the note, which he read hurriedly and then tossedupon the floor.

  "It's a lie! a false, cruel lie!" he cried. "My darling never wrotethat--never could write it. It's the work of that villain, Walden. Doyou know what I have just heard? Tom Walden was arrested on a charge offorgery in Chicago--would have gone to prison, for his conviction wascertain, but jumped his bail, and fled. His name is not Walden at all.There is a man at the hotel who knows all about him, and described himthis very hour. More than that, there is an old indictment against himin New York for murder. The plea was self-defence, and the case nevercame to trial. Now they have new evidence that he deliberately murderedthe man. He was then known as Tom Walden. My Grace run away with a manlike that! Never! He has carried her off, and has written this notehimself to deceive us. He has stolen her, but I will pursue him andbring her back, if I have to kill him to do it!"

  Then, without further words, he rushed from the house into the darkness.

  The next morning he had disappeared, and no one knew where he had gone,nor for months did the settlers hear tidings of him or of Grace or ofTom Walden.

  In one of the wildest parts of the Northwest woods an Indian villagehad been built.

  There were no white settlers within many miles, and the tribe was saidto be a peaceful one, never going on the warpath, and always treatingwith kindness the few straggling whites who made their way into thiswilderness.

  In one of the larger lodges of the village, one pleasant afternoon inthe late autumn, were a man of about forty and a girl not much overtwenty.

  The girl's complexion was fair, and she had none of the characteristicsof the Indian, although dressed like one.

  The man was tall and swarthy, with long, black hair, which hungstraight down upon his broad shoulders, his face was cruel and crafty,and his every look was evil.

  He was dressed in half-savage, half-civilized style, wearing a fur cap,an embroidered hunting-shirt of buckskin, woolen trousers, heavy boots,and a red sash in which were thrust a brace of pistols and a knife.

  "See here, Grace," he said to the girl who sat before him on a lowcouch of skins, "I haven't brought you here for nothing, and you mustbe my wife."

  "Never, Tom Walden, or whatever your evil name is," said the girl. "Farfrom home and friends, among these wild and savage men, less pitilessthan you are, I can still defy you. I will never be your wife!"

  "These people are my allies," said Walden. "I have inflamed themagainst the whites, and they are ready to go on the warpath if I bidthem. They will kill you as soon as any one, if I give the word, and Iwill if you do not consent to----"

  "Never!" cried Grace, springing to her feet. "I doubt not that you havetold many lies to account for my disappearance, since you dragged mefrom my home by your baseness. You are false enough to make war againstyour own people, but I do not fear you, no matter what you threaten.Kill me, if you will, and release me from my misery!"

  "I've a mind to take you at your word!" cried Walden, seizing the girlby the wrist and raising his knife as if to strike.

  The maiden never flinched; but at that moment an Indian youth spranginto the lodge and threw himself between the renegade and the girl.

  "White man no strike the white flower!" he cried.

  "Who are you?" growled the man, looking fixedly at the youth.

  "Me Young Elk. Me live far off, me come to village, me have friend."

  "Well, Mr. Young Elk, this is my squaw, and you will take yourself offand mind your----"

  "Paleface lie! The white flower is not his squaw!" the young Indianreplied.

  "Get out of here!" hissed the renegade.

  "No! Young Elk stay. White flower need friend. Me be her friend."

  "Blame you!" hissed Walden. "We'll see if any mere boy can defy me! Outof the way, dog!"

  "No," said the Indian. "Not while white flower stay. Young Elk befriend to white woman; bad paleface shall not strike."

  "Thank you, my friend, but I fear him not," said Grace.

  "I will conquer you yet!" hissed the renegade, as he rushed from thelodge, the Indian boy having stepped aside.

  As soon as Walden had gone, Grace left the lodge and hurried into theforest, where she ran on till she reached a pool of water which madeits way swiftly into a cave amid the great ledges of rock.

  The spot was at some distance from the village, the trees grew thickand high, and the path between them was narrow and winding, and easilylost; but the girl had evidently been there before, for when shereached the opening in front of the pool she looked around her with anair of securit
y.

  Walden, leaving the lodge, went to the chiefs, whom he found gatheredin council.

  "Who is Young Elk?" demanded Walden.

  "He is my kinsman," said one of the chiefs.

  "He is a meddler!" snarled the renegade. "I will kill him if he doesnot take care!"

  "No, False Heart will not!" cried the old chief. "False Heart lies, hehas told crooked tales of the paleface, he is a bad man. He would makeus go on the warpath when the whites have not wronged us. It is he whowill have to take care lest Young Elk kill him!"

  Inflamed with rage, Walden left the council and hurried into theforest. As he hurried along the narrow path he was followed by YoungElk.

  Reaching the opening, Walden found Grace upon her knees at the edge ofthe pool. "I cannot bear to leave this bright world," she murmured,"but I could not bear the disgrace, the shame of being that man's wife!Oh! why is there no one to help me?"

  "Die, if you will have it so!" cried the renegade, raising his hand tostrike.

  Upon the instant, the young Indian who had been trailing him, sprangforward, seized the renegade by the throat and hurled him into the pool.

  "Grace, my darling!" he cried, taking the girl in his strong grasp anddrawing her away.

  "Jack! You!" she cried. "Then you are Young Elk?"

  "No; he is my friend. He it was who found you here in the village,and told me, and none too soon. I have sought you in many places. TheIndian boy who gave your father the letter forged by Walden confessedthat the villain had taken you to some tribe far away, and I began mysearch. I went from tribe to tribe, finding you not, and at last metYoung Elk, whose life I saved. He went with me from village to village,making inquiries, and here at last he found you. But what has become ofthat scoundrel?"