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About The Choteau Montanan (Choteau, Mont.) 1913-1925 | View This Issue
The Choteau Montanan (Choteau, Mont.), 11 July 1924, located at <http://montananewspapers.org/lccn/sn85053031/1924-07-11/ed-1/seq-2/>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.
A N o vel of the Foothills By ROBERT STEAD Author o f \The Cow Puncher”—“The ‘Homesteaders” — \Neighbors Copyright by ROBERT STEAD 1 1 . ............... . .............. ❖ CHAPTER X—Continued. —13— ! “I know what you mean,\ she said. •*There’s too much servility in it. And yet one may pay these courtesies and not be servile. I always ‘sir’d’ your father, and he knew I did it because I ..wanted to, not because I had to. And I shall do the same with you once we understand each other.” “I think we can accept that as a working basis,” he agreed. She produced notebook and pencil. “Very well, sir. Do you wish to dic tate?\ Grant found a little apartment house on a side street, overlooking the lake. Here was a place where the vi sion could leap out without being beaten back by barricades of stone and brick. He rested his eyes on the distance, and assured the inveigling landlady that the rooms would do, anti he would arrange for decorating at his own expense. As he was arranging the books on his shelf a clipping with the account of Zen’s wedding fell to the floor. He sat down in his chair and read it slow ly through. Later he went out for a walk. It was in his long waias that Grant found the only real comfort of his new life. To be sure, it was not like roam ing tfca foothills; there was not the soft breath of the Chinook, nor the deep silence of the mighty valleys. But there was movement and freedom and a chance to think. The city offered artificial attractions in which the foot hills had not competed; faultlessly kept parks and lawns; splashes of perfume and color; spraying foun tains and vagrant strains of music. He reflected that some merciful prin ciple of compensation has made no place quite perfect and no place en tirely undesirable. He remembered also the toil of his life in the saddle; the physical hardship, the strain of long hours and broken weather. And here, too, in a different way, he was in the saddle, and he did not know which strain was the greater. He was beginning to have a higher re gard for the men in the saddle of busi ness. The world saw only their suc cess, or, it may be, their pretense of success. But there was a different story from all that, which each one of them could have told for himself. On this evening when his mind had been suddenly turned Into old chan nels by the finding of the newspaper clipping dealing with the wedding of Y.D/s daughter, Grant walked far into the outskirts of the city, paying little attention to his course. It was late October; the leaves lay thick on the sidewalks and through the parks; there was In all the air that strange, sad, sweet dreariness of the dying summer. . . . Grant had tried heroically to keep his thoughts away from Transley’s wife. The past had come back on him, had rather engulfed him, in that little newspaper clipping. > He let himself wonder where she was, and whether nearly a year of married life had shown her the folly of her de cision. He took it for granted that her decision had been folly, and he ar rived at that position without any re flection upon Trunsley. Only—Zen had been in love with him, with him, Dennison Grant! Sooner or later she must discover the tragedy of that fact, and yet he told himself he was big enough to hope she might never dis- •Oh, Miss Bruce, I Beg Your Pardon. I Am Gla>J to See You.” • cover it. It would be best that she Bhould forget him, as he had—almost —-.forgotten her. There was no doubt ' that would be best And yet there was a delightful sadness in thinking of her still, and hoping that some day — He ! was never able to complete the thought. He had been walking down a street ; of modest homes; the bare trees groped into a sky clear and blue with r the first chill presage of winter. A f fuick step fell unheeded by his side; ¡¡¡'the girl passed, hesitated, then turned ¿.‘•Ud spoke. f' “You are preoccupied, Mr. Grant.\ j. “Oh, Miss Bruce, I beg .vour pardon. !: I am glad' to see you.” Even at that t moment he had been thinking of Zen, -blind perhaps he put more cordiality jvlnro his words than he Intended. But f;,be^\ad grown to have considerable re- \r*r& hai own account, for this un usual girl who was not afraid of him. He had found that she was what he called “a good head.” She could take a detached view; she was absolutely fair; she was not easily flustered. Her step had fullen into swing with his. ! “You do not often visit our part of the city,\ she essayed. \You live here?\ “Nearby; Will you come to'see?\ Me turned with her at a corner, and they went up a nnrrow street lying deep in dead leaves. Friendly domes tic glimpses could be caught through unblinded windows, • “This is our home,” she said, stop ping before a little gate. Grant's eye followed the pathway to a cottage set back among the trees. “I live here with my sister and brother and moth er. Father is dead,” she went on hur riedly, as though wishing to place be fore him a quick digest of the family affairs, “and we keep up the home by living on with mother as boarders; that is, Grace and I do. Hubert is still in high school. Won’t you come in?” He followed her up the pnth and Into a little ball, lighted only by chance rays falling through a half- opened door. She did not switch on the current, and Grant was aware of a comfortable sense of her nearness, quite distinct from any office experi ence, as she took his hat. In the liv ing-room her mother received him with visible surprise. She was not old, but widowhood and the cares of a yoting family had whitened her hair before its time. “We are glad to see you, Mr. Grant,\ she said. “It is an unexpected pleas ure. Big business men do not often—” “Mr. Grant is different,\ her (laugh ter Interrupted, lightly. “I found him wandering the streets and I Just—re trieved him.” “I think I am different,\ he admit- ed, as his eye took in the surround ings. which he appraised quickly as modest comfort, attained through many little economies and makeshifts. “Phyllis is a great help to rie—and Grace,” the mother observed. “I hope she is a good girl in the office.” At this moment Grace and Hubert came in from the picture-show to gether, and the conversation turned to lighter topics. Mrs. Bruce insisted on serving tea and cake, and when Grant found that he must go Phyllis accom panied him to the gate. “This all seems so funny,\ she was saying. “You are a very remarkable man.\ “I think I once passed a similar opinion about you.” She extended her hand, and he held it for a moment. \I have not changed my first opinion,” he said, qs he re leased her fingers and turned quickly down the pavement. * CHAPTER XI Grant’s first visit to the home of his private stenographer was not his last, and the news leaked out, as It is sure to do in such cases. The social set confessed to heing on the point of be ing shocked. Two schools of criticism developed over the five o’clock tea tables; one held that Grant was a gay dog who would settle down and marry in his class when Le had had his fling, and the other that Phyllis Bruce was an artful hussy who was quite ready to sell herself for the Grunt millions. And there were so many eligible young women on the market, although none of them were described ns artful hussies! Grant's hehavk-r, however, placed him under m cloud In so far as social opportunities were concerned; on the contrary, he found himself being show ered with invitations, most of which he managed to decline on the grounds of pressure of business. When such an excuse would have been too trans parent he accepted and made the best of It, and he found no lack of encour-, agement in the one or two Incipient amorous flurries which resulted. From such positions he always suc ceeded in extricating himself, with, a quiet smile at the vagaries of life. He had to admit that some of the young women whom he had met had charms of more than passing moment; he might easily enough find himself chas ing the rainbow. . . . But his attention was at once to be turned to very different matters. A stock market, erratic for some days, went suddenly Into a paroxysm. Grant escaped with ns little loss as possible for himself and his clients, and after three sleepless nights called his staff together. They crowded Into the board-room, curious, apprehensive, al most frightened, and he looked over them with an emotion that was quite new to his experience. Even In the aloofness which their standards had made it necessary for him to adopt there had grown up in his heart, quite unnoticed, a tender, sweet foliage of love for these men and women who were a part .of his machine. Now, as he looked in their faces he realized how, like little . children, they leaned on „ him—how, like little children, they feared his power and his displeasure—how, per haps, like little children,. they * had learned to love him, too. He realized. as he had never done before,\that they were children; that here and there in the mass of humanity Is one who was born to lead, but the great mass itself must b^ children always, doing as they are bid. “My friends,” he managed to say. “we suddenly find ourselves in tre mendous times. Some of you know my attitude toward this huslness In which we are engaged. I did not seek It; I tried to avoid it; yet, when the re sponsibility was forced upon me I ac cepted that responsibility. I gave up the life I enjoyed, the environment in which I found delight, the friends I loved. Well—our nation is now In n somewhat similar position. It has to go into a business whlqh it did not seek, of which it does not approve, but which fate has thrust upon It. It has to break off the current of Its life and turn It into undreamed-of channels, and we, as Individuals who make up the nation, must do the same. I have already enlisted, and expect that with in a few hours I shall be in uniform. Some of you are single men of mili tary age; you will, I am sure, tnke similar steps. For the rest—the busi ness will be wound up as soon as pos sible, so that you may be released for some form of national service. You will nlj receive three months’ salary In lieu of notice. Mr. Murdoch will look after the details. When that has been done my wealth, or such part of it ns remains, will be placed at the dis posal of the government. If we win It will be well invested in a good cause; if we lose, it would have been lost anyway.” No one knew just how the meeting broke up, but Grant had a confused remembrance of many handclasps and some tears. He was not sure that he had not, perhaps, added one or two to the flow, but they were all tears of friendship and of an emotion born of high resolve. . . . As he stood in his own office again, trying to get the events of these last few days Into some sort of perspective. Phyllis Bruce entered. He motioned dumbly to a chair, but she came anil stood by his desk. Her face was very white and her lips trembled with the words she tried to utter. “I can’t go,” she managed to say at length. “Can’t go? I don’t understand?’’ \Hubert has joined,” she said. ( “Hubert, the boy! Why, he Is only in school—” jp “He is sixteen, and large for his age. He came home confessing, and say ing It was his first lie, and the first Important thing he ever did without consulting mother. He said he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand It if he told her first.” “Foolish, but heroic,’’ Grant com mented. “Be proud of him. It takes more than wisdom to be heroic.\ “And Grace is going to England. She was taking nursing, you know, and so gets a preference. We can’t (all leave mother.\ He found it difficult to speak. “You wanted to go to the Front?” he man aged. “Of course; whore else?” Her hnnd was on the desk; his own slipped over until it closed on It. “You are a little heroine,\ he mur mured. 1 “No, I’m not. I’m a little fool to tell you this, but how can I stay— why should I stay—when you are gone?\ She was looking down, but after her confession she raised her eyes to ills, and he wondered that he had never known how beautiful she was. He could have taken her In his arms, but something, with the power of Invisible chains, held him back. In that su preme moment a vision swam before him; a vision of a mountain stream backed by tawny foothills, and a girl as beautiful as ever, this Phyllis, who, had wrapped him in her arms . . . and said. “We must go end forget\ And he had not forgotten. . . . When he did not respond she drew herself slowly away. “You will hate me,\ she said. “That is Impossible,\ he corrected, quickly. “I am very sorry if I have let you think more than I intended. I care for you very, very much Indeed. I care for you so much that I will not let you think I care for you more. Can you understand that?\ “Yes. You like , me, but you love some one else.\ He was disconcerted by her intui tion and the terse frankness with which she stated the case. \I will take you Into my confidence, Phyllis, if I may,\ he said at length. “I do like you; I did love some one else. And that old attachment is still so strong that it would be hardly fair —it would be hardly fair—’’ , 1 ' “Why didn’t you marry her?” she demanded. “Because some one else did.\ \Oh!” Her hands found his this time. ‘Tm sorry,” she said. \Sorry I brought this up—sorry I raised these mem ories. But now you—who have known —'Will know—\ ’ ' 1 “I know—I ktio.w,” i he murmured, raising her fingers ,to his lips. .. •. . ( “Time, they say, 1 st a healer of all wounds. Perhaps-^” 1-y'; ' y ■ “No. It is better that you should forget Only, I shall see you off; 1 shall wave my, ..handkerchief to . you; I shall,' smile ■ on you In the crowd. Then—you will forget.” . . . Four years of war add only four years to the life of a man, according to the record in the family Bible, If he happen to spring from stock in which that sacred document is pre served. But four years of war add twenty years to 'the gray matter be hind the eyes—eyes which learn to dream and ponder strangely, and sometimes to shine with a hardness that has no part with youth. When Captain Grant and Sergeant Linder stepped off the train at Grant's old city there was, however, little to sug gest the ageing process that commonly went on among * the soldiers in the great war. Grant had twice stopped an enemy bullet, but his fine figure and sunburned health now gave no evidence of those experiences. Linder counted himself lucky to carry only an empty sleeve. ' They had fallen In with each other in France, and the friendship planted in the foothills of the range country had grown, through the strange prim ings and graftings of war, into a tree of very solid timber. Linder might That Was When They Potted Him in No Man’s Land. have told you of the time his captain found him with his arm crushed under a wrecked piece of artillery, and Gran* could have recounted a story of being dragged unconscious out of No ManV Land, but for either to dwell upor these matters only aroused the resent nient of the other, and frequently led to exchanges between captain and sergeant totally incompatible with military discipline. They were con tent to pay tribute to each other, but each to leave his own honors unher alded. “First thing is a place to eat,\ Gram remarked, when they had been dis missed. Words to similar effect had Indeed, been his first remark upon ,every suitable opportunity for three months. An appetite which has been four years in the making is not to be satisfied overnight, and Grant, being better fortified financially against the stress of a good meal, sought to be always urst to suggest it. Linder ac cepted the situation with the com placence of a man who has been foui, years on army pay. \Got any notion what you will do?” said Linder, when the meal was fin ished. “Not the slightest. I don’t even know whether I’m rich or broke, i suppose if Jones and Murdoch are stl|l alive they will be looking aftei those details. Doing their best, doubt less, to embarrass me with additional wealth. What are you going to do?\ \Don’t know. Maybe go back afid work for Transley.\ The mention of Transley threw Grant’s mind back 'into old-channels He had almost forgotten Transley He told himself he had quite forgotten Zen Transley, but once he knew he, lied. Thut was when they, potted him in No Man’s Land. As he lay there, waiting . . . he knew he had not forgotten. And he had thought many times of Phyllis - Bruce. At first he had written to her, but she had not! answered his letters'. Evidently she, meant him to forget. Nor had she’ come to the ( station to welcome him' Home.' Perhaps she did' not know, Perhaps— Many things can happen, in four years. . ; Suddenly it occurred to Grant that’ it might be a good idea to call on Phyllis. ,,He would take Linder.along. That would make it less personaj, He 'knew his man well enough to keep his own ^counsel, and -eventually they reached the gate of the Bruce, cottage, as though by accident ' “Let’s turn in here.- I used to' know these people. Mother and daughter; very fine folk.\ (TO B E CONTINUED.) Satisfactory “So you want to marry my daugh ter? What is your financial standing?^ “Well, sir, I’ve figured out every, ,ex-; emptlon possible; I’ve had .the best! legal advice that money would' secure;■ live' done'.everything ',L uould-idoptci .dodge it—and,I, still* find, that L cannot, escape' paying an income tax.\ ' 'l' ' i i':“Taker her. - 'She'a yo'urs,f”—Bostor Transcript £ iiiiiifiH !iiiiiitii!iiiiiiiim tiiivriiiim iiiiiiiiim iiù iiiiH iiiiim im iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiï§ è A F l ì r t l M S O F «¡F ** .,*$)? M W A* ____ - SIMON BOLIVAR A. D. 1819 ) Or .ce at the stilted court of Spain young Ferdinand, prince of the 'As turias, had the condescension to play at tennis with! a mere colonial; and the latter won. , Long afterward, when Don Ferdi nand was king, the colonial challenged him to another ball game, one played with cannon balls. This time the stake was the Spanish American em pire, hut Ferdinand played Bolivar, and again the latter won. “Now tell me,\ a lady said once, “what animal reminds one most of the Senor Bolivùr?\ And Bolivar, thought he heard some one say “monkey,” whereat he flew- into an awful passion, until the of fender claimed that tho word was “sparrow.\ He stood five feet six inches, with a hlrd-llke quickness, and a puckered' face with an odd tang of monkey. Rich, lavish, gaudy, talking mock heroics, vain as a peacock, a l ways on the strut unless he was on. tlie run, there is, no more pathetically funny figure In history, than tragical’ Bolivar ; who heard liberty, as he thought, knocking at the door of South America, and opened—to let in chaos. “I don’t know-,” drawled a Spaniard of that time, “to what class of beasts these South Americans belong.” These Spanish colonials were treat ed as dogs, behaving as dogs. When they wanted a university Spain said they were only provided by Providence to labor in the mines. They were not allowed to hold any office or learn the arts of war and government. Spain sent officials to ease them of their surplus cash, and keep them out of mischief. They were loyal as beaten dogs un til Napoleon stole the Spanish crown for brother Joseph, and French armies promenaded all over Spain closely pur sued by the British. There* was no Spain left to love, but the colonials were not Napoleon’s dogs. Napoleon’s envoys to Venezuela were nearly torn to pieces before they escaped to sea, where a little British frigate carne and gobbled them up. The sea be longed to the British, and so the coloni als sent ambassadors, Bolivar and an other gentleman, to King George. Please would he help1 them to gain their liberty? George had just chased Napoleon out of Spain, and said he would do his best with his allies, the Spaniards. In London Bolivar unearthed a coun tryman who loved liberty and had fought for Napoleon, a real profession al soldier. General Miranda was able and willing to lead the armies of free dom, until he actually saw the Ven ezuelan troops. Then he shied hard. He really must draw the line some where. Yes, he would take command of the rabble on one condition, that he got rid of Bolivar. To get away from Bolivar he w-ouid go anywhere and do anything. So he led his rabble and found them stout fighters, and drove the Spaniards out of the central provinces. The politicians were sitting down to draft the first of many comiq-opera constitutions when an awful sound, louder than any thunder, swept out of the eastern Andes, the earth rolled like a sea In a storm, and the five cities of the new republic crashed down in heaps of ruin. The barracks buried the garrisons, the marching troops were totally destroyed, the pol iticians were killed, and in ail one hundred twenty thousand people per ished. The only thing left standing in one church was a pillar’ bearing the arms of Spain ; the only districts not wrecked were those still loyal to the Spanish government. The clergy point ed the moral, the ruined people re pented their rebellion, and the Spanish forces took‘heart and closed in from every side iipon the lost republic. SI-; mon Bol.lyar generously > surrendered ; General Miranda in chains to tlie vic torious Spaniards. So far one sees only, as poor Mi randa did, that this man was a siek- ) enlng cad. But he was something i more. He stuck to/the''\causer for i which he had given his life, joined the i rebels In what, is .now Colombia,, was given a, ¡small .'garrison command-apdi ! ordered'to ¡stay in ¡his fort, jin àejfianqe : of orders, lie swept'the Spaniards tout : of the Magdalena valley, raised a large force, liberated the country, then marched into Venezuela, defeated thè Spanish forces in a score of brilliant actions, and was proclaimed:¡liberator and absolute power in both Colombia and Venezuela. One begins to marvel at this heroic lender until the cad looms out. “Spaniards and Canary islanders !\ he wrote, “reckon on death even if you are neutral, unless yóu will work- actively for the liberty of Amer ica. Americans! count on life even if you are culpable.\ > *• (> Bolivar’s pet hobbies were three In number: Resigning his job as liber ator; writing proclamations; commit ting massacres. “I order you,\ he wrote to the governor of La Guayra. “to shoot all the prisoners in those dungeons, and in the hospital, without any exception whatever.\ So tlie prisoners of war were set to ; work building a funeral pyre. When this\ was ready eight hundred'Df them- were brought up in batches, butchered with \axes; bayonets and knives,-and their bodies thrown on the flames. Meanwhile Bolivar, in his office, re freshed Hiinself by writing a proclama tion to/denounce the atrocities of tHe Spaniards. , L Southward of the Orinoco river there are Vast level prairlés, called llanos, a cattle country* handled by, w-ild horseman known as the llaneros. In Bolivar’s time their leader called him self Boves, and he had as seqond 'in command Morales. Boves said .that Morales was “atrocious.’,’ Morales said that “Boves was a man of merit, but too blood-thirsty.” Tlie Spaniards called their command “The Infernal Division,\ At first they fought for the revolution, afterward for Spain, blit thèy were really quite Impartial and spared neither age nor sex. This was the “Spanish\ array w’hich swept away the second Venezuelan republic, slaughtering the whole population save some few poor starving camps of fugi tives. Then Boves reported to tlie Spanish general, “I have recovered the arms, ammunition, and the honor of the Spanish flag, which your excel lency lost at Carabobo.” From this time onward the situation waq rather like a dog fight, with the republican dog somewhere underneath in the middle. At times Bolivar ran like a rabbit, at times he was grant ed a triumph, but whenever he had time to come up and breathe he fired off volleys of proclamations. In six teen years a painstaking Colombian counted six hundred maety-slx battles, which makes an average of one every ninth day, not to mention massacres; but for all his puny body and feeble health Bolivar was always to be found in the very thick of the scrimmage. Europe had entered on the peace of Waterloo, but the ghouls who stripped the dead after Napoleon’s battles had uniforms to sell which went to clothe tlie fantastic mobs, republican and roy alist, who drenched all Spanish Ameri ca with blood. There were soldiers, too, wljose trade of war was at an end in Europe, who gladly listened to Bolivar’s agents, who offered gorgeous uniforms and promised splendid usages —neyer paid—and who came to join in the war for \liberty.” Three .hun dred Germans and nearly six thousand British veterans joined Bolivar’s colors to fight for the freedom of America, and nearly all of them perished in battle or<; by disease. Bolivar was never without British officers, , pre ferred British troops to all others, and in his later years really earned the loyal love they gave him, while they taught the liberator how to behave like a white man. It was in 1S19 that Bolivar led, a force of two thousand five hundred men across a flooded prairie. For a week they were up to their knees, at times to their necks in water un der a tropic deluge of rain, swimming a dozen rivers beset by alligators. The climate and starvation bore very heav ily upon the British troops. Beyond the flood they climbed the eastern Andes and crossed the Paramo at a height of thirteen thousand feet, swept by an icy wind in blinding fog —hard going for Venezuelans. An Irishman, Colonel Rook, com manded the British contingent. “All,” he 'reported, “was quite (veil with his corps, which had had quite n pleasant march” through the awful gorges and over the freezing Paramo. ‘A Ven ezuelan officer remarked here that one- fourtli of the men had perished. “It was true,” said Rook, “but it really was a very good thing, for the men who had dropped out were all the ¡wastrels and wenkllngs of the force.” Great .was the astonishment of tlie 'royalists when Bolivar dropped ' on them out of the clouds, and * in the battle of Boya.cq they were . put to rout. Next day Colonel Rook had his arm cut off by the surgeons, chaff ing them about the beautiful limb he was losing. He died of tlie operation, but tlie British legion went on from victory to victory, melting away like snow until at the end negroes and In dians filled its illustrious companies. Colombia, Venezuela and Equador; Peru and Bolivia were freed from the Spanish yoke and, In the main, released J)ÿ Bolivar’s tireless, unfailing and un- daiintèd courage. \ But they- could not stand his braggart proclamations, would not have him or any man for 'master, began a series of squabbles and revolutions that have lasted ever since, and proved themselves unfit for the freedom Bolivar gave. He knew at the end that he had given his life for a myth. On the eighth of December/ 1830, he dictated his final proclamation and on the tenth received the last rites of the church, being still his old- braggart self. : “Colombians I my last .wishes are for the welfare * of i {he fatherland. If ray death contributes to the cessation of party strife,'’and to the consolidation of the Union, I shall descend in peace >to the grave/} On the seventeenth his troubled spirit passed., Add to Wheat Yield The English have Increased their yield of wheat during the past three hundred ‘years at the rate of about eight bushels to the acre each one hun-j dredyears. ...... - ---- ------ — — - ------
