"Whoso Sheddeth-"

Auckland Star, Volume XLVIII, Issue 89, 14 April 1917, Page 20

"Whoso Sheddeth-"

CHAPTER XXIV. TN WHICH SWANTON" (IETS THE WOttST OF IT. It wn- about ton o'ehvk wh.>n Wlmrton kft the house. It had clouded over and a warm drizzle was falling, lr.it there was no fog, :ind n.s a moon was -hininsr somewhere behind the clouds tv- pprinpr nipbt wn> not quite .'.ark. Ho wove :\ mackintosh, heavy boots and nn old cap. and carried a sivfoot otter polo and in his pocket a sm-ali electric il.-i-h lump. Slipping- oui of the hark way. hicrossed the kiichen garden and gained the belt of beeches behind it. He kept elon;; those to the eastern end, then Struck across the moor. These precautions had a definite objectThere was he knew rather more than an! off-chance that F.n.isley was beinpr watched. Talk of the fun- of a woman scorned, it would be nothing to the rape that must be consuming Swanton at the complete failure of his plans for setting hold of Gwen. Wharton felt perfectly sure that the man would go to any length for the purpose of obtaining his revenge. Half a mile out. he reached a clump of thick gorse. and slipping quietly into it eat down on a licheneil boulder and waited. It was very still. The breeze which had been blowing freshly all day lmd dropped at night-fa!!, and a fine rain fell Foundlessly from the unseen canopy of cloud. Nothing was moving, and the silence was so intense that Wharton could distinctly hear the rush of the river in the valley three-quarters of a mile away to Ms left. The only other somad that reached hi<s ears wjls the steady crop of a moor pony grazing somewhere out in the darlcnessFor fully five minutes he sat motionless, and ax last came to the conclusion that his fears were groundless. He wae in the act of rising to pureue his way when the unseen pony stopped grazing, snorted azid galloped off. Wharton gave a soulless chuckle. He had not been twenty years on the moor without knowing what it meant. He dropped down flat and laid his ear to the gTOund, and, just as he had expected, caught the sound of feet moving uncertainly through the heather. After listening for a moment or two, he was able to tell exactly from which direction the steps were approaching, and to make certain that it was the same direction from which he had come himself. He waited until the steps were within about fifty yards, then rose to his feet and moving out of the gorse clump again walked straight ahead. For a man who knew that he' was being followed, he walked with curious carelessness. He brushed roughly through the heather, and more than once ■his nailed boots gTated harshly on one of the lumps of granite which strew the moor in every direction. He did not hurry either, but kept on at at a pace decidedly slower than usual. After a while the ground began to drop. It was a steep, stony hillside, and Wharton was still surprisingly careless in the matter of loose pebbles. But the stones, which his feet moved were echoed by others higher up the hill side, hit pursuer would have been considerably astonished, could he have seen the smile on Wharton's face. He might have been alarmed, too, for the set of Wharton'e lips was decidedly grim. At last Wharton reached level ground. The soil became very soft, and here and there Wharton's feet squelched through the miry edges of black pools. He went more slowly now, and began to exercise a good deal of care as to where he placed his feet. Small wonder, for he -was on the edge of Ling Tor Mire, a bog which, if small in size, is justly dreaded by those who know it best lor the depth and danger of its black peat slime. Down in those dark recesses to Wharton'a left, lay the bones of countless ponies, and if report spoke true, of more than one over venturesome moor man. Scores of times had Wharton shot snipe and teal along , these perilous edges, ■but even he, well as he knew the ground, dared take no liberties, and was careful not to venture beyond the thick clump of reeds which marked the limit of moderate safety. He smiled again as a faint sound of splashing came out of the darkness behind him, for it told him that his pursuer was still following him. Ling Tor Mire has the peculiarity that it is in two parts. A neck of fairly sound ground divides the smaller, southern end from the larger northern. This neck is very narrow, and in order to crocs it at all it is necessary to follow the reed clumps which mark it. In some places there are several feet apart, and it is a matter of jumping boldly from one to another. Wharton was quite aware that he ran considerable risk in attempting this passage by night, but he took it deliberately. Ever since he had realised that he was being shadowed, he had been making for this spot, for he felt fairly sure that the man, whoever he was, would never venture to cross it. And if the fellow •went round, it meant a good half-mile of extra distance, quite enough, he calcnlated, for him to shake his follower off altogether. ' There was just light enough to see the reed clumps looming up in front. Some could be reached with one long stride, other required a real jump. Now and then he had to stop and test them, and it was here that his otter pole came in useful. Twice a tuft pave and let him in almost to his knees in the clinging bog slime, but he made no mistake, and in less than five minutes found firmer ground beneath his feet. He walked on slowly until lie reached the edge of the haher. then stopped, and listened. To his surprise, and somewhat to his dismay, he distinctly heard squelching EP !. a ££ es aTld a sound of heavy breathing. -The beggar's got pluck, anyhow," he r^ ere v- " Eith " that, or he doesn't know what he - s Up againgt » The words were hardly framed before it became abundantly clear that the He stepped slowly backwards towards iSlii fan dose of mud before h e was hauled j

BY T. C. BRIDGES.

The struggling went on. he c ould plainly hear the souml of panting breath lUi the individual, whoever he was, fought desperately to pain a footing. This continued for «]Hiti- a minute, thru grow fainter, and presently came a dv-f-pairiiiir cry for help. Whnrton started. Faint anil hoarse as it was. he n-vomiise.l the voice as that of Swanlon liiitiiolf. Again he stepped quickly forward, then stopped short. Temptation .-o strong as to be almost irresistible was suddenly upon lum. Why should he rescue tiie man? Why nor leave him to meet the fate he So richly deserved? No one would be the wiser except himself. Swanton could not know tiiat anyone was near enough to hear his appea , . lie had nothing to do hut turn and walk quietly away, and within a couple of minutes at most all (Juvii'e trouble* would l>« at. an end. and this blackguard who had caused the.m would be sunk for ever out of human ken in the black depths of the To do Wharton justice, he never pave one thought to hinwelf in the matter, or io the share that Swanton have in Ms own ruin. All his anxiety was for (■wen. the jxirl whom long ago he had realised that he admired more than any woman he had ever met. Stroll" man as lie was in every sense of the word, the temptation was"almost overwhelming, and he actually turned again and had walked several steps away from the brink when from the bog voice rang out, once more in agonised appeal. "Help. Wliarton! Help. For God - s sake don't leave mc to drown!" All in a flash Wharton knew- that he could not do this thing, that whatever Swajiton's power for evil, it was nothing but murder to le. vc him to perish. ''All right." he shouted. " I'm cominrr," and grasping his stick firmly he went springing out across the mire, leaping with extraordinary accuracy from one reed clump to the next until, almost in the very centre of the trackway, he caught sight of a dark object which was Swanton's head, shoulders, and arms, all that was above the surface of the mire. "Catch ho>M," he said curtly, extending the end of his stick, at "the same time bracing himself upon the nenrest footing that eeemed anything like firm. Swanton caught at the stick with the desperation of a drowning man. "Steady!" cried VVharton sharply. ' Steady, you idiot, o<r you'll pull mc in."" The clump beneath him swayed and •bent, it was all that he could do to keep his footing, and well 'he knew that once he overbalanced and dropped into the gap beside Swanton there was no more hope for either of them. "Steady!" he said again. "This clump is going. I must find better foothold before I get a pull on." As he spoke he felt the reeds breaking a-way 'beneath him, and made a quick jump for another bunch. Just ac well that he did so, for Swanton had quite lost his head, and next moment gave a jerk at 'his end of tfhe stick wliich as near as possible pulled Wharton over. For a moment it was touch and go but luckily for them both Wharton now had made good 'his rooting. Getting his weight well back he set himself to pull, but by this time Rwanton was so thoroughly -<stugged" that he could not move him at aIL Peat mire has some of the qualities of quicksand, and holds like a vice. Then the reeds on which Wharton wns standing began to go under the strain and again he -was in danger of slippiu"' m on top of the other. "This is no good," he said at last. "1 must get a bundle of heather. I'M leave you the stick, ami if you prO p it across these tw o reed olumps you can keep your 'head up." "Don't leave mc!" Swanton cried hoarsely. "I've got to man. I shan't be long. Unless I get a decent foot-hold I can't dv any good at all." Leaving the stick, in Swanton's grasp he once more made his perilous journov back to firm ground. It had stopped raining, and was growing lighter, and this made things a trifle easier. Arrived at the edge of the heather, he took out 'his knife and cut a 'big armful of the tough springy branches. These he tied together with an old surgical bandage -which he happened to have in his pocket, and carried the faggot out to Swanton. Laying it on top of the 'biggest reed dump, he at last got some real foundation to work from, and, getting hold of the pole again, began to pull in earnest. Inch by inch, like a tipht cork from a bottle, Swanton was dragged from the gTeedy embraces of the mire, and at q a «t hauled to comparative safety alongside his rescuer. There he stood shaking and shivering with cold and fright, his teeth cliattering like castanets. Wh art on pulled out his flask, 'Take a drink of tJiis," he said shortly. Swanton took it greedily, and preprcsently 'his shivering ceased and thoujrh it Wfw t O o dark to see his fn.ee WhartoTi realised the strong spirit had done the man gocd. "Come on, now." he ordered. "You've got some more jumping to do before you are safe. Follow mc carefully." .'ir 1 ca "' t! " stammered Swan'to'n Then stay where you are!" Whan-ton answere-d, losing patience. 'It's oniv about six hours to daylight." The contempt in his voice stung Swan"ton. "HI come!" he said sulkily. Wharton started at one/ Rγ this time he knew every step of the journey, but he went sW!y , and Swanton tnved to follow. Just as they reached the bank the clouds broke and the moon came through, throwing its cold, white light on the great basin of bog and the wild bare hMls surrounding it. Wharton turned, and the sight of Pwanton brought a flicker of a smile to 'his grim lips. Su-anton looked like nothing human; he was a mere piH ar of mire. His hat was gone, and even his hair was plastered thick with ,t- a . poslime mixed with trails of green bog moss. He was a curious contrast to the spruce, well-groomed figure who rust twelve hours earlier, had stood at the altar-rails in Meripit Church. Possibly Swanton caught tire smile. At any rate, instead of any words of thanks for teg reBCIIe! , he burst out 8a , that!"'*™''' Y ° U 1 m « into Wharton gave a short laugh. r>£ tZlVf* , hmst from Swanton's inland he took a threatening step for- . Ira^g^-

"I wouldn't!" he said with ominous quietness. "T'm just longing for a chance to kill you fairly." Swan-lon's arms dropped to his sides. "What brought you into this game?"' he asked sullenly. "Are you in love with her. too." Wharton's fists clenched, Imt he restrained himself. '"Wo will leave Miss Reeling's name ouf. of this." he miifl sternly. "I nm in (his game, as you rail it, to see fair play for two friends of mine. That is enough for you." Swanton gave a wild laugh. "Willoughby, you nioiiii. But Willoußhliy Hhall never have her!" "Whether In- does or not. you, at any rate, will not," Wharton " answered. "Nov., which way are you going!" "To follow you Find find where you haw hidden' Willoujihby." \\":arton laughed outright "I should have thought you had had enough of that by this time." ho aaiswcrcd. "Well, if you will —come on-" Withuiit another word, ho started away up the hill opposite at ft pace which few could match. Reaching the top of the ridge. he glanced back. Swanton wnfi hardly half-way up. Wharton crossed the ridge, swung' to the left, and went oil faster tlinn ever. The *ky was now rluaring rapidly, nnd the monn was hrijrlu enough to see a man moving at a consider, ible. distance. Hcachinp the next ridge, ho looked hack again, and saw Swanton toiling down tin- valley more Ihnn half a mile away. "The fellow won't last much longer." he said with a prim chuckle, and dropping down in a convenient gorse chimp. Boated hinwc-lf comfortably on his mackintosh, lit a pipe and waited. Ten minirtcfi later. Swanton passed within thirty yards, and pulling up on top of the hill", began staring around in every direction. N'ntu rally Ik> did not «ce_ Whartoa. and the hile-r chuckled again as he heard liis pursuer cursing aloud. Wluirton had chosen his position carefully. The hillside below- wa* one nines of tall irorse, tit to hide a regiment and at ln«t Swanton. no doubt coming to the conclusion t,. v Kifc his opponent was tracking through it. plunpcu down into t-ho midst of it. Wharton wntehed him till he was almost out of sight, then crawled out of hie refuge, slipped away down the slope he had just climbed, and went ofT niU-tih in the opposite direction—the direction which, a> it happened, was the ng-ht one to lead him to his destination. CHAPTER XXV. AT WILD TOR FARM. Tt was said that the original eettler at Wild Tor was a man from the in country who, having been disappointed in love, had turned hermit. Whether the legend -was true or not, it is certain that no recluse could have found in all England a more suitable epot in which to avoid his fellow men. The farmhouse stood in a desolate valley near the source of a small tributary of the River Strane. It was nearly four miles from the nearest high road, and quite three from any other human habitation. The only way to reach it was by a deeply rutted track which wandered unevenly along the side of the steep river valley. In wet weather this track was cut by flood water coming down from the high plateau to the right, and in fog it was abominably dangerous. Along this track, on the next morning after the scene in Meripit Church, came riding- on a wiry looking moor pony. All traces of last night's adventure had been removed from his person, and he was got up with his usual care in well-cut riding breechee and gaiters, a tweed coat and soft hat of similar material. In spite of tlie fine air and the magnificent view, he did not seem happy, for there was a settled scowl on his face, and when his unfortunate pony stumbled in crossing a gully cut by the recent rain, he cut it so savagely that the startled beast very nearly took him over the oteep bank into the rocky gorge below. Rounding- a projecting-'shoulder of the hill, he came within eight of the farmhouse which stood on a natural teTrace some fifty feet above the brook. With its immensely thick walls of weatherworn granite, its deep thatch of reeds and little narrow windows, it suited its wild surroundings to perfection, and in spite of its bareness had a pictureequenees a-U its own. Around it was a considerable patch of grass land which had been laboriously cleared of heather and granite, and which was surrounded by a dry-stone wall. Beyond the wall wae wild moor tenanted only by a few shaggy ponies. " sb ' Two cows grazing in a walled paddock. a flock of geese and a few chickens these were the only inhabitants in view as Swanton rode up. As a matter of fact it was a few minutes past twelve, .Jid the Coles family had just sat down to their mid-day meal. Swanton dismounted, tied his pony to the gate, and ivalking up to the house knocked aharply at the door. Tt was opened by Xettie, who stared slightly at sight of the visitor. "Is your uncle at home?" demanded Swanton curtly. "Yes, Mr. Swanton, he's at Ms dinner." It was noticeable that, while Nettie had addressed Wharton as "Sir," she did not bestow the same compliment on Swanton. "Tell him I want to speak to him at once." Kettie tossed her head. Without asking Swanton in. she turned round. "Uncle Abner, Mr. Swanton wants to see you." "Then he'll have to wait till I've finished my dinner," came the growling answer. "H P can come in and sit down if he wants to." Swanton's scowl deepened, but he made no further remark as NetUe ushered him into the parlour opposite the kitchen, rt was a. dreadful room, with shiny horsehair sofa, chairs with woollen antimacassars, and a mantelpiece ornamented with two badly stuffed squirrels and a vase of wax flowers under a glass shade. The window was tightly shut and the air close yet chilly. .Swanton flung himself down on a chair, and, lighting a cigar, waited with what patience. Ne could. It was a good twenty minutes before Humpy thrust his shaggy beard and broad shoulders through the door, and it was no friendly glance that he shot from under his shaggy eyebrows at the visitor. "I reckon you've brought the money, eh ?" was his greeting. Swanton, who had not moved at the other's entrance, sprang up. "Brought the money?" he repeated. "Do you mean to say you don't know what happened yesterday?" "I seed 'cc bring the young lady to Meripit Church. Ain't you married with her all right?" "I am not, and if you'd waited you'd have known why." I "I didn't wait. I'd summit else to I do," was Uie surly reply. "Wouldn't she have 'cc, then?" "She—she had nothing to do with it. ' It was that cursed meddler, Wharton." Coles made a sound in bis throat wMch • jesembied ge laugh. 1.

"The doctor, was it? So he were too much for 'cc. Hem a smart man, be doctor." "Smart, you fool!" snarled Swan ton. "Yes. but who told him?" "Her did herself. I reckon." "That I'm certain sho didn't. It waa as much to save him a-s anything else that she consented to marry mc. It must have been you. You must have got drunk and let out something.' "I ain't had two drops of liquor in a month outside o' my own house," Coles answered violently. "I never said a word to nobody." "Thou how did YVliarton hear?" demanded fwanton. "That's what 1 want to know. Someone told him, and did it between the night before last and yesterday morning." "Then how could it bn.' been mc?" retorted Coles. "You didn't leave here till past ten o' Tuesday. D'ye reckon I went and rode nine miles across the moor to Wharton's in middle o' nigtit,?' , Wwanton shrugged his shonlders. "Someone told him." he insisted. "If they hadn't, he wouldn't have come. As it was, he on'y just got there in time. Two minutes more, and he'd have been too late." ''Anyhow," continued Swanton. as Coles did not speak. "Anyhow, he's done us. You. too, as well as mc. I'm broko to the wide, and you won't get a pptiny piece of your sixty pounds." Coles growled deep in his throat and stepped forward. If is grent hands were twitching. He was a miser, and Swanton's lttet words had cut him on the raw. Hut Swanton faced him. "What's the use of that?" he sneered. "You can't get. blood nut of n, stone or money out of a man who hasn't got it. At present I owe twenty times what I can pay, and if you made any attempt to recover what I owe you. you know as well .as I do where it would land you. You'd be in the dock alongside of mc. "See ht're,'' lie went on with savage earnestness. "There's only one thing left for you ami mc. That's to get square. I've got to find where they've hid WUloufrliby; you've pot to find "out who hlahbed." ( o!es face darkened ominously. "He'll never tell naught else if 1 finds un out." lie said witli a savage deliberation which made Swanton aJmost shudder. For a moment or two Coles stood quite still, his heavy brows knitted, evidently deep in thought. Then all of a sudden he raised one ponderous fist and brought it down with a sharp smack into the palm of the other hand. "By gor. I've got un," he almost shouted, and turning made for the door, and strode acros- the passage into the kitchen. "Nettie!" he roared. "Xettie! Where was it as you went yesterday morning?"' To be continued next Saturday.