THE WOMAN ENTERS.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LI, Issue 84, 28 March 1908, Page 3

THE WOMAN ENTERS.

In the chaparal on the edge of the bluff Dick Matson lay flat on bis stomach, his chin propped on one hand, while the other rested lightly on the barrel ot a rifle. Below, on the further bank ot the river, Escolante, the cattle-thief, strutted back and forth before the door of his cabin, his gun in his hands, M 3 strident voice proclaiming to the air im disdain for all gringos in general, and for the white-livered chingado Matson m particular. Matson, unseen, and his presence oni} dimly apprehended by the strange animal instinct of the half-breed, could hear with sufficient plainness the gusts of wrath and objurgation which floated up from below; and when his own nariie was mingled with especially acrid vituperations, the rage to which he dared give no more audible vent expressed itself in tense and impotent muttering*. •' IH get vou yet, you damned old cattle thief." 0 Lord, 0 Lord, to have to lie here and take such blasted impudence from a black-hearted Apache 1 mongrell" This when Escolante s remarks on the status and heredity o the gringo became particularly personal and historic. "Wish I wasn't a white man and I'd take a pot-shot at you for luck, just as you stand, you infernal, cattfe-stealing, lying whelp. Cursed nonsense, anyway, waiting for proof, and taking a man to the law, when know darn well you've a steer of mine stowed away in the bushes somewhere. Wait till I find your chache, or ca.oli you red-handed; and I'll make you Iweat for this." , So each voral volley from below, directed against the unseen foe that th 0 half-breed apprehended to he h ' ] near, was answered l.v the hidden enemy with one no less heartfelt b. cause' of being, for strategic purposes, I necessarily unheard. \ a time passed Matson s limbs tie a increasingly cramped and stiff. Decidedlv he reflected, Escolante had the )*>t of the game. He cursed softly, and warily stretched himself into a ncrf position. The hours slipped bj; still the half-breed, warned by h i subtle instinct of danger, kept up his grotesque parade; and still the watching 1 man was baffled of his clue. The shadows lengthened on the ri\-r. A few crows, loudly cawing, shook themselves out of the branches ot lt tit. near the cabin and winged t icm.eht- ■ the homeward flight. Du-k was all I l.ut fallen; and tl»* watcher painful . i birred his limb,, preparing for a furtive retreat, when a new element eiltir-

ill the scene below. The cirl who stepped to the door o. tli e cabin was slim and lithe as a willow irom the stream. Her black liair fe. -leek and straight on either side of In face, hanging in thick braids ncarlj •> her knees. She raised one hand to h.i forehead, shading her eyes tor a lo:ig look up the river. and (lie movement had the supple, untaught grace ot .1 wild thing of the woods. Matson drew his breath in soinethiu,, that came dangerously near to liemg a whittle So tliis was Escolaiite s dang ter-child of a Mexican mother and a hall-breed father-who since the dea.h of her mother had been with the sistns at Santa Barbara. He vaguely recal rl bavin" heard of the girl's return, 11.,, | could be none other than she; lor wnat woman young and beautifu won d 01 - gather with that wicked old deul, U<>U Uc cautiously reached for His Hinoculars, with which lie had so carefu ly Scanned the landscape earlier m the day Cgirl Stood as if posed, rtr.wnrng h-. level TOM toward the sunset, lhc {,l. revealed her face, a warm brown ova , the curves ;is soft an< * * c ild's vet With the fullness and no* disclosing white teeth, tirm-sct and leg

to The glass did its work well. might have been standing " dose that if one reached out a hand iui"ht touch the Utown curve of tit

J cheek, or part of silky masses of lief iliair. The man caught his breath sharply till it hissed between his teeth. The j»o in in hii limbs was forgotten. The girl's face held him like a spell. I Suddenly the upraised hand fell to her , side. Escolantc's daughter turned with I a swift grace, and entered the rude cab- ' in. The sun's red rim slipped below the | horizon. Soon a light shone out in tiic cabin. The man on the bluff lay watching it till far on into the night. But his head was sunk oil his arms and his gun was unheeded nt his side. Wheu a black figure for an instant darkened th,. doorway his heart leaped up. Then the old gleam of hate sprang anew in'.o his eyes. It was the half-breed.

The man in the chaparral softly raised himself. "By God, I'll settle you yet," he exulted. And in the dark he shook his clenched list at the cattlethief. Then he stealthily withdrew.

A month had passed and again it was the dark of the moon. The time had dragged heavily for old Escolante, for with the accursed gringos so closely watching, even a practissd hand must move warily, and it was bard to go empty with fat cattle feeding at one's very door. To Dick llatson time had flown on goldeu wings. Love and hate wax well together in a strong man's heart; and the red lips of Dolores were sweet. To the girl the month had passed as a day. ft is good to live when the blood is warm; and young love is daring and does not wait for the dark of the moon. On this night Escolante ate his last meal of frijoles and tortillas without the customary scorn. He even ventured a few coarse jests with Dolores, who was dear to him as the apple of his eye. A man may well jest whose knife is whetted for the killing, and who knows that on the morrow he will feed fat, voiding his hate and filling his stomach at the same lime. Dolores met his badinage with easy response and i wall-simulated affection, ft is easy to

scatter careless affection from the lips when the heart is brimming over with love.

Without, men gathered quietly in a

I certain lonely glade. Tile night was heavy about them. In the silence each man could hear his own heart-beat and [his straining breath. The little voices of the night shrilled loudly, and tha sound of tile cattle cropping the rich grass was like a thousand engines in their ears.

The waiting had lengthened to hours before a fat steer coughed a.nd fell under the knife. Then something whirred in the gloom; and then a lantern flared out. Escolante was caught red-handed. His ludicrous dismay when the deftHung riata tightened round him drew a burst of rough mirth from the sheriff a«* he slip|ied on the half-breed's wrists the symbol of the law and its bondage. But when Dick Matson step|)ed from the darkness and reclaimed his riata th.> cattle-thief broke into fierce vituperations. for this was the most hated, <unl therefore the most preyed-upon of all the gringos. ■ '• Save your wind, old man," laughed Dick .Matson. "You'll need it for tin blessing, for to-morrow I marry your daughter.''

Kseolante grew livid and bis jaw dropped. Then he opened a fresh volley of imprecations, hurling the lie in the gringo's teeth. Dick laughed a careless laugh. ''Conie here. Dolores." he said.

Like a shadow the girl slipped out of the blackness and stood beside him. Dick slid an arm about her, and bending kissed her full 011 the mouth. Then the half-breed went mad with rage, and spat and streamed out curses on the pair until it was horrid to bear hint. The sheriff and his men had trouble to hold him. Dolores trembled and shrank against her lover. But Dick Jlatson only laughed his easy laugh and tightened his arm around her. Then he turned and drew her with him into the forest.

No more cattle are stolen or killed within the range of the Cross Bar Y. The cattlemen sleep well of nights and Dick Jlatson grows rieli otf his profits. Several plump brown children play about his door; and of inese he is inordinately proud, as is also Dolores, who sees ill them adorable replicas of the man she worships. The two are very happy, tor Dolores is still slim and beautiful; a.il Jlatson wants no better life than that of the raifge and his own fireside. Th ;re are moments, however, when the hair stiffens 011 the back of his neek, and a chill runs along his spine.

These arc moments when lie reflets on the fact that the utmost the courts could award to Escolante was a life sentence; and that there is always the chance that the prisoner may escape, or that a too-lenient governor may exorcise the right of pardon. —Katlierine Lynch.

AS OLD LADY'S FORTUNE A SUBSTANTIAL WINDFALL. •• TOO LATE TO BK OF USE."

(Sydney Telegraph.) < ilrs. Alexander Albion, 77 years of 1 age, and an inmate of the Coast Hospital, lias received word from Ireland that she has been left a large sum of ' money. The old lady is not certain, ot < the amount, but it may lie "anything j from a million to a million and a half." k She bears the news with puzzling cool- ' ness. In her youth she was reared in ' the lap of luxury, but in her later years '• she lias l>een obliged to face some of ■ th e ups and downs of life. ( The story told by the old lady is decidedly romantic. She is the youngest, daughter of the late Mr. Lawson Whit- 1 ley, a member of one of the leading Irish families. Uaclicl, for such is Mr?. Album'- Christian name, was born i:i ' the parish of Kilmore, County Armagh, Ireland, and when quite young she fell 1 in love with Alexander Albion, to whom she was married in the church of her birthplace by Rev. Jones, the rector of the parish. "My husband ran away with me," Mrs. Albion told a Daily Telegraph ' e presentative, at the Coast Hospital last evening, " when 1 was only small. I was a disgrace to the family," she added, "so I had to get away somewhere out of the road of my people. They an the heads of Ireland, and are a very ancient family. My husband and I decided upon coming out to New South Wales, and something over 50 years ago we were landed here by the ship Cresay. " You can find full particulars about my arrival in this State, as well as other details, from the Old Age Pension Ollice, for up to the time of my adnii--sion here (meaning the hospital) early in February last, 1 had been in receipt ol' tlie pension for eight years, lint 1 gave it up when I came in here." For the last 13 or 11 years a close • search has been made for the old lady, but her whereabouts until quite recent ly were unknown, even to her 'sou George, who lives in Surry Hills. She is of a taciturn disposition, and never at any time vouchsafed any information to her family as to her antecedents. AU they could at any time elicit from her regarding herself or her parents had to lie dug out. Now that the news of her good fortune has been made known to her she placidly declares that she is not anxious about the money. " 1 have my life pretty well spent," she calmly re- ' marked. " I won't live another year, and as it is 1 have had a long life. Wliat is the use of the money to m.' ' now? It's too late; l*an't do anything 1 with it. Before 1 came in here 1 wis

very comfortable. I gave up my home. I liad a room, and was getting along nicely on the £2 3s 4d a month I received from the Old Age Pensions Ollue. What is the use of this money to me now?" the old lady asked. "I am too far gone now; it did not come in time to do me any good. It will do those who follow me some good if they should get it." Mrs. Albion has two sons alive out >f a family of seven boys and girls. The names of the boys are Hugh, at present residing iu Queensland, and (ieorge. as already stated, a resident of Surry Hills. The' nurses at the Coast Hospital speak in tin most ;>ileetionate terms ot their patient, and refer to her as a " dear old body." Her complaint is an affection of the heart. Mrs. Albion, it is said, always moved in a mysterious way, and kept her family in complete ignorance of anything' relating to her girlhood's day.-. " Indeed, it was not until lately," said Mr. (ieorge Albion, "that I knew she was a Whitley, and when I did lin I out it was only by accident. She has had no fixed place of abode for the la*l three or four years." His mother, Mr. Albion said, always had to work lor her living since she came out here, it is more than likely the family will take

Mime steps to come into possession of the substantial windfall.