done so! That man is your father! You room. are fainting!" "No, no!" she gasped, "do not call any one." The shock of discovering her father's baseness had overcome her. But he was her father and she loved him; and she had come to this man with a purpose. A tumult of thoughts surged through her mind with the rapidity and confusion of a thunderstorm, but the thought of her father's ruin predominated. He watched her silently, seeming to divine what was passing in her mind while struggling with himself. Suddenly she clutched at her throat and tore off the chain and locket. They fell upon the floor. With a spring like a tiger he picked them up and staggered as if he had been shot. "Where did you get these?" he cried in a voice that trembled and broke. "These were hers-I gave them to her. Have you ever opened this?" "I never knew it opened," she answered, her whole being in a quiver. "I always thought it was a solid piece." secret "See!" he said, touching spring. "She was your image at your age. This is a little portrait that I presented to her years ago. It was indeed an image of herself. She held her hand out to take it from him, but he drew away. With a supreme effort he mastered his emotions and said slowly: "Pardon me! Remain here; I want to think in solitude a few minutes." She bowed her head and he left the Almost as one in a dream, bewildered and trembling, between hope and fear, shame for her father and determination to save him, she awaited his return. In five minutes he re-entered the room, a changed man. The hard lines in his face had softened, his eyes showed the traces of tears and his manner was that of a man who had conquered the baser promptings of his nature. "I shall save your father for your sake and because the spirit of forgiveness is sweeter than that of revenge," he said to her, softly and tenderly. "Go tell your father to go to the World Bank in the morning and he will get the loan he needs to carry him through. But tell him for me that if he ever speculates again in any of the necessities of life, I will have no mercy upon him! The man who takes bread out of the mouths of the poor, who adds to their burdens in order to increase his needless wealth, is an enemy to society, to civilization and to his race. Thank God, my speculations have been the other way! Tell him that-and tell him that if I now allow him to pass out of my power-to save himself-he owes it to the love of his daughter and to her-speaking to me from the grave. See this!" He drew her beneath the electric light, opened the locket, and pointed to some words scratched around the border that were still distinct, and it read: "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay!" THE COMING OF THE WHITE MAN He came from out the Land of Morning, bred of pallid races; He blazed the trails of Empire into vast forbidden places; He stayed a while and conquered there and vanished as he came. His cabin roof is fallen now, the lonely hearth revealing; The cedar boughs are tossing down their shadows on the floor, And chapparal and mountain fern are growing in the door. No wreath of fame nor marble shaft rewards his meek endeavor, -William P. Burns. A TRIP TO HISTORIC OLD GALICE Ο By Dennis H. Stovall N THAT summer day we arose early. The four of us jumped into a carriage and were soon bowling along the winding road that climbs into the mountains surrounding Grant's Pass. Grant's Pass, by the way, was named in honor of General Grant, who made the place a visit during his western tour at the close of the war. That was long before the railroad came, and the General and his men made their way northward from the pioneer trading-post through the most convenient pass; hence the town came by the way of "Grant's Pass." We were bound for Galice Creek, down Rogue River, in the heart of the Southern Oregon mountains, where Nature is most lavish in her endowments of open air enchantment. From the Southern Pacific railroad to Galice Creek the winding road follows the Rogue nearly the whole distance of fifteen miles. When we reached the sumamit of the range, whence the road follows the turbulent river, the first peep of the sun touched the mountain tops, and revealed the park-like beauty of the country below us. From this point the view is magnificent-one of the very best, indeed, that Oregon's mountains afford. We followed the road that hangs to the canyon wall directly over the river. At times our carriage wheels splashed into the water's edge, and at others we were suspended in midair, it seemed, with the river frothing many hundred feet below. At last we reached a point whence the Rogue makes a long, sweeping detour; and away in the distance, nestling at the foot of the mountain, and walled in apparently by impassible barriers, Galice Hotel appeared in view. Of old Galiceburg absolutely nothing remains. Galice Creek, which flows into the river here, babbles over the pebbles so tranquilly and peacefully that one would never guess this to have been the scene of bloodshed, of strife, of excitement and turmoil that existed there fifty The ferry across the Rogue on the way to Galice. "Nature concentrated all her gorgeous colorings in one vast painting of glory." Lane," bowered over with dropping branches and climbing vines. Down below the creek chattered and leaped from rock to rock; shadows and light danced across the path; leaves fluttered in the wood-spiced air; the great trees about us nodded a pleasant salutation; squirrels barked and skipped from bough to bough; and birds sang every where. At the forks of the creek fishing began, and while the others angled I took pictures. The trout were the gamey little "speckled beauties," with which many of the Oregon mountain streams abound. and they took hold of the flies with a vim that made the fishermen smile. When we returned that night we had eighty fine trout and twelve exposed photographic plates to our credit. |