Newspapers / Carolina Watchman (Salisbury, N.C.) / March 19, 1937, edition 1 / Page 2
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SYNOPSIS: Ellen Mackay, on her way from school at Winnipeg, to join her father at Fort Edson, misses the boat by which she was to travel. Hearing that another boat was to start north in the morning, Ellen goes to the owner, John Benham, and begs him to give her a passage. To her surprise he flatly refuses. Angry and puzzled, Ellen tells Pat McClatohney, a kindly old storekeep er of h er difficulty, and Pat with the help of one of Benham’s crew, suc ceeds in getting Ellen on board as a stowaway. When the vessel is well under way Ellen emerges from her hiding place and faces John Benham, who now cannot help taking her w ith him. During the voyage Ellen begins to be strongly attracted by John. But when she reaches Fort Edson she finds her father broken, ill and disgraced, and learns that his trou bles are due to one man—John Benham. Instantly Ellen resolves that she will fight for her father. She will reinstate him with the Hudson Bay Company, his employers, and will show up John Benham for what he rpilltr if From Bernard Deteroux, an employe of the company, who professes friendship for her fa ther, Ellen hears that Benham supplies whiskey to the Indians. She sets out on a long and ted ious journey to obtain proof of this, returns thinking she has got it, and gives information to the authorities. Trooper Whitlow, of the Mou nted police, asks her to go with him to find Benham and con fronts him with the proof of his villainy. It develops that Benham is innocent and the liquor is be ing supplied by Deteroux. A desperate battle between; Benham and Deteroux ends with the latter’s defeat and capture by Trooper Whitlow. Deteroux escapes. . . . ninth instalment Her gaze was drawn again to the terrible drama before her.j Unconsciously she started for ward. Whitlows’ hand locked on her arm and dragged her back. “Wait!” he rasped. “Wait!” Benham’s hands, locked about Deteroux’s wrists until the backs of them were bloodless and rid ged like steel, seemed to be drag ging some of that awful pressure from his tortured eyes. He seemed to be gathering himself for super-human effort. Abruptly one knee drove up wards into Deteroux’s body. He cringed slightly, and Benham tore himself free. Benham’s eyes were swollen, almost shut. For a split second noth men seemed to pause and gather themselves. Then Deter oux charged again, like a wolf to the kill. With one lithe, twisting move ment Benham bent sharply at the waist and hurled himself for ward, his right arm shooting out, a hard driven muscle-ridge pis ton. Just below the arch ot Deter oux’s lower ribs the blow landed, and the “thock” of it was awe some. A hoarse, blubbering cry of pain erupted from Deteroux, his knees wobbled, and his head dropped forward. He reached, violently, and blood-stained sa liva seeped through his lips. “He’s got him—the boy’s got him now,” was Whitlow’s pubi lant cry. Swiftly alive of his advan tage, Benham tore at his oppon ent, a merciless, implacable mac hine. Setting himself, he ripped sledge-hammer blows into De reroux’s sagging chin. Slowly, ponderously, the big man seemed to crumple. His eyes were roll ing and glassy, his mouth open and his lips peeled back in a gri mace of fading consciousness. Dike an executioner before the j block, Benham cut Deteroux j down. Bit by bit he beat him lo-l wer until Deteroux’s body was! bent in a crouch and his nerveless! arms swung helpless at his! sides. There was something almost! magnificent in the manner that Deteroux called upon his great! strength and vitality to stave off; defeat. Out on his feet he refus ed to fall, his muscles subcon-1 sciously holding his body from, utter collapse. Abruptly Benham stopped his attack. His bloody, tight-locked fists fell to his sides. With a shrugging gesture he turned a way, and without a look to right or left pushed through the crowd and was gone. And in that mo ment of magnanimity John Ben ham was almost unconsciously magnificent. By all rules of conflict he was entitled to go on with his tri umph until human resistance could no longer exist, and Deter oux should lie supine at his feet. But he, too, could appreciate sheer, dogged courage, even in a man like Deteroux, who had not hesitated to take unfair ad vantage. Ellen saw Whitlow step for ward, grip Deteroux by the arm and force him to the ground. The milling crowd of Indians closed about them and Ellen found her self alone. Drawned by what seemed a re sistless force, she moved in the direction John Benham had gone. She peered into tepees as she went, but nowhere did she see dm. Unconsciously she hurried ter pace. And then, below the camp at the edge of the lake, she found him. He was crouched low, and be side him was the same ancient squaw, gently sponging his bat tered face and body with the icy water. Timidly Ellen approached the pair. The old squaw looked at her in frank hostility. Then she turn ed again to her ministrations, crooning with pagan gentleness. Finally Benham looked up. His eyes were terribly bloodshot and swollen. Ellen gasped with pity, and her hands fluttered to her ihroat. It was Benham who spoke “Yes,” he queried, his voice slightly thick. He was still pant ing from his exertions. Many words trembled on El len’s lips, strange, hot, thrilling words—but somehow she could not utter them. \ earning swayed her, yearning to crouch at his side, to take his battered head in her arms and spread the healing balm of love on every bruise and cut. But there was a certain hardness in Benham’s expression which fen ded her off. Now he laughed harshly. “You may have him,” he muttered. ‘‘He’s paid to me., the dog.” “1 may have him?” stammered Ellen. “I don’t know what you mean.” “You should,” was Benham’s curt reply. “When the fight was coming my way you cried for me to stop. I did, and it gave him a chance to get the upper hand for a time.” He pointed to his eyes. ‘He did his best to blind me— and nearly succeeded. But I beat him—with these,” and he ifted his two hard fists. “It was a sat isfaction long over-due, but it was worth the waiting. Yes—I’m through with him. And he’s vours.” Ellen s thoughts were chaotic. What madness was this? True, she had cried out when Benham was winning, but she had not meant it to save Deteroux from punishment. It was just the eter nal woman in her voicing an over whelming repungnance to the ut ter brutality of it all. And—and Benham thoughtt she had cried out to have Deteroux. Again Benham looked at her. “Was there anything else?” he asked curtly. “Despite your scorn and pride you have not hesitated to accept favors from a—a half breed. Remember that all your life, will you? That even a half breed can be generous.” “You—you don’t know what you are saying,” Ellen sobbed. “I ought to.” He laughed grimly. “I’m giving you back your own words.” He stood erect now, his splen did chest and shoulders gleam ing wetly. “Come, mother,” he said to the old squaw. And the two of them walked away. When Ellen Mackay finally went back to the scene of the fight she was again weary and apathetic. Her face was pale, and her eyes were lack-lustre and subdued. She moved slowly. Deteroux was sitting with his back to a tree. His hands were idasped between his knees, and Ellen could see the gleam of polished metal encircling his wrists. i ie flashed a quick glance at ;her, and then his gaze bent to , the ground again. His face was |sullen and defiant. Old Moosac was crouched near him, his beady 'eyes inscrutable. Ellen looked around for Whit low, and discovered the trooper in animated conversation with several sullen, frightened In dians. His pencil and notebook were at work again. Whitlow, spied her, put his notebook away, and came hur rying up. His face was glowing with satisfaction. “My lucky (day,” he announced triumphant ly. “I’ve got Deteroux where 1 want him now, and no mistake Where is Benham?” “In one of the tepees, I ima gine,” she answered dispirited ly. “When can we leave for iEdson?” | “In an hour or two. I want to get Benham’s evidence also to make my case against Deteroux unshakable.” , W hitlow went away on his search and Ellen moved down to the canoe and crouched down init, her back to the camp, her; brooding eyes sweeping across the shimmering waters of the' lake. I A great bitterness gnawed at her—a tremendous disappoint ment. She was not angry at John Benham. She knew no shame over the fact that he had virtu ally dismissed her. She had gone to him in all honesty, intending to apologize fully for the wrong she had done him, and he, in equal honesty, had repulsed her. The blame was hers. She knew it, and admitted it fully. j In some ways triumph also was hers. Her father’s future and reputation were assured. The facts were clear in that respect. She had the satisfaction of know ing that her efforts had indirect ly moved to this culmination. That those same efforts had moved to render her the posses sor of unrequited love, merely proved the irony of life. And there lav the ffreat hurt. j Ellen went back in memory to her first meeting with Ben ham. How arrogant and sure of herself she had been in approa ching the free-trader with her request to be taken along on the trip north. And how hurt and humiliated she felt when Ben ham curtly refused. It was hurt pride as much as anything that had caused her to seek old Pat McClatchney’s help in stowing away on the Benham boats. El len. for whose favor men had vied with one another in jump ing to her bidding, now had to plead for the favor of this man and was compelled to force her self upon his care when the fa vor was refused. She remembered her tremu lous fear when they had passed the cascades and she had brazen ly revealed herself, certain in the knowledge that Benham could not return her to Athabas ca Landing without serious delay and loss to himself. Benham had been very kind and a gentleman when he disco vered how she had thwarted him through the help of Pat McCla tchney and Pierre Buschard. He had said no words of blame and had not scolded or raged at her as many others would have done. She had offered to pay for her transportation and lie had abru ptly refused. She remembered now that a certain glint of tri umph that shone in his eyes as he told'her, “My payment is as sured. I’ll exact my pound of flesh.” Jytlen Had not understood tHer ; but she did now. Benham’s po und of flesh had been paid b) the flare of anger and the dee[ humiliation of her father when the old factor learned of his in debtedness to the man he hated ! most in all the world—John Benham, the free trader. That had been the payment Benham expected, his revenge for her im pertinence in stowing away on his boats, but the payment had been far heavier than that since she had discovered in her heart the deep regard she held for him. It was love . love almost at first sight, she now realized. Continued Next Issue Milk routes will be establish ed in those counties within a adius of 50 miles from the Bilt- ? more dairies in Buncombe coun- & ty. fii&& yjM 60^4 • •. tii* dean, efficient &ut Come Right Along—Were Going Down Select that You have been promising for so long, i hers ore special terms on elec tric ranges and water heaters and NOW 1$ £ very one, of course, knows that the modern electric range eliminates A-udgery from the kitchen; it reduces the time the housewife has to spend in the kitchen; it is insulated and keeps the kitchen practically ** co°l »» the hottest weather as any other room in the house; better cooking results are obtained through its uniform, controlled heat. Housewives, particularly those who do their own work, and those who have a real pride in the cleanliness, moderness and efficiency of their kitchen, can’t afford NOT to investigate electric cookery while our offer is in effect. No appliance is better than the service behind it „
Carolina Watchman (Salisbury, N.C.)
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March 19, 1937, edition 1
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