Danvers did not hear the clerk of the Senate as he began the roll-call of the senators after the presiding officer had rapped for order. The first three men in the A's were irrevocably opposed to Burroughs and Danvers concentrated his whole thought on Senator Blair's change of heart.
While the men preceding Charlie were voting, Winifred whispered to her brother. He did not seem to hear, and his dazed eyes were still fixed straight ahead. The flaming red of the scar made his face look still more ghastly, and at times his form swayed dizzily.
"Do not vote for Mr. Burroughs," Winifred entreated. "For my sake, Charlie. You've always been willing to please me. Vote for any one else. Philip expects your loyalty. Vote for him, even. Show him that you, if no one else, appreciate his courage in facing these men and denouncing them before the entire Assembly."
"Blair!" came the stentorian voice from the desk. Necks were craned and men rose to whisper and to look as this man's name was called. How would he vote? Burroughs' throat grew dry to suffocation. Moore's gaze was imperturbable, but the muscles in his neck twitched perceptibly, while sweat beaded his upper lip. Danvers still kept his eye on the miserably shaken Blair, and still hoped.
Suddenly Charlie turned and threw him one look. Then he rose, slowly, with painful effort, holding his sister's supporting arm. He showed the effect of stormy weeks of passion as he stood a moment, silent.
"Vote for Philip, Charlie," whispered Winifred, under cover of assisting him. Blair looked around the room.
"Mr. President," he began, in a trembling voice. "Before I cast my vote in this ballot, I wish to say that I have listened to my honored colleague from Chouteau County with mingled feelings of shame at my own unworthiness and admiration for the courage which had dared to say what every man of us should have said sixweeks ago. Senator Danvers beseeches us to send to Washington a man who will guard the fair name of Montana, who will work for our best interests, and reflect honor on every inhabitant of the State. He asks us to vote for one above reproach, one who would accept no position at the expense of his fellows. I am inclined to give his plea serious consideration. But before I cast my ballot," his voice gained in strength and firmness, and he stepped forward with a gesture of irrevocable decision and placed upon the speaker's desk a long white envelope, "I will place here thirty thousand dollars, to be redeemed by the party who shoved it under my door two days ago.
"And now," turning to the gasping assembly, "as the senator from Chouteau has unconsciously suggested the very man to represent our State in Congress—the man on whom, I am sure, we can all agree—I take great pleasure, Mr. President, in casting my vote, the first vote, for the Honorable Philip Danvers of Fort Benton!"
Quick applause rang out as Blair took his seat, and Winifred kissed his hand as it lay trembling on his desk.
Danvers gasped in dismay. Had Blair's sickness quite turned his head? But, no! Never had his eye been clearer; never had he looked morethe man as he returned full and strong Philip's amazed gaze.
Danvers half rose to protest, but the doctor pulled him down. Winifred began to cry behind her veil as the applause continued. A responsive note had been struck. When quiet was somewhat restored, the automatic clerk called the next name—the name of the senator who had promised Eva his vote. Since Latimer's death he had heartily wished for some excuse to be absolved from that promise. Here was his opportunity.
"Philip Danvers!" he called loudly, defiantly, perhaps. He owed Burroughs nothing. But as a rolling stone gathers momentum, so did this unexpected addition to the new name on the list of candidates give impetus to a stampede which soon made itself understood, as much to the surprise of Blair as Danvers.
"Never mind, Bob," whispered Moore, hoarsely. "It's only a spurt that will die out. They often run like a flock of sheep. You'll get there on the next ballot."
When Senator Hall's name was called, he rose airily. He not only wished to hide his hand, but to get even with Danvers for many an upright act unconsciously done while they two were troopers together at Fort Macleod.
"I wish to explain my vote," began the lanky senator. "My esteemed colleague from ChouteauCounty has made a very pretty speech, intended, I take it, for the ladies who are honoring us with their fair presence, and also to enhance his own reputation. His accusations can hardly be proven. And while I voted for Burroughs for reasons which no man has a right to question, I wish to state that even if I had not so voted in the past, I should feel it incumbent on me as a native born American to vote for him at this time. I do not approve of a foreigner, an Englishman, a man who has been one of that force across our northern border which has frequently done grave injustice not only to many of our citizens, but, I dare say, to Burroughs himself, undertaking to teach us anything in a political way."
O'Dwyer rose at this. His red face was redder than ever, and he shook his fist at the speaker; but the doctor pulled him down, and he reluctantly subsided. For Hall to speak thus of the North West Mounted Police when he had been drummed out of the force!
"I may also say," went on Hall, "that I believe this thirty thousand dollars (if there is such a sum of money in the envelope which Senator Blair has just placed on the desk) was put up for the purpose of stampeding the Assembly for this man who professes to be so honest and so upright—Senator Danvers!"
Hisses came from all over the room, but Hall was impervious.
"Mr. President: I hereby make my protest against such spectacular performances by casting my vote, altogether uninfluenced, for the Honorable Robert Burroughs," he gave a quick glance to the rear of the room where a new group had just crowded in, "and I defy anyone to detect 'a blush of shame' on my brow."
The speech and the bravado fell flat. The crowd was not with this bribe-taker. The voting proceeded, and Danvers' name was spoken with gusto by many who thought, on the next ballot, to return to their respective candidates.
"Philip Danvers!" yelled Representative O'Dwyer, hardly waiting for his name as the representatives were called. "Danvers! Danvers! Danvers!" he repeated, in a frenzy of friendly fervor. Pounding feet and canes accentuated the Irishman's cry.
"You've given him the deciding vote, O'Dwyer!" shouted the doctor, forgetting decorum in the delirium of the moment. He had kept close check on the various candidates while the angry Moore and Burroughs, purple and speechless, stood aghast, not believing that this flurry could abolish the results of their expensive campaign.
"Philip Danvers it is!" yelled O'Dwyer, overjoyed,leaping to the top of his desk and jumping madly. "Danvers forever! Hooray!"
"Danvers! Danvers! Danvers!" The name was taken up as a slogan by the cheering legislators and citizens—men and women alike. Shouts and hisses, congratulations and curses, laughter and consternation mingled over this unexpected denouement of the long-drawn-out contest.
The speaker's gavel came near to breaking, and the desk was cracked before the tumult could be quieted sufficiently to proceed with the balloting.
The remaining numbers, almost to a man, voted for Danvers; and when O'Dwyer moved that the vote be made unanimous, the noise and enthusiasm which had preceded was as silence to what followed when the motion was put, seconded and carried, that Philip Danvers of Fort Benton be declared unanimously elected as the United States senator from Montana to fill the vacancy for the four years beginning March four, eighteen hundred and ninety——.
Even Senator Hall joined the majority—for did he not already have his money safely invested? Besides, he could be censured by Burroughs no more than many others who had taken his money and betrayed him.
"Speech! speech!" yelled the crowd. But Danvers could not speak.
"Let us go," whispered Mrs. Burroughs, as thedemonstration continued. She looked half in scorn, half in pity, on her husband, frustrated in the ambition of years by the man he most hated—her brother. "Let us go, Robert," she repeated.
The young daughter crept nearer and clasped her father's icy hand. She did not understand the accusations made against a father who had shown her nothing but love.
"Better luck next time, Bob," consoled Moore. "Don't let everybody see how hard hit you are. Danvers is elected only for the short term, you know—four years."
Choking, Burroughs attempted to force his way through the cheering, struggling mob, and to clear a path for his wife and daughter. But as the crowd gave way, in deference to the women, a new obstruction presented itself.
Robert Burroughs did not recognize the slouching, dirty buck blocking his way as Me-Casto, the once haughty pride of the Blackfeet federation, or the obese, filthy squaw as Pine Coulee. The work of civilization had obviously been in vain. But this tall, strapping 'breed reaching out his unwashed hand! Burroughs gazed at a replica of himself as he had been at Fort Macleod.
"Him you father?" questioned the half-breed, addressing the frightened daughter. He had been well coached by the grinning McDevitt, so close behind him.
"She you mother?" He pointed to Kate Danvers, high bred and aristocratic in her scorn.
"Shemymother," the 'breed went on, fiendishly, indicating the toothless, loathsome squaw, whose vindictive eyes never wavered from Burroughs' craven face. "Him both our father!" The common parent was given a fillip of a contemptuous thumb and finger.
Burroughs could not look at his wife, but he threw a furtive glance at the flower-like face of his daughter. Her look of terror and of shame was more than he could bear. Before all men he had been confounded; before the wife whose love he had never won, his own passion proving his torment; before his daughter, the idol of his heart.
As the surge of curious men pressed nearer he saw the malevolent joy of Joseph Hall and of Chaplain McDevitt, and he knew who had planned his disgrace. He saw Danvers, vainly striving to reach his sister.
"Let me out!" came in a thick gurgle from his swelling throat. Something in his face made the throng give way and Moore quickly pushed him outside into the midnight cold.
"Go back for my wife and daughter," Burroughs commanded. "Go back!"
The street was empty, for everybody had stayed within the capitol to feast on the sensation of theIndians and the fainting women. Moore hesitated.
"They'll be right out, Bob. Let me call a cab."
"Go!" The old, imperious fire came from the deep-set eyes.
Moore had no sooner turned his back to obey than a pistol shot broke the stillness.
The rabble poured from the capitol at the sound of the shot. Moore, the only friend that Burroughs ever had, raised his companion. The plotting and planning was over. Robert Burroughs, having forced his way through life's stockade, stepped out, alone, into the Dark Trail.
In the confusion of that midnight scene Danvers was conscious of but one desire, held in abeyance by the tragic necessities of the moment. At last the surging crowd dispersed, the officers of the law performed their hasty duty, and Moore drove away in a closed carriage with Mrs. Burroughs and her daughter.
Then Danvers turned wearily, eagerly, like a man famished and athirst, to the woman who meant peace and rest and inspiration.
She stood in the dim light, clinging to her brother's arm, while the doctor waited beside the carriage.
Charlie reached out a trembling hand and looked into Philip's face. Then he bent and kissed his sister, and gently withdrawing his arm,gave her to Danvers. The doctor hurried the sick man into the carriage, and it drove into the night.
The lovers clung together like tired, frightened children, and walked silently.
"It is all over," said Winifred, at last.
"No, dear one; it is just begun!"
Trails Through Western Woods
ByHELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS
The author-artist gives us an idyl of forest trails, cloud-swept mountains, glacier-born cascades, gentle Selish and heart-broken Indian chiefs, born to learn their day is past. The book will widen the circles of those who regret the passing of the brave, free life of the wilderness.
"The author deserves the gratitude of the American nation for capturing the nebulous star-mist of its beginnings—and that which went before."—N. Y. Times.
"The author deserves the gratitude of the American nation for capturing the nebulous star-mist of its beginnings—and that which went before."—N. Y. Times.
Illustrated by the Author.Colored end sheets.
$2.00 net; postage 16 cents.
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
THE BRAND
A Story of the Flathead Reservation
ByTHERESE BRODERICK
This first novel by a new writer is worth reading. One feels, as they read, as if he, too, were living the untrammeled life of Cattleland.
EXTRACTS
It is evident the author felt the fascination of the mountains and the wide plains of the west, and most of the best pages of the book are those in which she infuses the written word with their charm.—N. Y. Times.The descriptions are seldom equalled and the plot is well developed. "The Brand" will rank as one of the best novels of recent years.—Western News.
It is evident the author felt the fascination of the mountains and the wide plains of the west, and most of the best pages of the book are those in which she infuses the written word with their charm.—N. Y. Times.
The descriptions are seldom equalled and the plot is well developed. "The Brand" will rank as one of the best novels of recent years.—Western News.
"The Brand" is instinct with the romantic spirit of the west. It will be read with interest to the end.—Oregonian."The Brand" is splendidly written and is better than "The Virginian."—Kalispell Bee."The Brand" is good, refreshing and wholesome. It takes me back to God's country.—B. E. Wiley, M.D., London, Eng.
"The Brand" is instinct with the romantic spirit of the west. It will be read with interest to the end.—Oregonian.
"The Brand" is splendidly written and is better than "The Virginian."—Kalispell Bee.
"The Brand" is good, refreshing and wholesome. It takes me back to God's country.—B. E. Wiley, M.D., London, Eng.
The Indian Agent who "hates Injuns," and the Scotch Blackfoot hero are new in fiction but not in the West. Every review has been good.
Illustrated. $1.50;postage, 10cents
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
TheTEMPTATION OF ST. ANTHONY
ByGUSTAVE FLAUBERT
This translation of the great French masterpiece, which has been called "The Epic of the Human Soul's Search for Truth," was recently discovered among Lafcadio Hearn's posthumous papers. The whole tendency of Hearn's tastes fitted him especially of all writers to turn that masterpiece into its true English equivalent.
The tortured Saint is whirled by vertiginous visions through cycles of man's efforts to know why? whence? whither? He assists at the terrifying rites of Mithra, the prostrations of serpent-worshippers of fire, of light, of the Greek's deified forces of nature, of the Northern enthronement of brute force and war. Plunges into every heresy and philosophy, sees the orgies, the flagellations, the self-mutilations, the battles and furies of sects, each convinced it has found the answer to the Great Question. His experiences startlingly reproduce the scientific and spiritual researches of the man of to-day.
$1.25 net; postage, 10 cents
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
MARCUS WHITMAN
PATHFINDER AND PATRIOT
Bythe late REV. MYRON EELLS, D.D.
A calm, judicious statement offactsproving that Whitman saved Oregon.
A calm, judicious statement offactsproving that Whitman saved Oregon.
The most valuable contribution to American Biography in the last quarter of a century.—New York Times Book Review.It is a marvellous book.—W. A. Mowry, Ph.D., LL.D.
The most valuable contribution to American Biography in the last quarter of a century.—New York Times Book Review.
It is a marvellous book.—W. A. Mowry, Ph.D., LL.D.
Profusely illustrated by newly discovered photographs and drawings $2.50 net; postage 25 cents
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
CHAPERONING ADRIENNE THROUGHtheYELLOWSTONE
ByALICE HARRIMAN
Particularly appealing to any person who either has been, wants to, or can't go through the famous Yellowstone Park. A gay comedy of vacation happiness and nonsense interspersed with rare descriptions.—Oregonian.
Particularly appealing to any person who either has been, wants to, or can't go through the famous Yellowstone Park. A gay comedy of vacation happiness and nonsense interspersed with rare descriptions.—Oregonian.
Marginal and full-page illustrations by Russell, the Cowboy Artist, $1.00 net
SONGS O' THE SOUND. ByAlice Harriman.Illustrated. Hand-painted leather, $3.00 net; limp leather, $2.50.
The book appeals at once as a strikingly beautiful souvenir as well as a remarkable contribution to the literature of the Northwest.—Seattle Times.
The book appeals at once as a strikingly beautiful souvenir as well as a remarkable contribution to the literature of the Northwest.—Seattle Times.
SONGS 'O THE OLYMPICS. ByAlice Harriman.Illustrated. Boards, artistic Indian head design, $1.50; leather $2.00, net; limp leather, $2.50; Japanese gold and silver art embroidery, $3.50.
You have here struck several new notes—the rarest thing in American poetry.—Robert Underwood Johnson, Editor ofCentury Magazine.Mrs. Harriman bears the gift of real poetry in her hand.—Post-Intelligencer.
You have here struck several new notes—the rarest thing in American poetry.—Robert Underwood Johnson, Editor ofCentury Magazine.
Mrs. Harriman bears the gift of real poetry in her hand.—Post-Intelligencer.
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
Mrs. Featherweight's Musical Moments
ByJOHN BRADY
Illustrated by the Author, .75 cents net Postage, 10 cents
A laughter-compelling take-off on musical New York. The unconscious humour and egotism are delicious, and Mr. Brady's black-and-white sketches are clever to the point of genius.
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
Lyrics of Fir and Foam
ByALICE ROLLIT COE
"How desolate it stands upon the slopeOf yonder hill."—The Deserted Cabin
"How desolate it stands upon the slopeOf yonder hill."—The Deserted Cabin
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
Lyrics of Fir and Foam
ByALICE ROLLIT COE
A beautiful book in every sense of the word. A most attractive souvenir of the Puget Sound country. The lyrics are destined to a high place in the literature of the West.
THE DESERTED CABIN
How desolate it stands upon the slopeOf yonder hill; the vacant windows stare;No curtain sways; no eager welcome waitsFrom smiling faces there.The path is overgrown, and through the grass,Self-sown, the pansies from their border stray;And thick athwart the door the ivy shadeGrows deeper day by day.And such my life since you have left; the rainUnheeded falls, the sun shines as of old,But lingers not in all the dreary roomsTo touch your hair to gold.And yet, a little vine of memoryClings round the doorway where your garments swept;—Close to the threshold where your footfall passed,Forget-me-nots have crept.
How desolate it stands upon the slopeOf yonder hill; the vacant windows stare;No curtain sways; no eager welcome waitsFrom smiling faces there.
The path is overgrown, and through the grass,Self-sown, the pansies from their border stray;And thick athwart the door the ivy shadeGrows deeper day by day.
And such my life since you have left; the rainUnheeded falls, the sun shines as of old,But lingers not in all the dreary roomsTo touch your hair to gold.
And yet, a little vine of memoryClings round the doorway where your garments swept;—Close to the threshold where your footfall passed,Forget-me-nots have crept.
Decorated board, $1.25. Library edition, cloth, $1.50. Inlaid leather and Japanese hand embroidery edition, $3.50. (Illustrated) Postage 10 cents
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
The Master Road
ByCARLIN EASTWOOD
Gratia Drexler, wealthy, socially elect, obeys an impulse toward expression leading her to active settlement work in the slums. Blindly treading her sweet way, she set in motion forces whose action and reaction on her and on Hartley Taine is herein told with a repression admirable in its resultant heart-grip and dramatic tenseness.
The reader willlive every hourof happiness and grief, pain and joy portrayed with such sure touch.
T H E M A S T E R R O A D will be a greater play than "Salvation Nell." Dramatic rights secured by America's leading playwright and producer. Sure to have a tremendous success.
Illustrated, $1.35 net; Postage 10 cents
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
TheSUPERINTENDENT
ByIRENE WELCH GRISSOM
New Characters, Scenes and Theme
A strong story of the Sawmill Country in Western Washington. Redolent of fir, cedar, and hemlock as the whirring saws let loose the stored perfume of the growth of centuries.
$1.35 net; postage 10 cents
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
PIONEER DAYSonPUGET SOUND
ByARTHUR A. DENNY (Father of Seattle)
The only book by one of Seattle's founders. Absolutely reliable as to facts and dates.
Edition de luxe, deckle-edge, profusely illustrated with rare photographs, drawings, maps, $2.00 net; postage, 10c. Limited edition.
CHRONICLESofOLDFIELDS
ByTHOMAS N. ALLEN
A delightfully sympathetic tale of four old ante-bellum Kentuckians. Men's friendship has never before been portrayed with such literary delicacy and charm.
We have printed this charming narrative in clear type, on good paper and bound it artistically. Introduction by John H. McGraw, ex-Governor of Washington. We have inserted an excellent likeness of Judge Allen, the author.
You will read these CHRONICLES more than once. It is worthy of a second reading.
Illustrated. $1.50 net; postage, 10 cents
T H E R O A Do fL I F E
A Dramatic Poem, by Marion Couthouy Smith. With shorter poems reprinted by permission from the leading magazines. "Miss Smith's verse rings as clear and true as a clarion call."$1.00 net; postage, 5 cents.
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
Transcriber's noteThe following changes have been made to the text:Page 89: "She clnug to him" changed to "Sheclungto him".Page 289 "like the the cauterizing" changed to "likethecauterizing".
The following changes have been made to the text:
Page 89: "She clnug to him" changed to "Sheclungto him".
Page 289 "like the the cauterizing" changed to "likethecauterizing".