Edwin Carlile Litsey, author of The Love Story of Abner Stone, was born at Beechland, Kentucky, June 3, 1874. He was educated in public and private schools, but he did not go to college. At the age of seventeen years Mr. Litsey entered the banking business, and he is now connected with the Marion National Bank, of his present home, Lebanon, Kentucky. His first novel, The Princess of Gramfalon (Cincinnati, 1898), was a daring piece of imagination, creating impossible lands and peoples, and it has been forgotten by author and public alike. Mr. Litsey's strongest and best work so far is a beautiful tale of Nature, entitled The Love Story of Abner Stone (New York, 1902). This novelette made the author many friends, as it is a charming story. In 1904 he won first prize in The Black Cat story-contest, over ten thousand competitors, with In the Court of God. His stories of wild animals in their haunts were brought together in The Race of the Swift (Boston, 1905). This contains some of his best work, the first story being especially fine and strong. Mr. Litsey's latest novel, The Man from Jericho (New York, 1911), was not up to the standard set in his earlier works, and in no sense is it a noteworthy production. It shows a decided falling off, and it brought disappointment to many admirers of The Love Story of Abner Stone and The Race of the Swift. In 1912 Mr. Litsey contributed several short-stories to The Cavalier, and next year he will issue another novel, to be entitled A Maid of the Kentucky Hills.

Bibliography. The Book Buyer (July, 1902); Munsey's Magazine (April, 1903).

THE RACE OF THE SWIFT[76]

[From The Race of the Swift (Boston, 1905)]

The next morning, near midday, her merciless offsprings teased and worried her so that the she-fox crept forth in spite of the warning of the day before, and set her sharp muzzle towards the crest of the range, with the intention of invading territory which hitherto her feet had never pressed. There were wild turkeys back in the hills, and wary and suspicious as she knew them to be, they were no match for her wily woodcraft. But scarcely had her noiseless feet gone over the top of the knob, when a sharp yelp immediately behind her caused her to jump and turn quickly. They were there—her enemies—and their noses were smelling out her trail, for as yet they had not seen her. Even as she leaped for the nearest cover like a yellow flash, her first thought was of the little ones biding at home. She must lead her foes away from that cleft in the rocks where her love-children lay awaiting her return. And though her life should be given up, yet would she die alone, and far away, before she would sacrifice her young.

It was a hard and stubborn race which she ran for the next six hours. At times her loyal, loving heart seemed ready to burst from the strain she thrust upon it. At times fleet feet were pattering almost at her heels, and pitiless jaws were held wide to grasp her; then again only the echo of the stubborn cry of her pursuers reached her. She had doubled time and again. Once a brief respite was granted her when she dashed up a slanting tree-trunk which, in falling, had lodged in the branches of another tree. Eight tawny forms dashed hotly, furiously by, then she descended and took the back track. Only for a moment, however, were the cunning dogs deceived. They discovered the artifice almost as soon as it was perpetrated, and came harking back themselves with redoubled zeal. So the long hours of the afternoon wore away. Not a moment that was free from effort; not an instant that death did not hover over the mother fox, awaiting the least misstep to descend. Back and forth, around and across, and still the subtlety of the fox eluded the haste and fury of the hounds. All were tired to the point of exhaustion, but none would give up. The sun went down; tremulous shadows, like curtains hung, were draped among the trees. The timid stars came out again and the halfed moon arose, a little larger than the night before. And still, with inveterate hate on the one side, and the undying strength of despair on the other, the grim chase swept through the night. At last the blood-rimmed eyes of the reeling quarry saw familiar landmarks. Unconsciously, in her blind efforts, she had come to the neighborhood of her den. Perhaps the love within her heart had guided her back. She found her strength quickly failing, and with a realization of this her scheming brain awoke as from a trance, and drove her to deeper guile. Two rods away was the creek. To it she staggered, splashed through the low water for a dozen yards, and hid herself beneath the gnarled roots of a tree from the base of which the stream had eaten away the soil. She listened intensely. She heard the pack lose the scent, search half-heartedly for a few minutes, for they, too, were weary to dropping, then withdraw one at a time, beaten. But for half an hour the brave animal lay against the tree roots, waiting and resting. Then she came out cautiously, looked around her, and with difficulty gained the mouth of her den. Casting one keen glance over her shoulder through the checkered spaces of the forest, she glided softly within, and lying down, curled her tired body protectingly around her sleeping little ones.