The Call of the Cumberlands | By Charles Neville Buck With Illustrations from Photographs of Scenes in the Play W i {Copyrighs, p13, by W. J. Want & To.) SYNOPSIS. rie. On Misery creek, at the foot of a rock from which he has fallen, Sally Miller finds George Lescott, a landscapes paint. er, unconscious, and after reviving him, oes for aselstance Samson South and Sally, taking Lescott to Samson's home, are met by Spicer South, head of the family, who tells them that Jesse Purvy has been shot and that Samson is sus- pected of the crime. Samson denies It The shooting of Jesse Purvy breaks the truce In the Hollman-South feud. CHAPTER IV—Continued. He sauntered down the road, but, when he had passed out of vision, he turned sharply into the woods, and began climbing. His steps carried him to the rift in the ridge where the white oak stood sentinel over the watch | tower of rock. As he came over the | edge from one side his bare feet mak- | ing no sound, he saw Sally sitting! there, with her hands resting on the | moss and her eyes deeply troubled | She was gazing fixedly ahead and her | lips were trembling. At once Sam- | son's fice grew black. Some one had been making Sally unhappy. Then he saw beyond her a standing figure, | which the tree trunk had hitherto con- cealed. It was the loose-knitted figure | of young Tamarack Spicer, “In course,” Spicer was saying, “we | don’t ‘low Samson shot Jesse Purvy, but them Hollmans "ll 'spicion him, an’ {I heered just now thet them dawgs | was trackin’ straight up hyar from the | mouth of Misery, They'll git hyar against sundown.” Samson leaped violently With one hand he roughly seized his cousin's shoulder and wheeled him! about. “Shet up!” he 1 n fool Sally?” For an instant the two stood fronting each other. face was set and wrathful. Tamarack’s | was surly and snarling. “Hain't I got | a license ter tell Sally the news?” he | demanded. “Nobody hain’t got no license,” re- | torted the younger man in the quiet of cold anger, “ter tell Sally thet'll fret her.” “She air bound ter know pretty soon. Them dawgs i “Didn’t I tell ye ter shet up?” Sam- | san clenched his fists, and took a step | forward. “Ef opens yore mouth izain, I'm a-goin’ ter smash hit. Now, git!” ; Tamarack Spicer's face blackened, ! and his teeth showed. His right hand swept to his left arm-pit. Outwardly he seemed wedponless, but Samson Knew that concealed beneath the hickory shirt was a worn mountain fashion, “What air ye a-reachin’ Tam'rack?” he inquired, his If ing In amusement. “Thet's my business’ “Well, git hit out—or git out yeseit, vfore | throws ye offen the elift.” Sally showed no symptoms of alarm. | Her confidence in her hero was abso lute. The boy lifted his hand. and pointed off down the path Slowly and with incoherent muttering, Spleer | took himself away. Then only did Sally rise. She came over, and laid a | hand on Samson's shoulder. In her | blue eyes, the tears were welling. “Samson,” she whispered. “of they're | atter ye, come ter my house. 1! kin | hide ye out. Why didn't ye tell me | fesse Jurvey'd done been shot?” “Hit tain’'t nothin’ ter fret about, | Sally,” he assured her. He epoke | wwkwardly, for he had been trained to | regard emotion as unmaanly, “Thar | hain't no danger.” | She gazed searchingly into his eyes, and then, with a short sob, threw her | irms around him, and buried her face | his shoulder, ; “Ef anything happens ter ye, Sam- | son," she said, brokenly, “hit'll jest | kill me. 1 couldn't live withouten ye, Samson. I jest couldn't do hit!” The boy tqok her in his arms, and sressed her close, His eyes wore gaz ing off over her bent head, and his lips twitched. He drew his features into a scowl, because that was the only ex- preseion with which he could safe guard his feelings. His volce was husky. “I reckon, Sally,” he said, “1 eouldn’t live withouten you, neither.” The party of men who had started at morning from lessee Purdy’'s store had spent a hard day. The roads fol- lowed creek-beds, crossing and re- crossing waterways in a fashion that gave the bloodhounds a hundred baf- fling difficulties. Often, their noses lost the trail, which had at first been so surely taken. Often, they circled and whined, and halted in perplexity, ut each time they came to a point where, at the end, one of them again raised his muzzle skyward, and gave voice, Toward evening, they were working up Misery along a course less broken. The party halted for a moment's rest, and, as the bottle was passed, the man from Lexington; who had brought the dogs and stayed to conduct the chase, put a question: “What do you call this creek?” ‘Hit's Misery.” forward. | Vhat | tellin’ commanded. stuff hev ye been clansmen | Samson's nothin’ | all hit ye holster, : atter, lips twist. | m “Does aliybody live on Misery that —or—that you might suspect?’ The Hollmans laughed. “This creek is settled with Souths thicker'n hops.” The Lexington man looked up. He knew what the name of South meant to a Hollman, “Is there any special South, might have a particular grudge?” “The Souths don't need no partilar grudge, but thar's young Samson South. He's a wildcat.” “He lives this way?" “These dogs alr a-makin’ a bee-line fer his house.” Jim Hollman was speaking. Then he added: "I've done been told that Samson denies doin’ the shootin’, an’ claims he kin prove an alibi.” The Lexington man lighted his pipe, and poured a drink of red whisky into a flask cup. “He'd be apt to say that,” he com- mented, “These dogs haven't any prejudice In the matter. I'll stake my life on their telling the truth.” An hour later, the group halted again. The master of hounds mopped his forehead. “Are we still going toward Samson South's house?” he inquired. “We're about a quarter from hit who now, an' we hain’t never varied from the straight road.” { “Will they be apt to give us| trouble 2” ! Jim Hollman smiled. | “l1 hain't never heered of no South | submittin’ ter arrest by a Hollman.” | The trailers examined their fire. | arms, and loosened their holster-flaps. The dogs went forward at a trot CHAPTER V. From time to time that day, neigh- | bors had ridden up to Spicer South's | stile, and drawn rein for gossip. These men brought bulletins as to the prog- ress of the hounds, and near sundown, as a postscript to their information, a volley of gunshot signals sounded from | No word was spoken, but in common accord the kinsmen rose from thelr chairs, and drifted to- ward thelr leaning rifles, “They're a-comin’ hyar,” sald curtly. "Samson Whar's Tam'rack?” No one had noticed his absence un- that moment, nor was he to be found. A few minutes later, Samson's and bis uncle £1 HE met him at the fence, “Samson, I've done asked ye all the questions I'm a-goin’ ter ask ye,” he said, “but them dawgs is makin’ fer They've jest been sighted a mile below.” Samson nodded “Now"-—Spicer South's hard- ened-—"1 owns down thar ter the road face I choose ter give him leave. Ef ye stay thar, ye us Souths don't break our word, We I'd like ter house—an’' then, when they're tectotally damn satisfled, I'd like ter ‘em all ter go ter hell Thet's the way I feels, but I'm a-goin’ tell Leacott did not overhear the con- versation fo full, but he saw the old man's face work with suppressed pas- gion, and he caught Samson's louder “When them folks gets hiyar, Uncle I'm agoin" ter be asettin’ | “They Mave Followed Their Noses Here" right out thar in front. I'm plumb willin' ter invite ‘em in.’ Then, the ! two men turned toward the house, i Already the other clansmen had dis- | appeared noiselessly through the door | or around the angles of the walls, Fifteen minutes later, Lescott, stand- | ing at the fence, saw a strange cayal- | cade round the bend of the road. Say. eral travelstained men were leading mules, and holding two tawny and im- patient dogs in leash. In their num. ber, the artist recognized his host of two nights ago. They halted at a distance,’ and in their facea the artist read dismay, for, while the dogs were yelping confident. ly and tugging at their cords, young Samson South--who should, by their prejudiced convictions, be hiding out in some secret stronghold-—sat at the top step of the stile, smoking his pipe, and regarded them with a lackluster absence of interest. Such a calm re ception was uncanny. After a whis pered conference, the Lexington man came forward alone, Old Spicer South had been looking on from the door, and was now strolling out to meet the envoy, unarmed, And the envoy, as he came, held his hands vnnecessarliy far awev from his i i sides, and walked with an ostentatious | show of peace. “Evenin’, stranger,” hailed the old | man. “Come right in.” i “Mr, South,” began the dog-owner, with some embarrassment, “I have been employed to furnish a pair of | bloodhounds to the family of Jesse Purvy, who has been shot.” “1 heerd tell thet Purvy was shot,” | said the head of the Souths in an af- fable tone, which betrayed no deeper note of interest than neighborhood gossip might have elicited, i “l have no personal interest in the matter,” went on the stranger, hastily, | as one bent on making his attitude | clear, “except to supply the dogs and manage them. Ido not in any way dl | rect their course; 1 merely follow.” “Ye can't hardly fo'ce a dawg.” Old | Spicer sagely nodded his head as he | made the remark. “A dawg jest natch- | er'ly follers his own nose.” “Exactly—and they have followed } thelr noses here.” The Lexington man found the embarrassment of his poal- | tion growing as the colloquy proceed: | ed. “I want to ask you whether, If] these dogs want to cross your fence, 1} have your permission to let them?” The master of the house crossed the | stile, the low sun shining on his shock | of gray hair, and stood before the man- | hunter, He spoke so that his voice carried to the walting group in the “Ye're plumb welcome ter turn them | dawgs loose, an’ let ‘em ramble, | stranger. Nobody hain't a-goin’ ter hurt ‘em. 1 sees some felfers out thar | voice rang men | that they're | an’ they won't] ut you air gafe | in hyar., I gives yer my hand on thet Ye're welcome, an’ yore dawgs is wel- | come. 1 hain’t got nothin’ ’'galust | dawgs thet comes on four legs, but I} shore bars the two-legged kind.” There was a murmur of astonish | ment from the road. Disregarding it, | Spicer South turned toward | the house ! mean the truce his face “You boys kin come out,” he shout er, "aun’ leave yore guns inside.” The leashes were slipped from the | dogs. They leaped forward, and made | directly for Samson, who eat as un- | moving as a lifeless image on the top | step of the stile. There was a half-mo- | ment of terrific suspense, then the | passing on each side and circled aim. | lessly about the yard-—their quest un- | ended. They sniffed indifferently about | the trouser legs of the men who saun. | tered indolently out of the door They | trotted into the house and out again. | and mingled with the mongrel! home | pack that snarled and growled hos | tility for this invasion. Then, they | came once more to the stile, As they | climbed out, Samson Scuth reached up and stroked a tawny head, and the | bloodhound paused a moment to wag! its tall in friendship, before it jumped | down to the road, and trotted gingerly onward “I'm obliged to you, sir.” sald the man from the Bluegrass, with a voles of immense relief The moment of suspense seemed | past, and, in the relief of the averted | clash, the master of hounds forgot | that his dogs stood branded as false trailers. But when he rejoined the group in the road he found himself looking into surly visages, and the features of Jim Hollman in particular were black in their scowl of smolder- ing wrath. “Why didn't ye ax him,” growled shot, “whar the other feller's at? “What other fellow?” echoed Lexington man, Jim Hollman's the voice rose trucu meant them to, across to the ears of the clansmen who stood In the yard “Them dawgs of your'n They come up hain’t never They seemed mighty inter Ax them fellers hyar thet hain't Who is ther feller thet reason, At this veiled charge of deceit the the door of the It seemed that, turned and argued in a low volce with Hollman leader. But Jim Holl “I hain't got nothin’ ter whisper about,” he proclaimed. “Go ax ‘em who hit war thet got away from hyar.” Old Spicer South stood leaning on his fence and his rugged countenance stiffened. He started to speak, but Samson rose from the stile and sald, in a composed voice: “let me talk to this feller, Une’ Spicer.” The old man nodded and Samson beckoned to the owner of the dogs. “We hain't got nothin’ ter say ter them fellers with ye.” he announced, briefly. “We bain’t axin’ ‘em no ques tions, an’ we hain’t answerin’ none. Ye done come hyar with dawgs an’ we hain't stopped ye. We've done an- swered all the questions them dawge hes axed. We done treated you an’ yore houn's plumb friendly. Es fer them other men, we hain't got nothin’ ter say to ‘em. They done come hyar because they hoped they could git me in trouble. They done failed. Thet road belongs ter the county. They got a license ter travel hit, but this strip right hysr hain't the healthiest section they kin find | reckon ye'd tier advise cm ter move on” The Lexington man went back. For an minute or two Jim Hollman sat scowling down In Indecision froin his saddle. Then he admitted to himself For the moment he was beaten. He looked up and from the road one of the hounds That baying afforded an excuse for leaving and Jim Hollman seized it. “Go on,” he growled, them dd curs “Let's see hes ter say Mounting, they kicked thelr mules into a jog. From the men inside the fence came no note of derision, no hint of triumph. They stood looking out with expressionless, masklike faces until thelr enemies had passed out of sight around the shoulder of the mountain, The Souths had met and fronted an accusation made after the enemy's own cholce and method. A Jury of two hounds had acquitted them. It was not only because the dogs had refused to recognize in Sam- gon a suspicious enemy rode on grudgingly convinced, but, also, because the family, which Jim Holiman bad invariably met hostility with hos test of gulit or innocence The kinsmen dispersed to their scat and cabins Now and dying, but always hard on the obdurate fighter had rallied, though the doctors held out small en couragement of recovery. One day Lescott, from the house with Samson were following a narrow the mountain side, and, at a sound no louder than the falling of a walaut, the boy halted and lald a silencing hand on the painter's shoulder. Then companion’s eyes. rhododendron leafage, where Samson movable and noiseless They had they saw another figure slipping qui etly from tree to tree below them. For a time the mountain watched the figure and the boy and his eyes narrow with a glint of tense hate. Yet, a moment later, with a nod to follow, the boy unexpectedly rose Into view and his features were absolutely expressionless. “Mornin, Jim,” he called The slinking stranger whirled with a start and an Instinctive motion as though to bring his rifle to his shoul der. manner, he smiled and his own de meanor became friendly. “Mornin’, Samson.” “Kinder stranger in this country, hain't ye, Jim?” drawied the boy who lived there, and the question brought a sullen flush to the other's cheek bones. “Jost a-passin’ through,” he vouch: safed. “1 reckon ye'd find the wagon road more handy.” suggested Samson. “Some folks might ‘epiclon ye for stealin’ "long through the timber.” plausibly. He laughed mendaciously. “That's the reason, Samson. [I was kinder skeered ter go through this country in the open.” Samson met his eye steadily and sald slowly: “1 reckon, Jim, hit mought be half es risky fer ye ter walk upstandin’ along Misery es ter go a-crouchin’ Ye thinks ye've been nshadderin’ me. 1 knows jest whar ye've been all the time. Ye lies when ye talks ‘bout passin’ through. Ye've done been spy in’ hyar, ever since Jesse Purvy got shot, an’ all thet time ye've done been watched yerself. 1 reckon hit'll be healthier fer ye ter do yore spyin’ from t'other side of the ridge. 1 reckon yer allowin' ter git me ef Purvy dies, but we're watchin’ ye.” Jim Asberey's face darkened, but he sald nothing. There was nothing to say. He was discovered in the ene my's country and must accept the enemy's terms. ‘ “This hyar time I lets ye go back” sald Bamson, “fer the reason thet I'm tryin’ like all h—1 ter keep this truce. But ye must stay on yore side or else ride the roads open. How 1s Puryy terday?” “He's mighty porely,” replied the other, in a sullen voice, “All right. Thet's another reason why hit hain’t healthy fer ye over hyar.” The spy turned and made his way over the mountain, “Desn him!” muttered Samson, his face twitching, as the other was lost In the undergrowth. “Bome day I'm a-goin’ ter git him.” Tamarack Spicer did not at once reappear, and when one of the Souths met another in the road the customary dislogue would be: “Heered anything of Tamarack?” “No, hey you? “No, nary a word.” As Lescott wandered through the hills, hig unhurt right hand began cry- ing out for action and a brush to | nurse. As he watched, day after day, the unveiling of the monumental hills and the transitions from hazy, wraith | like whispers of hues to strong, faring | became actual pain. wonderful opportunity and the cree | tive instinct in him was clamoring. after sunrise to the tin wash basin at the well, the desire to paint was on him with compelling force, The hills ended near their bases like things bit ten off jteyond lay limitless stream- ers of mist, but, while he gtood at gaze, the filmy veil began to lift and float { higher. Trees and mountains grew i taller, The | as & ghost-like disk of polished alumi | pum, struggled through orange and { vermilion into gphere of Lescott heard a voice Blin, a | lame, gt his | side W nen | paintiz It | artist Tow ter commences Samson For answer the th his unhurt hand, | tiently tapped his bandaged wrist, “Ye still got yore right hand, bain’t ye?" demanded the boy. The It was a typical question { long as one had the trigger finger left { one should i “You this isn’t i Bun One mm i the Was wi impa other il 18 gi i laughed not admit disqualification explained handling = ust hold the palette; mix the brushes and do ry things Samson,” he 1 iy Bee precise like colors: { half a dozen wipe equally necessa i £ hands don't find two { enough.” “But hit only takes one { paintin’, don’t hit?” | “Yes. “Well ! but with Many people the ter do -—the boy difdentiy enthusiasm two of we've got reckon kin larn them other things fer Lescott's surprise showed in {| face and the lad swept eagerly on “Mebby hit halt none of my busi ness, but, all day yestiddy an’ the {day befo’, 1 was studyin’ 'bout this here thing, an’ I hustled up an’ got thet corn weeded an’ now I'm through. Ef 1 kin help ye out | thought meb- by~-" He paused and looked appeal- ingly at the artist. Lescott | lighted into contentment “Today, Samson,” he announced, “lescott, South and Company get busy.” It was the first time he Samson smile, and, although the ex pression was one of sheer delipdt, in. { herent somberness loaned it a touch | of the wistful | When, an hour later, the two set out, the mountain boy carried the par gpoke “between hands i do the us three me how ter ve" ye his 1 half-quizzical, hallidisapproving glance As the boy, with mined to paint. canvas, | boy 's pupils became deeply hungry. { The day | by others like ft. | Lescott's left hand made the constant {| companionship of the boy a matter | that needed no explanation or apology, | though not a matter of approval to his uncle, Another week had passed without the reappearance of Tamarack Spicer. One afternoon Lescott and Samson were alone on a cliff-protected shelf, and the painter had just blocked in with umber and neutral tint the erudo sketch of his next picture. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Tribute Money. Fancy long ago sald that the black marks on either side of the head of the haddock were made by the Apostle's finger and thumb as they held him, while extracting the tribute money from his mouth. But alas for fancy! The haddock is not found in the Sea of Galllee! Most of the fish there be- long to the barbel family, and no one has ever told us authoritatively what particular variety the tribute bearing fish belonged to. The “half shekel” of the tribute was 112 gralus Troy weight of sliver, say nearly a quarter of an ounce, worth about thirteen cents today, but greatly more in those days. The Girt Who Is in Demand. There is a price on the head of every pretty girl who can bake good biscuits. Most any girl can look pretty under the parlor chandelier or In the soft moonlight, but, ah, how few will do to look at next morning at 6:30, and still fewer can set before tne hungry at breakfast a plate of appetizi biscuits, and for the one who boys are searching the w girls. — Hamilton Record. § { al TONNETS. [ P. PenTHEy ARTORNET APLAY MRLLENONTA BB Shu Porte of Owen Ronan. EE EEEEEEEE————— Centre Hall, Pa. DAVID K. EELLER, Cashier Receives Deposits . . . @ Discounts Notes , , 80 YEAR® EXPERIENCE Tasoe NMamng Deerans CorvnianTe && Anyons pending a sketeh and dens Tene guickly ascertain our opinion Tres wheth PolAential 11 ovis. Comm ential Handbook on Pat Jno. F. Gray & Son (SEX Tobvid) Coatrol Sixteen of the gest Fire and Life panies fn ibe World. . ... THE BEST IS THB CHEAPEST . . Ne Muth Ne Asmoumest De contact of STE HOME which in eases of death Detwesl the ath snd twentieth turns all premiums paid is < dition to the face of the potiey. to Loan on Tiegs Mortgage Buliding 4 * Money Office Is Crider's Stone BELLEFONTE, PA. Telephone Cessnsction TTT TP ITT rTTey ree MARBLE ae GRANITE, 23% H. 0. STROHNEIER, CENTRE MALL, . . Manufaocturer.ef and Dealer in HIOH GRADE ... MONUMENTAL Wow] in all kinds of Marble am EE I a amod RUE Padituren ih wt i DR. SOL. M. NISSLEY, ————— L————— A groduate of the University of oon, : bong,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers