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SYNOPSIS.
—5—
Juanita Holland, a Philadelphia young
Woman of wealth, on her journey with
her guide. Good Anse Talbott, into the
heart of the Cumberlands to become a
teacher of the mountain children, faints
at the door of Fletch McNash's cabin.
While resting there she overhears a talk
between Bad Anse Havey. chief of his
clan, and one of his henchmen that ac
quaints her with the Havey-McBriar feud
Juanita has an unprofitable talk with Bad
Anse and they become antagonists. Cal
pouglas of the Havey clan is on trial in
Peril, for the murder of Noah Wyatt, a
McBriar. In the night Juanita hears
feudists ride past the McNash cabin
Juanita and Dawn McNash become
friends. Cal Douglas is acquitted. Nash
Wyatt attempts to kill him but is him
self killed by the Haveys. Juanita goes
to live with the Widow Everson, whose
boys are outside the feud. Milt McBriar.
head of his clan, meets Bad Anse there
and disclaims responsibility for W’yatt's
attempt to kill Douglas. They declare a
truce, under pressure from Good Anse
Talbott. Juanita thinks she finds that
Bad Anse is opposing her efforts to buy
land and build a school. Milt McBriar
breaks the truce by having Fletch Mc
Nash murdered. Jeb McNash begs Bad
Anse to tell him who killed his father,
but is not told. Juanita and Bad Anse
further misunderstand each other. Bad
Anse is bitter.
CHAPTER X—Continued.
"I’m grateful for this teacher’s
course.” snid Juanita hotly, “and I’m
not going home.”
Anse Havey went on:
“But I know that boy. I know that
If I’d talked thataway he'd just about
have gone out in the la’rel an’ got
somebody. Hit might not ’a’ been the
right feller, and he might have found
that out later. I reckon ye never had
a father murdered, did ye?”
“Hardly,” answered the girl with a
Bcomful toss of her head. “You see, I
wasn’t reared among gun-fighters.”
“Well, I have,” responded the man.
was in the legislature down at
Frankfort when it happened, a-helpin’
to make the laws that govern this
state. I was fer them laws in theory—
but when that word came I paired off
with a Republican, so’s not to lose my
vote on the floor, an’ I come back here
to these hills an’ got that feller. I
reckon I ought to be ashamed to tell
ye that, but I’m so plumb ign’rant that
I can’t feel it. I knew how Jeb felt
an’ so I held him off with a promise to
wait. Of course ye couldn’t accept the
help of a man like that.”
He turned and withdrew his hands
from his pockets.
“I’m through,” he added, "an’ I'm
obleeged to ye fer harkenin’ to me.”
“There is something in your point
of view, Mr. Havey,” she acknowl
edged. “But it is all based on twisted
and distorted principle.
“I don’t think myself a saint. I
guess I'm pretty weak. My first ap
peal to you was pure weakness. But
I stand for ideas that the world has
acknowledged to be right, and for that
reason I am going to win. That is
why, although I’m a girl, with none of
your physical power, and no gun
fighters at my back, you are secretly
afraid of me. That is why you are
making unfair war on me. I stand for
the implacable force of civilization
that must sooner or later sweep you
away and utterly destroy your domi
nance.’’
For the first time Bad Anse Havey’s
face lost its impassiveness. His eyes
clouded and became puzzled, surprised.
“I reckon I don’t hardly follow ye,”
he said. “If ye wants it to be enemies
all right, but I ain’t never made no
war on ye. I don’t make war on wom
enfolks, an’ besides I wouldn’t make
a needless war nohow. All I’ve got to
do is to give ye enough rope an’ watch
ye hang yourself.”
"If you think that,” she demanded,
with a quick upleaping of anger in her
pupils, “why did you feel it necessary
to prevent my buying land? Why do
you coerce your vassals, under fear of
death, to decline my offers? Why,
If my school means no menace, do you
refuse it standing room to start its
fight?”
The man's pose stiffened.
“Who told ye I’d hindered anybody
from sellin' ye land?”
“Wherever I inquire it is the same
thing. They must ask permission of
Bad Anse Havey before they can do
•s they wish with their own."
“By heaven, that’s another lie,” he
said shortly. “But I reckon ye believe
that, too. I did advise folks hereabouts
against sellin' to strangers, but that
was afore ye come.”
He paced the length of the room a
while, then halted before her.
“Some of that property," he went
on, and this time his voice was pas
sionate in its earnestness, “has enough
coal an’ timber on it to make its own
ers rich some day. Have ye seen any
of the coal-minin’ sections of these
hills? Well, go an’ have a look. Ye
won’t find any mountaineer richer fer
the development. Ye’ll find ’em plun
dered an’ cheated an’ robbed of their
homes by your civilized furriner. I’ve
done aimed ter pertect my folks
against bein’ looted. I aims to go on
pertectln' ’em.”
“Ignorance won’t protect them,” she
Insisted.
“I told ye we was distrustful of fur
riners,” went on Havey. “Some day
there’ll be a bigger war here than the
Havey-McBriar war. Ye’ve seen some
thin’ of that. That other war will be
with your people, an’ when It comes
there won’t be any Mc-Briars or
Haveys. We’ll all be mountaineers
standin’ together an’ holdln' what God
gave us. God knows I hate Milt Mc
Briar an’ his tribe—hate ’em with all
the power of hatin’ that’s in me—an’
I'm a mountain man. But Milt’s peo
ple an’ my people have onfe thing in
common. We’re mountain men, an’
these hills are ourn. We have the
same killin' instinct when men seek to
rob us. We want to be let alone, an’
if we fight amongst ourselves it ain’t
nothin’ to the way we’ll fight, Bhoulder
to shoulder an' back to back, against
the robbers from down below."
The man paused, and as Juanita
looked into his blazing eyes she shud
dered, for it seemed that the killing
instinct of which he spoke w-as burn
ing there. She thought of nothing to
say, and he continued:
“It’s war betwen families now—but
when your people come—come to bJ:
for nothin’ and fatten on our starva
tion, we men of the mountains will
forget that, an’ I reckon we’ll fight to
gether like all damnation against tho
rest. Thet’s why I’m counselin’ folks
not to sell heedless.”
“Then you did not forbid your peo
ple to sell to me?” Inquired the girl.
“Why, in heaven’s name, should I
make -war on ye?” he suddenly de
manded. “Does a man fight children?
We don’t fight the helpless up here in
the hills."
“Possibly,” she suggested with a
trace of irony, “when you learn that
I i m not so neipiess you won t De so
merciful.”
“We’ll wait till that time comes,"
said the man shortly. He paused for
a moment, then went on: “Helpless!
Why, heaven knows, ma'am, I pity ye.
Can’t ye see what odds ye're contend
in’ against? Can't ye see that ye're
fightin’ God’s hllis and sandstone an’
winds an’ thunder? Can't ye see ye’re
tryin’ ter take out of men’s veins the
fire in their blood—the fire that's been
burnin’ there for two centuries? Ye’re
like a little child tryin’ ter pull down
a jail-house. Ye’re singin' lullaby
songs to the thunder. Yes, I feel right
sorry fer ye, but I ain’t a-fightin’ ye."
"I’m doing none of those things,”
she answered with a defiant blaze In
her eyes. “I’m only trying to show
these people that their ignorance is
not necessary; that it’s only part of a
scheme to keep them vassals. You
talk about the wild, free spirit of the
mountain men. I think that free men
will listen to that argument.”
Anse laughed.
"Change ’em!” he repeated, disre
garding the slur of her last speech.
“Why, if ye don’t give it up and go
back to your birds that pick at berries,
do you know what will happen to ye?
I’ll tell ye. Thar will be a change, but
it won’t be in us. It’ll be in you.
You’ll be mountainized.
“Ye can’t live where the storms
come from an’ where the rivers are
born an’ not have their spirit get into
your blood. Ye may think ye’re in
partners with God. but I reckon ye’ll
find the hills are bigger than you be.
How much land do ye need?”
“Why?”
"Because I aim to see ye get it. Ye
say I’m scaired of ye. I aim to show
ye how much I’m 6caired. I aim to
let ye go your own fool wajr an’ floun
der in your own quicksand. An' if
nobody won't sell ye what ye want
let me know an’, by Almighty God, I’ll
make ye a free gift of a farm an’ I’ll
build your school myself. Thet’s how
much I’m scaired of ye. I’ve tried to
be friends with ye, an’ ye won't have
it Now just go as fur as ye feels in
clined an’ see how much 1 mind ye.”
He turned abruptly on his heel and
went out, quietly closing the door be
hind him.
CHAPTER XI.
That summer Juanita’s cabin rose
on the small patch of ground bought
from the Widow, Everson, for in these
hills the raising of a house is a simple
thing which goes forward subject to
no delays of striking workmen or
balking contractors. The usual type,
with its single room, may be reared
in a few days by volunteers who turn
their labor into a frolic. She had owed
much to Jerry Everson and to Good
Anse Talbott, for had her building
force been solidly of Havey or Mc
Briar complexion the school would
henceforth have stood branded, in na
tive eyes, a feud institution.
But Good Anse and Jerry, who were
tolerated by both factions, and were
gifted with a rough-hewn diplomacy,
had known upon whom to call, even
while they had seemed to select at
random.
The cabin had been finished just be
fore the news came of the death of
Fletch McNash, and Jerry Everson
had gone over with her to survey and
admire it.
As he stood under the newly laid
roof, sniffing the fresh, woody fra
grance of the green timbers, he pro
duced from under his coat what looked
like a giant powder-horn. He had
scraped and polished it until it shone
like varnish, and he hung it by its
leather thong above the hearth.
“What is it for, Jerry?" demanded
the girl, and with that he took it down
again and set it to his lips and blew.
a. mellow sound, not loud, but far
carrying, like the fox-hunter’s tally-ho,
floated over the valley.
"Our house hain't more than a
whoop an’ a holler away,” he said
awkwardly, "but when ye're livin’ over
hyar by yoreself, ef ye ever wants any
thing in ther nighttime, jest blow thet
horn.” ,
After she had almost burst her
cheeks with effort, he added: “Don’t
never blow this signal onless ye wants
ter raise merry hell."
Then he imitated very low, through
pursed lips, three long blasts and
three short ones.
"What's that signal?” she demand
ed.
“Ye’ve heered the McBriar yell,” he
told her. “Thet horn calls ther Havey
rallyin’ signal. When thet goes out
every Havey thet kin tote a gun’s got
ter git up an’ come. Hit means war.”
“Thank you, Jerry. I won’t call the
Haveys to battle."
The night after she had flung her
challenge down to Bad Anse Havey
Juanita stayed at the McNash cabin
to be with Dawrn and the widow. The
next day she went with them to the
mountainside “buryin’-ground," where
Good Anse performed the last rites for
the dead.
After it was all over, and it had been
decided that the widow was to take
the younger children up Meeting
house fork to live with a brother, the
missionary and the teacher started
back. Jeb was to stay here alone to
run the farm, and when Juanita re
turned to the ridge Dawn went with
her.
They were passing a tumbling wa
terfall. shrunken now to a trickling
rill, when Dawn broke the long silence.
“Wunst, when I war a leetle gal,”
she said, ‘‘Unc’ Perry war a-hiding out
up thet branch from ther revenuers. I
used ter fotch his victuals up thar ter
him.”
Juanita turned suddenly with a
shocked expression. It was as if her
little songbird friend had suddenly and
violently reverted; as if the flower had
turned to poison weed. And as Jua
nita looked Dawn's eyes were blazing
and Dawn's face was as dark as her
black hair—dark with the same ex
pression which brooded on her broth
er’s brow.
"What is it. dear?" Juanita asked,
and in tense and fiery voice the
younger girl exclaimed:
‘‘I wishes I war a man. I wouldn’t
wait and set still like Job's doin’. By
heaven, I'd git thet murderer. I’d cut
his heart outen his body.”
“I tole ye,” quietly commented
Brother Anse, “thet ther instinct’s in
ther blood. Anse Havey went down
ter Frankfort an’ set in ther legislater
—but he come back ther same man
thet went down. Somethin’ called
him. Somethin' calls ter every moun
tain man thet goes away, an' he hark
ens ter ther call.”
“Anse come back," repeated Dawn
triumphantly. “An' Anse is hyar. Ef
Jeb sets thar an’ don't do nothin’, I
“Who Told You I Hindered Anybody
From Selling You Land?”
reckon Anse Havey won’t hardly let
hit go by without doin' nothin’. Thank
heaven, thar’s some men left in ther
hills like Anse Havey—but ef Jeb don’t
do nothin’ I’ll do hit myself.”
Again Juanita shuddered, but it was
not the time for argument, and so she
went on. bitterly accusing Havey In
her heart for his wizard hold on these
people—a hold which incited them to
bloodshed as the fanatical priests of
the desert urge on their wild tribes
men.
She did not know that Bad Anse Ha
vey went every few days over to the
desolated cabin and often persuaded
the boy to ride home with him and
spend a part of the time in his larger
brick house. She did not know that
Bad Anse was coming nearer to lying
than he had ever before come in with
holding his strong suspicions from the
boy because of his unwillingness to
incite another tragedy.
So when one day a McBriar hench
man by the name of Luke Thixton had
left the mountains and gone west, Anse
hoped that this man would stay away
for a long while, and he refrained from
mentioning to Jeb that now, when
the bird had flown, he knew definitely
of his guilt.
While Dawn, under the guidance of
her preceptress, was making the ac
quaintance of a new and sweeter life,
whose influences fed her imagination
and fired her quick ambition, her
brother was more solemnly being
molded by the Havey chief.
The water-mill of old Bob McGreegor
was the nearest spot to the dwelling of
Bad Ause Havey where grist could be
ground to meal, and sometimes when
Jeb came over to the brick house he
would volunteer to throw upon his
shoulders the sack of corn and plod
with it up across the ridges. He would
sit there in the dusty old mill while
the slow wheel groaned and creaked
and the cumbersome millstones did
their slow stint of work.
So one day, toward the end of Au
gust, Juanita, who had climbed up the
path to the poplar to look over her
battlefield and renew her vows, saw
Jeb sturdily plodding his way in long,
resolute strides through the woods
toward the mill, a heavy sack upon his
shoulders and a rifle swinging at his
side. '
That day chance had it that no one
else had come to mill and Bob Me
Greegor had persuaded the boy to
drink from the “leetle blue kag” until
his mind was ripe for mischief. While
the mill slowly ground out his meal
Jeb McNash sat on a pile of rubbish
in the gloomy shack, nursing his
knees in interlocked fingers. Old Bob
drank and stormed and cursed the in
ertia of the present generation. The
lad’s lean fingers tautened and gripped
themselves more tensely and his eyes
began to smolder and blaze with a
wicked light as he listened.
“Ye looks like a right stand-up sort
of a boy, Jeb,” growled the old fire
eater who had set more than a few
couples at each other’s throats. "An'
I reckon hit's all right, too, fer a fel
ler ter bide his time, but hit 'pears ter
me like ther men of these days don’t
do nothin’ but bide thar time.”
“I won’t bide mine no longer than
what I _ has ter,” snapped the boy.
“Anse 'lows ter tell me when he finds
out who hit war thet got my pap.
Thet’s all I needs ter know.”
Old Bob shook his head knowingly
and laughed in his tangled beard.
“I reckon Anse Havey’ll take his lei
sure. He’s got other fish to fry. He’s
a-thinkin’ ’bout bigger things than yore
grievance, son.”
The boy rose, and his voice came
very quietly and ominously from sud
denly whitened lips. “What does ye
mean by thet. Uncle Bob?”
“Mebby I don’t mean nothin’ much.
Then ergin mebby I could give ye a
pretty good idee who kilt yore pap.
Mebby I could -tell ye ’bout a feller—
a feller thet hain’t fur removed from
Old Milt hisself—thet went snoopin’
crost ther ridge ther same day yore
pap died with a rifle-gun ’crost his
elbow and his pockets strutty with
ca’tridges.”
“Who war he?” came the tense de
mand with the sudden snap of rifle
fire. “Who war thet feller?”
Old Bob filled and lighted his pipe
with fingers that had grown unsteady
from the ministration of the "leetle
blue kag.” He laughed again in a
drunken fashion.
"Ef Bad Anse Havey don’t ’low ter
tell ye, son,” he artfully demurred, “I
reckon hit wouldn’t hardly be becomin’
fer me ter name his name.”
The boy picked up his battered hat.
"Give me my grist,” he said shortly.
He stood by, breathing heavily but
silently while the sack was being tied,
then, putting it down by the door, he
wheeled and faced the older man.
Now ye re a-goin ter tell me what
I needs ter know,” he said quietly, “or
I'm a-goin’ ter kill ye whar ye stands.”
Uncle Bob laughed. He had meant
all the while to impart that succulent
bit of information, which was no infor
mation at all, but mischief-making sus
picion. He had held off only to infu
riate and envenom the boy with the
cumulative force of climax.
“Hit warn’t nobody but—” After a
pause he went on, "but old Milt Mc
Briar’s own son, Young Milt.”
“Thet's all,” said Jeb soberly; "I'm
obleeged ter ye.”
He went out with the sack on his
shoulders and the rifle under his arm.
but when he had reached a place in
the woods where a blind trail struck
back he deposited his sack carefully
under a ledge of overhanging rock, for
the clouds were mounting and banking
now in a threat of rain and it was not
his own meal, so he must be careful
of its safety.
Then he crossed the ridge until he
came to a point where the thicket
grew down close and tangled to the
road. He had seen Young Milt going
west along that road this morning and
by nightfall he would be riding back.
The gods of chance were playing into
his hands.
So he lay down, closely hugging the
earth, and cocked his rifle. For hours
he crouched there with unspeakable
patience, while his muscles cramped
and his feet and hands grew cold un
der the pelting of a rain which was
strangely raw and chilling for the sea
son. The sun sank in an angry bank
of thunder-heads and the west grew
lurid. The drenching downpour blind
ed him and trickled down his spine un
der his clothes, but at last he saw the
figure he awaited riding a horse he
knew. It was the same roan mare that
Bad Anse had restored to Milt Mc
Briar.
when young Milt rode slowly by,
fifty yards away, with his mount at a
walk and his reins hanging, he was
untroubled by any anxiety, because he
was in his own territory and was. at
heart fearless. The older boy from
Tribulation felt his temples throb and
the rifle came slowly up and the one
eye which was not closed looked point
blank across immovable sights and
along a steady barrel into the placid
face of his intended victim.
He could see the white of Milt’s eye
and the ragged lock of hair under the
hat-brim which looked like a smudge
of soot across his brow. Then slowly
Jeb McNash shook his head. A spasm
of battle went through him and shook
him like a convulsion to the soles of
his feet. He had but to crook his fin
ger to appease his blood-lust—and
break his pledge.
“I done give Anse my hand ter bide
my time ’twell I war dead sartain.” he
told himself. “I hain’t quite dead sar
tain,” he told himself. “I hain't quite
dead sartain yit. I reckon I’ve got ter
wait a spell.”
He uncocked the rifle and the other
boy rode on, but young Jeb folded his
arms on the wet earth and buried his
face in them and sobbed, and it was
an hour later that he stumbled to his
feet and went groggily back, drunk
with bitterness and emotion, toward
the house of Anse Havey. Yet when
he arrived after nightfall his tongue
told nothing and his features told less.
*******
Juanita, living in the cabin she had
built with the girl who had become her
companion and satellite, making fre
quent hard journeys to some house
which the shadow of illness had in
vaded, found it hard to believe that
this life had been hers only a few
months. Suspense seemed to stretch
> / in ■! iixJt.l A A
The Rifle Came Slowly Up.
weeks to years, and she awoke each
new day braced to hear the news of
some fresh outbreak, and wondered
why she did not. A few neighborhood
children were already learning their
rudiments, and plans for more build
ings were going forward.
Sometimes Jeb came over from the
brick house to see his sister, and on
the boy’s face was always a dark cloud
of settled resolve. If Juanita never
questioned him on the topic that she
knew was nearest his heart it was be
cause she realized that to do so would
be the surest way to estrange his
friendship and confidence.
In one thing she had gained a point.
She had bought as much property as
she should need. Back somewhere be
hind the veil of mysteries Anse Havey
had pressed a button or spoken a word,
and all the hindrance that had lain
across her path straightway evaporat
ed. Men had come to her, with no
further solicitation on her part, and
now it seemed that many were animat
ed by a desire to turn an honest penny
by the sale of land. In every convey
ance that was drawn—deeds of ninety
nine-year lease instead of sale—she
read a thrifty and careful knowledge
of land laws and reservation of min
eral and timber rights which she
traced to the head of the clan.
As summer spent itself there was
opportunity for felling timber, and the
little sawmill down in the valley sent
up its drone and whine in proclama
tion that her trees were being turned
into squared timbers for her buildings.
Once, when Milt McBriar rode up to
the sawmill, he found the girl sitting
there, her hands clasped on her knees,
gazing dreamily across the sawdust
and confusion of the place.
“Ye’re right smart interested in thet
thar woodpile, hain’t ye, ma’am?” he
inquired with a slow, benevolent smile
His kindliness of guise invited confi
dence, and there was no one else with
in earshot, so the girl looked up, her
eyes a little misty and her voice im
pulsive.
"Mr. McBriar,” she said, “every one
of those timbers means part of a
dream to me, and with every one of
them that is set in place will go a hope
and a prayer.”
He nodded sympathetically. “I reck
on,” he said, “ye kin do right smart
good, too.
“Mr. McBriar,” she flashed at him in
point-blank questioning, "since I came
here I have tried to be of use in a
very simple and ineffective fashion. I
have done what little I could for the
sick and distressed, yet I am constant
ly being warned that I’m not allowed
to carry on my work. Do you know of
any reason why I shouldn’t go ahead?’’
He gazed at her for a moment, quiz
zically, then shook his head.
"Oh, pshaw!” he exclaimed, "I
wouldn’t let no sich talk es thet fret
me none. Folks round hyar hain’t got
much ter do except ter gossip ’round.
Nobody hain’t a-goin’ ter hinder ye.
We hain’t such bad people, after all.”
After that she felt that from the Mc
Briars she had gained official sanction,
and her resentment against Anse Ha
vey grew because of his scornful un
graciousness.
The last weeks of the summer were
weeks of drought and plague. Ordi
narily, in the hills storms brew swiftly
and frequently and spend themselves
in violent outpourings and cannonad
lng of thunder, but that year the
clouds seemed to have dried up, and
down in the tablelands of the Blue
Grass the crops were burned to worth
less stalk and shrunken ear. Even up
here, in the birthplace of waters, the
corn was brown and sapless, so that
when a breeze strayed over the hill
side fields they sent up a thirsty, dying
rasp of rattling whisper.
It was not only in the famished
forests and seared fields that the hot
breath of the plague breathed, carry
ing death in its fetid nostrils. Back in
the cabins of the “branch-water folks,”
where little springs diminished and be
came polluted, all those who were not
strong enough to throw off the touch
of the specter’s finger sickened and
died, and typhoid went in and out of
Havey shack and McBriar cabin whis
pering, "a pest on both your houses.”
The widow McNash had not been
herself since the death of Fletch. She
who had, once been so strong over her
drudgery, sat day long on the doorstep
of her brother’s hovel and, in the lan
guage of her people, “jest sickened an'
pined away.”
So, as Juanita Holland and Good
Anse Talbott rode sweating mules
about the hills, receiving calls for help
faster than they could answer them,
they were not astonished to hear that
the widow was among the stricken.
Though they fought for her life, she
refused to fight herself, and once
again the Eastern girl stood with
Dawn in the brier-choked “buryin’
ground,” and once more across an open
grave she met the eyes of the man
who stood for the old order.
But now she had learned to set a
lock on her lips and hold her counsel.
So, when she met Anse and Jeb after
ward, she asked without rancor: “May
I take little Jesse back with me, too?
He’s too 3-oung,” she added, with just
a heartsick trace of her old defiance,
“to be useful to you, Mr. Havey, and
I’d like to teach him what I can.”
Anse and Jeb conferred, and the
elder man came back and nodded his
head.
“Jesse can go back with ye.” he said.
“I’m still aimin’ to give ye all the rope
ye wants. When ye’ve had enough an’
quits. let me know, an’ I’ll take care of
Fletch’s children.”
And on her farm, as folks called
Juanita's place, that September saw
many changes. Near the original
cabin was springing up a new struc
ture, larger than any other house in
that neighborhood, except, possibly,
the strongholds of the chiefs, and as
it grew and began to take form it im
parted an air of ordered trimness to
the countryside about it. It was fash
ioned in such style as should be in
keeping with its surroundings and not
give too emphatic a note of alien
strangeness.
Juanita wished that her cabin could
house more occupants, for the plague
had left many motherless families,
ail'd many children might have come
into her fold. As it was, she had sev
eral besides the McNashes as her nu
cleus, and while the weather held
good she was rushing her work of
timber-felling and building which the
winter would halt.
CHAPTER XII.
One day in early October young
Milt McBriar happened upon Dawn
and Juanita walking in the woods.
The gallant colors and the smoky
mists of autumn wrapped the forests
and brooded in the sky. An elixir
went into the blood with each deep
drawn breath and set to stirring for
gotten or hitherto unawakened emo
tions. And in this heady atmosphere
of quickened pulses the McBriar boy
halted and gazed at the Havey girl.
Juanita saw Young Milt’s eyes flash
with an awakened spirit. She saw a
look in his face which she was woman
enough to interpret even before he
himself dreamed what its meaning
might be.
Dawn was standing with her head
up and her lids half closed looking
across the valley to the Indian sum
mer haze that slept in smoky purple
on the ridges. She wore a dress of
red calico, and she had thrust in hei
belt a few crimson leaves from a gum
tree and a few yellow ones from a pop
lar.
Juanita Holland did not marvel at
the fascinated, almost rapt look that
came into Young Milt’s eyes, and
Young Milt, too, as he stood there in
the autumn woods, was himself nc
mean figure. His lean body was
quick of movement and strong, and
his bronzed face wore the straight
looking eyes that carried an assurance
of fearless honesty. He had been
away to Lexington to college and was
going back. The keen intelligence of
his face was marred by no note ol
meanness, and now, as he looked at
the girl of the enemy, his shoulders
came unconsciously erect with some
thing of the pride that shows in men
of wild blood when they feel in their
veins the strain of the chieftains.
But Dawn, after her first blush,
dropped her lids a little and tilted hei
chin, and without a word snubbed him
with the air of a Havey looking down
on a McBriar.
Milt met that gaze with a steady
one of his own and banteringly said:
“Dawn, ’pears like ye mought ‘a’ got
tangled up with a rainbow."
Her voice was cool as she retorted:
“I reckon that’s better than gitting
mixed up with some other things.”
“I was Jest a-thinkin’, es I looked at
ye,” went on the boy gravely, “thet
hit’s better then gittin’ mixed up with
anything else.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
A man may deliver a convincing
barroom oration concerning a free i
country, and then be required to put
his money on the counter before being
served?
KNOW WHERE TO FIND THEM
War Authorities Keep Effective Track
of All the Soldiers Under
Their Control.
It Is doubtful whether any foreign
war office follows with an accuracy
greater than that displayed by the
United States war department the
movements of its officers. The follow
ing is an interesting case in point:
A young army officer who bad seen
service in tMs country and in the
East was once with a small scouting
party In Arizona. After two weeks in
the desert his squad came to the rail
way near a small station. Within ten
minutes a telegram from Washington
was brought to him by the station
agent. It asked If the officer wished
to be transferred to one of the new
artillery regiments then forming.
- He answered by telegraph that he
would be glad to enter either of them.
Then with his squad he set off ngotn
across the desert
It was six days later when they
again struck the railway, this time
80 miles from the point at which they
had previously crossed it, but the of
ficer’s reply from the war department
was awaiting him. It had been tele
graphed to every station within two
hundred miles.
A more striking instance of accu
racy occurred after the same officer’s
transfer to the East He was travel
ing home on leave and, as the regula
tions require, had notified the depart
ment of the day, hour and probable
route of his Journey. After he had
been on the train for eight hours at
a small station the conductor entered
with a telegram, asking if anyone of
his name was«on board. On opening
the telegram the officer found that it
ordered him to det&ched duty.
Exactness of detail could not be car
ried much further The war depart
ment knew the whereabouts of a sec
ond lieutenant even when he was trav
eling on leave of absence.
The albatross is the largest of sea
birds.
Unable to Appreciate Silence.
Some people never learn to appreci
ate the beauty of silence. Perhaps it
is an appreciation that cannot be ac
quired. Perhaps it comes by nature.
Such people seem to believe that all
apparently human relations must ex
press themselves in speech. They
keep up an incessant chatter and they
try to make others chatter in return.
They are among the most fatiguing in
fluences in the world. Often they are
tormented with personal curiosity
They ask searching quesUons. and if
they do not receive spontaneous and
full replies they become suspicious or
hurt.
Laugh and Grow Well.
Gloom is not a virtue, any more
than filth. The “odor of sanctity" does
not necessarily involve a long face
and a long black frock coat and infre
quent baths. Laughter is good medi
cine, both for the body and the mind.
The man who laughs is likely to be a
healthy man, and a happy man, and
he is rarely a villain.
YOU MAKE
A MOVE
TOWARD
HEALTH,
STRENGTH
AND
RENEWED VIGOR
when you decide to help
Nature overcome that stom
ach weakness and bowel
irregularity with the aid of
HOSTETTER’S
Stomach Bitters
Scares ’Em.
"How did you get rid of that life
Insurance agent so quickly?”
“Oh, I’m always prepared for those
fellows. I keep a large bottle of cod
liver oil in plain sight on my desk,
and when an agent calls I greet him
with a hollow cough."
Appropriate Gift.
“How could old man Smith afford
to give his daughter so many stocks
for a wedding present?" ^
“I guess they came from his 'war
brides’ speculations."
A boy thinks when he reaches the
age of twenty-one he’ll have his own
way. but he usually gets married.
Stop That Backache!
There’s nothing more discouraging
than a constant backache. You are
lame when you awake. Pains pierce you
when you bend or lift. It’s hard to rest
and next day it’s the same old story.
Pain in the back is nature’s warning of
kidney ills. Neglect may pave the way
to dropsy, gravel, or other serious kid
ney sickness. Don’t delay—begin using
Doan's Kidney Pills—the remedy that
has been curing backache and kidney
trouble for over fifty years.
An Iowa Case
Mrs. A. J. Lam
bert. 811 Cook St.,
Sioux City. Iowa,
says: “My bladder
was badly In
flamed and I was
fee ling miserable
when I began us
ing Doan's Kidney
Pills. They gave
me prompt relief.
Some time later
when I was again
suffering from
weak and disor
dered kidneys.
"Every
Picture j
Tells a C
Story” k
I x~>ua.11 a rviuuey x'liia iucu uir up <111
right. Since then I haven’t suffered.”
Get Doan's at An# Store. 50c a Boz
DOAN’S
FOSTER-MILSURN CO.. BUFFALO. N. Y.
Nebraska Directory
-112,000 SATISFIED SHIPPERS
. i testify to our “square" policy. Premium
rash prices. Write for Fur Price Liat and
Tags. Agent wanted in every town. If you
have hides to eeiL write for Hide Price List.
We Will Tan -
and make your o an h ides
and furs into rohss, coats,
ste., and save you big money. All work is
guaranteed. Write for tanning prioea.
OMAHA HIDE & FUR CO.
907 So. 13th St. Omaha. Neb. _
SPECIAL
30 DAY CASH OITta—No. 5
Oliver $28.75, regular 8IOC mod
. el. Order at once The Oliver
• Agency, 1908 Farnaa St., Omaha
RECORD LIVE STOCK COMMISSION CO.
South Oaths, lsbr. k tow of oar solos for ISIS:
Bros., of Tryon, Nfcbr., heart', y brand
ed, homed, open range steers at KOQ.
k mmrmRKMGKt ary bark.
f Consign Your Live Stock
rjACKSON-SIGNALL CO.
. OMAHA STOCK YARDS
I We guarantee the best of service
and satisfaction. Phone Office,
©oath 82: Cattle Tards, South 86.
THE SANITARY s^D50c
CROWN PIPE or stooups to the
Knox them all —French ' r — pi__ iu. n
Briar, Ainmlnum *,Lrewi *** Bllf. U.
Well —Clean, OOOl, 1012 Parana Omaha
bmoke. Try one. re- tlMk JrL. * „
turn if not satisfied. the *N>tnm mail
WUI paj com. to Apeata. Will brtftg the pipe.
Joseph Bliss ft Son Co.
\ Live Stock Commission
I Satisfactory sales. Prompt
' returns. SOUTH OMAHA.
ESTABLISHED 1894.
DryCleaning,Dyeing
Bend your work by P. P. Wo pay return ebar^T
Write for complete price list. The Pantorlum,
Largest cleaning establishment in the
middle west. 1513 Jones Street, Omaha.
Ryan Jewelry Co.
ESTABLISHED 1884
move to 16th and Farnum Streets January 1st.
Removal Sale New in Prefresa. Writs foe sale
prices. Pressat addreaa, 13th A Douflaa, Omaha
Nebr. Hide & Lealher Go.
NEBR. CITY, HE3R.
Write us for a price list.
HIGHEST PRICES
PAID FOR
Hides and Furs
Joliet Corn Shellers
"Standardof the Oorn Beit"
Full Hne of 2-4-6 hole spring shellers
Including famous Eureka Sieve-less and
Shreffler Shoe shellers. Also 3 sizes
of Joliet Dustless Cylinder shellers.
. wmm row catalog
LIN1NGEK IMPLEMENT CO., OMAHA, NEB.
N E A L
LIQUOR AND URDU CURE
SATISFACTION GUARANTEED
Address 1502 S. 10th St.. Omaha. Neb.
or W. L. Beavers. Mgr.
*u. com(ISMMOCNCC CONnoKHTUU.