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SYNOPSIS.
—6—
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 MeNash’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
Douglas 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 Wyatt’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, but tells Juanita he does
not fight women and will give her land if
necessary. Juanita gets her land and
cabin. Old Bob McGreegor incites Jeb
McNash to murder Young Milt McBriar,
but Jeb refrains as he is not sure Young
Milt is the murderer.
CHAPTER XII—Continued.
Dawn turned away and went stalk
ing along the woodland path without a
backward glance, and Milt followed at
her heels, with Juanita, much amused,
bringing up the rear. The easterner
thought that these two young folks
made a splendid pair, specimens of the
best of the mountains, as yet unbroken
by heavy harness. Then, as the
younger girl passed under a swinging
rope of wild grapevine, stooping low,
a tendril caught in her hair.
Without a word Young Milt bent for
ward and was freeing it, tingling
through his pulses as his fingers
touched the heavy black mass, but as
soon as she was loose the girl sprang
away and wheeled, her eyes blazing.
“How dast ye tech me?” she de
manded, panting with wrath. “How
dast ye?”
The boy laughed easily. "I dast do
anything I wants,” he told her.
For a moment they stood looking at
each other, then the girl dropped her
eyes, but the anger had died out of j
them, and Juanita saw that, despite :
her condescending air, she was not
displeased.
Juanita, of course, knew nothing of 1
Jeb’s suspicions that had led him into '
the laurel, but even without that in
formation, when Y'oung Milt met them i
more often than could be attributed ;
to chance on their walks and fell into
the habit of strolling back with them,
strong forebodings began to trouble
her
And one morning these forebodings
were verified in crisis for, while the
youthful McBriar lounged near the
porch of Juanita’s cabin talking with
Dawn, another shadow fell across the
sunlight: the shadow of Jeb McNash.
He had come silently, and it was only
as Young Milt, whose back had been
turned, shifted his position, that the
two boys recognized each other.
Juanita saw the start with which
Jeb’s figure stiffened and grew taut.
She saw his hands clench themselves
and his face turn white as chalk; saw
his chest rise and fall under heavy
breathing that hissed through clenched
teeth, and her own heart pounded with
wild anxiety.
But Milt McBrlar's face showed
nothing. His father’s masklike calm
ness of feature had come down to him,
and as he read the meaning of the
other boy’s attitude he merely nodded
and said casually: “Howdy, Jeb.”
Jeb did not answer. He could not
answer. He was training and punish
ing every fiber cruelly simply in
standing where he was and keeping
his hands at his sides. For a time
h£ remained stiff and white, breathing
spasmodically; then, without a word,
he turned and stalked away.
That moon a horseman brought a
note across the ridge, and as Juanita
Holland read it she felt that all her
dreams were crumbling—that the soul
of them was paralyzed.
It was a brief note, written in a
copybook hand, and it ran:
I'll have to ask you to send the McNash
children over to my house. Jeb doesn’t
want them to be consorting with the Mc
Briars. and I can’t blame him. He is the
head of his family.
Respectfully,
ANSE HAVEY.
A stronger thing to Juanita Holland
than the personal disappointment
which had driven her to this work was
now her eager, fiery interest in the
undertaking itself. In these months
she had disabused herself of many
prejudices. There remained that lin
gering one against the man with whom
she had not made friends.
The thing she had set out to do was
a hundredfold more vital now than it
had been when it stood for carrying
out a dead grandfather's wish. She
had been with these people in child
birth and death, in sickness and want;
she had seen summer go from its ten
der beginning to a vagabond end with
its tattered banners of ripened corn;
autumn had blazed and flared into
high carnival.
As young Jeb had turned on his heel
and stalked away, even before the com
ing of the note she knew what would
happen, and what would happen not
only in this instance, but in others
like it. This would not be just losing
Dawn, bad as that was. It would be
paralysis and death to the school; it
would mean the leaving of every Ha
vey boy and girl.
So she stood there, and afterward
said quietly: “Milt, I guess you'd bet
ter go,” and Milt had gone gravely and
unquestioningly, but with that in his
eye which did not argue brightly for
restoration of peace between his house
and that of his enemy.
When the two girls had gone to
gether into the cabin Dawn stood with
a face that blanched as she began to
realize what it all meant, then slowly
she stiffened and her hands, too,
clenched and her eyes kindled.
She came across to the chair into
which the older girl had dropped list
lessly and. falling to her knees, seized
both Juanita's hands. She seized them
tightly and fiercely, and her eyes were
blazing and her voice broke from her
lips in turgid vehemence.
“I hain't a-goin' ter leave ye!” cried
Dawn. “I hain’t a-goin’ ter do it.”
No word had been spoken of her
leaving, but in this life they both knew
that certain things bring certain re
sults, and they were expecting a note
from Bad Anse.
"I hope not, dear,” said Juanita, but
without conviction.
Then the mountain girl sprang up
and became transformed. With her
rigid figure and blazing eyes she
seemed a torch burning with all the
pent-up heritage of her past.
“I tells ye 1 ain’t a-goin’ ter leave
ye!” she protested, and her utterance
swelled to fiery determination. “Es
fer Milt McBriar, I wouldn’t spit on
him. I hates him. I hates his mur
derin’ breed. I hates ’em like—” she
paused a moment, then finished tu
multuously “—like all hell. I reckon
I’m es good a Havey as Jeb. I hain't
seen Jeb do nothin’ yit.”
Again she paused, panting with pas
sionate rage, then swept on while Jua
nita looked at her sudden metamor
phosis into a fury and shuddered.
"When I wasn’t nothin’ but a baby I
fotched victuals ter my kinfolks a
hidin’ out from revenuers. I passed
right through men thet war a-trailin’
’em. I’ve done served my kinfolks
afore, an’ I’d do hit ergin, but I reckon
1 hain’t a-goin’ ter let ’em take me I
away from ye.”
Juanita could think of only one step
to take, so she sent Jerry Everson for
Brother Talbott, whom she had seen
riding toward the shack hamlet in the
valley.
“Thar hain’t but one thing thet ye
kin do,” said Good Anse slowly when
he and Juanita sat alone over the prob
lem with the note of Havey command
lying between them. “An’ I hain't no
ways sartain thet hit’ll come ter
"Will You Go With Me?" She Asked
a Little Weakly.
nothin’. Ye’ve got ter go over thar
an’ have speech with Anse.”
Juanita drew back with a start of
distaste and repulsion. Yet she had
known this all along.
“Ye see,” she heard the missionary
saying, “thar’s jest one way Anse kin
handle Jeb, an’ nobody else kain’t
handle him at all. He thinks he’s
right. I reckon ef ye kin persuade
Anse ter reason with him ye'll hev ter
promise that Young Milt hain't a-goin'
ter hang round hyar.”
"I’d promise almost anything. I can’t
give them up—1 can’t—I can’t!”
“Ef Anse didn’t pertect little Dawn
from the McBriars, Jeb would, ter a
God’s certainty, kill Young Milt,” went
on the preacher, and the girl nodded
miserably.
"I don’t ’low ter blame ye none,” he
said slowly, almost apologetically, “but
I’ve got ter say hit. Hit s a pity ye've
seen lit ter say so many bitter things
ter Anse. Mountain folks air mighty
easy hurt in their pride, an’ no one
bain’t nqver dared ter cross him
afore.”
“No,” she cried bitterly, “he will wel
come the chance to humiliate and to
refuse my plea. He has been waiting
for this; to see me come to him a sup
pliant on bended knee, and then to
laugh at me and turn me away.” She
paused and added brokenly: “And yet
I’ve got to go to him in surrender—to
be refused—but I’ll go.”
“Listen,” said the preacher, and his
words carried that soft quality of paci
fication which she had once or twice
heard before. “Thar’s a heap worse
fellers than Bad Anse Havey. Ef ye
could jest hev'seed yore way ter treat
him a leetle diff’rent—”
“How could I?” demanded Juanita
hotly. “How could I be friends with a
murderer and keep my self-respect?”
The brown-faced man looked up at
her and spoke simply.
“I’ve done kept mine,” he said.
The girl rose.
“Will you go with me?” she asked a
little weakly. "I don’t feel quite
strong enough to go over there alone.
While they are humbling me I would
like to have a friend at hand. I think
it would help a little.”
“I’m ready now,” and so, with the
man who had guided her on other mis
sions, she set out to make what terms
she could with the enemy she had so
stubbornly defied.
It seemed an interminable journey,
though they took the short cut of the
foot-trail over the hills.
The house that had come down to
Anse Havey had been built almost a
century before. It was originally
placed in a section so large that else
where it would have been a domain—a
tract held under the original Virginia
grant. Since those days much of it
had been parceled out ds marriage por
tions to younger generations.
Cabins that had once housed slaves,
barns, a smoke-house, an icehouse, and
a small hamlet of dependent shacks
clustered about a clearing which had
been put there rather to avoid surprise
than to give space for gardening. The
Havey of two generations ago had
been something of a hermit scholar,
and in his son had lurked a diminish
ing craze for books and an increasing
passion for leadership.
The feud had blazed to its fiercest
heat in his day. and the father of Bad
Anse Havey had been the first Bad
Anse. His son had succeeded to the
title as a right of heritage, and had
been trained to wear it like a fighting
man. Though he might be a whelp of
the wolf breed, the boy was a strong
whelp and one in whom slept latent
possibilities and anomalous qualities,
for in him broke out afresh the love of
books.
It might have surprised his newspa
per biographers to know how deeply
he had conned the few volumes on the
rotting shelves of the brick house, or
how deeply he had thought along some
lines. It might have amazed them had
they heard the fire and romance with
which he quoted the wise counsel of
the foolish Polonius. "Beware of en
tering a quarrel, but being in, so bear
thee that the opposer may beware
of thee.”
As to entering a quarrel, it sufficed
his logic that he had been born into it>
that he had “heired” his hatreds.
Aiid because in these parts his fa
ther had held almost dictatorial pow
ers, it had pleased him to send his son.
Just come to his majority, down to the
state capital as a member of the legis
lature, and the son had gone to sit for
a while among lawmakers.
CHAPTER XIII.
In other years Bad Anse Havey re
membered the days in that house when
the voices of women and children had
been raised in song and laughter. Then
the family had gathered in the long
winter evenings before the roaring
backlogs, and spinning wheel and quilt
ing frame had not yet gone to the cob
webs of the cockloft. But that was
long ago.
The quarter-century over which his
memory traveled had brought changes
even to the hills. The impalpable
ghost of decay moves slowly, with no
sound save the occasional click of a
sagging door here and the snap of a
cord there, but in twenty-five years it
moves—and an inbred generation
comes to impaired manhood. Since
Bad Anse himself had returned from
Frankfort his house had been tenanted
only by men, and an atmosphere of
grimness hung in its shadows. A half
dozen unkempt and loutish kinsmen
dwelt there with him, tilling the ground
and ready to bear arms. More than
once they had been needed.
It was to this place that Juanita Hol
land and the preacher were making
their way on that October afternoon.
At the gate they encountered a soli
tary figure gazing stolidly out to the
front, and when their coming roused
it out of its gloomy reverie it turned
and presented the scowling face of
Jeb McNash.
"Where air they?” he demanded
wrathfully, wheeling upon the two ar
rivals, and then he repeated violently:
"By heaven, where air they? Why
hain’t ye done fotched Dawn and
Jesse?”
“Jeb,” said the missionary quietly,
"we done come over hyar fust ter hev
speech with Anse Havey. Whar’s he
at?”
“I reckon he’s in his house, but ye
hain't answered my question. I’m ther
one for ye ter talk ter fust. Hit's my
sister ye’ve done been sufferin’ ter
consort with murderers, an’ hit’s me
ye’ve got ter reckon with.”
Brother Talbott only nodded. "Son,”
he gently assured him, “we aims tet
talk with you, too, but X reckon ye
hain’t got no call ter hinder us from
havin' speech with Anse first.”
For a moment Jeb stood dubious,
then he jerked his head toward the
house.
"Go on in thar, ef ye sees fit. I
hain't got no license ter stop ye,” he
said curtly; “but don’t aim ter leave
’thout seein’ me, too.”
Several shaggy retainers were loung
ing on the front porc%, but as Good
Anse Talbott and Juanita turned in at
the gate these henchmen disappeared
inside. They would all be there to wit
ness her humbling, thought the girl.
It would please him to receive her
with his jackal pack yelping derisively
about him.
Then she saw another figure emerge
from the dark door to stand at the
threshold, and the flush in her cheeks
grew deeper. Bad Anse Havey stood
and waited, and when they reached the
steps of the porch he came slowly for
ward and said gravely, “Come inside.”
He led the way, and they followed in
silence.
Juanita found herself in the largest
room she had yet seen in the moun
tains—a room dark at its corners de
spite a shaft of sun that slanted
through a window and fell on a heavy
table in a single band of light. On the
table lay a litter of pipes, loose to
bacco. cartridges and several books.
Down the stripe of sunlight the dust
motes floated in pulverized gold, and
the radiance fell upon a book which
lay open, throwing it into relief, so
that as the girl stood uncertainly near
the table she read at the top of a page
the caption, “Plutarch’s Lives.”
But she caught her breath in relief,
for the retainers had disappeared.
Bad Anse stood just at the edge of
the sun-shaft, with one side of his
face lighted and the other dark.
But if to the girl the whole picture
was one of somber composition and
color, it presented a different aspect
to Bad Anse himself as the young
mountaineer stood facing the door.
"We’ve done come ter hev speech
with ye, Anse,” Talbott began. "I
reckon ye know what hit’s erbout.”
The Havey leader only nodded, and
his steady eyes and straight mouth
line did not alter their sternness of ex
pression.
He saw the stifled little gasp with
which the girl read the ultimatum of
his set face and the sudden mist of
tears which, in spite of herself,
blurred her eyes. He pushed forward
a chair and gravely inquired: “Hadn’t
ye better set down, ma’am?”
She shook her head and raised one
hand, which trembled a little, to brush
the hair out of her eyes.
Pdlpably she was trying to speak,
and could not for the moment com
mand her voice. But at last she got
herself under control, and her words
came slowly and carefully.
Mr. Havey, 1 have very little reason
to expect consideration from you.
Even now, if it were a question of
pleading for myself, 1 would die first,
but it isn’t that.” She paused and
shook her head. "¥ou told me that I
must fail unless I came to you. Well.
I've come—I’ve come to humiliate my
self. 1 guess I’ve come to surrender.”
His face did not change and he did
not answer. Evidently, thought the
girl bitterly, she had not sufficiently
abased herself. After a moment she
went on in a very tired, yet a very
eager voice.
’’You are a man of action, Mr. Ha
vey. I make my appeal to your man
hood. I suppose you’ve never had a
dream that has come to mean every
thing to you—but that's the sort of
dream I’ve had. That little girl. Dawn,
wants a chance. Her little brother
wants a chance. I've humbled myself
to come and plead for them. If you
take them away from me you will
smash my school. I don’t underesti
mate your power now. Children are
just beginning to come to me, and if
you order these to leave, the others
will leave, too, and they won’t come
back. It will kill my school. If that’s
your purpose, I guess it's no use even
to plead. I know you can do it—and
yet you told me you weren’t making
war on me.”
“I reckon,” interrupted Brother Tal
bott slowly, “ye needn’t have no fear
of thet, ma'am. Anse wouldn't do
thet.”
"But if you aren’t doing that,” went
on Juanita. “I want to make my plea
just for the sake of these children of
your own people. I'm ready to accept
your terms. I'm ready to abase and
humble my own pride, only, for God’s
sake, give them a chance to grow clean
and straight and break the shackles
of illiteracy.”
She waited for the man to reply, but
he neither spoke nor changed expres
sion, so with an effort she went on,
unconsciously bending a little forward
in her eagerness:
“If you could see the way Dawn has
unfolded like a flower, the thirsty in
telligence with which she has drunk
up what I have taught her; the way
it has opened new worlds to her; I
don’t think you could be willing to
plunge her back into drudgery and ig
norance. She is a woman, or soon
will be, Mr. Havey. You don’t need
women in your feuds.”
Again came the cautioning voice of
the preacher in his effort to keep her
away from antagonizing lines.
“They hain’t been called away fer no
reason like thet, ma’am.” But Juanita
continued, ignoring the warning:
"The other boy is too young for you
to use yet. Let him at least choose
for himself. Let him reach the age
when he shall have enough knowledge
of both sides to make his own choice
fairly. I’m not asking odds. You
have Jeb, and he wears your trade
mark in his face. The bitterness that
lurks there shows that he is wholly
your vassal; yours and the feud’s.
Doesn’t that satisfy you? Won’t you
let the others stay with me?”
She broke off with a gasp. Anse
Havey’s face stiffened.
Even now1 he did not speak to her,
but turned toward the missionary.
“Brother Talbott,” he said slowly,
"would ye mind waitin’ out there on
the porch a little spell? I’d like to
talk with this lady by herself."
When he had gone there was a short
silence, which Havey finally broke
with a question:
“Why didn’t ye say all these things
to Jeb? I sent the letter on his say
so."
“But you sent it—and all the Havey
power is in your hands. Jeb wouldn’t
understand such a plea. I come to the
fountainhead. My school is not a Ha
vey school nor a McBriar school. It is
meant to open its doors to both sides
of the ridge, regardless of factions.”
“Did young Milt come there ter git
eddicatlon? I thought he went to col
lege down below.” The question car
ried an undernote of irony.
Juanita shook her head.
“No,” she answered. ‘‘He came there
as any other passer-by might have
come, and he hasn’t come often. Let
me keep the children and he shan’t
come again."
For a time Bad Anse stood there re
garding her with a steady and pierc
For a Time Bad Anse Stood There
Regarding Her With a Steady and
Piercing Gaze.
ing gaze, while his brows drew to
gether in a frown rather of deep
thoughtfulness than of displeasure
“I asked Brother Talbott to go out,”
he finally said, “because I didn’t hardly
want to hurt your feelin's by telling
you before him that your school can't
last. You’re goin’ about it all the
wrong way, an' it’s worse to go about
a good thing the wrong way than to
go about a bad thing the right way. I
told ye once that ye couldn’t change
the hills, an’ that ye’d change first
yourself. 1 say that again. Ye can’t
take fire out of blood with books. But
if ye’ve done persuaded Brother Anse
that you're doin’ good. I didn’t want
him to hear me belittle ye.”
Anse Havey went to the window,
where he drank deeply of the spiced
air. Then he began to speak again,
and this time it v. as in a voice the girl
had never heard—a vt>ice that held tho
fire of the natural orator and that was
colorful with emotion.
“The first time ye saw me ye made
up your mind what character of man I
was. Ye made it up from hearsay evi
dence, and ye ain’t never give me a
chance to show ye whether ye was
right or wrong. Ye say I've never
dreamed a dream. Good God! ma'am.
I’ve never had no true companionship
except my dreams. When I was a
little barefoot shaver 1 used ter sit
there by that chimley an’ dream
dreams, an’ one of 'em's the biggest
thing in my life today. There were
men around Frankfort, when I was in
the legislature, that ’lowed I might go
to congress If I wanted to. I didn’t
try. My dream was more to me than
congress—an’ my dream was my own
people: to stay here and help ’em.”
He stepped over to the table and,
with a swift a.nd passionate gesture,
caught up two books.
“These are ray best friends,” he said,
and she read on the covers. “Plu
tarch’s Lives” and "Tragedies of Wil
liam Shakespeare.”
The girl looked up in amazement,
and she IT,ft In his gaze a fire and ea
gerness which silenced her.
She felt a wild thrill of admiration,
not such as any other man had ever
caused, Cut such as she had felt when
she watched the elemental play of
lightning and thunder and wind along
the mountain tops.
CHAPTER XIV.
■'It's only lonesoxae people,” Anse
Havey went on, “that knows how to
Jove an’ dream. I’ve stood up there on
the ridge with Julius Caesar and Al
exander the Great, an’ it seemed to
tne that 1 could set ’em as plain as I
see you now. I ifiuld see the sun
shinTn’ on the eagle! of the legion an’
the shields of the .ihalanx. I’m rich
enough. I reckon, to live amongst other
men that read bo^ks. but a dream
keeps me here. Th9 dream is that
some day these hefc mountains shall
coma into their o-'-n. These people
have got it in ’em ter be a great
people, an’ I’ve staved here because I
aimed to try an’ help ’em.”
“But,” she faintly expostulated, ‘‘you
seem to stand for the very things that
hold them back. You speak almost
reverently of their killing instinct and
you oppose schools ”
The man shook his head gravely and
continued:
“I’m a feudist because my people are
feudists an’ because I can lead ’em
only so long as I'm a fightin’ Havey.
God knows, if I could wipe out this
blood-spillln’ I’d gladly go out an’ offer
myself as a sacrifice to bring it about
You call me an outlaw—well, I’ve done
made laws an’ I've done broke them,
an’ I’ve seen just about as much
crookedness an’ lawlessness at one
end of the game as at the other.”
“But schools?” demanded Juanita.
“Why wouldn’t they help your dream
toward fulfillment?”
“I ain’t against no school that can
begin at the right end. I'm against
every school that can only onsettle
an’ teach dissatisfar tion with humble
livin’ where folks has got to live
humble.”
He paused and paced the room. He
was no longer the man who had
seemed the immovable stoic. His eyes
were far away, looking beyond the
horizon into the future.
“It’s took your people two centuries
to get where they're standin’ today,’
he broke out abruptly, "an’ fer them
two hundred years we've been stand
in’ still or goin' back. Now ye come
down here an’ seeks to jerk my people
up to where ye stands in the blinkin
of an eye. Ye comes lookin’ down on
’em an’ pityin’ ’em because they won’t
eat outen your hand. They’d rather be
eagles than song-birds in a cage, even
if eagles are wild an’ lawless. Ye
comes here an’ straightway tells ’em
that their leaders are infamous. Do
ye offer ’em better leaders? Ye
refuses the aid of men that know ’em—
men of their blood—an' go your own
ignorant way. Do ye sse any reason
why I should countenance ye? Don’t
ye see ye’re just a-scatter’n’ my sheep
before they knows how V7 herd them
selves?”
“I’m afraid,” said the gr*l very slow
ly and humbly, “that I’ve been a fool."
“Ye says the boy Jeb wears my
trademark in the hate thst's on his
face,” continued Anse Havey passion
ately. “He's been here w”li me con
sortin’ with them fellers Is Plutarch
and Shakespeare. If I car curb him
an’ keep him out of mischief he’s goin’
down to Frankfort some day an' learn
his lessons in the legislature. He ain't
goin’ to no college, because 1 aims to
fit him for his work right here. 1
seek to have fellers like him guide
these folks forward. I doi’t aim to
have them civilized by bein’ wiped out
an’ trod to death.”
He paused, and Juanita Holland re
peated helplessly, “I’ve been a fool!”
“I redkon ye don’t know that young
Jeb McNash thinks little Milt kilt
Fletch, an’ that one day he laid out in
the la’rel to kill little Milt,” Bad Anse
pursued. “Ye don’t know that the only
reason he stayed his hand was that
I'd got his promise ter bide Sis time.
But I reckon ye do know that if Milt
was killed by a Havey all that's tran
spired in ten years wouldn't make a
patch on the hell-raisin’ that’d go on
hereabouts in a week. Do ye think it's
strange thet Jeb don’t want his sister
consortin’ with the boy that he thinks
murdered his father?”
Juanita rose from her chair, feeling
like a pert and cocksure interloper
who had been disdainfully looking
down on one with a vision immeasur
ably wider and surer than her own.
At last she found herself asking: "Bit
surely Young Milt didn't kill Fletcn.
Surely you don’t believe that?”
“No, I know he didn't; but there's j
just one way I can persuade young j
Jeb to believe it—an’ that’s to tell j
him who did.’’
His eyes met hers and for a moment j
lighted with irony. “If I did that. 1
reckon Jeb would be willin’ to let ye
keep Dawn an’ Jesse—an’, of course,
he’d kill the other man. Do ye want j
me to do it?”
He moved to the closed door and I
paused with his hand on the knob.
“No, stop!” she almost screamed, i
“It would mean murder. Merciful
God, it’s so hard to decide some
things!”
Anse Havey turned back to the
room.
“I just thought I’d let ye see that
for yourself,” he said quietly. “Ye
ain’t hardly been able ter see why it’s
hard for us people to decide ’em.”
Suddenly a new thought struck her,
and it brought from her a sudden
question. “But you know who the
murderer is. and you have spared
him?”
The man laughed.
“Don’t fret yourself, ma’am. The
man that killed Fletch has left the
mountains, an’ right now he’s out of
reach. But he’ll be back some day,
an’ when he comes I reckon the first
news ye’ll hear of him will be that
he’s dead.” Once more it^was the im
placable avenger that spoke.
The girl could only murmur in per
plexity: “Yet you have kept Jeb in
ignorance. I don’t understand.”
“I’ve gpt other plans fer Jeb," said
Bad Anse Havey. “I dont ’low to let
him be a feud killer. There’s others
that can attend to that."
He flung the door open and called
Jeb, and a moment later the boy, black
of countenance, came in and stood
glaring about with the sullen defiance
of a young bull just turned into the
.ring to face the matador.
“Jeb,” suggested the chief gravely,
“I reckon if Dawn don’t see Young
Milt again ye ain’t goin’ to object to
her havin' an education, are ye?”
The boy stiffened, and his reply was
surly.
“I don’t ’low ter hev my folks a con
sortin’ with no McBriars.”
Anse Havey spoke again, very qui
etly: "Milt didn't know no more about
that killin’ than I did, Jeb.”
"How does ye know thet?” The
question burst out fiercely and swiftly.
The boy bent forward, his eyes eagerly
burning above his high cheek-bone*
and his mouth stiff in a snarl of sus
pense. “How does ye know?”
"Because I know who did.”
"Tell me his name!” The shrill de
mand was almost a shriek.
<TO BE CONTINUED.)
TAKES SHOT AT EARLY RISERS
New York Newspaper Refuses to See
Any Virtue in Leaving Comfort
able Bed, Say at Daylight.
In the whoR string of the virtues,
major or minor, cardinal or otherwise,
there is not one about which the pos
sessors are so conceited as the early
rising habit Persons who have this
habit are. no doubt, entitled to some
little credit; but no degree of self-mor
tifi.-a-''' >i iustify the airs of vir
tue which people who turn out of bed
earlier than their fellows give them
selves.
Nobody was ever ten minutes In the
society of a confirmed early riser with
out being made aware of the fact and,
directly or indirectly, snubbed for not
being one himself.
Now, is early rising such a virtue?
Certainly early risers get the worm.
They are welcome to it; who wants
worms?
Then they gain bo many hours over
us who stay in bed; in proof of which
they perhaps point out that Scott's
novels were written before breakfast
Very good; let them produce their
Waverly novels; meanwhile we re
main skeptical as to the reality of this,
gain of time.—New York Telegram.
Dust These Off, Statesmen.
T refer to our peerless leader, that
magnificent statesman and diplomat
ist—"
,rWe, the residents of the brightest
star in the firmament of nations, are
proud to honor—"
"There is not a man in this room or
within the reach of my voice tonight
who will not realize the responsibility
which rests upon him as a patriot, a
gentleman, a scholar and a philan
thropist and go to the polls on election
morning with courage in his heart and
cast his free and untrammeled ballot
for our magnificent citizen—”
“There are some here who remem
ber the history-making days of the
battle of Bunker Hill—I mean Gettys
burg—when this nation's life was in
the balance, and, with this In mind, 1
(
say to you, can you satisfy your con
science if you vote for any one but our
eminent, forceful, talented, versatile,
diplomatic, philosophical, courageous
candidate—”
Maine Woman in a Snake Nest.
Mrs. Jane Poore of Buxton tells a
snake story which is some yarn. She
says that while piling over some
boards back of her house she discov
ered a bunch of 38 white eggs, about
as large as pigeons' eggs. On break
ing one she found that-it contained a
small snake. She dispatched all the
small snakes Immediately, but soon
found an adder five feet long, which
she also killed. On beginning anew
her piling she came to another bunch
of eggs, eight in number. As she was
finishing them off she heard a hissing
noise and on looking around saw aiT
other adder with its mouth open com
ing at her It took her a long time to
kill this one, as she was in fear of it,
but she finally succeeded. The last
snake proved to be eight feet long 1
Lewiston Journal
Achy Joints Give Warning |
A creaky joint
often predicts rain.
It also foretells in
ward trouble. It
may mean that the
kidneys are not fil
tering the blood ;
and arc allowing
poisonousuricacid
to clog the blood
and cause trouble.
Bad backs, rheu- r
matic pains, sore, f
achingjoints.head- jj
aches, dizziness, !
nervous troubles, I
heart fiutterings, 3
and urinary dis- \
orders are some of
the effects of weak
1_: J_ 1 -t i
TwryPIc/urr I
JHU a Story' I
“ Hunting is aone mere 9
danger of dropsy, gravel or Bright’s
disease. Use Doan’s Kidney Pills, the
most widely used, the best recommended
kidney remedy in the world.
IDOAN’S^mf
I 50^ at all Stores
I Foster-Milbum Co. Propt. Buffalo^N.Y.
Make the Liver
Do its Duty
Nine times in ten when the liver is
right the stomach and boweis are right
carter's little
■ nrrn nn 1 a
LI V Ll\ 1 1LLJ
gently butfirmly com
pel a lazy liver to^|
do its duty.
stipation,
digestion, jfiV
Sick or
Headache.
and Distress After Eating.
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICE.
Genuine must bear Signature
DT kTU losses surely prevented
lllb/ILH to Cutter's Blackleg Pills. Low
priced, fresh, reliable; preferred by
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Write for booklet and testimonials.
fO-Seee pkge. 8l«kleg Rllh $1.00
90-dose pkge. Blackleg Pills 4.00
Use any injector, but Cutter's best.
The superiority of Cutter products is due to over 15
rears of specializing In vaeeines and serums only.
Insist on Cutter's. If unobtainable, order direct.
Th, C«tt« Laboratory, Berkeley, C«J.. or Chicago, III.
W AN TED
By large corporation a man of sales ability to have
exclusive contract in this territory to liandle our
fully tried and proven business building p'an for
retail merchants. The greatest trade getter ever de
vised. Over two thousand five hundred merchants
in Illinois alone have subscribed. Sells to all classes
of retailers. Must be able to give unquestionable
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MILEAGE COMPANY. 29 S. LaSalle Street. CHICAGO. ILL.
W. N. U., OMAHA, NO. 47-1915.
TIRED OF WINDOW ENTRANCE
Jeweler Finally Forced to Post a No
tice to His "Customers” Travel
ing on Bicycles.
Jim Simpkins was fond of cycling,
and was more or less of a scorcher.
He reveled in pace-making and he
boasted that no hill was too steep for
him to take full tilt.
One day, however, he altered his
opinion about rushing down hills, for
instead of going around the corner at
the bottom of a very steep decent, he
went straight on and smashed through
the window of a jeweler's shop. In
due course, he crawled out of the hos
pital and paid the jeweler a good
round sum for damages.
But history has a way of Repeating
Itself. It did in this case, anyway, and
another cyclist entered the jeweler’s
shop by the window. Then it became
apparent to the shopkeeper that it
was time to take action. When a
third window had been put in, an
amused crowd stood outside and read
this notice:
"Cyclists are particularly requested
to enter this establishment by the
door."
The Limit.
"For a camel to go through the eye
of a needle is considered about the
limit of impossibility, isn’t it?”
"Oh, I don’t know. It's no more im
possible than for a collar button to
Blip out of one’s fingers and roll to
ward the middle of the floor.”
It may be a small matter even if a
woman doesn't know her own mind.
CHANGE
Quit Coffee and Got Well.
( _
A woman’s coffee experience is in
teresting. “For two weeks at a timo
I have taken no food but skim milk,
tor solid food would ferment and cause
such distress that I could hardly
breathe at times, also excruciating
pain and heart palpitation and all the
time I was so nervous and restless.
From childhood up I had been a
coffee and tea drinker and for the past
20 years I had been trying different
physicians but could get only tem
porary relief. Then I read an article
telling how some one had been helped
by leaving off coffee and drinking
Postum and it seemed so pleasant just
to read about good health I decided to
try Postum.
“I made the change from coffee to
Postum and there is such a difference
in me that I don’t feel like the same
person. We all found Postum deli
cious and like it better than coffee. My
health now is wonderfully good.
“As soon as I made, the shift to
Postum I got better and now my trou
bles are gone. I am fleshy, my food as
similates, the pressure in the chest and
palpitation are all gone, my bowels are
regular, have no more stomach trouble
and my headaches are gone. Remem
ber I did not use medicines at all
just left off coffee and used Postum
steadily.” Name given by Postum Co.,
Battle Creek, Mich.
Postum comes in two forms:
Postum Cereal—the original form—
must be well boiled. 15c and 25c pack
ages
Instant Pdstum—a soluble powder
dissolves quickly in a cup of hot water
and, with cream and sugar, makes a
50c Hns8 Crage instant|y- 30c and
rZ0tl are e<3ually delicious and '
cost about the same per cup i
‘There’s a Reason” for Postum.
•“Sold by Grocera,