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CHAPTER XXII—Continued.
—11—
Jim Fletcher, a mountain man who
had for years drifted between Tribula
tion and Winchester trading in cattle
and timber, made a Journey through
the hills that spring, and was every
where received as “home folks.” For
him there were no bars of distrust,
and he was able for that reason to buy
land right and left. Though he had
paid for it a price above the average,
it v.as a price far below the value of
the coal and timber it contained—
and Jim had picked his land.
Anse Havey and his associates knew
that Jim Fletcher had been subsidized;
that the money he spent so lavishly
was not his own money; and that he
came as a stalking-horse, but they did
not know that he had been to Louis
ville and had conferred there with Mr.
Trevor. Neither did they know at
once that he had visited the cabins of
every malcontent among both the for
mer tactions, and that he was a mis
chiefmaker adroitly laying here in the
hills the foundations for a new feud.
Jim had a bland tongue and a per
suasive manner, and he talked to the
mountain men in their own speech,
but he was none the less the advance
agent of the new enemy from down
below: the personal fulfillment of
Juanita’s prophecy to Roger Malcolm.
Juanita did not realize how much
she was leaning on the strength of
Anse Havey, how she depended on
him for counsel and encouragement,
which he gave not in behalf of the
school, but because he was the school
teacher's slave. She saw the little
hospital rise on the hill and thought
of what it would do, and she believed
that Anse Havey must be, in his heart,
converted, even though his mountain
obstinacy would not let him say so.
Then, while the hillsides were joy
ous with spring, came a squad of lads
with transit and chain, who began
running a tentative line through the
land that Jim Fletcher had bought.
Anse Havey watched them grimly
with folded arms, but said no word
until they reached the boundary of his
own place.
There he met them at the border.
“Boys,” he said, "ye musn't cross
that fence. This is my land, an’ I for
bids ye.”
Their foreman argued.
“We only want to take the measure
ments necessary to complete our line,
Mr. Havey. We won’t work anv in
jury.”
Anse shook his head.
“Come in, boys, an’ eat with me an’
make yourselves at home,” he told
them, “but leave your tools outside.”
Men from the house patrolled the
boundary with rifles and the young
men were forced to turn back.
I But later they drew near the house
of old Bob McGreegor, and he, steal
ing down to the place in the thicket of
rhododendron, saw them perilously
near the trickling stream which even
Ihen bore on its surface little kernels
of yellow corn. Deeply and violently
old Bob swore as he drank from bis
little blue keg, and when one day he
saw them again he asked counsel of
no man. He went down and crept
close through the laurel, and when his
old rifle spoke a schoolboy from the
Blue Grass fell dead among the rocks
of the water course.
After that death, the first murder of
an innocent outsider, the war which
Anse Havey had so long foreseen
broke furiously and brought the or
ders of upland and lowland to the
grip of bitter animosity.
Old McGreegor’s victim had been
young Roy Calvin, the son of Judge
Calvin of Lexington, and the name of
Calvin in central Kentucky was one
associated with the state’s best tra
ditions.
It had run in a strong, bright thread
through the pattern of Kentucky’s
achievements, and when news of the
wanton assassination came home, the
Btate awoke to a shock of horror. The
infamy of the hills was screamed in
echo to the mourning, and the name
of Bad Anse Havey was once more
printed in large type.
The men whose capital sought to
wrest profit from the hills, and whose
employee had been slain, were quick
to take advantage of this hue and cry
of calumny.
They hurled themselves into the
fight for gaining possession of coveted
land and were not particular as to
methods.
Jim Fletcher came and went con
stantly between the lowlands and
highlands. He was all things to all
men, and in the hills he cursed the
lowlander, but in the lowland he
cursed the hills. Milt and Jeb and
Anse rode constantly from cabin to
cabin in their efforts to circumvent
the adroit schemes of the mountain
Judas who had sold his soul to the
lowland syndicate.
Fletcher sought a foothold for capi
tal to pierce fields acquired at the
price of undeveloped land and then
to take the profit of development.
Anse sought to hold title until the
sales could be on a fairer basis, and
so the issue was made up.
Capitalists, like Malcolm, who sat in
directors’ rooms launching a legiti
mate enterprise, had no actual knowl
edge of the Instrumentalities being
employed on the real battlefield. Law
yers tried condemnation suits with in
different success, and then reached
out their hands for a new weapon.
Back in the old days, when Ken
tucky was not a state but a county,
land patents had been granted by
Virginia to men who had never
claimed their property. For two hun
dred years other men who settled as
pioneers had held undisturbed posses
sion, they and their children’s chil
dren. Now into the courts piled multi
tudinous suits of eviction in the names
of plaintiffs whose eyes had never
seen the broken skyline of the Cum
berlands. Their purpose was deceit,
since it sought to drag through long
and costly litigation pauper landhold
ers and to impose such a galling bur
den upon their property as should
drive them to terms of surrender.
Men and women who owned, or
thought they owned, a log shack and a
tilting cornfield found themselves fac
ing a new and bewildering crisis.
Their untaught minds brooded and
they talked violently of holding by
title of rifle what their fathers had
wrested from nature, what they had
tended with 3weat and endless toil.
But Anse Havey and Milt McBriar
knew that the day was at hand when
the rifle would no longer serve. They
employed lawyers fitted to meet those
other lawyers and give them battle in
the courts, and these lawyers were
paid by Anse Havey and Milt Mc
Briar.
The two stood stanchly together as
a buffer between their almost help
less people and the encroaching ten
tacles of the new octopus, while Juan
ita, looking on at the forming of the
battlelines, was tom with anxiety.
In Bad Anse Havey the combination
of interests recognized its really most
formidable foe. In the mountain
phrase, he must be “man-powered out
en ther way.” And there were still
men in the hills who, if other means
failed, would sell the service of their
"rifle-guns” for money.
With such as these it became the
care of certain supernumeraries to es
tablish an understanding. In the last
election a thing had happened which
had not for many years before hap
pened in Kentucky—a change of par
ties had swept from power in Frank
fort the administration which owed
loyalty to Havey influences.
Bad Anse Havey was indicted as an
accessory to the murder of young Cal
vin and he would be tried, not in Peril,
but in the Blue Grass. The prosecu
tion would be able to show that he
had warned the surveyors off his own
place and had picketed his fence line
with riflemen. They would be able to
show that he was the forefront of the
fight against innovation and that
lesser mountain men followed his
counsel blindly and regarded his word
as law. But, more than that, the jurors
who passed on his question of life
and death would be drawn from a com
munity which knew him only by his
newspaper-made reputation.
So it was not long before Anse
Havey lay in a cell in the Winchester
jail. He had been denied bond and
fronted a dreary prespect.
When the trial of Anse Havey be
gan there was one spirit in the land.
Here was an exponent of the unjusti
fiable system of murder from ambush.
In the cemetery at Lexington, where
sleep the founders of the western em
pire, lay a boy whose life had just be
gun in all the blossom and sunshine
of promise—and who had done no
wrong.
The special term of the court had
brought to Winchester a throng of
farmer folk and onlookers. Their
horses stood hitched at the racks
about the square when the sherifT led
Anse Havey from the jail to the old
building where he was to face his ac
cusers and the judges who sat on the
bench and in the jury box.
He took his seat with his counsel at
his elbow and listened to the pre
liminary formalities of impaneling a
jury. His face told nothing, but as
man after man was excused because
he had formed an opinion, he read lit
tle that was hopeful in the outlook.
He calmly beard perjured witnesses
from his own country testify that he
had approached them, offering bribes
for the killing of young Calvin which
they had righteously refused. He knew
that these men had been bought by
Jim Fletcher and that they swore for
the hire of syndicate money, but he
only waited patiently for the defense
to open. He saw the scowl on the
faces in the Jury box deepen into con
viction as witness after witness took
the stand against him, and he saw the
faces in the body of the room mirror
that scowl.
Then the prosecution rested, and as
a few of its perjuries were punctured,
the faces in the box lightened their
scowl a little—but very little. The tide
had set against him, and he knew it
Unless one of those strangely psycho
logical things should occur which
sweep juries suddenly from their
moorings of fixed opinion, he must be
the sacrifice to Blue Grass wrath, and
on the list of witnesses under the
hand of his attorney there were only a
few names left—pitifully few.
Then Anse Havey saw his chief
counsel set his jaw, as he had a tric><
of setting it when he faced a forlorn
hope, and throw the list of names
aside as something worthless. As the
lawyer spoke Anse Havey's face for
the first time lost its immobility and
showed amazement. He bent forward,
wondering if his ears had not tricked
him. His attorneys had not consult
ed him as to this step.
"Mr. Sheriff,” commanded the law
yer for the defense, "call Miss Juanita
Holland to the stand.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
If in the mountains there was one
person of whom the Blue Grass knew
with favor, it was Juanita Holland.
She had worked quietly and without
any blare of trumpets. Her efforts had
never been advertised, but the thing
she was trying to do was too unusual
a thing to have escaped public no
tice and public laudation. That she
was spending her life and her own
large fortune in a manner of self-sacri
fice and hardship was a thing of which
the state had been duly apprised.
She, at least, would stand acquitted
of feudal passion. She stood as a lone
fighter for the spirit of all that was
best and most unselfish in Kentucky
ideals and the ideals of civilization.
If she chose to come now as a wit
ness for Anse Havey, she should
have a respectful hearing. The pris
oner bent forward and fixed eyes blaz
ing with excitement on the door of
the witness room. He saw it open and
saw her pause there, pale and rather
perplexed, then she came steadily to
the witness stand and asked: "Do l
sit here?”
The man had known her always in
the calico and gingham of the moun
tains. This seemed a different wom
an who took her seat and raised her
hand to be sworn. She was infinitely
more beautiful he thought, in the ha
biliments of her own world. She
seemed a queen who had waived her
regal prerogatives and come into this
mean courtroom in his behalf.
His heart leaped into tumult. He
would not hrve asked her to come;
would not have permitted her to sub
mit to the heckling of the prosecutor,
whose face was already drawing into
When His Old Rifle Spoke a Schoolboy
From the Blue Grass Fell Dead.
a vindictive frown, had he known. She
had come, however, anyway—perhaps,
after all, she cared! If so. it was a
revelation worth hanging for.
Then he heard her voice low and
musically pitched in answer to ques
tions.
“I have known Mr. Havey,” she said
quietly, “ever since I went to the
mountains. He has helped me in my
work and has been an advocate of
peace wherever peace could be had
with honor.”
At the end of each answer the com
monwealth’s attorney was on his feet
with quickly snapped objections. Anse
Havey’s heart sank. He knew this
man's reputation for bullying wit
nesses, and he had never seen a wom
an who had come through the ordeal
unshaken. Yet slowly the anxiety on
his face gave way to a smile of in
finite admiration. Juanita Holland's
quiet dignity made the testy wrath of
the state’s lawyer seem futile and
peevish.
The defendant saw the subtle
change of expression on the faces of
the jury. He saw them shifting their
sympathy from the lawyer to the wom
an, and the lawyer saw it, too. They
kept her there, grilling her with all
the tactics known to artful barristers
for an unconscionable length of time,
but she was still serene and uncon
fused.
“By heaven!” exclaimed Anse Havey
to himself, as he leaned forward,
“she’s makin’ fools of ’em all—an’
she’s doin’ it for me!”
Even the judge, whose face had
been sternly set against the defense,
shifted in his chair and his expression
softened. The commonwealth’s attor
ney rose and walked forward, and
Anse Havey clenched his hands under
the table, while his fingers itched to
seize the tormentor’s throat.
“You don’t know that Anse Havey
didn’t incite this murder. You only
choose to think so. Isn’t that a fact?”
stormed the prosecutor.
“I know that Anse Havey ts in
capable of it,” was the tranquil retort.
“How do you know that?”
“I know him.”
“Who procured your presence in
this courtroom as a defense witness?"
Each interrogation came with rising
spleen and accusation of tone.
“I asked to be allowed to come.”
“Why?*
“Because 1 know that back of this
prosecution lies the trickery of inter
ests seeking to dispose of Anse Havey
so that they may plunder his people."
The lawyer wheeled on the Judge.
"1 must ask your honor to admon
ish this witness against such false and
improper charges—or to punish her
for contempt,” he blazed furiously.
But the judge spoke without great
severity as he cautioned: "Yes, the
witness must not seek to imply mo
tives to the prosecution."
The attorney took another step for
ward with a malicious smile. He
paused that the next question and its
answer might fall on the emphasis of
a momentary silence. Then he point
ed a finger toward the girl, with the
manner of one branding a false wit
ness, and demanded:
“Is there any sentimental attach
ment between you and this defendant,
Anse Havey?”
There was a moment's dead silence
in the courtroom, and Anse saw Jua
nita’s face go white. Then he saw her
finger nails whiten as they lay In her
lap and a sudden flush spread to her
face.
She looked toward the judge, and at
once the lawyer for the defense was
on his feet with the old objection:
“The question is irrelevant.”
Then, while counsel tilted with each
other, the girl drew a long breath,
and the man whose life was in the
balance turned pale, too. not because
of this, but because the woman he
loved had been asked the question
which was more to him than life and
death—a question he had never dared
to ask himself.
“I think,” ruled the court, “the ques
tion is relevant as going to prove the
credibility of the witness.”
So she must answer.
The prisoner's finger nails bit into
his palms arid he smothered a low
oath between his clenched teeth, but
Juanita Holland only looked at the
cross-examiner with a clear-eyed and
serene glance of scorn under which he
seemed to shrivel. She replied with
the dignity of a young queen who can
afford to ignore insults from the gut
ter.
“None whatever.”
' The defendant sat back in his chair
and the smile left bis lips as though
he had been struck by a thunderbolt.
He knew that his case was won, and
yet as he saw her leave the witness
stand and the courtroom, he felt sicker
at heart than he had felt since he
could remember. He would almost
have preferred condemnation with the
hope against hope left somewhere
leep in his heart that there slept in
hers an echo to his unuttered love.
The question he had never dared to
isk she had answered—answered un
ler oath, and liberty seemed now a
rery barren gift.
When he had been acquitted and
was going out he saw a figure in con
sultation with the prosecutor—a figure
which had not been inside the doors
luring the trial. It was Mr. Trevor of
Louisville and he was testily saying:
‘Oh, well, there are more ways of
killing a cat than by choking it with
butter."
Anse Havey did not require the in
:erpretation of an oracle for that
cryptic comment. He knew that the
effort to dispose of him would not
end with his acquittal.
• ••••••
Juanita was going away to enlist
her staff of teachers and arrange for
the equipment of the little hospital,
and Anse did not tell her of his inse
curity.
“You’ll promise to be very careful
while I’m gone, won't you?” she de
manded, as they sat together the night
before she left.
“I’ll try to last till you get back.” he
smiled. He was sitting with a pipe in
his hand—a pipe which had gone out
and been forgotten.
In the darkness of the porch every
thing was vague but herself. She
seemed to him to be luminous by some
light of her own. She was a very
wonderful and desirable star shining
far out of reach of his world.
Suddenly she laughed, and he
asked:
“What is it?"
“1 was just thinking what a fool I
was when I came here,” she answered.
‘Did you know that I brought a piano
with me as far as Peril? It’s been
there over a year.”
“A piano!” he echoed, then they
both laughed.
“I might as well have tried to bring
along the Philadelphia city hall," she
admitted. “Just the same, there have
been times when it would have meant
a lot to me, an awful lot, if I could
have had that piano. I don’t know
whether music means so much to you,
but to me—”
“I know," he broke in. “I some
times ’low that life ain’t much else ex
cept the summin’ up of the things a
feller dreams. Music is like dreams
—it makes dreams. Yes, I know some
thin’ about that.”
She went away and, though she was
not long gone, her absence seemed in
terminable to Anse Havey. He met
her at the train on her return with a
starved idolatry in his eyes, and to
gether they rode back across the
ridge.
But when she entered the building
which had been the first schoolhouse
the man drew back a step or two and
witched as surreptitiously as a boy
who has in due secrecy planned a sur
prise.
She went in and then suddenly halt
ed and stood near the threshold in
amazement. Her eyes began to dance
and she gave a little gasp of delight.
There against one wall stood her
piano.
She turned to him, deeply moved,
and after the first flush of delight her
eyes were misty.
“I wonder how I am ever going to
thank yon—for everything," she salt
softly
But Bad Anse Havey only answerec
in an embarrassed voice: "I reckon ii
might be a little jingly, so I had a fel
ler come up from Lexington and turn
it up.”
She went over and struck a chord
then she came back and laid a hanc
on his coat sleeve.
“I'm not going to try to thank yoi
at all—now,” she said. “But you gc
home and come back this evening anc
we’ll have a little party, just you and
I—with music.”
“Good-by,” he said. "I reckon yt
haven’t noticed it—but my rifle’s
standin’ there in your rack."
It was a night of starlight, with just
a sickle moon overhead and the music
of the whippoorwills in the air, when
Anse presented himself again at the
school. He knew that he must break
off these visits because while she had
been away he had, taken due account
ing of himself and recognized that the
poignant pain of locked lips would
drive him beyond control. He could
no longer endure “the unlit lamp and
the ungirt loin.” Now the sight of her
set him into a palpitating fever and a
burning madness. He would invent
some excuse tonight and go away.
Then he came to the open door and
stood on the threshold transfixed by
the sight which greeted his eyes. His
hat dropped to the floor and lay there.
He thought he knew Juanita. Now
he suddenly realized that the real
Juanita he had never seen before, and
as he looked at her he felt infinitely
far away from her. He was a very
dim, faint star in apogee.
She sat with her back turned and
her fingers straying over the keys of
the piano—and she was in evening
dress! The shaded lamp shone softly
on ivory shoulders and a string of
pearls glistened at her throat. Around
her slim figure the soft folds of her
gown fell like gossamer draperies and,
to his eyes, she was utterly and flaw
lessly beautiful.
She had followed a whim that night
and “dressed up” to surprise him. Sbte
had promised him a party and meant
to receive him with as much prepara
tion as she would have made for roy
alty. But to him it was only a dec
laration of the difference between
them, emphasizi^; how unattainable
she was; how unthinkably remote
from him own rough world.
men, as sue uearu uis sieps ana
rose, she was disappointed because in
his face, instead of pleasure, she read
only a tumult whose dominant note
was distress.
“Don’t you like me?” she asked, as
she gave him her hand and smiled up
at him.
“Like you!” he burst out, then he
caught himself with something like a
gasp. “Yes,” he said dully, “I like
you.”
For a while she played and sang,
and then they went out to the porch,
where she sank down in the barrel
stave hammock which hung there
and he sat in a split-bottom chair by
her side.
He sat very moody and silent, his
bands resting on bis knees, trying to
repress what he could not long hope
to keep under.
She seemed oblivious to his deep ab
straction. for she was humming some
air low. almost under her breath.
But at last she sat up and laughed
a silvery and subdued yet happy little
laugh. She stretched her arms above
her head.
"It’s good to be back, Anse,” she
said softly. "I’ve missed you—lots.”
He dared not tell her how he had
missed her. and he did not recognize
the new note in her voice—the heart
note. There was a strange silence be
tween them, and as they sat, so close
that each could almost feel the other’s
breath, their eyes met and held in a
locked gaze.
Slowly, as though drawn by some
occult power over which he held no
control, the man bent a little nearer,
a little nearer. Slowly the girl’s eyes
dilated, and then, with no word, she
suddenly gave a low exclamation, half
gasp, half appeal, all inarticulate, and
both hands went groping out toward
him.
With something almost like a cry,
the man was on his knees by the ham
mock and both his arms were around
her and her head was on his shoulder.
Then he was kissing her cheeks and
lips, and into his soul was coming a
sudden discovery with the softness
and coolness of the flesh his lips
touched.
It lasted only a moment, then she
pushed him back gently and rose,
while one bare arm went gropingly
across her face and the other hand
went out to the porch post for sup
port.
In a voice low and broken she said:
“You must go!”
“No!” he exclaimed, and took a
step toward her, but she retreated a
little and shook her head.
"Yes, dear—please,” she almost
whispered, and the man bowed in ac
quiescence.
“Good night,” he said gravely, and
picking up bis hat, he started across
the ridge.
But now there were no ghosts in
his life, for all the way over that
rough trail he was looking up at the
stars and repeating incredulously over
and over to himself: “She loves me!”
CHAPTER XXIV.
In a small room over the post office
in Peril an attorney, whose profes
sional success had always been pre
carious, received those few clients
who came to him for consultation. The
lawyer’s name was Walter Hackley,
but he was better known as Clayheel
Hackley, because he never wore socks
and his bare ankles were tanned to
the hue of river-bank mud.
Oates Ripened in Incubator.
An Arizona scientist has demon
strated that dates can be ripened in
an Incubator to a perfection that ri
vals the best African fruit
Inside Information.
Man’s Eden without Eve would be
a dirty place, full of tobacco smoke.—
Exchange.
When Human Growth Stops.
Human beings generally stop grow
ing at the age of eighteen.
The Worst of It
"The worst of coaxing people to
sing,” said Gaunt N. Grimm, "is that
they usually yield to the earnest so
licitation of their friends and accept
the nomination.”—Judge.
Some Men’s Greatness.
The superiority of some men is
merely local; they are great because
their associates are little.
Providence, R. L, has 1,000 jitney
busses in operation
Quebec.
The fortifications of Quebec are ob
solete as fortifications, but remain as
picturesque additions to the beauty
and interest of “The Gibraltar of Amer
ica.” The fortifications standing con
sist of walls and a citadel built in
1823-1832 at a cost of over seven .mil
lion pounds. Between 1865 and 1871
three forts were built on the Levis
side of the river, but were not armed
or manned. The citadel occupies
more than forty acres. No trace of
the old French fortifications remains.
Blind Swimmer 8aves Chum.
Frank VV. Forester, a blind student
at the University of California, res
cued a blind freshman from drown
ing in the college swimming pool. The
two had been daring each other to
plunge from the high diving board.
Forester’s companion dived and hit
the water in such a manner that he
was stunned. Forester, divining that
something was wrong, jumped in and
succeeded in getting his friend
ashore, where he administered first
aid with su
Made Some Difference.
"I don’t believe a lot of stories they
tell about you,” said the sympathetic
friend. “H’m!” mused Senator Sor
ghum. “Which don’t you believe? The
good ones or the bad ones?”—Wash
ington Star.
Old Habit.
“I see where some men are organ
izing parties opposed to woman suf
frage.”
“Naturally, men are more inter
ested in the ante*-'*
• ■ - . I *
-
His features were wizened and Ms
eyes shifty. He was a coward and
an intriguer by nature and inclina
tion. It was logical enough that when
the verdict of the director's table that
Bad Anse Havey was a nuisance fil
tered down the line the persons seek
ing native methods for abating the
nuisance should come to Claybeel
Hackley
One day in August this attorney at
law. together with Jim Fletcher aDd a
tricky youth who enjoyed the distinc
tion of holding office as telegraph op
erator at the Peril station, caucused
together in Hackley’s dingy room.
In the death of Bad Anse Havey this
trio saw a Joint advantage, since the
abating of such a nuisance would not
go unrewarded.
"Gentlemen,” said the attorney, his
wizened face working nervously, “this
business has need to be expeditious
Gentlemen—it requires, In its nature,
to be expeditious. A few more fail
ures and we are done for.”
“Well, tell us how ye aims ter do
hit,” growled the telegraph operator.
“Jim Fletcher has the idea,” replied
the lawyer impressively. “Quite the
right idea. How many men can you
trust on a job like this, Jim?”
“As many as ye needs,” was the con
fident response. "A dozen or a score
if they’re wanted.”
"Enough to make It sure, but not
too many,” urged Hackley. “We
6hould set a day precisely as the court
would set a day for—er—an execu
tion. The force you send out should
simply stay on the Job until it’s done.
If Anse Havey can be got alone, so
much the better. But above all—”
The lawyer paused and spoke with
his most forceful emphasis: "Don’t
just wound this man. See that the
thing is finally and definitely settled.”
“I’ll be there myself,” Jim Fletcher
assured him. “Now when is this day
goin’ ter be?”
“This is Monday?” reflected the at
torney. “There is no advantage in
delay. It will take a day or two to get
ready. Let the case be docketed, as I
might say—for Thursday.”
**•*•*•
Anse Havey had gone to Lexington.
Never again did he mean to hold
against himself the accusation of “the
unlit lamp and the ungirt loin.” He
knew that she loved him.
In Lexington he had bought a ring
and at Peril he had got a marriage li
cense. His camp-following day3 were
over. He had one youth, and he knew
that if his enemies succeeded in
their designs that might at any mo
ment be snapped short with sudden
death. It did not seem to him that one
of its golden hours should be wasted.
As he came out of the courthouse
with the invaluable piece of paper in
hi6 pocket two men, seemingly un
armed. rose from the doorway of the
store across the street and drifted to
ward their hitched horses.
Young Milt McBriar had ridden over
to Peril that day with several compan
ions, and Anse Havey went back with
them. So it happened that quite acci
dentally he made this journey under
escort. The men who rode a little way
in his rear cursed their luck—and
waited. And, though they lurked in
hiding all that afternoon near Anse
Havey’s house, they saw nothing more
of their intended victim.
Anse was keenly alive to each day’s
impending threat, and when he
recognized the face of Jim Fletcher In
Peril, as he came through, he had read
mischief in the eyes and recognized
that the menace had drawn closer.
So. when he was ready to cross the
ridge to the school, he obeyed an old
sense of caution and left his horse
saddled at the front fence that it
might seem as if he were going out—
but had not yet gone.
He had sent a messenger for Goo4
Anse Talbot, and the preacher arrived
while he was at his supper.
“Brother Anse,” he said, “I’m goin’
to need ye some time betwixt npw and
midnight. I want ye to tarry here till
I come back.”
“What’s the nature of business ye
needs me fer, Anse?” demanded the
missionary. “I hadn’t hardly ought
i ter wait. Thar’s a child ailin’ up the
top fork of little fork of Turkey-Foot
creek.”
But Bad Anse only shook his head.
“It's the best business ye ever did,”
he confidently assured the preacher.
"But I can’t tell ye yet Is the child
in any danger?”
“I reckon not; hit’s Jest ailin’
but—”
The brown-faced man sat dubiously
shaking his bead, and Anse’s features
suddenly set and hardened.
“I needs ye,” he said. ‘Ain’t that
enough? I’m goin’ to need ye bad.”
"That’s a right strong reason, Anse,
but—”
For an instant the old dominating
will which had not yet learned to
brook mutiny leaped into Anse
Havey’s eyes. His words came in a
harsher voice:
“Will you stay of your own free
will because I’m goin’ to need ye,
Brother Anse?” he demanded. “Be
cause, by God, ye’re goin’ to stay—one
way or another.”
“Does ye mean ye aims ter hold
me hyar by force?”
“Not unless ye make me. I wouldn’t
hardly like to do that."
For a moment the missionary de
bated. He did not resent the threat
of coercion. He believed in Anse
Havey, and the form of request con
vinced him of its urgency.
So he nodded his head. ‘Til be hyar
when ye comes,” he said.
Anse left his house that night neith
er by front nor back, but in the dark
shadows at one side, and his talis
man of luck led his noiseless feet safe
ly between the scattered sentinels
who were watching his dwelling to
kill him.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Not Quite.
‘‘How is the baby getting along in
trying to talk?”
“Well, 1 must say his efforts have
not as yet met with pronounced suc
cess.”
-
Worth While Quotation.
Many men owe the grandeur of their
lives to their tremendous difficulties.—
Selected.
[ The bachelor believes TT«nan was
i the god of marriage.
_i
A sense of freedom from all an
noying after-eating distress
can only be experienced
when the digestive system
is strong and working
harmoniously. Such
a condition can be
promoted by care
ful diet and the
assistance of
HOSTETTER’S
Stomach Bitters
NO PLACE FOR LITTLE MAN
He Evidently Had His Opinion as to
What His Companions Would
Do in an Accident.
All hand - had been telling long sto
ries of what they had done or would %
do in the cent of a smashup on the i
railway, with the exception of one
little max. who had listened atten
tively to trie narratives and taken
them all iti without a word.
“Ever b“on in an accident?” asked
the patriarch of the party, noticiug
the little man's silence.
“No,” replied the little man quietly.
“Then you have no idea of what you
would do in the case?” continued the
patriarch. A
"No, I haven’t,” replied the little
man sadly “With all you big heroes
blocking up the doors and windows in
your hurry to get out, 1 don’t exactly
knew what ^how a man of my size
would have'.”
And then there was a deep silence,
so deep you might have heard a cough
drop, and the little man was troubled
no more about the possibility of acci
der.ts.
AT THE FIRST SIGNS /
Of Falling Hair Get Cuticura. It
Work* Wonders. Trial Free.
Touch spots of dandruff and itching
with Cuticura Ointment, and follow
next morning with a hot shampoo of
Cuticura Soap. This at once arrests
falling hair and promotes hair growth.
You may rely on these supercreamy
emollients for all skin troubles.
Sample each free by mail with Book.
Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept. XY,
Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv.
County Leads in Mining.
In metal Shasta county has long v/
been in a class by itself, leading all
other counties ir California for the
past eighteen "years. The official statis
tics from 1397—the year when her
great sulphide ore bodies were lirst
exploited—to 1914 (last year estimat
ed) credit the county with a total out
put of *99,144,777, or an average of
over $5,508,000 per year.
For a really fine coffee at a mod
erate price, drink Denison’s Seminole
Brand, 35c the lb., in sealed cans.
Only one merchant in each town
sells Seminole. If your grocer Isn’t
the one, write the Denison Coffee Co.,
Chicago, for a souvenir and the name
ot your Seminole dealer.
Buy the 3 lb. Canister Can for $1.00.
•—Adv.
Nothing Rude.
“I suppose your daughter will start
her scholastic career with some spe
cial rudimentary studies?”
“No, indeed. There ain’t going to
be nothin’ rude about it She's goin’
to take only polite litertoor.”
I Piles Cured in 6 to 14 Days
Druggists refund money if PAZO OINTMENT
*»•*«,° cur* I •chin*. Blind. Bleeding or Protrud
iagf Puea. First application jfives relief. 50c.
The Fiery Year.
The Plymouth Rock—Terrible tiiaea
The Leghorn—Yes; 1 didn’t lay my
egg to be an omelet.
The trouble with too many children
is that the education of their parents
has been neglected.
the ring once too often; hut a bore
has never been knocked out.
NEAL of council bluffs *
3-DAY 5HP-51SS*
Aiwa,. 8acc.JRf^Tf,V,£NT
_ . . Write for Booklet.
Address NEAL INSTITUTE
21 Benton Street, COUNCIL BLUFFS iJL
°r *‘,dre" J- k- Mav. "*
PATENTS
Bale, reliable.
Nebraska Directory
WBlV,°gb«WBltyBmg! SStJK;
The Army of
Constipation
I. Growing Smaller Ever. n._
CARTER’S LITTLE — '
LIVER PILLS .«
responsible— they
not only give relief
— they perma
nently cure Con
stipitioB. Mil
lions use A
them for /
Biliontneu, *—■ .■ —
Indigestion, Sick He«d.cke, Sallow Skin.
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICE.
Genuine must bear Signature \
r
Wv N. U., OMAHA, NO,
1_ ' I