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Local News of the Week.
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Old papers at the Newsoffice.
D. F. Collett spent Sunday in E!
Dorado with his family.'
• H. F Murray of Hillsboro was
a visitor here Thursday.
Pat Pitts was a business visitor
to Monroe the first of the week.
Mrs. C. A. Berry visited with her
parents at El Dorado this week.
Harris Perritt and family visited
Sunday with his parents at Strong.
Miss Fiora Cargile is home from
a pleasant visit with friends at
Crossett.
Secretary-Treasurer F. W. Scott
transacted business at El Dorado
Tuesday.
The store of L. E. Smith of Lit
roe was destroyed by fire on Thurs
day night of last week.
Mrs. J. D. Brigman arrived home
Monday from a visit with her
mother at Quitman, La.
Mrs. H. P. Heard visited with
her parents at Oakland, La., last
Saturday and Sunday.
I have a mixed car of Cotton,
Corn and Truck Fertilize for sale.
See S. R. Neel, Huttig, Ark.
W. E. Chadwick was called to
Ca’rigan, Texas, last Friday to at
tend the funeral of his father.
Jim Phillips has returned to Ar
kansas City where his position as
assistant filer has reopenea.
Attorney J. T. Sifford of Camden
and Col. R. T. Harper of El Dora
do transacted legal business here
Thursday.
Feminena has cured thousands
of cases of Female Troubles and is
becoming more staple all the time.
At the Union Saw Mill Co. 4
Mrs. V. C. Seaman and charminp
little daughter, Miss Belle, lef
Tuesday for an extended visit with
friends in Monroe.
J. D. Loyd was here last Friday
and Saturday visiting friends. He
was en route to Ragley, La.,
where he has accepted a position
as engineer,
Store Manager D, M. Clowney
arrived home Sunday from St.
Louis where he purchased an up tc
date stock of spring and summer
goods for the Union Saw Mill Go.
store. _
G. S. Farmer has returned from
Dubach, La., and accepted a posi
tion as night sawyer. Gus is hap
py over the arrival of a big boy at
his home which occurred on Thurs
day of last week.
Rey. W. P. Whaley, presiding el
der of the Camden district, occu
pied the pulpit at the Methodist
church Sunday morning and eve
ning and held his second quarterly
conrerence while here.
E. E. Pagan has sold his farm at
New London and moved to Collin
ston. La. He and family, accom
panied by Miss Simmie Pagan
visited his daughter, Mrs. J. W,
Perritt, here Thursday. They
were en route to their new home at
Collinston.
E. A. Frost, president of the
Frost-Johnson Lumber Go., S. H.
Dowell, traveling auditor for the
Frost-Johr.son Lumber Co., and
Geo. S. Prestridge, vice president
of the Union Saw Mill Co., were
here from Shreveport several days
this week on business.
The Russian Duma was official
ly informed that hie cost of. the
J
war. to Russia, is averaging $?.
210.000 per day, and that up to
January 1 it had reached a total of
$1,555,300,000.
Miss Bessie Spencer arrived
home Thursday from a pleasant
visit at Haile, La.
The six-year-old daughter of Mr.
and Mrs. J. T. Barnett living near
Lawson, was burned to death Wed-!
nesday afternoon. The child with
another was in the house and the
parents were doing the chores j
about 5 o’clock when the child fell;
into the fire place and was so hor- i
ribly burned by the time they could
reach it that it died at midnight.
We have round trip tickets to all
local points on sale at this office
and would be glad to sell you round
trip tickets, saving you money by
buying them and at the same time
make a better showing for our sta
tion in this manner. We solicit
your business. D. A. Keasler.
Agent St. L. I. M. & S. Ry
Junction City News.
Aimer Post of Lillie was here on
business Tuesday.
A. C. Ivey of Hermitage was the
guest of his daughter, Mrs.S.S.Mc
Carver the latter part of last week.
Mr. and Mrs. S. S. McCarver are
the parents of a big gml, who came
to reign with them last Friday.
Mrs. E. A. Cupp and little daugh
ter. Kyle, visited her parents, Rev.
and Mrs. B. F. Scott, at Wesson
the latter part of last week.
A. M. Jarrell and wife visited
their daughter, Mrs. D. 1. Simmons,
and family at Wesson last Sunday
Bob Baxter of Warren was here
on business Wednesday.
H. M. Kinard transacted busi
ness at Wesson the first of the
week.
•
Miss Annie Rhodes of the Scot
land neighborhood was the guest
of Miss Robbie Cullins Monday
night.
R. W. Raley of Summerfield, La.,
was here this week visiting his
brother, H. A., who has been very
sick.
W. B. Shorter arrived home last
week from an extended visit with
a friend and relatives at Lebanon.
! Tenn.
Jim Burley of Holly Grove was
nere Wednesday.
Larkin Hightower was a busi
ness visitor to Strong Tuesday.
Mrs. R. Hester of Strong was
the guest of Mrs. W. N. Elkins last
week.
KNOWLEDGE THAT EVERY
ONE SHOULD POSSESS.
You never know when you will
face an emergency, caused either by
sickness or accident, when there will
be no doctor within call and when
it will be compulsory for you to
render what aid you can.
You can never tell at what time
you may suddenly be taken sick or
may be called to take charge of a
sick or injured person when you
will need some practical knowledge
of medical matters.
Dr. Miles’ Family Medical Guide
contains advice and knowledge that
will enable you to be of the greatest
assistance to your doctor both be
fore and after he is called in.
This book is divided into three
parts. Part I, Simple Treatment for
Common Ailments. Part 2, What
to Do in Case of Accidents. Part 3, I
Practical Laws of Health.
Special arrangements have been
made whereby the readers of this
paper can obtain this book free of
charge for a limited time only.
It is a book that should be in
every household in America.
Just write your name and address
clearly, on a post card if you like,
and send it to
Family Medical Guide,
Miles Medical Co., Elkhart, Ind.,
mentioning the name of this paper
and you will receive one of these
valuable books all charges prepaid. >
CUMBERLANDS
/& CHARLES SEVILLE BUCIC
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM. PHOTOGRAPHS
OF SCENES IN THE PLAY " - -
COPYRIGHT IQIJ &
W J. WATT $
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—On Misery creek, at the
foot of a rock from which lie has fallen.
Sally Miller finds George Leseott, a land
scape painter, unconscious, and after re
viving him, goes for assistance.
CHAPTER II—Samson South and S ill>.
taking Leseott to Samson’s home, are met
by Spicer South, head of the family, who
tells them that Jesse Phrvy has been shot,
and that Samson is sustpe ted of the
crime. Samson denies it.
CHAPTER III—The shooting of Jesse
Purvy breaks the truce in ttie Hollman
Soutb feud.
CHAPTER IV—Samson reproves Tama
rack Spicer for telling Sally that Jim
Hollman is on the trail with bloodhounds
hunting the man who shot Purvy.
CHAPTER V—The bloodhounds Jngo the
trail at Spicer South’s door. Leseott dis
covers artistic ability in Samson. While
sketching with Leseott on the mountain.
Tamarack discovers Samson to a .leering
crowd of mountaineers. Samson thrashes
him and denounces him as the "truce
buster” who shot Purvy.
CHAPTER VI—Leseott tries to per
suade Samson to go to New York with
him and develop his talent. Sully, loyal
but heartbroken, furthers Lescott's efforts.
The dance at Wile MeCager’s threatens
trouble to Samson and Leseott.
CHAPTER VII—At the dance Samson
tells the South clan he is going to leave
the mountains. Leseott goes home to
New York. Samson bills Spicer and Sally
farewell and follows.
CHAPTER IX—Prom^ed by her love,
Sally teaches herself to write. Horton
throws himself into the business w’orld
and becomes well hated by predatory
financiers and politicians At a Bohemian
resort Samson meets William Earbish,
sporty social parasite, and Horton's ene
my.
CHAPTER X—Farbisli sees Samson ana
Drennte dining together unohaperoned at
the Wigwam roadhouse. He conspires
with others to make Horton jealous and
succeeds.
"Maybe you know why Tdon't kill
you. . . . Maybe you don't. ... I don't
give a damn whether you do or
not. . . . That’s the first blow I’ve
ever passed. ... I ain’t going to hit
back. ... You need a friend pretty
bad just now. . . . For certain reasons.
I’m going to be that friend. . . . Don't
you see that this thing is a damned
frame-up? . . . Don't you see that I
was brought here to murder you?”
He turned suddenly to Farbish.
"Why did you insist on my putting
that in my pocket”—Samson took out
the pistol, and threw it down on the
table-cloth in front of Wilfred, where
it struck and shivered a half-filled
wine-glass—“and why did you warn
me that this man meant to kill me?
I was meant to be your catspaw to put
Wilfred Horton out of your way. I
may be a barbarian and a savage, but
1 can smell a rat—if it's dead enough.”
For an instant there was absolute
and hushed calm. Wilfred Horton
picked up the discarded weapon and
looked at it in bewildered stupefac
tion, th?n slowly his face flamed with
distressing mortification.
“Any time you want to fight me”—
Samson had turned again to face him,
and was still talking in his deadly
quiet voice—“except tonight, you can
find me. I've never been hit before
without hitting back That blow- has
got to be paid for—but tha man that's !
really responsible has got to pay first. ;
When 1 fight you, I’ll fight for myself, j
not for a bunch of damned murderers.
. . Just now, I’ve got other business, i
That man framed this up!” He pointed !
a lean finger across the table into the
startled countenance of Mr. Farbish.
“He knew! He has been working on
this job for a month. I’m going to
attend to his case now.”
As Samson started toward Farbish,
the conspirator rose, and, with an ex
cellent counterfeit of insulted virtue,
pushed back his chair.
”Ry God,” he indignantly exclaimed. ;
“you mustn't try to embroil me in your
quarrels. You must apologize. You
are talking wildly, South.”
“Am I?" questioned Die Kentuckian,
quietly; 'Tm going to act wildly in a
minute.”
He halted a short distance from Far
bish. and drew from his pocket a
crumpled scrap of the offending maga
Elllt? (JttgU. tilt? it trill l 11 etc i let Ci cucuuv
Horton.
“I may not have good manners,
Mister Farbish, but where 1 come from
we know how to handle varmints ” He
dropped his voice and added for the
plotter's ear only; “Here's a little
matter on the side that concerns only
us. It wouldn't interest* these other
gentlemen.” He opened his hand, and 1
added; “Here, eat that!”
Farbish with a frightened glance
at the set face of the man who was ad- I
vanclng upon him, leaped back, and
drew from his pocket a pistol—It was
an exact counterpart of the one with
which he had supplied Samson.
With a panther-like swiftness, the
Kentuckian leaped forward, and struck
up the weapon, which spat one in
effective bullet into the rafters. There
was a momentary scuffle of swaying
bodies and a crash under which the
table groaned amid the shuttering
of glass and china. Then, slowly, the
conspirator's body bent back at the
waist, until its shoulders were
stretched on the disarranged cloth,
and the white face, with purple veins
swelling on the forehead, stared up
between two brown hands that gripped
its throat
‘‘Swallow- that!” ordered the moun
taineer.
i For just an instant, the company
stood dumfounded. then a strained,
unnatural voice broke the silence.
“Stop him, he’s going to kill the
man!’’
The odds were four to two, and
with a sudden rally to the support of
their chief plotter, the other conspira
tors rushed the figure that stood throt
tling his victim. But Samson South
was in his element. The dammed-up
"Vath that had been smoldering dur
ing these last days was having a tem
pestuous outlet. He had found men
who, in a gentlemen’s club to which
he had come as a guest, sought to
use him as a catspaw and murderer.
As they assaulted him. en masse,
he seized a chair, and swung it flail
like about his head. For a few mo
ments, there was a crashing of glass
and china, and a clatter of furniture
and a chaos of struggle.
Samson South stood for a moment
panting in a scene of wreckage and
disorder. The table was littered with
shivered glasses and decanters and
chinaware. The furniture was scat-1
tered and overturned. Farbish was !
weakly leaning to one side in the seat i
to which he had made his way. The
men who had gone down under the |
heavy blows of the chair lay quietly (
where they had fallen.
Wilfred Horton stood waiting The
whole affair had transpired with such
celerity and speed that he had hardly
understood it, and had taken no part.
Rut. as he met the gaze of the dis
ordered figure across the wreckage of
a dinner-table, he realized that now,
with the preliminaries settled, he who
had struck Samson in the face must
give satisfaction for the blow. Horton
was sober, as cold sober as though he
had jumped into ice-water, and though
he was not in the least afraid, he was 1
mortified, and, had apology at such a
time been possible, would have made
it. He knew that he had misjudged j
his man: he saw the outlines of the j
plot as plainly as Samson had seen
them, though more tardily.
Samson’s toe touched the pistol
which had dropped from Farbish's 1
hand and he contemptuously kicked it
to one side. He came back to his >
place.
Now, Mr. Horton, ne said to tne
man who stood looking about with a
dazed expression, “if you're still of the
' same mind, i can accomodate you.
You lied when you said I was a sav
age—though just now it sort of looks
like I was, and"—he paused, then
added—“and I’m ready either to fight
or shake hands. Either way suits
me.”
For the moment Horton did not
spe;uk, and Samson slowly went on:
“Rut, whether we fight or not, you've
got to shake hands with me when we re
finished. You and me ain’t going to
start no feud. This is the first time
I've ever refused to let a man be my
enemy if he wanted to. I’ve got my
reasons. !’m going to make you shake
hands with me whether you like it or
not but if you want to fight first it’s
satisfactory. You said awhile ago you
would be glad to be more explicit with
me when we were alone—” He paused
and looked about the room. “Shall I
throw these damned murderers out of
hefe, or will you go into another room
and talk?”
“Leave them where they are,” said
Horton, quietly. “We'll go into the
reading-room. Have you killed any of
them?”
“I don't know." said the other, curt
ly, “and I don't care.”
When they were alone, Samson
went on:
“I know what you want to ask me
about, and I don't mean to answer you
You want to question me about Miss
Lescott. Whatever she and 1 have
done doesn't concern you. I will say
this much—if I've been ignorant of
New York wave and my ignorance has
embarrassed her, I'm sorry.
“I supposed you know that she’s too
damned good for you—just like she’s
too good for me. But she thinks more
of you than she does of me—and she’s
yours. As for me, 1 have nothing to
apologize to you for. Maybe, I have
something to ask her pardon about,
but she hasn’t asked it.
“George Lescott brought me up here
and befriended me. Until a year ago
I had never known any life except
that of the Cumberland mountains.
Until I met Miss Lescott, 1 had never
known a woman of your world. She
was good to me. She saw that in
spite of my roughness and ignorance 1
wanted to learn, and she taught me.
You chose to misunderstand, and dis
unca me. i nese men saw mat, a..
believed that, if they could make you
insult me, they could make me kill
you. As to your part, they succeeded, j
I didn’t see fit to oblige them, but, |
now that I’ve settled with them, I’m .
willing to give you satisfaction. Do j
we fight now and shake hands after
ward, or do we shake hands -without
fighting?”
Horton stood silently studying the
mountaineer.
"Good God!” he exclaimed at last.
“And you are the man 1 undertook to
criticize!” I
“You ain’t answered my question,”
suggested samson soutn.
“South, if you are willing to shake
hands with me I shall be grateful. I
may as well admit that, if you had
thrashed me before that crowd, you
could hardly have succeeded in mak
ing me feel smaller. I have played
into their hands. I have been a damned
fool. I have riddled my own self
respect—and if you can afford to ac
cept my apologies and my hand I am
offering you both.”
“I’m right glad to hear that,” said
i i
‘‘I’m Ready Either to Fight or Shak*
Hands.”
the mountain boy. gravely. “I told
you I’d Just as lief shake hands as
fight. . . . But Just now I’ve got to
go to the telephone.”
The booth was in the same room,
and, as Horton waited, he recognized
the number for which Samson was
calling. Wilfred’s face once more
flushed with the old prejudice. Could
it be that Samson meant to tell Adri
enne Lescott what had transpired?
Was he, after all, the- braggart who
boasted of hie fights? And, if not,
was it Samson’s custom to call her
up every evening for a good-night
message? He turned and went into
the hall, but, after a few minutes, re
turned.
"I’m glad you liked the show . .
the mountaineer was saying. “No,
nothing special is happening here—
except that the ducks are plentiful.
. . . Yes, I like it fine. . . . Mr.
Horton’s here. Wait a ipiitute—I
guess maybe he’d like to talk to you.”
The Kentuckian beckoned to Hor
ton, and, as he surrendered the re
ceiver. left the room. He was think
ing with a smile of the unconscious
humor with which the girl’s voice had
just come across the wire:
"I knew that if you two met each
other you would become friends.”
"I reckon," said Samson, ruefully,
when Horton joined him, “we'd better
; look around and see how bad those
, fellows are hurt in there. They may
I need a doctors* Aud the two wont
back to find several startled servants
assisting to their beds the disabled
combatants, and the next morning
their inquiries elicited the informa
tion that the gentlemen were all “able
to be about, but were breakfasting in
their rooms.”
Such as looked from their windows
that morning saw an unexpected cli
max, when the car of Mr. Wilfred
Horton drove away from the club car
rying the man whom they had hoped
to see killed and the man they had
hoped to see kill him. The two ap
peared to be in excellent spirits and
thoroughly congenial as the car polled
out of sight, and the gentlemen who
were left behind decided that, in view
of the circumstances, the “extraordi
nary spree’ of last night had bee* go
unadvertieed into ancient history.
CHAPTER XII.
The second year of a new order
brings fewer radical changes than the
first. Samson’s work began to forge
out of the ranks of the ordinary and
to show symptoms of a quality which
would some day give it distinction.
Heretofore his instructors had held
him rigidly to the limitations of black
and white, but now they took off th<
bonds and permitted him the colorful
d;»!ight of attempting to express him
self from the pslette. It was like per
mitting a natural poet to leave proso
and play with prosody.
One day Adrienne looked up from a
sheaf of his very creditable landscape
studies to inquire suddenly:
‘‘Samson, are you a rich man or a
poor one?”
He laughed. "So rich,” he told her.
“that unless I can turn some of this
stuff into money within a year or two
I shall have to go back to hoeing
corn.”
She nodded gravely.
“Hasn’t it occurred to you,” she
demanded, “that in a way you are
wasting your gifts? They were talk
ing about you the other evening—sev
eral painters. They all ^aid that you
should be doing fiortraits.”
The Kentuckian «m!led. His mas
ters had been telling him the same
tiling. He had fallen in love with art
through the aoccal of the skies and
hills. He had followed its can at the
proselyting of George Lescott, who
painted only landscape. Portraiture
seemed a less artistic form of expres
sion. He said so.
“That may all be very true,” she
conceded, “but you can go on with
your landscapes and let your por
traits pay the way. And,” she added,
’’since I am very vain and moderately
rich, I hereby commission you to
paint me, just as soon as you learn
how.”
Parbish had simply dropped out. Bit
by bit the truth of the conspiracy had
leaked, and he knew that Ills useful
ness was ended and that well-lined
pocketbooke would no longer open to
his profligate demands.
*«**•*•
Sally had started to school. She
had not announced that she meant to
do bo, but each day the people of Misery
saw her old sorrel mare making its
way to and from the general direction
of Stagbone college, and they smiled.
No one knew how Sally's cheeks
flamed as she eat alone on Saturdays
and Sundays on the rock at the back
bone’s rift. She was taking her place,
morbidly sensitive and a woman of
eighteen, among little spindle-shanked
girls in short skirts, and the little
girls were more advanced than she.
But she, too, meant to have Tamin' ”—
as much of It as was neceesary to sat
isfy the lover who might never come.
And yet, the '‘fotched-on" teachers at
the "college” thought her the most
voraciously ambitious pupil they had
ever had, so unflaggingly did she toil,
a-id the most remarkably acquisitive,
so fast did she learn But her studies
had again been interrupted, and Miss
Grover, her teacher, riding over one
day to find out why her prize scholar
had deserted, met in the road an
empty “jolt wagon,” followed by a
ragged cortege of mounted men and
women, whose faces were still lugu
brious with the effort of recent
mourning. Her question elicited the
information that they were returning
from the ‘‘buryin’ ” of the Widow Mil
ler.
*******
Towards the end of that year Sam
son undertook hie portrait of Adri
enne Lescott. The work was nearing
completion, but it had been agreed
that the girl herself was not to have
u peep at the canvas until the painter
was ready to unveil It in a finished
condition. Often, as she posed, Wil
fred Horton idled in the studio with
them, and often George Lescott came
to criticize, and left without criticiz
ing. The girl was impatient for the
day when she, too, was to see the pic
ture, concerning which the three men
maintained so profound a secrecy She
knew that Samson was a painter who
analyzed with his brush, and that his
picture would show her not only fea
tures and expression, but the man's
estimate of herself.
"Do you know.” he said one day,
coming out from behind his easel and
studying her. through half-closed eyeB,
"I never really began to know you un
til now? Analyzing you—studying you
in this fashion, not by your words, but
by your expression, your pose, the
very unconscious essence of your per
sonality—these things are illuminat
ing.”
"Although I am not painting you,"
she said with a smile, “I have been
studying you, too. Ab you stand there
before your canvas your own person
, ality is revealed—and 1 have not been
entirely unobservant myself.”
"And under the Xray scrutiny ol
this profound analysis,” he said with
• !■—IW ikflil »'n. IH«» ■!!»!*" --
"Walt and see,” she retorted.
"At all events"—he spoke gravely—
“you must try to like me a little, be*
cause I am not what I was. The per
son that I am is largely the creature
of your own fashioning. Of course
you had very raw material to work
with, and you can’t make a silk purse
of”—he broke off and smiled—“well,
of me. but in time you may at least
get me mercerized a little.”
For no risible reason she flushed,
and her next question came a trifle
eagerly:
“Do you mean I have influenced
you?”
influenced me, Drennlev he re
peated. “You have done more thart
that. You have painted me out and!
painted me over.”
She shook her head, r.nd In her eyes
danced a light of subtle coquetry.
"There are things I have tried to
do, and failed,” she told him.
His eyes showed surprise.
"Perhaps," he apologized, "I am
dense, and you may have to tell me
bluntly what I am to do. But you
know that you have only to tell me.”
For a moment she said nothing,
then shook her head again.
"Issue your orders,” he insisted. “I
am waiting to obey."
She hesitated again, then said,
slowly:
"Have your hair cut. It’s the one
uncivilized thing about you.”
For an instant Samson's face hard
ened.
"No,” he said; "I don't care to do
that.”
"Oh, very well!” she laughed lightly.
"In that event, of course, you shouldn't
do It.” But her smile faded, and after
a moment he explained;
"You see. it wouldn't do.”
"What do you mean?”
"I mean that I’ve got to keep some
thing as it was to remind me of a prior
claim on my life.”
For an instant the girl's face cloud
ed and grew deeply troubled.
"Yodl don't mean,” she asked, with
an outburst of interest more vehement
than she had meant to show, or real
ized she was showing—“you don't
mean that you still adhere to ideas of’
tho vendetta?” Then ehe broke off.'
with a laugh, a rather nervous laug...
"Of course not," he answered her
self. "That would be too ibsurd!"
“Would t?” asked Samson, simply.
He glanced at ' is watch. “Two min
utes up,” he announced. "The model
will please resume the pose. By the
way, may I drive with you tomorrow
afternoon?" '
Uo.< i INUED IN NEXT 1SSTZ
Tha Heroic Poem.
He who would write a he ole poein>
must make his whole life a heroic
poem.—Milton.