The Man Under
the Tree
By Don Mark Lemon
(Copyright, by Shortstory Pub. Co.)
It would be a grim, unpleasant piece
of work, to be sure; but what else
could they do? The most valuable
horses of the settlement had been
stolen, one after another, with con
summate daring and cunning, and,
now that they had the guilty party in
their power, were they to let him go
because to hang him would be an un
pleasant duty?
“Boys, all of you that have a horse
you wouldn't like to lose, just step
over here.”
Nine of the ten came from under
the tree and gathered beside their
leader in the open. The tenth man—
the man who remained in the shadow
of the tret*—was bound hand and foot
and couldn’t very well change his
position. Besides, he was the “horse
thief.”
"Well, boys,” demanded the leader,
“are we a quorum?”
“Sure!”
"Then he hangs?”
The nine men nodded their heads.
“Good! ”
“Hold on, gentlemen!" cried the
Man under the Tree. “I wish again
to assert that I bought this horse
which you accuse me of stealing, and
xoin t-mn f,,- >>
There was a lorn] guffaw.
“You don't believe me, gentlemen?"
The Man under the Tree seemed
“hurt.
"Believe you!” said the leader.
■“Why, stranger, that's old Wilkins*
Hess and he’d have parted with his
grandmother first."
‘Ttut, gentlemen," expostulated the
Man under the Tree, ‘‘wouldn't it be
wise to look up Wilkins first and ask
him ?”
The leader smiling, said: “Stranger,
were you ever hanged?"
The Man under the Tree made a
deprecatory movement. “Only twice,”
he said.
“Well, you’re a cool un!" exclaimed
the leader, when he again got his
breath.
The members of the quorum then
gathered In a body around the Man
under the Tree. One of them took a
lariat from his arm and another ad
justed it about the prisoner's neck.
This last man was the leader himself,
and he could tie a knot that isn't
down among sailor knots nor In popu
lar religious works. It w'as a hang
man's knot and it had never been
known to fall when given a fair trial
Then the loose end of the lariat
was thrown over n strong Itmh of the
tree.
“Gently, hoys!” cautioned the lead
er. "Gently! He comes of good fam
ily and perhaps If he hadn't been a
hoss thief he had been a honor to the
community. Gently!"
The body of the prisoner was drawn
up, the loose end of the lariat s*>
curely fixed, and the quorum stood off
and viewed Its work. The hanged
man swung about six feet off the
ground, his face twisting towards the
tree, so that the men beneath could
not well see its expression. How
ever, they did not wish to.
“Too bad." murmured the leader,
“that his education was neglected.
But it's too late now-, hoys, for moral
suasion!"
The others silently nodded their
heads in confirmation of this quorum,
and mounting their horses rode has
tily away with the bay of Wilkins
in the lead.
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Arriving at the settlement, about
half a mile distant, the stern body
gathered under the roof of the Red
Dog and began a game of faro.
“Won't old Wilkins be glad when he
sets eyes on that bay of his again?
The meetin’ '11 be Just like a father
findin' a long lost daughter."
Hut the whisky being strong and the
playing high, the men soon forgot
about Wilkins, the Man under the
Tree and the bay horse, and not until
Wilkins himself came walking into
the Red Dog did the incidents of
the earlier forenoon again recur to
them.
“Hello, Wilkins!" cried the speak
er of the late quorum. “How's Ress?”
i»'ss . VMi, tint’ a uuioiue, uuviu
canned goods.”
“P.nyin’ canned goods. Is she?" ques
tioned the cowman. “Whin did ye
learn her the thrick?"
Wilkins looked about and seeing a
grin on every face realized the con
fusion of terms. “Oh, you mean the
bay; not my wife?”
“Sure!”
“Well," rejoined Wilkins, hitching
uneasily, “1 mught as well let the cat
out o' the hag hefore it's got kittens.
1 sold Bess this mornin’ to—"
The sentence was never finished,
or its end fairly drowned In a chorus
of “Hell!”
“Can't a man sell his own horse?”
demanded Wilkins.
A glass of raw spirits whizzed over
his head and crashed against the op
posite wall.
“Why, you lop-eared coyote, ain't
ye got no more judgmint than to sell
a horse widout first tellin’ ivery man
wid a rope fur twinty miles aroun'!
Ain't—ugh!” broke off the speaker,
reaching for another glass to throw
at Wilkins. “You clam wid the lock
jaw, you fish widout the light av in
telligence!”
“What's the matter?” demanded
Wilkins, keeping a sharp eye on the
glasses.
“Why, you ol' pirate, we've harmed
the man ye sol' Bess to, fur a hoss
thief! Quick, boys, let’s cut him down i
<nd give him respictful burial 'fore
he's had the time to be insulted!”
There was a wild break for the
loor and Wilkins went down and was
walked all over; but, mad as a hornet.
fie was not the last to reach the lo
cality of the hanging.
“You're a pack of fools.'” he shout
'd to his companions. "And the next
nother's son of you I catch with a
shirt on. I'll hang for stealln' the
ihirt!"
The Irishman almost wept. "Boys,
fwas an error av judgmint and not
v heart. Cut him down and tell him
o.”
The face of the Man under the Tree
ad swung around to the west, and,
s the little body of remorseful set
ers drew near, a peaceful smile
athered upon the hanged man's lips
tid suddenly his eyes opened wide
nd looked down at those beneath.
“Holy saints in hivin'.” cried the
rishman, kneeling in his saddle.
Look at him!"
One of the eyelids of the Man under
he Tree trembled and for a moment
dosed over the eyeball. The specta
ors could scarcely believe their own
yes. The Man under the Tree was
winking.
“Cut him down!” thundered Wil- I
kins.
“Cut him down yoursllf,” groaned
'lie Irishman. "The divi! I'll touch It.
It’s a ghost!”
At these words a shudder went
amongst the men and each seemed
without the power of motion.
Wilkins braced himself In his seat,
took steady, deliberate aim at the
lariat just above the head of the
hanged man, and fired. The hair thong
parted as clean as from a knife cut,
and the Man under the Tree landed
in the soft earth, upright and rigid
on his feet, instead of falling prone,
as a decent corpse would have done.
It was with the greatest doubt and
trepidation that the others watched
Wilkins as he freed the Man under the
■ • fi r f B
"You Clam Wid the Lockjaw, You Fis
Widout the "Light Av Intelligence.”
Tree of the noose about his neck ani
severed his bonds; but, instead of fal
ins down, a corpse, or vanishing: lik
a ghost, he gratefully stretched hi
limbs, cleared his throat, licked hi
congested lip3, and, singling out th<
Irishman, addressed him pleasantly
if somewhat hoarsely:
‘‘Good afternoon, sir."
At these words the superstitious Hi
bernian collapsed, looking for all thi
world, with his great, lank arms an<
legs, like some queer kind of game, al
tentacles, thrown across his horse’:
saddle.
Wilkins, not having seen the mai
hanged, was less affected than the oth
ers, and he was the first to fin<
speech.
“We owe you an apology, sir.” he be
gan, rather lamely.
The Man under the Tree held uj
his hands deprecatingly. "No apolo
gy, no apology, sir: no occasion t(
apologize. 1 like a pleasant joke nov
and then as well as any man.”
At these reassuring words all th<
remainder of the company, saving th<
Irishman, found speech, and man)
were their ejaculations of wonder anc
delight as they dismounted and crowd
ed around the Man under the Tree.
“Why, you or’nary cuss,” cried th<
former speaker of the quorum, you 1
hold whisky vet!”
Willin'. r- ■ i 'i i
Tree, meditatively. “Whisky! It
seems to me 1 have heard that word
before. Ah!" He took one of the
several flasks hastily proffered him.
and holding it high over his head,
cried: "Gentlemen, a toast! Here's to
the man who likes whisky when it's
good and men v.hon they're a little
bad—Myself!”
This toast was drunk with the high
est approval, and the Man under the
Tree proposed a second.
“Here's to the man you can't hang,
for his windpipe is silver, and the
rope only tickles him and makes him
laugh—Myself!"
There was a crash of broken glass,
and the Man under the Tree drank
the toast alone, for those about him
had let drop their flasks In sheer sur
prise.
The Word.
And so th<- Word had breath, and
wrought
With tinman hands the creed of creeds
In loveliness of perfect deeds.
More strong than all poetic thought:
Which he may read that binds the sheaf
Or builds the l ouse, or digs the grave,
And those wild eyes that watch the
wave
[n roarings 'round the coral n-ef
—Tennyson.
The pikeroad through a difficulty
may be rougher, but it is always safer
than the n.-phalt road around it.
J. QUALLS
BOOT AND SHOB SHOP
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per It keeps you posted on the
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will tell you the things yon want
to know In an entertaining way;
will give you all the niwi of the
community; ite every visit will
prove a pleasure; it gives more
than full value for the price
ashed for it.
'D
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'f* NEWARK,
ifL
STOVES
FOR BOTH COOKING AND
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AT PRICES THAT DEFY COMPETITION
H. E. HAWTHORNE
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ADAMS BROS.
CottOQ aod Corn Buyers
And Dealers in (Jeneral Merchandise.
To the Farmers‘—We want vour produce, and will pay
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British Labor Party and Drink Traffic.
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29 labor members of parliament and
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Evanishing.
Yet, the rose is beautiful, and Time
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and snow is white, and melteth after
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littlo season.—Theocrsitus.