| Local News of the Week. II
A. J. Nixon attended court at El
Dorado Wednesday.
T. B. Weaver attended court at
Farmerville, La., several days this
week.
A daughter was born last Mon
day morning to Mr. and Mrs.-E. H.
Goston._
Lost—A gold lavalliere with
chain and set. Return to Mrs. R.
E. Ebbs.
Dr. and Mrs. F. 0. Mahony of
El Dorado visited with friends here
last Saturday.
R. R. Cole and G. Howard were
in attendance at court at El Do
rado this week.
S. R. Neel and wife have taken
the five-months-old daughter of
Julius Fike, whose motherdied last
Saturday, to raise.
E. Raley visited his uncle, H. A.
Raley, who has beed quite sick
for some time, at Junction City the
first of the week.
J. H. Town, for years a resident
of this county, died at Malvern on
Thursday and was buried at that
place Friday.
All women should be hearty,
healthy and vigorous. Take Fem
inena. Price $1.00 at the Union
Saw Mill Go. 7
A large number from this end of
the county were at El Dorado
Wednesday as witnesses in the
Harris and McLemore cases.
Mrs. L. Hilliard, who has been
suffering for two weeks with an
absess on the face, was taken to
Monroe Thursday for treatment.
COLDS & LaGRIPPE
5 or 6 doses 060 will break
any case of Chills & Fever, Colds
& LaGrippe; it acts on the liver
better than Calomel and does not
gripe or 6icken. Price 25c.
Mrs. J. D. Loyd and daughter
were here the first of the week en
route from Piedmont, Mo., to Rag
ley, La., to join her husband who is
working there now.
Mr. and Mrs. David Snediker
were here this week en route from
Florida to Colorado Springs. They
were the guests of her brother, E.
E. Buchanan, and wife.
The case of the state vs Gordy
Harris for purgery resulted in con
viction in the circuit court Wed
nesday and he was sentenced to
one year in the penitentiary.
A change of venue was granted
in the cases of the state vs H. E.
McLemore in the circuit court
Thursday and the cases set for the
third week in August at Magnolia.
J. D. McRae, J. W. Rogers and
Geo. S. Tatum of El Dorado were
here Saturday night attending the
closing meeting of the Masonic
school of instruction conducted by
District Deputy H. D. Bowers.
The entertainment given at the
Union church last Friday night by
the Kuehn Concert concert was
the best lyceum attraction of the
season. In fact, we believe they
gave better satisfaction than any
lyceum number ever presented
here. _
Supreme courts so seldom der 1
in philosophy that the following ex
tract from a recent decision of the
high tribunal of Mississippi is we!
worth remembering: “Whiskey isl
a good thing in its place. There it
nothing like it for preserving a man
when he is dead. If you want n
keep a dead man put him in whis
key; if you want to kill a live mar
put whiskey in him.”
Attorney Genrd Gregory ha^
sent out a circu!... '.alter to Uniteo
States district attorneys, warning
them that the department of jus
tice will no longer permit federal
judges to suspend indefinitely ei.h
er the imposition or the execution
of sentence on a convicted crimi
nal. No such suspension, which is
in effect a pardon, has ever been
authorized by law. Courts are also
forbidden to use this virtual Dardon
by continuing a case from term to
term or by similar means.
RU3-MY-TISM
Will cure your Rheumutisin
Neuralgia, Headaches, Cramps,
Colic, Sprains, Bruises, Cuts and
Burns, Old Sores, Stings of Insects
Etc. Antiseptic Anodyne, used in
ternally and externally. Price 25c,
Junction City News.
Mrs. Odie Ursery and daughter,
Ruby Belle, have returned to their
home at Prescott after a two
week’s yisit here with her parents,
Mr. and Mrs. J. R. McDonald.
Mrs. T. C. Marrable and child of
El Dorado visited her parents. Mr.
and Mrs. W. P. Couch, the latter
part of last week.
Misses Christian and Anna Belle
Perry of Holly Grove were here
shopping Saturday.
E. C. Tanner and family have
moved on the farm formerly owned
by G. W. Chism near Three Greeks
Mrs. Alma Fauterree and baby
left Sunday for Wesson Camp.
Rev. W. D. Sharp transacted
business at Pine Bluff this week.
Miss Ida Rhodes of Scotland was
the guest of Mrs. Grace Couch
Tuesday.
Mrs. Bent Ccoper visited her
mother, Mrs. F. M. Lee, in the Dry
Creek this week.
Larkin Hightower visited the
fair sex in the Scotland neighbor
hood Sunday.
The home of Dr. W. L.
t
Miles was destroyed by fire at 12
o’clock Monday night.
Mrs. D. I. Simmons of Wesson
was the guest of relatives here
Sunday.
Mrs. A. A. Couch delightfully
entertained the B. Y. P. U. Satur
day with a party. There was quite
a crowd present and all report a
nice time. Cake and hot chocolate
were served.
We are glad to report Miss So
phia Shorter as recovering from an
attack of pneumonia.
Mrs. Laney of Scotland visited
her daughter, Mrs. J. B. Hamilton,
and family Saturday.
Rev. J. W. Marshall filled his ap
pointment at Scotland Sunday.
Your
Last Chance
To Obtain
Dr. Miles’
Family
Medical
Guide •
free:
This Book Contains
Knowledge that Every One
Should Possess.
PART ONE—
Simple Treatment for Common
Ailments.
PART TWO—
What To Do In Case of Acci
dent.
PART THREE—
Practical Laws of Health.
If you desire one of These
Books, Free of Cost, send your
name and address to
FAMILY MEDICAL GUIDE,
Miles Medical Co., Elkhart Ind.,
mentioning name of this paper.
Not more than one book can be
sent to the same address.
0eO\LL°T^
e
CUMBERLANDS
/& CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK,
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM. PHOTOGRAPHS
OF SCENES IN THE PLAY
COPYRIGHT IQI3
W J, WATT fr <£>MF¥\NY
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—On Misery creek, at the
foot of a rock from which he haa fallen,
Sally Miller finds George Lescott, a land
scape painter, unconscious, and after re
viving him, goes fur assistance.
CHAPTER IX—Samson South and Sills.
taking Lescott to Samson's home, arc n.el
by Spicer South, head of the family, who
tells them that Jesse Purvy has been shot,
and that Samson is suspected of the
crime. Samson denies it.
CHAPTER III—The shooting of Jesse
Purvy breaks the truce in the Hollman
South feud.
CHAPTER IV—Samson reproves Tama
rack Spicer for telling Sally that Inn
Hollman is on the trail with bloodhounds
hunting the man who shot Purvy.
CHAPTER V—The bloodhounds lose the
trail at Spicer South’s door, Lescott dis
covers artistic ability in Samson. While
sketching with I.cscott on the mountain.
Tamarack discovers Samson to a jeering
crowd of mountaineers. Samson thrashes
him and denounces him as the "truce
buster” who shot Purvy.
CHAPTER VI—I.cscott tries to p-‘r
suade Samson to go to New York with
| him and develop his talent. Sally, loyal
but heartbroken, furthers I.eseott’s efforts
The dance at Wile MeCager's threatens
trouble to Samson and Lescott.
CHAPTER VII—At the dance Samson
tells the South clan he is going 10 leave
the mountains. Lescott goes home to
New York / Samson bids Spicer and Sally
farewell and follows.
CHAPTER IX—Prompted by her love
Sally teaches herself to write. Horton
throws himself into the business world
and becomes well hated by predatory
financiers and politicians. At a Bohemian
resort Samson meets William Furbish,
sporty social parasite, and Horton's ene
my.
CHAPTER X—Furbish sees Samson am
Drennie dining together unehaperoned at
the Wigwam roadhouse. He conspires
with others to make Horton Jealous and
succeeds.
CHAPTER XI—Furbish brings Norton
and Samson together at the Kenmore
rlub’s shooting lodge, and forces an open
rupture, expecting Samson to kill Horton
and so rid the political and financial thugs
of the crusader. Samson exposes the plot
and thrashes the conspirators.
■
CHAPTER XTT—Snmsnn is advised by
his teachers to turn to portrait painting.
Drennie commissions him to paint her
portrait. Sally goes to school. Samson
goes to Paris to study Drennie finds in
his studio pictured evidence of his loyalty
to Sally.
CHAPTER XIII—Tamarack kills Jim
Asberry, Is surrendered to the militia and
shot from ambush by a Hollman. The
feud is on again and the law helpless in
the face of murder. Sally sends for Sam
son.
For an Instant Samson forgot his
four years of veneer. The century of
prenatal barbarism broke out fiercely.
He was seeing things far away—and
forgetting things near by. His eyes
blazed and his fingers twitched.
"Hell, no!” he exclaimed. "The
war’s on. and my hands are freed!"
For an instant, as no one spoke, he
stood breathing heavily, then, wheel
ing, rushed toward the house as
though just across its threshold lay
the fight into which he was aching
to hurl himself.
CHAPTER XIV.
Samson stopped at his studio and
threw open an old closet where, from
a littered pile of discarded background
draperies, canvases and stretchers, he
fished out a buried and dust-covered
pair of saddlebags. They had long
lain there forgotten, but they held the
rusty clothes in which he had left
Misery. He threw them over his arm
and dropped them at Adrienne's feet,
as he handed her the studio keys.
' Will you please have George look
after my things, and make the neces
sary excuses to my sitters? He’ll find
a list of posing appointments In the
desk."
The girl nodded.
“What are those?” she asked, gaz
ing at the great leather pockets as at
some relic unearthed from Pompeiian
excavations.
“Saddlebags, Drennle,” he said,
“and in them are homespun and.jeans.
One can’t lead his 'fluttered folk and
wild' in a cutaway coat.”
Shortly they were at the station,
and the man, standing at the side of
the machine, took her hand.
"It's not good-by, you know,” he
said, smiling. “Just auf Wiedersehen.”
She nodded and smiled too, but as
she smiled she shivered, and turned
the car slowly. There was no need
to hurry now.
Samson had caught the fastest west
bound express on the schedule. In
thirty-six hours he would be at Hixon.
There were many things which his
brain must attack and digest in these
hours. He must arrange his plan of
action to its minutest detail, because
he would have as little time for reflec
tion, once he had reached his own
country, as a wildcat flung into a pack
of hounds.
From the railroad station to his
home he must make his way—most
probably fight hie way—through thirty
miles of hostile territory, where all
the trails were watched. And yet, for
the time, all that seemed too remotely
unreal to hold his thoughts. He was
seeing the coolly waving curtains of
flowered chintz that stirred in the win
dows of his room at the Lescott
house and the crimson ramblers that
nodded against the sky. He was hear
ing a knock on the door, and seeing,
as it opened, the figure of Adrienne
Lescott and the look that hud been in
her eyes.
He took out Sally’s letter, and read
it once more. He read it mechanically
and as a piece of news that had
brought evil tidings. Then, suddenly,
j another aspect of it struck him—an as
I pect to which the shock of its recep
| tion had until this tardy moment
blinded him. The letter wa: fectly
grammatical and penned in a h .J of
i copybook roundness and evenness.
The address, the body of the missive
and the signature were all in one chi
! rography. She would not have intrust
ed the writing of this letter to anyone
else.
Sally had learned to write.
Moreover, at the end were the
words, “with love.” It was all plain
now. Sally had never repudiated him.
She was declaring herself true to her
mission and her love. All that heart
break through which he had gone had
been due to his own misconception,
and in that misconception he had
drawn into himself and had stopped
writing to her. Even his occasional
letters had for two years ceased to
brighten her heart-strangling isola
tion—and she was still waiting. . . .
She? had sent no word of appeal until
I the moment had come of which she
; had promised to inform him. Sally,
abandoned and alone, had been fight
ing her way up—that she might stand
on his level.
“Good God!” groaned the man, in ab
jectly bitter eelf-contempt. His hand
went involuntarily to his cropped head,
and dropped with a gesture of self
doubting. He looked down at his tan
shoes and silk socks. He rolled back
| his shirtsleeve and contemplated t.he
forearm that had once been as brown
and tough as leather. It was now the
arm of a city man. except for the hurn
ing of one outdoor week. He wa?
returning at the eleventh hour
stripped of the faith of his kinsmen,
half-etripped of his faith in himself
If he were to realize the constructive
dreams of which he had last night sc j
confidently prattled to Adrienne, h? ]
must lead his people from under the ]
blighting shadow of the feud.
Yet, if he was to lead them at all.
; he must first regain their shaken con
fidence. and to do that he must go, at
their head, through this mire of war
to vindication. Only a fighting South
could hope to be heard in behalf of
peace. His eventual regeneration be
longed to some tomorrow. Today held
the need of such work as that of the
first Samson—to slay.
ntj uiu»l iI lIjjjit'ai ueiurw ms nms
men as much as possible the boy who
had left them—not the frp with new
fangled affectations. His eyes fell
upon the saddlebags upon the floor of
the Pullman and he smiled satirically.
He would like to step from the train
at Hixon and walk brazenly through
the town in those old clothes, chal
lenging every hostile glance. 4 If they
shot him down on the streets, ns they
certainly would do, it would end his
questioning and his anguish of dilem
ma. He would welcome that, but it
would, after all, be shirking the issue.
He must got out of Hixon and into
his own country unrecognized. The
lean boy of four years ago was the
somewhat fllkd-out man now-. The one
concession that he had made to Paris
life was the wearing of a closely
cropped mustache. That he still wore
—had worn it chiefly because he liked
to hear Adrienne’s humorous denuncia
tion of it. He knew that, in his pres
ent guise and dress, he had an excel
lent chance of walking through the
streets of Hixon as a stranger. And
after leaving Hixon, there was a mis
sion to be performed at Jesse Purvv's
store. As he thought ot that mission
a grim glint came to his pupils.
All journeys jnd, and as Samson
parsed through the tawdry cars of Hie
local tram near Hixon no saw severe.;
faces which he recognized, but they
either eyed him in inexpressive silence
or gave him the greeting of the “fur
riner.”
Then the whistle shrieked from the
trestle over the Middle fork, and at
only a short distance rose the cupola
of the brick courthouse and the scat
tered roofs of the town. Scattered
over the green slopes by the river
bank lay the white spread of a tented
company street, and, as he looked out,
he saw uniformed figures moving to
and fro and caught the ring of a bugle
call. So the militia was on deck;
things must be bad, he reflected. He
stood on the platform and looked
down as the engine roared along the
trestle. There were two gatliug guns.
One pointed its muzzle toward the
town, and the other scowled up at the
face of the mountain. Sentries paced
their beats. Men in undershirts lay
dozing outside t- it flaps. It was all
a picture of disciplined readiness, and
yet Samson knew that soldiers made
of painted tin would be equally effec
tive. These military forces must re
main subservient to local civil authori
ties, and the local civil authorities
obeyed the nod of Judge Hoffman and
Jesse Purvy.
i As Samson crossed the toff bridge
to the town proper he passed two
brown-shirted militiamen, lounging on
the raff of the middle span. They
grinned at him, and, recognizing the
'outsider from his clothes, one of them
| 'commented:
‘‘Ain’t this the hell of a town?”
"It’b going to be,” replied Samson,
enigmatically, as he went on.
Still unrecognized, he hired a horse
at the livery stable, and for two hours
, rode in silence, save for the easy
, creaking of his stirrup leathers and
j the soft thud of hoofs.
The silence soothed him. The brood
J ing hills lulled his spirit as a crooning
| song lulls a fretful child. Mile after
i mile unrolled forgotten vistas. Some
| thing deep in himself murmured:
“Home!”
It was late afternoon when he saw
ahead of him the orchard of Purvy's
plane, and read on the store wall, a
little more weather stained, but other
wise unchanged:
“Jesse Purvy, General Merchandise.”
The porch of the store was empty,
and as Samson flung himself from his
saddle there was no one to greet him.
This was surprising, since, ordinarily,
two or three of Purvy’s personal
guardsmen loafed at the front to watch
the road. Just now the guard should
logically be doubled. Samson still j
wore his eastern clothes—for he want
ed to go through that door unknowm.
As Samson South he could not cross
its threshold either way. Hut when
he stepped up on to the rough porch
flooring no one challenged his advance.
The yard and orchard were quiet from
their front fence to the grisly stock
ade at the rear, and, wondering at
these things, the young man stood for
a moment looking about at the after
noon peace before he announced him
self.
Yet Samson had not come to the
stronghold of his enemy for the pur
pose of assassination. There had been
another object in his mind—an utterly
mad idea, it is true, yet so bold of
conception that it held a ghost of
promise. He had meant to go into
lesse Purty’s store and chat artlessly,
like some inquisitive “furriner.” He
would ask questions which by their
very impertinence might be forgiven
on the score of a stranger’s folly. But,
most of all, he w'anted to drop the cas
ual information, which he should as
ume to have heard on the train, that
Samson south was returning, and to
mark, on the assassin leader, the effect
of the news. In his new code it was
necessary to give at least the rattler's
warning before he struck, and he
meant to strike. If he were recog
nized, well—he shrugged his shoulders
Rut as he stood on the outside, wip
ing the perspiration from his forehead,
lor the ride had been warm, he heard
voice's within. They were loud and
angry voices, it occurred to him that
by remaining where he was he might
gain more information than by hur
rying in.
i ve aone Deen your executioner for
twenty years,” complained a voice,
which Samson at once recognized as
that of Aaron Hollis, the most trusted
of Purvy's personal guards. “I hain’t
never laid down on ye yet. Me an’ Jim
Asberry killed old Henry South. We
laid fer his boy, an- would 'a' got him
ef you'd only said ther word. I went
inter Hixon an' killed Tam’rack Spicer,
with soldiers all round me. There
hain't no other damn fool in these
mountings would ’a took such a long
"liance es thet. I’m tired of it.
They’re a-goin' ter git me, an’ I wants
ter leave, an' you won’t come clean
viti. the price of a railroad ticket to
Oklahoma. Now. damn yore stingy
soul, 1 gits that ticket or I gits you!”
"Aaron, you can’t scare me into doin'
nothin’ I ain’t aimin' to do ” The old
baron of the vendetta spoke in a cold,
-toical voice. “I tell ye I ain't quite
through with ye yet. In due an' proper
Mme I'll see that ye get yer ticket.”
Then he added, with conciliating soft
ness: ‘‘We've been friends a lone
while. Let’s talk this thing over be
fore we fall out.”
"Thar hain't nothin' to talk over,”
stormed Aaron. "Ye're jest tryin’ tei
kill time till the boys gits hyar, anc
then I reckon ye ’lows ter have me kill
’ike yer've had me kill them others
Hit ain’t no use. I’ve done sent ’en
away. When they gits back hyar
either you’ll be in hell, or I’ll be on m\
way outen the mountings.”
Samson stood rigid. Here was th
confession of one murderer, with n<
denial from the other. The truce wa
oil. Why should he wait? Cataracts
•:ecmed to thunder in his brain, ...
yet he stood there, his hand in his con
pocket, clutching the grip of a mag
•’ine pistol. Samson South the old, an.
Sanison South the new were writhin'.
'n the life-anddeath grapple of tw*
codes. Then, before decision came
lie heard a sharp report inside, anc
the heavy fail of a body to the floor
A wildly excited figure came pluue
ing through the door, and Samson’s
left hand swept out and seized its
shoulder in a sudden vise grip.
"Do you know me?” he inquired, as
the mountaineer pulled away and
crouched back with startled surprise
and vicious frenzy.
“No, damn ve! Git outen my road!” i
Aaron thrust his cocked rifle close j
against the stranger's face. From '
its muzzle came the acrid stench of ;
freshly burned powder. “Git outen my
road afore I kills ye!”
“My name is Samson South.”
Before the astounded finger on the
trigger could be crooked. Samson's
pistol spoke from the pocket, and, as
though in echo, the rifle blazed, a little
too late and a shade too high, over his
head, as the dead man’s arms went up.
Except for those two reports there
was no sound. Samson stood still, an
ticipating an uproar of alarm. Now
he should doubtless have to pay with
his life for both the deaths, which
would inevitably and logically be at
tributed to his agenev. But. strangely >
enough, no clamor arose. The shot In
side had been muffled, and those out
side, broken by the intervening store,
did not arouse the house. Purvy's
bodyguard had been sent away by Hol
lis on a false alarm. Only the “women
folks” and children remained indoore.
and they were drowning with a piano
any sounds that might have come from
without. That piano was the chief
emblem of Purvy’s wealth. It repre
sented the acme of “having things
hung up;” that ancient and expressive
phrase, which had come down from
days when the pioneers' worldly con
dition was gauged by the hams hang
ing in the smokehouse and the pep
pers, tobacco and herbs strung high
against the rafters.
Now Samson South stood looking
■ down, uninterrupted, on what had been
Aaron Hollis as it lay motionless at
his feet. There was a powder-burned
hole in the butternut shirt, and only
a slender thread of blood trickled into
the dirt-grimed cracks between the
I planks The body was twisted side
j wise, in one of those grotesque attl
I tudes with which a sudden summons
so frequently robs the greatest phe
nomenon of all its rightful dignity.
The sun was gilding the roadside
clods and burnishing the greens of the
treetops. The breeze was harping
sleepily among the branches, and sev
eral geese stalked pompously along
the creek’s edge. On the top of the
stockade a gray squirrel, sole witness
to the tragedy, rose on his haunches,
flirted his brush, and then, in a sud
den leap of alarm, disappeared.
Samson turned to the darkened door
way. Inside was emptiness, except for
the other body, which had crumpled
forward and face down across the
counter. A glance showed that Jesse
Purvy would no more tight back the
coming of death. He was quite un
armed. Behind his spent body ranged
shelves of general merchandise.
Boxes of sardines and cans of peaches
were lined in homely array above him.
His lifeless hand rested as though
flung out in an oratorical gesture on a
bolt of blue calico.
Samson paused only for a momen
tary survey. His score was clean. He
wTould not again have to agonize over
the dilemma of old ethics and new.
Tomorrow the word would spread like
wildfire along Misery and Crippleshin
that Samson South was back and that
his coming had been signalized by
these two deaths. The fact that he
was responsible for only one—and that
in self-defense—would not matter.
They would prefer to believe that he
had invaded the store and killed Purvy
and that Hollis had fallen in his mas
ter's defense at the threshold. Sam
son went out. still meeting no one, and
i continued his journey.
Dusk was falling when he bitched
his horse in a clump of timber, and,
lifting his saddlebags, began climbing
to a cabin that sat back in a tbic.keted
cove. He was now well within South
territory and the need of masquerade
had ended.
The cabin had not for years been oc
cupied. Its rooftree was leaning
askew under rotting shingles. The
doorstep was ivy-covered, and the
stones of the hearth were broken. Rut
it lay well hidden and would serve his
purposes.
Shortly, a candle flickered inside,
before a small hand mirror. Scissors,
and safety razor were for a whl).e>
busy. The man who entered in inv
peccable clothes emerged fifteen min
utes later—transformed- There ap
peared under the rising June crescent
a smooth-faced native, clad in stained
store clothes, with rough woolen socks
showing at his brogan tops, and a
battered felt hat drawn over hie face,
No one who had known the Samson
South of four years ago would fall to.
recognize him now. And the strange
est part, he told himself, was that.
felt the old Samson. He • o longer
doubted his courage. He had mine
home, and his conscience was once
more clear.
The mountain roads and the moun
tain sides themselves were sweetly
silent. Moon mist engulfed the flats
in a lake of dreams, and, as the livery-,
stable horse halted to pant at the t-jp.
of the final ridge, he could see bemw*
him his destination.
The smaller knobs rose like littl'«
islands out of the vapor, and yonder
catching the moonlight like scraps of
gray paper, were two roofs—that ot
ms uncle's house and that oi tuo
Widow Miller.
At a point where a hand bridge
crossed the skirting creek, the boy
dismounted. Ahead of him lay the
stile where he had said good-by * j,
Sally. The place was dark, and jy*.
chimney smokeless, but, as he jar.ei
nearer, holding the shadows of tha
tree®, he saw one sliver of li’^bt at the
bottom of a solid shutter: the shutter
of Sally's room. Yet, for a while, Sam
son stopped there, looking and mak
ing no sound. He stood at his Rubi
con—and behind him lay all the glit
ter and culture of that other world, a
world that had been good to him.
That was to Samson South one
those pregnant and portentous
ments with which life some*
punctuates its turning points, f such
times all the set and sr.lidifi strata
that go into the building jf a man s
nature may be uptoss jd and rear
ranged. So the layers of a mountain
chain ara a continent that have for
centuries remained steadfast may
break and alter under the stirring or
^rthquake or volcano, dropping ;
heights under wrater and thro win j;
new ranges above the sea.
CONTFnUEDTn NEXTlsSU1
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