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Show nrw win3 fw a t? a t? t? v By HAPSBUEG LIEBE OpyrirM l'v n' u')"1ay. Piflre Co. ' I BLACK ADAM. ' yiinpn;8. Youiik Curtyle W'ilhur-iJ W'ilhur-iJ ton I jii Le, or "(Jill ljulo," as lie lt'ctH to bo known, Hon of a wealthy :; 1 coal operator, John K. Uale, ar-j ar-j riven at the Halfway Huln-li, In f eaHtern Tennessee, abandoning a life of idle earn; and Incidt-nlally a If bride, fatrh-ia Claverinx, at the al-J al-J tar determined to make his own I way In life. He meets "Babe" Lil-U Lil-U tlefurd, typical mountaineer Kirl. in "My' "eck, a character of Ihe a Mils, lakes him to John More-j More-j land's home. Moreland is chief of j I Ills "clan," which has an old feud with the Llltlefords. He tiflls Dale of the killing of his brother, David Moreland, years ago, owner of rich coal deposits, by a man named Carlylo. Moreland's description of "Carlyle" causes Dale to believe 8 the man was his father. 1 ,0 , ; CHAPTER II ' 2 In the Cup. On le fniiiitl the humble home of his n jiintaineer host a home In the fullest sense of the word. At Hie noonday meal, he met Mrs. Jlnrelnud and the sons of the household, house-hold, and they were exactly as he had pictured llieni. Mrs. Moreland was quiet, motherly, always .smiling, as itrnlght and real as her htishand. The sons, Caleb and Luke, were as much like as the lingers on your hands; they were tall and hrond-shouldered, grey-eyed and brown-haired. Before sundown Dale had become acquainted with the rest of the More-lands, More-lands, and he liked them, every one. lie was at the cabin of his host's gray eld father and mother for a long time. When supper was over John More-fcind More-fcind lighted the big glass lamp in the Siost room, and the family and their guest gathered there to spend the evening. eve-ning. Then Ihe lanky moonshiner and his mother came in. i Uranny I leek had the sharp features tid the stooped, thin figure of a witch. She wore a faded blue bandana about her white head, and she carried a long iickory stun"; there was a reed-stemmed reed-stemmed clay pipe In her mouth, and 6er dark calico skirt had a tobacco pocket in It. Her son preceded her Into the room. He walked to the center table, faced bout, and said with a low and airy wi'-p of his right hand : 'Till, old hoy, this here's maw. Maw, idip tells forchunes." i "So this here," creaked Granny fleck, looking over the brass rims of ier spectacles, "is Mr. Bill ! Well, well ! 1 jest thought to myself 'at I'd tome up and see ye, Mr. Bill, and tell yore forchune." She dropped Into the rocker that Caleb had placed for her. '. "Addle," she said to the smiling Mrs. Moreland, "will ye bring me a cup half full o' coffee grounds?" ' hen the cup came, the fortune-i fortune-i teller took It and shook It and patted , It, all the while muttering mysterious i words that she had learned from the -'d Indian, Cherokee Joe which ..served her purpose very well. " see," she mumbled more or less ijepulchrally, "a pow'ful good-lookin' jyorl tu a callker dress, with her hair a-hangin' aw ay down her back. A barefooted bare-footed gyurl, with big, purty eyes. She's a-standin' on a low clift, a-peep-ta' at yon through the laurels, Mr. Bill. This Is In. the past. . . . "In the future," she went on slowly, "T see this here as plain as daylight Ihrough a knothole; a awful big man. Titb curly black hair and curly black earrt. and with eyes like a ellft-awk's; ellft-awk's; and I see you, too, Mr. Bill; nd I see a fight, a master fight Lord a" mussy, what a fight! But you'll varrj the gyurl after all, Mr. Bill." i Hafe laughed. The old woman had described Babe Littleford. . But who was the "big, dark man"? Some fel-w fel-w who had lost his heart to the lonntain girl, perhaps, j When the Hecks had gone, John JlorelanJ leaned forward and touched lis gue: t on the knee. t "That thar big man mentioned in llin" j jre forchune," he said, "might i" been Black Adam Ball. Black Adam, le live with his pap and mother a Any ru ;e up the river. As big as si sKiiureif boss, he is, and plumb on-fodly on-fodly strong. He's been a-beggin' Babe littleford to marry bini fo' a year or wo. and she won't listen to h.ni. ' i:r ever ye do haf to tight Black jllitm." John Moreland went on, "ye -rant to fight him with a two-eyed hotgun and buckshot, lie's the mean-tst mean-tst man on eartli ; snake-hroth and pzen vine is religious aside o' him. Itir ontel ye begin a-makin' love to Jiibe Littleford, I reckon t he' ain't no Singer o' you a-huvin' trouble with Sack Adam; and you ain't likely, I Wte it: to make love to Babe." "But Babe's the best one o' the Lit-fafonls," Lit-fafonls," declared Luke. John Moreland reached for the Aatlierbound old family Bible. Lie opened the Book at random. "It's about time we was a-goin' to ojr rest, and we'll go jest as soon as uff've had prayers, Mr. Dale." When half a chapter from St. Mat-Sew Mat-Sew had, been, laboriously but reveres rever-es ly read,; the Morelands knelt at S.'r chairs, cniliso did Bill Dale. John .Moreland's bedtime prayer was very simple, and very earnest, and it had in it more of thanksgiving than of supplication. And a part of it certainly certain-ly was uncommon "Bless the stranger with us here tonight, to-night, and all o' our kint'olks, and all o' our friends, and our Inlmles, the Littlefords 'specially the Littlefords. Aymen !" Dale was deeply Impressed. lie heard Mrs. Moreland dimly when she told him to let her know she would hear him if he called if there wasn't enough cover for his bed. Then he found himself alone with the stalwart chief of the Morelands. lie stepped forward and put his hand on the mountaineer's shoulder. "How a man can go down on his knees and pray for his enemies," smiled Dale, "is entirely beyond me. Do you really mean It?" "I try hard to," Moreland said quickly. quick-ly. "In a-doln' that," he went on, "I go Ben Littleford one better. Ben Littleford's the bell sheep o' the people peo-ple who lives acrost the river from us, people we've hated fo' years and years. Ben, he holds famhly prayers, too, every night. He'd ax the blessin' o' the Lord on the stranger onder bis roof, but not on his inlmies, the More-lands. More-lands. Yes, I try hard to mean It, Bill Dale." "And that other enemy," murmured Dale and he wondered why that should bother him so much, wdiy he should feel that vague responsibility about it "the man who killed your brother, David " "I don't never pray fo' him," interrupted inter-rupted the mountaineer, going a little pale. "I hain't that nigh juffect. A man don't git so good 'at he axes the Almighty to bless the devil or the rattler In the laurels, or the copperhead copper-head 'at waits onder a bush fo' the passin' o' some bare-legged child." Dale winced, but Moreland didn't notice It. Dale let his hand fall from the other's shoulder. Moreland began to speak again : "I didn't tell ye afore, Bill Dale. My brother David, he was the hope o' his people. He was better'n the rest of us. The one big aim o' his life was to educate us all, the benighted. Yes, we're benighted, and we know it. He meant to do it with the coal he'd found. As I've done told ye, we ain't never had the heart to sell the coal. I hope ye'H have a fine rest, Bill Dale. I ain't a-goin' to call ye 'Mister' no more, Bill Dale !" "Don't 1" smilingly said the younger man. " 'Bill Dale' Is right, y'know. Good-night, John Moreland I" Dale removed his shoes and outer clothing, blew out the light, and went to bed in the best room's hand-carved black walnut fourposter. For a long time he lay there awake, and stared through a little window toward to-ward a bright star that burned like a beacon fire about the pine-fringed crest of David Moreland's mountain. He believed he understood now why his father had turned a greenish gray when this coal property was mentioned to him. He believed he understood why his father had flatly refused to investigate this vein. But he was wholly at a loss to account for the use of his own given name Instead of Dale. Looking toward the mountain again, he spoke as though he were talking to David Moreland himself: "I'll see it through for you, old man. This shall be my country." CHAPTER III Goliath of the Hills. Dale awoke a little after daybreak arose and dressed himself, and went out by way of the door beside the huge stone-and-clay chimney. The mountain air was bracing. Dale threw out his chest and started eagerly, eager-ly, for a walk. The road led past the cabin of Grandpap Moreland. When Dale was directly in front of the log house, her saw the aged mountaineer standing on a rickety sawhorse beside the stone step at the narrow porch; Grandpap Moreland was helping a gray cat down from the roof. "Mornin' I I was jest a-takin' that thar cussfired old pest down offen the roof. I've took him down every mornin' morn-in' as reg'lar as I make fires, fo' three year or more. Ef it wasn't bad luck to kill a cat, I' shoot him, mehbe." j After breakfasting with John More-land, More-land, Bill Dale borrowed fishing-tackle from his host, and set out alone for the little river. There were many shoals and rapids, and he went almost half a mile before he found a place to his liking. It was a beautiful spot. Above, the water poured between two great boulders with a gentle roar; below, it shallowed out over round stones. Overhead towered tall white sycamores. Not until he had put a minnow on the hook and cast it out did he see that lie was not alone at the pool. On the other side, less than sixty feet away, Babe Littleford sat on a stone the size of a small barrel ; she held a cane fishing-rod In her hands, and her bare feet were in the water to her ankles. She was looking squarely toward to-ward Dale, and there was something akin lo reproachful anger in her lung brown eyes. . "Gcod morning!" called Dale, lifting his hat. There was no reply. There was not even a change of countenance. Again Dale called his friendly greeting, and again there was no reply. It piqued Dale. A few yards down the stream the white body of ( sycamore lay from one bank to the other, it had been blown there by a recent storm. Dale wound his line, went down and crossed by means of the prostrate tree. .She didn't even look abound when be walked lip to her and spoke again. It struck him as being decidedly pdd. "I say," he told her, "you're tv.'' chatty as a set of stencils. You mustn't talk so much, y'know." Her eyes smiled' at the river, but Dale couldn't see her eyes. "Do you like violets, Miss Littleford?" Little-ford?" be asked next. In the black, mica-stai'red soil at bis feet grew a carpet of the finest violets he had ever seen. Babe let the tip of her cane rod fall into the water and looked around. "It sounds funny to hear a man talk o' sech little things as vi'Iets," she declared. de-clared. "Most o' men don't think o' nothin' but workin', huntin', fightin' and eatin'. I'm a little mad at you! I went home yeste'day and I think I run might' nigh the wdiole six mile and fixed up dinner fo' you, 'cause 1 onderstood you was a-comin' to our house and you went to them low-down low-down Morelands 1" "I beg pardon," he said contritely ; didn't know you were especially expecting ex-pecting me. I had business," he added, "with John Moreland." There came to his ears from somewhere some-where down the river the chorus of a rakish old hill song, and the voice was that of the lanky moonshiner, By Heck "Oh. when I die, don't-a bury me deep. Put no tombstone at my head and feet. Put a bear's jawbone in my right hand On my way to the Prom-ised La-a-and, Oh! On my way to the Promised Land!" A few minutes later there appeared on the Moreland side of the river the singer of the rakish old song; he had a minnow pail in one hand and a white hickory rod in the other. "Hi, thar, Bill, old boy!" he yelled. "Hi, thar, Babe ! Either of ye'uns ketched anything?" Ben Littleford's daughter held up a fish proudly. Heck slapped his thigh wdth his slouch hat. "Good fo' you!" he exclaimed. "But they ain't a-bitin' jest right. The moon's wrong, and the signs is wrong, fo' fishin'." At that instant John Moreland appeared ap-peared at Heck's side. He seemed very serious about something. "Bill Dale," he called, "come over here." Wondering, Dale put down his rod and turned to obey. Two minutes later he stood before John Moreland. "I jest wanted to tell ye," and the mountaineer almost closed one alert Mil There Was No Reply. There Was Not Even a Change of Countenance. grey eye, "'at ye're purty shore to git into trouble over thar." "I'm an able-bodied man," Dale returned re-turned smilingly. "You shore are," frowned .Moreland, "but mebbe you ain't used to durned hard fightin'." Not used to hard fighting! Dale's smile broadened. Once lie had whipped a heavyweight pugilist; and he had fought as a matter of principle and not for money or prestige. Moreland suddenly jerked one thumb toward o 3thr side of the stream. Dale looked and saw, standing beside I'.abe Littlefordi quite formidable man. lie had the height and breadth, almost, of a (ioiiaih. He was black-,'.ved black-,'.ved jind black-haired, and his thick, short beard v. as curled like the hair between a bull's horns. In one hand he carried a repeating rille as lightly as Ihough it were a mere straw. One of his great arms suddenly straightened toward Dale, and a voice as gruff as the growl of a bear said hotly : "What was you a-doin' here a-talkin' to my gyurl?" Babe Littleford looked angry. Dale Hushed, then went pale. "1 have a habit of talking with whom I please," he said evenly. "Spoke like a man." drawled the lanky Heck in a very low tone. Goliath of the hills stared unbelievingly. unbeliev-ingly. Dale said in an undertone to John Moreland: "Is it that Ball fellow?" fel-low?" "Yes," answered the hillmun; "it's Black Adam Ball." Ball dropped his rifle to the violets, slowly clenched his huge and hairy hands, and thrust his bearded jaw out aggressively. "I dare ye over here, ye pink coward!" cow-ard!" be challenged. "If you have any business with uie, come over here and transact it," Dale retorted. "I won't run." "That's Moreland terrytory," Ball objected. "But I'll meet ye half way, and I dare ye to take me up, ye lt.ee-trimmed lt.ee-trimmed pink mollycoddle !" Half-way would be the middle of the river, and no place for a fight, surely. But Dale was nettled. His temper, tlie temper that he had never been aide to keep wholly under control, w'as rising fast. He threw off his coat and hat and rolled the sleeves of his soft shirt to nis elbows. Then he waded into the pool. The slowly moving water was up to bis waist at the halfway half-way point, and the bottom was of hard-packed sand. The Goliath stared unbelievingly. He "was not accustomed to having his challenges thus accepted. He threw off his hat and went to meet the lithe young stranger. Eill Dale squared himself and put up his guard. Adam Ball came gn, and he was scowling wickedly. Ball rushed, the clear water swirling in his wake, and let out with a powerful power-ful right. It was a blow to crush an ordinary man's chest in ; but, to Ball's surprise, it failed to land. Dale evaded It cleverly, and at the same time sent a swift left uppercut to the other's bull-like jaw. Adam Ball muttered two wicked words and steadied himself ; he had caught a tartar. A moment, and he led out again, and he missed again ; but he followed it with a blow that made a red mark on Bill Dale's shoulder. "How's that, ye pink coward?" he crowed. "All right how's this?" And Dale sent on a mighty blow that rebounded daily firoirc the giant's chest and elicited only a harsh laugh of contempt. There was little to be gained by striking a man like Adam Ball on the chest; Dale knew now that he must reach a more vulnerable spot. Then he feinted wnth his left and drove his right to Ball's mouth, bringing bring-ing blood. Ball roared in his blind rage and dashed toward his antagonist, resolved to get a Clinch. But Dale eluded the terrible arms, although iu so doing he received a blow on the temple that made him dizzy for a few seconds. While Ball was again engaged in trying to gain the advantage of a clinch Granny Heck made her appearance appear-ance on the Moreland bank. She promptly launched her sympathies in a manner that pleased both her gaping son and the watchful and silent John Moreland. "Hit him In the stumiulck, Mr. Bill!" she cried over and over. "Hit him w har he lives at !" The combat grew hotter and hotter. Both landed frequently now. The faces of both were bleeding, and each spat red now and then. Their clothing had been torn away to the belt, and their magnificent wet bodies glowed in the morning sunlight. Dale had seriously damaged his soft hands; they felt as though they were filled with slivers of steel. But still he fought on doggedly, determinedly, desperately, minute after aft-er minute. Those on the two banks watched it all with suppressed excitement. Babe-Li! Babe-Li! tleford stood in the edge of the water, with her hands clasped below her throat, her face was pale. John Moreland. who bad witnessed many other great fights, himself a fighting man, hud never before beheld such a contest of strength and endurance as this; Bill Dale had won John More-land's More-land's heart for all time to come. But the blows of the fighters w-ere growing weaker now. The sound of their labored breathing -ose distinctly over the gentle roar of the sparkling waters above. Then the watchers saw A1ani Ball lunge at his man, saw Dale stumble nut of sheer weakness, saw Call's mighty blood-streaked arms clone about the beautiful white body and hug It close to his great and hairy best. A moment, uud Ball was bend ing Dale slow'.j backward an! iewn ward more by reason of weigtll r'ir.n of siienirih : another moment, and I'-nii was ab-.ut to sink tiie brov.u beau trader tra-der the surface! Babe Littleford gave a smothered cry. .lohi: Moreland stepped toward tlie water and shouted hoarsely: "l'.int ye drowned him Adam! Kf ye do. ye'll answer to me!" Dale bad gathered himself for a last move. He slipped downward suddenly, immersing himself completely, and shot one arm around Ball's thigh ; then, by a gn at effort, he rose with tlie giant and over. brew him, and sta.1 gered free ! Ball's hairy face came to tlie surface first. Dale fought back the pain of the water in his lungs, and the pain as of sharp and jagged slivers iff -Ueel in his hands, and struck madly, half blindly, at the hateful face. He kpt it down, hut it wouldn't go under tlie water completely. . . . Adam Ball began to drift as though lifeless down the stream. Bill Dale followed, still fighting weakly, choking as he breathed. But soon he ceased to strike. He saw, instead of tlie beastlike beast-like lace, flashes as of distant summer lightning, and red blotches against a thick blackness. The blotches faded, and all became dark to him; be pitched forward, gasping, and begi n to drift down the stream with the vanquished Ball. Babe Littleford was standing iu tile water to her knees. When Dale succumbed suc-cumbed to utter exhaustion, she started start-ed toward him, to save him from drowning. She felt strangely drawn toward the big, white, clean man who The Combat Grew Hotter and Hotter. had whipped the Goliatlj she had always al-ways dreaded. But she had gone only a few yards toward the center of the river when John Moreland and Sam Heck reached the unconscious figures. Heck dragged Ball to the I.irtieford bank and left him lying there, face downward, on the sand. Moreland half carried, half dragged Bill Dale to the other bank. Babe Littleford waded out. She paid absolutely no attention to the worsted bully. She stood intently in-tently watching the limp form of Dale. "Is he dead, John Moreland?" she called tremulously. "No, Babe." Moreland answered, his voice not unkind ; "he ain't anyways nigh dead." He and Sam Heck took up Dale's dripping figure and bore it away. Babe Littleford ran to higher ground, hid herself behind a clump of sassafras and watched them. Granny Heck followed with Dale's coat and hat. She chattered all the way across the meadow "Now what did I tell ye, John and Sam? What did I tell ye? La, la! Wasn't it a master fight, like I said now wasn't it?" "Sometimes ye make me a little tired, granny-woman," Moreland remonstrated re-monstrated gently. "The' ain't nothin' in frchnne-tellin You've jest been here fo' so long 'at you know how to jedge the future by the past. And you're a tol'able good guesser, too, I reckon." Granny Heck flared up quickly: "Ain't nothin' in forchune-teliin' ! Now don't go and fool yeself, John Moreland. Y'ou listen to me about a half minute. John. I seed more In the enp 'nu I told Mr. Bill. I seed biood and death. I seed a big fight atwixt the Morelands and the Littlefords !" "That's easy to guess at," John Moreland replied. "You know, o' course, 'at Black Adam will do all he can to bring trouble to us o'j account o' Bill Dale a-stayln' with us. And you know it ain't never onpossible to hatch up war atween us and the Littlefords. Lit-tlefords. Jest run on ahead, Granny Heck, and tell my wife to hunt up some kind o' good liniment fo' Bill's bruises. Tell her she needn't to waste time a-lookin' up any bandages. This man here is like me : he wouldn't weftr bandages, 'cause they look bad." Bill joins the Morelands (TO BE CONTINUED.) |