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Show THE RED LOCK A Tale of the Flatwoods By DAVID ANDF.WSON Author of "Tl Bin Moon" Copyright bj Th Bubbi-Merrlll Co. college Hint miiUi'H preachers. 1 tiei y'u he can cipher plum' through any 'i-ethmetlc you can hand Mm, an' thej say lie's posted on purt nigh evcr'thlng t lint's goln' on, 'r ever went on." "That ain't neither hyur n'r there,' argued Zcle. '"riiat ain't no ruore'fi his duly, an' what Mm taxpayers bad; whar 'e come from V payln' 'lm f'r." "Duty 'r no duty," rejoined the fish, erman, "It's u dern good sign." "All the fame," snapped the postmaster, post-master, "If I had a gal which I ain't got, n'a never had I wouldn't want 'er throwed with Mm like Slme Colln's gal Is, an' she shouldn't he, nuttier." "Aw, well, Zeke," drawled Uncle Nick, "If she tuck after 'er daddy In looks, I reckon they wouldn't he mi great danger." The mucous laugh that followed from the crowd Jarred the postmaster. "I don't care what y'u say," he shrilled In his high, thin voice, "Texl i Colln's got good looks enough, If that'u what y'u want. I dunno what Slme Colln's a-tlilnkln' about. It ain't like Mm, t' take In a teetotal furrlner that-a-way, preacher 'r no preacher don't keer If 'e was a classmate o' Ken's. That ain't no recommend, nohow tieln' a classmate o' Ken's fr he win as orn'ry as the devil makes 'em. They're boun' to be Mirowed t'gether more'n they ough' t' be." "Ain't much more'n a kid, nuther," the blackRinlth remarked, apparently thoughtfully Impressed, as he searched his pockets for a match. "Som'er's around seventeen 'r eighteen eight-een " The postmaster glanced across at Uncle Nick, as If for confirmation of his statement. The old man took tb "SOME LOOKER" STNOrSIS. On th banks of th Wabaati aland Texla Colin and Jack Warhope. yount and very much la love. Texla l the only dauthter of old I'np Simon, rich man and money-lender. Jack la the orphan bound boy of Tap Simon who had foreclosed u mortgage on the Warhope estate. At flint Texle and Jack talk sadly of Ken Colin, the girl s mlsHlns brother. Then Jack says that In ten days his servitude will be over, that he will ride out Into the big world to seek his fortune. Both know what that will moan to them. Texle and Jack talk of the red lock of "Red Colin," Inherited In-herited by Ken. And Jack says he's coming; back as soon as he nds sold In California. Then arrives the new preacher. Rev. Caleb Hopkins. Pap Simon Introduces Intro-duces the vllluffers to the new preacher, who was a college mats of Ken. At supper at the Colin home the preacher tells how the boy killed a g-ambler and disappeared. disap-peared. Ills father attributes Ken's fall from Krace to his red lock of hair. Then Pap Simon has a sort of stroke, brought on by reading- a letter from Ken. "somewhere in New Tork," who curses his father on his death bed. A postscript by anothsr hand says he Is dead. CHAPTER IV 5 The Room Was Deadly Still. Buckeye was the capital of the Flat-woods. Flat-woods. Snugged away In a pocket of the bluffs where Eagle run breaks Into the valley of the Wabash, It never woke up but once when a rumor trickled In from somewhere that a railroad was headed that way. But the rumor subsided. Buckeye went back to sleep, and the big world forgot for-got that It was there. Zeke Pollck's general store was the largest In the place. Zeke sold everything, every-thing, from onion sets to grindstones, Including whisky barrels of It, from "squirrel" to mellow old Bourbon right from the spigot. A flatwoods-man flatwoods-man could buy It as he wanted It, from a drink to a Jugful, but "furrl-ners" "furrl-ners" had to be Identified, to get It In quantities less than a quart an Identification Iden-tification quite as exacting, though of a different sort, as that required to borrow money from Simon Colli which Is another way of saying that a man's face went as far In the Flat-woods Flat-woods as his note. In the mellow evening of the day following the old banker's collapse over the remarkable letter no syllable syl-lable of which had been allowed to get beyond the red-roofed cottage Uncle Nick WIffies, a tall, Iron-gray old man with twinkling eyes, sat smoking a qultely meditative pipe In the one chair of the store. It was a variegated company that grouped around him In the dim half-light half-light of the feeble coal-oil lamp, with its charred wick and smoke-stained chimney. There was Zeke Pollck, the postmaster post-master and proprietor of the store, a little old rag of a man ; Al Counterman, Counter-man, a one-eyed fisherman, with a complexion like a smoke-dried bacon rind ; the blacksmith, with his hard arms, and hands so horny they could They's Thousan's and Tens o" Thousand Thou-sand o' Gals That Cayn't Be D rawed On, No Matter What Feller Comes Along. KoV t' f'rglt Mm, nut her. not rlfrlit scum I ain't. Went nlf t' M'sourl owln' me a dollar and tlilrty-fcmr cents, and 1 never did git It." "Aw, well, Zeke, don't worry mine," Uncle Nick rejoined, "y'u've wormed It miten some other pore devil b' this time, more'n likely." The blacksmith slapped his heavy hand down on his thigh, the others laughed, tin fisherman's frisky eye twinkled and he swore merrily. Zeke said never a word, but the expression ex-pression In his little nit eyes might have meant any number of things. "Blaniedest feller that Jim Uum-uililge," Uum-uililge," Uncle Nick nent on. "Ther' werdn't nothln' but what him an' that brother SI o' his'n win up to when they was youngsters. Itlcollect one Sund'y Jim tuck It Into 'Is head t' yoke up a couple o' calves ol' man Kum-mhlge Kum-mhlge was calc'latln' f save f'r oxen, an' 'e coaxed SI f play olT Blck with Mm so's they wouldn't haf t' go t' church. Well, the ol' folks werdn't more'n out o' sight when up Jumps Jim, an' SI right after Mm, an' they breaks f'r the barn-lot f yoke up them yearlln's. "Sh-h-h I" warned Zeke, "hyur conies the parson." Almost with the words, the dapper, nervously alert young preacher entered en-tered the door. In s?int of his studious studi-ous air of riper years, he couldn't have been more than six or seven and twenty. The trade-mark of as calling call-ing was hung all over him. Ills thlny boots, elaborate frock coat, neck stock, high hat and enormous spectacles fairly shrieked schoolmaster. And yet one could not help wondering wonder-ing why fate had set such a man as the Rev. Caleb Hopkins to the business busi-ness of keeping school. Dissociated from all suggestion of theology and chalk, his figure was about all that could be desired In a man height a trifle above medium; well set up; lithe and graceful and his face nothing short of handsome, only for a certain air of peering severity. To look at him as he entered the door six feet of lithe young manhood man-hood smothering under Its ascetic, not to say somber, lnvesture one would never have guessed that there was anything wrong with his health, and yet that was precisely what had brought him to the Flatwoods. And now as he walked past Loge Belden slouched against the counter, he stopped and stood staring curiously curi-ously at him. Belden seemed on the point of resenting re-senting the look, when the Reverend Caleb quickly turned away, and with a nod passed the group around Uncle Nick and went on to the post office window at the rear of the room. "What d' y'u say we ask Mm t' g' 'long," whispered Al Counterman to Uncle Nick as the young minister stood waiting for Zeke Pollck to ad-Just ad-Just his dirty spectacles on his thin nose, turn up the smoky lamp and laboriously sort over the meager bunch of letters and postcards. "Y'u da'sn't," Uncle Nick answered guardedly. "Watch me, an' y'u'U see whuther I da'st. I ain't a-feared of no parson. "Mr. Hopkins," he called a moment later, stepping In front of the young preacher as he passed toward the door, "a passel of us fellers Is goln' a-selnln' up around Alpine Island In the mornln'. I reckon y'u wouldn't like t' go long, n'r nothln', would y'u?" "Who are going, did you say?" "Oh, me an' Uncle Nick, thar, an' Big Jack Warhope." "I have promised to be at the social tomorrow evening at the schoolhouse, which, I am Informed, Is always held In celebration of the last day of school. Do you expect to return In time for that?" "Aw, we'll be back by noon, easy." "Let me see," pondered the preacher, preach-er, not willing to compromise his dignity dig-nity by appearing overanxious. "This Is Wednesday ; tomorrow Is Thursday I believe I may safely allow myself this recreation. I shall be most happy to avail myself of your kind Invitation." Invita-tion." The fisherman stood fingering his hat and staring at the door long after the minister had passed out, the twinkle gone from his puckered one eye, a puzzled look on his smoked bacon ba-con rind of a face. "Well, I'll be dernedl Wouldn't that singe y'ur whiskers! I dunno ylt whuther he said 'e'd come 'r not." Uncle Nick threw l is head back and fairly roared, while the postmaster rumpled up his dry countenance into a half begrudged grin. "Course he said 'e'd come. Whar wus you brung up at, anyhow? Didn't y'u. hyur Mm say he'd 'vail hlmse'f of y'ur kind lnvytation? Course he's calc'latlng t' come. Zeke, we'll haf t' git Al a new spellln' book an' start Mm t' school next fall." "Well," muttered the fisherman, as his face cleared and the twinkle came back to his waggish one eye, "all I ot t' say Is : he can use up more dictionary diction-ary a'sayln' yes than any man I ever hear'd. But ain't 'e some looker barrln' that kill In' rig he's hobbled up in?" "Most too good-lookln'," piped Zeke. "Aw, dunno, Zeke," Uncle Nick observed, ob-served, " 'taln't go'n' t' hurt Mm none. Only drawback I can see is : It's a pity t' waste all thetu good looks on a preacher." "Anyhow," put In Al, his rakish eye dancing at Uncle Nick's remark, "If he wus ugly enough t' tree the devil up a thorn bush, I don't Mow It'd he'p 'Is preachln' none. An' I reckon he shore must be some preacher, 'r he wouldn't be where 'e is teachln' la a pipe from between his Hps and sat tapping the stem against his thumb nail. "I 'low y'ur not fur off," he answered meditatively to the postmaster's look. "Big Jack's twenty past, an' I've hear'n say Texle wus three years younger to a day. That would bring 'er right around seventeen 'r eighteen." "An' s'poson' she Is every lick of It," the postmaster went on. "A gal ain't got none too much sense at eighteen eight-een an' ther' ain't no gal but what can be drawed on. if the right feller comes along." "Hoi' on thar, Zeke, hoi' on !" Uncle Nick had been leaning back against a cracker barrel. His chair came down with a bang, and his voice rang like struck metal. "You're goln' a leetls too fur. They's thousan's an' tens o' thousan's o' gals that cayn't be drawed on, no matter what feller comes along. "Ther's a heap more nice gals than men. Ther never wus a bad gal but whut ther' wus a bad man first, in' after It's over she's done. All en-durln' en-durln' the years t' come her heart has t' be drug In the dust, while the man-no, man-no, I won't call Mm man, an' I cayn't call 'lm beast, fr the beasts 'r clean compared carries 'is head as high as b'fore. I tell y'u, people hain't never looked at them things right. The man d'serves t' be Judged accordln' f the same way the gal is only more so." A hush fell over Che group. The blacksmith sat pattlnj his foot softly on the floor. Presently his calloused hand came down upon his knee with a sounding slap, while his eyes, dull at most times from long looking Into the forge fire, lighted with the fervor of his feelings. "Good f'r you Uncle Nick I I agre with y'u complete. That's my kind o' preachln' right t' the p'lnt." "My sentiments to a hair," chimed in the fisherman. "I alw'ys takes the girl's part an' be d d t' the man. That's how I lost this eye. It wus when but no matter, I hain't never b'grudged It " The fisherman's lone eye settled Into a vacant stale at a crack In the floor; the hard lines of his face deepened. Could the others have glimpsed back of that seamed and weather-beaten mask, they might have read there the deep graven memory of a day that was dead a dream and an awakening, a romance and a tragedy that .had driven him, as the storm drives ths driftwood, with what the world calls a crime slated against him, to bury his life here with his dog and fishiDg gear, alone in his bachelor cabin on the river shore. " I "I 'low y'u must 'a' been mis- j took about that arm." ! (TO IS CONTINUED Village Loafers Were There Aimless, Doless Drifters Who Had Nowhere Else to Go. hold a piece of Iron hot enough to sizzle water. Village loafers were there aimless, doless drifters who had nowhere else to go. Besides these, Loge Belden, said to be a Kentucky mountain man, tall, lanky and Just comfortably In his prime, with a reddish-sandy mustache and goatee, leaned on the end of the counter nearest the door. Little was known of him except that he and his sister had lately moved Into an old cabin on one of Simon Colln's farms up at the head of Eagle hollow, and that he had taken the Job of clearing the timber from an upland field and making it ready for the plow. Some said he had been a pearl fisher, others that he was "wanted" down at Vln-cennes. Vln-cennes. The Flatwoods held him at arm's length and waited." "Ricollect Jim Rummldge, don't y'u, Zeke?" Uncle Nick remarked. "Jim Rummidge, reckon I do that," piped Zeke's thin voice, as he leaned forward across the counter. "Ain't |