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Show uiMiiiiiiiiiiiimniiiimiiniiiiiiiiiiiimimiimiiiiiiiiiwiim I THE RED LOCK I ffiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirm.- Tale of the Flatwoods ","n,IIlllllllllIII1"IlllIMmmimillimil it. ... CHAPTER IX Continued. 11 He lifted his face after a moment and chuckled complalsantly. "Big Jack," he went on, "couldn't kill lilra with a nigger mauL Didn't 'e fetch that chuckle head a groanln' lick? Lord I Leetle too high, though," he commented in the nice criticism of a man who, in his day, was known to have been the most dangerous rough-and-tumble fighter on the border. He paused, and his face assumed the same puzzled expression it had worn at the festival the evening before. "I reckon hit couldn't 'a' be'n, an' It's jist as well not t' say nothin' about it," he went on, "but I thought that feller favored that scape-gal'us of ol' Slme's Ken Colin what 'e would 'a' be'n by now. I noticed It when 'e flared up off'n the floor thar with the knife." Counterman leaned nearer. "That's Jist what I mosey'd up t' talk about." He lowered his voice. "That wus Black Bogus." Uncle Nick straightened. "No!" "Hit were." The old man swore, took out his pipe again, stared at It and put it back In his pocket. "Black Bogus hit couldn't w'y, ther's fifty sheriffs a-lookin' f'r him." "Yes, an' thera same fifty sheriffs ain't none too devn'd anxious t' find 'lm. He's a bad man with a six-gun. T " 1 and fiyin' t' Ingland. There ain't n sense " "Aw, don't be too hard on the parson," par-son," Interrupted Uncle Nick with a chuckle, "I reckon 'e won't eat 'er." "Huh!" snorted the voice. In ultimate ulti-mate contempt. "What d' you know about raisin' gals? Cayn't see an inch ahead o' y'ur nose. Hyur we set, In our old age, bar'ly able t' keep soul an' body t'gether, when we might 'a' tuck our pick an' cnolce an' me a dlngin' it into y'u f'om daylight t' dark jist how it'd be, too." "Oh, well, Liza" the old man rejoined. re-joined. In tones more serious, "don't throw It up to a man b'cayse 'is foresight fore-sight ain't as good as 'Is hindsight. You might 'a' done worse. I hain't never be'n In jail ylt, an' you hain't never be'n In the porehouse." The dim figure rocked a while In silence. "Gals Is gittln' e'en a'most too high falutln' these days," she resumed, re-sumed, though in a milder voice. "Bound 'r free, Big Jack's a-plenty good enough f'r Texle Colin, the best breath she ever drawed, with all 'er money an' good looks. "Use'n t' be a gal could git along with one beau, but now'days huh they ain't sadisfied 'less'n they've got two 'r three a-traipsln' after 'em. Things is comin' to a purty ' pass that's what I say to a purty pass. If a gal ain't sadisfied with one beau at a time, how in the name o' sense can y'u expect 'er t' be sadisfied with one husban' at a time? now there's the business of it, I-jeeminy !" The air of hard finality with which the grim lips were pursed up and twisted around toward the right ear, the crisp positiveness with which the words were uttered, almost made the twilight seem to crackle, like stiff parchment being folded after the reading of some weighty mandate. Counterman dropped an arm across his knee and sat very still, as If afraid the slightest sound might touch off again that hair-trigger tongue; Uncle Nick looked away toward Black Rock ; the bats darted about In the dim half light, Intrepidly threading the bewildering bewil-dering labyrinth of fruit trees; a cricket at the corner of the porch tried to match the creak of Aunt Liza'? rocking chair. CHAPTER X Warning of the Frogs. While the cricket carried on his squeaking contest with Aunt Llza'a-rocking Llza'a-rocking chair, Jack Warhope, in the tiny cabin at the homestead, sat reading read-ing by the candle on the small center table studying would be a truer word, for the book was Professor Asa Grays celebrated "Manual of Botany." The breath of the trees came down over the cliff, caught and rustled the pliant sprays of the crimson rambler, then the countryside settled still ; the words of the book blurred, dimmed, faded away, and from the transfigured page there looked out at him a face with laughing eyes. A trim slim figure flitting with unconscious un-conscious grace across the lawn to where a tall, suave, profoundly bowing man awaited by the rustic seat under the great maple at Whispering spring, crossed his mind and the face was gone. He laid the book aside; blew out the candle; turned his chair and sat staring into the fire, still faintly alive and fast waning, behind the open hearth of the cook stove. A stlclf ill CxlM mm By- DAVID ANDERSON Author of "The Blue Moon" Copyright by The Bobbs-Merrill Co. puzzled expression touched his face again "got a bellyful las' night. He ain't honeln' f'r no more, I'm bettin' m' bottom dollar 'e ain't." "I dunno," Counterman pursued. "He's a bad lot. Ther" ain't a worse man the length o' the Wabash. An' then there's Loge Belden they say moved in the ol' cabin up Eagle holler last week with 'Is sister. "Cordwood huh he ain't no more a wood chopper than I be. He's a river man. Come f'om the K'ntucky mountains moun-tains In the first place, an' use'n t' be a pearl fisher till they run 'im off'n the river. I never knowed Loge, that is, what y'u might say pers'n'ly. I never see'd Mm till 'e tangled with Big Jack in the post office t' other evenin', but I knowed 'Is sister, not the one that's with 'im now but the other one the one that's dead " The fisherman bent his head and his voice fell low, finally stopped. "Black Bogus Is an old pal o' Loge's," he went on after a time. "Wouldn't wonder he's harborin' up thar, an' if 'e Is, why is 'e? An' what are they both 'r either one of 'em doin' up hyur In the Flatwoods? Hit looks t' me" he bent toward his companion com-panion "they've got the'r eye on ol' Sime Colin." Uncle Nick sat thoughtfully fumbling fum-bling his chin. "That'd leave Ken out," he mused. "He wouldn't 'a' fell that low. Anyhow, Any-how, ther's lots o' folks that looks like other folks." Counterman thought a moment before he spoke again. i "Black Bogus' game Is counter-fitin', counter-fitin', but he's got the guts fr anything; any-thing; an' Loge's or'n'ry enough f'r any dirt. Ther' ain't nothin' I'd put a-past 'im. He's done time twice't a'ready, an' would be doin' it right now if It werdn't f'r 'is sister. Thar's one good gal as different f'om Loge as the devil f'om Sund'y. Hit's Loge's one good p'Int he thinks a heap of 'Is sister." "Well," commented Uncle Nick with his slow drawl, as the other paused, "hit might be the makln' of ol' Sime if somebody could manage t' pry a dollar 'r two off n him, an' as f r Big Jack, I 'low ther' ain't none of 'em honeln' f r more truck with him." He chuckled complalsantly, possibly pos-sibly fancying that he had put a particularly neat and unanswerable finish to the argument. "That ain't it," Counterman pursued, pur-sued, "Black Bogus an' Loge are both the kind that strikes in the dark." "Thunder !" Uncle Nick's shoulder Jerked away from the porch post, and the fisherman fisher-man caught the glitter of his deep-set eyes In the twilight. "They cayn't come nothin' like that on the boy 'r I'll- strike the warpath m'self. Dunno but what I'll peel an eye on that cabin up the crick." The old ranger sat erect and restless, rest-less, drumming with his fingers on the porch floor and looking away across the narrow mouth of Eagle hollow to where Black rock poked his tumbled ramparts up against the eastern sky. The clatter in the kitchen ceased, Aunt Liza's still sprightly, vastly positive posi-tive step came across the cabin floor, and a moment later the creak "of her rocking chair joined the droning chorus cho-rus of the beetles. "Wonder what Big Jack thinks o' the way the parson's a-cuttin' around 'is gal?" Counterman mused. "An' her the best prize In the Flatwoods, even if she didn't have a cent." Uncle Nick fumbled out his pipe, knocked it on the edge of the porch floor, and filled and lit It. "I knowed 'is father, Col. David Warhope, when 'e first come t' the Flatwoods up'rds of eighteen years back, an' I knowed 'is grandfather, Old Col. David Warhope. I fit Te-cumseh Te-cumseh an' the Prophet under the gran'father. The homestead wus a present t' him f'om Gen. Andrew Jackson. Jack-son. 01' Colonel David an' young Colonel David, they wus both fine, up-standin' up-standin' men, soldiers every Inch, an' Big Jack's like 'em. Hit's too bad the homestead had t' be lost t' ol' Sime, an' the boy bound out to 'im. But even so, he'd make a heap sight more fittin' man f'r a Flatwoods gal than that hump-backed, squinty-eyed parson. Beats the devil the headway he's a-nmkin' with 'er. I wouldn't 'a' thought " "No good'll come of it," broke In the acid tones of Aunt Liza. "Didn't y'u see 'is carryin's on with 'er at the sociable las' night? Big Jack ain't go'n' t' be a hound boy f'rever. She'll rue the day she draps a tine lad like him un' takes up with a furrlner." "Aw, Liza," drawled Uncle Nick, "the parson ain't no furriner he's a college pr'fessor." "Don't talk to me," snapped the tart voice. "I reckon I know what I see with m' own eyes. Mind what I tell y'u, she'll rue It, an' so'll Sime Colin a-lettln' 'im harbor around like that, don't keer if 'e did go t' school with Ken. "I bet y'u if 'er mother wus livln' ther' wouldn't be no slch golns-on. I dunno what ol' Sime can be thlnkin' about nothin' but money hoardlu' an' Ian' grahbln', I reckon. If I had a gal, I'd no more think o' lettln' 'er be harboro.J up with a teetotal furriner that-a-wv7 -huh I'd no more think o' let'In' 'er than I'd think o' taltln' wings , That's Jist What I Mosey'd Up t' Talk About." He Lowered His Voice. "That Was Black Bogus." He may be Ken Colin that I don't know but I do know he's Black Bogus. I run afoul of 'im three year back, down Vincennes way. It wus when " The fisherman stopped, breathed hard, passed his hand up over his sunken eye socket and sat staring out Into the gathering night. The aged hunter studied him covertly. More than once he had thought of asking for the story of that lost eye, but the Innate delicacy of the born woodsman had restrained him. "Calc'late you wus some su'prised when 'e swarmed in?" Counterman turned ; felt along the edge of the porch floor with his hands. "I 'low I werdn't no worse su'prised than he'd 'a' be'n If he 'a' saw me. But I happened t' be back In the corner cor-ner b'hind the crowd an' It's a good thing I were. J dasn't come face t' face with Black Bogus. He tricked me once; he won't trick me no more" the old hunter saw the weather-stained weather-stained fist of the fisherman' grip tight; heard his lanky jawslamp together; to-gether; watched him instinctively hitch the holster of his long-barreled six-gun to an easier position at his hip "an' I've already got enough blood on my hands over " He stopped abruptly and again sat staring into the night. The man was a mystery. He had come to Buckeye as the driftwood comes nobody knew from where. He paid his way, asked no questions, answered an-swered none. In the silence that fell Uncle Nick sat pondering him" what his life story might have been. The fisherman roused himself after a moment and went on. "What crosses my path is, how 'e come t' b there, p'tic'lar how 'e happened hap-pened t' come out s' bold 'specially if 'e is the man you think 'e Is. It ain't his way. He never would 'a' done It If it hadn't 'a' be'n f'r Zeke l'olick's equlr'l whisky." He straightened, glanced around at his aged friend, and had the light been sullicient, the old man might have seen that the twinkle, never long absent from the doubly capable eye, had returned. "Big Jack an' the parson shore did show 'im a good time while 'e lasted." Uncle Nick grinned. "That parson lord ! I ain't b'en t' church in fifty year, but I'm calc'latln' on goin' next Sund'y. If that parson can outface the devil the way he outfaced out-faced that hulkln' chuckle-head, he ain't no Dad man t' hitch up with." "I'm only hopin'," Counterman went on, "Big Jack an' the parson, too, f'r that matter has eeen the last o' Black Boirus. I'm hopin' but I'm doubtin'. "I ln't, nary a doubt," Uncle Nick chuckled. "Your Black Bogus" the Studying Would Be the Truer Word, for the Book Was Professor Asa Gray's Celebrated Manual of Botany. burned in two, fell Into the coals and stirred out a tiny shower of sparks. A bright little blaze flared up, danced over the walls and timbers tim-bers of the cabin, glinted upon the sword and spurs hanging under the companion pictures beneath the draped flag. (TO BE CONTINUE!) |