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Show 00f Ulusii-ations fcy m'sr C O p y r i g h t by Dojled.y.Poqe & Co. upon reaching the shelter of the trwi that lined the banks of the river without with-out being seen. The stream here was more than titty yards wide; this was Blue Cat shoals. The two lines oi trees stood buck a rod or so from the water, making the tinal shooting il tauce some seventy yards. Drawled Heck : "Le's set down hei and watch It ; hey V" Dale was silent. The very air filled with the spirit of tragedy. The farorf tinkle of a cowbell seemed tragic; tragic, too, sounded the son of a bird somewhere in the tr4 branches overhead. "Did ye hear me, Kill?" "1 think," Dale muttered, "that l'i better not go away until tomorrow. I can't leave matters like this. Do you know of any way to stop that down there?" ) By Heck shrugged his shoulders. "Ho you know o' any way to stoj the rlsin' and settin' o' the sun?" Ix g'-nned. they went back to John Morelond't Cabin. It sltogether by accident that the LIttleford cidef found ls weapon. Lie had dropped a small coin throng!) a crack in the floor. Babe was quleU to say that she would crawl under th house and look for the coin, although she had just put on a freshly laundered laun-dered blue-and-white calico dress. Hei anxiety showed plainly in her face, Her father questioned her sharply, and she stammered in spite of herself. Ben Littleford's suspicions were aroused. So he came out from under the cabin floor with his hands full of the steel of rifle barrels, and witb the money forgotten. He placed the rifles carefully care-fully on the floor of the porch, turned and caught his daughter by the arnj "Who hid 'em?" he demanded gruftt) "1 hid 'em," was the ready answei deHant and bitter "I, me! YVhHt'n you a-goin' to do about it?" LIttleford flung his daughter's arm from him. He was king, even as Johu Moreland was king. His keen eyes stared at the young woman's face a though they would wither It. "What made you hide 'em?" he growled. "Say, what made ye do it?" "To try and save human lives, 'aft why!" Babe answered. "That man from the city what'll he think o' us a-doin' this-away, a-flghtln' like crazj wildcats?" "Kf he don't like the way we do here, he can go back home," retorted the angry mountaineer. "He ain't tied Is he?" Babe smiled a smUt; iit was somehow some-how pitiful, and turned v. "The' ain't no use In aiirgyin' wit you, pap," she said hopelessly. "I 1 might' nigh wisht 1 was dead." At that instant the gate ereakotl open. Babe glanced toward it and saw coming that black beast of a man, Adam Ball the Uoliath, and he was armed heavily; in one hand he carried a new high-power repeating rifle, ana around his great waist there was i new belt bristling with long, bright smokeless cartridges fitted with steol jacketed bullets. When Dale and his companion reached the cabin, Afidie Moreland niel them. Anxiety was breaking hei heart. "Mr. Dale," she pleaded, "I want you to go down thar to the river and see ef the's anything ye can do to stop It afore it begins. Sou jest walk out bold in the open and ye won't be shot at, and I'll be obleeged to ye. Oh, 1 know the' ain't but one chanst in ten thousand, but I'm a-prayin' ye'll striko that one chanst." Dale knew that he could do nothing toward bringing peace, and he knew that John Moreland would be angry at his interfering. But he nodded and went toward the river. He didn't havs the heart in him to refuse. Then there came the keen thunder t1 a rille shot. Dale halted for a moment. Between two sycamores on the nearer side of the river he saw a pulf of smoke rising ris-ing lazily from behind a water oak on the farther side; a LIttleford had tired, flrst. Dale went on, moving rapidly and trying to keep himself always In plain view. Tbe feud forgotten. " jl (TO BE CONTINUED.) laughed Bill Dale. "They're pretty enough. Most feet, y'know, are necessary neces-sary evils, like chimneys and ruln-siouts!" ruln-siouts!" Babe LIttleford blushed. He went on. to hide her confusion, "Tell me about the rifles." "You must shore keep it a s'.-cret," she told him. "1 promise." "Better put yore hook In, sa's ef anybody any-body comes along " Duie threw out an empty hook. "I want to tell ye some other things fust, so's ye'll onderstand better when I come to the part about the rlttes," Babe began, looking thoughtfully across the water to where a Kingfisher sat In watchful waiting. She continued contin-ued slowly, choosing her words carefully, care-fully, "1 was brought up to hate them Morelands, but 1 don't think 1 do. My people is Jest like the Morelands. The biggest difference ye can find Is that one side mostly has grey eyes like you and t'other side mostly has brown eyes like' me. All but their everlastln' Ughtin', they're good people, Bill Dale. "Each side, ye see, is brought up to hate t'other side. I'm ashamed to tell It, but 1 onderstand the fust plain words my Uncle Saul Littleford's last baby said was these here: 'D n John Moreland !' It started a long time ago, and it started over nothin'. Graudpap LIttleford and John Moreland's pap got in a dispute over whether Kain-tueky Kain-tueky was In Virglnny or Nawth Ca'-llner, Ca'-llner, and went to tlghtln' about it. Purty snon my Uncle Saul and Abner Moreland happened along, and they went to fightin', too. Thank goodness, it was on Sunday, and none of 'em didn't have their rifles with 'em. Whatever What-ever else we are or ain't up here, BUI Dale, we gen'ally respects the Sabbath day to keep It holy. . . ." "1 see," Dale muttered sympathetically. sympathet-ically. "I've seen my own mother set down In the floor and take her boy's head In her lap oh, such a big, fine boy he was! while the blood run through her dress from a Moreland's bullet. He died with mother's arms and mine around him. It was all we could do fo' him, was to love him. I've seen sisters sis-ters watch their brothers die from Moreland bullets, and young wlmmen watch their sweethearts die, and wives watch their husbands die. .... "1 tell you, Bill Dale, them More-lands More-lands never misses when they have even half a fair shot. You'd be puf--fectly safe In a-Iettln' any of 'em shoot dimes from atween yore finger and thumb all day. And It's the same way with the Llttlefords. They're fighters, too, every one, and they don't give In any more than the Morelands does. "Addle Moreland knows what It Is to take her dyln' boy's head In her lap, whilst blood run through her dress to her knees. His name was Charley, and he was bad ; he'd drink, and oncet he shot up Cartersville. But Addie, she alius loved him better'n Cale or Luke. Wlmmen like her alius loves the worst boyjj the best ; 'cause they need it the most, the worst boys does. "It's the wlmmen that pays, Bill Dale, when the's fightin'. The wim-men wim-men o' this valley Is right now on needles; they're afeard the men'li hud their rifles. You can guess whar the guns went to now, cain't ye? The wim-men wim-men hid 'em last night atter the men had gone to sleep ! By good luck, they had almost a whole night fo' It. You must be shore to keep it to yourself . but I know ye will. Addie Moreland, she started the Idee. She got Granny Moreland to spread the word amongst the wimmen o' my people. When the fightin' fever sort o' dies down the guns'll all be brought back and put whar they belong." She arose and stood there smiling down upon him. He was staring at the swirling water without seeing it at all. Her voice brought him to himself. "What're you a-thinkin' about, Bill Dale?", Dale went to his feet. He saw that she was smiling, and lie smiled, too. "1 was thinking," he said, "of the dill'erence between you and some other women I know." Her clear brown eyes widened. "And I reckon I seem purty no 'count, don't 1?" ".No, not at all. It is er. quite the opposite, Babe. You make them op-pear op-pear unreal, artilicial." Babe Littleford's countenance brightened. bright-ened. She did not doubt that he meant it. He was not of the sort that flattered. flat-tered. She began to like Bill Dale at that same moment. And Bill Dale told himself as he went homeward that he was beginning to like Babe LIttleford. He did not fight the feeling, because It somehow made the world seem a better place. Early the following morning Dale made ready for his Journey to Cincinnati. Cincin-nati. Having learned the evening before be-fore that he was going. By Heck had come to accompany him to the Halfway Half-way switch, Tbe two set out. They had three hours in which to cross David More-land's More-land's mountain before the arrival of Dale's train, and they walked leisurely. lei-surely. They had not gone a dozen rods when there came from nomewhere down near the river the sound of a rifle shot. Both stopped and faced ahou I quickly. "I'll be dadgummed ef the Little-fords Little-fords ain't found their weepons !" exclaimed ex-claimed By Heck. "They have, lgod, as shore as danglt !" "How do you know?" Dale's voice was troubled. "I shore know," and lleek narrowed his gaze. " 'At was Ben Littleford's old A'i Winch. I'd know that gun ef 1 hcereil it at the nnwth pole. The liar'l It's been cut off, and it don't sound like oilier Winchesters." "Caleb Moreland was down near the river cleaning oC (he sprlnghousc ditch," Dale multeied, facing Ms companion com-panion "I Ihiui' 'J better go back." Together they went back to the cabin. John Moreland and his wife and their son Luke were standing at the weatherbeateu front gate, with their eyes turned anxiously toward the river. Caleb was coming up through the meadow, and he carried his hat in his hund. "Who fired that shot?" asked Dale. "Bea LIttleford," Jolm Moreland answered an-swered readily. Two minutes later Cwteb feaped the old rail fence on the other side of the road and approached them hastily. He was breathing rapidly and his strong young face was drawn and pale with the old hate. "Well," said his iron father, "what Is It?" Caleb held up his broad-v..-wmed black hat and run a finger through, a hole in the upper ?urt of the' crowd's peak. "He didn't miss'" snapped John Moreland. "No," - quickly rep.led Caleb, "he didn't miss. He don't never miss. YH know that, pap, as well as ye know God made ye. He done It Jest to sho' me he meant what he sain He to ( me to go and tell you to aether up yore set o' rabbit-hearted ieatherns and come down to the river fo' a lead-and-powder picnic, onless .ye was a-skeered a-skeered to come! He said to tell ye the wimmenfolks had hid our uns, and we'd find 'em onder the horse floors." John Mrsland took It with utter calmness, though his face was a little pale behind his thick brown beard. He turned to his wife, who looked at him squarely. "Addie, honey," said he, "I'm mighty sorry." "Ef ef you was much sorry, John," Mrs. Moreland half sobbed, "ye wouldn't go down thar to the river." "Me a coward?" Aloreland appeared to grow an Inch in stature. "Me let a LIttleford send me news like this here which Cale brings, and not do nothin' at all about It? I thought you knowed me better'n that, Addle." He faced his two stalwart rfecs. Always Al-ways he was the general, the leader of his clan. He sent Caleb In on direction di-rection and Luke In another, to arouse his kinsmen. Then he beckoned to Dale, who had been trying hard but vainly U think of something to do or say that would be of aid to the cause of the women. "I don't want you In this here mix-up,", mix-up,", he said decisively. "You must stay clean out of It. You ain't used to this way o' fightin'. Asides, you're our hope. More'n that, mebbe, you owe yore life to Babe LIttleford; you cain't get around that, Bill Dale." He went on, after a moment, "Ef 1 git my light put out today, I want ye to do the best ye can with the coal. They Dropped to Their Hands and Knees and Began to Crawl Through the Tall Grasses, the Ironweed and the Meadow Clover. liut o' course ye will. I want ye to do me two favors, Kill Dale, ef 1 have my light put out today. Will ye do 'em fo' me, my friend V" "Certainly," Dale promised. "Much obliged to ye, shore. The fust is this: 1 want ye to take gnol pay out o' what the coal brings, pay fo' yore work. The second is this : 1 want ye to go to Ken LIttleford atter I'm done pervlded he Is yet alive and tell hira about the end o' my bedtime bed-time prayer; 1 want him to know I went him one better, 'at 1 was a bigger big-ger man Inside 'an him. Kemember, Kill, you've done promised me. Now you go ahead to Cincinnaty, and do jest like ye didn't know the least thing about this trouble we're o-goln' to have. So long to ye, nn' good luck i" "I don't like the idea" Dale began, when the big hillman interrupted sharply : "Uo on ! You cain't do no good here !" Heck started. Dale turned and followed fol-lowed the lanky moonshiner; there seemed to be nothing else to do. When they had reached a point a little way above the foot of David Moreland's mountain, the pair halted and looked hack. They saw the Little-fords Little-fords and the Morelands, every one of them armed, going toward the river. It had a strange ami subtle fascination fascina-tion for Kill Dale, a fascination that he did not then try to understand. As the lighter reached dangerous ground they dropped to their hatul-i nnd knees and began to crawl llmug!i I the tall grasses, the Ironweed and th;1 I uieudow clover. They were intent C , zC "WHO HID 'EM?" Synopsis Young; Carlyle WHbur-toji WHbur-toji Dale, or "Bill Dale." as he elects to be known, son of a wealthy coal operator, John K. Dale, arrives ar-rives at the Halfway Switch, In astern Tennebaee. abandoning a life of Idle ease and Incidentally a j bride. Patricia Claverlng-, at the al-; al-; tar determined to make his own I way In life. He meetB "Babe" LIttleford, LIt-tleford, typical mountaineer girl. "By" Heck, a character of the hills, takes Mm to John More-land's More-land's home. Moreland is chief of his "clan," which has an old feud with the Llttlefords. He tells Dale of the killing of his brother, David Moreland, years aeo, owner of rich coal deposits, by a man named Carlyle. Moreland's description of "Carlyle" causes Dale to believe the man was his father. Dale arranges ar-ranges to make his home with the Moreland family. Talking with I "Babe" LIttleford next day. Dale ' Is ordered by "Black Adam" Ball, bully of the district, to leave "his I-lrl" alone. Dale replies spiritedly, and they fight. Dale whips the bully, though badly used up. He arranges with John Moreland to develop David's coal deposits. Ben LIttleford sends a challenge to John Moreland to meet him with his followers fol-lowers next day, in battle. More-and More-and agrees. During the night all the ftuns belonging to the Llttlefords Llttle-fords nd the Morelands mysteriously mysteri-ously ill sap pear. Dale arranges to go t Cincinnati to secure money for tb mining of the coal. The two clans find their weapons, which the women had hidden, and line up for battle. o CHAPTER IV Continued. "To disarm the Morelands so that when tbe enemy comes they will have nothing with which to defend themselves?" them-selves?" Dale didn't know much about these hill feuds. "No. Miss Llt- tleford, I can't say that l think It was a kind thing to do." i Miss LIttleford arose and faced Dale. Her cheeks were riushed. ,r "Has the Inemy come?" she demanded de-manded icily. "No, but " I "All right,1' the young woman broke In sharply. "If the inemy hain't come, wftat're you a-klckln' about?" i Her brown eyes were full of fire. They defied, aud they withered, and Bill Dale suddenly felt that lie was smaller and of lests account in the scheme of things than that uneducated, uneducat-ed, wildly superb creature that stood before him. "1 beg pardon," Dale said evenly. "1 didn't mean to offend, y'know." His quick contrition struck the girl. Her mouth quivered. She dropped her fishiug-rod, and began to toy absently ab-sently with the end of her long, thick ' plait of brown hair. "I've seed so much o' this tightln'," ' ehe murmured tremulously, "that it i makes me go to pieces. I ought to beg . yore pardon, mebbe, and 1 d-do. . . I've seed a good many tine, strong men brought home dead or a-dyin' from the Moreland bullets. And the Llttlefords has killed Morelands, too. One side about as many as t'other, 1 reckon I'd be glad to give my life to stop It!" "I'll help you, if I can," Dale told her. "I'erhaps we can make friends of the Morelands and your people." "1'ou don't know what a hard thing lt'd be," she replied tearfully. "The two sets has hated each' other ever sence I can rickollect. And you won't be here very long, 1 reckon." "1 may be here for the rest of my life," said Dale. "Is it the coal?" Inquired liahe. "Partly yes, it's the coal. I'm going go-ing to develop It for the Morelands." Babe looked at him with a tiny herald her-ald of hope In her eyes. Before she could speak again there came from somewhere back In the meadow the sound of her father's voice "Babe! O-oh, Babe!" "Comln'l" cried the girl, half turning turn-ing "We'll try to make 'em friends ; we'll try. Old Major Bradley, he'll be tip here afore long to spend the summer, sum-mer, and he'll help us. He's a mighty good man; you're shore to like him. He gen'ally stays with us when he's here. You go easy with John More-land More-land ! But when ye git him, ye'U have 'em all. I'll work on pap. The' ain't no danger o' trouble right now, anyways. any-ways. Cioodby, Bill Dale !" "One moment, Miss LIttleford," and he took a step after her. "Are you eure there's no danger right now?" Babe halted, faced about nervously, and smiled a little. "Don't call me '.Miss' no more," said the. "Jt makes mo feel old. Call me whnt everybody else calls me, ef ye don't mind. Why, every one o' the Llttlefords lost their rillrs last night Die same as the .Morelnndu (Sid! Meet me here at sundown, and I'll tell ye trbout it. linodliy. Bill Dale!" "GofKll.y, I'.alu-!' smiled. CHAPTER V. At the River Again. . Jona Moreland met DuIjj 'it Jhe coto. "What did ye find out?" "I learned," was the answer, "that the Llttlefords all lost their guns Just as the Morelands did." "The devil!" The mountaineers began to crowd about Dale. "And who," asked their leader, "do ye think done it?" Bill Dale shook his head slowly and threw out his hands. "How should I know?" lie went on : "Babe told me about the LIttleford guns disappearing. I saw her down at the river; she was fishing." "Did she say anything," pursued John Moreland, "'at sounded like she knowed whar them guns went to?" "She told me," said Dale, "she would give her life to stop the righting. She seemed rather badly worked up over It." From the cabin's front doorway came a woman's sorrowful voice : "And me, too; I'd give my life to stop this here tightln'. I had a boy, a big, strappln' boy " JOhn Moreland frowned toward his wife and Interrupted, "Now, Addle, honey, don't do that." It ended the talk. Mrs. Moreland dried her eyes on a corner of her freshly Ironed gingham apron, and announced the noonday meal. The mountaineers dispersed. Grandpap Moreland went away clawing claw-ing at his long white beard and grumbling grum-bling over the loss of his beloved old Lancaster. An hour later Dale cornered the Moreland leader on the vine-hung front porch and suggested that they look over the coal property that afternoon. after-noon. He was eager to go to work, eager to be doing something wortli while, he told Moreland. The hillman stood very still for what seemed to the other a very long time, and had no word to say. Evidently the feud had all his mind now. When he did speak, he said simply: "All right, Bill." After half an hour of lighting their way through thickets of blooming laurel lau-rel and Ivy, they drew up before an old and mildewed cabin at the north end of David Moreland's mountain. Moreland led the way in and pointed to a spot under a small, paneless window. win-dow. "Thar," said he, "Is whar we found my brother David." The two men turned for the point at which the coal vein ran out to the light of day. Dale picked up a piece of the shining shin-ing black stuff. Judging by the little he knew and the great amount of description de-scription he had heard, the vein was very large and the coal itself of the tinest grade. "It was a big tind," he told his companion, com-panion, "a big tind. It was a pity to let it lie here untouched for so long; and yet it's worth more today than it was ever worth before." His enthusiasm ran warm, and More-land More-land caught it quickly. Together they hastily planned out the little railroad that was to wind its way through the wilds and connect with the big railroad rail-road at the Halfway switch. "I know I'm a-doin' right about it," the mountaineer said twice for the benefit of his conscience. "1 know pore David h would want me to do this ef he could know." "I'm sure of It," agreed Dale. "I'll start for Cincinnati tomorrow. I've got enough money to take me there and back. I have a very wealthy friend there his name is Harris; 1 think 1 can borrow enough from him to finance the beginning of this thing. And I'll buy a locomotive and cars, and all the other necessary machinery, while I'm in Cincinnati unless I fail to get the money from Harris. When 1 get back, which should be within eight days, we'll start the work. At a guess, I'd say we'll need twenty men. Can we get them?" "Shore," nodded the mountaineer. "And all Morelands at that." They turned homeward. At la-st Bill Dale was happy. He had something some-thing to do now an aim In life. He had difficulties to overcome, obstacles to remove, barriers to surmount It was his big chance ! It was almost sundown when Dale returned from his visit to the coal vein Big l'lne mountain hid the sun at a little after three In the afternoon. He borrowed a fishing rod and a minnow min-now pall, which made his going to the river seem proper enough to Ju.in Moreland, and set out to meet Babe LIttleford. He was glad that nobody expressed a desire to accompany him. nc found Ben Littleford's daughter where he had found her i -vice before sitting on a stone the si..e of a small barrel. She was lishini: with an unbailed un-bailed hook, which wii iqual to fishing fish-ing not at all, and she seemed pleased when she saw hlin coming, lie sat down on the stune at her side. She moved over 'a little sir. !v, and tried to cover her feet with nor u 1 1 c skirts. "Needn't bothar to LIu thec". |