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Show , By HAPSBURG LIEBE . GorvrlrM W TionVMny, Page A.Oo. ir:' Pale M bncuw nrd an, .ow n ward more by rait son of weifj'lt r'mc of strength; ainnlier 1111 ni, and Ball was about to sink the brow 11 head under un-der the surface? Babe I.itileford gave a smothered cry. John Moreland stepiiejl toward the water and shouted hoarsely: ''Don't ye drowned him Adam! Kf ye do, ye'II answer to me!" Dale had gathered himself for a lost move. He slipped downward suddenly. Immersing himself completely, and shot one arm around Hall's thigh ; then, by great effort, he rose with the giant ami over;hrew him, and staggered free ! Ball's hairy face came to I lie surface first. Dale fought back the pain of the water in Ills lungs, and the pain as of sharp and jagged slivers of steel In his hands, and struck madly, half blindly, at the hateful face. He kapt It down, but It wouldn't go under the 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 the beastlike beast-like face, flashes as of distant summer lightning, and red blotches against a thick blackness. The blotches faded, and all became dark to him ; h pitched forward, gasping, and began to drift down the stream with th vanquished Ball. Babe Llttleford was standing In the 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, dravn toward the big, white, clean man wh The Combat Grew Hotter and Hotter, Ima whipped Itw Goliath she hud al-vays al-vays dreaded. But she had gone only j n few yards toward the center of the I river when John Moreland and Sam ! Heck reached the unconscious figures. ! Heck dragged Ball to the Llttleford 1 hank and left him lying there, face downward, on the sand. Moreland half I carried, half dragged Bill Dale to the other bank. Babe Llttleford 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 RKjways nigh dead." He and Sam Heck took up Dftle'a dripping figure and bore It away. Babe Llttleford ran to higher ground, hid herself behind a clump of sassafras find 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 forcbune-teilln'. 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 gucsser, too, I reckon." Granny Heck flared up nulcklj; "Ain't nothin' In forcliune-tellin' ! Now don't go and fool yeself, John Moreland. You listen to me about a half minute, John. I seed more In the cup 'an I told Mr. Bill. I seed blood and death. I seed a big fight atwirt the Morelands and the Littlrfonfs !" "That's easy to fcwss at," John Moreland replied. "You know, o' course, 'at Black Adam will do nil h can to bring trouble to us Zm account ' Bill Dale n-stoyln with us. And you know it ain't never onpossible to hatch up war ntwecn us and the Ltfr tlefords. Jest run on ahead, Granny Heck, and tell my wife to bunt up some kind o' good liniment fo' Bill's bruises. Tell her she needn't to wiiste time a-lookln up any bflndagfs. This man here is like me: he wouldn't wer bandages, 'cause they look bad." Bill joins the MortUndi. (TO HE CONTINUED.) pr, . rs BLACK ADAM. flvnops i. Young Carlyle Wilbur-ton Wilbur-ton Dale, or "Bill Dale," as he electa to be known, son of a wealthy coal operator, John K. Dale, arrives ar-rives at the Halfway Switch, in astern Tennessee, abandoning a life of idle ease and incidentally a bride, Patricia Claverine, at the altar al-tar determined to make his own way in lire. He meets "Babe" LJt-tleford, LJt-tleford, typical mountaineer girl. 'By-' Heck, a character of the hills, taKes him to John More-land's More-land's home. Moreland is chief of his "clan," which lias an old feud with the Dlttlefords. He tells Dale of the killing of his brother, David Moreland, yeara ago. owner of rich coal deposits, by a man named i at lyle. Moreland's description of "C'arJyle" causes Dale to believe the man wus his father. - CHAPTER II 2 In the Cup. Dnle found the humble home of his ataiintaliieer host a home in the fullest ttuse of the Word. At the noonday meal, he met ilrs. llorelund and the sons of the house-Bold, house-Bold, and they were exactly as he had pictured them. Mrs. Moreland was quiet, motherly, always smiling, as straight and real as her husband. The nns, Caleb and Luke, were as much llike as the fingers on your hands; they were tall and broad-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 i old father and mother for a long time. When supper was over John More-land More-land lighted the big glass lamp In the ;best room, and the family and their guest gathered there to spend the evening. eve-ning. Then the lanky moonshiner and his mother came In. Granny Heck had the sharp features and the stooped, thin figure of a witch. She wore a faded blue bandana about her white head, and she carried a long hickory staff; there was a reed-siemmed reed-siemmed clny pipe In her mouth, and her dark calico skirt had a tobacco pocket in It. Her son preceded her Into the room. He walked lo the center table, faced bout, and said with a low and airy sweep of his right handj "Hill, old hoy, this here's maw. Maw, lie tells forchunes." "So this here," creaked Granny Heck, looking over the brass rims of her Mpectncles, "is Mr. Bill ! Well, -veil! I Jesl thought to myself 'at I'd me up and see ye, Mr. Bill, and tell jore forclume." She dropped Into the rocker that Caleb had placed for her. "Addle," she said to the smiling Mrs. Jloreland. "will ye bring me a cup half full o' coffee grounds?" When the cup came, the fortuneteller fortune-teller took It and shook it and patted It, all the while muttering mysterious -voids that she had learned from the "d Indian, Cherokee Joe which served her purpose very well. "I see." she mumbled more or less sepukhrnlly, "a pow'ful good-lookln' EuiH in a caliker dress, with her hair hiingin' away down her back. A bare-fooled bare-fooled gyurl, with big, purty eyes. Mies a-srstmlin' on a low clift, n -peep-In' at yoa through the biurets, Mr. KiM. Tills Is 1 the past. ... "In the future," she went on slowly,, "I we this here as plain as daylight '1'i'oiigli a knothole; a awful big man, "lib curly black hair and curlv black heard, and with eyes like a clift-hk's; clift-hk's; and I see you, too. Mr. Bill; "d I sec a ti-Iit. a master tight Lord tn niussy, what a tight! But you'll marry the gyurl after all, Mr. Bill." f'ale laughed. The old woman had 'lesn-ihcd Babe Llttleford. But who ws i ,e "bis, ,..; lmm..? Some fpI. who had lost his heart to "the mountain girl, iwhaps. When the Hecks had gone, John , "relil" 1 io:"Hl forward and touched "is irnpi.f on the knee. '"Ihai H;ar big man mentioned In telli.f ,.,,.0 forci,,,,,.. he ..1)iKnt I'eer illacU Adam Ball. Black Adam, he live, with his pap and mother a '' mt'e ,, the river. As big as '""'"''I boss, he Is. and plumb on-edly on-edly strong. He's been a-beggin' Babe "jtllefoi-,1 to marry him fo' a year or !.':. n'"1 slia won'' Iis'en 'o h.m. "Kf ever ye do haf to tight Black Altm." John Moreland went on, "ve "nt to flcht him with a twoeved Woltnm ij bucksluit. He's the menn- nan on earth; snnke-broth and PiWh vine is religious aside o' him. ontel ye ,0gin a-makin' love to d.vlUltU'ford' 1 reckon t,le' no jTVLf'1' J'OH a-bavin' trouble with f t k t'nm: und 5'" a,"'t Iik0y- 1 " "' 0 ninl love to Babe." "Bat Dane's the best one o' the Lit-tWorrls," Lit-tWorrls," declared Luke. John Moreland reached for the estherbound old family Bible. He opened the Book at random. 'It's about time we was a-goin' to f rest, and we'll go jest as soon ns 're had prayers. Mr. Dale." When half a chapter from St. Mat-ttew Mat-ttew had been laboriously but. rever-'''y rever-'''y read, the Morelands knelt at '''r chairs and so did Bi.'I Dtl. Jati. 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 klnfolks, and al! o' our friends, and our Inlmies, the Llttlefords 'specially the Littlefords. Aymen !" Dale was deeply Impressed. He beard Mrs. Moreland dimly when she told him to let her know she would bear hlra If he called if there wasn't enough cover for his bed. Then he found himself alone with the stalwart chief of the Morelands. He stepped forward and put his band 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. Lo you really mean it?" "1 try hard to," Moreland said quickly. quick-ly. "In a-doin' that," he went on, "I go Ben Llttleford one better. Ben Liltleford'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 fambly prayers, too, every night. He'd ax the blesslu' o' the Lord on the stranger onder his roofi 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, why 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 Hie Almighty to bless the devil or the rattler In the laurels, or the copper-bead copper-bead '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'll . have a fine rest, Bill Dale. I ain't a-goin' to call ye 'Mister' no more, Bill Dale !" "Don't!" smilingly said the younger man. " 'Kill Dale' Is right, y'know. (lood-nlght, John Moreland!" 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 mountnin. 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-cbiy 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 (rrnndpap Moreland. When Dale was directly in front of the log house, he 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. "Mornln'! I was Jest a-takin' that (bar cussfired old pest down offen the roof. I've took him down every mornln' morn-ln' as reg'lar as I make fires, fo' three year or more. Kf It wasn't bad luck to kill a cat, 1' shoot him. mebbe." After breakfasting with John More-land, More-land, Bill Dnle 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 lowered Jail white sycamores. Not until he had put a minnow on tlie hook and cast It out did he see that he was not alone at the pool. On the other side, less than sixty feet away, Iinbe Llttleford 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 to reproachful anger in her long brown eyes. "Good 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 ot 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 around when he walked up to her and spoke again. It struck him as being decidedly odd. "I say," he told her, "you're tH 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 Little-ford?" Little-ford?" he asked next. In the black, mica-starred soil at his feet grew a carpet of the finest violets he had ever seen. Babe let the tip cf her cane rod fall into the water and looked around. "1 sounds funny to hear a man talk o' sech little things as vl'lets," she declared. de-clared. "Most o' men don't think o' nothin' but workin', huntin', ightin' and entin'. I'm i little mad at you! I went home yeste'day and I think I run might' nigh the whole six mile : and fixed up dinner fo' you, 'cause I onderstood you was a-comin' to our house and 'you went to them low-down low-down Morelands !" "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-lsed 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 pull In one hand and a white hickory rod In the other. ."Hi, thar, Bill, old boy!" he yelled. "HI, thur, Babe! Either of ye'ucs ketched anything?" Ben Littleford's daughter held up a fish proudly. Heck slnpped his thigh with 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 mountnlneer almost closed one alert Thert Wji 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 he had whipped a heavyweight pugilist; and he had fought as a matter of principle ..nd not for money or prestige. Moreland suddenly Jerked one thumb toward o Uwr side of the stream. Pale lookeil am, saw, standing beside Babe I.itlleforit quite formidable 1 I man. He bad the height and breadth, almost, of a Goliath. He was black-eyed black-eyed and black-haired, and his thick, short beard was curled U'i the hair between a bull's horns. In one hand he carried a repeating rifle as lightly as though It were a mer straw. One of his great arms suddenly straightened toward Dale, and a voice as gruff as the grwl of a bear said hotly: "What was rou w-aoin' here a-talkin' to my fyurl?" Babe Llttleforn looked angry. Dale flushed, then went pale. "I 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 Mo.eland: "Is It "that Ball fellow?" fel-low?" "Yes," kjswered th hillman; "it's Black Adam Ball." Ball dropped his rifle to the violets, slowly clenched his huge and hairy bands, and thrust his bearded jaw out aggressively. "I 'dare ye over Sere, ye pink coward cow-ard !" he challenged. "If you have any business with me, 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 lace-trlmmed lace-trlmmed pink mollycoddle !" Half-way would be the middle of the river, and no place for a fight, surely. But Dale was nettled. His temper, the temper that he had never been able to keep wholly under control, was rising fast. He threw oft his coat and hat and rolled the sleeves of his soft shirt to his elbows. Then he waded into the pool. The slowly moving water was up to his waist at the half-wray half-wray point, and the !ottoin was of hard-packed sand. The Goliath stared unbelievingly. He was noi .accustomed to having his challenges thus accepted He threw off his hat and Wfjt to meet the lithe young stranger. Bill Dale squared hlmseif and put up his guard. Adam' Ball came on, 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 crus an ordinary man's chest In; out, to BaH's surprise, It failed to land. Dale evad!. It cleverly, and at the same time sent; ! a swift left uppercut to the other's i 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 blow-that rebounded dully from 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 with 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 in 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 sou and the watchful and silent John Moreland. "Hit him In the stummick, Mr. Bill !" she cried over and over. "Hit him whar 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. Dnle had seriously damaged his soft hands; they felt as though they were filled flth 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 Llttleford stood In the edge of the water, with her hands clasped below her throat, her face was pale. John Moreland, who had witnessed many other great fights, himself a fighting man, hnd never before beheld such a contest of strength and endurance as this; Rill Dale had won John More-land's More-land's heart for all time to come. But the blows of the fighters were growing weaker now. The sound of their Inbored breathing rose distinctly-over distinctly-over the gentle roar of the sparkling waters above. Then the watchers saw A.1nm Ball lunge at his man, saw Dale stumble out of sheer weakness, saw Jail's mighty blood-str.-nkod arms do .e about the beautiful white laxly and hug It close to his groat and hairy r-host. A moment, and Lull was t-end- |