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Show vst fv V" vp&. " - '"TCo p y r ig ht by Do ubladoy . Poqo 6 Co. CHAPTER XVIII Continued. 15 Soon the thunder of the many rifles became almost a steady roar. The air was filled with the pungent odor of burning powder. Bill Dale emptied the magazine of his repeater, and Bank behind the big chestnut to All It again with cartridges from his belt. Bullets now whined on both sides of him ; they cut greenish white furrows In the bark of both sides of the tree, and knocked up little spurts of black earth to Ms right and to his left ; they cut off twigs within an arm's reach of him. A dozen Balls were oow firing at him, seeking to avenge the death of their kinsman, the Goliath. John Moreland's strong voice came to him through the din and roar : "Don't show no part o' yoreself now, Bill ; ef ye do, ye'll shore be hit !" Dale fired again, pumped a fresh cartridge Into the chamber of his rifle and slipped another Into the magazine, and arose behind the chestnut. "Down, Bill !" cried John Moreland. If Dale heard, he gave no sign of It. He fired four shots rapidly, and before the wind had carried away the blinding smoke he was behind another tree and shooting toward the Balls again. Soon there came a short, loud peal of laughter from his left; he turned his head and saw Ben Little-ford Little-ford taking a careful aim at a long angle toward the side of a boulder. Then Llttleford fired, and a puff of stone dust showed that his bullet had gone true to its mark. "What's that for?" demanded Dale. "We haven't any ammunition to throw away !" "Why, Bill," replied Llttleford, "didn't ye never bounce a bullet often a rock and make It go toward a man ahind of a tree?" It lasted hotly for two hours, but the casualties were comparatively Pfew, because there was so much cover available. From the beginning the " Balls and the Turners had the worst of It, which was due to uphill shoot-l shoot-l ing, white whisky, and lack of the ', Iron that makes real fighting men. , The cartridges of those below were giving out ; they had fired too many shots needlessly. "It's about time to rush them," Dale said to John Moreland, who had crept up beside him. "Jest give the word," Moreland nodded. A few minutes later, Bill Dale sent the wings of his line down the mountainside, moun-tainside, forming a half-circle of his force once more; then the whole line rushed, surrounded the enemy and called for a surrender. But the Balls and their kinsmen wouldn't give In yet They left their cover and started to run, found themselves them-selves facing Morelands and Little-fords Little-fords in every direction, clubbed their rifles and fought It was not true courage that prompted them to offer resistance thus : it was utter despera-j despera-j Hon ; they had never been givers of , mercy, therefore they did not expect I mercy. Dale's men forebore to fire i upon them, which was at Dale's com-I com-I mand, and met them with clubbed rifles. The woodland rang with the sound of wood and steel crashing against wood and steel. Everywhere there were groans and threats and curses from the losing side, victorious cries and further demands for a surrender sur-render from the winners. Bill Dale, ever a lover of fair combat, com-bat, threw down his repeater to grapple grap-ple with a big North Carolinian whose clubbed weapon had been knocked from his hands. The two fell and rolled down the mountainside, locked In each other's arms. And then one of the Balls struck Bill Dale across the head with the butt of his empty gun, and Bill Dale slackened slack-ened his arms and lay as one dead. He was lying under cover in a hand-carved hand-carved black walnut fourposter, and it was night, when he opened his eyes again. Above him he saw the bearded faces of Ben Llttleford and John Moreland, and they looked haggard end anxious in the oil lamp's yellow light. Suddenly Moreland spoke : "Dead nothin' !" jubilantly. "Look, Ben ; he's done come to ! Ye couldn't put him in a cannon and shoot him ag'lnst a clift and kill him, Ben! I hope ye're a-feelln' all right. Bill, shore." Dale realized everything quite clearly. clear-ly. He put a hand to his head ; there was a wet cloth lying over the swollen place. "He shore give ye a buster of a lick." drawled a voice that Dale Instantly In-stantly recognized as that of his worshiper. wor-shiper. By Heck. "Danged ef Cale Moreland didn't might' nigh It beat him to death. Bill !" Many men crowded to the bedside and smiled at him, and he smiled back at them. Soon he asked : "Did you capture the outfit?" . "Every durned one of 'em." answered John Moreland. "They're all shet up tight In the downstairs o' the office bulldln', onder gyard. The' ain't but one of 'em plumb teetotally dead, fo' a wonder; but the's a whole passel of 'em hurt. I've done sent Luke to town on hossback, atter a doctor fo' you and Saul and Little Tom ; and he can 'tend to them crippled Balls, too, I reckon, ef you think It's best. What're we a-goln' to do with them fellers, Bill?" "We're going to take them to the Cartersville jail," Dale answered promptly. "I had a different plan an that planned out, John," sold By Heck, winking at Ben Llttleford. "I had It planned out to hang 'em all on a big green hemlock as a Christmas tree fo' Bill ! Some devilish rough Christmas eve ye're a-havin'. Bill, old boy, ain't It?" "Rather," smiled Dale. He closed his eyes. His head ached, and he was somehow very tired. Within the hour he went to sleep, and when he awoke It was daylight on Christmas morning. Ben Llttleford, half dressed, was stirring the coals to life in the wide-mouthed stone fireplace. fire-place. Dale felt better than he had expected to feel ; he greeted Little-ford Little-ford with the compliments of the season, sea-son, arose and dressed himself. Llttleford had Just gone with a handful of kindling wood toward the kitchen, when there was a low, light tapping at the outside door of Bill Dale's room. Dale arose from his sheepskin-lined rocker before the cheery log fire, went to the door and opened it. Before him stood a slim, barefoot boy in the poorest ,of rags ; In the pitifully slender arms there was something wrapped rather loosely in crumpled brown paper. Dale did not remember having seen the lad before, but he knew It was no Llttleford. "Come in, son," he invited cordially cordial-ly "come In and warm yourself. My goodness alive, it's too cold to go barefooted like that I Haven't you any shoes, son?" "Shoes?" muttered the boy, queerly. "Shoes?" He was shivering from the cold. His thin face looked pinched and blue, his eyes big and hollow. Dale stooped, picked him up bodily, carried him to the old rocker he had Just vacated, and put him into it with hands as gentle gen-tle as any woman's. "H 1," began the boy, staring hard "what " "Now stick your feet out and warm them, son that's it," and Dale chafed the poor little, dirty, half-frozen feet and legs. "Son," he went on after a moment, his heart throbbing out of sheer pity, "you go to the commissary clerk and tell him to dress you up like the crown prince of England, If he's got It, and charge the same to the account "So You're Bill Dale. Well, ,D My Soul!" of Bill Dale. It will be my Christmas gift to you, little boy. What's your name?" The lad turned his surprised black eyes upon the face of the big and sun-browned sun-browned man. "Are you Bill Dale?" "Yes." That which the boy said next struck the big and sunbrowned man with all the force of a bullet. "So you're Bill Dule. Well, D m soul !" "Don't, buddy, don't T1 The boy went on; "ily name, it's Henery. I come her, with a C'lu'itv- mas gif fo' you." He pointed a dirty foi-L'nriL'er toward the bundle in his lap. "Lut you ain't a-goln' to git It now." "Why?" Dale asked smilingly. "Why! Sliiies 'at's why. nU, did I ever have uny slmes afore? Barefooted Bare-footed us a rabbit. That's me. liare-fixited liare-fixited as a d n' rabbit !" "Son," protested Bill Dale, "you're entirely too small to swear. You mustn't do It y'know." "Yes," quickly, "I'm small. I'm small to my age. I'm done twelve year old. I've been measured fo' the go-backs." "Measured for the go-backs," laughed Dale, "what's that?" "Why," soberly, "when ye grow lit-!er lit-!er 'stic! o' bigger, ye've got the go-backs. go-backs. Maw, she measured me with a yarn string out o' a stocking which had been wore by a woman seventy-seven-year old, and 'en she wrapped the yarn string around the door-hinge. I'll 'gin to grow higher, or die, one or t'other, afore the string wears out on the hinge. Bound to." Again Dale laughed. Mountain superstitions su-perstitions always amused him. Ben Llttleford came Into the room, and Dale arose and faced him. "Do you know this boy, Ben?" "It's Lyss Ball's boy," answered Llttleford, puckering his brows. "What's he a-doln' here?" "He brought a Christmas present for me," said Dale, "but he has decided de-cided that I shan't have it." "The only Christmas present you could git from a Ball would be a bullet" bul-let" frowned Ben Llttleford. He stepped to the rocker and took the bundle from the boy's lap; he took away the crumpled brown paper pa-per and there In his hands was a loaded and cocked revolver ! "By George!" exclaimed Bill Dale. "What'd I tell ye?" smiled Ben Llttleford. Llt-tleford. An hour later Dale and a score of LIttlefords and Morelands entered the big downstairs room of the office and supplies building. The defeated Balls and Turners lounged here and there, sullen and silent, on the rough-board floor of their temporary prison. Dale walked into their midst and addressed them quietly. . "You'll admit, won't you, that I've got what you fellows call the dead-wood' dead-wood' on you? And that it lies In my power to send every single one of you to the state penitentiary?" "I reckon so," admitted Adam Ball's father. He was pretty well cowed, and so were the others. "But I've decided not to do it" went on BUI Dale. "I can't forget that this is Christmas day. You may have your liberty as a present from the man you've tried so hard and so unjustly to kill. After the doctor gets through with Little Tom and Saul Llttleford, he will come here to dress all your wounds ; then our guards will give you back your rifles, and you may go home. I'm not asking you to promise me anything, you understand, I'm simply trusting the human heart, and I don't believe TU be disappointed." Dale turned to John Moreland. Moreland's rugged face wore a puzzled, puz-zled, displeased smile. "If your brother David was here," BUI Dale demanded with a bare shade of anger in his voice, "what do you think he'd do about it? It's Christmas Christ-mas day, isn't It?" The old Moreland chief's countenance counte-nance softened ; his grey eyes brightened. bright-ened. "Yes," he said, "it's Christmas day, Bill." He looked toward the BaUs and Turners. "Merry Christmas, gen'lemen 1" he said. Adam Ball's father Immediately asked him for a chew of tobacco. CHAPTER XIX. A Perfect Cross. On the floor of the richly-furnished library of the Dale home, near a west window, Miss Elizabeth Llttleford sat reading by the fast fading light of an early March afternoon. Somehow she liked to sit on the floor, and always she liked to read; for one thing, books helped her to forget that she was lonely. There were footsteps behind her, soft footsteps because of the thick velvet vel-vet carpet ; then a low voice Inquired : "Aren't you afraid you will Injure your eyes, Elizabeth? Better have a light hadn't you, dear?" The old coal king turned toward the switch on the wall. "No !" she answered quickly. "I'm through reading for today, and I like this twilight." Her improvement in speech and In manners had gone on at a surprisingly rapid rate. She rarely spoke with any but the simplest words, but she never fell Into anything more than bare semblance sem-blance of the old drawling hill dialect unless It was while she was under the stress of some strong emotion. She closed the book and looked up with eyes that were like the first stars in a summer sky. Her beauty was wonderful ; it was finer and sweeter than it had ever been before. Old Dale stood looking thoughtfully Into her upturned face. He was a little lit-tle pale, and he seemed troubled and uneasy. Elizabeth shook her head. "You're worrying again !" He dropped Into a nearby chair, leaned slowly forward and let one hand fall gently on her thick and silky chestnut-brown hair. "I wish," he said as though to hlm-seelf. hlm-seelf. "that I had a daughter like you." He took his hand from her head, lay back wearily in his chair nnd closed his eyes. Then he bent forward again. "The Morelands, Elizabeth they've moved away from the settlement haven't they?" "Yes; Bill Dale has done wonderful 1 things for them!" the girl answered. I JWin K. Dale was illent for a mo ment after which he said suddenly : "I want to see my son ; there is something I must tell him. Will you go with me, Elizabeth "Of .course. Ill go with you." She thought she knew what It was that stirred him. By intuition, supplemented supple-mented by Bill Dale's occasional cryptic cryp-tic utterances, and pieced out by hill tradition, Elizabeth Llttleford gradually gradu-ally had come into possession of the old coal man's grim secret Neither of them knew that John Moreland was then visiting his beloved old hills for the sake of some shooting. The following day John K. Dale and Elizabeth Llttleford alighted from a northbound passenger train at the Halfway switch. The mountains were covered with three Inches of snow, and the hemlock and pines bore heavy burdens bur-dens of the beautiful white stuff; but the air was still, and it wasn't very cold. "You'd get your clothing all black on the coal train," Dale said to his companion, "so you'd rather walk over, wouldn't you? Anyway, the train isn't here. I'm good for six miles, I think." "Yes," smiled Ben LIttleford's daughter, "I'd rather walk If you're sure that six miles won't be too much for you." Together, with the girl leading the way, they set out across David More-land's More-land's mountain. The old trail showed UHMrvX - 111 l A Great Gladness Filled Elizabeth's Heart. not one footprint ahead of them ; It was not so much used now. They said little. Each thought their own thoughts, and neither cared to speak them to the other. Just before they reached the moun-' tain's crest, they passed a group of snow-laden pines that concealed a big, brown-bearded man who had been stealthily following the trail of a lone wild turkey. He wore khaki hunting-clothes hunting-clothes and high laced boots, and there was a certain English fineness about him. In his bare hands he carried a repeating rifle, which marked him as one born in the hills; a lowlander would have had a choke-bored shotgun. When he saw John K. Dale he stopped suddenly. It might have been Intuition, or it might have been sheer curiosity, the average hlllman being a stranger to neither he followed and watched the two, unseen by them. On the pine-fringed crest Elizabeth Llttleford halted to view that which lay around and below him. Old Dale stopped close at her side, and he, too, looked at that which lay around and below them ; and to his mind also there came memories crowding. The young woman brushed back a wayward wisp of brown hair and turned to the man beside her. "The Moreland part o' the settlement settle-ment looks lonesome, don't it?" she said. "See, there's no smoke comln' from their cabin chimneys. . . ." She went on absently, "But the LIttlefords are there yet." Old Dale caught the meaning that was in the latter sentence. It was not a shallow meaning. "We are going to take care of the LIttlefords, Elizabeth," he assured her. "I've thought much over it and Just now I've decided. When I decide, it's for all time ! you know that, don't you?" A great gladness filled Elizabeth's heart It did not occur to her to ask how, in what manner, he was going to take care of her people ; it was enough to know that he was going to take care . of them. He put a father's arm lightly around her shoulders. She tried to speak, choked, nnd couldn't utter a word. But it didn't matter. John K. Dale understood perfectly. Then he took his arm away, faced to the right, and drew his hat rim low over his eyes. For two minutes he stood there and looked for the little old cabin down near the foot of the north end of the mountain, and he failed to find it. His mind had gone back once more to that woeful night that had cut his life in twain. He remembered plainly waking In the early morning with an aching head and with the rankling taste of much dead whisky in his mouth. Bemembered seeing David Da-vid Moreland. with a bullet hole through and through him, lying on the floor beside him. Remembered his horror, his smothered cries of anguish, and his hurried flight . . . He had wondered, he remembered, why the law made no attempt to track tiixa down. He had not known that the mountaineer's code of honor demands that the mountaineer himself collect that which is due him. 'Tell me." he said in tones so low that Elizabeth barely heard, "where ia David Moreland buried?" He had turned, and stood facing her. She pointed to the southward. "They buried him out the crest o' the mountain a little ways, on the highest place, by the side of his wife. That was always n toucliin' thing to me, that he buried his wife on the very highest point of his own mountain. You know why, don't you? David Moreland believed in God and a hereafter, nnd he believed that heaven was up. He wanted to get even his wife's ashes as close to heaven as he could." "I I'd like to go out there," John Dale said, his voice almost a whisper. "I'd like to see the place." "I wouldn't" replied Ben Little-ford's Little-ford's daughter. For she knew oh, she knew. "Yes, yes, my dear I must see the place," declared John K. Dale, hoarsely hoarse-ly whispering "let's go out there." There was never any disobeying him when he was determined, and he was determined now. It Is strange, that dread human thing that drew him Elizabeth turned and started out the snowy crest of themountaln, wending wend-ing her way here and there betweeD clumps of snow-heavy laurel and ivy and under snow-heavy pines. After a qunrter of an hour of this somewhat difficult traveling, the two drew up before be-fore a small inclosure made of round oaken posts and round open railings arid hand-split and pointed oaken palings pal-ings as high as a man's shoulders, all of which were gray and weatherbeat-en. weatherbeat-en. Elizabeth knew the spot well. She swung the gate stiffly open on Its wooden wood-en hinges and stepped Inside. Old Dale, trembling In every fiber, followed her. His face was very, very pale. Before them were two snow-covered mounds bordered with the dead stalks of flowers of another year marigolds, pretty-by-nights, zinnias. Near the two graves there grew bare-branched wild honeysuckle and redbud, and green-leaved laurel, which in the summer sum-mer time were covered with beautiful and fragrant blossoms of golden yellow, yel-low, royal purple, and waxen white. At the head of one mound a great roughly-shaped slab of brown sandstone marked the last resting place of David Moreland's young wife ; it had been lettered by David Moreland himself, and It was a crude but sincere tribute to womankind. On the face of the other great slat of brown sandstone were chiseled othet Ill-shaped letters and misspelled words. The hands of John Moreland had done this. Old John Dale stepped unsteadily closer and read : HEAR LAYS DAVID MORELAND THE BEST MAN GOD EWER MAID KILLED BY JOHN K CARLILE MAY GOD DAM HIS SOLE It was a living curse, a breathlnj curse a terrible anathema. If deat David Moreland himself had arisei from the tomb and uttered it it woul not have struck John K. Dale witl greater force. He grew weak, ai though with a fatal sickness. He sanl to his knees In the snow, and his iron gray head fell forward to his breast Elizabeth Llttleford knelt in the snov beside him. She tried to find comfort lng words, for she loved him and wai sorry for him, but no words woulf come. There was a slight sound, the muf fled breaking of a dry twig in thi snow Just beyond the palings In frott of them. Elizabeth Llttleford looket up to see the giant figure of Johi Moreland, whose face was white am whose eyes were filled with the fire o hate and anger, who held a rifle in hii cold, bare hands. The rifle's hamme came back, and the fine trigger caugh It with a faint click. Moreland took another step forwan and leveled the weapon across thi palings. "Ef it was any use fo' ye to pray Carlyle," he said, and his voice wa: shaking and hoarse and choked, "I'i give ye time. But it ain't no use at all Look up. Face it. Try to be a man fo one second in yore low-down life." Old Dale raised his head, saw Davit Moreland's brother, and realized al there was to realize. His eyes widenet a little; then a look of relief fiittei across his heavy countenance. "Shoot and even up the score," h. said bravely, and his head was high "According to your code, it is Just. Am "I'll be able to forget at Inst, at last. S. shoot and settle the account" (TO EE CONTINUED.) |