OCR Text |
Show 1 The Reel Lock Tale I of the By DAVID ANDERSON VI t , A I i3 Author of "The Blue Moon" 1. l&tWQOClS Copyright by The Bobbs-Merril! Co. 3 '9 1 . Igj 'MISTOOK" SYNOPSIS. On the banks ot the Wabash stand Texie Colin and Jack Warhope, young and very much In love. Texie is the only daughter of old Pap Simon, rich man and money-lender. Jack Is the orphan bound boy of Pap Simon who had foreclosed a mortgage on the Warhope estate. At first Texie and Jack talk sadly of Ken Colin, the girl's missing 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 mean to them. Texie and Jack talk of the red lock of "Ked Colin," Inherited In-herited by Ken. And Jack says he's coming back as soon as he finds gold in California. Then arrives the new preacher, Rev. Caleb Hopkins. Pap Simon Introduces Intro-duces the villagers to the new preacher, who was a college mate of Ken. At supper at the Colin home the preacher tells how the boy killed a gambler and disappeared. disap-peared. His father attributes Ken's fall from grace 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 York," who curses his father on his death bed. A postscript by another hand says he is dead. At the village vil-lage store and post office Loge Belden, a newcomer says he saw the new parson with his arm around Texie. Jack licks him. shoots a pistol from his hand and makes him say he was mistaken. CHAPTER IV Continued. 6 "Yes, them's mighty fine sentiments," senti-ments," cut the thin edged voice of the postmaster across the silence and the dream dissolved In the fisherman's eye "an' I mostly agrees with 'em an' lays amen to 'em, an' the new parson may be all 'e's cracked up to be, but etlll I ain't takin' back nothln'." Zeke's thin voice ceased, lost somewhere some-where in the cavernous labyrinth of his sharp, inquisitive nose. Uncle Nick prodded down the contents con-tents of his pipe with his finger and smoked a while in silence. Taking the stem from between his Hps after a time, he blew the smoke away, slowly, as If to get the full taste of it, and waved the pipe across toward the postmaster a well understood preliminary prelimi-nary to a renewal of the argument. At the moment Loge Belden took a gulp from his bottle of "squirrel," put the cork in, slapped It tight and louched up along the counter. "Say, I'd Just like t' put one t' that. This evenin' as I come up the Elver road past this hyur Warhope home-etead home-etead an' Slme Colin's house, I stopped a little bit on the bridge acrost Eagle run an' happened t' look over in the orch'ld b'twlxt ol Slme's an' the parsonage. par-sonage. Y'u know titer's a spring along the crick thar under the edge o' the bill, an' ther's a bench t' set on under the maple tree by the spring. "Well, as I come a-past, thar set this hyur new parson an' that Texie gal on that bench, an' as near as I could make out, beln' purty well along tow'rds dark, he bad 'is arm around 'er. You fellers V wastln' a lot o' breath on that gal. I 'low the parson par-son " The room suddenly was deadly still, with every eye turned toward the door. Belden felt the stillness; hesitated; turned , In the open door, framed in sharp outline against the dark background of the nightfall, stood the tall form of Jack Warhope. Belden grinned oddly; muttered a word or two; leaned against the counter coun-ter and looked down at the floor. With the renchvand spring that only ( the woods and hills can give, Warhope walked Into the room. "I Mow y'u must 'a' been mistook about that arm." "Not a d n bit." Like lightning came the sharp smack of an open hand that fanned Belden's bead back. He leaped away fjom the counter and struck a good s;nashlng swing, clean from the hip; b it it didn't land. It was apparent that Belden had a high opinion of his ability as a rough and tumble fighter, for he stepped right in and mixed it fast and furious furi-ous the whirlwind givt and take of the mountains. The man he faced ducked or sidestepped or dashed aside everything Belden had, and came back with au occasional Jab that was maddening. mad-dening. Belden lost his temper th mistake of ninny a better man and lunged viciously. He ran Into an tippercut to the chin thut doubled him back over a barrel of salt. He whirled up, and his right hand clawed the butt of a pistol out of his pocket. The pistol came out, but that was all. A heavj six-gun leaped from the woodsman's side, a bullet crashed Into the pistol butt, gashed Beldon's hand slightly and tore on into the salt barrel. The woodsman stuck the six-gun back Into the holster at his hip. hidden hid-den by his hunting blouse, snatched Belden Ivy the collar and Jerked him ut Into the middle of the Joor. "I 'low ya must 'a' b'n mistook bout that arm." Belden'a small bidy eyes burned like hot copper as he wrung his hand. He cursed the pain ; swallowed hard ; finally muttered. "The light werdn't none too dern' good. I 'low I must 'a'." The woodsman dropped the other's collar, talked a moment or so with Uncle Nick and Counterman about the seining trip next day the matter that had brought him into the store and passed out at the door. The crowd gathered around Belden. Uncle Nick picked up the broken pistol and stuck it back, muttering as he examined the gashed hand. "Y'u ort 'a' had more sense than t' pull on him. He ain't no ways spry on tulk, but he can pick hick'ry nuts with a six-gun." CHAPTER V Arrows of the River Gods. The Rev. Caleb Hopkins was at the boat landing in good time next morning. morn-ing. The others were already there, sitting sit-ting In the long skiff, Uncle Nick in the stern, Jack Warhope and Al Counterman Coun-terman at the oars, the latter still holding the boat to the wharf. In his nervous and mincing way the preacher scrambled In ; Counterman shoved off; the oars dropped Into the water; and, with the seine colled up on the stern locker under the experienced experi-enced care of Uncle Nick, the live box towing behind, the skiff slipped away up the river toward Alpine island. Alpine island divides the Wabash Into two nearly equal channels. The skiff was guided into the north channel, chan-nel, and had glanced along nearly to the head of the Island when Counterman Counter-man rested his oars with the remark that Just there would be a good place to make the first haul. The skiff was accordingly turned In to the island, and the prow drawn up on the sandy margin. Each man, Uncle Nick excepted, hurriedly undressed, un-dressed, stacked his clothes in the boat and drew on his rough fishing garments. In strict Justice to the truth it must be stated that only Counterman and the woodsman hurriedly undressed. The preacher was far slower and quite noticeably embarrassed over the unusual experience. The ragged boots too large, the shabby trousers too tight, the faded straw hat ridiculously unbecoming, It was the queerest wading wad-ing rig ever seen along the Wabash. The others eyed it askance and winked around at one another. Even Even the Preacher Himself Must Have Caught Something of the Humor of the Odd Make-up. the preacher himself must have caught something of the humor of the odd make-up, for his studiously circumspect cir-cumspect face relaxed Into a suggestion sugges-tion of a grin. After a mild bit of urging, a prodigious prodi-gious deal of coaching, he was left near shore to hold the brail stick while Jack and Counterman rowed out around as great an expanse of water as the length of the seine permitted. On nearing the shore at the completion comple-tion of the circuit, the two rowers leaped Into the water the moment it was shallow enough, leaving the boat to Uncle Nick, and raced for the hank at top speed, holding the brail stick to the bottom as they ran. With the frantic river tribes thus forced to shore, the water began to he wildly agitated. Long ripples shot from side to side of the rapidly diminishing dimin-ishing space inclosed by the net, as some panic-stricken swimmer plowed his reckless way near the surface. Even the preacher's tired and studious studi-ous eyes waked with the excitement, and he tugged eagerly at the brail as the bass and pickerel hegnn to leap, glittering In the morning s,n like silver sil-ver arrows shot up by the river gods "Thar, hoys, haul 'er easy," directed Counterman. "We got 'em. They cayn't git away now. M:in! hain't ther a wnd uv 'em ! I know'd this wus a good hole," ' The good fish were dropped into the live box, the others thrown hack into the river precisely as war claims the best men and leaves the defective and the fishennun seined on. Several hauls had been made, none of them quite so profitable as the first, and the sun was fast mounting toward mid-sky when, as a wind-up, they prepared pre-pared to drag the famous Alpine hole that lay along the south edge of the narrow sandbar jutting far downstream down-stream from the lower end of the island. is-land. "This hyur's a hard hole t' fish," observed ob-served Counterman, handing the near brail to the preacher and taking his place at the oars with Jack, "but they're thar, If we can git 'em." "Bank's purty steep," called Uncle Nick from his place in the stern. "Better "Bet-ter not try t' wade out none." The preacher nodded and the other stooped to his task at the seine. But when the usual circuit was completed com-pleted and they began to haul in on the seine, it was noticed that it did not bow out in the wide curve a spread seine should. Instead, as the men pulled, the sides drew In toward each other until the floating corks stretched out into the river In nearly parallel lines. "Hung up, by thunder," growled Counterman, scraping the sweat from his grimy forehead with a grimier forefinger. fore-finger. "Snag 'r somethin' about forty yards out thar right whar the bottom's bot-tom's out, too, as the feller says." Jack walked up the bank a short distance to where the boat was beached. Stripped to the skin, a figure that might have been a model for those master sculptors who conferred Immortality Im-mortality upon the gods of classic Greece, he was Just slipping into the water when Uncle Nick came up the bar. "You'll find the lead line fast on somethin' a snag more'n likely," he directed. "Jlst h'ist it off. 'Taln't no trick but we've lost our fish." Warhope glanced back over his shoulder and nodded. The Dext moment mo-ment he was plowing through the stream with strokes so powerful It seemed his great shoulders fairly scorned the water and spurned It out of the way. But the task ahead proved harder than the light remark of his old friend had indicated. It was only after he had three times dived to the bottom of Alpine hole that he was able to locate the snag and release the seine. When he swam ashore, following the seine us Uncle Nick and Counterman hauled it in, the preacher, who had come up the bar, was seated on the forward gunwale of the boat, feeling over his clothes stacked in the bow, as If eager to assure himself that they had not come to harm. The woodsman was putting his wading wad-ing clothes on again when a slight thud, as of some heavy object striking' the bottom of the boat, caught his quick ear. Without turning his head he happened to be Just then squeezing the water out of his hair before putting put-ting his shirt on he was able to catch a glimpse of the ivory butt of a six-gun six-gun protruding from a pocket of the olswt frock coat as It was being tucked back in the pile with the tall hat and shiny boots. Nor was that all with a deftness that would hardly have been expected In one of his profession, the slim fingers fin-gers were feeling over the other two stacks of clothes as if making sure that the six-gun he had Just tucked away was the only one In the crowd. Still, probably such an intention was farthest from his tho;ight. Six-gun and all. It was likely merely another of the many eccentricities of a man who had the double drawback of being a professor profes-sor as well as a tenderfoot In the eyes of the woodsman, a combination about as bad as could be made. Uncle Nick and Counterman had just finished hauling In the seine when Jack Warhope, followed by the preacher, preach-er, came down the bar and rejoined them. But the old man's prediction about losing the fish proved correct. The haul produced not a thing except a very surprised, highly Indignant snapping turtle. Counterman kicked the turtle back Into the water and stared ruefully at the empty seine. "Them fish has t' be made up" he glanced up the river "an' thar's Jlst one shore place t' do It " "Mud haul," Uncle Nick finished. "Egzac'ly. Hit's slch a nasty place t' fish that it ain't hardly ever fished, but they're thar." The preacher had turned a quick look up the river; an expression of polite po-lite displeasure clouded his face an expression which the others, busy with the seine, failed to notice. As a matter of fact, his part in the morning's morn-ing's sport had been next to negligible. After the mild and momentary excitement excite-ment over the first haul, his Interest hail obviously waned. The houseboat and the footprint foot-print on its dusty deck. (TO BE CONTINUED.) |