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Show uiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiifiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiL: I THE RED LOCK I nllllllllllllllllllllllll!llllllllllllllllllirrm..'paje Q e piajWO(KJ8 nTiIIIIIIlIIIIlIIlllllllllIIIIIIIIlllIIIIIIIIltx CHAPTER IX Continued. 11 H lifted his face after a moment 'and chuckled complalsantly. "Big Jack," he went on, "couldn't 'kill him with a nigger ninuL 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 jlst as well not t' say nothln' about ilt," he went on, "but I thought that feller favored that scape-gal'us of ol' SIme's Ken Colin what 'e would 'a' (be'n by now. I noticed It when 'e flared up ofTn the floor thar with the knife." Counterman leaned nearer. "That's Jlst what I mosey'd up t' ,talk about." He lowered his voice. "That wus Black Bogus." Uncle Nick straightened. ' "No I" ! "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-lookln' f'r him." "Yes, an' them same fifty sheriffs ain't none too dern'd anxious t' find 'lm. He's a bad man with a six-gun. That's Jlst 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 Vlncennes 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'prlsed 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'prlsed than he'd 'a' be'n If he 'a' saw me. But I happened t' be back in the corner cor-ner b'hlnd 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 jaws clamp together; to-gether; watched him Instinctively hitch the holster of his long-barreled six-gun to an easier position at his hip "an' rve 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 conies nobody knew from where. He paid his way, asked no questions, answered an-swered none. Iu 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' bs there, p'tie'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 fr Zeke Pnliek's quir'l whisky." He straightened, glanced around at his aged friend, and had the light been sufficient, 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 'lm 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'latin' on goln' next Sund'y. If that parson can outface the devil the way he outfaced out-faced that hulkln' chuckle-head, he ain't no bad man t' hitch up with." "I'm only hopln'," Counterman went on, "Big Jack an' the parson, too. f'r that matter has 6een the last o' Black Bogus. I'm hopln' but I'm doubtin'. "I ain't, nary a doubt," Uncle Nick chuckled. "Xoor Black Bogus" the By- DAVID ANDERSON Author of "The Blue Moon" Copyrleht 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 Tom the K'ntucky mountains moun-tains in the first place, an' use'n t' be a pearl fisher till they run Mm off n the river. I never knowed Loge, that is, what y'u might say pers'n'ly. I never see'd 'im till 'e tangled with Big Jack in the post office t' other evenin', but I knowed 'is sister, not the one that's with Mm 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 iarborln' up thar, an' if 'e Is, why Is 'e? An' what are they both 'r either one of 'em doln' 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. "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 Mm. He's done time twice't a'ready, an' would be doln' it right now If it werdn't f'r Ms sister. Thar's one good gal as different fom Loge as the devil fom 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 otier paused, "hit might be the makln' of ol' Sime If somebody could manage t' pry a dollar 'r two offn him, an' as fr Big Jack, I Mow ther' ain't none of 'em honeln' fr 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 nothln' 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-cuttln' around Ms 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 Ms father, Col. David Warhope, when 'e first come t' the Flatwoods up'rds of eighteen years back, an' I knowed Ms grandfather, Old Col. David Warhope. I fit Te-cumseh Te-cumseh an' the Prophet under the gran'father. The homestead wus a present t' blm fom Gen. Andrew Jackson. Jack-son. Ol' 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 Mm. But even so, he'd make a heap sight more fittin' man f'r a Flatwoods gal than that hump-backed, squinty-eyed parson. Boats the devil the headway he's a-mnkin' with 'er. I wouldn't 'a' thought " "No good'U come of It." broke In the acid tones of Aunt Liza "Didn't y'u see Ms carryin's on with 'er at the sociable las' night? Big Jack ain't go'n' t' be a bound boy f'rever. She'll rue the day she drnps a fine '.id like him an' 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' Mm harbor around like that, don't keer if 'e did go t' school with Ken. "I bet y'u If 'er mother wus Ilvln' ther' wouldn't be no sich goins-on. I dunno what ol' Sime can be thinkin' about nothin' but money hoardln' an' lan' grabbln", I reckon. If I had a gal, I'd no more think o' lettln' 'er be harbore.1 up with a teetotal furriner that-a-WyT huh I'd no more think o' let'ln' 'er than I'd think o' takla wings v and flyin' 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 fom daylight t' dark jist how lt'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 Ms foresight fore-sight ain't as good as Ms hindsight You might 'a' done worse. I hain't never be'n in Jail yit, an' you hain't never be'n in the porehouse." The dim figure rocked a while in silence. "Gals is glttln' 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 Texie 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 Mess'n they've got two 'r three a-traipsin' 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-jeemlny I" The air of hard finality with which the grim lips were pursed up and twisted around toward the right ear, the crisp positlveness 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 oft 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'j rocking chair. CHAPTER X Warning of the Frogs. While the cricket carried on his squeaking contest with Aunt Liza's 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 Gray's 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 stick 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 2nd timbers tim-bers of the cabin, glinted upon the sword and spurs hanging under the companion pictures beneath the draped flag. (TO BE CONTINUED.) |