Newspaper Page Text
THURSDAY. MARCH SI, 1021
BLUE
moon
Jl Tale of the
Flatwoods
By DAVID ANDERSON
(Copyright bjr tbe Uobbt-MerrlU Compa-ny)
“Law!” the Boss snorted In his
hoarse whispers. “Hit UTt tlf law,
nor th’ sheriff I’m fearin’. Hit's them
•cuss*-d town yaps. They're wild at
th’ name of th’ lied Ms*. They
titink you’re him, and they're like a
herd of deer that’s got a wolf down.
They’re holdln’ a meetin’ right now
b’hlnd th’ Mud Hen. If they start
ag’in, the sheriff eayn’t hold out ng’in’
’em. That timber-buyin’ fuller, him
with th’ flowery vest, ’pears t’ !>•
eggin’ ’em on. I’d like t’ know what
th’ thunder —”
Tiie tall form of the I’eurlhunter
stiffened in the gloom; his Angers
gripped the revolver hutt.
“You might get Bull Masterson,” he
snld, “and wait across there on the
lower point of Alpine island. But
don’t do anything unless the mob
starts. I don’t know much law, but I
do know ttie law couldn’t hurt you for
rescuing a sheriffs prisoner from a
mob.”
“Law! Law!” The Boss growled.
“When I know they’ve ketched th’
wrong man —’’
He would have grumbled still
further, but the I’eurlhunter urged
him to go. With a last whispered
word, the sturdy old fellow stole
away in the gloom, half reluctant still,
as though he felt he was disgracing
himself not to stay and flght—some
body.
The Pearlhunter strained his ears
for sounds farther up the street, par
ticularly for any loud talk or excite
ment back of the Mud Hen.
It was the hour just after nightfall,
when village streets are most likely
to be deserted —the hour when
loungers go home to supper. Not a
sound out of the ordinary rode the
air.
At the moment, a door opened on
the back porch of the sheriff’s house.
A square of light picked oft the rough
boards. The sheriff appeared with a
flat basket In the hollow of his arm.
A woman’s hand pulled back the mus
lin curtains at a side window and held
B candle close tt> the pane to light him
across the jaU yard.
The Pearlluintar lounged down on
the broken chair. A moment later a
key, scraping taJo*! lovably'loud on the
dull silence of tti* Jail, hunted its way
Into the lock. Thu heavy outer door
whined hack. A match scraped; the
sputtering flume was ’laid to the stub
of a candle; an arm held It through
the bars of th* Inner door.
“Oh, you’re awake! It was so quiet
!n here I thought metohe y'u might be
asleep.”
With the air of n man dog tired the
Pearlhunter dragged himself up off the
chair, shambled out into the hall and
took the stub of candle from the sher
iff’s hand.
The sheriff fumbled three or four
dishes and a tin cup of block coffee out
of the tint basket and held them dose
to the bars. He stood well back, tak
ing quite evident pains to keep his re
volver butt out of reach. He did not
know there was a very’ dependable
weapon ulrendy on the other side of
the bars. He made* no move to unlock
the door or to enter the cell.
None of this escaped the Pearlhunt
er. The chance to use his stove left
was as Rood as gone, or rather, It was
not going to cotne. Once he considered
the desperate more of drawing his re
volver and forcing the sheriff to open
the door. But the sheriff was known
to he a brave man. He might fight,
and If he did, one or the other of them
would be killed. The Pearlhunter dis
missed the plan.
“Th’ woman didn’t know there'd be
company tonight,”’the sheriff muttered
as he held the dishes within reach of
the arm thrust through the bars. “I'm
nfeared you’ll he skimped a little. But
we’ll try an’ cook up a-plenty In the
morning.” ,
He closed the door and turned the
key In the lock. The Pearlhunter
watched him until he had crossed the
square of light shining out from the
kitchen and re-entered the house, until
the door closed and the muslin cur
tains fell back Into place nt the side
window. Then he laid the stove leg
by. His chance was gone.
The revolver tucked under his
waistband at the flank of his hack
and hidden by his blouse seemed to
have a personality. Its friendly pres
ence helped his appetite, though, for
that matter, It was already keen
enough, as he had eaten nothing since
morning. He could have eaten three
such suppers as the sheriff provided.
The friendly revolver; the thought
of a grizzled old river man, doubtless
at that moment rowing hnrd up the
river, took some of the smart out of his
cuts and bruises. His left eye was
swelling shut. He winked it Umber
and stood wondering whether to blow
out the candle or leave It hum a while;
finally blew It out, and went back to
the west window.
A sound caught his ear; steps com
ing down the river road. He listened.
The steps turned in at the jail yard;
came uround to the west window. A
face appeared between the bars.
Enough light foil from the stars to re
veal Its Identity—the suave, handsome
face of the man he least expected to
see there.
The Pearlhunter came close to the
window. The other hacked a step
away.
“Pleased to And you In,” he sneered.
The Pearlhunter passed by the taunt
In silence. It seemed to Irritate the
other flint his shot had missed.
“Just call around at your
—ah —your hoarding place this evening
and talk over a little mntter of busi
ness—a sort of proposition—u—air —
bargain," he drawled.
The man on the Inside of the bars
made no answer. His face was as
stolid as If he hadn’t.heard. Neither
was the other much on talk. He shot
straight and talked the same way.
Half petulantly he shifted to his other
foot; took his thumbs out of his vest
pockets. The easy smile left his face;
the real- man came out —a wildcat,
fanged nnd clawed.
“I’ll uncork this rotten old Jug,” he
growled, “If you’ll bolt the Flatwoods
and stop queerin’ my game.”
His lips snapped tight. Ills cards
were on the table. The Pearlhunter
pondered them in his deliberate way
and cast up the sum total of their ex
act value.
First. There would be no mob.
Otherwise he would have trusted to
that. The meeting behind the Mud
Hen had fizzled.
’ Second. He had no stomach for
going into court.
Third. “Queerin’” Ills “game.” What
did he mean by his game? lie couldn’t
have meant the Blue Moon, for he
didn’t know the Pearlhunter knew lie
had It. His game. That tense scene
at the fence the evening before flashed
up clear as the river bed under the
jack light: a girl with a basket;
frightened eyes; a yellow curl that rose
and fell upon a startled bosom.
“I’ll stay where I am,” he answered,
crisp and cold. “The law put me in;
the law can get me out.”
The other shrugged his shoulders,
furious at the bnffling coolness he en
countered. And yet he couldn’t afford
to give up his plans, or spoil them by
any untimely show of his ffeal feel
ings, The easy smile came back.
“Those questions you were expect
ing to ask —I might answer them to
boot.”
The I’enrlhunter’s fingers tightened
on the bar. He breuthed deep. Those
questions! llis life through, they had
haunted him. And the man before him
knew the answer. His face set hard.
“Answer or not, ns you please,” he
said; “but I'll not bolt the Flatwoods.
I was expectin’ to ask about my—fa
ther.”
The other whipped a curious look at
him.
“Your father!” he snarled. The
scowl on his face became It better than
the smile. “As like you as two peas;
with the same lot of fool, Sir Galahad
notions about the women —angels and
white lilies, and all tlui< rot He
crossed my path once too often, and
for the last time, seven years ago. He’s
In hell now. And your mother —"
Tlie fist that stabbed out of the win
dow fell almost short landing with a
simp Instead of a crash, like a lash that
can reach only so far. It stung the
nmn on the point of the cheek and shot
hts head back.
He staggered and threw up hts hnnd
to his face. His other hand Involun
tarily dropped toward Ills hip. Well
for him that It stopped before It got
there. The Pearlhunter lind snatched
the revolver from under his blouse and
held It Just below’ the window ledge.
The man on the outside backed
away, his face stung to flame by the
blow. He.felt for his knife; seemed
to remember where be had left It —be-
tween the ribs of a man. Anyhow, It
would have been as useless as the re
volver. Noise precluded the use of
the one; walls and bars the other.
“I’d kill you," he retorted finally, his
tones steady, though strained, like the
current that plays ncross the top of a
whirlpool, “only I haven’t time. There’s
a flock of yellow curls and a devilish
trim pair of ankles waitin’ for me
down the road."
ne hod so framed the taunt as to re
flect on the girl his very thonght dis
honored. Without nnother word he
turned and walked away.
The Pearlhunter seriously debated
whether to shoot him dead and trust
to fate for the rest. The revolver
crawled up over the window sill. He
grasped one of the bars to steady his
hand. A start of surprise came to his
face. The revolver went buck below
the window sill. The bar was loose.
It was almost unbelievable, but it
was so. For some reason or other it
hnd not been fixed very firmly In Its
auger hole sockets. There was play—
a heartening amount of It —between
the upper and lower auger holes. His
blood missed a beat; then leap'jd the
higher.
He jammed the bar Into the lower
socket. The bottom of the hole was
soft. The rain had probably rotted It.
He jammed the bar again and the wood
gave. He put all his strength to it.
Each effort drove the bar a little deep
er; gave It a little more play at the
top. If he could only drive It far
enough so that the top would clear! He
was working like a wild man.
Bearing down with all his strength,
ho rotated the bar. The tremendous
exertion opened the cuts and scratches
on his neck and hrenst until they hied
afresh. He Jnmmed the bar down
again; bore upon It with all his
strength; rotated It again and again.
Less than half nn Inch still held at the
top. .
Ills exertions brought the sweat out
upon his face. Another effort; tre
mendous; to the last ounce of his
power.
His hands were like fire—but the
bar cleared. He could move It a tiny
mite to the side of the upper auger
hole. The clearance was ever so little
—but It cleared. Bracing hls knee
against the wall and grasping the case
ment with his left hand for anchorage,
he bent nnd worked and twisted the
bar outward. At last, by a final su
preme heave, It cleared the upper log.
There remained only to lift It out of
the lower auger hole.
The Pearlhunter dropped back pant
ing nnd mopped the sweat from his face
with hls sleeve. The effort had been
tremendous.
A minute to get hls breath; another
spent In listening; and he worked the
loosened end a little freer; lifted out
the bar; crawled outside; put it back
into place again, feeling about with
hls fingers to make sure there were no
scars On the wood or hits of -chips
scraped loose, and stole away under
the trees.
It would probably he quite impossi
ble for the city-bred to appreciate fully
the feelings of the Pearlhunter at find
ing the breath of the open woods once
more upon his face. The trees were
like comrades in arms. The rough bark
that covered their stout hearts actually
felt friendly and good to his hands as
he darted like a shadow from one to
the other on his way out of the jail
yard nnd up the side of the bluff.
Well knowing there would be eyes
on his trail in the morning, he dared
not go directly to where hls misgivings
urged him. The sheriff he did not fear.
To the sheriff he was still the notori
ous Red Mask. To the mob that was
sure to gather he would be the Red
Mask. His escape, with lock and holt
untouched, would mystify both mob
and sheriff. They would ascribe it to
the dread powers with which popular
fancy had invested his name.
But in the rabble that would curse
and clamor ahout the old jail there
would be one pair of eyes that the
loosened bar would not escape; a pair
of eyes that would find it as sure as
the morning came, and read the riddle
at a glance. And they would be eyes
capable of finding a trail—and follow
ing It. Much as it went against him,
therefore, he turned his steps east in
stead of west nnd plunged In nmong
the clumped underbrush that grew
along the top of the cliff.
Crossing the river road was the
problem. Choosing a place where the
grass came close to the track on each
side, a short distance above where the
path leaves It at the turn, he leaped
across, and using considerable care to
hide his trail, picked hls way down
along the Inside of the brush-tangled
fence row.
That path! It led out of an old
world Into anew. Peering through the
bushes he spared a hurried glance to
wurd the low place In the fence where
the path crossed. The stars peopled
the place with memories. A girl with
a basket; round, frank eyes; the sun
bonnet caught by nn overhanging
limb; the curl that wouldn't behave —
they all came to life out of the
shadows. So many things hnd hap
pened since he walked that path with
her that It seemed long, long ago; and
It was only yesterday.
The picture dissolved. A breath be
tween steps It had held him, and he
was off on the long, lanky Jog. The
memory' had brought a half longing to
traverse the path again, but prudence
warned him to keep away. The sharp
est eyes In the Flatwoods would bo
on that path at sunrise.
If the night did hold the mennoe he
feared —that In so ninny words had
threatened —It would undoubtedly de
velop In or near the three-gabled
cabin. As he drew near the place his
mastery of woodcraft showed in his
approach. The hushes were not al
lowed to give up a sound.
A light shone through the front win
dows of the main room of the cabin.
He wondered at this. It made him
uneasy, for the evening was gone and
the ripe night come. Not many can
dll's were alight at that hour In the
Flntwoods. He sank back under the
bushes and crawled nearer. The mus
lin curtains were drawn, but no
shadows crossed them. The stillness
within vaguely disquieted him. He
was searching for a way to crawl a
little nearer, when the low tones of
the cello broke across the silence; and
he knew the girl was keeping her lone
ly vigil beside the stricken old man.
Tlien came the voice from a throat
the gods hod kissed. Bach tone found
a kindred sound In the cello and
coaxed It forth to flutter out upon the
listening night In a lustrous witchery
that somehow brought to the fancy of
the listener under the hushes a pic
ture of soft-winged swallows skim
ming over sun-kissed waters.
The figure of a man slid Into the
candle glow that beat the night back
for a space outside the window —
trim; compact; jaunty—the man he
had expected to find prowling there.
The picture was gone. He had little
ear for the music that followed. The
hnnd of the listener at the window
stole up against the light and dragged
off his hat. The man crouching in the
hushes could make out the crisp locks
that clung close to the bared head.
The song ended. The lust soft har
mony of the cello lost Itself among
the listening trees. There came a muf
fled shuffling Inside the cabin; a huge
shadow, ns of two figures bulked to
gether, crossed the curtain of the
window at the west side of the door.
The Pearlhunter knew what was hap
pening—the girl leading the stricken
man to his bed. But his eyes were
upon the still figure outside the win
dow.
One shadow came back, a slim,
trim shadow; there followed the
creaking of n chair; a hend. hung
with loose hair, rocked back and forth
across the curtain —and the man who
Uiquehed under the bushes knew the
THE WINDER NEWS
The Man He Had Expected to Find
Prowling There.
girl was alone with her thoughts.
The man at the window watched
the shadow. It seemed to rouse him
—to recall fancies that the song had
caused to wander far. He glanced
about; pulled himself together; made
a half petulant step toward the door.
The man in the underbrush stif
fened ; slowly rose, noiseless as
smoke. The man approaching the
door seemed to hesitate; stopped. The
other sank down again in the hushes.
The head of flowing hair rocked back
and forth across the curtains.
It was a strained moment; a three
handed game in the dark; an intense
tliree-angled drama of life —mayhap
of more than life, If the honor of a
woman is more than that.
The man hesitating before the door
had the next play. What held his
hand? The song? Perhaps his plans
were not yet ripened to the full. He
made another step toward the door;
stopped; jerked his shoulders up sav
agely; glared about; brought his eyes
back to the rocking shadow; swore
softly; turned and stalked silently
away down the path toward Fallen
Rock.
CHAPTER IX.
Once to Every Man.
For some distance down the branch
the Pearlhunter followed the night
prowler. Within sound of the water
fall he followed him, and then turned
back toward the cabin of the three
gables. He had come Into the path
and wns passing the pool when the
light went out In the windows. He
was sorry for that. He had hoped to
have speech with the girl. Tomorrow
would be too late. Tomorrow the law
would be on hls trail —and a pair of
eyes more terrible than the law.
Leaving the path, he stepped out
upon the flat rock that Jutted from
the bank into the pool. Once he
glanced at the cabin; then sprang to
the bank nnd went on up the path.
It was far the hardest thing he had
ever tried to do in his life to go round
to that east window. It was partly
open. Hls breast was pounding; hls
ears humming. He forced himself up
to the window and brought his lips
EAT MORE OF IT
close to the sash.
"Wild Rose!”
He heard her start, and spring up
In bed. Then all was breathless still.
“Wild Rose!”
The bed creaked. He heard her
soft feet moving about over the floor.
A muffled shadow came toward the
window —a shadow and a whisper:
“Pearlhunter!”
He reached his hand Inside. A white
arm and slender fingers came out of
the gloom and found his palm. The
shadow on the outside and the shadow
on the inside drew closer, the one
searching what that word would be.
The man swallowed hard. “I sold
the Blue Moon to Louie Solomon to
day—five thousand dollars.”
ile felt a thrill in the girl’s fingers.
“This afternoon Louie Solomon was
murdered, and the pearl stolen.”
She shuddered, took her hand out of
his and fumbled the loose garment
about her shoulders, but made no an
swer. Her mind was unconsciously
prepared for terrible things.
“They accused me of the crime!”
The girl gasped. Her hands flut
tered toward her throat.
“You!”
"Me,” he answered, strained and
slow. “I’ve come to tell you, myself,
because —because—you trusted me.
The mob had the rope around my
throat. -But the sheriff got me away,
and put me in jail. I broke out, and
came to tell yob. I couldn’t bear for
you to think —”
She stood perfectly still inside tl)e
window. He mistook her silence. He
laid his hand on the window ledge and
tried to drive his eyes through the
gloom to her face.
“Please believe me!” he pleaded. He
couldn’t have pleaded harder had he
faced judge and jury, instead of mere
ly a ragged girl of the Flatwoods. “I
didn’t kill Louie Solomon. I didn’t
take the Blue Moon —•”
The white arms reached out toward
him.
•* •♦
(Continued on last page)
Athens Street Grocery Cos.
SPECIALS FOR FRIDAY & SATURDAY
8 lbs. Fancy Peaberry coffee ........ $1.25
7 bars Export Soap ........ 25c
4 bars Octagon Soap ~ i-i-i...; 25c
1 4 lb. bucket Flakewhite Lard 65c
1 8-lb. bucket Flakewhite Lard $1.20
a
Phone us your wants. Prompt service. Sat
isfaction guaranteed.
Athens Street Grocery Cos.
Phone 314
“WINDERM AID”
Cream Bread
Quality, name and taste tell,
Once tasted, never wasted.
Made by
*
Bestyette Bakery
H. L. MOORE, Prop.
Phone 37
BREAD
FOOD
SUBSCRIPTION; $1.50 A YEAR
* Paradise Locals *
• —p
Mr. and Mrs. Oscar Casey had as
their guests Sunday Mr. and Mrs. W.
11. Delay.
Mr. and Mrs. E. C. Perkins spent
Sunday with Mr. and Mrs. E. L. Clack.
Miss Jewel Griffeth had as her guests
Sunday night Miss Nora Kellum.
Mr. and Mrs. D. D. Jones had as
their guests Sunday Mr. and Mrs. Ho
mer Treadwell, Mrs. Sallie Treadwell,
and daughter, Miss Jennie Treadwell of
Bethlehem.
Miss Eddie Ruth Delay spent Sunday
with Miss Maggie Ruth Jones.
Mr. and Mrs. Roy Martin spent the
week end with Mr. and M;s. Martin of
Bogart.
Mr. nnd Mrs. .Joe Morris spent Sun
day with Mr. and Mrs. J. It. Lee.
Miss Rossie Belle Barber had as her
guests Saturday afternoon Misses Pau
line Standi nnd Ruth Clack.
Mr. and Mrs. G. H. Perkins had as
their guests Saturday night Mr. and
Mrs. Herbert Smith of Grayson.
Mr. and Mrs. \V. C. Sorrels spent
Sunday with Mr. and Mrs. W. T. Bar
ber and family.
Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Smith of Gray
son is visiting Mr. and Mrs. T. A.
Smith.
Birds and Traps.
Curiously enough, ninny birds, In
stead of fearing traps, develop a fond
ness for them, probably because they
find them a source of ample feed
which can be secured without danger
to themselves. While this trait occa
sionally Is something of a nuisance
to the trapper. It often Is of great as
sistance. It Is believed that birds,
having learned to recognize traps, will
be apt to go to them for feed Id the
course of their migrations, nnd 'so.
when caught, will furnish material for
ornithologists’ reports.
That Good Gulf Gasoline is delicious
and refreshing to your carbureter.
IT IS YOUR BEST