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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