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THTT'ESDAT, JUNK 2. 1921. BLUE Tale of the Flatwoods By DAVID ANDERSON (Oopjrlf hi if UM Bobta-MarrUl Oompur) The old man reached out his hand. It seemed heavy for him. The Pearl hunter grasped It He was startled to find It cold. He glanced hastily Into the old man’s face, A pallor was spreading over It that was unmistak able —the momentary return to con sciousness was but the gleam that, at the end of a gray day, sometimes flares out between sundown and dark. He ■aid nothing of It to the girl, who was happily busy again with the water and bandages. The sheriff had left the couch and was squatted over the body of the fallen bandit- The Pearlhunter hap pened to glance that way. The sheriff beckoned to him. “This feller ain’t dead yet,” he said, when the Pearlhunter had Joined him. The young man stooped over the iqirawled robber. He was still breath ing. "He don’t deserve It," the sheriff went on, “but It’s only common de cency to get him up.” He put his arm under the man and raised him, while the Pearlhunter brought a damp cloth from the basin by the couch, and wiped his face. The touch of the cold cloth rallied him. — “Water 1” he mumbled, husky and strained. The girl had turned and was looking on. She ran to the kitchen and brought a cupful. The Penrlhunter held it to the man’s lips. He couldn't swallow, but the touch of the water seemed to revive him. He opened his eyes and atared, like a man trying to make out objects in a very dltn light. His eyes caught the glitter of the sheriff’s star, frowned, raised, found the Pearlhunter and strained hard at him. “And It was — a cussed Warbrltton —that got me at last I” “Who speaks the name of Warbrlt ton TANARUS” came a hoarse voice from the couch. The dying bandit started, rolled his •yes toward the sound. “What was that 1 That voice I” The Pearlhunter caught the foot of the couch and moved It around so the two fast sinking men could see each other. No sooner had the gray gluut on the couch caught a glimpse of the man on the floor than, with a great cry, he tried to rise. His utmost Strength only served to bring him part ly up on un elbow, —and that only with the Pearlhunter'* aid. “Murtln ltedmond !’’ be cried —and almonst Instantly: "Where Is she? The woman you distalnod? And the boy? Tell me! I’ve wtill the strength to tear It out of your cursed throat 1” The dying robber fixed his falling eyes on the couch. Only God know# — who glveth his grace to the Just and to the unjust—how he found strength for further words. “Warbrltton —1” He muttered the name huskily, the bloody froth upon his Ilpe. "She was not dlstalned. It was all a mistake. I let you think It because I hated you—because I loved her—because she loved you and not mo. Twenty years she's roved these rivers, pure as the dew at dawn. She sleeps tonight In a grave four days old •t Fallen Hock.” He picked up his hand from where it sagged down upon the floor, carried It at great labor to hts bosom, fumbled under the fancy vest, drew forth a picture and laid It against his lips. The Pearlhunter snatched It away. The action brongbt the picture near the old man. He seised it, held It an Instant before his eyes, and with a deep groan laid It against his bosom. “And the boy?” he cried to the man on the floor, “The boy?” The Red Mask was going fast, but he raised his face and muttered hoarsely: "The boy—stands before you.” Since the old man snatched the pic ture the Pearlhunter and the girl had been staring at each other. Events ■were happening, developments unfold ing, too fast for comprehension. The old man was staring at them both, from one to the other, us If unable to grasp a revelation that had been twen ty years coming. He stretched up his Imnds at last to the young man, pulled his face down to him. gazed on It as at something of which he had long dreamed but never hoped to see; turned back to the man on the floor. "Martin Redmond, I'll requite the deed you’ve done, the one good deed of your evil life. The little girl I’ve raised as my own, the child of the good woman you cruelly killed, the child you deserted, your daughter stands before you.” The girl recoiled In horror. The un natural father strained his glazing eyes toward the daughter his thought had outraged; a cry muttered up out of hla chest and brought with It a gush Oldest Inhabitants. Fossil turtles ranging from S.OOO.nno to 7,000.000 years in age. hove been found In San Juan county, northern New Mexico. of froth and blood; he stiffened; his face tightened horribly; he fell heavy against the arms of the sheriff —dead. The girt turned away from the grue some sight, stole a half faltering glance at the bewildered face of the Pearlhunter, threw- herself down by the side of the couch anil bowed her face upon the old man’s bosom. "Unsay It, Daddy! Oh, Daddx un say It!" He softly stroked her hair with his great, gaunt lignd. “It’s the truth. Dotty, and can't be unsaid. But you owe him no respect— a parent only, never a father. He de serted you, and killed your mother — In ways unspeakable killed her —a woman of the high blood of the Dawns.” He fumbled the picture up off his breast, held It before his face s moment, laid It back. “God 1” he groaned. "The ruin he wrought 1 For years I searched for her”—he spoke the name In reverence, “and you, my son." His hand found Its way back Into the Pearlhunter’s; his eyes strained hard toward the face bending over him. They seemed hungry to know many things—the twenty years of wander ing; the death of the woman of the picture; how the young man came to be Just there; of his wounded arm. But with the steady courage of a sol dier who knew the end was near, he put them by, and dropped his eyes to the girl’s hair. “Your grandfather, Dotty, old God frey Dawn, cast your mother off when she married Martin Redmond. Alone, and dying In poverty and want, she sent for me at last." The girl was crying softly. He stopped, put his arm about her and drew her close. “I had the privilege—and honor —of mak ing her last hours less terrible. She died without —seeing you. You were three years old when I gave up the search, left everything in the hands of my good friend, Judge Eskridge, and came up here to lose myself in these vast woods along uhe Wabash, a present from General Jackson.” His eyes closed wearily. He lay so still, and the pallor on his fnce was so ghastly that the Pearlhunter bent anxiously over him. But the heavy lids presently unclosed; the voice, queer and hoarse from long disuse,, and noticeably growing weaker, fal tered on. “Seven years 1 It seems only this morning he shot me! And yet it couldn’t be, or Dotty wouldn’t be the wonderful woman she has become, nor you, my son, the man you are —the man I was when I led Jackson’s rangers. Hesper Dawn Red—” the quavering voice hesitated. "No, no, let that name perish with bis who disgraced It The Judge knows. Hesper Dawn; David Wulf Warbrltton. Both of the high blood of the Dawns; your moth ers both named Hesper Dawn, distant cousins, both the same name, and both of the same high blood. Neither need you be ashamed, my son, of your name of Warbrltton. It has been more or less on the tongues of men since the brave days of Saxon Harold. Share your estate with Dotty. It Is In the will that you do so, and there’s ample for you both. The Judge will know.” The Pearlhunter was on the point of mentioning the letter —the death of the girl’s grandfather, his relenting his will. But the faltering voice left him no opening. “My son, you are a man grown, but you will not deny your father the heart hunger of twenty bitter years.” His voice was fast failing; his eyes strained bard to find the Pearlhunter’s face, though he was bending low over him. The young man read the mean ing, the twenty years of longing, in the straining eyes. He knelt down and laid his face against the old man’s cheek. An arm stole about his neck and held him close. A long time the old man lay still, his right arm around the girl kneeling at one side of the couch, his left arm around the man at the other. So still, so motionless he lay that the deep silence became burdened with a heavy fear. The sheriff at the foot of the couch bent forward. The Pearlhunter turned his face, looked and bowed his head. The girl raised her eyes, gazed Intently at the placid features, threw herself across the motionless body and wept aloud. The graceful musician, the intrepid soldier —was dead. CHAPTER XV. The Song of a Thrueh. Twentieth of June, and the world at high tide; the woods full of cradles, and each cradle housing a lusty baby; the weak gone hack to earth, the fit that survive beginning to test wing and daw. Streams and woodland pools grow languid with millions mat ing. Each leaf has reached its maxi mum of lung expansion. The trees breathe deep. The forest has settled down seriously to the business of ful filling Its promises. Cocoon and chrys alis have opened and flung forth their glittering mysteries. Burnished bodies and gauzy wings glance and glitter through yellow sunshine and soft shade, like flakes of star dust sifting down out of the sky. But If the woods have many cradles, ihey also have many graves. There was anew one tills placid June evening at Fallen Rock—a new one beside the one that was almost new. There were orchids upon them both. A man and a maid had together hunted the woods for them. Only such as they could have found so many. Only to her fav orites does nature show the way to her treasures. The stanch old Boss and hard-faced Bull Masterson were back at their vats and clam rakes. Billy’s grand mother vvus staying at the cabin of "The Boy—Btands Before You." the three gables a few days for com pany. The Pearlhunter came from the vil lage In the still evening. Along the dim, slim path through the woods he came, against the face of the sunset. The swing and spring of a master of men was In his stride, for he carried In his pocket a telegram addressed to a man with a name at last, to David Wulf Warbrltton. The telegram told of two fortunes awaiting down the river, of houses and lands, and advis ing that Judge Eskridge was on his way. Near the turn of the path he stopped and stood listening. The song of a thrush was charming the silence. Only, the song carried a certain delicious, elusive witchery that no bird throat ever knew. He stole along the path, stopped and stood with hared head. Upon the flat rock at the pool stood the Wild Rose, the tears running down her face, her lips and throat alive with the magic of song. A lady cardinal perched upon her shoulder. A king cardinal fidgeted and twitched his crest on an overhanging twig that almost brushed her hair. A pair of shy thrushes fluttered and flitted in reach of her hand. Other birds walked up and down near-by branches, or darted down for a hurried peek at the crumbs she had scattered over the rock. The tears drowned the blue; the song ceased. The birds fluttered away one by one. The _glrl bowed her head THE WINDER NEWS and Stood with clasped Tianda, gaalfif down at the quiet water. The man’s step roused her. She turned, and her hands unclasped as If to reach toward him—but instantly clasped themselves again. He turned from the path, stepped out on the rock and came to her side. A moment her eyes met his, and then went back to the placid water, and she stood crying softly. She turned back to him after a time, a poor little half-drowned smile strug gled out and brought a suggestion of the dimples back. “I had to tell them she said (Continued on last page) Fords orv Farm Power Machinery Will help you raise more for less. We are anxious to prove this to all good farmers of Barrow county. See us at once and we will arrange demonstration on your farm. We are here to show you how and to help you make money. Respectfully, King Motor Company C. B. MOTT, Manager Authorized Ford and Fordson Dealers WINDER, GA. THE UNIVERSAL CAR ABOUT FORD CARS-SOLID LOGIC THE FORD CAR has been fundamentally right from the beginning. 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