About The Grady County progress. (Cairo, Grady County, Ga.) 1910-19?? | View Entire Issue (Jan. 8, 1915)
GRADY COUNTY PROGRESS, CAIRO. GEORGIA. Q\LL°fme CUMBEHANDS /£> CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FRO/A PHOTOGRAPHS OF SCENES IN THE PLAY CHAPTER I. Cloflo to tho serried backbone of the Cumberland ridge through a sky ot mountain clarity, the sun seemed-hesi- tating before its doscent to the hori zon. The sugar-loaf cone that tow ered above a creek called Misery was pointed and edged with emeraid -frac- ory, where tho loftiest timber thrust up Us crest plumes into the: sun. .On tho hillsides It would be light for more than an hour yet, but below, where tho waters tossed themselveB along In a chorus of tiny cascades, the light was already thickening Into a cathedral gloom. Down there the “fur- rlner" would have seen only the rough course of the creek between moss- velveted and shaded bowlders of titanic proportions. The native would 'have recognized the country road In these tortuous twistings. A great block of sandstone, to whoso summit a' man Btandlug in UIb saddle could scarcely reach hts fingertips, towered above the stream, with a gnarled scrub oak clinging tenaciously to Its apex. Loft ily on both. sides climbed the moun tains cloaked in laurel and timber. ■ Suddenly the leafage was thrust aside from above by a cautious hand, and a Bhy, half-wild girl appeared In the opening. For an Instant she halt ed, with her brown fingers holding back the brushwood, and raised her face as though listening. As she stood with 'the toes of one bare foot twisting in tho gratefully cool moss she laughed with the sheer exhilara tion of life and youth, and started out on the tablo top. of the huge rock. But there she halted suddenly with a startled exclamation and drew Instinc tively back. What she saw might well have astonished her, for it was a thing she had never seen before and of which she had never heard. Finally, reassured by the silence, she slipped across the broad face of the flat rock for a distance of twenty-five feet and paused , again to listen. At the far edge lay a pair ot saddle bags, such as form the only practical equipment for mountain travelers. Near them lay a tin box, littered with small and unfamiliar-looking tubes of soft .metal, all grotesquely twisted and stained, and beside the box was strangely shaped plaque of wood smeared with a dozen hues. That this -plaque was a painter’s sketching pal ette was a- thing which she could not know, since the ways of artists had to do with a world as remote from her own as the life of the moon or stars. It was one of those vague mys terles that made up the wonderful life of "down below.” Why had these things been left here in-such confu sion? If there wbb a man about who oftned them he would doubtless return to claim them. She crept over, eyes and ears alert, and slipped around to the front of the queer tripod, with all her muscles poised in readiness for flight. A half-rapturous and utterly aston Ished cry broke from her Ups. . She stared a moment, then dropped to the moss-covered rock, leaning back on her brown bands and gazing intently, “Hit’s purty!” she approved, in a low, -musical murmur. “Hit’s plumb, dead beautiful!” Of course it was not a finished pic ture—merely a study of what lay be fore her—but the hand that had placed these brush Btrokes on the academy board was the sure, deft hand of a master of landscape, who had caught the splendid spirit, of the thing and fixed It Immutably in true and glowing appreciation. Who he was; where he had gone; why his work stood there unfinished and aban dolled, were details which for the mo ment this half-savage child-woman for got to question. Sho was conscious only of a BenBe of revelation and awe Then she BaW other boards, like the on.e upon the easel, piled near the paint box. These were dry, and rep resented the work of other days; but •they were’ all pictures ot her own mountains, and in each of them, as in this one, was something that made her heart leap. To her own people these steep hill sides and “coves’ 1 and valleys were matter of course. In their stony soil they labored by day, and in their shad ows slept when work was done. Yet someone had discovered that they held a picturesque and rugged beauty; that they were not merely steep fields where the plow was useless and the hoe must be used. She must tell Sam son—Samson, whom sho held in an artless exaltation of hero worship Samson, who was so "smart” that lie thought about things beyond, her un derstanding; Samson, who could not only read and write, but speculate on problematical matters. Suddenly she came to her feet with d swift-darting Impulse of alarm. Her ear had caught a sound. She cast searching rglances about her, but the tangle was empty of humanity. The water still murmured over the rocks undisturbed. There was no sign of human presence, other than herself, that her eyes could discover—and yet [gr to her ears came-the sound again, and this time more distinctly. It was tho sound of a - man’s voice, and It was moaning as If in pain. She roso and searched vainly through the bushes the hillside where the rock ran out from tho woods. Sho lifted her skirts and splashed her feet In tho shallow creek water, wading persistently up and down. Her shyness was forgotten, •The, groan was a groan of n human creature In dlstross, and she must find and succor the person.from whom It came. Certain sounds are baffling as to dl rection. A voice from overhead or flrst time, let her eyes drop, while sho broken by echo ng obstacles does not . Bat nurB ,' hor k ' ees . finally sho readily betray its source. Finally she cInnrnil lm b nn(1 nHkBI , wlth n i ueked .u D stood up and listened once more in- Her lips had eyes woro sober as sho replied. “I reckon thot’s nil right.” “Aud what’s worse, I’vo got to be more trouble. Did you seo anything of a brown mulo?” She shook her head. "Ho must have wandered off. May I ask to whom I am Indebted for this flrst aid to the Injured?" “I don’t know what yo means.” Sho had propped him against tho rocks and sat near by, looking into hts face with almost disconcerting steadi ness; her solemn-puplled eyes were jinbllnklng, unsmiling. “Why, .1 mean who are you?” ho laughed. “I haln’t nobody much. I Jest lives over yon.”' “But,” Insisted tho man, "surely you have a name.” She nodded. "Hit’s Sally." “Then, Miss Sally, I want to thank you.”- . Once more sho nodded, and, for the tently-Aker attitude full ot tense ear nestness. “I'm shore a fool;” she announced, half aloud. “I’m shore a plumb fool.” Then she turned and disappeared in the deep cleft between the gigantic bowlder upon which slfe had been sit ting and another—small only by com parison. There, ton foot down, in a narrow alley littered with ragged stones, lay the crumpled body of a man. It lay with the left arm doubled under It, and from a gash In the fore head trickled a thin stream, of blood. Also, it was the body of puch a man she had not seen before. Although from the man came a low i groan mingled with his breathing, it was not such a sound as comes from fully conscious lips, but rather that a brain dulled into coma. Freed from hor fettering excess of shyness by his condition, tho girl stepped surely from foothold to foot hold until she reached his side. She stood for a moment with one band on the dripping walls of rock, looking down, while her hair fell about her face. Then, dropping to her knees,, she shifted tho doubled body Into a leaning posture, straightened the limbs, and began exploring with effi cient fingers for broken bones. She had found the left arm limp above the wrist, and her fingers had diagnosed a broken bone. But uncon sciousness must have come from the blow on tl)e head, whore a bruise was already blackening, and a gash still trickled blood. She lifted her skirt and tore.a long strip of cotton from her single petti coat. Then she picked her bare-footed way 'swiftly to the creek bed, where she drenched the cloth for bathing and bandaging the wound. When she had done what she could by way of first aid she sat supporting the man’s shoulders and shook her head dubi ously. Finally the man’s lids fluttered and Ills lips moved. - Then he opened his eyes. “Hello!" said the stranger, vaguely. 'I seem to hnve—’’ He broke off, and his lips smiled. It was a friendly, un derstanding smile, and tho girl, fight- glanced up and asked with pluclcod-up courage: “Stranger, what mout yore name be?" "Lescott—George Lescott.” “How’d yo git hurt?” He shook his head. ’ “I was painting—up there," he sdid; “and I guess I got too absorbed in tho work. I stepped backward to look qt the canvas and forgot where the edge was. I stepped too far.” The man roso to his feet, but he tot tered and reeled against tho wall of ragged stone. The blow on his head had left him faint and dizzy. He sat down again. "I’m afraid,” he ruefully admitted, “that I’m not quite ready for discharge from your hospital.” “You jest set where yer at.” The girl roso and pointed up the mountain side. “I’ll light out across the hill and fotch Samson an’ his mule." “Who and where Is Samson?” be Inquired. Ho realized that the bot tom of the valley would shortly thick en into darkness, and that the way .out, unguided, would become impos sible. “It sounds like the name of a strong man.” “I means Samson South,” sho en lightened, as though further descrip tion of one so celebrated would be re dundant. “He’s .over thar 'bout three- quarters.” “Three-quarters of a mile?” ' She nodded. What else could three- quarters mean? , “How long will it take you?” he asked. She deliberated. “Samson’s hooin’ corn in the fur hill field. He'll hev ter cotch his mulo. Hit mout tek a half-hour." “You can’t do it In a half-hour, can you?” “I’ll jest take my foot in my hand, an’ light out." Sho turned, and with a nod was gone. . At last she came to a point where clearing roso on the mountainside above her. Tho forest blanket was stripped off to make way for a fenced- in and crazily tilting field of young corn. High up and beyond, close to the bald shoulders of sandstone whloh throw themselves against the sky, was the figure of a man. As the girl halted at the foot of tho field, at, last, panting from her exertions, he'was sitting on the rail fence, looking absently down on the outstretched panorama below him. Samson South was not, strictly speaking, a man. His age was per haps twenty. He Batvloose-jointed and indolent on the top rail of the fence, Ills hands hanging over his knees, his hoe forgotten. Near by, propped against tho rails, rested a repeating rifle, though the people would have told you that the truce in the "South- Hollman war” had been unbroken for two years, and that no clansman need in these halcyon days go armed afield. CHAPTER II. A Low Groan Mingled With His Breathing. Ing hard the shy impulse to drop his shoulders and flee into the kind mask ing of the busheB, was in a measure reassured. You must hev fell offen the rock,” ehe enlightened. "I think I might have fallen Into worse circumstances,” replied the un known. “I reckon you kin set up after a little.” "Yes, of course.” The man suddenly realized that although he was quite comfortablo as be was he could scarcely expect to remain permanently In the support of her bent arm. Ho attempted to prop himself on his hurt hand and relaxed with a twinge of ex treme pain. The color, which had be gun to creep back Into his cheeks, left them again, and his lips compressed themselves tightly to bite off an ex clamation of suffering. . “Thet air left arm air busted,” an nounced the young woman, quietly. “Ye’ve got ter be heedful.” Had one of her own men hurt him self and behaved stoically it would have been mere matter of course; but her eyes mirrored a pleased surprise at tho stranger’s good-natured nod and his quiet refusal to give expression to pain. It relieved her of the neces sity for contempt. “I’m afraid," apologized the painter, "that I’ve been a great deal of trouble to you.” Sally clambered lightly over the fence and started on the last stage of her journey, the climb across the young corn rows. It was / a field stood on end, and the hoed ground was un even; but with no seeming of weari ness her red dress flashed steadfastly across tile green spears, and her voice was raised to shout: “Hello, Samson!” The young man looked up and waved a languid greeting. He did not remove his hat or descend from his place of rest, and Sally, who expected-no such attention, came smilingly on. Samson was her hero. Slow of utteranco and diffident with tho stranger, words now came fast and fluently as sho told her story of the man who lay hurt at the foot of tho rock. "Hlt -lialn’t long now tell sundown.” sho urged. "Hurry, Samson, an’ git yore mule. I’ve done give him my promise ter fotch ye right straight back.” Samson took off his hat, and tossed the heavy lock upward from his fore head. His brow wrinkled with doubts. "Wliat sort of lookin’ 'feller air he?’ 1 While Sally sketched a description, the young man’s doubt,grew graver, "This lialn’t no fit time ter be takin in folks what wo haln’t acquainted With” he objected. In'the mountains any tlmo is the tlmq to take In strang ers unless there are secrets to be guarded from outside eyes. “Why liain’t It?” demanded the girl "He’s hurt. We kain’t leave him layln’ thar, kin we? 1 Suddenly her eyes caught sight ot the rifle leaning near by, and straight way they filled with apprehension Her militant love would have turned to hate for Samson, should liq have proved recreant to the mission of re prisal in which he was biding his time, yet the coming of the day when the truce must end haunted her thoughts. "Wliat air lilt?" sho tensoly' demand ed. "What air lilt, Samson? Wlint for liov yo fetched yor gun ter tlio field?" The boy laughed. “Ob', 1)11 ain't nothin' portic'lnr,” ho reassured, “lilt haln’t nothin' ter a gal tor fret herself erbout, only I kinder suspicions strangers Jest now." "Air the truce busted?" Sho put the quostlon In a tense, deop-breathed whlspor, and tlio boy replied casunlly, almost Indifferently. "No, Stilly, hit haln’t Jest, tor say busted, but 'pears like lilt’s right smart crooked. I reokon, though,” ho added in half-disgust, "noth!)!’ wonlt come ot hit.” Somewhat renssurod, she bethought herself again of her mission. “This here furrlnor lialu't got no harm In him, Samson," sho ploaded. “He ’pearB ter bo more liko n gal than a man. He’s real puny. He's got whlto skin mid a bow of ribbon on hie neck—an’ he paints plctchors." :Tho boy’s face hud boon hardening with contempt as the description ad vanced, but at tlio last words a glow camo to his eyes, and ho demanded almost breathlessly: "PalntB plctchors? How do yo know tliat?” t “I . seen ’em.. He wns paintin' ono when he fell often the rock and busted his arm. It’s shore es beautiful es—” Bhe broke off, then added with a sud den peal of laughter—"os or plctcher.” The young man slipped down from tho fence, and reached for the rifle. Tho hoe he left whore it stood. "I’ll git the nag,” lie announced briefly, and swung off without further parley toward the curling spiral of, smoke that marked a cabin a quarter of a mile below. Ten minutes lator. Ills bare feet swung against the ribs of a gray mulo and Ills rifle lay bal anced across the unsaddled withers Sally sat mountain fashion behind him, facing straight to tho side. So they came along tho creek bod and into the sight ot the man wlio still sat propped against the mossy rock. As Lescott looked up, ho closed the case of his watch and put it back Into his pocket with a smile. “SnappyWork, that!” ho called out. “Just thirty-three minutes. I didn’t believe It could bo done.' Samson’s face was maskltke, but as lie surveyed the foreigner, only, the ingrained dictates ot the country’s hospitable code kept out of his eyeB a gleam of scorn for this frail mem ber of a sex which should be stalwart. “Howdy?” lie said. Then'ho added suspiciously: "What mout yer busi ness bo in these parts, stranger?" LeBcott gave the Odyssey of his wan derings, since he had rented a mule at Hlxon and ridden through tho coun try, sketching where tho mood prompt ed and sleeping wherever ho found a hospitable roof at the coming of tho evening. Ye come from over on Cripple- shin?” The boy flashed the question with a sudden hardening of the voice, and, when he was affirmatively an’s- swered, his eyes contracted and bored searchingly into the stranger’s face. “Whero’d ye put up last night?" “Red BUI Hollman’s house, at the mouth of Meeting House fork; do you know the place?” Samson's reply was curt. "I knows lilt all right.". There was a moment’s pause— rather an awkward pause. Lescott'e mind began piecing together frag ments of conversation he. had heard, until he had assembled a sort of men tal jigsaw puzzle. The South-Hollman feud had been mentioned by the more talkative ot his informers, and carefully tabooed by others—notable among them his host of last night. It now dawned on him that he was crossing tho boun dary amd coming as the late guest ot a Hollman to ask tho hospitality of a South. I didn't know whose house it was,” ho hastened to explain, “until I was benighted and asked for lodglng. They wero very kind to me. I’d never seen them before. I’m a stranger here abouts.”. Samson only nodded. If the explana tion failed to satisfy him, it at least seemed to do so. I reckon ye’d better let mo holp ye up on thet old mule,” he said; “hit’s a-comin' on ter bo night." With tho mountaineer’s aid, Lescott clambered astride the mount, then he turned dubiously. “i’m sorry to trouble you," he ven tured, “but I have a paint box and some materials up there. If you’ll bring them down hero, I'll show you how to pack the easel', and, by the way,” he anxiously added, "please to handle that fresh canvas carefully— by the edge—it’s not dry yet. He had anticipated Impatient con tempt for his artist's Impedimenta, but to Ills surprlso tho mountain boy climbed the rock and halted before tbe sketch with a face that slowly softened to an expression of amazed admiration. Finally he took up the square of academy board with a ten der caro of which, his rough hands would have seemed incapable and stood stock still, presenting an anoma lous figure in his rough clothes as Ills oyes grew almost idolatrous. Then he brought the landscape over to Its creator, and, though no word was spoken, there flashed between the oyes of the artist, whose signature gave to a canvas the value of a precious stone, and tho jeans-clad boy whoso destiny was that of the vendetta, a subtle, wordless message. It was the coun tersign of brothers-In-blood who rec ognize in each other the bond of a mutual passion. The boy and the girl, under Lescott' direction, packed the outfit and.stored the canvas In the protecting top of tho box, . Than, while; Sally turned and upstream In silence. Finally Samson spoke slowly and diffidently. “Stranger,” ho ventured,, "cf hit lialn’t askin' too much, will ye let me see yc paint ono of thorn things?" “Glndly,” was tho prompt reply. Then tho boy added covertly: “Don't say nothin’ erbout hit ter none of these folks. They’d devil me.” Tho dusk was falling now, and tho 'hollows choking with murk. “Wo’ro nigh homo now,” said Sam son nt tho ond of somo minutes’ silent plodding. “Hit's right beyond thet tlmr bond,’’ Then they, rounded a point ot tint- bor and camo upon a small party of men whoso nttltudos even In the dim ming light convoyed a subtle sugges tion, of portent. “Thet you, Snriison?” called an old man's voico, which wns still very deep and powerful, “Hello, Uno' Spencer!" replied tho boy. Then followed a silence unbroken until tho mulo reached tho group, re- voaltng that besides tho boy another man—aud a strango man—had joined tlielr-number, “Evenin’, stronger," they greeted him, gravely; then again they foil silent, and In thoir silence was evi dent constraint. "This hynr man's a furriner,” an nounced Samson, briefly. "Ho fell Tamarack South.. offen a rock an’ got hurt. I ’lowed I’d fotch him home ter stny all night.’ Tho elderly man who had hailed the boy nodded, but with an evident an noyance. It seemed that to him the others deferred us to a commanding officer. The cortege remounted and rode slowly toward the house. At last the elderly mim came alongside tho mule and Inquired: “Samson, where was ye last night?' “Tliet’s my business." “Mebbo hit ain’t.” The old moun taineer spoke with no resentment, but deep gravity. “We’ve been powerful oneasy erbout yo. Ilev ye heered the news?” “Wliat news?” The boy put the question noncommittally. “Jesse Purvy wns shot this morn ing.” The boy vouchsafed no reply. “The mall rider done told lilt. . Somebody shot five shoots from tho. laurel. . . . Purvey haln't died ylt. . . . Some says as how his folki has ' sent ter Lexington for blood hounds.” The boy’s eyes began to smolder hatefully. “I reckon," lio spoke slowly, "ho didn't git shot none too soon.” “Samson!" The old man’s voice had the ring. of determined .authority “When I dies ye’ll be the head of tho Souths, but so long es I’m a-runnin 1 this liyar fam’ly I keeps my word ter friend an’ foe alike. I reckon Jesse Purvy knows who got yore pap, but up till now no South haln’t never busted no truce." The boy’s voice dropped Its softness and took on a shrill crescendo of ex citement as he flashed out his retort, 'Who said a South has done busted tho truce this tlmo?" Old Spicer South gazed searchingly at Ills nephew. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Employees May Buy Stock Atlanta, (In. -The American Tele- and Telegraph Company an nounces'that arrangements have been made by which employees of tlio Bell System wise have, been two years or more In the service and who no de- Iro may purchase 1 stock of the com pany for $110 per share on easy terms payment. No employee can purchase more than one share for each $!!00 ot annual ages he receives nor more than ten (fliares, whatever Ills wages. 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She camo close, and her voice sank strode down creek In search of Lee- with her sinking heart. cott’s lost mount, the two men rodti Queerest Dance in the World The Godavari dance of the malay- ers, or drummers, of Malabar is a very popular function when the natlvo farmers are taking their ease after the hard work of harvest. Tho principal character Is a weird figure supposed to represent the sacred cow ot the gods, Kamaclionu. A small boy car ries this about while the other per formers, decked out in primitive fash Ion with painted bodies and hideous masks, go through a weird dance, ac companied by much drum beating and singing. Wherever it goes the cow Is supposed to shower blessings and prosperity, and so,, ostensibly to please the animal,, but in reality to satisfy the dancers, presents of money, paddy or rice are given to the performers This custom has been In existence from tlmo immemorial and is likely to continue as long as agriculture en dures among tho Hindus of Malabar.— Wide World Magazine. What Attracted Him. A mother took her four-year-old son to a restaurant for his first luncheon outside of the nursery at home behaved with perfect propriety, and watched the elaborate service with keen Interest. When the finger bowls wero placed on the table, he noticed the squaro white mint on the plate at the side of the bowl, and claimed: "Oh, mother, look at th» cunning little cakes of soap brought us!"—Harper’s Magazine. Self-Sustaining Farmers Rowards of a farmer are measured in the products his farm furnishes him directly rather than in dollars and cents, according to the department of agriculture, In a statement on the re sults of an Investigation concerning the farmer's income. Tho average farmer receives little more money for his year’s work than he would be paid if ho hired himself out as a farn; hand, the investigation shows. In oth er words, though ho is In business for himself, tho average farmer gets little or no money reward for his labor9 and tho risk and responsibility he has as sumed. Hogs Are In Demand From tho present outlook the hog market Is In a good position to take caro of fairly liberal winter runs of hogs. Chicago packers give evidence of a keen appetite for them now. The trade specialists scent a bullish situ ation close at hand. Hog product Is declared to be the cheapest meat on tho market today and tho domestic sit uation welcomes a cheaper article of meat food for tho rigid winter weather than has lately been available. Already European swine herds have been de pleted by war and, regardless of peace or war, the foreign demand must make heavy drafts on the winter accumula tions of pork now going Into packers’ collars. Frank Answers Ex-Governor Atlanta.—In a stinging curd, in which he goes quite fully into his case, Leo M. Frank lias replied tp the card of ex-Governor Joseph M. Brown, which appeared In a leadnlg Georgia newspaper after Christmas. In his card Governor Brown took the position that the law should take its course and Frank be executed. Frank, In his re ply, comments on the fact that no for mer governor of Georgia has ever writ ten a similar card, and ho intimates that the former governor had political ends to servo when he wrote the card. Given an opportunity, the true dairy cow will redeem the finances of the all-cotton devotees, but not until the exotic vampire, fever-carrying cattle ticks are exterminated on the dairy -farms. fche enriches tho land, and with good farm management she redeems all tho effects of soil-rob bing and the years of wastefulness. Granted all this to be true, as is be lieved, event the all-cotton raiser will admit such evident facts, then why has not the dairy cow been accepted as tho solution of the South’s agricul tural problem? Experiments with plants seem to bring them much nearer to human being than was ever thought. Plants are not a mere mass of vegetative growth; every fiber in them is in stinct with sensibility. Plants answer to outside stimuli, the responsive twitches increasing with the strength of the blow that strikes them. The plant, like man, is intensely suscepti ble to the impurities present in the air. The vitiated air of the town exerts on it a very depressing effect. According to popular belief, what is death to the animal Is the. life for the plant ti
