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.)
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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
