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PAGE TWO
■v / v/7 171
CHAPTER XI
“What are you shooting at, Wil
liam?” Abby called.
“Pigeons,” he said, “pigeons—
Irene said the snowstorm would
drive them over here.”
Janet gasped. . . . How clever
of Irene Gremont! The storm
gave her an opportunity to make
a nuisance of William. There
were coveys of wild doves that
nestled around Oakhart, but they
would have sought shelter in the
heavily blanketed, protective
branches of evergreens edging
the woodlands beyond the or
chard.
“The pigeons have all gone
home, William, and you should,
too,” Abby suggested, but it had
little effect.
“No, no, not until I get a bird.”
Cliff turned to Janet, his dark
eyes flashing with anger as his
breath funneled mistily into the
air. “How did he get hold of a
gun? He ought to be kept under
lock and key.”
“Is he—is he crazy?” Naomi
said.
No, just simple-minded—child
ish,” Janet explained hopefully.
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William was waving the rifle
around carelessly and Cliff swore
in a deadly soft voice. “You girls
had better go back to the house,”
he said, “Let Richard and me
handle this affair.”
But Richard had made up his
mind. He began walking steadily
forward in the ruts previously
made by William’s boots.
“Give me that gun, William.”
The big, awkward man began
backing away, feeling behind him
with his feet for a steady foot
hold.
“No, it’s mind’ It’s mine!” His
voice soared in a scream or rage.
“I said to give it to me, Wil
liam.”
Richard’s voice was steady, he
was closer now, only twenty yards
separated them. William Harti
gan’s face was distorted like a
small .angry boy’s. He stepped
backward, then suddenly he
stumbled!
The explosion was like a sullen
thunderclap in the still air.
For a moment Richard stood
quite still, an expression of sur
prise lighting his face, then slow
ly, like a tree that has felt the
last blow of the ax, he pitched
forward into the snow.
“Richard!”
The anguished cry was wrung
from Janet. She began struggling
through the new drifts, franti
cally staggering, trying to reach
his side. The others were on her
heels,
William Hartigan, seeing them
ail converging on him at once,
. loundered to his feet and with
great leaping strides, he ran back
toward the river through the or
chard. He had abandoned the
gun in the snow.
“Richard! Richard, speak to
me!”
Janet’s numbed fingers fum
bled with his broad shoulders as
THE SUMMERVILLB NEWS: SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA
r*J
Cliff reached her side and helped
him turn Richard over. He threw
back the side of Richard’s coat
and felt around; when his fingers
were withdrawn they were dark
stained and crimson. The spot
was beginning to spread across
the white broadcloth of Rich
ard’s shirt. He moved slightly,
half opened his eyes.
“Janet, I want you to. . .”
His head iell back as he fault
ed.
Janet moaned softly. Cliff’s
voice came to her indistinctly,
then he was shaking her shoul
ders sharply. “Listen to me, Ja
net, we’ll have to get him to the
house. Do you understand?” She
nodded dumbly and he turned to
Naomi. “Run back as fast as you
can and phone the hospital for
an ambulance immediately.”
She left silently and he exam
i ined Richard’s wound again. “We
will have to risk it—Abby, you
and Janet take his feet, I’ll car
ry his shoulders.”
Naomi met them at the door,
her face was white and frighten
ed in the flickering, unsteady
light of a candle. “I can’t get
anyone, the phone is dead and
the lights are out —the storm
must have knocked down the
power lines. I sent Mr. Miles to
the highway to stop some pass
ing car.”
Janet watched Cliff’s lips tight
en grimly.
They carried Richard into the
den.
Cliff staunched the flow of
blood and put a sterile pad over
Richard’s wound. He tried the
telephone and lights every few
minutes, but they remained dead.
Then he stationed himself by the
window, straining his eyes into
the darkness xor signs of a car..
At last he tamped out his cig
arette. “We can’t wait any long
er we ll have to put Richard in
my car and drive him in.”
Janet felt drained of all her
strength. She stood by Richard’s
side staring down into his uncon
scious, curiously peaceful face,
feeling his pulse, watching his
breathing become more labored.
Naomi turned suddenly from
the window. “There’s Mr. Miles!
I see his flashlight coming up the
drive.”
She and Cliff rushed to the
front door. The older man peered
iup at them ruefully, his mus
tache crusted with snow.
“Couldn’t get hold of anyone—
no cars passin’ an’ the lines are
down all over.”
“We’ll have to take my car
then,” Cliff said, “there’s not a
minute to lose —the wound’s in a
bad spot.”
f‘You wouldn’t get three
blocks,” Mr. Miles protested. “The
new snow has fixed the road up
good. There’s a couple of stalled
cars abandoned on the highway
now. You’d get stuck just like
them.”
Clhf’s cigarette made a small
fiery arc as he flicked it out in
to the snow. “It seems the die
is cast," he said bitterly.
Cliff came back into the den,
glanced quickly at Richard s
white face, then took Janet’s
hands in his. . . .
“Janet, I’ll have to operate. I
haven’t done many, as you know,
and never one of this sort, but
I’ll do the best I know how—we
can’t wait.”
His eyes looked dark and, she
thought, uncertain, but they met
hers very directly.
“I believe in you, Cliff.”
His fingers tightened on hers
for one brief moment, then he
dropped them and turned to
Richard. When he spoke his voice
was almost harsh.
“Help me get his coat off. Nao
mi, boil a pot of water and bring
it into the laboratory.”
She left without a murmur.
They managed to lift Richard
to the white examination table
but he was so tall that his long
legs hung over the end and Cliff
had to drag another small table
over to balance them.
The kerosene lamps made the
small sterile room seem alien to
Janet. She went about her work
automatically, assembling the in
struments Cliff would need, lay-
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ing them on a clean towel, get
ting out rubber gloves.
They cut Richard’s shirt off
him. He lay silent, unmoving,
while his broad chest rose and
feel steadily, blood welling from
the wound with each breath. Un
der Cliff’s instruction, Naomi
dripped ether on a guaze mask
and held it over Richards face.
“All right, Janet, I’ll begin.”
Cliff’s tone was terse, profes
sional. Their eyes met briefly as
she handed him the probe.
His fingers moved quickly,
skillfully as she had seen him
move once before. But it was not
easy. He had difficulty locating
the bullet. He had to work with
caution, the wound was danger
ously close to the leit lung, one
slip, and—
He had the power in his hands
now. Only Cliff knew exactly how 7
dangerous the wound was. One
slip of the scapel and Janet
would be released from the con
flicting emotions that had be
come a torment.
He swore softly under his
breath.
She looked up, stared across
at him—his forehead was bead
ed with a fine dew of perspira
tion!
She smiled across at him. but
•he seemed hardly aware of her
identity.
“Hand me the flashlight,” he
snapped at Naomi.
He peered into the wound,
probing, feeling, and then, sud
denly, like a pea out of a pod, the
bullet was out and lying in Cliff’s
open palm. But he didn’t pause.
. . . Only when sulfa had been
used, the wound cleaned and
closed, and dressed, did he
straighten up and mop the mois
ture from his forehead. He grin
ned at Janet.
“As soon as the road’s open
we’ll have someone from the hos
pital come out and examine him,
but I think he’ll be all right.”
She swallowed. “Oh, Cliff,
you’ve been wonderful.”
“Never mind—he isn’t well yet.
I’m glad there’s a fireplace in
his bedroom, we want to keep it
at as even a temperature as pos
sible. Naomi, ask Mr. Miles to
see that there’s plenty of wood,
will you?”
She and Cliff got Richard into
Needs...
;-;, rL I
Georgia needs hotels and tourist homes and tourist courts
«-. it needs plenty of decent, clean, attractive places where
tourists can spend a night, or several nights, or a whole
vacation!
We have, of course, some mighty fine tourist accommoda
tions— but the number is pitifully small for this vast State.
The big potential income that the tourist trade can bring into
Georgia is slipping through our fingers simply because we
haven’t enough sleeping facilities!
p
Make no mistake about it: the tourist trade is BIG
“Z BUSINESS! Virginia, among many other states, developed
its cultivation to a fine art. It paid off handsomely. In one
normal year, Virginia took in more than $97-million from
• *".* these travelers —23 per cent, or more than $22-million, was
for hotel accommodations alone!
Let’s get our share of this tourist business. Men and
women of vision throughout the state could well ponder this
potentially bright future and make it their own. For Geor
——. nnz-'irvira I gia * 8 becoming tourist-conscious — and tourists are becoming
Vn*? C3©[iuL§ I • •
J Georgia-conscioue:
Pl !■ Those interested in building tourist courts should read “Georgia’e
111 IJU I Loll Lost Opportunity,” written by Wellington Wright, of The Atlanta
1 Constitution. We have a few copies on hand free for the asking
write u« for one today; address P. O. Box 1719, Atlanta 1, Ga.
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GEORGIA POWER
COMPANY
bed, then he turned to her. “This
has been a strain for you, Janet
why don’t you go into the kitch
en and get something to eat?”
“No, Cliff, you go. Mrs. Miles
has some of her hot coffee on
the stove and there are lots of
things in the icebox. Get Naomi
to fix something up for you.
Please ... I want to stay with
Richard.”
“You love him very much, don’t
you?”
She could only nod and turn
away as her eyes filled with tears.
Janet and OIL f took turns sit
ting beside Richard’s bed. He
seemed to be resting easily and
while one watched, checking on
his pulse and respiration, the
other stole a few moments of
sleep in the adjoining den.
It was still early in the eve
ning when Janet caught herself
nodding in her chair; she was
startled awake by Naomi’s voice
in the next room. It was high
and annoyed—
“ Cliff, I think I should be be
side Richard now."
“Janet is his wife, Naomi.”
“You’d never know it. I’ve nev
er seen any signs of affection be
tween them. He—he likes me.”
(To Be Continued)
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Thursday, November 14, 1946