ALLEGANY COUNTY NEWS, WHITESVILLE, N. Y. Ttie Call of the Oumberlands By Charles Neville Buck With Illustrations from Photographs of Scenes in the Play (Copyright, «ei3t by W. J. Wau & Co.) SYNOPSIS. conscious. Jesse Purvy cla n h a s been sh o t an d Sam s o n is su s pected of the crime. Samson denies it. T h e sh o o tin g b r e a k s th e tru c e in th e Holiman-South feud. Jim Hollman hunts with bloodhounds th e m a n w h o sh o t P u r vy. Tile bloodhounds lose the trail at S p icer S o u th's door. L e s c o t t d iscovers artistic ability in Samson. While sketch ing Yi’ith L e s c o t t on th e m o u n tain. T a m a rack discovers Samson to a Jeering crowd of m o u n tain e e r s . S a m s o n th r a s h e s him a n d d e n o u n c e s him a s th e “tru c e -b u s ter*' w h o sh o t P u r v y . A t W ile M c- C a g e r ’s d a n c e S a m s o n te ll s th e South cla n th a t h e is g o in g to lea v e th e m o u n tain s . L e s c o t t go e s hom e to N e w T o r k . S a m s o n bids S p icer and S a lly farev.'ell and fo llo w s . In N e w Y o r k S a m son stu d ies art and lea r n s m u c h o f city w a y s . D r e n n ie L e s c o t t p e r s u a d e s W il fred H o r ton , h e r d ile t t a n t e lover, to do a m a n ’s w o r k in th e w o r ld. CHAPTER IX. Christmas came to Misery wrapped to a drab mantle of desolation. At the cahin of the Widow Miller Sally was sitting alone before the logs. She laid down the slate and spelling book, over which her forehead had been Btrenuously puckered, and gazed some what mournfully into the blaze. Sally had a secret. It was a secret which she based on a faint hope. If Samson should come back to Misery he would come back full of new notions. No man had ever yet returned from that outside world unaltered. No man ever would. A terrible premonition said he would not come at all, but, if he did— if‘he (lid—she must know how to read and write. Maybe, -when she had learned a little more, she might even go to school for a term or two. The cramped and distorted chirog- iraphy on the slate was discouraging, it was all proving very hard work. The girl gazed for a time at something she saw in the embers, and then a faint smile came to her lips. By next Christ mas she would surprise Samson with a letter. It should be well written, and every “hain’t” should be an “isn’t.” ‘ The normal human mind is a res ervoir which fills at a rate of speed regulated by the number and caliber of Its feed pipes. Samson’s mind had long been almost empty, and now from so many sources the waters of new things were rushing in upon it that under their pressure it must fill fast, or give away. H g was saved from hopeless com- :plications of thought by a sanity 'which was willing to as.similate with out too much effort to analyze. The boy from Misery was presently less bizarre to the eye than many of the unkempt bohemians he met in the life of the studios, men who quarreled garrulously over the end and aim of -Art, which they spelled with a capi tal A—^and, for the most part, knew nothing of. He retained, except with in a small circle of intimates, a silence that passed for taciturnity, and a solemnity of visage that was often construed into surly egotism. He still wore his hair long, and, though his conversation gradually sloughed off much of its Idiom and vulgarism, enough of the mountaineer Stood out to lend to his personality a savor of the crudely picturesque. Meanwhile he drew and read and studied and walked, and every day’s advancement was a forced march. Lescott, tremendously interested in his experiment, began to fear that the boy’s too great somberness of dispo sition would defeat the very earnest ness from which it sprang.' So one morning the landscape-maker called on a friend whom he rightly believed to be the wisest man, and the great est humorist in New York. “I want your help,” said Lescott. “I want you to meet a friend of mine and take him under your wing in a fashion. He needs you.” The stout man’s face clouded. A few years ago he had been peddling his manuscripts with the heart-sickness of unsuccessful middle age. Today men coupled his name with those of Kip ling and De Maupassant. One of his antipathies was meeting people who sought to lionise him. Lescott read the expression, and, before his host had time to object, swept into his re- citaL At the end he summarized: “The artist is much like the setter pup. If it’s in him. It’s as instinctive as a dog’s nose. But to become effi cient he must go a-field with a steady veteran of his own breed.” “I know!” The great man, who was also the simple man. smiled reminis cently. “They tried to teach me to herd sheep when my nose was itching • for bird country. Bring on your man; I want to know him.” Samson was told nothing of the be nevolent conspiracy, but one evening shortly later he found himself sitting at a cafe table with his sponsor and a stout man, almost as silent as him self. The stout man responded with something like churlish taciturnity to the haif-doaien men and women who cMne over with flatteries. But later, when the trio was left alone, his face brightened, and he turned to the boy from Misery. “Does Billy Conrad still keep store at Stagbone?’ Samson started and his gaze fell in amazement. At the mention of the name he saw a cross-roads store with rough mules hitched to fence palings. It was a picture of home, and here was a man who had been there! With glowing eyes the boy dropped uncon sciously back into the vernacular of the hills. “Hev ye been thar, stranger?” The writer nodded, and sipped his whisky. “Not for some years, though,” he confessed, as he drifted into reminis cence, which to Samson was like wa ter to a parched throat. When they left the cafe the boy felt as though he were taking leave of an old and tried friend. By homely methods, this unerring diagnostician of the human soul had been reading him, liking him, and making him feel a heart-warming sympathy. It was not until much later that Samson realized how these two really great men had adopted him as their “little brother” that he might have their shoulder-touch to march by. And it was without his realization, too, that they laid upon him the imprint of their own characters and philoso- Phy. “I have come, not to quarrel with you, but to try to dissuade you.” The Hrn. Mr. Wickliffe bit savagely at his cigar and gave a despairing spread to his well-manicured hands. “You stand in danger of becoming the most cordially hated man In New York—hated by the most powerful combinations in New York.” Wilfred Horton leaned back in a swivel chair and put his feet up on his desk. For a while he seemed interested in his own silk socks. “It’s very kind of you to warn me,” he said, quietly. The Hon. Mr. Wickliffe rose in ex asperation and paced the floor. The smoke from his black cigar went be fore him in vicious puffs. Finally he stopped and leaned glaring on the table. “Your family has always been con servative. When you succeeded to the fortune you showed no symptoms of this mania. In God’s name, what has changed you?” “I hope I have grown up,” explained the young man, with an unruffied smile. “One can’t wear swaddling clothes forever, you know.” The attorney for an instant softened his manner as he looked into the straight-gazing, unafraid eyes of his client. “I’ve known you from your baby hood. I advised your father before you were born. You have, by the chance of birth, come into the control of great wealth. The world of finance is of delicate balance. Squabbles in certain directorates may throw the Street into panic. Suddenly you emerge from decent quiet and run amuck in the china shop, bellowing and tossing your horns. You make war on those whose interests are your own. You seem bent on hari-kari. Ycu have toys enough to amuse. Why couldn’t you stay put?” “They weren’t the right things. They were, as you say, toys.” The smile faded and Horton’s chin set itself for a moment as he added: “If you don’t think I'm going to stay put—watch me.” “Why do you have to make war— to be chronically insurgent?” “Because”—the young man, who had waked up, spoke slowly—“I am read ing a certain writing on the wall. The time is not far off when, unless we regulate a number of matters from within we shall be regulated from without.” “Take for Instance this newspaper war you’ve inaugurated on the police,” grumbled the corporation lawyer. “It’s less dangerous to the public than these financial crusades, but decidedly more so for yourself. You are re garded as a dangerous agitator, a mar plot! I tell you, Winfred, aside from all other considerations the thing is perilous to yourself. You are riding for a fall. These men whom you are whipping out of public life will turn on you.” “So I hear. Here’s a letter I' got this morning—unsigned. That is, I thought it was here. Well, no matter. It warns me that I have less than three months to live unless I call off my dogs.” It is said that the new convert is ever the most extreme fanatic. Wil fred Horton had promised to put on his working clothes, and he had done it with reckless disregard for conse quences. At first, he was simply obey ing Adrienne’s orders; but soon he found himself playing thd game for the game’s sake. Political overlords, assailed as unfaithful servants, showed their teeth. Prom some hidden, but unfailing, source terribly sure and di rect evidence of guilt was being gath ered. For Wilfred Horton, who was demanding a day of reckoning and spending great sums of money to get it, there was a prospect of things do- Adrienne Lescott was in Europe. Soon she would return and Horton meant to show that he had not buried his talent For eight months Samson’s life had run in the steady ascent of gradual climbing, but in the four months from the first of August to the first of De cember, the pace of his existence sud denly quickened. He left off drawing from plaster casts and went into a life class. In this period Samson had his Srst acquaintanceship with women, except thosfe he had known from childhood— and his first acquaintance with tlM men who were not of his own art world. Tony Collasso was an Italian Illus trator who *odged and painted in studio-apartments in Washington Square, South. His companions were various, numbering among them a group of those pygmy celebrities of whom cm9 Ims never heard until by chance he meets them, and of whom their intimates speak as of immortals. To Collaaso’s studio Samson was called one night by telephone. He had sometimes sene there before to sit for an hour, chiefly as a listener, while the man from Sorrento bewailed fate with his coterie, and denounced all forms of government over insipid Chianti. But tonight he entered the door to find himself in the midst of a gay and boisterous party. The room was al ready thickly fogged with smoke, and a dozen men and women, singing snatches of current airs, were inter esting themselves over a chafing dish. The crowd was typical. A few very minor writers and artists, a model or two, and several women who had thinking parts in current Broadway productions. At eleven o’clock the guests of honor arrived In a taxicab. They were Mr. William Farbish and Miss Winifred Starr. Having come, as they explained, direct from the theater where Miss Starr danced in the first row, they were in evening dress. Samson men tally acknowledged, though with In stinctive disfavor for the pair, that both were, in a way, handsome. Col lasso drew him aside to whisper im portantly: “Make yourself agreeable to Farbish. He is received in the most exclusive society, and is a connoisseur of art. If he takes a fancy to you, he will put you up .t the best clubs. I think I shall sell him a landscape.” The girl was talking rapidly and loudly. She had at once taken the center of the room, and her laughter rang in free and egotistical peals above the other voices. “Come, said the host, “I shall pre sent you.” The boy shook hands, gazing With his usual directness into the show girl’s large and deeply-penciled eyes. Farbish, standing at one side with his hands in his pockets, looked on with an air of slightly bored detach ment. His dress, his mannerisms, his bear ing, were all those of the man who has overstudied his part. They were too perfect, too obviously rehearsed through years of social climbing, but that was a defect Samson was not yet prepared to recognize. Someone had naively complimented Miss Starr on the leopard-skin cloak she had just thrown from her shapely shoulders, and she turned promptly and vivaciously to the flatterer. “It is nice, isn’t it?” she prattled. “It may look a little up-stage for a girl who hasn’t got a line to read into the piece, but these days one must get the spot-light, or be a dead one. It reminds me of a little run-in I had with Graddy—he’s our stage-director, you know.” She paused, awaiting the invitation to proceed, and, having re ceived it, went gayly forward. “I was ten minutes late, one day, for rehears al, and Graddy came up with that sar castic manner of his, and said: ’Miss Starr, I don't doubt you are a perfect ly nice girl, and all that, but it rather gets my goat to figure out how, on a salary of fifteen dollars a week, you come to rehearsals in a million dollars’ worth of clothes, riding In a limousine—^and ten minutes late!’” She broke off with the eager little expression of awaiting applause, and, having been satisfied, she added: “I was afraid that wasn’t going to get a laugh, after all.” She glanced inquiringly at Samson, who had not smiled, and who stood looking puzzled. “A penny for your thoughts, Mr. South, from down South,” she chal lenged. guess I’m sort of like Mr. Grad dy,” said the boy, slowly. “I was just wondering how you do do it.” He spoke with perfect seriousness, and, after a moment, the girl broke into prolonged peal of laughter. “Oh, you are delicious!” she ex claimed. “If I could do the ingenue like that, believe me, I’d make some hit.” She came over, and, laying a hand on each of the boy’s shoulder’s kissed him lightly on the cheek. “That’s for a droll boy!” she said. “That’s the best line I’ve heard pulled lately.\ Farbish was smiling in quiet amuse ment. He tapped the mountaineer on the shoulder. “I’ve heard George Lescott speak of you,” he said, genially. ‘T’ve rather a fancy for being among the discover ers of men of talent Wo must see more of eacu other.” Samsrn left the party early, and with a sense of disgust. Several days later, Samson was alone in Lescott’s studio. /It was near ing twilight, and he had laid aside a volume of De Maupassant, whose sim ple power had beguiled lim. The door opened, and he saw the figure of a woman on the threshold. The boy rose somewhat shyly from his seat, and stood looking at her. She was as richly dressed as Miss Starr had been, but there was the same difference as between the colors of the sunset sky and the exaggerated daubs of Collas- so’s landscape. She stood at the door a moment, and then came forward with her hand outstratched. “This is Mr. South, isn’t it?” she asked, with a frank friandliness in her voice. “Yes, ma’am, that’s my name.” “Fin Adrienne Lescott,” said the girl. “I thought Id find my brother here. 1 stopped by to drive him up town.” Samson had hesitatingly taken the gloved hand, and Its grasp was firm and strong despite its ridiculous sm allness. “I reckon he’ll be back nresently.’ The boy was in doubt as to the proper procedure. This was Lescott’s studio, and he was not certain whether or not it lay in his province to invite Les* cott's sister to take possession of i t Possibly, he ought to withdraw. ’ 1» ideas of social usages were very vague. “Then, I think I’ll wait,” announced the girl. She threw off her fur coat, and took a seat before the open grate. The chair was large, and swallowed her up. Samson wanted to look at her, and was afraid that this would be impolite. He realized that he had seen no real ladles, except on the street, and now he had the opportunity. “I’m glad of this chance to meet you, Mr. South,” said the girl with a smile that found its way to the boy’s heart. After all. there was sincerity in “foreign” women. “George talks of you so much that I feel as if I’d known you all the while. Don’t you think I might claim friendship with George’s friends?” Samson had no answer. He wished to say something equally cordial, but the old instinct against effusiveness tied his tongue. “I owe right smart to George Les cott,” he told her, gravely. “That’s not answering my question,” she laughed. “Do you consent to be ing friends with me?” “Miss—” began the- boy. Then, real izing that in New York this form of address is hardly complete, he hast ened to add: “Miss Lescott, I’ve been here over nine months now, and I’m just beginning to realize what a rube I am, I haven’t no—” Again, he broke off, and laughed at himself, “I mean, I haven’t any idea of proper manners, and so I’m, as we would say down home, ‘plumb skeered’ of ladies.” As he accused himself, Samson was looking at her with unblinking direct ness; and she met his glance with eyes that twinkled. “Mr. South,” she said, “I know all about manners, and you know all about a hundred real things that I want to know. Suppose we begin teaching each other?” Samson’s face lighted wifn the rev olutionizing effect that a smile can bring only to features customarily solemn. “Miss Lescott,” he said, “let’s call that a trade—but you’re gettin’ all the worst of it. To start with, you might give me a lesson right- now in how a feller ought to act, when he’s talkin’ to a lady—how I ought to act with you!” Her laugh made the situation as easy as an old shoe. Ten minutes later, Lescott entered, “Well,” he said, with a smile, “shall I introduce you people, or have you already done it for yourselves?” “Oh,” Adrienne assured him, “Mr. South and I are old friends.” As she left the room, she turned'and added: “The second lesson had better be at my house. If I telephone you some day when we can have the school-room to ourselves, will you come up?” . Samson grinned and forgot to bo bashful as he replied: “I’ll come a-kitin’!” CHAPTER X. Early that year, the touch of autumn came to the air. Often, returning at sundown from the afternoon life class, Samson felt the lure of its melancholy sweetness, and paused on one of the Washington Square benches, with many vague things stirring in his mind. He felt with a stronger throb the surety of young, but quickening, abilities within himself. Partly, it was the charm of Indian summer, partly a sense of growing with the days, but, also, though he had not as yet realized that. It was the new friendship Into which Adrienne had admitted him, and the new experience of frank cam araderie with a woman not as a mem ber of an inferior sex, but as an equal companion of brain and soul. He had seen her often, and usually alone, be cause ho shunned meetings with strangers. Until hii education had ad vanced further, he wished to avoid social embarrassments. He knew that she liked him. and realized that it was because he was a new and virile type, and for that reason a diversion— a sort of human novelty. She liked him, too, because It was rare for a man to offer her friendship without making love, and she was certain he would not make love. He liked her for the same reasons that every one else did—because she was'herself. Of late, too, he had met a number of men at Lescott’s club. lie was mod estly surprised to find that, though his attitude on these occasions was always that of one sitting in the back ground, the men seemed to like him, and, when they said, “See you again,” at parting, it was with the convincing manner of real friendliness. One wonderful afternoon in Octo ber, when the distances were mist- hung, and the skies very clear, Sam son sat across the table from Adrienne Lescott at a road house on the Sound. The sun had set through great cloud battalions massed against the west, and the horizon was fading into dark ness through a haze like ash of roses. She had picked him up on the Ave nue, and taken him into her car for a short spin but the afternoon had beguiled them, luring them on a little farther, and still a little farther When they were a score of miles from Man hattan, the car had suddenly broken down. It would, the chauffeur told them, be the matter of an hour to effect repairs, so the girl, explaining to the boy that this event gave the affair the aspect of adventure, turned and led tne way, am foot, to the heeil eat road house. “We will telephone that we ihall late, and then have dinner,” she laughed. “And for me to have dinner with you alone, unchaperoned at a country inn, is by New York standards delightfully unconventional. It borders on wickedness.” Then, since their at titude toward eaeh other was so friendly and innocent,, they both laughed. They had dined und«?r the trees of an old manor house, built a century ago, and now converted into an inn, and they had enjoyed them selves because it seemed to them pleasingly paradoxical that they should find in a place seemingly so shabby- genteel a cuisine and service of such excellence. Neither of them had ever been there before, and neither of them knew that the reputation of this estab lishment was in its own way wide— and unsavory. The repairs did not go as smoothly as the chauffeur had expected, and, when he had finished, he was hungry. So, eleven o’clock found them still chatting at their table on the lighted lawn. After awhile,!they fell silent and Adrienne noticed that her com panion's face had become deeply, al most painfully set, and that his gaze was tensely focused on,herself. “W hat is it, Mr. South?” she de manded. The young man began to speak, in a steady, self-accusing voice. “I was sitting here, looking at you,” he said, bluntly. , “I was thinking how fine you are in every way; how there is as much difference in the tex ture of men and women as there is in the texture of clothes. From that automobile cap you wear to your slip pers and stockings, you are clad In silk. From your brain to the ton© ol \1 Was Thinking of My People.\ your voice, you are woven of human silk. I’ve learned lately that silk isn’t weak, but strong. They make the best balloons of it.” He paused and laughed, but his face again became sober. “I was thinking, too, of your mother. She must be sixty, but she’s a young woman. Her face is smooth and unwrinkled, and her heart is still in bloom. At the same age, George won’t be much older than he is now.” The compliment was so obviously not intended as compliment at all that the girl flushed with pleasure. “Then,” went on Samson, his facs slowly drawing with pain, “I wai thinking of my own people. Mj mother was about forty when shf died. She was an old woman. My father was forty-three. He was an old man. I was thinking how they with ered under their drudgery—and of the monstrous Injustice of it all.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) OLD CRAFT OF ODD DESIGN Mesopotamia Boat, Known as Kuts, Known to Have Been in Use Be- fors Christian Era. The Kufa, a curious circular boi^ made of basketwork, and seen no where else in the world, is a com mon sight In Mesopotamia. The fer rymea charge only a cent each pas senger. There is one good point about these strange craft—they are not ea* ily upset Their carrying capacity alsc is great, and the kufa men pack ic their passengers like herrings in a bar rol. I had the good luck to take a pho tograph of the actual building of « kufa on the banks of the Tigris river says a writer in the Wide World. They are made of date palm braache* woven together with rope made out ol leaves of the same palm, thickly plat tered on the outside with bitumen They range from four to twelve fee( in diameter. Nowhere but on the Tigris and lower Euphrates rivers cai one see these curious craft, which serve principally for the transport ol passengers, country produce aad beasts of burden across the river About three men are required to maki a kufa of respectable size, and it takes them some twenty days to build it Like the kelek, the kufa is ol great antiquity, for both these strange craft were in use long before the tisse of Christ. The evidence of this is In disputable, for on the bas-reliefs taikm from the palace of Sennacherib both craft are clearly represented. Depends on th e Well. “Truth lies at the bottom of a well,” quoted the Sage. “Not it tf happens to be an oil well,” co r r e c t the fool. Warmed By Snow. The earth, under a thick coating ^ snow, is ten degrees warmer than tlK air immediately above the snow. Tough Spider Webs, Some of the spiders of Java webs so strong tn&t a knife is qnired to cut them. 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Ask Your j druggist for It. Write for FREE SABSPLE. * NORTKRUP & LYMAN CO., Ltd.,BUFFALO,N.Y. RETURNED RIGHT ANSWER Night Watchman in Department of Justice Scored a Hit “on His Own Judgment,” Not long ago a brand new watchman was appointed as a night guard in the department of justice. He assumed his duties, filled with the importance of his responsibilities. In instructing him an official said: “Now, if anything unexpected hap pens during the night just use your own judgment in dealing with the mat ter.” That night, as the watchman sat at the door, there came a wire from some ofiicial in California asking the depart ment whether there was any law against a certain thing. Now this was the time, so thought the watchman, to “act on your own judgment.” He gave the boy a reply which read: “I don’t know of any,” and the telegram was sent. A high official learned of the matter and placed it before the attorney gen eral. That officer smiled at the answer given and remarked: “Well, he’s right about it—I don’t know any law against It either.”—^Washington Star. Varied Program. The women of a town down the state recently organized a literary club, and for a while everything was lovely. “Louise,” asked the husband of one of the members upon her return home from one of the meetings, “what was the topic under discussion by the elub this afternoon?” Louise couldn’t just remember at first. Finally, however, she exclaimed: “Now I recollect! We discussed that brazen-looking hussy that’s just moved in across the street and Nietzsche.” If a man will refrain from combing his hair over the denuded spot the probabilities are that nobody will no tice the fact that he is bald. IN A SHADOW Tea Drinker Feared Paralysis. Steady use of either tea or coffee often produces alarming symptoms, as the poison (caffeine) contained in these beverages acts with more po tency in some persons than in others. “I was never a coffee drinker,” writes an 111. woman, “but a tea drink er. I was very nervous, had frequent spells of sick headache and heart trouble, and was subject at times to severe attacks of bilious colic. “No end of sleepless nights—^would have spells at night when my right side would get numb and tingle like a thousand needles were pricking my flesh. At times I could hardly put my tongue out of my mouth and. my right eye and ear were affected. “The doctors told me to quit using tea, but I thought I could not live with out it—that it was my only stay. I had been a tea drinker for twenty-five years; was under the doctor’s care for fifteen “About six months ago, I finally quit tea and commenced to drink Postum. “I have never had one spell of sick- headaches sine© and only one light attack of bilious colic. Have quit hav ing those numb spells at night, sleep well and my heart is getting stronger all the time.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Read “The Road to Wellville,” in pkgs. Postum comes in two forms: Postum Cereal—^the original form— must be well boiled. 15c and 2oc pack ages Instant Postum—a soluble powder— dissolves quickly in a cup of hot wa ter, and, with cream and sugar, makes a delicious beverage instantly, 30c and 50c tins. Both kinds are equally delicious and cost about the same per cup ‘The^'^s a Beason” for Postum. ^•Miold by Qroc&m.