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Allegany County news. (Whitesville, Allegany County, N.Y.) 1913-1916, July 29, 1915, Image 6

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A L L E G A N Y C O U N T Y N E W S , W H I T E S V I L L E , N. Y. Tile Call of f|ie Gumberlands By Giiaries Neville Buck W ith Illustrations from Photographs o f Scenes in the P lay iG 0 P 7 ii8^t, tgx 3 , by W . J. W a tt & C o .) ^ CHAPTER XVI—Continued. Then, ag’ain, silenne settled on the town, to remain for five minutes un­ broken. The sun glared mercilessly on elay streets, now as empty as a ce:n- ietery. A single horse incautioualy jhitched at the side of the courthouse jfiwitched its tail against the assaults !of the flies. Otherwise, there was no joutward sign of life. Then, Callomb’s pewly organized force of ragamuffin sol­ diers clattered down the street at double time. For a moment or two after they came into sight only the inassed uniforms caught the eyes of rae intrenched Hollmans, and an Warmed murmur broke from the court- mouse. They had seen no troops de- |ti;ain, or pitch camp. These men had teprung from'the earth as startlingly as Mason’s crop of dragon’s teeth. But, iWhen the command rounded the shouF ^ier of a protecting wall to await fur- [ther orders, the ragged stride of their toarching and the all-too-obvious hear­ ting of the mountaineer proclaimed khem native amateurs. The murmur turned to a howl of derision and chal­ lenge. They were nothing more nor uess than Souths, masquerading in the imiforms of soldiers. ■ “What orders?” inquired Callomh •'briefly, joining Samson * the store. “Demand surrender once more—^then !take the courthouse and jail,” was the jfihort reply. Callomh himself went forward with •the flag of truce. He shouted his mes­ sage and a bearded man came to the jcourthouse door. j “Tell ’em,” he said without redun- ;dancy, “thet we’re all here. Come an’ git us.” I The officer went back and distribut- jed his forces under such cover as of- ifered itself about the four walls. Then !a volley was fired over the roof and in- jetantly the two buildings in the public BQUftre awoke to a volcanic response of rifle fire. All day the duel between the streets ,and county buildings went on with jdesultory intervals of quiet and wild jOuthursts of musketry. The troops fwere firing as sharpshooters, and the [courthouse, too, had its sharpshooters. [“When a head showed itself at a barri- tcaded window a report from the out­ side greeted it. Samson was every- Jwhere, his rifle smoking and hot-har- ,xeled. His life seemed protected by a talisman. Yet most of the firing, after [the first hour, was from within. The jtroops were, except for occasional pot jehots, holding their fire. There was [neither food nor water inside the build- ; “We Lays Down.” ing, and at last night closed and the cordon grew tighter to prevent escape, ,Th© Hollmans, like rats in a trap, ^im ly held on, realizing that it was to be a siege. On the following morning a detachment of “F” company arrived, dragging'two gatling guns. The Holl- mans saw them detraining, from their lookout in the courthouse cupola, and, realizing that the end had come, re­ solved upon a desperate sortie. Simul­ taneously every door and lower win­ dow of the courthouse burst open to discharge a frenzied rush of men, fir­ ing as they came. They meant to fight their way out and leave as many hos­ tile dead as possible in their wake. Their one chance now was to scatter before the machine guns came into ac­ tion. They came like a flood of hu­ man lava and their guns were never silent, as they bore down on the barri­ cades, where the single outnumbered company seemed insufficient to hold them. But the new militiamen, look­ ing for reassurance not so much to Callomh as to the granite-like face of Samson South, rallied and rose with a yell to meet them on bayonet and smoking muzzle. The rush wavered, fell back, desperately rallied, then broke in scattered remnants for the shelter of the -building. Old Jake Hollman fell near the door, and his grandson, rushing out, picked up his fallen rifle and sent farewell, defiance from it as he, too, threw up both arms and dropped. 4 Then a vvhite flag wavered at a win­ dow and, as the newly arrived troops halted in the ztreet, the noise died sud­ denly to quiet, Samson went out to meet a man who opened the door and said shortly: “We lays down.” Judge Hollman, who had not partici­ pated, turned from the slit in his shut, tered window, through which he had since the beginning been watching the conflict. “That ends it!” he said, with a de­ spairing shrug of his shotdders. He picked up a magazine pistol which lay on his table and, carefully counting down his chest to the fifth rib, placed the muzzle against his breast. CHAPTER XVII. Before the mountain roads were mired with the coming of the rains, and while the air held Its sparkle of autumnal zestfulness, Samson South wrote to Wilford Horton that if he still meant to come to the hills for his inspection of coal rnd timber the time was ripe. Soon men would appear bearing transit and chain, drawing a line which a railroad was to follow to Misery and across it to the heart of untouched forests and coal-fields. With that wave of innovation would come the speculators. Besides, Samson’s fingers were itching to be out in the hills with a palette and sheaf of brushes in the society of George Les- cott. For a while after the battle at Hixon the county bad lain in a torpid paraly­ sis of dread. Many illiterate feudists on each side remembered the directing and exposed figure of Samson South seen through eddies of gun smoke, and believed him immune from death. With Purvy dead and Hollman the vic­ tim of his own hand, the backbone ..of the murder syndicate was broken. Its heart had ceased to beat. Those Holl­ man survivors who bore the potentiali­ ties for leadership had not only signed pledges of peace, but were afraid to break them; and the triumphant Souths, instead of vaunting their vic­ tory, had subscribed to the doctrine of order and declared the war over. Souths who broke the law were as speedily arrested as Hollmans. Their boys were drilling as militiamen and —wonder of wonders!—inviting the sons of the enemy to join them. Of course, these things changed gradual­ ly, but the beginnings of them were most noticeable In the first few months, just as a newly painted and renovated house is more conspicuous than one that has long been respecta­ ble. Hollman’s Mammoth Department Store passed into new hands, and traf­ ficked only in merchandise, and the town was open to the men and women of Misery as v;ell as those of Cripple- shin. These things Samson had explained in his letters to the Lescotts and Hor­ ton. Men from down below could still find trouble in the wink of an eye, by seeking it, for under all transformation the nature c' the individual remained much the same; hut, without seeking to give offense, they could ride as se­ curely through the hills as through the streets of a policed city—and meet readier hospitality. And, when these things were dis­ cussed and the two men prepared to cross the Mason-and-Dixon line and visit the Cumherlands, Adrienne promptly and definitely announced that she would accompany her brother. No argument was effective to dissuade her, and after all, Lescott, who had been there, saw no good reason why she should not go with him. At Hixon, they found that receptive air of serenity which made the history of less than three months ago seem paradoxical and fantastically unreal. Only about the courtbouse square where numerous small holes in frame walls told of fusillades, and in the in* terior of the building itself where the woodwork was scarred and torn, and the plaster freshly patched, did they find grimly reminiscent evidence. Samson had not met them at the town, because he wished their first im­ pressions of his people to reach them uninfluenced by his escort. It was a form of the mountain pride—an hon­ est resolve to soften nothing, and make no apologies. But they found arrange­ ments made for horses and saddlebags, and the girl discovered that for her had been provided a mount as evenly gaited as any in her own stables. When she and her two companions came out to the hotel porch to start, they found a guide waiting, who said he was instructed to take them as far as the ridge, where the sheriff himself would be waiting, and the cavalcade struck into the hills. Men at whose houses they paused to ask a dipper of water, or to make an inquiry, gravely advised that they “had better ’light and Stay all night.” In the coloring for­ ests, squirrels scampered and scurried out of sight, and here and there on the tall slopes they saw shy-looking chil­ dren regarding them with inquisitive The guide led them silently, gazing in frank amazement, though with defer­ ential politeness, at this girl in cord­ uroys, who rode cross-saddle, and rode so well. Yet, it was evident that he would have preferred talking had hot diffidence restrained him. He wa^ a young man and rather handsome in a shaggy, unkempt way. Across one cheek ran a long scar still red, and the girl, looking into his clear, intelli­ gent eyes, wondered what that scar stood for. Adrienne had the power of melting masculine diffidence, and her smile as she rode at his side, and asked, “What is your name?” brought an answering smile to his grim lips. “Joe Hollman, ma’am,” he answered; and the girl gave an involuntary start The two men who caught the name closed up the gap between the horses, with suddenly piqued interest. “Hollman!” exclaimed the gift “Then, you—'* She stopped and flushed. “I beg your pardon,” she said, quickly, “That’s all right,” reassured the man. “I know what ye’re a-thinkin’, hut I hain’t takin’ no offense. The high sheriff sent me over. Fm on© of his deputies.” “Were you”—she paused, and added rather timidly—“were you in the court­ house?” He nodded, and with a brown fore­ finger traced the scar on his cheek. “Samson South done that tbar with his rifle-gun,” he enlightened. “He’s a funny sort of feller, is Samson South.” “How?” she asked. “Wall, he licked us, an’ licked us so plumb damn hard we was skeered ter fight ag’in, an* then, ’stid of tramplin’ on US, he turned right 'round, an’ made me a deputy. My brother’s a corporal in this hyar new-fangled mi- lishy. I reckon this time the peace is goin' ter last. Hit’s a mighty funny way ter act, but ’pears like it works all right.” Then, at the ridge, the girl’s heart gave a sudden bound, for there at the highest point, where the road went up and dipped again, waited the mounted figure of Samson South, and, as they came into sight, he waved his felt hat and rode down to meet them. “Greetings!” he shouted. Then, as he leaned over and took Adrienne’s hand, he added: “The Goops send you their welcome.” His smile was un­ changed, but the girl noted that his hair had again grown long. Finally, as the sun was setting, they reached a roadside cabin, and the mountaineer said briefly to the other men: “You fellows ride on. I want Dren- nie to stop with me a moment. We’ll join you later.” Lescott nodded. He remembered the cabin of the Widow Miller, and Hor­ ton rode with him, albeit grudgingly. Adrienne sprang lightly to the ground, laughingly rejecting Samson’s assistance, and came with him to the top of a stile, from which he pointed to the log cabin, set hack in its small yard, wherein geese and chickens picked industriously about in the sandy earth. A huge poplar and a great oak nodded to each other at either side of the door, and over the walls a clam­ bering profusion of honeysuckle vine contended with a mass of wild grape, in joint effort to hide the white chink­ ing between the dark logs. From the crude milk-benches to the sweep of the well, every note was one of neat­ ness and rustic charm. Slowly, he said, looking straight into her eyes: “This is Sally’s cabin, Drennle.” He watched her expression, and her lips curved up in the same sweetness of smile that had first captivated and helped to mold him. “It’s lovely!” she cried, with frank delight. “It’s a picture.” “Wait!” he commanded. Then, turn­ ing toward the house, he sent out the long, peculiarly mournful call of the whippoorwill, and, at the signal, the door opened, and on the threshold Adrienne saw a slender figure. She had called the cabin with its shaded dooryard a picture, but now she knew she had been wrong. It was only background. It was the girl herself who made and completed the picture. She stood there in the wild simplicity that artists seek vainly to reproduce in posed figures. Her red calico dress was patched, but fell in graceful lines to her slim bare ankles, though the first faint frosts had already fallen. Her red-brown hair hung loose and in masses about the oval of a face in which the half-parted lips were dashes of scarlet, and the eyes large violet pools. She stood with her little chin tilted in a half-wild attitude of recon- noiter, as a fawn might have stood. One brown arm and hand rested on the door frame, and, as she saw the other woman, she colored adorably. Adrienne thought she had never seen so instinctively and unaffectedly lovely a face or figure. Then the girl came down the steps and ran toward them. “Drennle,” said the man, “this is Sally. I want you two to love each other.” For an instant, Adrienne Les­ cott stood looking at the mountain girl, and then she opened both her arms. “Sally,” she cried, “you adorable child, I do love you!” The girl in the calico dress raised her face, and her eyes were glistening. “I’m obleeged ter ye,” she faltered. Then, with open and wondering ad­ miration she stood gazing at the first “fine lady” upon whom her glance had ever fallen. Samson went over and took Sally’s hand. “Drennie,” he said, softly, “is there anything the matter with her?” Adrienne Lescott shook her head. “I understand,” she said. “I sent the others on,” he went on quietly, “because I wanted that first we three should meet alone. George and Wilfred are going to stop at my uncle’s house, but, unless you’d rather have it otherwise, Sally wants you here.” “Do I stop now?” the girl asked. But the man shook his head. “I want you to meet my other people first.” As they rode at a walk along the lit­ tle shred of road left to them, the man turned gravely. “Drennie,” he began, “she waited for me, all those years. What I was helped to do by such splendid friends as you and your brother and Wilfred, she was back here trying to do for herselt I told you back there the night before I left that I was afraid to let myself question my feelings toward you. Do you remember?” She met his eyes, and her own eyes were frankly smiling. “You were very complimentary. Samson,” she told him, *T warned you then that it was the moon talk­ ing.” “No,” he said firmly, “it was not the moon. I have since then met that fear and analyzed it. My feeling for you is the best that a man can have, the hon­ est worship of friendship. And,” he added, “I have analyzed your feeling for me, too, and, thank God! I have that Bame friendship from you. Haven’t I?” For a moment, she only nodded; but her eyes were bent on the road ahead of her. The man waited in tense silence. Then, she raised her face, and it was a face that smiled with the serenity of one who has wakened out of a troubled dream. “You will always have that, Samson, dear,” she assured him. “Have I enough of it, to ask you to do for her what you did for me? To take her and teach her the things she has the right to know?” “I’d love it,” she cried. And then she smiled, as she added: “She vsrill be much easier to teach. She won't be so stupid, and one of the things I shall teach her”—she paused, and added whimsically—^“will be to make you cut your hair again.” But, just before they drew up at the house of old Spicer South, she said: “I might as well make a clean breast of it, Samson, and give my vanity the punishment it deserves. You had me in deep doubt.” “About what?” “About—^well, about us. I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted Sally to have you—that I didn’t need you myself. I've been a shameful little cat to Wil­ fred.” “But now—?” The Kentuckian broke off. “Now, I know that my friendship for you and my love for him have both had their acid test—and I am happier than I’ve ever been before. I’m glad we’ve been through it. There are no doubts ahead. I’ve got you both.” “About him,” said Samson, thought­ fully. “May I tell you something which, although it’s a thing in your own heart, you have never quite known?” She nodded, and he went on. “The thing which you call fascina­ tion in me was really just a proxy, “I Want You Two to Other.” Love Each Drennie. You were liking qualities in ine that were really his qualities. Just because you had known him only in gentle guise, his finish blinded you to his courage. Because he could turn 'to woman the heart of a woman,’ you failed to see that under it was the ‘iron and fire.’ You thought you saw those qualities in me, because I wore my bark as shaggy as that scaling hickory over there. When he was get­ ting anonymous threats of death ev­ ery morning he didn’t mention them to you. He talked of teas and dances, I know his danger was real, because they tried to have me kill him—and if I’d been the man they took me for, I reckon I’d have done i t I was mad to my marrow that night—for a min­ ute. I don’t hold a brief for Wilfred, but I know that you liked me first for qualities which he has as ^strongly as I—and more strongly. He’s a braver man than I, becuse, though raised to gentle things, when you ordered him into the fight he was there. He never turned hack or flickered. I was raised on raw meat and gunpowder, but he went in without training.” The girl’s .eyes grew grave and thoughtful, and for the rest of the way she rode in silence. There were transformations, too, in the house of Spicer South. Windows had been cut, and lamps adopted. It was no longer so crudely a pioneer abode. While they waited for dinner, girl lightly crossed the stile, and came up to the house. Adrianne met her at the door, while Samson and Horton stood back, waiting. Suddenly, Miss Lescott halted and regarded the newcomer in surprise. It was the same girl she had seen, yet a different girl. Her hair no longer fell in tangled masses. Her feet were no longer bare. Her dress, though simple, was charm­ ing, and, when she spoke, her English had dropped its half-illiterate peculiari­ ties, though the voice still held its bird-like melody. “Oh, Samson,” cried Adrienne, “you two have been deceiving me! Sally, you were making up, dressing the part back there, and letting me patronize you.” Sally's laughter broke from her throat in a musical peal, but it still held the note of shyness, and it was Samson who sp.oke. “I made the others ride on, and I got Sally to meet you just as she was when I left her to go East.” He spoke with a touch of the mountaineer’s over-sen­ sitive pride. ”I wanted you first to seis my people, not as they are going to he, but as they were. I wanted you to know how proud I am of them—^just that way.” That evening, the four of them walked together over to the cabin of the Widow Miller. At the stile, Ad­ rienne Lescott turned to the girl and said: “I suppose this place is pre-empted. I’m going to take Wilfred down there by the creek, and leave you two alone.” Sally protested with mountain hos­ pitality, but even under the moon she once more colored adorably. Adrienne turned up the collar of her sweater around her throat, and, when she and the man who had waited, stood leaning on the rail of the footbridge, she laid a hand on his arm. “Has the water flowed by my mill, Wilfred?” she asked. “What do you mean?” His voice trembled. “Will you have anything to ask me when Christmas comes?” “If I can wait that long, Drennie,” he told her. “Don’t wait, dear,” she suddenly ex­ claimed, turning toward him, and raising eyes that held his answer. Ask me now!” But the question which he asked was one that his lips smothered as he pressed them against her own. Back where the poplar threw its sooty shadow on the road, two figures sat close together on the top of a stile, talking happily in whispers. A girl raised her face, and the moon shone on the deepness of her eyes, as her lips curved in a trembling smile. “You’ve come back, Samson,” ehe said in a low voice, “but,, if I’d known how lovely she was, I’d have given up hoping, I don’t see what made you come.” Her voice dropped again into the tender cadence of dialect. “I couldn’t live withouten ye, Sam­ son. I jest couldn't do hit.” Would he remember when she had said that be­ fore? “I reckon, Sally,” he promptly told her, “I couldn’t live withouten you, neither.” Then, he added, fervently, “I’m plumb dead shore I couldn’t.” THE END. TAKES ISSUE WITH EDISON Here Is One Man Who Does Not Be­ lieve the World Will Give Up Sleep. Mr. Edison says sleep is a bad habit, and that we shall some day get over it. Like drinking and smoking, it is to be among those things which we shall try in time to give up on the first of the year. He says people called him crazy when he said electricity would supplant all other motive power in transportation, and one therefore hesi­ tates to say that he is crazy about anything. However, we will hazard a guess that if he is off his box any­ where, it is with respect to the pleas­ ant custom of indulging ourselves in a good sound snooze. How else we are to refresh ourselves from the day’s work we cannot imagine. The trouble with this objection, as it applies to Mr. Edison, is that he doesn’t think we are wearied by the day’s work. He and some of his associates worked at something for a given period of time 21 hours a day, and they all gained weight! H© leads us to infer that it is what w© do when we u-re not working that wearies us. Thinking over it briefly, we believe there is something in that. Probably half the things we do in our leisure time is very hard work. The celebrated tired business man is only tired when his wife wants him to go out somewhere after din­ ner. It is the opera and the fox trot that wear him out. Still, think of giv­ ing up sleep! If it is a habit, it is a nice one. We have got some glimpses of what Mr. Edison means when we have tried to sleep in a chair car, but given a feather bed and a soft pillow, we don’t get him at all. Last night, for Instance. Wasn’t the habit deli­ cious last night?—St. Louis Post-Dis- On Tolerance. At the German-American Chamber of Commerce in New York Dr. Adolph Muller, an agent for the purchase of woolens, said: “A better spirit, a spirit of toler­ ance, is now manifesting itself. On the boat coming over a French shoe buyer and an English cloth buyer shared my table with me and we got on well. “ ‘Gentlemen,’ I said to those chaps one morning, ‘we Germans and you English and you French are not all thieves, vandals and murderers. With us it is like the dog riddle. “ ‘Why is a dog like a man?’ a boy asked. “ ‘Give it up,’ said another boy. “ ‘Because it’s how-legged.’ “ ‘But/ said the second boy, ‘all dogs are not bow-legged.’ “ ‘Well, neither are all men/ ” THOUGHT SHE COULD NOT LIVE R e s to r e d t o H e a l t h b y L y d ia E . P i n k h a m ’s V e g e t a b le C o m p o u n d . Unionville, Mo.—“ I suffered from s female trouble and I got so weak that I could hardly w a lk across the floorwith- out h o lding on to something. I had nervous spells and my fingers would cramp and my face would draw, and I could not speak, nor sleep to do any good, had no appetite, and everyone thought I Modern Method. Apropos of an elderly Chicago bank­ er, whose wife had threatened to di­ vorce him on account of his affection for a beautiful stenographer of seven­ teen years, George Ade said: “A tragedy, this, of a not uncommon kind, a tragedy due to our modern business methods. The grand old merchant prince of the past used to take his pen in hand. Today, it seems, ho takes his typewriter on his knee.* Greatest Wind Storm. Probably the greatest destruefion by a wind storm was that wrought in Galveston, Tex., September 8, 1900, when 9,000 lives were lost and proper­ ty valued at $30,000,000 was suddenly destroyed. If there has ever been a wofse stsspi we have no it ' w o u ld n o t liv e o Some one advised me to take Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. I had taken so much medicine and my doctor said he could do me no good so I told my husband he might get me a bottle and I would try it. By . the time I had taken it I felt better. I continued its use,an^ now I am well and strong. ‘‘I have always recommended yoia medicine ever since I was so wonder fully benefitted by it and I hope t h i letter will be the means of saving soma other poor woman from suffering.**— Mrs. M artha S eavey , B ox 1144, Unionville, Missouri. The makers of Lydia E. Pinkham'a Vegetable Compound have thousands of such letters as that above — they telj the truth, else they could not have b e e i obtained for love or money. This med* icine is no stranger — it has stood the test for years. If there are any complications you do not understand write to Lydia E. Piukham Medicine Co. (confidential) Lynn,Mass. Your letter w ill be opened, read and answered by a woman anl held in strict confidence. W. N. U., CLEVELAND, NO. 30-1915. NOT MODERN KIND OF BEAU Girl of Today Is Looking for Some­ thing Different From This AII- Too-Bashful “Chump.” The dear girls were comparing notes on subjects of more or less impor tance. “Your beau seems rather bashful,” said Stella. “Bashful!” echoed Mabel. “Why, bashful is no name for it.” “Why don’t you encourage him?” queried her friend. “I have tried,” answered Mabel, “but the attempt was a measly failure. Only last night I sat all alone on the sofa, and he perched up in chair as fai away as he could get. I asked him if he didn’t Chink it strange that the length of a man’s arm was the same as the distance around a woman’s waist, and what do you think he did?” “Just what any sensible man would have done—tried it, I suppose.” “Not any, thank you. He asked 11 I could find a piece of string, so W6 could measure and see if it was a fact Isn’t he the limit?” Not So Lucky. “Scadds is a lucky chap. He’s go\ a country estate on the Hudson, a hunting camp in the Adirondacks and a bungalow at the seashore.” .. “Yes, and his wife refuses to go to any of them. She insists that he find some new place to spend the sum­ mer.” Love’s Dilemma, “They are both in love with you, Fantine. Which one do you prefer?” “I can’t decide to save my life,” said the summer girl. “One has a gorgeous roadster and the other has a stunning motorboat.” BUILT A MONUMENT The Best Sort in the World. “A monument bunt by and from Postum,” is the way an Illinois man describes himself. He says: “For years I was a coffee drinker until at last I became a terrible suf­ ferer from dyspepsia, constipation, headaches and indigestion. \The different kinds of medicine I tried did not cure me, and finally some one told me to leave off coffee and take up Postum. I was fortunate in having the Postum made strictly ac­ cording to directions on the pkg., so that from the start I liked it. “Gradually my condition changed. The old troubles disappeared and I began to feel v/ell again. My appetite became good and I could digest food. Now I am restored to strength and health, can sleep sound all night and awake with a fresh and rested body. “I am really a monument built by Postum, for I was a physical wreck, distressed in body and mind, and am now a strong, healthy man. I know exactly what made the change; it was leaving off coffee and using Postum.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Read “The Road to Well ville,” In pkgs. Postum comes in two forms: Postum Cereal—the original form— must be well boiled. 15c and 25c pacb ages. In s tan t 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 anj cost about the same per cup. “There’s a Reason” for Postum. —^sold by Grocers. ,

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