The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 14, Number 1, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 5 May 1921 — Page 3

BLUEMOON ATALE OF THE FLATWOODS n I I A A IdAVID ANDERSON./ COJAPAN Y

SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER I.—Never having known his father, and living with his mother on a houseboat on the Wabash river, “The Pearlhunter"—the only name he has—learns from her a part of the story of her sad life. The recital is interrupted by a fearful fit of coughing and he hurries ashore to seek a root that affords relief. Returning with the root, he meets a young girl whom he mentally christens the “Wild Rose.” She eludes him before he can make her acquaintance. CHAPTER II.—A vacant cabin on the shore has attracted the attention of the ailing woman, and they move into it. Their first meal is Interrupted by a stranger who resents their presence. The youth drives the man from their home. His presence has strangely ©affected the mother. That night the youth finds within. a mussel the largest pearl that has been found on the river, the “Blue Moon.** Returning exultant to the cabin, he discovers his mother dead, she having succumbed while endeavoring to leave a message revealing the secret of his parentage. The bluffs cnught up the cheer thnt followed and flung It back In iiiuTtiplled echoes, cleat- and far up and down the night-bound shore. The Boss, still hungry for the feel of the jewel, reached forth a grimy finger and meditatively stirred the pearl where it lay In the finder’s palm. “This one's rounder than them other two. An’ It's got a shinier sheen. Course I cayn’t say p’lntedly, but I putt It at not less’n five thous»n’.“ The Pearlhunter was restless. There was a frail woman back in the cabin at Fallen Rock to whom the finding of the pearl would mean more than to anybody else In the world. It would mean—the man’s heart warmed with the thought, as his mind reverted to the story of the afternoon — back to the house on a hill that overlooked the river—and good-by to the cough forever. But it was some time before the first flush of excitement died down. It Is not one camp tn a thousand that ever sees a Blue Moon. The value of ft was still under discussion when the Boss happened to remember the fish still lying in the boat “Th* fish!” he exclaimed. “Th’ files’ll be at ’em.” “And T must be getting home.” The Pearlhunter was quick to seize the chance. Followed by the others, the Boss went down to the boat—not, however, until the Pearlhunter had torn a corner out of the cloth spread down by the fire, wrapped the pearl up in it, and put it carefully, away in his pocket. Insisting on relieving the Boss from rowing on the way back, he took hla place at the oars and waited for the boat to be pushed off into the stream. But the Boss, with his hand upon the bow, stood hesitatingly before giving the final shove. "Shorty,” he called to the man who had danced the hornpipe, and who was now gone back to the fire, “bring me my ol’ shotgun an’ coat. I reckon I’ll camp at Fallen Rock t’nlght.” The Pearlhunter protested against his going to such trouble; but the Boss had his way. “That pearl’s intlrely too valuable to take chances on,” he muttered, laying his coat in the bow, with the shotgun across It, giving the final shove to the boat and leaping In. “I reckon I’ll jist stick around till y’u git it in th’ bank t’morrow. That hell-hound, th’ Red Mask, stuck up th’ Milford stage down th' river last week. Your Blue Moon would be nuts t’ him; an’ we did make a right smart fuss when y’u found it.” He shifted the six-shooter in his pocket from between the edge of the seat and his hip, picked up the shotgun and examined the caps on the tubes. “You c’n all' talk about these newfangled six-guns that wan’t’, but they cayn’t nothin’ come up with a good ol’ scatter-lock when things git tight.” The young man at the oars made no j reply to these remarks. He was thinking of that bit of flaming cloth behind the chink at the cabin. For a moment the Impulse came on him to tell the Boss, but he decided to keep his own counsel. The moon had poked her round face up over the hills by the time they landed at Fallen Rock. The Pearlhunter picked up the big bass and led the way to the cabin up under the cliff. The candle was still shining out through the one small south window, the dimmer for the moonlight, a little square of luminous yellow set In the gray and ragged logs. Full of the big news he bore, the young man hurried up the slope. The pearl almost seemed to become a creature of sense and sympathy; to feel warm against him; the luster of It to shine through his pocket When within a few feet of the door he heard his mother cough—hissing; whistling; choky. He dropped the fish and darted in at the door. She stood stooped In front of her chair,'-'clutching the table. Her hand moved over the cloth as if trying to write. Blood was pouring from her mouth and falling to the floor. He sprang at her. She clutched his arm; hung to him. He would not have believed It possible she had such force ..... - —-

in her fingers. She struggled painfully to choke back the blood; then strove pitifully to speak. No word came—only that awful whistling hissing gasp. He saw the luster die In her eyes—the eyes that in their day had been so wonderful. They were trying hard to tell him something—words her lips were not able to frame. He strove to read their message. In vain! There came a last gasp; her body suddenly stiffened, quivered, relaxed—and be eased her back into the chair. The Iron-Gray-Woman was dead. The Pearlhunter raised her hands to cross them on her lap. Some object fell from the lax lingers to the floor. It was a soldier’s glove, stiff and mildewed with age. Turning to lay It upon the table, he stoodstartled _a_nd staring, ills cry ggßp Il m 11/ Il 11 I II mir* I rl 'J w 1 s^ll ' IflkhL' 'Ww Her Hand Moved Over the Cloth aa If Trying to Write. brought - the old Boss to his side. Two words, scrawled in blood on the cloth, glared up at them: ♦‘Your father —’’ There had been a further attempt to write, but the effort had only resulted in a scrawl, Impossible to decipher. CHAPTER 111. A Man Without a Name. The Pearlhunter sat on the doorstep of the cabin, his face bowed In his hands. It was June upon the slope under the trees; June in Wolf Run chuckling and chirking along on its way from spring and waterfall to the river; June in the heart of a cardinal rocking upon the top twig of a tall hickory; December In the heart of the Pearlhunter. Half-way down the slope, beyond the tangled underbrush and in the edge of the grass-covered open strip that bordered the river shore, the green was broken by a mound of fresh earth. He had rimmed it roun* with Shells brought up from the river; upon the head had planted a cluster of orchids, the lady’s-slipper of the Flatwoods. They were like her, the orchids —a lonely flower; one to a wide stretch of solitude. Nobody but he could have found so many, because nobody knew the woods so well. As he looked back over the years, he found himself pondering the contradictions of his mother’s life, In the light of the story he had heard that memorable afternoon —the refinement in the midst of mean surroundings, the stern pride that had held her so long In exile because of a word that had, mayhap, been long repented. The muck and grime of the river bad never smudged her/ Through it all she had kept as pure, as white, as a flake of snow—and as cold. “What air y’u calc’latin* t’ do with them wild roses here In th’ tumbler In the winder—keep ’em *r chuck ’em out? I cayn’t find but one more tumbler.*' The voice of the old Boss half startled the man on the doorstep. The gruff old fellow had never left him, night or day. The Pearlhunter had forgotten him, the rumpled house, the dishes, everything. He lifted his face from his hands, rose, and entered the cabin. The Boss was pointing to three wild roses—a red, a pink, a white —in a tumbler of water in the window. The vision the Pearlhunter had seen on the rock at the pool came again. • A vision—it had been just that, only that; an exquisite picture flashed before his face and instantly snatched • away—a picture he would never see i again. It seemed unreal as he looked back upon it In the light of another day. But no, there were the roses. He bent his face down and caught the j aroma of their breath. “Let them be,” he said. “They will last another day.” The Boss made no reply. To him they were merely faded roses. He was Sitting on_the doorstep about to light

THE SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

his pipe when the younger man called i him. With the freshly filled pipe in one hand, the unlighted matcji in the other, he rose and stepped back Into the cabin. The Pearlhunter was standing before a small hair-covered trunk, scarcely bigger than an ordinary suitcase of the present day. It stood open, with the lid thrown back, exactly as It had stood two nights before when he came up from the river and found bls mother dying. Its contents seemed to Indicate that they had been rummaged through by some one whose haste had been great —doubtj less by his mother. It hurt hint to reI call the cause of that haste. The 1 bloodstained glove she had held in her hand lay uppermost, probably tossed there by one of the river men. “It’s time to know what’s in this trunk.” A certain tenseness in his voice escaped lite Boss. “Don’t y’u?” “I’ve never seen inside of it before.” i The Ross was In the act of scraping I his— match. He stopped; looked around out of the tall of his eye. but I whatever his thoughts, he made no I comment. i “First of all. here’s this glove.” the I young man went on. lifting the glove from the trunk. “You know where we—saw It first.” The Boss threw away the stub of his match and felt the time-stained and mildewed article. “West Point,” he muttered. “Hit’s th’ kind them sprigs wears—officer's, I’d say. offhand." The other stood considering it; laid It aside; and lifted the next article from the trunk. It proved to be a woman’s dress of rich brocade. Little as the tws men knew of such matters. It Impressed even them as being of' the very finest material and of finished workmanship. Under It lay other articles of woman’s wear, all equally rich, though now yellow with the stain of time. Down beneath everything else lay a small box'‘which the Boss, from an experience which befell him ns a soldier in the far South, knew to be satinwood. The young man stood with it In hfs hand, afraid to raise the lid—afraid to put It to the test. So far. the trunk had given up nothing. He was still nameless. What if this, too, should prove a blank? At last the Pearlhnnter raised the lid—some baby clothes, clean and neatly folded; a plain gold ring wrapped in a handkerchief of the finest cambric; and. under all. a picture —what the Iron-Gray-Woman must have been In her girlhood. He snatched it up, carried it to the light of the door and looked long upon It. After a time he came back to the trunk. The satinwood box was the Inst article in It. and It had told him nothing' He laid the picture in it, replaced the baby clothes and ring, closed the box and put it back. He even took a sort of melancholy satisfaction In replacing, with studied neatness, the glove, the dress and other articles, after which he closed the lid, locked it, pocketed the key. and turning to the window, stood staring out over the river. He was still a man without a name. The Boss stepped back from the door. “The Blue Moon.” he said. “Hit J orta be putt away safe.” As If the statement recalled thoughts that had strayed far, the young man reached in his pocket and drew forth the pearl, still rolled in the bit of cloth. | The two days of ripening and the chafe of the cloth had greatly en- i hanced its brilliance. Quietly rolling the pearl up In the cloth again, he left the cabin and, followed by the Boss, strode down the slope through the trees to the boat, and together they rowed away toward the village. The fame of the Pearlhunter had preceded him. As he carpe up from the wharf Into the town, the Mud Hen, the one saloon of the place, disgorged a swaggering, swearing population that gathered round him. The Boss’ crew, camped half a mile below Fallen Rock, and the crew of Bull Masterson, camped three miles above, were both there. Besides these, the Obenchaln, a small steamer plying between the ports of the Wabash, had come In that morning, bringing other river men. Caught In the swirl of the crowd, the Pearlhunter and his companion were swept Into the Mud Hen. A hundred voices clamored to have the pearl laid upon the bar where all could file by and see it. There fell a few-min-utes of comparative quiet while the hungry eyes of the river men were devouring It. Then followed drinks all round —at the expense of the finder; and—what followed is not a pleasant task to describe. The Pearlhunter, remembering that mound of fresh earth at Fallen Rock, 1 kept his head and drank but little. The Boss, on the other hand, “cut th’ dog loose," as the river men say. By noon he was singing snatches of halfforgotten songs and fighting the Indian wars all over again. Coming up to where his young friend leaned against the bar. In easy reach of the pearl, still lying upon its bit of cloth, he threw an arm about his neck and leant hard upon him. something he couldn’t have been hired to do when sober. | “Come ’ere, you fellers. Thls’n’son ( me, an’ It’s to th’ Pearlhunter, th’ : whitest man along th’ Wabash —an’ | be d d t* th’ man what says ’e ain’t!” The rabble swarmed about the bar —all that were able. Bottle necks gurgled; glasses clinked; red whisky sizzled down hot throats; a few shouted; some swore; others merely laughed foolishly. That last drink was the Boss’ fin- ! Ish. He wilted down Into the nearest chair; lurched heavily over upon a table and lay there mumbling, or laughing In high, shrill key; occasionally shouting out a note or two of a boating song that had been old on the rlv- . er for a quarter of a century. It was early afternoon before the . Pearlhunter dared to think seriously of depositing the pearl—before river I etiquette permitted him to remove It from the bar. He tried to rally the Ross. All he eot was a. further in- * X. ,

stallment of the Indian wars. Half disgusted with it all. he turned back to the bar and stood leaning his chin upon his hnnd. A door opened from another part of the building—the Mud Hen being an Inn. the only one In the place. A man entered. Crossing the floor with as little attention to the crowd as If the place had been deserted, he swaggered up to the bar. Perhaps he secretly wished that somebody would get In his way. He had just that air about him. The Penrlhunter heard the door open; felt the hush that fell—the hush thnt always falls upon the rabble at the coming of a masterful presence. He turned his eyes slowly toward the newcomer. His nerves were as steady as the woods make them, but they were not quite proof against what he saw. It was the Man-ln-the-Fancy-Vcst. I A look flashed between them. The 1 Pearlhunter fancied the other, stiffened. and he was qnite conscious of a tightness creeping into his own spine. The Blue Moon was still lying on its bit of cloth upon the bar, where, among the river men. It was as safe as anything of value ever gets to be in this avaricious world. He deliberately picked it up and thrust It Into his pocket. It was a distinct affront. Blood . had run In the Flatwoods for less. The • man facing him started; flushed; hia j right hand dipped toward ills hip. The Pearlhuntcr*s body becarre like iron electrified; his eyes like flecks of < steel in the fireglow. His hand had closed upon the pistol butt while the other’s hand was still on its way. “Draw!" he hissed. “Draw! I’d ' give the Blue Moon if you would! | There’s a twenty-year-old score to settle between your blood and mine!” A dead hush fell. The more sober men of the crowd jammed doors and windows, others huddled against the walls; some had dived under the bibles. It was a moment of keen tension. Not a man breathed. The line between life and death Is a hair line when two gunmen stand face | to face. The chances are split almighty j fine. The Man-in-the-Faney-Vest evl- . 'HI J?) IT ■flip < I He Swaggered Up to the Bar. dently decided they were split a little too fine. He slowly relaxed the pose to which the dangerous Instant had strung him; lifted his hand; folded his arms; turned; leant against the bar; and stood coolly looking the other over. The Pearlhunter had been half crouched. He straightened and took his hand away from his hip. “When I get ready to leave Flatwoods I’m expectin’ to ask you sonqe questions—and I’m expectin’ to be answered." His voice crisp ns the snap of sleet against window glass, he stuffed the pearl deeper Into his pocket, in a manner that somehow had the effect of emphasizing the affront. The other shrugged his shoulders, i barely perceptibly; his'lip curled in a hard smile that carried all the force of a sneer, but he made no answer. With the air of a man bored unspeakably he sauntered across the room to ; the door by which he had entered; paused an instant; glanced back over his shoulder; tossed up his chin contemptuously; passed out, and closed I the door. But, for all bis easy acting, It did not escape the Pearlhunter that the ' blue in his eyes was black. CHAPTER IV. The Girl With a Basket It was June outside. June—lt slipped down out of the cool dells and dingles of the woods and soothed the Pearlhunter’s face, red with the stifle and reek he had Just left. He filled his lungs with it—June—he tasted It with his lips. With half an eye on the door of the i Mud Hen, half an ear over his shoul- j der, he crossed to the bank. “What name?” inquired the old banker, making out the receipt, after having placed the pearl away in the vault. The color set the tan on the young ' man’s face afire. It was something he had not foreseen—that a name would be required; and he had none. • A pearl worth thousands, but no name ! —he would gladly have given the one for the other. “What name?” repeated the banker, looking over his glasses out through the window. “Pearl—hunter!” the other stammered. i “Pearl hunter—what?” “Just —Pearlhunter—" i “Pearlhunter I Why, that’s no name.” “It’s—lt’s all I have." “Pearlhunter —well—!" ' . ,Tlip_ hanker had his mouth already

set - to say something more—huf he didn’t Instead, he took a better look at the tall young fellow on the other side of the window. Dipping his pen into the Ink well a second time, although It was already overloaded to the dripping point he went on filling out the receipt “Just bring this with you when you want your pearl, Mr.—Pearlhunter." “And if I lose it?” “Then —Well—just bring your face. Yes. that will do—your face. I reckon you won’t lose It.” The old fellow chuckled as If he had surprised himself making a Joke. It usually puts a man In a good humor to discover that he has made a joke. The hanker stood rubbing his bony hands together while the Pearlhunter waited out. What next? The Pearlhnnter stood on the sidewalk outside of rhe bank door and debated that very question: a question In two parts; first, whether to go back to Fallen Rock; second, whether to make another try after the Boss. He finally decided In favor of the Boss. Tire thought drew his eyes toward the Mud Hen across the street. Tire Man-in-the-Fancy-Vest was standing Just Inside the door. At the moment, a young woman with a basket on her urm dime out of I a grocery a block up tire street and | walked rapidly toward the saloon, j Tire man just Inside the door apparI ently was watching for her. She | seemed to know that he would be there—to dread that he would Im* —to > judge by the way she hurried past. The man stepperl out on the sidewalk as the girt came opposite, and tried to stop irer. He even stepped in ■ front of her. She turned out around | him and, with a bare word or two in [ response to his efforts to engage her In talk, hurried rapidly on. He stood looking after her till she was a block or more down the street —road wonjd be the better word, since the river road formed the one street of the village—and then deliberately followed, * All thoughts of the cabin »t Fallen | Rock, of the Boss sprawled oyer a i table at the Mud Hon. instantly’ fled . the mind of the Pearlhunter, riis I somewhat passive face livened; into his slow eyes came a quickened Interest. He hnrdly knew why he followed. He simply found himself walking after them. Tiie river road, as ft follows along under the brow of the cliffs below Buckeye, makes many turps. The girl and her pursuer word walking ‘ fast when the Pearlhnnter peeped out around a turn and looked after them. By running at such times as the windings of tlie road hid him. be had caught up with them as near as wa< prudent. The girl was walking very rapidly. It was plain that she knew she was being followed. It was equally plain that she did not want her pursuer to know that site knew it. But walk as fast as she would, the inan following her walked just a bit faster. | Nearly a mile below the village, and half that distance above Fallen Rock, the river road angles abruptly to the i north through a cut In the cliff and i leads back Into the level highlands, i Just where the road turns a path leaves It, crosses a dilapidated rail fence running along the east line of I the Warbrltton lands, and enters the i woods. The girl took this path. She was in the act of climbing the fence —low and broken where the path crossed it—when, with a prodigious step or two, the man following caught up with her and took hold of the basket. i “Allow me to assist you." he said. 1 The Pearlhunter, from where he had darted behind a clump of hazel growing rank along the side of the road, could just distinguish the words. Without answering, the girl sprang to the ground on the opposite side of the fence, but without letting go of the basket. Neither did tbe other let go. Placing his disengaged hand upon the top rail of the fence, he vaulted lightly over. The Pearlhunter seized the favorable Instant to steal nearer. The sunbonnet hid the girl’s face so that he could not see it, but he fancied the plump brown band on the basket handle was trembling. The smile on the face of the man clinging persistently to the other side of the basket meant things that a smile has no business to mean. “Why do you always avoid me?” His voice was low, soft, musical—too musical. “Surely it’s no crime for a man toadmire a pretty girl. ‘The cat may look at the queen,’ you know." He laughed. Something altogether different, from mirth in that laugh something altogether different from mirth behind it. The girl made no I • ■ i Wai ? i Slammed Him Back Against th* Rail* reply—if the heaving of her bosom gave any index to her feelings, she probably could not reply. She did not even raise her eyes. . «.

' ~ “You ignore me there tn the village," he pursued. “But out here In the .woods—well, !t’s* out here in the woods. You’ve got to— H—II I” . The exclamation was surprised out of him. The girl had suddenly dropped her side of the basket and whirled. But quick as she was. he was quicker. As the basket clattered to the ground he seized her arm. There followed some muttered words, and a smothered cry that the Pearlhunter was too busy Just then to understand. The girl was still struggling, her assailant muttering, and rising to detain her without too great a Show of violence, when a grim face scowled up from behind the fence, a long arm shot over, the fingers of a calloused hand twisted themselves Into the collar of tlie assailant and slammed him back against the rail with a force thnt took the breath out of him in a grunt. Nor was that all. The same long arm dragged him backward over the fence i and chucked him head first down into I tlie path ou the other side, where for ; a moment he lay half stunned, gaspj Ing for. the breath thnt had as good as i gone, and gazing half foolishly up at I the mun who stood ovej; him. j But it was only fdr a moment. ! With a face like the flames of hell he sprang up. The body of the Pearlhunter crpuched: tightened. There is Just one thing to expect in I sixrh a situation; but the expected i failed to happen. For the second time that day the Man-ln-rhe-Fancy-Vest ! treated the Pearlhunter to a very j genuine surprise. The flame of anger In his eyes- slowly changed to a ■ haughty contempt. Infinitely rankling. ■ He turned, and. without a backward • glance, stalked down the road toward the village. . The Pearlhunter stood gazing after him. The Red Mask —and he hadn’t j struck! Three times affronted, and he I hadn’t struck. Each time there had been death In Jiis eyes. What was holding his hand? Was he biding bls time? It was not a pleasant thing to contemplate, for any tnan can kill another If he waits his opportunity, and takes him at a disadvantage. , Why hadn't he struck? Always the question came buck to that. And what was holding him to the Flatwoods? The Pearlhunter whlrlen with the thought, and looked back over the . fence. The girl was gone. The basket and bundles were still scattered about the path. He climbed the fence mid began gathering them i up. He ' <1 them all back In the ‘ basket, and was leaning against the fence. wonHering how to get them to their projier owner, when a slight rustle among the bushes readied his ' ear. He glanced up; the girl stood j before him. It was the girt of the pool—the j Wild Rose. The woods had hid them; the woods had nursed them; the woods had set them face to face—the Penrlhunter; the Wild, Rose —a man; a woman. Strip away from life every nonessential; bare It of every husk pf sham and convention; pare it right down to the red. quick core, beyond which it Is not possible to reduce it further, and you come at last to a man and a woman. Six million years the Almighty Artist practiced on such secondary studies as stars and suns, and peopling them with Inconceivably diverse and curious forms of life, before trusting his hand on his final masterpiece—a man; a woman. They stood staring, as at that other meeting at the pool. And that was the thought uppermost to the mind of

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| the Pearlhuntere-tbnt other meeting. • And he had looked! Somehow he ’ wished he hadn’t; and yet he wasn’t i sorry that he had. The thought drew his eyes to her feet. Shifting the basket, bls band slowly stole up and dragged off his battered hat. The blue eyes under the sunbon- , net livened. The girl drew a step nearer. The bushes she had been bending aside sr>rnng back Into place. She drew another step nearer. As she moved, an overhanging limb caught the sunbonnet and dragged it ’ off, displaying a very soft and glossy mass of yellow curls. She turned, disengaged the bonnet from the limb, and was shaking the curls into shape to replace it when the Pearlbunter made a quick step toward her with hand upraised. “Don’t!” he cried. “Don’t—" A man of slow speech, with eyes hard to wake, he wouldn’t hnv® believed such words were In him. I (TO BE CONTINUED) 0 NYKACISE BEATS JI.UTBWN i In a well played fifteen-inning-game at the Westside park heie Sunday afternoon the Syracuse Grays were able to squeeze out ; . the big end of a 4 to 3 score from the Jimtcwn nine befoie a fair sized crowd. Slabaugh and Sloan, battery for Syracuse, did especially good work. i Following is the line-up: I Syracuse Jimtown J. by landlbluat p ..2bJunnsva N. Bylandss. i.. .RarbericK Ohaver3b. :Cog ; . SloanC..Austin blabau o h P Zent/. Craft If......Wenger Foster -cf Sears Defreese rs... Holder man i Slabaugh delivered 10 strikeouts and 5 hits; Zentz, 12 strike- ' outs and 8 hits. Rarberick substituted for Zentz in the bth. | Manager Walter Sloan nas completed arrangements for tlie following schedule of games: May B—At Albion. May 15—At Larwill. May 22—Albion here. May 29—New Paris here. I May 30—Fort Wayne here. | June s—At5 —At Jimtown. i June 12—Elkhart here. i June 19—Larwill here. July 3—Kendallville here. July 10 —At Kendallville. •j Putting it off today | won’t get it done I :■ tomorrow. An j : advertisement in | this paper today t will bring business * tomorrow. a i is I