The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1900-08-01

nose; a good forehead; long, narrow,
clear gray eyes and mouth indescrib-
ably naughty and stern in its express
sion, were supplemented by frame
of unusual stature and symmetry.
This was Pierre Rameau, formerly
Kirk Mac Collough, now the King OF
Honey Island, as old Max Burns saw
him in the gray morning light, an ap-
partition of unspeakable meaning to
him, CLEAN like a phantom of evil for
q second and then fade, as it were,
into the gloom of the moss-hung
woods.
Certainly it was not the Kirk Mac
C5llough of twelve years ago-not the
slender, fair-faced youth who had
stolen the girl-though the reckless
half-smile still fingered and the old
stamp of utter unr estraint was as plain
as ever. No, not the boyish Kirk
MacCollough, but the man, full-grown
to his prime, masterful, commanding,
leader of men, and yet there was no
mistaking his identity.
Max Burns was old, and for fifty
years had been preacher whose SER
mons had overHowed with sentimental
tenderness; but he had q side to his
nature which was as hard as Scotch
granite. It was with this hard side
out that he was pursuing Kirk Mac
Collough; and yet, even through this,
the spell of the mans strong and beau
tiful face found its way to his heart.
The effect OF, it was but. temporary,
so far as checking his determination
was concerned; but it never quite left
him during the rest of the day as he
slowly but steadily followed the trail
into the main road and toward the up.
per Pearl River region. n
Literally, the preacher had no scrip
for his journey, no staff, no means Of
living; he depended, as the old-time
minister of the backwoods was wont
to do, upon the hand of Providence.
Here and there trapper's or hun
ter's hut, here and yonder settlers
cabin offered him rest, food, shelter.
He did not tell his story; but he
prayed at the freside of all, and he
managed to leave behind him, where
ever he went, a memorable something
sweet, strange and altogether vel
come to the simple pioneer hearts.
Sometimes he fell among desperate
men, robbers themselves, or aiders
and abettors of them, and even with
these he was at home; for he bore
with him the charm of childlike faith,
combined with tbs touching appeal Of
unprotected old age. " t5ti Y
What helped him most of all, per-
haps, was his singing; for age had
scarcely touched the deep, rich music
of his voice, and his memory was
stored with hymn tunes and tunes
that enthralled the hearts of his en-
tertainers.
The stroIling preachers of all de-
nominations traversed our frontier re-
gions in those days, and Max Burns
was accepted as amember of the class
without question, without suspicion,
and made freely welcome by every
household as a privileged if not in
every instance a venerated person.
Curious enough does it appear when
recorded. but it is, nevertheless, a
historical fact, that the preacher found
home for some time with one Dick
Beckett, we'll known as O fighting fd-
dler, who was a red-headed man, very
bow-legged, much freckled and badly
Scared by an old knife-cut across the
nose, and whose cabin was about
three miles east of Pearl River, oppo-
site the southern end of Honey ISL
and.
This Dick Beckett was q trapper
and, to some extent trader with the
Indians. His cabin was often tho
stopping place of the freebooters, with
whom he kept on good terms without
having anything to do with their en-
terprises. He charged liberal prices
for their board and lodging, and so
his place became known for and near
as Dicks. He lived to a great age,
dying in 1867 on the banks of Pearl
River, not far from where his first
cabin stood. 1t was from him, at first
hands, that many of the Honey Island
legends came into circulation in their
present form. He fddled as long as
he lived, and was a noted story-teller.
He took Burns in and became greatly
attached to him, ever afterward call
ing him Daddy or Parson Burns.
Thus established within compare
lively short distance from Pierre Ra.
meau's base of operations, the old
man felt that at last he was on the
point of reaching the end of his long
wanderings. There could be no doubt
now that Pierre Rameau and MacCol'
lough were one and the same man, MOI
did it look possible for the outlaw tc
prevent his approach, provided thai
he could avoid recognition.
(To BE coNTINUED.)