The Tupelo journal., 1909-08-13

o here, GEORGE, 10 ROUND tndI m1o
up. This is the price for your advance.
ment. and you must pay it"
1T is all right for me to pay 1t, but
1 don't want you to pay it. Will you
have a care for yourself, Gordon?"
Twill you?"
YES
you need never ask me to be care
full" Smith went on. THAT is my
business. l asked you to watch your
window shades at night, and when l
came in just now / found one up. 1t IL
you who are likely to forget, and in
this kind of a game a man neve FOR
gets but once. I'll lie down on the
Lincoln lounge, George"
Get into the bed"
mo; / like the lounge, and I'm on
early"
In the private room of the superin-
tendent, provided as a sleeping apart
ment in the old headquarters building
many years before hotel facilities
reached Medicine Bend, stood the only
| curio the Wickiup possessed-the
Lincoln lounge. When the a that
carried the remains of Abraham Lin
coin from Washington to Springfield
was dismantled, the Wickiup fell heir
| to one piece of its elaborate furnish
ings, the lounge, and the lounge still
| remains as an early-day relic. Wh1s-
pering Smith walked into the bedroom
and disposed himself in an incredi-
| bly, short time. I've borrowed one or
your pillows, George" he called out,
| presently.
Take both"
"One's enough. 1 hope" he went on,
rolling himself like a hen into the
double blanket, "the horse Kennedy
has left me will be all right; he got
three from Bill Dancing. Bill Dan
cling" he snorted, driving his nose into
the pillow as if in final memorandum
for the night, she will get himself
| killed if he fools around Sinclair too
much now"
McCloud, under a light shaded above
his desk, opened a roll of blue-prints.
| He was going to follow a construction
| gang up the Crawling Stone in the
morning and wanted to look over the
surveys. Whispering Smith, breath
ing regularly, lay not far away. 1t
was late when McCloud put away his
maps. entered the inner room and
looked at his friend.
He lay like a boy asleep. On the
chair beside his head he had placed
his old-fashioned hunting-case watch,
as big as an alarm clock, the kind a
railroad mar would wind up with a
| spike-maul. Beside the watch he had
laid his huge revolver in its worn
leather scabbard. Breathing peace
fully, he lay quite at his companions
mercy, and McCloud, looking down on
this man who never made a mistake,
never forgot a danger, and never took
an unnecessary chance, thought OF
what between men confidence may
sometimes mean. He sat a moment
with folded arms on the side of his
bed, studying the tired face, defense
less in the slumber of fatigue. When
he turned out the light and lay down,
he wondered whether, somewhere in
the valley of the great river to which
he was to take his men in the morn.
ing, he should encounter the slight
and reckless horsewoman who had
blazed so in anger when he stood be
fore her at Marion's. He had strug'
gled against her charm too long. She
had become, how or when he could not
tell, not alone a pretty woman but a
fascinating one-the creature OF his
constant thought. Already she meant
more to him than all else in the world
He we'll knew that if called on to
choose between Dicksie and all else
he could only choose her. But as he
drew together the curtains of thought
and sleep stole in upon him, he was re
solved first to have Dicksie; to have
all else if he could, but, in any case
Dicksie Dunning. When he awoke day
was breaking in the mountains. The
huge silver watch, the low-voiced mar
and the formidable six-shooter had dis
appeared. 1t was time to get up, and
Marion Sinclair had promised an early
breakfast.