The Fulton County news. [volume] (McConnellsburg, Pa.) 1899-current, 1912-12-10
CHAPTER u.

Sally clambered lightly over the
fence and started on the last stage of
her journey, the climb across the
young corn rows. II was a field stood
on end, and the hoed ground was un.
even; but with no seeming OF weari.
ness her red dress flashed steadfastly
across the green spears, and her voice
was raised to shout: Hello, Samson!"
The young man looked up and waved
languid greeting. He did not remove
his hat or descend from his place OF
rest, and Sally, who expected no such
attention, came smilingly on. Samson
was her hero. Slow OF utterance and
diffldent with the stranger, words now
came fast and fluently as she told her
story OF the man who lay hurt at the
foot OF the rock.
"Hit hain't long now tell sundown."
she urged. Hurry, Samson. an git
yore mule. I've done give him my
promise ter fotch ye right straight
back"
Samson took of his hat, and tossed
the heavy lock upward from his fore
head. His brow wrinkled with doubts.
"What sort OF lookin' feller air her"
While Sally sketched a description,
the young mans doubt grew graver.
"This hain't no fit time ter be takin'
in folks what we hain't acquainted
with" he objected. In the mountains
any time is the time to take in strang-
ers unless there are secrets to be
guarded from outside eyes.
"Why hain't it," demanded the girl.
Hes hurt. We KANT leave him layln'
thar, kin we?"
Suddenly her eyes caught sight OF
the rife leaning near by, and straight
way they filled with apprehension.
Her militant love would have turned
to hate for Samson, should he have
proved recreant to the mission of re-
prisal in which he was bidng his time,
yet the coming of the day when the
truce must end haunted her thoughts.
She came close. and her voice sank
with her sinking heart.
what air hit?" she tensely demand.
ed. What air hit. Samson? What
fer hev ye fotched yer gun ter the
field?"
The boy laughed. "0h, hit amt
nothin' perticler," he reassured. "Hit
hain't nothin' fer a gal ter fret herself
erbout, only kinder suspicious
strangers jest now"
"Air the truce busted?" She put the
question in tense, deep.breathed
whisper. and the boy replied casually
almost indfferently.
mo, Sally, hit hain't jest ter say
busted. but pears like hits right
smart cracked, reckon, though" he
added in half-disgust "nothin' won't
come of hit"
Somewhat reassured. she bethought
herself again of her mission.
This here furriner hain't got ne
harm In him, Samson" she pleaded
"He pears ter be more like gal thar
a man. He's real puny. He's go
white skin and bow Of ribbon OF
his neck-an' he paints pictchers."
The boys face had been hardening
with contempt as the description ad
vanced, but at the last words glow
came to his eyes, and he demanded
almost breathlessly:
paints plctchers? How do ye know
that?"
81 seen 'em. He was paintin' ont
when he fell offen the rock and buste'
his arm. It's shore es beautiful es-
she broke off, then added with a sud
den peal OF laughter-"es er FLETCHER.
The young man slipped down iron
the fence, and reached for the rife
The hoe he left where 1t stood.
an git the nag" he announce,
briefly, and swung off without furthe
, parley toward the curling spiral o
, smoke that marked cabin a quartz
OF a mile below. Ten minutes late
, his bare feet swung against the rib
OF q gray mule and his rife lay ba
anced across the unsaddled witheri