Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1914-11-20
CHAPTER w.
The Seven lumberjacks.

Inc SeNen geSS'
The more l saw of Joe In the Gays
which followed, the more appreciated
the man and the more l became con-
vinced of his remarkable gifts. 1t was
not long after.our return from st. Ami
el before Joe succeeded in getting me
a fair shot at the large red deer buck
of Widdeney pond, and it so happened
that the killing of this buck brought US
news of old Highamson, for we took
the head down to him to set up.
Joe and walked over and found him
living with mis- daughter, Janey Lyon,
for the police had never been success
full in discovering the identity of the
ayenger of Big Tree portage. The two
seemed very happy together but l
must acknowledge that / feared from
what / saw that the beautiful Janey
would not continue to bear the name OF
Lyon much longer. l said as much to
November Joe as we were walking
back.
That's nature" said he. "Old Man
Highamson told me that neither BaX-
ter Gurd nor Miller don't give her no
peace. Well, guess a womans better
married anyway
1t was drawing on toward evening
and had begun to rain when we turned
from the woods into the mile-long
trail that led to November's shack. His
quick glance fell at once upon the
ground and, following his eye, l saw
the impression of fresh tracks.
What do they tell you?" asked, for
it was always a matter Of interest TO
me to put Novembers skill to the little
daily tests that came in my way.
Try yourself" said he.
"A man in moccasins-probably an
Indian-has passed along. Isn't that
right" l asked.
November Joe smiled grimly.
Not Just quite. The man isn't an
Indian: he's a white man, and he car
ries big news and has not come very
far"
You're sure?" l said, STOPPING to eX-
anime the trail more closely, but with
out result.
Certain! The Indian moccasin has
no raised heel. These have. He's not
come far. He's travelling fast-see, he
springs from the ball of his foot, and
when a man finishes journey on the
run YOU may be sure he thinks he's got
a good reason for getting to the end OF
it. This trail leads nowhere but to my
shack, and well sure find our man
there"
Ten minutes later when we came in
sight of November's home, we were
aware of a big man sitting on log
smoking his pipe beside the door He
was middle aged, with a hard face. and
there was more gray in his russet
beard than his age warranted. AS soon
as we appeared he leaped up and came
across the open to meet us.
"Blackmask is at it again!" he cried,
saw a gleam of anticipation, if not
Of pleasure, cross November's face. He
turned to me.
This is Mr.. Close, manager of the
River Star Pulp cOmpany's Camp c,
he said. I'D like to make you known
to Mr.. Quaritch, Mr. Close This
courtesy concluded, he added in his
deliberate tones, What's Blackmask
done now?"
Hes at his old tricks. But this
year We'll lay him by the heels, or my
names not Joshua Close" The speak
er looked up. and, seeing my puzzled
expression, addressed himself to me.
Last year there were five separate
robberies committed on the road be-
tween Camp c and the settlement
he explained. Each time it was just a
single lumberjack who got held up,
and each time man in black mask
was the robber. November here was
away"
up in Wyoming with Philadelphia
lawyer after elk supplemented the
tall young wOodsman.
The police failed to make any ar
rest, though once they were on the