Cheraw chronicle. [volume] (Cheraw, S.C.) 1896-2005, 1915-04-01
CHAPTER VIi-continued.

CHAPTER vIi-continued.
Lescott stayed on week after that
simply In Difference to Samson's insist
ence. To leave at once might savor OF
flight under fire, but when the week
was out the painter turned his horses
head toward town, and his train swept
him back to the Bluegrass and the
East.
A quiet OF unbroken and deadly
routine settled down on Misery. The
conduct OF the Souths In keeping hands
OF, anG acknowledging the justice OF
Tamarack Spicer's Jail sentence, had
been their answer to the declaration
of the Hollmans in letting Samson ride
into and out of Hixon. The truce was
established. When, short time later,
Tamarack left the country to become
railroad brakeman, Jesse PurVy
passed the word that his men must,
until further orders, desist from vio-
lence. The word had crept about that
Samson, too, was going away, and, II
this were true, Jesse felt that his fu-
ture would be more secure than his
past. Purvy believed Samson guilty,
despite the exoneration Of the hounds.
Lescott had sent box Of books, and
: : Ssrsscu had-eakeH -..eaa-cxea-te
,Hixon, and brought them back.
! He devoured them all from title
page to fnis line. and many Of them
'he went back to. and digested again.
He wrestled long and gently with
shis uncle, struggling to win the old
mans consent to his departure. But
aSpicer South's brain was no longer
Yplastic. What had been good enough
ssor the past was good enough for the
ssrtnre. Nevertheless, he arranged af-
Sairs so that his nephew should be
able to meet financial needs, and to 90
where he chose in fashion BETTING
a South.
November came in bleakly, with a
raw and devastating breath of fatality.
The smile died from horizon to hori-
zon, and for days cold rains beat and
lashed the forests. And, toward the
end of the month, came the day which
Samson had set for his departure.
At the threshold, with the saddle
bags over his left forearm and the rife
in his hand, he paused. His uncle stool
at his elbow and the boy put Out his
hand.
"Good-by, Unc' Spicer," was all he
said. The old man, who had been his
second father, shook hands. His face,
too, was expressionless, but he felt
that he was saying farewell to SOL
dier of genius who was abandoning the
field. And he loved the boy with all
the centered power Of an isolated
heart.
A half-mile along the road, Samson
halted and dsmounted. There, in a
small cove, surrounded by, a tangle Of
triers and blackberry bushes, stood
small and dilapidated meeting house"
and churchyard, which he must visit.
He made his way through the rough
underground to the unkempt half-acre,
and halted before the leaning head
stones which marked two graves. with
q sudden emotion, he swept the back
of his hand across his eyes. He did
not remove his hat, but he stood in the
drizzle of cold rain for a moment OF
silence, and then he said:
Pap, hain't fergot. don't want
ye ter think thet I've fergot."
Before he arrived at the Widow Mil
lers, the rain had stopped and the
clouds had broken.
Sally opened the door, and smiled.
She had spent the day nerving herself
for this farewell, and at least until
the moment of leave-taking she would
be safe from tears. The Widow Mil
ler and her son soon left them alone
and the boy and girl sat before the
blazing logs.
For q time, an awkward silence fell
between them. At last, the boy rose,
and went over to the corner where he
had placed his gun. He took it up and
laid 1t on the hearth between them.
Sally" he said, Il wants ter tell ye
some things thet l hain't never said
ter nobody else. In the fust place,
wants ye ter keep this hyar gun fer
me-"
The girls eyes widened with sur
prise.
"Haint We a-goin' ter take hit with
ye. Samson?"
"He shook his head.
81 hain't a.goin' ter need hit down
below. Nobody don't use 'em down