The Yale expositor. (Yale, St. Clair County, Mich.) 1894-current, 1915-01-28

a woman buying card of buttons and
a fair-haired clerk waiting on her, they
found the building empty.
Back beyond, the hills were impene-
trable, and answered no questions.
Old Spicer South would ten years
ago have put a bandage on his wound
and gone about his business, but now
he tossed under his patchwork quilt,
and Brother Spencer expressed grave
doubts for his recovery. With his
counsel unavailable Vile McCager, by
common consent, assumed something
like the powers of a regent and took
upon himself the duties to which Sam
son should have succeeded.
That HOLMAN should have been
able to elude the pickets and penetrate
the heart of South territory to Spicer
South's cabin was both astounding and
alarming. The war was on without
question now, and there must be coun-
Gil. Vile McCager had sent out a sum-
mons for the family heads to meet
that afternoon at his mill. 1t was Sat
urday-"mill day"-and in accordance
with ancient custom the lanes would
be more travelled than usual
Those men who came by the wagon
road afforded no unusual spectacle,
for behind each saddle sagged sack
of grain. Their faces bore no stamp
of unwonted excitement, but every
man balanced a rifle across his pom
mel. None the less, their purpose was
grim, and their talk when they had
gathered was to the point
Old McCager, himself sorely per.
picked, voiced the sentiment that the
others had been too courteous to ex-
press. With Spicer South bed-ridden
and Samson a renegade, they had no
adequate leader. McCager was a solid
man of intrepid courage and honesty,
but grinding grist was his vocation,
not strategy and tactics. The enemy
had such masters of intrigue as Purvy
and Judge HOLMAN.
Then a lean sorrel mare came jog
ging into view, switching her fly bitten
tail, and on the mares back, urging
him with a long, leafy switch. sat a
woman. Behind her sagged the two
loaded ends of a corn sack. She was
1.-THE and slim, and her violet eyes
were profoundly serious, and her lips
were as resolutely set as Joan of Arcs
might have been, for Sally Miller had
come only ostensibly to have her corn
ground to meal She had really come
knew that she would be met with deri-
sion. The years had sobered the girl.
but her beauty had increased, though
1t was now a chastened type, which
gave her a strange and rather exalted
refinement of expression.
Vile McCager came to the mill door
as she rode up and lifted the sack
from her horse.
"Howdy, Sally?" he greeted.
"Tol'able, thank ye," said Sally. I'm
goin' ter get of"
AS she entered the great halflighted
room, where the mill stones creaked
on their cumbersome shafts, the hum
OF discussion sank to silence. The
girl nodded to the mountaineers gath
cred in conclave, then, turning to the
miller, she announced:
I'm going to send for Samson"
The statement was at first met with
dead silence, then came a rumble of
indignant dissent, but for that the
girl was prepared, as she was prepared
for the contemptuous laughter which
followed
Il reckon II Samson was here" she
said. dryly, you all wouldn't think II
was quite so funny"
Old Caleb Wiley spat through his
bristling beard. and his voice was a
quavering rumble
What we wants Is a man. We hain't
got no use fer no traitors thet's too al
mighty damn busy dom fancy work
ter stand by their kith an kim"