Iron County news. [volume] (Hurley, Wis.) 1913-1950, 1915-03-27

ness we've Deen friends a long
while. Let's talk this thing over be-
fore we fall out"
Thar hain't nothin' &c talk over"
stormed Aaron. "Ye're jest tryin' ter
kill time till the boys gifts hyar and
then l reckon ye lows ter have me kilt
like yer've had me kill them others.
Hit amt no use. I've done sent 'em
away. When they gifts back hyar,
either you'll be in hell, or I'll be on my
way outen the mountings"
Samson stood rigid. Here was the
confession of one murderer. with no
denial from the other. The truce was
off. Why should he wait? Cftaracts
seemed to thunder in his brain, and
yet he stood there, his hand IN his coat
pocket. clutching the grip of a maya
zine pistol. Samson South the old, and
Samson South the new were writing
in the life-and-death grapple of two
codes. Then, before decision came,
he heard a sharp report inside, and
the heavy fall of body to the floor.
A wildly excited figure came plung-
ing through the door, and Samson's
left hand swept out and seized its
shoulder in a sudden wise grip.
DO you know me?" he inquired. as
the mountaineer pulled away and
crouched back with startled :rprise
and vicious frenzy.
No, damn ye! Git outen my road!"
Aaron thrust his cooked rifle close
against the strangers face. From
its muzzle came the acrid stencil of
freshly burned powder. Cit outen my
road afore kills vel"
MY name is Samson South"
Before the astounded finger on the
pistol spoke from the pocket, and, as
though in echo, the rifle blazed, little
too late and shade too high, over his
head. as the dead mans arms went up.
Except for those two reports there
was no sound. Samson stood still, an
ticipating an uproar of alarm. Now
he should doubtless have to pay with
his life for both the deaths, which
would inevitably and logically be at
tributed to his agency. But, strangely
enough, no clamor arose. The shot in
side had been muffied, and those out
side, broken by the intervening store,
did not arouse the house. Purvy's
bodyguard had been sent away by Hol-
lis on false alarm. Only the women
folks" and children remained indoors.
and they were drowning with a piano
any sounds that might have come from
without.
Now Samson South stood looking
down, uninterrupted, on what had been
Aaron Hollis as II lay motionless at
his feet There was a powder-burned
hole in the butternut shirt. and only
a slender thread of blood trickled into
the dirt-grimed cracks between the
planks.
Samson turned to the darkencd door
way. Inside was emptiness, except for
the other body, which had crumpled
forward and face down across the
counter. A glance showed that Jesse
Purvy would no more fight back the
coming OF death. He was quite IN
armed
Samson paused only for a momen-
tary survey. His score was clean. He
would not again have to agonize over
the dilemma of old ethics and new.
Tomorrow the word would spread like
wildfire along Misery and Crippleshin
that Samson South was back and that
his coming had been signalized by
these two deaths. The fact that he
was responsible for only one-and that
in elf-defense-would not matter.
They would prefer to believe that he
had invaded the store and killed Purvy
and that Hollis had fallen in his mas
ter's defense at the threshold Sam
son went out, still meeting no one. and
continued his journey.
Dusk was falling when he hitched
his horse in a clump of timber, and,
lifting his saddlebags, began climbing
to cabin that sat back in a thicketed
cove He was now we'll within South
territory and the need of masquerade
had ended
The cabin had not for years been oc-
cupied. Its rooftree was leaning
askew under rotting shingles The
doorstep was UNCOVERED. and the
stones of the hearth were broken. But
it lay we'll hidden and would serve his
purposes.
Shortly, a candle fiickered inside,
before a small hand mirror. Scissors
and safety razor were for a while
busy. The man who entered In i'm
| peccable clothes emerged fifteen min
utes later-transformed There APP
peared under the rising June crescent
a smooth-faced native, clad in stained
store clothes. with rough wooden socks
showing at his brogan tops, and a
battered felt hat drawn over his face.
No one who had known the Samson
South of four years ago would fail to
recognize him now. And the strang-
est part, he told himself, was that he
/ felt the old Samson.
At point where a hand bridge
crossed the shrting creek, the boy
dismounted. Ahead of him lay the