The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1915-06-17

companions eyes. Lescott sank down
behind q rock, cloaked with glistening
rhododendrcn LEAKAGE, where Samson
had already crouched and become i'm
movable and noiseless. They had
been there only short time when
they saw another figure slipping qui-
| city from tree to tree below them.
For a time the mountain boy
watched the figure and the painter
saw his lips draw In straight line
and his eyes narrow with a CLINT of
tense hate. Yet, moment later, with
nod to follow, the boy Unexpectedly
! rose into view and his features were
absolutely expressionless.
"Mornin', JIM" he called.
The sinking stranger whirled with
start and an instructive motion as
though to bring his rifle to his shout
der. But, seeing Samson's peaceable
manner, he smiled and his own de-
meanor became friendly.
"Mornin', Samson"
kinder stranger In this country.
hain't ye, Jim?" drawled the boy who
lived there, and the question brought
sullen flush to the others cheek
bones.
"Jest a-passin' through" he vouch-
safed.
II reckon ye'd find the wagon road
more handy" suggested Samson
Some folks might 'spicion We fer
stealth long through the timber"
The skulking traveller decided to lie
plausibly. He laughed mendaciously.
That's the reason, Samson. was
kinder skeered ter go through this
country In the open."
Samson met his eye steadily and
said slowly:
Il reckon, Jim, hit mought be half
es risky fer We ter walk upstandin'
along Misery es ter go a-crouchin'.
Ye thinks we've been a-shadderin' me.
l knows jest whar ye've been all the
time. Ye lies when We talks bout
| passin' through. Ye've done been spy
in hyar, ever since Jesse Purvy got
shot, an all tibet time we've done been
watched yerself l reckon hit'll be
healthier fer we ter do yore spyin' from
| t'other side of the ridge. l reckon yer
allowin' ter git me eff Purvy dies, but
we're watchin' ye."
Jim Asberry's face darkened, but he
said nothing. There was nothing to
say. He was discovered In the enc
my's country and must accept the
| enemy's terms.
This hyar time lets We go back"
said Samson, "fer the reason thet I'm
tryin' like all HI ter keep this truce.
But We must stay on yore side or
else ride the roads open. How Is
| Purvy terday?"
Hes mighty porely," replied the
other, in sullen voice.
"All right. Thet's another reason
why hit hain't healthy fer We over
hyar."
The spy turned and made his way
| over the mountain.
Oh him!" muttered Samson.
his face twitching, as the other was
lost in the underground. Some day
I'm a-goin' ter git him."
Tamarack Spicer did not at once
reappear, and when one of the Souths
met another in the road the customary
dialogue would be: "Heered anything
OF Tamarack?" mo, hev your
mo, nary word"
| AS Lescott wandered through the
hills, his unhurt right hand began cry
| ing out for action and a brush 10
nurse. AS he watched, day after day.
| the unwilling of the monumental hills
and the transitions from haZy, wrath
like whispers Of hues to strong, faring
riot of color. this fret Of restlessness
| became actual pain. He was wasting
wonderful opportunity and the crea-
tive instinct in him was clamoring.
One morning. when he came out just
after sunrise to the tin wash basin
at the well, the desire to paint was on
him with compelling force. The hills
ended near their bases like things bit
ten off. Beyond lay limitless stream
ers of mist, but, while he stood at gaze,
the filmy veil began to lift and float
higher. Trees and mountains grew
taller. The sun, which showed first
as a ghost-like disk of polished alumni
mum, struggled through orange and
vermilion into a sphere OF living
flame. Lescott heard a voice at his
side.
when does ye low ter commence
| paintin'?"
It was Samson. For answer the
artist, with his unhurt hand, impa-
tiently tapped his bandaged wrist.
Eye still got yore right hand, hain't