The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1916-07-17

that wound upward and still upward from the town of Morrison ran ribbon of puffy yellow dust be- tween sun baked, brown sodded dunes; ran north and north, tortuous series of loops on loops, to lose itself at last in the cooler promise of the first bull wark of the mountains.
 Since early afternoon Caleb Hunter had been sitting almost immobile in the shade of the trellis which fianked the deep verandas of his huge white, thick pillared house on the hill above the river. It was reminiscent of an- other locality-the old Hunter place on the valley road. Morrison had changed since Caleb Hunters father topped with the white columned house that hill above the river. In those days it had been 1it- tie more than a sleepy if conservative ly prosperous and self sufficient com munity, without industry of any sort, or, it might be added, ambition or seeming need of one.
 From the Hunter verandas a half dozen red roofed, brown shingled bungalows, half camps and half cas- ties, were visible across the land stretches where the cattle had grazed before. And just beyond Caleb Hun ter's own high box hedge Dexter AL lison's enormous stucco and timber Summer lodge" sprawled amid a round dozen acres of green lawn and landscape gardening, its front to the river.
 . The fishing, was still far above re- proach little farther back country, and Dexter Allison owned the saw mills that droned in the valley. His men drove his timber down from the hills in the north; his men piled the yellow blanks upon his fat cars which ran in over his spur line that had crept up from the south. His hundreds and hundreds of rivermen already trod the sawdust padded streets of the newer Morrison that had sprung into being beyond the bend; they swarmed in on the drives, a hard faced, hard shoul- dered horde, picturesque, proficient and profane. They brought with them col or and care free prodigality and ca pacity for abandonment to pleasure that ran the whole gamut of emotions, from <raucous roared chanties to sud den, swift encounters which were as silent as they were deadly. And they spent their money without stopping to count 1t. \
 The younger generation of the older Morrison was quick to point out the virtues of this vice. And after time, when the older generation found that the rivermen preferred their own sec ton of the town, ignoring as though they had never existed the staid and sleepy residential streets above, they heaved sigh of partial relief and tried to forget their proximity.
 It was the hottest day of the hottest fortnight that the hill country had known in years. The very tempera- ture gave color to Allison's statement that the heat had driven them north from the shore-him and his wife and Barbara, their daughter of ten, and the half dozen or more guests whose trunks, coming on the next day, made an even moro imposing sight than had Allison's own. And yet as he sat there in the shadow, methodically pull ing upon his pipe, Caleb Hunter smiled from time to time reminiscently.
 He was nodding his head drowsily when a haze of dust to the north caught his vagrant attention. Quite apparently it was raised by a foot traveller, and the latter were not ire quent upon that road, especially foot travellers who came from that d1rec- ton. Trivial as it was, it piqued bis interest, and he lay back and followed 1 it from hzi1y half closed eyes. Ii 1 topped rise and disappeared, the dust | cloud, and reappeared in turn, but not
 until it had advanced to within scant
 hundred yards of him could he make | out the figure which raised it. Ant 1 then, after one sharp glance, with {
 quick intake of breath, he rose an6
 went a trifle hastily out across his owr