Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1917-04-13

ing-urnsP'
Tom grinned. There's jest one
more. Joe, IN the feud IL be ended.
Have We thought about that since We
woke?"
Joe gulped. Jim's big form and
handsome face rose in his mind. Jim
was the baby and had always been
nearest to old Joe's heart. All the rest
had gone the way of the feudists. A
vision of Jim topping from some high
cliff with a bullet In his heart passed
through his thoughts, and Joe's chin
sank on his breast.
TON, ye're countin' purity fast" he
said presently, lifting his head again.
Maybe the bullet will come the other
way"
Maybe so. Some have come that
way in time"
1t was Joe's turn to grin.
Don't reckon we've got any talk We
want to make afore I slit that vein in
yer neck, Joe?" Tom had drawn a
knife from his pocket and was whet-
ting a small blade of it on the leather
vamp of his shoe.
mo, guess not, Tom, a If ye're de-
termined to do 1t that way there's no
use wastin' any more time, though 1t
amt the clean thing, Tom, an ye know
it. Amt nary a Dunston before that
died any other way than by a long
range bullet. That's all. Tom-an l got
to say"
Old Tom chuckled and continued to
whet the blade of his knife. At length
he tried the point of it with his thumb
and was apparently satisfied with Its
keenness. Then he arose and went
over to Joe. where he knelt by the lat
ter's side.
Look around, Joe,'' he said, "foI
where We see all the sunlight now will
be midnight to We in a few minutes.
Ye're a brave man, an it's a pity for
We to die this way, but there amt no
regulations in the feud, We know"
Tom began to feel about Joe's neck
for the vein and presently pressed it
outward with his thumb. Joe had
thrown his head backward, and Tom
was bending low and looking upward
under his victims chin. Presently the
sting of the knife thrust started old
Joe into madness. His head darted for
ward with the suddenness of a ser
pent's, and his long, amber hued teeth
snapped down upon the throat of his
captor. There was a gurgle in Toms
throat; then his windpipe closed, and
as Joe's lifeblood, gushing from the
wound in his neck, dyed the young ivy
shoots and the green grass in the bot
tom of the gorge the death set of his
jaws sealed the doom Of his slayer. In
a little while every culver of the flesh
had ceased, and one more tragedy of
the feud had left its story more plainly
readable than words could make it.
The midday sun looked down into
the chasm. A pheasant preened herself
in a narrow trail among the laurel,
while a woodcock ran up the tall, limb
less trunk of a dead spruce pine and
after a shrill call that pierced the deep
silence of the gorge sent out the long,
low roll of his drumming.
Ruth Wylie stood in the cabin door
way watching the trail that led down
the %ravine, winding from one side to
the other as it sought the easier ascent
or descent of the projecting powders.
Darkness was stealing slowly up from
the depths of the hollow, and still no
sign of old Tom gliding along up the
path in his habitually stealthy manner.
dads late tonight, it
pears to me-" The girl took a step
down and sat upon the doorsill. Her
cheeks glowed like red ripe cherries in
the sunshine, for she had been bending
over the evening fire baking the corn
pone and frying the bacon for the
nights meal. From the table came the
odor of the meat. It fioated out through
the doorway on the evening atmos-
phere and was appetizing to the sense.
IF dad could smell the meat / reckon
he'd be comm home without waitin'
any longer. l wonder what he can be
DOM anyhow"
Affecting of uneasiness darted through
her as she thought of the feud; but,
suddenly rising. as if to escape some
burden. she hurled the thought from
her. "'Tain't that; no, faint that
she declared as she sat down again.
But the twilight deepened into dark
ness, the stars came out, the meat grew
cold on the table, and its odor no longer
told of its SAVIOR. Still old Tom had
not come. Ruth peered into the dark
ness at every cracking of the twigs,
but nothing m~aterialized to her long
ing. 1t had been years since old Tom
had spent a night away from home,
not since the night when young Tom
was shot down on the side of Little
Craggy. The girl fell to counting the
stars and saying to herself:
Before l can count a hundred he
will be here"
But the hundred grew to 200, then to
200 Then she hogan and counted them