The Little River news., 1921-01-12

him to gos With last whispered word, the sturdy old fellow stole away in the gioom. half reluctant still, as though he felt he was dfsefacfn1 himself not to stay and fight some body.
 The Pearhuntef strained his ears for sounds farther up the street, par ticularly for any loud talk or excite nient back of the Mud Hen. It was the hour just after nightfall, when village streets are most likely to be deserted 1.-the hour when ,loungers go home to supper. Not a sound out of ths ordinary suds the air.
 At the moment, door opened on the beck porch of the sherif's house. A square of light picked out the rough boards. The sheriff appeared with a flat basket in the hollow Of his arm. A woman's hand pulled back the mus lin curtains at a aide window and held a candle close to the pane to light him across the jail yard.
 The Pearlhunter lounged down on the broken chair. A moment later a key, scraping unbelievably loud on the dull silence of the jail, hunted it's way into the lock The heavy outer door whined back. A match scraped; the sputtering flame was laid to the stub of candle; an arm held 1t through the bars of the inner door.
 "Oh, you're awakel It was so quiet in here I thought mebbe y'u might be asleep"
 With the air of a man dog tired the Pearlhunter dragged himself up off the chair. shambled out into the bali and took the stub of candle from the sher- ifFs band. saa f!sSry
 The shertff fumbled three or four dishes and a tin cup Of black coffee out of the flat basket and held them close to the bars. He stood well back, talk ing quite evident pains to keep his re- yolyer butt out of reach. He did not know there was very dependable weapon already on the other side of the bars. He made no move to unlock the door or to enter the cell.
 None of this escaped the Pearlhunt- CT. The chance to use his stove leg was as good as gone, or rather, 1t was not going to come. Once he considered the desperate move of drawing his re- vOlver and forcing the sheriff to open the door. But the sheriff was known to be brave man. He might fight, and if he did, one or the other of them would be killed. The Pearlhunter dis missed the plan.
 9Th woman didn't know there'd be company tonight" the sheriff muttered as he held the dishes within reach of the arm thrust through the bars. "rm afeared you'll be skimped little. But we'll try an cook up a-plenty in the morning" sia -sr ii \
 He closed the door and turned the key in the lock. The Pearlhunter watched him until he had crossed the square of light shining out from the kitchen and re-entered the house, until |: the door closed and the muslin cur ,tains fell back into place at the side window. Then he laid the stove leg by. His chance was gone. E The revolver tucked under his waistband at the flank of his back and hidden by his blouse seemed to. have a personality. It's friendly pres ence helped his appetite. though, for that matter, 1t was already keen, enough, as he had eaten nothing since morping. He could have eaten three such suppers as the sheriff provided.
 The friendly revolver; the thought of grizzled old river man, doubtless at that moment rowing hard up the river, took some of the smart out of his cuts and bruises. His left eye was swelling shut. He winked 1t Timber and stood wondering whether to blow out the candle or leave 1t burn while, finally blew it out, and went back to the west window.
 A sound caught his ear; steps com ing down the river roadA He listened. The steps turned in at the jail yard; came around to the west window. A face appeared between the bars. Enough light fell from the stars to re- veal its identity-the suave, handsome face of the man he least expected to see there.
 The Pearlhunter came close to the window. The other backed step away.
 "Pleased to find you in." he sneered.
 The Pearlhunter passed by the taunt in silence. It seemed to irritate the other that his shot had missed.
 "Just thought I'd call around at your -ah-your boarding place this evening and talk over little matter of busi- ness-a sort of proposition- a-ah- bargain" he drawled.
 The man on the inside of the bars made no answer. His face was as stolid as If he hadn't heard. Neither was the other much on talk. He shot straight and talked the same way. Half petulantly he shifted to his other foot took his thumbs out of his vest pockets. The easy smile left his face; the real man came out-a wildcat, fanged and clawed.
 "I'll uncork this rotten old jug" he agrowled, If you'll bolt the Flatwoods