The New York herald., 1922-04-09

still in their own pocket. He led the way
cautiously down the hillside and found
path that went straight toward the heart
of the ravine. Making as little noise as
possible, the three men, Palmer in the
lead, followed the irregular direction of the
path. Palmer suddenly stopped and gave
the signal for quiet.
Pretty Girl Is Trapped
As Operator of Still
He opened up the foliage and looked
into the little clearing in the center Of the
hollow An exclamation of surprise es-
capped his lips.
"see it, Mr.. Palmer?" asked one Of his
companions.
"Yes it's right ahead of u.s. But OF all
things! Slip up here and see who's run
ming It,"
the edge of the clearing.
"Thunderation!" one of them exclaimed
when he had seen.
Less than fifty PAGES ahead Of them was
the still, and In no important particular
was it unlike any Of the scores Of stills
they had seen. That was not the surprise.
The cause for their astonishment was that
a beautiful girl was busy at the vat-a
beautiful, blonde girl with amazing hair,
dressed in neat blue gingham. A female
moonshiner. She stood back and placed
her hands on her hips She hummed
Scottish ballad. She was watching the
slow-burning fire under the great copper
kettle.
The officers stood dumbfounded.
"She's ft for another John Fox story"
Palmer muttered.
The eighteen-year-old beauty was not
aware of being watched. She moved lit
tie distance and filled her arms with wood.
She walked to the working still and re-
plenished the fire.
She stood a few feet from the blaze and
again assumed posture of restfulness.
She resumed her humming.
Palmer walked out from the underbrush.
Good morning, Miss" he said.
~ She whirled like a surprised panther.
Palmer lifted his hat and bent in a sweep
ing, old-fashioned bow. She stared, wide
eyed, leaning back and gripping the top of
the wooden fermenter against which she
leaned.
Palmer walked slowly toward her, his
hat in his hand.
Good morning" he insisted.
Good morning" she whispered.
What Is your name?" he queried.
Still keeping her eyes fixed on the ON
GERS face, the girl swallowed and wet her
lips. She tried to speak and finally man
aged to gasp:
My name is-Blondie Stallard."
Miss Stallard," said Palmer, I'm sorry
to have to tell you that I am an oflcer
and you are prisoner"
Are you--are you going to lock me up
in jail?' she questioned falteringly--her
tone, her accent, her manner Of speaking
was not typical of the mountains. Her
English was cultured as American educa-
ton cultures the language.
II hope not" he answered.; Where is
your father? And where do you live?"
I'VE live Just over the brow of the HILL"
she replied. dad ought to be coming
down here now. II he isn't on the way
he Is at the house."
Lets CO." said Palmer, and the three
men and the girl started.
At the crest of the hill they saw a man
coming down the path toward them.
That's dad" said Blonde.
Father, Not Mountaineer,
Accepts All Blame
The man was almost as unlike a moon
sinner as his daughter was. He was short
and stout and prosperous looking. The
air of the mountaineer--the raw boned
awkwardness of the hillman was not In
his bearing.
"Howdy, Mr.. Stallard," Palmer greeted
him.
Morning" Stallard answered suavely,
Whats the trouble?
We'll" Palmer began gravely, I'VE found
this girl over there in the gully operating