The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1924-03-20
. Tale of the Flatwoods
By DAVID ANDERSON
Author Of The Blue Moon"
Copyright by The Bobbs. Merrill ca
CHAPTER xIV-Continued.
ID


The tracks had been made by a boot
huch worn and frayed. The man that
made them must haye been large and
heavy, for his boot heel had denied
deep into the floor boards, and the
length OF his stride indicated him to
be little, if any, under six feet. The
prOfuSion of tracks, together with a
number of half-burned matches scat
tered about the floor, indicated that
he had been there some t~ime-posSibly
several times.
The woodsman found himself o
dering what manner of man he could
have been, and what his purpose. And
why did he bring a lamp instead of q
candle? Lamps were none too plenty
In the F~latwOOds. Again there came
over him that strangely disqulettng
p%remOnition Of danger-intangibie; in
%defnable; deadly deliberate.
Everything pointed to the conclusion
that the cabins unknown visitor would
come again-probably with the night.
The lamp on the box, the blanket ready
to hang Over the window, were not
without a purpose. What that purpose
might prove to be could only he con-
jectured-poSSihly horse stealing. Put
no, or why a lamp instead Of a candle?
He glanced up at the loft-eXcept
for a few boards lying loose and scat
tered about upon the j0ists, the cabin
was open to the roof; he looked
around into the dim far corner back
of the dOor-it was half filled with
q clutter of rubbish, broken boxes and
the like-but no tracks led that way.
Using the greatest care 70 conceal
his footprints, he opened the door,
stepped cautiously out, closed ii and,
after a critical look about the sur
rounding weeds and bushes, slipped
away up the side Of the timbered bluff,
through the woods and back to his I'M
finished chores.
After a hasty supper, he drew out
his revolver; bent Over 1t a brief but
thoroughly competent instant of in
spectiOn by the candle; tried the trig-
ger-pull twirled the cylinder; dropped
1t back in the holster; blew out the
candle and laid his hand to the door
latch. The warning OF the mountain
girl crossed his mlnd-he turned back
closed the hearth of the cook stove TO
hide its light opened the door softly
and stepped out into the gathering
night toward the dead wOOdchOpper's
cabin.
The cloud-bank had dissolved in the
west when he again reached the i'll
Omened hOvel and the sky was hang
ing out its staIs-the big, ones already
out, ana the little ones coming.
He again crept down the wooded
face of the bluff and, under cover of
the fallen oak, feStOOned with the wild
cucumber vines, stole up to the chink
in the wall and peeped between the
logs. The cabin was apparently empty
of it's unknown intruder.
After listening i~ntently for some
zine he again stole around the wall to
the door, pushed it slowly open and
entered. As soon as his eyes grew ac-
customed to the gloom, he saw that the
was Just as he had left it a few
hours earlier.
Not daring to venture out on the
door, the light being too dim again to
risk hiding his trail by stepping in the
tracks, he reached up. caught one of
the jOists and, swinging from hand to
hand, crossed to the far corner Of the
room : concealed himself behind the old
boards and boxes of the rubbish heap
and sat gripping his sore shoulder
the eXertlon had opened the cash, and
he could feel the blood crawling down
his side.
There Is something depressing, fear
some, about entering an old deserted
nOuse-especially after nightfall. And
his was the cabin Of dead Henry
Spencer. Few flatwoodsmen would
care to go near it-much less into it
at such an hour.
Jack watched the last faint light
from the west die out in the smudged
windOw-sO foul witt. clay that he had
aot been able to make out more than
the bare outline of the face that had
peered through II a few hours before.
He knew, the bats were darling about
In the cabin, for the dark was alive
with the click of their teeth. A
screech owl shivered his lonesome
wall from an outstanding branch of
the fallen oak.
The woodsman half started, listened
closely, smiled. The sound was genu-
tne-it was a screech owl.
The low wash Of Eagle run. tapping
the rocks In Its shallow bed, came up
scross the lonely road; the melan.
eholy note of a whlppoorwill carried
down out Of the woods.
A sound fell upon the night-the low
swish Of weeds in the yard-and the
wOodsman grew tense and strained.
There followed a guarded football; a
hand fumbled over the door. II
opened; a heavy step creaked the
sagging floor; a form bulked huge
and black In the gloom; a hand and
arm passed across the window ami
hung the blanket into place.
A match scraped-one of the old
fashioned kind that sputter a while
-