The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1931-06-12

WnOm well inspire the oracle pro-
nounced wisest OF men'r'
Again Estevan Miro shrugged. This
time the gesture was exquisitely COM
plicated In It's meaning, even for a
low-class Spaniard. Slight embarrass-
ment was In 1t, some bewilderment,
and a grain-the merest fleck-of
something as nearly approaching con-
tempt as was possible In him for q
man whom he feared.
"Yancey," said Pete Pitchlyn. de-
llberately, ''stick to your lawy'ln'"
"Why?"
"Anybody's got the gift of CAB like
you have is wastin' their time doin'
anything else"
"Oh. wouldn't say that" Yancey
replied, all modesty. Running a news
paper keeps me In touch with folks.
I like 1t. Besides, the law isn't very
remunerative in these parts. Running
a newspapers my way of earning a
living. OF course" he continued
brightly, as an afterthought. ''there
have been times when running a news
paper has saved the editor the trouble
Of ever again having to earn a living"
The faces of the two were blank as a
sponged slate. Suddenly-"Come on,
boys. Who killed Pegler?"
Pete Pitchlyn vanished. Yancey
and the Spaniard were left alone on
the sunny street corner. The face
of Miro now became strangely pinched.
The eyes were inky Sits. He was
summoning all his little bravado, pull
ing 1t out Of his inmost depths.
Il know something. have that to
tell you," he said in Spanish, his lips
barely moving.
Yancey replied in the same tongue,
"Out with it."
The Spaniard did not speak. The
Sits looked at Yancey. Yancey knew
that already he must have been well
paid by some one to show such
temerity when his very vitals were
gripped with fear. "You know some
thing, HIM? Well. Miro, mas vale
saber que haber." With which bit Of
philosophy he showed Miro what q
westerner can do In the way of a
shrug; and sauntered off.
Miro leaped after him in one noise
less bound, like cat. He seemed now
to be more afraid of not revealing that
which he had been paid to say than Of
saying it. He spoke rapidly, In Span
ish. II say only that which was told
to me. The words are not mine. They
say, Are you friend of Yancey Cra-
vat? say, Yes They say then,
Tell your friend Yancey Cravat that
wisdom is better than wealth. II he
does not keep his d-n mouth shut he
will die The words are not NINE"
"Thanks." replied Yancey, thought
fully, speaking in English now. Then
with one fine white hand he reached
out swiftly and gave AIiro's scarlet
neckerchief quick strong jerk and
twist. The gesture was at once an
insult and a threat. Tell them"
Suddenly Yancey stopped. He opened
his mouth, and there issued from 1t
sound so dreadful. so unearthly as to
freeze the blood of any within hearing.
1t was a sound between the gobble of
an angry turkey cock and the howl Of
a coyote. Throughout the Southwest
it was known that this terrible sound,
famed as the gobble, was Cherokee in
origin and death cry among the Ter
ritory Indians. 1t was known. too.
that when an Indian gobbled it meant
sudden destruction to any or all in his
path.
The Spaniard's face went curious
dough gray. With a whimper he ran,
a streak of purple and scarlet and
brown, round the corner of the near
est shack, and vanished.
Unfortunately, Yancey could not re-
sist the temptation of dilating to
Sabra on this dramatic triumph. The
story was, furthermore, told in the
presence of Gin and Isaiah, and illus
trated-before Sabra could prevent 1t
with magnificent rendering of the
blood-curdling gobble. They were
seated at MONDAY dinner. Sabra's
fork, halfway to her mouth, fell clat-.
tering on her plate. Her face blanched.
Her appetite was gone.
(To BE CoNTINUER)