Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1941-01-17

his story. She knew Tom. He was
not mad. He would be only too
grimly sane. He would face the
law with the stony silence Of the
mountain man, which had beneath
it a sort Of terrible. distorted pride
and q fierce sort of anger that was
not heat, but cold. No one could
save him.
She looked at his limp hand, hang
ing to the floor, knuckles hard, the
thumb bent and horny. stained with
bark and the blue metal of the old
rife, the hand that had rubbed Da-
vid Morgan's back and turned his
helpless body in the bed-and sud-
denly she turned sick. Going to
the front door she flung it open and
stood there, drawing long gasping
breaths. The black cold of the night,
the high hollow sky. the dogs COM
ing questioningly to sniff, steadied
her. She was Virgie Morgan who
had taken a tough job and beaten
it; she was Virgie Morgan whom
men obeyed and listened to.
Over her head, unseen, unheard, a
dark arc between her and the stars,
wings might threaten. The wings of
menace. For days she had felt
their vague threat. Something was
working against her. She had to
fight. The timid thing that crouched
and waited felt the swoop of de-
scent, the clipping steel of ruthless
talons.
Tom was still sleeping, collapsed
and defenseless in his exhaustion.
He would need warm coat. His
hat lay on the floor, shapeless,
stained with pitch and sawdust. She
picked it up and Strengthened the
brim. With the fash-light she ex-
plored hall closet, found an old
corduroy woods coat of David's. It
would be too small but it would have
to serve. She let the clock mark an
other hour before she stirred from
her chair, then, buttoning the sheep
skin under her chin, she went out
the back door.
The dogs came rushing but she
quoted them with a word. The ga
rage door creaked slightly but she
got it open, and she knew how to
push her car out and roll it down
the sloping drive without a sound.
She had done it many times when
David lay i'll.
Tom woke with difficulty, stupe-
fed with sleep and WEAKNESS. She
gave him coffee and whisky, she
made him put on David's coat and
his hat. Seen from the rear he
looked a taller, broader David Nor
gan and Virgie's heart gave a sud-
den, clutching pang.
where we going?" Tom demand
Hush up!" virgie ordered in a
whisper. Come along"
The car rolled silently down the
steep drive, between black hedges of
laurel. At the road Virgie started
the engine, turned on the lights. Her
plans were vague in her mind. To
get Tom away-delay-perhaps the
man he had shot at was not dead.
Perhaps he had not been hit at all.
Tom was old. Delay-till something
was certain. Alibis would be no
use. Tom would defeat any attempt
at alibi. There was Bry Hutton.
There was Jim Bishop. No hope
but to get Tom away. Delay. This
was crime. Compromising a felony.
She would be involved. No matter.
Tom had stood by her. All his life
he had had no thought but the mill,
no thought of himself He had no
family-no one but her. She had to
save him somehow.
All the dark, winding mountain
roads she knew well. Every hud-
died little farm, every dark, shut
tered country store at a cross-road
with its goggle-eyed gasoline pump.
Every man in three counties knew
her, knew her old car, knew Tom
Pruitt. She raced the dawn west
ward, keeping to the dirt roads, with
Tom slumped on the seat beside
her. Now and then he dozed, Jerk
ing away DULY. She had put plenty
of whisky in his coffee. He was
warmed, relaxed, he asked no ques-
tons.
Once he said, Looks like you're
takin' a mighty long way round,
Mis- Morgan"
Virgie said, with a desperate
sternness, you're not going to jail,
Tom Pruitt. You never killed any
body"
"Yes'm-I hit him. He dropped
clean. I'd have hit the other one
but my gun jammed."
''Shut up!" snapped virgie. I'm
going to take you over the Tennes-
see line and put you on a train to
Cincinnati"
Tom gulped. ''No'm-no'm, I
can't 60. can't 60 to no big town.
I'd git lost. I got to 60 to jail. You
femme out Of here, Mis- Morgan,
and IN walk back got to 20 to
iail."