The Bluffton news. [volume] (Bluffton, Ohio) 1875-current, 1942-08-27

Charley. It's the last you'll ever
see of it."
Get on the horse" said Hill
house.
Hack smoked his cigarette to the
bitter end, tossed it into the dust.
Before the weeks out you'll wish
to God you were in my place. Never
mind the horse, Charley"
HiIlhouse pulled his feet together
and dropped the rope. His chin
came up and the gun slowly rose in
his hand.
He fired three times, showing
the gun toward his target as
though he could not get it done
quickly enough.
Shocked MINDLESS, Gurd Grant
saw the foreman's lips pull back at
each shot, saw his face snap into
grotesque and openmouthed express
sions of craziness such as he had
never seen on any mans face be-
fore. The shot echoes pounded along
the corridors of the pine forest.
Hack bowed his head and bent his
knees as though to kneel. Half-kneel-
ing, he fell forward.
Hillhouse walked toward him, the
gun sagging at full arms length.
He removed his hat and stood this
way, staring down at the dead
Breathitt. He said: "Well, he had
the last word, like always" And
then his lips framed silent words.
The vitality left his face. When he
looked around to the others he
seemed family dazed. He said:
"We'll take him back to the ranch
and get wagon and run him into
War Pass. His family are all bur-
led in the cemetery, which is where
he should be. These Potholes amt
fit for any white man."
Gurd Grant swung around, physi-
cally sick, and slid down the ravine.
He had to stop here long enough to
lose his breakfast and catch his
wind. Climbing out of the ravine,
he reached his horse and turned it
back on the trail. This was pretty
much a wilderness to him but he
was so absorbed by what he had
seen that he let the horse have its
own head, and SO eventually he
came out of the Potholes on Heren-
deems range. Turning right, he
threaded through the Haycreek Hills
and reached his own place. He left
the horse in front of the house. Co.
ing up the stairs he heard Catherine
call from the kitchen. She came to
the hall and saw his dead-white face
swing around.
"Gurd-what's the matter?"
Nothing" he said. Nothing"
"You're lying"
t'Let me alone" he rasped out
and went up the stairs. He locked
the door of his room. slowly pacing
back and forth.
Lige White, who loved hunting as
he loved few things, returned to his
ranch that day and turned a fat
mule deer over to the cook. He
had been gone from the house since
two that morning, riding down some
of the constant physical restlessness
which seldom permitted him to re-
main long in one spot. He ate a
late dinner in the kitchen and after
wards sat on the front porch to
smoke a cigar, meanwhile listening
to the soft step of his wife as she
moved around the second floor of
the house, engaged in those endless
| little occupations which seemed to
fill her day.
He pitched the cigar across the
porch and entered the house. She
was on the second floor, moving
| around from room to room, but
when he went up the stairs he found
| her seated in her own bedroom with
a pile of darning on her lap. She
! had heard him come and this was
her way of throwing up a guard
against him.
He stood half-across the room,
blackhaired and smiling, favorable
enough in the eyes of most women,
watching her face come up from the
pretense of work Her voice, COO
as it was, never failed to stir him
"Did you have good luck?"
"Nice fat one"
He said: "Old girl, you're a he'll
of a good-looking woman, do you
know"
Her voice wouldn't let the silence
remain. 1t hurried back to him
1.-THE peaches should be picked.
think I'll turn Joe loose on them to-
morrow. Well can a lot of them
of course. But it would be nice i