Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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4 -r* :r i**' THURSDAY, DEC. 11, 1924. THE BARNWELL PEOPLE. BARNWELL. SOUTH CAROLINA. — . a — PAGE THREE I ■■ Dy^JACKSON GREGCW COPYRIGHT BYv^* CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS CHAPTER X—Continued V ‘ *—11 Again sho stunt led him. He looked at her wonderingly. But before he eould frame a bantering reply, Marcia had Involuhtarily gripped at his arm with a look upon tier face that first "'as sheer bewildered astonishment, ftnd was crying for him to look yonder. Judith had come. Across the floor, now nearly desert ed, Bud I.ee and Murcia stared at her. She was coming toward them, her dainty slippers seeming to kiss their own reflections In the gleaming floor. It was Judith and not Judith. It was some strange, .unknown Judith. A wonderfully gowned, transcendently lovely Judith. A Judith who had long hidden herself, masquerading, and who now stepped forth smiling and bright and vividly beautiful : a Judith of bare white arms, round and soft and rich in their tender curves; a Judith whose filmy gown floated about her like a sun shot pilst; a Judith whose skin above the low-cut corsage was like a baby’s, whose tender mouth was a red flower, whose hair was a ,shimmering mass of bronze-brown, whose 1 eyes were AphroditeV own, glorious, dawn- gray; a Judith of rare maidenly charm; a glorious, palpitant, trium phant Judith. It might have been Just because it was fitting that they should greet their hostess so; it might have been because the men and women who saw tills new Judith were caught suddenly In a compelling current of admiration, that ubdve the hum of voices rose from everywhere a quick clapping of hands as she came through the room. The Color of her cheeks deepened, her eyes flashed a Joyous acknowledgment of the greeting, and bright and cool and self-possessed she came on to Marcia. “Marcia, dear," she said, taking Mar cia's two hands—and Bud I.ee found that even Judith's voice had taken on f a new note, -deeper, richer, gladder, fraught with the quality of low music —•‘forgive me for being late. I want ed to he here every little second to see you enjoy yourself.” She put her lips closer to Marcia's ear. whispering: “You are the prettiest thing tonight I ever saw l" Marcia shook her head, heF eyes filled with frank wonder. “I mn't tlh, Judith, dear.” she an swered. And, for Marcia, she was very grave. “I know you have a glass in your room. YY»u wonderful, won- Jefful Judith!” Their voices were indistinct to Bud I.ee. , Now at the moment when she < i was so rich in the splendor of her own sweet femininity he filled Ids heart with her. Judith bad come in the only way Judith could come, surrendering herself utterly to the hour. She turned fn him, no surprise at his ow n costume in. her happy eyes, anil gave him her cool hand. A swift tremor fan through him at the contact, u tremdr which was like that of the right In tlie cabin, which he could not conceal, which Judith must notice. She said something, but he let the words go. holding only the vibrant —music of the" voire. — She had stirred him. and now he did not seek a theory for a buckler; the Right of her, the brushing of her fing ers against his, jnade riotous tumult in tils blood. The first strains of a waltz Joined the lure of Judith’s warm loveliness, whispering, counseling, commanding: “Take her.” Marcia gasped and stepped back, starred by the look she saw la the eyes of this man who, hav ing sjMiken no word since Judith came, put out his arms and took her Into them. Judith flashed at him a look of quick wonder. His face was almost stern; no hint of a smile had come Into his eyes. He merely caught her to him us though she were his, and swung her out Into the whirl of dancers. t “You are rather — abrupt, aren’t you?’' said Judith coolly.^, “Am I?” he .asked gravely. ‘‘I don't know. It seems to me^ that I have been loitering, Just loitering while—" He didn't attempt to finish. He held Judith in his anus while for him the room was emptied of Its gay throng, the music no longer pulsed; its beat was In the rhythm of their bodies, swaying.as one. The dance over, she was lost to him In the crowd of men who came eagerly to her. His eyes followed her wher ever she went. A slow anger kindled in his heart that she should let other men talk with her, that she should suffer another man to take her in hla arras.' A number of country dances fol lowed. He stood by the Moor waiting a lime before he' went again to Ju dith. He saw Marcia across the room beckoning to him with her fan. There was nothing to do hut to go to her. He frowned but went, still wat&dng for Judith. Marcia wanted iilrti ^to flM«t sous et her friends. He" shook hands with Hampton, was introduced to Itogers. Marcia explained that Mr. I.ee was the gentleman who achieved perfect wonders in the education of his horses. She turned to introduce Farris, the artist. But Farris broke into Marcia’s words with a sudden ex clamation. ‘‘Have Lee!” he cried, as If he could not believe his eyes. “You! Here !”* ‘‘Hello, Hick,” I.ee answered quietly. “Y’es, I’m here. I didn't know that you were the artist Hampton hud brought up with him." Farris' hand went out swiftly to he gripped in Lee’s. Marcia, mystified, looked from one to the other. “You two know each other? Why. Isn’t that—" She didn't know Just what It was, so stopped, looking frankly as though she'd like to have one of them finish her sentence for her. "But," muttered Farris, “I thought that you—" “Never mind, Dick,” said I.ee quick ly, And to Murcia's mystified expres sion“You'll pardon us n moment, Miss I.ungworthy? I want to talk a little with Mr. Farris." His hand on the artist's elbow, Bud I/ee forced him gently away. The two disappeared Into the little room off the library where Jose was placing a great bowl of punch on the table. “(Jue hay, Bud." grinned Jose. “Your ol’ nose smell the booze d—n queek, no?" He set down Ids bowl and went out. Farris stared wonderingly at I.ee. “Bud. Is it?" be grunted. “Breaker of horses, hired man at a dollar u day—?" “Ninety dollars a month. Hick," I.ee corrected him, with a short laugh, "(rive a fellow ids true worth, old- timer." Farris frownedt i “What devil's game 1r fids?" he de manded sharply. "Isn't It enough that you should drop out of the world with never a word, but that you must show up now breaking horses and letting such chaps as Mrs. Simpson's Black Spanish chum with you? Not a cursed word in five years, and I’ve lain awake nights wondering. When you wt-nf to smash—" "When a I.ee goes to smash,” said Bud briefly, "he goes to smash. That’s all there is to It.” “But there was no sfmse, no use In your dropping out of sight that way—” “There was," said Lee curtly, "or I shouldn’t have done It. It wasn’t just that "I went broke ; that was a result of my own incompetence In a bit of speculation and didn’t worry me a great deal. But other things did. There were a couple of the fellows that I thought were friends of mine. I found out that they had knifed me; had helped pluck me to feather their own nests. It hurt. Hick; hurt like h—I. Losing the big ranch In the South was a jolt. I'll admit ; seeing those fellows take It over and split it tw;o ways between them, sort . of knocked the props out from under me. I believed In them, you see. After that I just wanted to get away and Soft of think things aver.” — ‘‘-You wept to Europe?" “I did not. I don't know how that report got out, but If people chose to think I had gone to take a hand In | the fighting over there, I saw no need to contradict a harmless rumor. I took a horse and heat it Tip Into the coast mountains. I tell you. Hick, I wanted to think! And I found out before I was through flunking that I was sick of the old life, that I was sick of people, the sort of people you and I knew, that there was nothing In the world but horses that I cared the snap of my finger about, that the only life worth living—for me—was a life in the open. I drifted up this way. I’ve been living my own life in my own way for five years. I am happier at It than I used to be. Tl.at’s all of the fiat little story, Hick." “You might have let me know. It seems to me," said Farris a bit stiffly. "So I might," answered Lee thought- fuTly. "I was-going to-Jn the first place. But you’ll remember you were off somewhere traveling when the bubble broke. When Dick Farris trav els,” and hla grave smile came back to him, “let no mad letter think that It can track him down. Then I lilt my stride in this sort of life; I grew away from the uld news; the years passed as years do after a man Is twenty- five; and I Just didn’t write. But I didn’t forget. Dickie, old man," he said warmly, and his hand rested on Far ris’ shoulder. "You can put it In that old black pipe of yours and smoke it, that I didn't forget. Some day I planned to hit town again, heeled, you know, and remind you of auld lang syne." ' ‘‘You are a fool, David Burrill Lee," said Farris with conviction. “Loolp •here: you can take a new start, pull yourself together, come back—where you belong." r ~ v '** But Lee shook his head. "That’s like the old Dick Farris I used to know,” he said gently. t ‘‘But this is where I belong, Hick. I don’t want to start over, I don’t want to come back to the sort of thing we knew. The only thing in the world I do want is right here. And I don’t see’that it would do any good for you to go. stirring up any memories about the old Lee that was shot ‘somewhere in France.’ ” When Farris had to go and claim a dance, Lee watched him with eyes soft with affection. Then, he, too, left the room and went buck to th» outer door, to liis old spot, looking for Ju dith. "The only thing I want is right here," he repeated softly. He watched Farris Join Marcia and Judith. He 1 noted the eager excite ment in Marciirfs eyW*. saw her turn impulsively to Farrjs. The artist shook his head and left-Avem, ostensibly go ing In search wt' his partner. Marcia was speaking excitedly to Judith. Lee frowned. . Once more that night he held Judith in his arms. He meant to make amends for his brusque way with her before. But again the magi^ of her presence was like a glorious mist, shutting them in together, shutting all of tile world out. They spoke Httle and the music had will with them. Judith did not know that she sighed as the dance entled. She seemed mov ing in a dream as I.ee led her through the door. They were out in the court yard. the stars shining softly down on them. In the subdued light here he stood still, looking down into tier pleasure-flushed face. Again the in sistent tremor shot down his blood. • *•••*• Here in this tender light she looked to him the masterpiece of God striv ing for the perfect in a woman’s form. Her gown, gently stirred by the warm breeze, seemed a part of her, elusive, alive, feminine. The milk-white of bare throat and shoulder and rounded arm, the rise and fall of her breast, the soft lure of her eyes, the. tender smile upon her lips, drew him slowly closer, closer to her. , She lifted her face a little, raising her eyes until they shone straight Into his. “Judith,” he said very quietly, very gravely, making her wonder at the tone and the words to follow: “You have had your way with me tonight. Ho you understand all that means? And now—I am going to have my way with you !" He caught her in his arms, crushed hen to him, kissed her. Then he let Caught Her in Hit Armt and Crushed Her to Him. i ~ l, * v her go and stood, stern-faced, watch ing her. For u moment he thought that the Tiahd at her side Was rising To strike him full In the face. But he did not move. Had such been Judith’s intention, suddenly It changed. "So." she cried softly,'“tills is the sort of fine gentleman into which a dress-suit lias made Bud Lee, horse foreman! For so great an honor surely any woman would thank him!” She made him a slow, graceful cour tesy. and laughed at him. And so, she* left him, her laughter floating hack, taunting him. Lee watched her until she had gone from his sight. Then he turned and went down the- knoll. Into the night. CHAPTER XI Bud L«« S««As Crooked Chrie ' ^ Quinnion Ootng_down the knoll to the bunk- house, Bud Lee cursed himself at every stride. He cursed Carson when the cattle foreman, turning to follow him, addressed a merry remark to him concerning his “lady-killing clothes.” The words reminded him of Judith’s and he didn’t cherish the remem brance. In the bunk-house Carson watched him cautiously over hla old pipe as Lee 1 began ripping off his dreas- sult. “A feller called you up a while ago,” said Carson, still bright-eyed with Interest but pretending that that In terest had to do with the new wall telephone recently Installed. ‘‘Sandy Weaver, It was. Said—’’ “What did he want " demanded Lee. swinging suddenly on Carson, his coat balled up in his hand and hurled viciously under a bunk. [ "Wasn’t I telling you?" Carson grunted. ^What’s eating you. Bud? You uc* mighty auspicious, like a man that had swallered poison or else was coming down with the yeller Jaundice or else was took sudden and powerful bad with love. They all treats a man similar—” “D—n It." growled Lee irritably, ‘can’t you tell me what Weaver said?" “Said, call him up, real pronto," re plied, .('arson cheerfully. “Say, Bud, where In heck did you get that outfit? By crlpes, if I hud a regalia like that I’d be rilling herd in ’em ev’ry Sun day! On the square now—" But Lee wasn’t listening to him and ('arson knew it. He had gone quickly to the telephone, hud rung the one bell for ‘‘Central," and a moment later was speaking with Sandy Weaver of the Golden Spur saloon. Carson sucked at ills pipe and kept ills eyes on Lee’s face. The ensuing conversation, only one side of which came to Carson, was brief. Most of the talking was done by Sandy Weaver. Lee asked three questions; the third a simple: “Sure of It, Sandy?" Then he Jammed the receiver back upon its book, and with no remark continued bis hurried dressing. When be had come in, ills face hud been flushed; now it* was suddenly red. the hot red of rage. His* eyes, when they met (’arson’s once, were stern, bright with the same quick anger. When he had drawn on his working garb and stuffed his trousers into bis boots, be went to bis bunk and tossed back the blanket. From the straw mattress be took a heavy, old-style Colt revolver. Carson, still watching him, saw him spin the cylinder, slip a box of fresh cartridges into his pocket and turn to the door. “Riding, Bud?" He got to ids feet, stuffed bis pipe into his pocket and reached for ids hat. “Care if I mosey along?" ‘‘What for?" asked Lee curtly. v “Oh, h—l, what’s the use being a hawg?" Carson' grumbled deep down in his brown throat. “If you’re on your way to little ol’ Rocky hunting trouble, if tliey’s going to be shooting- fun, why can’t you let me in on it?" »Lee stood a moment framed in the doorway, frowning down at, Carson. Then lie turned on bis heel and went out, saying coolly over Ids shoulder: "Come on If you want to. Quln- nion’s In town.” • ••••• • As their horses’ hoofs hammered the winding road^ for the xorty miles Into Rocky Bend the two riders were for the most part silent. All of the explanation which Lee had to give, or cared to give, was summed up in the brief words: “Qulnnion’s in town.” To Judith, Lee had said that night they fought together at the Upper End that he had recognized Qulnnlon’s voice; “t played poker with that voice not four months ago." That he had had ample reason to remember the man as well, he had not gone on to mention. But Carson knew. Carson had sat at Lee’s left hand that night, across the table from Chris Quinnion. and had seen the look of naked hatred in two pairs of eyes when Lee hud risen to ills feet and coolly branded Quinnion as a crook and a card sharp. For a little the two men had glared at each-other, their muscles corded and ready, their eyes alert and suspicious, their hands close to their pockets. Then Quinnion had sneered in that evil voice of his: “Y’ou got the drop on me tills time. Look out for the next.” He, t°o, hod ris»*n and with Lee’s eyes hard upon him had gone out of the room. And Car son had been disappointed in a fight. But now—now that Bud Lee in this mood was going straight to Rocky Bend and Quinnion, Carson filled his deep lungs with a sigh of satisfaction. Life had grown dull here of late; there wasn’t a fresh scar on his but tered body. Though the railroad had at last slipped through it. Rocky Bend was still a bad little town and proud of its badness. To the northeast lay the big timber traces into which the West- Lumnercompany was ‘tearing its destructive way ; only^mtntrnmltes’duF' west were the Rock Crepk mines, run ning full blusF; on the other sides it was surrounded l|y cattle ranges, where a lustyTraqoiYdf young untamed devils' were cbfistfralned to give them selves soberly^ ,to ^thelr work during the long, dusty days. But at night, always on a Saturday evening, there came into Rocky Rend from lumber- camps, mines and cow outfits a crowd of men whose blood ran red and tur bulent, seeking a game of cards, a “whirl at the wheel," a niglit of drink ing or any other amusement which fate might vouchsafe them. Good men and bud, they were all hard men and quick. Otherwise they would not have come into Rocky Bend at all. Lee and Carson riding out of the darkness into the dim light of the f)rst straggling street-lumps, passed swiftly between the rows of weather-boarded shacks and headed toward the Golden Spur saloon. . Though the^ hour was late there were many saddle-ponies standing with drooping heads here and there along the board sidewalks; from more than one barroom came the gay rag time of an automatic piano or the scrape and scream of u fiddle. Men lounged up and down the street, smok ing, calling to one another, turning In here or there to have a drink or watch a game. The two, .newcomers, watching each man or group of men, rode on slowly until they came to the building on whose false front was a gigantic spur in yellow point. Here they dismount ed. tied their horsea, and went in. Carson, with a quick eye toward pre paredness for what might lie on the cards, looked for Lee’s gun. It wasn't In his pocket; It wasn’t In his waist band. ready to hand. It wasn't any where that Carson could see. At. the door ha whispered warninglj; "Better be ready, Bud. AUft leal your gun, have yos?" Lee shook his head and stepped Into the room. At the long bar were three or four men drinking. Quinnion was not among them. There were other men at the round fables, playing draw, solo, stud horse, one glance showed that Quinnion was not in the room. But there were other rooms at the rear for those desiring privacy. I,ep, nod ding this way and that to friends who accosted liimj made his way straight to the bar. “Hello, Sandy," he said quietly. ^ Sandy Weaver, the bartender, looked at him curiously. A short, heavy, blond man was Sandy Weaver, who ran a fair house and gave his atten tion strictly to his own business. Save when asked 6y a friend to do him a favor, such a favor as to keep an eye on another man. “Hello, Bud,” returned Sandy, put ting out a nsl hand. All expression of Interest had tied from bis placid face. “Come in right away, eh? Hello (’arson. Have somethin’; on pie, you know." « Lee shook his head. “Not tonight, Sandy,” he said. “Thanks Just the same." “Me,” grinned Carson. “I’ll go you. Sandy. Same thing—you know.” Sandy shoved out whisky-bottle and glass. Then lie turned grave eyes to Lee. • "One of these fellers can tend bar while we talk if you want, Bud," he offered. “You say Quinnion bus been talk ing?" asked Lee. "Yes. Considerable. All afternoon an’ evening, I guess. I didn’t hear him until I called you up." ‘'Then," continued the man from Blue Lake ranch. “I don’t see any call for you and me to whisper, Sandy. What did be say?" “Said you was a liar, Bud. An’ a skeerd-of-your-Ilfe d—n bluff." A faint, shadowy smile touched Lee’s eyes. “Just Joshing, Sandy. But that wasn’t all, ..was It?" "No," said Sandy, wlplqg his bar carefully. “There was the other word, Bud. -An’—say, Billy, tell him what Quinnion bad to say down to the Jail bird." Lee turned his eyes to Billy Young. Young, a cattleman from the Up end Down range, shifted his belt and looked uncomfortable. “D—n if I do!" he bkirted out. "It ain’t none of my funeral. An’ If you ask me, I don’t like the sound of that kind of talk In my mouth. Maybe I can’ find my way to church of a Sun day for staggerin’ with red-eye, but I ain’t ever drug a nice girl’s name Into a barroom.” "So," said Lee very quietly,-"thafa it, is it?" “Yes," said Sandy Weaver slowly, “that’s it, Bud.—Uirjb^oys knowed ol’ Luke Sanford an’ Itked him. Some ,<*f us even knowed his girl. All of us know the sort she is. When Quin nion started his talk—oh, it’sfa song an’ dance about you an’ her all alone in some d—n cabin, trying ro crawl out’n the looks of tilings by accusin’ Quinnion of tryln’ to shoot you up!—‘ well, folks )us’ laughed at him. More recent, somebody must have took him serious an’ smashed him in the mouth. He looks like it. But,” and Sandy shrugged tils thick shoulders elabor ately, “if it’s up to anybody it’s up to you.” For a moment Bud Lee. standing very straight, his hat fur back, hla eyes hard and cold, looked from one to another of the men about him. In every face lie saw the same thing; their contempt for a man like Quin nion, their wordless agreement with Sandy that It “was up to Bud Lee." Lee’s face told them nothing. "Where Is he?" he asked presently. '‘‘Mos’ likely down to the Jailbird," said Billy Young. “That's where he bangs out lately." I Lee turned and went out, Carson at ids heels, all eyeB following him. In ids heart was a blazing, searing rage. And that rage.wffs not for Quin nion albne. He thought of Judith aa he bad seen her that very night, a graceful, gray-eyed slip of a girl, the sweetest little maid In all of the world known to him—and of how he, brutal in the surge of love for her, bad swept her Into his arms, crushed her to him, forced upon her laughing lips the kiss of his own. ‘‘My G—d,” he said within hlrnself, “I was mad. It would be a good thing if I got Quinnion toniglit—and he got me. Two of a kind," he told himself sneering! y. As be made his way down the ill- lighted street, his hat draw-trover hla eyes now. Bud Lee for a moment lost sight of the rows of rude shanties, tha drowsing, saddle-ponies, the street- lamps, and saw only the vision of a girl. A girl clean and pure, a girl who, as he bad seen her last, was a fairylike creature born of music and soft laughter and starlight, a maid In describably sweet. In the harshness of the mood which gripped him, sba seemed to him superlatively adorabla; the softness of her eyes at the mn- ment before he had kissed her haunt ed him. As he strode on seeking Quinnion. who had spoken evil of her, he carried her with him in his heart. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Work* of Art in Copper Copper ornaments thst were made between 8,300 and 9,000 years ago are dug up near Ur, city of ancient Baby lonia. Made thousands of years be fore King Tut was born, these copper ornaments are among the. earliest works of art. They express the In fancy of the creative spirit. 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