Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

16 PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY tains at dusk, and driving rain came with the rising wind. Benton Cabot got the horses from the pasture and secured them in the ramshackle barn, and while he was about it Jim Whitlicks came to him, cringing, with his characteristic nervous starts and furtive glances over his shoulder. "Ye didn't make out ter get yer letter from Emmy, did yer?" he whined softly. "What letter do you mean?" demanded Cabot. Jim glared about him apprehensively. "Bije Stork tuk it from me," he whimpered. "Emmy, she sent me with th' letter, tellin' of yer to come to see her right off. Bije, he tuk th' letter an' stuck it in his pocket, an' went ter see 'er, 'stead of you. He's a right smart feller, Bije is!" Cabot's face was dark with anger, but he spoke kindly to the boy. "Better not tell any one that you talked to me about it, Jim," he said, "or you'll get into trouble." He finished the work for the night, and then went directly to the Garrett cabin by the short cut, although the mountain stream that he had to ford was already a rushing torrent from the heavy rain. It was quite dark when he knocked on the door, and the wind and rain were becoming so violent that he had to bend before them and shield his face. "What you doin' here? What yer want?" cried the girl, as she opened the door; but she let him step in, out of the storm. "I came to tell you, Emmy," said Cabot gently, "that Bije Stork got the note you sent to me to-day, and I should never have known of it, but Jim told me just now. I came over to tell you, and to ask you what you wanted of me." Emmy's eyes flashed dangerously. "Yer city friends in the auto — they've gone away, and now yer haven't nothing better to do than come an' lie ter me !" she cried. "I ain't any use fer you, nohow, an' I do mortally hate a feller that plays tricks on yer an' then lies about it. I don't want ye here, Bent Cabot, an' ye'd better git ! Go on up to yer shack that yer daddy lef yer, an' fix it so's 'twill keep the rain off'n yer !" "But, my dear girl " "I ain't no dear gal o' yours !" she broke in hotly. "Ye better git out, I tell yer !" He started to smile at her wild burst of temper, but almost quailed before it, grew serious and hurt, and turned to the door. "If you would listen to me, Emmy," he said, "you would " "Git out !" she cried again, and he obeyed her without another remonstrance. The tempest had increased tenfold in the short time that he had been in the cabin, and he had to brace himself against its blast. With head down and coat wrapped tightly around him, he struggled toward the ford, not keen to wade through the flood again, but intent on making the best possible time to his shelter. The stream was raging and hurling billows of white foam over the rocks, but he set his teeth, and strode boldly into it. The ford, normally about ten feet across, was now nearer twenty. His feet slipped and skidded upon the rocks, and the torrent battered against him like an avalanche of ice. He fought his way to midstream, then rallied all his forces for a final dash ; but a rock gave way beneath him, he lost his balance, and in an instant he was floundering helplessly in the rapids, fighting madly for life as the current bore him into deeper water. As he battled for the forlorn hope that was left him, of touching the precipitous shore before consciousness fled, he heard a shrill, eerie cry above the roar of the waters. He renewed his struggles and lifted his head above the foam, and he saw a stout sapling swaying over him. The sapling swung lower, and he leaped up and grasped it with both hands. The fight was not yet won, however. The rescuer on the bank tugged and strove valiantly against the mighty enemy, and the exhausted man clung to the branch and struggled on. Then, after what seemed like horrible, merciless hours, his feet touched solid ground, and he was dragged up the bank to safety. No more than half alive, he turned his head and strained his throbbing eyes to see his rescuer ; and he saw Emmy bending over him, white-faced, her shoulders heaving with convulsive sobs. Cabot was as grateful as honest men are when their lives are saved, but Emmy met his protestations during th< ensuing days with a strange coldness which no good humor or gentlenes: could break down. Cabot noted, also, that Bije Stork'e attitude toward him had changed to one of shifty-eyed suspicion and furtive aversion. The air of mystery in the Stork household deepened, and Bije and Si were much engaged in whispered corner conversations. Cabot awoke in the night and heard weird, unnatural cries of anguish Alarmed, he threw on some clothes and« rushed out of the cabin, but Bije, fully dressed, came from the woodshed at the same moment and ordered him peremptorily back to his bunk, reminding him that his safest course lay in strict attention to his own business. Thus the perplexing mystery of the woodshed gained a larger place in his fancy, and he had much to ponder on in his waking hours. Emmy's coldness continued, and she avoided him when she could, spending most of her time with Crishy in the cabin. "I reckon if I had some good cloth ter make clothes out of. with ribb'n an' tossels an' things, I'd look 'bout as well as Bent Cabot's lady friends from the city," she said to Si Stork's wife one morning. Crishy was no longer romantic, so she did not catch the humor in the observation, but she agreed with Emmy in her dull, dispirited way, and the result of their one-sided discussion was the sending of poor Jim Whitlicks on a momentous mission to the county seat. Jim carried money for cloth and ribbons and tassels in his pocket, with a note of specifications for the eye of the storekeeper. On his way, Jim changed that money for an equal amount of money from his own pocket, and was vastly pleased with himself for certain reasons. Hicky Price, the storekeeper, read the note, and grinned ; then he grinned again as he looked at Jim over the counter and received in his willing palm the money that the half-witted lad counted out. Hicky Price counted the money over again for verification, then fell to examining it minutely. He looked hard at Jim Whitlicks, grinned again, rather unpleasantly, and disappeared into the back room of the store. Jim waited, yawned wearily, got a