Motion Picture Magazine, May 1914 (1914)

- THE RIDERS OF PETERSHAM, '-'*■■'*■- "Come in, boys. Didn't know but it might be some more darn tomfool- ery from the Night Eiders." In the office the veteran editor faced them angrily, waving a scrap of paper in their faces. "Another billet doux," he snorted grimly. "Came this evening. Listen: John Bubnay— Print another edition of your scurvy sheet, and we'll burn you out of town. The Night Ridebs of Petersham. Say, aint that rich, eh ? Night Riders, huh! There's no such thing. Some kid's work. Hullo, boy, what's the matter?" For Elmer, wet from sole to crown, had slid from his chair into a swoon- ing puddle upon the floor. '' The matter,'' said Richard, coolly, as he stooped to the fainting youth, "is simply that our young friend here has spent an uncommonly exciting evening, winding up with a trip down the river, tied to a raft, and headed for the rapids. I appeared, fortunately, just in time to rescue him. I guess, sir," Richard smiled grimly, "that you'll have to admit the reality of the Night Riders of Petersham." The old man stared down at his assistant, his jaw rocky under the leather of his skin. '' Humph!" he said at last;'' trying to hit me thru him—eh ? Well, young fellow, get my printer here into shape soon's you can. I'll be needing him, I reckon, to get out the next edition of the News." Joe Brown's hands relaxed, freeing a clatter of iron. "You-all goin' t' sell those pa- pers?" his jaw was sagging with un- willing admiration. Richard nodded matter-of-factly. "Of course—why not?" "But the Riders—Lord, suh, you dont dar! Tour uncle, he " "What's that, Joe?" "Nothing—on'y I reckon, suh, you're goin' to have a right lively time!" "And you're going to help us?" 73 Emily leaned swiftly forward, one small hand out, entreating; "aren't you, Joe?" i The big smith's eyes wavered from her pleading face to Totty, playing languidly near-by. He wiped his grimy palm on his leather apron, in- spected it, and shook the little hand. "I'll get some of th' boys," he promised, "and tonight " "Tonight, then; thank you, Joe." In the shuttered room the minutes, weighted with apprehension, panted heavily by. The men were silent, save for their heavy breathing and an oc- casional nervous shuffle of feet. Thru the dusk glimmered, where the scraps of moonlight found them, the cold menace of steel rifle-stocks, oddly contrasting with Emily's housewifery of pans, hung above. Stillness— strained listening—a creak some- where "Who's there?" Before she answered, the stir in Richard's pulses told him. She crossed the shadows and moon- patches to where her father's white head showed beside his desk. "Emily!" he reproached her in fond anger, "I told you to go ovah to the parson's. Why are you foolin' around hyah?" '' Dont scold, daddy,'' she whispered, "I—I couldn't bear to leave—you." The tiny hesitation flashed its tele- pathic message across the room, and Richard's heart swayed toward her. The words he had never told her lay tonight very near his lips, but the cold feel of the rifle-barrel in his hand shivered across his mind, re- minding him of his purpose in being here tonight. No, there was man-work to be done, and wooing must wait. "Hark!" Their tense nerves twanged. The room held its breath, listening—aha! muffled sounds—voices, steps outside, a harsh shout, throaty and disguised, at the barred door: "John Burnay!" The old editor raised his head de- fiantly, a fierce old lion bearded in his lair.