Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

2 PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY will be shot, and somebody else after that. Put Henry Falkins out of your mind. He only testified to the truth, anyway, and you shouldn't lay it against him." "He's a Falkins !" insisted the boy, as if that settled the matter. "Falkins or Brown or Jones, it was his duty to tell the truth," said the warden angrily. Then, in a kindlier voice, "Now, Newt, be sensible. My advice to you is to keep away from the mountains for a spell, get some education, enlist in the army, and in five years' time you'll come and see me and say, 'Thank you, warden. You made a man of me.' " It was well meant, but Newt would have none of it. "I'm obleeged ter ye," he answered, in a dead voice. "But I got ter git Henry Falkins." And he lurched off toward the mountains. a gloom like that of a dim chapel. He drank from wayside springs, while -little cascades whispered about him. Around him the hills closed in comforting tiers of ramparts. Night was coming fast, and he lengthened his stride. The young moon was gleaming in the west when he reached his destination. A cabin of logs stood darkly at the It was midday when Newt reached the shacktown beyond which, in the hills, lay his own territory. In front of the courthouse and along the main street, he saw groups of men, some of them Falkinses and some of them Spooners, and though there was no open hostility, they separated studiously into their own respective groups, and their movements were characterized by an alertness which told of mutual and restive suspicion. As he strolled through the streets of the town no one seemed to notice him. He had been forgotten. He stood for a moment in front of the small jail house where he had been confined before being taken to the penitentiary. The sight of it kindled the fires of hatred within him, and he shambled off at a rapid gait toward the hills. The trail to the log cabin he called "home" was a long one, but he walked untiringly. Soon he entered the great forest almost virgin to the ax. Poplars and walnuts and pines towered over him, and the road dipped often through i got to git him," Newt told the girl, "and I got to git him now!" side of the road — his home. No light came from it, because there was no light to shine except what came from the fireplace, and there was no window through which the firelight might show. But Newt needed no illumination. He knew every wretched detail by heart. There was one room only, except for the lean-to that served as kitchen and eating room. In each of the corners was a bed, and about the log walls, on pegs driven into the chinking, would be hanging such articles of clothing as were not in use. The family would be huddled about the hearth. Xewt saw it all long before he strode over to the broken millstone that served a; a doorstep. "I'm comin' in !" he shouted, anc pushed at the door. It was barred. "Who's thet?" called a high-pitcher voice — his mother's. And Newt replied "Hit's me. mammy; let me in.-' No outburst or murmui of surprise broke from th( cabin at the announcemen of the prodigal's return. H< heard only the rasping of ; bar being drawn from th< sockets, and then the dooi swung open. Newt made no offer t< embrace his mother, bu cast an appraising glano about the room. About th fire sat the family group but none of them rose t< greet him. Newt's younger brothe and his small sister starei at him in shy silence. I had been three years sine they had seen him, and hi had changed much. Hi grandfather sat with th children, his face sunk oi his chest, a hickory staf resting between his knees Of his father he sa\ nothing, though a man sa in the remaining chairNewt's distant kinsmar Clem Rawlins. "Where's pappy?" h asked. "Daid," was his mother' laconic response. "W'hen did he die?" "In cawn-plantin' tim a-follerin' of yore goir down below. And Cler hyar" — she hesitated, the^ went on with a note of half apolog and half defiance — "I couldn't hardly gi along withouten any man, an' so I mai ried Clem." The gaunt man with the thick, un kempt beard and sparse hair looked up but without much show of interest. "Reckon it was the best thing, Newt. | he said. The boy dismissed the topic with th curt comment : "I reckon thet's yor j business." A day or two later, returning to th ]