Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 29: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Law Comes to Singing River He was impressed by the fact that she did not seem at all afraid of him, regardless of the peculiar circumstances attending their meeting. Nor did she seem in the least embarrassed to be talking thus to a man she did not know. She had courage, this girl; courage and something else. Poise? More than that. Whatever it was, it was a part of her and a part of her environment. The rugged setting in which she appeared merely served to enhance her-charm. She was unlike any girl he ever had met. “Might I ask your name?” he said boldly. “Alice Thornton—and yours?” “Lang ” He caught himself with a sinking feeling of dismay. ‘To no one had he intended to confide his real name. Danger! He saw a cool, questioning look in her eyes, as if she had read his thoughts. His mind worked rapidly. “Langworth,” he said quickly. “Lang Worth,” she repeated musically. “No—all one word,” he ejaculated. “Lang- worth.” “Ca - And again that questioning scrutiny. Did she suspect something? He fingered his hat uneasily. The situation was getting out of his grasp. “Pm glad you told me your name,” she said. “Sometimes men come to Singing River who do not tell their names readily.” He met her gaze squarely. “Perhaps they—have reasons,” soberly. “But wouldn’t it be a funny sort of reason that would make a man want to conceal his he said ‘name?” She was sorting the flowers she carried but looked at him quickly when she had finished the question. He knew now that if she didn’t suspect him she at least didn’t accept his reticence concern- ing himself as natural, “Sometimes circumstances cut a big figure,” he said slowly; ‘“‘an’ I reckon we can’t always make the circumstances just what we want ’em.” He had kept his eyes on the ground; but now he looked up at the great white peaks, and his face was troubled. She watched him closely; and then a sudden shyness seemed to come over her. Without a word she started toward the trees that screened the mouth of the draw. ‘“T hope you will come here for flowers when- ever you want to,” he ealled to her. “I—I won’t bother you.” She turned and looked at him gravely. “Thank you,” she said, and was gone. Lang stared at the narrow line of silver firs behind which she had disappeared. What a strange girl; and what a strange neenn: and what a strange conversation! 19 He was vaguely puzzled—a bit worried. Yet he felt a certain exhilaration. She was beautiful! Where had she learned to talk like that? Yet it wasn’t what she said but the way in which she said it. A subtle ‘intuition told him that the com- munication between them had not consisted of words alone. And he could not forget the baffling light in her eyes when she had turned and looked at him before going. Lang thoughtfully retraced his steps to the cabin at the head of the draw. XI Re FIVE miles down the river half a = 8% dozen log structures were clustered on the west bank of the stream facing a This was the town of Singing River, bridge. the supply point for the upper valley and the rugged, sparsely settled country thereabout. Two miles below here the river rushed into a narrow cafion and wound for miles between high, sheer walls: of rock. Eventualiy it flowed out into another valley and became known by another name. The largest of the buildings at Singing River was the store, saloon and eating-place owned and managed by Hiram Kane, an old-timer. The main part of the structure was devoted to the store, which contained a varied and limited stock of dry goods, clothing, shoes, furnishings, hardware, groceries, and other supplies—all transported by pack-train from the nearest town in the lowlands across the divide, some fifty miles away. An addition to the main building contained a lunch counter and bar. ‘There were two doors in this addition, one opening on the rear and the other leading into the store. In the late afternoon four men were in this little saloon, and one of the men, Nixon, was talking. “We got a visitor in the east draw at the upper end,” he was saying. Kane, the storekeeper, who now was ofliciat- ing in the capacity of bartender, stopped wip- ing the glasses he was preparing to put out on the bar and showed interest. “Up there just above old John Thornton’ S place?” he asked. “Thet’s right whar he is,” nodded Nixon. The two other men were looking at the pros- pector keenly. One of these men was clean- shaven, dark, with glittering black eyes set rather close together, and a lithe frame. His eyelids had the trick of narrowing to a mere slit on the slightest provocation. The other was blond, a bit fat; short, too—a man who bore marks of wild living and whose general appearance was sloven. “What kind of a looking visitor?” snapped the dark-faced man. + €© DOOLES (C@