Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

. FLIGHT TO ‘THE HILLS, “But it’s over now,” the girl argued. “ It’s over and you’re on top after all. Men trust you.” “Hit kain’t nuver be over whilst he lives,” Wade told her in the clipped syllables of grim obsession. “ Hit kain’t nuver be over whilst I reecollects thet ther boys went in ther army an’ wore tin hats—an’ I stayed back an’ wore them prison clothes. Hit kain’t nuver be over whilst I reecollects thet I sont word ter ther Governor promisin’ ter come back an’ finish my term, with extry time tacked on, ef so be he’d let me out long enough ter fight acrost ther ocean-sea. It kain’t nuver be over whilst I reecollects thet wunst when I besought an officer ter aid me, he ‘lowed ther country hed free men enough ter fight hit’s battles, an’ didn’t need no criminals.” “ But, Wade,” she protested in a groping effort to comfort him, “ lots of men that went and fought bravely enough have come back sick at heart. They can’t see that any- thing has been gained by it all.” He waved aside the weak attempt at solace. “T hain’t arey iyi’ with them thet holds erginst warfare,” he told her. “ I’m holdin’ erginst hit right hyar an’ now—es hard es I kin. But hundreds of thousands of men thet was built fer peace an’ naught else was dragged out by ther scruffs of thar necks an’ throwed inter warfare—men with white _ faces an’ weak bodies. Hit hain’t no mar- vel thet some come back home cussin’ an’ damnin’ things God never meant ’em ter tackle. ‘But me, I was borned an’ reared fer fightin’ an’ seems like a rifle-gun is kinderly part of me. I reckon I wouldn’t hev hed - no lamentation ter make anyway hit went. Hit was men iike me thet hed a license ter go—an’ thar wasn’t nothin’ master gained thar in ther penitenshery nuther.” “Tf it’s any satisfaction to you,” said the girl in a low voice when he paused, “I may mention that I bawled out this busy- body that made the wise crack about you for fair, and handed him a couple of wallops on his map to boot. I forgot all about being maidenly—but I don’t think he got much _ pleasure out of his gossip.” ae Murrell nodded. — ae ee me 241 “We've done talked it out now,” he said. “Es fer ther man thet told ye ter ask me, I kin look over hit, because I’ve done give ye my pledge, but I’d love right well ter know who’s slurrin’ me.” “That,” she declared, “was why I started this conversation. It’s your bright Z young cousin who wants to go to the Legis- 2 lature. He tells me he has Lesher Skid- S more’s support, and he says after he’s : squeezed the Legislature dry he means to ; go to Congress.” She paused for a con- : temptuous laugh, then added: “TI believe | he’s even got one eye cocked on the .White House. He certainly hates himself, that boy! ») “Cas Harley!” Wade uttered the name rather in meditative than in angry surprise. “Tm right glad ter know hit, ef he’s plottin’ with Lesher. I hain’t nuver give him no master thought afore now. Folks ‘lowed thet he was tricky, but they hain’t nuver ‘lowed he was ter say dangerous. Hit’s norafed thet Cas is so monster vain thet ef any man wanted ter git rid of him all he’d hev need ter do would be ter stick a peacock feather in his coat tail. Then he’d straight- way strut hisself ter death.” Suddenly and almost hysterically Cynthia laughed. “‘ Can you beat it,” she exclaimed. “‘ Here I come to these mountains and all in the world I’m looking for is a place to hide. And I find myself stirring up commotions, and saying who shall go to the Legislature and who shan’t!” “T guess Cas won’t go,” commented Wade dryly. “T’ll see ter thet. Men goes ter Frankfort-town from these hills fer jest two reasons—ter set in ther Legislature or ter sulter in ther penitenshery. I’ve done a’ready been thar fer one of them reasons. Hit would be a kinderly pity ter hev = wrong man in both Jobs. " ie “Then you won’t ‘ fly mad,’ as you ca - Re it, and have any row with him?” be Aah ek an eas Catchy ip? i + A A /, é - ‘ : et - ’ bao] ie 2 » 4 y) t abbot aay ea fashion his hopes fer ther future, He wo be no statesman—an’ I’m ri@ht ole forewarned me betimes.” They stood for a brief whi listening to the little sounds that °