Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

18 Lang welcomed this last information with secret satisfaction. “Post-office down there?” “No; we don’t pay much’ ’tention to mail up here. Yecan send in yer notice when the store- keeper goes across the range with"his pack- train fer supplies; but nobody’ll Bother ye. We got our own notions ’bout law up here, an’ it ’pears to work out all nght.” “When’s the storekeeper goin’ out again?” asked Lang. “Why, he jest got back "bout ten days ago. He won’t go again fer a month er maybe more.” “T see,” said Lang, turning back toward the draw to conceal the satisfaction in his eyes. He watched Nixon as the latter tramped out of sight down the valley. The word of his dead-line would spread soon enough to prevent any other casual visitors, Lang believed; for he felt that the mountaineers would respect his warning. Nixon had virtually said as much. No law in Singing River—except that which the scattered population decreed itself. Each man for himself. It was the way Lang would have it. And now that he had given his warn- ing he might fairly assume that any visitor who came to his rendezvous would be an enemy. In which event— He fingered the butt of his gun and smiled a smile in which lurked no suggestion of mirth. Almost at this instant he caught sight of a splotch of color through the screen of firs inside the mouth of the draw and heard the echo of footfalls upon the stones. Jerking his gun from its sheath, he leaped through the trees and then stood aghast at the edge of the inner meadow. xX m VISIONS of the authority of the long- reaching arm of the law in the sinister person of some legalized trailer had Hashed through his mind the moment he be- came aware of the presence of another in the gulch; but the vision which now greeted his eyes was so different, so seemingly out of place, and altogether so extraordinary that Lang Rush stood abashed; the hand holding the weapon hung at his side, his mouth opened and his eyes widened in surprize. Before him in the little amphitheater formed by the timber was a girl. Her arms were filled with wild roses and daisies, columbine and larkspur, and the little nameless blue and white blossoms that grace the mountain meadows. The sun was in her hair and it shone like spun gold. ‘The tresses fell down her back and upon her shoulders and seemed to caress her cheeks, which were the color of a white lily petal tinted by a pink gleam of a sunset. Slim and graéeful she stood, like some wild mountain flower in the meadow about her; Adventure and as Lang looked into her eyes with the frankness of startled youth he thought they must be the color of blue seas and blue skies seen through a sparkle of spray. In that long moment of stillness he heard the little river in the valley below and behind them purring on its swift way down from the moun- tain springs where it had its source, and he knew why they called it Singing River. The girl was first to speak. “Were you going to shoot somebody?” she asked in what Lang classified immediately as, the sweetest voice he had ever heard. “{ didn’t know—pardon!” stammered Lang with a red glow showing through his tan. He hastily put up his gun and swept his hat from his head. ‘“(One—never knows in the mountains these days—ah—what to expect,” he explained lamely. “Perhaps you’re right,” answered the girl as she looked at him curiously and then lowered her long lashes before his gaze. ‘Do you live up here?” she asked. “I’m living here just now,” he smiled. “Do you live here?” ‘I’ve always lived here,” she replied seri- ously. “This valley is my home, and I’ve been out in one of my gardens picking flowers.” “Is this one of your gardens in here?” queried Lang uneasily. “Oh, yes! I come up on this side of the valley now because the roses are better up here. [I guess it’s not so hot for, them per- haps.” “Tt does seem shadier on the other side,” observed Lang, looking about somewhat foolishly. ‘‘But I’m afraid I’ve intruded in this garden of yours.” “One doesn’t intrude up here,” she said. “God made these beautiful mountains for every one.” Lang started. What an odd thought; and how serious she appeared for one so youthful— and so beautiful! “‘{’m living in here for the present,” he re- marked finally. “You are not from the mountains?” She put the question naturally, but Lang was instinctively upon his guard. “Not altogether, 2 ie: wae “but I—LI like it up here.”’ Behind covert lashes she was inspecting his attire. “You have been riding a great deal, haven’t your” Again Lang~ started. How could she tell that? He glanced furtively at his worn boots and remembered he still wore his spurs. thinking to turn the conversation into new channels and away from himself, he asked— “Do you live near here?” “A mile around the bend in the river.” COMIELIOOLKES Then, (C@