The All-Story, March 1914 — page 183: what you’re looking at

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

606 . Devil's Hole, and Sam, oddly enough, becaine conscious that his absence created a void. Alwavs hitherto the farmer had viewed his arrival with suspicion and his departure with re- lief, but now he felt that he could have welcomed a visit. It would never do, however, to press the issue. Ilis Yankee instinct told him he could bargain better if he left the approach to the other fellow. His only overture, therefore, was to ask Uncle Peter, whom he met casual- ly in Ben Gray’s store, whether Ike had recovered from the wounds the birdshot had inflicted. “ He can set down on a soft cush- ion now,” returned Mr. Jackson erufily. “It’s no thanks to you that lie ain’t crippled for life.” Sam refrained from answering this sally. He had reason for believing that Ike was emphasizing his injuries for the purpose of escaping his regu- lar farm chores. On the evening of the seventh day, as Sam was propped against the well- curl in a favorite posture, idly chew- ing a straw and meditating on nothing in particular, he was brought to his senses by the sharp hiss of a snake, such as had startled him a week be- fore. Being prepared for anything now, he said softly without looking around : * That you, Ikev? ” “Ves, its me. Come out behind the barn,” replied Ike's hoarse whius- per. Sam pulled himself together and de- liberately, without show of eagerness, strolled in the direction ordered. His heart beat rapidly from his conscious- ness of an unusual opportunity, but he held himself in check. was to be his pose. “Well, what's the trouble?” he asked when he came face to face with the boy in the hali light. “Say, you ain't forgot what we Wwete saying about that spruce-timber, have you, Mr. Tupper?” asked the lad. His tones were subdued, but his Indifference ° THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. manner indicated to Sam's experis. enced eve the importance he attached: to the question. “Oh, that?” the iarmer = said. “Why, I thought I told you, Ikey, that I'd the same as decided to give tt to Dr. Foster.” “Say, Mr. Tupper, don't you de it!’’ Ike cried. ‘I told you I would make it worth your while not to. [ll do anything you want me to if you won't.” “Talk is cheap, Ikey,” said Sam, “but doing’s a horse of another color. You don't look real strong and healthy to me, and I don't believe youd be much use around a farm, Still—” He left a loophole. “T can do more than anybody round here,” the boy declared. “ Could you—now, could you drain my crick meadow, for instance?” Sam asked incredulously. ‘““ Pshaw! that’s easy. take me long.” “Could you clear the stumps out of the hill pasture? ”’ That's easier enough sight than draining meadows,” the lad asserted. “What about getting the fellow that set fire to the old church locked up? That wouldn’t be such pie for you— would it, [key ?” “Pil do it if you won't give that spruce,’ [key promised. “Now, PI tell you what I will do, Ike Jackson,” said Sam, his manner changing. “ You’ve been making a lot of tall talk about what you could do. I had about made up my mind to do as Dr. Foster wants me to; but I’M! put him off if you promise to work for me this summer and do the things | want done, and first off you're to find out who set the church afire. About your time, I'll arrange that with Uncle Pete. Is that satisfactory?” “And you won’t give Dr. Foster the spruce?’ the boy demanded. “I can put him off,’ said Sam caw- tiously, remembering that, as Huldah said, spring was a poor time for cut: ting lumber, ANY Wasonnieclhoolkks.cO It wouldn't