The Argosy, April 1912 — page 147: what you’re looking at

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

WRESTING A PITTSBURGH SECRET. choked the conductor when he came through for the tickets. Millwood is a diminutive station. Its chief reason for being is that an amusement park is there, where picnics, camp-meetings, and other jollifications are frequently held in summer. Almost above it rises one of the mighty hills of the Alleghanies knewn as Lookout Mountain. There are thick woods around Millwood, and they extend to the very summit of Look- out, softening its jagged ridge as woods will. The trees grow thicker as one climbs toward the clouds. People have been. lost in this mountain forest, sometimes for many hours, and even days. Hunters strange to the neighborhood do not care to venture far without a guide. Pines, oaks, elms, chest- nuts, and hickories stand so close together, overreaching and mingling their branches, that the sun is shut out at noonday. Rattlesnakes are plentiful, with a score of species of less harmful reptiles. Rab- bits ‘can always be tracked and shot in the short “open season” from October 15 to the first of December. An occasional black bear finds his way to Lookout along the blind trails from the Blue Ridge, and deer may be brought down by a quick shot once in a while. All in all, Lookout Moun- tain is as close to primeval nature as one could well expect within fifty miles of a roaring city of nearly a million population. Sim Galt strode along with the air of a man who knew his way. ‘The professor and Fred Barrington kept close on his heels. When they turned away from the narrow path by the side of the railroad and plunged into the wood, Galt uttered a low grunt of satisfaction. He was pleased to note that his com- panions breasted the mountain climb as manfully as himself. This, too, despite the fact that they had their guns and suit- cases. He was burdened only with his two empty carpet-bags, which he carried, rolled up, under his arm. ‘Ther’ won’t be no shootin’ ter-day,” he remarked. “By the time we git ter my shack, nigh the top o’ Lookout, an’ have some supper, it'll be too late. But we kin go out early in the mornin’.” “Phat will suit us,” returned the pro- fessor cheerfully. “Do you do anything else besides hunt, Mr. Galt?” The tone of this query was innocent enough. But it seemed to stir Sim Galt’s bile. He stopped short and gave Professor 133 Shaw a scowl that was none the less evil because shadowed by the trees. ‘What should I do?” he growled. “T thought perhaps you sold something in Pittsburgh,” answered the professor, with his blandest smile. “Ym a hunter and fisherman. That’s my business. When I have game to sell I take it to Latrobe or Greensburg, or Derry. "Tain’t often I kill any more than I kin eat. T save the pelts, but I don’t often bother ter market the meat.” It seemed as if Sim Galt wanted thie thoroughly understood, for he continued to grumble, as he looked sharply from one to the other. : ‘““As if I had time to go sellin’ rabbits in Pittsburgh! Why, it wouldn’t pay my rail- road fare, nor nowhere nigh it. I sh’d think you might ha’ knowed that. Any- how, it’s my own business what I do. Why sh’d you think I sell anything?” ‘Those bags under your arm,” hinted the professor. Sim Galt flung the carpet-bags violently to the ground. “Say, friend, if you’re goin’ ter hunt with me, you'll have ter ’tend ter that an’ nothin’ else. I don’t calc’late ter ‘low no one ter pry into wot I do or don’t do.” “I beg your pardon,” said Professor Shaw. “I didn’t mean to offend.” “You don’t offend me none. I’m on’y tellin’ yer. If you an’ yer pardner, Mr. Barr, wants ter shoot rabbits, all right. Me an’ my dog will lead yer to ’em, an’ you may git as many as you kin hit. That’s wot I’m here fer. But—that’s all. Git that?” ‘Certainly! Rabbits are what we’re after,” Fred assured him. “Very well! That settles it! Come on!” ‘Not another word was spoken for two hours. They saved their breath for the laborious tramping. At the end of that period they were so far into the forest that the professor and Fred understood now, if never before, how useful an institution a guide was on old Lookout. ‘We're nigh my place now,” volunteered Sim Galt with a jerk. “Glad to hear it,” replied the professor. They found themselves in semidarkness, walking along the rim of a dangerous- appearing hollow which, without knowing it, they had skirted on their way up through the wood. Sim Galt led them around a clump of pines and under the low-hanging Gomicsoo S CO