Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

AVALANCHE TACTICS. in large degree, hole up for the season. True, there is the railroad with its daily passenger train in either direction. But as the next town north is twelve miles distant, and as the next one south is fifteen, and as neither possesses more cosmopolitan at- tractions than Lister’s Corners itself does, the Corners people see no great reason for much intercourse with them. Moreover, the nearest sizable town lies fifty miles to the south, and that, to the Corners, seemed too great a distance to travel for any very extensive casual visit- ing. So, save for a few exceptions, in their own village the Corners folks remained during the cold months, after the first big snow. | The Corners proper boasts of net over a scere of houses, all told. On the corner of the two crossroads nearest the depot stands Lister’s store, the social center of the community. But though the Corners itself has so few dwellings, within a mile - radius from the store a goodly number of habitations are stuck in nooks and corners of the hills; and when at night a fair pro- portion of the men folks had gathered round the big stove in Lister’s, the store was well filled. Thirty, forty, was not an infrequent number; and good-natured, tolerant Cal Lister, round-faced and heavy-set, enjoyed the nightly assembly as much as any of them. By common consent, or under- standing, the old curved-back, stiff-legged chair that stood beneath the big oil lamp was reserved exclusively for him; and rare- ly did any other venture to use it. Near the rear of the store a door opened into a small, square hallway. From the hallway another door opened directly into the dwelling part of Lister’s building—into his kitchen, to be exact. Lister reigned supreme in the store, in this other part of the building his daughter, Jessie, held the scepter. ‘Truth to tell, the first part of this state- ment might well be amended, for if occa- sion required, Jessie Lester extended the boundaries of her domain and held sway over both places; but it was seldom that she exercised her authority in her father’s own peculiar baiiwick. And while Cal* 23 It was shortly after six o’clock P.m. on the second day following Dexter Mitchelf’s arrival that the new agent at Lister’s Cor- ners got ‘“ Good night ” from the despatch- er and proceeded to set things in order for the night. As he pulled the block Jevers to the clear position and propped them, he found himself pleasantly a tingle with an- ticipation of supper at Lister’s—and seeing Jessie. He kad been surprised. Previous to his arrival -conjecture over Lister’s daughter had oceupied but a small portion of Mitch- ell’s time. In the odd moments he had thus casually spent he had supposed that he would find her the usual type of back- woods belle: good looking, probably, but rather shallow-brained, high pitched of voice, and inclined to be somewhat kitten- ish in a boisterous sort of way. Yes, he’d certainly been surprised. Without troublmg to go up to the little bedroom above the office and light the lamp there, he locked the lower doors of the station, leaving the light in the office turned low against his return. He tramped quickly up the road that led to Lister’s. The evening was clear and cold, the snow crunching crisply under his feet; to the east the moon, at the full, just tipped the wooded hills. Upon reaching Lister’s he did not enter through the store, but went around to a door at the rear. A light glowed warmly in the kitchen window as he approached. He turned the knob and entered. ‘““ Good evening!” he said. The girl who stood at the stove, her back to him, was tall, and might have been called statuesque had it not been for the swift, lithe grace of her movements. She was lifting a pan as Dexter entered, and -it was a half second before she turned to face him, returning his greeting. The coil of hair that she had twisted cunningly about her head was heavy and black, lustrous as a blackbird’s wmg. Her eyes matched her hair; her cheeks were wonderfully smooth, curved in gently firm lines. Over her simple, dark gown she wore a white apron, triangle shaped at the bottom, ‘and held by straps that fitted over her splendid shoulders. | GOMIIGIOO S (C@)