Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

FLIGHT TO It was to be assumed that just as Wade Murrell had known, in a century when most of his kind had forgotten :t, the self- reliance of the pioneer, so he had also known the meager poverty of the back- . woodsman. He had a little while ago assured the Jawyer: ‘* Over th’ar wh’ar 1 lives at, folks is right often hurtin’ bad fer ther needcessi- ties of life.” So it must have marked a high point in his experience to have concluded the sale of a timber tract, which had been an almost forgotten property in his family since the days when a great-grandfather had emi- grated from North Carolina to Kentucky. To have sold, for. thirty thousand dollars, land that he had never himself seen and for which he felt no rooted attachment might have been construed as a reasonable cause for elation. Surely back there, where he and his kind lived in log houses among rocky and tilting fields, thirty thousand dollars must spell wealtn, and wealth suddenly acquired should spell excitement. It did not matter, reflected Chilton, that thirty thousand was much less than the land was worth, since the city of Asheville had with its own growth developed adjacent values. lt was thirty thousand, none the less, and Wade Murrell should show some stirring of delight. But as he looked at the face of his visitor again, Shelby Chilton smiled. No, the illogic would lie in this man’s showing sur- prise at anything. He was woven of stoic tissue and reticent fiber. For an uneasy instant, the lawyer felt almost a qualm of fear less Murrell learn hereafter how ungenerous a bargain had been driven with him. Men throughout Appalachia remembered the story of the * Murrell-Skidmore war,” the feud that had scorched and blighted two generations of erudge-nursing families until a brittle peace had been accomplished. This man was of that blood, too, and one could fancy his face, even in a scene set to the desperation of smoking rifles, with no other change upon it than a somber fury in its eyes and a tautened straightness at its lips. THE HILLS. A483 Wade must still be in his later twenties, but the volcano of hatred over there in the * Kaintuck Ridges ” had not become dor- mant or ceased to spew its lava of vindic- tiveness too soon for him to remember it. It had not quieted to a specious tranquillity before he had grown up enough to handle a eun—-and presumably he had handled a cun. It seemed somehow easy to think of him as standing in deep woods or on the streets of a ragged mountain town with little spirals of rifle smoke curling about him and an acrid stench of burned powder lingering in the air. ‘Ye says,” Chilton heard the other an- nouncing quietly, ‘‘ that thirty thousand dollars is a right sizable sum of money an’ I ham’t a seekin’ ter belie ye. We’ve done set our hand-write ter ther papers an’ a trade’s a trade, but I don’t delight none ter look like no fool.” He paused, then went on in the same level, almost monotonous, drawl. “ That’s why I’m ergoin’ ter name hit ter ye right now that I knows full well ye hain’t paid me no fa’r price. Hit hain’t because I don’t know better that I’m gittin’ scrouged. Hit’s jest because hit satisfies me. I’ve got a license ter sell cheap an’ quick, ef I sees fit, "stid of hangin’ on an’ cavilin’.” Mr. Chilton was both startled and re- lieved, but he gave smiling assurance: “I am acting for others as you know. I am bound by my instructions.” } “I didn’t aim ter haggle over hit,” Mur- rell reminded him, “ or I’d hev done hit afore now—but I hain’t ter say ridin’ home feelin’ like no charity’s been done me—an’ now I’d be obleeged ter ve ef ye’d go down thar ter ther bank-house an’ bid ’em count me out ther money.” Once more the lawyer demurred. “It’s an insane risk to take, Murrell. You’re riding lonely roads, and I dare say people in your neighborhood know what you came over here for. Most men have enemies as well as friends. You’re probably like the rest of us in that respect.” Beginnings of anger dawned in the gray clarity of the hillsman’s eyes, but the rest of the face remained impassive. “What enemies I’ve got don’t steal,” he cCOmiclbooks.c®