Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

ON THE TRAIL “That hits me ‘bout right,” he re- plied with a chuckle, promptly rising, taking up his gun and striding across the room to the door whose latch he lifted. I expected some interference from the father and son, due to the vicious fierceness of the woman, and I was pre- pared to draw my pistol if it should be riecessary, but it was not. The two men stared at the mountaineer, without any movement to use a weapon against him. His heavy footsteps sounded for a moment on the planking, and then, as he stepped off on the soft earth, all was Silent. “ ‘Thomas,’ added the wife in a lower voice, “do you know how late it tse Shall I read a chapter in the Bible while you offer prayer? ”’ “ Just as you say, Becky.” And she took down the sacred vol- ume and proceeded to read tn an even and well modulated voice, after which we all knelt and the husband offered up a prayer of touching simplicity and earnestness. CHAPTER VII. THE SHADOW OF A TRAIL. No people in the world are more hospitable than the mountaineers of Kentucky. The Aucklands insisted upon surrendering one of the upper raoms to me, but I would not hear to it, and a blanket was spread in the cor- ner of the lower floor, as a primitive shake down for me. I am not sure that 1 was wholly unselfish in making this choice. There was only the single door be- low stairs, which was locked by draw- mg in the latchstring; the embers on the hearth were smothered by cover- ing them with ashes to preserve the coals until morning, and bidding me good night, the procession went up the steps of the sloping ladder, the wife in the lead candle in hand, and the son dignifiedly bringing up the rear. OF A MYSTERY. 23 A new candle was lit from a match which I produced and placed on the table. As it was quite early in the eve- ning for a newspaper man, I explained that I would read a while betore lying down. So I was left alone. The night was of pitchy darkness, and now and then the rain spit against the curtained window panes, and the wind soughed mournfully around the mountain cabin. No situation could have been more dismal than mine, and yet the newspaper correspondent must rise above all moods and be superior at all times to the most depressing sur- roundings. : I was not conscious of any lowness of spirits, as I lit a cigar, drew my chair to the table, spread out my note paper, sharpened my pencil and began writ- ing. I had a good story and meant to make the most of it. Managing Editor Forsythe and I had agreed upon a number of details of my work before I bade him good by. In the first place, I did not bring any of the large office envelopes with me, upon which the address of The Pioncer was printed, for in case of search by the inquisitive mountaineers, they would have been as dead a give away as were the documents found in the boots of © In their place, were a Major André. number of envelopes addressed to M. M. Forsythe, Secretary of the Syndi- cate Real Estate Company, with the number and street of his private resi- dence. True, this was only a weak prima facie evidence that would be in- stantly dissipated by the breakage of the seal, an offense against the United States government which those fellows would not hesitate to commit at any time. And so, by the light of the tallow dip, I wrote out my story for The Proneer, beginning at the moment of leaving the rickety train at the railroad station, and ending with the evening devotions of the mountaineer’s family. Since this was my first essay at correspondence, and I had a good story tote, * a967t eco