Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

AN ADIRONDACK RIVALRY. 103 the deer. Hiram wondered if he dared risk a shot at that distance before the animal would blow and be off. Once more the crackling began and came nearer. Now the buck was coming up to the lick. He’d be right in range by the time Hi could focus his light on him. The man’s hand went up carefully to the front of the jack, and a second later a broad beam shot through the darkness between him and the lick. Chester’s finger was on the front trigger of his gun, and he was swinging both it and the light on the object when right across the hollow there ap- peared another light, and the voice of his enemy, Tom Jameson, yelled out: “ Hi Chester drop that gun. You’re my prisoner! ”’ Before Chester knew what had happened his light flashed on the object that had just come in view. Carrie White was standing beside the salted log. Her face was turned towards him, and her arms were outstretched. “Hi, Hr; for the love of God, run. Tom Jameson is here and he’s come to arrest you! ” Then there were two flashes of fire and two reports from the other side of the lick. Hiram felt a burning pain in his shoulder, and then he fell down and lost consciousness. When he awoke the wind was coming down through the hollow with frightful force. He tr:ed to raise himself on his right hand, but he fell back, and there was no feeling in that arm at all. Bright flashes of lightning illuminated the woods, and the hills trembled under the blows of the thunder. He tried to think where he was. He rubbed his face with his left hand and leaned against the rock back of him to collect his senses. Then, as an extra brilliant stroke of lightning impressed on his senses an instantaneous picture of the salted log, and the little hill on the other side, the whole truth came back to him. Wounded as he was, with his shoulder paining him so that he groaned aloud, the man arose and lighted his jack again from a dry match that he found under a blanket. Then he made his way slowly down into the lick and looked around as if he was searching for something “Not here. Not here!” He shook his head slowly. “ And she came to tell me that Tom was watching for me. He has taken my Carrie and gone away. They’ve gone to be married, and I’m all alone.” The pain of the wound had driven the man out of his head, and he sobbed softly like a tired child as he mounted the ether side of the hollow and found a blanket and a guide’s pack. On the back of the wicker basket was painted two big black letters, T. J. “Tom Jameson,” the man repeated over and over again. He had still clung to his gun, and he fired both barrels at the pack. Then he turned, and using the gun as a support, he hunted around until he found the trail. The storm was now fully upon Hiram Chester as he made his way pain- fully towards the lake. The overloaded trees dripped streams of water upon him. The branches of the bushes cut him cruelly as the wind whipped them back and forth, and the whole woods vibrated with the din of thunder and falling trees. GOH GoOOO ‘SS COLNT