The Call of the Cumberlands

"Samson," said Lescott slowly, as he caught the gleam in his friend's

eyes, "you've been working too hard. You'll have to take a week off,

and try your hand. After you've changed your method from rifle to

shotgun, you'll bag your share, and you'll come back fitter for work. I

must arrange it."

"As to that," suggested Farbish, in the manner of one regarding the

civilities, "Mr. South can run down to the Kenmore. I'll have a card

made out for him."

"Don't trouble," demurred Lescott, coolly, "I can fix that up."

"It would be a pleasure," smiled the other. "I sincerely wish I could

be there at the same time, but I'm afraid that, like you, Lescott, I

shall have to give business the right of way. However, when I hear that

the flights are beginning, I'll call Mr. South up, and pass the news to

him."

Samson had thought it rather singular that he had never met Horton at

the Lescott house, though Adrienne spoke of him almost as of a member

of the family. However, Samson's visits were usually in his intervals

between relays of work and Horton was probably at such times in Wall

Street. It did not occur to the mountaineer that the other was

intentionally avoiding him. He knew of Wilfred only through Adrienne's

eulogistic descriptions, and, from hearsay, liked him.

The months of close application to easel and books had begun to tell

on the outdoor man in a softening of muscles and a slight, though

noticeable, pallor. The enthusiasm with which he attacked his daily

schedule carried him far, and made his progress phenomenal, but he was

spending capital of nerve and health, and George Lescott began to fear

a break-down for his protégé. Lescott did not want to advise a visit to

the mountains, because he had secured from the boy a promise that,

unless he was called home, he would give the experiment an unbroken

trial of eighteen months.

If Samson went back, he feared his return would reawaken the sleeping

volcano of the feud--and he could not easily come away again. He

discussed the matter with Adrienne, and the girl began to promote in

the boy an interest in the duck-shooting trip--an interest which had

already awakened, despite the rifleman's inherent contempt for shotguns.

"You will be in your blind," she enthusiastically told him, "before

daybreak, and after a while the wedges will come flying into view,

cutting the fog in hundreds and dropping into the decoys. You'll love

it! I wish I were going myself."