The Call of the Cumberlands

Samson still sat motionless.

"Against what?" he inquired.

"Against that!" Horton struck the mountain man across the face with

his open hand. Instantly, there was a commotion of scraping chairs and

shuffling feet, mingled with a chorus of inarticulate protest. Samson

had risen, and, for a second, his face had become a thing of

unspeakable passion. His hand instinctively swept toward his pocket--

and stopped half-way. He stood by his overturned chair, gazing into the

eyes of his assailant, with an effort at self-mastery which gave his

chest and arms the appearance of a man writhing and stiffening under

electrocution. Then, he forced both hands to his back and gripped them

there. For a moment, the tableau was held, then the man from the

mountains began speaking, slowly and in a tone of dead-level monotony.

Each syllable was portentously distinct and clear clipped.

"Maybe you know why I don't kill you.... Maybe you don't.... I don't

give a damn whether you do or not.... That's the first blow I've ever

passed.... I ain't going to hit back.... You need a friend pretty bad

just now.... For certain reasons, I'm going to be that friend.... Don't

you see that this thing is a damned frame-up? ... Don't you see that I

was brought here to murder you?" He turned suddenly to Farbish.

"Why did you insist on my putting that in my pocket"--Samson took out

the pistol, and threw it down on the table-cloth in front of Wilfred,

where it struck and shivered a half-filled wine-glass--"and why did you

warn me that this man meant to kill me, unless I killed him first? I

was meant to be your catspaw to put Wilfred Horton out of your way. I

may be a barbarian and a savage, but I can smell a rat--if it's dead

enough!"

For an instant, there was absolute and hushed calm. Wilfred Horton

picked up the discarded weapon and looked at it in bewildered

stupefaction, then slowly his face flamed with distressing mortification.

"Any time you want to fight me"--Samson had turned again to face him,

and was still talking in his deadly quiet voice--"except to-night, you

can find me. I've never been hit before without hitting back. That blow

has got to be paid for--but the man that's really responsible has got

to pay first. When I fight you, I'll fight for myself, not for a bunch

of damned murderers.... Just now, I've got other business. That man

framed this up!" He pointed a lean finger across the table into the

startled countenance of Mr. Farbish. "He knew! He has been working on

this job for a month. I'm going to attend to his case now."