The Call of the Cumberlands

"There is a way," she contradicted. "You can thank me by feeling just

that way about it."

"Then, I do thank you."

She sat looking up at him, her eyes wide and questioning.

"Exactly what do you feel, Samson," she asked. "I mean about me?"

He leaned a little toward her, and the fragrance and subtle beauty of

her stole into his veins and brain, in a sudden intoxication. His hand

went out to seize hers. This beauty which would last and not wither

into a hag's ugliness with the first breath of age--as mountain beauty

does--was hypnotizing him. Then, he straightened and stood looking down.

"Don't ask me that, please," he said, in a carefully controlled voice.

"I don't even want to ask myself. My God, Drennie, don't you see that

I'm afraid to answer that?"

She rose from her seat, and stood for just an instant rather

unsteadily before him, then she laughed.

"Samson, Samson!" she challenged. "The moon is making us as foolish as

children. Old friend, we are growing silly. Let's go in, and be

perfectly good hostesses and social lions."

Slowly, Samson South came to his feet. His voice was in the dead-level

pitch which Wilfred had once before heard. His eyes were as clear and

hard as transparent flint.

"I'm sorry to be of trouble, George," he said, quietly. "But you must

get me to New York at once--by motor. I must take a train South to-

night."

"No bad news, I hope," suggested Lescott.

For an instant, Samson forgot his four years of veneer. The century of

prenatal barbarism broke out fiercely. He was seeing things far away--

and forgetting things near by. His eyes blazed and his fingers twitched.

"Hell, no!" he exclaimed. "The war's on, and my hands are freed!"

For an instant, as no one spoke, he stood breathing heavily, then,

wheeling, rushed toward the house as though just across its threshold

lay the fight into which lie was aching to hurl himself.

The next afternoon, Adrienne and Samson were sitting with a gaily

chattering group at the side lines of the tennis courts.

"When you go back to the mountains, Samson," Wilfred was suggesting,

"we might form a partnership. 'South, Horton and Co., development of

coal and timber.' There are millions in it."

"Five years ago, I should have met you with a Winchester rifle,"

laughed the Kentuckian. "Now I shall not."