The Hennessey Clipper (Hennessey, Okla.), Vol. 25, No. 37, Ed. 1 Thursday, February 18, 1915 Page: 2 of 10
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THE CLIPPER HENNESSEY. OKI.AHOMA
The Call of the
By Charles Neville Buck
from Photographs of Scenes
in the Play
(CcyjrrixiU. lu'l. l J W. J. A CaJ
"Dear Samson: The war is on again.
Tamarack Spicer hilled Jim Asberry,
and (he Hollmans have killed Tama-
rack. Uncle Spicer is shot, but he
may get well. There is nobody to load
the Souths. I am trying to hold them
down until I hear from you. Don't
come if you don't want to—but the
gun is ready. With love,
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. "Ilut you must get
me to New York at once—by motor.
1 must take a train south tonight."
"No bad newe, 1 hope," suggested
For an instant Samson forgot his
four years of veneer. The century of
prenatal barbarism broke out fiercely.
He was seeing tilings far away—and
forgetting things near by. His eyes
blazed and bis fingers twitched.
"Hell, no!" ho exclaimed. "The
war's on, and my hands arc freed!"
For an instant, as no one spoke, he
stood breathing heavily, then, wheel-
ing, rushed toward the house as
though just across its threshold lay
the fight Into which he was aching
to hurl himself.
Samson stopped at his studio and
threw open an old closet where, from
a littered pile of discarded background
draperies, canvases and stretchers, he
fished out a buried and dust-covered
pair of saddlebags. They had long
lain there forgotten, but they held the
rusty clothes in which he had left
Samson had caught the fastest west
hound express on the schedule. In
thirty-six hours he would be at Hlxon.
There were many things which his
brain must attack and digest in these
hours. He must arrange his plan of
action to its minutest detail, because
he would have as little time for reflec-
tion, once be had reached his own
country, as a wildcat filing into a pack
From the railroad station to his
home he must make his way—most
probably fight his way—through thirty
miles of hostile territory, where all
the trails were watched. And yet, for
the time, all that seemed too remotely
unreal to hold his thoughts.
lie took out Sally's letter, and read
it once more. He read it mechanically
and as a piece of news that had
brought evil tidings. Then, suddenly,
another aspect of it struck him—an as-
pect to which the shock of its recep-
tion had until this tardy moment
blinded him. The letter was perfectly
grammatical and penned in a hand of
copybook roundness and evenness.
The address, the body of the missive
and the signature were all In one chl-
rography. She would not have intrust-
ed the writing of this letter to anyone
Sally had learned to write.
Moreover, at the end were the
words, "with love." It was all plain
now. Sally had never repudiated him.
She was declaring herself true to her
mission and her love
"Good God!" groaned the man, in ab-
jectly bitter eelf-contempt. His hand
w ent involuntarily to his cropped head,
and dropped with a gesture of self-
doubting. He looked down at his tan
shoes and silk socks. He rolled back
his shirtsleeve and contemplated the
forearm that had once been as brown
and tough as leather. It was now the
arm of a city man, except for the burn
ing of one outdoor week. He was
returning at the eleventh hour—
stripped of the faith of his kinsmen,
half-stripped of his faith in himself.
If he were to realize the constructive
dreams of which he had last night so
confidently prattled to Adrlenne, he
must lead Ills people from under the
blighthiK shadow of the feud.
He must reappear before his kins
men as much as possible the boy who
had left them—not the fop with new-
fangled affectations. His eyes fell
upon tlie saddlebags upon the floor of
the l'ullman and he smiled satirically
He would like to step from the train
at Hixon and walk brazenly through
the town in those old clothes, chal-
lenging every hostile glance. If they
shot him down on the streets, aR they
certainly would do, it would end his
questioning and his anguish of dilem-
ma. He would welcome that, but It
would, after all, be shirking the issue.
He must get out of Hixon and into
his own country unrecognized. The
lean boy of four years ago was the
somewhat fllled-out man now. The one
i oncession that he had made to I'arls
life was the wearing of a closely
croppnl mustuche. That he still wore
—had worn It chiefly Pccause he liked
to hear >.lrienne's humorous denuncia-
tion or «. He knew that, m his pres
int guise and dress, he had an excel
Wat Ch«J c« of walking through tiic
■treetn of Hlxon M ft •tr&niir. And.
after leaving Hlxon, there was a mis-
sion to be performed at Jesse Purvy's
store. As he thought of that mission
a grim glint came to his pupils
| All Journeys end, and as Samson
paused through the tawdry cars of the
local train near Hixon he saw several
I faces which he recognized, but they
either eyed him in inexpressive silence
or gave him the greeting of the "fur-
As Samson crossed the toll bridge
to the town proper he passed two
brown-sbirted militiamen, lounging on
the rail of the middle span. They
grinned at him, and, recognizing the
outsider from his clothes, one of them
"Ain't this the hell of a town?"
"It's going to be," replied Samson,
enigmatically, a« he went on
Still unrecognized, he hired a horse
at the livery Btable, and for two hours
rode In silence, save for the easy
creaking of his stirrup leathers and
the soft thud of lioofs.
The silence soothed him. The brood
ing hills lulled his spirit as a crooning
song lulls a fretful child. Mile after
mile unrolled forgotten vistas. Some-
thing deep in himself murmured:
It was late afternoon when he saw
ahead of him the orchard of l'urvy's
place, and read on the store wall, a j
little more weather stained, but other-
"Jesse l'urvy, General Merchandise." [
The porch of the store was empty, J
and as Samson flung himself from his I
saddle there was no one to greet him.
This was surprising, since, ordinarily,
two or three of l'urvy's personal
guardsmen loafed at the front to watch
tlii! road. Just now the guard should
logically bo doubled. Samson still
wore his eastern clothes—for he want-
ed to go through that door unknown.
As Samson South Ik; could not cross
its threshold either way. Hut when
ho stepped up on to the rough porch
"The War's On and My Hands Are
flooring no one challenged his advance.
The yard and orchard were quiet from
their front fence to the grisly stock-
ade at the rear, and, wondering at
these things, the young man stood for
a moment looking about at the after-
noon peace before he announced him-
Yet Samson had not come to the
I stronghold of his enemy for the pur-
| pose of assassination. There had been
I another object In his mind—an utterly
mad idea, it Is true, yet so bold of
| conception that it held a ghost of
I promise. He had meant to go into
Jesse l'urvy's store and chat artlessly,
I like some inquisitive "furriner." lie
would ask questions which by their
j very impertinence might be forgiven
I on the score of a stranger's folly. Hut,
j most of all, he wanted to drop the cas-
I ual information, which lie should as
] sume to have heard on the train, that
j Samson South was returning, and to
mark, on the assassin leader, the effect
' of the news. In his new code it was
I necessary to give at least the rattler's
l warning before he struck, and he
meant to strike. If he were recog-
! nized, well—lie shrugged his shoulders
Hut as he stood on the outside, wlp-
j ing the perspiration from his forehead,
I for the ride had been warm, he heard
| voices within. They were loud and
angry voices, it occurred to him that
by remaining where he was he might
gain more information than by hur-
"I've done been your executioner for
twenty years," complained a voice,
which Samson at once recognized as
that of Aaron Hollis, the most trusted
of l'urvy's personal guards. "1 hain't
never laid down on ye yet. Me an' Jim
Asberry killed old Henry South. We
laid fer his boy, av' would a' got him
ef you'd only said tlier word. 1 went
inter Hixon an' killed Tain'rack Spicer.
with soldiers all round me. There
hain't no other damn fool in these
mountings would a' took such a long
chance es thet. I'm tired of it.
They're a-goin' ter glt me, an' 1 wants
ter leave, an' you won't come clean
with the price of a railroad ticket to
Oklahoma. Now. damn yore stingy
soul, I g|:s that ticket or 1 gits you!"
"Aaron, you can't sc are me into doin'
nothin' I ain't uimin' to do." The old
baruii uf the vendetta spoke In a cold.
■toical voice. "I tell ye I tint quite
through with ye yet. In due an' proper
time I'll see that ye get yer ticket."
Then he added, with conciliating soft-
ness: "We've been friends a long
while. Let's talk this thing over be-
fore we fall out."
"Thar hain't nothin' to talk over,"
stormed Aaron. "Ye're jest tryln' ter
kill time till the boys gits hyar, and
then I reckon ye 'lows ter have me kilt
like yer've had me kill them others
Hit ain't no use. I've done sent 'ero
away. When they gits back hyar,
either you'll be in hell, or I'll be on my
way outen the mountings."
Samson stood rigid. Here was the
confession of one murderer, with no
denial from the other. The truce was
off. Why should he wait? Cataracts
seemed to thunder in his brain, and
yet he stood there, his hand in his coat
pocket, clutching the grip of a maga-
zine pistol. Samson South the old, and
Samson South the new were writhing
in the life-and-death grapple of two
codes. Then, before decision came,
he heard a sharp report inside, and
the heavy fall of a body to the floor
A wildly excited figure came plung
ing through the door, and Samson's
left hand swept out and seized its
shoulder in a sudden vise grip.
"Do you know me?" he inquired, as
the mountaineer pulled away and
crouched back with startled surprise
and vicious frenzy.
"No, damn ye! Git outen my road!"
Aaron thrust bis cocked rifle close
against the stranger's face. From
its muzzle came the acrid stench of
freshly burned powder. "Git outen my
road afore 1 kills ye!"
"My name is Samson South."
Ik-fore the astounded finger on the
trigger could be crooked, Samson's
pistol spoke from the pocket, and, as
though in echo, the rifle blazed, a little
too late and a shade too high, over bis
head, as the dead man's arms went up.
Except for those two reports there
was no sound. Samson stood still, an
ticipating an uproar of alarm. Now
lie should doubtless have to pay with
his life for both the deaths, which
would inevitably and logically be at
tributed to his agency. But, strangely
enough, no clamor arose. The shot in-
side had been muffled, and those out-
side, broken by the intervening store,
did not arouse the house. Purvy's
bodyguard had been sent away by Hol-
lis on a false alarm. Only the "women-
folks" and children remained indoors
and they were drowning with a piano
any sounds that might have come from
Now Samson South stood looking
down, uninterrupted, on what had been
Aaron Hollis as it lay motionless at
his feet. There was a powder-burned
hole in the butternut shirt, and only
a slender thread of blood trickled into
the dirt-grimed cracks between the
Samson turned to the darkened door-
way. Inside was emptiness, except for
the other body, which had crumple/1
forward and face down across the
counter. A glance showed that Jesse
l'urvy would no more fight back the
coming of death. He was quite un-
Samson paused only for a momen-
tary survey. His score was clean. He
would not again have to agonize over
the dilemma of old ethics and new.
Tomorrow the word would spread like
wildfire along Misery and Crippieshin
that Samson South was back and that
his coming had been signalized by
these two deaths. The fact that he
was responsible for only one—and that
in self-defense—would not matter.
They would prefer to believe that he
had invaded the store and killed Purvy
and that Hollis had fallen in his mas-
ter's defense at tlie threshold. Sam-
son went out, still meeting no one, and
continued his journey.
Dusk was falling when he hitched
his horse in a clump of timber, and,
lifting his saddlebags, began climbing
to a cabin that sat back in a thicketed
cove. He was now well within South
territory and tile need of masquerade
The cabin had not for years been oc-
cupied. its rooftree was leaning
askew under rotting shingles The
doorstep was ivy covered, and the
stones of the hearth were broken. Hut
it lay well hidden and would serve his
Shortly, a candle flickered inside,
before a small hand mirror. Scissors
and safety razor were for a while
busy Thf man who entered in im-
peccable clothes emerged fifteen min-
ute.' inter transformed. There ap-
peared under the rising June crescent
a smooth-faced native, < lad in stained
store clothes, with rough woolen socks
showing at his hrogan tops, and a
battered felt hat drawn over his face.
No one who had known the Samson
South of four years ago would fail to
recognize him now. And the strang-
est part, he told himself, was that he
felt tile old Samson.
At a point where a hand bridge
crossed the skirting creek, the boy
dismounted Ahead of him lay the
stile where he had said good-by to
He was going to her, and nothing
lie lifted his head and sent out a
long, clear whippoorwill call, which
quavered on the night much like the
other calls in the black hills around
him After a moment he went nearer,
in the shadow of a poplar, and re-
pented the call
Then the cabin door opened. Its
jamb framed a patch of yellow candle
light, and. at the center, a slender
silhouetted figure, in a flattering, eager
attitude of uncertnlnty. The figure
turned slightly to one side, and, as It
did so, the man saw clasped in her
right hand the rifle, which had been
Ills mission, bequeathed to her In trust.
She hesitated, and the man, invisible
in the shadow, once more Imitated the
bird note, but this time It wue bo low
aud toft that It seemed the voice of a
Then, with a sudden glad little cry,
she came running with her old fleet
grace down to the road.
Samson had vaulted the stile and
stood in the full moonlight. As he
saw her coming he stretched out his
arms and his voice b,oke from his
throat in a half-hoarse, passionate cry:
It was the only word he could have
spoken just then, but it was all that
was necessary. It told her everything.
For a time there was no speech, but
to each of them it seemed that their
tumultuous heartbeating must sound
above the night music, and the teleg-
raphy of heartbeats tells enough
But they had much to say to each
other, and, finally, Samson broke the
"Did ye think I wasn't a-coming
back, Sally?" he questioned, softly. At
that moment he had no realization
that his tongue had ever fashioned
smoother phrases. And she, too. who
had been making war on crude idioms,
forgot, as she answered:
"Ye done said ye was comin'." Then
she added a liappy lie: "1 knowed
plumb shore ye'd do hit."
After a while she drew away and
"Samson, I've done kept the old
rifle-gun ready fer ye. Ye said ye'd
need it bad when ye come back, an'
I've took care of it."
She stood there holding it, and her
voice dropped almost to a whisper as
"It's been a lot of comfort to me
sometimes, because it was your'n. 1
knew if ye stopped keerin' fer tne ye
wouldn't let me keep it—an' as long
as 1 had it I—" She broke off, and
the lingers of one hand touched the
After a long while they found time
for the less wonderful things.
"1 got your letter," he said, seriously, ]
"and 1 came at once." As lie began
to speak of concrete facts he dropped
again into ordinary English and did
not know that lie had changed his
manner of speech.
For an instant Sally looked up into
his face, then with a sudden laugh,
she informed him:
"I can say 'isn't' Instead of 'hain't,'
too. How did you like my writing?"
He held her off at arm's length, and
looked at her pridefully, but under his
gaze her eyes fell and her face flushed
with a sudden diffidence and a new
shyness of realization. She wore a
calico dress, but at her throat was
a soft little bow of ribbon. She was
no longer the totally unself-conscious
wood nymph, though as natural and in-
| stinctive as in other days. Suddenly
she drew away from him a little, and
her hands went slowly to her breast
I and rested there. She was fronting"
j a great crisis, but, in the first flush of
j joy she had forgotten it. She had
spent lonely nights-struggling for nidi-
! ments; she had sought and fought to
j refashion herself, so that, if he came,
j lie need not be ashamed of her. And
now he had come and, with a terrible
clarity and distinctness, she realized
how pitifully little she had been able
to accomplish. Would she pass mus-
ter? ijlie stood there before him,
frightened, self-conscious and palpi-
tating, then her voice came in a wins
"Samson, dear, I'm not holdin' you
to any promise. Those things we said
were a long time back. Maybe we'd
better forget 'em now and begin all
But again he crushed her in his
arms and his voice rose triumphantly:
"Sally, 1 have no promises to take
back, and you have made none that
I'm ever going to let you take back—
not while life lasts!"
Her laugh was the delicious music
"I don't want to take them back,"
she said. Then, suddenly, she added,
Importantly: "I wear shoes and stock-
ings now, and I've been to school a lit-
tle. I'm awfully—awfully ignorant,
Samson, but I've started, and I reckon
you can teach me."
His voice choked. Then, her hands
strayed up, and clasped themselves
about his head.
"Oh, Samson," she cried, as though
someone had struck her, "you've cut
"It will grow again," he laughed.
But he wished that he had not had to
rr.ake that excuse. Then, being hon-
est, he told her all about Adrienne Les-
cott—even about how, after he be-
lieved that he had been outcast by his
uncle and herself, he had had his mo-
ments of doubt. Now that it was all so
clear, now that there could never be
doubt, he wanted the woman who had
been so true a friend to know the girl
whom he loved. He loved them both,
but was in love with only one. He
wanted to present to Sally the friend
who had made him, and to the friend
who had made him the Sally of whom
ho was proud. He wanted to tell
Adrienne that now he could answer
her question—that each of them meant
to the other exactly the same thing;
they were friends of the rarer sort,
who had for a little time been in dan-
ger of mistaking their comradeship for
As they talked, sitting on the stile,
Sally held the rifle across her knees.
Kxcept for their own voices and the
soft chorus of night sounds, the hills
were w rapped in silence—a silence as
soft as velvet.
"I learned some things down there
at school, Samson," said the girl, slow-
ly, "and I wish—1 wish you didn't have
to use this."
"Jim Asberry is dead," said the man
' Yes,' she echoed, "Jija Asberry#
t teed." She stopped there. Yet, her
i.lgu completed the lentence m though
ihe had added, "but he wee only one of
several. Your vow went farther."
After a moment's pause, Samson
"Jesse Purvy's dead."
The girl drew back, with a fright-
ened gasp. She knew what this meant,
or thought she did.
"Jesse Purvy!" she repeated. "Oh,
Samson, did ye—?" She broke off, and
covered her face with her hands.
"No, Sally," he told her. "I didn't
have to." He recited the day's occur-
rences, and they sat together on the
stile, until the moon had sunk to the
Capt. Sidney Callomb, who had been
dispatched in command of a militia
"I Have No Promises to Take Back."
company to quell the trouble in the
mountains, should have been a soldier
by profession. All his enthusiasms
The deepest sorrow and mortiflca
tion he had ever known was that which
came to him when Tamarack Spicer,
his prisoner of war and a man who had
been surrendered on the strength of
his personal guaranty, had been as-
sassinated before his eyes. In some
fashion, he must make amends. He
realized, too, and it rankled deeply,
that his men were not being genuinely
used to serve the state, but as instru-
ments of the Hollmans, and he had
seen enough to distrust the Hollmans.
Here, in Hixon, he was seeing things
from only one angle. He meant to
learn something more impartial.
(to be continued.)
WAR TEnMS MOT UNDERSTOOD
"Forlorn Hope," for Instance. Ha:. Not
the Meaning With Which It
In the course of every war one
hears a great deal about "forlorn
hopes." The term Is one of the most
misused in the vocabulary of war. It
is commonly misunderstood to mean
lost troop"—that is "detached
troop." The word "hope" in the
phrase is not an English but a Dutch
word, "hoop," meaning literally
"heap," and secondarily body of
troops. The word "forlorn" represents
the Dutch "verlorenlost. A "ver-
loren hoop" was a detached body of
troops thrown out in front of the main
line of battle to find the enemy
and engage them first. This was the
regular sixteenth and seventeenth
century practice, and though it was
one of the more dangerous kinds of
service it was not desperate or, in
the English sense, forlorn. Nowadays
much the same work is done by the
detached bodies of cavalry which are
thrown out before the main line to find
"Capitulation" is another term oi
war, which is very loosely used, it
does not mean surrender, but sur-
render on terms; in fact, it means the
terms, not the surrender. It is from
the Latin "capitulum" or "heading"
(from which is derived our word
"chapter"), and a capitulation is a
formal treaty of surrender drawn up
under a series of headings or chap-
ters, embodying the terms on each
You sometimes wonder about the
logic of the feminist mind.
A man was to meet his wife at her
office at one o'clock to take luncheon
with her. He was 20 minutes late. She
had gone out.
He sat down and waited. At 1:30
"What are you doing here?" she
"I'm waiting for you."
"Didn't you know I wouldn't come
back after I'd given you up and gone
"Hut you did come back, didn't you?
You are back now, aren't you?"
"Yes, but you might have known
that when I did come back 1 would
have had my lunch, and there would
be no use in waiting to have it with
"Well, have you had It?"
Japanese a Patient People.
Impatience among the Japanese is a
thing you will rarely observe as you
travel through their strange and beau-
tiful country. If, on the other hand,
you yourself, in touring Japan, might
upon occasion grow somewhat im-
patient, you will only become the
quiet laughing stock—behind your
back—of the little Japs themselves.
An hour, or even a day, more or less
in tills oriental country is of little ac-
count, and matters cannot be made to
move any the quicker because of any
For sick headache, bad breath.
Sour Stomach and
Get a 10-cent box now.
No odds how had your liver, stomach
or bowels; how much your head
aches, how miserable and uncomfort-
able you are from constipation, indiges-
tion, biliousness and sluggish bowels
—you always get tho desired results
Don't let your stomach, liver and
bowels make you miserable. Take
Cascarets to-night; put an end to the>
headache, biliousness, dizziness, nerv-
ousness, sick, sour, gassy stomach,
backache and all other distress;
cleanse your inside organs of all the
bile, gases and constipated matter
which is producing the misery.
A 10-cent box means health, happi-
ness and a clear head for months.
No more days of gloom and distress
if you will take a Cascaret now and
then. All stores sell Cascarets. Don't
forget the children—their little in-
sides need a cleansing, too. Adv.
An Old Contention.
"How did she happen to decide that
he was her soul mate?"
"He was demonstrating a new danca
at her house and broke a costly vase,"
I don't see how she figured that
"Neither do I. but there is a great
deal in the philosophy of women that
can't be figured out."
Mr. F. C. Case.
A GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMtNT.
Mr. P. C. Case of Welcome Lake,
Pa., writes: "I suffered with Hack-
ache and Kidney Trouble. My head,
ached, my sleep was broken and un-
refreshing. 1 felt
heavy and sleepy
after meals, was
and tired, had a
bitter taste ill my
mouth, was dizzy,
specks beforj my
eyes, was always
thirsty, had a
dragging sensation across my loins,
difficulty in collecting my thoughts-
and wag troubled ' w ith short-
ness of breath. Dodds Kidney Fills
have cured me of these complaints.
Dodds Kidney Pills have done their
work and done it well. You are at
liberty to publish this letter for the
benefit of any sufferer v ho doubts the
merit of Dodds Kidney Pills.'
Dodds Kidney Pills, 50c. per box at
your dealer or Douds Medicine Co.,
Buffalo, N Y. Write for Household
Hints, Dainty Recipes; also music of
National ^nthem. All 3 sent free.
Ever see an officeholder with a re-
Though Sickand Suffering; At
Last Found Help in Lydia
E. Pinkham's Vegeta-
Richmond, Pa. — " When I started
taking Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable
Compound 1 was in a
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had internal trou-
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tremely nervous and
prostrated that if I
lmd given in to my
feelings I would
have been in bed.
As it was I had
hardly strength at
times to be on my
feet and what I did do was by a great
effort. I could not sleep at night and
of course felt very bad in the morning,
and had a steady headache.
"After taking the second bottle J no-
ticed that the headache was not so bad,
I rested better, and my nerves were
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etable Compound." — Mrs. Frank
Clark, 3146 N. Tulip St., Richmond,Pa.
Women Have Reeu Telling Women
for forty years how Lydia E.Pinkham's
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This accounts for the enormous demand
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ham Medicine Co., Lynn, Mass.
enable the dyspeptic to eat whatever he
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Dr. Tutt Manufacturing Co. New York.
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The Hennessey Clipper (Hennessey, Okla.), Vol. 25, No. 37, Ed. 1 Thursday, February 18, 1915, newspaper, February 18, 1915; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc105960/m1/2/: accessed September 25, 2021), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.