Part 6 (1/2)

One thing Florence remembered distinctly. She had said to Caleb Powell:

”Mr. Powell, why did those men wish to hold me prisoner?”

”Miss Ormsby,” he said, and there was no smile upon his lips, ”some of our people are what you might call 'plumb quare'.”

That was all he had said, and for some time to come that was all she was destined to know about the reason for her mysterious captivity.

Only one thought troubled her as she neared the whipsawed cabin, and that, she told herself, was only a bad dream.

That it was more than a dream she was soon to learn. Two days later Mr.

Dobson, having dismounted at their cabin, smiled with pleasure when he was told of the successful purchase of Caleb Powell's coal land. Then for a moment a frown darkened his face.

”I-I hate to tell you,” he hesitated.

”You don't have to,” said Florence quickly. ”Please allow me to guess.

You were about to tell us that it is necessary to spend a great deal of time looking up records and getting papers signed before you have a clear t.i.tle to this mountain land, and that we can't have our money until you have your t.i.tle.”

”That puts it a little strongly,” said Mr. Dobson, smiling a little strangely. ”As fast as we can clear up the t.i.tles to certain tracts my company has authorized me to pay that portion of the commission. I should say you ought to have your first installment within four months. It may be six, however. Matters move slowly here in the mountains.”

”Four months!” exclaimed Marion.

”Not sooner, I fear.”

”Four-” Marion began, but Florence squeezed her arm as she whispered; ”It's no use. We can't help it and neither can they? There must be some other way. Besides, we haven't yet elected our trustee.”

CHAPTER V SAFE AT HOME

That night, for the first time in many days, Florence found herself ready to creep beneath the hand woven blankets beside her pal. Ah, it was good to feel the touch of comfort and the air of security to be found there.

What did it matter that after all the struggle and danger she had found her efforts crowned only by partial success? Time would reveal some other way. New problems beckoned. Let them come. Life was full of problems, and solving them is life itself.

The whipsawed house in which the girls lived had been built more than sixty years before. The heavy beams of its frame and the broad thick boards of its sheeting inside and out had been sawed by hand from ma.s.sive poplar logs.

The walls of the room in which the girls slept were as frankly free of paint or paper as when the boards were first laid in place. But time and sixty summers of Kentucky mountain suns.h.i.+ne had imparted to every ma.s.sive beam and every broad board such a coat of deep, mellow, old gold as any millionaire might covet for his palace.

Heavy, hand-cut sandstone formed the fireplace. Before this fireplace, on a black bearskin, in dream-robes and dressing gowns, sat the two girls curled up for a chat before retiring.

Then it was that Marion told of the mysterious stranger who had peered in at the window at dusk.

”That's strange,” said Florence as a puzzled look knotted her brow. ”Who could he have meant when he said, 'Hit's her'? Could he have meant Mrs.

McAlpin?”

”Maybe. She's been around doctoring people a great deal. He might have seen her somewhere; might even have needed her services for his family and been too timid to ask for it. You know how these mountain folks are.

But-” Marion paused.

”But you don't believe it was Mrs. McAlpin,” prompted Florence, leaning toward the fire. ”Neither do I. I believe it was little Hallie, and I don't like it.”