The Camas Hot Springs Exchange

SEE WHAT I MEAN?

By Richard H. Wilkinson

No farm on the cold outskirts can abide cowards.

Worst of all, Allen Bursley didn't seem to think that being branded a coward was at all important.

"Why," he asked, "should I want to fight Steve Legge? I've nothing against him. He's done nothing to offend me."

"Why?" she stormed. "You ask me why? Isn't it enough to be told he's saying such dreadful things about you?"

"But suppose the stories aren't true? And what if they are?"

"Allen Bursley," Maybelle said tensely, "you listen to me. When you came up here and bought the Thompson place and tried to make a go of farming, everyone laughed. But you fooled 'em. You made the place pay by dint of hard work, and then you made me fall in love with you - and - and I was tremendously happy and wanted to get married only-"

"Only," said Allen, "everyone figured you were Steve Legge's girl, and when we became engaged Steve began to threaten. And now you won't marry me, till I've licked him."

"I wouldn't marry a coward," said Maybelle scornfully.

The word spread like wildfire. Maybelle Wesleyan had broken off her engagement with Allen Bursley, because Allen had admitted being afraid of Steve Legge. Steve became more swaggering.

He yearned for some excuse to bully the city man.

THE OPPORTUNITY came a fortnight later in front of the village post office. It was evening and more than half of the town's population was gathered there. Allen Bursley came out onto the porch, his attention concentrated on a letter in his hand. He did not see the outthrust foot of Steve Legge, and fell over it, saving himself by grasping a post.

"Look where you're going, you clumsy idiot! Kicking a man in the leg."

Allen withheld the apology that rose to his lips, and said instead: "Keep your legs under you if you don't want them kicked."

"Say! Who do you think you're talking to, you shriveled-up city sissy?"

Allen hesitated, carefully folded his letter and tucked it into his pocket. "Legge," he said, "I don't want to quarrel with you-"

Steve let out a roar of contemptuous laughter. "Afraid, eh? Well, we don't abide cowards- "But," finished Allen quietly, "Since you insist, let me advise you, you brought it on yourself."

Steve lunged and something struck him like a sledge-hammer and set him back on his heels.

He struck out blindly, accompanying his blows with foul curses, only to have the curses jammed between his teeth with the same sledge hammer.

Above him Allen Bursley heard a feminine cry from behind and turned to see Maybelle running toward him. He held out his arms, but she stopped, hand over mouth, trying to get out the cry of warning, and failing. The club, held in the hand of Steve Legge, descended crushingly on the back of Allen's head . . .

When Allen opened his eyes his head was pillowed in the lap of Maybelle.

She was looking up at someone and talking. "Allen licked him," she was saying. "He's much stronger than he looks-"

Allen's eyes twinkled. "No, I'm not," he said unexpectedly.

It wasn't because I'm strong. It was knowledge-knowing how to handle myself, like knowing how to farm.

That's the trouble with you folks up here. You don't know how to do things.

See what I mean?

"All I ask is that you teach me how to make you a good wife forever and ever."