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diff --git a/2059-h/2059-h.htm b/2059-h/2059-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..72376c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/2059-h/2059-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14344 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come, +by John Fox, Jr. +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come, by John Fox + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come + +Author: John Fox + +Posting Date: November 19, 2008 [EBook #2059] +Release Date: February, 2000 +Last Updated: July 13, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE SHEPHERD, KINGDOM COME *** + + + + +Produced by Mary Starr and Martin Robb. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE LITTLE SHEPHERD<BR>OF KINGDOM COME +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JOHN FOX, JR. +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> + To<BR> + CURRIE DUKE<BR> + DAUGHTER OF THE CHIEF<BR> + AMONG<BR> + MORGAN'S MEN<BR> +<BR> + KENTUCKY, APRIL, 1898<BR> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">1. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">TWO RUNAWAYS FROM LONESOME</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">2. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">FIGHTING THEIR WAY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">3. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">A "BLAB SCHOOL" ON KINGDOM COME</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">4. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">THE COMING OF THE TIDE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">5. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">OUT OF THE WILDERNESS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">6. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">LOST AT THE CAPITAL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">7. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">A FRIEND ON THE ROAD</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">8. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">HOME WITH THE MAJOR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">9. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">MARGARET</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">10. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">THE BLUEGRASS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">11. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">A TOURNAMENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">12. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">BACK TO KINGDOM COME</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">13. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">ON TRIAL FOR HIS LIFE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">14. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">THE MAJOR IN THE MOUNTAINS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">15. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">TO COLLEGE IN THE BLUEGRASS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">16. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">AGAIN THE BAR SINISTER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">17. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">CHADWICK BUFORD, GENTLEMAN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">18. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">THE SPIRIT OF '76 AND THE SHADOW OF '61</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">19. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">THE BLUE OR THE GRAY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">20. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">OFF TO THE WAR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">21. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">MELISSA</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">22. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">MORGAN'S MEN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">23. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">CHAD CAPTURES AN OLD FRIEND</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">24. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">A RACE BETWEEN DIXIE AND DAWN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">25. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">AFTER DAWS DILLON—GUERILLA</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">26. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER AT LAST</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">27. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap27">AT THE HOSPITAL OF MORGAN'S MEN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">28. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap28">PALL-BEARERS OF THE LOST CAUSE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">29. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap29">MELISSA AND MARGARET</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">30. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap30">PEACE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">31. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap31">THE WESTWARD WAY</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 1 +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TWO RUNAWAYS FROM LONESOME +</H3> + +<P> +The days of that April had been days of mist and rain. Sometimes, for +hours, there would come a miracle of blue sky, white cloud, and yellow +light, but always between dark and dark the rain would fall and the +mist creep up the mountains and steam from the tops—only to roll +together from either range, drip back into the valleys, and lift, +straightway, as mist again. So that, all the while Nature was trying to +give lustier life to every living thing in the lowland Bluegrass, all +the while a gaunt skeleton was stalking down the Cumberland—tapping +with fleshless knuckles, now at some unlovely cottage of faded white +and green, and now at a log cabin, stark and gray. Passing the mouth of +Lonesome, he flashed his scythe into its unlifting shadows and went +stalking on. High up, at the source of the dismal little stream, the +point of the shining blade darted thrice into the open door of a cabin +set deep into a shaggy flank of Black Mountain, and three spirits, +within, were quickly loosed from aching flesh for the long flight into +the unknown. +</P> + +<P> +It was the spirit of the plague that passed, taking with it the breath +of the unlucky and the unfit: and in the hut on Lonesome three were +dead—a gaunt mountaineer, a gaunt daughter, and a gaunt son. Later, +the mother, too, "jes' kind o' got tired," as little Chad said, and +soon to her worn hands and feet came the well-earned rest. Nobody was +left then but Chad and Jack, and Jack was a dog with a belly to feed +and went for less than nothing with everybody but his little master and +the chance mountaineer who had sheep to guard. So, for the fourth time, +Chad, with Jack at his heels, trudged up to the point of a wooded spur +above the cabin, where, at the foot of a giant poplar and under a +wilderness of shaking June leaves, were three piles of rough boards, +loosely covering three hillocks of rain-beaten earth; and, near them, +an open grave. There was no service sung or spoken over the dead, for +the circuit-rider was then months away; so, unnoticed, Chad stood +behind the big poplar, watching the neighbors gently let down into the +shallow trench a home-made coffin, rudely hollowed from the half of a +bee-gum log, and, unnoticed, slipped away at the first muffled stroke +of the dirt—doubling his fists into his eyes and stumbling against the +gnarled bodies of laurel and rhododendron until, out in a clear sunny +space, he dropped on a thick, velvet mat of moss and sobbed himself to +sleep. When he awoke, Jack was licking his face and he sat up, dazed +and yawning. The sun was dropping fast, the ravines were filling with +blue shadows, luminous and misty, and a far drowsy tinkling from the +valley told him that cows were starting homeward. From habit, he sprang +quickly to his feet, but, sharply conscious on a sudden, dropped slowly +back to the moss again, while Jack, who had started down the spur, +circled back to see what the matter was, and stood with uplifted foot, +much puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +There had been a consultation about Chad early that morning among the +neighbors, and old Nathan Cherry, who lived over on Stone Creek, in the +next cove but one, said that he would take charge of the boy. Nathan +did not wait for the burial, but went back home for his wagon, leaving +word that Chad was to stay all night with a neighbor and meet him at +the death-stricken cabin an hour by sun. The old man meant to have Chad +bound to him for seven years by law—the boy had been told that—and +Nathan hated dogs as much as Chad hated Nathan. So the lad did not lie +long. He did not mean to be bound out, nor to have Jack mistreated, and +he rose quickly and Jack sprang before him down the rocky path and +toward the hut that had been a home to both. Under the poplar, Jack +sniffed curiously at the new-made grave, and Chad called him away so +sharply that Jack's tail drooped and he crept toward his master, as +though to ask pardon for a fault of which he was not conscious. For one +moment, Chad stood looking. Again the stroke of the falling earth smote +his ears and his eyes filled; a curious pain caught him by the throat +and he passed on, whistling—down into the shadows below to the open +door of the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +It was deathly still. The homespun bedclothes and hand-made quilts of +brilliant colors had been thrown in a heap on one of the two beds of +hickory withes; the kitchen utensils—a crane and a few pots and +pans—had been piled on the hearth, along with strings of herbs and +beans and red pepper-pods—all ready for old Nathan when he should come +over for them, next morning, with his wagon. Not a living thing was to +be heard or seen that suggested human life, and Chad sat down in the +deepening loneliness, watching the shadows rise up the green walls that +bound him in, and wondering what he should do, and where he should go, +if he was not to go to old Nathan; while Jack, who seemed to know that +some crisis was come, settled on his haunches a little way off, to +wait, with perfect faith and patience, for the boy to make up his mind. +</P> + +<P> +It was the first time, perhaps, that Chad had ever thought very +seriously about himself, or wondered who he was, or whence he had come. +Digging back into his memory as far as he could, it seemed to him that +what had just happened now had happened to him once before, and that he +had simply wandered away. He could not recollect where he had started +from first, but he could recall many of the places where he had lived, +and why he had left them—usually because somebody, like old Nathan, +had wanted to have him bound out, or had misused Jack, or would not let +the two stray off into the woods together, when there was nothing else +to be done. He had stayed longest where he was now, because the old man +and his son and his girl had all taken a great fancy to Jack, and had +let the two guard cattle in the mountains and drive sheep and, if they +stayed out in the woods over night, struck neither a stroke of hand nor +tongue. The old mother had been his mother and, once more, Chad leaned +his head against the worn lintel and wept silently. So far, nobody had +seemed to care particularly who he was, or was not—nor had Chad. Most +people were very kind to him, looking upon him as one of the wandering +waifs that one finds throughout the Cumberland, upon whom the good +folks of the mountains do not visit the father's sin. He knew what he +was thought to be, and it mattered so little, since it made no +discrimination against him, that he had accepted it without question. +It did not matter now, except as it bore on the question as to where he +should start his feet. It was a long time for him to have stayed in one +place, and the roving memories, stirred within him now, took root, +doubtless, in the restless spirit that had led his unknown ancestor +into those mountain wilds after the Revolution. +</P> + +<P> +All this while he had been sitting on the low threshold, with his +elbows in the hollows of his thighs and his left hand across his mouth. +Once more, he meant to be bound to no man's service and, at the final +thought of losing Jack, the liberty loving little tramp spat over his +hand with sharp decision and rose. +</P> + +<P> +Just above him and across the buck antlers over the door, lay a long +flint-lock rifle; a bullet-pouch, a powder-horn, and a small +raccoon-skin haversack hung from one of the prongs: and on them the +boy's eyes rested longingly. Old Nathan, he knew, claimed that the dead +man had owed him money; and he further knew that old Nathan meant to +take all he could lay his hands on in payment: but he climbed +resolutely upon a chair and took the things down, arguing the question, +meanwhile: +</P> + +<P> +"Uncle Jim said once he aimed to give this rifle gun to me. Mebbe he +was foolin', but I don't believe he owed ole Nathan so much, an', +anyways," he muttered grimly, "I reckon Uncle Jim ud kind o' like fer +me to git the better of that ole devil—jes a LEETLE, anyways." +</P> + +<P> +The rifle, he knew, was always loaded, there was not much powder in the +horn and there were not more than a dozen bullets in the pouch, but +they would last him until he could get far away. No more would he take, +however, than what he thought he could get along with—one blanket from +the bed and, from the fireplace, a little bacon and a pone of +corn-bread. +</P> + +<P> +"An' I KNOW Aunt Jane wouldn't 'a' keered about these leetle fixin's, +fer I have to have 'em, an' I know I've earned 'em anyways." +</P> + +<P> +Then he closed the door softly on the spirits of the dead within, and +caught the short, deer skin latch-string to the wooden pin outside. +With his Barlow knife, he swiftly stripped a bark string from a pawpaw +bush near by, folded and tied his blanket, and was swinging the little +pack to his shoulder, when the tinkle of a cow-bell came through the +bushes, close at hand. Old Nance, lean and pied, was coming home; he +had forgotten her, it was getting late, and he was anxious to leave for +fear some neighbor might come; but there was no one to milk and, when +she drew near with a low moo, he saw that her udders were full and +dripping. It would hurt her to go unmilked, so Chad put his things down +and took up a cedar piggin from a shelf outside the cabin and did the +task thoroughly—putting the strippings in a cup and, so strong was the +habit in him, hurrying with both to the rude spring-house and setting +them in cool running water. A moment more and he had his pack and his +rifle on one shoulder and was climbing the fence at the wood-pile. +There he stopped once more with a sudden thought, and wrenching loose a +short axe from the face of a hickory log, staggered under the weight of +his weapons up the mountain. The sun was yet an hour high and, on the +spur, he leaned his rifle against the big poplar and set to work with +his axe on a sapling close by—talking frankly now to the God who made +him: +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon You know it, but I'm a-goin' to run away now. I hain't got no +daddy an' no mammy, an' I hain't never had none as I knows—but Aunt +Jane hyeh—she's been jes' like a mother to me an' I'm a-doin' fer her +jes' whut I wish You'd have somebody do fer my mother, ef You know whar +she's a-layin'." +</P> + +<P> +Eight round sticks he cut swiftly—four long and four short—and with +these he built a low pen, as is the custom of the mountaineers, close +about the fresh mound, and, borrowing a board or two from each of the +other mounds, covered the grave from the rain. Then he sunk the axe +into the trunk of the great poplar as high up as he could reach—so +that it could easily be seen—and brushing the sweat from his face, he +knelt down: +</P> + +<P> +"God!" he said, simply, "I hain't nothin' but a boy, but I got to ack +like a man now. I'm a-goin' now. I don't believe You keer much and +seems like I bring ever'body bad luck: an' I'm a-goin' to live up hyeh +on the mountain jes' as long as I can. I don't want you to think I'm +a-complainin'—fer I ain't. Only hit does seem sort o' curious that +You'd let me be down hyah—with me a-keerint fer nobody now, an' nobody +a-keerin' fer me. But Thy ways is inscrutable—leastwise, that's whut +the circuit-rider says—an' I ain't got a word more to say—Amen." +</P> + +<P> +Chad rose then and Jack, who had sat perfectly still, with his head +cocked to one side, and his ears straight forward in wonder over this +strange proceeding, sprang into the air, when Chad picked up his gun, +and, with a joyful bark, circled a clump of bushes and sped back, +leaping as high as the little fellow's head and trying to lick his +face—for Jack was a rover, too. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was low when the two waifs turned their backs upon it, and the +blue shadows in valley and ravine were darkening fast. Down the spur +they went swiftly—across the river and up the slope of Pine Mountain. +As they climbed, Chad heard the last faint sound of a cow-bell far +below him and he stopped short, with a lump in his throat that hurt. +Soon darkness fell, and, on the very top, the boy made a fire with his +flint and steel, cooked a little bacon, warmed his corn-pone, munched +them and, wrapping his blanket around him and letting Jack curl into +the hollow of his legs and stomach, turned his face to the kindly stars +and went to sleep. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 2 +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FIGHTING THEIR WAY +</H3> + +<P> +Twice, during the night, Jack roused him by trying to push himself +farther under the blanket and Chad rose to rebuild the fire. The third +time he was awakened by the subtle prescience of dawn and his eyes +opened on a flaming radiance in the east. Again from habit he started +to spring hurriedly to his feet and, again sharply conscious, he lay +down again. There was no wood to cut, no fire to rekindle, no water to +carry from the spring, no cow to milk, no corn to hoe; there was +nothing to do—nothing. Morning after morning, with a day's hard toil +at a man's task before him, what would he not have given, when old Jim +called him, to have stretched his aching little legs down the folds of +the thick feather-bed and slipped back into the delicious rest of sleep +and dreams? Now he was his own master and, with a happy sense of +freedom, he brushed the dew from his face and, shifting the chunk under +his head, pulled his old cap down a little more on one side and closed +his eyes. But sleep would not come and Chad had his first wonder over +the perverse result of the full choice to do, or not to do. At once, +the first keen savor of freedom grew less sweet to his nostrils and, +straightway, he began to feel the first pressure of the chain of duties +that was to be forged for him out of his perfect liberty, link by link, +and he lay vaguely wondering. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, the lake of dull red behind the jagged lines of rose and +crimson that streaked the east began to glow and look angry. A sheen of +fiery vapor shot upward and spread swiftly over the miracle of mist +that had been wrought in the night. An ocean of it and, white and thick +as snowdust, it filled valley, chasm, and ravine with mystery and +silence up to the dark jutting points and dark waving lines of range +after range that looked like breakers, surged up by some strange new +law from an under-sea of foam; motionless, it swept down the valleys, +poured swift torrents through high gaps in the hills and one long +noiseless cataract over a lesser range—all silent, all motionless, +like a great white sea stilled in the fury of a storm. Morning after +morning, the boy had looked upon just such glory, calmly watching the +mist part, like the waters, for the land, and the day break, with one +phrase, "Let there be light," ever in his mind—for Chad knew his +Bible. And, most often, in soft splendor, trailing cloud-mist, and +yellow light leaping from crest to crest, and in the singing of birds +and the shining of leaves and dew—there was light. +</P> + +<P> +But that morning there was a hush in the woods that Chad understood. On +a sudden, a light wind scurried through the trees and showered the +mistdrops down. The smoke from his fire shot through the low +undergrowth, without rising, and the starting mists seemed to clutch +with long, white fingers at the tree-tops, as though loath to leave the +safe, warm earth for the upper air. A little later, he felt some great +shadow behind him, and he turned his face to see black clouds +marshalling on either flank of the heavens and fitting their black +wings together, as though the retreating forces of the night were +gathering for a last sweep against the east. A sword flashed blindingly +from the dome high above them and, after it, came one shaking peal that +might have been the command to charge, for Chad saw the black hosts +start fiercely. Afar off, the wind was coming; the trees began to sway +above him, and the level sea of mist below began to swell, and the +wooded breakers seemed to pitch angrily. +</P> + +<P> +Challenging tongues ran quivering up the east, and the lake of red +coals under them began to heave fiercely in answer. On either side the +lightning leaped upward and forward, striking straight and low, +sometimes, as though it were ripping up the horizon to let into the +conflict the host of dropping stars. Then the artillery of the thunder +crashed in earnest through the shaking heavens, and the mists below +pitched like smoke belched from gigantic unseen cannon. The coming sun +answered with upleaping swords of fire and, as the black thunder hosts +swept overhead, Chad saw, for one moment, the whole east in a writhing +storm of fire. A thick darkness rose from the first crash of battle +and, with the rush of wind and rain, the mighty conflict went on unseen. +</P> + +<P> +Chad had seen other storms at sunrise, but something happened now and +he could never recall the others nor ever forget this. All it meant to +him, young as he was then, was unrolled slowly as the years came +on—more than the first great rebellion of the powers of darkness when, +in the beginning, the Master gave the first command that the seven +days' work of His hand should float through space, smitten with the +welcoming rays of a million suns; more than the beginning thus of +light—of life; more even than the first birth of a spirit in a living +thing: for, long afterward, he knew that it meant the dawn of a new +consciousness to him—the birth of a new spirit within him, and the +foreshadowed pain of its slow mastery over his passion-racked body and +heart. Never was there a crisis, bodily or spiritual, on the +battle-field or alone under the stars, that this storm did not come +back to him. And, always, through all doubt, and, indeed, in the end +when it came to him for the last time on his bed of death, the slow and +sullen dispersion of wind and rain on the mountain that morning far, +far back in his memory, and the quick coming of the Sun-king's +victorious light over the glad hills and trees held out to him the +promise of a final victory to the Sun-king's King over the darkness of +all death and the final coming to his own brave spirit of peace and +rest. +</P> + +<P> +So Chad, with Jack drawn close to him, lay back, awe-stricken and with +his face wet from mysterious tears. The comfort of the childish +self-pity that came with every thought of himself, wandering, a lost +spirit along the mountain-tops, was gone like a dream and ready in his +heart was the strong new purpose to strike into the world for himself. +He even took it as a good omen, when he rose, to find his fire +quenched, the stopper of his powder-horn out, and the precious black +grains scattered hopelessly on the wet earth. There were barely more +than three charges left, and something had to be done at once. First, +he must get farther away from old Nathan: the neighbors might search +for him and find him and take him back. +</P> + +<P> +So he started out, brisk and shivering, along the ridge path with Jack +bouncing before him. An hour later, he came upon a hollow tree, filled +with doty wood which he could tear out with his hands and he built a +fire and broiled a little more bacon. +</P> + +<P> +Jack got only a bit this time and barked reproachfully for more; but +Chad shook his head and the dog started out, with both eyes open, to +look for his own food. The sun was high enough now to make the drenched +world flash like an emerald and its warmth felt good, as Chad tramped +the topmost edge of Pine Mountain, where the brush was not thick and +where, indeed, he often found a path running a short way and turning +into some ravine—the trail of cattle and sheep and the pathway between +one little valley settlement and another. He must have made ten miles +and more by noon—for he was a sturdy walker and as tireless almost as +Jack—and ten miles is a long way in the mountains, even now. So, +already, Chad was far enough away to have no fear of pursuit, even if +old Nathan wanted him back, which was doubtful. On the top of the next +point, Jack treed a squirrel and Chad took a rest and brought him down, +shot through the head and, then and there, skinned and cooked him and +divided with Jack squarely. +</P> + +<P> +"Jack," he said, as he reloaded his gun, "we can't keep this up much +longer. I hain't got more'n two more loads o' powder here." +</P> + +<P> +And, thereupon, Jack leaped suddenly in the air and, turning quite +around, lighted with his nose pointed, as it was before he sprang. Chad +cocked the old gun and stepped forward. A low hissing whir rose a few +feet to one side of the path and, very carefully, the boy climbed a +fallen trunk and edged his way, very carefully, toward the sound: and +there, by a dead limb and with his ugly head reared three inches above +his coil of springs, was a rattlesnake. The sudden hate in the boy's +face was curious—it was instinctive, primitive, deadly. He must shoot +off-hand now and he looked down the long barrel, shaded with tin, until +the sight caught on one of the beady, unblinking eyes and pulled the +trigger. Jack leaped with the sound, in spite of Chad's yell of +warning, which was useless, for the ball had gone true and the poison +was set loose in the black, crushed head. +</P> + +<P> +"Jack," said Chad, "we just GOT to go down now." +</P> + +<P> +So they went on swiftly through the heat of the early afternoon. It was +very silent up there. Now and then, a brilliant blue-jay would lilt +from a stunted oak with the flute-like love-notes of spring; or a +lonely little brown fellow would hop with a low chirp from one bush to +another as though he had been lost up there for years and had grown +quite hopeless about seeing his kind again. When there was a gap in the +mountains, he could hear the querulous, senseless love-quarrel of +flickers going on below him; passing a deep ravine, the note of the +wood-thrush—that shy lyrist of the hills—might rise to him from a +dense covert of maple and beech: or, with a startling call, a +red-crested cock of the woods would beat his white-striped wings from +spur to spur, as though he were keeping close to the long swells of an +unseen sea. Several times, a pert flicker squatting like a knot to a +dead limb or the crimson plume of a cock of the woods, as plain as a +splash of blood on a wall of vivid green, tempted him to let loose his +last load, but he withstood them. A little later, he saw a fresh +bear-track near a spring below the head of a ravine; and, later still, +he heard the far-away barking of a hound and a deer leaped lightly into +an open sunny spot and stood with uplifted hoof and pointed ears. This +was too much and the boy's gun followed his heart to his throat, but +the buck sprang lightly into the bush and vanished noiselessly. +</P> + +<P> +The sun had dropped midway between the zenith and the blue bulks +rolling westward and, at the next gap, a broader path ran through it +and down the mountain. This, Chad knew, led to a settlement and, with a +last look of choking farewell to his own world, he turned down. At +once, the sense of possible human companionship was curiously potent: +at once, the boy's half-wild manner changed and, though alert and still +watchful, he whistled cheerily to Jack, threw his gun over his +shoulder, and walked erect and confident. His pace slackened. +Carelessly now his feet tramped beds of soft exquisite moss and lone +little settlements of forget-me-nots, and his long riflebarrel brushed +laurel blossoms down in a shower behind him. Once even, he picked up +one of the pretty bells and looked idly at it, turning it bottom +upward. The waxen cup might have blossomed from a tiny waxen star. +There was a little green star for a calyx; above this, a little white +star with its prongs outstretched—tiny arms to hold up the +pink-flecked chalice for the rain and dew. There came a time when he +thought of it as a star-blossom; but now his greedy tongue swept the +honey from it and he dropped it without another thought to the ground. +At the first spur down which the road turned, he could see smoke in the +valley. The laurel blooms and rhododendron bells hung in thicker +clusters and of a deeper pink. Here and there was a blossoming wild +cucumber and an umbrella-tree with huger flowers and leaves; and, +sometimes, a giant magnolia with a thick creamy flower that the boy +could not have spanned with both hands and big, thin oval leaves, a +man's stride from tip to stem. Soon, he was below the sunlight and in +the cool shadows where the water ran noisily and the air hummed with +the wings of bees. On the last spur, he came upon a cow browsing on +sassafras-bushes right in the path and the last shadow of his +loneliness straightway left him. She was old, mild, and unfearing, and +she started down the road in front of him as though she thought he had +come to drive her home, or as though she knew he was homeless and was +leading him to shelter. A little farther on, the river flashed up a +welcome to him through the trees and at the edge of the water, her +mellow bell led him down stream and he followed. In the next hollow, he +stooped to drink from a branch that ran across the road and, when he +rose to start again, his bare feet stopped as though riven suddenly to +the ground; for, half way up the next low slope, was another figure as +motionless as his—with a bare head, bare feet, a startled face and +wide eyes—but motionless only until the eyes met his: then there was a +flash of bright hair and scarlet homespun, and the little feet, that +had trod down the centuries to meet his, left the earth as though they +had wings and Chad saw them, in swift flight, pass silently over the +hill. The next moment, Jack came too near the old brindle and, with a +sweep of her horns at him and a toss of tail and heels in the air, she, +too, swept over the slope and on, until the sound of her bell passed +out of hearing. Even to-day, in lonely parts of the Cumberland, the +sudden coming of a stranger may put women and children to +flight—something like this had happened before to Chad—but the sudden +desertion and the sudden silence drew him in a flash back to the lonely +cabin he had left and the lonely graves under the big poplar and, with +a quivering lip, he sat down. Jack, too, dropped to his haunches and +sat hopeless, but not for long. The chill of night was coming on and +Jack was getting hungry. So he rose presently and trotted ahead and +squatted again, looking back and waiting. But still Chad sat irresolute +and in a moment, Jack heard something that disturbed him, for he threw +his ears toward the top of the hill and, with a growl, trotted back to +Chad and sat close to him, looking up the slope. Chad rose then with +his thumb on the lock of his gun and over the hill came a tall figure +and a short one, about Chad's size and a dog, with white feet and white +face, that was bigger than Jack: and behind them, three more figures, +one of which was the tallest of the group. All stopped when they saw +Chad, who dropped the butt of his gun at once to the ground. At once +the strange dog, with a low snarl, started down toward the two little +strangers with his yellow ears pointed, the hair bristling along his +back, and his teeth in sight. Jack answered the challenge with an eager +whimper, but dropped his tail, at Chad's sharp command—for Chad did +not care to meet the world as an enemy, when he was looking for a +friend. The group stood dumb with astonishment for a moment and the +small boy's mouth was wide-open with surprise, but the strange dog came +on with his tail rigid, and lifting his feet high. +</P> + +<P> +"Begone!" said Chad, sharply, but the dog would not begone; he still +came on as though bent on a fight. +</P> + +<P> +"Call yo' dog off," Chad called aloud. "My dog'll kill him. You better +call him off," he called again, in some concern, but the tall boy in +front laughed scornfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's see him," he said, and the small one laughed, too. +</P> + +<P> +Chad's eyes flashed—no boy can stand an insult to his dog—and the +curves of his open lips snapped together in a straight red line. "All +right," he said, placidly, and, being tired, he dropped back on a stone +by the wayside to await results. The very tone of his voice struck all +shackles of restraint from Jack, who, with a springy trot, went forward +slowly, as though he were making up a definite plan of action; for Jack +had a fighting way of his own, which Chad knew. +</P> + +<P> +"Sick him, Whizzer!" shouted the tall boy, and the group of five +hurried eagerly down the hill and halted in a half circle about Jack +and Chad; so that it looked an uneven conflict, indeed, for the two +waifs from over Pine Mountain. +</P> + +<P> +The strange dog was game and wasted no time. With a bound he caught +Jack by the throat, tossed him several feet away, and sprang for him +again. Jack seemed helpless against such strength and fury, but Chad's +face was as placid as though it had been Jack who was playing the +winning game. +</P> + +<P> +Jack himself seemed little disturbed; he took his punishment without an +outcry of rage or pain. You would have thought he had quietly come to +the conclusion that all he could hope to do was to stand the strain +until his opponent had worn himself out. But that was not Jack's game, +and Chad knew it. The tall boy was chuckling, and his brother of Chad's +age was bent almost double with delight. +</P> + +<P> +"Kill my dawg, will he?" he cried, shrilly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Lawdy!" groaned the tall one. +</P> + +<P> +Jack was much bitten and chewed by this time, and, while his pluck and +purpose seemed unchanged, Chad had risen to his feet and was beginning +to look anxious. The three silent spectators behind pressed forward +and, for the first time, one of these—the tallest of the group—spoke: +</P> + +<P> +"Take yo' dawg off, Daws Dillon," he said, with quiet authority; but +Daws shook his head, and the little brother looked indignant. +</P> + +<P> +"He said he'd kill him," said Daws, tauntingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yo' dawg's bigger and hit ain't fair," said the other again and, +seeing Chad's worried look, he pressed suddenly forward; but Chad had +begun to smile, and was sitting down on his stone again. Jack had +leaped this time, with his first growl during the fight, and Whizzer +gave a sharp cry of surprise and pain. Jack had caught him by the +throat, close behind the jaws, and the big dog shook and growled and +shook again. Sometimes Jack was lifted quite from the ground, but he +seemed clamped to his enemy to stay. Indeed he shut his eyes, finally, +and seemed to go quite to sleep. The big dog threshed madly and swung +and twisted, howling with increasing pain and terror and increasing +weakness, while Jack's face was as peaceful as though he were a puppy +once more and hanging to his mother's neck instead of her breast, +asleep. By and by, Whizzer ceased to shake and began to pant; and, +thereupon, Jack took his turn at shaking, gently at first, but with +maddening regularity and without at all loosening his hold. The big dog +was too weak to resist soon and, when Jack began to jerk savagely, +Whizzer began to gasp. +</P> + +<P> +"You take YO' dawg off," called Daws, sharply. +</P> + +<P> +Chad never moved. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you say 'nough for him?" he asked, quietly; and the tall one of +the silent three laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Call him off, I tell ye," repeated Daws, savagely; but again Chad +never moved, and Daws started for a club. Chad's new friend came +forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Hol'on, now, hol'on," he said, easily. "None o' that, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +Daws stopped with an oath. "Whut you got to do with this, Tom Turner?" +</P> + +<P> +"You started this fight," said Tom. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't keer ef I did—take him off," Daws answered, savagely. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you say 'nough fer him?" said Chad again, and again Tall Tom +chuckled. The little brother clinched his fists and turned white with +fear for Whizzer and fury for Chad, while Daws looked at the tall +Turner, shook his head from side to side, like a balking steer, and +dropped his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Y-e-s," he said, sullenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Say it, then," said Chad, and this time Tall Tom roared aloud, and +even his two silent brothers laughed. Again Daws, with a furious oath, +started for the dogs with his club, but Chad's ally stepped between. +</P> + +<P> +"You say 'nough, Daws Dillon," he said, and Daws looked into the quiet +half-smiling face and at the stalwart two grinning behind. +</P> + +<P> +"Takin' up agin yo' neighbors fer a wood-colt, air ye?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a-takin' up fer what's right and fair. How do you know he's a +wood-colt—an' suppose he is? You say 'nough now, or—" +</P> + +<P> +Again Daws looked at the dogs. Jack had taken a fresh grip and was +shaking savagely and steadily. Whizzer's tongue was out—once his +throat rattled. +</P> + +<P> +"Nough!" growled Daws, angrily, and the word was hardly jerked from his +lips before Chad was on his feet and prying Jack's jaws apart. "He +ain't much hurt," he said, looking at the bloody hold which Jack had +clamped on his enemy's throat, "but he'd a-killed him though, he al'ays +does. Thar ain't no chance fer NO dog, when Jack gits THAT hold." +</P> + +<P> +Then he raised his eyes and looked into the quivering face of the owner +of the dog—the little fellow—who, with the bellow of a yearling bull, +sprang at him. Again Chad's lips took a straight red line and being on +one knee was an advantage, for, as he sprang up, he got both underholds +and there was a mighty tussle, the spectators yelling with frantic +delight. +</P> + +<P> +"Trip him, Tad," shouted Daws, fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +"Stick to him, little un," shouted Tom, and his brothers, stoical Dolph +and Rube, danced about madly. Even with underholds, Chad, being much +the shorter of the two, had no advantage that he did not need, and, +with a sharp thud, the two fierce little bodies struck the road side by +side, spurting up a cloud of dust. +</P> + +<P> +"Dawg—fall!" cried Rube, and Dolph rushed forward to pull the +combatants apart. +</P> + +<P> +"He don't fight fair," said Chad, panting, and rubbing his right eye +which his enemy had tried to "gouge"; "but lemme at him—I can fight +thataway, too." Tall Tom held them apart. +</P> + +<P> +"You're too little, and he don't fight fair. I reckon you better go on +home—you two—an' yo' mean dawg," he said to Daws; and the two +Dillons—the one sullen and the other crying with rage—moved away with +Whizzer slinking close to the ground after them. But at the top of the +hill both turned with bantering yells, derisive wriggling of their +fingers at their noses, and with other rude gestures. And, thereupon, +Dolph and Rube wanted to go after them, but the tall brother stopped +them with a word. +</P> + +<P> +"That's about all they're fit fer," he said, contemptuously, and he +turned to Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Whar you from, little man, an' whar you goin', an' what mought yo' +name be?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad told his name, and where he was from, and stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Whar you goin'?" said Tom again, without a word or look of comment. +</P> + +<P> +Chad knew the disgrace and the suspicion that his answer was likely to +generate, but he looked his questioner in the face fearlessly. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know whar I'm goin'." +</P> + +<P> +The big fellow looked at him keenly, but kindly. +</P> + +<P> +"You ain't lyin' an' I reckon you better come with us." He turned for +the first time to his brothers and the two nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"You an' yo' dawg, though Mammy don't like dawgs much; but you air a +stranger an' you ain't afeerd, an' you can fight—you an' yo' dawg—an' +I know Dad'll take ye both in." +</P> + +<P> +So Chad and Jack followed the long strides of the three Turners over +the hill and to the bend of the river, where were three long cane +fishing-poles with their butts stuck in the mud—the brothers had been +fishing, when the flying figure of the little girl told them of the +coming of a stranger into those lonely wilds. Taking these up, they +strode on—Chad after them and Jack trotting, in cheerful confidence, +behind. It is probable that Jack noticed, as soon as Chad, the swirl of +smoke rising from a broad ravine that spread into broad fields, skirted +by the great sweep of the river, for he sniffed the air sharply, and +trotted suddenly ahead. It was a cheering sight for Chad. Two negro +slaves were coming from work in a corn-field close by, and Jack's hair +rose when he saw them, and, with a growl, he slunk behind his master. +Dazed, Chad looked at them. +</P> + +<P> +"Whut've them fellers got on their faces?" he asked. Tom laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Hain't you nuver seed a nigger afore?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Chad shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Lots o' folks from yo' side o' the mountains nuver have seed a +nigger," said Tom. "Sometimes hit skeers 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"Hit don't skeer me," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +At the gate of the barn-yard, in which was a long stable with a deeply +sloping roof, stood the old brindle cow, who turned to look at Jack, +and, as Chad followed the three brothers through the yard gate, he saw +a slim scarlet figure vanish swiftly from the porch into the house. +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes, Chad was inside the big log cabin and before a big +log-fire, with Jack between his knees and turning his soft human eyes +keenly from one to another of the group about his little master, +telling how the mountain cholera had carried off the man and the woman +who had been father and mother to him, and their children; at which the +old mother nodded her head in growing sympathy, for there were two +fresh mounds in her own graveyard on the point of a low hill not far +away; how old Nathan Cherry, whom he hated, had wanted to bind him out, +and how, rather than have Jack mistreated and himself be ill-used, he +had run away along the mountain-top; how he had slept one night under a +log with Jack to keep him warm; how he had eaten sassafras and birch +back and had gotten drink from the green water-bulbs of the wild +honeysuckle; and how, on the second day, being hungry, and without +powder for his gun, he had started, when the sun sank, for the shadows +of the valley at the mouth of Kingdom Come. Before he was done, the old +mother knocked the ashes from her clay pipe and quietly went into the +kitchen, and Jack, for all his good manners, could not restrain a whine +of eagerness when he heard the crackle of bacon in a frying-pan and the +delicious smell of it struck his quivering nostrils. After dark, old +Joel, the father of the house, came in—a giant in size and a mighty +hunter—and he slapped his big thighs and roared until the rafters +seemed to shake when Tall Tom told him about the dog-fight and the +boy-fight with the family in the next cove: for already the clanship +was forming that was to add the last horror to the coming great war and +prolong that horror for nearly half a century after its close. +</P> + +<P> +By and by, the scarlet figure of little Melissa came shyly out of the +dark shadows behind and drew shyly closer and closer, until she was +crouched in the chimney corner with her face shaded from the fire by +one hand and a tangle of yellow hair, listening and watching him with +her big, solemn eyes, quite fearlessly. Already the house was full of +children and dependents, but no word passed between old Joel and the +old mother, for no word was necessary. Two waifs who had so suffered +and who could so fight could have a home under that roof if they +pleased, forever. And Chad's sturdy little body lay deep in a +feather-bed, and the friendly shadows from a big fireplace flickered +hardly thrice over him before he was asleep. And Jack, for that night +at least, was allowed to curl up by the covered coals, or stretch out +his tired feet, if he pleased, to a warmth that in all the nights of +his life, perhaps, he had never known before. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 3. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A "BLAB SCHOOL" ON KINGDOM COME +</H3> + +<P> +Chad was awakened by the touch of a cold nose at his ear, the rasp of a +warm tongue across his face, and the tug of two paws at his cover. "Git +down, Jack!" he said, and Jack, with a whimper of satisfaction, went +back to the fire that was roaring up the chimney, and a deep voice +laughed and called: +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you better git UP, little man!" +</P> + +<P> +Old Joel was seated at the fire with his huge legs crossed and a pipe +in his mouth. It was before busily astir. There was the sound of +tramping in the frosty air outside and the noise of getting breakfast +ready in the kitchen. As Chad sprang up, he saw Melissa's yellow hair +drop out of sight behind the foot of the bed in the next corner, and he +turned his face quickly, and, slipping behind the foot of his own bed +and into his coat and trousers, was soon at the fire himself, with old +Joel looking him over with shrewd kindliness. +</P> + +<P> +"Yo' dawg's got a heap o' sense," said the old hunter, and Chad told +him how old Jack was, and how a cattle-buyer from the "settlements" of +the Bluegrass had given him to Chad when Jack was badly hurt and his +owner thought he was going to die. And how Chad had nursed him and how +the two had always been together ever since. Through the door of the +kitchen, Chad could see the old mother with her crane and pots and +cooking-pans; outside, he could hear the moo of the old brindle, the +bleat of her calf, the nicker of a horse, one lusty sheep-call, and the +hungry bellow of young cattle at the barn, where Tall Tom was feeding +the stock. Presently Rube stamped in with a back log and Dolph came +through with a milk-pail. +</P> + +<P> +"I can milk," said Chad, eagerly, and Dolph laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, I'll give ye a chance," he said, and old Joel looked +pleased, for it was plain that the little stranger was not going to be +a drone in the household, and, taking his pipe from his mouth but +without turning his head, he called out: +</P> + +<P> +"Git up thar, Melissy." +</P> + +<P> +Getting no answer, he looked around to find Melissa standing at the +foot of the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Come here to the fire, little gal, nobody's agoin to eat ye." +</P> + +<P> +Melissa came forward, twisting her hands in front of her, and stood, +rubbing one bare foot over the other on the hearth-stones. She turned +her face with a blush when Chad suddenly looked at her, and, +thereafter, the little man gazed steadily into the fire in order to +embarrass her no more. +</P> + +<P> +With the breaking of light over the mountain, breakfast was over and +the work of the day began. Tom was off to help a neighbor "snake" logs +down the mountain and into Kingdom Come, where they would be "rafted" +and floated on down the river to the capital—if a summer tide should +come—to be turned into fine houses for the people of the Bluegrass. +Dolph and Rube disappeared at old Joel's order to "go meet them sheep." +Melissa helped her mother clear away the table and wash the dishes; and +Chad, out of the tail of his eye, saw her surreptitiously feeding +greedy Jack, while old Joel still sat by the fire, smoking silently. +Chad stepped outside. The air was chill, but the mists were rising and +a long band of rich, warm light lay over a sloping spur up the river, +and where this met the blue morning shadows, the dew was beginning to +drip and to sparkle. Chad could nor stand inaction long, and his eye +lighted up when he heard a great bleating at the foot of the spur and +the shouts of men and boys. Just then the old mother called from the +rear of the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +"Joel, them sheep air comin'!" +</P> + +<P> +The big form of the old hunter filled the doorway and Jack bounded out +between his legs, while little Melissa appeared with two books, ready +for school. Down the road came the flock of lean mountain-sheep, Dolph +and Rube driving them. Behind, slouched the Dillon tribe—Daws and +Whizzer and little Tad; Daws's father, old Tad, long, lean, stooping, +crafty: and two new ones cousins to Daws—Jake and Jerry, the giant +twins. "Joel Turner," said old Tad, sourly, "here's yo' sheep!" +</P> + +<P> +Joel had bought the Dillons' sheep and meant to drive them to the +county-seat ten miles down the river. There had evidently been a +disagreement between the two when the trade was made, for Joel pulled +out a gray pouch of coonskin, took from it a roll of bills, and, +without counting them, held them out. +</P> + +<P> +"Tad Dillon," he said, shortly, "here's yo' money!" +</P> + +<P> +The Dillon father gave possession with a gesture and the Dillon +faction, including Whizzer and the giant twins, drew aside +together—the father morose; Daws watching Dolph and Rube with a look +of much meanness; little Tad behind him, watching Chad, his face +screwed up with hate; and Whizzer, pretending not to see Jack, but +darting a surreptitious glance at him now and then, for then and there +was starting a feud that was to run fiercely on, long after the war was +done. +</P> + +<P> +"Git my hoss, Rube," said old Joel, and Rube turned to the stable, +while Dolph kept an eye on the sheep, which were lying on the road or +straggling down the river. As Rube opened the stable-door, a dirty +white object bounded out, and Rube, with a loud curse, tumbled over +backward into the mud, while a fierce old ram dashed with a triumphant +bleat for the open gate. Beelzebub, as the Turner mother had christened +the mischievous brute, had been placed in the wrong stall and Beelzebub +was making for freedom. He gave another triumphant baa as he swept +between Dolph's legs and through the gate, and, with an answering +chorus, the silly sheep sprang to their feet and followed. A sheep +hates water, but not more than he loves a leader, and Beelzebub feared +nothing. Straight for the water of the low ford the old conqueror made +and, in the wake of his masterful summons, the flock swept, like a +Mormon household, after him. Then was there a commotion indeed. Old +Joel shouted and swore; Dolph shouted and swore and Rube shouted and +swore. Old Dillon smiled grimly, Daws and little Tad shouted with +derisive laughter, and the big twins grinned. The mother came to the +door, broom in hand, and, with a frowning face, watched the sheep +splash through the water and into the woods across the river. Little +Melissa looked frightened. Whizzer, losing his head, had run down after +the sheep, barking and hastening their flight, until called back with a +mighty curse from old Joel, while Jack sat on his haunches looking at +Chad and waiting for orders. +</P> + +<P> +"Goddlemighty!" said Joel, "how air we goin' to git them sheep back?" +Up and up rose the bleating and baaing, for Beelzebub, like the prince +of devils that he was, seemed bent on making all the mischief possible. +</P> + +<P> +"How AIR we goin' to git 'em back?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad nodded then, and Jack with an eager yelp made for the +river—Whizzer at his heels. Again old Joel yelled furiously, as did +Dolph and Rube, and Whizzer stopped and turned back with a drooping +tail, but Jack plunged in. He knew but one voice behind him and Chad's +was not in the chorus. +</P> + +<P> +"Call yo' dawg back, boy," said Joel, sternly, and Chad opened his lips +with anything but a call for Jack to come back—it was instead a fine +high yell of encouragement and old Joel was speechless. +</P> + +<P> +"That dawg'll kill them sheep," said Daws Dillon aloud. +</P> + +<P> +Joel's face was red and his eyes rolled. +</P> + +<P> +"Call that damned feist back, I tell ye," he shouted at last. "Hyeh, +Rube, git my gun, git my gun!" +</P> + +<P> +Rube started for the house, but Chad laughed. Jack had reached the +other bank now, and was flashing like a ball of gray light through the +weeds and up into the woods; and Chad slipped down the bank and into +the river, hieing him on excitedly. +</P> + +<P> +Joel was beside himself and he, too, lumbered down to the river, +followed by Dolph, while the Dillons roared from the road. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy!" he roared. "Eh, boy, eh! what's his name, Dolph? Call him back, +Dolph, call the little devil back. If I don't wear him out with a +hickory; holler fer 'em, damn 'em! Heh-o-oo-ee!" The old hunter's +bellow rang through the woods like a dinner-horn. Dolph was shouting, +too, but Jack and Chad seemed to have gone stone-deaf; and Rube, who +had run down with the gun, started with an oath into the river himself, +but Joel halted him. +</P> + +<P> +"Hol'on, hol'on!" he said, listening. "By the eternal, he's a-roundin' +'em up!" The sheep were evidently much scattered, to judge from the +bleating, but here, there, and everywhere, they could hear Jack's bark, +while Chad seemed to have stopped in the woods and, from one place, was +shouting orders to his dog. Plainly, Jack was no sheep-killer and by +and by Dolph and Rube left off shouting, and old Joel's face became +placid and all of them from swearing helplessly fell to waiting +quietly. Soon the bleating became less and less, and began to +concentrate on the mountain-side. Not far below, they could hear Chad: +</P> + +<P> +"Coo-oo-sheep! Coo-oo-sh'p-cooshy-cooshy-coo-oo-sheep!" +</P> + +<P> +The sheep were answering. They were coming down a ravine, and Chad's +voice rang out above: +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody come across, an' stand on each side o' the holler." +</P> + +<P> +Dolph and Rube waded across then, and soon the sheep came crowding down +the narrow ravine with Jack barking behind them and Chad shooing them +down. But for Dolph and Rube, Beelzebub would have led them up or down +the river, and it was hard work to get him into the water until Jack, +who seemed to know what the matter was, sharply nipped several sheep +near him. These sprang violently forward, the whole flock in front +pushed forward, too, and Beelzebub was thrust from the bank. Nothing +else being possible, the old ram settled himself with a snort into the +water and made for the other shore. Chad and Jack followed and, when +they reached the road, Beelzebub was again a prisoner; the sheep, +swollen like sponges, were straggling down the river, and Dillons and +Turners were standing around in silence. Jack shook himself and dropped +panting in the dust at his master's feet, without so much as an upward +glance or a lift of his head for a pat of praise. As old Joel raised +one foot heavily to his stirrup, he grunted, quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I be damned." And when he was comfortably in his saddle he said +again, with unction: +</P> + +<P> +"I DO be damned. I'll just take that dawg to help drive them sheep down +to town. Come on, boy." +</P> + +<P> +Chad started joyfully, but the old mother called from the door: "Who's +a-goin' to take this gal to school, I'd like to know?" +</P> + +<P> +Old Joel pulled in his horse, straightened one leg, and looked all +around—first at the Dillons, who had started away, then at Dolph and +Rube, who were moving determinedly after the sheep (it was Court Day in +town and they could not miss Court Day), and then at Chad, who halted. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," he said, "don't you want to go to school—you ought to go to +school?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Chad, obediently, though the trip to town—and Chad had +never been to a town—was a sore temptation. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on, then, an' tell the teacher I sent ye. Here, Mammy—eh, what's +yo' name, boy? Oh, Mammy—Chad, here 'll take her. Take good keer o' +that gal, boy, an' learn yo' a-b-abs like a man now." +</P> + +<P> +Melissa came shyly forward from the door and Joel whistled to Jack and +called him, but Jack though he liked nothing better than to drive sheep +lay still, looking at Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Go 'long, Jack," said Chad, and Jack sprang up and was off, though he +stopped again and looked back, and Chad had to tell him again to go on. +In a moment dog, men, and sheep were moving in a cloud of dust around a +bend in the road and little Melissa was at the gate. +</P> + +<P> +"Take good keer of 'Lissy," said the mother from the porch, kindly; and +Chad, curiously touched all at once by the trust shown him, stalked +ahead like a little savage, while Melissa with her basket followed +silently behind. The boy never thought of taking the basket himself: +that is not the way of men with women in the hills and not once did he +look around or speak on the way up the river and past the blacksmith's +shop and the grist-mill just beyond the mouth of Kingdom Come; but when +they arrived at the log school-house it was his turn to be shy and he +hung back to let Melissa go in first. Within, there was no floor but +the bare earth, no window but the cracks between the logs, and no desks +but the flat sides of slabs, held up by wobbling pegs. On one side were +girls in linsey and homespun: some thin, undersized, underfed, and with +weak, dispirited eyes and yellow tousled hair; others, round-faced, +round-eyed, dark, and sturdy; most of them large-waisted and +round-shouldered—especially the older ones—from work in the fields; +but, now and then, one like Melissa, the daughter of a valley farmer, +erect, agile, spirited, intelligent. On the other side were the boys, +in physical characteristics the same and suggesting the same social +divisions: at the top the farmer—now and then a slave-holder and +perhaps of gentle blood—who had dropped by the way on the westward +march of civilization and had cleared some rich river bottom and a +neighboring summit of the mountains, where he sent his sheep and cattle +to graze; where a creek opened into this valley some free-settler, +whose grandfather had fought at King's Mountain—usually of +Scotch-Irish descent, often English, but sometimes German or sometimes +even Huguenot—would have his rude home of logs; under him, and in +wretched cabins at the head of the creek or on the washed spur of the +mountain above, or in some "deadenin"' still higher up and swept by +mists and low-trailing clouds, the poor white trash—worthless +descendants of the servile and sometimes criminal class who might have +traced their origin back to the slums of London; hand-to-mouth tenants +of the valley-aristocrat, hewers of wood for him in the lowlands and +upland guardians of his cattle and sheep. And finally, walking up and +down the earth floor—stern and smooth of face and of a preternatural +dignity hardly to be found elsewhere—the mountain school-master. +</P> + +<P> +It was a "blab school," as the mountaineers characterize a school in +which the pupils study aloud, and the droning chorus as shrill as +locust cries ceased suddenly when Chad came in, and every eye was +turned on him with a sexless gaze of curiosity that made his face +redden and his heart throb. But he forgot them when the school-master +pierced him with eyes that seemed to shoot from under his heavy brows +like a strong light from deep darkness. Chad met them, nor did his chin +droop, and Caleb Hazel saw that the boy's face was frank and honest, +and that his eye was fearless and kind, and, without question, he +motioned to a seat—with one wave of his hand setting Chad on the +corner of a slab and the studious drone to vibrating again. When the +boy ventured to glance around, he saw Daws Dillon in one corner, making +a face at him, and little Tad scowling from behind a book: and on the +other side, among the girls, he saw another hostile face—next little +Melissa which had the pointed chin and the narrow eyes of the "Dillon +breed," as old Joel called the family, whose farm was at the mouth of +Kingdom Come and whose boundary touched his own. When the first morning +recess came, "little recess," as it was called—the master kept Chad in +and asked him his name; if he had ever been to school, and whether he +knew his A B C's; and he showed no surprise when Chad, without shame, +told him no. So the master got Melissa's spelling-book and pointed out +the first seven letters of the alphabet, and made Chad repeat them +three times—watching the boy's earnest, wrinkling brow closely and +with growing interest. When school "took up" again, Chad was told to +say them aloud in concert with the others—which he did, until he could +repeat them without looking at his book, and the master saw him thus +saying them while his eyes roved around the room, and he nodded to +himself with satisfaction—for he was accustomed to visible communion +with himself, in school and out. At noon—"big recess" Melissa gave +Chad some corn-bread and bacon, and the boys gathered around him, while +the girls looked at him curiously, merely because he was a stranger, +and some of them—especially the Dillon girl—whispered, and Chad +blushed and was uncomfortable, for once the Dillon girl laughed +unkindly. The boys had no games, but they jumped and threw "rocks" with +great accuracy at a little birch-tree, and Daws and Tad always spat on +their stones and pointed with the forefinger of the left hand first at +what they were going to throw at, while Chad sat to one side and took +no part, though he longed to show them what he could do. By and by they +fell to wrestling, and finally Tad bantered him for a trial. Chad +hesitated, and his late enemy misunderstood. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll give ye both underholts agin," he said, loftily, "you're afeerd!" +</P> + +<P> +This was too much, and Chad sprang to his feet and grappled, disdaining +the proffered advantage, and got hurled to the ground, his head +striking the earth violently, and making him so dizzy that the brave +smile with which he took his fall looked rather sickly and pathetic. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, an' Whizzer can whoop yo' dawg, too," said Tad, and Chad saw that +he was going to have trouble with those Dillons, for Daws winked at the +other boys, and the Dillon girl laughed again scornfully—at which Chad +saw Melissa's eyes flash and her hands clinch as, quite unconsciously, +she moved toward him to take his part; and all at once he was glad that +he had nobody else to champion him. +</P> + +<P> +"You wouldn' dare tech him if one of my brothers was here," she said, +indignantly, "an' don t you dare tech him again, Tad Dillon. An' you—" +she said, witheringly, "you—" she repeated and stopped helpless for +the want of words but her eyes spoke with the fierce authority of the +Turner clan, and its dominant power for half a century, and Nancy +Dillon shrank, though she turned and made a spiteful face, when Melissa +walked toward the school-house alone. +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon was the longest of Chad's life—it seemed as though it +would never come to an end; for Chad had never sat so still for so +long. His throat got dry repeating the dreary round of letters over and +over and his head ached and he fidgeted in his chair while the slow +hours passed and the sun went down behind the mountain and left the +school-house in rapidly cooling shadow. His heart leaped when the last +class was heard and the signal was given that meant freedom for the +little prisoners; but Melissa sat pouting in her seat—she had missed +her lesson and must be kept in for a while. So Chad, too, kept his seat +and the master heard him say his letters, without the book, and nodded +his head as though to say to himself that such quickness was exactly +what he had looked for. By the time Chad had learned down to the letter +O, Melissa was ready, for she was quick, too, and it was her anger that +made her miss—and the two started home, Chad stalking ahead once more. +To save him, he could not say a word of thanks, but how he wished that +a bear or a wild-cat would spring into the road! He would fight it with +teeth and naked hands to show her how he felt and to save her from harm. +</P> + +<P> +The sunlight still lay warm and yellow far under the crest of Pine +Mountain, and they had not gone far when Caleb Hazel overtook them and +with long strides forged ahead. The school-master "boarded around" and +it was his week with the Turners, and Chad was glad, for he already +loved the tall, gaunt, awkward man who asked him question after +question so kindly—loved him as much as he revered and feared him—and +the boy's artless, sturdy answers in turn pleased Caleb Hazel. And when +Chad told who had given him Jack, the master began to talk about the +faraway, curious country of which the cattle-dealer had told Chad so +much: where the land was level and there were no mountains at all; +where on one farm might be more sheep, cattle, and slaves than Chad had +seen in all his life; where the people lived in big houses of stone and +brick—what brick was Chad could not imagine—and rode along hard, +white roads in shiny covered wagons, with two "niggers" on a high seat +in front and one little "nigger" behind to open gates, and were proud +and very high-heeled indeed; where there were towns that had more +people than a whole county in the mountains, with rock roads running +through them in every direction and narrow rock paths along these +roads—like rows of hearth-stones—for the people to walk on—the land +of the bluegrass—the "settlemints of old Kaintuck." +</P> + +<P> +And there were churches everywhere as tall as trees and school-houses +a-plenty; and big schools, called colleges, to which the boys went when +they were through with the little schools. The master had gone to one +of these colleges for a year, and he was trying to make enough money to +go again. And Chad must go some day, too; there was no reason why he +shouldn't, since any boy could do anything he pleased if he only made +up his mind and worked hard and never gave up. The master was an +orphan, too, he said with a slow smile; he had been an orphan for a +long while, and indeed the lonely struggle of his own boyhood was what +was helping to draw him to Chad. This college, he said, was a huge +brown house as big as a cliff that the master pointed out, that, gray +and solemn, towered high above the river; and with a rock porch bigger +than a great bowlder that hung just under the cliff, with twenty long, +long stone steps to climb before one came to the big double front door. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you git thar?" Chad asked so breathlessly that Melissa looked +quickly up with a sudden foreboding that she might lose her little +playfellow some day. The master had walked, and it took him a week. A +good horse could make the trip in four days, and the river-men floated +logs down the river to the capital in eight or ten days, according to +the "tide." "When did they go?" In the spring, when the 'tides' came. +"The Turners went down, didn't they, Melissa?" And Melissa said that +her brother Tom had made one trip, and that Dolph and Rube were "might' +nigh crazy" to go that coming spring; and, thereupon, a mighty +resolution filled Chad's heart to the brim and steadied his eyes, but +he did not open his lips then. +</P> + +<P> +Dusk was settling when the Turner cabin came in sight. None of the +men-folks had come home yet, and the mother was worried; there was wood +to cut and the cows to milk, and Chad's friend, old Betsey the brindle, +had strayed off again; but she was glad to see Caleb Hazel, who, +without a word, went out to the wood-pile, took off his coat, and swung +the axe with mighty arms, while Chad carried in the wood and piled it +in the kitchen and then the two went after the old brindle together. +</P> + +<P> +When they got back there was a great tumult at the cabin. Tom had +brought some friends from over the mountain, and had told the neighbors +as he came along that there was going to be a party at his house that +night. +</P> + +<P> +So there was a great bustle about the barn where Rube was getting the +stock fed and the milking done; and around the kitchen, where Dolph was +cutting more wood and piling it up at the door. Inside, the mother was +hurrying up supper with Sintha, an older daughter, who had just come +home from a visit, and Melissa helping her, while old Joel sat by the +fire in the sleeping-room and smoked, with Jack lying on the hearth, or +anywhere he pleased, for Jack, with his gentle ways, was winning the +household one by one. He sprang up when he heard Chad's voice, and flew +at him, jumping up and pawing him affectionately and licking his face +while Chad hugged him and talked to him as though he were human and a +brother; never before had the two been separated for a day. So, while +the master helped Rube at the barn and Chad helped Dolph at the +wood-pile, Jack hung about his master—tired and hungry as he was and +much as he wanted to be by the fire or waiting in the kitchen for a sly +bit from Melissa, whom he knew at once as the best of his new friends. +</P> + +<P> +After supper, Dolph got out his banjo and played "Shady Grove," and +"Blind Coon Dog," and "Sugar Hill," and "Gamblin' Man," while Chad's +eyes glistened and his feet shuffled under his chair. And when Dolph +put the rude thing down on the bed and went into the kitchen, Chad +edged toward it and, while old Joel was bragging about Jack to the +school-master, he took hold of it with trembling fingers and touched +the strings timidly. Then he looked around cautiously: nobody was +paying any attention to him and he took it up into his lap and began to +pick, ever so softly. Nobody saw him but Melissa, who slipped quietly +to the back of the room and drew near him. Softly and swiftly Chad's +fingers worked and Melissa could scarcely hear the sound of the banjo +under her father's loud voice, but she could make out that he was +playing a tune that still vibrates unceasingly from the Pennsylvania +border to the pine-covered hills of Georgia—"Sourwood Mountain." +Melissa held her breath while she listened—Dolph could not play like +that—and by and by she slipped quietly to her father and pulled his +sleeve and pointed to Chad. Old Joel stopped talking, but Chad never +noticed; his head was bent over the neck of the banjo, his body was +swaying rhythmically, his chubby fingers were going like lightning, and +his eyes were closed—the boy was fairly lost to the world. The tune +came out in the sudden silence, clean-cut and swinging: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedle-dahdee-dee!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +rang the strings and old Joel's eyes danced. +</P> + +<P> +"Sing it, boy!" he roared, "sing it!" And Chad sprang from the bed, on +fire with confusion and twisting his fingers helplessly. He looked +almost frightened when Dolph ran back into the room and cried: +</P> + +<P> +"Who was that a-pickin' that banjer?" +</P> + +<P> +It was not often that Dolph showed such excitement, but he had good +cause, and, when he saw Chad standing, shamefaced and bashful, in the +middle of the floor, and Melissa joyously pointing her finger at him, +he caught up the banjo from the bed and put it into the boy's hands. +"Here, you just play that tune agin!" +</P> + +<P> +Chad shrank back, half distressed and half happy, and only a hail +outside from the first of the coming guests saved him from utter +confusion. Once started, they came swiftly, and in half an hour all +were there. Each got a hearty welcome from old Joel, who, with a wink +and a laugh and a nod to the old mother, gave a hearty squeeze to some +buxom girl, while the fire roared a heartier welcome still. Then was +there a dance indeed—no soft swish of lace and muslin, but the active +swing of linsey and simple homespun; no French fiddler's bows and +scrapings, no intricate lancers, no languid waltz; but neat shuffling +forward and back, with every note of the music beat; floor-thumping +"cuttings of the pigeon's wing," and jolly jigs, two by two, and a +great "swinging of corners," and "caging the bird," and "fust lady to +the right CHEAT an' swing"; no flirting from behind fans and under +stairways and little nooks, but honest, open courtship—strong arms +about healthy waists, and a kiss taken now and then, with everybody to +see and nobody to care who saw. If a chair was lacking, a pair of +brawny knees made one chair serve for two, but never, if you please, +for two men. Rude, rough, semi-barbarous, if you will, but simple, +natural, honest, sane, earthy—and of the earth whence springs the oak +and in time, maybe, the flower of civilization. +</P> + +<P> +At the first pause in the dance, old Joel called loudly for Chad. The +boy tried to slip out of the door, but Dolph seized him and pulled him +to a chair in the corner and put the banjo in his hands. Everybody +looked on with curiosity at first, and for a little while Chad +suffered; but when the dance turned attention from him, he forgot +himself again and made the old thing hum with all the rousing tunes +that had ever swept its string. When he stopped at last, to wipe the +perspiration from his face, he noticed for the first time the +school-master, who was yet divided between the church and the law, +standing at the door, silent, grave, disapproving. And he was not alone +in his condemnation; in many a cabin up and down the river, stern talk +was going on against the ungodly 'carryings on,' under the Turner roof, +and, far from accepting them as proofs of a better birth and broader +social ideas, these Calvinists of the hills set the merry-makers down +as the special prey of the devil, and the dance and the banjo as sly +plots of the same to draw their souls to hell. +</P> + +<P> +Chad felt the master's look, and he did not begin playing again, but +put the banjo down by his chair and the dance came to an end. Once more +Chad saw the master look, this time at Sintha, who was leaning against +the wall with a sturdy youth in a fringed hunting-shirt bending over +her—his elbow against a log directly over her shoulder, Sintha saw the +look, too, and she answered with a little toss of her head, but when +Caleb Hazel turned to go out the door, Chad saw that the girl's eyes +followed him. A little later, Chad went out too, and found the master +at the corner of the fence and looking at a low red star whose rich, +peaceful light came through a gap in the hills. Chad shyly drew near +him, hoping in some way to get a kindly word, but the master was so +absorbed that he did not see or hear the boy and Chad, awed by the +stern, solemn face, withdrew and, without a word to anybody, climbed +into the loft and went to bed. He could hear every stroke on the floor +below, every call of the prompter, and the rude laughter and banter, +but he gave little heed to it all. For he lay thinking of Caleb Hazel +and listening again to the stories he and the cattle-dealer had told +him about the wonderful settlements. "God's Country," the dealer always +called it, and such it must be, if what he and the master said was +true. By and by the steady beat of feet under him, the swift notes of +the banjo, the calls of the prompter and the laughter fused, became +inarticulate, distant—ceased. And Chad, as he was wont to do, +journeyed on to "God's Country" in his dreams. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 4. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE COMING OF THE TIDE +</H3> + +<P> +While the corn grew, school went on and, like the corn, Chad's +schooling put forth leaves and bore fruit rapidly. The boy's mind was +as clear as his eye and, like a mountain-pool, gave back every image +that passed before it. Not a word dropped from the master's lips that +he failed to hear and couldn't repeat, and, in a month, he had put +Dolph and Rube, who, big as they were, had little more than learned the +alphabet, to open shame; and he won immunity with his fists from gibe +and insult from every boy within his inches in school—including Tad +Dillon, who came in time to know that it was good to let the boy alone. +He worked like a little slave about the house, and, like Jack, won his +way into the hearts of old Joel and his wife, and even of Dolph and +Rube, in spite of their soreness over Chad's having spelled them both +down before the whole school. As for Tall Tom, he took as much pride as +the school-master in the boy, and in town, at the grist-mill, the +cross-roads, or blacksmith shop, never failed to tell the story of the +dog and the boy, whenever there was a soul to listen. And as for +Melissa, while she ruled him like a queen and Chad paid sturdy and +uncomplaining homage, she would have scratched out the eyes of one of +her own brothers had he dared to lay a finger on the boy. For Chad had +God's own gift—to win love from all but enemies and nothing but +respect and fear from them. Every morning, soon after daybreak, he +stalked ahead of the little girl to school, with Dolph and Rube +lounging along behind, and, an hour before sunset, stalked back in the +same way home again. When not at school, the two fished and played +together—inseparable. +</P> + +<P> +Corn was ripe now, and school closed and Chad went with the men into +the fields and did his part, stripping the gray blades from the yellow +stalks, binding them into sheaves, stowing them away under the low roof +of the big barn, or stacking them tent-like in the fields—leaving each +ear perched like a big roosting bird on each lone stalk. And when the +autumn came, there were husking parties and dances and much merriment; +and, night after night, Chad saw Sintha and the school-master in front +of the fire—"settin' up"—close together with their arms about each +other's necks and whispering. And there were quilting parties and +housewarmings and house-raisings—one that was of great importance to +Caleb Hazel and to Chad. For, one morning, Sintha disappeared and came +back with the tall young hunter in the deerskin leggings—blushing +furiously—a bride. At once old Joel gave them some cleared land at the +head of a creek; the neighbors came in to build them a cabin, and among +them all, none worked harder than the school-master; and no one but +Chad guessed how sorely hit he was. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, the woods high and low were ringing with the mellow echoes +of axes, and the thundering crash of big trees along the mountain-side; +for already the hillsmen were felling trees while the sap was in the +roots, so that they could lie all winter, dry better and float better +in the spring, when the rafts were taken down the river to the little +capital in the Bluegrass. And Caleb Hazel said that he would go down on +a raft in the spring and perhaps Chad could go with him who knew? For +the school-master had now made up his mind finally—he would go out +into the world and make his way out there; and nobody but Chad noticed +that his decision came only after, and only a little while after, the +house-raising at the head of the creek. +</P> + +<P> +When winter came, school opened again, and on Saturdays and Sundays and +cold snowy nights, Chad and the school-master—for he too lived at the +Turners' now—sat before the fire in the kitchen, and the school-master +read to him from "Ivanhoe" and "The Talisman," which he had brought +from the Bluegrass, and from the Bible which had been his own since he +was a child. And the boy drank in the tales until he was drunk with +them and learned the conscious scorn of a lie, the conscious love of +truth and pride in courage, and the conscious reverence for women that +make the essence of chivalry as distinguished from the unthinking code +of brave, simple people. He adopted the master's dignified phraseology +as best he could; he watched him, as the master stood before the fire +with his hands under his coat-tails, his chin raised, and his eyes +dreamily upward, and Tall Tom caught the boy in just this attitude one +day and made fun of him before all the others. He tried some +high-sounding phrases on Melissa, and Melissa told him he must be +crazy. Once, even, he tried to kiss her hand gallantly and she slapped +his face. Undaunted, he made a lance of white ash, threaded some loose +yarn into Melissa's colors, as he told himself, sneaked into the barn, +where Beelzebub was tied, got on the sheep's back and, as the old ram +sprang forward, couched his lance at the trough and shattered it with a +thrill that left him trembling for half an hour. It was too good to +give up that secret joust and he made another lance and essayed another +tournament, but this time Beelzebub butted the door open and sprang +with a loud ba-a-a into the yard and charged for the gate—in full view +of old Joel, the three brothers, and the school-master, who were +standing in the road. Instinctively, Chad swung on in spite of the roar +of laughter and astonishment that greeted him and, as Tom banged the +gate, the ram swerved and Chad shot off sidewise as from a catapult and +dropped, a most unheroic little knight, in the mire. That ended Chad's +chivalry in the hills, for in the roars of laughter that greeted him, +Chad recognized Caleb Hazel's as the loudest. If HE laughed, chivalry +could never thrive there, and Chad gave it up; but the seeds were sown. +</P> + +<P> +The winter passed, and what a time Chad and Jack had, snaking logs out +of the mountains with two, four, six—yes, even eight yoke of oxen, +when the log was the heart of a monarch oak or poplar—snaking them to +the chute; watching them roll and whirl and leap like jack-straws from +end to end down the steep incline and, with one last shoot in the air, +roll, shaking, quivering, into a mighty heap on the bank of Kingdom +Come. And then the "rafting" of those logs—dragging them into the pool +of the creek, lashing them together with saplings driven to the logs +with wooden pins in auger-holes—wading about, meanwhile, waist deep in +the cold water: and the final lashing of the raft to a near-by tree +with a grape-vine cable—to await the coming of a "tide." +</P> + +<P> +Would that tide never come? It seemed not. The spring ploughing was +over, the corn planted; there had been rain after rain, but gentle +rains only. There had been prayers for rain: +</P> + +<P> +"O Lord," said the circuit-rider, "we do not presume to dictate to +Thee, but we need rain, an' need it mighty bad. We do not presume to +dictate, but, if it pleases Thee, send us, not a gentle sizzle-sizzle, +but a sod-soaker, O Lord, a gullywasher. Give us a tide, O Lord!" +Sunrise and sunset, old Joel turned his eye to the east and the west +and shook his head. Tall Tom did the same, and Dolph and Rube studied +the heavens for a sign. The school-master grew visibly impatient and +Chad was in a fever of restless expectancy. The old mother had made him +a suit of clothes—mountain-clothes—for the trip. Old Joel gave him a +five-dollar bill for his winter's work. Even Jack seemed to know that +something unusual was on hand and hung closer about the house, for fear +he might be left behind. +</P> + +<P> +Softly at last, one night, came the patter of little feet on the roof +and passed—came again and paused; and then there was a rush and a +steady roar that wakened Chad and thrilled him as he lay listening. It +did not last long, but the river was muddy enough and high enough for +the Turner brothers to float the raft slowly out from the mouth of +Kingdom Come and down in front of the house, where it was anchored to a +huge sycamore in plain sight. At noon the clouds gathered and old Joel +gave up his trip to town. +</P> + +<P> +"Hit'll begin in about an hour, boys," he said, and in an hour it did +begin. There was to be no doubt about this flood. At dusk, the river +had risen two feet and the raft was pulling at its cable like an +awakening sea-monster. Meanwhile, the mother had cooked a great pone of +corn-bread, three feet in diameter, and had ground coffee and got sides +of bacon ready. All night it poured and the dawn came clear, only to +darken into gray again. But the river—the river! The roar of it filled +the woods. The frothing hem of it swished through the tops of the trees +and through the underbrush, high on the mountain-side. Arched slightly +in the middle, for the river was still rising, it leaped and surged, +tossing tawny mane and fleck and foam as it thundered along—a mad, +molten mass of yellow struck into gold by the light of the sun. And +there the raft, no longer the awkward monster it was the day before, +floated like a lily-pad, straining at the cable as lightly as a +greyhound leaping against its leash. +</P> + +<P> +The neighbors were gathered to watch the departure—old Jerry Budd, +blacksmith and "yarb doctor," and his folks; the Cultons and +Middletons, and even the Dillons—little Tad and Whizzer—and all. And +a bright picture of Arcadia the simple folk made, the men in homespun +and the women with their brilliant shawls, as they stood on the bank +laughing, calling to one another, and jesting like children. All were +aboard now and there was no kissing nor shaking hands in the farewell. +The good old mother stood on the bank, with Melissa holding to her +apron and looking at Chad gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"Take good keer o' yo'self, Chad," she said kindly, and then she looked +down at the little girl. "He's a-comin' back, honey—Chad's a-comin' +back." And Chad nodded brightly, but Melissa drew her apron across her +mouth, dropped her eyes to the old rifle in the boy's lap, and did not +smile. +</P> + +<P> +All were aboard now—Dolph and Rube, old Squire Middleton, and the +school-master, all except Tall Tom, who stood by the tree to unwind the +cable. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on!" shouted the Squire. +</P> + +<P> +A raft shot suddenly around the bend above them and swept past with the +Dillon brothers Jake and Jerry, nephews of old Tad Dillon, at bow and +stern—passed with a sullen wave from Jerry and a good-natured smile +from stupid Jake. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," Tom shouted, and he unwound the great brown pliant vine +from the sycamore and leaped aboard. Just then there was a mad howl +behind the house and a gray streak of light flashed over the bank and +Jack, with a wisp of rope around his neck, sprang through the air from +a rock ten feet high and landed lightly on the last log as the raft +shot forward. Chad gulped once and his heart leaped with joy, for he +had agreed to leave Jack with old Joel, and old Joel had tied the dog +in the barn. +</P> + +<P> +"Hi!" shouted the old hunter. "Throw that dawg off, Chad—throw him +off." +</P> + +<P> +But Chad shook his head and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"He won't go back," he shouted, and, indeed, there was Jack squatted on +his haunches close by his little master and looking gravely back as +though he were looking a last good-by. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Hi there!" shouted old Joel again. "How am I goin to git along without +that dawg? Throw him off, Boy—throw him off, I tell ye!" Chad seized +the dog by the shoulders, but Jack braced himself and, like a child, +looked up in his master's face. Chad let go and shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +A frantic yell from Tall Tom at the bow oar drew every eye to him. The +current was stronger than anyone guessed and the raft was being swept +by an eddy straight for the point of the opposite shore where there was +a sharp turn in the river. +</P> + +<P> +"Watch out thar," shouted old Joel, "you're goin to 'bow'!" Dolph and +Rube were slashing the stern oar forward and back through the swift +water, but straight the huge craft made for that deadly point. Every +man had hold of an oar and was tussling in silence for life. Every man +on shore was yelling directions and warning, while the women shrank +back with frightened faces. Chad scarcely knew what the matter was, but +he gripped his rifle and squeezed Jack closer to him. He heard Tom roar +a last warning as the craft struck, quivered a moment, and the stern +swept around. The craft had "bowed." +</P> + +<P> +"Watch out—jump, boys, jump! Watch when she humps! Watch yo' legs!" +These were the cries from the shore, and still Chad did not understand. +He saw Tom leap from the bow, and, as the stern swung to the other +shore, Dolph, too, leaped. Then the stern struck. The raft humped in +the middle like a bucking horse—the logs ground savagely together. +Chad heard a cry of pain from Jack and saw the dog fly up in the air +and drop in the water. He and his gun had gone up, too, but he came +back on the raft with one leg in between two logs and he drew it up in +time to keep the limb from being smashed to a pulp as the logs crashed +together again, but not quickly enough to save the foot from a painful +squeeze. Then he saw Tom and Dolph leap back again, the raft whirled on +and steadied in its course, and behind him he saw Jack swimming feebly +for the shore—fighting the waves for his life, for the dog was hurt. +Twice he turned his eyes despairingly toward Chad, and the boy would +have leaped in the water to save him if Tom had not caught him by the +arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him to git to shore," he said quickly, and Chad motioned, when +Jack looked again, and the dog obediently made for land. Old Joel was +calling tenderly: +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, Jack; come on, ole feller!" +</P> + +<P> +Chad watched with a thumping heart. Once Jack went under, but gave no +sound. Again he disappeared, and when he came up he gave a cry for +help, but when he heard Chad's answering cry he fought on stroke by +stroke until Chad saw old Joel reach out from the bushes and pull him +in. And Chad could see that one of his hind legs hung limp. Then the +raft swung around the curve out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +Behind, the whole crowd rushed down to the water's edge. Jack tried to +get away from old Joel and scramble after Chad on his broken leg, but +old Joel held him, soothing him, and carried him back to the house, +where the old "yarb doctor" put splints on the leg and bound it up +tightly, just as though it had been the leg of a child. Melissa was +crying and the old man put his hand on her head. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll be all right, honey. That leg'll be as good as the other one in +two or three weeks. It's all right, little gal." +</P> + +<P> +Melissa stopped weeping with a sudden gulp. But when Jack was lying in +the kitchen by the fire alone, she slipped in and put her arm around +the dog's head, and, when Jack began to lick her face, she bent her own +head down and sobbed. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 5. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OUT OF THE WILDERNESS +</H3> + +<P> +On the way to God's Country at last! Already Chad had schooled himself +for the parting with Jack, and but for this he must—little man that he +was—have burst into tears. As it was, the lump in his throat stayed +there a long while, but it passed in the excitement of that mad race +down the river. The old Squire had never known such a tide. +</P> + +<P> +"Boys," he said, gleefully, "we're goin' to make a REcord on this +trip—you jus' see if we don't. That is, if we ever git thar alive." +</P> + +<P> +All the time the old man stood in the middle of the raft yelling +orders. Ahead was the Dillon raft, and the twin brothers—the giants, +one mild, the other sour-faced—were gesticulating angrily at each +other from bow and stern. As usual, they were quarrelling. On the +Turner raft, Dolph was at the bow, the school-master at the stern, +while Rube—who was cook—and Chad, in spite of a stinging pain in one +foot, built an oven of stones, where coffee could be boiled and bacon +broiled, and started a fire, for the air was chill on the river, +especially when they were running between the hills and no sun could +strike them. +</P> + +<P> +When the fire blazed up, Chad sat by it watching Tall Tom and the +school-master at the stern oar and Rube at the bow. When the turn was +sharp, how they lashed the huge white blades through the yellow +water—with the handle across their broad chests, catching with their +toes in the little notches that had been chipped along the logs and +tossing the oars down and up with a mighty swing that made the blades +quiver and bend like the tops of pliant saplings! Then, on a run, they +would rush back to start the stroke again, while the old Squire yelled: +</P> + +<P> +"Hit her up thar now—easy—easy! NOW! Hit her up! Hit her up—NOW!" +</P> + +<P> +Now they passed between upright, wooded, gray mountain-sides, threaded +with faint lines of the coming green; now between gray walls of rock +streaked white with water-falls, and now past narrow little valleys +which were just beginning to sprout with corn. At the mouth of the +creeks they saw other rafts making ready and, now and then, a raft +would shoot out in the river from some creek ahead or behind them. In +an hour, they struck a smooth run of several hundred yards where the +men at the oars could sit still and rest, while the raft shot lightly +forward in the middle of the stream; and down the river they could see +the big Dillons making the next sharp turn and, even that far away, +they could hear Jerry yelling and swearing at his patient brother. +</P> + +<P> +"Some o' these days," said the old Squire, "that fool Jake's a-goin' to +pick up somethin' an' knock that mean Jerry's head off. I wonder he +hain't done it afore. Hit's funny how brothers can hate when they do +git to hatin'." +</P> + +<P> +That night, they tied up at Jackson—to be famous long after the war as +the seat of a bitter mountain-feud. At noon the next day, they struck +"the Nahrrers" (Narrows), where the river ran like a torrent between +high steep walls of rock, and where the men stood to the oars +watchfully and the old squire stood upright, watching every movement of +the raft; for "bowing" there would have meant destruction to the raft +and the death of them all. That night they were in Beattyville, whence +they floated next day, along lower hills and, now and then, past a +broad valley. Once Chad looked at the school-master—he wondered if +they were approaching the Bluegrass—but Caleb Hazel smiled and shook +his head. And had Chad waited another half hour, he would not have +asked the question, even with his eyes, for they swept between high +cliffs again—higher than he had yet seen. +</P> + +<P> +That night they ran from dark to dawn, for the river was broader and a +brilliant moon was high; and, all night, Chad could hear the swish of +the oars, as they floated in mysterious silence past the trees and the +hills and the moonlit cliffs, and he lay on his back, looking up at the +moon and the stars, and thinking about the land to which he was going +and of Jack back in the land he had left; and of little Melissa. She +had behaved very strangely during the last few days before the boy had +left. She had not been sharp with him, even in play. She had been very +quiet—indeed, she scarcely spoke a word to him, but she did little +things for him that she had never done before, and she was unusually +kind to Jack. Once, Chad found her crying behind the barn, and then she +was very sharp with him, and told him to go away and cried more than +ever. Her little face looked very white, as she stood on the bank, and, +somehow, Chad saw it all that night in the river and among the trees +and up among the stars, but he little knew what it all meant to him or +to her. He thought of the Turners back at home, and he could see them +sitting around the big fire—Joel with his pipe, the old mother +spinning flax, Jack asleep on the hearth, and Melissa's big solemn eyes +shining from the dark corner where she lay wide-awake in bed and, when +he went to sleep, her eyes followed him in his dreams. +</P> + +<P> +When he awoke, the day was just glimmering over the hills, and the +chill air made him shiver, as he built up the fire and began to get +breakfast ready. At noon, that day, though the cliffs were still high, +the raft swung out into a broader current, where the water ran smoothly +and, once, the hills parted and, looking past a log-cabin on the bank +of the river, Chad saw a stone house—relic of pioneer days—and, +farther out, through a gap in the hills, a huge house with great +pillars around it and, on the hill-side, many sheep and fat cattle and +a great barn. There dwelt one of the lords of the Bluegrass land, and +again Chad looked to the school-master and, this time, the +school-master smiled and nodded as though to say: +</P> + +<P> +"We're getting close now, Chad." So Chad rose to his feet thrilled, and +watched the scene until the hills shut it off again. One more night and +one more dawn, and, before the sun rose, the hills had grown smaller +and smaller and the glimpses between them more frequent and, at last, +far down the river, Chad saw a column of smoke and all the men on the +raft took off their hats and shouted. The end of the trip was near, for +that black column meant the capital! +</P> + +<P> +Chad trembled on his feet and his heart rose into his throat, while +Caleb Hazel seemed hardly less moved. His hat was off and he stood +motionless, with his face uplifted, and his grave eyes fastened on that +dark column as though it rose from the pillar of fire that was leading +him to some promised land. +</P> + +<P> +As they rounded the next curve, some monster swept out of the low hills +on the right, with a shriek that startled the boy almost into terror +and, with a mighty puffing and rumbling, shot out of sight again. The +school-master shouted to Chad, and the Turner brothers grinned at him +delightedly: +</P> + +<P> +"Steam-cars!" they cried, and Chad nodded back gravely, trying to hold +in his wonder. +</P> + +<P> +Sweeping around the next curve, another monster hove in sight with the +same puffing and a long "h-o-o-ot!" A monster on the river and moving +up stream steadily, with no oar and no man in sight, and the Turners +and the school-master shouted again. Chad's eyes grew big with wonder +and he ran forward to see the rickety little steamboat approach and, +with wide eyes, devoured it, as it wheezed and labored up-stream past +them—watched the thundering stern-wheel threshing the water into a +wake of foam far behind it and flashing its blades, water-dripping in +the sun—watched it till it puffed and wheezed and labored on out of +sight. Great Heavens! to think that he—Chad—was seeing all that! +</P> + +<P> +About the next bend, more but thinner columns of smoke were visible. +Soon the very hills over the capital could be seen, with little green +wheat-fields dotting them and, as the raft drew a little closer, Chad +could see houses on the hills—more strange houses of wood and stone, +and porches, and queer towers on them from which glistened shining +points. +</P> + +<P> +"What's them?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Lightnin'-rods," said Tom, and Chad understood, for the school-master +had told him about them back in the mountains. Was there anything that +Caleb Hazel had not told him? The haze over the town was now visible, +and soon they swept past tall chimneys puffing out smoke, great +warehouses covered on the outside with weather-brown tin, and, straight +ahead—Heavens, what a bridge!—arching clear over the river and +covered like a house, from which people were looking down on them as +they swept under. There were the houses, in two rows on the streets, +jammed up against each other and without any yards. And people! Where +had so many people come from? Close to the river and beyond the bridge +was another great mansion, with tall pillars, about it was a green +yard, as smooth as a floor, and negroes and children were standing on +the outskirting stone wall and looking down at them as they floated by. +And another great house still, and a big garden with little paths +running through it and more patches of that strange green grass. Was +that bluegrass? It was, but it didn't look blue and it didn't look like +any other grass Chad had ever seen. Below this bridge was another +bridge, but not so high, and, while Chad looked, another black monster +on wheels went crashing over it. +</P> + +<P> +Tom and the school-master were working the raft slowly to the shore +now, and, a little farther down, Chad could see more rafts tied +up—rafts, rafts, nothing but rafts on the river, everywhere! Up the +bank a mighty buzzing was going on, amid a cloud of dust, and little +cars with logs on them were shooting about amid the gleamings of many +saws, and, now and then, a log would leap from the river and start up +toward that dust-cloud with two glistening iron teeth sunk in one end +and a long iron chain stretching up along a groove built of boards—and +Heaven only knew what was pulling it up. On the bank was a stout, +jolly-looking man, whose red, kind face looked familiar to Chad, as he +ran down shouting a welcome to the Squire. Then the raft slipped along +another raft, Tom sprang aboard it with the grape-vine cable, and the +school-master leaped aboard with another cable from the stern. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, boy," cried the stout man. "Where's yo' dog?" Then Chad +recognized him, for he was none other than the cattle-dealer who had +given him Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"I left him at home." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he all right?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'd like to have him back again." +</P> + +<P> +Chad smiled and shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Not much." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he's the best sheep-dog on earth." +</P> + +<P> +The raft slowed up, creaking—slower—straining and creaking, and +stopped. The trip was over, and the Squire had made his "record," for +the red-faced man whistled incredulously when the old man told him what +day he had left Kingdom Come. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later the big Dillon twins hove in sight, just as the Turner +party was climbing the sawdust hill into the town, where Dolph and Rube +were for taking the middle of the street like other mountaineers, who +were marching thus ahead of them, single file, but Tom and the +school-master laughed at them and drew them over to the sidewalk. +Bricks and stones laid down for people to walk on—how wonderful. And +all the houses were of brick or were weather-boarded—all built +together wall against wall. And the stores with the big glass windows +all filled with wonderful things! Then a pair of swinging green +shutters through which, while Chad and the school-master waited +outside, Tom insisted on taking Dolph and Rube and giving them their +first drink of Bluegrass whiskey—red liquor, as the hill-men call it. +A little farther on, they all stopped still on a corner of the street, +while the school-master pointed out to Chad and Dolph and Rube the +Capitol—a mighty structure of massive stone, with majestic stone +columns, where people went to the Legislature. How they looked with +wondering eyes at the great flag floating lazily over it, and at the +wonderful fountain tossing water in the air, and with the water three +white balls which leaped and danced in the jet of shining spray and +never flew away from it. How did they stay there? The school-master +laughed—Chad had asked him a question at last that he couldn't answer. +And the tall spiked iron fence that ran all the way around the yard, +which was full of trees—how wonderful that was, too! As they stood +looking, law-makers and visitors poured out through the doors—a brave +array—some of them in tight trousers, high hats, and blue coats with +brass buttons, and, as they passed, Caleb Hazel reverently whispered +the names of those he knew—distinguished lawyers, statesmen, and +Mexican veterans: witty Tom Marshall; Roger Hanson, bulky, brilliant; +stately Preston, eagle-eyed Buckner, and Breckenridge, the magnificent, +forensic in bearing. Chad was thrilled. +</P> + +<P> +A little farther on, they turned to the left, and the school-master +pointed out the Governor's mansion, and there, close by, was a high +gray wall—a wall as high as a house, with a wooden box taller than a +man on each corner, and, inside, another big gray building in which, +visible above the walls, were grated windows—the penitentiary! Every +mountaineer has heard that word, and another—the Legislator. +</P> + +<P> +Chad shivered as he looked, for he could recall that sometimes down in +the mountains a man would disappear for years and turn up again at +home, whitened by confinement; and, during his absence, when anyone +asked about him, the answer was penitentiary. He wondered what those +boxes on the walls were for, and he was about to ask, when a guard +stepped from one of them with a musket and started to patrol the wall, +and he had no need to ask. Tom wanted to go up on the hill and look at +the Armory and the graveyard, but the school-master said they did not +have time, and, on the moment, the air was startled with whistles far +and near—six o'clock! At once Caleb Hazel led the way to supper in the +boarding-house, where a kind-faced old lady spoke to Chad in a motherly +way, and where the boy saw his first hot biscuit and was almost afraid +to eat anything at the table for fear he might do something wrong. For +the first time in his life, too, he slept on a mattress without any +feather-bed, and Chad lay wondering, but unsatisfied still. Not yet had +he been out of sight of the hills, but the master had told him that +they would see the Bluegrass next day, when they were to start back to +the mountains by train as far as Lexington. And Chad went to sleep, +dreaming his old dream. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 6 +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LOST AT THE CAPITAL +</H3> + +<P> +It had been arranged by the school-master that they should all meet at +the railway station to go home, next day at noon, and, as the Turner +boys had to help the Squire with the logs at the river, and the +school-master had to attend to some business of his own, Chad roamed +all morning around the town. So engrossed was he with the people and +the sights and sounds of the little village that he came to himself +with a start and trotted back to the boarding-house for fear that he +might not be able to find the station alone. The old lady was standing +in the sunshine at the gate. +</P> + +<P> +Chad panted—"Where's—?" +</P> + +<P> +"They're gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Gone!" echoed Chad, with a sinking heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, they've been gone—" But Chad did not wait to listen; he whirled +into the hall-way, caught up his rifle, and, forgetting his injured +foot, fled at full speed down the street. He turned the corner, but +could not see the station, and he ran on about another corner and still +another, and, just when he was about to burst into tears, he saw the +low roof that he was looking for, and hot, panting, and tired, he +rushed to it, hardly able to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"Has that enJINE gone?" he asked breathlessly. The man who was whirling +trunks on their corners into the baggage-room did not answer. Chad's +eyes flashed and he caught the man by the coat-tail. +</P> + +<P> +"Has that enJINE gone?" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +The man looked over his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Leggo my coat, you little devil. Yes, that enJINE'S gone," he added, +mimicking. Then he saw the boy's unhappy face and he dropped the trunk +and turned to him. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" he asked, kindly. +</P> + +<P> +Chad had turned away with a sob. +</P> + +<P> +"They've lef' me—they've lef' me," he said, and then, controlling +himself: +</P> + +<P> +"Is thar another goin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not till to-morrow mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +Another sob came, and Chad turned away—he did not want anybody to see +him cry. And this was no time for crying, for Chad's prayer back at the +grave under the poplar flashed suddenly back to him. +</P> + +<P> +"I got to ack like a man now." And, sobered at once, he walked on up +the hill—thinking. He could not know that the school-master was back +in the town, looking for him. If he waited until the next morning, the +Turners would probably have gone on; whereas, if he started out now on +foot, and walked all night, he might catch them before they left +Lexington next morning. And if he missed the Squire and the Turner +boys, he could certainly find the school-master there. And if not, he +could go on to the mountains alone. Or he might stay in the +"settlemints"—what had he come for? He might—he would—oh, he'd get +along somehow, he said to himself, wagging his head—he always had and +he always would. He could always go back to the mountains. If he only +had Jack—if he only had Jack! Nothing would make any difference then, +and he would never be lonely, if he only had Jack. But, cheered with +his determination, he rubbed the tears from his eyes with his +coat-sleeve and climbed the long hill. There was the Armory, which, +years later, was to harbor Union troops in the great war, and beyond it +was the little city of the dead that sits on top of the hill far above +the shining river. At the great iron gates he stopped a moment, peering +through. He saw a wilderness of white slabs and, not until he made his +way across the thick green turf and spelled out the names carved on +them, could he make out what they were for. How he wondered when he saw +the innumerable green mounds, for he hardly knew there were as many +people in the world living as he saw there must be in that place, dead. +But he had no time to spare and he turned quickly back to the +pike—saddened—for his heart went back, as his faithful heart was +always doing, to the lonely graves under the big poplar back in the +mountains. +</P> + +<P> +When he reached the top of the slope, he saw a rolling country of low +hills stretching out before him, greening with spring; with far +stretches of thick grass and many woodlands under a long, low sky, and +he wondered if this was the Bluegrass. But he "reckoned" not—not yet. +And yet he looked in wonder at the green slopes, and the woods, and the +flashing creek, and nowhere in front of him—wonder of all—could he +see a mountain. It was as Caleb Hazel had told him, only Chad was not +looking for any such mysterious joy as thrilled his sensitive soul. +There had been a light sprinkle of snow—such a fall as may come even +in early April—but the noon sun had let the wheat-fields and the +pastures blossom through it, and had swept it from the gray moist pike +until now there were patches of white only in gully and along north +hill-sides under little groups of pines and in the woods, where the +sunlight could not reach; and Chad trudged sturdily on in spite of his +heavy rifle and his lame foot, keenly alive to the new sights and +sounds and smells of the new world—on until the shadows lengthened and +the air chilled again; on, until the sun began to sink close to the +far-away haze of the horizon. Never had the horizon looked so far away. +His foot began to hurt, and on the top of a hill he had to stop and sit +down for a while in the road, the pain was so keen. The sun was setting +now in a glory of gold, rose, pink, and crimson over him, the still +clouds caught the divine light which swept swiftly through the heavens +until the little pink clouds over the east, too, turned golden pink and +the whole heavens were suffused with green and gold. In the west, cloud +was piled on cloud like vast cathedrals that must have been built for +worship on the way straight to the very throne of God. And Chad sat +thrilled, as he had been at the sunrise on the mountains the morning +after he ran away. There was no storm, but the same loneliness came to +him now and he wondered what he should do. He could not get much +farther that night—his foot hurt too badly. He looked up—the clouds +had turned to ashes and the air was growing chill—and he got to his +feet and started on. At the bottom of the hill and down a little creek +he saw a light and he turned toward it. The house was small, and he +could hear the crying of a child inside and could see a tall man +cutting wood, so he stopped at the bars and shouted +</P> + +<P> +"Hello!" +</P> + +<P> +The man stopped his axe in mid-air and turned. A woman, with a baby in +her arms, appeared in the light of the door with children crowding +about her. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello!" answered the man. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to git to stay all night." The man hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"We don't keep people all night." +</P> + +<P> +"Not keep people all night," thought Chad with wonder. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I reckon you will," he said. Was there anybody in the world who +wouldn't take in a stranger for the night? From the doorway the woman +saw that it was a boy who was asking shelter and the trust in his voice +appealed vaguely to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in!" she called, in a patient, whining tone. "You can stay, I +reckon." +</P> + +<P> +But Chad changed his mind suddenly. If they were in doubt about wanting +him—he was in no doubt as to what he would do. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I reckon I'd better git on," he said sturdily, and he turned and +limped back up the hill to the road—still wondering, and he remembered +that, in the mountains, when people wanted to stay all night, they +usually stopped before sundown. Travelling after dark was suspicious in +the mountains, and perhaps it was in this land, too. So, with this +thought, he had half a mind to go back and explain, but he pushed on. +Half a mile farther, his foot was so bad that he stopped with a cry of +pain in the road and, seeing a barn close by, he climbed the fence and +into the loft and burrowed himself under the hay. From under the shed +he could see the stars rising. It was very still and very lonely and he +was hungry—hungrier and lonelier than he had ever been in his life, +and a sob of helplessness rose to his lips—if he only had Jack—but he +held it back. +</P> + +<P> +"I got to ack like a man now." And, saying this over and over to +himself, he went to sleep. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 7. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A FRIEND ON THE ROAD +</H3> + +<P> +Rain fell that night—gentle rain and warm, for the south wind rose at +midnight. At four o clock a shower made the shingles over Chad rattle +sharply, but without wakening the lad, and then the rain ceased; and +when Chad climbed stiffly from his loft—the world was drenched and +still, and the dawn was warm, for spring had come that morning, and +Chad trudged along the road—unchilled. Every now and then he had to +stop to rest his foot. Now and then he would see people getting +breakfast ready in the farm-houses that he passed, and, though his +little belly was drawn with pain, he would not stop and ask for +something to eat—for he did not want to risk another rebuff. The sun +rose and the light leaped from every wet blade of grass and bursting +leaf to meet it—leaped as though flashing back gladness that the +spring was come. For a little while Chad forgot his hunger and forgot +his foot—like the leaf and grass-blade his stout heart answered with +gladness, too, and he trudged on. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, far behind him, an old carriage rolled out of a big yard and +started toward him and toward Lexington. In the driver's seat was an +old gray-haired, gray-bearded negro with knotty hands and a kindly +face; while, on the oval shaped seat behind the lumbering old vehicle, +sat a little darky with his bare legs dangling down. In the carriage +sat a man who might have been a stout squire straight from merry +England, except that there was a little tilt to the brim of his slouch +hat that one never sees except on the head of a Southerner, and in his +strong, but easy, good-natured mouth was a pipe of corn-cob with a long +cane stem. The horses that drew him were a handsome pair of half +thoroughbreds, and the old driver, with his eyes half closed, looked as +though, even that early in the morning, he were dozing. An hour later, +the pike ran through an old wooden-covered bridge, to one side of which +a road led down to the water, and the old negro turned the carriage to +the creek to let his horses drink. The carriage stood still in the +middle of the stream and presently the old driver turned his head: +"Mars Cal!" he called in a low voice. The Major raised his head. The +old negro was pointing with his whip ahead and the Major saw something +sitting on the stone fence, some twenty yards beyond, which stirred him +sharply from his mood of contemplation. +</P> + +<P> +"Shades of Dan'l Boone!" he said, softly. It was a miniature +pioneer—the little still figure watching him solemnly and silently. +Across the boy's lap lay a long rifle—the Major could see that it had +a flintlock—and on his tangled hair was a coonskin cap—the scalp +above his steady dark eyes and the tail hanging down the lad's neck. +And on his feet were—moccasins! The carriage moved out of the stream +and the old driver got down to hook the check-reins over the shining +bit of metal that curved back over the little saddles to which the +boy's eyes had swiftly strayed. Then they came back to the Major. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdye!" said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-mornin', little man," said the Major pleasantly, and Chad knew +straightway that he had found a friend. But there was silence. Chad +scanned the horses and the strange vehicle and the old driver and the +little pickaninny who, hearing the boy's voice, had stood up on his +seat and was grinning over one of the hind wheels, and then his eyes +rested on the Major with a simple confidence and unconscious appeal +that touched the Major at once. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you goin' my way?" The Major's nature was too mellow and +easy-going to pay any attention to final g's. Chad lifted his old gun +and pointed up the road. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a-goin' thataway." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, don't you want to ride?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he said, simply. +</P> + +<P> +"Climb right in, my boy." +</P> + +<P> +So Chad climbed in, and, holding the old rifle upright between his +knees, he looked straight forward, in silence, while the Major studied +him with a quiet smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you from, little man?" +</P> + +<P> +"I come from the mountains." +</P> + +<P> +"The mountains?" said the Major. +</P> + +<P> +The Major had fished and hunted in the mountains, and somewhere in that +unknown region he owned a kingdom of wild mountain-land, but he knew as +little about the people as he knew about the Hottentots, and cared +hardly more. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you doin' up here?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' home," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you happen to come away?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I been wantin' to see the settleMINTS." +</P> + +<P> +"The settleMINTS," echoed the Major, and then he understood. He +recalled having heard the mountaineers call the Bluegrass region the +"settlemints" before. +</P> + +<P> +"I come down on a raft with Dolph and Tom and Rube and the Squire and +the school-teacher, an' I got lost in Frankfort. They've gone on, I +reckon, an' I'm tryin' to ketch 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"What will you do if you don't?" +</P> + +<P> +"Foller'em," said Chad, sturdily. +</P> + +<P> +"Does your father live down in the mountains?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Chad, shortly. +</P> + +<P> +The Major looked at the lad gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't little boys down in the mountains ever say sir to their elders?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Chad. "No, sir," he added gravely and the Major broke into a +pleased laugh—the boy was quick as lightning. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't got no daddy. An' no mammy—I ain't got—nothin'." It was said +quite simply, as though his purpose merely was not to sail under false +colors, and the Major's answer was quick and apologetic: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" he said, and for a moment there was silence again. Chad watched +the woods, the fields, and the cattle, the strange grain growing about +him, and the birds and the trees. Not a thing escaped his keen eye, +and, now and then, he would ask a question which the Major would answer +with some surprise and wonder. His artless ways pleased the old fellow. +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't told me your name." +</P> + +<P> +"You hain't axed me." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I axe you now," laughed the Major, but Chad saw nothing to laugh +at. +</P> + +<P> +"Chad," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Chad what?" +</P> + +<P> +Now it had always been enough in the mountains, when anybody asked his +name, for him to answer simply—Chad. He hesitated now and his brow +wrinkled as though he were thinking hard. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"What? Don't know your own name?" The boy looked up into the Major's +face with eyes that were so frank and unashamed and at the same time so +vaguely troubled that the Major was abashed. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not," he said kindly, as though it were the most natural +thing in the world that a boy should not know his own name. Presently +the Major said, reflectively: +</P> + +<P> +"Chadwick." +</P> + +<P> +"Chad," corrected the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know"; and the Major went on thinking that Chadwick happened to +be an ancestral name in his own family. +</P> + +<P> +Chad's brow was still wrinkled—he was trying to think what old Nathan +Cherry used to call him. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I hain't thought o' my name since I left old Nathan," he +said. Then he told briefly about the old man, and lifting his lame foot +suddenly, he said: "Ouch!" The Major looked around and Chad explained: +</P> + +<P> +"I hurt my foot comin' down the river an' hit got wuss walkin' so +much." The Major noticed then that the boy's face was pale, and that +there were dark hollows under his eyes, but it never occurred to him +that the lad was hungry, for, in the Major's land, nobody ever went +hungry for long. But Chad was suffering now and he leaned back in his +seat and neither talked nor looked at the passing fields. By and by, he +spied a crossroads store. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder if I can't git somethin' to eat in that store." +</P> + +<P> +The Major laughed: "You ain't gettin' hungry so soon, are you? You must +have eaten breakfast pretty early." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't had no breakfast—an' I didn't hev no supper last night." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" shouted the Major. +</P> + +<P> +Chad stated the fact with brave unconcern, but his lip quivered +slightly—he was weak. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I reckon we'll get something to eat there whether they've got +anything or not." +</P> + +<P> +And then Chad explained, telling the story of his walk from Frankfort. +The Major was amazed that anybody could have denied the boy food and +lodging. +</P> + +<P> +"Who were they, Tom?" he asked +</P> + +<P> +The old driver turned: +</P> + +<P> +"They was some po' white trash down on Cane Creek, I reckon, suh. +Must'a' been." There was a slight contempt in the negro's words that +made Chad think of hearing the Turners call the Dillons white +trash—though they never said "po' white trash." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" said the Major. So the carriage stopped, and when a man in a +black slouch hat came out, the Major called: +</P> + +<P> +"Jim, here's a boy who ain't had anything to eat for twenty-four hours. +Get him a cup of coffee right away, and I reckon you've got some cold +ham handy." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed, Major," said Jim, and he yelled to a negro girl who was +standing on the porch of his house behind the store. +</P> + +<P> +Chad ate ravenously and the Major watched him with genuine pleasure. +When the boy was through, he reached in his pocket and brought out his +old five-dollar bill, and the Major laughed aloud and patted him on the +head. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't pay for anything while you are with me, Chad." +</P> + +<P> +The whole earth wore a smile when they started out again. The swelling +hills had stretched out into gentler slopes. The sun was warm, the +clouds were still, and the air was almost drowsy. The Major's eyes +closed and everything lapsed into silence. That was a wonderful ride +for Chad. It was all true, just as the school-master had told him; the +big, beautiful houses he saw now and then up avenues of blossoming +locusts; the endless stone fences, the whitewashed barns, the woodlands +and pastures; the meadow-larks flitting in the sunlight and singing +everywhere; fluting, chattering blackbirds, and a strange new black +bird with red wings, at which Chad wondered very much, as he watched it +balancing itself against the wind and singing as it poised. Everything +seemed to sing in that wonderful land. And the seas of bluegrass +stretching away on every side, with the shadows of clouds passing in +rapid succession over them, like mystic floating islands—and never a +mountain in sight. What a strange country it was. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe some of your friends are looking for you in Frankfort," said the +Major. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, I reckon not," said Chad—for the man at the station had told +him that the men who had asked about him were gone. +</P> + +<P> +"All of them?" asked the Major. +</P> + +<P> +Of course, the man at the station could not tell whether all of them +had gone, and perhaps the school-master had stayed behind—it was Caleb +Hazel if anybody. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, now, I wonder," said Chad—"the school-teacher might'a' stayed." +</P> + +<P> +Again the two lapsed into silence—Chad thinking very hard. He might +yet catch the school-master in Lexington, and he grew very cheerful at +the thought. +</P> + +<P> +"You ain't told me yo' name," he said, presently. The Major's lips +smiled under the brim of his hat. +</P> + +<P> +"You hain't axed me." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I axe you now." Chad, too, was smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Cal," said the Major. "Cal what?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, you do, now—you foolin' me"—the boy lifted one finger at +the Major. +</P> + +<P> +"Buford, Calvin Buford." +</P> + +<P> +"Buford—Buford—Buford," repeated the boy, each time with his forehead +wrinkled as though he were trying to recall something. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'—nothin'." +</P> + +<P> +And then he looked up with bewildered face at the Major and broke into +the quavering voice of an old man. +</P> + +<P> +"Chad Buford, you little devil, come hyeh this minute or I'll beat the +life outen you!" +</P> + +<P> +"What—what!" said the Major excitedly. The boy's face was as honest as +the sky above him. "Well, that's funny—very funny." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's it," said Chad, "that's what ole Nathan used to call me. +I reckon I hain't naver thought o' my name agin tell you axed me." The +Major looked at the lad keenly and then dropped back in his seat +ruminating. +</P> + +<P> +Away back in 1778 a linchpin had slipped in a wagon on the Wilderness +Road and his grandfather's only brother, Chadwick Buford, had concluded +to stop there for a while and hunt and come on later—thus ran an old +letter that the Major had in his strong box at home—and that brother +had never turned up again and the supposition was that he had been +killed by Indians. Now it would be strange if he had wandered up in the +mountains and settled there and if this boy were a descendant of his. +It would be very, very strange, and then the Major almost laughed at +the absurdity of the idea. The name Buford was all over the State. The +boy had said, with amazing frankness and without a particle of shame, +that he was a waif—a "woodscolt," he said, with paralyzing candor. And +so the Major dropped the matter out of his mind, except in so far that +it was a peculiar coincidence—again saying, half to himself— +</P> + +<P> +"It certainly is very odd!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 8. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOME WITH THE MAJOR +</H3> + +<P> +Ahead of them, it was Court Day in Lexington. From the town, as a +centre, white turnpikes radiated in every direction like the strands of +a spider's web. Along them, on the day before, cattle, sheep, and hogs +had made their slow way. Since dawn, that morning, the fine dust had +been rising under hoof and wheel on every one of them, for Court Day is +yet the great day of every month throughout the Bluegrass. The crowd +had gone ahead of the Major and Chad. Only now and then would a laggard +buggy or carriage turn into the pike from a pasture-road or +locust-bordered avenue. Only men were occupants, for the ladies rarely +go to town on court days—and probably none would go on that day. +Trouble was expected. An abolitionist, one Brutus Dean—not from the +North, but a Kentuckian, a slave-holder and a gentleman—would probably +start a paper in Lexington to exploit his views in the heart of the +Bluegrass; and his quondam friends would shatter his press and tear his +office to pieces. So the Major told Chad, and he pointed out some +"hands" at work in a field. +</P> + +<P> +"An', mark my words, some day there's goin' to be the damnedest fight +the world ever saw over these very niggers. An' the day ain't so far +away." +</P> + +<P> +It was noon before they reached the big cemetery on the edge of +Lexington. Through a rift in the trees the Major pointed out the grave +of Henry Clay, and told him about the big monument that was to be +reared above his remains. The grave of Henry Clay! Chad knew all about +him. He had heard Caleb Hazel read the great man's speeches aloud by +the hour—had heard him intoning them to himself as he walked the woods +to and fro from school. Would wonders never cease. +</P> + +<P> +There seemed to be no end to the houses and streets and people in this +big town, and Chad wondered why everybody turned to look at him and +smiled, and, later in the day, he came near getting into a fight with +another boy who seemed to be making fun of him to his companions. He +wondered at that, too, until it suddenly struck him that he saw nobody +else carrying a rifle and wearing a coonskin cap—perhaps it was his +cap and his gun. The Major was amused and pleased, and he took a +certain pride in the boy's calm indifference to the attention he was +drawing to himself. And he enjoyed the little mystery which he and his +queer little companion seemed to create as they drove through the +streets. +</P> + +<P> +On one corner was a great hemp factory. +</P> + +<P> +Through the windows Chad could see negroes, dusty as millers, bustling +about, singing as they worked. Before the door were two men—one on +horseback. The Major drew up a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"How are you, John? Howdye, Dick?" Both men answered heartily, and both +looked at Chad—who looked intently at them—the graceful, powerful man +on foot and the slender, wiry man with wonderful dark eyes on horseback. +</P> + +<P> +"Pioneering, Major?" asked John Morgan. +</P> + +<P> +"This is a namesake of mine from the mountains. He's come up to see the +settlements." +</P> + +<P> +Richard Hunt turned on his horse. "How do you like 'em?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never seed nothin' like 'em in my life," said Chad, gravely. Morgan +laughed and Richard Hunt rode on with them down the street. +</P> + +<P> +"Was that Captin Morgan?" asked Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said the Major. "Have you heard of him before?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. A feller on the road tol' me, if I was lookin' fer somethin' +to do hyeh in Lexington to go to Captin Morgan." +</P> + +<P> +The Major laughed: "That's what everybody does." +</P> + +<P> +At once, the Major took the boy to an old inn and gave him a hearty +meal; and while the Major attended to some business, Chad roamed the +streets. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't get into trouble, my boy," said the Major, "an' come back here +an hour or two by sun." +</P> + +<P> +Naturally, the lad drifted where the crowd was thickest—to Cheapside. +Cheapside—at once the market-place and the forum of the Bluegrass from +pioneer days to the present hour—the platform that knew Clay, +Crittenden, Marshall, Breckenridge, as it knows the lesser men of +to-day, who resemble those giants of old as the woodlands of the +Bluegrass to-day resemble the primeval forests from which they sprang. +</P> + +<P> +Cheapside was thronged that morning with cattle, sheep, hogs, horses, +farmers, aristocrats, negroes, poor whites. The air was a babel of +cries from auctioneers—head, shoulders, and waistband above the +crowd—and the cries of animals that were changing owners that day—one +of which might now and then be a human being. The Major was busy, and +Chad wandered where he pleased—keeping a sharp lookout everywhere for +the school-master, but though he asked right and left he could find +nobody, to his great wonder, who knew even the master's name. In the +middle of the afternoon the country people began to leave town and +Cheapside was cleared, but, as Chad walked past the old inn, he saw a +crowd gathered within and about the wide doors of a livery-stable, and +in a circle outside that lapped half the street. The auctioneer was in +plain sight above the heads of the crowd, and the horses were led out +one by one from the stable. It was evidently a sale of considerable +moment, and there were horse-raisers, horse-trainers, jockeys, +stable-boys, gentlemen—all eager spectators or bidders. Chad edged his +way through the outer rim of the crowd and to the edge of the sidewalk, +and, when a spectator stepped down from a dry-goods box from which he +had been looking on, Chad stepped up and took his place. Straightway, +he began to wish he could buy a horse and ride back to the mountains. +What fun that would be, and how he would astonish the folks on Kingdom +Come. He had his five dollars still in his pocket, and when the first +horse was brought out, the auctioneer raised his hammer and shouted in +loud tones: +</P> + +<P> +"How much am I offered for this horse?" +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer, and the silence lasted so long that before he knew +it Chad called out in a voice that frightened him: +</P> + +<P> +"Five dollars!" Nobody heard the bid, and nobody paid any attention to +him. +</P> + +<P> +"One hundred dollars," said a voice. +</P> + +<P> +"One hundred and twenty-five," said another, and the horse was knocked +down for two hundred dollars. +</P> + +<P> +A black stallion with curving neck and red nostrils and two white feet +walked proudly in. +</P> + +<P> +"How much am I offered?" +</P> + +<P> +"Five dollars," said Chad, promptly. A man who sat near heard the boy +and turned to look at the little fellow, and was hardly able to believe +his ears. And so it went on. Each time a horse was put up Chad shouted +out: +</P> + +<P> +"Five dollars," and the crowd around him began to smile and laugh and +encourage him and wait for his bid. The auctioneer, too, saw him, and +entered into the fun himself, addressing himself to Chad at every +opening bid. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep it up, little man," said a voice behind him. "You'll get one by +and by." Chad looked around. Richard Hunt was smiling to him from his +horse on the edge of the crowd. +</P> + +<P> +The last horse was a brown mare—led in by a halter. She was old and a +trifle lame, and Chad, still undispirited, called out this time louder +than ever: +</P> + +<P> +"Five dollars!" +</P> + +<P> +He shouted out this time loudly enough to be heard by everybody, and a +universal laugh rose; then came silence, and, in that silence, an +imperious voice shouted back: +</P> + +<P> +"Let him have her!" It was the owner of the horse who spoke—a tall man +with a noble face and long iron-gray hair. The crowd caught his mood, +and as nobody wanted the old mare very much, and the owner would be the +sole loser, nobody bid against him, and Chad's heart thumped when the +auctioneer raised his hammer and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Five dollars, five dollars—what am I offered? Five dollars, five +dollars, going at five dollars, five dollars—going at five +dollars—going—going, last bid, gentlemen!" The hammer came down with +a blow that made Chad's heart jump and brought a roar of laughter from +the crowd. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the name, please?" said the auctioneer, bending forward with +great respect and dignity toward the diminutive purchaser. +</P> + +<P> +"Chad." +</P> + +<P> +The auctioneer put his hand to one ear. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon—Dan'l Boone did you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" shouted Chad indignantly—he began to feel that fun was going on +at his expense. "You heerd me—CHAD." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Mr. Chad." +</P> + +<P> +Not a soul knew the boy, but they liked his spirit, and several +followed him when he went up and handed his five dollars and took the +halter of his new treasure trembling so that he could scarcely stand. +The owner of the horse placed his hand on the little fellow's head. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a minute," he said, and, turning to a negro boy: "Jim, go bring a +bridle." The boy brought out a bridle, and the tall man slipped it on +the old mare's head, and Chad led her away—the crowd watching him. +Just outside he saw the Major, whose eyes opened wide: +</P> + +<P> +"Where'd you get that old horse, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bought her," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"What? What'd you give for her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Five dollars." +</P> + +<P> +The Major looked pained, for he thought the boy was lying, but Richard +Hunt called him aside and told the story of the purchase; and then how +the Major did laugh—laughed until the tears rolled down his face. +</P> + +<P> +And then and there he got out of his carriage and went into a saddler's +shop and bought a brand new saddle with a red blanket, and put it on +the old mare and hoisted the boy to his seat. Chad was to have no +little honor in his day, but he never knew a prouder moment than when +he clutched the reins in his left hand and squeezed his short legs +against the fat sides of that old brown mare. +</P> + +<P> +He rode down the street and back again, and then the Major told him he +had better put the black boy on the mare, to ride her home ahead of +him, and Chad reluctantly got off and saw the little darky on his new +saddle and his new horse. +</P> + +<P> +"Take good keer o' that hoss, boy," he said, with a warning shake of +his head, and again the Major roared. +</P> + +<P> +First, the Major said, he would go by the old University and leave word +with the faculty for the school-master when he should come there to +matriculate; and so, at a turnstile that led into a mighty green yard +in the middle of which stood a huge gray mass of stone, the carriage +stopped, and the Major got out and walked through the campus and up the +great flight of stone steps and disappeared. The mighty columns, the +stone steps—where had Chad heard of them? And then the truth flashed. +This was the college of which the school-master had told him down in +the mountains, and, looking, Chad wanted to get closer. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder if it'll make any difference if I go up thar?" he said to the +old driver. +</P> + +<P> +"No," the old man hesitated—"no, suh, co'se not." And Chad climbed out +and the old negro followed him with his eyes. He did not wholly approve +of his master's picking up an unknown boy on the road. It was all right +to let him ride, but to be taking him home—old Tom shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Jess wait till Miss Lucy sees that piece o' white trash," he said, +shaking his head. Chad was walking slowly with his eyes raised. It must +be the college where the school-master had gone to school—for the +building was as big as the cliff that he had pointed out down in the +mountains, and the porch was as big as the black rock that he pointed +out at the same time—the college where Caleb Hazel said Chad, too, +must go some day. The Major was coming out when the boy reached the +foot of the steps, and with him was a tall, gray man with spectacles +and a white tie and very white nails, and the Major said: +</P> + +<P> +"There he is now, Professor." And the Professor looked at Chad +curiously, and smiled and smiled again kindly when he saw the boy's +grave, unsmiling eyes fastened on him. +</P> + +<P> +Then, out of the town and through the late radiant afternoon they went +until the sun sank and the carriage stopped before a gate. While the +pickaninny was opening it, another carriage went swiftly behind them, +and the Major called out cleanly to the occupants—a quiet, sombre, +dignified-looking man and two handsome boys and a little girl. "They're +my neighbors, Chad," said the Major. +</P> + +<P> +Not a sound did the wheels make on the thick turf as they drove toward +the old-fashioned brick house (it had no pillars), with its windows +shining through the firs and cedars that filled the yard. The Major put +his hand on the boy's shoulder: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, here we are, little man." +</P> + +<P> +At the yard gate there was a great barking of dogs, and a great shout +of welcome from the negroes who came forward to take the horses. To +each of them the Major gave a little package, which each darky took +with shining teeth and a laugh of delight—all looking with wonder at +the curious little stranger with his rifle and coonskin cap, until a +scowl from the Major checked the smile that started on each black face. +Then the Major led Chad up a flight of steps and into a big hall and on +into a big drawing-room, where there was a huge fireplace and a great +fire that gave Chad a pang of homesickness at once. Chad was not +accustomed to taking off his hat when he entered a house in the +mountains, but he saw the Major take off his, and he dropped his own +cap quickly. The Major sank into a chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Here we are, little man," he said, kindly. +</P> + +<P> +Chad sat down and looked at the books, and the portraits and prints, +and the big mirrors and the carpets on the floor, none of which he had +ever seen before, and he wondered at it all and what it all might mean. +A few minutes later, a tall lady in black, with a curl down each side +of her pale face, came in. Like old Tom, the driver, the Major, too, +had been wondering what his sister, Miss Lucy, would think of his +bringing so strange a waif home, and now, with sudden humor, he saw +himself fortified. +</P> + +<P> +"Sister," he said, solemnly, "here's a little kinsman of yours. He's a +great-great-grandson of your great-great-uncle—Chadwick Buford. That's +his name. What kin does that make us?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, brother," said Miss Lucy, for she saw the boy reddening with +embarrassment and she went across and shook hands with him, taking in +with a glance his coarse strange clothes and his soiled hands and face +and his tangled hair, but pleased at once with his shyness and his dark +eyes. She was really never surprised at any caprice of her brother, and +she did not show much interest when the Major went on to tell where he +had found the lad—for she would have thought it quite possible that he +might have taken the boy out of a circus. As for Chad, he was in awe of +her at once—which the Major noticed with an inward chuckle, for the +boy had shown no awe of him. Chad could hardly eat for shyness at +supper and because everything was so strange and beautiful, and he +scarcely opened his lips when they sat around the great fire, until +Miss Lucy was gone to bed. Then he told the Major all about himself and +old Nathan and the Turners and the school-master, and how he hoped to +come back to the Bluegrass, and go to that big college himself, and he +amazed the Major when, glancing at the books, he spelled out the titles +of two of Scott's novels, "The Talisman" and "Ivanhoe," and told how +the school-master had read them to him. And the Major, who had a +passion for Sir Walter, tested Chad's knowledge, and he could mention +hardly a character or a scene in the two books that did not draw an +excited response from the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't you like to stay here in the Bluegrass now and go to school?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad's eyes lighted up. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I would; but how am I goin' to school, now, I'd like to know? +I ain't got no money to buy books, and the school-teacher said you have +to pay to go to school, up here." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we'll see about that," said the Major, and Chad wondered what he +meant. Presently the Major got up and went to the sideboard and poured +out a drink of whiskey and, raising it to his lips, stopped: +</P> + +<P> +"Will you join me?" he asked, humorously, though it was hard for the +Major to omit that formula even with a boy. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't keer if I do," said Chad, gravely. The Major was astounded and +amused, and thought that the boy was not in earnest, but he handed him +the bottle and Chad poured out a drink that staggered his host, and +drank it down without winking. At the fire, the Major pulled out his +chewing tobacco. This, too, he offered and Chad accepted, equalling the +Major in the accuracy with which he reached the fireplace thereafter +with the juice, carrying off his accomplishment, too, with perfect and +unconscious gravity. The Major was nigh to splitting with silent +laughter for a few minutes, and then he grew grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Does everybody drink and chew down in the mountains?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," said Chad. "Everybody makes his own licker where I come +from." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you know it's very bad for little boys to drink and chew?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Did nobody ever tell you it was very bad for little boys to drink and +chew?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir"—not once had Chad forgotten that. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it is." +</P> + +<P> +Chad thought for a minute. "Will it keep me from gittin' to be a BIG +man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Chad quietly threw his quid into the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I be damned," said the Major under his breath. "Are you goin' to +quit?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, the old driver, whose wife lived on the next farm, was +telling the servants over there about the queer little stranger whom +his master had picked up on the road that day, and after Chad was gone +to bed, the Major got out some old letters from a chest and read them +over again. Chadwick Buford was his great-grandfather's twin brother, +and not a word had been heard of him since the two had parted that +morning on the old Wilderness Road, away back in the earliest pioneer +days. So, the Major thought and thought suppose—suppose? And at last +he got up and with an uplifted candle, looked a long while at the +portrait of his grandfather that hung on the southern wall. Then, with +a sudden humor, he carried the light to the room where the boy was in +sound sleep, with his head on one sturdy arm, his hair loose on the +pillow, and his lips slightly parted and showing his white, even teeth; +he looked at the boy a long time and fancied he could see some +resemblance to the portrait in the set of the mouth and the nose and +the brow, and he went back smiling at his fancies and thinking—for the +Major was sensitive to the claim of any drop of the blood in his own +veins—no matter how diluted. He was a handsome little chap. +</P> + +<P> +"How strange! How strange!" +</P> + +<P> +And he smiled when he thought of the boy's last question. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's YO' mammy?" +</P> + +<P> +It had stirred the Major. +</P> + +<P> +"I am like you, Chad," he had said. "I've got no mammy—no nothin', +except Miss Lucy, and she don't live here. I'm afraid she won't be on +this earth long. Nobody lives here but me, Chad." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 9. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MARGARET +</H3> + +<P> +The Major was in town and Miss Lucy had gone to spend the day with a +neighbor; so Chad was left alone. +</P> + +<P> +"Look aroun', Chad, and see how you like things," said the Major. "Go +anywhere you please." +</P> + +<P> +And Chad looked around. He went to the barn to see his old mare and the +Major's horses, and to the kennels, where the fox-hounds reared against +the palings and sniffed at him curiously; he strolled about the +quarters, where the little pickaninnies were playing, and out to the +fields, where the servants were at work under the overseer, Jerome +Conners, a tall, thin man with shrewd eyes, a sour, sullen face, and +protruding upper teeth. One of the few smiles that ever came to that +face came now when the overseer saw the little mountaineer. By and by +Chad got one of the "hands" to let him take hold of the plough and go +once around the field, and the boy handled the plough like a veteran, +so that the others watched him, and the negro grinned, when he came +back, and said +</P> + +<P> +"You sutinly can plough fer a fac'!" +</P> + +<P> +He was lonesome by noon and had a lonely dinner, during which he could +scarcely realize that it was really he—Chad—Chad sitting up at the +table alone and being respectfully waited on by a kinky-headed little +negro girl—called Thanky-ma'am because she was born on Thanksgiving +day—and he wondered what the Turners would think if they could see him +now—and the school-master. Where was the school-master? He began to be +sorry that he hadn't gone to town to try to find him. Perhaps the Major +would see him—but how would the Major know the school-master? He was +sorry he hadn't gone. After dinner he started out-doors again. Earth +and sky were radiant with light. Great white tumbling clouds were piled +high all around the horizon—and what a long length of sky it was in +every direction down in the mountains, he had to look straight up, +sometimes, to see the sky at all. Blackbirds chattered in the cedars as +he went to the yard gate. The field outside was full of singing +meadow-larks, and crows were cawing in the woods beyond. There had been +a light shower, and on the dead top of a tall tree he saw a buzzard +stretching his wings out to the sun. Past the edge of the woods, ran a +little stream with banks that were green to the very water's edge, and +Chad followed it on through the woods, over a worn rail-fence, along a +sprouting wheat-field, out into a pasture in which sheep and cattle +were grazing, and on, past a little hill, where, on the next low slope, +sat a great white house with big white pillars, and Chad climbed on top +of the stone fence—and sat, looking. On the portico stood a tall man +in a slouch hat and a lady in black. At the foot of the steps a boy—a +head taller than Chad perhaps—was rigging up a fishing-pole. A negro +boy was leading a black pony toward the porch, and, to his dying day, +Chad never forgot the scene that followed. For, the next moment, a +little figure in a long riding-skirt stood in the big doorway and then +ran down the steps, while a laugh, as joyous as the water running at +his feet, floated down the slope to his ears. He saw the negro stoop, +the little girl bound lightly to her saddle; he saw her black curls +shake in the sunlight, again the merry laugh tinkled in his ears, and +then, with a white plume nodding from her black cap, she galloped off +and disappeared among the trees; and Chad sat looking after +her—thrilled, mysteriously thrilled—mysteriously saddened, +straightway. Would he ever see her again? +</P> + +<P> +The tall man and the lady in black went in-doors, the negro +disappeared, and the boy at the foot of the steps kept on rigging his +pole. Several times voices sounded under the high creek bank below him, +but, quick as his ears were, Chad did not hear them. Suddenly there was +a cry that startled him, and something flashed in the sun over the edge +of the bank and flopped in the grass. +</P> + +<P> +"Snowball!" an imperious young voice called below the bank, "get that +fish!" +</P> + +<P> +On the moment Chad was alert again—somebody was fishing down +there—and he sprang from his perch and ran toward the fish just as a +woolly head and a jet-black face peeped over the bank. +</P> + +<P> +The pickaninny's eyes were stretched wide when he saw the strange +figure in coonskin cap and moccasins running down on him, his face +almost blanched with terror, and he loosed his hold and, with a cry of +fright, rolled back out of sight. Chad looked over the bank. A boy of +his own age was holding another pole, and, hearing the little darky +slide down, he said, sharply: +</P> + +<P> +"Get that fish, I tell you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Look dar, Mars' Dan, look dar!" +</P> + +<P> +The boy looked around and up and stared with as much wonder as his +little body-servant, but with no fear. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdye!" said Chad; but the white boy stared on silently. +</P> + +<P> +"Fishin'?" said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Dan, shortly—he had shown enough curiosity and he turned +his eyes to his cork. "Get that fish, Snowball," he said again. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll git him fer ye," Chad said; and he went to the fish and unhooked +it and came down the bank with the perch in one hand and the pole in +the other. +</P> + +<P> +"Whar's yo' string?" he asked, handing the pole to the still trembling +little darky. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take it," said Dan, sticking the butt of his cane-pole in the +mud. The fish slipped through his wet fingers, when Chad passed it to +him, dropped on the bank, flopped to the edge of the creek, and the +three boys, with the same cry, scrambled for it—Snowball falling down +on it and clutching it in both his black little paws. +</P> + +<P> +"Dar now!" he shrieked. "I got him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Give him to me," said Dan. +</P> + +<P> +"Lemme string him," said the black boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Give him to me, I tell you!" And, stringing the fish, Dan took the +other pole and turned his eyes to his corks, while the pickaninny +squatted behind him and Chad climbed up and sat on the bank letting his +legs dangle over. When Dan caught a fish he would fling it with a whoop +high over the bank. After the third fish, the lad was mollified and got +over his ill-temper. He turned to Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Want to fish?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad sprang down the bank quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he said, and he took the other pole out of the bank, put on a +fresh wriggling worm, and moved a little farther down the creek where +there was an eddy. +</P> + +<P> +"Ketchin' any?" said a voice above the bank, and Chad looked up to see +still another lad, taller by a head than either he or Dan—evidently +the boy whom he had seen rigging a pole up at the big house on the hill. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, 'bout 'leven," said Dan, carelessly. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdye!" said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdye!" said the other boy, and he, too, stared curiously, but Chad +had got used to people staring at him. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' over the big rock," added the new arrival, and he went down +the creek and climbed around a steep little cliff, and out on a huge +rock that hung over the creek, where he dropped his hook. He had no +cork, and Chad knew that he was trying to catch catfish. Presently he +jerked, and a yellow mudcat rose to the surface, fighting desperately +for his life, and Dan and Snowball yelled crazily. Then Dan pulled out +a perch. +</P> + +<P> +"I got another one," he shouted. And Chad fished silently. They were +making "a mighty big fuss," he thought, "over mighty little fish." If +he just had a minnow an' had 'em down in the mountains, "I Gonnies, +he'd show'em what fishin' was!" But he began to have good luck as it +was. Perch after perch he pulled out quietly, and he kept Snowball busy +stringing them until he had five on the string. The boy on the rock was +watching him and so was the boy near him—furtively—while Snowball's +admiration was won completely, and he grinned and gurgled his delight, +until Dan lost his temper again and spoke to him sharply. Dan did not +like to be beaten at anything. Pretty soon there was a light thunder of +hoofs on the turf above the bank. A black pony shot around the bank and +was pulled in at the edge of the ford, and Chad was looking into the +dancing black eyes of a little girl with a black velvet cap on her dark +curls and a white plume waving from it. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdye!" said Chad, and his heart leaped curiously, but the little +girl did not answer. She, too, stared at him as all the others had done +and started to ride into the creek, but Dan stopped her sharply: +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Margaret, don't you ride into that water. You'll skeer the fish." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you won't," said Chad, promptly. "Fish don't keer nothin' about a +hoss." But the little girl stood still, and her brother's face flushed. +He resented the stranger's interference and his assumption of a better +knowledge of fish. +</P> + +<P> +"Mind your own business," trembled on his tongue, and the fact that he +held the words back only served to increase his ill-humor and make a +worse outbreak possible. But, if Chad did not understand, Snowball did, +and his black face grew suddenly grave as he sprang more alertly than +ever at any word from his little master. Meanwhile, all unconscious, +Chad fished on, catching perch after perch, but he could not keep his +eyes on his cork while the little girl was so near, and more than once +he was warned by a suppressed cry from the pickaninny when to pull. +Once, when he was putting on a worm, he saw the little girl watching +the process with great disgust, and he remembered that Melissa would +never bait her own hook. All girls were alike, he "reckoned" to +himself, and when he caught a fish that was unusually big, he walked +over to her. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll give this un to you," he said, but she shrank from it. +</P> + +<P> +"Go 'way!" she said, and she turned her pony. Dan was red in the face +by this time. How did this piece of poor white trash dare to offer a +fish to his sister. And this time the words came out like the crack of +a whip: +</P> + +<P> +"S'pose you mind your own business!" +</P> + +<P> +Chad started as though he had been struck and looked around quickly. He +said nothing, but he stuck the butt of his pole in the mud at once and +climbed up on the bank again and sat there, with his legs hanging over; +and his own face was not pleasant to see. The little girl was riding at +a walk up the road. Chad kept perfect silence, for he realized that he +had not been minding his own business; still he did not like to be told +so and in such a way. Both corks were shaking at the same time now. +</P> + +<P> +"You got a bite," said Dan, but Chad did not move. +</P> + +<P> +"You got a bite, I tell you," he said, in almost the tone he had used +to Snowball, but Chad, when the small aristocrat looked sharply around, +dropped his elbows to his knees and his chin into his hand—taking no +notice. Once he spat dexterously into the creek. Dan's own cork was +going under: +</P> + +<P> +"Snowball!" he cried—"jerk!" A fish flew over Chad's head. Snowball +had run for the other pole at command and jerked, too, but the fish was +gone and with it the bait. +</P> + +<P> +"You lost that fish!" said the boy, hotly, but Chad sat silent—still. +If he would only say something! Dan began to think that the stranger +was a coward. So presently, to show what a great little man he was, he +began to tease Snowball, who was up on the bank unhooking the fish, of +which Chad had taken no notice. +</P> + +<P> +"What's your name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Snowball!" henchman, obediently. +</P> + +<P> +"Louder!" +</P> + +<P> +"S-n-o-w-b-a-l-l!" +</P> + +<P> +"Louder!" The little black fellow opened his mouth wide. +</P> + +<P> +"S-N-O-W-B-A-L-L!" he shrieked. +</P> + +<P> +"LOUDER!" +</P> + +<P> +At last Chad spoke quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"He can't holler no louder." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know about it? Louder!", and Dan started menacingly after +the little darky but Chad stepped between. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't hit him!" +</P> + +<P> +Now Dan had never struck Snowball in his life, and he would as soon +have struck his own brother—but he must not be told that he couldn't. +His face flamed and little Hotspur that he was, he drew his fist back +and hit Chad full in the chest. Chad leaped back to avoid the blow, +tumbling Snowball down the bank; the two clinched, and, while they +tussled, Chad heard the other brother clambering over the rocks, the +beat of hoofs coming toward him on the turf, and the little girl's cry: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you DARE touch my brother!" +</P> + +<P> +Both went down side by side with their head just hanging over the bank, +where both could see Snowball's black wool coming to the surface in the +deep hole, and both heard his terrified shriek as he went under again. +Chad was first to his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Git a rail!" he shouted and plunged in, but Dan sprang in after him. +In three strokes, for the current was rather strong, Chad had the kinky +wool in his hand, and, in a few strokes more, the two boys had Snowball +gasping on the bank. Harry, the taller brother, ran forward to help +them carry him up the bank, and they laid him, choking and bawling, on +the grass. Whip in one hand and with the skirt of her long black +riding-habit in the other, the little girl stood above, looking +on—white and frightened. The hullabaloo had reached the house and +General Dean was walking swiftly down the hill, with Snowball's mammy, +topped by a red bandanna handkerchief, rushing after him and the +kitchen servants following. +</P> + +<P> +"What does this mean?" he said, sternly, and Chad was in a strange awe +at once—he was so tall, and he stood so straight, and his eye was so +piercing. Few people could lie into that eye. The little girl spoke +first—usually she does speak first, as well as last. +</P> + +<P> +"Dan and—and—that boy were fighting and they pushed Snowball into the +creek." +</P> + +<P> +"Dan was teasin' Snowball," said Harry the just. +</P> + +<P> +"And that boy meddled," said Dan. +</P> + +<P> +"Who struck first?" asked the General, looking from one boy to the +other. Dan dropped his eyes sullenly and Chad did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't goin' to hit Snowball," said Dan. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you wus," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Who struck first?" repeated the General, looking at Dan now. +</P> + +<P> +"That boy meddled and I hit him." +</P> + +<P> +Chad turned and answered the General's eyes steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I had no business meddlin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"He tried to give sister a fish." +</P> + +<P> +That was unwise in Dan—Margaret's chin lifted. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," she said, "that was it, too, was it? Well—" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't see no harm givin' the little gal a fish," said Chad. "Little +gal," indeed! Chad lost the ground he might have gained. Margaret's +eyes looked all at once like her father's. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a little GIRL, thank you." +</P> + +<P> +Chad turned to her father now, looking him in the face straight and +steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I had no business meddlin', but I didn't think hit was fa'r +fer him to hit the nigger; the nigger was littler, an' I didn't think +hit 'as right." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't mean to hit him—I was only playin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"But I THOUGHT you was goin' to hit him," said Chad. He looked at the +General again. "But I had no business meddlin'." And he picked up his +old coonskin cap from the grass to start away. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on, little man," said the General. +</P> + +<P> +"Dan, haven't I told you not to tease Snowball?" Dan dropped his eyes +again. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"You struck first, and this boy says he oughtn't to have meddled, but I +think he did just right. Have you anything to say to him?" +</P> + +<P> +Dan worked the toe of his left boot into the turf for a moment "No, +sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, go up to your room and think about it awhile and see if you +don't owe somebody an apology. Hurry up now an' change your clothes. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better come up to the house and get some dry clothes for +yourself, my boy," he added to Chad. "You'll catch cold." +</P> + +<P> +"Much obleeged," said Chad. "But I don't ketch cold." +</P> + +<P> +He put on his old coonskin cap, and then the General recognized him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, aren't you the little boy who bought a horse from me in town the +other day?" And then Chad recognized him as the tall man who had cried +"Let him have her." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I know all about you," said the General, kindly. "You are +staying with Major Buford. He's a great friend and neighbor of mine. +Now you must come up and get some clothes, Harry!"—But Chad, though he +hesitated, for he knew now that the gentleman had practically given him +the mare, interrupted, sturdily, +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, I can't go—not while he's a-feelin' hard at me." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said the General, gravely. Chad started off on a trot and +stopped suddenly, "I wish you'd please tell that little GURL"—Chad +pronounced the word with some difficulty—"that I didn't mean nothin' +callin' her a little gal. Ever'body calls gurls gals whar I come from." +</P> + +<P> +"All right," laughed the General. Chad trotted all the way home and +there Miss Lucy made him take off his wet clothes at once, though the +boy had to go to bed while they were drying, for he had no other +clothes, and while he lay in bed the Major came up and listened to +Chad's story of the afternoon, which Chad told him word for word just +as it had all happened. +</P> + +<P> +"You did just right, Chad," said the Major, and he went down the +stairs, chuckling: +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't go in and get dry clothes because Dan wouldn't apologize. +Dear me! I reckon they'll have it out when they see each other again. +I'd like to be on hand, and I'd bet my bottom dollar on Chad." But they +did not have it out. Half an hour after supper somebody shouted +"Hello!" at the gate, and the Major went out and came back smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody wants to see you, Chad," he said. And Chad went out and found +Dan there on the black pony with Snowball behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"I've come over to say that I had no business hittin' you down at the +creek, and—" Chad interrupted him: +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right," he said, and Dan stopped and thrust out his hand. +The two boys shook hands gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"An' my papa says you are a man an' he wants you to come over and see +us and I want you—and Harry and Margaret. We all want you." +</P> + +<P> +"All right," said Chad. Dan turned his black pony and galloped off. +</P> + +<P> +"An' come soon!" he shouted back. +</P> + +<P> +Out in the quarters Mammy Ailsie, old Tom's wife, was having her own +say that night. +</P> + +<P> +"Ole Marse Cal Buford pickin' a piece of white trash out de gutter an' +not sayin' whar he come from an' nuttin' 'bout him. An' old Mars Henry +takin' him jus' like he was quality. My Tom say dae boy don' know who +is his mammy ner his daddy. I ain' gwine to let my little mistis play +wid no sech trash, I tell you—'deed I ain't!" And this talk would +reach the drawing-room by and by, where the General was telling the +family, at just about the same hour, the story of the horse sale and +Chad's purchase of the old brood mare. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew where he was from right away," said Harry. "I've seen +mountain-people wearing caps like his up at Uncle Brutus's, when they +come down to go to Richmond." +</P> + +<P> +The General frowned. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you won't see any more people like him up there again." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, papa?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because you aren't going to Uncle Brutus's any more." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, papa?" +</P> + +<P> +The mother put her hand on her husband's knee. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind, son," she said. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 10. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLUEGRASS +</H3> + +<P> +God's Country! +</P> + +<P> +No humor in that phrase to the Bluegrass Kentuckian! There never +was—there is none now. To him, the land seems in all the New World, to +have been the pet shrine of the Great Mother herself. She fashioned it +with loving hands. She shut it in with a mighty barrier of mighty +mountains to keep the mob out. She gave it the loving clasp of a mighty +river, and spread broad, level prairies beyond that the mob might glide +by, or be tempted to the other side, where the earth was level and +there was no need to climb; that she might send priests from her shrine +to reclaim Western wastes or let the weak or the unloving—if such +could be—have easy access to another land. +</P> + +<P> +In the beginning, such was her clear purpose to the Kentuckian's eye, +she filled it with flowers and grass and trees, and fish and bird and +wild beasts. Just as she made Eden for Adam and Eve. The red men fought +for the Paradise—fought till it was drenched with blood, but no tribe, +without mortal challenge from another straightway, could ever call a +rood its own. Boone loved the land from the moment the eagle eye in his +head swept its shaking wilderness from a mountain-top, and every man +who followed him loved the land no less. And when the chosen came, they +found the earth ready to receive them—lifted above the baneful breath +of river-bottom and marshland, drained by rivers full of fish, filled +with woods full of game, and underlaid—all—with thick, blue, +limestone strata that, like some divine agent working in the dark, kept +crumbling—ever crumbling—to enrich the soil and give bone-building +virtue to every drop of water and every blade of grass. For those +chosen people such, too, seemed her purpose—the Mother went to the +race upon whom she had smiled a benediction for a thousand years—the +race that obstacle but strengthens, that thrives best under an alien +effort to kill, that has ever conquered its conquerors, and that seems +bent on the task of carrying the best ideals any age has ever known +back to the Old World from which it sprang. The Great Mother knows! +Knows that her children must suffer, if they stray too far from her +great teeming breasts. And how she has followed close when this Saxon +race—her youngest born—seemed likely to stray too far—gathering its +sons to her arms in virgin lands that they might suckle again and keep +the old blood fresh and strong. Who could know what danger threatened +it when she sent her blue-eyed men and women to people the wilderness +of the New World? To climb the Alleghenies, spread through the wastes +beyond, and plant their kind across a continent from sea to sea. Who +knows what dangers threaten now, when, his task done, she seems to be +opening the eastern gates of the earth with a gesture that seems to +say—"Enter, reclaim, and dwell therein!" +</P> + +<P> +One little race of that race in the New World, and one only, has she +kept flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone—to that race only did she +give no outside aid. She shut it in with gray hill and shining river. +She shut it off from the mother state and the mother nation and left it +to fight its own fight with savage nature, savage beast, and savage +man. And thus she gave the little race strength of heart and body and +brain, and taught it to stand together as she taught each man of the +race to stand alone, protect his women, mind his own business, and +meddle not at all; to think his own thoughts and die for them if need +be, though he divided his own house against itself; taught the man to +cleave to one woman, with the penalty of death if he strayed elsewhere; +to keep her—and even himself—in dark ignorance of the sins against +Herself for which she has slain other nations, and in that happy +ignorance keeps them to-day, even while she is slaying elsewhere still. +</P> + +<P> +And Nature holds the Kentuckians close even to-day—suckling at her +breasts and living after her simple laws. What further use she may have +for them is hid by the darkness of to-morrow, but before the Great War +came she could look upon her work and say with a smile that it was +good. The land was a great series of wooded parks such as one might +have found in Merry England, except that worm fence and stone wall took +the place of hedge along the highways. It was a land of peace and of a +plenty that was close to easy luxury—for all. Poor whites were few, +the beggar was unknown, and throughout the region there was no man, +woman, or child, perhaps, who did not have enough to eat and to wear +and a roof to cover his head, whether it was his own roof or not. If +slavery had to be—then the fetters were forged light and hung loosely. +And, broadcast, through the people, was the upright sturdiness of the +Scotch-Irishman, without his narrowness and bigotry; the grace and +chivalry of the Cavalier without his Quixotic sentiment and his +weakness; the jovial good-nature of the English squire and the +leavening spirit of a simple yeomanry that bore itself with unconscious +tenacity to traditions that seeped from the very earth. And the wings +of the eagle hovered over all. +</P> + +<P> +For that land it was the flowering time of the age and the people; and +the bud that was about to open into the perfect flower had its living +symbol in the little creature racing over the bluegrass fields on a +black pony, with a black velvet cap and a white nodding plume above her +shaking curls, just as the little stranger who had floated down into +those Elysian fields—with better blood in his veins than he knew—was +a reincarnation perhaps of the spirit of the old race that had lain +dormant in the hills. The long way from log-cabin to Greek portico had +marked the progress of the generations before her, and, on this same +way, the boy had set his sturdy feet. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 11. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A TOURNAMENT +</H3> + +<P> +On Sunday, the Major and Miss Lucy took Chad to church—a country +church built of red brick and overgrown with ivy—and the sermon was +very short, Chad thought, for, down in the mountains, the circuit-rider +would preach for hours—and the deacons passed around velvet pouches +for the people to drop money in, and they passed around bread, of which +nearly everybody took a pinch, and a silver goblet with wine, from +which the same people took a sip—all of which Chad did not understand. +Usually the Deans went to Lexington to church, for they were +Episcopalians, but they were all at the country church that day, and +with them was Richard Hunt, who smiled at Chad and waved his +riding-whip. After church Dan came to him and shook hands. Harry nodded +to him gravely, the mother smiled kindly, and the General put his hand +on the boy's head. Margaret looked at him furtively, but passed him by. +Perhaps she was still "mad" at him, Chad thought, and he was much +worried. Margaret was not shy like Melissa, but her face was kind. The +General asked them all over to take dinner, but Miss Lucy declined—she +had asked people to take dinner with her. And Chad, with keen +disappointment, saw them drive away. +</P> + +<P> +It was a lonely day for him that Sunday. He got tired staying so long +at the table, and he did not understand what the guests were talking +about. The afternoon was long, and he wandered restlessly about the +yard and the quarters. Jerome Conners, the overseer, tried to be +friendly with him for the first time, but the boy did not like the +overseer and turned away from him. He walked down to the pike gate and +sat on it, looking over toward the Deans'. He wished that Dan would +come over to see him or, better still, that he could go over to see Dan +and Harry and—Margaret. But Dan did not come and Chad could not ask +the Major to let him go—he was too shy about it—and Chad was glad +when bedtime came. +</P> + +<P> +Two days more and spring was come in earnest. It was in the softness of +the air, the tenderness of cloud and sky, and the warmth of the +sunlight. The grass was greener and the trees quivered happily. Hens +scratched and cocks crowed more lustily. Insect life was busier. A +stallion nickered in the barn, and from the fields came the mooing of +cattle. Field-hands going to work chaffed the maids about the house and +quarters. It stirred dreamy memories of his youth in the Major, and it +brought a sad light into Miss Lucy's faded eyes. Would she ever see +another spring? It brought tender memories to General Dean, and over at +Woodlawn, after he and Mrs. Dean had watched the children go off with +happy cries and laughter to school, it led them back into the house +hand in hand. And it set Chad's heart aglow as he walked through the +dewy grass and amid the singing of many birds toward the pike gate. He, +too, was on his way to school—in a brave new suit of clothes—and +nobody smiled at him now, except admiringly, for the Major had taken +him to town the preceding day and had got the boy clothes such as Dan +and Harry wore. Chad was worried at first—he did not like to accept so +much from the Major. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll pay you back," said Chad. "I'll leave you my hoss when I go 'way, +if I don't," and the Major laughingly said that was all right and he +made Chad, too, think that it was all right. And so spring took the +shape of hope in Chad's breast, that morning, and a little later it +took the shape of Margaret, for he soon saw the Dean children ahead of +him in the road and he ran to catch up with them. +</P> + +<P> +All looked at him with surprise—seeing his broad white collar with +ruffles, his turned-back, ruffled cuffs, and his boots with red tops; +but they were too polite to say anything. Still Chad felt Margaret +taking them all in and he was proud and confident. And, when her eyes +were lifted to the handsome face that rose from the collar and the +thick yellow hair, he caught them with his own in an unconscious look +of fealty, that made the little girl blush and hurry on and not look at +him again until they were in school, when she turned her eyes, as did +all the other boys and girls, to scan the new "scholar." Chad's work in +the mountains came in well now. The teacher, a gray, sad-eyed, +thin-faced man, was surprised at the boy's capacity, for he could read +as well as Dan, and in mental arithmetic even Harry was no match for +him; and when in the spelling class he went from the bottom to the head +in a single lesson, the teacher looked as though he were going to give +the boy a word of praise openly and Margaret was regarding him with a +new light in her proud eyes. That was a happy day for Chad, but it +passed after school when, as they went home together, Margaret looked +at him no more; else Chad would have gone by the Deans' house when Dan +and Harry asked him to go and look at their ponies and the new sheep +that their father had just bought; for Chad was puzzled and awed and +shy of the little girl. It was strange—he had never felt that way +about Melissa. But his shyness kept him away from her day after day +until, one morning, he saw her ahead of him going to school alone, and +his heart thumped as he quietly and swiftly overtook her without +calling to her; but he stopped running that she might not know that he +had been running, and for the first time she was shy with him. Harry +and Dan were threatened with the measles, she said, and would say no +more. When they went through the fields toward the school-house, Chad +stalked ahead as he had done in the mountains with Melissa, and, +looking back, he saw that Margaret had stopped. He waited for her to +come up, and she looked at him for a moment as though displeased. +Puzzled, Chad gave back her look for a moment and turned without a +word—still stalking ahead. He looked back presently and Margaret had +stopped and was pouting. +</P> + +<P> +"You aren't polite, little boy. My mamma says a NICE little boy always +lets a little GIRL go first." But Chad still walked ahead. He looked +back presently and she had stopped again—whether angry or ready to +cry, he could not make out—so he waited for her, and as she came +slowly near he stepped gravely from the path, and Margaret went on like +a queen. +</P> + +<P> +In town, a few days later, he saw a little fellow take off his hat when +a lady passed him, and it set Chad to thinking. He recalled asking the +school-master once what was meant when the latter read about a knight +doffing his plume, and the school-master had told him that men, in +those days, took off their hats in the presence of ladies just as they +did in the Bluegrass now; but Chad had forgotten. He understood it all +then and he surprised Margaret, next morning, by taking off his cap +gravely when he spoke to her; and the little lady was greatly pleased, +for her own brothers did not do that, at least, not to her, though she +had heard her mother tell them that they must. All this must be +chivalry, Chad thought, and when Harry and Dan got well, he revived his +old ideas, but Harry laughed at him and Dan did, too, until Chad, +remembering Beelzebub, suggested that they should have a tournament +with two rams that the General had tied up in the stable. They would +make spears and each would get on a ram. Harry would let them out into +the lot and they would have "a real charge—sure enough." But Margaret +received the plan with disdain, until Dan, at Chad's suggestion, asked +the General to read them the tournament scene in "Ivanhoe," which +excited the little lady a great deal; and when Chad said that she must +be the "Queen of Love and Beauty" she blushed prettily and thought, +after all, that it would be great fun. They would make lances of +ash-wood and helmets of tin buckets, and perhaps Margaret would make +red sashes for them. Indeed, she would, and the tournament would take +place on the next Saturday. But, on Saturday, one of the sheep was +taken over to Major Buford's and the other was turned loose in the +Major's back pasture and the great day had to be postponed. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the night of the reading from "Ivanhoe" that Harry and Dan +found out how Chad could play the banjo. Passing old Mammy's cabin that +night before supper, the three boys had stopped to listen to old Tom +play, and after a few tunes, Chad could stand it no longer. +</P> + +<P> +"I foller pickin' the banjer a leetle," he said shyly, and thereupon he +had taken the rude instrument and made the old negro's eyes stretch +with amazement, while Dan rolled in the grass with delight, and every +negro who heard ran toward the boy. After supper, Dan brought the banjo +into the house and made Chad play on the porch, to the delight of them +all. And there, too, the servants gathered, and even old Mammy was +observed slyly shaking her foot—so that Margaret clapped her hands and +laughed the old woman into great confusion. After that no Saturday came +that Chad did not spend the night at the Deans', or Harry and Dan did +not stay at Major Buford's. And not a Saturday passed that the three +boys did not go coon-hunting with the darkies, or fox-hunting with the +Major and the General. Chad never forgot that first starlit night when +he was awakened by the near winding of a horn and heard the Major jump +from bed. He jumped too, and when the Major reached the barn, a dark +little figure was close at his heels. +</P> + +<P> +"Can I go, too?" Chad asked, eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Think you can stick on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. Get my bay horse. That old mare of yours is too slow." +</P> + +<P> +The Major's big bay horse! Chad was dizzy with pride. +</P> + +<P> +When they galloped out into the dark woods, there were the General and +Harry and Dan and half a dozen neighbors, sitting silently on their +horses and listening to the music of the hounds. +</P> + +<P> +The General laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you'd come," he said, and the Major laughed too, and cocked +his ear. "Old Rock's ahead," he said, for he knew, as did everyone +there, the old hound's tongue. +</P> + +<P> +"He's been ahead for an hour," said the General with quiet +satisfaction, "and I think he'll stay there." +</P> + +<P> +Just then a dark object swept past them, and the Major with a low cry +hied on his favorite hound. +</P> + +<P> +"Not now, I reckon," he said, and the General laughed again. +</P> + +<P> +Dan and Harry pressed their horses close to Chad, and all talked in low +voices. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't it fun?" whispered Dan. Chad answered with a shiver of pure joy. +</P> + +<P> +"He's making for the creek," said the Major, sharply, and he touched +spurs to his horse. How they raced through the woods, cracking brush +and whisking around trees, and how they thundered over the turf and +clattered across the road and on! For a few moments the Major kept +close to Chad, watching him anxiously, but the boy stuck to the big bay +like a jockey, and he left Dan and Harry on their ponies far behind. +All night they rode under the starlit sky, and ten miles away they +caught poor Reynard. Chad was in at the kill, with the Major and the +General, and the General gave Chad the brush with his own hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you learn to ride, boy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never learned," said Chad, simply, whereat the Major winked at his +friends and patted Chad on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to let my boys ride better horses, I suppose," said the +General; "I can't have a boy who does not know how to ride beating them +this way." +</P> + +<P> +Day was breaking when the Major and Chad rode into the stable-yard. The +boy's face was pale, his arms and legs ached, and he was so sleepy that +he could hardly keep his eyes open. +</P> + +<P> +"How'd you like it, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never knowed nothing like it in my life," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to teach you to shoot." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +As they approached the house, a squirrel barked from the woods. +</P> + +<P> +"Hear that, Chad?" said the Major. "We'll get him." +</P> + +<P> +The following morning, Chad rose early and took his old rifle out into +the woods, and when the Major came out on the porch before breakfast +the boy was coming up the walk with six squirrels in his hand. The +Major's eyes opened and he looked at the squirrels when Chad dropped +them on the porch. Every one of them was shot through the head. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm damned! How many times did you shoot, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Seven." +</P> + +<P> +"What—missed only once?" +</P> + +<P> +"I took a knot fer a squirrel once," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +The Major roared aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"Did I say I was going to teach you to shoot, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +The Major chuckled and that day he told about those squirrels and that +knot to everybody he saw. With every day the Major grew fonder and +prouder of the boy and more convinced than ever that the lad was of his +own blood. +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing that I like that that boy don't take to like a duck to +water." And when he saw the boy take off his hat to Margaret and +observed his manner with the little girl, he said to himself that if +Chad wasn't a gentleman born, he ought to have been, and the Major +believed that he must be. +</P> + +<P> +Everywhere, at school, at the Deans', with the darkies—with everybody +but Conners, the overseer, had became a favorite, but, as to Napoleon, +so to Chad, came Waterloo—with the long deferred tournament came +Waterloo to Chad. +</P> + +<P> +And it came after a certain miracle on May-day. The Major had taken +Chad to the festival where the dance was on sawdust in the woodland—in +the bottom of a little hollow, around which the seats ran as in an +amphitheatre. Ready to fiddle for them stood none other than John +Morgan himself, his gray eyes dancing and an arch smile on his handsome +face; and, taking a place among the dancers, were Richard Hunt +and—Margaret. The poised bow fell, a merry tune rang out, and Richard +Hunt bowed low to his little partner, who, smiling and blushing, +dropped him the daintiest of graceful courtesies. Then the miracle came +to pass. Rage straightway shook Chad's soul—shook it as a terrier +shakes a rat—and the look on his face and in his eyes went back a +thousand years. And Richard Hunt, looking up, saw the strange +spectacle, understood, and did not even smile. On the contrary, he went +at once after the dance to speak to the boy and got for his answer +fierce, white, staring silence and a clinched fist, that was almost +ready to strike. Something else that was strange happened then to Chad. +He felt a very firm and a very gentle hand on his shoulder, his own +eyes dropped before the piercing dark eyes and kindly smile above him, +and, a moment later, he was shyly making his way with Richard Hunt +toward Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +It was on Thursday of the following week that Dan told him the two rams +were once more tied in his father's stable. On Saturday, then, they +would have the tournament. To get Mammy's help, Margaret had to tell +the plan to her, and Mammy stormed against the little girl taking part +in any such undignified proceedings, but imperious Margaret forced her +to keep silent and help make sashes and a tent for each of the two +knights. Chad would be the "Knight of the Cumberland" and Dan the +"Knight of the Bluegrass." Snowball was to be Dan's squire and black +Rufus, Harry's body-servant, would be squire to Chad. Harry was King +John, the other pickaninnies would be varlets and vassals, and outraged +Uncle Tom, so Dan told him, would, "by the beard of Abraham," have to +be a "Dog of an Unbeliever." Margaret was undecided whether she would +play Rebecca, or the "Queen of Love and Beauty," until Chad told her +she ought to be both, so both she decided to be. So all was done—the +spears fashioned of ash, the helmets battered from tin buckets, colors +knotted for the spears, and shields made of sheepskins. On the stiles +sat Harry and Margaret in royal state under a canopy of calico, with +indignant Mammy behind them. At each end of the stable-lot was a tent +of cotton, and before one stood Snowball and before the other black +Rufus, each with his master's spear and shield. Near Harry stood Sam, +the trumpeter, with a fox-horn to sound the charge, and four black +vassals stood at the stable-door to lead the chargers forth. +</P> + +<P> +Near the stiles were the neighbors' children, and around the barn was +gathered every darky on the place, while behind the hedge and peeping +through it were the Major and the General, the one chuckling, the other +smiling indulgently. +</P> + +<P> +The stable-doors opened, the four vassals disappeared and came forth, +each pair leading a ram, one covered with red calico, the other with +blue cotton, and each with a bandanna handkerchief around his neck. +Each knight stepped forth from his tent, as his charger was +dragged—ba-a-ing and butting—toward it, and, grasping his spear and +shield and setting his helmet on more firmly, got astride gravely—each +squire and vassal solemn, for the King had given command that no varlet +must show unseemly mirth. Behind the hedge, the Major was holding his +hands to his side, and the General was getting grave. It had just +occurred to him that those rams would make for each other like +tornadoes, and he said so. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course they will," chuckled the Major. "Don't you suppose they know +that? That's what they're doing it for. Bless my soul!" +</P> + +<P> +The King waved his hand just then and his black trumpeter tooted the +charge. +</P> + +<P> +"Leggo!" said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Leggo!" said Dan. +</P> + +<P> +And Snowball and Rufus let go, and each ram ran a few paces and stopped +with his head close to the ground, while each knight brandished his +spear and dug with his spurred heels. One charger gave a ba-a! The +other heard, raised his head, saw his enemy, and ba-a-ed an answering +challenge. Then they started for each other with a rush that brought a +sudden fearsome silence, quickly followed by a babel of excited cries, +in which Mammy's was loudest and most indignant. Dan, nearly unseated, +had dropped his lance to catch hold of his charger's wool, and Chad had +gallantly lowered the point of his, because his antagonist was unarmed. +But the temper of rams and not of knights was in that fight now and +they came together with a shock that banged the two knights into each +other and hurled both violently to the ground. General Dean and the +Major ran anxiously from the hedge. Several negro men rushed for the +rams, who were charging and butting like demons. Harry tumbled from the +canopy in a most unkingly fashion. Margaret cried and Mammy wrung her +hands. Chad rose dizzily, but Dan lay still. Chad's elbow had struck +him in the temple and knocked him unconscious. +</P> + +<P> +The servants were thrown into an uproar when Dan was carried back into +the house. Harry was white and almost in tears. +</P> + +<P> +"I did it, father, I did it," he said, at the foot of the steps. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Chad, sturdily, "I done it myself." +</P> + +<P> +Margaret heard and ran from the hallway and down the steps, brushing +away her tears with both hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you did—you DID," she cried. "I hate you." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Margaret," said General Dan. +</P> + +<P> +Chad startled and stung, turned without a word and, unnoticed by the +rest, made his way slowly across the fields. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 12. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BACK TO KINGDOM COME +</H3> + +<P> +It was the tournament that, at last, loosed Mammy's tongue. She was +savage in her denunciation of Chad to Mrs. Dean—so savage and in such +plain language that her mistress checked her sharply, but not before +Margaret had heard, though the little girl, with an awed face, slipped +quietly out of the room into the yard, while Harry stood in the +doorway, troubled and silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let me hear you speak that way again Mammy," said Mrs. Dean, so +sternly that the old woman swept out of the room in high dudgeon And +yet she told her husband of Mammy's charge; +</P> + +<P> +"I am rather surprised at Major Buford." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps he doesn't know," said the General. "Perhaps it isn't true." +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody knows anything about the boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I cannot have my children associating with a waif." +</P> + +<P> +"He seems like a nice boy." +</P> + +<P> +"He uses extraordinary language. I cannot have him teaching my children +mischief. Why I believe Margaret is really fond of him. I know Harry +and Dan are." The General looked thoughtful. +</P> + +<P> +"I will speak to Major Buford about him," he said, and he did—no +little to that gentleman's confusion—though he defended Chad +staunchly—and the two friends parted with some heat. +</P> + +<P> +Thereafter, the world changed for Chad, for is there any older and +truer story than that Evil has wings, while Good goes a plodding way? +Chad felt the change, in the negroes, in the sneering overseer, and +could not understand. The rumor reached Miss Lucy's ears and she and +the Major had a spirited discussion that rather staggered Chad's +kind-hearted companion. It reached the school, and a black-haired +youngster, named Georgie Forbes, who had long been one of Margaret's +abject slaves, and who hated Chad, brought out the terrible charge in +the presence of a dozen school-children at noon-recess one day. It had +been no insult in the mountains, but Chad, dazed though he was, knew it +was meant for an insult, and his hard fist shot out promptly, landing +in his enemy's chin and bringing him bawling to the earth. Others gave +out the cry then, and the boy fought right and left like a demon. Dan +stood sullenly near, taking no part, and Harry, while he stopped the +unequal fight, turned away from Chad coldly, calling Margaret, who had +run up toward them, away at the same time, and Chad's three friends +turned from him then and there, while the boy, forgetting all else, +stood watching them with dumb wonder and pain. The school-bell clanged, +but Chad stood still—with his heart well nigh breaking. In a few +minutes the last pupil had disappeared through the school-room door, +and Chad stood under a great elm—alone. But only a moment, for he +turned quickly away, the tears starting to his eyes, walked rapidly +through the woods, climbed the worm fence beyond, and dropped, sobbing, +in the thick bluegrass. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later he was walking swiftly through the fields toward the old +brick house that had sheltered him. He was very quiet at supper that +night, and after Miss Lucy had gone to bed and he and the Major were +seated before the fire, he was so quiet that the Major looked at him +anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter Chad? Are you sick?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'—no, sir." +</P> + +<P> +But the Major was uneasy, and when he rose to go to bed, he went over +and put his hand on the boy's head. +</P> + +<P> +"Chad," he said, "if you hear of people saying mean things about you, +you mustn't pay any attention to them." +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a good boy, and I want you to live here with me. Good-night, +Chad," he added, affectionately. Chad nearly broke down, but he +steadied himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, Major," he said, brokenly. "I'm obleeged to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by?" repeated the Major. "Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night, I mean," stammered Chad. +</P> + +<P> +The Major stood inside his own door, listening to the boy's slow steps +up the second flight. "I'm gettin' to love that boy," he said, +wonderingly—"An' I'm damned if people who talk about him don't have me +to reckon with"—and the Major shook his head from side to side. +Several times he thought he could hear the boy moving around in the +room above him, and while he was wondering why the lad did not go to +bed, he fell asleep. +</P> + +<P> +Chad was moving around. First, by the light of a candle, he laboriously +dug out a short letter to the Major—scalding it with tears. Then he +took off his clothes and got his old mountain-suit out of the +closet—moccasins and all—and put them on. Very carefully he folded +the pretty clothes he had taken off—just as Miss Lucy had taught +him—and laid them on the bed. Then he picked up his old rifle in one +hand and his old coonskin cap in the other, blew out the candle, +slipped noiselessly down the stairs in his moccasined feet, out the +unbolted door and into the starlit night. From the pike fence he turned +once to look back to the dark, silent house amid the dark trees. Then +he sprang down and started through the fields—his face set toward the +mountains. +</P> + +<P> +It so happened that mischance led General Dean to go over to see Major +Buford about Chad next morning. The Major listened patiently—or tried +ineffectively to listen—and when the General was through, he burst out +with a vehemence that shocked and amazed his old friend. +</P> + +<P> +"Damn those niggers!" he cried, in a tone that seemed to include the +General in his condemnation, "that boy is the best boy I ever knew. I +believe he is my own blood, he looks a little like that picture +there"—pointing to the old portrait—"and if he is what I believe he +is, by ——, sir, he gets this farm and all I have. Do you understand +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe he told you what he was." +</P> + +<P> +"He did—but I don't believe he knows, and, anyhow, whatever he is, he +shall have a home under this roof as long as he lives." +</P> + +<P> +The General rose suddenly—stiffly. +</P> + +<P> +"He must never darken my door again." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well." The Major made a gesture which plainly said, "In that +event, you are darkening mine too long," and the General rose, slowly +descended the steps of the portico, and turned: +</P> + +<P> +"Do you really mean, that you are going to let a little brat that you +picked up in the road only yesterday stand between you and me?" +</P> + +<P> +The Major softened. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here," he said, whisking a sheet of paper from his coat-pocket. +While the General read Chad's scrawl, the Major watched his face. +</P> + +<P> +"He's gone, by ——. A hint was enough for him. If he isn't the son of +a gentleman, then I'm not, nor you." +</P> + +<P> +"Cal," said the General, holding out his hand, "we'll talk this over +again." +</P> + +<P> +The bees buzzed around the honeysuckles that clambered over the porch. +A crow flew overhead. The sound of a crying child came around the +corner of the house from the quarters, and the General's footsteps died +on the gravel-walk, but the Major heard them not. Mechanically he +watched the General mount his black horse and canter toward the pike +gate. The overseer called to him from the stable, but the Major dropped +his eyes to the scrawl in his hand, and when Miss Lucy came out he +silently handed it to her. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you know what folks is a-sayin' about me. I tol' you myself. +But I didn't know hit wus any harm, and anyways hit ain't my fault, I +reckon, an' I don't see how folks can blame me. But I don' want nobody +who don' want me. An' I'm leavin' 'cause I don't want to bother you. I +never bring nothing but trouble nohow an' I'm goin' back to the +mountains. Tell Miss Lucy good-by. She was mighty good to me, but I +know she didn't like me. I left the hoss for you. If you don't have no +use fer the saddle, I wish you'd give hit to Harry, 'cause he tuk up +fer me at school when I was fightin', though he wouldn't speak to me no +more. I'm mighty sorry to leave you. I'm obleeged to you cause you wus +so good to me an' I'm goin' to see you agin some day, if I can. +Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +"Left that damned old mare to pay for his clothes and his board and his +schooling," muttered the Major. "By the gods"—he rose suddenly and +strode away—"I beg your pardon, Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +A tear was running down each of Miss Lucy's faded cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +Dawn that morning found Chad springing from a bed in a haystack—ten +miles from Lexington. By dusk that day, he was on the edge of the +Bluegrass and that night he stayed at a farm-house, going in boldly, +for he had learned now that the wayfarer was as welcome in a Bluegrass +farm-house as in a log-cabin in the mountains. Higher and higher grew +the green swelling slopes, until, climbing one about noon next day, he +saw the blue foothills of the Cumberland through the clear air—and he +stopped and looked long, breathing hard from pure ecstasy. The +plain-dweller never knows the fierce home hunger that the mountain-born +have for hills. +</P> + +<P> +Besides, beyond those blue summits were the Turners and the +school-master and Jack, waiting for him, and he forgot hunger and +weariness as he trod on eagerly toward them. That night, he stayed in a +mountain-cabin, and while the contrast of the dark room, the crowding +children, the slovenly dress, and the coarse food was strangely +disagreeable, along with the strange new shock came the thrill that all +this meant hills and home. It was about three o'clock of the fourth day +that, tramping up the Kentucky River, he came upon a long, even stretch +of smooth water, from the upper end of which two black boulders were +thrust out of the stream, and with a keener thrill he realized that he +was nearing home. He recalled seeing those rocks as the raft swept down +the river, and the old Squire had said that they were named after +oxen—"Billy and Buck." Opposite the rocks he met a mountaineer. +</P> + +<P> +"How fer is it to Uncle Joel Turner's?" +</P> + +<P> +"A leetle the rise o' six miles, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +The boy was faint with weariness, and those six miles seemed a dozen. +Idea of distance is vague among the mountaineers, and two hours of +weary travel followed, yet nothing that he recognized was in sight. +Once a bend of the river looked familiar, but when he neared it, the +road turned steeply from the river and over a high bluff, and the boy +started up with a groan. He meant to reach the summit before he stopped +to rest, but in sheer pain, he dropped a dozen paces from the top and +lay with his tongue, like a dog's, between his lips. +</P> + +<P> +The top was warm, but a chill was rising from the fast-darkening +shadows below him. The rim of the sun was about to brush the green tip +of a mountain across the river, and the boy rose in a minute, dragged +himself on to the point where, rounding a big rock, he dropped again +with a thumping heart and a reeling brain. There it was—old Joel's +cabin in the pretty valley below—old Joel's cabin—home! Smoke was +rising from the chimney, and that far away it seemed that Chad could +smell frying bacon. There was the old barn and he could make out one of +the boys feeding stock and another chopping wood—was that the +school-master? There was the huge form of old Joel at the fence talking +with a neighbor. He was gesticulating as though angry, and the old +mother came to the door as the neighbor moved away with a shuffling +gait that the boy knew belonged to the Dillon breed. Where was Jack? +Jack! Chad sprang to his feet and went down the hill on a run. He +climbed the orchard fence, breaking the top rail in his eagerness, and +as he neared the house, he gave a shrill yell. A scarlet figure flashed +like a flame out of the door, with an answering cry, and the Turners +followed: +</P> + +<P> +"Why, boy," roared old Joel. "Mammy, hit's Chad!" +</P> + +<P> +Dolph dropped an armful of feed. The man with the axe left it stuck in +a log, and each man shouted: +</P> + +<P> +"Chad!" +</P> + +<P> +The mountaineers are an undemonstrative race, but Mother Turner took +the boy in her arms and the rest crowded around, slapping him on the +back and all asking questions at once. Dolph and Rube and Tom. Yes, and +there was the school-master—every face was almost tender with love for +the boy. But where was Jack? +</P> + +<P> +"Where's—where's Jack?" said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +Old Joel changed face—looking angry; the rest were grave. Only the old +mother spoke: +</P> + +<P> +"Jack's all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," said Chad, but he looked anxious. +</P> + +<P> +Melissa inside heard. He had not asked for HER, and with the sudden +choking of a nameless fear she sprang out the door to be caught by the +school-master, who had gone around the corner to look for her. +</P> + +<P> +"Lemme go," she said, fiercely, breaking his hold and darting away, but +stopping, when she saw Chad in the doorway, looking at her with a shy +smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdye, Melissa!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl stared at him mildly and made no answer, and a wave of shame +and confusion swept over the boy as his thoughts flashed back to a +little girl in a black cap and on a black pony, and he stood reddening +and helpless. There was a halloo at the gate. It was old Squire +Middleton and the circuit-rider, and old Joel went toward them with a +darkening face. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, hello, Chad," the Squire said. "You back again?" +</P> + +<P> +He turned to Joel. +</P> + +<P> +"Look hyeh, Joel. Thar hain't no use o' your buckin' agin yo' neighbors +and harborin' a sheep-killin' dog." Chad started and looked from one +face to another—slowly but surely making out the truth. +</P> + +<P> +"You never seed the dawg afore last spring. You don't know that he +hain't a sheep-killer." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a lie—a lie," Chad cried, hotly, but the school-master stopped +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, Chad," he said, and he took the boy inside and told him Jack was +in trouble. A Dillon sheep had been found dead on a hill-side. Daws +Dillon had come upon Jack leaping out of the pasture, and Jack had come +home with his muzzle bloody. Even with this overwhelming evidence, old +Joel stanchly refused to believe the dog was guilty and ordered old man +Dillon off the place. A neighbor had come over, then another, and an +other, until old Joel got livid with rage. +</P> + +<P> +"That dawg mought eat a dead sheep but he never would kill a live one, +and if you kill him, by ——, you've got to kill me fust." +</P> + +<P> +Now there is no more unneighborly or unchristian act for a farmer than +to harbor a sheep-killing dog. So the old Squire and the circuit-rider +had come over to show Joel the grievous error of his selfish, obstinate +course, and, so far, old Joel had refused to be shown. All of his sons +sturdily upheld him and little Melissa fiercely—the old mother and the +school-master alone remaining quiet and taking no part in the +dissension. +</P> + +<P> +"Have they got Jack?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Chad," said the school-master. "He's safe—tied up in the stable." +Chad started out, and no one followed but Melissa. A joyous bark that +was almost human came from the stable as Chad approached, for the dog +must have known the sound of his master's footsteps, and when Chad drew +open the door, Jack sprang the length of his tether to meet him and was +jerked to his back. Again and again he sprang, barking, as though +beside himself, while Chad stood at the door, looking sorrowfully at +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Down, Jack!" he said sternly, and Jack dropped obediently, looking +straight at his master with honest eyes and whimpering like a child. +</P> + +<P> +"Jack," said Chad, "did you kill that sheep?" This was all strange +conduct for his little master, and Jack looked wondering and dazed, but +his eyes never wavered or blinked. Chad could not long stand those +honest eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said, fiercely—"no, little doggie, no—no!" And Chad dropped +on his knees and took Jack in his arms and hugged him to his breast. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 13. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ON TRIAL FOR HIS LIFE +</H3> + +<P> +By degrees the whole story was told Chad that night. Now and then the +Turners would ask him about his stay in the Bluegrass, but the boy +would answer as briefly as possible and come back to Jack. Before going +to bed, Chad said he would bring Jack into the house: +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody might pizen him," he explained, and when he came back, he +startled the circle about the fire: +</P> + +<P> +"Whar's Whizzer?" he asked, sharply. "Who's seen Whizzer?" +</P> + +<P> +Then it developed that no one had seen the Dillon dog—since the day +before the sheep was found dead near a ravine at the foot of the +mountain in a back pasture. Late that afternoon Melissa had found +Whizzer in that very pasture when she was driving old Betsy, the +brindle, home at milking-time. Since then, no one of the Turners had +seen the Dillon dog. That, however, did not prove that Whizzer was not +at home. And yet, +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to know whar Whizzer is now!" said Chad, and, after, at old +Joel's command, he had tied Jack to a bedpost—an outrage that puzzled +the dog sorely—the boy threshed his bed for an hour—trying to think +out a defence for Jack and wondering if Whizzer might not have been +concerned in the death of the sheep. +</P> + +<P> +It is hardly possible that what happened, next day, could happen +anywhere except among simple people of the hills. Briefly, the old +Squire and the circuit-rider had brought old Joel to the point of +saying, the night before, that he would give Jack up to be killed, if +he could be proven guilty. But the old hunter cried with an oath: +</P> + +<P> +"You've got to prove him guilty." And thereupon the Squire said he +would give Jack every chance that he would give a man—HE WOULD TRY +HIM; each side could bring in witnesses; old Joel could have a lawyer +if he wished, and Jack's case would go before a jury. If pronounced +innocent, Jack should go free: if guilty—then the dog should be handed +over to the sheriff, to be shot at sundown. Joel agreed. +</P> + +<P> +It was a strange procession that left the gate of the Turner cabin next +morning. Old Joel led the way, mounted, with "ole Sal," his rifle, +across his saddle-bow. Behind him came Mother Turner and Melissa on +foot and Chad with his rifle over his left shoulder, and leading Jack +by a string with his right hand. Behind them slouched Tall Tom with his +rifle and Dolph and Rube, each with a huge old-fashioned horse-pistol +swinging from his right hip. Last strode the school-master. The cabin +was left deserted—the hospitable door held closed by a deer-skin latch +caught to a wooden pin outside. +</P> + +<P> +It was a strange humiliation to Jack thus to be led along the highway, +like a criminal going to the gallows. There was no power on earth that +could have moved him from Chad's side, other than the boy's own +command—but old Joel had sworn that he would keep the dog tied and the +old hunter always kept his word. He had sworn, too, that Jack should +have a fair trial. Therefore, the guns—and the school-master walked +with his hands behind him and his eyes on the ground: he feared trouble. +</P> + +<P> +Half a mile up the river and to one side of the road, a space of some +thirty feet square had been cut into a patch of rhododendron and filled +with rude benches of slabs—in front of which was a rough platform on +which sat a home-made, cane-bottomed chair. Except for the opening from +the road, the space was walled with a circle of living green through +which the sun dappled the benches with quivering disks of yellow +light—and, high above, great poplars and oaks arched their mighty +heads. It was an open-air "meeting-house" where the circuit-rider +preached during his summer circuit and there the trial was to take +place. +</P> + +<P> +Already a crowd was idling, whittling, gossiping in the road, when the +Turner cavalcade came in sight—and for ten miles up and down the river +people were coming in for the trial. +</P> + +<P> +"Mornin', gentlemen," said old Joel, gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"Mornin'," answered several, among whom was the Squire, who eyed Joel's +gun and the guns coming up the road. +</P> + +<P> +"Squirrel-huntin'?" he asked and, as the old hunter did not answer, he +added, sharply: +</P> + +<P> +"Air you afeerd, Joel Turner, that you ain't a-goin' to git justice +from ME?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't keer whar it comes from," said Joel, grimly—"but I'm a-goin' +to HAVE it." +</P> + +<P> +It was plain that the old man not only was making no plea for sympathy, +but was alienating the little he had: and what he had was very little, +for who but a lover of dogs can give full sympathy to his kind? And, +then, Jack was believed to be guilty. It was curious to see how each +Dillon shrank unconsciously as the Turners gathered—all but Jerry, one +of the giant twins. He always stood his ground—fearing nor man, nor +dog—nor devil. +</P> + +<P> +Ten minutes later, the Squire took his seat on the platform, while the +circuit-rider squatted down beside him. The crowd, men and women and +children, took the rough benches. To one side sat and stood the +Dillons, old Tad and little Tad, Daws, Nance, and others of the tribe. +Straight in front of the Squire gathered the Turners about Melissa and +Chad—and Jack as a centre—with Jack squatted on his hanches foremost +of all, facing the Squire with grave dignity and looking at none else +save, occasionally, the old hunter or his little master. +</P> + +<P> +To the right stood the sheriff with his rifle, and on the outskirts +hung the school-master. Quickly the old Squire chose a jury—giving old +Joel the opportunity to object as he called each man's name. Old Joel +objected to none, for every man called, he knew, was more friendly to +him than to the Dillons: and old Tad Dillon raised no word of protest, +for he knew his case was clear. Then began the trial, and any soul that +was there would have shuddered could he have known how that trial was +to divide neighbor against neighbor, and mean death and bloodshed for +half a century after the trial itself was long forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +The first witness, old Tad—long, lean, stooping, crafty—had seen the +sheep rushing wildly up the hill-side "'bout crack o' day," he said, +and had sent Daws up to see what the matter was. Daws had shouted back: +</P> + +<P> +"That damned Turner dog has killed one o' our sheep. Thar he comes now. +Kill him!" And old Tad had rushed in-doors for his rifle and had taken +a shot at Jack as he leaped into the road and loped for home. Just then +a stern, thick little voice rose from behind Jack: +</P> + +<P> +"Hit was a God's blessin' fer you that you didn't hit him." +</P> + +<P> +The Squire glared down at the boy and old Joel said, kindly: +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, Chad." +</P> + +<P> +Old Dillon had then gone down to the Turners and asked them to kill the +dog, but old Joel had refused. +</P> + +<P> +"Whar was Whizzer?" Chad asked, sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't axe that question," said the Squire. "Hit's +er-er-irrelevant." +</P> + +<P> +Daws came next. When he reached the fence upon the hill-side he could +see the sheep lying still on the ground. As he was climbing over, the +Turner dog jumped the fence and Daws saw blood on his muzzle. +</P> + +<P> +"How close was you to him?" asked the Squire. +</P> + +<P> +"'Bout twenty feet," said Daws. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" said old Joel. +</P> + +<P> +"Whar was Whizzer?" Again the old Squire glared down at Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you axe that question again, boy. Didn't I tell you hit was +irrelevant?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's irrelevant?" the boy asked, bluntly. +</P> + +<P> +The Squire hesitated. "Why—why, hit ain't got nothin' to do with the +case." +</P> + +<P> +"Hit ain't?" shouted Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Joel," said the Squire, testily, "ef you don't keep that boy still, +I'll fine him fer contempt o' court." +</P> + +<P> +Joel laughed, but he put his heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. Little +Tad Dillon and Nance and the Dillon mother had all seen Jack running +down the road. There was no doubt but that it was the Turner dog. And +with this clear case against poor Jack, the Dillons rested. And what +else could the Turners do but establish Jack's character and put in a +plea of mercy—a useless plea, old Joel knew—for a first offence? Jack +was the best dog old Joel had ever known, and the old man told +wonderful tales of the dog's intelligence and kindness and how one +night Jack had guarded a stray lamb that had broken its leg—until +daybreak—and he had been led to the dog and the sheep by Jack's +barking for help. The Turner boys confirmed this story, though it was +received with incredulity. +</P> + +<P> +How could a dog that would guard one lone helpless lamb all night long +take the life of another? +</P> + +<P> +There was no witness that had aught but kind words to say of the dog or +aught but wonder that he should have done this thing—even back to the +cattle-dealer who had given him to Chad. For at that time the dealer +said—so testified Chad, no objection being raised to hearsay +evidence—that Jack was the best dog he ever knew. That was all the +Turners or anybody could do or say, and the old Squire was about to +turn the case over to the jury when Chad rose: +</P> + +<P> +"Squire," he said and his voice trembled, "Jack's my dog. I lived with +him night an' day for 'bout three years an' I want to axe some +questions." +</P> + +<P> +He turned to Daws: +</P> + +<P> +"I want to axe you ef thar was any blood around that sheep." +</P> + +<P> +"Thar was a great big pool o' blood," said Daws, indignantly. Chad +looked at the Squire. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, a sheep-killin' dog don't leave no great big pool o' blood, +Squire, with the FUST one he kills! He SUCKS it!" Several men nodded +their heads. +</P> + +<P> +"Squire! The fust time I come over these mountains, the fust people I +seed was these Dillons—an' Whizzer. They sicked Whizzer on Jack hyeh +and Jack whooped him. Then Tad thar jumped me and I whooped him." (The +Turner boys were nodding confirmation.) "Sence that time they've hated +Jack an' they've hated me and they hate the Turners partly fer takin' +keer o' me. Now you said somethin' I axed just now was irrelevant, but +I tell you, Squire, I know a sheep-killin' dawg, and jes' as I know +Jack AIN'T, I know the Dillon dawg naturely is, and I tell you, if the +Dillons' dawg killed that sheep and they could put it on Jack—they'd +do it. They'd do it—Squire, an' I tell you, you—ortern't—to +let—that sheriff—thar—shoot my—dog—until the Dillons answers what +I axed—" the boy's passionate cry rang against the green walls and out +the opening and across the river— +</P> + +<P> +"WHAR'S WHIZZER?" +</P> + +<P> +The boy startled the crowd and the old Squire himself, who turned +quickly to the Dillons. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, whar is Whizzer?" +</P> + +<P> +Nobody answered. +</P> + +<P> +"He ain't been seen, Squire, sence the evenin' afore the night o' the +killin'!" Chad's statement seemed to be true. Not a voice contradicted. +</P> + +<P> +"An' I want to know if Daws seed signs o' killin' on Jack's head when +he jumped the fence, why them same signs didn't show when he got home." +</P> + +<P> +Poor Chad! Here old Tad Dillon raised his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Axe the Turners, Squire," he said, and as the school-master on the +outskirts shrank, as though he meant to leave the crowd, the old man's +quick eye caught the movement and he added: +</P> + +<P> +"Axe the school-teacher!" +</P> + +<P> +Every eye turned with the Squire's to the master, whose face was +strangely serious straightway. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see any signs on the dawg when he got home?" The gaunt man +hesitated, with one swift glance at the boy, who almost paled in answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," said the school-master, and again he hesitated, but old Joel, in +a voice that was without hope, encouraged him: +</P> + +<P> +"Go on!" +</P> + +<P> +"What was they?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jack had blood on his muzzle, and a little strand o' wool behind one +ear." +</P> + +<P> +There was no hope against that testimony. Melissa broke away from her +mother and ran out to the road—weeping. Chad dropped with a sob to his +bench and put his arms around the dog: then he rose up and walked out +the opening while Jack leaped against his leash to follow. The +school-master put out his hand to stop him, but the boy struck it aside +without looking up and went on. He could not stay to see Jack +condemned. He knew what the verdict would be, and in twenty minutes the +jury gave it, without leaving their seats. +</P> + +<P> +"Guilty!" +</P> + +<P> +The Sheriff came forward. He knew Jack and Jack knew him, and wagged +his tail and whimpered up at him when he took the leash. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, by ——, this is a job I don't like, an' I'm damned ef I'm +agoin' to shoot this dawg afore he knows what I'm shootin' him fer. I'm +goin' to show him that sheep fust. Whar's that sheep, Daws?" +</P> + +<P> +Daws led the way down the road, over the fence, across the meadow, and +up the hill-side where lay the slain sheep. Chad and Melissa saw them +coming—the whole crowd—before they themselves were seen. For a minute +the boy watched them. They were going to kill Jack where the Dillons +said he had killed the sheep, and the boy jumped to his feet and ran up +the hill a little way and disappeared in the bushes, that he might not +hear Jack's death-shot, while Melissa sat where she was, watching the +crowd come on. Daws was at the foot of the hill, and she saw him make a +gesture toward her, and then the Sheriff came on with Jack—over the +fence, past her, the Sheriff saying, kindly, "Howdy, Melissa. I shorely +am sorry ta have to kill Jack," and on to the dead sheep, which lay +fifty yards beyond. If the Sheriff expected to drop head and tail and +look mean he was greatly mistaken. Jack neither hung back nor sniffed +at the carcass. Instead he put one fore foot on it and with the other +bent in the air, looked without shame into the Sheriff's eyes—as much +as to say: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, this is a wicked and shameful thing, but what have I got to do +with it? Why are you bringing ME here?" +</P> + +<P> +The Sheriff came back greatly puzzled and shaking his head. Passing +Melissa, he stopped to let the unhappy little girl give Jack a last +pat, and it was there that Jack suddenly caught scent of Chad's tracks. +With one mighty bound the dog snatched the rawhide string from the +careless Sheriff's hand, and in a moment, with his nose to the ground, +was speeding up toward the woods. With a startled yell and a frightful +oath the Sheriff threw his rifle to his shoulder, but the little girl +sprang up and caught the barrel with both hands, shaking it fiercely up +and down and hieing Jack on with shriek after shriek. A minute later +Jack had disappeared in the bushes, Melissa was running like the wind +down the hill toward home, while the whole crowd in the meadow was +rushing up toward the Sheriff, led by the Dillons, who were yelling and +swearing like madmen. Above them, the crestfallen Sheriff waited. The +Dillons crowded angrily about him, gesticulating and threatening, while +he told his story. But nothing could be done—nothing. They did not +know that Chad was up in the woods or they would have gone in search of +him—knowing that when they found him they would find Jack—but to look +for Jack now would be like searching for a needle in a hay-stack. There +was nothing to do, then, but to wait for Jack to come home, which he +would surely do—to get to Chad—and it was while old Joel was +promising that the dog should be surrendered to the Sheriff that little +Tad Dillon gave an excited shriek. +</P> + +<P> +"Look up thar!" +</P> + +<P> +And up there at the edge of the wood was Chad standing and, at his +feet, Jack sitting on his haunches, with his tongue out and looking as +though nothing had happened or could ever happen to Chad or to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Come up hyeh," shouted Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"You come down hyeh," shouted the Sheriff, angrily. So Chad came down, +with Jack trotting after him. Chad had cut off the rawhide string, but +the Sheriff caught Jack by the nape of the neck. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't git away from me agin, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I reckon you ain't goin' to shoot him," said Chad. "Leggo that +dawg." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be a fool, Jim," said old Joel. "The dawg ain't goin' to leave +the boy." The Sheriff let go. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on up hyeh," said Chad. "I got somethin' to show ye." +</P> + +<P> +The boy turned with such certainty that with out a word Squire, +Sheriff, Turners, Dillons, and spectators followed. As they approached +a deep ravine the boy pointed to the ground where were evidences of +some fierce struggle—the dirt thrown up, and several small stones +scattered about with faded stains of blood on them. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait hyeh!" said the boy, and he slid down the ravine and appeared +again dragging something after him. Tall Tom ran down to help him and +the two threw before the astonished crowd the body of a black and white +dog. "Now I reckon you know whar Whizzer is," panted Chad vindictively +to the Dillons. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what of it?" snapped Daws +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nothin'," said the boy with fine sarcasm. "Only WHIZZER killed +that sheep and Jack killed Whizzer." From every Dillon throat came a +scornful grunt. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I reckon so," said Chad, easily. "Look dhar!" He lifted the dead +dog's head, and pointed at the strands of wool between his teeth. He +turned it over, showing the deadly grip in the throat and close to the +jaws, that had choked the life from Whizzer—Jack's own grip. +</P> + +<P> +"Ef you will jes' rickollect, Jack had that same grip the time +afore—when I pulled him off o' Whizzer." +</P> + +<P> +"By ——, that is so," said Tall Tom, and Dolph and Rube echoed him +amid a dozen voices, for not only old Joel, but many of his neighbors +knew Jack's method of fighting, which had made him a victor up and down +the length of Kingdom Come. +</P> + +<P> +There was little doubt that the boy was right—that Jack had come on +Whizzer killing the sheep, and had caught him at the edge of the +ravine, where the two had fought, rolling down and settling the old +feud between them in the darkness at the bottom. And up there on the +hill-side, the jury that pronounced Jack guilty pronounced him +innocent, and, as the Turners started joyfully down the hill, the sun +that was to have sunk on Jack stiff in death sank on Jack frisking +before them—home. +</P> + +<P> +And yet another wonder was in store for Chad. A strange horse with a +strange saddle was hitched to the Turner fence; beside it was an old +mare with a boy's saddle, and as Chad came through the gate a familiar +voice called him cheerily by name. On the porch sat Major Buford. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 14. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MAJOR IN THE MOUNTAINS +</H3> + +<P> +The quivering heat of August was giving way and the golden peace of +autumn was spreading through the land. The breath of mountain woods by +day was as cool as the breath of valleys at night. In the mountains, +boy and girl were leaving school for work in the fields, and from the +Cumberland foothills to the Ohio, boy and girl were leaving happy +holidays for school. Along a rough, rocky road and down a shining +river, now sunk to deep pools with trickling riffles between—for a +drouth was on the land—rode a tall, gaunt man on an old brown mare +that switched with her tail now and then at a long-legged, rough-haired +colt stumbling awkwardly behind. Where the road turned from the river +and up the mountain, the man did a peculiar thing, for there, in that +lonely wilderness, he stopped, dismounted, tied the reins to an +overhanging branch and, leaving mare and colt behind, strode up the +mountain, on and on, disappearing over the top. Half an hour later, a +sturdy youth hove in sight, trudging along the same road with his cap +in his hand, a long rifle over one shoulder and a dog trotting at his +heels. Now and then the boy would look back and scold the dog and the +dog would drop his muzzle with shame, until the boy stooped to pat him +on the head, when he would leap frisking before him, until another +affectionate scolding was due. The old mare turned her head when she +heard them coming, and nickered. Without a moment's hesitation the lad +untied her, mounted and rode up the mountain. For two days the man and +the boy had been "riding and tying," as this way of travel for two men +and one horse is still known in the hills, and over the mountain, they +were to come together for the night. At the foot of the spur on the +other side, boy and dog came upon the tall man sprawled at full length +across a moss-covered bowlder. The dog dropped behind, but the man's +quick eye caught him: +</P> + +<P> +"Where'd that dog come from, Chad?" Jack put his belly to the earth and +crawled slowly forward—penitent, but determined. +</P> + +<P> +"He broke loose, I reckon. He come tearin' up behind me 'bout an hour +ago, like a house afire. Let him go." Caleb Hazel frowned. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you, Chad, that we'd have no place to keep him." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we can send him home as easy from up thar as we can from +hyeh—let him go." +</P> + +<P> +"All right!" Chad understood not a whit better than the dog; for Jack +leaped to his feet and jumped around the school-master, trying to lick +his hands, but the school-master was absorbed and would none of him. +There, the mountain-path turned into a wagon-road and the school-master +pointed with one finger. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know what that is, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." Chad said "sir" to the school-master now. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's"—the school-master paused to give his words +effect—"that's the old Wilderness Road." +</P> + +<P> +Ah, did he not know the old, old Wilderness Road! The boy gripped his +rifle unconsciously, as though there might yet be a savage lying in +ambush in some covert of rhododendron close by. And, as they trudged +ahead, side by side now, for it was growing late, the school-master +told him, as often before, the story of that road and the pioneers who +had trod it—the hunters, adventurers, emigrants, fine ladies and fine +gentlemen who had stained it with their blood; and how that road had +broadened into the mighty way for a great civilization from sea to sea. +The lad could see it all, as he listened, wishing that he had lived in +those stirring days, never dreaming in how little was he of different +mould from the stout-hearted pioneers who beat out the path with their +moccasined feet; how little less full of danger were his own days to +be; how little different had been his own life, and was his purpose +now—how little different after all was the bourn to which his own +restless feet were bearing him. +</P> + +<P> +Chad had changed a good deal since that night after Jack's trial, when +the kind-hearted old Major had turned up at Joel's cabin to take him +back to the Bluegrass. He was taller, broader at shoulder, deeper of +chest; his mouth and eyes were prematurely grave from much brooding and +looked a little defiant, as though the boy expected hostility from the +world and was prepared to meet it, but there was no bitterness in them, +and luminous about the lad was the old atmosphere of brave, sunny cheer +and simple self-trust that won people to him. +</P> + +<P> +The Major and old Joel had talked late that night after Jack's trial. +The Major had come down to find out who Chad was, if possible, and to +take him back home, no matter who he might be. The old hunter looked +long into the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Co'se I know hit 'ud be better fer Chad, but, Lawd, how we'd hate to +give him up. Still, I reckon I'll have to let him go, but I can stand +hit better, if you can git him to leave Jack hyeh." The Major smiled. +Did old Joel know where Nathan Cherry lived? The old hunter did. Nathan +was a "damned old skinflint who lived across the mountain on Stone +Creek—who stole other folks' farms and if he knew anything about Chad +the old hunter would squeeze it out of his throat; and if old Nathan, +learning where Chad now was, tried to pester him he would break every +bone in the skinflint's body." So the Major and old Joel rode over next +day to see Nathan, and Nathan with his shifting eyes told them Chad's +story in a high, cracked voice that, recalling Chad's imitation of it, +made the Major laugh. Chad was a foundling, Nathan said: his mother was +dead and his father had gone off to the Mexican War and never come +back: he had taken the mother in himself and Chad had been born in his +own house, when he lived farther up the river, and the boy had begun to +run away as soon as he was old enough to toddle. And with each sentence +Nathan would call for confirmation on a silent, dark-faced daughter who +sat inside: "Didn't he, Betsy?" or "Wasn't he, gal?" And the girl would +nod sullenly, but say nothing. It seemed a hopeless mission except +that, on the way back, the Major learned that there were one or two +Bufords living down the Cumberland, and like old Joel, shook his head +over Nathan's pharisaical philanthropy to a homeless boy and wondered +what the motive under it was—but he went back with the old hunter and +tried to get Chad to go home with him. The boy was rock-firm in his +refusal. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm obleeged to you, Major, but I reckon I better stay in the +mountains." That was all Chad would say, and at last the Major gave up +and rode back over the mountain and down the Cumberland alone, still on +his quest. At a blacksmith's shop far down the river he found a man who +had "heerd tell of a Chad Buford who had been killed in the Mexican War +and whose daddy lived 'bout fifteen mile down the river." The Major +found that Buford dead, but an old woman told him his name was Chad, +that he had "fit in the War o' 1812 when he was nothin' but a chunk of +a boy, and that his daddy, whose name, too, was Chad, had been killed +by Injuns some'eres aroun' Cumberland Gap." By this time the Major was +as keen as a hound on the scent, and, in a cabin at the foot of the +sheer gray wall that crumbles into the Gap, he had the amazing luck to +find an octogenarian with an unclouded memory who could recollect a +queer-looking old man who had been killed by Indians—"a ole feller +with the curiosest hair I ever did see," added the patriarch. His name +was Colonel Buford, and the old man knew where he was buried, for he +himself was old enough at the time to help bury him. Greatly excited, +the Major hired mountaineers to dig into the little hill that the old +man pointed out, on which there was, however, no sign of a grave, and, +at last, they uncovered the skeleton of an old gentleman in a wig and +peruke! There was little doubt now that the boy, no matter what the +blot on his 'scutcheon, was of his own flesh and blood, and the Major +was tempted to go back at once for him, but it was a long way, and he +was ill and anxious to get back home. So he took the Wilderness Road +for the Bluegrass, and wrote old Joel the facts and asked him to send +Chad to him whenever he would come. But the boy would not go. There was +no definite reason in his mind. It was a stubborn instinct merely—the +instinct of pride, of stubborn independence—of shame that festered in +his soul like a hornet's sting. Even Melissa urged him. She never tired +of hearing Chad tell about the Bluegrass country, and when she knew +that the Major wanted him to go back, she followed him out in the yard +that night and found him on the fence whittling. A red star was sinking +behind the mountains. "Why won't you go back no more, Chad?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause I HAIN'T got no daddy er mammy." Then Melissa startled him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'd go—an' I hain't got no daddy er mammy." Chad stopped his +whittling. +</P> + +<P> +"Whut'd you say, Lissy?" he asked, gravely. +</P> + +<P> +Melissa was frightened—the boy looked so serious. +</P> + +<P> +"Cross yo' heart an' body that you won't NUVER tell NO body." Chad +crossed. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, mammy said I mustn't ever tell nobody—but I HAIN'T got no daddy +er mammy. I heerd her a-tellin' the school-teacher." And the little +girl shook her head over her frightful crime of disobedience. +</P> + +<P> +"You HAIN'T?" +</P> + +<P> +"I HAIN'T!" +</P> + +<P> +Melissa, too, was a waif, and Chad looked at her with a wave of new +affection and pity. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, why won't you go back just because you hain't got no daddy an' +mammy?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad hesitated. There was no use making Melissa unhappy. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'd just ruther stay hyeh in the mountains," he said, +carelessly—lying suddenly like the little gentleman that he was—lying +as he knew, and as Melissa some day would come to know. Then Chad +looked at the little girl a long while, and in such a queer way that +Melissa turned her face shyly to the red star. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' to stay right hyeh. Ain't you glad, Lissy?" +</P> + +<P> +The little girl turned her eyes shyly back again. "Yes, Chad," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He would stay in the mountains and work hard; and when he grew up he +would marry Melissa and they would go away where nobody knew him or +her: or they would stay right there in the mountains where nobody +blamed him for what he was nor Melissa for what she was; and he would +study law like Caleb Hazel, and go to the Legislature—but Melissa! And +with the thought of Melissa in the mountains came always the thought of +dainty Margaret in the Bluegrass and the chasm that lay between the +two—between Margaret and him, for that matter; and when Mother Turner +called Melissa from him in the orchard next day, Chad lay on his back +under an apple-tree, for a long while, thinking; and then he whistled +for Jack and climbed the spur above the river where he could look down +on the shadowed water and out to the clouded heaps of rose and green +and crimson, where the sun was going down under one faint white star. +Melissa was the glow-worm that, when darkness came, would be a +watch-fire at his feet—Margaret, the star to which his eyes were +lifted night and day—and so runs the world. He lay long watching that +star. It hung almost over the world of which he had dreamed so long and +upon which he had turned his back forever. Forever? Perhaps, but he +went back home that night with a trouble in his soul that was not to +pass, and while he sat by the fire he awoke from the same dream to find +Melissa's big eyes fixed on him, and in them was a vague trouble that +was more than his own reflected back to him. +</P> + +<P> +Still the boy went back sturdily to his old life, working in the +fields, busy about the house and stable, going to school, reading and +studying with the school-master at nights, and wandering in the woods +with Jack and his rifle. And he hungered for spring to come again when +he should go with the Turner boys to take another raft of logs down the +river to the capital. Spring came, and going out to the back pasture +one morning, Chad found a long-legged, ungainly creature stumbling +awkwardly about his old mare—a colt! That, too, he owed the Major, and +he would have burst with pride had he known that the colt's sire was a +famous stallion in the Bluegrass. That spring he did go down the river +again. He did not let the Major know he was coming and, through a +nameless shyness, he could not bring himself to go to see his old +friend and kinsman, but in Lexington, while he and the school-master +were standing on Cheapside, the Major whirled around a corner on them +in his carriage, and, as on the turnpike a year before, old Tom, the +driver, called out: +</P> + +<P> +"Look dar, Mars Cal!" And there stood Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, bless my soul! Chad—why, boy! How you have grown!" For Chad had +grown, and his face was curiously aged and thoughtful. The Major +insisted on taking him home, and the school-master, too, who went +reluctantly. Miss Lucy was there, looking whiter and more fragile than +ever, and she greeted Chad with a sweet kindliness that took the sting +from his unjust remembrance of her. And what that failure to understand +her must have been Chad better knew when he saw the embarrassed awe, in +her presence, of the school-master, for whom all in the mountains had +so much reverence. At the table was Thankyma'am waiting. Around the +quarters and the stable the pickaninnies and servants seemed to +remember the boy in a kindly genuine way that touched him, and even +Jerome Conners, the overseer, seemed glad to see him. The Major was +drawn at once to the grave school-master, and he had a long talk with +him that night. It was no use, Caleb Hazel said, trying to persuade the +boy to live with the Major—not yet. And the Major was more content +when he came to know in what good hands the boy was, and, down in his +heart, he loved the lad the more for his sturdy independence, and for +the pride that made him shrink from facing the world with the shame of +his birth; knowing that Chad thought of him perhaps more than of +himself. Such unwillingness to give others trouble seemed remarkable in +so young a lad. Not once did the Major mention the Deans to the boy, +and about them Chad asked no questions—not even when he saw their +carriage passing the Major's gate. When they came to leave the Major +said: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Chad, when that filly of yours is a year old, I'll buy 'em both +from you, if you'll sell 'em, and I reckon you can come up and go to +school then." +</P> + +<P> +Chad shook his head. Sell that colt? He would as soon have thought of +selling Jack. But the temptation took root, just the same, then and +there, and grew steadily until, after another year in the mountains, it +grew too strong. For, in that year, Chad grew to look the fact of his +birth steadily in the face, and in his heart grew steadily a proud +resolution to make his way in the world despite it. It was curious how +Melissa came to know the struggle that was going on within him and how +Chad came to know that she knew—though no word passed between them: +more curious still, how it came with a shock to Chad one day to realize +how little was the tragedy of his life in comparison with the tragedy +in hers, and to learn that the little girl with swift vision had +already reached that truth and with sweet unselfishness had reconciled +herself. He was a boy—he could go out in the world and conquer it, +while her life was as rigid and straight before her as though it ran +between close walls of rock as steep and sheer as the cliff across the +river. One thing he never guessed—what it cost the little girl to +support him bravely in his purpose, and to stand with smiling face when +the first breath of one sombre autumn stole through the hills, and Chad +and the school-master left the Turner home for the Bluegrass, this time +to stay. +</P> + +<P> +She stood in the doorway after they had waved good-by from the head of +the river—the smile gone and her face in a sudden dark eclipse. The +wise old mother went in-doors. Once the girl started through the yard +as though she would rush after them and stopped at the gate, clinching +it hard with both hands. As suddenly she became quiet. +</P> + +<P> +She went in-doors to her work and worked quietly and without a word. +Thus she did all day while her mind and her heart ached. When she went +after the cows before sunset she stopped at the barn where Beelzebub +had been tied. She lifted her eyes to the hay-loft where she and Chad +had hunted for hens' eggs and played hide-and-seek. She passed through +the orchard where they had worked and played so many happy hours, and +on to the back pasture where the Dillon sheep had been killed and she +had kept the Sheriff from shooting Jack. And she saw and noted +everything with a piteous pain and dry eyes. But she gave no sign that +night, and not until she was in bed did she with covered head give way. +Then the bed shook with her smothered sobs. This is the sad way with +women. After the way of men, Chad proudly marched the old Wilderness +Road that led to a big, bright, beautiful world where one had but to do +and dare to reach the stars. The men who had trod that road had made +that big world beyond, and their life Chad himself had lived so far. +Only, where they had lived he had been born—in a log cabin. Their +weapons—the axe and the rifle—had been his. He had had the same +fight with Nature as they. He knew as well as they what life in the +woods in "a half-faced camp" was. Their rude sports and pastimes, their +log-rollings, house-raisings, quilting parties, corn-huskings, feats of +strength, had been his. He had the same lynx eyes, cool courage, +swiftness of foot, readiness of resource that had been trained into +them. His heart was as stout and his life as simple and pure. He was +taking their path and, in the far West, beyond the Bluegrass world +where he was going, he could, if he pleased, take up the same life at +the precise point where they had left off. At sunset, Chad and the +school-master stood on the summit of the Cumberland foothills and +looked over the rolling land with little less of a thrill, doubtless, +than the first hunters felt when the land before them was as much a +wilderness as the wilds through which they had made their way. Below +them a farmhouse shrank half out of sight into a little hollow, and +toward it they went down. +</P> + +<P> +The outside world had moved swiftly during the two years that they had +been buried in the hills as they learned at the farm-house that night. +Already the national storm was threatening, the air was electrically +charged with alarms, and already here and there the lightning had +flashed. The underground railway was busy with black freight, and John +Brown, fanatic, was boldly lifting his shaggy head. Old Brutus Dean was +even publishing an abolitionist paper at Lexington, the aristocratic +heart of the State. He was making abolition speeches throughout the +Bluegrass with a dagger thrust in the table before him—shaking his +black mane and roaring defiance like a lion. The news thrilled Chad +unaccountably, as did the shadow of any danger, but it threw the +school-master into gloom. There was more. A dark little man by the name +of Douglas and a sinewy giant by the name of Lincoln were thrilling the +West. Phillips and Garrison were thundering in Massachusetts, and fiery +tongues in the South were flashing back scornful challenges and threats +that would imperil a nation. An invisible air-line shot suddenly +between the North and the South, destined to drop some day and lie a +dead-line on the earth, and on each side of it two hordes of brothers, +who thought themselves two hostile peoples, were shrinking away from +each other with the half-conscious purpose of making ready for a +charge. In no other State in the Union was the fratricidal character of +the coming war to be so marked as in Kentucky, in no other State was +the national drama to be so fully played to the bitter end. +</P> + +<P> +That night even, Brutus Dean was going to speak near by, and Chad and +Caleb Hazel went to hear him. The fierce abolitionist first placed a +Bible before him. +</P> + +<P> +"This is for those who believe in religion," he said; then a copy of +the Constitution: "this for those who believe in the laws and in +freedom of speech. And this," he thundered, driving a dagger into the +table and leaving it to quiver there, "is for the rest!" Then he went +on and no man dared to interrupt. +</P> + +<P> +And only next day came the rush of wind that heralds the storm. Just +outside of Lexington Chad and the school-master left the mare and colt +at a farm-house and with Jack went into town on foot. It was Saturday +afternoon, the town was full of people, and an excited crowd was +pressing along Main Street toward Cheapside. The man and the boy +followed eagerly. Cheapside was thronged—thickest around a frame +building that bore a newspaper sign on which was the name of Brutus +Dean. A man dashed from a hardware store with an axe, followed by +several others with heavy hammers in their hands. One swing of the axe, +the door was crashed open and the crowd went in like wolves. Shattered +windows, sashes and all, flew out into the street, followed by showers +of type, chair-legs, table-tops, and then, piece by piece, the battered +cogs, wheels, and forms of a printing-press. The crowd made little +noise. In fifteen minutes the house was a shell with gaping windows, +surrounded with a pile of chaotic rubbish, and the men who had done the +work quietly disappeared. Chad looked at the school-master for the +first time: neither of them had uttered a word. The school-master's +face was white with anger, his hands were clinched, and his eyes were +so fierce and burning that the boy was frightened. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 15. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO COLLEGE IN THE BLUEGRASS +</H3> + +<P> +As the school-master had foretold, there was no room at college for +Jack. Several times Major Buford took the dog home with him, but Jack +would not stay. The next morning the dog would turn up at the door of +the dormitory where Chad and the school-master slept, and as a last +resort the boy had to send Jack home. So, one Sunday morning Chad led +Jack out of the town for several miles, and at the top of a high hill +pointed toward the mountains and sternly told him to go home. And Jack, +understanding that the boy was in earnest, trotted sadly away with a +placard around his neck: +</P> + +<P> +I own this dog. His name is Jack. He is on his way to Kingdom Come. +Please feed him. Uncle Joel Turner will shoot any man who steels him. +CHAD. +</P> + +<P> +It was no little consolation to Chad to think that the faithful +sheep-dog would in no small measure repay the Turners for all they had +done for him. But Jack was the closest link that bound him to the +mountains, and dropping out of sight behind the crest of the hill, Chad +crept to the top again and watched Jack until he trotted out of sight, +and the link was broken. Then Chad went slowly and sorrowfully back to +his room. +</P> + +<P> +It was the smallest room in the dormitory that the school-master had +chosen for himself and Chad, and in it were one closet, one table, one +lamp, two chairs and one bed—no more. There were two windows in the +little room—one almost swept by the branches of a locust-tree and +overlooking the brown-gray sloping campus and the roofs and +church-steeples of the town—the other opening to the east on a sweep +of field and woodland over which the sun rose with a daily message from +the unseen mountains far beyond and toward which Chad had sent Jack +trotting home. It was a proud day for Chad when Caleb Hazel took him to +"matriculate"—leading him from one to another of the professors, who +awed the lad with their preternatural dignity, but it was a sad blow +when he was told that in everything but mathematics he must go to the +preparatory department until the second session of the term—the +"kitchen," as it was called by the students. He bore it bravely, +though, and the school-master took him down the shady streets to the +busy thoroughfare, where the official book-store was, and where Chad, +with pure ecstasy, caught his first new books under one arm and trudged +back, bending his head now and then to catch the delicious smell of the +fresh leaves and print. It was while he was standing with his treasures +under the big elm at the turnstile, looking across the campus at the +sundown that two boys came down the gravel path. He knew them both at +once as Dan and Harry Dean. Both looked at him curiously, as he +thought, but he saw that neither knew him and no one spoke. The sound +of wheels came up the street behind him just then, and a carriage +halted at the turnstile to take them in. Turning, Chad saw a slender +girl with dark hair and eyes and heard her call brightly to the boys. +He almost caught his breath at the sound of her voice, but he kept +sturdily on his way, and the girl's laugh rang in his ears as it rang +the first time he heard it, was ringing when he reached his room, +ringing when he went to bed that night, and lay sleepless, looking +through his window at the quiet stars. +</P> + +<P> +For some time, indeed, no one recognized him, and Chad was glad. Once +he met Richard Hunt riding with Margaret, and the piercing dark eyes +that the boy remembered so well turned again to look at him. Chad +colored and bravely met them with his own, but there was no +recognition. And he saw John Morgan—Captain John Morgan—at the head +of the "Lexington Rifles," which he had just formed from the best +blood of the town, as though in long preparation for that coming +war—saw him and Richard Hunt, as lieutenant, drilling them in the +campus, and the sight thrilled him as nothing else, except Margaret, +had ever done. Many times he met the Dean brothers on the playground +and in the streets, but there was no sign that he was known until he +was called to the blackboard one day in geometry, the only course in +which he had not been sent to the "kitchen." Then Chad saw Harry turn +quickly when the professor called his name. Confused though he was for +a moment, he gave his demonstration in his quaint speech with perfect +clearness and without interruption from the professor, who gave the boy +a keen look as he said, quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"Very good, sir!" And Harry could see his fingers tracing in his +class-book the figures that meant a perfect recitation. +</P> + +<P> +"How are you, Chad?" he said in the hallway afterward. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdye!" said Chad, shaking the proffered hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know you—you've grown so tall. Didn't you know me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why didn't you speak to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause you didn't know ME." +</P> + +<P> +Harry laughed. "Well, that isn't fair. See you again." +</P> + +<P> +"All right," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +That very afternoon Chad met Dan in a football game—an old-fashioned +game, in which there were twenty or thirty howling lads on each side +and nobody touched the ball except with his foot—met him so violently +that, clasped in each other's arms, they tumbled to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Leggo!" said Dan. +</P> + +<P> +"S'pose you leggo!" said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +As Dan started after the ball he turned to look at Chad and after the +game he went up to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, aren't you the boy who was out at Major Buford's once?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Dan thrust out his hand and began to laugh. So did Chad, and +each knew that the other was thinking of the tournament. +</P> + +<P> +"In college?" +</P> + +<P> +"Math'matics," said Chad. "I'm in the kitchen fer the rest." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" said Dan. "Where you living?" Chad pointed to the dormitory, and +again Dan said "Oh!" in a way that made Chad flush, but added, quickly: +</P> + +<P> +"You better play on our side to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +Chad looked at his clothes—foot-ball seemed pretty hard on clothes—"I +don't know," he said—"mebbe." +</P> + +<P> +It was plain that neither of the boys was holding anything against +Chad, but neither had asked the mountain lad to come to see him—an +omission that was almost unforgivable according to Chad's social +ethics. So Chad proudly went into his shell again, and while the three +boys met often, no intimacy developed. Often he saw them with Margaret, +on the street, in a carriage or walking with a laughing crowd of boys +and girls; on the porticos of old houses or in the yards; and, one +night, Chad saw, through the wide-open door of a certain old house on +the corner of Mill and Market Streets, a party going on; and Margaret, +all in white, dancing, and he stood in the shade of the trees opposite +with new pangs shooting through him and went back to his room in +desolate loneliness, but with a new grip on his resolution that his own +day should yet come. +</P> + +<P> +Steadily the boy worked, forging his way slowly but surely toward the +head of his class in the "kitchen," and the school-master helped him +unwearyingly. And it was a great help—mental and spiritual—to be near +the stern Puritan, who loved the boy as a brother and was ever ready to +guide him with counsel and aid him with his studies. In time the Major +went to the president to ask him about Chad, and that august dignitary +spoke of the lad in a way that made the Major, on his way through the +campus, swish through the grass with his cane in great satisfaction. He +always spoke of the boy now as his adopted son and, whenever it was +possible, he came in to take Chad out home to spend Sunday with him; +but, being a wise man and loving Chad's independence, he let the boy +have his own way. He had bought the filly—and would hold her, he said, +until Chad could buy her back, and he would keep the old nag as a +broodmare and would divide profits with Chad—to all of which the boy +agreed. The question of the lad's birth was ignored between them, and +the Major rarely spoke to Chad of the Deans, who were living in town +during the winter, nor questioned him about Dan or Harry or Margaret. +But Chad had found out where the little girl went to church, and every +Sunday, despite Caleb Hazel's protest, he would slip into the Episcopal +church, with a queer feeling—little Calvinist of the hills that he +was—that it was not quite right for him even to enter that church; and +he would watch the little girl come in with her family and, after the +queer way of these "furriners," kneel first in prayer. And there, with +soul uplifted by the dim rich light and the peal of the organ, he would +sit watching her; rising when she rose, watching the light from the +windows on her shining hair and sweet-spirited face, watching her +reverent little head bend in obeisance to the name of the Master, +though he kept his own held straight, for no Popery like that was for +him. Always, however, he would slip out before the service was quite +over and never wait even to see her come out of church. He was too +proud for that and, anyhow, it made him lonely to see the people +greeting one another and chatting and going off home together when +there was not a soul to speak to him. It was just one such Sunday that +they came face to face for the first time. Chad had gone down the +street after leaving the church, had changed his mind and was going +back to his room. People were pouring from the church, as he went by, +but Chad did not even look across. A clatter rose behind him and he +turned to see a horse and rockaway coming at a gallop up the street, +which was narrow. The negro driver, frightened though he was, had sense +enough to pull his running horse away from the line of vehicles in +front of the church so that the beast stumbled against the curb-stone, +crashed into a tree, and dropped struggling in the gutter below another +line of vehicles waiting on the other side of the street. Like +lightning, Chad leaped and landed full length on the horse's head and +was tossed violently to and fro, but he held on until the animal lay +still. +</P> + +<P> +"Unhitch the hoss," he called, sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that was pretty quick work for a boy," said a voice across the +street that sounded familiar, and Chad looked across to see General +Dean and Margaret watching him. The boy blushed furiously when his eyes +met Margaret's and he thought he saw her start slightly, but he lowered +his eyes and hurried away. +</P> + +<P> +It was only a few days later that, going up from town toward the +campus, he turned a corner and there was Margaret alone and moving +slowly ahead of him. Hearing his steps she turned her head to see who +it was, but Chad kept his eyes on the ground and passed her without +looking up. And thus he went on, although she was close behind him, +across the street and to the turnstile. As he was passing through, a +voice rose behind him: +</P> + +<P> +"You aren't very polite, little boy." He turned quickly—Margaret had +not gone around the corner: she, too, was coming through the campus and +there she stood, grave and demure, though her eyes were dancing. +</P> + +<P> +"My mamma says a NICE little boy always lets a little GIRL go FIRST." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know you was comin' through." +</P> + +<P> +"Was comin' through!" Margaret made a little face as though to +say—"Oh, dear." +</P> + +<P> +"I said I didn't know you were coming through this way." +</P> + +<P> +Margaret shook her head. "No," she said; "no, you didn't." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's what I meant to say." Chad was having a hard time with +his English. He had snatched his cap from his head, had stepped back +outside the stile and was waiting to turn it for her. Margaret passed +through and waited where the paths forked. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you going up to the college?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I was—but I ain't now—if you'll let me walk a piece with you." He +was scarlet with confusion—a tribute that Chad rarely paid his kind. +His way of talking was very funny, to be sure, but had she not heard +her father say that "the poor little chap had had no chance in life;" +and Harry, that some day he would be the best in his class? +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you—Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—ain't you Margaret—Miss Margaret?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'm Margaret." She was pleased with the hesitant title and the +boy's halting reverence. +</P> + +<P> +"An' I called you a little gal." Margaret's laugh tinkled in merry +remembrance. "An' you wouldn't take my fish." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't bear to touch them." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," said Chad, remembering Melissa. +</P> + +<P> +They passed a boy who knew Chad, but not Margaret. The lad took off his +hat, but Chad did not lift his; then a boy and a girl and, when only +the two girls spoke, the other boy lifted his hat, though he did not +speak to Margaret. Still Chad's hat was untouched and when Margaret +looked up, Chad's face was red with confusion again. But it never took +the boy long to learn and, thereafter, during the walk his hat came off +unfailingly. Everyone looked at the two with some surprise and Chad +noticed that the little girl's chin was being lifted higher and higher. +His intuition told him what the matter was, and when they reached the +stile across the campus and Chad saw a crowd of Margaret's friends +coming down the street, he halted as if to turn back, but the little +girl told him imperiously to come on. It was a strange escort for +haughty Margaret—the country-looking boy, in coarse homespun—but +Margaret spoke cheerily to her friends and went on, looking up at Chad +and talking to him as though he were the dearest friend she had on +earth. +</P> + +<P> +At the edge of town she suggested that they walk across a pasture and +go back by another street, and not until they were passing through the +woodland did Chad come to himself. +</P> + +<P> +"You know I didn't rickollect when you called me 'little boy.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at fust, I mean," stammered Chad. +</P> + +<P> +Margaret grew mock-haughty and Chad grew grave. He spoke very slowly +and steadily. "I reckon I rickollect ever'thing that happened out thar +a sight better'n you. I ain't forgot nothin'—anything." +</P> + +<P> +The boy's sober and half-sullen tone made Margaret catch her breath +with a sudden vague alarm. +</P> + +<P> +Unconsciously she quickened her pace, but, already, she was mistress of +an art to which she was born and she said, lightly: +</P> + +<P> +"Now, that's MUCH better." A piece of pasteboard dropped from Chad's +jacket just then, and, taking the little girl's cue to swerve from the +point at issue, he picked it up and held it out for Margaret to read. +It was the first copy of the placard which he had tied around Jack's +neck when he sent him home, and it set Margaret to laughing and asking +questions. Before he knew it Chad was telling her about Jack and the +mountains; how he had run away; about the Turners and about Melissa and +coming down the river on a raft—all he had done and all he meant to +do. And from looking at Chad now and then, Margaret finally kept her +eyes fixed on his—and thus they stood when they reached the gate, +while crows flew cawing over them and the air grew chill. +</P> + +<P> +"And did Jack go home?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"No, he didn't. He come back, and I had to hide fer two days. Then, +because he couldn't find me he did go, thinking I had gone back to the +mountains, too. He went to look fer me." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if he comes back again I'll ask my papa to get them to let you +keep Jack at college," said Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +Chad shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll keep him for you myself." The boy looked his gratitude, but +shook his head again. +</P> + +<P> +"He won't stay." +</P> + +<P> +Margaret asked for the placard again as they moved down the street. +</P> + +<P> +"You've got it spelled wrong," she said, pointing to "steel." Chad +blushed. "I can't spell when I write," he said. "I can't even +talk—right." +</P> + +<P> +"But you'll learn," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you help me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me when I say things wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Where'm I goin' to see you?" +</P> + +<P> +Margaret shook her head thoughtfully: then the reason for her speaking +first to Chad came out. +</P> + +<P> +"Papa and I saw you on Sunday, and papa said you must be very strong as +well as brave, and that you knew something about horses. Harry told us +who you were when papa described you, and then I remembered. Papa told +Harry to bring you to see us. And you must come," she said, decisively. +</P> + +<P> +They had reached the turnstile at the campus again. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you had any more tournaments?" asked Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Chad, apprehensively. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember the last thing I said to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I rickollect that better'n anything," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I didn't hate you. I'm sorry I said that," she said gently. Chad +looked very serious. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right," he said. "I seed—I saw you on Sunday, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you know me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I did. And that wasn't the fust time." Margaret's eyes were +opening with surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"I been goin' to church ever' Sunday fer nothin' else but just to see +you." Again his tone gave her vague alarm, but she asked: +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you speak to me?" +</P> + +<P> +They were nearing the turnstile across the campus now, and Chad did not +answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you speak to me?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad stopped suddenly, and Margaret looked quickly at him, and saw that +his face was scarlet. The little girl started and her own face flamed. +There was one thing she had forgotten, and even now she could not +recall what it was—only that it was something terrible she must not +know—old Mammy's words when Dan was carried in senseless after the +tournament. Frightened and helpless, she shrank toward the turnstile, +but Chad did not wait. With his cap in his hand, he turned abruptly, +without a sound, and strode away. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 16. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AGAIN THE BAR SINISTER +</H3> + +<P> +And yet, the next time Chad saw Margaret, she spoke to him shyly but +cordially, and when he did not come near her, she stopped him on the +street one day and reminded him of his promise to come and see them. +And Chad knew the truth at once—that she had never asked her father +about him, but had not wanted to know what she had been told she must +not know, and had properly taken it for granted that her father would +not ask Chad to his house, if there were a good reason why he should +not come. But Chad did not go even to the Christmas party that Margaret +gave in town, though the Major urged him. He spent Christmas with the +Major, and he did go to a country party, where the Major was delighted +with the boy's grace and agility dancing the quadrille, and where the +lad occasioned no little amusement with his improvisations in the way +of cutting pigeon's wings and shuffling, which he had learned in the +mountains. So the Major made him accept a loan and buy a suit for +social purposes after Christmas, and had him go to Madam Blake's +dancing school, and promise to go to the next party to which he was +asked. And that Chad did—to the big gray house on the corner, through +whose widespread doors his longing eyes had watched Margaret and her +friends flitting like butterflies months before. +</P> + +<P> +It intoxicated the boy—the lights, music, flowers, the little girls in +white—and Margaret. For the first time he met her friends, Nellie +Hunt, sister to Richard; Elizabeth Morgan, cousin to John Morgan; and +Miss Jennie Overstreet, who, young as she was, wrote poems—but Chad +had eyes only for Margaret. It was while he was dancing a quadrille +with her, that he noticed a tall, pale youth with black hair, glaring +at him, and he recognized Georgie Forbes, a champion of Margaret, and +the old enemy who had caused his first trouble in his new home. Chad +laughed with fearless gladness, and Margaret tossed her head. It was +Georgie now who blackened and spread the blot on Chad's good name, and +it was Georgie to whom Chad—fast learning the ways of +gentlemen—promptly sent a pompous challenge, that the difficulty might +be settled "in any way the gentleman saw fit." Georgie insultingly +declined to fight with one who was not his equal, and Chad boxed his +jaws in the presence of a crowd, floored him with one blow, and +contemptuously twisted his nose. Thereafter open comment ceased. Chad +was making himself known. He was the swiftest runner on the football +field; he had the quickest brain in mathematics; he was elected to the +Periclean Society, and astonished his fellow-members with a fiery +denunciation of the men who banished Napoleon to St. Helena—so fiery +was it, indeed, that his opponents themselves began to wonder how that +crime had ever come to pass. He would fight at the drop of a hat, and +he always won; and by-and-by the boy began to take a fierce joy in +battling his way upward against a block that would have crushed a +weaker soul. It was only with Margaret that that soul was in awe. He +began to love her with a pure reverence that he could never know at +another age. Every Saturday night, when dusk fell, he was mounting the +steps of her house. Every Sunday morning he was waiting to take her +home from church. Every afternoon he looked for her, hoping to catch +sight of her on the streets, and it was only when Dan and Harry got +indignant, and after Margaret had made a passionate defence of Chad in +the presence of the family, that the General and Mrs. Dean took the +matter in hand. It was a childish thing, of course; a girlish whim. It +was right that they should be kind to the boy—for Major Buford's sake, +if not for his own; but they could not have even the pretence of more +than a friendly intimacy between the two, and so Margaret was told the +truth. Immediately, when Chad next saw her, her honest eyes sadly told +him that she knew the truth, and Chad gave up then. Thereafter he +disappeared from sports and from his kind every way, except in the +classroom and in the debating hall. Sullenly he stuck to his books. +From five o'clock in the morning until ten o'clock at night, he was at +them steadily, in his room, or at recitation except for an hour's walk +with the school-master and the three half-hours that his meals kept him +away. He grew so pale and thin that the Major and Caleb Hazel were +greatly worried, but protest from both was useless. Before the end of +the term he had mounted into college in every study, and was holding +his own. At the end he knew his power—knew what he COULD do, and his +face was set, for his future, dauntless. When vacation came, he went at +once to the Major's farm, but not to be idle. In a week or two he was +taking some of the reins into his own hands as a valuable assistant to +the Major. He knew a good horse, could guess the weight of a steer with +surprising accuracy, and was a past master in knowledge of sheep. By +instinct he was canny at a trade—what mountaineer is not?—and he +astonished the Major with the shrewd deals he made. Authority seemed to +come naturally to him, and the Major swore that he could get more work +out of the "hands" than the overseer himself, who sullenly resented +Chad's interference, but dared not open his lips. Not once did he go to +the Deans', and neither Harry nor Dan came near him. There was little +intercourse between the Major and the General, as well; for, while the +Major could not, under the circumstances, blame the General, +inconsistently, he could not quite forgive him, and the line of polite +coolness between the neighbors was never overstepped. At the end of +July, Chad went to the mountains to see the Turners and Jack and +Melissa. He wore his roughest clothes, put on no airs, and, to all +eyes, save Melissa's, he was the same old Chad. But feminine subtlety +knows no social or geographical lines, and while Melissa knew what had +happened as well as Chad, she never let him see that she knew. +Apparently she was giving open encouragement to Dave Hilton, a tawny +youth from down the river, who was hanging, dog-like, about the house, +and foolish Chad began to let himself dream of Margaret with a light +heart. On the third day before he was to go back to the Bluegrass, a +boy came from over Black Mountain with a message from old Nathan +Cherry. Old Nathan had joined the church, had fallen ill, and, fearing +he was going to die, wanted to see Chad. Chad went over with curious +premonitions that were not in vain, and he came back with a strange +story that he told only to old Joel, under promise that he would never +make it known to Melissa. Then he started for the Bluegrass, going over +Pine Mountain and down through Cumberland Gap. He would come back every +year of his life, he told Melissa and the Turners, but Chad knew he was +bidding a last farewell to the life he had known in the mountains. At +Melissa's wish and old Joel's, he left Jack behind, though he sorely +wanted to take the dog with him. It was little enough for him to do in +return for their kindness, and he could see that Melissa's affection +for Jack was even greater than his own: and how incomparably lonelier +than his life was the life that she must lead! This time Melissa did +not rush to the yard gate when he was gone. She sank slowly where she +stood to the steps of the porch, and there she sat stone-still. Old +Joel passed her on the way to the barn. Several times the old mother +walked to the door behind her, and each time starting to speak, stopped +and turned back, but the girl neither saw nor heard them. Jack trotted +by, whimpering. He sat down in front of her, looking up at her unseeing +eyes, and it was only when he crept to her and put his head in her lap, +that she put her arms around him and bent her own head down; but no +tears came. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 17. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHADWICK BUFORD, GENTLEMAN +</H3> + +<P> +And so, returned to the Bluegrass, the midsummer of that year, Chadwick +Buford gentleman. A youth of eighteen, with the self-possession of a +man, and a pair of level, clear eyes, that looked the world in the face +as proudly as ever but with no defiance and no secret sense of shame It +was a curious story that Chad brought back and told to the Major, on +the porch under the honeysuckle vines, but it seemed to surprise the +Major very little: how old Nathan had sent for him to come to his +death-bed and had told Chad that he was no foundling; that one of his +farms belonged to the boy; that he had lied to the Major about Chad's +mother, who was a lawful wife, in order to keep the land for himself; +how old Nathan had offered to give back the farm, or pay him the price +of it in livestock, and how, at old Joel's advice he had taken the +stock and turned the stock into money. How, after he had found his +mother's grave, his first act had been to take up the rough bee-gum +coffin that held her remains, and carry it down the river, and bury her +where she had the right to lie, side by side with her grandfather and +his—the old gentleman who slept in wig and peruke on the +hill-side—that her good name and memory should never again suffer +insult from any living tongue. It was then that Major took Chad by the +shoulders roughly, and, with tears in his eyes, swore that he would +have no more nonsense from the boy; that Chad was flesh of his flesh +and bone of his bone; that he would adopt him and make him live where +he belonged, and break his damned pride. And it was then that Chad told +him how gladly he would come, now that he could bring him an +untarnished name. And the two walked together down to the old family +graveyard, where the Major said that the two in the mountains should be +brought some day and where the two brothers who had parted nearly +fourscore years ago could, side by side, await Judgment Day. +</P> + +<P> +When they went back into the house the Major went to the sideboard. +</P> + +<P> +"Have a drink, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad laughed: "Do you think it will stunt my growth?" +</P> + +<P> +"Stand up here, and let's see," said the Major. +</P> + +<P> +The two stood up, back to back, in front of a long mirror, and Chad's +shaggy hair rose at least an inch above the Major's thin locks of gray. +The Major turned and looked at him from head to foot with affectionate +pride. +</P> + +<P> +"Six feet in your socks, to the inch, without that hair. I reckon it +won't stunt you—not now." +</P> + +<P> +"All right," laughed Chad, "then I'll take that drink." And together +they drank. +</P> + +<P> +Thus, Chadwick Buford, gentleman, after the lapse of three-quarters of +a century, came back to his own: and what that own, at that day and in +that land, was! +</P> + +<P> +It was the rose of Virginia, springing, in full bloom, from new and +richer soil—a rose of a deeper scarlet and a stronger stem: and the +big village where the old University reared its noble front was the +very heart of that rose. There were the proudest families, the +stateliest homes, the broadest culture, the most gracious hospitality, +the gentlest courtesies, the finest chivalry, that the State has ever +known. There lived the political idols; there, under the low sky, rose +the memorial shaft to Clay. There had lived beaux and belles, memories +of whom hang still about the town, people it with phantom shapes, and +give an individual or a family here and there a subtle distinction +to-day. There the grasp of Calvinism was most lax. There were the +dance, the ready sideboard, the card table, the love of the horse and +the dog, and but little passion for the game-cock. There were as manly +virtues, as manly vices, as the world has ever known. And there, love +was as far from lust as heaven from hell. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the threshold of this life that Chad stood. Kentucky had +given birth to the man who was to uphold the Union—birth to the man +who would seek to shatter it. Fate had given Chad the early life of +one, and like blood with the other; and, curiously enough, in his own +short life, he already epitomized the social development of the nation, +from its birth in a log cabin to its swift maturity behind the columns +of a Greek portico. Against the uncounted generations of gentlepeople +that ran behind him to sunny England, how little could the short sleep +of three in the hills count! It may take three generations to make a +gentleman, but one is enough, if the blood be there, the heart be +right, and the brain and hand come early under discipline. +</P> + +<P> +It was to General Dean that the Major told Chad's story first. The two +old friends silently grasped hands, and the cloud between them passed +like mist. +</P> + +<P> +"Bring him over to dinner on Saturday, Cal—you and Miss Lucy, won't +you? Some people are coming out from town." In making amends, there was +no half-way with General Dean. +</P> + +<P> +"I will," said the Major, "gladly." +</P> + +<P> +The cool of the coming autumn was already in the air that Saturday when +Miss Lucy and the Major and Chad, in the old carriage, with old Tom as +driver and the pickaninny behind, started for General Dean's. The Major +was beautiful to behold, in his flowered waistcoat, his ruffled shirt, +white trousers strapped beneath his highly polished, high-heeled boots, +high hat and frock coat, with only the lowest button fastened, in order +to give a glimpse of that wonderful waistcoat, just as that, too, was +unbuttoned at the top that the ruffles might peep out upon the world. +Chad's raiment, too, was a Solomon's—for him. He had protested, but in +vain; and he, too, wore white trousers with straps, high-heeled boots, +and a wine-colored waistcoat and slouch hat, and a brave, though very +conscious, figure he made, with his tall body, well-poised head, strong +shoulders and thick hair. It was a rare thing for Miss Lucy to do, but +the old gentlewoman could not resist the Major, and she, too, rode in +state with them, smiling indulgently at the Major's quips, and now, +kindly, on Chad. A drowsy peace lay over the magnificent woodlands, +unravaged then except for firewood; the seared pastures, just beginning +to show green again for the second spring; the flashing creek, the seas +of still hemp and yellow corn, and Chad saw a wistful shadow cross Miss +Lucy's pale face, and a darker one anxiously sweep over the Major's +jesting lips. +</P> + +<P> +Guests were arriving, when they entered the yard gate, and guests were +coming behind them. General and Mrs. Dean were receiving them on the +porch, and Harry and Dan were helping the ladies out of their +carriages, while, leaning against one of the columns, in pure white, +was the graceful figure of Margaret. That there could ever have been +any feeling in any member of the family other than simple, gracious +kindliness toward him, Chad could neither see nor feel. At once every +trace of embarrassment in him was gone, and he could but wonder at the +swift justice done him in a way that was so simple and effective. Even +with Margaret there was no trace of consciousness. The past was wiped +clean of all save courtesy and kindness. There were the Hunts—Nellie, +and the Lieutenant of the Lexington Rifles, Richard Hunt, a +dauntless-looking dare-devil, with the ready tongue of a coffee-house +wit and the grace of a cavalier. There was Elizabeth Morgan, to whom +Harry's grave eyes were always wandering, and Miss Jennie Overstreet, +who was romantic and openly now wrote poems for the Observer, and who +looked at Chad with no attempt to conceal her admiration of his +appearance and her wonder as to who he was. And there were the +neighbors roundabout—the Talbotts, Quisenberrys, Clays, Prestons, +Morgans—surely no less than forty strong, and all for dinner. It was +no little trial for Chad in that crowd of fine ladies, judges, +soldiers, lawyers, statesmen—but he stood it well. While his +self-consciousness made him awkward, he had pronounced dignity of +bearing; his diffidence emphasized his modesty, and he had the good +sense to stand and keep still. Soon they were at table—and what a +table and what a dinner that was! The dining-room was the biggest and +sunniest room in the house; its walls covered with hunting prints, +pictures of game and stag heads. The table ran the length of it. The +snowy tablecloth hung almost to the floor. At the head sat Mrs. Dean, +with a great tureen of calf's head soup in front of her. Before the +General was the saddle of venison that was to follow, drenched in a +bottle of ancient Madeira, and flanked by flakes of red-currant jelly. +Before the Major rested broiled wild ducks, on which he could show his +carving skill—on game as well as men. A great turkey supplanted the +venison, and last to come, and before Richard Hunt, Lieutenant of the +Rifles, was a Kentucky ham. That ham! Mellow, aged, boiled in +champagne, baked brown, spiced deeply, rosy pink within, and of a +flavor and fragrance to shatter the fast of a Pope; and without, a +brown-edged white layer, so firm that the lieutenant's deft carving +knife, passing through, gave no hint to the eye that it was delicious +fat. There had been merry jest and laughter and banter and gallant +compliment before, but it was Richard Hunt's turn now, and story after +story he told, as the rose-flakes dropped under his knife in such thin +slices that their edges coiled. It was full half an hour before the +carver and story-teller were done. After that ham the tablecloth was +lifted, and the dessert spread on another lying beneath; then that, +too, was raised, and the nuts and wines were placed on a third—red +damask this time. +</P> + +<P> +Then came the toasts: to the gracious hostess from Major Buford; to +Miss Lucy from General Dean; from valiant Richard Hunt to blushing +Margaret, and then the ladies were gone, and the talk was politics—the +election of Lincoln, slavery, disunion. +</P> + +<P> +"If Lincoln is elected, no power but God's can avert war," said Richard +Hunt, gravely. +</P> + +<P> +Dan's eyes flashed. "Will you take me?" +</P> + +<P> +The lieutenant lifted his glass. "Gladly, my boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Kentucky's convictions are with the Union; her kinship and sympathies +with the South," said a deep-voiced lawyer. "She must remain neutral." +</P> + +<P> +"Straddling the fence," said the Major, sarcastically. +</P> + +<P> +"No; to avert the war, if possible, or to act the peacemaker when the +tragedy is over." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can see Kentuckians keeping out of a fight," laughed the +General, and he looked around. Three out of five of the men present had +been in the Mexican war. The General had been wounded at Cerro Gordo, +and the Major had brought his dead home in leaden coffins. +</P> + +<P> +"The fanatics of Boston, the hot-heads of South Carolina—they are +making the mischief." +</P> + +<P> +"And New England began with slavery," said the lawyer again. +</P> + +<P> +"And naturally, with that conscience that is a national calamity, was +the first to give it up," said Richard Hunt, "when the market price of +slaves fell to sixpence a pound in the open Boston markets." There was +an incredulous murmur. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," said Hunt, easily, "I can show you advertisements in Boston +papers of slaves for sale at sixpence a pound." +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps it never occurred to a soul present that the word "slave" was +never heard in that region except in some such way. With Southerners, +the negroes were "our servants" or "our people"—never slaves. Two lads +at that table were growing white—Chad and Harry—and Chad's lips +opened first. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think slavery has much to do with the question, really," he +said, "not even with Mr. Lincoln." The silent surprise that followed +the boy's embarrassed statement ended in a gasp of astonishment when +Harry leaned across the table and said, hotly: +</P> + +<P> +"Slavery has EVERYTHING to do with the question." +</P> + +<P> +The Major looked bewildered; the General frowned, and the keen-eyed +lawyer spoke again: +</P> + +<P> +"The struggle was written in the Constitution. The framers evaded it. +Logic leads one way as well as another and no man can logically blame +another for the way he goes." +</P> + +<P> +"No more politics now, gentlemen," said the General quickly. "We will +join the ladies. Harry," he added, with some sternness, "lead the way!" +</P> + +<P> +As the three boys rose, Chad lifted his glass. His face was pale and +his lips trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"May I propose a toast, General Dean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, certainly," said the General, kindly. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to drink to one man but for whom I might be in a log cabin now, +and might have died there for all I know—my friend and, thank God! my +kinsman—Major Buford." +</P> + +<P> +It was irregular and hardly in good taste, but the boy had waited till +the ladies were gone, and it touched the Major that he should want to +make such a public acknowledgment that there should be no false colors +in the flag he meant henceforth to bear. +</P> + +<P> +The startled guests drank blindly to the confused Major, though they +knew not why, but as the lads disappeared the lawyer asked: +</P> + +<P> +"Who is that boy, Major?" +</P> + +<P> +Outside, the same question had been asked among the ladies and the same +story told. The three girls remembered him vaguely, they said, and when +Chad reappeared, in the eyes of the poetess at least, the halo of +romance floated above his head. +</P> + +<P> +She was waiting for Chad when he came out on the porch, and she shook +her curls and flashed her eyes in a way that almost alarmed him. Old +Mammy dropped him a curtsey, for she had had her orders, and, behind +her, Snowball, now a tall, fine-looking coal-black youth, grinned a +welcome. The three girls were walking under the trees, with their arms +mysteriously twined about one anther's waists, and the poetess walked +down toward them with the three lads, Richard Hunt following. Chad +could not know how it happened, but, a moment later, Dan was walking +away with Nellie Hunt one way; Harry with Elizabeth Morgan the other; +the Lieutenant had Margaret alone, and Miss Overstreet was leading him +away, raving meanwhile about the beauty of field and sky. As they went +toward the gate he could not help flashing one look toward the pair +under the fir tree. An amused smile was playing under the Lieutenant's +beautiful mustache, his eyes were dancing with mischief, and Margaret +was blushing with anything else than displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +"Oho!" he said, as Chad and his companion passed on. "Sits the wind in +that corner? Bless me, if looks could kill, I'd have a happy death here +at your feet, Mistress Margaret. SEE the young man! It's the second +time he has almost slain me." +</P> + +<P> +Chad could scarcely hear Miss Jennie's happy chatter, scarcely saw the +shaking curls, the eyes all but in a frenzy of rolling. His eyes were +in the back of his head, and his backward-listening ears heard only +Margaret's laugh behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I do love the autumn"—it was at the foot of those steps, thought +Chad, that he first saw Margaret springing to the back of her pony and +dashing off under the fir trees—"and it's coming. There's one scarlet +leaf already"—Chad could see the rock fence where he had sat that +spring day—"it's curious and mournful that you can see in any season a +sign of the next to come." And there was the creek where he found Dan +fishing, and there the road led to the ford where Margaret had spurned +his offer of a slimy fish—ugh! "I do love the autumn. It makes me +feel like the young woman who told Emerson that she had such mammoth +thoughts she couldn't give them utterance—why, wake up, Mr. Buford, +wake up!" Chad came to with a start. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know you aren't very polite, Mr. Buford?" Mr. Buford! That did +sound funny. +</P> + +<P> +"But I know what the matter is," she went on. "I saw you look"—she +nodded her head backward. "Can you keep a secret?" Chad nodded; he had +not yet opened his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Thae's going to be a match back there. He's only a few years older. +The French say that a woman should be half a man's age plus seven +years. That would make her only a few years too young, and she can +wait." Chad was scarlet under the girl's mischievous torture, but a cry +from the house saved him. Dan was calling them back. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Hunt has to go back early to drill the Rifles. Can you keep +another secret?" Again Chad nodded gravely. "Well, he is going to drive +me back. I'll tell him what a dangerous rival he has." Chad was dumb; +there was much yet for him to learn before he could parry with a tongue +like hers. +</P> + +<P> +"He's very good-looking," said Miss Jennie, when she joined the girls, +"but oh, so stupid." +</P> + +<P> +Margaret turned quickly and unsuspiciously. "Stupid! Why, he's the +first man in his class." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," said Miss Jennie, with a demure smile, "perhaps I couldn't draw +him out," and Margaret flushed to have caught the deftly tossed bait so +readily. +</P> + +<P> +A moment later the Lieutenant was gathering up the reins, with Miss +Jennie by his side. He gave a bow to Margaret, and Miss Jennie nodded +to Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Come see me when you come to town, Mr. Buford," she called, as though +to an old friend, and still Chad was dumb, though he lifted his hat +gravely. +</P> + +<P> +At no time was Chad alone with Margaret, and he was not sorry—her +manner so puzzled him. The three lads and three girls walked together +through Mrs. Dean's garden with its grass walks and flower beds and +vegetable patches surrounded with rose bushes. At the lower edge they +could see the barn with sheep in the yard around it, and there were the +very stiles where Harry and Margaret had sat in state when Dan and Chad +were charging in the tournament. The thing might never have happened +for any sign from Harry or Dan or Margaret, and Chad began to wonder if +his past or his present were a dream. +</P> + +<P> +How fine this courtesy was Chad could not realize. Neither could he +know that the favor Margaret had shown him when he was little more than +outcast he must now, as an equal, win for himself. Miss Jennie had +called him "Mr. Buford." He wondered what Margaret would call him when +he came to say good-by. She called him nothing. She only smiled at him. +</P> + +<P> +"You must come to see us soon again," she said, graciously, and so said +all the Deans. +</P> + +<P> +The Major was quiet going home, and Miss Lucy drowsed. All evening the +Major was quiet. +</P> + +<P> +"If a fight does come," he said, when they were going to bed, "I reckon +I'm not too old to take a hand." +</P> + +<P> +"And I reckon I'm not too young," said Chad. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 18. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SPIRIT OF '76 AND THE SHADOW OF '61 +</H3> + +<P> +One night, in the following April, there was a great dance in +Lexington. Next day the news of Sumter came. Chad pleaded to be let off +from the dance, but the Major would not hear of it. It was a +fancy-dress ball, and the Major had a pet purpose of his own that he +wanted gratified and Chad had promised to aid him. That fancy was that +Chad should go in regimentals, as the stern, old soldier on the wall, +of whom the Major swore the boy was the "spit and image." The Major +himself helped Chad dress in wig, peruke, stock, breeches, boots, +spurs, cocked hat, sword and all. And then he led the boy down into the +parlor, where Miss Lucy was waiting for them, and stood him up on one +side of the portrait. To please the old fellow, Chad laughingly struck +the attitude of the pictured soldier, and the Major cried: +</P> + +<P> +"What'd I tell you, Lucy!" Then he advanced and made a low bow. +</P> + +<P> +"General Buford," he said, "General Washington's compliments, and will +General Buford plant the flag on that hill where the left wing of the +British is entrenched?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, Cal," said Miss Lucy, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"General Buford's compliments to General Washington. General Buford +will plant that flag on ANY hill that ANY enemy holds against it." +</P> + +<P> +The lad's face paled as the words, by some curious impulse, sprang to +his lips, but the unsuspecting Major saw no lurking significance in his +manner, nor in what he said, and then there was a rumble of carriage +wheels at the door. +</P> + +<P> +The winter had sped swiftly. Chad had done his work in college only +fairly well, for Margaret had been a disturbing factor. The girl was an +impenetrable mystery to him, for the past between them was not only +wiped clean—it seemed quite gone. Once only had he dared to open his +lips about the old days, and the girl's flushed silence made a like +mistake forever impossible. He came and went at the Deans' as he +pleased. Always they were kind, courteous, hospitable—no more, no +less, unvaryingly. During the Christmas holidays he and Margaret had +had a foolish quarrel, and it was then that Chad took his little fling +at his little world—a fling that was foolish, but harmful, chiefly in +that it took his time and his mind and his energy from his work. He not +only neglected his studies, but he fell in with the wild young bucks of +the town, learned to play cards, took more wine than was good for him +sometimes, was on the verge of several duels, and night after night +raced home in his buggy against the coming dawn. Though Miss Lucy +looked worried, the indulgent old Major made no protest. Indeed he was +rather pleased. Chad was sowing his wild oats—it was in the blood, and +the mood would pass. It did pass, naturally enough, on the very day +that the breach between him and Margaret was partly healed; and the +heart of Caleb Hazel, whom Chad, for months, had not dared to face, was +made glad when the boy came back to him remorseful and repentant—the +old Chad once more. +</P> + +<P> +They were late in getting to the dance. Every window in the old Hunt +home was brilliant with light. Chinese lanterns swung in the big yard. +The scent of early spring flowers smote the fresh night air. Music and +the murmur of nimble feet and happy laughter swept out the wide-open +doors past which white figures flitted swiftly. Scarcely anybody knew +Chad in his regimentals, and the Major, with the delight of a boy, led +him around, gravely presenting him as General Buford here and there. +Indeed, the lad made a noble figure with his superb height and bearing, +and he wore sword and spurs as though born to them. Margaret was +dancing with Richard Hunt when she saw his eyes searching for her +through the room, and she gave him a radiant smile that almost stunned +him. She had been haughty and distant when he went to her to plead +forgiveness: she had been too hard, and Margaret, too, was repentant. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, who's that?" asked Richard Hunt. "Oh, yes," he added, getting his +answer from Margaret's face. "Bless me, but he's fine—the very spirit +of '76. I must have him in the Rifles." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you make him a lieutenant?" asked Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes, I will," said Mr. Hunt, decisively. "I'll resign myself in +his favor, if it pleases you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, no—no one could fill your place." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he can, I fear—and here he comes to do it. I'll have to retreat +some time, and I suppose I'd as well begin now." And the gallant +gentleman bowed to Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you pardon me, Miss Margaret? My mother is calling me." +</P> + +<P> +"You must have keen ears," said Margaret; "your mother is upstairs." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but she wants me. Everybody wants me, but—" he bowed again with +an imperturbable smile and went his way. +</P> + +<P> +Margaret looked demurely into Chad's eager eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"And how is the spirit of '76?" +</P> + +<P> +"The spirit of '76 is unchanged." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, he is; I scarcely knew him." +</P> + +<P> +"But he's unchanged; he never will change." +</P> + +<P> +Margaret dropped her eyes and Chad looked around. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish we could get out of here." +</P> + +<P> +"We can," said Margaret, demurely. +</P> + +<P> +"We will!" said Chad, and he made for a door, outside which lanterns +were swinging in the wind. Margaret caught up some flimsy garment and +wound it about her pretty round throat—they call it a "fascinator" in +the South. +</P> + +<P> +Chad looked down at her. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you could see yourself; I wish I could tell you how you look." +</P> + +<P> +"I have," said Margaret, "every time I passed a mirror. And other +people have told me. Mr. Hunt did. He didn't seem to have much trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I had his tongue." +</P> + +<P> +"If you had, and nothing else, you wouldn't have me"—Chad started as +the little witch paused a second, drawling—"leaving my friends and +this jolly dance to go out into a freezing yard and talk to an aged +Colonial who doesn't appreciate his modern blessings. The next thing +you'll be wanting, I suppose—will be—" +</P> + +<P> +"You, Margaret; you—YOU!" +</P> + +<P> +It had come at last and Margaret hardly knew the choked voice that +interrupted her. She had turned her back to him to sit down. She paused +a moment, standing. Her eyes closed; a slight tremor ran through her, +and she sank with her face in her hands. Chad stood silent, trembling. +Voices murmured about them, but like the music in the house, they +seemed strangely far away. The stirring of the wind made the sudden +damp on his forehead icy-cold. Margaret's hands slowly left her face, +which had changed as by a miracle. Every trace of coquetry was gone. It +was the face of a woman who knew her own heart, and had the sweet +frankness to speak it, that was lifted now to Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm so glad you are what you are, Chad; but had you been +otherwise—that would have made no difference to me. You believe that, +don't you, Chad? They might not have let me marry you, but I should +have cared, just the same. They may not now, but that, too, will make +no difference." She turned her eyes from his for an instant, as though +she were looking far backward. "Ever since that day," she said, slowly, +"when I heard you say, 'Tell the little gurl I didn't mean nothin' +callin' her a little gal'"—there was a low, delicious gurgle in the +throat as she tried to imitate his odd speech, and then her eyes +suddenly filled with tears, but she brushed them away, smiling +brightly. "Ever since then, Chad—" she stopped—a shadow fell across +the door of the little summer house. +</P> + +<P> +"Here I am, Mr. Hunt," she said, lightly; "is this your dance?" She +rose and was gone. "Thank you, Mr. Buford," she called back, sweetly. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Chad stood where he was, quite dazed—so quickly, so +unexpectedly had the crisis come. The blood had rushed to his face and +flooded him with triumphant happiness. A terrible doubt chilled him as +quickly. Had he heard aright?—could he have misunderstood her? Had the +dream of years really come true? What was it she had said? He stumbled +around in the half darkness, wondering. Was this another phase of her +unceasing coquetry? How quickly her tone had changed when Richard +Hunt's shadow came. At that moment, he neither could nor would have +changed a hair had some genie dropped them both in the midst of the +crowded ball-room. He turned swiftly toward the dancers. He must see, +know—now! +</P> + +<P> +The dance was a quadrille and the figure was "Grand right and left." +Margaret had met Richard Hunt opposite, half-way, when Chad reached the +door and was curtseying to him with a radiant smile. Again the boy's +doubts beat him fiercely; and then Margaret turned her head, as though +she knew he must be standing there. Her face grew so suddenly serious +and her eyes softened with such swift tenderness when they met his, +that a wave of guilty shame swept through him. And when she came around +to him and passed, she leaned from the circle toward him, merry and +mock-reproachful: +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't look at me like that," she whispered, and Hunt, close at +hand, saw, guessed and smiled. Chad turned quickly away again. +</P> + +<P> +That happy dawn—going home! The Major drowsed and fell asleep. The +first coming light, the first cool breath that was stealing over the +awakening fields, the first spring leaves with their weight of dew, +were not more fresh and pure than the love that was in the boy's heart. +He held his right hand in his left, as though he were imprisoning there +the memory of the last little clasp that she had given it. He looked at +the Major, and he wondered how anybody on earth, at that hour, could be +asleep. He thought of the wasted days of the past few months; the +silly, foolish life he had led, and thanked God that, in the memory of +them, there was not one sting of shame. How he would work for her now! +Little guessing how proud she already was, he swore to himself how +proud she should be of him some day. He wondered where she was, and +what she was doing. She could not be asleep, and he must have cried +aloud could he have known—could he have heard her on her knees at her +bedside, whispering his name for the first time in her prayers; could +he have seen her, a little later, at her open window, looking across +the fields, as though her eyes must reach him through the morning dusk. +</P> + +<P> +That happy dawn—for both, that happy dawn! +</P> + +<P> +It was well that neither, at that hour, could see beyond the rim of his +own little world. In a far Southern city another ball, that night, had +been going on. Down there the air was charged with the prescience of +dark trouble, but, while the music moaned to many a heart like a god in +pain, there was no brooding—only a deeper flush to the cheek, a +brighter sparkle to the eye, a keener wit to the tongue; to the dance, +a merrier swing. And at that very hour of dawn, ladies, slippered, bare +of head, and in evening gowns, were fluttering like white moths along +the streets of old Charleston, and down to the Battery, where Fort +Sumter lay, gray and quiet in the morning mist—to await with jest and +laughter the hissing shriek of one shell that lighted the fires of a +four years' hell in a happy land of God-fearing peace and God-given +plenty, and the hissing shriek of another that Anderson, Kentuckian, +hurled back, in heroic defence of the flag struck for the first time by +other than an alien hand. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 19. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLUE OR THE GRAY +</H3> + +<P> +In the far North, as in the far South, men had but to drift with the +tide. Among the Kentuckians, the forces that moulded her sons—Davis +and Lincoln—were at war in the State, as they were at war in the +nation. By ties of blood, sympathies, institutions, Kentucky was bound +fast to the South. Yet, ten years before, Kentuckians had demanded the +gradual emancipation of the slave. That far back, they had carved a +pledge on a block of Kentucky marble, which should be placed in the +Washington monument, that Kentucky would be the last to give up the +Union. For ten years, they had felt the shadow of the war creeping +toward them. In the dark hours of that dismal year, before the dawn of +final decision, the men, women, and children of Kentucky talked of +little else save war, and the skeleton of war took its place in the +closet of every home from the Ohio to the crest of the Cumberland. When +the dawn of that decision came, Kentucky spread before the world a +record of independent-mindedness, patriotism, as each side gave the +word, and sacrifice that has no parallel in history. She sent the +flower of her youth—forty thousand strong—into the Confederacy; she +lifted the lid of her treasury to Lincoln, and in answer to his every +call, sent him a soldier, practically without a bounty and without a +draft. And when the curtain fell on the last act of the great tragedy, +half of her manhood was behind it—helpless from disease, wounded, or +dead on the battle-field. +</P> + +<P> +So, on a gentle April day, when the great news came, it came like a +sword that, with one stroke, slashed the State in twain, shearing +through the strongest bonds that link one man to another, whether of +blood, business, politics or religion, as though they were no more than +threads of wool. Nowhere in the Union was the National drama so played +to the bitter end in the confines of a single State. As the nation was +rent apart, so was the commonwealth; as the State, so was the county; +as the county, the neighborhood; as the neighborhood, the family; and +as the family, so brother and brother, father and son. In the nation +the kinship was racial only. Brother knew not the face of brother. +There was distance between them, antagonism, prejudice, a smouldering +dislike easily fanned to flaming hatred. In Kentucky the brothers had +been born in the same bed, slept in the same cradle, played under the +same roof, sat side by side in the same schoolroom, and stood now on +the threshold of manhood arm in arm, with mutual interests, mutual +love, mutual pride in family that made clan feeling peculiarly intense. +For antislavery fanaticism, or honest unionism, one needed not to go to +the far North; as, for imperious, hotheaded, non-interference or pure +State sovereignty, one needed not to go to the far South. They were all +there in the State, the county, the family—under the same roof. Along +the border alone did feeling approach uniformity—the border of +Kentucky hills. There unionism was free from prejudice as nowhere else +on the continent save elsewhere throughout the Southern mountains. +Those Southern Yankees knew nothing about the valley aristocrat, +nothing about his slaves, and cared as little for one as for the other. +Since '76 they had known but one flag, and one flag only, and to that +flag instinctively they rallied. But that the State should be swept +from border to border with horror, there was division even here: for, +in the Kentucky mountains, there was, here and there, a patriarch like +Joel Turner who owned slaves, and he and his sons fought for them as he +and his sons would have fought for their horses, or their cattle, or +their sheep. +</P> + +<P> +It was the prescient horror of such a condition that had no little part +in the neutral stand that Kentucky strove to maintain. She knew what +war was—for every fireside was rich in memories that men and women had +of kindred who had fallen on numberless battle-fields—back even to St. +Clair's defeat and the Raisin massacre; and though she did not fear war +for its harvest of dangers and death, she did look with terror on a +conflict between neighbors, friends, and brothers. So she refused +troops to Lincoln; she refused them to Davis. Both pledged her immunity +from invasion, and, to enforce that pledge, she raised Home Guards as +she had already raised State Guards for internal protection and peace. +And there—as a State—she stood: but the tragedy went on in the +Kentucky home—a tragedy of peculiar intensity and pathos in one +Kentucky home—the Deans'. +</P> + +<P> +Harry had grown up tall, pale, studious, brooding. He had always been +the pet of his Uncle Brutus—the old Lion of White Hall. Visiting the +Hall, he had drunk in the poison, or consecration, as was the point of +view, of abolitionism. At the first sign he was never allowed to go +again. But the poison had gone deep. Whenever he could he went to hear +old Brutus speak. Eagerly he heard stories of the fearless +abolitionist's hand-to-hand fights with men who sought to skewer his +fiery tongue. Deeply he brooded on every word that his retentive ear +had caught from the old man's lips, and on the wrongs he endured in +behalf of his cause and for freedom of speech. +</P> + +<P> +One other hero did he place above him—the great commoner after whom he +had been christened, Henry Clay Dean. He knew how Clay's life had been +devoted to averting the coming war, and how his last days had been +darkly shadowed by the belief that, when he was gone, the war must +come. At times he could hear that clarion voice as it rang through the +Senate with the bold challenge to his own people that paramount was his +duty to the nation—subordinate his duty to his State. Who can tell +what the nation owed, in Kentucky, at least, to the passionate +allegiance that was broadcast through the State to Henry Clay? It was +not in the boy's blood to be driven an inch, and no one tried to drive +him. In his own home he was a spectre of gnawing anguish to his mother +and Margaret, of unspeakable bitterness and disappointment to his +father, and an impenetrable sphinx to Dan. For in Dan there was no +shaking doubt. He was the spirit, incarnate, of the young, +unquestioning, unthinking, generous, reckless, hotheaded, passionate +South. +</P> + +<P> +And Chad? The news reached Major Buford's farm at noon, and Chad went +to the woods and came in at dusk, haggard and spent. Miserably now he +held his tongue and tortured his brain. Purposely, he never opened his +lips to Harry Dean. He tried to make known to the Major the struggle +going on within him, but the iron-willed old man brushed away all +argument with an impatient wave of his hand. With Margaret he talked +once, and straightway the question was dropped like a living coal. So, +Chad withdrew from his fellows. The social life of the town, gayer than +ever now, knew him no more. He kept up his college work, but when he +was not at his books, he walked the fields, and many a moonlit midnight +found him striding along a white turnpike, or sitting motionless on top +of a fence along the border of some woodland, his chin in both hands, +fighting his fight out in the cool stillness alone. He himself little +knew the unmeant significance there was in the old Continental uniform +he had worn to the dance. Even his old rifle, had he but known it, had +been carried with Daniel Morgan from Virginia to Washington's aid in +Cambridge. His earliest memories of war were rooted in thrilling +stories of King's Mountain. He had heard old men tell of pointing +deadly rifles at red-coats at New Orleans, and had absorbed their own +love of Old Hickory. The school-master himself, when a mere lad, had +been with Scott in Mexico. The spirit of the back-woodsman had been +caught in the hills, and was alive and unchanged at that very hour. The +boy was practically born in Revolutionary days, and that was why, like +all mountaineers, Chad had little love of State and only love of +country—was first, last and all the time, simply American. It was not +reason—it was instinct. The heroes the school-master had taught him to +love and some day to emulate, had fought under one flag, and, like +them, the mountaineers never dreamed there could be another. And so the +boy was an unconscious reincarnation of that old spirit, uninfluenced +by temporary apostasies in the outside world, untouched absolutely by +sectional prejudice or the appeal of the slave. The mountaineer had no +hatred of the valley aristocrat, because he knew nothing of him, and +envied no man what he was, what he had, or the life he led. So, as for +slavery, that question, singularly enough, never troubled his soul. To +him slaves were hewers of wood and drawers of water. The Lord had made +them so and the Bible said that it was right. That the school-master +had taught Chad. He had read "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and the story made +him smile. The tragedies of it he had never known and he did not +believe. Slaves were sleek, well-fed, well-housed, loved and trusted, +rightly inferior and happy; and no aristocrat ever moved among them +with a more lordly, righteous air of authority than did this mountain +lad who had known them little more than half a dozen years. Unlike the +North, the boy had no prejudice, no antagonism, no jealousy, no +grievance to help him in his struggle. Unlike Harry, he had no slave +sympathy to stir him to the depths, no stubborn, rebellious pride to +prod him on. In the days when the school-master thundered at him some +speech of the Prince of Kentuckians, it was always the national thrill +in the fiery utterance that had shaken him even then. So that +unconsciously the boy was the embodiment of pure Americanism, and for +that reason he and the people among whom he was born stood among the +millions on either side, quite alone. +</P> + +<P> +What was he fighting then—ah, what? If the bed-rock of his character +was not loyalty, it was nothing. In the mountains the Turners had taken +him from the Wilderness. In the Bluegrass the old Major had taken him +from the hills. His very life he owed to the simple, kindly +mountaineers, and what he valued more than his life he owed to the +simple gentleman who had picked him up from the roadside and, almost +without question, had taken him to his heart and to his home. The +Turners, he knew, would fight for their slaves as they would have +fought Dillon or Devil had either proposed to take from them a cow, a +hog, or a sheep. For that Chad could not blame them. And the Major was +going to fight, as he believed, for his liberty, his State, his +country, his property, his fireside. So in the eyes of both, Chad must +be the snake who had warmed his frozen body on their hearthstones and +bitten the kindly hands that had warmed him back to life. What would +Melissa say? Mentally he shrank from the fire of her eyes and the scorn +of her tongue when she should know. And Margaret—the thought of her +brought always a voiceless groan. To her, he had let his doubts be +known, and her white silence closed his own lips then and there. The +simple fact that he had doubts was an entering wedge of coldness +between them that Chad saw must force them apart for he knew that the +truth must come soon, and what would be the bitter cost of that truth. +She could never see him as she saw Harry. Harry was a beloved and +erring brother. Hatred of slavery had been cunningly planted in his +heart by her father's own brother, upon whose head the blame for +Harry's sin was set. The boy had been taunted until his own father's +scorn had stirred his proud independence into stubborn resistance and +intensified his resolution to do what he pleased and what he thought +was right. But Chad—she would never understand him. She would never +understand his love for the Government that had once abandoned her +people to savages and forced her State and his to seek aid from a +foreign land. In her eyes, too, he would be rending the hearts that had +been tenderest to him in all the world: and that was all. Of what fate +she would deal out to him he dared not think. If he lifted his hand +against the South, he must strike at the heart of all he loved best, to +which he owed most. If against the Union, at the heart of all that was +best in himself. In him the pure spirit that gave birth to the nation +was fighting for life. Ah, God! what should he do—what should he do? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 20. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OFF TO THE WAR +</H3> + +<P> +Throughout that summer Chad fought his fight, daily swaying this way +and that—fought it in secret until the phantom of neutrality faded and +gave place to the grim spectre of war—until with each hand Kentucky +drew a sword and made ready to plunge both into her own stout heart. +When Sumter fell, she shook her head resolutely to both North and +South. Crittenden, in the name of Union lovers and the dead Clay, +pleaded with the State to take no part in the fratricidal crime. From +the mothers, wives, sisters and daughters of thirty-one counties came +piteously the same appeal. Neutrality, to be held inviolate, was the +answer to the cry from both the North and the South; but armed +neutrality, said Kentucky. The State had not the moral right to secede; +the Nation, no constitutional right to coerce: if both the North and +the South left their paths of duty and fought—let both keep their +battles from her soil. Straightway State Guards went into camp and Home +Guards were held in reserve, but there was not a fool in the +Commonwealth who did not know that, in sympathy, the State Guards were +already for the Confederacy and the Home Guards for the Union cause. +This was in May. +</P> + +<P> +In June, Federals were enlisting across the Ohio; Confederates, just +over the border of Dixie which begins in Tennessee. Within a month +Stonewall Jackson sat on his horse, after Bull Run, watching the routed +Yankees, praying for fresh men that he might go on and take the +Capitol, and, from the Federal dream of a sixty-days' riot, the North +woke with a gasp. A week or two later, Camp Dick Robinson squatted down +on the edge of the Bluegrass, the first violation of the State's +neutrality, and beckoned with both hands for Yankee recruits. Soon an +order went round to disarm the State Guards, and on that very day the +State Guards made ready for Dixie. On that day the crisis came at the +Deans', and on that day Chad Buford made up his mind. When the Major +and Miss Lucy went to bed that night, he slipped out of the house and +walked through the yard and across the pike, following the little creek +half unconsciously toward the Deans', until he could see the light in +Margaret's window, and there he climbed the worm fence and sat leaning +his head against one of the forked stakes with his hat in his lap. He +would probably not see her again. He would send her word next morning +to ask that he might, and he feared what the result of that word would +be. Several times his longing eyes saw her shadow pass the curtain, and +when her light was out, he closed his eyes and sat motionless—how long +he hardly knew; but, when he sprang down, he was stiffened from the +midnight chill and his unchanged posture. He went back to his room +then, and wrote Margaret a letter and tore it up and went to bed. There +was little sleep for him that night, and when the glimmer of morning +brightened at his window, he rose listlessly, dipped his hot head in a +bowl of water and stole out to the barn. His little mare whinnied a +welcome as he opened the barn door. He patted her on the neck. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, little girl," he said. He started to call her by name and +stopped. Margaret had named the beautiful creature "Dixie." The +servants were stirring. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-mawnin', Mars Chad," said each, and with each he shook hands, +saying simply that he was going away that morning. Only old Tom asked +him a question. +</P> + +<P> +"Foh Gawd, Mars Chad," said the old fellow, "old Mars Buford can't git +along widout you. You gwine to come back soon?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, Uncle Tom," said Chad, sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"Whar you gwine, Mars Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Into the army." +</P> + +<P> +"De ahmy?" The old man smiled. "You gwine to fight de Yankees?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to fight WITH the Yankees." +</P> + +<P> +The old driver looked as though he could not have heard aright. +</P> + +<P> +"You foolin' this ole nigger, Mars Chad, ain't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad shook his head, and the old man straightened himself a bit. +</P> + +<P> +"I'se sorry to heah it, suh," he said, with dignity, and he turned to +his work. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Lucy was not feeling well that morning and did not come down to +breakfast. The boy was so pale and haggard that the Major looked at him +anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with you, Chad? Are you—?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't sleep very well last night, Major." +</P> + +<P> +The Major chuckled. "I reckon you ain't gettin' enough sleep these +days. I reckon I wouldn't, either, if I were in your place." +</P> + +<P> +Chad did not answer. After breakfast he sat with the Major on the porch +in the fresh, sunny air. The Major smoked his pipe, taking the stem out +of his mouth now and then to shout some order as a servant passed under +his eye. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the news, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Crittenden is back." +</P> + +<P> +"What did old Lincoln say?" +</P> + +<P> +"That Camp Dick Robinson was formed for Kentuckians by Kentuckians, and +he did not believe that it was the wish of the State that it should be +removed." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, by ——! after his promise. What did Davis say?" +</P> + +<P> +"That if Kentucky opened the Northern door for invasion, she must not +close the Southern door to entrance for defence." +</P> + +<P> +"And dead right he is," growled the Major with satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +"Governor Magoffin asked Ohio and Indiana to join in an effort for a +peace Congress," Chad added. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Both governors refused." +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you, boy, the hour has come." +</P> + +<P> +The hour had come. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going away this morning, Major." +</P> + +<P> +The Major did not even turn his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought this was coming," he said quietly. Chad's face grew even +paler, and he steeled his heart for the revelation. +</P> + +<P> +"I've already spoken to Lieutenant Hunt," the Major went on. "He +expects to be a captain, and he says that, maybe, he can make you a +lieutenant. You can take that boy Brutus as a body servant." He brought +his fist down on the railing of the porch. "God, but I'd give the rest +of my life to be ten years younger than I am now." +</P> + +<P> +"Major, I'm GOING INTO THE UNION ARMY." +</P> + +<P> +The Major's pipe almost dropped from between his lips. Catching the +arms of his chair with both hands, he turned heavily and with dazed +wonder, as though the boy had struck him with his fist from behind, +and, without a word, stared hard into Chad's tortured face. The keen +old eye had not long to look before it saw the truth, and then, +silently, the old man turned back. His hands trembled on the chair, and +he slowly thrust them into his pockets, breathing hard through his +nose. The boy expected an outbreak, but none came. A bee buzzed above +them. A yellow butterfly zigzagged by. Blackbirds chattered in the +firs. The screech of a peacock shrilled across the yard, and a +ploughman's singing wailed across the fields: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Trouble, O Lawd!<BR> + Nothin' but trouble in de lan' of Canaan.<BR> +</P> + +<P> +The boy knew he had given his old friend a mortal hurt. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, Major," he pleaded. "You don't know how I have fought against +this. I tried to be on your side. I thought I was. I joined the Rifles. +I found first that I couldn't fight WITH the South, and—then—I—found +that I had to fight FOR the North. It almost kills me when I think of +all you have done." +</P> + +<P> +The Major waved his hand imperiously. He was not the man to hear his +favors recounted, much less refer to them himself. He straightened and +got up from his chair. His manner had grown formal, stately, coldly +courteous. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot understand, but you are old enough, sir, to know your own +mind. You should have prepared me for this. You will excuse me a +moment." Chad rose and the Major walked toward the door, his step not +very steady, and his shoulders a bit shrunken—his back, somehow, +looked suddenly old. +</P> + +<P> +"Brutus!" he called sharply to a black boy who was training rosebushes +in the yard. "Saddle Mr. Chad's horse." Then, without looking again at +Chad, he turned into his office, and Chad, standing where he was, with +a breaking heart, could hear, through the open window, the rustling of +papers and the scratching of a pen. +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes he heard the Major rise and he turned to meet him. The +old man held a roll of bills in one hand and a paper in the other. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is the balance due you on our last trade," he said, quietly. "The +mare is yours—Dixie," he added, grimly. "The old mare is in foal. I +will keep her and send you your due when the time comes. We are quite +even," he went on in a level tone of business. "Indeed, what you have +done about the place more than exceeds any expense that you have ever +caused me. If anything, I am still in your debt." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't take it!" said Chad, choking back a sob. +</P> + +<P> +"You will have to take it," the Major broke in, curtly, "unless—" the +Major held back the bitter speech that was on his lips and Chad +understood. The old man did not want to feel under any obligations to +him. +</P> + +<P> +"I would offer you Brutus, as was my intention, except that I know you +would not take him," again he added, grimly, "and Brutus would run away +from you." +</P> + +<P> +"No, Major," said Chad, sadly, "I would not take Brutus," and he +stepped down one step of the porch backward. +</P> + +<P> +"I tried to tell you, Major, but you wouldn't listen. I don't wonder, +for I couldn't explain to you what I couldn't understand myself. I—" +the boy choked and tears filled his eyes. He was afraid to hold out his +hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, Major," he said, brokenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, sir," answered the Major, with a stiff bow, but the old man's +lip shook and he turned abruptly within. +</P> + +<P> +Chad did not trust himself to look back, but, as he rode through the +pasture to the pike gate, his ears heard, never to forget, the chatter +of the blackbirds, the noises around the barn, the cry of the peacock, +and the wailing of the ploughman: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Trouble, O Lawd!<BR> + Nothin' but trouble—<BR> +</P> + +<P> +At the gate the little mare turned her head toward town and started +away in the easy swinging lope for which she was famous. From a +cornfield Jerome Conners, the overseer, watched horse and rider for a +while, and then his lips were lifted over his protruding teeth in one +of his ghastly, infrequent smiles. Chad Buford was out of his way at +last. At the Deans' gate, Snowball was just going in on Margaret's pony +and Chad pulled up. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's Mr. Dan, Snowball?—and Mr. Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mars Dan he gwine to de wah—an' I'se gwine wid him." +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mr. Harry going, too?" Snowball hesitated. He did not like to +gossip about family matters, but it was a friend of the family who was +questioning him. +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh! But Mammy say Mars Harry's teched in de haid. He gwine to +fight wid de po' white trash." +</P> + +<P> +"Is Miss Margaret at home?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh." +</P> + +<P> +Chad had his note to Margaret, unsealed. He little felt like seeing her +now, but he had just as well have it all over at once. He took it out +and looked it over once more—irresolute. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going away to join the Union army, Margaret. May I come to tell +you good-by? If not, God bless you always. CHAD." +</P> + +<P> +"Take this to Miss Margaret, Snowball, and bring me an answer here as +soon as you can." +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh." +</P> + +<P> +The black boy was not gone long. Chad saw him go up the steps, and in a +few moments he reappeared and galloped back. +</P> + +<P> +"Ole Mistis say dey ain't no answer." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Snowball." Chad pitched him a coin and loped on toward +Lexington with his head bent, his hands folded on the pommel, and the +reins flapping loosely. Within one mile of Lexington he turned into a +cross-road and set his face toward the mountains. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later, the General and Harry and Dan stood on the big portico. +Inside, the mother and Margaret were weeping in each other's arms. Two +negro boys were each leading a saddled horse from the stable, while +Snowball was blubbering at the corner of the house. At the last moment +Dan had decided to leave him behind. If Harry could have no servant, +Dan, too, would have none. Dan was crying without shame. Harry's face +was as white and stern as his father's. As the horses drew near the +General stretched out the sabre in his hand to Dan. +</P> + +<P> +"This should belong to you, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"It is yours to give, father," said Harry, gently. +</P> + +<P> +"It shall never be drawn against my roof and your mother." +</P> + +<P> +The boy was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"You are going far North?" asked the General, more gently. "You will +not fight on Kentucky soil?" +</P> + +<P> +"You taught me that the first duty of a soldier is obedience. I must go +where I'm ordered." +</P> + +<P> +"God grant that you two may never meet." +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" It was a cry of horror from both the lads. +</P> + +<P> +The horses were waiting at the stiles. The General took Dan in his arms +and the boy broke away and ran down the steps, weeping. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," said Harry, with trembling lips, "I hope you won't be too +hard on me. Perhaps the day will come when you won't be so ashamed of +me. I hope you and mother will forgive me. I can't do otherwise than I +must. Will you shake hands with me, father?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my son. God be with you both." +</P> + +<P> +And then, as he watched the boys ride side by side to the gate, he +added: +</P> + +<P> +"I could kill my own brother with my own hand for this." +</P> + +<P> +He saw them stop a moment at the gate; saw them clasp hands and turn +opposite ways—one with his face set for Tennessee, the other making +for the Ohio. Dan waved his cap in a last sad good-by. Harry rode over +the hill without turning his head. The General stood rigid, with his +hands clasped behind his back, staring across the gray fields between +them. Through the winds, came the low sound of sobbing. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 21. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MELISSA +</H3> + +<P> +Shortly after dusk, that night, two or three wagons moved quietly out +of Lexington, under a little guard with guns loaded and bayonets fixed. +Back at the old Armory—the home of the "Rifles"—a dozen youngsters +drilled vigorously with faces in a broad grin, as they swept under the +motto of the company—"Our laws the commands of our Captain." They were +following out those commands most literally. Never did Lieutenant Hunt +give his orders more sonorously—he could be heard for blocks away. +Never did young soldiers stamp out maneuvers more lustily—they made +more noise than a regiment. Not a man carried a gun, though ringing +orders to "Carry arms" and "Present arms" made the windows rattle. It +was John Morgan's first ruse. While that mock-drill was going on, and +listening Unionists outside were laughing to think how those Rifles +were going to be fooled next day, the guns of the company were moving +in those wagons toward Dixie—toward mocking-bird-haunted Bowling +Green, where the underfed, unclothed, unarmed body of Albert Sydney +Johnston's army lay, with one half-feathered wing stretching into the +Cumberland hills and the frayed edge of the other touching the Ohio. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, the Home Guards came gayly around to the Armory to seize +those guns, and the wily youngsters left temporarily behind (they, too, +fled for Dixie, that night) gibed them unmercifully; so that, then and +there, a little interchange of powder-and-ball civilities followed; and +thus, on the very first day, Daniel Dean smelled the one and heard the +other whistle right harmlessly and merrily. Straightway, more guards +were called out; cannon were planted to sweep the principal streets, +and from that hour the old town was under the rule of a Northern or +Southern sword for the four years' reign of the war. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, Chad Buford was giving a strange journey to Dixie. Whenever +he dismounted, she would turn her head toward the Bluegrass, as though +it surely were time they were starting for home. When they reached the +end of the turnpike, she lifted her feet daintily along the muddy road, +and leaped pools of water like a cat. Climbing the first foot-hills, +she turned her beautiful head to right and left, and with pointed ears +snorted now and then at the strange dark woods on either side and the +tumbling water-falls. The red of her wide nostrils was showing when she +reached the top of the first mountain, and from that high point of +vantage she turned her wondering eyes over the wide rolling stretch +that waved homeward, and whinnied with distinct uneasiness when Chad +started her down into the wilderness beyond. Distinctly that road was +no path for a lady to tread, but Dixie was to know it better in the +coming war. +</P> + +<P> +Within ten miles of the Turners', Chad met the first man that he +knew—Hence Sturgill from Kingdom Come. He was driving a wagon. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdye, Hence!" said Chad, reining in. +</P> + +<P> +"Whoa!" said Hence, pulling in and staring at Chad's horse and at Chad +from hat to spur. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you know me, Hence?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, God—I—may—die, if it ain't Chad! How air ye, Chad? Goin' up +to ole Joel's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. How are things on Kingdom Come?" +</P> + +<P> +Hence spat on the ground and raised one hand high over his head: +</P> + +<P> +"God—I—may—die, if thar hain't hell to pay on Kingdom Come. You +better keep offo' Kingdom Come," and then he stopped with an expression +of quick alarm, looked around him into the bushes and dropped his voice +to a whisper: +</P> + +<P> +"But I hain't sayin' a word—rickollect now—not a word!" +</P> + +<P> +Chad laughed aloud. "What's the matter with you, Hence?" +</P> + +<P> +Hence put one finger on one side of his nose—still speaking in a low +tone: +</P> + +<P> +"Whut'd I say, Chad? D'I say one word?" He gathered up his reins. "You +rickollect Jake and Jerry Dillon?" Chad nodded. "You know Jerry was +al'ays a-runnin' over Jake 'cause Jake' didn't have good sense. Jake +was drapped when he was a baby. Well, Jerry struck Jake over the head +with a fence-rail 'bout two months ago, an when Jake come to, he had +just as good sense as anybody, and now he hates Jerry like pizen, an +Jerry's half afeard of him. An' they do say a how them two brothers air +a-goin'" Again Hence stopped abruptly and clucked to his team "But I +ain't a-sayin' a word, now, mind ye—not a word!" +</P> + +<P> +Chad rode on, amused, and thinking that Hence had gone daft, but he was +to learn better. A reign of forty years' terror was starting in those +hills. +</P> + +<P> +Not a soul was in sight when he reached the top of the hill from which +he could see the Turner home below—about the house or the orchard or +in the fields. No one answered his halloo at the Turner gate, though +Chad was sure that he saw a woman's figure flit past the door. It was a +full minute before Mother Turner cautiously thrust her head outside the +door and peered at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Aunt Betsey," called Chad, "don't you know me?" +</P> + +<P> +At the sound of his voice Melissa sprang out the door with a welcoming +cry, and ran to him, Mother Turner following with a broad smile on her +kind old face. Chad felt the tears almost come—these were friends +indeed. How tall Melissa had grown, and how lovely she was, with her +tangled hair and flashing eyes and delicately modelled face. She went +with him to the stable to help him put up his horse, blushing when he +looked at her and talking very little, while the old mother, from the +fence, followed him with her dim eyes. At once Chad began to ply both +with questions—where was Uncle Joel and the boys and the +school-master? And, straightway, Chad felt a reticence in both—a +curious reticence even with him. On each side of the fireplace, on each +side of the door, and on each side of the window, he saw narrow blocks +fixed to the logs. One was turned horizontal, and through the hole +under it Chad saw daylight—portholes they were. At the door were taken +blocks as catches for a piece of upright wood nearby, which was plainly +used to bar the door. The cabin was a fortress. By degrees the story +came out. The neighborhood was in a turmoil of bloodshed and terror. +Tom and Dolph had gone off to the war—Rebels. Old Joel had been called +to the door one night, a few weeks since, and had been shot down +without warning. They had fought all night. Melissa herself had handled +a rifle at one of the portholes. Rube was out in the woods now, with +Jack guarding and taking care of his wounded father. A Home Guard had +been organized, and Daws Dillon was captain. They were driving out of +the mountains every man who owned a negro, for nearly every man who +owned a negro had taken, or was forced to take, the Rebel side. The +Dillons were all Yankees, except Jerry, who had gone off with Tom; and +the giant brothers, Rebel Jerry and Yankee Jake—as both were already +known—had sworn to kill each other on sight. Bushwhacking had already +begun. When Chad asked about the school-master, the old woman's face +grew stern, and Melissa's lip curled with scorn. +</P> + +<P> +"Yankee!" The girl spat the word out with such vindictive bitterness +that Chad's face turned slowly scarlet, while the girl's keen eyes +pierced him like a knife, and narrowed as, with pale face and heaving +breast, she rose suddenly from her chair and faced him—amazed, +bewildered, burning with sudden hatred. "And you're another!" The +girl's voice was like a hiss. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, 'Lissy!" cried the old mother, startled, horrified. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at him!" said the girl. The old woman looked; her face grew hard +and frightened, and she rose feebly, moving toward the girl as though +for protection against him. Chad's very heart seemed suddenly to turn +to water. He had been dreading the moment to come when he must tell. He +knew it would be hard, but he was not looking for this. +</P> + +<P> +"You better git away!" quavered the old woman, "afore Joel and Rube +come in." +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" said the girl, sharply, her hands clinched like claws, her +whole body stiff, like a tigress ready to attack, or awaiting attack. +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe he come hyeh to find out whar they air—don't tell him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Lissy!" said Chad, brokenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then whut did you come fer?" +</P> + +<P> +"To tell you good-by, I came to see all of you, Lissy." +</P> + +<P> +The girl laughed scornfully, and Chad knew he was helpless. He could +not explain, and they could not understand—nobody had understood. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt Betsey," he said, "you took Jack and me in, and you took care of +me just as though I had been your own child. You know I'd give my life +for you or Uncle Joel, or any one of the boys"—his voice grew a little +stern—"and you know it, too, Lissy—" +</P> + +<P> +"You're makin' things wuss," interrupted the girl, stridently, "an' now +you're goin' to do all you can to kill us. I reckon you can see that +door. Why don't you go over to the Dillons?" she panted. "They're +friends o' your'n. An' don't let Uncle Joel or Rube ketch you anywhar +round hyeh!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not afraid to see Uncle Joel or Rube, Lissy." +</P> + +<P> +"You must git away, Chad," quavered the old woman. "They mought hurt +ye!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry not to see Jack. He's the only friend I have now." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Jack would snarl at ye," said the girl, bitterly. "He hates a +Yankee." She pointed again with her finger. "I reckon you can see that +door." +</P> + +<P> +They followed him, Melissa going on the porch and the old woman +standing in the doorway. On one side of the walk Chad saw a rose-bush +that he had brought from the Bluegrass for Melissa. It was dying. He +took one step toward it, his foot sinking in the soft earth where the +girl had evidently been working around it, and broke off the one green +leaf that was left. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Lissy! You'll be sorry you were so hard on me. I'd never get +over it if I didn't think you would. Keep this, won't you, and let's be +friends, not enemies." +</P> + +<P> +He held it out, and the girl angrily struck the rose-leaf from his hand +to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +Chad rode away at a walk. Two hundred yards below, where the hill rose, +the road was hock-deep with sand, and Dixie's feet were as noiseless as +a cat's. A few yards beyond a ravine on the right, a stone rolled from +the bushes into the road. Instinctively Chad drew rein, and Dixie stood +motionless. A moment later, a crouching figure, with a long squirrel +rifle, slipped out of the bushes and started noiselessly across the +ravine. Chad's pistol flashed. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" +</P> + +<P> +The figure crouched more, and turned a terror-stricken face—Daws +Dillon's. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's you, is it—Well, drop that gun and come down here." +</P> + +<P> +The Dillon boy rose, leaving his gun on the ground, and came down, +trembling. +</P> + +<P> +"What're you doin' sneaking around in the brush?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'!" The Dillon had to make two efforts before he could speak at +all. "Nothin', jes' a-huntin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"Huntin'!" repeated Chad. He lowered his pistol and looked at the sorry +figure silently. +</P> + +<P> +"I know what you were huntin', you rattlesnake! I understand you are +captain of the Home Guard. I reckon you don't know that nobody has to +go into this war. That a man has the right to stay peaceably at home, +and nobody has the right to bother him. If you don't know it, I tell +you now. I believe you had something to do with shooting Uncle Joel." +</P> + +<P> +The Dillon shook his head, and fumbled with his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"If I knew it, I'd kill you where you stand, now. But I've got one word +to say to you, you hell-pup. I hate to think it, but you and I are on +the same side—that is, if you have any side. But in spite of that, if +I hear of any harm happening to Aunt Betsey, or Melissa, or Uncle Joel, +or Rube, while they are all peaceably at home, I'm goin' to hold you +and Tad responsible, whether you are or not, and I'll kill you"—he +raised one hand to make the Almighty a witness to his oath—"I'll kill +you, if I have to follow you both to hell for doin' it. Now, you take +keer of 'em! Turn 'round!" +</P> + +<P> +The Dillon hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Turn!" Chad cried, savagely, raising his pistol. "Go back to that gun, +an' if you turn your head I'll shoot you where you're sneakin' aroun' +to shoot Rube or Uncle Joel—in the back, you cowardly feist. Pick up +that gun! Now, let her off! See if you can hit that beech-tree in front +of you. Just imagine that it's me." +</P> + +<P> +The rifle cracked and Chad laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you ain't much of a shot. I reckon you must have chills and +fever. Now, come back here. Give me your powder-horn. You'll find it on +top of the hill on the right-hand side of the road. Now, you +trot—home!" +</P> + +<P> +Then Dillon stared. +</P> + +<P> +"Double-quick!" shouted Chad. "You ought to know what that means if you +are a soldier—a soldier!" he repeated, contemptuously. +</P> + +<P> +The Dillon disappeared on a run. +</P> + +<P> +Chad rode all that night. At dawn he reached the foot-hills, and by +noon he drew up at the road which turned to Camp Dick Robinson. He sat +there a long time thinking, and then pushed on toward Lexington. If he +could, he would keep from fighting on Kentucky soil. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning he was going at an easy "running-walk" along the old +Maysville road toward the Ohio. Within three miles of Major Buford's, +he leaped the fence and stuck across the fields that he might go around +and avoid the risk of a painful chance meeting with his old friend or +any of the Deans. +</P> + +<P> +What a land of peace and plenty it was—the woodlands, meadows, pasture +lands! Fat cattle raised their noses from the thick grass and looked +with mild inquiry at him. Sheep ran bleating toward him, as though he +were come to salt them. A rabbit leaped from a thorn-bush and whisked +his white flag into safety in a hemp-field. Squirrels barked in the big +oaks, and a covey of young quail fluttered up from a fence corner and +sailed bravely away. 'Possum signs were plentiful, and on the edge of +the creek he saw a coon solemnly searching under a rock with one paw +for crawfish Every now and then Dixie would turn her head impatiently +to the left, for she knew where home was. The Deans' house was just +over the hill he would have but the ride to the top to see it and, +perhaps, Margaret. There was no need. As he sat, looking up the hill, +Margaret herself rode slowly over it, and down, through the sunlight +slanting athwart the dreaming woods, straight toward him. Chad sat +still. Above him the road curved, and she could not see him until she +turned the little thicket just before him. Her pony was more startled +than was she. A little leap of color to her face alone showed her +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you get my note?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did. You got my mother's message?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did." Chad paused. "That is why I am passing around you." +</P> + +<P> +The girl said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm glad I came so near. I wanted to see you once more. I wish I +could make you understand. But nobody understands. I hardly understand +myself. But please try to believe that what I say is true. I'm just +back from the mountains, and listen, Margaret—" He halted a moment to +steady his voice. "The Turners down there took me in when I was a +ragged outcast. They clothed me, fed me, educated me. The Major took me +when I was little more; and he fed me, clothed me, educated me. The +Turners scorned me—Melissa told me to go herd with the Dillons. The +Major all but turned me from his door. Your father was bitter toward +me, thinking that I had helped turn Harry to the Union cause. But let +me tell you! If the Turners died, believing me a traitor; if Lissy died +with a curse on her lips for me; if the Major died without, as he +believed, ever having polluted his lips again with my name; if Harry +were brought back here dead, and your father died, believing that his +blood was on my hands; and if I lost you and your love, and you died, +believing the same thing—I must still go. Oh, Margaret, I can't +understand—I have ceased to reason. I only know I must go!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl in the mountains had let her rage and scorn loose like a +storm, but the gentlewoman only grew more calm. Every vestige of color +left her, but her eyes never for a moment wavered from his face. Her +voice was quiet and even and passionless. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, why don't you go?" +</P> + +<P> +The lash of an overseer's whip across his face could not have made his +soul so bleed. Even then he did not lose himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I am in your way," he said, quietly. And backing Dixie from the road, +and without bending his head or lowering his eyes, he waited, hat in +hand, for Margaret to pass. +</P> + +<P> +All that day Chad rode, and, next morning, Dixie climbed the Union bank +of the Ohio and trotted into the recruiting camp of the Fourth Ohio +Cavalry. The first man Chad saw was Harry Dean—grave, sombre, +taciturn, though he smiled and thrust out his hand eagerly. Chad's eyes +dropped to the sergeant's stripes on Harry's sleeves, and again Harry +smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have 'em yourself in a week. These fellows ride like a lot of +meal-bags over here. Here's my captain," he added, in a lower voice. +</P> + +<P> +A pompous officer rode slowly up. He pulled in his horse when he saw +Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"You want to join the army?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"All right. That's a fine horse you've got." +</P> + +<P> +Chad said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"What's his name?" +</P> + +<P> +"HER name is Dixie." +</P> + +<P> +The captain stared. Some soldiers behind laughed in a smothered +fashion, sobering their' faces quickly when the captain turned upon +them, furious. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, change her name!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll not change her name," said Chad, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"What!" shouted the officer. "How dare you—" Chad's eyes looked +ominous. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you give any orders to me—not yet. You haven't the right; and +when you have, you can save your breath by not giving that one. This +horse comes from Kentucky, and so do I; her name will stay Dixie as +long as I straddle her, and I propose to straddle her until one of us +dies, or,"—he smiled and nodded across the river—"somebody over there +gets her who won't object to her name as much as you do." +</P> + +<P> +The astonished captain's lips opened, but a quiet voice behind +interrupted him: +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind, Captain." Chad turned and saw a short, thick-set man with +a stubbly brown beard, whose eyes were twinkling, though his face was +grave. "A boy who wants to fight for the Union, and insists on calling +his horse Dixie, must be all right. Come with me, my lad." +</P> + +<P> +As Chad followed, he heard the man saluted as Colonel Grant, but he +paid no heed. Few people at that time did pay heed to the name of +Ulysses Grant. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 22. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MORGAN'S MEN +</H3> + +<P> +Boots and saddles at daybreak! +</P> + +<P> +Over the border, in Dixie, two videttes in gray trot briskly from out a +leafy woodland, side by side, and looking with keen eyes right and +left; one, erect, boyish, bronzed; the other, slouching, bearded, +huge—the boy, Daniel Dean; the man, Rebel Jerry Dillon, one of the +giant twins. +</P> + +<P> +Fifty yards behind them emerges a single picket; after him come three +more videttes, the same distance apart. Fifty yards behind the last +rides "the advance"—a guard of twenty-five picked men. No commission +among "Morgan's Men" was more eagerly sought than a place on that guard +of hourly risk and honor. Behind it trot still three more videttes, at +intervals of one hundred yards, and just that interval behind the last +of these ride Morgan's Men, the flower of Kentucky's youth, in columns +of fours—Colonel Hunt's regiment in advance, the colors borne by +Renfrew the Silent in a brilliant Zouave jacket studded with buttons of +red coral. In the rear rumble two Parrot guns, affectionately +christened the "Bull Pups." +</P> + +<P> +Skirting the next woodland ran a cross-road. Down one way gallops Dan, +and down the other lumbers Rebel Jerry, each two hundred yards. A cry +rings from vidette to vidette behind them and back to the guard. Two +horsemen spur from the "advance" and take the places of the last two +videttes, while the videttes in front take and keep the original +formation until the column passes that cross-road, when Dean and Dillon +gallop up to their old places in the extreme front again. Far in front, +and on both flanks, are scouting parties, miles away. +</P> + +<P> +This was the way Morgan marched. +</P> + +<P> +Yankees ahead! Not many, to be sure—no more numerous than two or three +to one; so back fall the videttes and forward charges that advance +guard like a thunderbolt, not troubling the column behind. Wild yells, +a clattering of hoofs, the crack of pistol-shots, a wild flight, a +merry chase, a few riderless horses gathered in from the fleeing +Yankees, and the incident is over. +</P> + +<P> +Ten miles more, and many hostile bayonets gleam ahead. A serious fight, +this, perhaps—so back drops the advance, this time as a reserve; up +gallops the column into single rank and dismounts, while the flank +companies, deploying as skirmishers, cover the whole front, one man out +of each set of fours and the corporals holding the horses in the rear. +The "Bull Pups" bark and the Rebel yell rings as the line—the files +two yards apart—"a long flexible line curving forward at each +extremity"—slips forward at a half run. This time the Yankees charge. +</P> + +<P> +From every point of that curving line pours a merciless fire, and the +charging men in blue recoil—all but one. (War is full of grim humor.) +On comes one lone Yankee, hatless, red-headed, pulling on his reins +with might and main, his horse beyond control, and not one of the enemy +shoot as he sweeps helplessly into their line. A huge rebel grabs his +bridle-rein. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know whether to kill you now," he says, with pretended +ferocity, "or wait till the fight is over." +</P> + +<P> +"For God's sake, don't kill me at all!" shouts the Yankee. "I'm a +dissipated character, and not prepared to die." +</P> + +<P> +Shots from the right flank and rear, and the line is thrown about like +a rope. But the main body of the Yankees is to the left. +</P> + +<P> +"Left face! Double-quick!" is the ringing order, and, by magic, the +line concentrates in a solid phalanx and sweeps forward. +</P> + +<P> +This was the way Morgan fought. +</P> + +<P> +And thus, marching and fighting, he went his triumphant way into the +land of the enemy, without sabres, without artillery, without even the +"Bull Pups," sometimes—fighting infantry, cavalry, artillery with only +muzzle-loading rifles, pistols, and shotguns; scattering Home Guards +like turkeys; destroying railroads and bridges; taking towns and +burning Government stores, and encompassed, usually, with forces treble +his own. +</P> + +<P> +This was what Morgan did on a raid, was what he had done, what he was +starting out now to do again. +</P> + +<P> +Darkness threatens, and the column halts to bivouac for the night on +the very spot where, nearly a year before, Morgan's Men first joined +Johnston's army, which, like a great, lean, hungry hawk, guarded the +Southern border. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel Dean was a war-worn veteran now. He could ride twenty hours out +of the twenty-four; he could sleep in his saddle or anywhere but on +picket duty, and there was no trick of the trade in camp, or on the +march, that was not at his finger's end. +</P> + +<P> +Fire first! Nobody had a match, the leaves were wet and the twigs +soggy, but by some magic a tiny spark glows under some shadowy figure, +bites at the twigs, snaps at the branches, and wraps a log in flames. +</P> + +<P> +Water next! A tin cup rattles in a bucket, and another shadowy figure +steals off into the darkness, with an instinct as unerring as the skill +of a water-witch with a willow wand. The Yankees chose open fields for +camps, but your rebel took to the woods. Each man and his chum picked a +tree for a home, hung up canteens and spread blankets at the foot of +it. Supper—Heavens, what luck—fresh beef! One man broils it on coals, +pinning pieces of fat to it to make gravy; another roasts it on a +forked stick, for Morgan carried no cooking utensils on a raid. +</P> + +<P> +Here, one man made up bread in an oilcloth (and every Morgan's man had +one soon after they were issued to the Federals); another worked up +corn-meal into dough in the scooped-out half of a pumpkin; one baked +bread on a flat rock, another on a board, while a third had twisted his +dough around his ram-rod; if it were spring-time, a fourth might be +fitting his into a cornshuck to roast in ashes. All this Dan Dean could +do. +</P> + +<P> +The roaring fire thickens the gloom of the woods where the lonely +pickets stand. Pipes are out now. An oracle outlines the general +campaign of the war as it will be and as it should have been. A +long-winded, innocent braggart tells of his personal prowess that day. +A little group is guying the new recruit. A wag shaves a bearded +comrade on one side of his face, pockets his razor and refuses to shave +the other side. A poet, with a bandaged eye, and hair like a windblown +hay-stack, recites "I am dying, Egypt—dying," and then a pure, clear, +tenor voice starts through the forest-aisles, and there is sudden +silence. Every man knows that voice, and loves the boy who owns +it—little Tom Morgan, Dan's brother-in-arms, the General's +seventeen-year-old brother—and there he stands leaning against a tree, +full in the light of the fire, a handsome, gallant figure—a song like +a seraph's pouring from his lips. One bearded soldier is gazing at him +with curious intentness, and when the song ceases, lies down with a +suddenly troubled face. He has seen the "death-look" in the boy's +eyes—that prophetic death-look in which he has unshaken faith. The +night deepens, figures roll up in blankets, quiet comes, and Dan lies +wide awake and deep in memories, and looking back on those early +helpless days of the war with a tolerant smile. +</P> + +<P> +He was a war-worn veteran now, but how vividly he could recall that +first night in the camp of a big army, in the very woods where he now +lay—dusk settling over the Green River country, which Morgan's Men +grew to love so well; a mocking-bird singing a farewell song from the +top of a stunted oak to the dead summer and the dying day; Morgan +seated on a cracker-box in front of his tent, contemplatively chewing +one end of his mustache; Lieutenant Hunt swinging from his horse, +smiling grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"It would make a horse laugh—a Yankee cavalry horse, anyhow—to see +this army." +</P> + +<P> +Hunt had been over the camp that first afternoon on a personal tour of +investigation. They were not a thousand Springfield and Enfield rifles +at that time in Johnston's army. Half of the soldiers were armed with +shotguns and squirrel rifle and the greater part of the other half with +flintlock muskets. But nearly every man, thinking he was in for a +rough-and-tumble fight, had a bowie knife and a revolver swung to his +belt. +</P> + +<P> +"Those Arkansas and Texas fellows have got knives that would make a +Malay's blood run cold." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, they'll do to hew firewood and cut meat," laughed Morgan. +</P> + +<P> +The troops were not only badly armed. On his tour, Hunt had seen men +making blankets of pieces of old carpet, lined on one side with a piece +of cotton cloth; men wearing ox-hide buskins, or complicated wrapping +of rags, for shoes; orderly sergeants making out reports on shingles; +surgeon using a twisted handkerchief instead of a tourniquet. There was +a total lack of medicine, and camp diseases were already breaking +out—measles, typhoid fever, pneumonia, bowel troubles—each fatal, it +seemed, in time of war. +</P> + +<P> +"General Johnston has asked Richmond for a stand of thirty thousand +arms," Morgan had mused, and Hunt looked up inquiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Davis can only spare a thousand." +</P> + +<P> +"That's lucky," said Hunt, grimly. +</P> + +<P> +And then the military organization of that army, so characteristic of +the Southerner! An officer who wanted to be more than a colonel, and +couldn't be a brigadier, would have a "legion"—a hybrid unit between a +regiment and a brigade. Sometimes there was a regiment whose roll-call +was more than two thousand men, so popular was its colonel. Companies +would often refuse to designate themselves by letter, but by the +thrilling titles they had given themselves. How Morgan and Hunt had +laughed over "The Yellow Jackets," "The Dead Shots," "The Earthquakes," +"The Chickasha Desperadoes," and "The Hell Roarers"! Regiments would +bear the names of their commanders—a singular instance of the +Southerner's passion for individuality, as a man, a company, a +regiment, or a brigade. And there was little or no discipline, as the +word is understood among the military elect, and with no army that the +world has ever seen, Richard Hunt always claimed, was there so little +need of it. For Southern soldiers, he argued, were, from the start, +obedient, zealous, and tolerably patient, from good sense and a strong +sense of duty. They were born fighters; a spirit of emulation induced +them to learn the drill; pride and patriotism kept them true and +patient to the last, but they could not be made, by punishment or the +fear of it, into machines. They read their chance of success, not in +opposing numbers, but in the character and reputation of their +commanders, who, in turn, believed, as a rule, that "the unthinking +automaton, formed by routine and punishment, could no more stand before +the high-strung young soldier with brains and good blood, and some +practice and knowledge of warfare, than a tree could resist a stroke of +lightning." So that with Southern soldiers discipline came to mean "the +pride which made soldiers learn their duties rather than incur +disgrace; the subordination that came from self-respect and respect for +the man whom they thought worthy to command them." +</P> + +<P> +Boots and saddles again at daybreak! By noon the column reached Green +River, over the Kentucky line, where Morgan, even on his way down to +join Johnston, had begun the operations which were to make him famous. +No picket duty that infantry could do as well, for Morgan's cavalry! He +wanted it kept out on the front or the flanks of an army, and as close +as possible upon the enemy. Right away, there had been thrilling times +for Dan in the Green River country—setting out at dark, chasing +countrymen in Federal pay or sympathy, prowling all night around and +among pickets and outposts; entrapping the unwary; taking a position on +the line of retreat at daybreak, and turning leisurely back to camp +with prisoners and information. How memories thronged! At this very +turn of the road, Dan remembered, they had their first brush with the +enemy. No plan of battle had been adopted, other than to hide on both +sides of the road and send their horses to the rear. +</P> + +<P> +"I think we ought to charge 'em," said Georgie Forbes, Chad's old +enemy. Dan saw that his lip trembled, and, a moment later, Georgie, +muttering something, disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +The Yankees had come on, and, discovering them, halted. Morgan himself +stepped out in the road and shot the officer riding at the head of the +column. His men fell back without returning the fire, deployed and +opened up. Dan recognized the very tree behind which he had stood, and +again he could almost hear Richard Hunt chuckling from behind another +close by. +</P> + +<P> +"We would be in bad shape," said Richard Hunt, as the bullets whistled +high overhead, "if we were in the tops of these trees instead of behind +them." There had been no maneuvering, no command given among the +Confederates. Each man fought his own fight. In ten minutes a +horse-holder ran up from the rear, breathless, and announced that the +Yankees were flanking. Every man withdrew, straightway, after his own +fashion, and in his own time. One man was wounded and several were shot +through the clothes. +</P> + +<P> +"That was like a camp-meeting or an election row," laughed Morgan, when +they were in camp. +</P> + +<P> +"Or an affair between Austrian and Italian outposts," said Hunt. +</P> + +<P> +A chuckle rose behind them. A lame colonel was limping past. +</P> + +<P> +"I got your courier," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"I sent no courier," said Morgan. +</P> + +<P> +"It was Forbes who wanted to charge 'em," said Dan. +</P> + +<P> +Again the Colonel chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"The Yankees ran when you did," he said, and limped, chuckling, away. +</P> + +<P> +But it was great fun, those moonlit nights, burning bridges and chasing +Home Guards who would flee fifteen or twenty miles sometimes to +"rally." Here was a little town through which Dan and Richard Hunt had +marched with nine prisoners in a column—taken by them alone—and a +captured United States flag, flying in front, scaring Confederate +sympathizers and straggling soldiers, as Hunt reported, horribly. Dan +chuckled at the memory, for the prisoners were quartered with different +messes, and, that night, several bottles of sparkling Catawba happened, +by some mystery, to be on hand. The prisoners were told that this was +regularly issued by their commissaries, and thereupon they plead, with +tears, to be received into the Confederate ranks. +</P> + +<P> +This kind of service was valuable training for Morgan's later work. +Slight as it was, it soon brought him thirty old, condemned +artillery-horses—Dan smiled now at the memory of those ancient +chargers—which were turned over to Morgan to be nursed until they +would bear a mount, and, by and by, it gained him a colonelcy and three +companies, superbly mounted and equipped, which, as "Morgan's +Squadron," became known far and near. Then real service began. +</P> + +<P> +In January, the right wing of Johnston's hungry hawk had been broken in +the Cumberland Mountains. Early in February, Johnston had withdrawn it +from Kentucky before Buell's hosts, with its beak always to the foe. By +the middle of the month, Grant had won the Western border States to the +Union, with the capture of Fort Donelson. In April, the sun of Shiloh +rose and set on the failure of the first Confederate aggressive +campaign at the West; and in that fight Dan saw his first real battle, +and Captain Hunt was wounded. In May, Buell had pushed the Confederate +lines south and east toward Chattanooga. To retain a hold on the +Mississippi valley, the Confederates must make another push for +Kentucky, and it was this great Southern need that soon put John +Morgan's name on the lips of every rebel and Yankee in the middle +South. In June, provost-marshals were appointed in every county in +Kentucky; the dogs of war began to be turned locals on the "secesh +sympathizers" throughout the State, and Jerome Conners, overseer, began +to render sly service to the Union cause. +</P> + +<P> +For it was in June that Morgan paid his first memorable little visit to +the Bluegrass, and Daniel Dean wrote his brother Harry the short tale +of the raid. +</P> + +<P> +"We left Dixie with nine hundred men," the letter ran, "and got back in +twenty-four days with twelve hundred. Travelled over one thousand +miles, captured seventeen towns, destroyed all Government supplies and +arms in them, scattered fifteen hundred Home Guards, and paroled twelve +hundred regular troops. Lost of the original nine hundred, in killed, +wounded, and missing, about ninety men. How's that? We kept twenty +thousand men busy guarding Government posts or chasing us, and we're +going back often. Oh Harry, I AM glad that you are with Grant." +</P> + +<P> +But Harry was not with Grant—not now. While Morgan was marching up +from Dixie to help Kirby Smith in the last great effort that the +Confederacy was about to make to win Kentucky—down from the yellow +river marched the Fourth Ohio Cavalry to go into camp at Lexington; and +with it marched Chadwick Buford and Harry Dean who, too, were veterans +now—who, too, were going home. Both lads wore a second lieutenant's +empty shoulder-straps, which both yet meant to fill with bars, but +Chad's promotion had not come as swiftly as Harry had predicted; the +Captain, whose displeasure he had incurred, prevented that. It had +come, in time, however, and with one leap he had landed, after Shiloh, +at Harry's side. In the beginning, young Dean had wanted to go to the +Army of the Potomac, as did Chad, but one quiet word from the taciturn +colonel with the stubbly reddish-brown beard and the perpetual black +cigar kept both where they were. +</P> + +<P> +"Though," said Grant to Chad, as his eye ran over beautiful Dixie from +tip of nose to tip of tail, and came back to Chad, slightly twinkling, +"I've a great notion to put you in the infantry just to get hold of +that horse." +</P> + +<P> +So it was no queer turn of fate that had soon sent both the lads to +help hold Zollicoffer at Cumberland Gap, that stopped them at Camp Dick +Robinson to join forces with Wolford's cavalry, and brought Chad face +to face with an old friend. Wolford's cavalry was gathered from the +mountains and the hills, and when some scouts came in that afternoon, +Chad, to his great joy, saw, mounted on a gaunt sorrel, none other than +his old school-master, Caleb Hazel, who, after shaking hands with both +Harry and Chad, pointed silently at a great, strange figure following +him on a splendid horse some fifty yards behind. The man wore a slouch +hat, tow linen breeches, home-made suspenders, a belt with two pistols, +and on his naked heels were two huge Texan spurs. Harry broke into a +laugh, and Chad's puzzled face cleared when the man grinned; it was +Yankee Jake Dillon, one of the giant twins. Chad looked at him +curiously; that blow on the head that his brother, Rebel Jerry, had +given him, had wrought a miracle. The lips no longer hung apart, but +were set firmly, and the eye was almost keen; the face was still rather +stupid, but not foolish—and it was still kind. Chad knew that, +somewhere in the Confederate lines, Rebel Jerry was looking for Jake, +as Yankee Jake, doubtless, was now looking for Jerry, and he began to +think that it might be well for Jerry if neither was ever found. Daws +Dillon, so he learned from Caleb Hazel and Jake, was already making his +name a watchword of terror along the border of Virginia and Tennessee, +and was prowling, like a wolf, now and then, along the edge of the +Bluegrass. Old Joel Turner had died of his wound, Rube had gone off to +the war and Mother Turner and Melissa were left at home, alone. +</P> + +<P> +"Daws fit fust on one side and then on t'other," said Jake, and then he +smiled in a way that Chad understood; "an' sence you was down thar last +Daws don't seem to hanker much atter meddlin' with the Turners, though +the two women did have to run over into Virginny, once in a while. +Melissy," he added, "was a-goin' to marry Dave Hilton, so folks said; +and he reckoned they'd already hitched most likely, sence Chad thar—" +</P> + +<P> +A flash from Chad's eyes stopped him, and Chad, seeing Harry's puzzled +face, turned away. He was glad that Melissa was going to marry—yes, he +was glad; and how he did pray that she might be happy! +</P> + +<P> +Fighting Zollicoffer, only a few days later, Chad and Harry had their +baptism of fire, and strange battle orders they heard, that made them +smile even in the thick of the fight. +</P> + +<P> +"Huddle up thar!" "Scatterout, now!" "Form a line of fight!" "Wait till +you see the shine of their eyes!" +</P> + +<P> +"I see 'em!" shouted a private, and "bang" went his gun. That was the +way the fight opened. Chad saw Harry's eyes blazing like stars from his +pale face, which looked pained and half sick, and Chad understood—the +lads were fighting their own people, and there was no help for it. A +voice bellowed from the rear, and a man in a red cap loomed in the +smoke-mist ahead: +</P> + +<P> +"Now, now! Git up and git, boys!" +</P> + +<P> +That was the order for the charge, and the blue line went forward. Chad +never forgot that first battle-field when he saw it a few hours later +strewn with dead and wounded, the dead lying, as they dropped, in every +conceivable position, features stark, limbs rigid; one man with a +half-smoked cigar on his breast; the faces of so many beardless; some +frowning, some as if asleep and dreaming; and the wounded—some talking +pitifully, some in delirium, some courteous, patient, anxious to save +trouble, others morose, sullen, stolid, independent; never forgot it, +even the terrible night after Shiloh, when he searched heaps of wounded +and slain for Caleb Hazel, who lay all through the night wounded almost +to death. +</P> + +<P> +Later, the Fourth Ohio followed Johnston, as he gave way before Buell, +and many times did they skirmish and fight with ubiquitous Morgan's +Men. Several times Harry and Dan sent each other messages to say that +each was still unhurt, and both were in constant horror of some day +coming face to face. Once, indeed, Harry, chasing a rebel and firing at +him, saw him lurch in his saddle, and Chad, coming up, found the lad on +the ground, crying over a canteen which the rebel had dropped. It was +marked with the initials D. D., the strap was cut by the bullet Harry +had fired, and not for a week of agonizing torture did Harry learn that +the canteen, though Dan's, had been carried that day by another man. +</P> + +<P> +It was on these scouts and skirmishes that the four—Harry and Chad, +and Caleb Hazel and Yankee Jake Dillon, whose dog-like devotion to Chad +soon became a regimental joke—became known, not only among their own +men, but among their enemies, as the shrewdest and most daring scouts +in the Federal service. Every Morgan's man came to know the name of +Chad Buford; but it was not until Shiloh that Chad got his +shoulder-straps, leading a charge under the very eye of General Grant. +After Shiloh, the Fourth Ohio went back to its old quarters across the +river, and no sooner were Chad and Harry there than Kentucky was put +under the Department of the Ohio; and so it was also no queer turn of +fate that now they were on their way to new head-quarters in Lexington. +</P> + +<P> +Straight along the turnpike that ran between the Dean and the Buford +farms, the Fourth Ohio went in a cloud of thick dust that rose and +settled like a gray choking mist on the seared fields. Side by side +rode Harry and Chad, and neither spoke when, on the left, the white +columns of the Dean house came into view, and, on the right, the red +brick of Chad's old home showed through the dusty leaves; not even when +both saw on the Dean porch the figures of two women who, standing +motionless, were looking at them. Harry's shoulders drooped, and he +stared stonily ahead, while Chad turned his head quickly. The front +door and shutters of the Buford house were closed, and there were few +signs of life about the place. Only at the gate was the slouching +figure of Jerome Conners, the overseer, who, waving his hat at the +column, recognized Chad, as he rode by, and spoke to him, Chad thought, +with a covert sneer. Farther ahead, and on the farthest boundary of the +Buford farm, was a Federal fort, now deserted, and the beautiful +woodland that had once stood in perfect beauty around it was sadly +ravaged and nearly gone, as was the Dean woodland across the road. It +was plain that some people were paying the Yankee piper for the +death-dance in which a mighty nation was shaking its feet. +</P> + +<P> +On they went, past the old college, down Broadway, wheeling at Second +Street—Harry going on with the regiment to camp on the other edge of +the town; Chad reporting with his colonel at General Ward's +head-quarters, a columned brick house on one corner of the college +campus, and straight across from the Hunt home, where he had first +danced with Margaret Dean. +</P> + +<P> +That night the two lay on the edge of the Ashland woods, looking up at +the stars, the ripened bluegrass—a yellow, moonlit sea—around them +and the woods dark and still behind them. Both smoked and were silent, +but each knew that to the other his thoughts were known; for both had +been on the same errand that day, and the miserable tale of the last +ten months both had learned. +</P> + +<P> +Trouble had soon begun for the ones who were dear to them, when both +left for the war. At once General Anderson had promised immunity from +arrest to every peaceable citizen in the State, but at once the +shiftless, the prowling, the lawless, gathered to the Home Guards for +self-protection, to mask deviltry and to wreak vengeance for private +wrongs. At once mischief began. Along the Ohio, men with Southern +sympathies were clapped into prison. Citizens who had joined the +Confederates were pronounced guilty of treason, and Breckinridge was +expelled from the Senate as a traitor. Morgan's great raid in June, +'61, spread consternation through the land and, straightway, every +district and county were at the mercy of a petty local provost. No man +of Southern sympathies could stand for office. Courts in session were +broken up with the bayonet. Civil authority was overthrown. Destruction +of property, indemnity assessments on innocent men, arrests, +imprisonment, and murder became of daily occurrence. Ministers were +jailed and lately prisons had even been prepared for disloyal women. +Major Buford, forced to stay at home on account of his rheumatism and +the serious illness of Miss Lucy, had been sent to prison once and was +now under arrest again. General Dean, old as he was, had escaped and +had gone to Virginia to fight with Lee; and Margaret and Mrs. Dean, +with a few servants, were out on the farm alone. +</P> + +<P> +But neither spoke of the worst that both feared was yet to come—and +"Taps" sounded soft and dear on the night air. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 23. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAD CAPTURES AN OLD FRIEND +</H3> + +<P> +Meanwhile Morgan was coming on—led by the two videttes in gray—Daniel +Dean and Rebel Jerry Dillon—coming on to meet Kirby Smith in Lexington +after that general had led the Bluegrass into the Confederate fold. +They were taking short cuts through the hills now, and Rebel Jerry was +guide, for he had joined Morgan for that purpose. Jerry had long been +notorious along the border. He never gave quarter on his expeditions +for personal vengeance, and it was said that not even he knew how many +men he had killed. Every Morgan's man had heard of him, and was anxious +to see him; and see him they did, though they never heard him open his +lips except in answer to a question. To Dan he seemed to take a strange +fancy right away, but he was as voiceless as the grave, except for an +occasional oath, when bush-whackers of Daws Dillon's ilk would pop at +the advance guard—sometimes from a rock directly overhead, for chase +was useless. It took a roundabout climb of one hundred yards to get to +the top of that rock, so there was nothing for videttes and guards to +do but pop back, which they did to no purpose. On the third day, +however, after a skirmish in which Dan had charged with a little more +dare-deviltry than usual, the big Dillon ripped out an oath of protest. +An hour later he spoke again: +</P> + +<P> +"I got a brother on t'other side." +</P> + +<P> +Dan started. "Why, so have I," he said. "What's your brother with?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wolford's cavalry." +</P> + +<P> +"That's curious. So was mine—for a while. He's with Grant now." The +boy turned his head away suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"I might meet him, if he were with Wolford now," he said, half to +himself, but Jerry heard him and smiled viciously. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's what I'm goin' with you fellers fer—to meet mine." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" said Dan, puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"We've been lookin' fer each other sence the war broke out. I reckon he +went on t'other side to keep me from killin' him." +</P> + +<P> +Dan shrank away from the giant with horror; but next day the +mountaineer saved the boy's life in a fight in which Dan's +chum—gallant little Tom Morgan—lost his; and that night, as Dan lay +sleepless and crying in his blanket, Jerry Dillon came in from +guard-duty and lay down by him. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' to take keer o' you." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't need you," said Dan, gruffly, and Rebel Jerry grunted, turned +over on his side and went to sleep. Night and day thereafter he was by +the boy's side. +</P> + +<P> +A thrill ran through the entire command when the column struck the +first Bluegrass turnpike, and a cheer rang from front to rear. Near +Midway, a little Bluegrass town some fifteen miles from Lexington, a +halt was called, and another deafening cheer arose in the extreme rear +and came forward like a rushing wind, as a coal-black horse galloped +the length of the column—its rider, hat in hand, bowing with a proud +smile to the flattering storm—for the idolatry of the man and his men +was mutual—with the erect grace of an Indian, the air of a courtier, +and the bearing of a soldier in every line of the six feet and more of +his tireless frame. No man who ever saw John Morgan on horseback but +had the picture stamped forever on his brain, as no man who ever saw +that coal-black horse ever forgot Black Bess. Behind him came his +staff, and behind them came a wizened little man, whose nickname was +"Lightning"—telegraph operator for Morgan's Men. There was need of +Lightning now, so Morgan sent him on into town with Dan and Jerry +Dillon, while he and Richard Hunt followed leisurely. +</P> + +<P> +The three troopers found the station operator seated on the +platform—pipe in mouth, and enjoying himself hugely. He looked lazily +at them. +</P> + +<P> +"Call up Lexington," said Lightning, sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Go to hell!" said the operator, and then he nearly toppled from his +chair. Lightning, with a vicious gesture, had swung a pistol on him. +</P> + +<P> +"Here—here!" he gasped, "what'd you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Call up Lexington," repeated Lightning. The operator seated himself. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want in Lexington?" he growled. +</P> + +<P> +"Ask the time of day?" The operator stared, but the instrument clicked. +</P> + +<P> +"What's your name?" asked Lightning. +</P> + +<P> +"Woolums." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Woolums, you're a 'plug.' I wanted to see how you handled the +key. Yes, Woolums, you're a plug." +</P> + +<P> +Then Lightning seated himself, and Woolums' mouth flew open—Lightning +copied his style with such exactness. Again the instrument clicked and +Lightning listened, smiling: +</P> + +<P> +"Will there be any danger coming to Midway?" asked a railroad conductor +in Lexington. Lightning answered, grinning: +</P> + +<P> +"None. Come right on. No sign of rebels here." Again a click from +Lexington. +</P> + +<P> +"General Ward orders General Finnell of Frankfort to move his forces. +General Ward will move toward Georgetown, to which Morgan with eighteen +hundred men is marching." +</P> + +<P> +Lightning caught his breath—this was Morgan's force and his intention +exactly. He answered: +</P> + +<P> +"Morgan with upward of two thousand men has taken the road to +Frankfort. This is reliable." Ten minutes later, Lightning chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"Ward orders Finnell to recall his regiment to Frankfort." +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later another idea struck Lightning. He clicked as though +telegraphing from Frankfort: +</P> + +<P> +"Our pickets just driven in. Great excitement. Force of enemy must be +two thousand." +</P> + +<P> +Then Lightning laughed. "I've fooled 'em," said Lightning. +</P> + +<P> +There was turmoil in Lexington. The streets thundered with the tramp of +cavalry going to catch Morgan. Daylight came and nothing was +done—nothing known. The afternoon waned, and still Ward fretted at +head-quarters, while his impatient staff sat on the piazza talking, +speculating, wondering where the wily raider was. Leaning on the +campus-fence near by were Chadwick Buford and Harry Dean. +</P> + +<P> +It had been a sad day for those two. The mutual tolerance that +prevailed among their friends in the beginning of the war had given way +to intense bitterness now. There was no thrill for them in the flags +fluttering a welcome to them from the windows of loyalists, for under +those flags old friends passed them in the street with no sign of +recognition, but a sullen, averted face, or a stare of open contempt. +Elizabeth Morgan had met them, and turned her head when Harry raised +his cap, though Chad saw tears spring to her eyes as she passed. Sad as +it was for him, Chad knew what the silent torture in Harry's heart must +be, for Harry could not bring himself, that day, even to visit his own +home. And now Morgan was coming, and they might soon be in a +death-fight, Harry with his own blood-brother and both with boyhood +friends. +</P> + +<P> +"God grant that you two may never meet!" +</P> + +<P> +That cry from General Dean was beating ceaselessly through Harry's +brain now, and he brought one hand down on the fence, hardly noticing +the drop of blood that oozed from the force of the blow. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I wish I could get away from here!" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall the first chance that comes," said Chad, and he lifted his +head sharply, staring down the street. A phaeton was coming slowly +toward them and in it were a negro servant and a girl in white. Harry +was leaning over the fence with his back toward the street, and Chad, +the blood rushing to his face, looked in silence, for the negro was +Snowball and the girl was Margaret. He saw her start and flush when she +saw him, her hands giving a little convulsive clutch at the reins; but +she came on, looking straight ahead. Chad's hand went unconsciously to +his cap, and when Harry rose, puzzled to see him bareheaded, the +phaeton stopped, and there was a half-broken cry: +</P> + +<P> +"Harry!" +</P> + +<P> +Cap still in hand, Chad strode away as the brother, with an answering +cry, sprang toward her. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +When he came back, an hour later, at dusk, Harry was seated on the +portico, and the long silence between them was broken at last. +</P> + +<P> +"She—they oughtn't to come to town at a time like this," said Chad, +roughly. +</P> + +<P> +"I told her that," said Harry, "but it was useless. She will come and +go just as she pleases." +</P> + +<P> +Harry rose and leaned for a moment against one of the big pillars, and +then he turned impulsively, and put one hand lightly on the other's +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry, old man," he said, gently. +</P> + +<P> +A pair of heels clicked suddenly together on the grass before them, and +an orderly stood at salute. +</P> + +<P> +"General Ward's compliments, and will Lieutenant Buford and Lieutenant +Dean report to him at once?" +</P> + +<P> +The two exchanged a swift glance, and the faces of both grew grave with +sudden apprehension. +</P> + +<P> +Inside, the General looked worried, and his manner was rather sharp. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know General Dean?" he asked, looking at Harry. +</P> + +<P> +"He is my father." +</P> + +<P> +The General wheeled in his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"What!" he exclaimed. "Well—um—I suppose one of you will be enough. +You can go." +</P> + +<P> +When the door closed behind Harry, he looked at Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"There are two rebels at General Dean's house to-night," he said, +quietly. "One of them, I am told—-why, he must be that boy's brother," +and again the General mused; then he added, sharply: +</P> + +<P> +"Take six good men out there right away and capture them. And watch out +for Daws Dillon and his band of cut-throats. I am told he is in this +region. I've sent a company after him. But you capture the two at +General Dean's." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," said Chad, turning quickly, but the General had seen the +lad's face grow pale. +</P> + +<P> +"It is very strange down here—they may be his best friends," he +thought, and, being a kindhearted man, he reached out his hand toward a +bell to summon Chad back, and drew it in again. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot help that; but that boy must have good stuff in him." +</P> + +<P> +Harry was waiting for him outside. He knew that Dan would go home if it +was possible, and what Chad's mission must be. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't hurt him, Chad." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't have to ask that," answered Chad, sadly. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +So Chad's old enemy, Daws Dillon, was abroad. There was a big man with +the boy at the Deans', General Ward had said, but Chad little guessed +that it was another old acquaintance, Rebel Jerry Dillon, who, at that +hour, was having his supper brought out to the stable to him, saying +that he would sleep there, take care of the horses, and keep on the +look-out for Yankees. Jerome Conners's hand must be in this, Chad +thought, for he never for a moment doubted that the overseer had +brought the news to General Ward. He was playing a fine game of loyalty +to both sides, that overseer, and Chad grimly made up his mind that, +from one side or the other, his day would come. And this was the +fortune of war—to be trotting, at the head of six men, on such a +mission, along a road that, at every turn, on every little hill, and +almost in every fence-corner, was stored with happy memories for him; +to force entrance as an enemy under a roof that had showered courtesy +and kindness down on him like rain, that in all the world was most +sacred to him; to bring death to an old playmate, the brother of the +woman whom he loved, or capture, which might mean a worse death in a +loathsome prison. He thought of that dawn when he drove home after the +dance at the Hunts' with the old Major asleep at his side and his heart +almost bursting with high hope and happiness, and he ran his hand over +his eyes to brush the memory away. He must think only of his duty now, +and that duty was plain. +</P> + +<P> +Across the fields they went in a noiseless walk, and leaving their +horses in the woods, under the care of one soldier, slipped into the +yard. Two men were posted at the rear of the house, one was stationed +at each end of the long porch to command the windows on either side, +and, with a sergeant at his elbow, Chad climbed the long steps +noiselessly and knocked at the front door. In a moment it was thrown +open by a woman, and the light fell full in Chad's face. +</P> + +<P> +"You—you—YOU!" said a voice that shook with mingled terror and +contempt, and Margaret shrank back, step by step. Hearing her, Mrs. +Dean hurried into the hallway. Her face paled when she saw the Federal +uniform in her doorway, but her chin rose haughtily, and her voice was +steady and most courteous: +</P> + +<P> +"What can we do for you?" she asked, and she, too, recognized Chad, and +her face grew stern as she waited for him to answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Dean," he said, half choking, "word has come to head-quarters +that two Confederate soldiers are spending the night here, and I have +been ordered to search the house for them. My men have surrounded it, +but if you will give me your word that they are not here, not a man +shall cross your threshold—not even myself." +</P> + +<P> +Without a word Mrs. Dean stood aside. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry," said Chad, motioning to the Sergeant to follow him. As he +passed the door of the drawing-room, he saw, under the lamp, a pipe +with ashes strewn about its bowl. Chad pointed to it. +</P> + +<P> +"Spare me, Mrs. Dean." But the two women stood with clinched hands, +silent. Dan had flashed into the kitchen, and was about to leap from +the window when he saw the gleam of a rifle-barrel, not ten feet away. +He would be potted like a rat if he sprang out there, and he dashed +noiselessly up the back stairs, as Chad started up the front stairway +toward the garret, where he had passed many a happy hour playing with +Margaret and Harry and the boy whom he was after as an enemy, now. The +door was open at the first landing, and the creak of the stairs under +Dan's feet, heard plainly, stopped. The Sergeant, pistol in hand, +started to push past his superior. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep back," said Chad, sternly, and as he drew his pistol, a terrified +whisper rose from below. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, don't!" And then Dan, with hands up, stepped into sight. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll spare you," he said, quietly. "Not a word, mother. They've got +me. You can tell him there is no one else in the house, though." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Dean's eyes filled with tears, and a sob broke from Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no one else," she said, and Chad bowed. "In the house," she +added, proudly, scorning the subterfuge. +</P> + +<P> +"Search the barn," said Chad, "quick!" The Sergeant ran down the steps. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you are a little too late, my friend," said Dan. "Why, bless +me, it's my old friend Chad—and a lieutenant! I congratulate you," he +added, but he did not offer to shake hands. +</P> + +<P> +Chad had thought of the barn too late. Snowball had seen the men +creeping through the yard, had warned Jerry Dillon, and Jerry had +slipped the horses into the woodland, and had crept back to learn what +was going on. +</P> + +<P> +"I will wait for you out here," said Chad. "Take your time." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," said Dan. +</P> + +<P> +He came out in a moment and Mrs. Dean and Margaret followed him. At a +gesture from the Sergeant, a soldier stationed himself on each side of +Dan, and, as Chad turned, he took off his cap again. His face was very +pale and his voice almost broke: +</P> + +<P> +"You will believe, Mrs. Dean," he said, "that this was something I HAD +to do." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Dean bent her head slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, mother," said Dan. "Don't blame Lieutenant Chad. Morgan +will have Lexington in a few days and then I'll be free again. Maybe +I'll have Lieutenant Chad a prisoner—no telling!" +</P> + +<P> +Chad smiled faintly, and then, with a flush, he spoke again—warning +Mrs. Dean, in the kindliest way, that, henceforth, her house would be +under suspicion, and telling her of the severe measures that had been +inaugurated against rebel sympathizers. +</P> + +<P> +"Such sympathizers have to take oath of allegiance and give bonds to +keep it." +</P> + +<P> +"If they don't?" +</P> + +<P> +"Arrest and imprisonment." +</P> + +<P> +"And if they give the oath and violate it?" +</P> + +<P> +"The penalty is death, Mrs. Dean." +</P> + +<P> +"And if they aid their friends?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are to be dealt with according to military law." +</P> + +<P> +"Anything else?" +</P> + +<P> +"If loyal citizens are hurt or damaged by guerrillas, disloyal citizens +of the locality must make compensation." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it true that a Confederate sympathizer will be shot down if on the +streets of Lexington?" +</P> + +<P> +"There was such an order, Mrs. Dean." +</P> + +<P> +"And if a loyal citizen is killed by one of these so-called guerillas, +for whose acts nobody is responsible, prisoners of war are to be shot +in retaliation?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother!" cried Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mrs. Dean—not prisoners of war—guerillas." +</P> + +<P> +"And when will you begin war on women?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never, I hope." His hesitancy brought a scorn into the searching eyes +of his pale questioner that Chad could not face, and without daring +even to look at Margaret he turned away. +</P> + +<P> +Such retaliatory measures made startling news to Dan. He grew very +grave while he listened, but as he followed Chad he chatted and laughed +and joked with his captors. Morgan would have Lexington in three days. +He was really glad to get a chance to fill his belly with Yankee grub. +It hadn't been full more than two or three times in six months. +</P> + +<P> +All the time he was watching for Jerry Dillon, who, he knew, would not +leave him if there was the least chance of getting him out of the +Yankee's clutches. He did not have to wait long. Two men had gone to +get the horses, and as Dan stepped through the yard-gate with his +captors, two figures rose out of the ground. One came with head bent +like a battering-ram. He heard Snowball's head strike a stomach on one +side of him, and with an astonished groan the man went down. He saw the +man on his other side drop from some crashing blow, and he saw Chad +trying to draw his pistol. His own fist shot out, catching Chad on the +point of the chin. At the same instant there was a shot and the +Sergeant dropped. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, boy!" said a hoarse voice, and then he was speeding away +after the gigantic figure of Jerry Dillon through the thick darkness, +while a harmless volley of shots sped after them. At the edge of the +woods they dropped. Jerry Dillon had his hand over his mouth to keep +from laughing aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"The hosses ain't fer away," he said. "Oh, Lawd!" +</P> + +<P> +"Did you kill him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon not," whispered Jerry. "I shot him on the wrong side. I'm +al'ays a-fergettin' which side a man's heart's on." +</P> + +<P> +"What became of Snowball?" +</P> + +<P> +"He run jes' as soon as he butted the feller on his right. He said he'd +git one, but I didn't know what he was doin' when I seed him start like +a sheep. Listen!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a tumult at the house—moving lights, excited cries, and a +great hurrying. Black Rufus was the first to appear with a lantern, and +when he held it high as the fence, Chad saw Margaret in the light, her +hands clinched and her eyes burning. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you killed him?" she asked, quietly but fiercely. "You nearly did +once before. Have you succeeded this time?" Then she saw the Sergeant +writhing on the ground, his right forearm hugging his breast, and her +hands relaxed and her face changed. +</P> + +<P> +"Did Dan do that? Did Dan do that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dan was unarmed," said Chad, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," called the girl, as though she had not heard him, "send +someone to help. Bring him to the house," she added, turning. As no +movement was made, she turned again. +</P> + +<P> +"Bring him up to the house," she said, imperiously, and when the +hesitating soldiers stooped to pick up the wounded man, she saw the +streak of blood running down Chad's chin and she stared open-eyed. She +made one step toward him, and then she shrank back out of the light. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she said. "Are you wounded, too? Oh!" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" said Chad, grimly. "Dan didn't do that"—pointing to the +Sergeant—"he did this—with his fist. It's the second time Dan has +done this. Easy, men," he added, with low-voiced authority. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Dean was holding the door open. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Chad, quickly. "That wicker lounge will do. He will be +cooler on the porch." Then he stooped, and loosening the Sergeant's +blouse and shirt examined the wound. +</P> + +<P> +"It's only through the shoulder, Lieutenant," said the man, faintly. +But it was under the shoulder, and Chad turned. +</P> + +<P> +"Jake," he said, sharply, "go back and bring a surgeon—and an officer +to relieve me. I think he can be moved in the morning, Mrs. Dean. With +your permission I will wait here until the Surgeon comes. Please don't +disturb yourself further"—Margaret had appeared at the door, with some +bandages that she and her mother had been making for Confederates and +behind her a servant followed with towels and a pail of water—"I am +sorry to trespass." +</P> + +<P> +"Did the bullet pass through?" asked Mrs. Dean, simply. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mrs. Dean," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +Margaret turned indoors. Without another word, her mother knelt above +the wounded man, cut the shirt away, staunched the trickling blood, and +deftly bound the wound with lint and bandages, while Chad stood, +helplessly watching her. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry," he said again, when she rose, "sorry—" +</P> + +<P> +"It is nothing," said Mrs. Dean, quietly. "If you need anything, you +will let me know. I shall be waiting inside." +</P> + +<P> +She turned and a few moments later Chad saw Margaret's white figure +swiftly climb the stairs—but the light still burned in the noiseless +room below. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Meanwhile Dan and Jerry Dillon were far across the fields on their way +to rejoin Morgan. When they were ten miles away, Dan, who was leading, +turned. +</P> + +<P> +"Jerry, that Lieutenant was an old friend of mine. General Morgan used +to say he was the best scout in the Union Army. He comes from your part +of the country, and his name is Chad Buford. Ever heard of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've knowed him sence he was a chunk of a boy, but I don't rickollect +ever hearin' his last name afore. I naver knowed he had any." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I heard him call one of his men Jake—and he looked exactly like +you." The giant pulled in his horse. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' back." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you aren't," said Dan; "not now—it's too late. That's why I +didn't tell you before." Then he added, angrily: "You are a savage and +you ought to be ashamed of yourself harboring such hatred against your +own blood-brother." +</P> + +<P> +Dan was perhaps the only one of Morgan's Men who would have dared to +talk that way to the man, and Jerry Dillon took it only in sullen +silence. +</P> + +<P> +A mile farther they struck a pike, and, as they swept along, a +brilliant light glared into the sky ahead of them, and they pulled in. +A house was in flames on the edge of a woodland, and by its light they +could see a body of men dash out of the woods and across the field on +horseback, and another body dash after them in pursuit—the pursuers +firing and the pursued sending back defiant yells. Daws Dillon was at +his work again, and the Yankees were after him. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Long after midnight Chad reported the loss of his prisoner. He was much +chagrined—for failure was rare with him—and his jaw and teeth ached +from the blow Dan had given him, but in his heart he was glad that the +boy had got away When he went to his tent, Harry was awake and waiting +for him. +</P> + +<P> +"It's I who have escaped," he said; "escaped again. Four times now we +have been in the same fight. Somehow fate seems to be pointing always +one way—always one way. Why, night after night, I dream that either he +or I—" Harry's voice trembled—he stopped short, and, leaning forward, +stared out the door of his tent. A group of figures had halted in front +of the Colonel's tent opposite, and a voice called, sharply: +</P> + +<P> +"Two prisoners, sir. We captured 'em with Daws Dillon. They are +guerillas, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a lie, Colonel," said an easy voice, that brought both Chad and +Harry to their feet, and plain in the moonlight both saw Daniel Dean, +pale but cool, and near him, Rebel Jerry Dillon—both with their hands +bound behind them. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 24. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A RACE BETWEEN DIXIE AND DAWN +</H3> + +<P> +But the sun sank next day from a sky that was aflame with rebel +victories. It rose on a day rosy with rebel hopes, and the prophetic +coolness of autumn was in the early morning air when Margaret in her +phaeton moved through the front pasture on her way to town—alone. She +was in high spirits and her head was lifted proudly. Dan's boast had +come true. Kirby Smith had risen swiftly from Tennessee, had struck the +Federal Army on the edge of the Bluegrass the day before and sent it +helter-skelter to the four winds. Only that morning she had seen a +regiment of the hated Yankees move along the turnpike in flight for the +Ohio. It was the Fourth Ohio Cavalry, and Harry and one whose name +never passed her lips were among those dusty cavalrymen; but she was +glad, and she ran down o the stile and, from the fence, waved the Stars +and Bars at them as they passed—which was very foolish, but which +brought her deep content. Now the rebels did hold Lexington. Morgan's +Men were coming that day and she was going into town to see Dan and +Colonel Hunt and General Morgan and be fearlessly happy and triumphant. +At the Major's gate, whom should she see coming out but the dear old +fellow himself, and, when he got off his horse and came to her, she +leaned forward and kissed him, because he looked so thin and pale from +confinement, and because she was so glad to see him. Morgan's Men were +really coming, that very day, the Major said, and he told her much +thrilling news. Jackson had obliterated Pope at the second battle of +Manassas. Eleven thousand prisoners had been taken at Harper's Ferry +and Lee had gone on into Maryland on the flank of Washington. Recruits +were coming into the Confederacy by the thousands. Bragg had fifty-five +thousand men and an impregnable stronghold in front of Buell, who had +but few men more—not enough to count a minute, the Major said. +</P> + +<P> +"Lee has routed 'em out of Virginia," cried the old fellow, "and Buell +is doomed. I tell you, little girl, the fight is almost won." +</P> + +<P> +Jerome Conners rode to the gate and called to the Major in a tone that +arrested the girl's attention. She hated that man and she had noted a +queer change in his bearing since the war began. She looked for a flash +of anger from the Major, but none came, and she began to wonder what +hold the overseer could have on his old master. +</P> + +<P> +She drove on, puzzled, wondering, and disturbed; but her cheeks were +flushed—the South was going to win, the Yankees were gone, and she +must get to town in time to see the triumphant coming of Morgan's Men. +They were coming in when she reached the Yankee head-quarters, which, +she saw, had changed flags—thank God—coming proudly in, amid the +waving of the Stars and Bars and frenzied shouts of welcome. Where were +the Bluegrass Yankees now? The Stars and Stripes that had fluttered +from their windows had been drawn in and they were keeping very quiet, +indeed—Oh! it was joy! There was gallant Morgan himself swinging from +Black Bess to kiss his mother, who stood waiting for him at her gate, +and there was Colonel Hunt, gay, debonair, jesting, shaking hands right +and left, and crowding the streets, Morgan's Men—the proudest blood in +the land, every gallant trooper getting his welcome from the lips and +arms of mother, sister, sweetheart, or cousin of farthest degree. But +where was Dan? She had heard nothing of him since the night he had +escaped capture, and while she looked right and left for him to dash +toward her and swing from his horse, she heard her name called, and +turning she saw Richard Hunt at the wheel of her phaeton. He waved his +hand toward the happy reunions going on around them. +</P> + +<P> +"The enforced brotherhood, Miss Margaret," he said, his eyes flashing, +"I belong to that, you know." +</P> + +<P> +For once the subtle Colonel made a mistake. Perhaps the girl in her +trembling happiness and under the excitement of the moment might have +welcomed him, as she was waiting to welcome Dan, but she drew back now. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! no, Colonel—not on that ground." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes danced, she flushed curiously, as she held out her hand, and +the Colonel's brave heart quickened. Straightway he began to +wonder—but a quick shadow in Margaret's face checked him. +</P> + +<P> +"But where's Dan? Where is Dan?" she repeated, impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +Richard Hunt looked puzzled. He had just joined his command and +something must have gone wrong with Dan. So he lied swiftly. +</P> + +<P> +"Dan is out on a scout. I don't think he has got back yet. I'll find +out." +</P> + +<P> +Margaret watched him ride to where Morgan stood with his mother in the +midst of a joyous group of neighbors and friends, and, a moment later, +the two officers came toward her on foot. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't worry, Miss Margaret," said Morgan, with a smile. "The Yankees +have got Dan and have taken him away as prisoner—but don't worry, +we'll get him exchanged in a week. I'll give three brigadier-generals +for him." +</P> + +<P> +Tears came to the girl's eyes, but she smiled through them bravely. +</P> + +<P> +"I must go back and tell mother," she said, brokenly. "I hoped—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't worry, little girl," said Morgan again. "I'll have him if I have +to capture the whole State of Ohio." +</P> + +<P> +Again Margaret smiled, but her heart was heavy, and Richard Hunt was +unhappy. He hung around her phaeton all the while she was in town. He +went home with her, cheering her on the way and telling her of the +Confederate triumph that was at hand. He comforted Mrs. Dean over Dan's +capture, and he rode back to town slowly, with his hands on his +saddle-bow—wondering again. Perhaps Margaret had gotten over her +feeling for that mountain boy—that Yankee—and there Richard Hunt +checked his own thoughts, for that mountain boy, he had discovered, was +a brave and chivalrous enemy, and to such, his own high chivalry gave +salute always. +</P> + +<P> +He was very thoughtful when he reached camp. He had an unusual desire +to be alone, and that night, he looked long at the stars, thinking of +the girl whom he had known since her babyhood—knowing that he would +never think of her except as a woman again. +</P> + +<P> +So the Confederates waited now in the Union hour of darkness for Bragg +to strike his blow. He did strike it, but it was at the heart of the +South. He stunned the Confederacy by giving way before Buell. He +brought hope back with the bloody battle of Perryville. Again he faced +Buell at Harrodsburg, and then he wrought broadcast despair by falling +back without battle, dividing his forces and retreating into Tennessee. +The dream of a battle-line along the Ohio with a hundred thousand more +men behind it was gone and the last and best chance to win the war was +lost forever. Morgan, furious with disappointment, left Lexington. +Kentucky fell under Federal control once more; and Major Buford, dazed, +dismayed, unnerved, hopeless, brought the news out to the Deans. +</P> + +<P> +"They'll get me again, I suppose, and I can't leave home on account of +Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +"Please do, Major," said Mrs. Dean. "Send Miss Lucy over here and make +your escape. We will take care of her." The Major shook his head sadly +and rode away. +</P> + +<P> +Next day Margaret sat on the stile and saw the Yankees coming back to +Lexington. On one side of her the Stars and Bars were fixed to the +fence from which they had floated since the day she had waved the flag +at them as they fled. She saw the advance guard come over the hill and +jog down the slope and then the regiment slowly following after. In the +rear she could see two men, riding unarmed. Suddenly three cavalrymen +spurred forward at a gallop and turned in at her gate. The soldier in +advance was an officer, and he pulled out a handkerchief, waved it +once, and, with a gesture to his companions, came on alone. She knew +the horse even before she recognized the rider, and her cheeks flushed, +her lips were set, and her nostrils began to dilate. The horseman +reined in and took off his cap. +</P> + +<P> +"I come under a flag of truce," he said, gravely, "to ask this garrison +to haul down its colors—and—to save useless effusion of blood," he +added, still more gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"Your war on women has begun, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am obeying orders—no more, no less." +</P> + +<P> +"I congratulate you on your luck or your good judgment always to be on +hand when disagreeable duties are to be done." +</P> + +<P> +Chad flushed. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you take the flag down?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, make your attack. You will have one of your usual victories—with +overwhelming numbers—and it will be safe and bloodless. There are only +two negroes defending this garrison. They will not fight, nor will we." +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you take the flag down?" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" +</P> + +<P> +Chad lifted his cap and wheeled. The Colonel was watching at the gate. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, sir" he asked, frowning. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall need help, sir, to take that flag down," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"A woman is defending it." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" shouted the Colonel. +</P> + +<P> +"That is my sister, Colonel," said Harry Dean. The Colonel smiled and +then grew grave. +</P> + +<P> +"You should warn her not to provoke the authorities. The Government is +advising very strict measures now with rebel sympathizers." Then he +smiled again. +</P> + +<P> +"Fours! Left wheel! Halt! Present—sabres!" +</P> + +<P> +A line of sabres flashed in the sun, and Margaret, not understanding, +snatched the flag from the fence and waved it back in answer. The +Colonel laughed aloud. The column moved on, and each captain, +following, caught the humor of the situation and each company flashed +its sabres as it went by, while Margaret stood motionless. +</P> + +<P> +In the rear rode those two unarmed prisoners. She could see now that +their uniforms were gray and she knew that they were prisoners, but she +little dreamed that they were her brother Dan and Rebel Jerry Dillon, +nor did Chad Buford or Harry Dean dream of the purpose for which, just +at that time, they were being brought back to Lexington. Perhaps one +man who saw them did know: for Jerome Conners, from the woods opposite, +watched the prisoners ride by with a malicious smile that nothing but +impending danger to an enemy could ever bring to his face; and with the +same smile he watched Margaret go slowly back to the house, while her +flag still fluttered from the stile. +</P> + +<P> +The high tide of Confederate hopes was fast receding now. The army of +the Potomac, after Antietam, which overthrew the first Confederate +aggressive campaign at the East, was retreating into its Southern +stronghold, as was the army of the West after Bragg's abandonment of +Mumfordsville, and the rebel retirement had given the provost-marshals +in Kentucky full sway. Two hundred Southern sympathizers, under arrest, +had been sent into exile north of the Ohio, and large sums of money +were levied for guerilla outrages here and there—a heavy sum falling +on Major Buford for a vicious murder done in his neighborhood by Daws +Dillon and his band on the night of the capture of Daniel Dean and +Rebel Jerry. The Major paid the levy with the first mortgage he had +ever given in his life, and straightway Jerome Conners, who had been +dealing in mules and other Government supplies, took an attitude that +was little short of insolence toward his old master, whose farm was +passing into the overseer's clutches at last. Only two nights before, +another band of guerillas had burned a farm-house, killed a Unionist, +and fled to the hills before the incoming Yankees, and the Kentucky +Commandant had sworn vengeance after the old Mosaic way on victims +already within his power. +</P> + +<P> +That night Chad and Harry were summoned before General Ward. They found +him seated with his chin in his hand, looking out the window at the +moonlit campus. Without moving, he held out a dirty piece of paper to +Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Read that," he said. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"YOU HAVE KETCHED TWO OF MY MEN AND I HEAR AS HOW YOU MEAN TO HANG 'EM. +IF YOU HANG THEM TWO MEN, I'M A-GOIN' TO HANG EVERY MAN OF YOURS I CAN +GIT MY HANDS ON. +<BR><BR> +"DAWS DILLON—Captain." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Chad gave a low laugh and Harry smiled, but the General kept grave. +</P> + +<P> +"You know, of course, that your brother belongs to Morgan's command?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do, sir," said Harry, wonderingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know that his companion—the man Dillon—Jerry Dillon—does?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"They were captured by a squad that was fighting Daws Dillon. This +Jerry Dillon has the same name and you found the two together at +General Dean's." +</P> + +<P> +"But they had both just left General Morgan's command," said Harry, +indignantly. +</P> + +<P> +"That may be true, but this Daws Dillon has sent a similar message to +the Commandant, and he has just been in here again and committed two +wanton outrages night before last. The Commandant is enraged and has +issued orders for stern retaliation." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a trick of Daws Dillon," said Chad, hotly, "an infamous trick. He +hates his Cousin Jerry, he hates me, and he hates the Deans, because +they were friends of mine." General Ward looked troubled. +</P> + +<P> +"The Commandant says he has been positively informed that both the men +joined Daws Dillon in the fight that night. He has issued orders that +not only every guerilla captured shall be hung, but that, whenever a +Union citizen has been killed by one of them, four of such marauders +are to be taken to the spot and shot in retaliation. It is the only +means left, he says." +</P> + +<P> +There was a long silence. The faces of both the lads had turned white +as each saw the drift of the General's meaning, and Harry strode +forward to his desk. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean to say, General Ward—" +</P> + +<P> +The General wheeled in his chair and pointed silently to an order that +lay on the desk, and as Harry started to read it, his voice broke. +Daniel Dean and Rebel Jerry were to be shot next morning at sunrise. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +The General spoke very kindly to Harry. +</P> + +<P> +"I have known this all day, but I did not wish to tell you until I had +done everything I could. I did not think it would be necessary to tell +you at all, for I thought there would be no trouble. I telegraphed the +Commandant, but"—he turned again to the window—"I have not been able +to get them a trial by court-martial, or even a stay in the execution. +You'd better go see your brother—he knows now—and you'd better send +word to your mother and sister." +</P> + +<P> +Harry shook his head. His face was so drawn and ghastly as he stood +leaning heavily against the table that Chad moved unconsciously to his +side. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is the Commandant?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"In Frankfort," said the General. Chad's eyes kindled. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you let me go see him to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, and I will give you a message to him. Perhaps you can yet +save the boy, but there is no chance for the man Dillon." The General +took up a pen. Harry seemed to sway as he turned to go, and Chad put +one arm around him and went with him to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"There have been some surprising desertions from the Confederate +ranks," said the General, as he wrote. "That's the trouble." he looked +at his watch as he handed the message over his shoulder to Chad. "You +have ten hours before sunrise and it is nearly sixty miles there and +back If you are not here with a stay of execution both will be shot. Do +you think that you can make it? Of course you need not bring the +message back yourself. You can get the Commandant to telegraph—" The +slam of a door interrupted him—Chad was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Harry was holding Dixie's bridle when he reached the street and Chad +swung into the saddle. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't tell them at home," he said. "I'll be back here on time, or I'll +be dead." +</P> + +<P> +The two grasped hands. Harry nodded dumbly and Dixie's feet beat the +rhythm of her matchless gallop down the quiet street. The sensitive +little mare seemed to catch at once the spirit of her rider. Her +haunches quivered. She tossed her head and champed her bit, but not a +pound did she pull as she settled into an easy lope that told how well +she knew that the ride before her was long and hard. Out they went past +the old cemetery, past the shaft to Clay rising from it, silvered with +moonlight, out where the picket fires gleamed and converging on toward +the Capital, unchallenged for the moon showed the blue of Chad's +uniform and his face gave sign that no trivial business, that night, +was his. Over quiet fields and into the aisles of sleeping woods beat +that musical rhythm ceaselessly, awakening drowsy birds by the wayside, +making bridges thunder, beating on and on up hill and down until picket +fires shone on the hills that guard the Capital. Through them, with but +one challenge, Chad went, down the big hill, past the Armory, and into +the town—pulling panting Dixie up before a wondering sentinel who +guarded the Commandant's sleeping quarters. +</P> + +<P> +"The Commandant is asleep." +</P> + +<P> +"Wake him up," said Chad, sharply. A staff-officer appeared at the door +in answer to the sentinel's knock. +</P> + +<P> +"What is your business?" +</P> + +<P> +"A message from General Ward." +</P> + +<P> +"The Commandant gave orders that he was not to be disturbed." +</P> + +<P> +"He must be," said Chad. "It is a matter of life and death." +</P> + +<P> +Above him a window was suddenly raised and the Commandant's own head +was thrust out. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop that noise," he thundered. Chad told his mission and the +Commandant straightway was furious. +</P> + +<P> +"How dare General Ward broach that matter again? My orders are given +and they will not be changed." As he started to pull the window down, +Chad cried: +</P> + +<P> +"But, General—" and at the same time a voice called down the street: +</P> + +<P> +"General!" Two men appeared under the gaslight—one was a sergeant and +the other a frightened negro. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is a message, General." +</P> + +<P> +The sash went down, a light appeared behind it, and soon the +Commandant, in trousers and slippers, was at the door. He read the note +with a frown. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you get this?" +</P> + +<P> +"A sojer come to my house out on the edge o' town, suh, and said he'd +kill me to-morrow if I didn't hand dis note to you pussonally." +</P> + +<P> +The Commandant turned to Chad. Somehow his manner seemed suddenly +changed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know that these men belonged to Morgan's command?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know that Daniel Dean did and that the man Dillon was with him when +captured." +</P> + +<P> +Still frowning savagely, the Commandant turned inside to his desk and a +moment later the staff-officer brought out a telegram and gave it to +Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"You can take this to the telegraph office yourself. It is a stay of +execution." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +Chad drew a long breath of relief and gladness and patted Dixie on the +neck as he rode slowly toward the low building where he had missed the +train on his first trip to the Capital. The telegraph operator dashed +to the door as Chad drew up in front of it. He looked pale and excited. +</P> + +<P> +"Send this telegram at once," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +The operator looked at it. +</P> + +<P> +"Not in that direction to-night," he said, with a strained laugh, "the +wires are cut." +</P> + +<P> +Chad almost reeled in his saddle—then the paper was whisked from the +astonished operator's hand and horse and rider clattered up the hill. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +At head-quarters the Commandant was handing the negro's note to a +staff-officer. It read: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"YOU HANG THOSE TWO MEN AT SUNRISE TO-MORROW, AND I'LL HANG YOU AT +SUNDOWN." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was signed "John Morgan," and the signature was Morgan's own. +</P> + +<P> +"I gave the order only last night. How could Morgan have heard of it so +soon, and how could he have got this note to me? Could he have come +back?" +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible," said the staff-officer. "He wouldn't dare come back now." +</P> + +<P> +The Commandant shook his head doubtfully, and just then there was a +knock at the door and the operator, still pale and excited, spoke his +message: +</P> + +<P> +"General, the wires are cut." +</P> + +<P> +The two officers stared at each other in silence. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Twenty-seven miles to go and less than three hours before sunrise. +There was a race yet for the life of Daniel Dean. The gallant little +mare could cover the stretch with nearly an hour to spare, and Chad, +thrilled in every nerve, but with calm confidence, raced against the +coming dawn. +</P> + +<P> +"The wires are cut." +</P> + +<P> +Who had cut them and where and when and why? No matter—Chad had the +paper in his pocket that would save two lives and he would be on time +even if Dixie broke her noble heart, but he could not get the words out +of his brain—even Dixie's hoofs beat them out ceaselessly: +</P> + +<P> +"The wires are cut—the wires are cut!" +</P> + +<P> +The mystery would have been clear, had Chad known the message that lay +on the Commandant's desk back at the Capital, for the boy knew Morgan, +and that Morgan's lips never opened for an idle threat. He would have +ridden just as hard, had he known, but a different purpose would have +been his. +</P> + +<P> +An hour more and there was still no light in the East. An hour more and +one red streak had shot upward; then ahead of him gleamed a picket +fire—a fire that seemed farther from town than any post he had seen on +his way down to the Capital—but he galloped on. Within fifty yards a +cry came: +</P> + +<P> +"Halt! Who comes there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Friend," he shouted, reining in. A bullet whizzed past his head as he +pulled up outside the edge of the fire and Chad shouted indignantly: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't shoot, you fool! I have a message for General Ward!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! All right! Come on!" said the sentinel, but his hesitation and the +tone of his voice made the boy alert with suspicion. The other pickets +about the fire had risen and grasped their muskets. The wind flared the +flames just then and in the leaping light Chad saw that their uniforms +were gray. +</P> + +<P> +The boy almost gasped. There was need for quick thought and quick +action now. +</P> + +<P> +"Lower that blunderbuss," he called out, jestingly, and kicking loose +from one stirrup, he touched Dixie with the spur and pulled her up with +an impatient "Whoa," as though he were trying to replace his foot. +</P> + +<P> +"You come on!" said the sentinel, but he dropped his musket to the +hollow of his arm, and, before he could throw it to his shoulder again, +fire flashed under Dixie's feet and the astonished rebel saw horse and +rider rise over the pike-fence. His bullet went overhead as Dixie +landed on the other side, and the pickets at the fire joined in a +fusillade at the dark shapes speeding across the bluegrass field. A +moment later Chad's mocking yell rang from the edge of the woods beyond +and the disgusted sentinel split the night with oaths. +</P> + +<P> +"That beats the devil. We never touched him I swear, I believe that +hoss had wings." +</P> + +<P> +Morgan! The flash of that name across his brain cleared the mystery for +Chad like magic. Nobody but Morgan and his daredevils could rise out of +the ground like that in the very midst of enemies when they were +supposed to be hundreds of mlles away in Tennessee. Morgan had cut +those wires. Morgan had every road around Lexington guarded, no doubt, +and was at that hour hemming in Chad's unsuspicious regiment, whose +camp was on the other side of town, and unless he could give warning, +Morgan would drop like a thunderbolt on it, asleep. He must circle the +town now to get around the rebel posts, and that meant several miles +more for Dixie. +</P> + +<P> +He stopped and reached down to feel the little mare's flanks. Dixie +drew a long breath and dropped her muzzle to tear up a rich mouthful of +bluegrass. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you beauty!" said the boy, "you wonder!" And on he went, through +woodland and field, over gully, log, and fence, bullets ringing after +him from nearly every road he crossed. +</P> + +<P> +Morgan was near. In disguise, when Bragg retreated, he had got +permission to leave Kentucky in his own way. That meant wheeling and +making straight back to Lexington to surprise the Fourth Ohio Cavalry; +representing himself on the way, one night, as his old enemy Wolford, +and being guided a short cut through the edge of the Bluegrass by an +ardent admirer of the Yankee Colonel—the said admirer giving Morgan +the worst tirade possible, meanwhile, and nearly tumbling from his +horse when Morgan told him who he was and sarcastically advised him to +make sure next time to whom he paid his compliments. +</P> + +<P> +So that while Chad, with the precious message under his jacket, and +Dixie were lightly thundering along the road, Morgan's Men were +gobbling up pickets around Lexington and making ready for an attack on +the sleeping camp at dawn. +</P> + +<P> +The dawn was nearly breaking now, and Harry Dean was pacing to and fro +before the old CourtHouse where Dan and Rebel Jerry lay under +guard—pacing to and fro and waiting for his mother and sister to come +to say the last good-by to the boy—for Harry had given up hope and had +sent for them. At that very hour Richard Hunt was leading his regiment +around the Ashland woods where the enemy lay; another regiment was +taking its place between the camp and the town, and gray figures were +slipping noiselessly on the provost-guard that watched the rebel +prisoners who were waiting for death at sunrise. As the dawn broke, the +dash came, and Harry Dean was sick at heart as he sharply rallied the +startled guard to prevent the rescue of his own brother and straightway +delirious with joy when he saw the gray mass sweeping on him and knew +that he would fail. A few shots rang out; the far rattle of musketry +rose between the camp and town; the thunder of the "Bull Pups" saluted +the coming light, and Dan and Rebel Jerry had suddenly—instead of +death—life, liberty, arms, a horse each, and the sudden pursuit of +happiness in a wild dash toward the Yankee camp, while in a +dew-drenched meadow two miles away Chad Buford drew Dixie in to listen. +The fight was on. +</P> + +<P> +If the rebels won, Dan Dean would be safe; if the Yankees—then there +would still be need of him and the paper over his heart. He was too +late to warn, but not, maybe, to fight—so he galloped on. +</P> + +<P> +But the end came as he galloped. The amazed Fourth Ohio threw down its +arms at once, and Richard Hunt and his men, as they sat on their horses +outside the camp picking up stragglers, saw a lone scout coming at a +gallop across the still, gray fields. His horse was black and his +uniform was blue, but he came straight on, apparently not seeing the +rebels behind the ragged hedge along the road. When within thirty +yards, Richard Hunt rode through a roadside gate to meet him and +saluted. +</P> + +<P> +"You are my prisoner," he said, courteously. +</P> + +<P> +The Yankee never stopped, but wheeled, almost brushing the hedge as he +turned. +</P> + +<P> +"Prisoner—hell!" he said, clearly, and like a bird was skimming away +while the men behind the hedge, paralyzed by his daring, fired not a +shot. Only Dan Dean started through the gate in pursuit. +</P> + +<P> +"I want him," he said, savagely. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's that?" asked Morgan, who had ridden up. +</P> + +<P> +"That's a Yankee," laughed Colonel Hunt. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you shoot him?" The Colonel laughed again. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," he said, looking around at his men, who, too, were +smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the fellow who gave us so much trouble in the Green River +Country," said a soldier. "It's Chad Buford." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm glad we didn't shoot him," said Colonel Hunt, thinking of +Margaret. That was not the way he liked to dispose of a rival. +</P> + +<P> +"Dan will catch him," said an officer. "He wants him bad, and I don't +wonder." Just then Chad lifted Dixie over a fence. +</P> + +<P> +"Not much," said Morgan. "I'd rather you'd shot him than that horse." +</P> + +<P> +Dan was gaining now, and Chad, in the middle of the field beyond the +fence, turned his head and saw the lone rebel in pursuit. Deliberately +he pulled weary Dixie in, faced about, and waited. He drew his pistol, +raised it, saw that the rebel was Daniel Dean, and dropped it again to +his side. Verily the fortune of that war was strange. Dan's horse +refused the fence and the boy, in a rage, lifted his pistol and fired. +Again Chad raised his own pistol and again he lowered it just as Dan +fired again. This time Chad lurched in his saddle, but recovering +himself, turned and galloped slowly away, while Dan—his pistol hanging +at his side—stared after him, and the wondering rebels behind the +hedge stared hard at Dan. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +All was over. The Fourth Ohio Cavalry was in rebel hands, and a few +minutes later Dan rode with General Morgan and Colonel Hunt toward the +Yankee camp. There had been many blunders in the fight. Regiments had +fired into each other in the confusion and the "Bull Pups" had kept on +pounding the Yankee camp even while the rebels were taking possession +of it. On the way they met Renfrew, the Silent, in his brilliant Zouave +jacket. +</P> + +<P> +"Colonel," he said, indignantly—and it was the first time many had +ever heard him open his lips—"some officer over there deliberately +fired twice at me, though I was holding my arms over my head." +</P> + +<P> +"It was dark," said Colonel Hunt, soothingly. "He didn't know you." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Colonel, he might not have known me—but he must have known this +jacket." +</P> + +<P> +On the outskirts of one group of prisoners was a tall, slender young +lieutenant with a streak of blood across one cheek. Dan pulled in his +horse and the two met each other's eyes silently. Dan threw himself +from his horse. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you hurt, Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's nothing—but you've got me, Dan." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Harry!" said Morgan. "Is that you? You are paroled, my boy," he +added, kindly. "Go home and stay until you are exchanged." +</P> + +<P> +So, Harry, as a prisoner, did what he had not done before—he went home +immediately. And home with him went Dan and Colonel Hunt, while they +could, for the Yankees would soon be after them from the north, east, +south and west. Behind them trotted Rebel Jerry. On the edge of town +they saw a negro lashing a pair of horses along the turnpike toward +them. Two white faced women were seated in a carriage behind him, and +in a moment Dan was in the arms of his mother and sister and both women +were looking, through tears, their speechless gratitude to Richard Hunt. +</P> + +<P> +The three Confederates did not stay long at the Deans'. Jerry Dillon +was on the lookout, and even while the Deans were at dinner, Rufus ran +in with the familiar cry that Yankees were coming. It was a regiment +from an adjoining county, but Colonel Hunt finished his coffee, amid +all the excitement, most leisurely. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll pardon us for eating and running, won't you, Mrs. Dean?" It was +the first time in her life that Mrs. Dean ever speeded a parting guest. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, do hurry, Colonel—please, please." Dan laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, Harry," he said. "We'll give you a week or two at home before +we get that exchange." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't make it any longer than necessary, please," said Harry, gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"We're coming back again, Mrs. Dean," said he Colonel, and then in a +lower tone to Margaret: "I'm coming often," he added, and Margaret +blushed in a way that would not have given very great joy to one +Chadwick Buford. +</P> + +<P> +Very leisurely the three rode out to the pike gate, where they halted +and surveyed the advancing column, which was still several hundred +yards away, and then with a last wave of their caps, started in a slow +gallop for town. The advance guard started suddenly in pursuit, and the +Deans saw Dan turn in his saddle and heard his defiant yell. Margaret +ran down and fixed her flag in its place on the fence—Harry watching +her. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," he said, sadly, "you don't know what trouble you may be +laying up for yourself." +</P> + +<P> +Fate could hardly lay up more than what she already had, but the mother +smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I can do nothing with Margaret," she said. +</P> + +<P> +In town the Federal flags had been furled and the Stars and Bars thrown +out to the wind. Morgan was preparing to march when Dan and Colonel +Hunt galloped up to head-quarters. +</P> + +<P> +"They're coming," said Hunt, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Morgan, "from every direction." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, John," called an old fellow, who, though a Unionist, believing in +keeping peace with both sides, "when we don't expect you—then is the +time you come. Going to stay long?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not long," said Morgan, grimly. "In fact, I guess we'll be moving +along now." +</P> + +<P> +And he did—back to Dixie with his prisoners, tearing up railroads, +burning bridges and trestles, and pursued by enough Yankees to have +eaten him and his entire command if they ever could have caught him. As +they passed into Dixie, "Lightning" captured a telegraph office and had +a last little fling at his Yankee brethren. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Head-quarters, Telegraph Dept. of Ky., Confederate States of +America"—thus he headed his General Order No.—to the various Union +authorities throughout the State. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Hereafter," he clicked, grinning, "an operator will destroy +telegraphic instruments and all material in charge when informed that +Morgan has crossed the border. Such instances of carelessness as lately +have been exhibited in the Bluegrass will be severely dealt with. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"By order of + LIGHTNING,<BR> + "Gen. Supt. C. S. Tel. Dept."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Just about that time Chad Buford, in a Yankee hospital, was coming back +from the land of ether dreams. An hour later, the surgeon who had taken +Dan's bullet from his shoulder, handed him a piece of paper, black with +faded blood and scarcely legible. +</P> + +<P> +"I found that in your jacket," he said. "Is it important?" +</P> + +<P> +Chad smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said. "Not now." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 25. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AFTER DAWS DILLON—GUERILLA +</H3> + +<P> +Once more, and for the last time, Chadwick Buford jogged along the +turnpike from the Ohio to the heart of the Bluegrass. He had filled his +empty shoulder-straps with two bars. He had a bullet wound through one +shoulder and there was a beautiful sabre cut across his right cheek. He +looked the soldier every inch of him; he was, in truth, what he looked; +and he was, moreover, a man. Naturally, his face was stern and +resolute, if only from habit of authority, but he had known no passion +during the war that might have seared its kindness; no other feeling +toward his foes than admiration for their unquenchable courage and +miserable regret that to such men he must be a foe. +</P> + +<P> +Now, it was coming spring again—the spring of '64, and but one more +year of the war to come. +</P> + +<P> +The capture of the Fourth Ohio by Morgan that autumn of '62 had given +Chad his long-looked-for chance. He turned Dixie's head toward the +foothills to join Wolford, for with Wolford was the work that he +loved—that leader being more like Morgan in his method and daring than +any other Federal cavalryman in the field behind him. In Kentucky, he +left the State under martial sway once more, and, thereafter, the +troubles of rebel sympathizers multiplied steadily, for never again was +the State under rebel control. A heavy hand was laid on every rebel +roof. Major Buford was sent to prison again. General Dean was in +Virginia, fighting, and only the fact that there was no man in the Dean +household on whom vengeance could fall, saved Margaret and Mrs. Dean +from suffering, but even the time of women was to come. +</P> + +<P> +On the last day of '62, Murfreesboro was fought and the second great +effort of the Confederacy at the West was lost. Again Bragg withdrew. +On New Year's Day, '63, Lincoln freed the slaves—and no rebel was more +indignant than was Chadwick Buford. The Kentucky Unionists, in general, +protested: the Confederates had broken the Constitution, they said; the +Unionists were helping to maintain that contract and now the Federals +had broken the Constitution, and their own high ground was swept from +beneath their feet. They protested as bitterly as their foes, be it +said, against the Federals breaking up political conventions with +bayonets and against the ruin of innocent citizens for the crimes of +guerillas, for whose acts nobody was responsible, but all to no avail. +The terrorism only grew the more. +</P> + +<P> +When summer came, and while Grant was bisecting the Confederacy at +Vicksburg, by opening the Mississippi, and Lee was fighting Gettysburg, +Chad, with Wolford, chased Morgan when he gathered his clans for his +last daring venture—to cross the Ohio and strike the enemy on its own +hearth-stones—and thus give him a little taste of what the South had +long known from border to border. Pursued by Federals, Morgan got +across the river, waving a farewell to his pursuing enemies on the +other bank, and struck out. Within three days, one hundred thousand men +were after him and his two thousand daredevils, cutting down trees +behind him (in case he should return!), flanking him, getting in his +front, but on he went, uncaught and spreading terror for a thousand +miles, while behind him for six hundred miles country people lined the +dusty road, singing "Rally 'round the Flag, Boys," and handing out +fried chicken and blackberry-pie to his pursuers. Men taken afterward +with typhoid fever sang that song through their delirium and tasted +fried chicken no more as long as they lived. Hemmed in as Morgan was, +he would have gotten away, but for the fact that a heavy fog made him +miss the crossing of the river, and for the further reason that the +first rise in the river in that month for twenty years made it +impossible for his command to swim. He might have fought out, but his +ammunition was gone. Many did escape, and Morgan himself could have +gotten away. Chad, himself, saw the rebel chief swimming the river on a +powerful horse, followed by a negro servant on another—saw him turn +deliberately in the middle of the stream, when it was plain that his +command could not escape, and make for the Ohio shore to share the +fortunes of his beloved officers who were left behind. Chad heard him +shout to the negro: +</P> + +<P> +"Go back, you will be drowned." The negro turned his face and Chad +laughed—it was Snowball, grinning and shaking his head: +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mars John, no suh!" he yelled. "It's all right fer YOU! YOU can +git a furlough, but dis nigger ain't gwine to be cotched in no free +State. 'Sides, Mars Dan, he gwine to get away, too." And Dan did get +away, and Chad, to his shame, saw Morgan and Colonel Hunt loaded on a +boat to be sent down to prison in a State penitentiary! It was a +grateful surprise to Chad, two months later, to learn from a Federal +officer that Morgan with six others had dug out of prison and escaped. +</P> + +<P> +"I was going through that very town," said the officer, "and a fellow, +shaved and sheared like a convict, got aboard and sat down in the same +seat with me. As we passed the penitentiary, he turned with a yawn—and +said, in a matter-of-fact way: +</P> + +<P> +"'That's where Morgan is kept, isn't it?" and then he drew out a flask. +I thought he had wonderfully good manners in spite of his looks, and, +so help me, if he didn't wave his hand, bow like a Bayard, and hand it +over to me: +</P> + +<P> +"'Let's drink to the hope that Morgan may always be as safe as he is +now.' I drank to his toast with a hearty Amen, and the fellow never +cracked a smile. It was Morgan himself." +</P> + +<P> +Early in '64 the order had gone round for negroes to be enrolled as +soldiers, and again no rebel felt more outraged than Chadwick Buford. +Wolford, his commander, was dishonorably dismissed from the service for +bitter protests and harsh open criticism of the Government, and Chad, +himself, felt like tearing off with his own hands the straps which he +had won with so much bravery and worn with so much pride. But the +instinct that led him into the Union service kept his lips sealed when +his respect for that service, in his own State, was well-nigh +gone—kept him in that State where he thought his duty lay. There was +need of him and thousands more like him. For, while active war was now +over in Kentucky, its brood of evils was still thickening. Every county +in the State was ravaged by a guerilla band—and the ranks of these +marauders began to be swelled by Confederates, particularly in the +mountains and in the hills that skirt them. Banks, trains, public +vaults, stores, were robbed right and left, and murder and revenge were +of daily occurrence. Daws Dillon was an open terror both in the +mountains and in the Bluegrass. Hitherto the bands had been Union and +Confederate but now, more and more, men who had been rebels joined +them. And Chad Buford could understand. For, many a rebel +soldier—"hopeless now for his cause," as Richard Hunt was wont to say, +"fighting from pride, bereft of sympathy, aid, and encouragement that +he once received, and compelled to wring existence from his own +countrymen; a cavalryman on some out-post department, perhaps, without +rations, fluttering with rags; shod, if shod at all, with shoes that +sucked in rain and cold; sleeping at night under the blanket that kept +his saddle by day from his sore-backed horse; paid, if paid at all, +with waste paper; hardened into recklessness by war—many a rebel +soldier thus became a guerrilla—consoling himself, perhaps, with the +thought that his desertion was not to the enemy." +</P> + +<P> +Bad as the methods of such men were, they were hardly worse than the +means taken in retaliation. At first, Confederate sympathizers were +arrested and held as hostages for all persons captured and detained by +guerillas. Later, when a citizen was killed by one of these bands, four +prisoners, supposed to be chosen from this class of free-booters, were +taken from prison and shot to death on the spot where the deed was +done. Now it was rare that one of these brigands was ever taken alive, +and thus regular soldier after soldier who was a prisoner of war, and +entitled to consideration as such, was taken from prison and murdered +by the Commandant without even a court-martial. It was such a death +that Dan Dean and Rebel Jerry had narrowly escaped. Union men were +imprisoned even for protesting against these outrages, so that between +guerilla and provost-marshal no citizen, whether Federal or +Confederate, in sympathy, felt safe in property, life, or liberty. The +better Unionists were alienated, but worse yet was to come. Hitherto, +only the finest chivalry had been shown women and children throughout +the war. Women whose brothers and husbands and sons were in the rebel +army, or dead on the battle-field, were banished now with their +children to Canada under a negro guard, or sent to prison. State +authorities became openly arrayed against provost-marshals and their +followers. There was almost an open clash. The Governor, a Unionist, +threatened even to recall the Kentucky troops from the field to come +back and protect their homes. Even the Home Guards got disgusted with +their masters, and for a while it seemed as if the State, between +guerilla and provost-marshal, would go to pieces. For months the +Confederates had repudiated all connection with these free-booters and +had joined with Federals in hunting them down, but when the State +government tried to raise troops to crush them, the Commandant not only +ordered his troops to resist the State, but ordered the muster-out of +all State troops then in service. +</P> + +<P> +The Deans little knew then how much trouble Captain Chad Buford, whose +daring service against guerillas had given him great power with the +Union authorities, had saved them—how he had kept them from arrest and +imprisonment on the charge of none other than Jerome Conners, the +overseer; how he had ridden out to pay his personal respects to the +complainant, and that brave gentleman, seeing him from afar, had +mounted his horse and fled, terror-stricken. They never knew that just +after this he had got a furlough and gone to see Grant himself, who had +sent him on to tell his story to Mr. Lincoln. +</P> + +<P> +"Go back to Kentucky, then," said Grant, with his quiet smile, "and if +General Ward has nothing particular for you to do, I want him to send +you to me," and Chad had gone from him, dizzy with pride and hope. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to do something," said Mr. Lincoln, "and I'm going to do it +right away." +</P> + +<P> +And now, in the spring of '64, Chad carried in his breast despatches +from the President himself to General Ward at Lexington. +</P> + +<P> +As he rode over the next hill, from which he would get his first +glimpse of his old home and the Deans', his heart beat fast and his +eyes swept both sides of the road. Both houses: even the Deans'—were +shuttered and closed—both tenantless. He saw not even a negro cabin +that showed a sign of life. +</P> + +<P> +On he went at a gallop toward Lexington. Not a single rebel flag had he +seen since he left the Ohio, nor was he at all surprised; the end could +not be far off, and there was no chance that the Federals would ever +again lose the State. +</P> + +<P> +On the edge of the town he overtook a Federal officer. It was Harry +Dean, pale and thin from long imprisonment and sickness. Harry had been +with Sherman, had been captured again, and, in prison, had almost died +with fever. He had come home to get well only to find his sister and +mother sent as exiles to Canada. Major Buford was still in prison, Miss +Lucy was dead, and Jerome Conners seemed master of the house and farm. +General Dean had been killed, had been sent home, and was buried in the +garden. It was only two days after the burial, Harry said, that +Margaret and her mother had to leave their home. Even the bandages that +Mrs. Dean had brought out to Chad's wounded sergeant, that night he had +captured and lost Dan, had been brought up as proof that she and +Margaret were aiding and abetting Confederates. Dan had gone to join +Morgan and Colonel Hunt over in southwestern Virginia, where Morgan had +at last got a new command only a few months before. Harry made no word +of comment, but Chad's heart got bitter as gall as he listened. And +this had happened to the Deans while he was gone to serve them. But the +bloody Commandant of the State would be removed from power—that much +good had been done—as Chad learned when he presented himself, with a +black face, to his general. +</P> + +<P> +"I could not help it," said the General, quickly. "He seems to have +hated the Deans." And again read the despatches slowly. "You have done +good work. There will be less trouble now." Then he paused. "I have had +a letter from General Grant. He wants you on his staff." Again he +paused, and it took the three past years of discipline to help Chad +keep his self-control. "That is, if I have nothing particular for you +to do. He seems to know what you have done and to suspect that there +may be something more here for you to do. He's right. I want you to +destroy Daws Dillon and his band. There will be no peace until he is +out of the way. You know the mountains better than anybody. You are the +man for the work. You will take one company from Wolford's regiment—he +has been reinstated, you know—and go at once. When you have finished +that—you can go to General Grant." The General smiled. "You are rather +young to be so near a major—perhaps." +</P> + +<P> +A major! The quick joy of the thought left him when he went down the +stairs to the portico and saw Harry Dean's thin, sad face, and thought +of the new grave in the Deans' garden and those two lonely women in +exile. There was one small grain of consolation. It was his old enemy, +Daws Dillon, who had slain Joel Turner; Daws who had almost ruined +Major Buford and had sent him to prison—Daws had played no small part +in the sorrows of the Deans, and on the heels of Daws Dillon he soon +would be. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I am to go with you," said Harry. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes," said Chad, startled; "how did you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know. How far is Dillon's hiding-place from where Morgan is?" +</P> + +<P> +"Across the mountains." Chad understood suddenly. "You won't have to +go," he said, quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go where I am ordered," said Harry Dean. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 26. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER AT LAST +</H3> + +<P> +It was the first warm day of spring and the sunshine was very soothing +to Melissa as she sat on the old porch early in the afternoon. Perhaps +it was a memory of childhood, perhaps she was thinking of the happy +days she and Chad had spent on the river bank long ago, and perhaps it +was the sudden thought that, with the little they had to eat in the +house and that little the same three times a day, week in and week out, +Mother Turner, who had been ailing, would like to have some fish; +perhaps it was the primitive hunting instinct that, on such a day, sets +a country boy's fingers itching for a squirrel rifle or a cane +fishing-pole, but she sprang from her seat, leaving old Jack to doze on +the porch, and, in half an hour, was crouched down behind a boulder +below the river bend, dropping a wriggling worm into a dark, still +pool. As she sat there, contented and luckless, the sun grew so warm +that she got drowsy and dozed—how long she did not know—but she awoke +with a start and with a frightened sense that someone was near her, +though she could hear no sound. But she lay still—her heart beating +high—and so sure that her instinct was true that she was not even +surprised when she heard a voice in the thicket above—a low voice, but +one she knew perfectly well: +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you he's a-comin' up the river now. He's a-goin' to stay with +ole Ham Blake ter-night over the mountain an' he'll be a-comin' through +Hurricane Gap 'bout daylight termorrer or next day, shore. He's got a +lot o' men, but we can layway 'em in the Gap an' git away all right." +It was Tad Dillon speaking—Daws Dillon, his brother, answered: +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to kill anybody but that damned Chad—Captain Chad +BUFORD, he calls hisself." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we can git him all right. I heerd that they was a-lookin' fer us +an' was goin' to ketch us if they could." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I knowed that was so," said Daws with an oath. "Nary a one of +'em would git away alive if I just knowed it was so. But we'll git +CAPTAIN Chad Buford, shore as hell! You go tell the boys to guard the +Gap ter-night. They mought come through afore day." And then the noise +of their footsteps fainted out of hearing and Melissa rose and sped +back to the house. +</P> + +<P> +From behind a clump of bushes above where she had sat, rose the +gigantic figure of Rebel Jerry Dillon. He looked after the flying girl +with a grim smile and then dropped his great bulk down on the bed of +moss where he had been listening to the plan of his enemies and +kinsmen. Jerry had made many expeditions over from Virginia lately and +each time he had gone back with a new notch on the murderous knife that +he carried in his belt. He had but two personal enemies alive now—Daws +Dillon, who had tried to have him shot, and his own brother, Yankee +Jake. This was the second time he had been over for Daws, and after his +first trip he had persuaded Dan to ask permission from General Morgan +to take a company into Kentucky and destroy Daws and his band, and +Morgan had given him leave, for Federals and Confederates were chasing +down these guerillas now—sometimes even joining forces to further +their common purpose. Jerry had been slipping through the woods after +Daws, meaning to crawl close enough to kill him and, perhaps, Tad +Dillon too, if necessary, but after hearing their plan he had let them +go, for a bigger chance might be at hand. If Chad Buford was in the +mountains looking for Daws, Yankee Jake was with him. If he killed Daws +now, Chad and his men would hear of his death and would go back, most +likely—and that was the thought that checked his finger on the trigger +of his pistol. Another thought now lifted him to his feet with +surprising quickness and sent him on a run down the river where his +horse was hitched in the bushes. He would go over the mountain for Dan. +He could lead Dan and his men to Hurricane Gap by daylight. Chad Buford +could fight it out with Daws and his gang, and he and Dan would fight +it out with the men who won—no matter whether Yankees or guerillas. +And a grim smile stayed on Rebel Jerry's face as he climbed. +</P> + +<P> +On the porch of the Turner cabin sat Melissa with her hands clinched +and old Jack's head in her lap. There was no use worrying Mother +Turner—she feared even to tell her—but what should she do? She might +boldly cross the mountain now, for she was known to be a rebel, but the +Dillons knowing, too, how close Chad had once been to the Turners might +suspect and stop her. No, if she went at all, she must go after +nightfall—but how would she get away from Mother Turner, and how could +she make her way, undetected through Hurricane Gap? The cliffs were so +steep and close together in one place that she could hardly pass more +than forty feet from the road on either side and she could not pass +that close to pickets and not be heard. Her brain ached with planning +and she was so absorbed as night came on that several times old Mother +Turner querulously asked what was ailing her and why she did not pay +more heed to her work, and the girl answered her patiently and went on +with her planning. Before dark, she knew what she would do, and after +the old mother was asleep, she rose softly and slipped out the door +without awakening even old Jack, and went to the barn, where she got +the sheep-bell that old Beelzebub used to wear and with the clapper +caught in one hand, to keep the bell from tinkling, she went swiftly +down the road toward Hurricane Gap. Several times she had to dart into +the bushes while men on horseback rode by her, and once she came near +being caught by three men on foot—all hurrying at Daws Dillon's order +to the Gap through which she must go. When the road turned from the +river, she went slowly along the edge of it, so that if discovered, she +could leap with one spring into the bushes. It was raining—a cold +drizzle that began to chill her and set her to coughing so that she was +half afraid that she might disclose herself. At the mouth of the Gap +she saw a fire on one side of the road and could hear talking, but she +had no difficulty passing it, on the other side. But on, where the Gap +narrowed—there was the trouble. It must have been an hour before +midnight when she tremblingly neared the narrow defile. The rain had +ceased, and as she crept around a boulder she could see, by the light +of the moon between two black clouds, two sentinels beyond. The crisis +was at hand now. She slipped to one side of the road, climbed the cliff +as high as she could and crept about it. She was past one picket now, +and in her eagerness one foot slipped and she half fell. She almost +held her breath and lay still. +</P> + +<P> +"I hear somethin' up thar in the bresh," shouted the second picket. +"Halt!" +</P> + +<P> +Melissa tinkled the sheep-bell and pushed a bush to and fro as though a +sheep or a cow might be rubbing itself, and the picket she had passed +laughed aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' to shoot ole Sally Perkins's cow, air you?" he said, jeeringly. +"Yes, I heerd her," he added, lying; for, being up all the night +before, he had drowsed at his post. A moment later, Melissa moved on, +making considerable noise and tinkling her bell constantly. She was +near the top now and when she peered out through the bushes, no one was +in sight and she leaped into the road and fled down the mountain. At +the foot of the spur another ringing cry smote the darkness in front of +her: +</P> + +<P> +"Halt! Who goes there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't shoot!" she cried, weakly. "It's only me." +</P> + +<P> +"Advance, 'Me,'" said the picket, astonished to hear a woman's voice. +And then into the light of his fire stepped a shepherdess with a +sheep-bell in her hand, with a beautiful, pale, distressed face, a wet, +clinging dress, and masses of yellow hair surging out of the shawl over +her head. The ill startled picket dropped the butt of his musket to the +ground and stared. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to see Chad, your captain," she said, timidly. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," said the soldier, courteously. "He's just below there and +I guess he's up. We are getting ready to start now. Come along." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no!" said Melissa, hurriedly. "I can't go down there." It had just +struck her that Chad must not see her; but the picket thought she +naturally did not wish to face a lot of soldiers in her bedraggled and +torn dress, and he said quickly: +</P> + +<P> +"All right. Give me your message and I'll take it to him." He smiled. +"You can wait here and stand guard." +</P> + +<P> +Melissa told him hurriedly how she had come over the mountain and what +was going on over there, and the picket with a low whistle started down +toward his camp without another word. +</P> + +<P> +Chad could not doubt the accuracy of the information—the picket had +names and facts. +</P> + +<P> +"A girl, you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir"—the soldier hesitated—"and a very pretty one, too. She +came over the mountain alone and on foot through this darkness. She +passed the pickets on the other side—pretending to be a sheep. She had +a bell in her hand." Chad smiled—he knew that trick. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" +</P> + +<P> +"She's standing guard for me." +</P> + +<P> +The picket turned at a gesture from Chad and led the way. They found no +Melissa. She had heard Chad's voice and fled up the mountain. Before +daybreak she was descending the mountain on the other side, along the +same way, tinkling her sheep-bell and creeping past the pickets. It was +raining again now and her cold had grown worse. Several times she had +to muffle her face into her shawl to keep her cough from betraying her. +As she passed the ford below the Turner cabin, she heard the splash of +many horses crossing the river and she ran on, frightened and +wondering. Before day broke she had slipped into her bed without +arousing Mother Turner, and she did not get up that day, but lay ill +abed. +</P> + +<P> +The splashing of those many horses was made by Captain Daniel Dean and +his men, guided by Rebel Jerry. High on the mountain side they hid +their horses in a ravine and crept toward the Gap on foot—so that +while Daws with his gang waited for Chad, the rebels lay in the brush +waiting for him. Dan was merry over the prospect: +</P> + +<P> +"We will just let them fight it out," he said, "and then we'll dash in +and gobble 'em both up. That was a fine scheme of yours, Jerry." +</P> + +<P> +Rebel Jerry smiled: there was one thing he had not told his +captain—who those rebels were. Purposely he had kept that fact hidden. +He had seen Dan purposely refrain from killing Chad Buford once and he +feared that Dan might think his brother Harry was among the Yankees. +All this Rebel Jerry failed to understand, and he wanted nothing known +now that might stay anybody's hand. Dawn broke and nothing happened. +Not a shot rang out and only the smoke of the guerillas' fire showed in +the peaceful mouth of the Gap. Dan wanted to attack the guerillas, but +Jerry persuaded him to wait until he could learn how the land lay, and +disappeared in the bushes. At noon he came back. +</P> + +<P> +"The Yankees have found out Daws is thar in the Gap," he said, "an' +they are goin' to slip over before day ter-morrer and s'prise him. Hit +don't make no difference to us, which s'prises which—does it?" +</P> + +<P> +So the rebels kept hid through the day in the bushes on the mountain +side, and when Chad slipped through the Gap next morning, before day, +and took up the guerilla pickets, Dan had moved into the same Gap from +the other side, and was lying in the bushes with his men, near the +guerillas' fire, waiting for the Yankees to make their attack. He had +not long to wait. At the first white streak of dawn overhead, a shout +rang through the woods from the Yankees to the startled guerillas. +</P> + +<P> +"Surrender!" A fusillade followed. Again: +</P> + +<P> +"Surrender!" and there was a short silence, broken by low curses from +the guerillas, and a stern Yankee voice giving short, quick orders. The +guerillas had given up. Rebel Jerry moved restlessly at Dan's side and +Dan cautioned him. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait! Let them have time to disarm the prisoners," he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Now," he added, a little while later—"creep quietly, boys." +</P> + +<P> +Forward they went like snakes, creeping to the edge of the brush whence +they could see the sullen guerillas grouped on one side of the +fire—their arms stacked, while a tall figure in blue moved here and +there, and gave orders in a voice that all at once seemed strangely +familiar to Dan. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, boys," he said, half aloud, "give 'em a volley and charge." +</P> + +<P> +At his word there was a rattling fusillade, and then the rebels leaped +from the bushes and dashed on the astonished Yankees and their +prisoners. It was pistol to pistol at first and then they closed to +knife thrust and musket butt, hand to hand—in a cloud of smoke. At the +first fire from the rebels Chad saw his prisoner, Daws Dillon, leap for +the stacked arms and disappear. A moment later, as he was emptying his +pistol at his charging foes, he felt a bullet clip a lock of hair from +the back of his head and he turned to see Daws on the farthest edge of +the firelight levelling his pistol for another shot before he ran. Like +lightning he wheeled and when his finger pulled the trigger, Daws sank +limply, his grinning, malignant face sickening as he fell. +</P> + +<P> +The tall fellow in blue snapped his pistol at Dan, and as Dan, whose +pistol, too, was empty, sprang forward and closed with him, he heard a +triumphant yell behind him and Rebel Jerry's huge figure flashed past +him. With the same glance he saw among the Yankees another giant—who +looked like another Jerry—saw his face grow ghastly with fear when +Jerry's yell rose, and then grow taut with ferocity as he tugged at his +sheath to meet the murderous knife flashing toward him. The terrible +Dillon twins were come together at last, and Dan shuddered, but he saw +no more, for he was busy with the lithe Yankee in whose arms he was +closed. As they struggled, Dan tried to get his knife and the Yankee +tugged for his second pistol each clasping the other's wrist. Not a +sound did they make nor could either see the other's face, for Dan had +his chin in his opponent's breast and was striving to bend him +backward. He had clutched the Yankee's right hand, as it went back for +his pistol, just as the Yankee had caught his right in front, feeling +for his knife. The advantage would have been all Dan's except that the +Yankee suddenly loosed his wrist and gripped him tight about the body +in an underhold, so that Dan could not whirl him round; but he could +twist that wrist and twist it he did, with both hands and all his +strength. Once the Yankee gave a smothered groan of pain and Dan heard +him grit his teeth to keep it back. The smoke had lifted now, and, when +they fell, it was in the light of the fire. The Yankee had thrown him +with a knee-trick that Harry used to try on him when they were boys, +but something about the Yankee snapped, as they fell, and he groaned +aloud. Clutching him by the throat, Dan threw him oft—he could get at +his knife now. +</P> + +<P> +"Surrender!" he said, hoarsely. +</P> + +<P> +His answer was a convulsive struggle and then the Yankee lay still. +</P> + +<P> +"Surrender!" said Dan again, lifting his knife above the Yankee's +breast, "or, damn you, I'll—" +</P> + +<P> +The Yankee had turned his face weakly toward the fire, and Dan, with a +cry of horror, threw his knife away and sprang to his feet. Straightway +the Yankee's closed eyes opened and he smiled faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Dan, is that you?" he asked. "I thought it would come," he added, +quietly, and then Harry Dean lapsed into unconsciousness. +</P> + +<P> +Thus, at its best, this fratricidal war was being fought out that +daybreak in one little hollow of the Kentucky mountains and thus, at +its worst, it was being fought out in another little hollow scarcely +twenty yards away, where the giant twins—Rebel Jerry and Yankee +Jake—who did know they were brothers, sought each other's lives in +mutual misconception and mutual hate. +</P> + +<P> +There were a dozen dead Federals and guerillas around the fire, and +among them was Daws Dillon with the pallor of death on his face and the +hate that life had written there still clinging to it like a shadow. As +Dan bent tenderly over his brother Harry, two soldiers brought in a +huge body from the bushes, and he turned to see Rebel Jerry Dillon. +There were a half a dozen rents in his uniform and a fearful slash +under his chin—but he was breathing still. Chad Buford had escaped and +so had Yankee Jake. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap27"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 27. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AT THE HOSPITAL OF MORGAN'S MEN +</H3> + +<P> +In May, Grant simply said—Forward! The day he crossed the Rapidan, he +said it to Sherman down in Georgia. After the battle of the Wilderness +he said it again, and the last brutal resort of hammering down the +northern buttress and sea-wall of the rebellion—old Virginia—and +Atlanta, the keystone of the Confederate arch, was well under way. +Throughout those bloody days Chad was with Grant and Harry Dean was +with Sherman on his terrible trisecting march to the sea. For, after +the fight between Rebels and Yankees and Daws Dillon's guerilla band, +over in Kentucky, Dan, coming back from another raid into the +Bluegrass, had found his brother gone. Harry had refused to accept a +parole and had escaped. Not a man, Dan was told, fired a shot at him, +as he ran. One soldier raised his musket, but Renfrew the Silent struck +the muzzle upward. +</P> + +<P> +In September, Atlanta fell and, in that same month, Dan saw his great +leader, John Morgan, dead in Tennessee. In December, the Confederacy +toppled at the west under Thomas's blows at Nashville. In the spring of +'65, one hundred and thirty-five thousand wretched, broken-down rebels, +from Richmond to the Rio Grande, confronted Grant's million men, and in +April, Five Forks was the beginning of the final end everywhere. +</P> + +<P> +At midnight, Captain Daniel Dean, bearer of dispatches to the great +Confederate General in Virginia, rode out of abandoned Richmond with +the cavalry of young Fitzhugh Lee. They had threaded their way amid +troops, trains, and artillery across the bridge. The city was on fire. +By its light, the stream of humanity was pouring out of town—Davis and +his cabinet, citizens, soldiers, down to the mechanics in the armories +and workshops. The chief concern with all was the same, a little to eat +for a few days; for, with the morning, the enemy would come and +Confederate money would be as mist. Afar off the little fleet of +Confederate gunboats blazed and the thundering explosions of their +magazines split the clear air. Freight depots with supplies were +burning. Plunderers were spreading the fires and slipping like ghouls +through red light and black shadows. At daybreak the last retreating +gun rumbled past and, at sunrise, Dan looked back from the hills on the +smoking and deserted city and Grant's blue lines sweeping into it. +</P> + +<P> +Once only he saw his great chief—the next morning before day, when he +rode through the chill mist and darkness to find the head-quarters of +the commanding General—two little fires of rubbish and two +ambulances—with Lee lying on a blanket under the open sky. He rose, as +Dan drew near, and the firelight fell full on his bronzed and mournful +face. He looked so sad and so noble that the boy's heart was wrenched, +and as Dan turned away, he said, brokenly: +</P> + +<P> +"General, I am General Dean's son, and I want to thank you—" He could +get no farther. Lee laid one hand on his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Be as good a man as your father was, my boy," he said, and Dan rode +back the pitiable way through the rear of that noble army of +Virginia—through ranks of tattered, worn, hungry soldiers, among the +broken debris of wagons and abandoned guns, past skeleton horses and +skeleton men. +</P> + +<P> +All hope was gone, but Fitz Lee led his cavalry through the Yankee +lines and escaped. In that flight Daniel Dean got his only wound in the +war—a bullet through the shoulder. When the surrender came, Fitz Lee +gave up, too, and led back his command to get Grant's generous terms. +But all his men did not go with him, and among the cavalrymen who went +on toward southwestern Virginia was Dan—making his way back to Richard +Hunt—for now that gallant Morgan was dead, Hunt was general of the old +command. +</P> + +<P> +Behind, at Appomattox, Chad was with Grant. He saw the surrender—saw +Lee look toward his army, when he came down the steps after he had +given up, saw him strike his hands together three times and ride +Traveller away through the profound and silent respect of his enemies +and the tearful worship of his own men. And Chad got permission +straightway to go back to Ohio, and he mustered out with his old +regiment, and he, too, started back through Virginia. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, Dan was drawing near the mountains. He was worn out when he +reached Abingdon. The wound in his shoulder was festering and he was in +a high fever. At the camp of Morgan's Men he found only a hospital +left—for General Hunt had gone southward—and a hospital was what he +most needed now. As he lay, unconscious with fever, next day, a giant +figure, lying near, turned his head and stared at the boy. It was Rebel +Jerry Dillon, helpless from a sabre cut and frightfully scarred by the +fearful wounds his brother, Yankee Jake, had given him. And thus, +Chadwick Buford, making for the Ohio, saw the two strange messmates, a +few days later, when he rode into the deserted rebel camp. +</P> + +<P> +All was over. Red Mars had passed beyond the horizon and the white Star +of Peace already shone faintly on the ravaged South. The shattered +remnants of Morgan's cavalry, pall-bearers of the Lost Cause—had gone +South—bare-footed and in rags—to guard Jefferson Davis to safety, and +Chad's heart was wrung when he stepped into the little hospital they +had left behind—a space cleared into a thicket of rhododendron. There +was not a tent—there was little medicine—little food. The drizzling +rain dropped on the group of ragged sick men from the branches above +them. Nearly all were youthful, and the youngest was a mere boy, who +lay delirious with his head on the root of a tree. As Chad stood +looking, the boy opened his eyes and his mouth twitched with pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, you damned Yankee." Again his mouth twitched and again the old +dare-devil light that Chad knew so well kindled in his hazy eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I said," he repeated, distinctly, "Hello, you damned Yank. DAMNED Yank +I said." Chad beckoned to two men. +</P> + +<P> +"Go bring a stretcher." +</P> + +<P> +The men shook their heads with a grim smile—they had no stretcher. +</P> + +<P> +The boy talked dreamily. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Yank, didn't we give you hell in—oh, well, in lots o' places. +But you've got me." The two soldiers were lifting him in their arms. +"Goin' to take me to prison? Goin' to take me out to shoot me, Yank? +You ARE a damned Yank." A hoarse growl rose behind them and the giant +lifted himself on one elbow, swaying his head from side to side. +</P> + +<P> +"Let that boy alone!" Dan nodded back at him confidently. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, Jerry. This Yank's a friend of mine." His brow +wrinkled. "At any rate he looks like somebody I know. He's goin' to +give me something to eat and get me well—like hell," he added to +himself—passing off into unconsciousness again. Chad had the lad +carried to his own tent, had him stripped, bathed, and bandaged and +stood looking down at him. It was hard to believe that the broken, aged +youth was the red-cheeked, vigorous lad whom he had known as Daniel +Dean. He was ragged, starved, all but bare-footed, wounded, sick, and +yet he was as undaunted, as defiant, as when he charged with Morgan's +dare-devils at the beginning of the war. Then Chad went back to the +hospital—for a blanket and some medicine. +</P> + +<P> +"They are friends," he said to the Confederate surgeon, pointing at a +huge gaunt figure. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon that big fellow has saved that boy's life a dozen times. Yes, +they're mess-mates." +</P> + +<P> +And Chad stood looking down at Jerry Dillon, one of the giant +twins—whose name was a terror throughout the mountains of the middle +south. Then he turned and the surgeon followed. +</P> + +<P> +There was a rustle of branches on one side when they were gone, and at +the sound the wounded man lifted his head. The branches parted and the +oxlike face of Yankee Jake peered through. For a full minute, the two +brothers stared at each other. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you got me, Jake," said Jerry. +</P> + +<P> +"I been lookin' fer ye a long while," said Jake, simply, and he smiled +strangely as he moved slowly forward and looked down at his enemy—his +heavy head wagging from side to side. Jerry was fumbling at his belt. +The big knife flashed, but Jake's hand was as quick as its gleam, and +he had the wrist that held it. His great fingers crushed together, the +blade dropped on the ground, and again the big twins looked at each +other. Slowly, Yankee Jake picked up the knife. The other moved not a +muscle and in his fierce eyes was no plea for mercy. The point of the +blade moved slowly down—down over the rebel's heart, and was thrust +into its sheath again. Then Jake let go the wrist. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't tech it agin," he said, and he strode away. The big fellow lay +blinking. He did not open his lips when, in a moment, Yankee Jake +slouched in with a canteen of water. When Chad came back, one giant was +drawing on the other a pair of socks. The other was still silent and +had his face turned the other way. Looking up, Jake met Chad's +surprised gaze with a grin. +</P> + +<P> +A day later, Dan came to his senses. A tent was above him, a heavy +blanket was beneath him and there were clothes on his body that felt +strangely fresh and clean. He looked up to see Chad's face between the +flaps of the tent. +</P> + +<P> +"D'you do this?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right," said Chad. "This war is over." And he went away to +let Dan think it out. When he came again, Dan held out his hand +silently. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap28"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 28. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PALL-BEARERS OF THE LOST CAUSE +</H3> + +<P> +The rain was falling with a steady roar when General Hunt broke camp a +few days before. The mountain-tops were black with thunderclouds, and +along the muddy road went Morgan's Men—most of them on mules which had +been taken from abandoned wagons when news of the surrender +came—without saddles and with blind bridles or rope halters—the rest +slopping along through the yellow mud on foot—literally—for few of +them had shoes; they were on their way to protect Davis and join +Johnston, now that Lee was no more. There was no murmuring, no +faltering, and it touched Richard Hunt to observe that they were now +more prompt to obedience, when it was optional with them whether they +should go or stay, than they had ever been in the proudest days of the +Confederacy. +</P> + +<P> +Threatened from Tennessee and cut off from Richmond, Hunt had made up +his mind to march eastward to join Lee, when the news of the surrender +came. Had the sun at that moment dropped suddenly to the horizon from +the heaven above them, those Confederates would have been hardly more +startled or plunged into deeper despair. Crowds of infantry threw down +their arms and, with the rest, all sense of discipline was lost. Of the +cavalry, however, not more than ten men declined to march south, and +out they moved through the drenching rain in a silence that was broken +only with a single cheer when ninety men from another Kentucky brigade +joined them, who, too, felt that as long as the Confederate Government +survived, there was work for them to do. So on they went to keep up the +struggle, if the word was given, skirmishing, fighting and slipping +past the enemies that were hemming them in, on with Davis, his cabinet, +and General Breckinridge to join Taylor and Forrest in Alabama. Across +the border of South Carolina, an irate old lady upbraided Hunt for +allowing his soldiers to take forage from her barn. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a gang of thieving Kentuckians," she said, hotly; "you are +afraid to go home, while our boys are surrendering decently." +</P> + +<P> +"Madam!"—Renfrew the Silent spoke—spoke from the depths of his once +brilliant jacket—"you South Carolinians had a good deal to say about +getting up this war, but we Kentuckians have contracted to close it +out." +</P> + +<P> +Then came the last Confederate council of war. In turn, each officer +spoke of his men and of himself and each to the same effect; the cause +was lost and there was no use in prolonging the war. +</P> + +<P> +"We will give our lives to secure your safety, but we cannot urge our +men to struggle against a fate that is inevitable, and perhaps thus +forfeit all hope of a restoration to their homes and friends." +</P> + +<P> +Davis was affable, dignified, calm, undaunted. +</P> + +<P> +"I will hear of no plan that is concerned only with my safety. A few +brave men can prolong the war until this panic has passed, and they +will be a nucleus for thousands more." +</P> + +<P> +The answer was silence, as the gaunt, beaten man looked from face to +face. He rose with an effort. +</P> + +<P> +"I see all hope is gone," he said, bitterly, and though his calm +remained, his bearing was less erect, his face was deathly pale and his +step so infirm that he leaned upon General Breckinridge as he neared +the door—in the bitterest moment, perhaps, of his life. +</P> + +<P> +So, the old Morgan's Men, so long separated, were united at the end. In +a broken voice General Hunt forbade the men who had followed him on +foot three hundred miles from Virginia to go farther, but to disperse +to their homes; and they wept like children. +</P> + +<P> +In front of him was a big force of Federal cavalry; retreat the way he +had come was impossible, and to the left, if he escaped, was the sea; +but dauntless Hunt refused to surrender except at the order of a +superior, or unless told that all was done that could be done to assure +the escape of his President. That order came from Breckinridge. +</P> + +<P> +"Surrender," was the message. "Go back to your homes, I will not have +one of these young men encounter one more hazard for my sake." +</P> + +<P> +That night Richard Hunt fought out his fight with himself, pacing to +and fro under the stars. He had struggled faithfully for what he +believed, still believed, and would, perhaps, always believe, was +right. He had fought for the broadest ideal of liberty as he understood +it, for citizen, State and nation. The appeal had gone to the sword and +the verdict was against him. He would accept it. He would go home, take +the oath of allegiance, resume the law, and, as an American citizen, do +his duty. He had no sense of humiliation, he had no apology to make and +would never have—he had done his duty. He felt no bitterness, and had +no fault to find with his foes, who were brave and had done their duty +as they had seen it; for he granted them the right to see a different +duty from what he had decided was his. And that was all. +</P> + +<P> +Renfrew the Silent was waiting at the smouldering fire. He neither +looked up nor made any comment when General Hunt spoke his +determination. His own face grew more sullen and he reached his hand +into his breast and pulled from his faded jacket the tattered colors +that he once had borne. +</P> + +<P> +"These will never be lowered as long as I live," he said, "nor +afterwards if I can prevent it." And lowered they never were. On a +little island in the Pacific Ocean, this strange soldier, after leaving +his property and his kindred forever, lived out his life among the +natives with this bloodstained remnant of the Stars and Bars over his +hut, and when he died, the flag was hung over his grave, and above that +grave to-day the tattered emblem still sways in southern air. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +A week earlier, two Rebels and two Yankees started across the mountain +together—Chad and Dan and the giant Dillon twins—Chad and Yankee Jake +afoot. Up Lonesome they went toward the shaggy flank of Black Mountain +where the Great Reaper had mowed down Chad's first friends. The logs of +the cabin were still standing, though the roof was caved in and the +yard was a tangle of undergrowth. A dull pain settled in Chad's breast, +while he looked, and as they were climbing the spur, he choked when he +caught sight of the graves under the big poplar. +</P> + +<P> +There was the little pen that he had built over his foster-mother's +grave—still undisturbed. He said nothing and, as they went down the +spur, across the river and up Pine Mountain, he kept his gnawing +memories to himself. Only ten years before, and he seemed an old, old +man now. He recognized the very spot where he had slept the first night +after he ran away and awakened to that fearful never-forgotten storm at +sunrise, which lived in his memory now as a mighty portent of the +storms of human passion that had swept around him on many a +battlefield. There was the very tree where he had killed the squirrel +and the rattlesnake. It was bursting spring now, but the buds of laurel +and rhododendron were unbroken. Down Kingdom Come they went. Here was +where he had met the old cow, and here was the little hill where Jack +had fought Whizzer and he had fought Tad Dillon and where he had first +seen Melissa. Again the scarlet of her tattered gown flashed before his +eyes. At the bend of the river they parted from the giant twins. +Faithful Jake's face was foolish when Chad took him by the hand and +spoke to him, as man to man, and Rebel Jerry turned his face quickly +when Dan told him that he would never forget him, and made him promise +to come to see him, if Jerry ever took another raft down to the +capital. Looking back from the hill, Chad saw them slowly moving along +a path toward the woods—not looking at each other and speaking not at +all. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond rose the smoke of the old Turner cabin. On the porch sat the old +Turner mother, her bonnet in her hand, her eyes looking down the river. +Dozing at her feet was Jack—old Jack. She had never forgiven Chad, and +she could not forgive him now, though Chad saw her eyes soften when she +looked at the tattered butternut that Dan wore. But Jack—half-blind +and aged—sprang trembling to his feet when he heard Chad's voice and +whimpered like a child. Chad sank on the porch with one arm about the +old dog's neck. Mother Turner answered all questions shortly. +</P> + +<P> +Melissa had gone to the "Settlemints." Why? The old woman would not +answer. She was coming back, but she was ill. She had never been well +since she went afoot, one cold night, to warn some YANKEE that Daws +Dillon was after him. Chad started. It was Melissa who had perhaps +saved his life. Tad Dillon had stepped into Daws's shoes, and the war +was still going on in the hills. Tom Turner had died in prison. The old +mother was waiting for Dolph and Rube to come back—she was looking for +them every hour, day and night She did not know what had become of the +school-master—but Chad did, and he told her. The school-master had +died, storming breastworks at Gettysburg. The old woman said not a word. +</P> + +<P> +Dan was too weak to ride now. So Chad got Dave Hilton, Melissa's old +sweetheart, to take Dixie to Richmond—a little Kentucky town on the +edge of the Bluegrass—and leave her there and he bought the old Turner +canoe. She would have no use for it, Mother Turner said—he could have +it for nothing; but when Chad thrust a ten dollar Federal bill into her +hands, she broke down and threw her arms around him and cried. +</P> + +<P> +So down the river went Chad and Dan—drifting with the tide—Chad in +the stern, Dan lying at full length, with his head on a blue army-coat +and looking up at the over-swung branches and the sky and the clouds +above them—down, through a mist of memories for Chad—down to the +capital. +</P> + +<P> +And Harry Dean, too, was on his way home—coming up from the far +South—up through the ravaged land of his own people, past homes and +fields which his own hands had helped to lay waste. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap29"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 29. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MELISSA AND MARGARET +</H3> + +<P> +The early spring sunshine lay like a benediction over the Dean +household, for Margaret and her mother were home from exile. On the +corner of the veranda sat Mrs. Dean, where she always sat, knitting. +Under the big weeping willow in the garden was her husband's grave. +When she was not seated near it, she was there in the porch, and to it +her eyes seemed always to stray when she lifted them from her work. +</P> + +<P> +The mail had just come and Margaret was reading a letter from Dan, and, +as she read, her cheeks flushed. +</P> + +<P> +"He took me into his own tent, mother, and put his own clothes on me +and nursed me like a brother. And now he is going to take me to you and +Margaret, he says, and I shall be strong enough, I hope, to start in a +week. I shall be his friend for life." +</P> + +<P> +Neither mother nor daughter spoke when the girl ceased reading. Only +Margaret rose soon and walked down the gravelled walk to the stile. +</P> + +<P> +Beneath the hill, the creek sparkled. She could see the very pool where +her brothers and the queer little stranger from the mountains were +fishing the day he came into her life. She remembered the indignant +heart-beat with which she had heard him call her "little gal," and she +smiled now, but she could recall the very tone of his voice and the +steady look in his clear eyes when he offered her the perch he had +caught. Even then his spirit appealed unconsciously to her, when he +sturdily refused to go up to the house because her brother was "feelin' +hard towards him." How strange and far away all that seemed now! Up the +creek and around the woods she strolled, deep in memories. For a long +while she sat on a stone wall in the sunshine—thinking and dreaming, +and it was growing late when she started back to the house. At the +stile, she turned for a moment to look at the old Buford home across +the fields. As she looked, she saw the pike-gate open and a woman's +figure enter, and she kept her eyes idly upon it as she walked on +toward the house. The woman came slowly and hesitatingly toward the +yard. When she drew nearer, Margaret could see that she wore homespun, +home-made shoes, and a poke-bonnet. On her hands were yarn half-mits, +and, as she walked, she pushed her bonnet from her eyes with one hand, +first to one side, then to the other—looking at the locusts planted +along the avenue, the cedars in the yard, the sweep of lawn overspread +with springing bluegrass. At the yard gate she stopped, leaning over +it—her eyes fixed on the stately white house, with its mighty pillars. +Margaret was standing on the steps now, motionless and waiting, and, +knowing that she was seen, the woman opened the gate and walked up the +gravelled path—never taking her eyes from the figure on the porch. +Straight she walked to the foot of the steps, and there she stopped, +and, pushing her bonnet back, she said, simply: +</P> + +<P> +"Are you Mar-ga-ret?" pronouncing the name slowly and with great +distinctness. +</P> + +<P> +Margaret started. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said. +</P> + +<P> +The girl merely looked at her—long and hard. Once her lips moved: +</P> + +<P> +"Mar-ga-ret," and still she looked. "Do you know whar Chad is?" +</P> + +<P> +Margaret flushed. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Melissy." +</P> + +<P> +Melissa! The two girls looked deep into each other's eyes and, for one +flashing moment, each saw the other's heart—bared and beating—and +Margaret saw, too, a strange light ebb slowly from the other's face and +a strange shadow follow slowly after. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean Major Buford?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean Chad. Is he dead?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, he is bringing my brother home." +</P> + +<P> +"Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—Dan." +</P> + +<P> +"Dan—here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"When?" +</P> + +<P> +"As soon as my brother gets well enough to travel. He is wounded." +</P> + +<P> +Melissa turned her face then. Her mouth twitched and her clasped hands +were working in and out. Then she turned again. +</P> + +<P> +"I come up here from the mountains, afoot jus' to tell ye—to tell YOU +that Chad ain't no"—she stopped suddenly, seeing Margaret's quick +flush—"CHAD'S MOTHER WAS MARRIED. I jus' found it out last week. He +ain't no—"—she started fiercely again and stopped again. "But I come +here fer HIM—not fer YOU. YOU oughtn't to 'a' keered. Hit wouldn't 'a' +been his fault. He never was the same after he come back from here. Hit +worried him most to death, an' I know hit was you—YOU he was always +thinkin' about. He didn't keer 'cept fer you." Again that shadow came +and deepened. "An' you oughtn't to 'a' keered what he was—and that's +why I hate you," she said, calmly—"fer worryin' him an' bein' so +high-heeled that you was willin' to let him mighty nigh bust his heart +about somethin' that wasn't his fault. I come fer him—you +understand—fer HIM. I hate YOU!" +</P> + +<P> +She turned without another word, walked slowly back down the walk and +through the gate. Margaret stood dazed, helpless, almost frightened. +She heard the girl cough and saw now that she walked as if weak and +ill. As she turned into the road, Margaret ran down the steps and +across the fields to the turnpike. When she reached the road-fence the +girl was coming around the bend her eyes on the ground, and every now +and then she would cough and put her hand to her breast. She looked up +quickly, hearing the noise ahead of her, and stopped as Margaret +climbed the low stone wall and sprang down. +</P> + +<P> +"Melissa, Melissa! You mustn't hate me. You mustn't hate ME." +Margaret's eyes were streaming and her voice trembled with kindness. +She walked up to the girl and put one hand on her shoulder. "You are +sick. I know you are, and you must come back to the house." +</P> + +<P> +Melissa gave way then, and breaking from the girl's clasp she leaned +against the stone wall and sobbed, while Margaret put her arms about +her and waited silently. +</P> + +<P> +"Come now," she said, "let me help you over. There now. You must come +back and get something to eat and lie down." And Margaret led Melissa +back across the fields. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap30"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 30. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PEACE +</H3> + +<P> +It was strange to Chad that he should be drifting toward a new life +down the river which once before had carried him to a new world. The +future then was no darker than now, but he could hardly connect himself +with the little fellow in coon-skin cap and moccasins who had floated +down on a raft so many years ago, when at every turn of the river his +eager eyes looked for a new and thrilling mystery. +</P> + +<P> +They talked of the long fight, the two lads, for, in spite of the +war-worn look of them, both were still nothing but boys—and they +talked with no bitterness of camp life, night attacks, surprises, +escapes, imprisonment, incidents of march and battle. Both spoke little +of their boyhood days or the future. The pall of defeat overhung Dan. +To him the world seemed to be nearing an end, while to Chad the outlook +was what he had known all his life—nothing to begin with and +everything to be done. Once only Dan voiced his own trouble: +</P> + +<P> +"What are you going to do, Chad—now that this infernal war is over? +Going into the regular army?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Chad, decisively. About his own future Dan volunteered +nothing—he only turned his head quickly to the passing woods, as +though in fear that Chad might ask some similar question, but Chad was +silent. And thus they glided between high cliffs and down into the +lowlands until at last, through a little gorge between two swelling +river hills, Dan's eye caught sight of an orchard, a leafy woodland, +and a pasture of bluegrass. With a cry he raised himself on one elbow. +</P> + +<P> +"Home! I tell you, Chad, we're getting home!" He closed his eyes and +drew the sweet air in as though he were drinking it down like wine. His +eyes were sparkling when he opened them again and there was a new color +in his face. On they drifted until, toward noon, the black column of +smoke that meant the capital loomed against the horizon. There Mrs. +Dean was waiting for them, and Chad turned his face aside when the +mother took her son in her arms. With a sad smile she held out her hand +to Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"You must come home with us," Mrs. Dean said, with quiet decision. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Margaret, mother?" Chad almost trembled when he heard the +name. +</P> + +<P> +"Margaret couldn't come. She is not very well and she is taking care of +Harry." +</P> + +<P> +The very station had tragic memories to Chad. There was the long hill +which he had twice climbed—once on a lame foot and once on flying +Dixie—past the armory and the graveyard. He had seen enough dead since +he peered through those iron gates to fill a dozen graveyards the like +in size. Going up in the train, he could see the barn where he had +slept in the hayloft the first time he came to the Bluegrass, and the +creek-bridge where Major Buford had taken him into his carriage. Major +Buford was dead. He had almost died in prison, Mrs. Dean said, and Chad +choked and could say nothing. Once, Dan began a series of eager +questions about the house and farm, and the servants and the neighbors, +but his mother's answers were hesitant and he stopped short. She, too, +asked but few questions, and the three were quiet while the train +rolled on with little more speed than Chad and Dixie had made on that +long ago night-ride to save Dan and Rebel Jerry. About that ride Chad +had kept Harry's lips and his own closed, for he wished no such appeal +as that to go to Margaret Dean. Margaret was not at the station in +Lexington. She was not well Rufus said; so Chad would not go with them +that night, but would come out next day. +</P> + +<P> +"I owe my son's life to you, Captain Buford," said Mrs. Dean, with +trembling lip, "and you must make our house your home while you are +here. I bring that message to you from Harry and Margaret. I know and +they know now all you have done for us and all you have tried to do." +</P> + +<P> +Chad could hardly speak his thanks. He would be in the Bluegrass only a +few days, he stammered, but he would go out to see them next day. That +night he went to the old inn where the Major had taken him to dinner. +Next day he hired a horse from the livery stable where he had bought +the old brood mare, and early in the afternoon he rode out the broad +turnpike in a nervous tumult of feeling that more than once made him +halt in the road. He wore his uniform, which was new, and made him +uncomfortable—it looked too much like waving a victorious flag in the +face of a beaten enemy—but it was the only stitch of clothes he had, +and that he might not explain. +</P> + +<P> +It was the first of May. Just eight years before, Chad with a burning +heart had watched Richard Hunt gayly dancing with Margaret, while the +dead chieftain, Morgan, gayly fiddled for the merry crowd. Now the sun +shone as it did then, the birds sang, the wind shook the happy leaves +and trembled through the budding heads of bluegrass to show that nature +had known no war and that her mood was never other than of hope and +peace. But there were no fat cattle browsing in the Dean pastures now, +no flocks of Southdown sheep with frisking lambs The worm fences had +lost their riders and were broken down here and there. The gate sagged +on its hinges; the fences around yard and garden and orchard had known +no whitewash for years; the paint on the noble old house was cracked +and peeling, the roof of the barn was sunken in, and the cabins of the +quarters were closed, for the hand of war, though unclinched, still lay +heavy on the home of the Deans. Snowball came to take his horse. He was +respectful, but his white teeth did not flash the welcome Chad once had +known. Another horse stood at the hitching-post and on it was a cavalry +saddle and a rebel army blanket, and Chad did not have to guess whose +it might be. From the porch, Dan shouted and came down to meet him, and +Harry hurried to the door, followed by Mrs. Dean. Margaret was not to +be seen, and Chad was glad—he would have a little more time for +self-control. She did not appear even when they were seated in the +porch until Dan shouted for her toward the garden; and then looking +toward the gate Chad saw her coming up the garden walk bare-headed, +dressed in white, with flowers in her hand; and walking by her side, +looking into her face and talking earnestly, was Richard Hunt. The +sight of him nerved Chad at once to steel. Margaret did not lift her +face until she was half-way to the porch, and then she stopped suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, there's Major Buford," Chad heard her say, and she came on ahead, +walking rapidly. Chad felt the blood in his face again, and as he +watched Margaret nearing him—pale, sweet, frank, gracious, +unconscious—it seemed that he was living over again another scene in +his life when he had come from the mountains to live with old Major +Buford; and, with a sudden prayer that his past might now be wiped as +clean as it was then, he turned from Margaret's hand-clasp to look into +the brave, searching eyes of Richard Hunt and feel his sinewy fingers +in a grip that in all frankness told Chad plainly that between them, at +least, one war was not quite over yet. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad to meet you, Major Buford, in these piping times of peace." +</P> + +<P> +"And I am glad to meet you, General Hunt—only in times of peace," Chad +said, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +The two measured each other swiftly, calmly. Chad had a mighty +admiration for Richard Hunt. Here was a man who knew no fight but to +the finish, who would die as gamely in a drawing-room as on a +battle-field. To think of him—a brigadier-general at twenty-seven, as +undaunted, as unbeaten as when he heard the first bullet of the war +whistle, and, at that moment, as good an American as Chadwick Buford or +any Unionist who had given his life for his cause! Such a foe thrilled +Chad, and somehow he felt that Margaret was measuring them as they were +measuring each other. Against such a man what chance had he? +</P> + +<P> +He would have been comforted could he have known Richard Hunt's +thoughts, for that gentleman had gone back to the picture of a ragged +mountain boy in old Major Buford's carriage, one court day long ago, +and now he was looking that same lad over from the visor of his cap +down his superb length to the heels of his riding-boots. His eyes +rested long on Chad's face. The change was incredible, but blood had +told. The face was highly bred, clean, frank, nobly handsome; it had +strength and dignity, and the scar on his cheek told a story that was +as well known to foe as to friend. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been wanting to thank you, not only for trying to keep us out +of that infernal prison after the Ohio raid, but for trying to get us +out. Harry here told me. That was generous." +</P> + +<P> +"That was nothing," said Chad. "You forget, you could have killed me +once and—and you didn't." Margaret was listening eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't give me time," laughed General Hunt. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, I did. I saw you lift your pistol and drop it again. I have +never ceased to wonder why you did that." +</P> + +<P> +Richard Hunt laughed. "Perhaps I'm sorry sometimes that I did," he +said, with a certain dryness. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, you aren't, General," said Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +Thus they chatted and laughed and joked together above the sombre tide +of feeling that showed in the face of each if it reached not his +tongue, for, when the war was over, the hatchet in Kentucky was buried +at once and buried deep. Son came back to father, brother to brother, +neighbor to neighbor; political disabilities were removed and the +sundered threads, unravelled by the war, were knitted together fast. +That is why the postbellum terrors of reconstruction were practically +unknown in the State. The negroes scattered, to be sure, not from +disloyalty so much as from a feverish desire to learn whether they +really could come and go as they pleased. When they learned that they +were really free, most of them drifted back to the quarters where they +were born, and meanwhile the white man's hand that had wielded the +sword went just as bravely to the plough, and the work of rebuilding +war-shattered ruins began at once. Old Mammy appeared, by and by, shook +hands with General Hunt and made Chad a curtsey of rather distant +dignity. She had gone into exile with her "chile" and her "ole Mistis" +and had come home with them to stay, untempted by the doubtful sweets +of freedom. "Old Tom, her husband, had remained with Major Buford, was +with him on his deathbed," said Margaret, "and was on the place still, +too old, he said, to take root elsewhere." +</P> + +<P> +Toward the middle of the afternoon Dan rose and suggested that they +take a walk about the place. Margaret had gone in for a moment to +attend to some household duty, and as Richard Hunt was going away next +day he would stay, he said, with Mrs. Dean, who was tired and could not +join them. The three walked toward the dismantled barn where the +tournament had taken place and out into the woods. Looking back, Chad +saw Margaret and General Hunt going slowly toward the garden, and he +knew that some crisis was at hand between the two. He had hard work +listening to Dan and Harry as they planned for the future, and recalled +to each other and to him the incidents of their boyhood. Harry meant to +study law, he said, and practise in Lexington; Dan would stay at home +and run the farm. Neither brother mentioned that the old place was +heavily mortgaged, but Chad guessed the fact and it made him heartsick +to think of the struggle that was before them and of the privations yet +in store for Mrs. Dean and Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you, Chad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Stay here and study law," Harry smiled. "We'll go into partnership." +</P> + +<P> +Chad shook his head. "No," he said, decisively. "I've already made up +my mind. I'm going West." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry," said Harry, and no more; he had learned long ago how +useless it was to combat any purpose of Chadwick Buford. +</P> + +<P> +General Hunt and Margaret were still away when they got back to the +house. In fact, the sun was sinking when they came in from the woods, +still walking slowly, General Hunt talking earnestly and Margaret with +her hands clasped before her and her eyes on the path. The faces of +both looked pale, even that far away, but when they neared the porch, +the General was joking and Margaret was smiling, nor was anything +perceptible to Chad when he said good-by, except a certain tenderness +in his tone and manner toward Margaret, and one fleeting look of +distress in her clear eyes. He was on his horse now, and was lifting +his cap. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, Major," he said. "I'm glad you got through the war alive. +Perhaps I'll tell you some day why I didn't shoot you that morning." +And then he rode away, a gallant, knightly figure, across the pasture. +At the gate he waved his cap and at a gallop was gone. +</P> + +<P> +After supper, a heaven-born chance led Mrs. Dean to stroll out into the +lovely night. Margaret rose to go too, and Chad followed. The same +chance, perhaps, led old Mammy to come out on the porch and call Mrs. +Dean back. Chad and Margaret walked on toward the stiles where still +hung Margaret's weather-beaten Stars and Bars. The girl smiled and +touched the flag. +</P> + +<P> +"That was very nice of you to salute me that morning. I never felt so +bitter against Yankees after that day. I'll take it down now," and she +detached it and rolled it tenderly about the slender staff. +</P> + +<P> +"That was not my doing," said Chad, "though if I had been Grant, and +there with the whole Union army, I would have had it salute you. I was +under orders, but I went back for help. May I carry it for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Margaret, handing it to him. Chad had started toward the +garden, but Margaret turned him toward the stile and they walked now +down through the pasture toward the creek that ran like a wind-shaken +ribbon of silver under the moon. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you tell me something about Major Buford? I've been wanting to +ask, but I simply hadn't the heart. Can't we go over there tonight? I +want to see the old place, and I must leave to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow!" said Margaret. "Why—I—I was going to take you over there +to-morrow, for I—but, of course, you must go to-night if it is to be +your only chance." +</P> + +<P> +And so, as they walked along, Margaret told Chad of the old Major's +last days, after he was released from prison, and came home to die. She +went to see him every day, and she was at his bedside when he breathed +his last. He had mortgaged his farm to help the Confederate cause and +to pay indemnity for a guerilla raid, and Jerome Conners held his notes +for large amounts. +</P> + +<P> +"The lawyer told me that he believed some of the notes were forged, but +he couldn't prove it. He says it is doubtful if more than the house and +a few acres will be left." A light broke in on Chad's brain. +</P> + +<P> +"He told you?" +</P> + +<P> +Margaret blushed. "He left all he had to me," she said, simply. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm so glad," said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +"Except a horse which belongs to you. The old mare is dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear old Major!" +</P> + +<P> +At the stone fence Margaret reached for the flag. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll leave it here until we come back," she said, dropping it in a +shadow. Somehow the talk of Major Buford seemed to bring them nearer +together—so near that once Chad started to call her by her first name +and stopped when it had half passed his lips. Margaret smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"The war is over," she said, and Chad spoke eagerly: +</P> + +<P> +"And you'll call me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Chad." +</P> + +<P> +The very leaves over Chad's head danced suddenly, and yet the girl was +so simple and frank and kind that the springing hope in his breast was +as quickly chilled. +</P> + +<P> +"Did he ever speak of me except about business matters?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never at all at first," said Margaret, blushing again +incomprehensively, "but he forgave you before he died." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God for that!" +</P> + +<P> +"And you will see what he did for you—the last thing of his life." +</P> + +<P> +They were crossing the field now. +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen Melissa," said Margaret, suddenly. Chad was so startled +that he stopped in the path. +</P> + +<P> +"She came all the way from the mountains to ask if you were dead, and +to tell me about—about your mother. She had just learned it, she said, +and she did not know that you knew. And I never let her know that I +knew, since I supposed you had some reason for not wanting her to know." +</P> + +<P> +"I did," said Chad, sadly, but he did not tell his reason. Melissa +would never have learned the one thing from him as Margaret would not +learn the other now. +</P> + +<P> +"She came on foot to ask about you and to defend you against—against +me. And she went back afoot. She disappeared one morning before we got +up. She seemed very ill, too, and unhappy. She was coughing all the +time, and I wakened one night and heard her sobbing, but she was so +sullen and fierce that I was almost afraid of her. Next morning she was +gone. I would have taken her part of the way home myself. Poor thing!" +Chad was walking with his head bent. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going down to see her before I go West." +</P> + +<P> +"You are going West—to live?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +They had reached the yard gate now which creaked on rusty hinges when +Chad pulled it open. The yard was running wild with plantains, the +gravelled walk was overgrown, the house was closed, shuttered, and +dark, and the spirit of desolation overhung the place, but the ruin +looked gentle in the moonlight. Chad's throat hurt and his eyes filled. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to show you now the last thing he did," said Margaret. Her eyes +lighted with tenderness and she led him wondering down through the +tangled garden to the old family graveyard. +</P> + +<P> +"Climb over and look, Chad," she said, leaning over the wall. +</P> + +<P> +There was the grave of the Major's father which he knew so well; next +that, to the left, was a new mound under which rested the Major +himself. To the right was a stone marked "Chadwick Buford, born in +Virginia, 1750, died in Kentucky"—and then another stone marked simply: +</P> + +<P> +Mary Buford. +</P> + +<P> +"He had both brought from the mountains," said Margaret, softly, "and +the last time he was out of the house was when he leaned here to watch +them buried there. He said there would always be a place next your +mother for you. 'Tell the boy that,' he said." Chad put his arms around +the tombstone and then sank on one knee by his mother's grave. It was +strewn with withered violets. +</P> + +<P> +"You—YOU did that, Margaret?" +</P> + +<P> +Margaret nodded through her tears. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +The wonder of it! They stood very still, looking for a long time into +each other's eyes. Could the veil of the hereafter have been lifted for +them at that moment and they have seen themselves walking that same +garden path, hand in hand, their faces seamed with age to other eyes, +but changed in not a line to them, the vision would not have added a +jot to their perfect faith. They would have nodded to each other and +smiled—"Yes, we know, we know!" The night, the rushing earth, the +star-swept spaces of the infinite held no greater wonder than was +theirs—they held no wonder at all. The moon shone, that night, for +them; the wind whispered, leaves danced, flowers nodded, and crickets +chirped from the grass for them; the farthest star kept eternal lids +apart just for them and beyond, the Maker himself looked down, that +night, just to bless them. +</P> + +<P> +Back they went through the old garden, hand in hand. No caress had ever +passed between these two. That any man could ever dare even to dream of +touching her sacred lips had been beyond the boy's imaginings—such was +the reverence in his love for her—and his very soul shook when, at the +gate, Margaret's eyes dropped from his to the sabre cut on his cheek +and she suddenly lifted her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I know how you got that, Chad," she said, and with her lips she gently +touched the scar. Almost timidly the boy drew her to him. Again her +lips were lifted in sweet surrender, and every wound that he had known +in his life was healed. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +"I'll show you your horse, Chad." +</P> + +<P> +They did not waken old Tom, but went around to the stable and Chad led +out a handsome colt, his satiny coat shining in the moonlight like +silver. He lifted his proud head, when he saw Margaret, and whinnied. +</P> + +<P> +"He knows his mistress, Margaret—and he's yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, Chad." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Chad, "I've still got Dixie." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you still call her Dixie?" +</P> + +<P> +"All through the war." +</P> + +<P> +Homeward they went through the dewy fields. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could have seen the Major before he died. If he could only +have known how I suffered at causing him so much sorrow. And if you +could have known." +</P> + +<P> +"He did know and so did I—later. All that is over now." +</P> + +<P> +They had reached the stone wall and Chad picked up the flag again. +</P> + +<P> +"This is the only time I have ever carried this flag, unless I—unless +it had been captured." +</P> + +<P> +"You had captured it, Chad." +</P> + +<P> +"There?" Chad pointed to the stile and Margaret nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"There—here everywhere." +</P> + +<P> +Seated on the porch, Mrs. Dean and Harry and Dan saw them coming across +the field and Mrs. Dean sighed. +</P> + +<P> +"Father would not say a word against it, mother," said the elder boy, +"if he were here." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Dan, "not a word." +</P> + +<P> +"Listen, mother," said Harry, and he told the two about Chad's ride for +Dan from Frankfort to Lexington. "He asked me not to tell. He did not +wish Margaret to know. And listen again, mother. In a skirmish one day +we were fighting hand to hand. I saw one man with his pistol levelled +at me and another with his sabre lifted on Chad. He saw them both. My +pistol was empty, and do you know what he did? He shot the man who was +about to shoot me instead of his own assailant. That is how he got that +scar. I did tell Margaret that." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you must go down in the mountain first," Margaret was saying, +"and see if there is anything you can do for the people who were so +good to you—and to see Melissa. I am worried about her." +</P> + +<P> +"And then I must come back to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you must come back to see me once more if you can. And then some +day you will come again and buy back the Major's farm"—she stopped, +blushing. "I think that was his wish Chad, that you and I—but I would +never let him say it." +</P> + +<P> +"And if that should take too long?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will come to you, Chad," said Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +Old Mammy came out on the porch as they were climbing the stile. +</P> + +<P> +"Ole Miss," she said, indignantly, "my Tom say that he can't get nary a +triflin' nigger to come out hyeh to wuk, an' ef that cawnfiel' ain't +ploughed mighty soon, it's gwine to bu'n up." +</P> + +<P> +"How many horses are there on the place, Mammy?" asked Dan. +</P> + +<P> +"Hosses!" sniffed the old woman. "They ain't NARY a hoss—nothin' but +two ole broken-down mules." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll take one and start a plough myself," said Harry. +</P> + +<P> +"And I'll take the other," said Dan. +</P> + +<P> +Mammy groaned. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +And still the wonder of that night to Chad and Margaret! +</P> + +<P> +"It was General Hunt who taught me to understand—and forgive. Do you +know what he said? That every man, on both sides, was right—who did +his duty." +</P> + +<P> +"God bless him," said Chad. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap31"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 31. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WESTWARD WAY +</H3> + +<P> +Mother Turner was sitting in the porch with old Jack at her feet when +Chad and Dixie came to the gate—her bonnet off, her eyes turned toward +the West. The stillness of death lay over the place, and over the +strong old face some preternatural sorrow. She did not rise when she +saw Chad, she did not speak when he spoke. She turned merely and looked +at him with a look of helpless suffering. She knew the question that +was on his lips, for she dumbly motioned toward the door and then put +her trembling hands on the railing of the porch and bent her face down +on them. With sickening fear, Chad stepped on the threshold—cap in +hand—and old Jack followed, whimpering. As his eyes grew accustomed to +the dark interior, he could see a sheeted form on a bed in the corner +and, on the pillow, a white face. +</P> + +<P> +"Melissa!" he called, brokenly. A groan from the porch answered him, +and, as Chad dropped to his knees, the old woman sobbed aloud. +</P> + +<P> +In low tones, as though in fear they might disturb the dead girl's +sleep, the two talked on the porch. Brokenly, the old woman told Chad +how the girl had sickened and suffered with never a word of complaint. +How, all through the war, she had fought his battles so fiercely that +no one dared attack him in her hearing. How, sick as she was, she had +gone, that night, to save his life. How she had nearly died from the +result of cold and exposure and was never the same afterward. How she +worked in the house and in the garden to keep their bodies and souls +together, after the old hunter was shot down and her boys were gone to +the war. How she had learned the story of Chad's mother from old Nathan +Cherry's daughter and how, when the old woman forbade her going to the +Bluegrass, she had slipped away and gone afoot to clear his name. And +then the old woman led Chad to where once had grown the rose-bush he +had brought Melissa from the Bluegrass, and pointed silently to a box +that seemed to have been pressed a few inches into the soft earth, and +when Chad lifted it, he saw under it the imprint of a human foot—his +own, made that morning when he held out a rose-leaf to her and she had +struck it from his hand and turned him, as an enemy, from her door. +</P> + +<P> +Chad silently went inside and threw open the window to let the last +sunlight in: and he sat there, with his face as changeless as the still +face on the pillow, sat there until the sun went down and the darkness +came in and closed softly about her. She had died, the old woman said, +with his name on her lips. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Dolph and Rube had come back and they would take good care of the old +mother until the end of her days. But, Jack—what should be done with +Jack? The old dog could follow him no longer. He could live hardly more +than another year, and the old mother wanted him—to remind her, she +said, of Chad and of Melissa, who had loved him. He patted his faithful +old friend tenderly and, when he mounted Dixie, late the next +afternoon, Jack started to follow him. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Jack," said Chad, and he rode on, with his eyes blurred. On the +top of the steep mountain he dismounted, to let his horse rest a +moment, and sat on a log, looking toward the sun. He could not go back +to Margaret and happiness—not now. It seemed hardly fair to the dead +girl down in the valley. He would send Margaret word, and she would +understand. +</P> + +<P> +Once again he was starting his life over afresh, with his old capital, +a strong body and a stout heart. In his breast still burned the spirit +that had led his race to the land, had wrenched it from savage and from +king, had made it the high temple of Liberty for the worship of +freemen—the Kingdom Come for the oppressed of the earth—and, himself +the unconscious Shepherd of that Spirit, he was going to help carry its +ideals across a continent Westward to another sea and on—who knows—to +the gates of the rising sun. An eagle swept over his head, as he rose, +and the soft patter of feet sounded behind him. It was Jack trotting +after him. He stooped and took the old dog in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Go back home, Jack!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +Without a whimper, old Jack slowly wheeled, but he stopped and turned +again and sat on his haunches—looking back. +</P> + +<P> +"Go home, Jack!" Again the old dog trotted down the path and once more +he turned. +</P> + +<P> +"Home, Jack!" said Chad. +</P> + +<P> +The eagle was a dim, black speck in the band of yellow that lay over +the rim of the sinking sun, and after its flight, horse and rider took +the westward way. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come, by John Fox + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE SHEPHERD, KINGDOM COME *** + +***** This file should be named 2059-h.htm or 2059-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/5/2059/ + +Produced by Mary Starr and Martin Robb. 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