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diff --git a/old/23549-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/23549-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c95ebab --- /dev/null +++ b/old/23549-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,1207 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Wolf's Head, by Charles Egbert Craddock + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wolf's Head, by +Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +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: Wolf's Head + 1911 + +Author: Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +Release Date: November 19, 2007 [EBook #23549] +Last Updated: December 19, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOLF'S HEAD *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + WOLF’S HEAD + </h1> + <h2> + By Charles Egbert Craddock <br /> <br /> 1911 + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + It might well be called the country of the outlaw, this vast tract of + dense mountain forests and craggy ravines, this congeries of swirling + torrents and cataracts and rapids. Here wild beasts lurked out their + savage lives, subsisting by fang and prey,—the panther, the bear, + the catamount, the wolf,—and like unto them, ferocious and fugitive, + both fearsome and afraid, the man with a “wolf’s head,” on which was set a + price, even as the State’s bounty for the scalps of the ravening brutes. + </p> + <p> + One gloomy October afternoon, the zest of a group of sportsmen, who had + pitched their camp in this sequestered wilderness, suffered an abatement + on the discovery of the repute of the region and the possibility of being + summoned to serve on a sheriff’s posse in the discharge of the grimmest of + duties. + </p> + <p> + “But he is no outlaw in the proper sense of the term. The phrase has + survived, but the fact is obsolete,” said Seymour, who was both a prig and + a purist, a man of leisure, and bookish, but a good shot, and vain of his + sylvan accomplishments. “Our law places no man beyond the pale of its + protection. He has a constitutional right to plead his case in court.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the reward offered to hale him forth and force him to enjoy that + privilege—five hundred dollars?” asked Bygrave, who was a newspaper + man and had a habit of easy satire. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he would never suffer himself to be taken alive.” Purcell’s + vocation was that of a broker, and he was given to the discrimination of + chances and relative values. “Therefore he is as definitely <i>caput + lupinum</i> as any outlaw of old. Nobody would be held accountable for + cracking his ‘wolf’s head’ off, in the effort to arrest him for the sake + of the five hundred dollars. But, meantime, how does the fellow contrive + to live!” + </p> + <p> + “Jes by his rifle, I reckon,” replied the rural gossip whom intrusive + curiosity occasionally lured to their camp-fire. “Though sence that thar + big reward hev been n’ised abroad, I’d think he’d be plumb afraid ter fire + a shot. The echoes be mighty peart these dumb, damp fall days.” + </p> + <p> + The old jeans-clad mountaineer had a certain keen spryness of aspect, + despite his bent knees and stooped shoulders. His deeply grooved, narrow, + thin face was yet more elongated by the extension of a high forehead into + a bald crown, for he wore his broad wool hat on the back of his head. + There was something in his countenance not dissimilar to the facial + contour of a grasshopper, and the suggestion was heightened by his + persistent, rasping chirp. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what frets Meddy; she can’t abide the idee of huntin’ a human with + sech special coursers ez money reward. She ‘lows it mought tempt a’ evil + man or a’ ignorant one ter swear a miser’ble wretch’s life away. Let the + law strengthen its own hands—that’s what Meddy say. Don’t kindle the + sperit of Cain in every brother’s breast. Oh, Meddy is plumb comical + whenst she fairly gits ter goin’, though it’s all on account of that thar + man what war growed up in a tree.” + </p> + <p> + The dryadic suggestions of a dendroidal captivity flashed into Seymour’s + mind with the phrase, and stimulated his curiosity as to some quaint rural + perversion of the legend. + </p> + <p> + But it was grim fact that the old mountaineer detailed in answer to the + question, as he sat on a log by the fire, while the sportsmen lay on the + ground about it and idly listened. + </p> + <p> + “One day—‘t war ‘bout two year’ ago—thar war a valley-man up + hyar a-huntin’ in the mountings with some other fellers, an’ toward sunset + he war a-waitin’ at a stand on a deer-path up thar nigh Headlong Creek, + hopin’ ter git a shot whenst the deer went down to drink. Waal, I reckon + luck war ag’in’ him, fer he got nuthin’ but durned tired. So, ez he + waited, he grounded his rifle, an’ leaned himself ag’in’ a great big tree + ter rest his bones. And presently he jes happened ter turn his head, an’, + folks! he seen a sight! Fer thar, right close ter his cheek, he looked + into a skellington’s eye-sockets. Thar war a skellington’s grisly face + peerin’ at him through a crack in the bark.” + </p> + <p> + The raconteur suddenly stopped short, while the group remained silent in + expectancy. The camp-fire, with its elastic, leaping flames, had bepainted + the darkening avenues of the russet woods with long, fibrous strokes of + red and yellow, as with a brush scant of color. The autumnal air was dank, + with subtle shivers. A precipice was not far distant on the western side, + and there the darksome forest fell away, showing above the massive, purple + mountains a section of sky in a heightened clarity of tint, a suave, + saffron hue, with one horizontal bar of vivid vermilion that lured the + eye. The old mountaineer gazed retrospectively at it as he resumed: + </p> + <p> + “Waal, sirs, that town-man had never consorted with sech ez skellingtons. + He lit out straight! He made tracks! He never stopped till he reached + Colbury, an’ thar he told his tale. Then the sheriff he tuk a hand in the + game. Skellingtons, he said, didn’t grow on trees spontaneous, an’ he hed + an official interes’ in human relics out o’ place. So he kem,—the + tree is ‘twixt hyar an’ my house thar on the rise,—an’, folks! the + tale war plain. Some man chased off ‘n the face of the yearth, hid out + from the law,—that’s the way Meddy takes it,—he hed clomb the + tree, an’ it bein’ holler, he drapped down inside it, thinkin’ o’ course + he could git out the way he went in. But, no! It monght hev been deeper ‘n + he calculated, or mo’ narrow, but he couldn’t make the rise. He died still + strugglin’, fer his long, bony fingers war gripped in the wood—it’s + rotted a deal sence then.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was the man?” asked Seymour. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody knows,—nobody keers ‘cept’ Meddy. She hev wep’ a bushel o’ + tears about him. The cor’ner ‘lowed from the old-fashioned flint-lock + rifle he hed with him that it mus’ hev happened nigh a hunderd years ago. + Meddy she will git ter studyin’ on that of a winter night, an’ how the + woman that keered fer him mus’ hev watched an’ waited fer him, an’ ‘lowed + he war deceitful an’ de-sertin’, an’ mebbe held a gredge agin him, whilst + he war dyin’ so pitiful an’ helpless, walled up in that tree. Then Meddy + will tune up agin, an’ mighty nigh cry her eyes out. He warn’t even graced + with a death-bed ter breathe his last; Meddy air partic’lar afflicted that + he hed ter die afoot.” Old Kettison glanced about the circle, consciously + facetious, his heavily grooved face distended in a mocking grin. + </p> + <p> + “A horrible fate!” exclaimed Seymour, with a half-shudder. + </p> + <p> + “Edzac’ly,” the old mountaineer assented easily. + </p> + <p> + “What’s her name—Meggy?” asked the journalist, with a mechanical + aptitude for detail, no definite curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Naw; Meddy—short fer Meddlesome. Her right name is Clementina + Haddox; but I reckon every livin’ soul hev forgot’ it but me. She is jes + Meddlesome by name, an’ meddlesome by natur’.” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly turned, gazing up the steep, wooded slope with an expectant + mien, for the gentle rustling amidst the dense, red leaves of the + sumac-bushes heralded an approach. + </p> + <p> + “That mus’ be Meddy now,” he commented, “with her salt-risin’ bread. She + lowed she war goin’ ter fetch you-uns some whenst I tol’ her you-uns war + lackin’.” + </p> + <p> + For the camp-hunt had already been signalized by divers disasters: the + store of loaves in the wagon had been soaked by an inopportune shower; the + young mountaineer who had combined the offices of guide and cook was the + victim of an accidental discharge of a fowling-piece, receiving a load of + bird-shot full in his face. Though his injury was slight, he had returned + home, promising to supply his place by sending his brother, who had not + yet arrived. Purcell’s boast that he could bake ash-cake proved a bluff, + and although the party could and did broil bacon and even birds on the + coals, they were reduced to the extremity of need for the staff of life. + </p> + <p> + Hence they were predisposed in the ministrant’s favor as she appeared, and + were surprised to find that Meddlesome, instead of masterful and + middle-aged, was a girl of eighteen, looking very shy and appealing as she + paused on the verge of the flaring sumac copse, one hand lifted to a + swaying bough, the other arm sustaining a basket. Even her coarse gown + lent itself to pleasing effect, since its dull-brown hue composed well + with the red and russet glow of the leaves about her, and its short waist, + close sleeves, and scant skirt, reaching to the instep, the immemorial + fashion of the hills, were less of a grotesque rusticity since there was + prevalent elsewhere a vogue of quasi-Empire modes, of which the cut of her + garb was reminiscent. A saffron kerchief about her throat had in its folds + a necklace of over-cup acorns in three strands, and her hair, meekly + parted on her forehead, was of a lustrous brown, and fell in heavy + undulations on her shoulders. There was a delicate but distinct tracery of + bine veins in her milky-white complexion, and she might have seemed + eminently calculated for meddling disastrously with the peace of mind of + the mountain youth were it not for the preoccupied expression of her eyes. + Though large, brown and long-lashed, they were full of care and + perplexity, and a frowning, disconcerted line between her eye-brows was so + marked as almost to throw her face out of drawing. Troubled about many + things, evidently, was Meddlesome. She could not even delegate the opening + of a basket that her little brother had brought and placed beside the + camp-fire. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, Gran’dad,” she exclaimed suddenly, stepping alertly forward—“<i>don’t</i> + put that loaf in that thar bread-box; the box ‘pears ter be damp. Leave + the loaf in the big basket till ter-morrer. It’ll eat shorter then, bein’ + fraish-baked. They kin hev these biscuits fer supper,”—dropping on + one knee and setting forth on the cloth, from the basket on her arm, some + thick soggy-looking lumps of dough,—“I baked some dodgers, too—four, + six, eight, ten,”—she was counting a dozen golden-brown cates of + delectable aspect—“knowin’ they would hone fer cornmeal arter + huntin’, an’ nuthin’ else nohow air fitten ter eat with feesh or aigs. Hev + you-uns got any aigs!” She sprang up, and, standing on agile tiptoe, + peered without ceremony into their wagon. Instantly she recoiled with a + cry of horrified reproach. “Thar ‘s ants in yer short-sweetenin’! How <i>could</i> + you-uns let sechez that happen!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, surely not,” exclaimed Purcell, hastening to her side. But the fact + could not be gainsaid; the neglected sugar was spoiled. + </p> + <p> + Meddlesome’s unwarranted intrusion into the arcana of their domestic + concerns disclosed other shortcomings. “Why n’t ye keep the top on yer + coffee-can? Don’t ye know the coffee will lose heart, settin’ open?” She + repaired this oversight with a deft touch, and then proceeded: “We-uns + ain’t got no short-sweetenin’ at our house, but I’ll send my leetle + brother ter fetch some long-sweetenin’ fer yer coffee ter night. Hyar, + Sol,”—addressing the small, limber, tow-headed, barefooted boy, a + ludicrous miniature of a man in long, loose, brown-jeans trousers + supported by a single suspender over an unbleached cotton shirt,—“run + ter the house an’ fetch the sorghum-jug.” + </p> + <p> + As Sol started off with the alertness of a scurrying rabbit, she shrilly + called out in a frenzy of warning: “Go the other way, Sol—up through + the pawpaws! Them cherty rocks will cut yer feet like a knife.” + </p> + <p> + Sol had nerves of his own. Her sharp cry had caused him to spring + precipitately backward, frightened, but uncomprehending his danger. Being + unhurt, he was resentful’ “They ain’t none o’ <i>yer</i> feet, nohow,” he + grumbled, making a fresh start at less speed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Sol,” said the old grandfather, enjoying the contretemps and the + sentiment of revolt against Meddlesome’s iron rule. “Everything belongs + ter Meddlesome one way or another, ‘ca’se she jes makes it hern. So take + keer of <i>yer</i> feet for <i>her</i> sake.” He turned toward her + jocosely as the small emissary disappeared among the undergrowth. “I jes + been tellin’ these hunter-men, Meddy, ‘bout how ye sets yerself even ter + meddle with other folkses’ mourning—what they got through with a + hunderd year’ ago—tormentatin’ ‘bout that thar man what war starved + in the tree.” + </p> + <p> + She heard him, doubtless, for a rising flush betokened her deprecation of + this ridicule in the presence of these strangers. But it was rather that + she remembered his words afterward than heeded them now. It would seem + that certain incidents, insignificant in themselves, are the pivots on + which turns the scheme of fate. She could not imagine that upon her action + in the next few seconds depended grave potentialities in more lives than + one. On the contrary, her deliberations were of a trivial subject, even + ludicrous in any other estimation than her own. + </p> + <p> + Sol was small, she argued within herself, the jug was large and sticky. He + might be tempted to lighten it, for Sol had saccharine predilections, and + the helpless Jug was at his mercy. Sol had scant judgment and one suit of + clothes available; the other, sopping wet from the wash, now swayed in the + process of drying on an elder-bush in the dooryard. Should his integrity + succumb, and the jug tilt too far, the stream of sorghum might inundate + his raiment, and the catastrophe would place him beyond the pale of polite + society. The seclusion of bed would be the only place for Sol till such + time as the elder-bush should bear the fruit of dry clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Sol!” she exclaimed, her prophetic sympathy bridging the chasm + between possibility and accomplished fact. “I’ll fetch the jug myself. + I’ll take the short cut an’ head him.” + </p> + <p> + Thus she set her feet in the path of her future. It led her into dense, + tangled woods, clambering over outcropping ledges and boulders. By the + flare of the west she guided her progress straight to the east till she + reached the banks of Headlong Creek on its tumultuous course down the + mountainside. In her hasty enterprise she had not counted on crossing it, + but Meddlesome rarely turned back. She was strong and active, and after a + moment’s hesitation, she was springing from one to another of the great, + half-submerged boulders amidst the whirl of the transparent crystal-brown + water, with its fleck and fringe of white foam. More than once, to evade + the dizzying effect of the sinuous motion and the continuous roar, she + stood still in midstream and gazed upward or at the opposite bank. The + woods were dense on the slope. All in red and yellow and variant russet + and brown tints, the canopy of the forest foliage was impenetrable. The + great, dark boles of oak and gum and spruce contrasted sharply with the + white and greenish-gray trunks of beeches and sycamore and poplar, and, + thus breaking the monotony, gave long, almost illimitable avenues of + sylvan vistas. She noted amidst a growth of willows on the opposite bank, + at the waters-edge, a spring, a circular, rock-bound reservoir; in the + marshy margin she could see the imprints of the cleft hoofs of deer, and + thence ran the indefinite trail known as a deer-path. The dense covert + along the steep slope was a famous “deer-stand,” and there many a fine + buck had been killed. All at once she was reminded of the storied tree + hard by, the tragedy of which she had often bewept. + </p> + <p> + There it stood, dead itself, weird, phantasmal, as befitted the housing of + so drear a fate. Its branches now bore no leaves. The lightnings of a + last-year’s storm had scorched out its vital force and riven the fibre of + the wood. Here and there, too, the tooth of decay had gnawed fissures that + the bark had not earlier known; and from one of these—she thought + herself in a dream—a ghastly, white face looked out suddenly, and as + suddenly vanished! + </p> + <p> + Her heart gave one wild plunge, then it seemed to cease to beat She + wondered afterward that she did not collapse, and sink into the plunging + rapids to drown, beaten and bruised against the rocks. It was a muscular + instinct that sustained her rather than a conscious impulse of + self-preservation. Motionless, horrified, amazed, she could only gaze at + the empty fissure of the tree on the slope. She could not then + discriminate the wild, spectral imaginations that assailed her untutored + mind. She could not remember these fantasies later. It was a relief so + great that the anguish of the physical reaction was scarcely less poignant + than the original shock when she realized that this face was not the + grisly skeleton lineaments that had looked out thence heretofore, but was + clothed with flesh, though gaunt, pallid, furtive. Once more, as she + gazed, it appeared in a mere glimpse at the fissure, and in that instant a + glance was interchanged. The next moment a hand appeared,—beckoning + her to approach. + </p> + <p> + It was a gruesome mandate. She had scant choice. She did not doubt that + this was the fugitive, the “wolf’s head,” and should she turn to flee, he + could stop her progress with a pistol-ball, for doubtless he would fancy + her alert to disclose the discovery and share in the reward. Perhaps + feminine curiosity aided fear; perhaps only her proclivity to find an + employ in the management of others influenced her decision; though + trembling in every fibre, she crossed the interval of water, and made her + way up the slope. But when she reached the fateful tree it was she who + spoke first. He cast so ravenous a glance at the basket on her arm that + all his story of want and woe was revealed. Starvation had induced his + disclosure of his identity. + </p> + <p> + “It’s empty,” she said, inverting the basket. She watched him flinch, and + asked wonderingly, “Is game skeerce?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes were at once forlorn and fierce. “Oh, yes, powerful skeerce,” he + replied with a bitter laugh. + </p> + <p> + There was an enigma in the rejoinder; she did not stay to read the riddle, + but went on to possess the situation, according to her wont. “Ye hev tuk a + powerful pore place ter hide,” she admonished him. “This tree is a plumb + cur’osity. Gran’dad Kettison war tellin’ some camp-hunters ‘bout’n it jes + this evenin’. Like ez not they’ll kem ter view it.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes dilated with a sudden accession of terror that seemed always + a-smoulder. “Lawd, Lawd, Lawd!” he moaned wretchedly. + </p> + <p> + Meddlesome was true to her name and tradition. “Ye oughter hev remembered + the Lawd ‘fore ye done it,” she said, with a repellent impulse; then she + would have given much to recall the reproach. The man was desperate; his + safety lay in her silence. A pistol-shot would secure it, and anger would + limber the trigger. + </p> + <p> + But he did not seem indignant. His eyes, intelligent and feverishly + bright, gazed down at her only in obvious dismay and surprise. “Done + what?” he asked, and as, prudence prevailing for once, she did not reply, + he spoke for her. “The murder, ye mean? Why, gal, I warn’t even thar. I + knowed nuthin’ ‘bout it till later. Ez God is my helper and my hope, I + warn’t even thar.” + </p> + <p> + She stood astounded. “Then why n’t ye leave it ter men?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t <i>prove</i> it ag’in’ the murderers’ oaths. I had been consarned + in the moonshinin’ that ended in murder, but <i>I</i> hed not been nigh + the still fer a month,—I war out a-huntin’—when the revenuers + made the raid. There war a scrimmage ‘twixt the raiders an’ the + distillers, an’ an outsider that hed nuthin’ ter do with the Federal law—he + war the constable o’ the deestrick, an’ jes rid with the gang ter see the + fun or ter show them the way—he war killed. An’ account o’ <i>him</i>, + the State law kem into the game. Them other moonshiners war captured, an’ + they swore ag’in’ me ‘bout the shootin’ ter save tharselves, but I hearn + thar false oaths hev done them no good, they being held as accessory. An’ + I be so ez I can’t prove an alibi—I can’t <i>prove</i> it, though + it’s God’s truth. But before high heaven”—he lifted his gaunt right + hand—“I am innercent, I am inner-cent.” + </p> + <p> + She could not have said why,—perhaps she realized afterward,—but + she believed him absolutely, implicitly. A fervor of sympathy for his + plight, of commiseration, surged up in her heart. “I wisht it war so I + could gin ye some pervisions,” she sighed, “though ye do ‘pear toler’ble + triflin’ ter lack game.” + </p> + <p> + Then the dread secret was told. “Gal,”—he used the word as a polite + form of address, the equivalent of the more sophisticated “lady,”—“ef + ye will believe me, all my ammunition is spent. Not a ca’tridge lef’, not + a dust of powder.” + </p> + <p> + Meddy caught both her hands to her lips to intercept and smother a cry of + dismay. + </p> + <p> + “I snared a rabbit two days ago in a dead-fall. My knife-blade is bruk, + but I reckon thar is enough lef’ ter split my jugular whenst the eend is + kem at last.” + </p> + <p> + The girl suddenly caught her faculties together. “What sorter fool talk is + that!” she demanded sternly.’ “Ye do my bid, ef ye knows what’s good fer + ye. Git out’n this trap of a tree an’ hide ‘mongst the crevices of the + rocks till seben o ‘clock ternight. Then kem up ter Gran’dad Kettison’s + whenst it is cleverly dark an’ tap on the glass winder—not on the + batten shutter. An’ I’ll hev cartridges an’ powder an’ ball for ye’ an’ + some victuals ready, too.” + </p> + <p> + But the fugitive, despite his straits, demurred. “I don’t want ter git old + man Kettison into trouble for lendin’ ter me.” + </p> + <p> + “‘T ain’t his’n. ‘T is my dad’s old buckshot ca’tridges an’ powder an’ + ball. They belong ter me. The other childern is my half-brothers, bein’ my + mother war married twice. Ye kin <i>steal</i> this gear from me, ef that + will make ye feel easier.” + </p> + <p> + “But what will yer gran’dad say ter me?” “He won’t know who ye be; he will + jes ‘low ye air one o’ the boys who air always foolin’ away thar time + visitin’ me an’ makin’ tallow-dips skeerce.” The sudden gleam of mirth on + her face was like an illuminating burst of sunshine, and somehow it cast + an irradiation into the heart of the fugitive, for, after she was gone out + of sight, he pondered upon it. + </p> + <p> + But the early dusk fell from a lowering sky, and the night came on + beclouded and dark. Some turbulent spirit was loosed in the air, and the + wind was wild. Great, surging masses of purple vapor came in a mad rout + from the dank west and gathered above the massive and looming mountains. + The woods bent and tossed and clashed their boughs in the riot, of gusts, + the sere leaves were flying in clouds, and presently rain began to fall. + The steady downpour increased in volume to torrents; then the broad, + pervasive flashes of lightning showed, in lieu of myriad lines, an + unbroken veil of steely gray swinging from the zenith, the white foam + rebounding as the masses of water struck the earth. The camp equipage, + tents and wagons succumbed beneath the fury of the tempest, and, indeed, + the hunters had much ado to saddle their horses and grope their way along + the bridle-path that led to old Kettison’s house. + </p> + <p> + The rude comfort of the interior had a heightened emphasis by reason of + the elemental turmoils without. True, the rain beat in a deafening + fusillade upon the roof, and the ostentation of the one glass window, a + source of special pride to its owner, was at a temporary disadvantage in + admitting the fierce and ghastly electric glare, so recurrent as to seem + unintermittent. But the more genial illumination of hickory flames, red + and yellow, was streaming from the great chimney-place, and before the + broad hearth the guests were ensconced, their outstretched boots steaming + in the heat. Strings of scarlet peppers, bunches of dried herbs, gourds of + varied quaint shapes, hung swaying from the rafters. The old man’s gay, + senile chirp of welcome was echoed by his wife, a type of comely rustic + age, who made much of the fact that, though housebound from “rheumatics,” + she had reared her dead daughter’s “two orphin famblies,” the said + daughter having married twice, neither man “bein’ of a lastin’ quality,” + as she seriously phrased it. Meddy, “the eldest fambly,” had been guide, + philosopher, and friend to the swarm of youngsters, and even now, in the + interests of peace and space and hearing, was seeking to herd them into an + adjoining room, when a sudden stentorian hail from without rang through + the splashing of the rain from the eaves, the crash of thunder among the + “balds” of the mountains, with its lofty echoes, and the sonorous surging + of the wind. + </p> + <p> + “Light a tallow-dip, Meddy,” cried old Kettison, excitedly. “An’ fetch the + candle on the porch so ez we-uns kin view who rides so late in sech a + night ‘fore we bid ‘em ter light an’ hitch.” + </p> + <p> + But these were travelers not to be gainsaid—the sheriff of the + county and four stout fellows from the town of Colbury, summoned to his + aid as a posse, all trooping in as if they owned the little premises. + However, the officer permitted himself to unbend a trifle under the + influence of a hospitable tender of home-made cherry-bounce, “strong + enough to walk from here to Colbury,” according to the sheriff’s + appreciative phrase. He was a portly man, with a rolling, explanatory cant + of his burly head and figure toward his interlocutor as he talked. His + hair stood up in two tufts above his forehead, one on each side, and he + had large, round, grayish eyes and a solemn, pondering expression. To + Meddy, staring horror-stricken, he seemed as owlishly wise as he looked + while he explained the object of his expedition. + </p> + <p> + “This district have got a poor reputation with the law, Mr. Kettison. Here + is this fellow, Boyston McGurny, been about here two years, and a reward + for five hundred dollars out for his arrest.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s Boy’s fault, Sher’ff, not our’n,” leered the glib old man. He, + too, had had a sip of the stalwart cherry-bounce. “Boy’s in no wise + sociable.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s plumb flying in the face of the law,” declared the officer. “If I + had a guide, I’d not wait a minute, or if I could recognize the man whenst + I viewed him. The constable promised to send a fellow to meet me here,—what’s + his name!—yes, Smith, Barton Smith,—who will guide us to where + he was last glimpsed. I hope to take him alive.” he added with an + inflection of doubt. + </p> + <p> + Certainly this was a dreary camp-hunt, with all its distasteful sequelae. + Purcell, who had no more imagination than a promissory note, silently + sulked under the officer’s intimation that, being able-bodied men, he + would expect the hunters also to ride with him. They were not of his + county, and doubted their obligation, but they would not refuse to aid the + law. Bygrave, however, realized a “story” in the air, and Seymour was + interested in the impending developments; for being a close observer, he + had perceived that the girl was in the clutch of some tumultuous though + covert agitation. Her blood blazed at fever-heat in her cheeks; her eyes + were on fire; every muscle was tense; and her brain whirled. To her the + crisis was tremendous. This was the result of her unwarranted + interference. Who was she, indeed, that she should seek to command the + march of events and deploy sequences? Her foolish maneuvering had lured + this innocent man to ruin, capture, anguish, and death. No warning could + he have; the window was opaque with the corrugations of the rainfall on + the streaming panes, and set too high to afford him a glimpse from + without. And, oh, how he would despise the traitor that she must needs + seem to be! She had not a moment for reflection, for counsel, for action. + Already the signal,—he was prompt at the tryst,—the sharp, + crystalline vibration of the tap on the glass! + </p> + <p> + The sheriff rose instantly with that cumbrous agility sometimes + characterizing portly men. “There he is now!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + But Meddy, with a little hysterical cry, had sprung first to the opening + door. “Barton Smith!” she exclaimed, with shrill significance. “Hyar is + yer guide, Sher’ff, wet ez a drownded rat.” + </p> + <p> + The pale face in the dark aperture of the doorway, as the fire-light + flashed on it, grew ghastly white with terror and lean with amazement. For + a moment the man seemed petrified. Seymour, vaguely fumbling with his + suspicions, began to disintegrate the plot of the play, and to + discriminate the powers of the dramatis personæ. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my man, step lively,” said the officer in his big, husky voice. “Do + you know this Royston McGurny?” + </p> + <p> + To be sure, Seymour had no cause for suspicion but his own intuition and + the intangible evidence of tone and look all as obvious to the others as + to him. But he was at once doubtful and relieved when the haggard wretch + at the door, mustering his courage, replied: “Know Royston McGurny! None + better. Knowed him all my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Got pretty good horse?” + </p> + <p> + “Got none at all; expect ter borry Mr. Kettison’s.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go show ye whar the saddle be,” exclaimed Meddy, with her wonted + officious-ness, and glibly picking up the bits of her shattered scheme. + Seymour fully expected they would not return from the gloom without, + whither they had disappeared, but embrace the immediate chance of escape + before the inopportune arrival of the real Barton Smith should balk the + possibility. But, no,—and he doubted anew all his suspicions,—in + a trice here they both were again, a new courage, a new hope in that + pallid, furtive face, and another horse stood saddled among the equine + group at the door. Meddlesome was pinning up the brown skirt of her gown, + showing a red petticoat that had harmonies with a coarse, red plaid shawl + adjusted over her head and shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Gran’dad,” she observed, never looking up, and speaking with her mouth + full of pins, “Barton Smith say he kin set me down at Aunt Drusina’s + house. Ye know she be ailin’, an’ sent for me this evenin’; but I hed no + way ter go.” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff looked sour enough at this intrusion; but he doubtless + imagined that this relative was no distant neighbor, and as he had need of + hearty aid and popular support, he offered no protest. + </p> + <p> + There was a clearing sky without, and the wind was laid. The frenzy of the + storm was over, although rain was still falling. The little cavalcade got + to horse deliberately enough amid the transparent dun shadows and dim + yellow flare of light from open door and window. One of the mounts had + burst a girth, and a strap must be procured from the plow-gear in the + shed. Another, a steed of some spirit, reared and plunged at the lights, + and could not be induced to cross the illuminated bar thrown athwart the + yard from the open door. The official impatience of the delay was + expressed in irritable comments and muttered oaths; but throughout the + interval the guide, with his pallid, strained face, sat motionless in his + saddle, his rifle across its pommel, an apt presentment of indifference, + while, perched behind him, Meddy was continually busy in readjusting her + skirts or shawl or a small bundle that presumably contained her rustic + finery, but which, to a close approach, would have disclosed the + sulphurous odor of gunpowder. When the cluster of horsemen was fairly on + the march, however, she sat quite still, and more than once Seymour noted + that, with her face close to the shoulder of the guide, she was whispering + in his ear. What was their garnet he marvelled, having once projected the + idea that this late comer was, himself, the “wolf’s head” whom they were + to chase down for a rich reward, incongruously hunting amidst his own hue + and cry. Or, Seymour again doubted, had he merely constructed a figment of + a scheme from his own imaginings and these attenuations of suggestion? For + there seemed, after all, scant communication between the two, and this was + even less when the moon was unveiled, the shifting shimmer of the clouds + falling away from the great sphere of pearl, gemming the night with an + incomparable splendor. It had grown almost as light as day, and the + sheriff ordered the pace quickened. Along a definite cattle-trail they + went at first, but presently they were following through bosky recesses a + deer-path, winding sinuously at will on the way to water. The thinning + foliage let in the fair, ethereal light, and all the sylvan aisles stood + in sheeny silver illumination. The drops of moisture glittered jewel-wise + on the dark boughs of fir and pine, and one could even discriminate the + red glow of sour-wood and the golden flare of hickory, so well were the + chromatic harmonies asserted in this refined and refulgent glamour. + </p> + <p> + “Barton Smith!” called the sheriff, suddenly from the rear of the party. + There was no answer, and Seymour felt his prophetic blood run cold. His + conscience began to stir. Had he, indeed, no foundation for his suspicion? + </p> + <p> + “Smith! <i>Smith</i>” cried the irascible officer. “Hey, there! Is the man + deaf!” + </p> + <p> + “Not deef, edzac’ly,” Meddlesome’s voice sounded reproachfully; “jes a + leetle hard o’ hear in’.” She had administered a warning nudge. + </p> + <p> + “Hey? What ye want?” said the “Wolf’s Head,” suddenly checking his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea of where you are going, or how far?” demanded the + officer, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Just acrost the gorge,” the guide answered easily. + </p> + <p> + “I heard he had been glimpsed in a hollow tree. That word was telephoned + from the cross-roads to town. It was the tree the skeleton was in.” + </p> + <p> + “That tree? It’s away back yander,” observed one of the posse, reluctant + and disaffected. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he has quit that tree; he is bound for up the gorge now,” said the + guide. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose you know, from what I was told,” said the sheriff, + discontentedly; “but this is a long ja’nt. Ride up! Ride up!” + </p> + <p> + Onward they fared through the perfumed woods. The wild asters were + blooming, and sweet and subtile distillations of the autumnal growths were + diffused on the air. The deer are but ill at road-making,—such + tangled coverts, such clifty ledges, such wild leaps; for now the path + threaded the jagged verge of precipices. The valley, a black abyss above + which massive, purplish mountains loomed against a sky of pearly tints, + was visibly narrowing. They all knew that presently it would become a mere + gorge, a vast indentation in the mountain-side. The weird vistas across + the gorge were visible how, craggy steeps, and deep woods filled with + moonlight, with that peculiar untranslated intendment which differentiates + its luminosity in the wilderness from the lunar glamour ‘of cultivated + Scenes—something weird, melancholy, eloquent of a meaning addressed + to the soul, but which the senses cannot entertain or words express. + </p> + <p> + With a sudden halt, the guide dismounted. The girl still sat on the + saddle-blanket, and the horse bowed his head and pawed. The posse were + gazing dubiously, reluctantly, at a foot-bridge across a deep abyss. It + was only a log, the upper side hewn, with a shaking hand-rail held by + slight standards. + </p> + <p> + “Have we got to cross this?” asked the officer, still in the saddle and + gazing downward. + </p> + <p> + “Ef ye foller me,” said the guide, indifferently. + </p> + <p> + But he was ahead of his orders. He visibly braced his nerves for the + effort, and holding his rifle as a balancing-pole, he sped along the light + span with a tread as deft as a fox or a wolf. In a moment he had gained + the farther side. + </p> + <p> + They scarcely knew how it happened. So unexpected was the event that, + though it occurred before their eyes, they did not seem to see it. They + remembered, rather than perceived, that he stooped suddenly; with one + single great effort of muscular force he dislodged the end of the log, + heaved it up in the air, strongly flung it aside, whence it went crashing + down into the black depths below, its own weight, as it fell, sufficing to + wrench out the other end, carrying with it a mass of earth and rock from + the verge of the precipice. + </p> + <p> + The horses sprang back snorting and frightened; the officer’s, being a + fine animal in prime condition, tried to bolt. Before he had him well in + hand again, the man on the opposite brink had vanished. The sheriff’s + suspicions were barely astir when a hallooing voice in the rear made + itself heard, and a horseman, breathless with haste, his steed flecked + with foam, rode up, indignant, flushed, and eager. + </p> + <p> + “Whyn’t ye wait for me, Sher’ff? Ye air all on the wrong track,” he cried. + “Boyston McGurny be hid in the skellington’s tree. I glimpsed him thar + myself, an’ gin information.” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff gazed down with averse and suspicious eyes. “What’s all this!” + he said sternly. “Give an account of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Me!” exclaimed the man in amazement. “Why, I’m Barton Smith, yer guide, + that’s who. An’ I’m good for five hundred dollars’ reward.” + </p> + <p> + But the sheriff called off the pursuit for the time, as he had no means of + replacing the bridge or of crossing the chasm. + </p> + <p> + Meddlesome’s share in the escape was not detected, and for a while she had + no incentive to the foolhardiness of boasting. But her prudence diminished + when the reward for the apprehension of Boyston McGurny was suddenly + withdrawn. The confession of one of the distillers, dying of tuberculosis + contracted in prison, who had himself fired the fatal shot, had + established the alibi that McGurny claimed, and served to relieve him of + all suspicion. + </p> + <p> + He eventually became a “herder” of cattle on the bald of the mountain and + a farmer in a small way, and in these placid pursuits he found a contented + existence. But, occasionally, a crony of his olden time would contrast the + profits of this tame industry at a disadvantage with the quick and large + returns of the “wild cat,” when he would “confess and avoid.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, that’s all true; but a man can’t holp it no ways in the + world whenst he hev got a wife that is so out-an’-out meddlesome that she + won’t let him run ag’in’ the law, nohow he kin fix it.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wolf’s Head, by +Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOLF’S HEAD *** + +***** This file should be named 23549-h.htm or 23549-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/5/4/23549/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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