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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23551-0.txt b/23551-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf3d2e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/23551-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,933 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Crosses Storm Mountain?, 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: Who Crosses Storm Mountain? + 1911 + +Author: Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +Release Date: November 19, 2007 [EBook #23551] +Last Updated: March 8, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? + +By Charles Egbert Craddock + +1911 + + +The wind stirred in the weighted pines; the snow lay on the ground. Here +and there on its smooth, white expanse footprints betokened the woodland +gentry abroad. In the pallid glister of the moon, even amid the sparse, +bluish shadows of the leafless trees, one might discriminate the +impression of the pronged claw of the wild turkey, the short, swift +paces of the mink, the padded, doglike paw of the wolf. A progress of a +yet more ravening suggestion was intimated in great hoof-marks leading +to the door of a little log cabin all a-crouch in the grim grip of +winter and loneliness and poverty on the slope of the mountain, among +heavy, outcropping ledges of rock and beetling, overhanging crags. With +icy ranges all around as far as the eye could reach, with the vast, +instarred, dark sky above, it might seem as if sorrow, the world, the +law could hardly take account of so slight a thing, so remote. But +smoke was slowly stealing up from its stick-and-clay chimney, and its +clapboarded roof sheltered a group with scarcely the heart to mend the +fire. + +Two women shivered on the broad hearth before the dispirited embers. One +had wept so profusely that she had much ado to find a dry spot in her +blue-checked apron, thrown over her head, wherewith to mop her tears. +The other, much younger, her fair face reddened, her blue eyes swollen, +her auburn curling hair all tangled on her shoulders, her voice +half-choked with sobs, addressed herself to the narration of their +woes, her cold, listless hands clasped about her knees as she sat on an +inverted bushel-basket, for there was not a whole chair in the room. + +“An' then he jes' tuk an' leveled!” she faltered. + +A young hunter standing on the threshold, leaning on his rifle, a +brace of wild turkeys hanging over his shoulders, half a dozen rabbits +dangling from his belt, stared at her through the dull, red glow of the +fading fire in amazed agitation. + +“What did he level, Medory--a gun?” + +“Wuss'n that!” replied the younger woman. “He leveled the weepon o' the +law!” + +The man turned to look again at the curious disarray of the room. “The +law don't allow him to do sech ez this!” he blurted out in rising +anger. “Why, everything hyar is bodaciously broke an' busted! War it the +sheriff himself ez levied?” + +“'Twar jes' the dep'ty critter, Clem Tweed,” explained Medora, “mighty +joki-fied, an' he 'peared ter be middlin' drunk, an' though he said +su'thin' 'bout exemptions he 'lowed ez we-uns lived at the eend o' the +world.” + +Her mother-in-law suddenly lowered the apron from her face. + +“'The jumpin'-off place,' war what Clem Tweed called it!” she +interpolated with a fiery eye of indignant reminiscence. + +“He did! He did!” Medora bitterly resented this fling at the remoteness +of their poor home. “An' he said whilst hyar he'd level on everything +in sight, ez he hoped never ter travel sech roads agin--everything in +sight, even the baby an' the cat!” + +“Shucks, Medory, ye know the dep'ty man war funnin' whenst he said that +about the baby an' the cat! Ye know ez Clem admitted he hed Christmas in +his bones!” the elder objected. + +“Waal, war Clem Tweed funnin' whenst he done sech ez that, in levyin' an +execution?” Bruce Gilhooley pointed with his ramrod at the wreck of the +furniture. + +The two women burst into lugubrious sobs and rocked themselves back and +forth in unison. “'Twar _Dad!_” Medora moaned, in smothered accents. + +A pause of bewilderment ensued. Then the young man's face took on an +expression of dismay so ominous that Medora's tears were checked in +the ghastly fear of disasters yet to come to her father-in-law. Now +and again she glanced anxiously over her shoulder at an oblong black +aperture in the dusk which betokened the open door of the shed-room. +Some one lurked there, evidently cherishing all aloof a grief, an anger, +a despair too poignant to share. + +“Dad warn't hyar whenst the dep'ty leveled,” she said. “An' mighty glad +we war--kase somebody mought hev got hurt. But whenst Dad kem home an' +larnt the news he jes'--he jes'--he jes' lept about like a painter.” + +“He did! He did!” asseverated a voice from the veiled head, all muffled +in the checked apron. + +“Dad 'lowed,” continued Medora, “ez Peter Petrie hev persecuted and druv +him ter the wall. Fust he tricked Dad out 'n some unoccupied lan' what +Dad hed begun ter clear, an' Petrie got it entered fust an' tuk out a +grant an' holds the title! An' whenst Dad lay claim ter it Peter Petrie +declared ef enny Gilhooley dared ter cross Storm Mounting he'd break +every bone in his body!” + +“A true word--the insurance of the critter!” came from the blue-checked +veil. + +A stir in the shed-room---a half-suppressed cough and a clearing of the +throat. “An' then Dad fell on Pete Petrie at the Crossroads' store, whar +the critter hed stopped with his mail-pouch, an' Dad trounced him well +afore all the crowd o' loafers thar!” + +“Bless the Lord, he did!” the checked apron voiced a melancholy triumph. + +“An' then, ye remember whenst Dad set out fire in the woods las' fall +ter burn off the trash on his own lan', the flames run jes' a leetle +over his line an' on ter them woods on Storm Mounting, doin' no harm ter +nobody, nor nuthin'!” + +“Not a mite--not a mite,” asseverated the apron. + +“An' ez sech appears ter be agin the law Petrie gin information an' Dad +war fined five dollars!” + +“An' paid it!” cried Jane Gilhooley. “Ye know that!” + +“An' then, ez it 'pears ter be the law ez one hundred dollars fur sech +an offense is ter be forfeited ter ennybody ez will sue fur it,” Medora +resumed, “Petrie seen his chance ter git even fur bein' beat in a +reg'lar knock-down-an'-drag-out fight, an',” with the rising inflection +of a climax, “he hev sued and got jedgmint!” + +“An' so what that half-drunk dep'ty, Clem Tweed, calls an execution war +leveled!” exclaimed Jane Gilhooley, her veiled head swaying forlornly as +she sobbed invisibly. + +“But Dad 'lowed ez Peter Petrie shouldn't hev none o' his gear,” + Medora's eyes flashed with a responsive sentiment. + +“His gran'mam's warpin' bars!” suggested the elder woman. + +“The spinnin'-wheels she brung from No'th Carliny,” enumerated Medora, +“the loom an' the candle-moulds.” + +“The cheers his dad made fur his mam whenst they begun housekeeping” + said Jane Gilhooley's muffled voice. + +“The press an' the safe,” Medora continued. + +“The pot an' the oven,” chokingly responded the apron. + +“The churn an' the piggins!” + +“The skillet an' the trivet!” + +Medora, fairly flinching from the inventory of all the household goods, +so desecrated and “leveled on,” returned to the salient incident of +the day. “Dad jes' tuk an axe an' bust up every yearthly thing in the +house!” + +“An' now we-uns ain't got nuthin'.” The elder woman looked about in +stunned dismay, her little black eyes a mere gleam of a pupil in the +midst of their swollen lids and network of wrinkles. + +One of the miseries of the very ignorant is, paradoxically, the partial +character of their privations. If the unknown were to them practically +non-existent they might find solace in sluggish and secure content. But +even the smallest circle of being touches continually the periphery +of wider spheres. The air is freighted with echoes of undistinguished +sounds. Powers, illimitable, absolute, uncomprehended, seem to hold +an inimical sway over their lives and of these the most dreaded is +the benign law, framed for their protection, spreading above them an +unperceived, unimagined aegis. Thus there was hardly an article in +the house which was not exempt by statute from execution, and the house +itself and land worth only a hundred or two dollars were protected by +the homestead law. The facetious deputy, Clem Tweed, with “Christmas in +his bones,” would have committed a misdemeanor in seriously levying upon +them. He had held the affair as a capital farce--even affecting with +wild, appropriating gambols to seize the baby and the cat--and fully +realized that malice only had prompted the whole proceeding, to +humiliate Ross Gilhooley and illustrate the completeness of the victory +which Peter Petrie had won over his enemy. + +The younger Gilhooley, however, quaked as his limited intelligence laid +hold on the fact that if the law had permitted a levy on the household +goods to satisfy the judgment of Peter Petrie their destruction was +in itself a balking of the process, resistance to the law, and with an +unimagined penalty. + +“We-uns hev got ter git away from hyar somehows!” he said with decision. + +The idea of bluff Ross Gilhooley in the clutches of the law because of +one fierce moment of goaded and petulant despair, with the ignominy of a +criminal accusation, with all the sordid concomitants of arrest and +the jail, was infinitely terrible to his unaccustomed imagination. He +revolted from its contemplation with a personal application. For an +honest man, however poor, feels all the high prerogatives of honor. + +There was a step in the shed-room where Ross Gilhooley had lurked and +listened. His wrath now spent, his mind had traveled the obvious course +to his son's conclusion. He stood a gigantic, bearded shadow in the +doorway, half ashamed, wholly repentant, dimly, vaguely fearful, and all +responsive and quivering to the idea of flight. “I been studyin' some +'bout goin' ter Minervy Sue's in Georgy,” he said creakingly, as if his +voice had suffered from its unwonted disuse. + +“An' none too soon,” said Bruce doggedly. “The oxen is Medory's, bein' +lef' ter her whenst her dad died, an' the wagin is mine! Quit foolin' +along o' that thar fire, Medory!” For with her bright hair hanging +curling over her cheeks his young wife had leaned forward to start it +anew. + +“Never ter kindle it agin on this ha'th-stone!” she cried with a +poignant realization of the significance of the uprooting of the +roof-tree and the wide, vague world without. And still once more the two +women fell to bemoaning their fate of exile beside the expiring embers, +while the elder Gilhooley's voice sounded bluffly outside calling the +oxen, and his son was rattling their heavy yoke in the corner. + +They were well advanced on their journey ere yet the snowy Christmas +dawn was in the sky. So slow a progress was ill-associated with the idea +of flight. It was almost noiseless--the great hoofs of the oxen fell all +muffled on the deep snow still whitely a-glitter with the moon, hanging +dense and opaque in the western sky, and flecked with the dendroidal +images of the overshadowing trees. The immense bovine heads swayed to +and fro, cadenced to the deliberate pace, and more than once a muttered +low of distaste and protest rose with the vapor curling upward from lip +and nostril into the icy air. On the front seat of the cumbrous, white, +canvas-covered vehicle was Medora, her bright hair blowing out from the +folds of a red shawl worn hood-wise; she held a cord attached to the +horns of one of the oxen by which she sought to guide the yoke in those +intervals when her husband, who walked by their side with a goad, must +needs fall to the rear to drive up a cow and calf. Inside the wagon Ross +Gilhooley did naught but bow his head between his hands as if he could +not face the coming day charged with he knew not what destiny for him. +His wife was adjusting and readjusting the limited gear they had dared +to bring off with them--their forlorn rags of clothing and bedding, all +in shapeless bundles; sundry gourds full of soft soap, salt, tobacco, +and a scanty store of provisions, which she feared would not last them +all the way to Georgia to the home of Minervy Sue, their daughter. + +No one touched a space deeply filled with straw, but now and +again Medora glanced back at it with the dawning of a smile in her +grief-stricken face that cold, nor fear, nor despair could wholly +overcast. Three small heads, all golden and curly, all pink-cheeked and +fair, all blissfully slumbering, rested there as if they had been so +many dolls packed away thus for fear of breaking. But they had no +other couch than the straw, for Ross Gilhooley had not spared the +feather-beds, and the little cabin at the Notch was now half full of the +fluff ripped out by his sharp knife from the split ticks. + +Down the mountain the fugitives went, as silent as their shadows; and at +last, when one might hardly know if it were the sheen of the moon that +still illuminated the wan and wintry scene, or the reflection from the +snow, or the dawning of the dark-gray day, the river came in sight, all +a rippling, steely expanse under the chill wind between its ice-girt +crags and snowy banks. + +The oxen went down to the ford in a lumbering run. Bruce sprang upon the +tailboard to ride, the dogs chased the cow and calf to the crossing. The +wheels grated ominously against great submerged boulders; the surging +waves rose almost to the wagon-bed; the wind struck aslant the immense, +cumbrous cover, threatening to capsize it; and, suddenly, in the midst +of the transit, a sound, as clear as a bugle in the rare icy air, as +searchingly sweet! + +All were motionless for an instant, doubtful, anxious, listening--only +the wintry wind with its keen sibilance; only the dash of the swift +current; only the grating of the wheels on the sand as the oxen reached +the opposite margin! + +But hark, again! A clear tenor voice in the fag end of an old song: + + “An' my bigges' bottle war my bes' friend, + An' my week's work was all at an end!” + +It issued from beyond the right fork of the road in advance, and an +instant panic ensued. Discovery was hard upon them. Their laborious +device was brought to naught should any eye espy them in their hasty +flight to the State line. It had not seemed impossible that ere the day +should dawn they might be far away in those impenetrable forests +where one may journey many a league, meeting naught more inimical or +speculative than bear or deer. It still was worth the effort. + +With a sudden spring from the tailboard of the wagon Bruce Gilhooley +reached the yoke, fiercely goading the oxen onward. With an abrupt +lurch, in which the vehicle swayed precariously and ponderously from +side to side, they started up the steep, snowy bank, and breaking into +their ungainly rim were guided into the left fork of the road. It was +a level stretch and fringed about with pines, and soon all sight of the +pilgrims was lost amidst the heavy snow-laden boughs. + +The river bank was silent and solitary; and after a considerable +interval a man rode down from the right fork to the ford. + +More than once his horse refused the passage. A sort of parrot-faced man +he was, known as Tank Dysart, young, red-haired, with a long, bent nose +and a preposterous air of knowingness and turbulent inquiry. He cocked +his head on one side with a snort of surprised indignation, and beat +with both heels, but again the horse, sidling about the drifts, declined +the direct passage and essayed to cross elsewhere. + +All at once a bundle of red flannel, lying in the drift close to the +water's edge, caught his attention, and suddenly there issued forth a +lusty bawl. The horseman would have turned pale but for the whisky which +had permanently incarnadined the bend of his nose. As it was, however, +he looked far more dismayed than the facts might seem to warrant. + +“It's the booze--I got 'em again fur sartain!” he quavered in plaintive +helplessness, his terrified eyes fixed on the squirming bundle. + +Then, drunk as he was, he perceived the rift in his logic “Gol-darn ye!” + he exclaimed, violently kicking the horse, “you-uns ain't got no call +ter view visions an' see sights--ye old water-bibber!” + +As the horse continued to snort and back away from the object Tank +Dysart became convinced of its reality. Still mounted, he passed close +enough alongside for a grasp at it. The old red-flannel cape and hood +disclosed a plump infant about ten months of age, whimpering and cruelly +rubbing his eyes with his fists, and now bawling outright with rage; +as he chanced to meet the gaze of his rescuer he paused to laugh in +a one-sided way, displaying two pearly teeth and a very beguiling +red tongue, but again stiffening himself he yelled as behooves a +self-respecting baby so obviously misplaced. + +Tank Dysart held him out at arm's length in his strong grasp, surveying +him in mingled astonishment and delight. “Why, bless my soul, Christmas +gift!” he addressed him. “I'm powerful obligated fur yer company!” + +For the genial infant giggled and sputtered and gurgled inconsistently +in the midst of his bawling, and banteringly kicked out one soft foot +in a snug, red sock, faking Tank full in the chest; then he stiffened, +swayed backward and screamed again as if in agonies of grief. + +“Sufferin' Moses!” grinned the drunkard. “I wouldn't take nuthin' fur +ye! Ye air a find, an' no mistake!” The word suggested illusion. “Ye +ain't no snake, now--nary toad--nary green rabbit--no sort'n jim-jam?” + he stipulated apprehensively. + +The baby babbled gleefully, and, as if attesting its reality, delivered +half a dozen strong kicks with those active plump feet, encased in the +smart red socks. + +It suddenly occurred to the drunkard that here was a duty owing--to seek +out the child's parents. Even to his befuddled brain that fact was plain +enough. The little creature had been lost evidently from some family of +travelers who would presently retrace their way seeking him. + +When Bruce Gilhooley had sprung from the tailboard of the wagon in +that moment of tumultuous panic he had not noticed the bundle of straw +dislodged. Falling with it softly into the deep snowdrift the child had +continued to slumber quietly till awakened by the cold to silence and +loneliness, and then this strange rencontre. + +With a half-discriminated idea of overtaking the supposed travelers, +Tank Dysart briskly forded the river, and, pressing his horse to a +canter, made off in the opposite direction. + +Gayly they fared along for a time, Tank frequently refreshing himself +from a “tickler,” facetiously so-called, which he carried in his pocket. +Occasionally he generously offered the baby the stopper to suck, and as +the child smacked his lips with evident relish Tank roared out again in +his fine and flexible tenor: + +“For my bigges' bottle war my bes' friend, an' my week's work war all at +an end!” + +The horse, by far the nobler animal of the two, stood still ever and +anon when the drunken creature swayed back and forth in his saddle, +imperiling his equilibrium. Even to his besotted mind, as he grew +more intoxicated, the danger to the child in his erratic grasp became +apparent. + +“I got ter put him in a safe place--a Christmas gift,” he now and then +stuttered. + +When he came at last within reach of a human habitation he had been for +some time consciously on the point of falling from the saddle with +the infant, who was now quietly asleep. He noted, as in a dream, the +Crossroads' store, which was also the post-office; standing in front +of the log cabin was a horse already saddled hanging down a dull, +dispirited head as he awaited the mail-rider through a long, cold +interval, and bearing a United States mail-pouch, mouldy, flabby, +nearly empty. The door of the store was closed against the cold; the +blacksmith's shop was far down the road; the two or three scattered +dwellings showed no sign of life but the wreaths of blue smoke curling +up from the clay-and-stick chimneys. + +Perhaps it was the impunity of the moment that suggested the idea to +Dysart's whimsical drunken fancy. He never knew. He suddenly tried the +mouth of the pouch. It was locked. Nothing daunted, a stroke of a +keen knife slit the upper part of the side seam, the sleeping baby was +slipped into the aperture, and Tank Dysart rode off chuckling with glee +to think of the dismay of the mail-rider when the mall-pouch should +break forth with squeals and quiver with kicks, which embarrassment +would probably not befall him until far away in the wilderness with his +perplexity, for there had been something stronger on that stopper than +milk or cambric tea. + +As Tank went he muttered something about the security of the United +States mail, wherein he had had the forethought to deposit his Christmas +gift, and forthwith he flung himself into the shuck-pen, where he fell +asleep, and was not found till half-frozen, his whereabouts being at +last disclosed to the storekeeper by the persistent presence of his +faithful steed standing hard by. Tank was humanely cared for by this +functionary, but several days elapsed before he altogether recovered +consciousness; it was naturally a confused, disconnected train of +impressions which his mind retained. At first, in a maudlin state, +he demanded of the storekeeper, in his capacity as postmaster also, a +package, a Christmas gift, which he averred he should receive by +mail. Albeit this was esteemed merely an inebriated fancy, such is the +sensitiveness of the United States postal service on the subject of +missing mail matter that the postmaster, half-irritated, half-nervous, +detailed it to the mail-rider. “Tank 'lows ez he put it into the mail +hyar himself!” + +Peter Petrie, a lowering-eyed, severe-visaged, square-jawed man, gave +Tank Dysart only a glance of ire from under his hat-brim, as if the +matter were not worth the waste of a word. + +Dysart, wreck though he was, had not yet lost all conscience. He was in +an agony of remorse and doubt. It kept him sober longer than he had +been for five years, for he was a professed drunkard and idler, scarcely +considered responsible. He could not be sure that he had experienced +aught which he seemed to remember--he hoped it was all only his drunken +fancy, for what could have been the fate of the child subject to the +freaks of his imbecile folly! He was reassured to hear no rumors of a +lost child, and yet so definite were the images of his recollection that +they must needs constrain his credulity. + +He felt it in the nature of a rescue one day when, as he chanced to join +a group of gossips loitering around the fire of the forge, he heard the +smith ask casually: “Who is that thar baby visitin' at Peter Petrie 's +over yander acrost Storm Mounting?” + +“Gran'child, I reckon,” suggested his big-boned, bare-armed, soot-grimed +striker. + +“Peter Petrie hain't got nare gran'-child,” said one of the loungers. + +Tank, sober for once, held his breath to listen. + +“Behaves powerful like a gran'dad,” observed the smith, holding a +horseshoe with the tongs in the fire while the striker laid hold on +the bellows and the sighing sound surged to and fro and the white blaze +flared forth, showing the interested faces of the group in the dusky +smithy, and among them the horse whose shoe was making, while another +stood at the open door defined against the snow. “Behaves like he ain't +got a mite o' sense. I war goin' by thar one day las' week an' I stepped +up on the porch ter pass the time o' day with Pete an' his wife, an' the +door war open. And' what d'ye s'pose I seen! Old Peter Petrie +a-goin' round the floor on all fours, an' a-settin' on his back war +a baby--powerful peart youngster--jes' a-grinnin' an' a-whoopin' an' +a-poundin' old Peter with a whip! An' Pete galloped, he did! Didn't +seem beset with them rheumatics he used ter talk about--peartest leetle +'possum of a baby!” + +Tank Dysart lost no time in his investigations and he had the courage of +his convictions. He did not scruple to call Peter Petrie to his face a +mail-robber. + +“Ye tuk a package deposited in the United States' mail and converted it +to your own use,” he vociferated. + +“'Twar neither stamped nor addressed,” old Petrie gruffly contended, +albeit obviously disconcerted. + +Dysart even sought to induce the postmaster to send a complaint of the +rider to the postal authorities. + +“I got too much respec' fur my job,” replied that worthy, jocosely eying +Tank across the counter of the store. “I ain't goin' ter let on ter the +folks in Washington that we send babies about in the mail-bags hyar in +the mountings.” + +The social acquaintance of the little man had necessarily been rather +limited, but one day a neighbor, attracted to the Petrie cabin by idle +curiosity concerning the waif robbed from the mails, gazed upon him for +one astonished instant and then proclaimed his identity. + +“Nare Gilhooley should ever cross Storm Mounting, 'cordin ter yer saying +Petey, an' hyar ye hev been totin' Boss Gilhooley 's gran'son back an' +forth across Old Stormy, an' all yer spare time ye spend on yer hands +an' knees bar kin' like a dog jes' ter pleasure him.” + +Peter Petrie changed countenance suddenly. His square, bristly, grim jaw +hardened and stiffened, so dear to him were all his stubborn convictions +and grizzly, ancient feuds. But he bestirred himself to cause +information to be conveyed to Bruce Gilhooley of his son's whereabouts +for he readily suspected that the family had fled to Minervy Sue's in +Georgia. Peter Petrie sustained in this act of conscience a grievous +wrench, for it foreshadowed parting with the choice missive filched from +the mail-bag, but he was not unmindful of the anguish and bereavement +of the mother, and somehow the thought was peculiarly coercive at this +season. + +“I don't want ter even up with King Herod, now, sure!” he averred to +himself one night as he sat late over the embers, reviewing his plans +all made. He thought much in these lone hours as He heard the wind speed +past, the trees crack under their weight of snow, and noted through the +tiny window the glister of a great star of a supernal lustre, high above +the pines, what a freight of joy the tidings of this child would bear to +the bleeding hearts of his kindred. Albeit so humble, the parallel must +needs arise suggesting the everlasting joy the existence of another +Child had brought to the souls of all kindreds, all peoples. “Peace, +peace,” he reiterated, as the red coals crumbled and the gray ash +spread; “Peace an' good-will!” + +The words seemed to epitomize all religion, all value, all hope' and +somehow they so dwelt in his mind that the next day he was moved to add +a personal message to old Boss Gilhooley in sending the more important +information to Bruce. + +“Let on ter Boss,” he charged the envoy, “ez--ez--that thar jedgmint +an' execution issued war jes' formal--ye mought say--jes' ter hev all +the papers reg'lar.” + +By virtue of more attrition with the world the mail-rider was more +sophisticated than his enemy, and sooth to say, more sophistical. + +“Boss is writ-proof, the old fool, though he war minded ter cut me out'n +my levy if he could! But waal, jes' tell him from me ez we-uns hev hed +a heap o' pleasure in the baby's company in the Chris 'mus, an' we-uns +expec' ter borry him some whenst they all gits home!” + +To the child's kindred the news was as if he had risen from the dead, +and the gratitude of the Gilhooleys to Petrie knew no bounds. They had +accounted the baby drowned when, missing him, they had retraced their +way, finding naught but a bit of old blanket on which he had lain, close +to the verge of the cruel river. Boss Gilhooley, softened and rendered +tractable by exile and sorrow, upon his return lent himself to an +affected warmth toward Peter Petrie which gradually assumed all the +fervors of sincerity. The neighbors indeed were moved to say that the +two friends and ancient enemies, when both on all fours and barking for +the delight of the baby, were never so little like dogs in all their +lives. + +Thus a child shall lead them. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Crosses Storm Mountain?, by +Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? *** + +***** This file should be named 23551-0.txt or 23551-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/5/5/23551/ + +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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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: Who Crosses Storm Mountain? + 1911 + +Author: Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +Release Date: November 19, 2007 [EBook #23551] +Last Updated: March 8, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? + </h1> + <h2> + By Charles Egbert Craddock <br /> <br /> 1911 + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + The wind stirred in the weighted pines; the snow lay on the ground. Here + and there on its smooth, white expanse footprints betokened the woodland + gentry abroad. In the pallid glister of the moon, even amid the sparse, + bluish shadows of the leafless trees, one might discriminate the + impression of the pronged claw of the wild turkey, the short, swift paces + of the mink, the padded, doglike paw of the wolf. A progress of a yet more + ravening suggestion was intimated in great hoof-marks leading to the door + of a little log cabin all a-crouch in the grim grip of winter and + loneliness and poverty on the slope of the mountain, among heavy, + outcropping ledges of rock and beetling, overhanging crags. With icy + ranges all around as far as the eye could reach, with the vast, instarred, + dark sky above, it might seem as if sorrow, the world, the law could + hardly take account of so slight a thing, so remote. But smoke was slowly + stealing up from its stick-and-clay chimney, and its clapboarded roof + sheltered a group with scarcely the heart to mend the fire. + </p> + <p> + Two women shivered on the broad hearth before the dispirited embers. One + had wept so profusely that she had much ado to find a dry spot in her + blue-checked apron, thrown over her head, wherewith to mop her tears. The + other, much younger, her fair face reddened, her blue eyes swollen, her + auburn curling hair all tangled on her shoulders, her voice half-choked + with sobs, addressed herself to the narration of their woes, her cold, + listless hands clasped about her knees as she sat on an inverted + bushel-basket, for there was not a whole chair in the room. + </p> + <p> + “An' then he jes' tuk an' leveled!” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + A young hunter standing on the threshold, leaning on his rifle, a brace of + wild turkeys hanging over his shoulders, half a dozen rabbits dangling + from his belt, stared at her through the dull, red glow of the fading fire + in amazed agitation. + </p> + <p> + “What did he level, Medory—a gun?” + </p> + <p> + “Wuss'n that!” replied the younger woman. “He leveled the weepon o' the + law!” + </p> + <p> + The man turned to look again at the curious disarray of the room. “The law + don't allow him to do sech ez this!” he blurted out in rising anger. “Why, + everything hyar is bodaciously broke an' busted! War it the sheriff + himself ez levied?” + </p> + <p> + “'Twar jes' the dep'ty critter, Clem Tweed,” explained Medora, “mighty + joki-fied, an' he 'peared ter be middlin' drunk, an' though he said + su'thin' 'bout exemptions he 'lowed ez we-uns lived at the eend o' the + world.” + </p> + <p> + Her mother-in-law suddenly lowered the apron from her face. + </p> + <p> + “'The jumpin'-off place,' war what Clem Tweed called it!” she interpolated + with a fiery eye of indignant reminiscence. + </p> + <p> + “He did! He did!” Medora bitterly resented this fling at the remoteness of + their poor home. “An' he said whilst hyar he'd level on everything in + sight, ez he hoped never ter travel sech roads agin—everything in + sight, even the baby an' the cat!” + </p> + <p> + “Shucks, Medory, ye know the dep'ty man war funnin' whenst he said that + about the baby an' the cat! Ye know ez Clem admitted he hed Christmas in + his bones!” the elder objected. + </p> + <p> + “Waal, war Clem Tweed funnin' whenst he done sech ez that, in levyin' an + execution?” Bruce Gilhooley pointed with his ramrod at the wreck of the + furniture. + </p> + <p> + The two women burst into lugubrious sobs and rocked themselves back and + forth in unison. “'Twar <i>Dad!</i>” Medora moaned, in smothered accents. + </p> + <p> + A pause of bewilderment ensued. Then the young man's face took on an + expression of dismay so ominous that Medora's tears were checked in the + ghastly fear of disasters yet to come to her father-in-law. Now and again + she glanced anxiously over her shoulder at an oblong black aperture in the + dusk which betokened the open door of the shed-room. Some one lurked + there, evidently cherishing all aloof a grief, an anger, a despair too + poignant to share. + </p> + <p> + “Dad warn't hyar whenst the dep'ty leveled,” she said. “An' mighty glad we + war—kase somebody mought hev got hurt. But whenst Dad kem home an' + larnt the news he jes'—he jes'—he jes' lept about like a + painter.” + </p> + <p> + “He did! He did!” asseverated a voice from the veiled head, all muffled in + the checked apron. + </p> + <p> + “Dad 'lowed,” continued Medora, “ez Peter Petrie hev persecuted and druv + him ter the wall. Fust he tricked Dad out 'n some unoccupied lan' what Dad + hed begun ter clear, an' Petrie got it entered fust an' tuk out a grant + an' holds the title! An' whenst Dad lay claim ter it Peter Petrie declared + ef enny Gilhooley dared ter cross Storm Mounting he'd break every bone in + his body!” + </p> + <p> + “A true word—the insurance of the critter!” came from the + blue-checked veil. + </p> + <p> + A stir in the shed-room—-a half-suppressed cough and a clearing of + the throat. “An' then Dad fell on Pete Petrie at the Crossroads' store, + whar the critter hed stopped with his mail-pouch, an' Dad trounced him + well afore all the crowd o' loafers thar!” + </p> + <p> + “Bless the Lord, he did!” the checked apron voiced a melancholy triumph. + </p> + <p> + “An' then, ye remember whenst Dad set out fire in the woods las' fall ter + burn off the trash on his own lan', the flames run jes' a leetle over his + line an' on ter them woods on Storm Mounting, doin' no harm ter nobody, + nor nuthin'!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a mite—not a mite,” asseverated the apron. + </p> + <p> + “An' ez sech appears ter be agin the law Petrie gin information an' Dad + war fined five dollars!” + </p> + <p> + “An' paid it!” cried Jane Gilhooley. “Ye know that!” + </p> + <p> + “An' then, ez it 'pears ter be the law ez one hundred dollars fur sech an + offense is ter be forfeited ter ennybody ez will sue fur it,” Medora + resumed, “Petrie seen his chance ter git even fur bein' beat in a reg'lar + knock-down-an'-drag-out fight, an',” with the rising inflection of a + climax, “he hev sued and got jedgmint!” + </p> + <p> + “An' so what that half-drunk dep'ty, Clem Tweed, calls an execution war + leveled!” exclaimed Jane Gilhooley, her veiled head swaying forlornly as + she sobbed invisibly. + </p> + <p> + “But Dad 'lowed ez Peter Petrie shouldn't hev none o' his gear,” Medora's + eyes flashed with a responsive sentiment. + </p> + <p> + “His gran'mam's warpin' bars!” suggested the elder woman. + </p> + <p> + “The spinnin'-wheels she brung from No'th Carliny,” enumerated Medora, + “the loom an' the candle-moulds.” + </p> + <p> + “The cheers his dad made fur his mam whenst they begun housekeeping” said + Jane Gilhooley's muffled voice. + </p> + <p> + “The press an' the safe,” Medora continued. + </p> + <p> + “The pot an' the oven,” chokingly responded the apron. + </p> + <p> + “The churn an' the piggins!” + </p> + <p> + “The skillet an' the trivet!” + </p> + <p> + Medora, fairly flinching from the inventory of all the household goods, so + desecrated and “leveled on,” returned to the salient incident of the day. + “Dad jes' tuk an axe an' bust up every yearthly thing in the house!” + </p> + <p> + “An' now we-uns ain't got nuthin'.” The elder woman looked about in + stunned dismay, her little black eyes a mere gleam of a pupil in the midst + of their swollen lids and network of wrinkles. + </p> + <p> + One of the miseries of the very ignorant is, paradoxically, the partial + character of their privations. If the unknown were to them practically + non-existent they might find solace in sluggish and secure content. But + even the smallest circle of being touches continually the periphery of + wider spheres. The air is freighted with echoes of undistinguished sounds. + Powers, illimitable, absolute, uncomprehended, seem to hold an inimical + sway over their lives and of these the most dreaded is the benign law, + framed for their protection, spreading above them an unperceived, + unimagined aegis. Thus there was hardly an article in the house which was + not exempt by statute from execution, and the house itself and land worth + only a hundred or two dollars were protected by the homestead law. The + facetious deputy, Clem Tweed, with “Christmas in his bones,” would have + committed a misdemeanor in seriously levying upon them. He had held the + affair as a capital farce—even affecting with wild, appropriating + gambols to seize the baby and the cat—and fully realized that malice + only had prompted the whole proceeding, to humiliate Ross Gilhooley and + illustrate the completeness of the victory which Peter Petrie had won over + his enemy. + </p> + <p> + The younger Gilhooley, however, quaked as his limited intelligence laid + hold on the fact that if the law had permitted a levy on the household + goods to satisfy the judgment of Peter Petrie their destruction was in + itself a balking of the process, resistance to the law, and with an + unimagined penalty. + </p> + <p> + “We-uns hev got ter git away from hyar somehows!” he said with decision. + </p> + <p> + The idea of bluff Ross Gilhooley in the clutches of the law because of one + fierce moment of goaded and petulant despair, with the ignominy of a + criminal accusation, with all the sordid concomitants of arrest and the + jail, was infinitely terrible to his unaccustomed imagination. He revolted + from its contemplation with a personal application. For an honest man, + however poor, feels all the high prerogatives of honor. + </p> + <p> + There was a step in the shed-room where Ross Gilhooley had lurked and + listened. His wrath now spent, his mind had traveled the obvious course to + his son's conclusion. He stood a gigantic, bearded shadow in the doorway, + half ashamed, wholly repentant, dimly, vaguely fearful, and all responsive + and quivering to the idea of flight. “I been studyin' some 'bout goin' ter + Minervy Sue's in Georgy,” he said creakingly, as if his voice had suffered + from its unwonted disuse. + </p> + <p> + “An' none too soon,” said Bruce doggedly. “The oxen is Medory's, bein' + lef' ter her whenst her dad died, an' the wagin is mine! Quit foolin' + along o' that thar fire, Medory!” For with her bright hair hanging curling + over her cheeks his young wife had leaned forward to start it anew. + </p> + <p> + “Never ter kindle it agin on this ha'th-stone!” she cried with a poignant + realization of the significance of the uprooting of the roof-tree and the + wide, vague world without. And still once more the two women fell to + bemoaning their fate of exile beside the expiring embers, while the elder + Gilhooley's voice sounded bluffly outside calling the oxen, and his son + was rattling their heavy yoke in the corner. + </p> + <p> + They were well advanced on their journey ere yet the snowy Christmas dawn + was in the sky. So slow a progress was ill-associated with the idea of + flight. It was almost noiseless—the great hoofs of the oxen fell all + muffled on the deep snow still whitely a-glitter with the moon, hanging + dense and opaque in the western sky, and flecked with the dendroidal + images of the overshadowing trees. The immense bovine heads swayed to and + fro, cadenced to the deliberate pace, and more than once a muttered low of + distaste and protest rose with the vapor curling upward from lip and + nostril into the icy air. On the front seat of the cumbrous, white, + canvas-covered vehicle was Medora, her bright hair blowing out from the + folds of a red shawl worn hood-wise; she held a cord attached to the horns + of one of the oxen by which she sought to guide the yoke in those + intervals when her husband, who walked by their side with a goad, must + needs fall to the rear to drive up a cow and calf. Inside the wagon Ross + Gilhooley did naught but bow his head between his hands as if he could not + face the coming day charged with he knew not what destiny for him. His + wife was adjusting and readjusting the limited gear they had dared to + bring off with them—their forlorn rags of clothing and bedding, all + in shapeless bundles; sundry gourds full of soft soap, salt, tobacco, and + a scanty store of provisions, which she feared would not last them all the + way to Georgia to the home of Minervy Sue, their daughter. + </p> + <p> + No one touched a space deeply filled with straw, but now and again Medora + glanced back at it with the dawning of a smile in her grief-stricken face + that cold, nor fear, nor despair could wholly overcast. Three small heads, + all golden and curly, all pink-cheeked and fair, all blissfully + slumbering, rested there as if they had been so many dolls packed away + thus for fear of breaking. But they had no other couch than the straw, for + Ross Gilhooley had not spared the feather-beds, and the little cabin at + the Notch was now half full of the fluff ripped out by his sharp knife + from the split ticks. + </p> + <p> + Down the mountain the fugitives went, as silent as their shadows; and at + last, when one might hardly know if it were the sheen of the moon that + still illuminated the wan and wintry scene, or the reflection from the + snow, or the dawning of the dark-gray day, the river came in sight, all a + rippling, steely expanse under the chill wind between its ice-girt crags + and snowy banks. + </p> + <p> + The oxen went down to the ford in a lumbering run. Bruce sprang upon the + tailboard to ride, the dogs chased the cow and calf to the crossing. The + wheels grated ominously against great submerged boulders; the surging + waves rose almost to the wagon-bed; the wind struck aslant the immense, + cumbrous cover, threatening to capsize it; and, suddenly, in the midst of + the transit, a sound, as clear as a bugle in the rare icy air, as + searchingly sweet! + </p> + <p> + All were motionless for an instant, doubtful, anxious, listening—only + the wintry wind with its keen sibilance; only the dash of the swift + current; only the grating of the wheels on the sand as the oxen reached + the opposite margin! + </p> + <p> + But hark, again! A clear tenor voice in the fag end of an old song: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “An' my bigges' bottle war my bes' friend, + An' my week's work was all at an end!” + </pre> + <p> + It issued from beyond the right fork of the road in advance, and an + instant panic ensued. Discovery was hard upon them. Their laborious device + was brought to naught should any eye espy them in their hasty flight to + the State line. It had not seemed impossible that ere the day should dawn + they might be far away in those impenetrable forests where one may journey + many a league, meeting naught more inimical or speculative than bear or + deer. It still was worth the effort. + </p> + <p> + With a sudden spring from the tailboard of the wagon Bruce Gilhooley + reached the yoke, fiercely goading the oxen onward. With an abrupt lurch, + in which the vehicle swayed precariously and ponderously from side to + side, they started up the steep, snowy bank, and breaking into their + ungainly rim were guided into the left fork of the road. It was a level + stretch and fringed about with pines, and soon all sight of the pilgrims + was lost amidst the heavy snow-laden boughs. + </p> + <p> + The river bank was silent and solitary; and after a considerable interval + a man rode down from the right fork to the ford. + </p> + <p> + More than once his horse refused the passage. A sort of parrot-faced man + he was, known as Tank Dysart, young, red-haired, with a long, bent nose + and a preposterous air of knowingness and turbulent inquiry. He cocked his + head on one side with a snort of surprised indignation, and beat with both + heels, but again the horse, sidling about the drifts, declined the direct + passage and essayed to cross elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + All at once a bundle of red flannel, lying in the drift close to the + water's edge, caught his attention, and suddenly there issued forth a + lusty bawl. The horseman would have turned pale but for the whisky which + had permanently incarnadined the bend of his nose. As it was, however, he + looked far more dismayed than the facts might seem to warrant. + </p> + <p> + “It's the booze—I got 'em again fur sartain!” he quavered in + plaintive helplessness, his terrified eyes fixed on the squirming bundle. + </p> + <p> + Then, drunk as he was, he perceived the rift in his logic “Gol-darn ye!” + he exclaimed, violently kicking the horse, “you-uns ain't got no call ter + view visions an' see sights—ye old water-bibber!” + </p> + <p> + As the horse continued to snort and back away from the object Tank Dysart + became convinced of its reality. Still mounted, he passed close enough + alongside for a grasp at it. The old red-flannel cape and hood disclosed a + plump infant about ten months of age, whimpering and cruelly rubbing his + eyes with his fists, and now bawling outright with rage; as he chanced to + meet the gaze of his rescuer he paused to laugh in a one-sided way, + displaying two pearly teeth and a very beguiling red tongue, but again + stiffening himself he yelled as behooves a self-respecting baby so + obviously misplaced. + </p> + <p> + Tank Dysart held him out at arm's length in his strong grasp, surveying + him in mingled astonishment and delight. “Why, bless my soul, Christmas + gift!” he addressed him. “I'm powerful obligated fur yer company!” + </p> + <p> + For the genial infant giggled and sputtered and gurgled inconsistently in + the midst of his bawling, and banteringly kicked out one soft foot in a + snug, red sock, faking Tank full in the chest; then he stiffened, swayed + backward and screamed again as if in agonies of grief. + </p> + <p> + “Sufferin' Moses!” grinned the drunkard. “I wouldn't take nuthin' fur ye! + Ye air a find, an' no mistake!” The word suggested illusion. “Ye ain't no + snake, now—nary toad—nary green rabbit—no sort'n + jim-jam?” he stipulated apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + The baby babbled gleefully, and, as if attesting its reality, delivered + half a dozen strong kicks with those active plump feet, encased in the + smart red socks. + </p> + <p> + It suddenly occurred to the drunkard that here was a duty owing—to + seek out the child's parents. Even to his befuddled brain that fact was + plain enough. The little creature had been lost evidently from some family + of travelers who would presently retrace their way seeking him. + </p> + <p> + When Bruce Gilhooley had sprung from the tailboard of the wagon in that + moment of tumultuous panic he had not noticed the bundle of straw + dislodged. Falling with it softly into the deep snowdrift the child had + continued to slumber quietly till awakened by the cold to silence and + loneliness, and then this strange rencontre. + </p> + <p> + With a half-discriminated idea of overtaking the supposed travelers, Tank + Dysart briskly forded the river, and, pressing his horse to a canter, made + off in the opposite direction. + </p> + <p> + Gayly they fared along for a time, Tank frequently refreshing himself from + a “tickler,” facetiously so-called, which he carried in his pocket. + Occasionally he generously offered the baby the stopper to suck, and as + the child smacked his lips with evident relish Tank roared out again in + his fine and flexible tenor: + </p> + <p> + “For my bigges' bottle war my bes' friend, an' my week's work war all at + an end!” + </p> + <p> + The horse, by far the nobler animal of the two, stood still ever and anon + when the drunken creature swayed back and forth in his saddle, imperiling + his equilibrium. Even to his besotted mind, as he grew more intoxicated, + the danger to the child in his erratic grasp became apparent. + </p> + <p> + “I got ter put him in a safe place—a Christmas gift,” he now and + then stuttered. + </p> + <p> + When he came at last within reach of a human habitation he had been for + some time consciously on the point of falling from the saddle with the + infant, who was now quietly asleep. He noted, as in a dream, the + Crossroads' store, which was also the post-office; standing in front of + the log cabin was a horse already saddled hanging down a dull, dispirited + head as he awaited the mail-rider through a long, cold interval, and + bearing a United States mail-pouch, mouldy, flabby, nearly empty. The door + of the store was closed against the cold; the blacksmith's shop was far + down the road; the two or three scattered dwellings showed no sign of life + but the wreaths of blue smoke curling up from the clay-and-stick chimneys. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was the impunity of the moment that suggested the idea to + Dysart's whimsical drunken fancy. He never knew. He suddenly tried the + mouth of the pouch. It was locked. Nothing daunted, a stroke of a keen + knife slit the upper part of the side seam, the sleeping baby was slipped + into the aperture, and Tank Dysart rode off chuckling with glee to think + of the dismay of the mail-rider when the mall-pouch should break forth + with squeals and quiver with kicks, which embarrassment would probably not + befall him until far away in the wilderness with his perplexity, for there + had been something stronger on that stopper than milk or cambric tea. + </p> + <p> + As Tank went he muttered something about the security of the United States + mail, wherein he had had the forethought to deposit his Christmas gift, + and forthwith he flung himself into the shuck-pen, where he fell asleep, + and was not found till half-frozen, his whereabouts being at last + disclosed to the storekeeper by the persistent presence of his faithful + steed standing hard by. Tank was humanely cared for by this functionary, + but several days elapsed before he altogether recovered consciousness; it + was naturally a confused, disconnected train of impressions which his mind + retained. At first, in a maudlin state, he demanded of the storekeeper, in + his capacity as postmaster also, a package, a Christmas gift, which he + averred he should receive by mail. Albeit this was esteemed merely an + inebriated fancy, such is the sensitiveness of the United States postal + service on the subject of missing mail matter that the postmaster, + half-irritated, half-nervous, detailed it to the mail-rider. “Tank 'lows + ez he put it into the mail hyar himself!” + </p> + <p> + Peter Petrie, a lowering-eyed, severe-visaged, square-jawed man, gave Tank + Dysart only a glance of ire from under his hat-brim, as if the matter were + not worth the waste of a word. + </p> + <p> + Dysart, wreck though he was, had not yet lost all conscience. He was in an + agony of remorse and doubt. It kept him sober longer than he had been for + five years, for he was a professed drunkard and idler, scarcely considered + responsible. He could not be sure that he had experienced aught which he + seemed to remember—he hoped it was all only his drunken fancy, for + what could have been the fate of the child subject to the freaks of his + imbecile folly! He was reassured to hear no rumors of a lost child, and + yet so definite were the images of his recollection that they must needs + constrain his credulity. + </p> + <p> + He felt it in the nature of a rescue one day when, as he chanced to join a + group of gossips loitering around the fire of the forge, he heard the + smith ask casually: “Who is that thar baby visitin' at Peter Petrie 's + over yander acrost Storm Mounting?” + </p> + <p> + “Gran'child, I reckon,” suggested his big-boned, bare-armed, soot-grimed + striker. + </p> + <p> + “Peter Petrie hain't got nare gran'-child,” said one of the loungers. + </p> + <p> + Tank, sober for once, held his breath to listen. + </p> + <p> + “Behaves powerful like a gran'dad,” observed the smith, holding a + horseshoe with the tongs in the fire while the striker laid hold on the + bellows and the sighing sound surged to and fro and the white blaze flared + forth, showing the interested faces of the group in the dusky smithy, and + among them the horse whose shoe was making, while another stood at the + open door defined against the snow. “Behaves like he ain't got a mite o' + sense. I war goin' by thar one day las' week an' I stepped up on the porch + ter pass the time o' day with Pete an' his wife, an' the door war open. + And' what d'ye s'pose I seen! Old Peter Petrie a-goin' round the floor on + all fours, an' a-settin' on his back war a baby—powerful peart + youngster—jes' a-grinnin' an' a-whoopin' an' a-poundin' old Peter + with a whip! An' Pete galloped, he did! Didn't seem beset with them + rheumatics he used ter talk about—peartest leetle 'possum of a + baby!” + </p> + <p> + Tank Dysart lost no time in his investigations and he had the courage of + his convictions. He did not scruple to call Peter Petrie to his face a + mail-robber. + </p> + <p> + “Ye tuk a package deposited in the United States' mail and converted it to + your own use,” he vociferated. + </p> + <p> + “'Twar neither stamped nor addressed,” old Petrie gruffly contended, + albeit obviously disconcerted. + </p> + <p> + Dysart even sought to induce the postmaster to send a complaint of the + rider to the postal authorities. + </p> + <p> + “I got too much respec' fur my job,” replied that worthy, jocosely eying + Tank across the counter of the store. “I ain't goin' ter let on ter the + folks in Washington that we send babies about in the mail-bags hyar in the + mountings.” + </p> + <p> + The social acquaintance of the little man had necessarily been rather + limited, but one day a neighbor, attracted to the Petrie cabin by idle + curiosity concerning the waif robbed from the mails, gazed upon him for + one astonished instant and then proclaimed his identity. + </p> + <p> + “Nare Gilhooley should ever cross Storm Mounting, 'cordin ter yer saying + Petey, an' hyar ye hev been totin' Boss Gilhooley 's gran'son back an' + forth across Old Stormy, an' all yer spare time ye spend on yer hands an' + knees bar kin' like a dog jes' ter pleasure him.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Petrie changed countenance suddenly. His square, bristly, grim jaw + hardened and stiffened, so dear to him were all his stubborn convictions + and grizzly, ancient feuds. But he bestirred himself to cause information + to be conveyed to Bruce Gilhooley of his son's whereabouts for he readily + suspected that the family had fled to Minervy Sue's in Georgia. Peter + Petrie sustained in this act of conscience a grievous wrench, for it + foreshadowed parting with the choice missive filched from the mail-bag, + but he was not unmindful of the anguish and bereavement of the mother, and + somehow the thought was peculiarly coercive at this season. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want ter even up with King Herod, now, sure!” he averred to + himself one night as he sat late over the embers, reviewing his plans all + made. He thought much in these lone hours as He heard the wind speed past, + the trees crack under their weight of snow, and noted through the tiny + window the glister of a great star of a supernal lustre, high above the + pines, what a freight of joy the tidings of this child would bear to the + bleeding hearts of his kindred. Albeit so humble, the parallel must needs + arise suggesting the everlasting joy the existence of another Child had + brought to the souls of all kindreds, all peoples. “Peace, peace,” he + reiterated, as the red coals crumbled and the gray ash spread; “Peace an' + good-will!” + </p> + <p> + The words seemed to epitomize all religion, all value, all hope' and + somehow they so dwelt in his mind that the next day he was moved to add a + personal message to old Boss Gilhooley in sending the more important + information to Bruce. + </p> + <p> + “Let on ter Boss,” he charged the envoy, “ez—ez—that thar + jedgmint an' execution issued war jes' formal—ye mought say—jes' + ter hev all the papers reg'lar.” + </p> + <p> + By virtue of more attrition with the world the mail-rider was more + sophisticated than his enemy, and sooth to say, more sophistical. + </p> + <p> + “Boss is writ-proof, the old fool, though he war minded ter cut me out'n + my levy if he could! But waal, jes' tell him from me ez we-uns hev hed a + heap o' pleasure in the baby's company in the Chris 'mus, an' we-uns + expec' ter borry him some whenst they all gits home!” + </p> + <p> + To the child's kindred the news was as if he had risen from the dead, and + the gratitude of the Gilhooleys to Petrie knew no bounds. They had + accounted the baby drowned when, missing him, they had retraced their way, + finding naught but a bit of old blanket on which he had lain, close to the + verge of the cruel river. Boss Gilhooley, softened and rendered tractable + by exile and sorrow, upon his return lent himself to an affected warmth + toward Peter Petrie which gradually assumed all the fervors of sincerity. + The neighbors indeed were moved to say that the two friends and ancient + enemies, when both on all fours and barking for the delight of the baby, + were never so little like dogs in all their lives. + </p> + <p> + Thus a child shall lead them. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Crosses Storm Mountain?, by +Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? *** + +***** This file should be named 23551-h.htm or 23551-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/5/5/23551/ + +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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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: Who Crosses Storm Mountain? + 1911 + +Author: Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +Release Date: November 19, 2007 [EBook #23551] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? + +By Charles Egbert Craddock + +1911 + + +The wind stirred in the weighted pines; the snow lay on the ground. Here +and there on its smooth, white expanse footprints betokened the woodland +gentry abroad. In the pallid glister of the moon, even amid the sparse, +bluish shadows of the leafless trees, one might discriminate the +impression of the pronged claw of the wild turkey, the short, swift +paces of the mink, the padded, doglike paw of the wolf. A progress of a +yet more ravening suggestion was intimated in great hoof-marks leading +to the door of a little log cabin all a-crouch in the grim grip of +winter and loneliness and poverty on the slope of the mountain, among +heavy, outcropping ledges of rock and beetling, overhanging crags. With +icy ranges all around as far as the eye could reach, with the vast, +instarred, dark sky above, it might seem as if sorrow, the world, the +law could hardly take account of so slight a thing, so remote. But +smoke was slowly stealing up from its stick-and-clay chimney, and its +clapboarded roof sheltered a group with scarcely the heart to mend the +fire. + +Two women shivered on the broad hearth before the dispirited embers. One +had wept so profusely that she had much ado to find a dry spot in her +blue-checked apron, thrown over her head, wherewith to mop her tears. +The other, much younger, her fair face reddened, her blue eyes swollen, +her auburn curling hair all tangled on her shoulders, her voice +half-choked with sobs, addressed herself to the narration of their +woes, her cold, listless hands clasped about her knees as she sat on an +inverted bushel-basket, for there was not a whole chair in the room. + +"An' then he jes' tuk an' leveled!" she faltered. + +A young hunter standing on the threshold, leaning on his rifle, a +brace of wild turkeys hanging over his shoulders, half a dozen rabbits +dangling from his belt, stared at her through the dull, red glow of the +fading fire in amazed agitation. + +"What did he level, Medory--a gun?" + +"Wuss'n that!" replied the younger woman. "He leveled the weepon o' the +law!" + +The man turned to look again at the curious disarray of the room. "The +law don't allow him to do sech ez this!" he blurted out in rising +anger. "Why, everything hyar is bodaciously broke an' busted! War it the +sheriff himself ez levied?" + +"'Twar jes' the dep'ty critter, Clem Tweed," explained Medora, "mighty +joki-fied, an' he 'peared ter be middlin' drunk, an' though he said +su'thin' 'bout exemptions he 'lowed ez we-uns lived at the eend o' the +world." + +Her mother-in-law suddenly lowered the apron from her face. + +"'The jumpin'-off place,' war what Clem Tweed called it!" she +interpolated with a fiery eye of indignant reminiscence. + +"He did! He did!" Medora bitterly resented this fling at the remoteness +of their poor home. "An' he said whilst hyar he'd level on everything +in sight, ez he hoped never ter travel sech roads agin--everything in +sight, even the baby an' the cat!" + +"Shucks, Medory, ye know the dep'ty man war funnin' whenst he said that +about the baby an' the cat! Ye know ez Clem admitted he hed Christmas in +his bones!" the elder objected. + +"Waal, war Clem Tweed funnin' whenst he done sech ez that, in levyin' an +execution?" Bruce Gilhooley pointed with his ramrod at the wreck of the +furniture. + +The two women burst into lugubrious sobs and rocked themselves back and +forth in unison. "'Twar _Dad!_" Medora moaned, in smothered accents. + +A pause of bewilderment ensued. Then the young man's face took on an +expression of dismay so ominous that Medora's tears were checked in +the ghastly fear of disasters yet to come to her father-in-law. Now +and again she glanced anxiously over her shoulder at an oblong black +aperture in the dusk which betokened the open door of the shed-room. +Some one lurked there, evidently cherishing all aloof a grief, an anger, +a despair too poignant to share. + +"Dad warn't hyar whenst the dep'ty leveled," she said. "An' mighty glad +we war--kase somebody mought hev got hurt. But whenst Dad kem home an' +larnt the news he jes'--he jes'--he jes' lept about like a painter." + +"He did! He did!" asseverated a voice from the veiled head, all muffled +in the checked apron. + +"Dad 'lowed," continued Medora, "ez Peter Petrie hev persecuted and druv +him ter the wall. Fust he tricked Dad out 'n some unoccupied lan' what +Dad hed begun ter clear, an' Petrie got it entered fust an' tuk out a +grant an' holds the title! An' whenst Dad lay claim ter it Peter Petrie +declared ef enny Gilhooley dared ter cross Storm Mounting he'd break +every bone in his body!" + +"A true word--the insurance of the critter!" came from the blue-checked +veil. + +A stir in the shed-room---a half-suppressed cough and a clearing of the +throat. "An' then Dad fell on Pete Petrie at the Crossroads' store, whar +the critter hed stopped with his mail-pouch, an' Dad trounced him well +afore all the crowd o' loafers thar!" + +"Bless the Lord, he did!" the checked apron voiced a melancholy triumph. + +"An' then, ye remember whenst Dad set out fire in the woods las' fall +ter burn off the trash on his own lan', the flames run jes' a leetle +over his line an' on ter them woods on Storm Mounting, doin' no harm ter +nobody, nor nuthin'!" + +"Not a mite--not a mite," asseverated the apron. + +"An' ez sech appears ter be agin the law Petrie gin information an' Dad +war fined five dollars!" + +"An' paid it!" cried Jane Gilhooley. "Ye know that!" + +"An' then, ez it 'pears ter be the law ez one hundred dollars fur sech +an offense is ter be forfeited ter ennybody ez will sue fur it," Medora +resumed, "Petrie seen his chance ter git even fur bein' beat in a +reg'lar knock-down-an'-drag-out fight, an'," with the rising inflection +of a climax, "he hev sued and got jedgmint!" + +"An' so what that half-drunk dep'ty, Clem Tweed, calls an execution war +leveled!" exclaimed Jane Gilhooley, her veiled head swaying forlornly as +she sobbed invisibly. + +"But Dad 'lowed ez Peter Petrie shouldn't hev none o' his gear," +Medora's eyes flashed with a responsive sentiment. + +"His gran'mam's warpin' bars!" suggested the elder woman. + +"The spinnin'-wheels she brung from No'th Carliny," enumerated Medora, +"the loom an' the candle-moulds." + +"The cheers his dad made fur his mam whenst they begun housekeeping" +said Jane Gilhooley's muffled voice. + +"The press an' the safe," Medora continued. + +"The pot an' the oven," chokingly responded the apron. + +"The churn an' the piggins!" + +"The skillet an' the trivet!" + +Medora, fairly flinching from the inventory of all the household goods, +so desecrated and "leveled on," returned to the salient incident of +the day. "Dad jes' tuk an axe an' bust up every yearthly thing in the +house!" + +"An' now we-uns ain't got nuthin'." The elder woman looked about in +stunned dismay, her little black eyes a mere gleam of a pupil in the +midst of their swollen lids and network of wrinkles. + +One of the miseries of the very ignorant is, paradoxically, the partial +character of their privations. If the unknown were to them practically +non-existent they might find solace in sluggish and secure content. But +even the smallest circle of being touches continually the periphery +of wider spheres. The air is freighted with echoes of undistinguished +sounds. Powers, illimitable, absolute, uncomprehended, seem to hold +an inimical sway over their lives and of these the most dreaded is +the benign law, framed for their protection, spreading above them an +unperceived, unimagined aegis. Thus there was hardly an article in +the house which was not exempt by statute from execution, and the house +itself and land worth only a hundred or two dollars were protected by +the homestead law. The facetious deputy, Clem Tweed, with "Christmas in +his bones," would have committed a misdemeanor in seriously levying upon +them. He had held the affair as a capital farce--even affecting with +wild, appropriating gambols to seize the baby and the cat--and fully +realized that malice only had prompted the whole proceeding, to +humiliate Ross Gilhooley and illustrate the completeness of the victory +which Peter Petrie had won over his enemy. + +The younger Gilhooley, however, quaked as his limited intelligence laid +hold on the fact that if the law had permitted a levy on the household +goods to satisfy the judgment of Peter Petrie their destruction was +in itself a balking of the process, resistance to the law, and with an +unimagined penalty. + +"We-uns hev got ter git away from hyar somehows!" he said with decision. + +The idea of bluff Ross Gilhooley in the clutches of the law because of +one fierce moment of goaded and petulant despair, with the ignominy of a +criminal accusation, with all the sordid concomitants of arrest and +the jail, was infinitely terrible to his unaccustomed imagination. He +revolted from its contemplation with a personal application. For an +honest man, however poor, feels all the high prerogatives of honor. + +There was a step in the shed-room where Ross Gilhooley had lurked and +listened. His wrath now spent, his mind had traveled the obvious course +to his son's conclusion. He stood a gigantic, bearded shadow in the +doorway, half ashamed, wholly repentant, dimly, vaguely fearful, and all +responsive and quivering to the idea of flight. "I been studyin' some +'bout goin' ter Minervy Sue's in Georgy," he said creakingly, as if his +voice had suffered from its unwonted disuse. + +"An' none too soon," said Bruce doggedly. "The oxen is Medory's, bein' +lef' ter her whenst her dad died, an' the wagin is mine! Quit foolin' +along o' that thar fire, Medory!" For with her bright hair hanging +curling over her cheeks his young wife had leaned forward to start it +anew. + +"Never ter kindle it agin on this ha'th-stone!" she cried with a +poignant realization of the significance of the uprooting of the +roof-tree and the wide, vague world without. And still once more the two +women fell to bemoaning their fate of exile beside the expiring embers, +while the elder Gilhooley's voice sounded bluffly outside calling the +oxen, and his son was rattling their heavy yoke in the corner. + +They were well advanced on their journey ere yet the snowy Christmas +dawn was in the sky. So slow a progress was ill-associated with the idea +of flight. It was almost noiseless--the great hoofs of the oxen fell all +muffled on the deep snow still whitely a-glitter with the moon, hanging +dense and opaque in the western sky, and flecked with the dendroidal +images of the overshadowing trees. The immense bovine heads swayed to +and fro, cadenced to the deliberate pace, and more than once a muttered +low of distaste and protest rose with the vapor curling upward from lip +and nostril into the icy air. On the front seat of the cumbrous, white, +canvas-covered vehicle was Medora, her bright hair blowing out from the +folds of a red shawl worn hood-wise; she held a cord attached to the +horns of one of the oxen by which she sought to guide the yoke in those +intervals when her husband, who walked by their side with a goad, must +needs fall to the rear to drive up a cow and calf. Inside the wagon Ross +Gilhooley did naught but bow his head between his hands as if he could +not face the coming day charged with he knew not what destiny for him. +His wife was adjusting and readjusting the limited gear they had dared +to bring off with them--their forlorn rags of clothing and bedding, all +in shapeless bundles; sundry gourds full of soft soap, salt, tobacco, +and a scanty store of provisions, which she feared would not last them +all the way to Georgia to the home of Minervy Sue, their daughter. + +No one touched a space deeply filled with straw, but now and +again Medora glanced back at it with the dawning of a smile in her +grief-stricken face that cold, nor fear, nor despair could wholly +overcast. Three small heads, all golden and curly, all pink-cheeked and +fair, all blissfully slumbering, rested there as if they had been so +many dolls packed away thus for fear of breaking. But they had no +other couch than the straw, for Ross Gilhooley had not spared the +feather-beds, and the little cabin at the Notch was now half full of the +fluff ripped out by his sharp knife from the split ticks. + +Down the mountain the fugitives went, as silent as their shadows; and at +last, when one might hardly know if it were the sheen of the moon that +still illuminated the wan and wintry scene, or the reflection from the +snow, or the dawning of the dark-gray day, the river came in sight, all +a rippling, steely expanse under the chill wind between its ice-girt +crags and snowy banks. + +The oxen went down to the ford in a lumbering run. Bruce sprang upon the +tailboard to ride, the dogs chased the cow and calf to the crossing. The +wheels grated ominously against great submerged boulders; the surging +waves rose almost to the wagon-bed; the wind struck aslant the immense, +cumbrous cover, threatening to capsize it; and, suddenly, in the midst +of the transit, a sound, as clear as a bugle in the rare icy air, as +searchingly sweet! + +All were motionless for an instant, doubtful, anxious, listening--only +the wintry wind with its keen sibilance; only the dash of the swift +current; only the grating of the wheels on the sand as the oxen reached +the opposite margin! + +But hark, again! A clear tenor voice in the fag end of an old song: + + "An' my bigges' bottle war my bes' friend, + An' my week's work was all at an end!" + +It issued from beyond the right fork of the road in advance, and an +instant panic ensued. Discovery was hard upon them. Their laborious +device was brought to naught should any eye espy them in their hasty +flight to the State line. It had not seemed impossible that ere the day +should dawn they might be far away in those impenetrable forests +where one may journey many a league, meeting naught more inimical or +speculative than bear or deer. It still was worth the effort. + +With a sudden spring from the tailboard of the wagon Bruce Gilhooley +reached the yoke, fiercely goading the oxen onward. With an abrupt +lurch, in which the vehicle swayed precariously and ponderously from +side to side, they started up the steep, snowy bank, and breaking into +their ungainly rim were guided into the left fork of the road. It was +a level stretch and fringed about with pines, and soon all sight of the +pilgrims was lost amidst the heavy snow-laden boughs. + +The river bank was silent and solitary; and after a considerable +interval a man rode down from the right fork to the ford. + +More than once his horse refused the passage. A sort of parrot-faced man +he was, known as Tank Dysart, young, red-haired, with a long, bent nose +and a preposterous air of knowingness and turbulent inquiry. He cocked +his head on one side with a snort of surprised indignation, and beat +with both heels, but again the horse, sidling about the drifts, declined +the direct passage and essayed to cross elsewhere. + +All at once a bundle of red flannel, lying in the drift close to the +water's edge, caught his attention, and suddenly there issued forth a +lusty bawl. The horseman would have turned pale but for the whisky which +had permanently incarnadined the bend of his nose. As it was, however, +he looked far more dismayed than the facts might seem to warrant. + +"It's the booze--I got 'em again fur sartain!" he quavered in plaintive +helplessness, his terrified eyes fixed on the squirming bundle. + +Then, drunk as he was, he perceived the rift in his logic "Gol-darn ye!" +he exclaimed, violently kicking the horse, "you-uns ain't got no call +ter view visions an' see sights--ye old water-bibber!" + +As the horse continued to snort and back away from the object Tank +Dysart became convinced of its reality. Still mounted, he passed close +enough alongside for a grasp at it. The old red-flannel cape and hood +disclosed a plump infant about ten months of age, whimpering and cruelly +rubbing his eyes with his fists, and now bawling outright with rage; +as he chanced to meet the gaze of his rescuer he paused to laugh in +a one-sided way, displaying two pearly teeth and a very beguiling +red tongue, but again stiffening himself he yelled as behooves a +self-respecting baby so obviously misplaced. + +Tank Dysart held him out at arm's length in his strong grasp, surveying +him in mingled astonishment and delight. "Why, bless my soul, Christmas +gift!" he addressed him. "I'm powerful obligated fur yer company!" + +For the genial infant giggled and sputtered and gurgled inconsistently +in the midst of his bawling, and banteringly kicked out one soft foot +in a snug, red sock, faking Tank full in the chest; then he stiffened, +swayed backward and screamed again as if in agonies of grief. + +"Sufferin' Moses!" grinned the drunkard. "I wouldn't take nuthin' fur +ye! Ye air a find, an' no mistake!" The word suggested illusion. "Ye +ain't no snake, now--nary toad--nary green rabbit--no sort'n jim-jam?" +he stipulated apprehensively. + +The baby babbled gleefully, and, as if attesting its reality, delivered +half a dozen strong kicks with those active plump feet, encased in the +smart red socks. + +It suddenly occurred to the drunkard that here was a duty owing--to seek +out the child's parents. Even to his befuddled brain that fact was plain +enough. The little creature had been lost evidently from some family of +travelers who would presently retrace their way seeking him. + +When Bruce Gilhooley had sprung from the tailboard of the wagon in +that moment of tumultuous panic he had not noticed the bundle of straw +dislodged. Falling with it softly into the deep snowdrift the child had +continued to slumber quietly till awakened by the cold to silence and +loneliness, and then this strange rencontre. + +With a half-discriminated idea of overtaking the supposed travelers, +Tank Dysart briskly forded the river, and, pressing his horse to a +canter, made off in the opposite direction. + +Gayly they fared along for a time, Tank frequently refreshing himself +from a "tickler," facetiously so-called, which he carried in his pocket. +Occasionally he generously offered the baby the stopper to suck, and as +the child smacked his lips with evident relish Tank roared out again in +his fine and flexible tenor: + +"For my bigges' bottle war my bes' friend, an' my week's work war all at +an end!" + +The horse, by far the nobler animal of the two, stood still ever and +anon when the drunken creature swayed back and forth in his saddle, +imperiling his equilibrium. Even to his besotted mind, as he grew +more intoxicated, the danger to the child in his erratic grasp became +apparent. + +"I got ter put him in a safe place--a Christmas gift," he now and then +stuttered. + +When he came at last within reach of a human habitation he had been for +some time consciously on the point of falling from the saddle with +the infant, who was now quietly asleep. He noted, as in a dream, the +Crossroads' store, which was also the post-office; standing in front +of the log cabin was a horse already saddled hanging down a dull, +dispirited head as he awaited the mail-rider through a long, cold +interval, and bearing a United States mail-pouch, mouldy, flabby, +nearly empty. The door of the store was closed against the cold; the +blacksmith's shop was far down the road; the two or three scattered +dwellings showed no sign of life but the wreaths of blue smoke curling +up from the clay-and-stick chimneys. + +Perhaps it was the impunity of the moment that suggested the idea to +Dysart's whimsical drunken fancy. He never knew. He suddenly tried the +mouth of the pouch. It was locked. Nothing daunted, a stroke of a +keen knife slit the upper part of the side seam, the sleeping baby was +slipped into the aperture, and Tank Dysart rode off chuckling with glee +to think of the dismay of the mail-rider when the mall-pouch should +break forth with squeals and quiver with kicks, which embarrassment +would probably not befall him until far away in the wilderness with his +perplexity, for there had been something stronger on that stopper than +milk or cambric tea. + +As Tank went he muttered something about the security of the United +States mail, wherein he had had the forethought to deposit his Christmas +gift, and forthwith he flung himself into the shuck-pen, where he fell +asleep, and was not found till half-frozen, his whereabouts being at +last disclosed to the storekeeper by the persistent presence of his +faithful steed standing hard by. Tank was humanely cared for by this +functionary, but several days elapsed before he altogether recovered +consciousness; it was naturally a confused, disconnected train of +impressions which his mind retained. At first, in a maudlin state, +he demanded of the storekeeper, in his capacity as postmaster also, a +package, a Christmas gift, which he averred he should receive by +mail. Albeit this was esteemed merely an inebriated fancy, such is the +sensitiveness of the United States postal service on the subject of +missing mail matter that the postmaster, half-irritated, half-nervous, +detailed it to the mail-rider. "Tank 'lows ez he put it into the mail +hyar himself!" + +Peter Petrie, a lowering-eyed, severe-visaged, square-jawed man, gave +Tank Dysart only a glance of ire from under his hat-brim, as if the +matter were not worth the waste of a word. + +Dysart, wreck though he was, had not yet lost all conscience. He was in +an agony of remorse and doubt. It kept him sober longer than he had +been for five years, for he was a professed drunkard and idler, scarcely +considered responsible. He could not be sure that he had experienced +aught which he seemed to remember--he hoped it was all only his drunken +fancy, for what could have been the fate of the child subject to the +freaks of his imbecile folly! He was reassured to hear no rumors of a +lost child, and yet so definite were the images of his recollection that +they must needs constrain his credulity. + +He felt it in the nature of a rescue one day when, as he chanced to join +a group of gossips loitering around the fire of the forge, he heard the +smith ask casually: "Who is that thar baby visitin' at Peter Petrie 's +over yander acrost Storm Mounting?" + +"Gran'child, I reckon," suggested his big-boned, bare-armed, soot-grimed +striker. + +"Peter Petrie hain't got nare gran'-child," said one of the loungers. + +Tank, sober for once, held his breath to listen. + +"Behaves powerful like a gran'dad," observed the smith, holding a +horseshoe with the tongs in the fire while the striker laid hold on +the bellows and the sighing sound surged to and fro and the white blaze +flared forth, showing the interested faces of the group in the dusky +smithy, and among them the horse whose shoe was making, while another +stood at the open door defined against the snow. "Behaves like he ain't +got a mite o' sense. I war goin' by thar one day las' week an' I stepped +up on the porch ter pass the time o' day with Pete an' his wife, an' the +door war open. And' what d'ye s'pose I seen! Old Peter Petrie +a-goin' round the floor on all fours, an' a-settin' on his back war +a baby--powerful peart youngster--jes' a-grinnin' an' a-whoopin' an' +a-poundin' old Peter with a whip! An' Pete galloped, he did! Didn't +seem beset with them rheumatics he used ter talk about--peartest leetle +'possum of a baby!" + +Tank Dysart lost no time in his investigations and he had the courage of +his convictions. He did not scruple to call Peter Petrie to his face a +mail-robber. + +"Ye tuk a package deposited in the United States' mail and converted it +to your own use," he vociferated. + +"'Twar neither stamped nor addressed," old Petrie gruffly contended, +albeit obviously disconcerted. + +Dysart even sought to induce the postmaster to send a complaint of the +rider to the postal authorities. + +"I got too much respec' fur my job," replied that worthy, jocosely eying +Tank across the counter of the store. "I ain't goin' ter let on ter the +folks in Washington that we send babies about in the mail-bags hyar in +the mountings." + +The social acquaintance of the little man had necessarily been rather +limited, but one day a neighbor, attracted to the Petrie cabin by idle +curiosity concerning the waif robbed from the mails, gazed upon him for +one astonished instant and then proclaimed his identity. + +"Nare Gilhooley should ever cross Storm Mounting, 'cordin ter yer saying +Petey, an' hyar ye hev been totin' Boss Gilhooley 's gran'son back an' +forth across Old Stormy, an' all yer spare time ye spend on yer hands +an' knees bar kin' like a dog jes' ter pleasure him." + +Peter Petrie changed countenance suddenly. His square, bristly, grim jaw +hardened and stiffened, so dear to him were all his stubborn convictions +and grizzly, ancient feuds. But he bestirred himself to cause +information to be conveyed to Bruce Gilhooley of his son's whereabouts +for he readily suspected that the family had fled to Minervy Sue's in +Georgia. Peter Petrie sustained in this act of conscience a grievous +wrench, for it foreshadowed parting with the choice missive filched from +the mail-bag, but he was not unmindful of the anguish and bereavement +of the mother, and somehow the thought was peculiarly coercive at this +season. + +"I don't want ter even up with King Herod, now, sure!" he averred to +himself one night as he sat late over the embers, reviewing his plans +all made. He thought much in these lone hours as He heard the wind speed +past, the trees crack under their weight of snow, and noted through the +tiny window the glister of a great star of a supernal lustre, high above +the pines, what a freight of joy the tidings of this child would bear to +the bleeding hearts of his kindred. Albeit so humble, the parallel must +needs arise suggesting the everlasting joy the existence of another +Child had brought to the souls of all kindreds, all peoples. "Peace, +peace," he reiterated, as the red coals crumbled and the gray ash +spread; "Peace an' good-will!" + +The words seemed to epitomize all religion, all value, all hope' and +somehow they so dwelt in his mind that the next day he was moved to add +a personal message to old Boss Gilhooley in sending the more important +information to Bruce. + +"Let on ter Boss," he charged the envoy, "ez--ez--that thar jedgmint +an' execution issued war jes' formal--ye mought say--jes' ter hev all +the papers reg'lar." + +By virtue of more attrition with the world the mail-rider was more +sophisticated than his enemy, and sooth to say, more sophistical. + +"Boss is writ-proof, the old fool, though he war minded ter cut me out'n +my levy if he could! But waal, jes' tell him from me ez we-uns hev hed +a heap o' pleasure in the baby's company in the Chris 'mus, an' we-uns +expec' ter borry him some whenst they all gits home!" + +To the child's kindred the news was as if he had risen from the dead, +and the gratitude of the Gilhooleys to Petrie knew no bounds. They had +accounted the baby drowned when, missing him, they had retraced their +way, finding naught but a bit of old blanket on which he had lain, close +to the verge of the cruel river. Boss Gilhooley, softened and rendered +tractable by exile and sorrow, upon his return lent himself to an +affected warmth toward Peter Petrie which gradually assumed all the +fervors of sincerity. The neighbors indeed were moved to say that the +two friends and ancient enemies, when both on all fours and barking for +the delight of the baby, were never so little like dogs in all their +lives. + +Thus a child shall lead them. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Crosses Storm Mountain?, by +Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO CROSSES STORM MOUNTAIN? *** + +***** This file should be named 23551.txt or 23551.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/5/5/23551/ + +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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