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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/410-h.zip b/410-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c18226a --- /dev/null +++ b/410-h.zip diff --git a/410-h/410-h.htm b/410-h/410-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..64d7be8 --- /dev/null +++ b/410-h/410-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1972 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of 'Hell fer Sartain' and Other Stories, +by John Fox, Jr. +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +PRE { font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's 'Hell fer Sartain' and Other Stories, by John Fox, Jr. + +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: 'Hell fer Sartain' and Other Stories + +Author: John Fox, Jr. + +Posting Date: July 20, 2008 [EBook #410] +Release Date: January, 1996 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'HELL FER SARTAIN' *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +'Hell fer Sartain' +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +and +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Other Stories +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JOHN FOX, JR. +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO<BR> +MY BROTHER<BR> +JAMES +</H3> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR'S NOTE +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<A HREF="#creek">ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK</A><BR> +<A HREF="#gap">THROUGH THE GAP</A><BR> +<A HREF="#trick">A TRICK O' TRADE</A><BR> +<A HREF="#baby">GRAYSON'S BABY</A><BR> +<A HREF="#courtin">COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN</A><BR> +<A HREF="#message">THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND</A><BR> +<A HREF="#trade">THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE</A><BR> +<A HREF="#preachin">PREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME</A><BR> +<A HREF="#passing">THE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS</A><BR> +<A HREF="#purple">A PURPLE RHODODENDRON</A><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="creek"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK +</H3> + +<P> +Thar was a dancin'-party Christmas night on "Hell fer Sartain." Jes +tu'n up the fust crick beyond the bend thar, an' climb onto a stump, +an' holler about ONCE, an' you'll see how the name come. Stranger, +hit's HELL fer sartain! Well, Rich Harp was thar from the head-waters, +an' Harve Hall toted Nance Osborn clean across the Cumberlan'. Fust +one ud swing Nance, an' then t'other. Then they'd take a pull out'n +the same bottle o' moonshine, an'—fust one an' then t'other—they'd +swing her agin. An' Abe Shivers a-settin' thar by the fire a-bitin' +his thumbs! +</P> + +<P> +Well, things was sorter whoopin', when somebody ups an' tells Harve +that Rich had said somep'n' agin Nance an' him, an' somebody ups an' +tells Rich that Harve had said somep'n' agin Nance an' HIM. In a +minute, stranger, hit was like two wild-cats in thar. Folks got 'em +parted, though, but thar was no more a-swingin' of Nance that night. +Harve toted her back over the Cumberlan', an' Rich's kinsfolks tuk him +up "Hell fer Sartain"; but Rich got loose, an' lit out lickety-split +fer Nance Osborn's. He knowed Harve lived too fer over Black Mountain +to go home that night, an' he rid right across the river an' up to +Nance's house, an' hollered fer Harve. Harve poked his head out'n the +loft—he knowed whut was wanted—an' Harve says, "Uh, come in hyeh an' +go to bed. Hit's too late!" An' Rich seed him a-gapin' like a chicken, +an' in he walked, stumblin' might' nigh agin the bed whar Nance was +a-layin', listenin' an' not sayin' a word. +</P> + +<P> +Stranger, them two fellers slept together plum frien'ly, an' they et +together plum frien'ly next mornin', an' they sa'ntered down to the +grocery plum frien'ly. An' Rich says, "Harve," says he, "let's have a +drink." "All right, Rich," says Harve. An' Rich says, "Harve," says +he, "you go out'n that door an' I'll go out'n this door." "All right, +Rich," says Harve, an' out they walked, steady, an' thar was two shoots +shot, an' Rich an' Harve both drapped, an' in ten minutes they was +stretched out on Nance's bed an' Nance was a-lopin' away fer the yarb +doctor. +</P> + +<P> +The gal nussed 'em both plum faithful. Rich didn't hev much to say, +an' Harve didn't hev much to say. Nance was sorter quiet, an' Nance's +mammy, ole Nance, jes grinned. Folks come in to ax atter 'em right +peart. Abe Shivers come cl'ar 'cross the river—powerful frien'ly—an' +ever' time Nance ud walk out to the fence with him. One time she +didn't come back, an' ole Nance fotched the boys thar dinner, an' ole +Nance fotched thar supper, an' then Rich he axed whut was the matter +with young Nance. An' ole Nance jes snorted. Atter a while Rich says: +"Harve," says he, "who tol' you that I said that word agin you an' +Nance?" "Abe Shivers," says Harve. "An' who tol' you," says Harve, +"that I said that word agin Nance an' YOU?" "Abe Shivers," says Rich. +An' both says, "Well, damn me!" An' Rich tu'ned right over an' begun +pullin' straws out'n the bed. He got two out, an' he bit one off, an' +he says: "Harve," says he, "I reckon we better draw fer him. The +shortes' gits him." An' they drawed. Well, nobody ever knowed which +got the shortes' straw, stranger, but— +</P> + +<P> +Thar'll be a dancin'-party comin' Christmas night on "Hell fer +Sartain." Rich Harp 'll be thar from the head-waters. Harve Hall's +a-goin' to tote the Widder Shivers clean across the Cumberlan'. Fust +one 'll swing Nance, an' then t'other. Then they'll take a pull out'n +the same bottle o' moonshine, an'—fust one an' then t'other—they'll +swing her agin, jes the same. ABE won't be thar. He's a-settin' by a +bigger fire, I reckon (ef he ain't in it), a-bitin' his thumbs! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="gap"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THROUGH THE GAP +</H3> + +<P> +When thistles go adrift, the sun sets down the valley between the +hills; when snow comes, it goes down behind the Cumberland and streams +through a great fissure that people call the Gap. Then the last light +drenches the parson's cottage under Imboden Hill, and leaves an +after-glow of glory on a majestic heap that lies against the east. +Sometimes it spans the Gap with a rainbow. +</P> + +<P> +Strange people and strange tales come through this Gap from the +Kentucky hills. Through it came these two, late one day—a man and a +woman—afoot. I met them at the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork. +</P> + +<P> +"Is thar a preacher anywhar aroun' hyeh?" he asked. I pointed to the +cottage under Imboden Hill. The girl flushed slightly and turned her +head away with a rather unhappy smile. Without a word, the mountaineer +led the way towards town. A moment more and a half-breed Malungian +passed me on the bridge and followed them. +</P> + +<P> +At dusk the next day I saw the mountaineer chopping wood at a shanty +under a clump of rhododendron on the river-bank. The girl was cooking +supper inside. The day following he was at work on the railroad, and +on Sunday, after church, I saw the parson. The two had not been to +him. Only that afternoon the mountaineer was on the bridge with +another woman, hideously rouged and with scarlet ribbons fluttering +from her bonnet. Passing on by the shanty, I saw the Malungian talking +to the girl. She apparently paid no heed to him until, just as he was +moving away, he said something mockingly, and with a nod of his head +back towards the bridge. She did not look up even then, but her face +got hard and white, and, looking back from the road, I saw her slipping +through the bushes into the dry bed of the creek, to make sure that +what the half-breed told her was true. +</P> + +<P> +The two men were working side by side on the railroad when I saw them +again, but on the first pay-day the doctor was called to attend the +Malungian, whose head was split open with a shovel. I was one of two +who went out to arrest his assailant, and I had no need to ask who he +was. The mountaineer was a devil, the foreman said, and I had to club +him with a pistol-butt before he would give in. He said he would get +even with me; but they all say that, and I paid no attention to the +threat. For a week he was kept in the calaboose, and when I passed the +shanty just after he was sent to the county-seat for trial, I found it +empty. The Malungian, too, was gone. Within a fortnight the +mountaineer was in the door of the shanty again. Having no accuser, he +had been discharged. He went back to his work, and if he opened his +lips I never knew. Every day I saw him at work, and he never failed to +give me a surly look. Every dusk I saw him in his door-way, waiting, +and I could guess for what. It was easy to believe that the stern +purpose in his face would make its way through space and draw her to +him again. And she did come back one day. I had just limped down the +mountain with a sprained ankle. A crowd of women was gathered at the +edge of the woods, looking with all their eyes to the shanty on the +river-bank. The girl stood in the door-way. The mountaineer was +coming back from work with his face down. +</P> + +<P> +"He hain't seed her yit," said one. "He's goin' to kill her shore. I +tol' her he would. She said she reckoned he would, but she didn't +keer." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment I was paralyzed by the tragedy at hand. She was in the +door looking at him when he raised his head. For one moment he stood +still, staring, and then he started towards her with a quickened step. +I started too, then, every step a torture, and as I limped ahead she +made a gesture of terror and backed into the room before him. The door +closed, and I listened for a pistol-shot and a scream. It must have +been done with a knife, I thought, and quietly, for when I was within +ten paces of the cabin he opened the door again. His face was very +white; he held one hand behind him, and he was nervously fumbling at +his chill with the other. As he stepped towards me I caught the handle +of a pistol in my side pocket and waited. He looked at me sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you say the preacher lived up thar?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," I said, breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +In the door-way just then stood the girl with a bonnet in her hand, and +at a nod from him they started up the hill towards the cottage. They +came down again after a while, he stalking ahead, and she, after the +mountain fashion, behind. And after this fashion I saw them at sunset +next day pass over the bridge and into the mouth of the Gap whence they +came. Through this Gap come strange people and strange tales from the +Kentucky hills. Over it, sometimes, is the span of a rainbow. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="trick"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A TRICK O' TRADE +</H3> + +<P> +Stranger, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's +business; but you ax me straight, an' I tell ye straight: You watch +ole Tom! +</P> + +<P> +Now, I'll take ole Tom Perkins' word agin anybody's 'ceptin' when hit +comes to a hoss trade ur a piece o' land. Fer in the tricks o' sech, +ole Tom 'lows—well, hit's diff'ent; an' I reckon, stranger, as how hit +sorter is. He was a-stayin' at Tom's house, the furriner was, +a-dickerin' fer a piece o' lan'—the same piece, mebbe, that you're +atter now—an' Tom keeps him thar fer a week to beat him out'n a +dollar, an' then won't let him pay nary a cent fer his boa'd. Now, +stranger, that's Tom. +</P> + +<P> +Well, Abe Shivers was a-workin' fer Tom—you've heerd tell o' Abe—an' +the furriner wasn't more'n half gone afore Tom seed that Abe was up to +some of his devilMINT. Abe kin hatch up more devilMINT in a minit than +Satan hisself kin in a week; so Tom jes got Abe out'n the stable under +a hoe-handle, an' tol' him to tell the whole thing straight ur he'd +have to go to glory right thar. An' Abe tol'! +</P> + +<P> +'Pears like Abe had foun' a streak o' iron ore on the lan', an' had +racked his jinny right down to Hazlan an' tol' the furriner, who was +thar a-buyin' wild lands right an' left. Co'se, Abe was goin' to make +the furriner whack up fer gittin' the lan' so cheap. Well, brother, +the furriner come up to Tom's an' got Tom into one o' them new-fangled +trades whut the furriners calls a option—t'other feller kin git out'n +hit, but you can't. The furriner 'lowed he'd send his podner up thar +next day to put the thing in writin' an' close up the trade. Hit +looked like ole Tom was ketched fer shore, an' ef Tom didn't ra'r, I'd +tell a man. He jes let that hoe-handle drap on Abe fer 'bout haffen +hour, jes to give him time to study, an' next day thar was ole Tom +a-settin' on his orchard fence a-lookin' mighty unknowin', when the +furriner's podner come a-prancin' up an' axed ef old Tom Perkins lived +thar. +</P> + +<P> +Ole Tom jes whispers. +</P> + +<P> +Now, I clean fergot to tell ye, stranger, that Abe Shivers nuver could +talk out loud. He tol' so many lies that the Lawd—jes to make things +even—sorter fixed Abe, I reckon, so he couldn't lie on more'n one side +o' the river at a time. Ole Tom jes knowed t'other furriner had tol' +this un 'bout Abe, an,' shore 'nough, the feller says, sorter soft, +says he: +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, you air the feller whut foun' the ore?" +</P> + +<P> +Ole Tom—makin' like he was Abe, mind ye—jes whispers: "Thar hain't +none thar." +</P> + +<P> +Stranger, the feller mos' fell off'n his hoss. "Whut?" says he. Ole +Tom kep' a-whisperin': "Thar hain't no coal—no nothing; ole Tom +Perkins made me tell t'other furriner them lies." +</P> + +<P> +Well, sir, the feller WAS mad. "Jes whut I tol' that fool podner of +mine," he says, an' he pull out a dollar an' gives hit to Tom. Tom jes +sticks out his han' with his thum' turned in jes so, an' the furriner +says, "Well, ef you can't talk, you kin make purty damn good signs"; +but he forks over four mo' dollars (he 'lowed ole Tom had saved him a +pile o' money), an' turns his hoss an' pulls up agin. He was a-gittin' +the land so durned cheap that I reckon he jes hated to let hit go, an' +he says, says he: "Well, hain't the groun' rich? Won't hit raise no +tabaccy nur corn nur nothin'?" +</P> + +<P> +Ole Tom jes whispers: +</P> + +<P> +"To tell you the p'int-blank truth, stranger, that land's so durned +pore that I hain't nuver been able to raise my voice." +</P> + +<P> +Now, brother, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's +business—but you ax me straight an' I tell ye straight. Ole Tom +Perkins kin trade with furriners, fer he have l'arned their ways. You +watch ole Tom! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="baby"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GRAYSON'S BABY +</H3> + +<P> +The first snow sifted in through the Gap that night, and in a "shack" +of one room and a low loft a man was dead, a woman was sick to death, +and four children were barely alive; and nobody even knew. For they +were hill people, who sicken, suffer, and sometimes die, like animals, +and make no noise. +</P> + +<P> +Grayson, the Virginian, coming down from the woods that morning, saw +the big-hearted little doctor outside the door of the shack, walking up +and down, with his hands in his pockets. He was whistling softly when +Grayson got near, and, without stopping, pointed with his thumb within. +The oldest boy sat stolidly on the one chair in the room, his little +brother was on the floor hard by, and both were hugging a greasy stove. +The little girl was with her mother in the bed, both almost out of +sight under a heap of quilts. The baby was in a cradle, with its face +uncovered, whether dead or asleep Grayson could not tell. A pine +coffin was behind the door. It would not have been possible to add to +the disorder of the room, and the atmosphere made Grayson gasp. He +came out looking white. The first man to arrive thereafter took away +the eldest boy, a woman picked the baby girl from the bed, and a +childless young couple took up the pallid little fellow on the floor. +These were step-children. The baby boy that was left was the woman's +own. Nobody came for that, and Grayson went in again and looked at it +a long while. So little, so old a human face he had never seen. The +brow was wrinkled as with centuries of pain, and the little drawn mouth +looked as though the spirit within had fought its inheritance without a +murmur, and would fight on that way to the end. It was the pluck of +the face that drew Grayson. "I'll take it," he said. The doctor was +not without his sense of humor even then, but he nodded. "Cradle and +all," he said, gravely. And Grayson put both on one shoulder and +walked away. He had lost the power of giving further surprise in that +town, and had he met every man he knew, not one of them would have felt +at liberty to ask him what he was doing. An hour later the doctor +found the child in Grayson's room, and Grayson still looking at it. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it going to live, doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor shook his head. "Doubtful. Look at the color. It's +starved. There's nothing to do but to watch it and feed it. You can +do that." +</P> + +<P> +So Grayson watched it, with a fascination of which he was hardly +conscious. Never for one instant did its look change—the quiet, +unyielding endurance that no faith and no philosophy could ever bring +to him. It was ideal courage, that look, to accept the inevitable but +to fight it just that way. Half the little mountain town was talking +next day—that such a tragedy was possible by the public road-side, +with relief within sound of the baby's cry. The oldest boy was least +starved. Might made right in an extremity like his, and the boy had +taken care of himself. The young couple who had the second lad in +charge said they had been wakened at daylight the next morning by some +noise in the room. Looking up, they saw the little fellow at the +fireplace breaking an egg. He had built a fire, had got eggs from the +kitchen, and was cooking his breakfast. The little girl was +mischievous and cheery in spite of her bad plight, and nobody knew of +the baby except Grayson and the doctor. Grayson would let nobody else +in. As soon as it was well enough to be peevish and to cry, he took it +back to its mother, who was still abed. A long, dark mountaineer was +there, of whom the woman seemed half afraid. He followed Grayson +outside. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, podner," he said, with an unpleasant smile, "ye don't go up to +Cracker's Neck fer nothin', do ye?" +</P> + +<P> +The woman had lived at Cracker's Neck before she appeared at the Gap, +and it did not come to Grayson what the man meant until he was half-way +to his room. Then he flushed hot and wheeled back to the cabin, but +the mountaineer was gone. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell that fellow he had better keep out of my way," he said to the +woman, who understood, and wanted to say something, but not knowing +how, nodded simply. In a few days the other children went back to the +cabin, and day and night Grayson went to see the child, until it was +out of danger, and afterwards. It was not long before the women in +town complained that the mother was ungrateful. When they sent things +to eat to her the servant brought back word that she had called out, +"'Set them over thar,' without so much as a thanky." One message was +that "she didn' want no second-hand victuals from nobody's table." +Somebody suggested sending the family to the poor-house. The mother +said "she'd go out on her crutches and hoe corn fust, and that the +people who talked 'bout sendin' her to the po'-house had better save +their breath to make prayers with." One day she was hired to do some +washing. The mistress of the house happened not to rise until ten +o'clock. Next morning the mountain woman did not appear until that +hour. "She wasn't goin' to work a lick while that woman was a-layin' +in bed," she said, frankly. And when the lady went down town, she too +disappeared. Nor would she, she explained to Grayson, "while that +woman was a-struttin' the streets." +</P> + +<P> +After that, one by one, they let her alone, and the woman made not a +word of complaint. Within a week she was working in the fields, when +she should have been back in bed. The result was that the child +sickened again. The old look came back to its face, and Grayson was +there night and day. He was having trouble out in Kentucky about this +time, and he went to the Blue Grass pretty often. Always, however, he +left money with me to see that the child was properly buried if it +should die while he was gone; and once he telegraphed to ask how it +was. He said he was sometimes afraid to open my letters for fear that +he should read that the baby was dead. The child knew Grayson's voice, +his step. It would go to him from its own mother. When it was sickest +and lying torpid it would move the instant he stepped into the room, +and, when he spoke, would hold out its thin arms, without opening its +eyes, and for hours Grayson would walk the floor with the troubled +little baby over his shoulder. I thought several times it would die +when, on one trip, Grayson was away for two weeks. One midnight, +indeed, I found the mother moaning, and three female harpies about the +cradle. The baby was dying this time, and I ran back for a flask of +whiskey. Ten minutes late with the whiskey that night would have been +too late. The baby got to know me and my voice during that fortnight, +but it was still in danger when Grayson got back, and we went to see it +together. It was very weak, and we both leaned over the cradle, from +either side, and I saw the pity and affection—yes, hungry, half-shamed +affection—in Grayson's face. The child opened its eyes, looked from +one to the other, and held out its arms to ME. Grayson should have +known that the child forgot—that it would forget its own mother. He +turned sharply, and his face was a little pale. He gave something to +the woman, and not till then did I notice that her soft black eyes +never left him while he was in the cabin. The child got well; but +Grayson never went to the shack again, and he said nothing when I came +in one night and told him that some mountaineer—a long, dark +fellow-had taken the woman, the children, and the household gods of the +shack back into the mountains. +</P> + +<P> +"They don't grieve long," I said, "these people." +</P> + +<P> +But long afterwards I saw the woman again along the dusty road that +leads into the Gap. She had heard over in the mountains that Grayson +was dead, and had walked for two days to learn if it was true. I +pointed back towards Bee Rock, and told her that he had fallen from a +cliff back there. She did not move, nor did her look change. +Moreover, she said nothing, and, being in a hurry, I had to ride on. +</P> + +<P> +At the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork I looked back. The woman was +still there, under the hot mid-day sun and in the dust of the road, +motionless. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="courtin"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN +</H3> + +<P> +Hit was this way, stranger. When hit comes to handlin' a right peert +gal, Jeb Somers air about the porest man on Fryin' Pan, I reckon; an' +Polly Ann Sturgill have got the vineg'rest tongue on Cutshin or any +other crick. +</P> + +<P> +So the boys over on Fryin' Pan made it up to git 'em together. Abe +Shivers—you've heerd tell o' Abe—tol' Jeb that Polly Ann had seed him +in Hazlan (which she hadn't, of co'se), an' had said p'int-blank that +he was the likeliest feller she'd seed in them mountains. An' he tol' +Polly Ann that Jeb was ravin' crazy 'bout her. The pure misery of it +jes made him plumb delirious, Abe said; an' 'f Polly Ann wanted to find +her match fer languige an' talkin' out peert—well, she jes ought to +strike Jeb Somers. Fact is, stranger, Jeb Somers air might' nigh a +idgit; but Jeb 'lowed he'd rack right over on Cutshin an' set up with +Polly Ann Sturgill; an' Abe tells Polly Ann the king bee air comin'. +An' Polly Ann's cousin, Nance Osborn, comes over from Hell fer Sartain +(whut runs into Kingdom-Come) to stay all night an' see the fun. +</P> + +<P> +Now, I hain't been a-raftin' logs down to the settlemints o' Kaintuck +fer nigh on to twenty year fer nothin', An' I know gallivantin' is +diff'ent with us mountain fellers an' you furriners, in the premises, +anyways, as them lawyers up to court says; though I reckon hit's purty +much the same atter the premises is over. Whar you says "courtin'," +now, we says "talkin' to." Sallie Spurlock over on Fryin' Pan is +a-talkin' to Jim Howard now. Sallie's sister hain't nuver talked to no +man. An' whar you says "makin' a call on a young lady," we says +"settin' up with a gal"! An', stranger, we does it. We hain't got +more'n one room hardly ever in these mountains, an' we're jes obleeged +to set up to do any courtin' at all. +</P> + +<P> +Well, you go over to Sallie's to stay all night some time, an' purty +soon atter supper Jim Howard comes in. The ole man an' the ole woman +goes to bed, an' the chil'un an' you go to bed, an' ef you keeps one +eye open you'll see Jim's cheer an' Sallie's cheer a-movin' purty soon, +till they gets plumb together. Then, stranger, hit begins. Now I want +ye to understand that settin' up means business. We don't 'low no +foolishness in these mountains; an' 'f two fellers happens to meet at +the same house, they jes makes the gal say which one she likes best, +an' t'other one gits! Well, you'll see Jim put his arm 'round Sallie's +neck an' whisper a long while—jes so. Mebbe you've noticed whut +fellers us mountain folks air fer whisperin'. You've seed fellers +a-whisperin' all over Hazlan on court day, hain't ye? Ole Tom Perkins +'ll put his arm aroun' yo' neck an' whisper in yo' year ef he's ten +mile out'n the woods. I reckon thar's jes so much devilmint a-goin' on +in these mountains, folks is naturely afeerd to talk out loud. +</P> + +<P> +Well, Jim let's go an' Sallie puts her arm aroun' Jim's neck an' +whispers a long while—jes so; an' 'f you happen to wake up anywhar to +two o'clock in the mornin' you'll see jes that a-goin' on. Brother, +that's settin' up. +</P> + +<P> +Well, Jeb Somers, as I was a-sayin' in the premises, 'lowed he'd rack +right over on Cutshin an' set up with Polly Ann comin' Christmas night. +An' Abe tells Polly Ann Jeb says he aims to have her fer a Christmas +gift afore mornin'. Polly Ann jes sniffed sorter, but you know women +folks air always mighty ambitious jes to SEE a feller anyways, 'f he's +a-pinin' fer 'em. So Jeb come, an' Jeb was fixed up now fittin' to +kill. Jeb had his hair oiled down nice an' slick, and his mustache was +jes black as powder could make hit. Naturely hit was red; but a feller +can't do nothin' in these mountains with a red mustache; an' Jeb had a +big black ribbon tied in the butt o' the bigges' pistol Abe Shivers +could borrer fer him—hit was a badge o' death an' deestruction to his +enemies, Abe said, an' I tell ye Jeb did look like a man. He never +opened his mouth atter he says "howdy"—Jeb never does say nothin'; +Jeb's one o' them fellers whut hides thar lack o' brains by a-lookin' +solemn an' a-keepin' still, but thar don't nobody say much tell the ole +folks air gone to bed, an' Polly Ann jes 'lowed Jeb was a-waitin'. +Fact is, stranger, Abe Shivers had got Jeb a leetle disguised by +liquer, an' he did look fat an' sassy, ef he couldn't talk, a-settin' +over in the corner a-plunkin' the banjer an' a-knockin' off "Sour-wood +Mountain" an' "Jinny git aroun'" an' "Soapsuds over the Fence." +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Chickens a-crowin' on Sour-wood Mountain,<BR> + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!<BR> +Git yo' dawgs an' we'll go huntin',<BR> + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!" +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +An' when Jeb comes to +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"I've got a gal at the head o' the holler,<BR> + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!" +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +he jes turns one eye 'round on Polly Ann, an' then swings his chin +aroun' as though he didn't give a cuss fer nothin'. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"She won't come, an' I won't foller,<BR> + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Well, sir, Nance seed that Polly Ann was a-eyin' Jeb sort o' flustered +like, an' she come might' nigh splittin' right thar an' a-sp'ilin' the +fun, fer she knowed what a skeery fool Jeb was. An' when the ole folks +goes to bed, Nance lays thar under a quilt a-watchin' an' a-listenin'. +Well, Jeb knowed the premises, ef he couldn't talk, an' purty soon +Nance heerd Jeb's cheer creak a leetle, an' she says, Jeb's a-comin', +and Jeb was; an' Polly Ann 'lowed Jeb was jes a leetle TOO resolute an' +quick-like, an' she got her hand ready to give him one lick anyways fer +bein' so brigaty. I don't know as she'd 'a' hit him more'n ONCE. Jeb +had a farm, an' Polly Ann—well, Polly Ann was a-gittin' along. But +Polly Ann sot thar jes as though she didn't know Jeb was a-comin', an' +Jeb stopped once an' says, +</P> + +<P> +"You hain't got nothin' agin me, has ye?" +</P> + +<P> +An' Polly Ann says, sorter quick, +</P> + +<P> +"Naw; ef I had, I'd push it." +</P> + +<P> +Well, Jeb mos' fell off his cheer, when, ef he hadn't been sech a +skeery idgit, he'd 'a' knowed that Polly Ann was plain open an' shet +a-biddin' fer him. But he sot thar like a knot on a log fer haffen +hour, an' then he rickollected, I reckon, that Abe had tol' him Polly +Ann was peppery an' he mustn't mind, fer Jeb begun a-movin' ag'in till +he was slam-bang agin Polly Ann's cheer. An' thar he sot like a +punkin, not sayin' a word nur doin' nothin'. An' while Polly Ann was +a-wonderin' ef he was gone plumb crazy, blame me ef that durned fool +didn't turn roun' to that peppery gal an' say, +</P> + +<P> +"Booh, Polly Ann!" +</P> + +<P> +Well, Nance had to stuff the bedquilt in her mouth right thar to keep +from hollerin' out loud, fer Polly Ann's hand was a-hangin' down by the +cheer, jes a-waitin' fer a job, and Nance seed the fingers a-twitchin'. +An' Jeb waits another haffen hour an' Jeb says, +</P> + +<P> +"Ortern't I be killed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Whut fer?" says Polly Ann, sorter sharp. +</P> + +<P> +An' Jeb says, "Fer bein' so devilish." +</P> + +<P> +Well, brother, Nance snorted right out thar, an' Polly Ann Sturgill's +hand riz up jes once; an' I've heerd Jeb Somers say the next time he +jumps out o' the Fryin' Pan he's a-goin' to take hell-fire 'stid o' +Cutshin fer a place to light. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="message"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND +</H3> + +<P> +Stranger, you furriners don't nuver seem to consider that a woman has +always got the devil to fight in two people at once! Hit's two agin +one, I tell ye, an' hit hain't fa'r. +</P> + +<P> +That's what I said more'n two year ago, when Rosie Branham was a-layin' +up thar at Dave Hall's, white an' mos' dead. An', GOD, boys, I says, +that leetle thing in thar by her shorely can't be to blame. +</P> + +<P> +Thar hain't been a word agin Rosie sence; an', stranger, I reckon thar +nuver will be. Fer, while the gal hain't got hide o' kith or kin, thar +air two fellers up hyeh sorter lookin' atter Rosie; an' one of 'em is +the shootin'es' man on this crick, I reckon, 'cept one; an', stranger, +that's t'other. +</P> + +<P> +Rosie kep' her mouth shet fer a long while; an' I reckon as how the +feller 'lowed she wasn't goin' to tell. Co'se the woman folks got hit +out'n her—they al'ays gits whut they want, as you know—an' thar the +sorry cuss was—a-livin' up thar in the Bend, jes aroun' that bluff o' +lorrel yander, a-lookin' pious, an' a-singin', an' a-sayin' Amen louder +'n anybody when thar was meetin'. +</P> + +<P> +Well, my boy Jim an' a lot o' fellers jes went up fer him right away. +I don't know as the boys would 'a' killed him EXACTLY ef they had +kotched him, though they mought; but they got Abe Shivers, as tol' the +feller they was a-comin'—you've heard tell o' Abe-an' they mos' beat +Abraham Shivers to death. Stranger, the sorry cuss was Dave. Rosie +hadn't no daddy an' no mammy; an' she was jes a-workin' at Dave's fer +her victuals an' clo'es. 'Pears like the pore gal was jes tricked into +evil. Looked like she was sorter 'witched—an' anyways, stranger, she +was a fightin' Satan in HERSELF, as well as in Dave. Hit was two agin +one, I tell ye, an' hit wasn't fa'r. +</P> + +<P> +Co'se they turned Rosie right out in the road I hain't got a word to +say agin Dave's wife fer that; an' atter a while the boys lets Dave +come back, to take keer o' his ole mammy, of co'se, but I tell ye +Dave's a-playin' a purty lonesome tune. He keeps purty shy YIT. He +don't nuver sa'nter down this way. 'Pears like he don't seem to think +hit's healthy fer him down hyeh, an' I reckon Dave's right. +</P> + +<P> +Rosie? Oh, well, I sorter tuk Rosie in myself. Yes, she's been livin' +thar in the shack with me an' my boy Jim, an' the— Why, thar he is +now, stranger. That's him a-wallerin' out thar in the road. Do you +reckon thar'd be a single thing agin that leetle cuss ef he had to +stan' up on Jedgment Day jes as he is now? +</P> + +<P> +Look hyeh, stranger, whut you reckon the Lawd kep' a-writin' thar on +the groun' that day when them fellers was a-pesterin' him 'bout that +pore woman? Don't you jes know he was a writin' 'bout sech as HIM—an' +Rosie? I tell ye, brother, he writ thar jes what I'm al'ays a-sayin'. +</P> + +<P> +Hit hain't the woman's fault. I said it more'n two year ago, when +Rosie was up thar at ole Dave's, an' I said it yestiddy, when my boy +Jim come to me an' 'lowed as how he aimed to take Rosie down to town +to-day an' git married. +</P> + +<P> +"You ricollect, dad," says Jim, "her mammy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Jim," I says; "all the better reason not to be too hard on Rosie." +</P> + +<P> +I'm a-lookin' fer 'em both back right now, stranger; an' ef you will, +I'll be mighty glad to have ye stay right hyeh to the infair this very +night. Thar nuver was a word agin Rosie afore, thar hain't been sence, +an' you kin ride up an' down this river till the crack o' doom an' +you'll nuver hear a word agin her ag'in. Fer, as I tol' you, my boy, +Jim is the shootin'es' feller on this crick, I reckon, 'cept ONE, an', +stranger, that's ME! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="trade"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE +</H3> + +<P> +A drove of lean cattle were swinging easily over Black Mountain, and +behind them came a big man with wild black hair and a bushy beard. Now +and then he would gnaw at his mustache with his long, yellow teeth, or +would sit down to let his lean horse rest, and would flip meaninglessly +at the bushes with a switch. Sometimes his bushy head would droop over +on his breast, and he would snap it up sharply and start painfully on. +Robber, cattle-thief, outlaw he might have been in another century; for +he filled the figure of any robber hero in life or romance, and yet he +was only the Senator from Bell, as he was known in the little Kentucky +capital; or, as he was known in his mountain home, just the Senator, +who had toiled and schemed and grown rich and grown poor; who had +suffered long and was kind. +</P> + +<P> +Only that Christmas he had gutted every store in town. "Give me +everything you have, brother," he said, across each counter; and next +day every man, woman, and child in the mountain town had a present from +the Senator's hands. He looked like a brigand that day, as he looked +now, but he called every man his brother, and his eye, while black and +lustreless as night, was as brooding and just as kind. +</P> + +<P> +When the boom went down, with it and with everybody else went the +Senator. Slowly he got dusty, ragged, long of hair. He looked +tortured and ever-restless. You never saw him still; always he swept +by you, flapping his legs on his lean horse or his arms in his rickety +buggy here, there, everywhere—turning, twisting, fighting his way back +to freedom—and not a murmur. Still was every man his brother, and if +some forgot his once open hand, he forgot it no more completely than +did the Senator. He went very far to pay his debts. He felt honor +bound, indeed, to ask his sister to give back the farm that he had +given her, which, very properly people said, she declined to do. +Nothing could kill hope in the Senator's breast; he would hand back the +farm in another year, he said; but the sister was firm, and without a +word still, the Senator went other ways and schemed through the nights, +and worked and rode and walked and traded through the days, until now, +when the light was beginning to glimmer, his end was come. +</P> + +<P> +This was the Senator's last trade, and in sight, down in a Kentucky +valley, was home. Strangely enough, the Senator did not care at all, +and he had just enough sanity left to wonder why, and to be worried. +It was the "walking typhoid" that had caught up with him, and he was +listless, and he made strange gestures and did foolish things as he +stumbled down the mountain. He was going over a little knoll now, and +he could see the creek that ran around his house, but he was not +touched. He would just as soon have lain down right where he was, or +have turned around and gone back, except that it was hot and he wanted +to get to the water. He remembered that it was nigh Christmas; he saw +the snow about him and the cakes of ice in the creek. He knew that he +ought not to be hot, and yet he was—so hot that he refused to reason +with himself even a minute, and hurried on. It was odd that it should +be so, but just about that time, over in Virginia, a cattle dealer, +nearing home, stopped to tell a neighbor how he had tricked some +black-whiskered fool up in the mountains. It may have been just when +he was laughing aloud over there, that the Senator, over here, tore his +woollen shirt from his great hairy chest and rushed into the icy +stream, clapping his arms to his burning sides and shouting in his +frenzy. +</P> + +<P> +"If he had lived a little longer," said a constituent, "he would have +lost the next election. He hadn't the money, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"If he had lived a little longer," said the mountain preacher high up +on Yellow Creek, "I'd have got that trade I had on hand with him +through. Not that I wanted him to die, but if he had to—why—" +</P> + +<P> +"If he had lived a little longer," said the Senator's lawyer, "he would +have cleaned off the score against him." +</P> + +<P> +"If he had lived a little longer," said the Senator's sister, not +meaning to be unkind, "he would have got all I have." +</P> + +<P> +That was what life held for the Senator. Death was more kind. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="preachin"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME +</H3> + +<P> +I've told ye, stranger, that Hell fer Sartain empties, as it oughter, +of co'se, into Kingdom-Come. You can ketch the devil 'most any day in +the week on Hell fer Sartain, an' sometimes you can git Glory +everlastin' on Kingdom-Come. Hit's the only meetin'-house thar in +twenty miles aroun'. +</P> + +<P> +Well, the reg'lar rider, ole Jim Skaggs, was dead, an' the bretherin +was a-lookin' aroun' fer somebody to step into ole Jim's shoes. Thar'd +been one young feller up thar from the settlemints, a-cavortin' aroun', +an' they was studyin' 'bout gittin' him. +</P> + +<P> +"Bretherin' an' sisteren," I says, atter the leetle chap was gone, +"he's got the fortitood to speak an' he shorely is well favored. He's +got a mighty good hawk eye fer spyin' out evil—an' the gals; he can +outholler ole Jim; an' IF," I says, "any IDEES ever comes to him, he'll +be a hell-rouser shore—but they ain't comin'!" An', so sayin', I takes +my foot in my hand an' steps fer home. +</P> + +<P> +Stranger, them fellers over thar hain't seed much o' this world. Lots +of 'em nuver seed the cyars; some of 'em nuver seed a wagon. An' atter +jowerin' an' noratin' fer 'bout two hours, what you reckon they said +they aimed to do? They believed they'd take that ar man Beecher, ef +they could git him to come. They'd heerd o' Henry endurin' the war, +an' they knowed he was agin the rebs, an' they wanted Henry if they +could jes git him to come. +</P> + +<P> +Well, I snorted, an' the feud broke out on Hell fer Sartain betwixt the +Days an' the Dillons. Mace Day shot Daws Dillon's brother, as I +rickollect—somep'n's al'ays a-startin' up that plaguey war an' +a-makin' things frolicsome over thar—an' ef it hadn't a-been fer a +tall young feller with black hair an' a scar across his forehead, who +was a-goin' through the mountains a-settlin' these wars, blame me ef I +believe thar ever would 'a' been any mo' preachin' on Kingdom-Come. +This feller comes over from Hazlan an' says he aims to hold a meetin' +on Kingdom-Come. "Brother," I says, "that's what no preacher have ever +did whilst this war is a-goin' on." An' he says, sort o' quiet, "Well, +then, I reckon I'll have to do what no preacher have ever did." An' I +ups an' says: "Brother, an ole jedge come up here once from the +settlemints to hold couht. 'Jedge,' I says, 'that's what no jedge have +ever did without soldiers since this war's been a-goin' on.' An', +brother, the jedge's words was yours, p'int-blank. 'All right,' he +says, 'then I'll have to do what no other jedge have ever did.' An', +brother," says I to the preacher, "the jedge done it shore. He jes +laid under the couht-house fer two days whilst the boys fit over him. +An' when I sees the jedge a-makin' tracks fer the settlemints, I says, +'Jedge,' I says, 'you spoke a parable shore.'" +</P> + +<P> +Well, sir, the long preacher looked jes as though he was a-sayin' to +hisself, "Yes, I hear ye, but I don't heed ye," an' when he says, "Jes +the same, I'm a-goin' to hold a meetin' on Kingdom-Come," why, I jes +takes my foot in my hand an' ag'in I steps fer home. +</P> + +<P> +That night, stranger, I seed another feller from Hazlan, who was +a-tellin' how this here preacher had stopped the war over thar, an' had +got the Marcums an' Braytons to shakin' hands; an' next day ole Tom +Perkins stops in an' says that WHARAS there mought 'a' been preachin' +somewhar an' sometime, thar nuver had been PREACHIN' afore on +Kingdom-Come. So I goes over to the meetin' house, an' they was all +thar—Daws Dillon an' Mace Day, the leaders in the war, an' Abe Shivers +(you've heerd tell o' Abe) who was a-carryin' tales from one side to +t'other an' a-stirrin' up hell ginerally, as Abe most al'ays is; an' +thar was Daws on one side o' the meetin'-house an' Mace on t'other, an' +both jes a-watchin' fer t'other to make a move, an' thar'd 'a' been +billy-hell to pay right thar! Stranger, that long preacher talked jes +as easy as I'm a-talkin' now, an' hit was p'int-blank as the feller +from Hazlan said. You jes ought 'a' heerd him tellin' about the Lawd +a-bein' as pore as any feller thar, an' a-makin' barns an' fences an' +ox-yokes an' sech like; an' not a-bein' able to write his own +name—havin' to make his mark mebbe—when he started out to save the +world. An' how they tuk him an' nailed him onto a cross when he'd come +down fer nothin' but to save 'em; an' stuck a spear big as a corn-knife +into his side, an' give him vinegar; an' his own mammy a-standin' down +thar on the ground a-cryin' an' a-watchin' him an' he a-fergivin' all +of 'em then an' thar! +</P> + +<P> +Thar nuver had been nothin' like that afore on Kingdom-Come, an' all +along I heerd fellers a-layin' thar guns down; an when the preacher +called out fer sinners, blame me ef the fust feller that riz wasn't +Mace Day. An' Mace says, "Stranger, 'f what you say is true, I reckon +the Lawd 'll fergive me too, but I don't believe Daws Dillon ever +will," an' Mace stood thar lookin' around fer Daws. An' all of a +sudden the preacher got up straight an' called out, "Is thar a human in +this house mean an' sorry enough to stand betwixt a man an' his Maker"? +An' right thar, stranger, Daws riz. "Naw, by God, thar hain' t!" Daws +says, an' he walks up to Mace a-holdin' out his hand, an' they all +busts out cryin' an' shakin' hands—Days an' Dillons—jes as the +preacher had made 'em do over in Hazlan. An' atter the thing was over, +I steps up to the preacher an' I says: +</P> + +<P> +"Brother," I says, "YOU spoke a parable, shore." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="passing"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS +</H3> + +<P> +"I tell ye, boys, hit hain t often a feller has the chance o' doin' so +much good jes by DYIN'. Fer 'f Abe Shivers air gone, shorely gone, the +rest of us—every durn one of us—air a-goin' to be saved. Fer Abe +Shivers—you hain't heerd tell o' ABE? Well, you must be a stranger in +these mountains o' Kaintuck, shore. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, stranger, as Abe ever was borned; nobody in these +mountains knows it 'f he was. The fust time I ever heerd tell o' Abe +he was a-hollerin' fer his rights one mawnin' at daylight, endurin' the +war, jes outside o' ole Tom Perkins' door on Fryin' Pan. Abe was left +thar by some home-gyard, I reckon. Well, nobody air ever turned out'n +doors in these mountains, as you know, an' Abe got his rights that +mawin', an' he's been a-gittin' 'em ever sence. Tom already had a +houseful, but 'f any feller got the bigges' hunk o' corn-bread, that +feller was Abe; an' ef any feller got a-whalin', hit wasn't Abe. +</P> + +<P> +"Abe tuk to lyin' right naturely—looked like—afore he could talk. +Fact is, Abe nuver could do nothin' but jes whisper. Still, Abe could +manage to send a lie furder with that rattlin' whisper than ole Tom +could with that big horn o' hisn what tells the boys the revenoos air +comin' up Fryin' Pan.' +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't take Abe long to git to braggin' an' drinkin' an' naggin' an' +hectorin'—everything, 'mos', 'cept fightin'. Nobody ever drawed Abe +Shivers into a fight. I don't know as he was afeerd; looked like Abe +was a-havin' sech a tarnation good time with his devilmint he jes +didn't want to run no risk o' havin' hit stopped. An' sech devilmint! +Hit ud take a coon's age, I reckon, to tell ye. +</P> + +<P> +"The boys was a-goin' up the river one night to git ole Dave Hall fer +trickin' Rosie Branham into evil. Some feller goes ahead an' tells ole +Dave they's a-comin.' Hit was Abe. Some feller finds a streak o' ore +on ole Tom Perkins' land, an' racks his jinny down to town, an' tells a +furriner thar, an' Tom comes might' nigh sellin' the land fer nothin'. +Now Tom raised Abe, but, jes the same, the feller was Abe. +</P> + +<P> +"One night somebody guides the revenoos in on Hell fer Sartain, an' +they cuts up four stills. Hit was Abe. The same night, mind ye, a +feller slips in among the revenoos while they's asleep, and cuts off +their hosses' manes an' tails—muled every durned critter uv 'em. +Stranger, hit was Abe. An' as fer women-folks—well, Abe was the ill +favoredest feller I ever see, an' he couldn't talk; still, Abe was +sassy, an' you know how sass counts with the gals; an' Abe's whisperin' +come in jes as handy as any feller's settin' up; so 'f ever you seed a +man with a Winchester a-lookin' fer the feller who had cut him out, +stranger, he was a-lookin' fer Abe. +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody tells Harve Hall, up thar at a dance on Hell-fer-Sartain one +Christmas night, that Rich Harp had said somep'n' agin him an' Nance +Osborn. An' somebody tells Rich that Harve had said sompe'n' agin +Nance an' HIM. Hit was one an' the same feller, stranger, an' the +feller was Abe. Well, while Rich an' Harve was a-gittin' well, +somebody runs off with Nance. Hit was Abe. Then Rich an' Harve jes +draws straws fer a feller. Stranger, they drawed fer Abe. Hit's purty +hard to believe that Abe air gone, 'cept that Rich Harp an' Harve Hall +don't never draw no straws fer nothin'; but 'f by the grace o' +Goddle-mighty Abe air gone, why, as I was a-sayin', the rest of +us—every durned one of us air a-goin' to be saved, shore. Fer Abe's +gone fust, an' ef thar's only one Jedgment Day, the Lawd 'll nuver git +to us." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="purple"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A PURPLE RHODODENDRON +</H3> + +<P> +The purple rhododendron is rare. Up in the Gap here, Bee Rock, hung +out over Roaring Rock, blossoms with it—as a gray cloud purples with +the sunrise. This rock was tossed lightly on edge when the earth was +young, and stands vertical. To get the flowers you climb the mountain +to one side, and, balancing on the rock's thin edge, slip down by roots +and past rattlesnake dens till you hang out over the water and reach +for them. To avoid snakes it is best to go when it is cool, at +daybreak. +</P> + +<P> +I know but one other place in this southwest corner of Virginia where +there is another bush of purple rhododendron, and one bush only is +there. This hangs at the throat of a peak not far away, whose ageless +gray head is bent over a ravine that sinks like a spear thrust into the +side of the mountain. Swept only by high wind and eagle wings as this +is, I yet knew one man foolhardy enough to climb to it for a flower. +He brought one blossom down: and to this day I do not know that it was +not the act of a coward; yes, though Grayson did it, actually smiling +all the way from peak to ravine, and though he was my best friend—best +loved then and since. I believe he was the strangest man I have ever +known, and I say this with thought; for his eccentricities were +sincere. In all he did I cannot remember having even suspected +anything theatrical but once. +</P> + +<P> +We were all Virginians or Kentuckians at the Gap, and Grayson was a +Virginian. You might have guessed that he was a Southerner from his +voice and from the way he spoke of women—but no more. Otherwise, he +might have been a Moor, except for his color, which was about the only +racial characteristic he had. He had been educated abroad and, after +the English habit, had travelled everywhere. And yet I can imagine no +more lonely way between the eternities than the path Grayson trod alone. +</P> + +<P> +He came to the Gap in the early days, and just why he came I never +knew. He had studied the iron question a long time, he told me, and +what I thought reckless speculation was, it seems, deliberate judgment +to him. His money "in the dirt," as the phrase was, Grayson got him a +horse and rode the hills and waited. He was intimate with nobody. +Occasionally he would play poker with us and sometimes he drank a good +deal, but liquor never loosed his tongue. At poker his face told as +little as the back of his cards, and he won more than admiration—even +from the Kentuckians, who are artists at the game; but the money went +from a free hand, and, after a diversion like this, he was apt to be +moody and to keep more to himself than ever. Every fortnight or two he +would disappear, always over Sunday. In three or four days he would +turn up again, black with brooding, and then he was the last man to +leave the card-table or he kept away from it altogether. Where he went +nobody knew; and he was not the man anybody would question. +</P> + +<P> +One night two of us Kentuckians were sitting in the club, and from a +home paper I read aloud the rumored engagement of a girl we both +knew—who was famous for beauty in the Bluegrass, as was her mother +before her and the mother before her—to an unnamed Virginian. Grayson +sat near, smoking a pipe; and when I read the girl's name I saw him +take the meerschaum from his lips, and I felt his eyes on me. It was a +mystery how, but I knew at once that Grayson was the man. He sought me +out after that and seemed to want to make friends. I was willing, or, +rather he made me more than willing; for he was irresistible to me, as +I imagine he would have been to anybody. We got to walking together +and riding together at night, and we were soon rather intimate; but for +a long time he never so much as spoke the girl's name. Indeed, he kept +away from the Bluegrass for nearly two months; but when he did go he +stayed a fortnight. +</P> + +<P> +This time he came for me as soon as he got back to the Gap. It was +just before midnight, and we went as usual back of Imboden Hill, +through moon-dappled beeches, and Grayson turned off into the woods +where there was no path, both of us silent. We rode through tremulous, +shining leaves—Grayson's horse choosing a way for himself—and, +threshing through a patch of high, strong weeds, we circled past an +amphitheatre of deadened trees whose crooked arms were tossed out into +the moonlight, and halted on the spur. The moon was poised over +Morris's farm; South Fork was shining under us like a loop of gold, the +mountains lay about in tranquil heaps, and the moon-mist rose luminous +between them. There Grayson turned to me with an eager light in his +eyes that I had never seen before. +</P> + +<P> +"This has a new beauty to-night!" he said; and then "I told her about +you, and she said that she used to know you—well." I was glad my face +was in shadow—I could hardly keep back a brutal laugh—and Grayson, +unseeing, went on to speak of her as I had never heard any man speak of +any woman. In the end, he said that she had just promised to be his +wife. I answered nothing. Other men, I knew, had said that with the +same right, perhaps, and had gone from her to go back no more. And I +was one of them. Grayson had met her at White Sulphur five years +before, and had loved her ever since. She had known it from the first, +he said, and I guessed then what was going to happen to him. I +marvelled, listening to the man, for it was the star of constancy in +her white soul that was most lustrous to him—and while I wondered the +marvel became a commonplace. Did not every lover think his loved one +exempt from the frailty that names other women? There is no ideal of +faith or of purity that does not live in countless women to-day. I +believe that; but could I not recall one friend who walked with +Divinity through pine woods for one immortal spring, and who, being +sick to death, was quite finished—learning her at last? Did I not +know lovers who believed sacred to themselves, in the name of love, +lips that had been given to many another without it? And now did I not +know—but I knew too much, and to Grayson I said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +That spring the "boom" came. Grayson's property quadrupled in value +and quadrupled again. I was his lawyer, and I plead with him to sell; +but Grayson laughed. He was not speculating; he had invested on +judgment; he would sell only at a certain figure. The figure was +actually reached, and Grayson let half go. The boom fell, and Grayson +took the tumble with a jest. It would come again in the autumn, he +said, and he went off to meet the girl at White Sulphur. +</P> + +<P> +I worked right hard that summer, but I missed him, and I surely was +glad when he came back. Something was wrong; I saw it at once. He did +not mention her name, and for a while he avoided even me. I sought him +then, and gradually I got him into our old habit of walking up into the +Gap and of sitting out after supper on a big rock in the valley, +listening to the run of the river and watching the afterglow over the +Cumberland, the moon rise over Wallen's Ridge and the stars come out. +Waiting for him to speak, I learned for the first time then another +secret of his wretched melancholy. It was the hopelessness of that +time, perhaps, that disclosed it. Grayson had lost the faith of his +childhood. Most men do that at some time or other, but Grayson had no +business, no profession, no art in which to find relief. Indeed, there +was but one substitute possible, and that came like a gift straight +from the God whom he denied. Love came, and Grayson's ideals of love, +as of everything else, were morbid and quixotic. He believed that he +owed it to the woman he should marry never to have loved another. He +had loved but one woman, he said, and he should love but one. I +believed him then literally when he said that his love for the Kentucky +girl was his religion now—the only anchor left him in his sea of +troubles, the only star that gave him guiding light. Without this +love, what then? +</P> + +<P> +I had a strong impulse to ask him, but Grayson shivered, as though he +divined my thought, and, in some relentless way, our talk drifted to +the question of suicide. I was not surprised that he rather defended +it. Neither of us said anything new, only I did not like the way he +talked. He was too deliberate, too serious, as though he were really +facing a possible fact. He had no religious scruples, he said, no +family ties; he had nothing to do with bringing himself into life; +why—if it was not worth living, not bearable—why should he not end +it? He gave the usual authority, and I gave the usual answer. +Religion aside, if we did not know that we were here for some purpose, +we did not know that we were not; and here we were anyway, and our duty +was plain. Desertion was the act of a coward, and that Grayson could +not deny. +</P> + +<P> +That autumn the crash of '91 came across the water from England, and +Grayson gave up. He went to Richmond, and came back with money enough +to pay off his notes, and I think it took nearly all he had. Still, he +played poker steadily now—for poker had been resumed when it was no +longer possible to gamble in lots—he drank a good deal, and he began +just at this time to take a singular interest in our volunteer police +guard. He had always been on hand when there was trouble, and I +sha'n't soon forget him the day Senator Mahone spoke, when we were +punching a crowd of mountaineers back with cocked Winchesters. He had +lost his hat in a struggle with one giant; he looked half crazy with +anger, and yet he was white and perfectly cool, and I noticed that he +never had to tell a man but once to stand back. Now he was the first +man to answer a police whistle. When we were guarding Talt Hall, he +always volunteered when there was any unusual risk to run. When we +raided the Pound to capture a gang of desperadoes, he insisted on going +ahead as spy; and when we got restless lying out in the woods waiting +for daybreak, and the captain suggested a charge on the cabin, Grayson +was by his side when it was made. Grayson sprang through the door +first, and he was the man who thrust his reckless head up into the loft +and lighted a match to see if the murderers were there. Most of us did +foolish things in those days under stress of excitement, but Grayson, I +saw, was weak enough to be reckless. His trouble with the girl, +whatever it was, was serious enough to make him apparently care little +whether he were alive or dead. And still I saw that not yet even had +he lost hope. He was having a sore fight with his pride, and he got +body-worn and heart-sick over it. Of course he was worsted, and in the +end, from sheer weakness, he went back to her once more. +</P> + +<P> +I shall never see another face like his when Grayson came back that +last time. I never noticed before that there were silver hairs about +his temples. He stayed in his room, and had his meals sent to him. He +came out only to ride, and then at night. Waking the third morning at +daybreak, I saw him through the window galloping past, and I knew he +had spent the night on Black Mountain. I went to his room as soon as I +got up, and Grayson was lying across his bed with his face down, his +clothes on, and in his right hand was a revolver. I reeled into a +chair before I had strength enough to bend over him, and when I did I +found him asleep. I left him as he was, and I never let him know that +I had been to his room; but I got him out on the rock again that night, +and I turned our talk again to suicide. I said it was small, mean, +cowardly, criminal, contemptible! I was savagely in earnest, and +Grayson shivered and said not a word. I thought he was in better mind +after that. We got to taking night rides again, and I stayed as +closely to him as I could, for times got worse and trouble was upon +everybody. Notes fell thicker than snowflakes, and, through the +foolish policy of the company, foreclosures had to be made. Grayson +went to the wall like the rest of us. I asked him what he had done +with the money he had made. He had given away a great deal to poorer +kindred; he had paid his dead father's debts; he had played away a good +deal, and he had lost the rest. His faith was still imperturbable. He +had a dozen rectangles of "dirt," and from these, he said, it would all +come back some day. Still, he felt the sudden poverty keenly, but he +faced it as he did any other physical fact in life—dauntless. He used +to be fond of saying that no one thing could make him miserable. But +he would talk with mocking earnestness about some much-dreaded +combination; and a favorite phrase of his—which got to have peculiar +significance—was "the cohorts of hell," who closed in on him when he +was sick and weak, and who fell back when he got well. He had one +strange habit, too, from which I got comfort. He would deliberately +walk into and defy any temptation that beset him. That was the way he +strengthened himself, he said. I knew what his temptation was now, and +I thought of this habit when I found him asleep with his revolver, and +I got hope from it now, when the dreaded combination (whatever that +was) seemed actually to have come. +</P> + +<P> +I could see now that he got worse daily. He stopped his mockeries, his +occasional fits of reckless gayety. He stopped poker—resolutely—he +couldn't afford to lose now; and, what puzzled me, he stopped drinking. +The man simply looked tired, always hopelessly tired; and I could +believe him sincere in all his foolish talk about his blessed Nirvana: +which was the peace he craved, which was end enough for him. +</P> + +<P> +Winter broke. May drew near; and one afternoon, when Grayson and I +took our walk up through the Gap, he carried along a huge spy-glass of +mine, which had belonged to a famous old desperado, who watched his +enemies with it from the mountain-tops. We both helped capture him, +and I defended him. He was sentenced to hang—the glass was my fee. +We sat down opposite Bee Rock, and for the first time Grayson told me +of that last scene with her. He spoke without bitterness, and he told +me what she said, word for word, without a breath of blame for her. I +do not believe that he judged her at all; she did not know—he always +said; she did not KNOW; and then, when I opened my lips, Grayson +reached silently for my wrist, and I can feel again the warning crush +of his fingers, and I say nothing against her now. +</P> + +<P> +I asked Grayson what his answer was. +</P> + +<P> +"I asked her," he said, solemnly, "if she had ever seen a purple +rhododendron." +</P> + +<P> +I almost laughed, picturing the scene—the girl bewildered by his +absurd question—Grayson calm, superbly courteous. It was a mental +peculiarity of his—this irrelevancy—and it was like him to end a +matter of life and death in just that way. +</P> + +<P> +"I told her I should send her one. I am waiting for them to come out," +he added; and he lay back with his head against a stone and sighted the +telescope on a dizzy point, about which buzzards were circling. +</P> + +<P> +"There is just one bush of rhododendron up there," he went on. "I saw +it looking down from the Point last spring. I imagine it must blossom +earlier than that across there on Bee Rock, being always in the sun. +No, it's not budding yet," he added, with his eye to the glass. +</P> + +<P> +"You see that ledge just to the left? I dropped a big rock from the +Point square on a rattler who was sunning himself there last spring. I +can see a foothold all the way up the cliff. It can be done," he +concluded, in a tone that made me turn sharply upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you really mean to climb up there?" I asked, harshly. +</P> + +<P> +"If it blossoms first up there—I'll get it where it blooms first." In +a moment I was angry and half sick with suspicion, for I knew his +obstinacy; and then began what I am half ashamed to tell. +</P> + +<P> +Every day thereafter Grayson took that glass with him, and I went along +to humor him. I watched Bee Rock, and he that one bush at the throat +of the peak—neither of us talking over the matter again. It was +uncanny, that rivalry—sun and wind in one spot, sun and wind in +another—Nature herself casting the fate of a half-crazed fool with a +flower. It was utterly absurd, but I got nervous over +it—apprehensive, dismal. +</P> + +<P> +A week later it rained for two days, and the water was high. The next +day the sun shone, and that afternoon Grayson smiled, looking through +the glass, and handed it to me. I knew what I should see. One purple +cluster, full blown, was shaking in the wind. Grayson was leaning back +in a dream when I let the glass down. A cool breath from the woods +behind us brought the odor of roots and of black earth; up in the +leaves and sunlight somewhere a wood-thrush was singing, and I saw in +Grayson's face what I had not seen for a long time, and that was +peace—the peace of stubborn purpose. He did not come for me the next +day, nor the next; but the next he did, earlier than usual. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to get that rhododendron," he said. "I have been half-way +up—it can be reached." So had I been half-way up. With nerve and +agility the flower could be got, and both these Grayson had. If he had +wanted to climb up there and drop, he could have done it alone, and he +would have known that I should have found him. Grayson was testing +himself again, and, angry with him for the absurdity of the thing and +with myself for humoring it, but still not sure of him, I picked up my +hat and went. I swore to myself silently that it was the last time I +should pay any heed to his whims. I believed this would be the last. +The affair with the girl was over. The flower sent, I knew Grayson +would never mention her name again. +</P> + +<P> +Nature was radiant that afternoon. The mountains had the leafy +luxuriance of June, and a rich, sunlit haze drowsed on them between the +shadows starting out over the valley and the clouds so white that the +blue of the sky looked dark. Two eagles shot across the mouth of the +Gap as we neared it, and high beyond buzzards were sailing over +Grayson's rhododendron. +</P> + +<P> +I went up the ravine with him and I climbed up behind him—Grayson +going very deliberately and whistling softly. He called down to me +when he reached the shelf that looked half-way. +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't come any farther than this," he said. "Get out on that +rock and I'll drop them down to you." +</P> + +<P> +Then he jumped from the ledge and caught the body of a small tree close +to the roots, and my heart sank at such recklessness and all my fears +rose again. I scrambled hastily to the ledge, but I could get no +farther. I might possibly make the jump he had made—but how should I +ever get back? How would he? I called angrily after him now, and he +wouldn't answer me. I called him a fool, a coward; I stamped the ledge +like a child—but Grayson kept on, foot after hand, with stealthy +caution, and the purple cluster nodding down at him made my head whirl. +I had to lie down to keep from tumbling from the ledge; and there on my +side, gripping a pine bush, I lay looking up at him. He was close to +the flowers now, and just before he took the last upward step he turned +and looked down that awful height with as calm a face as though he +could have dropped and floated unhurt to the ravine beneath. +</P> + +<P> +Then with his left hand he caught the ledge to the left, strained up, +and, holding thus, reached out with his right. The hand closed about +the cluster, and the twig was broken. Grayson gave a great shout then. +He turned his head as though to drop them, and, that far away, I heard +the sibilant whir of rattles. I saw a snake's crest within a yard of +his face, and, my God! I saw Grayson loose his left hand to guard it! +The snake struck at his arm, and Grayson reeled and caught back once at +the ledge with his left hand. He caught once, I say, to do him full +justice; then, without a word, he dropped—and I swear there was a +smile on his face when he shot down past me into the trees. +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +I found him down there in the ravine with nearly every bone in his body +crushed. His left arm was under him, and outstretched in his right +hand was the shattered cluster, with every blossom gone but one. One +white half of his face was unmarked, and on it was still the shadow of +a smile. I think it meant more than that Grayson believed that he was +near peace at last. It meant that Fate had done the deed for him and +that he was glad. Whether he would have done it himself, I do not +know; and that is why I say that though Grayson brought the flower +down—smiling from peak to ravine—I do not know that he was not, after +all, a coward. +</P> + +<P> +That night I wrote to the woman in Kentucky. I told her that Grayson +had fallen from a cliff while climbing for flowers; and that he was +dead. Along with these words, I sent a purple rhododendron. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Hell fer Sartain' and Other Stories, by +John Fox, Jr. + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'HELL FER SARTAIN' *** + +***** This file should be named 410-h.htm or 410-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/410/ + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + +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: 'Hell fer Sartain' and Other Stories + +Author: John Fox, Jr. + +Posting Date: July 20, 2008 [EBook #410] +Release Date: January, 1996 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'HELL FER SARTAIN' *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + +'Hell fer Sartain' + +and + +Other Stories + + +by + +JOHN FOX, JR. + + + + + TO + MY BROTHER + JAMES + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + + + + +CONTENTS + + + ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK + THROUGH THE GAP + A TRICK O' TRADE + GRAYSON'S BABY + COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN + THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND + THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE + PREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME + THE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS + A PURPLE RHODODENDRON + + + + +ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK + + +Thar was a dancin'-party Christmas night on "Hell fer Sartain." Jes +tu'n up the fust crick beyond the bend thar, an' climb onto a stump, +an' holler about ONCE, an' you'll see how the name come. Stranger, +hit's HELL fer sartain! Well, Rich Harp was thar from the head-waters, +an' Harve Hall toted Nance Osborn clean across the Cumberlan'. Fust +one ud swing Nance, an' then t'other. Then they'd take a pull out'n +the same bottle o' moonshine, an'--fust one an' then t'other--they'd +swing her agin. An' Abe Shivers a-settin' thar by the fire a-bitin' +his thumbs! + +Well, things was sorter whoopin', when somebody ups an' tells Harve +that Rich had said somep'n' agin Nance an' him, an' somebody ups an' +tells Rich that Harve had said somep'n' agin Nance an' HIM. In a +minute, stranger, hit was like two wild-cats in thar. Folks got 'em +parted, though, but thar was no more a-swingin' of Nance that night. +Harve toted her back over the Cumberlan', an' Rich's kinsfolks tuk him +up "Hell fer Sartain"; but Rich got loose, an' lit out lickety-split +fer Nance Osborn's. He knowed Harve lived too fer over Black Mountain +to go home that night, an' he rid right across the river an' up to +Nance's house, an' hollered fer Harve. Harve poked his head out'n the +loft--he knowed whut was wanted--an' Harve says, "Uh, come in hyeh an' +go to bed. Hit's too late!" An' Rich seed him a-gapin' like a chicken, +an' in he walked, stumblin' might' nigh agin the bed whar Nance was +a-layin', listenin' an' not sayin' a word. + +Stranger, them two fellers slept together plum frien'ly, an' they et +together plum frien'ly next mornin', an' they sa'ntered down to the +grocery plum frien'ly. An' Rich says, "Harve," says he, "let's have a +drink." "All right, Rich," says Harve. An' Rich says, "Harve," says +he, "you go out'n that door an' I'll go out'n this door." "All right, +Rich," says Harve, an' out they walked, steady, an' thar was two shoots +shot, an' Rich an' Harve both drapped, an' in ten minutes they was +stretched out on Nance's bed an' Nance was a-lopin' away fer the yarb +doctor. + +The gal nussed 'em both plum faithful. Rich didn't hev much to say, +an' Harve didn't hev much to say. Nance was sorter quiet, an' Nance's +mammy, ole Nance, jes grinned. Folks come in to ax atter 'em right +peart. Abe Shivers come cl'ar 'cross the river--powerful frien'ly--an' +ever' time Nance ud walk out to the fence with him. One time she +didn't come back, an' ole Nance fotched the boys thar dinner, an' ole +Nance fotched thar supper, an' then Rich he axed whut was the matter +with young Nance. An' ole Nance jes snorted. Atter a while Rich says: +"Harve," says he, "who tol' you that I said that word agin you an' +Nance?" "Abe Shivers," says Harve. "An' who tol' you," says Harve, +"that I said that word agin Nance an' YOU?" "Abe Shivers," says Rich. +An' both says, "Well, damn me!" An' Rich tu'ned right over an' begun +pullin' straws out'n the bed. He got two out, an' he bit one off, an' +he says: "Harve," says he, "I reckon we better draw fer him. The +shortes' gits him." An' they drawed. Well, nobody ever knowed which +got the shortes' straw, stranger, but-- + +Thar'll be a dancin'-party comin' Christmas night on "Hell fer +Sartain." Rich Harp 'll be thar from the head-waters. Harve Hall's +a-goin' to tote the Widder Shivers clean across the Cumberlan'. Fust +one 'll swing Nance, an' then t'other. Then they'll take a pull out'n +the same bottle o' moonshine, an'--fust one an' then t'other--they'll +swing her agin, jes the same. ABE won't be thar. He's a-settin' by a +bigger fire, I reckon (ef he ain't in it), a-bitin' his thumbs! + + + + +THROUGH THE GAP + + +When thistles go adrift, the sun sets down the valley between the +hills; when snow comes, it goes down behind the Cumberland and streams +through a great fissure that people call the Gap. Then the last light +drenches the parson's cottage under Imboden Hill, and leaves an +after-glow of glory on a majestic heap that lies against the east. +Sometimes it spans the Gap with a rainbow. + +Strange people and strange tales come through this Gap from the +Kentucky hills. Through it came these two, late one day--a man and a +woman--afoot. I met them at the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork. + +"Is thar a preacher anywhar aroun' hyeh?" he asked. I pointed to the +cottage under Imboden Hill. The girl flushed slightly and turned her +head away with a rather unhappy smile. Without a word, the mountaineer +led the way towards town. A moment more and a half-breed Malungian +passed me on the bridge and followed them. + +At dusk the next day I saw the mountaineer chopping wood at a shanty +under a clump of rhododendron on the river-bank. The girl was cooking +supper inside. The day following he was at work on the railroad, and +on Sunday, after church, I saw the parson. The two had not been to +him. Only that afternoon the mountaineer was on the bridge with +another woman, hideously rouged and with scarlet ribbons fluttering +from her bonnet. Passing on by the shanty, I saw the Malungian talking +to the girl. She apparently paid no heed to him until, just as he was +moving away, he said something mockingly, and with a nod of his head +back towards the bridge. She did not look up even then, but her face +got hard and white, and, looking back from the road, I saw her slipping +through the bushes into the dry bed of the creek, to make sure that +what the half-breed told her was true. + +The two men were working side by side on the railroad when I saw them +again, but on the first pay-day the doctor was called to attend the +Malungian, whose head was split open with a shovel. I was one of two +who went out to arrest his assailant, and I had no need to ask who he +was. The mountaineer was a devil, the foreman said, and I had to club +him with a pistol-butt before he would give in. He said he would get +even with me; but they all say that, and I paid no attention to the +threat. For a week he was kept in the calaboose, and when I passed the +shanty just after he was sent to the county-seat for trial, I found it +empty. The Malungian, too, was gone. Within a fortnight the +mountaineer was in the door of the shanty again. Having no accuser, he +had been discharged. He went back to his work, and if he opened his +lips I never knew. Every day I saw him at work, and he never failed to +give me a surly look. Every dusk I saw him in his door-way, waiting, +and I could guess for what. It was easy to believe that the stern +purpose in his face would make its way through space and draw her to +him again. And she did come back one day. I had just limped down the +mountain with a sprained ankle. A crowd of women was gathered at the +edge of the woods, looking with all their eyes to the shanty on the +river-bank. The girl stood in the door-way. The mountaineer was +coming back from work with his face down. + +"He hain't seed her yit," said one. "He's goin' to kill her shore. I +tol' her he would. She said she reckoned he would, but she didn't +keer." + +For a moment I was paralyzed by the tragedy at hand. She was in the +door looking at him when he raised his head. For one moment he stood +still, staring, and then he started towards her with a quickened step. +I started too, then, every step a torture, and as I limped ahead she +made a gesture of terror and backed into the room before him. The door +closed, and I listened for a pistol-shot and a scream. It must have +been done with a knife, I thought, and quietly, for when I was within +ten paces of the cabin he opened the door again. His face was very +white; he held one hand behind him, and he was nervously fumbling at +his chill with the other. As he stepped towards me I caught the handle +of a pistol in my side pocket and waited. He looked at me sharply. + +"Did you say the preacher lived up thar?" he asked. + +"Yes," I said, breathlessly. + +In the door-way just then stood the girl with a bonnet in her hand, and +at a nod from him they started up the hill towards the cottage. They +came down again after a while, he stalking ahead, and she, after the +mountain fashion, behind. And after this fashion I saw them at sunset +next day pass over the bridge and into the mouth of the Gap whence they +came. Through this Gap come strange people and strange tales from the +Kentucky hills. Over it, sometimes, is the span of a rainbow. + + + + +A TRICK O' TRADE + + +Stranger, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's +business; but you ax me straight, an' I tell ye straight: You watch +ole Tom! + +Now, I'll take ole Tom Perkins' word agin anybody's 'ceptin' when hit +comes to a hoss trade ur a piece o' land. Fer in the tricks o' sech, +ole Tom 'lows--well, hit's diff'ent; an' I reckon, stranger, as how hit +sorter is. He was a-stayin' at Tom's house, the furriner was, +a-dickerin' fer a piece o' lan'--the same piece, mebbe, that you're +atter now--an' Tom keeps him thar fer a week to beat him out'n a +dollar, an' then won't let him pay nary a cent fer his boa'd. Now, +stranger, that's Tom. + +Well, Abe Shivers was a-workin' fer Tom--you've heerd tell o' Abe--an' +the furriner wasn't more'n half gone afore Tom seed that Abe was up to +some of his devilMINT. Abe kin hatch up more devilMINT in a minit than +Satan hisself kin in a week; so Tom jes got Abe out'n the stable under +a hoe-handle, an' tol' him to tell the whole thing straight ur he'd +have to go to glory right thar. An' Abe tol'! + +'Pears like Abe had foun' a streak o' iron ore on the lan', an' had +racked his jinny right down to Hazlan an' tol' the furriner, who was +thar a-buyin' wild lands right an' left. Co'se, Abe was goin' to make +the furriner whack up fer gittin' the lan' so cheap. Well, brother, +the furriner come up to Tom's an' got Tom into one o' them new-fangled +trades whut the furriners calls a option--t'other feller kin git out'n +hit, but you can't. The furriner 'lowed he'd send his podner up thar +next day to put the thing in writin' an' close up the trade. Hit +looked like ole Tom was ketched fer shore, an' ef Tom didn't ra'r, I'd +tell a man. He jes let that hoe-handle drap on Abe fer 'bout haffen +hour, jes to give him time to study, an' next day thar was ole Tom +a-settin' on his orchard fence a-lookin' mighty unknowin', when the +furriner's podner come a-prancin' up an' axed ef old Tom Perkins lived +thar. + +Ole Tom jes whispers. + +Now, I clean fergot to tell ye, stranger, that Abe Shivers nuver could +talk out loud. He tol' so many lies that the Lawd--jes to make things +even--sorter fixed Abe, I reckon, so he couldn't lie on more'n one side +o' the river at a time. Ole Tom jes knowed t'other furriner had tol' +this un 'bout Abe, an,' shore 'nough, the feller says, sorter soft, +says he: + +"Aw, you air the feller whut foun' the ore?" + +Ole Tom--makin' like he was Abe, mind ye--jes whispers: "Thar hain't +none thar." + +Stranger, the feller mos' fell off'n his hoss. "Whut?" says he. Ole +Tom kep' a-whisperin': "Thar hain't no coal--no nothing; ole Tom +Perkins made me tell t'other furriner them lies." + +Well, sir, the feller WAS mad. "Jes whut I tol' that fool podner of +mine," he says, an' he pull out a dollar an' gives hit to Tom. Tom jes +sticks out his han' with his thum' turned in jes so, an' the furriner +says, "Well, ef you can't talk, you kin make purty damn good signs"; +but he forks over four mo' dollars (he 'lowed ole Tom had saved him a +pile o' money), an' turns his hoss an' pulls up agin. He was a-gittin' +the land so durned cheap that I reckon he jes hated to let hit go, an' +he says, says he: "Well, hain't the groun' rich? Won't hit raise no +tabaccy nur corn nur nothin'?" + +Ole Tom jes whispers: + +"To tell you the p'int-blank truth, stranger, that land's so durned +pore that I hain't nuver been able to raise my voice." + +Now, brother, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's +business--but you ax me straight an' I tell ye straight. Ole Tom +Perkins kin trade with furriners, fer he have l'arned their ways. You +watch ole Tom! + + + + +GRAYSON'S BABY + + +The first snow sifted in through the Gap that night, and in a "shack" +of one room and a low loft a man was dead, a woman was sick to death, +and four children were barely alive; and nobody even knew. For they +were hill people, who sicken, suffer, and sometimes die, like animals, +and make no noise. + +Grayson, the Virginian, coming down from the woods that morning, saw +the big-hearted little doctor outside the door of the shack, walking up +and down, with his hands in his pockets. He was whistling softly when +Grayson got near, and, without stopping, pointed with his thumb within. +The oldest boy sat stolidly on the one chair in the room, his little +brother was on the floor hard by, and both were hugging a greasy stove. +The little girl was with her mother in the bed, both almost out of +sight under a heap of quilts. The baby was in a cradle, with its face +uncovered, whether dead or asleep Grayson could not tell. A pine +coffin was behind the door. It would not have been possible to add to +the disorder of the room, and the atmosphere made Grayson gasp. He +came out looking white. The first man to arrive thereafter took away +the eldest boy, a woman picked the baby girl from the bed, and a +childless young couple took up the pallid little fellow on the floor. +These were step-children. The baby boy that was left was the woman's +own. Nobody came for that, and Grayson went in again and looked at it +a long while. So little, so old a human face he had never seen. The +brow was wrinkled as with centuries of pain, and the little drawn mouth +looked as though the spirit within had fought its inheritance without a +murmur, and would fight on that way to the end. It was the pluck of +the face that drew Grayson. "I'll take it," he said. The doctor was +not without his sense of humor even then, but he nodded. "Cradle and +all," he said, gravely. And Grayson put both on one shoulder and +walked away. He had lost the power of giving further surprise in that +town, and had he met every man he knew, not one of them would have felt +at liberty to ask him what he was doing. An hour later the doctor +found the child in Grayson's room, and Grayson still looking at it. + +"Is it going to live, doctor?" + +The doctor shook his head. "Doubtful. Look at the color. It's +starved. There's nothing to do but to watch it and feed it. You can +do that." + +So Grayson watched it, with a fascination of which he was hardly +conscious. Never for one instant did its look change--the quiet, +unyielding endurance that no faith and no philosophy could ever bring +to him. It was ideal courage, that look, to accept the inevitable but +to fight it just that way. Half the little mountain town was talking +next day--that such a tragedy was possible by the public road-side, +with relief within sound of the baby's cry. The oldest boy was least +starved. Might made right in an extremity like his, and the boy had +taken care of himself. The young couple who had the second lad in +charge said they had been wakened at daylight the next morning by some +noise in the room. Looking up, they saw the little fellow at the +fireplace breaking an egg. He had built a fire, had got eggs from the +kitchen, and was cooking his breakfast. The little girl was +mischievous and cheery in spite of her bad plight, and nobody knew of +the baby except Grayson and the doctor. Grayson would let nobody else +in. As soon as it was well enough to be peevish and to cry, he took it +back to its mother, who was still abed. A long, dark mountaineer was +there, of whom the woman seemed half afraid. He followed Grayson +outside. + +"Say, podner," he said, with an unpleasant smile, "ye don't go up to +Cracker's Neck fer nothin', do ye?" + +The woman had lived at Cracker's Neck before she appeared at the Gap, +and it did not come to Grayson what the man meant until he was half-way +to his room. Then he flushed hot and wheeled back to the cabin, but +the mountaineer was gone. + +"Tell that fellow he had better keep out of my way," he said to the +woman, who understood, and wanted to say something, but not knowing +how, nodded simply. In a few days the other children went back to the +cabin, and day and night Grayson went to see the child, until it was +out of danger, and afterwards. It was not long before the women in +town complained that the mother was ungrateful. When they sent things +to eat to her the servant brought back word that she had called out, +"'Set them over thar,' without so much as a thanky." One message was +that "she didn' want no second-hand victuals from nobody's table." +Somebody suggested sending the family to the poor-house. The mother +said "she'd go out on her crutches and hoe corn fust, and that the +people who talked 'bout sendin' her to the po'-house had better save +their breath to make prayers with." One day she was hired to do some +washing. The mistress of the house happened not to rise until ten +o'clock. Next morning the mountain woman did not appear until that +hour. "She wasn't goin' to work a lick while that woman was a-layin' +in bed," she said, frankly. And when the lady went down town, she too +disappeared. Nor would she, she explained to Grayson, "while that +woman was a-struttin' the streets." + +After that, one by one, they let her alone, and the woman made not a +word of complaint. Within a week she was working in the fields, when +she should have been back in bed. The result was that the child +sickened again. The old look came back to its face, and Grayson was +there night and day. He was having trouble out in Kentucky about this +time, and he went to the Blue Grass pretty often. Always, however, he +left money with me to see that the child was properly buried if it +should die while he was gone; and once he telegraphed to ask how it +was. He said he was sometimes afraid to open my letters for fear that +he should read that the baby was dead. The child knew Grayson's voice, +his step. It would go to him from its own mother. When it was sickest +and lying torpid it would move the instant he stepped into the room, +and, when he spoke, would hold out its thin arms, without opening its +eyes, and for hours Grayson would walk the floor with the troubled +little baby over his shoulder. I thought several times it would die +when, on one trip, Grayson was away for two weeks. One midnight, +indeed, I found the mother moaning, and three female harpies about the +cradle. The baby was dying this time, and I ran back for a flask of +whiskey. Ten minutes late with the whiskey that night would have been +too late. The baby got to know me and my voice during that fortnight, +but it was still in danger when Grayson got back, and we went to see it +together. It was very weak, and we both leaned over the cradle, from +either side, and I saw the pity and affection--yes, hungry, half-shamed +affection--in Grayson's face. The child opened its eyes, looked from +one to the other, and held out its arms to ME. Grayson should have +known that the child forgot--that it would forget its own mother. He +turned sharply, and his face was a little pale. He gave something to +the woman, and not till then did I notice that her soft black eyes +never left him while he was in the cabin. The child got well; but +Grayson never went to the shack again, and he said nothing when I came +in one night and told him that some mountaineer--a long, dark +fellow-had taken the woman, the children, and the household gods of the +shack back into the mountains. + +"They don't grieve long," I said, "these people." + +But long afterwards I saw the woman again along the dusty road that +leads into the Gap. She had heard over in the mountains that Grayson +was dead, and had walked for two days to learn if it was true. I +pointed back towards Bee Rock, and told her that he had fallen from a +cliff back there. She did not move, nor did her look change. +Moreover, she said nothing, and, being in a hurry, I had to ride on. + +At the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork I looked back. The woman was +still there, under the hot mid-day sun and in the dust of the road, +motionless. + + + + +COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN + + +Hit was this way, stranger. When hit comes to handlin' a right peert +gal, Jeb Somers air about the porest man on Fryin' Pan, I reckon; an' +Polly Ann Sturgill have got the vineg'rest tongue on Cutshin or any +other crick. + +So the boys over on Fryin' Pan made it up to git 'em together. Abe +Shivers--you've heerd tell o' Abe--tol' Jeb that Polly Ann had seed him +in Hazlan (which she hadn't, of co'se), an' had said p'int-blank that +he was the likeliest feller she'd seed in them mountains. An' he tol' +Polly Ann that Jeb was ravin' crazy 'bout her. The pure misery of it +jes made him plumb delirious, Abe said; an' 'f Polly Ann wanted to find +her match fer languige an' talkin' out peert--well, she jes ought to +strike Jeb Somers. Fact is, stranger, Jeb Somers air might' nigh a +idgit; but Jeb 'lowed he'd rack right over on Cutshin an' set up with +Polly Ann Sturgill; an' Abe tells Polly Ann the king bee air comin'. +An' Polly Ann's cousin, Nance Osborn, comes over from Hell fer Sartain +(whut runs into Kingdom-Come) to stay all night an' see the fun. + +Now, I hain't been a-raftin' logs down to the settlemints o' Kaintuck +fer nigh on to twenty year fer nothin', An' I know gallivantin' is +diff'ent with us mountain fellers an' you furriners, in the premises, +anyways, as them lawyers up to court says; though I reckon hit's purty +much the same atter the premises is over. Whar you says "courtin'," +now, we says "talkin' to." Sallie Spurlock over on Fryin' Pan is +a-talkin' to Jim Howard now. Sallie's sister hain't nuver talked to no +man. An' whar you says "makin' a call on a young lady," we says +"settin' up with a gal"! An', stranger, we does it. We hain't got +more'n one room hardly ever in these mountains, an' we're jes obleeged +to set up to do any courtin' at all. + +Well, you go over to Sallie's to stay all night some time, an' purty +soon atter supper Jim Howard comes in. The ole man an' the ole woman +goes to bed, an' the chil'un an' you go to bed, an' ef you keeps one +eye open you'll see Jim's cheer an' Sallie's cheer a-movin' purty soon, +till they gets plumb together. Then, stranger, hit begins. Now I want +ye to understand that settin' up means business. We don't 'low no +foolishness in these mountains; an' 'f two fellers happens to meet at +the same house, they jes makes the gal say which one she likes best, +an' t'other one gits! Well, you'll see Jim put his arm 'round Sallie's +neck an' whisper a long while--jes so. Mebbe you've noticed whut +fellers us mountain folks air fer whisperin'. You've seed fellers +a-whisperin' all over Hazlan on court day, hain't ye? Ole Tom Perkins +'ll put his arm aroun' yo' neck an' whisper in yo' year ef he's ten +mile out'n the woods. I reckon thar's jes so much devilmint a-goin' on +in these mountains, folks is naturely afeerd to talk out loud. + +Well, Jim let's go an' Sallie puts her arm aroun' Jim's neck an' +whispers a long while--jes so; an' 'f you happen to wake up anywhar to +two o'clock in the mornin' you'll see jes that a-goin' on. Brother, +that's settin' up. + +Well, Jeb Somers, as I was a-sayin' in the premises, 'lowed he'd rack +right over on Cutshin an' set up with Polly Ann comin' Christmas night. +An' Abe tells Polly Ann Jeb says he aims to have her fer a Christmas +gift afore mornin'. Polly Ann jes sniffed sorter, but you know women +folks air always mighty ambitious jes to SEE a feller anyways, 'f he's +a-pinin' fer 'em. So Jeb come, an' Jeb was fixed up now fittin' to +kill. Jeb had his hair oiled down nice an' slick, and his mustache was +jes black as powder could make hit. Naturely hit was red; but a feller +can't do nothin' in these mountains with a red mustache; an' Jeb had a +big black ribbon tied in the butt o' the bigges' pistol Abe Shivers +could borrer fer him--hit was a badge o' death an' deestruction to his +enemies, Abe said, an' I tell ye Jeb did look like a man. He never +opened his mouth atter he says "howdy"--Jeb never does say nothin'; +Jeb's one o' them fellers whut hides thar lack o' brains by a-lookin' +solemn an' a-keepin' still, but thar don't nobody say much tell the ole +folks air gone to bed, an' Polly Ann jes 'lowed Jeb was a-waitin'. +Fact is, stranger, Abe Shivers had got Jeb a leetle disguised by +liquer, an' he did look fat an' sassy, ef he couldn't talk, a-settin' +over in the corner a-plunkin' the banjer an' a-knockin' off "Sour-wood +Mountain" an' "Jinny git aroun'" an' "Soapsuds over the Fence." + + "Chickens a-crowin' on Sour-wood Mountain, + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee! + Git yo' dawgs an' we'll go huntin', + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!" + +An' when Jeb comes to + + "I've got a gal at the head o' the holler, + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!" + +he jes turns one eye 'round on Polly Ann, an' then swings his chin +aroun' as though he didn't give a cuss fer nothin'. + + "She won't come, an' I won't foller, + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!" + + +Well, sir, Nance seed that Polly Ann was a-eyin' Jeb sort o' flustered +like, an' she come might' nigh splittin' right thar an' a-sp'ilin' the +fun, fer she knowed what a skeery fool Jeb was. An' when the ole folks +goes to bed, Nance lays thar under a quilt a-watchin' an' a-listenin'. +Well, Jeb knowed the premises, ef he couldn't talk, an' purty soon +Nance heerd Jeb's cheer creak a leetle, an' she says, Jeb's a-comin', +and Jeb was; an' Polly Ann 'lowed Jeb was jes a leetle TOO resolute an' +quick-like, an' she got her hand ready to give him one lick anyways fer +bein' so brigaty. I don't know as she'd 'a' hit him more'n ONCE. Jeb +had a farm, an' Polly Ann--well, Polly Ann was a-gittin' along. But +Polly Ann sot thar jes as though she didn't know Jeb was a-comin', an' +Jeb stopped once an' says, + +"You hain't got nothin' agin me, has ye?" + +An' Polly Ann says, sorter quick, + +"Naw; ef I had, I'd push it." + +Well, Jeb mos' fell off his cheer, when, ef he hadn't been sech a +skeery idgit, he'd 'a' knowed that Polly Ann was plain open an' shet +a-biddin' fer him. But he sot thar like a knot on a log fer haffen +hour, an' then he rickollected, I reckon, that Abe had tol' him Polly +Ann was peppery an' he mustn't mind, fer Jeb begun a-movin' ag'in till +he was slam-bang agin Polly Ann's cheer. An' thar he sot like a +punkin, not sayin' a word nur doin' nothin'. An' while Polly Ann was +a-wonderin' ef he was gone plumb crazy, blame me ef that durned fool +didn't turn roun' to that peppery gal an' say, + +"Booh, Polly Ann!" + +Well, Nance had to stuff the bedquilt in her mouth right thar to keep +from hollerin' out loud, fer Polly Ann's hand was a-hangin' down by the +cheer, jes a-waitin' fer a job, and Nance seed the fingers a-twitchin'. +An' Jeb waits another haffen hour an' Jeb says, + +"Ortern't I be killed?" + +"Whut fer?" says Polly Ann, sorter sharp. + +An' Jeb says, "Fer bein' so devilish." + +Well, brother, Nance snorted right out thar, an' Polly Ann Sturgill's +hand riz up jes once; an' I've heerd Jeb Somers say the next time he +jumps out o' the Fryin' Pan he's a-goin' to take hell-fire 'stid o' +Cutshin fer a place to light. + + + + +THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND + + +Stranger, you furriners don't nuver seem to consider that a woman has +always got the devil to fight in two people at once! Hit's two agin +one, I tell ye, an' hit hain't fa'r. + +That's what I said more'n two year ago, when Rosie Branham was a-layin' +up thar at Dave Hall's, white an' mos' dead. An', GOD, boys, I says, +that leetle thing in thar by her shorely can't be to blame. + +Thar hain't been a word agin Rosie sence; an', stranger, I reckon thar +nuver will be. Fer, while the gal hain't got hide o' kith or kin, thar +air two fellers up hyeh sorter lookin' atter Rosie; an' one of 'em is +the shootin'es' man on this crick, I reckon, 'cept one; an', stranger, +that's t'other. + +Rosie kep' her mouth shet fer a long while; an' I reckon as how the +feller 'lowed she wasn't goin' to tell. Co'se the woman folks got hit +out'n her--they al'ays gits whut they want, as you know--an' thar the +sorry cuss was--a-livin' up thar in the Bend, jes aroun' that bluff o' +lorrel yander, a-lookin' pious, an' a-singin', an' a-sayin' Amen louder +'n anybody when thar was meetin'. + +Well, my boy Jim an' a lot o' fellers jes went up fer him right away. +I don't know as the boys would 'a' killed him EXACTLY ef they had +kotched him, though they mought; but they got Abe Shivers, as tol' the +feller they was a-comin'--you've heard tell o' Abe-an' they mos' beat +Abraham Shivers to death. Stranger, the sorry cuss was Dave. Rosie +hadn't no daddy an' no mammy; an' she was jes a-workin' at Dave's fer +her victuals an' clo'es. 'Pears like the pore gal was jes tricked into +evil. Looked like she was sorter 'witched--an' anyways, stranger, she +was a fightin' Satan in HERSELF, as well as in Dave. Hit was two agin +one, I tell ye, an' hit wasn't fa'r. + +Co'se they turned Rosie right out in the road I hain't got a word to +say agin Dave's wife fer that; an' atter a while the boys lets Dave +come back, to take keer o' his ole mammy, of co'se, but I tell ye +Dave's a-playin' a purty lonesome tune. He keeps purty shy YIT. He +don't nuver sa'nter down this way. 'Pears like he don't seem to think +hit's healthy fer him down hyeh, an' I reckon Dave's right. + +Rosie? Oh, well, I sorter tuk Rosie in myself. Yes, she's been livin' +thar in the shack with me an' my boy Jim, an' the-- Why, thar he is +now, stranger. That's him a-wallerin' out thar in the road. Do you +reckon thar'd be a single thing agin that leetle cuss ef he had to +stan' up on Jedgment Day jes as he is now? + +Look hyeh, stranger, whut you reckon the Lawd kep' a-writin' thar on +the groun' that day when them fellers was a-pesterin' him 'bout that +pore woman? Don't you jes know he was a writin' 'bout sech as HIM--an' +Rosie? I tell ye, brother, he writ thar jes what I'm al'ays a-sayin'. + +Hit hain't the woman's fault. I said it more'n two year ago, when +Rosie was up thar at ole Dave's, an' I said it yestiddy, when my boy +Jim come to me an' 'lowed as how he aimed to take Rosie down to town +to-day an' git married. + +"You ricollect, dad," says Jim, "her mammy?" + +"Yes, Jim," I says; "all the better reason not to be too hard on Rosie." + +I'm a-lookin' fer 'em both back right now, stranger; an' ef you will, +I'll be mighty glad to have ye stay right hyeh to the infair this very +night. Thar nuver was a word agin Rosie afore, thar hain't been sence, +an' you kin ride up an' down this river till the crack o' doom an' +you'll nuver hear a word agin her ag'in. Fer, as I tol' you, my boy, +Jim is the shootin'es' feller on this crick, I reckon, 'cept ONE, an', +stranger, that's ME! + + + + +THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE + + +A drove of lean cattle were swinging easily over Black Mountain, and +behind them came a big man with wild black hair and a bushy beard. Now +and then he would gnaw at his mustache with his long, yellow teeth, or +would sit down to let his lean horse rest, and would flip meaninglessly +at the bushes with a switch. Sometimes his bushy head would droop over +on his breast, and he would snap it up sharply and start painfully on. +Robber, cattle-thief, outlaw he might have been in another century; for +he filled the figure of any robber hero in life or romance, and yet he +was only the Senator from Bell, as he was known in the little Kentucky +capital; or, as he was known in his mountain home, just the Senator, +who had toiled and schemed and grown rich and grown poor; who had +suffered long and was kind. + +Only that Christmas he had gutted every store in town. "Give me +everything you have, brother," he said, across each counter; and next +day every man, woman, and child in the mountain town had a present from +the Senator's hands. He looked like a brigand that day, as he looked +now, but he called every man his brother, and his eye, while black and +lustreless as night, was as brooding and just as kind. + +When the boom went down, with it and with everybody else went the +Senator. Slowly he got dusty, ragged, long of hair. He looked +tortured and ever-restless. You never saw him still; always he swept +by you, flapping his legs on his lean horse or his arms in his rickety +buggy here, there, everywhere--turning, twisting, fighting his way back +to freedom--and not a murmur. Still was every man his brother, and if +some forgot his once open hand, he forgot it no more completely than +did the Senator. He went very far to pay his debts. He felt honor +bound, indeed, to ask his sister to give back the farm that he had +given her, which, very properly people said, she declined to do. +Nothing could kill hope in the Senator's breast; he would hand back the +farm in another year, he said; but the sister was firm, and without a +word still, the Senator went other ways and schemed through the nights, +and worked and rode and walked and traded through the days, until now, +when the light was beginning to glimmer, his end was come. + +This was the Senator's last trade, and in sight, down in a Kentucky +valley, was home. Strangely enough, the Senator did not care at all, +and he had just enough sanity left to wonder why, and to be worried. +It was the "walking typhoid" that had caught up with him, and he was +listless, and he made strange gestures and did foolish things as he +stumbled down the mountain. He was going over a little knoll now, and +he could see the creek that ran around his house, but he was not +touched. He would just as soon have lain down right where he was, or +have turned around and gone back, except that it was hot and he wanted +to get to the water. He remembered that it was nigh Christmas; he saw +the snow about him and the cakes of ice in the creek. He knew that he +ought not to be hot, and yet he was--so hot that he refused to reason +with himself even a minute, and hurried on. It was odd that it should +be so, but just about that time, over in Virginia, a cattle dealer, +nearing home, stopped to tell a neighbor how he had tricked some +black-whiskered fool up in the mountains. It may have been just when +he was laughing aloud over there, that the Senator, over here, tore his +woollen shirt from his great hairy chest and rushed into the icy +stream, clapping his arms to his burning sides and shouting in his +frenzy. + +"If he had lived a little longer," said a constituent, "he would have +lost the next election. He hadn't the money, you know." + +"If he had lived a little longer," said the mountain preacher high up +on Yellow Creek, "I'd have got that trade I had on hand with him +through. Not that I wanted him to die, but if he had to--why--" + +"If he had lived a little longer," said the Senator's lawyer, "he would +have cleaned off the score against him." + +"If he had lived a little longer," said the Senator's sister, not +meaning to be unkind, "he would have got all I have." + +That was what life held for the Senator. Death was more kind. + + + + +PREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME + + +I've told ye, stranger, that Hell fer Sartain empties, as it oughter, +of co'se, into Kingdom-Come. You can ketch the devil 'most any day in +the week on Hell fer Sartain, an' sometimes you can git Glory +everlastin' on Kingdom-Come. Hit's the only meetin'-house thar in +twenty miles aroun'. + +Well, the reg'lar rider, ole Jim Skaggs, was dead, an' the bretherin +was a-lookin' aroun' fer somebody to step into ole Jim's shoes. Thar'd +been one young feller up thar from the settlemints, a-cavortin' aroun', +an' they was studyin' 'bout gittin' him. + +"Bretherin' an' sisteren," I says, atter the leetle chap was gone, +"he's got the fortitood to speak an' he shorely is well favored. He's +got a mighty good hawk eye fer spyin' out evil--an' the gals; he can +outholler ole Jim; an' IF," I says, "any IDEES ever comes to him, he'll +be a hell-rouser shore--but they ain't comin'!" An', so sayin', I takes +my foot in my hand an' steps fer home. + +Stranger, them fellers over thar hain't seed much o' this world. Lots +of 'em nuver seed the cyars; some of 'em nuver seed a wagon. An' atter +jowerin' an' noratin' fer 'bout two hours, what you reckon they said +they aimed to do? They believed they'd take that ar man Beecher, ef +they could git him to come. They'd heerd o' Henry endurin' the war, +an' they knowed he was agin the rebs, an' they wanted Henry if they +could jes git him to come. + +Well, I snorted, an' the feud broke out on Hell fer Sartain betwixt the +Days an' the Dillons. Mace Day shot Daws Dillon's brother, as I +rickollect--somep'n's al'ays a-startin' up that plaguey war an' +a-makin' things frolicsome over thar--an' ef it hadn't a-been fer a +tall young feller with black hair an' a scar across his forehead, who +was a-goin' through the mountains a-settlin' these wars, blame me ef I +believe thar ever would 'a' been any mo' preachin' on Kingdom-Come. +This feller comes over from Hazlan an' says he aims to hold a meetin' +on Kingdom-Come. "Brother," I says, "that's what no preacher have ever +did whilst this war is a-goin' on." An' he says, sort o' quiet, "Well, +then, I reckon I'll have to do what no preacher have ever did." An' I +ups an' says: "Brother, an ole jedge come up here once from the +settlemints to hold couht. 'Jedge,' I says, 'that's what no jedge have +ever did without soldiers since this war's been a-goin' on.' An', +brother, the jedge's words was yours, p'int-blank. 'All right,' he +says, 'then I'll have to do what no other jedge have ever did.' An', +brother," says I to the preacher, "the jedge done it shore. He jes +laid under the couht-house fer two days whilst the boys fit over him. +An' when I sees the jedge a-makin' tracks fer the settlemints, I says, +'Jedge,' I says, 'you spoke a parable shore.'" + +Well, sir, the long preacher looked jes as though he was a-sayin' to +hisself, "Yes, I hear ye, but I don't heed ye," an' when he says, "Jes +the same, I'm a-goin' to hold a meetin' on Kingdom-Come," why, I jes +takes my foot in my hand an' ag'in I steps fer home. + +That night, stranger, I seed another feller from Hazlan, who was +a-tellin' how this here preacher had stopped the war over thar, an' had +got the Marcums an' Braytons to shakin' hands; an' next day ole Tom +Perkins stops in an' says that WHARAS there mought 'a' been preachin' +somewhar an' sometime, thar nuver had been PREACHIN' afore on +Kingdom-Come. So I goes over to the meetin' house, an' they was all +thar--Daws Dillon an' Mace Day, the leaders in the war, an' Abe Shivers +(you've heerd tell o' Abe) who was a-carryin' tales from one side to +t'other an' a-stirrin' up hell ginerally, as Abe most al'ays is; an' +thar was Daws on one side o' the meetin'-house an' Mace on t'other, an' +both jes a-watchin' fer t'other to make a move, an' thar'd 'a' been +billy-hell to pay right thar! Stranger, that long preacher talked jes +as easy as I'm a-talkin' now, an' hit was p'int-blank as the feller +from Hazlan said. You jes ought 'a' heerd him tellin' about the Lawd +a-bein' as pore as any feller thar, an' a-makin' barns an' fences an' +ox-yokes an' sech like; an' not a-bein' able to write his own +name--havin' to make his mark mebbe--when he started out to save the +world. An' how they tuk him an' nailed him onto a cross when he'd come +down fer nothin' but to save 'em; an' stuck a spear big as a corn-knife +into his side, an' give him vinegar; an' his own mammy a-standin' down +thar on the ground a-cryin' an' a-watchin' him an' he a-fergivin' all +of 'em then an' thar! + +Thar nuver had been nothin' like that afore on Kingdom-Come, an' all +along I heerd fellers a-layin' thar guns down; an when the preacher +called out fer sinners, blame me ef the fust feller that riz wasn't +Mace Day. An' Mace says, "Stranger, 'f what you say is true, I reckon +the Lawd 'll fergive me too, but I don't believe Daws Dillon ever +will," an' Mace stood thar lookin' around fer Daws. An' all of a +sudden the preacher got up straight an' called out, "Is thar a human in +this house mean an' sorry enough to stand betwixt a man an' his Maker"? +An' right thar, stranger, Daws riz. "Naw, by God, thar hain' t!" Daws +says, an' he walks up to Mace a-holdin' out his hand, an' they all +busts out cryin' an' shakin' hands--Days an' Dillons--jes as the +preacher had made 'em do over in Hazlan. An' atter the thing was over, +I steps up to the preacher an' I says: + +"Brother," I says, "YOU spoke a parable, shore." + + + + +THE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS + + +"I tell ye, boys, hit hain t often a feller has the chance o' doin' so +much good jes by DYIN'. Fer 'f Abe Shivers air gone, shorely gone, the +rest of us--every durn one of us--air a-goin' to be saved. Fer Abe +Shivers--you hain't heerd tell o' ABE? Well, you must be a stranger in +these mountains o' Kaintuck, shore. + +"I don't know, stranger, as Abe ever was borned; nobody in these +mountains knows it 'f he was. The fust time I ever heerd tell o' Abe +he was a-hollerin' fer his rights one mawnin' at daylight, endurin' the +war, jes outside o' ole Tom Perkins' door on Fryin' Pan. Abe was left +thar by some home-gyard, I reckon. Well, nobody air ever turned out'n +doors in these mountains, as you know, an' Abe got his rights that +mawin', an' he's been a-gittin' 'em ever sence. Tom already had a +houseful, but 'f any feller got the bigges' hunk o' corn-bread, that +feller was Abe; an' ef any feller got a-whalin', hit wasn't Abe. + +"Abe tuk to lyin' right naturely--looked like--afore he could talk. +Fact is, Abe nuver could do nothin' but jes whisper. Still, Abe could +manage to send a lie furder with that rattlin' whisper than ole Tom +could with that big horn o' hisn what tells the boys the revenoos air +comin' up Fryin' Pan.' + +"Didn't take Abe long to git to braggin' an' drinkin' an' naggin' an' +hectorin'--everything, 'mos', 'cept fightin'. Nobody ever drawed Abe +Shivers into a fight. I don't know as he was afeerd; looked like Abe +was a-havin' sech a tarnation good time with his devilmint he jes +didn't want to run no risk o' havin' hit stopped. An' sech devilmint! +Hit ud take a coon's age, I reckon, to tell ye. + +"The boys was a-goin' up the river one night to git ole Dave Hall fer +trickin' Rosie Branham into evil. Some feller goes ahead an' tells ole +Dave they's a-comin.' Hit was Abe. Some feller finds a streak o' ore +on ole Tom Perkins' land, an' racks his jinny down to town, an' tells a +furriner thar, an' Tom comes might' nigh sellin' the land fer nothin'. +Now Tom raised Abe, but, jes the same, the feller was Abe. + +"One night somebody guides the revenoos in on Hell fer Sartain, an' +they cuts up four stills. Hit was Abe. The same night, mind ye, a +feller slips in among the revenoos while they's asleep, and cuts off +their hosses' manes an' tails--muled every durned critter uv 'em. +Stranger, hit was Abe. An' as fer women-folks--well, Abe was the ill +favoredest feller I ever see, an' he couldn't talk; still, Abe was +sassy, an' you know how sass counts with the gals; an' Abe's whisperin' +come in jes as handy as any feller's settin' up; so 'f ever you seed a +man with a Winchester a-lookin' fer the feller who had cut him out, +stranger, he was a-lookin' fer Abe. + +"Somebody tells Harve Hall, up thar at a dance on Hell-fer-Sartain one +Christmas night, that Rich Harp had said somep'n' agin him an' Nance +Osborn. An' somebody tells Rich that Harve had said sompe'n' agin +Nance an' HIM. Hit was one an' the same feller, stranger, an' the +feller was Abe. Well, while Rich an' Harve was a-gittin' well, +somebody runs off with Nance. Hit was Abe. Then Rich an' Harve jes +draws straws fer a feller. Stranger, they drawed fer Abe. Hit's purty +hard to believe that Abe air gone, 'cept that Rich Harp an' Harve Hall +don't never draw no straws fer nothin'; but 'f by the grace o' +Goddle-mighty Abe air gone, why, as I was a-sayin', the rest of +us--every durned one of us air a-goin' to be saved, shore. Fer Abe's +gone fust, an' ef thar's only one Jedgment Day, the Lawd 'll nuver git +to us." + + + + +A PURPLE RHODODENDRON + + +The purple rhododendron is rare. Up in the Gap here, Bee Rock, hung +out over Roaring Rock, blossoms with it--as a gray cloud purples with +the sunrise. This rock was tossed lightly on edge when the earth was +young, and stands vertical. To get the flowers you climb the mountain +to one side, and, balancing on the rock's thin edge, slip down by roots +and past rattlesnake dens till you hang out over the water and reach +for them. To avoid snakes it is best to go when it is cool, at +daybreak. + +I know but one other place in this southwest corner of Virginia where +there is another bush of purple rhododendron, and one bush only is +there. This hangs at the throat of a peak not far away, whose ageless +gray head is bent over a ravine that sinks like a spear thrust into the +side of the mountain. Swept only by high wind and eagle wings as this +is, I yet knew one man foolhardy enough to climb to it for a flower. +He brought one blossom down: and to this day I do not know that it was +not the act of a coward; yes, though Grayson did it, actually smiling +all the way from peak to ravine, and though he was my best friend--best +loved then and since. I believe he was the strangest man I have ever +known, and I say this with thought; for his eccentricities were +sincere. In all he did I cannot remember having even suspected +anything theatrical but once. + +We were all Virginians or Kentuckians at the Gap, and Grayson was a +Virginian. You might have guessed that he was a Southerner from his +voice and from the way he spoke of women--but no more. Otherwise, he +might have been a Moor, except for his color, which was about the only +racial characteristic he had. He had been educated abroad and, after +the English habit, had travelled everywhere. And yet I can imagine no +more lonely way between the eternities than the path Grayson trod alone. + +He came to the Gap in the early days, and just why he came I never +knew. He had studied the iron question a long time, he told me, and +what I thought reckless speculation was, it seems, deliberate judgment +to him. His money "in the dirt," as the phrase was, Grayson got him a +horse and rode the hills and waited. He was intimate with nobody. +Occasionally he would play poker with us and sometimes he drank a good +deal, but liquor never loosed his tongue. At poker his face told as +little as the back of his cards, and he won more than admiration--even +from the Kentuckians, who are artists at the game; but the money went +from a free hand, and, after a diversion like this, he was apt to be +moody and to keep more to himself than ever. Every fortnight or two he +would disappear, always over Sunday. In three or four days he would +turn up again, black with brooding, and then he was the last man to +leave the card-table or he kept away from it altogether. Where he went +nobody knew; and he was not the man anybody would question. + +One night two of us Kentuckians were sitting in the club, and from a +home paper I read aloud the rumored engagement of a girl we both +knew--who was famous for beauty in the Bluegrass, as was her mother +before her and the mother before her--to an unnamed Virginian. Grayson +sat near, smoking a pipe; and when I read the girl's name I saw him +take the meerschaum from his lips, and I felt his eyes on me. It was a +mystery how, but I knew at once that Grayson was the man. He sought me +out after that and seemed to want to make friends. I was willing, or, +rather he made me more than willing; for he was irresistible to me, as +I imagine he would have been to anybody. We got to walking together +and riding together at night, and we were soon rather intimate; but for +a long time he never so much as spoke the girl's name. Indeed, he kept +away from the Bluegrass for nearly two months; but when he did go he +stayed a fortnight. + +This time he came for me as soon as he got back to the Gap. It was +just before midnight, and we went as usual back of Imboden Hill, +through moon-dappled beeches, and Grayson turned off into the woods +where there was no path, both of us silent. We rode through tremulous, +shining leaves--Grayson's horse choosing a way for himself--and, +threshing through a patch of high, strong weeds, we circled past an +amphitheatre of deadened trees whose crooked arms were tossed out into +the moonlight, and halted on the spur. The moon was poised over +Morris's farm; South Fork was shining under us like a loop of gold, the +mountains lay about in tranquil heaps, and the moon-mist rose luminous +between them. There Grayson turned to me with an eager light in his +eyes that I had never seen before. + +"This has a new beauty to-night!" he said; and then "I told her about +you, and she said that she used to know you--well." I was glad my face +was in shadow--I could hardly keep back a brutal laugh--and Grayson, +unseeing, went on to speak of her as I had never heard any man speak of +any woman. In the end, he said that she had just promised to be his +wife. I answered nothing. Other men, I knew, had said that with the +same right, perhaps, and had gone from her to go back no more. And I +was one of them. Grayson had met her at White Sulphur five years +before, and had loved her ever since. She had known it from the first, +he said, and I guessed then what was going to happen to him. I +marvelled, listening to the man, for it was the star of constancy in +her white soul that was most lustrous to him--and while I wondered the +marvel became a commonplace. Did not every lover think his loved one +exempt from the frailty that names other women? There is no ideal of +faith or of purity that does not live in countless women to-day. I +believe that; but could I not recall one friend who walked with +Divinity through pine woods for one immortal spring, and who, being +sick to death, was quite finished--learning her at last? Did I not +know lovers who believed sacred to themselves, in the name of love, +lips that had been given to many another without it? And now did I not +know--but I knew too much, and to Grayson I said nothing. + +That spring the "boom" came. Grayson's property quadrupled in value +and quadrupled again. I was his lawyer, and I plead with him to sell; +but Grayson laughed. He was not speculating; he had invested on +judgment; he would sell only at a certain figure. The figure was +actually reached, and Grayson let half go. The boom fell, and Grayson +took the tumble with a jest. It would come again in the autumn, he +said, and he went off to meet the girl at White Sulphur. + +I worked right hard that summer, but I missed him, and I surely was +glad when he came back. Something was wrong; I saw it at once. He did +not mention her name, and for a while he avoided even me. I sought him +then, and gradually I got him into our old habit of walking up into the +Gap and of sitting out after supper on a big rock in the valley, +listening to the run of the river and watching the afterglow over the +Cumberland, the moon rise over Wallen's Ridge and the stars come out. +Waiting for him to speak, I learned for the first time then another +secret of his wretched melancholy. It was the hopelessness of that +time, perhaps, that disclosed it. Grayson had lost the faith of his +childhood. Most men do that at some time or other, but Grayson had no +business, no profession, no art in which to find relief. Indeed, there +was but one substitute possible, and that came like a gift straight +from the God whom he denied. Love came, and Grayson's ideals of love, +as of everything else, were morbid and quixotic. He believed that he +owed it to the woman he should marry never to have loved another. He +had loved but one woman, he said, and he should love but one. I +believed him then literally when he said that his love for the Kentucky +girl was his religion now--the only anchor left him in his sea of +troubles, the only star that gave him guiding light. Without this +love, what then? + +I had a strong impulse to ask him, but Grayson shivered, as though he +divined my thought, and, in some relentless way, our talk drifted to +the question of suicide. I was not surprised that he rather defended +it. Neither of us said anything new, only I did not like the way he +talked. He was too deliberate, too serious, as though he were really +facing a possible fact. He had no religious scruples, he said, no +family ties; he had nothing to do with bringing himself into life; +why--if it was not worth living, not bearable--why should he not end +it? He gave the usual authority, and I gave the usual answer. +Religion aside, if we did not know that we were here for some purpose, +we did not know that we were not; and here we were anyway, and our duty +was plain. Desertion was the act of a coward, and that Grayson could +not deny. + +That autumn the crash of '91 came across the water from England, and +Grayson gave up. He went to Richmond, and came back with money enough +to pay off his notes, and I think it took nearly all he had. Still, he +played poker steadily now--for poker had been resumed when it was no +longer possible to gamble in lots--he drank a good deal, and he began +just at this time to take a singular interest in our volunteer police +guard. He had always been on hand when there was trouble, and I +sha'n't soon forget him the day Senator Mahone spoke, when we were +punching a crowd of mountaineers back with cocked Winchesters. He had +lost his hat in a struggle with one giant; he looked half crazy with +anger, and yet he was white and perfectly cool, and I noticed that he +never had to tell a man but once to stand back. Now he was the first +man to answer a police whistle. When we were guarding Talt Hall, he +always volunteered when there was any unusual risk to run. When we +raided the Pound to capture a gang of desperadoes, he insisted on going +ahead as spy; and when we got restless lying out in the woods waiting +for daybreak, and the captain suggested a charge on the cabin, Grayson +was by his side when it was made. Grayson sprang through the door +first, and he was the man who thrust his reckless head up into the loft +and lighted a match to see if the murderers were there. Most of us did +foolish things in those days under stress of excitement, but Grayson, I +saw, was weak enough to be reckless. His trouble with the girl, +whatever it was, was serious enough to make him apparently care little +whether he were alive or dead. And still I saw that not yet even had +he lost hope. He was having a sore fight with his pride, and he got +body-worn and heart-sick over it. Of course he was worsted, and in the +end, from sheer weakness, he went back to her once more. + +I shall never see another face like his when Grayson came back that +last time. I never noticed before that there were silver hairs about +his temples. He stayed in his room, and had his meals sent to him. He +came out only to ride, and then at night. Waking the third morning at +daybreak, I saw him through the window galloping past, and I knew he +had spent the night on Black Mountain. I went to his room as soon as I +got up, and Grayson was lying across his bed with his face down, his +clothes on, and in his right hand was a revolver. I reeled into a +chair before I had strength enough to bend over him, and when I did I +found him asleep. I left him as he was, and I never let him know that +I had been to his room; but I got him out on the rock again that night, +and I turned our talk again to suicide. I said it was small, mean, +cowardly, criminal, contemptible! I was savagely in earnest, and +Grayson shivered and said not a word. I thought he was in better mind +after that. We got to taking night rides again, and I stayed as +closely to him as I could, for times got worse and trouble was upon +everybody. Notes fell thicker than snowflakes, and, through the +foolish policy of the company, foreclosures had to be made. Grayson +went to the wall like the rest of us. I asked him what he had done +with the money he had made. He had given away a great deal to poorer +kindred; he had paid his dead father's debts; he had played away a good +deal, and he had lost the rest. His faith was still imperturbable. He +had a dozen rectangles of "dirt," and from these, he said, it would all +come back some day. Still, he felt the sudden poverty keenly, but he +faced it as he did any other physical fact in life--dauntless. He used +to be fond of saying that no one thing could make him miserable. But +he would talk with mocking earnestness about some much-dreaded +combination; and a favorite phrase of his--which got to have peculiar +significance--was "the cohorts of hell," who closed in on him when he +was sick and weak, and who fell back when he got well. He had one +strange habit, too, from which I got comfort. He would deliberately +walk into and defy any temptation that beset him. That was the way he +strengthened himself, he said. I knew what his temptation was now, and +I thought of this habit when I found him asleep with his revolver, and +I got hope from it now, when the dreaded combination (whatever that +was) seemed actually to have come. + +I could see now that he got worse daily. He stopped his mockeries, his +occasional fits of reckless gayety. He stopped poker--resolutely--he +couldn't afford to lose now; and, what puzzled me, he stopped drinking. +The man simply looked tired, always hopelessly tired; and I could +believe him sincere in all his foolish talk about his blessed Nirvana: +which was the peace he craved, which was end enough for him. + +Winter broke. May drew near; and one afternoon, when Grayson and I +took our walk up through the Gap, he carried along a huge spy-glass of +mine, which had belonged to a famous old desperado, who watched his +enemies with it from the mountain-tops. We both helped capture him, +and I defended him. He was sentenced to hang--the glass was my fee. +We sat down opposite Bee Rock, and for the first time Grayson told me +of that last scene with her. He spoke without bitterness, and he told +me what she said, word for word, without a breath of blame for her. I +do not believe that he judged her at all; she did not know--he always +said; she did not KNOW; and then, when I opened my lips, Grayson +reached silently for my wrist, and I can feel again the warning crush +of his fingers, and I say nothing against her now. + +I asked Grayson what his answer was. + +"I asked her," he said, solemnly, "if she had ever seen a purple +rhododendron." + +I almost laughed, picturing the scene--the girl bewildered by his +absurd question--Grayson calm, superbly courteous. It was a mental +peculiarity of his--this irrelevancy--and it was like him to end a +matter of life and death in just that way. + +"I told her I should send her one. I am waiting for them to come out," +he added; and he lay back with his head against a stone and sighted the +telescope on a dizzy point, about which buzzards were circling. + +"There is just one bush of rhododendron up there," he went on. "I saw +it looking down from the Point last spring. I imagine it must blossom +earlier than that across there on Bee Rock, being always in the sun. +No, it's not budding yet," he added, with his eye to the glass. + +"You see that ledge just to the left? I dropped a big rock from the +Point square on a rattler who was sunning himself there last spring. I +can see a foothold all the way up the cliff. It can be done," he +concluded, in a tone that made me turn sharply upon him. + +"Do you really mean to climb up there?" I asked, harshly. + +"If it blossoms first up there--I'll get it where it blooms first." In +a moment I was angry and half sick with suspicion, for I knew his +obstinacy; and then began what I am half ashamed to tell. + +Every day thereafter Grayson took that glass with him, and I went along +to humor him. I watched Bee Rock, and he that one bush at the throat +of the peak--neither of us talking over the matter again. It was +uncanny, that rivalry--sun and wind in one spot, sun and wind in +another--Nature herself casting the fate of a half-crazed fool with a +flower. It was utterly absurd, but I got nervous over +it--apprehensive, dismal. + +A week later it rained for two days, and the water was high. The next +day the sun shone, and that afternoon Grayson smiled, looking through +the glass, and handed it to me. I knew what I should see. One purple +cluster, full blown, was shaking in the wind. Grayson was leaning back +in a dream when I let the glass down. A cool breath from the woods +behind us brought the odor of roots and of black earth; up in the +leaves and sunlight somewhere a wood-thrush was singing, and I saw in +Grayson's face what I had not seen for a long time, and that was +peace--the peace of stubborn purpose. He did not come for me the next +day, nor the next; but the next he did, earlier than usual. + +"I am going to get that rhododendron," he said. "I have been half-way +up--it can be reached." So had I been half-way up. With nerve and +agility the flower could be got, and both these Grayson had. If he had +wanted to climb up there and drop, he could have done it alone, and he +would have known that I should have found him. Grayson was testing +himself again, and, angry with him for the absurdity of the thing and +with myself for humoring it, but still not sure of him, I picked up my +hat and went. I swore to myself silently that it was the last time I +should pay any heed to his whims. I believed this would be the last. +The affair with the girl was over. The flower sent, I knew Grayson +would never mention her name again. + +Nature was radiant that afternoon. The mountains had the leafy +luxuriance of June, and a rich, sunlit haze drowsed on them between the +shadows starting out over the valley and the clouds so white that the +blue of the sky looked dark. Two eagles shot across the mouth of the +Gap as we neared it, and high beyond buzzards were sailing over +Grayson's rhododendron. + +I went up the ravine with him and I climbed up behind him--Grayson +going very deliberately and whistling softly. He called down to me +when he reached the shelf that looked half-way. + +"You mustn't come any farther than this," he said. "Get out on that +rock and I'll drop them down to you." + +Then he jumped from the ledge and caught the body of a small tree close +to the roots, and my heart sank at such recklessness and all my fears +rose again. I scrambled hastily to the ledge, but I could get no +farther. I might possibly make the jump he had made--but how should I +ever get back? How would he? I called angrily after him now, and he +wouldn't answer me. I called him a fool, a coward; I stamped the ledge +like a child--but Grayson kept on, foot after hand, with stealthy +caution, and the purple cluster nodding down at him made my head whirl. +I had to lie down to keep from tumbling from the ledge; and there on my +side, gripping a pine bush, I lay looking up at him. He was close to +the flowers now, and just before he took the last upward step he turned +and looked down that awful height with as calm a face as though he +could have dropped and floated unhurt to the ravine beneath. + +Then with his left hand he caught the ledge to the left, strained up, +and, holding thus, reached out with his right. The hand closed about +the cluster, and the twig was broken. Grayson gave a great shout then. +He turned his head as though to drop them, and, that far away, I heard +the sibilant whir of rattles. I saw a snake's crest within a yard of +his face, and, my God! I saw Grayson loose his left hand to guard it! +The snake struck at his arm, and Grayson reeled and caught back once at +the ledge with his left hand. He caught once, I say, to do him full +justice; then, without a word, he dropped--and I swear there was a +smile on his face when he shot down past me into the trees. + + +I found him down there in the ravine with nearly every bone in his body +crushed. His left arm was under him, and outstretched in his right +hand was the shattered cluster, with every blossom gone but one. One +white half of his face was unmarked, and on it was still the shadow of +a smile. I think it meant more than that Grayson believed that he was +near peace at last. It meant that Fate had done the deed for him and +that he was glad. Whether he would have done it himself, I do not +know; and that is why I say that though Grayson brought the flower +down--smiling from peak to ravine--I do not know that he was not, after +all, a coward. + +That night I wrote to the woman in Kentucky. I told her that Grayson +had fallen from a cliff while climbing for flowers; and that he was +dead. Along with these words, I sent a purple rhododendron. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Hell fer Sartain' and Other Stories, by +John Fox, Jr. + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'HELL FER SARTAIN' *** + +***** This file should be named 410.txt or 410.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/410/ + +Produced by Charles Keller. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +Scanned by Charles Keller with +OmniPage Professional OCR software +donated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226. +Contact Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com> + +JOHN FOX, JR. + +`Hell fer Sartain' +and +Other Stories + + +TO +MY BROTHER +JAMES + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + + + + +CONTENTS + + +ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK +THROUGH THE GAP +A TRICK O' TRADE +GRAYSON'S BABY +COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN +THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND +THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE +PREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME +THE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS +A PURPLE RHODODENDRON + + + +ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK + + +Thar was a dancin'-party Christmas +night on ``Hell fer Sartain.'' Jes tu'n +up the fust crick beyond the bend thar, +an' climb onto a stump, an' holler about +ONCE, an' you'll see how the name come. +Stranger, hit's HELL fer sartain! Well, +Rich Harp was thar from the head- +waters, an' Harve Hall toted Nance +Osborn clean across the Cumberlan'. +Fust one ud swing Nance, an' then +t'other. Then they'd take a pull out'n +the same bottle o' moonshine, an'--fust +one an' then t'other--they'd swing her +agin. An' Abe Shivers a-settin' thar +by the fire a-bitin' his thumbs! + +Well, things was sorter whoopin', +when somebody ups an' tells Harve +that Rich had said somep'n' agin +Nance an' him, an' somebody ups an' +tells Rich that Harve had said somep'n' +agin Nance an' HIM. In a minute, stranger, +hit was like two wild-cats in thar. +Folks got 'em parted, though, but thar +was no more a-swingin' of Nance that +night. Harve toted her back over the +Cumberlan', an' Rich's kinsfolks tuk him +up ``Hell fer Sartain''; but Rich got +loose, an' lit out lickety-split fer Nance +Osborn's. He knowed Harve lived too +fer over Black Mountain to go home +that night, an' he rid right across the +river an' up to Nance's house, an' +hollered fer Harve. Harve poked his head +out'n the loft--he knowed whut was +wanted--an' Harve says, ``Uh, come in +hyeh an' go to bed. Hit's too late!'' +An' Rich seed him a-gapin' like a chicken, +an' in he walked, stumblin' might' +nigh agin the bed whar Nance was +a-layin', listenin' an' not sayin' a word. + +Stranger, them two fellers slept +together plum frien'ly, an' they et together +plum frien'ly next mornin', an' they sa'ntered +down to the grocery plum frien'ly. +An' Rich says, ``Harve,'' says he, +``let's have a drink.'' ``All right, Rich,'' +says Harve. An' Rich says, ``Harve,'' +says he, ``you go out'n that door an' +I'll go out'n this door.'' ``All right, +Rich,'' says Harve, an' out they +walked, steady, an' thar was two shoots +shot, an' Rich an' Harve both drapped, +an' in ten minutes they was stretched +out on Nance's bed an' Nance was +a-lopin' away fer the yarb doctor. + +The gal nussed 'em both plum faithful. +Rich didn't hev much to say, an' +Harve didn't hev much to say. Nance +was sorter quiet, an' Nance's mammy, +ole Nance, jes grinned. Folks come in +to ax atter 'em right peart. Abe Shivers +come cl'ar 'cross the river--powerful +frien'ly--an' ever' time Nance ud walk +out to the fence with him. One time +she didn't come back, an' ole Nance +fotched the boys thar dinner, an' ole +Nance fotched thar supper, an' then +Rich he axed whut was the matter +with young Nance. An' ole Nance jes +snorted. Atter a while Rich says: +``Harve,'' says he, ``who tol' you that +I said that word agin you an' Nance?'' +``Abe Shivers,'' says Harve. ``An' who +tol' you,'' says Harve, ``that I said that +word agin Nance an' YOU?'' ``Abe Shivers,'' +says Rich. An' both says, ``Well, +damn me!'' An' Rich tu'ned right +over an' begun pullin' straws out'n the +bed. He got two out, an' he bit one +off, an' he says: ``Harve,'' says he, ``I +reckon we better draw fer him. The +shortes' gits him.'' An' they drawed. +Well, nobody ever knowed which got +the shortes' straw, stranger, but-- + +Thar'll be a dancin'-party comin' +Christmas night on ``Hell fer Sartain.'' +Rich Harp 'll be thar from the head- +waters. Harve Hall's a-goin' to tote +the Widder Shivers clean across the +Cumberlan'. Fust one 'll swing Nance, +an' then t'other. Then they'll take a +pull out'n the same bottle o' moonshine, +an'--fust one an' then t'other-- +they'll swing her agin, jes the same. +ABE won't be thar. He's a-settin' by +a bigger fire, I reckon (ef he ain't in +it), a-bitin' his thumbs! + + + + +THROUGH THE GAP + + +When thistles go adrift, the sun sets +down the valley between the hills; +when snow comes, it goes down behind +the Cumberland and streams through a +great fissure that people call the Gap. +Then the last light drenches the parson's +cottage under Imboden Hill, and +leaves an after-glow of glory on a +majestic heap that lies against the east. +Sometimes it spans the Gap with a +rainbow. + +Strange people and strange tales +come through this Gap from the Kentucky +hills. Through it came these +two, late one day--a man and a woman-- +afoot. I met them at the foot- +bridge over Roaring Fork. + +``Is thar a preacher anywhar aroun' +hyeh?'' he asked. I pointed to the +cottage under Imboden Hill. The girl +flushed slightly and turned her head +away with a rather unhappy smile. +Without a word, the mountaineer led +the way towards town. A moment +more and a half-breed Malungian passed +me on the bridge and followed +them. + +At dusk the next day I saw the +mountaineer chopping wood at a shanty +under a clump of rhododendron on +the river-bank. The girl was cooking +supper inside. The day following he +was at work on the railroad, and on +Sunday, after church, I saw the parson. +The two had not been to him. Only +that afternoon the mountaineer was +on the bridge with another woman, +hideously rouged and with scarlet ribbons +fluttering from her bonnet. Passing +on by the shanty, I saw the Malungian +talking to the girl. She apparently +paid no heed to him until, just as he +was moving away, he said something +mockingly, and with a nod of his +head back towards the bridge. She +did not look up even then, but her +face got hard and white, and, looking +back from the road, I saw her slipping +through the bushes into the dry bed of +the creek, to make sure that what the +half-breed told her was true. + +The two men were working side by +side on the railroad when I saw them +again, but on the first pay-day the doctor +was called to attend the Malungian, +whose head was split open with +a shovel. I was one of two who went +out to arrest his assailant, and I had +no need to ask who he was. The +mountaineer was a devil, the foreman +said, and I had to club him with a +pistol-butt before he would give in. +He said he would get even with me; +but they all say that, and I paid no +attention to the threat. For a week he +was kept in the calaboose, and when I +passed the shanty just after he was +sent to the county-seat for trial, I +found it empty. The Malungian, too, +was gone. Within a fortnight the +mountaineer was in the door of the +shanty again. Having no accuser, he +had been discharged. He went back +to his work, and if he opened his lips +I never knew. Every day I saw him +at work, and he never failed to give +me a surly look. Every dusk I saw +him in his door-way, waiting, and I +could guess for what. It was easy to +believe that the stern purpose in his +face would make its way through +space and draw her to him again. +And she did come back one day. I +had just limped down the mountain +with a sprained ankle. A crowd of +women was gathered at the edge of +the woods, looking with all their eyes +to the shanty on the river-bank. The +girl stood in the door-way. The +mountaineer was coming back from work +with his face down. + +``He hain't seed her yit,'' said one. +``He's goin' to kill her shore. I tol' +her he would. She said she reckoned +he would, but she didn't keer.'' + +For a moment I was paralyzed by +the tragedy at hand. She was in the +door looking at him when he raised +his head. For one moment he stood +still, staring, and then he started +towards her with a quickened step. I +started too, then, every step a torture, +and as I limped ahead she made a +gesture of terror and backed into the +room before him. The door closed, +and I listened for a pistol-shot and a +scream. It must have been done with +a knife, I thought, and quietly, for +when I was within ten paces of the +cabin he opened the door again. His +face was very white; he held one hand +behind him, and he was nervously +fumbling at his chill with the other. +As he stepped towards me I caught the +handle of a pistol in my side pocket +and waited. He looked at me sharply. + +``Did you say the preacher lived up +thar?'' he asked. + +``Yes,'' I said, breathlessly. + +In the door-way just then stood the +girl with a bonnet in her hand, and at +a nod from him they started up the +hill towards the cottage. They came +down again after a while, he stalking +ahead, and she, after the mountain +fashion, behind. And after this fashion +I saw them at sunset next day pass +over the bridge and into the mouth of +the Gap whence they came. Through +this Gap come strange people and +strange tales from the Kentucky hills. +Over it, sometimes, is the span of a +rainbow. + + + + +A TRICK O' TRADE + + +Stranger, I'm a separATE man, an' I +don't inQUIZite into no man's business; +but you ax me straight, an' I tell ye +straight: You watch ole Tom! + +Now, I'll take ole Tom Perkins' word +agin anybody's 'ceptin' when hit comes +to a hoss trade ur a piece o' land. Fer +in the tricks o' sech, ole Tom 'lows-- +well, hit's diff'ent; an' I reckon, stranger, +as how hit sorter is. He was a-stayin' +at Tom's house, the furriner was, a-dickerin' +fer a piece o' lan'--the same +piece, mebbe, that you're atter now-- +an' Tom keeps him thar fer a week to +beat him out'n a dollar, an' then won't +let him pay nary a cent fer his boa'd. +Now, stranger, that's Tom. + +Well, Abe Shivers was a-workin' fer +Tom--you've heerd tell o' Abe--an' +the furriner wasn't more'n half gone +afore Tom seed that Abe was up to +some of his devilMINT. Abe kin hatch +up more devilMINT in a minit than Satan +hisself kin in a week; so Tom jes got +Abe out'n the stable under a hoe-handle, +an' tol' him to tell the whole thing +straight ur he'd have to go to glory +right thar. An' Abe tol'! + +'Pears like Abe had foun' a streak o' +iron ore on the lan', an' had racked his +jinny right down to Hazlan an' tol' the +furriner, who was thar a-buyin' wild +lands right an' left. Co'se, Abe was +goin' to make the furriner whack up +fer gittin' the lan' so cheap. Well, +brother, the furriner come up to Tom's +an' got Tom into one o' them new- +fangled trades whut the furriners calls a +option--t'other feller kin git out'n hit, +but you can't. The furriner 'lowed he'd +send his podner up thar next day to +put the thing in writin' an' close up the +trade. Hit looked like ole Tom was +ketched fer shore, an' ef Tom didn't +ra'r, I'd tell a man. He jes let that hoe- +handle drap on Abe fer 'bout haffen +hour, jes to give him time to study, an' +next day thar was ole Tom a-settin' +on his orchard fence a-lookin' mighty +unknowin', when the furriner's podner +come a-prancin' up an' axed ef old Tom +Perkins lived thar. + +Ole Tom jes whispers. + +Now, I clean fergot to tell ye, stranger, +that Abe Shivers nuver could talk out +loud. He tol' so many lies that the +Lawd--jes to make things even--sorter +fixed Abe, I reckon, so he couldn't lie +on more'n one side o' the river at a +time. Ole Tom jes knowed t'other +furriner had tol' this un 'bout Abe, an,' +shore 'nough, the feller says, sorter soft, +says he: + +``Aw, you air the feller whut foun' +the ore?'' + +Ole Tom--makin' like he was Abe, +mind ye--jes whispers: ``Thar hain't +none thar.'' + +Stranger, the feller mos' fell off'n his +hoss. ``Whut?'' says he. Ole Tom kep' +a-whisperin': ``Thar hain't no coal-- +no nothing; ole Tom Perkins made me +tell t'other furriner them lies.'' + +Well, sir, the feller WAS mad. ``Jes +whut I tol' that fool podner of mine,'' +he says, an' he pull out a dollar an' gives +hit to Tom. Tom jes sticks out his +han' with his thum' turned in jes so, +an' the furriner says, ``Well, ef you can't +talk, you kin make purty damn good +signs''; but he forks over four mo' dollars +(he 'lowed ole Tom had saved him a +pile o' money), an' turns his hoss an' +pulls up agin. He was a-gittin' the land +so durned cheap that I reckon he jes +hated to let hit go, an' he says, says he: +``Well, hain't the groun' rich? Won't hit +raise no tabaccy nur corn nur nothin'?'' + +Ole Tom jes whispers: + +``To tell you the p'int-blank truth, +stranger, that land's so durned pore that +I hain't nuver been able to raise my +voice.'' + +Now, brother, I'm a separATE man, +an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's business-- +but you ax me straight an' I tell +ye straight. Ole Tom Perkins kin trade +with furriners, fer he have l'arned their +ways. You watch ole Tom! + + + + +GRAYSON'S BABY + + +The first snow sifted in through the +Gap that night, and in a ``shack'' of +one room and a low loft a man was +dead, a woman was sick to death, and +four children were barely alive; and +nobody even knew. For they were hill +people, who sicken, suffer, and sometimes +die, like animals, and make no +noise. + +Grayson, the Virginian, coming down +from the woods that morning, saw the +big-hearted little doctor outside the door +of the shack, walking up and down, +with his hands in his pockets. He was +whistling softly when Grayson got near, +and, without stopping, pointed with his +thumb within. The oldest boy sat +stolidly on the one chair in the room, +his little brother was on the floor hard +by, and both were hugging a greasy +stove. The little girl was with her +mother in the bed, both almost out of +sight under a heap of quilts. The baby +was in a cradle, with its face uncovered, +whether dead or asleep Grayson could +not tell. A pine coffin was behind the +door. It would not have been possible +to add to the disorder of the room, and +the atmosphere made Grayson gasp. He +came out looking white. The first man +to arrive thereafter took away the eldest +boy, a woman picked the baby girl from +the bed, and a childless young couple +took up the pallid little fellow on the +floor. These were step-children. The +baby boy that was left was the woman's +own. Nobody came for that, and Grayson +went in again and looked at it a +long while. So little, so old a human +face he had never seen. The brow +was wrinkled as with centuries of pain, +and the little drawn mouth looked as +though the spirit within had fought +its inheritance without a murmur, and +would fight on that way to the end. It +was the pluck of the face that drew +Grayson. ``I'll take it,'' he said. The +doctor was not without his sense of humor +even then, but he nodded. ``Cradle and +all,'' he said, gravely. And Grayson put +both on one shoulder and walked away. +He had lost the power of giving further +surprise in that town, and had he met +every man he knew, not one of them +would have felt at liberty to ask him +what he was doing. An hour later the +doctor found the child in Grayson's +room, and Grayson still looking at it. + +``Is it going to live, doctor?'' + +The doctor shook his head. ``Doubtful. +Look at the color. It's starved. +There's nothing to do but to watch it +and feed it. You can do that.'' + +So Grayson watched it, with a +fascination of which he was hardly +conscious. Never for one instant did its +look change--the quiet, unyielding +endurance that no faith and no philosophy +could ever bring to him. It was ideal +courage, that look, to accept the inevitable +but to fight it just that way. Half +the little mountain town was talking +next day--that such a tragedy was possible +by the public road-side, with relief +within sound of the baby's cry. The +oldest boy was least starved. Might +made right in an extremity like his, and +the boy had taken care of himself. The +young couple who had the second lad +in charge said they had been wakened +at daylight the next morning by some +noise in the room. Looking up, they +saw the little fellow at the fireplace +breaking an egg. He had built a fire, +had got eggs from the kitchen, and was +cooking his breakfast. The little girl +was mischievous and cheery in spite of +her bad plight, and nobody knew of the +baby except Grayson and the doctor. +Grayson would let nobody else in. As +soon as it was well enough to be peevish +and to cry, he took it back to its mother, +who was still abed. A long, dark +mountaineer was there, of whom the woman +seemed half afraid. He followed Grayson +outside. + +``Say, podner,'' he said, with an +unpleasant smile, ``ye don't go up to +Cracker's Neck fer nothin', do ye?'' + +The woman had lived at Cracker's +Neck before she appeared at the Gap, +and it did not come to Grayson what +the man meant until he was half-way to +his room. Then he flushed hot and +wheeled back to the cabin, but the +mountaineer was gone. + +``Tell that fellow he had better keep +out of my way,'' he said to the woman, +who understood, and wanted to say +something, but not knowing how, nodded +simply. In a few days the other children +went back to the cabin, and day +and night Grayson went to see the child, +until it was out of danger, and afterwards. +It was not long before the women +in town complained that the mother was +ungrateful. When they sent things to +eat to her the servant brought back +word that she had called out, `` `Set +them over thar,' without so much as a +thanky.'' One message was that ``she +didn' want no second-hand victuals from +nobody's table.'' Somebody suggested +sending the family to the poor-house. +The mother said ``she'd go out on her +crutches and hoe corn fust, and that the +people who talked 'bout sendin' her to +the po'-house had better save their breath +to make prayers with.'' One day she +was hired to do some washing. The +mistress of the house happened not to +rise until ten o'clock. Next morning +the mountain woman did not appear +until that hour. ``She wasn't goin' to +work a lick while that woman was +a-layin' in bed,'' she said, frankly. And +when the lady went down town, she too +disappeared. Nor would she, she +explained to Grayson, ``while that woman +was a-struttin' the streets.'' + +After that, one by one, they let her +alone, and the woman made not a word +of complaint. Within a week she was +working in the fields, when she should +have been back in bed. The result +was that the child sickened again. +The old look came back to its face, +and Grayson was there night and day. +He was having trouble out in Kentucky +about this time, and he went +to the Blue Grass pretty often. Always, +however, he left money with +me to see that the child was properly +buried if it should die while he was +gone; and once he telegraphed to ask +how it was. He said he was sometimes +afraid to open my letters for +fear that he should read that the baby +was dead. The child knew Grayson's +voice, his step. It would go to him +from its own mother. When it was +sickest and lying torpid it would move +the instant he stepped into the room, +and, when he spoke, would hold out +its thin arms, without opening its eyes, +and for hours Grayson would walk the +floor with the troubled little baby over +his shoulder. I thought several times +it would die when, on one trip, Grayson +was away for two weeks. One +midnight, indeed, I found the mother +moaning, and three female harpies +about the cradle. The baby was dying +this time, and I ran back for a +flask of whiskey. Ten minutes late +with the whiskey that night would +have been too late. The baby got to +know me and my voice during that +fortnight, but it was still in danger +when Grayson got back, and we went +to see it together. It was very weak, +and we both leaned over the cradle, +from either side, and I saw the pity +and affection--yes, hungry, half-shamed +affection--in Grayson's face. The +child opened its eyes, looked from +one to the other, and held out its +arms to ME. Grayson should have +known that the child forgot--that it +would forget its own mother. He +turned sharply, and his face was a +little pale. He gave something to the +woman, and not till then did I notice +that her soft black eyes never left +him while he was in the cabin. The +child got well; but Grayson never +went to the shack again, and he said +nothing when I came in one night +and told him that some mountaineer +--a long, dark fellow-had taken the +woman, the children, and the household +gods of the shack back into the +mountains. + +``They don't grieve long,'' I said, +``these people.'' + +But long afterwards I saw the woman +again along the dusty road that +leads into the Gap. She had heard +over in the mountains that Grayson +was dead, and had walked for two +days to learn if it was true. I pointed +back towards Bee Rock, and told her +that he had fallen from a cliff back +there. She did not move, nor did her +look change. Moreover, she said nothing, +and, being in a hurry, I had to ride +on. + +At the foot-bridge over Roaring +Fork I looked back. The woman was +still there, under the hot mid-day sun +and in the dust of the road, motionless. + + + +COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN + + +Hit was this way, stranger. When +hit comes to handlin' a right peert gal, +Jeb Somers air about the porest man +on Fryin' Pan, I reckon; an' Polly Ann +Sturgill have got the vineg'rest tongue +on Cutshin or any other crick. + +So the boys over on Fryin' Pan +made it up to git 'em together. Abe +Shivers--you've heerd tell o' Abe-- +tol' Jeb that Polly Ann had seed him +in Hazlan (which she hadn't, of co'se), +an' had said p'int-blank that he was +the likeliest feller she'd seed in them +mountains. An' he tol' Polly Ann +that Jeb was ravin' crazy 'bout her. +The pure misery of it jes made him +plumb delirious, Abe said; an' 'f Polly +Ann wanted to find her match fer languige +an' talkin' out peert--well, she +jes ought to strike Jeb Somers. Fact +is, stranger, Jeb Somers air might' nigh +a idgit; but Jeb 'lowed he'd rack right +over on Cutshin an' set up with Polly +Ann Sturgill; an' Abe tells Polly Ann +the king bee air comin'. An' Polly +Ann's cousin, Nance Osborn, comes +over from Hell fer Sartain (whut runs +into Kingdom-Come) to stay all night +an' see the fun. + +Now, I hain't been a-raftin' logs +down to the settlemints o' Kaintuck +fer nigh on to twenty year fer nothin', +An' I know gallivantin' is diff'ent +with us mountain fellers an' you furriners, +in the premises, anyways, as +them lawyers up to court says; though +I reckon hit's purty much the same +atter the premises is over. Whar you +says ``courtin','' now, we says ``talkin' +to.'' Sallie Spurlock over on Fryin' +Pan is a-talkin' to Jim Howard now. +Sallie's sister hain't nuver talked to no +man. An' whar you says ``makin' a +call on a young lady,'' we says ``settin' +up with a gal''! An', stranger, we does +it. We hain't got more'n one room +hardly ever in these mountains, an' +we're jes obleeged to set up to do any +courtin' at all. + +Well, you go over to Sallie's to stay +all night some time, an' purty soon +atter supper Jim Howard comes in. +The ole man an' the ole woman goes +to bed, an' the chil'un an' you go to +bed, an' ef you keeps one eye open +you'll see Jim's cheer an' Sallie's cheer +a-movin' purty soon, till they gets +plumb together. Then, stranger, hit +begins. Now I want ye to understand +that settin' up means business. We +don't 'low no foolishness in these +mountains; an' 'f two fellers happens +to meet at the same house, they jes +makes the gal say which one she likes +best, an' t'other one gits! Well, you'll +see Jim put his arm 'round Sallie's neck +an' whisper a long while--jes so. Mebbe +you've noticed whut fellers us mountain +folks air fer whisperin'. You've +seed fellers a-whisperin' all over Hazlan +on court day, hain't ye? Ole +Tom Perkins 'll put his arm aroun' yo' +neck an' whisper in yo' year ef he's +ten mile out'n the woods. I reckon +thar's jes so much devilmint a-goin' on +in these mountains, folks is naturely +afeerd to talk out loud. + +Well, Jim let's go an' Sallie puts her +arm aroun' Jim's neck an' whispers a +long while--jes so; an' 'f you happen +to wake up anywhar to two o'clock in +the mornin' you'll see jes that a-goin' +on. Brother, that's settin' up. + +Well, Jeb Somers, as I was a-sayin' +in the premises, 'lowed he'd rack right +over on Cutshin an' set up with Polly +Ann comin' Christmas night. An' Abe +tells Polly Ann Jeb says he aims to +have her fer a Christmas gift afore +mornin'. Polly Ann jes sniffed sorter, +but you know women folks air always +mighty ambitious jes to SEE a feller +anyways, 'f he's a-pinin' fer 'em. So +Jeb come, an' Jeb was fixed up now +fittin' to kill. Jeb had his hair oiled +down nice an' slick, and his mustache +was jes black as powder could make +hit. Naturely hit was red; but a feller +can't do nothin' in these mountains +with a red mustache; an' Jeb had a +big black ribbon tied in the butt o' +the bigges' pistol Abe Shivers could +borrer fer him--hit was a badge o' +death an' deestruction to his enemies, +Abe said, an' I tell ye Jeb did look +like a man. He never opened his +mouth atter he says ``howdy''--Jeb +never does say nothin'; Jeb's one o' +them fellers whut hides thar lack o' +brains by a-lookin' solemn an' a-keepin' +still, but thar don't nobody say much +tell the ole folks air gone to bed, an' +Polly Ann jes 'lowed Jeb was a-waitin'. +Fact is, stranger, Abe Shivers had got +Jeb a leetle disguised by liquer, an' he +did look fat an' sassy, ef he couldn't +talk, a-settin' over in the corner a- +plunkin' the banjer an' a-knockin' off +``Sour-wood Mountain'' an' ``Jinny git +aroun' '' an' ``Soapsuds over the Fence.'' + + ``Chickens a-crowin' on Sour-wood Mountain, + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee! + Git yo' dawgs an' we'll go huntin', + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!'' + +An' when Jeb comes to + + ``I've got a gal at the head o' the holler, + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!'' + +he jes turns one eye 'round on Polly +Ann, an' then swings his chin aroun' as +though he didn't give a cuss fer nothin'. + + ``She won't come, an' I won't foller, + Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!'' + + +Well, sir, Nance seed that Polly Ann +was a-eyin' Jeb sort o' flustered like, +an' she come might' nigh splittin' right +thar an' a-sp'ilin' the fun, fer she +knowed what a skeery fool Jeb was. +An' when the ole folks goes to bed, +Nance lays thar under a quilt a-watchin' +an' a-listenin'. Well, Jeb knowed +the premises, ef he couldn't talk, an' +purty soon Nance heerd Jeb's cheer +creak a leetle, an' she says, Jeb's a- +comin', and Jeb was; an' Polly Ann +'lowed Jeb was jes a leetle TOO resolute +an' quick-like, an' she got her hand +ready to give him one lick anyways +fer bein' so brigaty. I don't know as +she'd 'a' hit him more'n ONCE. Jeb had +a farm, an' Polly Ann--well, Polly Ann +was a-gittin' along. But Polly Ann +sot thar jes as though she didn't know +Jeb was a-comin', an' Jeb stopped once +an' says, + +``You hain't got nothin' agin me, has +ye?'' + +An' Polly Ann says, sorter quick, + +``Naw; ef I had, I'd push it.'' + +Well, Jeb mos' fell off his cheer, when, +ef he hadn't been sech a skeery idgit, +he'd 'a' knowed that Polly Ann was +plain open an' shet a-biddin' fer him. +But he sot thar like a knot on a log fer +haffen hour, an' then he rickollected, I +reckon, that Abe had tol' him Polly Ann +was peppery an' he mustn't mind, fer +Jeb begun a-movin' ag'in till he was +slam-bang agin Polly Ann's cheer. An' +thar he sot like a punkin, not sayin' a +word nur doin' nothin'. An' while Polly +Ann was a-wonderin' ef he was gone +plumb crazy, blame me ef that durned +fool didn't turn roun' to that peppery +gal an' say, + +``Booh, Polly Ann!'' + +Well, Nance had to stuff the bedquilt +in her mouth right thar to keep from +hollerin' out loud, fer Polly Ann's hand +was a-hangin' down by the cheer, jes +a-waitin' fer a job, and Nance seed the +fingers a-twitchin'. An' Jeb waits +another haffen hour an' Jeb says, + +``Ortern't I be killed?'' + +``Whut fer?'' says Polly Ann, sorter +sharp. + +An' Jeb says, ``Fer bein' so devilish.'' + +Well, brother, Nance snorted right +out thar, an' Polly Ann Sturgill's hand +riz up jes once; an' I've heerd Jeb +Somers say the next time he jumps out +o' the Fryin' Pan he's a-goin' to take hell- +fire 'stid o' Cutshin fer a place to light. + + + + +THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND + + +Stranger, you furriners don't nuver +seem to consider that a woman has +always got the devil to fight in two +people at once! Hit's two agin one, I +tell ye, an' hit hain't fa'r. + +That's what I said more'n two year +ago, when Rosie Branham was a-layin' +up thar at Dave Hall's, white an' mos' +dead. An', GOD, boys, I says, that leetle +thing in thar by her shorely can't be to +blame. + +Thar hain't been a word agin Rosie +sence; an', stranger, I reckon thar nuver +will be. Fer, while the gal hain't got +hide o' kith or kin, thar air two fellers +up hyeh sorter lookin' atter Rosie; an' +one of 'em is the shootin'es' man on +this crick, I reckon, 'cept one; an', +stranger, that's t'other. + +Rosie kep' her mouth shet fer a long +while; an' I reckon as how the feller +'lowed she wasn't goin' to tell. Co'se +the woman folks got hit out'n her--they +al'ays gits whut they want, as you know +--an' thar the sorry cuss was--a-livin' +up thar in the Bend, jes aroun' that +bluff o' lorrel yander, a-lookin' pious, an' +a-singin', an' a-sayin' Amen louder 'n +anybody when thar was meetin'. + +Well, my boy Jim an' a lot o' fellers +jes went up fer him right away. I don't +know as the boys would 'a' killed him +EXACTLY ef they had kotched him, though +they mought; but they got Abe Shivers, +as tol' the feller they was a-comin'-- +you've heard tell o' Abe-an' they mos' +beat Abraham Shivers to death. Stranger, +the sorry cuss was Dave. Rosie +hadn't no daddy an' no mammy; an' +she was jes a-workin' at Dave's fer her +victuals an' clo'es. 'Pears like the pore +gal was jes tricked into evil. Looked +like she was sorter 'witched--an' anyways, +stranger, she was a fightin' Satan +in HERSELF, as well as in Dave. Hit was +two agin one, I tell ye, an' hit wasn't +fa'r. + +Co'se they turned Rosie right out in +the road I hain't got a word to say +agin Dave's wife fer that; an' atter a +while the boys lets Dave come back, to +take keer o' his ole mammy, of co'se, +but I tell ye Dave's a-playin' a purty +lonesome tune. He keeps purty shy YIT. +He don't nuver sa'nter down this way. +'Pears like he don't seem to think hit's +healthy fer him down hyeh, an' I reckon +Dave's right. + +Rosie? Oh, well, I sorter tuk Rosie +in myself. Yes, she's been livin' thar +in the shack with me an' my boy Jim, +an' the-- Why, thar he is now, stranger. +That's him a-wallerin' out thar in the +road. Do you reckon thar'd be a single +thing agin that leetle cuss ef he had to +stan' up on Jedgment Day jes as he is +now? + +Look hyeh, stranger, whut you reckon +the Lawd kep' a-writin' thar on the +groun' that day when them fellers was +a-pesterin' him 'bout that pore woman? +Don't you jes know he was a writin' +'bout sech as HIM--an' Rosie? I tell +ye, brother, he writ thar jes what I'm +al'ays a-sayin'. + +Hit hain't the woman's fault. I said +it more'n two year ago, when Rosie was +up thar at ole Dave's, an' I said it +yestiddy, when my boy Jim come to +me an' 'lowed as how he aimed to +take Rosie down to town to-day an' +git married. + +``You ricollect, dad,'' says Jim, ``her +mammy?'' + +``Yes, Jim,'' I says; ``all the better +reason not to be too hard on Rosie.'' + +I'm a-lookin' fer 'em both back right +now, stranger; an' ef you will, I'll be +mighty glad to have ye stay right hyeh +to the infair this very night. Thar nuver +was a word agin Rosie afore, thar hain't +been sence, an' you kin ride up an' down +this river till the crack o' doom an' you'll +nuver hear a word agin her ag'in. Fer, +as I tol' you, my boy, Jim is the shoot- +in'es' feller on this crick, I reckon, 'cept +ONE, an', stranger, that's ME! + + + +THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE + + +A drove of lean cattle were swinging +easily over Black Mountain, and +behind them came a big man with +wild black hair and a bushy beard. +Now and then he would gnaw at his +mustache with his long, yellow teeth, +or would sit down to let his lean horse +rest, and would flip meaninglessly at +the bushes with a switch. Sometimes +his bushy head would droop over on +his breast, and he would snap it up +sharply and start painfully on. Robber, +cattle-thief, outlaw he might have +been in another century; for he filled +the figure of any robber hero in life +or romance, and yet he was only the +Senator from Bell, as he was known +in the little Kentucky capital; or, as +he was known in his mountain home, +just the Senator, who had toiled and +schemed and grown rich and grown poor; +who had suffered long and was kind. + +Only that Christmas he had gutted +every store in town. ``Give me everything +you have, brother,'' he said, across +each counter; and next day every man, +woman, and child in the mountain +town had a present from the Senator's +hands. He looked like a brigand that +day, as he looked now, but he called +every man his brother, and his eye, +while black and lustreless as night, was +as brooding and just as kind. + +When the boom went down, with it +and with everybody else went the Senator. +Slowly he got dusty, ragged, +long of hair. He looked tortured and +ever-restless. You never saw him still; +always he swept by you, flapping his +legs on his lean horse or his arms in +his rickety buggy here, there, everywhere-- +turning, twisting, fighting his +way back to freedom--and not a murmur. +Still was every man his brother, +and if some forgot his once open hand, +he forgot it no more completely than +did the Senator. He went very far to +pay his debts. He felt honor bound, +indeed, to ask his sister to give back +the farm that he had given her, which, +very properly people said, she declined +to do. Nothing could kill hope in the +Senator's breast; he would hand back +the farm in another year, he said; but +the sister was firm, and without a word +still, the Senator went other ways and +schemed through the nights, and worked +and rode and walked and traded +through the days, until now, when the +light was beginning to glimmer, his +end was come. + +This was the Senator's last trade, and +in sight, down in a Kentucky valley, +was home. Strangely enough, the Senator +did not care at all, and he had +just enough sanity left to wonder why, +and to be worried. It was the ``walking +typhoid'' that had caught up with +him, and he was listless, and he made +strange gestures and did foolish things +as he stumbled down the mountain. +He was going over a little knoll now, +and he could see the creek that ran +around his house, but he was not +touched. He would just as soon have +lain down right where he was, or have +turned around and gone back, except +that it was hot and he wanted to get +to the water. He remembered that it +was nigh Christmas; he saw the snow +about him and the cakes of ice in the +creek. He knew that he ought not to +be hot, and yet he was--so hot that +he refused to reason with himself even +a minute, and hurried on. It was odd +that it should be so, but just about +that time, over in Virginia, a cattle +dealer, nearing home, stopped to tell +a neighbor how he had tricked some +black-whiskered fool up in the mountains. +It may have been just when he +was laughing aloud over there, that the +Senator, over here, tore his woollen +shirt from his great hairy chest and +rushed into the icy stream, clapping +his arms to his burning sides and +shouting in his frenzy. + +``If he had lived a little longer,'' said +a constituent, ``he would have lost the +next election. He hadn't the money, +you know.'' + +``If he had lived a little longer,'' said +the mountain preacher high up on Yellow +Creek, ``I'd have got that trade I +had on hand with him through. Not +that I wanted him to die, but if he +had to--why--'' + +``If he had lived a little longer,'' +said the Senator's lawyer, ``he would +have cleaned off the score against +him.'' + +``If he had lived a little longer,'' said +the Senator's sister, not meaning to +be unkind, ``he would have got all I +have.'' + +That was what life held for the +Senator. Death was more kind. + + + + +PREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME + + +I've told ye, stranger, that Hell fer +Sartain empties, as it oughter, of co'se, +into Kingdom-Come. You can ketch +the devil 'most any day in the week on +Hell fer Sartain, an' sometimes you can +git Glory everlastin' on Kingdom-Come. +Hit's the only meetin'-house thar in +twenty miles aroun'. + +Well, the reg'lar rider, ole Jim Skaggs, +was dead, an' the bretherin was a-lookin' +aroun' fer somebody to step into ole +Jim's shoes. Thar'd been one young +feller up thar from the settlemints, a- +cavortin' aroun', an' they was studyin' +'bout gittin' him. + +``Bretherin' an' sisteren,'' I says, atter +the leetle chap was gone, ``he's got the +fortitood to speak an' he shorely is well +favored. He's got a mighty good hawk +eye fer spyin' out evil--an' the gals; he +can outholler ole Jim; an' IF,'' I says, +``any IDEES ever comes to him, he'll be +a hell-rouser shore--but they ain't comin'!'' +An', so sayin', I takes my foot in +my hand an' steps fer home. + +Stranger, them fellers over thar hain't +seed much o' this world. Lots of 'em +nuver seed the cyars; some of 'em nuver +seed a wagon. An' atter jowerin' an' +noratin' fer 'bout two hours, what you +reckon they said they aimed to do? +They believed they'd take that ar man +Beecher, ef they could git him to come. +They'd heerd o' Henry endurin' the war, +an' they knowed he was agin the rebs, +an' they wanted Henry if they could +jes git him to come. + +Well, I snorted, an' the feud broke +out on Hell fer Sartain betwixt the Days +an' the Dillons. Mace Day shot Daws +Dillon's brother, as I rickollect--somep'n's +al'ays a-startin' up that plaguey +war an' a-makin' things frolicsome over +thar--an' ef it hadn't a-been fer a tall +young feller with black hair an' a scar +across his forehead, who was a-goin' +through the mountains a-settlin' these +wars, blame me ef I believe thar ever +would 'a' been any mo' preachin' on +Kingdom-Come. This feller comes over +from Hazlan an' says he aims to hold a +meetin' on Kingdom-Come. ``Brother,'' +I says, ``that's what no preacher have +ever did whilst this war is a-goin' on.'' +An' he says, sort o' quiet, ``Well, then, I +reckon I'll have to do what no preacher +have ever did.'' An' I ups an' says: +``Brother, an ole jedge come up here +once from the settlemints to hold couht. +`Jedge,' I says, `that's what no jedge +have ever did without soldiers since this +war's been a-goin' on.' An', brother, the +jedge's words was yours, p'int-blank. +`All right,' he says, `then I'll have to do +what no other jedge have ever did.' +An', brother,'' says I to the preacher, +``the jedge done it shore. He jes laid +under the couht-house fer two days whilst +the boys fit over him. An' when I sees +the jedge a-makin' tracks fer the settlemints, +I says, `Jedge,' I says, `you spoke +a parable shore.' '' + +Well, sir, the long preacher looked +jes as though he was a-sayin' to hisself, +``Yes, I hear ye, but I don't heed ye,'' +an' when he says, ``Jes the same, I'm +a-goin' to hold a meetin' on Kingdom- +Come,'' why, I jes takes my foot in my +hand an' ag'in I steps fer home. + +That night, stranger, I seed another +feller from Hazlan, who was a-tellin' how +this here preacher had stopped the war +over thar, an' had got the Marcums an' +Braytons to shakin' hands; an' next day +ole Tom Perkins stops in an' says that +WHARAS there mought 'a' been preachin' +somewhar an' sometime, thar nuver had +been PREACHIN' afore on Kingdom-Come. +So I goes over to the meetin' house, an' +they was all thar--Daws Dillon an' +Mace Day, the leaders in the war, an' +Abe Shivers (you've heerd tell o' Abe) +who was a-carryin' tales from one side to +t'other an' a-stirrin' up hell ginerally, as +Abe most al'ays is; an' thar was Daws +on one side o' the meetin'-house an' +Mace on t'other, an' both jes a-watchin' +fer t'other to make a move, an' thar'd +'a' been billy-hell to pay right thar! +Stranger, that long preacher talked jes +as easy as I'm a-talkin' now, an' hit was +p'int-blank as the feller from Hazlan +said. You jes ought 'a' heerd him tellin' +about the Lawd a-bein' as pore as any +feller thar, an' a-makin' barns an' fences +an' ox-yokes an' sech like; an' not +a-bein' able to write his own name-- +havin' to make his mark mebbe--when +he started out to save the world. An' +how they tuk him an' nailed him onto +a cross when he'd come down fer nothin' +but to save 'em; an' stuck a spear big as +a corn-knife into his side, an' give him +vinegar; an' his own mammy a-standin' +down thar on the ground a-cryin' an' +a-watchin' him an' he a-fergivin' all of +'em then an' thar! + +Thar nuver had been nothin' like that +afore on Kingdom-Come, an' all along I +heerd fellers a-layin' thar guns down; +an when the preacher called out fer +sinners, blame me ef the fust feller that +riz wasn't Mace Day. An' Mace says, +``Stranger, 'f what you say is true, I +reckon the Lawd 'll fergive me too, but +I don't believe Daws Dillon ever will,'' +an' Mace stood thar lookin' around fer +Daws. An' all of a sudden the preacher +got up straight an' called out, ``Is thar +a human in this house mean an' sorry +enough to stand betwixt a man an' his +Maker''? An' right thar, stranger, Daws +riz. ``Naw, by God, thar hain' t!'' Daws +says, an' he walks up to Mace a-holdin' +out his hand, an' they all busts out +cryin' an' shakin' hands--Days an' Dillons-- +jes as the preacher had made 'em +do over in Hazlan. An' atter the thing +was over, I steps up to the preacher an' +I says: + +``Brother,'' I says, ``YOU spoke a +parable, shore.'' + + + + +THE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS + + +``I tell ye, boys, hit hain t often a +feller has the chance o' doin' so much +good jes by DYIN'. Fer 'f Abe Shivers +air gone, shorely gone, the rest of us-- +every durn one of us--air a-goin' to be +saved. Fer Abe Shivers--you hain't +heerd tell o' ABE? Well, you must be a +stranger in these mountains o' Kaintuck, +shore. + +``I don't know, stranger, as Abe ever +was borned; nobody in these mountains +knows it 'f he was. The fust time I ever +heerd tell o' Abe he was a-hollerin' fer his +rights one mawnin' at daylight, endurin' +the war, jes outside o' ole Tom Perkins' +door on Fryin' Pan. Abe was left thar +by some home-gyard, I reckon. Well, +nobody air ever turned out'n doors in +these mountains, as you know, an' Abe +got his rights that mawin', an' he's been +a-gittin' 'em ever sence. Tom already +had a houseful, but 'f any feller got the +bigges' hunk o' corn-bread, that feller was +Abe; an' ef any feller got a-whalin', +hit wasn't Abe. + +``Abe tuk to lyin' right naturely-- +looked like--afore he could talk. Fact +is, Abe nuver could do nothin' but jes +whisper. Still, Abe could manage to +send a lie furder with that rattlin' +whisper than ole Tom could with +that big horn o' hisn what tells the +boys the revenoos air comin' up Fryin' +Pan.' + +``Didn't take Abe long to git to braggin' +an' drinkin' an' naggin' an' hectorin' +--everything, 'mos', 'cept fightin'. Nobody +ever drawed Abe Shivers into a +fight. I don't know as he was afeerd; +looked like Abe was a-havin' sech a +tarnation good time with his devilmint he +jes didn't want to run no risk o' havin' +hit stopped. An' sech devilmint! Hit +ud take a coon's age, I reckon, to tell +ye. + +``The boys was a-goin' up the river +one night to git ole Dave Hall fer trickin' +Rosie Branham into evil. Some feller +goes ahead an' tells ole Dave they's +a-comin.' Hit was Abe. Some feller +finds a streak o' ore on ole Tom Perkins' +land, an' racks his jinny down to town, +an' tells a furriner thar, an' Tom comes +might' nigh sellin' the land fer nothin'. +Now Tom raised Abe, but, jes the same, +the feller was Abe. + +``One night somebody guides the +revenoos in on Hell fer Sartain, an' they +cuts up four stills. Hit was Abe. The +same night, mind ye, a feller slips in +among the revenoos while they's asleep, +and cuts off their hosses' manes an' +tails--muled every durned critter uv +'em. Stranger, hit was Abe. An' as +fer women-folks--well, Abe was the +ill favoredest feller I ever see, an' he +couldn't talk; still, Abe was sassy, an' +you know how sass counts with the gals; +an' Abe's whisperin' come in jes as +handy as any feller's settin' up; so 'f +ever you seed a man with a Winchester +a-lookin' fer the feller who had cut +him out, stranger, he was a-lookin' fer +Abe. + +``Somebody tells Harve Hall, up thar +at a dance on Hell-fer-Sartain one Christmas +night, that Rich Harp had said +somep'n' agin him an' Nance Osborn. +An' somebody tells Rich that Harve had +said sompe'n' agin Nance an' HIM. Hit +was one an' the same feller, stranger, an' +the feller was Abe. Well, while Rich +an' Harve was a-gittin' well, somebody +runs off with Nance. Hit was Abe. +Then Rich an' Harve jes draws straws +fer a feller. Stranger, they drawed fer +Abe. Hit's purty hard to believe that +Abe air gone, 'cept that Rich Harp an' +Harve Hall don't never draw no straws +fer nothin'; but 'f by the grace o' Goddle- +mighty Abe air gone, why, as I was +a-sayin', the rest of us--every durned one +of us air a-goin' to be saved, shore. +Fer Abe's gone fust, an' ef thar's only +one Jedgment Day, the Lawd 'll nuver +git to us.'' + + + + +A PURPLE RHODODENDRON + + +The purple rhododendron is rare. +Up in the Gap here, Bee Rock, hung +out over Roaring Rock, blossoms with +it--as a gray cloud purples with the +sunrise. This rock was tossed lightly +on edge when the earth was young, and +stands vertical. To get the flowers you +climb the mountain to one side, and, +balancing on the rock's thin edge, slip +down by roots and past rattlesnake dens +till you hang out over the water and +reach for them. To avoid snakes it is +best to go when it is cool, at daybreak. + +I know but one other place in this +southwest corner of Virginia where +there is another bush of purple +rhododendron, and one bush only is there. +This hangs at the throat of a peak not +far away, whose ageless gray head is +bent over a ravine that sinks like a +spear thrust into the side of the +mountain. Swept only by high wind and +eagle wings as this is, I yet knew one +man foolhardy enough to climb to it +for a flower. He brought one blossom +down: and to this day I do not know +that it was not the act of a coward; +yes, though Grayson did it, actually +smiling all the way from peak to ravine, +and though he was my best friend +--best loved then and since. I believe +he was the strangest man I have ever +known, and I say this with thought; +for his eccentricities were sincere. In +all he did I cannot remember having +even suspected anything theatrical but +once. + +We were all Virginians or Kentuckians +at the Gap, and Grayson was a +Virginian. You might have guessed +that he was a Southerner from his voice +and from the way he spoke of women +--but no more. Otherwise, he might +have been a Moor, except for his color, +which was about the only racial +characteristic he had. He had been educated +abroad and, after the English habit, had +travelled everywhere. And yet I can +imagine no more lonely way between +the eternities than the path Grayson +trod alone. + +He came to the Gap in the early +days, and just why he came I never +knew. He had studied the iron question +a long time, he told me, and what +I thought reckless speculation was, it +seems, deliberate judgment to him. His +money ``in the dirt,'' as the phrase was, +Grayson got him a horse and rode the +hills and waited. He was intimate with +nobody. Occasionally he would play +poker with us and sometimes he drank +a good deal, but liquor never loosed his +tongue. At poker his face told as little +as the back of his cards, and he won more +than admiration--even from the Kentuckians, +who are artists at the game; +but the money went from a free hand, +and, after a diversion like this, he was +apt to be moody and to keep more to +himself than ever. Every fortnight or +two he would disappear, always over +Sunday. In three or four days he +would turn up again, black with brooding, +and then he was the last man to +leave the card-table or he kept away +from it altogether. Where he went nobody +knew; and he was not the man +anybody would question. + +One night two of us Kentuckians +were sitting in the club, and from a +home paper I read aloud the rumored +engagement of a girl we both knew-- +who was famous for beauty in the Bluegrass, +as was her mother before her and +the mother before her--to an unnamed +Virginian. Grayson sat near, smoking a +pipe; and when I read the girl's name +I saw him take the meerschaum from +his lips, and I felt his eyes on me. It +was a mystery how, but I knew at once +that Grayson was the man. He sought +me out after that and seemed to want +to make friends. I was willing, or, rather +he made me more than willing; for +he was irresistible to me, as I imagine +he would have been to anybody. We +got to walking together and riding +together at night, and we were soon rather +intimate; but for a long time he never +so much as spoke the girl's name. Indeed, +he kept away from the Bluegrass +for nearly two months; but when he +did go he stayed a fortnight. + +This time he came for me as soon as +he got back to the Gap. It was just +before midnight, and we went as usual +back of Imboden Hill, through moon- +dappled beeches, and Grayson turned +off into the woods where there was +no path, both of us silent. We rode +through tremulous, shining leaves-- +Grayson's horse choosing a way for +himself--and, threshing through a patch +of high, strong weeds, we circled past an +amphitheatre of deadened trees whose +crooked arms were tossed out into the +moonlight, and halted on the spur. The +moon was poised over Morris's farm; +South Fork was shining under us like a +loop of gold, the mountains lay about in +tranquil heaps, and the moon-mist rose +luminous between them. There Grayson +turned to me with an eager light in +his eyes that I had never seen before. + +``This has a new beauty to-night!'' +he said; and then ``I told her about +you, and she said that she used to know +you--well.'' I was glad my face was in +shadow--I could hardly keep back a +brutal laugh--and Grayson, unseeing, +went on to speak of her as I had never +heard any man speak of any woman. In +the end, he said that she had just promised +to be his wife. I answered nothing. +Other men, I knew, had said that +with the same right, perhaps, and had +gone from her to go back no more. +And I was one of them. Grayson had +met her at White Sulphur five years +before, and had loved her ever since. +She had known it from the first, he +said, and I guessed then what was going +to happen to him. I marvelled, listening +to the man, for it was the star of +constancy in her white soul that was +most lustrous to him--and while I +wondered the marvel became a commonplace. +Did not every lover think his +loved one exempt from the frailty that +names other women? There is no ideal +of faith or of purity that does not live +in countless women to-day. I believe +that; but could I not recall one friend +who walked with Divinity through pine +woods for one immortal spring, and who, +being sick to death, was quite finished +--learning her at last? Did I not know +lovers who believed sacred to themselves, +in the name of love, lips that +had been given to many another without +it? And now did I not know--but +I knew too much, and to Grayson I said +nothing. + +That spring the ``boom'' came. Grayson's +property quadrupled in value and +quadrupled again. I was his lawyer, and +I plead with him to sell; but Grayson +laughed. He was not speculating; he +had invested on judgment; he would +sell only at a certain figure. The figure +was actually reached, and Grayson let +half go. The boom fell, and Grayson +took the tumble with a jest. It would +come again in the autumn, he said, and +he went off to meet the girl at White +Sulphur. + +I worked right hard that summer, but +I missed him, and I surely was glad +when he came back. Something was +wrong; I saw it at once. He did not +mention her name, and for a while he +avoided even me. I sought him then, +and gradually I got him into our old +habit of walking up into the Gap and of +sitting out after supper on a big rock in +the valley, listening to the run of the +river and watching the afterglow over +the Cumberland, the moon rise over +Wallen's Ridge and the stars come out. +Waiting for him to speak, I learned for +the first time then another secret of his +wretched melancholy. It was the hopelessness +of that time, perhaps, that disclosed +it. Grayson had lost the faith +of his childhood. Most men do that at +some time or other, but Grayson had +no business, no profession, no art in +which to find relief. Indeed, there was +but one substitute possible, and that +came like a gift straight from the God +whom he denied. Love came, and Grayson's +ideals of love, as of everything +else, were morbid and quixotic. He +believed that he owed it to the woman +he should marry never to have loved +another. He had loved but one woman, +he said, and he should love but one. +I believed him then literally when he +said that his love for the Kentucky +girl was his religion now--the only +anchor left him in his sea of troubles, +the only star that gave him guiding +light. Without this love, what +then? + +I had a strong impulse to ask him, +but Grayson shivered, as though he +divined my thought, and, in some +relentless way, our talk drifted to the +question of suicide. I was not surprised +that he rather defended it. Neither of +us said anything new, only I did not +like the way he talked. He was too +deliberate, too serious, as though he +were really facing a possible fact. He +had no religious scruples, he said, no +family ties; he had nothing to do with +bringing himself into life; why--if it +was not worth living, not bearable-- +why should he not end it? He gave +the usual authority, and I gave the +usual answer. Religion aside, if we did +not know that we were here for some +purpose, we did not know that we were +not; and here we were anyway, and +our duty was plain. Desertion was the +act of a coward, and that Grayson could +not deny. + +That autumn the crash of '91 came +across the water from England, and +Grayson gave up. He went to +Richmond, and came back with money +enough to pay off his notes, and I +think it took nearly all he had. Still, +he played poker steadily now--for poker +had been resumed when it was no longer +possible to gamble in lots--he drank +a good deal, and he began just at this +time to take a singular interest in our +volunteer police guard. He had always +been on hand when there was trouble, +and I sha'n't soon forget him the day +Senator Mahone spoke, when we were +punching a crowd of mountaineers back +with cocked Winchesters. He had lost +his hat in a struggle with one giant; he +looked half crazy with anger, and yet +he was white and perfectly cool, and I +noticed that he never had to tell a man +but once to stand back. Now he was +the first man to answer a police whistle. +When we were guarding Talt Hall, he +always volunteered when there was any +unusual risk to run. When we raided +the Pound to capture a gang of +desperadoes, he insisted on going ahead as +spy; and when we got restless lying +out in the woods waiting for daybreak, +and the captain suggested a charge on +the cabin, Grayson was by his side when +it was made. Grayson sprang through +the door first, and he was the man who +thrust his reckless head up into the loft +and lighted a match to see if the murderers +were there. Most of us did foolish +things in those days under stress +of excitement, but Grayson, I saw, was +weak enough to be reckless. His trouble +with the girl, whatever it was, was +serious enough to make him apparently +care little whether he were alive or dead. +And still I saw that not yet even had +he lost hope. He was having a sore +fight with his pride, and he got body- +worn and heart-sick over it. Of course +he was worsted, and in the end, from +sheer weakness, he went back to her +once more. + +I shall never see another face like his +when Grayson came back that last time. +I never noticed before that there were +silver hairs about his temples. He stayed +in his room, and had his meals sent to +him. He came out only to ride, and then +at night. Waking the third morning at +daybreak, I saw him through the window +galloping past, and I knew he had spent +the night on Black Mountain. I went +to his room as soon as I got up, and +Grayson was lying across his bed with +his face down, his clothes on, and in his +right hand was a revolver. I reeled +into a chair before I had strength enough +to bend over him, and when I did I +found him asleep. I left him as he was, +and I never let him know that I had +been to his room; but I got him out on +the rock again that night, and I turned +our talk again to suicide. I said it was +small, mean, cowardly, criminal, +contemptible! I was savagely in earnest, +and Grayson shivered and said not a +word. I thought he was in better mind +after that. We got to taking night +rides again, and I stayed as closely to +him as I could, for times got worse and +trouble was upon everybody. Notes fell +thicker than snowflakes, and, through +the foolish policy of the company, +foreclosures had to be made. Grayson went +to the wall like the rest of us. I asked +him what he had done with the money +he had made. He had given away a +great deal to poorer kindred; he had +paid his dead father's debts; he had +played away a good deal, and he had +lost the rest. His faith was still +imperturbable. He had a dozen rectangles of +``dirt,'' and from these, he said, it would +all come back some day. Still, he felt +the sudden poverty keenly, but he faced +it as he did any other physical fact in +life--dauntless. He used to be fond of +saying that no one thing could make +him miserable. But he would talk with +mocking earnestness about some much- +dreaded combination; and a favorite +phrase of his--which got to have peculiar +significance--was ``the cohorts of hell,'' +who closed in on him when he was sick +and weak, and who fell back when he +got well. He had one strange habit, +too, from which I got comfort. He +would deliberately walk into and defy +any temptation that beset him. That +was the way he strengthened himself, +he said. I knew what his temptation +was now, and I thought of this habit +when I found him asleep with his +revolver, and I got hope from it now, +when the dreaded combination (whatever +that was) seemed actually to have come. + +I could see now that he got worse +daily. He stopped his mockeries, his +occasional fits of reckless gayety. He +stopped poker--resolutely--he couldn't +afford to lose now; and, what puzzled me, +he stopped drinking. The man simply +looked tired, always hopelessly tired; +and I could believe him sincere in all +his foolish talk about his blessed Nirvana: +which was the peace he craved, +which was end enough for him. + +Winter broke. May drew near; and +one afternoon, when Grayson and I took +our walk up through the Gap, he carried +along a huge spy-glass of mine, which +had belonged to a famous old desperado, +who watched his enemies with it from the +mountain-tops. We both helped capture +him, and I defended him. He was +sentenced to hang--the glass was my fee. +We sat down opposite Bee Rock, and +for the first time Grayson told me of +that last scene with her. He spoke +without bitterness, and he told me what +she said, word for word, without a breath +of blame for her. I do not believe that +he judged her at all; she did not know-- +he always said; she did not KNOW; and +then, when I opened my lips, Grayson +reached silently for my wrist, and I can +feel again the warning crush of his fingers, +and I say nothing against her now. + +I asked Grayson what his answer was. + +``I asked her,'' he said, solemnly, ``if +she had ever seen a purple rhododendron.'' + +I almost laughed, picturing the scene +--the girl bewildered by his absurd question-- +Grayson calm, superbly courteous. +It was a mental peculiarity of his--this +irrelevancy--and it was like him to end +a matter of life and death in just that +way. + +``I told her I should send her one. +I am waiting for them to come out,'' he +added; and he lay back with his head +against a stone and sighted the telescope +on a dizzy point, about which buzzards +were circling. + +``There is just one bush of rhododendron +up there,'' he went on. ``I saw it +looking down from the Point last spring. +I imagine it must blossom earlier than +that across there on Bee Rock, being +always in the sun. No, it's not budding +yet,'' he added, with his eye to the glass. + +``You see that ledge just to the left? I +dropped a big rock from the Point square +on a rattler who was sunning himself +there last spring. I can see a foothold +all the way up the cliff. It can be done,'' +he concluded, in a tone that made me +turn sharply upon him. + +``Do you really mean to climb up +there?'' I asked, harshly. + +``If it blossoms first up there--I'll get +it where it blooms first.'' In a moment +I was angry and half sick with suspicion, +for I knew his obstinacy; and +then began what I am half ashamed to +tell. + +Every day thereafter Grayson took +that glass with him, and I went along +to humor him. I watched Bee Rock, +and he that one bush at the throat of +the peak--neither of us talking over the +matter again. It was uncanny, that +rivalry--sun and wind in one spot, sun +and wind in another--Nature herself +casting the fate of a half-crazed fool +with a flower. It was utterly absurd, +but I got nervous over it--apprehensive, +dismal. + +A week later it rained for two days, +and the water was high. The next +day the sun shone, and that afternoon +Grayson smiled, looking through the +glass, and handed it to me. I knew +what I should see. One purple cluster, +full blown, was shaking in the wind. +Grayson was leaning back in a dream +when I let the glass down. A cool +breath from the woods behind us +brought the odor of roots and of black +earth; up in the leaves and sunlight +somewhere a wood-thrush was singing, +and I saw in Grayson's face what +I had not seen for a long time, and +that was peace--the peace of stubborn +purpose. He did not come +for me the next day, nor the next; +but the next he did, earlier than +usual. + +``I am going to get that rhododendron,'' +he said. ``I have been half-way +up--it can be reached.'' So had I been +half-way up. With nerve and agility +the flower could be got, and both these +Grayson had. If he had wanted to +climb up there and drop, he could have +done it alone, and he would have known +that I should have found him. Grayson +was testing himself again, and, angry +with him for the absurdity of the thing +and with myself for humoring it, but +still not sure of him, I picked up my hat +and went. I swore to myself silently +that it was the last time I should pay +any heed to his whims. I believed this +would be the last. The affair with the +girl was over. The flower sent, I knew +Grayson would never mention her name +again. + +Nature was radiant that afternoon. +The mountains had the leafy luxuriance +of June, and a rich, sunlit haze +drowsed on them between the shadows +starting out over the valley and the +clouds so white that the blue of the sky +looked dark. Two eagles shot across +the mouth of the Gap as we neared it, +and high beyond buzzards were sailing +over Grayson's rhododendron. + +I went up the ravine with him and +I climbed up behind him--Grayson +going very deliberately and whistling +softly. He called down to me when he +reached the shelf that looked half-way. + +``You mustn't come any farther than +this,'' he said. ``Get out on that rock +and I'll drop them down to you.'' + +Then he jumped from the ledge and +caught the body of a small tree close +to the roots, and my heart sank at such +recklessness and all my fears rose again. +I scrambled hastily to the ledge, but I +could get no farther. I might possibly +make the jump he had made--but how +should I ever get back? How would +he? I called angrily after him now, +and he wouldn't answer me. I called +him a fool, a coward; I stamped the +ledge like a child--but Grayson kept +on, foot after hand, with stealthy +caution, and the purple cluster nodding +down at him made my head whirl. I +had to lie down to keep from tumbling +from the ledge; and there on my side, +gripping a pine bush, I lay looking up +at him. He was close to the flowers +now, and just before he took the last +upward step he turned and looked +down that awful height with as calm a +face as though he could have dropped +and floated unhurt to the ravine beneath. + +Then with his left hand he caught +the ledge to the left, strained up, and, +holding thus, reached out with his right. +The hand closed about the cluster, and +the twig was broken. Grayson gave a +great shout then. He turned his head +as though to drop them, and, that far +away, I heard the sibilant whir of +rattles. I saw a snake's crest within a +yard of his face, and, my God! I saw +Grayson loose his left hand to guard it! +The snake struck at his arm, and Grayson +reeled and caught back once at the +ledge with his left hand. He caught +once, I say, to do him full justice; then, +without a word, he dropped--and I +swear there was a smile on his face +when he shot down past me into the +trees. + + +I found him down there in the ravine +with nearly every bone in his body +crushed. His left arm was under him, +and outstretched in his right hand was +the shattered cluster, with every +blossom gone but one. One white half of +his face was unmarked, and on it was +still the shadow of a smile. I think it +meant more than that Grayson believed +that he was near peace at last. It +meant that Fate had done the deed for +him and that he was glad. Whether he +would have done it himself, I do not +know; and that is why I say that +though Grayson brought the flower +down--smiling from peak to ravine-- +I do not know that he was not, after +all, a coward. + +That night I wrote to the woman in +Kentucky. I told her that Grayson +had fallen from a cliff while climbing +for flowers; and that he was dead. +Along with these words, I sent a purple +rhododendron. + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Hell Fer Sartain & Other Stories + diff --git a/old/hfers10.zip b/old/hfers10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b6b13d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hfers10.zip |