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diff --git a/old/50898-h/50898-h.htm b/old/50898-h/50898-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 23ca0a9..0000000 --- a/old/50898-h/50898-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14249 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> - Paul Rundel, by Will N. Harben - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Paul Rundel, by Will N. Harben - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Paul Rundel - A Novel - -Author: Will N. Harben - -Release Date: January 11, 2016 [EBook #50898] -Last Updated: March 12, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAUL RUNDEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - PAUL RUNDEL - </h1> - <h3> - A Novel - </h3> - <h2> - By Will N. Harben - </h2> - <h4> - Harper and Brothers - </h4> - <h3> - 1912 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linklinkimage-0001" id="linklinkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%"> - <img src="images/0006.jpg" alt="0006 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0006.jpg"><i>Original</i></a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linklinkimage-0002" id="linklinkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><i>Original</i></a> - </h5> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - </h3> - <h3> - THE MEMORY OF MY LITTLE SON ERIC - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklinkone"> I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2H_4_0018"> II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0018"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0019"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0020"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0021"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0022"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0023"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0024"> CHAPTER VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0025"> CHAPTER VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0026"> CHAPTER IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0027"> CHAPTER X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XXV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linklink2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XXX </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklinkone" id="linklinkone"> </a> - </p> - <h2> - I - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0001" id="linklink2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ROM the window of - her husband's shop in the mountain-village of Grayson, Cynthia Tye stood - peering out on the Square. She was tall, gaunt, and thin-so thin, in fact, - that her fingers, pricked by her needle and gnarled at the joints, had a - hold in energy only, as she pressed them down on her contourless hips. She - had left her work in the living-room and kitchen back of the shop and come - in to question the shoemaker as to what he wanted for his dinner, the - boiling and stewing hour having arrived. - </p> - <p> - Silas, whose sedentary occupation had supplied him with the surplus flesh - his wife needed, and whose genial pate was as bald as an egg, save for a - bare fringe of gray which overlapped his ears on the sides and impinged - upon his shirt-collar behind, looked up and smiled broadly. - </p> - <p> - “I wish you'd quit that, Cynthy. I really do.” Every outward and inward - part of the man lent itself to his smile, the broad, clean-shaven Irish - lip, the big, facile mouth, the almost wrinkleless pink cheeks, the clear, - twinkling blue eyes, the besmirched goatee—in fact, all his rotund, - satisfied self between his chin and the bench on which he sat shook like a - mass of animated jelly. - </p> - <p> - “Quit what?” She turned on him suddenly. “Why, quit always and <i>eternally</i> - comin' to me when I'm chock full o' breakfast, and askin' me what I want - to eat for dinner. I can still taste my coffee. I reckon settin' humped - over this way between meals ain't exactly accordin' to nature in its best - state. I'd ruther live in a boardin'-house and take what was served, hit - or miss, than to digest a meal in my mind three hours before I eat it.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh! I say!” Cynthia sniffed, “and what about me, who not only has to - think about it beforehand, but has to pick it in the garden, git it ready - for the pots, smell the fumes of it from daylight till dark, and worry all - night for fear something, will sour or be ate up by the cat, dog, or - chickens?” - </p> - <p> - Silas laughed till his tools—last, hammer, and knife—rattled - in his leather apron. “You got the best o' that argument,” he chuckled, as - he pressed the shoe he was repairing down between his fat knees, crossed - his short feet, and reached for a box of nails which had fallen to the - floor. Then his merriment ceased. He bent a tender glance on the woman and - a gentle cadence crept into his voice: “The Lord knows you <i>do</i> have - a hard time, Cynthy, an' no jokin'. I wish thar was some way around it. I - lie awake many and many a night just thinkin' how happy me'n you'd be if - we could take a trip off some'rs and not have nothin' to bother about for - one week anyway. What are you gazin' at out thar so steady?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm watchin' that pore boy, Paul Rundel,” Cynthia returned, with a sigh. - “I never see 'im without my heart achin'. He's haulin' bark for Jim Hoag's - tannery. He driv' up on a big load to the post-office while I was out - gatherin' beans just now. You remember them two devilish Harris boys that - picked the row with 'im at the hitchin'-rack last week? Well, I saw 'em at - the corner and thought they looked suspicious. Then I knowed they was - waitin' for 'im, for they nudged one another and picked up brickbats, and - went to Paul's wagon. I couldn't hear what was said, but it looked like - they was darin' Paul to git down, for they kept swingin' their bricks and - shakin' their fists at 'im.” - </p> - <p> - “What a pity, what a pity!” The shoemaker sighed. “That boy is tryin' his - level best to live right, and thar was two ag'in' one, and both bigger and - stronger.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Paul kin take care of hisself,” Cynthia said, with a chuckle. “It - looked like he was in for serious trouble, and I was runnin' to the fence - to try to call somebody to help him, when, lo and behold! I saw him reach - back on the load o' bark and pick up a double-barreled gun and stick the - butt of it to his shoulder. I am a Christian woman, and I don't believe in - bloodshed, but when them scamps drapped the'r bricks and broke for the - blacksmith shop like dogs with their tails twixt their legs I shouted and - laughed till I cried. Paul got down and was makin' for the shop, when the - marshal—Budd Tibbs—stopped 'im and made 'im put up the gun and - go back to his wagon. The next minute I saw the Harris boys slip out the - back door of the shop and slink off out o' sight.” - </p> - <p> - “It's bad, bad, bad!” Silas deplored. “Sometimes I wonder why the Lord - lets things run slipshod like that. Paul has a bright mind. He is as sharp - as a brier. He loves to read about what's goin' on over the world. If thar - ever was a boy that needed good advice and trainin' he is one. He's right - at the turnin'-point, too; he's got a high temper, a lot o' sperit, and - won't stand naggin' from high or low. And what's he got at home? Nothin' - that wouldn't take life and hope out of any ambitious boy—a daddy - that is half dead, and won't work a lick—” - </p> - <p> - “And a mammy,” Cynthia broke in, with indignation, “Si, that is the - vainest, silliest woman that ever breathed, traipsin' out to meetin' in - her flimsy finery bought by that boy's hard work. They say, because she's - passably good-lookin' and can sing well, that she thinks herself too good - to lay her hands to a thing. She don't love Ralph Rundel, nor <i>never</i> - did, or she couldn't act that way when he is sick. I've heard, on good - authority, that she never cared much for Paul, even when he was a baby—folks - say she didn't want 'im to come when he did, and she never took care of - 'im like a mother ought to.” - </p> - <p> - “I've watched Paul a long time,” Silas remarked. “Me'n him are purty good - friends. He's rough on the outside, but now and then I see away down into - his heart. He worries about his daddy's bad health constantly. They are - more like two brothers than father and son, anyway, and as Ralph grows - weaker he leans more and more on his boy. It certainly is sad. I saw 'em - both down at Hoag's cotton-gin last fall. Paul had run across some - second-hand school-books somewhar, and was tryin' to explain 'em to his - pa, but he couldn't make any impression on him. Ralph looked like he was - tryin' to show interest, but it wasn't in 'im. I tell you, Cynthy, the - hardest job our Creator ever put on his creatures is for 'em to have - unbounded faith in the perfection in the unseen when thar is so much out - o' joint always before our eyes.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but <i>you</i> never lose faith,” Cynthia said, proudly. “I'd have - let loose long ago if I hadn't had you to keep me agoin'.” - </p> - <p> - “You see, Cynthy, I've noticed that something bright always follows on the - heels of what is dark.” Silas hammered the words in with the tacks, which - he held in his mouth. “Peace hovers over war and drops down after it like - rain on dry soil; joy seems to pursue sorrow like sunshine pushin' clouds - away, and, above all, love conquers hate, and you know our Lord laid - particular stress on that.” - </p> - <p> - “Paul has just left the post-office,” Cynthia said. “He's left his hosses - standin' and is headed this way.” - </p> - <p> - “He's comin' after his daddy's shoes,” Silas replied. “I've had 'em ready - for a week. I took 'em out to his wagon one day, but he didn't have the - money, and although I offered to credit him he wouldn't hear to it. He's - as independent as a hog on ice. I tell you thar's lots in that boy.” - </p> - <p> - Cynthia, as the youth was crossing the street, turned back into her - kitchen. A moment later Paul entered the shop. He was thin almost to - emaciation, just merging into the quickly acquired height of a boy of - sixteen, and had the sallow complexion that belongs to the ill-nourished - mountaineers of the South. His coarse brown hair fought against the - restrictions of the torn straw hat, which, like a miniature tent, rested - on the back part of his head. The legs of his trousers were frayed at the - bottoms and so crudely patched at the knees that the varicolored stitches - were observable across the room. He wore no coat, and his threadbare shirt - of heavy, checked cotton had lost its buttons at the sleeves and neck. He - had a finely shaped head, a strong chin, and a good nose. A pair of dreamy - brown eyes in somber sockets were still ablaze from their recently kindled - fires. His mouth was large and somehow, even in the grasp of anger, - suggested the capacity for tenderness and ideality. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, young man!” Silas greeted him as he peered at the boy above his - brass-rimmed spectacles and smiled genially. “Here at last. I was afraid - you'd let them shoes take the dry-rot in my shop, and just because you - wouldn't owe me a few cents for a day or two.” - </p> - <p> - Paul made no reply. His restless glance roved sullenly over the heap of - mended shoes and boots on the floor, and, selecting the pair he was - looking for, he ran a quivering finger along the freshly polished edge of - the soles and bent the leather testingly. - </p> - <p> - “Some o' the white oak you helped tan out thar at Hoag's,” Silas jested. - “If it ain't the best the brand on it is a liar, and I have been buncoed - by your rich boss.” - </p> - <p> - This also evoked no response. Thrusting the shoes under his arm, the boy - put his hand into his pocket and drew out some small coins and counted - them on the low window-sill close to the shoemaker. He was turning away - when Silas stopped him. Pointing to a chair bottomed with splints of white - oak and strengthened by strips of leather interlaced and tacked to the - posts he said: - </p> - <p> - “Take that seat; I hain't seed you in a coon's age, Paul, and I want to - talk to you.” - </p> - <p> - With a slightly softened expression, the boy glanced through the open - doorway out into the beating sunshine toward his horses and wagon. - </p> - <p> - “I've got to move on.” He drew his tattered sleeve across his damp brow - and looked at the floor. “I got another load to bring down from the - mountain.” - </p> - <p> - Silas peered through the window at the horses and nodded slowly. “Them - pore pantin' brutes need the rest they are gettin' right now. Set down! - set down! You don't have to hurry.” - </p> - <p> - Reluctantly the youth complied, holding the shoes in his lap. Silas - hammered diligently for a moment, and then the furrows on his kindly brow - deepened as he stared steadily through his glasses, which were seldom free - from splotches of lampblack and beeswax. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder, Paul, if you'd git mad if I was to tell you that I've always - had a whoppin' big interest in you?” - </p> - <p> - The boy made as if about to speak, but seemed to have no command of tact - or diplomacy. He flushed faintly; his lashes flickered; he fumbled the - shoes in his lap, but no words were forthcoming. However, to Silas this - was answer enough, and he was encouraged to go on. - </p> - <p> - “You see, Paul, I've knowed you since you was so high”—Silas held - his hammer out on a level with his knee—“and I have watched you - close ever since. Yore daddy—that was in his palmy days—used - to take you with 'im when he'd go afishin', and I used to meet you an' him - on the creek-bank. You was as plump and pink a toddler as I ever laid eyes - on, just the age of the only one the Lord ever sent us. When mine was - alive I was so full of the joy of it that I just naturally wanted to grab - up every baby I met and hug it. I never could hear a child cry over a - stubbed toe, a stone-bruise, or any little disappointment without actually - achin' at the heart. But our son was taken, Paul, taken right when he was - the very light an' music of our lives. And, my boy, let me tell you, if - ever a Christian come nigh wagin' open war with his Maker I did on that - day. God looked to me like a fiend incarnate, and His whole universe, from - top to bottom, seemed a trap to catch an' torture folks in. But as time - passed somehow my pain growed less, until now I am plumb resigned to the - Lord's will. He knowed best. Yes, as I say, I always felt a big interest - in you, and have prayed for you time after time, for I know your life is a - tough uphill one. Paul, I hope you will excuse me, but a thing took place - out thar in front of my window just now that—” - </p> - <p> - A grunt of somnolent rage escaped the boy, and Silas saw him clench his - fist. His voice quivered with passion: “Them two devils have been picking - at me for more than a year, calling me names and throwing rocks at me from - behind fences. Yesterday they made fun of my father, and so I got ready, - and—” - </p> - <p> - “I know, I know!”—the shoemaker sighed, reproachfully—“and so - you deliberately, an' in a calm moment, laid that gun on yore load of - bark, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and both barrels was loaded with heavy buck-shot!” the boy exulted, - his tense face afire, his eyes flashing, “and if they hadn't run like two - cowardly pups I'd have blowed holes in 'em as big as a hat.” - </p> - <p> - Silas made a derogatory sound with his tongue and lips. “Oh, how blind you - was, my pore boy—you was too mad to see ahead; folk always are when - they are wrought up. Paul, stop for one minute and think. If you had - killed one or both of 'em, that wouldn't have settled the trouble. You - don't think so now, but you'd have gone through bottomless pits of - remorse. The Lord has made it that way. Young as you are, you'd have died - on the scaffold, or toiled through life as a convict, for it would have - been murder, and deliberate at that.” - </p> - <p> - The youth shrugged his thin shoulders. “I wouldn't have cared,” he - answered. “I tell you it ain't ended, Uncle Si. Them fellows has got to - take back what they said about my father. They've got to take it back, I - tell you! If they don't, I'll kill 'em if it takes a lifetime to do it. - I'll kill 'em!” - </p> - <p> - Silas groaned. A pained look of concern gathered in his mild eyes. He - reached for the polishing-iron which was being heated in the flame of a - smoking lamp on his bench and wiped it on his dingy apron. “It won't do!” - he cried, and his bald head seemed drawn down by fear and anxiety. - “Something has got to be done; they are a pair of low, cowardly whelps - that are try in' to bully you, but you've got to quit thinkin' about - murder. It won't do, I say; the devil is behind it. You stand away above - fellows like them. You've got the makin' of a big man in you. You love to - read and inquire, and they don't know their a b c's and can't add two - figures. You mustn't lower yourself to such riffraff, and you wouldn't if - you didn't let the worst part o' yourself get the upper hand.” - </p> - <p> - When the boy had left the shop Silas stood watching him from the doorway. - It was a pathetic figure which climbed upon the load of bark, and swung - the long whip in the air. - </p> - <p> - “What a pity! What a pity!” the old man exclaimed, and he wrung his hands - beneath his apron; then seating himself on his bench he reluctantly - resumed his work. “As promising as he is, he may go clean to the dogs. - Poor boy!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0002" id="linklink2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was now near - noon, as was indicated by the clock on the low, dome-capped tower of the - Court House in the center of the village square. Paul recognized several - idlers who stood on a street-corner as he drove past. They looked at him - and smiled approvingly, and one cried out: - </p> - <p> - “Bully for you, Paul! You are all wool and a yard wide.” - </p> - <p> - “And guaranteed not to tear or shrink!” another added, with a laugh over - his borrowed wit; but the boy neither answered nor smiled. A sudden breeze - from the gray, beetling cliffs of the near-by mountain fanned his damp - brow, and he gazed straight ahead down the long road. Hot broodings over - his wrongs surged within him, and the fact that he had so completely - routed his enemies failed to comfort him at all. They could still laugh - and sneer and repeat behind his back what they had dared to say to his - face about a helpless man who had offended no one. Cowards that they were, - they would keep their lies afloat, and even add to them. - </p> - <p> - His road took him past the lumber-yard, sawmills, brick and lime kilns, - and through the sordid negro quarter, which was a cluster of ramshackle - shanties made of unpainted upright boards grown brown and fuzzy, with now - and then a more primitive log cabin, a relic of pioneer and Cherokee days. - Vast fields of fertile lands belonging to his employer, James Hoag, lay on - both sides of the road just outside the village. There were stretches of - corn, cotton, and wheat in the best state of cultivation, beyond which, on - a gentle rise, stood the planter's large two-story house, a white frame - structure with a double veranda and outside blinds painted green. Beyond - the house, at the foot of the slope, could be seen the dun roofs of the - long sheds and warehouses of Hoag's tannery, to which Paul was taking the - bark. A big gate had to be opened, and the boy was drawing rein with the - intention of getting down when Hoag himself, astride a mettlesome bay - mare, passed. - </p> - <p> - “Wait, I'll open it,” he said, and spurring his mount close to the gate he - kicked the wooden latch upward and swung the gate aside. “Drive ahead” he - ordered. “I can pull it to.” - </p> - <p> - Paul obeyed, indifferent even to the important man's presence. He would - have forgotten Hoag's existence had the mare not borne him alongside the - wagon again. The horseman was a middle-aged man of sturdy physique, fully - six feet in height, and above two hundred pounds in weight. His skin was - florid, his limbs were strong, firm, and muscular, his hands red and - hair-grown. There was a cold, cruel expression in the keen blue eyes under - the scraggy brows, which was not softened by a sweeping tobacco-stained - mustache. He wore well-fitting top-boots which reached above the knee, and - into which the legs of his trousers had been neatly folded. A wheeled spur - of polished brass was strapped to the heel of his right boot. He sat his - horse with the ease and grace of a cavalry officer. He held his mare in - with a tense hand, and scanned the load of bark with a critical eye. - </p> - <p> - “How much more of that lot is left up there?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “About two cords, or thereabouts,” the boy said, carelessly. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” Hoag said, “when you get that all stacked under the shed I want - you to haul down the lot on Barrett's ridge. There is a good pile of it, - and it's been exposed to the weather too long. I don't know exactly where - it lies; but Barrett will point it out if he ain't too lazy to walk up to - it.” - </p> - <p> - “I know where it is,” Paul informed him. “I helped strip it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, that's all right. You might put on higher standards and rope - 'em together at the top. That dry stuff ain't very heavy, and it is down - grade.” - </p> - <p> - He showed no inclination to ride on, continuing to check his mare. - Presently his eyes fell on the stock of the gun which was half hidden by - the bark, and his lips curled in a cold smile of amusement. - </p> - <p> - “Say,” he said, with a low laugh, “do you go loaded for bear like this all - the time?” - </p> - <p> - A slow flush of resentment rose into the boy's face. He stared straight at - Hoag, muttered something inarticulately and then, with a distinct scowl, - looked away. - </p> - <p> - The man's careless smile deepened; the boy's manner and tone were too - characteristic and genuine, and furnished too substantial a proof of a - quality Hoag admired to have offended him. Indeed, there was a touch of - tentative respect in his voice, a gleam of callous sympathy in his eyes as - he went on: - </p> - <p> - “I was at the post-office just now. I saw it all. I noticed them fellows - layin' for you the other day, and wondered what would come of it. I don't - say it to flatter you, Paul”—here Hoag chuckled aloud—“but I - don't believe you are afraid of anything that walks the earth. I reckon it - is natural for a man like me to sorter love a fair fight. It may be - because you work for me and drive my team; but when I looked out the - post-office window as I was stampin' a letter, and saw them whelps lyin' - in wait for you, I got mad as hell. I wasn't goin' to let 'em hurt you, - either. I'd have kicked the breath out of 'em at the last minute, but - somehow I was curious to see what you'd do, and, by gum! when that first - brickbat whizzed by you, and you lit down with your gun leveled, and they - scooted to shelter like flyin' squirrels, I laid back and laughed till I - was sore. That was the best bottle of medicine they ever saw, and they - would have had a dose in a minute. They slid into the blacksmith's shop - like it was a fort an' shut the door. I reckin you'd have shot through the - planks if Budd Tibbs hadn't stopped you.” - </p> - <p> - No appreciation of these profuse compliments showed itself in the boy's - face. It was rigid, colorless and sullen, as if he regarded the man's - observations as entirely too personal to be allowed. An angry retort - trembled on his lips, and even this Hoag seemed to note and relish. His - smile was unctuous; he checked his horse more firmly. - </p> - <p> - “They won't bother you no more,” he said, more seductively. “Such skunks - never run ag'in' your sort after they once see the stuff you are made of. - That gun and the way you handled it was an eye-opener. Paul, you are a - born fightin' man, and yore sort are rare these days. You'll make yore way - in the world. Bein' afraid of man or beast will stunt anybody's growth. - Pay back in the coin you receive, and don't put up with insult or abuse - from anybody. Maybe you don't know why I first took a sorter likin' to - you. I'd be ashamed to tell you if I didn't know that you was jest a boy - at the time, and I couldn't afford to resent what you said. You was a foot - shorter than you are now, and not half as heavy. You remember the day yore - pa's shoats broke through the fence into my potato field? You was out in - the wet weeds tryin' to drive 'em home. I'd had a drink or two more than I - could tote, and several things had gone crooked with me, and I was out o' - sorts. I saw you down there, and I made up my mind that I'd give you a - thrashin'”—Hoag was smiling indulgently—“and on my way through - the thicket I cut me a stout hickory withe as big at the butt as my thumb, - and taperin' off like a whip at the end. You remember how I cussed and - ripped and went on?” - </p> - <p> - “You bet I remember,” Paul growled, and his eyes flashed, “and if you'd - hit me once it would have been the worst day's work you ever did.” - </p> - <p> - The planter blinked in mild surprise, and there was just a hint of chagrin - in his tone. “Well, I didn't touch you. Of course I wasn't afraid of you - or the rock you picked up. I've never seen the <i>man</i> I was afraid of, - much less a boy as little as you was; but as you stood there, threatenin' - to throw, I admit I admired your grit. The truth is, I didn't have the - heart, even drunk as I was, to lick you. Most boys of your size would have - broke and run. My boy, Henry, would, I know.” - </p> - <p> - “He'll fight all right,” Paul said. “He's no coward. I like him. He's been - a friend to me several times. He is not as bad as some folks think. He - drinks a little, and spends money free, and has a good time; but he's not - stuck up. He doesn't like to work, and I don't blame him. I wouldn't, in - his place. Huh! you bet I wouldn't.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm goin' to put 'im between the plow-handles before long,” the - planter said, with a frown. “He's gettin' too big for his britches. Say, - you'll think I'm a friend worth havin' some time. Just after that thing - happened at the post-office, and you'd gone into Tye's shop, Budd Tibbs - turned to me and said he believed it was his duty as marshal to make a - council case against you for startin' to use that gun as you did. I saw - the way the land lay in a minute. Them skunks are akin to his wife, and he - was mad. I told him, I did, that he might summon me as a witness, and that - I'd swear you acted in self-defense, and prefer counter-charges against - the dirty whelps. Huh, you ought to have seen him wilt! He knows how many - votes I control, and he took back-water in fine shape.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon I can look after my own business,” the boy made answer, in a - surly tone. “I ain't afraid o' no court. I'll have my rights if I die - gettin' 'em.” Hoag laughed till his sides shook. “I swear you are the - funniest cuss I ever knew. You ain't one bit like a natural boy. You act - and talk like a man that's been through the rubs.” Hoag suddenly glanced - across a meadow where some men were at work cutting hay, and his - expression changed instantly. “I never told 'em to mow thar,” he swore, - under his breath. “Take your bark on. You know where to put it,” and - turning his horse he galloped across the field, his massive legs swinging - to and from the flanks of his mare. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0003" id="linklink2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HAT afternoon at - dusk Paul drove down the mountain with his last load of bark for the day. - The little-used road was full of sharp turns around towering cliffs and - abrupt declivities, worn into gullies by washouts, and obstructed by - avalanchine boulders. In places decayed trees had fallen across the way, - and these the young wagoner sometimes had to cut apart and roll aside. The - high heap of bark on the groaning vehicle swayed like a top-heavy load of - hay, and more than once Paul had to dismount from the lead horse he rode, - scotch the wheels with stones, and readjust the bark, tightening the ropes - which held the mass together. At times he strode along by the horses, - holding the reins between his teeth, that his hands might be free to - combat the vines and bushes through which he plunged as blindly as an - animal chased by a hunter. His arms, face, and ankles were torn by thorns - and briers, his ill-clad feet cut to the bone by sharp stones. Accidents - had often happened to him on that road. Once he had fallen under the - wheels, and narrowly escaped being crushed to death, a perilous thing - which would have haunted many a man's life afterward, but which Paul - forgot in a moment. - </p> - <p> - Near the foot of the mountain the road grew wide, smooth, and firm; his - team slowed down, and he took a book from the wagon, reading a few pages - as he walked along. He was fond of the history of wars in all countries; - the bloodshed and narrow escapes of early pioneer days in America - enthralled his fancy. He thought no more of a hunter's killing a redskin - than he himself would have thought of shooting a wild duck with a rifle. - </p> - <p> - As he started down the last incline between him and Grayson he replaced - his book on the wagon. The dusk had thickened till he could scarcely see - the print on the soiled pages. Below, the houses of the village were - scattered, as by the hand of chance, from north to south between gentle - hills, beyond which rose the rugged mountains now wrapped in darkness. He - made out the sides of the Square by the lights in the various buildings. - There was the hotel, with its posted lamps on either end of the veranda. - Directly opposite stood the post-office. He could make no mistake in - locating the blacksmith's shop, for its forge gave out intermittent, - bellows-blown flashes of deep red. Other dots of light were the open doors - of stores and warehouses. Like vanishing stars some were disappearing, for - it was closing-time, and the merchants were going home to supper. This - thought gave the boy pleasant visions. He was hungry. - </p> - <p> - It was quite dark when he had unloaded the wagon at the tannery and driven - on past Hoag's pretentious home to the antiquated cottage in which he - lived. It had six rooms, a sagging roof of boards so rotten and black with - age that they lost thickness in murky streams during every heavy rain. - There was a zigzag fence in front, which was ill cared for, as the leaning - comers and decayed rails testified. Against the fence, at the edge of the - road, stood a crude log barn, a corn-crib made of unbarked pine poles, - above which was a hay-loft. Close about was a malodorous pig-pen, a - cow-lot, a wagon-shed, and a pen-like stall for horses. - </p> - <p> - The chickens had gone to roost; the grunting and squealing of the pigs had - been stilled by the pails of swill Paul's father, Ralph Rundel, had - emptied into their dug-out wooden troughs. In the light of the kitchen - fire, which shone through the open door and the glassless windows, Paul - saw his father in his favorite place, seated in a chair under an - apple-tree at the side of the house. Ralph rose at the sound of the - clanking trace-chains and came to the gate. He rubbed his eyes drowsily, - as if he had just waked from a nap, and swung on the gate with both hands. - </p> - <p> - “No use puttin' the wagon under shelter,” he said, in a querulous tone, as - his slow eyes scanned the studded vault overhead. “No danger o' rain this - night—no such luck for crops that are burnin' to the roots. The - stalks o' my upland cotton-patch has wilted like sorghum cut for the - press. Say, Paul, did you fetch me that tobacco? I'm dyin' for a smoke.” - He uttered a low laugh. “I stole some o' yore aunt's snuff and filled my - pipe; but, by hunkey, I'd miscalculated—I sucked the whole charge - down my throat, and she heard me a-coughin' and caught me with the box in - my hand.” - </p> - <p> - Paul thrust his hand into his hip-pocket and drew forth a small white bag - with a brilliant label gummed on it. “Bowman was clean out o' that fine - cut,” he said, as he gave it into the extended hand. “He said this was - every bit as good.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll not take his word for it till I've tried it,” Ralph Rundel answered, - as he untied the bag and tested the mixture between thumb and forefinger. - “Storekeepers sell what they have in stock, and kin make such fellers as - us take dried cabbage-leaves if they take a notion.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph was only fifty years of age, and yet he had the manner, decrepitude, - and spent utterance of a man of seventy. His scant, iron-gray hair was - disheveled; his beard, of the same grizzled texture, looked as if it never - had been trimmed, combed, or brushed, and was shortened only by periodical - breaking at the ends. Despite his crude stoicism, his blue eyes, in their - deep sockets, had a wistful, yearning look, and his cheeks were so hollow - that his visage reminded one of a vitalized skull. His chest, only half - covered by a tattered, buttonless shirt, was flat; he was bent by - rheumatism, which had left him stiff, and his hands were mere human - talons. - </p> - <p> - Paul was busy unhooking the traces from the swingletrees and untying the - straps of the leather collars, when Ralph's voice came to him above the - creaking of the harness and impatient stamping of the hungry horses. - </p> - <p> - “I noticed you took yore gun along this mornin'. Did you kill me a bird, - or a bushy-tail? Seems like my taste for salt pork is clean gone.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't run across a thing,” Paul answered, as he lifted the harness - from the lead horse and allowed the animal to go unguided to his stall - through the gate Ralph held open. “Besides, old Hoag counts my loads, and - keeps tab on my time. I can't dawdle much and draw wages from him.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he pay you anything to-day?” Ralph was filling his pipe, feebly - packing the tobacco into the bowl with a shaky forefinger. - </p> - <p> - “He had no small change,” Paul answered. “Said he would have some - to-morrow. You can wait till then, surely.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, I'll have to make out, I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - At this juncture a woman appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was a - blue-eyed, blond-haired creature of solid build in a soiled gray - print-dress. She was Paul's aunt, Amanda Wilks, his mother's sister, a - spinster of middle age with a cheerful exterior and a kindly voice. - </p> - <p> - “You'd better come on in and git yore supper, Paul,” she called out. “You - like yore mush hot, and it can't be kept that away after it's done without - bakin' it like a pone o' bread. You've got to take it with sour blue-john, - too. Yore ma forgot to put yesterday's milk in the spring-house, and the - cow kicked over to-night's supply just as I squirted the last spoonful in - the bucket. Thar is some cold pork and beans. You'll have to make out.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't expect to get anythin' t'eat!” Paul fumed, hot with a healthy - boy's disappointment, and he tossed the remainder of the harness on to the - wagon and followed the horse to the stall. He was in the stable for - several minutes. His father heard him muttering inarticulately as he - pulled down bundles of fodder from the loft, broke their bands, and threw - ears of corn into the troughs. Ralph sucked his pipe audibly, slouched to - the stable-door under a burden of sudden concern, and looked in at his son - between the two heads of the munching animals. - </p> - <p> - “Come on in,” he said, persuasively. “I know you are mad, and you have - every right to be after yore hard work from break o' day till now; but - nobody kin depend on women. Mandy's been makin' yore ma a hat all day. - Flowery gewgaws an' grub don't go together.” - </p> - <p> - Paul came out. “Never mind,” he said. “It don't make no difference. - Anything will do.” Father and son walked side by side into the - fire-lighted kitchen. A clothless table holding a few dishes and pans - stood in the center of the room. Just outside the door, on a little - roofless porch, there was a shelf which held a tin basin, a cedar pail - containing water, and a gourd dipper with a long, curved handle. And going - to this shelf, Paul filled the basin and bathed his face and hands, after - which he turned to a soiled towel on a roller against the weatherboarding - and wiped himself dry, raking back his rebellious hair with a bit of a - comb, while his father stood close by watching him with the gaze of an - affectionate dog. - </p> - <p> - “That'll do, that'll do,” Ralph attempted to jest. “Thar ain't no company - here for you to put on airs before. Set down! set down!” - </p> - <p> - Paul obeyed, and his father remained smoking in the doorway, still eying - him with attentive consideration. Amanda brought from the fire a - frying-pan containing the hot, bubbling mush, and pushed an empty brown - bowl and spoon toward him. - </p> - <p> - “Help yoreself; thar's the milk in the pan,” she said. “If it is too sour - you might stir a spoonful o' 'lasses in it. I've heard folks say it helps - a sight.” - </p> - <p> - Paul was still angry, but he said nothing, and helped himself abundantly - to the mush. However, he sniffed audibly as he lifted the pan and poured - some of the thin, bluish fluid into his bowl. - </p> - <p> - “It wasn't my fault about the cow,” Amanda contended. “Scorchin' weather - like this is the dickens on dumb brutes. Sook was a-pawin' an' switchin' - 'er tail all the time I had hold of 'er tits. It must 'a' been a stingin' - fly that got in a tender spot. Bang, bang! was all the warnin' I had, an' - I found myself soaked from head to foot with milk. I've heard o' fine - society folks, queens an' the like, washin' all over in it to soften their - skins and limber their joints; but I don't need nothin' o' that sort. Yore - ma's not back yet. She went over to see about the singin'-class they want - her in. She had on 'er best duds an' new hat, and looked like a gal o' - twenty. She was as frisky as a young colt. I ironed 'er pink sash, an' put - in a little starch to mash out the wrinkles and make it stand stiff-like. - They all say she's got the best alto in Grayson. I rolled 'er hair up in - papers last night, an' tuck it down to-day. You never saw sech pretty - kinks in your life. Jeff Warren come to practise their duet, an' him and - Addie stood out in the yard an' run the scales an' sung several pieces - together. It sounded fine, an' if I had ever had any use for 'im I'd have - enjoyed it more; but I never could abide 'im. He gits in too many fights, - and got gay too quick after he buried his wife. He was dressed as fine as - a fiddle, an' had a joke for every minute. Folks say he never loved Susie, - an' I reckon they wasn't any too well matched. She never had a well day in - 'er life, and I reckon it was a blessed thing she was took. A tenor voice - an' a dandy appearance are pore consolations to a dyin' woman. But he - treats women polite—I'll say that for 'im.” - </p> - <p> - Paul had finished his mush and milk, and helped himself to the cold - string-beans and fat boiled pork. His father had reached for a chair, - tilted it against the door-jamb, and seated himself in it. He eyed his son - as if the boy's strength and rugged health were consoling reminders of his - own adolescence. Suddenly, out of the still twilight which brooded over - the fields and meadows and swathed the mountain-tops, came the blending - voices of two singers. It was a familiar hymn, and its rendition was not - unmelodious, for it held a sweet, mystic quality that vaguely appealed. - </p> - <p> - “That's Jeff an' Addie now!” Amanda eagerly exclaimed. She went to the - door and stood leaning against the lintel. She sighed, and her voice - became full and round. “Ain't that just too sweet for anything? I reckon - they are both puffed up over the way folks take on over their music. Ever - since they sang that duet at Sleepy Hollow camp-meetin' folks hain't - talked of anything else.” - </p> - <p> - Paul sat with suspended knife and fork and listened. His father clutched - the back of his chair stiffly, bore it into the yard, and eased himself - into it. Paul watched him through the doorway, as he sat in the shadows, - now bent over, his thin body as rigid and still as if carved from stone. - The singing grew nearer and nearer. It seemed to float on the twilight - like a vibrant vapor. The boy finished his supper and went out into the - yard. His aunt had seated herself on the door-step, still entranced by the - music. Paul moved softly across the grass to his father; but Ralph was - unconscious of his presence. Paul saw him take in a deep, trembling - breath, and heard him utter a long, suppressed sigh. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter, Pa?” the boy asked, a touch of somnolent tenderness in - his tone. - </p> - <p> - “Matter? Me? Why, nothin', nothin'!” - </p> - <p> - Ralph started, lifted his wide-open eyes, in which a far-away expression - lay. - </p> - <p> - “What did you ax me <i>that</i> for?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you looked bothered,” Paul made answer, and he sank on the - grass at his father's feet. - </p> - <p> - “Me? No, I'm all right.” Ralph distinctly avoided his son's eyes, and that - was a departure. He fumbled in his pocket for his pipe and tobacco, and - finally got them out, only to hold them in inactive hands. - </p> - <p> - The singing was over. There was a sound of merry laughter beyond the - stable and corn-crib, and Jeff Warren's voice rose quite audibly: - </p> - <p> - “I thought I'd split my sides laughin',” he was heard to say, with a - satisfied chuckle, “when Bart Perry riz an' called for order and began to - state what the plan was to be. He was electin' hisself chief leader, an' - never dreamt the slightest opposition; but I'd told a round dozen or more - that if he led me'n you'd pull out, an' so I was lookin' for just what - happened. Old Thad Thomas winked at me sorter on the side and jumped up - an' said, 'All in favor of electin' Jeff Warren leader make it known by - standin', an' every woman an' man-jack thar stood up, an' as Bart already - had the floor, an' was ashamed to set down, he hisself made it unanimous. - But Lord! he was as red as a turkey-gobbler an' mad as Tucker.” - </p> - <p> - The low reply of the woman did not reach the trio in the yard, and a - moment later the couple parted at the front gate. Mrs. Rundel came round - the house through the garden, walking hurriedly and yet with a daintiness - of step that gave a certain grace to her movement. She wore a neat, - cool-looking white muslin dress, was slender, and had good, regular - features, light-brown eyes, abundant chestnut hair, which was becomingly - arranged under a pretty hat. - </p> - <p> - “Supper's over, I know,” she said, lightly, as she paused at the door-step - and faced her sister. “Well, they all just wouldn't break up earlier. They - sang and sang till the last one was ready to drop. Singers is that a way - when they haven't been together in a long time. Don't bother about me. I - ain't a bit hungry. Mrs. Treadwell passed around some sliced ham an' - bread, an' we had all the buttermilk we could drink.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me about it,” Amanda demanded, eagerly. “What was it Jeff was sayin' - about Bart Perry?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Bart was squelched in good fashion.” Mrs. Rundel glanced at the - shadowy shapes of her husband and son, and then back to the eager face of - the questioner. “You know what a stuck-up fool he is. He come there to run - things, and he set in at it from the start. He hushed us up when we was - all havin' a good time talkin', and begun a long-winded tirade about the - big singin' he'd done over at Darley when he was workin' in the - cotton-mill. He pointed to our song-books, which have shaped notes, you - know, and sniffed, and said they belonged to the backest of the backwoods—said - the notes looked like children's toy play-blocks, chickencoops, - dog-houses, an' what not. He laughed, but nobody else did. He was in for - burnin' the whole pile and layin' out more money for the new-fangled - sort.” - </p> - <p> - “I always knowed he was a fool for want o' sense,” Amanda joined in, - sympathetically. “A peddler tried to sell me a song once that he said was - all the go in Atlanta; but when I saw them mustard-seed spots, like - tadpoles on a wire fence, I told him he couldn't take <i>me</i> in. - Anybody with a grain o' sense knows it's easier to sing notes that you can - tell apart than them that look pine blank alike.” - </p> - <p> - “Some folks say it don't take long to learn the new way,” Mrs. Rundel - remarked, from the standpoint of a professional; “but as Jeff said, we - hain't got any time to throw away when we all want to sing as bad as we - do.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you'd better go in and take that dress off,” Amanda advised, as she - reached out and caught the hem of the starched skirt and pulled it down a - little. “It shrinks every time it's washed, and you'll want to wear it - again right off, I'll bound you.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to wrinkle it any more than I have to,” Mrs. Rundel - answered. “I want it to look nice next Sunday. We hold two sessions, - mornin' and evenin'; and next week—the day hasn't been set yet—we - are goin' to have a nip-and-tuck match with the Shady Grove class.” - </p> - <p> - “That will be a heap o' fun,” Amanda said, as her sister passed her and - disappeared within. For a few minutes the trio in the yard were silent. - Ralph Rundel's pipe glowed in the darkness like a thing of fitful moods. - Paul had not heard a word of the foregoing conversation. Young as he was, - he had many things to think of. The affair with the Harris boys flitted - across his mind; in that, at least, he was satisfied; the vision of the - fleeing ruffians vaguely soothed him. Something he had read in his book - that day about Napoleon came back to him. - </p> - <p> - It was the flashing of her sister's candle across the grass, as Mrs. - Rundel passed before a window, that drew Amanda's thoughts back to a - subject of which she was fond. - </p> - <p> - “Folks has always said I spoiled Addie,” she said to her brother-in-law, - in a plaintive tone, “an' it may be so. Bein' ten year older when ma died, - I was a mother to 'er in my best days. I had no chance myself, and somehow - I determined she should have what I missed. I certainly made it easy for - 'er. When she started to goin' to parties and out with young men I was - actually miserable if she ever missed a chance. You know that, Rafe—you - know what a plumb fool I was, considerin' how pore pa was.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph turned his head toward the speaker, but no sound came from him. His - head rocked, but whether it was meant as a form of response, or was - sinking wearily, no one but himself could have told. After that silence - fell, broken only by the grinding tread on the floor within. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0004" id="linklink2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>AUL stood up, - threw his arms backward languidly, and stretched himself. - </p> - <p> - “Goin' to bed?” his father inquired, absent-mindedly. - </p> - <p> - “No, down to the creek; there was a plenty of cats and eels running last - night. Where's my cup of bait?” - </p> - <p> - “I hain't touched it—I hain't dropped a hook in water for over two - years. My hands shake, an' I can't hold a pole steady. The bait's with - your tackle, I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - Paul went to the wagon-shed adjoining the stable, and from the slanting - roof took down a pair of long canes, from the tapering ends of which - dangled crude, home-twisted lines, to which were attached rusty hooks and - bits of hammered lead, and, with the poles on his shoulder and the - bait-cup in his hand, he went down the path to the creek near by. He had a - subtle fondness for Nature, in any mood or dress, and the mystic landscape - to-night appealed to a certain famished longing within him—a sense - of an unattainable something which haunted him in his reflective moods. - The stars were coming out in the unclouded skies, revealing the black - outlines of the mountain, the intervening foot-hills, the level meadows, - where the cattle and sheep lay asleep, and over which fireflies were - darting and flashing their tiny search-lights. The sultry air held the - aroma of new-cut hay, of crushed and dying clover-blossom. The snarl of - the tree-frog and the chirp of the cricket were heard close at hand, and - in the far distance the doleful howling of a dog came in response to the - voice of another, so much farther away that it sounded softer than an - echo. - </p> - <p> - Presently Paul reached a spot on the creek-bank where the creeping - forest-fires had burned the bushes away, and where an abrupt curve of the - stream formed a swirling eddy, on the surface of which floated a mass of - driftwood, leaves, twigs, and pieces of bark. Baiting his hooks, he - lowered them into the water, fastening one pole in the earth and holding - the other in his hands. He had not long to wait, for soon there was a - vigorous jerking and tugging at the pole in his hands. - </p> - <p> - “That's an eel now!” the sportsman chuckled; “an' I'll land 'im, if he - don't wind his tail round a snag and break my line.” - </p> - <p> - Eels are hard to catch, and this one was seen to be nearly a yard in - length when Paul managed to drag it ashore. Even out of water an eel is - hard to conquer, for Nature has supplied it with a slimy skin that aids it - to evade the strongest human grip. The boy sprang upon his prey and - grasped it, but it wriggled from his hands, arms, and knees, and like an - animated rubber tube bounded toward the stream. - </p> - <p> - “Nail 'im, nail 'im!” cried out Ralph Rundel, excitedly, quickening his - stride down the path. “Put sand on yore hands! Lemme show you—thar - now, you got 'im—hold 'im till I—” But the snakelike thing, - held for a moment in Paul's eager arms, was away again. The boy and the - man bumped against each other as they sprang after it, and Ralph was - fortunate enough to put the heel of his shoe on it's head and grind it - into the earth. The dying thing coiled its lithe body round the man's - ankle like a boa, and then gradually relaxed. - </p> - <p> - Now, fully alive to the sport, Paul gave all his attention to rebaiting - his hook. “This one raised such a racket he has scared all the rest off,” - he muttered, his eyes on his line. - </p> - <p> - “They'll come back purty soon,” Ralph said, consolingly. He sat down on - the sand and began to fill his pipe. His excitement over the eel's capture - had lived only a moment. There was a fixed stare in his eyes, a dreamy, - contemplative note of weariness in his voice, which was that of a man who - had outgrown all earthly interests. - </p> - <p> - “How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord!” - </p> - <p> - It was the mellow, sonorous voice of Jeff Warren singing at his home - across the fields. - </p> - <p> - “Humph! He gits a heap o' fun out of that, fust an' last,” Ralph remarked, - sardonically, and he shrugged his frail shoulders. “It ain't so much the - singin' he loves—if I'm any judge—as what it fetches to his - net, as the sayin' is. He is a born lady's man. Jeff knows exactly when - an' how to say the things that tickle a woman's fancy. I think—I - think yore ma loves to hear 'im talk mighty nigh as well as she loves to - hear 'im sing. I don't know”—a slight pause—“I say I don't - know, but I <i>think</i> so.” - </p> - <p> - Paul thought he had a bite, and he raised his hook to see if the bait was - intact. Ralph sighed audibly. He embraced his thin knees with his arms, - and held the unlighted pipe in his hands. The hook was back in the water; - the boy's face was half averted. - </p> - <p> - “Thar's a good many points about Jeff that women like,” Ralph resumed, in - a forced, tentative tone. “He's a strappin', fine-lookin' feller, for one - thing; young, strong, an' always gittin' in fights over some'n or other. - The impression is out amongst women an' gals that he won't let nobody pass - the slightest slur ag'in' one o' the sex in his hearin'. That will take a - man a long way in the opinion of females; but all the same, he's a sly - devil. He'll do to watch—in my opinion, that is. I've thought some - that maybe—well, I don't know that I'd go that fur neither; but a - feller like me, for instance, will have odd notions once in a while, - especially if he ain't actively engaged an' busy, like I am most o' the - time since I've been so porely. I was goin' to say that I didn't know but - what I ort to sorter, you know”—Ralph hesitated, and then plunged—“warn - yore mother to—to go it sorter slow with Jeff.” - </p> - <p> - Paul turned his back on the speaker and began to examine the bait on his - hook; he shrugged his shoulders sensitively, and even in the vague - starlight evinced a certain show of awkwardness. But Ralph was - unobservant; his mental pictures were evidently more clear to him than - material ones. - </p> - <p> - “Yore aunt Mandy is right,” Ralph resumed. “She shorely did spoil yore ma - for any real responsibility in life. La me! it was the talk of the - neighborhood—I mean Mandy's love-affair was. She was just a gal when - she took a big fancy to a Yankee soldier that come along in one o' - Sherman's regiments. He was to come back after the war was over, but he - never did. It mighty nigh killed 'er; but yore ma was then growin' up, and - Mandy just seemed to find comfort in pamperin' and indulgin' her. Addie - certainly got all that was a-goin'! No gal in the neighborhood had nicer - fixin's; she was just like a doll kept in a bandbox. Stacks and stacks o' - fellows was after her, me in the bunch, of course. At first it looked like - I didn't stand much of a show; but my grandfather died about then an' left - me the farm I used to own. I reckon that turned the scale, for the rest o' - the fellows didn't own a foot o' land, a stick o' timber, or a head o' - stock. I say it turned the scale, but I don't mean that Addie cared much - one way or the other. Mandy had it in hand. I begun to see that she sorter - held the rest off and throwed me an' Addie together like at every possible - chance—laughin' an' jokin' an' takin' a big interest an' tellin' me - she was on my side. You see, it was a case o' the real thing with me. From - the fust day I ever laid eyes on yore ma, an' heard 'er talk in her - babyish way, I couldn't think o' nothin' else. I felt a little squeamish - over bein' so much older 'an her; but Mandy laughed good an' hearty, an' - said we'd grow together as time passed. Addie kept me in hot water for a - long while even after that—looked like she didn't want Mandy to - manage for her, an' kicked over the traces some. I remember I had to beg - an' beg, an' Mandy argued an' scolded an' nagged till Addie finally - consented. But, la me! how a feller's hopes kin fall! Hard times came. I - borrowed on my land to keep Addie supplied with nice things, an' my crops - went crooked. I lost money in a sawmill, an' finally got to be a - land-renter like I am now, low in health an' spirits, an' dependent on you - for even my tobacco—<i>tobacco</i>.” Ralph repeated the word, for - his voice had become indistinct. - </p> - <p> - “That's all right,” Paul said, testily. “Go on to bed. Settin' up like - this ain't goin' to do you no good.” - </p> - <p> - “It does me more good'n you think,” Ralph asserted. “I hold in all day - long with not a soul to talk to, an' dyin' to say things to somebody. I - ain't hardly got started. Thar's a heap more—a heap that I'm afraid - you are too young to understand; but you will some day. Yore time will - come, too. Yore lady-love will cross yore track, an' you'll see visions in - her eyes that never was on land or sea. I look at you sometimes an' think - that maybe you will become a great man, an' I'll tell you why. It is - because you are sech a hard worker an' stick to a job so steady, and - because you've got sech a hot, spicy temper when folks rile you by - treatin' you wrong. Folks say thar is some'n in blood, an' I don't want - you to think because I'm sech a flat failure that you have to be. Experts - in sech matters say that a body is just as apt to copy after far-off kin - as that which is close by, and I want to tell you something. It is about - the Rundel stock. Three year ago, when I was a witness in a moonshine case - at government court, in Atlanta, my expenses was paid, an' I went down, - an' while I was in the city a feller called on me at my boardin'-house. He - said the paper had printed my name in connection with the case, an' he - looked me up because he was interested in everybody by the name o' Rundel. - He was writin' a family history for some rich folks that wanted it all - down in black an' white to keep for future generations to look at. He was - dressed fine, and talked like a presidin' elder or a bishop. He told me, - what I never had heard before, that the name ought to be spelled with an A - in front—Arundel. He had a short way o' twistin' it that I can't - remember. He said thar was several ways o' callin' the name, an' he - laughed an' said he met one old backwoods chap in Kentucky that said his - was 'Runnels' because his neighbors called 'im that, an' he liked the - sound of it. He set for a good hour or more tellin' me about the ups an' - downs of folks by the name. He said what made the whole thing so - encouragin' was that the majority of 'em was continually on the rise. He'd - knowed 'em, he said, to be plumb down an' out for several generations, an' - then to pop up an' produce a man of great fame an' power. He had a list o' - big guns as long as yore arm. I knowed I was too far gone to benefit by it - myself, but I thought about you, an' I felt comforted. I've always - remembered with hope an' pride, too, what Silas Tye told me about the - tramp phrenologist that examined heads at his shop one day. He said men - was payin' the'r quarters an' listenin' to predictions an' hearin' nothin' - of any weight; but that the feller kept lookin' at you while you set - waitin', an' finally Tye said the feller told the crowd that you had sech - a fine head an' eye an' shaped hands an' feet an' ankles, like a blooded - hoss, that he would pass on you for nothin'. Tye said you got mad an' went - off in a big huff; but the feller stuck to what he'd said. He declared - you'd make yore way up in the world as sure as fate, if you wasn't halted - by some accident or other.” - </p> - <p> - Paul saw his line moving forward, his tense hands eagerly clutching his - rod, but the swishing cord suddenly became slack on the surface of the - water. An impatient oath slipped from his lips. - </p> - <p> - “Snapped my line right at the sinker!” he cried. “He was a jim-dandy, too, - bigger than that one.” He threw the pole with the broken line on the bank - and grasped the other. If he had heard the rambling talk of his father it - was completely forgotten. - </p> - <p> - “Folks laugh at me'n you both,” Ralph ran on, a softer cadence in his - voice. “They say I've been a mammy to you, a nuss' an' what not. Well, I - reckon thar's truth in it. After I found—found that me'n yore ma - wasn't the sweethearts I thought we would be, an' you'd come an' looked so - little an' red an' helpless in the pore little cradle I made out of a - candle-box with wobbly rockers—I say, I reckon then that I did - sorter take yore ma's place. She wasn't givin' milk, an' the midwife - advised a bottle, and it looked like neither one o' the women would keep - it filled an' give it at the right time. I'd go to the field an' try to - work, but fearin' you was neglected I'd go to the house an' take you up - an' tote you about. It was turnin' things the wrong way, I reckon, but I - was a plumb fool about you. Yore mother seemed willin' to shift the job, - an' yore aunt was always busy fixin' this or that trick for her to wear. - But I ain't complainin'—understand that—I liked it. Yore - little warm, soft body used to give me a feelin' no man kin describe. An' - I suffered, too. Many a night I got up when you was croupy, an' uncovered - the fire an' put on wood an' set an' rocked you, fearin' every wheezy - breath you drawed would stop in yore throat. But I got my reward, if - reward was deserved, for you gave me the only love that I ever knowed - about. Even as a baby you'd cry for me—cry when I left you, an' coo - an' chuckle, an' hold out yore little chubby hands whenever I come. As you - got older you'd toddle down the field-road to meet me, yore yaller, flaxen - head hardly as high as the broom-sedge. I loved to tote you even after you - got so big folks said I looked ridiculous. You was about seven when my - wagon run over me an' laid me up for a spell. I'll never forget how you - acted. You was the only one in the family that seemed a bit bothered. - You'd come to my bed the minute you got home from school, an' set thar an' - rub my head. While that spell lasted I was the baby, an' you the mammy, - an' to this day I ain't able to recall a happier time.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph rose and stood by his son for a moment, his gaze on the steady rod. - “I'll take the eel to the house,” he said, “an' skin it an' slice it up - an' salt it down for breakfast. You may find me in yore bed. This is one - o' the times I feel like sleepin' with you—that is, if you don't - care?” - </p> - <p> - “It is all right, go ahead,” Paul said; “there is plenty of room.” - </p> - <p> - With the eel swinging in his hand, his body bent, Ralph trudged toward the - house, which, a dun blur on the landscape, showed in the hazy starlight. A - dewy robe had settled on every visible object. An owl was dismally hooting - in the wood, which sloped down from the craggy mountain. In the stagnant - pools of the lowlands frogs were croaking, hooting, and snarling; the - mountain-ridge, with its serried trees against the sky, looked like a vast - sleeping monster under cloud-coverings. - </p> - <p> - Now and then Jeff Warren was heard singing. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0005" id="linklink2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T certain times - during the year Paul was en abled to earn a little extra money by hauling - fire-wood to the village and selling it to the householders. One morning - he was standing by his wagon, waiting for a customer for a load of oak, - when Hoag came from the bar-room at the hotel and steered toward him. The - planter's face was slightly flushed from drink, and he was in a jovial - mood. - </p> - <p> - “Been playing billiards,” he said, thickly, and he jerked his thumb toward - the green, swinging doors of the bar. “Had six tilts with a St. Louis - drummer, an' beat the socks off of 'im. I won his treats an' I'm just a - little bit full, but it will wear off. It's got to. I'm goin' in to eat - dinner with my sister—you've seen 'er—Mrs. Mayfield. She's up - from Atlanta with her little girl to git the mountain air an' country - cookin'.” - </p> - <p> - At this moment Peter Kerr, the proprietor of the hotel, came out ringing - the dinner-bell. He was a medium-sized man of forty, with black eyes and - hair, the skin of a Spaniard, and an ever-present, complacent smile. He - strode from end to end of the long veranda, swinging the bell in front of - him. When Kerr was near, Hoag motioned to him to approach, and Kerr did - so, silencing the bell by catching hold of the clapper and swinging the - handle downward. Hoag laid his hand on Paul's shoulder and bore down with - unconscious weight. - </p> - <p> - “Say, Pete,” he said, “you know this boy?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, everybody does, I reckon,” Kerr answered patronizingly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, he's the best hand I've got,” Hoag said, sincerely enough; “the - hardest worker in seven States. Now, here's what I want. Paul eats out at - my home as a rule an' he's got to git dinner here at my expense to-day. - Charge it to me.” - </p> - <p> - Paul flushed hotly—an unusual thing for him—and shook his - head. - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' <i>home</i> to dinner,” he stammered, his glance averted. - </p> - <p> - “You'll do nothing of the sort,” Hoag objected, warmly. “You've got that - wood to sell, an' nobody will buy it at dinner-time. Every livin' soul is - at home. Besides, I want to talk over some matters with you afterward. Fix - 'im a place, Pete, an' make them niggers wait on 'im.” - </p> - <p> - There was no way out of it, and Paul reluctantly gave in. With burly - roughness, which was not free from open patronage, the planter caught him - by the arm and drew him up the steps of the hotel and on into the house, - which Paul knew but slightly, having been there only once or twice to sell - game, vegetables, or other farm produce. - </p> - <p> - The office was noisily full of farmers, traveling salesmen, lawyers, - merchants, and clerks who boarded there or dropped in to meals at the - special rate given to all citizens of the place and vicinity. On the right - hand was a long, narrow “wash-room.” It had shelves holding basins and - pails of water, sloping troughs into which slops were poured, towels on - wooden rollers, and looking-glasses from the oaken frames of which - dangled, at the ends of strings, uncleanly combs and brushes. - </p> - <p> - When he had bathed his face and hands and brushed his hair, Paul returned - to the office, where the proprietor—with some more patronage—took - him by the arm and led him to the door of the big dining-room. It was a - memorable event in the boy's life. He was overwhelmed with awe; he had the - feeling that his real ego was encumbered with those alien things—legs, - arms, body, and blood which madly throbbed in his veins and packed into - his face. He would not have hesitated for an instant to engage in a - hand-to-hand fight with a man wearing the raiment of an emperor's guard, - if occasion had demanded it; but this new thing under the heavens gave him - pause as nothing else ever had done. The low-ceiled room, with its many - windows curtained in white, gauzy stuff, long tables covered with snowy - linen, glittering glass, sparkling plated-ware, and gleaming china, seemed - to have sprung into being by some enchantment full of designs against his - timidity. There was a clatter of dishes, knives, forks, and spoons; a busy - hum of voices; the patter of swift-moving feet; the jar and bang of the - door opening into the adjoining kitchen, as the white-aproned negroes - darted here and there, holding aloft trays of food. - </p> - <p> - Seeing Paul hesitating where the proprietor had left him, the negro head - waiter came and led him to a seat at a small table in a corner somewhat - removed from the other diners. It was the boy's rough aspect and poor - clothing which had caused this discrimination against him, but he was - unaware of the difference. Indeed, he was overjoyed to find that his - entrance and presence were unnoticed. He felt very much out of place with - all those queer dishes before him. The napkin, folded in a goblet at his - plate, was a thing he had heard of but never used, and it remained - unopened, even after the waiter had shaken it out of the goblet to give - him ice-water. There were hand-written bills of fare on the other tables, - but the waiter simply brought Paul a goodly supply of food and left him. - He was a natural human being and unusually hungry, and for a few moments - he all but forgot his surroundings in pure animal enjoyment. His appetite - satisfied, he sat drinking his coffee and looking about the room. On his - right was a long table, at which sat eight or ten traveling salesmen; and - in their unstudied men-of-the-world ease, as they sat ordering cigars from - the office, striking matches under their chairs, and smoking in lounging - attitudes, telling yams and jesting with one another, they seemed to the - boy to be a class quite worthy of envy. They dressed well; they spent - money; they knew all the latest jokes; they traveled on trains and lived - in hotels; they had seen the great outer world. Paul decided that he would - like to be a drummer; but something told him that he would never be - anything but what he was, a laborer in the open air—a servant who - had to be obedient to another's will or starve. - </p> - <p> - At this moment his attention was drawn to the entrance. Hoag was coming in - accompanied by a lady and little girl, and, treading ponderously, he led - them down the side of the room to a table on Paul's left. Hoag seemed - quite a different man, with his unwonted and clumsy air of gallantry as he - stood holding the back of his sister's chair, which he had drawn out, and - spoke to the head waiter about “something special” he had told the cook to - prepare. And when he sat down he seemed quite out of place, Paul thought, - in the company of persons of so much obvious refinement. He certainly bore - no resemblance to his sister or his niece. Mrs. Mayfield had a fair, - smooth brow, over which the brown tresses fell in gentle waves; a slender - body, thin neck, and white, tapering hands. But it was Ethel, the little - girl, who captured and held from that moment forth the attention of the - mountain-boy. Paul had never beheld such dainty, appealing loveliness. She - was as white and fair as a lily. Her long-lashed eyes were blue and - dreamy; her nose, lips, and chin perfect in contour. She wore a pretty - dress of dainty blue, with white stockings and pointed slippers. How - irreverent, even contaminating, seemed Hoag's coarse hand when it rested - once on her head as he smiled carelessly into the girl's face! Paul felt - his blood boil and throb. - </p> - <p> - “Half drunk!” he muttered. “He's a hog, and ought to be kicked.” - </p> - <p> - Then he saw that Hoag had observed him, and to his great consternation the - planter sat smiling and pointing the prongs of his fork at him. Paul heard - his name called, and both the lady and her daughter glanced at him and - smiled in quite a friendly way, as if the fork had introduced them. Paul - felt the blood rush to his face; a blinding mist fell before his eyes, and - the whole noisy room became a chaos of floating objects. When his sight - cleared he saw that the three were looking in another direction; but his - embarrassment was not over, for the head waiter came to him just then and - told him that Mr. Hoag wanted him to come to his table as soon as his - dinner was finished. - </p> - <p> - Paul gulped his coffee down now in actual terror of something intangible, - and yet more to be dreaded than anything he had ever before encountered. - He was quite certain that he would not obey. Hoag might take offense, - swear at him, discharge him; but that was of no consequence beside the - horrible ordeal the man's drunken brain had devised. Hoag was again - looking at him; he was smiling broadly, confidently, and swung his head to - one side in a gesture which commanded Paul to come over. Mrs. Mayfield's - face also wore a slight smile of agreement with her brother's mood; but - Ethel, the little girl, kept her long-lashed and somewhat conscious eyes - on the table. Again the hot waves of confusion beat in Paul's face, brow, - and eyes. He doggedly shook his head at Hoag, and then his heart sank, for - he knew that he was also responding to the lady's smile in a way that was - unbecoming in a boy even of the lowest order, yet he was powerless to act - otherwise. Like a blind man driven desperate by encroaching danger that - could not be located, he rose, turned toward the door, and fairly plunged - forward. The toe of his right foot struck the heel of his left, and he - stumbled and almost fell. To get out he had to pass close to Hoag's table, - and though he did not look at the trio, he felt their surprised stare on - him, and knew that they were reading his humiliation in his flaming face. - He heard the planter laugh in high merriment, and caught the words: “Come - here, you young fool, we are not goin' to bite you!” - </p> - <p> - It seemed to the boy, as he incontinently fled the spot, that the whole - room had witnessed his disgrace. In fancy he heard the waiters laughing - and the amused comments of the drummers. - </p> - <p> - The landlord tried to detain him as he hurried through the office. - </p> - <p> - “Did you git enough t'eat?” he asked; but, as if pursued by a horde of - furies, Paul dashed on into the street. - </p> - <p> - He found a man inspecting his load of wood and sold it to him, receiving - instructions as to which house to take it to and where it was to be left. - With the hot sense of humiliation still on him, he drove down the street - to the rear fence of a cottage and threw the wood over, swearing at - himself, at Hoag, at life in general, but through it all he saw Ethel - Mayfield's long, golden hair, her eyes of dreamy blue, and pretty, curving - lips. She remained in his thoughts as he drove his rattling wagon home - through the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. She was in his mind so - much, indeed, from that day on, that he avoided contact with the members - of his family. He loved to steal away into the woods alone, or to the - hilltops, and fancy that she was with him listening to his wise - explanation of this or that rural thing which a girl from a city could not - know, and which a girl from a city, to be well informed, ought to know. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0006" id="linklink2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>Y chance he met - her a week or so later. She and her mother were spending the day at - Hoag's, and near noon Ethel had strolled across the pasture, gathering - wild-flowers. Paul had been working at the tannery assisting a negro - crushing bark for the vats, and was starting home to get his dinner when - he saw her. She wore a big sailor hat and a very becoming dress of a - different color from the one he had first seen her in. He wanted to take a - good look at her, but was afraid she would see him. She had her hands full - of flowers and fern leaves, and was daintily picking her way through the - thick broom-sedge. He had passed on, and his back was to her when he heard - her scream out in fright, and, turning, he saw her running toward him. He - hurried back, climbed over the rail fence, and met her. “A snake, a - snake!” she cried, white with terror. “Where?” he asked, boyishly - conscious that his moment had arrived for showing contempt for all such - trivialities. - </p> - <p> - “There,” she pointed, “back under those rocks. It was coiled up right - under my feet and ran when it saw me.” - </p> - <p> - There was a fallen branch of a tree near by, and coolly picking it up he - broke it across his knee to the length of a cudgel, then twisted the twigs - and bark off. He swung it easily like a ball-player handling a bat. - </p> - <p> - “Now, come show me,” he said, riding on a veritable cloud of - self-confidence. “Where did it go?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm afraid!” she cried. “Don't go, it will bite you!” - </p> - <p> - He laughed contemptuously. “How could it?” he sneered. “It wouldn't stand - a ghost of a chance against this club.” He advanced to the pile of rocks - she now indicated, and she stood aloof, holding her breath, her little - hands pressed to her white cheeks, as he began prying the stones and - boldly thrusting into crevices. Presently from the heap a brownish snake - ran. Ethel saw it and screamed again; but even as he struck she heard him - laugh derisively. “Don't be silly!” he said, and the next moment he had - the dying thing by the tail, calmly holding it up for her inspection, its - battered and flattened head touching the ground. - </p> - <p> - “It's a highland moccasin,” he nonchalantly instructed her. “They are as - poisonous as rattlers. It's a good thing you didn't step on it, I tell - you. They lie in the sun, and fellers mowing hay sometimes get bit to the - bone.” - </p> - <p> - “Drop it! Put it down!” Ethel cried, her pretty face still pale. “Look, - it's moving!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it will wiggle that way till the sun goes down,” he smiled down from - his biological height; “but it is plumb done for. Lawsy me! I've killed - more of them than I've got fingers and toes.” - </p> - <p> - Reassured, she drew nearer and looked at him admiringly. He was certainly - a strong, well-formed lad, and his courage was unquestionable. Out of - respect for her fears he dropped the reptile, and she bent down and - examined it. Again the strange, new power she had from the first exercised - over him seemed to exude from her whole being, and he felt a return of the - cold, insecure sensation of the hotel dining-room. His heart seemed to be - pumping its blood straight to his face and brain. Her little white hands - were so frail and flower-like; her golden tresses, falling over her proud - shoulders like a gauzy mantle, gave out a delicate fragrance. What a - vision of loveliness! Seen close at hand, she was even prettier than he - had thought. He had once admired Sally Tibbits, whom he had kissed at a - corn-husking, as a reward for finding the red ear which lay almost in - Sally's lap, and which, according to the game, she could have hidden; but - Sally had never worn shoes, that he could remember, and as he recalled her - now, by way of comparison, her legs were ridiculously brown and - brier-scratched; her homespun dress was a poor bag of a thing, and her - dingy chestnut hair seemed as lifeless as her neglected complexion. And - Ethel's voice! He had never heard anything so mellow, soft, and - bewitching. She seemed like a princess in one of his storybooks, the sort - tailors' sons used to meet and marry by rubbing up old lamps. - </p> - <p> - “What are you going to do with it?” She looked straight at him, and he - felt the force of her royal eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I don't intend to take it to the graveyard,” he boldly jested. - “I'll leave it here for the buzzards.” He pointed to the cloud-flecked - sky, where several vultures were slowly circling. “They'll settle here as - soon as our backs are turned. Folks say they go by the smell of rotten - flesh, but I believe their sense is keener than that. I wouldn't be much - surprised if they watched and seed me kill that snake.” - </p> - <p> - “How funny you talk!” Ethel said, in no tone of disrespect, but rather - that of the mild inquisitiveness of a stranger studying a foreign tongue. - “You said <i>seed</i> for <i>saw</i>. Why, my teacher would give me awful - marks if I made a mistake like that. Of course, it may be correct here in - the mountains.” Paul flushed a deeper red; there was a touch of resentment - in his voice. - </p> - <p> - “Folks talk that way round here,” he blurted out; “grown-up folks. We - don't try to put on style like stuck-up town folks.” - </p> - <p> - “Please forgive me.” Ethel's voice fell; she put out her hand and lightly - touched his. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, and I never will say - such a thing again—never, on my honor.” - </p> - <p> - He bitterly repented it afterward, but he rudely drew his hand away, and - stood frowning, his glance averted. - </p> - <p> - “I am very sorry,” Ethel said, “and I can't blame you—I really - can't. What I said was a great deal worse than your little mistake. My - mother says rudeness is never excusable.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's all right,” he gave in, as gracefully as he could. - </p> - <p> - “And are you sure you aren't mad with me?” she pursued, anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “Nothin' to be mad about,” he returned, kicking the snake with his foot. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I hope you won't hate me,” she said. “I feel that I know you pretty - well. Uncle told us a lot about you that day at the hotel. He said you - were the bravest boy he ever saw and the hardest worker. I saw you looked - embarrassed that day, and he had no right to tease you as he did; but he - was—of course, you know what was the matter with him?” - </p> - <p> - Paul nodded. “I wasn't going to pay any attention to him,” he declared. “I - wasn't—wasn't fixed up fit to—to be seen by anybody, any more - than I am now, for that matter; but I can't do the work I have to do and - go dressed like a town dude.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course not—of course not,” Ethel agreed, sympathetically, “and - Uncle says you spend all you make on others, anyway. He was telling us - about how you loved your father and took care of him. You know, I think - that is wonderful, and so does mama. Boys are not like that in Atlanta; - they are lazy and spoiled, and bad, generally. People in a city are so - different, you know. Mama says the greatest men were once poor country - boys. I'd think that was encouraging, if I was—if I <i>were</i> you—see, - I make slips myself! After <i>if</i> you must always say were to be - strictly correct. Just think of it, when I am grown up you may be a great - man, and be ashamed even to know me.” - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders and frowned. The flush had partly left his face, - leaving splotches of white here and there. “No hopes of me ever mak-in' - any sort of rise,” he declared. “There is too much to do at home; I don't - get time to go to school or study.” - </p> - <p> - “What a pity!” Ethel sighed. She swept him from head to foot critically. - Touches of pink lay on her cheeks just below her earnest eyes. “You are - good-looking—you—you really are handsome, and so strong and - brave! Somehow I feel certain that you are going to be successful. I—I - am going to pray for it. They say God answers prayers when they are the - right kind, and I know mine would be right.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't believe any of that rubbish,” he said, loftily. “I've heard your - uncle Jim laugh at the preachers and folks that get converted one day and - are plumb over it the next. He says they are the biggest fools in the - world.” - </p> - <p> - “I know he talks that way, and it worries mama awfully,” the girl said. - “I'm afraid he's terribly bad. You see, he drinks, plays cards, curses, - and is hard on the negroes who work for him. Now, the truth is that the - people who go to church really are better than he is, and that, in itself, - ought to show he's wrong—don't you think so?” - </p> - <p> - “He just uses his natural brain,” Paul returned, philosophically. “He says - there is just one life, an' he's goin' to get all he can out of it. I - don't blame him. He's rich—he can buy and sell the folks round here - that say he don't know what he's talkin' about. He says there ain't no - God, and he can prove it. He made it purty plain one day while he was - talking to a crowd at the tan-yard. He told 'em, if they believed there - was any such thing, for 'em to pray for some'n and see if they'd get it. - He told about a gang of Methodists that was praying for money to make a - church bigger, and the lightning struck it and burned it down.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you never pray yourself?” Ethel questioned, quite irrelevantly. - </p> - <p> - He hesitated; his color flamed again in his face, and he avoided her - gentle, upward gaze. “Not—not since I was very little,” he said, - awkwardly. “I don't believe in it; the whole shoutin', singin-and-prayin' - bunch of meetin'-folks make me sick. - </p> - <p> - “Uncle is responsible for all that,” Ethel declared. “You naturally would - look up to him; but I believe he is wrong—I really do. I like good - people, and, while he is my uncle, I—well, I don't feel the same - toward him as I would if he were a different sort of man.” - </p> - <p> - “He's all right,” Paul defended. “He's rough, and curses some when he's - mad, but you can count on him to keep his word in a deal. He's no - hypocrite. Lots of folks believe as he does, but are afraid to own it; he - stands his ground and tells them all exactly what he thinks, and says they - can lump it.” - </p> - <p> - They had been walking side by side across the grass, and had reached the - point where their ways parted. He was turning homeward, when she advanced - impulsively and touched him almost timidly on the arm. Her pretty red lip - was quivering and her hand shook visibly. - </p> - <p> - “I don't care what uncle says—or what <i>any one</i> says. I believe - there is a God, and I believe He is good, and I am going to pray to Him to - make you have faith.” - </p> - <p> - There were incipient tears in her eyes, and, as if to avoid his wondering - stare, she lowered her head suddenly and walked away. - </p> - <p> - At the front gate his father stood waiting for him, a mild look of - excitement in his weary eyes. “Heard the news?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “No; what's happened?” Paul answered. - </p> - <p> - “Enough, I reckon, to them that's hit by it,” Ralph returned. “Old Alf - Rose, over t'other side o' the mountain, was found dead in a thicket close - to his house. He was beat bad, his skull was all mashed in.” - </p> - <p> - “Who did it?” Paul asked. - </p> - <p> - “They don't know for sure; but he was robbed of all he had in his pockets, - an' his hat was gone. A nigger, Pete Watson, is missin', and they say the - sheriff and a passle o' deputies, an' half the county, are out scourin' - the woods for 'im. Ef they ketch 'im thar 'll be a lynchin' as sure as - preachin'.” - </p> - <p> - A voice now came from the farm-house. It was Amanda leaning out of the - kitchen window. - </p> - <p> - “Come on in an' git yore dinner,” she cried. “Don't listen to that stuff - or you won't eat a bite. Yore pa's chatter has already turned my stomach - inside out.” - </p> - <p> - “That's the woman of it,” Ralph sniffed, wearily. “They both begged an' - begged for particulars, an' wormed every bit they could out o' me, an' now - they talk about its gaggin' em.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0007" id="linklink2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HAT evening, after - Hoag had put his sister and niece into his phaeton, and told Cato, the - negro driver, to take them to Grayson, he went back to the veranda where - his wife and her mother, Mrs. Sarah Tilton, stood waving their - handkerchiefs at the departing guests. Mrs. Hoag was a thin, wanfaced - woman of questionable age and health. In honor of the visitors she wore - her best black-silk gown, and its stiff, rigid folds and white-lace collar - gave her a prim and annual-excursion look. There was a tired expression in - her gray eyes, a nervous twitching of her needle-pricked fingers. Her - mother was of a lustier type, having a goodly allotment of flesh, plenty - of blood and activity of limb and brain, and a tongue which occupied - itself on every possible occasion with equal loquacity in small or large - affairs. - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't help from thinkin' what an awful time we'd have had,” she was - saying to her daughter, “if they had stayed here this summer instead of at - the hotel. I can stand it for a day or two, but three months on a stretch - would lay me stark and stiff in my grave. Did you ever in all yore bom - days see such finicky ways? They nibbled at the lettuce like tame rabbits - eatin' cabbage-leaves, and wiped their lips or fingers every minute, - whether they got grease on 'em or not, and then their prissy talk! I <i>presume</i>, - if Harriet said <i>presee-um</i> once she did fully a dozen times, an' I - didn't know any more what it meant than if she'd been talkin' Choctaw.” - </p> - <p> - “They are simply not used to our country ways,” Mrs. Hoag sighed. “I don't - feel like they are, to say, stuck up. I think they was just tryin' to be - easy an' natural-like.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe she'd find it easier to go back to the way she used to live before - her pa sent 'er off to that fine boardin'-school in Macon,” Mrs. Tilton - retorted, with a smile that froze into a sort of grimace of satisfaction. - “She used to go barefooted here in the mountains; she was a regular tomboy - that wanted to climb every tree in sight, slide down every bank, and wade - in every mud-puddle and branch anywheres about. She was eternally stuffin' - her stomach with green apples, raw turnips, an' sweet potatoes, an' - smearin' her face with 'lasses or preserves. She laid herself up for a - week once for eatin' a lot o' pure licorice an' cinnamon-bark that she - found in the drug-store her uncle used to keep at the cross-roads.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag sat down in a chair, tilted it back against the wall, and cast a - summarizing glance toward his com, wheat, and cotton fields beyond the - brown roofs of the long sheds and warehouses of the tannery at the foot of - the hill. He seldom gave the slightest heed to the current observations of - his wife or her mother. If they had not found much to say about the - visitors, it would have indicated that they were unwell and needed a - doctor, and of course that would have meant money out of his pocket, which - was a matter of more moment than the most pernicious gossip. Hoag's - younger son, Jack, a golden-haired child three years of age, toddled round - the house and putting his chubby hands on the lowest of the veranda steps, - glanced up at his father, and smiled and cooed. Hoag leaned forward, crude - tenderness in his look and movement. - </p> - <p> - “That's right!” he cried, gently, and he held his hands out encouragingly. - “Crawl up to daddy, Jack. I was lookin' for you, little boy. I was - wonderin' where you was at. Got scared o' the fine town folks, an' hid - out, didn't you?” - </p> - <p> - Slowly, retarded as Jack was by his short skirt, he mounted step after - step, constantly applauded by his father, till, red in the face and - panting, he reached the top and was eagerly received into the extended - arms. - </p> - <p> - “Bully boy!” Hoag cried. “I knew you'd stick to it and never say die. You - are as full o' pluck as an egg is of meat.” And the planter pressed the - bonny head against his breast and stroked the soft, curling hair with his - big, red hand. - </p> - <p> - Few of Hoag's friends knew of his almost motherly tenderness and fondness - for his child. In returning home at night, even if it was very late, he - never would go to bed without looking into his wife's room to see if Jack - was all right. And every morning, before rising, he would call the child - to him, and the two would wake The rest of the family With their romping - and laughter. Sometimes Hoag would dress the boy, experiencing a delight - in the clumsy action which he could not have analyzed. His devotion to - Jack seemed all the more remarkable for his indifferent manner toward his - older son, Henry, a lad of fifteen, who had a mischievous disposition - which made him rather unpopular in the neighborhood. Many persons thought - Henry was like his father in appearance, though quite the reverse in the - habit of thrift or business foresight. Mrs. Tilton, the grandmother, - declared that the boy was being driven to the dogs as rapidly as could be - possible, for he had never known the meaning of paternal sympathy or - advice, and never been made to do any sort of work. Be that as it might, - Henry was duly sworn at or punished by Hoag at least once a week. - </p> - <p> - The phaeton returned from the village. Cato drove the horses into the - stable-yard and put them into their stalls, whistling as he fed them and - rubbed them down. The twilight was thickening over the fields and meadows. - The dew was falling. The nearest hills were no longer observable. Jack, - still in his father's arms on the veranda, was asleep; the touch of the - child's breath on the man's cheek was a subtle, fragrant thing that - conveyed vague delight to his consciousness. Henry rode up to the stable, - turned his horse over to Cato, and came toward the house. He was, indeed, - like his father in shape, build, and movement. He paused at the foot of - the steps, glanced indifferently at Hoag and said: - </p> - <p> - “I passed Sid Trawley back on the mountain-road. He said, tell you he - wanted to see you to-night without fail; he said, tell you not to leave - till he got here.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, all right,” Hoag said, with a steady, interested stare at his son, - who now stood beside him. “I'll be here.” - </p> - <p> - His voice waked the sleeping child. Jack sat up, rubbed his eyes, and then - put a little hand on his father's face. “Dack hungry; Dack want his - supper,” he lisped. - </p> - <p> - Hoag-swung him gently to and fro like a woman rocking an infant to sleep. - “Hold on!” He was speaking to Henry, and his tone was harsh and abrupt. - “Did you water that horse?” - </p> - <p> - Henry leaned in the doorway, idly lashing his legs with his riding-whip. - “No; the branch was a quarter of a mile out of the way. Cato will lead him - to the well.” - </p> - <p> - “You know better than that,” Hoag growled. “You didn't even tell Cato the - horse hadn't been watered. He would let him stay in the lot all night - without a drop, hot as he is. Go water 'im now. <i>Go</i>, I tell you! You - are getting so triflin' you ain't fit to live.” - </p> - <p> - Henry stared, and his stare kindled into a resentful glare. His whip hung - steadily by his side. It was as if he were about to retort, but kept - silence. - </p> - <p> - “Go 'tend to that horse,” Hoag repeated, “an' don't you ever do a thing - like that again. You are none too good to do work o' that sort; I did - plenty of it at your age. I had to work like a nigger an' I'm none the - worse for it.” - </p> - <p> - Henry stood still. He had his father's temper, and it was being roughly - handled. Jack, now thoroughly awake, put both his hands on his father's - face and stroked his cheeks soothingly, as if conscious of the storm that - was about to break. Then, slowly and with inarticulate mutterings, Henry - turned and retraced his steps down the path to the stable. Hoag leaned - over till Jack had to clutch the lapels of his coat to keep from falling. - </p> - <p> - “An' don't you raise a row with that nigger, neither,” Hoag called out. “I - won't have it. You are not boss about this place.” - </p> - <p> - Henry paused in the path, turned a defiant face toward his father, and - stood still for several seconds, then slowly went on to the stable. - </p> - <p> - “Dack want his supper, daddy,” Jack murmured. - </p> - <p> - “All right, baby,” Hoag said, in a tone of blended anger and gentleness, - and with the child in his arms he went through the dark hall into the - diningroom adjoining the kitchen in the rear of the house. Here, at the - table next to his own place, he put Jack into the child's high-chair, and - sat down beside him, his massive arm and hand still encircling the tiny - shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Now, make Dilly bring Jack's mush an' milk!” Hoag said, with a laugh. - “Call 'er—call 'er loud!” - </p> - <p> - “Dilly!” Jack obeyed. “Oh, Dilly!” - </p> - <p> - “Louder; she didn't hear you.” Hoag shook with laughter, and patted the - child on the head encouragingly. - </p> - <p> - “Dilly! Oh, Dilly!” Jack cried. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I hear you, young marster,” the portly negress laughed, as she - shuffled into the room. “I was gittin' yo' mush en milk, honey. I 'clar', - 'fo' de Lawd you make me jump out'n my skin, I was so scared.” - </p> - <p> - “Where's the rest o' the folks?” Hoag inquired, with an impatient glance - toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “Bofe of 'em say dey don't want er bite after eatin' all dat watermelon - dis evenin',” the cook answered. “Miz Hoag say she gwine ter lie down - right off, kase she got off dat hot dress en feel weak after so much - doin's terday. She ain't er well 'oman, Marse Hoag—she ain't, suh. I - know, kase I seed er lots of um in my day en time. She hain't got no - spirit, suh; en when 'omen git dat way it's er bad sign o' what may come.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag showed no interest in the comment. He reached for the big platter of - cold string-beans and boiled pork, and helped himself abundantly. He - poured out his own coffee, and drank it hot from the saucer without sugar - or cream. He used both hands in breaking the big, oval-shaped pone of - corn-bread. He enjoyed his food as a hungry beast might, and yet he paused - every now and then to feed the child with a spoon or to wipe the mush from - the little chin. It was Jack's drooping head and blinking eyes that caused - Hoag to hasten through the meal. He took the child to the little bed in - its mother's room and put it down gently. - </p> - <p> - “Go to sleep,” he said. “Now go to sleep.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0008" id="linklink2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E went back to the - veranda through the unlighted hall, and stood looking across the lawn - toward the gate. There was no moon; but the stars were out, and cast a - soft radiance over the undulating landscape. Along the steep side of the - nearest mountain forest fires in irregular lines pierced the thicker - darkness of the distance, and their blue smoke drifted in lowering wisps - over the level fields. - </p> - <p> - “Some'n's surely up, if Trawley wants to see me to-night,” Hoag mused. “I - wonder if my men—” He saw a horse and rider emerge from the gloom - down the road leading on to Grayson. There was no sound of hoofs, for the - animal was moving slowly, as if guided with caution. Nearer and nearer the - horse approached, till it was reined in at the barnyard gate. - </p> - <p> - “That's him,” Hoag muttered, and with a furtive look into the hall behind - him he tiptoed softly down the steps, and then, his feet muffled by the - grass, he strode briskly down to the gate. As he drew near the horseman, - who was a slender young man in a broad-brimmed slouch hat, easy shirt, and - wide leather belt, and with a heavy blond mustache, dismounted and leaned - on the top-rail of the fence. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Cap,” was his greeting. “'Fraid you might not be at home. Henry - didn't know whether you would be or not, but I come on—wasn't - nothin' else to do. The klan is all worked up in big excitement. They - didn't want to move without your sanction; but if you'd been away we'd 'a' - had to. Business is business. This job has to go through.” - </p> - <p> - “What's up now?” Hoag asked, eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “They've caught that nigger Pete Watson.” - </p> - <p> - “Who has—my boys?” - </p> - <p> - “No; the sheriff—Tom Lawler an' three o' his deputies.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say; where?” - </p> - <p> - “In the swamp, in the river-bottom just beyond Higgins's farm. Ten of the - klan happened to be waiting at Larkin's store when Lawler whizzed by with - 'em in a two-hoss hack.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag swore; his voice shook with excitement. “An' you fellers didn't try - to head 'em off, or—” - </p> - <p> - “Head 'em off, hell! an' them with three cocked Winchesters 'cross their - laps an' it broad daylight. Besides, the boys said you'd be mad—like - you have been every time they've moved a peg without orders. You remember - how you cursed an' raved when—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, never mind that!” Hoag fumed. “Where did they take the black - devil?” - </p> - <p> - “To jail in Grayson; he's under lock an' key all right. We followed, and - saw 'im put in. He's the blue-gum imp that killed old Rose. Lawler told - some o' our boys that he hain't owned up to it yet, but he's guilty. Sam - and Alec Rose are crazy—would 'a' gone right in the jail an' shot - everything in sight if we all hadn't promised 'em you'd call out the klan - an' take action at once.” - </p> - <p> - “I see, I see.” Hoag's head rose and fell like a buoy on a wave of - self-satisfaction. “The boys are right. They know nothin' can be done in - any sort o' decent order without a leader. You know yourself, Sid, that - every time they've gone on their own hook they've had trouble, an' fetched - down public criticism.” - </p> - <p> - “We all know that well enough, Cap,” Trawley said, “an' the last one of - the gang is dependent on you. It is wonderful how they stick to you, an' - rely on yore judgment. But, say, we hain't got a minute to lose. The thing - is primed an' cocked. We kin pass the word along an' have every man out by - twelve o'clock. I just need your sanction; that's all I'm here for.” - </p> - <p> - In the starlight the lines, protuberances, and angles of Hoag's face stood - out as clearly as if they had been carved from stone. He stroked his - mustache, lips, and chin; he drew himself erect and threw his shoulders - back with a sort of military precision. He felt himself to be a pivot upon - which much turned, and he enjoyed the moment. - </p> - <p> - “Wait,” he said, “let me study a minute. I—” - </p> - <p> - “Study hell! Look here, Jim Hoag—” - </p> - <p> - “Stop!” Hoag broke in sternly, and he leaned on the fence and glared at - Trawley. “You know you are breakin' rules—you know the last one of - you has sworn never to speak my name at a time like this. I was to be - called 'Captain,' an' nothin' else; but here you go blurtin' out my name. - There is no tellin' when somebody may be listenin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Excuse me, Cap, you are dead right. I was wrong; it was a slip o' the - lip. I won't let it happen again.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag's anger was observable even in the dim light. It trembled in his tone - and flashed in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Beggin' pardon don't rectify a mistake like that when the damage is - done,” he muttered. “You fellers ain't takin' any risk. I'd be the one to - hold the bag if the authorities got onto us. They would nab the leader - first.” - </p> - <p> - “You are too shaky and suspicious,” the other retorted, in sanguine - contempt of caution. “We hain't got a man but would die ruther than turn - traitor, an' thar ain't no court or jury that could faze us. As you said - in yore speech at the last regular meetin', we are a law unto ourselves. - This is a white man's country, Cap, an' we ain't goin' to let a few lazy - niggers run it.” - </p> - <p> - “The boys sort o' liked that speech, didn't they?” Hoag's voice ran smooth - again. - </p> - <p> - “It was a corker, an' tickled 'em all,” Trawley smiled. “They will put you - in the legislature by a big vote whenever you say the word.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want it—I ain't that sort,” Hoag said, grandiloquently. - “I'm satisfied if I can help a little here at home—sorter hold you - boys together an' make you cautious. A thing like this to-night has to be - managed in a cool-headed way that will convince the public that there is a - power that can be relied on outside o' the tardy one that costs taxpayers - so much to keep up. It would tickle a black whelp like Pete Watson to be - tried at our expense. He'd love the best in the world to set up in court - an' be looked at as some'n out o' the general run, an' incite others o' - his stripe to go an' kill helpless white men an' insult white women. The - rope, the torch, an' our spooky garb an' masks are the only things niggers - are afraid of.” - </p> - <p> - “You think that is it, do you?” Trawley said, with a low, pleased laugh. - </p> - <p> - “More'n anything else,” affirmed Hoag, “along with our swift action. Say, - I've been thinkin' over some'n Sid. You said when you fust rid up that the - klan won't act without a leader, an' my business sometimes calls me off to - Atlanta or Augusta—now it is important, in case I'm away at any - time, to have some sort o' head, an' I've been thinkin' that, as you are - sech an active member, you ought to be made my lieutenant—” - </p> - <p> - “You don't mean that, do you, Cap—you don't surely—” Trawley's - voice seemed submerged in a flood of agreeable surprise. - </p> - <p> - “I do, an' I'm goin' to propose it at the next full meetin'. I want a - young man like you that I can confer with now and then an' chat over - matters. A feller can't always git at a big body like ours by hisself, an' - you seem to be better fitted to the office than any other member.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm much obliged, Cap.” Trawley beamed, and his voice was round and full. - “I'd like to stand in with you an' I'll do my best. I promise you that. - The whole thing is fun to me.” - </p> - <p> - “You've been more help to me already than anybody else,” Hoag said, “and - I'm goin' to propose yore name an' see that it goes through. Now, we - haven't got any time to lose in this job to-night. Send the word along the - line, Tell all hands to meet at Maxwell's cove by eleven o'clock—that - will give us plenty o' time to git things in shape.” - </p> - <p> - The dawn of the following day was on the point of breaking when Henry Hoag - crossed the garden behind the farm-house, stealthily unlocked the front - door, and crept up the stairs to his room. He had been out “skylarking” - with some of his friends, and did not want his parents to know the hour of - his return home. He did not light the candle on his bureau, but proceeded - to undress in the dark. Suddenly he paused, as he sat on the edge of his - bed removing his shoes, and listened. It was a soft footfall on the steps - of the veranda, the gentle turning of a key in the lock of the door, the - creaking of the hinges, followed by the clicking of the latch as the door - was closed. A moment later a clumsy tread slurred along the lower corridor - to Hoag's room. - </p> - <p> - Henry chuckled. “Got in by the skin of my teeth,” he said. “If he knew I - watched that thing from start to finish he'd beat me 'in an inch o' my - life. He tried to change his voice, but he was too excited to hide it. - Gee! didn't that poor nigger beg? Ugh, I'm afraid I'll see 'im in my - sleep, and hear that last gurgle.” - </p> - <p> - Henry cautiously lowered a shoe to the floor and sat still for a moment. - “Poor old Pete!” he mused. “He swore he didn't do it, and somehow it - seemed to me that he wasn't lyin'. I'd have turned him loose and risked - it. Poor fellow! Poor fellow!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0009" id="linklink2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>OAG was in a - reflective mood as he rode along his field-road in the crisp morning air. - The sockets of his eyes were puffed out, and he looked like a man who had - lost much sleep, and was braced up for the duties of the day by drink. - Within certain material limits he was satisfied with himself. The dew - seemed to have added succulence to his fat corn-stalks and sugar-cane; his - wheat and cotton were in prime condition, especially the latter, of which - his judgment had prompted an unusually large planting, and according to - the market reports the staple would bring a fine price. - </p> - <p> - The affair of the preceding night had gone off with quiet, order, and - dignity. His followers had listened to his usual speech with respect and - close attention, and he was sure he had never spoken better. His threat - that if his wishes were disobeyed in the slightest he would renounce the - leadership had had the desired effect of proving that he was not a man to - be trifled with. He told them he was giving his valuable time to the - office, and had held himself in duty bound to answer every call, and would - continue to do so as long as they realized the importance of his advice - and services. - </p> - <p> - As he rode into Grayson he saw the sheriff and Budd Tibbs, the village - marshal, on a one-horse dray, followed by a motley group of men, women, - and children afoot, and Hoag knew that they were bound for the spot where - the body of the lynched man was still hanging. The sheriff would cut the - rope, an inquest would be held, and the corpse would be taken away for - burial. On the street-corners at the Square stood groups of storekeepers - without their hats and coats, blandly gazing after the dray and officers. - The thought came to Hoag that some of the men on the street might wonder - why he did not stop and chat about the matter, as would be natural for an - ordinary citizen to do, who, living out of the village, might only just - have heard of the happening; but Hoag was not in the mood for the adroit - part he would have to play. His brain felt heavy and his thoughts were - sluggish. The sight of the grave faces stirred a vague, unaccountable - discontent within him, and he urged his horse to move faster. Suddenly the - crude sign of a boot and shoe painted on a swinging board over the door of - Silas Tye's shop caught his attention, and reminded him of something he - wanted to say to the cobbler, so he dismounted at the door, hitched his - horse to a post in front, and went into the shop. - </p> - <p> - Silas was at work putting a half-sole on a shoe which he held tightly - clamped between his knees, and looked up over his murky spectacles and - nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Good momin', Brother Hoag,” he said. “Some'n I kin do for you?” - </p> - <p> - “Not at present, Uncle Si.” Hoag sat down in a chair, thrust his hand into - his hip-pocket, and taking out a piece of plug-tobacco, bit off the corner - and rolled it about in his mouth. “No, I hain't got no work for you - to-day. In fact, I come to sponge on you—to see if you can't give me - a piece o' business advice. They say every man to his line, an' I reckon - you know as much about ready-made shoes as anybody else at Grayson.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't know; I don't know much about manufactured stuff.” Silas - shook his bald head gently. “I kin tell good leather by the feel, look, - an' smell of it; but mendin' has got to be my chief work now, an' mendin' - shoddy goods at that. I kin make as good a boot as you or any other man - would wear, but not at the machine-made price. A pair o' my boots will - outwear any three from a box sold over a counter, but nobody round here - will believe it.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't doubt it—I don't doubt it for a minute,” Hoag agreed, “and - this is what I want to consult you about. I want your opinion. You know - I've got that tannery, and I sometimes tan bigger quantities of hides, - Uncle Si, than I am willin' to let go at the average price offered in - Atlanta by the jobbers. So you see, in turnin' it over in my mind, it - struck me all at once that I might put up a little factory on my place for - makin' plain shoes by machinery, an' in that way work off surplus stock, - increase my output of leather, and make the middleman's profit. If you - will look out on the Square any day you'll see it perfectly black with - idle niggers, an' I could put some of 'em to work, an'—” - </p> - <p> - The shoemaker glanced up and smiled faintly. “I reckon you won't see many - in sight this momin',” he sighed, as he resumed his work. “The pore devils - are scared out o' their senses by that thing last night. It's awful, - awful!” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause. Hoag's eyelashes fluttered. “Yes, yes, I reckon so,” he - said. “I was goin' on to say—” - </p> - <p> - But some sound in the street had caught Tye's attention and, forgetful of - his customer, he rose and stood at the door and looked out. The wrinkles - on his brow and about his kindly eyes were drawn and deepened as he peered - over the brass rims of his glasses. Hoag heard him sigh again, and saw him - rubbing the sole of the shoe absent-mindedly. - </p> - <p> - “What's goin' on?” the tanner asked, without moving from his chair. - </p> - <p> - “It's that poor nigger Pete Watson's wife an' daughters,” was the answer. - “They've come to claim the body—Dick Morgan is showin' 'em which way - to go. Lord, Lord, they do look pitiful! They ain't even cryin'—niggers - seldom do at sech a time. Looks like they won't shed tears before the - whites for fear it will make 'em mad. They learnt who the'r masters was - before the war, an' they ain't over it. I knowed Pete Watson—I've - mended shoes for 'im. He was always a civil nigger, an' clever enough. - I've had talks with 'im, an' I've been astonished to hear what sensible - ideas he had. He appeared to me to be a Christian—a Christian that - understood what the Lord really meant when he was here on earth, an' - that's rare even among the whites.” - </p> - <p> - Silas came back to his bench and slowly sat down. “Lord, Lord, what a - pity, what a pity!” he continued to mutter. - </p> - <p> - “They say he was undoubtedly guilty.” Hoag felt his anger rising, and yet - he realized that he must restrain himself. “That is the current report, - anyway,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “It always <i>is</i> the report,” Silas said. “Even if a mistake was made - the public would never know it. The gang that did the work would see to - that.” - </p> - <p> - “We are gittin' away from what we was talkin' about,” Hoag said. “I was - asking you what you thought about me startin' a little shoe-plant?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm afraid it wouldn't pay,” Silas said, deliberately. “They make shoes a - sight cheaper in the big works up North than you possibly could down here - in the backwoods with untrained help. It's been tried, without success, - several times here an' thar. The Yankees understand the knack o' splittin' - leather an' usin' both halves, an' even the middle, for different - purposes. You can't make shoes right an' put in good stock at the prices - Northern made-up goods fetch.” Silas selected a woman's shoe from a pile - on the floor, and with his blackened thumb pried the worn bottom open. - “Look at that—stuffed with leather shavin's an' glue! That's what - you'd have to contend with. When folks go to buy they go by looks, not - quality. Then yore help would fall down on you. You can't turn easy-goin', - jolly singin' an' dancin' black boys an' gals into drudgin' machines all - at once. They come from a drowsy, savage race an' a hot climate, an' you - can't make 'em over in a day. La, la—” The shoemaker bent sideways - to look out of the doorway toward the spot where the lynching had - occurred. “That's why that thing seems so pitiful.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag felt his ire rising, but he curbed himself. “They say—folks - say, I'm told—that the nigger was <i>guilty</i>,” he muttered. “When - the neighbors first went to his house they found the old hat Rose had on - when he was murdered. That fact may not be generally known.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it is,” Silas replied; “but if that's all the mob acted on they - acted on powerful flimsy evidence. I've heard men say so this mornin'—good - lawyers right here in town. Besides, I myself heard—why, a man set - right whar you are a-settin' at this minute, Brother Hoag, an' told me not - ten minutes ago that he seed Pete with his own eyes pick up the hat on the - side o' the road long after the killin'. Now, you see, the fact that Pete - had Rose's hat wouldn't actually condemn 'im in a court of law, while it - would be proof enough for a drunken gang o' hotheaded nigger-haters. For - all we know, somebody else done the killin' an' thro wed the hat down. I - myself don't believe that even a <i>fool</i> nigger would kill a man an' - tote his hat along a public road for everybody to see, an' take it home - an' give it to one o' his boys to wear. It don't stand to reason.” - </p> - <p> - A grim look of blended anger and chagrin had settled on Hoag's face, He - crossed his legs and tapped the heel of his boot with the butt of his - riding-whip. - </p> - <p> - “I'm not takin' up for the—the men that did the job,” he said. “I - have no idea who they are or whar they come from—all abouts in the - mountains, I reckon; but any man with an eye in his head can see that the - niggers in this country are gettin' out of all bounds. Thar is not a day - that some white woman ain't mistreated or scared out o' her senses. I - wouldn't trust a nigger an inch. I've seed the best of 'em—psalm-singers - an' exhorters in meetin'—turn right round an' commit acts that only - hell itself could devise.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, I know,” Silas sighed; “an' in my opinion that's exactly why we - need law—an' good law at that. Niggers are natural imitators of the - whites; they see lawlessness, an' they git lawless. Mob law stirs up the - worst that's in 'em. They see injustice done—the wrong man lynched, - for instance—an' they brood over it in secret an' want to hit back, - an' they do it the first chance. I don't see you at meetin' often, Brother - Hoag, an' you may not depend much on Scripture—many busy men don't, - these days; but it is my chief guide, an' our Lord an' Master laid down - rules of conduct that if they was half obeyed thar wouldn't be a speck o' - strife betwixt white an' black. Lovin' the humblest—'the least of - these,' as our Saviour put it—an' turnin' t'other cheek as a daily - practice wouldn't leave an openin' for such as that last night.” - </p> - <p> - Silas put some wooden pegs into his mouth, and began to make holes in the - shoe-bottom with an awl and a flat-headed hammer. Hoag glared steadily at - the bald pate for a moment, and then, shrugging his shoulders, he stood - up. There was a red spot on each of his cheeks, a sullen, thwarted sort of - flare in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'll have to be goin',” he said, winding his pliant whip around his - hand. “I see you won't help me build that shoe-factory. I may do it, an' I - may not. Thar is another deal I may put the money in, but that's plumb out - o' your line. So long.” - </p> - <p> - The cobbler raised his eyes and muttered an inarticulate something from - his peg-filled mouth, and watched Hoag as he went out and unhitched his - horse. - </p> - <p> - “He's one o' the big men o' the county,” Silas mused, “an' yet he don't - seem to have the slightest inkling o' what rail justice means. I reckon - the almighty dollar has plumb blinded him. He wasn't any more concerned - with what I told 'im about that pore darky than if I'd been talkin' about - a dead hog. Well, they say he's give up believin' in a God or a future - life, an' if he has he's livin' up to his lights, or <i>down</i> to 'em—I - don't know which.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0010" id="linklink2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N morbid - ill-humor, and vaguely discontented under an intangible something that - seemed to press upon him from external sources, Hoag went to his horse. At - another time the conviction that a mere cobbler had convinced him of his - lack of judgment in regard to a business venture would have irritated him - beyond expression; but, strange to say, Silas had said other things that - were even more objectionable, and Hoag had been obliged to sit and listen, - and by his silence leave the impression on the stupid lout that he was - right. The fellow was no doubt talking that way to others, and others were - talking to him in the same vein. - </p> - <p> - Diagonally across the street was the front entrance to a big - livery-stable. It had a high board front, on which was painted a horse in - a racing-gig and a driver in a jockey's cap leaning forward whip in hand, - feet firmly braced. Beneath the picture were the words: - </p> - <h3> - “TRAWLEY'S FEED AND SALE STABLES” - </h3> - <p> - And thither Hoag led his horse. On the edge of the sidewalk a negro was - washing the dust from a new buggy with a sponge and a pail of water. - Another negro close by was trimming the mane and tail of a horse with a - big pair of clicking shears. They had been conversing in low, earnest - tones, but they ceased and applied themselves vigorously to work as the - tanner approached. - </p> - <p> - “Hold my hoss,” he said to the man with the pail. “Is Sid about?” - </p> - <p> - “Back inside, boss.” The negro touched his hat, swept a broad, flat foot - backward, and took the bridle. “Leastwise, he was, suh, des er minute - ergo. He was talkin' ter er gipsy dat had er muel ter swap. Dey didn't - come ter no trade, dough. I know, kase de gipsy rid his muel off up de - street.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag turned into the stable, which was a spacious structure with wide - doors at each end, bare, brown rafters overhead, and a storm-shattered - shingle roof, which in places let in rifts of sunshine and exposed bits of - sky. On either side of a wide passage, from end to end of the building, - were stalls, some occupied by horses, and all smelling of manure and musty - hay. There was a sound of the champing of feeding animals, the swishing of - tails, for the flies were plentiful, and the satisfied accompaniment of - pawing hoofs on the soggy ground. - </p> - <p> - In the rear doorway stood a man who had just stepped into view from the - yard in the rear. It was Trawley. He had a stick of soft pine in his hand, - and was nervously whittling with a big pocket-knife, his broad, slouch hat - pushed back on his head and turned up in front. Sid was quite as well - known for the good stable he ran as for his fighting tendencies, the quick - use of a “gun,” and general habits of brave recklessness. - </p> - <p> - Toward him, with a forced smile of companionship, Hoag walked, cautiously - looking into the stalls as he passed. - </p> - <p> - “They are all in front,” Trawley said, reassuringly when they met; “but we - don't want to be seen confabbin' together, to-day of all days.” He jerked - his knife toward the yard. “Come out here whar it's quiet.” - </p> - <p> - With a steady stare of awakening wonder over Sid's unwonted caution Hoag - followed, first into the open glare of the sun and then under the roof of - a wagon-shed. - </p> - <p> - “If you hadn't come in, I was goin' to ride out to see you,” Trawley said, - with a frown which lay heavily on his sharp-cut features. “I reckon you've - heard—bad news travels fast.” - </p> - <p> - “News? I hain't heard nothin'.” Hoag held the butt of his whip against his - lower lip and stared questioningly. “Say, what's up?” - </p> - <p> - “Enough, God knows—hell's to pay. We've got to git together right - away an' take action o' some sort. Say—wait a minute.” - </p> - <p> - The negro who had been cleaning the buggy was drawing it through the - stable toward them, and his master strode angrily to the rear door. - </p> - <p> - “Leave that buggy thar,” he ordered, “an' go back to the front an' stay - till I come.” - </p> - <p> - With a blank look of astonishment the negro dropped the tongue of the - buggy, and turned back to the front. Hoag heard Trawley softly grumbling - as he came back. - </p> - <p> - “I'll break a board over that nigger's head one o' these days,” he - growled. “He was try in' to get back here to see what me'n you are up to.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I reckon not—I reckon not,” Hoag said, his gaze anxiously fixed - on Trawley's face. “Just now you said somethin' about news.” - </p> - <p> - “You'll think it's news when you hear it,” the stable-man said, taking off - his hat and mopping his hot brow with a soiled handkerchief. “Cap, the - last thing me or you could possibly expect has done happened. The sheriff - of Canton County has just telegraphed that he's got the man that killed - old Rose.” - </p> - <p> - “Got the man that—bosh! Why <i>we</i>—” The words fell from - Hoag's lips like bits of metal, and he broke off with a low oath. For a - moment neither he nor Trawley spoke. Hoag laughed defiantly, mechanically, - and without mirth. Then his face glowed faintly. “Oh, I see, the sheriff - over thar don't know what—what took place here last night. He's - nabbed some triflin' nigger that had a suspicious look, an' is holdin' 'im - for—” - </p> - <p> - “'Twasn't no nigger,” Trawley said. “It is a tramp—a white man that - the sheriff says passed Rose's farm yesterday afoot.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what o' that?” Hoag showed irritability. “We'll have to wire the - sheriff to turn the man loose—that's all—that's all!” - </p> - <p> - “If that <i>was</i> all, it <i>would</i> be easy; but it ain't, by a long - shot,” Trawley sniffed. “The tramp had Rose's old silver watch with his - name cut on it!” - </p> - <p> - “You mean—” But Hoag knew well what he meant, and was in no mood for - idle remarks. When thwarted in anything, justly or unjustly, he became - angry; he felt his rage rising now over his sheer inability to cope with a - situation which certainly demanded all his poise, all his mental forces. - </p> - <p> - “We are simply in a hole,” Trawley muttered, still wiping the sweat from - his brow. “In a hole, an' a deep one at that.” - </p> - <p> - “What makes you think so?” Hoag was glaring into the eyes of his - companion, as a man in dense darkness trying to see. - </p> - <p> - “Because we are,” Trawley answered. “The sheriff over thar in Canton won't - want to admit he's made a mistake with the proof he holds. He'll bring his - man to trial an' the fellow will be convicted. The fact that we—that - us boys in this county strung up a nigger for the crime won't make any - difference over thar, but it will make a lot here.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't see how.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I do, if you don't, Cap. We are in, an' we are in deep. You have a - curious way about you—you git so mad when things go ag'in' you that - you won't admit facts when they are before you. As for me, I've been here - thinkin' over it all momin'. It is nasty—the whole damn thing is - nasty. The niggers are gittin' bold enough anyway, along with what the - Atlanta papers have been sayin' in their favor, an' the Governor talkin' - about orderin' troops out, an' the like, an' now this will simply stir up - the State. We kin keep the main body of niggers down by what we done—what - was done last night; but thar are some sly ones with white blood an' hell - in 'em. We are all in danger. Look at this stable.” Trawley waved his damp - handkerchief toward the big building and surrounding wagon-sheds. “One of - the devils could sneak up here any night and set fire to all I got an' - burn it to the ground. It is so dry it would go up like powder. I've got - several thousand dollars' worth of vehicles, to say nothin' of live-stock - that can't be driv' out at such a time, an' I don't carry insurance, - because the rate is too high, owin' to the risk bein' so heavy; Land as - for you—your tannery, house, cotton-gin, warehouse, an'—” - </p> - <p> - “Thar's no good talkin' about all <i>that!</i>” Hoag broke in, with a - lowering frown. “We've got to do something, an' do it quick.” - </p> - <p> - “Wait a minute,” Trawley said. “I hear one o' them niggers whistlin' for - me; it may be one o' our—one of—may be somebody lookin' for us - now. Thar'll be excitement, big excitement, when it spreads about through - the mountains.” - </p> - <p> - There was an oak in the yard which shaded the well, and Hoag went to the - well and sat down on the end of a long dug-out watering-trough. He was - beginning to perspire freely, and he took off his hat and fanned himself - in a nervous, jerky fashion. His hands were damp, and on their red backs, - and along his heavy wrists, the hairs stood like dank reeds in a miniature - swamp. He was in high dudgeon; everything seemed to have turned against - him. Tye's unconscious lecture and crude object-lessons, combined with the - old man's spiritual placidity and saintly aloofness from the horrors he - shrank from, were galling in the extreme. Then Trawley's fears that - certain property might be destroyed by way of retaliation were worth - considering; and, lastly, there was the humiliation of such a grave - mistake becoming public, even though the perpetrators themselves might not - be known. From where Hoag sat he could look into the stable, and he saw - Trawley going from stall to stall showing the horses to a well-dressed - stranger, who looked like a traveling salesman of the better class. - Presently the man left the stable, and Trawley, still holding his stick - and knife in hand, came back to Hoag. - </p> - <p> - “Damn fool from up North,” he explained, angrily. “Wanted to hire a rig - an' hosses to go over the mountain, whar he's got some lumber interests. - He talked to me like—I wish you'd a-heard 'im. I couldn't hardly pin - 'im down to business, he was so full o' the hangin'. He happened to see - 'em cut down the body an' haul it away. Of course, he had no idea that I—he - seemed to lay it to a gang o' cutthroats from over whar he was to go, an' - wondered if it would be safe for a Northern man to drive out unarmed an' - without a bodyguard.” - </p> - <p> - “Why didn't you slap his jaw?” Hoag growled, inconsistently. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, an' had 'im ax what it was to me,” Trawley snarled. “I did, in a - roundabout way, try to show up our side, an' what we have to contend with; - but he just kept groanin', 'My Lord, my Lord,' an' sayin' that old woman - an' her children was the pitifulest sight he ever saw! He said”—Trawley - shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace as he tugged at his mustache—“he - said all of us <i>civilized</i> citizens—them was his words—ought - to band together an' 'force law an' order—that it was killin' our - interests. He had been countin' on locatin' here, he said, but was afeard, - when the thing got in the papers, his company would back out an' not - develop their property. He seemed awfully put out. I tried to tell 'im - that if he knowed niggers as we do he'd see it our way; but the truth is, - I was so bothered over that dang tramp's arrest that—” - </p> - <p> - “I've been studyin' over that.” Hoag dismissed the stranger from his mind - with a fierce frown. “There is only one thing to do. Set down here—set - down!” - </p> - <p> - Sid complied. “If you can think of any way out o' the mess you can beat - me,” he said, dejectedly. - </p> - <p> - “Thar is just one thing for us to do.” Hoag was to some extent regaining - his self-possession, his old autocratic mien had returned. “You fellows - are all goin' to git rattled an' somebody's got to keep a clear head an' - plan how to act. The klan will naturally look to me; it is really on my - shoulders; we'll sink or fall by my judgment. Some of us have got to git - together to-night an' march over thar to the Canton jail an' take that - tramp out.” - </p> - <p> - “An' lynch 'im? Good Lord, Cap—” - </p> - <p> - “No, fool, not lynch 'im—that wouldn't do—that never would do - in the world; we must send 'im about his business—hustle 'im out o' - the country an'—an' circulate the report that he was arrested by - mistake, which—which I've no doubt he was. Pete Watson sold 'im the - watch. That's plain enough.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, ah, I see—by gum, I see; but what about the sheriff over thar? - Fellers o' that sort are sometimes proud o' makin' an arrest in a case - like that.” - </p> - <p> - “That's the only hill to climb an' we may fail; but we've got to try it. I - know 'im purty well. He expects to be re-elected, an' half of our boys - live in his county an' vote thar. We must show 'im the damage the thing - would work among the niggers, an' sort o' make a—a political issue - of it; show 'im that he'll git beat, an' beat bad, if he goes ag'in' so - many.” - </p> - <p> - “By gum, you <i>are</i> a corker, Cap—you sure are.” Hoag's eyes - gleamed, a look of pride settled on his face; he crossed his legs and - tapped the spur on his heel with the butt of his whip till the little - pronged wheel spun like a circular saw, “When I'm driv' clean to the wall - like this I generally see a loophole,” he said. “Now, let's set to work; - you send out the word in the usual way, an' have 'em meet at the Cove.” - </p> - <p> - “Good, good! It's worth tryin', anyway.” Trawley breathed more freely. - “I'll notify most o' the boys—especially them that live in Canton - County.” - </p> - <p> - “Order out as many as you can,” Hoag said. “At night it will be hard for - the sheriff to know who they all are, an' the bigger the crowd the better; - but, say—I've just thought of something important. You'll have to - leave Sam an' Alec Rose out. You see it stands to reason that they'd never - consent to let the tramp off, an'—an'—well, we can't kill 'im. - He's got to go free.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Sam an' Alec will have to be left out—they are crazy enough as - it is. I'll caution the other boys not to let 'em know a thing about it.” - </p> - <p> - “That's the idea.” Hoag was starting away, when Trawley, still seated on - the trough, called him back. - </p> - <p> - “Wait; thar was something else I had on my mind to tell you, but it has - clean slipped away. I intended to tell you last night, but we had so much - to do, an' thar was so much excitement. Lemme see—oh yes, now I - remember!” Trawley stood up and caught the lapel of Hoag's thin coat. - “Say, Cap, I want to warn you, as a friend, you are goin' to have more - trouble with Jeff Warren. He hain't never been satisfied since you an' him - had that fight last spring. He says he licked you, an' that you've been - denying it. He was here at the stable yesterday talkin' about what he was - goin' to do with you when he meets you. He's heard some'n he claims you - said about him an' Ralph Rundel's wife. I reckon he is actin' the fool - about 'er, an' maybe he is takin' advantage of a sick man; but nobody - knows, for sure. Some think Jeff is honorable. Anyway, you'll have to look - out an' not let 'im git the drop on you. He's a bloodthirsty devil when - he's mad, an' he hain't got sense enough to know that he'd compromise the - woman worse by fightin' for her than lettin' the matter blow over.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag stood silent, facing his companion. His countenance became rigid and - his heavy brows fell together; there was a peculiar twitching about his - nostrils. “I don't know what I said about him an' her, an' I care less.” - He spoke in halting, uncertain tones. “I've got no use for 'im, an' never - had.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I thought there'd be no harm in puttin' you on yore guard.” Trawley - looked at his chief as if perplexed over his mood. “He's a hot-headed - devil, that will shoot at the drop of a hat.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag stood rigid. There was a fixed stare in his eyes. His lips quivered, - as if on the verge of utterance, and then he looked down at the ground. - Trawley eyed him in slow surprise for a moment, then he said: - </p> - <p> - “I hope, Cap, you don't think I am meddlin' in yore private business. It - is not often that I tote any sort o' tale betwixt two men; but Jeff is - such a rampant daredevil, an' so crazy right now, that—” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not afraid of 'im. Good God, don't think that!” Hoag was quite pale. - “It was only—say, Sid, it's like this: do you think that a man like - me, with all I've got at stake, one way or another, can afford to—to - take even chances with a shiftless fool like Jeff Warren?” - </p> - <p> - “It ain't what you, or me, or anybody can <i>afford</i> to do,” the - stable-owner returned, “or <i>want</i> to do, for that matter; when a chap - like Jeff is loaded for bear an' on our trail we've either got to git - ready for 'im or—or swear out a peace-warrant, an' me or you'd - rather be hung than do the like o' that. As for me, in all rows I treat - everybody alike. If a black buck nigger wants satisfaction out o' me he - can git it—you bet he can.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes, I know,” Hoag said, his eyes shifting restlessly in their deep - sockets, his fingers fumbling his whip. “I was just wondering; did he—did - you notice whether Warren was totin' a gun or not?” - </p> - <p> - “I think he was; that's why I mentioned the matter to you. In fact, he was - inquiring if anybody had seen you—said he knowed enough law to know - that if he went to yore house on such serious business that he'd be held - accountable, wharas, if you an' him met on a public highway it would be - all right, beca'se it was your unjustified remark ag'in' a woman that - started the thing.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag stared into the face of his companion for another minute. It was as - if he wanted some sort of advice and did not know how to ask for it. He - shrugged his shoulders, lashed the hot air with his whip, cleared his - throat, and said: - </p> - <p> - “I hope you don't think I'm afraid o' the dirty puppy, Sid?” - </p> - <p> - “Afraid, oh no!” Trawley replied, indifferently. “Of course not. You kin - shoot as straight as he can. Besides, if it come to the worst—if he - did happen to git the best of it—you are in as good a shape to die - as any man I know. You'd leave your wife an' family well provided for. - Take my advice and don't give 'im a chance to draw a gun. Pull down, and - pull down quick!” - </p> - <p> - Trawley led the way back into the stable, and at the front the two men - parted. Hoag was on the sidewalk when Trawley called to him, and came to - his side. - </p> - <p> - “If you hain't got a gun on you, you kin take mine,” he said, in a low - tone. - </p> - <p> - “I've got one,” Hoag answered, a far-off look in his eyes, and he slid a - hand over his bulging hip-pocket. “I never go without it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, if nothin' happens, then I'll meet you tonight,” Trawley reminded - him. “We must put that thing through.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag nodded. “All right,” he returned, abstractedly. “All right—all - right.” - </p> - <p> - “If nothin' happens!” The words fairly stung his consciousness as he - walked away. “If nothin' happens!” His feet and legs felt heavy. There was - a cold, tremulous sensation in the region of his pounding heart. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0011" id="linklink2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>OAG had some - important business to transact in the little bank on one of the comers of - the Square, and he was detained there half an hour or more. The thought - flashed on him, as he sat alone at the banker's desk in the rear, that a - prudent man at such a time would make a will; but the idea chilled him, - horrified him. This feeling was followed by a desperate sort of anger over - the realization that a low, shiftless clodhopper could so materially upset - a man of his importance. He had recalled the idle remark which had reached - Warren's ears, and knew it was the kind of thing the man would fight to - the death about. And there was no way out of it—no way under the - sun. He could not—as Trawley had said—appeal to the law for - protection; such a course would make him the laughing-stock of all his - followers, who thought him to be a man of unquestioned courage. Hoag drew - a sheet of paper to him and began to write, but was unable to fix his mind - on the matter in hand. It seemed utterly trivial beside the encroaching - horror. Jeff Warren might walk in at any moment and level his revolver; - Jeff Warren would kill the traducer of a woman in a church or in a group - of mourners over a new grave and feel that he had done his duty. Hoag - crumpled up the sheet of paper and dropped it into a waste-paper basket - under the desk. He thrust his hand behind him and drew out his revolver - and looked at it. He noticed, as he twirled the polished cylinder, that - his fingers shook. He ground his teeth, uttered a low oath, and put the - revolver back into his pocket. How could he defend himself with nerves - such as the combination of tobacco and whisky had given him? He rose and - went through the bank to the street, returning the banker's smiling - salutation from the little grated window as he passed out. - </p> - <p> - He drew a breath of relief when he reached the sidewalk, for Warren was - not in sight. To Hoag an irrelevant sort of mocking placidity rested on - the scene. Storekeepers, clerks, and cotton-buyers were moving about - without their coats, pencils behind their ears. Countrymen from the - mountains in white-hooded wagons were unloading grain, potatoes, apples, - chickens in coops, and bales of hay, with their hearts in their work, - while he, the financial superior of them all, was every minute expecting - to grapple with a bloody and ignominious death. He had a deed to record at - the Court House, and he went into the big, cool building and turned the - document over to the clerk with instructions to keep the paper till he - called for it. Two lank, coatless farmers, seated near the desk, were - playing checkers on a worn, greasy board. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, ha!” one of them said, “cap that un, an' watch me swipe the balance.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag was going out when he saw, carelessly leaning in the doorway at the - front of the hall, the man he was dreading to meet. For an instant he had - an impulse to fall back into the clerk's office, and then the sheer - futility of such a course presented itself. Besides, the tall, slender - man, with dark hair and eyes and waxed mustache, who had no weapon in - sight, was calmly addressing him. - </p> - <p> - “I want to see you, Jim Hoag,” he said. “Suppose we step back in the yard - at the end o' the house?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hello, Warren, how are you?” Hoag said, forcing a desperate smile to - his stiff mouth and chilled cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “I'll try to show you how I am in a few minutes,” Warren answered, coldly, - and he led the way down the hall, his high-heeled boots ringing on the - bare floor, toward the door at the end. “Or maybe it will be t'other way—you - may show me. Well, if you can, you are welcome.” - </p> - <p> - “I see you are lookin' for trouble, Jeff,” Hoag began. “I heard you wanted - to see me, an' I heard you was mad at some fool lie or other that—” - </p> - <p> - “You step out here on the grass,” Warren said. “I never seed the day I - wouldn't give even a bloated skunk like you a fair chance. Draw your gun. - You've got more money 'an I have, Hoag; but, by God! my honor an' the - honor of a respectable lady of my acquaintance is worth as much to me as—” - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Jeff, I ain't armed.” Hoag lied flatly as he saw Warren thrust - his hand behind him. “You say you want to act fair, then be fair—be - reasonable. The truth is—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see—well, if you ain't ready, that alters it! No man can't - accuse me of pullin' down on a feller that ain't fixed. I know you ain't - a-goin' to back down after what I've said to your teeth, an' I'll set here - on this step an' you go across to the hardware store an' fix yourself. - Mine's a thirty-eight. I don't care what size you git. I want you to be - plumb satisfied. Don't tell anybody, either. We don't want no crowd. This - is our affair.” Hoag moved a step nearer to the offended man. He smiled - rigidly. His voice fell into appealing, pleading gentleness. - </p> - <p> - “Looky here, Jeff, you an' me 've had differences, I know, an' thar's been - plenty o' bad blood betwixt us; but as God is my judge I never had any - deep ill-will ag'in' you. I've always known you was a brave man, an' I - admired it in you. You are mad now, an' you are not seein' things - straight. You've heard some'n or other; but it ain't true. Now, I don't - want any trouble with you, an—” - </p> - <p> - “Trouble!” Warren's dark eyes flashed; his voice rang like steel striking - steel. It was an odd blending of threat and laughter. “If we don't have - trouble the sun won't set to-night. I'm talkin' about what you said at the - post-office t'other day to a gang about me an' a certain neighbor's wife.” - </p> - <p> - “I think I can guess what you are talkin' about, an' you've got it plumb - crooked, Jeff.” Hoag bent toward the man and laid a bloodless hand full of - soothing intent on his shoulder. “You say you are a fair man, Jeff, an' I - know you are, an' when a man like me says he's sorry and wants to fix - things straight—without bloodshed—be reasonable. I didn't mean - to reflect on the lady. I just said, if I remember right, that it looked - like she admired you some. An' if you say so, I'll apologize to her - myself. No man could ask more than that.” - </p> - <p> - The fierce dark eyes blinked; their glare subsided. There was a momentous - pause. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't want 'er to hear a thing like that,” Warren faltered. “Too - much has been said anyway, one way an' another, by meddlin' gossips, an' - it would hurt her feelin's. I didn't want to fight about it, but couldn't - hold in. An' if you say you didn't mean nothin' disrespectful, why, that - will have to do. We'll drop it. I don't want bloodshed myself, if I kin - get around it.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want any either, Jeff,” Hoag said, still pacifically, and yet his - fury, contempt for himself, and hatred for the man before him were already - returning, “so we'll call it settled?” - </p> - <p> - “All right, all right,” Warren agreed; “it will have to do. When a man - talks like you do nothin' more is to be said. I never yet have whipped a - man that didn't want to fight. I'd as soon hit a suckin' baby.” They - parted, Warren going into the Court House and Hoag to the stable for his - horse. Trawley was at the front waiting for him. - </p> - <p> - “Hello,” he cried, “I see he didn't plug you full o' holes. I watched 'im - follow you into the Court House, an' expected to hear a whole volley o' - shots.” - </p> - <p> - “He <i>did</i> want to see me,” Hoag sneered, loftily. “In fact, he come - while I was havin' a paper recorded an' wanted to see me. He tried to git - me to admit I was slanderin' that woman, an' I gave 'im a piece o' my mind - about it. Her son works for me, an' I think a lot of the boy. I wouldn't - have Paul hear a thing like that for anything. He's all right an' is - tryin' hard to make his way. I told Jeff if he wanted bloodshed to git up - some other pretext an' I'd give 'im all he wanted. A triflin' scamp like - he is can't stamp me in public as a traducer of women.” - </p> - <p> - “I see, I see,” said Trawley, in vague approval. “Well, that's out of the - way, an' we can attend to the other matter. It's a serious thing, Jim - Hoag. The sheriff over in Canton may tell us to mind our own rat-killin', - and then we <i>would</i> be in a box.” - </p> - <p> - “We've got to bring all our force to bear an' pull 'im round,” Hoag said. - “I'm goin' to see a few of our main men here in town, an' sorter map out a - plan. If we go at it right, we'll pull it through. I'll meet you all at - the Cove to-night.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0012" id="linklink2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was late in the - afternoon when Hoag rode up to his house and delivered his horse to Cato, - with instructions to feed and water the animal and rub him down carefully, - as he had to “use him again after supper.” - </p> - <p> - In the hall he met his wife. She had a tired, anxious look on her face, - which seemed flushed by the heat of the cooking-stove, over which she had - been working. - </p> - <p> - “Have the cows come up?” he asked her. - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” She glanced at him timidly. “Mother is down attendin' to the - milkin' with Dilly. I'm watchin' the meat in the stove.” - </p> - <p> - “You'd better take it up as soon as it's good done,” he said. “I don't - want supper to be late ag'in—not to-night, anyway. I've got to ride - out to see a man that's got a lot o' land to sell.” - </p> - <p> - “It's about done,” she answered, wearily, “an' I'll take it up an' set the - table.” - </p> - <p> - He passed on to the kitchen, filled a dipper with water from the pail, and - drank; then he returned to the front veranda and sat down in a latticed - corner, over which honeysuckles climbed. He removed his coat, for the air - was close and hot. He opened the bosom of his moist shirt, and fanned his - face, big neck, and hairy chest with his hat. He was upset, dissatisfied, - angry. So many things had gone contrary to his wishes. Why had he allowed - Silas Tye to talk to him in such a vein? Why had he not defended the - worthy principle he and his followers stood for? What could an ignorant - shoemaker know of such grave and important issues? Then there was the - memory of Jeff Warren's grimly determined mouth, set jaws, and flaming - eyes, as he stood placidly demanding satisfaction of him—<i>of him</i>. - Hoag's rage ran through him like streams of liquid fire, the glow of which - hung before his eyes like a mist of flame. Why had he not—he - clenched his brawny fist and the muscles of his arm drew taut—why - had he not beaten the insolent fellow's face to a pulp for daring to talk - of satisfaction to him? The man, even now, was perhaps recounting what had - happened in his stoical, inconsequential way, and there were some persons—<i>some</i>, - at least—who would think that the apology was the last resort of a - coward. Men who didn't really know him might fancy such to be the case. - Yes, he must have it out with Warren. Some day—before long, too—he - would call him down publicly on some pretext or other in which a woman's - fame was not involved, and prove himself to others and, yes—to - himself. - </p> - <p> - There was a soft step in the hallway behind him. It was his wife. He felt - rather than saw her presence in the doorway. - </p> - <p> - “What is it—what is it?” he demanded, impatiently. - </p> - <p> - He heard her catch her breath, and knew the delay in replying was due to - habitual timidity. He repeated his question fiercely, for there was - satisfaction in being stern to some one after the humiliating manner in - which he had received Warren. - </p> - <p> - “You say you are goin' out after supper?” she faltered. “I hope you ain't - goin' far, because—” - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' as far as I <i>want</i> to go,” he hurled at her. “I won't let - you nor your mammy dabble in my affairs. I don't have to make excuses - neither. My business is my business. I'll have to be late; but that's - neither here nor thar, whether I am or not. I see you both with your heads - together now and then, and I know what you say—I know what you think—but - I'll be my own boss in this establishment, an' you may as well count on - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't, don't! Please don't talk so loud!” she implored him, for his voice - had risen almost to a shriek. “Didn't Paul Rundel tell you? I sent 'im in - town to find you. Surely you know—” - </p> - <p> - “To find me? What for?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, the baby's awful sick; he's just dropped to sleep. Paul got Dr. Lynn - as quick as he could, an' then went on after you.” - </p> - <p> - “Sick—sick—is Jack sick?” - </p> - <p> - Hoag lowered the front part of his chair to the floor and stood up. He - stared into the shrinking face for a moment, and then he spoke in a low, - startled voice. - </p> - <p> - “What did the doctor say ailed him?” - </p> - <p> - “He said he couldn't tell yet. Jack's got a powerful high fever. Dr. Lynn - said it might be very serious, and it might not. He left some medicine, - an' told me to watch the child close. He said he'd be back as soon as he - could possibly get here. He'd have stayed on, but he was obliged to attend - to Mrs. Petty, who ain't expected to last through the night.” - </p> - <p> - Silence fell as the woman ceased speaking. Hoag's breathing through his - big, hair-lined nostrils was audible. He put his hand on the door-facing - and swayed toward it. Every trace of his anger had vanished. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't see Paul.” He had lowered his voice to an undertone. “I had no - idea Jack was sick. When—when did you first notice it?” - </p> - <p> - “About four o'clock. He was playin' in the yard, as usual, an' I didn't - dream anything was wrong till Aunt Dilly come to me an' said Jack acted - odd. She said she'd been watchin' 'im through the window, an' he'd quit - playin' an' would lie down on the grass awhile an' then git up an' play a - little an' then lie down ag'in. I went out and found him with the hottest - skin I ever felt an' a queer, glassy look in his eyes. I toted 'im in an' - put 'im on the bed, an' then I saw he was plumb out o' his head, thinkin' - he saw ugly things which he said was comin' to git 'im. He was that way, - off an' on, till the doctor come.” - </p> - <p> - One of Hoag's greatest inconsistencies was the tendency to anger whenever - anything went contrary to his desires. He was angry now, angry while he - was filled with vague fear and while certain self-accusing thoughts - flitted about him like winged imps of darkness. He wanted to charge some - one with having neglected the child, and he would have done so at any - moment less grave. Just then a low moan came from Mrs. Hoag's room on the - right of the hall, and she hastened to Jack's bedside. Hoag followed on - tiptoe and bent over the child, who lay on his little bed before a window - through which the fading light was falling. - </p> - <p> - The child recognized his father and held up his flushed arms. - </p> - <p> - “Daddy, Dack's hick. It's hot—hot!” - </p> - <p> - “I know—I know,” Hoag said, soothingly, his hand on the child's - brow; “the medicine will cool you off after a while.” - </p> - <p> - “Black' things come to catch Dack—oh, Daddy, don't let 'em—don't - let 'em!” - </p> - <p> - “You was out o' your head,” Hoag heard himself saying, almost cooingly. - “It was a bad dream—that's all—a mean, bad dream.” - </p> - <p> - Then a vague stare of coming unconsciousness crept into the child's eyes - and the long lashes drooped to the flushed cheeks. Hoag drew himself - erect, held his breath lest his exhaling might waken the child, and crept - quietly from the room back to the veranda. - </p> - <p> - The twilight was thickening over the fields and meadows. The mountains - loomed up like sinister monsters against the sky. Clouds of blue smoke - from forest fires, far and near, hovered over the valley. The sultry air - was laden with the odor of burning twigs, leaves, and underbrush. There - was a step on the back porch, and, turning, he saw Mrs. Tilton coming in, - bowed between two pails of milk. He went to her as she stood at the - kitchen-table straining the warm, fragrant fluid into a brown jar. “What - do you think ails the baby?” he inquired. “Looks to me like scarlet - fever,” she answered, with the stoicism of her age and sex. “I hain't seen - many cases in my time, but from the indications—” He swore under his - breath, angry at her for even suggesting such a horrible possibility. “I - reckon you don't know much about such things. Wait till the doctor says - it's as bad as that before you jump at it so quick.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't <i>say</i> I knowed for sure,” Mrs. Tilton flared, resentfully. - “But thar's one thing certain, the doctor is worried—I saw that - plain enough; he is worried, an' I never would 'a' thought o' scarlet - fever if he hadn't said a lot of it was goin' round about.” - </p> - <p> - “Who's got it?” Hoag demanded, as fiercely as a lawyer browbeating a - refractory witness. - </p> - <p> - “Why, the McKinneys' youngest gal. They sent 'er over here to borrow salt - t'other day just before she was took down, an' her an' Jack—” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you'll say you let Jack play with 'er next,” Hoag blustered, in - the tone of a rough man to a rough man. - </p> - <p> - “How could we tell?” was the admission, calmly enough made. “She hadn't - broke out—she <i>did</i> look sort o' red; but it was a hot day, an' - I thought she'd been runnin', as children will do. Jack was playin' in the - straw that was cut last week, an' she come by an'—” - </p> - <p> - “Pack of fools—pack of idiots!” Hoag thundered, and he went back to - the veranda, where for several minutes he stood staring dejectedly into - the night. He was there holding his unlighted pipe in his hand, his ears - bent to catch any sound from the sick-room, when Aunt Dilly, the fat cook, - came shuffling in her slipshod way up behind him. - </p> - <p> - “Supper's on de table, Marse Jim,” she announced, in a low tone of - concern. “Miss Sarah an' 'er ma say dey don't feel like eatin' a bite—dey - is so clean upset an' outdone.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag was not conscious of any desire for food, but as a matter of form or - habit he followed the negress to the dining-room across the hall from - where the child lay and took his usual seat at the long table. A lamp with - a pink paper shade stood in the center of the board, and threw a rosy glow - over the dishes and cold vegetables and meat. Hoag helped himself to the - cabbage and beans, and broke the corn pone, and poured out his coffee. He - ate slowly and yet without due mastication, for he was constantly - listening, with knife and fork poised in the air, for any sound from the - sick-room. The sight of the high, empty chair in which the baby usually - sat next to him sent a shudder through him and tightened his throat. - Hurrying through his supper, he rose and went back to his seat on the - veranda. The fear that was on him was like a palpable weight which crushed - him physically as well as mentally. Recent disagreeable occurrences - flitted before his mind's eye like specters. It seemed to him, all at - once, that a malignant destiny might be taking him in hand. An evil sun - had risen on him that day, and this was its setting. Jack, the flower of - his life—the only creature he had ever really loved—was going - to die—to die, actually to die! Hoag stifled an upsurging groan. His - head sank till his chin touched his bare breast, and then he drew himself - up in resentful surprise over his weakness. The night crept on like a vast - thing full of omnipotent and crafty design. It was twelve o'clock, and yet - he had not thought of sleep, although he had not closed his eyes the night - before. He heard voices in the sick-room, and was about to go thither, - when the door opened and Mrs. Tilton came along the hall and stopped at - his chair. - </p> - <p> - “I thought you was in bed,” she said, in a strange, reserved tone. “I'm - awfully worried. I'm afraid it's goin' ag'in' Sarah. She ain't strong - enough to stand up under it. If Jack goes she'll go too. Mark my - prediction.” - </p> - <p> - “How's the baby?” Hoag impatiently demanded. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know; he's tossin' awful. Looks like Dr. Lynn would have been - here by this time; but he said the only thing to do was to wait an' see - how the medicine acted. Are you goin' to stay up?” - </p> - <p> - Hoag's head rocked. “Yes, I want to hear what he says. I'll be out here if—if - you—need me.” - </p> - <p> - “All right.” And the old woman slipped away in the unlighted hall, and he - heard her softly opening the door of the sick-room. The silence of the - night grew profound. The moon was rising like a flaming world above the - mountain, throwing its mystical veil over the landscape. There was a sound - of a closing gate at the foot of the lawn, and some one entered and came - up the walk. It was Henry. He had a cane in his hand, and was idly - slashing the flowers which bordered the walk. He was whistling in a low, - contented way. Down the steps crept his father, and they met a little - distance from the house. - </p> - <p> - “Stop that infernal noise!” Hoag commanded. “Hain't you got an ounce o' - sense? The baby's sick an' you'll wake 'im. Whar 've you been?” - </p> - <p> - “Over at John Wells's house,” the boy replied. “Tobe is going off to - Texas, and everybody was saying good-by.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll believe that when I have to,” Hoag growled. “I can smell liquor on - you now. You fairly stink with it.” - </p> - <p> - “'Twasn't nothing but an eggnog Mrs. Wells made,” the boy said, slowly, - studying the face before him. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you go on to bed,” Hoag ordered. “An' don't you make a bit o' noise - goin' in, either. Don't wake that child.” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't agoin' to wake 'im,” Henry answered, as he turned away. “I'm - sorry he's sick. Can I see him?” - </p> - <p> - “No, you can't! Go to bed an' let 'im alone.” - </p> - <p> - When his son had disappeared into the house Hoag stood for a moment - staring at the light which filtered through the green blinds of his wife's - room, and then, hearing the beating of hoofs on the road, he moved on to - the gate with an eager, tentative step. - </p> - <p> - “That's the doctor now,” he thought. “What the hell's he creepin' along - like a snail for when we've been waitin'—” But the horse had stopped - in the shadow of the barn, and Hoag saw the rider still in the saddle - leaning sideways and peering at him. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter, Doc?” Hoag called out. “Want me to hitch yo' hoss?” - </p> - <p> - “It hain't the doctor—it's me, Cap. Anybody in sight—road - clear?” - </p> - <p> - An oath of combined surprise and disappointment escaped Hoag's tense lips. - It was Trawley, and for the first time since he had parted with the man - that afternoon he recalled his appointment. He said nothing, but opened - the gate, passed out, and went along the fence to the horse and rider. - </p> - <p> - “I come by to report.” Trawley threw a leg over the rump of his steaming - horse and stood down on the ground. “Met Paul Rundel in town searchin' - high an' low for you, an' heard your baby was purty bad off, so when I met - the boys—eighty odd—an' we'd waited as long as we possibly - could, I explained to 'em and took command, an' we went on; we just had to—time - was powerful short, you know. We rode fast, goin' an' comin'.” - </p> - <p> - Trawley ceased speaking and looked at his chief in slow astonishment, for - Hoag was blankly staring at the ground. - </p> - <p> - “My God, Cap, the little chap hain't—dead, is he?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no, not yet—not yet,” Hoag muttered; “but he may be before - mornin'.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say! That's bad, powerful bad, for I know what a great pet he - is, an' a bright, knowin' child, too, if thar ever was one. Well, I reckon - you want to know what we done? We got thar in the neighborhood o' nine - o'clock, an' rid straight to the jail. The sheriff was thar hisself on - guard, an' at first he thought we was a gang bent on lynchin', an' shet - all doors an' talked about firin' on us; but I'd appointed Sim Cotes as - spokesman, an' we raised a white flag an' called the sheriff out. Then Sim - laid down the law in a speech as smooth as goose grease. As fast as the - sheriff would raise an objection Sim would knock it into a cocked hat, - till finally the feller didn't have a leg to stand on. Sim told 'im that - if he didn't act sensible five hundred men would be out in the mornin' - workin' for his defeat in the next election. He wiggled, an' argued, an' - mighty nigh prayed—they say he's a deacon or some'n or other; but he - had his price, an' he finally tumbled. He went in an' talked with the - jailer an' his wife. The woman was on our side; said she didn't want to - see the tramp strung up nohow. It was funny; we had 'im whar the wool was - short, as the sayin' is, an' so—” - </p> - <p> - Trawley stopped, for Hoag had turned abruptly and was looking past him to - the cross-roads at the corner of his property. - </p> - <p> - “That must be Doc Lynn now,” he said, excitedly. - </p> - <p> - “No, it ain't,” Trawley answered. “That is a drummer in a rig o' mine. He - went over to Tyler Station before daylight, an' was to git back to-night. - I know the hoss's trot. Say, Cap, we shore did act in hot blood last - night. We kin say what we like to the public, but we certainly sent one - innocent coon to judgment. That measly tramp was as guilty as ever a man - was.” - </p> - <p> - “You think so?” Hoag said, listlessly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; we led 'im down the road apiece after we left the jail. He hadn't - heard our dicker with the sheriff, an' made shore we was in for hangin' - 'im. He must o' had a streak o' good old-fashioned religion in 'im, for - all the way we heard 'im prayin' like rips. Even when we all got around - 'im to explain he drapped on his knees in the road and confessed to the - whole dern business. He didn't ax for mercy, either, but just begged for a - few minutes to pray. The boys was all feelin' purty good over the way - things was goin' an' was in for some fun, so nobody let on for a while, - an' Sim Cotes, in as solemn a voice as a judge, called out that we'd 'low - 'im three minutes, an' we all set down on the grass like Indians smokin' a - pipe o' peace, an' tuck it in like a show. It seemed he didn't really - intend to kill old Rose; he just wanted to stun 'im so he could get what - he had, but the old man put up a regular wild-cat fight, an' was yellin' - so loud for help, that he had to settle 'im to save his own skin.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you let 'im go,” Hoag prompted. “Hurry up, I don't want to stay here - all night.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; some o' the boys was in for givin' the poor devil a sound lashin'; - but he really looked like he wasn't strong enough to stand up under it, - an' we didn't dare disable 'im, so when we explained to 'im that he was - free if he'd get clean out o' the country an' hold his tongue, he was the - funniest lookin' sight you ever saw. By gum, he actually tried to kiss our - hands; he crawled about on his knees in the road, cryin' an' whimperin' - an' beggin' the Lord to bless us. It actually unstrung some o' the boys—looked - like they hardly knowed what to do or say. The tramp started off, lookin' - back over his shoulder like he was afraid somebody would shoot, an' when - he got to the top o' the rise he broke into a run an' he hit the grit like - a scared rabbit.” - </p> - <p> - Trawley laughed impulsively; but no sign of amusement escaped Hoag. His - eyes were fixed on a horse and buggy down the road. - </p> - <p> - “That must be the doctor,” he said. “You go on to town.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, all right, Cap,” was the reply. “I just thought I'd stop by - an' let you know how it come out. Good night.” - </p> - <p> - “Good night,” Hoag gloomily echoed, and he went back to the gate, where he - stood waiting for the doctor. - </p> - <p> - The physician was a man past middle age, full-bearded, iron-gray, and - stockily built. He got out of his buggy with the deliberation of his - profession. - </p> - <p> - “How is the child now?” he asked, as he hitched his horse to the fence. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know, Doc; you'd better hurry in an' look at 'im. You think he is - dangerous, don't you?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought so when I saw 'im; but I can't tell sure yet. Couldn't get here - a bit sooner—tried my best, but couldn't.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag opened the gate, and they both passed through. On the still air the - trotting of Trawley's horse fell faintly on their ears. As they neared the - house the light in the sick-room was turned up and Mrs. Tilton came to the - front door. - </p> - <p> - “Walk in, Doctor,” Hoag said, and he remained at the foot of the steps, - his bare head catching the silvery beams of the moon. Hoag heard his - mother-in-law speaking in a low, explanatory tone, as she led the doctor - along the dark hall. - </p> - <p> - What would the verdict be? Hoag asked himself. Other men had lost their - children, why should not he—he, of all men, take his turn at that - sort of fatality? He paced the grass in front of the house impatiently. He - shrank from seeing the child. There was something in the small, suffering - face which he felt would unman him. The minutes seemed to drag like hours. - There was a constant grinding and rumbling of feet on the floor within, - the mumbling of low voices. Hoag strained his ears for the sound of Jack's - voice, but it did not come. Perhaps—perhaps the little fellow was - sinking; children died that way, often without pain or struggle. Hoag for - one instant leaned toward the hereditary instinct of prayer, and then - shrugged his shoulders as he remembered that he had long since given all - that up. Belief in God and a future life belonged to a period far back in - his memory, when, as a smooth-faced youth, he had erroneously thought - himself converted at a revival in which the whole countryside had given - itself over to tears, rejoicings, and resolutions. No; if Jack was dying, - that was the end of the little life—marvelous as it was—it was - the end, the very end. Hoag sat down on the lowest step of the veranda, - gripped his big hands between his knees, and stared at the pale, pitiless - moon. - </p> - <p> - The sound of a closing door fell on his ears; a heavy step rang in the - hall. The doctor was coming out. Hoag stood up and faced him as he crossed - the veranda, his medicine-case in hand. How damnably placid seemed the - bearded face; how like that of an official executioner or an undertaker - bent on mere profit. - </p> - <p> - “Well, well?” Hoag gulped. “Well, how is it?” - </p> - <p> - “I had my scare for nothing.” The doctor bent his body to look around a - tree to see if his horse was where he had left it. “It isn't scarlet - fever. The child has eaten something that went against him. He had a - raging fever; but it's down now, and if you will look to his diet for a - day or two he'll be all right.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag said nothing; something like a blur fell before his eyes, and the - fence, trees, bam, and stables rose and fell like objects floating on a - turbulent cloud. “Good night,” he heard the doctor saying as from a - distance. “Goodnight”—it seemed an echo from within him, rather than - a product of his lips. The blur lifted; he steadied himself, and stood - watching the doctor as he unhitched his horse and got into the buggy. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0013" id="linklink2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>N this same night - certain things were happening at Ralph Rundel's cottage. The hour was - late. Paul, who was suddenly roused from the profound slumber of a tired - toiler, was sure of this, though he had no means of ascertaining the exact - time. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you dare hit 'er, Rafe Rundel, don't you—don't you, I say!” - was the cry which at first seemed to the boy to be a part of a confused - dream, and which resolved itself into distinct utterance as his eyes and - ears gradually opened. - </p> - <p> - “I wasn't tryin' to hit 'er, Mandy, an' you know it.” It was Ralph - Rundel's despondent and yet accusing voice which broke the pale stillness - of the night. “I just want 'er to tell me the plain, unvarnished truth, - an' she's got to! She cayn't be a wife o' mine an' carry on like that, an' - do it underhand. I want to know if they met by agreement. I was on the - hill an' saw Jeff waitin' at the creek ford. He had no business thar, an' - stood behind the bushes, an' kept peepin' at our house till she come out - an' went down to 'im. Then they walked to the spring an' set for a good - hour, Jeff bent toward 'er, an' she was a-listenin' close, an' a-lookin' - toward the house every minute like she was afeard somebody would come.” - </p> - <p> - It was Amanda Wilks who now spoke as the startled boy put his feet on the - floor and sat on the bed, grimly alert. - </p> - <p> - “Looks like Rafe is axin' a reasonable enough question, Addie,” she was - heard to say. “At least it seems so to me, an' I know I am tryin' to be - fair to both sides, so I am.” - </p> - <p> - “It <i>is</i> fair,” Ralph passionately supplemented, “an' if she is - honest an' wants to do right she will talk straight an' be as open as day. - As my wife the law gives me the right to—” - </p> - <p> - “Law? What's law amount to when a woman's plumb miserable?” Mrs. Rundel - said, in a low, rebellious tone, and Paul heard her bare feet thump on the - floor as she flounced about the room. “I hate you. I've hated you all - along. I can't remember when I didn't hate you. No livin' woman with any - refined feelin's could help it. I want liberty, that's all. I won't have - you prowlin' about in the woods and watchin' me like a hawk every time a - neighbor speaks decent to me. Lemme tell you some'n; you'd better never - let Jeff Warren know you make charges ag'in' me like you are a-doin'. He'd - thrash you 'in an inch o' your life, if you <i>are</i> married to me. I'll - not tell you why I happened to go down to the spring. That's <i>my</i> - business.” - </p> - <p> - Paul heard his father utter a low, despairing groan as he left the room - and stalked through the corridor and out at the front door. Going to the - window, the boy looked out just as Ralph turned the corner and paused in - the moonlight, his ghastly profile as clear-cut as if it had been carved - in stone. Paul saw him raise his stiff arms to the sky, and heard him - muttering unintelligible words. The window-sash was up, the sill low to - the ground, and dressed only in his night-shirt, the boy passed through - the opening and stood on the dewy grass. - </p> - <p> - There he paused a moment, for he heard his aunt speaking to her sister - admonishingly: “Rafe's jest got a man's natural pride an' jealousy. You - know folks in a out-o'-the-way settlement like this will talk, an'—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, let 'em talk! Let 'em talk! Let 'em talk!” the wife retorted, - fiercely. “I don't care what they say. I won't be a bound slave to Rafe - Rundel if I <i>did</i> marry 'im. I'm entitled to my natural likes and - dislikes the same now as I ever was. No woman alive could care for a man - hawkin' an' spittin' an' coughin' about the house, with water in his eyes—sneezin' - an' snifflin' an' groanin', as peevish as a spoilt child, an' wantin' to - know every single minute where I am and what I am doin'. I'm finished with - 'im, I tell you—I'm plumb finished with 'im, an' he knows it. Yes, - he knows it, an' that's why he was in sech a tantrum just now, pullin' my - bedclothes off, shakin' his fist like a crazy fool, an' stormin' around in - the dead o' night.” - </p> - <p> - The pacific voice of Amanda Wilks here broke in; but Paul did not wait to - hear what she was saying, for his father, with bowed and shaking form, was - tottering away in the moonlight toward the cow-lot. Ralph reached the rail - fence, and with an audible moan he bent his head upon it. Paul's feet fell - noiselessly on the dewy grass as he crept toward him. Reaching him he - touched him on the shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Father,” Paul said, softly, “what's the matter? Are you sick?” - </p> - <p> - Slowly Ralph Rundel raised his head and stared at his son, but he said - nothing. His tattered nightshirt was carelessly stuffed under the - waistband of his gaping trousers, which were supported by a single - suspender over his shoulder. The other suspender hung in a loop over his - hip. His grizzled head was bare, as were his attenuated feet. He continued - to stare, as if he had no memory of the speaker's face, his lip hanging - loose, quivering, and dripping with saliva. The damp, greenish pallor of - death itself was on him, and it gleamed like phosphorus in the rays of the - moon. A tremulous groan passed out from his low chest, and his head sank - to the fence again. - </p> - <p> - “Father, father, don't you know me? <i>Paul!</i> Don't you know me?” The - boy touched the gray head; he shook it persuasively, and it rocked like a - mechanical tiling perfectly poised. The man's knees bent, quivered, and - then straightened up again. - </p> - <p> - “Father, father, it's me—<i>Paul!</i>—your son! What's the - matter?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph turned his face slowly to one side. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's you!—my boy! my boy! I thought—” He looked about the - cow-lot vacantly, and then fixed his all but glazed eyes on his son's - face, and said: “You go back to bed, my boy; you can't do me no good—nobody - on earth can. I'm done for. I feel it all over me like the sweat o' - death.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, tell me”—Paul stood erect, his head thrown back, and his - young voice rang sharply on the still air—“do you believe that dirty - whelp—” There was an insane glare in Rundel's watery eyes, and his - head rocked back and forth again. - </p> - <p> - “He's after your ma, Paul.” Ralph emitted another groan. “He's took with - 'er purty face, an' has set in to make a plumb fool of 'er, and make 'er - hate me. He's the kind o' devil that won't pick and choose for hisself, - like an honest man, out in the open among free gals an' women, but thinks - that nothin' ain't as good as another man's holdin's. He thinks he is - sorry fer 'er because she's tied to a sick man; but it hain't that—it's - the devil in 'im!” - </p> - <p> - The boy laid his arm on his father's shoulders; his lips moved, but no - sound issued; his face was rigid and white. - </p> - <p> - “I ain't talkin' without grounds.” Ralph's faint voice trailed away on its - wave of agony. “Friends have come to me an' reported the doin's of the two - at singin'. He fetches her a bunch of flowers every day, an' they set an' - sing out o' the same book with the'r heads plumped together. He walks - mighty nigh all the way home with her through the woods, an' sneaks off as - soon as they git in sight o' the house. He makes all manner o' fun o' me—tellin' - folks, so I've been told, that I can't last long, an' that she never - knowed what rale healthy love was nohow.” - </p> - <p> - Paul's hand was now on his father's head, and he was gently stroking the - long, thick hair, though his eyes were blazing, his breast heaving, as - from an inner tempest. - </p> - <p> - Ralph turned and looked toward the house. The light was out now, and there - was no sound. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon she's gone back to sleep,” Ralph wailed, bitterly. “What does - she care how I feel? She could have no idea, you couldn't neither, Paul, - fur you are too young. But maybe some day you will know the awful, awful - sting o' havin' the world look on in scorn, while a big strappin' brute of - a daredevil an' the mother o' yore child—oh, my God! I can't stand - it—I jest <i>can't!</i> I'd die a million deaths rather than—it's - in the Rundel blood, I reckon, planted thar deep by generations an' - generations o' proud folks. I'm goin' to kill 'im, Paul. I don't know when - or how, exactly, but it's got to be done, if God will only give me the - strength. It won't be no sin; it couldn't be; it would be just wipin' out - one o' the slimy vipers o' life.” - </p> - <p> - “If you don't, I will, father. I swear it here an' now,” the boy solemnly - vowed, removing his hand from the cold brow and looking off in the - mystical light which lay over the fields. - </p> - <p> - “Huh, we won't <i>both</i> have to do it!” Ralph spoke as if half - dreaming, certainly not realizing his son's frame of mind. “It never would - be any satisfaction to have it said that it took two of us to fix 'im, - even if he <i>is</i> rated high on his fightin' record. No, that's <i>my</i> - job; you keep clean out of it!” - </p> - <p> - “Come to my bed, father.” Paul caught his arm and drew him gently from the - fence. “You are shakin' from head to foot; your teeth are chatterin', an' - you are cold through an' through.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph allowed himself to be led along; now and then he would stumble over - a tuft of grass, as if he had lost the power of lifting his feet. Once he - paused, threw his arms about his son's shoulder, and said, almost in - fright, as he bore down heavily: - </p> - <p> - “I feel odd, powerful odd. I feel cold clean through to my insides, like - my entrails was turnin' to rock. I can hardly git my breath. I don't seem - to—to send it clean down. It stops in my chest like, an' I am all of - a quiver, an' weak, an' dizzy-like. I can't see a yard ahead of me.” - </p> - <p> - “You'll feel better when you are in bed,” Paul said, soothingly, and he - led his father on to the quiet, house and into his room. He undressed him, - wiped the dew from his numb, bloodless feet on a towel, and made him lie - down. - </p> - <p> - “I feel drowsy,” Ralph sighed. “Everything is in a sort of dreamy jumble. - I hardly remember what me'n you was—was talkin' about. I'm weak. - I've been so bothered that I hain't eat much in several days.” - </p> - <p> - Presently Paul saw that he was asleep, and lay down beside the still form. - After a while he, too, fell into slumber, and the remainder of the night - crept along. - </p> - <p> - The first hint of dawn was announced by the crowing of cocks, the far and - near barking of dogs, the grunting of pigs, the chirping of early birds, - as they flew about in the dewy branches of the trees. Paul waked and went - to his window and looked out. The gray light of a new day lay like an aura - on the brow of the mountain. The recollection of what had taken place in - the night flashed upon him with startling freshness. He recalled Jeff - Warren's visage, his mother in her dainty dress, ribbons and flowers, and - his blood began to throb and boil. In a storm of hot pity he glanced - toward his father, who in the dark corner lay as still as the cracked - plastering, against which his grim profile was cast. Suddenly Paul had a - great fear; he held his breath to listen, and strained his eyes to pierce - the shadows. Was Ralph Rundel breathing? Did ever living man lie so still, - so silent? Paul went to the bed, drew down the sheet, and bent over the - face. Eyes and mouth open—Ralph was dead. Paul shook him gently and - called to him, but there was no response. The body was still slightly - warm, but fast growing stiff. - </p> - <p> - Quickly dressing, Paul went across the corridor and knocked on the door of - his aunt's room. - </p> - <p> - “What is it now? Oh, what do you want now?” Amanda called out, in drowsy - impatience. “You've kept me awake nearly all night with your fussin', an' - jest as I am gittin' my fust bit o' rest—” - </p> - <p> - “Aunt Manda, you'd better come—” Paul's voice faltered and broke. - “You'd better come see if you think—” - </p> - <p> - “What is it? Oh, what is it now?” He heard her feet strike the floor and - the loose planks creak as she groped her way to the door, which she - unlocked and drew open. “It ain't nigh day.” She cast inquiring eyes - toward the yard. “What's got into you wantin' breakfast earlier an' - earlier every mornin' you live?” - </p> - <p> - Paul swallowed a lump in his throat, mutely jerked his head toward his - room. “I think—I think father's dead,” he said, simply. - </p> - <p> - “Dead? Dead?” the woman gasped, incredulously. She stared blankly at her - nephew, and then, holding her unbuttoned nightgown at the neck, she strode - across the corridor into Paul's room. He followed to the threshold, and - dumbly watched her as she made a quick examination of the body. She drew - herself up, uttered a little scream, and came to him wringing her hands. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, God will punish us!” she said. “The Almighty will throw a blight on - this house! He's gone, an' his last words was a curse on your ma, an' on - me for spoilin' 'er. O God—God, have mercy! An' he went with revenge - in his heart an' hate in his soul. Oh, Rafe's gone—Rafe's gone!” - </p> - <p> - Amanda stood leaning against the wall moaning and ejaculating bits of - prayers. The door of Mrs. Rundel's room opened, and with her hair rolled - up in bits of paper she peered out. - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” she inquired, peevishly. “What's the matter? Gone? Did you - say he was gone? What if he <i>has</i> gone? He's been threatening to - leave all summer. He'll be back. You can count on that. He knows a good - thing when he sees it, and he'll lie around here till he dies of old age - or dries up an' is blown away.” - </p> - <p> - “No, he won't be back!” Paul strode to her and stood coldly staring at - her. “He's dead. He died of a broken heart, an' you done it—you an' - Jeff Warren between you.” - </p> - <p> - “Dead—dead, you say?” And, as if to make sure, Mrs. Rundel stalked - stiffly across the corridor to Ralph's body and bent over it. They saw her - raise one of the limp hands and pass her own over the pallid brow. Then, - without a word, she drew herself erect and came back to her son and - sister. Her face was white and rigid; the coming wrinkles in her cheeks - and about her mouth seemed deeper than ever before. She faced Paul, a - blended expression of fear and dogged defiance in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you ever <i>dare</i> to—to talk to me like you did just now,” - she said, fiercely. “I won't stand it. You are too young a boy to dictate - to me.” - </p> - <p> - “I may be that,” he snarled, “but I'll dictate to somebody else if I'm - hung for it. You hear me—if I'm <i>hung</i> for it!” - </p> - <p> - She shrank under this bitter onslaught. She seemed to waver a moment, then - she went into her room, lighted her candle, and began to dress. - </p> - <p> - Her sister followed and stood beside her. “Don't take on,” Amanda said. - “Don't go an' fancy it is yore fault. Paul is out o' his head with grief - an' don't know what he's sayin'. Rafe was a sick, dyin' man, anyway; his - mind was unhinged; that was plain by the way he suspicioned you. Now, I'll - git breakfast an' attend to everything; don't set in to cryin' an' make - yourself sick; what is done is done, an' can't be helped.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0014" id="linklink2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>IKE a human - machine obeying the laws of habit, Paul went about his usual morning - duties, feeding and currying the horses, taking slop to the pigs, driving - up the cow from the pasture, and chopping wood for the fire. Amanda came - to him at the woodpile, rolling the flakes of dough from her fingers. The - first direct rays of the sun were breaking over the brow of the hill. - </p> - <p> - “I'll have the coffee an' biscuits done right off,” she said, in a - motherly tone, which seemed to be borrowed from some past memory or the - long-worn habit of protecting her sister. “I'll call you purty soon. Paul, - you'll have to make the best of it. I've been expectin' it for a long - time. He's been gettin' peevish an' losin' flesh an' strength. Then, like - most folks in that fix, he let his fancy run rife, an' that hurried him - on. It's awful—awful havin' a dead person right here in the house; - but it comes to high an' low alike. I know you are cut to the quick, an' - inclined to fix the blame on somebody; but that will wear off an' you 'll - git reconciled. You'll miss 'im, I know—an' that sharp, for he - leaned on you as if you an' 'im had swapped places.” - </p> - <p> - Paul said nothing. He filled his arms with the wood and started into the - kitchen. Amanda saw his dull, bloodshot eyes above the heap as he turned. - </p> - <p> - She followed, and as he noiselessly lowered the wood to the stone hearth, - she stood over him. - </p> - <p> - “There is a thing that must be attended to,” she said. “I sort o' hate to - be left with just me an' Addie alone with him in thar like that; but - you'll have' to go to town an' order a coffin. Webb an' Wiggins keeps 'em - at the furniture-store, an' in hot weather like this they will want the - order early. You just pick out the sort you think we kin afford—they're - got all grades—an' they will trim it. If I was you I'd make them - send it. It would look more decent than for you to haul it out on the - wagon. We'll keep your poor pa till to-morrow; it won't look right to be - in too great a hurry; thar is sech a sight o' talk these days about bury - in' folks alive, here among the ignorant whites an' blacks.” When he had - finished his morning's work Paul came in and sat down at the table to the - coffee and eggs and hot cakes his aunt had prepared, but he ate without - his usual relish. He was just finishing when Abe Langston, a neighboring - farmer, a tall, thin man about forty years of age, with long, brown beard, - and without a coat, collar, or necktie, appeared, hat in hand, at the - door. - </p> - <p> - “We've just heard it over our way,” he said to Amanda. “I told my wife I'd - come over before I set in to cuttin' hay in the bottom. Powerful sudden - an' unexpected, wasn't it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he seemed to pass away in his sleep like.” Amanda was wiping her red - eyes on her apron. “It was a weak heart, no doubt, an' it is a comfort to - feel that he never suffered.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll go take a look at 'im,” Langston said, laying his hat on the - door-sill. “I sent my oldest gal over after John Tobines an' Andy Warner, - an' when they git here we three will lay 'im out. John's handy with a - razor—he used to work in a barber's shop—an' he'll shave the - pore fellow an' trim his hair. Some o' the young men an' women will want - to set up here to-night, an' give you an' Addie a chance to snatch a - little sleep.” - </p> - <p> - “That will be obligin' of 'em,” Amanda answered, still wiping her eyes. - “You kin tell 'em I'll fix a nice snack an' some coffee to sorter freshen - 'em up. How many do you reckon will come?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'd fix for four couples, anyway. Thar is a certain crowd that always - count on sech occasions—you know who they are as well as I do, I - reckon?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Polly Long an' her bunch.” Amanda followed the man across the - corridor into the room where the corpse lay, and as Paul was leaving he - heard her continuing, plaintively: “Death is just the awfulest, awfulest - thing we come across in this life, Brother Langston. We know so little—so - powerful little about it. One minute we see the sparkle of the soul in the - eye, hear a voice full of life; you catch a smile, or a knowin' look, an' - maybe the next minute just a empty shell lies before you. Rafe was a good, - patient man, an' he suffered a lot, fust an' last.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he make his <i>peace?</i>” Langston inquired. “That is the fust - thought I have when a body dies. Do you think he was all right? He didn't - go to meetin' often, an' I never happened to hear 'im say what his hopes - of reward was.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know—I really don't know,” Amanda returned, and Paul, - lingering in the kitchen doorway, heard her voice falter. “Brother - Langston, sometimes I was bothered purty sharp on that score. Him and Paul - both used to repeat some o' Jim Hoag's terrible sayin's like they thought - they was smart an' funny, an' neither one of 'em ever would read the - Bible, or seek spiritual advice, an' sech a thing as family prayer, or a - blessin' asked at the table was never heard in this house.” - </p> - <p> - “I know.” The masculine voice sounded louder now, as if its owner had come - back into the corridor. “That's why I was axin'. Folks cayn't take up - notions like Hoag has in a God-fearin' community like our'n an' flaunt 'em - about without causin' comment. My own opinion is that Jim Hoag is a devil - in the garb of a man. He's larnt Paul all the awful things the boy - believes, an' a man that will lead the young off like that ought to be - tarred an' feathered an' rid out o' the community on a sharp rail. If he - didn't have so much money he'd 'a' been called down long ago.” - </p> - <p> - Paul was in the stable-yard when Amanda came out to him. - </p> - <p> - “I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Your pa won't have to have new clothes; - his Sunday suit will do for weather like this when I've ironed out the - wrinkles; but you ought to buy 'im some black slippers, an' a pair o' - white store socks an' a plain black necktie—they keep all sech at - the furniture-store. You just tell 'em what's lackin' an' they will put - 'em in.” - </p> - <p> - She glanced at her nephew's face in surprise, for it was flushed, and his - eyes were flashing angrily. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter?” she asked, leaning on the fence and eying him in - growing wonder. - </p> - <p> - “I heard you an' Langston talkin' in thar, standin' right over 'im,” Paul - blurted out, “an' him cold an' dead an' unable to take up for hisse'f. - Make his peace nothin'! He died before he could settle the things he had - to settle. If thar <i>was</i> sech a fool thing as a heaven, how could he - enjoy it with Jeff Warren here gloatin' over him? But that will be - settled. You hear me—that will be settled, an' before many days, - too.” - </p> - <p> - “I know you are not goin' to act the fool, if you are just a hot-headed - boy,” Amanda said. “You are all wrought up now ag'in' your ma an' - everybody; but that will wear off. I know when my <i>own</i> father died I—” - </p> - <p> - But the boy refused to hear. He turned into a stall and began to put a - bridle on a horse, which he led out into the yard with only a blanket on - its back. There was uncurbed fury in the very spring he made from the - ground to his seat. His face was fire-red, and he thrust his heels against - the horse's flanks with such force that the animal gave a loud grunt as he - lurched toward the open gate. - </p> - <p> - “Wait, Paul, wait!” Amanda cried after him. “You've forgot some'n. I - wouldn't stop you, but you can't do without it.” - </p> - <p> - He drew rein and glared down on her. - </p> - <p> - “You haven't got the measure of—of the body. I never thought of it - just now when Brother Langston was here, an' he's gone to hurry up Tobines - an' Warner. I'd go an' do it myself, but it ain't exactly a woman's place. - I'll hold yo' hoss.” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her for a moment, the color dying down in his face. Then, - with obvious reluctance, he slid off the horse and went into the room - where the corpse lay covered with a sheet. He was looking about for a - piece of string with which to take the required measurement, when he - recalled that he and his father were exactly the same height, and, with a - sense of relief, he was turning from the room when an uncontrollable - impulse came over him to look upon the face beneath the covering. He - hesitated for a moment, then, going to the bed, he drew the sheet down and - gazed at the white, set countenance. A storm of pity and grief broke over - him. He had a mother's yearning to kiss the cold, pale brow, to fondle the - wasted form, to speak to the closed eyes, and compel the rigid lips to - utter some word of recognition. Glancing furtively toward the door, then - toward the window, and with his face close to the dead one, he said: - </p> - <p> - “Don't you bother about Jeff Warren, father. I'll attend to him. I'll do - it—I'll do it. He sha'n't gloat over you, an' you like this. He - sha'n't—he sha'n't!” - </p> - <p> - His voice clogged up, and he tenderly drew the sheet back over the still, - white face. Across the corridor he heard his mother moving about in her - room; but the door was closed, and he could not see her. Going out, he - took the bridle from Amanda's hands, threw it back on the neck of his - horse, clutched a collar-worn tuft of the animal's mane, and sprang - astride of its back. - </p> - <p> - “I won't have to bother about a new dress for yore ma,” Amanda remarked, - her slow eyes studying the boy's grief-pinched face. “We ain't got time to - get one ready, an' she kin put on my black alpaca an' borrow Mrs. Penham's - veil that she's about through with. I know she didn't wear it two Sundays - ago, an' I reckon her mournin's over. It's in purty good condition.” - </p> - <p> - Paul rode toward the village. In the first cotton-field on the left-hand - side of the way the two Harris brothers were cutting out weeds with hoes - that tinkled on the buried stones and flashed in the slanting rays of the - sun. They both paused, looked at him steadily and half defiantly, and - then, as if reminded of the gruesome thing which had come upon him in the - night, they looked down and resumed their work. - </p> - <p> - Further on was the farm-house belonging to Jeff Warren, and at the well in - the yard Paul descried Warren turning the windlass to water a mule which - stood with its head over a big tub. Paul saw the man looking at him, but - he glanced away. He swung his heels against the flanks of his horse and - rode on through a mist which hung before his sight. - </p> - <p> - Paul went straight to the furniture-store and gave his order, and was - leaving when Mrs. Tye came hastily across the street from her husband's - shop. There was a kindly light in her eyes, and her voice shook with timid - emotion. - </p> - <p> - “I saw you ride past jest now,” she began. “We heard the news a few - minutes ago, an' me an' Si was awfully sorry. He told me to run across an' - beg you to stop at the shop a minute. He wants to see you. I don't know - when I've seed 'im so upset. Thar, I see 'im motionin' to us now. Let's go - over.” - </p> - <p> - Paul mechanically complied, and as they turned she laid her hand gently on - his arm. - </p> - <p> - “Thar is nothin' a body kin say that will do a bit o' good at sech a sad - time,” she gulped. “I've got so I jest hold my tongue when sech a blow - falls. But I wish the Lord would show me some way to comfort you. It must - be awful, for I know how you doted on yore pore pa, an' how he worshiped - you. Maybe it will comfort you if I tell you what he said to me t'other - day. I reckon he was pulled down in sperits by ill health or some'n, for - he told me that if it hadn't been for you he'd 'a' killed hisse'f long - ago. Of course that was a wicked thought, but I reckon he hardly knowed - what he was sayin'. He jest couldn't git through talkin' about you, an' - the way you loved 'im an' looked after 'im at all times. That will be a - comfort, Paul—after a while it will all settle down an' seem right—his - death, I mean; then the recollection that you was so good to him will be a - sweet memory that will sustain an' strengthen you all through life.” - </p> - <p> - They had reached the open door of the shop, and Silas rose from his bench, - shaking the shavings of leather and broken wooden pegs from his apron. In - his left hand he held the coarse shoe he was repairing and the right he - gave to Paul. - </p> - <p> - “I hain't done nothin' but set here an' pray since I heard it,” he began, - sympathetically, his rough fingers clinging to Paul's. “In a case like - this God is the only resort. I sometimes think that one of the intentions - of death is to force folks to look to the Almighty an' cry out for help. - That seems to me to be proof enough to convince the stoutest unbelievers - of a higher power, for when a blow like this falls we jest simply beg for - mercy, an' we know down inside of us that no human aid can be had, an' - that help naturally ought to come from some'r's.” - </p> - <p> - Paul made no response. Mrs. Tye had placed a chair for him near her - husband's bench, and the boy sank into it, and sat staring dumbly at the - floor. - </p> - <p> - “I've got some hot coffee on the stove,” Mrs. Tye said, gently. “You'd - feel better, Paul, maybe, if you'd take a cup along with some o' my fresh - biscuits and butter.” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head, mumbled his thanks, and forgot what she had said. He - was contrasting Jeff Warren as he stood at the well in the full vigor of - health with a still, wasted form under a sheet in a silent, deserted room. - Mrs. Tye left the shop, and her husband continued his effort at - consolation. - </p> - <p> - “I know exactly how you feel, Paul, for I've been through it. I've served - my Heavenly Master as well as I know how ever since His redeemin' light - broke over me away back when I was young; but when He took my only child - He took all that seemed worth while in my life. Folks will tell you that - time will heal the wound; but I never waste words over that, for I know, - from experience, that when a body is bowed down like you are, that it - ain't the future you need as a salve, but somethin' right now. Thar is one - thing that will help, an' I wish I actually knowed you had it. Paul, - empty-minded men like Jim Hoag may sneer and poke fun, but jest as shore - as that light out thar in the street comes from the sun thar is a - spiritual flood from God hisse'f that pores into hearts that are not - wilfully closed ag'in' it. I don't want to brag, but I don't know how I - can make it plain without tellin' my own experience. My boy, I'm a pore - man; I make my livin' at the humblest work that man ever engaged in, an' - yet from momin' till night I'm happy—I'm plumb happy. As God is my - judge, I wouldn't swap places with any millionaire that ever walked the - earth, for I know his money an' gaudy holdin's would stand betwixt me an' - the glory I've got. If I had an idle hour to spare, do you know whar I'd - be? I'd be on the side o' that mountain, starin' out over the blue hills, - a-shoutin' an' a-singin' praises to God. Some folks say I'm crazy on - religion—let 'em—let 'em! History is chock full of accounts of - great men, learned in all the wisdom of earth—princes, rulers, - poets, who, like St. Paul an' our Lord, declared that all things which was - not of the sperit was vanity, dross, an' the very dregs an' scum of - existence. So you see, as I look at it—an' as maybe you don't just - yet—yore pa ain't like you think he is. You see 'im lyin' thar like - that, an' you cayn't look beyond the garment of flesh he has shucked off, - but I can. He's beat you 'n me both, Paul; his eyes are opened to a blaze - o' glory that would dazzle and blind our earthly sight. Death is jest a - ugly gate that we pass through from a cloudy, dark, stuffy place out into - the vast open air of Eternity. O Paul, Paul, I want you to try to get hold - of this thing, for you need it. This is a sharp crisis in yore life; - you've let some things harden you, an' if you don't watch out this great - stunnin' blow may drag you even deeper into the mire. I feel sech a big - interest in you that I jest can't hold in. I know I'm talkin' powerful - plain, an' uninvited, too, but I can't help it. Knowin' that you've been - about Jim Hoag a good deal, an' rememberin' little remarks you've dropped - now an' then, I'm afraid you hain't got as much faith in the goodness of - God as—” - </p> - <p> - “Goodness of God! Huh—poof!” Paul snorted, his stare on the ground. - </p> - <p> - “Paul, Paul, don't, don't say that!” Tye pleaded, his kindly eyes filling. - “I can't bear to hear it from a young boy like you. Youth is the time most - folks believe in all that's good; doubts sometimes come on later in life. - It sounds awful to hear you say sech rebellious things when you stand so - much in need of, the <i>only help in all the universe</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't believe there <i>is</i> any God,” Paul muttered, fiercely, “and - if I did I'd not believe he was a good one, when I know what's took place - an' what's goin' on. The wild beasts in the woods come from the same - source as me, an' they fight for what they get; bugs and worms and flying - things and crawling things live on one another. That's the only way for us - to do if we expect to live. The only difference in men and beasts is that - men can remember wrongs longer and know how to plan revenge, an' <i>git</i> - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my Lord!” The shoemaker lowered his head and seemed to be praying. - Presently he looked up, grasped his beard with his blackened fingers, and - pulled his lips apart. “I see, you are like most folks when they are under - a great, fresh grief. I've knowed some o' the best Christians to turn - square ag'in' the'r Maker at sech times—especially women who had - lost the'r young in some horrible way—but even they'd come around - finally to admit that God knowed best. Take my own case. Would I want my - boy back now? No, no, Paul; as great as the pride an' joy would be I know - he's in better hands than mine. It's hard on you now; but, sad as it is, - this may result in good—good that you can't begin to see in advance. - If we had the all-seein' eye we might pass judgment; but we are blind—blind - as moles. You can't see that yore pore pa is better off, but he is—he - is. I know he is—God knows he is.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0015" id="linklink2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T the end of the - main street, as he rode homeward, Paul saw Ethel Mayfield coming toward - him, her head down as if in deep thought. His first impulse was to turn - aside, to avoid meeting her, but he saw that such a thing would be - unpardonable. In spite of the weight that was on him, he felt the warm - blood of embarrassment rushing to his face as the distance shortened - between them. - </p> - <p> - There was a sweet, startled look of concern in her childish eyes as she - raised them to him. - </p> - <p> - “Stop a minute,” she said; and as he awkwardly drew rein she continued: - “I've just heard about your father. Two men were talking over there by a - fence on the side of the road and I listened. Oh, it is awful, awful! I am - so sorry for you, for they say you loved him so much, an' were always so - good to him.” - </p> - <p> - A strange sense of confused helplessness surged over Paul. As she looked - up at him so frankly he feared that she would read in his face the fact - that she had been in his mind almost constantly since their meeting that - day in the meadow. This disturbed him, and also the realization that - common politeness demanded some sort of reply in accord with the - refinement of her easy expression of sympathy. But that was beyond him. He - felt his blood beating into his eyes. She appeared like a spirit thing - poised upon an evanescent cloud; not for him save in fancy, not for any - boy outside of dreams. In sheer desperation, and under the intuition that - he ought not to sit on his horse while she stood, he dismounted. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, thank you.” He seemed to hear the words as if they were spoken - by other lips than his own, and again he had the exquisite sense of - nearness to her, which had so enthralled him before. A wondrous, - delectable force seemed to radiate from her and play upon his whole - enraptured being. - </p> - <p> - “I have never seen any one die,” she went on, “and they say you were there - alone with him. Oh, how very sad, and you—you are not much older - than I am. Sad things are coming to you very early. I wish I could say - something, or do something, Paul, but I don't really know how. I'm just a - girl. My mother seems to know what to say at such times, but I don't. - Grief like this simply overpowers me. I feel as if—as if I must cry, - I'm so sorry for you.” - </p> - <p> - He saw her pretty lips quivering, her glorious eyes filling, and he dug - the toe of his worn shoe into the sand of the road. He was becoming - conscious of the tattered appearance of his working-clothes, his - saddleless horse, his rough, perspiring hands and cuffless wrists. How odd - that she, who was so daintily dressed, so wholly detached from his sordid - life, could stand talking to him so kindly, so intimately! - </p> - <p> - “You are very good—very!” he stammered. “Better than anybody else. - If they were all like you it wouldn't seem so—so bad.” - </p> - <p> - “It may seem forward of me and bold,” Ethel returned, “for really we have - only been together once before, and yet (I don't know how <i>you</i> feel)—but - <i>I</i> feel, somehow, Paul, as if we were very old friends. I admire you - because you are brave and strong. You are not like—like the boys in - Atlanta. You are different (uncle says you are not afraid of anything on - earth). You know a girl could not keep from wanting <i>that</i> sort of a - friend. I don't mean that I'd want to see you hurt ever—ever; but it - is nice for a girl to feel that she has a friend who would take any risk - for her. My mother says I get a lot of notions that are not good for me - out of novels. Well, I don't know how that is, but I like you, and I am - very, very sad about your father. If I had not met you here I would have - written you a note. Can you tell me when—when he is to be buried?” - </p> - <p> - He told her that the funeral would be at the village church the next day, - and therewith his voice broke, and for the first time his heart heaved and - his eyes filled. - </p> - <p> - “I wanted to know because I am going to send some flowers,” she said; and - then, observing the signs of his emotion and his averted face, she - suddenly and impulsively caught his hand and pressed it between both of - her own. “Don't, don't cry!” she pleaded. “I couldn't stand to see it!” - Her own lashes were wet and her sweet mouth was drawn tight. “Oh, I wish - there was something I could do or say, but I can't think of a thing. Yes, - there is one thing, and it must help, because the Bible and the wisest men - say it will at such times. I have been praying for you, and I am going to - keep on doing it. Paul, from what you said the other day, I suppose you—have - never been converted?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head, swallowed, but kept his face turned away, conscious - that it was distorted by contending emotions. - </p> - <p> - “I have been,” she said, still pressing his hand, “and, O Paul, it was - glorious! It happened at a camp-meeting where mother took me and my - cousin, Jennie Buford, in the country below Atlanta, last summer. It was - all so wonderful—the singing, shouting, and praying. I was so happy - that I felt like flying. Since then I have felt so good and secure and - contented. The Bible is full of meaning to me now. I love to read it when - I am alone in my room. It is beautiful when you begin to understand it, - and know that it is actually the Word of our Creator. I am sure I shall - lead a Christian life, as my mother is doing. It has made Jennie happy, - too. We are like two twins, you know. We have been together nearly every - day since we were babies. There is only a fence between our houses in - Atlanta, and she sleeps with me or I with her every night. She was sick - last winter, and they thought she was going to die. She thought so, too; - she told me so, but would not tell her mother because she would be so - broken-hearted. I prayed for Jennie all that night—all night. I - hardly stopped a minute.” - </p> - <p> - “And she didn't die?” Paul looked at her with a glance of mild incredulity - in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “No; the doctor said she was better and she got well. It would have killed - me if she had been taken, I love her so much. We are so much alike that I - often read her thoughts and she reads mine. Many and many a time we have - told each other exactly what we were thinking about.” - </p> - <p> - “Thought transference,” he said. “I've read about that. It may be true.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel now released his hand and flushed slightly. “Excuse me,” she - faltered, her lashes touching her cheeks. “I hardly knew what I was - doing.” - </p> - <p> - It was his turn to color now, and they stood awkwardly facing each other. - She, however, recovered herself quickly. - </p> - <p> - “I am going to pray for you more and more now,” she went on, soothingly. - “It will surely help you. I know that God answers prayers when they are - made in the right spirit. He must help you bear this sorrow, and He will—He - will.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, thank you,” Paul muttered, his wavering eyes on the road - leading between zigzag rail fences on to his home. “I must be going now. - I've got a good many things to attend to.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I know—I know,” Ethel responded, gravely. - </p> - <p> - A wagon was approaching from the direction of the village. It was drawn by - two sturdy mules, which thrust their hoofs into the dust of the road so - deeply that a constant cloud of the fine particles hovered over the - vehicle. A negro man wearing a tattered straw hat, soiled shirt and - trousers, and without shoes, was driving. Ethel caught Paul's hand - impulsively, and drew him and his horse to the side of the road. - </p> - <p> - “Wait till they pass,” she said. “Oh, what nasty dust!” - </p> - <p> - She saw him staring at the wagon, a rigid look on his face. “It's the - coffin,” he explained. “It is going out home.” - </p> - <p> - The wagon rumbled on. There was an unpainted wooden box behind the negro's - seat, and on it rested a plain walnut coffin, thickly coated with dust. - The sun had warmed the new varnish, and there was an odor of it in the - air. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is so sad!” Paul caught the words from the averted lips of his - companion. “I wish I could do something, or say something, but I can't.” - </p> - <p> - Again his despair fell upon him. As he mounted his horse it seemed to him - that he was a moving thing that was dead in all its parts. He couldn't - remember that he had ever tipped his hat to any one in his life, and yet - he did so now gracefully enough. He felt that he ought to reply to the - words she had so feelingly uttered, but the muscles of his throat had - tightened. A great sob was welling up within him and threatening to burst. - He started his horse, and with his back to her, his head bent toward the - animal's neck, he slowly rode away. - </p> - <p> - “Poor boy!” Ethel said, as the mules, the wagon, the coffin, and Paul - floated and vanished in the mist before her eyes. She turned and moved on - toward the village, her head lowered, softly crying and earnestly praying. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0016" id="linklink2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>CCORDING to rural - custom the young men and young women of the neighborhood came that evening - to keep watch over Ralph Rundel's body. In an open coffin resting on two - chairs, it occupied the center of the room in which he died. - </p> - <p> - Amanda had been busy all day cooking dainties—pies, cakes, custards, - and making cider from apples gathered in the orchard. She had swept and - dusted the house throughout, put the candles into their places, cleaned - and filled the lamps, and altered her black dress to fit the slender form - of her sister, who had been in her room all day, refusing to show herself - to the constant stream of curious, inquiring visitors—men, women, - and children who sat about the front and rear doors, leaned on the fences - of the yard and cow-lot, and even invaded the kitchen. - </p> - <p> - As for Paul, no one seemed to notice him, and of sympathy for him little - was expressed. Mute and dejected he moved about, attending to his father's - former duties as well as his own. - </p> - <p> - The night fell. The stars came out. There was a low hum of good cheer and - merriment from the assembled company inside. To escape it, Paul slipped - behind the house and threw himself down on the grass sward beneath the - apple-trees. His awful sorrow, weird and gruesome, for which there was no - outlet, gave him actual physical pain. - </p> - <p> - There was singing within the house. The young persons were practising - hymns for the funeral service the next day. Mistakes were made, and there - was merry, spontaneous laughter, which grated on the boy's ears. He buried - his face in the cool, fragrant grass, and thus subdued the rising sob of - which he was ashamed. In his mind's eye he saw the exquisite face of Ethel - Mayfield, but even it held scant comfort, for how could such as she belong - to such deplorable surroundings? The tones of her gentle voice, as she - promised to pray for him, seemed a part of some vague dream from which - sordid fact had roused him. - </p> - <p> - “Prayers?” he sneered. “What puny mortal could pray this away, or undo the - damnable thing even by the weight of a hair? There isn't any God to pray - to—there isn't anything but pain, torment, and death.” There was a - tentative step on the grass. Amanda was groping her way around the well. - He saw her peering here and there in the shadows under the trees. “Oh!” - she exclaimed, on seeing him, as he suddenly sat up and turned his face - toward her. “You gave me a scare. At sech a time a body is apt to think - they see ghosts, whether they do or not. I've been lookin' high an' low - for you, an' axin' the company whar you was at. You hain't had no supper, - have you?” - </p> - <p> - He answered briefly in the negative. - </p> - <p> - “Well, come on in the kitchen,” she pursued. “I've kept some 'taters and - pork-chops hot, an' thar's plenty o' cold buttermilk.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want anything,” he said, impatiently, and even roughly. “I - couldn't swallow a bite to save my life—not to save my life, I - couldn't!” - </p> - <p> - Her hands on her hips, Amanda stared down at him. “This ain't a-goin' to - do, Paul,” she gently protested. “This ain't no time for you to pout an' - be cranky. You are our only man now. Yore ma's shet up in her room with a - mad cryin' spell every half-hour, an' I have to lay down my work an' run, - pacify, an' pet 'er. She's got all sorts o' finicky notions in 'er head - that folks are a-talkin' about her an' a certain party. She heard 'em - a-laughin' in thar jest now, an' actually started in to give 'em a piece - o' 'er mind. I got to 'er in time—thank the Lord! She's now in bed - cryin' like 'er heart is broke.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh, I see, I see!” Paul sniffed. “An' well she may be afraid o' talk, - an' <i>you</i> too, for bringing her up as you have. Folks say she's jest - a doll, and she is—she is, and a fool flimsy one at that!” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't a-goin' to listen to you, boy,” Amanda broke in, firmly. “You are - too young an' inexperienced to talk that way about the woman that fetched - you into the world an' gave you what life you got. If your ma was petted - an' sp'ilt, that was <i>my</i> fault, not her'n, an' bein' sp'ilt only - makes sech things as this go harder with 'er. If her an' yore pa wasn't - the most lovin' match that could be imagined, that wasn't her fault, nor - his'n either. God made 'em both, an' for all I know He may have fetched - 'em together, an' in makin' a mess o' that He didn't act no wuss than in - lettin' some other folks—folks that I know about—live a - lifetime without <i>any</i> sort o' try at the game. Now, jest shet up, - an' he'p me tote this sad thing through. I got to go set the table for - them folks, an' then I'll slide into bed. Whar do you intend to sleep? - That's what I wanted to see you about. That crowd has got yore room. I can - lay you a pallet down on the floor in the kitchen. It would be sort o' - hard, but—” - </p> - <p> - “I'm going to stay outside,” he told her. “I'm going down to the haystack. - The house is too hot, anyway; I couldn't go to sleep in there with all - that ding-dong and racket.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm goin' in,” answered Amanda, who was really not listening to his - observations. “It won't hurt you to sleep out once on such a warm night, - anyway, an' they <i>are</i> making' a lot o' noise. They don't get many - such chances through the year. It is the fust time I've fixed for young - folks in a long time. Thar's one pair in thar”—Amanda tittered—“that - will set up housekeepin' inside o' six months. Mark my predictions. I - ketched 'em a-huggin' on the front steps as I come out.” - </p> - <p> - When his aunt left him Paul threw himself back on the grass and gazed up - at the sky and the far-off blinking stars. How unreal seemed the dead face - and stark form of his father as he had last looked upon it! Could it be - actually all that was left of the gentle, kindly and patient parent who - had always been so dear? Whence had flown the soft, halting voice, the - flash of the eye, the only caressing touch Paul had ever known? That—that - thing in there boxed and ready for burial was all there ever was, or ever - could be again, of a wonderfully appealing personality, and to-morrow even - that would sink out of sight forever and forever. - </p> - <p> - There was an audible footfall at the fence near the farther side of the - cottage. Paul sat up and stared through the semi-darkness. It was a tall, - slender figure of a man in a broad-brimmed hat. He was cautiously moving - along the fence, as if trying to look into the room where the corpse lay. - Suddenly a stream of light from within fell on his face. It was Jeff - Warren. Paul sprang to his feet and stood panting, his muscles drawn. - </p> - <p> - “Don't, don't!” a voice within him seemed to caution him. “Not now—not - now! Be ashamed!” At this juncture some one called out in a low, subdued - tone: - </p> - <p> - “Is that you, Jeff?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Andy. Kin I come in thar with you all?” - </p> - <p> - “I dunno; wait a minute, Jeff.” Andrew Warner emerged from the shadow of - the house and advanced to the fence. “I railly don't believe I would, - Jeff, if I was you. We've got a-plenty, an' they all intend to spend the - night.” - </p> - <p> - “I see, I see. Well, I didn't know how you was fixed, an' I heard you all - a-singin' clean across the bottom. Say, Andy, Mrs. Rundel ain't in thar - with you, is she?” - </p> - <p> - “No, we hain't any of us seed 'er; she's been shet up tight all day.” - </p> - <p> - There was a noticeable pause. Paul crept closer and stood behind a trunk - of an apple-tree, the branches of which, laden with unripe fruit, almost - touched the ground. He could still see the two men, and their voices were - quite audible. - </p> - <p> - “I see, I see.” Jeff Warren was speaking now. “Have you heard anybody say—do - you happen to know, Andy, how she is—takin' it?” - </p> - <p> - “Purty hard, purty hard, it looks like, Jeff. We've heard 'er cryin' an' - takin' on several times; she seems powerful upset.” - </p> - <p> - “I see, I see,” Warren repeated, and Paul saw him lean toward his - companion. “Say, Andy, I want you to do me a favor, if you will. I want - you to git Mrs. Rundel to come out here a minute—jest a minute. You - needn't let on to anybody else. The little woman must be awful troubled, - an' me an' her are powerful good friends. I reckon if you told 'er I was - out here, maybe she—” - </p> - <p> - Paul saw the other man turn his head and stand, staring irresolutely at - the house. “I can't do that, Jeff,” he was heard to say presently. “That - may be all right from the way you look at it, but I don't want no hand in - such. If I was you, I'd wait—that's all, I'd wait. Out of respect - for what folks would say or think, I'd put it off. Seems to me like she'd - want that 'erse'f—in fact, I'm shore any sensible woman would.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, Andy, all right!” Warren answered, awkwardly, as his hand - tugged at his mustache. “I was jest sorter bothered, that's all. I'll take - yore advice. I know you are a friend an' mean well. I'll go home an' git - to bed. As you say, I kin afford to wait. What surprises me is to hear you - say she's takin' on. I reckon she's sorter upset by havin' a death in the - house. Rafe was at the end o' his string, anyway; you know that as well as - I do.” - </p> - <p> - “If the poor fellow had lived he would have called you to taw,” was the - significant and yet not unfriendly reply. “The devil's light was in his - eye, Jeff. Rafe Rundel was talkin' a lot an' growin' wuss an' wuss.” - </p> - <p> - “I knowed all that, too,” Warren was heard to say. “His wife kept me - posted. Well, well, so long, Andy! I'll git to bed.” - </p> - <p> - “Not now, not now!” Paul's inner voice cautioned, as with actual lips, and - invisible hands seemed to detain him. “Wait, wait; there is plenty of - time!” He leaned against the tree and saw Warren's form disappear in the - starlight. The man's confident whistle came back on the hot, still air as - he strode along the road, becoming more and more indistinct in the misty - distance. - </p> - <p> - Paul went down to the hay-field, looking here and there for a bed to lie - upon. Presently he found a heap of freshly cut, succulent clover, full of - the crushed perfume of the white and pink blossoms, and damp and cool with - the dew. Upon this lair he sank, his tense young face upturned to the - stars. How he loathed the silly woman who had borne him! How he detested - the happy-go-lucky man who had caught her fancy! How he yearned for the - living presence of the dead! His throat felt tight. Unshed tears seemed to - trickle down within him. There was a dull aching about his heart. Again, - as in a dream, the gentle face of Ethel Mayfield came before him. Her - voice was as sweet and soothing as transcendent music. The lovely child - had said she was going to pray for him. Perhaps even now she was doing so; - and she had declared that prayers were answered. The belief was silly. It - was like an inexperienced little city girl to entertain such thoughts, yet - what she had said and the way she had said it were strangely comforting. A - fiercely fought sob broke within him. Tears swept down his cheeks and - trickled into the clover. The pain within him lessened. He became drowsy. - The vision of the child with her beautiful hair and eyes became an airy, - floating thing; the heavens were full of sweet musical laughter. Ethel - seemed to be taken up into a sunlit cloud, and for a moment was hidden - from view. Then he saw her returning. She was not alone. Holding her hand - was Ralph Rundel—Ralph Rundel transfigured, spirit-like, and yet - himself. He was full of the glow of youth. There were no lines, no shadows - in his face. His body was erect; he was smiling at his son in a - fathomless, eternal way. - </p> - <p> - “If they tell you I'm dead, don't you believe a word of it,” he said. “For - I ain't—I ain't!” - </p> - <p> - Paul awoke with a start. The moon was rising; the whole landscape was - flooded with the pale light of a reflected day. Subdued laughter and the - drone of voices came from the window of the room where the body lay. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0017" id="linklink2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>ARLY in the - morning following the funeral Hoag sent Cato with a message to Paul. There - was some work to be done, and the boy was to come at once and see about - it. Mrs. Rundel, in her black dress, was near and heard the negro - speaking, but she turned indifferently into her room and closed the door. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'd go,” Amanda advised her nephew. “Mopin' around home like this - won't do any good. At sech a time a body ought to keep the hands an' feet - an' even the brain busy. I'd go stark crazy if I'd allow myself to set an' - brood. It seems to me that I see yore pore pa's white face everywhar I - turn, an' when I ain't seein' that I seem to hear his voice talkin' like - nothin' out o' the way had happened. I even git a whiff o' his tobacco now - an' then. Do you know, I think maybe death is made horrible like this to - warn each of us of what is ahead. Me'n you, as little as we count on it, - have got to be put away exactly like Rafe was, an' we may not have any - more notice than he had, neither. Some o' the sanctified folks doubt whar - he's gone, but I don't—much. Somehow I can't believe that he's gone - to a bad place, because he had sech a hard time of it here for sech a - long, long time. His pride was cut to the quick, an' he had a lot more o' - that than most folks knowed about. Of course, you can't remember his young - sparkin' days like I do. He used to dress as fine as a fiddle an' held his - head powerful high; but time, an' poverty, an' trouble, an' one thing or - other, kept pullin' it down an' down, till it struck the pillow he died - on. Well, well, he's gone, an' we 'll miss 'im. I shall, I know, for I - already do, an' they say the worst time ain't always right after the - buryin'. Thar's always a stir and excitement over puttin' a person away - that keeps you from lookin' the thing square in the face.” - </p> - <p> - Fires of anger and resentment were smoldering in the boy's breast, but he - said nothing, and turned down the road to Hoag's. He found the planter - moving about in the bark-strewn tan-yard between the vats, the black - contents of which were on a level with the ground. He was giving blunt - orders to three or four negroes who were piling up and sorting out a great - heap of green hides. The day was dry and hot, and a disagreeable odor of - decaying flesh was on the still air. He noticed Paul, and carelessly - nodded, but for a moment was too busy to speak to him. He held a note-book - in his hand, in which he had found some mistakes of record and - calculations. They were his own errors, but he was no less angry for that. - Finally he approached Paul, and as he moved was actively scratching, - erasing, stabbing the paper with his pencil, and muttering oaths. - </p> - <p> - “How the hell can I do head-work,” he growled, giving the boy a blazing - glance, “an' have to watch these black devils like a hawk all the time? - The minute my back is turned they set down an' sulk an' shirk. They need a - thousand lashes on their bare backs. That's the only thing they - understand. Look how that whelp, Sambo, is skulkin'. I hit 'im with a - piece o' plank just now, an' he thinks he's threatening me. Huh! I know - 'em from the ground up. Did Cato tell you I wanted to see you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, an' I come right over,” Paul stolidly replied. - </p> - <p> - Hoag closed his note-book, keeping the pencil between the leaves, and - thrust it into his pocket. “I saw you comin' back from the graveyard - yesterday, an' I decided I'd try to find regular work for you. I kin - always depend on you gittin' a job done, an' that's sayin' a lot. You - hain't got a lazy bone in your body, if I do say it, an' it will be the - makin' of you in the long run. Now, my mill-race has washed in till the - flow is gittin' sluggish an' thin. The bottom of it, for fully a quarter - of a mile, has got to be shoveled out an' lowered to an even grade. It - will take you a month at least, but it will be regular work. The dam's all - right, so we don't have to bother with that. I want you to come over every - day after breakfast, an' then go to my house for yore dinner. It will save - you the walk home, an' you kin git in more time. How would you like the - job at the old wages?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm willin',” Paul answered, listlessly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, pick you out a spade in the tool-house right now, an' go to the dam - an' begin to work toward the mill. The mill's shut down, an' the race - bed's just wet enough to make the shovelin' soft. Some o' the banks are - purty steep an' you 'll have to throw purty high, but you are equal to - it.” - </p> - <p> - Paul went at once to the mill-dam. The work was really arduous, but the - spot was shaded by thickly foliaged trees, and the shallow water, in which - he stood in his bare feet, cooled his blood. Bending under his heavy - implement filled with the heavier mud he worked like a machine, the sweat - streaming from him, and constantly conscious of that strange, aching - vacancy in his heart which nothing could fill. - </p> - <p> - At noon he put down his spade and went to Hoag's, as he had often done - before, for his lunch. No one else was in the dining-room, and Mrs. Tilton - brought him his dinner, putting it before him in a gentle, motherly way. - </p> - <p> - “I told Aunt Dilly to let me wait on you,” she said, a note of sympathy - creeping into her voice. “I was sorry I couldn't get out to the funeral - yesterday. I've got Jackie to watch now, an' he's just gettin' on his - feet, after his spell. His mother ain't a bit well, either; she ain't - touched hardly a bite since he was so bad off. I think she ought to go to - Atlanta to consult a special doctor, but Jim won't hear to it. He says, - when a body gits too sick for home treatment their natural time's come, - anyway, an' the money would be throwed away. I wish I could tell you how - sorry I am about your pa. I know how much you both thought of each other. - La, he used to come here while you was choppin' wood on the mountain, an' - set in the kitchen door an' talk an' talk with tears in his old eyes about - how sorry he was not to be stronger, so you wouldn't have to work so hard. - He said you was the best boy that ever lived. Now, I'm just goin' to shet - up,” Mrs. Tilton said, regretfully. “I see you are about to cry.” She went - to the window quickly and looked out into the yard. “I see Jackie makin' - his mud-pies. Oh,” she turned to Paul, “thar's something I wanted to say. - You left your gun here t'other day. It's loaded, an' I don't like to see - it around. Jackie might git hold of it. I wish you would take it home.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll take it to work with me now,” Paul promised, “and take it home from - there.” - </p> - <p> - Paul toiled diligently that afternoon till the sun was down. He had just - come out of the water, put on his shoes, and with his gun under his arm - was starting home, when Hoag appeared on the embankment of the race and - surveyed the work which had been done. - </p> - <p> - “Good, good; prime, prime!” he said, approvingly. “You've done as much as - a couple of buck niggers would have done in twice the time. Keep up that - lick an' you 'll reach the sluice earlier than I counted on. I won't split - hairs with you on the pay for this job. If it goes through at this rate - I'll tack on something extra.” - </p> - <p> - Paul said nothing. He tried to feel grateful for the praise he had - received, but he was too tired in body and mind to care for anything. - Throughout the long day he had constantly deliberated over the thought - that it would now be impossible for him to continue the life he was - leading. With the death of his father his heart and soul seemed to have - died. - </p> - <p> - Hoag joined him as he walked homeward, the gun under his arm. - </p> - <p> - “I could see the graveyard from the hill yesterday,” he remarked, “an' I - picked you out in the bunch. You looked powerfully lonely, an' the thought - struck me that you was about the only real mourner. Women don't grieve for - any but their own babies, an' them two from your house would have acted - about the same at any other funeral. I was sorry for your daddy, Paul. He - never made much headway in the world, but he deserved a better shake o' - the dice. In his last days he toted an awful load. He used to talk purty - free to me—just like a child would at times. He talked purty plain - to <i>me</i>, I reckon, because he knowed I hain't a speck o' use for the - damn snake-in-the-grass that was takin' sech a low, underhanded advantage - of him behind his back. You needn't repeat this; I'm tellin' it just to - you in private. If—you see, Paul—if it ever does come to words - betwixt me an' Jeff Warren, I'll have to shoot 'im as I would a dog, an' a - thing like that is troublesome, especially when I look on 'im as mud under - my feet. I'd hate to have to stand trial for killin' a puppy, an' the law - would demand <i>some</i> form-o' settlement.. Your pa would have killed - 'im if he lived. I was lookin' for it every day; he was lyin' low for his - chance. Preachers, slobberin' revivalists, an' fools like old Tye will - talk to you about turnin' the other cheek; but the great, all-important - first law of life is to fight for what you git, hold on to it when you git - it, an' mash hell out of everything that tries to run over you. That's - been my rule, an' it works like a charm. If I'd been your daddy I'd have - shot that dirty whelp two months ago.” - </p> - <p> - They had reached the point <i>where</i> their ways parted. The gray - twilight was thickening. Hoag's big white house gleamed through the trees - surrounding it. There were lights in the kitchen and diningroom. All - Nature seemed preparing for sleep. The tinkling of sheep and cow bells - came drowsily to the ear; the church-bell, a creaking, cast-iron affair, - was ringing for the singing-class to meet. - </p> - <p> - “Well, so long,” Hoag finished, with a wave of his fat hand in the dusk. - “Set in bright an' early in the momin' an' let's see how many yards you'll - wipe out before sundown.” - </p> - <p> - Paul walked on, so weary now that the gun he was carrying almost slipped - from his inert arm. Presently his own home came into view, beyond the - field of corn. Ralph Rundel had planted and hoed so feebly. Paul's heart - sank into the very ooze of despair. How incongruous was the thought that - his father would not be at the gate to meet him, as had been his habit for - so many years! The boy stopped in a corner of the rail fence at the - roadside and leaned on his gun. An indescribable pain, which was at once - physical and mental, had his whole young being in a crushing grasp. The - kitchen door was open, and the red logs of an open fire shone out on the - sward about the house. Tree-frogs were snarling, fireflies were flashing - here and there over the dewy meadows like tiny, short-lived meteors. Paul - heaved a sigh, stifled a groan, bit his lip, and trudged on. - </p> - <p> - As he got nearer to the house, he suddenly became aware of the fact that - two figures, that of a man and a woman, were standing at the bars of the - barnyard. He recognized the white-clad form on the inside as his mother's. - The tall, slender man with the broad hat and square shoulders was Jeff - Warren—that would have been plain even if his voice in some - indistinct utterance had not been heard. The blood of fury, goaded to the - point of insanity, raged within the youth. He felt its close, hot pressure - above his eyes, and a red veil fell before his sight. Hoag's recent words - rang in his ears. Revenge, revenge! Yes, that was the only thing worth - having. Paul bent lower. His gun trailed the ground like the gun of a - pioneer hunter. He crept silently forward, keeping the fence between him - and the pair, till he was close enough to overhear the colloquy. It was - Jeff Warren's voice and his suave, daredevil tone. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I know the boy hates me. I've seed it in the little scamp's face many - a time. Rafe must 'a' put 'im up to it when his mind was so flighty; but - we'll straighten him out between us when we git things runnin' smooth. - He'll think I'm a rip-snortin' stepdaddy when <i>I</i> git through with - 'im.” - </p> - <p> - The hot pressure on Paul's brain increased. Pausing in a corner of the - fence, he grasped his gun in both hands and cocked it with tense, - determined fingers. His father's dead face rose before him. It seemed to - smile approvingly. Hoag's words came to him like the advice of an oracle. - He strained his ears to hear what his mother was saying, but her low - utterance failed to reach him. Jeff Warren was turning away, his broad hat - gallantly swung toward the ground. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'll see you ag'in 'fore long,” he said merrily. “I know how you - feel, but all that will soon wear off. We kin wait a decent time, but I'm - in the race, I tell you. I'll talk all them notions out o' your purty - head.” - </p> - <p> - Paul saw his mother vanish in the dusk, and, merrily intoning the tune of - a hymn, Warren came on toward Paul. On he Strode, still swinging his hat. - Paul heard him softly chuckling. - </p> - <p> - “Halt, you dirty coward!” Paul cried, as he stepped in front of him, the - gun leveled at the broad chest. - </p> - <p> - “What—what? Good God!” Warren gasped. “Put down that gun, you young - fool! Drop it, I say, or I'll—” - </p> - <p> - Warren was about to spring forward as the only means of self-protection, - but before he could do so there was a flash, a ringing report, a puff of - smoke, and with a groan Warren bent forward, his hands on his breast. He - swayed back and forth, groaning. He reeled, tottered sideways, made a - strenuous effort to keep erect, then fell forward, gasping audibly, and - lay still. - </p> - <p> - Paul lowered his gun, and for a moment stood looking at the fallen man. - His blood was wildly beating in his heart and brain. There was a barking - of dogs far and near. Glancing toward the house, he noticed the forms of - his mother and aunt framed by the kitchen doorway, the firelight behind - them. - </p> - <p> - “It may be somebody shootin' bats”—Amanda's voice held a distinct - note of alarm—“but I was shore I heard somebody speak sharp-like - just before the shot was fired. Let's run down thar an' look.” - </p> - <p> - They dropped out of sight. Paul heard the patter of their feet, knew they - were coming, and, for no reason which he could fathom, he retreated in the - direction from which he had come. As if in a flash he caught and held the - idea that, having done his duty, he would turn himself over to an officer - of the law, as he had read of men doing in similar circumstances. - </p> - <p> - He had gone only a few hundred yards when he heard the two women screaming - loudly; and why he did so he could not have explained, but he quickened - his gait into a slow, bewildered sort of trot, the gun still in his hands. - Perhaps it was due to the thought that he wanted voluntarily to give - himself up before any one should accuse him of trying to flee. He was - nearing Hoag's barn, and thinking of making a short cut to the village - across the fields, when a man suddenly burst from the thicket at the side - of the road and faced him. It was Hoag himself. - </p> - <p> - “Hold thar!” he cried, staring through the dusk at Paul. “What's all that - screamin' mean? I heard a gun go off, an' rememberin' that you—say, - did you—Good God! What you comin' back this way for?” - </p> - <p> - “I've killed Jeff Warren,” Paul answered, calmly. “I'm goin' to Grayson to - give myself up.” - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord, you don't say—why, why—” Hoag's voice trailed away - into silence, silence broken only by the voices of the two women in the - distance calling for help. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I shot 'im—you know why; you yourself said—” - </p> - <p> - Hoag suddenly laid a trembling hand on Paul's arm. The boy had never seen - his employer turn pale before, or show so much agitation. “Looky' here, - you didn't go an'—an' do that because I—on account o' anything - <i>I</i> said. Shorely you didn't—shorely you didn't! Come into the - thicket, quick! Folks will be passin' here in a minute. Them fool women - will rip the'r lungs out. Say, you didn't really <i>kill</i> 'im, did you—actually - kill 'im?” - </p> - <p> - Paul avoided his eyes. “You go back there an' see if I didn't,” he said, - doggedly. - </p> - <p> - Hoag stared incredulously for a moment, then, with a firm grip on Paul's - arm, he drew him deeper into the thicket. - </p> - <p> - “Something's got to be done,” he panted. “If you give yourself up for - trial they will worm out o' you that I said—that I was talkin' to - you, an'—Looky' here, boy, do you know what this means? Are you - plumb out o' your senses?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't care <i>what</i> it means,” Paul retorted. “I've put <i>him</i> - out o' the way for good and all.” - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord, you are a cool un! Wait here; don't stir! I'll come back. I'll - run down thar to make sure.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag moved excitedly toward the road. He had just reached it when a man - came running past at full speed in the direction of the village. “Hold, - hold!” Hoag cried. “What's wrong?” - </p> - <p> - The runner slackened his speed a little; but did not stop. It was Abe - Langston. - </p> - <p> - “Somebody's shot Jeff Warren down thar by the fence. He's as dead as a - door-nail. I'm goin' to send out the alarm an' git the sheriff.” - </p> - <p> - In a cloud of self-raised dust Langston dashed away. Hoag stood hesitating - for a moment, then turned back to Paul, finding him seated on the decaying - trunk of a fallen tree, the gun resting on his slender knees. Hoag stood - before him. - </p> - <p> - “You've got to git out o' this,” he panted, excitedly. “You've done a - thing that the court will hold you responsible for. I ain't sure you was - justified nohow. The fellow was just in love, that's all. A jury will call - it unprovoked, cold-blood, deliberate, what-not. You ain't in no fix to - fight it, an' you'd be a plumb idiot to stay here an' let 'em lay hold of - you.' The only sensible thing for you to do is to show a clean pair o' - heels, an' git out for good an' all. You don't seem overly satisfied here - with them women on your hands nohow, an' the world is big and wide. I - don't want my name used—<i>mind that</i>. If you <i>do</i> git - caught an' fetched back, I hope you'll have the decency not to lug me an' - this advice in even under oath. I'm tryin' to help you. Make a bee-line - through the mountains to North Carolina an' board the first train. Throw - that gun down. Don't be caught red-handed; it would be a plumb give-away.” - </p> - <p> - “What's the use?” Paul shifted his feet, and raised his sullen eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Thar's a heap o' use,” Hoag returned, impatiently. “You may not think so - now, but you will after you've laid in that dang dirty jail in town, an' - been tuck to court to be gazed at by the public, with no money to pay fees - with, no friends on hand, an' nothin' before you but to be hung by the - neck till you are dead, dead, dead. Take my advice. Git away off some'r's - in the world, change your name, burn yore bridges behind you, an' start - life 'new all for yoreself without any load like the one you've always had - like a millstone round your neck.” - </p> - <p> - Paul rose to his feet, rested the stock of his gun on the trunk of the - tree; he looked off through the twilight wistfully. - </p> - <p> - “You really think that would be best?” he faltered. - </p> - <p> - “It certainly will, if you kin manage to git away,” Hoag said. “Why, if - you stay here, you will be in a damn sight wuss fix than the skunk you - shot. He's out o' <i>his</i> trouble, but if you stay here yours will just - be beginnin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'll go,” Paul consented. “I can get away all right. I know the - woods and mountains.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, throw your gun down behind that log an make off. Say, if they press - you hard on your way through the country, an' you find yourself near the - farms of Tad Barton, Press Talcot, Joe Thomas, or old man Jimmy Webb, say - this to 'em—tell 'em I said—No, I won't give you no password. - I haven't got the right to do it without due form. It's ag'in' the rules; - but you tell either of 'em that I said put you out of sight, give you grub - or a place to sleep, an' that I said pass you along to the railroad. Got - any money? Here is five dollars. I owe you that much, anyway, and it's all - I happen to have in my pocket. Now, you hit the grit.” - </p> - <p> - Paul took the money and indifferently thrust it into his pocket. Hoag held - out his hand. “I don't want you to go away with the idea that I had - anything much ag'in' the feller you shot; that's done away with now. We've - had one or two little scraps, but they didn't amount to anything. Say”—Hoag - pointed to the creek—“if I was you I'd wade along that watercourse - for a mile or two. The sheriff might take a notion to put bloodhounds on - your track, an' the stream will wash away the scent. Good-by. Make the - best of it. I'd ask you to drop me a line, but that wouldn't be safe for - me or you either. Cut this section clean out—it's been tough on you, - anyway. You can make a livin'. You've got a great head on you for learnin'—I've - heard plenty o' sensible folk say so. Good-by.” They parted. Hoag went - deliberately toward the constantly growing group where Jeff Warren had - fallen. He had almost reached it when he met Aunt Dilly, who had been - anxiously inquiring for him. She was whimpering and wiping her eyes on her - apron. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Marse Hoag,” she cried, “I'se been searchin' fer you everwhar. Dey - want you up at de house right off.” - </p> - <p> - “Want me? What's the matter?” - </p> - <p> - “I dunno, suh; but Miz Hoag drapped off ter sleep-like in 'er chair, en - her ma cayn't wake 'er up. Cato done run fer de doctor. Suppen's wrong, - suh, suppen powerful wrong. Hit don't look lak des er faintin' spell.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag stifled an oath of impatience, glanced at the silent group, hesitated - a moment, and then turned homeward. At the gate he saw Mrs. Tilton waving - her hands wildly in a signal for him to hurry. - </p> - <p> - “She's dead!” she sobbed. “She's growing cold.” Hoag passed through the - gate which she held open. - </p> - <p> - “Keep the baby away,” he said. “There is no use lettin' 'im look at her. - He's too young to—to see a thing like that.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2H_4_0018" id="linklink2H_4_0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - II - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0018" id="linklink2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <h3> - |SEVEN years passed. It was early summer. - </h3> - <p> - Externally James Hoag had changed. He was a heavier man; his movements - were more sluggish, his hair was turning white, his face was wrinkled and - had the brown splotches indicative of a disordered liver. There was on - him, at times, a decided nervousness which he more or less frankly, - according to mood, attributed to his smoking too much at night and the - habit of tippling. He had grown more irritable and domineering. Beneath - the surface, at least, he had strongly objected to his mother-in-law's - continuing to look to him for support after her daughter's death. But Mrs. - Tilton had told him quite firmly that she now had only one duty in life, - and that was the care of her grandchild, Jack; and Hoag, quick, harsh, and - decided in his dealings with others, knew no way of refusing. - </p> - <p> - He had really thought of marrying again; but the intimate presence of the - mother-in-law and his inability to quite make up his mind as to which - particular woman of his acquaintance could be trusted not to have motives - other than a genuine appreciation of himself had delayed the step. Indeed, - he had given the subject much thought, but objections more or less real - had always arisen. The girl was too young, pretty, and spoiled by the - attention of younger and poorer men, or the woman was too old, too plain, - too settled, or too wise in the ways of the world. So Hoag had all but - relinquished the thought, and if he had any heart he gave it to Jack, for - whom he still had a remarkable paternal passion, as for his son Henry he - still had little love or sympathy. For the last three or four years he had - regarded Henry as an idle fellow who would never succeed in anything. - </p> - <p> - The “klan” of which Hoag was still the leader continued to hold its secret - meetings, framed crude laws under his dictation, and inflicted grim and - terrible punishment. And these men honestly believed their method to be - more efficacious than the too tardy legal courts of the land. - </p> - <p> - Hoag had been to one of these meetings in a remote retreat in the - mountains one moonlit night, and about twelve o'clock was returning. He - was just entering the gate of his stable-yard when his attention was - attracted to the approach along the road of a man walking toward Grayson, - a traveler's bag in his hand. It was an unusual thing at that hour, and, - turning his horse loose in the yard, Hoag went back to the gate and leaned - on it, curiously and even officiously eying the approaching pedestrian. As - the man drew nearer, lightly swinging his bag, Hoag remarked the easy - spring in his stride, and noted that he was singing softly and - contentedly. He was sure the man was a stranger, for he saw nothing - familiar in the figure as to dress, shape, or movement. - </p> - <p> - “Must be a peddler in some line or other,” he said to himself; “but a - funny time o' night to be out on a lonely road like this.” - </p> - <p> - It would have been unlike Hoag to have let the pedestrian pass without - some sort of greeting, and, closing the gate, he stepped toward the center - of the road and stood waiting. - </p> - <p> - “Good evening,” he said, when the man was quite close to him. - </p> - <p> - “Good evening.” The stranger looked up suddenly, checking his song, and - stared at Hoag steadily in apparent surprise. Then he stopped and lowered - his bag to the ground. “I wonder,” he said, “if this is—can this - possibly be Mr. Jim Hoag?” - </p> - <p> - “That's who it is,” was the calm reply; “but I don't know as I've ever - laid eyes on you before.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, you have.” The stranger laughed almost immoderately. “You look - closely, Mr. Hoag, and you'll recognize a chap you haven't seen in many a - long, long year.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag took the tall, well-built young man in from head to foot. He was well - and stylishly dressed, wore a short, silky beard, and had brown eyes and - brown hair. Hoag dubiously shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You've got the best o' me,” he said, slowly. “I'm good at recollectin' - faces, as a rule, too; but my sight ain't what it used to be, an' then - bein' night-time—” - </p> - <p> - “It was after dark the last time you saw me, Mr. Hoag.” The stranger was - extending his hand and smiling. “Surely you haven't forgotten Ralph - Rundel's son Paul?” - </p> - <p> - “Paul Rundel—good Lord!” Hoag took the extended hand clumsily, his - eyes dilating. “It can't be—why, why, I thought you was dead an' - done for long ago. I've thought many a time that I'd try to locate you. - You see, after advisin' you—after tellin' you, as I did that night, - that I thought you ought to run away, why, I sort o' felt—” - </p> - <p> - Hoag seemed unable to voice his train of thought and slowed up to an - awkward pause. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know—I understand,” Paul Rundel said, his face falling into - seriousness, his voice full and earnest. “I know I'm late about it; but it - is better to be late than never when you intend to do the right thing. I - committed a crime, Mr. Hoag, and the kind of a crime that can't be brushed - out of a man's conscience by any sort of process. I've fought the hardest - battle that any man of my age ever waged. For years I tried to follow your - advice, and live my life in my own way, but I failed utterly. I started - out fair, but it finally got me down. I saw I had to do the right thing, - and I am here for that purpose.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't mean—you can't mean,” Hoag stammered, “that you think—that - you actually <i>believe</i>—” - </p> - <p> - “I mean exactly what I say.” The young, bearded face was all seriousness. - “I stood it, I tell you, as long as I could in my own way, and finally - made up my mind that I'd let God Almighty take me in hand. It was like - sweating blood, but I got to it. In my mind, sleeping and waking, I've - stood on the scaffold a thousand times, anyway, and now, somehow, I don't - dread it a bit—not a bit. It would take a long time to explain it, - Mr. Hoag, but I mean what I say. There is only one thing I dread, and that - is a long trial. I'm going to plead guilty and let them finish me as soon - as possible. I want to meet the man I killed face to face in the Great - Beyond and beg his pardon in the presence of God. Then I will have done as - much of my duty as is possible at such a late day.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see!” Hoag fancied he understood. One of his old shrewd looks stoic - into his visage. If Paul Rundel thought he was as easily taken in as that, - he had mistaken his man, that was certain. Hoag put his big hand to his - mouth and crushed out an expanding smile, the edge of which showed itself' - in his twinkling eyes. “Oh, I see,” he said, with the sort of seduction he - used in his financial dealings; “you hain't heard nothin' from here since - you went off—nothin' at all?” - </p> - <p> - “Not a word, Mr. Hoag, since I left you down there seven years ago,” was - the reply. “I must have walked thirty miles that night through the worst - up-and-down country in these mountains before day broke. I struck a band - of horse-trading gipsies at sun-up in the edge of North Carolina, and they - gave me breakfast. They were moving toward the railroad faster than I - could walk. I was completely fagged out, and they took pity on me and let - me lie down on some straw and quilts in one of their vans. I slept soundly - nearly all day. I wasn't afraid of being caught; in fact, I didn't care - much one way or the other. I was sick at heart, blue and morbid. I suppose - conscience was even then getting in its work.” - </p> - <p> - “I see.” Hoag was studying the young man's face, voice, and manner in - growing perplexity. There was something so penetratingly sincere about the - fellow. Hoag had heard of men being haunted by conscience till they would, - of their own volition, give themselves up for punishment, but he had never - regarded such things as possible, and he refused to be misled now. “Then - you took a train?” he said, like a close cross-questioner. “You took the - train?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I left the gipsies at Randal's Station, on the B: A. & L., and - slipped into an unlocked boxcar bound for the West. It was an awful trip; - but after many ups and downs I reached Portland in about as sad a plight - as a boy of my age could well be in. I found work as a printer's devil on - a newspaper. From that I began to set type. I studied hard at night, and - finally got to be an editorial writer. You see, I kept myself out of view - as much as possible—stayed at my boardinghouse from dark till - morning, and, having access to a fine library, I read to—to kill - time and keep my mind off my crime.” - </p> - <p> - “Your <i>crime?</i> Oh, you mean that you thought—” - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't possibly get away from it, Mr. Hoag.” Paul's voice quivered, - and he drew his slender hand across his eyes. “Night or day, dark or - light, Jeff Warren was always before me. I've seen him reel, stagger, and - fall, and heard him groan millions and millions of times. It would take - all night to tell you about those awful years of sin and remorse—that - soul-racking struggle to defy God, which simply had to end, and did end, - only a few days ago. When I left here I believed as you did about - spiritual things, Mr. Hoag, and I thought I could live my life out as I - wished, but I know better now. My experience during those seven years - would convince any infidel on earth that God is in every atom of matter in - the universe. The human being does not live who will not, sooner or later, - bow down under this truth—if not here, he will in the Great Beyond.” - </p> - <p> - “Bosh!” Hoag growled, his heavy brows meeting in a fierce frown of - displeasure. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see you still think as you used to think,” - </p> - <p> - Paul went on, regretfully; “but you'll come to it some day—you'll - come to it in God's own good time. It is a satisfaction to me to know that - I am giving you a proof of <i>my</i> reformation, anyway. You know, if you - will stop to think about it, Mr. Hoag, that I am giving vital proof that - I, at least, am convinced or I would not be willing to give my life up - like this. It isn't hard to die when you know you are dying to fulfil a - wonderful divine law; in fact, to mend a law which you yourself have - broken!” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know what you are trying to git at, an' I don't care,” Hoag - blustered. “I don't know what your present object is, what sort of an ax - you got to grind; but I'll tell you what I think, Paul, an' you kin smoke - it in your pipe if you want to. Somebody round here has kept you posted. - You know how the land lays, an' have made up your mind to turn preacher, I - reckon—if you ain't already one—an' you think it will be a - fine card to make these damn fools here in the backwoods think you really - <i>was</i> ready to go to the scaffold, an' the like o' that. But the - truth will leak out. Sooner or later folks—even the silliest of 'em—will - git onto your game. You can't look <i>me</i> square in the eye, young man, - an' tell <i>me</i> that you don't know Jeff Warren didn't die, an' that - when he married your mammy an' moved away the case ag'in' you was - dismissed. Huh, I ain't as green as a gourd!” - </p> - <p> - Paul started, stared incredulously at the speaker, his mouth falling open - till his white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. He leaned forward, his - breath coming and going audibly, his broad chest swelling. He laid his - hand on Hoag's shoulder and bore down on it heavily. Hoag felt it - quivering as if it were charged with an electric current. Paul was trying - to speak, trying to be calm. He swallowed; his lips moved automatically; - he put his disengaged hand on Hoag's other shoulder and forced him to look - at him. He shook him. In his face was the light of a great nascent joy. - </p> - <p> - “Don't say he's alive unless—my God, unless it's true!” he cried, - shaking Hoag again. “That would be the act of a fiend in human shape. I - couldn't stand it. Speak, speak, speak, man! Don't you understand? Speak! - Is it true—is it possible that—” Paul's voice broke in a great - welling sob of excitement and his quivering head began to sink. - </p> - <p> - Hoag was quite taken aback. This was genuine; of that he was convinced. - “Thar's no use gittin' so worked up,” he said. “Jeff is sound an' well. - I'm sorry I talked like I did, for I see you must 'a' been in the dark, - an'—” - </p> - <p> - He went no further. Paul had removed his hands. A light was on his face - that seemed superhuman. He raised his eyes to the sky. He swerved toward - the side of the road like a man entranced till he reached the fence, and - there he rested his head on his arms and stood bowed, still, and silent. - </p> - <p> - “Huh, this is a purty pickle!” Hoag said to himself. He stood nonplussed - for several minutes, and then advanced to Paul, treading the ground - noiselessly till he was close to him. And then he heard the young man - muttering an impassioned prayer. - </p> - <p> - “I thank thee, O God, I thank thee! O, blessed Father! O, merciful - Creator, this—this is thy reward!” - </p> - <p> - Hoag touched him on the shoulder, and Paul turned his eyes upon him, which - were full of exultant tears. “Say,” Hoag proposed, kindly enough, “thar - ain't no need o' you goin' on to Grayson to-night. The hotel ain't runnin' - this summer, nohow. Pete Kerr an' his wife closed it for a month to go off - on a trip. I've got a big, cool room in my house that ain't occupied. Stay - with me as long as you like. We are sort o' old friends, an' you are - entirely welcome. I'd love the best in the world to have you.” - </p> - <p> - “It is very good of you.” Paul was calmer now, though his countenance was - still aglow with its supernal light. “I really am very tired. I've walked - ten miles—all the way from Darby Crossroads. The hack broke down - there a little after dark, and as I wanted to give myself up before - morning—before meeting anybody—I came on afoot. The driver was - a new man, and so he had no idea of who I was or what my intentions were. - Oh, Mr. Hoag, you can't imagine how I feel. You have given me such a great - joy. I know I am acting like a crazy man, but I can't help it. It is so - new, so fresh—so glorious!” - </p> - <p> - “The <i>whole thing</i> seems crazy to me,” said Hoag, with a return of - his old bluntness; “but that's neither here nor thar. You seem to be in - earnest. Pick up yore valise an' let's go in the house.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you sure you have room for me?” Paul asked, as he went for his bag. - </p> - <p> - “Plenty, plenty. My sister, Mrs. Mayfield, an' Ethel, from Atlanta—you - remember them—they are spending the summer here, as they always do - now. They went to Atlanta yesterday—some o' their kin is sick—Jennie - Buford. They will be back tomorrow by dinner-time. But when they come you - needn't stir. We've got plenty o' room. You are welcome to stay as long as - you like. I want to talk to you about the West.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0019" id="linklink2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>OAG led the way - through the gate and up the walk toward the house. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think you'll be likely to settle down here again?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I shall now—I shall now,” Paul returned, eagerly. “I've been so - homesick for these old mountains and valleys that I shall never want to - leave them. It is that way with most men; they never find any spot so - attractive as the place where they were brought up.” - </p> - <p> - “The reason I asked,” Hoag said, with a touch of pride, “was this. I've - increased my interests here a powerful sight since you went away. I've - added on two more good-sized farms. My tannery is double what it was, an' - my flour-mill's a new one with the patent-roller process. Then I run a - brickyard t'other side o' town, and a shingle-mill and a little spoke an' - hub factory. I tell you this so you'll understand the situation. I'm - gittin' too stiff an' heavy to ride about much, an' I've got to have a - general superintendent. The fellow that was with me for the last four - years left me high an' dry a week ago, after a row me an' him had over a - trifle, when you come to think about it. It just struck me that you might - want to think it over an' see how you'd like the job.” - </p> - <p> - “I should like it, I am sure,” Paul said, gratefully. - </p> - <p> - “I am going to stay here, and I'll have to keep busy.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, we'll talk it over to-morrow,” Hoag said, in quite a tone of - satisfaction. “I reckon we'll agree on the price. If you are as hard a - worker as you used to be I'll be more 'an pleased.” - </p> - <p> - They were now at the veranda steps. The front door was locked; Hoag opened - it with a key which was fastened to his suspenders by a steel chain, and - the two went into the unlighted hall. The owner of the house fumbled about - in the dark until he found a couple of candles on a table, and, scratching - a match on his thigh, he lighted them. - </p> - <p> - “Now we are all hunky-dory,” he chuckled. “I'm goin' to give you a good - room, an' if I don't live on the fat of the land as to grub nobody else - does. If we come to terms, I'll want you to stay right here, whar I can - consult you at a moment's notice.” - </p> - <p> - “That would be nice indeed,” Paul returned, as he followed his host up the - uncarpeted stairs to a hall, which was the counterpart of the one below. - </p> - <p> - At the front end of the hall Hoag pushed a door open and entering a large - bedroom, put one of the candles on the mantelpiece. “Here you are,” he - said, pleasantly, waving his heavy hand over the furniture, which - consisted of a table, a couple of chairs, a bureau, wardrobe, and a fully - equipped wash-stand. “You 'll have to admit”—Hoag smiled at this—“that - it is better than the place you was headed for. The last time I peeped in - that jail thar wasn't any beds that I could see—niggers an' tramps - was lyin' on iron bars with nothin' under 'em but scraps o' blankets.” - </p> - <p> - Just then there was the sound of a creaking bed in the room adjoining. - </p> - <p> - Hoag put his own candle down on the table. “It's Henry,” he explained. - “He's been poutin' all day. Me'n him had some hot words at supper. He - wants me to furnish some money for him to go in business on. Him an' - another man want to start a produce store in Grayson, but I won't put hard - cash in inexperienced hands. It would be the same as stickin' it in a - burnin' brush-heap. He's quit drinkin' an' gamblin', but he won't work.” - </p> - <p> - “I've seen young men like him,” Paul said. “Henry wasn't brought up to - work, and he may be helpless. He ought to be encouraged.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'll not encourage him by puttin' a lot o' cash in his clutches,” - Hoag sniffed. “If he'd set in an' work like you used to do, for instance, - thar's no tellin' what I would do for him in the long run. Well, I'm - keepin' you up. I'll see you in the mornin'. Good night.” - </p> - <p> - “Good night,” Paul said. - </p> - <p> - With his lighted candle in his hand Hoag went down-stairs and turned into - his own room, adjoining the one in which Jack and his grandmother slept. - Putting his candle on a table, he began to undress. He had finished and - was about to lie down when he heard a light footfall in the next room. A - connecting door was pushed open and a tall, slender boy in a white - nightgown stood in the moonlight which streamed through a vine-hung window - and fell on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Is that you, Daddy?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, son.” There was an odd note of affection in Hoag's welcoming tone. - “Do you want anything?” - </p> - <p> - The boy crept forward slowly. “I got scared. I woke and heard you talkin' - up-stairs like you was still quarreling with Henry.” - </p> - <p> - “You must have been dreaming.” The father held out his arms and drew the - boy into a gentle embrace. “Do you want to sleep with your old daddy?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes!” Jack crawled from his father's arms to the back part of the bed - and stretched out his slender white legs against the plastered wall. “May - I sleep here till morning, and get up when you do?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, if you want to. Do you railly love to sleep in my bed?” - </p> - <p> - Hoag was now lying down, and Jack put his arm under his big neck and - hugged him. “Yes, I do; I don't like my little bed; it's too short.” - </p> - <p> - “Thar, kiss daddy on the cheek and go to sleep,” Hoag said, under the - thrill of delight which the boy's caresses invariably evoked. “It's late—awful - late fer a chap like you to be awake.” - </p> - <p> - Jack drew his arm away, rolled back against the cool wall, and sighed. - </p> - <p> - “Daddy,” he said, presently, just as Hoag was composing himself for sleep, - “I don't want Grandma to tag after me so much. She watches me like a hawk, - an' is always saying if I don't look out I'll grow up and be good for - nothing like Henry. Daddy, what makes Henry that way?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know; he's just naturally lazy. Now go to sleep.” - </p> - <p> - “Some folks like Henry very, very much,” the boy pursued, getting further - and further from sleep. “Grandma says he really is trying to be good, but - don't know how. Was you like him when you was young, Daddy?” - </p> - <p> - “No—I don't know; why, no, I reckon not. Why do you ask such silly - questions?” - </p> - <p> - “Grandma told Aunt Dilly one day that you always did drink, but that you - didn't often show it. She said Henry had quit, and that was wonderful for - any one who had it in his blood like Henry has. Is it in my blood, too, - Daddy?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” Hoag's patience was exhausted. “Now go to sleep. I've got to rest, - I'm tired, and must work to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you a soldier, Daddy?” Jack pursued his habit of ignoring all - commands from that particular source. - </p> - <p> - “No, I'm not. Now go to sleep; if you don't, I'll send you back to your - own bed.” - </p> - <p> - “Then why does Mr. Trawley call you 'Captain'?” - </p> - <p> - “Who said—who told you he called me that?” Hoag turned his massive - head on his pillow and looked at the beautiful profile of his son, as it - was outlined against the wall. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I heard him the other day, when he rode up after you to go somewhere. - I was in the loft at the barn fixing my pigeon-box and heard him talking - to you down at the fence. Just as he started off he said, 'Captain, your - men will wait for you at the usual place. They won't stir without your - commands.'” - </p> - <p> - Hoag's head moved again; his eyes swept on to the ceiling; there was a - pause; his wit seemed sluggish. - </p> - <p> - “Are you really a captain, Daddy?” Jack raised himself on his elbow and - leaned over his father's face, “No; lie down and go to sleep,” Hoag said, - sternly. “Some people call me that just out of—out of respect, just - as a sort o' nickname. The war is over; thar ain't no real captains now.” - </p> - <p> - “I think I know why they call you that.” Jack's delicate face was warm - with pride, and his young voice was full and round. “It is because you are - the bravest an' richest and best one. That's why Mr. Trawley said they - wouldn't stir till you told them. I asked Grandma about it, and she looked - so funny and acted so queer! She wouldn't say anything to <i>me</i>, but - she went straight to Aunt Dilly, and they talked a long time, and Grandma - looked like she was bothered. That was the night the White Caps rode along - the road after that runaway negro. I saw Grandma watching from the window. - She thought I was asleep, but I got up and looked out of the other window - and she didn't know it. Oh, they looked awful in their long, white things. - Aunt Dilly was down in the yard, and she told Grandma that God was going - to have revenge, because the Bible said so. She said Cato had left his - cabin and was hiding in the woods for fear they might get <i>him</i>. She - said Cato was a good nigger, and that it was a sin to scare him and all - the rest like that. Daddy, what <i>are</i> the White Caps? Where do they - come from?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, from roundabout in the mountains!” Hoag returned, uneasily. “Now go - to sleep. You are nervous; you are shaking all over; those men won't hurt - you.” - </p> - <p> - “But they <i>do</i> get white folks sometimes, and take them out and whip - them,” Jack said, tremulously. “Aunt Dilly said one day to Cato that they - begun on the blacks, but they had sunk so low that they were after their - own race now. What would we do if they was to come here after—” The - little voice trailed away on the still air, and glancing at the boy's face - Hoag saw that the pretty, sensitive lips were quivering. - </p> - <p> - “After who?” he asked, curious in spite of his caution. - </p> - <p> - “After Henry,” Jack gulped. “They might, you know, to whip him for not - working. They did whip a poor white man last summer because he let his - wife and children go hungry. Daddy, if they was—really <i>was</i> to - ride up here and call Henry out, would you shoot them? What would be the - use, when there are so many and every one has a gun?” - </p> - <p> - “They—they are not coming after Henry.” Hoag was at the end of his - resources. “Git all that rubbish out o' your head an' go to sleep!” - </p> - <p> - “How do you know they won't come, Daddy? Oh, Daddy, Henry really is my - only brother an' I love 'im. You don't know how good he is to me - sometimes. He mends my things, and makes toys for me with his knife, and - tells me stories about sailors and soldiers and Indians.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag turned on his side and laid a caressing hand on the boy's brow. “Now, - now,” he said, soothingly, “let's both go to sleep.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, Daddy.” Jack leaned over his father's face and kissed him. - “Good night.” - </p> - <p> - “Good night.” Hoag rolled over to the front side of the bed, straightened - himself out and closed his eyes. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0020" id="linklink2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>N finding himself - alone in his room, Paul began to realize the full import of the startling - information Hoag had imparted to him. He stood before an open window, and - with the sense of being afloat on a sea of actual ecstasy he gazed into - the mystic moonlight. Northward lay the village, and to the left towered - the mountains for which he had hungered all the years of his absence. How - restful, God-blessed seemed the familiar meadows and fields in their - drowsy verdure! He took deep draughts of the mellow air, his broad chest - expanding, his arms extended wide, as if to clasp the whole in a - worshiping embrace. - </p> - <p> - “Thank God,” he cried, fervently, “I am not a murderer! My prayers are - answered. The Lord is showing me the way—and <i>such</i> a way—such - a glorious, blessed way!” - </p> - <p> - And to-morrow—his thoughts raced madly onward—to-morrow the - dawn would break. The land he loved, the hills and vales he adored, would - be flooded with the blaze of his first day of actual life. Ethel would be - there—little Ethel, who, of course, was now a young woman—there, - actually there, in that very house! Would she remember him—the - ragged boy whom she had so unselfishly befriended? What must she think of - him—if she thought of him at all—for acting as he had? Oh yes, - that was it—if she thought of him at all! He had treasured her every - word. Her face and voice, in all their virginal sympathy, had been - constantly with him during the terrible years through which he had - struggled. - </p> - <p> - The dawn was breaking. Paul lay sleeping; his bearded face held a frown of - pain; his lips were drawn downward and twisted awry. He was dreaming. He - saw himself seated at his desk in the editorial room of the paper on which - he had worked in the West. He seemed to be trying to write an article, but - the sheets of paper before him kept fluttering to the floor and - disappearing from sight. There was a rap on the door, the latch was - turned, and an officer in uniform entered and stood beside him. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry,” he said, “but you'll have to come with me. You are wanted - back in Georgia. We've been looking for you for years, but we've landed - you at last.” - </p> - <p> - Paul seemed to see and hear the jingle of a pair of steel handcuffs. A - dead weight bore down on his brain as the metal clasped his wrists. Dense - darkness enveloped him, and he felt himself being jerked along at a mad - pace. - </p> - <p> - “I intended to give myself up,” he heard himself explaining to his captor. - “I'm guilty. I did it. Day after day I've told myself that I would go back - and own it, but I put it off.” - </p> - <p> - “That's the old tale.” The officer seemed to laugh out of the darkness. - “Your sort are always intending to do right, but never get to it. They are - going to hang you back there in the mountains, young man, hang you till - you are dead, dead, dead! Ethel Mayfield's there—she is the same - beautiful girl—but she will be ashamed to acknowledge she ever knew - you. She used to pray for you—silly young thing!—and this is - the answer. You'll die like a dog, young man, with a rope around your - neck.” - </p> - <p> - Paul waked slowly; his face was wet with cold perspiration. At first he - fancied he was in a prison cell lying on a narrow cot. Such queer sounds - were beating into his consciousness—the crowing of cocks, the - barking of dogs, the gladsome twittering of birds! Then he seemed to be a - boy again, lying in his bed in the farm-house. His father was calling him - to get up. The pigs were in the potato-field. But how could Ralph Rundel - call to him, for surely he was dead? Yes, he was dead, and Jeff Warren—Jeff - Warren—Why, Hoag had said that he had—recovered. Recovered! - </p> - <p> - Paul opened his eyes and looked about him in a bewildered way. The room, - in the gray light which streamed in at the windows, was unfamiliar. He sat - up on the edge of his bed and tried to collect his thoughts; then he rose - to his feet and sprang to the window. - </p> - <p> - “Thank God, thank God!” he cried, as he stared out at the widening - landscape and the truth gradually fastened itself upon him. “Thank God, - I'm free—free—free!” - </p> - <p> - He told himself that he could not possibly go to sleep again, and - hurriedly and excitedly he began to put on his clothes. - </p> - <p> - When he had finished dressing he crept out into the silent hall and softly - tiptoed down the stairs. The front door was ajar, and, still aglow with - his vast new joy, he passed out into the yard. The dewy lawn had a beauty - he had never sensed before. The great trees, solemn and stately, lifted - their fronded tops into the lowering mist. The air held the fragrance of - flowers. Red and white roses besprent with dew bordered the walks, bloomed - in big beds, and honeysuckles and morning-glories climbed the lattice of - the veranda. Down the graveled walk, under the magnolias, the leaves of - which touched his bare head, Paul strode, his step elastic, his whole - being ablaze with mystic delight. Reaching the road, he took the nearest - path up the mountain. He waved his arms; he ran; he jumped as he had - jumped when a boy; he whistled; he sang; he wept; he prayed; he exulted. - Higher and higher he mounted in the rarefied air, his feet slipping on the - red-brown pine-needles and dry heather till he reached an open promontory - where a flat ledge sharply jutted out over the gray void below. Like a - fearless, winged creature he stood upon the edge of it. The eastern sky - was taking on a tinge of lavender. Slowly this warmed into an - ever-expanding sea of pink, beneath the breathless waves of which lay the - palpitating sun. Paul stretched out his arms toward the light and stood as - dumb and still as the gray boulders and gnarled trees behind him. He was - athrob with a glorious sense of the Infinite, which seemed to enter his - being like a flood at its height. - </p> - <p> - “Free! Free!” he shouted, as the tears burst from his eyes and streamed - down his cheeks. “Forgiven, forgiven! I was blind and now I see! I stand - on the fringe of the eternal and see with the eyes of truth. All is well - with God and every created thing, vast and infinitesimal! O Lord, I thank - Thee; with my whole being, which is spirit of Thy spirit and flesh of Thy - flesh, I thank Thee! Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty! He is in - me, and I am in Him!” - </p> - <p> - Paul covered his face with his hands and the hot tears trickled through - his fingers. His body shook with sobs. Presently he became calmer, - uncovered his face, and looked again toward the east. The day, like a - blazing torrent, was leaping into endless space, lapping up with tongues - of fire islands and continents of clouds. Raising his hands heavenward, - Paul cried out, in a clear, firm voice that rebounded from the cliffs - behind him: - </p> - <p> - “O God, my blessed Creator, Thou hast led me through the agony of travail, - through the pits and caverns of sin and remorse to the foot of Thy throne. - Dimly I see Thy veiled face. I hear the far-off hosts of eternal wisdom - chanting the deathless song of Love. Take me—command me, body, mind, - and soul! Burden me again, and yet again; torture me, afflict me; grind me - as a filthy worm beneath the heel of Thy Law; but in the end give me this—this - wondrous sense of Thee and transcendent knowledge of myself. Here, now and - forever, I consecrate myself to Thy cause. O blessed God, who art love and - naught but love. I thank Thee, I thank Thee!” - </p> - <p> - The sun, now a great, red disk, had burst into sight. The golden light lay - shimmering on hill and vale. Every dewy blade of grass, stalk of grain, - and dripping leaf seemed to breathe afresh. From the lower boughs of the - trees night-woven cobwebs hung, the gauzy snares of creatures as wise as - Napoleon and materially as cruel. The scattered houses of Grayson were now - in view. Paul feasted his eyes on the Square, and the diverging streets - which led into the red-clay mountain roads. The hamlet was almost devoid - of life. He saw, or thought he saw, his old friend, Silas Tye, go out to - the public pump in front of his shop, fill a pail with water, and - disappear. In the wagon-yard were two canvas-covered wagons and a - camp-fire, over which men, women, and children were cooking breakfast. - Paul's glance swept down the rugged slope to Hoag's house. Cato was - feeding the horses and cattle in the stable-yard. Aunt Dilly, in a red - linsey frock, was chopping stove-wood close to the kitchen, the thwacks of - her dull ax sharply audible. Paul suddenly had a desire to speak to these - swarthy toilers, to take them by the hand and make them feel his boundless - friendliness to them, and so, with a parting look at the view below, he - turned and began to retrace his steps. - </p> - <p> - Cato was near the kitchen door helping Dilly take in the wood when Paul - went up the front walk, turned the corner of the house, and approached - him. The negro stared in astonishment, then laid down his burden and held - out his hands. - </p> - <p> - “My Gawd, Mister Paul, is dis you? Lawd, Law'd 'a' mussy!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it is I,” the young man answered; “I've got back at last.” - </p> - <p> - “It's a wonder I knowed you wid dat beard, an' dem fine riggin's on.” Cato - was eying Paul's modern raiment with a slow, covetous glance. “But it was - dem eyes o' your'n I knowed you by. Nobody ain't gwine ter forgit dem - peepers. Somehow dey look as saft as 'er woman's. What yer been done ter - yo'se'f—you ain't de same. My Gawd, you ain't de same po' boy dat - tried yo' level best ter kill dat white man wid er gun.” - </p> - <p> - Paul was saved the embarrassment of a reply by the sudden appearance of - Aunt Dilly, who was literally running down the steps from the kitchen - porch. - </p> - <p> - “Don't tell me dat is Marse Paul Rundel?” she cried. “I ain't gwine - believe it. De gen'man's er foolin' you, you blockhead idiot!” - </p> - <p> - “That's who it is, Aunt Dilly.” Paul held out his hand cordially and - clasped her rasping, toil-stiffened fingers. “I've got back, never to - leave again.” - </p> - <p> - “Lawd, Lawd, it is—it sho is dat ve'y boy!” Dilly cried. “You right, - Cato, he got de eyes en de voice. I'd know 'em anywhar. My, my, my, but - you sho is changed er sight! I ain't never expect ter see dat raggety - white boy turn inter er fine gen'man lak dis. Lawd, what gwine ter happen - next?” - </p> - <p> - Paul conversed with the two for several minutes, and then went up to his - room on a hint from Dilly that breakfast would soon be served. Paul had - been in his room only a short while when he heard the door of Henry Hoag's - room open and Henry appeared. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Paul!” he said, cordially extending his hand. “I wouldn't have - known you from a side of sole-leather if I hadn't heard you talking to - Cato and Dilly down there. I didn't know you were back. I thought you'd - cut this section off your map. I'm goin' to do it some day, if I can get - up enough money to start on. What you ever came back here for is one on - me. It certainly is the jumpin'-off place.” - </p> - <p> - “It is the only home I ever knew,” Paul returned. “You know it is natural - for a man to want to see old landmarks.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon so, I reckon so.” Henry's roving glance fell on. Paul's valise. - “I suppose you've seen a good deal of the world. I certainly envy you. I - am tired of this. I am dying of the dry-rot. I need something to do, but - don't know how to find it. I tried life insurance, but every man I - approached treated it as a joke. I made one trip as a drummer for a - fancy-goods firm in Baltimore. I didn't sell enough to pay my railroad - fare. The house telegraphed me to ship my sample trunks back. My father - had advanced me a hundred to start on, and when I came home he wanted to - thrash me. I'll give you a pointer, Paul; if you are lookin' for a job, - you can land one with him. He's crazy to hire an overseer, but he wouldn't - trust it to me. The chap that left 'im wouldn't stand his jaw and the old - man can't attend to the work himself. Take a tip from me. If you accept - the job, have a distinct understandin' that he sha'n't cuss you black an' - blue whenever he takes a notion. He's worse at that than he used to be, - an' the only way to git along with him is to knock 'im down and set on him - right at the start. He hasn't but one decent trait, an' that is his love - for little Jack. He'd go any lengths for that kid. Well, so would I. The - boy is all right—lovely little chap. He hasn't a jill of the Hoag - blood in him.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't seen Jack yet,” Paul said. “He was a baby when I left.” - </p> - <p> - There was the harsh clanging of a bell below; Cato was vigorously ringing - it on the back porch. - </p> - <p> - “That's breakfast now.” Henry nodded toward the door. “Don't wait for me—I - usually dodge the old man. We've got summer boarders—kin folks. - Cousin Eth' and her mammy are here with all their finicky airs. Eth's a - full-fledged young lady now of the Atlanta upper crust, and what she don't - know about what's proper and decent in manners never was written in a book - of etiquette. She begun to give me lessons last year about how and when to - use a fork—said I made it rattle between my teeth. I called her - down. She knows I don't ask her no odds. There is a swell fellow in - Atlanta, a banker, Ed Peterson, that comes up to spend Sunday with her now - and then. I never have been able to find out whether Eth' cares for him or - not. The old man likes him because he's got money, and he's trying to make - a match of it. I think Aunt Harriet leans that way a little, too, but I'm - not sure. Oh, he's too dinky-dinky for anything—can't drive out from - town without a nigger to hold his horse, and wears kid gloves in hot - weather, and twists his mustache.” - </p> - <p> - Glad to get away from the loquacious gossip, Paul descended the stairs to - the dining-room. Here nothing had been changed. The same old-fashioned - pictures in veneered mahogany frames were hanging between the windows. The - same figured china vases stood on the mantelpiece over the fireplace, - which was filled with evergreens, and the hearth was whitewashed as when - he had last seen it. Mrs. Tilton, looking considerably older, more - wrinkled, thinner, and bent, stood waiting for him at the head of the - table. - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad to see you ag'in, Paul,” She extended her hand and smiled - cordially. “I've wondered many and many a time if you'd ever come back. - Jim was telling me about you just now. How relieved you must feel to find - things as they are! Set down at the side there. Jim's out among the - beehives with Jack. They have to have a romp every momin'. Jack is a big - boy now, and powerful bright. There, I hear 'em coming.” - </p> - <p> - “Get up! Get up! Whoa!” the child's voice rang out, and Hoag, puffing and - panting, with Jack astride his shoulders, stood pawing like a restive - horse at the edge of the porch. - </p> - <p> - “Jump down now,” Hoag said, persuasively. “One more round!” the boy cried, - with a merry laugh. - </p> - <p> - “No; off you go or I'll dump you on the porch.” - </p> - <p> - “You can't!” Jack retorted. “You ain't no Mexican bronco. I'll dig my - heels in your flanks and stick on till you are as tame as a kitten.” - </p> - <p> - “No; get down now, I'm hungry,” Hoag insisted; “besides, we've got - company, an' we mustn't keep 'im waiting.” - </p> - <p> - That seemed to settle the argument, and in a moment Jack entered, casting - shy glances at the visitor, to whom he advanced with a slender hand - extended. - </p> - <p> - “You can't remember me, Jack,” Paul said. “You were a little tot when I - left.” - </p> - <p> - Jack said nothing. He simply withdrew his hand and took a seat beside his - father, against whom he leaned, his big brown eyes, under long lashes, - studiously regarding the visitor. The boy was remarkably beautiful. His - golden-brown hair was as fine as cobwebs; his forehead was high and broad; - his features were regular; his limbs slender and well-shaped. An - experienced physiognomist would have known that he possessed a sensitive, - artistic temperament. - </p> - <p> - Paul heard little of the casual talk that was going on. His elation clung - to him like an abiding reality. The sunshine lay on the grass before the - open door. The lambent air was full of the sounds peculiar to the boyhood - which had seemed so far behind him and yet had returned. Hens were - clucking as they scratched the earth and made feints at pecking food left - uncovered for their chirping broods. Waddling ducks and snowy geese, with - flapping wings, screamed one to another, and innumerable bird-notes far - and near, accompanied by the rat-tat of the woodpecker, were heard. A - donkey was braying. A peacock with plumage proudly spread stalked - majestically across the grass, displaying every color of the rainbow in - his dazzling robe. - </p> - <p> - Breakfast over, Hoag led Paul into the old-fashioned parlor and gave him a - cigar. “I've got to ride out in the country,” he said, “an' so I may not - see you again till after dark. I've been thinkin' of that proposition I - sorter touched on last night. Thar ain't no reason why me'n you can't git - on. We always did, in our dealin's back thar, an' I need a manager - powerful bad. I paid t'other man a hundred a month an' his board throwed - in, an' I'm willin' to start out with you on the same basis, subject to - change if either of us ain't satisfied. It's the best an' easiest job in - this county by long odds. What do you say? Is it a go?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm very glad to get it,” Paul answered. “I shall remain here in the - mountains, and I want to be busy. I'll do my best to serve you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's settled,” Hoag said, in a tone of relief. “Knock about as - you like to-day, and tomorrow we'll ride around an' look the ground over.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0021" id="linklink2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>AUL'S first - impulse, on finding himself alone, was to walk to Grayson and look up his - old friends; but so new and vivifying was his freedom from the cares which - had so long haunted him that he wanted to hug the sense of it to himself - still longer in solitude. So, leaving the farm-house, he went to the - summit of a little wooded hill back of the tannery and sat down in the - shade of the trees. In his boundless joy he actually felt imponderable. He - had an ethereal sense of being free from his body, of flying in the azure - above the earth, floating upon the fleecy clouds. He noticed a windblown - drift of fragrant pine-needles in the cleft of a rock close by, and - creeping into the cool nook like a beast into its lair, he threw himself - down and chuckled and laughed in sheer delight. - </p> - <p> - Ethel, little Ethel, who had once been his friend—who had prayed for - him and wept with him in sorrow—was coming. That very day he was to - see her again after all those years; but she would not look the same. She - was no longer a child. She had changed as he had changed. Would she know - him? Would she even remember him—the gawky farm-hand she had so - sweetly befriended? No; it was likely that he and all that pertained to - him had passed out of her mind. The memory of her, however, had been his - constant companion; her pure, childish faith had been an ultimate factor - in his redemption. - </p> - <p> - The morning hours passed. It was noon, and the climbing sun dropped its - direct rays full upon him. He left the rocks and stood out in the open, - unbaring his brow to the cooling breeze which swept up from the fields of - grain and cotton. His eyes rested on the red road leading to the village. - Wagons, pedestrians, droves of sheep and cattle driven by men on horses, - were passing back and forth. Suddenly his heart sprang like a startled - thing within him. Surely that was Hoag's open carriage, with Cato on the - high seat in front. Yes, and of the two ladies who sat behind under - sunshades the nearer one was Ethel. Paul turned cold from head to foot, - and fell to trembling. How strange to see her, even at that distance, in - the actual flesh, when for seven years she had been a dream! A blinding - mist fell before his eyes, and when he had brushed it away the carriage - had passed out of view behind the intervening trees. In great agitation he - paced to and fro. How could he possibly command himself sufficiently to - face her in a merely conventional way? He had met women and won their - friendship in the West, and had felt at ease in good society. But this was - different. Strange to say, he was now unable to see himself as other than - the awkward, stammering lad clothed in the rags of the class to which he - belonged. - </p> - <p> - Hardly knowing what step to take, he turned down the incline toward the - farm-house, thinking that he might gain his room unseen by the two ladies. - At the foot of the hill there was a great, deep spring, and feeling - thirsty he paused to bend down and drink from the surface, as he had done - when a boy. Drawing himself erect, he was about to go on, when his eye - caught a flash of a brown skirt among the drooping willows that bordered - the stream, and Ethel came out, her hands full of maiden-hair ferns. At - first she did not see him, busy as she was shaking the water from the - ferns and arranging them. She wore a big straw hat, a close-fitting - shirt-waist, and a neat linen skirt. How much she was changed! She was - taller, her glorious hair, if a shade darker, seemed more abundant. She - was slender still, and yet there was a certain fullness to her form which - added grace and dignity to the picture he had so long treasured. Suddenly, - while he stood as if rooted in the ground, she glanced up and saw him. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” he heard her ejaculate, and he fancied that her color heightened a - trifle. Transferring the ferns to her left hand, she swept toward him as - lightly as if borne on a breeze, her right hand held out cordially. “I - really wouldn't have known you, Paul,” she smiled, “if Uncle Jim had not - told me you were here. Oh, I'm <i>so</i> glad to see you!” - </p> - <p> - As he held her soft hand it seemed to him that he was drawing - self-possession and faith in himself from her ample store of cordiality. - </p> - <p> - “I would have known you anywhere,” he heard himself saying, quite frankly. - “And yet you have changed very, very much.” - </p> - <p> - Thereupon he lost himself completely in the bewitching spell of her face - and eyes. He had thought her beautiful as a little girl, but he had not - counted on seeing her like this—on finding himself fairly torn - asunder by a force belonging peculiarly to her. - </p> - <p> - He marveled over his emotions—even feared them, as he stole glances - at her long-lashed, dreamy eyes, witnessed the sunrise of delicate - embarrassment in her rounded cheeks, and caught the ripened cadences of - the voice which had haunted him like music heard in a trance. - </p> - <p> - “You have changed a great deal,” she was saying, as she led him toward the - spring. “A young man changes more when—when there really is - something unusual in him. I was only a little girl when I knew you, Paul, - but I was sure that you would succeed in the world. At least I counted on - it till—” - </p> - <p> - “Till I acted as I did,” he said, sadly, prompted by her hesitation. - </p> - <p> - She looked at him directly, though her glance wavered slightly. - </p> - <p> - “If I lost hope then,” she replied, “it was because I could not look far - enough into the future. Surely it has turned out for the best. Uncle told - me <i>why</i> you came back. Oh, I think that is wonderful, wonderful! - Till now I have never believed such a thing possible of a man, and yet I - know it now because—because you did it.” - </p> - <p> - He avoided her appealing eyes, looking away into the blue, sunlit - distance. His lip shook when he answered: - </p> - <p> - “Some day I'll tell you all about it. I'll unfold it to you like a book, - page by page, chapter by chapter. It is a story that opens in the - blackness of night and ends in the blaze of a new day.” - </p> - <p> - “I know what you mean—oh, I know!” Ethel sighed. “The news of that - night was my first realization of life's grim cruelty. Somehow I felt— - I suppose other imaginative girls are the same way—I felt that it - was a sort of personal matter to me because I had met you as I had. I - didn't blame you. I couldn't understand it fully, but I felt that it was - simply a continuation of your ill-luck. I cried all that night. I could - not go to sleep. I kept fancying I saw you running away through the - mountains with all those men trying to catch you.” - </p> - <p> - “So you didn't—really blame me?” Paul faltered. “You didn't think me - so very, very bad?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I think I made a sort of martyr of you,” Ethel confessed. “I knew you - did it impulsively, highly wrought up as you were over your poor father's - death. You can't imagine how I worried the first few days after—after - you left. You see, no one knew whether Jeff Warren would live or not. Oh, - I was happy, Paul, when the doctor declared he was out of danger! I would - have given a great deal then to have known how to reach you, but—but - no one knew. Then, somehow, as the years passed, the impression got out - that you were dead. Everybody seemed to believe it except old Mr. Tye, the - shoemaker.” - </p> - <p> - “My faithful old friend!” Paul said. “He was constantly giving me good - advice which I refused to take.” - </p> - <p> - “I sometimes go into his shop and sit and talk to him,” Ethel continued. - “He is a queer old man, more like a saint than an ordinary human being. He - declares he is in actual communion with God—says he has visions of - things not seen by ordinary sight. He told me once, not long ago, that you - were safe and well, and that you would come home again, and be happier - than you ever were before. I remember I tried to hope that he knew. How - strange that he guessed aright!” - </p> - <p> - “I understand him now better than I did when I was here,” Paul returned. - “I didn't know it then, but I now believe such men as he are spiritually - wiser than all the astute materialists the world has produced. What they - know they get by intuition, and that comes from the very fountain of - infinite wisdom to the humble perhaps more than to the high and mighty.” - </p> - <p> - “I am very happy to see you again,” Ethel declared, a shadow crossing her - face; “but, Paul, you find me—you happen to find me in really great - trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “You!” he cried. “Why?” - </p> - <p> - Ethel breathed out a tremulous sigh. “You have heard me speak of my - cousin, Jennie Buford. She and I are more intimate than most sisters. We - have been together almost daily all our lives. She is very ill. We were - down to see her yesterday. She had an operation performed at a hospital a - week ago, and her condition is quite critical. We would not have come back - up here, but no one is allowed to see her, and I could be of no service. I - am afraid she is going to die, and if she <i>should</i>—” Ethel's - voice clogged, and her eyes filled. - </p> - <p> - “I'm so sorry,” Paul said, “but you mustn't give up hope.” - </p> - <p> - “Life seems so cruel—such a great waste of everything that is really - worth while,” Ethel said, rebelliously. “Jennie's mother and father are - almost crazed with grief. Jennie is engaged to a nice young man down - there, and he is prostrated over it. Why, oh why, do such things happen?” - </p> - <p> - “There is a good reason for everything,” Paul replied, a flare of gentle - encouragement in his serious eyes. “Often the things that seem the worst - really are the best in the end.” - </p> - <p> - “There can be nothing good, or kind, or wise in Jennie's suffering,” Ethel - declared, her pretty lips hardening, a shudder passing over her. “She is a - sweet, good girl, and her parents are devout church members. The young man - she is engaged to is the soul of honor, and yet all of us are suffering - sheer agony.” - </p> - <p> - “You must try not to look at it quite that way,” Paul insisted, gently. - “You must hope and pray for her recovery.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel shrugged her shoulders, buried her face in the ferns, and was - silent. Presently, looking toward the farm-house, she said: “I see mother - waiting for me. Good-by, I'll meet you at luncheon.” She was moving away, - but paused and turned back. “You may think me lacking in religious - feeling,” she faltered, her glance averted, “but I am very, very unhappy. - I am sure the doctors are not telling us everything. I am afraid I'll - never see Jennie alive again.” - </p> - <p> - He heard her sob as she abruptly turned away. He had an impulsive desire - to follow and make a further effort to console her, but he felt - instinctively that she wanted to be alone. He was sure of this a moment - later, for he saw her using her handkerchief freely, and noted that she - all but stumbled along the path leading up to the house. Mrs. Mayfield was - waiting for her on the veranda, and Paul saw the older lady step down to - the ground and hasten to meet her daughter. - </p> - <p> - “Poor, dear girl!” Paul said to himself, his face raised to the - cloud-flecked sky. “Have I passed through my darkness and come out into - the light, only to see her entering hers? O merciful God, spare her! spare - her!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0022" id="linklink2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HAT afternoon Paul - went to Grayson, noting few changes in the place. The sun was fiercely - beating down on the streets of the Square. Two or three lawyers, a - magistrate, the county ordinary, and the clerk of the court sat in chairs - on the shaded side of the Court House. Some were whittling sticks, others - were playing checkers, all were talking politics. Under the board awnings - in front of the stores the merchants sat without their coats, fighting the - afternoon heat by fanning themselves and sprinkling water on the narrow - brick sidewalks. A group of one-horse drays, on which idle negroes sat - dangling their legs and teasing one another, stood in the shade of the - hotel. The only things suggesting coolness were the towering mountains, - the green brows of which rose into the snowy, breeze-blown clouds - overhead. - </p> - <p> - Paul found Silas Tye at his bench in his shop. He was scarcely changed at - all. Indeed, he seemed to be wearing exactly the same clothing, using the - same tools, mending the same shoes. On his bald pate glistened beads of - sweat which burst now and then and trickled down to his bushy eyebrows. - Paul had approached noiselessly, and was standing looking in at him from - the doorway, when the shoemaker glanced up and saw him. With an - ejaculation of delight he dropped his work and advanced quickly, a grimy - hand held out. - </p> - <p> - “Here you are, here you are!” he cried, drawing the young man into the - shop. “Bearded and brown, bigger an' stronger, but the same Paul I used to - know. How are you? How are you?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm all right, thank you,” Paul answered, as he took the chair near the - bench and sat down. “How is Mrs. Tye?” - </p> - <p> - “Sound as a dollar, and simply crazy to see you,” Silas replied, with a - chuckle. “If you hadn't come in we'd 'a' got a hoss an' buggy from Sid - Trawley's stable an' 'a' rid out to see you. Jim Hoag this mornin' was - tellin' about you gittin' back, an' said he'd already hired you to manage - for him. Good-luck, good-luck, my boy; that's a fine job. Cynthy's just - stepped over to a neighbor's, an' will be back purty soon. Oh, she was - tickled when she heard the news—she was so excited she could hardly - eat her dinner. She thought a sight of you. In fact, both of us sort o' - laid claim to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Till I disgraced myself and had to run away,” Paul sighed. “I'm ashamed - of that, Uncle Si. I want to say that to you first of all.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't talk that way.” Silas waved his awl deprecatingly. “Thank the Lord - for what it's led to. Hoag was tellin' the crowd how you come back to give - yourself up. Said he believed it of you, but wouldn't of anybody else. - Lord, Lord, that was the best news I ever heard! Young as you are, you'll - never imagine how much good an act o' that sort will do in a community - like this. It is a great moral lesson. As I understand it, you fought the - thing with all your might and main—tried to forget it, tried to live - it down, only in the end to find that nothin' would satisfy you—nothin' - but to come back here and do your duty.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you are right,” Paul assented. “I'll tell you all about it some - time. I'm simply too happy now to look back on such disagreeable things. - It was awful, Uncle Si.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, and I don't blame you for not talking about it,” the old man - said. “Sad things are better left behind. But it is all so glorious! Here - you come with your young head bowed before the Lord, ready to receive your - punishment, only to find yourself free, free as the winds of heaven, the - flowers of the fields, the birds in the woods. Oh, Paul, you can't see it, - but joy is shining out o' you like a spiritual fire. Your skin is clear; - your honest eyes twinkle like stars. It's worth it—your reward is - worth all you've been through, an' more. Life is built that way. We have - hunger to make us enjoy eatin'; cold, that we may know how nice warmth - feels; pain, that we may appreciate health; evil, that we may know good - when we see it; misery, that we may have joy, and death, that we may have - bliss everlasting. I've no doubt you've suffered, but it has rounded you - out and made you strong as nothing else could have done. I reckon you'll - look up all your old acquaintances right away.” - </p> - <p> - Paul's glance went to the littered floor. “First of all, Uncle Si, I want - to inquire about my mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see.” The cobbler seemed to sense the situation as a delicate one, - and he paused significantly. “Me an' Cynthy talked about that this momin'. - In fact, we are both sort o' bothered over it. Paul, I don't think anybody - round here knows whar your ma an' Jeff moved to after they got married. - But your aunt went with 'em; she was bound to stick to your ma.” - </p> - <p> - “They married”—Paul's words came tardily—“very soon after—after - Warren recovered, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “No; she kept him waitin' two years. Thar was an awful mess amongst 'em. - Your ma an' your aunt stood for you to some extent, but Jeff was awful - bitter. The trouble with Jeff was that he'd never been wounded by anybody - in his life before, an' that a strip of a boy should shove 'im an inch o' - death's door an' keep 'im in bed so long was a thing that rankled. Folks - about here done 'em both the credit to think you acted too hasty, an' some - thought Jim Hoag was back of it. The reason your ma kept Jeff waitin' so - long was to show the public that she hadn't done nothin' she was ashamed - of, an' folks generally sympathized with 'er. Finally she agreed to marry - Jeff if he'd withdraw the case ag'in' you. It was like pullin' eye-teeth, - but Jeff finally give in an' had a lawyer fix it all up. But he was mad, - and is yet, I've no doubt.” - </p> - <p> - “I understand.” Paul was looking wistfully out of the window into the - street. “And would you advise me, Uncle Si, to—to try to find them?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't believe I would,” Silas opined slowly, his heavy brows meeting - above his spectacles; “at least not at present, Paul. I'd simply wait an' - hope for matters to drift into a little better shape. Jeff is a bad man, a - fellow that holds a grudge, and, late as it is, he'd want a settlement o' - some sort. I've talked to him. I've tried to reason with him, but nothin' - I'd say would have any weight. I reckon he's been teased about it, an' has - put up with a good many insinuations. Let 'em all three alone for the - present. You've got a high temper yourself, an' while you may think you - could control it, you might not be able to do it if a big hulk of a man - like Jeff was to jump on you an' begin to pound you.” - </p> - <p> - “No; I see that you are right,” Paul sighed; “but I am sorry, for I'd like - my mother to understand how I feel. She may think I still blame her for—for - fancying Warren, even when my father was alive, but I don't. Rubbing up - against the world, Uncle Si, teaches one a great many things. My mother - was only obeying a natural yearning. She was seeking an ideal which my - poor father could not fulfil. He was ill, despondent, suspicious, and - faultfinding, and she was like a spoiled child. I am sure she never really - loved him. I was in the wrong. No one could know that better than I do. - When I went away that awful night I actually hated her, but as the years - went by, Uncle Si, a new sort of tenderness and love stole over me. When - I'd see other men happy with their mothers my heart would sink as I - remembered that I had a living one who was dead to me. Her face grew - sweeter and more girl-like. I used to recall how she smiled, and how - pretty and different from other women she looked wearing the nice things - Aunt Amanda used to make for her. I'd have dreams in which I'd hear her - singing and laughing and talking, and I'd wake with the weighty feeling - that I had lost my chance at a mother. It seemed to me that if I had not - been so hasty”—Paul sighed—“she and I would have loved each - other, and I could have had the joy of providing her with many comforts.” - </p> - <p> - Silas lowered his head toward his lap. The pegs, hammer and awl, and - scraps of leather jostled together in his apron. He was weeping and - valiantly trying to hide his tears. He took off his spectacles and laid - them on the bench beside him. Only his bald pate was in view. Presently an - uncontrollable sob broke from his rugged chest, and he looked at the young - man with swimming eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You've been redeemed,” he said. “I see it—I see it! Nobody but a - Son of God could look and talk like you do. My reward has come. I don't - take it to myself—that would be a sin; but I want you to know that - I've prayed for you every day and night since you left—sometimes in - much fear an' doubt, but with a better feelin' afterward. You may not - believe it, but I am sure there are times when I actually know that things - are happenin' for good or ill to folks I love—even away off at a - distance.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a scientific fact.” Paul was greatly moved by his old friend's - tone and attitude. “It is a spiritual fact according to the laws of - telepathy or thought-transference. Most scientists now believe in it.” - </p> - <p> - “You say they do?” Silas was wiping his flowing eyes and adjusting his - spectacles. “Well, many and many a time I've had proof of it. I could tell - wonders that I've experienced, but I won't now—that is, I won't tell - you of but one thing, an' that concerned you. Last Christmas Eve me'n - Cynthy had cooked a big turkey for the next day, an' made a lot o' other - preparations. We had toys an' little tricks to give this child and that - one. We had laid in things for pore neighbors to eat and wear, an' both of - us was in about as jolly a mood as ever we was in all our lives. We set up - rather late that night, an' sung an' read from the Bible, an' prayed as - usual, an' then we went to bed. But I couldn't sleep. I got to thinkin' - about you an' wonderin' whar you was at an' what sort o' Christmas you was - to have. I rolled an' tumbled. Cynthy was asleep—the pore thing was - awful tired—an' I got up an' went to the fireplace, where I had - buried some coals in the ashes to kindle from in the momin' and bent over, - still thinkin' o' you. Then all at once—I don't know how to describe - it any other way than to say it was like a big, black, soggy weight that - come down on me. It bore in from all sides, like a cloud that you can - feel, an' I could hardly breathe. Then something—it wasn't a voice, - it wasn't words spoke out of any human mouth, it was just knowledge—knowledge - plainer and deeper than words could have expressed—knowledge from - God, from space—from some'r's outside myself—that told me you - was in a sad, sad plight. I couldn't say what it was, but it was awful. It - seemed to me that you was swayin' to an' fro between good an' evil, - between light and darkness—between eternal life an' eternal death. I - never felt so awful in all my life, not even when my own boy died. I got - down on my knees there in the ashes, and I prayed as I reckon never a man - prayed before. I pleaded with the Lord and begged 'im to help you—to - drag you back from the open pit or abyss, or whatever it was, that you was - about to walk into. For awhile the thing seemed to hang an' waver like, - and then, all at once, it was lifted, an' I knowed that you was safe. I <i>knowed</i> - it—I <i>knowed</i> it.” - </p> - <p> - Silas ceased speaking, his mild, melting glance rested on the young man's - face. - </p> - <p> - Paul sat in grave silence for a moment, his features drawn as by painful - recollection. - </p> - <p> - “Your intuition was right,” he said. “On that night, Uncle Si, I met and - passed through the greatest crisis of my life. I was tempted to take a - step that was wrong. I won't speak of it now, but I'll tell you all about - it some day. Something stopped me. Invisible hands seemed pushed out from - the darkness to hold me back. Your prayers saved me, I am sure of it now.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0023" id="linklink2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>EFORE the end of - his first week's work Paul had reason to believe that Hoag was highly - pleased with his executive ability. Paul had a good saddle-horse at his - disposal, and he made daily visits to the various properties of his - employer. He hired hands at his own discretion, and had a new plan of - placing them on their honor as to the work that was to be done in his - absence. Hoag was surprised. He had found it difficult to secure - sufficient men, while under Paul's management the places were always - filled. There was a clockwork regularity in it all. From his window every - morning at sunrise Hoag could see men diligently at work in his fields, - and at the tannery and mill. There was a fresh, buoyant activity in it - all. The young man had replaced old, worn-out tools and implements with - new ones, in which the workers took pride. - </p> - <p> - Paul's room looked as much like an office as a bedchamber. On his table - Hoag discovered a most orderly set of accounts; on the walls hung charts, - time-cards, and maps of the woodlands, with careful estimates of the cost - of felling trees and the best disposition of the bark and timber. There - was little doubt that Paul was infusing the spirit of the West into the - slower habits of the South, and Hoag chuckled inwardly, finding it - difficult to keep from openly expressing his enthusiasm. Paul convinced - him, in a moment's talk, that the steam-engine and machinery at the - cotton-gin were worn out, and that the whole should be renewed. Hoag saw, - too, that the young man was right when he called attention to the careless - manner in which the cotton lands had been fertilized. The negroes had used - no judgment in placing the guano, having often put it on soil that did not - need it—soil which could better be enriched by the till now unused - loam of the marshes and the decayed matter of the forests. - </p> - <p> - “Go ahead with yore rat-killin',” Hoag was fond of saying. “You've got the - right idea. I'm not such a old dog that I can't learn new tricks. Them - fellows out West know a good many twists and turns that we ain't onto, an' - I'm willin' to back you up with the cash on anything you propose.” - </p> - <p> - His niece was with him on the lawn one morning as he was opening his mail. - </p> - <p> - “Just look at that letter,” he said, with a low, pleased laugh, as he - offered it for inspection. “I'm in a cool thousand dollars on this one - deal. My scrub of a white-trash manager told me last week that the man in - Atlanta who has been handlin' my leather was buncoin' me good an' strong. - I didn't think he knowed what he was talkin' about then, but it seems he'd - been readin' market reports an' freight rates, an' now I know he was - right. He asked me to write to Nashville for prices. I did, an' here is an - offer that is away ahead of any my Atlanta agent ever got, an' I save his - commission to boot. Who'd 'a' thought, Eth', that such a puny no-account - skunk as Ralph Rundel could be the daddy o' sech an up-to-date chap as - Paul?” - </p> - <p> - Ethel's sweet face took on a serious cast. “I don't think we ought to - judge our mountain people by their present unfortunate condition,” she - said. “I was reading in history the other day that many of them are really - the descendants of good English, Scotch, and Irish families. I have an - idea, from his name alone, that Paul came from some family of worth.” - </p> - <p> - “You may be right,” Hoag admitted. “I know my daddy used to tell us boys - that the Hoag stock away back in early times was big fighters, not afraid - o' man, Indian, or beast. One of 'em was a pirate of the high seas, who - had his own way purty much, and died with his boots on. Pa was proud o' - that. He used to set an' tell about it. He learnt us boys to fight when we - wasn't more'n knee high. The hardest lickin' Pa ever give me was for - comin' home from school cryin' once because another chap had got the best - of me. I never shall forget it. Pa was as mad as a wildcat at me, an' - t'other fellow too. An' the next mornin', as I started to school, he tuck - me out in the yard an' picked up a sharp rock, he did, an' showed me how - to cup my hand over it and sorter hide it like. He told me to keep it in - my pocket, an' if the fellow said another word to me to use it on 'im like - a pair o' brass knucks.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” Ethel cried, “that wasn't right! It was a shame!” - </p> - <p> - “That's what the <i>fellow</i> thought.” Hoag burst out laughing. “He was - standin' in a gang braggin' about our fight when I got to school an' I - went up to 'im, I did, an' spit on him. He drawed back to hit me, but I - let 'im have a swipe with my rock that laid his jaw open to the bone. He - bled like a stuck pig, an' had to git a doctor to sew the crack up. After - that you bet he let me alone, an' folks in general knowed I wouldn't do to - fool with, either. The teacher o' that school—it was jest a log - shack in the country—used to use the hickory on the boys, an' I've - seen 'im even tap the bare legs o' the gals; but he never dared touch me. - He knowed better. He drawed me up before 'im one day for stickin' a pin in - a little runt of a boy, and axed me what I done it for. I looked 'im - straight in the eyes, an' told 'im I did it because it would make the boy - grow. I axed 'im what he expected to do about it. He had a switch in his - hand, but he turned red an' hummed an' hawed while the whole school was - laughin', an' then he backed down—crawfished on the spot—said - he'd see me about it after school; but I didn't stay, an' that was the end - of it. The man on the farm whar he boarded told Pa that the fellow was - afraid to go out at night, thinkin' I'd throw rocks at 'im. Say, Eth', not - changin' the subject, how are you an' Ed Peterson gittin' on?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, about the same,” Ethel answered, with a slight shrug. “I got a letter - from him yesterday. He had been to the hospital to inquire about Jennie, - and he thought I'd like to hear she wasn't any worse.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it ain't no business o' mine,” Hoag smiled knowingly, “but I hope - you won't keep the fellow in torment any longer than you can help. He - sorter confides in me, you know, an' every time I'm in Atlanta he throws - out hints like he is in the dark an' can hardly see his way clear. He is a - man with a long business head on 'im, an' he certainly knows what he wants - in the woman line. He's powerfully well thought of in bankin' circles, - an', as you know, his folks are among the best in the South.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel, frowning slightly, was avoiding her uncle's curious gaze. “I shall - not marry any man,” she said, quite firmly, “until I know that I really - love him.” - </p> - <p> - “Love a dog's hind foot!” Hoag sneered. “Looky' here, Eth', take it - straight from me. That is a delusion an' a snare. Many an' many a - good-hearted gal has spoiled her whole life over just that highfalutin - notion. They've tied the'rselves to incompetent nincompoops with low brows - an' hair plastered down over their eyes—chaps who couldn't make a - decent livin'—and let men pass by that was becomin' financial powers - in the land. Ed Peterson is of the right stripe. He ain't no fool. He - knows you've got property in your own name an' that I've set somethin' - aside for you, an' he's jest got sense enough to know that it is as easy - to love a woman with money as without.” - </p> - <p> - “How does he know?” Ethel's lips were drawn tight; there was a steady - light in her eyes as she stood looking toward the mountain. “How does he - know that you intend, or even ever thought of—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you see, he has all my papers down thar,” Hoag explained. “He keeps - 'em for me in the bank vault. He knows all about my business, and - naturally he'd be on to a thing like that. I hain't never intimated that - I'd coerce you in any way, but he knows I look favorably on the outcome. - In fact, I've told 'im a time or two that, as far as I was concerned, he - had a clean right-o'-way. He's sure I am on his side, but he don't seem at - all satisfied about you. He's a jealous cuss, an' as much as I like him, I - have to laugh at 'im sometimes.” - </p> - <p> - “Jealous!” Ethel exclaimed, with a lofty frown of vague displeasure. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; he gits that way once in a while on mighty slight provocation,” Hoag - rambled on. “I was tellin' 'im t'other day, when I was down thar, about - Paul Rundel comin' back, an' what a solid chap he'd turned out to be with - all his bookish ideas an' odd religious notions—givin' hisse'f up to - the law, an' the like. Ed didn't seem much interested till I told 'im that - the women round about generally admired Paul, an' loved to hear 'im talk—like - your mother does, for instance—an' that most of 'em say he has fine - eyes an' is good-lookin'. Right then Ed up an' wanted to know whar Paul - was livin'”—Hoag tittered—“whar he slept an' ate. An' when I - told 'im he stayed here at the house with us, he had the oddest look about - the eyes you ever saw. I teased 'im a little—I couldn't help it. I - was in a good-humor, for he had just told me about a Northern feller that - wanted to buy some o' my wild mountain-land at a good figure. But I let up - on 'im after awhile, for he really was down in the mouth. 'Do you know,' - said he, 'that I'd tackle any man on earth in a race for a woman quicker - than I would a religious crank or a spindle-legged preacher of any - denomination whatever.'” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think you ought to talk me over that way,” Ethel returned, - coldly. “You'll make me dislike him. He and I are good friends now, but no - girl likes to have men speak of her as if she were a piece of property on - the market.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Ed Peterson is all right,” Hoag declared, his eyes on Jack, who was - climbing a tree near the fence. “That child will fall and hurt hisse'f one - o'these days. Oh, Jack! Come down from there—that's a good boy; come - down, daddy wants you.” Looking at Ethel suddenly, he saw that she was - smiling. - </p> - <p> - “What in thunder is funny about <i>that?</i>” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - Ethel laughed softly. “I was just thinking of your sneer at the idea of - any one's loving another. You perhaps never loved any one else in your - life, but your whole soul is wrapped up in Jack.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you are right,” Hoag confessed, half sheepishly, as he started - down the steps toward his son. “Sometimes I wonder what's got into me. He - has sech a strange, kittenish way o' gittin' round a fellow. I believe, if - I was to come home some night an' find him sick or hurt I'd go stark - crazy. He ain't like no other child I ever dealt with.” - </p> - <p> - “He'll be more and more of a mystery to you the older he gets,” Ethel - answered. “He has a strong imagination and great talent for drawing. I'm - teaching him. He loves to have me read to him, and he makes up stories out - of his own head that really are wonderful.” - </p> - <p> - “I always thought he'd make a smart man, a teacher, or a lawyer, or - something like that,” Hoag returned, proudly, and he hurried away, calling - loudly to his son to get down. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0024" id="linklink2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T is held by many - philosophers that in order to appreciate happiness one must first - experience its direct antithesis, and it may have been Paul Rundel's early - misfortunes that gave to his present existence so much untrammeled - delight. For one thing, he was again—and with that new soul of his—amid - the rural scenes and folk he loved so passionately. - </p> - <p> - His heart was full of actual joy as he rode down the mountain-side one - Saturday afternoon, for the next day would be a day of rest, and he had - worked hard all the week. There was a particular book he intended to read, - certain fancies of his own which he wanted to note down in manuscript, and - hoped to talk over with Ethel. - </p> - <p> - He was a nature-worshiper, and to-day Nature had fairly wrapped her robe - of enchantment about him. The sky had never seemed so blue; space had - never held so many hints of the Infinite. Scarcely a flower on the - roadside escaped his eye. The gray and brown soil itself had color that - appealed to his senses, and the valley stretching away under the bluish - veil of distance seemed some vague dream-spot ever receding from his - grasp. The day was a perfect one. Since early morning a gentle breeze had - been steadily blowing and the air was crisp and bracing. - </p> - <p> - It was growing dusk when he reached home. He was just entering the front - gate when he saw Ethel walking back and forth on the lawn. Something in - her hanging head and agitated step told him that her mind was not at ease. - At first he thought she might wish to avoid him, but, hearing the clicking - of the gate-latch, she turned and advanced across the grass to him. Then - he saw that she held a folded letter in her hand and there was a perturbed - look on her face. - </p> - <p> - “Not bad news, I hope?” he ventured. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know exactly.” Her voice quivered, and she looked at him with a - shadow of dumb worry in her eyes. “This letter is from my aunt, Jennie's - mother. She proposes that mother and I come down at once. She—she—” - Ethel's voice shook with rising emotion. “She doesn't say there is really - any <i>new</i> danger. In fact, at the last report the doctors said Jennie - was doing as well as could be expected; but somehow—you see, the - fact that my aunt wants us to come looks as if—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I hope you won't lose hope,” Paul tried to say, consolingly. “At such - a distance, and not being with your cousin, it is natural for you to - exaggerate the—” - </p> - <p> - “No; listen,” Ethel now fairly sobbed. “I've reflected a good deal over - our recent talk about thought-transference, and I am sure there is much in - it. Jennie and I used to think of the same things at the same time, and I - am sure—I really <i>feel</i> that something is going wrong—that - she is worse. This letter was written last night and mailed this morning. - I was not greatly worried till about three o'clock to-day, but since then - I have been more depressed than I ever was in my life. Somehow I can't - possibly conquer it. Paul, I'm afraid Jennie is going to die—she may - be—be dying now, actually dying, and if she should, if she <i>should</i>—” - Ethel dropped her eyes, her breast rose tumultuously, and she looked away - from him. - </p> - <p> - There was nothing Paul could do or say. He simply stood still and mute, a - storm of pain and sympathy raging within him. - </p> - <p> - Ethel seemed to understand and appreciate his silence, for she turned to - him and said, more calmly: - </p> - <p> - “Of course, it may be only my imagination—my overwrought fears. I'm - going to try to feel more hopeful. We leave on the eight o'clock train. - Mother's packing our things now. It is good of you to be so sympathetic; I - knew you would be.” - </p> - <p> - She turned away. With a halting step she went up the veranda steps and - ascended the stairs to her mother's room. Paul was seated on the lawn in - the dusk smoking a cigar, when Mrs. Tilton came out to him. - </p> - <p> - “I saw you talkin' to Ethel just now,” she began. “I reckon she spoke to - you about her cousin?” - </p> - <p> - He nodded and regarded the old wrinkled face steadily as Mrs. Tilton - continued, in a tone of resignation: - </p> - <p> - “Harriet ain't told Ethel the worst of it. A telegram come about an hour - by sun, but she didn't let Ethel see it. It said come on the fust train—the - doctors has plumb give up. Harriet is afraid Ethel couldn't stand the trip - on top of news like that, an' she won't let her know. It's goin' to be - awful on the pore child. I'm actually afraid she won't be able to bear it. - In all my born days I've never seen such love as them two girls had for - each other.” - </p> - <p> - Paul's heart sank in dismay. “Do you think, Mrs. Tilton,” he said, “that I - could be of any service? To-morrow is Sunday, and I am not busy, you know. - Could I help by going down with them?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I don't believe I would,” the old woman answered. “Jim is goin' - along. He don't care nothin' about Jennie, but he'll take that excuse to - get down there to see his friends. Harriet will bring Ethel back here - right after the buryin'. She as good as told me so; she thinks a quiet - place like this will be better than down thar among so many sad reminders. - I want to tell you now, Paul, an' I don't intend to flatter you neither; - but when Jim was talkin' so big on the porch t'other night, an' pokin' fun - at the idea of a future life, an' you sat down on 'im so flat, an' said - all them purty things so full o' hope to old folks like me, I jest set - thar in the dark an' shed tears o' joy. I could 'a' tuck you in my arms - an' 'a' hugged you. He is a-hirin' you, an' would naturally like for you - to agree with him; but you fired your convictions at him the same as you - would 'a' done at anybody else. I'm sick an' tired o' the way he's always - talked—classin' humanity with cattle an' hogs like he does. I - believe thar's a life after this un; if I didn't I'd go crazy. If I didn't - know, actually <i>know</i>, that my poor daughter, who suffered all them - years as that man's wife, was happy now, I'd be a fiend incarnate, an' go - rantin' over the world like a she-devil let loose. I say I don't want to - flatter you, but you've been like a ray o' sunshine in this house ever - since you got here. If I had been an' infidel all my life the sight o' - your face and the sound o' your voice would turn me flat over.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Tilton was crying. She wiped her eyes on her apron and moved away in - the twilight. Paul looked, up at the window of Ethel's room, through which - a light was shining. Then he bowed his head, locked his hands in front of - him. He remained so for several minutes, then he said, fervently: - </p> - <p> - “O God, my Lord and Master, my Creator, my All, be merciful. I pray Thee, - oh, be merciful—be merciful!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0025" id="linklink2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>WO days after this - Hoag came back from Atlanta, reaching home just at noon. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't go to the funeral myself,” he carelessly remarked at the - dinner-table. “I had some fellers to see on business, an' I ain't much of - a hand at such parades of flowers an' black stuff, nohow. Harriet is - standin' it all right, but Eth' is in a purty bad fix. They've had a - doctor with 'er ever since Jennie died. Eth' had never seen anybody die - before, an' it seems that Jennie knowed enough to recognize 'er, an' - begged 'er to stick by 'er side to the very end. Eth' has been nearly - crazy ever since. She was too upset to go to the buryin', although plenty - o' carriages was on hand, an' she could have rid in comfort. They offered - me a seat at their expense, but, as I say, I had other fish to fry.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew it would go hard with Ethel,” Mrs. Tilton sighed. “It is a pity - they let 'er see it. Such things are hard enough even on old, experienced - folks. When are they comin' up, or did they say?” - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow. That ain't no place for 'em down thar in all that whiz, - hustle, an' chatter, with a nigger fetchin' in a card or a bunch o' - flowers every minute. The fellers that run the flower-stores certainly are - in clover.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Mayfield and Ethel came in on the nighttrain which reached Grayson at - ten o'clock, and, having retired, Paul saw neither of them till the next - day. He had risen for his early morning walk, and gone down to the front - lawn, where he was surprised to see Mrs. Mayfield nervously walking back - and forth, her troubled glance on the ground. He had never seen her look - so grave, so despondent. Her hair was drawn more tightly across her brow, - and there was no trace of color in her pinched and troubled face. Seeing - him, she bowed and made a pathetic little gesture of welcome. He hesitated - for a moment as to whether he might intrude upon her, but some appealing - quality of friendliness in her sad glance reassured him, and, hat in hand, - he crossed the grass to her. - </p> - <p> - “I was very sorry to hear your bad news,” he said. “I was sorry, too, that - there seemed nothing I could do to help.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you; you are very kind,” the lady said, her thin lips quivering - sensitively. “I have thought of you, Paul, several times since the blow - came. After our recent talks I am sure you could have given us more - consolation than almost any one else. At a time like this there is - absolutely nothing to lean on except the goodness and wisdom of God.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, of course,” he responded, simply. - </p> - <p> - “I am not worrying about Jennie now,” Mrs. Mayfield went on, gravely, - sweeping his face with almost yearning eyes. “At my age one becomes - accustomed to face death calmly, but, Paul, I am actually alarmed about - the effect on Ethel.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, and I am sorry,” Paul said; “very, very sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “She has hardly touched any sort of food since Jennie died,” Mrs. Mayfield - asserted, in a tremulous tone. “She is wasting away. She can't sleep even - under opiates. She cries constantly, and declares she can't get her mind - from it for a moment. We ought not to have allowed her to see the end, but - we could not avoid it. Jennie was conscious almost to the last minute, - though she did not realize she was dying. They thought it best not to tell - her, and she begged Ethel and her parents and me and the young man she was - to marry—begged us not to leave her. She seemed quite afraid. Then - suddenly she had a terrible convulsion. She was clinging to my daughter's - hand when she died. Ethel fainted, and had to be taken home in a carriage. - She—she—Paul, she has lost all faith in the goodness of God, - in an after-life, in everything. She is simply desperate and defiant. She - can't be made to see any sort of justice in it. She is bitter, very - bitter, and hard and resentful. Two kind-hearted ministers down there - tried to talk to her, but she almost laughed in their faces. Some sweet - old ladies—intimate friends of ours—tried to pacify her, too, - but could do nothing. I wish you had been there. You have comforted me - more than any one else ever did. Your faith seems such a living, active - thing, and even while down there under all that sadness I found myself - somehow feeling that your thoughts—your prayers were with us.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” he nodded, his blood mounting to his face, “that was all I - could do. Prayer is a wonderful force, but unfortunately it seems without - great or immediate effect unless it arises out of faith itself, and - perfect faith is very rare.” - </p> - <p> - “I understand,” the lady sighed. “I hear Ethel coming down. I wish you - would talk to her. I am sure you can do her good, and something must be - done. No medicine can help her; her trouble is of the mind. It is natural - for persons to lose faith under a shock like this, and in time get over - it; but—but, Paul, I've known people to die of grief, and that is - really what I am afraid of.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel, as she descended the veranda steps, saw them. She wavered for a - moment, as if undecided which way to go, and then, as if reluctantly, she - came on to them. Paul noted the drawn whiteness of her face and the dark - rings about her despairing eyes. Her whole being seemed to vibrate from a - tense state of nervousness. Her lips were fixed in a piteous grimace as - she gave Paul her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Mother's told you about it, I am sure,” were her first words. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he nodded, sympathetically, “it is very sad.” - </p> - <p> - She took a deep, tremulous breath, and her lips were drawn tight as from - inner pain. “Paul,” she said, bitterly, “I didn't know till now that even - an <i>omnipotent</i> God could invent a thing as horrible as all that was. - If—if it would amount to anything I would curse him—actually - curse him.” - </p> - <p> - “I am going to leave you with Paul,” Mrs. Mayfield said, suddenly catching - her breath as if in pain. “I have something to do up-stairs. Listen to - him, my child. He has comforted me, and he can comfort you. You must not - allow yourself to become hard like this. Oh, you mustn't—you - mustn't, darling! You'll break my heart.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't know what to do—I don't know what to do!” Ethel shook - with dry sobs, and there was a fixed stare in her beautiful eyes. “I can't - think of Jennie being gone—being put away like that, when she had so - much to live for, and when the happiness of so many depended on her - recovery.” - </p> - <p> - Without a word, and with an appealing and significant backward glance at - Paul, Mrs. Mayfield moved away. - </p> - <p> - “Would you like to walk down to the spring?” Paul proposed, gently. “The - air is so fresh and invigorating, and breakfast won't be ready for some - time yet.” - </p> - <p> - She listlessly complied, walking along at his side like a drooping human - flower in movement. He heard her sighing constantly. He did not speak - again till they were seated at the spring, then he said: - </p> - <p> - “Your mother overrates my power of giving consolation; there is nothing - helpful that any mortal can do at such a time. I cannot give you my faith. - It came to me only after years and years of suffering, sordid misery, and - dense spiritual blindness. But I want to try, if you don't mind. I'd give - my life to—to save you pain, to turn you from your present despair. - Will you listen to me if I'll tell you some of the things that I passed - through? You can't see it as I do, Ethel, but I am absolutely positive - that your cousin is now a thousand times happier than she was—happier - than you or I, or any one on earth.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I know what you will say,” Ethel wailed, softly. “I believed such - things once, as you know. But I haven't been frank with you, Paul. Seeing - your beautiful faith which brought you back here in such a wonderful way, - I could not bear to let you know the truth; but I have been in doubt for a - long time, and now I have nothing to hold to—absolutely nothing. You - might argue a thousand years and you could not—kind and gentle - though you are—convince me that a just and merciful God would allow - my poor cousin to suffer as she suffered, and cause me to feel as I feel - only through my love for her. If there <i>is</i> a good God, He is - powerless to avert such as that, and a creator who is not omnipotent is no - God at all. We are a lot of helpless material creatures staggering through - darkness, dragging bleeding hearts after us, and yearning for what can - never be ours. That's the awful, repulsive truth, Paul. It's unpleasant, - but it's the truth.” - </p> - <p> - “I will tell you what I passed through after I left here, if you will let - me,” Paul began, a look of pained sensitiveness clutching his mobile - features. “It is hard to have you—of all persons—know to what - depths of degradation I sank; but I feel—something seems to tell me—that - my story may help you. Will you hear me?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you ought not to tell me anything that is unpleasant,” Ethel - said, listlessly. - </p> - <p> - Paul lowered his head and looked at the ground. “I am not sure, Ethel, - that it is not my duty to go from man to man, house to house, and tell it - word for word, thought for thought, deed for deed. The world, as never - before in its history, is groping for spiritual light, and my life—my - soul-experiences—would shed it upon any thinking person. No one - could pass through what I have passed through and doubt the existence of - God and His inexpressible goodness. It is painful to tell you, for, above - all, I want your good opinion, and yet I must. Will you listen, Ethel?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” she answered; “but, Paul, if I am absent-minded don't blame - me. I've not thought of a single thing since Jennie died but the way she - looked then, and in her coffin afterward. I don't think I can ever get - those things out of my mind. They are simply driving me insane.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing but an absolutely different point of view will help you,” Paul - said, gravely, his glance now resting tenderly on her grief-stricken face. - “When my father died I, too, was desperate. When I ran away from here that - terrible night I was as near akin to a wild beast as ever mortal man was. - I was at heart a murderer gloating like a bloodthirsty savage over - another's death. I won't go into detail over the earliest part of what I - went through. I traveled with a band of thieving gipsies for a while. - Later I joined a circus, and there gravitated to the same sort of - associates. Some of the company were not immoral; but I was a murderer - hiding my guilt, and among only the lowest of the low did I feel at home. - All others I hated.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, do you think you ought to—ought to—” Ethel faltered. “How - can it do any good to—” Her voice failed her, and she stared at him - dumbly. - </p> - <p> - “I think I ought to tell you, because it is the hardest thing in the world - for me to do,” he said, his tone low and labored. “I want you to know me - as I was at my worst. I can't feel that I have the right to sit by you and - be treated as a friend while you are unaware of what I have been. For the - first two years I was as low as the lowest. I hated life, man, everything, - and yet there was always something holding me back from absolute crime. - Down deep within me there was always a voice, always a picture, always a - sunlit scene—” - </p> - <p> - He choked up, pretended to cough, and looked away to avoid her inquiring - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I don't quite understand,” she prompted him, with her first show of - interest. - </p> - <p> - He turned and looked steadily into her great, shadowy eyes. - </p> - <p> - “The scene was the roadside down there, Ethel. The picture was that of a - refined, gentle little girl, her eyes full of sympathy. The voice was - hers, telling me that she was going to pray for—for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, oh, why do you say that now?” Ethel cried. “Now, now, after I have - told you that I no longer—” - </p> - <p> - “Because the little girl ought to know,” he answered. “She should be told - of the clinging effect her promise—her prayers—had on a - storm-tossed human soul. The scene, the voice, the picture, never left the - wanderer. They grew like pure flowers in the mire of his deepest sin. In - many cases it is the memory of prayers at a mother's knee in childhood - that haunts the worldly minded in after-life; but my childhood had no - prayers, and that little girl became my guardian angel.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Paul, Paul, don't, don't!” Ethel cried, and for a moment she seemed - to have forgotten her grief. - </p> - <p> - “But I must go on,” Paul answered. “I finally reached Portland and settled - down. I was tired of roaming, and under a small printer I began to learn - type-setting. I made rapid progress. I had access to a good public - library, and I passed most of my evenings in study. Later I began - reporting on a big newspaper, and from that I gradually drifted into the - writing of editorials. I don't take any credit for the success I met, for - the articles I wrote were readable only because they were without heart or - soul, and appealed only to individuals like myself. I ridiculed - everything, tore down everything. A thing only had to be praised by others - for me to hurl my vitriol upon it. The arrant hypocrisy of the - church-members, the mental weakness of the preachers, and the gullibility - of the public were my choice themes. Birds of my own particular feather - flocked about me and congratulated me. I became vain of my powers. I was - sure that I was a great intellectual force in the world. My salary was - raised, and I found myself in comfortable circumstances. I belonged to a - small society of advanced thinkers, as we styled ourselves. We held - meetings once a week and prepared and read essays. The great materialistic - scientists and writers were our guides and gods. We pitied all the rest of - the world for its inability to reach our height. That went on for several - years, then an odd thing happened.” - </p> - <p> - “What was that?” Ethel was now almost eagerly leaning forward, her pale - lips parted. - </p> - <p> - The color in Paul's cheeks had deepened. “I must tell that, too,” he said. - “And I shall not shirk the humiliation of it. There was a young poet in - Boston whose parents lived in Portland. His books had been widely - circulated, and when he came out on a visit the papers had a great deal to - say about him. I don't think I ever sank lower than I did then.” Paul's - voice faltered. “I was jealous. I read his books out of curiosity, and - found them wholly spiritual, full of dreams, ideality, and mysticism. Then - I sat up all of one night and wrote the most caustic and virulent attack - on his work that I had ever written. It was published at once, and created - a local sensation. My friends gave me a dinner in honor of it, and we - drank a good deal of beer and filled the air with smoke. Selections from - the poet's books were read and laughed at. That seemed all right; but an - unexpected thing happened. The next day the young man called at the office - and sent in his card, asking particularly for me. It made me furious; my - associates on the paper thought he had come to demand personal - satisfaction, and so did I. I kept him waiting in the reception-room for - some time, and then I went in to him, fully expecting trouble. So you can - imagine my surprise to have him rise and extend his hand in a timid and - yet cordial manner. I had never seen him before, and I was struck by the - wonderful, almost suffering delicacy of his face and a certain expression - in his big, dreamy eyes that I had never seen before. He seemed greatly - embarrassed, so much so that at first he seemed unable to talk. Presently - he managed to tell me, in the frankest, most gentle manner, that he had - come to see me because, after reading my article, he was afraid he or his - work had offended me personally in some way. I was completely taken aback. - I simply couldn't make him out. I was tempted to speak roughly, but - couldn't. We sat down, and he started to explain more fully why he had - come. He said it was his aim in life to live in harmony with God's law, - and that, as he saw it, the feeling between him and me was spiritual - discord which ought not to exist. He said he was sure, when I understood - him fully, that I could have no personal animus against him for - conscientiously writing the poems I had attacked. He said it was the - highest law of life for all men to love one another, and until they did - there would be human discord. I can't tell you half he said. I know, - somehow, that for the first time in my experience I found myself facing a - human being who was more spirit than matter, and who possessed a power - against which I had no weapon. He seemed to feel my embarrassment, and - rose to go. At the door he gave me his hand again and pressed mine warmly. - 'I am sure,' he said, 'that nothing but good can result from this visit. - Something within me always tells me when I ought to do a thing like this. - It is always hard to do; but if I refuse to obey I invariably suffer for - it.'” - </p> - <p> - “How very strange!” Ethel exclaimed. “And what came of it?” - </p> - <p> - “Much, much,” Paul answered. “When he had gone I remained for some time in - the room with the door closed. I was hot from head to foot with shame. I - felt worse than if I had been thrashed in public. I did not know what to - do, and I was sure something had to be done. I returned to the office, and - the reporters and printers gathered about me, full of jokes and eager for - information. I could say nothing. A mechanical jest rose to my lips, but I - didn't utter it. I could no longer make sport of him behind his back. I - put on my hat and went for a walk. I felt sure that I owed him a public - apology, and I knew that I would not be able to make it, and that fairly - confounded me. I admired him more than any man I had ever met. During that - walk a maddening mental picture rose before me.” Here the speaker's voice - quivered. “I fancied, Ethel—I fancied that I saw you as I last saw - you. Some one was presenting that young man to you. I saw you both walking - off together across the meadows in the sunshine among the flowers. He was - gathering them for you. You were receiving them, and it seemed to me that - you and he were mated <i>as man and woman never had been mated before</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Paul, don't!” Ethel protested. “You must not think of me that way; - but go on—go on!” - </p> - <p> - “Day after day, week after week,” Paul continued, “I fought the - inclination to write that apology. I'd start it, only to throw it aside as - something above and beyond my nature. I began to loath myself. I had - sufficient cause. I was a murderer living under a false name, continually - lying about my past, haunted by remorse, and gradually losing my reason. - Then came the crisis. I call it my 'black day.' You will despise me when I - confess it, but I decided to—kill myself.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Paul, Paul!” Ethel covered her face with her hands. “How <i>could</i> - you—how <i>could</i> you?” - </p> - <p> - “I was a blind man, goaded to despair. I was swimming with my last feeble - stroke in a torrent of sin. It was Christmas Eve. The joy of the rest of - the world only added to my loneliness. All my acquaintances had gone to - relatives and friends, and I was alone in my desolate room. I had never - faced myself so plainly as I did that night. I did not believe there was - any future life, and I told myself that I was tired of the struggle, and - wanted to go to sleep never to wake again. I thought that would solve it, - you see, I wrote a note to old Silas Tye, feeling somehow that I wanted - him to know what had happened to me. I got ready. Forgive me, but I want - you to hear it all. The door' and windows were tightly closed, and I - turned on the gas and lay down on the bed. I folded my hands on my breast. - I was sorry for myself. Then, just as I was beginning to notice the odor - of the gas, I seemed to see old Uncle Si on his knees praying for me, and - I asked myself what was he praying for, to whom or what was he praying? My - next thought was of you and your sweet, girlish faith, and then I recalled - the poet and his beautiful ideas of life. All at once, as if in a flash of - light, came the thought that you three might be right and I wrong; that - while I could kill my body I might never be able to kill my soul. 'God - help me!' I cried, and why I did not know, for I had never prayed before. - I sprang up and turned out the gas and opened the windows and breathed the - fresh air deep into my lungs. Just then the church-bells of the city rang - out in the announcement of the day on which Christ was born. I was - tingling all over with a strange, new hope. What if I should, after all, - actually be immortal? - </p> - <p> - “I sat down before the fire and asked myself, for the first time in my - life, 'Am I flesh, blood, and bones, or am I wholly spirit?' Was it a - physical possibility for my brain-cells—tiny fragments of matter—to - evoke the spiritual tempest through which I was passing? Was there a God - and was He good? If not, why was the universe? - </p> - <p> - “I had brought home a new book—the <i>Life of Tolstoi</i>—to - review, and I began to read it with the first touch of sympathy I had ever - given such a work. It clutched me and held me like a vise. At one time - Tolstoi—like myself—had been tempted to kill himself because - he had no faith, and life was nothing without it. Like myself, he had been - influenced by materialistic thinkers and worldly-minded associates. He had - wealth, a noble's title, and great fame, and yet he had thrown them all - over that he might become as a little child. Among the great men of the - earth—his mental peers—he could not find the peace of soul - that he found reflected in the faces of the poorest peasants on his - estate. He wanted to be like them, because he felt they were more like God - than he. For him the riddle was solved. It struck me that his life was a - wonderful revelation of spiritual truth, if it was anything aside from - senility. To satisfy myself on this point I spent the next day reading his - books, becoming more and more convinced of his rational sincerity and the - unity of his life from beginning to end. Tolstoi's admiration for Rousseau - led me to Rousseau's life and <i>Confessions</i>. From him I went to - Plato, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, and all the great poets. I - neglected my duties on the paper, and fairly buried myself in books such - as I'd never read before. My desire to satisfy myself that my soul was - immortal became a veritable passion. I read everything that could possibly - throw a light on the subject. The first thing that I became convinced of - was my stupendous ignorance. For instance, I had never dreamt that one - could have any faith which was not founded on the religious creeds of - which I had heard all my life; but I soon saw that it was possible to - acquire a belief like that of Emerson, Whitman, Wordsworth, and Goethe, - which soared above all so-called revelation and reached out into the - transcendental. I read the works of many philosophers, spurning almost - angrily those who leaned to the material side of life and reverently - devouring those who, like Kant and Hegel, were idealistic. Among the - modern ones William James seemed inspired. Then Bergson held me with his - idea that the simple intuition of the trusting masses was a better guide - to hidden truth than the intellectuality of all the scholars.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know you had read so much,” Ethel said, when Paul paused and sat - tenderly regarding her grief-stricken face. - </p> - <p> - “I was forced to,” he smiled. “I was in a corner fighting for life against - awful odds. I was sick and disgusted with existence. In my new atmosphere - I began to breathe for the first time. I was sensing the eternal meaning - of things. I began to see why I had been made to suffer, and I was glad. - The habits of my associates, their cramped and aimless lives, now seemed - horribly sordid. It sounded strange to hear them speak so seriously and - gravely of trivial affairs when a vast new world was fairly throbbing - around me. I ventured to speak with a tentative sort of respect of some of - the books I had read, and they laughed at me. I was forced into cowardly - craftiness. I hid my wonderful secret and continued to go among them. But - that couldn't go on. One cannot serve both the spirit and the flesh and be - true to either, so I gave up my associates. I apologized to the poet, - wrote a strong review of a new book of his, and we became good friends.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, then”—Ethel laid an eager hand on his arm—“then you - decided to—to come home?” - </p> - <p> - Paul smiled reminiscently, his glance on the gray wisps of clouds slowly - lifting themselves from the mountain-side up into the full blaze of the - sun. - </p> - <p> - “I simply had to do it,” he said. “It was as inevitable as life itself. I - knew it was right, and that settled it.” - </p> - <p> - “So you came!” Ethel cried. “You came back.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and when I reached here that night and learned the truth I saw God's - hand in it all. Now, you see why I have told you this. Can you believe - there is any other design than good—infinite good—behind - sorrow, trouble, and agony? Your grief is great—it seems unbearable - now; but behind it, above it, beyond it is a purpose so divinely wise that - no mortal sense can grasp it.” - </p> - <p> - Just then Cato appeared at the kitchen door ringing the breakfast-bell. - Ethel rose apathetically, and they slowly walked toward the house - together. They saw her mother among the flowers waiting for them. Paul - heard his companion sigh and, looking at her, he saw that she had lapsed - into despair again. - </p> - <p> - “I can't bear it,” he heard her say. “I can't—I can't. It's awful, - awful!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0026" id="linklink2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>OAG rode into the - village the next morning, and as his horse bore him along through the - balmy air he ruminated over the object he had in view. He had determined - to see Sid Trawley and have a straight talk with him about certain private - matters. He no longer doubted that the liveryman was persistently avoiding - him. Sid had not answered to his name at the last roll-call of the “klan,” - and vague rumors were afloat. One of the younger members had jocularly - remarked that Sid had simply “got cold feet, an' was tryin' to shirk the - entire thing.” At any rate, Hoag was sure that Trawley was not deporting - himself as an aide-decamp should, and Hoag was determined to have a - distinct understanding about it. It was not Hoag's way to beat about the - bush, and Trawley knew too much regarding matters more or less - confidential to be allowed to act as he was acting without good and - sufficient reasons. As his horse cantered along the street near the - livery-stable, Hoag was quite sure that he saw Trawley in the doorway and - that he had purposely withdrawn from view. - </p> - <p> - “Huh, that's cheeky!” Hoag muttered, as he reined in at the stable, - dismounted, and threw his bridle-rein to a negro attendant. - </p> - <p> - “Which way did Sid go?” he asked the man, suddenly. - </p> - <p> - The negro's eyelashes flickered hesitatingly, and he avoided the white - man's stare. - </p> - <p> - “I dunno, boss, I hain't seed 'im,” the man said. “He was heer dis - mawnin', but I don't know whar he is now.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a liar, you black imp!” Hoag growled. “I saw 'im right here a - minute ago.” - </p> - <p> - The negro made no response; he shrugged his shoulders doggedly, and his - bead-like eyes were full of cautious concern as he led the horse to a - stall. - </p> - <p> - Hoag stared after him, a sullen, thwarted expression on his face. “Don't - take the saddle off,” he yelled. “I'm goin' back right away.” And with - that he suddenly turned into the little office on the right, finding - Trawley at his desk, a queer look, half of fear, half of sheepishness, in - his shifting eyes. Hoag was now positive that the man was trying to avoid - him, and a fierce demand for explanation was on his tongue, but he managed - to restrain himself. Indeed, he felt that this was a case that required - diplomatic handling, for Trawley had a temper, and at present had the look - of a man driven into a corner. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Sid,” Hoag said. “How goes it?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, so so,” Trawley answered, awkwardly. “How's things out your way?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, about as common.” Hoag was wondering over Trawley's sallow - complexion, once so ruddy, and the nervousness of a frame which surely had - lost weight and poise. The two did not shake hands. Hoag idly tapped the - green cloth of the desk, beating little ridges of dust into view, and - fixed his purposeful eyes on the dingy, small-paned window which was hung - over with cobwebs. - </p> - <p> - “You hain't answered at roll-call lately,” he suddenly plunged. - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't find the time.” Trawley was opening a canvas-backed ledger - with thin, quivering fingers. “I've been powerful busy, Cap. Lots an' lots - o' rigs an' hosses goin' out an' comin' in—can't trust my shebang - with these coons. They don't feed an' water my stock—or rub 'em down - when they come in tired. They git things all balled up—send out - hosses on long trips that hain't had no rest; one o' my best mules dropped - dead t'other day an'—” - </p> - <p> - “I understand all that.” Hoag's eyes bore down on him impatiently. “But - you didn't <i>use</i> to be so all-fired anxious about this dang stable. - It's a new twist altogether. Say, has anything gone crooked with you?” - </p> - <p> - “What makes you ax that?” Trawley's words crept slowly from his stiff - lips, and his glance rose, only to fall precipitately. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know,” Hoag replied. “Some o' the boys said they didn't know but - what you'd took to doctorin' yorese'f—got a fool notion in yore head - that you was about to git down sick.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I <i>am</i> sick—if you want to know,” Trawley suddenly - declared. “I'm not a sound man, by a long shot.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come off!” Hoag laughed. “You've been eatin' too much or smokin' - more'n you ought. Maybe yore liquor ain't o' the right brand. There's a - lot o' poison in the truck shoved over bar-counters these days. You - oughtn't to touch any but straight moonshine corn. Some o' our boys make - the best that ever slid down a gullet.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tain't nothin' o' that sort,” Trawley sighed, despondently. “Dr. Lynn - examined me an' wasn't a bit satisfied. He said my stomach had clean gone - back on me. Nothin' I eat won't stay down. I roll an' tumble at night an' - shake all over durin' the day. Doc said it was serious.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, now I understand.” Hoag seemed slightly relieved. “But you hain't - a-goin' to let <i>that</i> scare the socks off you. Besides, Lynn may be - mistaken.” - </p> - <p> - Trawley's chin dropped despondently. “He knows as much as any doctor, I - reckon. Looked to me like he considered my case hopeless. He shook his - head all the time he was talkin'. He—he hinted purty strong that I - ought to be prepared, that I might—might have to go any day.” - Trawley's scant blood had left his face and his lip hung limply. - </p> - <p> - Hoag shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “So you've let that scare you - plumb off from old habits. You set here an' mope instead o' bein' up an' - about with the rest of us. We all got to die some time or other.” - </p> - <p> - Trawley glared fiercely out from his labyrinth of fears. “You wait till it - gits <i>you</i> down!” he blurted out. “<i>You</i> kin talk, standin' thar - with that solid pouch on you—an' a meal in it that you can hold - down. Don't talk to me; I know when I'm in trouble!” - </p> - <p> - “I know when you will be, shore enough, if you don't mark my words.” Hoag - was now employing his favorite browbeating method, and his eyes flashed - threateningly. “You have been shootin' off your mouth to outsiders. You - are like a scared old hag with fits. I heard that hobgoblin tale you told - about seein' the ghost o' Pete Watson. The tale's goin' the rounds, - gittin' bigger an' bigger, like a cake o' beeswax that everybody adds a - chunk to, an' thar wasn't a thing in it but your fool jim-jams.” - </p> - <p> - “I know what I <i>know!</i>” Trawley said, a shadow of superstition in his - eyes. “I was in my right senses—I was seein' as plain as I am now. - The fust time he appeared I was wide awake, settin' up in a chair in the - kitchen. The next time I was in my corn-crib a little after dark. Pete put - his hand to his neck; I heard 'im groan an' gurgle. He comes to my bed - sometimes when I'm asleepin' an' pulls the covers off an' then darts right - through the wall. The last time he told me that me nor none o' the klan - would ever have peace—that black folks was the same as white whar he - was at, an' that accordin' to the book o' judgment to kill the innocent - was the unpardonable sin alluded to in Scripture.” - </p> - <p> - “Poof, Sid, you are gone clean daffy!” Hoag sneered, though a serious - expression had captured his features, for he was wondering how far this - indiscreet babbler could be trusted to recount such imaginings. - </p> - <p> - “He got <i>you</i> in it all right,” Trawley said, vindictively. “I ain't - the only one. The last time he come to me I was drivin' the cow home from - the pasture after dark. At fust I thought it was a calf or a stray hog; - but he come on till he was close by my side, limpin' along like he used to - do, with his old flipflap feet. He talked as plain as ever he did in this - life. He said I was to die a slow death an' a terrible one—that my - folks would think I was dead an' put me in the ground, but that I'd lie - thar an' wait till him an' some more come an' twisted my sperit out an' - tuck it on to torment. Then he fetched you in.” - </p> - <p> - “Me?” Hoag sniffed. “Well, I'm glad he hain't forgot me. I hope he - remembers the time I lambasted 'im for breakin' that new plow o' mine.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; he said yore time was comin', too; he said you was the prime mover - an' power in the organization—that you was a rank coward at heart, - an' that you jest loved the fun o' scarin' niggers because you was afraid - o' brave white men. I dunno, I'm jest tellin' you what he told me. He said - your luck was goin' to turn flat ag'in' you—that your present - support would sluff away, an' you'd find yourself alone with nothin' - 'twixt you an' the Almighty but the niggers you'd sent on ahead, an' that - you'd git on your knees to 'em an' beg 'em to speak a kind word for you, - but that they'd turn a deef ear. He may have missed it in yore case, but - was right about <i>me</i>. Jim Hoag, I'm a dyin' man, an' I'm in hell - already.” Hoag was becoming angry. Had he dared he would have spoken more - sharply. He told himself that Trawley had lost his reason, and that he was - a very unsafe man in his present condition, holding the knowledge he held. - </p> - <p> - “You'll have to git out o' this,” he said, sternly. “You need a change.” - </p> - <p> - “I need more'n that,” Trawley groaned, and he beat the top of his desk - with a limp, splaying hand. “I need medicine that ain't in no bottle or - doctor's saddle-bags. I know what I need, but I don't know whar to git it. - I need what my good old mammy had when she died, shoutin' an' talkin' - about her folks that had gone on, who she declared was right thar over the - bed holdin' out their hands to her.” - </p> - <p> - “Take it from me, Sid,” Hoag said, carelessly, “all that stuff is pure - poppycock. When a man's time comes the jig is up—that's all; he's - done for; he's put in the ground an' rots. As for me, that's all I want or - expect.” - </p> - <p> - “I know you've always said that,” Trawley answered, “an' I used to think - maybe you was right, bein' sech a big man in your way; but I know - different now. Say, Jim Hoag, what do you make o' Paul Rundel?” - </p> - <p> - “Make o' 'im—what do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I want to know what could 'a' fetched 'imback here to give up to the - halter like he did unless—unless he was led by some'n in 'im bigger, - wider, an' higher than jest his mortal body?” - </p> - <p> - Hoag smiled significantly, and idly tapped the leg of his trousers with - his whip. “Just betwixt us two, Sid, I never have knowed just <i>what</i> - Paul's game was. I saw he was a good man for the job I had open, an' I - tuck 'im in. I never have bothered about the tale he told. That was his - lookout. He's got a clear head for business. He understands human nature, - an' he was sharp enough, I reckon, to know that nine juries out o' ten - would be lenient in a case like his'n. He was homesick for these old - mountains, an' was willin' to serve a year or two an' be done with it.” - </p> - <p> - “That won't do at all—<i>not at all</i>,” Trawley protested, with - firmness. “I've never seed an eye like his'n in a human head. He heard I - was ailin', an' come in here last week friendly like to talk to me. Well”—Trawley - averted his face and sat linking his fingers like wooden prongs—“I - just don't know how to tell you about it, Cap. He said—Paul said - some o' the quarest, most comfortin' things that ever a sick man heard. I - want to see 'im ag'in—I just <i>must</i>. I've been to preachers, - an' to old Christian men like Tye over thar, an' they all gave me the same - stale song-and-dance; but this young fellow, with his shinin' face an' - happy way, had some'n fresh. Why, he said that the Lord just couldn't be - hard on any repentant soul He'd ever created. I wish I could tell you how - Paul fixed it, but I can't remember. He said the ugly sights I'd seed was - just in <i>me</i>—just in my own mind—an' that as soon as I - seed that I was part an' parcel of God Hisse'f all them gloomy shadows - would pass away an' I'd see visions o' true light. He cited the thief on - the cross—you remember about that feller? He was dyin' thar by the - Saviour, you know, an' the Lord said to him, 'This day shalt thou be with - me in Paradise.' As Paul fixed it up nothin' the thief had done in days - gone by was to be helt ag'in' 'im—<i>nothin'!</i> He says it is all - a matter of wrong thought or right thought. He told a purty tale that was - sorter like a new-fashioned parable. He said, take two brothers, for - instance. A lawyer comes away across the ocean from the old country an' - tells 'em, on his word an' honor, that a kinsman has died over thar an' - left 'em a million apiece, but that they will have to be patient an' wait - a year before the money will be paid into the'r hands. Now, Paul said one - of 'em, for example, would believe the lawyer an' spend his year full o' - happy expectations, but t'other wouldn't trust the lawyer's statement, an' - in his doubt an' uncertainty his year would be the most miserable he ever - spent. Both come in at the end on the same actual level, you see, Cap, but - the trustin' fellow got in twelve months quicker—that's all. Paul - says that illustrates what is called havin' the kingdom of heaven within - you—it's our'n if we'll just believe it's our'n an' move in an' take - possession.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag's countenance was full of shadow. For a moment he seemed undecided as - to what to say. He whipped his leg steadily and cleared his throat. One of - the negro attendants leaned in at the door and asked Trawley a question, - and the liveryman replied sharply: - </p> - <p> - “Give 'im any pair he wants, an' don't disturb me ag'in while I'm - talkin'.” He uttered a low groan as the negro withdrew and looked up at - his frowning companion. “I tell you, Jim Hoag, when a man gits in trouble - like I am in, a puny thing like whether he rents a turnout, or a hub is - split, or a tire off, amounts to so little that it makes 'im mad to think - about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Looky' here, Sid!” Hoag's beetling brows ran together, and his tone was - fierce and direct. “I want to git at this thing right now, so as to know - what to depend on. Like the rest of us, you are under oath of secrecy to - the klan. Did you say anything to Paul Rundel to lead him to suspect that—” - </p> - <p> - “No, I didn't,” Trawley groaned. “I kept it all back, an' thar's right - whar I think my chief trouble lies. I've taken an oath that binds me to - the devil an' his imps. Paul says, to git the real thing you've got to go - at it with a clean breast, an' I can't be that way with you fellows - tellin' me to come to your secret meetin's an' layin' claim to me. I - hain't give you all away, an' I ain't goin' to, but I'm in a bad fix. I - want to clean up an' git right, but I don't know how. It seems wrong to - break my oath, an' wuss to keep it.” - </p> - <p> - “I can say to you right here, Sid”—Hoag moved toward the door, a - dark, red flush on his face—“if you do betray our body you'll regret - it, an' you know well enough why.” - </p> - <p> - So speaking, and without another glance at the man he was leaving, Hoag - strode away. Aflame with fury, he mounted his horse and rode homeward. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0027" id="linklink2HCH0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE following night - was dark and sultry. A slight, brief rain had pattered upon the hot and - dusty earth, leaving a warm, thick moisture in the air. The clouds, - shifting, dissolving, and massing overhead, alternately revealed and hid - the stars. The moon's white disk hung behind a filmy veil above the - mountain-top. Hoag had retired to his room in anything but a pleasant - mood. He could count on browbeating the average man under him, the man who - was afraid of the good or ill opinion of his fellows; but the man who was - afraid of the Infinite, as in Trawley's case, was different. - </p> - <p> - Hoag had removed his coat and his shirt was open in front. He sat in a - chair at a window overlooking his tannery. He was smoking, as usual. In - fact, the habit had grown upon him to such an extent that he was afraid of - what he called “a tobacco-heart.” There were occasional warnings, in - certain muscular flutterings and lapses into drowsiness that had not - belonged to his more buoyant period. He told himself that he was taking on - flesh too rapidly. He was sure he was eating more than he should; that his - toddies were acting as an unnatural stimulant to an appetite which had - always been too vigorous. - </p> - <p> - On a table behind him a lamp was dimly burning, and the bed in its billowy - warmth looked uninviting. The old clock in the hall below had struck - eleven when he rose to disrobe. Suddenly he heard Rover, the watch-dog, - bark loudly and scamper down the lawn toward the tannery. Then there was - silence, broken by a subdued muttering under the dark sheds. Hoag was sure - that the dog had been silenced by some one, and the circumstance was - suspicious, to say the least, and must be looked into. So, taking his - revolver from the table, and in order that he might not wake Jack or Mrs. - Tilton in the next room, he opened his door softly, then crept noiselessly - out at the side-entrance and went across the damp lawn down the slope, - avoiding this or that obstacle in his progress—a beehive, a - lawn-mower, or a dismantled cider-press left at the mercy of the weather. - He was soon under the sheds groping his way, most cautiously now, for it - was quite dark, between the open vats, and stumbling over heaps of used - and unused tan-bark, his eyes and ears alert. He asked himself, in growing - wonder, what had become of Rover, for surely the dog was somewhere near. - At this juncture he heard a dull, thumping sound in the warehouse a - hundred yards to the left, and cocking his revolver he strode quickly in - that direction. Reaching the warehouse, and turning the corner, he saw at - the door of the building a horse and open road-wagon, at the side of which - Rover sat on his haunches idly beating the ground with his tail. Wholly - nonplussed, Hoag stepped noiselessly on to the long platform, and peered - in at the sliding door. At the farthest end of the room, in the dim light - of a lantern, he saw a man half pushing, half rolling a heavy bale of - leather toward the door. Crouched down, as the intruder was over his work, - Hoag could not see his face, but presently it appeared quite clearly in - the light. It was Henry. It was his son. He was a thief caught in the act. - Volcanic fury swept over Hoag. The would-be thief was of his own blood, of - his own loins. Revolver in hand, and indignantly quivering in every inch - of his fat body, Hoag glided from the dark into the light. - </p> - <p> - “What the hell does this mean?” he demanded, in a loud and yet guttural - tone. - </p> - <p> - The young man at the bale of leather, without hat or coat, his brow red - and streaming with perspiration, started and, looking up, faced his - father. For an instant his glance wavered, but as Hoag thundered out a - repetition of his question, Henry drew himself up defiantly and glared - straight at him. - </p> - <p> - “You see well enough,” he answered, doggedly. - </p> - <p> - “So you are a thief—a low, sneaking, prowling night-robber?” Hoag - gasped, taken aback by his son's unexpected attitude. “You—you!” - </p> - <p> - “Call it what you like!” Henry hurled at him. “I don't care. You are - rollin' in money, makin' it hand over fist—goin' to your grave rich, - and I haven't any way of living. Other fellows' daddies help them along, - but you never give me a cent. I used to ask you, and you'd curse me and - threaten to kick me out. I'm your son, and you are stinkin' rich. You - can't bluff me. I'm reckless. I don't care a tinker's damn what I do. I - need money—that's all—I need it.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag stood puffing. He was conscious of a fluttering about his heart, and - he had the sudden fear that an outburst might mean his undoing on the - spot, but he was too angry to control himself. - </p> - <p> - “So you are a thief!” he panted. “You eat at my table, sleep under my - roof, an' come here with a wagon to steal my stuff. Do you know what I'm - goin' to do with you?” - </p> - <p> - “Not knowing, I can't say,” Henry answered, with colloquial quotation. - “I've known you to get weak-kneed, as you did the day Jeff Warren called - you to taw at the Court House. Jeff saw through it and told how you ate - the crow he shoved at you on the point of his gun.” - </p> - <p> - This angry taunt was the worst missile the desperate young man could have - thrown. It drove splotches of pallor into the crimson of his father's - face. - </p> - <p> - “You mean you think I'm a coward?” Hoag cried. “You—you dare—” - </p> - <p> - “I don't mean nothing about it; I <i>know</i> it,” Henry retorted, still - with the furious smile on his lips, a reckless flare in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'll show you what I'm goin' to do to <i>you</i>, anyway,” Hoag - said, fiercely. “I'm goin' to give you the best lickin' you ever had in - all your bom days.” - </p> - <p> - “You say you are!” Henry laughed, almost with actual spontaneity. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am, an' right here an' now.” - </p> - <p> - “'Right here an' now,'” Henry repeated, grimly. “Well, that is a good - joke; 'right here an' now'—poof! You'd better set in. It will be - breakfast time before long.” - </p> - <p> - “You wait a minute,” Hoag growled, as he took up the lantern and placed it - on a bale of cotton; then he turned back to the door, closed the shutter - and fastened the metal latch with fingers that fumbled and evoked an - audible clatter in the silent room. Then, with his revolver in his - hip-pocket, he stalked back to his son, who sat on the bale of leather - sullenly picking his teeth with a splinter. Their eyes met like those of - two infuriated beasts driven into contact by the goads of spectators. - Beyond the lantern's flare the darkness hung like a curtain. Hoag picked - up a piece of hard-twisted hemp rope about a yard in length, and with - furious jerks proceeded to tie a knot in one end of it. - </p> - <p> - “You not only try to rob me, but you dare to insult me!” he cried, frothy - saliva trickling from the corners of his big, weak mouth. “I'm goin' to - give you a lickin' that you won't forget till you die.” - </p> - <p> - Henry stood up. A smile dawned on his face and died; he locked his hands - behind him; his lips were as firm as if cut in granite; his eyelids drew - close together, and the balls gleamed with the fire of invincible purpose. - </p> - <p> - “Wait a minute,” he said. “You are an older man than I am, an' you are my - daddy, but if you lay the weight of your hand on me I'll kill you as sure - as you've got a live hair on your head.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean to threaten me—you damned midnight prowler!” And Hoag, - brandishing his rope, sprang at his son like a tiger on its prey. But - Henry quickly and deftly caught the descending rope, jerked it from the - fat fingers, and threw it against the wall. Then, while Hoag stood for an - instant bewildered, Henry clutched him round his big, bare neck and began - to push him backward over the bale of leather. From side to side the two - swung, grunting, panting, swearing. A mist was before Hoag's eyes; ten - prongs of steel were piercing and separating the bones and muscles of his - neck. He was gasping for breath when, by an extra effort, he tore his - son's hands away. For a second they stood warily shifting from side to - side, and then they locked in the embrace of madmen, and the struggle for - supremacy was renewed. Over the rough floor, here and there among boxes, - bundles, and bales, they slid and pounded. Suddenly Henry became conscious - that his father was trying to get his hand into his hip-pocket. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that's your game, eh?” he said, between his teeth. “Two can work at - it.” And the younger suddenly slid his hand over the back of the older man - and grasped the hilt of the revolver. Then he ducked downward suddenly and - stood aside, the weapon in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Stand back!” he ordered, calmly, and Hoag, with eyes of despair on the - revolver, fell away. Visions of death flashed and flared before him—visions - of the monster Trawley was fearing. He held up his hands; their shadows on - the wall quivered like the moving branches of a tree in a storm. - </p> - <p> - “Don't, for God's sake, don't!” he pleaded. “I'm—I'm your father.” - </p> - <p> - Henry stared for a moment, and then an expression of sheer horror crept - over his face. Suddenly he threw the revolver against the wall and bowed - his head to a cotton bale. - </p> - <p> - “My God, oh, my God!” he cried, his hands pressed into the sockets of his - eyes, his breast heaving. - </p> - <p> - Slowly Hoag lowered his uplifted hands. Silence ensued—silence - broken only by the audible panting of the two men. Presently Hoag spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You started to kill me,” he gasped. “Why didn't you do it? You had the - chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my God—oh, my God!” Henry exclaimed, in muffled tones. “Yes, - yes, I came near it. I didn't know what I was about. You got me in a - corner. You started at me. You made me mad. But I am not a murderer—bad - as I am, I am not that. I saw you trying to pull the gun and forgot what I - was doing.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh, you say you did?” Hoag seemed unable to formulate anything else. - “You say you did?” Suddenly stepping aside, Henry picked up the rope his - father had held a moment before. Hoag stared helplessly as he came toward - him with it extended in his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Take it!” Henry gulped. - </p> - <p> - “What for?” Hoag asked, wonderingly. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to whip me,” Henry replied, huskily. “I'll stand here and let - you lay it on till you are tired. You'll never give me enough to satisfy - me. I need it and I want it. You have every right to give it to me, and I - want it done.” - </p> - <p> - Unconscious of what he was doing, Hoag accepted the rope, allowing it to - hang loosely from his inert fingers. There was another silence. Henry had - turned his back and bent his shoulders over the cotton bale. - </p> - <p> - Hoag twisted the rope awkwardly in his hands for a moment, then threw it - down. - </p> - <p> - “What did you need money for?” he suddenly inquired. “Tell me; you might - as well.” - </p> - <p> - “I borrowed a hundred dollars from Sam Pitman last year,” came from - Henry's averted lips. “He's in hard luck. They are about to sell his farm - for debt. His family is suffering. He told me that my hundred would tide - him over.” - </p> - <p> - “I see, I see,” Hoag muttered. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know how else to get it,” Henry went on. “I tried a number of - ways, but failed. I want you to know that I've never stole before. Somehow - I made myself believe it wouldn't be wrong in such a case to take from my - own father. Of course I was wrong, but I tried to see it that way. I knew - where I could raise the money on the leather, and—well, that's all. - I want you to whip me. Nothing else will satisfy me. After that I'll go - away for good and all.” - </p> - <p> - “Thar ain't no use to talk that way,” Hoag said, falteringly. “I didn't - know you needed money as bad as that. Pitman <i>is</i> in a hard fix, an' - I'll tell you what I'll do. It's plumb foolish for you to—to talk - about goin' off an' all that. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll pay that - debt off in the momin'. I reckon you think I'm purty hard on you. Well, I - suppose I am. I was fetched up hard, an' I've got hard. Now, go put up the - hoss an' wagon. I feel bad about this. I don't know why, but I feel bad.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, I can't—” - </p> - <p> - “Now, go on an' do as I tell you. I know when I want to do a thing, an' I - want to pay Pitman that money, an'—an' I want you to stay on here at - home. Now, go put up the hoss an' wagon. If I'm satisfied you ought to be, - an' me'n you will have to rub out an' begin over ag'in in some sort o' - fashion. You was mad an' I was mad. You've got my temper an' I can't blame - you. Now, go on. I'll lock the door.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” Henry said, and he picked up his coat and hat and moved away - into the darkness, leaving his father with the lighted lantern in his - hand. - </p> - <p> - Hoag stood still for a moment. He heard his son clucking to the horse, - then came the sound of the wagon-wheels scraping against the edge of the - platform, and the grinding of the horse's hoofs on the stony road, as it - was driven toward the stables. Hoag extinguished the lantern by lowering - it suddenly, and, going out, he closed the sliding door and locked it with - fingers which quivered as with palsy. - </p> - <p> - He sat down on the platform, his heavy feet and legs hanging limply, and - stared out into space. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0028" id="linklink2HCH0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NE evening at the - end of that week Paul met - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Mayfield walking back and forth on the lawn. Her head was enveloped - in a light shawl and her eyes were downcast. Presently she turned toward - him, and he saw that she had been weeping. - </p> - <p> - “I was going to inquire of Mrs. Tilton how your daughter is,” he began. “I - have not seen her since the morning I walked with her to the spring.” - </p> - <p> - The lady touched her thin lips with her handkerchief and made an obvious - effort to control her voice. She laid her hand on his arm almost with a - gesture of despair, and he felt the delicate fingers tremble. - </p> - <p> - “I've been wanting to see you,” she faltered. “The poor child seldom - leaves her bed. The doctor says nothing but time will do her any good. She - scarcely eats anything, and has grown thin and white, and oh, so nervous! - Jennie's death has simply terrified her—shocked her through and - through. She cries constantly. I wake up in the night and hear weeping and - moaning. The doctor can't deceive me. I know he is worried, because he - comes often and asks so many questions. He admits that grief like Ethel's - sometimes results disastrously, and I myself have never seen so serious a - case as hers. Paul, she has lost all faith in God and religion. She came - up-stairs, after you talked to her that day, in what seemed to be a really - more hopeful mood. She put her head in my lap and cried for the first time - in a natural way, but she hardened again soon afterward. That afternoon - letters came from Jennie's father and mother and the young man Jennie was - to marry, and Ethel went into hysterics. She really did not know what she - was saying or doing. Oh, it was pitiful! She says she simply can't get - away from the memory of the awful details. It was my fault; she should - never have been there. Jennie wanted her, though, and there was no time - for reflection. We were all excited.” - </p> - <p> - “Something must be done to take your daughter's mind from it,” Paul - advised, gravely. “A mental picture like that should not be held. It is - decidedly dangerous.” - </p> - <p> - “That's why I wanted to see you,” Mrs. Mayfield said. “You can help me if - you will. My brother says you are going to drive over the mountain - tomorrow on business. I really think Ethel would go along if you would - care to take her.” - </p> - <p> - “I should be delighted,” he answered. “I'd be a poor companion at such a - time, but the view from the mountain at this time of the year is - wonderful, and the trip might divert her thoughts.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I'll have her ready,” Mrs. Mayfield promised. “And oh, Paul, I do - hope you will impress some of your beautiful thoughts upon her. Religion, - faith in God's goodness, and the hope of immortality are absolutely the - only sustaining things at such a time. If I had not had them to cling to - when my poor husband died I think I should have lost my reason. I doubted - at first—I could see no justice in his sufferings and mine; but I - have become reconciled. People are more material in their ideas nowadays, - and Ethel has come across some injurious books which have influenced her. - She is so gentle and sweet—really, it is her pity for Jennie that is - causing it all. She is not thinking of herself. That is the state of mind - of a mother who has lost a child; she feels, somehow, that her child has - been wrongly treated and she resents it.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll do my best to cheer her up to-morrow,” Paul said, a note of - despondency creeping into his voice, “though I am afraid I can't do much.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure you can do far more than any one else,” Mrs. Mayfield said, as - she glanced at the window of her daughter's room and turned to go in. - “I'll have her ready.” - </p> - <p> - After breakfast the following morning Cato brought the horse and buggy - around to the veranda, and Paul went out to see if everything was in - readiness for the trip, having received a message at breakfast from Mrs. - Mayfield that Ethel was quite willing to go. Presently he heard the two - ladies descending the stairs, and a moment later they joined him in the - yard. Paul was shocked by Ethel's appearance. She was quite pale and there - were despondent shadows under her eyes, but, withal, he had never seen her - look so beautiful; it was as if some rare, suppressed radiance were - issuing from her hair, skin, and pain-filled eyes, the long lashes of - which seemed dipped in the essence of tears. - </p> - <p> - “I know you will think I'm very troublesome, Paul,” she smiled, sadly, as - she gave him her hand to get into the buggy. “I've been so despondent that - I have avoided all of you. It is very kind of you to bother with me - to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “It is certainly a great pleasure to me,” he answered, as he tucked the - lap-robe about her feet. “You mustn't try to talk unless you care to.” - </p> - <p> - “It seems to me that I can think of only one subject,” she sighed, as she - leaned over the wheel and kissed her mother. “I seem to be floating on a - sea of unreality, under clouds of despair. I was looking from the window - of my room just now and saw the people going to work at the tannery, and - in the fields with their pails and tools, and I wanted to scream. It - seemed so queer for them to be moving about as if nothing unusual had - happened when”—Her voice failed her. With a sensitive tightening of - the lips Mrs. Mayfield signaled Paul to drive on, and he started the - horse. - </p> - <p> - They had gone some distance along the stony road which wound gradually up - the mountain-side before either of them spoke. It was Ethel who broke the - silence. - </p> - <p> - “There is no time in the world, Paul,” she said, huskily, “in which one so - keenly feels and appreciates the kindness of friends as a time like this. - I can see that you are sorry for me, and I want you to know how grateful I - am, but I simply can't express it. My very heart and soul seem to have - died within me.” - </p> - <p> - “You mustn't try,” he answered. “You must simply realize that all things - are right. Even <i>this</i> great sorrow, sad as it appears, is for the - best, if only you could see it in the right light.” - </p> - <p> - “I remember you said so the other day. And, Paul, I did try hard. A - beautiful faith in personal immortality, like yours, really does keep away - the horror of death, and I tried, with all my mind and body, to grasp it. - I prayed and prayed for your faith, and it seemed to me, at certain - moments, that I came so close to it that I could almost sense it as a - wonderful reality. It would flash before me like a beautiful dream, and - then vanish, leaving nothing but that awful scene in its place. For half - an hour yesterday I was almost happy. It seemed to me that Jennie was - really not dead. I fancied she was there with me, telling me—not in - words, but in some subtle way—not to grieve, that she was in a new - life full of joy and freedom.” - </p> - <p> - “That is the thought you ought to endeavor to hold,” Paul fervently - declared, “because it is simple truth. In fact, you deny the ultimate aim - of life in looking at it in any other way.” - </p> - <p> - “You will say it was a small thing, perhaps,” Ethel went on, “which threw - me back into despair. It was this: Shortly after our talk at the spring, I - picked up a newspaper, and the first thing I saw was a long article - concerning a statement made by Edison, to the effect that the result of - all his careful and lifelong investigations was the conclusion that the - immortality of the soul was an utter impossibility. Paul, I dropped from - hope to despair in an instant. I tried to think you might be right and he - wrong, but I failed. I asked myself this question: If God is good enough - to grant us another and a better life, why will He allow one of the - greatest men of our age to deny it, and let me—<i>me</i>, suffering - and praying for light as I am—come across his denial in grim, black - letters on white paper?” - </p> - <p> - “That raises a little scientific point.” Paul looked at her wistful face - and half smiled. “You allowed yourself to be influenced, almost - self-hypnotized, by one single mental picture.” - </p> - <p> - “How so?” Ethel inquired. - </p> - <p> - Paul smiled again. “Why, you let Mr. Edison—with all due respect to - his knowledge of merely material things—you let him loom too large - before your sight. One may hold a little ugly insect so close to the eye - that it will shut out the light of billions of suns and stars. When it is - a question of opinion alone it would be better to go to specialists in the - particular field we are investigating. Mr. Edison is a specialist in <i>material</i> - things, not spiritual things. We would not go to a coal-miner who had - spent his life underground to render an opinion on the effects of sunlight - on flowers; nor to a boilermaker for an opinion on music played to the - vanishing-point of delicate expression. We have one great historical - authority on spiritual matters. Christ told us that there is a life beyond - this, and he died asserting it. There was another—Socrates—who - realized it so strongly that he laughed in the face of death. Ethel, I - cannot believe that God would create men like those, allow them to suffer - for others as they did, and then prove them to be liars outright or - self-deceived simpletons.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm so glad I came this morning!” Ethel cried, looking up at him - gratefully. “You have given me so much hope. Your faith is wonderful, and - you seem to inspire me with it.” - </p> - <p> - “No, we really must not go to our material scientists for hope in such - things,” Paul resumed, “but rather to our great imaginative poets, - artists, and idealistic philosophers, all of whom knew there could be no - continuity of progress without eternal life. Evolution of matter is only a - visible symbol of the evolution of the unseen. I can fancy Jesus meeting - one of our great self-satisfied materialists and hear Him say: 'Verily, - verily, thou hast thy reward; sooner shalt thou see through a mountain of - adamant than look into the kingdom of heaven.'” - </p> - <p> - Ethel laughed softly. “You are making me ashamed of myself, Paul. I am - going to try harder than ever to do my duty. I know what it is, but I am - simply stunned. My uncle and aunt write me that the young man Jennie was - to have married has gone to drinking again. He simply could not stand his - great grief. That is another thing that seems so unfair and unreasonable. - For Jennie's sake he gave up the habit, and promised her and her parents - never to drink again. Now he is going to ruin, when if Jennie had lived—” - Ethel's voice broke, and she did not finish what she had started to say. - </p> - <p> - “But can't you see what your cousin may have escaped?” Paul reasoned. “A - young man who is weak enough to allow a sorrow—even a sorrow like - that—to throw him into dissipation would not be likely to make a - worthy husband. After marriage some other disappointment might have upset - him, and a woman married to such a man would have led a miserable life.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that's true,” Ethel admitted, “and Jennie never could have borne it; - she was so frail and sensitive.” - </p> - <p> - “There's surely a good reason for all that happens,” Paul said. “But we - can't be expected to understand what is withheld from us.” - </p> - <p> - They were both silent for a while. They had reached the highest point of - the road, and the lower mountains and hills fell away on all sides like - the green billows of a mighty ocean. Above it all shone the sun. The blue, - cloud-flecked sky arched over them like a vast dome. The breeze which - fanned their faces was refreshing and laden with the fragrance of wild - flowers. Paul called her attention to the mill at the foot of the mountain - to which they were going, and started the horse down the incline. - </p> - <p> - “I am to have a visitor Sunday,” Ethel remarked, her glance on the horse. - “My friend, Mr. Peterson, is coming up to spend the day.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” Paul unconsciously ejaculated, and then the color rose to his face. - “I have not met him. I saw him at the bank one day when I went to Atlanta - with your uncle, but we were not introduced. He was very busy looking over - Mr. Hoag's papers.” - </p> - <p> - “They are great friends,” Ethel said, somewhat awkwardly, her cheeks - slightly tinted. “I don't feel as if I can entertain him very well in my - present state of mind, but I knew my uncle would be offended if I wrote - him not to come.” - </p> - <p> - “It will be good for you, no doubt,” Paul said, lamely, and for no obvious - reason he tightened the reins and shook them over the animal's back. “He - will bring you news from the city and it may divert your thoughts.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps so. My mother thought he ought to come; he has been most kind to - us. He is one of my best friends.” - </p> - <p> - “Your uncle tells me that Mr. Peterson is growing rich,” Paul remarked. - “He seems to have a wise head for business.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he is ambitious that way, and socially, too. He belongs to the best - clubs and has a great many friends.” - </p> - <p> - “Your uncle says he is a member of one of the old aristocratic families - and has many influential blood connections.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I think so”—Ethel suddenly glanced at her companion's face and - noted that it was rigid, as if under the control of some keen emotion—“but - such things do not really count,” she added, consolingly; “they don't make - a man any the better.” - </p> - <p> - Paul said nothing, and the horse drew them along for some distance in - silence. Then Ethel took up the subject where it had dropped. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure you will like Mr. Peterson; he has traveled a great deal. He - has an interest in one of the Atlanta papers, and I have heard him speak - of having influenced some of the political editorials. For so young a man - he is looking far ahead and is very, very shrewd. My uncle declares that - he is a born politician, and that sooner or later he will become a - candidate for some high office, such even as Senator or Governor.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Paul drew the horse to a standstill. She saw him glance up a very - rugged steep over an abrupt cliff on the right. - </p> - <p> - “I see some violets,” he said. “I've been looking for some all along. If - you will hold the reins I'll climb up and get them.” - </p> - <p> - She gave him a puzzled stare for an instant, and her lips tightened - significantly as she answered: “I really would like to have them, but it - looks steep and dangerous up there; you might slip and fall over the - cliff.” - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders and smiled bitterly. - </p> - <p> - The lines of pain she had noticed about his eyes and mouth still remained. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is not dangerous,” he declared. “As a boy I have climbed up worse - places than that; but I was barefooted then and a sort of wild animal. You - remember how I looked and acted when I first met you? In the eyes of the - social world I am still not much better off, for the social world—<i>your</i> - world—draws a sharp line at birth and fortune, and they are things - some of us have to do without.” - </p> - <p> - He had got out of the buggy and was turning away. She had a startled - impulse to deny what he had just said, but suitable words could not be so - quickly summoned. In no little chagrin and fear of his opinion of her, she - sat watching him as he climbed the steep, clinging to this or that - projecting stone crevice or deep-rooted shrub. How strong, handsome, and - genuine he looked, with his fine, fearless head bared to the sun and - breeze! She saw him pause for seconds at a time, looking for a new - foothold in the rocky soil as the one he stood on slowly crumbled, rattled - down the incline, and shot over the cliff just beneath him. - </p> - <p> - She called out to him warningly once, and she was startled at the new - quality in her voice. What could it mean? she asked herself. Surely she - was not beginning to—She pulled her eyes from him and stared almost - angrily at her folded hands, telling herself that she could not deeply - care for any man. Just then she heard a small avalanche of disrupted stone - sliding down the mountain-side, and, looking up, she saw Paul hanging by a - single hand to a shrub, his foothold completely gone. She screamed and - stood up in the buggy, only to have him turn his face, while his feet - swung free, and smile reassuringly. - </p> - <p> - “Don't be afraid,” he called out. “I'm all right.” And then she saw him - calmly placing his foot on another projection. - </p> - <p> - From that point he moved upward till the violets were reached, and she saw - him gathering them and twisting them together in a tiny bunch with a - reverence of touch which was observable even at that distance. Then, the - stems of the flowers held between his lips, he began to make his way back, - and moments of keen suspense followed in which she looked away from him to - avoid the consciousness of his danger. Presently he was by her side, his - brow beaded with perspiration, his broad chest rising and falling from his - exertion. Without a word he gave her the violets and got into the buggy. - </p> - <p> - “Why did you take all that risk?” she asked reproachfully. “I want the - flowers, it is true; but, oh! if you had lost your hold and fallen—” - She went no further. - </p> - <p> - “It does seem dangerous when you look at it from down here,” he answered, - critically glancing up at the cliff. “But that is because we can see the - full height of the bluff. Up there, you know, I couldn't look over the - edge. If I had, perhaps I might have grown dizzy.” - </p> - <p> - “Paul,” Ethel said, after they had remained silent for several minutes, “I - am very grateful to you. When I am with you I don't suffer so much over - poor Jennie's death. Somehow you inspire me with your faith. I am going to - ask you a favor—one favor, and then I'm done with it. Will you - please tell me positively, in so many words, that you really are convinced - that she is still in existence. I know you've already said so, in a way, - but I want to remember your exact words, so if I become despondent again I - can repeat them over and over to myself.” - </p> - <p> - Paul laughed and glanced at her tenderly and wistfully. “I believe it as - positively as I believe that I am here with you at this moment,” he said, - quite gravely. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” she returned, simply. “I am going to believe it because you - do. I know that you know the truth. I know it—I know it!” She held - the violets to her lips, and it was as if she kissed the purple petals. - </p> - <p> - A glow as of reviving health seemed to suffuse her wan cheeks. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0029" id="linklink2HCH0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HAT evening after - supper, as Paul sat writing in his room, his employer came to the door and - looked in. - </p> - <p> - “Hello!” was his half-tentative greeting, as he slouched in and took a - chair near the table. “I've just been talkin' to my sister. She's powerful - tickled over the effect on Eth' of your trip over the mountain. She says - she's actually astonished. It seems like the gal's goin' to quit 'er - foolishness. I was gettin' powerful sick of it myself. It's hard enough to - know your own end's got to come some time ahead without dyin' every time - anybody else kicks the bucket.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad to know that Miss Ethel feels better.” Paul dipped his pen and - continued to write. - </p> - <p> - Hoag crossed his fat legs and, reaching down to his right shoe, he began - to fumble the string. “I want to see you about a certain matter,” he - began, clearing his throat. “I don't know as you will consider it any o' - my business exactly, but it is something that I thought you ought to be - prepared for.” - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” Paul put his pen into the rack and leaned toward the - speaker. - </p> - <p> - “Why, I was talkin' to Bob Mayburn this mornin'. You know his land joins - mine on the west. He had a few acres to rent an' was afraid he wouldn't - find a tenant; but he has hooked one at last, and who under the shinin' - sun do you reckon he got?” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't the slightest idea,” Paul answered. - </p> - <p> - “Jeff Warren,” Hoag said, his eyes bluntly fixed on the young man's face - in a groping stare of pleased curiosity. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” Paul exclaimed. “I didn't know he was anywhere near Grayson.” - </p> - <p> - “He ain't got here yet,” Hoag went on, a note of vindictive harshness - creeping into his voice. “The triflin' skunk has been over in Alabama with - yore ma an' her sister tryin' to make a livin' farmin', but without any - sort o' headway. He wrote May-burn that he was up to his eyes in debt over - thar—plumb busted—an' that they'd all three got sick an' tired - o' livin' among strangers, an' was anxious to git back here whar they are - acquainted. May-burn's got a comfortable new frame cottage on his land - that's empty, but knowin' that Jeff couldn't pay for it, he wrote 'im that - it was already rented. Thar is an old log cabin close to the cottage, an' - accordin' to the agreement Jeff an' his lay-out is to occupy that. It's - tough on a feller of Jeff's high an' mighty pride, but it is as good as he - deserves.” - </p> - <p> - Paul made no reply, a shadow lay across his sensitive face. He took up the - pen again, but he did not begin to use it. - </p> - <p> - “I knowed you wouldn't like it a bit,” Hoag continued, unctuously. “Here - you are risin' as fast as a dog can trot, gittin' the respect an' - favorable opinion of the best folks in the county, an' it's tough to have - a thing like that revived right when you ain't lookin' for it. I've no - doubt you wouldn't have settled here if you had thought such a thing would - happen.” - </p> - <p> - “Warren is a free man.” Paul's brows met, and his eyes held a far-off - gleam. “He has as much right here as I.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, of course,” Hoag admitted; “but he's got a nasty, quarrelsome - disposition, an' accordin' to some o' his friends he still holds a big - grudge ag'in' you. It was humiliatin' the way you plugged 'im an' left 'im - to die like a pig in the woods. You see, whar I'm interested is this: I - want you to keep on workin' without interruption, an' knowin' what a hot - temper <i>you've</i> got yourself—well, I see that you an' him will - jest have to hitch ag'in. I'm sorry he's comin' back myself. I never liked - 'im. It is not often that I belittle myself by takin' notice of a triflin' - clodhopper like him; but he's been in my way several times, an' may step - in ag'in, for all I know.” - </p> - <p> - Paul drew a ledger toward him and opened it. “I'm glad you told me this,” - he said. “I've got a lot of work to do before bedtime. I know you will - excuse me if I go at it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, oh yes!” Hoag rose, staring in a puzzled, thwarted sort of way. - “I don't want to hinder you. I'll be goin'. I just thought I'd throw out a - hint about the matter. It is well to be prepared for trouble if it <i>has</i> - to come, an'—an' a man like Warren is sure to pick a row.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag lingered a moment, but seeing that the young man was at work he left - the room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0030" id="linklink2HCH0030"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE following - Sunday was a somber day for Paul Rundel. When he opened his eyes in the - gray of dawn, and lay watching the pink flood of light as it widened and - lengthened along the eastern horizon, his first thought was the despondent - one under which he had dropped to sleep—it was the day Edward - Peterson was to visit Ethel. - </p> - <p> - Paul rose and stood at the window and looked out over the lawn and frowsy - brown roofs of the tannery sheds. He was cringing under a poignant agony - that permeated his whole being, clogged the blood in his veins, and sucked - away the very breath of the life which had recently been so full of - indefinable content. The cause was not hard to find. He was convinced that - Ethel was absolutely necessary to his happiness. Had he not met her again - on his return to Georgia she might have remained in his memory only as the - young girl who had been so unexpectedly kind and gentle to a poor outcast; - but he had recently found himself more nearly on a social level with her, - and he had actually helped her. She had said so. She had shown it in her - words and actions, in her turning, under his guidance, from despair to - hope. Yet she was to be another man's wife, a man who was evidently not - disturbed by any fine-spun ideas of the Infinite or of duty to humanity. - Peterson would forge ahead in the happy way such men have, surmounting - obstacle after obstacle, climbing higher and higher in the estimation of - men, and reaping honor after honor. Ethel would marry him. Her uncle - wished it, all her friends counted on it. To refuse Peterson would be - madness. The man—especially a poor man—who would ask her to do - otherwise for his sake would be mad. Yes, all thought of her as anything - but a sympathetic friend must be crushed. When Jeff Warren and his wife - came to live in their sordid cabin on the roadside Ethel and her mother - would pass their door daily and realize fully the caste to which Paul - belonged. - </p> - <p> - He dressed himself and descended to the lawn. He raised his arms and - lowered them, and inhaled deep breaths in his usual morning exercise; but - it was done without zest and with the conviction that it would not be of - benefit while such morbid thoughts ran rife within him. He must throw them - off. He must face life as it was. He had suffered before. He must suffer - again. After all, might he not hold Ethel in his heart as his ideal woman, - even after she had become the wife of another? It must be—that was - all that was left him—and yet, and yet—A sharp pain shot - through him. His senses swam; the mocking rays of the rising sun flared - upon him. Ethel another man's wife! Ethel the recipient of another man's - caresses! Ethel the mother of another man's— - </p> - <p> - “O God, have mercy!” he moaned, and he turned down toward the gate, almost - swaying as he moved across the grass. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going for a walk?” It was Ethel's cheery voice, and it came from - the veranda. Glancing back he saw her lightly tripping down the steps. - </p> - <p> - “Because if you are, I'll go too—if you will let me. I was up and - dressed, and saw you from the window. Oh, isn't the sunrise beautiful?” - </p> - <p> - As in a dream he stood waiting for her, and together they passed through - the gate out upon the grayish, stony road, which sloped gradually up the - mountain. He had smiled and bowed, but was unable to formulate any - suitable words of greeting. She was studying his face slowly, furtively, - and with an anxiety she was trying to hide. - </p> - <p> - “You look a little paler than you did yesterday,” she said, hesitatingly. - “Did you not sleep well?” - </p> - <p> - “I worked rather late last night,” was his evasive answer. “Night-work - sometimes has a rather depressing effect on me.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose so,” she answered, still studying his features, “and yet - usually you are so full of happy spirits. Perhaps you”—she hesitated—“would - rather be alone?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, how could you say that?” he exclaimed. “It is just the contrary. I - don't feel, however, that I have quite the right to intrude on you in your—your—” - </p> - <p> - “You needn't look at it that way,” she broke in, not yet fully convinced - that she had fathomed his mood. “In fact, I want to see you. I want to - tell you how much you have helped me. You have made me realize my error. I - was depressing my mother and every one else by my gloomy hopelessness; but - now—well, I seem to have absorbed some of your wonderful philosophy. - I slept last night, as uncle would say, 'like a log,' and I feel much - better this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Peterson is coming; that is the cause,” Paul groaned inwardly, and he - glanced away, that she might not read the thought in his eyes. To her he - said, aimlessly: “I am glad—very, very glad. Hope is the only thing. - Once one has it, all things become possible.” - </p> - <p> - “And you are so <i>full</i> of it,” she ran on, glibly. “I was speaking to - my mother about you last night. She declared she did not think any one - could come in contact with you and be despondent. She said it was a - comfort just to watch the play of your features and hear the cheerful ring - of your voice. Perhaps you don't realize, Paul, how God has blessed you. - To go through life throwing out a radiance like yours is—well, it is - next to—divinity.” - </p> - <p> - “Divinity, divinity!” The words seemed to slip from his lips incautiously. - “There are philosophers, Ethel, who believe that God Himself suffers in - His hampered effort to bring things up to His ideal, and that, as parts of - Him, we, too, must suffer as long as He suffers. It may be that the more - we partake of His essence the more we have to bear. Who knows? The person - who can bury himself in the stirring affairs of earth has a bliss which, - if due to ignorance, is nevertheless bliss.” - </p> - <p> - “This is not like you a bit,” Ethel said, in pained reproachfulness; and - then a light broke upon her. She understood. Her heart beat more quickly, - and a hot flush mantled her brow. She hoped he would not note her - confusion. She must have time to think, to consider. Many grave things - might hang upon what he or she might impulsively say on the crumbling edge - of a precipice like that. She must not allow her sympathies to rule her. - She must never encourage a man whom she did not love with her whole heart, - and how was a girl to judge calmly when a man was such a glorified - sufferer? - </p> - <p> - “According to your views, Paul,” she continued, “faith in the goodness of - God <i>will</i> bring all possible things.” - </p> - <p> - “Save the things of earth.” She saw his fine mouth writhe under a sardonic - smile as he recklessly plunged into what he knew was mad indiscretion. “A - jealous man cannot walk in the footsteps of a jealous God.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel avoided his desperate and yet frankly apologetic eyes. She shrank - within herself. She was sure his words were becoming dangerously - pertinent. She kept silence for a moment. Then she paused at a - lichen-grown boulder, rested a white, throbbing hand on it, and listlessly - surveyed the trees about the farm-house. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure you cannot possibly realize the good you are doing,” she said, - with abrupt irrelevance. “I want to tell you something. It is about my - cousin Henry. You know I have never liked him very much, but the other day - I was thrown with him at the dinner-table after the others had left. He - was very downcast and sad over some recent trouble with his father, and, - to my great surprise, he spoke regretfully of his useless life. He said - you had talked to him, given him good advice, and that you had helped him - borrow money to go into business on at Grayson. Paul, I am sure you won't - lose by it. He told me, with tears in his eyes, that he would rather die - than disappoint you.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure he will succeed,” Paul said. “He has energy and enthusiasm, and - is anxious to prove himself. I was surprised to have the bank accept my - indorsement, but they did quite readily. I really have great faith in him. - He is ashamed of himself, and that is a fine beginning.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel was turning, to proceed higher up on the road, but he stopped her. - </p> - <p> - “We must not get beyond the sound of the breakfast-bell,” he warned her. - </p> - <p> - “No, for I am hungry,” she answered, eying him still with anxious - studiousness. She turned back toward the farm-house, hesitated a moment, - and then said: “Did you happen to see the—the flowers on the - mantelpiece in your room? I gathered them and put them there yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, did you?” he cried, eagerly. “That was very kind of you. I thought - that Mrs. Tilton did it. They fill the whole room with fragrance.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad you like them,” Ethel said. “By the way, I couldn't help - glancing at your books. I now know where you get your wisdom. What a - wholesome group of mental companions you have!” - </p> - <p> - “Those are my special favorites,” he answered. “If you wish to read any of - them please help yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I was really hinting at that,” she laughed. “You have roused my - curiosity. I want to read what you have read and liked. There, that is the - breakfast-bell!” - </p> - <p> - She quickened her step, tripping on ahead of him with a little laugh which - held a note of vague uneasiness. Presently she slowed down, and with a - look of gentle concern in the glance which she directed to him she - faltered: - </p> - <p> - “I hope you won't get angry with my mother for something she is going to - inflict on you and me this morning. Being opposed to working on Sunday, - she remained up last night and arranged the table for dinner to-day. She - has it gleaming like a bank of snow, and fairly covered with evergreens, - ferns, and flowers. She insists that we take our breakfast this once in - the kitchen. She is afraid we will disarrange something. She thinks a good - deal of Mr. Peterson—<i>Colonel</i> Peterson now, for you know the - paper yesterday said he was taken on the staff of the Governor. He - confided to us some time ago that he had hopes in that direction, having - worked hard and pulled wires for the Governor during his recent campaign. - On state occasions Mr. Peterson will wear a glittering uniform, carry a - sword, and be as stiff as a polished brass poker. Oh, he will like it - immensely, but I can never call him 'Colonel.'” - </p> - <p> - “It certainly would not do to put <i>him</i> in the kitchen,” Paul said, - significantly; “at least not with his regalia on. Aunt Dilly might spill - something on his epaulets.” - </p> - <p> - “I see even you—good as you are—can make sport of people now - and then,” Ethel said, her eyes twinkling approvingly. “However, I am not - going to let you sit in the kitchen this morning. I'll bring your - breakfast and mine out to the table in the summer-house. It will be great - fun, won't it?” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly do not consider myself above the kitchen,” he returned, in - too bitter a tone to fall well into her forced levity. “I've eaten at - second table in a circus dining-tent, with the negro horse-feeders in a - gipsy camp, as a beggar at the kitchen door of a farm-house, and barely - escaped having my ration pushed through the iron wicket of a prison. I am - certainly unworthy of—of the summer-house and such—such - gracious company. I mean this—I mean it from the bottom of my - heart.” - </p> - <p> - “You sha'n't talk that way—you sha'n't, you sha'n't!” Ethel's eyes - flashed and her round, full voice quivered. “You have said yourself that - all those unfortunate things were behind you for ever and ever things of - the past.” - </p> - <p> - “Except when I need sharp, personal discipline,” he smiled significantly, - “and I need that now. I need it to kill blind, hopeless, impossible - desire.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean—” But Ethel checked herself. He seemed such a riddle—such - a profound, alluring dangerous riddle as he walked beside her with that - gray look of desperate renunciation on his sensitive face, beneath the - surface of which smoldered unquenchable fires of passion. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he stopped her. He laid his trembling fingers on her arm for a - bare, reverent instant. - </p> - <p> - “I am a coward at times, Ethel. You must forgive my weakness. I groan - under a burden that I know is right because it is from the Infinite. No - man should be as vain as I am tempted to be when I am with you. You can't - understand now, but some day you may—if not here, in Eternity. There - is only one way to look at it, and that is that God intends me to suffer.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel found herself unable, wisely at least, to make any sort of suitable - response, and in awkward silence they walked along together till the gate - was reached. Then she said, nervously, and yet with firmness that was - quite evident: “I want you to meet my friend to-day at dinner. I want him - to know you. He belongs to a class of men who seem too busy to think of - deep things—things aside from an active routine, but I am sure he - will like you.” - </p> - <p> - Paul's face clouded over; he averted his eyes as he unlatched the gate and - swung it open. “Thank you, but I am afraid I can't to-day,” he said. - “Uncle Si and his wife have asked me to take dinner with them.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm sorry,” Ethel answered. “My mother will regret it, too, for she - admires you and likes you very much. But we shall have our breakfast - together in the summer-house, sha'n't we?” She glanced at the little - vine-clad structure and essayed a playful smile. “Now, run in and take a - seat, and let me attend to everything.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0031" id="linklink2HCH0031"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HAT afternoon, - while the ladies were taking what Hoag called their “sy-esta” in their - rooms, he entertained the guest, who was a dapper young man exquisitely - dressed and carefully groomed, even to the daintiest of waxed mustaches. - The two men were smoking in the big, cool parlor and chatting agreeably. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I am not going to refuse the title.” Peterson laughed in a - pleasurable way after Hoag had made a bald jest about the honor recently - conferred upon him. “I am no born idiot, Mr. Hoag. I know some folks sort - of poke fun at the new list of Georgia colonels after every gubernatorial - race; but even a handle to a fellow's name like that helps now and then. - Take Colonel Pangle there in Atlanta, our big criminal lawyer, you know. - Why, he wasn't in the war; he never fired a shot or dodged a ball. He - organized a little local military company in his home town. I don't reckon - he had more than thirty men at any time, and his rank, at the best - wouldn't have been above captain; but he was a dignified-looking fellow - with a heavy mustache and goatee, and they called him Colonel on the spot, - and when he moved to Atlanta the title followed him. The boys at the bank - were disposed to joke when my commission came—saluting me like a - bunch of jumping-jacks; but you bet I cut it out. Think little of - yourself, and the world will do the same.' That's my motto. You noticed - how nice the papers spoke about it, didn't you? Well, I stand in with the - reporters. They are my political friends; we take a drink together now and - then, and they know how I look at such things. I am hitting the bull's eye - down there in that burg, Mr. Hoag, just as you've hit it here. We are two - of a kind. It doesn't take much gray matter to succeed among these slow, - ante-bellum leave-overs here in the South.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag laughed heartily. “Oh, you are all right,” he said. “I've had my eye - on you ever since you started out. As the sayin' is, you could make money - on a rock in the middle of the ocean.” - </p> - <p> - Peterson's features settled into rigidity suddenly, and he exhaled a - tentative breath, as he held his cigar between his fingers and leaned - toward his host. “As certain as I am about men, business deals, and - politics, Mr. Hoag, I'm going to admit to you that I'm a country - school-teacher—a knot on a log—when it comes to handling a - woman. Don't you reckon every fellow is that way that is kind o' - submerged, so to speak, in the affairs of the business world? I know I am - a regular stick, and I don't know how to help myself.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you are talkin' about Eth',” Hoag said, with more bluntness than - a diplomat would have employed. “At least, I've wondered why you an' her - both seem so offish. I don't reckon you come all the way up here on a - holiday like this to talk business to <i>me</i>, an' as for Eth'—well, - I can't make 'er out, that's all; an' what's the use to try? A woman is - hard to understand when she is willin' to be understood, an' a devil to - fathom when she ain't. Folks tell me some high-strung gals would ruther - die than let a man know they are gone on 'im.” - </p> - <p> - “I know,” Peterson replied. “I used to size Miss Ethel up that way down - home among the other girls; but this morning, when me'n her strolled down - to the spring, it looked to me as if she didn't want to talk about - anything but books—an' books that I've never heard about to boot. - She had a thick one under her arm and I peeped in it. I think it was by - Cato—no, that is the name of your stable-boy, isn't it? Oh, yes, now - I remember; it was Plato, Plato. He was one of the old-time fellows, - wasn't he—before the Revolution, anyway?” - </p> - <p> - “Hanged if I know.” Hoag shrugged his shoulders as if the question were a - disagreeable incubus suddenly fastened upon him. “I don't know any more'n - a rabbit. I set one night an' listened to Paul Rundel an' her talkin' on - the veranda an' I hardly understood one word in five. That fellow is the - damnedest chap I ever run across.” - </p> - <p> - “Is he the man you told me about coming home to give himself up?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; an' I've had 'im managin' for me ever since. He's a wheel-hoss. He's - doubled my income; he's as keen as a brier; knows how to manage laborin' - men. They think the sun rises an' sets in 'im. He don't indorse no church - in particular, an' yet the women say he's religious. Men that was too - triflin' to draw the breath o' life under me work like puffin' - steam-engines for him.” - </p> - <p> - “And he sits around at odd times and talks books?” Peterson said, a - faultfinding frown on his face. “That's the way he seems to get his - relaxation,” Hoag returned. “Well, I don't care how religious he is. - Sometimes that helps. I had a little crossroads store away back in my - early day an' I didn't have time to manage it. I kept hirin' fellows to - run it, an' every one I got would soak me—steal money an' goods so - thar wasn't a sign o' profit. But one day a misfit parson come along. He - had failed to make good. He was tongue-tied an' he stuttered so bad that - he made the mourners laugh an' had to quit preachin'. I gave him the job, - an' it was the best deal I ever made. The fellow was so honest that he - wouldn't use a postage-stamp for any private purpose, or take a chaw o' - tobacco, without enterin' it on his account. He kept a big Bible on the - counter, an' so many o' his sort hung around that the store looked like a - Salvation headquarters; but the gang bought plenty o' goods an' paid cash. - I never forgot that experience, an' when I saw the kind o' man Paul had - got to be I raked 'im in.” - </p> - <p> - “You say he—sometimes talks to Miss Ethel?” Peterson asked, the - flicker of vague rebellion in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes,” Hoag answered, indifferently. “She's been powerfully worried - over Jennie's death, an' Paul, somehow, seems to brace her up with his odd - views in regard to a happy land. Maybe”—Hoag hesitated, and then - pursued more confidently—“maybe if you sorter talked a little on - that line yourself it would catch her fancy. Anything is fair in love an' - war when a woman is clean upset like Eth' is.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe in religion,” the banker declared, quite gravely. “I always - have a good word for it. I don't believe this world could get along - without it. All of us at the bank are in some church or other. I'm a - Baptist, you know; all my folks are of that persuasion. And my church has - made me it's treasurer. First and last our bank handles a pile of its - funds. If the heathen have to wait for it sometimes we get the interest on - it. But, say, Mr. Hoag, I'm sort o' worried over this thing—I mean - about this queer duck you've got working for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, don't let that bother you.” Hoag filled the awkward pause with a - soft, satisfied chuckle. “Eth' understands what I want, and so does her - ma. Both of 'em know I'd never give in to her marryin' such a—why, - he belongs to the lowest stock this country ever produced—as nigh - dirt-eaters as any folks you ever saw. He's picked up some learnin' out - West, an' has got brains an' pluck; but no niece o' mine could tie herself - to a bunch o' folks like that. Humph, I say—well, I reckon not! He'd - not have the cheek to think of it. You leave the affair in my hands. I - won't push matters now, but I will put in my oar at the right time.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I don't want no woman <i>coerced</i>.” Peterson brightened even as - he protested. “I don't want that exactly, but Miss Ethel is the girl I've - been looking for. I can't get her out of my mind. She would be an ornament - and a help to any rising man. I ought to marry; there is no sort of doubt - on that line, and though I might look the field over she—well, she - simply fills the bill, that's all. I'm going to erect a fine home on - Peachtree Street, and I want her to preside over it.” - </p> - <p> - “An' I want a place to stop when I run down thar,” Hoag laughed. “You - leave it to me.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0032" id="linklink2HCH0032"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EFF WARREN and the - two women of his family were on their way back to their former home. A - wagon, a rickety affair on wabbly wheels, covered by a clay-stained canvas - stretched over hoops, and drawn by a skeleton of a horse, contained all - their earthly possessions. Peering under the hood of the wagon, an - observer might see two musty straw mattresses, an old hair-covered trunk, - a table, three chairs, a box of dishes, and a sooty collection of pots, - pans, kettles, pails, and smoothing-irons. Carefully wrapped in bedquilts, - and tied with ropes, was the household joy, a cottage-organ. Tethered to - the wagon in the rear was a cow which tossed her head impatiently under - the rope around her horns, and dismally mooed to her following calf. - </p> - <p> - Jeff now belonged to the shiftless class of small farmers that drifts from - one landowner to another, renting a few acres on shares and failing on at - least every other crop. The three members of the family were equal - partners in misfortune; for both Mrs. Rundel and her sister quite - frequently toiled in the fields, using the hoe, the scythe, the spade, and - in emergencies, when Warren's rheumatism was at its worst, even the plow. - Still of irascible temper, and grown more sensitive under adversity, Jeff - had quarreled or fought with almost every man from whom he had rented - land, until he now found few who would deal with him. - </p> - <p> - As he walked at the side of the wagon in which his companions were riding, - along the narrow mountain road, trampling down the underbrush which - bordered the way, he had still about him a remnant of the old debonair - mien which had made him a social favorite in his younger days. - </p> - <p> - Amanda, as is the case with many women who have foresworn matrimonial and - maternal cares, had withstood the blight of time remarkably well. Her - round, rosy face had few new angles or lines, and her voice rang with - youthful joy when she spoke of once more beholding familiar scenes and - faces. It was her sister who had changed to a noticeable degree. There was - a lack-luster expression about Addie's light-brown eyes, which had been so - childlike and beautiful. Her hair was thinner; her skin had yellowed and - withered; her teeth, for the most part, were gone, and those which - remained appeared too prominent, isolated as they were in bare gums, when - she forced a smile over some remark of her cheerful sister. - </p> - <p> - Crude as she was, Addie had followed, her poor mental hands always - outstretched to grasp it, an ever-receding masculine ideal. In Jeff - Warren, with his love of music and courage before men and gallantry to all - women, she had once believed she had found it. But ideals do not thrive so - well under hardship as violets rooted in filth, and Addie's heart - constantly ached for the lost and the unattainable. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Jeff turned to his companions and smiled. “I reckon I've got a - big surprise for you both,” he chuckled, his hand resting on the - wagon-bed. “'Tain't the first o' April, but I've been foolin' you. I tol' - you this was White Rock Mountain, but it ain't no such a thing. It is the - south spur of our old Bald, and as soon as we pass through that gap up - thar we'll see Grayson right at the foot.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say!” Amanda clapped her hands in delight. “Lord, Lord, I - shorely shall be tickled to get back! I want to shake hands with everybody - within reach. You'll never pull me away again, Jeff—never!” - </p> - <p> - Addie, in her turn, said nothing. She scarcely smiled. She was - inexpressibly pained by the thought of having to live among old friends - and associates in the dismantled log cabin Jeff had reluctantly described. - A reminiscent sob rose and died within her as she recalled the comfortable - farm-house to which Ralph Rundel, who now seemed almost faultless, had - taken her as a bride. To this another pang of memory was added. By her - conduct, innocent though it was, she had driven her only child from her, - and how many times had her tired heart gone back to the sturdy youth who - had toiled so uncomplainingly, and, young as he was, borne so many - burdens! Was Paul alive or dead? she often asked herself. If alive, how he - must hate her! If dead, then the baby, which she now sometimes recalled - with the awakening yearning of a mother's dry breast, was gone forever. - </p> - <p> - Slowly the horse tugged up the slope. “Whoa!” Amanda cried out suddenly. - “I'm goin' to jump out an' walk on to the top. I'm simply crazy to git a - look at the valley. Somehow it seems like the Promised Land flowin' with - milk an' honey.” - </p> - <p> - Only too willingly the horse stopped, and she sprang down to the ground. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you want to walk a little, Addie?” she asked. “You'd better limber - up your legs. I'm as stiff as a pair o' tongs.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Warren sadly shook her head and Jeff tossed the reins into her lap. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you drive,” he said. “We'll walk on to the top an' take a peep. I - agree with you, Mandy. I don't feel like I'll ever want to leave this - country ag'in. I want to die an' be buried among my kin.” - </p> - <p> - The two moved faster than the tired horse, and Addie saw them on the brow - of the mountain, outlined against the blue expanse beyond. She noticed - Jeff pointing here and there and waving his hand; even at that distance - the glow of his animation was observable. Reaching the top, Mrs. Rundel - caught their words, and in the depths of her despondency she wondered over - their gratification. - </p> - <p> - “Not a new buildin' of any sort that I kin make out,” she heard her - husband saying. “Thar, you kin see Jim Hoag's house above the bunch o' - trees. It's had a fresh coat o' paint lately; look how bright the - window-blinds are!” - </p> - <p> - “An' how green an' fresh everything seems!” commented the more poetic - spinster. “Looks like thar's been plenty o' rain this summer. Oh, I love - it—I love it! It's home—the only home I ever knowed.” - </p> - <p> - The horse paused close by them. The cow mooed loudly, and the calf trotted - briskly up to her and began to butt her flabby bag with his sleek head. - </p> - <p> - “That looks like a different-shaped steeple on the Methodist - meetin'-house,” Amanda commented, as she shaded her eyes from the sun and - stared steadily off into the distance. - </p> - <p> - “I believe you are right, by hunky,” Jeff agreed. “This un is fully ten - foot taller, unless them trees around it has been topped since we left.” - He turned to his wife, and a shadow of chagrin crept across his face as he - said: “I see the house whar you an' Rafe used to live—thar, just - beyond Hoag's flour-mill. Well, thar's no use cryin' over spilt milk, old - girl; you ain't goin' back to comfort like that, as scanty as it seemed - when you had it, an' I was goin' to do such wonders in the money line. - We'll have to swallow a big chunk o' pride to put up with a hut like our'n - among old friends, but we've got to live life out, an' the cabin is the - best we kin get at present, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - Addie, holding the reins in her thin fingers, rose to her full height, her - weary eyes on her old home, which stood out with considerable clearness on - the red, rain-washed slope beyond a stretch of green pasture. She saw the - side porch, and remembered how Paul's cradle had stood there on warm - afternoons, where she and Amanda had sat and sewed. Again that sense of - lost motherhood stirred within her, and she was conscious of a sharp - contraction of the muscles of her throat. Surely, she mused, after all - there was no love like that of a mother's for her child, and in her own - case there was so much to regret. The child had been beautiful—every - one had noticed that. Its little hands were so chubby and pink; its lips - like a cupid's bow. As a baby it had smiled more than any baby she had - ever seen, and yet in boyhood the smile had gradually given way to a scowl - of ever-increasing discontent and weariness of life and its clashing - conditions. - </p> - <p> - Amanda and Jeff were now descending the mountain, and the horse plodded - along behind them. They must hurry on, Jeff said, for the sun would soon - be down and they must get to the cabin before dark, so as to unload and - shape things up for the night. Fortunately, as he took care to remind - them, they would not have to pass through the village, as the hut stood in - the outskirts of the place, close to Hoag's property line. - </p> - <p> - Reaching the foot of the mountain, they took a short cut through some old - unfenced fields to the cabin. Here their forebodings were more than - realized. The two-roomed hut was worse than they had expected. It was - built of logs, and had a leaning chimney made of sticks and clay. The rain - had washed the clay out of the cracks between the logs of the walls, and - the openings were stuffed with rags, paper, and dried moss. The door - shutter, with broken hinges, was lying on the ground. The doorstep was a - single log of pine, which the former inmate of the hut had chopped half - away for kindling-wood. The wooden shutters to the tiny, glassless windows - had gone the same way, along with several boards of the flooring. - </p> - <p> - “Mayburn lied to me like a dirty dog!” Jeff growled, his face dark with - anger. “He said it was in decent shape—good enough for any farmer. - When I see 'im I'll—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you will want to fight 'im, an' then we'll have no roof over us at - all,” Amanda said, with a smile designed to soften her own disappointment - as well as his. “I tell you, Jeff, we've got to make the best of it an' be - thankful. We'll have decent neighbors, I'll bet. Look at that nice house - right in our yard.” - </p> - <p> - “That's it,” Jeff thundered. “Mayburn wrote me this shack was all the - house he had, an' that one is his, an' is empty. He insulted me by sizin' - me up that way before I even got here.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he'd have insulted hisse'f by puttin' us in it without the money to - pay for it.” Amanda had no intention of adding fuel to her - brother-in-law's wrath. “A fine house like that would be worth fifteen - dollars a month at the lowest. You better not tackle 'im about it; he - might offer it to us cash in advance—then I'd like to know what we'd - do. You said this momin' that we'd have to buy our first groceries on a - credit. Jeff, yore pride has been yore drawback long enough; you've got to - smother it or it will smother you. Now pick up that door an' hang it some - way or other. I won't sleep in a house that can't be shut up at night.” - </p> - <p> - Warren, quite beside himself in disappointment and ill-humor, replaced the - shutter and then went to work unloading the furniture. He soon had it all - within. Then he announced that he must leave them, to go up to the Square - to buy the supplies of food they needed. - </p> - <p> - The two sisters had finished all that was to be done in the cabin, and - were out in the desolate yard waiting for Warren to return. - </p> - <p> - “I see 'im,” Amanda cried. “He's comin' through the broom-sedge. He's took - that way to keep from passin' Abe Langston's an' havin' to say howdy, - He'll have to git over that or we'll never git along. He's got to take his - medicine. The Lord's hard on 'im, but Jeff never was much of a Lord's man. - It's the meek an' humble that the Lord favors, an' Jeff kicks ag'in' the - pricks too much. Nothin' but a strong coffin an' plenty o' earth on top of - it will ever humble that man.” - </p> - <p> - “He walks like he's bothered about something.” Mrs. Warren sighed, her - slow gaze following her approaching husband's bowed form as he trudged - through the thickening twilight. “Do you suppose they have refused to - credit him?” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon not, for I see a bag o' something under his arm; but he's upset—you - kin depend on it. He knows we are hungry, an' he'd strike a livelier gait - than that if he wasn't mad as Tucker.” - </p> - <p> - As Jeff drew near they moved forward to meet him. - </p> - <p> - “Did you git anything to eat? That's what I want to know,” Amanda said, - with her usual disregard of even the darkest of his moods. - </p> - <p> - It was as if he were going to make no response; but her eager hands were - on the tow bag under his arm, and he sullenly answered in the affirmative. - </p> - <p> - “Smoked bacon.” She winked cheerfully at her sister. “I smell it. - Sugar-cured in the bargain. Coffee, too, already parched an' ground. I'd - know that a mile off if the wind wras in the right direction. I'm glad I - put on the kettle.” - </p> - <p> - Jeff strode on heavily and deposited the bag at the door. - </p> - <p> - “We've all got to bunk in one room for to-night,” Amanda told him, as she - untied the bag and began to take out the parcels. “There is no way fixed - to keep the cow an' calf apart, an' she's got to graze or we can't have - milk in the mornin', so I shut the calf up in the other room. It won't do - no harm; it's clean and as gentle as a pet dog.” - </p> - <p> - “That's no way to do!” Jeff loweringly protested. “A thing like that would - make us the laughin'-stock of the whole county. Besides, do you know that—” - He seemed to hesitate, and then, as if he was thinking of something too - unpleasant for discussion, he turned abruptly away. The two women saw him - walk out to the well in the yard and stand still, his gaze on the village - lights in the distance. - </p> - <p> - “What do you reckon is the matter with 'im?” Addie inquired, listlessly. - </p> - <p> - “Go to higher powers 'an me if you want to know,” Amanda retorted, as she - proceeded to prepare supper. “Something shore has rubbed 'im the wrong - way. He was out o' sorts when he left us, an' he's ready to kill somebody - now.” - </p> - <p> - A few minutes later supper was on the table and Jeff was summoned. He - entered the dimly lighted room, dropped his hat on a bed, and sat down at - one end of the table. He was hungry, as the others well knew, and yet he - ate with less apparent relish than usual. Amanda kept up an incessant flow - of half-philosophical chatter with more or less comforting intent, but no - part of it evoked comment from the head of the family. - </p> - <p> - Supper over, Jeff rose, reached for his hat, and was stalking out with - bowed head at the low doorway, when Amanda suddenly uttered a little - scream of astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “What's that in your—ain't that a pistol in your hip-pocket, Jeff - Warren?” she demanded, while her weaker sister stared in slow, childlike - wonder. - </p> - <p> - Impulsively and somewhat guiltily Warren slapped his hand on his bulging - pocket and turned, blinking doggedly at the questioner. - </p> - <p> - “That's what it is!” he answered. His tone was sullen and defiant. - </p> - <p> - “Whar did you get it?” Amanda was now on her feet, leaning toward him in - the meager light. - </p> - <p> - “I swapped my watch for it,” Jeff muttered; and he drew the brim of his - hat lower over his burning eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Your watch!” Amanda cried. “Why, what are we goin' to do for a timepiece - now? Besides, we didn't have to go armed all along that lonely mountain - road; what is the need of a pistol here in the edge of town, among old - friends an' law-abidin' neighbors?” - </p> - <p> - “That's <i>my</i> business,” Warren snarled, and he turned out into the - dark. “Folks will <i>know</i> it's my business, too. You jest lie low an' - see if they don't. I'll take care of number one.” - </p> - <p> - “I know <i>how</i> you'll take care of number one,” Amanda sneered. “It - will be by ignorin' number <i>three</i>, like you always have done when - you get the devil in you as big as the side of a house. Right now you are - just itchin' for a row with somebody, an' you are goin' to have it if I - don't take you in hand.” - </p> - <p> - Warren's innate gallantry checked the hot outburst, the forerunner of - which was quivering on his white lips, and without a word he went back to - the well and stood with his hand on the windlass, a pitiful symbol of - human discontent outlined against the star-strewn sky. - </p> - <p> - “I ain't a-goin' to put my hands in dish-water till my mind's at ease,” - Amanda said to her sister. “Poor thing! I reckon you feel so bad about the - way we are fixed that you ain't bothered about Jeff's fits: But it's - different with your sister Mandy. When you was a young gal I worried about - whether you'd git married or not. Later I was bothered about your first - choice an' his jealous suspicions. Next I turned into a wet-nurse; I - walked the floor with your baby at night, stickin' splinters in my feet at - every step, an' <i>now</i> I've got to keep your last investment from - danglin' from the gallows like a scarecrow on a pole.” - </p> - <p> - Together the two women went to the brooding man at the well. - </p> - <p> - “What ails you, Jeff?” the wife began, with a timid sigh. “Anybody can see - you are out o' sorts.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'll <i>tell</i> you what's the matter,” Warren fumed. “If I'd - knowed it sooner I'd 'a' left you two beyant the mountain an' come on an' - got it over with. I don't want to disturb women with a thing o' this - sort.” - </p> - <p> - “Wayburn's goin' to turn us out, that's my guess,” Amanda dropped. “The - shack ain't no better'n a stable for hosses, but we can't have even that - without more cash than we've got.” - </p> - <p> - “No, he's had one of his old quarrels with somebody,” Mrs. Warren - suggested, despondently. - </p> - <p> - “I hain't had one, but I'm <i>goin</i>' to,” Jeff threatened. “This State - simply ain't wide enough, or <i>long</i> enough, to hold me and the dirty - young pup that left me lyin' in the road for dead an' went off an' gloated - over me. He was a boy then, but he's a man now, an' fully responsible.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, what are you talkin' about?” Amanda's inquiring stare shifted - excitedly back and forth between her sister's startled face and the - sinister one of her brother-in-law. “Is Paul alive—have you heard - from him?” - </p> - <p> - “Heard from 'im?” Jeff's white lip curled and trembled like that of a - snarling opossum. “I hain't heard from him personally yet, nor seed 'im, - but he's back here struttin' around in fine clothes with plenty o' money - in his pocket, an' sayin' that—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Jeff, oh, Jeff, are you sure?” Mrs. Warren had turned pale, and it - was as if she were about to faint. Amanda threw a strong arm about her and - firmly shook her. “Don't keel over,” she said, almost fiercely. “I want to - know about this thing right now. All this dinky-dinky talk about shootin' - may pass on <i>some</i> occasions, but when the big strappin' hulk I work - for gits on a high jackass an' talks about killin' my own blood-nephew - because he's got more clothes an' money than we got—well, I'll be in - the game myself, that's the long an' short of it, I'll be in it tooth an' - toe-nail.” - </p> - <p> - Never had Warren's gallantry been swathed in a blanket of such soaking - dampness. He stared at his verbal antagonist with a fresh and uncurtained - vision, and seemed unable to formulate a suitable reply. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind me.” Amanda's tone became distinctly conciliatory, and she - smiled faintly: “I won't kill you till I git at the facts, anyway. I'm - dyin' to know about the boy. Go on an' tell us.” - </p> - <p> - Jeff hesitated for a moment and then slowly complied. “He's back from the - West. He got a fine education, an' worked his way up somehow. He's got a - job on big pay managin' for Jim Hoag—he's got a hundred or more - hands under him, an' the whole' county's braggin' about 'im. He rides - around from one place to another with his head high in the air, givin' - orders. When he landed here he told some cock-an'-bull tale about thinkin' - I was underground, an' wanted the law to act, an' the like, but he's a - liar.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm so glad; I'm so glad!” Amanda hugged her stupefied sister to her - breast impulsively and kissed the sallow brow. “I always thought thar was - come-out in that boy, an' now I know it. I'm dyin' to see 'im.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he ain't dyin' to see <i>you</i>, or his mammy, either, in the - plight you are in!” Jeff hurled at her. “They say he lives at Hoag's, an' - goes gallivantin' about the country with that Atlanta gal, Ethel Mayfield. - He's mad because we are back here to disgrace him with our dirt an' rags. - He's the only livin' man that ever gloated over me, an' he's hand an' - glove with my lifelong enemy. If you think I'm goin' to set back, an'—an'—” - </p> - <p> - “I don't care whether you <i>set</i> back, <i>stand</i> back, or <i>roll</i> - back,” Amanda's eyes rekindled. “If you fetch a hair o' that boy's head - I'll pull every one you got out an' leave 'em for bird's-nests. It's - Paul's prosperity that's stickin' in your craw. Hand me that pistol!” - </p> - <p> - Jeff swayed defiantly backward, but she caught his arm and turned him - round by sheer strength. “Give it to me, I say, or you'll never darken - that cabin-door. When I give in to you an' Addie marryin' after all that - slanderous talk you agreed, as a man o' honor, to withdraw all charges - ag'in that poor boy. You did that, an' now stick a cannon in the scat o' - your pants an' lie in wait for 'im like a cutthroat in the dark. Gi' me - that thing!” - </p> - <p> - Reluctantly Warren complied, and stood silent as Amanda scrutinized the - weapon in her hand. “We kin swap it for meal an' bacon,” she said. “Now - let's all go to bed. I'm plumb fagged out.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0033" id="linklink2HCH0033"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was the evening - of the following day. Ethel had heard of the return of Jeff Warren and was - quite disturbed. Since early morning Paul had been away, and Ethel fancied - that he was unaware of the arrival of the little family. In many ways she - pitied Paul, and she gravely feared for his safety, for there was no - mincing the fact that Jeff Warren was a most dangerous man, with a quick, - uncontrollable temper. Mrs. Tilton, Mrs. Mayfield, Cato, and Aunt Dilly - were all discussing the situation. That the two men would meet was not to - be doubted; that Paul would have to defend himself or be injured was - regarded as a certainty. - </p> - <p> - Ethel was at the window of her room just as the night began to fall, when - Paul came in at the gate, and, with a weary step, advanced up the walk - toward the house. Hoag was seated on the veranda, and Ethel heard the - posts of his chair jar the floor as he rose and descended the steps. The - two men met almost beneath her open window. Ethel was aware that their - words might not be intended for other ears, and yet she was chained as by - some weird and ominous spell to the spot. She dropped on her knees, leaned - against the window-sill, and peered cautiously through the overhanging - vines. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, I heard he was here,” she caught Paul's reply to an obvious - question, and she was sure there was an odd, changed tone in his voice - which seemed to have lost its old hopeful vitality. She saw him take his - handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wipe his brow as he stood with his - dusk-draped profile toward her. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I just thought I'd put you on your guard,” Hoag was heard to say, - with an unction of tone which men of his own type could have fathomed - better than a delicate, frightened woman. “I'm sure I'd appreciate it to - have a friend of <i>mine</i> come to me at such a ticklish time. I know - you've got grit. I've seed it put to a test. That's why folks are - a-talkin' at such a rate. The opinion of one an' all is that what you did - once you can an' will do ag'in.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel held her breath to catch Paul's tardy words. His head was lowered - when he spoke. “So they think I'll shoot him again, do they—they - think that?” - </p> - <p> - “You bet they know you won't let the skunk run roughshod over you, an' - he's ready an' waitin'—bought 'im a gun right off—looked all - about for you to-day, I'm told, an' some say he hinted that you'd skipped - clean out to keep from facin' the music. I haven't met him. I hain't no - use for the puppy, an' never did have. You've got a gun, haven't you?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I haven't owned one since I got back from the West.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say—well, you'd better git one. I've got three. You can - take your pick if you want to, but for the Lord's sake don't mix me up in - it. I just offer it to you as I would to any other man in my employ.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you.” They were moving toward the house, and the roof of the - veranda hid them from the eyes of the awed and frightened observer. Ethel - heard Paul uttering some unintelligible words in the hall below, and then - he came up the stairs and entered his own room. She stood in the center of - the floor, trembling from head to foot. He had been such a wonderful - friend to her; under his advice she had soared to heights she had never - reached before, and yet now he himself, strong as he had been in her - behalf, was in peril—peril he was too brave to see. She heard her - uncle's ponderous step as he strode through the long hall to the kitchen, - and then it occurred to her to pray for guidance. She sank down on the - edge of her bed and folded her delicate hands between her tense knees. Her - lips moved, but she was not conscious of the words mutely escaping her - lips. Suddenly she sprang up and started to the door, for Paul had left - his room and was going down the stairs with a firm and hurried stride. Her - hand on the door-knob, she leaned out into the darkened hall and peered - after him. She had an impulse to call to him, yet the thought that she had - no excuse for stopping him which would not reveal the fact that she had - been eavesdropping checked both her voice and movement. She heard him - crossing the veranda swiftly, and, returning to the window, she saw him on - the walk striding toward the gate. Again she tried to cry out to him, and - again she failed. As he reached the gate and passed out into the road she - prayed that he would go toward the village rather than toward the cabin in - which his stepfather lived. Her breast seemed to turn to stone the next - instant, for he was taking the shortest cut toward the cabin. How calmly, - fearlessly, he moved! How erectly he walked, and it was perhaps to his - death! Ethel staggered back to her bed, sank on it face downward, and - began to sob, began to pray as only he had taught her to pray, with all - her young soul bent to its holy purpose. - </p> - <p> - Paul strode on through the gloaming. Overhead arched the infinite symbol - of endlessness, with here and there a twinkling gem of light. On either - side of him the meadows and fields lay sleeping, damp with rising dew. - Fireflies were flashing signals to their fellows; insects were snarling in - the trees and grass; a donkey was braying in the far distance; dogs were - barking. - </p> - <p> - As Paul approached Warren's cabin the firelight from within shone through - the open door out upon the bare ground in front. He paused for a moment, - undecided as to how he should make his presence known—whether he - should call out from where he stood, after the manner of mountain folk, or - approach the threshold and rap. Just then a bulky, top-heavy looking - object turned the corner of the cabin and advanced to the wood-pile near - by. It was a man carrying a bunch of fagots on his shoulder. He threw it - down, and, seeing Paul for the first time, he drew himself erect, staring - through the darkness. - </p> - <p> - “Who goes thar?” he grunted. - </p> - <p> - Paul was about to reply when Warren suddenly grasped the handle of an ax, - and swiftly swinging it to one side as if ready to strike a blow, he - panted: “Oh, it's <i>you</i>—is it? Well, I've been expectin' you - all day. I knowed you'd hear I'd come, an' not lose time..Well, I hain't - got no gun—my fool women folks took—” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't either, Jeff,” Paul laughed, appeasingly. “You've got the best - of it this time; I'm at your mercy, and I'm glad of it. Turn about is fair - play, and if you want to you can brain me with that ax. I really think I - deserve it, Jeff. I've had seven years to regret what I did, and I don't - want to lose a minute to tell you that I am sorry—sorry as ever a - man was in this world.” - </p> - <p> - Silence fell. Warren leaned on his ax-handle and stared with wide eyes and - parted lips. When he finally spoke his breath hissed through his teeth. - </p> - <p> - “Say, young feller, if you've come here to poke fun at me I tell you now - you've—” - </p> - <p> - “I'm in no mood for that, Jeff,” Paul broke in, with increased gentleness. - “I've done you a great injury. I was a silly boy at the time and I've - sorely repented. I've come to beg your pardon—to beg it as humbly as - I know how.” - </p> - <p> - “Good God! You—you say—you mean—” - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry, that's all, Jeff. I want to see my mother. You've got more - right to her than I have now, after my conduct, but I want to see her and - ask her to forgive me, too. A man has but one mother, Jeff, and the time - comes to all men when they know what it means to lose one. Is she in the - house?” There was an awkward pause. Warren stood swaying like a human tree - touched in every branch, twig, and leaf by clashing winds which had never - so met before. - </p> - <p> - “Why, I thought—we thought—folks <i>all</i> thought”—Warren - dropped his ax, made a movement as if to regain it, then drew his lank - body erect, and stood staring through the gloom. - </p> - <p> - “I know,” Paul laughed softly and appealingly, “they think blood, and - nothing but blood, can wash out a difference like ours; but there is a - better way, Jeff, and that is through good-will. We've been enemies long - enough. I want to be your friend. You've taken care of my mother and aunt - all these years, and I am genuinely grateful for it.” - </p> - <p> - Warren turned his shattered countenance aside. “I didn't look for you to - be this way at all—<i>at all</i>,” he faltered, huskily. “I reckon - when I heard you was back here I got mad because you was makin' your way - up so fast, and I've been steadily goin' down. The devil was in me, an' I - thought he was in you, too. Lord, I never dreamt that you'd walk up like - this to a—a—feller that—” Warren waved a dejected hand - toward the cabin—“that had fetched your mammy to a pig-pen of a - shack right in the neighborhood whar you are thought so much of.” - </p> - <p> - “A man doesn't deserve to be well thought of, Jeff, who considers himself - better in any way than a less fortunate fellow-being. If you could really - understand me you'd see that I actually think <i>more</i> of you than if - you were well-to-do.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come off!” Warren sharply deprecated. “That's beyond reason. I used - to be proud. In fact, I reckon that's what drawed me so much to your - mother. I pitied her because your daddy made so little headway, but look - at me now. Lord, Lord, jest look! Why, he was a <i>king</i> beside me. - I've plumb lost my grip.” - </p> - <p> - “I see—I know what you mean,” Paul said, sympathetically, “but you - are going to get it back, Jeff, and I'm going to do all I can to help. Is - my mother in the house?” - </p> - <p> - “No; the calf got to the cow, an' the two wandered off somewhar. Your ma - is down in the meadow close to the swamp tryin' to find 'em.” - </p> - <p> - “And my aunt?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Mandy—why, you see”—Jeff appeared to be embarrassed anew—“you - see, Mrs. Tobe Williams, who lives over in town, driv' by this evenin' - about an hour by sun, and—and said she'd had so much trouble gettin' - a woman to—to cook for her big family o' children that, if Mandy - wouldn't mind helpin' her out in a pinch, she would pay well for it. I put - my foot down ag'in it, but Mandy wouldn't listen to reason, an' got in the - buggy and went. It seemed to me that was my last straw. If killin' myself - would aid anybody the least bit I'd gladly—” - </p> - <p> - Warren's voice broke, and he stood quivering from head to foot in the - effort to control his emotion. Paul advanced and extended his hand. “We - must be friends, Jeff,” he said, with feeling. “Between us, we can make - both of them happy.” - </p> - <p> - “Between us! You say—” - </p> - <p> - Warren clasped the outstretched hand and clung to it as if for some sort - of support in the strange new storm which was tossing him as he had never - been tossed before. - </p> - <p> - “I can't make you out, Paul,” he fairly sobbed; “by God, I can't! Seems - like you are foolin', an' then ag'in I know you ain't—yes, I <i>know</i> - you ain't!” - </p> - <p> - “No, I'm in earnest,” Paul returned. “Do you think my mother will be back - soon?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; but you stay here an' let me step down whar she's at,” Warren - proposed, considerately. “She ain't so well—in fact, she might get - upset if—if she saw' you all of a sudden. I'll run down an'—an' - tell her you are friendly. That'll be the main thing. She's been afraid - you an' me would act the fool ag'in. She will be relieved and astonished. - You wait here. I'll go tell 'er.” - </p> - <p> - When Warren had stalked away in the gloom Paul went to the cabin-door and - glanced within. The pine-knots burning under the open fire of logs, the - ends of which rested on stones, lighted the poor room, from which musty - odors emerged, and he shuddered and turned away. Passing around the cabin, - he approached the neat cottage near by. He went up on the little vine-clad - porch and peered through the window's and side-lights of the door. Putting - his hand into his pocket, he took out a key, and, thrusting it into the - lock, he opened the door and entered. Striking a match, he held it above - his head and went into all the rooms. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0034" id="linklink2HCH0034"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ARREN strode down - the narrow winding path through the meadow. He crossed a swift-flowing - creek on a narrow, sagging foot-log and went on toward the swamp. When he - was some distance from the cabin he descried, beyond a patch of blackberry - vines and a morass full of pond-lilies and bulrushes, the blurred outlines - of a solitary figure. Then an unexpected sound fell upon his ears. It was - a piping, uncertain voice endeavoring to run the scale after the manner of - the exercises in a rural singing-class. It was Mrs. Warren. She was - strolling toward him, beating time with a stiff index-finger held out - before her. - </p> - <p> - “That's her!” Jeff mused. “She'll sing a different tune when I tell her - what I know. By gum, the boy certainly floored me! Who would 'a thought - it? Not me, the Lord knows.” - </p> - <p> - Skirting the boggy ground by passing along a little rise where velvety - mullein-stalks grew in profusion, Jeff came face to face with his wife. - With a crude instinct for dramatic surprise, he stood still without - speaking and allowed her to approach closer to him. Listlessly intoning - her scale and cutting the half darkness with her finger, she stopped with - a start. Then, recognizing him, she laughed, and advanced confidently. - </p> - <p> - “You caught me,” she said, abashed. “I was jest wonderin' if me'n you'd - ever sing another note. I declare my voice is all out o' whack. Some say, - losin' the teeth spoils a voice. Well, we ain't goin' out to meetin', - noway, I reckon, an' so we won't be asked to sing by the old crowd. I - hain't got a thing fit to put on, an' they just sha'n't poke fun at my - looks.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you hit that top-note purty clear just now,” he said, - evasively. He was wondering how he could smoothly explain the thing which - had so startlingly upset all his calculations, and in which she was so - soon to participate. - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't git the cow an' calf,” she listlessly informed him. “The fool - beasts went clean over the hill. Bob Triggs saw 'em. He said they couldn't - cross the river, an' we can drive 'em up to-morrow. But you don't get no - milk to-night. Say, Jeff, just for the fun of it, let's try our old brag - duet. If we kept at it in the evenin' for a few days we might sorter get - back into harness.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to sing no more, never no more,” he answered, and something - in the ring of his voice riveted her attention. She suddenly laid her hand - on his arm and forced him to look at her. - </p> - <p> - “Jeff, what's the matter?” she demanded, the comers of her sad mouth - drooping in dire expectation. “Some'n has happened. I know it. You come to - meet me to let me know. Oh, Lord, Lord! you an' Paul hain't met—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but no harm was done,” he said, unsteadily. “I've seed 'im. He come - to the cabin just now of his own accord. He—he wasn't lookin' for - trouble; in fact, he talked nice. I never was so astonished since I was - born. He—well, we shook hands an' made friends. I can't tell you—I - don't know exactly how to explain it, but he's changed a powerful sight.' - Nothin' like he used to be—don't talk the same—more like a - lawyer, or a judge, or a high-up professor. Got a straight way about 'im, - an' lots o' friendly feelin', an' even pity. He's waitin' up thar at the - shack for you.” - </p> - <p> - “For <i>me?</i> For <i>me?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he wants you, an' I told 'im if he'd stay I'd come down an' hurry - you up.” - </p> - <p> - The woman's scant color diminished. Her eyes caught and reflected the - meager light of the stars. Her thin breast shook under suppressed - agitation. Her lips moved mutely. She twisted her bony fingers together - and remained silent. - </p> - <p> - “You'd better come on,” Warren urged, gently. “It won't do to hold hard - feelin's after a feller has put himself out to come forward like a man an'—” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't goin' a step!” Mrs. Warren blurted out in a sob of bewildered - protest. “I—I don't want to see 'im ever ag'in! I ain't goin' up - there. Tell 'im to go away. We ain't his sort. He's belittlin' himself to - come from that fine house up there an' them fine folks to our dirty shack - just because I am—am—his mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Come on, come on, don't begin that!” Warren was at the end of his - resources. He deliberated for a moment, then caught his wife by the arm - and attempted to draw her forward, but with a low cry she sank to the - ground and buried her face in her lap. He stood over her, his gaze - sweeping back to the cabin in the distance. - </p> - <p> - “Come on—what will he think?” Warren pleaded, in a bewildered tone. - “I don't think I'd—I'd hurt his feelin's after—after—” - </p> - <p> - “I don't care what he thinks or <i>does</i>,” surged up from the submerged - lips. “I'll not go a step till he's gone.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I've done all I can,” Warren sighed. “But I'll have to make some - excuse.” - </p> - <p> - Trudging back to the cabin, he met Paul advancing eagerly toward him. - </p> - <p> - “Couldn't you find her?” the young man inquired, anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I found her.” Warren pointed to the swamp with a jerky sweep of his - rheumatic arm. “I told 'er, too; but she wouldn't budge a step. She's - ashamed. If you knowed everything, you'd understand how she feels. I'm - dead sure she don't harbor a speck o' ill-will. She's a changed woman, - Paul Rundel. She ain't the creature you left. I never give 'er no child, - an' it looks like she's gone back in her mind to your baby days, an' she - feels like she didn't do her full duty. I've ketched her many a time - huggin' little youngsters, an' I knowed what that meant. She thought you - was dead till yesterday, and of course you can see how—” - </p> - <p> - “I think I'll walk down there,” Paul said, his face turned toward the - swamp. “I must see her tonight.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, maybe you'd better,” Warren acquiesced. “As soon as she sees how—how - well-disposed an' friendly you are I reckon she'll act different. I don't - know, but I say I reckon she will.” - </p> - <p> - As Paul neared the edge of the swamp he came upon his mother standing near - a clump of sassafras bushes. Her face was turned from him, and, as the - thick grass muffled his step, she was unaware of his approach. - </p> - <p> - “O Lord, show me what to do!” she was praying in 'tones which came - distinctly to him on the still air. “Oh, show me—show me!” - </p> - <p> - “Mother!” he cried out, and even in the vague light he saw her start, and - gaze at him in actual fear. Then she averted her face, and he saw her - swaying as if about to fall. Springing to her side, he took her in his - arms, and drew her frail body against his strong breast. In the desperate - effort to avoid his eyes she hid her face on his shoulder. He could not - remember ever having kissed her, or having been caressed by her, and yet - he kissed now as naturally and tenderly as if he had fondled her all his - life. - </p> - <p> - “Don't, don't!” she sobbed, yet there was a blended note of surprise and - boundless delight in her opposition. Presently she struggled from his - embrace and stood a foot or two away, now gazing at him in slow wonder - while he took in her miserable physical aspect, the consequence of years - of toil, poverty, and lack of proper nourishment. - </p> - <p> - “Aren't you glad to see me again, mother?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know—I don't know,” she stammered, piteously. “I thought - you'd try to kill me an' Jeff on sight. We heard that's what you come back - for.” - </p> - <p> - “I came back to do my duty to God, to the law of the land, to you and - every one. Mother, I am older and wiser now. Hard experience has opened my - eyes and given me a clearer knowledge of right and wrong. We can't get - away from duty. You are my mother, and a man owes his very life and soul - to his mother.” - </p> - <p> - “But not to me, not to <i>me</i>,” she protested, fiercely. “I know what I - done, an' how inhuman I acted toward you when I was so silly an' giddy, - when you needed a mother's love an' care. You ought not to notice me in - the road. You've riz, an' amount to some'n, an' me an'—an' Jeff - would be mill-rocks about your neck. We are jest scabs—human scabs!” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, mother,” he broke in, passionately. “No words can describe my - happiness. It seems to me that the very kingdom of Heaven is here among - these old hills and mountains, and you gave it all to me, for you are - responsible for my very being. But for you I'd never have existed. I'll - show you what I mean, and then you will understand that poverty of the - body can only increase the wealth of the soul.” - </p> - <p> - “But—but we <i>are</i> in such a disgraceful plight,” she faltered. - “You saw that cabin; you see my rags an' noticed Jeff's looks. You know - what folks that used to know us will say an' think. We thought we was so - smart. We was goin' to roll in money an' fine things an' prove that we - knowed what we was about, but misfortune after misfortune piled on us, - till—” - </p> - <p> - “That's all to end,” Paul said, with firmness. “Do you know what I did - to-day? As soon as I heard that Mayburn had put you in that dirty hut I - rode over to his home and rented the cottage next door for you, and made a - better all-round contract for Jeff—a contract under which he can - easily earn money.” - </p> - <p> - “You—you say?” she gasped. She laid both her thin hands on his arms - and flashed a hungry stare into his face. “You say you rented that - cottage?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, here is the key,” he answered, putting it into her hand. “You can - move in to-night if you wish, but I wouldn't till to-morrow if I were you, - for I have bought a complete outfit of new furniture in town and it will - be out early in the morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Paul, Paul—my boy, my baby!” she was weeping now. Violent sobs - shook her frail form from head to foot. Again he drew her into his arms, - and stroked back her thin hair from her wrinkled brow. “And that is not - all, mother dear,” he continued. “You've waited long enough for the - comforts and things you love. I shall supply you with everything—food, - clothing, and anything else you want. I am going to make you three happy. - I am able to do it, and it will be the joy of my life.” She slowly dried - her tears on the skirt of her dress. She looked at him, and a glad, - childlike smile broke over her face as he led her homeward.. - </p> - <p> - “It all seems like a pretty dream,” she muttered. “I'm afraid I'll wake in - a minute.” - </p> - <p> - “Life ought to be that way always,” he said. “If it isn't beautiful it is - our fault. If anything goes wrong with us it is because we are out of - harmony with the laws of the universe, which are perfect. It is never the - universe that is wrong, but only our blind notion of it.” - </p> - <p> - “But, oh, Paul—” She was not capable of rising to his philosophy, - and she paused and drew herself sorrowfully from his arm. “You are doing - all this, but I know how most folks look at things. They say—some do—that—that - you are goin' with Ethel Mayfield, an' her folks are proud an' well off. - They are not the same sort of stock as me an' Jeff, and if you tie - yourself to us, why, may be she—” - </p> - <p> - An expression of inner pain rose to the surface of his face. “People are - apt to make mistakes,” he said, awkwardly, and he forced a little - misleading laugh. “It is true that I have driven out with her several - times, but it was only because she needed an escort and her mother wished - it. She and I understand each other, in a friendly way, but that is all.” - </p> - <p> - “So thar is nothin' in <i>that?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing at all. Mother, I”—his voice caught suddenly, and he - cleared his throat—“I am not really a marrying man. Marriage seems - to be the happy fate of some fellows, but I am an exception. I have a - great work before me—a sort of duty, as I see it—and these - mountains are the best field on earth.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm so happy I hardly know what to do.” Her face was fairly glowing. - “This thing will tickle Jeff an' Mandy to death. I am glad you made up - with Jeff. He's all right, Paul. He means well. He's just been unlucky, - that is all.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he is all right,” Paul agreed, “and things will run more smoothly - with him from now on.” - </p> - <p> - They were nearing the cabin. They saw Warren in front of the door, a - bowed, sentinel-like figure in the red light of the fire within. His face - was toward them as they approached, but he made no movement. His wife - quickened her step, and going ahead of her son she took her husband's - hands. - </p> - <p> - “Jeff, Jeff!” she was heard to say, and Paul caught the words, “cottage,” - “furniture,” and “oh, ain't it glorious?” - </p> - <p> - Warren said nothing, but Paul heard him sigh. He pressed his wife's hands - spasmodically and then dropped them. Firmly he advanced to meet his - stepson, and paused in front of him. - </p> - <p> - “The Lord ought to have let your shot go deeper that night, Paul,” he - gulped, and for the first time in his life his eyes and voice were full of - tears. - </p> - <p> - “The Lord caught that shot in His hand, Jeff,” Paul answered. “He saved us - both, and we are wiser now!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0035" id="linklink2HCH0035"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>S Paul walked - homeward a wave of transcendental ecstasy fairly lifted him from the - ground. The stars and all space seemed his. He laughed; he sang; he - whistled; a prayer of mystic delight rippled from his lips. - </p> - <p> - He was drawing near the gate to Hoag's grounds when he noticed a man on a - mule in the middle of the road. The rider's short legs swung back and - forth from the plodding animal's flanks like pendulums, but his face was - toward the village and Paul did not recognize him. Presently, however, - when the gate was reached the rider was heard to cry “Whoa!” and Paul knew - the voice. It was that of Tye, the shoemaker. - </p> - <p> - “How are you, Uncle Si?” Paul quickened his step and approached just as - the old man was about to dismount. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!”—the cobbler settled back in his saddle—“I'm glad to see - you. I've been over the mountain deliverin' a big raft o' work. I shod a - whole family—two grown-ups an' ten children. I want to see you, an' - I was goin' to hitch an' go to the house.” - </p> - <p> - “I see, I see,” Paul smiled easily. “Like all the rest, you want to warn - me to look out for Jeff Warren.” - </p> - <p> - “Not a bit of it—you are away off!” Tye stroked his short beard with - the fingers which held his riding-switch and grinned confidently. “That - will take care of itself. I don't have to be told what a feller with <i>your</i> - light will do. I'll bet a dollar to a ginger-cake that you've been to see - 'em already, an' you didn't act the fool, neither.” - </p> - <p> - With a laugh Paul admitted it. “I had a narrow escape,” he added. “Jeff - wanted to brain me on the spot with an ax.” - </p> - <p> - “But you bet he didn't,” Silas chuckled, “an' I'll lay he's lookin' at - things in a brighter light than ever fell across his path before. But I've - come to see you about business—strict earthly business, an' it's - your business, not mine. Paul, you've heard of Theodore Doran an' the big - cotton-factory he's just built at Chester?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes,” Paul returned. “Some of my men have gone over there to work.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what do you think? Doran is stoppin' at Kerr's Hotel, buyin' up - cotton to run on next fall, an' this mornin' he come in my shop an' took a - seat. You see, I used to know him an' his folks powerful well. He was in a - Sunday-school class of mine, along with three other lads, away back in the - seventies, when he was a tow-headed scrub of a boy that nobody ever - thought would get rich, an' so I reckon he's purty free with me in - confidential matters. Well, he set in to chattin' in a roundabout way, an' - it wasn't long before I took notice that the talk always somehow got back - to you an' your expert management of Hoag's affairs. Whar I fust began to - smell a rat was when he said he'd been to every plant an' farm of Hoag's - an' taken a look at 'em. Then what do you reckon he said? He said he had - looked high an' low for a man to help 'im run the big factory, but hadn't - found the right chap. Then he went on to say that from all he had seed an' - heard you was the one he was lookin' for. He knowed me an' you was close - friends, an' so he bantered me to find out if I thought you'd consider a - change. I told 'im I didn't know; but, la me! if I didn't grease the - wheels o' your cart no man in Georgia could. I said a lot, but he had - heard more than I could tell 'im in a month o' Sundays. He said what he - wanted was a feller who he knowed was honest to the core, an' he was sure - he could sleep sound with a man at the helm that had come back here, like - you did, as a bare matter of principle.” - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid you both are thinking entirely too well of me,” Paul - faltered, “but I am glad you wanted to help me along.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” Tye continued, “the upshot of the talk was that Doran didn't want - no mix-up with Jim Hoag over tryin' to hire a man o' his, an' he asked me, - as your friend, to sort o' sound you. He says he's willin' to pay a big - price for your services, an' he thinks you will take an interest in the - work. It is to be a model mill. They have built comfortable cottages for - the workers, with a nice garden tacked onto each one, an' they don't - intend to employ little children. Paul, it is a fine job—there is no - better anywhar. I told 'im I didn't think you was bound to any written - contract to Hoag, an' Doran said he was sure you wasn't, because Hoag - wouldn't obligate hisse'f to nobody—even a good man.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I am not bound to him,” Paul said, “and I am just a little bit afraid - he will not approve of something I am going to do. I have decided to help - Jeff Warren and my mother.” - </p> - <p> - “I see.” Tye thrust his stubby fingers through the bristling mane of his - mule, and bent down reflectively, “No, that will make 'im as mad as a wet - hen. He hates Jeff with all the puny soul that's in him. Paul, take my - advice. Doran will be at the hotel to-morrow an' wants to see you. Go have - a talk with him.” - </p> - <p> - “It is plainly my duty,” Paul answered, with conviction. “There are - certain expenses I have to meet, and I must sell my services for all they - are worth.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's what I wanted to see you about.” Tye thrust his heels into - the mule's flanks, shook the reins, clucked through his gashed teeth, and - started homeward. “Good night; you know I wish you well.” - </p> - <p> - Paul entered the gate and started up the walk toward the house. As he drew - near the steps he saw a shadowy form emerge from the darkened doorway, - move across the veranda, softly descend to the ground, and noiselessly - glide toward him. It was Ethel. Her head was enveloped in a light lace - shawl held close at her chin, and her sweet face showed pale and rigid - through the opening. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Paul—” she began, but her timid voice trailed away into - silence, and she stood staring at him, a fathomless anxiety in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Why, I thought you were in bed long ago,” he said, in surprise. “Has - anything happened—gone wrong?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” she ejaculated; “but you—<i>you</i>, Paul—” - </p> - <p> - Again her power of utterance forsook her, and she stood before him with - downcast eyes. The hand holding the shawl was quivering visibly; there was - a flare of burning suspense beneath her eyelids. - </p> - <p> - “I see,” he said, regretfully. “Your grief has got the upper hand again. - You can't fully master it yet. It may be that way for some time, but you - must keep trying to view it right, for it <i>is</i> right, Ethel. I am - more positive of it to-night than ever before.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not <i>that</i>—oh, it isn't <i>that!</i>” Ethel cried. “It - is you, Paul—you and—” - </p> - <p> - “I really don't understand,” he said, bewildered. “You say that I—” - </p> - <p> - She released her hold on the shawl and laid her hand on his arm. “I must - own the truth,” she began, tremulously, her voice steadying bravely as she - hurried on. “I listened to what you and my uncle said when you got home - to-night. You were beneath my window and I could not resist it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see!” A light broke on him. “And you thought—” - </p> - <p> - “You went to your room and then hurried away—you went straight - toward Jeff Warren's cabin, and—” - </p> - <p> - “And you counted on hearing gunshots,” he laughed, reassuringly. “Well, - there were none. I owed him an apology and I made it. We are friends now, - and I have my mother back.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Paul, was that all?” He could almost see her face glow in the - darkness. “I was afraid—oh, I was afraid that all your troubles were - going to begin over again!” - </p> - <p> - She was silent after that. His gentle words of reassurance seemed to fall - on closed ears. She stood staring up at the window of her room for several - minutes, and then she said, in a tone that was quite incomprehensible to - him: “You think I am silly—I know you do, but worrying over Jennie's - death has—has really unstrung me. I am not myself. I don't know what - I am doing or saying. I give myself up to terrible fancies. Good night, - Paul.” - </p> - <p> - He remained on the lawn after she had disappeared. He heard her slow step - on the stair. His ecstatic spirit-dream was over. He sank on a rustic seat - and bowed his head to his open hands. She was so dear to him and yet so - absolutely unattainable! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0036" id="linklink2HCH0036"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next afternoon, - following a conference with the owner of the cotton-mill, which took place - at Tye's shop, Paul returned home. As he was about to ascend the stairs to - his room he met Mrs. Tilton in the hall. - </p> - <p> - “Have you seen Jim?” she inquired; and when he had answered in the - negative she added: “He was asking whar you was at. I thought I'd sort o' - warn you to look out for him; he ain't in the best of tempers. Some'n's - gone crooked somewhar or other. He actually cussed me just now an' slapped - little Jack for the first time in over a year. The child was just comin' - to git in his lap, an' he's been cryin' as if his heart was broke ever - since.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is Mr. Hoag?” Paul asked. - </p> - <p> - “He's down at the tannery shippin' some leather.” There were still several - minutes to spare before supper-time, and Paul decided to seek his employer - at once, so he turned down to the tannery. As he approached the warehouse - the rumble of the iron truck-wheels on the heavy floor reached him, and - above the din he heard Hoag's gruff voice giving commands to two negro - laborers. Stepping upon the platform, Paul saw his employer near the wide - sliding door just within the dust-filled room, and he approached him. - </p> - <p> - “Anything I can do?” he asked, politely. - </p> - <p> - “Do! Does it look like thar's anything to do?” - </p> - <p> - Hoag hurled the words at him, his eyes flashing beneath beetling brows, - his lip curled and drawn tight across tobacco-stained teeth. - </p> - <p> - Paul stared at him unflinchingly. “Shipments have always been made in the - morning,” he said, calmly. He drew a note-book from his pocket and opened - it. “I had this down for the first thing to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “It ain't what <i>you</i> have down, but what I want done, when an' how I - like it. I couldn't find <i>you</i>, so I had to do it <i>myself</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “We won't talk about that at all,” Paul retorted, drawn into anger he was - trying hard to control. “I know I earn my salary, and I'll be treated like - an intelligent human being while I am at work or I'll quit. Do you - understand that? I'll quit!” - </p> - <p> - “Damn your soul”—Hoag looked about on the floor as if for something - with which to strike the speaker to earth—“do you mean to stand thar - an' give me any of your jaw?” - </p> - <p> - “Not any more than you need to make you act like a man.” Paul bent a - steady and fearless gaze on him that made him flinch and drop his eyes. - But Hoag was not subdued. He blinked sullenly for a moment, swore at a - negro who was staggering past under an overloaded truck, followed him to - the wagon at the door, where he stood, a mere husk of a man buffeted by - fierce inner storms. Presently he came back to Paul; he had unconsciously - crushed the order for the leather in his hand and broken the tip of his - pencil. - </p> - <p> - “Thar's no use beatin' about the bush,” he began, in a tone which showed - that he was now more sure of his ground. “I'm goin' to give you the truth - straight from the shoulder. An' if you don't like it you kin lump it.” - Another loaded truck was passing and Hoag stopped it. He made a flurried - effort to count the rolls, and failing to do so, he waved his hand - impatiently, swore at the man, and the truck was trundled on to the door. - </p> - <p> - “You needn't waste time getting to it,” Paul began firmly. “I know what's - the matter with you. You've made up your mind that slavery is not yet - over. You've heard about what I am doing for my mother, and—” - </p> - <p> - “That's it,” Hoag's dead face flared. “I may as well tell you the truth - an' be done with it. Not a dollar—not one dollar of my money shall - go to a low-lived, dirt-eatin' skunk like Jeff Warren.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Your</i> money? No; not a penny of <i>your</i> money,” Paul laughed, - sarcastically. - </p> - <p> - “Well, haven't you gone an' moved his whole lay-out into Mayburn's new - house an' laid in furniture an' supplies an'—an'—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, but not at <i>your</i> expense,” Paul continued to smile. “I - knew you would want me to quit working for you when I did it; still, I did - it, and I'm going to keep it up.” - </p> - <p> - “You say you are!” Hoag had never had his will more flatly opposed. “Well, - listen to me, young man. You are gittin' entirely too big for your pants. - I took you up when you come back here under the ban of the law an' - couldn't 'a' got a job like this to save your neck. I've been payin' you a - hundred a month, but seein' that you are countin' on livin' like a royal - prince, an' spendin' your wages on the rag-tag an' bobtail scum of the - earth, from now on your pay is cut to seventy-five dollars a month.” - </p> - <p> - The eyes of the two men met. Hoag's were burning with satanic triumph; - Paul's held a certain gleam of pity, and yet they bore down with a - steadiness that stirred the slow surprise of his companion. - </p> - <p> - “If you mean that as final,” Paul said, “I have something vital and - positive to say myself.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll not pay a cent more,” Hoag panted. “I'll see you dead an' buried - first. Any young man with the chances you had, to go an' throw 'em all - away for a low-lived tramp clodhopper—” - </p> - <p> - “We'll leave Warren out of the matter,” Paul interrupted, almost fiercely. - “My proposition to you is this, Mr. Hoag. I do not want to leave you, - because certain things I have got under way in your interests cannot well - be carried out by any one else, and it would be wrong for me to cause you - to lose. Still, I know my value. If I didn't I'd not have brains enough to - manage your affairs as I am managing them. Only this afternoon I have had - the offer of the superintendency of the Doran Cotton Mills. The pay is - double my present salary—with various chances of promotion.” - </p> - <p> - “What—what? You say that you—you say that Doran—” But - Hoag's utterance had failed him completely. He stood quivering from head - to foot, his lip hanging low, his teeth parted, his breath hissing as it - passed through them. - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to quarrel with you,” Paul softened. “It is wrong for two - men to quarrel—especially wrong for one who has learned the full - evil of it as I have, and we need not do it now. But I have certain human - rights which, for reasons of your own, you ignore, and are trying to - trample underfoot. It is my right to help my mother, and any one else I - see fit to help. I cannot do these things if I work for you for less than - my services are worth on the market. I want to remain here, and if you - will pay me the price offered by Doran I will do so, otherwise I shall - leave you.” - </p> - <p> - “Pay you—pay you two hundred a month”—Hoag gasped—“pay - you double what you now get so that you can spend it on a lazy, - good-for-nothin' scamp? Not on your life! I'll see the last one of you - dead first, an' laid out stark an' cold.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it is settled,” Paul answered, calmly. “I told Doran I'd let him - have my decision in the morning. I'll leave you on the first of next - month.” - </p> - <p> - “You can go an' be damned,” Hoag swore under his breath, and raised his - clenched fist and shook it in Paul's face. “Git out o' my sight.” - </p> - <p> - And with that ultimatum Hoag stalked out to the platform. Paul looked at - him regretfully a moment and then turned away. - </p> - <p> - He failed to see his employer at the supper-table. He was at work in his - room near bedtime when he heard a heavy, dragging step on the stairs. The - next moment Hoag leaned in the open doorway. His face was flushed with - drink; there was a thwarted glare in his bloodshot eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you meant what you said about Doran?” he began, sullenly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I simply stated the facts,” Paul answered. - </p> - <p> - “You said you'd keep on with me for the price Doran's willin' to pay?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” Paul returned, with dignity. “I meant to put it that way.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I reckon”—in blended chagrin and anger—“you are worth - as much to me as you are to him. The offer comes through enemies of mine - who want to injure me—fellers that stand in with Doran—a gang - o' narrow church elders over there, who have got it in for me. You stay - on, an' I'll try not to kick any more over your private matters. Do you - understand?” - </p> - <p> - “I think so.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, then. That's all I wanted to say.” Hoag turned to the door. He - stood there for a moment, then slowly faced Paul again. - </p> - <p> - “There is one other thing,” he said, half-sheepishly. “I got onto the fact - that you went on Henry's note at the bank to git the money for 'im to go - into that business on, an' I thought I'd tell you that I don't intend to - let you lose it. Good business men think Henry is goin' to make money - thar. In fact, I think myself that he may stick to it. I was in his store - to-day an' his partner is well pleased with the work Henry is doin'. I - expect to pay that note off, but I'll let 'im owe the bank a while. That - will be best, I think.” And with that Hoag turned and went down the - stairs. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0037" id="linklink2HCH0037"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> FEW days later - Hoag was walking home from his cotton-gin. It was near noon. It had been - cool and cloudy all the morning, and the humid air was laden with a - hovering mist which at every moment seemed about to resolve itself into - rain. Suddenly, in a thicket at the side of the road, he saw a man with - his back toward him. The gaunt form resembled Sid Trawley's, yet the queer - antics of the hatless figure belied such an association, for it was - bending down and rising up with inexplicable regularity. Hoag paused and - watched in growing wonder. It was plain that the man's contortions were - not due to the lifting of any tool, for every few seconds a pair of bare, - splaying hands would rise above the head, clutch at the air, and slowly - descend. - </p> - <p> - “What the hell ails 'im?” Hoag asked himself, and turning into the thicket - he approached the animated automaton. It was Trawley. On seeing Hoag he - flushed deeply, dropped his gaze awkwardly to the ground, and stood - silent, though smiling in a sheepish way. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, are you gone plumb distracted?” Hoag demanded, as he stood - eying his old associate from head to foot. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you might call it that,” Trawley answered, raising his arms - above his head and inhaling a deep breath. “A heap o' things look plumb - foolish if you ain't onto the scientific explanation.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” Hoag tittered, “I can't see no sense in a big strappin' feller - like you actin' like a jumpin'-jack pullin' it's own string away out here - in the woods all by yourself.” - </p> - <p> - Trawley threw back his broad shoulders, took a shorter breath, and - answered: “I railly didn't intend to be seen, Jim, much less by you, who - never would believe nothin' outside o' your own hide. I've been doin' this - thing for a month or more.” - </p> - <p> - “You say you have!” Hoag exhibited one of his rare tendencies toward a - smile. “I see whar you've pawed up the grass considerable. It looks like - the ground round the hitchin'-post of a prize stallion.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon I <i>have</i> come here as much as anywhar else.” The liveryman - comically surveyed the spot in question. “I git the walk out, an' I like - to operate in the same spot. I can time myself, you see. I give a' hour to - it twice a day—momin' an evenin'.” - </p> - <p> - “You say you do!” Hoag's smile broke broadly. “Workin' for yourself or - hired out?” - </p> - <p> - “I knowed you'd joke,” Trawley said, half abashed, “but no joke o' your'n, - Jim Hoag, will turn me from a thing as good as this is. I've been led by - your sort long enough. Thar are things in heaven an' earth, Jimmy, that - you never even saw the tail-end of, much less the head an' shoulders. I - know, for I'm just beginnin' to catch onto a powerful big thing.” - </p> - <p> - “The last time I saw you,” Hoag said, with a smile, “you swore you was - goin' to lie flat down an' die.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that's it; I did say it, an' I was as sure of it as I am that you - are a-standin' thar pokin' fun right now. Jim, I was on the actual edge o' - hell. I could see the smoke, smell the fumes, an' hear the smashin' o' - teeth, mentioned in Scripture. You used to see me at work in the stable, - but you never seed me after the sun went down an' the night piled thick - and heavy around me. I was crazy. I expected to die right off, an' the - trouble was that I wasn't ready. Then what do you reckon happened?” - </p> - <p> - “I was just wonderin'.” Hoag really was interested, and he stood staring - seriously, all traces of humor submerged in curiosity. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I was at my lowest ebb one day. The doctor had examined me ag'in - an' said I had no stomach that would hold a bite I ate, an' no relish for - a thing, even soft <i>baby</i> truck. I was losin' weight as fast as a - dump-cart o' manure with a plank gone from the bottom, an' I went to the - stable an' set down to try to reconcile myself to the fate that all men - has to meet sooner or later, but I couldn't. The more I thought about it - the worse I got. Jim, in that little hour thar in my office, humped over - my desk, I attended over ag'in every funeral I ever went to, an', more'n - that, I seed every pore cuss our gang ever lynched a-hangin' from the - rafters above the backs o' my hosses an' mules. I'd 'a' killed myself, but - I knowed I'd just be hurried to judgment all the quicker, an' thar I was - actually wallowin' in my despair. Then a miracle happened.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it <i>did?</i> I thought that might be a-comin',” Hoag sneered, “for - you wasn't wallowin' in anything like that when I catched you a minute - ago.” - </p> - <p> - “You'll say I'm a big fool,” Trawley went on, with the glow of a mild - fanatic in his eyes; “but I don't give a damn. The proof of the puddin' is - chawin' the rag, I've always heard. Right at my worst minute, who should - walk in an' set down for a chat except Paul Rundel? I always liked that - boy, an' when he come home to give 'imself up like he did I was one that - believed he meant what he said. I'm convinced of it now, because he's - livin' up to his doctrine. Well, one thing fetched on another as me'n him - talked, till somehow I got to tellin' him how low I was an' what the - doctor said. I thought he'd be sorry for me, but he shuck his head an' - actually laughed. He tuck my wrist, he did, an' felt my pulse, an' then he - peeled my eyes back an' looked at the balls, an' made me show him my - tongue; then he slapped me on the knee—careless like—an' - laughed free an' hearty. - </p> - <p> - “'Thar ain't nothin' much the matter with you, Sid,' he said. I know, - because I've run across lots an' lots o' cases like your'n.' Then he - plunged into the sensiblest talk—well, Cap—Jim, I mean—'scuse - me, I never heard anything to equal it in all my born days. It was like a - rousin' sermon preached by a jolly base-ball player, or a feller that just - got the meat out of religion an' throwed the gristle to the dogs. Why, he - told me that what ailed me couldn't be reached by any dose o' medicine - that ever slid down a throat. He said he'd bet his hat that I had some'n - on my mind that ought to be unloaded. I sort o' shied off thar, but he - went into all his own trouble over that shootin'-scrape in such a free an' - open way that I—” - </p> - <p> - “You didn't—you didn't violate your oath to—” Hoag started, - and his shaggy brows met suspiciously. - </p> - <p> - “No, an' I didn't have to. He said—Paul said—totin' sin that - was behind you an' ought to be forgot was as rank a poison to some systems - as any virus that ever crawled through the blood, an' I admitted that I - was bothered by some things I'd done that I didn't want to talk about. - But, oh my! how good that boy made me feel! He said if I would just quit - thinkin' about my stomach an' what went into it, an' keep my mind full o' - pure thoughts, determine to act right in the future, an' take exercise in - the open air, that I'd git as sound as a dollar right off.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see.” Hoag smiled more easily. “An' you took his advice. Well, he - ain't so far wrong. Believin' you are done for is powerful weakenin'. I - seed a bedrid old hag once jump out o' bed when somebody yelled that a mad - dog was headed toward her cabin. She broke out with nothin' on but a shift - an' one stockin' an' run half a mile, waded through a creek, an' climbed a - ten-rail fence to git to a neighbor's house, an' after that she was hale - an' hearty.” - </p> - <p> - “It's a sight deeper science than that when you work it accordin' to - up-to-date rules an' regulations,” Trawley blandly explained. “The furder - you advance in it the more you seem to lay hold of. You seed me bendin' up - an' down just now. Exercise like that, 'long with deep breathin', an' the - idea that you are, so to speak, pullin' good thoughts an' intentions into - you along with the wind, will do more than ten wholesale drug-stores. I - know, for I am actually a new man, from toe to scalp. I don't eat nothin' - now but ham. Look at my muscles.” Trawley exhibited an arm tightly - contracted and smiled proudly. “Why, I was ready for my windin'-sheet an' - the coolin'-board. If I had to give up my stable, an' every hoss an' rig I - have, or let go of this idea, I'd do it an' work like a nigger in a ditch - for bare bread an' water. Paul calls it 'the Science of Life,' an' he's - right. In our talk that day he said that it would be well to try, as far - as I could, to undo any wrong I'd ever done, an' soon after that I saw - Pete Watson's widow passin' the stable. I'll swear she did look pitiful in - her old raggety shoes with the toes out, totterin' along with her kinky - head down. Well, I called 'er in an' had a talk—” - </p> - <p> - “An' give us all dead away!” Hoag flashed in renewed fear. - </p> - <p> - “No, I didn't. She was in a powerful bad fix, an' I let 'er have a few - dollars an' told 'er to look me up any time she was rail bad off. Lordy! - the sight o' that old thing's face did me good for a week. I'm goin' to - hire one o' her sons to work in the stable. I reckon I'd be a freer man if - I wasn't sorter obligated to you boys; but I tell you now, Jim, I'm goin' - to drag my skirts away from you all as much as possible. All that - secret-order business an' followin' your lead got me down. Paul says, in - all the places he's been at, he never has seed as bad a condition of - affairs as we got right here. He says—an' I don't know whether he - suspicioned that I was implicated or not—but he says that all that - night-prowlin', an' scarin' half-witted niggers an' stringin' 'em up to - limbs, won't settle our trouble. He says that we've got to be gentle with - the blacks an' train 'em. He says the old slaveholders was kind to 'em, - an' that's why no outrages was ever heard of before slavery was abolished, - an' he says treatin' the niggers decent now will—” - </p> - <p> - “He's a fool!” Hoag growled, angrily. “He's gone off an' lived among a lot - o' Yankees who think niggers are a grade better'n us white folks down - here. They don't know nigger-nature, an' <i>he</i> don't, neither, but - I'll tell you one thing: he'd better keep his mouth shet, an' you—you - can quit us if you want to, but you'd better not make too many brags about - it.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not braggin' <i>now</i>,” Trawley retorted. “A feller can't well brag - about what he is ashamed of, an' Jim, I'm heartily ashamed of all that - business. Lord, Lord! you called me 'Lieutenant', an' I remember how proud - I was of the title the night you give it to me an' the boys all cheered. - 'Lieutenant!' I say, '<i>Lieutenant!</i>' I hope to git to Heaven some day - or other, an' wouldn't I love to hear 'em call me that up thar among the - Blest, an' ax how I had got my promotion?” - </p> - <p> - “I see through you, Sid.” Hoag was nettled, and yet trying to speak in a - tone of unconcern, which in part was natural. “Thar's more'n one way o' - showin' the white feather. You was all right as long as you felt well an' - strong, but the minute you begun to think about dyin' you went all to - pieces. That's how every little jack-leg preacher makes his salary, by - scarin' your sort out o' their socks.” - </p> - <p> - “You are away off your base.” Trawley stretched himself, raised his arms, - after the manner of his health exercise, lowered them to his sides, and - smiled confidently. “Paul Rundel ain't no jack-leg preacher, presidin' - elder, or bishop. He's movin' along mixin' business with joy as smooth as - deep water headed for the ocean. He don't charge a cent; in fact, when he - talks it looks like he does it because he can't hold in. He says religion - don't mean givin' up the good things of the flesh or the spirit; he says - it just means knowin' how to live, an'—<i>livin''</i>. Why, look at - your son Henry.” - </p> - <p> - “What's he done now?” Hoag's eyes flickered ominously, as they bent upon - Trawley's impassioned countenance. - </p> - <p> - “Why, nothin', except he's workin' like a wheel-hoss an' Paul started 'im - by a few straight talks on the right line an' havin' faith in 'im. Jim - Hoag, I've set in to live right, an' I'm goin' to keep it up.” - </p> - <p> - “Lemme tell you some'n, Sid,” Hoag returned, dryly. “I've noticed that - whenever a man is plumb played out—cayn't hold his own among men, - loses his little pile, is hopelessly disgraced, or somebody dies that he - thinks he has to keep—why, he goes daft about the wings he's goin' - to wear an' the harp he's to play in a land flowin' with milk an' honey. - Since the world begun to roll, not a word has come back from the - spider-web place they all talk about, an' the feller that believes in it - is simply dyin' of the dry-rot. All that a human bein' will ever git he'll - git here on this globe. I've made what I've got by hard licks, common - sense, an' paddlin' my own boat. A feller that sees a lot o' jimjam - visions ahead never will buck down to real life here, an' he'll never lay - up a dollar or own a foot of land. Wise men knowed all this long before - Jesus Christ come teachin' that the only way to accumulate was to give - away all you git, make a two-sided foot-mat o' your face, an' associate - with fishermen that want to learn how to walk on the water.” - </p> - <p> - “Say, say, Jim, that's purty tough!” Trawley protested. But with a smile - of conscious victory Hoag was starting away. - </p> - <p> - “Take some more deep breaths,” he chuckled over his shoulder, “an' while - you are drawin' in truth suck down what I've just said. I kin <i>prove</i> - what I'm talkin' about, but you can't prove that any sane man ever <i>dreamt</i> - the stuff you are tryin' to believe.” - </p> - <p> - Trawley stood still on the spot he had rendered grassless by his modern - devotions, and stared after the receding form. “I'll bet it will take me a - week to git away from that durn fellow's influence,” he muttered. “He - believes what he says, an' lives up—or <i>down</i>, rather—to - his doctrine, but he's kept me crooked long enough. He was my god once, - with all his power an' money, but he ain't no longer. I said a week—shucks! - I'm free already. That sky up thar's mine, or will be if I keep on, an' - it's got no fence around it nuther.” Trawley inhaled a deep breath, bent - downward, slowly raised himself, and with a light step started home. - </p> - <p> - “I've got a sight better thing than he has,” he continued to think of - Hoag, “but it wouldn't be right to gloat over 'im. The idea is to wish - well to <i>all</i>—his sort along with the rest.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0038" id="linklink2HCH0038"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NE clear, warm - evening Hoag rode along the side of the mountain. The sun had been down - for an hour, and the valley lay beneath the soft folds of a twilight - which, ever creeping from west to east, seemed gradually to thicken under - the increasing rays of the constantly appearing stars. He saw the village - lights, and from their locations knew where the main buildings stood—the - hotel, the post-office, and the wagon-yard, marked by the red glow of the - camp-fires. He could see, also, his own home at the end of the road up - which he had ascended. - </p> - <p> - The incline was growing steeper and his horse was stepping cautiously, and - shying here and there at real or fancied objects in the underbrush on each - side of the densely shaded road. Presently a point was reached where the - horse could not well advance further, and the rider dismounted, hitched - his rein to a bush, and, on foot, took a narrow path which led down a - steep incline into a canon of considerable depth and breadth. Finally - gaining a sort of level at the bottom, he trudged on into a labyrinthian - maze of brambles, lichen-coated boulders, and thorn-bushes, headed for a - specter-like cliff which, now and then, loomed in the starlight. - </p> - <p> - Presently a firm cry of “Halt there!” greeted him, and a tall, lank form, - topped by a mask of white cloth with jagged eye and mouth openings, stood - in front of him. - </p> - <p> - “Halt yoreself, Joe Purvynes!” Hoag answered, facetiously. - </p> - <p> - “Halt, I say! That won't do,” and the figure raised a long-barreled gun - and threateningly presented it. “What's the password?” - </p> - <p> - “Hold on, hold on!” Hoag laughed uneasily. “It's me, Joe!” - </p> - <p> - “Me! I don't know no me's in this business. You give me the proper - password or I'll plug you full o'—” - </p> - <p> - “A white man's country,” Hoag hurriedly complied. “Thar, I reckon that - will suit you.” - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord, Cap! I swear I didn't know you,” the sentinel exclaimed - apologetically. “By gum, I come 'in an inch o' givin' the signal to the - boys up thar to lie low. It ain't for me to dictate to you, but you ought - to obey regulations yourself if you expect the rest to keep order. Cap, - this ain't no jokin' business; we've got to be careful.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you'd know my voice.” Hoag fended the matter of! with an - impatient gesture and an audible sniff. “The klan arrived yet?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, up thar in the open; some of 'em got here at sundown. Never seed 'em - so eager before. They've got some game up their sleeves. I may as well - tell you. You are goin' to have trouble with 'em, Cap.” - </p> - <p> - “Trouble? What do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know as I've got any ground to say it”—the sentinel leaned - on his gun and lifted the lower part of his mask, that he might speak more - freely—“but it's the young members, Cap. They ain't satisfied with - bein' inactive so long. They say us older, men are takin' the dry-rot, an' - won't git out at night because we want to lie in bed an' snooze.” Hoag - swore under his breath. He reflected a moment in silence; then he asked, - “Who's the ringleader?” - </p> - <p> - “Hard to say, Cap; they are all a-talkin'. Thar's a dozen or more, but - Nape Welborne is the worst. I may as well tell you the truth. They are - ag'in' you; they are bent on creatin' dissatisfaction—bustin' up the - old order an' startin' out ag'in, as they say, with new blood. They've got - some fresh devilment to propose to-night, an' if you don't fall in line - double-quick they are a-goin' to move to elect a new captain.” - </p> - <p> - “I see, I see.” Hoag felt his blood rush in an angry torrent to his head. - “They are mad because I didn't favor breakin' in the jail last meetin' to - take out Mart Dill. He's Nape's uncle, you know. I was plumb right about - that, Purvynes. Mart paid his fine an' is free now, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - “I understand, Cap, but it made a lot of 'em mad. Of course I don't know, - but they say you had some grudge ag'in' Mart, an' that's why you refused - to act. They've got liquor in 'em to-night up to the neck, an' you'll have - to handle 'em easy or we'll bust into flinders.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll break their necks, damn them!” Hoag turned to go on. “They can't run - over me roughshod. I've been at the head o' this band too long for that.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I've give you my opinion, Cap,” Purvynes said, more coldly. “I hope - you'll try to keep down a split. Some'n seems goin' crooked, anyway. Sid - Trawley's talkin' a lot—gone daffy an' turned into a regular - preacher. I know a half-dozen old uns he's kept home to-night, an' Nape - Welborne is goin' to make trouble. He hates the ground you walk on. Thar's - no ifs and ands about that.” - </p> - <p> - Farther along, at the base of the almost perpendicular cliff, Hoag found - fifty or sixty men waiting for him. Some lay smoking on the grass, others - hung about in various restless attitudes, and a group of ten or twelve of - the younger men sat eating tinned oysters and sardines with crackers, and - drinking whisky from huge flasks which stood on the ground in their midst. - </p> - <p> - A man on the edge of the assembly recognized the leader, and saluting - respectfully, called out, “Boys, rise; the Captain is here!” - </p> - <p> - Thereupon a formality took place which to Hoag had always been a subtle - delight. Those standing removed their hats, and all who were seated - struggled to their feet and stood silent and uncovered. - </p> - <p> - “How are you, boys?” That constituted Hoag's usual greeting, and then - every one sat down, and for a moment silence ensued. There was a fallen - log on the border of the assemblage, and upon this the leader sat as if - upon a judicial bench. He put his hat on the grass at his feet and folded - his hands between his knees. There was a low tinkle of a knife-blade - gouging out potted ham from a jagged tin, and Hoag drew himself erect and - frowned. - </p> - <p> - “Let up on that eatin' thar!” he said, testily. “One thing at a time. I've - had a hard ride to git up here, an' I'll be treated with proper respect or—” - </p> - <p> - “You be damned!” a low voice muttered, and a soft titter of startled - approval rose in the group of younger men and slowly died in the - consternation which' Hoag's fierce attitude seemed to set afloat upon the - air. - </p> - <p> - “Who said that?” he sharply demanded, and he half rose to his feet and - leaned forward in a threatening attitude. - </p> - <p> - There was no response. Hoag, standing fully erect now, repeated his - question, but the surly demand elicited only a repetition of the tittering - and a low, defiant groan. - </p> - <p> - Hoag slowly and reluctantly resumed his seat. “I'm goin' to have order an' - obedience,” he growled. “That's what I'm here for, an' anybody that wants - trouble can git it. This is <i>me</i> a-talkin'.” - </p> - <p> - The silence was unbroken now and, somewhat mollified, Hoag proceeded to - the business of the night. “Mr. Secretary,” he said, “call the roll, an' - make careful note of absentees an' impose fines.” - </p> - <p> - A man holding a bit of lighted candle and a sheet of paper stood up and - went through this formality. - </p> - <p> - “How many missin'?” Hoag inquired, when the roll-call was over and the - candle extinguished. - </p> - <p> - “Seven, not countin' Sid Trawley,” was the response. - </p> - <p> - “Cold feet—seven more beyond the age-limit!” a wag in the younger - group was heard to say in a maudlin and yet defiant tone. - </p> - <p> - “Order thar!” Hoag commanded in a stentorian voice. - </p> - <p> - “Gone to nigger prayer-meetin',” another boldly muttered, and Hoag stamped - his foot and called for order again. “What have we got before the body?” - he inquired, in agreement with his best idea of parliamentary form. “Do I - hear any proposals?” - </p> - <p> - There was a short pause, then a young man in the noisy group rose. It was - Nape Welborne. His mouth was full of the dry crackers he was munching, and - little powdery puffs shot from his lips when he began to speak. - </p> - <p> - “Worshipful Knight, an' gentlemen of the Klan,” he began, with an obvious - sneer. “I've been asked to say a few words to-night. Considerable - dissatisfaction has got up in our body. Things has been proposed that in - common decency ought to have gone through, an' they've been put under the - table an' nothin' done. The general opinion is that this has come to be a - one-man gang.” - </p> - <p> - “Everything's been put to a vote,” Hoag retorted, with startled and yet - blunt dignity. - </p> - <p> - Grunts and sniffs of contempt ran through the group of younger men, and - when the Captain had secured, order Welborne resumed. It was plain that he - was making no effort to disguise his rancor. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they was snowed under after our <i>worshipful leader</i> showed that - he wasn't in for action, an' the men wouldn't move without an authorized - head.” - </p> - <p> - “That's no way to put it,” Hoag retorted. “As your leader I had to say - what I thought was wisest an' best. I always have done it, an' heard - nothin' ag'in' it till now.” - </p> - <p> - “Because you used to have a <i>little</i> more red blood in your veins - than you got now, an' that's sayin' powerful little.” The speaker's eyes - bore down upon the upturned faces, and was greeted by a loud clapping of - hands and boisterous exclamations of agreement. - </p> - <p> - Hoag was white with helpless fury. “You mean to say—damn you—” - he began, only to lapse into cautious silence, for there was something in - the staring tenseness of the speaker and his crouching supporters which - was ominous of a storm that was ready to break. - </p> - <p> - “Be careful, Cap!” It was the voice of Purvynes close behind him, and the - sentinel leaned downward on his gun to finish: “They are drunk an' have - got it in for you. They are bent on devilin' you tonight an' forcin' an - issue. Look sharp!” - </p> - <p> - Welborne had drawn himself up and was silent. Hoag nodded despairingly at - the man behind him and said: “Go on with your proposition, Brother - Welborne. What is it you want?” - </p> - <p> - Welborne laughed out impulsively. “I see we are gettin' to be kin folks. - Well, to come down to hard-pan an' brass tacks, Worshipful Knight, King o' - the Mossbacks, I am empowered to say that—” - </p> - <p> - “That he's got cold feet!” a merry voice broke in with an irrepressible - giggle. - </p> - <p> - At this Hoag sprang up, but hearing Purvynes' startled warning behind him, - and realizing what open resentment on his part would mean, he stood - unsteadily for an instant and then sank down. - </p> - <p> - “Go on!” he said, desperately. “We'll hear you out.” - </p> - <p> - “I wasn't goin' to use them nasty words <i>myself</i>,” the speaker smiled - down into the beardless face from which they had issued, “for it wouldn't - be becomin' on an occasion like this. Cold feet don't seem to fill the - bill exactly, nohow. A man may have a cold pair when his judgment is - ag'in' some move or other. The thing some of us new members find ourselves - up against in our leader is rank <i>cowardice</i>, an' plenty of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Cowardice!” Hoag allowed his rigid lips to echo. - </p> - <p> - “That's the word,” the speaker stared fixedly, as low murmurs of approval - swept through the immediate group around him and permeated the borders of - the crowd in general. - </p> - <p> - “Explain yourself.” Hoag was conscious of fighting for some expedient of - rescue under the shadow of toppling defeat. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, our boys have made up their minds that you are plumb without - any sort o' real grit,” Welborne said, firmly. “You seem to be one solid - bluff from beginnin' to end. We could cite half a dozen cases, not to - mention the two times that Jeff Warren made you eat dirt an' lick the - soles of his boots.” - </p> - <p> - “It's a lie!” Hoag floundered, recklessly. “A low, dirty lie!” - </p> - <p> - Welborne stepped out from the group and advanced half-way to the captain. - “That's what I've been hopin' you'd git to,” he said, calmly. “I suppose - you mean <i>me</i>. Now, rise from that log, Hoag, an' prove whether you - got any backbone or not. You are not only a liar, but a low-lived coward - in the bargain!” - </p> - <p> - Dead silence fell. Hoag was well aware that his power was gone—his - throne had crumbled under his feet, for he saw the utter futility of - fighting the young giant before him, and he knew that many of his - supporters would regard it as inevitable. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't say <i>you</i> was a liar. I said—” - </p> - <p> - “But I say you are worse than that,” Welborne snarled, “and you've got to - set thar before us all an' chaw my statement an' gulp it down.” - </p> - <p> - “You fellows have laid a trap for me,” Hoag muttered, desperately. He - glanced around at the older men. How strange it was that no word of rebuke - came from even the wisest of them! Surely they didn't believe the charge - of this wild young drunkard after all those years in which he had led - them, and had their homage and respect. - </p> - <p> - “I see you don't mean to defend yourself,” Welborne went on, glancing - around at the gathering, “an' that's proof enough of what I say. You've - held your post not because you was a brave man, Jim Hoag, but because you - had money that some men are low enough to bow before; but us young men in - these mountains will have a leader with sand in his craw, or none at all.” - The speaker paused, and his fellows stood up around him. There was a warm - shaking of hands, a rising clamor of approval, and this spread even to the - older men, who were excitedly talking in low tones. - </p> - <p> - “Come on, boys, let's go home!” Welborne proposed. “We'll have that - meetin' to-morrow night, an' we'll <i>do</i> things. Next time a good man - gits in jail no low-lived skunk will keep him thar!” - </p> - <p> - “Good, good!” several voices exclaimed. The entire assemblage was on its - feet. Hoag rose as if to demand order, but the purpose was drowned in the - flood of dismay within him. He saw Welborne and his friends moving away. - They were followed by others more or less slowly, who threw awkward - backward glances at him. Presently only Purvynes and he remained. - </p> - <p> - The sentinel leaned on the barrel of his gun and chewed his tobacco - slowly. - </p> - <p> - “I seed this thing a-comin' a long time back.” He spat deliberately, - aiming at a stone at his feet. “They've talked too much behind your back - to be true to your face. I can say it now, I reckon, for I reckon you want - to understand the thing. Do you, or do you not?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I don't know what to make of it,” Hoag said, with the lips of a - corpse, the eyes of a dying man. “I simply don't!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's this a way,” Purvynes explained, with as much tact as he could - command. “Welborne didn't tell it all. What really has rankled for a long - time was that—<i>they</i> say, you understand—that you just - kept this thing a-goin' for a sort o' hobby to ride on when you ain't off - in Atlanta havin' a good time. They claim that you just love to set back - an' give orders, an' preside like a judge an' be bowed an' scraped to. - They say that, here of late, you hain't seemed to be alive to home - interests or present issues. They claim the niggers are gittin' unbearable - all around, an' that you are afraid they will rise an' burn some o' your - property. They say you don't care how much the niggers insult white folks, - an' that you'd rather see a decent farmer's wife scared by a black imp - than lose one o' your warehouses or mills. They are goin' to reorganize - to-morrow night. An' listen to me, Jim—” Hoag heard the man address - him for the first time by his Christian name—“they are goin' to - raise hell. An' that's whar you an' me come in.” - </p> - <p> - “Whar <i>we</i> come in? You don't think they would dare to—to—” - Hoag began tremulously, and ended in rising dismay. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't mean they would actually mob you or me or any o' the old - klan, but whatever they do will be laid at our door because we've been in - the thing so long. The truth is, Jim, you trained them fellers to be what - they are; they are jest sparks off of your flint. I reckon if Nape - Welborne knowed how I looked at it he'd say <i>I</i> had cold feet, for - I've been doin' a sight o' thinkin' lately. I've heard Paul Rundel talk on - this line.” - </p> - <p> - “You say you have! He's a fool.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know 'bout that; if he ain't got it down about right, nobody has. - I heard him talkin' to a crowd one day at the flour-mill. He ain't afraid - o' man nor beast. Everybody knows that. Nape Welborne chipped in once, but - Paul settled 'im, an' Nape was ashamed to argue any longer. Paul says we - are in an awful fix. He prophesied then that we'd turn ag'in' our own race - an' we are a-doin' it. You yourself have made enemies among the very men - that used to follow you, an' the Lord only knows whar it will end.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag stifled a groan and struggled to his feet. His legs felt stiff and - heavy from inactivity. He stood staring out into the void above the - tree-tops. The rocky fastness immediately around was as still as if the - spot were aloof from time and space—so still, indeed, that a pebble - of the disintegrating cliff being released by the eternal law of change - rattled from summit to base quite audibly. From down the mountain-side - came boisterous singing. It was Welborne and his supporters. - </p> - <p> - “D'you hear that?” Purvynes asked, as, gun under arm, he got ready to walk - on with his companion. - </p> - <p> - “Hear what?” Hoag roused himself as from a confused dream. - </p> - <p> - “Them young devils!” Purvynes chuckled, as if amused. “They need a good - lickin'—them boys do. Can't you hear what they are a-singin'?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I can't. I wasn't payin' no attention.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, it's— - </p> - <p> - “'Jim Hoag's body lies molderin' in the grave.'” - </p> - <p> - Hoag made no answer. He trudged along the rocky path in advance of the - other. He stumped his toes occasionally, and was puffing from the - exertion. The perspiration stood in visible drops on his furrowed brow. - They had reached Hoag's horse, and he was preparing to mount, when a - fusillade of pistol-shots, the clatter of horses' hoofs, and loud yells - were heard in the distance. - </p> - <p> - “What's that?” Hoag paused with his hand in the mane of his mount, his - foot in the stirrup. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's just them fellows celebratin' their victory. I'll bet they've - already made Nape captain. But you can see how they are a-goin' to run - things. We'll see the day, Jim, when us older men will be sorry we didn't - let up on this business sooner. You know, I believe the klan would 'a' - died out long ago if you hadn't took so much pride in it.” - </p> - <p> - “Me?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you, Jim. Over half the members kept in just to curry favor one way - or another with you, an' to drink the liquor you furnished on - meetin'-nights, an' have som'er's to go.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you are mistaken.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I ain't. This thing's been your pet, Jim, but you're lost your grip - on it—you have sure. An' you oughtn't to be sorry—I swear you - oughtn't to be.” - </p> - <p> - The valley, which he could now see from the back of his horse, was - Nature's symbol of infinite peace. From its dark depths rose the dismal - hooting of a night-owl, the shrill piping of a tree-frog. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0039" id="linklink2HCH0039"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>BOUT this time - Paul paid his first visit to the attractive cottage now occupied by Warren - and his wife and sister-in-law. As he entered at the front door he saw his - mother in the meadow some distance from the house. Amanda was dusting the - new furniture in the little parlor, and, seeing him, she came forward with - a flushed, pleased look on her round face. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, we have got things to goin' scrumptious!” she laughed, as she grasped - his hand and drew him into the parlor. “Paul, it's a regular palace. The - day the furniture come we all worked till away after dark gettin' things - straight. That's the best cook-stove I ever saw, an' you sent enough - groceries to last a month. I made your ma go to town an' buy the clothes - she needed, too. The storekeeper said the more we ordered the better it - would please him, for thar wasn't no limit to your credit. Oh, Paul, I - wish I could think it was right.” - </p> - <p> - “But it <i>is</i> right,” he smiled, reassuringly. “It is right because it - makes me happy to be able to do it.” - </p> - <p> - “That's what Ethel Mayfield said—” - </p> - <p> - “Ethel!” he broke in, his smile subsiding. “Have you seen her? Has she—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, she was over yesterday. Paul, she's awfully nice. I don't know - when I have ever seen a nicer young lady. She ain't one bit stuck up. She - was passin' along by the gate an' stopped an' introduced herself to me an' - Addie. She offered to come in an' help fix up the house, said she'd love - to the best in the world, but we wouldn't let 'er.” - </p> - <p> - “And you say that she said—” Paul began, tensely, “that she said I—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; you see, your ma begun sayin' that she couldn't feel right about - lettin' you do so much for us after all that's passed, and you know how - Addie is—she set in to cry. That's when I discovered Ethel - Mayfield's woman-heart. She choked up 'erself, an' put 'er arm round your - ma in the tenderest way, and said—Paul, she said you was the best - young man the sun ever shone on. You never heard the like since you was - born. It looked like nothin' would stop 'er. The more she went on the more - your ma cried, an' that started me, an' we was the silliest bunch o' - blubberers you ever saw—wet every rag in sight. I had to change my - apron. Ethel said you'd made a different sort o' creature of her from what - she used to be. She declared she seed all things with a clearer sight—that - thar wasn't any human difficulty you couldn't surmount. She told your ma - that she knowed it was a regular joy to you to help 'er, an' that she must - let you do it. I declare that girl looked like—I don't know what she - <i>did</i> look like. She was as nigh an angel as any human I ever met. - Her face was as tender as a rose an' her eyes was fairly streamin' with - inside light. She kept takin' your ma by the hands an' pettin' 'er, an' - tellin' 'er she was pretty. She told us how nigh distracted she'd been - over her cousin's death, an' how you'd turned her sorrow into comfort by - the beautiful way you looked at it.” - </p> - <p> - “She is very kind,” Paul said. “Is my mother coming in?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she'll be in right away. Say, Paul”—Amanda caught his lapel - and held on to it—“is thar anything between you an'—I mean—it - ain't none o' my business, but it seems to me like Ethel is just the sort - o' girl that you would naturally take to, an'—” Paul detached - himself from her clinging hold, and essayed a faint smile, while his blood - beat furiously in his face. - </p> - <p> - “You mustn't think of such things,” he faltered, in a feeble effort to - appear unconcerned. “She and I are good friends, that is all. You see, she - is to inherit something from her uncle, and he has set his heart on her - marrying a rich young man in Atlanta—a fellow that is all right, - too, in every way. She knew him before she knew me, and—well, I am - not a marrying man, anyway. I really don't think I ever shall marry. Some - men have to stay single, you know.” - </p> - <p> - Amanda recaptured his lapels, and faced him with a warm stare of - tenderness. “Paul, if I thought that us three old sticks-in-the-mud was - standin' between you an' that purty, sweet girl—young as you are, - with life spreadin' out before you like it is—after all your - troubles, I—well, I couldn't let you—I just <i>couldn't!</i>” - </p> - <p> - “How silly of you to think of such a thing!” he laughed, freely. “This - opportunity to help you all, slight as it is, will be the very making of - me.” - </p> - <p> - “It's certainly makin' a man of Jeff,” Amanda smiled, through glad tears. - “He's plumb different from what he used to be. He talks about you like you - was a royal prince. He says he is acceptin' this help only as a loan, an' - that he'll pay it back 'fore he dies or break a trace. He rises at - daybreak, an' works like a steam-engine till after dark. He's quit singin'—says - he's goin' to sell the organ. He's gittin' his health an' strength back, - an' holds his head higher. A funny thing happened yesterday. You'd 'a' - laughed if you'd been here. He's been talkin' powerful about some'n he - heard you say in regard to controllin' the temper an' not hatin' folks, - an' he hammers on it constantly. He says his temper has always held 'im - down, an' that you naturally would have more respect for 'im if he'd - control it. Me an' him happened to be stand-in' at the gate talkin' on - that very subject, when we seed Jim Hoag ridin' along toward us. Now, Jeff - hadn't met Hoag face to face since we got back, an' knowin' how quick on - trigger Jeff was, an' how high an' mighty Hoag holds hisse'f with common - folks, I was afraid the two might hitch right then an' thar. I knowed Jeff - wouldn't avoid 'im and I was sure Hoag would make 'im mad if he had half a - chance, an' so to avoid trouble I said to Jeff: 'Jeff,' said I, 'now is - the time for you to practise some o' your preachin'. Meet Jim Hoag like - you don't want no more trouble, an' all will be well betwixt you both in - future.' I reminded 'im that it was railly his duty, seein' that you git - your livin' out o' Hoag an' we was so much benefited.” - </p> - <p> - “And so they made friends,” Paul said, eagerly. “I was afraid the old - score would revive again.” - </p> - <p> - “Made friends? I'll tell you how they acted an' you kin think what you - like,” Amanda laughed. “I've seed Jeff in a tight place before, but not - one o' that sort. He stood hangin' his head, his lips curlin' an' his eyes - flashin', an' all the time Hoag's hoss was a-fetchin' 'im closer an' - closer. I seed Jeff makin' a struggle like a man tryin' to come through at - the mourner's bench in a revival an' bein' helt back by the devil an' all - his imps, but the best side won, an' as Hoag got opposite the gate Jeff - tuck a deep breath an' called out, 'Hold on a minute, Jim Hoag, I want a - word with you.'” - </p> - <p> - “Good!” Paul laughed. “It was like pulling eyeteeth, but he got there, - didn't he?” - </p> - <p> - “You wait till I'm through an' you'll see,” Amanda smiled broadly, as she - stroked her face with her big hand. “Hoag drawed in his hoss an' looked - down at Jeff with a face as yaller as a pumpkin an' eyes that fairly - popped out o' their sockets. - </p> - <p> - “'What you want to see me about?' he axed, an' I declare he growled like a - bear. - </p> - <p> - “'Why, you see, Jim,' Jeff said, leanin' on the gate, 'me an' you have - always sorter been at outs, an' bein' as we are nigh neighbors ag'in I - thought I'd come forward like a man an' tell you that, as far as I'm - concerned, I'm sorry we hain't been able to git on better before this, an' - that I hain't no ill-will any longer, an' am willin' to stack arms and - declare peace.'” - </p> - <p> - “Good for Jeff!” Paul chuckled; “he unloaded, didn't he?” - </p> - <p> - “You wait till I git through,” Amanda tittered under her red, crinkled - hand. “When Jeff got that out Hoag sorter lifted his reins, shoved his - heels ag'in' his hoss an' snorted. Then I heerd 'im say: 'You look out for - yourself, an' I'll do the same.' - </p> - <p> - “He was movin' on, when Jeff fairly wrenched the gate off its hinges an' - plunged out. In a second he had the hoss by the bridle, an' was jerkin' it - back on its haunches. - </p> - <p> - “'Say,' he yelled at Hoag, when the hoss got still, 'that thar's the fust - an' only apology I ever made to a livin' man, an' if you don't accept it, - and accept it quick, I'll have you off that hoss an' under my feet, whar - I'll stomp some politeness into you.' - </p> - <p> - “Lord, I was scared!” Amanda continued, as she joined in her nephew's - laugh; “for Jim Hoag was mad enough to eat a keg o' nails without chawin' - 'em. I was on the p'int o' runnin' 'twixt the two when Hoag sobered down.” - </p> - <p> - “'I don't want no trouble with you, Jeff,' he said. 'Let loose my bridle. - I want to go on home.' “'Well, do you <i>accept?</i> I heard Jeff yellin' - at 'im, while he still hung to the reins. - </p> - <p> - “'Yes, I accept; I don't want no fuss,' Hoag said, an' Jeff let the hoss - loose an' stood out o' the way. - </p> - <p> - “'It's a good thing you changed your mind,' he called after Hoag, who was - joggin' on. 'I've sorter turned over a new leaf, but I hain't fastened it - down any too tight. I could put up with <i>some</i> things from you, but - you can't spit on my apology.'” - </p> - <p> - Paul laughed almost immoderately. “Socrates and Jesus Christ would have - laid down different rules for human conduct if they had known those two - men,” he said, as he went to the rear door and looked down toward his - mother. - </p> - <p> - Amanda followed him. “Jim Hoag ain't the only person round here that's got - a mean spirit,” she commented. “I'm thinkin' now about Tobe Williams's - wife, Carrie; an' Jeff ain't the only one with a hot temper—I'm - thinkin' now about <i>myself</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “You!” Paul smiled. “You were always as pleasing as a basket of chips.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't know me, boy.” Amanda subdued an inclination to smile. “I don't - reckon I git mad oftener than once a year, but when I do I take a day off - an' raise enough sand to build a court-house. I've already had my annual - picnic since I got back.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm sure you are joking now,” Paul said, experimentally, an expression of - amused curiosity clutching his face. “You couldn't have got angry at Mrs. - Williams.” - </p> - <p> - “Didn't I, though—the triflin' hussy! She driv' by the day we was - housed in that pore shack of a cabin, an' put up a tale about needin' - somebody to help 'er out with her house-work an' bein' in sech a plight - with her big brood o' children that I swallowed my pride an' agreed to - help 'er. I mention pride because me'n Carrie went to school together an' - had the same beaus. She roped one in, an' is entirely welcome to 'im, the - Lord knows if she doesn't. Yes, I swallowed my pride an' went. I never - hired out before, but I went. I reckon we was both lookin' at the thing - different. I had the feelin' that I was jest, you know, helpin' a old - friend out of a tight; an' well, I reckon, from the outcome, that Carrie - thought she had hired a nigger wench.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, don't put it that way,” Paul protested, half seriously, though - his aunt's unwonted gravity amused him highly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, she acted plumb like it,” Amanda averred, her cheeks flushed, her - eyes flashing. “All the way out to her house she was talkin' about Jeff's - flat come-down, an' Addie's sad looks, an'—an', above all, our - cabin. Said thar was a better one behind the barn, on her land, but she - believed Tobe was goin' to pack fodder in it, an' so she reckoned we'd as - well not apply for it. She kept talkin' about this here new cottage. She'd - been through it, she said, an' it was fine, an' no doubt Bob Mayburn would - rent it to some rich town family to pass the summers in. In that case she - thought we'd naturally feel uncomfortable—she knowed <i>she</i> - would if she was in our fix, an' have to live right up ag'in' folks that - was so different. Take my word for it, Paul, she got me so all-fired hot - that I wanted to jump over the buggy-wheels an' walk back home. I'd 'a' - done it, too, but for one thing.” - </p> - <p> - “What was that?” Paul inquired, still amused. “Pride,” was the - half-laughing answer. “Do you know the awkwardest predicament on earth is - to git whar you are as mad as old Harry, an' at the same time would rather - die on the rack than let it be knowed? Well, that woman had me in that - fix. She was playin' with me like a kitten with a dusty June-bug. She - knowed what she was sayin' all right, an' she knowed, too, that I wouldn't - slap 'er in the mouth—because I was too much of a lady. But if she - didn't cut gaps in me an' rub brine in no woman ever clawed an' scratched - another.” - </p> - <p> - “Too bad!” Paul said, biting his lips. “I am wondering how it ended.” - </p> - <p> - “You may well wonder,” Amanda went on. “I wanted to throw up the job, but - was ashamed to let 'er see how mad I was. It was even wiles after we got - to her house. She tuck me straight to the kitchen, an' with the air of a - queen she p'inted to the nastiest lot o' pots an' pans you ever laid eyes - on, an' said she reckoned I'd have to give 'em a good scrubbin' fust, as - they was caked with grease. Then she told me what she wanted for supper. - Tobe liked string-beans, an' none 'had been fetched from the patch, an' - I'd have plenty o' time to pick 'em, an' so on, an' so on. I saw I was in - a hole an' tried to make the best of it. But when I come to put the supper - on the table that she had told her little girl to set the plates on I seed - thar was just places fixed for the family. You see, she thought I'd wait - till that triflin' gang was through an' set down to scraps. Thar was one - other thing Carrie Williams expected to happen, but it didn't take place.” - </p> - <p> - “She expected you to put poison in the food?” Paul jested. - </p> - <p> - “She expected me to <i>wait</i> on 'em—to fetch the grub from the - stove to the table an' stick it under their noses, but I didn't. I took my - seat on the kitchen door-step. I heard 'er callin', but I was deef as a - post. One of the gals come an' told me her ma said they wanted a hot pone - o' bread, an' I told 'er it was in the stove, an' if she didn't hurry it - would burn—that I smelt it already. When supper was over Carrie come - an' told me they was finished. She said she was sorry all the preserves - was ate up, but that the children was greedy an' hard to control when - sweet things was in sight. I told her I didn't feel like eatin'—that - I never did when I worked over my own cookin', an' I didn't touch a bite. - I set in to washin' the dishes an' she hung about, still talkin'. Her main - theme was the old times an' how many of our crowd of girls had been unable - to keep pace an' float with her, an' the few that was left on top. Then - she mentioned you.” - </p> - <p> - “Me! I thought I'd get my share,” Paul smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she didn't have nothin' but praise for you,” Amanda returned. “In - fact, she thought that would rankle. She had the idea that you was plumb - through with us, an' said it must make us ashamed to be so close to you - an' the fine folks at Hoag's. I was tempted to hit 'er betwixt the eyes - one good lick to make 'er see straight, but I helt in. I got even, though—oh, - I got even!” - </p> - <p> - “You say you did! Tell me about it,” Paul cried, highly amused. - </p> - <p> - “We was all settin' in the yard,” Amanda continued, “an' was jest fixin' - to go to bed, when Jeff come, all out o' breath, an' told us the news - about what you'd done, an' that I was wanted back home to help move. I - ain't sure the Lord will ever forgive me, Paul, but I never felt so good - in all my life as I did at the sight o' that woman. She was as limp as a - wet rag, an' fairly keeled over. She actually tried to stop Jeff from - talkin', but I pinned 'im down an' made 'im tell it over an' over. If I - axed 'im one question about the new cottage an' new furniture I did a - hundred. I went furder'n that. I looked at the house they live in—it's - jest a four-room shack, you know, made of up-an'-down boards unpainted an' - unsealed—an' axed 'er if it wasn't awful cold in winter, an' if the - roof didn't sag too much for safety, an' whar she put the beds when it - leaked. The purty part of it was that Tobe (I wish I could 'a' spared him, - for he's nice an' plain as an old shoe) kept agreein' with me, an' - braggin' on our new house, an' sayin' that he was too hard up to better - 'imself. Carrie got so mad she plumb lost her grip, an' told 'im to dry - up, an' then she flounced into the house an' wouldn't come out to say - good-by. Paul, you may preach your human-love idea till you are black in - the face, but if it works on a woman like Carrie Williams it will be when - she's tied hand an' foot an' soaked with chloroform. I try not to let this - nice place an' my pride in you spoil me. I don't think anybody could - consider me stuck-up, but if Carrie Williams calls—which she is sure - to do—I'll show 'er every single item about the place, an' remind - 'er how much she praised it before we got it.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0040" id="linklink2HCH0040"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>OAG had become so - nervous and low-spirited that he found himself every day waking earlier - than usual. The dusky shadows of night were still hovering over the earth - one morning in August when, being unable to return to sleep, he rose and - went to a window and looked out. He was preparing to shave himself when he - happened to see a man leaning against the front fence watching the house - attentively. - </p> - <p> - “It looks like Purvynes,” Hoag mused. “I wonder what on earth the fellow - wants. This certainly ain't in his regular beat.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag put down his mug and brush, listened to see if Jack and his - grandmother in the adjoining room were awake, then, hearing no sound in - that part of the house, he cautiously tiptoed out into the corridor, - opened the front door, and crossed the veranda to the lawn. He now saw - that the man was indeed Purvynes. - </p> - <p> - “Some new trouble may be brewin',” Hoag surmised, “or he wouldn't be out - as early as this.” Purvynes saw him approaching and moved along the fence - to the gate, where he stood waiting, a stare of subdued excitement blended - with other emotions in his dim gray eyes. His hair was tousled, his - grizzled head untrimmed, and there were shadows, lines, and angles in his - sallow visage. - </p> - <p> - “Early for you to be so far from home, ain't it?” was Hoag's introductory - question. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon it is, Cap,” the man answered, sheepishly, his lips quivering. - “I didn't know whether you was here or off in Atlanta, but—but I - thought I'd walk over an' see. I've been awake for an hour or more—in - fact, I hardly closed my eyes last night. My women folks are nigh - distracted, Cap. I was here yesterday, but Cato said you was over at your - new mill. I'd 'a' come after supper, if my women folks hadn't been afraid - to be left alone in the dark.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh! I see.” - </p> - <p> - There was an ominous pause. It was as if Hoag dreaded further revelations. - He felt sure that something decidedly unpleasant lay beneath the man's - perturbed exterior. For once in his life Hoag failed to show irritation, - and his next question was put almost in the tone of entreaty. - </p> - <p> - “What's got into you an' them all of a sudden?” he faltered. - </p> - <p> - “You may well ask it,” Purvynes said with a voluminous sigh. “A fellow may - try to put on a brave front, an' act unconcerned when trouble's in the - wind, but if he's got a gang o' crazy women an' children hangin' on to his - shirt-tail he <i>is</i> in a fix.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what is it—what is it?” Hoag demanded, with staccato asperity - born of his growing anxiety. - </p> - <p> - For answer Purvynes fumbled in the pocket of his patched and tattered coat - and produced a folded sheet of foolscap paper which he awkwardly attempted - to spread out against the palings of the fence. - </p> - <p> - “Summoned to court?” Hoag smiled, riding a wave of sudden relief. “Ah, I - see—moonshinin'. Well, you needn't let that bother you. We'll all - stick together an' swear black is white. I see. You are afeard them young - devils may turn ag'in' us out o' spite, but I can fix all that. You just - lie low, an'—” - </p> - <p> - “God knows 'tain't that!” Purvynes held the quivering sheet open. “If that - was all I'd not bother; I wouldn't mind goin' to Atlanta again, but we are - up ag'in' som'n a sight worse. What do you think o' this paper?” - </p> - <p> - Hoag took the sheet, and looked at it with a dull, widening stare. It was - headed by the crude design of two cross-bones and a skull which his “klan” - had used in frightening the negroes with gruesome threats and warnings. - Beneath the drawing was the following: - </p> - <h3> - TO AWL IT CONSERNS - </h3> - <p> - This is to inform the grate White mens klan that the Blak Foxes has met in - secret session and took axion to protect ther rights. Paysyence has seased - to bee a vurture. The white klan has lernt the foxes the trick of how to - work in the dark. Wait and see the mighty fall. We know who the Captin is - at last. We also know some of his main followers who is workin for his - smile and his gold. We don't want his cash. We are after his meat and - bones. Hel will take his sole. His body wil hang for crows to peck out the - eyes. No power above or below this earth can save him. He wil never know - the day or the hour. But his doom is seeled. They need Marse Jimmy down - where the worm dyeth not. He has sowed his seed, and his harvest is rype. - Woe unto hym and awl his gang. - </p> - <p> - Signed in the blood of Blak Buck the Captin of the Foxes. - </p> - <p> - his (Blak X Buck) mark. - </p> - <p> - The sheet of paper shook, though the morning air was as still as a vacuum. - Hoag was as white as death could have made him. He silently folded the - paper and handed it back. But Purvynes waved it aside with a dumb gesture - of despair. - </p> - <p> - “Whar did you git it?” finally fell from Hoag's lips. - </p> - <p> - “It was tacked up on my corn-crib. I seed it from the kitchen window - yesterday mornin' 'fore breakfast. I went out an' pulled it down.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag had never attempted a more fragile sneer. “An' you let a puny thing - like that scare you out o' your socks,” he said, flamboyantly. - </p> - <p> - Purvynes's hat-brim went down and his eyes were not visible to the - desperately alert gaze of his companion. “I can take my own medicine, - Cap,” he answered, doggedly, “but I can't manage women. They read the - thing 'fore I could hide it, an' you know what excited women would do at - the sight of a sheet like that. My wife's been ag'in' our doin's all - along, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag perused the sheet again, his putty-like lips moving, as was his habit - when reading. - </p> - <p> - “How do you reckon,” he glanced at the drawn face beside him, “how do you - reckon they got on to <i>me</i> as—as the main leader?” - </p> - <p> - Purvynes was quite sure he could answer the question. “Nape Welborne's - gang give it away. They've been braggin' right an' left about how Nape - forced you to back down that night. They've been drunk an' talked 'fore - black an' white like a pack o' fools.” - </p> - <p> - “But from <i>this</i>,” Hoag tapped the fence with the folded sheet, “it - looks like the nigger that wrote, this thinks I am <i>still</i> the head.” - </p> - <p> - “An' so much the worse,” Purvynes moaned, and he clutched the fence - nervously as if to steady himself. “You an' me an' all us old members has - to suffer for the drunken pranks of them young roustabouts. When they shot - up nigger-town last week, an' abused the women an' children, the darkies - laid it at our door. In fact, that is the cause of this very move. It was - the last straw, as the sayin' is. They've got plumb desperate, an' when - niggers work underhand they will resort to anything. It's quar, as my wife - says, that we never thought they might turn the tables an' begin our own - game.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag shrugged his shoulders, but made no comment. His shaggy brows had met - and overlapped. His eyes had the glare of a beast at bay. - </p> - <p> - “My wife thought”—Purvynes evidently felt that the point was a - delicate one, but he made it with more ease than he could have done on any - former occasion—“she thought maybe your boy Henry might have got - onto you an' talked reckless, but if he did, Cap, it was some time ago, - for the boy ain't like he used to be. He's more serious-like. I got it - straight from one o' the gang he used to run with that he's really quit - his old ways an' gone to work.” - </p> - <p> - “It's Nape Welborne's lay-out,” Hoag declared. “They've done it out o' - pure spite an' enmity ag'in' me.” - </p> - <p> - Purvynes had averted his eyes; he seemed to feel that the conversation was - drifting into useless waters, so far as he was personally concerned. - “Well, I just come over. Cap, to ask you what you think <i>I</i> ought to - do.” he finally got out, as if aided by his clutch on the fence, to which - he clung quite automatically. - </p> - <p> - “<i>You?”</i> Hoag emphasized the word. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes, me. You see, Cap, my women say they simply won't stay here a - single day longer. They are scared as nigh death as any folks you ever - saw. That's why I come to you for—for advice an' to ax a favor. I'm - in an awful plight. I owe a good deal on my land. My brother is well - fixed, out in Texas, you know, an' I can move thar, but I'll have to raise - some ready cash. My farm would be good for another loan, an' you are the - only money-lender I know. You see, you know why I have to have the money, - an' I couldn't explain so well to a bank. So my wife said—” - </p> - <p> - “I don't care what she said.” Hoag's mind seemed to be making rapid - flights to and from his own numerous holdings. “If you think <i>you</i> - got anything at stake, look at me,” he plunged, dejectedly. “Why, the - black imps could—could—” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't carin' about my farm,” Purvynes broke in irrelevantly. “It's - peace of mind I want, an' freedom from the awful chatter of my folks. Even - the little ones are scared half to death. They've picked up a word here - an' thar an' follow me about whimperin' an' beggin' to be tuck to a place - of safety. Women may know how to scrub an' cook an' sew, but they can't - keep a secret like our'n when they are under pressure like this. The wives - of all the old klan—mark my words—will be together before - twelve o'clock to-day. They will brand the'rselves an' us by it, but they - won't care a red cent. They'd go to the gallows in a bunch if they could - talk about it beforehand. Cap, a hundred dollars is all I need, an'—” - </p> - <p> - “Don't call me Cap no more,” Hoag snapped, angrily, “an' don't ask me for - money, either. I hain't got none to lend. Besides, you can't leave your - property no more than I can mine. We've got to stay an'—” - </p> - <p> - “Your wife's dead, Cap—Jim, I mean—an' you kin talk, but my - folks will git away from these mountains if they have to foot it on ragged - uppers. They simply won't stay. Jim, my trouble is a sight deeper than - I've admitted. I—I feel like a dead man that nobody cares enough - about to bury. Say, I'm goin' to tell you, an' then I know you will pity - me if it is in you to pity <i>any</i> man. Jim, I always thought my wife - loved me as much as the average woman loves the father of her children; - but last night—last night, away late, when she couldn't sleep, she - come over to my bed an' set down on the rail an' talked straighter than - she ever has in her life. Jim, she said—she said she thought I ought - to be willin' to go away for good an' all, an' leave 'er an' the children, - since I was responsible for this calamity. She said she was sure her an' - the children would be let alone if I'd go clean off an' never show up - ag'in, an' that she'd rather work 'er fingers to the bone than be bothered - like she is. Lord, Lord, Jim, I felt so awful that I actually cried an' - begged for mercy like a whipped child. I'd always thought she was a - soft-hearted, lovin' woman, but she was as hard as flint. She said she'd - rather never lay eyes on me ag'in than have this thing hangin' over her - an' the children. She finally agreed, if I'd git the money from you an' - leave at once, that maybe her an' the rest would follow. So that's why I - come to see you. Jim, a rich man like you can rake up a small amount like - that to accommodate an old—” - </p> - <p> - “And leave <i>me</i> with the bag to hold.” Hoag's misery was eager for - any sort of company. “I won't lend you a cent—not a cent!” he - snorted. “We've got to—to fight this thing out. No bunch o' lazy - niggers can scare the life out o' me.” - </p> - <p> - “But we are tied hand an' foot, Jim,” Purvynes faltered. “The black brain - that writ that warnin' is equal to a white man's when it comes to that - sort o' warfare. I know the threat word for word by heart. I can shut my - eyes an' see the skull an' bones. Even if we went to law for protection - we'd have to show that sheet, an' you wouldn't want to do that as it - stands, an' I don't believe all the Governor's guards in the State could - help us out, for in these mountains the niggers kin stay under cover an' - pick us off one by one as we walk about, like sharpshooters lyin' in the - weeds an' behind trees an' rocks. Then thar is a danger that maybe you - hain't thought of.” - </p> - <p> - “What's that?” Hoag asked, with a dumb stare into the other's waxlike - countenance. - </p> - <p> - “Why, if they take a notion they kin poison all the drinkin'-water - anywhars about. Niggers don't look far ahead. They wouldn't even think o' - the widespread results to them as well as us.” - </p> - <p> - A desperate look of conviction crept across Hoag's eyes. At this juncture - he heard the front door of his house open, and, turning, he saw Jack come - out on the veranda and eagerly start down the steps toward him. - </p> - <p> - “Stay thar!” Hoag waved his hand dejectedly. “I'm comin' up right away.” - </p> - <p> - Jack paused on the steps, a beautiful figure with supple, slender limbs, - high, white brow under waving curls. Even at that distance, and through - the lowering mists which lay on the grass like downy feathers dropped from - the wings of dawn, the two men marked the boy's expression of startled - surprise over being so peremptorily stopped. He sat down on the steps, his - beautiful eyes fixed inquiringly on his father. - </p> - <p> - “I'd send that boy off, anyway,” Purvynes said, as if thinking for - himself. - </p> - <p> - “You say you would!” slowly and from a mouth that twitched. “What do you - mean by—that?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean all the niggers know how you dote on 'im, Jim. I've heard folks - say that they didn't believe you ever loved any other human alive or dead. - The niggers that got up that warnin' wouldn't hesitate to strike at you - even through a purty innocent chap like that.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag dropped his stare to the ground. He clutched a paling with a - pulseless hand and leaned forward. “I reckon maybe you are right,” he - muttered. “I've heard of 'em doin' the like, even kidnappin' an' makin' - threats of bodily torture.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag glanced at his son again, and, catching his eyes, he waved his hand - and forced a smile. “I'm comin'!” he called out. “See if our breakfast is - ready. We'll have it together.” - </p> - <p> - He was turning away as if forgetful of the caller's presence, when - Purvynes stopped him. - </p> - <p> - “What about that money, Jim?” he inquired, slowly, desperately. - </p> - <p> - “I can't let you have it,” was Hoag's ultimatum, in a rising tone of - blended despair and surliness. “We've got to fix some way to head this - thing off an' must stand together. Your folks will have to be reasonable. - I'll come over an' talk to—” - </p> - <p> - “No, no, no, no!” in rapid-fire. “Don't come about, Jim. That would scare - 'em worse than ever. They was afraid some nigger might see me here this - mornin', an' if you was to come—” - </p> - <p> - “Huh, I'll be looked on like a leper in a pest-house 'fore long, I - reckon!” Hoag snarled, but perhaps not so much from anger as from a sense - of the fitness of the remark. - </p> - <p> - “Well, don't come, Jim,” Purvynes repeated, bluntly. “If you hain't got no - money for me, all well an' good, but don't come about. My women are crazy, - an' the sight of you wouldn't help at all.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0041" id="linklink2HCH0041"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the few days - immediately following this incident Hoag became convinced that he had - reached the gravest crisis of his career. For the first time in his - experience his helplessness was as real a thing as had been his prowess in - the past. A drab veil reeking with despair seemed to hang between him and - every visible object. He looked in stunned amazement at the people who - were going on with their daily duties as if nothing serious had happened - or was impending. He saw them smile, heard them laugh, and noted their - interest in the smallest details. - </p> - <p> - Death! He had been absolutely blind to its claims, but now it had taken a - grim clutch upon his mind. It was made plain by men whom he had seen die—yes, - by men whom he had caused to die. Their pleadings rang in his ears, and - they themselves seemed to dog his steps like vague shapes from a - persistent nightmare. - </p> - <p> - In some unaccountable way he was conscious of a sense of being less and - less attached to his body. There were moments in which he felt that his - limbs were dead, while he himself was as vital as ever. He was in a sort - of conscious trance, in which his soul was trying to break the bonds of - the flesh, and flee to some point of safety which was constantly appearing - and vanishing. - </p> - <p> - Above all, the sight of his child playing about the place was the most - incongruous. He avoided joining Jack on the lawn at any time, fearing that - the act might result in disaster of some easily comprehensible sort. But - within the house he tried to atone for the neglect by a surplus of - affection. He would hold the boy in his arms for hours at a time and - fondle him as he had never fondled him before. He became desperate in his - confinement to the house, and one day he decided that he would visit some - of the most faithful of his friends, and on his horse he started out. He - rode from farm to farm, but soon noticed that a rare thing was happening. - Invariably the women, like awed, impounded cattle, would come to the - doors, and with downcast eyes and halting voices inform him that their - fathers or husbands were away. At one farm he saw Bert Wilson, the owner, - and one of the older members of the klan, on the bank of the little creek - which ran through his place, and hitching his horse to the rail fence, - Hoag, unnoticed by the farmer, climbed over and approached him. Wilson was - fishing, and with his eyes on his rod failed to see Hoag till he was - suddenly addressed. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, what sort o' luck?” Hoag asked, assuming a lightness of tone and - mien that was foreign to his habit. - </p> - <p> - The man was heavy-set, florid, unbearded, and past middle age. He turned - suddenly; his blue eyes flashed and glowed; he looked toward the roof of - his house above the thicket in the distance and furtively bent his neck to - view the road as if fearful of being seen. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, just so so!” he answered, doggedly. - </p> - <p> - “What sort o' bait are you usin'?” - </p> - <p> - “Crickets an' grasshoppers. The traps up at your mill catch all the big - fish. Minnows an' suckers are good enough for us common folks, Jim Hoag.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' to do away with them traps, Bert,” Hoag said, diplomatically, - and he sank down on the grass, and thrusting his hands into his pockets he - took out two cigars and some matches. “Have a smoke,” he said, holding a - cigar toward the fisherman. - </p> - <p> - “No, thanky.” Wilson drew his line from the water and looked at the hook. - Hoag noted, with a touch of dismay, that the hook held no vestige of bait, - and yet the fisherman gravely lowered it into the water and stood - regarding it with a sullen stare. - </p> - <p> - “Hain't quit smokin', have you?” - </p> - <p> - Wilson stole another look at the road, and allowed his glance to sweep on - to his house. Then he raised his rod, caught the swinging line in a firm - grip, and glared at the face in the cloud of blue smoke. - </p> - <p> - “I ain't a-goin' to use none o' <i>yore</i> tobacco, Jim Hoag.” The words - sank deep into the consciousness of the listener. - </p> - <p> - “You say you ain't!” Hoag shrank visibly. Desperate compromises filtered - into his brain, only to be discarded. “Say, Bert, what's got into you, - anyway?” - </p> - <p> - The fat man hesitated. His cheeks and brow flushed red. - </p> - <p> - “This much has got into me, Hoag,” he began, “an' I'm man enough to speak - out open. Us fellows have been followin' your lead like a damned lot o' - idiotic sheep. You always talked up protection, protection to our women - an' homes, when it now looks like you was just doin' it to feel your - importance as a leader in some'n or other. You kept the thing a-goin', rid - it like a hobby-hoss. Time after time my judgment told me to stay out o' - the raids you instigated, but thar was always a fool notion among us that - what one done all had to do or be disgraced, an' so we went on until - natural hatred o' you an' your bull-headed game has brought down this - calamity. Now, what I ask, an' what a lot more of us ask, is fur you to - take your medicine like a man, an' not pull us into the scrape. If you - will do this, all well an' good. You are the only one singled out so far, - an' if you will stay away from the rest of us, an' not draw fire on us, - all may go well; but, Jim Hoag—I reckon it's my Scotch blood - a-talkin' now—if you don't do it, as God is my holy witness I - wouldn't be astonished to see the old klan rise an'—an' make an - example of you, to satisfy the niggers an' show whar we stand. I needn't - say no more. You know what I mean. The klan has turned ag'in' you. You - fooled 'em a long time; but since you knuckled down to Nape Welborne like - you did they believe YOU are a rank coward, an', Jim Hoag, no coward kin - force hisse'f on a lot o' men with families when by doin' it he puts 'em - all in danger. Most of us believe that if you was shot, or poisoned, an' - put plumb out o' the way, this thing would blow over. You kin act fair - about this, or you needn't; but if you don't do it you will be <i>made</i> - to. You fed an' pampered this thing up an' it has turned its claws an' - fangs ag'in' you—that is all. I'm desperate myself. You are a rich - man, but, by God! I feel like spittin' in your face, as you set thar - smokin' so calm when my wife an' children are unable to sleep at night, - an' afraid to go to the spring in daytime. Now, I'll say good-momin'. I'm - goin' furder down the creek, an' I don't want you to follow me.” - </p> - <p> - “Looky' here, Bert.” There was a piteous, newborn frailty in Hoag's - utterance. “Listen a minute. I—” - </p> - <p> - “I'm done with you,” Wilson waved his hand firmly. “Not another word. You - are in a hell of a plight, but it don't concern me. Under your rule I was - tryin' to protect my family, an' now that I am from under it I'll do the - same. My folks come fust with me.” - </p> - <p> - With the sun in his face, his knees drawn close to his chin, Hoag sat and - watched the man as he stolidly strode away through the wind-stirred - broom-sedge. The drooping willows, erect cane-brake, and stately mullein - stalks formed a curtain of green which seemed to hang from the blue dome - covered with snowy clouds. When Wilson had disappeared Hoag slowly rose to - his feet, and plodded across the field to his horse. Here again, in - mounting, he experienced the odd weightiness of his feet and legs, as if - his mental unrest had deprived them of all physical vitality, and him of - the means of restoring it. - </p> - <p> - Reaching home, he went to the barn-yard to turn his horse over to Cato. - The negro was always supposed to be there at that hour, but though Hoag - called loudly several times there was no response. Swearing impatiently, - and for the first time shrinking from his own oaths, he took off the - bridle and saddle and fed the animal. While he was in the stall he heard a - sudden, cracking sound in the loft overhead, and his heart sank like a - plummet into deep water. Crouching down under the wooden trough, he drew - his revolver and cocked it. For a moment he held his breath. Then the - cackling of a hen in the hay above explained the sound, and restoring his - revolver to his pocket he went to the house. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Tilton was at her churn in the side-gallery. Her slow, downward - strokes and easy poise of body seemed wholly apart from the uncanny realm - which he occupied alone. She looked up and eyed him curiously over her - silver-rimmed spectacles. - </p> - <p> - “Whar's that nigger Cato?” he demanded. - </p> - <p> - “I'm afraid he's left for good,” she returned. “He's acted odd all day—refused - outright to fetch water to the kitchen. I told 'im I'd report to you, but - he stood with the most impudent look on his face, an' wouldn't budge an - inch. Then I watched an' saw him go in his cabin. Purty soon he come out - with a bundle under his arm, an' started toward town. After he was out o' - sight I went to his shack an' found that he had taken all his things—every - scrap he could call his own. I reckon he's off for good. Aunt Dilly won't - talk much, but she thinks it is all due to the raid the mountain men made - on the negroes in town the other night. I know you wasn't in <i>that</i>, - Jim, because you was here at home.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I wasn't in it.” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly am glad of it.” The woman seemed to churn the words into her - butter. “The whole thing has been run in the ground. It is near - cotton-pickin' time, an' if the niggers all leave the country help, won't - be had. The crops will rot in the field for the lack o' hands to pick it - from the bolls.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag passed on into the house and through the hall into his own chamber. - Here the air seemed oppressively warm, the plastered walls giving out heat - as from the closed door of a furnace. Throwing off his coat, he sat down - before a window. Such a maze and multiplicity of thoughts had never before - beset his brain. The incidents of his life, small and large, marched past - with the regularity of soldiers. How strange that Sid Trawley's face, - ablaze with its new light, should emerge so frequently from amid the - others! How odd that he should recall Paul Rundel's notion of giving - himself up to the law and suffering the consequences of his supposed - crime! And the effect on both men had been astounding. Sid had nothing to - fear, and to Paul all good things were falling as naturally as rain from - clouds. Then there was Henry, who had suddenly turned about and was making - a man of himself. - </p> - <p> - At this moment a childish voice was heard singing a plantation melody. It - was Jack at play on the lawn. Hoag leaned from the window and saw the boy, - with hammer and nails, mending a toy wagon. Paul Rundel was entering the - gate. Hoag noted the puckered lips of his manager and heard his merry - whistle. He saw him pause, tenderly stroke Jack's waving curls, and smile. - Who had ever seen a face more thoroughly at peace than this young man's—a - smile more spontaneous? - </p> - <p> - Hoag went to the front door and stood waiting for Paul to approach. The - terror within him suggested that the young man might bring fresh news - concerning the things he so much dreaded. - </p> - <p> - “Be careful, Jack,” Paul was advising the boy. “If you start to coast down - a steep hill in that thing you might not be able to guide it, and—zip! - against a tree or stump you'd go, an' we'd have to fish you out among the - splinters.” This was followed by some low-spoken directions from Paul, in - which the listener on the veranda caught the words, “friction,” “nuts and - bolts,” “lubricating oil,” and “electric motor.” - </p> - <p> - Then the young man turned, and seeing Hoag he came on. There was a - triumphant beam in his eye, an eager flush in his cheeks, as he approached - the steps. - </p> - <p> - “Glad you are at home,” he began. “I was going to look you up the first - thing.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you want to—see me about—I mean—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I've landed that thing at last—put it through.” - </p> - <p> - “You say you've—” Hoag's thoughts were widely scattered. “You say—” - </p> - <p> - “Why, the shingle contract, you remember.” Paul stared wonderingly. “You - know you were afraid the Louisville parties would not sign up at my price, - but they have. They take ten car-loads of pine stock at that figure and - give us two years to fill the order. But have you”—Paul was studying - the man's face—“have you changed your mind? Yesterday you thought—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's all right—it's splendid!” Hoag's voice was lifeless; he - looked away with the fixed stare of a somnambulist; he wiped his brow with - his broad hand and dried it on his trousers. “You say they take five - cars?” - </p> - <p> - “They take <i>ten</i>,” Paul repeated, his elation oozing from him like a - vapor. “It will keep our force busy summer and winter and all the extra - teams we can get. I've found a place for your idle saw-mill, too—over - at the foot of the ridge. I'm sure, when you have time to look over my - figures, that you will see plenty of profit for you and good wages for the - hands. The men are all tickled. You don't look as if you were pleased - exactly, Mr. Hoag, and if anything has happened to change your mind—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I am pleased—I am—I am!” Hoag asseverated. “You've done - well—powerful well. In fact, <i>very</i> well. I'll glance at your - figures some time soon, but not now—not now. I'll leave it all to - you,” and Hoag retreated into the house and shut himself in his room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0042" id="linklink2HCH0042"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HERE was a - galvanized sheet-iron mail-box near the gate of the tannery, and in it - once a day a carrier passing on horseback placed the letters and papers - which came for the family. Little Jack loved to take the key and open the - box after the carrier had passed and bring the contents to the house and - distribute it to the various recipients. Hoag sat on the veranda one - afternoon waiting for Jack, who had just gone to the box, having heard the - carrier's whistle. Presently the boy came in at the gate holding several - letters in his hands, and he brought them to his father. - </p> - <p> - “Here's one without a stamp,” Jack smiled. “That's funny; I thought all U. - S. letters had to have stamps on them.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag saw only that particular envelope in the lot which was laid on his - knee. - </p> - <p> - “It must have been an accident,” he muttered. “The stamp may have dropped - off.” - </p> - <p> - “More likely that somebody passed along, and put the letter into the box,” - Jack's inventive mind suggested. - </p> - <p> - Hoag made no reply. He had already surmised that this might be the case. - There was a title prefixed to his name which he had never seen written - before, and it held his eyes like the charm of a deadly reptile. - </p> - <p> - “Captain Jimmy Hoag,” was the superscription in its entirety, and the - recipient remembered having seen the scrawling script before. - Automatically he singled out the letters for Paul and for Ethel and her - mother, and sent Jack to deliver them. - </p> - <p> - When his son had disappeared Hoag rose and crept stealthily back to his - room. Why he did so he could not have explained, but he even locked - himself in, turning the key as noiselessly as a burglar might have done in - the stillness of night. He laid the envelope on the bed and for a moment - stood over it, staring down on it with desperate eyes. Then, with - quivering, inert fingers he opened it and spread out the inclosed sheet. - It bore the same skull and crossbones as the former warning, and beneath - was written: - </p> - <p> - <i>The day and the hour is close at hand. Keep your eye on the clock. We - will do the rest.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>his (Blak X Buck) mark</i>. - </p> - <p> - That was all. Hoag took it to the fireplace, struck a match, and was about - to ignite the paper, but refrained. Extinguishing the match, he rested a - quivering elbow on the mantelpiece, and reflected. What ought he to do - with the paper? If it were found on his dead body it would explain things - not now generally known. Dead body! How could he think of his dead body? - <i>His</i> body, white, cold, and lifeless, perhaps with a stare of terror - in the eyes! Why, he had never even thought of himself as being like that, - and yet what could prevent it now? What? - </p> - <p> - Some one—Ethel or her mother—was playing the piano in the - parlor. Aunt Dilly was heard singing while at work behind the house. Jack - ran through the hall, making a healthy boy's usual clatter, and his father - heard him merrily calling across the lawn to Paul Rundel that he had left - a letter for him on his table. - </p> - <p> - All this was maddening. It represented life in its full swing and ardor, - while here was something as grim and pitilessly exultant as hell itself - could devise. Hoag folded the paper in his bloodless hands and sank upon - the edge of his bed. He had used his brain shrewdly and skilfully - hitherto, and in what way could he make it serve him now? Something must - be done, but what? He could not appeal to the law, for he had made his own - laws, and they were inadequate. He could not evoke the aid of friends, for - they—such as they were—had left him like stampeded cattle, - hoping that by his death the wrath of the hidden avenger might be - appeased. He could flee and leave all his possessions to others, but - something told him that he would be pursued. - </p> - <p> - When the dusk was falling he went out on the lawn. Ethel and Paul were - seated on a rustic bench near the summer-house, and he avoided them. - Seeing Mrs. Mayfield at the gate, he turned round behind the house to keep - from meeting and exchanging platitudes with her. In the back yard he - pottered about mechanically, inspecting his beehives, his chicken-house - and dog-kennel, receptive of only one thought. He wondered if he were - really losing his mental balance, else why should he be so devoid of - resources? He now realized the terrible power embodied in the gruesome - warnings his brain had fashioned and circulated among a simple-minded, - superstitious people. What he was now facing they had long cowered under. - The thought of prayer, as a last resort, flashed into his mind, but he - promptly told himself that only fools prayed. Biblical quotations flocked - about him as if from his far-off childhood. And such quotations as they - were! - </p> - <p> - “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” and “What is a man profited, if he - shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” These things seemed to - be borne to him on the breeze that swept down from the beetling rocks of - the mountains which leaned against the star-studded sky. - </p> - <p> - After an all but sleepless night, Hoag ate breakfast with the family the - next morning, and announced his intention of running down to Atlanta for a - day or so on business. Paul wanted to ask some questions pertaining to his - work, but Hoag swept them aside with a turgid wave of the hand. - </p> - <p> - “Run it yourself; it will be all right,” he said. “Your judgment is as - good as mine. I don't feel exactly well here lately. I have headaches that - I didn't use to have, an' I think I'll talk to a doctor down thar. I don't - know; I say <i>maybe</i> I will.” - </p> - <p> - Riding to town, he left his horse at Trawley's stable, and going to the - railway station below the Square he strolled about on the platform. A - locomotive's whistle several miles up the valley announced that the train - was on time. Approaching the window of the ticket-office, which was within - the little waiting-room, he found the opening quite filled by a - broad-brimmed farmer's hat, a pair of heavy shoulders on a long body, - supported by a pair of gaunt jeans-clothed legs. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'm off for Texas.” He recognized Purvynes's voice in cheerful - conversation with the agent. “My brother says I ought to come. He's got a - good thing for me out thar—land's as black as a hat, an' as rich as - a stable-lot a hundred year old. He was so set on havin' me that he lent - me the money to go on. So long! Good luck to you!” - </p> - <p> - The head was withdrawn from the window; a pair of brown hands were - awkwardly folding a long green emigrant's ticket, and Purvynes suddenly - saw the man behind him. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, you off?” Hoag hastily summoned a casual tone. - </p> - <p> - The start, the dogged lowering of the head, the vanishing of Purvynes's - smile, were successive blows to the shrinking consciousness of the - inquirer. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'm off.” Purvynes's eyes were now shifting restlessly. Then he - lowered his voice, and a touch of malice crept into it as he added: “You - see, I didn't have to do it on your money, nuther, an' you bet I'm glad. - It's tainted if ever cash was, an' I want to shake every grain o' Georgia - dust off my feet, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' as far as Atlanta,” Hoag said, tentatively. “I may see you on - the train.” - </p> - <p> - “My ticket's <i>second class</i>.” Purvynes shrugged his shoulders. “I'll - have to ride in the emigrant-car, next to the engine. I reckon we—we'd - better stay apart, Jim, anyhow. I want it that way,” he added, in a low, - firm tone, and with smoldering fires in his eyes which seemed about to - burst into flame. - </p> - <p> - “All right, all right!” Hoag hastily acquiesced. “You know best,” and he - turned to the window and bought his ticket. The agent made a courteous - remark about the weather and the crops, and in some fashion Hoag - responded, but his thoughts were far away. - </p> - <p> - He found himself almost alone, in the smoking-car. He took a cigar from - his pocket, lighted it, and, raising the window, blew the smoke outside. A - baggage-truck was being trundled by. He could have put out his hand and - touched the heap of trunks and bags with which it was laden. A burly negro - was pushing it along. Raising his eyes suddenly, he saw Hoag, and there - was no mistaking the startled look beneath the lines of his swarthy face. - Another blow had been received. Hoag turned from the window. The train - started on, slowly at first, and, going faster and faster, soon was - passing through Hoag's property. Never on any other occasion had he failed - to survey these possessions with pride and interest. The feeling had died - within him. A drab disenchantment seemed to have fallen upon every visible - object. All he owned—the things which had once been as his life's - blood—had dwindled till they amounted to no more than the broken - toys of babyhood. - </p> - <p> - Beyond his fertile lands and the roofs of his buildings rose a red-soiled - hill which was the property of the village. Hoag turned his head to look - at it. He shuddered. Tall white shafts shone in the full yellow light. - One, distinctly visible, marked the grave of his wife, on which Hoag had - spared no expense. There was room for another shaft close beside it. Under - it a murdered man would lie. That was inevitable unless something was done—and - what could be done? “Death, death, death!” The smooth, flanged wheels - seemed to grind the words into the steel rails. They were written on the - blue sky along the earth-rimmed horizon. They were whispered from the - lowest depths of himself. His blood crept, cold and sluggish, through his - veins. A chill seemed to have attacked his feet and ankles and was - gradually creeping upward. He remembered that this was said to be the - sensation of dying, and he stood up and stamped his feet in vigorous, - rebellious terror. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0043" id="linklink2HCH0043"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>Y and by Atlanta - was reached. Slowly and with a clanging bell the train crept into the - grimy switch-yards bordered by sooty iron furnaces, factories, warehouses, - planing-mills, and under street bridges and on into the big depot. Here - his ears were greeted with the usual jumble, din, and babble of voices, - the escaping of steam, the calls of train-porters. Hoag left the car, - joined the jostling human current on the concrete pavement, and was soon - in the street outside. Formerly he had ridden to his hotel in a - trolley-car, but none was in sight, and seeing a negro cabman signaling to - him with a smile and a seductive wave of his whip he went forward and got - in. - </p> - <p> - “Kimball House,” he said to the man, and with a snap of the latch the door - was closed upon him. - </p> - <p> - Rumbling over the cobblestones, through the active scene which was - bisected by the thoroughfare, he strove in vain to recapture the sensation - he had formerly had on such outings—the sensation that he was where - enjoyment of a certain sensual sort could be bought. Formerly the fact - that he was able to pay for a cab, that he was headed for a hotel where - servants would obey his beck and call, where food, drinks, and cigars - would be exactly to his taste, and where he would be taken for a man of - importance, would have given a certain elation of spirits, but to-day all - this was changed. - </p> - <p> - Had he been driving to an undertaker's to arrange the details of his own - burial, he could, not have experienced a more persistent and weighty - depression. Indeed, the realization of an intangible fate, of which death - itself was only a part, seemed to percolate through him. His body was as - dead as stone, his soul never more alive, more alert, more desperate. - </p> - <p> - At the desk in the great noisy foyer of the hotel, where the clerks knew - him and where he paused to register, he shrank from a cordiality and - recognition which hitherto had been welcome enough. Even the clerks seemed - to be ruthless automatons in whose hands his fate might rest. As one of - them carelessly penciled the number of his room after lois signature, and - loudly called it out to a row of colored porters, he had a sudden impulse - to silence the voice and whisper a request for another room the number of - which was to be private; but he said nothing, and was led away by a - bell-boy. - </p> - <p> - They took the elevator to the fifth floor. The boy, carrying his bag, - showed him to a chamber at the end of a long, empty corridor. The servant - unlocked the door, threw it open, and, going in, put down the bag and - raised the sash of the window, letting in the din of the street below. - Then he waited for orders. - </p> - <p> - “A pint of best rye whisky, and ice water!” Hoag said. “Bring 'em right - away, and some cigars—a dozen good ones. Charge to my account.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, boss,” the porter bowed and was gone. Hoag sat down by the - window and glanced out. He noticed a trolley-car bound for a - pleasure-resort near the city. It had been a place to which on warm days - he had enjoyed going. There was an open-air theater there, and he had been - fond of getting a seat in the front row, and smiling patronizingly at the - painted and powdered players while he smoked and drank. But this now was - like a thing which had lived, died, and could not be revived. He had, for - another amusement, lounged about certain pool-rooms and bucket-shops, - spending agreeable days with men of wealth and speculative tendencies—men - who loved a game of poker for reasonable stakes and who asked his advice - as to the future market of cotton or wheat; but from this, too, the charm - had flown. - </p> - <p> - “What is a man profited—” The words seemed an echo from some voice - stilled long ago—a voice weirdly like that of his mother, who had - been a Christian woman. The patriarchal countenance of Silas Tye, that - humble visage so full of mystic content and placid certitude, stood before - his mind's eye. Then there was Paul, a younger disciple of the ancient - one. And, after all, what a strange and wonderful life had opened out - before the fellow! Why, he had nothing to avoid, nothing to regret, - nothing to fear. - </p> - <p> - The bell-boy brought the whisky and cigars, and when he had gone Hoag - drank copiously, telling himself that the stimulant would restore his lost - confidence, put to flight the absurd fancies which had beset him. He - remained locked in his room the remainder of the afternoon. It was filled - with the smoke of many cigars, and his brain was confused by the whisky he - kept drinking. Looking from the window, he saw that night had fallen. The - long streets from end to end were ablaze with light. Groping to the wall, - he finally found an electric button and turned on the current. He had just - gone back to the window when there was a rap on his door. He started, fell - to quivering as from the sheer premonition of disaster, and yet he called - out: - </p> - <p> - “Come in!” - </p> - <p> - It was the bell-boy. - </p> - <p> - “A letter for you, sir,” he announced, holding it forward. “A colored - gen'man lef' it at de desk jes' er minute ergo.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag had the sensation of falling from a great height in a dizzy dream. - “Whar is he?” he gasped, as he reached for the envelope. - </p> - <p> - “He's gone, sir. He tol' de clerk ter please have it tuck up quick, dat it - was some important news, an' den he went off in er hurry.” - </p> - <p> - “Did—did you know 'im?” Hoag fairly gasped. - </p> - <p> - “Never seed 'im befo', sir; looked ter me like er country nigger—didn't - seem ter know which way ter turn.” - </p> - <p> - When the boy had gone Hoag looked at the inscription on the letter. He had - seen the writing before. - </p> - <p> - “Captin Jimmy Hoag, Kimball House, City of Atlanta,” was on the outside. - He sank down into his chair and fumbled the sealed envelope in his numb - fingers. His brain was clear now. It had never been clearer. Presently he - opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet. - </p> - <p> - It ran as follows: - </p> - <p> - <i>One place is as good as another. You cannot git away. We got you, and - your time is short. Go to the end of the earth and we will be there to - meet you. By order of his (Blak X Buck) mark.</i> - </p> - <p> - With the sheet crumpled in his clammy hand, Hoag sat still for more than - an hour. Then he rose, shook himself, and took a big drink of whisky, He - resolved that he would throw off the cowardly paralysis that was on him - and be done with it. He would go out and spend the evening somewhere. - Anything was better than this self-imprisonment in solitude that was - maddening. - </p> - <p> - Going down to the office, he suddenly met Edward Peterson as he was - turning from the counter. The young man smiled a welcome as he extended - his hand. - </p> - <p> - “I was just going up to your room,” he said. “I happened to see your name - on the register while I was looking for an out-of-town customer of ours - who was due here to-day. Down for long?” - </p> - <p> - “I can't say—I railly can't say,” Hoag floundered. “It all depends—some - few matters to—to see to.” - </p> - <p> - “I was going to write you,” the banker continued, his face elongated and - quite grave. “I regard you as a friend, Mr. Hoag—I may say, as one - of the best I have. I'm sure I've always looked after your interests at - this end of the line as carefully as if they had been my own.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes, I know that, of course.” Hoag's response was a hurried compound - of impatience, indifference, and despair. - </p> - <p> - Peterson threw an eager glance at some vacant chairs near by and touched - Hoag's arm. “Let's sit down,” he entreated. “I want to talk to you. I just - can't put it off. I'm awfully bothered, Mr. Hoag, and if anybody can help - me you can.” Hoag allowed himself to be half led, half dragged to the - chair, and he and his companion sat down together. - </p> - <p> - “It's about Miss Ethel,” Peterson went on, desperately, laying an - appealing hand on Hoag's massive knee. “The last time I saw her at your house - I thought she was friendly enough, but something is wrong now, sure. She - won't write often, and when she does her letters are cold and stiff. I got - one from her mother to-day. Mrs. Mayfield seems bothered. She doesn't seem - fully to understand Miss Ethel, either.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know anything about it.” Hoag felt compelled to make some reply. - “The truth is, I haven't had time to—to talk to Eth' lately, and—” - </p> - <p> - “But you told me that you <i>would</i>.” Peterson's stare was fixed and - full of suppressed suspense. “I've been depending on you. My—my - pride is—I may say that my pride is hurt, Mr. Hoag. My friends down - here consider me solid with the young lady, and it looks as if she were - trying to pull away and leave me in the lurch. I don't see how I can stand - it. I've never been turned down before and it hurts, especially when folks - have regarded the thing as practically settled. Why—why, my salary - has been raised on the strength of it.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag's entire thoughts were on the communication he had just received. He - expected every moment to see his assassin stalk across the tiled floor - from one of the many entrances and fire upon him. Peterson's voice and - perturbation were as vexatious as the drone of a mosquito. Of what - importance was another's puppy love to a man on the gallows looking for - the last time at the sunshine? He rose to his feet; he laid his hand on - the young man's shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “You must let me alone to-night,” he bluntly demanded. “I've got a matter - of important business on my mind and I can't talk to you. You must, I tell - you; you must!” - </p> - <p> - “All right, all right!” Peterson stared and gasped as if smitten in the - face. “I'll see you in the morning. You'll come around to the bank, won't - you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes—in the morning. I'll be round.” When he was alone Hoag - strolled back to the bar-room. He familiarly nodded to the barkeeper, and - smiled mechanically as he called for whisky. He drank, lighted a cigar, - leaned for an instant against the polished counter, and then, seeing a man - entering whom he knew and wished to avoid, he turned back into the foyer. - Presently he went to the front door and glanced up and down the street. A - cab was at the edge of the sidewalk, and the negro driver called out to - him: - </p> - <p> - “Ca'iage, boss? Any part de city.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, I'm with you,” Hoag went to the cab, whispered an address, got - in, and closed the door. With a knowing smile the negro mounted his seat - and drove away. At the corner he turned down Decatur Street, and presently - drove into a short street leading toward the railroad. Here the houses on - either side of the way had red glass in the doors, through which crimson - rays of light streamed out on the pavement. The cab was about to slow up - at one of the houses when Hoag rapped on the window. The driver leaned - down and opened the door. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, boss?” - </p> - <p> - “Take me back to the hotel,” was the command. - </p> - <p> - The driver paused in astonishment, then slowly turned his horse and - started back. - </p> - <p> - “It might happen thar, and Jack would find out about it,” Hoag leaned back - and groaned. “That would never do. It is bad enough as it is, but that - would be worse. He might grow up an' be ashamed even to mention me. Henry - is tryin' to do right, too, an' I'd hate for him to know.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0044" id="linklink2HCH0044"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T twelve o'clock - at night, two days later, Hoag returned to Grayson. It was warm and - cloudy, and when he left the train he found himself alone on the unlighted - platform. No one was in sight, and yet he felt insecure. He told himself, - when the train had rumbled away, that it would be easy for an assassin to - stand behind the little tool-house, the closed restaurant, or the railway - blacksmith's shop and fire upon him. So, clutching his bag in his cold - fingers, he walked swiftly up to the Square. Here, also, no one was in - sight, and everything was so still that he could almost fancy hearing the - occupants of the near-by hotel breathing. He turned down to Sid Trawley's - stable to get his horse. The dim light of a murky lantern swinging from a - beam at the far end shone in a foggy circle. The little office on the - right was used by Trawley as a bedroom. The door was closed, but through - the window a faint light was visible, and there was a sound within as of a - man removing his shoes. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Sid, you thar?” Hoag called out. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes; who's that?” - </p> - <p> - Hoag hesitated; then stepping close to the window, he said, in a lower - tone: “Me—Jim Hoag; I want my hoss, Sid.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's <i>you</i>; all right—all right!” - </p> - <p> - The sound in the room was louder now, and then Trawley, without coat or - hat, his coarse shirt gaping at the neck, opened the door and came out. - </p> - <p> - “You got here quick, I'll swear,” the liveryman ejaculated. “Surely you - wasn't in Atlanta like they said you was, or you couldn't 'a' got here as - soon as this.” - </p> - <p> - “Soon as this! What do you mean? I am just from Atlanta.” - </p> - <p> - “Then they didn't telegraph you?” - </p> - <p> - “No; what do you mean? I hain't heard a word from here since I left.” Hoag - caught his breath, thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood, - openmouthed. - </p> - <p> - “You don't say! Then, of course, you couldn't know about Henry's trouble?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I tell you I'm just back. What's wrong?” - </p> - <p> - “It happened about nine o'clock to-night,” Trawley explained. “In fact, - the town has just quieted down. For a while I expected the whole place to - go up in flames. It was in the hands of the craziest mob you ever saw—Nape - Welborne's gang.” - </p> - <p> - “What about Henry? Was he hurt, or—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he's all right now, or was when me'n Paul Rundel, an' one or two more - friends put 'im to bed in the hotel. Doctor Wynn says he is bruised up - purty bad, but no bones is broke or arteries cut.” - </p> - <p> - “Another fight, I reckon!” Hoag was prepared to dismiss the matter as too - slight for notice in contrast to his far heavier woes. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but this time you won't blame him, Jim. In fact, you are the one man - on earth that will stand up for 'im if thar's a spark o' good left in you. - He was fightin' for you, Jim Hoag. I used to think Henry didn't amount to - much, but I've changed. I take off my hat to 'im, an' it will stay off - from now on.” - </p> - <p> - “Fighting for <i>me?</i>” Hoag's fears gathered from many directions and - ruthlessly leaped upon him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it seems that Nape Welborne had it in for you for some reason or - other, an' you bein' away he determined to take it out on your boy. I - knowed trouble was brewin', an' I got Henry to come down here away from - the drinkin' crowd in front o' his store. Henry has been powerfully - interested in some o' the things Paul Rundel an' me believe here lately - about the right way to live, an' me'n him was talkin' about it. We was - gettin' on nice an' quiet in our talk when who should come but Nape an' - his bloodthirsty lay-out, fifteen or twenty strong. You know Nape, an' you - no doubt understand his sneakin', underhanded way of pickin' a fuss. He - took a chair thar in front, an' though he knowed Henry was listenin' he - begun on you. What he didn't say, along with his oaths and sneers, never - could 'a' been thought of. He begun gradual-like an' kept heapin' it on - hot an' heavy, his eyes on Henry all the time, an' his stand-by's laughin' - an' cheerin' 'im. I never saw such a look on a human face as I seed on - your boy's. Seemed like he was tryin' to hold in, but couldn't. I pulled - him aside a little, an' told him to remember his good resolutions an' to - try to stay out of a row ag'in' sech awful odds; but lookin' me straight - in the eye he said: - </p> - <p> - “'A man can't reform to do any good, Sid, an' be a coward. He's insulting - my father, an' I can't stand it. I can't, and I won't!'” - </p> - <p> - Trawley paused an instant, and Hoag caught his breath. - </p> - <p> - “He said that, did he—Henry said that?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I tried to pacify him, knowin' that he wouldn't stand a ghost of a - chance ag'in' sech odds, but nothin' I said had the slightest effect on - 'im. He pulled away from me, slow an' polite like. He thanked me as nice - as you please, then he went straight toward Welborne. He had stood so much - already that I reckon Nape thought he was goin' to pass by, to get away, - an' Nape was beginnin' to laugh an' start some fresh talk when Henry - stopped in front of him suddenly an' drawed back his fist an' struck 'im a - blow in the mouth that knocked Nape clean out o' his chair. Nape rolled - over ag'in the wall, then sprung up spiffin' blood an' yellin', an' the - two had it nip an' tuck for a minute, but the gang wouldn't see fair-play. - They was all drunk an' full o' mob spirit an' they closed in on the boy - like ants on a speck o' bread an' begun to yell, 'Lynch 'im, lynch 'im!' - </p> - <p> - “It was like flint-sparks to powder in the pan. It was the wildest mix-up - I ever saw, and I have seed a good many in my day. Henry was in the middle - duckin' down, striking out whenever he could, an' callin' 'em dirty dogs - and cowardly cutthroats. They meant business. They drug the poor boy on to - the thicket back of the Court House an' stopped under a tree. Some fellow - had got one of my hitchin' ropes, an' they flung it 'round Henry's neck, - and tied his hands and feet. I thought it was up with 'im, when an - unexpected thing happened. Paul Rundel rid up on a hoss, an' jumped down - and sprung in the middle of the mob. I was doin' all I could, but that - wasn't nothin'. I saw Paul holdin' up his hands, an' beggin' 'em to listen - for a minute. They kept drownin' 'im out by the'r crazy yells, but after a - while Paul caught the'r attention, an' with his hands on Henry's shoulders - he begun to talk. Jim Hoag, as God is my judge, I don't believe thar ever - was made a more powerful orator than that very young feller. His words - swept through that crowd like electricity from a dynamo. I can't begin to - tell you what he said. It was the whole life an' law of Jesus packed into - explodin' bomb-shells. You'd 'a' thought he was cryin', from his tender - face, but his eyes was gleamin' like shootin'-stars, an' he was mad enough - to fight a buzz-saw. Some fellow in the gang said, 'Git away from that - man, Rundel, or I'll shoot you!' an' Paul laughed, an' said, 'Fire away, - my friend, but see that you don't hit yourself while you are at it!' - </p> - <p> - “Then somebody knocked the pistol down an' Paul went on talkin'. One by - one the crowd got ashamed and sluffed off, an' presently just me an' Paul - an' Henry an' one or two more was left. We took Henry to the hotel an' got - a room for 'im, an' made 'im go to bed.” - </p> - <p> - Trawley ceased speaking. Hoag stood with downcast eyes. He had nothing to - say. - </p> - <p> - “Mark my word,” Trawley added, confidently, “the day o' mobs hereabouts is - over. This was the straw that breaks the camel's back. The old klan is - down an' out, an' Paul Rundel will settle the young gang. They respect - 'im. They can't help it, an' he told me he was goin' to make it his chief - aim to crush it out.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag remained silent and Trawley went to a stall in the rear and brought - his horse forward. - </p> - <p> - “You ain't goin' in to see Henry 'fore you go out, are you?” he asked, as - he released the bridle-reins. - </p> - <p> - “Not to-night,” was the reply. “He may be 'asleep. I'll—I'll see - 'im, I reckon, to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag thrust a clumsy foot into the wooden stirrup, and bent his knees as - if to mount, but failed. There was a block near by, and he led his horse - to it, and from the block finally got into the saddle. - </p> - <p> - “Good night,” he said, and he rode away. At the street-corner he took out - his revolver and, holding it in one hand, he urged his horse into a - gallop. From every fence-corner or dark clump of bushes on the roadside he - expected to see armed men arise and confront him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0045" id="linklink2HCH0045"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NE morning, three - days later, as Paul was writing in his room his employer came in holding a - sheet of paper in his hand. His face was bloated, his eyes bloodshot; he - had lost flesh and quivered in every limb and muscle. - </p> - <p> - “I want to ask a favor,” he said, in a tone which was almost that of - pleading humility. - </p> - <p> - “What is it? I'm at your service,” the young man said, politely indicating - the vacant chair beside the table. - </p> - <p> - Hoag caught the back of the chair as if to steady himself, but declined to - sit down. He made a dismal failure of a smile of unconcern. “You needn't - think I'm gittin' ready to die by this move o' mine,” he began, “but I - think any sensible man ought to be prepared for any possible accident to - him. I've made my will, an' I want you to witness it. It won't be - contested, and your name will be sufficient.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see.” Paul was mystified, but he took the document from the - nerveless hand and spread it open on the table. - </p> - <p> - “You needn't bother to read it through.” Hoag's voice trailed away toward - indistinctness, and he coughed and cleared his throat. “I've made an even - divide of all my effects betwixt Jack an' Henry an' Eth', an'—an' - I've specified that the business—in case o' my death—is to run - on under your care till Jack is of age—that is, if you are willin': - you to draw whatever pay you feel is reasonable or is fixed by the law.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course that is agreeable,” Paul answered, “though I shall count on - your aid and advice for a good many years, I am sure.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag blinked. He swung on the chair a moment, then he added: - </p> - <p> - “There is one more thing, an' I hope you won't object to that, neither. - It's about Jack. The child is at the age when he kin either grow up under - good or—or what you might call bad influence, an' somehow I want—I've - studied over it a lot lately—an' I want to take the thing in time. - You don't believe exactly like other folks, but you are on the safe side—the - safest, I might say. Jack thinks the sun rises an' sets in you”—Hoag's - voice shook slightly—“I reckon it's because you treat the little - fellow so friendly an' nice, an' it struck me that in case of any—you - know—any possible accident to me that I'd like for you to be his - guardian.” - </p> - <p> - “His <i>guardian?</i> I! Why, Mr. Hoag—” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind; I know what you are goin' to say. You think you are too - young, I reckon, but I've thought about it a lot, an' I really would feel - better in—in my mind if you'd agree. I ain't—I can't say I am”—Hoag - attempted a laugh of indifference—“actually countin' on the grave - right <i>now</i>, but a feller like me has enemies. In fact, I may as well - say I <i>know</i> I have some, an' they wouldn't hesitate to settle me if - they had a fair chance. I've writ it all down thar, an' I'm goin' to sign - it an' I want you to witness my signature.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, Mr. Hoag. I feel highly honored, and I'll do my best to prove - worthy of the trust you place in me.” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't a-worryin' about that. You are a plumb mystery to me. Sometimes I - think you are more'n human. I know one thing—I know you are all - right.” Hoag's massive hand shook as he dipped a pen, leaned down, and - wrote his name. He stood erect and watched Paul sign his name opposite it. - </p> - <p> - “You take care of it.” Hoag waved his hand. “Put it in the safe at the - warehouse. I can't think of anything else right now. If—if I do, - I'll mention it.” - </p> - <p> - “I have an order for several grades of leather from Nashville,” Paul - began, picking up a letter on the table, “and I want to consult you about—” - </p> - <p> - “I'd rather you wouldn't.” A sickly look of despair had settled on the - heavy features. “I'm willin' to trust your judgment entirely. What you do - will be all right. You see—you see, somehow it is a comfort at my - time o' life—an' harassed like I am—to feel that I ain't - obliged to bother about so many odds an' ends.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, as you think best,” Paul answered. “I'll do all I can.” - </p> - <p> - Hoag was seated on the watering-trough in the barn-yard a little later, - his dull gaze on the sunlit mountain-side, when two soft, small hands were - placed over his eyes from behind and he felt the clasp of a tender pair of - arms around his neck. - </p> - <p> - “Who's got you?” a young voice asked, in a bird-like ripple of merriment. - </p> - <p> - “Jack!” Hoag answered, and he drew the boy into his lap, stroked his - flowing tresses, and held him tightly against his breast. - </p> - <p> - The child laughed gleefully. He sat for a moment on the big, trembling - knee; then, seeing a butterfly fluttering over a dungheap, he sprang down - and ran after it. It evaded the outstretched straw hat, and Hoag saw him - climb over the fence and dart across the meadow. Away the lithe creature - bounded—as free as the balmy breeze upon which he seemed to ride as - easily as the thing he was pursuing. Hoag groaned. His despair held him - like a vise. On every side hung the black curtains of his doom. All nature - seemed to mock him. Birds were singing in the near-by woods. On the - sloping roof of the bam blue and white pigeons were strutting and cooing. - On the lawn a stately peacock with plumage spread strode majestically - across the grass. - </p> - <p> - To avoid meeting Jack again, Hoag passed out at the gate, and went into - the wood, which, cool, dank, and somber, stretched away toward the - mountain. Deeper and deeper he got in the shade of the great trees and - leaning cliffs and boulders till he was quite out of sight or hearing of - the house. The solitude and stillness of the spot strangely appealed to - him. For the first time in many days he had a touch of calmness. The - thought came to him that, if such a thing as prayer were reasonable at - all, a spot like this would make it effective. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly, as he stood looking at a cliff in front of him, he fancied that - the leaves and branches of an overhanging bush were stirring. To make - sure, he stared fixedly at it, and then he saw a black face emerge, a face - that was grimly set in satisfaction. Was he asleep, and was this one of - the numerous fancies which had haunted him in delirium? Yes, for the face - was gone, the leaves of the bush were still. And yet, was it gone? Surely - there was renewed activity about the bush which was not visible in its - fellows. What was it that was slowly emerging from the branches like a bar - of polished steel? The sunlight struck it and it flashed and blazed - steadily. The bush swayed downward and then held firm. There was a puff of - blue smoke. Hoag felt a stinging sensation over the region of his heart. - Everything grew black. He felt himself falling. He heard an exultant - laugh, which seemed to recede in the distance. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0046" id="linklink2HCH0046"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was a few weeks - after Hoag's burial. Ethel had been for a walk and was nearing home. At - the side of the road stood a sordid log cabin, one of the worst of its - class. In the low doorway leaned a woman with a baby in her arms. She was - under twenty-five years of age, and yet from her tattered dress, worn-out - shoes, scant hair, and wan, wearied face she might have passed as the - grandmother of her four or five little children playing about the - door-step. - </p> - <p> - Catching her eye, Ethel bowed and turned in toward the hut. As she did so, - the woman stepped down and came forward. The children, forsaking their - play, followed and clung to her soiled skirt, eying Ethel's black dress - and hat with the curiosity peculiar to their ages and station. The woman's - husband, David Harris, had been confined to his bed since the preceding - winter, when he had been laid up by an accident due to the falling of a - tree while at work for Hoag on the mountain, and Ethel and her mother had - shown him and his wife some thoughtful attention. - </p> - <p> - “I stopped to ask how Mr. Harris is,” Ethel said. “My mother will want to - know.” - </p> - <p> - “He's a good deal better, Miss Ethel,” the woman replied, pulling her - skirt from the chubby clutch of a little barefooted girl. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm so glad!” Ethel cried. “I suppose his new medicine is doing him - good?” - </p> - <p> - “No, he hasn't begun on it yet,” Mrs. Harris answered. “The old lot ain't - quite used up yet. I just think it is due to cheerfulness, Miss Ethel. I - never knowed before that puttin' hope in a sick body would work such - wonders, but it has in Dave.” - </p> - <p> - “He has been inclined to despondency, hasn't he?” Ethel rejoined, - sympathetically. “My mother said she noticed that the last time we were - here, and tried to cheer him up.” - </p> - <p> - “Thar was just one thing that could cheer 'im, an' that happened.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad,” Ethel said, tentatively “He seemed to worry about the baby's - sickness, but the baby is well now, isn't she?” Ethel touched the child - under the chin and smiled into its placid blue eyes. - </p> - <p> - “No, it wasn't the baby,” the wife went on. “Dave got some'n off his mind - that had been worry-in' him ever since Paul Rundel got home an' took - charge o' Mr. Hoag's business. That upset 'im entirely, Miss Ethel—he - actually seemed to collapse under it, an' when Mr. Hoag died he got - worse.” - </p> - <p> - “But why?” Ethel groped, wonderingly. - </p> - <p> - “It was like this,” the woman answered. “Long time ago, when Paul an' Dave - was boys together, they had a row o' some sort. Dave admits that him and - his brother, Sam, who was sent off for stealin' a hoss, two year ago, - acted powerful bad. They teased Paul an' nagged 'im constantly, till Paul - got a gun one day an' threatened to kill 'em if they didn't let 'im alone. - Then right on top o' that Paul had his big trouble an' run off, an' him - an' Dave never met till—” - </p> - <p> - “I see, but surely Paul—” Ethel began, perplexed, and stopped - suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “I was comin' to that, Miss Ethel. You see, Dave had a good regular job - cuttin' an' haulin' for Mr. Hoag, an' until Paul was put in charge he - expected, as soon as he was strong enough, to go back to work again. But - the report went out, an' it was true, that Mr. Hoag had turned all the - hirin' of men over to Paul an' refused to take a single man on his own - hook.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see, and your husband was afraid—” - </p> - <p> - “He was afraid Paul had a grudge ag'in' 'im, Miss Ethel. He talked of - nothin' else, an' it looked like he dreamed of nothin' else. I used to - catch 'im cryin' as he nussed the baby for me while I was fixin' 'im - some'n to eat. He kept say in' that the Lord was punishin' 'im for the way - he done Paul. He said no man with any spirit would hire a fellow under - them circumstances, an' he couldn't expect it. He said Paul was plumb on - top now since Mr. Hoag's gone, an' had a right to crow. I begged 'im to - let me tell Paul how he felt about it, but he wouldn't hear to it; he was - too proud. Besides, he said, no brave man would respect another for - apologizin' at such a late day when he was after a favor. So he just - bothered an' bothered over it till he quit eatin' an' begun to talk about - bein' buried.” Here the woman's voice quivered. “He kept sayin' he didn't - want me to spend money on layin' 'im away. He got so troubled about that - one thing that he begged Zeke Henry, who is a carpenter, you know, to - agree to make 'im some sort of a cheap box to be put in so that I wouldn't - go to town an' git a costly one on a credit when the time come.” - </p> - <p> - “How sad—how very sad!” Ethel exclaimed. “And then Paul must have—of - course, you told Paul—.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I wouldn't do that,” the woman broke in. “Dave would 'a' been mad; - but one day, about a week ago, I was out in the thicket across the road - pickin' up sticks to burn when Paul come along. I used to live over the - mountain before he went off, an' so I thought he didn't know me. I thought - he was goin' by without speakin' to me, for it looked like he was tryin' - to overtake a wagon load o' lumber right ahead; but when he seed me he - stopped an' raised his hat an' stood with it in his hand while he asked me - how Dave was. He said he'd just heard he was so bad off, an' was awful - sorry about it. - </p> - <p> - “I told 'im how Dave's health was, but I didn't let on about how he was - worryin'.' Then Paul studied a minute, an' it looked to me like he was - actually blushin'. 'I wonder,' he said, 'if Dave would let me go in an' - see 'im. I've met nearly all of the boys I used to know, an' have been - hopin' he'd be out so I could run across 'im.'” - </p> - <p> - “That was just like Paul,” Ethel said, warmly. “And of course he saw your - husband?” - </p> - <p> - The woman shifted the baby from her arms to her gaunt right hip. Her eyes - glistened and her thin lips quivered. “You'll think I'm silly, Miss - Ethel.” She steadied her voice with an effort. “I break down an' cry ever' - time I tell this. I believe people can cry for joy the same as for grief - if it hits 'em just right. I took Paul to the door, an' went in to fix - Dave up a little—to give 'im a clean shirt an' the like. An' all - that time Dave was crazy to ask what Paul wanted, but was afraid Paul - would hear 'im, an' so I saw him starin' at me mighty pitiful. I wanted to - tell him that Paul was friendly, but I didn't know how to manage it. I - winked at 'im, an' tried to let 'im see by my cheerfulness that it was all - right with Paul, but Dave couldn't understand me. Somehow he thought Paul - might still remember the old fuss, an' he was in an awful stew till Paul - come in. But he wasn't in doubt long, Miss Ethel. Paul come in totin' - little Phil in his arms—he'd been playin' with the child outside—an' - shuck hands with Dave, an' set down by the bed in the sweetest, plainest - way you ever saw. He kept rubbin' Phil's dirty legs—jest wouldn't - let me take him, an' begun to laugh an' joke with Dave over old boyhood - days. Well, I simply stood there an' wondered. I've seen humanity in as - many shapes as the average mountain woman o' my age an' sort, I reckon, - but I never, never expected to meet a man like Paul Rundel in this life. - He seemed to lift me clean to the clouds, as he talked to Dave about the - foolishness of bein' blue an' givin' up to a sickness like his'n. Then - like a clap o' thunder from a clear sky he told Dave in an off-hand way, - as if it wasn't nothin' worth mentionin', that he wanted 'im to hurry an' - git well because he had a job for 'im bossin' the hands at the - shingle-mill. Miss Ethel, if the Lord had split the world open an' I saw - tongues o' fire shootin' up to the skies I wouldn't 'a' been more - astonished. - </p> - <p> - “'Do you really mean that, Paul?' I heard Dave ask; an' then I heard Paul - say, I certainly do, Dave, an' you won't have to wait till you are plumb - well, either, for you kin do that sort o' work just settin' around keepin' - tab on things in general.' An' so, Miss Ethel, that's why Dave's gittin' - well so fast. It ain't the medicine; it's the hope an' joy that Paul - Rundel put in 'im. They say Paul has got some new religion or other, an' I - thank God he has found it. Love for sufferin' folks fairly leaks out of - his face an' eyes. Before he left he had every child we have up in his - lap, a-tellin' 'em tales about giant-killers an' hobgoblins an' animals - that could talk, an' when he went off he left Dave cryin' like his heart - was breakin'.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel walked slowly homeward. From a small, gray cloud in the vast blue - overhead random drops of rain were falling upon the hot dust of the road. - As she neared the house she saw her mother waiting for her at the front - gate with a letter in her hand. - </p> - <p> - “I wondered where you were,” Mrs. Mayfield said, as she held the gate ajar - for her daughter to pass through. “You know I can't keep from being uneasy - since your poor uncle's death.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not afraid,” Ethel smiled. She noticed that her mother had folded the - letter tightly in her hand and seemed disinclined to refer to it. - </p> - <p> - “Who is your letter from?” the girl questioned, as they walked across the - lawn toward the house. - </p> - <p> - “Guess,” Mrs. Mayfield smiled, still holding the letter tightly. - </p> - <p> - “I can't imagine,” Ethel answered, abstractedly, for she was unable to - detach herself from the recital she had just heard. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Mayfield paused, looked up at the threatening cloud, and then - answered, “It is from Mr. Peterson.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” Ethel avoided her mother's fixed stare. “I owe him a letter.” - </p> - <p> - “From this, I judge that you owe him several,” Mrs. Mayfield answered in a - significant tone. “Ethel, I am afraid you are not treating him quite - fairly.” - </p> - <p> - “Fairly! Why do you say that, mother?” Ethel showed some little vexation. - Touches of red appeared in her cheeks and her eyes flashed. - </p> - <p> - “Because you haven't answered his recent letters, for one thing,” was the - reply. “You know, daughter, that I have never tried, in the slightest, to - influence you in this matter, and—” - </p> - <p> - “This <i>matter!</i>” A rippling and yet a somewhat forced laugh fell from - the girl's curling lips. “You speak as if you were referring to some - business transaction.” - </p> - <p> - '“You know what I mean,” Mrs. Mayfield smiled good-naturedly. “Before we - came here this summer, while Mr. Peterson was so attentive to you in - Atlanta, I told you that he had plainly given me to understand that he was - in love with you, and wished to pay his addresses in the most serious and - respectful way.” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” Ethel shrugged her shoulders. “I have let him come to see me - oftener, really, than any of my other friends, and—” - </p> - <p> - “But that isn't all he wants, and you are well aware of it,” the mother - urged. “He says you don't write to him as freely and openly as you once - did—he has acted very considerately, I think. Owing to your uncle's - death he did not like to intrude, but now he can't really understand you, - and is naturally disturbed.” - </p> - <p> - “So he has written to <i>you?</i>” Ethel said, crisply, almost - resentfully. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he has written to me. I am not going to show you his letter. The - poor fellow is deeply worried. The truth is, as he says, that most of your - set down home look on you—” - </p> - <p> - “As his property, I know,” Ethel flashed forth. “Some men are apt to allow - a report like that to get circulated. The last time he was here he dropped - half a dozen remarks which showed that he had no other thought than that I - was quite carried away with him.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Mayfield faced the speaker with a gentle smile of perplexity. “You - know, dear, that I firmly believe in love-matches, and if I didn't think - you could really love Mr. Peterson I'd never let you think of marrying - him; but he really is such a safe, honorable man, and has such brilliant - prospects, that I'd not be a natural mother if I were not hopeful that you—” - </p> - <p> - “You mustn't bother with him and me, mother,” Ethel said, weariedly. “I - know all his good points, and I know some of his less admirable ones; but - I have some rights in the matter. I have really never encouraged him to - think I would marry him, and it is because—well, because his recent - letters have been just a little too confident that I have not answered. I - can't bear that sort of thing from a man, and I want him to know it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm going to wash my hands of it,” Mrs. Mayfield said, smiling. “I - want you to be happy. You have suffered so keenly of late that it has - broken my heart to see it, and I want your happiness above all. Then there - is something else.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, something else?” Ethel echoed. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and this time I am really tempted to scold,” the mother said, quite - seriously. “My dear, I am afraid you are going to make more than one man - unhappy, and this one certainly deserves a better fate.” - </p> - <p> - Ethel avoided her mother's eyes. Her color deepened. Her proud chin - quivered. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean?” she faltered. - </p> - <p> - “I mean that I am afraid Paul Rundel is in love with you, too.” - </p> - <p> - “Paul—oh, how absurd!” the girl answered, her face burning. - </p> - <p> - “You may say that if you wish, but I shall not change my opinion,” Mrs. - Mayfield rejoined, gravely. “I am sure he wouldn't want me to suspect it—in - fact, I think he tries to hide it from every one. It is only little signs - he shows now and then—the way he looks when your name comes up. The - truth is that he can hardly steady his voice when he mentions you. But he - will never trouble you with his attentions. He has an idea that there is - some understanding between you and Mr. Peterson, and I confess I didn't - disabuse his mind. In fact, he said last night, when he and I were out - here together, that he would never marry. He has an idea that he ought to - remain single so that he may be free to carry out some plans he has for - the public good—plans, I think, which mean a sacrifice on his part, - in some way or other. He's simply wonderful, my child. He seems to suffer. - You know a woman can tell intuitively when a man is that way. He seems - both happy and unhappy. I thought I'd speak to you of this so that you may - be careful when with him. You can be nice to him, you know, without - leading him to think—well, to think as Mr. Peterson does.” - </p> - <p> - “There is no danger,” Ethel said, wistfully. “I understand him, and I am - sure he understands me, but”—she hesitated and caught her mother's - arm in a tense clasp, as they started on toward the house—“I am - sure, very sure, mother, that he—that Paul is not <i>really</i> in - love with me. You don't think so, either, mother—you know you do - not! You have so many silly fancies. You imagine that every man who looks - at me is in love with me. Paul will never love <i>any</i> woman, much less - me. You see, I <i>know</i>. I've talked to him a good deal here of late, - and—and I understand him. Really, I do, mother.” Alone in her room, - a moment later, Ethel stood before her mirror looking at her reflection. - </p> - <p> - “He loves me—oh, he loves me!” she whispered. “He's loved me all - these years. He is the grandest and best man that ever lived. He has - lifted me above the earth, and made me understand the meaning of life. Oh, - Paul, Paul!” She sank down by the window and looked out. The rain was - beginning to fall heavily. It pattered against the window-sill and wet her - sleeve and hair, but she did not move. She breathed in the cooling air as - if it were a delightful intoxicant borne down from heaven. The dripping - leaves of a honeysuckle tapped her hot cheeks. She thrust her fair head - farther out, felt the water trickle down her cheeks and chin, and laughed. - Her mood was ecstatic, transcendent, and full of gratitude unspeakable. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="linklink2HCH0047" id="linklink2HCH0047"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>THEL had been to - her uncle's grave one afternoon, and was returning through the wood which - lay between the farmhouse and the village when she met Paul. - </p> - <p> - “I've just been up with some flowers,” she said. “Oh, it is so sad! I had - a good cry.” - </p> - <p> - “I have no doubt it made you feel better,” he said, looking at her - tenderly. “Nature has made us that way.” - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid I became rather despondent,” she answered. “Oh, Paul, I wish - I had all your beautiful faith! You have actually reconciled me to poor - dear Jennie's death. I can already see that it was best. It has made me - kinder and broader in many ways. Do you know, Paul, there are times when I - am fully conscious of her presence—I don't mean in the ordinary, - spiritualistic sense, but something—I don't know how to put it—but - something like the highest mental essence of my dear cousin seems to fold - me in an embrace that is actually transporting. I find myself full of - tears and joy at the same time, and almost dazed with the indescribable - reality of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Many sensitive persons have that experience in sorrow,” Paul said, “and I - am obliged to think there is some psychic fact beneath it. There is - something undoubtedly uplifting in a great grief. It is a certain cure for - spiritual blindness. It tears the scales of matter from our eyes as - nothing else can do.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't, however, keep from being despondent over my poor uncle,” Ethel - sighed, as she agreed with him. “Oh, Paul, he really wasn't prepared. He - plunged into the dark void without the faintest faith or hope.” - </p> - <p> - Paul gravely shook his head and smiled. “To believe that is to doubt that - the great principle of life is love. We cannot conceive of even an earthly - father's punishing one of his children for being blind, much less the - Creator of us all. Your uncle through his whole life was blind to the - truth. Had he seen it, his awakening would have been here instead of - there, that is all.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, how comforting, how sweetly comforting!” Ethel sobbed. There was a - fallen tree near the path, and she turned aside and sat down. She folded - her hands in her lap, while the tears stood in her eyes. “Paul,” she said, - suddenly, “you are very happy, aren't you? You must be—you have so - much to make you so.” - </p> - <p> - He looked away toward the mountain where the slanting rays of the sun lay - in a mellow flood, and a grave, almost despondent, expression crept into - his eyes. He made no answer. She repeated her question in a rising tone, - full of tender eagerness. Then without looking at her he answered, slowly - and distinctly: - </p> - <p> - “All humanity must suffer, Ethel. It is part of the divine order. - Suffering is to the growing soul what decayed matter is to the roots of a - flower. Light is the opposite of darkness; joy is the opposite of - suffering. The whole of life is made up of such contrasts; earth is - temporary captivity, Paradise is eternal freedom.” - </p> - <p> - “But you have already <i>had</i> your suffering,” Ethel pursued, her - drying eyes fixed hungrily on his face. “Surely you—you are not - unhappy now. I don't see how you could be so when everybody loves you so - much, and is so appreciative of your goodness. Henry worships you. He says - you have made a man of him. Old Mr. Tye declares you have actually put an - end to lawlessness in these mountains. I can't see how you, of all men, - could be unhappy for a minute.” - </p> - <p> - “There are things”—he was still avoiding her eyes, and he spoke with - a sort of tortured candor as he sat down near her and raised his knee - between his tense hands—“there are things, Ethel, which the very - soul of a man cries out for, but which he can never have—which he - dare not even hope for, lest he slip into utter despondency and never - recover his courage.” - </p> - <p> - She rose and stood before him. He had never seen her look more beautiful, - more resolute. “You intimated—Paul, you hinted, when you first came - home from the West, that as a boy, away back before your great trouble, - you—you cared for me—you said you thought of me often during - those years. Oh, Paul, have you changed in that respect? Do you no longer—” - Her voice trailed away from her fluttering throat, and, covering her face - with her blue-veined hands, she stood motionless, her breast visibly - palpitating, her sharp intakes of breath audible. - </p> - <p> - Rising, he drew her hands down and gazed passionately into her eyes. “I - have come to love you so much, Ethel, that I dare not even think of it. It - takes my breath away. Every drop of blood in my body cries out for you—cries, - cries constantly. I have never dared to hope, not for a moment. I know - what Mr. Peterson has to offer you. He can give you everything that the - world values. I cannot see where my future duty may call me, but I am sure - that I can't strive for the accumulation of a great fortune. So even if I - <i>could</i> win your love I could not feel that I had a right to it. Many - persons think I am a fanatic, and if I am—well, I ought not to - influence you to link your life to mine. As you say, I have suffered, and - I have borne it so far, but whether I can possibly bear to see you the—the - wife of another man remains to be proved. I am afraid that would drag me - down. I think I would really lose faith in God—in everything, for I - can't help loving you. You are more to me than life—more than - Heaven.” - </p> - <p> - “You mustn't desert me, Paul.” Ethel raised his hand to her lips and - kissed it. The action drew her warm face close to his. “I want to go on - with you in body and in spirit through eternity. I love you with all my - soul. You have sweetened my life and lifted me to the very stars. I don't - want wealth or position. I want only you—just as you are.” He seemed - unable to speak. Tenderly and reverently he drew her back to the log. In - silence they sat, hand in hand, watching the shadows of the dying day - creep across the wood and climb the mountainside. - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Paul Rundel, by Will N. 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