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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Trail of the Lonesome Pine + +Author: John Fox, Jr. + +Illustrator: F.C. Yohn + +Release Date: October 12, 2009 [EBook #5122] +Last Updated: March 14, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team, +and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + BY JOHN FOX, JR. + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + ILLUSTRATED BY F. C. YOHN + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="Frontispiece " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="Titlepage " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + To F. S. + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>ILLUSTRATIONS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0001"> Frontispiece </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0002"> Titlepage </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0003"> “Don't, Dad!” Shrieked a Voice from the + Bushes </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0004"> You Hain't Never Goin' to Marry Him.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0005"> “Why Have You Brought Me Here?” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0006"> “We'll Fight You Both!” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0007"> Keep It Safe Old Pine </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0008"> She Made Him Tell of Everything </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + She sat at the base of the big tree—her little sunbonnet pushed + back, her arms locked about her knees, her bare feet gathered under her + crimson gown and her deep eyes fixed on the smoke in the valley below. Her + breath was still coming fast between her parted lips. There were tiny + drops along the roots of her shining hair, for the climb had been steep, + and now the shadow of disappointment darkened her eyes. The mountains ran + in limitless blue waves towards the mounting sun—but at birth her + eyes had opened on them as on the white mists trailing up the steeps below + her. Beyond them was a gap in the next mountain chain and down in the + little valley, just visible through it, were trailing blue mists as well, + and she knew that they were smoke. Where was the great glare of yellow + light that the “circuit rider” had told about—and the leaping + tongues of fire? Where was the shrieking monster that ran without horses + like the wind and tossed back rolling black plumes all streaked with fire? + For many days now she had heard stories of the “furriners” who had come + into those hills and were doing strange things down there, and so at last + she had climbed up through the dewy morning from the cove on the other + side to see the wonders for herself. She had never been up there before. + She had no business there now, and, if she were found out when she got + back, she would get a scolding and maybe something worse from her + step-mother—and all that trouble and risk for nothing but smoke. So, + she lay back and rested—her little mouth tightening fiercely. It was + a big world, though, that was spread before her and a vague awe of it + seized her straightway and held her motionless and dreaming. Beyond those + white mists trailing up the hills, beyond the blue smoke drifting in the + valley, those limitless blue waves must run under the sun on and on to the + end of the world! Her dead sister had gone into that far silence and had + brought back wonderful stories of that outer world: and she began to + wonder more than ever before whether she would ever go into it and see for + herself what was there. With the thought, she rose slowly to her feet, + moved slowly to the cliff that dropped sheer ten feet aside from the + trail, and stood there like a great scarlet flower in still air. There was + the way at her feet—that path that coiled under the cliff and ran + down loop by loop through majestic oak and poplar and masses of + rhododendron. She drew a long breath and stirred uneasily—she'd + better go home now—but the path had a snake-like charm for her and + still she stood, following it as far down as she could with her eyes. Down + it went, writhing this way and that to a spur that had been swept bare by + forest fires. Along this spur it travelled straight for a while and, as + her eyes eagerly followed it to where it sank sharply into a covert of + maples, the little creature dropped of a sudden to the ground and, like + something wild, lay flat. + </p> + <p> + A human figure had filled the leafy mouth that swallowed up the trail and + it was coming towards her. With a thumping heart she pushed slowly forward + through the brush until her face, fox-like with cunning and screened by a + blueberry bush, hung just over the edge of the cliff, and there she lay, + like a crouched panther-cub, looking down. For a moment, all that was + human seemed gone from her eyes, but, as she watched, all that was lost + came back to them, and something more. She had seen that it was a man, but + she had dropped so quickly that she did not see the big, black horse that, + unled, was following him. Now both man and horse had stopped. The stranger + had taken off his gray slouched hat and he was wiping his face with + something white. Something blue was tied loosely about his throat. She had + never seen a man like that before. His face was smooth and looked + different, as did his throat and his hands. His breeches were tight and on + his feet were strange boots that were the colour of his saddle, which was + deep in seat, high both in front and behind and had strange long-hooded + stirrups. Starting to mount, the man stopped with one foot in the stirrup + and raised his eyes towards her so suddenly that she shrank back again + with a quicker throbbing at her heart and pressed closer to the earth. + Still, seen or not seen, flight was easy for her, so she could not forbear + to look again. Apparently, he had seen nothing—only that the next + turn of the trail was too steep to ride, and so he started walking again, + and his walk, as he strode along the path, was new to her, as was the + erect way with which he held his head and his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + In her wonder over him, she almost forgot herself, forgot to wonder where + he was going and why he was coming into those lonely hills until, as his + horse turned a bend of the trail, she saw hanging from the other side of + the saddle something that looked like a gun. He was a “raider”—that + man: so, cautiously and swiftly then, she pushed herself back from the + edge of the cliff, sprang to her feet, dashed past the big tree and, + winged with fear, sped down the mountain—leaving in a spot of + sunlight at the base of the pine the print of one bare foot in the black + earth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + He had seen the big pine when he first came to those hills—one + morning, at daybreak, when the valley was a sea of mist that threw soft + clinging spray to the very mountain tops: for even above the mists, that + morning, its mighty head arose—sole visible proof that the earth + still slept beneath. Straightway, he wondered how it had ever got there, + so far above the few of its kind that haunted the green dark ravines far + below. Some whirlwind, doubtless, had sent a tiny cone circling heavenward + and dropped it there. It had sent others, too, no doubt, but how had this + tree faced wind and storm alone and alone lived to defy both so proudly? + Some day he would learn. Thereafter, he had seen it, at noon—but + little less majestic among the oaks that stood about it; had seen it + catching the last light at sunset, clean-cut against the after-glow, and + like a dark, silent, mysterious sentinel guarding the mountain pass under + the moon. He had seen it giving place with sombre dignity to the passing + burst of spring—had seen it green among dying autumn leaves, green + in the gray of winter trees and still green in a shroud of snow—a + changeless promise that the earth must wake to life again. The Lonesome + Pine, the mountaineers called it, and the Lonesome Pine it always looked + to be. From the beginning it had a curious fascination for him, and + straightway within him—half exile that he was—there sprang up + a sympathy for it as for something that was human and a brother. And now + he was on the trail of it at last. From every point that morning it had + seemed almost to nod down to him as he climbed and, when he reached the + ledge that gave him sight of it from base to crown, the winds murmured + among its needles like a welcoming voice. At once, he saw the secret of + its life. On each side rose a cliff that had sheltered it from storms + until its trunk had shot upwards so far and so straight and so strong that + its green crown could lift itself on and on and bend—blow what might—as + proudly and securely as a lily on its stalk in a morning breeze. Dropping + his bridle rein he put one hand against it as though on the shoulder of a + friend. + </p> + <p> + “Old Man,” he said, “You must be pretty lonesome up here, and I'm glad to + meet you.” + </p> + <p> + For a while he sat against it—resting. He had no particular purpose + that day—no particular destination. His saddle-bags were across the + cantle of his cow-boy saddle. His fishing rod was tied under one flap. He + was young and his own master. Time was hanging heavy on his hands that day + and he loved the woods and the nooks and crannies of them where his own + kind rarely made its way. Beyond, the cove looked dark, forbidding, + mysterious, and what was beyond he did not know. So down there he would + go. As he bent his head forward to rise, his eye caught the spot of + sunlight, and he leaned over it with a smile. In the black earth was a + human foot-print—too small and slender for the foot of a man, a boy + or a woman. Beyond, the same prints were visible—wider apart—and + he smiled again. A girl had been there. She was the crimson flash that he + saw as he started up the steep and mistook for a flaming bush of sumach. + She had seen him coming and she had fled. Still smiling, he rose to his + feet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + On one side he had left the earth yellow with the coming noon, but it was + still morning as he went down on the other side. The laurel and + rhododendron still reeked with dew in the deep, ever-shaded ravine. The + ferns drenched his stirrups, as he brushed through them, and each dripping + tree-top broke the sunlight and let it drop in tent-like beams through the + shimmering undermist. A bird flashed here and there through the green + gloom, but there was no sound in the air but the footfalls of his horse + and the easy creaking of leather under him, the drip of dew overhead and + the running of water below. Now and then he could see the same slender + foot-prints in the rich loam and he saw them in the sand where the first + tiny brook tinkled across the path from a gloomy ravine. There the little + creature had taken a flying leap across it and, beyond, he could see the + prints no more. He little guessed that while he halted to let his horse + drink, the girl lay on a rock above him, looking down. She was nearer home + now and was less afraid; so she had slipped from the trail and climbed + above it there to watch him pass. As he went on, she slid from her perch + and with cat-footed quiet followed him. When he reached the river she saw + him pull in his horse and eagerly bend forward, looking into a pool just + below the crossing. There was a bass down there in the clear water—a + big one—and the man whistled cheerily and dismounted, tying his + horse to a sassafras bush and unbuckling a tin bucket and a curious + looking net from his saddle. With the net in one hand and the bucket in + the other, he turned back up the creek and passed so close to where she + had slipped aside into the bushes that she came near shrieking, but his + eyes were fixed on a pool of the creek above and, to her wonder, he + strolled straight into the water, with his boots on, pushing the net in + front of him. + </p> + <p> + He was a “raider” sure, she thought now, and he was looking for a + “moonshine” still, and the wild little thing in the bushes smiled + cunningly—there was no still up that creek—and as he had left + his horse below and his gun, she waited for him to come back, which he + did, by and by, dripping and soaked to his knees. Then she saw him untie + the queer “gun” on his saddle, pull it out of a case and—her eyes + got big with wonder—take it to pieces and make it into a long limber + rod. In a moment he had cast a minnow into the pool and waded out into the + water up to his hips. She had never seen so queer a fishing-pole—so + queer a fisherman. How could he get a fish out with that little switch, + she thought contemptuously? By and by something hummed queerly, the man + gave a slight jerk and a shining fish flopped two feet into the air. It + was surely very queer, for the man didn't put his rod over his shoulder + and walk ashore, as did the mountaineers, but stood still, winding + something with one hand, and again the fish would flash into the air and + then that humming would start again while the fisherman would stand quiet + and waiting for a while—and then he would begin to wind again. In + her wonder, she rose unconsciously to her feet and a stone rolled down to + the ledge below her. The fisherman turned his head and she started to run, + but without a word he turned again to the fish he was playing. Moreover, + he was too far out in the water to catch her, so she advanced slowly—even + to the edge of the stream, watching the fish cut half circles about the + man. If he saw her, he gave no notice, and it was well that he did not. He + was pulling the bass to and fro now through the water, tiring him out—drowning + him—stepping backward at the same time, and, a moment later, the + fish slid easily out of the edge of the water, gasping along the edge of a + low sand-bank, and the fisherman reaching down with one hand caught him in + the gills. Then he looked up and smiled—and she had seen no smile + like that before. + </p> + <p> + “Howdye, Little Girl?” + </p> + <p> + One bare toe went burrowing suddenly into the sand, one finger went to her + red mouth—and that was all. She merely stared him straight in the + eye and he smiled again. + </p> + <p> + “Cat got your tongue?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes fell at the ancient banter, but she lifted them straightway and + stared again. + </p> + <p> + “You live around here?” + </p> + <p> + She stared on. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + No answer. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name, little girl?” + </p> + <p> + And still she stared. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, of course, you can't talk, if the cat's got your tongue.” + </p> + <p> + The steady eyes leaped angrily, but there was still no answer, and he bent + to take the fish off his hook, put on a fresh minnow, turned his back and + tossed it into the pool. + </p> + <p> + “Hit hain't!” + </p> + <p> + He looked up again. She surely was a pretty little thing—and more, + now that she was angry. + </p> + <p> + “I should say not,” he said teasingly. “What did you say your name was?” + </p> + <p> + “What's YO' name?” + </p> + <p> + The fisherman laughed. He was just becoming accustomed to the mountain + etiquette that commands a stranger to divulge himself first. + </p> + <p> + “My name's—Jack.” + </p> + <p> + “An' mine's—Jill.” She laughed now, and it was his time for surprise—where + could she have heard of Jack and Jill? + </p> + <p> + His line rang suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Jack,” she cried, “you got a bite!” + </p> + <p> + He pulled, missed the strike, and wound in. The minnow was all right, so + he tossed it back again. + </p> + <p> + “That isn't your name,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “If 'tain't, then that ain't your'n?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes 'tis,” he said, shaking his head affirmatively. + </p> + <p> + A long cry came down the ravine: + </p> + <p> + “J-u-n-e! eh—oh—J-u-n-e!” That was a queer name for the + mountains, and the fisherman wondered if he had heard aright—June. + </p> + <p> + The little girl gave a shrill answering cry, but she did not move. + </p> + <p> + “Thar now!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that—your Mammy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, 'tain't—hit's my step-mammy. I'm a goin' to ketch hell now.” + Her innocent eyes turned sullen and her baby mouth tightened. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” said the fisherman, startled, and then he stopped—the + words were as innocent on her lips as a benediction. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got a father?” Like a flash, her whole face changed. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Hyeh he is!” drawled a voice from the bushes, and it had a tone that made + the fisherman whirl suddenly. A giant mountaineer stood on the bank above + him, with a Winchester in the hollow of his arm. + </p> + <p> + “How are you?” The giant's heavy eyes lifted quickly, but he spoke to the + girl. + </p> + <p> + “You go on home—what you doin' hyeh gassin' with furriners!” + </p> + <p> + The girl shrank to the bushes, but she cried sharply back: + </p> + <p> + “Don't you hurt him now, Dad. He ain't even got a pistol. He ain't no—” + </p> + <p> + “Shet up!” The little creature vanished and the mountaineer turned to the + fisherman, who had just put on a fresh minnow and tossed it into the + river. + </p> + <p> + “Purty well, thank you,” he said shortly. “How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Fine!” was the nonchalant answer. For a moment there was silence and a + puzzled frown gathered on the mountaineer's face. + </p> + <p> + “That's a bright little girl of yours—What did she mean by telling + you not to hurt me?” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't been long in these mountains, have ye?” + </p> + <p> + “No—not in THESE mountains—why?” The fisherman looked around + and was almost startled by the fierce gaze of his questioner. + </p> + <p> + “Stop that, please,” he said, with a humourous smile. “You make me + nervous.” + </p> + <p> + The mountaineer's bushy brows came together across the bridge of his nose + and his voice rumbled like distant thunder. + </p> + <p> + “What's yo' name, stranger, an' what's yo' business over hyeh?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, there you go! You can see I'm fishing, but why does everybody in + these mountains want to know my name?” + </p> + <p> + “You heerd me!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” The fisherman turned again and saw the giant's rugged face stern + and pale with open anger now, and he, too, grew suddenly serious. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I don't tell you,” he said gravely. “What—” + </p> + <p> + “Git!” said the mountaineer, with a move of one huge hairy hand up the + mountain. “An' git quick!” + </p> + <p> + The fisherman never moved and there was the click of a shell thrown into + place in the Winchester and a guttural oath from the mountaineer's beard. + </p> + <p> + “Damn ye,” he said hoarsely, raising the rifle. “I'll give ye—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Dad!” shrieked a voice from the bushes. “I know his name, hit's + Jack—” the rest of the name was unintelligible. The mountaineer + dropped the butt of his gun to the ground and laughed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/0034.jpg" + alt="'don't, Dad!' Shrieked a Voice from the Bushes, 0034 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “Oh, air YOU the engineer?” + </p> + <p> + The fisherman was angry now. He had not moved hand or foot and he said + nothing, but his mouth was set hard and his bewildered blue eyes had a + glint in them that the mountaineer did not at the moment see. He was + leaning with one arm on the muzzle of his Winchester, his face had + suddenly become suave and shrewd and now he laughed again: + </p> + <p> + “So you're Jack Hale, air ye?” + </p> + <p> + The fisherman spoke. “JOHN Hale, except to my friends.” He looked hard at + the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that's a pretty dangerous joke of yours, my friend—I + might have a gun myself sometimes. Did you think you could scare me?” The + mountaineer stared in genuine surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Twusn't no joke,” he said shortly. “An' I don't waste time skeering + folks. I reckon you don't know who I be?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care who you are.” Again the mountaineer stared. + </p> + <p> + “No use gittin' mad, young feller,” he said coolly. “I mistaken ye fer + somebody else an' I axe yer pardon. When you git through fishin' come up + to the house right up the creek thar an' I'll give ye a dram.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the fisherman stiffly, and the mountaineer turned + silently away. At the edge of the bushes, he looked back; the stranger was + still fishing, and the old man went on with a shake of his head. + </p> + <p> + “He'll come,” he said to himself. “Oh, he'll come!” + </p> + <p> + That very point Hale was debating with himself as he unavailingly cast his + minnow into the swift water and slowly wound it in again. How did that old + man know his name? And would the old savage really have hurt him had he + not found out who he was? The little girl was a wonder: evidently she had + muffled his last name on purpose—not knowing it herself—and it + was a quick and cunning ruse. He owed her something for that—why did + she try to protect him? Wonderful eyes, too, the little thing had—deep + and dark—and how the flame did dart from them when she got angry! He + smiled, remembering—he liked that. And her hair—it was exactly + like the gold-bronze on the wing of a wild turkey that he had shot the day + before. Well, it was noon now, the fish had stopped biting after the + wayward fashion of bass, he was hungry and thirsty and he would go up and + see the little girl and the giant again and get that promised dram. Once + more, however, he let his minnow float down into the shadow of a big rock, + and while he was winding in, he looked up to see in the road two people on + a gray horse, a man with a woman behind him—both old and spectacled—all + three motionless on the bank and looking at him: and he wondered if all + three had stopped to ask his name and his business. No, they had just come + down to the creek and both they must know already. + </p> + <p> + “Ketching any?” called out the old man, cheerily. + </p> + <p> + “Only one,” answered Hale with equal cheer. The old woman pushed back her + bonnet as he waded through the water towards them and he saw that she was + puffing a clay pipe. She looked at the fisherman and his tackle with the + naive wonder of a child, and then she said in a commanding undertone. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, ole Hon, I wish ye'd jes' wait a minute.” Hale smiled. He loved old + people, and two kinder faces he had never seen—two gentler voices he + had never heard. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you got the only green pyerch up hyeh,” said the old man, + chuckling, “but thar's a sight of 'em down thar below my old mill.” + Quietly the old woman hit the horse with a stripped branch of elm and the + old gray, with a switch of his tail, started. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute, Hon,” he said again, appealingly, “won't ye?” but calmly + she hit the horse again and the old man called back over his shoulder: + </p> + <p> + “You come on down to the mill an' I'll show ye whar you can ketch a mess.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” shouted Hale, holding back his laughter, and on they went, + the old man remonstrating in the kindliest way—the old woman + silently puffing her pipe and making no answer except to flay gently the + rump of the lazy old gray. + </p> + <p> + Hesitating hardly a moment, Hale unjointed his pole, left his minnow + bucket where it was, mounted his horse and rode up the path. About him, + the beech leaves gave back the gold of the autumn sunlight, and a little + ravine, high under the crest of the mottled mountain, was on fire with the + scarlet of maple. Not even yet had the morning chill left the densely + shaded path. When he got to the bare crest of a little rise, he could see + up the creek a spiral of blue rising swiftly from a stone chimney. Geese + and ducks were hunting crawfish in the little creek that ran from a + milk-house of logs, half hidden by willows at the edge of the forest, and + a turn in the path brought into view a log-cabin well chinked with stones + and plaster, and with a well-built porch. A fence ran around the yard and + there was a meat house near a little orchard of apple-trees, under which + were many hives of bee-gums. This man had things “hung up” and was + well-to-do. Down the rise and through a thicket he went, and as he + approached the creek that came down past the cabin there was a shrill cry + ahead of him. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa thar, Buck! Gee-haw, I tell ye!” An ox-wagon evidently was coming + on, and the road was so narrow that he turned his horse into the bushes to + let it pass. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa—Haw!—Gee—Gee—Buck, Gee, I tell ye! I'll + knock yo' fool head off the fust thing you know!” + </p> + <p> + Still there was no sound of ox or wagon and the voice sounded like a + child's. So he went on at a walk in the thick sand, and when he turned the + bushes he pulled up again with a low laugh. In the road across the creek + was a chubby, tow-haired boy with a long switch in his right hand, and a + pine dagger and a string in his left. Attached to the string and tied by + one hind leg was a frog. The boy was using the switch as a goad and + driving the frog as an ox, and he was as earnest as though both were real. + </p> + <p> + “I give ye a little rest now, Buck,” he said, shaking his head earnestly. + “Hit's a purty hard pull hyeh, but I know, by Gum, you can make hit—if + you hain't too durn lazy. Now, git up, Buck!” he yelled suddenly, flaying + the sand with his switch. “Git up—Whoa—Haw—Gee, Gee!” + The frog hopped several times. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa, now!” said the little fellow, panting in sympathy. “I knowed you + could do it.” Then he looked up. For an instant he seemed terrified but he + did not run. Instead he stealthily shifted the pine dagger over to his + right hand and the string to his left. + </p> + <p> + “Here, boy,” said the fisherman with affected sternness: “What are you + doing with that dagger?” + </p> + <p> + The boy's breast heaved and his dirty fingers clenched tight around the + whittled stick. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you talk to me that-a-way,” he said with an ominous shake of his + head. “I'll gut ye!” + </p> + <p> + The fisherman threw back his head, and his peal of laughter did what his + sternness failed to do. The little fellow wheeled suddenly, and his feet + spurned the sand around the bushes for home—the astonished frog + dragged bumping after him. “Well!” said the fisherman. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + Even the geese in the creek seemed to know that he was a stranger and to + distrust him, for they cackled and, spreading their wings, fled cackling + up the stream. As he neared the house, the little girl ran around the + stone chimney, stopped short, shaded her eyes with one hand for a moment + and ran excitedly into the house. A moment later, the bearded giant + slouched out, stooping his head as he came through the door. + </p> + <p> + “Hitch that 'ar post to yo' hoss and come right in,” he thundered + cheerily. “I'm waitin' fer ye.” + </p> + <p> + The little girl came to the door, pushed one brown slender hand through + her tangled hair, caught one bare foot behind a deer-like ankle and stood + motionless. Behind her was the boy—his dagger still in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Come right in!” said the old man, “we are purty pore folks, but you're + welcome to what we have.” + </p> + <p> + The fisherman, too, had to stoop as he came in, for he, too, was tall. The + interior was dark, in spite of the wood fire in the big stone fireplace. + Strings of herbs and red-pepper pods and twisted tobacco hung from the + ceiling and down the wall on either side of the fire; and in one corner, + near the two beds in the room, hand-made quilts of many colours were piled + several feet high. On wooden pegs above the door where ten years before + would have been buck antlers and an old-fashioned rifle, lay a Winchester; + on either side of the door were auger holes through the logs (he did not + understand that they were port-holes) and another Winchester stood in the + corner. From the mantel the butt of a big 44-Colt's revolver protruded + ominously. On one of the beds in the corner he could see the outlines of a + figure lying under a brilliantly figured quilt, and at the foot of it the + boy with the pine dagger had retreated for refuge. From the moment he + stooped at the door something in the room had made him vaguely uneasy, and + when his eyes in swift survey came back to the fire, they passed the blaze + swiftly and met on the edge of the light another pair of eyes burning on + him. + </p> + <p> + “Howdye!” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Howdye!” was the low, unpropitiating answer. + </p> + <p> + The owner of the eyes was nothing but a boy, in spite of his length: so + much of a boy that a slight crack in his voice showed that it was just + past the throes of “changing,” but those black eyes burned on without + swerving—except once when they flashed at the little girl who, with + her chin in her hand and one foot on the top rung of her chair, was gazing + at the stranger with equal steadiness. She saw the boy's glance, she + shifted her knees impatiently and her little face grew sullen. Hale smiled + inwardly, for he thought he could already see the lay of the land, and he + wondered that, at such an age, such fierceness could be: so every now and + then he looked at the boy, and every time he looked, the black eyes were + on him. The mountain youth must have been almost six feet tall, young as + he was, and while he was lanky in limb he was well knit. His jean trousers + were stuffed in the top of his boots and were tight over his knees which + were well-moulded, and that is rare with a mountaineer. A loop of black + hair curved over his forehead, down almost to his left eye. His nose was + straight and almost delicate and his mouth was small, but extraordinarily + resolute. Somewhere he had seen that face before, and he turned suddenly, + but he did not startle the lad with his abruptness, nor make him turn his + gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Why, haven't I—?” he said. And then he suddenly remembered. He had + seen that boy not long since on the other side of the mountains, riding + his horse at a gallop down the county road with his reins in his teeth, + and shooting a pistol alternately at the sun and the earth with either + hand. Perhaps it was as well not to recall the incident. He turned to the + old mountaineer. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me that a man can't go through these mountains + without telling everybody who asks him what his name is?” + </p> + <p> + The effect of his question was singular. The old man spat into the fire + and put his hand to his beard. The boy crossed his legs suddenly and + shoved his muscular fingers deep into his pockets. The figure shifted + position on the bed and the infant at the foot of it seemed to clench his + toy-dagger a little more tightly. Only the little girl was motionless—she + still looked at him, unwinking. What sort of wild animals had he fallen + among? + </p> + <p> + “No, he can't—an' keep healthy.” The giant spoke shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if a man hain't up to some devilment, what reason's he got fer not + tellin' his name?” + </p> + <p> + “That's his business.” + </p> + <p> + “Tain't over hyeh. Hit's mine. Ef a man don't want to tell his name over + hyeh, he's a spy or a raider or a officer looking fer somebody or,” he + added carelessly, but with a quick covert look at his visitor—“he's + got some kind o' business that he don't want nobody to know about.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I came over here—just to—well, I hardly know why I did + come.” + </p> + <p> + “Jess so,” said the old man dryly. “An' if ye ain't looking fer trouble, + you'd better tell your name in these mountains, whenever you're axed. Ef + enough people air backin' a custom anywhar hit goes, don't hit?” + </p> + <p> + His logic was good—and Hale said nothing. Presently the old man rose + with a smile on his face that looked cynical, picked up a black lump and + threw it into the fire. It caught fire, crackled, blazed, almost oozed + with oil, and Hale leaned forward and leaned back. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good coal!” + </p> + <p> + “Hain't it, though?” The old man picked up a sliver that had flown to the + hearth and held a match to it. The piece blazed and burned in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I never seed no coal in these mountains like that—did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not often—find it around here?” + </p> + <p> + “Right hyeh on this farm—about five feet thick!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “An' no partin'.” + </p> + <p> + “No partin'”—it was not often that he found a mountaineer who knew + what a parting in a coal bed was. + </p> + <p> + “A friend o' mine on t'other side,”—a light dawned for the engineer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said quickly. “That's how you knew my name.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you air, stranger. He tol' me you was a—expert.” + </p> + <p> + The old man laughed loudly. “An' that's why you come over hyeh.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Co'se not,”—the old fellow laughed again. Hale shifted the talk. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now that you know my name, suppose you tell me what yours is?” + </p> + <p> + “Tolliver—Judd Tolliver.” Hale started. + </p> + <p> + “Not Devil Judd!” + </p> + <p> + “That's what some evil folks calls me.” Again he spoke shortly. The + mountaineers do not like to talk about their feuds. Hale knew this—and + the subject was dropped. But he watched the huge mountaineer with + interest. There was no more famous character in all those hills than the + giant before him—yet his face was kind and was good-humoured, but + the nose and eyes were the beak and eyes of some bird of prey. The little + girl had disappeared for a moment. She came back with a blue-backed + spelling-book, a second reader and a worn copy of “Mother Goose,” and she + opened first one and then the other until the attention of the visitor was + caught—the black-haired youth watching her meanwhile with lowering + brows. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you learn to read?” Hale asked. The old man answered: + </p> + <p> + “A preacher come by our house over on the Nawth Fork 'bout three year ago, + and afore I knowed it he made me promise to send her sister Sally to some + school up thar on the edge of the settlements. And after she come home, + Sal larned that little gal to read and spell. Sal died 'bout a year ago.” + </p> + <p> + Hale reached over and got the spelling-book, and the old man grinned at + the quick, unerring responses of the little girl, and the engineer looked + surprised. She read, too, with unusual facility, and her pronunciation was + very precise and not at all like her speech. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to send her to the same place,” he said, but the old fellow + shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't git along without her.” + </p> + <p> + The little girl's eyes began to dance suddenly, and, without opening + “Mother Goose,” she began: + </p> + <p> + “Jack and Jill went up a hill,” and then she broke into a laugh and Hale + laughed with her. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly, the boy opposite rose to his great length. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I better be goin'.” That was all he said as he caught up a + Winchester, which stood unseen by his side, and out he stalked. There was + not a word of good-by, not a glance at anybody. A few minutes later Hale + heard the creak of a barn door on wooden hinges, a cursing command to a + horse, and four feet going in a gallop down the path, and he knew there + went an enemy. + </p> + <p> + “That's a good-looking boy—who is he?” + </p> + <p> + The old man spat into the fire. It seemed that he was not going to answer + and the little girl broke in: + </p> + <p> + “Hit's my cousin Dave—he lives over on the Nawth Fork.” + </p> + <p> + That was the seat of the Tolliver-Falin feud. Of that feud, too, Hale had + heard, and so no more along that line of inquiry. He, too, soon rose to + go. + </p> + <p> + “Why, ain't ye goin' to have something to eat?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I've got something in my saddlebags and I must be getting back to + the Gap.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon you ain't. You're jes' goin' to take a snack right here.” + Hale hesitated, but the little girl was looking at him with such + unconscious eagerness in her dark eyes that he sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “All right, I will, thank you.” At once she ran to the kitchen and the old + man rose and pulled a bottle of white liquid from under the quilts. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I can trust ye,” he said. The liquor burned Hale like fire, and + the old man, with a laugh at the face the stranger made, tossed off a + tumblerful. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious!” said Hale, “can you do that often?” + </p> + <p> + “Afore breakfast, dinner and supper,” said the old man—“but I + don't.” Hale felt a plucking at his sleeve. It was the boy with the dagger + at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Less see you laugh that-a-way agin,” said Bub with such deadly + seriousness that Hale unconsciously broke into the same peal. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Bub, unwinking, “I ain't afeard o' you no more.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + Awaiting dinner, the mountaineer and the “furriner” sat on the porch while + Bub carved away at another pine dagger on the stoop. As Hale passed out + the door, a querulous voice said “Howdye” from the bed in the corner and + he knew it was the step-mother from whom the little girl expected some + nether-world punishment for an offence of which he was ignorant. He had + heard of the feud that had been going on between the red Falins and the + black Tollivers for a quarter of a century, and this was Devil Judd, who + had earned his nickname when he was the leader of his clan by his terrible + strength, his marksmanship, his cunning and his courage. Some years since + the old man had retired from the leadership, because he was tired of + fighting or because he had quarrelled with his brother Dave and his + foster-brother, Bad Rufe—known as the terror of the Tollivers—or + from some unknown reason, and in consequence there had been peace for a + long time—the Falins fearing that Devil Judd would be led into the + feud again, the Tollivers wary of starting hostilities without his aid. + After the last trouble, Bad Rufe Tolliver had gone West and old Judd had + moved his family as far away as possible. Hale looked around him: this, + then, was the home of Devil Judd Tolliver; the little creature inside was + his daughter and her name was June. All around the cabin the wooded + mountains towered except where, straight before his eyes, Lonesome Creek + slipped through them to the river, and the old man had certainly picked + out the very heart of silence for his home. There was no neighbour within + two leagues, Judd said, except old Squire Billy Beams, who ran a mill a + mile down the river. No wonder the spot was called Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + “You must ha' seed Uncle Billy and ole Hon passin',” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I did.” Devil Judd laughed and Hale made out that “Hon” was short for + Honey. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Billy used to drink right smart. Ole Hon broke him. She followed + him down to the grocery one day and walked in. 'Come on, boys—let's + have a drink'; and she set 'em up an' set 'em up until Uncle Billy most + went crazy. He had hard work gittin' her home, an' Uncle Billy hain't + teched a drap since.” And the old mountaineer chuckled again. + </p> + <p> + All the time Hale could hear noises from the kitchen inside. The old + step-mother was abed, he had seen no other woman about the house and he + wondered if the child could be cooking dinner. Her flushed face answered + when she opened the kitchen door and called them in. She had not only + cooked but now she served as well, and when he thanked her, as he did + every time she passed something to him, she would colour faintly. Once or + twice her hand seemed to tremble, and he never looked at her but her + questioning dark eyes were full upon him, and always she kept one hand + busy pushing her thick hair back from her forehead. He had not asked her + if it was her footprints he had seen coming down the mountain for fear + that he might betray her, but apparently she had told on herself, for Bub, + after a while, burst out suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “June, thar, thought you was a raider.” The little girl flushed and the + old man laughed. + </p> + <p> + “So'd you, pap,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” he said. “So'd anybody. I reckon you're the first man that + ever come over hyeh jus' to go a-fishin',” and he laughed again. The + stress on the last words showed that he believed no man had yet come just + for that purpose, and Hale merely laughed with him. The old fellow gulped + his food, pushed his chair back, and when Hale was through, he wasted no + more time. + </p> + <p> + “Want to see that coal?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “All right, I'll be ready in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + The little girl followed Hale out on the porch and stood with her back + against the railing. + </p> + <p> + “Did you catch it?” he asked. She nodded, unsmiling. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry. What were you doing up there?” She showed no surprise that he + knew that she had been up there, and while she answered his question, he + could see that she was thinking of something else. + </p> + <p> + “I'd heerd so much about what you furriners was a-doin' over thar.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have heard about a place farther over—but it's coming over + there, too, some day.” And still she looked an unspoken question. + </p> + <p> + The fish that Hale had caught was lying where he had left it on the edge + of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “That's for you, June,” he said, pointing to it, and the name as he spoke + it was sweet to his ears. + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obleeged,” she said, shyly. “I'd 'a' cooked hit fer ye if I'd + 'a' knowed you wasn't goin' to take hit home.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the reason I didn't give it to you at first—I was afraid + you'd do that. I wanted you to have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Much obleeged,” she said again, still unsmiling, and then she suddenly + looked up at him—the deeps of her dark eyes troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Air ye ever comin' back agin, Jack?” Hale was not accustomed to the + familiar form of address common in the mountains, independent of sex or + age—and he would have been staggered had not her face been so + serious. And then few women had ever called him by his first name, and + this time his own name was good to his ears. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, June,” he said soberly. “Not for some time, maybe—but I'm + coming back again, sure.” She smiled then with both lips and eyes—radiantly. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be lookin' fer ye,” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The old man went with him up the creek and, passing the milk house, turned + up a brush-bordered little branch in which the engineer saw signs of coal. + Up the creek the mountaineer led him some thirty yards above the water + level and stopped. An entry had been driven through the rich earth and ten + feet within was a shining bed of coal. There was no parting except two + inches of mother-of-coal—midway, which would make it but easier to + mine. Who had taught that old man to open coal in such a way—to make + such a facing? It looked as though the old fellow were in some scheme with + another to get him interested. As he drew closer, he saw radiations of + some twelve inches, all over the face of the coal, star-shaped, and he + almost gasped. It was not only cannel coal—it was “bird's-eye” + cannel. Heavens, what a find! Instantly he was the cautious man of + business, alert, cold, uncommunicative. + </p> + <p> + “That looks like a pretty good—” he drawled the last two words—“vein + of coal. I'd like to take a sample over to the Gap and analyze it.” His + hammer, which he always carried—was in his saddle pockets, but he + did not have to go down to his horse. There were pieces on the ground that + would suit his purpose, left there, no doubt, by his predecessor. + </p> + <p> + “Now I reckon you know that I know why you came over hyeh.” + </p> + <p> + Hale started to answer, but he saw it was no use. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and I'm coming again—for the same reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Shore—come agin and come often.” + </p> + <p> + The little girl was standing on the porch as he rode past the milk house. + He waved his hand to her, but she did not move nor answer. What a life for + a child—for that keen-eyed, sweet-faced child! But that coal, + cannel, rich as oil, above water, five feet in thickness, easy to mine, + with a solid roof and perhaps self-drainage, if he could judge from the + dip of the vein: and a market everywhere—England, Spain, Italy, + Brazil. The coal, to be sure, might not be persistent—thirty yards + within it might change in quality to ordinary bituminous coal, but he + could settle that only with a steam drill. A steam drill! He would as well + ask for the wagon that he had long ago hitched to a star; and then there + might be a fault in the formation. But why bother now? The coal would stay + there, and now he had other plans that made even that find insignificant. + And yet if he bought that coal now—what a bargain! It was not that + the ideals of his college days were tarnished, but he was a man of + business now, and if he would take the old man's land for a song—it + was because others of his kind would do the same! But why bother, he asked + himself again, when his brain was in a ferment with a colossal scheme that + would make dizzy the magnates who would some day drive their roadways of + steel into those wild hills. So he shook himself free of the question, + which passed from his mind only with a transient wonder as to who it was + that had told of him to the old mountaineer, and had so paved his way for + an investigation—and then he wheeled suddenly in his saddle. The + bushes had rustled gently behind him and out from them stepped an + extraordinary human shape—wearing a coon-skin cap, belted with two + rows of big cartridges, carrying a big Winchester over one shoulder and a + circular tube of brass in his left hand. With his right leg straight, his + left thigh drawn into the hollow of his saddle and his left hand on the + rump of his horse, Hale simply stared, his eyes dropping by and by from + the pale-blue eyes and stubbly red beard of the stranger, down past the + cartridge-belts to the man's feet, on which were moccasins—with the + heels forward! Into what sort of a world had he dropped! + </p> + <p> + “So nary a soul can tell which way I'm going,” said the red-haired + stranger, with a grin that loosed a hollow chuckle far behind it. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind telling me what difference it can make to me which way you + are going?” Every moment he was expecting the stranger to ask his name, + but again that chuckle came. + </p> + <p> + “It makes a mighty sight o' difference to some folks.” + </p> + <p> + “But none to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I hain't wearin' 'em fer you. I know YOU.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you do.” The stranger suddenly lowered his Winchester and turned his + face, with his ear cocked like an animal. There was some noise on the spur + above. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' but a hickory nut,” said the chuckle again. But Hale had been + studying that strange face. One side of it was calm, kindly, philosophic, + benevolent; but, when the other was turned, a curious twitch of the + muscles at the left side of the mouth showed the teeth and made a snarl + there that was wolfish. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I know you,” he said slowly. Self-satisfaction, straightway, was + ardent in the face. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed you would git to know me in time, if you didn't now.” + </p> + <p> + This was the Red Fox of the mountains, of whom he had heard so much—“yarb” + doctor and Swedenborgian preacher; revenue officer and, some said, + cold-blooded murderer. He would walk twenty miles to preach, or would + start at any hour of the day or night to minister to the sick, and would + charge for neither service. At other hours he would be searching for + moonshine stills, or watching his enemies in the valley from some mountain + top, with that huge spy-glass—Hale could see now that the brass tube + was a telescope—that he might slip down and unawares take a pot-shot + at them. The Red Fox communicated with spirits, had visions and superhuman + powers of locomotion—stepping mysteriously from the bushes, people + said, to walk at the traveller's side and as mysteriously disappearing + into them again, to be heard of in a few hours an incredible distance + away. + </p> + <p> + “I've been watchin' ye from up thar,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I + seed ye go up the creek, and then the bushes hid ye. I know what you was + after—but did you see any signs up thar of anything you wasn't + looking fer?” + </p> + <p> + Hale laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've been in these mountains long enough not to tell you, if I + had.” + </p> + <p> + The Red Fox chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't sure you had—” Hale coughed and spat to the other side of + his horse. When he looked around, the Red Fox was gone, and he had heard + no sound of his going. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I be—” Hale clucked to his horse and as he climbed the last + steep and drew near the Big Pine he again heard a noise out in the woods + and he knew this time it was the fall of a human foot and not of a hickory + nut. He was right, and, as he rode by the Pine, saw again at its base the + print of the little girl's foot—wondering afresh at the reason that + led her up there—and dropped down through the afternoon shadows + towards the smoke and steam and bustle and greed of the Twentieth Century. + A long, lean, black-eyed boy, with a wave of black hair over his forehead, + was pushing his horse the other way along the Big Black and dropping down + through the dusk into the Middle Ages—both all but touching on + either side the outstretched hands of the wild little creature left in the + shadows of Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Past the Big Pine, swerving with a smile his horse aside that he might not + obliterate the foot-print in the black earth, and down the mountain, his + brain busy with his big purpose, went John Hale, by instinct, inheritance, + blood and tradition—pioneer. + </p> + <p> + One of his forefathers had been with Washington on the Father's first + historic expedition into the wilds of Virginia. His great-grandfather had + accompanied Boone when that hunter first penetrated the “Dark and Bloody + Ground,” had gone back to Virginia and come again with a surveyor's chain + and compass to help wrest it from the red men, among whom there had been + an immemorial conflict for possession and a never-recognized claim of + ownership. That compass and that chain his grandfather had fallen heir to + and with that compass and chain his father had earned his livelihood amid + the wrecks of the Civil War. Hale went to the old Transylvania University + at Lexington, the first seat of learning planted beyond the Alleghanies. + He was fond of history, of the sciences and literature, was unusually + adept in Latin and Greek, and had a passion for mathematics. He was + graduated with honours, he taught two years and got his degree of Master + of Arts, but the pioneer spirit in his blood would still out, and his + polite learning he then threw to the winds. + </p> + <p> + Other young Kentuckians had gone West in shoals, but he kept his eye on + his own State, and one autumn he added a pick to the old compass and the + ancestral chain, struck the Old Wilderness Trail that his grandfather had + travelled, to look for his own fortune in a land which that old gentleman + had passed over as worthless. At the Cumberland River he took a canoe and + drifted down the river into the wild coal-swollen hills. Through the + winter he froze, starved and prospected, and a year later he was opening + up a region that became famous after his trust and inexperience had let + others worm out of him an interest that would have made him easy for life. + </p> + <p> + With the vision of a seer, he was as innocent as Boone. Stripped clean, he + got out his map, such geological reports as he could find and went into a + studious trance for a month, emerging mentally with the freshness of a + snake that has shed its skin. What had happened in Pennsylvania must + happen all along the great Alleghany chain in the mountains of Virginia, + West Virginia, Kentucky, Alabama, Tennessee. Some day the avalanche must + sweep south, it must—it must. That he might be a quarter of a + century too soon in his calculations never crossed his mind. Some day it + must come. + </p> + <p> + Now there was not an ounce of coal immediately south-east of the + Cumberland Mountains—not an ounce of iron ore immediately + north-east; all the coal lay to the north-east; all of the iron ore to the + south-east. So said Geology. For three hundred miles there were only four + gaps through that mighty mountain chain—three at water level, and + one at historic Cumberland Gap which was not at water level and would have + to be tunnelled. So said Geography. + </p> + <p> + All railroads, to east and to west, would have to pass through those gaps; + through them the coal must be brought to the iron ore, or the ore to the + coal. Through three gaps water flowed between ore and coal and the very + hills between were limestone. Was there any such juxtaposition of the four + raw materials for the making of iron in the known world? When he got that + far in his logic, the sweat broke from his brows; he felt dizzy and he got + up and walked into the open air. As the vastness and certainty of the + scheme—what fool could not see it?—rushed through him full + force, he could scarcely get his breath. There must be a town in one of + those gaps—but in which? No matter—he would buy all of them—all + of them, he repeated over and over again; for some day there must be a + town in one, and some day a town in all, and from all he would reap his + harvest. He optioned those four gaps at a low purchase price that was + absurd. He went back to the Bluegrass; he went to New York; in some way he + managed to get to England. It had never crossed his mind that other eyes + could not see what he so clearly saw and yet everywhere he was pronounced + crazy. He failed and his options ran out, but he was undaunted. He picked + his choice of the four gaps and gave up the other three. This favourite + gap he had just finished optioning again, and now again he meant to keep + at his old quest. That gap he was entering now from the north side and the + North Fork of the river was hurrying to enter too. On his left was a great + gray rock, projecting edgewise, covered with laurel and rhododendron, and + under it was the first big pool from which the stream poured faster still. + There had been a terrible convulsion in that gap when the earth was young; + the strata had been tossed upright and planted almost vertical for all + time, and, a little farther, one mighty ledge, moss-grown, bush-covered, + sentinelled with grim pines, their bases unseen, seemed to be making a + heavy flight toward the clouds. + </p> + <p> + Big bowlders began to pop up in the river-bed and against them the water + dashed and whirled and eddied backward in deep pools, while above him the + song of a cataract dropped down a tree-choked ravine. Just there the drop + came, and for a long space he could see the river lashing rock and cliff + with increasing fury as though it were seeking shelter from some + relentless pursuer in the dark thicket where it disappeared. Straight in + front of him another ledge lifted itself. Beyond that loomed a mountain + which stopped in mid-air and dropped sheer to the eye. Its crown was bare + and Hale knew that up there was a mountain farm, the refuge of a man who + had been involved in that terrible feud beyond Black Mountain behind him. + Five minutes later he was at the yawning mouth of the gap and there lay + before him a beautiful valley shut in tightly, for all the eye could see, + with mighty hills. It was the heaven-born site for the unborn city of his + dreams, and his eyes swept every curve of the valley lovingly. The two + forks of the river ran around it—he could follow their course by the + trees that lined the banks of each—curving within a stone's throw of + each other across the valley and then looping away as from the neck of an + ancient lute and, like its framework, coming together again down the + valley, where they surged together, slipped through the hills and sped on + with the song of a sweeping river. Up that river could come the track of + commerce, out the South Fork, too, it could go, though it had to turn + eastward: back through that gap it could be traced north and west; and so + none could come as heralds into those hills but their footprints could be + traced through that wild, rocky, water-worn chasm. Hale drew breath and + raised in his stirrups. + </p> + <p> + “It's a cinch,” he said aloud. “It's a shame to take the money.” + </p> + <p> + Yet nothing was in sight now but a valley farmhouse above the ford where + he must cross the river and one log cabin on the hill beyond. Still on the + other river was the only woollen mill in miles around; farther up was the + only grist mill, and near by was the only store, the only blacksmith shop + and the only hotel. That much of a start the gap had had for + three-quarters of a century—only from the south now a railroad was + already coming; from the east another was travelling like a wounded snake + and from the north still another creeped to meet them. Every road must run + through the gap and several had already run through it lines of survey. + The coal was at one end of the gap, and the iron ore at the other, the + cliffs between were limestone, and the other elements to make it the iron + centre of the world flowed through it like a torrent. + </p> + <p> + “Selah! It's a shame to take the money.” + </p> + <p> + He splashed into the creek and his big black horse thrust his nose into + the clear running water. Minnows were playing about him. A hog-fish flew + for shelter under a rock, and below the ripples a two-pound bass shot like + an arrow into deep water. + </p> + <p> + Above and below him the stream was arched with beech, poplar and water + maple, and the banks were thick with laurel and rhododendron. His eye had + never rested on a lovelier stream, and on the other side of the town site, + which nature had kindly lifted twenty feet above the water level, the + other fork was of equal clearness, swiftness and beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Such a drainage,” murmured his engineering instinct. “Such a drainage!” + It was Saturday. Even if he had forgotten he would have known that it must + be Saturday when he climbed the bank on the other side. Many horses were + hitched under the trees, and here and there was a farm-wagon with + fragments of paper, bits of food and an empty bottle or two lying around. + It was the hour when the alcoholic spirits of the day were usually most + high. Evidently they were running quite high that day and something + distinctly was going on “up town.” A few yells—the high, clear, + penetrating yell of a fox-hunter—rent the air, a chorus of pistol + shots rang out, and the thunder of horses' hoofs started beyond the little + slope he was climbing. When he reached the top, a merry youth, with a red, + hatless head was splitting the dirt road toward him, his reins in his + teeth, and a pistol in each hand, which he was letting off alternately + into the inoffensive earth and toward the unrebuking heavens—that + seemed a favourite way in those mountains of defying God and the devil—and + behind him galloped a dozen horsemen to the music of throat, pistol and + iron hoof. + </p> + <p> + The fiery-headed youth's horse swerved and shot by. Hale hardly knew that + the rider even saw him, but the coming ones saw him afar and they seemed + to be charging him in close array. Hale stopped his horse a little to the + right of the centre of the road, and being equally helpless against an + inherited passion for maintaining his own rights and a similar + disinclination to get out of anybody's way—he sat motionless. Two of + the coming horsemen, side by side, were a little in advance. + </p> + <p> + “Git out o' the road!” they yelled. Had he made the motion of an arm, they + might have ridden or shot him down, but the simple quietness of him as he + sat with hands crossed on the pommel of his saddle, face calm and set, + eyes unwavering and fearless, had the effect that nothing else he could + have done would have brought about—and they swerved on either side + of him, while the rest swerved, too, like sheep, one stirrup brushing his, + as they swept by. Hale rode slowly on. He could hear the mountaineers + yelling on top of the hill, but he did not look back. Several bullets sang + over his head. Most likely they were simply “bantering” him, but no matter—he + rode on. + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith, the storekeeper and one passing drummer were coming in + from the woods when he reached the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “A gang o' those Falins,” said the storekeeper, “they come over lookin' + for young Dave Tolliver. They didn't find him, so they thought they'd have + some fun”; and he pointed to the hotel sign which was punctuated with + pistol-bullet periods. Hale's eyes flashed once but he said nothing. He + turned his horse over to a stable boy and went across to the little frame + cottage that served as office and home for him. While he sat on the + veranda that almost hung over the mill-pond of the other stream three of + the Falins came riding back. One of them had left something at the hotel, + and while he was gone in for it, another put a bullet through the sign, + and seeing Hale rode over to him. Hale's blue eye looked anything than + friendly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ye like it?” asked the horseman. + </p> + <p> + “I do not,” said Hale calmly. The horseman seemed amused. + </p> + <p> + “Well, whut you goin' to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—at least not now.” + </p> + <p> + “All right—whenever you git ready. You ain't ready now?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale, “not now.” The fellow laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Hit's a damned good thing for you that you ain't.” + </p> + <p> + Hale looked long after the three as they galloped down the road. “When I + start to build this town,” he thought gravely and without humour, “I'll + put a stop to all that.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + On a spur of Black Mountain, beyond the Kentucky line, a lean horse was + tied to a sassafras bush, and in a clump of rhododendron ten yards away, a + lean black-haired boy sat with a Winchester between his stomach and thighs—waiting + for the dusk to drop. His chin was in both hands, the brim of his slouch + hat was curved crescent-wise over his forehead, and his eyes were on the + sweeping bend of the river below him. That was the “Bad Bend” down there, + peopled with ancestral enemies and the head-quarters of their leader for + the last ten years. Though they had been at peace for some time now, it + had been Saturday in the county town ten miles down the river as well, and + nobody ever knew what a Saturday might bring forth between his people and + them. So he would not risk riding through that bend by the light of day. + </p> + <p> + All the long way up spur after spur and along ridge after ridge, all along + the still, tree-crested top of the Big Black, he had been thinking of the + man—the “furriner” whom he had seen at his uncle's cabin in Lonesome + Cove. He was thinking of him still, as he sat there waiting for darkness + to come, and the two vertical little lines in his forehead, that had + hardly relaxed once during his climb, got deeper and deeper, as his brain + puzzled into the problem that was worrying it: who the stranger was, what + his business was over in the Cove and his business with the Red Fox with + whom the boy had seen him talking. + </p> + <p> + He had heard of the coming of the “furriners” on the Virginia side. He had + seen some of them, he was suspicious of all of them, he disliked them all—but + this man he hated straightway. He hated his boots and his clothes; the way + he sat and talked, as though he owned the earth, and the lad snorted + contemptuously under his breath: + </p> + <p> + “He called pants 'trousers.'” It was a fearful indictment, and he snorted + again: “Trousers!” + </p> + <p> + The “furriner” might be a spy or a revenue officer, but deep down in the + boy's heart the suspicion had been working that he had gone over there to + see his little cousin—the girl whom, boy that he was, he had marked, + when she was even more of a child than she was now, for his own. His + people understood it as did her father, and, child though she was, she, + too, understood it. The difference between her and the “furriner”—difference + in age, condition, way of life, education—meant nothing to him, and + as his suspicion deepened, his hands dropped and gripped his Winchester, + and through his gritting teeth came vaguely: + </p> + <p> + “By God, if he does—if he just does!” + </p> + <p> + Away down at the lower end of the river's curving sweep, the dirt road was + visible for a hundred yards or more, and even while he was cursing to + himself, a group of horsemen rode into sight. All seemed to be carrying + something across their saddle bows, and as the boy's eyes caught them, he + sank sidewise out of sight and stood upright, peering through a bush of + rhododendron. Something had happened in town that day—for the + horsemen carried Winchesters, and every foreign thought in his brain + passed like breath from a window pane, while his dark, thin face whitened + a little with anxiety and wonder. Swiftly he stepped backward, keeping the + bushes between him and his far-away enemies. Another knot he gave the + reins around the sassafras bush and then, Winchester in hand, he dropped + noiseless as an Indian, from rock to rock, tree to tree, down the sheer + spur on the other side. Twenty minutes later, he lay behind a bush that + was sheltered by the top boulder of the rocky point under which the road + ran. His enemies were in their own country; they would probably be talking + over the happenings in town that day, and from them he would learn what + was going on. + </p> + <p> + So long he lay that he got tired and out of patience, and he was about to + creep around the boulder, when the clink of a horseshoe against a stone + told him they were coming, and he flattened to the earth and closed his + eyes that his ears might be more keen. The Falins were riding silently, + but as the first two passed under him, one said: + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to know who the hell warned 'em!” + </p> + <p> + “Whar's the Red Fox?” was the significant answer. + </p> + <p> + The boy's heart leaped. There had been deviltry abroad, but his kinsmen + had escaped. No one uttered a word as they rode two by two, under him, but + one voice came back to him as they turned the point. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if the other boys ketched young Dave?” He could not catch the + answer to that—only the oath that was in it, and when the sound of + the horses' hoofs died away, he turned over on his back and stared up at + the sky. Some trouble had come and through his own caution, and the mercy + of Providence that had kept him away from the Gap, he had had his escape + from death that day. He would tempt that Providence no more, even by + climbing back to his horse in the waning light, and it was not until dusk + had fallen that he was leading the beast down the spur and into a ravine + that sank to the road. There he waited an hour, and when another horseman + passed he still waited a while. Cautiously then, with ears alert, eyes + straining through the darkness and Winchester ready, he went down the road + at a slow walk. There was a light in the first house, but the front door + was closed and the road was deep with sand, as he knew; so he passed + noiselessly. At the second house, light streamed through the open door; he + could hear talking on the porch and he halted. He could neither cross the + river nor get around the house by the rear—the ridge was too steep—so + he drew off into the bushes, where he had to wait another hour before the + talking ceased. There was only one more house now between him and the + mouth of the creek, where he would be safe, and he made up his mind to + dash by it. That house, too, was lighted and the sound of fiddling struck + his ears. He would give them a surprise; so he gathered his reins and + Winchester in his left hand, drew his revolver with his right, and within + thirty yards started his horse into a run, yelling like an Indian and + firing his pistol in the air. As he swept by, two or three figures dashed + pell-mell indoors, and he shouted derisively: + </p> + <p> + “Run, damn ye, run!” They were running for their guns, he knew, but the + taunt would hurt and he was pleased. As he swept by the edge of a + cornfield, there was a flash of light from the base of a cliff straight + across, and a bullet sang over him, then another and another, but he sped + on, cursing and yelling and shooting his own Winchester up in the air—all + harmless, useless, but just to hurl defiance and taunt them with his + safety. His father's house was not far away, there was no sound of + pursuit, and when he reached the river he drew down to a walk and stopped + short in a shadow. Something had clicked in the bushes above him and he + bent over his saddle and lay close to his horse's neck. The moon was + rising behind him and its light was creeping toward him through the + bushes. In a moment he would be full in its yellow light, and he was + slipping from his horse to dart aside into the bushes, when a voice ahead + of him called sharply: + </p> + <p> + “That you, Dave?” + </p> + <p> + It was his father, and the boy's answer was a loud laugh. Several men + stepped from the bushes—they had heard firing and, fearing that + young Dave was the cause of it, they had run to his help. + </p> + <p> + “What the hell you mean, boy, kickin' up such a racket?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knowed somethin'd happened an' I wanted to skeer 'em a leetle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an' you never thought o' the trouble you might be causin' us.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you bother about me. I can take keer o' myself.” + </p> + <p> + Old Dave Tolliver grunted—though at heart he was deeply pleased. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you come on home!” + </p> + <p> + All went silently—the boy getting meagre monosyllabic answers to his + eager questions but, by the time they reached home, he had gathered the + story of what had happened in town that day. There were more men in the + porch of the house and all were armed. The women of the house moved about + noiselessly and with drawn faces. There were no lights lit, and nobody + stood long even in the light of the fire where he could be seen through a + window; and doors were opened and passed through quickly. The Falins had + opened the feud that day, for the boy's foster-uncle, Bad Rufe Tolliver, + contrary to the terms of the last truce, had come home from the West, and + one of his kinsmen had been wounded. The boy told what he had heard while + he lay over the road along which some of his enemies had passed and his + father nodded. The Falins had learned in some way that the lad was going + to the Gap that day and had sent men after him. Who was the spy? + </p> + <p> + “You TOLD me you was a-goin' to the Gap,” said old Dave. “Whar was ye?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't git that far,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + The old man and Loretta, young Dave's sister, laughed, and quiet smiles + passed between the others. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you'd better be keerful 'bout gittin' even as far as you did git—wharever + that was—from now on.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't afeered,” the boy said sullenly, and he turned into the kitchen. + Still sullen, he ate his supper in silence and his mother asked him no + questions. He was worried that Bad Rufe had come back to the mountains, + for Rufe was always teasing June and there was something in his bold, + black eyes that made the lad furious, even when the foster-uncle was + looking at Loretta or the little girl in Lonesome Cove. And yet that was + nothing to his new trouble, for his mind hung persistently to the stranger + and to the way June had behaved in the cabin in Lonesome Cove. Before he + went to bed, he slipped out to the old well behind the house and sat on + the water-trough in gloomy unrest, looking now and then at the stars that + hung over the Cove and over the Gap beyond, where the stranger was bound. + It would have pleased him a good deal could he have known that the + stranger was pushing his big black horse on his way, under those stars, + toward the outer world. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + It was court day at the county seat across the Kentucky line. Hale had + risen early, as everyone must if he would get his breakfast in the + mountains, even in the hotels in the county seats, and he sat with his + feet on the railing of the hotel porch which fronted the main street of + the town. He had had his heart-breaking failures since the autumn before, + but he was in good cheer now, for his feverish enthusiasm had at last + clutched a man who would take up not only his options on the great Gap + beyond Black Mountain but on the cannel-coal lands of Devil Judd Tolliver + as well. He was riding across from the Bluegrass to meet this man at the + railroad in Virginia, nearly two hundred miles away; he had stopped to + examine some titles at the county seat and he meant to go on that day by + way of Lonesome Cove. Opposite was the brick Court House—every + window lacking at least one pane, the steps yellow with dirt and tobacco + juice, the doorway and the bricks about the upper windows bullet-dented + and eloquent with memories of the feud which had long embroiled the whole + county. Not that everybody took part in it but, on the matter, everybody, + as an old woman told him, “had feelin's.” It had begun, so he learned, + just after the war. Two boys were playing marbles in the road along the + Cumberland River, and one had a patch on the seat of his trousers. The + other boy made fun of it and the boy with the patch went home and told his + father. As a result there had already been thirty years of local war. In + the last race for legislature, political issues were submerged and the + feud was the sole issue. And a Tolliver had carried that boy's + trouser-patch like a flag to victory and was sitting in the lower House at + that time helping to make laws for the rest of the State. Now Bad Rufe + Tolliver was in the hills again and the end was not yet. Already people + were pouring in, men, women and children—the men slouch-hatted and + stalking through the mud in the rain, or filing in on horseback—riding + double sometimes—two men or two women, or a man with his wife or + daughter behind him, or a woman with a baby in her lap and two more + children behind—all dressed in homespun or store-clothes, and the + paint from artificial flowers on her hat streaking the face of every girl + who had unwisely scanned the heavens that morning. Soon the square was + filled with hitched horses, and an auctioneer was bidding off cattle, + sheep, hogs and horses to the crowd of mountaineers about him, while the + women sold eggs and butter and bought things for use at home. Now and + then, an open feudsman with a Winchester passed and many a man was belted + with cartridges for the big pistol dangling at his hip. When court opened, + the rain ceased, the sun came out and Hale made his way through the crowd + to the battered temple of justice. On one corner of the square he could + see the chief store of the town marked “Buck Falin—General + Merchandise,” and the big man in the door with the bushy redhead, he + guessed, was the leader of the Falin clan. Outside the door stood a + smaller replica of the same figure, whom he recognized as the leader of + the band that had nearly ridden him down at the Gap when they were looking + for young Dave Tolliver, the autumn before. That, doubtless, was young + Buck. For a moment he stood at the door of the court-room. A Falin was on + trial and the grizzled judge was speaking angrily: + </p> + <p> + “This is the third time you've had this trial postponed because you hain't + got no lawyer. I ain't goin' to put it off. Have you got you a lawyer + now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, jedge,” said the defendant. + </p> + <p> + “Well, whar is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Over thar on the jury.” + </p> + <p> + The judge looked at the man on the jury. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon you better leave him whar he is. He'll do you more good + thar than any whar else.” + </p> + <p> + Hale laughed aloud—the judge glared at him and he turned quickly + upstairs to his work in the deed-room. Till noon he worked and yet there + was no trouble. After dinner he went back and in two hours his work was + done. An atmospheric difference he felt as soon as he reached the door. + The crowd had melted from the square. There were no women in sight, but + eight armed men were in front of the door and two of them, a red Falin and + a black Tolliver—Bad Rufe it was—were quarrelling. In every + doorway stood a man cautiously looking on, and in a hotel window he saw a + woman's frightened face. It was so still that it seemed impossible that a + tragedy could be imminent, and yet, while he was trying to take the + conditions in, one of the quarrelling men—Bad Rufe Tolliver—whipped + out his revolver and before he could level it, a Falin struck the muzzle + of a pistol into his back. Another Tolliver flashed his weapon on the + Falin. This Tolliver was covered by another Falin and in so many flashes + of lightning the eight men in front of him were covering each other—every + man afraid to be the first to shoot, since he knew that the flash of his + own pistol meant instantaneous death for him. As Hale shrank back, he + pushed against somebody who thrust him aside. It was the judge: + </p> + <p> + “Why don't somebody shoot?” he asked sarcastically. “You're a purty set o' + fools, ain't you? I want you all to stop this damned foolishness. Now when + I give the word I want you, Jim Falin and Rufe Tolliver thar, to drap yer + guns.” + </p> + <p> + Already Rufe was grinning like a devil over the absurdity of the + situation. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” said the judge, and the two guns were dropped. + </p> + <p> + “Put 'em in yo' pockets.” + </p> + <p> + They did. + </p> + <p> + “Drap!” All dropped and, with those two, all put up their guns—each + man, however, watching now the man who had just been covering him. It is + not wise for the stranger to show too much interest in the personal + affairs of mountain men, and Hale left the judge berating them and went to + the hotel to get ready for the Gap, little dreaming how fixed the faces of + some of those men were in his brain and how, later, they were to rise in + his memory again. His horse was lame—but he must go on: so he hired + a “yaller” mule from the landlord, and when the beast was brought around, + he overheard two men talking at the end of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say they've made peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Rufe's going away agin and they shuk hands—all of 'em.” The + other laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Rufe ain't gone yit!” + </p> + <p> + The Cumberland River was rain-swollen. The home-going people were helping + each other across it and, as Hale approached the ford of a creek half a + mile beyond the river, a black-haired girl was standing on a boulder + looking helplessly at the yellow water, and two boys were on the ground + below her. One of them looked up at Hale: + </p> + <p> + “I wish ye'd help this lady 'cross.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Hale, and the girl giggled when he laboriously turned + his old mule up to the boulder. Not accustomed to have ladies ride behind + him, Hale had turned the wrong side. Again he laboriously wheeled about + and then into the yellow torrent he went with the girl behind him, the old + beast stumbling over the stones, whereat the girl, unafraid, made sounds + of much merriment. Across, Hale stopped and said courteously: + </p> + <p> + “If you are going up this way, you are quite welcome to ride on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wasn't crossin' that crick jes' exactly fer fun,” said the girl + demurely, and then she murmured something about her cousins and looked + back. They had gone down to a shallower ford, and when they, too, had + waded across, they said nothing and the girl said nothing—so Hale + started on, the two boys following. The mule was slow and, being in a + hurry, Hale urged him with his whip. Every time he struck, the beast would + kick up and once the girl came near going off. + </p> + <p> + “You must watch out, when I hit him,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know when you're goin' to hit him,” she drawled unconcernedly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll let you know,” said Hale laughing. “Now!” And, as he whacked + the beast again, the girl laughed and they were better acquainted. + Presently they passed two boys. Hale was wearing riding-boots and tight + breeches, and one of the boys ran his eyes up boot and leg and if they + were lifted higher, Hale could not tell. + </p> + <p> + “Whar'd you git him?” he squeaked. + </p> + <p> + The girl turned her head as the mule broke into a trot. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't got time to tell. They are my cousins,” explained the girl. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” asked Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Loretty Tolliver.” Hale turned in his saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the daughter of Dave Tolliver?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you've got a brother named Dave?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” This, then, was the sister of the black-haired boy he had seen in + the Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you got some kinfolks over the mountain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I got an uncle livin' over thar. Devil Judd, folks calls him,” said + the girl simply. This girl was cousin to little June in Lonesome Cove. + Every now and then she would look behind them, and when Hale turned again + inquiringly she explained: + </p> + <p> + “I'm worried about my cousins back thar. I'm afeered somethin' mought + happen to 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we wait for them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no—I reckon not.” + </p> + <p> + Soon they overtook two men on horseback, and after they passed and were + fifty yards ahead of them, one of the men lifted his voice jestingly: + </p> + <p> + “Is that your woman, stranger, or have you just borrowed her?” Hale + shouted back: + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm sorry to say, I've just borrowed her,” and he turned to see how + she would take this answering pleasantry. She was looking down shyly and + she did not seem much pleased. + </p> + <p> + “They are kinfolks o' mine, too,” she said, and whether it was in + explanation or as a rebuke, Hale could not determine. + </p> + <p> + “You must be kin to everybody around here?” + </p> + <p> + “Most everybody,” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + By and by they came to a creek. + </p> + <p> + “I have to turn up here,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” she said, smiling now directly at him. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” he said, and they went on—Hale asking more questions. She + was going to school at the county seat the coming winter and she was + fifteen years old. + </p> + <p> + “That's right. The trouble in the mountains is that you girls marry so + early that you don't have time to get an education.” She wasn't going to + marry early, she said, but Hale learned now that she had a sweetheart who + had been in town that day and apparently the two had had a quarrel. Who it + was, she would not tell, and Hale would have been amazed had he known the + sweetheart was none other than young Buck Falin and that the quarrel + between the lovers had sprung from the opening quarrel that day between + the clans. Once again she came near going off the mule, and Hale observed + that she was holding to the cantel of his saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said suddenly, “hadn't you better catch hold of me?” She + shook her head vigorously and made two not-to-be-rendered sounds that + meant: + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if this were your sweetheart you'd take hold of him, wouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + Again she gave a vigorous shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if he saw you riding behind me, he wouldn't like it, would he?” + </p> + <p> + “She didn't keer,” she said, but Hale did; and when he heard the galloping + of horses behind him, saw two men coming, and heard one of them shouting—“Hyeh, + you man on that yaller mule, stop thar”—he shifted his revolver, + pulled in and waited with some uneasiness. They came up, reeling in their + saddles—neither one the girl's sweetheart, as he saw at once from + her face—and began to ask what the girl characterized afterward as + “unnecessary questions”: who he was, who she was, and where they were + going. Hale answered so shortly that the girl thought there was going to + be a fight, and she was on the point of slipping from the mule. + </p> + <p> + “Sit still,” said Hale, quietly. “There's not going to be a fight so long + as you are here.” + </p> + <p> + “Thar hain't!” said one of the men. “Well”—then he looked sharply at + the girl and turned his horse—“Come on, Bill—that's ole Dave + Tolliver's gal.” The girl's face was on fire. + </p> + <p> + “Them mean Falins!” she said contemptuously, and somehow the mere fact + that Hale had been even for the moment antagonistic to the other faction + seemed to put him in the girl's mind at once on her side, and straightway + she talked freely of the feud. Devil Judd had taken no active part in it + for a long time, she said, except to keep it down—especially since + he and her father had had a “fallin' out” and the two families did not + visit much—though she and her cousin June sometimes spent the night + with each other. + </p> + <p> + “You won't be able to git over thar till long atter dark,” she said, and + she caught her breath so suddenly and so sharply that Hale turned to see + what the matter was. She searched his face with her black eyes, which were + like June's without the depths of June's. + </p> + <p> + “I was just a-wonderin' if mebbe you wasn't the same feller that was over + in Lonesome last fall.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I am—my name's Hale.” The girl laughed. “Well, if this ain't + the beatenest! I've heerd June talk about you. My brother Dave don't like + you overmuch,” she added frankly. “I reckon we'll see Dave purty soon. If + this ain't the beatenest!” she repeated, and she laughed again, as she + always did laugh, it seemed to Hale, when there was any prospect of + getting him into trouble. + </p> + <p> + “You can't git over thar till long atter dark,” she said again presently. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any place on the way where I can get to stay all night?” + </p> + <p> + “You can stay all night with the Red Fox on top of the mountain.” + </p> + <p> + “The Red Fox,” repeated Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he lives right on top of the mountain. You can't miss his house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I remember him. I saw him talking to one of the Falins in town + to-day, behind the barn, when I went to get my horse.” + </p> + <p> + “You—seed—him—a-talkin'—to a Falin AFORE the + trouble come up?” the girl asked slowly and with such significance that + Hale turned to look at her. He felt straightway that he ought not to have + said that, and the day was to come when he would remember it to his cost. + He knew how foolish it was for the stranger to show sympathy with, or + interest in, one faction or another in a mountain feud, but to give any + kind of information of one to the other—that was unwise indeed. + Ahead of them now, a little stream ran from a ravine across the road. + Beyond was a cabin; in the doorway were several faces, and sitting on a + horse at the gate was young Dave Tolliver. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I git down here,” said the girl, and before his mule stopped she + slid from behind him and made for the gate without a word of thanks or + good-by. + </p> + <p> + “Howdye!” said Hale, taking in the group with his glance, but leaving his + eyes on young Dave. The rest nodded, but the boy was too surprised for + speech, and the spirit of deviltry took the girl when she saw her + brother's face, and at the gate she turned: + </p> + <p> + “Much obleeged,” she said. “Tell June I'm a-comin' over to see her next + Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said Hale, and he rode on. To his surprise, when he had gone a + hundred yards, he heard the boy spurring after him and he looked around + inquiringly as young Dave drew alongside; but the boy said nothing and + Hale, amused, kept still, wondering when the lad would open speech. At the + mouth of another little creek the boy stopped his horse as though he was + to turn up that way. “You've come back agin,” he said, searching Hale's + face with his black eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hale, “I've come back again.” + </p> + <p> + “You goin' over to Lonesome Cove?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The boy hesitated, and a sudden change of mind was plain to Hale in his + face. “I wish you'd tell Uncle Judd about the trouble in town to-day,” he + said, still looking fixedly at Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell the Red Fox that day you seed him when you was goin' over to + the Gap last fall that you seed me at Uncle Judd's?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale. “But how did you know that I saw the Red Fox that day?” + The boy laughed unpleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “So long,” he said. “See you agin some day.” The way was steep and the sun + was down and darkness gathering before Hale reached the top of the + mountain—so he hallooed at the yard fence of the Red Fox, who peered + cautiously out of the door and asked his name before he came to the gate. + And there, with a grin on his curious mismatched face, he repeated young + Dave's words: + </p> + <p> + “You've come back agin.” And Hale repeated his: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've come back again.” + </p> + <p> + “You goin' over to Lonesome Cove?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hale impatiently, “I'm going over to Lonesome Cove. Can I stay + here all night?” + </p> + <p> + “Shore!” said the old man hospitably. “That's a fine hoss you got thar,” + he added with a chuckle. “Been swappin'?” Hale had to laugh as he climbed + down from the bony ear-flopping beast. + </p> + <p> + “I left my horse in town—he's lame.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I seed you thar.” Hale could not resist: “Yes, and I seed you.” The + old man almost turned. + </p> + <p> + “Whar?” Again the temptation was too great. + </p> + <p> + “Talking to the Falin who started the row.” This time the Red Fox wheeled + sharply and his pale-blue eyes filled with suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “I keeps friends with both sides,” he said. “Ain't many folks can do + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon not,” said Hale calmly, but in the pale eyes he still saw + suspicion. + </p> + <p> + When they entered the cabin, a little old woman in black, dumb and + noiseless, was cooking supper. The children of the two, he learned, had + scattered, and they lived there alone. On the mantel were two pistols and + in one corner was the big Winchester he remembered and behind it was the + big brass telescope. On the table was a Bible and a volume of Swedenborg, + and among the usual strings of pepper-pods and beans and twisted long + green tobacco were drying herbs and roots of all kinds, and about the + fireplace were bottles of liquids that had been stewed from them. The + little old woman served, and opened her lips not at all. Supper was eaten + with no further reference to the doings in town that day, and no word was + said about their meeting when Hale first went to Lonesome Cove until they + were smoking on the porch. + </p> + <p> + “I heerd you found some mighty fine coal over in Lonesome Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Young Dave Tolliver thinks you found somethin' else thar, too,” chuckled + the Red Fox. + </p> + <p> + “I did,” said Hale coolly, and the old man chuckled again. + </p> + <p> + “She's a purty leetle gal—shore.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is?” asked Hale, looking calmly at his questioner, and the Red Fox + lapsed into baffled silence. + </p> + <p> + The moon was brilliant and the night was still. Suddenly the Red Fox + cocked his ear like a hound, and without a word slipped swiftly within the + cabin. A moment later Hale heard the galloping of a horse and from out the + dark woods loped a horseman with a Winchester across his saddle bow. He + pulled in at the gate, but before he could shout “Hello” the Red Fox had + stepped from the porch into the moonlight and was going to meet him. Hale + had never seen a more easy, graceful, daring figure on horseback, and in + the bright light he could make out the reckless face of the man who had + been the first to flash his pistol in town that day—Bad Rufe + Tolliver. For ten minutes the two talked in whispers—Rufe bent + forward with one elbow on the withers of his horse but lifting his eyes + every now and then to the stranger seated in the porch—and then the + horseman turned with an oath and galloped into the darkness whence he + came, while the Red Fox slouched back to the porch and dropped silently + into his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Who was that?” asked Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Bad Rufe Tolliver.” + </p> + <p> + “I've heard of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Most everybody in these mountains has. He's the feller that's always + causin' trouble. Him and Joe Falin agreed to go West last fall to end the + war. Joe was killed out thar, and now Rufe claims Joe don't count now an' + he's got the right to come back. Soon's he comes back, things git + frolicksome agin. He swore he wouldn't go back unless another Falin goes + too. Wirt Falin agreed, and that's how they made peace to-day. Now Rufe + says he won't go at all—truce or no truce. My wife in thar is a + Tolliver, but both sides comes to me and I keeps peace with both of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + No doubt he did, Hale thought, keep peace or mischief with or against + anybody with that face of his. That was a common type of the bad man, that + horseman who had galloped away from the gate—but this old man with + his dual face, who preached the Word on Sundays and on other days was a + walking arsenal; who dreamed dreams and had visions and slipped through + the hills in his mysterious moccasins on errands of mercy or chasing men + from vanity, personal enmity or for fun, and still appeared so sane—he + was a type that confounded. No wonder for these reasons and as a tribute + to his infernal shrewdness he was known far and wide as the Red Fox of the + Mountains. But Hale was too tired for further speculation and presently he + yawned. + </p> + <p> + “Want to lay down?” asked the old man quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I think I do,” said Hale, and they went inside. The little old woman had + her face to the wall in a bed in one corner and the Red Fox pointed to a + bed in the other: + </p> + <p> + “Thar's yo' bed.” Again Hale's eyes fell on the big Winchester. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon thar hain't more'n two others like it in all these mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the calibre?” + </p> + <p> + “Biggest made,” was the answer, “a 50 x 75.” + </p> + <p> + “Centre fire?” + </p> + <p> + “Rim,” said the Red Fox. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious,” laughed Hale, “what do you want such a big one for?” + </p> + <p> + “Man cannot live by bread alone—in these mountains,” said the Red + Fox grimly. + </p> + <p> + When Hale lay down he could hear the old man quavering out a hymn or two + on the porch outside: and when, worn out with the day, he went to sleep, + the Red Fox was reading his Bible by the light of a tallow dip. It is + fatefully strange when people, whose lives tragically intersect, look back + to their first meetings with one another, and Hale never forgot that night + in the cabin of the Red Fox. For had Bad Rufe Tolliver, while he whispered + at the gate, known the part the quiet young man silently seated in the + porch would play in his life, he would have shot him where he sat: and + could the Red Fox have known the part his sleeping guest was to play in + his, the old man would have knifed him where he lay. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + Hale opened his eyes next morning on the little old woman in black, moving + ghost-like through the dim interior to the kitchen. A wood-thrush was + singing when he stepped out on the porch and its cool notes had the liquid + freshness of the morning. Breakfast over, he concluded to leave the yellow + mule with the Red Fox to be taken back to the county town, and to walk + down the mountain, but before he got away the landlord's son turned up + with his own horse, still lame, but well enough to limp along without + doing himself harm. So, leading the black horse, Hale started down. + </p> + <p> + The sun was rising over still seas of white mist and wave after wave of + blue Virginia hills. In the shadows below, it smote the mists into + tatters; leaf and bush glittered as though after a heavy rain, and down + Hale went under a trembling dew-drenched world and along a tumbling series + of water-falls that flashed through tall ferns, blossoming laurel and + shining leaves of rhododendron. Once he heard something move below him and + then the crackling of brush sounded far to one side of the road. He knew + it was a man who would be watching him from a covert and, straightway, to + prove his innocence of any hostile or secret purpose, he began to whistle. + Farther below, two men with Winchesters rose from the bushes and asked his + name and his business. He told both readily. Everybody, it seemed, was + prepared for hostilities and, though the news of the patched-up peace had + spread, it was plain that the factions were still suspicious and on guard. + Then the loneliness almost of Lonesome Cove itself set in. For miles he + saw nothing alive but an occasional bird and heard no sound but of running + water or rustling leaf. At the mouth of the creek his horse's lameness had + grown so much better that he mounted him and rode slowly up the river. + Within an hour he could see the still crest of the Lonesome Pine. At the + mouth of a creek a mile farther on was an old gristmill with its + water-wheel asleep, and whittling at the door outside was the old miller, + Uncle Billy Beams, who, when he heard the coming of the black horse's + feet, looked up and showed no surprise at all when he saw Hale. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you was comin',” he shouted, hailing him cheerily by name. “Ain't + fishin' this time!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale, “not this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, git down and rest a spell. June'll be here in a minute an' you can + ride back with her. I reckon you air goin' that a-way.” + </p> + <p> + “June!” + </p> + <p> + “Shore! My, but she'll be glad to see ye! She's always talkin' about ye. + You told her you was comin' back an' ever'body told her you wasn't: but + that leetle gal al'ays said she KNOWED you was, because you SAID you was. + She's growed some—an' if she ain't purty, well I'd tell a man! You + jes' tie yo' hoss up thar behind the mill so she can't see it, an' git + inside the mill when she comes round that bend thar. My, but hit'll be a + surprise fer her.” + </p> + <p> + The old man chuckled so cheerily that Hale, to humour him, hitched his + horse to a sapling, came back and sat in the door of the mill. The old man + knew all about the trouble in town the day before. + </p> + <p> + “I want to give ye a leetle advice. Keep yo' mouth plum' shut about this + here war. I'm Jestice of the Peace, but that's the only way I've kept + outen of it fer thirty years; an' hit's the only way you can keep outen + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I mean to keep my mouth shut, but would you mind—” + </p> + <p> + “Git in!” interrupted the old man eagerly. “Hyeh she comes.” His kind old + face creased into a welcoming smile, and between the logs of the mill + Hale, inside, could see an old sorrel horse slowly coming through the + lights and shadows down the road. On its back was a sack of corn and + perched on the sack was a little girl with her bare feet in the hollows + behind the old nag's withers. She was looking sidewise, quite hidden by a + scarlet poke-bonnet, and at the old man's shout she turned the smiling + face of little June. With an answering cry, she struck the old nag with a + switch and before the old man could rise to help her down, slipped lightly + to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Why, honey,” he said, “I don't know whut I'm goin' to do 'bout yo' corn. + Shaft's broke an' I can't do no grindin' till to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Uncle Billy, we ain't got a pint o' meal in the house,” she said. + “You jes' got to LEND me some.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, honey,” said the old man, and he cleared his throat as a + signal for Hale. + </p> + <p> + The little girl was pushing her bonnet back when Hale stepped into sight + and, unstartled, unsmiling, unspeaking, she looked steadily at him—one + hand motionless for a moment on her bronze heap of hair and then slipping + down past her cheek to clench the other tightly. Uncle Billy was + bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “Why, June, hit's Mr. Hale—why—-” + </p> + <p> + “Howdye, June!” said Hale, who was no less puzzled—and still she + gave no sign that she had ever seen him before except reluctantly to give + him her hand. Then she turned sullenly away and sat down in the door of + the mill with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. + </p> + <p> + Dumfounded, the old miller pulled the sack of corn from the horse and + leaned it against the mill. Then he took out his pipe, filled and lighted + it slowly and turned his perplexed eyes to the sun. + </p> + <p> + “Well, honey,” he said, as though he were doing the best he could with a + difficult situation, “I'll have to git you that meal at the house. 'Bout + dinner time now. You an' Mr. Hale thar come on and git somethin' to eat + afore ye go back.” + </p> + <p> + “I got to get on back home,” said June, rising. + </p> + <p> + “No you ain't—I bet you got dinner fer yo' step-mammy afore you + left, an' I jes' know you was aimin' to take a snack with me an' ole Hon.” + The little girl hesitated—she had no denial—and the old fellow + smiled kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, now.” + </p> + <p> + Little June walked on the other side of the miller from Hale back to the + old man's cabin, two hundred yards up the road, answering his questions + but not Hale's and never meeting the latter's eyes with her own. “Ole + Hon,” the portly old woman whom Hale remembered, with brass-rimmed + spectacles and a clay pipe in her mouth, came out on the porch and + welcomed them heartily under the honeysuckle vines. Her mouth and face + were alive with humour when she saw Hale, and her eyes took in both him + and the little girl keenly. The miller and Hale leaned chairs against the + wall while the girl sat at the entrance of the porch. Suddenly Hale went + out to his horse and took out a package from his saddle-pockets. + </p> + <p> + “I've got some candy in here for you,” he said smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want no candy,” she said, still not looking at him and with a + little movement of her knees away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, honey,” said Uncle Billy again, “whut IS the matter with ye? I + thought ye was great friends.” The little girl rose hastily. + </p> + <p> + “No, we ain't, nuther,” she said, and she whisked herself indoors. Hale + put the package back with some embarrassment and the old miller laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well—she's a quar little critter; mebbe she's mad because you + stayed away so long.” + </p> + <p> + At the table June wanted to help ole Hon and wait to eat with her, but + Uncle Billy made her sit down with him and Hale, and so shy was she that + she hardly ate anything. Once only did she look up from her plate and that + was when Uncle Billy, with a shake of his head, said: + </p> + <p> + “He's a bad un.” He was speaking of Rufe Tolliver, and at the mention of + his name there was a frightened look in the little girl's eyes, when she + quickly raised them, that made Hale wonder. + </p> + <p> + An hour later they were riding side by side—Hale and June—on + through the lights and shadows toward Lonesome Cove. Uncle Billy turned + back from the gate to the porch. + </p> + <p> + “He ain't come back hyeh jes' fer coal,” said ole Hon. + </p> + <p> + “Shucks!” said Uncle Billy; “you women-folks can't think 'bout nothin' + 'cept one thing. He's too old fer her.” + </p> + <p> + “She'll git ole enough fer HIM—an' you menfolks don't think less—you + jes' talk less.” And she went back into the kitchen, and on the porch the + old miller puffed on a new idea in his pipe. + </p> + <p> + For a few minutes the two rode in silence and not yet had June lifted her + eyes to him. + </p> + <p> + “You've forgotten me, June.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I hain't, nuther.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you'd be waiting for me.” June's lashes went lower still. + </p> + <p> + “I was.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what's the matter? I'm mighty sorry I couldn't get back sooner.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” said June scornfully, and he knew Uncle Billy in his guess as to + the trouble was far afield, and so he tried another tack. + </p> + <p> + “I've been over to the county seat and I saw lots of your kinfolks over + there.” She showed no curiosity, no surprise, and still she did not look + up at him. + </p> + <p> + “I met your cousin, Loretta, over there and I carried her home behind me + on an old mule”—Hale paused, smiling at the remembrance—and + still she betrayed no interest. + </p> + <p> + “She's a mighty pretty girl, and whenever I'd hit that old—-” + </p> + <p> + “She hain't!”—the words were so shrieked out that Hale was + bewildered, and then he guessed that the falling out between the fathers + was more serious than he had supposed. + </p> + <p> + “But she isn't as nice as you are,” he added quickly, and the girl's + quivering mouth steadied, the tears stopped in her vexed dark eyes and she + lifted them to him at last. + </p> + <p> + “She ain't?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, she ain't.” + </p> + <p> + For a while they rode along again in silence. June no longer avoided his + eyes now, and the unspoken question in her own presently came out: + </p> + <p> + “You won't let Uncle Rufe bother me no more, will ye?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, I won't,” said Hale heartily. “What does he do to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin'—'cept he's always a-teasin' me, an'—an' I'm afeered + o' him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll take care of Uncle Rufe.” + </p> + <p> + “I knowed YOU'D say that,” she said. “Pap and Dave always laughs at me,” + and she shook her head as though she were already threatening her bad + uncle with what Hale would do to him, and she was so serious and trustful + that Hale was curiously touched. By and by he lifted one flap of his + saddle-pockets again. + </p> + <p> + “I've got some candy here for a nice little girl,” he said, as though the + subject had not been mentioned before. “It's for you. Won't you have + some?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I will,” she said with a happy smile. + </p> + <p> + Hale watched her while she munched a striped stick of peppermint. Her + crimson bonnet had fallen from her sunlit hair and straight down from it + to her bare little foot with its stubbed toe just darkening with dried + blood, a sculptor would have loved the rounded slenderness in the curving + long lines that shaped her brown throat, her arms and her hands, which + were prettily shaped but so very dirty as to the nails, and her dangling + bare leg. Her teeth were even and white, and most of them flashed when her + red lips smiled. Her lashes were long and gave a touching softness to her + eyes even when she was looking quietly at him, but there were times, as he + had noticed already, when a brooding look stole over them, and then they + were the lair for the mysterious loneliness that was the very spirit of + Lonesome Cove. Some day that little nose would be long enough, and some + day, he thought, she would be very beautiful. + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin, Loretta, said she was coming over to see you.” + </p> + <p> + June's teeth snapped viciously through the stick of candy and then she + turned on him and behind the long lashes and deep down in the depth of + those wonderful eyes he saw an ageless something that bewildered him more + than her words. + </p> + <p> + “I hate her,” she said fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Why, little girl?” he said gently. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—” she said—and then the tears came in earnest + and she turned her head, sobbing. Hale helplessly reached over and patted + her on the shoulder, but she shrank away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Go away!” she said, digging her fist into her eyes until her face was + calm again. + </p> + <p> + They had reached the spot on the river where he had seen her first, and + beyond, the smoke of the cabin was rising above the undergrowth. + </p> + <p> + “Lordy!” she said, “but I do git lonesome over hyeh.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't you like to go over to the Gap with me sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + Straightway her face was a ray of sunlight. + </p> + <p> + “Would—I like—to—go—over—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped suddenly and pulled in her horse, but Hale had heard nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” shouted a voice from the bushes, and Devil Judd Tolliver issued + from them with an axe on his shoulder. “I heerd you'd come back an' I'm + glad to see ye.” He came down to the road and shook Hale's hand heartily. + </p> + <p> + “Whut you been cryin' about?” he added, turning his hawk-like eyes on the + little girl. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin',” she said sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “Did she git mad with ye 'bout somethin'?” said the old man to Hale. “She + never cries 'cept when she's mad.” Hale laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You jes' hush up—both of ye,” said the girl with a sharp kick of + her right foot. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you can't stamp the ground that fer away from it,” said the old + man dryly. “If you don't git the better of that all-fired temper o' yourn + hit's goin' to git the better of you, an' then I'll have to spank you + agin.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you ain't goin' to whoop me no more, pap. I'm a-gittin' too + big.” + </p> + <p> + The old man opened eyes and mouth with an indulgent roar of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Come on up to the house,” he said to Hale, turning to lead the way, the + little girl following him. The old step-mother was again a-bed; small Bub, + the brother, still unafraid, sat down beside Hale and the old man brought + out a bottle of moonshine. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I can still trust ye,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you can,” laughed Hale. + </p> + <p> + The liquor was as fiery as ever, but it was grateful, and again the old + man took nearly a tumbler full plying Hale, meanwhile, about the + happenings in town the day before—but Hale could tell him nothing + that he seemed not already to know. + </p> + <p> + “It was quar,” the old mountaineer said. “I've seed two men with the drap + on each other and both afeerd to shoot, but I never heerd of sech a + ring-around-the-rosy as eight fellers with bead on one another and not a + shoot shot. I'm glad I wasn't thar.” + </p> + <p> + He frowned when Hale spoke of the Red Fox. + </p> + <p> + “You can't never tell whether that ole devil is fer ye or agin ye, but + I've been plum' sick o' these doin's a long time now and sometimes I think + I'll just pull up stakes and go West and git out of hit—altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you learn so much about yesterday—so soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we hears things purty quick in these mountains. Little Dave Tolliver + come over here last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” broke in Bub, “and he tol' us how you carried Loretty from town on + a mule behind ye, and she jest a-sassin' you, an' as how she said she was + a-goin' to git you fer HER sweetheart.” + </p> + <p> + Hale glanced by chance at the little girl. Her face was scarlet, and a + light dawned. + </p> + <p> + “An' sis, thar, said he was a-tellin' lies—an' when she growed up + she said she was a-goin' to marry—-” + </p> + <p> + Something snapped like a toy-pistol and Bub howled. A little brown hand + had whacked him across the mouth, and the girl flashed indoors without a + word. Bub got to his feet howling with pain and rage and started after + her, but the old man caught him: + </p> + <p> + “Set down, boy! Sarved you right fer blabbin' things that hain't yo' + business.” He shook with laughter. + </p> + <p> + Jealousy! Great heavens—Hale thought—in that child, and for + him! + </p> + <p> + “I knowed she was cryin' 'bout something like that. She sets a great store + by you, an' she's studied them books you sent her plum' to pieces while + you was away. She ain't nothin' but a baby, but in sartain ways she's as + old as her mother was when she died.” The amazing secret was out, and the + little girl appeared no more until supper time, when she waited on the + table, but at no time would she look at Hale or speak to him again. For a + while the two men sat on the porch talking of the feud and the Gap and the + coal on the old man's place, and Hale had no trouble getting an option for + a year on the old man's land. Just as dusk was setting he got his horse. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better stay all night.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'll have to get along.” + </p> + <p> + The little girl did not appear to tell him goodby, and when he went to his + horse at the gate, he called: + </p> + <p> + “Tell June to come down here. I've got something for her.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, baby,” the old man said, and the little girl came shyly down to + the gate. Hale took a brown-paper parcel from his saddle-bags, unwrapped + it and betrayed the usual blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, rosy-cheeked doll. + Only June did not know the like of it was in all the world. And as she + caught it to her breast there were tears once more in her uplifted eyes. + </p> + <p> + “How about going over to the Gap with me, little girl—some day?” + </p> + <p> + He never guessed it, but there were a child and a woman before him now and + both answered: + </p> + <p> + “I'll go with ye anywhar.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Hale stopped a while to rest his horse at the base of the big pine. He was + practically alone in the world. The little girl back there was born for + something else than slow death in that God-forsaken cove, and whatever it + was—why not help her to it if he could? With this thought in his + brain, he rode down from the luminous upper world of the moon and stars + toward the nether world of drifting mists and black ravines. She belonged + to just such a night—that little girl—she was a part of its + mists, its lights and shadows, its fresh wild beauty and its mystery. Only + once did his mind shift from her to his great purpose, and that was when + the roar of the water through the rocky chasm of the Gap made him think of + the roar of iron wheels, that, rushing through, some day, would drown it + into silence. At the mouth of the Gap he saw the white valley lying at + peace in the moonlight and straightway from it sprang again, as always, + his castle in the air; but before he fell asleep in his cottage on the + edge of the millpond that night he heard quite plainly again: + </p> + <p> + “I'll go with ye—anywhar.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <p> + Spring was coming: and, meanwhile, that late autumn and short winter, + things went merrily on at the gap in some ways, and in some ways—not. + </p> + <p> + Within eight miles of the place, for instance, the man fell ill—the + man who was to take up Hale's options—and he had to be taken home. + Still Hale was undaunted: here he was and here he would stay—and he + would try again. Two other young men, Bluegrass Kentuckians, Logan and + Macfarlan, had settled at the gap—both lawyers and both of pioneer, + Indian-fighting blood. The report of the State geologist had been spread + broadcast. A famous magazine writer had come through on horseback and had + gone home and given a fervid account of the riches and the beauty of the + region. Helmeted Englishmen began to prowl prospectively around the gap + sixty miles to the southwest. New surveying parties were directing lines + for the rocky gateway between the iron ore and the coal. Engineers and + coal experts passed in and out. There were rumours of a furnace and a + steel plant when the railroad should reach the place. Capital had flowed + in from the East, and already a Pennsylvanian was starting a main entry + into a ten-foot vein of coal up through the gap and was coking it. His + report was that his own was better than the Connellsville coke, which was + the standard: it was higher in carbon and lower in ash. The Ludlow + brothers, from Eastern Virginia, had started a general store. Two of the + Berkley brothers had come over from Bluegrass Kentucky and their family + was coming in the spring. The bearded Senator up the valley, who was also + a preacher, had got his Methodist brethren interested—and the + community was further enriched by the coming of the Hon. Samuel Budd, + lawyer and budding statesman. As a recreation, the Hon. Sam was an + anthropologist: he knew the mountaineers from Virginia to Alabama and they + were his pet illustrations of his pet theories of the effect of a mountain + environment on human life and character. Hale took a great fancy to him + from the first moment he saw his smooth, ageless, kindly face, surmounted + by a huge pair of spectacles that were hooked behind two large ears, above + which his pale yellow hair, parted in the middle, was drawn back with + plaster-like precision. A mayor and a constable had been appointed, and + the Hon. Sam had just finished his first case—Squire Morton and the + Widow Crane, who ran a boarding-house, each having laid claim to three + pigs that obstructed traffic in the town. The Hon. Sam was sitting by the + stove, deep in thought, when Hale came into the hotel and he lifted his + great glaring lenses and waited for no introduction: + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” he said, “do you know twelve reliable witnesses come on the + stand and SWORE them pigs belonged to the squire's sow, and twelve equally + reliable witnesses SWORE them pigs belonged to the Widow Crane's sow? I + shorely was a heap perplexed.” + </p> + <p> + “That was curious.” The Hon. Sam laughed: + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, them intelligent pigs used both them sows as mothers, and may + be they had another mother somewhere else. They would breakfast with the + Widow Crane's sow and take supper with the squire's sow. And so them + witnesses, too, was naturally perplexed.” + </p> + <p> + Hale waited while the Hon. Sam puffed his pipe into a glow: + </p> + <p> + “Believin', as I do, that the most important principle in law is mutually + forgivin' and a square division o' spoils, I suggested a compromise. The + widow said the squire was an old rascal an' thief and he'd never sink a + tooth into one of them shoats, but that her lawyer was a gentleman—meanin' + me—and the squire said the widow had been blackguardin' him all over + town and he'd see her in heaven before she got one, but that HIS lawyer + was a prince of the realm: so the other lawyer took one and I got the + other.” + </p> + <p> + “What became of the third?” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Sam was an ardent disciple of Sir Walter Scott: + </p> + <p> + “Well, just now the mayor is a-playin' Gurth to that little runt for + costs.” + </p> + <p> + Outside, the wheels of the stage rattled, and as half a dozen strangers + trooped in, the Hon. Sam waved his hand: “Things is comin'.” + </p> + <p> + Things were coming. The following week “the booming editor” brought in a + printing-press and started a paper. An enterprising Hoosier soon + established a brick-plant. A geologist—Hale's predecessor in + Lonesome Cove—made the Gap his headquarters, and one by one the + vanguard of engineers, surveyors, speculators and coalmen drifted in. The + wings of progress began to sprout, but the new town-constable soon + tendered his resignation with informality and violence. He had arrested a + Falin, whose companions straightway took him from custody and set him + free. Straightway the constable threw his pistol and badge of office to + the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I've fit an' I've hollered fer help,” he shouted, almost crying with + rage, “an' I've fit agin. Now this town can go to hell”: and he picked up + his pistol but left his symbol of law and order in the dust. Next morning + there was a new constable, and only that afternoon when Hale stepped into + the Ludlow Brothers' store he found the constable already busy. A line of + men with revolver or knife in sight was drawn up inside with their backs + to Hale, and beyond them he could see the new constable with a man under + arrest. Hale had not forgotten his promise to himself and he began now: + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” he called quietly, and when the men turned at the sound of his + voice, the constable, who was of sterner stuff than his predecessor, + pushed through them, dragging his man after him. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, boys,” said Hale calmly. “Let's not have any row. Let him go + to the mayor's office. If he isn't guilty, the mayor will let him go. If + he is, the mayor will give him bond. I'll go on it myself. But let's not + have a row.” + </p> + <p> + Now, to the mountain eye, Hale appeared no more than the ordinary man, and + even a close observer would have seen no more than that his face was + clean-cut and thoughtful, that his eye was blue and singularly clear and + fearless, and that he was calm with a calmness that might come from + anything else than stolidity of temperament—and that, by the way, is + the self-control which counts most against the unruly passions of other + men—but anybody near Hale, at a time when excitement was high and a + crisis was imminent, would have felt the resultant of forces emanating + from him that were beyond analysis. And so it was now—the curious + power he instinctively had over rough men had its way. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he continued quietly, and the constable went on with his + prisoner, his friends following, still swearing and with their weapons in + their hands. When constable and prisoner passed into the mayor's office, + Hale stepped quickly after them and turned on the threshold with his arm + across the door. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, boys,” he said, still good-naturedly. “The mayor can attend to + this. If you boys want to fight anybody, fight me. I'm unarmed and you can + whip me easily enough,” he added with a laugh, “but you mustn't come in + here,” he concluded, as though the matter was settled beyond further + discussion. For one instant—the crucial one, of course—the men + hesitated, for the reason that so often makes superior numbers of no avail + among the lawless—the lack of a leader of nerve—and without + another word Hale held the door. But the frightened mayor inside let the + prisoner out at once on bond and Hale, combining law and diplomacy, went + on the bond. + </p> + <p> + Only a day or two later the mountaineers, who worked at the brick-plant + with pistols buckled around them, went on a strike and, that night, shot + out the lights and punctured the chromos in their boarding-house. Then, + armed with sticks, knives, clubs and pistols, they took a triumphant march + through town. That night two knives and two pistols were whipped out by + two of them in the same store. One of the Ludlows promptly blew out the + light and astutely got under the counter. When the combatants scrambled + outside, he locked the door and crawled out the back window. Next morning + the brick-yard malcontents marched triumphantly again and Hale called for + volunteers to arrest them. To his disgust only Logan, Macfarlan, the Hon. + Sam Budd, and two or three others seemed willing to go, but when the few + who would go started, Hale, leading them, looked back and the whole town + seemed to be strung out after him. Below the hill, he saw the mountaineers + drawn up in two bodies for battle and, as he led his followers towards + them, the Hoosier owner of the plant rode out at a gallop, waving his + hands and apparently beside himself with anxiety and terror. + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” he shouted; “somebody'll get killed. Wait—they'll give up.” + So Hale halted and the Hoosier rode back. After a short parley he came + back to Hale to say that the strikers would give up, but when Logan + started again, they broke and ran, and only three or four were captured. + The Hoosier was delirious over his troubles and straightway closed his + plant. + </p> + <p> + “See,” said Hale in disgust. “We've got to do something now.” + </p> + <p> + “We have,” said the lawyers, and that night on Hale's porch, the three, + with the Hon. Sam Budd, pondered the problem. They could not build a town + without law and order—they could not have law and order without + taking part themselves, and even then they plainly would have their hands + full. And so, that night, on the tiny porch of the little cottage that was + Hale's sleeping-room and office, with the creaking of the one wheel of + their one industry—the old grist-mill—making patient music + through the rhododendron-darkness that hid the steep bank of the stream, + the three pioneers forged their plan. There had been gentlemen-regulators + a plenty, vigilance committees of gentlemen, and the Ku-Klux clan had been + originally composed of gentlemen, as they all knew, but they meant to hew + to the strict line of town-ordinance and common law and do the rough + everyday work of the common policeman. So volunteer policemen they would + be and, in order to extend their authority as much as possible, as county + policemen they would be enrolled. Each man would purchase his own + Winchester, pistol, billy, badge and a whistle—to call for help—and + they would begin drilling and target-shooting at once. The Hon. Sam shook + his head dubiously: + </p> + <p> + “The natives won't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “We can't help that,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “I know—I'm with you.” + </p> + <p> + Hale was made captain, Logan first lieutenant, Macfarlan second, and the + Hon. Sam third. Two rules, Logan, who, too, knew the mountaineer well, + suggested as inflexible. One was never to draw a pistol at all unless + necessary, never to pretend to draw as a threat or to intimidate, and + never to draw unless one meant to shoot, if need be. + </p> + <p> + “And the other,” added Logan, “always go in force to make an arrest—never + alone unless necessary.” The Hon. Sam moved his head up and down in hearty + approval. + </p> + <p> + “Why is that?” asked Hale. + </p> + <p> + “To save bloodshed,” he said. “These fellows we will have to deal with + have a pride that is morbid. A mountaineer doesn't like to go home and + have to say that one man put him in the calaboose—but he doesn't + mind telling that it took several to arrest him. Moreover, he will give in + to two or three men, when he would look on the coming of one man as a + personal issue and to be met as such.” + </p> + <p> + Hale nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there'll be plenty of chances,” Logan added with a smile, “for + everyone to go it alone.” Again the Hon. Sam nodded grimly. It was plain + to him that they would have all they could do, but no one of them dreamed + of the far-reaching effect that night's work would bring. + </p> + <p> + They were the vanguard of civilization—“crusaders of the nineteenth + century against the benighted of the Middle Ages,” said the Hon. Sam, and + when Logan and Macfarlan left, he lingered and lit his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “The trouble will be,” he said slowly, “that they won't understand our + purpose or our methods. They will look on us as a lot of meddlesome + 'furriners' who have come in to run their country as we please, when they + have been running it as they please for more than a hundred years. You + see, you mustn't judge them by the standards of to-day—you must go + back to the standards of the Revolution. Practically, they are the + pioneers of that day and hardly a bit have they advanced. They are our + contemporary ancestors.” And then the Hon. Sam, having dropped his + vernacular, lounged ponderously into what he was pleased to call his + anthropological drool. + </p> + <p> + “You see, mountains isolate people and the effect of isolation on human + life is to crystallize it. Those people over the line have had no + navigable rivers, no lakes, no wagon roads, except often the beds of + streams. They have been cut off from all communication with the outside + world. They are a perfect example of an arrested civilization and they are + the closest link we have with the Old World. They were Unionists because + of the Revolution, as they were Americans in the beginning because of the + spirit of the Covenanter. They live like the pioneers; the axe and the + rifle are still their weapons and they still have the same fight with + nature. This feud business is a matter of clan-loyalty that goes back to + Scotland. They argue this way: You are my friend or my kinsman, your + quarrel is my quarrel, and whoever hits you hits me. If you are in + trouble, I must not testify against you. If you are an officer, you must + not arrest me; you must send me a kindly request to come into court. If + I'm innocent and it's perfectly convenient—why, maybe I'll come. + Yes, we're the vanguard of civilization, all right, all right—but I + opine we're goin' to have a hell of a merry time.” + </p> + <p> + Hale laughed, but he was to remember those words of the Hon. Samuel Budd. + Other members of that vanguard began to drift in now by twos and threes + from the bluegrass region of Kentucky and from the tide-water country of + Virginia and from New England—strong, bold young men with the spirit + of the pioneer and the birth, breeding and education of gentlemen, and the + war between civilization and a lawlessness that was the result of + isolation, and consequent ignorance and idleness started in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “A remarkable array,” murmured the Hon. Sam, when he took an inventory one + night with Hale, “I'm proud to be among 'em.” + </p> + <p> + Many times Hale went over to Lonesome Cove and with every visit his + interest grew steadily in the little girl and in the curious people over + there, until he actually began to believe in the Hon. Sam Budd's + anthropological theories. In the cabin on Lonesome Cove was a crane + swinging in the big stone fireplace, and he saw the old step-mother and + June putting the spinning wheel and the loom to actual use. Sometimes he + found a cabin of unhewn logs with a puncheon floor, clapboards for + shingles and wooden pin and auger holes for nails; a batten wooden + shutter, the logs filled with mud and stones and holes in the roof for the + wind and the rain. Over a pair of buck antlers sometimes lay the long + heavy home-made rifle of the backwoodsman—sometimes even with a + flintlock and called by some pet feminine name. Once he saw the hominy + block that the mountaineers had borrowed from the Indians, and once a + handmill like the one from which the one woman was taken and the other + left in biblical days. He struck communities where the medium of exchange + was still barter, and he found mountaineers drinking metheglin still as + well as moonshine. Moreover, there were still log-rollings, + house-warmings, corn-shuckings, and quilting parties, and sports were the + same as in pioneer days—wrestling, racing, jumping, and lifting + barrels. Often he saw a cradle of beegum, and old Judd had in his house a + fox-horn made of hickory bark which even June could blow. He ran across + old-world superstitions, too, and met one seventh son of a seventh son who + cured children of rash by blowing into their mouths. And he got June to + singing transatlantic songs, after old Judd said one day that she knowed + the “miserablest song he'd ever heerd”—meaning the most sorrowful. + And, thereupon, with quaint simplicity, June put her heels on the rung of + her chair, and with her elbows on her knees, and her chin on both bent + thumbs, sang him the oldest version of “Barbara Allen” in a voice that + startled Hale by its power and sweetness. She knew lots more + “song-ballets,” she said shyly, and the old man had her sing some songs + that were rather rude, but were as innocent as hymns from her lips. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere he found unlimited hospitality. + </p> + <p> + “Take out, stranger,” said one old fellow, when there was nothing on the + table but some bread and a few potatoes, “have a tater. Take two of 'em—take + damn nigh ALL of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + Moreover, their pride was morbid, and they were very religious. Indeed, + they used religion to cloak their deviltry, as honestly as it was ever + used in history. He had heard old Judd say once, when he was speaking of + the feud: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've al'ays laid out my enemies. The Lord's been on my side an' I + gits a better Christian every year.” + </p> + <p> + Always Hale took some children's book for June when he went to Lonesome + Cove, and she rarely failed to know it almost by heart when he went again. + She was so intelligent that he began to wonder if, in her case, at least, + another of the Hon. Sam's theories might not be true—that the + mountaineers were of the same class as the other westward-sweeping + emigrants of more than a century before, that they had simply lain dormant + in the hills and—a century counting for nothing in the matter of + inheritance—that their possibilities were little changed, and that + the children of that day would, if given the chance, wipe out the handicap + of a century in one generation and take their place abreast with children + of the outside world. The Tollivers were of good blood; they had come from + Eastern Virginia, and the original Tolliver had been a slave-owner. The + very name was, undoubtedly, a corruption of Tagliaferro. So, when the + Widow Crane began to build a brick house for her boarders that winter, and + the foundations of a school-house were laid at the Gap, Hale began to + plead with old Judd to allow June to go over to the Gap and go to school, + but the old man was firm in refusal: + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't git along without her,” he said; “he was afeerd he'd lose + her, an' he reckoned June was a-larnin' enough without goin' to school—she + was a-studyin' them leetle books o' hers so hard.” But as his confidence + in Hale grew and as Hale stated his intention to take an option on the old + man's coal lands, he could see that Devil Judd, though his answer never + varied, was considering the question seriously. + </p> + <p> + Through the winter, then, Hale made occasional trips to Lonesome Cove and + bided his time. Often he met young Dave Tolliver there, but the boy + usually left when Hale came, and if Hale was already there, he kept + outside the house, until the engineer was gone. + </p> + <p> + Knowing nothing of the ethics of courtship in the mountains—how, + when two men meet at the same girl's house, “they makes the gal say which + one she likes best and t'other one gits”—Hale little dreamed that + the first time Dave stalked out of the room, he threw his hat in the grass + behind the big chimney and executed a war-dance on it, cursing the + blankety-blank “furriner” within from Dan to Beersheba. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, he never suspected the fierce depths of the boy's jealousy at all, + and he would have laughed incredulously, if he had been told how, time + after time as he climbed the mountain homeward, the boy's black eyes + burned from the bushes on him, while his hand twitched at his pistol-butt + and his lips worked with noiseless threats. For Dave had to keep his + heart-burnings to himself or he would have been laughed at through all the + mountains, and not only by his own family, but by June's; so he, too, + bided his time. + </p> + <p> + In late February, old Buck Falin and old Dave Tolliver shot each other + down in the road and the Red Fox, who hated both and whom each thought was + his friend, dressed the wounds of both with equal care. The temporary lull + of peace that Bad Rufe's absence in the West had brought about, gave way + to a threatening storm then, and then it was that old Judd gave his + consent: when the roads got better, June could go to the Gap to school. A + month later the old man sent word that he did not want June in the + mountains while the trouble was going on, and that Hale could come over + for her when he pleased: and Hale sent word back that within three days he + would meet the father and the little girl at the big Pine. That last day + at home June passed in a dream. She went through her daily tasks in a + dream and she hardly noticed young Dave when he came in at mid-day, and + Dave, when he heard the news, left in sullen silence. In the afternoon she + went down to the mill to tell Uncle Billy and ole Hon good-by and the + three sat in the porch a long time and with few words. Ole Hon had been to + the Gap once, but there was “so much bustle over thar it made her head + ache.” Uncle Billy shook his head doubtfully over June's going, and the + two old people stood at the gate looking long after the little girl when + she went homeward up the road. Before supper June slipped up to her little + hiding-place at the pool and sat on the old log saying good-by to the + comforting spirit that always brooded for her there, and, when she stood + on the porch at sunset, a new spirit was coming on the wings of the South + wind. Hale felt it as he stepped into the soft night air; he heard it in + the piping of frogs—“Marsh-birds,” as he always called them; he + could almost see it in the flying clouds and the moonlight and even the + bare trees seemed tremulously expectant. An indefinable happiness seemed + to pervade the whole earth and Hale stretched his arms lazily. Over in + Lonesome Cove little June felt it more keenly than ever in her life + before. She did not want to go to bed that night, and when the others were + asleep she slipped out to the porch and sat on the steps, her eyes + luminous and her face wistful—looking towards the big Pine which + pointed the way towards the far silence into which she was going at last. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <p> + June did not have to be awakened that morning. At the first clarion call + of the old rooster behind the cabin, her eyes opened wide and a happy + thrill tingled her from head to foot—why, she didn't at first quite + realize—and then she stretched her slender round arms to full length + above her head and with a little squeal of joy bounded out of the bed, + dressed as she was when she went into it, and with no changes to make + except to push back her tangled hair. Her father was out feeding the stock + and she could hear her step-mother in the kitchen. Bub still slept + soundly, and she shook him by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Git up, Bub.” + </p> + <p> + “Go 'way,” said Bub fretfully. Again she started to shake him but stopped—Bub + wasn't going to the Gap, so she let him sleep. For a little while she + looked down at him—at his round rosy face and his frowsy hair from + under which protruded one dirty fist. She was going to leave him, and a + fresh tenderness for him made her breast heave, but she did not kiss him, + for sisterly kisses are hardly known in the hills. Then she went out into + the kitchen to help her step-mother. + </p> + <p> + “Gittin' mighty busy, all of a sudden, ain't ye,” said the sour old woman, + “now that ye air goin' away.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't costin' you nothin',” answered June quietly, and she picked up a + pail and went out into the frosty, shivering daybreak to the old well. The + chain froze her fingers, the cold water splashed her feet, and when she + had tugged her heavy burden back to the kitchen, she held her red, chapped + hands to the fire. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you'll be mighty glad to git shet o' me.” The old woman + sniffled, and June looked around with a start. + </p> + <p> + “Pears like I'm goin' to miss ye right smart,” she quavered, and June's + face coloured with a new feeling towards her step-mother. + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' ter have a hard time doin' all the work and me so poorly.” + </p> + <p> + “Lorrety is a-comin' over to he'p ye, if ye git sick,” said June, + hardening again. “Or, I'll come back myself.” She got out the dishes and + set them on the table. + </p> + <p> + “You an' me don't git along very well together,” she went on placidly. “I + never heerd o' no step-mother and children as did, an' I reckon you'll be + might glad to git shet o' me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pears like I'm going to miss ye a right smart,” repeated the old woman + weakly. + </p> + <p> + June went out to the stable with the milking pail. Her father had spread + fodder for the cow and she could hear the rasping of the ears of corn + against each other as he tumbled them into the trough for the old sorrel. + She put her head against the cow's soft flank and under her sinewy fingers + two streams of milk struck the bottom of the tin pail with such thumping + loudness that she did not hear her father's step; but when she rose to + make the beast put back her right leg, she saw him looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “Who's goin' ter milk, pap, atter I'm gone?” + </p> + <p> + “This the fust time you thought o' that?” June put her flushed cheek back + to the flank of the cow. It was not the first time she had thought of that—her + step-mother would milk and if she were ill, her father or Loretta. She had + not meant to ask that question—she was wondering when they would + start. That was what she meant to ask and she was glad that she had + swerved. Breakfast was eaten in the usual silence by the boy and the man—June + and the step-mother serving it, and waiting on the lord that was and the + lord that was to be—and then the two females sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Hurry up, June,” said the old man, wiping his mouth and beard with the + back of his hand. “Clear away the dishes an' git ready. Hale said he would + meet us at the Pine an' hour by sun, fer I told him I had to git back to + work. Hurry up, now!” + </p> + <p> + June hurried up. She was too excited to eat anything, so she began to wash + the dishes while her step-mother ate. Then she went into the living-room + to pack her things and it didn't take long. She wrapped the doll Hale had + given her in an extra petticoat, wound one pair of yarn stockings around a + pair of coarse shoes, tied them up into one bundle and she was ready. Her + father appeared with the sorrel horse, caught up his saddle from the + porch, threw it on and stretched the blanket behind it as a pillion for + June to ride on. + </p> + <p> + “Let's go!” he said. There is little or no demonstrativeness in the + domestic relations of mountaineers. The kiss of courtship is the only one + known. There were no good-bys—only that short “Let's go!” + </p> + <p> + June sprang behind her father from the porch. The step-mother handed her + the bundle which she clutched in her lap, and they simply rode away, the + step-mother and Bub silently gazing after them. But June saw the boy's + mouth working, and when she turned the thicket at the creek, she looked + back at the two quiet figures, and a keen pain cut her heart. She shut her + mouth closely, gripped her bundle more tightly and the tears streamed down + her face, but the man did not know. They climbed in silence. Sometimes her + father dismounted where the path was steep, but June sat on the horse to + hold the bundle and thus they mounted through the mist and chill of the + morning. A shout greeted them from the top of the little spur whence the + big Pine was visible, and up there they found Hale waiting. He had reached + the Pine earlier than they and was coming down to meet them. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, little girl,” called Hale cheerily, “you didn't fail me, did you?” + </p> + <p> + June shook her head and smiled. Her face was blue and her little legs, + dangling under the bundle, were shrinking from the cold. Her bonnet had + fallen to the back of her neck, and he saw that her hair was parted and + gathered in a Psyche knot at the back of her head, giving her a quaint old + look when she stood on the ground in her crimson gown. Hale had not + forgotten a pillion and there the transfer was made. Hale lifted her + behind his saddle and handed up her bundle. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take good care of her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said the old man. + </p> + <p> + “And I'm coming over soon to fix up that coal matter, and I'll let you + know how she's getting on.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “I wish ye well,” said the mountaineer. “Be a good girl, Juny, and do what + Mr. Hale thar tells ye.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, pap.” And thus they parted. June felt the power of Hale's big + black horse with exultation the moment he started. + </p> + <p> + “Now we're off,” said Hale gayly, and he patted the little hand that was + about his waist. “Give me that bundle.” + </p> + <p> + “I can carry it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you can't—not with me,” and when he reached around for it and + put it on the cantle of his saddle, June thrust her left hand into his + overcoat pocket and Hale laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Loretta wouldn't ride with me this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Loretty ain't got much sense,” drawled June complacently. “'Tain't no + harm. But don't you tell me! I don't want to hear nothin' 'bout Loretty + noway.” Again Hale laughed and June laughed, too. Imp that she was, she + was just pretending to be jealous now. She could see the big Pine over his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I've knowed that tree since I was a little girl—since I was a + baby,” she said, and the tone of her voice was new to Hale. “Sister Sally + uster tell me lots about that ole tree.” Hale waited, but she stopped + again. + </p> + <p> + “What did she tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “She used to say hit was curious that hit should be 'way up here all alone—that + she reckollected it ever since SHE was a baby, and she used to come up + here and talk to it, and she said sometimes she could hear it jus' a + whisperin' to her when she was down home in the cove.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say it said?” + </p> + <p> + “She said it was always a-whisperin' 'come—come—come!'” June + crooned the words, “an' atter she died, I heerd the folks sayin' as how + she riz up in bed with her eyes right wide an' sayin' “I hears it! It's + a-whisperin'—I hears it—come—come—come'!” And + still Hale kept quiet when she stopped again. + </p> + <p> + “The Red Fox said hit was the sperits, but I knowed when they told me that + she was a thinkin' o' that ole tree thar. But I never let on. I reckon + that's ONE reason made me come here that day.” They were close to the big + tree now and Hale dismounted to fix his girth for the descent. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm mighty glad you came, little girl. I might never have seen + you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” said June. “I saw the print of your foot in the mud right + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Did ye?” + </p> + <p> + “And if I hadn't, I might never have gone down into Lonesome Cove.” June + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You ran from me,” Hale went on. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did: an' that's why you follered me.” Hale looked up quickly. Her + face was demure, but her eyes danced. She was an aged little thing. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you run?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought yo' fishin' pole was a rifle-gun an' that you was a raider.” + Hale laughed—“I see.” + </p> + <p> + “'Member when you let yo' horse drink?” Hale nodded. “Well, I was on a + rock above the creek, lookin' down at ye. An' I seed ye catchin' minners + an' thought you was goin' up the crick lookin' fer a still.” + </p> + <p> + “Weren't you afraid of me then?” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” she said contemptuously. “I wasn't afeared of you at all, 'cept fer + what you mought find out. You couldn't do no harm to nobody without a gun, + and I knowed thar wasn't no still up that crick. I know—I knowed + whar it was.” Hale noticed the quick change of tense. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you take me to see it some time?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” she said shortly, and Hale knew he had made a mistake. It was too + steep for both to ride now, so he tied the bundle to the cantle with + leathern strings and started leading the horse. June pointed to the edge + of the cliff. + </p> + <p> + “I was a-layin' flat right thar and I seed you comin' down thar. My, but + you looked funny to me! You don't now,” she added hastily. “You look + mighty nice to me now—!” + </p> + <p> + “You're a little rascal,” said Hale, “that's what you are.” The little + girl bubbled with laughter and then she grew mock-serious. + </p> + <p> + “No, I ain't.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are,” he repeated, shaking his head, and both were silent for a + while. June was going to begin her education now and it was just as well + for him to begin with it now. So he started vaguely when he was mounted + again: + </p> + <p> + “June, you thought my clothes were funny when you first saw them—didn't + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Uh, huh!” said June. + </p> + <p> + “But you like them now?” + </p> + <p> + “Uh, huh!” she crooned again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, some people who weren't used to clothes that people wear over in + the mountains might think THEM funny for the same reason—mightn't + they?” June was silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, mebbe, I like your clothes better, because I like you better,” she + said, and Hale laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's just the same—the way people in the mountains dress and + talk is different from the way people outside dress and talk. It doesn't + make much difference about clothes, though, I guess you will want to be as + much like people over here as you can—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” interrupted the little girl shortly, “I ain't seed 'em + yit.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” laughed Hale, “you will want to talk like them anyhow, because + everybody who is learning tries to talk the same way.” June was silent, + and Hale plunged unconsciously on. + </p> + <p> + “Up at the Pine now you said, 'I SEED you when I was A-LAYIN on the edge + of the cliff'; now you ought to have said, 'I SAW you when I was LYING—'” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't,” she said sharply, “I don't tell lies—” her hand shot + from his waist and she slid suddenly to the ground. He pulled in his horse + and turned a bewildered face. She had lighted on her feet and was poised + back above him like an enraged eaglet—her thin nostrils quivering, + her mouth as tight as a bow-string, and her eyes two points of fire. + </p> + <p> + “Why—June!” + </p> + <p> + “Ef you don't like my clothes an' the way I talk, I reckon I'd better go + back home.” With a groan Hale tumbled from his horse. Fool that he was, he + had forgotten the sensitive pride of the mountaineer, even while he was + thinking of that pride. He knew that fun might be made of her speech and + her garb by her schoolmates over at the Gap, and he was trying to prepare + her—to save her mortification, to make her understand. + </p> + <p> + “Why, June, little girl, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. You don't + understand—you can't now, but you will. Trust me, won't you? <i>I</i> + like you just as you are. I LOVE the way you talk. But other people—forgive + me, won't you?” he pleaded. “I'm sorry. I wouldn't hurt you for the + world.” + </p> + <p> + She didn't understand—she hardly heard what he said, but she did + know his distress was genuine and his sorrow: and his voice melted her + fierce little heart. The tears began to come, while she looked, and when + he put his arms about her, she put her face on his breast and sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “There now!” he said soothingly. “It's all right now. I'm so sorry—so + very sorry,” and he patted her on the shoulder and laid his hand across + her temple and hair, and pressed her head tight to his breast. Almost as + suddenly she stopped sobbing and loosening herself turned away from him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a fool—that's what I am,” she said hotly. + </p> + <p> + “No, you aren't! Come on, little girl! We're friends again, aren't we?” + June was digging at her eyes with both hands. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't we?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said with an angry little catch of her breath, and she turned + submissively to let him lift her to her seat. Then she looked down into + his face. + </p> + <p> + “Jack,” she said, and he started again at the frank address, “I ain't + NEVER GOIN' TO DO THAT NO MORE.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are, little girl,” he said soberly but cheerily. “You're goin' + to do it whenever I'm wrong or whenever you think I'm wrong.” She shook + her head seriously. + </p> + <p> + “No, Jack.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes they were at the foot of the mountain and on a level + road. + </p> + <p> + “Hold tight!” Hale shouted, “I'm going to let him out now.” At the touch + of his spur, the big black horse sprang into a gallop, faster and faster, + until he was pounding the hard road in a swift run like thunder. At the + creek Hale pulled in and looked around. June's bonnet was down, her hair + was tossed, her eyes were sparkling fearlessly, and her face was flushed + with joy. + </p> + <p> + “Like it, June?” + </p> + <p> + “I never did know nothing like it.” + </p> + <p> + “You weren't scared?” + </p> + <p> + “Skeered o' what?” she asked, and Hale wondered if there was anything of + which she would be afraid. + </p> + <p> + They were entering the Gap now and June's eyes got big with wonder over + the mighty up-shooting peaks and the rushing torrent. + </p> + <p> + “See that big rock yonder, June?” June craned her neck to follow with her + eyes his outstretched finger. + </p> + <p> + “Uh, huh.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's called Bee Rock, because it's covered with flowers—purple + rhododendrons and laurel—and bears used to go there for wild honey. + They say that once on a time folks around here put whiskey in the honey + and the bears got so drunk that people came and knocked 'em in the head + with clubs.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think o' that!” said June wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + Before them a big mountain loomed, and a few minutes later, at the mouth + of the Gap, Hale stopped and turned his horse sidewise. + </p> + <p> + “There we are, June,” he said. + </p> + <p> + June saw the lovely little valley rimmed with big mountains. She could + follow the course of the two rivers that encircled it by the trees that + fringed their banks, and she saw smoke rising here and there and that was + all. She was a little disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “It's mighty purty,” she said, “I never seed”—she paused, but went + on without correcting herself—“so much level land in all my life.” + </p> + <p> + The morning mail had just come in as they rode by the post-office and + several men hailed her escort, and all stared with some wonder at her. + Hale smiled to himself, drew up for none and put on a face of utter + unconsciousness that he was doing anything unusual. June felt vaguely + uncomfortable. Ahead of them, when they turned the corner of the street, + her eyes fell on a strange tall red house with yellow trimmings, that was + not built of wood and had two sets of windows one above the other, and + before that Hale drew up. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are. Get down, little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning!” said a voice. Hale looked around and flushed, and June + looked around and stared—transfixed as by a vision from another + world—at the dainty figure behind them in a walking suit, a short + skirt that showed two little feet in laced tan boots and a cap with a + plume, under which was a pair of wide blue eyes with long lashes, and a + mouth that suggested active mischief and gentle mockery. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good-morning,” said Hale, and he added gently, “Get down, June!” + </p> + <p> + The little girl slipped to the ground and began pulling her bonnet on with + both hands—but the newcomer had caught sight of the Psyche knot that + made June look like a little old woman strangely young, and the mockery at + her lips was gently accentuated by a smile. Hale swung from his saddle. + </p> + <p> + “This is the little girl I told you about, Miss Anne,” he said. “She's + come over to go to school.” Instantly, almost, Miss Anne had been melted + by the forlorn looking little creature who stood before her, shy for the + moment and dumb, and she came forward with her gloved hand outstretched. + But June had seen that smile. She gave her hand, and Miss Anne straightway + was no little surprised; there was no more shyness in the dark eyes that + blazed from the recesses of the sun-bonnet, and Miss Anne was so startled + when she looked into them that all she could say was: “Dear me!” A portly + woman with a kind face appeared at the door of the red brick house and + came to the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Here she is, Mrs. Crane,” called Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Howdye, June!” said the Widow Crane kindly. “Come right in!” In her June + knew straightway she had a friend and she picked up her bundle and + followed upstairs—the first real stairs she had ever seen—and + into a room on the floor of which was a rag carpet. There was a bed in one + corner with a white counterpane and a washstand with a bowl and pitcher, + which, too, she had never seen before. + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself at home right now,” said the Widow Crane, pulling open a + drawer under a big looking-glass—“and put your things here. That's + your bed,” and out she went. + </p> + <p> + How clean it was! There were some flowers in a glass vase on the mantel. + There were white curtains at the big window and a bed to herself—her + own bed. She went over to the window. There was a steep bank, lined with + rhododendrons, right under it. There was a mill-dam below and down the + stream she could hear the creaking of a water-wheel, and she could see it + dripping and shining in the sun—a gristmill! She thought of Uncle + Billy and ole Hon, and in spite of a little pang of home-sickness she felt + no loneliness at all. + </p> + <p> + “I KNEW she would be pretty,” said Miss Anne at the gate outside. + </p> + <p> + “I TOLD you she was pretty,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “But not so pretty as THAT,” said Miss Anne. “We will be great friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so—for her sake,” said Hale. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Hale waited till noon-recess was nearly over, and then he went to take + June to the school-house. He was told that she was in her room and he went + up and knocked at the door. There was no answer—for one does not + knock on doors for entrance in the mountains, and, thinking he had made a + mistake, he was about to try another room, when June opened the door to + see what the matter was. She gave him a glad smile. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” he said, and when she went for her bonnet, he stepped into the + room. + </p> + <p> + “How do you like it?” June nodded toward the window and Hale went to it. + </p> + <p> + “That's Uncle Billy's mill out thar.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, so it is,” said Hale smiling. “That's fine.” + </p> + <p> + The school-house, to June's wonder, had shingles on the OUTSIDE around all + the walls from roof to foundation, and a big bell hung on top of it under + a little shingled roof of its own. A pale little man with spectacles and + pale blue eyes met them at the door and he gave June a pale, slender hand + and cleared his throat before he spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + “She's never been to school,” said Hale; “she can read and spell, but + she's not very strong on arithmetic.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I'll turn her over to the primary.” The school-bell sounded; + Hale left with a parting prophecy—“You'll be proud of her some day”—at + which June blushed and then, with a beating heart, she followed the little + man into his office. A few minutes later, the assistant came in, and she + was none other than the wonderful young woman whom Hale had called Miss + Anne. There were a few instructions in a halting voice and with much + clearing of the throat from the pale little man; and a moment later June + walked the gauntlet of the eyes of her schoolmates, every one of whom + looked up from his book or hers to watch her as she went to her seat. Miss + Anne pointed out the arithmetic lesson and, without lifting her eyes, June + bent with a flushed face to her task. It reddened with shame when she was + called to the class, for she sat on the bench, taller by a head and more + than any of the boys and girls thereon, except one awkward youth who + caught her eye and grinned with unashamed companionship. The teacher + noticed her look and understood with a sudden keen sympathy, and naturally + she was struck by the fact that the new pupil was the only one who never + missed an answer. + </p> + <p> + “She won't be there long,” Miss Anne thought, and she gave June a smile + for which the little girl was almost grateful. June spoke to no one, but + walked through her schoolmates homeward, when school was over, like a + haughty young queen. Miss Anne had gone ahead and was standing at the gate + talking with Mrs. Crane, and the young woman spoke to June most kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hale has been called away on business,” she said, and June's heart + sank—“and I'm going to take care of you until he comes back.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obleeged,” she said, and while she was not ungracious, her + manner indicated her belief that she could take care of herself. And Miss + Anne felt uncomfortably that this extraordinary young person was steadily + measuring her from head to foot. June saw the smart close-fitting gown, + the dainty little boots, and the carefully brushed hair. She noticed how + white her teeth were and her hands, and she saw that the nails looked + polished and that the tips of them were like little white crescents; and + she could still see every detail when she sat at her window, looting down + at the old mill. She SAW Mr. Hale when he left, the young lady had said; + and she had a headache now and was going home to LIE down. She understood + now what Hale meant, on the mountainside when she was so angry with him. + She was learning fast, and most from the two persons who were not + conscious what they were teaching her. And she would learn in the school, + too, for the slumbering ambition in her suddenly became passionately + definite now. She went to the mirror and looked at her hair—she + would learn how to plait that in two braids down her back, as the other + school-girls did. She looked at her hands and straightway she fell to + scrubbing them with soap as she had never scrubbed them before. As she + worked, she heard her name called and she opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mam!” she answered, for already she had picked that up in the + school-room. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, June, and go down the street with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mam,” she repeated, and she wiped her hands and hurried down. Mrs. + Crane had looked through the girl's pathetic wardrobe, while she was at + school that afternoon, had told Hale before he left and she had a surprise + for little June. Together they went down the street and into the chief + store in town and, to June's amazement, Mrs. Crane began ordering things + for “this little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's a-goin' to pay fer all these things?” whispered June, aghast. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you bother, honey. Mr. Hale said he would fix all that with your + pappy. It's some coal deal or something—don't you bother!” And June + in a quiver of happiness didn't bother. Stockings, petticoats, some soft + stuff for a new dress and TAN shoes that looked like the ones that + wonderful young woman wore and then some long white things. + </p> + <p> + “What's them fer?” she whispered, but the clerk heard her and laughed, + whereat Mrs. Crane gave him such a glance that he retired quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Night-gowns, honey.” + </p> + <p> + “You SLEEP in 'em?” said June in an awed voice. + </p> + <p> + “That's just what you do,” said the good old woman, hardly less pleased + than June. + </p> + <p> + “My, but you've got pretty feet.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish they were half as purty as—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they are,” interrupted Mrs. Crane a little snappishly; apparently + she did not like Miss Anne. + </p> + <p> + “Wrap 'em up and Mr. Hale will attend to the bill.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said the clerk looking much mystified. + </p> + <p> + Outside the door, June looked up into the beaming goggles of the Hon. + Samuel Budd. + </p> + <p> + “Is THIS the little girl? Howdye, June,” he said, and June put her hand in + the Hon. Sam's with a sudden trust in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to help take care of you, too,” said Mr. Budd, and June smiled + at him with shy gratitude. How kind everybody was! + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obleeged,” she said, and she and Mrs. Crane went on back with + their bundles. + </p> + <p> + June's hands so trembled when she found herself alone with her treasures + that she could hardly unpack them. When she had folded and laid them away, + she had to unfold them to look at them again. She hurried to bed that + night merely that she might put on one of those wonderful night-gowns, and + again she had to look all her treasures over. She was glad that she had + brought the doll because HE had given it to her, but she said to herself + “I'm a-gittin' too big now fer dolls!” and she put it away. Then she set + the lamp on the mantel-piece so that she could see herself in her + wonderful night-gown. She let her shining hair fall like molten gold + around her shoulders, and she wondered whether she could ever look like + the dainty creature that just now was the model she so passionately wanted + to be like. Then she blew out the lamp and sat a while by the window, + looking down through the rhododendrons, at the shining water and at the + old water-wheel sleepily at rest in the moonlight. She knelt down then at + her bedside to say her prayers—as her dead sister had taught her to + do—and she asked God to bless Jack—wondering as she prayed + that she had heard nobody else call him Jack—and then she lay down + with her breast heaving. She had told him she would never do that again, + but she couldn't help it now—the tears came and from happiness she + cried herself softly to sleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII + </h2> + <p> + Hale rode that night under a brilliant moon to the worm of a railroad that + had been creeping for many years toward the Gap. The head of it was just + protruding from the Natural Tunnel twenty miles away. There he sent his + horse back, slept in a shanty till morning, and then the train crawled + through a towering bench of rock. The mouth of it on the other side opened + into a mighty amphitheatre with solid rock walls shooting vertically + hundreds of feet upward. Vertically, he thought—with the back of his + head between his shoulders as he looked up—they were more than + vertical—they were actually concave. The Almighty had not only + stored riches immeasurable in the hills behind him—He had driven + this passage Himself to help puny man to reach them, and yet the wretched + road was going toward them like a snail. On the fifth night, thereafter he + was back there at the tunnel again from New York—with a grim mouth + and a happy eye. He had brought success with him this time and there was + no sleep for him that night. He had been delayed by a wreck, it was two + o'clock in the morning, and not a horse was available; so he started those + twenty miles afoot, and day was breaking when he looked down on the little + valley shrouded in mist and just wakening from sleep. + </p> + <p> + Things had been moving while he was away, as he quickly learned. The + English were buying lands right and left at the gap sixty miles southwest. + Two companies had purchased most of the town-site where he was—HIS + town-site—and were going to pool their holdings and form an + improvement company. But a good deal was left, and straightway Hale got a + map from his office and with it in his hand walked down the curve of the + river and over Poplar Hill and beyond. Early breakfast was ready when he + got back to the hotel. He swallowed a cup of coffee so hastily that it + burned him, and June, when she passed his window on her way to school, saw + him busy over his desk. She started to shout to him, but he looked so + haggard and grim that she was afraid, and went on, vaguely hurt by a + preoccupation that seemed quite to have excluded her. For two hours then, + Hale haggled and bargained, and at ten o'clock he went to the telegraph + office. The operator who was speculating in a small way himself smiled + when he read the telegram. + </p> + <p> + “A thousand an acre?” he repeated with a whistle. “You could have got that + at twenty-five per—three months ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Hale, “there's time enough yet.” Then he went to his room, + pulled the blinds down and went to sleep, while rumour played with his + name through the town. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly the closing hour of school when, dressed and freshly shaven, + he stepped out into the pale afternoon and walked up toward the + schoolhouse. The children were pouring out of the doors. At the gate there + was a sudden commotion, he saw a crimson figure flash into the group that + had stopped there, and flash out, and then June came swiftly toward him + followed closely by a tall boy with a cap on his head. That far away he + could see that she was angry and he hurried toward her. Her face was white + with rage, her mouth was tight and her dark eyes were aflame. Then from + the group another tall boy darted out and behind him ran a smaller one, + bellowing. Hale heard the boy with the cap call kindly: + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, little girl! I won't let 'em touch you.” June stopped with him + and Hale ran to them. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he called, “what's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + June burst into crying when she saw him and leaned over the fence sobbing. + The tall lad with the cap had his back to Hale, and he waited till the + other two boys came up. Then he pointed to the smaller one and spoke to + Hale without looking around. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that little skate there was teasing this little girl and—” + </p> + <p> + “She slapped him,” said Hale grimly. The lad with the cap turned. His eyes + were dancing and the shock of curly hair that stuck from his absurd little + cap shook with his laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Slapped him! She knocked him as flat as a pancake.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an' you said you'd stand fer her,” said the other tall boy who was + plainly a mountain lad. He was near bursting with rage. + </p> + <p> + “You bet I will,” said the boy with the cap heartily, “right now!” and he + dropped his books to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on!” said Hale, jumping between them. “You ought to be ashamed of + yourself,” he said to the mountain boy. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't atter the gal,” he said indignantly. “I was comin' fer him.” + </p> + <p> + The boy with the cap tried to get away from Hale's grasp. + </p> + <p> + “No use, sir,” he said coolly. “You'd better let us settle it now. We'll + have to do it some time. I know the breed. He'll fight all right and + there's no use puttin' it off. It's got to come.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet it's got to come,” said the mountain lad. “You can't call my + brother names.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he IS a skate,” said the boy with the cap, with no heat at all in + spite of his indignation, and Hale wondered at his aged calm. + </p> + <p> + “Every one of you little tads,” he went on coolly, waving his hand at the + gathered group, “is a skate who teases this little girl. And you older + boys are skates for letting the little ones do it, the whole pack of you—and + I'm going to spank any little tadpole who does it hereafter, and I'm going + to punch the head off any big one who allows it. It's got to stop NOW!” + And as Hale dragged him off he added to the mountain boy, “and I'm going + to begin with you whenever you say the word.” Hale was laughing now. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem to understand,” he said, “this is my affair.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir, I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'm taking care of this little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, you see I didn't know that. I've only been here two days. But”—his + frank, generous face broke into a winning smile—“you don't go to + school. You'll let me watch out for her there?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure! I'll be very grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, sir—not at all. It was a great pleasure and I think + I'll have lots of fun.” He looked at June, whose grateful eyes had hardly + left his face. + </p> + <p> + “So don't you soil your little fist any more with any of 'em, but just + tell me—er—er—” + </p> + <p> + “June,” she said, and a shy smile came through her tears. + </p> + <p> + “June,” he finished with a boyish laugh. “Good-by sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't told me your name.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you know my brothers, sir, the Berkleys.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so,” and Hale held out his hand. “You're Bob?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you were coming, and I'm mighty glad to see you. I hope you and + June will be good friends and I'll be very glad to have you watch over her + when I'm away.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like nothing better, sir,” he said cheerfully, and quite impersonally + as far as June was concerned. Then his eyes lighted up. + </p> + <p> + “My brothers don't seem to want me to join the Police Guard. Won't you say + a word for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly will.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + That “sir” no longer bothered Hale. At first he had thought it a mark of + respect to his superior age, and he was not particularly pleased, but when + he knew now that the lad was another son of the old gentleman whom he saw + riding up the valley every morning on a gray horse, with several dogs + trailing after him—he knew the word was merely a family + characteristic of old-fashioned courtesy. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he nice, June?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Have you missed me, June?” + </p> + <p> + June slid her hand into his. “I'm so glad you come back.” They were + approaching the gate now. + </p> + <p> + “June, you said you weren't going to cry any more.” June's head drooped. + </p> + <p> + “I know, but I jes' can't help it when I git mad,” she said seriously. + “I'd bust if I didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Hale kindly. + </p> + <p> + “I've cried twice,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What were you mad about the other time?” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you cry, June?” + </p> + <p> + Her dark eyes looked full at him a moment and then her long lashes hid + them. + </p> + <p> + “Cause you was so good to me.” + </p> + <p> + Hale choked suddenly and patted her on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Go in, now, little girl, and study. Then you must take a walk. I've got + some work to do. I'll see you at supper time.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said June. She turned at the gate to watch Hale enter the + hotel, and as she started indoors, she heard a horse coming at a gallop + and she turned again to see her cousin, Dave Tolliver, pull up in front of + the house. She ran back to the gate and then she saw that he was swaying + in his saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, June!” he called thickly. + </p> + <p> + Her face grew hard and she made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “I've come over to take ye back home.” + </p> + <p> + She only stared at him rebukingly, and he straightened in his saddle with + an effort at self-control—but his eyes got darker and he looked + ugly. + </p> + <p> + “D'you hear me? I've come over to take ye home.” + </p> + <p> + “You oughter be ashamed o' yourself,” she said hotly, and she turned to go + back into the house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you ain't ready now. Well, git ready an' we'll start in the mornin'. + I'll be aroun' fer ye 'bout the break o' day.” + </p> + <p> + He whirled his horse with an oath—June was gone. She saw him ride + swaying down the street and she ran across to the hotel and found Hale + sitting in the office with another man. Hale saw her entering the door + swiftly, he knew something was wrong and he rose to meet her. + </p> + <p> + “Dave's here,” she whispered hurriedly, “an' he says he's come to take me + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Hale, “he won't do it, will he?” June shook her head and then + she said significantly: + </p> + <p> + “Dave's drinkin'.” + </p> + <p> + Hale's brow clouded. Straightway he foresaw trouble—but he said + cheerily: + </p> + <p> + “All right. You go back and keep in the house and I'll be over by and by + and we'll talk it over.” And, without another word, she went. She had + meant to put on her new dress and her new shoes and stockings that night + that Hale might see her—but she was in doubt about doing it when she + got to her room. She tried to study her lessons for the next day, but she + couldn't fix her mind on them. She wondered if Dave might not get into a + fight or, perhaps, he would get so drunk that he would go to sleep + somewhere—she knew that men did that after drinking very much—and, + anyhow, he would not bother her until next morning, and then he would be + sober and would go quietly back home. She was so comforted that she got to + thinking about the hair of the girl who sat in front of her at school. It + was plaited and she had studied just how it was done and she began to + wonder whether she could fix her own that way. So she got in front of the + mirror and loosened hers in a mass about her shoulders—the mass that + was to Hale like the golden bronze of a wild turkey's wing. The other + girl's plaits were the same size, so that the hair had to be equally + divided—thus she argued to herself—but how did that girl + manage to plait it behind her back? She did it in front, of course, so + June divided the bronze heap behind her and pulled one half of it in front + of her and then for a moment she was helpless. Then she laughed—it + must be done like the grass-blades and strings she had plaited for Bub, of + course, so, dividing that half into three parts, she did the plaiting + swiftly and easily. When it was finished she looked at the braid, much + pleased—for it hung below her waist and was much longer than any of + the other girls' at school. The transition was easy now, so interested had + she become. She got out her tan shoes and stockings and the pretty white + dress and put them on. The millpond was dark with shadows now, and she + went down the stairs and out to the gate just as Dave again pulled up in + front of it. He stared at the vision wonderingly and long, and then he + began to laugh with the scorn of soberness and the silliness of drink. + </p> + <p> + “YOU ain't June, air ye?” The girl never moved. As if by a preconcerted + signal three men moved toward the boy, and one of them said sternly: + </p> + <p> + “Drop that pistol. You are under arrest.' The boy glared like a wild thing + trapped, from one to another of the three—a pistol gleamed in the + hand of each—and slowly thrust his own weapon into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Get off that horse,” added the stern voice. Just then Hale rushed across + the street and the mountain youth saw him. + </p> + <p> + “Ketch his pistol,” cried June, in terror for Hale—for she knew what + was coming, and one of the men caught with both hands the wrist of Dave's + arm as it shot behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Take him to the calaboose!” + </p> + <p> + At that June opened the gate—that disgrace she could never stand—but + Hale spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I know him, boys. He doesn't mean any harm. He doesn't know the + regulations yet. Suppose we let him go home.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Logan. “The calaboose or home. Will you go home?” + </p> + <p> + In the moment, the mountain boy had apparently forgotten his captors—he + was staring at June with wonder, amazement, incredulity struggling through + the fumes in his brain to his flushed face. She—a Tolliver—had + warned a stranger against her own blood-cousin. + </p> + <p> + “Will you go home?” repeated Logan sternly. + </p> + <p> + The boy looked around at the words, as though he were half dazed, and his + baffled face turned sick and white. + </p> + <p> + “Lemme loose!” he said sullenly. “I'll go home.” And he rode silently + away, after giving Hale a vindictive look that told him plainer than words + that more was yet to come. Hale had heard June's warning cry, but now when + he looked for her she was gone. He went in to supper and sat down at the + table and still she did not come. + </p> + <p> + “She's got a surprise for you,” said Mrs. Crane, smiling mysteriously. + “She's been fixing for you for an hour. My! but she's pretty in them new + clothes—why, June!” + </p> + <p> + June was coming in—she wore her homespun, her scarlet homespun and + the Psyche knot. She did not seem to have heard Mrs. Crane's note of + wonder, and she sat quietly down in her seat. Her face was pale and she + did not look at Hale. Nothing was said of Dave—in fact, June said + nothing at all, and Hale, too, vaguely understanding, kept quiet. Only + when he went out, Hale called her to the gate and put one hand on her + head. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, little girl.” + </p> + <p> + The girl lifted her great troubled eyes to him, but no word passed her + lips, and Hale helplessly left her. + </p> + <p> + June did not cry that night. She sat by the window—wretched and + tearless. She had taken sides with “furriners” against her own people. + That was why, instinctively, she had put on her old homespun with a vague + purpose of reparation to them. She knew the story Dave would take back + home—the bitter anger that his people and hers would feel at the + outrage done him—anger against the town, the Guard, against Hale + because he was a part of both and even against her. Dave was merely drunk, + he had simply shot off his pistol—that was no harm in the hills. And + yet everybody had dashed toward him as though he had stolen something—even + Hale. Yes, even that boy with the cap who had stood up for her at school + that afternoon—he had rushed up, his face aflame with excitement, + eager to take part should Dave resist. She had cried out impulsively to + save Hale, but Dave would not understand. No, in his eyes she had been + false to family and friends—to the clan—she had sided with + “furriners.” What would her father say? Perhaps she'd better go home next + day—perhaps for good—for there was a deep unrest within her + that she could not fathom, a premonition that she was at the parting of + the ways, a vague fear of the shadows that hung about the strange new path + on which her feet were set. The old mill creaked in the moonlight below + her. Sometimes, when the wind blew up Lonesome Cove, she could hear Uncle + Billy's wheel creaking just that way. A sudden pang of homesickness choked + her, but she did not cry. Yes, she would go home next day. She blew out + the light and undressed in the dark as she did at home and went to bed. + And that night the little night-gown lay apart from her in the drawer—unfolded + and untouched. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV + </h2> + <p> + But June did not go home. Hale anticipated that resolution of hers and + forestalled it by being on hand for breakfast and taking June over to the + porch of his little office. There he tried to explain to her that they + were trying to build a town and must have law and order; that they must + have no personal feeling for or against anybody and must treat everybody + exactly alike—no other course was fair—and though June could + not quite understand, she trusted him and she said she would keep on at + school until her father came for her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he will come, June?” + </p> + <p> + The little girl hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afeerd he will,” she said, and Hale smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll try to persuade him to let you stay, if he does come.” + </p> + <p> + June was quite right. She had seen the matter the night before just as it + was. For just at that hour young Dave, sobered, but still on the verge of + tears from anger and humiliation, was telling the story of the day in her + father's cabin. The old man's brows drew together and his eyes grew fierce + and sullen, both at the insult to a Tolliver and at the thought of a + certain moonshine still up a ravine not far away and the indirect danger + to it in any finicky growth of law and order. Still he had a keen sense of + justice, and he knew that Dave had not told all the story, and from him + Dave, to his wonder, got scant comfort—for another reason as well: + with a deal pending for the sale of his lands, the shrewd old man would + not risk giving offence to Hale—not until that matter was settled, + anyway. And so June was safer from interference just then than she knew. + But Dave carried the story far and wide, and it spread as a story can only + in the hills. So that the two people most talked about among the Tollivers + and, through Loretta, among the Falins as well, were June and Hale, and at + the Gap similar talk would come. Already Hale's name was on every tongue + in the town, and there, because of his recent purchases of town-site land, + he was already, aside from his personal influence, a man of mysterious + power. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the prescient shadow of the coming “boom” had stolen over the + hills and the work of the Guard had grown rapidly. + </p> + <p> + Every Saturday there had been local lawlessness to deal with. The spirit + of personal liberty that characterized the spot was traditional. Here for + half a century the people of Wise County and of Lee, whose border was but + a few miles down the river, came to get their wool carded, their grist + ground and farming utensils mended. Here, too, elections were held viva + voce under the beeches, at the foot of the wooded spur now known as + Imboden Hill. Here were the muster-days of wartime. Here on Saturdays the + people had come together during half a century for sport and horse-trading + and to talk politics. Here they drank apple-jack and hard cider, chaffed + and quarrelled and fought fist and skull. Here the bullies of the two + counties would come together to decide who was the “best man.” Here was + naturally engendered the hostility between the hill-dwellers of Wise and + the valley people of Lee, and here was fought a famous battle between a + famous bully of Wise and a famous bully of Lee. On election days the + country people would bring in gingercakes made of cane-molasses, bread + homemade of Burr flour and moonshine and apple-jack which the candidates + would buy and distribute through the crowd. And always during the + afternoon there were men who would try to prove themselves the best + Democrats in the State of Virginia by resort to tooth, fist and + eye-gouging thumb. Then to these elections sometimes would come the + Kentuckians from over the border to stir up the hostility between state + and state, which makes that border bristle with enmity to this day. For + half a century, then, all wild oats from elsewhere usually sprouted at the + Gap. And thus the Gap had been the shrine of personal freedom—the + place where any one individual had the right to do his pleasure with + bottle and cards and politics and any other the right to prove him wrong + if he were strong enough. Very soon, as the Hon. Sam Budd predicted, they + had the hostility of Lee concentrated on them as siding with the county of + Wise, and they would gain, in addition now, the general hostility of the + Kentuckians, because as a crowd of meddlesome “furriners” they would be + siding with the Virginians in the general enmity already alive. Moreover, + now that the feud threatened activity over in Kentucky, more trouble must + come, too, from that source, as the talk that came through the Gap, after + young Dave Tolliver's arrest, plainly indicated. + </p> + <p> + Town ordinances had been passed. The wild centaurs were no longer allowed + to ride up and down the plank walks of Saturdays with their reins in their + teeth and firing a pistol into the ground with either hand; they could + punctuate the hotel sign no more; they could not ride at a fast gallop + through the streets of the town, and, Lost Spirit of American Liberty!—they + could not even yell. But the lawlessness of the town itself and its close + environment was naturally the first objective point, and the first problem + involved was moonshine and its faithful ally “the blind tiger.” The + “tiger” is a little shanty with an ever-open mouth—a hole in the + door like a post-office window. You place your money on the sill and, at + the ring of the coin, a mysterious arm emerges from the hole, sweeps the + money away and leaves a bottle of white whiskey. Thus you see nobody's + face; the owner of the beast is safe, and so are you—which you might + not be, if you saw and told. In every little hollow about the Gap a tiger + had his lair, and these were all bearded at once by a petition to the + county judge for high license saloons, which was granted. This measure + drove the tigers out of business, and concentrated moonshine in the heart + of the town, where its devotees were under easy guard. One “tiger” only + indeed was left, run by a round-shouldered crouching creature whom Bob + Berkley—now at Hale's solicitation a policeman and known as the + Infant of the Guard—dubbed Caliban. His shanty stood midway in the + Gap, high from the road, set against a dark clump of pines and roared at + by the river beneath. Everybody knew he sold whiskey, but he was too + shrewd to be caught, until, late one afternoon, two days after young + Dave's arrest, Hale coming through the Gap into town glimpsed a skulking + figure with a hand-barrel as it slipped from the dark pines into Caliban's + cabin. He pulled in his horse, dismounted and deliberated. If he went on + down the road now, they would see him and suspect. Moreover, the patrons + of the tiger would not appear until after dark, and he wanted a prisoner + or two. So Hale led his horse up into the bushes and came back to a covert + by the roadside to watch and wait. As he sat there, a merry whistle + sounded down the road, and Hale smiled. Soon the Infant of the Guard came + along, his hands in his pockets, his cap on the back of his head, his + pistol bumping his hip in manly fashion and making the ravines echo with + his pursed lips. He stopped in front of Hale, looked toward the river, + drew his revolver and aimed it at a floating piece of wood. The revolver + cracked, the piece of wood skidded on the surface of the water and there + was no splash. + </p> + <p> + “That was a pretty good shot,” said Hale in a low voice. The boy whirled + and saw him. + </p> + <p> + “Well-what are you—?” + </p> + <p> + “Easy—easy!” cautioned Hale. “Listen! I've just seen a moonshiner go + into Caliban's cabin.” The boy's eager eyes sparkled. + </p> + <p> + “Let's go after him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you go on back. If you don't, they'll be suspicious. Get another man”—Hale + almost laughed at the disappointment in the lad's face at his first words, + and the joy that came after it—“and climb high above the shanty and + come back here to me. Then after dark we'll dash in and cinch Caliban and + his customers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said the lad. “Shall I whistle going back?” Hale nodded + approval. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same.” And off Bob went, whistling like a calliope and not even + turning his head to look at the cabin. In half an hour Hale thought he + heard something crashing through the bushes high on the mountain side, + and, a little while afterward, the boy crawled through the bushes to him + alone. His cap was gone, there was a bloody scratch across his face and he + was streaming with perspiration. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to excuse me, sir,” he panted, “I didn't see anybody but one + of my brothers, and if I had told him, he wouldn't have let ME come. And I + hurried back for fear—for fear something would happen.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose I don't let you go.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir, but I don't see how you can very well help. You aren't my + brother and you can't go alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I was,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, but not now.” + </p> + <p> + Hale was worried, but there was nothing else to be done. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll let you go if you stop saying 'sir' to me. It makes me + feel so old.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir,” said the lad quite unconsciously, and when Hale + smothered a laugh, he looked around to see what had amused him. Darkness + fell quickly, and in the gathering gloom they saw two more figures skulk + into the cabin. + </p> + <p> + “We'll go now—for we want the fellow who's selling the moonshine.” + </p> + <p> + Again Hale was beset with doubts about the boy and his own responsibility + to the boy's brothers. The lad's eyes were shining, but his face was more + eager than excited and his hand was as steady as Hale's own. + </p> + <p> + “You slip around and station yourself behind that pine-tree just behind + the cabin”—the boy looked crestfallen—“and if anybody tries to + get out of the back door—you halt him.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there a back door?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” Hale said rather shortly. “You obey orders. I'm not your + brother, but I'm your captain.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir. Shall I go now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you'll hear me at the front door. They won't make any resistance.” + The lad stepped away with nimble caution high above the cabin, and he even + took his shoes off before he slid lightly down to his place behind the + pine. There was no back door, only a window, and his disappointment was + bitter. Still, when he heard Hale at the front door, he meant to make a + break for that window, and he waited in the still gloom. He could hear the + rough talk and laughter within and now and then the clink of a tin cup. By + and by there was a faint noise in front of the cabin, and he steadied his + nerves and his beating heart. Then he heard the door pushed violently in + and Hale's cry: + </p> + <p> + “Surrender!” + </p> + <p> + Hale stood on the threshold with his pistol outstretched in his right + hand. The door had struck something soft and he said sharply again: + </p> + <p> + “Come out from behind that door—hands up!” + </p> + <p> + At the same moment, the back window flew open with a bang and Bob's pistol + covered the edge of the opened door. “Caliban” had rolled from his box + like a stupid animal. Two of his patrons sat dazed and staring from Hale + to the boy's face at the window. A mountaineer stood in one corner with + twitching fingers and shifting eyes like a caged wild thing and forth + issued from behind the door, quivering with anger—young Dave + Tolliver. Hale stared at him amazed, and when Dave saw Hale, such a wave + of fury surged over his face that Bob thought it best to attract his + attention again; which he did by gently motioning at him with the barrel + of his pistol. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, there,” he said quietly, and young Dave stood still. + </p> + <p> + “Climb through that window, Bob, and collect the batteries,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, sir,” said the lad, and with his pistol still prominently in the + foreground he threw his left leg over the sill and as he climbed in he + quoted with a grunt: “Always go in force to make an arrest.” Grim and + serious as it was, with June's cousin glowering at him, Hale could not + help smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't go home, after all,” said Hale to young Dave, who clenched his + hands and his lips but answered nothing; “or, if you did, you got back + pretty quick.” And still Dave was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Get 'em all, Bob?” In answer the boy went the rounds—feeling the + pocket of each man's right hip and his left breast. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Unload 'em!” + </p> + <p> + The lad “broke” each of the four pistols, picked up a piece of twine and + strung them together through each trigger-guard. + </p> + <p> + “Close that window and stand here at the door.” + </p> + <p> + With the boy at the door, Hale rolled the hand-barrel to the threshold and + the white liquor gurgled joyously on the steps. + </p> + <p> + “All right, come along,” he said to the captives, and at last young Dave + spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Whut you takin' me fer?” + </p> + <p> + Hale pointed to the empty hand-barrel and Dave's answer was a look of + scorn. + </p> + <p> + “I nuvver brought that hyeh.” + </p> + <p> + “You were drinking illegal liquor in a blind tiger, and if you didn't + bring it you can prove that later. Anyhow, we'll want you as a witness,” + and Hale looked at the other mountaineer, who had turned his eyes quickly + to Dave. Caliban led the way with young Dave, and Hale walked side by side + with them while Bob was escort for the other two. The road ran along a + high bank, and as Bob was adjusting the jangling weapons on his left arm, + the strange mountaineer darted behind him and leaped headlong into the + tops of thick rhododendron. Before Hale knew what had happened the lad's + pistol flashed. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, boy!” he cried, horrified. “Don't shoot!” and he had to catch the + lad to keep him from leaping after the runaway. The shot had missed; they + heard the runaway splash into the river and go stumbling across it and + then there was silence. Young Dave laughed: + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Judd'll be over hyeh to-morrow to see about this.” Hale said + nothing and they went on. At the door of the calaboose Dave balked and had + to be pushed in by main force. They left him weeping and cursing with + rage. + </p> + <p> + “Go to bed, Bob,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Bob; “just as soon as I get my lessons.” + </p> + <p> + Hale did not go to the boarding-house that night—he feared to face + June. Instead he went to the hotel to scraps of a late supper and then to + bed. He had hardly touched the pillow, it seemed, when somebody shook him + by the shoulder. It was Macfarlan, and daylight was streaming through the + window. + </p> + <p> + “A gang of those Falins are here,” Macfarlan said, “and they're after + young Dave Tolliver—about a dozen of 'em. Young Buck is with them, + and the sheriff. They say he shot a man over the mountains yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Hale sprang for his clothes—here was a quandary. + </p> + <p> + “If we turn him over to them—they'll kill him.” Macfarlan nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, and if we leave him in that weak old calaboose, they'll get + more help and take him out to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll take him to the county jail.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll take him away from us.” + </p> + <p> + “No, they won't. You go out and get as many shotguns as you can find and + load them with buckshot.” + </p> + <p> + Macfarlan nodded approvingly and disappeared. Hale plunged his face in a + basin of cold water, soaked his hair and, as he was mopping his face with + a towel, there was a ponderous tread on the porch, the door opened without + the formality of a knock, and Devil Judd Tolliver, with his hat on and + belted with two huge pistols, stepped stooping within. His eyes, red with + anger and loss of sleep, were glaring, and his heavy moustache and beard + showed the twitching of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Whar's Dave?” he said shortly. + </p> + <p> + “In the calaboose.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you put him in?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hale calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by God,” the old man said with repressed fury, “you can't git him + out too soon if you want to save trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Judd,” said Hale seriously. “You are one of the last men in + the world I want to have trouble with for many reasons; but I'm an officer + over here and I'm no more afraid of you”—Hale paused to let that + fact sink in and it did—“than you are of me. Dave's been selling + liquor.” + </p> + <p> + “He hain't,” interrupted the old mountaineer. “He didn't bring that liquor + over hyeh. I know who done it.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Hale; “I'll take your word for it and I'll let him out, + if you say so, but—-” + </p> + <p> + “Right now,” thundered old Judd. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that young Buck Falin and a dozen of his gang are over here + after him?” The old man looked stunned. + </p> + <p> + “Whut—now?” + </p> + <p> + “They're over there in the woods across the river NOW and they want me to + give him up to them. They say they have the sheriff with them and they + want him for shooting a man on Leatherwood Creek, day before yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all a lie,” burst out old Judd. “They want to kill him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—and I was going to take him up to the county jail right + away for safe-keeping.” + </p> + <p> + “D'ye mean to say you'd throw that boy into jail and then fight them + Falins to pertect him?” the old man asked slowly and incredulously. Hale + pointed to a two-store building through his window. + </p> + <p> + “If you get in the back part of that store at a window, you can see + whether I will or not. I can summon you to help, and if a fight comes up + you can do your share from the window.” + </p> + <p> + The old man's eyes lighted up like a leaping flame. + </p> + <p> + “Will you let Dave out and give him a Winchester and help us fight 'em?” + he said eagerly. “We three can whip 'em all.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale shortly. “I'd try to keep both sides from fighting, and + I'd arrest Dave or you as quickly as I would a Falin.” + </p> + <p> + The average mountaineer has little conception of duty in the abstract, but + old Judd belonged to the better class—and there are many of them—that + does. He looked into Hale's eyes long and steadily. + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + Macfarlan came in hurriedly and stopped short—seeing the hatted, + bearded giant. + </p> + <p> + “This is Mr. Tolliver—an uncle of Dave's—Judd Tolliver,” said + Hale. “Go ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got everything fixed—but I couldn't get but five of the + fellows—two of the Berkley boys. They wouldn't let me tell Bob.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Can I summon Mr. Tolliver here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Macfarlan doubtfully, “but you know—-” + </p> + <p> + “He won't be seen,” interrupted Hale, understandingly. “He'll be at a + window in the back of that store and he won't take part unless a fight + begins, and if it does, we'll need him.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later Devil Judd Tolliver was in the store Hale pointed out and + peering cautiously around the edge of an open window at the wooden gate of + the ramshackle calaboose. Several Falins were there—led by young + Buck, whom Hale recognized as the red-headed youth at the head of the + tearing horsemen who had swept by him that late afternoon when he was + coming back from his first trip to Lonesome Cove. The old man gritted his + teeth as he looked and he put one of his huge pistols on a table within + easy reach and kept the other clenched in his right fist. From down the + street came five horsemen, led by John Hale. Every man carried a + double-barrelled shotgun, and the old man smiled and his respect for Hale + rose higher, high as it already was, for nobody—mountaineer or not—has + love for a hostile shotgun. The Falins, armed only with pistols, drew + near. + </p> + <p> + “Keep back!” he heard Hale say calmly, and they stopped—young Buck + alone going on. + </p> + <p> + “We want that feller,” said young Buck. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you don't get him,” said Hale quietly. “He's our prisoner. Keep + back!” he repeated, motioning with the barrel of his shotgun—and + young Buck moved backward to his own men, The old man saw Hale and another + man—the sergeant—go inside the heavy gate of the stockade. He + saw a boy in a cap, with a pistol in one hand and a strapped set of books + in the other, come running up to the men with the shotguns and he heard + one of them say angrily: + </p> + <p> + “I told you not to come.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you did,” said the boy imperturbably. + </p> + <p> + “You go on to school,” said another of the men, but the boy with the cap + shook his head and dropped his books to the ground. The big gate opened + just then and out came Hale and the sergeant, and between them young Dave—his + eyes blinking in the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + “Damn ye,” he heard Dave say to Hale. “I'll get even with you fer this + some day”—and then the prisoner's eyes caught the horses and + shotguns and turned to the group of Falins and he shrank back utterly + dazed. There was a movement among the Falins and Devil Judd caught up his + other pistol and with a grim smile got ready. Young Buck had turned to his + crowd: + </p> + <p> + “Men,” he said, “you know I never back down”—Devil Judd knew that, + too, and he was amazed by the words that followed-“an' if you say so, + we'll have him or die; but we ain't in our own state now. They've got the + law and the shotguns on us, an' I reckon we'd better go slow.” + </p> + <p> + The rest seemed quite willing to go slow, and, as they put their pistols + up, Devil Judd laughed in his beard. Hale put young Dave on a horse and + the little shotgun cavalcade quietly moved away toward the county-seat. + </p> + <p> + The crestfallen Falins dispersed the other way after they had taken a + parting shot at the Hon. Samuel Budd, who, too, had a pistol in his hand. + Young Buck looked long at him—and then he laughed: + </p> + <p> + “You, too, Sam Budd,” he said. “We folks'll rickollect this on election + day.” The Hon. Sam deigned no answer. + </p> + <p> + And up in the store Devil Judd lighted his pipe and sat down to think out + the strange code of ethics that governed that police-guard. Hale had told + him to wait there, and it was almost noon before the boy with the cap came + to tell him that the Falins had all left town. The old man looked at him + kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Air you the little feller whut fit fer June?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said Bob; “but it's coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you'll whoop him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do my best.” + </p> + <p> + “Whar is she?” + </p> + <p> + “She's waiting for you over at the boarding-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she know about this trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a thing; she thinks you've come to take her home.” The old man made + no answer, and Bob led him back toward Hale's office. June was waiting at + the gate, and the boy, lifting his cap, passed on. June's eyes were dark + with anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “You come to take me home, dad?” + </p> + <p> + “I been thinkin' 'bout it,” he said, with a doubtful shake of his head. + </p> + <p> + June took him upstairs to her room and pointed out the old water-wheel + through the window and her new clothes (she had put on her old homespun + again when she heard he was in town), and the old man shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afeerd 'bout all these fixin's—you won't never be satisfied + agin in Lonesome Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, dad,” she said reprovingly. “Jack says I can go over whenever I + please, as soon as the weather gits warmer and the roads gits good.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said the old man, still shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + All through dinner she was worried. Devil Judd hardly ate anything, so + embarrassed was he by the presence of so many “furriners” and by the white + cloth and table-ware, and so fearful was he that he would be guilty of + some breach of manners. Resolutely he refused butter, and at the third + urging by Mrs. Crane he said firmly, but with a shrewd twinkle in his eye: + </p> + <p> + “No, thank ye. I never eats butter in town. I've kept store myself,” and + he was no little pleased with the laugh that went around the table. The + fact was he was generally pleased with June's environment and, after + dinner, he stopped teasing June. + </p> + <p> + “No, honey, I ain't goin' to take you away. I want ye to stay right where + ye air. Be a good girl now and do whatever Jack Hale tells ye and tell + that boy with all that hair to come over and see me.” June grew almost + tearful with gratitude, for never had he called her “honey” before that + she could remember, and never had he talked so much to her, nor with so + much kindness. + </p> + <p> + “Air ye comin' over soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Mighty soon, dad.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take keer o' yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, dad,” she said, and tenderly she watched his great figure slouch + out of sight. + </p> + <p> + An hour after dark, as old Judd sat on the porch of the cabin in Lonesome + Cove, young Dave Tolliver rode up to the gate on a strange horse. He was + in a surly mood. + </p> + <p> + “He lemme go at the head of the valley and give me this hoss to git here,” + the boy grudgingly explained. “I'm goin' over to git mine termorrer.” + </p> + <p> + “Seems like you'd better keep away from that Gap,” said the old man dryly, + and Dave reddened angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and fust thing you know he'll be over hyeh atter YOU.” The old man + turned on him sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Jack Hale knows that liquer was mine. He knows I've got a still over hyeh + as well as you do—an' he's never axed a question nor peeped an eye. + I reckon he would come if he thought he oughter—but I'm on this side + of the state-line. If I was on his side, mebbe I'd stop.” + </p> + <p> + Young Dave stared, for things were surely coming to a pretty pass in + Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + “An' I reckon,” the old man went on, “hit 'ud be better grace in you to + stop sayin' things agin' him; fer if it hadn't been fer him, you'd be laid + out by them Falins by this time.” + </p> + <p> + It was true, and Dave, silenced, was forced into another channel. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he said presently, “how them Falins always know when I go over + thar.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been studyin' about that myself,” said Devil Judd. Inside, the old + step-mother had heard Dave's query. + </p> + <p> + “I seed the Red Fox this afternoon,” she quavered at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Whut was he doin' over hyeh?” asked Dave. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin',” she said, “jus' a-sneakin' aroun' the way he's al'ays a-doin'. + Seemed like he was mighty pertickuler to find out when you was comin' + back.” + </p> + <p> + Both men started slightly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “We're all Tollivers now all right,” said the Hon. Samuel Budd +that night while he sat with Hale on the porch overlooking the +mill-pond—and then he groaned a little. +</pre> + <p> + “Them Falins have got kinsfolks to burn on the Virginia side and they'd + fight me tooth and toenail for this a hundred years hence!” + </p> + <p> + He puffed his pipe, but Hale said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he added cheerily, “we're in for a hell of a merry time NOW. + The mountaineer hates as long as he remembers and—he never forgets.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV + </h2> + <p> + Hand in hand, Hale and June followed the footsteps of spring from the time + June met him at the school-house gate for their first walk into the woods. + Hale pointed to some boys playing marbles. + </p> + <p> + “That's the first sign,” he said, and with quick understanding June + smiled. + </p> + <p> + The birdlike piping of hylas came from a marshy strip of woodland that ran + through the centre of the town and a toad was croaking at the foot of + Imboden Hill. + </p> + <p> + “And they come next.” + </p> + <p> + They crossed the swinging foot-bridge, which was a miracle to June, and + took the foot-path along the clear stream of South Fork, under the laurel + which June called “ivy,” and the rhododendron which was “laurel” in her + speech, and Hale pointed out catkins greening on alders in one swampy + place and willows just blushing into life along the banks of a little + creek. A few yards aside from the path he found, under a patch of snow and + dead leaves, the pink-and-white blossoms and the waxy green leaves of the + trailing arbutus, that fragrant harbinger of the old Mother's awakening, + and June breathed in from it the very breath of spring. Near by were + turkey peas, which she had hunted and eaten many times. + </p> + <p> + “You can't put that arbutus in a garden,” said Hale, “it's as wild as a + hawk.” + </p> + <p> + Presently he had the little girl listen to a pewee twittering in a + thorn-bush and the lusty call of a robin from an apple-tree. A bluebird + flew over-head with a merry chirp—its wistful note of autumn long + since forgotten. These were the first birds and flowers, he said, and + June, knowing them only by sight, must know the name of each and the + reason for that name. So that Hale found himself walking the woods with an + interrogation point, and that he might not be confounded he had, later, to + dip up much forgotten lore. For every walk became a lesson in botany for + June, such a passion did she betray at once for flowers, and he rarely had + to tell her the same thing twice, since her memory was like a vise—for + everything, as he learned in time. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were quicker than his, too, and now she pointed to a snowy + blossom with a deeply lobed leaf. + </p> + <p> + “Whut's that?” + </p> + <p> + “Bloodroot,” said Hale, and he scratched the stem and forth issued scarlet + drops. “The Indians used to put it on their faces and tomahawks”—she + knew that word and nodded—“and I used to make red ink of it when I + was a little boy.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said June. With the next look she found a tiny bunch of fuzzy + hepaticas. + </p> + <p> + “Liver-leaf.” + </p> + <p> + “Whut's liver?” + </p> + <p> + Hale, looking at her glowing face and eyes and her perfect little body, + imagined that she would never know unless told that she had one, and so he + waved one hand vaguely at his chest: + </p> + <p> + “It's an organ—and that herb is supposed to be good for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Organ? Whut's that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, something inside of you.” + </p> + <p> + June made the same gesture that Hale had. + </p> + <p> + “Me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” and then helplessly, “but not there exactly.” + </p> + <p> + June's eyes had caught something else now and she ran for it: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh!” It was a bunch of delicate anemones of intermediate shades + between white and red-yellow, pink and purple-blue. + </p> + <p> + “Those are anemones.” + </p> + <p> + “A-nem-o-nes,” repeated June. + </p> + <p> + “Wind-flowers—because the wind is supposed to open them.” And, + almost unconsciously, Hale lapsed into a quotation: + </p> + <p> + “'And where a tear has dropped, a wind-flower blows.'” + </p> + <p> + “Whut's that?” said June quickly. + </p> + <p> + “That's poetry.” + </p> + <p> + “Whut's po-e-try?” Hale threw up both hands. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, but I'll read you some—some day.” + </p> + <p> + By that time she was gurgling with delight over a bunch of spring beauties + that came up, root, stalk and all, when she reached for them. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ain't they purty?” While they lay in her hand and she looked, the + rose-veined petals began to close, the leaves to droop and the stem got + limp. + </p> + <p> + “Ah-h!” crooned June. “I won't pull up no more o' THEM.” + </p> + <p> + '“These little dream-flowers found in the spring.' More poetry, June.” + </p> + <p> + A little later he heard her repeating that line to herself. It was an easy + step to poetry from flowers, and evidently June was groping for it. + </p> + <p> + A few days later the service-berry swung out white stars on the low + hill-sides, but Hale could tell her nothing that she did not know about + the “sarvice-berry.” Soon, the dogwood swept in snowy gusts along the + mountains, and from a bank of it one morning a red-bird flamed and sang: + “What cheer! What cheer! What cheer!” And like its scarlet coat the + red-bud had burst into bloom. June knew the red-bud, but she had never + heard it called the Judas tree. + </p> + <p> + “You see, the red-bud was supposed to be poisonous. It shakes in the wind + and says to the bees, 'Come on, little fellows—here's your nice + fresh honey, and when they come, it betrays and poisons them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think o' that!” said June indignantly, and Hale had to + hedge a bit. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know whether it REALLY does, but that's what they SAY.” A + little farther on the white stars of the trillium gleamed at them from the + border of the woods and near by June stooped over some lovely sky-blue + blossoms with yellow eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Forget-me-nots,” said Hale. June stooped to gather them with a radiant + face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “is that what you call 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “They aren't the real ones—they're false forget-me-nots.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't want 'em,” said June. But they were beautiful and fragrant + and she added gently: + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't their fault. I'm agoin' to call 'em jus' forget-me-nots, an' I'm + givin' 'em to you,” she said—“so that you won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Hale gravely. “I won't.” + </p> + <p> + They found larkspur, too— + </p> + <p> + “'Blue as the heaven it gazes at,'” quoted Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Whut's 'gazes'?” + </p> + <p> + “Looks.” June looked up at the sky and down at the flower. + </p> + <p> + “Tain't,” she said, “hit's bluer.” + </p> + <p> + When they discovered something Hale did not know he would say that it was + one of those— + </p> + <p> + “'Wan flowers without a name.'” + </p> + <p> + “My!” said June at last, “seems like them wan flowers is a mighty big + fambly.” + </p> + <p> + “They are,” laughed Hale, “for a bachelor like me.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” said June. + </p> + <p> + Later, they ran upon yellow adder's tongues in a hollow, each blossom + guarded by a pair of ear-like leaves, Dutchman's breeches and wild + bleeding hearts—a name that appealed greatly to the fancy of the + romantic little lady, and thus together they followed the footsteps of + that spring. And while she studied the flowers Hale was studying the + loveliest flower of them all—little June. About ferns, plants and + trees as well, he told her all he knew, and there seemed nothing in the + skies, the green world of the leaves or the under world at her feet to + which she was not magically responsive. Indeed, Hale had never seen a man, + woman or child so eager to learn, and one day, when she had apparently + reached the limit of inquiry, she grew very thoughtful and he watched her + in silence a long while. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, June?” he asked finally. + </p> + <p> + “I'm just wonderin' why I'm always axin' why,” said little June. + </p> + <p> + She was learning in school, too, and she was happier there now, for there + had been no more open teasing of the new pupil. Bob's championship saved + her from that, and, thereafter, school changed straightway for June. + Before that day she had kept apart from her school-fellows at recess-times + as well as in the school-room. Two or three of the girls had made friendly + advances to her, but she had shyly repelled them—why she hardly knew—and + it was her lonely custom at recess-times to build a play-house at the foot + of a great beech with moss, broken bits of bottles and stones. Once she + found it torn to pieces and from the look on the face of the tall mountain + boy, Cal Heaton, who had grinned at her when she went up for her first + lesson, and who was now Bob's arch-enemy, she knew that he was the guilty + one. Again a day or two later it was destroyed, and when she came down + from the woods almost in tears, Bob happened to meet her in the road and + made her tell the trouble she was in. Straightway he charged the + trespasser with the deed and was lied to for his pains. So after school + that day he slipped up on the hill with the little girl and helped her + rebuild again. + </p> + <p> + “Now I'll lay for him,” said Bob, “and catch him at it.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said June, and she looked both her worry and her gratitude so + that Bob understood both; and he answered both with a nonchalant wave of + one hand. + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind—and don't you tell Mr. Hale,” and June in dumb + acquiescence crossed heart and body. But the mountain boy was wary, and + for two or three days the play-house was undisturbed and so Bob himself + laid a trap. He mounted his horse immediately after school, rode past the + mountain lad, who was on his way home, crossed the river, made a wide + detour at a gallop and, hitching his horse in the woods, came to the + play-house from the other side of the hill. And half an hour later, when + the pale little teacher came out of the school-house, he heard grunts and + blows and scuffling up in the woods, and when he ran toward the sounds, + the bodies of two of his pupils rolled into sight clenched fiercely, with + torn clothes and bleeding faces—Bob on top with the mountain boy's + thumb in his mouth and his own fingers gripped about his antagonist's + throat. Neither paid any attention to the school-master, who pulled at + Bob's coat unavailingly and with horror at his ferocity. Bob turned his + head, shook it as well as the thumb in his mouth would let him, and went + on gripping the throat under him and pushing the head that belonged to it + into the ground. The mountain boy's tongue showed and his eyes bulged. + </p> + <p> + “'Nough!” he yelled. Bob rose then and told his story and the + school-master from New England gave them a short lecture on gentleness and + Christian charity and fixed on each the awful penalty of “staying in” + after school for an hour every day for a week. Bob grinned: + </p> + <p> + “All right, professor—it was worth it,” he said, but the mountain + lad shuffled silently away. + </p> + <p> + An hour later Hale saw the boy with a swollen lip, one eye black and the + other as merry as ever—but after that there was no more trouble for + June. Bob had made his promise good and gradually she came into the games + with her fellows there-after, while Bob stood or sat aside, encouraging + but taking no part—for was he not a member of the Police Force? + Indeed he was already known far and wide as the Infant of the Guard, and + always he carried a whistle and usually, outside the school-house, a + pistol bumped his hip, while a Winchester stood in one corner of his room + and a billy dangled by his mantel-piece. + </p> + <p> + The games were new to June, and often Hale would stroll up to the + school-house to watch them—Prisoner's Base, Skipping the Rope, Antny + Over, Cracking the Whip and Lifting the Gate; and it pleased him to see + how lithe and active his little protege was and more than a match in + strength even for the boys who were near her size. June had to take the + penalty of her greenness, too, when she was “introduced to the King and + Queen” and bumped the ground between the make-believe sovereigns, or got a + cup of water in her face when she was trying to see stars through a pipe. + And the boys pinned her dress to the bench through a crack and once she + walked into school with a placard on her back which read: + </p> + <p> + “June-Bug.” But she was so good-natured that she fast became a favourite. + Indeed it was noticeable to Hale as well as Bob that Cal Heaton, the + mountain boy, seemed always to get next to June in the Tugs of War, and + one morning June found an apple on her desk. She swept the room with a + glance and met Cal's guilty flush, and though she ate the apple, she gave + him no thanks—in word, look or manner. It was curious to Hale, + moreover, to observe how June's instinct deftly led her to avoid the + mistakes in dress that characterized the gropings of other girls who, like + her, were in a stage of transition. They wore gaudy combs and green skirts + with red waists, their clothes bunched at the hips, and to their shoes and + hands they paid no attention at all. None of these things for June—and + Hale did not know that the little girl had leaped her fellows with one + bound, had taken Miss Anne Saunders as her model and was climbing upon the + pedestal where that lady justly stood. The two had not become friends as + Hale hoped. June was always silent and reserved when the older girl was + around, but there was never a move of the latter's hand or foot or lip or + eye that the new pupil failed to see. Miss Anne rallied Hale no little + about her, but he laughed good-naturedly, and asked why SHE could not make + friends with June. + </p> + <p> + “She's jealous,” said Miss Saunders, and Hale ridiculed the idea, for not + one sign since she came to the Gap had she shown him. It was the jealousy + of a child she had once betrayed and that she had outgrown, he thought; + but he never knew how June stood behind the curtains of her window, with a + hungry suffering in her face and eyes, to watch Hale and Miss Anne ride by + and he never guessed that concealment was but a sign of the dawn of + womanhood that was breaking within her. And she gave no hint of that + breaking dawn until one day early in May, when she heard a woodthrush for + the first time with Hale: for it was the bird she loved best, and always + its silver fluting would stop her in her tracks and send her into + dreamland. Hale had just broken a crimson flower from its stem and held it + out to her. + </p> + <p> + “Here's another of the 'wan ones,' June. Do you know what that is?” + </p> + <p> + “Hit's”—she paused for correction with her lips drawn severely in + for precision—“IT'S a mountain poppy. Pap says it kills goslings”—her + eyes danced, for she was in a merry mood that day, and she put both hands + behind her—“if you air any kin to a goose, you better drap it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a good one,” laughed Hale, “but it's so lovely I'll take the risk. + I won't drop it.” + </p> + <p> + “Drop it,” caught June with a quick upward look, and then to fix the word + in her memory she repeated—“drop it, drop it, DROP it!” + </p> + <p> + “Got it now, June?” + </p> + <p> + “Uh-huh.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that a woodthrush voiced the crowning joy of spring, and with + slowly filling eyes she asked its name. + </p> + <p> + “That bird,” she said slowly and with a breaking voice, “sung just + that-a-way the mornin' my sister died.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to him with a wondering smile. + </p> + <p> + “Somehow it don't make me so miserable, like it useter.” Her smile passed + while she looked, she caught both hands to her heaving breast and a wild + intensity burned suddenly in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, June!” + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't nothin',” she choked out, and she turned hurriedly ahead of him + down the path. Startled, Hale had dropped the crimson flower to his feet. + He saw it and he let it lie. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, rumours were brought in that the Falins were coming over from + Kentucky to wipe out the Guard, and so straight were they sometimes that + the Guard was kept perpetually on watch. Once while the members were at + target practice, the shout arose: + </p> + <p> + “The Kentuckians are coming! The Kentuckians are coming!” And, at double + quick, the Guard rushed back to find it a false alarm and to see men + laughing at them in the street. The truth was that, while the Falins had a + general hostility against the Guard, their particular enmity was + concentrated on John Hale, as he discovered when June was to take her + first trip home one Friday afternoon. Hale meant to carry her over, but + the morning they were to leave, old Judd Tolliver came to the Gap himself. + He did not want June to come home at that time, and he didn't think it was + safe over there for Hale just then. Some of the Falins had been seen + hanging around Lonesome Cove for the purpose, Judd believed, of getting a + shot at the man who had kept young Dave from falling into their hands, and + Hale saw that by that act he had, as Budd said, arrayed himself with the + Tollivers in the feud. In other words, he was a Tolliver himself now, and + as such the Falins meant to treat him. Hale rebelled against the + restriction, for he had started some work in Lonesome Cove and was + preparing a surprise over there for June, but old Judd said: + </p> + <p> + “Just wait a while,” and he said it so seriously that Hale for a while + took his advice. + </p> + <p> + So June stayed on at the Gap—with little disappointment, apparently, + that she could not visit home. And as spring passed and the summer came + on, the little girl budded and opened like a rose. To the pretty + school-teacher she was a source of endless interest and wonder, for while + the little girl was reticent and aloof, Miss Saunders felt herself watched + and studied in and out of school, and Hale often had to smile at June's + unconscious imitation of her teacher in speech, manners and dress. And all + the time her hero-worship of Hale went on, fed by the talk of the + boardinghouse, her fellow pupils and of the town at large—and it + fairly thrilled her to know that to the Falins he was now a Tolliver + himself. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Hale would get her a saddle, and then June would usurp Miss + Anne's place on a horseback-ride up through the gap to see the first + blooms of the purple rhododendron on Bee Rock, or up to Morris's farm on + Powell's mountain, from which, with a glass, they could see the Lonesome + Pine. And all the time she worked at her studies tirelessly—and when + she was done with her lessons, she read the fairy books that Hale got for + her—read them until “Paul and Virginia” fell into her hands, and + then there were no more fairy stories for little June. Often, late at + night, Hale, from the porch of his cottage, could see the light of her + lamp sending its beam across the dark water of the mill-pond, and finally + he got worried by the paleness of her face and sent her to the doctor. She + went unwillingly, and when she came back she reported placidly that + “organatically she was all right, the doctor said,” but Hale was glad that + vacation would soon come. At the beginning of the last week of school he + brought a little present for her from New York—a slender necklace of + gold with a little reddish stone-pendant that was the shape of a cross. + Hale pulled the trinket from his pocket as they were walking down the + river-bank at sunset and the little girl quivered like an aspen-leaf in a + sudden puff of wind. + </p> + <p> + “Hit's a fairy-stone,” she cried excitedly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, where on earth did you—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, sister Sally told me about 'em. She said folks found 'em somewhere + over here in Virginny, an' all her life she was a-wishin' fer one an' she + never could git it”—her eyes filled—“seems like ever'thing she + wanted is a-comin' to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the story of it, too?” asked Hale. + </p> + <p> + June shook her head. “Sister Sally said it was a luck-piece. Nothin' could + happen to ye when ye was carryin' it, but it was awful bad luck if you + lost it.” Hale put it around her neck and fastened the clasp and June kept + hold of the little cross with one hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you mustn't lose it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No—no—no,” she repeated breathlessly, and Hale told her the + pretty story of the stone as they strolled back to supper. The little + crosses were to be found only in a certain valley in Virginia, so perfect + in shape that they seemed to have been chiselled by hand, and they were a + great mystery to the men who knew all about rocks—the geologists. + </p> + <p> + “The ge-ol-o-gists,” repeated June. + </p> + <p> + These men said there was no crystallization—nothing like them, + amended Hale—elsewhere in the world, and that just as crosses were + of different shapes—Roman, Maltese and St. Andrew's—so, too, + these crosses were found in all these different shapes. And the myth—the + story—was that this little valley was once inhabited by fairies—June's + eyes lighted, for it was a fairy story after all—and that when a + strange messenger brought them the news of Christ's crucifixion, they + wept, and their tears, as they fell to the ground, were turned into tiny + crosses of stone. Even the Indians had some queer feeling about them, and + for a long, long time people who found them had used them as charms to + bring good luck and ward off harm. + </p> + <p> + “And that's for you,” he said, “because you've been such a good little + girl and have studied so hard. School's most over now and I reckon you'll + be right glad to get home again.” + </p> + <p> + June made no answer, but at the gate she looked suddenly up at him. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got one, too?” she asked, and she seemed much disturbed when + Hale shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'LL git—GET—you one—some day.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” laughed Hale. + </p> + <p> + There was again something strange in her manner as she turned suddenly + from him, and what it meant he was soon to learn. It was the last week of + school and Hale had just come down from the woods behind the school-house + at “little recess-time” in the afternoon. The children were playing games + outside the gate, and Bob and Miss Anne and the little Professor were + leaning on the fence watching them. The little man raised his hand to halt + Hale on the plank sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + “I've been wanting to see you,” he said in his dreamy, abstracted way. + “You prophesied, you know, that I should be proud of your little protege + some day, and I am indeed. She is the most remarkable pupil I've yet seen + here, and I have about come to the conclusion that there is no quicker + native intelligence in our country than you shall find in the children of + these mountaineers and—” + </p> + <p> + Miss Anne was gazing at the children with an expression that turned Hale's + eyes that way, and the Professor checked his harangue. Something had + happened. They had been playing “Ring Around the Rosy” and June had been + caught. She stood scarlet and tense and the cry was: + </p> + <p> + “Who's your beau—who's your beau?” + </p> + <p> + And still she stood with tight lips—flushing. + </p> + <p> + “You got to tell—you got to tell!” + </p> + <p> + The mountain boy, Cal Heaton, was grinning with fatuous consciousness, and + even Bob put his hands in his pockets and took on an uneasy smile. + </p> + <p> + “Who's your beau?” came the chorus again. + </p> + <p> + The lips opened almost in a whisper, but all could hear: + </p> + <p> + “Jack!” + </p> + <p> + “Jack who?” But June looked around and saw the four at the gate. Almost + staggering, she broke from the crowd and, with one forearm across her + scarlet face, rushed past them into the school-house. Miss Anne looked at + Hale's amazed face and she did not smile. Bob turned respectfully away, + ignoring it all, and the little Professor, whose life-purpose was + psychology, murmured in his ignorance: + </p> + <p> + “Very remarkable—very remarkable!” + </p> + <p> + Through that afternoon June kept her hot face close to her books. Bob + never so much as glanced her way—little gentleman that he was—but + the one time she lifted her eyes, she met the mountain lad's bent in a + stupor-like gaze upon her. In spite of her apparent studiousness, however, + she missed her lesson and, automatically, the little Professor told her to + stay in after school and recite to Miss Saunders. And so June and Miss + Anne sat in the school-room alone—the teacher reading a book, and + the pupil—her tears unshed—with her sullen face bent over her + lesson. In a few moments the door opened and the little Professor thrust + in his head. The girl had looked so hurt and tired when he spoke to her + that some strange sympathy moved him, mystified though he was, to say + gently now and with a smile that was rare with him: + </p> + <p> + “You might excuse June, I think, Miss Saunders, and let her recite some + time to-morrow,” and gently he closed the door. Miss Anne rose: + </p> + <p> + “Very well, June,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + June rose, too, gathering up her books, and as she passed the teacher's + platform she stopped and looked her full in the face. She said not a word, + and the tragedy between the woman and the girl was played in silence, for + the woman knew from the searching gaze of the girl and the black defiance + in her eyes, as she stalked out of the room, that her own flush had + betrayed her secret as plainly as the girl's words had told hers. + </p> + <p> + Through his office window, a few minutes later, Hale saw June pass swiftly + into the house. In a few minutes she came swiftly out again and went back + swiftly toward the school-house. He was so worried by the tense look in + her face that he could work no more, and in a few minutes he threw his + papers down and followed her. When he turned the corner, Bob was coming + down the street with his cap on the back of his head and swinging his + books by a strap, and the boy looked a little conscious when he saw Hale + coming. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen June?” Hale asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said Bob, immensely relieved. + </p> + <p> + “Did she come up this way?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, but—” Bob turned and pointed to the green dome of a + big beech. + </p> + <p> + “I think you'll find her at the foot of that tree,” he said. “That's where + her play-house is and that's where she goes when she's—that's where + she usually goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Hale—“her play-house. Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Hale went on, turned from the path and climbed noiselessly. When he caught + sight of the beech he stopped still. June stood against it like a + wood-nymph just emerged from its sun-dappled trunk—stood stretched + to her full height, her hands behind her, her hair tossed, her throat + tense under the dangling little cross, her face uplifted. At her feet, the + play-house was scattered to pieces. She seemed listening to the love-calls + of a woodthrush that came faintly through the still woods, and then he saw + that she heard nothing, saw nothing—that she was in a dream as deep + as sleep. Hale's heart throbbed as he looked. + </p> + <p> + “June!” he called softly. She did not hear him, and when he called again, + she turned her face—unstartled—and moving her posture not at + all. Hale pointed to the scattered play-house. + </p> + <p> + “I done it!” she said fiercely—“I done it myself.” Her eyes burned + steadily into his, even while she lifted her hands to her hair as though + she were only vaguely conscious that it was all undone. + </p> + <p> + “YOU heerd me?” she cried, and before he could answer—“SHE heerd + me,” and again, not waiting for a word from him, she cried still more + fiercely: + </p> + <p> + “I don't keer! I don't keer WHO knows.” + </p> + <p> + Her hands were trembling, she was biting her quivering lip to keep back + the starting tears, and Hale rushed toward her and took her in his arms. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“June! June!” he said brokenly. “You mustn't, little girl. I'm +proud—proud—why little sweetheart—” She was clinging to him and +looking up into his eyes and he bent his head slowly. Their lips met and +the man was startled. He knew now it was no child that answered him. + + Hale walked long that night in the moonlit woods up and around +Imboden Hill, along a shadow-haunted path, between silvery beech-trunks, +past the big hole in the earth from which dead trees tossed out their +crooked arms as if in torment, and to the top of the ridge under which +the valley slept and above which the dark bulk of Powell's Mountain +rose. It was absurd, but he found himself strangely stirred. She was a +child, he kept repeating to himself, in spite of the fact that he knew +she was no child among her own people, and that mountain girls were even +wives who were younger still. Still, she did not know what she felt—how +could she?—and she would get over it, and then came the sharp stab of +a doubt—would he want her to get over it? Frankly and with wonder he +confessed to himself that he did not know—he did not know. But again, +why bother? He had meant to educate her, anyhow. That was the first +step—no matter what happened. June must go out into the world to +school. He would have plenty of money. Her father would not object, and +June need never know. He could include for her an interest in her own +father's coal lands that he meant to buy, and she could think that it +was her own money that she was using. So, with a sudden rush of gladness +from his brain to his heart, he recklessly yoked himself, then and +there, under all responsibility for that young life and the eager, +sensitive soul that already lighted it so radiantly. +</pre> + <p> + And June? Her nature had opened precisely as had bud and flower that + spring. The Mother of Magicians had touched her as impartially as she had + touched them with fairy wand, and as unconsciously the little girl had + answered as a young dove to any cooing mate. With this Hale did not + reckon, and this June could not know. For a while, that night, she lay in + a delicious tremor, listening to the bird-like chorus of the little frogs + in the marsh, the booming of the big ones in the mill-pond, the water + pouring over the dam with the sound of a low wind, and, as had all the + sleeping things of the earth about her, she, too, sank to happy sleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI + </h2> + <p> + The in-sweep of the outside world was broadening its current now. The + improvement company had been formed to encourage the growth of the town. A + safe was put in the back part of a furniture store behind a wooden + partition and a bank was started. Up through the Gap and toward Kentucky, + more entries were driven into the coal, and on the Virginia side were + signs of stripping for iron ore. A furnace was coming in just as soon as + the railroad could bring it in, and the railroad was pushing ahead with + genuine vigor. Speculators were trooping in and the town had been divided + off into lots—a few of which had already changed hands. One agent + had brought in a big steel safe and a tent and was buying coal lands right + and left. More young men drifted in from all points of the compass. A + tent-hotel was put at the foot of Imboden Hill, and of nights there were + under it much poker and song. The lilt of a definite optimism was in every + man's step and the light of hope was in every man's eye. + </p> + <p> + And the Guard went to its work in earnest. Every man now had his + Winchester, his revolver, his billy and his whistle. Drilling and + target-shooting became a daily practice. Bob, who had been a year in a + military school, was drill-master for the recruits, and very gravely he + performed his duties and put them through the skirmishers' drill—advancing + in rushes, throwing themselves in the new grass, and very gravely he + commended one enthusiast—none other than the Hon. Samuel Budd—who, + rather than lose his position in line, threw himself into a pool of water: + all to the surprise, scorn and anger of the mountain onlookers, who + dwelled about the town. Many were the comments the members of the Guard + heard from them, even while they were at drill. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to see one o' them fellers hit me with one of them locust + posts.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! I could take two good men an' run the whole batch out o' the + county.” + </p> + <p> + “Look at them dudes and furriners. They come into our country and air + tryin' to larn us how to run it.” + </p> + <p> + “Our boys air only tryin' to have their little fun. They don't mean + nothin', but someday some fool young guard'll hurt somebody and then + thar'll be hell to pay.” + </p> + <p> + Hale could not help feeling considerable sympathy for their point of view—particularly + when he saw the mountaineers watching the Guard at target-practice—each + volunteer policeman with his back to the target, and at the word of + command wheeling and firing six shots in rapid succession—and he did + not wonder at their snorts of scorn at such bad shooting and their open + anger that the Guard was practising for THEM. But sometimes he got an + unexpected recruit. One bully, who had been conspicuous in the brickyard + trouble, after watching a drill went up to him with a grin: + </p> + <p> + “Hell,” he said cheerily, “I believe you fellers air goin' to have more + fun than we air, an' danged if I don't jine you, if you'll let me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Hale. And others, who might have been bad men, became members + and, thus getting a vent for their energies, were as enthusiastic for the + law as they might have been against it. + </p> + <p> + Of course, the antagonistic element in the town lost no opportunity to + plague and harass the Guard, and after the destruction of the “blind + tigers,” mischief was naturally concentrated in the high-license saloons—particularly + in the one run by Jack Woods, whose local power for evil and cackling + laugh seemed to mean nothing else than close personal communion with old + Nick himself. Passing the door of his saloon one day, Bob saw one of + Jack's customers trying to play pool with a Winchester in one hand and an + open knife between his teeth, and the boy stepped in and halted. The man + had no weapon concealed and was making no disturbance, and Bob did not + know whether or not he had the legal right to arrest him, so he turned, + and, while he was standing in the door, Jack winked at his customer, who, + with a grin, put the back of his knife-blade between Bob's shoulders and, + pushing, closed it. The boy looked over his shoulder without moving a + muscle, but the Hon. Samuel Budd, who came in at that moment, pinioned the + fellow's arms from behind and Bob took his weapon away. + </p> + <p> + “Hell,” said the mountaineer, “I didn't aim to hurt the little feller. I + jes' wanted to see if I could skeer him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, brother, 'tis scarce a merry jest,” quoth the Hon. Sam, and he + looked sharply at Jack through his big spectacles as the two led the man + off to the calaboose: for he suspected that the saloon-keeper was at the + bottom of the trick. Jack's time came only the next day. He had regarded + it as the limit of indignity when an ordinance was up that nobody should + blow a whistle except a member of the Guard, and it was great fun for him + to have some drunken customer blow a whistle and then stand in his door + and laugh at the policemen running in from all directions. That day Jack + tried the whistle himself and Hale ran down. + </p> + <p> + “Who did that?” he asked. Jack felt bold that morning. + </p> + <p> + “I blowed it.” + </p> + <p> + Hale thought for a moment. The ordinance against blowing a whistle had not + yet been passed, but he made up his mind that, under the circumstances, + Jack's blowing was a breach of the peace, since the Guard had adopted that + signal. So he said: + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't do that again.” + </p> + <p> + Jack had doubtless been going through precisely the same mental process, + and, on the nice legal point involved, he seemed to differ. + </p> + <p> + “I'll blow it when I damn please,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Blow it again and I'll arrest you,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + Jack blew. He had his right shoulder against the corner of his door at the + time, and, when he raised the whistle to his lips, Hale drew and covered + him before he could make another move. Woods backed slowly into his saloon + to get behind his counter. Hale saw his purpose, and he closed in, taking + great risk, as he always did, to avoid bloodshed, and there was a + struggle. Jack managed to get his pistol out; but Hale caught him by the + wrist and held the weapon away so that it was harmless as far as he was + concerned; but a crowd was gathering at the door toward which the + saloon-keeper's pistol was pointed, and he feared that somebody out there + might be shot; so he called out: + </p> + <p> + “Drop that pistol!” + </p> + <p> + The order was not obeyed, and Hale raised his right hand high above Jack's + head and dropped the butt of his weapon on Jack's skull—hard. Jack's + head dropped back between his shoulders, his eyes closed and his pistol + clicked on the floor. + </p> + <p> + Hale knew how serious a thing a blow was in that part of the world, and + what excitement it would create, and he was uneasy at Jack's trial, for + fear that the saloon-keeper's friends would take the matter up; but they + didn't, and, to the surprise of everybody, Jack quietly paid his fine, and + thereafter the Guard had little active trouble from the town itself, for + it was quite plain there, at least, that the Guard meant business. + </p> + <p> + Across Black Mountain old Dave Tolliver and old Buck Falin had got well of + their wounds by this time, and though each swore to have vengeance against + the other as soon as he was able to handle a Winchester, both factions + seemed waiting for that time to come. Moreover, the Falins, because of a + rumour that Bad Rufe Tolliver might come back, and because of Devil Judd's + anger at their attempt to capture young Dave, grew wary and rather + pacificatory: and so, beyond a little quarrelling, a little threatening + and the exchange of a harmless shot or two, sometimes in banter, sometimes + in earnest, nothing had been done. Sternly, however, though the Falins did + not know the fact, Devil Judd continued to hold aloof in spite of the + pleadings of young Dave, and so confident was the old man in the balance + of power that lay with him that he sent June word that he was coming to + take her home. And, in truth, with Hale going away again on a business + trip and Bob, too, gone back home to the Bluegrass, and school closed, the + little girl was glad to go, and she waited for her father's coming + eagerly. Miss Anne was still there, to be sure, and if she, too, had gone, + June would have been more content. The quiet smile of that astute young + woman had told Hale plainly, and somewhat to his embarrassment, that she + knew something had happened between the two, but that smile she never gave + to June. Indeed, she never encountered aught else than the same silent + searching gaze from the strangely mature little creature's eyes, and when + those eyes met the teacher's, always June's hand would wander + unconsciously to the little cross at her throat as though to invoke its + aid against anything that could come between her and its giver. + </p> + <p> + The purple rhododendrons on Bee Rock had come and gone and the + pink-flecked laurels were in bloom when June fared forth one sunny morning + of her own birth-month behind old Judd Tolliver—home. Back up + through the wild Gap they rode in silence, past Bee Rock, out of the chasm + and up the little valley toward the Trail of the Lonesome Pine, into which + the father's old sorrel nag, with a switch of her sunburnt tail, turned + leftward. June leaned forward a little, and there was the crest of the big + tree motionless in the blue high above, and sheltered by one big white + cloud. It was the first time she had seen the pine since she had first + left it, and little tremblings went through her from her bare feet to her + bonneted head. Thus was she unclad, for Hale had told her that, to avoid + criticism, she must go home clothed just as she was when she left Lonesome + Cove. She did not quite understand that, and she carried her new clothes + in a bundle in her lap, but she took Hale's word unquestioned. So she wore + her crimson homespun and her bonnet, with her bronze-gold hair gathered + under it in the same old Psyche knot. She must wear her shoes, she told + Hale, until she got out of town, else someone might see her, but Hale had + said she would be leaving too early for that: and so she had gone from the + Gap as she had come into it, with unmittened hands and bare feet. The soft + wind was very good to those dangling feet, and she itched to have them on + the green grass or in the cool waters through which the old horse + splashed. Yes, she was going home again, the same June as far as mountain + eyes could see, though she had grown perceptibly, and her little face had + blossomed from her heart almost into a woman's, but she knew that while + her clothes were the same, they covered quite another girl. Time wings + slowly for the young, and when the sensations are many and the experiences + are new, slowly even for all—and thus there was a double reason why + it seemed an age to June since her eyes had last rested on the big Pine. + </p> + <p> + Here was the place where Hale had put his big black horse into a dead run, + and as vivid a thrill of it came back to her now as had been the thrill of + the race. Then they began to climb laboriously up the rocky creek—the + water singing a joyous welcome to her along the path, ferns and flowers + nodding to her from dead leaves and rich mould and peeping at her from + crevices between the rocks on the creek-banks as high up as the level of + her eyes—up under bending branches full-leafed, with the warm + sunshine darting down through them upon her as she passed, and making a + playfellow of her sunny hair. Here was the place where she had got angry + with Hale, had slid from his horse and stormed with tears. What a little + fool she had been when Hale had meant only to be kind! He was never + anything but kind—Jack was—dear, dear Jack! That wouldn't + happen NO more, she thought, and straightway she corrected that thought. + </p> + <p> + “It won't happen ANY more,” she said aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Whut'd you say, June?” + </p> + <p> + The old man lifted his bushy beard from his chest and turned his head. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin', dad,” she said, and old Judd, himself in a deep study, dropped + back into it again. How often she had said that to herself—that it + would happen no more—she had stopped saying it to Hale, because he + laughed and forgave her, and seemed to love her mood, whether she cried + from joy or anger—and yet she kept on doing both just the same. + </p> + <p> + Several times Devil Judd stopped to let his horse rest, and each time, of + course, the wooded slopes of the mountains stretched downward in longer + sweeps of summer green, and across the widening valley the tops of the + mountains beyond dropped nearer to the straight level of her eyes, while + beyond them vaster blue bulks became visible and ran on and on, as they + always seemed, to the farthest limits of the world. Even out there, Hale + had told her, she would go some day. The last curving up-sweep came + finally, and there stood the big Pine, majestic, unchanged and murmuring + in the wind like the undertone of a far-off sea. As they passed the base + of it, she reached out her hand and let the tips of her fingers brush + caressingly across its trunk, turned quickly for a last look at the sunlit + valley and the hills of the outer world and then the two passed into a + green gloom of shadow and thick leaves that shut her heart in as suddenly + as though some human hand had clutched it. She was going home—to see + Bub and Loretta and Uncle Billy and “old Hon” and her step-mother and + Dave, and yet she felt vaguely troubled. The valley on the other side was + in dazzling sunshine—she had seen that. The sun must still be + shining over there—it must be shining above her over here, for here + and there shot a sunbeam message from that outer world down through the + leaves, and yet it seemed that black night had suddenly fallen about her, + and helplessly she wondered about it all, with her hands gripped tight and + her eyes wide. But the mood was gone when they emerged at the “deadening” + on the last spur and she saw Lonesome Cove and the roof of her little home + peacefully asleep in the same sun that shone on the valley over the + mountain. Colour came to her face and her heart beat faster. At the foot + of the spur the road had been widened and showed signs of heavy hauling. + There was sawdust in the mouth of the creek and, from coal-dust, the water + was black. The ring of axes and the shouts of ox-drivers came from the + mountain side. Up the creek above her father's cabin three or four houses + were being built of fresh boards, and there in front of her was a new + store. To a fence one side of it two horses were hitched and on one horse + was a side-saddle. Before the door stood the Red Fox and Uncle Billy, the + miller, who peered at her for a moment through his big spectacles and gave + her a wondering shout of welcome that brought her cousin Loretta to the + door, where she stopped a moment, anchored with surprise. Over her + shoulder peered her cousin Dave, and June saw his face darken while she + looked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Honey,” said the old miller, “have ye really come home agin?” While + Loretta simply said: + </p> + <p> + “My Lord!” and came out and stood with her hands on her hips looking at + June. + </p> + <p> + “Why, ye ain't a bit changed! I knowed ye wasn't goin' to put on no airs + like Dave thar said “—she turned on Dave, who, with a surly shrug, + wheeled and went back into the store. Uncle Billy was going home. + </p> + <p> + “Come down to see us right away now,” he called back. “Ole Hon's might + nigh crazy to git her eyes on ye.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Uncle Billy,” said June, “early termorrer.” The Red Fox did + not open his lips, but his pale eyes searched the girl from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Git down, June,” said Loretta, “and I'll walk up to the house with ye.” + </p> + <p> + June slid down, Devil Judd started the old horse, and as the two girls, + with their arms about each other's waists, followed, the wolfish side of + the Red Fox's face lifted in an ironical snarl. Bub was standing at the + gate, and when he saw his father riding home alone, his wistful eyes + filled and his cry of disappointment brought the step-mother to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Whar's June?” he cried, and June heard him, and loosening herself from + Loretta, she ran round the horse and had Bub in her arms. Then she looked + up into the eyes of her step-mother. The old woman's face looked kind—so + kind that for the first time in her life June did what her father could + never get her to do: she called her “Mammy,” and then she gave that old + woman the surprise of her life—she kissed her. Right away she must + see everything, and Bub, in ecstasy, wanted to pilot her around to see the + new calf and the new pigs and the new chickens, but dumbly June looked to + a miracle that had come to pass to the left of the cabin—a + flower-garden, the like of which she had seen only in her dreams. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII + </h2> + <p> + Twice her lips opened soundlessly and, dazed, she could only point dumbly. + The old step-mother laughed: + </p> + <p> + “Jack Hale done that. He pestered yo' pap to let him do it fer ye, an' + anything Jack Hale wants from yo' pap, he gits. I thought hit was plum' + foolishness, but he's got things to eat planted thar, too, an' I declar + hit's right purty.” + </p> + <p> + That wonderful garden! June started for it on a run. There was a broad + grass-walk down through the middle of it and there were narrow grass-walks + running sidewise, just as they did in the gardens which Hale told her he + had seen in the outer world. The flowers were planted in raised beds, and + all the ones that she had learned to know and love at the Gap were there, + and many more besides. The hollyhocks, bachelor's buttons and marigolds + she had known all her life. The lilacs, touch-me-nots, tulips and + narcissus she had learned to know in gardens at the Gap. Two rose-bushes + were in bloom, and there were strange grasses and plants and flowers that + Jack would tell her about when he came. One side was sentinelled by + sun-flowers and another side by transplanted laurel and rhododendron + shrubs, and hidden in the plant-and-flower-bordered squares were the + vegetables that won her step-mother's tolerance of Hale's plan. Through + and through June walked, her dark eyes flashing joyously here and there + when they were not a little dimmed with tears, with Loretta following her, + unsympathetic in appreciation, wondering that June should be making such a + fuss about a lot of flowers, but envious withal when she half guessed the + reason, and impatient Bub eager to show her other births and changes. And, + over and over all the while, June was whispering to herself: + </p> + <p> + “My garden—MY garden!” + </p> + <p> + When she came back to the porch, after a tour through all that was new or + had changed, Dave had brought his horse and Loretta's to the gate. No, he + wouldn't come in and “rest a spell”—“they must be gittin' along + home,” he said shortly. But old Judd Tolliver insisted that he should stay + to dinner, and Dave tied the horses to the fence and walked to the porch, + not lifting his eyes to June. Straightway the girl went into the house co + help her step-mother with dinner, but the old woman told her she “reckoned + she needn't start in yit”—adding in the querulous tone June knew so + well: + </p> + <p> + “I've been mighty po'ly, an' thar'll be a mighty lot fer you to do now.” + So with this direful prophecy in her ears the girl hesitated. The old + woman looked at her closely. + </p> + <p> + “Ye ain't a bit changed,” she said. + </p> + <p> + They were the words Loretta had used, and in the voice of each was the + same strange tone of disappointment. June wondered: were they sorry she + had not come back putting on airs and fussed up with ribbons and feathers + that they might hear her picked to pieces and perhaps do some of the + picking themselves? Not Loretta, surely—but the old step-mother! + June left the kitchen and sat down just inside the door. The Red Fox and + two other men had sauntered up from the store and all were listening to + his quavering chat: + </p> + <p> + “I seed a vision last night, and thar's trouble a-comin' in these + mountains. The Lord told me so straight from the clouds. These railroads + and coal-mines is a-goin' to raise taxes, so that a pore man'll have to + sell his hogs and his corn to pay 'em an' have nothin' left to keep him + from starvin' to death. Them police-fellers over thar at the Gap is + a-stirrin' up strife and a-runnin' things over thar as though the earth + was made fer 'em, an' the citizens ain't goin' to stand it. An' this war's + a-comin' on an' thar'll be shootin' an' killin' over thar an' over hyeh. I + seed all this devilment in a vision last night, as shore as I'm settin' + hyeh.” + </p> + <p> + Old Judd grunted, shifted his huge shoulders, parted his mustache and + beard with two fingers and spat through them. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon you didn't see no devilment. Red, that you won't take a + hand in, if it comes.” + </p> + <p> + The other men laughed, but the Red Fox looked meek and lowly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a servant of the Lord. He says do this, an' I does it the best I know + how. I goes about a-preachin' the word in the wilderness an' a-healin' the + sick with soothin' yarbs and sech.” + </p> + <p> + “An' a-makin' compacts with the devil,” said old Judd shortly, “when the + eye of man is a-lookin' t'other way.” The left side of the Red Fox's face + twitched into the faintest shadow of a snarl, but, shaking his head, he + kept still. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Sam Barth, who was thin and long and sandy, “I don't keer + what them fellers do on t'other side o' the mountain, but what air they + a-comin' over here fer?” + </p> + <p> + Old Judd spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “To give you a job, if you wasn't too durned lazy to work.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other man, who was dark, swarthy and whose black eyebrows + met across the bridge of his nose—“and that damned Hale, who's + a-tearin' up Hellfire here in the cove.” The old man lifted his eyes. + Young Dave's face wore a sudden malignant sympathy which made June clench + her hands a little more tightly. + </p> + <p> + “What about him? You must have been over to the Gap lately—like Dave + thar—did you git board in the calaboose?” It was a random thrust, + but it was accurate and it went home, and there was silence for a while. + Presently old Judd went on: + </p> + <p> + “Taxes hain't goin' to be raised, and if they are, folks will be better + able to pay 'em. Them police-fellers at the Gap don't bother nobody if he + behaves himself. This war will start when it does start, an' as for Hale, + he's as square an' clever a feller as I've ever seed. His word is just as + good as his bond. I'm a-goin' to sell him this land. It'll be his'n, an' + he can do what he wants to with it. I'm his friend, and I'm goin' to stay + his friend as long as he goes on as he's goin' now, an' I'm not goin' to + see him bothered as long as he tends to his own business.” + </p> + <p> + The words fell slowly and the weight of them rested heavily on all except + on June. Her fingers loosened and she smiled. + </p> + <p> + The Red Fox rose, shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Judd Tolliver,” he said warningly. + </p> + <p> + “Come in and git something to eat, Red.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “I'll be gittin' along”—and he went, still shaking + his head. + </p> + <p> + The table was covered with an oil-cloth spotted with drippings from a + candle. The plates and cups were thick and the spoons were of pewter. The + bread was soggy and the bacon was thick and floating in grease. The men + ate and the women served, as in ancient days. They gobbled their food like + wolves, and when they drank their coffee, the noise they made was painful + to June's ears. There were no napkins and when her father pushed his chair + back, he wiped his dripping mouth with the back of his sleeve. And Loretta + and the step-mother—they, too, ate with their knives and used their + fingers. Poor June quivered with a vague newborn disgust. Ah, had she not + changed—in ways they could not see! + </p> + <p> + June helped clear away the dishes—the old woman did not object to + that—listening to the gossip of the mountains—courtships, + marriages, births, deaths, the growing hostility in the feud, the random + killing of this man or that—Hale's doings in Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + “He's comin' over hyeh agin next Saturday,” said the old woman. + </p> + <p> + “Is he?” said Loretta in a way that made June turn sharply from her dishes + toward her. She knew Hale was not coming, but she said nothing. The old + woman was lighting her pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—you better be over hyeh in yo' best bib and tucker.” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw,” said Loretta, but June saw two bright spots come into her pretty + cheeks, and she herself burned inwardly. The old woman was looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “'Pears like you air mighty quiet, June.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” said Loretta, looking at her, too. + </p> + <p> + June, still silent, turned back to her dishes. They were beginning to take + notice after all, for the girl hardly knew that she had not opened her + lips. + </p> + <p> + Once only Dave spoke to her, and that was when Loretta said she must go. + June was out in the porch looking at the already beloved garden, and + hearing his step she turned. He looked her steadily in the eyes. She saw + his gaze drop to the fairy-stone at her throat, and a faint sneer appeared + at his set mouth—a sneer for June's folly and what he thought was + uppishness in “furriners” like Hale. + </p> + <p> + “So you ain't good enough fer him jest as ye air—air ye?” he said + slowly. “He's got to make ye all over agin—so's you'll be fitten fer + him.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away without looking to see how deep his barbed shaft went and, + startled, June flushed to her hair. In a few minutes they were gone—Dave + without the exchange of another word with June, and Loretta with a parting + cry that she would come back on Saturday. The old man went to the + cornfield high above the cabin, the old woman, groaning with pains real + and fancied, lay down on a creaking bed, and June, with Dave's wound + rankling, went out with Bub to see the new doings in Lonesome Cove. The + geese cackled before her, the hog-fish darted like submarine arrows from + rock to rock and the willows bent in the same wistful way toward their + shadows in the little stream, but its crystal depths were there no longer—floating + sawdust whirled in eddies on the surface and the water was black as soot. + Here and there the white belly of a fish lay upturned to the sun, for the + cruel, deadly work of civilization had already begun. Farther up the creek + was a buzzing monster that, creaking and snorting, sent a flashing disk, + rimmed with sharp teeth, biting a savage way through a log, that screamed + with pain as the brutal thing tore through its vitals, and gave up its + life each time with a ghost-like cry of agony. Farther on little houses + were being built of fresh boards, and farther on the water of the creek + got blacker still. June suddenly clutched Bud's arms. Two demons had + appeared on a pile of fresh dirt above them—sooty, begrimed, with + black faces and black hands, and in the cap of each was a smoking little + lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Huh,” said Bub, “that ain't nothin'! Hello, Bill,” he called bravely. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Bub,” answered one of the two demons, and both stared at the + lovely little apparition who was staring with such naive horror at them. + It was all very wonderful, though, and it was all happening in Lonesome + Cove, but Jack Hale was doing it all and, therefore, it was all right, + thought June—no matter what Dave said. Moreover, the ugly spot on + the great, beautiful breast of the Mother was such a little one after all + and June had no idea how it must spread. Above the opening for the mines, + the creek was crystal-clear as ever, the great hills were the same, and + the sky and the clouds, and the cabin and the fields of corn. Nothing + could happen to them, but if even they were wiped out by Hale's hand she + would have made no complaint. A wood-thrush flitted from a ravine as she + and Bub went back down the creek—and she stopped with uplifted face + to listen. All her life she had loved its song, and this was the first + time she had heard it in Lonesome Cove since she had learned its name from + Hale. She had never heard it thereafter without thinking of him, and she + thought of him now while it was breathing out the very spirit of the + hills, and she drew a long sigh for already she was lonely and hungering + for him. The song ceased and a long wavering cry came from the cabin. + </p> + <p> + “So-o-o-cow! S-o-o-kee! S-o-o-kee!” + </p> + <p> + The old mother was calling the cows. It was near milking-time, and with a + vague uneasiness she hurried Bub home. She saw her father coming down from + the cornfield. She saw the two cows come from the woods into the path that + led to the barn, switching their tails and snatching mouthfuls from the + bushes as they swung down the hill and, when she reached the gate, her + step-mother was standing on the porch with one hand on her hip and the + other shading her eyes from the slanting sun—waiting for her. + Already kindness and consideration were gone. + </p> + <p> + “Whar you been, June? Hurry up, now. You've had a long restin'-spell while + I've been a-workin' myself to death.” + </p> + <p> + It was the old tone, and the old fierce rebellion rose within June, but + Hale had told her to be patient. She could not check the flash from her + eyes, but she shut her lips tight on the answer that sprang to them, and + without a word she went to the kitchen for the milking-pails. The cows had + forgotten her. They eyed her with suspicion and were restive. The first + one kicked at her when she put her beautiful head against its soft flank. + Her muscles had been in disuse and her hands were cramped and her forearms + ached before she was through—but she kept doggedly at her task. When + she finished, her father had fed the horses and was standing behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Hit's mighty good to have you back agin, little gal.” + </p> + <p> + It was not often that he smiled or showed tenderness, much less spoke it + thus openly, and June was doubly glad that she had held her tongue. Then + she helped her step-mother get supper. The fire scorched her face, that + had grown unaccustomed to such heat, and she burned one hand, but she did + not let her step-mother see even that. Again she noticed with aversion the + heavy thick dishes and the pewter spoons and the candle-grease on the + oil-cloth, and she put the dishes down and, while the old woman was out of + the room, attacked the spots viciously. Again she saw her father and Bub + ravenously gobbling their coarse food while she and her step-mother served + and waited, and she began to wonder. The women sat at the table with the + men over in the Gap—why not here? Then her father went silently to + his pipe and Bub to playing with the kitten at the kitchen-door, while she + and her mother ate with never a word. Something began to stifle her, but + she choked it down. There were the dishes to be cleared away and washed, + and the pans and kettles to be cleaned. Her back ached, her arms were + tired to the shoulders and her burned hand quivered with pain when all was + done. The old woman had left her to do the last few little things alone + and had gone to her pipe. Both she and her father were sitting in silence + on the porch when June went out there. Neither spoke to each other, nor to + her, and both seemed to be part of the awful stillness that engulfed the + world. Bub fell asleep in the soft air, and June sat and sat and sat. That + was all except for the stars that came out over the mountains and were + slowly being sprayed over the sky, and the pipings of frogs from the + little creek. Once the wind came with a sudden sweep up the river and she + thought she could hear the creak of Uncle Billy's water-wheel. It smote + her with sudden gladness, not so much because it was a relief and because + she loved the old miller, but—such is the power of association—because + she now loved the mill more, loved it because the mill over in the Gap had + made her think more of the mill at the mouth of Lonesome Cove. A tapping + vibrated through the railing of the porch on which her cheek lay. Her + father was knocking the ashes from his pipe. A similar tapping sounded + inside at the fireplace. The old woman had gone and Bub was in bed, and + she had heard neither move. The old man rose with a yawn. + </p> + <p> + “Time to lay down, June.” + </p> + <p> + The girl rose. They all slept in one room. She did not dare to put on her + night-gown—her mother would see it in the morning. So she slipped + off her dress, as she had done all her life, and crawled into bed with + Bub, who lay in the middle of it and who grunted peevishly when she pushed + him with some difficulty over to his side. There were no sheets—not + even one—and the coarse blankets, which had a close acrid odour that + she had never noticed before, seemed almost to scratch her flesh. She had + hardly been to bed that early since she had left home, and she lay + sleepless, watching the firelight play hide and seek with the shadows + among the aged, smoky rafters and flicker over the strings of dried things + that hung from the ceiling. In the other corner her father and stepmother + snored heartily, and Bub, beside her, was in a nerveless slumber that + would not come to her that night—tired and aching as she was. So, quietly, + by and by, she slipped out of bed and out the door to the porch. The moon + was rising and the radiant sheen of it had dropped down over the mountain + side like a golden veil and was lighting up the white rising mists that + trailed the curves of the river. It sank below the still crests of the + pines beyond the garden and dropped on until it illumined, one by one, the + dewy heads of the flowers. She rose and walked down the grassy path in her + bare feet through the silent fragrant emblems of the planter's thought of + her—touching this flower and that with the tips of her fingers. And + when she went back, she bent to kiss one lovely rose and, as she lifted + her head with a start of fear, the dew from it shining on her lips made + her red mouth as flower-like and no less beautiful. A yell had shattered + the quiet of the world—not the high fox-hunting yell of the + mountains, but something new and strange. Up the creek were strange + lights. A loud laugh shattered the succeeding stillness—a laugh she + had never heard before in Lonesome Cove. Swiftly she ran back to the + porch. Surely strange things were happening there. A strange spirit + pervaded the Cove and the very air throbbed with premonitions. What was + the matter with everything—what was the matter with her? She knew + that she was lonely and that she wanted Hale—but what else was it? + She shivered—and not alone from the chill night-air—and + puzzled and wondering and stricken at heart, she crept back to bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Pausing at the Pine to let his big black horse blow a while, Hale mounted + and rode slowly down the green-and-gold gloom of the ravine. In his pocket + was a quaint little letter from June to “John Hail”; thanking him for the + beautiful garden, saying she was lonely, and wanting him to come soon. + From the low flank of the mountain he stopped, looking down on the cabin + in Lonesome Cove. It was a dreaming summer day. Trees, air, blue sky and + white cloud were all in a dream, and even the smoke lazing from the + chimney seemed drifting away like the spirit of something human that cared + little whither it might be borne. Something crimson emerged from the door + and stopped in indecision on the steps of the porch. It moved again, + stopped at the corner of the house, and then, moving on with a purpose, + stopped once more and began to flicker slowly to and fro like a flame. + June was working in her garden. Hale thought he would halloo to her, and + then he decided to surprise her, and he went on down, hitched his horse + and stole up to the garden fence. On the way he pulled up a bunch of weeds + by the roots and with them in his arms he noiselessly climbed the fence. + June neither heard nor saw him. Her underlip was clenched tight between + her teeth, the little cross swung violently at her throat and she was so + savagely wielding the light hoe he had given her that he thought at first + she must be killing a snake; but she was only fighting to death every weed + that dared to show its head. Her feet and her head were bare, her face was + moist and flushed and her hair was a tumbled heap of what was to him the + rarest gold under the sun. The wind was still, the leaves were heavy with + the richness of full growth, bees were busy about June's head and not + another soul was in sight. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, little girl!” he called cheerily. + </p> + <p> + The hoe was arrested at the height of a vicious stroke and the little girl + whirled without a cry, but the blood from her pumping heart crimsoned her + face and made her eyes shine with gladness. Her eyes went to her feet and + her hands to her hair. + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn't to slip up an' s-startle a lady that-a-way,” she said with + grave rebuke, and Hale looked humbled. “Now you just set there and wait + till I come back.” + </p> + <p> + “No—no—I want you to stay just as you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Honest?” + </p> + <p> + Hale gravely crossed heart and body and June gave out a happy little laugh—for + he had caught that gesture—a favourite one—from her. Then + suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “How long?” She was thinking of what Dave said, but the subtle twist in + her meaning passed Hale by. He raised his eyes to the sun and June shook + her head. + </p> + <p> + “You got to go home 'fore sundown.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her hoe and came over toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Whut you doin' with them—those weeds?” + </p> + <p> + “Going to plant 'em in our garden.” Hale had got a theory from a + garden-book that the humble burdock, pig-weed and other lowly plants were + good for ornamental effect, and he wanted to experiment, but June gave a + shrill whoop and fell to scornful laughter. Then she snatched the weeds + from him and threw them over the fence. + </p> + <p> + “Why, June!” + </p> + <p> + “Not in MY garden. Them's stagger-weeds—they kill cows,” and she + went off again. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you better c-consult me 'bout weeds next time. I don't know much + 'bout flowers, but I've knowed all my life 'bout WEEDS.” She laid so much + emphasis on the word that Hale wondered for the moment if her words had a + deeper meaning—but she went on: + </p> + <p> + “Ever' spring I have to watch the cows fer two weeks to keep 'em from + eatin'—those weeds.” Her self-corrections were always made gravely + now, and Hale consciously ignored them except when he had something to + tell her that she ought to know. Everything, it seemed, she wanted to + know. + </p> + <p> + “Do they really kill cows?” + </p> + <p> + June snapped her fingers: “Like that. But you just come on here,” she + added with pretty imperiousness. “I want to axe—ask you some things—what's + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Scarlet sage.” + </p> + <p> + “Scarlet sage,” repeated June. “An' that?” + </p> + <p> + “Nasturtium, and that's Oriental grass.” + </p> + <p> + “Nas-tur-tium, Oriental. An' what's that vine?” + </p> + <p> + “That comes from North Africa—they call it 'matrimonial vine.'” + </p> + <p> + “Whut fer?” asked June quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Because it clings so.” Hale smiled, but June saw none of his humour—the + married people she knew clung till the finger of death unclasped them. She + pointed to a bunch of tall tropical-looking plants with great spreading + leaves and big green-white stalks. + </p> + <p> + “They're called Palmae Christi.” + </p> + <p> + “Whut?” + </p> + <p> + “That's Latin. It means 'Hands of Christ,'” said Hale with reverence. “You + see how the leaves are spread out—don't they look like hands?' + </p> + <p> + “Not much,” said June frankly. “What's Latin?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's a dead language that some people used a long, long time ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What do folks use it nowadays fer? Why don't they just say 'Hands o' + Christ'?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he said helplessly, “but maybe you'll study Latin some of + these days.” June shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Gettin' YOUR language is a big enough job fer me,” she said with such + quaint seriousness that Hale could not laugh. She looked up suddenly. “You + been a long time git—gettin' over here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and now you want to send me home before sundown.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afeer—I'm afraid for you. Have you got a gun?” Hale tapped his + breast-pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Always. What are you afraid of?” + </p> + <p> + “The Falins.” She clenched her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to SEE one o' them Falins tech ye,” she added fiercely, and then + she gave a quick look at the sun. + </p> + <p> + “You better go now, Jack. I'm afraid fer you. Where's your horse?” Hale + waved his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Down there. All right, little girl,” he said. “I ought to go, anyway.” + And, to humour her, he started for the gate. There he bent to kiss her, + but she drew back. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid of Dave,” she said, but she leaned on the gate and looked long + at him with wistful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Jack,” she said, and her eyes swam suddenly, “it'll most kill me—but + I reckon you better not come over here much.” Hale made light of it all. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, I'm coming just as often as I can.” June smiled then. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll watch out fer ye.” + </p> + <p> + He went down the path, her eyes following him, and when he looked back + from the spur he saw her sitting in the porch and watching that she might + wave him farewell. + </p> + <p> + Hale could not go over to Lonesome Cove much that summer, for he was away + from the mountains a good part of the time, and it was a weary, racking + summer for June when he was not there. The step-mother was a stern + taskmistress, and the girl worked hard, but no night passed that she did + not spend an hour or more on her books, and by degrees she bribed and + stormed Bub into learning his A, B, C's and digging at a blue-back + spelling book. But all through the day there were times when she could + play with the boy in the garden, and every afternoon, when it was not + raining, she would slip away to a little ravine behind the cabin, where a + log had fallen across a little brook, and there in the cool, sun-pierced + shadows she would study, read and dream—with the water bubbling + underneath and wood-thrushes singing overhead. For Hale kept her well + supplied with books. He had given her children's books at first, but she + outgrew them when the first love-story fell into her hands, and then he + gave her novels—good, old ones and the best of the new ones, and + they were to her what water is to a thing athirst. But the happy days were + when Hale was there. She had a thousand questions for him to answer, + whenever he came, about birds, trees and flowers and the things she read + in her books. The words she could not understand in them she marked, so + that she could ask their meaning, and it was amazing how her vocabulary + increased. Moreover, she was always trying to use the new words she + learned, and her speech was thus a quaint mixture of vernacular, + self-corrections and unexpected words. Happening once to have a volume of + Keats in his pocket, he read some of it to her, and while she could not + understand, the music of the lines fascinated her and she had him leave + that with her, too. She never tired hearing him tell of the places where + he had been and the people he knew and the music and plays he had heard + and seen. And when he told her that she, too, should see all those + wonderful things some day, her deep eyes took fire and she dropped her + head far back between her shoulders and looked long at the stars that held + but little more wonder for her than the world of which he told. But each + time he was there she grew noticeably shyer with him and never once was + the love-theme between them taken up in open words. Hale was reluctant, if + only because she was still such a child, and if he took her hand or put + his own on her wonderful head or his arm around her as they stood in the + garden under the stars—he did it as to a child, though the leap in + her eyes and the quickening of his own heart told him the lie that he was + acting, rightly, to her and to himself. And no more now were there any + breaking-downs within her—there was only a calm faith that staggered + him and gave him an ever-mounting sense of his responsibility for whatever + might, through the part he had taken in moulding her life, be in store for + her. + </p> + <p> + When he was not there, life grew a little easier for her in time, because + of her dreams, the patience that was built from them and Hale's kindly + words, the comfort of her garden and her books, and the blessed force of + habit. For as time went on, she got consciously used to the rough life, + the coarse food and the rude ways of her own people and her own home. And + though she relaxed not a bit in her own dainty cleanliness, the shrinking + that she felt when she first arrived home, came to her at longer and + longer intervals. Once a week she went down to Uncle Billy's, where she + watched the water-wheel dripping sun-jewels into the sluice, the + kingfisher darting like a blue bolt upon his prey, and listening to the + lullaby that the water played to the sleepy old mill—and stopping, + both ways, to gossip with old Hon in her porch under the honeysuckle + vines. Uncle Billy saw the change in her and he grew vaguely uneasy about + her—she dreamed so much, she was at times so restless, she asked so + many questions he could not answer, and she failed to ask so many that + were on the tip of her tongue. He saw that while her body was at home, her + thoughts rarely were; and it all haunted him with a vague sense that he + was losing her. But old Hon laughed at him and told him he was an old fool + and to “git another pair o' specs” and maybe he could see that the “little + gal” was in love. This startled Uncle Billy, for he was so like a father + to June that he was as slow as a father in recognizing that his child has + grown to such absurd maturity. But looking back to the beginning—how + the little girl had talked of the “furriner” who had come into Lonesome + Cove all during the six months he was gone; how gladly she had gone away + to the Gap to school, how anxious she was to go still farther away again, + and, remembering all the strange questions she asked him about things in + the outside world of which he knew nothing—Uncle Billy shook his + head in confirmation of his own conclusion, and with all his soul he + wondered about Hale—what kind of a man he was and what his purpose + was with June—and of every man who passed his mill he never failed + to ask if he knew “that ar man Hale” and what he knew. All he had heard + had been in Hale's favour, except from young Dave Tolliver, the Red Fox or + from any Falin of the crowd, which Hale had prevented from capturing Dave. + Their statements bothered him—especially the Red Fox's evil hints + and insinuations about Hale's purposes one day at the mill. The miller + thought of them all the afternoon and all the way home, and when he sat + down at his fire his eyes very naturally and simply rose to his old rifle + over the door—and then he laughed to himself so loudly that old Hon + heard him. + </p> + <p> + “Air you goin' crazy, Billy?” she asked. “Whut you studyin' 'bout?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin'; I was jest a-thinkin' Devil Judd wouldn't leave a grease-spot of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “You AIR goin' crazy—who's him?” + </p> + <p> + “Uh—nobody,” said Uncle Billy, and old Hon turned with a shrug of + her shoulders—she was tired of all this talk about the feud. + </p> + <p> + All that summer young Dave Tolliver hung around Lonesome Cove. He would + sit for hours in Devil Judd's cabin, rarely saying anything to June or to + anybody, though the girl felt that she hardly made a move that he did not + see, and while he disappeared when Hale came, after a surly grunt of + acknowledgment to Hale's cheerful greeting, his perpetual espionage began + to anger June. Never, however, did he put himself into words until Hale's + last visit, when the summer had waned and it was nearly time for June to + go away again to school. As usual, Dave had left the house when Hale came, + and an hour after Hale was gone she went to the little ravine with a book + in her hand, and there the boy was sitting on her log, his elbows dug into + his legs midway between thigh and knee, his chin in his hands, his + slouched hat over his black eyes—every line of him picturing angry, + sullen dejection. She would have slipped away, but he heard her and lifted + his head and stared at her without speaking. Then he slowly got off the + log and sat down on a moss-covered stone. + </p> + <p> + “'Scuse me,” he said with elaborate sarcasm. “This bein' yo' school-house + over hyeh, an' me not bein' a scholar, I reckon I'm in your way.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you happen to know hit's my school-house?” asked June quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I've seed you hyeh.” + </p> + <p> + “Jus' as I s'posed.” + </p> + <p> + “You an' HIM.” + </p> + <p> + “Jus' as I s'posed,” she repeated, and a spot of red came into each cheek. + “But we didn't see YOU.” Young Dave laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, everybody don't always see me when I'm seein' them.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said unsteadily. “So, you've been sneakin' around through the + woods a-spyin' on me—SNEAKIN' AN' SPYIN',” she repeated so searingly + that Dave looked at the ground suddenly, picked up a pebble confusedly and + shot it in the water. + </p> + <p> + “I had a mighty good reason,” he said doggedly. “Ef he'd been up to some + of his furrin' tricks—-” June stamped the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think I kin take keer o' myself?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't. I never seed a gal that could—with one o' them + furriners.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” she said scornfully. “You seem to set a mighty big store by the + decency of yo' own kin.” Dave was silent. “He ain't up to no tricks. An' + whut do you reckon Dad 'ud be doin' while you was pertecting me?” + </p> + <p> + “Air ye goin' away to school?” he asked suddenly. June hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Well, seein' as hit's none o' yo' business—I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Air ye goin' to marry him?” + </p> + <p> + “He ain't axed me.” The boy's face turned red as a flame. + </p> + <p> + “Ye air honest with me, an' now I'm goin' to be honest with you. You + hain't never goin' to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/0242.jpg" + alt="You Hain't Never Goin' to Marry Him.', 0242 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “Mebbe you think I'm goin' to marry YOU.” A mist of rage swept before the + lad's eyes so that he could hardly see, but he repeated steadily: + </p> + <p> + “You hain't goin' to marry HIM.” June looked at the boy long and steadily, + but his black eyes never wavered—she knew what he meant. + </p> + <p> + “An' he kept the Falins from killin' you,” she said, quivering with + indignation at the shame of him, but Dave went on unheeding: + </p> + <p> + “You pore little fool! Do ye reckon as how he's EVER goin' to axe ye to + marry him? Whut's he sendin' you away fer? Because you hain't good enough + fer him! Whar's yo' pride? You hain't good enough fer him,” he repeated + scathingly. June had grown calm now. + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” she said quietly, “but I'm goin' to try to be.” + </p> + <p> + Dave rose then in impotent fury and pointed one finger at her. His black + eyes gleamed like a demon's and his voice was hoarse with resolution and + rage, but it was Tolliver against Tolliver now, and June answered him with + contemptuous fearlessness. + </p> + <p> + “YOU HAIN'T NEVER GOIN' TO MARRY HIM.” + </p> + <p> + “An' he kept the Falins from killin' ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he retorted savagely at last, “an' I kept the Falins from killin' + HIM,” and he stalked away, leaving June blanched and wondering. + </p> + <p> + It was true. Only an hour before, as Hale turned up the mountain that very + afternoon at the mouth of Lonesome Cove, young Dave had called to him from + the bushes and stepped into the road. + </p> + <p> + “You air goin' to court Monday?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you better take another road this time,” he said quietly. “Three o' + the Falins will be waitin' in the lorrel somewhar on the road to lay-way + ye.” + </p> + <p> + Hale was dumfounded, but he knew the boy spoke the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said impulsively, “I've got nothing against you, and I + hope you've got nothing against me. I'm much obliged—let's shake + hands!” + </p> + <p> + The boy turned sullenly away with a dogged shake of his head. + </p> + <p> + “I was beholden to you,” he said with dignity, “an' I warned you 'bout + them Falins to git even with you. We're quits now.” + </p> + <p> + Hale started to speak—to say that the lad was not beholden to him—that + he would as quickly have protected a Falin, but it would have only made + matters worse. Moreover, he knew precisely what Dave had against him, and + that, too, was no matter for discussion. So he said simply and sincerely: + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry we can't be friends.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Dave gritted out, “not this side o' Heaven—or Hell.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX + </h2> + <p> + And still farther into that far silence about which she used to dream at + the base of the big Pine, went little June. At dusk, weary and + travel-stained, she sat in the parlours of a hotel—a great gray + columned structure of stone. She was confused and bewildered and her head + ached. The journey had been long and tiresome. The swift motion of the + train had made her dizzy and faint. The dust and smoke had almost stifled + her, and even now the dismal parlours, rich and wonderful as they were to + her unaccustomed eyes, oppressed her deeply. If she could have one more + breath of mountain air! + </p> + <p> + The day had been too full of wonders. Impressions had crowded on her + sensitive brain so thick and fast that the recollection of them was as + through a haze. She had never been on a train before and when, as it + crashed ahead, she clutched Hale's arm in fear and asked how they stopped + it, Hale hearing the whistle blow for a station, said: + </p> + <p> + “I'll show you,” and he waved one hand out the window. And he repeated + this trick twice before she saw that it was a joke. All day he had soothed + her uneasiness in some such way and all day he watched her with an amused + smile that was puzzling to her. She remembered sadly watching the + mountains dwindle and disappear, and when several of her own people who + were on the train were left at way-stations, it seemed as though all links + that bound her to her home were broken. The face of the country changed, + the people changed in looks, manners and dress, and she shrank closer to + Hale with an increasing sense of painful loneliness. These level fields + and these farm-houses so strangely built, so varied in colour were the + “settlemints,” and these people so nicely dressed, so clean and + fresh-looking were “furriners.” At one station a crowd of school-girls had + got on board and she had watched them with keen interest, mystified by + their incessant chatter and gayety. And at last had come the big city, + with more smoke, more dust, more noise, more confusion—and she was + in HIS world. That was the thought that comforted her—it was his + world, and now she sat alone in the dismal parlours while Hale was gone to + find his sister—waiting and trembling at the ordeal, close upon her, + of meeting Helen Hale. + </p> + <p> + Below, Hale found his sister and her maid registered, and a few minutes + later he led Miss Hale into the parlour. As they entered June rose without + advancing, and for a moment the two stood facing each other—the + still roughly clad, primitive mountain girl and the exquisite modern woman—in + an embarrassment equally painful to both. + </p> + <p> + “June, this is my sister.” + </p> + <p> + At a loss what to do, Helen Hale simply stretched out her hand, but drawn + by June's timidity and the quick admiration and fear in her eyes, she + leaned suddenly forward and kissed her. A grateful flush overspread the + little girl's features and the pallor that instantly succeeded went + straight-way to the sister's heart. + </p> + <p> + “You are not well,” she said quickly and kindly. “You must go to your room + at once. I am going to take care of you—you are MY little sister + now.” + </p> + <p> + June lost the subtlety in Miss Hale's emphasis, but she fell with instant + submission under such gentle authority, and though she could say nothing, + her eyes glistened and her lips quivered, and without looking to Hale, she + followed his sister out of the room. Hale stood still. He had watched the + meeting with apprehension and now, surprised and grateful, he went to + Helen's parlour and waited with a hopeful heart. When his sister entered, + he rose eagerly: + </p> + <p> + “Well—” he said, stopping suddenly, for there were tears of + vexation, dismay and genuine distress on his sister's face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jack,” she cried, “how could you! How could you!” + </p> + <p> + Hale bit his lips, turned and paced the room. He had hoped too much and + yet what else could he have expected? His sister and June knew as little + about each other and each other's lives as though they had occupied + different planets. He had forgotten that Helen must be shocked by June's + inaccuracies of speech and in a hundred other ways to which he had become + accustomed. With him, moreover, the process had been gradual and, + moreover, he had seen beneath it all. And yet he had foolishly expected + Helen to understand everything at once. He was unjust, so very wisely he + held himself in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Where is her baggage, Jack?” Helen had opened her trunk and was lifting + out the lid. “She ought to change those dusty clothes at once. You'd + better ring and have it sent right up.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale, “I will go down and see about it myself.” + </p> + <p> + He returned presently—his face aflame—with June's carpet-bag. + </p> + <p> + “I believe this is all she has,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + In spite of herself Helen's grief changed to a fit of helpless laughter + and, afraid to trust himself further, Hale rose to leave the room. At the + door he was met by the negro maid. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Helen,” she said with an open smile, “Miss June say she don't want + NUTTIN'.” Hale gave her a fiery look and hurried out. June was seated at a + window when he went into her room with her face buried in her arms. She + lifted her head, dropped it, and he saw that her eyes were red with + weeping. “Are you sick, little girl?” he asked anxiously. June shook her + head helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “You aren't homesick, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” The answer came very faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you like my sister?” The head bowed an emphatic “Yes—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said despairingly, between her sobs, “she—won't—like—me. + I never—can—be—like HER.” + </p> + <p> + Hale smiled, but her grief was so sincere that he leaned over her and with + a tender hand soothed her into quiet. Then he went to Helen again and he + found her overhauling dresses. + </p> + <p> + “I brought along several things of different sizes and I am going to try + at any rate. Oh,” she added hastily, “only of course until she can get + some clothes of her own.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Hale, “but—” His sister waved one hand and again Hale + kept still. + </p> + <p> + June had bathed her eyes and was lying down when Helen entered, and she + made not the slightest objection to anything the latter proposed. + Straightway she fell under as complete subjection to her as she had done + to Hale. Without a moment's hesitation she drew off her rudely fashioned + dress and stood before Helen with the utmost simplicity—her + beautiful arms and throat bare and her hair falling about them with the + rich gold of a cloud at an autumn sunset. Dressed, she could hardly + breathe, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, she trembled. Magic + transformation! Apparently the chasm between the two had been bridged in a + single instant. Helen herself was astonished and again her heart warmed + toward the girl, when a little later, she stood timidly under Hale's + scrutiny, eagerly watching his face and flushing rosy with happiness under + his brightening look. Her brother had not exaggerated—the little + girl was really beautiful. When they went down to the dining-room, there + was another surprise for Helen Hale, for June's timidity was gone and to + the wonder of the woman, she was clothed with an impassive reserve that in + herself would have been little less than haughtiness and was astounding in + a child. She saw, too, that the change in the girl's bearing was + unconscious and that the presence of strangers had caused it. It was plain + that June's timidity sprang from her love of Hale—her fear of not + pleasing him and not pleasing her, his sister, and plain, too, that + remarkable self-poise was little June's to command. At the table June kept + her eyes fastened on Helen Hale. Not a movement escaped her and she did + nothing that was not done by one of the others first. She said nothing, + but if she had to answer a question, she spoke with such care and + precision that she almost seemed to be using a foreign language. Miss Hale + smiled but with inward approval, and that night she was in better spirits. + </p> + <p> + “Jack,” she said, when he came to bid her good-night, “I think we'd better + stay here a few days. I thought of course you were exaggerating, but she + is very, very lovely. And that manner of hers—well, it passes my + understanding. Just leave everything to me.” + </p> + <p> + Hale was very willing to do that. He had all trust in his sister's + judgment, he knew her dislike of interference, her love of autocratic + supervision, so he asked no questions, but in grateful relief kissed her + good-night. + </p> + <p> + The sister sat for a long time at her window after he was gone. Her + brother had been long away from civilization; he had become infatuated, + the girl loved him, he was honourable and in his heart he meant to marry + her—that was to her the whole story. She had been mortified by the + misstep, but the misstep made, only one thought had occurred to her—to + help him all she could. She had been appalled when she first saw the dusty + shrinking mountain girl, but the helplessness and the loneliness of the + tired little face touched her, and she was straightway responsive to the + mute appeal in the dark eyes that were lifted to her own with such modest + fear and wonder. Now her surprise at her brother's infatuation was abating + rapidly. The girl's adoration of him, her wild beauty, her strange winning + personality—as rare and as independent of birth and circumstances as + genius—had soon made that phenomenon plain. And now what was to be + done? The girl was quick, observant, imitative, docile, and in the + presence of strangers, her gravity of manner gave the impression of + uncanny self-possession. It really seemed as though anything might be + possible. At Helen's suggestion, then, the three stayed where they were + for a week, for June's wardrobe was sadly in need of attention. So the + week was spent in shopping, driving, and walking, and rapidly as it passed + for Helen and Hale it was to June the longest of her life, so filled was + it with a thousand sensations unfelt by them. The city had been stirred by + the spirit of the new South, but the charm of the old was distinct + everywhere. Architectural eccentricities had startled the sleepy + maple-shaded rows of comfortable uniform dwellings here and there, and in + some streets the life was brisk; but it was still possible to see + pedestrians strolling with unconscious good-humour around piles of goods + on the sidewalk, business men stopping for a social chat on the streets, + street-cars moving independent of time, men invariably giving up their + seats to women, and, strangers or not, depositing their fare for them; the + drivers at the courteous personal service of each patron of the road—now + holding a car and placidly whistling while some lady who had signalled + from her doorway went back indoors for some forgotten article, now + twisting the reins around the brakes and leaving a parcel in some yard—and + no one grumbling! But what was to Hale an atmosphere of amusing leisure + was to June bewildering confusion. To her his amusement was + unintelligible, but though in constant wonder at everything she saw, no + one would ever have suspected that she was making her first acquaintance + with city scenes. At first the calm unconcern of her companions had + puzzled her. She could not understand how they could walk along, heedless + of the wonderful visions that beckoned to her from the shop-windows; + fearless of the strange noises about them and scarcely noticing the great + crowds of people, or the strange shining vehicles that thronged the + streets. But she had quickly concluded that it was one of the demands of + that new life to see little and be astonished at nothing, and Helen and + Hale surprised in turn at her unconcern, little suspected the effort her + self-suppression cost her. And when over some wonder she did lose herself, + Hale would say: + </p> + <p> + “Just wait till you see New York!” and June would turn her dark eyes to + Helen for confirmation and to see if Hale could be joking with her. + </p> + <p> + “It's all true, June,” Helen would say. “You must go there some day. It's + true.” But that town was enough and too much for June. Her head buzzed + continuously and she could hardly sleep, and she was glad when one + afternoon they took her into the country again—the Bluegrass country—and + to the little town near which Hale had been born, and which was a + dream-city to June, and to a school of which an old friend of his mother + was principal, and in which Helen herself was a temporary teacher. And + Rumour had gone ahead of June. Hale had found her dashing about the + mountains on the back of a wild bull, said rumour. She was as beautiful as + Europa, was of pure English descent and spoke the language of Shakespeare—the + Hon. Sam Budd's hand was patent in this. She had saved Hale's life from + moonshiners and while he was really in love with her, he was pretending to + educate her out of gratitude—and here doubtless was the faint + tracery of Miss Anne Saunder's natural suspicions. And there Hale left her + under the eye of his sister—left her to absorb another new life like + a thirsty plant and come back to the mountains to make his head swim with + new witcheries. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX + </h2> + <p> + The boom started after its shadow through the hills now, and Hale watched + it sweep toward him with grim satisfaction at the fulfilment of his own + prophecy and with disgust that, by the irony of fate, it should come from + the very quarters where years before he had played the maddening part of + lunatic at large. The avalanche was sweeping southward; Pennsylvania was + creeping down the Alleghanies, emissaries of New York capital were pouring + into the hills, the tide-water of Virginia and the Bluegrass region of + Kentucky were sending in their best blood and youth, and friends of the + helmeted Englishmen were hurrying over the seas. Eastern companies were + taking up principalities, and at Cumberland Gap, those helmeted Englishmen + had acquired a kingdom. They were building a town there, too, with huge + steel plants, broad avenues and business blocks that would have graced + Broadway; and they were pouring out a million for every thousand that it + would have cost Hale to acquire the land on which the work was going on. + Moreover they were doing it there, as Hale heard, because they were too + late to get control of his gap through the Cumberland. At his gap, too, + the same movement was starting. In stage and wagon, on mule and horse, + “riding and tying” sometimes, and even afoot came the rush of madmen. + Horses and mules were drowned in the mud holes along the road, such was + the traffic and such were the floods. The incomers slept eight in a room, + burned oil at one dollar a gallon, and ate potatoes at ten cents apiece. + The Grand Central Hotel was a humming Real-Estate Exchange, and, night and + day, the occupants of any room could hear, through the thin partitions, + lots booming to right, left, behind and in front of them. The labour and + capital question was instantly solved, for everybody became a + capitalist-carpenter, brick-layer, blacksmith, singing teacher and + preacher. There is no difference between the shrewdest business man and a + fool in a boom, for the boom levels all grades of intelligence and + produces as distinct a form of insanity as you can find within the walls + of an asylum. Lots took wings sky-ward. Hale bought one for June for + thirty dollars and sold it for a thousand. Before the autumn was gone, he + found himself on the way to ridiculous opulence and, when spring came, he + had the world in a sling and, if he wished, he could toss it playfully at + the sun and have it drop back into his hand again. And the boom spread + down the valley and into the hills. The police guard had little to do and, + over in the mountains, the feud miraculously came to a sudden close. + </p> + <p> + So pervasive, indeed, was the spirit of the times that the Hon. Sam Budd + actually got old Buck Falin and old Dave Tolliver to sign a truce, + agreeing to a complete cessation of hostilities until he carried through a + land deal in which both were interested. And after that was concluded, + nobody had time, even the Red Fox, for deviltry and private vengeance—so + busy was everybody picking up the manna which was dropping straight from + the clouds. Hale bought all of old Judd's land, formed a stock company and + in the trade gave June a bonus of the stock. Money was plentiful as grains + of sand, and the cashier of the bank in the back of the furniture store at + the Gap chuckled to his beardless directors as he locked the wooden door + on the day before the great land sale: + </p> + <p> + “Capital stock paid in—thirteen thousand dollars; + </p> + <p> + “Deposits—three hundred thousand; + </p> + <p> + “Loans—two hundred and sixty thousand—interest from eight to + twelve per cent.” And, beardless though those directors were, that + statement made them reel. + </p> + <p> + A club was formed and the like of it was not below Mason and Dixon's line + in the way of furniture, periodicals, liquors and cigars. Poker ceased—it + was too tame in competition with this new game of town-lots. On the top of + High Knob a kingdom was bought. The young bloods of the town would build a + lake up there, run a road up and build a Swiss chalet on the very top for + a country club. The “booming” editor was discharged. A new paper was + started, and the ex-editor of a New York Daily was got to run it. If + anybody wanted anything, he got it from no matter where, nor at what cost. + Nor were the arts wholly neglected. One man, who was proud of his voice, + thought he would like to take singing lessons. An emissary was sent to + Boston to bring back the best teacher he could find. The teacher came with + a method of placing the voice by trying to say “Come!” at the base of the + nose and between the eyes. This was with the lips closed. He charged two + dollars per half hour for this effort, he had each pupil try it twice for + half an hour each day, and for six weeks the town was humming like a + beehive. At the end of that period, the teacher fell ill and went his way + with a fat pocket-book and not a warbling soul had got the chance to open + his mouth. The experience dampened nobody. Generosity was limitless. It + was equally easy to raise money for a roulette wheel, a cathedral or an + expedition to Africa. And even yet the railroad was miles away and even + yet in February, the Improvement Company had a great land sale. The day + before it, competing purchasers had deposited cheques aggregating three + times the sum asked for by the company for the land. So the buyers spent + the night organizing a pool to keep down competition and drawing lots for + the privilege of bidding. For fairness, the sale was an auction, and one + old farmer who had sold some of the land originally for a hundred dollars + an acre, bought back some of that land at a thousand dollars a lot. + </p> + <p> + That sale was the climax and, that early, Hale got a warning word from + England, but he paid no heed even though, after the sale, the boom + slackened, poised and stayed still; for optimism was unquenchable and + another tide would come with another sale in May, and so the spring passed + in the same joyous recklessness and the same perfect hope. + </p> + <p> + In April, the first railroad reached the Gap at last, and families came in + rapidly. Money was still plentiful and right royally was it spent, for was + not just as much more coming when the second road arrived in May? Life was + easier, too—supplies came from New York, eight o'clock dinners were + in vogue and everybody was happy. Every man had two or three good horses + and nothing to do. The place was full of visiting girls. They rode in + parties to High Knob, and the ring of hoof and the laughter of youth and + maid made every dusk resonant with joy. On Poplar Hill houses sprang up + like magic and weddings came. The passing stranger was stunned to find out + in the wilderness such a spot; gayety, prodigal hospitality, a police + force of gentlemen—nearly all of whom were college graduates—and + a club, where poker flourished in the smoke of Havana cigars, and a barrel + of whiskey stood in one corner with a faucet waiting for the turn of any + hand. And still the foundation of the new hotel was not started and the + coming of the new railroad in May did not make a marked change. For some + reason the May sale was postponed by the Improvement Company, but what did + it matter? Perhaps it was better to wait for the fall, and so the summer + went on unchanged. Every man still had a bank account and in the autumn, + the boom would come again. At such a time June came home for her vacation, + and Bob Berkley came back from college for his. All through the school + year Hale had got the best reports of June. His sister's letters were + steadily encouraging. June had been very homesick for the mountains and + for Hale at first, but the homesickness had quickly worn off—apparently + for both. She had studied hard, had become a favourite among the girls, + and had held her own among them in a surprising way. But it was on June's + musical talent that Hale's sister always laid most stress, and on her + voice which, she said, was really unusual. June wrote, too, at longer and + longer intervals and in her letters, Hale could see the progress she was + making—the change in her handwriting, the increasing formality of + expression, and the increasing shrewdness of her comments on her + fellow-pupils, her teachers and the life about her. She did not write home + for a reason Hale knew, though June never mentioned it—because there + was no one at home who could read her letters—but she always sent + messages to her father and Bub and to the old miller and old Hon, and Hale + faithfully delivered them when he could. + </p> + <p> + From her people, as Hale learned from his sister, only one messenger had + come during the year to June, and he came but once. One morning, a tall, + black-haired, uncouth young man, in a slouch hat and a Prince Albert coat, + had strode up to the school with a big paper box under his arm and asked + for June. As he handed the box to the maid at the door, it broke and red + apples burst from it and rolled down the steps. There was a shriek of + laughter from the girls, and the young man, flushing red as the apples, + turned, without giving his name, and strode back with no little majesty, + looking neither to right nor left. Hale knew and June knew that the + visitor was her cousin Dave, but she never mentioned the incident to him, + though as the end of the session drew nigh, her letters became more + frequent and more full of messages to the people in Lonesome Cove, and she + seemed eager to get back home. Over there about this time, old Judd + concluded suddenly to go West, taking Bud with him, and when Hale wrote + the fact, an answer came from June that showed the blot of tears. However, + she seemed none the less in a hurry to get back, and when Hale met her at + the station, he was startled; for she came back in dresses that were below + her shoe-tops, with her wonderful hair massed in a golden glory on the top + of her head and the little fairy-cross dangling at a woman's throat. Her + figure had rounded, her voice had softened. She held herself as straight + as a young poplar and she walked the earth as though she had come straight + from Olympus. And still, in spite of her new feathers and airs and graces, + there was in her eye and in her laugh and in her moods all the subtle wild + charm of the child in Lonesome Cove. It was fairy-time for June that + summer, though her father and Bud had gone West, for her step-mother was + living with a sister, the cabin in Lonesome Cove was closed and June + stayed at the Gap, not at the Widow Crane's boarding-house, but with one + of Hale's married friends on Poplar Hill. And always was she, young as she + was, one of the merry parties of that happy summer—even at the + dances, for the dance, too, June had learned. Moreover she had picked up + the guitar, and many times when Hale had been out in the hills, he would + hear her silver-clear voice floating out into the moonlight as he made his + way toward Poplar Hill, and he would stop under the beeches and listen + with ears of growing love to the wonder of it all. For it was he who was + the ardent one of the two now. + </p> + <p> + June was no longer the frank, impulsive child who stood at the foot of the + beech, doggedly reckless if all the world knew her love for him. She had + taken flight to some inner recess where it was difficult for Hale to + follow, and right puzzled he was to discover that he must now win again + what, unasked, she had once so freely given. + </p> + <p> + Bob Berkley, too, had developed amazingly. He no longer said “Sir” to Hale—that + was bad form at Harvard—he called him by his first name and looked + him in the eye as man to man: just as June—Hale observed—no + longer seemed in any awe of Miss Anne Saunders and to have lost all + jealousy of her, or of anybody else—so swiftly had her instinct + taught her she now had nothing to fear. And Bob and June seemed mightily + pleased with each other, and sometimes Hale, watching them as they + galloped past him on horseback laughing and bantering, felt foolish to + think of their perfect fitness—the one for the other—and the + incongruity of himself in a relationship that would so naturally be + theirs. At one thing he wondered: she had made an extraordinary record at + school and it seemed to him that it was partly through the consciousness + that her brain would take care of itself that she could pay such heed to + what hitherto she had had no chance to learn—dress, manners, + deportment and speech. Indeed, it was curious that she seemed to lay most + stress on the very things to which he, because of his long rough life in + the mountains, was growing more and more indifferent. It was quite plain + that Bob, with his extreme gallantry of manner, his smart clothes, his + high ways and his unconquerable gayety, had supplanted him on the pedestal + where he had been the year before, just as somebody, somewhere—his + sister, perhaps—had supplanted Miss Anne. Several times indeed June + had corrected Hale's slips of tongue with mischievous triumph, and once + when he came back late from a long trip in the mountains and walked in to + dinner without changing his clothes, Hale saw her look from himself to the + immaculate Bob with an unconscious comparison that half amused, half + worried him. The truth was he was building a lovely Frankenstein and from + wondering what he was going to do with it, he was beginning to wonder now + what it might some day do with him. And though he sometimes joked with + Miss Anne, who had withdrawn now to the level plane of friendship with + him, about the transformation that was going on, he worried in a way that + did neither his heart nor his brain good. Still he fought both to little + purpose all that summer, and it was not till the time was nigh when June + must go away again, that he spoke both. For Hale's sister was going to + marry, and it was her advice that he should take June to New York if only + for the sake of her music and her voice. That very day June had for the + first time seen her cousin Dave. He was on horseback, he had been drinking + and he pulled in and, without an answer to her greeting, stared her over + from head to foot. Colouring angrily, she started on and then he spoke + thickly and with a sneer: + </p> + <p> + “'Bout fryin' size, now, ain't ye? I reckon maybe, if you keep on, you'll + be good enough fer him in a year or two more.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obliged for those apples, Dave,” said June quietly—and + Dave flushed a darker red and sat still, forgetting to renew the old + threat that was on his tongue. + </p> + <p> + But his taunt rankled in the girl—rankled more now than when Dave + first made it, for she better saw the truth of it and the hurt was the + greater to her unconquerable pride that kept her from betraying the hurt + to Dave long ago, and now, when he was making an old wound bleed afresh. + But the pain was with her at dinner that night and through the evening. + She avoided Hale's eyes though she knew that he was watching her all the + time, and her instinct told her that something was going to happen that + night and what that something was. Hale was the last to go and when he + called to her from the porch, she went out trembling and stood at the head + of the steps in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “I love you, little girl,” he said simply, “and I want you to marry me + some day—will you, June?” She was unsurprised but she flushed under + his hungry eyes, and the little cross throbbed at her throat. + </p> + <p> + “SOME day—not NOW,” she thought, and then with equal simplicity: “Yes, + Jack.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you should love somebody else more, you'll tell me right away—won't + you, June?” She shrank a little and her eyes fell, but straight-way she + raised them steadily: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Jack.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, little girl—good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Jack.” + </p> + <p> + Hale saw the little shrinking movement she made, and, as he went down the + hill, he thought she seemed to be in a hurry to be alone, and that she had + caught her breath sharply as she turned away. And brooding he walked the + woods long that night. + </p> + <p> + Only a few days later, they started for New York and, with all her + dreaming, June had never dreamed that the world could be so large. + Mountains and vast stretches of rolling hills and level land melted away + from her wondering eyes; towns and cities sank behind them, swift streams + swollen by freshets were outstripped and left behind, darkness came on + and, through it, they still sped on. Once during the night she woke from a + troubled dream in her berth and for a moment she thought she was at home + again. They were running through mountains again and there they lay in the + moonlight, the great calm dark faces that she knew and loved, and she + seemed to catch the odour of the earth and feel the cool air on her face, + but there was no pang of homesickness now—she was too eager for the + world into which she was going. Next morning the air was cooler, the skies + lower and grayer—the big city was close at hand. Then came the + water, shaking and sparkling in the early light like a great cauldron of + quicksilver, and the wonderful Brooklyn Bridge—a ribbon of twinkling + lights tossed out through the mist from the mighty city that rose from + that mist as from a fantastic dream; then the picking of a way through + screeching little boats and noiseless big ones and white bird-like + floating things and then they disappeared like two tiny grains in a + shifting human tide of sand. But Hale was happy now, for on that trip June + had come back to herself, and to him, once more—and now, awed but + unafraid, eager, bubbling, uplooking, full of quaint questions about + everything she saw, she was once more sitting with affectionate reverence + at his feet. When he left her in a great low house that fronted on the + majestic Hudson, June clung to him with tears and of her own accord kissed + him for the first time since she had torn her little playhouse to pieces + at the foot of the beech down in the mountains far away. And Hale went + back with peace in his heart, but to trouble in the hills. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Not suddenly did the boom drop down there, not like a falling star, but on + the wings of hope—wings that ever fluttering upward, yet sank + inexorably and slowly closed. The first crash came over the waters when + certain big men over there went to pieces—men on whose shoulders + rested the colossal figure of progress that the English were carving from + the hills at Cumberland Gap. Still nobody saw why a hurt to the Lion + should make the Eagle sore and so the American spirit at the other gaps + and all up the Virginia valleys that skirt the Cumberland held faithful + and dauntless—for a while. But in time as the huge steel plants grew + noiseless, and the flaming throats of the furnaces were throttled, a + sympathetic fire of dissolution spread slowly North and South and it was + plain only to the wise outsider as merely a matter of time until, all up + and down the Cumberland, the fox and the coon and the quail could come + back to their old homes on corner lots, marked each by a pathetic little + whitewashed post—a tombstone over the graves of a myriad of buried + human hopes. But it was the gap where Hale was that died last and hardest—and + of the brave spirits there, his was the last and hardest to die. + </p> + <p> + In the autumn, while June was in New York, the signs were sure but every + soul refused to see them. Slowly, however, the vexed question of labour + and capital was born again, for slowly each local capitalist went slowly + back to his own trade: the blacksmith to his forge, but the carpenter not + to his plane nor the mason to his brick—there was no more building + going on. The engineer took up his transit, the preacher-politician was + oftener in his pulpit, and the singing teacher started on his round of + raucous do-mi-sol-dos through the mountains again. It was curious to see + how each man slowly, reluctantly and perforce sank back again to his old + occupation—and the town, with the luxuries of electricity, + water-works, bath-tubs and a street railway, was having a hard fight for + the plain necessities of life. The following spring, notes for the second + payment on the lots that had been bought at the great land sale fell due, + and but very few were paid. As no suits were brought by the company, + however, hope did not quite die. June did not come home for the summer, + and Hale did not encourage her to come—she visited some of her + school-mates in the North and took a trip West to see her father who had + gone out there again and bought a farm. In the early autumn, Devil Judd + came back to the mountains and announced his intention to leave them for + good. But that autumn, the effects of the dead boom became perceptible in + the hills. There were no more coal lands bought, logging ceased, the + factions were idle once more, moonshine stills flourished, quarrelling + started, and at the county seat, one Court day, Devil Judd whipped three + Falins with his bare fists. In the early spring a Tolliver was shot from + ambush and old Judd was so furious at the outrage that he openly announced + that he would stay at home until he had settled the old scores for good. + So that, as the summer came on, matters between the Falins and the + Tollivers were worse than they had been for years and everybody knew that, + with old Judd at the head of his clan again, the fight would be fought to + the finish. At the Gap, one institution only had suffered in spirit not at + all and that was the Volunteer Police Guard. Indeed, as the excitement of + the boom had died down, the members of that force, as a vent for their + energies, went with more enthusiasm than ever into their work. Local + lawlessness had been subdued by this time, the Guard had been extending + its work into the hills, and it was only a question of time until it must + take a part in the Falin-Tolliver troubles. Indeed, that time, Hale + believed, was not far away, for Election Day was at hand, and always on + that day the feudists came to the Gap in a search for trouble. Meanwhile, + not long afterward, there was a pitched battle between the factions at the + county seat, and several of each would fight no more. Next day a Falin + whistled a bullet through Devil Judd's beard from ambush, and it was at + such a crisis of all the warring elements in her mountain life that June's + school-days were coming to a close. Hale had had a frank talk with old + Judd and the old man agreed that the two had best be married at once and + live at the Gap until things were quieter in the mountains, though the old + man still clung to his resolution to go West for good when he was done + with the Falins. At such a time, then, June was coming home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI + </h2> + <p> + Hale was beyond Black Mountain when her letter reached him. His work over + there had to be finished and so he kept in his saddle the greater part of + two days and nights and on the third day rode his big black horse forty + miles in little more than half a day that he might meet her at the train. + The last two years had wrought their change in him. Deterioration is easy + in the hills—superficial deterioration in habits, manners, personal + appearance and the practices of all the little niceties of life. The + morning bath is impossible because of the crowded domestic conditions of a + mountain cabin and, if possible, might if practised, excite wonder and + comment, if not vague suspicion. Sleeping garments are practically barred + for the same reason. Shaving becomes a rare luxury. A lost tooth-brush may + not be replaced for a month. In time one may bring himself to eat with a + knife for the reason that it is hard for a hungry man to feed himself with + a fork that has but two tines. The finger tips cease to be the culminating + standard of the gentleman. It is hard to keep a supply of fresh linen when + one is constantly in the saddle, and a constant weariness of body and a + ravenous appetite make a man indifferent to things like a bad bed and + worse food, particularly as he must philosophically put up with them, + anyhow. Of all these things the man himself may be quite unconscious and + yet they affect him more deeply than he knows and show to a woman even in + his voice, his walk, his mouth—everywhere save in his eyes, which + change only in severity, or in kindliness or when there has been some + serious break-down of soul or character within. And the woman will not + look to his eyes for the truth—which makes its way slowly—particularly + when the woman has striven for the very things that the man has so + recklessly let go. She would never suffer herself to let down in such a + way and she does not understand how a man can. + </p> + <p> + Hale's life, since his college doors had closed behind him, had always + been a rough one. He had dropped from civilization and had gone back into + it many times. And each time he had dropped, he dropped the deeper, and + for that reason had come back into his own life each time with more + difficulty and with more indifference. The last had been his roughest year + and he had sunk a little more deeply just at the time when June had been + pluming herself for flight from such depths forever. Moreover, Hale had + been dominant in every matter that his hand or his brain had touched. His + habit had been to say “do this” and it was done. Though he was no longer + acting captain of the Police Guard, he always acted as captain whenever he + was on hand, and always he was the undisputed leader in all questions of + business, politics or the maintenance of order and law. The success he had + forged had hardened and strengthened his mouth, steeled his eyes and made + him more masterful in manner, speech and point of view, and naturally had + added nothing to his gentleness, his unselfishness, his refinement or the + nice consideration of little things on which women lay such stress. It was + an hour by sun when he clattered through the gap and pushed his tired + black horse into a gallop across the valley toward the town. He saw the + smoke of the little dummy and, as he thundered over the bridge of the + North Fork, he saw that it was just about to pull out and he waved his hat + and shouted imperiously for it to wait. With his hand on the bell-rope, + the conductor, autocrat that he, too, was, did wait and Hale threw his + reins to the man who was nearest, hardly seeing who he was, and climbed + aboard. He wore a slouched hat spotted by contact with the roof of the + mines which he had hastily visited on his way through Lonesome Cove. The + growth of three days' beard was on his face. He wore a gray woollen shirt, + and a blue handkerchief—none too clean—was loosely tied about + his sun-scorched column of a throat; he was spotted with mud from his + waist to the soles of his rough riding boots and his hands were rough and + grimy. But his eye was bright and keen and his heart thumped eagerly. + Again it was the middle of June and the town was a naked island in a sea + of leaves whose breakers literally had run mountain high and stopped for + all time motionless. Purple lights thick as mist veiled Powell's Mountain. + Below, the valley was still flooded with yellow sunlight which lay along + the mountain sides and was streaked here and there with the long shadow of + a deep ravine. The beech trunks on Imboden Hill gleamed in it like white + bodies scantily draped with green, and the yawning Gap held the yellow + light as a bowl holds wine. He had long ago come to look upon the hills + merely as storehouses for iron and coal, put there for his special + purpose, but now the long submerged sense of the beauty of it all stirred + within him again, for June was the incarnate spirit of it all and June was + coming back to those mountains and—to him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + And June—June had seen the change in Hale. The first year he had + come often to New York to see her and they had gone to the theatre and the + opera, and June was pleased to play the part of heroine in what was such a + real romance to the other girls in school and she was proud of Hale. But + each time he came, he seemed less interested in the diversions that meant + so much to her, more absorbed in his affairs in the mountains and less + particular about his looks. His visits came at longer intervals, with each + visit he stayed less long, and each time he seemed more eager to get away. + She had been shy about appearing before him for the first time in evening + dress, and when he entered the drawing-room she stood under a chandelier + in blushing and resplendent confusion, but he seemed not to recognize that + he had never seen her that way before, and for another reason June + remained confused, disappointed and hurt, for he was not only unobserving, + and seemingly unappreciative, but he was more silent than ever that night + and he looked gloomy. But if he had grown accustomed to her beauty, there + were others who had not, and smart, dapper college youths gathered about + her like bees around a flower—a triumphant fact to which he also + seemed indifferent. Moreover, he was not in evening clothes that night and + she did not know whether he had forgotten or was indifferent to them, and + the contrast that he was made her that night almost ashamed for him. She + never guessed what the matter was, for Hale kept his troubles to himself. + He was always gentle and kind, he was as lavish with her as though he were + a king, and she was as lavish and prodigally generous as though she were a + princess. There seemed no limit to the wizard income from the investments + that Hale had made for her when, as he said, he sold a part of her stock + in the Lonesome Cove mine, and what she wanted Hale always sent her + without question. Only, as the end was coming on at the Gap, he wrote once + to know if a certain amount would carry her through until she was ready to + come home, but even that question aroused no suspicion in thoughtless + June. And then that last year he had come no more—always, always he + was too busy. Not even on her triumphal night at the end of the session + was he there, when she had stood before the guests and patrons of the + school like a goddess, and had thrilled them into startling applause, her + teachers into open glowing pride, the other girls into bright-eyed envy + and herself into still another new world. Now she was going home and she + was glad to go. + </p> + <p> + She had awakened that morning with the keen air of the mountains in her + nostrils—the air she had breathed in when she was born, and her eyes + shone happily when she saw through her window the loved blue hills along + which raced the train. They were only a little way from the town where she + must change, the porter said; she had overslept and she had no time even + to wash her face and hands, and that worried her a good deal. The porter + nearly lost his equilibrium when she gave him half a dollar—for + women are not profuse in the way of tipping—and instead of putting + her bag down on the station platform, he held it in his hand waiting to do + her further service. At the head of the steps she searched about for Hale + and her lovely face looked vexed and a little hurt when she did not see + him. + </p> + <p> + “Hotel, Miss?” said the porter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, please, Harvey!” she called. + </p> + <p> + An astonished darky sprang from the line of calling hotel-porters and took + her bag. Then every tooth in his head flashed. + </p> + <p> + “Lordy, Miss June—I never knowed you at all.” + </p> + <p> + June smiled—it was the tribute she was looking for. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen Mr. Hale?” + </p> + <p> + “No'm. Mr. Hale ain't been here for mos' six months. I reckon he aint in + this country now. I aint heard nothin' 'bout him for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + June knew better than that—but she said nothing. She would rather + have had even Harvey think that he was away. So she hurried to the hotel—she + would have four hours to wait—and asked for the one room that had a + bath attached—the room to which Hale had sent her when she had + passed through on her way to New York. She almost winced when she looked + in the mirror and saw the smoke stains about her pretty throat and ears, + and she wondered if anybody could have noticed them on her way from the + train. Her hands, too, were dreadful to look at and she hurried to take + off her things. + </p> + <p> + In an hour she emerged freshened, immaculate from her crown of lovely hair + to her smartly booted feet, and at once she went downstairs. She heard the + man, whom she passed, stop at the head of them and turn to look down at + her, and she saw necks craned within the hotel office when she passed the + door. On the street not a man and hardly a woman failed to look at her + with wonder and open admiration, for she was an apparition in that little + town and it all pleased her so much that she became flushed and conscious + and felt like a queen who, unknown, moved among her subjects and blessed + them just with her gracious presence. For she was unknown even by several + people whom she knew and that, too, pleased her—to have bloomed so + quite beyond their ken. She was like a meteor coming back to dazzle the + very world from which it had flown for a while into space. When she went + into the dining-room for the midday dinner, there was a movement in almost + every part of the room as though there were many there who were on the + lookout for her entrance. The head waiter, a portly darky, lost his + imperturbable majesty for a moment in surprise at the vision and then with + a lordly yet obsequious wave of his hand, led her to a table over in a + corner where no one was sitting. Four young men came in rather + boisterously and made for her table. She lifted her calm eyes at them so + haughtily that the one in front halted with sudden embarrassment and they + all swerved to another table from which they stared at her + surreptitiously. Perhaps she was mistaken for the comic-opera star whose + brilliant picture she had seen on a bill board in front of the “opera + house.” Well, she had the voice and she might have been and she might yet + be—and if she were, this would be the distinction that would be + shown her. And, still as it was she was greatly pleased. + </p> + <p> + At four o'clock she started for the hills. In half an hour she was + dropping down a winding ravine along a rock-lashing stream with those + hills so close to the car on either side that only now and then could she + see the tops of them. Through the window the keen air came from the very + lungs of them, freighted with the coolness of shadows, the scent of damp + earth and the faint fragrance of wild flowers, and her soul leaped to meet + them. The mountain sides were showered with pink and white laurel (she + used to call it “ivy”) and the rhododendrons (she used to call them + “laurel”) were just beginning to blossom—they were her old and fast + friends—mountain, shadow, the wet earth and its pure breath, and + tree, plant and flower; she had not forgotten them, and it was good to + come back to them. Once she saw an overshot water-wheel on the bank of the + rushing little stream and she thought of Uncle Billy; she smiled and the + smile stopped short—she was going back to other things as well. The + train had creaked by a log-cabin set in the hillside and then past another + and another; and always there were two or three ragged children in the + door and a haggard unkempt woman peering over their shoulders. How lonely + those cabins looked and how desolate the life they suggested to her now—NOW! + The first station she came to after the train had wound down the long + ravine to the valley level again was crowded with mountaineers. There a + wedding party got aboard with a great deal of laughter, chaffing and + noise, and all three went on within and without the train while it was + waiting. A sudden thought stunned her like a lightning stroke. They were + HER people out there on the platform and inside the car ahead—those + rough men in slouch hats, jeans and cowhide boots, their mouths stained + with tobacco juice, their cheeks and eyes on fire with moonshine, and + those women in poke-bonnets with their sad, worn, patient faces on which + the sympathetic good cheer and joy of the moment sat so strangely. She + noticed their rough shoes and their homespun gowns that made their figures + all alike and shapeless, with a vivid awakening of early memories. She + might have been one of those narrow-lived girls outside, or that bride + within had it not been for Jack—Hale. She finished the name in her + own mind and she was conscious that she had. Ah, well, that was a long + time ago and she was nothing but a child and she had thrown herself at his + head. Perhaps it was different with him now and if it was, she would give + him the chance to withdraw from everything. It would be right and fair and + then life was so full for her now. She was dependent on nobody—on + nothing. A rainbow spanned the heaven above her and the other end of it + was not in the hills. But one end was and to that end she was on her way. + She was going to just such people as she had seen at the station. Her + father and her kinsmen were just such men—her step-mother and + kinswomen were just such women. Her home was little more than just such a + cabin as the desolate ones that stirred her pity when she swept by them. + She thought of how she felt when she had first gone to Lonesome Cove after + a few months at the Gap, and she shuddered to think how she would feel + now. She was getting restless by this time and aimlessly she got up and + walked to the front of the car and back again to her seat, hardly noticing + that the other occupants were staring at her with some wonder. She sat + down for a few minutes and then she went to the rear and stood outside on + the platform, clutching a brass rod of the railing and looking back on the + dropping darkness in which the hills seemed to be rushing together far + behind as the train crashed on with its wake of spark-lit rolling smoke. A + cinder stung her face, and when she lifted her hand to the spot, she saw + that her glove was black with grime. With a little shiver of disgust she + went back to her seat and with her face to the blackness rushing past her + window she sat brooding—brooding. Why had Hale not met her? He had + said he would and she had written him when she was coming and had + telegraphed him at the station in New York when she started. Perhaps he + HAD changed. She recalled that even his letters had grown less frequent, + shorter, more hurried the past year—well, he should have his chance. + Always, however, her mind kept going back to the people at the station and + to her people in the mountains. They were the same, she kept repeating to + herself—the very same and she was one of them. And always she kept + thinking of her first trip to Lonesome Cove after her awakening and of + what her next would be. That first time Hale had made her go back as she + had left, in home-spun, sun-bonnet and brogans. There was the same reason + why she should go back that way now as then—would Hale insist that + she should now? She almost laughed aloud at the thought. She knew that she + would refuse and she knew that his reason would not appeal to her now—she + no longer cared what her neighbours and kinspeople might think and say. + The porter paused at her seat. + </p> + <p> + “How much longer is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Half an hour, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + June went to wash her face and hands, and when she came back to her seat a + great glare shone through the windows on the other side of the car. It was + the furnace, a “run” was on and she could see the streams of white molten + metal racing down the narrow channels of sand to their narrow beds on + either side. The whistle shrieked ahead for the Gap and she nerved herself + with a prophetic sense of vague trouble at hand. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + At the station Hale had paced the platform. He looked at his watch to see + whether he might have time to run up to the furnace, half a mile away, and + board the train there. He thought he had and he was about to start when + the shriek of the coming engine rose beyond the low hills in Wild Cat + Valley, echoed along Powell's Mountain and broke against the wrinkled + breast of the Cumberland. On it came, and in plain sight it stopped + suddenly to take water, and Hale cursed it silently and recalled viciously + that when he was in a hurry to arrive anywhere, the water-tower was always + on the wrong side of the station. He got so restless that he started for + it on a run and he had gone hardly fifty yards before the train came on + again and he had to run back to beat it to the station—where he + sprang to the steps of the Pullman before it stopped—pushing the + porter aside to find himself checked by the crowded passengers at the + door. June was not among them and straightway he ran for the rear of the + car. + </p> + <p> + June had risen. The other occupants of the car had crowded forward and she + was the last of them. She had stood, during an irritating wait, at the + water-tower, and now as she moved slowly forward again she heard the hurry + of feet behind her and she turned to look into the eager, wondering eyes + of John Hale. + </p> + <p> + “June!” he cried in amazement, but his face lighted with joy and he + impulsively stretched out his arms as though he meant to take her in them, + but as suddenly he dropped them before the startled look in her eyes, + which, with one swift glance, searched him from head to foot. They shook + hands almost gravely. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII + </h2> + <p> + June sat in the little dummy, the focus of curious eyes, while Hale was + busy seeing that her baggage was got aboard. The checks that she gave him + jingled in his hands like a bunch of keys, and he could hardly help + grinning when he saw the huge trunks and the smart bags that were tumbled + from the baggage car—all marked with her initials. There had been + days when he had laid considerable emphasis on pieces like those, and when + he thought of them overwhelming with opulent suggestions that + debt-stricken little town, and, later, piled incongruously on the porch of + the cabin on Lonesome Cove, he could have laughed aloud but for a nameless + something that was gnawing savagely at his heart. + </p> + <p> + He felt almost shy when he went back into the car, and though June greeted + him with a smile, her immaculate daintiness made him unconsciously sit + quite far away from her. The little fairy-cross was still at her throat, + but a tiny diamond gleamed from each end of it and from the centre, as + from a tiny heart, pulsated the light of a little blood-red ruby. To him + it meant the loss of June's simplicity and was the symbol of her new + estate, but he smiled and forced himself into hearty cheerfulness of + manner and asked her questions about her trip. But June answered in + halting monosyllables, and talk was not easy between them. All the while + he was watching her closely and not a movement of her eye, ear, mouth or + hand—not an inflection of her voice—escaped him. He saw her + sweep the car and its occupants with a glance, and he saw the results of + that glance in her face and the down-dropping of her eyes to the dainty + point of one boot. He saw her beautiful mouth close suddenly tight and her + thin nostrils quiver disdainfully when a swirl of black smoke, heavy with + cinders, came in with an entering passenger through the front door of the + car. Two half-drunken men were laughing boisterously near that door and + even her ears seemed trying to shut out their half-smothered rough talk. + The car started with a bump that swayed her toward him, and when she + caught the seat with one hand, it checked as suddenly, throwing her the + other way, and then with a leap it sprang ahead again, giving a nagging + snap to her head. Her whole face grew red with vexation and shrinking + distaste, and all the while, when the little train steadied into its + creaking, puffing, jostling way, one gloved hand on the chased silver + handle of her smart little umbrella kept nervously swaying it to and fro + on its steel-shod point, until she saw that the point was in a tiny pool + of tobacco juice, and then she laid it across her lap with shuddering + swiftness. + </p> + <p> + At first Hale thought that she had shrunk from kissing him in the car + because other people were around. He knew better now. At that moment he + was as rough and dirty as the chain-carrier opposite him, who was just in + from a surveying expedition in the mountains, as the sooty brakeman who + came through to gather up the fares—as one of those good-natured, + profane inebriates up in the corner. No, it was not publicity—she + had shrunk from him as she was shrinking now from black smoke, rough men, + the shaking of the train—the little pool of tobacco juice at her + feet. The truth began to glimmer through his brain. He understood, even + when she leaned forward suddenly to look into the mouth of the gap, that + was now dark with shadows. Through that gap lay her way and she thought + him now more a part of what was beyond than she who had been born of it + was, and dazed by the thought, he wondered if he might not really be. At + once he straightened in his seat, and his mind made up, as he always made + it up—swiftly. He had not explained why he had not met her that + morning, nor had he apologized for his rough garb, because he was so glad + to see her and because there were so many other things he wanted to say; + and when he saw her, conscious and resentful, perhaps, that he had not + done these things at once—he deliberately declined to do them now. + He became silent, but he grew more courteous, more thoughtful—watchful. + She was very tired, poor child; there were deep shadows under her eyes + which looked weary and almost mournful. So, when with a clanging of the + engine bell they stopped at the brilliantly lit hotel, he led her at once + upstairs to the parlour, and from there sent her up to her room, which was + ready for her. + </p> + <p> + “You must get a good sleep,” he said kindly, and with his usual firmness + that was wont to preclude argument. “You are worn to death. I'll have your + supper sent to your room.” The girl felt the subtle change in his manner + and her lip quivered for a vague reason that neither knew, but, without a + word, she obeyed him like a child. He did not try again to kiss her. He + merely took her hand, placed his left over it, and with a gentle pressure, + said: + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” she faltered. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Resolutely, relentlessly, first, Hale cast up his accounts, liabilities, + resources, that night, to see what, under the least favourable outcome, + the balance left to him would be. Nearly all was gone. His securities were + already sold. His lots would not bring at public sale one-half of the + deferred payments yet to be made on them, and if the company brought suit, + as it was threatening to do, he would be left fathoms deep in debt. The + branch railroad had not come up the river toward Lonesome Cove, and now he + meant to build barges and float his cannel coal down to the main line, for + his sole hope was in the mine in Lonesome Cove. The means that he could + command were meagre, but they would carry his purpose with June for a year + at least and then—who knew?—he might, through that mine, be on + his feet again. + </p> + <p> + The little town was dark and asleep when he stepped into the cool + night-air and made his way past the old school-house and up Imboden Hill. + He could see—all shining silver in the moonlight—the still + crest of the big beech at the blessed roots of which his lips had met + June's in the first kiss that had passed between them. On he went through + the shadowy aisle that the path made between other beech-trunks, harnessed + by the moonlight with silver armour and motionless as sentinels on watch + till dawn, out past the amphitheatre of darkness from which the dead trees + tossed out their crooked arms as though voicing silently now his own + soul's torment, and then on to the point of the spur of foot-hills where, + with the mighty mountains encircling him and the world, a dreamland + lighted only by stars, he stripped his soul before the Maker of it and of + him and fought his fight out alone. + </p> + <p> + His was the responsibility for all—his alone. No one else was to + blame—June not at all. He had taken her from her own life—had + swerved her from the way to which God pointed when she was born. He had + given her everything she wanted, had allowed her to do what she pleased + and had let her think that, through his miraculous handling of her + resources, she was doing it all herself. And the result was natural. For + the past two years he had been harassed with debt, racked with worries, + writhing this way and that, concerned only with the soul-tormenting + catastrophe that had overtaken him. About all else he had grown careless. + He had not been to see her the last year, he had written seldom, and it + appalled him to look back now on his own self-absorption and to think how + he must have appeared to June. And he had gone on in that self-absorption + to the very end. He had got his license to marry, had asked Uncle Billy, + who was magistrate as well as miller, to marry them, and, a rough + mountaineer himself to the outward eye, he had appeared to lead a child + like a lamb to the sacrifice and had found a woman with a mind, heart and + purpose of her own. It was all his work. He had sent her away to fit her + for his station in life—to make her fit to marry him. She had risen + above and now HE WAS NOT FIT TO MARRY HER. That was the brutal truth—a + truth that was enough to make a wise man laugh or a fool weep, and Hale + did neither. He simply went on working to make out how he could best + discharge the obligations that he had voluntarily, willingly, gladly, + selfishly even, assumed. In his mind he treated conditions only as he saw + and felt them and believed them at that moment true: and into the problem + he went no deeper than to find his simple duty, and that, while the + morning stars were sinking, he found. And it was a duty the harder to find + because everything had reawakened within him, and the starting-point of + that awakening was the proud glow in Uncle Billy's kind old face, when he + knew the part he was to play in the happiness of Hale and June. All the + way over the mountain that day his heart had gathered fuel from memories + at the big Pine, and down the mountain and through the gap, to be set + aflame by the yellow sunlight in the valley and the throbbing life in + everything that was alive, for the month was June and the spirit of that + month was on her way to him. So when he rose now, with back-thrown head, + he stretched his arms suddenly out toward those far-seeing stars, and as + suddenly dropped them with an angry shake of his head and one quick + gritting of his teeth that such a thought should have mastered him even + for one swift second—the thought of how lonesome would be the trail + that would be his to follow after that day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII + </h2> + <p> + June, tired though she was, tossed restlessly that night. The one look she + had seen in Hale's face when she met him in the car, told her the truth as + far as he was concerned. He was unchanged, she could give him no chance to + withdraw from their long understanding, for it was plain to her quick + instinct that he wanted none. And so she had asked him no question about + his failure to meet her, for she knew now that his reason, no matter what, + was good. He had startled her in the car, for her mind was heavy with + memories of the poor little cabins she had passed on the train, of the + mountain men and women in the wedding-party, and Hale himself was to the + eye so much like one of them—had so startled her that, though she + knew that his instinct, too, was at work, she could not gather herself + together to combat her own feelings, for every little happening in the + dummy but drew her back to her previous train of painful thought. And in + that helplessness she had told Hale good-night. She remembered now how she + had looked upon Lonesome Cove after she went to the Gap; how she had + looked upon the Gap after her year in the Bluegrass, and how she had + looked back even on the first big city she had seen there from the lofty + vantage ground of New York. What was the use of it all? Why laboriously + climb a hill merely to see and yearn for things that you cannot have, if + you must go back and live in the hollow again? Well, she thought + rebelliously, she would not go back to the hollow again—that was + all. She knew what was coming and her cousin Dave's perpetual sneer sprang + suddenly from the past to cut through her again and the old pride rose + within her once more. She was good enough now for Hale, oh, yes, she + thought bitterly, good enough NOW; and then, remembering his life-long + kindness and thinking what she might have been but for him, she burst into + tears at the unworthiness of her own thought. Ah, what should she do—what + should she do? Repeating that question over and over again, she fell + toward morning into troubled sleep. She did not wake until nearly noon, + for already she had formed the habit of sleeping late—late at least, + for that part of the world—and she was glad when the negro boy + brought her word that Mr. Hale had been called up the valley and would not + be back until the afternoon. She dreaded to meet him, for she knew that he + had seen the trouble within her and she knew he was not the kind of man to + let matters drag vaguely, if they could be cleared up and settled by open + frankness of discussion, no matter how blunt he must be. She had to wait + until mid-day dinner time for something to eat, so she lay abed, picked a + breakfast from the menu, which was spotted, dirty and meagre in offerings, + and had it brought to her room. Early in the afternoon she issued forth + into the sunlight, and started toward Imboden Hill. It was very beautiful + and soul-comforting—the warm air, the luxuriantly wooded hills, with + their shades of green that told her where poplar and oak and beech and + maple grew, the delicate haze of blue that overlay them and deepened as + her eyes followed the still mountain piles north-eastward to meet the big + range that shut her in from the outer world. The changes had been many. + One part of the town had been wiped out by fire and a few buildings of + stone had risen up. On the street she saw strange faces, but now and then + she stopped to shake hands with somebody whom she knew, and who recognized + her always with surprise and spoke but few words, and then, as she + thought, with some embarrassment. Half unconsciously she turned toward the + old mill. There it was, dusty and gray, and the dripping old wheel creaked + with its weight of shining water, and the muffled roar of the unseen dam + started an answering stream of memories surging within her. She could see + the window of her room in the old brick boarding-house, and as she passed + the gate, she almost stopped to go in, but the face of a strange man who + stood in the door with a proprietary air deterred her. There was Hale's + little frame cottage and his name, half washed out, was over the wing that + was still his office. Past that she went, with a passing temptation to + look within, and toward the old school-house. A massive new one was half + built, of gray stone, to the left, but the old one, with its shingles on + the outside that had once caused her such wonder, still lay warm in the + sun, but closed and deserted. There was the playground where she had been + caught in “Ring around the Rosy,” and Hale and that girl teacher had heard + her confession. She flushed again when she thought of that day, but the + flush was now for another reason. Over the roof of the schoolhouse she + could see the beech tree where she had built her playhouse, and memory led + her from the path toward it. She had not climbed a hill for a long time + and she was panting when she reached it. There was the scattered playhouse—it + might have lain there untouched for a quarter of a century—just as + her angry feet had kicked it to pieces. On a root of the beech she sat + down and the broad rim of her hat scratched the trunk of it and annoyed + her, so she took it off and leaned her head against the tree, looking up + into the underworld of leaves through which a sunbeam filtered here and + there—one striking her hair which had darkened to a duller gold—striking + it eagerly, unerringly, as though it had started for just such a shining + mark. Below her was outspread the little town—the straggling, + wretched little town—crude, lonely, lifeless! She could not be happy + in Lonesome Cove after she had known the Gap, and now her horizon had so + broadened that she felt now toward the Gap and its people as she had then + felt toward the mountaineers: for the standards of living in the Cove—so + it seemed—were no farther below the standards in the Gap than they + in turn were lower than the new standards to which she had adapted herself + while away. Indeed, even that Bluegrass world where she had spent a year + was too narrow now for her vaulting ambition, and with that thought she + looked down again on the little town, a lonely island in a sea of + mountains and as far from the world for which she had been training + herself as though it were in mid-ocean. Live down there? She shuddered at + the thought and straightway was very miserable. The clear piping of a + wood-thrush rose far away, a tear started between her half-closed lashes + and she might have gone to weeping silently, had her ear not caught the + sound of something moving below her. Some one was coming that way, so she + brushed her eyes swiftly with her handkerchief and stood upright against + the tree. And there again Hale found her, tense, upright, bareheaded again + and her hands behind her; only her face was not uplifted and dreaming—it + was turned toward him, unstartled and expectant. He stopped below her and + leaned one shoulder against a tree. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you pass the office,” he said, “and I thought I should find you + here.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes dropped to the scattered playhouse of long ago—and a faint + smile that was full of submerged sadness passed over his face. It was his + playhouse, after all, that she had kicked to pieces. But he did not + mention it—nor her attitude—nor did he try, in any way, to + arouse her memories of that other time at this same place. + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk with you, June—and I want to talk now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Jack,” she said tremulously. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he stood in silence, his face half-turned, his teeth hard on + his indrawn lip—thinking. There was nothing of the mountaineer about + him now. He was clean-shaven and dressed with care—June saw that—but + he looked quite old, his face seemed harried with worries and ravaged by + suffering, and June had suddenly to swallow a quick surging of pity for + him. He spoke slowly and without looking at her: + </p> + <p> + “June, if it hadn't been for me, you would be over in Lonesome Cove and + happily married by this time, or at least contented with your life, for + you wouldn't have known any other.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Jack.” + </p> + <p> + “I took you out—and it rests with you whether I shall be sorry I did—sorry + wholly on your account, I mean,” he added hastily. + </p> + <p> + She knew what he meant and she said nothing—she only turned her head + away slightly, with her eyes upturned a little toward the leaves that were + shaking like her own heart. + </p> + <p> + “I think I see it all very clearly,” he went on, in a low and perfectly + even voice. “You can't be happy over there now—you can't be happy + over here now. You've got other wishes, ambitions, dreams, now, and I want + you to realize them, and I want to help you to realize them all I can—that's + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Jack!—” she helplessly, protestingly spoke his name in a whisper, + but that was all she could do, and he went on: + </p> + <p> + “It isn't so strange. What is strange is that I—that I didn't + foresee it all. But if I had,” he added firmly, “I'd have done it just the + same—unless by doing it I've really done you more harm than good.” + </p> + <p> + “No—no—Jack!” + </p> + <p> + “I came into your world—you went into mine. What I had grown + indifferent about—you grew to care about. You grew sensitive while I + was growing callous to certain—” he was about to say “surface + things,” but he checked himself—“certain things in life that mean + more to a woman than to a man. I would not have married you as you were—I've + got to be honest now—at least I thought it necessary that you should + be otherwise—and now you have gone beyond me, and now you do not + want to marry me as I am. And it is all very natural and very just.” Very + slowly her head had dropped until her chin rested hard above the little + jewelled cross on her breast. + </p> + <p> + “You must tell me if I am wrong. You don't love me now—well enough + to be happy with me here”—he waved one hand toward the straggling + little town below them and then toward the lonely mountains—“I did + not know that we would have to live here—but I know it now—” + he checked himself, and afterward she recalled the tone of those last + words, but then they had no especial significance. + </p> + <p> + “Am I wrong?” he repeated, and then he said hurriedly, for her face was so + piteous—“No, you needn't give yourself the pain of saying it in + words. I want you to know that I understand that there is nothing in the + world I blame you for—nothing—nothing. If there is any blame + at all, it rests on me alone.” She broke toward him with a cry then. + </p> + <p> + “No—no, Jack,” she said brokenly, and she caught his hand in both + her own and tried to raise it to her lips, but he held her back and she + put her face on his breast and sobbed heart-brokenly. He waited for the + paroxysm to pass, stroking her hair gently. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't feel that way, little girl. You can't help it—I can't + help it—and these things happen all the time, everywhere. You don't + have to stay here. You can go away and study, and when I can, I'll come to + see you and cheer you up; and when you are a great singer, I'll send you + flowers and be so proud of you, and I'll say to myself, 'I helped do + that.' Dry your eyes, now. You must go back to the hotel. Your father will + be there by this time and you'll have to be starting home pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + Like a child she obeyed him, but she was so weak and trembling that he put + his arm about her to help her down the hill. At the edge of the woods she + stopped and turned full toward him. + </p> + <p> + “You are so good,” she said tremulously, “so GOOD. Why, you haven't even + asked me if there was another—” + </p> + <p> + Hale interrupted her, shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “If there is, I don't want to know.” + </p> + <p> + “But there isn't, there isn't!” she cried, “I don't know what is the + matter with me. I hate—” the tears started again, and again she was + on the point of breaking down, but Hale checked her. + </p> + <p> + “Now, now,” he said soothingly, “you mustn't, now—that's all right. + You mustn't.” Her anger at herself helped now. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I stood like a silly fool, tongue-tied, and I wanted to say so much. + I—” + </p> + <p> + “You don't need to,” Hale said gently, “I understand it all. I + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you do,” she said with a sob, “better than I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's all right, little girl. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + They issued forth into the sunlight and Hale walked rapidly. The strain + was getting too much for him and he was anxious to be alone. Without a + word more they passed the old school-house, the massive new one, and went + on, in silence, down the street. Hitched to a post, near the hotel, were + two gaunt horses with drooping heads, and on one of them was a + side-saddle. Sitting on the steps of the hotel, with a pipe in his mouth, + was the mighty figure of Devil Judd Tolliver. He saw them coming—at + least he saw Hale coming, and that far away Hale saw his bushy eyebrows + lift in wonder at June. A moment later he rose to his great height without + a word. + </p> + <p> + “Dad,” said June in a trembling voice, “don't you know me?” The old man + stared at her silently and a doubtful smile played about his bearded lips. + </p> + <p> + “Hardly, but I reckon hit's June.” + </p> + <p> + She knew that the world to which Hale belonged would expect her to kiss + him, and she made a movement as though she would, but the habit of a + lifetime is not broken so easily. She held out her hand, and with the + other patted him on the arm as she looked up into his face. + </p> + <p> + “Time to be goin', June, if we want to get home afore dark!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Dad.” + </p> + <p> + The old man turned to his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Hurry up, little gal.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes they were ready, and the girl looked long into Hale's + face when he took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “You are coming over soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Just as soon as I can.” Her lips trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, June,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + From the steps he watched them—the giant father slouching in his + saddle and the trim figure of the now sadly misplaced girl, erect on the + awkward-pacing mountain beast—as incongruous, the two, as a fairy on + some prehistoric monster. A horseman was coming up the street behind him + and a voice called: + </p> + <p> + “Who's that?” Hale turned—it was the Honourable Samuel Budd, coming + home from Court. + </p> + <p> + “June Tolliver.” + </p> + <p> + “June Taliaferro,” corrected the Hon. Sam with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “The same.” The Hon. Sam silently followed the pair for a moment through + his big goggles. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of my theory of the latent possibilities of the + mountaineer—now?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I know how true it is better than you do,” said Hale calmly, and + with a grunt the Hon. Sam rode on. Hale watched them as they rode across + the plateau—watched them until the Gap swallowed them up and his + heart ached for June. Then he went to his room and there, stretched out on + his bed and with his hands clenched behind his head, he lay staring + upward. + </p> + <p> + Devil Judd Tolliver had lost none of his taciturnity. Stolidly, silently, + he went ahead, as is the custom of lordly man in the mountains—horseback + or afoot—asking no questions, answering June's in the fewest words + possible. Uncle Billy, the miller, had been complaining a good deal that + spring, and old Hon had rheumatism. Uncle Billy's old-maid sister, who + lived on Devil's Fork, had been cooking for him at home since the last + taking to bed of June's step-mother. Bub had “growed up” like a hickory + sapling. Her cousin Loretta hadn't married, and some folks allowed she'd + run away some day yet with young Buck Falin. Her cousin Dave had gone off + to school that year, had come back a month before, and been shot through + the shoulder. He was in Lonesome Cove now. + </p> + <p> + This fact was mentioned in the same matter-of-fact way as the other + happenings. Hale had been raising Cain in Lonesome Cove—“A-cuttin' + things down an' tearin' 'em up an' playin' hell ginerally.” + </p> + <p> + The feud had broken out again and maybe June couldn't stay at home long. + He didn't want her there with the fighting going on—whereat June's + heart gave a start of gladness that the way would be easy for her to leave + when she wished to leave. Things over at the Gap “was agoin' to + perdition,” the old man had been told, while he was waiting for June and + Hale that day, and Hale had not only lost a lot of money, but if things + didn't take a rise, he would be left head over heels in debt, if that mine + over in Lonesome Cove didn't pull him out. + </p> + <p> + They were approaching the big Pine now, and June was beginning to ache and + get sore from the climb. So Hale was in trouble—that was what he + meant when he said that, though she could leave the mountains when she + pleased, he must stay there, perhaps for good. + </p> + <p> + “I'm mighty glad you come home, gal,” said the old man, “an' that ye air + goin' to put an end to all this spendin' o' so much money. Jack says you + got some money left, but I don't understand it. He says he made a + 'investment' fer ye and tribbled the money. I haint never axed him no + questions. Hit was betwixt you an' him, an' 'twant none o' my business + long as you an' him air goin' to marry. He said you was goin' to marry + this summer an' I wish you'd git tied up right away whilst I'm livin', fer + I don't know when a Winchester might take me off an' I'd die a sight + easier if I knowed you was tied up with a good man like him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Dad,” was all she said, for she had not the heart to tell him the + truth, and she knew that Hale never would until the last moment he must, + when he learned that she had failed. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, she could see the stone chimney of the little cabin in + Lonesome Cove. A little farther down several spirals of smoke were visible—rising + from unseen houses which were more miners' shacks, her father said, that + Hale had put up while she was gone. The water of the creek was jet black + now. A row of rough wooden houses ran along its edge. The geese cackled a + doubtful welcome. A new dog leaped barking from the porch and a tall boy + sprang after him—both running for the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bub,” cried June, sliding from her horse and kissing him, and then + holding him off at arms' length to look into his steady gray eyes and his + blushing face. + </p> + <p> + “Take the horses, Bub,” said old Judd, and June entered the gate while Bub + stood with the reins in his hand, still speechlessly staring her over from + head to foot. There was her garden, thank God—with all her flowers + planted, a new bed of pansies and one of violets and the border of laurel + in bloom—unchanged and weedless. + </p> + <p> + “One o' Jack Hale's men takes keer of it,” explained old Judd, and again, + with shame, June felt the hurt of her lover's thoughtfulness. When she + entered the cabin, the same old rasping petulant voice called her from a + bed in one corner, and when June took the shrivelled old hand that was + limply thrust from the bed-clothes, the old hag's keen eyes swept her from + head to foot with disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “My, but you air wearin' mighty fine clothes,” she croaked enviously. “I + ain't had a new dress fer more'n five year;” and that was the welcome she + got. + </p> + <p> + “No?” said June appeasingly. “Well, I'll get one for you myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obleeged,” she whined, “but I reckon I can git along.” + </p> + <p> + A cough came from the bed in the other corner of the room. + </p> + <p> + “That's Dave,” said the old woman, and June walked over to where her + cousin's black eyes shone hostile at her from the dark. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Dave,” she said, but Dave answered nothing but a sullen + “howdye” and did not put out a hand—he only stared at her in sulky + bewilderment, and June went back to listen to the torrent of the old + woman's plaints until Bub came in. Then as she turned, she noticed for the + first time that a new door had been cut in one side of the cabin, and Bub + was following the direction of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, haint nobody told ye?” he said delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “Told me what, Bub?” + </p> + <p> + With a whoop Bud leaped for the side of the door and, reaching up, pulled + a shining key from between the logs and thrust it into her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead,” he said. “Hit's yourn.” + </p> + <p> + “Some more o' Jack Hale's fool doin's,” said the old woman. “Go on, gal, + and see whut he's done.” + </p> + <p> + With eager hands she put the key in the lock and when she pushed open the + door, she gasped. Another room had been added to the cabin—and the + fragrant smell of cedar made her nostrils dilate. Bub pushed by her and + threw open the shutters of a window to the low sunlight, and June stood + with both hands to her head. It was a room for her—with a dresser, a + long mirror, a modern bed in one corner, a work-table with a student's + lamp on it, a wash-stand and a chest of drawers and a piano! On the walls + were pictures and over the mantel stood the one she had first learned to + love—two lovers clasped in each other's arms and under them the + words “Enfin Seul.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh-oh,” was all she could say, and choking, she motioned Bub from the + room. When the door closed, she threw herself sobbing across the bed. + </p> + <p> + Over at the Gap that night Hale sat in his office with a piece of white + paper and a lump of black coal on the table in front of him. His foreman + had brought the coal to him that day at dusk. He lifted the lump to the + light of his lamp, and from the centre of it a mocking evil eye leered + back at him. The eye was a piece of shining black flint and told him that + his mine in Lonesome Cove was but a pocket of cannel coal and worth no + more than the smouldering lumps in his grate. Then he lifted the piece of + white paper—it was his license to marry June. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV + </h2> + <p> + Very slowly June walked up the little creek to the old log where she had + lain so many happy hours. There was no change in leaf, shrub or tree, and + not a stone in the brook had been disturbed. The sun dropped the same + arrows down through the leaves—blunting their shining points into + tremulous circles on the ground, the water sang the same happy tune under + her dangling feet and a wood-thrush piped the old lay overhead. + </p> + <p> + Wood-thrush! June smiled as she suddenly rechristened the bird for herself + now. That bird henceforth would be the Magic Flute to musical June—and + she leaned back with ears, eyes and soul awake and her brain busy. + </p> + <p> + All the way over the mountain, on that second home-going, she had thought + of the first, and even memories of the memories aroused by that first + home-going came back to her—the place where Hale had put his horse + into a dead run and had given her that never-to-be-forgotten thrill, and + where she had slid from behind to the ground and stormed with tears. When + they dropped down into the green gloom of shadow and green leaves toward + Lonesome Cove, she had the same feeling that her heart was being clutched + by a human hand and that black night had suddenly fallen about her, but + this time she knew what it meant. She thought then of the crowded + sleeping-room, the rough beds and coarse blankets at home; the oil-cloth, + spotted with drippings from a candle, that covered the table; the thick + plates and cups; the soggy bread and the thick bacon floating in grease; + the absence of napkins, the eating with knives and fingers and the noise + Bub and her father made drinking their coffee. But then she knew all these + things in advance, and the memories of them on her way over had prepared + her for Lonesome Cove. The conditions were definite there: she knew what + it would be to face them again—she was facing them all the way, and + to her surprise the realities had hurt her less even than they had before. + Then had come the same thrill over the garden, and now with that garden + and her new room and her piano and her books, with Uncle Billy's sister to + help do the work, and with the little changes that June was daily making + in the household, she could live her own life even over there as long as + she pleased, and then she would go out into the world again. + </p> + <p> + But all the time when she was coming over from the Gap, the way had + bristled with accusing memories of Hale—even from the chattering + creeks, the turns in the road, the sun-dappled bushes and trees and + flowers; and when she passed the big Pine that rose with such friendly + solemnity above her, the pang of it all hurt her heart and kept on hurting + her. When she walked in the garden, the flowers seemed not to have the + same spirit of gladness. It had been a dry season and they drooped for + that reason, but the melancholy of them had a sympathetic human quality + that depressed her. If she saw a bass shoot arrow-like into deep water, if + she heard a bird or saw a tree or a flower whose name she had to recall, + she thought of Hale. Do what she would, she could not escape the ghost + that stalked at her side everywhere, so like a human presence that she + felt sometimes a strange desire to turn and speak to it. And in her room + that presence was all-pervasive. The piano, the furniture, the bits of + bric-a-brac, the pictures and books—all were eloquent with his + thought of her—and every night before she turned out her light she + could not help lifting her eyes to her once-favourite picture—even + that Hale had remembered—the lovers clasped in each other's arms—“At + Last Alone”—only to see it now as a mocking symbol of his beaten + hopes. She had written to thank him for it all, and not yet had he + answered her letter. He had said that he was coming over to Lonesome Cove + and he had not come—why should he, on her account? Between them all + was over—why should he? The question was absurd in her mind, and yet + the fact that she had expected him, that she so WANTED him, was so + illogical and incongruous and vividly true that it raised her to a sitting + posture on the log, and she ran her fingers over her forehead and down her + dazed face until her chin was in the hollow of her hand, and her startled + eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the running water and yet not seeing it at + all. A call—her step-mother's cry—rang up the ravine and she + did not hear it. She did not even hear Bub coming through the underbrush a + few minutes later, and when he half angrily shouted her name at the end of + the vista, down-stream, whence he could see her, she lifted her head from + a dream so deep that in it all her senses had for the moment been wholly + lost. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + She had forgotten—there was a “bean-stringing” at the house that day—and + she slipped slowly off the log and went down the path, gathering herself + together as she went, and making no answer to the indignant Bub who turned + and stalked ahead of her back to the house. At the barnyard gate her + father stopped her—he looked worried. + </p> + <p> + “Jack Hale's jus' been over hyeh.” June caught her breath sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Has he gone?” The old man was watching her and she felt it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he was in a hurry an' nobody knowed whar you was. He jus' come over, + he said, to tell me to tell you that you could go back to New York and + keep on with yo' singin' doin's whenever you please. He knowed I didn't + want you hyeh when this war starts fer a finish as hit's goin' to, mighty + soon now. He says he ain't quite ready to git married yit. I'm afeerd he's + in trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “I tol' you t'other day—he's lost all his money; but he says you've + got enough to keep you goin' fer some time. I don't see why you don't git + married right now and live over at the Gap.” + </p> + <p> + June coloured and was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the old man quickly, “you ain't ready nuther,”—he studied + her with narrowing eyes and through a puzzled frown—“but I reckon + hit's all right, if you air goin' to git married some time.” + </p> + <p> + “What's all right, Dad?” The old man checked himself: + </p> + <p> + “Ever' thing,” he said shortly, “but don't you make a fool of yo'self with + a good man like Jack Hale.” And, wondering, June was silent. The truth was + that the old man had wormed out of Hale an admission of the kindly + duplicity the latter had practised on him and on June, and he had given + his word to Hale that he would not tell June. He did not understand why + Hale should have so insisted on that promise, for it was all right that + Hale should openly do what he pleased for the girl he was going to marry—but + he had given his word: so he turned away, but his frown stayed where it + was. + </p> + <p> + June went on, puzzled, for she knew that her father was withholding + something, and she knew, too, that he would tell her only in his own good + time. But she could go away when she pleased—that was the comfort—and + with the thought she stopped suddenly at the corner of the garden. She + could see Hale on his big black horse climbing the spur. Once it had + always been his custom to stop on top of it to rest his horse and turn to + look back at her, and she always waited to wave him good-by. She wondered + if he would do it now, and while she looked and waited, the beating of her + heart quickened nervously; but he rode straight on, without stopping or + turning his head, and June felt strangely bereft and resentful, and the + comfort of the moment before was suddenly gone. She could hear the voices + of the guests in the porch around the corner of the house—there was + an ordeal for her around there, and she went on. Loretta and Loretta's + mother were there, and old Hon and several wives and daughters of Tolliver + adherents from up Deadwood Creek and below Uncle Billy's mill. June knew + that the “bean-stringing” was simply an excuse for them to be there, for + she could not remember that so many had ever gathered there before—at + that function in the spring, at corn-cutting in the autumn, or + sorghum-making time or at log-raisings or quilting parties, and she well + knew the motive of these many and the curiosity of all save, perhaps, + Loretta and the old miller's wife: and June was prepared for them. She had + borrowed a gown from her step-mother—a purple creation of home-spun—she + had shaken down her beautiful hair and drawn it low over her brows, and + arranged it behind after the fashion of mountain women, and when she went + up the steps of the porch she was outwardly to the eye one of them except + for the leathern belt about her slenderly full waist, her black silk + stockings and the little “furrin” shoes on her dainty feet. She smiled + inwardly when she saw the same old wave of disappointment sweep across the + faces of them all. It was not necessary to shake hands, but unthinkingly + she did, and the women sat in their chairs as she went from one to the + other and each gave her a limp hand and a grave “howdye,” though each paid + an unconscious tribute to a vague something about her, by wiping that hand + on an apron first. Very quietly and naturally she took a low chair, piled + beans in her lap and, as one of them, went to work. Nobody looked at her + at first until old Hon broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “You haint lost a spec o' yo' good looks, Juny.” + </p> + <p> + June laughed without a flush—she would have reddened to the roots of + her hair two years before. + </p> + <p> + “I'm feelin' right peart, thank ye,” she said, dropping consciously into + the vernacular; but there was a something in her voice that was vaguely + felt by all as a part of the universal strangeness that was in her erect + bearing, her proud head, her deep eyes that looked so straight into their + own—a strangeness that was in that belt and those stockings and + those shoes, inconspicuous as they were, to which she saw every eye in + time covertly wandering as to tangible symbols of a mystery that was + beyond their ken. Old Hon and the step-mother alone talked at first, and + the others, even Loretta, said never a word. + </p> + <p> + “Jack Hale must have been in a mighty big hurry,” quavered the old + step-mother. “June ain't goin' to be with us long, I'm afeerd:” and, + without looking up, June knew the wireless significance of the speech was + going around from eye to eye, but calmly she pulled her thread through a + green pod and said calmly, with a little enigmatical shake of her head: + </p> + <p> + “I—don't know—I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + Young Dave's mother was encouraged and all her efforts at good-humour + could not quite draw the sting of a spiteful plaint from her voice. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon she'd never git away, if my boy Dave had the sayin' of it.” + There was a subdued titter at this, but Bub had come in from the stable + and had dropped on the edge of the porch. He broke in hotly: + </p> + <p> + “You jest let June alone, Aunt Tilly, you'll have yo' hands full if you + keep yo' eye on Loretty thar.” + </p> + <p> + Already when somebody was saying something about the feud, as June came + around the corner, her quick eye had seen Loretta bend her head swiftly + over her work to hide the flush of her face. Now Loretta turned scarlet as + the step-mother spoke severely: + </p> + <p> + “You hush, Bub,” and Bub rose and stalked into the house. Aunt Tilly was + leaning back in her chair—gasping—and consternation smote the + group. June rose suddenly with her string of dangling beans. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't shown you my room, Loretty. Don't you want to see it? Come on, + all of you,” she added to the girls, and they and Loretta with one swift + look of gratitude rose shyly and trooped shyly within where they looked in + wide-mouthed wonder at the marvellous things that room contained. The + older women followed to share sight of the miracle, and all stood looking + from one thing to another, some with their hands behind them as though to + thwart the temptation to touch, and all saying merely: + </p> + <p> + “My! My!” + </p> + <p> + None of them had ever seen a piano before and June must play the “shiny + contraption” and sing a song. It was only curiosity and astonishment that + she evoked when her swift fingers began running over the keys from one end + of the board to the other, astonishment at the gymnastic quality of the + performance, and only astonishment when her lovely voice set the very + walls of the little room to vibrating with a dramatic love song that was + about as intelligible to them as a problem in calculus, and June flushed + and then smiled with quick understanding at the dry comment that rose from + Aunt Tilly behind: + </p> + <p> + “She shorely can holler some!” + </p> + <p> + She couldn't play “Sourwood Mountain” on the piano—nor “Jinny git + Aroun',” nor “Soapsuds over the Fence,” but with a sudden inspiration she + went back to an old hymn that they all knew, and at the end she won the + tribute of an awed silence that made them file back to the beans on the + porch. Loretta lingered a moment and when June closed the piano and the + two girls went into the main room, a tall figure, entering, stopped in the + door and stared at June without speaking: + </p> + <p> + “Why, howdye, Uncle Rufe,” said Loretta. “This is June. You didn't know + her, did ye?” The man laughed. Something in June's bearing made him take + off his hat; he came forward to shake hands, and June looked up into a + pair of bold black eyes that stirred within her again the vague fears of + her childhood. She had been afraid of him when she was a child, and it was + the old fear aroused that made her recall him by his eyes now. His beard + was gone and he was much changed. She trembled when she shook hands with + him and she did not call him by his name Old Judd came in, and a moment + later the two men and Bub sat on the porch while the women worked, and + when June rose again to go indoors, she felt the newcomer's bold eyes take + her slowly in from head to foot and she turned crimson. This was the + terror among the Tollivers—Bad Rufe, come back from the West to take + part in the feud. HE saw the belt and the stockings and the shoes, the + white column of her throat and the proud set of her gold-crowned head; HE + knew what they meant, he made her feel that he knew, and later he managed + to catch her eyes once with an amused, half-contemptuous glance at the + simple untravelled folk about them, that said plainly how well he knew + they two were set apart from them, and she shrank fearfully from the + comradeship that the glance implied and would look at him no more. He knew + everything that was going on in the mountains. He had come back “ready for + business,” he said. When he made ready to go, June went to her room and + stayed there, but she heard him say to her father that he was going over + to the Gap, and with a laugh that chilled her soul: + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' over to kill me a policeman.” And her father warned gruffly: + </p> + <p> + “You better keep away from thar. You don't understand them fellers.” And + she heard Rufe's brutal laugh again, and as he rode into the creek his + horse stumbled and she saw him cut cruelly at the poor beast's ears with + the rawhide quirt that he carried. She was glad when all went home, and + the only ray of sunlight in the day for her radiated from Uncle Billy's + face when, at sunset, he came to take old Hon home. The old miller was the + one unchanged soul to her in that he was the one soul that could see no + change in June. He called her “baby” in the old way, and he talked to her + now as he had talked to her as a child. He took her aside to ask her if + she knew that Hale had got his license to marry, and when she shook her + head, his round, red face lighted up with the benediction of a rising sun: + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's what he's done, baby, an' he's axed me to marry ye,” he + added, with boyish pride, “he's axed ME.” + </p> + <p> + And June choked, her eyes filled, and she was dumb, but Uncle Billy could + not see that it meant distress and not joy. He just put his arm around her + and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “I ain't told a soul, baby—not a soul.” + </p> + <p> + She went to bed and to sleep with Hale's face in the dream-mist of her + brain, and Uncle Billy's, and the bold, black eyes of Bad Rufe Tolliver—all + fused, blurred, indistinguishable. Then suddenly Rufe's words struck that + brain, word by word, like the clanging terror of a frightened bell. + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' to kill me a policeman.” And with the last word, it seemed, she + sprang upright in bed, clutching the coverlid convulsively. Daylight was + showing gray through her window. She heard a swift step up the steps, + across the porch, the rattle of the door-chain, her father's quick call, + then the rumble of two men's voices, and she knew as well what had + happened as though she had heard every word they uttered. Rufe had killed + him a policeman—perhaps John Hale—and with terror clutching + her heart she sprang to the floor, and as she dropped the old purple gown + over her shoulders, she heard the scurry of feet across the back porch—feet + that ran swiftly but cautiously, and left the sound of them at the edge of + the woods. She heard the back door close softly, the creaking of the bed + as her father lay down again, and then a sudden splashing in the creek. + Kneeling at the window, she saw strange horsemen pushing toward the gate + where one threw himself from his saddle, strode swiftly toward the steps, + and her lips unconsciously made soft, little, inarticulate cries of joy—for + the stern, gray face under the hat of the man was the face of John Hale. + After him pushed other men—fully armed—whom he motioned to + either side of the cabin to the rear. By his side was Bob Berkley, and + behind him was a red-headed Falin whom she well remembered. Within twenty + feet, she was looking into that gray face, when the set lips of it opened + in a loud command: “Hello!” She heard her father's bed creak again, again + the rattle of the door-chain, and then old Judd stepped on the porch with + a revolver in each hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he answered sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Judd,” said Hale sharply—and June had never heard that tone from + him before—“a man with a black moustache killed one of our men over + in the Gap yesterday and we've tracked him over here. There's his horse—and + we saw him go into that door. We want him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who the feller is?” asked old Judd calmly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale quickly. And then, with equal calm: + </p> + <p> + “Hit was my brother,” and the old man's mouth closed like a vise. Had the + last word been a stone striking his ear, Hale could hardly have been more + stunned. Again he called and almost gently: + </p> + <p> + “Watch the rear, there,” and then gently he turned to Devil Judd. + </p> + <p> + “Judd, your brother shot a man at the Gap—without excuse or warning. + He was an officer and a friend of mine, but if he were a stranger—we + want him just the same. Is he here?” + </p> + <p> + Judd looked at the red-headed man behind Hale. + </p> + <p> + “So you're turned on the Falin side now, have ye?” he said contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Is he here?” repeated Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an' you can't have him.” Without a move toward his pistol Hale + stepped forward, and June saw her father's big right hand tighten on his + huge pistol, and with a low cry she sprang to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “I'm an officer of the law,” Hale said, “stand aside, Judd!” Bub leaped to + the door with a Winchester—his eyes wild and his face white. + </p> + <p> + “Watch out, men!” Hale called, and as the men raised their guns there was + a shriek inside the cabin and June stood at Bub's side, barefooted, her + hair tumbled about her shoulders, and her hand clutching the little cross + at her throat. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” she shrieked. “He isn't here. He's—he's gone!” For a moment + a sudden sickness smote Hale's face, then Devil Judd's ruse flashed to him + and, wheeling, he sprang to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” he shouted, with a sweep of his hand right and left. “Up those + hollows! Lead those horses up to the Pine and wait. Quick!” + </p> + <p> + Already the men were running as he directed and Hale, followed by Bob and + the Falin, rushed around the corner of the house. Old Judd's nostrils were + quivering, and with his pistols dangling in his hands he walked to the + gate, listening to the sounds of the pursuit. + </p> + <p> + “They'll never ketch him,” he said, coming back, and then he dropped into + a chair and sat in silence a long time. June reappeared, her face still + white and her temples throbbing, for the sun was rising on days of + darkness for her. Devil Judd did not even look at her. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you ain't goin' to marry John Hale.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Dad,” said June. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV + </h2> + <p> + Thus Fate did not wait until Election Day for the thing Hale most dreaded—a + clash that would involve the guard in the Tolliver-Falin troubles over the + hills. There had been simply a preliminary political gathering at the Gap + the day before, but it had been a crucial day for the guard from a cloudy + sunrise to a tragic sunset. Early that morning, Mockaby, the + town-sergeant, had stepped into the street freshly shaven, with polished + boots, and in his best clothes for the eyes of his sweetheart, who was to + come up that day to the Gap from Lee. Before sunset he died with those + boots on, while the sweetheart, unknowing, was bound on her happy way + homeward, and Rufe Tolliver, who had shot Mockaby, was clattering through + the Gap in flight for Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + As far as anybody knew, there had been but one Tolliver and one Falin in + town that day, though many had noticed the tall Western-looking stranger + who, early in the afternoon, had ridden across the bridge over the North + Fork, but he was quiet and well-behaved, he merged into the crowd and + through the rest of the afternoon was in no way conspicuous, even when the + one Tolliver and the one Falin got into a fight in front of the speaker's + stand and the riot started which came near ending in a bloody battle. The + Falin was clearly blameless and was let go at once. This angered the many + friends of the Tolliver, and when he was arrested there was an attempt at + rescue, and the Tolliver was dragged to the calaboose behind a slowly + retiring line of policemen, who were jabbing the rescuers back with the + muzzles of cocked Winchesters. It was just when it was all over, and the + Tolliver was safely jailed, that Bad Rufe galloped up to the calaboose, + shaking with rage, for he had just learned that the prisoner was a + Tolliver. He saw how useless interference was, but he swung from his + horse, threw the reins over its head after the Western fashion and strode + up to Hale. + </p> + <p> + “You the captain of this guard?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hale; “and you?” Rufe shook his head with angry impatience, + and Hale, thinking he had some communication to make, ignored his refusal + to answer. + </p> + <p> + “I hear that a fellow can't blow a whistle or holler, or shoot off his + pistol in this town without gittin' arrested.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true—why?” Rufe's black eyes gleamed vindictively. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin',” he said, and he turned to his horse. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later, as Mockaby was passing down the dummy track, a whistle + was blown on the river bank, a high yell was raised, a pistol shot quickly + followed and he started for the sound of them on a run. A few minutes + later three more pistol shots rang out, and Hale rushed to the river bank + to find Mockaby stretched out on the ground, dying, and a mountaineer lout + pointing after a man on horseback, who was making at a swift gallop for + the mouth of the gap and the hills. + </p> + <p> + “He done it,” said the lout in a frightened way; “but I don't know who he + was.” + </p> + <p> + Within half an hour ten horsemen were clattering after the murderer, + headed by Hale, Logan, and the Infant of the Guard. Where the road forked, + a woman with a child in her arms said she had seen a tall, black-eyed man + with a black moustache gallop up the right fork. She no more knew who he + was than any of the pursuers. Three miles up that fork they came upon a + red-headed man leading his horse from a mountaineer's yard. + </p> + <p> + “He went up the mountain,” the red-haired man said, pointing to the trail + of the Lonesome Pine. “He's gone over the line. Whut's he done—killed + somebody?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hale shortly, starting up his horse. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I'd a-knowed you was atter him. I'm sheriff over thar.” + </p> + <p> + Now they were without warrant or requisition, and Hale, pulling in, said + sharply: + </p> + <p> + “We want that fellow. He killed a man at the Gap. If we catch him over the + line, we want you to hold him for us. Come along!” The red-headed sheriff + sprang on his horse and grinned eagerly: + </p> + <p> + “I'm your man.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was that fellow?” asked Hale as they galloped. The sheriff denied + knowledge with a shake of his head. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” The sheriff looked sharply at him for the effect of + his answer. + </p> + <p> + “Jim Falin.” And Hale looked sharply back at him. He was one of the Falins + who long, long ago had gone to the Gap for young Dave Tolliver, and now + the Falin grinned at Hale. + </p> + <p> + “I know you—all right.” No wonder the Falin chuckled at this + Heaven-born chance to get a Tolliver into trouble. + </p> + <p> + At the Lonesome Pine the traces of the fugitive's horse swerved along the + mountain top—the shoe of the right forefoot being broken in half. + That swerve was a blind and the sheriff knew it, but he knew where Rufe + Tolliver would go and that there would be plenty of time to get him. + Moreover, he had a purpose of his own and a secret fear that it might be + thwarted, so, without a word, he followed the trail till darkness hid it + and they had to wait until the moon rose. Then as they started again, the + sheriff said: + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” and plunged down the mountain side on foot. A few minutes + later he hallooed for Hale, and down there showed him the tracks doubling + backward along a foot-path. + </p> + <p> + “Regular rabbit, ain't he?” chuckled the sheriff, and back they went to + the trail again on which two hundred yards below the Pine they saw the + tracks pointing again to Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + On down the trail they went, and at the top of the spur that overlooked + Lonesome Cove, the Falin sheriff pulled in suddenly and got off his horse. + There the tracks swerved again into the bushes. + </p> + <p> + “He's goin' to wait till daylight, fer fear somebody's follered him. He'll + come in back o' Devil Judd's.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know he's going to Devil Judd's?” asked Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Whar else would he go?” asked the Falin with a sweep of his arm toward + the moonlit wilderness. “Thar ain't but one house that way fer ten miles—and + nobody lives thar.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that he's going to any house?” asked Hale impatiently. + “He may be getting out of the mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “D'you ever know a feller to leave these mountains jus' because he'd + killed a man? How'd you foller him at night? How'd you ever ketch him with + his start? What'd he turn that way fer, if he wasn't goin' to Judd's—why + d'n't he keep on down the river? If he's gone, he's gone. If he ain't, + he'll be at Devil Judd's at daybreak if he ain't thar now.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on down with the hosses, hide 'em in the bushes an' wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe he's already heard us coming down the mountain.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the only thing I'm afeerd of,” said the Falin calmly. “But whut + I'm tellin' you's our only chance.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know he won't hear us going down? Why not leave the horses?” + </p> + <p> + “We might need the hosses, and hit's mud and sand all the way—you + ought to know that.” + </p> + <p> + Hale did know that; so on they went quietly and hid their horses aside + from the road near the place where Hale had fished when he first went to + Lonesome Cove. There the Falin disappeared on foot. + </p> + <p> + “Do you trust him?” asked Hale, turning to Budd, and Budd laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you can trust a Falin against a friend of a Tolliver, or t'other + way round—any time.” Within half an hour the Falin came back with + the news that there were no signs that the fugitive had yet come in. + </p> + <p> + “No use surrounding the house now,” he said, “he might see one of us first + when he comes in an' git away. We'll do that atter daylight.” + </p> + <p> + And at daylight they saw the fugitive ride out of the woods at the back of + the house and boldly around to the front of the house, where he left his + horse in the yard and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Now send three men to ketch him if he runs out the back way—quick!” + said the Falin. “Hit'll take 'em twenty minutes to git thar through the + woods. Soon's they git thar, let one of 'em shoot his pistol off an' + that'll be the signal fer us.” + </p> + <p> + The three men started swiftly, but the pistol shot came before they had + gone a hundred yards, for one of the three—a new man and + unaccustomed to the use of fire-arms, stumbled over a root while he was + seeing that his pistol was in order and let it go off accidentally. + </p> + <p> + “No time to waste now,” the Falin called sharply. “Git on yo' hosses and + git!” Then the rush was made and when they gave up the chase at noon that + day, the sheriff looked Hale squarely in the eye when Hale sharply asked + him a question: + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you tell me who that man was?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I was afeerd you wouldn't go to Devil Judd's atter him. I know + better now,” and he shook his head, for he did not understand. And so Hale + at the head of the disappointed Guard went back to the Gap, and when, next + day, they laid Mockaby away in the thinly populated little graveyard that + rested in the hollow of the river's arm, the spirit of law and order in + the heart of every guard gave way to the spirit of revenge, and the grass + would grow under the feet of none until Rufe Tolliver was caught and the + death-debt of the law was paid with death. + </p> + <p> + That purpose was no less firm in the heart of Hale, and he turned away + from the grave, sick with the trick that Fate had lost no time in playing + him; for he was a Falin now in the eyes of both factions and an enemy—even + to June. + </p> + <p> + The weeks dragged slowly along, and June sank slowly toward the depths + with every fresh realization of the trap of circumstance into which she + had fallen. She had dim memories of just such a state of affairs when she + was a child, for the feud was on now and the three things that governed + the life of the cabin in Lonesome Cove were hate, caution, and fear. + </p> + <p> + Bub and her father worked in the fields with their Winchesters close at + hand, and June was never easy if they were outside the house. If somebody + shouted “hello”—that universal hail of friend or enemy in the + mountains—from the gate after dark, one or the other would go out + the back door and answer from the shelter of the corner of the house. + Neither sat by the light of the fire where he could be seen through the + window nor carried a candle from one room to the other. And when either + rode down the river, June must ride behind him to prevent ambush from the + bushes, for no Kentucky mountaineer, even to kill his worst enemy, will + risk harming a woman. Sometimes Loretta would come and spend the day, and + she seemed little less distressed than June. Dave was constantly in and + out, and several times June had seen the Red Fox hanging around. Always + the talk was of the feud. The killing of this Tolliver and of that long + ago was rehearsed over and over; all the wrongs the family had suffered at + the hands of the Falins were retold, and in spite of herself June felt the + old hatred of her childhood reawakening against them so fiercely that she + was startled: and she knew that if she were a man she would be as ready + now to take up a Winchester against the Falins as though she had known no + other life. + </p> + <p> + Loretta got no comfort from her in her tentative efforts to talk of Buck + Falin, and once, indeed, June gave her a scathing rebuke. With every day + her feeling for her father and Bub was knit a little more closely, and + toward Dave grew a little more kindly. She had her moods even against + Hale, but they always ended in a storm of helpless tears. Her father said + little of Hale, but that little was enough. Young Dave was openly exultant + when he heard of the favouritism shown a Falin by the Guard at the Gap, + the effort Hale had made to catch Rufe Tolliver and his well-known purpose + yet to capture him; for the Guard maintained a fund for the arrest and + prosecution of criminals, and the reward it offered for Rufe, dead or + alive, was known by everybody on both sides of the State line. For nearly + a week no word was heard of the fugitive, and then one night, after + supper, while June was sitting at the fire, the back door was opened, Rufe + slid like a snake within, and when June sprang to her feet with a sharp + cry of terror, he gave his brutal laugh: + </p> + <p> + “Don't take much to skeer you—does it?” Shuddering she felt his evil + eyes sweep her from head to foot, for the beast within was always + unleashed and ever ready to spring, and she dropped back into her seat, + speechless. Young Dave, entering from the kitchen, saw Rufe's look and the + hostile lightning of his own eyes flashed at his foster-uncle, who knew + straightway that he must not for his own safety strain the boy's jealousy + too far. + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn't to 'a' done it, Rufe,” said old Judd a little later, and he + shook his head. Again Rufe laughed: + </p> + <p> + “No—” he said with a quick pacificatory look to young Dave, “not to + HIM!” The swift gritting of Dave's teeth showed that he knew what was + meant, and without warning the instinct of a protecting tigress leaped + within June. She had seen and had been grateful for the look Dave gave the + outlaw, but without a word she rose new and went to her own room. While + she sat at her window, her step-mother came out the back door and left it + open for a moment. Through it June could hear the talk: + </p> + <p> + “No,” said her father, “she ain't goin' to marry him.” Dave grunted and + Rufe's voice came again: + </p> + <p> + “Ain't no danger, I reckon, of her tellin' on me?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said her father gruffly, and the door banged. + </p> + <p> + No, thought June, she wouldn't, even without her father's trust, though + she loathed the man, and he was the only thing on earth of which she was + afraid—that was the miracle of it and June wondered. She was a + Tolliver and the clan loyalty of a century forbade—that was all. As + she rose she saw a figure skulking past the edge of the woods. She called + Bub in and told him about it, and Rufe stayed at the cabin all night, but + June did not see him next morning, and she kept out of his way whenever he + came again. A few nights later the Red Fox slouched up to the cabin with + some herbs for the step-mother. Old Judd eyed him askance. + </p> + <p> + “Lookin' fer that reward, Red?” The old man had no time for the meek reply + that was on his lips, for the old woman spoke up sharply: + </p> + <p> + “You let Red alone, Judd—I tol' him to come.” And the Red Fox stayed + to supper, and when Rufe left the cabin that night, a bent figure with a + big rifle and in moccasins sneaked after him. + </p> + <p> + The next night there was a tap on Hale's window just at his bedside, and + when he looked out he saw the Red Fox's big rifle, telescope, moccasins + and all in the moonlight. The Red Fox had discovered the whereabouts of + Rufe Tolliver, and that very night he guided Hale and six of the guard to + the edge of a little clearing where the Red Fox pointed to a one-roomed + cabin, quiet in the moonlight. Hale had his requisition now. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't no trouble ketchin' Rufe, if you bait him with a woman,” he + snarled. “There mought be several Tollivers in thar. Wait till daybreak + and git the drap on him, when he comes out.” And then he disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Surrounding the cabin, Hale waited, and on top of the mountain, above + Lonesome Cove, the Red Fox sat waiting and watching through his big + telescope. Through it he saw Bad Rufe step outside the door at daybreak + and stretch his arms with a yawn, and he saw three men spring with + levelled Winchesters from behind a clump of bushes. The woman shot from + the door behind Rufe with a pistol in each hand, but Rufe kept his hands + in the air and turned his head to the woman who lowered the half-raised + weapons slowly. When he saw the cavalcade start for the county seat with + Rufe manacled in the midst of them, he dropped swiftly down into Lonesome + Cove to tell Judd that Rufe was a prisoner and to retake him on the way to + jail. And, as the Red Fox well knew would happen, old Judd and young Dave + and two other Tollivers who were at the cabin galloped into the county + seat to find Rufe in jail, and that jail guarded by seven grim young men + armed with Winchesters and shot-guns. + </p> + <p> + Hale faced the old man quietly—eye to eye. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use, Judd,” he said, “you'd better let the law take its course.” + The old man was scornful. + </p> + <p> + “Thar's never been a Tolliver convicted of killin' nobody, much less hung—an' + thar ain't goin' to be.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you warned me,” said Hale still quietly, “though it wasn't + necessary. But if he's convicted, he'll hang.” + </p> + <p> + The giant's face worked in convulsive helplessness and he turned away. + </p> + <p> + “You hold the cyards now, but my deal is comin'.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Judd—you're getting a square one from me.” + </p> + <p> + Back rode the Tollivers and Devil Judd never opened his lips again until + he was at home in Lonesome Cove. June was sitting on the porch when he + walked heavy-headed through the gate. + </p> + <p> + “They've ketched Rufe,” he said, and after a moment he added gruffly: + </p> + <p> + “Thar's goin' to be sure enough trouble now. The Falins'll think all them + police fellers air on their side now. This ain't no place fer you—you + must git away.” + </p> + <p> + June shook her head and her eyes turned to the flowers at the edge of the + garden: + </p> + <p> + “I'm not goin' away, Dad,” she said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI + </h2> + <p> + Back to the passing of Boone and the landing of Columbus no man, in that + region, had ever been hanged. And as old Judd said, no Tolliver had ever + been sentenced and no jury of mountain men, he well knew, could be found + who would convict a Tolliver, for there were no twelve men in the + mountains who would dare. And so the Tollivers decided to await the + outcome of the trial and rest easy. But they did not count on the mettle + and intelligence of the grim young “furriners” who were a flying wedge of + civilization at the Gap. Straightway, they gave up the practice of law and + banking and trading and store-keeping and cut port-holes in the brick + walls of the Court House and guarded town and jail night and day. They + brought their own fearless judge, their own fearless jury and their own + fearless guard. Such an abstract regard for law and order the mountaineer + finds a hard thing to understand. It looked as though the motive of the + Guard was vindictive and personal, and old Judd was almost stifled by the + volcanic rage that daily grew within him as the toils daily tightened + about Rufe Tolliver. + </p> + <p> + Every happening the old man learned through the Red Fox, who, with his + huge pistols, was one of the men who escorted Rufe to and from Court House + and jail—a volunteer, Hale supposed, because he hated Rufe; and, as + the Tollivers supposed, so that he could keep them advised of everything + that went on, which he did with secrecy and his own peculiar faith. And + steadily and to the growing uneasiness of the Tollivers, the law went its + way. Rufe had proven that he was at the Gap all day and had taken no part + in the trouble. He produced a witness—the mountain lout whom Hale + remembered—who admitted that he had blown the whistle, given the + yell, and fired the pistol shot. When asked his reason, the witness, who + was stupid, had none ready, looked helplessly at Rufe and finally mumbled—“fer + fun.” But it was plain from the questions that Rufe had put to Hale only a + few minutes before the shooting, and from the hesitation of the witness, + that Rufe had used him for a tool. So the testimony of the latter that + Mockaby without even summoning Rufe to surrender had fired first, carried + no conviction. And yet Rufe had no trouble making it almost sure that he + had never seen the dead man before—so what was his motive? It was + then that word reached the ear of the prosecuting attorney of the only + testimony that could establish a motive and make the crime a hanging + offence, and Court was adjourned for a day, while he sent for the witness + who could give it. That afternoon one of the Falins, who had grown bolder, + and in twos and threes were always at the trial, shot at a Tolliver on the + edge of town and there was an immediate turmoil between the factions that + the Red Fox had been waiting for and that suited his dark purposes well. + </p> + <p> + That very night, with his big rifle, he slipped through the woods to a + turn of the road, over which old Dave Tolliver was to pass next morning, + and built a “blind” behind some rocks and lay there smoking peacefully and + dreaming his Swedenborgian dreams. And when a wagon came round the turn, + driven by a boy, and with the gaunt frame of old Dave Tolliver lying on + straw in the bed of it, his big rifle thundered and the frightened horses + dashed on with the Red Fox's last enemy, lifeless. Coolly he slipped back + to the woods, threw the shell from his gun, tirelessly he went by short + cuts through the hills, and at noon, benevolent and smiling, he was on + guard again. + </p> + <p> + The little Court Room was crowded for the afternoon session. Inside the + railing sat Rufe Tolliver, white and defiant—manacled. Leaning on + the railing, to one side, was the Red Fox with his big pistols, his good + profile calm, dreamy, kind—to the other, similarly armed, was Hale. + At each of the gaping port-holes, and on each side of the door, stood a + guard with a Winchester, and around the railing outside were several more. + In spite of window and port-hole the air was close and heavy with the + smell of tobacco and the sweat of men. Here and there in the crowd was a + red Falin, but not a Tolliver was in sight, and Rufe Tolliver sat alone. + The clerk called the Court to order after the fashion since the days + before Edward the Confessor—except that he asked God to save a + commonwealth instead of a king—and the prosecuting attorney rose: + </p> + <p> + “Next witness, may it please your Honour”: and as the clerk got to his + feet with a slip of paper in his hand and bawled out a name, Hale wheeled + with a thumping heart. The crowd vibrated, turned heads, gave way, and + through the human aisle walked June Tolliver with the sheriff following + meekly behind. At the railing-gate she stopped, head uplifted, face pale + and indignant; and her eyes swept past Hale as if he were no more than a + wooden image, and were fixed with proud inquiry on the Judge's face. She + was bare-headed, her bronze hair was drawn low over her white brow, her + gown was of purple home-spun, and her right hand was clenched tight about + the chased silver handle of a riding whip, and in eyes, mouth, and in + every line of her tense figure was the mute question: “Why have you + brought <i>me</i> here?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/0342.jpg" alt="'why Have You Brought Me Here?', 0342 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “Here, please,” said the Judge gently, as though he were about to answer + that question, and as she passed Hale she seemed to swerve her skirts + aside that they might not touch him. + </p> + <p> + “Swear her.” + </p> + <p> + June lifted her right hand, put her lips to the soiled, old, black Bible + and faced the jury and Hale and Bad Rufe Tolliver whose black eyes never + left her face. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” asked a deep voice that struck her ears as familiar, + and before she answered she swiftly recalled that she had heard that voice + speaking when she entered the door. + </p> + <p> + “June Tolliver.” + </p> + <p> + “Your age?” + </p> + <p> + “Eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + “You live—” + </p> + <p> + “In Lonesome Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “You are the daughter of—” + </p> + <p> + “Judd Tolliver.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my foster-uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you at home on the night of August the tenth?” + </p> + <p> + “I was.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever heard the prisoner express any enmity against this + volunteer Police Guard?” He waved his hand toward the men at the portholes + and about the railing—unconsciously leaving his hand directly + pointed at Hale. June hesitated and Rufe leaned one elbow on the table, + and the light in his eyes beat with fierce intensity into the girl's eyes + into which came a curious frightened look that Hale remembered—the + same look she had shown long ago when Rufe's name was mentioned in the old + miller's cabin, and when going up the river road she had put her childish + trust in him to see that her bad uncle bothered her no more. Hale had + never forgot that, and if it had not been absurd he would have stopped the + prisoner from staring at her now. An anxious look had come into Rufe's + eyes—would she lie for him? + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said June. Ah, she would—she was a Tolliver and Rufe took a + breath of deep content. + </p> + <p> + “You never heard him express any enmity toward the Police Guard—before + that night?” + </p> + <p> + “I have answered that question,” said June with dignity and Rufe's lawyer + was on his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Your Honour, I object,” he said indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “I apologize,” said the deep voice—“sincerely,” and he bowed to + June. Then very quietly: + </p> + <p> + “What was the last thing you heard the prisoner say that afternoon when he + left your father's house?” + </p> + <p> + It had come—how well she remembered just what he had said and how, + that night, even when she was asleep, Rufe's words had clanged like a bell + in her brain—what her awakening terror was when she knew that the + deed was done and the stifling fear that the victim might be Hale. Swiftly + her mind worked—somebody had blabbed, her step-mother, perhaps, and + what Rufe had said had reached a Falin ear and come to the relentless man + in front of her. She remembered, too, now, what the deep voice was saying + as she came into the door: + </p> + <p> + “There must be deliberation, a malicious purpose proven to make the + prisoner's crime a capital offence—I admit that, of course, your + Honour. Very well, we propose to prove that now,” and then she had heard + her name called. The proof that was to send Rufe Tolliver to the scaffold + was to come from her—that was why she was there. Her lips opened and + Rufe's eyes, like a snake's, caught her own again and held them. + </p> + <p> + “He said he was going over to the Gap—” + </p> + <p> + There was a commotion at the door, again the crowd parted, and in towered + giant Judd Tolliver, pushing people aside as though they were straws, his + bushy hair wild and his great frame shaking from head to foot with rage. + </p> + <p> + “You went to my house,” he rumbled hoarsely—glaring at Hale—“an' + took my gal thar when I wasn't at home—you—” + </p> + <p> + “Order in the Court,” said the Judge sternly, but already at a signal from + Hale several guards were pushing through the crowd and old Judd saw them + coming and saw the Falins about him and the Winchesters at the port-holes, + and he stopped with a hard gulp and stood looking at June. + </p> + <p> + “Repeat his exact words,” said the deep voice again as calmly as though + nothing had happened. + </p> + <p> + “He said, 'I'm goin' over to the Gap—'” and still Rufe's black eyes + held her with mesmeric power—would she lie for him—would she + lie for him? + </p> + <p> + It was a terrible struggle for June. Her father was there, her uncle Dave + was dead, her foster-uncle's life hung on her next words and she was a + Tolliver. Yet she had given her oath, she had kissed the sacred Book in + which she believed from cover to cover with her whole heart, and she could + feel upon her the blue eyes of a man for whom a lie was impossible and to + whom she had never stained her white soul with a word of untruth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” encouraged the deep voice kindly. + </p> + <p> + Not a soul in the room knew where the struggle lay—not even the girl—for + it lay between the black eyes of Rufe Tolliver and the blue eyes of John + Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” repeated the deep voice again. Again, with her eyes on Rufe, she + repeated: + </p> + <p> + “'I'm goin' over to the Gap—'” her face turned deadly white, she + shivered, her dark eyes swerved suddenly full on Hale and she said slowly + and distinctly, yet hardly above a whisper: + </p> + <p> + “'TO KILL ME A POLICEMAN.'” + </p> + <p> + “That will do,” said the deep voice gently, and Hale started toward her—she + looked so deadly sick and she trembled so when she tried to rise; but she + saw him, her mouth steadied, she rose, and without looking at him, passed + by his outstretched hand and walked slowly out of the Court Room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII + </h2> + <p> + The miracle had happened. The Tollivers, following the Red Fox's advice to + make no attempt at rescue just then, had waited, expecting the old + immunity from the law and getting instead the swift sentence that Rufe + Tolliver should be hanged by the neck until he was dead. Astounding and + convincing though the news was, no mountaineer believed he would ever + hang, and Rufe himself faced the sentence defiant. He laughed when he was + led back to his cell: + </p> + <p> + “I'll never hang,” he said scornfully. They were the first words that came + from his lips, and the first words that came from old Judd's when the news + reached him in Lonesome Cove, and that night old Judd gathered his clan + for the rescue—to learn next morning that during the night Rufe had + been spirited away to the capital for safekeeping until the fatal day. And + so there was quiet for a while—old Judd making ready for the day + when Rufe should be brought back, and trying to find out who it was that + had slain his brother Dave. The Falins denied the deed, but old Judd never + questioned that one of them was the murderer, and he came out openly now + and made no secret of the fact that he meant to have revenge. And so the + two factions went armed, watchful and wary—especially the Falins, + who were lying low and waiting to fulfil a deadly purpose of their own. + They well knew that old Judd would not open hostilities on them until Rufe + Tolliver was dead or at liberty. They knew that the old man meant to try + to rescue Rufe when he was brought back to jail or taken from it to the + scaffold, and when either day came they themselves would take a hand, thus + giving the Tollivers at one and the same time two sets of foes. And so + through the golden September days the two clans waited, and June Tolliver + went with dull determination back to her old life, for Uncle Billy's + sister had left the house in fear and she could get no help—milking + cows at cold dawns, helping in the kitchen, spinning flax and wool, and + weaving them into rough garments for her father and step-mother and Bub, + and in time, she thought grimly—for herself: for not another cent + for her maintenance could now come from John Hale, even though he claimed + it was hers—even though it was in truth her own. Never, but once, + had Hale's name been mentioned in the cabin—never, but once, had her + father referred to the testimony that she had given against Rufe Tolliver, + for the old man put upon Hale the fact that the sheriff had sneaked into + his house when he was away and had taken June to Court, and that was the + crowning touch of bitterness in his growing hatred for the captain of the + guard of whom he had once been so fond. + </p> + <p> + “Course you had to tell the truth, baby, when they got you there,” he said + kindly; “but kidnappin' you that-a-way—” He shook his great bushy + head from side to side and dropped it into his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon that damn Hale was the man who found out that you heard Rufe say + that. I'd like to know how—I'd like to git my hands on the feller as + told him.” + </p> + <p> + June opened her lips in simple justice to clear Hale of that charge, but + she saw such a terrified appeal in her step-mother's face that she kept + her peace, let Hale suffer for that, too, and walked out into her garden. + Never once had her piano been opened, her books had lain unread, and from + her lips, during those days, came no song. When she was not at work, she + was brooding in her room, or she would walk down to Uncle Billy's and sit + at the mill with him while the old man would talk in tender helplessness, + or under the honeysuckle vines with old Hon, whose brusque kindness was of + as little avail. And then, still silent, she would get wearily up and as + quietly go away while the two old friends, worried to the heart, followed + her sadly with their eyes. At other times she was brooding in her room or + sitting in her garden, where she was now, and where she found most comfort—the + garden that Hale had planted for her—where purple asters leaned against + lilac shrubs that would flower for the first time the coming spring; where + a late rose bloomed, and marigolds drooped, and great sunflowers nodded + and giant castor-plants stretched out their hands of Christ, And while + June thus waited the passing of the days, many things became clear to her: + for the grim finger of reality had torn the veil from her eyes and let her + see herself but little changed, at the depths, by contact with John Hale's + world, as she now saw him but little changed, at the depths, by contact + with hers. Slowly she came to see, too, that it was his presence in the + Court Room that made her tell the truth, reckless of the consequences, and + she came to realize that she was not leaving the mountains because she + would go to no place where she could not know of any danger that, in the + present crisis, might threaten John Hale. + </p> + <p> + And Hale saw only that in the Court Room she had drawn her skirts aside, + that she had looked at him once and then had brushed past his helping + hand. It put him in torment to think of what her life must be now, and of + how she must be suffering. He knew that she would not leave her father in + the crisis that was at hand, and after it was all over—what then? + His hands would still be tied and he would be even more helpless than he + had ever dreamed possible. To be sure, an old land deal had come to life, + just after the discovery of the worthlessness of the mine in Lonesome + Cove, and was holding out another hope. But if that, too, should fail—or + if it should succeed—what then? Old Judd had sent back, with a curt + refusal, the last “allowance” he forwarded to June and he knew the old man + was himself in straits. So June must stay in the mountains, and what would + become of her? She had gone back to her mountain garb—would she + lapse into her old life and ever again be content? Yes, she would lapse, + but never enough to keep her from being unhappy all her life, and at that + thought he groaned. Thus far he was responsible and the paramount duty + with him had been that she should have the means to follow the career she + had planned for herself outside of those hills. And now if he had the + means, he was helpless. There was nothing for him to do now but to see + that the law had its way with Rufe Tolliver, and meanwhile he let the + reawakened land deal go hang and set himself the task of finding out who + it was that had ambushed old Dave Tolliver. So even when he was thinking + of June his brain was busy on that mystery, and one night, as he sat + brooding, a suspicion flashed that made him grip his chair with both hands + and rise to pace the porch. Old Dave had been shot at dawn, and the night + before the Red Fox had been absent from the guard and had not turned up + until nearly noon next day. He had told Hale that he was going home. Two + days later, Hale heard by accident that the old man had been seen near the + place of the ambush about sunset of the day before the tragedy, which was + on his way home, and he now learned straightway for himself that the Red + Fox had not been home for a month—which was only one of his ways of + mistreating the patient little old woman in black. + </p> + <p> + A little later, the Red Fox gave it out that he was trying to ferret out + the murderer himself, and several times he was seen near the place of + ambush, looking, as he said, for evidence. But this did not halt Hale's + suspicions, for he recalled that the night he had spent with the Red Fox, + long ago, the old man had burst out against old Dave and had quickly + covered up his indiscretion with a pious characterization of himself as a + man that kept peace with both factions. And then why had he been so + suspicious and fearful when Hale told him that night that he had seen him + talking with a Falin in town the Court day before, and had he disclosed + the whereabouts of Rufe Tolliver and guided the guard to his hiding-place + simply for the reward? He had not yet come to claim it, and his + indifference to money was notorious through the hills. Apparently there + was some general enmity in the old man toward the whole Tolliver clan, and + maybe he had used the reward to fool Hale as to his real motive. And then + Hale quietly learned that long ago the Tollivers bitterly opposed the Red + Fox's marriage to a Tolliver—that Rufe, when a boy, was always teasing the + Red Fox and had once made him dance in his moccasins to the tune of + bullets spitting about his feet, and that the Red Fox had been heard to + say that old Dave had cheated his wife out of her just inheritance of wild + land; but all that was long, long ago, and apparently had been mutually + forgiven and forgotten. But it was enough for Hale, and one night he + mounted his horse, and at dawn he was at the place of ambush with his + horse hidden in the bushes. The rocks for the ambush were waist high, and + the twigs that had been thrust in the crevices between them were withered. + And there, on the hypothesis that the Red Fox was the assassin, Hale tried + to put himself, after the deed, into the Red Fox's shoes. The old man had + turned up on guard before noon—then he must have gone somewhere + first or have killed considerable time in the woods. He would not have + crossed the road, for there were two houses on the other side; there would + have been no object in going on over the mountain unless he meant to + escape, and if he had gone over there for another reason he would hardly + have had time to get to the Court House before noon: nor would he have + gone back along the road on that side, for on that side, too, was a cabin + not far away. So Hale turned and walked straight away from the road where + the walking was easiest—down a ravine, and pushing this way and that + through the bushes where the way looked easiest. Half a mile down the + ravine he came to a little brook, and there in the black earth was the + faint print of a man's left foot and in the hard crust across was the + deeper print of his right, where his weight in leaping had come down hard. + But the prints were made by a shoe and not by a moccasin, and then Hale + recalled exultantly that the Red Fox did not have his moccasins on the + morning he turned up on guard. All the while he kept a sharp lookout, + right and left, on the ground—the Red Fox must have thrown his + cartridge shell somewhere, and for that Hale was looking. Across the brook + he could see the tracks no farther, for he was too little of a woodsman to + follow so old a trail, but as he stood behind a clump of rhododendron, + wondering what he could do, he heard the crack of a dead stick down the + stream, and noiselessly he moved farther into the bushes. His heart + thumped in the silence—the long silence that followed—for it + might be a hostile Tolliver that was coming, so he pulled his pistol from + his holster, made ready, and then, noiseless as a shadow, the Red Fox + slipped past him along the path, in his moccasins now, and with his big + Winchester in his left hand. The Red Fox, too, was looking for that + cartridge shell, for only the night before had he heard for the first time + of the whispered suspicions against him. He was making for the blind and + Hale trembled at his luck. There was no path on the other side of the + stream, and Hale could barely hear him moving through the bushes. So he + pulled off his boots and, carrying them in one hand, slipped after him, + watching for dead twigs, stooping under the branches, or sliding sidewise + through them when he had to brush between their extremities, and pausing + every now and then to listen for an occasional faint sound from the Red + Fox ahead. Up the ravine the old man went to a little ledge of rocks, + beyond which was the blind, and when Hale saw his stooped figure slip over + that and disappear, he ran noiselessly toward it, crept noiselessly to the + top and peeped carefully over to see the Red Fox with his back to him and + peering into a clump of bushes—hardly ten yards away. While Hale + looked, the old man thrust his hand into the bushes and drew out something + that twinkled in the sun. At the moment Hale's horse nickered from the + bushes, and the Red Fox slipped his hand into his pocket, crouched + listening a moment, and then, step by step, backed toward the ledge. Hale + rose: + </p> + <p> + “I want you, Red!” + </p> + <p> + The old man wheeled, the wolf's snarl came, but the big rifle was too slow—Hale's + pistol had flashed in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Drop your gun!” Paralyzed, but the picture of white fury, the old man + hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Drop—your—gun!” Slowly the big rifle was loosed and fell to + the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Back away—turn around and hands up!” + </p> + <p> + With his foot on the Winchester, Hale felt in the old man's pockets and + fished out an empty cartridge shell. Then he picked up the rifle and threw + the slide. + </p> + <p> + “It fits all right. March—toward that horse!” + </p> + <p> + Without a word the old man slouched ahead to where the big black horse was + restlessly waiting in the bushes. + </p> + <p> + “Climb up,” said Hale. “We won't 'ride and tie' back to town—but + I'll take turns with you on the horse.” + </p> + <p> + The Red Fox was making ready to leave the mountains, for he had been + falsely informed that Rufe was to be brought back to the county seat next + day, and he was searching again for the sole bit of evidence that was out + against him. And when Rufe was spirited back to jail and was on his way to + his cell, an old freckled hand was thrust between the bars of an iron door + to greet him and a voice called him by name. Rufe stopped in amazement; + then he burst out laughing; he struck then at the pallid face through the + bars with his manacles and cursed the old man bitterly; then he laughed + again horribly. The two slept in adjoining cells of the same cage that + night—the one waiting for the scaffold and the other waiting for the + trial that was to send him there. And away over the blue mountains a + little old woman in black sat on the porch of her cabin as she had sat + patiently many and many a long day. It was time, she thought, that the Red + Fox was coming home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + And so while Bad Rufe Tolliver was waiting for death, the trial of the Red + Fox went on, and when he was not swinging in a hammock, reading his Bible, + telling his visions to his guards and singing hymns, he was in the Court + House giving shrewd answers to questions, or none at all, with the + benevolent half of his mask turned to the jury and the wolfish snarl of + the other half showing only now and then to some hostile witness for whom + his hate was stronger than his fear for his own life. And in jail Bad Rufe + worried his enemy with the malicious humour of Satan. Now he would say: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there ain't nothin' betwixt old Red and me, nothin' at all—'cept + this iron wall,” and he would drum a vicious tattoo on the thin wall with + the heel of his boot. Or when he heard the creak of the Red Fox's hammock + as he droned his Bible aloud, he would say to his guard outside: + </p> + <p> + “Course I don't read the Bible an' preach the word, nor talk with sperits, + but thar's worse men than me in the world—old Red in thar' for + instance”; and then he would cackle like a fiend and the Red Fox would + writhe in torment and beg to be sent to another cell. And always he would + daily ask the Red Fox about his trial and ask him questions in the night, + and his devilish instinct told him the day that the Red Fox, too, was + sentenced to death—he saw it in the gray pallour of the old man's face, + and he cackled his glee like a demon. For the evidence against the Red Fox + was too strong. Where June sat as chief witness against Rufe Tolliver—John + Hale sat as chief witness against the Red Fox. He could not swear it was a + cartridge shell that he saw the old man pick up, but it was something that + glistened in the sun, and a moment later he had found the shell in the old + man's pocket—and if it had been fired innocently, why was it there + and why was the old man searching for it? He was looking, he said, for + evidence of the murderer himself. That claim made, the Red Fox's lawyer + picked up the big rifle and the shell. + </p> + <p> + “You say, Mr. Hale, the prisoner told you the night you spent at his home + that this rifle was rim-fire?” + </p> + <p> + “He did.” The lawyer held up the shell. + </p> + <p> + “You see this was exploded in such a rifle.” That was plain, and the + lawyer shoved the shell into the rifle, pulled the trigger, took it out, + and held it up again. The plunger had struck below the rim and near the + centre, but not quite on the centre, and Hale asked for the rifle and + examined it closely. + </p> + <p> + “It's been tampered with,” he said quietly, and he handed it to the + prosecuting attorney. The fact was plain; it was a bungling job and better + proved the Red Fox's guilt. Moreover, there were only two such big rifles + in all the hills, and it was proven that the man who owned the other was + at the time of the murder far away. The days of brain-storms had not come + then. There were no eminent Alienists to prove insanity for the prisoner. + Apparently, he had no friends—none save the little old woman in + black who sat by his side, hour by hour and day by day. + </p> + <p> + And the Red Fox was doomed. + </p> + <p> + In the hush of the Court Room the Judge solemnly put to the gray face + before him the usual question: + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything to say whereby sentence of death should not be + pronounced on you?” + </p> + <p> + The Red Fox rose: + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said in a shaking voice; “but I have a friend here who I would + like to speak for me.” The Judge bent his head a moment over his bench and + lifted it: + </p> + <p> + “It is unusual,” he said; “but under the circumstances I will grant your + request. Who is your friend?” And the Red Fox made the souls of his + listeners leap. + </p> + <p> + “Jesus Christ,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The Judge reverently bowed his head and the hush of the Court Room grew + deeper when the old man fished his Bible from his pocket and calmly read + such passages as might be interpreted as sure damnation for his enemies + and sure glory for himself—read them until the Judge lifted his hand + for a halt. + </p> + <p> + And so another sensation spread through the hills and a superstitious awe + of this strange new power that had come into the hills went with it hand + in hand. Only while the doubting ones knew that nothing could save the Red + Fox they would wait to see if that power could really avail against the + Tolliver clan. The day set for Rufe's execution was the following Monday, + and for the Red Fox the Friday following—for it was well to have the + whole wretched business over while the guard was there. Old Judd Tolliver, + so Hale learned, had come himself to offer the little old woman in black + the refuge of his roof as long as she lived, and had tried to get her to + go back with him to Lonesome Cove; but it pleased the Red Fox that he + should stand on the scaffold in a suit of white—cap and all—as + emblems of the purple and fine linen he was to put on above, and the + little old woman stayed where she was, silently and without question, + cutting the garments, as Hale pityingly learned, from a white table-cloth + and measuring them piece by piece with the clothes the old man wore in + jail. It pleased him, too, that his body should be kept unburied three + days—saying that he would then arise and go about preaching, and + that duty, too, she would as silently and with as little question perform. + Moreover, he would preach his own funeral sermon on the Sunday before + Rufe's day, and a curious crowd gathered to hear him. The Red Fox was led + from jail. He stood on the porch of the jailer's house with a little table + in front of him. On it lay a Bible, on the other side of the table sat a + little pale-faced old woman in black with a black sun-bonnet drawn close + to her face. By the side of the Bible lay a few pieces of bread. It was + the Red Fox's last communion—a communion which he administered to + himself and in which there was no other soul on earth to join save that + little old woman in black. And when the old fellow lifted the bread and + asked the crowd to come forward to partake with him in the last sacrament, + not a soul moved. Only the old woman who had been ill-treated by the Red + Fox for so many years—only she, of all the crowd, gave any answer, + and she for one instant turned her face toward him. With a churlish + gesture the old man pushed the bread over toward her and with hesitating, + trembling fingers she reached for it. + </p> + <p> + Bob Berkley was on the death-watch that night, and as he passed Rufe's + cell a wiry hand shot through the grating of his door, and as the boy + sprang away the condemned man's fingers tipped the butt of the big pistol + that dangled on the lad's hip. + </p> + <p> + “Not this time,” said Bob with a cool little laugh, and Rufe laughed, too. + </p> + <p> + “I was only foolin',” he said, “I ain't goin' to hang. You hear that, Red? + I ain't goin' to hang—but you are, Red—sure. Nobody'd risk his + little finger for your old carcass, 'cept maybe that little old woman o' + yours who you've treated like a hound—but my folks ain't goin' to + see me hang.” + </p> + <p> + Rufe spoke with some reason. That night the Tollivers climbed the + mountain, and before daybreak were waiting in the woods a mile on the + north side of the town. And the Falins climbed, too, farther along the + mountains, and at the same hour were waiting in the woods a mile to the + south. + </p> + <p> + Back in Lonesome Cove June Tolliver sat alone—her soul shaken and + terror-stricken to the depths—and the misery that matched hers was + in the heart of Hale as he paced to and fro at the county seat, on guard + and forging out his plans for that day under the morning stars. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX + </h2> + <p> + Day broke on the old Court House with its black port-holes, on the + graystone jail, and on a tall topless wooden box to one side, from which + projected a cross-beam of green oak. From the centre of this beam dangled + a rope that swung gently to and fro when the wind moved. And with the day + a flock of little birds lighted on the bars of the condemned man's cell + window, chirping through them, and when the jailer brought breakfast he + found Bad Rufe cowering in the corner of his cell and wet with the sweat + of fear. + </p> + <p> + “Them damn birds ag'in,” he growled sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't lose yo' nerve, Rufe,” said the jailer, and the old laugh of + defiance came, but from lips that were dry. + </p> + <p> + “Not much,” he answered grimly, but the jailer noticed that while he ate, + his eyes kept turning again and again to the bars; and the turnkey went + away shaking his head. Rufe had told the jailer, his one friend through + whom he had kept in constant communication with the Tollivers, how on the + night after the shooting of Mockaby, when he lay down to sleep high on the + mountain side and under some rhododendron bushes, a flock of little birds + flew in on him like a gust of rain and perched over and around him, + twittering at him until he had to get up and pace the woods, and how, + throughout the next day, when he sat in the sun planning his escape, those + birds would sweep chattering over his head and sweep chattering back + again, and in that mood of despair he had said once, and only once: + “Somehow I knowed this time my name was Dennis”—a phrase of evil + prophecy he had picked up outside the hills. And now those same birds of + evil omen had come again, he believed, right on the heels of the last + sworn oath old Judd had sent him that he would never hang. + </p> + <p> + With the day, through mountain and valley, came in converging lines + mountain humanity—men and women, boys and girls, children and babes + in arms; all in their Sunday best—the men in jeans, slouched hats, + and high boots, the women in gay ribbons and brilliant home-spun; in + wagons, on foot and on horses and mules, carrying man and man, man and + boy, lover and sweetheart, or husband and wife and child—all moving + through the crisp autumn air, past woods of russet and crimson and along + brown dirt roads, to the straggling little mountain town. A stranger would + have thought that a county fair, a camp-meeting, or a circus was their + goal, but they were on their way to look upon the Court House with its + black port-holes, the graystone jail, the tall wooden box, the projecting + beam, and that dangling rope which, when the wind moved, swayed gently to + and fro. And Hale had forged his plan. He knew that there would be no + attempt at rescue until Rufe was led to the scaffold, and he knew that + neither Falins nor Tollivers would come in a band, so the incoming tide + found on the outskirts of the town and along every road boyish policemen + who halted and disarmed every man who carried a weapon in sight, for thus + John Hale would have against the pistols of the factions his own + Winchesters and repeating shot-guns. And the wondering people saw at the + back windows of the Court House and at the threatening port-holes more + youngsters manning Winchesters, more at the windows of the jailer's frame + house, which joined and fronted the jail, and more still—a line of + them—running all around the jail; and the old men wagged their heads + in amazement and wondered if, after all, a Tolliver was not really going + to be hanged. + </p> + <p> + So they waited—the neighbouring hills were black with people + waiting; the housetops were black with men and boys waiting; the trees in + the streets were bending under the weight of human bodies; and the + jail-yard fence was three feet deep with people hanging to it and hanging + about one another's necks—all waiting. All morning they waited + silently and patiently, and now the fatal noon was hardly an hour away and + not a Falin nor a Tolliver had been seen. Every Falin had been disarmed of + his Winchester as he came in, and as yet no Tolliver had entered the town, + for wily old Judd had learned of Hale's tactics and had stayed outside the + town for his own keen purpose. As the minutes passed, Hale was beginning + to wonder whether, after all, old Judd had come to believe that the odds + against him were too great, and had told the truth when he set afoot the + rumour that the law should have its way; and it was just when his load of + anxiety was beginning to lighten that there was a little commotion at the + edge of the Court House and a great red-headed figure pushed through the + crowd, followed by another of like build, and as the people rapidly gave + way and fell back, a line of Falins slipped along the wall and stood under + the port-holes-quiet, watchful, and determined. Almost at the same time + the crowd fell back the other way up the street, there was the hurried + tramping of feet and on came the Tollivers, headed by giant Judd, all + armed with Winchesters—for old Judd had sent his guns in ahead—and + as the crowd swept like water into any channel of alley or doorway that + was open to it, Hale saw the yard emptied of everybody but the line of + Falins against the wall and the Tollivers in a body but ten yards in front + of them. The people on the roofs and in the trees had not moved at all, + for they were out of range. For a moment old Judd's eyes swept the windows + and port-holes of the Court House, the windows of the jailer's house, the + line of guards about the jail, and then they dropped to the line of Falins + and glared with contemptuous hate into the leaping blue eyes of old Buck + Falin, and for that moment there was silence. In that silence and as + silently as the silence itself issued swiftly from the line of guards + twelve youngsters with Winchesters, repeating shot-guns, and in a minute + six were facing the Falins and six facing the Tollivers, each with his + shot-gun at his hip. At the head of them stood Hale, his face a pale + image, as hard as though cut from stone, his head bare, and his hand and + his hip weaponless. In all that crowd there was not a man or a woman who + had not seen or heard of him, for the power of the guard that was at his + back had radiated through that wild region like ripples of water from a + dropped stone and, unarmed even, he had a personal power that belonged to + no other man in all those hills, though armed to the teeth. His voice rose + clear, steady, commanding: + </p> + <p> + “The law has come here and it has come to stay.” He faced the beetling + eyebrows and angrily working beard of old Judd now: + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/0370.jpg" alt="'we'll Fight You Both!', 0370 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “The Falins are here to get revenge on you Tollivers, if you attack us. I + know that. But”—he wheeled on the Falins—“understand! We don't + want your help! If the Tollivers try to take that man in there, and one of + you Falins draws a pistol, those guns there”—waving his hand toward + the jail windows—“will be turned loose on YOU, WE'LL FIGHT YOU + BOTH!” The last words shot like bullets through his gritted teeth, then + the flash of his eyes was gone, his face was calm, and as though the whole + matter had been settled beyond possible interruption, he finished quietly: + </p> + <p> + “The condemned man wishes to make a confession and to say good-by. In five + minutes he will be at that window to say what he pleases. Ten minutes + later he will be hanged.” And he turned and walked calmly into the + jailer's door. Not a Tolliver nor a Falin made a movement or a sound. + Young Dave's eyes had glared savagely when he first saw Hale, for he had + marked Hale for his own and he knew that the fact was known to Hale. Had + the battle begun then and there, Hale's death was sure, and Dave knew that + Hale must know that as well as he: and yet with magnificent audacity, + there he was—unarmed, personally helpless, and invested with an + insulting certainty that not a shot would be fired. Not a Falin or a + Tolliver even reached for a weapon, and the fact was the subtle tribute + that ignorance pays intelligence when the latter is forced to deadly + weapons as a last resort; for ignorance faced now belching shot-guns and + was commanded by rifles on every side. Old Judd was trapped and the Falins + were stunned. Old Buck Falin turned his eyes down the line of his men with + one warning glance. Old Judd whispered something to a Tolliver behind him + and a moment later the man slipped from the band and disappeared. Young + Dave followed Hale's figure with a look of baffled malignant hatred and + Bub's eyes were filled with angry tears. Between the factions, the grim + young men stood with their guns like statues. + </p> + <p> + At once a big man with a red face appeared at one of the jailer's windows + and then came the sheriff, who began to take out the sash. Already the + frightened crowd had gathered closer again and now a hush came over it, + followed by a rustling and a murmur. Something was going to happen. Faces + and gun-muzzles thickened at the port-holes and at the windows; the line + of guards turned their faces sidewise and upward; the crowd on the fence + scuffled for better positions; the people in the trees craned their necks + from the branches or climbed higher, and there was a great scraping on all + the roofs. Even the black crowd out on the hills seemed to catch the + excitement and to sway, while spots of intense blue and vivid crimson came + out here and there from the blackness when the women rose from their seats + on the ground. Then—sharply—there was silence. The sheriff + disappeared, and shut in by the sashless window as by a picture frame and + blinking in the strong light, stood a man with black hair, cropped close, + face pale and worn, and hands that looked white and thin—stood bad + Rufe Tolliver. + </p> + <p> + He was going to confess—that was the rumour. His lawyers wanted him + to confess; the preacher who had been singing hymns with him all morning + wanted him to confess; the man himself said he wanted to confess; and now + he was going to confess. What deadly mysteries he might clear up if he + would! No wonder the crowd was eager, for there was no soul there but knew + his record—and what a record! His best friends put his victims no + lower than thirteen, and there looking up at him were three women whom he + had widowed or orphaned, while at one corner of the jail-yard stood a girl + in black—the sweetheart of Mockaby, for whose death Rufe was + standing where he stood now. But his lips did not open. Instead he took + hold of the side of the window and looked behind him. The sheriff brought + him a chair and he sat down. Apparently he was weak and he was going to + wait a while. Would he tell how he had killed one Falin in the presence of + the latter's wife at a wild bee tree; how he had killed a sheriff by + dropping to the ground when the sheriff fired, in this way dodging the + bullet and then shooting the officer from where he lay supposedly dead; + how he had thrown another Falin out of the Court House window and broken + his neck—the Falin was drunk, Rufe always said, and fell out; why, + when he was constable, he had killed another—because, Rufe said, he + resisted arrest; how and where he had killed Red-necked Johnson, who was + found out in the woods? Would he tell all that and more? If he meant to + tell there was no sign. His lips kept closed and his bright black eyes + were studying the situation; the little squad of youngsters, back to back, + with their repeating shot-guns, the line of Falins along the wall toward + whom protruded six shining barrels, the huddled crowd of Tollivers toward + whom protruded six more—old Judd towering in front with young Dave + on one side, tense as a leopard about to spring, and on the other Bub, + with tears streaming down his face. In a flash he understood, and in that + flash his face looked as though he had been suddenly struck a heavy blow + by some one from behind, and then his elbows dropped on the sill of the + window, his chin dropped into his hands and a murmur arose. Maybe he was + too weak to stand and talk—perhaps he was going to talk from his + chair. Yes, he was leaning forward and his lips were opening, but no sound + came. Slowly his eyes wandered around at the waiting people—in the + trees, on the roofs and the fence—and then they dropped to old + Judd's and blazed their appeal for a sign. With one heave of his mighty + chest old Judd took off his slouch hat, pressed one big hand to the back + of his head and, despite that blazing appeal, kept it there. At that + movement Rufe threw his head up as though his breath had suddenly failed + him, his face turned sickening white, and slowly again his chin dropped + into his trembling hands, and still unbelieving he stared his appeal, but + old Judd dropped his big hand and turned his head away. The condemned + man's mouth twitched once, settled into defiant calm, and then he did one + kindly thing. He turned in his seat and motioned Bob Berkley, who was just + behind him, away from the window, and the boy, to humour him, stepped + aside. Then he rose to his feet and stretched his arms wide. + Simultaneously came the far-away crack of a rifle, and as a jet of smoke + spurted above a clump of bushes on a little hill, three hundred yards + away, Bad Rufe wheeled half-way round and fell back out of sight into the + sheriff's arms. Every Falin made a nervous reach for his pistol, the line + of gun-muzzles covering them wavered slightly, but the Tollivers stood + still and unsurprised, and when Hale dashed from the door again, there was + a grim smile of triumph on old Judd's face. He had kept his promise that + Rufe should never hang. + </p> + <p> + “Steady there,” said Hale quietly. His pistol was on his hip now and a + Winchester was in his left hand. + </p> + <p> + “Stand where you are—everybody!” + </p> + <p> + There was the sound of hurrying feet within the jail. There was the clang + of an iron door, the bang of a wooden one, and in five minutes from within + the tall wooden box came the sharp click of a hatchet and then—dully: + </p> + <p> + “T-H-O-O-MP!” The dangling rope had tightened with a snap and the wind + swayed it no more. + </p> + <p> + At his cell door the Red Fox stood with his watch in his hand and his eyes + glued to the second-hand. When it had gone three times around its circuit, + he snapped the lid with a sigh of relief and turned to his hammock and his + Bible. + </p> + <p> + “He's gone now,” said the Red Fox. + </p> + <p> + Outside Hale still waited, and as his eyes turned from the Tollivers to + the Falins, seven of the faces among them came back to him with startling + distinctness, and his mind went back to the opening trouble in the + county-seat over the Kentucky line, years before—when eight men held + one another at the points of their pistols. One face was missing, and that + face belonged to Rufe Tolliver. Hale pulled out his watch. + </p> + <p> + “Keep those men there,” he said, pointing to the Falins, and he turned to + the bewildered Tollivers. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Judd,” he said kindly—“all of you.” + </p> + <p> + Dazed and mystified, they followed him in a body around the corner of the + jail, where in a coffin, that old Jadd had sent as a blind to his real + purpose, lay the remains of Bad Rufe Tolliver with a harmless bullet hole + through one shoulder. Near by was a wagon and hitched to it were two mules + that Hale himself had provided. Hale pointed to it: + </p> + <p> + “I've done all I could, Judd. Take him away. I'll keep the Falins under + guard until you reach the Kentucky line, so that they can't waylay you.” + </p> + <p> + If old Judd heard, he gave no sign. He was looking down at the face of his + foster-brother—his shoulder drooped, his great frame shrunken, and + his iron face beaten and helpless. Again Hale spoke: + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry for all this. I'm even sorry that your man was not a better + shot.” + </p> + <p> + The old man straightened then and with a gesture he motioned young Dave to + the foot of the coffin and stooped himself at the head. Past the wagon + they went, the crowd giving way before them, and with the dead Tolliver on + their shoulders, old Judd and young Dave passed with their followers out + of sight. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX + </h2> + <p> + The longest of her life was that day to June. The anxiety in times of war + for the women who wait at home is vague because they are mercifully + ignorant of the dangers their loved ones run, but a specific issue that + involves death to those loved ones has a special and poignant terror of + its own. June knew her father's plan, the precise time the fight would + take place, and the especial danger that was Hale's, for she knew that + young Dave Tolliver had marked him with the first shot fired. Dry-eyed and + white and dumb, she watched them make ready for the start that morning + while it was yet dark; dully she heard the horses snorting from the cold, + the low curt orders of her father, and the exciting mutterings of Bub and + young Dave; dully she watched the saddles thrown on, the pistols buckled, + the Winchesters caught up, and dully she watched them file out the gate + and ride away, single file, into the cold, damp mist like ghostly figures + in a dream. Once only did she open her lips and that was to plead with her + father to leave Bub at home, but her father gave her no answer and Bub + snorted his indignation—he was a man now, and his now was the + privilege of a man. For a while she stood listening to the ring of metal + against stone that came to her more and more faintly out of the mist, and + she wondered if it was really June Tolliver standing there, while father + and brother and cousin were on their way to fight the law—how + differently she saw these things now—for a man who deserved death, + and to fight a man who was ready to die for his duty to that law—the + law that guarded them and her and might not perhaps guard him: the man who + had planted for her the dew-drenched garden that was waiting for the sun, + and had built the little room behind her for her comfort and seclusion; + who had sent her to school, had never been anything but kind and just to + her and to everybody—who had taught her life and, thank God, love. + Was she really the June Tolliver who had gone out into the world and had + held her place there; who had conquered birth and speech and customs and + environment so that none could tell what they all once were; who had + become the lady, the woman of the world, in manner, dress, and education: + who had a gift of music and a voice that might enrich her life beyond any + dream that had ever sprung from her own brain or any that she had ever + caught from Hale's? Was she June Tolliver who had been and done all that, + and now had come back and was slowly sinking back into the narrow grave + from which Hale had lifted her? It was all too strange and bitter, but if + she wanted proof there was her step-mother's voice now—the same old, + querulous, nerve-racking voice that had embittered all her childhood—calling + her down into the old mean round of drudgery that had bound forever the + horizon of her narrow life just as now it was shutting down like a sky of + brass around her own. And when the voice came, instead of bursting into + tears as she was about to do, she gave a hard little laugh and she lifted + a defiant face to the rising sun. There was a limit to the sacrifice for + kindred, brother, father, home, and that limit was the eternal sacrifice—the + eternal undoing of herself: when this wretched terrible business was over + she would set her feet where that sun could rise on her, busy with the + work that she could do in that world for which she felt she was born. + Swiftly she did the morning chores and then she sat on the porch thinking + and waiting. Spinning wheel, loom, and darning needle were to lie idle + that day. The old step-mother had gotten from bed and was dressing herself—miraculously + cured of a sudden, miraculously active. She began to talk of what she + needed in town, and June said nothing. She went out to the stable and led + out the old sorrel-mare. She was going to the hanging. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you want to go to town, June?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said June fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you needn't git mad about it—I got to go some day this week, + and I reckon I might as well go ter-day.” June answered nothing, but in + silence watched her get ready and in silence watched her ride away. She + was glad to be left alone. The sun had flooded Lonesome Cove now with a + light as rich and yellow as though it were late afternoon, and she could + yet tell every tree by the different colour of the banner that each yet + defiantly flung into the face of death. The yard fence was festooned with + dewy cobwebs, and every weed in the field was hung with them as with + flashing jewels of exquisitely delicate design: Hale had once told her + that they meant rain. Far away the mountains were overhung with purple so + deep that the very air looked like mist, and a peace that seemed + motherlike in tenderness brooded over the earth. Peace! Peace—with a + man on his way to a scaffold only a few miles away, and two bodies of men, + one led by her father, the other by the man she loved, ready to fly at + each other's throats—the one to get the condemned man alive, the + other to see that he died. She got up with a groan. She walked into the + garden. The grass was tall, tangled, and withering, and in it dead leaves + lay everywhere, stems up, stems down, in reckless confusion. The scarlet + sage-pods were brown and seeds were dropping from their tiny gaping + mouths. The marigolds were frost-nipped and one lonely black-winged + butterfly was vainly searching them one by one for the lost sweets of + summer. The gorgeous crowns of the sun-flowers were nothing but grotesque + black mummy-heads set on lean, dead bodies, and the clump of big + castor-plants, buffeted by the wind, leaned this way and that like giants + in a drunken orgy trying to keep one another from falling down. The blight + that was on the garden was the blight that was in her heart, and two bits + of cheer only she found—one yellow nasturtium, scarlet-flecked, + whose fragrance was a memory of the spring that was long gone, and one + little cedar tree that had caught some dead leaves in its green arms and + was firmly holding them as though to promise that another spring would + surely come. With the flower in her hand, she started up the ravine to her + dreaming place, but it was so lonely up there and she turned back. She + went into her room and tried to read. Mechanically, she half opened the + lid of the piano and shut it, horrified by her own act. As she passed out + on the porch again she noticed that it was only nine o'clock. She turned + and watched the long hand—how long a minute was! Three hours more! + She shivered and went inside and got her bonnet—she could not be + alone when the hour came, and she started down the road toward Uncle + Billy's mill. Hale! Hale! Hale!—the name began to ring in her ears + like a bell. The little shacks he had built up the creek were deserted and + gone to ruin, and she began to wonder in the light of what her father had + said how much of a tragedy that meant to him. Here was the spot where he + was fishing that day, when she had slipped down behind him and he had + turned and seen her for the first time. She could recall his smile and the + very tone of his kind voice: + </p> + <p> + “Howdye, little girl!” And the cat had got her tongue. She remembered when + she had written her name, after she had first kissed him at the foot of + the beech—“June HAIL,” and by a grotesque mental leap the beating of + his name in her brain now made her think of the beating of hailstones on + her father's roof one night when as a child she had lain and listened to + them. Then she noticed that the autumn shadows seemed to make the river + darker than the shadows of spring—or was it already the stain of + dead leaves? Hale could have told her. Those leaves were floating through + the shadows and when the wind moved, others zig-zagged softly down to join + them. The wind was helping them on the water, too, and along came one + brown leaf that was shaped like a tiny trireme—its stem acting like + a rudder and keeping it straight before the breeze—so that it swept + past the rest as a yacht that she was once on had swept past a fleet of + fishing sloops. She was not unlike that swift little ship and thirty yards + ahead were rocks and shallows where it and the whole fleet would turn + topsy-turvy—would her own triumph be as short and the same fate be + hers? There was no question as to that, unless she took the wheel of her + fate in her own hands and with them steered the ship. Thinking hard, she + walked on slowly, with her hands behind her and her eyes bent on the road. + What should she do? She had no money, her father had none to spare, and + she could accept no more from Hale. Once she stopped and stared with + unseeing eyes at the blue sky, and once under the heavy helplessness of it + all she dropped on the side of the road and sat with her head buried in + her arms—sat so long that she rose with a start and, with an + apprehensive look at the mounting sun, hurried on. She would go to the Gap + and teach; and then she knew that if she went there it would be on Hale's + account. Very well, she would not blind herself to that fact; she would go + and perhaps all would be made up between them, and then she knew that if + that but happened, nothing else could matter... + </p> + <p> + When she reached the miller's cabin, she went to the porch without + noticing that the door was closed. Nobody was at home and she turned + listlessly. When she reached the gate, she heard the clock beginning to + strike, and with one hand on her breast she breathlessly listened, + counting—“eight, nine, ten, eleven”—and her heart seemed to + stop in the fraction of time that she waited for it to strike once more. + But it was only eleven, and she went on down the road slowly, still + thinking hard. The old miller was leaning back in a chair against the log + side of the mill, with his dusty slouched hat down over his eyes. He did + not hear her coming and she thought he must be asleep, but he looked up + with a start when she spoke and she knew of what he, too, had been + thinking. Keenly his old eyes searched her white face and without a word + he got up and reached for another chair within the mill. + </p> + <p> + “You set right down now, baby,” he said, and he made a pretence of having + something to do inside the mill, while June watched the creaking old wheel + dropping the sun-shot sparkling water into the swift sluice, but hardly + seeing it at all. By and by Uncle Billy came outside and sat down and + neither spoke a word. Once June saw him covertly looking at his watch and + she put both hands to her throat—stifled. + </p> + <p> + “What time is it, Uncle Billy?” She tried to ask the question calmly, but + she had to try twice before she could speak at all and when she did get + the question out, her voice was only a broken whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Five minutes to twelve, baby,” said the old man, and his voice had a gulp + in it that broke June down. She sprang to her feet wringing her hands: + </p> + <p> + “I can't stand it, Uncle Billy,” she cried madly, and with a sob that + almost broke the old man's heart. “I tell you I can't stand it.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + And yet for three hours more she had to stand it, while the cavalcade of + Tollivers, with Rufe's body, made its slow way to the Kentucky line where + Judd and Dave and Bub left them to go home for the night and be on hand + for the funeral next day. But Uncle Billy led her back to his cabin, and + on the porch the two, with old Hon, waited while the three hours dragged + along. It was June who was first to hear the galloping of horses' hoofs up + the road and she ran to the gate, followed by Uncle Billy and old Hon to + see young Dave Tolliver coming in a run. At the gate he threw himself from + his horse: + </p> + <p> + “Git up thar, June, and go home,” he panted sharply. June flashed out the + gate. + </p> + <p> + “Have you done it?” she asked with deadly quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Hurry up an' go home, I tell ye! Uncle Judd wants ye!” + </p> + <p> + She came quite close to him now. + </p> + <p> + “You said you'd do it—I know what you've done—you—” she + looked as if she would fly at his throat, and Dave, amazed, shrank back a + step. + </p> + <p> + “Go home, I tell ye—Uncle Judd's shot. Git on the hoss!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, NO! I wouldn't TOUCH anything that was yours”—she put her + hands to her head as though she were crazed, and then she turned and broke + into a swift run up the road. + </p> + <p> + Panting, June reached the gate. The front door was closed and there she + gave a tremulous cry for Bub. The door opened a few inches and through it + Bub shouted for her to come on. The back door, too, was closed, and not a + ray of daylight entered the room except at the port-hole where Bub, with a + Winchester, had been standing on guard. By the light of the fire she saw + her father's giant frame stretched out on the bed and she heard his + laboured breathing. Swiftly she went to the bed and dropped on her knees + beside it. + </p> + <p> + “Dad!” she said. The old man's eyes opened and turned heavily toward her. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Juny. They shot me from the laurel and they might nigh got + Bub. I reckon they've got me this time.” + </p> + <p> + “No—no!” He saw her eyes fixed on the matted blood on his chest. + </p> + <p> + “Hit's stopped. I'm afeared hit's bleedin' inside.” His voice had dropped + to a whisper and his eyes closed again. There was another cautious “Hello” + outside, and when Bub again opened the door Dave ran swiftly within. He + paid no attention to June. + </p> + <p> + “I follered June back an' left my hoss in the bushes. There was three of + 'em.” He showed Bub a bullet hole through one sleeve and then he turned + half contemptuously to June: + </p> + <p> + “I hain't done it”—adding grimly—“not yit. He's as safe as you + air. I hope you're satisfied that hit hain't him 'stid o' yo' daddy thar.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to the Gap for a doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I can't leave Bub here alone agin all the Falins—not even + to git a doctor or to carry a love-message fer you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll go myself.” + </p> + <p> + A thick protest came from the bed, and then an appeal that might have come + from a child. + </p> + <p> + “Don't leave me, Juny.” Without a word June went into the kitchen and got + the old bark horn. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Billy will go,” she said, and she stepped out on the porch. But + Uncle Billy was already on his way and she heard him coming just as she + was raising the horn to her lips. She met him at the gate, and without + even taking the time to come into the house the old miller hurried upward + toward the Lonesome Pine. The rain came then—the rain that the tiny + cobwebs had heralded at dawn that morning. The old step-mother had not + come home, and June told Bub she had gone over the mountain to see her + sister, and when, as darkness fell, she did not appear they knew that she + must have been caught by the rain and would spend the night with a + neighbour. June asked no question, but from the low talk of Bub and Dave + she made out what had happened in town that day and a wild elation settled + in her heart that John Hale was alive and unhurt—though Rufe was + dead, her father wounded, and Bub and Dave both had but narrowly escaped + the Falin assassins that afternoon. Bub took the first turn at watching + while Dave slept, and when it was Dave's turn she saw him drop quickly + asleep in his chair, and she was left alone with the breathing of the + wounded man and the beating of rain on the roof. And through the long + night June thought her brain weary over herself, her life, her people, and + Hale. They were not to blame—her people, they but did as their + fathers had done before them. They had their own code and they lived up to + it as best they could, and they had had no chance to learn another. She + felt the vindictive hatred that had prolonged the feud. Had she been a + man, she could not have rested until she had slain the man who had + ambushed her father. She expected Bub to do that now, and if the spirit + was so strong in her with the training she had had, how helpless they must + be against it. Even Dave was not to blame—not to blame for loving + her—he had always done that. For that reason he could not help + hating Hale, and how great a reason he had now, for he could not + understand as she could the absence of any personal motive that had + governed him in the prosecution of the law, no matter if he hurt friend or + foe. But for Hale, she would have loved Dave and now be married to him and + happier than she was. Dave saw that—no wonder he hated Hale. And as + she slowly realized all these things, she grew calm and gentle and + determined to stick to her people and do the best she could with her life. + </p> + <p> + And now and then through the night old Judd would open his eyes and stare + at the ceiling, and at these times it was not the pain in his face that + distressed her as much as the drawn beaten look that she had noticed + growing in it for a long time. It was terrible—that helpless look in + the face of a man, so big in body, so strong of mind, so iron-like in + will; and whenever he did speak she knew what he was going to say: + </p> + <p> + “It's all over, Juny. They've beat us on every turn. They've got us one by + one. Thar ain't but a few of us left now and when I git up, if I ever do, + I'm goin' to gether 'em all together, pull up stakes and take 'em all + West. You won't ever leave me, Juny?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Dad,” she would say gently. He had asked the question at first quite + sanely, but as the night wore on and the fever grew and his mind wandered, + he would repeat the question over and over like a child, and over and + over, while Bub and Dave slept and the rain poured, June would repeat her + answer: + </p> + <p> + “I'll never leave you, Dad.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI + </h2> + <p> + Before dawn Hale and the doctor and the old miller had reached the Pine, + and there Hale stopped. Any farther, the old man told him, he would go + only at the risk of his life from Dave or Bub, or even from any Falin who + happened to be hanging around in the bushes, for Hale was hated equally by + both factions now. + </p> + <p> + “I'll wait up here until noon, Uncle Billy,” said Hale. “Ask her, for + God's sake, to come up here and see me.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll axe her, but—” the old miller shook his head. + Breakfastless, except for the munching of a piece of chocolate, Hale + waited all the morning with his black horse in the bushes some thirty + yards from the Lonesome Pine. Every now and then he would go to the tree + and look down the path, and once he slipped far down the trail and aside + to a spur whence he could see the cabin in the cove. Once his hungry eyes + caught sight of a woman's figure walking through the little garden, and + for an hour after it disappeared into the house he watched for it to come + out again. But nothing more was visible, and he turned back to the trail + to see Uncle Billy laboriously climbing up the slope. Hale waited and ran + down to meet him, his face and eyes eager and his lips trembling, but + again Uncle Billy was shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “No use, John,” he said sadly. “I got her out on the porch and axed her, + but she won't come.” + </p> + <p> + “She won't come at all?” + </p> + <p> + “John, when one o' them Tollivers gits white about the mouth, an' thar + eyes gits to blazin' and they KEEPS QUIET—they're plumb out o' reach + o' the Almighty hisself. June skeered me. But you mustn't blame her jes' + now. You see, you got up that guard. You ketched Rufe and hung him, and + she can't help thinkin' if you hadn't done that, her old daddy wouldn't be + in thar on his back nigh to death. You mustn't blame her, John—she's + most out o' her head now.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Uncle Billy. Good-by.” Hale turned, climbed sadly back to his + horse and sadly dropped down the other side of the mountain and on through + the rocky gap-home. + </p> + <p> + A week later he learned from the doctor that the chances were even that + old Judd would get well, but the days went by with no word of June. + Through those days June wrestled with her love for Hale and her loyalty to + her father, who, sick as he was, seemed to have a vague sense of the + trouble within her and shrewdly fought it by making her daily promise that + she would never leave him. For as old Judd got better, June's fierceness + against Hale melted and her love came out the stronger, because of the + passing injustice that she had done him. Many times she was on the point + of sending him word that she would meet him at the Pine, but she was + afraid of her own strength if she should see him face to face, and she + feared she would be risking his life if she allowed him to come. There + were times when she would have gone to him herself, had her father been + well and strong, but he was old, beaten and helpless, and she had given + her sacred word that she would never leave him. So once more she grew + calmer, gentler still, and more determined to follow her own way with her + own kin, though that way led through a breaking heart. She never mentioned + Hale's name, she never spoke of going West, and in time Dave began to + wonder not only if she had not gotten over her feeling for Hale, but if + that feeling had not turned into permanent hate. To him, June was kinder + than ever, because she understood him better and because she was sorry for + the hunted, hounded life he led, not knowing, when on his trips to see her + or to do some service for her father, he might be picked off by some Falin + from the bushes. So Dave stopped his sneering remarks against Hale and + began to dream his old dreams, though he never opened his lips to June, + and she was unconscious of what was going on within him. By and by, as old + Judd began to mend, overtures of peace came, singularly enough, from the + Falins, and while the old man snorted with contemptuous disbelief at them + as a pretence to throw him off his guard, Dave began actually to believe + that they were sincere, and straightway forged a plan of his own, even if + the Tollivers did persist in going West. So one morning as he mounted his + horse at old Judd's gate, he called to June in the garden: + </p> + <p> + “I'm a-goin' over to the Gap.” June paled, but Dave was not looking at + her. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” she asked, steadying her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Business,” he answered, and he laughed curiously and, still without + looking at her, rode away. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Hale sat in the porch of his little office that morning, and the Hon. Sam + Budd, who had risen to leave, stood with his hands deep in his pockets, + his hat tilted far over his big goggles, looking down at the dead leaves + that floated like lost hopes on the placid mill-pond. Hale had agreed to + go to England once more on the sole chance left him before he went back to + chain and compass—the old land deal that had come to life—and + between them they had about enough money for the trip. + </p> + <p> + “You'll keep an eye on things over there?” said Hale with a backward + motion of his head toward Lonesome Cove, and the Hon. Sam nodded his head: + </p> + <p> + “All I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Those big trunks of hers are still here.” The Hon. Sam smiled. “She won't + need 'em. I'll keep an eye on 'em and she can come over and get what she + wants—every year or two,” he added grimly, and Hale groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Stop it, Sam.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. You ain't goin' to try to see her before you leave?” And then + at the look on Hale's face he said hurriedly: “All right—all right,” + and with a toss of his hands turned away, while Hale sat thinking where he + was. + </p> + <p> + Rufe Tolliver had been quite right as to the Red Fox. Nobody would risk + his life for him—there was no one to attempt a rescue, and but a few + of the guards were on hand this time to carry out the law. On the last day + he had appeared in his white suit of tablecloth. The little old woman in + black had made even the cap that was to be drawn over his face, and that, + too, she had made of white. Moreover, she would have his body kept + unburied for three days, because the Red Fox said that on the third day he + would arise and go about preaching. So that even in death the Red Fox was + consistently inconsistent, and how he reconciled such a dual life at one + and the same time over and under the stars was, except to his twisted + brain, never known. He walked firmly up the scaffold steps and stood there + blinking in the sunlight. With one hand he tested the rope. For a moment + he looked at the sky and the trees with a face that was white and + absolutely expressionless. Then he sang one hymn of two verses and quietly + dropped into that world in which he believed so firmly and toward which he + had trod so strange a way on earth. As he wished, the little old woman in + black had the body kept unburied for the three days—but the Red Fox + never rose. With his passing, law and order had become supreme. Neither + Tolliver nor Falin came on the Virginia side for mischief, and the + desperadoes of two sister States, whose skirts are stitched together with + pine and pin-oak along the crest of the Cumberland, confined their + deviltries with great care to places long distant from the Gap. John Hale + had done a great work, but the limit of his activities was that State line + and the Falins, ever threatening that they would not leave a Tolliver + alive, could carry out those threats and Hale not be able to lift a hand. + It was his helplessness that was making him writhe now. + </p> + <p> + Old Judd had often said he meant to leave the mountains—why didn't + he go now and take June for whose safety his heart was always in his + mouth? As an officer, he was now helpless where he was; and if he went + away he could give no personal aid—he would not even know what was + happening—and he had promised Budd to go. An open letter was + clutched in his hand, and again he read it. His coal company had accepted + his last proposition. They would take his stock—worthless as they + thought it—and surrender the cabin and two hundred acres of field + and woodland in Lonesome Cove. That much at least would be intact, but if + he failed in his last project now, it would be subject to judgments + against him that were sure to come. So there was one thing more to do for + June before he left for the final effort in England—to give back her + home to her—and as he rose to do it now, somebody shouted at his + gate: + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” Hale stopped short at the head of the steps, his right hand shot + like a shaft of light to the butt of his pistol, stayed there—and he + stood astounded. It was Dave Tolliver on horseback, and Dave's right hand + had kept hold of his bridle-reins. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on!” he said, lifting the other with a wide gesture of peace. “I + want to talk with you a bit.” Still Hale watched him closely as he swung + from his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Come in—won't you?” The mountaineer hitched his horse and slouched + within the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Have a seat.” Dave dropped to the steps. + </p> + <p> + “I'll set here,” he said, and there was an embarrassed silence for a while + between the two. Hale studied young Dave's face from narrowed eyes. He + knew all the threats the Tolliver had made against him, the bitter enmity + that he felt, and that it would last until one or the other was dead. This + was a queer move. The mountaineer took off his slouched hat and ran one + hand through his thick black hair. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you've heard as how all our folks air sellin' out over the + mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they air, an' all of 'em are going West—Uncle Judd, Loretty + and June, and all our kinfolks. You didn't know that?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” repeated Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they hain't closed all the trades yit,” he said, “an' they mought + not go mebbe afore spring. The Falins say they air done now. Uncle Judd + don't believe 'em, but I do, an' I'm thinkin' I won't go. I've got a + leetle money, an' I want to know if I can't buy back Uncle Judd's house + an' a leetle ground around it. Our folks is tired o' fightin' and I + couldn't live on t'other side of the mountain, after they air gone, an' + keep as healthy as on this side—so I thought I'd see if I couldn't + buy back June's old home, mebbe, an' live thar.” + </p> + <p> + Hale watched him keenly, wondering what his game was—and he went on: + “I know the house an' land ain't wuth much to your company, an' as the + coal-vein has petered out, I reckon they might not axe much fer it.” It + was all out now, and he stopped without looking at Hale. “I ain't axin' + any favours, leastwise not o' you, an' I thought my share o' Mam's farm + mought be enough to git me the house an' some o' the land.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to live there, yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” Dave frowned. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon that's my business.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is—excuse me.” Hale lighted his pipe and the mountaineer + waited—he was a little sullen now. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the company has parted with the land.” Dave started. + </p> + <p> + “Sold it?” + </p> + <p> + “In a way—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, would you mind tellin' me who bought it—maybe I can git it + from him.” + </p> + <p> + “It's mine now,” said Hale quietly. + </p> + <p> + “YOURN!” The mountaineer looked incredulous and then he let loose a + scornful laugh. + </p> + <p> + “YOU goin' to live thar?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” + </p> + <p> + “That's my business.” The mountaineer's face darkened and his fingers + began to twitch. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you're talkin' 'bout June, hit's MY business. Hit always has + been and hit always will be.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I was talking about June, I wouldn't consult you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I'd consult you like hell.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had the chance,” said Hale coolly; “but I wasn't talking about + June.” Again Dave laughed harshly, and for a moment his angry eyes rested + on the quiet mill-pond. He went backward suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “You went over thar in Lonesome with your high notions an' your slick + tongue, an' you took June away from me. But she wusn't good enough fer you + THEN—so you filled her up with yo' fool notions an' sent her away to + git her po' little head filled with furrin' ways, so she could be fitten + to marry you. You took her away from her daddy, her family, her kinfolks + and her home, an' you took her away from me; an' now she's been over thar + eatin' her heart out just as she et it out over here when she fust left + home. An' in the end she got so highfalutin that SHE wouldn't marry YOU.” + He laughed again and Hale winced under the laugh and the lashing words. + “An' I know you air eatin' yo' heart out, too, because you can't git June, + an' I'm hopin' you'll suffer the torment o' hell as long as you live. God, + she hates ye now! To think o' your knowin' the world and women and books”—he + spoke with vindictive and insulting slowness—“You bein' such a—fool!” + </p> + <p> + “That may all be true, but I think you can talk better outside that gate.” + The mountaineer, deceived by Hale's calm voice, sprang to his feet in a + fury, but he was too late. Hale's hand was on the butt of his revolver, + his blue eyes were glittering and a dangerous smile was at his lips. + Silently he sat and silently he pointed his other hand at the gate. Dave + laughed: + </p> + <p> + “D'ye think I'd fight you hyeh? If you killed me, you'd be elected County + Jedge; if I killed you, what chance would I have o' gittin' away? I'd + swing fer it.” He was outside the gate now and unhitching his horse. He + started to turn the beasts but Hale stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “Get on from this side, please.” + </p> + <p> + With one foot in the stirrup, Dave turned savagely: “Why don't you go up + in the Gap with me now an' fight it out like a man?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't trust you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll git ye over in the mountains some day.” + </p> + <p> + “I've no doubt you will, if you have the chance from the bush.” Hale was + getting roused now. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said suddenly, “you've been threatening me for a long time + now. I've never had any feeling against you. I've never done anything to + you that I hadn't to do. But you've gone a little too far now and I'm + tired. If you can't get over your grudge against me, suppose we go across + the river outside the town-limits, put our guns down and fight it out—fist + and skull.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm your man,” said Dave eagerly. Looking across the street Hale saw two + men on the porch. + </p> + <p> + “Come on!” he said. The two men were Budd and the new town-sergeant. + “Sam,” he said “this gentleman and I are going across the river to have a + little friendly bout, and I wish you'd come along—and you, too, + Bill, to see that Dave here gets fair play.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant spoke to Dave. “You don't need nobody to see that you git + fair play with them two—but I'll go 'long just the same.” Hardly a + word was said as the four walked across the bridge and toward a thicket to + the right. Neither Budd nor the sergeant asked the nature of the trouble, + for either could have guessed what it was. Dave tied his horse and, like + Hale, stripped off his coat. The sergeant took charge of Dave's pistol and + Budd of Hale's. + </p> + <p> + “All you've got to do is to keep him away from you,” said Budd. “If he + gets his hands on you—you're gone. You know how they fight + rough-and-tumble.” + </p> + <p> + Hale nodded—he knew all that himself, and when he looked at Dave's + sturdy neck, and gigantic shoulders, he knew further that if the + mountaineer got him in his grasp he would have to gasp “enough” in a + hurry, or be saved by Budd from being throttled to death. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ready?” Again Hale nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead, Dave,” growled the sergeant, for the job was not to his liking. + Dave did not plunge toward Hale, as the three others expected. On the + contrary, he assumed the conventional attitude of the boxer and advanced + warily, using his head as a diagnostician for Hale's points—and Hale + remembered suddenly that Dave had been away at school for a year. Dave + knew something of the game and the Hon. Sam straightway was anxious, when + the mountaineer ducked and swung his left Budd's heart thumped and he + almost shrank himself from the terrific sweep of the big fist. + </p> + <p> + “God!” he muttered, for had the fist caught Hale's head it must, it + seemed, have crushed it like an egg-shell. Hale coolly withdrew his head + not more than an inch, it seemed to Budd's practised eye, and jabbed his + right with a lightning uppercut into Dave's jaw, that made the mountaineer + reel backward with a grunt of rage and pain, and when he followed it up + with a swing of his left on Dave's right eye and another terrific jolt + with his right on the left jaw, and Budd saw the crazy rage in the + mountaineer's face, he felt easy. In that rage Dave forgot his science as + the Hon. Sam expected, and with a bellow he started at Hale like a + cave-dweller to bite, tear, and throttle, but the lithe figure before him + swayed this way and that like a shadow, and with every side-step a fist + crushed on the mountaineer's nose, chin or jaw, until, blinded with blood + and fury, Dave staggered aside toward the sergeant with the cry of a + madman: + </p> + <p> + “Gimme my gun! I'll kill him! Gimme my gun!” And when the sergeant sprang + forward and caught the mountaineer, he dropped weeping with rage and shame + to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “You two just go back to town,” said the sergeant. “I'll take keer of him. + Quick!” and he shook his head as Hale advanced. “He ain't goin' to shake + hands with you.” + </p> + <p> + The two turned back across the bridge and Hale went on to Budd's office to + do what he was setting out to do when young Dave came. There he had the + lawyer make out a deed in which the cabin in Lonesome Cove and the acres + about it were conveyed in fee simple to June—her heirs and assigns + forever; but the girl must not know until, Hale said, “her father dies, or + I die, or she marries.” When he came out the sergeant was passing the + door. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't no use fightin' with one o' them fellers thataway,” he said, + shaking his head. “If he whoops you, he'll crow over you as long as he + lives, and if you whoop him, he'll kill ye the fust chance he gets. You'll + have to watch that feller as long as you live—'specially when he's + drinking. He'll remember that lickin' and want revenge fer it till the + grave. One of you has got to die some day—shore.” + </p> + <p> + And the sergeant was right. Dave was going through the Gap at that moment, + cursing, swaying like a drunken man, firing his pistol and shouting his + revenge to the echoing gray walls that took up his cries and sent them + shrieking on the wind up every dark ravine. All the way up the mountain he + was cursing. Under the gentle voice of the big Pine he was cursing still, + and when his lips stopped, his heart was beating curses as he dropped down + the other side of the mountain. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the river, he got off his horse and bathed his mouth and + his eyes again, and he cursed afresh when the blood started afresh at his + lips again. For a while he sat there in his black mood, undecided whether + he should go to his uncle's cabin or go on home. But he had seen a woman's + figure in the garden as he came down the spur, and the thought of June + drew him to the cabin in spite of his shame and the questions that were + sure to be asked. When he passed around the clump of rhododendrons at the + creek, June was in the garden still. She was pruning a rose-bush with + Bub's penknife, and when she heard him coming she wheeled, quivering. She + had been waiting for him all day, and, like an angry goddess, she swept + fiercely toward him. Dave pretended not to see her, but when he swung from + his horse and lifted his sullen eyes, he shrank as though she had lashed + him across them with a whip. Her eyes blazed with murderous fire from her + white face, the penknife in her hand was clenched as though for a deadly + purpose, and on her trembling lips was the same question that she had + asked him at the mill: + </p> + <p> + “Have you done it this time?” she whispered, and then she saw his swollen + mouth and his battered eye. Her fingers relaxed about the handle of the + knife, the fire in her eyes went swiftly down, and with a smile that was + half pity, half contempt, she turned away. She could not have told the + whole truth better in words, even to Dave, and as he looked after her his + every pulse-beat was a new curse, and if at that minute he could have had + Hale's heart he would have eaten it like a savage—raw. For a minute + he hesitated with reins in hand as to whether he should turn now and go + back to the Gap to settle with Hale, and then he threw the reins over a + post. He could bide his time yet a little longer, for a crafty purpose + suddenly entered his brain. Bub met him at the door of the cabin and his + eyes opened. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Dave?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin',” he said carelessly. “My hoss stumbled comin' down the + mountain an' I went clean over his head.” He raised one hand to his mouth + and still Bub was suspicious. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like you been in a fight.” The boy began to laugh, but Dave ignored + him and went on into the cabin. Within, he sat where he could see through + the open door. + </p> + <p> + “Whar you been, Dave?” asked old Judd from the corner. Just then he saw + June coming and, pretending to draw on his pipe, he waited until she had + sat down within ear-shot on the edge of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “Who do you reckon owns this house and two hundred acres o' land + roundabouts?” + </p> + <p> + The girl's heart waited apprehensively and she heard her father's deep + voice. + </p> + <p> + “The company owns it.” Dave laughed harshly. + </p> + <p> + “Not much—John Hale.” The heart out on the porch leaped with + gladness now. + </p> + <p> + “He bought it from the company. It's just as well you're goin' away, Uncle + Judd. He'd put you out.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon not. I got writin' from the company which 'lows me to stay here + two year or more—if I want to.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. He's a slick one.” + </p> + <p> + “I heerd him say,” put in Bub stoutly, “that he'd see that we stayed here + jus' as long as we pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said old Judd shortly, “ef we stay here by his favour, we won't + stay long.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a while. Then Dave spoke again for the listening + ears outside—maliciously: + </p> + <p> + “I went over to the Gap to see if I couldn't git the place myself from the + company. I believe the Falins ain't goin' to bother us an' I ain't + hankerin' to go West. But I told him that you-all was goin' to leave the + mountains and goin' out thar fer good.” There was another silence. + </p> + <p> + “He never said a word.” Nobody had asked the question, but he was + answering the unspoken one in the heart of June, and that heart sank like + a stone. + </p> + <p> + “He's goin' away hisself-goin' ter-morrow—goin' to that same place + he went before—England, some feller called it.” + </p> + <p> + Dave had done his work well. June rose unsteadily, and with one hand on + her heart and the other clutching the railing of the porch, she crept + noiselessly along it, staggered like a wounded thing around the chimney, + through the garden and on, still clutching her heart, to the woods—there + to sob it out on the breast of the only mother she had ever known. + </p> + <p> + Dave was gone when she came back from the woods—calm, dry-eyed, + pale. Her step-mother had kept her dinner for her, and when she said she + wanted nothing to eat, the old woman answered something querulous to which + June made no answer, but went quietly to cleaning away the dishes. For a + while she sat on the porch, and presently she went into her room and for a + few moments she rocked quietly at her window. Hale was going away next + day, and when he came back she would be gone and she would never see him + again. A dry sob shook her body of a sudden, she put both hands to her + head and with wild eyes she sprang to her feet and, catching up her + bonnet, slipped noiselessly out the back door. With hands clenched tight + she forced herself to walk slowly across the foot-bridge, but when the + bushes hid her, she broke into a run as though she were crazed and + escaping a madhouse. At the foot of the spur she turned swiftly up the + mountain and climbed madly, with one hand tight against the little cross + at her throat. He was going away and she must tell him—she must tell + him—what? Behind her a voice was calling, the voice that pleaded all + one night for her not to leave him, that had made that plea a daily + prayer, and it had come from an old man—wounded, broken in health + and heart, and her father. Hale's face was before her, but that voice was + behind, and as she climbed, the face that she was nearing grew fainter, + the voice she was leaving sounded the louder in her ears, and when she + reached the big Pine she dropped helplessly at the base of it, sobbing. + With her tears the madness slowly left her, the old determination came + back again and at last the old sad peace. The sunlight was slanting at a + low angle when she rose to her feet and stood on the cliff overlooking the + valley—her lips parted as when she stood there first, and the tiny + drops drying along the roots of her dull gold hair. And being there for + the last time she thought of that time when she was first there—ages + ago. The great glare of light that she looked for then had come and gone. + There was the smoking monster rushing into the valley and sending echoing + shrieks through the hills—but there was no booted stranger and no + horse issuing from the covert of maple where the path disappeared. A long + time she stood there, with a wandering look of farewell to every familiar + thing before her, but not a tear came now. Only as she turned away at last + her breast heaved and fell with one long breath—that was all. + Passing the Pine slowly, she stopped and turned back to it, unclasping the + necklace from her throat. With trembling fingers she detached from it the + little luck-piece that Hale had given her—the tear of a fairy that + had turned into a tiny cross of stone when a strange messenger brought to + the Virginia valley the story of the crucifixion. The penknife was still + in her pocket, and, opening it, she went behind the Pine and dug a niche + as high and as deep as she could toward its soft old heart. In there she + thrust the tiny symbol, whispering: + </p> + <p> + “I want all the luck you could ever give me, little cross—for HIM.” + Then she pulled the fibres down to cover it from sight and, crossing her + hands over the opening, she put her forehead against them and touched her + lips to the tree. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" + alt="Keep It Safe Old Pine, Frontispiece " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “Keep it safe, old Pine.” Then she lifted her face—looking upward + along its trunk to the blue sky. “And bless him, dear God, and guard him + evermore.” She clutched her heart as she turned, and she was clutching it + when she passed into the shadows below, leaving the old Pine to whisper, + when he passed, her love. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Next day the word went round to the clan that the Tollivers would start in + a body one week later for the West. At daybreak, that morning, Uncle Billy + and his wife mounted the old gray horse and rode up the river to say + good-by. They found the cabin in Lonesome Cove deserted. Many things were + left piled in the porch; the Tollivers had left apparently in a great + hurry and the two old people were much mystified. Not until noon did they + learn what the matter was. Only the night before a Tolliver had shot a + Falin and the Falins had gathered to get revenge on Judd that night. The + warning word had been brought to Lonesome Cove by Loretta Tolliver, and it + had come straight from young Buck Falin himself. So June and old Judd and + Bub had fled in the night. At that hour they were on their way to the + railroad—old Judd at the head of his clan—his right arm still + bound to his side, his bushy beard low on his breast, June and Bub on + horseback behind him, the rest strung out behind them, and in a wagon at + the end, with all her household effects, the little old woman in black who + would wait no longer for the Red Fox to arise from the dead. Loretta alone + was missing. She was on her way with young Buck Falin to the railroad on + the other side of the mountains. Between them not a living soul disturbed + the dead stillness of Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII + </h2> + <p> + All winter the cabin in Lonesome Cove slept through rain and sleet and + snow, and no foot passed its threshold. Winter broke, floods came and warm + sunshine. A pale green light stole through the trees, shy, ethereal and so + like a mist that it seemed at any moment on the point of floating upward. + Colour came with the wild flowers and song with the wood-thrush. Squirrels + played on the tree-trunks like mischievous children, the brooks sang like + happy human voices through the tremulous underworld and woodpeckers + hammered out the joy of spring, but the awakening only made the desolate + cabin lonelier still. After three warm days in March, Uncle Billy, the + miller, rode up the creek with a hoe over his shoulder—he had + promised this to Hale—for his labour of love in June's garden. + Weeping April passed, May came with rosy face uplifted, and with the birth + of June the laurel emptied its pink-flecked cups and the rhododendron + blazed the way for the summer's coming with white stars. + </p> + <p> + Back to the hills came Hale then, and with all their rich beauty they were + as desolate as when he left them bare with winter, for his mission had + miserably failed. His train creaked and twisted around the benches of the + mountains, and up and down ravines into the hills. The smoke rolled in as + usual through the windows and doors. There was the same crowd of children, + slatternly women and tobacco-spitting men in the dirty day-coaches, and + Hale sat among them—for a Pullman was no longer attached to the + train that ran to the Gap. As he neared the bulk of Powell's mountain and + ran along its mighty flank, he passed the ore-mines. At each one the + commissary was closed, the cheap, dingy little houses stood empty on the + hillsides, and every now and then he would see a tipple and an empty car, + left as it was after dumping its last load of red ore. On the right, as he + approached the station, the big furnace stood like a dead giant, still and + smokeless, and the piles of pig iron were red with rust. The same little + dummy wheezed him into the dead little town. Even the face of the Gap was + a little changed by the gray scar that man had slashed across its mouth, + getting limestone for the groaning monster of a furnace that was now at + peace. The streets were deserted. A new face fronted him at the desk of + the hotel and the eyes of the clerk showed no knowledge of him when he + wrote his name. His supper was coarse, greasy and miserable, his room was + cold (steam heat, it seemed, had been given up), the sheets were + ill-smelling, the mouth of the pitcher was broken, and the one towel had + seen much previous use. But the water was the same, as was the cool, + pungent night-air—both blessed of God—and they were the sole + comforts that were his that night. + </p> + <p> + The next day it was as though he were arranging his own funeral, with but + little hope of a resurrection. The tax-collector met him when he came + downstairs—having seen his name on the register. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” he said, “I'll have to add 5 per cent. next month.” Hale + smiled. + </p> + <p> + “That won't be much more,” he said, and the collector, a new one, laughed + good-naturedly and with understanding turned away. Mechanically he walked + to the Club, but there was no club—then on to the office of The + Progress—the paper that was the boast of the town. The Progress was + defunct and the brilliant editor had left the hills. A boy with an + ink-smeared face was setting type and a pallid gentleman with glasses was + languidly working a hand-press. A pile of fresh-smelling papers lay on a + table, and after a question or two he picked up one. Two of its four pages + were covered with announcements of suits and sales to satisfy judgments—the + printing of which was the raison d'etre of the noble sheet. Down the + column his eye caught John Hale et al. John Hale et al., and he wondered + why “the others” should be so persistently anonymous. There was a cloud of + them—thicker than the smoke of coke-ovens. He had breathed that + thickness for a long time, but he got a fresh sense of suffocation now. + Toward the post-office he moved. Around the corner he came upon one of two + brothers whom he remembered as carpenters. He recalled his inability once + to get that gentleman to hang a door for him. He was a carpenter again now + and he carried a saw and a plane. There was grim humour in the situation. + The carpenter's brother had gone—and he himself could hardly get + enough work, he said, to support his family. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to start that house of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'd like to get a contract for a chicken-coop just to keep my hand + in.” + </p> + <p> + There was more. A two-horse wagon was coming with two cottage-organs + aboard. In the mouth of the slouch-hatted, unshaven driver was a corn-cob + pipe. He pulled in when he saw Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he shouted grinning. Good Heavens, was that uncouth figure the + voluble, buoyant, flashy magnate of the old days? It was. + </p> + <p> + “Sellin' organs agin,” he said briefly. + </p> + <p> + “And teaching singing-school?” + </p> + <p> + The dethroned king of finance grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Sure! What you doin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to stay long?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, see you again. So long. Git up!” + </p> + <p> + Wheel-spokes whirred in the air and he saw a buggy, with the top down, + rattling down another street in a cloud of dust. It was the same buggy in + which he had first seen the black-bearded Senator seven years before. It + was the same horse, too, and the Arab-like face and the bushy black + whiskers, save for streaks of gray, were the same. This was the man who + used to buy watches and pianos by the dozen, who one Xmas gave a present + to every living man, woman and child in the town, and under whose colossal + schemes the pillars of the church throughout the State stood as supports. + That far away the eagle-nosed face looked haggard, haunted and all but + spent, and even now he struck Hale as being driven downward like a madman + by the same relentless energy that once had driven him upward. It was the + same story everywhere. Nearly everybody who could get away was gone. Some + of these were young enough to profit by the lesson and take surer root + elsewhere—others were too old for transplanting, and of them would + be heard no more. Others stayed for the reason that getting away was + impossible. These were living, visible tragedies—still hopeful, + pathetically unaware of the leading parts they were playing, and still + weakly waiting for a better day or sinking, as by gravity, back to the old + trades they had practised before the boom. A few sturdy souls, the + fittest, survived—undismayed. Logan was there—lawyer for the + railroad and the coal-company. MacFarlan was a judge, and two or three + others, too, had come through unscathed in spirit and undaunted in + resolution—but gone were the young Bluegrass Kentuckians, the young + Tide-water Virginians, the New England school-teachers, the bankers, + real-estate agents, engineers; gone the gamblers, the wily Jews and the + vagrant women that fringe the incoming tide of a new prosperity—gone—all + gone! + </p> + <p> + Beyond the post-office he turned toward the red-brick house that sat above + the mill-pond. Eagerly he looked for the old mill, and he stopped in + physical pain. The dam had been torn away, the old wheel was gone and a + caved-in roof and supporting walls, drunkenly aslant, were the only + remnants left. A red-haired child stood at the gate before the red-brick + house and Hale asked her a question. The little girl had never heard of + the Widow Crane. Then he walked toward his old office and bedroom. There + was a voice inside his old office when he approached, a tall figure filled + the doorway, a pair of great goggles beamed on him like beacon lights in a + storm, and the Hon. Sam Budd's hand and his were clasped over the gate. + </p> + <p> + “It's all over, Sam.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry—come on in.” + </p> + <p> + The two sat on the porch. Below it the dimpled river shone through the + rhododendrons and with his eyes fixed on it, the Hon. Sam slowly + approached the thought of each. + </p> + <p> + “The old cabin in Lonesome Cove is just as the Tollivers left it.” + </p> + <p> + “None of them ever come back?” Budd shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No, but one's comin'—Dave.” + </p> + <p> + “Dave!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an' you know what for.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” said Hale carelessly. “Did you send old Judd the deed?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure—along with that fool condition of yours that June shouldn't + know until he was dead or she married. I've never heard a word.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose he'll stick to the condition?” + </p> + <p> + “He has stuck,” said the Hon. Sam shortly; “otherwise you would have heard + from June.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to be here long,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Where you goin'?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” Budd puffed his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Well, while you are here, you want to keep your eye peeled for Dave + Tolliver. I told you that the mountaineer hates as long as he remembers, + and that he never forgets. Do you know that Dave sent his horse back to + the stable here to be hired out for his keep, and told it right and left + that when you came back he was comin', too, and he was goin' to straddle + that horse until he found you, and then one of you had to die? How he + found out you were comin' about this time I don't know, but he has sent + word that he'll be here. Looks like he hasn't made much headway with + June.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not worried.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you better be,” said Budd sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Did Uncle Billy plant the garden?” + </p> + <p> + “Flowers and all, just as June always had 'em. He's always had the idea + that June would come back.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe she will.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life. She might if you went out there for her.” + </p> + <p> + Hale looked up quickly and slowly shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Jack, you're seein' things wrong. You can't blame that girl + for losing her head after you spoiled and pampered her the way you did. + And with all her sense it was mighty hard for her to understand your being + arrayed against her flesh and blood—law or no law. That's mountain + nature pure and simple, and it comes mighty near bein' human nature the + world over. You never gave her a square chance.” + </p> + <p> + “You know what Uncle Billy said?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an' I know Uncle Billy changed his mind. Go after her.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale firmly. “It'll take me ten years to get out of debt. I + wouldn't now if I could—on her account.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense.” Hale rose. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going over to take a look around and get some things I left at Uncle + Billy's and then—me for the wide, wide world again.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Sam took off his spectacles to wipe them, but when Hale's back + was turned, his handkerchief went to his eyes: + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry, Jack.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Sam.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later Hale was at the livery stable for a horse to ride to + Lonesome Cove, for he had sold his big black to help out expenses for the + trip to England. Old Dan Harris, the stableman, stood in the door and + silently he pointed to a gray horse in the barn-yard. + </p> + <p> + “You know that hoss?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You know whut's he here fer?” + </p> + <p> + “I've heard.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm lookin' fer Dave every day now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe I'd better ride Dave's horse now,” said Hale jestingly. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would,” said old Dan. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale, “if he's coming, I'll leave the horse so that he can get + to me as quickly as possible. You might send me word, Uncle Dan, ahead, so + that he can't waylay me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do that very thing,” said the old man seriously. + </p> + <p> + “I was joking, Uncle Dan.” + </p> + <p> + “But I ain't.” + </p> + <p> + The matter was out of Hale's head before he got through the great Gap. How + the memories thronged of June—June—June! + </p> + <p> + “YOU DIDN'T GIVE HER A CHANCE.” + </p> + <p> + That was what Budd said. Well, had he given her a chance? Why shouldn't he + go to her and give her the chance now? He shook his shoulders at the + thought and laughed with some bitterness. He hadn't the car-fare for + half-way across the continent—and even if he had, he was a promising + candidate for matrimony!—and again he shook his shoulders and + settled his soul for his purpose. He would get his things together and + leave those hills forever. + </p> + <p> + How lonely had been his trip—how lonely was the God-forsaken little + town behind him! How lonely the road and hills and the little white clouds + in the zenith straight above him—and how unspeakably lonely the + green dome of the great Pine that shot into view from the north as he + turned a clump of rhododendron with uplifted eyes. Not a breath of air + moved. The green expanse about him swept upward like a wave—but + unflecked, motionless, except for the big Pine which, that far away, + looked like a bit of green spray, spouting on its very crest. + </p> + <p> + “Old man,” he muttered, “you know—you know.” And as to a brother he + climbed toward it. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder they call you Lonesome,” he said as he went upward into the + bright stillness, and when he dropped into the dark stillness of shadow + and forest gloom on the other side he said again: + </p> + <p> + “My God, no wonder they call you Lonesome.” + </p> + <p> + And still the memories of June thronged—at the brook—at the + river—and when he saw the smokeless chimney of the old cabin, he all + but groaned aloud. But he turned away from it, unable to look again, and + went down the river toward Uncle Billy's mill. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Old Hon threw her arms around him and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + “John,” said Uncle Billy, “I've got three hundred dollars in a old yarn + sock under one of them hearthstones and its yourn. Ole Hon says so too.” + </p> + <p> + Hale choked. + </p> + <p> + “I want ye to go to June. Dave'll worry her down and git her if you don't + go, and if he don't worry her down, he'll come back an' try to kill ye. + I've always thought one of ye would have to die fer that gal, an' I want + it to be Dave. You two have got to fight it out some day, and you mought + as well meet him out thar as here. You didn't give that little gal a fair + chance, John, an' I want you to go to June.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can't take your money, Uncle Billy—God bless you and old Hon—I'm + going—I don't know where—and I'm going now.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII + </h2> + <p> + Clouds were gathering as Hale rode up the river after telling old Hon and + Uncle Billy good-by. He had meant not to go to the cabin in Lonesome Cove, + but when he reached the forks of the road, he stopped his horse and sat in + indecision with his hands folded on the pommel of his saddle and his eyes + on the smokeless chimney. The memories tugging at his heart drew him + irresistibly on, for it was the last time. At a slow walk he went + noiselessly through the deep sand around the clump of rhododendron. The + creek was clear as crystal once more, but no geese cackled and no dog + barked. The door of the spring-house gaped wide, the barn-door sagged on + its hinges, the yard-fence swayed drunkenly, and the cabin was still as a + gravestone. But the garden was alive, and he swung from his horse at the + gate, and with his hands clasped behind his back walked slowly through it. + June's garden! The garden he had planned and planted for June—that + they had tended together and apart and that, thanks to the old miller's + care, was the one thing, save the sky above, left in spirit unchanged. The + periwinkles, pink and white, were almost gone. The flags were at half-mast + and sinking fast. The annunciation lilies were bending their white + foreheads to the near kiss of death, but the pinks were fragrant, the + poppies were poised on slender stalks like brilliant butterflies at rest, + the hollyhocks shook soundless pink bells to the wind, roses as scarlet as + June's lips bloomed everywhere and the richness of mid-summer was at hand. + </p> + <p> + Quietly Hale walked the paths, taking a last farewell of plant and flower, + and only the sudden patter of raindrops made him lift his eyes to the + angry sky. The storm was coming now in earnest and he had hardly time to + lead his horse to the barn and dash to the porch when the very heavens, + with a crash of thunder, broke loose. Sheet after sheet swept down the + mountains like wind-driven clouds of mist thickening into water as they + came. The shingles rattled as though with the heavy slapping of hands, the + pines creaked and the sudden dusk outside made the cabin, when he pushed + the door open, as dark as night. Kindling a fire, he lit his pipe and + waited. The room was damp and musty, but the presence of June almost + smothered him. Once he turned his face. June's door was ajar and the key + was in the lock. He rose to go to it and look within and then dropped + heavily back into his chair. He was anxious to get away now—to get + to work. Several times he rose restlessly and looked out the window. Once + he went outside and crept along the wall of the cabin to the east and the + west, but there was no break of light in the murky sky and he went back to + pipe and fire. By and by the wind died and the rain steadied into a dogged + downpour. He knew what that meant—there would be no letting up now + in the storm, and for another night he was a prisoner. So he went to his + saddle-pockets and pulled out a cake of chocolate, a can of potted ham and + some crackers, munched his supper, went to bed, and lay there with + sleepless eyes, while the lights and shadows from the wind-swayed fire + flicked about him. After a while his body dozed but his racked brain went + seething on in an endless march of fantastic dreams in which June was the + central figure always, until of a sudden young Dave leaped into the centre + of the stage in the dream-tragedy forming in his brain. They were meeting + face to face at last—and the place was the big Pine. Dave's pistol + flashed and his own stuck in the holster as he tried to draw. There was a + crashing report and he sprang upright in bed—but it was a crash of + thunder that wakened him and that in that swift instant perhaps had caused + his dream. The wind had come again and was driving the rain like soft + bullets against the wall of the cabin next which he lay. He got up, threw + another stick of wood on the fire and sat before the leaping blaze, + curiously disturbed but not by the dream. Somehow he was again in doubt—was + he going to stick it out in the mountains after all, and if he should, was + not the reason, deep down in his soul, the foolish hope that June would + come back again. No, he thought, searching himself fiercely, that was not + the reason. He honestly did not know what his duty to her was—what + even was his inmost wish, and almost with a groan he paced the floor to + and fro. Meantime the storm raged. A tree crashed on the mountainside and + the lightning that smote it winked into the cabin so like a mocking, + malignant eye that he stopped in his tracks, threw open the door and + stepped outside as though to face an enemy. The storm was majestic and his + soul went into the mighty conflict of earth and air, whose beginning and + end were in eternity. The very mountain tops were rimmed with zigzag fire, + which shot upward, splitting a sky that was as black as a nether world, + and under it the great trees swayed like willows under rolling clouds of + gray rain. One fiery streak lit up for an instant the big Pine and seemed + to dart straight down upon its proud, tossing crest. For a moment the beat + of the watcher's heart and the flight of his soul stopped still. A + thunderous crash came slowly to his waiting ears, another flash came, and + Hale stumbled, with a sob, back into the cabin. God's finger was pointing + the way now—the big Pine was no more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV + </h2> + <p> + The big Pine was gone. He had seen it first, one morning at daybreak, when + the valley on the other side was a sea of mist that threw soft, clinging + spray to the very mountain tops—for even above the mists, that + morning, its mighty head arose, sole visible proof that the earth still + slept beneath. He had seen it at noon—but little less majestic, + among the oaks that stood about it; had seen it catching the last light at + sunset, clean-cut against the after-glow, and like a dark, silent, + mysterious sentinel guarding the mountain pass under the moon. He had seen + it giving place with sombre dignity to the passing burst of spring, had + seen it green among dying autumn leaves, green in the gray of winter trees + and still green in a shroud of snow—a changeless promise that the + earth must wake to life again. It had been the beacon that led him into + Lonesome Cove—the beacon that led June into the outer world. From it + her flying feet had carried her into his life—past it, the same feet + had carried her out again. It had been their trysting place—had kept + their secrets like a faithful friend and had stood to him as the + changeless symbol of their love. It had stood a mute but sympathetic + witness of his hopes, his despairs and the struggles that lay between + them. In dark hours it had been a silent comforter, and in the last year + it had almost come to symbolize his better self as to that self he came + slowly back. And in the darkest hour it was the last friend to whom he had + meant to say good-by. Now it was gone. Always he had lifted his eyes to it + every morning when he rose, but now, next morning, he hung back + consciously as one might shrink from looking at the face of a dead friend, + and when at last he raised his head to look upward to it, an impenetrable + shroud of mist lay between them—and he was glad. + </p> + <p> + And still he could not leave. The little creek was a lashing yellow + torrent, and his horse, heavily laden as he must be, could hardly swim + with his weight, too, across so swift a stream. But mountain streams were + like June's temper—up quickly and quickly down—so it was noon + before he plunged into the tide with his saddle-pockets over one shoulder + and his heavy transit under one arm. Even then his snorting horse had to + swim a few yards, and he reached the other bank soaked to his waist line. + But the warm sun came out just as he entered the woods, and as he climbed, + the mists broke about him and scudded upward like white sails before a + driving wind. Once he looked back from a “fire-scald” in the woods at the + lonely cabin in the cove, but it gave him so keen a pain that he would not + look again. The trail was slippery and several times he had to stop to let + his horse rest and to slow the beating of his own heart. But the sunlight + leaped gladly from wet leaf to wet leaf until the trees looked decked out + for unseen fairies, and the birds sang as though there was nothing on + earth but joy for all its creatures, and the blue sky smiled above as + though it had never bred a lightning flash or a storm. Hale dreaded the + last spur before the little Gap was visible, but he hurried up the steep, + and when he lifted his apprehensive eyes, the gladness of the earth was as + nothing to the sudden joy in his own heart. The big Pine stood majestic, + still unscathed, as full of divinity and hope to him as a rainbow in an + eastern sky. Hale dropped his reins, lifted one hand to his dizzy head, + let his transit to the ground, and started for it on a run. Across the + path lay a great oak with a white wound running the length of its mighty + body, from crest to shattered trunk, and over it he leaped, and like a + child caught his old friend in both arms. After all, he was not alone. One + friend would be with him till death, on that border-line between the world + in which he was born and the world he had tried to make his own, and he + could face now the old one again with a stouter heart. There it lay before + him with its smoke and fire and noise and slumbering activities just + awakening to life again. He lifted his clenched fist toward it: + </p> + <p> + “You got ME once,” he muttered, “but this time I'll get YOU.” He turned + quickly and decisively—there would be no more delay. And he went + back and climbed over the big oak that, instead of his friend, had fallen + victim to the lightning's kindly whim and led his horse out into the + underbrush. As he approached within ten yards of the path, a metallic note + rang faintly on the still air the other side of the Pine and down the + mountain. Something was coming up the path, so he swiftly knotted his + bridle-reins around a sapling, stepped noiselessly into the path and + noiselessly slipped past the big tree where he dropped to his knees, + crawled forward and lay flat, peering over the cliff and down the winding + trail. He had not long to wait. A riderless horse filled the opening in + the covert of leaves that swallowed up the path. It was gray and he knew + it as he knew the saddle as his old enemy's—Dave. Dave had kept his + promise—he had come back. The dream was coming true, and they were + to meet at last face to face. One of them was to strike a trail more + lonesome than the Trail of the Lonesome Pine, and that man would not be + John Hale. One detail of the dream was going to be left out, he thought + grimly, and very quietly he drew his pistol, cocked it, sighted it on the + opening—it was an easy shot—and waited. He would give that + enemy no more chance than he would a mad dog—or would he? The horse + stopped to browse. He waited so long that he began to suspect a trap. He + withdrew his head and looked about him on either side and behind—listening + intently for the cracking of a twig or a footfall. He was about to push + backward to avoid possible attack from the rear, when a shadow shot from + the opening. His face paled and looked sick of a sudden, his clenched + fingers relaxed about the handle of his pistol and he drew it back, still + cocked, turned on his knees, walked past the Pine, and by the fallen oak + stood upright, waiting. He heard a low whistle calling to the horse below + and a shudder ran through him. He heard the horse coming up the path, he + clenched his pistol convulsively, and his eyes, lit by an unearthly fire + and fixed on the edge of the bowlder around which they must come, burned + an instant later on—June. At the cry she gave, he flashed a hunted + look right and left, stepped swiftly to one side and stared past her-still + at the bowlder. She had dropped the reins and started toward him, but at + the Pine she stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + Her lips opened to answer, but no sound came. Hale pointed at the horse + behind her. + </p> + <p> + “That's his. He sent me word. He left that horse in the valley, to ride + over here, when he came back, to kill me. Are you with him?” For a moment + she thought from his wild face that he had gone crazy and she stared + silently. Then she seemed to understand, and with a moan she covered her + face with her hands and sank weeping in a heap at the foot of the Pine. + </p> + <p> + The forgotten pistol dropped, full cocked to the soft earth, and Hale with + bewildered eyes went slowly to her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't cry,”—he said gently, starting to call her name. “Don't cry,” + he repeated, and he waited helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “He's dead. Dave was shot—out—West,” she sobbed. “I told him I + was coming back. He gave me his horse. Oh, how could you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come back?” he asked, and she shrank as though he had struck + her—but her sobs stopped and she rose to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” she said, and she turned from him to wipe her eyes with her + handerchief. Then she faced him. + </p> + <p> + “When dad died, I learned everything. You made him swear never to tell me + and he kept his word until he was on his death-bed. YOU did everything for + me. It was YOUR money. YOU gave me back the old cabin in the Cove. It was + always you, you, YOU, and there was never anybody else but you.” She + stopped for Hale's face was as though graven from stone. + </p> + <p> + “And you came back to tell me that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You could have written that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she faltered, “but I had to tell you face to face.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + Again the tears were in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll say the rest for you. You wanted to come to tell me of the + shame you felt when you knew,” she nodded violently—“but you could + have written that, too, and I could have written that you mustn't feel + that way—that” he spoke slowly—“you mustn't rob me of the + dearest happiness I ever knew in my whole life.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would say that,” she said like a submissive child. The + sternness left his face and he was smiling now. + </p> + <p> + “And you wanted to say that the only return you could make was to come + back and be my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she faltered again, “I did feel that—I did.” + </p> + <p> + “You could have written that, too, but you thought you had to PROVE it by + coming back yourself.” + </p> + <p> + This time she nodded no assent and her eyes were streaming. He turned away—stretching + out his arms to the woods. + </p> + <p> + “God! Not that—no—no!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Jack!” As suddenly his arms dropped. She had controlled her tears + but her lips were quivering. + </p> + <p> + “No, Jack, not that—thank God. I came because I wanted to come,” she + said steadily. “I loved you when I went away. I've loved you every minute + since—” her arms were stealing about his neck, her face was upturned + to his and her eyes, moist with gladness, were looking into his wondering + eyes—“and I love you now—Jack.” + </p> + <p> + “June!” The leaves about them caught his cry and quivered with the joy of + it, and above their heads the old Pine breathed its blessing with the name—June—June—June. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV + </h2> + <p> + With a mystified smile but with no question, Hale silently handed his + penknife to June and when, smiling but without a word, she walked behind + the old Pine, he followed her. There he saw her reach up and dig the point + of the knife into the trunk, and when, as he wonderingly watched her, she + gave a sudden cry, Hale sprang toward her. In the hole she was digging he + saw the gleam of gold and then her trembling fingers brought out before + his astonished eyes the little fairy stone that he had given her long ago. + She had left it there for him, she said, through tears, and through his + own tears Hale pointed to the stricken oak: + </p> + <p> + “It saved the Pine,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And you,” said June. + </p> + <p> + “And you,” repeated Hale solemnly, and while he looked long at her, her + arms dropped slowly to her sides and he said simply: + </p> + <p> + “Come!” + </p> + <p> + Leading the horses, they walked noiselessly through the deep sand around + the clump of rhododendron, and there sat the little cabin of Lonesome + Cove. The holy hush of a cathedral seemed to shut it in from the world, so + still it was below the great trees that stood like sentinels on eternal + guard. Both stopped, and June laid her head on Hale's shoulder and they + simply looked in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Dear old home,” she said, with a little sob, and Hale, still silent, drew + her to him. + </p> + <p> + “You were <i>never</i> coming back again?” + </p> + <p> + “I was never coming back again.” She clutched his arm fiercely as though + even now something might spirit him away, and she clung to him, while he + hitched the horses and while they walked up the path. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the garden is just as I left it! The very same flowers in the very + same places!” Hale smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I had Uncle Billy do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you dear—you dear!” + </p> + <p> + Her little room was shuttered tight as it always had been when she was + away, and, as usual, the front door was simply chained on the outside. The + girl turned with a happy sigh and looked about at the nodding flowers and + the woods and the gleaming pool of the river below and up the shimmering + mountain to the big Pine topping it with sombre majesty. + </p> + <p> + “Dear old Pine,” she murmured, and almost unconsciously she unchained the + door as she had so often done before, stepped into the dark room, pulling + Hale with one hand after her, and almost unconsciously reaching upward + with the other to the right of the door. Then she cried aloud: + </p> + <p> + “My key—my key is there!” + </p> + <p> + “That was in case you should come back some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I might—I might! and think if I had come too late—think + if I hadn't come <i>now!</i>” Again her voice broke and still holding + Hale's arm, she moved to her own door. She had to use both hands there, + but before she let go, she said almost hysterically: + </p> + <p> + “It's so dark! You won't leave me, dear, if I let you go?” + </p> + <p> + For answer Hale locked his arms around her, and when the door opened, he + went in ahead of her and pushed open the shutters. The low sun flooded the + room and when Hale turned, June was looking with wild eyes from one thing + to another in the room—her rocking-chair at a window, her sewing + close by, a book on the table, her bed made up in the corner, her + washstand of curly maple—the pitcher full of water and clean towels + hanging from the rack. Hale had gotten out the things she had packed away + and the room was just as she had always kept it. She rushed to him, + weeping. + </p> + <p> + “It would have killed me,” she sobbed. “It would have killed me.” She + strained him tightly to her—her wet face against his cheek: “Think—<i>think</i>—if + I hadn't come now!” Then loosening herself she went all about the room + with a caressing touch to everything, as though it were alive. The book + was the volume of Keats he had given her—which had been loaned to + Loretta before June went away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wrote for it and wrote for it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I found it in the post-office,” said Hale, “and I understood.” + </p> + <p> + She went over to the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said with a happy laugh. “You've got one slip inside out,” and + she whipped the pillow from its place, changed it, and turned down the + edge of the covers in a triangle. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way I used to leave it,” she said shyly. Hale smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I never noticed that!” She turned to the bureau and pulled open a drawer. + In there were white things with frills and blue ribbons—and she + flushed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “these haven't even been touched.” Again Hale smiled but + he said nothing. One glance had told him there were things in that drawer + too sacred for his big hands. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so happy—<i>so</i> happy.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she looked him over from head to foot—his rough riding + boots, old riding breeches and blue flannel shirt. + </p> + <p> + “I am pretty rough,” he said. She flushed, shook her head and looked down + at her smart cloth suit of black. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>you</i> are all right—but you must go out now, just for a + little while.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you up to, little girl?” + </p> + <p> + “How I love to hear that again!” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you afraid I'll run away?” he said at the door. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not afraid of anything else in this world any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won't.” + </p> + <p> + He heard her moving around as he sat planning on the porch. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” he thought, and then an idea struck him that made him dizzy. + From within June cried: + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” and out she ran in the last crimson gown of her young + girlhood—her sleeves rolled up and her hair braided down her back as + she used to wear it. + </p> + <p> + “You've made up my bed and I'm going to make yours—and I'm going to + cook your supper—why, what's the matter?” Hale's face was radiant + with the heaven-born idea that lighted it, and he seemed hardly to notice + the change she had made. He came over and took her in his arms: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sweetheart, <i>my</i> sweetheart!” A spasm of anxiety tightened her + throat, but Hale laughed from sheer delight. + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind. It's a secret,” and he stood back to look at her. She + blushed as his eyes went downward to her perfect ankles. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>is</i> too short,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no! Not for me! You're mine now, little girl, <i>mine</i>—do + you understand that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she whispered, her mouth trembling, Again he laughed joyously. + </p> + <p> + “Come on!” he cried, and he went into the kitchen and brought out an axe: + </p> + <p> + “I'll cut wood for you.” She followed him out to the wood-pile and then + she turned and went into the house. Presently the sound of his axe rang + through the woods, and as he stooped to gather up the wood, he heard a + creaking sound. June was drawing water at the well, and he rushed toward + her: + </p> + <p> + “Here, you mustn't do that.” + </p> + <p> + She flashed a happy smile at him. + </p> + <p> + “You just go back and get that wood. I reckon,” she used the word + purposely, “I've done this afore.” Her strong bare arms were pulling the + leaking moss-covered old bucket swiftly up, hand under hand—so he + got the wood while she emptied the bucket into a pail, and together they + went laughing into the kitchen, and while he built the fire, June got out + the coffee-grinder and the meal to mix, and settled herself with the + grinder in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, isn't it fun?” She stopped grinding suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “What would the neighbours say?” + </p> + <p> + “We haven't any.” + </p> + <p> + “But if we had!” + </p> + <p> + “Terrible!” said Hale with mock solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if Uncle Billy is at home,” Hale trembled at his luck. “That's a + good idea. I'll ride down for him while you're getting supper.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won't,” said June, “I can't spare you. Is that old horn here + yet?” + </p> + <p> + Hale brought it out from behind the cupboard. + </p> + <p> + “I can get him—if he is at home.” + </p> + <p> + Hale followed her out to the porch where she put her red mouth to the old + trumpet. One long, mellow hoot rang down the river—and up the hills. + Then there were three short ones and a single long blast again. + </p> + <p> + “That's the old signal,” she said. “And he'll know I want him <i>bad</i>.” + Then she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “He may think he's dreaming, so I'll blow for him again.” And she did. + </p> + <p> + “There, now,” she said. “He'll come.” + </p> + <p> + It was well she did blow again, for the old miller was not at home and old + Hon, down at the cabin, dropped her iron when she heard the horn and + walked to the door, dazed and listening. Even when it came again she could + hardly believe her ears, and but for her rheumatism, she would herself + have started at once for Lonesome Cove. As it was, she ironed no more, but + sat in the doorway almost beside herself with anxiety and bewilderment, + looking down the road for the old miller to come home. + </p> + <p> + Back the two went into the kitchen and Hale sat at the door watching June + as she fixed the table and made the coffee and corn bread. Once only he + disappeared and that was when suddenly a hen cackled, and with a shout of + laughter he ran out to come back with a fresh egg. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my lord!” said June, her hair falling over her eyes and her face + flushed from the heat. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale. “I'm going to wait on you.” + </p> + <p> + “For the last time,” she pleaded, and to please her he did sit down, and + every time she came to his side with something he bent to kiss the hand + that served him. + </p> + <p> + “You're nothing but a big, nice boy,” she said. Hale held out a lock of + his hair near the temples and with one finger silently followed the track + of wrinkles in his face. + </p> + <p> + “It's premature,” she said, “and I love every one of them.” And she + stooped to kiss him on the hair. “And those are nothing but troubles. I'm + going to smooth every one of <i>them</i> away.” + </p> + <p> + “If they're troubles, they'll go—now,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + All the time they talked of what they would do with Lonesome Cove. + </p> + <p> + “Even if we do go away, we'll come back once a year,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” nodded June, “once a year.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tear down those mining shacks, float them down the river and sell + them as lumber.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll stock the river with bass again.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll plant young poplars to cover the sight of every bit of uptorn + earth along the mountain there. I'll bury every bottle and tin can in the + Cove. I'll take away every sign of civilization, every sign of the outside + world.” + </p> + <p> + “And leave old Mother Nature to cover up the scars,” said June. + </p> + <p> + “So that Lonesome Cove will be just as it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as it was in the beginning,” echoed June. + </p> + <p> + “And shall be to the end,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “And there will never be anybody here but you.” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” said June. + </p> + <p> + While she cleared the table and washed the dishes Hale fed the horses and + cut more wood, and it was dusk when he came to the porch. Through the door + he saw that she had made his bed in one corner. And through her door he + saw one of the white things, that had lain untouched in her drawer, now + stretched out on her bed. + </p> + <p> + The stars were peeping through the blue spaces of a white-clouded sky and + the moon would be coming by and by. In the garden the flowers were dim, + quiet and restful. A kingfisher screamed from the river. An owl hooted in + the woods and crickets chirped about them, but every passing sound seemed + only to accentuate the stillness in which they were engulfed. Close + together they sat on the old porch and she made him tell of everything + that had happened since she left the mountains, and she told him of her + flight from the mountains and her life in the West—of her father's + death and the homesickness of the ones who still were there. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/0444.jpg" alt="She Made Him Tell of Everything, 0444 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “Bub is a cowboy and wouldn't come back for the world, but I could never + have been happy there,” she said, “even if it hadn't been for you—here.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm just a plain civil engineer, now,” said Hale, “an engineer without + even a job and—” his face darkened. + </p> + <p> + “It's a shame, sweetheart, for you—” She put one hand over his lips + and with the other turned his face so that she could look into his eyes. + In the mood of bitterness, they did show worn, hollow and sad, and around + them the wrinkles were deep. + </p> + <p> + “Silly,” she said, tracing them gently with her finger tips, “I love every + one of them, too,” and she leaned over and kissed them. + </p> + <p> + “We're going to be happy each and every day, and all day long! We'll live + at the Gap in winter and I'll teach.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll teach <i>you</i> to be patient and how little I care for + anything else in the world while I've got you, and I'll teach you to care + for nothing else while you've got me. And you'll have me, dear, forever + and ever——” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + Something rang out in the darkness, far down the river, and both sprang to + their feet. “It's Uncle Billy!” cried June, and she lifted the old horn to + her lips. With the first blare of it, a cheery halloo answered, and a + moment later they could see a gray horse coming up the road—coming + at a gallop, and they went down to the gate and waited. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Uncle Billy” cried June. The old man answered with a fox-hunting + yell and Hale stepped behind a bush. + </p> + <p> + “Jumping Jehosophat—is that you, June? Air ye all right?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Uncle Billy.” The old man climbed off his horse with a groan. + </p> + <p> + “Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, but I was skeered!” He had his hands on June's + shoulders and was looking at her with a bewildered face. + </p> + <p> + “What air ye doin' here alone, baby?” + </p> + <p> + June's eyes shone: “Nothing Uncle Billy.” Hale stepped into sight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ho! I see! You back an' he ain't gone! Well, bless my soul, if this + ain't the beatenest—” he looked from the one to the other and his + kind old face beamed with a joy that was but little less than their own. + </p> + <p> + “You come back to stay?” + </p> + <p> + “My—where's that horn? I want it right now, Ole Hon down thar is + a-thinkin' she's gone crazy and I thought she shorely was when she said + she heard you blow that horn. An' she tol' me the minute I got here, if + hit was you—to blow three times.” And straightway three blasts rang + down the river. + </p> + <p> + “Now she's all right, if she don't die o' curiosity afore I git back and + tell her why you come. Why did you come back, baby? Gimme a drink o' + water, son. I reckon me an' that ole hoss hain't travelled sech a gait in + five year.” + </p> + <p> + June was whispering something to the old man when Hale came back, and what + it was the old man's face told plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Uncle Billy—right away,” said Hale. + </p> + <p> + “Just as soon as you can git yo' license?” Hale nodded. + </p> + <p> + “An' June says I'm goin' to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hale, “right away.” + </p> + <p> + Again June had to tell the story to Uncle Billy that she had told to Hale + and to answer his questions, and it was an hour before the old miller rose + to go. Hale called him then into June's room and showed him a piece of + paper. + </p> + <p> + “Is it good now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The old man put on his spectacles, looked at it and chuckled: + </p> + <p> + “Just as good as the day you got hit.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, can't you——” + </p> + <p> + “Right now! Does June know?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. I'm going to tell her now. June!” he called. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” Uncle Billy moved hurriedly to the door. + </p> + <p> + “You just wait till I git out o' here.” He met June in the outer room. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Uncle Billy?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, baby,” he said, hurrying by her, “I'll be back in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped in the doorway—her eyes wide again with sudden anxiety, + but Hale was smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You remember what you said at the Pine, dear?” The girl nodded and she + was smiling now, when with sweet seriousness she said again: “Your least + wish is now law to me, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm going to test it now. I've laid a trap for you.” She shook her + head. + </p> + <p> + “And you've walked right into it” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad.” She noticed now the crumpled piece of paper in his hand and + she thought it was some matter of business. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, reproachfully. “You aren't going to bother with anything + of that kind <i>now?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “I want you to look over this.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she said resignedly. He was holding the paper out to her and + she took it and held it to the light of the candle. Her face flamed and + she turned remorseful eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “And you've kept that, too, you had it when I——” + </p> + <p> + “When you were wiser maybe than you are now.” + </p> + <p> + “God save me from ever being such a fool again.” Tears started in her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't forgiven me!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Billy says it's as good now as it was then.” + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her queerly now and his smile was gone. Slowly his + meaning came to her like the flush that spread over her face and throat. + She drew in one long quivering breath and, with parted lips and her great + shining eyes wide, she looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Now?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes dropped to the coarse gown, she lifted both hands for a moment to + her hair and unconsciously she began to roll one crimson sleeve down her + round, white arm. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hale, “just as you are.” + </p> + <p> + She went to him then, put her arms about his neck, and with head thrown + back she looked at him long with steady eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she breathed out—“just as you are—and now.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Billy was waiting for them on the porch and when they came out, he + rose to his feet and they faced him, hand in hand. The moon had risen. The + big Pine stood guard on high against the outer world. Nature was their + church and stars were their candles. And as if to give them even a better + light, the moon had sent a luminous sheen down the dark mountainside to + the very garden in which the flowers whispered like waiting happy friends. + Uncle Billy lifted his hand and a hush of expectancy seemed to come even + from the farthest star. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, by John Fox, Jr. + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE *** + +***** This file should be named 5122-h.htm or 5122-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/2/5122/ + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team, +and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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