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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..608cf1c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68162 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68162) diff --git a/old/68162-0.txt b/old/68162-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c9acb6b..0000000 --- a/old/68162-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4767 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Bushwhackers & Other Stories, by -Charles Egbert Craddock - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Bushwhackers & Other Stories - -Author: Charles Egbert Craddock - -Release Date: May 24, 2022 [eBook #68162] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Peter Becker, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BUSHWHACKERS & OTHER -STORIES *** - - -THE BUSHWHACKERS -_&_ -OTHER STORIES - - - - -THE - -Bushwhackers - -& - -Other Stories - -BY - -CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK - -AUTHOR OF “IN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS,” “THE -STORY OF OLD FORT LOUDON,” ETC. - -[Illustration: Logo] - -HERBERT S. STONE & COMPANY -CHICAGO & NEW YORK -MDCCCXCIX - - -COPYRIGHT 1899 BY -HERBERT S. STONE & CO. - - -THIRD IMPRESSION - - - - -CONTENTS - - PAGE -THE BUSHWHACKERS 3 - -THE PANTHER OF JOLTON’S RIDGE 119 - -THE EXPLOIT OF CHOOLAH, THE CHICKASAW 217 - - - - -THE BUSHWHACKERS - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -One might have imagined that there was some enchantment in the spot -which drew hither daily the young mountaineer’s steps. No visible lure -it showed. No prosaic reasonable errand he seemed to have. But always -at some hour between the early springtide sunrise and the late vernal -sunset Hilary Knox climbed the craggy, almost inaccessible steeps to -this rocky promontory, that jutted out in a single sharp peak, not -only beetling far over the sea of foliage in the wooded valley below, -but rising high above the dense forests of the slope of the mountain, -from the summit of which it projected. Here he would stand, shading his -eyes with his hand, and gaze far and near over the great landscape. -At first he seemed breathless with eager expectation; then earnestly -searching lest there should be aught overlooked; at last dully, -wistfully dwelling on the scene in the full realization of the pangs of -disappointment for the absence of something he fain would see. - -Always he waited as long as he could, as if the chance of any moment -might conjure into the landscape, brilliant with the vivid growths and -tender grace of the spring, that for which he looked in vain. A wind -would come up the gorge and flutter about him, as he stood poised on -the upward slant of the rock, the loftiest point of the mountain. If -it were a young and frisky zephyr, but lately loosed from the cave of -Æolus, which surely must be situated near at hand--on the opposite -spur perhaps, so windy was the ravine, so tumultuous the continual -coming and going of the currents of the air,--he must needs risk -his balance on the pinnacle of the crag to hold on to his hat. And -sometimes the frolicsome breeze like other gay young sprites would -not have done with playing tag, and when he thought himself safe and -lowered his hand to shade his eyes, again the wind would twitch it by -the brim and scurry away down the ravine, making all the trees ripple -with murmurous laughter as it sped to the valley, while Hilary would -gasp and plunge forward and once more clutch his hat, then again look -out to descry perchance what he so ardently longed to see in the -distance. Some pleasant vision he surely must have expected--something -charming to the senses or promissory of weal or happiness it must have -been; for his cheek flushed scarlet and his pulses beat fast at the -very thought. - -No one noticed his coming or going. All boys are a species of vagrant -fowl, and with the daily migrations back and forth of a young -mountaineer especially, no steady-minded, elder person would care to -burden his observation. Another kind of fowl, an eagle, had built a -nest in the bare branches at the summit of an isolated pine tree, of -which only the lower boughs were foliaged, and this was higher even -than the peak to which Hilary daily repaired for the earliest glimpse -of his materialized hopes advancing down the gorge. The pair of birds -only of all the denizens of the mountain took heed of his movements and -displayed an anxiety and suspicion and a sort of fierce but fluttered -indignation. It is impossible to say whether they were aware that -their variety had grown rare in these parts, and that their capture, -dead or alive, would be a matter of very considerable interest, and it -is also futile to speculate as to whether they had any knowledge of -the uses or range of the rifle which Hilary sometimes carried on his -shoulder. Certain it is, however, the male bird muttered indignantly -as he looked down at the young mountaineer, and was wont to agitatedly -flop about the great clumsy nest of interwoven sticks where the -female, the larger of the two, with a steady courage sat motionless, -only her elongated neck and bright dilation of the eyes betokening -her excitement and distress. The male bird was of a more reckless -tendency, and often visibly strove with an intermittent intention of -swooping down to attack the intruder, for Hilary was but a slender -fellow of about sixteen years, although tall and fleet of foot. A -good shot, too, he was, and he had steady nerves, despite the glitter -of excitement in his eyes forever gazing down the gorge. Because of -his absorption in this expectation he took no notice of the eagles, -although to justify his long absences from home he often brought his -rifle on the plea of hunting. How should he care to observe the birds -when at any moment he might see the flutter of a guidon in the valley -road, a mere path from this height, and hear the trumpet sing out -sweet and clear in the silence of the wilderness! At any moment the -wind might bring the sound of the tramp of cavalry, the clatter of the -carbine and canteen, and the clanking of spur and saber as some wild -band of guerrillas came raiding through the country. - -For despite the solemn stillness that brooded in the similitude of the -deepest peace upon the scene, war was still rife in the land. The -theater of action was far from this sequestered region, but there had -been times when the piny gorges were full of the more prickly growth -of bayonets. The echoing crags were taught the thrilling eloquence -of the bugle, and the mountains reverberated with the oratory of the -cannon--for the artillery learned to climb the deer-paths. There was -a fine panorama once in the twilight when a battery on the heights -shelled the woods in the valley, and tiny white clouds with hearts of -darting fire described swift aerial curves, the fuses burning brightly -against the bland blue sky, ere that supreme moment of explosion when -the bursting fragments hurtled wildly through the air. - -Occasionally a cluster of white tents would spring up like mushrooms -at the base of a mountain spur--gone as suddenly as they had come, -leaving a bed of embers where the camp-fires had been, a vague wreath -of smoke and little trace besides, for the felled trees cut for fuel -made scant impression upon the densities of the wilderness, and the -rocks were immutable. - -And then for months a primeval silence and loneliness might enfold the -mountains. - -“Ef they kem agin, ef ever they kem agin, I’ll jine ’em--I’ll jine -’em,” cried Hilary out of a full heart as he stood and gazed. - -And this was the reason he watched daily and sometimes deep into the -night, lest coming under cover of the darkness they might depart before -the dawn, leaving only the embers of their camp-fires to tell of their -vanished presence. - -The prospect stirred the boy’s heart. He longed to be in the midst -of action, to take a man’s part in the great struggle, to live the -life and do the faithful devoir of a soldier. He was young but he was -strong, and he felt that here he was biding at home as if he were -no more fit for the military duty he yearned to assume than was the -miller’s daughter, Delia Noakes. - -“I tole Dely yesterday ez I’d git her ter l’arn me ter spin ef ye kep’ -me hyar much longer,” he said one day petulantly to his mother. “I’ll -jes’ set an’ spin like a sure-enough gal ef ye won’t let me go an’ jine -the army like a boy.” - -“I ain’t never gin my word agin yer goin’,” the widow would temporize, -alarmed by the possibility of his running away without permission if -definitely forbidden to enlist, and therefore craftily holding out the -prospect of her consent, which she knew he valued, for he had always -been a dutiful son. “I hev never gin my word agin it--not sence ye -hev got some growth--ye shot up as suddint ez Jonah’s gourd in a -single night. But I don’t want ye ter jine no stray bands--ez mought -be bushwhackers an’ sech. Jes’ wait till we git the word whar Cap’n -Baker’s command be--fur I want ye ter be under some ez kem from our -deestric’--I’d feel so much safer bout’n ye, an’ ye would be pleased, -too, Cap’n Baker bein’ a powerful fighter an’ brave an’ respected by -all. Ye mus’ wait, too, till I kin finish yer new shuts, an’ knittin’ -them socks; I wouldn’t feel right fur ye to go destitute--a plumb -beggar fur clothes.” - -Hilary had never heard of Penelope’s web, and the crafty device -of raveling out at night the work achieved in the day, but to his -impatience it seemed that his departure was indefinitely postponed for -his simple outfit progressed no whit day by day, although his mother’s -show of industry was great. - -The earth also seemed to have swallowed Captain Baker and his command; -although Hilary rode again and again to the postoffice at a little -mountain hamlet some ten miles distant, and talked to all informed and -discerning persons whom the hope of learning the latest details of -the events of the war had drawn thither, and could hear news of any -description to suit the taste of the narrator--all the most reliable -items of the “grape-vine telegraph,” as mere rumor used to be called in -those days--not one word came of Captain Baker. - -His mother sometimes could control his outbursts of impatience on these -occasions by ridicule. - -“’Member the time, Hil’ry,” she would say, glancing at him with -waggish mock gravity in her eyes as they gleamed over her spectacles, -“when ye offered ter enlist with Cap’n Baker’s infantry year afore -las’, when the war fust broke out--ye warn’t no higher than that -biscuit block then--he tole ye that ye warn’t up ter age or size or -weight or height, an’ ye tole him that thar war a plenty of ye ter pull -a trigger, an’ he bust out laughin’ an’ lowed ez he warn’t allowed ter -enlist men under fourteen. He said he thunk it war a folly in the rule, -fur he had seen some mighty old men under fourteen--though none so aged -ez you-uns. My, how he did laugh.” - -“I wish ye would quit tellin’ that old tale,” said her son, sulkily, -his face reddening with the mingled recollection of his own absurdity -and the seriousness with which in his simplicity he had listened to the -officer’s ridicule. - -“An’ ye war so special small-sized and spindlin’ then,” exclaimed his -mother, pausing in her knitting to take off her spectacles to wipe away -the tears of laughter that had gathered at the recollection. - -“I ain’t small-sized an’ spindling now,” said Hilary, drawing himself -up to his full height and bridling with offended dignity in the -consciousness of his inches and his muscles. “I know ez Cap’n Baker or -enny other officer would ’list me now, for though I ain’t quite sixteen -I be powerful well growed fur my age.” - -As he realized this anew his flush deepened as he stood and looked -down at the fire, while his mother covertly watched his expression. He -felt it a burning shame that he should still linger here laggard when -all his instinct was to help and sustain the cause of his countrymen. -His loyalty was to the sense of home. His impulse was to repel the -invader, although the majority of the mountaineers of East Tennessee -were for the Union, and many fought for the old flag against their -neighbors and often against their close kindred, so stanch was their -loyalty in those times that tried men’s souls. - -One day, as Hilary, straining his eyes, stood on his perch on the crag, -he beheld fluttering far, far away--was it a wreath of mist floating -along the level, sinuous curves of the distant valley road--a wreath of -mist astir on some gentle current of the atmosphere? He had a sudden -sense of color. Did the vapor catch a prismatic glister from the sun’s -rays? And now faint, far, like the ethereal tones of an elfin horn, -a mellow vibration sounded on the air. Hardly louder it was than the -booming of a bee in the heart of a flower, scarcely more definite -than the melody one hears in a dream, which one can remember, yet -cannot recognize or sing again; nevertheless his heart bounded at the -vague and vagrant strain, and he knew the fluttering prismatic bits of -color to be the guidons of a squadron of cavalry. His heart kept pace -with the hoofbeats of the horses. The lessening distance magnified -them to his vision till he could discern now a bright glint of steely -light as the sun struck on the burnished arms of the riders, and -could distinguish the tints of the steeds--gray, blood-bay, black and -roan-red; he could soon hear, too, the jingle of the spurs, the clank -of sabers and carbines, and now and again the voices of the men, bluff, -merry, hearty, as they rode at their ease. He would not lose sight of -them till they had paused to pitch their camp at the foot of a great -spur of the mountain opposite. There was a famous spring of clear, -cold water there, he remembered. - -The great spread of mountain ranges had grown purple in the sunset, -with the green cup-like coves between filled to the brim with the -red vintage of the afternoon light, still limpid, translucent, with -no suggestion of the dregs of shadow or sediment of darkness in this -radiant nectar. Nor was there token of coming night in the sky--all -amber and pearl--the fairest hour of the day. No premonition of -approaching sorrow or defeat, of death or rue, was in the gay bivouac -at the foot of the mountain. The very horses picketed along the bank -of the stream whickered aloud in obvious content with their journey’s -end, their supper, their drink, and their bed; the sound of song and -jollity, the halloo, the loud, cheery talk of the troopers, rose as -lightly on the air as the long streamers of undulating blazes from -the camp-fires and the curling tendrils of the ascending smoke. More -distant groups betokened the precaution of videttes at an outpost. A -sentinel near the road, for the camp guard was posted betimes, was the -only silent and grave man in the gay company, it seemed to Hilary, -as he watched the gallant, soldierly figure with his martial tread -marching to and fro in this solitary place, as if for all the world to -see. For Hilary had made his way down the mountain and was now on the -outskirts of the camp, the goal of all his military aspirations. - -He had come so near that a sudden voice rang out on the evening air, -and he paused as the sentry challenged his approach. The rocky river -bank vibrated with the echo of the soldier’s imperative tones. - -Hilary remembered that moment always. It meant so much to him. Every -detail of the scene was painted on his memory years and years afterward -as if but yesterday it was aglow--the evening air that was so still, -so filled with mellow, illuminated color, so imbued with peace and -fragrance and soft content, such as one could imagine may pervade the -realms of Paradise, was yet the vehicle for the limning of this warlike -picture. The great purple mountains loomed high around; through the -green valley now crept a dun-tinted shadow more like a deepening of the -rich verdant color of the foliage than a visible transition toward the -glooms of the night; the stream was steel-gray and full of the white -flickers of foam; further up the water reflected a flare of camp-fires, -broadly aglow, with great sprangles of fluctuating flame and smoke -setting the blue dusk a-quiver with alternations of light and shade; -there were the dim rows of horses, some still sturdily champing their -provender, others dully drowsing, and one nearer at hand, a noble -charger, standing with uplifted neck and thin, expanded nostrils and -full lustrous eyes, gazing over the winding way, the vacant road by -which they had come. Beyond were the figures of the soldiers; a few, -who had already finished their supper, were rolled in their blankets -with their feet to the fire in a circle like the spokes of a wheel -to the hub. There, pillowed on their saddles, would they sleep all -night under the pulsating white stars, for these swift raids were -unencumbered with baggage, and the pitching of a tent meant a longer -stay than the bivouac of a single night. Others were still at their -supper, broiling rashers of bacon on the coals, or toasting a bird or -chicken, split and poised on a pointed cedar stick before the flames. -Socially disposed groups were laughing and talking beside the flaring -brands, the firelight gleaming in their eyes, half shaded by the wide, -drooping brims of their broad hats, and flashing on their white teeth -as they rehearsed the incidents of the day or made merry with old -scores. Now and then a stave of song would rise sonorously into the -air as a big bass voice trolled out a popular melody--it was the first -time Hilary had ever heard the sentimental, melancholy measures of -“The Sun’s Low Down the Sky, Lorena.” Sometimes, by way of symphony, a -tentative staccato variation of the theme would issue from the strings -of a violin, borrowed from a neighboring dwelling, which a young -trooper, seated leaning against the bole of a great tree, was playing -with a deft, assured touch. - -Hilary often saw such scenes afterward, but not even the reality -was ever so vivid as the recollection of this fire-lit perspective -glimmering behind the figure of the guard. - -The two gazed at each other in the brief space of a second--the boy -eager and expectant, the soldier’s eyes dark, steady, challenging, -under the broad, drooping brim of his soft hat. He was young, but he -had a short-pointed dark beard, and a mustache, and although thin and -lightly built, he was sinewy and alert, and in his long, spurred boots -and gray uniform he looked sufficiently formidable with his carbine in -his hand. - -“Who comes there?” he sternly demanded. - -“A friend,” quavered Hilary, and he could have utterly repudiated -himself that his voice should show this tremor of excitement since -it might seem to be that of fear in the estimation of this man, who -defied dangers and knew no faltering, and had fought to the last moment -on the losing side on many a stricken field, and was content to believe -that duty and courage were as valid a guerdon in themselves as fickle -victory, which perches as a bird might on the standard of chance. - -“Advance, friend, and give the countersign,” said the sentry. - -It seemed to Hilary at the moment that it was some strange aberration -of all the probabilities that he should not know this mystic word, -this potent phrase, which should grant admission to the life of the -camp that already seemed to him his native sphere. He advanced a step -nearer, and while the sentinel bent his brow more intently upon him -and looked firmly and negatively expectant, he gave in lieu of the -watchword a full detail of his errand,--that he wished to be a soldier -and fight for his country, and especially enlist with this squadron, -albeit he did not know a single man of the command, nor even the -leader’s rank or name. - -Hilary could not altogether account for a sudden change in the -sentinel’s face and manner. He had been very sure that he was about to -be denied all admission according to the strict orders to permit no -stranger within the lines of the encampment. The soldier stared at the -boy a moment longer, then called lustily aloud for the corporal of the -guard. For these were the days of the close conscription, when it was -popularly said that the army robbed both the cradle and the grave for -its recruits, so young and so old were the men accounted liable for -military duty. The sentinel could but discern at a glance that Hilary -was younger even than the limit for these later conscriptions, and -that only as a voluntary sacrifice to patriotism were his services -attainable. The corporal of the guard came forthwith--tall, heavy, -broad-visaged, downright in manner, and of a blunt style of speech. -But on his face, too, the expression of formidable negation gave way -at once to a brisk alacrity of welcome, and he immediately conducted -Hilary to another officer, who brought him to a little knoll where -the captain commanding the squadron was seated by a brisk fire, half -reclining on his saddle thrown on the ground. He was beguiling his -leisure, and perhaps reinforcing a certain down-hearted tendency to -nostalgia, by reading the latest letters he had from home--letters a -matter of six months old now, and already read into tatters, but so -illuminated between the lines with familiar pictures and treasured -household memories that they were still replete with an interest that -would last longer than the paper. Two or three other officers were -playing cards by the light of the fire, and one, elderly and grave, was -reading a book through spectacles of sedate aspect. - -The measure of Hilary’s satisfaction was full to the brim. Captain -Baker, as he informed his mother when a little later he burst into the -home-circle wild with delight in his adventure and his news, couldn’t -hold a candle to Captain Bertley. And rejoiced was he to be going at -last and going with this officer. Hilary declared again and again that -he wouldn’t be willing to fight in any other command. He was going at -last, and going with the only captain in all the world for him--the -first and foremost of men! And yet only this morning he had not known -that this paragon existed. - -He was so a-quiver with excitement and joy and expectation and pride -that his mother, pale and tremulous as she made up his little bundle -of long-delayed clothes, was a trifle surprised to hear him protest -that he could not leave without bidding farewell to the Noakes family, -who lived at the Notch in the mountain, and especially his old crony, -Delia; yet Captain Bertley’s trumpets would sound “boots and saddles” -at the earliest glint of dawn. Delia was near his own age, and he had -always magnanimously pitied her for not being a boy. Formerly she had -meekly acquiesced in her inferiority, mental and physical, especially -in the matter of running, although she made pretty fair speed, and in -throwing stones, which she never could be taught to do with accurate -aim. But of late years she had not seemed to “sense” this inferiority, -so to speak, and once in reference to the war she had declared -that she was glad to be a girl, and thus debarred from fighting, -“fur killing folks, no matter fur whut or how, always seemed to be -sinful!” When argued with on this basis she fell back on the broad -and uncontrovertible proposition that “anyhow bloodshed war powerful -onpleasant.” - -To see these friends once again Hilary had no time to waste. As he -made his way along the sandy road with the stars palpitating whitely -in the sky above the heavy forest, which rose so high on either hand -as to seem almost to touch them, this deep, narrow passage looked when -the perspective held a straight line to rising ground, ending in the -sidereal coruscations, like the veritable way to the stars, sought by -every ambitious wight since the days of the Cæsars. Hilary had never -heard an allusion to that royal road, but as he walked along with -a buoyant, steady step, his hat in his hand that the breeze might -cool his hot brow and blow backward his long masses of fair hair, he -followed indeed an upward path in the sentiments that quickened his -pulses, for he was resolved upon duty and thinking high thoughts that -should materialize in fine deeds. He was to do and dare! He would -be useful and faithful and brave--brave! He had a reverence for the -quality of courage--not for the sake of its emulous display, but for -the spirit of all nobly valiant deeds. He had rejoiced in the very -expression of the captain’s eyes--so true and tried! He, too, would -meet the coming years fairly. The raw recruit could see his way to the -stars at the end of that mountain vista. - -But it seemed a poor preparation for all this when he awoke the inmates -of the Noakes cabin, for it was past midnight, with the news that -he had “jined the cavalry” and was to march at peep of dawn with -Bertley’s squadron. It is true that the elders crowded around him half -dressed only, so hastily had they been roused, and expressed surprise, -congratulations, and regrets in one inconsistent breath, and old Mrs. -Dite, Delia’s grandmother, bestowed on him a woolen comforter which -she had knitted for him, and for which, improvidently, it being now -near summer, he cared less than for the turmoil of excitement and -interest they had manifested in his preferment, for he felt every inch -a man and a soldier, and they respectfully seemed to defer to his new -pretensions. Delia, however, the most unaccountable of girls--and -girls are always unaccountable--put her arm over her eyes as she stood -beside the mantelpiece, beneath which the embers had been stirred into -a blaze for light, and turned her face to the wall and burst into -tears. She wept with so much vehemence that her long plait of black -hair hanging down her back swayed from side to side of her shoulders -as she shook her head to and fro in the extremity of her woe. When -the elders remonstrated with her, and declared this was no occasion -for sorrow, she only lifted her tear-stained face for a moment to say -in justification that she believed that bullets were too small to be -dodged with any success when they were flying round promiscuously. And -in the midst of the volley of laughter which this evoked from the old -people, Hilary’s voice rang out indignantly, “An’ I ain’t no hand ter -dodge bullets, nuther.” - -“That’s jes’ what I am a-crying about,” replied Delia, to the -mischievous delight of the elders. - -Thus the farewell to his old friends was not very exhilarating to -Hilary. Delia did not even at the last unveil her face or change her -attitude against the wall. To shake hands he was obliged to pull her -hand from her eyes by way of over her head, and in this maneuver he was -moved to notice how much taller he had lately grown. Her hand was very -limp and cold and wet with her tears--so wet that he had to wipe these -tears from his own hand on the brim of his hat on his homeward way. - -And when, as in sudden enchantment, darkness became light and night -developed into dawn, when color renewed the landscape, and the dull sky -grew red as if flushed with sudden triumph, and the black mountains -turned royally purple in the distance and tenderly green nearer at -hand, and the waters of the river leaped and flashed like a live thing, -as with an actual joy in existence, and the great fiery sun, full of -vital yellow flame, flared up over the eastern horizon, the squadron, -with jingling spurs and clanking sabers, with carbines and canteens -rattling, with the trumpet now and again sending forth those elated, -joyous martial strains, so sweet and yet so proud, rode forth into a -new day, and Hilary Knox, among the troopers and gallantly mounted, -rode forth into a new life. - -The bivouac fires glowed for a while, then fell to smoldering and died, -leaving but a gray ash to tell of their presence here. Day by day the -eagles in the great bare pine tree on the high rock at the summit of -the mountain looked for Hilary to visit his point of observation and -stir their hearts with fear and wrath. Time and again the male bird -might have been seen to circle about at the usual hour for the boy’s -coming; first with apprehension lest his absence was too good to -be true, then, with the courage of immunity undisciplined by fear, -screaming and flouncing as if to challenge this apparition of quondam -terror. Now and then the pair seemed to argue and collogue together -upon the mystery of his non-appearance, and to chuffily compare notes, -and seek to classify their impressions of this singular specimen of the -animal kingdom. Perhaps, tabulated, their conclusions might stand thus: -Genus, boy; habits, noisy; diet, omnivorous; element, mischief; uses, -undiscovered and undiscoverable. - -Long, long after the eagles had forgotten the intruder, after their -brood, the two ill-feathered nestlings, had taken strongly to wing, -after their nest, a mass of loose, but well collocated sticks and -grass, had given way to the beat of the rain and the blasts of the -wind, did Hilary’s mother wearily gaze from the heights where the -mountain cabin was perched down upon the curves of the valley road -along which she had seen him riding away with that glittering train, -and sigh and let her knitting fall from her nerveless hands, and wonder -what would the manner of his home-coming be, or whether the future held -at all a home-coming for him. - -And her many sighs kept her heart sick and turned her hair very white. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -It was a wonderful period of mental development for this wild young -creature of the woods, when Hilary received in his sudden transition -to the “valley kentry” his first adequate impressions of civilization. -He learned that the world is wide; he beheld the triumphs of military -science; he acquiesced in the fixed distinctions of rank, since he must -needs concede the finer grades of capacity. But courage, the inherent, -inimitable endowment, he recognized as the soul of heroism, and in all -the arrogance of elation he became conscious that he possessed it. This -it was that opened his stolid mind to the allurements of ambition. He -rejoiced in an aspiration. - -He was brave. That was his identity--his essential vitality! Was -he ignorant, poor, the butt of the campfire jokes, because of his -simplicity in the wide world’s ways, slothful, slow, wild, and -turbulent? He took heed of none of this! He was the bravest of the -brave--and all the command knew it! - -With an exultant heart he realized that Captain Bertley was aware -of the fact, and often took account of it in laying his plans. The -regiment of which this squadron was a part belonged to one of those -brigades of light cavalry whose utility was chiefly in quick movements, -in harassing an enemy’s march, in following up and hanging on his -retreat, and sometimes in making swift forced marches, appearing -unexpectedly in distant localities far from the main body and adding -the element of surprise to a sudden and furious onslaught. Often -Hilary was among a few picked men sent out to reconnoiter, or as the -rear-guard when the little band was retreating before a superior force -and it was necessary to fight and flee alternately. It was now and -again in these skirmishes that he had the opportunity to show his pluck -and his strength and his cool head and his ready hand. More than once -he had been the bearer of dispatches of great importance sent by him -alone, disguised in citizen’s dress and his destination a long way off. -Thus did the captain commanding the squadron demonstrate his confidence -in the boy’s fidelity and courage and resource. For his ready wit in an -emergency was hardly less than his courage. - -“What did you do, then, with the Colonel’s letter that you were -to deliver at brigade head-quarters?” asked the Captain in much -agitation, but with a voice like thunder and a flashing eye, when one -day Hilary returned from a fruitless expedition, with his finger in his -mouth, so to speak, and a tale of having encountered Federal scouts, -who had stopped and questioned him, and finally after suspiciously -searching him, had turned him loose, believing him nothing more than he -seemed--a peaceful, ignorant country boy. - -Hilary glanced ruefully down at the hat that he swung in his hand, then -with anxious deprecation at the Captain, whose face as he stood beside -his horse, ready to mount, had flushed deeply red, either because of -the reflection of the sunset clouds massed in the west or because of -the recollection that he had earnestly recommended the boy to his -superior officer, for this dangerous mission, and thus felt peculiarly -responsible; for the letter had contained details relating to the -Colonel’s orders from brigade headquarters, his numbers, and other -matters, the knowledge of which in the enemy’s hands might precipitate -his capture, together with all the detachment. - -“It’s gone, sir,” mumbled Hilary, the picture of despair; “I never -knowed what ter do, so--” - -“So you let them have that letter--when I had told you how important it -was!” - -“I don’t see how it could have been helped, since the boy was -searched,” said Captain Blake, the junior captain of the squadron, who -was standing by. “I am glad he came back to let us know.” - -“That’s why I done what I done,” eagerly explained Hilary. “I--I--eat -it.” - -“All of it?” cried Captain Bertley, with a flash of relief. - -“Yes, sir, I swallowed it all bodaciously--just ez soon ez I seen ’em -a-kemin’ dustin’ along the road.” - -“Well done, Baby Bunting!” cried the senior officer, for thus was -Hilary distinguished among the troopers on account of his tender years. - -The gruff Captain Blake laughed delightedly, a hoarse, discordant -demonstration, much like the chuckling of a rusty old crow. He seemed -to think it a good joke, and Hilary knew that he, too, was vastly -relieved to have saved from the enemy such important information. - -“Pretty bitter pill, eh?” - -“Naw, sir,” said Hilary, his eyes twinkling as he swung his hat in his -hand, for he could never be truly military out of his uniform; “it war -like eatin’ a yard medjure of mustard plaster, bein’ stiff ter swaller -an’ somehow goin’ agin the grain.” - -The senior captain gravely commended his presence of mind, and said he -would remember this and his many other good services. As he dismissed -the young trooper and still standing, holding a sheet of paper against -his saddle, began to write a report of the fate of the letter that -had so threatened the capture of the whole command, Hilary overheard -Captain Blake say in his bluff, extravagant way, “That boy ought to be -promoted.” - -“What?” said Captain Bertley, glancing back over his shoulder with the -pencil in his hand. “Baby Bunting with a command!” - -Despite the ridicule of the idea Hilary’s heart swelled within him as -he strolled away, for he cared only to deserve the promotion and the -confidence shown him, even if on account of his extreme youth and -presumable irresponsibility he was debarred from receiving it. - -He could not have said why he was not resentful of being called -“Baby Bunting” by Captain Bertley. He felt it was in the nature of -a courteous condescension that the officer should comment on the -inadequacy of his age and the discrepancy between his limited powers -and his valuable deeds--almost as a jesting token of affection, kindly -meant and kindly received. But the name fell upon his ear often with a -far different significance; the camp cry “Bye, oh, Baby Bunting,” was -intended to goad him to such a degree of anger as should make him the -sport of the groups around the bivouac fire. The chief instigator of -this effort was a big, brutal cavalryman, by name Jack Bixby. He had a -long, red beard; long, reddish hair; small, twinkling, dark eyes, and -a powerfully built, sinewy, well-compacted figure. He was superficially -considered jolly and genial, for few of his careless companions were -observant enough of moral phenomena or sufficiently students of human -nature to take note of the fact that there was always a spice of -ill-humor in his mirth. Malice or jealousy or grudging or a mean spirit -of derision pervaded his merriment. He found great joy in ridiculing -a raw country boy, whose lack of knowledge of the world’s ways laid -him liable to many mistakes and misconceptions, and at first Hilary’s -credulity in the big lies told him by Jack Bixby and his simplicity -in acting upon them exposed him to the laughter of the whole troop. -This was checked in one instance, however; having been instructed that -it was an accepted detail of the observances of a soldier, Hilary -was induced to advance with great ceremony one day, and duly saluting -ask Captain Bertley how he found his health. The officer was standing -on ground somewhat elevated above the site of the camp, in full gray -uniform, a field-glass in his hand, his splendid charger at his -shoulder, the reins thrown over his arm. The humble “Baby Bunting” -approaching this august military object, and presuming to ask after -the commanding officer’s health, was in full view of a hundred or more -startled and amazed veterans. - -But Captain Bertley had seen and known much of this world and its -ways. He instantly recognized the incident as a bit of malicious play -upon the simplicity of the new recruit, and he took due note, too, of -his own dignity. He realized how to balk the one and to support the -other. He accepted the unusual and absurd demonstration concerning -his health by saying simply that he was quite well, and then he -kept the boy standing in conversation as to the state of a certain -ford some distance up the river, with which Hilary was acquainted, -having been of a scouting party which had been sent in that direction -the previous day. The staring military spectators, their attention -previously bespoken by Bixby, saw naught especial in the interview, the -boy apparently having been summoned thither by order of the officer -to make a report or give information, and thus the joke, attenuated -to microscopic proportions, failed of effect. It had, however, very -sufficient efficacy in recoil. Before dismissing Hilary the Captain -asked how he had chanced to accost him in the manner with which he had -approached him, and the boy in guilelessly detailing the circumstance, -before he was admonished as to his credulous folly, betrayed Bixby -as the perpetrator of the pleasantry at his expense, and what was far -more serious at the expense of the officer. Jack Bixby, dull enough, -as malicious people often are, or they would not otherwise let their -malice appear--for they are not frank--did not see it in that light -until he suddenly found himself under arrest and then required to mount -the “wooden horse” for several weary hours. - -“You’ll be hung up by the thumbs next time, my rooster,” said the -sergeant, as he carried the sentence into effect. “The Cap’n ain’t -so mighty partial to your record, no hows. He asked me if you hadn’t -served with Whingan’s rangers, ez be no better’n bushwhackers, an’ ye -know he is mighty partic’lar ’bout keepin’ up the tone an’ spirit o’ -the men.” - -Hilary, contradictorily enough, lost all sense of injury and shame in -sorrow that he should have divulged Bixby’s agency in the matter and -brought this disaster upon the trooper, who perhaps had only intended a -little diversion, and had neither the good taste nor the good sense to -perceive its offensiveness to the officer. Bixby _had_ served in a band -generally reputed bushwhackers, who did little more than plunder both -sides, and in which discipline was necessarily slight. And thus after -this episode they were better friends than before. True, in the days -of dearth, for these men must needs starve as well as fight, when only -rations of corn were served out, which the soldiers parched and ate -by the fire, and which were so scanty that a strict watch was kept to -prevent certain of them from robbing their own horses, on the condition -and speed of which their very lives depended, Hilary, as in honor -bound, being detailed for this duty, reported his greedy comrade, but -in view of the half-famished condition of the troops Bixby’s punishment -was light, and the incident did not break off their outward semblance -of friendship, although one may be sure Bixby kept account of it. - -So the years went--those wild years of hard riding and hard fighting; -sleeping on the ground under the open skies whether cloudy or clear--it -was months after it was all over before Hilary could accustom himself -to sleep in a bed; roused by the note of the trumpet, sometimes while -the stars were yet white in the dark heavens, with no token of dawn -save a great translucent, tremulous planet heralding the morn, and that -wild, sweet, exultant strain of reveille, so romantic, so stirring, -that it might seem as if it had floated down, proclaiming the day, from -that splendid vanguard of the sun. So they went--those wild years, all -at once over. - -The end came on a hard-contested field, albeit only a thousand -or so were engaged on either side. The squadron, in one of those -wild reckless assaults of cavalry against artillery, for which the -Confederate horse were famous in this campaign, had gone to the attack -straight up a hill, while the muzzles of the big, black guns sent -forth smoke and roar, scarcely less frightful than the bombs which -were bursting among the horses and men riding directly at the battery. -It was hard to hold the horses. Often they swerved and faltered, and -sought to turn back. Each time Captain Bertley, with drawn sword, -reformed the line, encouraging the men and urging them to the almost -impossible task anew. At it they went once more, in face of shot and -shell. Now and again Hilary, riding in the rear rank, with his saber -at “the raise,” heard a sharp, singing sibilance, which he knew was a -minie-ball, whizzing close to his ear, and he realized that infantry -was there a little to one side supporting the battery. The rush, -the turmoil, the blare of the trumpets sounding “the charge,” the -clamor of galloping hoofs, of shouting men, the roar of cannon, the -swift panorama of moving objects before the eye, the ever-quickening -speed, and the tremendous sensation of flying through the air like -a projectile--it was all like some wild tempest, some mad conflict -of the elements. And suddenly Hilary became aware that he was flying -through the air without any will of his own. The horse had taken the -bit between his teeth, and maddened by the noise, the frenzy of the -fight, was rushing on he knew not whither, his head stretched out, -his eyes starting, straight up the hill unmindful of the trumpet now -sounding the recall and the heavy pull of the boy on the curb. Hilary -was far away in advance of the others when the line wheeled. A few more -impetuous bounds and plunges, and he was carried in among the Federal -guns, mechanically slashing at the gunners with his saber, until one -of the men, with a well-directed blow, knocked him off his horse with -the long, heavy sponge-staff. So it was that Hilary was captured. He -surrendered to the man with the sponge-staff, for the others were -busily limbering up the guns; they were to take position on a new -site--one less exposed to attack and very commanding. They had more -than they wanted in Hilary. He realized that as he was on his way to -the rear under guard. The engagement was practically at an end, and -the successful Federals were keenly eager to pursue the retreating -force and secure all the fruits of victory. To be hampered with the -disposition of prisoners at such a moment was hardly wise, when an -active pursuit might cut off the whole command. Therefore the few -already taken, who were more or less wounded, were temporarily paroled -in a neighboring hamlet, and Hilary, the war in effect concluded for -him--for the parole was a pledge to remain within the lines and report -at stated intervals to the party granting it--found himself looking -out over a broad white turnpike in a flat country, down which a cloud -of dust was all that could be seen of the body of cavalry so lately -contending for every inch of ground. - -Now and again a series of white puffs of smoke from amidst the -hillocks on the west told that the battery of the Federals was shelling -the woods which their enemy had succeeded in gaining, the shells -hurtling high above the heads of their own infantry marching forward -resolutely, secure in the fact of being too close for damage. Presently -the battery became silent. Their vanguard was getting within range -of their own guns, and a second move was in order. The boy watched -the flying artillery scurrying across the plain, as he struck down a -“dirt-road” which intersected the turnpike, and soon he noticed the -puffs of white smoke from another coign of vantage and the bursting of -shells still further away. - -“Them dogs barkin’ again! Waal, I’m glad ter be wide o’ thar mark,” -said a familiar voice at his elbow; the speaker was Bixby, a paroled -prisoner, too, having been captured further down the hill during the -general retreat. - -Hilary was not ill-pleased to see him at first, especially as something -presently happened which made him solicitous for the advice and -guidance of an older head than his own. By one of the vicissitudes of -war victory suddenly deserted the winning side, and presently here -was the erstwhile successful party in full retreat, swarming over -the flat country, the battery scurrying along the turnpike with two -of its guns missing, captured as they barked with their mouths wide -open, so to speak. The hurrying crash and noisy rout went past like -the phantasmagoria of a dream, and these two prisoners were presently -left quite outside the Federal lines by no act or volition of their -own, and yet apparently far enough from Bertley’s squadron, for the -pursuit was not pressed, both parties having had for the nonce enough -of each other. The first object of the two troopers was to procure food -of which they stood sadly in need. They set forth to find the nearest -farmhouse, Hilary on his own horse, which in the confusion had not -been taken from him when he was disarmed, and Bixby easily caught and -mounted a riderless steed that had been in the engagement, but was now -cropping the wayside grass. - -A thousand times that day Hilary wished, as they went on their journey -together, that he had never seen this man again. All Jack Bixby’s -methods were false, and it revolted Hilary, educated to a simple but -strict code of morals, to seem to share in his lies and his dubious -devices to avoid giving a true account of themselves. In fact their -progress was menaced with some danger. Having little to distinguish -them as soldiers, for the gray cloth uniform in many instances had -given place to the butternut jeans, the habitual garb of the poorer -classes of the country, they could be mistaken for citizens, peacefully -pursuing some rustic vocation, and this impression Bixby sought to -impose on every party who questioned them. He feared to meet the -Federals, because of their paroles, which showed them to be prisoners -and yet out of the lines, and he thought this broken pledge might -subject them to the penalty of being strung up by the neck. - -“That air tale ’bout our bein’ in the lines an’ the lines shrinkin’ -till we got out o’ ’em ain’t goin’ ter go down with no sech brash -fellers,” he argued with some reason, for the probabilities seemed -against them. - -And now he dreaded an encounter with Union men, non-combatants, for -the same reason. He slipped off his boot at one time and hid the -paper under the sole of his foot. “Ef we-uns war ter be sarched they -wouldn’t look thar, mos’ likely.” And finally when they reached the -house of an aged farmer, who with partisan cordiality welcomed and fed -them, declaring that although he was too old to fight he could thus -help on the southern cause, Bixby took advantage of his host’s short -absence from the dining-room to strike a match which he discovered in a -candlestick on the mantel piece, for the season was too warm for fires, -and lighting the candle he held the parole in the flame till the paper -was reduced to a cinder; then he hastily extinguished the candle. - -When once more on the road, however, Bixby regretted his decision. For -aught he knew they were still within the Federal lines. The Union -troops had doubtless been reinforced, for they were making a point of -holding this region at all hazards. He was a fool he said to have burnt -his parole--it was his protection. If he were taken now by troops not -in the extreme activities of resisting a spirited cavalry attack, who -had time to make his capture good, and means of transportation handy, -he would be sent off to Camp Chase or some other prison, and shut up -there till the crack of doom, whereas his parole rendered him for the -time practically free. - -“Why didn’t you keep me from doin’ it, Hil’ry?” - -“Why, I baiged an’ baiged an’ besought ye ’fore we went in the house -ter do nothin’ ter the paper,” said Hilary, wearied and excited and -even alarmed by his companion’s vacillations, so wild with fear had -Bixby become. “I wunk at ye when the old man’s back was turned. I even -tried ter snatch the paper whenst ye put yer boot-toe on the aidge of a -piece of it on the ha’thstone an’ helt it down till it war bu’nt.” - -“I war a fool,” said Bixby, gloomily. “I wish I hed it hyar now.” - -“I tole ye,” said Hilary, for he had spent the day in urging the fair -and open policy, let come what might of it, “I tole ye ez I war a-goin’ -ter show my parole ter the fust man ez halts me, an’ ef I be out’n -the lines, an’ he won’t believe my tale, let him take it out on me -howsumdever the law o’ sech doin’s ’pears. Nobody could expec’ me ter -set an’ starve on that hillside till sech time ez the Fed’rals throw -out thar line agin.” - -“I wisht I hed my parole agin,” said Bixby, more moodily still. - -Down the road before them suddenly they saw a dust, and a steely -glitter--not so strong a reflection, however, as marching infantry -throws out. A squad of cavalry was approaching at a steady pace. -Jack Bixby’s first idea was flight; this the condition of the jaded -horse rendered impolitic. Then he thought of concealment--in vain. On -either hand the level, plowed fields afforded not the slightest bush -as a shield. The only thicket in sight was alongside the road and now -in line with the approaching party whom it so shadowed that it was -impossible to judge by uniform or accoutrements to which army they -belonged. - -“Hil’ry,” said Jack Bixby, “let’s stick ter the country-jake story; -I’ll say that I be a farmer round hyar somewhar, an’ pretend that you -air my son. That’ll go down with any party.” - -“I be goin’ ter tell the truth myself, an’ show my parole, whoever -they be; that’s the right thing,” said Hilary, stoutly. - -“But I ain’t got no parole,” quavered Bixby. - -“Tell the truth an’ I’ll bear ye out,” said Hilary. “Tell ’em that thar -be so many parties--Feds an’ Confeds an’ Union men an’ bushwhackers, -an’ we-uns got by accident out’n the lines an’ ye took alarm an’ -_dee_stroyed yer parole. I’ll bear ye out an’ take my oath on it; an’ -ye know the old man war remarkin’ on them cinders on the aidge o’ the -mantel shelf an’ ha’thstone ez we left the house.” - -“Hil’ry,” said Bixby, as with a sudden bright idea--anything but the -truth seemed hopeful to him--“I’ll tell ye. I’ll take yer parole an’ -claim it ez mine, an’ pretend that ye air my son--non-combatant, jes’ a -boy, ez ye air.” - -“But it’s got _my_ name on it. It’s a-parolin’ of _me_,” said Hilary, -“an’ I _ain’t_ no non-combatant.” - -“But I’ll claim your name; I’ll be Hil’ry Knox, an’ tall ez ye air, yer -face shows ye ain’t nuthin’ but a boy. Nobody wouldn’t disbelieve it.” - -“I won’t do it! I won’t put off a lie on ’em! I hev fought an’ fought -an’ I’ll take the consekences o’ what I done--all the consekences o’ -hevin’ fought. _I_ am Hilary Knox, an’ I be plumb pledged by my word of -honor. But I’ll bear ye out in the fac’s, an’ thar’s nuthin’ ter doubt -in the fac’s--they air full reasonable.” - -He had taken the paper out of his ragged breast-pocket to have it in -readiness to present to the advance guard, who had perceived them and -had quickened the pace for the purpose of halting them. Perhaps Bixby -had no intention, save, by sleight-of-hand, to possess himself of the -paper. Perhaps he thought that having it in his power the boy would -hardly dare to contradict the story he had sketched and the name he -intended to claim as the owner of the parole; if Hilary should protest -he could say his son was weak-minded, an imbecile, a lunatic. He made -a sudden lunge from the saddle and a more sudden snatch at the paper. -But the boy’s strong hand held it fast. Jack Bixby hardly noted the -surprise, the indignation, the reproach in Hilary’s face--almost an -expression of grief--as he turned it toward him. With the determination -that had seized him to possess the paper, Bixby struck the boy’s wrist -and knuckles a series of sharp, brutal blows with the back of a strong -bowie-knife, which had been concealed in his boot-leg at the surrender. -They palsied the clutch of the boy’s left hand. But as the quivering -fingers opened, Hilary caught the falling paper with his right hand. - -“Let go, let go!” cried Jack Bixby in a frenzy; “else I’ll let you hev -the blade--there, then!--take the aidge--ez keen ez a razor!” - -The steel descended again and again, and as the boy was half dragged -out of the saddle the blood poured down upon the parole. It would have -been hard to say then what name was there! - -A sudden shout rang out from down the road. The approaching men had -observed the altercation, and mending their pace, came on at a swift -gallop. - -With not a glance at them, Jack Bixby turned his horse short around and -fled as fast as the animal could go, striking out of the road and into -the woods as soon as he reached the timbered land. - -Poor “Baby Bunting,” dragged out of his saddle, fell down in the road -beneath his horse’s hoofs, and all covered with white dust and red -blood there he lay very still till the cavalrymen came up and found him. - -For this was what they called him--“_Poor Baby Bunting!_” They were -a small reconnoitering party of his own comrades, and it was with a -hearty good will that they pursued Jack Bixby who fled, as from his -enemies, through the brush. Perhaps his enemies would have been gentler -with him than his quondam friends could they only have laid hands on -him, for they all loved “Baby Bunting” for his brave spirit and his -little simplicities and his hearty good-comradeship. Hilary recognized -none of them. He only had a vague idea of Captain Bertley’s face with -a grave anxiety and a deep pity upon it as the officer gazed down at -him when he was borne past on the stretcher to the field hospital -where his right arm was taken off by the surgeon. He was treated as -kindly as possible, for the remembrance of his gallant spirit as well -as humanity’s sake, and when at last he was discharged from the more -permanent hospital to which he had been removed he realized that he -had indeed done with war and fine deeds of valiance, and he set out to -return home, tramping the weary way to the mountain and his mother. - -After that fateful day, when maimed and wan and woebegone he came forth -from the hospital and journeyed out from among the camps and flags -and big guns and all the armaments of war, thrice splendid to his -backward gaze, it seemed to him that he had left there more than was -visible--that noble identity of valor for which he had revered himself. - -For he found as he went a strange quaking in his heart. It was an -alien thing, and he strove to repudiate it, and ached with helpless -despair. When he came into unfamiliar regions, and a sudden clatter -upon the lonely country road would herald the approach of mounted -strangers, halting him, the convulsive start of his maimed right -arm with the instinct to seize his weapons and the sense of being -defenseless utterly would so unnerve him that he would give a -disjointed account of himself, with hang-dog look and faltering words. -And more than once he was seized and roughly handled and dragged -to headquarters to show his papers and be at last passed on by the -authorities. - -He began to say to himself that his courage was in his cavalry pistol. - -“Before God!” he cried, “me an’ my right arm an’ my weepon air like -saltpetre an’ charcoal an’ sulphur--no ’count apart. An’ tergether -they mean _gunpowder_!” - -And doubly bereaved, he had come in sight of home. - -But his mother fell upon his neck with joy, and the neighbors gathered -to meet him. The splendors of the Indian summer were deepening upon the -mountains, with gorgeous fantasies of color, with errant winds harping -æolian numbers in the pines, with a translucent purple haze and a great -red sun, and the hunter’s moon, most luminous. The solemnity and peace -stole in upon his heart, and revived within him that cherished sense of -home, so potent with the mountaineer, and in some wise he was consoled. - -Yet he hardly paused. In this lighter mood he went on to the -settlement, eager that the news of his coming should not precede him. - -There was the bridge to cross and the rocky ascent, and at the summit -stood the first log cabin of the scattered little hamlet. From the -porch, overgrown with hop vines, he heard the whir of a spinning wheel. -He saw the girl who stood beside it before she noticed the sound of -his step. Then she turned, staring at him with startled recognition, -despite all the changes wrought in the past two years. “It air me,” he -said, jocosely. - -From his hollow eyes and sunken cheeks and wan smile her gaze fell -upon his empty sleeve. She suddenly threw her arm across her face. -“I--I--can’t abide ter look at ye!” she faltered, with a gush of tears. - -He stood dumfounded for a moment. - -“Durn it!” he cried. “I can’t abide ter look at myself!” - -And with a bitter laugh he turned on his heel. - -He would not be reconciled later. The wound she had unintentionally -dealt him rankled long. He said Delia Noakes was a sensible girl. -Plenty of brave fellows would come home from the war, hale and hearty -and with two good arms, better men in every way, in mind and body -and heart and soul, for the stern experiences they were enduring so -stanchly. The crop of sweethearts promised to be indeed particularly -fine, and there was no use in wasting politeness on a fellow with -whom she used to play before either of them could walk, but whose -arm was gone now, through no glorious deed wrought for his country, -for which he had intended to do all such service as a man’s right -arm might compass, but because he was a fool, and had made a friend -of a malevolent scoundrel, who had nearly taken his life, but had -only--worse luck--taken his right arm! And besides he had seen enough -of the world in his wanderings to know that it behooves people to -look to the future and means of support. He had learned what it was to -be hungry, he had learned what it was to lack. He was no longer the -brave and warlike man-at-arms, “Baby Bunting.” He had no vocation, -no possibility of a future of usefulness; he could not hold a gun or -a plow or an ax, and Delia doubtless thought he would not be able to -provide for her. And “dead shot” though he had been he could not now -defend himself, he declared bitterly, much less her. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -It was the last month of the year, and the month was waning. The winds -had rifled the woods and the sere leaves all had fallen. Yet still a -bright after-thought of the autumnal sunshine glowed along the mountain -spurs, for the tardy winter loitered on the way, and the silver rime -that lay on the black frost-grapes melted at a beam. - -“The weather hev been powerful onseasonable an’ onreasonable, ter -my mind,” said old Jonas Scruggs, accepting a rickety chair in his -neighbor’s porch. “’Tain’t healthy.” - -“Waal, ’tain’t goin’ ter last,” rejoined Mrs. Knox, from the doorway, -where she sat with her knitting. “’Twar jes’ ter-day I seen my old -gray cat run up that thar saplin’ an’ hang by her claws with her head -down’ards. An’ I hev always knowed ez that air a sure sign of a change.” - -Presently she added, “The fire air treadin’ snow now.” - -She glanced over her shoulder at the deep chimney-place, where a dull -wood fire was sputtering fitfully with a sound that suggested footfalls -crunching on a crust of snow. - -“I dunno ez _I_ need be a-hankerin’ fur a change in the weather, -cornsiderin’ the rheumatiz in my shoulder ez I kerried around with me -ez a constancy las’ winter,” remarked Jonas Scruggs, pre-empting a -grievance in any event. - -“Thar’s the wild geese a-sailin’ south,” Hilary said, in a low, -melancholy drawl, as he smoked his pipe, lounging idly on the step of -the porch. - -His mother laid her knitting in her lap and gazed over her spectacles -into the concave vault of the sky, so vast as seen from the vantage -ground of the little log cabin on the mountain’s brow. Bending to the -dark, wooded ranges encircling the horizon, it seemed of a crystalline -transparency and of wonderful gradations of color. The broad blue -stretches overhead merged into a delicate green of exquisite purity, -and thence issued a suffusion of the faintest saffron in which flakes -of orange burned like living fire. A jutting spur intercepted the sight -of the sinking sun, and with its dazzling disk thus screened, upon -the brilliant west might be descried the familiar microscopic angle -speeding toward the south. A vague clamor floated downward. - -“Them fow_els_, sure enough!” she said. “Sence I war a gal I hev -knowed ’em by thar flyin’ always in that thar peaked p’int.” - -“They keep thar alignment ez reg’lar,” said her son suddenly, “jes’ -like we-uns hev ter do in the army. They hev actially got thar markers. -Look at ’em dress thar ranks! An’ thar’s even a sergeant-major standin’ -out ez stiff an’ percise--see him! Thar! Column forward! Guide left! -March!” he cried delightedly. - -“I ’lowed, Hilary, ez ye bed in an’ about bed enough o’ the army,” said -the guest, bluntly. - -Hilary’s face changed. But for some such reminder he sometimes forgot -that missing right hand. He made no answer, his moody eyes fastened on -that aërial marshaling along the vast plain of the sunset. His right -arm was gone, and the stump dangled helplessly with its superfluity of -brown jeans sleeve bound about it. - -“Now that air a true word!” exclaimed Mrs. Knox, “only Hil’ry won’t hev -it so. _I_ ’lows ter him ez he los’ his arm through jinin’ the Confed’ -army, an’ _he_ ’lows ’twar gittin’ in a fight with one o’ his own -comrades.” - -Jonas Scruggs glanced keenly at her from under his bushy, grizzled -eyebrows, his lips solemnly puckered, and his stubbly pointed chin -resting on his knotty hands, which were clasped upon his stout stick. -He had the dispassionate, pondering aspect of an umpire, which seemed -to invite the cheerful submission of differences. - -“Ye knows I war fur the Union, an’ so war his dad,” she continued. “My -old man had been ailin’ ennyhows, but this hyar talk o’ bustin’ up the -Union--why, it jes’ fairly harried him inter his grave. An’ I ’lowed -ez Hil’ry would be fur the Union, too, like everybody in the mountings -ez hed good sense. But when a critter-company o’ Confeds rid up the -mounting one day Hil’ry he talked with some of ’em, an’ he war stubborn -ever after. An’ so he jined the critter-company.” - -She fell suddenly silent, and taking up her needles knitted a row or -two, her absorbed eyes, kindling with retrospection, fixed on the -far horizon, for Mrs. Knox was in a position to enjoy the melancholy -pleasures of a true prophet of evil, and although she had never -specifically forewarned Hilary of the precise nature of the disaster -that had ensued upon his enlistment, she had sought to defer and -prevent it, and at last had consented only because she felt she must. -She had her own secret satisfaction that the result was no worse; -it lacked much of the ghastly horrors that she had foreboded--death -itself, or the terrible uncertainty of hoping against hope, and -fearing the uttermost dread that must needs abide with those to whom -the “missing” are dear. Never now could the fact be worse, and thus -she could reconcile herself, and talk of it with a certain relish of -finality, as of a chapter of intense and painful interest but closed -forever. - -The old man nodded his head with deliberative gravity until she -recommenced, when he relapsed into motionless attention. - -“An’ Hil’ry fought in a heap o’ battles, and got shot a time or two, -an’ war laid up in the horspital, an’ kem out cured, an’ fought agin. -An’ one day he got inter a quar’l with one o’ his bes’ frien’s. They -war jes’ funnin’ afust, an’ Hil’ry hit him harder’n he liked, an’ he -got mad, an’ bein’ a horseback he kicked Hil’ry. An’ Hil’ry jumped on -him ez suddint ez a painter, ter pull him out’n his saddle an’ drub -him. Hil’ry never drawed no shootin’ irons nor nuthin’, an’ warn’t -expectin’ ter hurt him serious. But this hyar Jack Bixby he war full o’ -liquor an’ fury; he started his horse a-gallopin’, an’ ez Hil’ry hung -on ter the saddle he drawed his bowie-knife an’ slashed Hil’ry’s arm ez -war holdin’ ter him agin an’ agin, till they war both soakin’ in blood, -an’ at last Hil’ry drapped. An’ the arm fevered, an’ the surgeon tuk it -off. An’ so Hil’ry hed his discharge gin him, sence the Confeds hed no -mo’ use fur him. An’ he walked home, two hunderd mile, he say.” - -During this recital the young mountaineer gave no indication of its -effect upon him, and offered no word of correction to conform the -details to the facts. His mother had so often told his story with -the negligence of the domestic narrator, that little by little it -had become thus distorted, and he knew from experience that should -he interfere to alter a phase, another as far from reality would be -presently substituted, for Mrs. Knox cared little how the event had -been precipitated, or for aught except that his arm was gone, that he -was well, and that she had him at home again, from which he should -no more wander, for she had endeavored to utilize the misfortune to -reinforce her authority, and illustrate her favorite dogma of the -infallibility of her judgment. - -Her words must have renewed bitter reminiscences, but his face was -impassive, and not a muscle stirred as he silently watched the ranks of -the migrating birds fade into the furthest distance. - -“An’ now Hil’ry thinks it air cur’ous ez I ain’t sorrowin’ ’bout’n his -arm,” she continued. “Naw, sir! I’m glad he escaped alive an’ that he -can’t fight no mo’--not ef the war lasts twenty year, an’ it ’pears -like it air powerful persistin’.” - -It still raged, but to the denizens of this sequestered district there -seemed little menace in its fury. They could hear but an occasional -rumor, like the distant rumbling of thunder, and discern, as it were, a -vague, transient glimmer as token of the fierce and scathing lightnings -far away desolating and destroying all the world beyond these limits of -peace. - -Episodes of civilized warfare were little dreaded by the few -inhabitants of the mountains, the old men, the women and the children, -so dominated were they by the terrors of vagrant bands of stragglers -and marauders, classed under the generic name of bushwhackers, -repudiated by both armies, and given over to the plunder of -non-combatants of both factions in this region of divided allegiance. -At irregular intervals they infested this neighborhood, foraging where -they listed, and housing themselves in the old hotel. - -Looking across the gorge from where the three sat in the cabin porch, -there was visible on the opposite heights a great white frame building, -many-windowed and with wide piazzas. There were sulphur springs hard -by, and before the war the place was famous as a health resort. Now -it was a melancholy spectacle--silent, tenantless, vacant--infinitely -lonely in the vast wilderness. Some of the doors, wrenched from their -hinges, had served the raiders for fuel. The glass had been wantonly -broken in many of the windows by the jocose thrusts of a saber. The -grassy square within surrounded by the buildings was overgrown with -weeds, and here lizards basked, and in their season wild things -nested. There was never a suggestion of the gayeties of the past--only -in the deserted old ball-room when a slant of sunshine would fall -athwart the dusty floor, a bluebottle might airily zigzag in the errant -gleam, or when the moon was bright on the long piazzas a cobweb, woven -dense, would flaunt out between the equidistant shadows of the columns -like the flutter of a white dress. The place had a weird aspect, and -was reputed haunted. The simple mountaineers did not venture within it, -and the ghosts had it much of the time to themselves. - -The obscurities of twilight were presently enfolded about it. The -white walls rose, vaguely glimmering, against the pine forests in the -background, and above the shadowy abysses which it overlooked. - -The old man was gazing meditatively at it as he said, reprehensively, -“’Pears like ter me, Hil’ry, ez ye oughter be thankful ye warn’t killed -utterly--ye oughter be thankful it air no wuss.” - -“Hil’ry ain’t thankful fur haffen o’ nuthin’.” Mrs. Knox interposed. -“’Twar jes’ las’ night he looked like su’thin’ in a trap. He walked the -floor till nigh day--till I jes’ tuk heart o’ grace an’ told him ez his -dad bed laid them puncheons ter last, an’ not to be walked on till they -were wore thinner’n a clapboard in one night. An’ yit he air alive an’ -hearty, an’ I hev got my son agin. An’ I sets ez much store by him with -one arm ez two.” - -And indeed she looked cheerfully about the dusky landscape as she rose, -rolling the sock on her needles and thrusting them into the ball of -yarn. Old Jonas Scruggs hesitated when she told him alluringly that -she had a “mighty nice ash cake kivered on the h’a’th,” but he said -that his daughter-in-law, Jerusha, would be expecting him, and he could -in no wise bide to supper. And finally he started homeward a little -wistful, but serene in the consciousness of having obeyed the behests -of Jerusha, who in these hard times had grown sensitive about his habit -of taking meals with his friends. “As ef,” she argued, “I fed ye on -half rations at home.” - -Hilary rose at last from the doorstep, and turning slowly to go within, -his absent glance swept the night-shadowed scene. He paused suddenly, -and his heart seemed beating in his throat. - -A point of red light had sprung up in the vague glooms. A -will-o’-the-wisp?--some wavering “ghost’s candle” to light him to his -grave. With his accurate knowledge of the locality he sought to place -it. The distant gleam seemed to shine from a window of the old hotel, -and this bespoke the arrival of rude occupants. He heard a wild halloo, -a snatch of song perhaps--or was it fancy? And were the iterative -echoes in the gorge the fancy of the stern old crags? - -For the first time since he returned, maimed and helpless, and a -non-combatant, were the lawless marauders quartered at the old hotel. - -He stood for a while gazing at it with dilated eyes. Then he silently -stepped within the cabin and barred the door with his uncertain and -awkward left hand. - -The cheerful interior of the house was all aglow. The fire had been -mended, and yellow flames were undulating about the logs with many a -gleaming line of grace. Blue and purple and scarlet flashes they showed -in fugitive iridescence. They illumined his face, and his mother noted -its pallor--the deep pallor which he had brought from the hospital. - -“Ye hev got yer fancies ag’in,” she cried. Then with anxious curiosity, -“Whar be yer right hand now, Hil’ry?” - -She alluded to that cruel hallucination of sensation in an amputated -arm. - -“Whar it oughter be,” he groaned; “on the trigger o’ my carbine.” - -His grief was not only that his arm was gone. It was to recognize the -fact that his heart no longer beat exultantly at the mere prospect of -conflict. And he was anguished with the poignant despair of a helpless -man who has once been foremost in the fight. - -The next day he was moody and morose, and brooded silently over the -fire. The doors were closed, for winter had come at last. The hoar -frost whitened the great gaunt limbs of the trees, and lay in every -curled dead leaf on the ground, and followed the zigzag lines of the -fence, and embossed the fodder stack and the ash-hopper and the roofs -with fantastic incongruities in silver tracery. - -The sun did not shine, the clouds dropped lower and lower still, a wind -sprung up, and presently the snow was flying. - -The widow esteemed this as in the nature of a special providence, since -the dizzying whirl of white flakes veiled the little cabin and its -humble surroundings from the observation of the free-booting tenants of -the old hotel across the gorge. “It air powerful selfish, I know, ter -hope the bushwhackers will forage on somebody else’s poultry an’ sech, -but somehows my own chickens seem nigher kin ter me than other folkses’ -be. I never see no sech ten-toed chickens ez mine nowhar.” - -Reflecting further upon the peculiar merits of these chickens, -ten-toed, being Dorking, reinforced by the claims of consanguinity, she -presently evolved as a precautionary measure a scheme of concealing -them in the “roof-room” of the cabin. And from time to time, as the -silent day wore on, like the blast of a bugle the crow of a certain -irrepressible young rooster demonstrated how precarious was his -retirement in the loft. - -“Hear the insurance o’ that thar fow_el_!” she would exclaim in -exasperation. “S’pose’n the bushwhackers war hyar now, axin fur -poultry, an’ I war a-tellin’ ’em, ez smilin’ an’ mealy-mouthed ez I -could, that we hain’t got no fow_els_! That thar reckless critter would -be in the fryin’-pan ’fore night. They’ll l’arn ye ter hold yer jaw, -I’ll be bound!” - -But the bushwhackers did not come, and the next day the veil of the -falling snow still interposed, and the familiar mountains near at hand, -and the long reaches of the unexplored perspective were all obscured; -the drifts deepened, and the fence seemed dwarfed half covered as it -was, and the boles of the trees hard by were burlier, bereft of their -accustomed height. The storm ceased late one afternoon; over the white -earth was a somber gray sky, but all along the horizon above the snowy -summits of the western mountains a slender scarlet line betokened a -fair morrow. - -Hilary, in the weariness of inaction, had taken note of the weather, -and with his hat drawn down over his brow he strolled out to the verge -of the precipice. - -Overlooking the familiar landscape, he detected an unaccustomed smoke -visible a mile or more down the narrow valley. Although but a tiny, -hazy curl in the distance, it did not escape the keen eyes of the -mountaineer. He could not distinguish tents against the snow, but the -location suggested a camp. - -The bushwhackers still lingered at the old hotel across the gorge. He -could already see in the gathering dusk the firelight glancing fitfully -against the window. He wondered if it were visible as far as the camp -in the valley. - -He stood for a long time, gazing across the snowy steeps at the -desolate old building, with the heavy pine forests about it and the -crags below--their dark faces seamed with white lines wherever a drift -had lodged in a cleft or the interlacing tangles of icy vines might -cling. In the pallid dreariness of the landscape and the gray dimness -of the hovering night the lighted window blazed with the lambent -splendors of some great yellow topaz. His uncontrolled fancy was -trespassing upon the scene within. His heart was suddenly all a-throb -with keen pain. His idle, vague imaginings of the stalwart horsemen and -what they were now doing had revived within him that insatiate longing -for the martial life which he had loved, that ineffable grief for the -opportunity of brave deeds of value which he felt he had lost. - -The drill had taught him the mastery of his muscles, but those -more potent forces, his impulses, had known no discipline. A -wild inconsequence now possessed him. He took no heed of reason, -of prudence. He was dominated by the desire to look in upon the -bushwhackers from without--they would never know--undiscovered, -unimagined, like some vague and vagrant specter that might wander -forlorn in the labyrinthine old house. - -With an alert step he turned and strode away into the little cabin. -It was very cheerful around the hearth, and the first words he heard -reminded him of the season. - -His younger brother, a robust lad of thirteen, was drawling -reminiscences of other and happier Christmas-tides. - -“Sech poppin’ o’ guns ez we-uns used ter hev!” said the tow-headed boy, -listlessly swinging his heels against the rungs of the chair. - -“The Lord knows thar’s enough poppin’ of guns now!” said his mother. -She stooped to insert a knife under the baking hoe-cake for the purpose -of turning it, which she did with a certain deft and agile flap, -difficult of acquirement and impossible to the uninitiated. - -“I ’members,” she added, vivaciously, “we-uns used ter always hev a -hollow log charged with powder an’ tech it off fur the Chris’mus. It -sounded like thunder--like the cannon the folks hev got nowadays.” - -“An’ hawg-killin’ times kem about the Chris’mus,” said the boy, -sustaining his part in the fugue. - -“Folks _had_ hawgs ter kill in them days,” was his mother’s melancholy -rejoinder as she meditated on the contrast of the pinched penury of the -present with the peace and plenty of the past when there was no war nor -rumor of war. - -“Ef ye git a hawg’s bladder an’ blow it up an’ tie the eend right tight -an’ stomp on it suddint it will crack ez loud!” said the noise-loving -boy. “Peas air good ter rattle in ’em, too,” he added, with a wistful -smile, dwelling on the clamors of his happy past. - -“Waal, folks ez hed good sense seen more enjyement in eatin’ spare-ribs -an’ souse an’ sech like hawg-meat than in stomping on hawgs’ bladders. -I hev never favored hawg-killin’ times jes’ ter gin a noisy boy the -means ter keep Christian folks an’ church members a-jumpin’ out’n thar -skins with suddint skeer all the Chris’mus.” - -This was said with the severity of a personality, but the boy’s face -distended as he listened. - -Suddenly his eyes brightened with excitement. “Hil’ry,” he cried, -joyously, “be you-uns a-goin’ ter fire that thar pistol off fur the -Chris’mus?” - -Mrs. Knox rose from her kneeling posture on the hearth and stared -blankly at Hilary. - -He had come within the light of the fire. His eyes were blazing, his -pale cheeks flushed, his long, lank figure was tense with energy. The -weapon in his hand glittered as he held it at arm’s length. - -“Bein’ ez it air ready loaded I reckon mebbe I ain’t so awk’ard yit but -I could make out ter fire it ef I war cornered,” he muttered, as if to -himself. “Leastwise, I’ll take it along fur company.” - -“Air ye goin’ ter fire it ’kase this be Chris’mus eve?” she asked in -doubt. - -He glanced absently at her and said not a word. - -The next moment he had sprung out of the door and they heard his step -crunching through the frozen crust of snow as he strode away. - -There were rifts in the clouds and the moon looked out. The white, -untrodden road lay, a glittering avenue, far along the solitudes of the -dense and leafless forests. Sometimes belts of vapor shimmered before -him, and as he went he saw above them the distant gables of the old -hotel rising starkly against the chill sky. In view presently in the -white moonlight were the long piazzas of the shattered old building, -the shadows of the many tall pillars distinct upon the floor. He heard -the sound of the sentry’s tread, and down the vista between the columns -and the shadowy colonnade he saw the soldierly figure pacing slowly to -and fro. - -He had not reckoned on this precaution on the part of the bushwhackers. -But the rambling old building, in every nook and cranny, was familiar -to him. While the sentry’s back was turned, he silently crept along the -piazza to an open passageway which led to the grassy square within. - -The rime on the dead weeds glistened in the moonbeams; the snow lay -trampled along the galleries on which opened the empty rooms; here and -there, as the doors swung on their hinges, he could see through the -desolate void within, the bleak landscape beyond. There were horses -stabled in some of them, and in the center of the square two or three -were munching their feed from the old music-stand, utilized as a -manger. One of them, a handsome bay, arched his glossy neck to gaze at -the intruder over the gauzy sheen of gathering vapor, his full dilated -eyes with the moonlight in them. Then with a snort he went back to his -corn. - -Only one window was alight. There was a roaring fire within, and the -ruddy glow danced on the empty walls and on the hilarious, bearded -faces grouped about the hearth. The men, clad in butternut jeans, -smoked their pipes as they sat on logs or lounged at length on the -floor. A festive canteen was a prominent adjunct of the scene, and was -often replenished from a burly keg in the corner. - -As Hilary approached the window he suddenly recognized a face which -he had cause to remember. He had not seen this face since Jack Bixby -looked furiously down from his saddle, hacking the while with his -bowie-knife at his comrade’s bleeding right arm. No enemy had done this -thing--Hilary’s own fast friend. - -He divined readily enough that after this dastardly deed Bixby had -not dared to seek to rejoin Captain Bertley’s squadron, and thus had -found kindred spirits among this marauding band of bushwhackers. His -face was not flushed with liquor now--twice the canteen passed Jack -Bixby unheeded. His big black hat was thrust far back on his shock of -red hair; he held his great red beard meditatively in one hand, while -the other fluttered the pages of a letter. He slowly read aloud, in a -droning voice, now and then, from the ill-spelled scrawl. He looked up -sometimes laughing, and they all laughed in sympathy. - -“‘Pete Blake he axed ’bout ye, an’ sent his respec’s, an’ Jerry Dunders -says tell ye ‘Howdy’ fur him, though ye be fightin’ on the wrong side,’” - -“Jerry,” he explained in a conversational tone, “he jined the Loyal -Tennesseans over yander in White County.” - -He jerked his thumb over his shoulder westward, and one of the men said -that he had known Jerry since he was “knee-high ter a duck.” - -In a strained, unnatural tone Jack Bixby laboriously read on. - -“‘Little Ben prays at night fur you. He prayed some last night out’n -his own head. He said he prayed the good Lord would deliver daddy from -all harm.’” - -The man’s eyes were glistening. He laughed hurriedly, but he coughed, -too, and the comrade who knew Jerry at so minute a size seemed also -acquainted with little Ben, and said a “pearter young one” had never -stepped. “‘He prayed the good Lord would deliver daddy from all harm,’” -Jack Bixby solemnly repeated as he folded the letter. And silence fell -upon the group. - -Hilary, strangely softened, was turning--he was quietly slipping away -from the window when he became suddenly aware that there were other -stealthy figures in the square, and he saw through the frosty panes the -scared face of the sentry bursting into the doorway with a tardy alarm. - -There was a rush from the square. Pistol shots rang out sharp on the -chill air, and the one-armed man, conscious of his helpless plight, -entrapped in the mêlée, fled as best he might through the familiar -intricacies of the old hotel--up the stairs, through echoing halls and -rooms, and down a long corridor, till he paused panting and breathless -in the door of the old ball-room. - -The rude, unplastered, whitewashed walls were illumined by the -moonlight, for all down one side of the long apartment the windows -overlooking the gorge were full of the white radiance, and in -glittering squares it lay upon the floor. - -He remembered suddenly that there was no other means of egress. To be -found here was certain capture. As he turned to retrace his way he -heard swift steps approaching. Guided by the sound of his flight one of -the surprised party had followed him, lured by the hope of escape. - -There was evidently a hot pursuit in the rear. Now and then the long -halls reverberated with pistol shots, and a bullet buried itself in -the door as Jack Bixby burst into the room. He stared aghast at his -old comrade for an instant. Then as he heard the rapid footfalls, the -jingle of spurs, the clamor of voices behind him, he ran to one of the -windows. He drew back dismayed by the sight of the depths of the gorge -below. He was caught as in a trap. - -Hilary Knox could never account for the inspiration of that moment. - -At right angles with the loftier main building a one-story wing jutted -out, and the space within its gable roof and above its ceiling, which -was on a level with the floor of the ball-room, was separated from that -apartment only by a rude screen of boards. - -Hilary burst one of these rough boards loose at the lower end, and -held it back with the left hand spared him. - -“Jump through, Jack!” he cried out to his old enemy. “Jump through the -plaster o’ the ceilin’ right hyar. The counter in the bar-room down -thar will break yer fall.” - -Jack Bixby sprang through the dark aperture. There was a crash within -as the plaster fell. - -The next moment a bullet whizzed through Hilary’s hat, and the -ball-room was astir with armed men; among them Hilary recognized other -mountaineers, old friends and neighbors who had joined the “Loyal -Tennesseans.” - -“I never would hev thought ye would hev let Jack Bixby git past ye -arter the way he treated ye,” one of them remarked, when the search had -proved futile. - -“Waal,” said Hilary, miserably, “I hain’t hed much grit nohows sence -the surgeon took off my arm.” - -His interlocutor looked curiously at the hole in the young fellow’s -hat, pierced while he stood his ground that another man might escape. -Hilary had no nice sense of discrimination. His idea of courage was the -onslaught. - -The others crowded about, and Hilary relished the suggestions of -military comradeship that clung about them, albeit they were of the -opposing faction, for they seemed so strangely cordial. Each must needs -shake his hand--his awkward left hand--and he was patted on the back, -and one big, bluff soul, who beamed on him with a broadly delighted -smile, gave him a severe hug, such as a fatherly bear might administer. - -“Hil’ry ain’t got much grit, he says,” one of them remarked with a -guffaw. “He jes’ helped another feller escape whut he hed a grudge -agin, while he stood ez onconsarned ez a target, an’ I shot him through -the hat an’ the ball ploughed up his scalp in good fashion. Glad my aim -warn’t a leetle mended.” - -Hilary’s hat was gone; one of the men persisted in an exchange, and -Hilary wore now a fresh new one instead of that so hastily snatched -from him as a souvenir. - -He thought they were all sorry for him because of the loss of his arm; -yet this was strange, for many men had lost limb and life at the hands -of this troop, which was of an active and bloody reputation. He could -not dream they thought him a hero--these men accustomed to deeds of -daring! He had no faint conception of the things they were saying of -him to one another, of his gallantry and his high and noble courage in -risking his life that his personal enemy might escape, when there was -a chance for but one--his false friend, who had destroyed his right -arm--as they mounted their horses and rode away to their camp in the -valley with the prisoners they had taken. - -Hilary stood listening wistfully to the jingling of their spurs and -the clanking of their sabers and the regular beat of the hoofs of the -galloping troop--sounds from out the familiar past, from thrilling -memories, how dear! - -Then as he plodded along the lonely wintry way homeward he was dismayed -to reflect upon his own useless, maimed life--upon what he had suffered -and what he had done. - -“What ailed me ter let him off?” he exclaimed in amaze. “What ailed me -ter help him git away--jes’ account o’ the word o’ a w’uthless brat. -Fur _me_ ter let _him_ off when I hed my chance ter pay my grudge so -slick!” - -He paused on the jagged verge of a crag and looked absently over the -vast dim landscape, bounded by the snowy ranges about the horizon. -Here and there mists hovered above the valley, but the long slant of -the moonbeams pervaded the scene and lingered upon its loneliness with -luminous melancholy. The translucent amber sphere was sinking low in -the vaguely violet sky, and already the dark summits of the westward -pines showed a fibrous glimmer. - -In the east a great star was quivering, most radiant, most pellucid. -He gazed at it with sudden wistfulness. Christmas dawn was near--and -this was the herald of redemption. So well it was for him that science -had never invaded these skies! His simple faith beheld the Star of -Bethlehem that the wise men saw when they fell down and worshiped. He -broke from his moody regrets--ah, surely, of all the year this was the -time when a child’s prayer should meet most gracious heed in heaven, -should most prevail on earth! His heart was stirred with a strange and -solemn thrill, and he blessed the impulse of forgiveness for the sake -of a little child. - -A roseate haze had gathered about the star, deepening and glowing -till the sun was in the east, and the splendid Day, charged with the -sanctities of commemoration, with the fulfillment of prophecy, with the -promises of all futurity, came glittering over the mountains. - -But the sun was a long way off, and its brilliancy made scant -impression on the intense cold. Thus it was he noticed, as he came in -sight of home, that, despite the icy atmosphere, the cabin door was -ajar. It moved uncertainly, yet no wind stirred. - -“Thar’s somebody ahint the door ez hev seen me a-comin’ an’ air waitin’ -ter ketch me ‘Chris’mus Gift,’” he argued, astutely. - -To forestall this he took a devious path through the brush, sprang -suddenly upon the porch, thrust in his arm, and clutched the unwary -party ambushed behind the door. - -“Chris’mus Gift!” he shouted, as he burst into the room. - -But it was Delia waiting for him, blushing and embarrassed, and seeming -nearer tears than laughter. And his mother was chuckling in enjoyment -of the situation. - -“Now, whyn’t ye let Dely ketch you-uns Chris’mus Gift like she counted -on doin’, stiddier ketchin’ her? She hain’t got nuthin’ ter gin yer fur -Chris’mus Gift but herself.” - -Hilary knew her presence here and the enterprise of “catching him -Christmas Gift” was another overture at reconciliation, but when he -said, “Waal, I’ll thank ye kindly, Dely,” she still looked at him in -silence, with a timorous eye and a quivering lip. - -“But, law!” exclaimed Mrs. Knox, still laughing, “I needn’t set my -heart on dancin’ at the weddin’. Dely ain’t no ways ter be trusted. She -hev done like a Injun-giver afore now. Mebbe she’ll take herself away -from ye agin.” - -Delia found her voice abruptly. - -“No--I won’t, nuther!” she said, sturdily. - -And thus it was settled. - -They made what Christmas cheer they could, and he told them of a new -plan as they sat together round the fire. The women humored it as a -sick fancy. They never thought to see it proved. At the school held at -irregular intervals before the war he had picked up a little reading -and a smattering of writing. This Christmas day he began anew. He -manufactured ink of logwood that had been saved for dyeing, and the -goose lent him a quill. An old blank book, thrown aside when the hotel -proprietors had removed their valuables, served as paper. - -As his mother had said it was not Hilary’s nature to be thankful for -the half of anything; he attacked the unpromising future with that -undismayed ardor that had distinguished him in those cavalry charges -in which he had loved to ride. With practice his left hand became -deft; before the war was over he was a fair scribe, and he often -pridefully remarked that he couldn’t be flanked on spelling. Removing -to one of the valley towns, seeking a sphere of wider usefulness, his -mental qualities and sterling character made themselves known and his -vocation gradually became assured. He was first elected register of the -county of his new home, and later clerk of the circuit court. Other -preferments came to him, and the world went well with him. It became -broader to his view and of more gracious aspect; his leisure permitted -reading and reading fostered thought. He learned that there are more -potent influences than force, and he recognized as the germ of these -benignities that impulse of peace and good will which he consecrated -for the sake of One who became as a Little Child. - - - - -THE PANTHER -OF -JOLTON’S RIDGE - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -A certain wild chasm, cut deep into the very heart of a spur of the -Great Smoky Mountains, is spanned by a network, which seen from above -is the heavy interlacing timbers of a railroad bridge thrown across -the narrow space from one great cliff to the other, but seen from the -depths of the gorge below it seems merely a fantastic gossamer web -fretting the blue sky. - -It often trembles with other sounds than the reverberating mountain -thunder and beneath other weight than the heavy fall of the mountain -rain. Trains flash across it at all hours of the night and day; in -the darkness the broad glare of the headlight and the flying column -of pursuing sparks have all the scenic effect of some strange uncanny -meteor, with the added emphasis of a thunderous roar and a sulphurous -smell; in the sunshine there skims over it at intervals a cloud of -white vapor and a swift black shadow. - -“Sence they hev done sot up that thar bridge I hain’t seen a bar nor a -deer in five mile down this hyar gorge. An’ the fish don’t rise nuther -like they uster do. That thar racket skeers ’em.” - -And the young hunter, leaning upon his rifle, his hands idly clasped -over its muzzle, gazed with disapproving eyes after the flying -harbinger of civilization as it sped across the airy structure and -plunged into the deep forest that crowned the heights. - -Civilization offered no recompense to the few inhabitants of the gorge -for the exodus of deer and bear and fish. It passed swiftly far above -them, seeming to traverse the very sky. They had no share in the world; -the freighted trains brought them nothing--not even a newspaper wafted -down upon the wind; the wires flashed no word to them. The picturesque -situation of the two or three little log-houses scattered at long -intervals down the ravine; the crystal clear flow of a narrow, deep -stream--merely a silver thread as seen from the bridge above; the grand -proportions of the towering cliffs, were calculated to cultivate the -grace of imagination in the brakemen, leaning from their respective -platforms; to suggest a variation in the Pullman conductor’s jaunty -formula, “’Twould hurt our feelings pretty badly to fall over there, -I fancy,” and to remind the out-looking passenger of the utter -loneliness of the vast wilds penetrated by the railroad. But they left -no speculations behind them. The terrible sense of the inconceivable -width of the world was spared the simple-minded denizens of the woods. -The clanging, crashing trains came like the mountain storms, no one -knew whence, and went no one knew whither. The universe lay between the -rocky walls of the ravine. Even this narrow stage had its drama. - -In the depths of the chasm spanned by the bridge there stood in -the shadow of one of the great cliffs a forlorn little log hut, so -precariously perched on the ledgy slope that it might have seemed the -nest of some strange bird rather than a human habitation. The huge -natural column of the crag rose sheer and straight two hundred feet -above it, but the descent from the door, though sharp and steep, was -along a narrow path leading in zigzag windings amid great bowlders and -knolls of scraggy earth, pushing their way out from among the stones -that sought to bury them, and fragments of the cliff fallen long ago -and covered with soft moss. The path appeared barely passable for man, -but upon it could have been seen the imprint of a hoof, and beside -the hut was a little shanty, from the rude window of which protruded -a horse’s head, with so interested an expression of countenance -that he looked as if he were assisting at the conversation going on -out-of-doors this mild March afternoon. - -“Ye could find deer, an’ bar, an’ sech, easy enough ef ye would go -arter ’em,” replied the young hunter’s mother, as she sat in the -doorway knitting a yarn sock. “That thar still-house up yander ter the -Ridge hev skeered off the deer an’ bar fur ye worse’n the railroad -hev. Ye kin git that fur an’ no furder. Ye hev done got triflin’ an’ no -’count, an’ nuthin’ else in this worl’ ails ye,--nur the deer an’ bar, -nuther,” she concluded, with true maternal candor. - -“It war tole ter me,” said an elderly man, who was seated in a -rush-bottomed chair outside the door, and who, although a visitor, bore -a lance in this domestic controversy with much freedom and spirit, “ez -how ye hed done got religion up hyar ter the Baptis’ meetin’-house the -last revival ez we hed. An’ I s’posed it war the truth.” - -“I war convicted,” replied the young fellow, ambiguously, still leaning -lazily on his rifle. He was a striking figure, remarkable for a massive -proportion and muscular development, and yet not lacking the lithe, -elastic curves characteristic of first youth. A dilapidated old hat -crowned a shock of yellow hair, a sunburned face, far-seeing gray eyes, -and an expression of impenetrable calm. His butternut suit was in -consonance with the prominent ribs of his horse, the poverty-stricken -aspect of the place, and the sterile soil of a forlorn turnip patch -which embellished the slope to the water’s edge. - -“Convicted!” exclaimed his mother, scornfully. “An’ sech goin’s-on -sence! Mark never _hed_ no religion to start with.” - -“What did ye see when ye war convicted?” demanded the inquisitive -guest, who spoke upon the subject of religion with the authority and -asperity of an expert. - -“I never seen nuthin’ much.” Mark Yates admitted the fact reluctantly. - -“Then ye never _hed_ no religion,” retorted Joel Ruggles. “I _knows_, -’kase I hev hed a power o’ visions. I hev viewed heaven an’ hung over -hell.” He solemnly paused to accent the effect of this stupendous -revelation. - -There had lately come a new element into the simple life of the -gorge,--a force infinitely more subtle than that potency of steam which -was wont to flash across the railroad bridge; of further reaching -influences than the wide divergences of the civilization it spread in -its swift flight. Naught could resist this force of practical religion -applied to the workings of daily life. The new preacher that at -infrequent intervals visited this retired nook had wrought changes in -the methods of the former incumbent, who had long ago fallen into the -listless apathy of old age, and now was dead. His successor came like -a whirlwind, sweeping the chaff before him--a humble man, ignorant, -poor in this world’s goods, and of meager physical strength. It was in -vain that the irreverent sought to bring ridicule upon him, that he was -called a “skimpy saint” in reference to his low stature, “the widow’s -mite,” a sly jest at the hero-worship of certain elderly relicts in his -congregation, a “two-by-four text” to illustrate his slim proportions. -He was armed with the strength of righteousness, and it sufficed. - -It was much resented at first that he carried his spiritual supervision -into the personal affairs of those of his charge, and required that -they should make these conform to their outward profession. And thus -old feuds must needs be patched up, old enemies forgiven, restitution -made, and the kingdom set in order as behooves the domain of a Prince -of Peace. The young people especially were greatly stirred, and Mark -Yates, who had never hitherto thought much of such subjects, had -experienced an awakening of moral resolve, and had even appeared one -day at the mourners’ bench. - -Thus he had once gone up to be prayed for, “convicted of sin,” as the -phrase goes in those secluded regions. But the sermons were few, for -the intervals were long between the visitations of the little preacher, -and Mark’s conscience had not learned the art of holding forth with -persistence and pertinence, which spiritual eloquence (not always -welcome) is soon acquired by a receptive, sensitive temperament. Mark -was cheerful, light-hearted, imaginative, adaptable. The traits of the -wilder, ruder element of the district, the hardy courage, the physical -prowess, the adventurous escapades appealed to his sense of the -picturesque as no merit of the dull domestic boor, content with the -meager agricultural routine, tamed by the endless struggle with work -and unalterable poverty, could stir him. He had no interest in defying -the law and shared none of the profits, but the hair-breadth escapes -of certain illicit distillers hard by, their perpetual jeopardy, the -ingenuity of their wily devices to evade discovery by the revenue -officers and yet supply all the contiguous region, the cogency of their -arguments as to the injustice of the taxation that bore so heavily upon -the small manufacturer, their moral posture of resisting and outwitting -oppression--all furnished abundant interest to a mind alert, capable, -and otherwise unoccupied. - -Not so blunt were his moral perceptions, however, that he did not -secretly wince when old Joel Ruggles, after meditating silently, -chewing his quid of tobacco, reverted from the detail of the supposed -spiritual wonders, which in his ignorance he fancied he had seen, to -the matter in hand: - -“Hain’t you-uns hearn ’bout the sermon ez the preacher hev done -preached agin that thar still?--_he_ called it a den o’ ’niquity.” - -“I hearn tell ’bout’n it yander ter the still,” replied Mark, calmly. -“They ’lowed thar ez they hed a mind ter pull him down out’n the pulpit -fur his outdaciousness, ’kase they war all thar ter the meetin’-house, -an’ _he_ seen ’em, an’ said what he said fur them ter hear.” He paused, -a trifle uncomfortable at the suggestion of violence. Then reassuring -himself by a moment’s reflection, he went on in an off-hand way, “I -reckon they ain’t a-goin’ ter do nuthin’ agin _him_, but he hed better -take keer how he jows at them still folks. They air a hard-mouthed -generation, like the Bible says, an’ they hev laid off ter stop that -thar talk o’ his’n.” - -“Did ye hear ’em sayin’ what they war a-aimin’ ter do?” asked Ruggles, -keenly inquisitive. - -“’Tain’t fer me ter tell what I hearn whilst visitin’ in other folkses’ -houses,” responded the young fellow, tartly. “But I never hearn ’em -say nuthin’ ’ceptin’ they war a-goin’ ter try ter stop his talk,” he -added. “I tells ye that much ’kase ye’ll be a-thinkin’ I hearn worse -ef I don’t. That air all I hearn ’em say ’bout’n it. An’ I reckon they -don’t mean nuthin’, but air talkin’ big whilst mad ’bout’n it. They air -’bleeged ter know thar goin’s-on ain’t fitten fur church members.” - -“An’ _ye_ a-jowin’ ’bout’n a hard-mouthed generation,” interposed his -mother, indignantly. “Ye’re one of ’em yerself. Thar hain’t been a bite -of wild meat in this hyar house fur a month an’ better. Mark hev’ -mighty nigh tucken ter live at the still; an’ when he kin git hisself -up to the p’int o’ goin’ a-huntin’, ’pears like he can’t find nuthin’ -ter shoot. I hev hearn a sayin’ ez thar is a use fur every livin’ -thing, an’ it ’pears ter me ez Mark’s use air mos’ly ter waste powder -an’ lead.” - -Mark received these sarcasms with an imperturbability which might in -some degree account for their virulence and, indeed, Mrs. Yates often -averred that, say what she might, she could not “move that thar boy no -more’n the mounting.” - -He shifted his position a trifle, still leaning, however, upon the -rifle, with his clasped hands over the muzzle and his chin resting -on his hands. The quiet radiance of a smile was beginning to dawn in -his clear eyes as he looked at his interlocutors, and he spoke with a -confidential intonation: - -“The las’ meetin’ but two ez they hev hed up yander ter the church -they summonsed them thar Brices ter ’count fur runnin’ of a still, -an’ a-gittin’ drunk, an’ sech, an’ the Brices never come, nor tuk no -notice nor nuthin’. An’ then the nex’ meetin’ they tuk an’ turned ’em -out’n the church. An’ when they hearn ’bout that at the still, them -Brices--the whole lay-out--war pipin’ hot ’bout’n it. Thar warn’t nare -member what voted fur a-keepin’ of ’em in; an’ that stuck in ’em, -too--all thar old frien’s a-goin’ agin ’em! I s’pose ’twar right ter -turn ’em out,” he added, after a reflective pause, “though thar is them -ez war a-votin’ agin them Brices ez hev drunk a powerful lot o’ whisky -an’ sech in thar lifetime.” - -“Thar will be a sight less whisky drunk about hyar ef that small-sized -preacher-man kin keep up the holt he hev tuk on temperance sermons,” -said Mrs. Yates a trifle triumphantly. Then with a clouding brow: “I -could wish he war bigger. I ain’t faultin’ the ways o’ Providence in -nowise, but it do ’pear ter me ez one David and G’liath war enough fur -the tales o’ religion ’thout hevin’ our own skimpy leetle shepherd -and the big Philistines of the distillers at loggerheads--whenst -flat peebles from the brook would be a mighty pore dependence agin -a breech-loading rifle. G’liath’s gun war more’n apt ter hev been -jes’ a old muzzle-loader, fur them war the times afore the war fur -the Union; but these hyar moonshiners always hev the best an’ newest -shootin’-irons that Satan kin devise--not knowin’ when some o’ the -raiders o’ the revenue force will kem down on ’em--an’ that makes a -man keen ter be among the accepted few in the new quirks o’ firearms. -A mighty small man the preacher-man ’pears ter be! If it war the -will o’ Providence I could wish fur a few more pounds o’ Christian -pastor, considering the size an’ weight ez hev been lavished on them -distillers.” - -“It air scandalous fur a church member ter be a gittin’ drunk an’ -foolin’ round the still-house an’ sech,” said Joel Ruggles, “an’ ef ye -hed ever hed any religion, Mark, ye’d hev knowed that ’thout hevin’ ter -be told.” - -“An’ it’s scandalous fur a church member to drink whisky at all,” said -Mrs. Yates, sharply, knitting off her needle, and beginning another -round. A woman’s ideas of reform are always radical. - -Joel Ruggles did not eagerly concur in this view of the abstinence -question; he said nothing in reply. - -“Thar hain’t sech a mighty call ter drink whisky yander ter the -still,” remarked young Yates, irrelevantly, feeling perhaps the need -of a plea of defense. “It ain’t the whisky ez draws me thar. The gang -air a-hangin’ round an’ a-talkin’ an’ a-laughin’ an’ a-tellin’ tales -’bout bar-huntin’ an’ sech. An’ thar’s the grist mill a haffen mile an’ -better through the woods.” - -“Thar’s bad company at the still, an’ it’s a wild beast ez hev got a -fang ez bites sharp an’ deep, an’ some day ye’ll feel it, ez sure ez -ye’re a born sinner,” said Mrs. Yates, looking up solemnly at him over -her spectacles. “I never see no sense in men a-drinkin’ of whisky,” she -continued, after a pause, during which she counted her stitches. “The -wild critters in the woods hev got more reason than ter eat an’ drink -what’ll pizen ’em--but, law! it always did ’pear to me ez they war -ahead in some ways of the men, what kin talk an’ hev got the hope of -salvation.” - -This thrust was neither parried nor returned. Joel Ruggles, discreetly -silent, gazed with a preoccupied air at the swift stream flowing far -below, beginning to darken with the overhanging shadows of the western -crags. And Mark still leaned his chin meditatively on his hands, and -his hands on the muzzle of his rifle, in an attitude so careless that -an unaccustomed observer might have been afraid of seeing the piece -discharged and the picturesque head blown to atoms. - -Through the futility of much remonstrance his mother had lost her -patience--no great loss, it might seem, for in her mildest days she -had never been meek. Poverty and age, and in addition her anxiety -concerning a son now grown to manhood, good and kind in disposition, -but whose very amiability rendered him so lax in his judgment of the -faults of others as to slacken the tension of his judgment of his own -faults, and whose stancher characteristics were manifested only in -an adamantine obstinacy to her persuasion--all were ill-calculated -to improve her temper and render her optimistic, and she had had no -training in the wider ways of life to cultivate tact and knowledge of -character and methods of influencing it. Doubtless the “skimpy saint” -in the enlightenment of his vocation would have approached the subject -of these remonstrances in a far different spirit, for Mark was plastic -to good suggestions, easily swayed, and had no real harm in him. He -understood, too, the merit and grace of consistency, of being all of -a piece with his true identity, with his real character, with the -sterling values he most appreciated. But the quality that rendered -him so susceptible to good influences--his adaptability--exposed him -equally to adverse temptation. He had spoken truly when he had said -that it was only the interest of the talk of the moonshiners and their -friends--stories of hunting fierce animals in the mountain fastnesses, -details of bloody feuds between neighboring families fought out through -many years with varying vicissitudes, and old-time traditions of the -vanished Indian, once the master of all the forests and rocks and -rivers of these ancient wilds--and not the drinking of whisky, that -allured him; far less the painful and often disgusting exhibitions of -drunkenness he occasionally witnessed at the still, in which those -sufficiently sober found a source of stupid mirth. Afterward it seemed -to him strange to reflect on his course. True he had had but a scanty -experience of life and the world, and the parson’s reading from the -Holy Scriptures was his only acquaintance with what might be termed -literature or learning in any form. But arguing merely from what he -knew he risked much. From the pages of the Bible he had learned what -the leprosy was, and what, he asked himself in later years, would he -have thought of the mental balance of a man who frequented the society -of a leper for the sake of transitory entertainment or mirth to be -derived from his talk? In the choice stories of “bar” and “Injuns,” -innocent in themselves, he must needs risk the moral contagion of this -leprosy of the soul. - -Nevertheless he was intent now on escaping from his mother and Joel -Ruggles, since it was growing late and he knew the cronies would soon -be gathered around the big copper at the still-house, and he welcomed -the diversion of a change of the subject. It had fallen upon the -weather--the most propitious times of plowing and planting; an earnest -confirmation of the popular theory that to bring a crop potatoes and -other tubers must be planted in the dark of the moon, and leguminous -vegetables, peas, beans, etc., in the light of the moon. Warned by the -lengthening shadows, Joel Ruggles broke from the pacific discussion of -these agricultural themes, rose slowly from his chair, went within to -light his pipe at the fire, and with this companion wended his way down -the precipitous slope, then along the rocky banks of the stream to his -own little home, half a mile or so up its rushing current. - -As he went he heard Mark’s clear voice lifted in song further down -the stream. He had hardly noted when the young fellow had withdrawn -from the conversation. It was a mounted shadow that he saw far away -among the leafy shadows of the oaks and the approaching dusk. Mark had -slipped off and saddled his half-broken horse, Cockleburr, and was -doubtless on his way to his boon companions at the distillery. - -The old man stood still, leaning on his stick, as he silently listened -to the song, the sound carrying far on the placid medium of the water -and in the stillness of the evening. - - - “O, call the dogs--Yo he!--Yo ho! - Boone and Ranger, Wolf an’ Beau, - Little Bob-tail an’ Big Dew-claw, - Old Bloody-Mouth an’ Hanging Jaw. - Ye hear the hawns?--Yo he!--Yo ho! - They all are blowin’, so far they go, - With might an’ main, for the trail is fresh, - A big bear’s track in the aidge o’ the bresh!” - - -“Yo he! yo ho!” said the river faintly. “Yo he! yo ho!” said the rocks -more faintly; and fainter still from the vague darkness came an echo -so slight that it seemed as near akin to silence as to sound, barely -impinging upon the air. “Yo he! yo ho!” it murmured. - -But old Joel Ruggles, standing and listening, silently shook his head -and said nothing. - -“Yo he! yo ho!” sung Mark, further away, and the echoes of his boyish -voice still rang vibrant and clear. - -Then there was no sound but the stir of the river and the clang of -the iron-shod hoofs of Cockleburr, striking the stones in the rocky -bridle-path. The flint gave out a flash of light, the yellow spark -glimmering for an instant, visible in the purple dusk with a transitory -flicker like a firefly. - -And old Joel Ruggles once more shook his head. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Far away in a dim recess of the deep woods, on the summit of the ridge, -amidst crags and chasms and almost inaccessible steeps, the shadows -had gathered about a dismal little log hut of one room--like all the -other dismal little hovels of the mountain, save that in front of the -door the grass was worn away from a wide space by the frequent tread -of many feet; a preternaturally large wood-pile was visible under a -frail shelter in the rear of the house; from the chimney a dense smoke -rose in a heavy column; and the winds that rushed past it carried on -their breath an alcoholic aroma. But for these points of dissimilarity -and its peculiarly secluded situation, Mark Yates, dismounting from -his restive steed, might have been entering his mother’s dwelling. The -opening door shed no glare of firelight out into the deepening gloom -of the dusk. It was very warm within, however--almost too warm for -comfort; but the shutters of the glassless window were tightly barred, -and the usual chinks of log-house architecture were effectually closed -with clay. The darkness of the room was accented rather than dispelled -by a flickering tallow dip stuck in an empty bottle in default of a -candlestick, and there was an all-pervading and potent odor of spirits. -The salient feature of the scene was a stone furnace, from the closed -door of which there flashed now and then a slender thread of brilliant -light. A great copper still rose from it, and a protruding spiral tube -gracefully meandered away in the darkness through the cool waters of -the refrigerator to the receiver of its precious condensed vapors. - -There were four jeans-clad mountaineers seated in the gloomy twilight -of this apartment; and the stories of “bar-huntin’ an’ sech” must have -been very jewels of discourse to prove so alluring, as they could -certainly derive no brilliancy from their unique but somber setting. - -“Hy’re, Mark! Come in, come in,” was the hospitable insistence which -greeted young Yates. - -“Hev a cheer,” said Aaron Brice, the eldest of the party, bringing out -from the darkness a chair and placing it in the feeble twinkle of the -tallow dip. - -“Take a drink, Mark,” said another of the men, producing a broken-nosed -pitcher of ardent liquor. But notwithstanding this effusive -hospitality, which was very usual at the still-house, Mark Yates -had an uncomfortable impression that he had interrupted an important -conference, and that his visit was badly timed. The conversation that -ensued was labored, and hosts and guest were a trifle ill at ease. -Frequent pauses occurred, broken only by the sound of the furnace fire, -the boiling and bubbling within the still, the gurgle of the water -through its trough, that led it down from a spring on the hill behind -the house to the refrigerator, the constant dripping of the “doublings” -from the worm into the keg below. Now and then one of the brothers -hummed a catch which ran thus:-- - - - “O, Eve, she gathered the pippins, - Adam did the pomace make; - When the brandy told upon ’em, - They accused the leetle snake!” - - -Another thoughtfully snuffed the tallow dip, which for a few moments -burned with a brighter, more cheerful light, then fell into a tearful -despondency and bade fair to weep itself away. - -Outside the little house the black night had fallen, and the wind was -raging among the trees. All the stars seemed in motion, flying to -board a fleet of flaky white clouds that were crossing the sky under -full sail. The moon, a spherical shadow with a crescent of burnished -silver, was speeding toward the west; not a gleam fell from its disk -upon the swaying, leafless trees--it seemed only to make palpable the -impenetrable gloom that immersed the earth. The air had grown keen -and cold, and it rushed in at the door as it was opened with a wintry -blast. A man entered, with the slow, lounging motion peculiar to the -mountaineers, bearing in his hand a jug of jovial aspect. The four -Brices looked up from under their heavy brows with sharp scrutiny to -discern among the deep shadows cast by the tallow dip who the newcomer -might be. Their eyes returned to gaze with an affected preoccupation -upon the still, and in this significant hush the ignored visitor stood -surprised and abashed on the threshold. The cold inrushing mountain -wind, streaming like a jet of seawater through the open door, was -rapidly lowering the temperature of the room. This contemptuous silence -was too fraught with discomfort to be maintained. - -“Ef ye air a-comin’ in,” said Aaron Brice, ungraciously, “come along -in. An’ ef ye air a-goin’ out go ’long. Anyway, jes’ ez ye choose, ef -ye’ll shet that thar door, ez I don’t see ez ye hev any call ter hold -open.” - -Thus adjured the intruder closed the door, placed the jug on the floor, -and looked about with an embarrassed hesitation of manner. The flare -from the furnace, which Aaron Brice had opened to pile in fresh wood, -illumined the newcomer’s face and long, loose-jointed figure and showed -the semicircle of mountaineers seated in their rush-bottomed chairs -about the still. None of them spoke. Never before since the still-house -was built had a visitor stood upon the puncheon floor that one of the -hospitable Brices did not scuttle for a chair, that the dip was not -eagerly snuffed in the vain hope of irradiating the guest, that the -genial though mutilated pitcher filled with whisky was not ungrudgingly -presented. No chair was offered now, and the broken-nosed pitcher with -its ardent contents was motionless on the head of a barrel. It was a -strange change, and as the broad red glare fell on their stolid faces -and blankly inexpressive attitudes the guest looked from one to the -other with an increasing surprise and a rising dismay. The light was -full for a moment upon Mark Yates’s shock of yellow hair, gray eyes, -and muscular, well-knit figure, as he, too, sat mute among his hosts. -He was not to be mistaken, and once seen was not easily forgotten. -The next instant the furnace door clashed, and the room fell back -into its habitual gloom. One might note only the gurgle of the spring -water--telling of the wonders of the rock-barricaded earth below and -the reflected glories of the sky above--only the hilarious song of -the still, the continuous trickle from the worm, the all-pervading -spirituous odors, and the shadowy outlines of the massive figures of -the mountaineers. - -The Brices evidently could not be relied upon to break the awkward -silence. The newcomer, mustering heart of grace, took up his testimony -in a languid nasal drawl, trying to speak and to appear as if he had -noticed nothing remarkable in his reception. - -“I hev come, Aaron,” he said, “ter git another two gallons o’ that thar -whisky ez I hed from you-uns, an’ I hev brung the balance of the money -I owed ye on that, an’ enough ter pay for the jugful, too. Hyar is a -haffen dollar fur the old score, an’--” - -“That thar eends it,” said Aaron, pocketing the tendered fifty cents. -“We air even, an’ ye’ll git no more whisky from hyar, Mose Carter.” - -“Wha--what did ye say, Aaron? I hain’t got the rights ’zactly o’ what -ye said.” And Carter peered in great amaze through the gloom at his -host, who was carefully filling a pipe. As Aaron stooped to get a coal -from the furnace one of the others spoke. - -“He said ez ye’ll git no more whisky from hyar. An’ it air a true -word.” - -The flare from the furnace again momentarily illumined the room, and as -the door clashed it again fell back into the uncertain shadow. - -“That is what I tole ye,” said Aaron, reseating himself and puffing his -pipe into a strong glow, “an’ ef ye hain’t a-onderstandin’ of it yit -I’ll say it agin--ye an’ the rest of yer tribe will git no more liquor -from hyar.” - -“An’ what’s the reason I hain’t a-goin’ ter get no more liquor from -hyar?” demanded Moses Carter in virtuous indignation. “Hain’t I been ez -good pay ez any man down this hyar gorge an’ the whole mounting atop o’ -that? Look-a hyar, Aaron Brice, ye ain’t a-goin’ ter try ter purtend ez -I don’t pay fur the liquor ez I gits hyar--an’ you-uns an’ me done been -a-tradin’ tergither peaceable-like fur nigh on ter ten solid year.” - -“An’ then ye squar’ round an’ gits me an’ my brothers a-turned out’n -the church fur runnin’ of a still whar ye gits yer whisky from. Good -pay or bad pay, it’s all the same ter me.” - -“I never gin my vote fur a-turnin’ of ye out ’kase of ye a-runnin’ of a -still.” Moses Carter trembled in his eager anxiety to discriminate the -grounds upon which he had cast his ballot. “It war fur a-gittin’ drunk -an’ astayin’ drunk, ez ye mos’ly air a-doin--an’ ye will ’low yerself, -Aaron, ez that thar air a true word. I don’t see no harm in a-runnin’ -of a still an’ a-drinkin’ some, but not ter hurt. It air this hyar -gittin’ drunk constant ez riles me.” - -“Mose Carter,” said the youngest of the Brice brothers, striking -suddenly into the conversation, “ye air a liar, an’ ye knows it!” -He was a wiry, active man of twenty-five years; he spoke in an -authoritative high key, and his voice seemed to split the air like -a knife. His mind was as wiry as his body, and it was generally -understood on Jolton’s Ridge that he was the power behind the throne -of which Aaron, the eldest, wielded the unmeaning scepter; he, -however, remained decorously in the background, for among the humble -mountaineers the lordly rights of primogeniture are held in rigorous -veneration, and it would have ill-beseemed a younger scion of the house -to openly take precedence of the elder. His Christian name was John, -but it had been forgotten or disregarded by all but his brothers in -the title conferred upon him by his comrades of the mountain wilds. -Panther Brice--or “Painter,” for thus the animal is called in the -vernacular of the region--was known to run the still, to shape the -policy of the family, to be a self-constituted treasurer and disburser -of the common fund, to own the very souls of his unresisting elder -brothers. He had elected, however, in the interests of decorum, that -these circumstances should be sedulously ignored. Aaron invariably -appeared as spokesman, and the mountaineers at large all fell under -the influence of a dominant mind and acquiesced in the solemn sham. -The Panther seldom took part even in casual discussions of any vexed -question, reserving his opinions to dictate as laws to his brothers in -private; and a sensation stirred the coterie when his voice, that had -a knack of finding and thrilling every sensitive nerve in his hearer’s -body, jarred the air. - -“I hev seen ye, Mose Carter,” he continued, “in this hyar very -still-house ez drunk ez a fraish biled owl. Ye hev laid on this hyar -floor too drunk ter move hand or foot all night an’ haffen the nex’ day -at one spree. I hev seen ye’, an’ so hev plenty o’ other folks. An’ -ef ye comes hyar a-jowin’ so sanctified ’bout’n folks a-gittin’ drunk, -I’ll turn ye out’n this hyar still-house fur tellin’ of lies.” - -He paused as abruptly as he had spoken; but before Moses Carter could -collect his slow faculties he had resumed. “It ’pears powerful comical -ter me ter hear this hyar Baptis’ church a-settin’ of itself up so -stiff fur temp’rance, ’kase thar air an old sayin’--an’ I b’lieves -it--ez the Presbyterians holler--‘What is ter be will be!--even ef it -won’t be!’ an’ the Methodies holler, ‘Fire! fire! fire! Brimstun’ an’ -blue blazes!’--but the Bapties holler, ‘Water! water! water! with a -_leetle_ drap o’ whisky in it!’ But ye an’ yer church’ll be dry enough -arter this; thar’ll be less liquor drunk ’mongst ye’n ever hev been -afore, ’kase ye air all too cussed stingy ter pay five cents extry a -quart like ye’ll hev ter do at Joe Gilligan’s store down yander ter -the Settlemint. Fur nare one o’ them sanctified church brethren’ll git -another drap o’ liquor hyar, whar it hev always been so powerful cheap -an’ handy.” - -“The dryer ez ye kin make the church the better ye’ll please the -pa’son. He lays off a reg’lar temperance drought fur them ez kin foller -arter his words. I be a-tryin’ ter mend my ways,” Moses Carter droned -with a long, sanctimonious face, “but--” he hesitated, “the sperit is -willin’, but the flesh is weak--the flesh is weak!” - -“I’ll be bound no sperits air weak ez ye hev ennything ter do with, -leastwise swaller,” said the Panther, with a quick snap. - -“He is hyar in the mounting ter-night, the pa’son,” resumed Mose -Carter, with that effort, always ill-starred, to affect to perceive -naught amiss when a friend is sullenly belligerent; he preserved the -indifferent tone of one retailing casual gossip. “The pa’son hev laid -off ter spen’ the better part o’ the night in prayer and wrestlin’ -speritchully in the church-house agin his sermon ter-morrer, it bein’ -the blessed Sabbath. He ’lowed he would be more sole and alone thar -than at old man Allen’s house, whar he be puttin’ up fur the night, -’kase at old man Allen’s they hev seben gran’chil’ren an’ only one -room, barrin’ the roof-room. Thar be a heap o’ onregenerate human -natur’ in them seben Allen gran’chil’ren. Thar ain’t no use I reckon -in tryin’ ter awake old man Allen ter a sense of sin an’ the awful -oncertainty of life by talkin’ ter _him_ o’ the silence an’ solitude o’ -the grave! Kee, kee!” he laughed. But he laughed alone. - -“_Wrestlin’!_ The pa’son a-wrestlin’! I could throw him over my head! -It’s well fur him his wrestlin’s air only in prayer!” exclaimed -Painter, with scorn. “The still will holp on the cause o’ temp’rance -more’n that thar little long-tongued preacher an’ all his sermons. -Raisin’ the tar’ff on the drink will stop it. Ye’re all so dad-burned -stingy.” - -“Jes’ ez ye choose,” said Moses Carter, taking up his empty jug. -“’Tain’t nuthin’ s’prisin’ ter me ter hear ye a-growlin’ an’ a-goin’ -this hyar way, Painter--ye always war more like a wild beast nor a -man, anyhow. But it do ’stonish me some ez Aaron an’ the t’other boys -air a-goin’ ter let ye cut ’em out’n a-sellin’ of liquor ter the whole -kentry mighty nigh, ’kase the brethren don’t want a sodden drunkard, -like ye air, in the church a-communin’ with the saints.” - -“Ye needn’t sorrow fur Aaron,” said Panther Brice, with a sneer -that showed his teeth much as a snarl might have done, “nor fur the -t’other boys nuther. We kin sell all the whisky ez we kin make ter Joe -Gilligan, an’ the folks yander ter--ter--no matter whar--” he broke -off with a sudden look of caution as if he had caught himself in an -imminent disclosure. “We kin sell it ’thout losin’ nare cent, fur we -hev always axed the same price by the gallon ez by the bar’l. So Aaron -ain’t a needin’ of yer sorrow.” - -“Ye air the spitefullest little painter ez ever seen this hyar worl’,” -exclaimed Moses Carter, exasperated by the symmetry of his enemy’s -financial scheme. “Waal--waal, prayer may bring ye light. Prayer is a -powerful tool. The pa’son b’lieves in its power. He is right now up -yander in the church-house, fur I seen the light, an’ I hearn his -voice lifted in prayer ez I kem by.” - -The four brothers glanced at one another with hot, wild eyes. They had -reason to suspect that they were themselves the subject of the parson’s -supplications, and they resented this as a liberty. They had prized -their standing in the church not because they were religious, in the -proper sense of the word, but from a realization of its social value. -In these primitive regions the sustaining of a reputation for special -piety is a sort of social distinction and a guarantee of a certain -position. The moonshiners neither knew nor cared what true religion -might be. To obey its precepts or to inconvenience themselves with -its restraints, was alike far from their intention. They had received -with boundless amazement the first intimation that the personal and -practical religion which the “skimpy saint” had brought into the -gorge might consistently interfere with the liquor trade, the illicit -distilling of whisky, and the unlimited imbibing thereof by themselves -and the sottish company that frequented the still-house. They had -laughed at his temperance sermons and ridiculing his warnings had -treated the whole onslaught as a trifle, a matter of polemical theory, -in the nature of things transitory, and had expected it to wear out as -similar spasms of righteousness often do--more’s the pity! Then they -would settle down to continue to furnish spirituous comfort to the -congregation, while the “skimpy saint” ministered to their spiritual -needs. The warlike little parson, however, had steadily advanced his -parallels, and from time to time had driven the distillers from one -subterfuge to another, till at last, although they were well off in -this world’s goods--rich men, according to the appraisement of the -gorge--they were literally turned out of the church, and had become -a public example, and they felt that they had experienced the most -unexpected and disastrous catastrophe possible in nature. - -They were stunned that so small a man had done this thing, a man, so -poor, so weak, so dependent for his bread, his position, his every -worldly need, on the favor of the influential members of his scattered -congregations. It had placed them in their true position before their -compeers. It had reduced their bluster and boastfulness. It had made -them seem very small to themselves, and still smaller, they feared, in -the estimation of others. - -Moses Carter--himself no shining light, indeed a very feebly glimmering -luminary in the congregation--looked from one to the other of their -aghast indignant faces with a ready relish of the situation, and said, -with a grin: - -“I reckon, Painter, ef the truth war plain, ye’d ruther hev all the -gorge ter know ez the pa’son war a-spreadin’ the fac’s about this hyar -still afore a United States marshal than afore the throne o’ grace, -like he be a-doin’ of right now.” - -The Panther rose with a quick, lithe motion, stretched out his hand to -the head of a barrel near by, and the thread of light from the closed -furnace door showed the glitter of steel. He came forward a few steps, -walking with a certain sinewy grace and brandishing a heavy knife, -his furious eyes gleaming with a strange green brilliance, all the -more distinct in the half-darkened room. Then he paused, as with a new -thought. “I won’t tech ye now,” he said, with a snarl, “but arter a -while I’ll jes’ make ye ’low ez that thar church o’ yourn air safer -with me in it nor it air with me out’n it. An’ then we’ll count it -even.” He ceased speaking suddenly; cooler now, and with an expression -of vexation upon his sharp features--perhaps he repented his hasty -threat and his self-betrayal. After a moment he went on, but with less -virulence of manner than before. “Ye kin take that thar empty jug o’ -yourn an’ kerry it away empty. An’ ye kin take yer great hulking stack -o’ bones along with it, an’ thank yer stars ez none of ’em air bruken. -Ye air the fust man ever turned empty out’n this hyar still-house, an’ -I pray God ez ye may be the las’, ’kase I don’t want no sech wuthless -cattle a-hangin’ round hyar.” - -“I ain’t a-quarrelin’ with hevin’ ter go,” retorted Carter, with -asperity. “I never sot much store by comin’ hyar nohow, ’ceptin’ Aaron -an’ me, we war toler’ble frien’ly fur a good many year. This hyar -still-house always reminded me sorter o’ hell, anyhow--whar the worm -dieth not an’ the fire is not quenched.” - -With this Parthian dart he left the room, closing the door after him, -and presently the dull thud of his horse’s hoofs was borne to the ears -of the party within, again seated in a semicircle about the furnace. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -After a few moments of vexed cogitation Aaron broke the silence, -keeping, however, a politic curb on his speech. “’Pears ter me, John, -ez how mebbe ’twould hev done better ef ye hedn’t said that thar ez ye -spoke ’bout’n the church-house.” - -“Hold yer jaw!” returned the Panther, fiercely. “Who larned ye ter -jedge o’ my words? An’ it don’t make no differ nohow. I done tole -him nuthin’ ’bout’n the church-house ez the whole Ridge won’t say -arterward, any way ez ye kin fix it.” - -If Mark Yates had found himself suddenly in close proximity to a real -panther he could hardly have felt more uncomfortable than these -half-covert suggestions rendered him. He shrank from dwelling upon -what they seemed to portend, and he was anxious to hear no more. The -recollection of sundry maternal warnings concerning the evils, moral -and temporal, incident upon keeping bad company, came on him with -a crushing weight, and transformed the aspect of the fascinating -still-house into a close resemblance to another locality of worm and -fire, to which the baffled Carter had referred. He was desirous of -going, but feared that so early a departure just at this critical -juncture might be interpreted by his entertainers as a sign of distrust -and a disposition to stand aloof when they were deserted by their other -friends. And yet he knew, as well as if they had told him, that his -arrival had interrupted some important discussion of the plot they were -laying, and they only waited his exit to renew their debate. - -While these antagonistic emotions swayed him, he sat with the others -in meditative silence, gazing blankly at the pleasing rotundity of -the dense shadow which he knew was the “copper,” and listening to the -frantic dance and roistering melody of its bubbling, boiling, surging -contents, to the monotonous trickling of the liquor falling from the -worm, to the gentle cooing of the rill of clear spring water. The -idea of pleasure suggested by the very sight of the place had given -way as more serious thoughts and fears crowded in, and his boyish -liking for these men who possessed that deadly fascination for youth -and inexperience,--the reputation of being wild,--was fast changing -to aversion. He still entertained a strong sympathy for those fierce -qualities which gave so vivid an interest to the stirring accounts -of struggles with wolves and wild cats, bears and panthers, and to -the histories of bitter feuds between human enemies, in the bloody -sequel of which, however, the brutality of the deed often vied with its -prowess; but this fashion of squaring off, metaphorically speaking, -at the preacher, and the strange insinuations of sacrilegious injury -to the church--the beloved church, so hardly won from the wilderness, -representing the rich gifts of the very poor, their time, their labor, -their love, their prayers--this struck every chord of conservatism in -his nature. - -There had never before been a church building in this vicinity; “summer -preachin’” under the forest oaks had sufficed, with sometimes at long -intervals a funeral sermon at the house of a neighbor. But in response -to that strenuous cry, “Be up and doing,” and in acquiescence with -the sharp admonition that religion does not consist in singing sleepy -hymns in a comfortable chimney-corner, the whole countryside had -roused itself to the privilege of the work nearest its hand. Practical -Christianity first developed at the saw-mill. The great logs, seasoned -lumber from the forest, were offered as a sacrifice to the glory of -God, and as the word went around, Mark Yates, always alert, was among -the first of the groups that came and stood and watched the gleaming -steel striking into the fine white fibers of the wood--the beginnings -of the “church-house”--while the dark, clear water reflected the great -beams and roof of the mill, and the sibilant whizzing of the simple -machinery seemed, with the knowledge of the consecrated nature of its -work, an harmonious undertone to the hymning of the pines, and the -gladsome rushing of the winds, and the subdued ecstasies of all the -lapsing currents of the stream. - -Mark had looked on drearily. His spirit, awakened by the clarion call -of duty, fretted and revolted at the restraints of his lack of means. -He could do naught. It was the privilege of others to prepare the -lumber. It seemed that even inanimate nature had its share in building -the church--the earth in its rich nurture that had given strength to -the great trees; the seasons that had filled the veins of each with the -rich wine of the sap, the bourgeoning impulse of its leafage and the -ripeness of its fine fruitions; the rainfall and sunshine that had fed -and fostered and cherished it--only he had naught to give but the idle -gaze of wistful eyes. - -The miller, a taciturn man, was very well aware that he had sawed -the lumber. He said naught when the work was ended, but surveyed the -great fragrant piles of cedar and walnut and maple and cherry and oak, -the building woods of these richly endowed mountains, with a silence -so significant that it spoke louder than words. It said that his work -was finished, and who was there who would do as much or more? So loud, -so forceful, so eloquent was this challenge that the next day several -teamsters came and stood dismally each holding his chin-whiskers in his -hand and contemplated the field of practical Christianity. - -“It’ll be a powerful job ter hev ter haul all that thar lumber, sure!” -said one reluctant wight, in disconsolate survey, his mouth slightly -ajar, his hand ruefully rubbing his cheek. - -“It war a powerful job ter saw it,” said the miller. - -The jaws of the teamster closed with a snap. He had nothing more to -say. He, too, was roused to the gospel of action. The miller should not -saw more than he would haul. Thus it was that the next day found him -with his strong mule team at sunrise, the first great lengths of the -boles on the wagon, making his way along the steep ascents of Jolton’s -Ridge. - -And again Mark looked on drearily. He could do naught--he and -Cockleburr. Cockleburr was hardly broken to the saddle, wild and -restive, and it would have been the sacrifice of a day’s labor, even -if the offer of such unlikely aid would have been accepted, to hitch -the colt in for the hauling of this heavy lumber, such earnest, hearty -work as the big mules were straining every muscle to accomplish. He -was too poor, he felt, with a bitter sigh. He could do naught--naught. -True, he armed himself with an axe, and went ahead of the toiling -mules, now and then cutting down a sapling which grew in the midst of -the unfrequented bridle-path, and which was not quite slight enough to -bend beneath the wagon as did most of such obstructions, or widening -the way where the clustering underbrush threatened a stoppage of -the team. So much more, under the coercion of the little preacher’s -sermon, he had wanted to do, that he hardly cared for the “Holped me -powerful, Mark,” of the teamster’s thanks, when they had reached the -destination of the lumber--the secluded nook where the little mountain -graveyard nestled in the heart of the great range--the site chosen -by the neighbors for the erection of their beloved church. Beloved -before one of the bowlders that made the piers of its foundation was -selected from the rocky hillside, where the currents of forgotten, -long ebbed-away torrents had stranded them, where the detrition of the -rain and the sand had molded them, the powers of nature thus beginning -the building of the church-house to the glory of God in times so long -gone past that man has no record of its spaces. Beloved before one of -the great logs was lifted upon another to build the walls, within which -should be crystallized the worship of congregations, the prayers of the -righteous that should avail much. Beloved before one of the puncheons -was laid of the floor, consecrated with the hope that many a sinner -should tread them on the way to salvation. Beloved with the pride of a -worthy achievement and the satisfaction of a cherished duty honestly -discharged, before a blow was struck or a nail driven. - -And here Mark, earnestly seeking his opportunity to share the work, -found a field of usefulness. No great skill, one may be sure, prevailed -in the methods of the humble handicraftsmen of the gorge--all untrained -to the mechanical arts, and each a jack-of-all-trades, as occasion in -his lowly needs or opportunity might offer. Mark had a sort of knack -of deftness, a quick and exact eye, both suppleness and strength, and -thus he was something more than a mere botch of an amateur workman. His -enthusiasm blossomed forth. He, too, might serve the great cause. He, -too, might give of the work of his hands. - -At it he was, hammer and nails, from morning till night, and he -rejoiced when the others living at a distance and having their -firesides to provide for, left him here late alone building the temple -of God in the wilderness. He would ever and anon glance out through -the interstices of the unchinked log walls at the great sun going down -over the valley behind the purple mountains of the west, and lending -him an extra beam to drive another nail, after one might think it time -to be dark and still; and vouchsafing yet another ray, as though loath -to quit this work, lingering at the threshold of the day, although the -splendors of another hemisphere awaited its illumination, and many a -rich Southern scene that the sun is wont to love; and still sending a -gleam, high aslant, that one more nail might be driven; and at last the -red suffusion of certain farewell, wherein was enough light for the -young man to catch up his tools and set out swiftly and joyously down -the side of Jolton’s Ridge. - -And always was he first at the tryst to greet the sun--standing in the -unfinished building, his hammer in his hand, his hat on the back of -his head, and looking through the gap of the range to watch the great -disk when it would rise over the Carolina Mountains, with its broad, -prophetic effulgence falling over the lowly mounds in the graveyard, -as if one might say, “Behold! the dispersal of night, the return of -light, the earnest of the Day to come.” Long before the other laborers -on the church reached the building Mark had listened to the echoes -keeping tally with the strokes of his hammer, had heard the earth -shake, the clangor and clash of the distant train on the rails, the -shriek of the whistle as the locomotive rushed upon the bridge above -that deep chasm, the sinister hollow roar of the wheels, and the deep, -thunderous reverberation of the rocks. Thus he noted the passage of -the early trains--the freight first, and after an hour’s interval the -passenger train; then a silence, as if primeval, would settle down upon -the world, broken only by the strokes of the hammer, until at last some -neighbor, with his own tools in hand, would come in. - -None of them realized how much of the work Mark had done. Each -looked only at the result, knowing it to be the aggregated industry -and leisure of the neighbors, laboring as best they might and as -opportunity offered. This was no hindrance to Mark’s satisfaction. He -had wanted to help, not to make a parade of his help, or to have what -he had done appreciated. He thought the little preacher, the “skimpy -saint,” as his unfriends called him, had a definite idea of what he had -done. In the stress of this man’s lofty ideals he could compromise with -little that failed to reach them. He was forever stretching onward and -upward. But Mark noted a kindling in his intent eye one day, while “the -chinking” was being put in, the small diagonal slats between the logs -of the wall on which the clay of the “daubing” was to be plastered. -“Did you do all this side?” he had asked. - -As Mark answered “Yes,” he felt his heart swell with responsive pride -to win even this infrequent look of approval, and he went on to claim -more. “Don’t tell nobody,” he said, glancing up from his kneeling -posture by the side of the wall. “But I done that corner, too, over -thar by the door. Old Joel Ruggles done it fust, but the old man’s -eyesight’s dim, an’ his hand onstiddy, an’ ’twar all crooked an’ -onreg’lar, so _unbeknown_ ter _him_ I kem hyar early one day an’ did -it over,--though he don’t know it,--so ez ’twould be ekal--all of a -piece.” - -The “skimpy saint” now hardly seemed to care to glance at the work. He -still stood with his hand on the boy’s shoulder, looking down at him -with eyes in which Mark perceived new meanings. - -“You can sense, then, the worth of hevin’ all things of a piece with -the best. See ter it, Mark, that ye keep yer life all of a piece with -this good work--with the best that’s in ye.” - -So Mark understood. But nowadays he hardly felt all of a piece with -the good work he had done on the church walls, against so many -discouragements, laboring early and late, seeking earnestly some means -that might be within his limited power. Oftentimes, after the church -was finished, he went and stood and gazed at it, realizing its stanch -validity, without shortcomings, without distortions--all substantial -and regular, with none of the discrepancies and inadequacies of his -moral structure. - -While silently and meditatively recalling all these facts as he sat -this night of early spring among the widely unrelated surroundings -of the still, the shadowy group of moonshiners about him, Mark Yates -looked hard at Panther Brice’s sharp features, showing, in the thread -of white light from the closed door of the furnace, with startling -distinctness against the darkness, like some curiously carved cameo. He -never understood the rush of feeling that constrained him to speak, and -afterward, when he thought of it, his temerity surprised him. - -“Painter,” he said, “I hev been a-comin’ hyar ter this hyar still-house -along of ye an’ the t’other boys right smart time, an’ I hev been -mighty well treated; an’ I ain’t one o’ the sort ez kin buy much -liquor, nuther. I hev hed a many a free drink hyar, an’ a sight o’ -laughin’ an’ talkin’ along o’ ye an’ the t’other boys. An’ ’twarn’t -the whisky as brung me, nuther--’twar mos’ly ter hear them yarns o’ -yourn ’bout bar-huntin’ an’ sech, fur ye air the talkin’est one o’ -the lot. But ef ye air a-goin’ ter take it out’n the preacher or the -church-house--I hain’t got the rights o’ what ye air a-layin’ off ter -do, an’ I don’t want ter know, nuther--jes’ ’kase ye an’ the t’other -boys war turned out’n the church, I hev hed my fill o’ associatin’ with -ye. I ain’t a-goin’ ter hev nuthin’ ter do with men-folks ez would -fight a pore critter of a preacher, what hev got ez much right ter jow -ez ef he war a woman. Sass is what they both war made fur, it ’pears -like ter me, an’ ’twar toler’ble spunky sure in him ter speak his mind -so plain, knowing what a fighter ye be an’ the t’others, too--no other -men hev got the name of sech tremenjious fighters! I allow he seen his -jewty plain in what he done, seem’ he tuk sech risks. An’ ef ye air -a-goin’ ter raise a ’sturbance ter the church-house, or whatever ye air -a-layin’ off ter do ter _it_, I ain’t a-goin’ ter hev no hand-shakin’ -with sech folks. Payin’ ’em back ain’t a-goin’ ter patch up the matter -nohow--ye’re done turned out the church now, an’ that ain’t a-goin’ ter -put ye back. It ’pears mighty cur’ous ter me ez a man ez kin claw with -a bar same ez with a little purp, kin git so riled ez he’ll take up -with fightin’ of that thar pore little preacher what ain’t got a ounce -o’ muscle ter save his life. I wouldn’t mind his jowin’ at me no more’n -I mind my mother’s jowin’--an’ she air always at it.” - -There was a silence for a few moments--only the sound of the trickling -liquor from the worm and the whir inside the still. That white face, -illumined by the thread of light, was so motionless that it might have -seemed petrified but for the intense green glare of the widely open -eyes. The lips suddenly parted in a snarl, showing two rows of sharp -white teeth, and the high shrill voice struck the air with a shiver. - -“Ye’re the cussedest purp in this hyar gorge!” the Panther exclaimed. -“Ye sit thar an’ tell how well ye hev been treated hyar ter this hyar -still-house, an’ then let on ez how ye think ye’ re too good ter come -a-visitin’ hyar any more. Ye air like all the rest o’ these folks -round hyar--ye take all ye wants, an’ then the fust breath of a word -agin a body ye turns agin ’em too. Ye kin clar out’n this. Ye ain’t -wanted hyar. I ain’t a-goin’ ter let none o’ yer church brethren nor -thar fr’en’s nuther--fur ye ain’t even a perfessin’ member--come five -mile a-nigh hyar arter this. We air a-goin’ ter turn ’em out’n the -still-house, an’ that thar will hurt ’em worse’n turnin’ ’em out’n the -church. They go an’ turn _us_ out’n the church fur runnin’ of a still, -an’ before the Lord, we kin hardly drive ’em away from hyar along of -we-uns. I’m a-goin’ ter git the skin o’ one o’ these hyar brethren an’ -nail it ter the door like a mink’s skin ter a hen house, an’ I’ll see -ef that can’t skeer ’em off. An’ ef ye don’t git out’n hyar mighty -quick now, Mark Yates, like ez not the fust skin nailed ter the door -will be that thar big, loose hide o’ yourn.” - -“I ain’t the man ter stay when I’m axed ter go,” said young Yates, -rising, “an’ so I’ll light out right now. But what I war a-aimin’ ter -tell ye, Painter, war ez how I hev sot too much store by ye and the -t’other boys ter want ter see ye a-cuttin’ cur’ous shines ’bout the -church-house an’ that leetle mite of a preacher an’ sech.” - -Once more that mental reservation touching “the strength of -righteousness” recurred to him. Was the little preacher altogether a -weakling? His courage was a stanch endowment. He had been warned of the -gathering antagonisms a hundred times, and by friend as well as foe. -But obstinately, resolutely, he kept on the path he had chosen to tread. - -“An’ I’ll let ye know ez I kin be frien’ly with a man ez fights bars -an’ fightin’-men,” Mark resumed, “but I kin abide no man ez gits ter -huntin’ down little scraps of preachers what hain’t got no call ter -fight, nor no muscle nuther.” - -“Ye’ll go away ’thout that thar hide o’ yourn ef ye don’t put out -mighty quick now,” said the Panther, his sinister green eyes ablaze -and his supple body trembling with eagerness to leap upon his foe. - -“I ain’t afeard of ye, Painter,” said Mark, with his impenetrable calm, -“but this hyar still-house air yourn, an’ I s’pose ez ye hev got a -right ter say who air ter stay an’ who air ter go.” - -He went out into the chill night; the moon had sunk; the fleet of -clouds rode at anchor above the eastern horizon, and save the throbbing -of the constellations the sky was still. But the strong, cold wind -continued to circle close about the surface of the earth; the pines -were swaying to and fro, and moaning as they swayed; the bare branches -of the other trees crashed fitfully together. As Yates mounted his -horse he heard Aaron say, in a fretful tone: “In the name of God, -John, what ails ye to-night? Ye tuk Mark an’ Mose up ez sharp! Ye air -ez powerful bouncin’ ez ef ye hed been drunk fur a week.” - -The keen voice of the Panther rang out shrilly, and Mark gave his -horse whip and heel to be beyond the sound of it. He wanted to hear no -more--not even the tones--least of all the words, and words spoken in -confidence in their own circle when they believed themselves unheard. -He feared there was some wicked conspiracy among them; he could not -imagine what it might be, but since he could do naught to hinder he -earnestly desired that he might not become accidentally cognizant of -it, and in so far accessory to it. He therefore sought to give them -some intimation of his lingering presence, for Cockleburr had been -frisky and restive, and difficult to mount; he accordingly began to -sing aloud:-- - - - “You hear that hawn? Yo he! Yo ho!” - - -But what was this? Instead of his customary hearty whoop, the tones -rang out all forlornly, a wheeze and a quaver, and finally broke and -sunk into silence. But the voices in conversation within had suddenly -ceased. The musically disposed of the Brice brothers himself was -singing, as if quite casually:-- - - - “He wept full sore fur his ‘dear friend Jack,’ - An’ how could I know he meant ‘Apple-Jack’!” - - -Mark was aware that they had taken his warning, although with no -appreciation of his motive in giving it. He could imagine the -contemptuous anger against him with which they looked significantly at -one another as they sat in the dusky shadows around the still, and he -knew that his sudden outburst into song must seem to them bravado--an -intimation that he did not care for having been summarily ejected -from the still-house, when in reality, only the recollection of it -sent the color flaming to his cheeks and the tears to his eyes. This -was not for the mere matter of pride, either; but for disappointment, -for fled illusions, for the realization that he had placed a false -valuation on these men. He had been flattered that they had cared for -his friendship, and reciprocally had valued him more than others; -they had relished and invited his companionship; they had treated him -almost as one of themselves. And although he saw much gambling and -drinking, sometimes resulting in brawls and furious fights, against -which his moral sense revolted, he felt sure that their dissipation was -transitory; they would all straighten out and settle down--when they -themselves were older. In truth, he could hardly have conceived that -this manifestation of to-night was the true identity of the friends to -whom he had attached himself--that their souls, their hearts, their -minds, were of a piece with the texture of their daily lives, as sooner -or later the event would show. In the disuse of good impulses and -honest qualities they grow lax and weak. They are the moral muscles of -the spiritual being, and, like the muscles of the physical body, they -must needs be exercised and trained to serve the best interests of the -soul. - -“Yo-he! Yo-ho!” sang poor Mark, as he plunged into the forest, keeping -in the wood trail, called courteously a road, partly by the memory of -his horse, and partly by the keen sight of his gray eyes. He lapsed -presently into silence, for he had no heart for singing, and he -jogged on dispirited, gloomy, reflective, through the rugged ways of -the wilderness. It was fully two hours before he emerged into the more -open country about his mother’s house; as he reached the bank of the -stream he glanced up, toward the bridge--the faintest suggestion of two -parallel lines across the instarred sky. A great light flashed through -the heavens, followed by a comet-like sweep of fiery sparks. - -“That thar air the ’leven o’clock train, I reckon,” said Mark, making -his cautious way among the bowlders and fragments of fallen rock to -the door of the house. The horse plucked up spirit to neigh gleefully -at the sight of his shanty and the thought of his supper. The sound -brought Mrs. Yates to the window of the cabin. - -“Air that ye a-comin’, Mark?” she asked. - -“It air me an’ Cockleburr,” replied her son, with an effort to be -cheerful too, and to cast away gloomy thoughts in the relief of being -once more at home. - -“Air ye ez drunk ez or’nary?” demanded his mother. - -This was a damper. “I ain’t drunk nohow in the worl’,” said Mark, -sullenly. - -“Whyn’t ye stay ter the still, then, till ye war soaked?” she gibed at -him. - -Mark dismounted in silence; there was no saddle to be unbuckled, and -Cockleburr walked at once into the little shed to munch upon a handful -of hay and to dream of corn. - -His master, entering the house, was saluted by the inquiry, “War -Painter Brice ez drunk ez common?” - -“No, he warn’t drunk nuther.” - -“Hev the still gone dry?” asked Mrs. Yates, affecting an air of deep -interest. - -“Not ez I knows on, it hain’t,” said Mark. - -“Thar must be suthin’ mighty comical a-goin on ef ye nor Painter nare -one air drunk. Is Aaron drunk, then? Nor Pete? nor Joe? Waal, this air -powerful disapp’intin’.” And she took off her spectacles, wiped them on -her apron, and shook her head slowly to and fro in solemn mockery. - -“Waal,” she continued, with a more natural appearance of interest, -“what war they all a-talkin’ ’bout ter-night?” - -Mark sat down, and looked gloomily at the dying embers in the deep -chimney-place for a moment, then he replied, evasively, “Nuthin’ much.” - -“That’s what ye always say! Ef I go from hyar ter the spring yander, -I kin come back with more to tell than yer kin gether up in a day an’ -a night at the still. It ’pears like ter me men war mos’ly made jes’ -ter eat an’ drink, an’ thar tongues war gin ’em for no use but jes’ ter -keep ’em from feelin’ lonesome like.” - -Mark did not respond to this sarcasm. His mother presently knelt -down on the rough stones of the hearth, and began to rake the coals -together, covering them with ashes, preliminary to retiring for the -night. She glanced up into his face as she completed the work; then, -with a gleam of fun in her eyes, she said: - -“Ye look like ye’re studyin’ powerful hard, Mark. Mebbe ye air -a-cornsiderin’ ’bout gittin’ married. It’s ’bout time ez ye war -a-gittin’ another woman hyar ter work fur ye, ’kase I’m toler’ble old, -an’ can’t live forever mo’, an’ some day ye’ll find yerself desolated.” - -“I ain’t a-studyin’ no more ’bout a-gettin’ married nor ye air -yerself,” Mark retorted, petulantly. - -“Ye ain’t a-studyin’ much ’bout it, then,” said his mother. “The Bible -looks like it air a-pityin’ of widders mightily, but it ’pears ter me -that the worst of thar troubles is over.” - -Then ensued a long silence. “Thar’s one thing to be sartain,” said -Mark, suddenly. “I ain’t never a-goin ter that thar still no more.” - -“I hev hearn ye say that afore,” remarked Mrs. Yates, dryly. “An’ thar -never come a day when yer father war alive ez he didn’t say that very -word--nor a day as that word warn’t bruken.” - -These amenities were at length sunk in sleep, and the little log hut -hung upon its precarious perch on the slope beneath the huge cliff all -quiet and lonely. The great gorge seemed a channel hewn for the winds; -they filled it with surging waves of sound, and the vast stretches -of woods were in wild commotion. The Argus-eyed sky still held its -steadfast watch, but an impenetrable black mask clung to the earth. -At long intervals there arose from out the forest the cry of a wild -beast--the anguish of the prey or the savage joy of the captor--and -then for a time no sound save the monotonous ebb and flow of the sea -of winds. Suddenly, a shrill whistle awoke the echoes, the meteor-like -train sweeping across the sky wavered, faltered, and paused on the -verge of the crag. Then the darkness was instarred with faint, swinging -points of light, and there floated down upon the wind the sound of -eager, excited voices. - -“Ef them thar cars war ter drap off’n that thar bluff,” said the -anxious Mrs. Yates, as she and her son, aroused by the unwonted noise, -came out of the hut, and gazed upward at the great white glare of the -headlight, “they’d ruin the turnip patch, worl’ without e-end.” - -“Nothing whatever is the matter,” said the Pullman conductor, cheerily, -to his passengers, as he re-entered his coach. “Only a little church on -fire just beyond the curve of the road; the engineer couldn’t determine -at first whether it was a fire built on the track or on the hillside.” - -The curtains of the berths were dropped, sundry inquiring windows -were closed, the travelers lay back on their hard pillows, the faint -swinging points of light moved upward as the men with the lanterns -sprang upon the platforms, the train moved slowly and majestically -across the bridge, and presently it was whizzing past the little -church, where the flames had licked up benches and pulpit and floor, -and were beginning to stream through door and window, and far above the -roof. - -The miniature world went clanging along its way, careless of what it -left behind, and the turnip patch was saved. - -The wonderful phenomenon of the stoppage of the train had aroused the -whole countryside, and when it had passed, the strange lurid glare high -on the slope of the mountain attracted attention. There was an instant -rush of the scattered settlers toward the doomed building. A narrow, -circuitous path led them up the steep ascent among gigantic rocks and -dense pine thickets; the roaring of the tumultuous wind drowned all -other sounds, and they soon ceased the endeavor to speak to one another -as they went, and canvass their suspicions and indignation. Turning -a sharp curve, the foremost of the party came abruptly upon a man -descending. - -He had felt secure in the dead hour of night and the thick darkness, -and the distance had precluded him from being warned by the stoppage -of the train. He stood in motionless indecision for an instant, until -Moses Carter, who was a little in advance of the others, made an effort -to seize him, exclaiming, “This fire ez ye hev kindled, Painter Brice, -will burn ye in hell forever!” He spoke at a venture, not recognizing -the dark shadow, but there was no mistaking the supple spring with -which the man threw himself upon his enemy, nor the keen ferocity that -wielded the sharp knife. Hearing, however, in the ebb of the wind, -voices approaching from the hill below, and realizing the number of his -antagonists, the Panther tore himself loose, and running in the dark -with the unerring instinct and precision of the wild beast that he was, -he sped up the precipitous slope, and was lost in the gloomy night. - -“Gin us the slip!” exclaimed Joel Ruggles, in grievous disappointment, -as he came up breathless. “A cussed painter if ever thar war one.” - -“Mebbe he won’t go fur,” said Moses Carter. “He done cut my arm a-nigh -in two, but thar air suthin’ adrippin’ off ’n my knife what I feels -in my bones is that thar Painter’s blood. An’ I ain’t a-goin ter stop -till he air cotched, dead or alive. He mought hev gone down yander -ter the Widder Yates’s house, ez him an’ Mark air thicker’n thieves. -Come ter think on’t,” he continued, “Mark war a-settin’ with this hyar -very Painter Brice an’ the t’others yander ter the still-house nigh -’pon eight o’clock ter-night, an’ like ez not he holped Painter an’ -the t’others ter fire the church.” For there was a strong impression -prevalent that wherever Panther Brice was, his satellite brothers were -not far off. Nothing, however, was seen of them on the way, and the -pursuers burst in upon the frightened widow and her son with little -ceremony. Her assertion that Mark had not left home since the eleven -o’clock train passed was disregarded, and they dragged the young fellow -out to the door, demanding to know where were the Brices. - -“I hain’t seen none of ’em since I lef’ the still ’bout’n eight or nine -o’clock ter-night,” Mark protested. - -“Ef the truth war knowed,” said Moses Carter, jeeringly, “ye never lef’ -the still till they did. War it ye ez holped ’em ter fire the church?” - -“I never knowed the church war burnin’ till ye kem hyar,” replied -young Yates. He was almost overpowered by a sickening realization of -the meaning of those covert insinuations which he had heard at the -still; and he remembered that the Panther’s assertion that the church -was safer with the Brices in it than out of it, was made while he sat -among the brothers in Moses Carter’s presence. He saw the justice of -the strong suspicion. - -“You know, though, whar Painter Brice is now--don’t ye?” asked Carter. - -A faint streak of dawn was athwart the eastern clouds, and as the young -fellow turned his bewildered eyes upward to it the blood stood still in -his veins. Upon one of the parallel lines of the bridge was the figure -of man, belittled by the distance, and indistinctly defined against -the mottling sky; but the far-seeing gray eyes detected in a certain -untrammeled ease, as it moved lightly from one of the ties to another, -the Panther’s free motion. - -Mark Yates hesitated. He cherished an almost superstitious reverence -for the church which Panther Brice had desecrated and destroyed, and he -feared the consequences of refusing to give the information demanded of -him. A denial of the knowledge he did not for a moment contemplate. And -struggling in his mind against these considerations was a recollection -of the hospitality of the Brices, and of the ill-starred friendship -that had taken root and grown and flourished at the still. - -This hesitation was observed; there were significant looks interchanged -among the men, and the question was repeated, “Whar’s Painter Brice?” - -The decision of the problems that agitated the mind of Mark Yates -was not left to him. He saw the figure on the bridge suddenly turn, -then start eagerly forward. A heavy freight train, almost noiseless -in the wild whirl of the wind, had approached very near without being -perceived by Panther Brice. He could not retrace his way before it -would be upon him--to cross the bridge in advance of it was his only -hope. He was dizzy from the loss of blood and the great height, and the -wind was blowing between the cliffs in a strong, unobstructed current. -As he ran rapidly onward, the first faint gleam of the approaching -headlight touched the bridge--a furious warning shriek of the whistle -mingled with a wild human cry, and the Panther, missing his footing, -fell like a thunderbolt into the depths of the black waters below. - -There was a revulsion of feeling, very characteristic of inconstant -humanity, in the little group on the slope below the crag. Before -Mark Yates’s frantic exclamation, “Thar goes Painter Brice, an’ he’ll -be drownded sure!” had fairly died upon the air, half a dozen men were -struggling in the dark, cold water of the swift stream in the vain -attempt to rescue their hunted foe. Long after they had given up the -forlorn hope of saving his life, the morning sun for hours watched them -patrolling the banks for the recovery of the body. - -“Ef we could haul that pore critter out somehow ’nother,” said Moses -Carter, his arm still dripping from the sharp strokes of the Panther’s -knife, “an’ git the preacher ter bury him somewhar under the pines like -he war a Christian, I could rest more sati’fied in my mind.” - -The mountain stream never gave him up. - -This event had a radical influence upon the future of Mark Yates. -Never again did he belittle the possible impetus given the moral -nature by those more trifling wrongs that always result in an -increased momentum toward crime. He was the first to discover more -of what Painter Brice had really intended,--had attempted,--than was -immediately apparent to the countryside in general. A fragment of the -door lay unburned among the charred remains of the little church in the -wilderness--a fragment that carried the lock, the key. Mark’s sharp -eyes fixed upon a salient point as he stood among the group that had -congregated there in the sad light of the awakening day. The key was -on the outside of the door, and it had been turned! The Panther had -doubtless been actuated by revenge, and perhaps, had been influenced -by the fear that information of the illicit distilling would be given -by the parson to the revenue authorities, as a means of breaking up an -element so inimical to the true progress of religion on the ridge--its -denizens hitherto availing themselves of the convenience of the still -to assuage any pricks of conscience they may have had in the matter, -and also fearing the swift and terrible fate that inevitably overtook -the informer. At all events, it was evident, that having reason to -believe the minister was still within, Painter Brice had noiselessly -locked the door that his unsuspecting enemy might also perish in the -flames. For in the primitive fashioning of the building there was no -aperture for light and air except the door--no window, save a small, -glassless square above the pulpit which, in the good time coming, the -congregation had hoped to glaze, to receive therefrom more light on -salvation. It was so small, so high, that perhaps no other man could -have slipped through it, save indeed the slim little “skimpy saint,” -and it was thus that he had escaped. - -No vengeance followed the Panther’s brothers. “They hed ter do jes’ -what Painter tole ’em, ye see,” was the explanation of this leniency. -And Mark Yates was always afterward described as “a peart smart boy, -ef he hedn’t holped the Brices ter fire the church-house.” The still -continued to be run according to the old regulations, except there -was no whisky sold to the church brethren. “That bein’ the word ez -John left behind him,” said Aaron. The laws of few departed rulers are -observed with the rigor which the Brices accorded to the Panther’s -word. The locality came to be generally avoided, and no one cared to -linger there after dark, save the three Brices, who sat as of old, in -the black shadows about the still. - -Whenever in the night-wrapped gorge a shrill cry is heard from the -woods, or the wind strikes a piercing key, or the train thunders over -the bridge with a wild shriek of whistles, and the rocks repeat it -with a human tone in the echo, the simple foresters are wont to turn -a trifle pale and to bar up the doors, declaring that the sound “air -Painter Brice a-callin’ fur his brothers.” - - - - -THE EXPLOIT -OF -CHOOLAH, THE CHICKASAW - - -The victorious campaign which Lieutenant-Colonel James Grant conducted -in the Cherokee country in the summer of 1761, and which redounded so -greatly to the credit of the courage and endurance of the expeditionary -force, British regulars and South Carolina provincials, is like many -other human events in presenting to the casual observation only an -harmonious whole, while it is made up of a thousand little jagged bits -of varied incident inconsistent and irregular, and with no single -element in common but the attraction of cohesion to amalgamate the -mosaic. - -Perhaps no two men in the command saw alike the peaks of the Great -Smoky Mountains hovering elusively on the horizon, now purple and -ominous among the storm clouds, for the rain fell persistently; -now distant, blue, transiently sun-flooded, and with the prismatic -splendors of the rainbow spanning in successive arches the abysses -from dome to dome, and growing ever fainter and fainter in duplication -far away. Perhaps no two men revived similar impressions as they -recognized various localities from the South Carolina coast to the -Indian town of Etchoee, near the Little Tennessee River, for many of -them had traversed hundreds of miles of these wild fastnesses the -previous year, when Colonel Montgomery, now returned to England, had -led an aggressive expedition against the Cherokees. Certain it is, the -accounts of their experiences are many and varied--only in all the -character of their terrible enemy, the powerful and warlike Cherokee, -stands out as incontrovertible as eternity, as immutable as Fate. Hence -there were no stragglers, no deserters. In a compact body, while the -rain fell, and the torrents swelled the streams till the fords became -almost impracticable, the little army, as with a single impulse, -pressed stanchly on through the mist-filled, sodden avenues of the -primeval woods. To be out of sight for an instant of that long, thin -column of soldiers risked far more than death--capture, torture, the -flame, the knife, all the extremity of anguish that the ingenuity of -savage malice could devise and human flesh endure. But although day -by day the thunder cracked among the branches of the dripping trees -and reverberated from the rocks of the craggy defiles, and keen swift -blades of lightning at short intervals thrust through the lowering -clouds, almost always near sunset long level lines of burnished golden -beams began to glance through the wild woodland ways; a mocking-bird -would burst into song from out the dense coverts of the laurel on the -slope of a mountain hard by; the sky would show blue overhead, and -glimmer red through the low-hanging boughs toward the west; and the -troops would pitch their tents under the restored peace of the elements -and the placid white stars. - -A jolly camp it must have been. Stories of it have come down to this -day--of its songs, loud, hilarious, patriotic, doubtless rudely -musical; of its wild pranks, of that boyish and jocose kind denominated -by sober and unsympathetic elders, “horse-play”; of the intense delight -experienced by the savage allies, the Chickasaws, who participated in -the campaign, in witnessing the dances of the young Highlanders--how -“their sprightly manner in this exercise,” and athletic grace appealed -to the Indians; how the sound of the bag-pipes thrilled them; how they -admired that ancient martial garb, the kilt and plaid. - -No admiration, however extravagant of Scotch customs, character, or -appearance, seemed excessive in the eyes of Lieutenant-Colonel James -Grant, so readily did his haughty, patriotic pride acquiesce in it, and -the Indian’s evident appreciation of the national superiority of the -Scotch to all other races of men duly served to enhance his opinion of -the mental acumen of the Chickasaws. This homage, however, failed to -mollify or modify the estimate of the noble redman already formed by a -certain subaltern, Lieutenant Ronald MacDonnell. - -“The Lord made him an Indian--and an Indian he will remain,” he would -remark sagely. - -The policy of the British government to utilize in its armies -the martial strength of semi-savage dependencies, elsewhere so -conspicuously exploited, was never successful with these Indians save -as the tribes might fight in predatory bands in their own wild way, -although much effort was made looking toward regular enlistments. -And, in fact, the futility of all endeavors to reduce the savage to -a reasonable conformity to the militarism of the camp, to inculcate -the details of the drill, a sense of the authority of officers, the -obligations of out-posts, the heinousness of “running the guard,” the -necessity of submitting to the prescribed punishments and penalties -for disobedience of orders,--all rendered this ethnographic saw so -marvelously apt, that it seemed endowed with more wisdom than Ronald -MacDonnell was popularly supposed to possess. But such logic as he -could muster operated within contracted limits. If the Lord had not -fitted a man to be a soldier, why--there Ronald MacDonnell’s extremest -flights of speculation paused. - -In the scheme of his narrow-minded Cosmos the human creature was -represented by two simple species: unimportant, unindividualized man -in general, and that race of exalted beings known as soldiers. He was -a good drill, and with the instinct of a born disciplinarian in his -survey, he would often watch the Chickasaws with this question in his -mind,--sometimes when they were on the march, and their endurance, -their activity, the admirable proportions of their bodies, their free -and vigorous gait were in evidence; sometimes in the swift efficiency -of their scouting parties when their strategy and courage and wily -caution were most marked; sometimes in the relaxations of the camp when -their keen responsive interest in the quirks and quips of the soldier -at play attested their mental receptivity and plastic impressibility. -Their gayety seemed a docile, mundane, civilized sort of mirth when -they would stand around in the ring with the other soldiers to watch -the agile Highlanders in the inspiring martial posturing of the sword -dance, with their fluttering kilts and glittering blades, their free -gestures,their long, sinewy, bounding steps, as of creatures of no -weight, while the bag-pipes skirled, and the great campfire flared, and -the light and shadows fluctuated in the dense primeval woods, half -revealing, half concealing the lines of tents, of picketed horses, -of stacks of arms, of other flaring camp-fires--even the pastoral -suggestion in the distance of the horned heads of the beef-herd. -But whatever the place or scene, Ronald MacDonnell’s conclusion was -essentially the same. “The Lord made him an Indian,” he would say, with -an air of absolute finality. - -He was a man of few words,--of few ideas; these were strictly military -and of an appreciated value. He was considered a promising young -officer, and was often detailed to important and hazardous duty. And -if he had naught to say at mess, and seldom could perceive a joke -unless of a phenomenal pertinence and brilliancy, broadly aflare so to -speak under his nose, he was yet a boon companion, and could hold his -own like a Scotchman when many a brighter man was under the table. -He had a certain stanch, unquestioning sense of duty and loyalty, and -manifested an unchangeable partisanship in his friendship, of a silent -and undemonstrative order, that caused his somewhat exaggerated view -of his own dignity to be respected, for it was intuitively felt that -his personal antagonism would be of the same tenacious, unreasoning, -requiting quality, and should not be needlessly roused. He was still -very young, although he had seen much service. He was tall and -stalwart; he had the large, raw-boned look which is usually considered -characteristic of the Scotch build, and was of great muscular strength, -but carrying not one ounce of superfluous flesh. Light-colored hair, -almost flaxen, indeed, with a strong tendency to curl in the shorter -locks that lay in tendrils on his forehead, clear, contemplative blue -eyes, a fixed look of strength, of reserves of unfailing firmness about -the well-cut lips, a good brick-red flush acquired from many and many -a day of marching in the wind, and the rain, and the sun--this is the -impression one may take from his portrait. He could be as noisy and -boisterously gay as the other young officers, but somehow his hilarity -was of a physical sort, as of the sheer joy of living, and moving, and -being so strong. One might wonder what impressions he received in the -long term of his service in Canada and the Colonies--these strange -new lands so alien to all his earlier experience. One might doubt if -he saw how fair of face was this most lovely of regions, the Cherokee -country; if the primeval forests, the splendid tangles of blooming -rhododendron, the crystal-clear, rock-bound rivers were asserted in -his consciousness otherwise than as the technical “obstacle” for troops -on the march. As to the imposing muster of limitless ranks of mountains -surrounding the little army on every side, they did not remind him of -the hills of Scotland, as the sheer sense of great heights and wild -ravines and flashing cataracts suggested reminiscences to the others. -“There is no gorse,” he remarked of these august ranges, with their -rich growths of gigantic forest trees, as if from the beginning of the -earliest eras of dry land,--and the mess called him “Gorse” until the -incident was forgotten. - -For the last three days the command, consisting of some twenty-six -hundred men, had been advancing by forced marches, despite the -deterrent weather. Setting out on the 7th of June from Fort Prince -George, where the army had rested for ten days after the march of -three hundred miles from Charlestown, Colonel Grant encountered a -season of phenomenal rain-fall. Moreover, the lay of the land,--long -stretches of broken, rocky country, gashed by steep ravines and -intersected by foaming, swollen torrents, deep and dangerous to ford, -encompassed on every hand by rugged heights and narrow, intricate, -winding valleys, affording always but a restricted passage,--offered -peculiar advantages for attack. Colonel Grant, aware that these craggy -defiles could be held against him even by an inferior force, that a -smart demonstration on the flank would so separate the thin line of -his troops that one division would hardly be available to come to the -support of the other, that an engagement here and now would result -in great loss of life, if not an actual and decisive repulse, was -urging the march forward at the utmost speed possible to reach more -practicable ground for an encounter, regardless how the pace might -harass the men. But they were responding gallantly to the demands on -their strength, and this was what he had hardly dared to hope. For -during the previous winter, when General Amherst ordered the British -regulars south by sea, many of them immediately upon their arrival -in Charlestown, succumbed to an illness occasioned by drinking the -brackish water of certain wells of the city. Coming in response to the -urgent appeals of the province to the commander-in-chief of the army -to defend the frontier against the turbulent Cherokees who ravaged -the borders, the British force were looked upon as public deliverers, -and the people of the city took the ill soldiers from the camps into -their own private dwellings, nursing them until they were quite -restored. No troops could have better endured the extreme hardships -which they successfully encountered in their march northward. So -swift an advance seemed almost impossible. The speed of the movement -apparently had not been anticipated, even by that wily and watchful -enemy, the Cherokees. It has been said that at this critical juncture -the Indians had failed to receive the supply of ammunition from the -French which they had anticipated, although a quantity, inadequate for -the emergency, however, reached them a few days later. At all events -Colonel Grant was nearly free of the district where disaster so menaced -him before he received a single shot. He had profited much by his -several campaigns in this country since he led that rash, impetuous, -and bloody demonstration against Fort Duquesne, in which he himself -was captured with nineteen of his officers, and his command was almost -cut to pieces. Now his scouts patrolled the woods in every direction. -His vanguard of Indian allies under command of a British officer was -supported by a body of fifty rangers and one hundred and fifty light -infantry. Every precaution against surprise was taken. - -Late one afternoon, however, the main body wavered with a sudden shock. -The news came along the line. The Cherokees were upon them--upon the -flank? No; in force fiercely assaulting the rear-guard. It was as Grant -had feared impossible in these narrow defiles to avail himself of his -strength, to face about, to form, to give battle. The advance was -ordered to continue steadily onward,--difficult indeed, with the sound -of the musketry and shouting from the rear, now louder, now fainter, -as the surges of attack ebbed and flowed. - -A strong party was detached to reinforce the rear-guard. But again -and again the Cherokees made a spirited dash, seeking to cut off the -beef herd, fighting almost in the open, with as definite and logical a -military plan of destroying the army by capturing its supplies in that -wild country, hundreds of miles from adequate succor, as if devised by -men trained in all the theories of war. - -“The Lord made him--” muttered Ronald MacDonnell, in uncertainty, -recognizing the coherence of this military maneuver, and said no more. -Whether or not his theory was reduced to that simple incontrovertible -proposition, thus modified by the soldier-like demonstration on the -supply train, his cogitations were cut short by more familiar ideas, -when in command of thirty-two picked men, he was ordered to make a -detour through the defiles of a narrow adjacent ravine, and, issuing -suddenly thence, seek to fall upon the flank of the enemy and surprise, -rout, and pursue him. This was the kind of thing, that with all his -limitations, Ronald MacDonnell most definitely understood. This set -a-quiver, with keenest sensitiveness, every fiber of his phlegmatic -nature, called out every working capacity of his slow, substantial -brains, made his quiet pulses bound. He looked the men over strictly as -they dressed their ranks, and then he stepped swiftly forward toward -them, for it was the habit to speak a few words of encouragement to the -troops about to enter on any extra-hazardous duty, so daunting seemed -the very sight of the Cherokees and the sound of their blood-curdling -whoops. - -“Hech, callants!” he cried, in his simple joy; and so full of valiant -elation was the exclamation that its spirit flared up amongst the wild -“petticoat-men,” who cheered as lustily as if they had profited by the -best of logic and the most finely flavored eloquence. Ronald MacDonnell -felt that he had acquitted himself well in the usual way, and was under -the impression that he had made a speech to the troops. - -Now climbing the crags of the verges of the ravine, now deep in its -trough, following the banks of its flashing torrent, they made their -way--at a brisk double-quick when the ground would admit of such -progress--and when they must, painfully dragging one another through -the dense jungles of the dripping laurel, always holding well together, -remembering the ever-frightful menace of the Cherokee to the laggard. -The rain fell no longer; the sunlight slanted on the summit of the -rocks above their heads; the wind was blowing fresh and free, and the -mists scurried before it; now and again on the steep slopes as the -vapors shifted, the horned heads of cattle showed with a familiar -reminiscent effect as of mountain kyloes at home. But these were great -stall-fed steers, running furiously at large, bellowing, frightened -by the tumults of the conflict, plunging along the narrow defiles, -almost dashing headlong into the little party of Highlanders who were -now quickening their pace, for the crack of dropping shots and once -and again a volley, the whoopings of the savages and shouts of the -soldiers, betokened that the scene of carnage was near. - -Only a few of the cattle were astray for, as MacDonnell and his men -emerged into a little level glade, they could see in the distance -that the herd was held well together by the cattle-guard, while the -reinforcements sought to check the Cherokees, who, although continually -sending forth their terribly accurate masked fire from behind trees -and rocks, now and again with a mounted body struck out boldly for the -supply train, assaulting with tremendous impetuosity the rear-guard. -So still and clear was the evening air that, despite the clamors of -battle, MacDonnell could hear the commands, could see in the distance -the lines rallying on the reserve forming into solid masses, as the -mounted savages hurled down upon them; could even discern where rallies -by platoon had been earlier made judging from the position of the -bodies of the dead soldiers, lying in a half-suggested circle. - -The next moment, with a ringing shout and a smartly delivered volley -of musketry the Highlanders flung themselves from out the mouth of the -ravine. The Cherokee horsemen were going down like so many ten-pins. -The first detachment of reinforcements set up a wild shout of joy to -perceive the support, then flung themselves on their knees to load -while a second volley from the Highlanders passed over their heads. -The rear-guard had formed anew, faced about, and were advancing in the -opposite direction. The Cherokee horsemen, almost surrounded, gave -way; the fire of the others in ambush wavered, slackened, became only -a dropping shot here and there, then sunk to silence. And the woods -were filled with a wild rout, with the irregular musketry of the troops -frenzied with sudden success, out of line, out of hearing, out of -reason as they pursued the unmounted savages, dislodged at last from -their masked position; with the bugles blowing, the bag-pipes playing; -with the unheard, disregarded orders shouted by the officers; with that -thrilling cry of the Highlanders “Claymore! Claymore!” the sun flashing -on their drawn broadswords as they gained on the flying Indians, -themselves as fleet;--a confused, disordered panorama of shadows and -sunlight, of men in red coats and men in blue, and men in tartan, and -savage Chickasaws and Cherokees in their wild barbaric array. - -It had been desired that the repulse should be fierce and decisive, the -pursuit bloody and relentless. The supply train represented the life -of the army, and it was essential to deter the Cherokees from readily -renewing the attack on so vital a point. But these ends compassed, -every effort of the officers was concentrated on the necessity of -recalling the scattered parties. Night was coming on; it was a strange -and an alien country; the skulking Cherokees were doubtless in force -somewhere in the dense coverts of the woods, and the vicarious terrors -of the capture that menaced the valorous and venturesome soldiers began -to press heavily upon the officers. Again and again the bugles summoned -the stragglers, the rich golden notes drifting through the wilderness, -rousing a thousand insistent echoes from many a dumb rock thus endowed -with a voice. Certain of the more solicitous officers sent out, with -much caution, small details, gathering together the stragglers as they -went. - -How Ronald MacDonnell became separated from one of these parties was -never very clear afterward to his own mind. His attention was attracted -first by the sight of a canny Scotch face or two, which he knew, lying -very low and very still; he suffered a pang which he could never evade. -These were the men who had followed him to the finish, and he took out -his note-book and holding it against a tree, made a memorandum of the -locality for the burial parties, and then, with great particularity, -of the names, “For the auld folks at hame,” and he quoted, mournfully -a line of the old Gaelic lament much sung by the Scotch emigrants -“_Ha til mi tulidh_” (we return no more), which was sadly true of -the Highland soldiery in the British ranks,--an instance is given of -a regiment of twelve hundred men who served in America of whom only -seventy-six ever saw their native hills again. Then, briskly putting up -the book he went on a bit, glancing sharply about for the living of his -command, even now thrusting their reckless heads into the den of the -Cherokee lion. “Ill-fau’rd chields, and serve them right,” he said, -struggling with the dismay in his heart for their sake. - -Perhaps he did not realize how far those active strides were carrying -him from the command. In fact the march continued that night until -the sinking of the moon, the army pressing resolutely on through the -broken region of the mountain defiles. MacDonnell noted no Cherokee -in sight, that is to say, not a living one. Several of the dead lay -on the ground, their still faces already bearing that wan, listening, -attentive look of death; they were heedless indeed of the hands that -had rifled them of their possessions, for there were a few of the -Chickasaw allies intent on plunder. - -Presently as he went down a sunset glade, MacDonnell saw advancing -a notable figure, a Chickasaw chief, tall, lithe, active, muscular, -with a gait of athletic grace. He was wearing the warrior’s “crown,” -a towering head-dress in the form of a circlet of white swan’s -feathers of graduated height, standing fifteen inches high in front, -and at the bottom woven into a band of swan’s down--all so deftly -constructed that the method of the manufacture of the whole could not -be discerned, it is said, without taking it into the hand. To the -fringed borders of a sort of sleeveless hunting shirt of otter-skin -and his buckskin leggings bits of shells were attached and glittered, -and this betokened his wealth, for these beads represented the money -of the Indians, with the unique advantage that when not in active -circulation, one’s currency could be worn as an ornament. It has been -generally known under the generic name “wampum,” although several of -the Southern tribes called it “roanoke” or “pe-ack.” It was made in -tiny, tubular beads, of about an inch in length, of the conch and -mussel-shells, requiring the illimitable leisure of the Indian to -polish the cylinder to the desired glister, and drill through it the -hollow no larger than a knitting-needle might fill. His chest and arms -were painted symbolically in red and blue arabesques, and his face, of -a proud, alert cast was smeared with vermilion and white. All his flesh -glistened and shone with the polishing of some unguent. MacDonnell -had heard a deal of preaching in his time of the Scotch Presbyterian -persuasion, and in the dearth of expression Biblical phrases sometimes -came to him. “Oil to give him a cheerful countenance,” he quoted, still -gazing at the grim face and figure. So intently he gazed, indeed, that -the Indian hesitated, doubting if the Highland officer recognized -him as a friend. Breaking off a branch of a green locust hard by and -holding it aloft at one side, after the manner of a peaceful embassy, -he continued his stately advance until within a yard of the silent -Scotchman, also advancing. Then they both paused. - -“_Ish la chu; Angona?_” said the Indian, in a sonorous voice. (Are you -come, a friend?) - -With the true Briton’s aversion to palaver, intensified by his own -incapacity for its practice, Ronald MacDonnell discovered little -affinity for barbaric ceremonial. Nevertheless he was constrained -by the punctilious sense that a gentleman must reply to a courteous -greeting in the manner expected of him. His experience with the -Chickasaws had acquainted him with the appropriate response. - -“_Arabre--O, Angona_,” (I am come, a friend) he returned, a trifle -sheepishly, and without the _ore rotunda_ effect of the elocution of -the Indian. - -The young chief looked hard at him, evidently desirous of engaging him -in conversation, unaware that it was a game at which the Scotchman was -incapacitated for playing. - -“Big battle,” he observed, after a doubtful interval. - -“A bonny ploy,” assented the officer, who had seen much bigger ones. - -Then they both paused and gazed at each other. - -“Cherokee--heap fight! Big damn--O!” remarked Choolah, the Fox, -applausively. - -The use of this most vocative vowel as an intensitive suffix is -one of the peculiar methods of emphasis in the animated Chickasaw -language--for instance the word _Yanas-O_ means the biggest kind of -buffalo (_yanasa_ signifying buffalo in all the dialects). Choolah -conversing in the cold and phlegmatic English evidently felt the need -of these intensitives, and although a certain strong condemnatory -monosyllable has been usually found sufficiently satisfying to the -feelings of English speaking men seeking an expletive, the poor -Aboriginal, wishing to be more wicked than he was, discovered its -capacity for expansion with the prefix “Big” and devised an added -emphasis with the explosive final “O.” - -“The Cherokee warriors? Pretty men!” said MacDonnell laconically, -according the enemy’s valor the meed of a soldier’s praise. “Very -pretty men.” - -Choolah had never piqued himself on his command of the English -language, but he thought now his fluency was at least equal to that -of this Scotchman, who really seemed to speak no tongue at all. As to -the French--of that speech, _ookproo-se_ (forever despised) Choolah -would not learn a syllable, so deadly a hatred did the Chickasaw tribe -bear the whole Gallic nation, dating back indeed through many wars and -feuds, to the massacre by Choctaws of certain of the tribe in 1704, -while under the protection of Boisbriant with a French safeguard, the -deed suspected to have been committed if not at the instigation, at -least by the permission of the French commander who, however, himself -wounded in the affray, was beyond doubt, helpless in the matter. - -“Heap tired?” ventured Choolah, at last, pining for conversation, his -searching eyes on the young Highlander’s face. - -Ronald MacDonnell laughed a proud negation. He held out one of his -long, heavily muscled arms, with the fist clenched, that the Indian -might feel, through his sleeve, the swelling cords that betokened his -strength. - -But it was Choolah’s trait to cherish vanity in physical endowment, not -to foster it in others. He only said, “Good! Swim river.” - -“Why swim the river?” demanded the Lieutenant. - -Then Choolah detailed that through a scout he had thrown out he had -learned that Colonel Grant’s force, still pushing on, had succeeded -in crossing the Tennessee river, the herd of cattle and the pack -animals giving incredible trouble in the fords, deeply swollen by the -unprecedented rains. It suddenly occurred to MacDonnell that, in view -of the passage of the troops beyond this barrier, much caution would be -requisite in endeavoring to rejoin the main body, lest they fall into -the clutch of the Cherokees on the hither side, who doubtless would -seek the capture of parties of stragglers by carefully patrolling the -banks. He suggested this to Choolah. The Indian listened for only a -moment with a look of deep conviction; then suddenly calling to five -Chickasaws who were still engaged in parceling out the booty they had -brought away from the dead bodies, he beckoned to MacDonnell, and they -set out on a line parallel with the river, in Indian file, in a long, -steady trot, the Scotchman among them, half willing, half dismayed, -repudiating with the distaste of a prosaic, unimaginative mind every -evidence of barbarism; every unaccustomed thing seemed grotesque and -uncouth, and lacking all in lacking the cachet of civilization. Each -man, as he ran lightly along that marshy turf, almost without noting, -as if by instinct placed his feet upon the steps of the man in advance; -thus, although seven persons passed over the ground, the largest man -coming last, the footprints would show as if but one had gone that way. -Ronald MacDonnell, quick at all military or athletic exercises, readily -achieved conformity, although the barbarous procedure compromised his -sensitive dignity, and he growled between his teeth something about a -commissioned officer and a “demented goose-step,” as if he found the -practice of the one by the other a painful derogation. The moon came -into the sky while still they sped along in this silent, crafty way, -the wind in their faces, the pervasive scents of the damp, flowery June -night filling every breath they drew with the impalpable essences of -sylvan fragrance. - -Even with the dangers that lurked at their heels, the Indians would -never leap over a log, for this was unlucky, but made long detours -around fallen trees, till Ronald MacDonnell could have belabored them -with hearty good-will, and but for the fear of capture by the savage -Cherokees, could not have restrained himself from crying aloud for rage -for the waste of precious time. He had even less patience with their -slow and respectful avoidance of stepping on a snake sinuously skirting -their way, since, according to their belief, this would provoke the -destruction of their own kindred by the serpent’s brothers; Choolah’s -warning to the other Chickasaws in the half-suppressed hiss--“_Seente! -Seente!_” (snake!) sounded far and sibilant in the quiet twilight. The -Cherokee tribe also were wont to avoid with great heed any injury to -snakes, and spoke of them always in terms of crafty compliment as “the -bright old inhabitants.” - -The shadows grew darker, more definite; the moon, of a whiter glister -now, thoughtful, passive, very melancholy, illumined the long vistas -of the woods, and although verging toward the west, limited the area -of darkness that had become their protection. More than once Choolah -had glanced up doubtfully at its clear effulgence, for the sky was -unclouded and the constellations were only a vague bespanglement of -the blue deeps; coming at length to a dense covert among the blooming -laurel, he crept in among the boughs, that overhung a shallow grotto -by the river bank. MacDonnell followed his example, and the group soon -were in the cleft of the rocks under the dense shade, the Scotchman -alone among the Indians, with such dubious sentiments as a good hound -might entertain were he thrust, muzzled, among his natural enemies, the -bears. - -But the Chickasaws, as ever, were earnestly, ardently friendly to the -British. There was no surly reservation in Choolah’s mind as he reached -forth his hand and laid it upon the muscular arm of the Scotchman. - -“Good arm,” he said, reverting to the young Highlander’s boast. -“But--big damn--O!--good leg! Heap run!” he declared, with a -smothered laugh, like any other young man’s, much resembling indeed -the affectionate ridicule that was wont to go around the mess-table -at Ronald’s unimaginative solemnities. But even MacDonnell could -appreciate the jest at a brave man’s activities, and he laughed in -pleasant accord with the others. - -A scout that they had thrown out came presently creeping back under -the boughs with the unwelcome intelligence that there was a party of -Cherokees a little higher up on the river, a small band of about a -dozen men, seeming intent on holding the ford. These were stationary, -apparently, but lower down, patrolling the banks, were groups here and -there beating the woods for stragglers, he fancied. As yet, however, -he thought they had no prisoners. Still, their suspicions of hidden -soldiers were unallayed, and they were keeping very quiet. - -The scout was named Oop-pa, the Owl. Although himself a warrior -of note he was of a far lower grade of Chickasaw than Choolah, in -personal quality as well as in actual rank. Instead of manifesting the -stanch courage with which the Indian Fox hearkened to this untoward -intelligence, the alert gathering of all his forces of mind and body -for defense and for victory, or to make his defeat and capture an -exceedingly costly and bloody triumph, Oop-pa set himself, still in the -guise of imparting news, to sullenly plaining. The Highland officer -listened heedfully for in these repeated campaigns in the valley of -the Tennessee River he had become somewhat familiar with the dialect -of the Chickasaw allies and in a degree they comprehended the sound of -the English, and thus the conversation of the little party was chiefly -held each speaking in his own tongue. The English were all across the -river, Oop-pa declared. The red-coats, and the green-coats, and the -tartan-men, and the provincial regiment--he did not believe a man of -the command was left--but them. - -“Well, thank God for that much grace!” exclaimed Ronald MacDonnell, -strictly limiting his gratitude; he would render to Providence due -recognition for his own rescue when it should be accomplished. His -thankfulness, however, for the extent of the blessing vouchsafed was -very genuine. His military conscience had been sharply pricked lest he -might have lost some of his own men in the confusion of the pursuit and -the subsequent separation from the little band. - -Oop-pa looked at him surlily. For his own part, the Indian said, he was -tired. Let the English and French fight one another. They had left him -to be captured by the Cherokees. He needed no words. White man hated -red man. Big Colonel Grant would be glad. Proud Colonel Grant--much -prouder than an Indian,--would not care if the terrible Cherokees -tortured and burned his faithful Chickasaws. Let it be one of his own -honey plaidsmen, though, and you would see a difference! For haughty -Colonel Grant couldn’t abide for such little accidents to befall any of -his pampered tartan-men, whom he loved as if they were his children. - -With the word the world changed suddenly to Ronald MacDonnell. For -this--this fearful fate menaced him. His was not a pictorial mind, but -he had a sudden vision of a quiet house on a wild Scottish coast at -nightfall within view of the surging Atlantic, with all the decorous -habitudes about it of a kindly old home, with a window aglow, through -which he could see, as if he stood just outside, a familiar room where -there were old books and candlelight, and the flare of fire, and the -collie on the rug, and the soft young pink cheeks of sisters, and a -gray head with a pipe, intent upon the columns of a newspaper and the -last intelligence from far America,--and oh! in the ingle-nook, a -face sweeter for many a wrinkle, and eyes dearer for the loss of blue -beauty, and soft hands grown nerveless, whose touch nevertheless he -could feel across the ocean on his hard, weather-beaten young cheek. -It had been a long time since this manly spirit had cried back to his -mother, but it was only for a moment. If his fate came as he feared, -he hoped they might never know how it had befallen. And the picture -dissolved. - -He did not fail to listen to the scornful reproaches with which Choolah -upbraided Oop-pa. He had been left because he had lingered to rob the -slain Cherokees. Look at the load there of hunting-shirts and blankets, -and yes, even a plaid or two from a dead Highlander, that he had borne -with him on his back from the field of battle; it was his avarice that -had belated him. - -And what then, Oop-pa retorted, had belated Choolah and the Highland -officer? They had brought away nothing but their own hides, which they -were at liberty to offer to the Cherokees, as early as they might. - -The freedom of Oop-pa’s tongue was resented as evidently by Choolah -as by Ronald, but the _Etissu_ occupied a semi-sacerdotal position -toward the chief, a war-captain, the decrees of whose religion would -not suffer him to touch a morsel of food or a drop of drink while -on the war-path unless administered by the _Etissu_. The utmost -abstemiousness was preserved among the Chickasaws throughout, and it -continued a marvel to the British troops how men could march or fight -so ill-nourished, practicing all the fasting austerities of religious -observances. There were many similar customs implying consecration to -war as holy duty, but they were gradually becoming modified by the -introduction of foreign influences, for formerly the Indians would -not have suffered among them on the march the unsanctified presence -of a stranger like Ronald MacDonnell. He said naught in reply to the -_Etissu_. His mind was grimly preoccupied. He was busied with the -realization of how strong he was, how very strong. These lithe Indians, -with all their supple elasticity, their activity, had no such staying -power as he, no such muscular vitality. He was thinking what resources -of anguish his stalwart physique offered for the hideous sport of the -torture; how his stanch flesh would resist. How long, how long dying he -would be! - -The terrors of capture by the Cherokees had been by Grant’s orders -described again and again to the troops to keep the rank and file -constant to duty, close in camp, vigilant on outpost, and alert to -respond to the call to arms. Never, as Ronald righteously repeated -this grim detail, had he imagined he would ever be in case to remember -it with a personal application. He now protested inwardly that he -could die like a soldier. Even from the extremity of physical anguish -he had never shrunk. But the hideous prospect of the malice of human -fiends wreaked for hours and hours upon every quivering nerve, upon -every sensitive fiber, with the wonderful ingenuity for which the -Cherokees were famous, made him secretly wince as he crouched there -among the friendly Chickasaws, beneath the boughs of the rhododendron -splendidly a-bloom in the moonlight, while the rich, pearly glamours -of the broken disk sunk down and down the sky, and the dew glimmered -on the full-fleshed leaves, and through them a silver glitter from -the Tennessee River hard by struck his eye, and a break in the woods, -where the channel curved, showed the contour of a dome of the Great -Smoky Mountains limiting the instarred heavens. As he looked out from -the covert of the laurel--his flaxen hair visible here and there in -rings on his sunburned forehead, from which his blue bonnet was pushed -back; his strongly marked high features, hardly so immobile as was -their wont; his belt, his plaid, his claymore, all the details of that -ancient martial garb, readjusted with military precision since the -fight; his long, rawboned figure, lean and muscular, but nevertheless -with a suggestion of the roundness of youth, half reclining, supported -on one arm--the Indian gazed at him with questioning intentness. - -Suddenly Choolah spoke. - -“_Angona_,” (friend) he said, with a poignant note of distrust, “you -have a thought in your mind.” - -It was seldom indeed, that Ronald MacDonnell could have been thus -accused. He changed color a trifle, although he said, hastily, “Oh, no, -my good man, not at all--not at all!” - -“_Angona! Angona!_” cried Choolah, in reproach. - -Perhaps a definite recognition of this thought in his mind came to -MacDonnell with the fear that the Chickasaw, who so easily discerned -it, would presently read it. “The fearsome Fox that he is,” thought -Ronald with an almost superstitious thrill at his heart. - -Naturally he could not know how open was that frank face of his, -and that the keen discernment of the savage, though perceiving the -presence of the withheld thought, was yet inadequate to translate -its meaning. This thought was one which he would in no wise share -with Choolah. MacDonnell’s most coherent mental process was always -of a military trend; without a definite effort of discrimination, or -even voluntarily reverting to the events of the day, it had suddenly -occurred to him that the Cherokee with the essential improvidence of -the Indian nature, could not have developed that plan of attack on the -provision train, so determined and definitely designed, so difficult -to repulse, so repeated, renewed again and again with a desperation of -the extremest sacrifice to the end. And small wonder! Its success would -have involved the practical destruction of Grant’s whole army. Hundreds -of miles distant from any sufficient base of supplies, the provision -train was the life of the expedition. The beef-herds to be subsequently -driven out from the province to Fort Prince George for the use of -the army were to be timed with a view to the gradual consumption of -the provisions already furnished, and to communicate by messenger to -Charlestown, now distant nearly four hundred miles, the disaster of the -capture of stores would obviously involve a delay fatal to the troops. - -The Indians, however, were a hand-to-mouth nation. Subsisting on the -chances of game in their long hunts and marches, enduring in its -default incredible rigors of hunger as a matter of course, sustaining -life and even strength when in hard luck by roots and fruits and -nuts, they could not have realized the value of the provision train -to civilized troops who must needs have beef and bacon, flour and -tobacco, soap and medicine--or they cannot fight. There was but one -explanation--French officers were among the Cherokees and directed -these demonstrations. Their presence had been earlier suspected, and -this, Ronald thought, was indisputable proof. The strange selection -of the ground where in the previous year the Cherokees had massed in -force and given battle to Colonel Montgomery’s troops had occasioned -much surprise, and later the same phenomenon occurred in their -engagements with Colonel Grant. It seemed to amount to an exhibition -of an intuitive military genius. No great captain of Europe, it was -said, could have acted with finer discernment of the opportunities and -the dangers, could with greater acumen have avoided and nullified the -risks. But Colonel Grant, who was always loath to accord credit to -aught but military science, believed the ground was chosen by men who -had studied the tactics of the great captains of Europe, and although -he had learned to beware of the wily devices of the savage, and to meet -his masked fire with skulking scouts and native allies, fighting in -their own way, he preserved all the precise tactical methods in which -he had been educated, and kept a sharp edge on his expectation for the -warlike feints and strategy of the equally trained French officer. - -If he could only meet one now, Ronald MacDonnell was thinking. In case -it should prove impossible to cross the river and rejoin his command, -if he could only surrender to Johnny Crapaud! - -To be sure the creature spoke French and ate frogs! More heinous -still he was always a Romanist, and diatribes on the wicked sorceries -and idolatries of papistry had been hurled through MacDonnell’s -consciousness from the Presbyterian pulpit since his earliest -recollection. But a soldier, a French officer--surely he would be -acquainted with higher methods than the barbarities of the savage; he -would be instructed in the humanities, subject to those amenities which -in all civilized countries protect a prisoner of war. Surely he would -not stand by and see a fellow-soldier--a white man, a Christian, like -himself--put to the torture and the stake. And if his authority could -not avail for protection--“I’d beg a bullet of him; in charity he could -not deny me that!” If the opportunity were but vouchsafed, MacDonnell -resolved to appeal to the Frenchman by every sanction that can control -a gentleman, by their fellow feeling as soldiers, by the bond of their -common religion. He hesitated a moment, realizing a certain hiatus -here, a gulf--and then he reconciled all things with a triumphant -stroke of potent logic. “They may call it idolatry or Mariolatry, if -they want to,--but I never heard anybody deny that the Lord _did_ have -a mother. And it’s a mighty good thing to have!” - -This was the thought in his mind--the chance, the hope of surrendering -to a French officer. - -The stir of the Indians recalled him. The moon was lower in the sky, -sinking further and further toward that great purple dome of the -many summits of the Great Smoky Mountains. All the glistening lines -of light upon the landscape--the glossy foliage, the shining river, -the shimmering mists--seemed drawn along as if some fine-spun seine, -some glittering enmeshment were being hauled into the boat-shaped -moon, still rocking and riding the waves off the headlands that the -serrated mountains thrust forth like a coast-line on the seas of the -sky. Now and again the voices of creatures of prey--wolves, panthers, -wildcats--came shrilly snarling through the summer night from the deep -interior of the woods, where they wrangled over the gain that the -battle had wrought for them in the slain of horses and men,--of the -Cherokee force doubtless; MacDonnell had scarcely a fear that these -were of Grant’s command, for that officer’s care for such protection of -his dead as was possible was always immediate and peculiarly marked, -and it was his habit to have the bodies sunk with great weights into -the rivers to prevent the scalping of them by the Cherokees. Ronald -wearied of the melancholy hours, the long, long night, although light -would have but added dangers of discovery. It was the lagging time he -would hasten, would fain stride into the future and security, so did -the suspense wear on his nerves. It told heavily even on the Indian, -and Ronald felt a certain sympathy when Choolah’s half-suppressed voice -greeted the scout, creeping into the grotto once more, with the wistful -inquiry, “_Onna He-tak?_” (Is it day?) - -But the news that the _Etissu_ brought was not indeed concerned with -the hour. In his opinion, they would all soon have little enough to do -with time. His intelligence was in truth alarming. While the Cherokees -patrolling the river had gradually withdrawn to the interior of the -forest and disappeared, those at the ford above were suspiciously -astir. They had received evidently some intimation of the presence here -of the lurking Chickasaws, and were on the watch. To seek to flee would -precipitate an instant attack; to escape hence would be merely to fall -into the hands of the marauders in the forest beyond; to plunge into -the Tennessee River would furnish a floating target for the unerring -marksmen. Yet the crisis was immediate. - -Choolah suddenly raised the hand of authority. - -Ronald MacDonnell had seen much service, and had traveled far out of -the beaten paths of life. He was born a gentleman of good means and -of long descent--for if the MacDonnells were to be believed, Adam -was hardly a patch upon the antiquity of the great Clan-Colla. He -had already made an excellent record in his profession. It seemed to -him the veriest reversal of all the probabilities that he should now -be called upon to take his orders from Choolah the Fox, the savage -Chickasaw. Yet he felt no immediate vocation for the command, had it -been within his reach. With all his military talent and training he -could devise no other resource than to withstand the attack of the -larger party with half their number; to swim the river, and drown there -with a musket-ball in his brain; to flee into the woods to certain -capture. He watched, therefore, with intensest curiosity the movements -of the men under Choolah’s direction. The moon was now very low, the -light golden, dully burnished, far-striking, with a long shadow. First -one, then another of the Chickasaws showed themselves openly upon -the bank of the river in a clear space high above the current of the -water. Choolah beckoned to the Scotchman, and MacDonnell alertly sprang -to his feet and joined the wily tactician without a question, aware -that he was assisting to baffle the terrible enemy. His bonnet, his -fluttering plaid, his swinging claymore, his great muscular height and -long stride, all defined in the moonlight against the soft sky and the -mountains beyond, were enough to acquaint the watching Cherokees with -the welcome fact that here was not only an enemy but a white man of the -Highland battalion, the friends of the Chickasaw. The artful Chickasaws -swiftly and confusedly came and went from the densities of the laurel. -Impossible it would have been for the Cherokees to judge definitely of -their numbers, so quickly did they appear and disappear and succeed one -another. Thus cleverly the attack was postponed. - -Ronald MacDonnell gave full credit to the strategy of Choolah. For -it would now seem--it needs must--that their little party no longer -feared the enemies in the quiet woods! They must have presumed the -Cherokees all gone! The Chickasaws were building a fire since the moon -was sinking. Probably they felt they could not lie down to sleep -without its protection and wolves very near in the woods. Listen to -that shrill, blood-curdling cry! They were surely disposing themselves -to rest! Already as the blaze began to leap up and show in the water -of the river below like a great red jewel, with the deep crystalline -lusters of a many-faceted ruby, figures might be seen by the flare of -the mounting flames, recumbent on the ground, wrapped in blankets; here -and there was tartan, an end of the plaid thrown over the face as the -Highlanders always slept; here and there a hunting-shirt and leggings -were plainly visible--all lying like the spokes of a wheel around the -central point of the fire. - -“It is only the Muscogees who sleep in line,” Choolah explained to -MacDonnell, who had criticised the disposition. - -The crafty Cherokees, stealthily approaching ever nearer and nearer, -had not seen in the first feeble glimmers of the flames the figures of -the seven men crawling gingerly back to the grotto in the covert of -the laurel, leaving around the fire merely billets of wood arrayed in -the blankets and stolen gear which the Owl had brought off from the -battle-field. - -“But I am always in the wrong,” plained Oop-pa, sarcastically. “What -would you and the big tartan-man have to dress those warriors in if I -had not stayed for my goods?” - -MacDonnell had urged his scruples. This was hardly according to the -rules of war. “But if the Cherokees fire on sleeping men,” he argued-- - -“_Angona_,” the wily Chickasaw assured him, suavely, “they are -disarmed. We can rush out and overpower them before they can load.” - -“They ought to be able to fire three times to the minute,” thought -MacDonnell, who was a good drill. - -But the Cherokees were not held to the rigorous manual of arms, and did -not attain to that degree of dexterity considered excellent efficiency -in that day although a breech-loading musket invented by Colonel -Patrick Ferguson, who met his death at King’s Mountain, was capable of -being fired seven times a minute, and was used not many years after -these events, with destructive effect, by his own command at the battle -of the Brandywine, in 1777. - -MacDonnell, lying prone on the ground in the laurel, his face barely -lifted, saw the last segment of the moon slip down behind the great -mountain, the following mists glister in the after-glow and fade, a -soft, dull shadow drop upon the landscape then sink to darkness, and -in the blaze of the fire a quivering feather-crested head protrude -above the river-bank. There were other crafty approaches--here, there, -the woods seemed alive! Suddenly an alien flare of light, a series of -funnel-shaped evanescent darts, the simultaneous crack of a volley, and -a dozen swift figures dashed to the scalping of their victims by the -fire--to lay hold on the logs in the likeness of sleeping men, to break -a knife in the hard fibers of one that seemed to stir, to cry aloud, -inarticulate, wild, frenzied in rage, in amaze, in grief, to find -themselves at the mercy of the Chickasaws darting out from the laurel! - -There was a tumultuous rush, then a frantic, futile attempt to reload; -two or three of the prisoners wielding knives with undue effect were -shot down, and Choolah, triumphant, majestic in victory, stately, -erect, his crown of tall white swan’s feathers, his glittering fringes -of roanoke, the red and blue of his glossy war-paint, all revealed by -the flaring fire, waved his hand to his “_Angona_” to call upon him to -admire his prowess in battle. - -The next moment his attention was caught by a sudden swift alarm in the -face of one of the Cherokees, a faraway glance that the wily Choolah -followed with his quick eye. Something had happened at the camp the -Cherokees had abandoned--was there still movement there? - -It was some one who had been away, returning, startled to see the -bivouac fire sunken to an ember,--for the Cherokees had let it die out -to further the advantages of the attack,--then evidently reassured to -note the flare a little further down the stream, as if the camp had -been shifted for some reason. - -Choolah drew his primed and loaded pistol. No Cherokee, however, -would have dared to venture a warning sign. And Ronald MacDonnell, -with what feelings he could hardly analyze, could never describe, saw -leaping along the jagged bank of the river toward them a white man, -young, active, wearing a gayly-fringed hunting-shirt and leggings of -buckskin, but a military hat and the gorget of a French officer. He was -among them before he saw his mistake--his fatal mistake! The delighted -shrieks of the Chickasaws overpowered every sense, filling the woods -with their fierce shrill joy and seeming to strike against the very -sky, “_French! hottuk ook-proo-se!_” (The accursed people!) - -All thought of caution, all fears of wandering Cherokees were lost -in the supreme ecstasy of their triumph--the capture of one of the -detested French, that the tribe had hated with an inconceivable and -savage rancor for generations. - -“_Shukapa! Shukapa!_” (Swine-eater!) they exclaimed in disgust and -derision, for the aversion of the Indians to pork was equaled only by -that of the Jews, and this was an extreme expression of contempt. - -The captive was handled rudely enough in the process of disarming him, -which the Owl and Choolah accomplished, while his Cherokees stood at -the muzzles of the firelocks of the others. There was blood on his -face and hands as he turned a glance on the Scotchman. He uttered a -few eager words in French, unintelligible to MacDonnell save the civil -preface, “_Pardon, Monsieur, mais puis-je vous demander--_” - -The rest of the sentence was lost in the fierce derisive shrieks of -the Chickasaws recognizing the inflections of the detested language, -“_Seente soolish! Seente soolish!_” (snake’s tongue!) they vociferated. - -But had the conclusion of the request been audible it would have been -incomprehensible to Ronald MacDonnell. - -The impassive Highlander silently shook his head, and a certain fixity -of despair settled on the face of the French officer. It was a young -face--he seemed not more than twenty-five, MacDonnell thought. It was -narrow, delicately molded, with very bright eyes, that had a sort of -youthful daring in them--adventurous looking eyes. They were gray, with -long black lashes and strongly defined eyebrows. His complexion was of -a clear healthy pallor, his hair dark but a trifle rough, and braided -in the usual queue. So often did Ronald MacDonnell have to describe -this man, both on paper and off, that every detail of his appearance -grew very familiar to him. The stranger’s lips were red and full, and -the upper one was short and curving; he did not laugh or smile, of -course, but he showed narrow white teeth, for now and again he gasped -as if for breath, and more than once that sensitive upper lip quivered. -Not that Ronald MacDonnell ever gave the portraiture in this simple -wise, for his descriptions were long and involved, minute and yet -vague, and proved the despair of all interested in fixing the identity -of the man; but gleaning from his accounts this is the way the stranger -must have appeared to the young Scotchman. His figure was tall and -lightly built, promising more activity than muscular force, and while -one hand was held on the buckle of his belt, the left went continually -to the hilt of a sword, _which he did not wear_, but the habit was -betrayed by this gesture. There was nothing about him to intimate his -rank, beyond the gorget, and on this point Ronald MacDonnell could -never give any satisfaction. - -The Indian is seldom immoderate in laughter, but Choolah could not -restrain his wicked mirth to discover that the two officers could -not speak to each other. And yet the pale-faces were so often amazed -that the Cherokees and the Chickasaws and the Creeks had not the same -language, as if a variety of tongues were thrown away on the poor -Indian, who might well be expected to put up with one speech! For only -the Chickasaw and Choctaw dialects were inter-comprehensible, both -tribes being descended, it is said, from the ancient Chickemicaws, -and in fact much of the variation in their speech was but a matter -of intonation. The tears of mirth stood in Choolah’s eyes. He held -his hand to his side--he could scarcely calm himself, even when he -discerned a special utility in this lack of a medium of communication, -for the enterprising scout came back once more to say that there were -some Chickasaws lower down on the river, where the ford was better. -Choolah received this assurance with most uncommon demonstrations -of pleasure, evidently desiring their assistance in guarding the -prisoners to Grant’s camp, being ambitious of securing the commander’s -commendation and intending to afford ocular proof of his exploit by -exhibiting the number of his captives. But MacDonnell detected a high -note of elation in Choolah’s voice which no mere pride could evoke, -and he recognized a danger signal. He instantly bethought himself -of the fate at the hands of the Chickasaws, more than a score of -years before, of the gallant D’Artaguette, the younger, and his brave -lieutenant Vincennes, burned at the stake by slow fires, after their -unhappy defeat at the fortified town, _Ash-wick-boo-ma_ (Red Grass), -the noble Jesuit, Sénat, sharing their death, although he might have -escaped, remaining to comfort their last moments with his ghostly -counsels. - -MacDonnell listened as warily to the talk as he might, and although -Choolah said no more than was eminently natural in planning to turn -over his prisoners to these Chickasaws by reason of their superior -numbers, MacDonnell’s alert sense detected the same vibration when he -expressed his decision to leave the _Etissu_ and the Highland officer -to guard the Frenchman till his return. - -“Then we will together cross the Tennessee river here,” he said. - -MacDonnell yawned widely as he nodded his head, his hand over his -stretched mouth and shielding his face. He would not trust its -expression to the discerning Choolah, for he had again that infrequent -guest, “a thought in his mind.” - -In truth, Choolah had no intention to take the Frenchman to Grant’s -camp. The praise he would receive as a reward was a petty consideration -indeed as compared with the delights of torturing and burning so rare, -so choice a victim as a French officer. To be sure his excuse must be -good and devised betimes, for Colonel Grant was squeamish and queer, -objecting to the scalping and burning of prisoners, and seemed indeed -at times of a weak stomach in regard to such details. And that came -about naturally enough. He did not fast, as behooves a war-captain. -He ate too much on the war-path. He had two cooks! He had also a man -to dress his hair, and another to groom his horse. Naturally his heart -had softened, and he was averse to the stern pleasures of recompensing -an enemy with the anguish of the stake. This Choolah intended to -enjoy, summoning the Chickasaws at the ford below to the scene of his -triumph. Besides it requires a number of able-bodied assistants to -properly roast in wet weather a vigorous and protesting captive. The -Scotchman should suspect naught until his return. True, he might not -object, for were not the French as ever the inveterate enemies of the -English? But if he should it could avail naught against the will of a -round dozen or more of Chickasaws. Besides, was not the prisoner of the -detested nation of the French--_Nana-Ubat_? (Nothings and brothers to -nothing.) Nevertheless, it was well they could not speak to each other -and possibly canvass fears and offer persuasions. He could spare only -one man, the scout, to aid in the watch, but he felt quite assured. -Ronald MacDonnell was always notoriously vigilant and exacting, and -was held in great fear by guards and outposts and sentinels, for often -his rounds were attended by casualties in the way of reprimand, and -arrests, and guard-tent sojourns and discipline. Choolah felt quite -safe as he set off at a brisk pace with his squad of four Chickasaws, -driving the disarmed Cherokees, silent and sullen, before him. - -They were hardly out of sight when MacDonnell, kicking the enveloping -blanket out of the way, sat down on one of the logs by the fire and -spread his big bony hands out to the blaze. It was growing chill; -the June night was wearing on toward the dawn; it was that hour of -reduced vitality when hope seems of least value, and the blood runs -low, and conscience grows keen, and the future and the past bear -heavily alike on the present. The prisoner was shivering slightly. -He glanced expectantly at the Scotchman’s impassive countenance. No -man knew better than Ronald MacDonnell the churlishness of a lack of -consideration of the comfort of others in small matters. No man could -offer little attentions more genially. They comported essentially with -his evident breeding, and his rank in the army; once more the prisoner -looked expectantly at him, and then, wounded, like a Frenchman, as -for a host’s lack of consideration, he sat down on a log uninvited, -casting but one absent glance, from which curiosity seemed expunged, -at the effigies which explained how the Cherokees came to their fate. -It mattered little now, his emotional, sensitive face said. Naught -mattered! Naught! Naught! - -In the sudden nervous shock his vitality was at its lowest ebb. He -could not spread his hands to the blaze, for his arms had been pinioned -cruelly tight. He shivered again, for the fire was low. MacDonnell -noticed it, but he did not stir; perhaps he thought Johnny Crapaud -would soon find the fire hot enough. The scout himself mended it, as -he sat tailorwise on the ground between the other two men. Now and -again the _Etissu_ gazed at MacDonnell’s impassive, rather lowering -countenance, with a certain awe; if he had expected the officer to show -the squeamishness which Colonel Grant developed in such matters, or any -pity, he was mistaken; then he looked with curiosity at the Frenchman. -The prisoner’s lips were vaguely moving, and Ronald MacDonnell -caught a suggestion of the sound--half-whispered words, not French, -or he would not have understood; Latin!--paters and aves! As he had -expected--frogs, papistry, French, and fool! - -“What’s that?” the Highland officer said, so suddenly that the scout -started in affright. - -“Nothing,” said the Indian; “the wind, perhaps.” - -“Sticks cracking in the laurel--a bear, perhaps,” suggested MacDonnell, -taking up a loaded musket and laying it across his knee. Then “Only a -bear,” he repeated reassuringly. - -“Choolah ought to leave more men here,” said the _Etissu_. - -“It’s nothing!” declared MacDonnell, rising and looking warily about. -“Perhaps Choolah on his way back.” - -The scout was true to his vagrant tendencies, or perhaps because of -those tendencies he felt himself safer in the dense, impenetrable -jungle, crawling along flat like a lizard or a snake, than seated -perched up here on a bluff by a flaring camp-fire with only two other -men, a mark for “Brown Bess”--the Cherokees were all armed with British -muskets, although they were in revolt, and perhaps it was one reason -why they were in revolt--for many a yard up and down the Tennessee -River. “I go see,” he suggested. - -“No, no,” said MacDonnell, “only a bear.” - -“I come back soon,” declared the _Etissu_, half crouching and gazing -about, “soon, soon. _Alooska, Ko-e-u-que-ho._” (I do not lie, I do not -indeed.) - -MacDonnell lifted his head and gazed about with a frowning mien of -reluctance “_Maia cha!_” (Go along) he said at last. Then called out, -“Come back _soon_,” as his attention returned to the priming and -loading of a pistol which he had in progress. “Soon! remember!” - -The scout was off like a rabbit. For a moment or two MacDonnell did not -lift his eyes, while they heard him crashing through the thicket. Then -as he looked up he met the dull despair in the face of the bound and -helpless Frenchman. It mattered little to him who came, who went. He -gasped suddenly in amazement. The Highland officer was gazing at him -with a genial, boyish smile, reassuring, almost tender. - -“Run, now, run for your life!” he said, leaning forward, and with a -pass or two of a knife he severed the prisoner’s bonds. - -In the revulsion of feeling the man seemed scarcely able to rise to -his feet. There were tears in his eyes; his face quivered as he looked -at his deliverer. - -“Danger--big fire--burn,” said the astute MacDonnell, as if the English -words thus detached were more comprehensible to the French limitations. -Perhaps his gestures aided their effect, and as he held out his hand -in his whole-souled, genial way, the Frenchman grasped it in a hard -grip of fervent gratitude and started off swiftly. The next moment the -young officer turned back, caught the British soldier in his arms, and -to MacDonnell’s everlasting consternation kissed him in the foreign -fashion, first on one cheek and then on the other. - -Ronald MacDonnell’s mess often preyed upon the disclosures which his -open, ingenuous nature afforded them. But his simplicity stopped far -short of revealing to them this Gallic demonstration of gratitude--so -exquisitely ludicrous it seemed to his unemotional methods and mind. -They were debarred the pleasure of racking him on this circumstance. -They never knew it. He disclosed it only years afterward, and then by -accident, to a member of his own family. - -The whole affair seemed to the mess serious enough. For the Chickasaws, -baffled and furious, had threatened his life on their return, -reinforced by a dozen excited, elated, expectant tribesmen, laden with -light wood and a chain, to find their prisoner gone. But after the -first wild outburst of rage and despair Choolah, although evidently -strongly tempted to force the Highlander to the fate from which he had -rescued the French officer, resolved to preserve the integrity of his -nation’s pledge of amity with the British, and restrained his men from -offering injury. This was rendered the more acceptable to him, as with -his alert craft he perceived a keen retribution for Ronald MacDonnell -in the displeasure of his commanding officer, for the Chickasaws well -understood the discipline of the army, which they chose to disregard. -To better enlist the prejudice of Colonel Grant, Choolah was preparing -himself to distort the facts. He upbraided Ronald MacDonnell with -causelessly liberating a prisoner, a Frenchman and an officer, taken -by the wily exploit of another. As to the dry wood, he said, the -Chickasaws had merely brought some drift, long stranded in a cave by -the waterside, to replenish the fire, kindled with how great difficulty -in the soaking condition of the forests the Lieutenant well knew. - -“Hout!--just now when we are about to cross the river?” cried Ronald, -unmasking the subterfuge. “And for what then that stout chain?” - -The chain, Choolah protested, was but part of the equipment of one of -the pack animals that had broken away and had been plundered by the -Cherokees. Did the Lieutenant Plaidman think he wanted to chain the -prisoner to the stake to burn? He had had no dream of such a thing! -It was not the custom of the Chickasaws to waste so much time on a -prisoner. It was sufficient to cut him up in quarters; that usually -killed him dead,--quite dead enough! But if the Lieutenant had had a -chain, since he knew so well the use of one, doubtless he himself would -have joyed to burn the prisoner, provided it had been his own exploit -that had taken him,--for did not the Carolinians of the provincial -regiment say that when the Tartan men were at home they were as wild -and as uncivilized as the wildest Cherokee savage! - -“_Holauba! Holauba! Feenah!_” (It is a lie. It is a lie, undoubtedly), -cried the phlegmatic MacDonnell, excited to a frenzy. He spoke in the -Chickasaw language, that the insult might be understood as offered with -full intention. - -But Choolah did not thus receive it. In the simplicity of savage -life lies are admittedly the natural incidents of conversation. He -addressed himself anew to argument. At home the Tartan men lived -in mountains,--just like the Cherokees,--and no wonder they were -undismayed by the war whoops--they had heard the like before! Savages -themselves! They had a language, too, that the Carolinians could -not speak; he himself had heard it among the Highlanders of Grant’s -camp--doubtless it was the Cherokee tongue, for they were mere -Cherokees! - -“_Holauba! Holauba! Feenah!_” No denial could be more definite than the -tone and the words embodied. - -The wily Choolah, maliciously delighted with his power to pierce the -heart of the proud Scotchman thus, turned the knife anew. Did not the -provincials declare that the Highlanders at home were always beaten in -war, as they would be here but for the help of the Carolinians? - -“_Holauba! Holauba! Feenah!_” protested Ronald resolutely, thinking of -Preston Pans and Falkirk. - -For the usual emulous bickering between regulars and provincials, -which seems concomitant with every war, had appeared in full force in -this expedition, the provincials afterward claiming that but for them -and their Indian allies no remnant of the British force would have -returned alive; and the regulars declaring that the Carolinians knew -nothing, and could learn nothing of discipline and method in warfare, -laying great stress on the fact that this was the second campaign to -which the British soldiers had been summoned for the protection of -the province, which could not without them defend itself against the -Cherokees, and assuming the entire credit of the subjugation of that -warlike tribe that had for nearly a century past desolated at intervals -the Carolina borders. - -Although it had been Choolah’s hope that, by means of provoking against -the Lieutenant the displeasure of his superior officer, he might -revenge himself upon MacDonnell, for snatching from the Chickasaws the -peculiar racial delight of torturing the French prisoner, the Indians -had no anticipation of the gravity of the crisis when they came to -the camp with the details of the occurrence, which, to Colonel Grant’s -annoyance, tallied with MacDonnell’s own report of himself. - -For there was a question in Colonel Grant’s mind whether the prisoner -were not the redoubtable Louis Latinac, who had been so incredibly -efficient in the French interest in this region, and who had done more -to excite the enmity of the Cherokees against their quondam allies, the -British, and harass his Majesty’s troops than a regiment of other men -could accomplish. When Grant tended to this opinion, a court-martial -seemed impending over the head of the young officer. - -“What was your reason for this extraordinary course?” Colonel Grant -asked. - -And Ronald MacDonnell answered that he had granted to his prisoner -exactly what he had intended to demand of his captor had the situation -been reversed--to adjure him by their fellow feeling as soldiers, by -the customs of civilized warfare, by the bond of a common religion, to -save him from torture by savages. - -“Can a gentleman give less than he would ask?” he demanded. - -And when Colonel Grant would urge that he should have trusted to his -authority to protect the prisoner, Ronald would meet the argument with -the counter-argument that the Indians respected no authority, and in -cases of fire it would not do to take chances. - -“Why did you not at least exact a parole?” - -“Lord, sir, we couldn’t talk at all!” said Ronald, conclusively. “In -common humanity, I was obliged to release him or shoot him, and I -could not shoot an unarmed prisoner to save my life--not if I were to -be shot for it myself.” - -Lieutenant-Colonel Grant’s heart was well known to be soft in spots. He -has put it upon record in the previous campaign against the Cherokees -that he could not help pitying them a little in the destruction of -their homes,--it is said, however, that after this later expedition -his name was incorporated in the Cherokee language as a synonym of -devastation and a cry of warning. He was overcome by the considerations -urged upon him by the Lieutenant until once more the possibility loomed -upon the horizon that it was Louis Latinac who had escaped him, when -he would feel that nothing but Ronald MacDonnell’s best heart’s blood -could atone for the release. To set this much vexed question at rest -the young officer was repeatedly required to describe the personal -appearance of the stranger, and thus it was that poor Ronald’s verbal -limitations were brought so conspicuously forward. “A fine man,” -he would say one day, and in giving the details of that sensitive -emotional countenance which had so engaged his interest that momentous -night--its force, its suggestiveness, its bright, alert young eyes, -would intimate that he had indeed held the motive power of the Cherokee -war in his hand, and had heedlessly loosed it as a child might release -a butterfly. The next day “a braw callant” was about the sum of his -conclusions, and Colonel Grant would be certain that the incident -represented no greater matter than the escape of a brisk subaltern, -like Ronald himself. In the course of Colonel Grant’s anxious -vacillations of opinion, the young Highlander was given to understand -that he would be instantly placed under arrest, but for the fact that -every officer of experience was urgently needed. And indeed Colonel -Grant presently had his hands quite full, fighting a furious battle -only the ensuing day with the entire Cherokee nation. - -The Indians attacked his outposts at eight o’clock in the morning, -and with their full strength engaged the main body, fighting in their -individual, skulking, masked manner, but with fierce persistency -for three hours; then the heat of the conflict began to gradually -wane, although they did not finally draw off till two o’clock in the -afternoon. It was the last struggle of the Cherokee war. Helpless or -desperate, the Indians watched without so much as a shot from ambush -the desolation of their country. For thirty days Colonel Grant’s -forces remained among the fastnesses of the Great Smoky Mountains, -devastating those beautiful valleys, burning “the astonishing magazines -of corn,” and the towns, which Grant states, were so “agreeably -situated, the houses neatly built.” Often the troops were constrained -to march under the beetling heights of those stupendous ranges, whence -one might imagine a sharp musketry fire would have destroyed the dense -columns, almost to the last man. Perhaps the inability of the French to -furnish the Cherokees with the requisite ammunition for this campaign -may explain the abandonment of a region so calculated for effective -defense. - -Aside from the losses in slain and wounded in the engagement, the -expeditionary force suffered much, for the hardships of the campaign -were extreme. Having extended the frontier westward by seventy -miles, and withdrawing slowly, in view of the gradual exhaustion of -his supplies, Colonel Grant found the feet of his infantry so mangled -by the long and continuous marches in the rugged country west of the -Great Smoky Mountains that he was forced to go into permanent camp on -returning to Fort Prince George, to permit the rest and recovery of the -soldiers, who in fact could march no further, as well as to await some -action on the part of the Cherokee rulers looking to the conclusion of -a peace. - -A delegation of chiefs presently sought audience of him here and agreed -to all the stipulations of the treaty formulated in behalf of the -province except one, viz., that four Cherokees should be delivered up -to be put to death in the presence of Colonel Grant’s army, or that -four green scalps should be brought to him within the space of twelve -nights. With this article the chiefs declared they had neither the will -nor the power to comply,--and very queerly indeed, it reads at this -late day! - -Colonel Grant, perhaps willing to elude the enforcement of so -unpleasant a requisition, conceived that it lay within his duty to -forward the delegation, under escort, to Charlestown to seek to induce -Governor Bull to mitigate its rigor. - -It was in this connection that he alluded again to the release of the -prisoner, captured in the exploit of Choolah, the Chickasaw, although -in conversation with his officers he seemed to Ronald MacDonnell to be -speaking only of the impracticable stipulation of the treaty, and his -certainty that compliance would not be required of the Cherokees by the -Governor--and in fact the terms finally signed at Charlestown, on the -10th of December of that year, were thus moderated, leaving the compact -practically the same as in the previous treaty of 1759. - -“I could agree to no such stipulation if the case were mine,” Colonel -Grant declared, “that four of my soldiers, as a mere matter of -intimidation, should be surrendered to be executed in the presence -of the enemy! Certainly, as a gentleman and a soldier, a man cannot -require of an enemy more than he himself would be justified in yielding -if the circumstances were reversed, or grant to an enemy less favor -than he himself could rightfully ask at his hands.” - -Ronald MacDonnell had forgotten his own expression of this sentiment. -It appealed freshly to him, and he thought it decidedly fine. He did -not recognize a flag of truce except as a veritable visible white rag, -and from time to time he experienced much surprise that Colonel Grant -did not order him under arrest as a preliminary to a court martial. - - -PRINTED BY R. R. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: <span lang='' xml:lang=''>The Bushwhackers & Other Stories</span></p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Charles Egbert Craddock</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 24, 2022 [eBook #68162]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Peter Becker, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK <span lang='' xml:lang=''>THE BUSHWHACKERS & OTHER STORIES</span> ***</div> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="front" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>THE BUSHWHACKERS<br /> <i>&</i><br /> OTHER STORIES</h1> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="bold">THE</p> - -<p class="bold2">Bushwhackers</p> - -<p class="bold2">&</p> - -<p class="bold2">Other Stories</p> - -<p class="bold">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2"><span class="smcap">Charles Egbert Craddock</span></p> - -<p class="bold">AUTHOR OF “IN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS,” “THE<br /> -STORY OF OLD FORT LOUDON,” ETC.</p> - -<div class="center space-above"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /></div> - -<p class="bold space-above">HERBERT S. STONE & COMPANY<br />CHICAGO & NEW YORK<br />MDCCCXCIX</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">COPYRIGHT 1899 BY<br />HERBERT S. STONE & CO.</p> - -<p class="center">THIRD IMPRESSION</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Bushwhackers</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Panther of Jolton’s Ridge</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Exploit of Choolah, the Chickasaw</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">THE BUSHWHACKERS </p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE BUSHWHACKERS</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> - -<p>One might have imagined that there was some enchantment in the spot -which drew hither daily the young mountaineer’s steps. No visible lure -it showed. No prosaic reasonable errand he seemed to have. But always -at some hour between the early springtide sunrise and the late vernal -sunset Hilary Knox climbed the craggy, almost inaccessible steeps to -this rocky promontory, that jutted out in a single sharp peak, not -only beetling far over the sea of foliage in the wooded valley below, -but rising high above the dense forests of the slope of the mountain,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> -from the summit of which it projected. Here he would stand, shading his -eyes with his hand, and gaze far and near over the great landscape. -At first he seemed breathless with eager expectation; then earnestly -searching lest there should be aught overlooked; at last dully, -wistfully dwelling on the scene in the full realization of the pangs of -disappointment for the absence of something he fain would see.</p> - -<p>Always he waited as long as he could, as if the chance of any moment -might conjure into the landscape, brilliant with the vivid growths and -tender grace of the spring, that for which he looked in vain. A wind -would come up the gorge and flutter about him, as he stood poised on -the upward slant of the rock, the loftiest point of the mountain. If -it were a young and frisky zephyr, but lately loosed from the cave of -Æolus, which surely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> must be situated near at hand—on the opposite -spur perhaps, so windy was the ravine, so tumultuous the continual -coming and going of the currents of the air,—he must needs risk -his balance on the pinnacle of the crag to hold on to his hat. And -sometimes the frolicsome breeze like other gay young sprites would -not have done with playing tag, and when he thought himself safe and -lowered his hand to shade his eyes, again the wind would twitch it by -the brim and scurry away down the ravine, making all the trees ripple -with murmurous laughter as it sped to the valley, while Hilary would -gasp and plunge forward and once more clutch his hat, then again look -out to descry perchance what he so ardently longed to see in the -distance. Some pleasant vision he surely must have expected—something -charming to the senses or promissory of weal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> or happiness it must have -been; for his cheek flushed scarlet and his pulses beat fast at the -very thought.</p> - -<p>No one noticed his coming or going. All boys are a species of vagrant -fowl, and with the daily migrations back and forth of a young -mountaineer especially, no steady-minded, elder person would care to -burden his observation. Another kind of fowl, an eagle, had built a -nest in the bare branches at the summit of an isolated pine tree, of -which only the lower boughs were foliaged, and this was higher even -than the peak to which Hilary daily repaired for the earliest glimpse -of his materialized hopes advancing down the gorge. The pair of birds -only of all the denizens of the mountain took heed of his movements and -displayed an anxiety and suspicion and a sort of fierce but fluttered -indignation. It is impossible to say whether they were aware that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> -their variety had grown rare in these parts, and that their capture, -dead or alive, would be a matter of very considerable interest, and it -is also futile to speculate as to whether they had any knowledge of -the uses or range of the rifle which Hilary sometimes carried on his -shoulder. Certain it is, however, the male bird muttered indignantly -as he looked down at the young mountaineer, and was wont to agitatedly -flop about the great clumsy nest of interwoven sticks where the -female, the larger of the two, with a steady courage sat motionless, -only her elongated neck and bright dilation of the eyes betokening -her excitement and distress. The male bird was of a more reckless -tendency, and often visibly strove with an intermittent intention of -swooping down to attack the intruder, for Hilary was but a slender -fellow of about sixteen years, although tall and fleet of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> foot. A -good shot, too, he was, and he had steady nerves, despite the glitter -of excitement in his eyes forever gazing down the gorge. Because of -his absorption in this expectation he took no notice of the eagles, -although to justify his long absences from home he often brought his -rifle on the plea of hunting. How should he care to observe the birds -when at any moment he might see the flutter of a guidon in the valley -road, a mere path from this height, and hear the trumpet sing out -sweet and clear in the silence of the wilderness! At any moment the -wind might bring the sound of the tramp of cavalry, the clatter of the -carbine and canteen, and the clanking of spur and saber as some wild -band of guerrillas came raiding through the country.</p> - -<p>For despite the solemn stillness that brooded in the similitude of the -deepest peace upon the scene, war was still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> rife in the land. The -theater of action was far from this sequestered region, but there had -been times when the piny gorges were full of the more prickly growth -of bayonets. The echoing crags were taught the thrilling eloquence -of the bugle, and the mountains reverberated with the oratory of the -cannon—for the artillery learned to climb the deer-paths. There was -a fine panorama once in the twilight when a battery on the heights -shelled the woods in the valley, and tiny white clouds with hearts of -darting fire described swift aerial curves, the fuses burning brightly -against the bland blue sky, ere that supreme moment of explosion when -the bursting fragments hurtled wildly through the air.</p> - -<p>Occasionally a cluster of white tents would spring up like mushrooms -at the base of a mountain spur—gone as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>suddenly as they had come, -leaving a bed of embers where the camp-fires had been, a vague wreath -of smoke and little trace besides, for the felled trees cut for fuel -made scant impression upon the densities of the wilderness, and the -rocks were immutable.</p> - -<p>And then for months a primeval silence and loneliness might enfold the -mountains.</p> - -<p>“Ef they kem agin, ef ever they kem agin, I’ll jine ’em—I’ll jine -’em,” cried Hilary out of a full heart as he stood and gazed.</p> - -<p>And this was the reason he watched daily and sometimes deep into the -night, lest coming under cover of the darkness they might depart before -the dawn, leaving only the embers of their camp-fires to tell of their -vanished presence.</p> - -<p>The prospect stirred the boy’s heart. He longed to be in the midst -of action,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> to take a man’s part in the great struggle, to live the -life and do the faithful devoir of a soldier. He was young but he was -strong, and he felt that here he was biding at home as if he were -no more fit for the military duty he yearned to assume than was the -miller’s daughter, Delia Noakes.</p> - -<p>“I tole Dely yesterday ez I’d git her ter l’arn me ter spin ef ye kep’ -me hyar much longer,” he said one day petulantly to his mother. “I’ll -jes’ set an’ spin like a sure-enough gal ef ye won’t let me go an’ jine -the army like a boy.”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t never gin my word agin yer goin’,” the widow would temporize, -alarmed by the possibility of his running away without permission if -definitely forbidden to enlist, and therefore craftily holding out the -prospect of her consent, which she knew he valued, for he had always -been a dutiful son.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> “I hev never gin my word agin it—not sence ye -hev got some growth—ye shot up as suddint ez Jonah’s gourd in a -single night. But I don’t want ye ter jine no stray bands—ez mought -be bushwhackers an’ sech. Jes’ wait till we git the word whar Cap’n -Baker’s command be—fur I want ye ter be under some ez kem from our -deestric’—I’d feel so much safer bout’n ye, an’ ye would be pleased, -too, Cap’n Baker bein’ a powerful fighter an’ brave an’ respected by -all. Ye mus’ wait, too, till I kin finish yer new shuts, an’ knittin’ -them socks; I wouldn’t feel right fur ye to go destitute—a plumb -beggar fur clothes.”</p> - -<p>Hilary had never heard of Penelope’s web, and the crafty device -of raveling out at night the work achieved in the day, but to his -impatience it seemed that his departure was indefinitely postponed for -his simple<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> outfit progressed no whit day by day, although his mother’s -show of industry was great.</p> - -<p>The earth also seemed to have swallowed Captain Baker and his command; -although Hilary rode again and again to the postoffice at a little -mountain hamlet some ten miles distant, and talked to all informed and -discerning persons whom the hope of learning the latest details of -the events of the war had drawn thither, and could hear news of any -description to suit the taste of the narrator—all the most reliable -items of the “grape-vine telegraph,” as mere rumor used to be called in -those days—not one word came of Captain Baker.</p> - -<p>His mother sometimes could control his outbursts of impatience on these -occasions by ridicule.</p> - -<p>“’Member the time, Hil’ry,” she would say, glancing at him with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>waggish mock gravity in her eyes as they gleamed over her spectacles, -“when ye offered ter enlist with Cap’n Baker’s infantry year afore -las’, when the war fust broke out—ye warn’t no higher than that -biscuit block then—he tole ye that ye warn’t up ter age or size or -weight or height, an’ ye tole him that thar war a plenty of ye ter pull -a trigger, an’ he bust out laughin’ an’ lowed ez he warn’t allowed ter -enlist men under fourteen. He said he thunk it war a folly in the rule, -fur he had seen some mighty old men under fourteen—though none so aged -ez you-uns. My, how he did laugh.”</p> - -<p>“I wish ye would quit tellin’ that old tale,” said her son, sulkily, -his face reddening with the mingled recollection of his own absurdity -and the seriousness with which in his simplicity he had listened to the -officer’s ridicule.</p> - -<p>“An’ ye war so special small-sized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> and spindlin’ then,” exclaimed his -mother, pausing in her knitting to take off her spectacles to wipe away -the tears of laughter that had gathered at the recollection.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t small-sized an’ spindling now,” said Hilary, drawing himself -up to his full height and bridling with offended dignity in the -consciousness of his inches and his muscles. “I know ez Cap’n Baker or -enny other officer would ’list me now, for though I ain’t quite sixteen -I be powerful well growed fur my age.”</p> - -<p>As he realized this anew his flush deepened as he stood and looked -down at the fire, while his mother covertly watched his expression. He -felt it a burning shame that he should still linger here laggard when -all his instinct was to help and sustain the cause of his countrymen. -His loyalty was to the sense of home. His impulse was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> to repel the -invader, although the majority of the mountaineers of East Tennessee -were for the Union, and many fought for the old flag against their -neighbors and often against their close kindred, so stanch was their -loyalty in those times that tried men’s souls.</p> - -<p>One day, as Hilary, straining his eyes, stood on his perch on the crag, -he beheld fluttering far, far away—was it a wreath of mist floating -along the level, sinuous curves of the distant valley road—a wreath of -mist astir on some gentle current of the atmosphere? He had a sudden -sense of color. Did the vapor catch a prismatic glister from the sun’s -rays? And now faint, far, like the ethereal tones of an elfin horn, -a mellow vibration sounded on the air. Hardly louder it was than the -booming of a bee in the heart of a flower, scarcely more definite -than the melody<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> one hears in a dream, which one can remember, yet -cannot recognize or sing again; nevertheless his heart bounded at the -vague and vagrant strain, and he knew the fluttering prismatic bits of -color to be the guidons of a squadron of cavalry. His heart kept pace -with the hoofbeats of the horses. The lessening distance magnified -them to his vision till he could discern now a bright glint of steely -light as the sun struck on the burnished arms of the riders, and -could distinguish the tints of the steeds—gray, blood-bay, black and -roan-red; he could soon hear, too, the jingle of the spurs, the clank -of sabers and carbines, and now and again the voices of the men, bluff, -merry, hearty, as they rode at their ease. He would not lose sight of -them till they had paused to pitch their camp at the foot of a great -spur of the mountain opposite. There was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> famous spring of clear, -cold water there, he remembered.</p> - -<p>The great spread of mountain ranges had grown purple in the sunset, -with the green cup-like coves between filled to the brim with the -red vintage of the afternoon light, still limpid, translucent, with -no suggestion of the dregs of shadow or sediment of darkness in this -radiant nectar. Nor was there token of coming night in the sky—all -amber and pearl—the fairest hour of the day. No premonition of -approaching sorrow or defeat, of death or rue, was in the gay bivouac -at the foot of the mountain. The very horses picketed along the bank -of the stream whickered aloud in obvious content with their journey’s -end, their supper, their drink, and their bed; the sound of song and -jollity, the halloo, the loud, cheery talk of the troopers, rose as -lightly on the air as the long streamers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> of undulating blazes from -the camp-fires and the curling tendrils of the ascending smoke. More -distant groups betokened the precaution of videttes at an outpost. A -sentinel near the road, for the camp guard was posted betimes, was the -only silent and grave man in the gay company, it seemed to Hilary, -as he watched the gallant, soldierly figure with his martial tread -marching to and fro in this solitary place, as if for all the world to -see. For Hilary had made his way down the mountain and was now on the -outskirts of the camp, the goal of all his military aspirations.</p> - -<p>He had come so near that a sudden voice rang out on the evening air, -and he paused as the sentry challenged his approach. The rocky river -bank vibrated with the echo of the soldier’s imperative tones.</p> - -<p>Hilary remembered that moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> always. It meant so much to him. Every -detail of the scene was painted on his memory years and years afterward -as if but yesterday it was aglow—the evening air that was so still, -so filled with mellow, illuminated color, so imbued with peace and -fragrance and soft content, such as one could imagine may pervade the -realms of Paradise, was yet the vehicle for the limning of this warlike -picture. The great purple mountains loomed high around; through the -green valley now crept a dun-tinted shadow more like a deepening of the -rich verdant color of the foliage than a visible transition toward the -glooms of the night; the stream was steel-gray and full of the white -flickers of foam; further up the water reflected a flare of camp-fires, -broadly aglow, with great sprangles of fluctuating flame and smoke -setting the blue dusk a-quiver with alternations of light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> and shade; -there were the dim rows of horses, some still sturdily champing their -provender, others dully drowsing, and one nearer at hand, a noble -charger, standing with uplifted neck and thin, expanded nostrils and -full lustrous eyes, gazing over the winding way, the vacant road by -which they had come. Beyond were the figures of the soldiers; a few, -who had already finished their supper, were rolled in their blankets -with their feet to the fire in a circle like the spokes of a wheel -to the hub. There, pillowed on their saddles, would they sleep all -night under the pulsating white stars, for these swift raids were -unencumbered with baggage, and the pitching of a tent meant a longer -stay than the bivouac of a single night. Others were still at their -supper, broiling rashers of bacon on the coals, or toasting a bird or -chicken, split and poised on a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> pointed cedar stick before the flames. -Socially disposed groups were laughing and talking beside the flaring -brands, the firelight gleaming in their eyes, half shaded by the wide, -drooping brims of their broad hats, and flashing on their white teeth -as they rehearsed the incidents of the day or made merry with old -scores. Now and then a stave of song would rise sonorously into the -air as a big bass voice trolled out a popular melody—it was the first -time Hilary had ever heard the sentimental, melancholy measures of -“The Sun’s Low Down the Sky, Lorena.” Sometimes, by way of symphony, a -tentative staccato variation of the theme would issue from the strings -of a violin, borrowed from a neighboring dwelling, which a young -trooper, seated leaning against the bole of a great tree, was playing -with a deft, assured touch.</p> - -<p>Hilary often saw such scenes <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>afterward, but not even the reality -was ever so vivid as the recollection of this fire-lit perspective -glimmering behind the figure of the guard.</p> - -<p>The two gazed at each other in the brief space of a second—the boy -eager and expectant, the soldier’s eyes dark, steady, challenging, -under the broad, drooping brim of his soft hat. He was young, but he -had a short-pointed dark beard, and a mustache, and although thin and -lightly built, he was sinewy and alert, and in his long, spurred boots -and gray uniform he looked sufficiently formidable with his carbine in -his hand.</p> - -<p>“Who comes there?” he sternly demanded.</p> - -<p>“A friend,” quavered Hilary, and he could have utterly repudiated -himself that his voice should show this tremor of excitement since -it might seem to be that of fear in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>estimation of this man, who -defied dangers and knew no faltering, and had fought to the last moment -on the losing side on many a stricken field, and was content to believe -that duty and courage were as valid a guerdon in themselves as fickle -victory, which perches as a bird might on the standard of chance.</p> - -<p>“Advance, friend, and give the countersign,” said the sentry.</p> - -<p>It seemed to Hilary at the moment that it was some strange aberration -of all the probabilities that he should not know this mystic word, -this potent phrase, which should grant admission to the life of the -camp that already seemed to him his native sphere. He advanced a step -nearer, and while the sentinel bent his brow more intently upon him -and looked firmly and negatively expectant, he gave in lieu of the -watchword a full detail of his errand,—that he wished to be a soldier -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> fight for his country, and especially enlist with this squadron, -albeit he did not know a single man of the command, nor even the -leader’s rank or name.</p> - -<p>Hilary could not altogether account for a sudden change in the -sentinel’s face and manner. He had been very sure that he was about to -be denied all admission according to the strict orders to permit no -stranger within the lines of the encampment. The soldier stared at the -boy a moment longer, then called lustily aloud for the corporal of the -guard. For these were the days of the close conscription, when it was -popularly said that the army robbed both the cradle and the grave for -its recruits, so young and so old were the men accounted liable for -military duty. The sentinel could but discern at a glance that Hilary -was younger even than the limit for these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> later conscriptions, and -that only as a voluntary sacrifice to patriotism were his services -attainable. The corporal of the guard came forthwith—tall, heavy, -broad-visaged, downright in manner, and of a blunt style of speech. -But on his face, too, the expression of formidable negation gave way -at once to a brisk alacrity of welcome, and he immediately conducted -Hilary to another officer, who brought him to a little knoll where -the captain commanding the squadron was seated by a brisk fire, half -reclining on his saddle thrown on the ground. He was beguiling his -leisure, and perhaps reinforcing a certain down-hearted tendency to -nostalgia, by reading the latest letters he had from home—letters a -matter of six months old now, and already read into tatters, but so -illuminated between the lines with familiar pictures and treasured -household memories that they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> still replete with an interest that -would last longer than the paper. Two or three other officers were -playing cards by the light of the fire, and one, elderly and grave, was -reading a book through spectacles of sedate aspect.</p> - -<p>The measure of Hilary’s satisfaction was full to the brim. Captain -Baker, as he informed his mother when a little later he burst into the -home-circle wild with delight in his adventure and his news, couldn’t -hold a candle to Captain Bertley. And rejoiced was he to be going at -last and going with this officer. Hilary declared again and again that -he wouldn’t be willing to fight in any other command. He was going at -last, and going with the only captain in all the world for him—the -first and foremost of men! And yet only this morning he had not known -that this paragon existed.</p> - -<p>He was so a-quiver with excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> and joy and expectation and pride -that his mother, pale and tremulous as she made up his little bundle -of long-delayed clothes, was a trifle surprised to hear him protest -that he could not leave without bidding farewell to the Noakes family, -who lived at the Notch in the mountain, and especially his old crony, -Delia; yet Captain Bertley’s trumpets would sound “boots and saddles” -at the earliest glint of dawn. Delia was near his own age, and he had -always magnanimously pitied her for not being a boy. Formerly she had -meekly acquiesced in her inferiority, mental and physical, especially -in the matter of running, although she made pretty fair speed, and in -throwing stones, which she never could be taught to do with accurate -aim. But of late years she had not seemed to “sense” this inferiority, -so to speak, and once in reference to the war she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> had declared -that she was glad to be a girl, and thus debarred from fighting, -“fur killing folks, no matter fur whut or how, always seemed to be -sinful!” When argued with on this basis she fell back on the broad -and uncontrovertible proposition that “anyhow bloodshed war powerful -onpleasant.”</p> - -<p>To see these friends once again Hilary had no time to waste. As he -made his way along the sandy road with the stars palpitating whitely -in the sky above the heavy forest, which rose so high on either hand -as to seem almost to touch them, this deep, narrow passage looked when -the perspective held a straight line to rising ground, ending in the -sidereal coruscations, like the veritable way to the stars, sought by -every ambitious wight since the days of the Cæsars. Hilary had never -heard an allusion to that royal road, but as he walked along with -a buoyant,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> steady step, his hat in his hand that the breeze might -cool his hot brow and blow backward his long masses of fair hair, he -followed indeed an upward path in the sentiments that quickened his -pulses, for he was resolved upon duty and thinking high thoughts that -should materialize in fine deeds. He was to do and dare! He would -be useful and faithful and brave—brave! He had a reverence for the -quality of courage—not for the sake of its emulous display, but for -the spirit of all nobly valiant deeds. He had rejoiced in the very -expression of the captain’s eyes—so true and tried! He, too, would -meet the coming years fairly. The raw recruit could see his way to the -stars at the end of that mountain vista.</p> - -<p>But it seemed a poor preparation for all this when he awoke the inmates -of the Noakes cabin, for it was past midnight, with the news that -he had “jined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> the cavalry” and was to march at peep of dawn with -Bertley’s squadron. It is true that the elders crowded around him half -dressed only, so hastily had they been roused, and expressed surprise, -congratulations, and regrets in one inconsistent breath, and old Mrs. -Dite, Delia’s grandmother, bestowed on him a woolen comforter which -she had knitted for him, and for which, improvidently, it being now -near summer, he cared less than for the turmoil of excitement and -interest they had manifested in his preferment, for he felt every inch -a man and a soldier, and they respectfully seemed to defer to his new -pretensions. Delia, however, the most unaccountable of girls—and -girls are always unaccountable—put her arm over her eyes as she stood -beside the mantelpiece, beneath which the embers had been stirred into -a blaze for light, and turned her face to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> the wall and burst into -tears. She wept with so much vehemence that her long plait of black -hair hanging down her back swayed from side to side of her shoulders -as she shook her head to and fro in the extremity of her woe. When -the elders remonstrated with her, and declared this was no occasion -for sorrow, she only lifted her tear-stained face for a moment to say -in justification that she believed that bullets were too small to be -dodged with any success when they were flying round promiscuously. And -in the midst of the volley of laughter which this evoked from the old -people, Hilary’s voice rang out indignantly, “An’ I ain’t no hand ter -dodge bullets, nuther.”</p> - -<p>“That’s jes’ what I am a-crying about,” replied Delia, to the -mischievous delight of the elders.</p> - -<p>Thus the farewell to his old friends was not very exhilarating to -Hilary.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> Delia did not even at the last unveil her face or change her -attitude against the wall. To shake hands he was obliged to pull her -hand from her eyes by way of over her head, and in this maneuver he was -moved to notice how much taller he had lately grown. Her hand was very -limp and cold and wet with her tears—so wet that he had to wipe these -tears from his own hand on the brim of his hat on his homeward way.</p> - -<p>And when, as in sudden enchantment, darkness became light and night -developed into dawn, when color renewed the landscape, and the dull sky -grew red as if flushed with sudden triumph, and the black mountains -turned royally purple in the distance and tenderly green nearer at -hand, and the waters of the river leaped and flashed like a live thing, -as with an actual joy in existence, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> great fiery sun, full of -vital yellow flame, flared up over the eastern horizon, the squadron, -with jingling spurs and clanking sabers, with carbines and canteens -rattling, with the trumpet now and again sending forth those elated, -joyous martial strains, so sweet and yet so proud, rode forth into a -new day, and Hilary Knox, among the troopers and gallantly mounted, -rode forth into a new life.</p> - -<p>The bivouac fires glowed for a while, then fell to smoldering and died, -leaving but a gray ash to tell of their presence here. Day by day the -eagles in the great bare pine tree on the high rock at the summit of -the mountain looked for Hilary to visit his point of observation and -stir their hearts with fear and wrath. Time and again the male bird -might have been seen to circle about at the usual hour for the boy’s -coming; first with apprehension lest his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> absence was too good to -be true, then, with the courage of immunity undisciplined by fear, -screaming and flouncing as if to challenge this apparition of quondam -terror. Now and then the pair seemed to argue and collogue together -upon the mystery of his non-appearance, and to chuffily compare notes, -and seek to classify their impressions of this singular specimen of the -animal kingdom. Perhaps, tabulated, their conclusions might stand thus: -Genus, boy; habits, noisy; diet, omnivorous; element, mischief; uses, -undiscovered and undiscoverable.</p> - -<p>Long, long after the eagles had forgotten the intruder, after their -brood, the two ill-feathered nestlings, had taken strongly to wing, -after their nest, a mass of loose, but well collocated sticks and -grass, had given way to the beat of the rain and the blasts of the -wind, did Hilary’s mother wearily gaze<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> from the heights where the -mountain cabin was perched down upon the curves of the valley road -along which she had seen him riding away with that glittering train, -and sigh and let her knitting fall from her nerveless hands, and wonder -what would the manner of his home-coming be, or whether the future held -at all a home-coming for him.</p> - -<p>And her many sighs kept her heart sick and turned her hair very white.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> - -<p>It was a wonderful period of mental development for this wild young -creature of the woods, when Hilary received in his sudden transition -to the “valley kentry” his first adequate impressions of civilization. -He learned that the world is wide; he beheld the triumphs of military -science; he acquiesced in the fixed distinctions of rank, since he must -needs concede the finer grades of capacity. But courage, the inherent, -inimitable endowment, he recognized as the soul of heroism, and in all -the arrogance of elation he became conscious that he possessed it. This -it was that opened his stolid mind to the allurements of ambition. He -rejoiced in an aspiration. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> - -<p>He was brave. That was his identity—his essential vitality! Was -he ignorant, poor, the butt of the campfire jokes, because of his -simplicity in the wide world’s ways, slothful, slow, wild, and -turbulent? He took heed of none of this! He was the bravest of the -brave—and all the command knew it!</p> - -<p>With an exultant heart he realized that Captain Bertley was aware -of the fact, and often took account of it in laying his plans. The -regiment of which this squadron was a part belonged to one of those -brigades of light cavalry whose utility was chiefly in quick movements, -in harassing an enemy’s march, in following up and hanging on his -retreat, and sometimes in making swift forced marches, appearing -unexpectedly in distant localities far from the main body and adding -the element of surprise to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> sudden and furious onslaught. Often -Hilary was among a few picked men sent out to reconnoiter, or as the -rear-guard when the little band was retreating before a superior force -and it was necessary to fight and flee alternately. It was now and -again in these skirmishes that he had the opportunity to show his pluck -and his strength and his cool head and his ready hand. More than once -he had been the bearer of dispatches of great importance sent by him -alone, disguised in citizen’s dress and his destination a long way off. -Thus did the captain commanding the squadron demonstrate his confidence -in the boy’s fidelity and courage and resource. For his ready wit in an -emergency was hardly less than his courage.</p> - -<p>“What did you do, then, with the Colonel’s letter that you were -to deliver at brigade head-quarters?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> asked the Captain in much -agitation, but with a voice like thunder and a flashing eye, when one -day Hilary returned from a fruitless expedition, with his finger in his -mouth, so to speak, and a tale of having encountered Federal scouts, -who had stopped and questioned him, and finally after suspiciously -searching him, had turned him loose, believing him nothing more than he -seemed—a peaceful, ignorant country boy.</p> - -<p>Hilary glanced ruefully down at the hat that he swung in his hand, then -with anxious deprecation at the Captain, whose face as he stood beside -his horse, ready to mount, had flushed deeply red, either because of -the reflection of the sunset clouds massed in the west or because of -the recollection that he had earnestly recommended the boy to his -superior officer, for this dangerous mission, and thus felt <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>peculiarly -responsible; for the letter had contained details relating to the -Colonel’s orders from brigade headquarters, his numbers, and other -matters, the knowledge of which in the enemy’s hands might precipitate -his capture, together with all the detachment.</p> - -<p>“It’s gone, sir,” mumbled Hilary, the picture of despair; “I never -knowed what ter do, so—”</p> - -<p>“So you let them have that letter—when I had told you how important it -was!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see how it could have been helped, since the boy was -searched,” said Captain Blake, the junior captain of the squadron, who -was standing by. “I am glad he came back to let us know.”</p> - -<p>“That’s why I done what I done,” eagerly explained Hilary. “I—I—eat -it.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> - -<p>“All of it?” cried Captain Bertley, with a flash of relief.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, I swallowed it all bodaciously—just ez soon ez I seen ’em -a-kemin’ dustin’ along the road.”</p> - -<p>“Well done, Baby Bunting!” cried the senior officer, for thus was -Hilary distinguished among the troopers on account of his tender years.</p> - -<p>The gruff Captain Blake laughed delightedly, a hoarse, discordant -demonstration, much like the chuckling of a rusty old crow. He seemed -to think it a good joke, and Hilary knew that he, too, was vastly -relieved to have saved from the enemy such important information.</p> - -<p>“Pretty bitter pill, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Naw, sir,” said Hilary, his eyes twinkling as he swung his hat in his -hand, for he could never be truly military out of his uniform; “it war -like eatin’ a yard medjure of mustard <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>plaster, bein’ stiff ter swaller -an’ somehow goin’ agin the grain.”</p> - -<p>The senior captain gravely commended his presence of mind, and said he -would remember this and his many other good services. As he dismissed -the young trooper and still standing, holding a sheet of paper against -his saddle, began to write a report of the fate of the letter that -had so threatened the capture of the whole command, Hilary overheard -Captain Blake say in his bluff, extravagant way, “That boy ought to be -promoted.”</p> - -<p>“What?” said Captain Bertley, glancing back over his shoulder with the -pencil in his hand. “Baby Bunting with a command!”</p> - -<p>Despite the ridicule of the idea Hilary’s heart swelled within him as -he strolled away, for he cared only to deserve the promotion and the -confidence shown him, even if on account<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> of his extreme youth and -presumable irresponsibility he was debarred from receiving it.</p> - -<p>He could not have said why he was not resentful of being called -“Baby Bunting” by Captain Bertley. He felt it was in the nature of -a courteous condescension that the officer should comment on the -inadequacy of his age and the discrepancy between his limited powers -and his valuable deeds—almost as a jesting token of affection, kindly -meant and kindly received. But the name fell upon his ear often with a -far different significance; the camp cry “Bye, oh, Baby Bunting,” was -intended to goad him to such a degree of anger as should make him the -sport of the groups around the bivouac fire. The chief instigator of -this effort was a big, brutal cavalryman, by name Jack Bixby. He had a -long, red beard; long, reddish hair; small, twinkling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> dark eyes, and -a powerfully built, sinewy, well-compacted figure. He was superficially -considered jolly and genial, for few of his careless companions were -observant enough of moral phenomena or sufficiently students of human -nature to take note of the fact that there was always a spice of -ill-humor in his mirth. Malice or jealousy or grudging or a mean spirit -of derision pervaded his merriment. He found great joy in ridiculing -a raw country boy, whose lack of knowledge of the world’s ways laid -him liable to many mistakes and misconceptions, and at first Hilary’s -credulity in the big lies told him by Jack Bixby and his simplicity -in acting upon them exposed him to the laughter of the whole troop. -This was checked in one instance, however; having been instructed that -it was an accepted detail of the observances of a soldier, Hilary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> -was induced to advance with great ceremony one day, and duly saluting -ask Captain Bertley how he found his health. The officer was standing -on ground somewhat elevated above the site of the camp, in full gray -uniform, a field-glass in his hand, his splendid charger at his -shoulder, the reins thrown over his arm. The humble “Baby Bunting” -approaching this august military object, and presuming to ask after -the commanding officer’s health, was in full view of a hundred or more -startled and amazed veterans.</p> - -<p>But Captain Bertley had seen and known much of this world and its -ways. He instantly recognized the incident as a bit of malicious play -upon the simplicity of the new recruit, and he took due note, too, of -his own dignity. He realized how to balk the one and to support the -other. He accepted the unusual and absurd <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>demonstration concerning -his health by saying simply that he was quite well, and then he -kept the boy standing in conversation as to the state of a certain -ford some distance up the river, with which Hilary was acquainted, -having been of a scouting party which had been sent in that direction -the previous day. The staring military spectators, their attention -previously bespoken by Bixby, saw naught especial in the interview, the -boy apparently having been summoned thither by order of the officer -to make a report or give information, and thus the joke, attenuated -to microscopic proportions, failed of effect. It had, however, very -sufficient efficacy in recoil. Before dismissing Hilary the Captain -asked how he had chanced to accost him in the manner with which he had -approached him, and the boy in guilelessly detailing the circumstance, -before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> he was admonished as to his credulous folly, betrayed Bixby -as the perpetrator of the pleasantry at his expense, and what was far -more serious at the expense of the officer. Jack Bixby, dull enough, -as malicious people often are, or they would not otherwise let their -malice appear—for they are not frank—did not see it in that light -until he suddenly found himself under arrest and then required to mount -the “wooden horse” for several weary hours.</p> - -<p>“You’ll be hung up by the thumbs next time, my rooster,” said the -sergeant, as he carried the sentence into effect. “The Cap’n ain’t -so mighty partial to your record, no hows. He asked me if you hadn’t -served with Whingan’s rangers, ez be no better’n bushwhackers, an’ ye -know he is mighty partic’lar ’bout keepin’ up the tone an’ spirit o’ -the men.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hilary, contradictorily enough, lost all sense of injury and shame in -sorrow that he should have divulged Bixby’s agency in the matter and -brought this disaster upon the trooper, who perhaps had only intended a -little diversion, and had neither the good taste nor the good sense to -perceive its offensiveness to the officer. Bixby <i>had</i> served in a band -generally reputed bushwhackers, who did little more than plunder both -sides, and in which discipline was necessarily slight. And thus after -this episode they were better friends than before. True, in the days -of dearth, for these men must needs starve as well as fight, when only -rations of corn were served out, which the soldiers parched and ate -by the fire, and which were so scanty that a strict watch was kept to -prevent certain of them from robbing their own horses, on the condition -and speed of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> which their very lives depended, Hilary, as in honor -bound, being detailed for this duty, reported his greedy comrade, but -in view of the half-famished condition of the troops Bixby’s punishment -was light, and the incident did not break off their outward semblance -of friendship, although one may be sure Bixby kept account of it.</p> - -<p>So the years went—those wild years of hard riding and hard fighting; -sleeping on the ground under the open skies whether cloudy or clear—it -was months after it was all over before Hilary could accustom himself -to sleep in a bed; roused by the note of the trumpet, sometimes while -the stars were yet white in the dark heavens, with no token of dawn -save a great translucent, tremulous planet heralding the morn, and that -wild, sweet, exultant strain of reveille, so romantic,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> so stirring, -that it might seem as if it had floated down, proclaiming the day, from -that splendid vanguard of the sun. So they went—those wild years, all -at once over.</p> - -<p>The end came on a hard-contested field, albeit only a thousand -or so were engaged on either side. The squadron, in one of those -wild reckless assaults of cavalry against artillery, for which the -Confederate horse were famous in this campaign, had gone to the attack -straight up a hill, while the muzzles of the big, black guns sent -forth smoke and roar, scarcely less frightful than the bombs which -were bursting among the horses and men riding directly at the battery. -It was hard to hold the horses. Often they swerved and faltered, and -sought to turn back. Each time Captain Bertley, with drawn sword, -reformed the line, encouraging the men and urging them to the almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> -impossible task anew. At it they went once more, in face of shot and -shell. Now and again Hilary, riding in the rear rank, with his saber -at “the raise,” heard a sharp, singing sibilance, which he knew was a -minie-ball, whizzing close to his ear, and he realized that infantry -was there a little to one side supporting the battery. The rush, -the turmoil, the blare of the trumpets sounding “the charge,” the -clamor of galloping hoofs, of shouting men, the roar of cannon, the -swift panorama of moving objects before the eye, the ever-quickening -speed, and the tremendous sensation of flying through the air like -a projectile—it was all like some wild tempest, some mad conflict -of the elements. And suddenly Hilary became aware that he was flying -through the air without any will of his own. The horse had taken the -bit between his teeth, and maddened by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> the noise, the frenzy of the -fight, was rushing on he knew not whither, his head stretched out, -his eyes starting, straight up the hill unmindful of the trumpet now -sounding the recall and the heavy pull of the boy on the curb. Hilary -was far away in advance of the others when the line wheeled. A few more -impetuous bounds and plunges, and he was carried in among the Federal -guns, mechanically slashing at the gunners with his saber, until one -of the men, with a well-directed blow, knocked him off his horse with -the long, heavy sponge-staff. So it was that Hilary was captured. He -surrendered to the man with the sponge-staff, for the others were -busily limbering up the guns; they were to take position on a new -site—one less exposed to attack and very commanding. They had more -than they wanted in Hilary. He realized that as he was on his way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> to -the rear under guard. The engagement was practically at an end, and -the successful Federals were keenly eager to pursue the retreating -force and secure all the fruits of victory. To be hampered with the -disposition of prisoners at such a moment was hardly wise, when an -active pursuit might cut off the whole command. Therefore the few -already taken, who were more or less wounded, were temporarily paroled -in a neighboring hamlet, and Hilary, the war in effect concluded for -him—for the parole was a pledge to remain within the lines and report -at stated intervals to the party granting it—found himself looking -out over a broad white turnpike in a flat country, down which a cloud -of dust was all that could be seen of the body of cavalry so lately -contending for every inch of ground.</p> - -<p>Now and again a series of white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> puffs of smoke from amidst the -hillocks on the west told that the battery of the Federals was shelling -the woods which their enemy had succeeded in gaining, the shells -hurtling high above the heads of their own infantry marching forward -resolutely, secure in the fact of being too close for damage. Presently -the battery became silent. Their vanguard was getting within range -of their own guns, and a second move was in order. The boy watched -the flying artillery scurrying across the plain, as he struck down a -“dirt-road” which intersected the turnpike, and soon he noticed the -puffs of white smoke from another coign of vantage and the bursting of -shells still further away.</p> - -<p>“Them dogs barkin’ again! Waal, I’m glad ter be wide o’ thar mark,” -said a familiar voice at his elbow; the speaker was Bixby, a paroled -prisoner,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> too, having been captured further down the hill during the -general retreat.</p> - -<p>Hilary was not ill-pleased to see him at first, especially as something -presently happened which made him solicitous for the advice and -guidance of an older head than his own. By one of the vicissitudes of -war victory suddenly deserted the winning side, and presently here -was the erstwhile successful party in full retreat, swarming over -the flat country, the battery scurrying along the turnpike with two -of its guns missing, captured as they barked with their mouths wide -open, so to speak. The hurrying crash and noisy rout went past like -the phantasmagoria of a dream, and these two prisoners were presently -left quite outside the Federal lines by no act or volition of their -own, and yet apparently far enough from Bertley’s squadron,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> for the -pursuit was not pressed, both parties having had for the nonce enough -of each other. The first object of the two troopers was to procure food -of which they stood sadly in need. They set forth to find the nearest -farmhouse, Hilary on his own horse, which in the confusion had not -been taken from him when he was disarmed, and Bixby easily caught and -mounted a riderless steed that had been in the engagement, but was now -cropping the wayside grass.</p> - -<p>A thousand times that day Hilary wished, as they went on their journey -together, that he had never seen this man again. All Jack Bixby’s -methods were false, and it revolted Hilary, educated to a simple but -strict code of morals, to seem to share in his lies and his dubious -devices to avoid giving a true account of themselves. In fact their -progress was menaced with some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> danger. Having little to distinguish -them as soldiers, for the gray cloth uniform in many instances had -given place to the butternut jeans, the habitual garb of the poorer -classes of the country, they could be mistaken for citizens, peacefully -pursuing some rustic vocation, and this impression Bixby sought to -impose on every party who questioned them. He feared to meet the -Federals, because of their paroles, which showed them to be prisoners -and yet out of the lines, and he thought this broken pledge might -subject them to the penalty of being strung up by the neck.</p> - -<p>“That air tale ’bout our bein’ in the lines an’ the lines shrinkin’ -till we got out o’ ’em ain’t goin’ ter go down with no sech brash -fellers,” he argued with some reason, for the probabilities seemed -against them.</p> - -<p>And now he dreaded an encounter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> with Union men, non-combatants, for -the same reason. He slipped off his boot at one time and hid the -paper under the sole of his foot. “Ef we-uns war ter be sarched they -wouldn’t look thar, mos’ likely.” And finally when they reached the -house of an aged farmer, who with partisan cordiality welcomed and fed -them, declaring that although he was too old to fight he could thus -help on the southern cause, Bixby took advantage of his host’s short -absence from the dining-room to strike a match which he discovered in a -candlestick on the mantel piece, for the season was too warm for fires, -and lighting the candle he held the parole in the flame till the paper -was reduced to a cinder; then he hastily extinguished the candle.</p> - -<p>When once more on the road, however, Bixby regretted his decision. For -aught he knew they were still within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> the Federal lines. The Union -troops had doubtless been reinforced, for they were making a point of -holding this region at all hazards. He was a fool he said to have burnt -his parole—it was his protection. If he were taken now by troops not -in the extreme activities of resisting a spirited cavalry attack, who -had time to make his capture good, and means of transportation handy, -he would be sent off to Camp Chase or some other prison, and shut up -there till the crack of doom, whereas his parole rendered him for the -time practically free.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you keep me from doin’ it, Hil’ry?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I baiged an’ baiged an’ besought ye ’fore we went in the house -ter do nothin’ ter the paper,” said Hilary, wearied and excited and -even alarmed by his companion’s vacillations, so wild with fear had -Bixby<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> become. “I wunk at ye when the old man’s back was turned. I even -tried ter snatch the paper whenst ye put yer boot-toe on the aidge of a -piece of it on the ha’thstone an’ helt it down till it war bu’nt.”</p> - -<p>“I war a fool,” said Bixby, gloomily. “I wish I hed it hyar now.”</p> - -<p>“I tole ye,” said Hilary, for he had spent the day in urging the fair -and open policy, let come what might of it, “I tole ye ez I war a-goin’ -ter show my parole ter the fust man ez halts me, an’ ef I be out’n -the lines, an’ he won’t believe my tale, let him take it out on me -howsumdever the law o’ sech doin’s ’pears. Nobody could expec’ me ter -set an’ starve on that hillside till sech time ez the Fed’rals throw -out thar line agin.”</p> - -<p>“I wisht I hed my parole agin,” said Bixby, more moodily still.</p> - -<p>Down the road before them suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> they saw a dust, and a steely -glitter—not so strong a reflection, however, as marching infantry -throws out. A squad of cavalry was approaching at a steady pace. -Jack Bixby’s first idea was flight; this the condition of the jaded -horse rendered impolitic. Then he thought of concealment—in vain. On -either hand the level, plowed fields afforded not the slightest bush -as a shield. The only thicket in sight was alongside the road and now -in line with the approaching party whom it so shadowed that it was -impossible to judge by uniform or accoutrements to which army they -belonged.</p> - -<p>“Hil’ry,” said Jack Bixby, “let’s stick ter the country-jake story; -I’ll say that I be a farmer round hyar somewhar, an’ pretend that you -air my son. That’ll go down with any party.”</p> - -<p>“I be goin’ ter tell the truth myself, an’ show my parole, whoever -they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> be; that’s the right thing,” said Hilary, stoutly.</p> - -<p>“But I ain’t got no parole,” quavered Bixby.</p> - -<p>“Tell the truth an’ I’ll bear ye out,” said Hilary. “Tell ’em that thar -be so many parties—Feds an’ Confeds an’ Union men an’ bushwhackers, -an’ we-uns got by accident out’n the lines an’ ye took alarm an’ -<i>dee</i>stroyed yer parole. I’ll bear ye out an’ take my oath on it; an’ -ye know the old man war remarkin’ on them cinders on the aidge o’ the -mantel shelf an’ ha’thstone ez we left the house.”</p> - -<p>“Hil’ry,” said Bixby, as with a sudden bright idea—anything but the -truth seemed hopeful to him—“I’ll tell ye. I’ll take yer parole an’ -claim it ez mine, an’ pretend that ye air my son—non-combatant, jes’ a -boy, ez ye air.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s got <i>my</i> name on it. It’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> a-parolin’ of <i>me</i>,” said Hilary, -“an’ I <i>ain’t</i> no non-combatant.”</p> - -<p>“But I’ll claim your name; I’ll be Hil’ry Knox, an’ tall ez ye air, yer -face shows ye ain’t nuthin’ but a boy. Nobody wouldn’t disbelieve it.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t do it! I won’t put off a lie on ’em! I hev fought an’ fought -an’ I’ll take the consekences o’ what I done—all the consekences o’ -hevin’ fought. <i>I</i> am Hilary Knox, an’ I be plumb pledged by my word of -honor. But I’ll bear ye out in the fac’s, an’ thar’s nuthin’ ter doubt -in the fac’s—they air full reasonable.”</p> - -<p>He had taken the paper out of his ragged breast-pocket to have it in -readiness to present to the advance guard, who had perceived them and -had quickened the pace for the purpose of halting them. Perhaps Bixby -had no intention, save, by sleight-of-hand, to possess himself of the -paper.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> Perhaps he thought that having it in his power the boy would -hardly dare to contradict the story he had sketched and the name he -intended to claim as the owner of the parole; if Hilary should protest -he could say his son was weak-minded, an imbecile, a lunatic. He made -a sudden lunge from the saddle and a more sudden snatch at the paper. -But the boy’s strong hand held it fast. Jack Bixby hardly noted the -surprise, the indignation, the reproach in Hilary’s face—almost an -expression of grief—as he turned it toward him. With the determination -that had seized him to possess the paper, Bixby struck the boy’s wrist -and knuckles a series of sharp, brutal blows with the back of a strong -bowie-knife, which had been concealed in his boot-leg at the surrender. -They palsied the clutch of the boy’s left hand. But as the quivering -fingers opened, Hilary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> caught the falling paper with his right hand.</p> - -<p>“Let go, let go!” cried Jack Bixby in a frenzy; “else I’ll let you hev -the blade—there, then!—take the aidge—ez keen ez a razor!”</p> - -<p>The steel descended again and again, and as the boy was half dragged -out of the saddle the blood poured down upon the parole. It would have -been hard to say then what name was there!</p> - -<p>A sudden shout rang out from down the road. The approaching men had -observed the altercation, and mending their pace, came on at a swift -gallop.</p> - -<p>With not a glance at them, Jack Bixby turned his horse short around and -fled as fast as the animal could go, striking out of the road and into -the woods as soon as he reached the timbered land.</p> - -<p>Poor “Baby Bunting,” dragged out of his saddle, fell down in the road<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> -beneath his horse’s hoofs, and all covered with white dust and red -blood there he lay very still till the cavalrymen came up and found him.</p> - -<p>For this was what they called him—“<i>Poor Baby Bunting!</i>” They were -a small reconnoitering party of his own comrades, and it was with a -hearty good will that they pursued Jack Bixby who fled, as from his -enemies, through the brush. Perhaps his enemies would have been gentler -with him than his quondam friends could they only have laid hands on -him, for they all loved “Baby Bunting” for his brave spirit and his -little simplicities and his hearty good-comradeship. Hilary recognized -none of them. He only had a vague idea of Captain Bertley’s face with -a grave anxiety and a deep pity upon it as the officer gazed down at -him when he was borne past on the stretcher to the field hospital -where his right arm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> was taken off by the surgeon. He was treated as -kindly as possible, for the remembrance of his gallant spirit as well -as humanity’s sake, and when at last he was discharged from the more -permanent hospital to which he had been removed he realized that he -had indeed done with war and fine deeds of valiance, and he set out to -return home, tramping the weary way to the mountain and his mother.</p> - -<p>After that fateful day, when maimed and wan and woebegone he came forth -from the hospital and journeyed out from among the camps and flags -and big guns and all the armaments of war, thrice splendid to his -backward gaze, it seemed to him that he had left there more than was -visible—that noble identity of valor for which he had revered himself.</p> - -<p>For he found as he went a strange quaking in his heart. It was an -alien<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> thing, and he strove to repudiate it, and ached with helpless -despair. When he came into unfamiliar regions, and a sudden clatter -upon the lonely country road would herald the approach of mounted -strangers, halting him, the convulsive start of his maimed right -arm with the instinct to seize his weapons and the sense of being -defenseless utterly would so unnerve him that he would give a -disjointed account of himself, with hang-dog look and faltering words. -And more than once he was seized and roughly handled and dragged -to headquarters to show his papers and be at last passed on by the -authorities.</p> - -<p>He began to say to himself that his courage was in his cavalry pistol.</p> - -<p>“Before God!” he cried, “me an’ my right arm an’ my weepon air like -saltpetre an’ charcoal an’ sulphur—no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> ’count apart. An’ tergether -they mean <i>gunpowder</i>!”</p> - -<p>And doubly bereaved, he had come in sight of home.</p> - -<p>But his mother fell upon his neck with joy, and the neighbors gathered -to meet him. The splendors of the Indian summer were deepening upon the -mountains, with gorgeous fantasies of color, with errant winds harping -æolian numbers in the pines, with a translucent purple haze and a great -red sun, and the hunter’s moon, most luminous. The solemnity and peace -stole in upon his heart, and revived within him that cherished sense of -home, so potent with the mountaineer, and in some wise he was consoled.</p> - -<p>Yet he hardly paused. In this lighter mood he went on to the -settlement, eager that the news of his coming should not precede him.</p> - -<p>There was the bridge to cross and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> rocky ascent, and at the summit -stood the first log cabin of the scattered little hamlet. From the -porch, overgrown with hop vines, he heard the whir of a spinning wheel. -He saw the girl who stood beside it before she noticed the sound of -his step. Then she turned, staring at him with startled recognition, -despite all the changes wrought in the past two years. “It air me,” he -said, jocosely.</p> - -<p>From his hollow eyes and sunken cheeks and wan smile her gaze fell -upon his empty sleeve. She suddenly threw her arm across her face. -“I—I—can’t abide ter look at ye!” she faltered, with a gush of tears.</p> - -<p>He stood dumfounded for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Durn it!” he cried. “I can’t abide ter look at myself!”</p> - -<p>And with a bitter laugh he turned on his heel.</p> - -<p>He would not be reconciled later.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> The wound she had unintentionally -dealt him rankled long. He said Delia Noakes was a sensible girl. -Plenty of brave fellows would come home from the war, hale and hearty -and with two good arms, better men in every way, in mind and body -and heart and soul, for the stern experiences they were enduring so -stanchly. The crop of sweethearts promised to be indeed particularly -fine, and there was no use in wasting politeness on a fellow with -whom she used to play before either of them could walk, but whose -arm was gone now, through no glorious deed wrought for his country, -for which he had intended to do all such service as a man’s right -arm might compass, but because he was a fool, and had made a friend -of a malevolent scoundrel, who had nearly taken his life, but had -only—worse luck—taken his right arm! And besides he had seen enough -of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> world in his wanderings to know that it behooves people to -look to the future and means of support. He had learned what it was to -be hungry, he had learned what it was to lack. He was no longer the -brave and warlike man-at-arms, “Baby Bunting.” He had no vocation, -no possibility of a future of usefulness; he could not hold a gun or -a plow or an ax, and Delia doubtless thought he would not be able to -provide for her. And “dead shot” though he had been he could not now -defend himself, he declared bitterly, much less her.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> - -<p>It was the last month of the year, and the month was waning. The winds -had rifled the woods and the sere leaves all had fallen. Yet still a -bright after-thought of the autumnal sunshine glowed along the mountain -spurs, for the tardy winter loitered on the way, and the silver rime -that lay on the black frost-grapes melted at a beam.</p> - -<p>“The weather hev been powerful onseasonable an’ onreasonable, ter -my mind,” said old Jonas Scruggs, accepting a rickety chair in his -neighbor’s porch. “’Tain’t healthy.”</p> - -<p>“Waal, ’tain’t goin’ ter last,” rejoined Mrs. Knox, from the doorway, -where she sat with her knitting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> “’Twar jes’ ter-day I seen my old -gray cat run up that thar saplin’ an’ hang by her claws with her head -down’ards. An’ I hev always knowed ez that air a sure sign of a change.”</p> - -<p>Presently she added, “The fire air treadin’ snow now.”</p> - -<p>She glanced over her shoulder at the deep chimney-place, where a dull -wood fire was sputtering fitfully with a sound that suggested footfalls -crunching on a crust of snow.</p> - -<p>“I dunno ez <i>I</i> need be a-hankerin’ fur a change in the weather, -cornsiderin’ the rheumatiz in my shoulder ez I kerried around with me -ez a constancy las’ winter,” remarked Jonas Scruggs, pre-empting a -grievance in any event.</p> - -<p>“Thar’s the wild geese a-sailin’ south,” Hilary said, in a low, -melancholy drawl, as he smoked his pipe, lounging idly on the step of -the porch. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - -<p>His mother laid her knitting in her lap and gazed over her spectacles -into the concave vault of the sky, so vast as seen from the vantage -ground of the little log cabin on the mountain’s brow. Bending to the -dark, wooded ranges encircling the horizon, it seemed of a crystalline -transparency and of wonderful gradations of color. The broad blue -stretches overhead merged into a delicate green of exquisite purity, -and thence issued a suffusion of the faintest saffron in which flakes -of orange burned like living fire. A jutting spur intercepted the sight -of the sinking sun, and with its dazzling disk thus screened, upon -the brilliant west might be descried the familiar microscopic angle -speeding toward the south. A vague clamor floated downward.</p> - -<p>“Them fow<i>els</i>, sure enough!” she said. “Sence I war a gal I hev<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> -knowed ’em by thar flyin’ always in that thar peaked p’int.”</p> - -<p>“They keep thar alignment ez reg’lar,” said her son suddenly, “jes’ -like we-uns hev ter do in the army. They hev actially got thar markers. -Look at ’em dress thar ranks! An’ thar’s even a sergeant-major standin’ -out ez stiff an’ percise—see him! Thar! Column forward! Guide left! -March!” he cried delightedly.</p> - -<p>“I ’lowed, Hilary, ez ye bed in an’ about bed enough o’ the army,” said -the guest, bluntly.</p> - -<p>Hilary’s face changed. But for some such reminder he sometimes forgot -that missing right hand. He made no answer, his moody eyes fastened on -that aërial marshaling along the vast plain of the sunset. His right -arm was gone, and the stump dangled helplessly with its superfluity of -brown jeans sleeve bound about it. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Now that air a true word!” exclaimed Mrs. Knox, “only Hil’ry won’t hev -it so. <i>I</i> ’lows ter him ez he los’ his arm through jinin’ the Confed’ -army, an’ <i>he</i> ’lows ’twar gittin’ in a fight with one o’ his own -comrades.”</p> - -<p>Jonas Scruggs glanced keenly at her from under his bushy, grizzled -eyebrows, his lips solemnly puckered, and his stubbly pointed chin -resting on his knotty hands, which were clasped upon his stout stick. -He had the dispassionate, pondering aspect of an umpire, which seemed -to invite the cheerful submission of differences.</p> - -<p>“Ye knows I war fur the Union, an’ so war his dad,” she continued. “My -old man had been ailin’ ennyhows, but this hyar talk o’ bustin’ up the -Union—why, it jes’ fairly harried him inter his grave. An’ I ’lowed -ez Hil’ry would be fur the Union, too, like everybody in the mountings -ez hed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> good sense. But when a critter-company o’ Confeds rid up the -mounting one day Hil’ry he talked with some of ’em, an’ he war stubborn -ever after. An’ so he jined the critter-company.”</p> - -<p>She fell suddenly silent, and taking up her needles knitted a row or -two, her absorbed eyes, kindling with retrospection, fixed on the -far horizon, for Mrs. Knox was in a position to enjoy the melancholy -pleasures of a true prophet of evil, and although she had never -specifically forewarned Hilary of the precise nature of the disaster -that had ensued upon his enlistment, she had sought to defer and -prevent it, and at last had consented only because she felt she must. -She had her own secret satisfaction that the result was no worse; -it lacked much of the ghastly horrors that she had foreboded—death -itself, or the terrible uncertainty of hoping against hope, and -fearing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> uttermost dread that must needs abide with those to whom -the “missing” are dear. Never now could the fact be worse, and thus -she could reconcile herself, and talk of it with a certain relish of -finality, as of a chapter of intense and painful interest but closed -forever.</p> - -<p>The old man nodded his head with deliberative gravity until she -recommenced, when he relapsed into motionless attention.</p> - -<p>“An’ Hil’ry fought in a heap o’ battles, and got shot a time or two, -an’ war laid up in the horspital, an’ kem out cured, an’ fought agin. -An’ one day he got inter a quar’l with one o’ his bes’ frien’s. They -war jes’ funnin’ afust, an’ Hil’ry hit him harder’n he liked, an’ he -got mad, an’ bein’ a horseback he kicked Hil’ry. An’ Hil’ry jumped on -him ez suddint ez a painter, ter pull him out’n his saddle an’ drub -him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> Hil’ry never drawed no shootin’ irons nor nuthin’, an’ warn’t -expectin’ ter hurt him serious. But this hyar Jack Bixby he war full o’ -liquor an’ fury; he started his horse a-gallopin’, an’ ez Hil’ry hung -on ter the saddle he drawed his bowie-knife an’ slashed Hil’ry’s arm ez -war holdin’ ter him agin an’ agin, till they war both soakin’ in blood, -an’ at last Hil’ry drapped. An’ the arm fevered, an’ the surgeon tuk it -off. An’ so Hil’ry hed his discharge gin him, sence the Confeds hed no -mo’ use fur him. An’ he walked home, two hunderd mile, he say.”</p> - -<p>During this recital the young mountaineer gave no indication of its -effect upon him, and offered no word of correction to conform the -details to the facts. His mother had so often told his story with -the negligence of the domestic narrator, that little by little it -had become thus distorted, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> knew from experience that should -he interfere to alter a phase, another as far from reality would be -presently substituted, for Mrs. Knox cared little how the event had -been precipitated, or for aught except that his arm was gone, that he -was well, and that she had him at home again, from which he should -no more wander, for she had endeavored to utilize the misfortune to -reinforce her authority, and illustrate her favorite dogma of the -infallibility of her judgment.</p> - -<p>Her words must have renewed bitter reminiscences, but his face was -impassive, and not a muscle stirred as he silently watched the ranks of -the migrating birds fade into the furthest distance.</p> - -<p>“An’ now Hil’ry thinks it air cur’ous ez I ain’t sorrowin’ ’bout’n his -arm,” she continued. “Naw, sir! I’m glad he escaped alive an’ that he -can’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> fight no mo’—not ef the war lasts twenty year, an’ it ’pears -like it air powerful persistin’.”</p> - -<p>It still raged, but to the denizens of this sequestered district there -seemed little menace in its fury. They could hear but an occasional -rumor, like the distant rumbling of thunder, and discern, as it were, a -vague, transient glimmer as token of the fierce and scathing lightnings -far away desolating and destroying all the world beyond these limits of -peace.</p> - -<p>Episodes of civilized warfare were little dreaded by the few -inhabitants of the mountains, the old men, the women and the children, -so dominated were they by the terrors of vagrant bands of stragglers -and marauders, classed under the generic name of bushwhackers, -repudiated by both armies, and given over to the plunder of -non-combatants of both factions in this region<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> of divided allegiance. -At irregular intervals they infested this neighborhood, foraging where -they listed, and housing themselves in the old hotel.</p> - -<p>Looking across the gorge from where the three sat in the cabin porch, -there was visible on the opposite heights a great white frame building, -many-windowed and with wide piazzas. There were sulphur springs hard -by, and before the war the place was famous as a health resort. Now -it was a melancholy spectacle—silent, tenantless, vacant—infinitely -lonely in the vast wilderness. Some of the doors, wrenched from their -hinges, had served the raiders for fuel. The glass had been wantonly -broken in many of the windows by the jocose thrusts of a saber. The -grassy square within surrounded by the buildings was overgrown with -weeds, and here lizards basked, and in their season wild things -nested.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> There was never a suggestion of the gayeties of the past—only -in the deserted old ball-room when a slant of sunshine would fall -athwart the dusty floor, a bluebottle might airily zigzag in the errant -gleam, or when the moon was bright on the long piazzas a cobweb, woven -dense, would flaunt out between the equidistant shadows of the columns -like the flutter of a white dress. The place had a weird aspect, and -was reputed haunted. The simple mountaineers did not venture within it, -and the ghosts had it much of the time to themselves.</p> - -<p>The obscurities of twilight were presently enfolded about it. The -white walls rose, vaguely glimmering, against the pine forests in the -background, and above the shadowy abysses which it overlooked.</p> - -<p>The old man was gazing meditatively at it as he said, reprehensively,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> -“’Pears like ter me, Hil’ry, ez ye oughter be thankful ye warn’t killed -utterly—ye oughter be thankful it air no wuss.”</p> - -<p>“Hil’ry ain’t thankful fur haffen o’ nuthin’.” Mrs. Knox interposed. -“’Twar jes’ las’ night he looked like su’thin’ in a trap. He walked the -floor till nigh day—till I jes’ tuk heart o’ grace an’ told him ez his -dad bed laid them puncheons ter last, an’ not to be walked on till they -were wore thinner’n a clapboard in one night. An’ yit he air alive an’ -hearty, an’ I hev got my son agin. An’ I sets ez much store by him with -one arm ez two.”</p> - -<p>And indeed she looked cheerfully about the dusky landscape as she rose, -rolling the sock on her needles and thrusting them into the ball of -yarn. Old Jonas Scruggs hesitated when she told him alluringly that -she had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> “mighty nice ash cake kivered on the h’a’th,” but he said -that his daughter-in-law, Jerusha, would be expecting him, and he could -in no wise bide to supper. And finally he started homeward a little -wistful, but serene in the consciousness of having obeyed the behests -of Jerusha, who in these hard times had grown sensitive about his habit -of taking meals with his friends. “As ef,” she argued, “I fed ye on -half rations at home.”</p> - -<p>Hilary rose at last from the doorstep, and turning slowly to go within, -his absent glance swept the night-shadowed scene. He paused suddenly, -and his heart seemed beating in his throat.</p> - -<p>A point of red light had sprung up in the vague glooms. A -will-o’-the-wisp?—some wavering “ghost’s candle” to light him to his -grave. With his accurate knowledge of the locality he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> sought to place -it. The distant gleam seemed to shine from a window of the old hotel, -and this bespoke the arrival of rude occupants. He heard a wild halloo, -a snatch of song perhaps—or was it fancy? And were the iterative -echoes in the gorge the fancy of the stern old crags?</p> - -<p>For the first time since he returned, maimed and helpless, and a -non-combatant, were the lawless marauders quartered at the old hotel.</p> - -<p>He stood for a while gazing at it with dilated eyes. Then he silently -stepped within the cabin and barred the door with his uncertain and -awkward left hand.</p> - -<p>The cheerful interior of the house was all aglow. The fire had been -mended, and yellow flames were undulating about the logs with many a -gleaming line of grace. Blue and purple and scarlet flashes they showed -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> fugitive iridescence. They illumined his face, and his mother noted -its pallor—the deep pallor which he had brought from the hospital.</p> - -<p>“Ye hev got yer fancies ag’in,” she cried. Then with anxious curiosity, -“Whar be yer right hand now, Hil’ry?”</p> - -<p>She alluded to that cruel hallucination of sensation in an amputated -arm.</p> - -<p>“Whar it oughter be,” he groaned; “on the trigger o’ my carbine.”</p> - -<p>His grief was not only that his arm was gone. It was to recognize the -fact that his heart no longer beat exultantly at the mere prospect of -conflict. And he was anguished with the poignant despair of a helpless -man who has once been foremost in the fight.</p> - -<p>The next day he was moody and morose, and brooded silently over the -fire. The doors were closed, for winter had come at last. The hoar -frost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> whitened the great gaunt limbs of the trees, and lay in every -curled dead leaf on the ground, and followed the zigzag lines of the -fence, and embossed the fodder stack and the ash-hopper and the roofs -with fantastic incongruities in silver tracery.</p> - -<p>The sun did not shine, the clouds dropped lower and lower still, a wind -sprung up, and presently the snow was flying.</p> - -<p>The widow esteemed this as in the nature of a special providence, since -the dizzying whirl of white flakes veiled the little cabin and its -humble surroundings from the observation of the free-booting tenants of -the old hotel across the gorge. “It air powerful selfish, I know, ter -hope the bushwhackers will forage on somebody else’s poultry an’ sech, -but somehows my own chickens seem nigher kin ter me than other folkses’ -be. I never see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> no sech ten-toed chickens ez mine nowhar.”</p> - -<p>Reflecting further upon the peculiar merits of these chickens, -ten-toed, being Dorking, reinforced by the claims of consanguinity, she -presently evolved as a precautionary measure a scheme of concealing -them in the “roof-room” of the cabin. And from time to time, as the -silent day wore on, like the blast of a bugle the crow of a certain -irrepressible young rooster demonstrated how precarious was his -retirement in the loft.</p> - -<p>“Hear the insurance o’ that thar fow<i>el</i>!” she would exclaim in -exasperation. “S’pose’n the bushwhackers war hyar now, axin fur -poultry, an’ I war a-tellin’ ’em, ez smilin’ an’ mealy-mouthed ez I -could, that we hain’t got no fow<i>els</i>! That thar reckless critter would -be in the fryin’-pan ’fore night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> They’ll l’arn ye ter hold yer jaw, -I’ll be bound!”</p> - -<p>But the bushwhackers did not come, and the next day the veil of the -falling snow still interposed, and the familiar mountains near at hand, -and the long reaches of the unexplored perspective were all obscured; -the drifts deepened, and the fence seemed dwarfed half covered as it -was, and the boles of the trees hard by were burlier, bereft of their -accustomed height. The storm ceased late one afternoon; over the white -earth was a somber gray sky, but all along the horizon above the snowy -summits of the western mountains a slender scarlet line betokened a -fair morrow.</p> - -<p>Hilary, in the weariness of inaction, had taken note of the weather, -and with his hat drawn down over his brow he strolled out to the verge -of the precipice. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> - -<p>Overlooking the familiar landscape, he detected an unaccustomed smoke -visible a mile or more down the narrow valley. Although but a tiny, -hazy curl in the distance, it did not escape the keen eyes of the -mountaineer. He could not distinguish tents against the snow, but the -location suggested a camp.</p> - -<p>The bushwhackers still lingered at the old hotel across the gorge. He -could already see in the gathering dusk the firelight glancing fitfully -against the window. He wondered if it were visible as far as the camp -in the valley.</p> - -<p>He stood for a long time, gazing across the snowy steeps at the -desolate old building, with the heavy pine forests about it and the -crags below—their dark faces seamed with white lines wherever a drift -had lodged in a cleft or the interlacing tangles of icy vines might -cling. In the pallid <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>dreariness of the landscape and the gray dimness -of the hovering night the lighted window blazed with the lambent -splendors of some great yellow topaz. His uncontrolled fancy was -trespassing upon the scene within. His heart was suddenly all a-throb -with keen pain. His idle, vague imaginings of the stalwart horsemen and -what they were now doing had revived within him that insatiate longing -for the martial life which he had loved, that ineffable grief for the -opportunity of brave deeds of value which he felt he had lost.</p> - -<p>The drill had taught him the mastery of his muscles, but those -more potent forces, his impulses, had known no discipline. A -wild inconsequence now possessed him. He took no heed of reason, -of prudence. He was dominated by the desire to look in upon the -bushwhackers from without—they would never know—undiscovered, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>unimagined, like some vague and vagrant specter that might wander -forlorn in the labyrinthine old house.</p> - -<p>With an alert step he turned and strode away into the little cabin. -It was very cheerful around the hearth, and the first words he heard -reminded him of the season.</p> - -<p>His younger brother, a robust lad of thirteen, was drawling -reminiscences of other and happier Christmas-tides.</p> - -<p>“Sech poppin’ o’ guns ez we-uns used ter hev!” said the tow-headed boy, -listlessly swinging his heels against the rungs of the chair.</p> - -<p>“The Lord knows thar’s enough poppin’ of guns now!” said his mother. -She stooped to insert a knife under the baking hoe-cake for the purpose -of turning it, which she did with a certain deft and agile flap, -difficult of acquirement and impossible to the uninitiated. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I ’members,” she added, vivaciously, “we-uns used ter always hev a -hollow log charged with powder an’ tech it off fur the Chris’mus. It -sounded like thunder—like the cannon the folks hev got nowadays.”</p> - -<p>“An’ hawg-killin’ times kem about the Chris’mus,” said the boy, -sustaining his part in the fugue.</p> - -<p>“Folks <i>had</i> hawgs ter kill in them days,” was his mother’s melancholy -rejoinder as she meditated on the contrast of the pinched penury of the -present with the peace and plenty of the past when there was no war nor -rumor of war.</p> - -<p>“Ef ye git a hawg’s bladder an’ blow it up an’ tie the eend right tight -an’ stomp on it suddint it will crack ez loud!” said the noise-loving -boy. “Peas air good ter rattle in ’em, too,” he added, with a wistful -smile, dwelling on the clamors of his happy past. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Waal, folks ez hed good sense seen more enjyement in eatin’ spare-ribs -an’ souse an’ sech like hawg-meat than in stomping on hawgs’ bladders. -I hev never favored hawg-killin’ times jes’ ter gin a noisy boy the -means ter keep Christian folks an’ church members a-jumpin’ out’n thar -skins with suddint skeer all the Chris’mus.”</p> - -<p>This was said with the severity of a personality, but the boy’s face -distended as he listened.</p> - -<p>Suddenly his eyes brightened with excitement. “Hil’ry,” he cried, -joyously, “be you-uns a-goin’ ter fire that thar pistol off fur the -Chris’mus?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Knox rose from her kneeling posture on the hearth and stared -blankly at Hilary.</p> - -<p>He had come within the light of the fire. His eyes were blazing, his -pale cheeks flushed, his long, lank figure was tense with energy. The -weapon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> in his hand glittered as he held it at arm’s length.</p> - -<p>“Bein’ ez it air ready loaded I reckon mebbe I ain’t so awk’ard yit but -I could make out ter fire it ef I war cornered,” he muttered, as if to -himself. “Leastwise, I’ll take it along fur company.”</p> - -<p>“Air ye goin’ ter fire it ’kase this be Chris’mus eve?” she asked in -doubt.</p> - -<p>He glanced absently at her and said not a word.</p> - -<p>The next moment he had sprung out of the door and they heard his step -crunching through the frozen crust of snow as he strode away.</p> - -<p>There were rifts in the clouds and the moon looked out. The white, -untrodden road lay, a glittering avenue, far along the solitudes of the -dense and leafless forests. Sometimes belts of vapor shimmered before -him, and as he went he saw above them the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>distant gables of the old -hotel rising starkly against the chill sky. In view presently in the -white moonlight were the long piazzas of the shattered old building, -the shadows of the many tall pillars distinct upon the floor. He heard -the sound of the sentry’s tread, and down the vista between the columns -and the shadowy colonnade he saw the soldierly figure pacing slowly to -and fro.</p> - -<p>He had not reckoned on this precaution on the part of the bushwhackers. -But the rambling old building, in every nook and cranny, was familiar -to him. While the sentry’s back was turned, he silently crept along the -piazza to an open passageway which led to the grassy square within.</p> - -<p>The rime on the dead weeds glistened in the moonbeams; the snow lay -trampled along the galleries on which opened the empty rooms; here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -there, as the doors swung on their hinges, he could see through the -desolate void within, the bleak landscape beyond. There were horses -stabled in some of them, and in the center of the square two or three -were munching their feed from the old music-stand, utilized as a -manger. One of them, a handsome bay, arched his glossy neck to gaze at -the intruder over the gauzy sheen of gathering vapor, his full dilated -eyes with the moonlight in them. Then with a snort he went back to his -corn.</p> - -<p>Only one window was alight. There was a roaring fire within, and the -ruddy glow danced on the empty walls and on the hilarious, bearded -faces grouped about the hearth. The men, clad in butternut jeans, -smoked their pipes as they sat on logs or lounged at length on the -floor. A festive canteen was a prominent adjunct of the scene, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> was -often replenished from a burly keg in the corner.</p> - -<p>As Hilary approached the window he suddenly recognized a face which -he had cause to remember. He had not seen this face since Jack Bixby -looked furiously down from his saddle, hacking the while with his -bowie-knife at his comrade’s bleeding right arm. No enemy had done this -thing—Hilary’s own fast friend.</p> - -<p>He divined readily enough that after this dastardly deed Bixby had -not dared to seek to rejoin Captain Bertley’s squadron, and thus had -found kindred spirits among this marauding band of bushwhackers. His -face was not flushed with liquor now—twice the canteen passed Jack -Bixby unheeded. His big black hat was thrust far back on his shock of -red hair; he held his great red beard meditatively in one hand, while -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> other fluttered the pages of a letter. He slowly read aloud, in a -droning voice, now and then, from the ill-spelled scrawl. He looked up -sometimes laughing, and they all laughed in sympathy.</p> - -<p>“‘Pete Blake he axed ’bout ye, an’ sent his respec’s, an’ Jerry Dunders -says tell ye ‘Howdy’ fur him, though ye be fightin’ on the wrong side,’”</p> - -<p>“Jerry,” he explained in a conversational tone, “he jined the Loyal -Tennesseans over yander in White County.”</p> - -<p>He jerked his thumb over his shoulder westward, and one of the men said -that he had known Jerry since he was “knee-high ter a duck.”</p> - -<p>In a strained, unnatural tone Jack Bixby laboriously read on.</p> - -<p>“‘Little Ben prays at night fur you. He prayed some last night out’n -his own head. He said he prayed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> good Lord would deliver daddy from -all harm.’”</p> - -<p>The man’s eyes were glistening. He laughed hurriedly, but he coughed, -too, and the comrade who knew Jerry at so minute a size seemed also -acquainted with little Ben, and said a “pearter young one” had never -stepped. “‘He prayed the good Lord would deliver daddy from all harm,’” -Jack Bixby solemnly repeated as he folded the letter. And silence fell -upon the group.</p> - -<p>Hilary, strangely softened, was turning—he was quietly slipping away -from the window when he became suddenly aware that there were other -stealthy figures in the square, and he saw through the frosty panes the -scared face of the sentry bursting into the doorway with a tardy alarm.</p> - -<p>There was a rush from the square. Pistol shots rang out sharp on the -chill<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> air, and the one-armed man, conscious of his helpless plight, -entrapped in the mêlée, fled as best he might through the familiar -intricacies of the old hotel—up the stairs, through echoing halls and -rooms, and down a long corridor, till he paused panting and breathless -in the door of the old ball-room.</p> - -<p>The rude, unplastered, whitewashed walls were illumined by the -moonlight, for all down one side of the long apartment the windows -overlooking the gorge were full of the white radiance, and in -glittering squares it lay upon the floor.</p> - -<p>He remembered suddenly that there was no other means of egress. To be -found here was certain capture. As he turned to retrace his way he -heard swift steps approaching. Guided by the sound of his flight one of -the surprised party had followed him, lured by the hope of escape. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was evidently a hot pursuit in the rear. Now and then the long -halls reverberated with pistol shots, and a bullet buried itself in -the door as Jack Bixby burst into the room. He stared aghast at his -old comrade for an instant. Then as he heard the rapid footfalls, the -jingle of spurs, the clamor of voices behind him, he ran to one of the -windows. He drew back dismayed by the sight of the depths of the gorge -below. He was caught as in a trap.</p> - -<p>Hilary Knox could never account for the inspiration of that moment.</p> - -<p>At right angles with the loftier main building a one-story wing jutted -out, and the space within its gable roof and above its ceiling, which -was on a level with the floor of the ball-room, was separated from that -apartment only by a rude screen of boards.</p> - -<p>Hilary burst one of these rough boards loose at the lower end, and -held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> it back with the left hand spared him.</p> - -<p>“Jump through, Jack!” he cried out to his old enemy. “Jump through the -plaster o’ the ceilin’ right hyar. The counter in the bar-room down -thar will break yer fall.”</p> - -<p>Jack Bixby sprang through the dark aperture. There was a crash within -as the plaster fell.</p> - -<p>The next moment a bullet whizzed through Hilary’s hat, and the -ball-room was astir with armed men; among them Hilary recognized other -mountaineers, old friends and neighbors who had joined the “Loyal -Tennesseans.”</p> - -<p>“I never would hev thought ye would hev let Jack Bixby git past ye -arter the way he treated ye,” one of them remarked, when the search had -proved futile.</p> - -<p>“Waal,” said Hilary, miserably, “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> hain’t hed much grit nohows sence -the surgeon took off my arm.”</p> - -<p>His interlocutor looked curiously at the hole in the young fellow’s -hat, pierced while he stood his ground that another man might escape. -Hilary had no nice sense of discrimination. His idea of courage was the -onslaught.</p> - -<p>The others crowded about, and Hilary relished the suggestions of -military comradeship that clung about them, albeit they were of the -opposing faction, for they seemed so strangely cordial. Each must needs -shake his hand—his awkward left hand—and he was patted on the back, -and one big, bluff soul, who beamed on him with a broadly delighted -smile, gave him a severe hug, such as a fatherly bear might administer.</p> - -<p>“Hil’ry ain’t got much grit, he says,” one of them remarked with a -guffaw. “He jes’ helped another feller<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> escape whut he hed a grudge -agin, while he stood ez onconsarned ez a target, an’ I shot him through -the hat an’ the ball ploughed up his scalp in good fashion. Glad my aim -warn’t a leetle mended.”</p> - -<p>Hilary’s hat was gone; one of the men persisted in an exchange, and -Hilary wore now a fresh new one instead of that so hastily snatched -from him as a souvenir.</p> - -<p>He thought they were all sorry for him because of the loss of his arm; -yet this was strange, for many men had lost limb and life at the hands -of this troop, which was of an active and bloody reputation. He could -not dream they thought him a hero—these men accustomed to deeds of -daring! He had no faint conception of the things they were saying of -him to one another, of his gallantry and his high and noble courage in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>risking his life that his personal enemy might escape, when there was -a chance for but one—his false friend, who had destroyed his right -arm—as they mounted their horses and rode away to their camp in the -valley with the prisoners they had taken.</p> - -<p>Hilary stood listening wistfully to the jingling of their spurs and -the clanking of their sabers and the regular beat of the hoofs of the -galloping troop—sounds from out the familiar past, from thrilling -memories, how dear!</p> - -<p>Then as he plodded along the lonely wintry way homeward he was dismayed -to reflect upon his own useless, maimed life—upon what he had suffered -and what he had done.</p> - -<p>“What ailed me ter let him off?” he exclaimed in amaze. “What ailed me -ter help him git away—jes’ account o’ the word o’ a w’uthless brat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> -Fur <i>me</i> ter let <i>him</i> off when I hed my chance ter pay my grudge so -slick!”</p> - -<p>He paused on the jagged verge of a crag and looked absently over the -vast dim landscape, bounded by the snowy ranges about the horizon. -Here and there mists hovered above the valley, but the long slant of -the moonbeams pervaded the scene and lingered upon its loneliness with -luminous melancholy. The translucent amber sphere was sinking low in -the vaguely violet sky, and already the dark summits of the westward -pines showed a fibrous glimmer.</p> - -<p>In the east a great star was quivering, most radiant, most pellucid. -He gazed at it with sudden wistfulness. Christmas dawn was near—and -this was the herald of redemption. So well it was for him that science -had never invaded these skies! His simple faith beheld the Star of -Bethlehem that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> wise men saw when they fell down and worshiped. He -broke from his moody regrets—ah, surely, of all the year this was the -time when a child’s prayer should meet most gracious heed in heaven, -should most prevail on earth! His heart was stirred with a strange and -solemn thrill, and he blessed the impulse of forgiveness for the sake -of a little child.</p> - -<p>A roseate haze had gathered about the star, deepening and glowing -till the sun was in the east, and the splendid Day, charged with the -sanctities of commemoration, with the fulfillment of prophecy, with the -promises of all futurity, came glittering over the mountains.</p> - -<p>But the sun was a long way off, and its brilliancy made scant -impression on the intense cold. Thus it was he noticed, as he came in -sight of home, that, despite the icy atmosphere, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> cabin door was -ajar. It moved uncertainly, yet no wind stirred.</p> - -<p>“Thar’s somebody ahint the door ez hev seen me a-comin’ an’ air waitin’ -ter ketch me ‘Chris’mus Gift,’” he argued, astutely.</p> - -<p>To forestall this he took a devious path through the brush, sprang -suddenly upon the porch, thrust in his arm, and clutched the unwary -party ambushed behind the door.</p> - -<p>“Chris’mus Gift!” he shouted, as he burst into the room.</p> - -<p>But it was Delia waiting for him, blushing and embarrassed, and seeming -nearer tears than laughter. And his mother was chuckling in enjoyment -of the situation.</p> - -<p>“Now, whyn’t ye let Dely ketch you-uns Chris’mus Gift like she counted -on doin’, stiddier ketchin’ her? She hain’t got nuthin’ ter gin yer fur -Chris’mus Gift but herself.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hilary knew her presence here and the enterprise of “catching him -Christmas Gift” was another overture at reconciliation, but when he -said, “Waal, I’ll thank ye kindly, Dely,” she still looked at him in -silence, with a timorous eye and a quivering lip.</p> - -<p>“But, law!” exclaimed Mrs. Knox, still laughing, “I needn’t set my -heart on dancin’ at the weddin’. Dely ain’t no ways ter be trusted. She -hev done like a Injun-giver afore now. Mebbe she’ll take herself away -from ye agin.”</p> - -<p>Delia found her voice abruptly.</p> - -<p>“No—I won’t, nuther!” she said, sturdily.</p> - -<p>And thus it was settled.</p> - -<p>They made what Christmas cheer they could, and he told them of a new -plan as they sat together round the fire. The women humored it as a -sick fancy. They never thought to see it proved.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> At the school held at -irregular intervals before the war he had picked up a little reading -and a smattering of writing. This Christmas day he began anew. He -manufactured ink of logwood that had been saved for dyeing, and the -goose lent him a quill. An old blank book, thrown aside when the hotel -proprietors had removed their valuables, served as paper.</p> - -<p>As his mother had said it was not Hilary’s nature to be thankful for -the half of anything; he attacked the unpromising future with that -undismayed ardor that had distinguished him in those cavalry charges -in which he had loved to ride. With practice his left hand became -deft; before the war was over he was a fair scribe, and he often -pridefully remarked that he couldn’t be flanked on spelling. Removing -to one of the valley towns, seeking a sphere of wider usefulness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> his -mental qualities and sterling character made themselves known and his -vocation gradually became assured. He was first elected register of the -county of his new home, and later clerk of the circuit court. Other -preferments came to him, and the world went well with him. It became -broader to his view and of more gracious aspect; his leisure permitted -reading and reading fostered thought. He learned that there are more -potent influences than force, and he recognized as the germ of these -benignities that impulse of peace and good will which he consecrated -for the sake of One who became as a Little Child. </p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">THE PANTHER<br />OF<br />JOLTON’S RIDGE</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE PANTHER<br /> OF<br /> JOLTON’S RIDGE</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> - -<p>A certain wild chasm, cut deep into the very heart of a spur of the -Great Smoky Mountains, is spanned by a network, which seen from above -is the heavy interlacing timbers of a railroad bridge thrown across -the narrow space from one great cliff to the other, but seen from the -depths of the gorge below it seems merely a fantastic gossamer web -fretting the blue sky.</p> - -<p>It often trembles with other sounds than the reverberating mountain -thunder and beneath other weight than the heavy fall of the mountain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> -rain. Trains flash across it at all hours of the night and day; in -the darkness the broad glare of the headlight and the flying column -of pursuing sparks have all the scenic effect of some strange uncanny -meteor, with the added emphasis of a thunderous roar and a sulphurous -smell; in the sunshine there skims over it at intervals a cloud of -white vapor and a swift black shadow.</p> - -<p>“Sence they hev done sot up that thar bridge I hain’t seen a bar nor a -deer in five mile down this hyar gorge. An’ the fish don’t rise nuther -like they uster do. That thar racket skeers ’em.”</p> - -<p>And the young hunter, leaning upon his rifle, his hands idly clasped -over its muzzle, gazed with disapproving eyes after the flying -harbinger of civilization as it sped across the airy structure and -plunged into the deep forest that crowned the heights. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> - -<p>Civilization offered no recompense to the few inhabitants of the gorge -for the exodus of deer and bear and fish. It passed swiftly far above -them, seeming to traverse the very sky. They had no share in the world; -the freighted trains brought them nothing—not even a newspaper wafted -down upon the wind; the wires flashed no word to them. The picturesque -situation of the two or three little log-houses scattered at long -intervals down the ravine; the crystal clear flow of a narrow, deep -stream—merely a silver thread as seen from the bridge above; the grand -proportions of the towering cliffs, were calculated to cultivate the -grace of imagination in the brakemen, leaning from their respective -platforms; to suggest a variation in the Pullman conductor’s jaunty -formula, “’Twould hurt our feelings pretty badly to fall over there, -I fancy,” and to remind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> the out-looking passenger of the utter -loneliness of the vast wilds penetrated by the railroad. But they left -no speculations behind them. The terrible sense of the inconceivable -width of the world was spared the simple-minded denizens of the woods. -The clanging, crashing trains came like the mountain storms, no one -knew whence, and went no one knew whither. The universe lay between the -rocky walls of the ravine. Even this narrow stage had its drama.</p> - -<p>In the depths of the chasm spanned by the bridge there stood in -the shadow of one of the great cliffs a forlorn little log hut, so -precariously perched on the ledgy slope that it might have seemed the -nest of some strange bird rather than a human habitation. The huge -natural column of the crag rose sheer and straight two hundred feet -above it, but the descent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> from the door, though sharp and steep, was -along a narrow path leading in zigzag windings amid great bowlders and -knolls of scraggy earth, pushing their way out from among the stones -that sought to bury them, and fragments of the cliff fallen long ago -and covered with soft moss. The path appeared barely passable for man, -but upon it could have been seen the imprint of a hoof, and beside -the hut was a little shanty, from the rude window of which protruded -a horse’s head, with so interested an expression of countenance -that he looked as if he were assisting at the conversation going on -out-of-doors this mild March afternoon.</p> - -<p>“Ye could find deer, an’ bar, an’ sech, easy enough ef ye would go -arter ’em,” replied the young hunter’s mother, as she sat in the -doorway knitting a yarn sock. “That thar still-house up yander ter the -Ridge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> hev skeered off the deer an’ bar fur ye worse’n the railroad -hev. Ye kin git that fur an’ no furder. Ye hev done got triflin’ an’ no -’count, an’ nuthin’ else in this worl’ ails ye,—nur the deer an’ bar, -nuther,” she concluded, with true maternal candor.</p> - -<p>“It war tole ter me,” said an elderly man, who was seated in a -rush-bottomed chair outside the door, and who, although a visitor, bore -a lance in this domestic controversy with much freedom and spirit, “ez -how ye hed done got religion up hyar ter the Baptis’ meetin’-house the -last revival ez we hed. An’ I s’posed it war the truth.”</p> - -<p>“I war convicted,” replied the young fellow, ambiguously, still leaning -lazily on his rifle. He was a striking figure, remarkable for a massive -proportion and muscular development, and yet not lacking the lithe, -elastic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> curves characteristic of first youth. A dilapidated old hat -crowned a shock of yellow hair, a sunburned face, far-seeing gray eyes, -and an expression of impenetrable calm. His butternut suit was in -consonance with the prominent ribs of his horse, the poverty-stricken -aspect of the place, and the sterile soil of a forlorn turnip patch -which embellished the slope to the water’s edge.</p> - -<p>“Convicted!” exclaimed his mother, scornfully. “An’ sech goin’s-on -sence! Mark never <i>hed</i> no religion to start with.”</p> - -<p>“What did ye see when ye war convicted?” demanded the inquisitive -guest, who spoke upon the subject of religion with the authority and -asperity of an expert.</p> - -<p>“I never seen nuthin’ much.” Mark Yates admitted the fact reluctantly.</p> - -<p>“Then ye never <i>hed</i> no religion,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> retorted Joel Ruggles. “I <i>knows</i>, -’kase I hev hed a power o’ visions. I hev viewed heaven an’ hung over -hell.” He solemnly paused to accent the effect of this stupendous -revelation.</p> - -<p>There had lately come a new element into the simple life of the -gorge,—a force infinitely more subtle than that potency of steam which -was wont to flash across the railroad bridge; of further reaching -influences than the wide divergences of the civilization it spread in -its swift flight. Naught could resist this force of practical religion -applied to the workings of daily life. The new preacher that at -infrequent intervals visited this retired nook had wrought changes in -the methods of the former incumbent, who had long ago fallen into the -listless apathy of old age, and now was dead. His successor came like -a whirlwind, sweeping the chaff before him—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> humble man, ignorant, -poor in this world’s goods, and of meager physical strength. It was in -vain that the irreverent sought to bring ridicule upon him, that he was -called a “skimpy saint” in reference to his low stature, “the widow’s -mite,” a sly jest at the hero-worship of certain elderly relicts in his -congregation, a “two-by-four text” to illustrate his slim proportions. -He was armed with the strength of righteousness, and it sufficed.</p> - -<p>It was much resented at first that he carried his spiritual supervision -into the personal affairs of those of his charge, and required that -they should make these conform to their outward profession. And thus -old feuds must needs be patched up, old enemies forgiven, restitution -made, and the kingdom set in order as behooves the domain of a Prince -of Peace. The young people especially were greatly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> stirred, and Mark -Yates, who had never hitherto thought much of such subjects, had -experienced an awakening of moral resolve, and had even appeared one -day at the mourners’ bench.</p> - -<p>Thus he had once gone up to be prayed for, “convicted of sin,” as the -phrase goes in those secluded regions. But the sermons were few, for -the intervals were long between the visitations of the little preacher, -and Mark’s conscience had not learned the art of holding forth with -persistence and pertinence, which spiritual eloquence (not always -welcome) is soon acquired by a receptive, sensitive temperament. Mark -was cheerful, light-hearted, imaginative, adaptable. The traits of the -wilder, ruder element of the district, the hardy courage, the physical -prowess, the adventurous escapades appealed to his sense of the -picturesque as no merit of the dull domestic boor, content<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> with the -meager agricultural routine, tamed by the endless struggle with work -and unalterable poverty, could stir him. He had no interest in defying -the law and shared none of the profits, but the hair-breadth escapes -of certain illicit distillers hard by, their perpetual jeopardy, the -ingenuity of their wily devices to evade discovery by the revenue -officers and yet supply all the contiguous region, the cogency of their -arguments as to the injustice of the taxation that bore so heavily upon -the small manufacturer, their moral posture of resisting and outwitting -oppression—all furnished abundant interest to a mind alert, capable, -and otherwise unoccupied.</p> - -<p>Not so blunt were his moral perceptions, however, that he did not -secretly wince when old Joel Ruggles, after meditating silently, -chewing his quid of tobacco, reverted from the detail of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the supposed -spiritual wonders, which in his ignorance he fancied he had seen, to -the matter in hand:</p> - -<p>“Hain’t you-uns hearn ’bout the sermon ez the preacher hev done -preached agin that thar still?—<i>he</i> called it a den o’ ’niquity.”</p> - -<p>“I hearn tell ’bout’n it yander ter the still,” replied Mark, calmly. -“They ’lowed thar ez they hed a mind ter pull him down out’n the pulpit -fur his outdaciousness, ’kase they war all thar ter the meetin’-house, -an’ <i>he</i> seen ’em, an’ said what he said fur them ter hear.” He paused, -a trifle uncomfortable at the suggestion of violence. Then reassuring -himself by a moment’s reflection, he went on in an off-hand way, “I -reckon they ain’t a-goin’ ter do nuthin’ agin <i>him</i>, but he hed better -take keer how he jows at them still folks. They air a hard-mouthed -generation, like the Bible says, an’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> they hev laid off ter stop that -thar talk o’ his’n.”</p> - -<p>“Did ye hear ’em sayin’ what they war a-aimin’ ter do?” asked Ruggles, -keenly inquisitive.</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t fer me ter tell what I hearn whilst visitin’ in other folkses’ -houses,” responded the young fellow, tartly. “But I never hearn ’em -say nuthin’ ’ceptin’ they war a-goin’ ter try ter stop his talk,” he -added. “I tells ye that much ’kase ye’ll be a-thinkin’ I hearn worse -ef I don’t. That air all I hearn ’em say ’bout’n it. An’ I reckon they -don’t mean nuthin’, but air talkin’ big whilst mad ’bout’n it. They air -’bleeged ter know thar goin’s-on ain’t fitten fur church members.”</p> - -<p>“An’ <i>ye</i> a-jowin’ ’bout’n a hard-mouthed generation,” interposed his -mother, indignantly. “Ye’re one of ’em yerself. Thar hain’t been a bite -of wild meat in this hyar house fur a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> month an’ better. Mark hev’ -mighty nigh tucken ter live at the still; an’ when he kin git hisself -up to the p’int o’ goin’ a-huntin’, ’pears like he can’t find nuthin’ -ter shoot. I hev hearn a sayin’ ez thar is a use fur every livin’ -thing, an’ it ’pears ter me ez Mark’s use air mos’ly ter waste powder -an’ lead.”</p> - -<p>Mark received these sarcasms with an imperturbability which might in -some degree account for their virulence and, indeed, Mrs. Yates often -averred that, say what she might, she could not “move that thar boy no -more’n the mounting.”</p> - -<p>He shifted his position a trifle, still leaning, however, upon the -rifle, with his clasped hands over the muzzle and his chin resting -on his hands. The quiet radiance of a smile was beginning to dawn in -his clear eyes as he looked at his interlocutors, and he spoke with a -confidential intonation: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The las’ meetin’ but two ez they hev hed up yander ter the church -they summonsed them thar Brices ter ’count fur runnin’ of a still, -an’ a-gittin’ drunk, an’ sech, an’ the Brices never come, nor tuk no -notice nor nuthin’. An’ then the nex’ meetin’ they tuk an’ turned ’em -out’n the church. An’ when they hearn ’bout that at the still, them -Brices—the whole lay-out—war pipin’ hot ’bout’n it. Thar warn’t nare -member what voted fur a-keepin’ of ’em in; an’ that stuck in ’em, -too—all thar old frien’s a-goin’ agin ’em! I s’pose ’twar right ter -turn ’em out,” he added, after a reflective pause, “though thar is them -ez war a-votin’ agin them Brices ez hev drunk a powerful lot o’ whisky -an’ sech in thar lifetime.”</p> - -<p>“Thar will be a sight less whisky drunk about hyar ef that small-sized -preacher-man kin keep up the holt he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> hev tuk on temperance sermons,” -said Mrs. Yates a trifle triumphantly. Then with a clouding brow: “I -could wish he war bigger. I ain’t faultin’ the ways o’ Providence in -nowise, but it do ’pear ter me ez one David and G’liath war enough fur -the tales o’ religion ’thout hevin’ our own skimpy leetle shepherd -and the big Philistines of the distillers at loggerheads—whenst -flat peebles from the brook would be a mighty pore dependence agin -a breech-loading rifle. G’liath’s gun war more’n apt ter hev been -jes’ a old muzzle-loader, fur them war the times afore the war fur -the Union; but these hyar moonshiners always hev the best an’ newest -shootin’-irons that Satan kin devise—not knowin’ when some o’ the -raiders o’ the revenue force will kem down on ’em—an’ that makes a -man keen ter be among the accepted few in the new quirks o’ firearms. -A mighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> small man the preacher-man ’pears ter be! If it war the -will o’ Providence I could wish fur a few more pounds o’ Christian -pastor, considering the size an’ weight ez hev been lavished on them -distillers.”</p> - -<p>“It air scandalous fur a church member ter be a gittin’ drunk an’ -foolin’ round the still-house an’ sech,” said Joel Ruggles, “an’ ef ye -hed ever hed any religion, Mark, ye’d hev knowed that ’thout hevin’ ter -be told.”</p> - -<p>“An’ it’s scandalous fur a church member to drink whisky at all,” said -Mrs. Yates, sharply, knitting off her needle, and beginning another -round. A woman’s ideas of reform are always radical.</p> - -<p>Joel Ruggles did not eagerly concur in this view of the abstinence -question; he said nothing in reply.</p> - -<p>“Thar hain’t sech a mighty call ter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> drink whisky yander ter the -still,” remarked young Yates, irrelevantly, feeling perhaps the need -of a plea of defense. “It ain’t the whisky ez draws me thar. The gang -air a-hangin’ round an’ a-talkin’ an’ a-laughin’ an’ a-tellin’ tales -’bout bar-huntin’ an’ sech. An’ thar’s the grist mill a haffen mile an’ -better through the woods.”</p> - -<p>“Thar’s bad company at the still, an’ it’s a wild beast ez hev got a -fang ez bites sharp an’ deep, an’ some day ye’ll feel it, ez sure ez -ye’re a born sinner,” said Mrs. Yates, looking up solemnly at him over -her spectacles. “I never see no sense in men a-drinkin’ of whisky,” she -continued, after a pause, during which she counted her stitches. “The -wild critters in the woods hev got more reason than ter eat an’ drink -what’ll pizen ’em—but, law! it always did ’pear to me ez they war -ahead in some ways of the men,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> what kin talk an’ hev got the hope of -salvation.”</p> - -<p>This thrust was neither parried nor returned. Joel Ruggles, discreetly -silent, gazed with a preoccupied air at the swift stream flowing far -below, beginning to darken with the overhanging shadows of the western -crags. And Mark still leaned his chin meditatively on his hands, and -his hands on the muzzle of his rifle, in an attitude so careless that -an unaccustomed observer might have been afraid of seeing the piece -discharged and the picturesque head blown to atoms.</p> - -<p>Through the futility of much remonstrance his mother had lost her -patience—no great loss, it might seem, for in her mildest days she -had never been meek. Poverty and age, and in addition her anxiety -concerning a son now grown to manhood, good and kind in disposition, -but whose very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> amiability rendered him so lax in his judgment of the -faults of others as to slacken the tension of his judgment of his own -faults, and whose stancher characteristics were manifested only in -an adamantine obstinacy to her persuasion—all were ill-calculated -to improve her temper and render her optimistic, and she had had no -training in the wider ways of life to cultivate tact and knowledge of -character and methods of influencing it. Doubtless the “skimpy saint” -in the enlightenment of his vocation would have approached the subject -of these remonstrances in a far different spirit, for Mark was plastic -to good suggestions, easily swayed, and had no real harm in him. He -understood, too, the merit and grace of consistency, of being all of -a piece with his true identity, with his real character, with the -sterling values he most <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>appreciated. But the quality that rendered -him so susceptible to good influences—his adaptability—exposed him -equally to adverse temptation. He had spoken truly when he had said -that it was only the interest of the talk of the moonshiners and their -friends—stories of hunting fierce animals in the mountain fastnesses, -details of bloody feuds between neighboring families fought out through -many years with varying vicissitudes, and old-time traditions of the -vanished Indian, once the master of all the forests and rocks and -rivers of these ancient wilds—and not the drinking of whisky, that -allured him; far less the painful and often disgusting exhibitions of -drunkenness he occasionally witnessed at the still, in which those -sufficiently sober found a source of stupid mirth. Afterward it seemed -to him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> strange to reflect on his course. True he had had but a scanty -experience of life and the world, and the parson’s reading from the -Holy Scriptures was his only acquaintance with what might be termed -literature or learning in any form. But arguing merely from what he -knew he risked much. From the pages of the Bible he had learned what -the leprosy was, and what, he asked himself in later years, would he -have thought of the mental balance of a man who frequented the society -of a leper for the sake of transitory entertainment or mirth to be -derived from his talk? In the choice stories of “bar” and “Injuns,” -innocent in themselves, he must needs risk the moral contagion of this -leprosy of the soul.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless he was intent now on escaping from his mother and Joel -Ruggles, since it was growing late and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> he knew the cronies would soon -be gathered around the big copper at the still-house, and he welcomed -the diversion of a change of the subject. It had fallen upon the -weather—the most propitious times of plowing and planting; an earnest -confirmation of the popular theory that to bring a crop potatoes and -other tubers must be planted in the dark of the moon, and leguminous -vegetables, peas, beans, etc., in the light of the moon. Warned by the -lengthening shadows, Joel Ruggles broke from the pacific discussion of -these agricultural themes, rose slowly from his chair, went within to -light his pipe at the fire, and with this companion wended his way down -the precipitous slope, then along the rocky banks of the stream to his -own little home, half a mile or so up its rushing current.</p> - -<p>As he went he heard Mark’s clear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> voice lifted in song further down -the stream. He had hardly noted when the young fellow had withdrawn -from the conversation. It was a mounted shadow that he saw far away -among the leafy shadows of the oaks and the approaching dusk. Mark had -slipped off and saddled his half-broken horse, Cockleburr, and was -doubtless on his way to his boon companions at the distillery.</p> - -<p>The old man stood still, leaning on his stick, as he silently listened -to the song, the sound carrying far on the placid medium of the water -and in the stillness of the evening.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“O, call the dogs—Yo he!—Yo ho!</div> -<div>Boone and Ranger, Wolf an’ Beau,</div> -<div>Little Bob-tail an’ Big Dew-claw,</div> -<div>Old Bloody-Mouth an’ Hanging Jaw.</div> -<div>Ye hear the hawns?—Yo he!—Yo ho!</div> -<div>They all are blowin’, so far they go,</div> -<div>With might an’ main, for the trail is fresh,</div> -<div>A big bear’s track in the aidge o’ the bresh!”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>“Yo he! yo ho!” said the river<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> faintly. “Yo he! yo ho!” said the rocks -more faintly; and fainter still from the vague darkness came an echo -so slight that it seemed as near akin to silence as to sound, barely -impinging upon the air. “Yo he! yo ho!” it murmured.</p> - -<p>But old Joel Ruggles, standing and listening, silently shook his head -and said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Yo he! yo ho!” sung Mark, further away, and the echoes of his boyish -voice still rang vibrant and clear.</p> - -<p>Then there was no sound but the stir of the river and the clang of -the iron-shod hoofs of Cockleburr, striking the stones in the rocky -bridle-path. The flint gave out a flash of light, the yellow spark -glimmering for an instant, visible in the purple dusk with a transitory -flicker like a firefly.</p> - -<p>And old Joel Ruggles once more shook his head.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> - -<p>Far away in a dim recess of the deep woods, on the summit of the ridge, -amidst crags and chasms and almost inaccessible steeps, the shadows -had gathered about a dismal little log hut of one room—like all the -other dismal little hovels of the mountain, save that in front of the -door the grass was worn away from a wide space by the frequent tread -of many feet; a preternaturally large wood-pile was visible under a -frail shelter in the rear of the house; from the chimney a dense smoke -rose in a heavy column; and the winds that rushed past it carried on -their breath an alcoholic aroma. But for these points of dissimilarity -and its peculiarly secluded situation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> Mark Yates, dismounting from -his restive steed, might have been entering his mother’s dwelling. The -opening door shed no glare of firelight out into the deepening gloom -of the dusk. It was very warm within, however—almost too warm for -comfort; but the shutters of the glassless window were tightly barred, -and the usual chinks of log-house architecture were effectually closed -with clay. The darkness of the room was accented rather than dispelled -by a flickering tallow dip stuck in an empty bottle in default of a -candlestick, and there was an all-pervading and potent odor of spirits. -The salient feature of the scene was a stone furnace, from the closed -door of which there flashed now and then a slender thread of brilliant -light. A great copper still rose from it, and a protruding spiral tube -gracefully meandered away in the darkness through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> the cool waters of -the refrigerator to the receiver of its precious condensed vapors.</p> - -<p>There were four jeans-clad mountaineers seated in the gloomy twilight -of this apartment; and the stories of “bar-huntin’ an’ sech” must have -been very jewels of discourse to prove so alluring, as they could -certainly derive no brilliancy from their unique but somber setting.</p> - -<p>“Hy’re, Mark! Come in, come in,” was the hospitable insistence which -greeted young Yates.</p> - -<p>“Hev a cheer,” said Aaron Brice, the eldest of the party, bringing out -from the darkness a chair and placing it in the feeble twinkle of the -tallow dip.</p> - -<p>“Take a drink, Mark,” said another of the men, producing a broken-nosed -pitcher of ardent liquor. But notwithstanding this effusive -hospitality, which was very usual at the still-house, Mark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> Yates -had an uncomfortable impression that he had interrupted an important -conference, and that his visit was badly timed. The conversation that -ensued was labored, and hosts and guest were a trifle ill at ease. -Frequent pauses occurred, broken only by the sound of the furnace fire, -the boiling and bubbling within the still, the gurgle of the water -through its trough, that led it down from a spring on the hill behind -the house to the refrigerator, the constant dripping of the “doublings” -from the worm into the keg below. Now and then one of the brothers -hummed a catch which ran thus:—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“O, Eve, she gathered the pippins,</div> -<div>Adam did the pomace make;</div> -<div>When the brandy told upon ’em,</div> -<div>They accused the leetle snake!”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Another thoughtfully snuffed the tallow dip, which for a few moments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> -burned with a brighter, more cheerful light, then fell into a tearful -despondency and bade fair to weep itself away.</p> - -<p>Outside the little house the black night had fallen, and the wind was -raging among the trees. All the stars seemed in motion, flying to -board a fleet of flaky white clouds that were crossing the sky under -full sail. The moon, a spherical shadow with a crescent of burnished -silver, was speeding toward the west; not a gleam fell from its disk -upon the swaying, leafless trees—it seemed only to make palpable the -impenetrable gloom that immersed the earth. The air had grown keen -and cold, and it rushed in at the door as it was opened with a wintry -blast. A man entered, with the slow, lounging motion peculiar to the -mountaineers, bearing in his hand a jug of jovial aspect. The four -Brices looked up from under their heavy brows with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> sharp scrutiny to -discern among the deep shadows cast by the tallow dip who the newcomer -might be. Their eyes returned to gaze with an affected preoccupation -upon the still, and in this significant hush the ignored visitor stood -surprised and abashed on the threshold. The cold inrushing mountain -wind, streaming like a jet of seawater through the open door, was -rapidly lowering the temperature of the room. This contemptuous silence -was too fraught with discomfort to be maintained.</p> - -<p>“Ef ye air a-comin’ in,” said Aaron Brice, ungraciously, “come along -in. An’ ef ye air a-goin’ out go ’long. Anyway, jes’ ez ye choose, ef -ye’ll shet that thar door, ez I don’t see ez ye hev any call ter hold -open.”</p> - -<p>Thus adjured the intruder closed the door, placed the jug on the floor, -and looked about with an embarrassed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> hesitation of manner. The flare -from the furnace, which Aaron Brice had opened to pile in fresh wood, -illumined the newcomer’s face and long, loose-jointed figure and showed -the semicircle of mountaineers seated in their rush-bottomed chairs -about the still. None of them spoke. Never before since the still-house -was built had a visitor stood upon the puncheon floor that one of the -hospitable Brices did not scuttle for a chair, that the dip was not -eagerly snuffed in the vain hope of irradiating the guest, that the -genial though mutilated pitcher filled with whisky was not ungrudgingly -presented. No chair was offered now, and the broken-nosed pitcher with -its ardent contents was motionless on the head of a barrel. It was a -strange change, and as the broad red glare fell on their stolid faces -and blankly inexpressive attitudes the guest looked from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> one to the -other with an increasing surprise and a rising dismay. The light was -full for a moment upon Mark Yates’s shock of yellow hair, gray eyes, -and muscular, well-knit figure, as he, too, sat mute among his hosts. -He was not to be mistaken, and once seen was not easily forgotten. -The next instant the furnace door clashed, and the room fell back -into its habitual gloom. One might note only the gurgle of the spring -water—telling of the wonders of the rock-barricaded earth below and -the reflected glories of the sky above—only the hilarious song of -the still, the continuous trickle from the worm, the all-pervading -spirituous odors, and the shadowy outlines of the massive figures of -the mountaineers.</p> - -<p>The Brices evidently could not be relied upon to break the awkward -silence. The newcomer, mustering heart of grace, took up his testimony<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -in a languid nasal drawl, trying to speak and to appear as if he had -noticed nothing remarkable in his reception.</p> - -<p>“I hev come, Aaron,” he said, “ter git another two gallons o’ that thar -whisky ez I hed from you-uns, an’ I hev brung the balance of the money -I owed ye on that, an’ enough ter pay for the jugful, too. Hyar is a -haffen dollar fur the old score, an’—”</p> - -<p>“That thar eends it,” said Aaron, pocketing the tendered fifty cents. -“We air even, an’ ye’ll git no more whisky from hyar, Mose Carter.”</p> - -<p>“Wha—what did ye say, Aaron? I hain’t got the rights ’zactly o’ what -ye said.” And Carter peered in great amaze through the gloom at his -host, who was carefully filling a pipe. As Aaron stooped to get a coal -from the furnace one of the others spoke.</p> - -<p>“He said ez ye’ll git no more whisky from hyar. An’ it air a true -word.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> - -<p>The flare from the furnace again momentarily illumined the room, and as -the door clashed it again fell back into the uncertain shadow.</p> - -<p>“That is what I tole ye,” said Aaron, reseating himself and puffing his -pipe into a strong glow, “an’ ef ye hain’t a-onderstandin’ of it yit -I’ll say it agin—ye an’ the rest of yer tribe will git no more liquor -from hyar.”</p> - -<p>“An’ what’s the reason I hain’t a-goin’ ter get no more liquor from -hyar?” demanded Moses Carter in virtuous indignation. “Hain’t I been ez -good pay ez any man down this hyar gorge an’ the whole mounting atop o’ -that? Look-a hyar, Aaron Brice, ye ain’t a-goin’ ter try ter purtend ez -I don’t pay fur the liquor ez I gits hyar—an’ you-uns an’ me done been -a-tradin’ tergither peaceable-like fur nigh on ter ten solid year.”</p> - -<p>“An’ then ye squar’ round an’ gits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> me an’ my brothers a-turned out’n -the church fur runnin’ of a still whar ye gits yer whisky from. Good -pay or bad pay, it’s all the same ter me.”</p> - -<p>“I never gin my vote fur a-turnin’ of ye out ’kase of ye a-runnin’ of a -still.” Moses Carter trembled in his eager anxiety to discriminate the -grounds upon which he had cast his ballot. “It war fur a-gittin’ drunk -an’ astayin’ drunk, ez ye mos’ly air a-doin—an’ ye will ’low yerself, -Aaron, ez that thar air a true word. I don’t see no harm in a-runnin’ -of a still an’ a-drinkin’ some, but not ter hurt. It air this hyar -gittin’ drunk constant ez riles me.”</p> - -<p>“Mose Carter,” said the youngest of the Brice brothers, striking -suddenly into the conversation, “ye air a liar, an’ ye knows it!” -He was a wiry, active man of twenty-five years; he spoke in an -authoritative high key, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> his voice seemed to split the air like -a knife. His mind was as wiry as his body, and it was generally -understood on Jolton’s Ridge that he was the power behind the throne -of which Aaron, the eldest, wielded the unmeaning scepter; he, -however, remained decorously in the background, for among the humble -mountaineers the lordly rights of primogeniture are held in rigorous -veneration, and it would have ill-beseemed a younger scion of the house -to openly take precedence of the elder. His Christian name was John, -but it had been forgotten or disregarded by all but his brothers in -the title conferred upon him by his comrades of the mountain wilds. -Panther Brice—or “Painter,” for thus the animal is called in the -vernacular of the region—was known to run the still, to shape the -policy of the family, to be a self-constituted treasurer and disburser<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> -of the common fund, to own the very souls of his unresisting elder -brothers. He had elected, however, in the interests of decorum, that -these circumstances should be sedulously ignored. Aaron invariably -appeared as spokesman, and the mountaineers at large all fell under -the influence of a dominant mind and acquiesced in the solemn sham. -The Panther seldom took part even in casual discussions of any vexed -question, reserving his opinions to dictate as laws to his brothers in -private; and a sensation stirred the coterie when his voice, that had -a knack of finding and thrilling every sensitive nerve in his hearer’s -body, jarred the air.</p> - -<p>“I hev seen ye, Mose Carter,” he continued, “in this hyar very -still-house ez drunk ez a fraish biled owl. Ye hev laid on this hyar -floor too drunk ter move hand or foot all night an’ haffen the nex’ day -at one spree. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> hev seen ye’, an’ so hev plenty o’ other folks. An’ -ef ye comes hyar a-jowin’ so sanctified ’bout’n folks a-gittin’ drunk, -I’ll turn ye out’n this hyar still-house fur tellin’ of lies.”</p> - -<p>He paused as abruptly as he had spoken; but before Moses Carter could -collect his slow faculties he had resumed. “It ’pears powerful comical -ter me ter hear this hyar Baptis’ church a-settin’ of itself up so -stiff fur temp’rance, ’kase thar air an old sayin’—an’ I b’lieves -it—ez the Presbyterians holler—‘What is ter be will be!—even ef it -won’t be!’ an’ the Methodies holler, ‘Fire! fire! fire! Brimstun’ an’ -blue blazes!’—but the Bapties holler, ‘Water! water! water! with a -<i>leetle</i> drap o’ whisky in it!’ But ye an’ yer church’ll be dry enough -arter this; thar’ll be less liquor drunk ’mongst ye’n ever hev been -afore, ’kase ye air all too cussed stingy ter pay five cents extry a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> -quart like ye’ll hev ter do at Joe Gilligan’s store down yander ter -the Settlemint. Fur nare one o’ them sanctified church brethren’ll git -another drap o’ liquor hyar, whar it hev always been so powerful cheap -an’ handy.”</p> - -<p>“The dryer ez ye kin make the church the better ye’ll please the -pa’son. He lays off a reg’lar temperance drought fur them ez kin foller -arter his words. I be a-tryin’ ter mend my ways,” Moses Carter droned -with a long, sanctimonious face, “but—” he hesitated, “the sperit is -willin’, but the flesh is weak—the flesh is weak!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be bound no sperits air weak ez ye hev ennything ter do with, -leastwise swaller,” said the Panther, with a quick snap.</p> - -<p>“He is hyar in the mounting ter-night, the pa’son,” resumed Mose -Carter, with that effort, always ill-starred, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>to affect to perceive -naught amiss when a friend is sullenly belligerent; he preserved the -indifferent tone of one retailing casual gossip. “The pa’son hev laid -off ter spen’ the better part o’ the night in prayer and wrestlin’ -speritchully in the church-house agin his sermon ter-morrer, it bein’ -the blessed Sabbath. He ’lowed he would be more sole and alone thar -than at old man Allen’s house, whar he be puttin’ up fur the night, -’kase at old man Allen’s they hev seben gran’chil’ren an’ only one -room, barrin’ the roof-room. Thar be a heap o’ onregenerate human -natur’ in them seben Allen gran’chil’ren. Thar ain’t no use I reckon -in tryin’ ter awake old man Allen ter a sense of sin an’ the awful -oncertainty of life by talkin’ ter <i>him</i> o’ the silence an’ solitude o’ -the grave! Kee, kee!” he laughed. But he laughed alone. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“<i>Wrestlin’!</i> The pa’son a-wrestlin’! I could throw him over my head! -It’s well fur him his wrestlin’s air only in prayer!” exclaimed -Painter, with scorn. “The still will holp on the cause o’ temp’rance -more’n that thar little long-tongued preacher an’ all his sermons. -Raisin’ the tar’ff on the drink will stop it. Ye’re all so dad-burned -stingy.”</p> - -<p>“Jes’ ez ye choose,” said Moses Carter, taking up his empty jug. -“’Tain’t nuthin’ s’prisin’ ter me ter hear ye a-growlin’ an’ a-goin’ -this hyar way, Painter—ye always war more like a wild beast nor a -man, anyhow. But it do ’stonish me some ez Aaron an’ the t’other boys -air a-goin’ ter let ye cut ’em out’n a-sellin’ of liquor ter the whole -kentry mighty nigh, ’kase the brethren don’t want a sodden drunkard, -like ye air, in the church a-communin’ with the saints.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ye needn’t sorrow fur Aaron,” said Panther Brice, with a sneer -that showed his teeth much as a snarl might have done, “nor fur the -t’other boys nuther. We kin sell all the whisky ez we kin make ter Joe -Gilligan, an’ the folks yander ter—ter—no matter whar—” he broke -off with a sudden look of caution as if he had caught himself in an -imminent disclosure. “We kin sell it ’thout losin’ nare cent, fur we -hev always axed the same price by the gallon ez by the bar’l. So Aaron -ain’t a needin’ of yer sorrow.”</p> - -<p>“Ye air the spitefullest little painter ez ever seen this hyar worl’,” -exclaimed Moses Carter, exasperated by the symmetry of his enemy’s -financial scheme. “Waal—waal, prayer may bring ye light. Prayer is a -powerful tool. The pa’son b’lieves in its power. He is right now up -yander in the church-house, fur I seen the light, an’ I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> hearn his -voice lifted in prayer ez I kem by.”</p> - -<p>The four brothers glanced at one another with hot, wild eyes. They had -reason to suspect that they were themselves the subject of the parson’s -supplications, and they resented this as a liberty. They had prized -their standing in the church not because they were religious, in the -proper sense of the word, but from a realization of its social value. -In these primitive regions the sustaining of a reputation for special -piety is a sort of social distinction and a guarantee of a certain -position. The moonshiners neither knew nor cared what true religion -might be. To obey its precepts or to inconvenience themselves with -its restraints, was alike far from their intention. They had received -with boundless amazement the first intimation that the personal and -practical religion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> which the “skimpy saint” had brought into the -gorge might consistently interfere with the liquor trade, the illicit -distilling of whisky, and the unlimited imbibing thereof by themselves -and the sottish company that frequented the still-house. They had -laughed at his temperance sermons and ridiculing his warnings had -treated the whole onslaught as a trifle, a matter of polemical theory, -in the nature of things transitory, and had expected it to wear out as -similar spasms of righteousness often do—more’s the pity! Then they -would settle down to continue to furnish spirituous comfort to the -congregation, while the “skimpy saint” ministered to their spiritual -needs. The warlike little parson, however, had steadily advanced his -parallels, and from time to time had driven the distillers from one -subterfuge to another, till at last, although<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> they were well off in -this world’s goods—rich men, according to the appraisement of the -gorge—they were literally turned out of the church, and had become -a public example, and they felt that they had experienced the most -unexpected and disastrous catastrophe possible in nature.</p> - -<p>They were stunned that so small a man had done this thing, a man, so -poor, so weak, so dependent for his bread, his position, his every -worldly need, on the favor of the influential members of his scattered -congregations. It had placed them in their true position before their -compeers. It had reduced their bluster and boastfulness. It had made -them seem very small to themselves, and still smaller, they feared, in -the estimation of others.</p> - -<p>Moses Carter—himself no shining light, indeed a very feebly glimmering -luminary in the congregation—looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> from one to the other of their -aghast indignant faces with a ready relish of the situation, and said, -with a grin:</p> - -<p>“I reckon, Painter, ef the truth war plain, ye’d ruther hev all the -gorge ter know ez the pa’son war a-spreadin’ the fac’s about this hyar -still afore a United States marshal than afore the throne o’ grace, -like he be a-doin’ of right now.”</p> - -<p>The Panther rose with a quick, lithe motion, stretched out his hand to -the head of a barrel near by, and the thread of light from the closed -furnace door showed the glitter of steel. He came forward a few steps, -walking with a certain sinewy grace and brandishing a heavy knife, -his furious eyes gleaming with a strange green brilliance, all the -more distinct in the half-darkened room. Then he paused, as with a new -thought. “I won’t tech ye now,” he said, with a snarl, “but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> arter a -while I’ll jes’ make ye ’low ez that thar church o’ yourn air safer -with me in it nor it air with me out’n it. An’ then we’ll count it -even.” He ceased speaking suddenly; cooler now, and with an expression -of vexation upon his sharp features—perhaps he repented his hasty -threat and his self-betrayal. After a moment he went on, but with less -virulence of manner than before. “Ye kin take that thar empty jug o’ -yourn an’ kerry it away empty. An’ ye kin take yer great hulking stack -o’ bones along with it, an’ thank yer stars ez none of ’em air bruken. -Ye air the fust man ever turned empty out’n this hyar still-house, an’ -I pray God ez ye may be the las’, ’kase I don’t want no sech wuthless -cattle a-hangin’ round hyar.”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t a-quarrelin’ with hevin’ ter go,” retorted Carter, with -asperity. “I never sot much store by comin’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> hyar nohow, ’ceptin’ Aaron -an’ me, we war toler’ble frien’ly fur a good many year. This hyar -still-house always reminded me sorter o’ hell, anyhow—whar the worm -dieth not an’ the fire is not quenched.”</p> - -<p>With this Parthian dart he left the room, closing the door after him, -and presently the dull thud of his horse’s hoofs was borne to the ears -of the party within, again seated in a semicircle about the furnace.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> - -<p>After a few moments of vexed cogitation Aaron broke the silence, -keeping, however, a politic curb on his speech. “’Pears ter me, John, -ez how mebbe ’twould hev done better ef ye hedn’t said that thar ez ye -spoke ’bout’n the church-house.”</p> - -<p>“Hold yer jaw!” returned the Panther, fiercely. “Who larned ye ter -jedge o’ my words? An’ it don’t make no differ nohow. I done tole -him nuthin’ ’bout’n the church-house ez the whole Ridge won’t say -arterward, any way ez ye kin fix it.”</p> - -<p>If Mark Yates had found himself suddenly in close proximity to a real -panther he could hardly have felt more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> uncomfortable than these -half-covert suggestions rendered him. He shrank from dwelling upon -what they seemed to portend, and he was anxious to hear no more. The -recollection of sundry maternal warnings concerning the evils, moral -and temporal, incident upon keeping bad company, came on him with -a crushing weight, and transformed the aspect of the fascinating -still-house into a close resemblance to another locality of worm and -fire, to which the baffled Carter had referred. He was desirous of -going, but feared that so early a departure just at this critical -juncture might be interpreted by his entertainers as a sign of distrust -and a disposition to stand aloof when they were deserted by their other -friends. And yet he knew, as well as if they had told him, that his -arrival had interrupted some important discussion of the plot they were -laying,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> and they only waited his exit to renew their debate.</p> - -<p>While these antagonistic emotions swayed him, he sat with the others -in meditative silence, gazing blankly at the pleasing rotundity of -the dense shadow which he knew was the “copper,” and listening to the -frantic dance and roistering melody of its bubbling, boiling, surging -contents, to the monotonous trickling of the liquor falling from the -worm, to the gentle cooing of the rill of clear spring water. The -idea of pleasure suggested by the very sight of the place had given -way as more serious thoughts and fears crowded in, and his boyish -liking for these men who possessed that deadly fascination for youth -and inexperience,—the reputation of being wild,—was fast changing -to aversion. He still entertained a strong sympathy for those fierce -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>qualities which gave so vivid an interest to the stirring accounts -of struggles with wolves and wild cats, bears and panthers, and to -the histories of bitter feuds between human enemies, in the bloody -sequel of which, however, the brutality of the deed often vied with its -prowess; but this fashion of squaring off, metaphorically speaking, -at the preacher, and the strange insinuations of sacrilegious injury -to the church—the beloved church, so hardly won from the wilderness, -representing the rich gifts of the very poor, their time, their labor, -their love, their prayers—this struck every chord of conservatism in -his nature.</p> - -<p>There had never before been a church building in this vicinity; “summer -preachin’” under the forest oaks had sufficed, with sometimes at long -intervals a funeral sermon at the house of a neighbor. But in response<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -to that strenuous cry, “Be up and doing,” and in acquiescence with -the sharp admonition that religion does not consist in singing sleepy -hymns in a comfortable chimney-corner, the whole countryside had -roused itself to the privilege of the work nearest its hand. Practical -Christianity first developed at the saw-mill. The great logs, seasoned -lumber from the forest, were offered as a sacrifice to the glory of -God, and as the word went around, Mark Yates, always alert, was among -the first of the groups that came and stood and watched the gleaming -steel striking into the fine white fibers of the wood—the beginnings -of the “church-house”—while the dark, clear water reflected the great -beams and roof of the mill, and the sibilant whizzing of the simple -machinery seemed, with the knowledge of the consecrated nature of its -work, an harmonious <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>undertone to the hymning of the pines, and the -gladsome rushing of the winds, and the subdued ecstasies of all the -lapsing currents of the stream.</p> - -<p>Mark had looked on drearily. His spirit, awakened by the clarion call -of duty, fretted and revolted at the restraints of his lack of means. -He could do naught. It was the privilege of others to prepare the -lumber. It seemed that even inanimate nature had its share in building -the church—the earth in its rich nurture that had given strength to -the great trees; the seasons that had filled the veins of each with the -rich wine of the sap, the bourgeoning impulse of its leafage and the -ripeness of its fine fruitions; the rainfall and sunshine that had fed -and fostered and cherished it—only he had naught to give but the idle -gaze of wistful eyes.</p> - -<p>The miller, a taciturn man, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> very well aware that he had sawed -the lumber. He said naught when the work was ended, but surveyed the -great fragrant piles of cedar and walnut and maple and cherry and oak, -the building woods of these richly endowed mountains, with a silence -so significant that it spoke louder than words. It said that his work -was finished, and who was there who would do as much or more? So loud, -so forceful, so eloquent was this challenge that the next day several -teamsters came and stood dismally each holding his chin-whiskers in his -hand and contemplated the field of practical Christianity.</p> - -<p>“It’ll be a powerful job ter hev ter haul all that thar lumber, sure!” -said one reluctant wight, in disconsolate survey, his mouth slightly -ajar, his hand ruefully rubbing his cheek.</p> - -<p>“It war a powerful job ter saw it,” said the miller. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - -<p>The jaws of the teamster closed with a snap. He had nothing more to -say. He, too, was roused to the gospel of action. The miller should not -saw more than he would haul. Thus it was that the next day found him -with his strong mule team at sunrise, the first great lengths of the -boles on the wagon, making his way along the steep ascents of Jolton’s -Ridge.</p> - -<p>And again Mark looked on drearily. He could do naught—he and -Cockleburr. Cockleburr was hardly broken to the saddle, wild and -restive, and it would have been the sacrifice of a day’s labor, even -if the offer of such unlikely aid would have been accepted, to hitch -the colt in for the hauling of this heavy lumber, such earnest, hearty -work as the big mules were straining every muscle to accomplish. He -was too poor, he felt, with a bitter sigh. He could do naught—naught. -True,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> he armed himself with an axe, and went ahead of the toiling -mules, now and then cutting down a sapling which grew in the midst of -the unfrequented bridle-path, and which was not quite slight enough to -bend beneath the wagon as did most of such obstructions, or widening -the way where the clustering underbrush threatened a stoppage of -the team. So much more, under the coercion of the little preacher’s -sermon, he had wanted to do, that he hardly cared for the “Holped me -powerful, Mark,” of the teamster’s thanks, when they had reached the -destination of the lumber—the secluded nook where the little mountain -graveyard nestled in the heart of the great range—the site chosen -by the neighbors for the erection of their beloved church. Beloved -before one of the bowlders that made the piers of its foundation was -selected from the rocky hillside,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> where the currents of forgotten, -long ebbed-away torrents had stranded them, where the detrition of the -rain and the sand had molded them, the powers of nature thus beginning -the building of the church-house to the glory of God in times so long -gone past that man has no record of its spaces. Beloved before one of -the great logs was lifted upon another to build the walls, within which -should be crystallized the worship of congregations, the prayers of the -righteous that should avail much. Beloved before one of the puncheons -was laid of the floor, consecrated with the hope that many a sinner -should tread them on the way to salvation. Beloved with the pride of a -worthy achievement and the satisfaction of a cherished duty honestly -discharged, before a blow was struck or a nail driven.</p> - -<p>And here Mark, earnestly seeking his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> opportunity to share the work, -found a field of usefulness. No great skill, one may be sure, prevailed -in the methods of the humble handicraftsmen of the gorge—all untrained -to the mechanical arts, and each a jack-of-all-trades, as occasion in -his lowly needs or opportunity might offer. Mark had a sort of knack -of deftness, a quick and exact eye, both suppleness and strength, and -thus he was something more than a mere botch of an amateur workman. His -enthusiasm blossomed forth. He, too, might serve the great cause. He, -too, might give of the work of his hands.</p> - -<p>At it he was, hammer and nails, from morning till night, and he -rejoiced when the others living at a distance and having their -firesides to provide for, left him here late alone building the temple -of God in the wilderness. He would ever and anon glance out through -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> interstices of the unchinked log walls at the great sun going down -over the valley behind the purple mountains of the west, and lending -him an extra beam to drive another nail, after one might think it time -to be dark and still; and vouchsafing yet another ray, as though loath -to quit this work, lingering at the threshold of the day, although the -splendors of another hemisphere awaited its illumination, and many a -rich Southern scene that the sun is wont to love; and still sending a -gleam, high aslant, that one more nail might be driven; and at last the -red suffusion of certain farewell, wherein was enough light for the -young man to catch up his tools and set out swiftly and joyously down -the side of Jolton’s Ridge.</p> - -<p>And always was he first at the tryst to greet the sun—standing in the -unfinished building, his hammer in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> hand, his hat on the back of -his head, and looking through the gap of the range to watch the great -disk when it would rise over the Carolina Mountains, with its broad, -prophetic effulgence falling over the lowly mounds in the graveyard, -as if one might say, “Behold! the dispersal of night, the return of -light, the earnest of the Day to come.” Long before the other laborers -on the church reached the building Mark had listened to the echoes -keeping tally with the strokes of his hammer, had heard the earth -shake, the clangor and clash of the distant train on the rails, the -shriek of the whistle as the locomotive rushed upon the bridge above -that deep chasm, the sinister hollow roar of the wheels, and the deep, -thunderous reverberation of the rocks. Thus he noted the passage of -the early trains—the freight first, and after an hour’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>interval the -passenger train; then a silence, as if primeval, would settle down upon -the world, broken only by the strokes of the hammer, until at last some -neighbor, with his own tools in hand, would come in.</p> - -<p>None of them realized how much of the work Mark had done. Each -looked only at the result, knowing it to be the aggregated industry -and leisure of the neighbors, laboring as best they might and as -opportunity offered. This was no hindrance to Mark’s satisfaction. He -had wanted to help, not to make a parade of his help, or to have what -he had done appreciated. He thought the little preacher, the “skimpy -saint,” as his unfriends called him, had a definite idea of what he had -done. In the stress of this man’s lofty ideals he could compromise with -little that failed to reach them. He was forever <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>stretching onward and -upward. But Mark noted a kindling in his intent eye one day, while “the -chinking” was being put in, the small diagonal slats between the logs -of the wall on which the clay of the “daubing” was to be plastered. -“Did you do all this side?” he had asked.</p> - -<p>As Mark answered “Yes,” he felt his heart swell with responsive pride -to win even this infrequent look of approval, and he went on to claim -more. “Don’t tell nobody,” he said, glancing up from his kneeling -posture by the side of the wall. “But I done that corner, too, over -thar by the door. Old Joel Ruggles done it fust, but the old man’s -eyesight’s dim, an’ his hand onstiddy, an’ ’twar all crooked an’ -onreg’lar, so <i>unbeknown</i> ter <i>him</i> I kem hyar early one day an’ did -it over,—though he don’t know it,—so ez ’twould be ekal—all of a -piece.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - -<p>The “skimpy saint” now hardly seemed to care to glance at the work. He -still stood with his hand on the boy’s shoulder, looking down at him -with eyes in which Mark perceived new meanings.</p> - -<p>“You can sense, then, the worth of hevin’ all things of a piece with -the best. See ter it, Mark, that ye keep yer life all of a piece with -this good work—with the best that’s in ye.”</p> - -<p>So Mark understood. But nowadays he hardly felt all of a piece with -the good work he had done on the church walls, against so many -discouragements, laboring early and late, seeking earnestly some means -that might be within his limited power. Oftentimes, after the church -was finished, he went and stood and gazed at it, realizing its stanch -validity, without shortcomings, without distortions—all substantial -and regular, with none of the discrepancies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> and inadequacies of his -moral structure.</p> - -<p>While silently and meditatively recalling all these facts as he sat -this night of early spring among the widely unrelated surroundings -of the still, the shadowy group of moonshiners about him, Mark Yates -looked hard at Panther Brice’s sharp features, showing, in the thread -of white light from the closed door of the furnace, with startling -distinctness against the darkness, like some curiously carved cameo. He -never understood the rush of feeling that constrained him to speak, and -afterward, when he thought of it, his temerity surprised him.</p> - -<p>“Painter,” he said, “I hev been a-comin’ hyar ter this hyar still-house -along of ye an’ the t’other boys right smart time, an’ I hev been -mighty well treated; an’ I ain’t one o’ the sort ez kin buy much -liquor, nuther. I hev<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> hed a many a free drink hyar, an’ a sight o’ -laughin’ an’ talkin’ along o’ ye an’ the t’other boys. An’ ’twarn’t -the whisky as brung me, nuther—’twar mos’ly ter hear them yarns o’ -yourn ’bout bar-huntin’ an’ sech, fur ye air the talkin’est one o’ -the lot. But ef ye air a-goin’ ter take it out’n the preacher or the -church-house—I hain’t got the rights o’ what ye air a-layin’ off ter -do, an’ I don’t want ter know, nuther—jes’ ’kase ye an’ the t’other -boys war turned out’n the church, I hev hed my fill o’ associatin’ with -ye. I ain’t a-goin’ ter hev nuthin’ ter do with men-folks ez would -fight a pore critter of a preacher, what hev got ez much right ter jow -ez ef he war a woman. Sass is what they both war made fur, it ’pears -like ter me, an’ ’twar toler’ble spunky sure in him ter speak his mind -so plain, knowing what a fighter ye be an’ the t’others, too—no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>other -men hev got the name of sech tremenjious fighters! I allow he seen his -jewty plain in what he done, seem’ he tuk sech risks. An’ ef ye air -a-goin’ ter raise a ’sturbance ter the church-house, or whatever ye air -a-layin’ off ter do ter <i>it</i>, I ain’t a-goin’ ter hev no hand-shakin’ -with sech folks. Payin’ ’em back ain’t a-goin’ ter patch up the matter -nohow—ye’re done turned out the church now, an’ that ain’t a-goin’ ter -put ye back. It ’pears mighty cur’ous ter me ez a man ez kin claw with -a bar same ez with a little purp, kin git so riled ez he’ll take up -with fightin’ of that thar pore little preacher what ain’t got a ounce -o’ muscle ter save his life. I wouldn’t mind his jowin’ at me no more’n -I mind my mother’s jowin’—an’ she air always at it.”</p> - -<p>There was a silence for a few moments—only the sound of the trickling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> -liquor from the worm and the whir inside the still. That white face, -illumined by the thread of light, was so motionless that it might have -seemed petrified but for the intense green glare of the widely open -eyes. The lips suddenly parted in a snarl, showing two rows of sharp -white teeth, and the high shrill voice struck the air with a shiver.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re the cussedest purp in this hyar gorge!” the Panther exclaimed. -“Ye sit thar an’ tell how well ye hev been treated hyar ter this hyar -still-house, an’ then let on ez how ye think ye’ re too good ter come -a-visitin’ hyar any more. Ye air like all the rest o’ these folks -round hyar—ye take all ye wants, an’ then the fust breath of a word -agin a body ye turns agin ’em too. Ye kin clar out’n this. Ye ain’t -wanted hyar. I ain’t a-goin’ ter let none o’ yer church<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> brethren nor -thar fr’en’s nuther—fur ye ain’t even a perfessin’ member—come five -mile a-nigh hyar arter this. We air a-goin’ ter turn ’em out’n the -still-house, an’ that thar will hurt ’em worse’n turnin’ ’em out’n the -church. They go an’ turn <i>us</i> out’n the church fur runnin’ of a still, -an’ before the Lord, we kin hardly drive ’em away from hyar along of -we-uns. I’m a-goin’ ter git the skin o’ one o’ these hyar brethren an’ -nail it ter the door like a mink’s skin ter a hen house, an’ I’ll see -ef that can’t skeer ’em off. An’ ef ye don’t git out’n hyar mighty -quick now, Mark Yates, like ez not the fust skin nailed ter the door -will be that thar big, loose hide o’ yourn.”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t the man ter stay when I’m axed ter go,” said young Yates, -rising, “an’ so I’ll light out right now. But what I war a-aimin’ ter -tell ye, Painter, war ez how I hev sot too much store<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> by ye and the -t’other boys ter want ter see ye a-cuttin’ cur’ous shines ’bout the -church-house an’ that leetle mite of a preacher an’ sech.”</p> - -<p>Once more that mental reservation touching “the strength of -righteousness” recurred to him. Was the little preacher altogether a -weakling? His courage was a stanch endowment. He had been warned of the -gathering antagonisms a hundred times, and by friend as well as foe. -But obstinately, resolutely, he kept on the path he had chosen to tread.</p> - -<p>“An’ I’ll let ye know ez I kin be frien’ly with a man ez fights bars -an’ fightin’-men,” Mark resumed, “but I kin abide no man ez gits ter -huntin’ down little scraps of preachers what hain’t got no call ter -fight, nor no muscle nuther.”</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll go away ’thout that thar hide o’ yourn ef ye don’t put out -mighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> quick now,” said the Panther, his sinister green eyes ablaze -and his supple body trembling with eagerness to leap upon his foe.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t afeard of ye, Painter,” said Mark, with his impenetrable calm, -“but this hyar still-house air yourn, an’ I s’pose ez ye hev got a -right ter say who air ter stay an’ who air ter go.”</p> - -<p>He went out into the chill night; the moon had sunk; the fleet of -clouds rode at anchor above the eastern horizon, and save the throbbing -of the constellations the sky was still. But the strong, cold wind -continued to circle close about the surface of the earth; the pines -were swaying to and fro, and moaning as they swayed; the bare branches -of the other trees crashed fitfully together. As Yates mounted his -horse he heard Aaron say, in a fretful tone: “In the name of God,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> -John, what ails ye to-night? Ye tuk Mark an’ Mose up ez sharp! Ye air -ez powerful bouncin’ ez ef ye hed been drunk fur a week.”</p> - -<p>The keen voice of the Panther rang out shrilly, and Mark gave his -horse whip and heel to be beyond the sound of it. He wanted to hear no -more—not even the tones—least of all the words, and words spoken in -confidence in their own circle when they believed themselves unheard. -He feared there was some wicked conspiracy among them; he could not -imagine what it might be, but since he could do naught to hinder he -earnestly desired that he might not become accidentally cognizant of -it, and in so far accessory to it. He therefore sought to give them -some intimation of his lingering presence, for Cockleburr had been -frisky and restive, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> difficult to mount; he accordingly began to -sing aloud:—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“You hear that hawn? Yo he! Yo ho!”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But what was this? Instead of his customary hearty whoop, the tones -rang out all forlornly, a wheeze and a quaver, and finally broke and -sunk into silence. But the voices in conversation within had suddenly -ceased. The musically disposed of the Brice brothers himself was -singing, as if quite casually:—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“He wept full sore fur his ‘dear friend Jack,’</div> -<div>An’ how could I know he meant ‘Apple-Jack’!”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Mark was aware that they had taken his warning, although with no -appreciation of his motive in giving it. He could imagine the -contemptuous anger against him with which they looked significantly at -one another as they sat in the dusky shadows around the still, and he -knew that his sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> outburst into song must seem to them bravado—an -intimation that he did not care for having been summarily ejected -from the still-house, when in reality, only the recollection of it -sent the color flaming to his cheeks and the tears to his eyes. This -was not for the mere matter of pride, either; but for disappointment, -for fled illusions, for the realization that he had placed a false -valuation on these men. He had been flattered that they had cared for -his friendship, and reciprocally had valued him more than others; -they had relished and invited his companionship; they had treated him -almost as one of themselves. And although he saw much gambling and -drinking, sometimes resulting in brawls and furious fights, against -which his moral sense revolted, he felt sure that their dissipation was -transitory; they would all straighten out and settle down—when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> they -themselves were older. In truth, he could hardly have conceived that -this manifestation of to-night was the true identity of the friends to -whom he had attached himself—that their souls, their hearts, their -minds, were of a piece with the texture of their daily lives, as sooner -or later the event would show. In the disuse of good impulses and -honest qualities they grow lax and weak. They are the moral muscles of -the spiritual being, and, like the muscles of the physical body, they -must needs be exercised and trained to serve the best interests of the -soul.</p> - -<p>“Yo-he! Yo-ho!” sang poor Mark, as he plunged into the forest, keeping -in the wood trail, called courteously a road, partly by the memory of -his horse, and partly by the keen sight of his gray eyes. He lapsed -presently into silence, for he had no heart for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> singing, and he -jogged on dispirited, gloomy, reflective, through the rugged ways of -the wilderness. It was fully two hours before he emerged into the more -open country about his mother’s house; as he reached the bank of the -stream he glanced up, toward the bridge—the faintest suggestion of two -parallel lines across the instarred sky. A great light flashed through -the heavens, followed by a comet-like sweep of fiery sparks.</p> - -<p>“That thar air the ’leven o’clock train, I reckon,” said Mark, making -his cautious way among the bowlders and fragments of fallen rock to -the door of the house. The horse plucked up spirit to neigh gleefully -at the sight of his shanty and the thought of his supper. The sound -brought Mrs. Yates to the window of the cabin.</p> - -<p>“Air that ye a-comin’, Mark?” she asked. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It air me an’ Cockleburr,” replied her son, with an effort to be -cheerful too, and to cast away gloomy thoughts in the relief of being -once more at home.</p> - -<p>“Air ye ez drunk ez or’nary?” demanded his mother.</p> - -<p>This was a damper. “I ain’t drunk nohow in the worl’,” said Mark, -sullenly.</p> - -<p>“Whyn’t ye stay ter the still, then, till ye war soaked?” she gibed at -him.</p> - -<p>Mark dismounted in silence; there was no saddle to be unbuckled, and -Cockleburr walked at once into the little shed to munch upon a handful -of hay and to dream of corn.</p> - -<p>His master, entering the house, was saluted by the inquiry, “War -Painter Brice ez drunk ez common?”</p> - -<p>“No, he warn’t drunk nuther.”</p> - -<p>“Hev the still gone dry?” asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> Mrs. Yates, affecting an air of deep -interest.</p> - -<p>“Not ez I knows on, it hain’t,” said Mark.</p> - -<p>“Thar must be suthin’ mighty comical a-goin on ef ye nor Painter nare -one air drunk. Is Aaron drunk, then? Nor Pete? nor Joe? Waal, this air -powerful disapp’intin’.” And she took off her spectacles, wiped them on -her apron, and shook her head slowly to and fro in solemn mockery.</p> - -<p>“Waal,” she continued, with a more natural appearance of interest, -“what war they all a-talkin’ ’bout ter-night?”</p> - -<p>Mark sat down, and looked gloomily at the dying embers in the deep -chimney-place for a moment, then he replied, evasively, “Nuthin’ much.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what ye always say! Ef I go from hyar ter the spring yander, -I kin come back with more to tell than yer kin gether up in a day an’ -a night<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> at the still. It ’pears like ter me men war mos’ly made jes’ -ter eat an’ drink, an’ thar tongues war gin ’em for no use but jes’ ter -keep ’em from feelin’ lonesome like.”</p> - -<p>Mark did not respond to this sarcasm. His mother presently knelt -down on the rough stones of the hearth, and began to rake the coals -together, covering them with ashes, preliminary to retiring for the -night. She glanced up into his face as she completed the work; then, -with a gleam of fun in her eyes, she said:</p> - -<p>“Ye look like ye’re studyin’ powerful hard, Mark. Mebbe ye air -a-cornsiderin’ ’bout gittin’ married. It’s ’bout time ez ye war -a-gittin’ another woman hyar ter work fur ye, ’kase I’m toler’ble old, -an’ can’t live forever mo’, an’ some day ye’ll find yerself desolated.”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t a-studyin’ no more ’bout<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> a-gettin’ married nor ye air -yerself,” Mark retorted, petulantly.</p> - -<p>“Ye ain’t a-studyin’ much ’bout it, then,” said his mother. “The Bible -looks like it air a-pityin’ of widders mightily, but it ’pears ter me -that the worst of thar troubles is over.”</p> - -<p>Then ensued a long silence. “Thar’s one thing to be sartain,” said -Mark, suddenly. “I ain’t never a-goin ter that thar still no more.”</p> - -<p>“I hev hearn ye say that afore,” remarked Mrs. Yates, dryly. “An’ thar -never come a day when yer father war alive ez he didn’t say that very -word—nor a day as that word warn’t bruken.”</p> - -<p>These amenities were at length sunk in sleep, and the little log hut -hung upon its precarious perch on the slope beneath the huge cliff all -quiet and lonely. The great gorge seemed a channel hewn for the winds;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> -they filled it with surging waves of sound, and the vast stretches -of woods were in wild commotion. The Argus-eyed sky still held its -steadfast watch, but an impenetrable black mask clung to the earth. -At long intervals there arose from out the forest the cry of a wild -beast—the anguish of the prey or the savage joy of the captor—and -then for a time no sound save the monotonous ebb and flow of the sea -of winds. Suddenly, a shrill whistle awoke the echoes, the meteor-like -train sweeping across the sky wavered, faltered, and paused on the -verge of the crag. Then the darkness was instarred with faint, swinging -points of light, and there floated down upon the wind the sound of -eager, excited voices.</p> - -<p>“Ef them thar cars war ter drap off’n that thar bluff,” said the -anxious Mrs. Yates, as she and her son,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> aroused by the unwonted noise, -came out of the hut, and gazed upward at the great white glare of the -headlight, “they’d ruin the turnip patch, worl’ without e-end.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing whatever is the matter,” said the Pullman conductor, cheerily, -to his passengers, as he re-entered his coach. “Only a little church on -fire just beyond the curve of the road; the engineer couldn’t determine -at first whether it was a fire built on the track or on the hillside.”</p> - -<p>The curtains of the berths were dropped, sundry inquiring windows -were closed, the travelers lay back on their hard pillows, the faint -swinging points of light moved upward as the men with the lanterns -sprang upon the platforms, the train moved slowly and majestically -across the bridge, and presently it was whizzing past the little -church, where the flames had licked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> up benches and pulpit and floor, -and were beginning to stream through door and window, and far above the -roof.</p> - -<p>The miniature world went clanging along its way, careless of what it -left behind, and the turnip patch was saved.</p> - -<p>The wonderful phenomenon of the stoppage of the train had aroused the -whole countryside, and when it had passed, the strange lurid glare high -on the slope of the mountain attracted attention. There was an instant -rush of the scattered settlers toward the doomed building. A narrow, -circuitous path led them up the steep ascent among gigantic rocks and -dense pine thickets; the roaring of the tumultuous wind drowned all -other sounds, and they soon ceased the endeavor to speak to one another -as they went, and canvass their suspicions and indignation. Turning -a sharp curve, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> foremost of the party came abruptly upon a man -descending.</p> - -<p>He had felt secure in the dead hour of night and the thick darkness, -and the distance had precluded him from being warned by the stoppage -of the train. He stood in motionless indecision for an instant, until -Moses Carter, who was a little in advance of the others, made an effort -to seize him, exclaiming, “This fire ez ye hev kindled, Painter Brice, -will burn ye in hell forever!” He spoke at a venture, not recognizing -the dark shadow, but there was no mistaking the supple spring with -which the man threw himself upon his enemy, nor the keen ferocity that -wielded the sharp knife. Hearing, however, in the ebb of the wind, -voices approaching from the hill below, and realizing the number of his -antagonists, the Panther tore himself loose, and running in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> dark -with the unerring instinct and precision of the wild beast that he was, -he sped up the precipitous slope, and was lost in the gloomy night.</p> - -<p>“Gin us the slip!” exclaimed Joel Ruggles, in grievous disappointment, -as he came up breathless. “A cussed painter if ever thar war one.”</p> - -<p>“Mebbe he won’t go fur,” said Moses Carter. “He done cut my arm a-nigh -in two, but thar air suthin’ adrippin’ off ’n my knife what I feels -in my bones is that thar Painter’s blood. An’ I ain’t a-goin ter stop -till he air cotched, dead or alive. He mought hev gone down yander -ter the Widder Yates’s house, ez him an’ Mark air thicker’n thieves. -Come ter think on’t,” he continued, “Mark war a-settin’ with this hyar -very Painter Brice an’ the t’others yander ter the still-house nigh -’pon eight o’clock ter-night, an’ like ez not he holped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> Painter an’ -the t’others ter fire the church.” For there was a strong impression -prevalent that wherever Panther Brice was, his satellite brothers were -not far off. Nothing, however, was seen of them on the way, and the -pursuers burst in upon the frightened widow and her son with little -ceremony. Her assertion that Mark had not left home since the eleven -o’clock train passed was disregarded, and they dragged the young fellow -out to the door, demanding to know where were the Brices.</p> - -<p>“I hain’t seen none of ’em since I lef’ the still ’bout’n eight or nine -o’clock ter-night,” Mark protested.</p> - -<p>“Ef the truth war knowed,” said Moses Carter, jeeringly, “ye never lef’ -the still till they did. War it ye ez holped ’em ter fire the church?”</p> - -<p>“I never knowed the church war burnin’ till ye kem hyar,” replied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> -young Yates. He was almost overpowered by a sickening realization of -the meaning of those covert insinuations which he had heard at the -still; and he remembered that the Panther’s assertion that the church -was safer with the Brices in it than out of it, was made while he sat -among the brothers in Moses Carter’s presence. He saw the justice of -the strong suspicion.</p> - -<p>“You know, though, whar Painter Brice is now—don’t ye?” asked Carter.</p> - -<p>A faint streak of dawn was athwart the eastern clouds, and as the young -fellow turned his bewildered eyes upward to it the blood stood still in -his veins. Upon one of the parallel lines of the bridge was the figure -of man, belittled by the distance, and indistinctly defined against -the mottling sky; but the far-seeing gray eyes detected in a certain -untrammeled ease, as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> moved lightly from one of the ties to another, -the Panther’s free motion.</p> - -<p>Mark Yates hesitated. He cherished an almost superstitious reverence -for the church which Panther Brice had desecrated and destroyed, and he -feared the consequences of refusing to give the information demanded of -him. A denial of the knowledge he did not for a moment contemplate. And -struggling in his mind against these considerations was a recollection -of the hospitality of the Brices, and of the ill-starred friendship -that had taken root and grown and flourished at the still.</p> - -<p>This hesitation was observed; there were significant looks interchanged -among the men, and the question was repeated, “Whar’s Painter Brice?”</p> - -<p>The decision of the problems that agitated the mind of Mark Yates -was not left to him. He saw the figure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> on the bridge suddenly turn, -then start eagerly forward. A heavy freight train, almost noiseless -in the wild whirl of the wind, had approached very near without being -perceived by Panther Brice. He could not retrace his way before it -would be upon him—to cross the bridge in advance of it was his only -hope. He was dizzy from the loss of blood and the great height, and the -wind was blowing between the cliffs in a strong, unobstructed current. -As he ran rapidly onward, the first faint gleam of the approaching -headlight touched the bridge—a furious warning shriek of the whistle -mingled with a wild human cry, and the Panther, missing his footing, -fell like a thunderbolt into the depths of the black waters below.</p> - -<p>There was a revulsion of feeling, very characteristic of inconstant -humanity, in the little group on the slope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> below the crag. Before -Mark Yates’s frantic exclamation, “Thar goes Painter Brice, an’ he’ll -be drownded sure!” had fairly died upon the air, half a dozen men were -struggling in the dark, cold water of the swift stream in the vain -attempt to rescue their hunted foe. Long after they had given up the -forlorn hope of saving his life, the morning sun for hours watched them -patrolling the banks for the recovery of the body.</p> - -<p>“Ef we could haul that pore critter out somehow ’nother,” said Moses -Carter, his arm still dripping from the sharp strokes of the Panther’s -knife, “an’ git the preacher ter bury him somewhar under the pines like -he war a Christian, I could rest more sati’fied in my mind.”</p> - -<p>The mountain stream never gave him up.</p> - -<p>This event had a radical influence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> upon the future of Mark Yates. -Never again did he belittle the possible impetus given the moral -nature by those more trifling wrongs that always result in an -increased momentum toward crime. He was the first to discover more -of what Painter Brice had really intended,—had attempted,—than was -immediately apparent to the countryside in general. A fragment of the -door lay unburned among the charred remains of the little church in the -wilderness—a fragment that carried the lock, the key. Mark’s sharp -eyes fixed upon a salient point as he stood among the group that had -congregated there in the sad light of the awakening day. The key was -on the outside of the door, and it had been turned! The Panther had -doubtless been actuated by revenge, and perhaps, had been influenced -by the fear that information of the illicit distilling would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> be given -by the parson to the revenue authorities, as a means of breaking up an -element so inimical to the true progress of religion on the ridge—its -denizens hitherto availing themselves of the convenience of the still -to assuage any pricks of conscience they may have had in the matter, -and also fearing the swift and terrible fate that inevitably overtook -the informer. At all events, it was evident, that having reason to -believe the minister was still within, Painter Brice had noiselessly -locked the door that his unsuspecting enemy might also perish in the -flames. For in the primitive fashioning of the building there was no -aperture for light and air except the door—no window, save a small, -glassless square above the pulpit which, in the good time coming, the -congregation had hoped to glaze, to receive therefrom more light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> on -salvation. It was so small, so high, that perhaps no other man could -have slipped through it, save indeed the slim little “skimpy saint,” -and it was thus that he had escaped.</p> - -<p>No vengeance followed the Panther’s brothers. “They hed ter do jes’ -what Painter tole ’em, ye see,” was the explanation of this leniency. -And Mark Yates was always afterward described as “a peart smart boy, -ef he hedn’t holped the Brices ter fire the church-house.” The still -continued to be run according to the old regulations, except there -was no whisky sold to the church brethren. “That bein’ the word ez -John left behind him,” said Aaron. The laws of few departed rulers are -observed with the rigor which the Brices accorded to the Panther’s -word. The locality came to be generally avoided, and no one cared to -linger there after dark, save the three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> Brices, who sat as of old, in -the black shadows about the still.</p> - -<p>Whenever in the night-wrapped gorge a shrill cry is heard from the -woods, or the wind strikes a piercing key, or the train thunders over -the bridge with a wild shriek of whistles, and the rocks repeat it -with a human tone in the echo, the simple foresters are wont to turn -a trifle pale and to bar up the doors, declaring that the sound “air -Painter Brice a-callin’ fur his brothers.” </p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">THE EXPLOIT<br />OF<br />CHOOLAH, THE CHICKASAW</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE EXPLOIT<br /> OF<br /> CHOOLAH, THE CHICKASAW</h2> - -<p>The victorious campaign which Lieutenant-Colonel James Grant conducted -in the Cherokee country in the summer of 1761, and which redounded so -greatly to the credit of the courage and endurance of the expeditionary -force, British regulars and South Carolina provincials, is like many -other human events in presenting to the casual observation only an -harmonious whole, while it is made up of a thousand little jagged bits -of varied incident inconsistent and irregular, and with no single -element in common but the attraction of cohesion to amalgamate the -mosaic. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> - -<p>Perhaps no two men in the command saw alike the peaks of the Great -Smoky Mountains hovering elusively on the horizon, now purple and -ominous among the storm clouds, for the rain fell persistently; -now distant, blue, transiently sun-flooded, and with the prismatic -splendors of the rainbow spanning in successive arches the abysses -from dome to dome, and growing ever fainter and fainter in duplication -far away. Perhaps no two men revived similar impressions as they -recognized various localities from the South Carolina coast to the -Indian town of Etchoee, near the Little Tennessee River, for many of -them had traversed hundreds of miles of these wild fastnesses the -previous year, when Colonel Montgomery, now returned to England, had -led an aggressive expedition against the Cherokees. Certain it is, the -accounts of their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>experiences are many and varied—only in all the -character of their terrible enemy, the powerful and warlike Cherokee, -stands out as incontrovertible as eternity, as immutable as Fate. Hence -there were no stragglers, no deserters. In a compact body, while the -rain fell, and the torrents swelled the streams till the fords became -almost impracticable, the little army, as with a single impulse, -pressed stanchly on through the mist-filled, sodden avenues of the -primeval woods. To be out of sight for an instant of that long, thin -column of soldiers risked far more than death—capture, torture, the -flame, the knife, all the extremity of anguish that the ingenuity of -savage malice could devise and human flesh endure. But although day -by day the thunder cracked among the branches of the dripping trees -and reverberated from the rocks of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> craggy defiles, and keen swift -blades of lightning at short intervals thrust through the lowering -clouds, almost always near sunset long level lines of burnished golden -beams began to glance through the wild woodland ways; a mocking-bird -would burst into song from out the dense coverts of the laurel on the -slope of a mountain hard by; the sky would show blue overhead, and -glimmer red through the low-hanging boughs toward the west; and the -troops would pitch their tents under the restored peace of the elements -and the placid white stars.</p> - -<p>A jolly camp it must have been. Stories of it have come down to this -day—of its songs, loud, hilarious, patriotic, doubtless rudely -musical; of its wild pranks, of that boyish and jocose kind denominated -by sober and unsympathetic elders, “horse-play”; of the intense delight -experienced by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> the savage allies, the Chickasaws, who participated in -the campaign, in witnessing the dances of the young Highlanders—how -“their sprightly manner in this exercise,” and athletic grace appealed -to the Indians; how the sound of the bag-pipes thrilled them; how they -admired that ancient martial garb, the kilt and plaid.</p> - -<p>No admiration, however extravagant of Scotch customs, character, or -appearance, seemed excessive in the eyes of Lieutenant-Colonel James -Grant, so readily did his haughty, patriotic pride acquiesce in it, and -the Indian’s evident appreciation of the national superiority of the -Scotch to all other races of men duly served to enhance his opinion of -the mental acumen of the Chickasaws. This homage, however, failed to -mollify or modify the estimate of the noble redman already formed by a -certain <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>subaltern, Lieutenant Ronald MacDonnell.</p> - -<p>“The Lord made him an Indian—and an Indian he will remain,” he would -remark sagely.</p> - -<p>The policy of the British government to utilize in its armies -the martial strength of semi-savage dependencies, elsewhere so -conspicuously exploited, was never successful with these Indians save -as the tribes might fight in predatory bands in their own wild way, -although much effort was made looking toward regular enlistments. -And, in fact, the futility of all endeavors to reduce the savage to -a reasonable conformity to the militarism of the camp, to inculcate -the details of the drill, a sense of the authority of officers, the -obligations of out-posts, the heinousness of “running the guard,” the -necessity of submitting to the prescribed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>punishments and penalties -for disobedience of orders,—all rendered this ethnographic saw so -marvelously apt, that it seemed endowed with more wisdom than Ronald -MacDonnell was popularly supposed to possess. But such logic as he -could muster operated within contracted limits. If the Lord had not -fitted a man to be a soldier, why—there Ronald MacDonnell’s extremest -flights of speculation paused.</p> - -<p>In the scheme of his narrow-minded Cosmos the human creature was -represented by two simple species: unimportant, unindividualized man -in general, and that race of exalted beings known as soldiers. He was -a good drill, and with the instinct of a born disciplinarian in his -survey, he would often watch the Chickasaws with this question in his -mind,—sometimes when they were on the march, and their endurance, -their activity, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>admirable proportions of their bodies, their free -and vigorous gait were in evidence; sometimes in the swift efficiency -of their scouting parties when their strategy and courage and wily -caution were most marked; sometimes in the relaxations of the camp when -their keen responsive interest in the quirks and quips of the soldier -at play attested their mental receptivity and plastic impressibility. -Their gayety seemed a docile, mundane, civilized sort of mirth when -they would stand around in the ring with the other soldiers to watch -the agile Highlanders in the inspiring martial posturing of the sword -dance, with their fluttering kilts and glittering blades, their free -gestures,their long, sinewy, bounding steps, as of creatures of no -weight, while the bag-pipes skirled, and the great campfire flared, and -the light and shadows fluctuated in the dense <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>primeval woods, half -revealing, half concealing the lines of tents, of picketed horses, -of stacks of arms, of other flaring camp-fires—even the pastoral -suggestion in the distance of the horned heads of the beef-herd. -But whatever the place or scene, Ronald MacDonnell’s conclusion was -essentially the same. “The Lord made him an Indian,” he would say, with -an air of absolute finality.</p> - -<p>He was a man of few words,—of few ideas; these were strictly military -and of an appreciated value. He was considered a promising young -officer, and was often detailed to important and hazardous duty. And -if he had naught to say at mess, and seldom could perceive a joke -unless of a phenomenal pertinence and brilliancy, broadly aflare so to -speak under his nose, he was yet a boon companion, and could hold his -own like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> Scotchman when many a brighter man was under the table. -He had a certain stanch, unquestioning sense of duty and loyalty, and -manifested an unchangeable partisanship in his friendship, of a silent -and undemonstrative order, that caused his somewhat exaggerated view -of his own dignity to be respected, for it was intuitively felt that -his personal antagonism would be of the same tenacious, unreasoning, -requiting quality, and should not be needlessly roused. He was still -very young, although he had seen much service. He was tall and -stalwart; he had the large, raw-boned look which is usually considered -characteristic of the Scotch build, and was of great muscular strength, -but carrying not one ounce of superfluous flesh. Light-colored hair, -almost flaxen, indeed, with a strong tendency to curl in the shorter -locks that lay in tendrils on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> forehead, clear, contemplative blue -eyes, a fixed look of strength, of reserves of unfailing firmness about -the well-cut lips, a good brick-red flush acquired from many and many -a day of marching in the wind, and the rain, and the sun—this is the -impression one may take from his portrait. He could be as noisy and -boisterously gay as the other young officers, but somehow his hilarity -was of a physical sort, as of the sheer joy of living, and moving, and -being so strong. One might wonder what impressions he received in the -long term of his service in Canada and the Colonies—these strange -new lands so alien to all his earlier experience. One might doubt if -he saw how fair of face was this most lovely of regions, the Cherokee -country; if the primeval forests, the splendid tangles of blooming -rhododendron, the crystal-clear, rock-bound rivers were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> asserted in -his consciousness otherwise than as the technical “obstacle” for troops -on the march. As to the imposing muster of limitless ranks of mountains -surrounding the little army on every side, they did not remind him of -the hills of Scotland, as the sheer sense of great heights and wild -ravines and flashing cataracts suggested reminiscences to the others. -“There is no gorse,” he remarked of these august ranges, with their -rich growths of gigantic forest trees, as if from the beginning of the -earliest eras of dry land,—and the mess called him “Gorse” until the -incident was forgotten.</p> - -<p>For the last three days the command, consisting of some twenty-six -hundred men, had been advancing by forced marches, despite the -deterrent weather. Setting out on the 7th of June from Fort Prince -George, where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> the army had rested for ten days after the march of -three hundred miles from Charlestown, Colonel Grant encountered a -season of phenomenal rain-fall. Moreover, the lay of the land,—long -stretches of broken, rocky country, gashed by steep ravines and -intersected by foaming, swollen torrents, deep and dangerous to ford, -encompassed on every hand by rugged heights and narrow, intricate, -winding valleys, affording always but a restricted passage,—offered -peculiar advantages for attack. Colonel Grant, aware that these craggy -defiles could be held against him even by an inferior force, that a -smart demonstration on the flank would so separate the thin line of -his troops that one division would hardly be available to come to the -support of the other, that an engagement here and now would result -in great loss of life, if not an actual and decisive repulse, was -urging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> the march forward at the utmost speed possible to reach more -practicable ground for an encounter, regardless how the pace might -harass the men. But they were responding gallantly to the demands on -their strength, and this was what he had hardly dared to hope. For -during the previous winter, when General Amherst ordered the British -regulars south by sea, many of them immediately upon their arrival -in Charlestown, succumbed to an illness occasioned by drinking the -brackish water of certain wells of the city. Coming in response to the -urgent appeals of the province to the commander-in-chief of the army -to defend the frontier against the turbulent Cherokees who ravaged -the borders, the British force were looked upon as public deliverers, -and the people of the city took the ill soldiers from the camps into -their own private <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>dwellings, nursing them until they were quite -restored. No troops could have better endured the extreme hardships -which they successfully encountered in their march northward. So -swift an advance seemed almost impossible. The speed of the movement -apparently had not been anticipated, even by that wily and watchful -enemy, the Cherokees. It has been said that at this critical juncture -the Indians had failed to receive the supply of ammunition from the -French which they had anticipated, although a quantity, inadequate for -the emergency, however, reached them a few days later. At all events -Colonel Grant was nearly free of the district where disaster so menaced -him before he received a single shot. He had profited much by his -several campaigns in this country since he led that rash, impetuous, -and bloody demonstration against Fort Duquesne,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> in which he himself -was captured with nineteen of his officers, and his command was almost -cut to pieces. Now his scouts patrolled the woods in every direction. -His vanguard of Indian allies under command of a British officer was -supported by a body of fifty rangers and one hundred and fifty light -infantry. Every precaution against surprise was taken.</p> - -<p>Late one afternoon, however, the main body wavered with a sudden shock. -The news came along the line. The Cherokees were upon them—upon the -flank? No; in force fiercely assaulting the rear-guard. It was as Grant -had feared impossible in these narrow defiles to avail himself of his -strength, to face about, to form, to give battle. The advance was -ordered to continue steadily onward,—difficult indeed, with the sound -of the musketry and shouting from the rear, now louder,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> now fainter, -as the surges of attack ebbed and flowed.</p> - -<p>A strong party was detached to reinforce the rear-guard. But again -and again the Cherokees made a spirited dash, seeking to cut off the -beef herd, fighting almost in the open, with as definite and logical a -military plan of destroying the army by capturing its supplies in that -wild country, hundreds of miles from adequate succor, as if devised by -men trained in all the theories of war.</p> - -<p>“The Lord made him—” muttered Ronald MacDonnell, in uncertainty, -recognizing the coherence of this military maneuver, and said no more. -Whether or not his theory was reduced to that simple incontrovertible -proposition, thus modified by the soldier-like demonstration on the -supply train, his cogitations were cut short by more familiar ideas, -when in command of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> thirty-two picked men, he was ordered to make a -detour through the defiles of a narrow adjacent ravine, and, issuing -suddenly thence, seek to fall upon the flank of the enemy and surprise, -rout, and pursue him. This was the kind of thing, that with all his -limitations, Ronald MacDonnell most definitely understood. This set -a-quiver, with keenest sensitiveness, every fiber of his phlegmatic -nature, called out every working capacity of his slow, substantial -brains, made his quiet pulses bound. He looked the men over strictly as -they dressed their ranks, and then he stepped swiftly forward toward -them, for it was the habit to speak a few words of encouragement to the -troops about to enter on any extra-hazardous duty, so daunting seemed -the very sight of the Cherokees and the sound of their blood-curdling -whoops. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Hech, callants!” he cried, in his simple joy; and so full of valiant -elation was the exclamation that its spirit flared up amongst the wild -“petticoat-men,” who cheered as lustily as if they had profited by the -best of logic and the most finely flavored eloquence. Ronald MacDonnell -felt that he had acquitted himself well in the usual way, and was under -the impression that he had made a speech to the troops.</p> - -<p>Now climbing the crags of the verges of the ravine, now deep in its -trough, following the banks of its flashing torrent, they made their -way—at a brisk double-quick when the ground would admit of such -progress—and when they must, painfully dragging one another through -the dense jungles of the dripping laurel, always holding well together, -remembering the ever-frightful menace of the Cherokee to the laggard. -The rain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> fell no longer; the sunlight slanted on the summit of the -rocks above their heads; the wind was blowing fresh and free, and the -mists scurried before it; now and again on the steep slopes as the -vapors shifted, the horned heads of cattle showed with a familiar -reminiscent effect as of mountain kyloes at home. But these were great -stall-fed steers, running furiously at large, bellowing, frightened -by the tumults of the conflict, plunging along the narrow defiles, -almost dashing headlong into the little party of Highlanders who were -now quickening their pace, for the crack of dropping shots and once -and again a volley, the whoopings of the savages and shouts of the -soldiers, betokened that the scene of carnage was near.</p> - -<p>Only a few of the cattle were astray for, as MacDonnell and his men -emerged into a little level glade, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> could see in the distance -that the herd was held well together by the cattle-guard, while the -reinforcements sought to check the Cherokees, who, although continually -sending forth their terribly accurate masked fire from behind trees -and rocks, now and again with a mounted body struck out boldly for the -supply train, assaulting with tremendous impetuosity the rear-guard. -So still and clear was the evening air that, despite the clamors of -battle, MacDonnell could hear the commands, could see in the distance -the lines rallying on the reserve forming into solid masses, as the -mounted savages hurled down upon them; could even discern where rallies -by platoon had been earlier made judging from the position of the -bodies of the dead soldiers, lying in a half-suggested circle.</p> - -<p>The next moment, with a ringing shout and a smartly delivered volley<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> -of musketry the Highlanders flung themselves from out the mouth of the -ravine. The Cherokee horsemen were going down like so many ten-pins. -The first detachment of reinforcements set up a wild shout of joy to -perceive the support, then flung themselves on their knees to load -while a second volley from the Highlanders passed over their heads. -The rear-guard had formed anew, faced about, and were advancing in the -opposite direction. The Cherokee horsemen, almost surrounded, gave -way; the fire of the others in ambush wavered, slackened, became only -a dropping shot here and there, then sunk to silence. And the woods -were filled with a wild rout, with the irregular musketry of the troops -frenzied with sudden success, out of line, out of hearing, out of -reason as they pursued the unmounted savages, dislodged at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> last from -their masked position; with the bugles blowing, the bag-pipes playing; -with the unheard, disregarded orders shouted by the officers; with that -thrilling cry of the Highlanders “Claymore! Claymore!” the sun flashing -on their drawn broadswords as they gained on the flying Indians, -themselves as fleet;—a confused, disordered panorama of shadows and -sunlight, of men in red coats and men in blue, and men in tartan, and -savage Chickasaws and Cherokees in their wild barbaric array.</p> - -<p>It had been desired that the repulse should be fierce and decisive, the -pursuit bloody and relentless. The supply train represented the life -of the army, and it was essential to deter the Cherokees from readily -renewing the attack on so vital a point. But these ends compassed, -every effort of the officers was concentrated on the necessity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -recalling the scattered parties. Night was coming on; it was a strange -and an alien country; the skulking Cherokees were doubtless in force -somewhere in the dense coverts of the woods, and the vicarious terrors -of the capture that menaced the valorous and venturesome soldiers began -to press heavily upon the officers. Again and again the bugles summoned -the stragglers, the rich golden notes drifting through the wilderness, -rousing a thousand insistent echoes from many a dumb rock thus endowed -with a voice. Certain of the more solicitous officers sent out, with -much caution, small details, gathering together the stragglers as they -went.</p> - -<p>How Ronald MacDonnell became separated from one of these parties was -never very clear afterward to his own mind. His attention was attracted -first by the sight of a canny Scotch face or two, which he knew, lying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> -very low and very still; he suffered a pang which he could never evade. -These were the men who had followed him to the finish, and he took out -his note-book and holding it against a tree, made a memorandum of the -locality for the burial parties, and then, with great particularity, -of the names, “For the auld folks at hame,” and he quoted, mournfully -a line of the old Gaelic lament much sung by the Scotch emigrants -“<i>Ha til mi tulidh</i>” (we return no more), which was sadly true of -the Highland soldiery in the British ranks,—an instance is given of -a regiment of twelve hundred men who served in America of whom only -seventy-six ever saw their native hills again. Then, briskly putting up -the book he went on a bit, glancing sharply about for the living of his -command, even now thrusting their reckless heads into the den of the -Cherokee lion. “Ill-fau’rd chields,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> and serve them right,” he said, -struggling with the dismay in his heart for their sake.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he did not realize how far those active strides were carrying -him from the command. In fact the march continued that night until -the sinking of the moon, the army pressing resolutely on through the -broken region of the mountain defiles. MacDonnell noted no Cherokee -in sight, that is to say, not a living one. Several of the dead lay -on the ground, their still faces already bearing that wan, listening, -attentive look of death; they were heedless indeed of the hands that -had rifled them of their possessions, for there were a few of the -Chickasaw allies intent on plunder.</p> - -<p>Presently as he went down a sunset glade, MacDonnell saw advancing -a notable figure, a Chickasaw chief, tall, lithe, active, muscular, -with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> gait of athletic grace. He was wearing the warrior’s “crown,” -a towering head-dress in the form of a circlet of white swan’s -feathers of graduated height, standing fifteen inches high in front, -and at the bottom woven into a band of swan’s down—all so deftly -constructed that the method of the manufacture of the whole could not -be discerned, it is said, without taking it into the hand. To the -fringed borders of a sort of sleeveless hunting shirt of otter-skin -and his buckskin leggings bits of shells were attached and glittered, -and this betokened his wealth, for these beads represented the money -of the Indians, with the unique advantage that when not in active -circulation, one’s currency could be worn as an ornament. It has been -generally known under the generic name “wampum,” although several of -the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>Southern tribes called it “roanoke” or “pe-ack.” It was made in -tiny, tubular beads, of about an inch in length, of the conch and -mussel-shells, requiring the illimitable leisure of the Indian to -polish the cylinder to the desired glister, and drill through it the -hollow no larger than a knitting-needle might fill. His chest and arms -were painted symbolically in red and blue arabesques, and his face, of -a proud, alert cast was smeared with vermilion and white. All his flesh -glistened and shone with the polishing of some unguent. MacDonnell -had heard a deal of preaching in his time of the Scotch Presbyterian -persuasion, and in the dearth of expression Biblical phrases sometimes -came to him. “Oil to give him a cheerful countenance,” he quoted, still -gazing at the grim face and figure. So intently he gazed, indeed, that -the Indian hesitated, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>doubting if the Highland officer recognized -him as a friend. Breaking off a branch of a green locust hard by and -holding it aloft at one side, after the manner of a peaceful embassy, -he continued his stately advance until within a yard of the silent -Scotchman, also advancing. Then they both paused.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ish la chu; Angona?</i>” said the Indian, in a sonorous voice. (Are you -come, a friend?)</p> - -<p>With the true Briton’s aversion to palaver, intensified by his own -incapacity for its practice, Ronald MacDonnell discovered little -affinity for barbaric ceremonial. Nevertheless he was constrained -by the punctilious sense that a gentleman must reply to a courteous -greeting in the manner expected of him. His experience with the -Chickasaws had acquainted him with the appropriate response. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> - -<p>“<i>Arabre—O, Angona</i>,” (I am come, a friend) he returned, a trifle -sheepishly, and without the <i>ore rotunda</i> effect of the elocution of -the Indian.</p> - -<p>The young chief looked hard at him, evidently desirous of engaging him -in conversation, unaware that it was a game at which the Scotchman was -incapacitated for playing.</p> - -<p>“Big battle,” he observed, after a doubtful interval.</p> - -<p>“A bonny ploy,” assented the officer, who had seen much bigger ones.</p> - -<p>Then they both paused and gazed at each other.</p> - -<p>“Cherokee—heap fight! Big damn—O!” remarked Choolah, the Fox, -applausively.</p> - -<p>The use of this most vocative vowel as an intensitive suffix is -one of the peculiar methods of emphasis in the animated Chickasaw -language—for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>instance the word <i>Yanas-O</i> means the biggest kind of -buffalo (<i>yanasa</i> signifying buffalo in all the dialects). Choolah -conversing in the cold and phlegmatic English evidently felt the need -of these intensitives, and although a certain strong condemnatory -monosyllable has been usually found sufficiently satisfying to the -feelings of English speaking men seeking an expletive, the poor -Aboriginal, wishing to be more wicked than he was, discovered its -capacity for expansion with the prefix “Big” and devised an added -emphasis with the explosive final “O.”</p> - -<p>“The Cherokee warriors? Pretty men!” said MacDonnell laconically, -according the enemy’s valor the meed of a soldier’s praise. “Very -pretty men.”</p> - -<p>Choolah had never piqued himself on his command of the English -language, but he thought now his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> fluency was at least equal to that -of this Scotchman, who really seemed to speak no tongue at all. As to -the French—of that speech, <i>ookproo-se</i> (forever despised) Choolah -would not learn a syllable, so deadly a hatred did the Chickasaw tribe -bear the whole Gallic nation, dating back indeed through many wars and -feuds, to the massacre by Choctaws of certain of the tribe in 1704, -while under the protection of Boisbriant with a French safeguard, the -deed suspected to have been committed if not at the instigation, at -least by the permission of the French commander who, however, himself -wounded in the affray, was beyond doubt, helpless in the matter.</p> - -<p>“Heap tired?” ventured Choolah, at last, pining for conversation, his -searching eyes on the young Highlander’s face.</p> - -<p>Ronald MacDonnell laughed a proud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> negation. He held out one of his -long, heavily muscled arms, with the fist clenched, that the Indian -might feel, through his sleeve, the swelling cords that betokened his -strength.</p> - -<p>But it was Choolah’s trait to cherish vanity in physical endowment, not -to foster it in others. He only said, “Good! Swim river.”</p> - -<p>“Why swim the river?” demanded the Lieutenant.</p> - -<p>Then Choolah detailed that through a scout he had thrown out he had -learned that Colonel Grant’s force, still pushing on, had succeeded -in crossing the Tennessee river, the herd of cattle and the pack -animals giving incredible trouble in the fords, deeply swollen by the -unprecedented rains. It suddenly occurred to MacDonnell that, in view -of the passage of the troops beyond this barrier, much caution would be -requisite in endeavoring to rejoin the main<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> body, lest they fall into -the clutch of the Cherokees on the hither side, who doubtless would -seek the capture of parties of stragglers by carefully patrolling the -banks. He suggested this to Choolah. The Indian listened for only a -moment with a look of deep conviction; then suddenly calling to five -Chickasaws who were still engaged in parceling out the booty they had -brought away from the dead bodies, he beckoned to MacDonnell, and they -set out on a line parallel with the river, in Indian file, in a long, -steady trot, the Scotchman among them, half willing, half dismayed, -repudiating with the distaste of a prosaic, unimaginative mind every -evidence of barbarism; every unaccustomed thing seemed grotesque and -uncouth, and lacking all in lacking the cachet of civilization. Each -man, as he ran lightly along that marshy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> turf, almost without noting, -as if by instinct placed his feet upon the steps of the man in advance; -thus, although seven persons passed over the ground, the largest man -coming last, the footprints would show as if but one had gone that way. -Ronald MacDonnell, quick at all military or athletic exercises, readily -achieved conformity, although the barbarous procedure compromised his -sensitive dignity, and he growled between his teeth something about a -commissioned officer and a “demented goose-step,” as if he found the -practice of the one by the other a painful derogation. The moon came -into the sky while still they sped along in this silent, crafty way, -the wind in their faces, the pervasive scents of the damp, flowery June -night filling every breath they drew with the impalpable essences of -sylvan fragrance. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - -<p>Even with the dangers that lurked at their heels, the Indians would -never leap over a log, for this was unlucky, but made long detours -around fallen trees, till Ronald MacDonnell could have belabored them -with hearty good-will, and but for the fear of capture by the savage -Cherokees, could not have restrained himself from crying aloud for rage -for the waste of precious time. He had even less patience with their -slow and respectful avoidance of stepping on a snake sinuously skirting -their way, since, according to their belief, this would provoke the -destruction of their own kindred by the serpent’s brothers; Choolah’s -warning to the other Chickasaws in the half-suppressed hiss—“<i>Seente! -Seente!</i>” (snake!) sounded far and sibilant in the quiet twilight. The -Cherokee tribe also were wont to avoid with great heed any injury to -snakes, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> spoke of them always in terms of crafty compliment as “the -bright old inhabitants.”</p> - -<p>The shadows grew darker, more definite; the moon, of a whiter glister -now, thoughtful, passive, very melancholy, illumined the long vistas -of the woods, and although verging toward the west, limited the area -of darkness that had become their protection. More than once Choolah -had glanced up doubtfully at its clear effulgence, for the sky was -unclouded and the constellations were only a vague bespanglement of -the blue deeps; coming at length to a dense covert among the blooming -laurel, he crept in among the boughs, that overhung a shallow grotto -by the river bank. MacDonnell followed his example, and the group soon -were in the cleft of the rocks under the dense shade, the Scotchman -alone among the Indians, with such dubious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> sentiments as a good hound -might entertain were he thrust, muzzled, among his natural enemies, the -bears.</p> - -<p>But the Chickasaws, as ever, were earnestly, ardently friendly to the -British. There was no surly reservation in Choolah’s mind as he reached -forth his hand and laid it upon the muscular arm of the Scotchman.</p> - -<p>“Good arm,” he said, reverting to the young Highlander’s boast. -“But—big damn—O!—good leg! Heap run!” he declared, with a -smothered laugh, like any other young man’s, much resembling indeed -the affectionate ridicule that was wont to go around the mess-table -at Ronald’s unimaginative solemnities. But even MacDonnell could -appreciate the jest at a brave man’s activities, and he laughed in -pleasant accord with the others.</p> - -<p>A scout that they had thrown out came presently creeping back under -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> boughs with the unwelcome intelligence that there was a party of -Cherokees a little higher up on the river, a small band of about a -dozen men, seeming intent on holding the ford. These were stationary, -apparently, but lower down, patrolling the banks, were groups here and -there beating the woods for stragglers, he fancied. As yet, however, -he thought they had no prisoners. Still, their suspicions of hidden -soldiers were unallayed, and they were keeping very quiet.</p> - -<p>The scout was named Oop-pa, the Owl. Although himself a warrior -of note he was of a far lower grade of Chickasaw than Choolah, in -personal quality as well as in actual rank. Instead of manifesting the -stanch courage with which the Indian Fox hearkened to this untoward -intelligence, the alert gathering of all his forces of mind and body -for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> defense and for victory, or to make his defeat and capture an -exceedingly costly and bloody triumph, Oop-pa set himself, still in the -guise of imparting news, to sullenly plaining. The Highland officer -listened heedfully for in these repeated campaigns in the valley of -the Tennessee River he had become somewhat familiar with the dialect -of the Chickasaw allies and in a degree they comprehended the sound of -the English, and thus the conversation of the little party was chiefly -held each speaking in his own tongue. The English were all across the -river, Oop-pa declared. The red-coats, and the green-coats, and the -tartan-men, and the provincial regiment—he did not believe a man of -the command was left—but them.</p> - -<p>“Well, thank God for that much grace!” exclaimed Ronald MacDonnell, -strictly limiting his gratitude; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> would render to Providence due -recognition for his own rescue when it should be accomplished. His -thankfulness, however, for the extent of the blessing vouchsafed was -very genuine. His military conscience had been sharply pricked lest he -might have lost some of his own men in the confusion of the pursuit and -the subsequent separation from the little band.</p> - -<p>Oop-pa looked at him surlily. For his own part, the Indian said, he was -tired. Let the English and French fight one another. They had left him -to be captured by the Cherokees. He needed no words. White man hated -red man. Big Colonel Grant would be glad. Proud Colonel Grant—much -prouder than an Indian,—would not care if the terrible Cherokees -tortured and burned his faithful Chickasaws. Let it be one of his own -honey plaidsmen, though, and you would see a difference! For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> haughty -Colonel Grant couldn’t abide for such little accidents to befall any of -his pampered tartan-men, whom he loved as if they were his children.</p> - -<p>With the word the world changed suddenly to Ronald MacDonnell. For -this—this fearful fate menaced him. His was not a pictorial mind, but -he had a sudden vision of a quiet house on a wild Scottish coast at -nightfall within view of the surging Atlantic, with all the decorous -habitudes about it of a kindly old home, with a window aglow, through -which he could see, as if he stood just outside, a familiar room where -there were old books and candlelight, and the flare of fire, and the -collie on the rug, and the soft young pink cheeks of sisters, and a -gray head with a pipe, intent upon the columns of a newspaper and the -last intelligence from far America,—and oh! in the ingle-nook,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> a -face sweeter for many a wrinkle, and eyes dearer for the loss of blue -beauty, and soft hands grown nerveless, whose touch nevertheless he -could feel across the ocean on his hard, weather-beaten young cheek. -It had been a long time since this manly spirit had cried back to his -mother, but it was only for a moment. If his fate came as he feared, -he hoped they might never know how it had befallen. And the picture -dissolved.</p> - -<p>He did not fail to listen to the scornful reproaches with which Choolah -upbraided Oop-pa. He had been left because he had lingered to rob the -slain Cherokees. Look at the load there of hunting-shirts and blankets, -and yes, even a plaid or two from a dead Highlander, that he had borne -with him on his back from the field of battle; it was his avarice that -had belated him. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> - -<p>And what then, Oop-pa retorted, had belated Choolah and the Highland -officer? They had brought away nothing but their own hides, which they -were at liberty to offer to the Cherokees, as early as they might.</p> - -<p>The freedom of Oop-pa’s tongue was resented as evidently by Choolah -as by Ronald, but the <i>Etissu</i> occupied a semi-sacerdotal position -toward the chief, a war-captain, the decrees of whose religion would -not suffer him to touch a morsel of food or a drop of drink while -on the war-path unless administered by the <i>Etissu</i>. The utmost -abstemiousness was preserved among the Chickasaws throughout, and it -continued a marvel to the British troops how men could march or fight -so ill-nourished, practicing all the fasting austerities of religious -observances. There were many similar customs implying consecration to -war as holy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> duty, but they were gradually becoming modified by the -introduction of foreign influences, for formerly the Indians would -not have suffered among them on the march the unsanctified presence -of a stranger like Ronald MacDonnell. He said naught in reply to the -<i>Etissu</i>. His mind was grimly preoccupied. He was busied with the -realization of how strong he was, how very strong. These lithe Indians, -with all their supple elasticity, their activity, had no such staying -power as he, no such muscular vitality. He was thinking what resources -of anguish his stalwart physique offered for the hideous sport of the -torture; how his stanch flesh would resist. How long, how long dying he -would be!</p> - -<p>The terrors of capture by the Cherokees had been by Grant’s orders -described again and again to the troops to keep the rank and file -constant to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> duty, close in camp, vigilant on outpost, and alert to -respond to the call to arms. Never, as Ronald righteously repeated -this grim detail, had he imagined he would ever be in case to remember -it with a personal application. He now protested inwardly that he -could die like a soldier. Even from the extremity of physical anguish -he had never shrunk. But the hideous prospect of the malice of human -fiends wreaked for hours and hours upon every quivering nerve, upon -every sensitive fiber, with the wonderful ingenuity for which the -Cherokees were famous, made him secretly wince as he crouched there -among the friendly Chickasaws, beneath the boughs of the rhododendron -splendidly a-bloom in the moonlight, while the rich, pearly glamours -of the broken disk sunk down and down the sky, and the dew glimmered -on the full-fleshed leaves, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> through them a silver glitter from -the Tennessee River hard by struck his eye, and a break in the woods, -where the channel curved, showed the contour of a dome of the Great -Smoky Mountains limiting the instarred heavens. As he looked out from -the covert of the laurel—his flaxen hair visible here and there in -rings on his sunburned forehead, from which his blue bonnet was pushed -back; his strongly marked high features, hardly so immobile as was -their wont; his belt, his plaid, his claymore, all the details of that -ancient martial garb, readjusted with military precision since the -fight; his long, rawboned figure, lean and muscular, but nevertheless -with a suggestion of the roundness of youth, half reclining, supported -on one arm—the Indian gazed at him with questioning intentness.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Choolah spoke. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> - -<p>“<i>Angona</i>,” (friend) he said, with a poignant note of distrust, “you -have a thought in your mind.”</p> - -<p>It was seldom indeed, that Ronald MacDonnell could have been thus -accused. He changed color a trifle, although he said, hastily, “Oh, no, -my good man, not at all—not at all!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Angona! Angona!</i>” cried Choolah, in reproach.</p> - -<p>Perhaps a definite recognition of this thought in his mind came to -MacDonnell with the fear that the Chickasaw, who so easily discerned -it, would presently read it. “The fearsome Fox that he is,” thought -Ronald with an almost superstitious thrill at his heart.</p> - -<p>Naturally he could not know how open was that frank face of his, -and that the keen discernment of the savage, though perceiving the -presence of the withheld thought, was yet inadequate to translate -its meaning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> This thought was one which he would in no wise share -with Choolah. MacDonnell’s most coherent mental process was always -of a military trend; without a definite effort of discrimination, or -even voluntarily reverting to the events of the day, it had suddenly -occurred to him that the Cherokee with the essential improvidence of -the Indian nature, could not have developed that plan of attack on the -provision train, so determined and definitely designed, so difficult -to repulse, so repeated, renewed again and again with a desperation of -the extremest sacrifice to the end. And small wonder! Its success would -have involved the practical destruction of Grant’s whole army. Hundreds -of miles distant from any sufficient base of supplies, the provision -train was the life of the expedition. The beef-herds to be subsequently -driven out from the province to Fort Prince George<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> for the use of -the army were to be timed with a view to the gradual consumption of -the provisions already furnished, and to communicate by messenger to -Charlestown, now distant nearly four hundred miles, the disaster of the -capture of stores would obviously involve a delay fatal to the troops.</p> - -<p>The Indians, however, were a hand-to-mouth nation. Subsisting on the -chances of game in their long hunts and marches, enduring in its -default incredible rigors of hunger as a matter of course, sustaining -life and even strength when in hard luck by roots and fruits and -nuts, they could not have realized the value of the provision train -to civilized troops who must needs have beef and bacon, flour and -tobacco, soap and medicine—or they cannot fight. There was but one -explanation—French officers were among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> the Cherokees and directed -these demonstrations. Their presence had been earlier suspected, and -this, Ronald thought, was indisputable proof. The strange selection -of the ground where in the previous year the Cherokees had massed in -force and given battle to Colonel Montgomery’s troops had occasioned -much surprise, and later the same phenomenon occurred in their -engagements with Colonel Grant. It seemed to amount to an exhibition -of an intuitive military genius. No great captain of Europe, it was -said, could have acted with finer discernment of the opportunities and -the dangers, could with greater acumen have avoided and nullified the -risks. But Colonel Grant, who was always loath to accord credit to -aught but military science, believed the ground was chosen by men who -had studied the tactics of the great <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>captains of Europe, and although -he had learned to beware of the wily devices of the savage, and to meet -his masked fire with skulking scouts and native allies, fighting in -their own way, he preserved all the precise tactical methods in which -he had been educated, and kept a sharp edge on his expectation for the -warlike feints and strategy of the equally trained French officer.</p> - -<p>If he could only meet one now, Ronald MacDonnell was thinking. In case -it should prove impossible to cross the river and rejoin his command, -if he could only surrender to Johnny Crapaud!</p> - -<p>To be sure the creature spoke French and ate frogs! More heinous -still he was always a Romanist, and diatribes on the wicked sorceries -and idolatries of papistry had been hurled through MacDonnell’s -consciousness from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> Presbyterian pulpit since his earliest -recollection. But a soldier, a French officer—surely he would be -acquainted with higher methods than the barbarities of the savage; he -would be instructed in the humanities, subject to those amenities which -in all civilized countries protect a prisoner of war. Surely he would -not stand by and see a fellow-soldier—a white man, a Christian, like -himself—put to the torture and the stake. And if his authority could -not avail for protection—“I’d beg a bullet of him; in charity he could -not deny me that!” If the opportunity were but vouchsafed, MacDonnell -resolved to appeal to the Frenchman by every sanction that can control -a gentleman, by their fellow feeling as soldiers, by the bond of their -common religion. He hesitated a moment, realizing a certain hiatus -here, a gulf—and then he reconciled all things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> with a triumphant -stroke of potent logic. “They may call it idolatry or Mariolatry, if -they want to,—but I never heard anybody deny that the Lord <i>did</i> have -a mother. And it’s a mighty good thing to have!”</p> - -<p>This was the thought in his mind—the chance, the hope of surrendering -to a French officer.</p> - -<p>The stir of the Indians recalled him. The moon was lower in the sky, -sinking further and further toward that great purple dome of the -many summits of the Great Smoky Mountains. All the glistening lines -of light upon the landscape—the glossy foliage, the shining river, -the shimmering mists—seemed drawn along as if some fine-spun seine, -some glittering enmeshment were being hauled into the boat-shaped -moon, still rocking and riding the waves off the headlands that the -serrated mountains thrust forth like a coast-line on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> seas of the -sky. Now and again the voices of creatures of prey—wolves, panthers, -wildcats—came shrilly snarling through the summer night from the deep -interior of the woods, where they wrangled over the gain that the -battle had wrought for them in the slain of horses and men,—of the -Cherokee force doubtless; MacDonnell had scarcely a fear that these -were of Grant’s command, for that officer’s care for such protection of -his dead as was possible was always immediate and peculiarly marked, -and it was his habit to have the bodies sunk with great weights into -the rivers to prevent the scalping of them by the Cherokees. Ronald -wearied of the melancholy hours, the long, long night, although light -would have but added dangers of discovery. It was the lagging time he -would hasten, would fain stride into the future and security, so did -the suspense<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> wear on his nerves. It told heavily even on the Indian, -and Ronald felt a certain sympathy when Choolah’s half-suppressed voice -greeted the scout, creeping into the grotto once more, with the wistful -inquiry, “<i>Onna He-tak?</i>” (Is it day?)</p> - -<p>But the news that the <i>Etissu</i> brought was not indeed concerned with -the hour. In his opinion, they would all soon have little enough to do -with time. His intelligence was in truth alarming. While the Cherokees -patrolling the river had gradually withdrawn to the interior of the -forest and disappeared, those at the ford above were suspiciously -astir. They had received evidently some intimation of the presence here -of the lurking Chickasaws, and were on the watch. To seek to flee would -precipitate an instant attack; to escape hence would be merely to fall -into the hands of the marauders in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> the forest beyond; to plunge into -the Tennessee River would furnish a floating target for the unerring -marksmen. Yet the crisis was immediate.</p> - -<p>Choolah suddenly raised the hand of authority.</p> - -<p>Ronald MacDonnell had seen much service, and had traveled far out of -the beaten paths of life. He was born a gentleman of good means and -of long descent—for if the MacDonnells were to be believed, Adam -was hardly a patch upon the antiquity of the great Clan-Colla. He -had already made an excellent record in his profession. It seemed to -him the veriest reversal of all the probabilities that he should now -be called upon to take his orders from Choolah the Fox, the savage -Chickasaw. Yet he felt no immediate vocation for the command, had it -been within his reach. With all his military talent and training he -could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> devise no other resource than to withstand the attack of the -larger party with half their number; to swim the river, and drown there -with a musket-ball in his brain; to flee into the woods to certain -capture. He watched, therefore, with intensest curiosity the movements -of the men under Choolah’s direction. The moon was now very low, the -light golden, dully burnished, far-striking, with a long shadow. First -one, then another of the Chickasaws showed themselves openly upon -the bank of the river in a clear space high above the current of the -water. Choolah beckoned to the Scotchman, and MacDonnell alertly sprang -to his feet and joined the wily tactician without a question, aware -that he was assisting to baffle the terrible enemy. His bonnet, his -fluttering plaid, his swinging claymore, his great muscular height and -long stride, all defined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> in the moonlight against the soft sky and the -mountains beyond, were enough to acquaint the watching Cherokees with -the welcome fact that here was not only an enemy but a white man of the -Highland battalion, the friends of the Chickasaw. The artful Chickasaws -swiftly and confusedly came and went from the densities of the laurel. -Impossible it would have been for the Cherokees to judge definitely of -their numbers, so quickly did they appear and disappear and succeed one -another. Thus cleverly the attack was postponed.</p> - -<p>Ronald MacDonnell gave full credit to the strategy of Choolah. For -it would now seem—it needs must—that their little party no longer -feared the enemies in the quiet woods! They must have presumed the -Cherokees all gone! The Chickasaws were building a fire since the moon -was sinking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> Probably they felt they could not lie down to sleep -without its protection and wolves very near in the woods. Listen to -that shrill, blood-curdling cry! They were surely disposing themselves -to rest! Already as the blaze began to leap up and show in the water -of the river below like a great red jewel, with the deep crystalline -lusters of a many-faceted ruby, figures might be seen by the flare of -the mounting flames, recumbent on the ground, wrapped in blankets; here -and there was tartan, an end of the plaid thrown over the face as the -Highlanders always slept; here and there a hunting-shirt and leggings -were plainly visible—all lying like the spokes of a wheel around the -central point of the fire.</p> - -<p>“It is only the Muscogees who sleep in line,” Choolah explained to -MacDonnell, who had criticised the disposition. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> - -<p>The crafty Cherokees, stealthily approaching ever nearer and nearer, -had not seen in the first feeble glimmers of the flames the figures of -the seven men crawling gingerly back to the grotto in the covert of -the laurel, leaving around the fire merely billets of wood arrayed in -the blankets and stolen gear which the Owl had brought off from the -battle-field.</p> - -<p>“But I am always in the wrong,” plained Oop-pa, sarcastically. “What -would you and the big tartan-man have to dress those warriors in if I -had not stayed for my goods?”</p> - -<p>MacDonnell had urged his scruples. This was hardly according to the -rules of war. “But if the Cherokees fire on sleeping men,” he argued—</p> - -<p>“<i>Angona</i>,” the wily Chickasaw assured him, suavely, “they are -disarmed. We can rush out and overpower them before they can load.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> - -<p>“They ought to be able to fire three times to the minute,” thought -MacDonnell, who was a good drill.</p> - -<p>But the Cherokees were not held to the rigorous manual of arms, and did -not attain to that degree of dexterity considered excellent efficiency -in that day although a breech-loading musket invented by Colonel -Patrick Ferguson, who met his death at King’s Mountain, was capable of -being fired seven times a minute, and was used not many years after -these events, with destructive effect, by his own command at the battle -of the Brandywine, in 1777.</p> - -<p>MacDonnell, lying prone on the ground in the laurel, his face barely -lifted, saw the last segment of the moon slip down behind the great -mountain, the following mists glister in the after-glow and fade, a -soft, dull shadow drop upon the landscape then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> sink to darkness, and -in the blaze of the fire a quivering feather-crested head protrude -above the river-bank. There were other crafty approaches—here, there, -the woods seemed alive! Suddenly an alien flare of light, a series of -funnel-shaped evanescent darts, the simultaneous crack of a volley, and -a dozen swift figures dashed to the scalping of their victims by the -fire—to lay hold on the logs in the likeness of sleeping men, to break -a knife in the hard fibers of one that seemed to stir, to cry aloud, -inarticulate, wild, frenzied in rage, in amaze, in grief, to find -themselves at the mercy of the Chickasaws darting out from the laurel!</p> - -<p>There was a tumultuous rush, then a frantic, futile attempt to reload; -two or three of the prisoners wielding knives with undue effect were -shot down, and Choolah, triumphant, majestic in victory, stately, -erect, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> crown of tall white swan’s feathers, his glittering fringes -of roanoke, the red and blue of his glossy war-paint, all revealed by -the flaring fire, waved his hand to his “<i>Angona</i>” to call upon him to -admire his prowess in battle.</p> - -<p>The next moment his attention was caught by a sudden swift alarm in the -face of one of the Cherokees, a faraway glance that the wily Choolah -followed with his quick eye. Something had happened at the camp the -Cherokees had abandoned—was there still movement there?</p> - -<p>It was some one who had been away, returning, startled to see the -bivouac fire sunken to an ember,—for the Cherokees had let it die out -to further the advantages of the attack,—then evidently reassured to -note the flare a little further down the stream, as if the camp had -been shifted for some reason. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> - -<p>Choolah drew his primed and loaded pistol. No Cherokee, however, -would have dared to venture a warning sign. And Ronald MacDonnell, -with what feelings he could hardly analyze, could never describe, saw -leaping along the jagged bank of the river toward them a white man, -young, active, wearing a gayly-fringed hunting-shirt and leggings of -buckskin, but a military hat and the gorget of a French officer. He was -among them before he saw his mistake—his fatal mistake! The delighted -shrieks of the Chickasaws overpowered every sense, filling the woods -with their fierce shrill joy and seeming to strike against the very -sky, “<i>French! hottuk ook-proo-se!</i>” (The accursed people!)</p> - -<p>All thought of caution, all fears of wandering Cherokees were lost -in the supreme ecstasy of their triumph—the capture of one of the -detested French,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> that the tribe had hated with an inconceivable and -savage rancor for generations.</p> - -<p>“<i>Shukapa! Shukapa!</i>” (Swine-eater!) they exclaimed in disgust and -derision, for the aversion of the Indians to pork was equaled only by -that of the Jews, and this was an extreme expression of contempt.</p> - -<p>The captive was handled rudely enough in the process of disarming him, -which the Owl and Choolah accomplished, while his Cherokees stood at -the muzzles of the firelocks of the others. There was blood on his -face and hands as he turned a glance on the Scotchman. He uttered a -few eager words in French, unintelligible to MacDonnell save the civil -preface, “<i>Pardon, Monsieur, mais puis-je vous demander—</i>”</p> - -<p>The rest of the sentence was lost in the fierce derisive shrieks of -the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>Chickasaws recognizing the inflections of the detested language, -“<i>Seente soolish! Seente soolish!</i>” (snake’s tongue!) they vociferated.</p> - -<p>But had the conclusion of the request been audible it would have been -incomprehensible to Ronald MacDonnell.</p> - -<p>The impassive Highlander silently shook his head, and a certain fixity -of despair settled on the face of the French officer. It was a young -face—he seemed not more than twenty-five, MacDonnell thought. It was -narrow, delicately molded, with very bright eyes, that had a sort of -youthful daring in them—adventurous looking eyes. They were gray, with -long black lashes and strongly defined eyebrows. His complexion was of -a clear healthy pallor, his hair dark but a trifle rough, and braided -in the usual queue. So often did Ronald<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> MacDonnell have to describe -this man, both on paper and off, that every detail of his appearance -grew very familiar to him. The stranger’s lips were red and full, and -the upper one was short and curving; he did not laugh or smile, of -course, but he showed narrow white teeth, for now and again he gasped -as if for breath, and more than once that sensitive upper lip quivered. -Not that Ronald MacDonnell ever gave the portraiture in this simple -wise, for his descriptions were long and involved, minute and yet -vague, and proved the despair of all interested in fixing the identity -of the man; but gleaning from his accounts this is the way the stranger -must have appeared to the young Scotchman. His figure was tall and -lightly built, promising more activity than muscular force, and while -one hand was held on the buckle of his belt, the left went continually -to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> hilt of a sword, <i>which he did not wear</i>, but the habit was -betrayed by this gesture. There was nothing about him to intimate his -rank, beyond the gorget, and on this point Ronald MacDonnell could -never give any satisfaction.</p> - -<p>The Indian is seldom immoderate in laughter, but Choolah could not -restrain his wicked mirth to discover that the two officers could -not speak to each other. And yet the pale-faces were so often amazed -that the Cherokees and the Chickasaws and the Creeks had not the same -language, as if a variety of tongues were thrown away on the poor -Indian, who might well be expected to put up with one speech! For only -the Chickasaw and Choctaw dialects were inter-comprehensible, both -tribes being descended, it is said, from the ancient Chickemicaws, -and in fact much of the variation in their speech was but a matter -of intonation. The tears of mirth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> stood in Choolah’s eyes. He held -his hand to his side—he could scarcely calm himself, even when he -discerned a special utility in this lack of a medium of communication, -for the enterprising scout came back once more to say that there were -some Chickasaws lower down on the river, where the ford was better. -Choolah received this assurance with most uncommon demonstrations -of pleasure, evidently desiring their assistance in guarding the -prisoners to Grant’s camp, being ambitious of securing the commander’s -commendation and intending to afford ocular proof of his exploit by -exhibiting the number of his captives. But MacDonnell detected a high -note of elation in Choolah’s voice which no mere pride could evoke, -and he recognized a danger signal. He instantly bethought himself -of the fate at the hands of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> Chickasaws, more than a score of -years before, of the gallant D’Artaguette, the younger, and his brave -lieutenant Vincennes, burned at the stake by slow fires, after their -unhappy defeat at the fortified town, <i>Ash-wick-boo-ma</i> (Red Grass), -the noble Jesuit, Sénat, sharing their death, although he might have -escaped, remaining to comfort their last moments with his ghostly -counsels.</p> - -<p>MacDonnell listened as warily to the talk as he might, and although -Choolah said no more than was eminently natural in planning to turn -over his prisoners to these Chickasaws by reason of their superior -numbers, MacDonnell’s alert sense detected the same vibration when he -expressed his decision to leave the <i>Etissu</i> and the Highland officer -to guard the Frenchman till his return. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then we will together cross the Tennessee river here,” he said.</p> - -<p>MacDonnell yawned widely as he nodded his head, his hand over his -stretched mouth and shielding his face. He would not trust its -expression to the discerning Choolah, for he had again that infrequent -guest, “a thought in his mind.”</p> - -<p>In truth, Choolah had no intention to take the Frenchman to Grant’s -camp. The praise he would receive as a reward was a petty consideration -indeed as compared with the delights of torturing and burning so rare, -so choice a victim as a French officer. To be sure his excuse must be -good and devised betimes, for Colonel Grant was squeamish and queer, -objecting to the scalping and burning of prisoners, and seemed indeed -at times of a weak stomach in regard to such details. And that came -about naturally enough. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> did not fast, as behooves a war-captain. -He ate too much on the war-path. He had two cooks! He had also a man -to dress his hair, and another to groom his horse. Naturally his heart -had softened, and he was averse to the stern pleasures of recompensing -an enemy with the anguish of the stake. This Choolah intended to -enjoy, summoning the Chickasaws at the ford below to the scene of his -triumph. Besides it requires a number of able-bodied assistants to -properly roast in wet weather a vigorous and protesting captive. The -Scotchman should suspect naught until his return. True, he might not -object, for were not the French as ever the inveterate enemies of the -English? But if he should it could avail naught against the will of a -round dozen or more of Chickasaws. Besides, was not the prisoner of the -detested nation of the French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>—<i>Nana-Ubat</i>? (Nothings and brothers to -nothing.) Nevertheless, it was well they could not speak to each other -and possibly canvass fears and offer persuasions. He could spare only -one man, the scout, to aid in the watch, but he felt quite assured. -Ronald MacDonnell was always notoriously vigilant and exacting, and -was held in great fear by guards and outposts and sentinels, for often -his rounds were attended by casualties in the way of reprimand, and -arrests, and guard-tent sojourns and discipline. Choolah felt quite -safe as he set off at a brisk pace with his squad of four Chickasaws, -driving the disarmed Cherokees, silent and sullen, before him.</p> - -<p>They were hardly out of sight when MacDonnell, kicking the enveloping -blanket out of the way, sat down on one of the logs by the fire and -spread his big bony hands out to the blaze.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> It was growing chill; -the June night was wearing on toward the dawn; it was that hour of -reduced vitality when hope seems of least value, and the blood runs -low, and conscience grows keen, and the future and the past bear -heavily alike on the present. The prisoner was shivering slightly. -He glanced expectantly at the Scotchman’s impassive countenance. No -man knew better than Ronald MacDonnell the churlishness of a lack of -consideration of the comfort of others in small matters. No man could -offer little attentions more genially. They comported essentially with -his evident breeding, and his rank in the army; once more the prisoner -looked expectantly at him, and then, wounded, like a Frenchman, as -for a host’s lack of consideration, he sat down on a log uninvited, -casting but one absent glance, from which curiosity seemed expunged, -at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> the effigies which explained how the Cherokees came to their fate. -It mattered little now, his emotional, sensitive face said. Naught -mattered! Naught! Naught!</p> - -<p>In the sudden nervous shock his vitality was at its lowest ebb. He -could not spread his hands to the blaze, for his arms had been pinioned -cruelly tight. He shivered again, for the fire was low. MacDonnell -noticed it, but he did not stir; perhaps he thought Johnny Crapaud -would soon find the fire hot enough. The scout himself mended it, as -he sat tailorwise on the ground between the other two men. Now and -again the <i>Etissu</i> gazed at MacDonnell’s impassive, rather lowering -countenance, with a certain awe; if he had expected the officer to show -the squeamishness which Colonel Grant developed in such matters, or any -pity, he was mistaken; then he looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> with curiosity at the Frenchman. -The prisoner’s lips were vaguely moving, and Ronald MacDonnell -caught a suggestion of the sound—half-whispered words, not French, -or he would not have understood; Latin!—paters and aves! As he had -expected—frogs, papistry, French, and fool!</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” the Highland officer said, so suddenly that the scout -started in affright.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” said the Indian; “the wind, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“Sticks cracking in the laurel—a bear, perhaps,” suggested MacDonnell, -taking up a loaded musket and laying it across his knee. Then “Only a -bear,” he repeated reassuringly.</p> - -<p>“Choolah ought to leave more men here,” said the <i>Etissu</i>.</p> - -<p>“It’s nothing!” declared MacDonnell, rising and looking warily about. -“Perhaps Choolah on his way back.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> - -<p>The scout was true to his vagrant tendencies, or perhaps because of -those tendencies he felt himself safer in the dense, impenetrable -jungle, crawling along flat like a lizard or a snake, than seated -perched up here on a bluff by a flaring camp-fire with only two other -men, a mark for “Brown Bess”—the Cherokees were all armed with British -muskets, although they were in revolt, and perhaps it was one reason -why they were in revolt—for many a yard up and down the Tennessee -River. “I go see,” he suggested.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” said MacDonnell, “only a bear.”</p> - -<p>“I come back soon,” declared the <i>Etissu</i>, half crouching and gazing -about, “soon, soon. <i>Alooska, Ko-e-u-que-ho.</i>” (I do not lie, I do not -indeed.)</p> - -<p>MacDonnell lifted his head and gazed about with a frowning mien of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> -reluctance “<i>Maia cha!</i>” (Go along) he said at last. Then called out, -“Come back <i>soon</i>,” as his attention returned to the priming and -loading of a pistol which he had in progress. “Soon! remember!”</p> - -<p>The scout was off like a rabbit. For a moment or two MacDonnell did not -lift his eyes, while they heard him crashing through the thicket. Then -as he looked up he met the dull despair in the face of the bound and -helpless Frenchman. It mattered little to him who came, who went. He -gasped suddenly in amazement. The Highland officer was gazing at him -with a genial, boyish smile, reassuring, almost tender.</p> - -<p>“Run, now, run for your life!” he said, leaning forward, and with a -pass or two of a knife he severed the prisoner’s bonds.</p> - -<p>In the revulsion of feeling the man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> seemed scarcely able to rise to -his feet. There were tears in his eyes; his face quivered as he looked -at his deliverer.</p> - -<p>“Danger—big fire—burn,” said the astute MacDonnell, as if the English -words thus detached were more comprehensible to the French limitations. -Perhaps his gestures aided their effect, and as he held out his hand -in his whole-souled, genial way, the Frenchman grasped it in a hard -grip of fervent gratitude and started off swiftly. The next moment the -young officer turned back, caught the British soldier in his arms, and -to MacDonnell’s everlasting consternation kissed him in the foreign -fashion, first on one cheek and then on the other.</p> - -<p>Ronald MacDonnell’s mess often preyed upon the disclosures which his -open, ingenuous nature afforded them. But his simplicity stopped far -short of revealing to them this Gallic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>demonstration of gratitude—so -exquisitely ludicrous it seemed to his unemotional methods and mind. -They were debarred the pleasure of racking him on this circumstance. -They never knew it. He disclosed it only years afterward, and then by -accident, to a member of his own family.</p> - -<p>The whole affair seemed to the mess serious enough. For the Chickasaws, -baffled and furious, had threatened his life on their return, -reinforced by a dozen excited, elated, expectant tribesmen, laden with -light wood and a chain, to find their prisoner gone. But after the -first wild outburst of rage and despair Choolah, although evidently -strongly tempted to force the Highlander to the fate from which he had -rescued the French officer, resolved to preserve the integrity of his -nation’s pledge of amity with the British, and restrained his men from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> -offering injury. This was rendered the more acceptable to him, as with -his alert craft he perceived a keen retribution for Ronald MacDonnell -in the displeasure of his commanding officer, for the Chickasaws well -understood the discipline of the army, which they chose to disregard. -To better enlist the prejudice of Colonel Grant, Choolah was preparing -himself to distort the facts. He upbraided Ronald MacDonnell with -causelessly liberating a prisoner, a Frenchman and an officer, taken -by the wily exploit of another. As to the dry wood, he said, the -Chickasaws had merely brought some drift, long stranded in a cave by -the waterside, to replenish the fire, kindled with how great difficulty -in the soaking condition of the forests the Lieutenant well knew.</p> - -<p>“Hout!—just now when we are about to cross the river?” cried Ronald,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> -unmasking the subterfuge. “And for what then that stout chain?”</p> - -<p>The chain, Choolah protested, was but part of the equipment of one of -the pack animals that had broken away and had been plundered by the -Cherokees. Did the Lieutenant Plaidman think he wanted to chain the -prisoner to the stake to burn? He had had no dream of such a thing! -It was not the custom of the Chickasaws to waste so much time on a -prisoner. It was sufficient to cut him up in quarters; that usually -killed him dead,—quite dead enough! But if the Lieutenant had had a -chain, since he knew so well the use of one, doubtless he himself would -have joyed to burn the prisoner, provided it had been his own exploit -that had taken him,—for did not the Carolinians of the provincial -regiment say that when the Tartan men were at home they were as wild -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> as uncivilized as the wildest Cherokee savage!</p> - -<p>“<i>Holauba! Holauba! Feenah!</i>” (It is a lie. It is a lie, undoubtedly), -cried the phlegmatic MacDonnell, excited to a frenzy. He spoke in the -Chickasaw language, that the insult might be understood as offered with -full intention.</p> - -<p>But Choolah did not thus receive it. In the simplicity of savage -life lies are admittedly the natural incidents of conversation. He -addressed himself anew to argument. At home the Tartan men lived -in mountains,—just like the Cherokees,—and no wonder they were -undismayed by the war whoops—they had heard the like before! Savages -themselves! They had a language, too, that the Carolinians could -not speak; he himself had heard it among the Highlanders of Grant’s -camp—doubtless it was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> Cherokee tongue, for they were mere -Cherokees!</p> - -<p>“<i>Holauba! Holauba! Feenah!</i>” No denial could be more definite than the -tone and the words embodied.</p> - -<p>The wily Choolah, maliciously delighted with his power to pierce the -heart of the proud Scotchman thus, turned the knife anew. Did not the -provincials declare that the Highlanders at home were always beaten in -war, as they would be here but for the help of the Carolinians?</p> - -<p>“<i>Holauba! Holauba! Feenah!</i>” protested Ronald resolutely, thinking of -Preston Pans and Falkirk.</p> - -<p>For the usual emulous bickering between regulars and provincials, -which seems concomitant with every war, had appeared in full force in -this expedition, the provincials afterward claiming that but for them -and their Indian allies no remnant of the British force<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> would have -returned alive; and the regulars declaring that the Carolinians knew -nothing, and could learn nothing of discipline and method in warfare, -laying great stress on the fact that this was the second campaign to -which the British soldiers had been summoned for the protection of -the province, which could not without them defend itself against the -Cherokees, and assuming the entire credit of the subjugation of that -warlike tribe that had for nearly a century past desolated at intervals -the Carolina borders.</p> - -<p>Although it had been Choolah’s hope that, by means of provoking against -the Lieutenant the displeasure of his superior officer, he might -revenge himself upon MacDonnell, for snatching from the Chickasaws the -peculiar racial delight of torturing the French prisoner, the Indians -had no anticipation of the gravity of the crisis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> when they came to -the camp with the details of the occurrence, which, to Colonel Grant’s -annoyance, tallied with MacDonnell’s own report of himself.</p> - -<p>For there was a question in Colonel Grant’s mind whether the prisoner -were not the redoubtable Louis Latinac, who had been so incredibly -efficient in the French interest in this region, and who had done more -to excite the enmity of the Cherokees against their quondam allies, the -British, and harass his Majesty’s troops than a regiment of other men -could accomplish. When Grant tended to this opinion, a court-martial -seemed impending over the head of the young officer.</p> - -<p>“What was your reason for this extraordinary course?” Colonel Grant -asked.</p> - -<p>And Ronald MacDonnell answered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> that he had granted to his prisoner -exactly what he had intended to demand of his captor had the situation -been reversed—to adjure him by their fellow feeling as soldiers, by -the customs of civilized warfare, by the bond of a common religion, to -save him from torture by savages.</p> - -<p>“Can a gentleman give less than he would ask?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>And when Colonel Grant would urge that he should have trusted to his -authority to protect the prisoner, Ronald would meet the argument with -the counter-argument that the Indians respected no authority, and in -cases of fire it would not do to take chances.</p> - -<p>“Why did you not at least exact a parole?”</p> - -<p>“Lord, sir, we couldn’t talk at all!” said Ronald, conclusively. “In -common humanity, I was obliged to release him or shoot him, and I -could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> not shoot an unarmed prisoner to save my life—not if I were to -be shot for it myself.”</p> - -<p>Lieutenant-Colonel Grant’s heart was well known to be soft in spots. He -has put it upon record in the previous campaign against the Cherokees -that he could not help pitying them a little in the destruction of -their homes,—it is said, however, that after this later expedition -his name was incorporated in the Cherokee language as a synonym of -devastation and a cry of warning. He was overcome by the considerations -urged upon him by the Lieutenant until once more the possibility loomed -upon the horizon that it was Louis Latinac who had escaped him, when -he would feel that nothing but Ronald MacDonnell’s best heart’s blood -could atone for the release. To set this much vexed question at rest -the young officer was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> repeatedly required to describe the personal -appearance of the stranger, and thus it was that poor Ronald’s verbal -limitations were brought so conspicuously forward. “A fine man,” -he would say one day, and in giving the details of that sensitive -emotional countenance which had so engaged his interest that momentous -night—its force, its suggestiveness, its bright, alert young eyes, -would intimate that he had indeed held the motive power of the Cherokee -war in his hand, and had heedlessly loosed it as a child might release -a butterfly. The next day “a braw callant” was about the sum of his -conclusions, and Colonel Grant would be certain that the incident -represented no greater matter than the escape of a brisk subaltern, -like Ronald himself. In the course of Colonel Grant’s anxious -vacillations of opinion, the young Highlander<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> was given to understand -that he would be instantly placed under arrest, but for the fact that -every officer of experience was urgently needed. And indeed Colonel -Grant presently had his hands quite full, fighting a furious battle -only the ensuing day with the entire Cherokee nation.</p> - -<p>The Indians attacked his outposts at eight o’clock in the morning, -and with their full strength engaged the main body, fighting in their -individual, skulking, masked manner, but with fierce persistency -for three hours; then the heat of the conflict began to gradually -wane, although they did not finally draw off till two o’clock in the -afternoon. It was the last struggle of the Cherokee war. Helpless or -desperate, the Indians watched without so much as a shot from ambush -the desolation of their country. For thirty days Colonel Grant’s -forces remained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> among the fastnesses of the Great Smoky Mountains, -devastating those beautiful valleys, burning “the astonishing magazines -of corn,” and the towns, which Grant states, were so “agreeably -situated, the houses neatly built.” Often the troops were constrained -to march under the beetling heights of those stupendous ranges, whence -one might imagine a sharp musketry fire would have destroyed the dense -columns, almost to the last man. Perhaps the inability of the French to -furnish the Cherokees with the requisite ammunition for this campaign -may explain the abandonment of a region so calculated for effective -defense.</p> - -<p>Aside from the losses in slain and wounded in the engagement, the -expeditionary force suffered much, for the hardships of the campaign -were extreme. Having extended the frontier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> westward by seventy -miles, and withdrawing slowly, in view of the gradual exhaustion of -his supplies, Colonel Grant found the feet of his infantry so mangled -by the long and continuous marches in the rugged country west of the -Great Smoky Mountains that he was forced to go into permanent camp on -returning to Fort Prince George, to permit the rest and recovery of the -soldiers, who in fact could march no further, as well as to await some -action on the part of the Cherokee rulers looking to the conclusion of -a peace.</p> - -<p>A delegation of chiefs presently sought audience of him here and agreed -to all the stipulations of the treaty formulated in behalf of the -province except one, viz., that four Cherokees should be delivered up -to be put to death in the presence of Colonel Grant’s army, or that -four green scalps should be brought to him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> within the space of twelve -nights. With this article the chiefs declared they had neither the will -nor the power to comply,—and very queerly indeed, it reads at this -late day!</p> - -<p>Colonel Grant, perhaps willing to elude the enforcement of so -unpleasant a requisition, conceived that it lay within his duty to -forward the delegation, under escort, to Charlestown to seek to induce -Governor Bull to mitigate its rigor.</p> - -<p>It was in this connection that he alluded again to the release of the -prisoner, captured in the exploit of Choolah, the Chickasaw, although -in conversation with his officers he seemed to Ronald MacDonnell to be -speaking only of the impracticable stipulation of the treaty, and his -certainty that compliance would not be required of the Cherokees by the -Governor—and in fact the terms finally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> signed at Charlestown, on the -10th of December of that year, were thus moderated, leaving the compact -practically the same as in the previous treaty of 1759.</p> - -<p>“I could agree to no such stipulation if the case were mine,” Colonel -Grant declared, “that four of my soldiers, as a mere matter of -intimidation, should be surrendered to be executed in the presence -of the enemy! Certainly, as a gentleman and a soldier, a man cannot -require of an enemy more than he himself would be justified in yielding -if the circumstances were reversed, or grant to an enemy less favor -than he himself could rightfully ask at his hands.”</p> - -<p>Ronald MacDonnell had forgotten his own expression of this sentiment. -It appealed freshly to him, and he thought it decidedly fine. He did -not recognize a flag of truce except as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> veritable visible white rag, -and from time to time he experienced much surprise that Colonel Grant -did not order him under arrest as a preliminary to a court martial.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY<br />AND SONS COMPANY AT THE<br />LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.</p> - -<div lang='en' xml:lang='en'> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK <span lang='' xml:lang=''>THE BUSHWHACKERS & OTHER STORIES</span> ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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