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diff --git a/76600-h/76600-h.htm b/76600-h/76600-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..284823e --- /dev/null +++ b/76600-h/76600-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8332 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The story of Keedon Bluffs | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +a { + text-decoration: none; +} + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +h2.nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +hr.chap { + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + clear: both; + width: 65%; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +img.w100 { + width: 100%; +} + +div.chapter { + page-break-before: always; +} + +ul { + margin: 0 0 0 2em; + padding: 0; + list-style-type: none; +} + +li { + margin-top: .25em; + padding-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em; +} + +li.prep { + padding-left: 8em; + text-indent: -2em; +} + +p { + margin-top: 0.5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +.box { + margin: auto; + max-width: 25em; + border: thin solid black; + padding: 1em; +} + +.center { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.gothic { + font-family: 'Old English Text MT', 'Old English', serif; +} + +p.hanging, div.hanging p { + padding-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em; +} + +.larger { + font-size: 150%; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + right: 4%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; +} + +.poetry-container { + text-align: center; +} + +.poetry { + display: inline-block; + text-align: left; +} + +.poetry .stanza { + margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; +} + +.poetry .verse { + padding-left: 3em; +} + +.poetry .indent0 { + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.sans { + font-family: sans-serif; +} + +.smaller { + font-size: 80%; +} + +.smcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal; +} + +.titlepage { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 3em; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.x-ebookmaker img { + max-width: 100%; + width: auto; + height: auto; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .poetry { + display: block; + margin-left: 1.5em; +} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp60 {width: 60%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp60 {width: 100%;} + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76600 ***</div> + +<div class="box"> + +<p class="center"><span class="larger"><i>BOOKS BY</i><br> +<span class="gothic">“Charles Egbert Craddock.”</span></span><br> +<span class="smaller">(<span class="smcap">Mary N. Murfree</span>)</span></p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">IN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS.</span> +Short Stories. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">DOWN THE RAVINE.</span> +Illustrated. 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS.</span> +A Novel 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">IN THE CLOUDS.</span> +A Novel 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">THE STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS.</span> +16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p class="center">HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.<br> +<span class="smcap">Boston and New York.</span></p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p class="titlepage larger"><span class="smaller">THE</span><br> +STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS</p> + +<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br> +CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK<br> +<span class="smaller">AUTHOR OF “IN THE CLOUDS,” “DOWN THE RAVINE,” “IN THE<br> +TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS,” “THE PROPHET OF THE<br> +GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS,” ETC.</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter titlepage illowp60" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/riverside-press.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BOSTON AND NEW YORK</span><br> +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br> +<span class="gothic">The Riverside Press, Cambridge</span><br> +1888</p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller">Copyright, 1887,<br> +<span class="smcap">By MARY N. MURFREE.</span></p> + +<p class="center smaller"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller"><i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge</i>:<br> +Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p> + +<h1>THE STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS.</h1> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="I"> + I. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>Towering into the air, reflected deep in +the river, the great height of Keedon Bluffs +is doubled to the casual glance and augmented +in popular rumor. Nevertheless a vast mass +of rock it is, splintered and creviced, and with +rugged, beetling ledges, all atilt, and here +and there a niche which holds a hardy shrub, +subsisting surely on the bounty of the air or +the smile of the sun, for scant sustenance can +be coaxed from the solid sandstone.</p> + +<p>Here bats and lizards colonize, and amongst +the trailing vines winged songsters find a +home, and sometimes stealthy, four-footed, +marauding shadows, famous climbers, creep +in and out of the hollows of the rocks, for it +is in the very heart of the wilderness on a +slope of the Great Smoky Range. Naught +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>was likely to behold them—save their own +bright-eyed images in the swift current below, +or perhaps a wayfaring cloud above, journeying +adown the sky from the zenith—until +one day a boy chanced to come this way in +driving home the cow; he paused on one side +of the horseshoe bend, which the river describes +just here, and gazed fixedly across the +bight at the bluffs.</p> + +<p>If at this moment one of the shy dwellers +of the cliff had thrust forth an unwary head +there was no need to hastily withdraw it. +The boy’s attention was concentrated on a +motionless object lying on a ledge; he looked +at it in doubting surprise. It was a cannon-ball, +precariously lodged where it had fallen, +spent and harmless, years ago.</p> + +<p>For Keedon Bluffs had not always been so +silent. They had echoed the clamors of artillery. +Not that a battle was ever fought in +these fastnesses, but once from a distant point +the woods in the cove were shelled, and, ranging +further than the bursting bombs, this +solid round shot cleared the river at the +mountain’s base, and dropped at last on the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>ledge, remaining the only memento of the +day. Covered with rust, half draped by a +vine, peaceful and motionless and mute, it +lay. And Ike Guyther, looking at it, wished +that he had lived in those times of riding and +raiding, when the batteries roared their sulphurous +thunder, and flung their shells, hurtling +along these quiet woodland ways, with +fuses all a-flaring.</p> + +<p>“Folks in them days hed a chance ter +show thar grit, an’ ride, an’ fight, an’ fire off +them big guns,” he grumbled, when he had +gone back to his father’s cabin, in Tanglefoot +Cove, three miles away, and had detailed his +discovery to the fireside group. “They war +mos’ly boys, no older sca’cely ’n me. An’ +hyar <i>I</i> be—<i>a-drivin’ up the cow</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Waal, now,” exclaimed his mother in her +consolatory drawl, “ye oughter be powerful +thankful ye hev got a cow ter drive. The +gu’rillas made beef o’ yer aunt Jemimy’s +cow.”</p> + +<p>“An’ fur goodness’ sake look at yer uncle +Abner ef ye hanker so ter go a-fightin’,” his +aunt Jemima tartly admonished him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span></p> + +<p>There sat all day beside the wood-fire a +man of middle age, but with a face strangely +young. It was like the face of a faded painting, +changing only in the loss of color. The +hair, growing off a broad forehead, was +bleaching fast; the tints had become dim on +cheek and lip, but time and care had drawn +no lines, and an expression of childlike tranquillity +hovered about the downcast eyes, forever +shielded by the drooping lids. Life +seemed to have ended for him twenty years +before, on a day surcharged with disaster, +when the great gun, which had been a sort of +Thor to him, and which he had served with +an admiring affection and reverent care, was +spiked by its own cannoneers that it might +fall useless into the hands of the enemy. It +was the last thing he ever saw—this great +silenced god of thunder—as he stood beside +it with the sponge-staff in his hand. For +among the shells shrieking through the +smoky air, one was laden with his doom. A +hiss close at hand, the din of an abrupt explosion, +and he fell unconscious under the carriage +of the piece, and there he was captured.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span></p> + +<p>And when the war was over and he came +forth alike from the prison and the hospital, +blinded and helpless, naught remained to him +but to vaguely ponder on what had been in +the days that had gone forever, for he hardly +seemed to look to the future, and the present +was empty-handed.</p> + +<p>He had met his grief and the darkness with +a stoicism difficult to comprehend. He spent +his days in calm unimbittered meditation, not +gentle, but with flashes of his old spirit to +attest his unchanged identity. Acclimated +to sorrow, without hope, or fear, or anxiety, +or participation in life, time could but pass +him by, and youth seemed to abide with +him.</p> + +<p>The old martial interest flared up when +Ike told of his discovery on the ledge of Keedon +Bluffs.</p> + +<p>“What kind o’ ball, Ike?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>But Ike had been born too late to be discerning +as to warlike projectiles.</p> + +<p>“I wisht I could lay my hand on it!” said +the blind artillery-man. “I’ll be bound I’d +know, ef I jes’ could heft it wunst! Whar +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>did it lodge, Ike? Could I make out ter git +a-nigh it? Could ye an’ me git thar tergether?”</p> + +<p>“Ye ’pear b’reft, Abner!” aunt Jemima +cried out angrily. “Ye mus’ hev los’ more ’n +yer sight. Hev ye furgot how Keedon Bluffs +look? Thar ain’t nobody sca’cely ez could +keep foot-hold ’mongst them sheer cliffs. +An’ ye oughtn’t ter be aggin’ on Ike ter +climb sech places—git his neck bruk. Ye +hain’t got no call, sure, ter set store on no +mo’ cannon-balls, an’ artillery, an’ sech. I +’low ez ye’d hev hed enough o’ guns, an’ I +wish ye’d never hed nuthin’ ter do with no +rebels.”</p> + +<p>For this was one of the divided families so +usual in East Tennessee, and while the elders +had clung to the traditions of their fathers—the +men fighting staunchly for the Union—the +youngest had as a mere boy fled from his +home to join the Confederate forces, and had +stood by his gun through many a fiery hail +of battle storms. But the bitterness of these +differences was fast dying out.</p> + +<p>“I hev gin the word,” said Ike’s father, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>and grizzled, and stern, and gigantic, he +looked eminently fitted to maintain his behests, +“ez no mo’ politics air ter be talked +roun’ this ha’th-stone, Jemimy.”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t talkin’ no politics,” retorted aunt +Jemima, sharply. “But I ain’t goin’ ter +hold my jaw tee-totally. I never kin git over +hevin’ Ab settin’ up hyar plumb benighted! +plumb benighted!—ez blind ez a mole!” +She shook her head with a sort of acrimonious +melancholy.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” drawlingly admitted the blind artillery-man, +all unmoved by this uncheerful +discourse. “Yes, that’s a true word.” He +lifted his head suddenly and tossed back the +gray hair from his boyish face. “But I <i>hev</i> +seen—sights!”</p> + +<p>Even less tolerated than politics were Ike’s +repinings and longings for some flaunting +military exploit. “Take yer axe,” his soldier-father +said sternly, “an’ show what +sort’n grit ye hev got at the wood-pile.”</p> + +<p>The blind man with a laugh more leniently +suggested, “Ye wouldn’t hev been much use +ter we-uns in our battery, Ike, throwin’ up +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>a yearth-work ter pertect the guns an’ sech, +seein’ the way ye fairly <i>de</i>-spise a spade.”</p> + +<p>Ike had yet to learn that it is the spirit in +which a deed is done that dignifies and magnifies +it.</p> + +<p>He found the stories of the military glories +he would have achieved, had the opportunity +fallen to his lot, much more gently treated +by a certain young neighbor, who had indeed +a good and willing pair of ears, and much +readiness and adaptability of assent. Very +pliable, withal, was “Skimpy” Sawyer—by +the nickname “Skimpy” he was familiarly +known, a tribute to his extreme spareness. +He was peculiarly thin, and wiry, and loose-jointed. +He had a good-natured freckled +face, paler for the contrast with a crop of red +hair; a twinkling and beguiling brown eye; +great nimbleness of limb; and many comical +twists of countenance at command.</p> + +<p>He accompanied Ike blithely enough to +Keedon Bluffs, one afternoon, to look at the +cannon-ball on the ledge. A bridle-path, +almost a road it might have seemed—for the +woods, bereft of undergrowth by the annual +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>conflagrations, gave it space—wound along +the side of the mountain near the verge of +the cliffs. The river, all scarlet, and silver, +and glinting blue, was swirling far down in +the chasm beneath them; the sheer sandstone +bank rose opposite, solid as a wall; and beyond, +the cove—its woods, and cabins, and +roads, and fences, bounded by the interlacing +mountains—lay spread out like an open +map.</p> + +<p>Peaceful enough it was to-day, as the boys +stood on the Bluffs. There were wings, +homeward bound, hurrying through the air, +instead of shells with fuses burning bright +against the sunset sky. No bugle sang. The +river was murmuring low a plaintive minor +lay that one might hear forever and never +tire. Scanty shrubs of dogwood and sour-wood +flaunted, red and orange, from the rifts +of the great crags; here and there were fissures, +irregularly shaped, and dark, save that +upon the upper arch of each a ceaseless silvery +light shimmered, reflected from the water. +On one of the many ledges the cannon-ball +lay unstirred.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span></p> + +<p>“Skimpy, I b’lieve I could actially climb +down this hyar bluff an’ coon it roun’ that +thar ledge an’ git that ball,” said Ike, balancing +himself dangerously over the precipice.</p> + +<p>So far did it overhang the river at this +point that he was startled by seeing a hat and +face suddenly looking up at him from the +depths below, and it was a moment before he +realized that the hat and face were his own, +mirrored in a dark pool.</p> + +<p>“Ye couldn’t climb up ag’in with it in yer +paw,” retorted Skimpy.</p> + +<p>“Naw,” Ike admitted. “But ennyhow +I’d like ter climb down thar an’ see what’s +in them hollows. I b’lieve I could git inter +one o’ ’em.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy had taken a handful of pebbles +and was skipping them down the river. He +turned so suddenly that the one in his hand +flew wide of the mark and nearly tipped his +friend’s hat off his head.</p> + +<p>“What air ye a-hankerin’ ter git in one o’ +them holes fur?” he demanded, surprised, +“so ez ye can’t git out ag’in? ’Pears-like ter +me they’d be a mighty tight fit on sech a big +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>corn-fed shoat ez ye air. An’ then I’d hev +ter climb down thar an’ break my neck, I +reckon, ter pull ye out by the heels.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t git in ’thout thar ’peared ter +be plenty o’ elbow room,” Ike qualified.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that?” said Skimpy, suddenly.</p> + +<p>So absorbed had they been that until this +moment they were not aware of a slow approach +along the road behind them. The +sight of a stranger was unusual, but so little +curiosity do the mountaineers manifest in +unknown passers-by that if the man’s manner +had had no appeal to the boys, they would +hardly have lifted their eyes; they would not +even have stared after his back was turned.</p> + +<p>But the stranger was about to hail them. +He had already lifted his hand with an awkward +wave of salutation. Still he fixed his +eyes upon them and did not speak as he +slouched toward them, and the two boys were +impressed with the conviction that he had +heard every word that they had been saying.</p> + +<p>He was a tall, dawdling fellow of forty, +perhaps, carrying a rifle on his shoulder, and +dressed in an old brown jeans suit, ill-mended +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>and patched here and there, and with some +rents not patched at all. His hair, long and +brown, streaked with gray, hung down to his +collar beneath his old broad-brimmed wool +hat. His face was lined and cadaverous, his +features were sharp and shrewd. His eyes, +bright, small, dark, and somehow not reassuring, +expressed a sort of anxiety and anger +that the boys could not comprehend.</p> + +<p>There came along the road after him, +plainly defined on the summit of the great +bluffs, between the woods and the sunset +sky, with the river in the abyss beneath and +a gleaming star in the haze above, a grotesque +little cart, the wheels creaking dismally +with every revolution and filling the +air with the odor of tar and wagon grease. +A lean scraggy ox was between the shafts; +a cow shambled along at the tail-board; a +calf and two or three dogs trotted further in +the rear. The man was moving, evidently, +for the poverty-stricken aspect of the vehicle +was accented by the meagre show of +household utensils—frying-pan, oven, skillet, +spinning-wheel—and the bedding, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>two or three chairs with which it was laden. +On top of it all, sitting in a snug nest of +quilts, with a wealth of long yellow hair, +tousled and curling upon her shoulders, was a +little girl, four or five years old. Her infantile +beauty had naught in common with his +down-looking, doubtful, careworn face, but +she fixed the two boys with a pair of grave, +urgent, warning gray eyes, which intimated +that whatever the man might do or say he +had a small but earnest backer. And though +the autumn leaves were red and yellow above +her head, the roses of spring bloomed on her +cheek, and its sunshine was tangled in her +hair; all its buoyant joys were in her laugh +when she chose to be merry, and her smile +brightened the world for him and for her. +She was at the threshold of her life—likely +to be a poor thing enough and hedged with +limitations, but it had space for all the throbs +of living, for all there is of bliss and woe.</p> + +<p>The man glanced back at her as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Jes’ set a-top thar, Rosamondy; set right +still an’ stiddy, leetle darter. I hev got a +word or two ter pass with these folkses. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>Howdy! Howdy! Strangers! Do you-uns +know whar old man Binwell hev moved ter +hyar-abouts? I stopped at his house a piece +back, an’ thar warn’t nobody thar, ’pears like; +chimbly tore down; nare door in the cabin; +empty.”</p> + +<p>He had a strained rasping voice; his tone +was not far from tears.</p> + +<p>The two boys looked at one another. +“Old man Binwell” was Ancient History to +them—like Cæsar or Hannibal to boys of +wider culture.</p> + +<p>“Him? he’s dead,” they said together, +slowly producing the recollection.</p> + +<p>“I war ’feared so,” said the stranger. +“An’ whar’s ’Liza Binwell, an’ Aleck?”</p> + +<p>These were more modern. “Waal—her,” +said Ike, “I hev hearn tell ez how she merried +a man ez kem hyar in the war-times +along o’ the Texas Rangers; an’ he seen her +then, an’ kem arter her when the fightin’ war +over. I disremember his name. An’ he persuaded +Aleck an’ his fambly ter move with +them ter Texas.”</p> + +<p>The man nodded his head in melancholy +reception of the facts.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span></p> + +<p>“They be my brother an’ sister,” he said +drearily. “I hain’t hearn nothin’ ’bout’n ’em +fur a long time. But when we-uns lef’ cousin +Zeke Tynes’s this mornin’—we bided thar +las’ night—an’ started fur Tanglefoot Cove, +he ’lowed they war hyar yit. I counted on +stayin’ with ’em this winter. Who’s a-livin’ +hyar-abouts now ez mought be minded ter let +us bide with ’em fur ter-night?”</p> + +<p>The boys prompting each other, mentioned +the names of the few families in the cove. +The stranger’s face fell as he listened. There +was no house nearer than three or four miles, +and the gaunt and forlorn old ox was not a +beast of unrivaled speed. The man looked +up doubtfully at the ragged edges of a black +cloud, barely showing above the mountain +summits, but definitely in motion before a +wind that was beginning to surge in the upper +regions of the air, although it hardly +swayed the tops of the trees on Keedon +Bluffs. The evening had stormy premonitions, +despite the exquisite clearness of the +western sky.</p> + +<p>“I’m ’feared I’ll hev ter feed an’ water +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>the beastis, else he won’t hold out so fur,” he +half soliloquized, looking at the ox, drowsing +between the shafts.</p> + +<p>Then his attention reverted to the boys.</p> + +<p>“Thanky, strangers, thanky fur tellin’ me. +I dunno ye, ye see, but I war born an’ bred +hyar-abouts. Thanky. If thar’s enny favior +I kin do fur you-uns lemme know. Fish-in’?” +he inquired suddenly.</p> + +<p>Skimpy colored. To be asked if he were +fishing from the great heights of Keedon +Bluffs savored of ridicule.</p> + +<p>“How could we fish from sech a place ez +this?” he said a trifle gruffly.</p> + +<p>“Sure enough! Sure enough! I hed furgot +how high ’twar,” and the stranger came +up and peered with them over the river. “I +ain’t seen this spot fur a good many seasons, +folkses,” he said, his eyes fixed upon the cavities +of the great cliffs across the bend. The +cow was munching the half-withered grass +by the roadside; the dogs laid their tired +bones down among the fallen leaves and went +to sleep; Rosamond on her throne among the +household goods sat in the red after-glow of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>the sunset, all flushed and gilded, and swung +one plump bare foot, protruding its pink dimples +from beneath her blue checked homespun +dress, and planted the other foot recklessly +upon her discarded dappled calico sunbonnet +which she suffered to lie among the +quilts.</p> + +<p>“I tell ye what,” he added, still looking +about at the darkling forests, at the swift +current below the stern grim cliffs, at the +continuous shifting shimmer reflected upon +the upper arch of the hollows, “you-uns hev +got mo’ resky ’n ever I be, ter bide ’roun’ +this hyar spot when it begins ter be cleverly +dark.”</p> + +<p>Both boys looked quickly at him.</p> + +<p>“Hain’t ye hearn what the old folks tells +’bout them hollows in the rock?”</p> + +<p>“Naw!” they exclaimed together.</p> + +<p>Skimpy’s eyes were distended. He felt a +sudden chilly thrill. Ike, although as superstitious +as Skimpy, experienced an incredulity +before he even heard what this man had +to say.</p> + +<p>“Waal,” resumed the stranger, and he lowered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>his voice, “the old folks ’low ez the +witches lie thar in the daytime—ye know +they never die—an’ the yearth grants ’em +no other place in the day, so they takes ter +the hollows in the rock. An’ thar they keeps +comp’ny with sech harnts ez air minded fur +harm ter humans—folks ez hev been hung +an’ sech. An’ then in the evenin’-time they +all swarms out tergether.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy glanced over his shoulder. It was +doubtless his fancy, but the foolish boy +thought he saw a black head thrust suddenly +out of one of the hollows and as suddenly +withdrawn.</p> + +<p>Now Skimpy was afraid of nothing that +went about in the daytime, and indeed of +nothing human and mortal. Witches, however, +were, he felt, of doubtful destiny and +origin, malevolent in character, and he had a +vaguely frightful idea concerning their physiognomy +and form. He revolted at the prospect +of a closer acquaintance.</p> + +<p>“Kem on, Ike,” he said hastily, clutching +his friend’s sleeve, “let’s go home.” And +he peered fearfully about in the closing dusk.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span></p> + +<p>But Ike was steadily studying the stranger’s +face, and the man looked at him though +he addressed Skimpy.</p> + +<p>“Yes; it’s better ter be away from hyar +betimes. They air special active in the full +o’ the moon.”</p> + +<p>It had risen before the sun had set, and +ever and again, from fleecy spaces amongst +the ranks of the dark clouds, its yellow lustre +streamed forth in myriads of fine fibrous +lines slanting upon the tumultuous palpitating +purple vapors massed about it. Sometimes +a rift disclosed its full splendor as it +rode supreme in the midst of the legions of +the storm.</p> + +<p>“But them witches an’ sech air in them +holes all day an’ ef ennybody war sech a fool ez +ter go meddlin’ with ’em, ef so be they could +git down thar ennywise—<i>they’d ketch it</i>!”</p> + +<p>He shook his head in a way that promised +horrors.</p> + +<p>“What would they do ter ’em?” asked +the morbidly fascinated Skimpy. He dared +not look over his shoulder now.</p> + +<p>The narrator was forced to specify, “Strangle +’em.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span></p> + +<p>Skimpy shuddered, but Ike was ready to +laugh outright. He stared at the speaker as +if he found him far more queer than his +story.</p> + +<p>“Ye ’member old man Hobbs?” said the +stranger suddenly.</p> + +<p>“I hearn my dad tell ’bout’n him,” returned +Ike. “Old man Hobbs said he +walked off’n the Bluffs through bein’ drunk +an’ fell inter the river—though ez he war +picked up alive folks b’lieved he never fell +off’n the Bluffs, but jes’ said so, bein’ drunk +an’ foolish.”</p> + +<p>“Naw, it’s a fac’,” said the stranger, as if +he knew all about it. “The witches got ter +clawin’ an’ draggin’ of him, an’ they drug +him in the water, bein’ ez he war a-foolin’ +roun’ them hollows an’ this hyar spot ginerally.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m goin’,” cried Skimpy; then as +he started off, the idea of being alone in the +great woods, with the night settling down, +came upon him with overwhelming terror, +and he renewed his pleas to Ike. “Kem on, +Ike. We-uns hev been hyar long enough.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, shet up,” cried Ike roughly. “The +witches ain’t goin’ ter strangle ye ez long ez +ye hev got me alongside ter pertect ye.”</p> + +<p>He wanted to hear more of what this man +had to say, for he placed a different interpretation +upon his words. But Rosamond had +lifted her voice, and seeing that her father +was preparing to start anew on their forlorn +journeying was insisting on a change in the +arrangement.</p> + +<p>“I wants ye ter let the calf ride!” she +cried in her vibrating musical treble. “I +wants the calf ter ri-ride!”</p> + +<p>The calf added its voice to hers, and +bleated as it ran along behind. It had evidently +come far and was travel-worn.</p> + +<p>“I wants the calf ter ride wif <i>me</i>!” she +cried again, with an imperious squeal upon +the last syllable.</p> + +<p>“The calf can’t ride, Rosamondy,” the man +said, in gentlest expostulation. “He’s too +heavy fur the steer—pore steer.”</p> + +<p>“Naw, pore calf!” cried Rosamondy, and +burst into tearful rage.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Rosamondy, ain’t ye ’shamed ter be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>sech a bad leetle gal? Ain’t ye ’feared them +boys’ll go off an’ tell ev’ybody what a bad +leetle gal ye be!”</p> + +<p>But Rosamond evidently did not care how +far and wide they published her “badness,” +and after the boys had turned off into the +woods, leaving the wagon creaking along the +road with the ox between the shafts, and the +man driving the cow in advance, they still +heard the piteous bleats of the little calf +trotting behind, and Rosamondy’s insistent +squeal, “I wants the calf ter ride wif <i>me</i>!”</p> + +<p>In the dense woods the darkness was +deeper; indeed they might only know that +as yet it was not night by seeing vaguely the +burly forms of the great boles close at hand. +The shadowy interlacing boughs above their +heads merged indistinguishably into the mass +of foliage. Every sound was startlingly loud +and in the nature of an interruption of some +sylvan meditation. The rustle of their feet +in the crisp fallen leaves seemed peculiarly +sibilant, and more than once suggested a pursuer. +Skimpy looked hastily over his shoulder,—only +the closing obscurity that baffled +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>his vision. A gust of wind swept through +the woods rousing a thousand weird utterances +of bough, and leaf, and rock, and hollow, +and died away again into the solemn +silence.</p> + +<p>Skimpy quickened his pace. “Kem on, +Ike,” he muttered, and started at the sound +of his own voice.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Ike Guyther, without a word of +warning, turned about and began to retrace +his way.</p> + +<p>“Whar ye bound fur?” cried Skimpy, laying +hold on his arm and striving to keep him +back.</p> + +<p>“Bound fur the Bluffs,” said Ike. +“’Twon’t take we-uns long. I jes’ wanter +sati’fy myself whether that thar man air too +’feard o’ witches ter water an’ feed his steer +at that thar spring ’mongst the rocks nigh +Keedon Bluffs.”</p> + +<p>“<i>We-uns!</i>” cried Skimpy. “I tell ye +now, I’d be palsied in every toe an’ toe-nail +too ’fore I’d go a inch.”</p> + +<p>“Waal, I’ll ketch up with ye,” said Ike.</p> + +<p>Skimpy made an effort to hold him, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>the stronger boy pulled easily away from +him and ran. A whirl of the dry leaves, a +whisking sound, and he was lost among the +trees.</p> + +<p>He did not keep this speed. He had slackened +his pace to a walk before he emerged +upon the road that ran between the verge of +the bluffs and the woods. It seemed much +earlier now, for here was presented the definite +aspect of the evening instead of the uncertain +twilight of the forest. In the faint +blue regions of the zenith still loitered gauzy +roseate reflections of the gorgeous sunset, not +yet overspread by the black cloud gradually +advancing up the vast spaces of the heavens. +The river, in its cliff-bound channel, caught +here and there a glittering moonbeam on its +lustrous dark current. The amber tints of +the western sky shaded into a pallid green +above the duskily purple mountains. A +pearl-colored mist, most vaguely visible, +lurked in the depths of the cove.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the rocks by the roadside stood +distinct and ruddy in a broad flickering red +flare; there were moving figures, grotesque +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>elongated shadows, among the trees. Ike +Guyther stopped short, with a sudden dread +of the witches of Keedon Bluffs trembling +within him. Then, for he was stout-hearted, +he ventured to creep along a few steps further. +There under the boughs of the pines +and the scarlet oaks and the yellow hickory +trees a fire of pine knots flamed, throwing +hilarious sparks and frisking smoke high into +the melancholy white mists gathering in the +woods; and grouped about it—not witches +nor harnts—but the humble travelers eating +their supper by the wayside. Ike recognized +the clumsy cart in the shadowy background; +the ox, out of the shafts, now +munching his well-earned feed; the cow +lying on the ground licking the head of her +calf. And sitting by the fire with her yellow +hair glittering, her face illumined by the +blaze, her pink feet presented to the warmth, +was Rosamondy, commenting gravely as her +father broiled a bit of bacon on the coals and +deftly constructed an ash-cake. The dogs +too sat beside the fire, all upright and wide +awake, and with an alert interest in the proceedings. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>Now and then as the man turned +the meat and the savory odor would rise, one +of them would twist his head admiringly +askew and lick his chops in anticipation.</p> + +<p>The little girl talked continuously, her +babyish voice clear on the still air, and the +man listened and affected amazement when +she thought she was astonishing him, and +laughed mightily when she laughed, and +agreed punctiliously with whatever she might +say. But indeed she seemed a person who +would tolerate little contradiction.</p> + +<p>The picture vanished suddenly as Ike Guyther +turned back into the sombre depths of +the woods.</p> + +<p>“Waal, sir!” said the shrewd young fellow +to himself, “whoever b’lieves ez witches +an’ harnts swarm out’n them hollows in the +night times ter strangle folks ez be nigh by, +the man ez stops ter cook his supper a-top +o’ the Bluffs—don’t. An’ that air a true +word.”</p> + +<p>The more he reflected upon the circumstance, +as he took his way through the woods +to rejoin Skimpy, the more he felt sure that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>this stranger had overheard his proposal to +climb down to those hollows, and had some +purpose to serve in frightening him away +from the cavities in the cliffs.</p> + +<p>Still pondering upon this mystery he looked +back once after he and Skimpy had reached +the levels of Tanglefoot Cove. The advancing +cloud still surged over the summit of the +range, throwing its darkling shadows far +down the steeps. In the mingled light of the +dying day and the fitful gleam of the moon +he could yet distinguish the stern grim crags, +and below, on the slope where the grassy +road wound in serpentine convolutions, he +saw the cart with the little girl once more +perched high, the ox between the shafts, the +man driving the cow, the dogs and the calf +trotting in the rear—all the little procession +on the way again to seek shelter in some hospitable +farmer’s cabin. And thus they fared +down the rugged mountain ways into the +future of Tanglefoot Cove.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="II"> + II. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>When clouds gather over Tanglefoot Cove, +and storms burst on the mountain slopes, the +sounds of the tempest are redoubled by the +echoes of the crags, trumpeting anew the +challenge of the wind and reiterating the slogan +of the thunder. For begirt on every +side by clifty ranges the secluded valley lies. +Ike’s mother, listening to the turmoil of the +powers of the air and the sinister response of +the powers of the earth, as the surly night +closed in, waited with anxiety for the boy’s +return, and welcomed him with a brightening +face as he entered.</p> + +<p>A great fire flared on the hearth, illumining +the ill-laid puncheon floor; the high bed +with its gayly tinted quilts; the warping +bars; the spinning-wheel; the guns upon +their racks of deer-antlers; the strings of red +peppers, swaying overhead; the ladder leading +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>up to the shadowy regions of the roof-room +through a black hole in the ceiling. +The fire-light even revealed in a dusky nook +a rude box on rockers—which had cradled +in turn these stalwart soldiers, and later Ike, +himself—and, under a low shelf in the corner, +a tiny empty chair.</p> + +<p>The wind rushed down the chimney, and +every cranny piped a shrill fife-like note, and +the thunder rolled.</p> + +<p>“I dunno when I ever hev seen sech a onexpected +storm,” said Ike’s father as he hung +up the ox-yoke on the wall, having turned out +the team from his wagon.</p> + +<p>“T’wouldn’t s’prise me none,” said aunt +Jemima, “ef ’twar jes’ a big blow ez tore +down the fodder-stack an’ rooted up yer orcherd’ +an’ never gin ye nare drop o’ rain fur +the drought;” she cast an almost reprehensive +glance upon him, as if it were through +his neglect that he was threatened with these +elemental disasters.</p> + +<p>“Waal,” he retorted, “I ain’t settin’ myself +ter fault the Lord’s weather. An’ my +immortal hopes ain’t anchored in a fodder-stack, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>nuther in the orcherd. An’ thar’s no +dispensation ez kin happen ez I ain’t in an’ +about able ter stan’.”</p> + +<p>Even aunt Jemima was rather taken aback +by this sturdy defiance of fate. She had nothing +to say, which was rather rare, for she +had given most of her declining years to argument, +and much practice had developed +her natural resources of contradiction, which +were originally great. As Ike’s father was +himself testy and dogmatic, and the blind +man often proclaimed that he took “nuthin’ +off’n nobody,” the family might have been +divided by dissension were it not for the placid +temperament of Ike’s mother. She received +no credit, however, for—as people often +observed—she was not born a Guyther +and had “no call to be high-strung an’ sperited.” +She had been a great beauty in her +girlhood and had had lovers by the score, but +care and age and poverty had bereft her of +her personal charms, and she had neither culture +nor grace of manner to fill the breach. +Her hard experience of life, however, had +failed to sour her temper, and her placidity +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>had something of the buoyancy of youth, as +she often declared, “It’ll be all the same a +hundred year from now.”</p> + +<p>“’Pears like ter me ’twon’t blow that hard,” +she remarked as she stirred the corn-meal +batter in a wooden bowl, “the wind don’t +fool much with our orcherd nohow.”</p> + +<p>“I’d ruther hev the wind ’n, no rain,” said +aunt Jemima, plaintively.</p> + +<p>“I’m a-thinkin’ we’ll git rain too, jes’ ’bout +enough. Yellimints don’t neglec’ us noways +ez I kin see. Seedtime an’ harvest shell never +fail”—</p> + +<p>“Kems mighty nigh it, wunst in a while,” +said aunt Jemima, shaking her head. “Ef +ye hed enny jedgment an’ forecast, M’ria, ye’d +look fur troubles ahead like them ye hev +seen.”</p> + +<p>There was a shadow on the wasted placid +face under Mrs. Guyther’s sunbonnet as she +knelt to put the potatoes with their jackets +on in the ashes to roast.</p> + +<p>“Waal—let troubles go down the road. I +wouldn’t hev liked thar looks no better +through viewin’ ’em ’fore I got ter ’em. I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>ain’t a-goin’ ter turn roun’ now ter see ag’in +how awful they war whenst they war a-facin’ +me. Let troubles go down the road.”</p> + +<p>And so she covered the potatoes while aunt +Jemima knit off another row.</p> + +<p>The next moment both were besprinkled +with ashes; the chimney-place seemed full of +a vivid white light never kindled on a hearthstone; +there was a frightful crack of thunder, +then it seemed to roll upon the roof, and the +cabin rocked with the fierce assaults of the +wind.</p> + +<p>“That thar shot war aimed p’int blank,” +said the blind artillery-man, thrusting his +hands deeper in his pockets, and stretching +out his long legs, booted to the knee. His +gray hair had flakes of the white ashes scattered +upon it.</p> + +<p>“Suthin’ mus’ hev been struck right hyar +in the door-yard,” said aunt Jemima. She +had laid down her knitting with a sort of +affronted and expostulatory air. “I’ll be +bound it’s the martin-house.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be bound it’s nuthin’ we want,” said +Mrs. Guyther.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span></p> + +<p>There was a hesitating drop, another, upon +the clap-boards that roofed the house; then +came the heavy down-pour of the rain, the renewed +gusts of the wind, and amidst it all a +husky cry.</p> + +<p>They turned and looked at one another. +Then Hiram Guyther lifted the latch. The +opening door let in the moist, melancholy air +of the stormy evening that seemed to saturate +the room in pervading it. A crouching figure, +the sombre clouds, the slanting lines of rain, +the tossing dark woods, were barely visible +without, until a sudden, blue forked flash, of +lightning played through this dusky landscape +of grays and browns. As it broadened into a +diffusive red flare, it showed an ox with low-hanging +horns between the shafts of a queer +little cart, piled high with household goods. +Among them half smothered in the quilts—wound +tightly about her shoulders—appeared +the yellow head, and pink face, and big, startled +gray eyes of a little girl. It was only for +a moment that this picture was presented, +then it faded away to the dark monotony of +the shapeless shadows of the woods; and as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>Ike went to the door he heard the drawling +voice of the man he had seen at Keedon Bluffs +asking Hiram Guyther for shelter for the +night.</p> + +<p>“We-uns hev been travelin’ an’ hoped ter +git settled fur the winter ’fore enny sech +weather ez this lit onto us.”</p> + +<p>“Kem in, traveler! Ye air hearty welcome +ef ye kin put up with sech ez we-uns +kin gin ye,” the hospitable mountaineer +drawled sonorously, raising his voice that it +might be heard above the blast.</p> + +<p>“We’ll all hev pleurisy, though, ef ye don’t +shet that thar door, an’ keep it shet,” muttered +aunt Jemima, in her half articulate undertone.</p> + +<p>She was silent the next moment, for there +was slowly coming into the room—nay, into +the grim heart of aunt Jemima—a new +power in her life. A yellow-topped, cylindrical +bundle, much like a silking ear of corn, +was set on end in the middle of the puncheon +floor, and as the strange man unwrapped the +parti-colored quilts from about it, there +stepped forth, golden-haired, ragged, smiling, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>with one finger between her small and jagged +teeth, with dimples that graced the poverty +and atoned for the dirt, a little girl, looking +quaintly askance at the group about the fire, +and making straight for the little chair under +the shelf. She did not move it. She sat +there, under the shelf, smiling and pink and +affectedly shy.</p> + +<p>Aunt Jemima stared over her spectacles. +She too smiled as her eyes met the child’s—a +grim demonstration. Her features adapted +themselves to it reluctantly as if they were +not used to it.</p> + +<p>“Kem up by the fire, child,” she said.</p> + +<p>But the little girl sat still under the shelf.</p> + +<p>“Warm yer feet!” aunt Jemima further +sought to beguile her.</p> + +<p>The little guest’s pleased smile took on the +proportions of an ecstatic grin, but she only +settled herself more comfortably in the small +chair under the shelf.</p> + +<p>Aunt Jemima, tall, bent, raw-boned, rose +and approached the little girl with a seriousness +that might have seemed formidable. She +looked up with her big gray eyes all shining +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>in the firelight, but did not offer to retreat. +She only clutched fast the arms of the little +chair that had taken her delighted fancy, and +since she evidently would not leave it for a +moment, the old woman pulled the chair, child +and all, in front of the fire, into the full genial +radiance of the blazing hickory logs. Ike and +his mother and the hounds looked on at this +proceeding, and one of the dogs, following +close after the chair when it was dragged over +the floor, squeaked in a low-spirited key and +wheezed and licked aunt Jemima’s hand, as it +grasped the knob, seeking to call attention to +himself. “Now ain’t ye a nice one, a-goin’ +on four legs an’ switchin’ a tail a-hint ye, an’ +yit ondertakin’ ter be ez jealous ez folks,” +she admonished him, and he frisked a little, +glad to be spoken to on any terms, and sat +down between her and the little girl, who still +clutched the arms of the tiny chair.</p> + +<p>“Waal now, it air a plumb shame fur her +ter be bar’foot this weather,” said aunt Jemima, +contemplating the little guest.</p> + +<p>The old woman was abashed when she +glanced up and saw the child’s companion, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>who, with Hiram Guyther, had just returned +from the task of stabling the ox and sheltering +the wagon, for she had not intended that +the stranger should overhear this reflection.</p> + +<p>“I know that,” he drawled in a desolate +low-spirited cadence, his eyes blinking in the +light of a tallow dip that Mrs. Guyther had +set on the mantel-piece, and seeking with +covert curiosity to distinguish the members +of the group. He paused suddenly, for at the +sound of his voice the blind man abruptly +rose to his feet and stretched out his arms +gropingly. “Who—who?” he stuttered, as +if his speech were failing him—“who be +this ez hev kem hyar ter-night?” He passed +his hands angrily across his eyes—“Ain’t it +Jerry Binwell?”</p> + +<p>Blind as he was, he was the first to recognize +the newcomer with that sharpening of the +remaining senses which seeks to compensate +for the loss of one. But indeed Jerry Binwell +had outwardly changed beyond recognition in +the twenty years since they had last seen him, +when he and Abner were mere boys in the +Cove, and had run off together to join the +Southern army.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span></p> + +<p>Binwell took a step toward the door as if +he regretted his entrance and wished that he +still might go.</p> + +<p>“What hev gin ye the insurance ter kem +a-nigh me!” Abner cried angrily, still reaching +out with hands that were far enough from +what they sought to clutch. The child, in +her little chair at his feet, gazed up with awe. +“Arter all ye done in camp, a-lyin’ an’ a-deludin’ +me; an’ then slanderin’ an’ backbitin’ +me ter the off’cers, an’ men; an’ every leetle +caper I cut, gittin’ me laid by the heels fur it; +an’ ev’ry time ye got in a scrape, puttin’ the +blame on me. An’ at last—at last”—he +cried, raising his voice and smiting his hands +together as if overborne anew by the despair +and scorn of it, “whenst we war flanked by +the Feds ye deserted! An’ ye gin ’em the +word how ter surround our battery! An’ +cannon, an’ cannoneers, an’ horses, an’ caissons, +an’ battery-wagon, all war captured! +That war yer sheer o’ the fight.”</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment. Then he took +a step forward, his stalwart, soldierly figure +erect, his face flushed, his hand pointing toward +the door.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span></p> + +<p>“G ’long!” he said roughly. “Go out. +Haffen o’ this house is mine. An’ ye sha’n’t +bide in it one minute. I hev hed enough of +ye an’ yer ways. Go out!”</p> + +<p>“It’s a plumb harricane out’n doors, Ab,” +Mrs. Guyther pleaded timidly. “Won’t ye—won’t +ye jes’ let him bide till the storm’s +over?”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="III"> + III. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>The lightning flashed; the thunder pealed. +The blind man lifted his head, listening. He +hesitated between his righteous scorn, his +sense of injury, and the hospitality that was +the instinct of his nature. He yielded at last, +shamefacedly, as to a weakness.</p> + +<p>“Waal, waal,” he said, in an off-hand cavalier +fashion, “keep Jerry dry; he’s mighty +val’y’ble. Good men air sca’ce, Jerry; take +keer o’ yerse’f!”</p> + +<p>He laughed sarcastically and resumed his +chair. As he did so his booted knee struck +against the little girl, still staring at him +with eyes full of wonder.</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” he cried sharply, his +nerves jarring yet with the excitement. He +had not before noticed her. “I can’t see!” +with a shrill rising inflection, as if the affliction +were newly realized.</p> + +<p>A propitiatory smile broke upon her face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span></p> + +<p>“Jes’ Rosamondy.” Her voice vibrated +through the room—the high quavering treble +of childhood that might have been shrill were +it not so sweet.</p> + +<p>“Jerry’s leetle gal,” said aunt Jemima.</p> + +<p>“Shucks!” he exclaimed, contemptuously, +and turned aside.</p> + +<p>“Set down, Rosamondy,” said aunt Jemima, +assuming a grandmotherly authority. +“Set down like a good leetle gal.”</p> + +<p>But Rosamond was not amenable to bidding +and paid no heed. She had risen from +her chair and stood by the side of the blind +artillery-man.</p> + +<p>“Set down,” aunt Jemima admonished her +again. “<i>He</i> can’t see.”</p> + +<p>“Kin ye feel?” she said, suddenly laying +her dimpled pink hand upon his. She gazed +up at him, her eyes bright and soft, her lips +parted, her cheek flushed. “Kin ye feel my +hand?”</p> + +<p>He looked surly, affronted for a moment. +He shook the light hand from his own. It +fell upon his knee where Rosamond leaned +her weight upon it. There was a subtle +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>change on his face. In his old debonair +way he drawled, “Yes, I kin feel. What’s +this?”—he laid his hand upon her hair—“Flax, +I reckon. Hyar, Sis’ Jemimy, hyar’s +that flax ye war goin’ ter hackle. Mus’ I +han’ it over ter ye?”</p> + +<p>He made a feint of lifting her by her hair, +and she sank down beside him, screaming +with laughter till the rafters rang.</p> + +<p>Aunt Jemima had taken the sock from her +knitting needles and was swiftly putting on +the stitches for newly projected work.</p> + +<p>“Lemme medjure ye fur a stockin’,” she +said, reaching out for the little girl. “Look +at the stitches this child’s stockin’ will take! +The fatness of her is s’prisin’. An’ ef Ab +air willin’,” she continued, “I want Rosamondy +ter bide hyar till I can knit her a +couple o’ pair o’ stockin’s an’ mend up her +clothes.”</p> + +<p>“I dunno ’bout’n that,” said Jerry Binwell. +He had seated himself in a chair, his +garments dripping with rain, and small puddles +forming from them on the floor. “I +dunno ez we-uns kin bide enny arter the +rain’s over.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span></p> + +<p>The capable aunt Jemima cast upon him a +glance which seemed to contrast his limp, forlorn, +and ineffective personality with her own +stalwart moral value.</p> + +<p>“I ain’t talkin’ ter you-uns, Jerry, nor +thinkin’ ’bout ye, nuther,” she remarked +slightingly. “I done said my say,” she continued +after the manner of a proclamation. +“That thar child air goin’ ter bide hyar till I +fix her clothes comfortable—ef it takes me +a year.” Then with a recollection of her +brother’s grievance she again added, “Ef +Ab’s willin’.”</p> + +<p>The stocking was already showing a ribbed +top of an admirable circumference. Aunt +Jemima evidently felt a pride in its proportions +which was hardly decorous.</p> + +<p>Jerry made no reply. He looked disconsolately +at the fire from under the brim of his +rain-soaked hat, that now and then contributed +a drop to his cheek, which thus bore a +tearful aspect. Presently he broke the silence, +speaking in a strained rasping voice.</p> + +<p>“Ef I hed knowed ez Ab held sech a pack +o’ old gredges ag’in me I wouldn’t kem nigh +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>hyar,”—he glanced at the stalwart soldierly +form bending to the little laughing maiden. +“Ab dunno what I tole the en’my—he +warn’t thar. I never tole the en’my nuthin’. +An’ ennybody ez be captured kin be accused +o’ desertin’—ef folks air so minded. I never +deserted, nuther. An’ sech gredges ez Ab +hev got,” he continued, complainingly, “air +fur what I done, an’ what I ain’t done whenst +I war nuthin’ but a boy.”</p> + +<p>Ab turned his imperious youthful face toward +him. “Ye hesh up!” he said. “Thar +ain’t no truce hyar fur you-uns.”</p> + +<p>His attention reverted instantly to the +babyish sorceress at his knee, who with an +untiring repetition and an unfailing delight in +the exercises would rise from her chair and +gently touch his hand or brow crying out, +with a joyous voice full of laughter, “Kin +you-uns feel my hand!” Then he would +pinch her rosy cheeks and retort in a gruff +undertone, “Kin you-uns feel my hand!”</p> + +<p>They all behaved, Ike thought, as if they +had found something choice and of rare value. +And if the truth must be known, he watched +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>the scene with somewhat the same sentiments +which animated the old dogs. He shared +their sense of supersedure, and he noticed how +they whined and could take comfort in no +spot about the hearth; how they would walk +around three times and lie down with a sigh +of renunciation, to get up suddenly with an +afflicted wheeze, and hunt about for another +place where the distemper of their jealous +hearts might let them find rest for their lazy +bones. They all sought to intrude themselves +upon notice. One of them crept to +aunt Jemima and humbly licked her foot, only +to have that stout and decided member deal +him a prompt rebuke upon the nose, eliciting +a yelp altogether out of proportion to the +twinge inflicted; for the dog, since he was not +going to be petted, was glad to have some +grievance to howl about, as he might thus +more potently appeal to her sympathy. The +hound that was accustomed to lead the blind +man was even more insistent in his manifestations. +He went and rested his head on his +master’s knee, while the little girl sat close in +her chair on the opposite side, and he wagged +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>his tail and looked imploringly up in the +sightless face. But Rosamondy leaned across +and patted the dog on the head, and let him +take her hand between his teeth, and jovially +pulled his ears, and finally caught him by +both, when they lost their balance and went +over on the hearth together in a wild scramble, +about to be “scorched an’ scarified ter +death,” as aunt Jemima said snappishly when +she rescued the little girl, who was a very red +rose now, and with a tender shake deposited +her once more in her chair. Then the old +dog left his master, and ran and sat by her +and sought to incite more gambols.</p> + +<p>But Ike was not so easily reconciled. He +did not appreciate the gratulation in this acquisition +that pervaded the fireside. She was +nothing but a girl, and a little one at that. +Girls were not uncommon; in fact they +abounded. They were nothing to brag on—Ike +was young as yet. They couldn’t do anything +that was worth while. To be sure the +miller’s daughter <i>was</i> tolerably limber, and +could walk on the timbers of the race, which +were high above the stream. But how she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>worked her arms above her head to balance +herself! And she pretended to shoot once in +a while; he would rather be the mark than +stand forty yards from it. That was the best +he could say for her shooting. And she was +the most valuable and desirable specimen of +girlhood in his acquaintance. He noted with +a sort of wonder that his mother, through +sheer absorption, let the hoe-cake burn to a +cinder, and had to make up and bake one +anew. And when it was at last done, and +placed on the table with the platter of venison +and corn dodgers, he did not admire particularly +the simple but vivid delight with +which Rosamond greeted the prospect of supper. +But even the saturnine Hiram Guyther +looked at her with a smile as she ran glibly +around the table, and with her hands on the +edge stood on her tiptoes to see what they +were to have, and he turned and said to Jerry +Binwell, “She air a powerful bouncin’ leetle +gal. I reckon we-uns’ll hev ter borry her, +Jerry—ef,” recollecting in his turn that this +was the child of his blind brother’s enemy, +“ef Ab’s willin’.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span></p> + +<p>The dawdling Jerry, still staring disconsolately +at the fire, drawled non-committally, +“I dunno ’bout’n that.”</p> + +<p>Despite all her fervor of anticipation, Rosamondy +was not hungry. She knelt in her +chair at the table to be tall enough to participate +in the exercises, and her beaming pink +face, and her tossing yellow hair, and her +glittering rows of squirrel teeth—she showed +a great many of them when she laughed—irradiated +the space between aunt Jemima +and Ab. Her conduct was what Ike mentally +designated as “robustious.” She bounced up +and down; she fed her supper to the dogs; +she let the cat climb up the back of her chair +and put two paws on her shoulder among her +tangled yellow curls and lap milk out of her +saucer. She shrieked and bobbed about till +Ike did not know whether he was eating hoe-cake +or sawdust. She looked as if she were +out in a high wind. Aunt Jemima vainly +sought to make her eat her supper, but the +displeasure on her face was a feigned rebuke +for which Rosamond cared as little as might +be. When she concluded her defiance of all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>those observances, which Ike had been taught +to respect, by taking her empty saucer, inverting +it and perching it on her tousled yellow +pate after the manner of a cap, Hiram Guyther, +the meal being ended, caught her up delightedly +and rode her to the fireplace on his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“I declar’, Jerry,” he exclaimed cordially, +his big bass voice booming amidst the trilling +treble laughter, “we-uns’ll hev ter steal this +hyar leetle gal from ye.”</p> + +<p>And Jerry, demurely disconsolate, replied, +“I reckon I couldn’t spare her, right handy.”</p> + +<p>Presently Ike began to notice that it was +very difficult for Rosamondy to get enough of +a joke. She refused to descend from the +gigantic mountaineer’s shoulder, and when he +tried to put her down clung to his collar, +around his neck, indeed she did not scruple +to clutch his hair. Hiram Guyther had not +for a long time taken such active exercise—for +in this region men of his age assume all +the privileges and ailments of advanced years—as +during the time that he trotted up and +down the floor with the little girl on his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>shoulder, playing he was a horse. A hard +driver he had, to be sure, and he was obliged +to stamp, and shy, and jump, and spurt, +smartly. He did not look quite sensible Ike +thought in unfilial surprise.</p> + +<p>The whole domestic routine was upset. His +mother and aunt Jemima had left the clearing +away of the dishes and applied themselves to +pulling out the old trundle-bed—long ago +too short for any of the family—and they +arranged it with loving care and much precaution +against the cold and draughts.</p> + +<p>“I’m fairly feared she mought roll out, an’ +git her spine bruk, or her neck,” said aunt +Jemima, knitting her wrinkled brows in affectionate +alarm as she looked at the trundle-bed +that was about two feet from the floor.</p> + +<p>“I reckon not,” said Jerry meekly as he +inoffensively watched the arrangement of the +cosy nest. “She never fell off ’n the top o’ +the kyart—an’ sometimes she napped ef the +sun war hot.”</p> + +<p>“An’ ye air the only man in Tennessee ez +would hev sot the leetle critter up thar—an’ +her tender bones so easy ter break,” said aunt +Jemima, tartly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span></p> + +<p>“Waal, I done the bes’ I could fur her,” +drawled Jerry in his tearful voice, looking +harried and woeful.</p> + +<p>And remembering how kind and gentle he +had seemed to his little daughter, Ike wondered +that he did not feel sorry for Jerry +when aunt Jemima intimated that he was +heedless of her safety and neglected her. But +watching the man Ike was even more disapproving +of the wholesale adoration which the +family seemed disposed to lay at the feet of +the little girl and of her adoption into a solicitude +and love that was almost parental. He +believed that Jerry had an inimical appreciation +of all the slighting consideration of him, +but offered no objection to the authority they +had assumed over Rosamondy, thinking it well +that she should get all she could out of them.</p> + +<p>Her hilarity seemed to increase as the hour +waxed later, and when aunt Jemima finally +took her, squirming and wriggling and shouting +with laughter, from Hiram Guyther’s +shoulder and tucked her into the trundle-bed +with a red quilt drawn up close under her +dimpled white chin and her long yellow hair, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>Ike expected to see the whole bed paraphernalia +rise up while she resurrected herself.</p> + +<p>“Ye lie still, now,” said aunt Jemima +sternly, laying a hand upon each shoulder.</p> + +<p>A vague squirm, a sleepy chuckle, and Rosamond +was eclipsed for the night.</p> + +<p>“Waal, that beats my time,” said the grim +aunt Jemima softly. “Asleep a’ready!”</p> + +<p>She sat down and resumed her knitting. +Hiram Guyther was mopping his brow with +his handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“I feel like ez ef I’d los’ ten pound o’ flesh,” +he said. And Ike thought it not unlikely. +His mother was washing the dishes; the blind +man was reflectively smoking his pipe; the +dogs came and disposed themselves with reproachful +sighs prominently about the hearth. +Jerry Binwell did not share their relief. He +stirred uneasily in his chair, the legs grating +on the puncheon floor, as if he feared that with +this distraction removed the more unfriendly +attention of the family might be directed to +him. No one spoke for a moment, all listening +to the tumult of the rain on the roof; they +had not before noticed that the violence of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>storm had subsided into a steady downpour. +Then, after a glance at the sleeping face, pensive +now and ethereal and sensitive, framed +in the yellow hair that streamed over the red +quilt, aunt Jemima turned a long calculating +gaze on Jerry Binwell.</p> + +<p>As its result she observed bluntly, “Her +mother mus’ hev been a mighty pritty woman.”</p> + +<p>If the inference that Rosamond inherited +none of her beauty from her father was apprehended +by Jerry, he did not resent it. His +eyes filled with tears.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she war,” he said, dropping his voice +to a husky undertone. “She war a plumb +beauty whenst she war young, afore she tuk +ter ailin’.”</p> + +<p>Another pause ensued. The rain beat monotonously; +the eaves dripped and dripped; +the trees on the mountain slopes swayed, and +creaked, and crashed together.</p> + +<p>“It hev been mighty hard on me,” Jerry +again lifted up his dreary voice, “ter know +how bes’ ter keer fur Rosamondy—not bein’ +a ’oman myself an’ sech. I know she’s ragged, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>but I can’t mend her clothes so they’ll +stay; she jumps so onexpected. I can’t sew +fitten fur much, though I hev tried ter l’arn. +I ’pear ter be slow an’ don’t get much purchase +on it. I can’t keep no stiddy aim with +a needle, nuther. An’ all the wimmen ez ever +hed a chance at Rosamondy tuk ter quar’lin +over her, like them done ez Sol’mon hed ter +jedge a-twixt, till I war actially afeared she +be tore in two. Ever since the war I hev been +livin’ down in Persimmon Cove an’ thar it +war I merried. ’Bout a year ago Em’line +she died o’ the lung complaint. An’ then the +’tother wimmen, her sister an’ mother, they +quar’led so over Rosamondy, an’ set tharse’fs +so ter spite me every which-a-way, ez I jes’ +’lowed I’d fetch her up hyar fur this winter +ter bide with my folks awhile. An’ I fund +’em all dead or moved away—jes’ my luck! +Rosamondy an’ me hev hed a mighty hard +time. I hev been mighty poor, never could +git no good holt on nuthin’. I ain’t felt much +like tryin’ noways sence Em’line lef’; ’pears +mighty hard she couldn’t hev been let ter +bide awhile longer.” And once more his eyes +filled with tears.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span></p> + +<p>“Waal, mournin’ the dead is grudgin’ ’em +the glory,” said Mrs. Guyther in her comforting +tones.</p> + +<p>“I know that,” said Jerry, “I hev tried ter +bow my mind;” his eyes were still full of +tears. And Ike, looking at them, was disposed +to wonder where he got them, so little did +they seem genuine.</p> + +<p>The tallow dip on the mantel-piece went +out in a splutter and left them all sitting in +the red glow of the fire, which was a mass of +coals where the white flames had been. It +was far later than the usual bed-time of the +family, and thus they were reminded of it. +Mrs. Guyther, kneeling on the hearth, began +to cover the coals with the plentiful ashes that +lay in great heaps on either side. The dogs, +summoned by Hiram Guyther to leave the +house, pulled themselves into various efforts +at an upright posture, and sat gazing blinkingly +at the fire with a determination to misunderstand +the tenor of his discourse. One +of them glanced over his shoulder at the door +and shivered at the thought of the bleak +dampness outside. Another yawned shrilly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>and was adjured by aunt Jemima to hesh his +mouth—didn’t he know he’d wake the baby +up if he kep’ yappin’ that-a-way.</p> + +<p>“Let the dogs alone, Hiram,” said Mrs. +Guyther, “they count on bein’ allowed ter +stay till the las’ minit. Ye show Jerry whar +he hev ter sleep whilst I fix the fire.”</p> + +<p>After the host had shown Jerry up the ladder +to the shadowy roof-room, Abner, who had +not again spoken to the visitor, and seeming +as if he were gazing ponderingly into the fire, +said suddenly to the two women:—</p> + +<p>“What do that leetle gal look like?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Guyther paused with the shovel in her +hand, as she still knelt on the hearth.</p> + +<p>Aunt Jemima dropped her knitting in her +lap.</p> + +<p>They replied in a breath:—</p> + +<p>“The pritties’ yearthly human ever you +see!”</p> + +<p>“Bigges’ gray eyes!” cried Mrs. Guyther, +“an’ black lashes!”</p> + +<p>“An’ yaller hair—yaller ez gold an’ haffen +a yard long,” exclaimed aunt Jemima.</p> + +<p>“Fine bleached skin, white ez milk,” said +Mrs. Guyther.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span></p> + +<p>“An’ yit she’s all pink—special when +she laughs,” cried aunt Jemima, “jes’ like +these hyar wild roses—ye ’member ’em, don’t +ye, Ab, growin’ in the fence corner in the +June weather”—</p> + +<p>—“Sech a many of ’em over yander by +Keedon Bluffs,” put in Mrs. Guyther.</p> + +<p>“I ’member ’em,” said Ab.</p> + +<p>“Jes’ the color of ’em when she laughs—jes’ +like they be, a-blowin’ about in the +wind,” declared aunt Jemima.</p> + +<p>“She’s named right—Rosy; she’s like +’em,” said Mrs. Guyther.</p> + +<p>The red glow of the embers was full on +the blind man’s face, encircled by shadows. +It seemed half smiling, or perhaps that was +some illusion of the fire-light, for it was pensive +too, and wistful. He pondered for a +while; then—“I’d like ter see her,” he +said, simply. “I would.”</p> + +<p>Every word was distinctly audible in the +roof-room. Jerry Binwell sat in a rickety +chair amongst the shadows, his head attentively +bent down, his hands on his knees, his +hat drooping half over his face. The rifts +between the puncheons of the flooring admitted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>a red glow from the fire-lit room below, +and illumined the dusky loft with longitudinal +shafts of light. A triumphant smile +played over his face as the women talked of +the beauty of the little Rosamond—a smile +that might have expressed only paternal pride +and satisfaction in the comfortable results of +the evening. But when the blind man’s rich +low voice sounded, “I’d like ter see her—I +would,” the listener’s face changed. The +narrow gleam of light from the cracks in the +floor played upon the mocking animosity in +his eyes, the sneer on his lips as they parted. +He stood suddenly erect, in a tense soldierly +position—among the shadows, and the bags +of “yerbs,” and the old clothes, and the +peltry hanging from the ridge-pole—brought +his heels together with a swift precision, and +then the deserter mockingly carried his hand +to his hat in a military salute.</p> + +<p>“I would,” dreamily reiterated the blind +soldier in the room below.</p> + +<p>The deserter, relaxing his martial attitude +to his normal slouch, noiselessly smote his +thigh with his right hand, and burst into +silent laughter.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IV"> + IV. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>The next morning Ike woke with an odd, +heavy sense of having sustained some serious +misfortune, and it was several moments before +he could identify it; when he did, he was +amazed to find it only his intuitive distrust of +the stranger’s presence here, and an aversion +to its continuance. He upbraided himself in +the same instant for the inhospitable thought. +“Hyar I be, actially a-grudgin’ the houseless +ones a shelter from the yellimints,” he said +in shame.</p> + +<p>He was disappointed, however, to observe +that after breakfast there was no sign of an +impending departure; Jerry Binwell easily +adapted himself to the domestic routine and +smoked and lounged before the fire, or strolled +lazily about the yard. Ike thought, for all he +so readily made himself at home, that his +sordid, weak, sly face looked strangely alien +and out of place among the sterling, honest, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>candid countenances of the family circle. So +ill at ease did Ike feel with this vague anxiety +that he was glad enough when his mother +bethought herself that she needed logwood +from the store. Mounted on the old gray +mare he set out on this errand, feeling liberated +in a measure, riding against the fresh +wind that seemed to blow away the vexing +distemper of his thoughts.</p> + +<p>The rain had revivified the world; everything +seemed made anew. The colors were +so luminously clear; how splendidly the maples +deployed down the mountain side, with +red and amber and purple gleams; every +needle of the pines was tipped with a rain-drop, +prismatically glittering. Mists rose from +the intermediate valleys between the ranges, +and folded their wings for a space, dallying +on the summit, and then, drawn sunwards, +lifted with silent ethereal grace into the soft +blue sky. How lofty the mountains seemed +to-day—how purple! Even the red mud +beneath his mare’s hoofs had depths of rich +ocherous tints, restful to the eye. It splashed +monotonously under the steady jogging tread, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>so muffled that a squirrel, nimbly speeding +along the topmost rail of the wayside fence, +had no thought of an approach, and seemed +a fellow-traveler; a swift one!—the old +mare is soon far behind. And now the river +is crossed, swollen by the rain and of a clay-color, +instead of its wonted limpid silvery tint, +and deep enough in the middle to make the +old mare flounder to the girth and then unwillingly +swim, while Ike gathers himself on +his knees on the saddle to keep out of the +cold water. And now up the rocky bank in +the deep shadowy woods,—where there is no +fence on either side of the road, which seems +merely a vagrant wheel-track here and there +in the mud, covered with the yellow and red +and brown fallen leaves—and all the bosky +vistas are full of richest color. Everywhere +the giant trees close thickly in—no sign of +mountains now, save the tonic balsamic air +in proof of the altitudes. Only the pines +and cedars and the jungles of the laurel are +green, and green they will be all winter. +Hear that! a fox barks in that dense tangle—are +the frost grapes ripe, old Crafty? And +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>suddenly between a scarlet oak and a yellow +hickory a section of purple mountain shows, +a floating capricious sprite-like mist slips in +and out of sight, and there at the base of the +range is the little store—a low white-washed +shanty of one room; further up the slope in +the clearing a gray log-cabin stands where +Skimpy Sawyer lives.</p> + +<p>Skimpy’s father kept the store, in a leisurely +and unexcited fashion—indeed many +people might have considered that the store +kept itself. As Ike dismounted and hitched +the mare to the fence, he gave a peculiar +whistle, a preconcerted signal, loud and shrill +enough to summon his friend if he had been +anywhere in the vicinity. No one responded, +and Ike took his way to the open door of the +store.</p> + +<p>He had a certain pleasant anticipation; +here congregated the mountain cronies, and +he loved to listen to their talk enriched with +warlike reminiscences, through which vibrated, +as it were, some faint and far-off echo +of the strain of the bugle and the roll of +the drum.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span></p> + +<p>His hopes were suddenly destroyed. As he +ascended the three or four unhewn rocks that +formed the steps to the door, he heard the +long, expressionless drawl of the storekeeper +within, and then a fat man’s husky laugh. +Ike started guiltily at the sound. But the +broad sunshine had thrown a squatty shadow +of him upon the floor within, and he knew that +this caricature was recognized, for the voice +sang out suddenly—“Ai—yi Ike; I see ye! +Needn’t be hidin’! I’ll kem arter ye!”</p> + +<p>Then as the boy, shamefaced and a little +lowering, appeared in the doorway, he continued, +“Whar’s that buckeye tree ye war +a-goin’ ter cut down fur me so brash?”</p> + +<p>“I plumb furgot it,” mumbled Ike, as if +his contrition were more acceptable when half +articulate. “I furgot it, Mr. Corbin.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be bound ye did!” said the fat man +vivaciously.</p> + +<p>He was seated in one of the rickety chairs +which hardly seemed adequate to his weight. +He wore an unbleached cotton shirt, a suit +of blue jeans much creased and crumpled, +and a broad-brimmed hat, beneath which was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>a face also creased and crumpled. He was +slow and inactive rather than old, and a man +of his age who had lived a different life +would hardly have such gray hair as his, or +so many wrinkles. Nevertheless he had not +entirely subsided into the chimney corner as +is the habit of the elderly mountaineer. He +still plied his trade which was that of making +spinning-wheels and chairs, bread troughs +and bowls, which require mechanical dexterity +rather than agility; thus it was that he had +hired Ike to find and cut down a sound and +stalwart buckeye suitable for his purposes, his +own unwieldy bulk and sedentary habits making +him averse to undertaking the job himself.</p> + +<p>Peter Sawyer, the storekeeper, was tall +and lank. He had a long head, an attenuated +face, and a habit of basking in the sun, which +was not incongruous with a certain lizard-like +aspect. He sat now with his chair tilted +against the frame of the doorway, and the +sunshine poured through upon him. He too +wore his hat, and did not move while one of +his customers counted some pelts that he had +brought to exchange and announced the result. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>“Want some sugar an’ salt fur ’em?” +demanded the merchant lazily. “He’p yerse’f, +neighbor; he’p yerse’f.”</p> + +<p>The neighbor, who lived on the other side +of the mountain, pottered around among the +merchandise in search of the sugar and salt, +attended only by the storekeeper’s dog, an +earnest-minded and grave-mannered brute, +that guarded the store by night and seemed +to clerk there by day, following the customers +about with sedulous politeness, and apparently +only hindered from waiting upon them +by the lack of adaptability in his paws. His +urbanity did not extend to their followers. +He measured strength with all the dogs that +came to the store. It was useless for any +pacifically disposed hound to sit under the +wagon bed at a safe distance. The clerk +would rush out with a celerity that implied a +hundred feet, and the fracas under the wagon +would be long and loud and bloody. But +he had not all the canine pluck in the Big +Smoky, and thus it was that one of his ears +was slit, and he preferred to shut one eye, +and his tail was but a stump. He turned +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>wagging it vivaciously as Ike came in, and +the storekeeper, regardless of old Corbin’s +reproofs, said benignantly, “Howdy, Ike, +howdy? Make yerse’f at home. How’s the +fambly, Ike, how’s the fambly?”</p> + +<p>“Jes’ toler’ble,” said Ike, taking a rickety +chair near the door.</p> + +<p>“Uncle Ab ez well ez common?” demanded +the customer, still hunting about for +the salt. He was a tall, straight, soldierly +fellow, and though he had fought on the +opposite side he felt a comrade-like sympathy +for the blinded artillery-man.</p> + +<p>“He be jes’ ez peart ez ever—jes’ a-settin’-back,” +said Ike, with responsive interest. +He had great love for his uncle and a special +veneration for a man so learned as he fancied +Abner Guyther to be in the science of gunnery. +“He air jes’ ez lively ez a three-year-old +colt.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t he a heap o’ trouble ter lead about +an’ sech?” demanded old Corbin, turning his +crow’s-feet—one could hardly have said his +glance, for it was so deeply enveloped among +the folds of wrinkles—upon Ike.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span></p> + +<p>“Naw sir!” the boy repudiated the idea +with a glowing cheek and a flashing eye. +“Uncle Ab air sech good comp’ny everybody +in the fambly jes’ hankers ter bide nigh him; +the identical dogs fight one another fur which +one air ter be ’lowed ter lead him—sometimes +ef we-uns air busy he walks with a +string ter the dog’s neck. Shucks! the main +thing air to <i>git</i> ter lead him—jes’ ez apt ez +not uncle Ab will set out by his lone self. +An’ he don’t often run over ennything—he +’pears ter hev a heap o’ sense in his hands, +an’ he knows whenst he air a-comin’ towards +ennything like a door or post, though he’ll +walk ag’in cheers or tubs or sech. ’Tother +day—ye mought hev knocked me down I +war so surprised—I kem along the road +’bout a quarter o’ a mile from home, an’ thar +sot uncle Ab a-top o’ the rail fence—jes’ +a-settin’ thar in the sun all alone an’ a-whistlin’ +the bugle calls.”</p> + +<p>“Ho! ho!” exclaimed the customer, “he +always hed spunk,—Abner hed; an’ he +air a-showin’ it now, jes’ ez true ez when he +sarved in his battery.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!” exclaimed Ike, gratified by +this sign of appreciation. Then warming to +the subject he continued, “Uncle Ab ain’t +’feared o’ nuthin’—not even now, in the +everlastin’ dark ez he be. Why, ’tother day I +see a old cannon-ball a-layin’ on a ledge over +yander at Keedon Bluffs, an’ when he learn +’bout’n it he war plumb trembly, he war so +excited, an’ he ’lowed he’d go ef I’d holp +him a leetle, an’ climb down them tremenjious +cluffs, jes’ ter lay his hand on that cannon-ball, +ter remind hisself o’ that thar old +gun o’ his’n, what he doted on so. It fairly +bruk his heart ter spike it. I hev heard him +tell ’bout’n it a-many-a-time.”</p> + +<p>“Hey!” exclaimed Peter Sawyer, turning +about in amaze, “a blind man climb down +Keedon Bluffs! ’Twould take a mighty spry +feller with all his senses fur that. I misdoubts +ef ennybody hev ever done sech ez +that—thout ’twar Ab whenst he war young +an’ limber, an’ wild ez a buck.”</p> + +<p>Ike had become suddenly conscious that +old Corbin was watching him curiously.</p> + +<p>“He don’t ’pear ter know he air blind, do +he?” demanded the fat man, slowly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span></p> + +<p>Ike detected some covert meaning in the +tones. “Waal,” he said, vaguely embarrassed +and swinging his foot against the rung of the +chair, “Uncle Ab—he jes’ sets an’ laffs, an’ +talks ’bout whar he hev been an’ what him +an’ his comrades done, an’ he don’t notice +much what’s goin’ on now, nor look out fur +nuthin’ ez is ter kem.”</p> + +<p>“He ain’t soured noways,” put in the customer, +still intent on his purchase.</p> + +<p>There was a momentary silence. The flies +buzzed about the sorghum barrel. You might +have heard the cat purring on the shelf.</p> + +<p>“This hyar ’bout fair medjure, Pete?” the +customer demanded lifting his grave eyes as +he helped himself to salt.</p> + +<p>“I reckon so; I reckon so,” said the storekeeper +casually.</p> + +<p>Ike rose abruptly in awkward and eager +haste; in a constrained and nervous way he +asked for the logwood he wanted. His quick +instincts had detected fault in something that +he had said or the meaning that he had conveyed. +But his penetration was not so subtle +as to descry wherein the fault consisted. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>was eager to get away. “’Fore I let my jaw +git ter wabblin’ ag’in. An’ then I hed better +cut off the e-end o’ my tongue with a hatchet +an’ mebbe it wouldn’t be so powerful nimble.”</p> + +<p>He expected old Corbin to say more, but +the fat man sat solemnly puffing his pipe, +his face more than usually wrinkled, as he +watched Ike with his small twinkling eyes +while Peter Sawyer procured the logwood +and gave it to the boy.</p> + +<p>With some indefinite intention of propitiation +Ike turned toward him at the door. “I +hev been toler’ble busy lately, but I’m a-goin’ +ter cut down that thar tree this evening, +sure.”</p> + +<p>“So do! So do!” assented old Corbin +unreservedly. “Then I’ll gin ye that thar +rooster I war a-tellin’ ye ’bout. Powerful +spry Dominicky.”</p> + +<p>Ike looked back over his shoulder once as +he trotted off on the old white mare. The +storekeeper and his clerk were standing in the +doorway; the ex-soldier had completed his +purchases, and was riding off toward the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>mountain; old Corbin was visible sitting +within the door, a hand on either knee, his +eyes meditatively downcast. He solemnly +shook his head as he cogitated, and Ike was +moved to wonder what he meant by it. “I +wisht I hedn’t tole what uncle Ab say ’bout +climbin’ down them bluffs. They ’pear ter +think it be so cur’ous.”</p> + +<p>And it was of Abner Guyther that the +two gossips were talking as Ike rode away +out of sight.</p> + +<p>“That be a powerful strange thing fur +Abner ter be a-sayin’,” remarked the storekeeper +presently.</p> + +<p>Old Corbin shook his head with a wise +look; a wise smile wrinkled about the corners +of his mouth.</p> + +<p>“In my opinion <i>he</i> ain’t no blind man. +He kin see <i>some</i>, mebbe more, mebbe less. +He air jes’ purtendin’. Set up thar an’ laff +an’ joke ez spry ez a boy o’ twenty, an’ talk +’bout climbin’ down the bluffs—an’ tell me +he ain’t hed his vision for all these years! I +know Abner!”</p> + +<p>“What makes ye ’low sech ez that, Jake?” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>demanded his crony, fairly startled out of his +composure by this proposition.</p> + +<p>“Kase Abner always war a ’sateful an’ a +plottin’ boy—look at the way he fooled his +folks when he run off ter jine the Secesh! I +ain’t furgittin’ that. An sure’s ye air born +thar’s suthin’ behind all them thar shet eyeballs. +Abner, he hain’t quit his plannin’ an’ +sech. He hev got his reason fur it. It’s +slow a-showin’. But it’ll be made plain.”</p> + +<p>The storekeeper puffed his cob-pipe, and silently +watched the blue wreaths curl from it. +He did not enter readily into this opinion, +for he was a man of the practical views natural +to those who associate much with their +fellows. Despite the sparse population of the +district he had a pivotal participation in such +life as there was on the slopes and in the +cove, for it revolved about the store. But +Corbin spent his days in mere mechanical labor +that left his mind free to wander. Thus +speculation and vague fancies were his companions, +and there was scant wonder that he +should presently treat them as conclusions and +facts.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span></p> + +<p>In silent anticipation of the elucidation of +the singular theory advanced, Peter Sawyer +drew from his pocket a strong clasp knife +and began to whittle a bit of wood which he +picked up from the doorstep. But old Corbin’s +next remark seemed to have no relation +to the subject.</p> + +<p>“Who d’ye reckon I seen yestiddy up yander +by that thar big vine-grown spot what +they calls Old Scratch’s vineyard?”</p> + +<p>Pete Sawyer looked inquiringly doubtful, +but silently puffed his pipe.</p> + +<p>“<i>Jerry Binwell!</i>”</p> + +<p>Old Corbin paused after he said this, smiling +broadly and fixedly—all the wrinkles +about his mouth and eyes seemed to come out +as if to enjoy the sensation that this announcement +occasioned.</p> + +<p>The storekeeper stared blankly for a moment, +then dropped his pipe upon the ground. +The fire rolled out.</p> + +<p>“Laws-a-massy!” he exclaimed, unheeding.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir! same old Jerry; the wuss fur +wear; some <i>de</i>-lapidated; but—same old +Jerry!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span></p> + +<p>“I ’lowed he war in Texas; folks said he +went thar arter the war.”</p> + +<p>“I hailed him; he purtended not ter know +me a-fust, an’ he stopped, an’ we talked +awhile. He ’lowed he had never been ter +Texas. Jes’ down the kentry a piece in Persimmon +Cove. I dunno whether he war tellin’ +the truth.”</p> + +<p>“I reckon he war,” said the storekeeper. +“It air a mighty out-o’-the-way place—Persimmon +Cove; Satan hisself mought hid out +in Persimmon an’ folks in gineral never be +the wiser ez the Enemy war enny nigher.”</p> + +<p>“He ’lowed he married thar,” continued +Corbin. “An’ what d’ye reckon he hed +along o’ him?”</p> + +<p>He looked at his crony with a broad grin.</p> + +<p>“A—leetle gal! Thar they war a-travelin’ +along the slope. Hed a leetle ox-cart an’ +a steer geared up in it; he hed a cow critter +too; calf followed; an’ sech cheers an’ house-stuff +ez he owned piled in the cart, an’ settin’ +a-top o’ it all this hyar leetle gal—’bout ez +big ez a shingle. She rid, bein’ ez she hain’t +got no weight sca’cely.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span></p> + +<p>“An’ whar’s the ’oman?” asked the storekeeper, +missing an important factor in the +family circle.</p> + +<p>Corbin lowered his voice and his humorous +wrinkles strove to retire themselves.</p> + +<p>“Dead,” he said gravely.</p> + +<p>Peter Sawyer, bethinking himself of his +pipe, filled it anew with a crumpled leaf of +tobacco, relighted it, and with the pipe-stem +between his teeth resumed the conversation.</p> + +<p>“An’ what sorter welcome do he reckon he +air goin’ ter find ’mongst the mountings hyar. +Do he ’low we hev furgot his sheer in the +war, kase it hev been right smart time since? +Naw sir. I ’members like yestiddy whenst +old Jeemes Guyther—Abner’s dad, ye know—kem +ter my store, lookin’ ez ef he hed +buried all his kin on yearth, an’ tole ez Abner +hed run off ter jine the Secesh along o’ Jerry +Binwell. An’ the old man said he hoped Ab +mought die afore he reached the Rebel lines, +kase he’d ruther mourn him dead ’n know +he hed raised his hand ag’in the Nunion.”</p> + +<p>“But he wouldn’t, though,” said Corbin +prosaically. “Them war days when men +talked mighty big.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span></p> + +<p>“An’ they acted mighty big too, sometimes,” +retorted Sawyer.</p> + +<p>“Waal, Abner war the apple o’ the old +man’s eye,” said Corbin; “I b’lieve he’d +turn in his grave ef he could know how Ab +war hurt. The whole fambly jes’ the same, +too. Look how Ab air pompered now. Ef +Abner war blind sure enough he couldn’t be +better treated. His dad always put the +blame o’ Ab’s goin’ on Jerry. An’ Jerry +war a wuthless chance! He kem back inside +o’ a year—deserted! But Ab never kem +back till arter the s’render.”</p> + +<p>“What makes ye ’low ez Abner hev got +his vision same ez common?” Sawyer demanded +again. “That notion ’pears powerful +cur’ous ter me—seein’ him led about hyar +fur nigh on ter twenty year, now by Ike, an’ +now by his brother, an’ then ag’in by a dog +an’ sech.”</p> + +<p>Old Corbin looked cautiously over his +shoulder through the open door as if he feared +some lurking eaves-dropper. The cabin on +the slope stood silent and motionless in the +motionless yellow radiance of the autumnal +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>sun. But the winds were astir, and as they +swayed the woods they revealed bizarre sunbeams +rioting hither and thither in glittering +fantasies among the leaves. No one sauntered +down the curves of the winding road nor +along the banks of the shining river. The +only creature visible was the old dog asleep, +but sitting upright, in a dislocated posture, +his head nodding spasmodically, and his +lower jaw dropped.</p> + +<p>“Ye hearn,” said Corbin softly, “that thar +nevy o’ his, Ike Guyther, ’low Ab want ter +climb down Keedon Bluffs ter whar that old +ball’s a-lyin’. Now do ye reckon a <i>blind</i> man +ez hev got good sense air goin’ ter trest his +bones a-gittin’ down that jagged bluff ez sheer +ez a wall with sech holp ez that thar skitter-brained +Ike kin gin?”</p> + +<p>Sawyer, holding his pipe in one hand and +his grizzled chin in the other, meditatively +shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Naw sir,” said Corbin, putting the gesture +into the more stalwart negation of words. +“A man, though, ez hed his vision, though +his j’ints be stiff some with age and laziness, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>mought do it, special ef he hed the holp o’ some +strong spry boy like Ike, ez be astonishin’ +grown fur his age, but ain’t got no mo’ sense +an’ scrimination than a boy naterally hev.”</p> + +<p>Once more Peter Sawyer nodded his head—this +time the action was vertical, for the +gesture intimated affirmation.</p> + +<p>“What in the name o’ reason do Abner +want ter go down whar the old ball be +lodged?” he asked in a speculative voice, as +if he hardly expected an answer.</p> + +<p>But the ready Corbin, primed with surmises, +first looked cautiously up and down the +road and then ventured a suggestion.</p> + +<p>“Waal, sir; seein’ Jerry Binwell minded +me o’ Abner Guyther, an’ how they used ter +consort together, an’ thinkin’ o’ Ab ’minded +me o’ the store old Squair Torbett used ter +set on him. Ab war mighty nigh always at +the Squair’s house a-doin’ some leetle job or +other, special arter the Squair tuk ter agein’ +so through worryin’ ’bout the war an’ his sons +ez war in the army. An’ Jerry Binwell war +at the Squair’s too, bein’ Ab’s shadder. +Waal, ye know the Squair hed a power o’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>money, an’ he hed drawed it out’n the banks +in the valley towns, ’count o’ the raidin’ soldiers +an’ sech. An’ he hid it somehows. +Some ’lowed he buried it, but most folks said +he let these hyar two boys inter the secret, an’ +Ab clomb down an’ hid the money in a strong +box in a hole in Keedon Bluffs, whilst Jerry +watched. Ye hev hearn that word? Waal, +sir, the Bluffs air like a honeycomb; so full +o’ holes ef a body didn’t know which one +they hid it in they couldn’t find it.”</p> + +<p>“I hev hearn folks a-talkin’ ’bout it myself,” +put in Pete Sawyer, “though o’ late +years they hev gin that up, mos’ly.”</p> + +<p>“Yessir,” assented Corbin. “An’ the +g’rillas they s’arched the Squair’s house ag’in +an’ ag’in, an’ couldn’t find nuthin’. These +two boys hed run off ter the Secesh army, by +that time, else they’d hev been made ter tell +whar the plunder war hid. An’ though Jerry +deserted an’ kem back, the Southern sympathizers +wouldn’t let him bide one single night +in the cove, but druv him off, an’ he ain’t +dared ter show his face hyar sence, else I +reckon he’d hev stole the money, ef he hed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>knowed whar it war—the Squair being dead +mighty onexpected.”</p> + +<p>The storekeeper’s eyes widened. “Ye—’low—the—money’s—thar—yit—hid +in Keedon Bluffs?” he panted.</p> + +<p>“I know this,” said old Corbin. “’Twar +hid thar, an’ I hearn with my own ears the +heirs say they never got no money out’n Keedon +Bluffs—they fairly scouted the idee. An’ +now,” he pursued, “one of the heirs is dead; +an’ the t’ other’s moved ter Arkansas. An’ +hyar kems one o’ the men ez watched whilst +the money war hid; an’ the t’ other ez hid it—a +<i>blind</i> man—be in a mighty hurry an’ +disturbament ter climb down Keedon Bluffs. +I dunno why they hain’t got it afore. I can’t +foller percisely the serpient trail of the evil +men. But ye mark my words—them two +fellers will hev a powerful big row—or”—his +eyes twinkled—“they’ll divide the plunder +an’ ye’ll hear o’ them consortin’ tergether +like frien’s.”</p> + +<p>He met with a triumphant leer the distended +astonished gaze of the storekeeper.</p> + +<p>“Ho! ho! Keedon Bluffs don’t speak ’less +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>they be spoke to fust,” he continued, “but +thar secrets git noised abroad. Thar’s suthin’ +thar wuth layin’ hands on ’thout foolin’ +along of a old spent cannon-ball.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="V"> + V. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>The arrival of Jerry Binwell and his little +girl at Hiram Guyther’s cabin soon became +known throughout the Cove, and the fact, +which Ike shortly discovered, that the newcomers +were regarded with disfavor by others +did not tend to further commend them to him. +He felt an odd sinking of the heart and a +grotesque sort of mortification whenever he +went to the mill or the store and encountered +questions and comments concerning his father’s +guests. Sometimes he was taken aside +by a conservative old codger, and the queries +were propounded in a mysterious and husky +whisper which imparted additional urgency.</p> + +<p>“They tell me ez <i>Jerry Binwell</i> air a-visitin’ +yer dad—air that a true word?”</p> + +<p>And Ike would sulkily nod.</p> + +<p>“What did he kem fur?”</p> + +<p>“Ter get out’n the storm.”</p> + +<p>“Storm’s been over a week an’ better”—with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>an implacable logic. Then, dredging +with new energy for information—“When’s +he goin’ away?”</p> + +<p>“Dunno.”</p> + +<p>“Whar’s he goin’ ter?” persistently.</p> + +<p>“Dunno.”</p> + +<p>“What’s he doin’ of?” changing the base +of attack.</p> + +<p>“Nuthin’.”</p> + +<p>“What’s he say?”</p> + +<p>“Ennything.”</p> + +<p>“Waal sir!” in a tone of disappointment, +the whole examination resulting in the total +amount of nothing.</p> + +<p>Out of Ike’s presence public opinion expressed +itself more freely and it was unanimous. +No one denied that it was a strange +thing that Hiram Guyther, one of the most +solid, respectable, and reliable men of the +whole country-side, whose very name was a +guarantee of good faith, should be harboring +a graceless, worthless, neer-do-weel like Jerry +Binwell, who was, moreover, suspected of +treachery which had resulted in Abner’s blindness. +The lines of demarkation between those +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>of high character and those who lack the +sterling virtues are strongly drawn and rigorously +observed in the mountains. The stern +and grim old Hiram himself was forced to recognize +the incongruity of the situation and its +utter irreconcilability with the popular estimation +of himself and his household. But he +maintained his ground as well as he might.</p> + +<p>“Yaas,” he would drawl, “Jerry’s a-puttin’ +up with we-uns now. Dunno how long he’ll +stay. Till the spring o’ the year, mebbe. +Naw, him an’ Abner don’t clash none. Naw, +he don’t pester me, nuther.”</p> + +<p>And with these baffling evasions he would +ride away, leaving the gossips at the store +or the mill drawing their chairs closer together, +and knitting their brows, and shaking +their heads.</p> + +<p>It was all most ominous and depressing to +Ike, for he was proud and keenly sensitive to +any decline in public esteem; sometimes he +was fairly tempted to tell that the old folks +at his house had fallen victims to the witching +charms of a noisy little body three feet +high, who made them like everything she did, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>and do things of which they would never +have believed themselves capable. Thus they +tolerated Jerry for her sake. And then he +held his peace for fear the gossips would say +they were all touched in the head.</p> + +<p>For certain severe elderly people who had +visited the house—it had more visitors than +usual—had observed in his hearing that they +were sorry for his mother and his aunt Jemima;—“ter +be cluttered up at thar time o’ +life with a young child, special sech a one ez +that, ez could no mo’ stan’ still ’n a pea on a +hot shovel, an’ war a-laffin’ an’ a-hollerin’ all +the time till a-body couldn’t hear thar own +ears.”</p> + +<p>Ike felt peculiar resentment against the +propounders of these strictures, although he +had not consciously fallen under the fascination +of the little Rosamond. He could not +however always disregard her hilarious challenges +to play, but when he succumbed it was +with a sort of surly surprise at his own relenting. +He even consented to see-saw with her,—a +pastime which she greatly affected,—although +he was obliged to sit on a very short +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>end of the plank thrust between the rails of +the fence in order to balance her very small +weight as she sat at the other extremity, on +the inside of the fence. And there, as she +swayed high and dropped low, beaming with +smiles and pink with delight, she looked like +a veritable rose, blown about in the playful +wind. But Ike was less picturesque as he +bobbed up and down very close indeed to the +rails and the leaning cross-stakes. “I’ll butt +my brains out ag’in these rails like a demented +Billy-goat if I don’t mind,” he said +to himself in dudgeon.</p> + +<p>One day, when he and Skimpy had been +visiting certain traps that they had jointly set +in the woods, their homeward way led them +past the store. They had had good luck with +their snares, and their fine spirits responded +alertly to a robust chorusing laugh that suddenly +rang out from the dark interior of the +building.</p> + +<p>The boys quickened their steps; there was +something unusual going on inside.</p> + +<p>The brown, unpainted walls within, the +shadowy beams and dusky rafters above, the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>burly boxes and barrels in the background, +were dimly illumined by the one fibrous slant +of sunshine through the window, which served +to show too the long gaunt figure of the storekeeper +standing near the entrance. He was +swaying backward, laughing as he smote his +thigh, and he called out, “Do it ag’in, +Shanks! Do it ag’in!”</p> + +<p>Then the boys observed that there was a +large group of figures standing at one side, +although not easily distinguishable since their +brown jeans garb so assimilated with the mellow +tint of the walls. The next minute Ike +reached the door and the whole scene was distinct +before him. In the midst of the circle +stood Jerry Binwell, his coat lying on the +floor, his hat hanging on the knob of a rickety +chair. His thin, long face was flushed; +he was laughing too and rubbing his hands, +and walking to and fro a few steps each way. +“Do it ag’in, Shanks,” once more called out +Peter Sawyer.</p> + +<p>There were friendly enough glances bent +upon him, and everybody was laughing pleasantly, +despite the pipes held between strong +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>discolored teeth. Even old Jake Corbin had +a reluctant twinkle among the many wrinkles +that encircled his eyes as he sat smoking, his +rickety chair tilted back against the wall.</p> + +<p>“Pritty spry yit, fur a ole man,” declared +Binwell, still rubbing his hands.</p> + +<p>“Do it ag’in, Shanks!” rang out from the +bystanders.</p> + +<p>Binwell looked up for a moment, drawing +back to the extreme end of the apartment. +Suddenly he crouched and sprang into the air +with an incredible lightness. It was a long +oblique jump to the beam on which he caught; +he did not wait a second but “skinned the +cat” among the rafters with an admirable +dexterity and dropped softly on his feet at +the doorway.</p> + +<p>Once more there was a guffaw. “Go it, +Shanks!” “He’s a servigrous jumper, sure!” +“Spry as a deer!”</p> + +<p>It was a most pacific scene and the exhibition +of agility seemed likely to promote only +good fellowship and the pleasant passing of +the hour until old Corbin remarked:</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jerry’s a good jumper, an’ a good +runner, too, I hev hearn.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span></p> + +<p>Binwell cast a quick glance over his shoulder; +a light gleamed in his small, dark, defiant +eye. Whether he did not pique himself +on his speed, or whether he detected a +sub-current of meaning in the comment, he +was moved to demand abruptly:</p> + +<p>“Whar did ye ever see me run?”</p> + +<p>Old Corbin’s delight in the opportunity +broadened his face by an inch or two. The +display of intricate hieroglyphic wrinkles +about his eyes was more than one might imagine +possible to be described by age and fatness. +His mouth distended to show the few +teeth that had not yet forsaken his gums; his +burly sides were shaking with laughter before +he said, “I never <i>seen</i> ye run, Jerry, but I +hearn ez ye done some mighty tall runnin’ in +the old war time.”</p> + +<p>There was a shout of derision from the +crowd, most of the men having served in one +army or the other. The object of this barbed +ridicule looked as if he might sink through +the floor. His face flushed, his abashed eyes +dropped, he stood quivering and abject before +them all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span></p> + +<p>Ike had a quick pang of pity and resentment. +And yet he was ashamed that this was +the man who sat by his father’s hearth and +shared their bread.</p> + +<p>It was only for a moment that he was +sorry for Binwell. The recovery from all +semblance of shame or wounded pride was +instantaneous as he retorted:</p> + +<p>“That’s mighty easy ter say ’bout ennybody.” +He whirled around on his light heel. +“Naw, folks,” he cried out, “I ain’t much on +the run; never footed it more’n jes’ fairly. +But I tell ye—ef ye be tired o’ seein’ me +jump—my jumpin’ ain’t nuthin’ ter my +heftin’. I kin lift the heaviest man hyar an’ +jump with him. Less see,” he affected to +turn about and survey the burly, stalwart +crowd. “Who pulls the beam at the highest +figger?”</p> + +<p>He hesitated for a moment; then with a +sudden dart that was like the movement of a +fish, he seized on old Corbin.</p> + +<p>“Naw! naw!” wheezed the fat old fellow +as the stringy, muscular arms encircled +him. He strove to hold to his chair; it fell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>over in the fracas and eluded his grasp; he +clutched at the window-sill—vainly; his hat +dropped off; his face was scarlet, and he +roared for help.</p> + +<p>It would doubtless have been extended had +not the quick and agile Jerry forestalled the +heavy mountaineers. He lifted Corbin with +a mighty effort; he even carried out his +boast of jumping—not high, after all, but +high enough for the wildly clutching old man +to catch the low beam with both hands.</p> + +<p>Binwell suddenly loosed his hold and left +him swaying ponderously to and fro, two or +three feet from the floor, in imminent danger +of falling, sputtering and wheezing, and red +in the face and with eyes starting out of his +head. Then his tormentor, fearful doubtless +of the recoil of public opinion, caught up his +hat and coat and with a loud scornful laugh +ran out of the store and disappeared up the +leafy road.</p> + +<p>To a man of ordinary weight and agility it +would have been easy enough to spring to the +floor. But the cumbersome bulk and slow, +clumsy habit of old Corbin lent the situation +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>real danger. There was a rush to his assistance—some +officious hand thrust an empty +barrel beneath his feet, hoping to afford him +support, but it toppled under his weight and +down he came, amidst a great rending of +staves, as the barrel collapsed beneath him.</p> + +<p>He was unhurt, although greatly shaken. +He had been frightened at first; perhaps +there was never so angry a man in the limits +of the Cove as he was now. Again and +again, as he was helped to his chair, he +declared that he would revenge himself on +Jerry Binwell, and the sympathetic crowd +expressed their sense of the injury and the +danger to which he had been subjected, as +well as the indignity offered him. To Ike’s +extreme amazement Binwell’s name was often +coupled with that of his father, or the blind +man, his uncle. Now, ordinarily, Ike would +have felt that these two spirited and responsible +people were amply able to answer for +themselves; but he knew that it was only by +an odd combination of circumstances that +they were associated, almost with the intimacy +of family relations, with such a person +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>as Binwell. It implied a friendship for him +which he knew they did not feel, and an indorsement +of him which they were not prepared +to give. Secure in their own sense of +rectitude and good repute this possibility of +a decline in public esteem had never, he was +sure, occurred to them. Alas, Rosamondy, +he heartily regretted that she had ever put +her dimpled foot across their threshold, and +yet he stipulated again within himself that +it was not in his heart to wish any houseless +creatures out of the shelter they had found.</p> + +<p>He had a vague terror of this false position +in which the family was placed. He knew, +with suddenly awakened forecast, that the +antagonism to Jerry Binwell would not end +here. Old Corbin’s spleen that might once +have passed for naught was now rendered a +valid and righteous anger in public opinion, +and he would have the sympathy and aid of +all the country-side. But how or why, in the +name of justice, could it include his father +and his blind uncle, who had done naught +after all but feed the hungry, and forgive the +enemy, and house the roofless vagrant.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span></p> + +<p>He lingered for a time after old Corbin had +gone to Sawyer’s house to get “a bite an’ rest +his bones,” listening to the younger men discuss +the incident, and comment on Binwell’s +strength.</p> + +<p>When Ike at last rose and started, Skimpy +started too.</p> + +<p>“Skimp!” called the storekeeper after him, +“yer mam’s got suthin’ fur ye to do at the +house. Go thar!”</p> + +<p>Skimpy obediently turned from the road +into the by-path and Ike went on, his heart +swelling with indignation and his eyes hot +with tears. He knew that his friend was to +be withheld from his association after this, +lest he might come under the influence of so +worthless and injurious an example as Jerry +Binwell. He trudged along home, wishing +that his father might have beheld the scene +and wondering if that would have urged him +to take some decided action in the case.</p> + +<p>Ike had an odd indisposition to relate it all. +He had been trained in a maxim,—good +enough so far as it goes,—“If you can’t say +anything kind of your neighbor, say nothing.” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>The only manifestation of his opinion +was expressed in deeds, not in words. His +mother had looked sharply at him from time +to time during the past week, and this afternoon, +as she opened suddenly the shed-room +door and saw him casting down a great pile of +bark, and chips, and sticks of wood, ready for +the morning fires, she said unexpectedly:</p> + +<p>“Ike, ain’t ye ailin’ nowhar?”</p> + +<p>“Naw’m,” he replied, drawing himself up +with stalwart pride, “I feel ez solid an’ sound +ez a rock.”</p> + +<p>“I ’lowed ye mus’ be sick—ye ’pear so +sober-faced, an’ occupy yerself no ways +sca’cely, ’cept in workin’—tendin’ on the +wood-pile, an’ packin’ the water, an’ drivin’ +the cow-critter. I ain’t hed ez much wood +hyar ter burn, nor water ter cook with, nor +the cow ez constant at the bars, fur ten year.”</p> + +<p>Ike turned and glanced reflectively about +him. The mountain, gorgeous in autumnal +array, loomed above; a blue sky looked pensively +down; some aerial craft had spread a +cloud-sail, and the wind was fair.</p> + +<p>“I never ’lowed ter feel sech pleasure in a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>wood-pile,” he said, meditatively. “I hev +made up my mind ez I ain’t a-goin’ ter ondertake +to be a shirk in this world.”</p> + +<p>She understood him instantly. As the door +swung a little ajar she looked back over her +shoulder through the shed-room into the main +room of the cabin. Binwell was not there; +no one was visible in the ruddy glare of the +fire illuminating the brown walls but the little +Rosamond and the blind man. She had +elected to consider herself some neighing, +prancing steed, and Abner held her by one +long, golden curl, that served as reins. A +short tether, to be sure, but she curveted, and +stamped, and laughed as few horses have ever +done. The reflection of her merriment was +in the smile on the blind man’s face. Her +very shadow was glad, as it sported with the +firelight on the floor.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VI"> + VI. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>There is nothing so conducive to happiness +as work—work done well and willingly. +It is in itself happiness. Ike wondered to +find, as he bent his mind and all his energy to +his simple tasks—grown strangely light and +seeming few—how little he suffered from his +exclusion from his friend’s society and from +the unjust discrimination made against him for +no fault of his; how amply his duty filled his +horizon, and presently arrayed itself in the +glad garb of pleasure. He sang—he could +but sing—as he wielded the axe, as he fed +the stock, as he went back and forth on his +errands through the lonely woods, sometimes +hearing the voice of Keedon Bluffs singing +too, in fitful and fugue-like response.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he was glad enough to be reassured +of his friend’s loyalty in their enforced +separation, for when they presently met by +accident Skimpy seized upon him eagerly, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>“Ye ain’t holdin’ no gredge ag’in <i>me</i>, air +ye, Ike? I couldn’t holp it; ye know I +couldn’t.”</p> + +<p>This accidental meeting occurred one evening +when all the boys of Tanglefoot Cove +and the mountain slopes had gathered for a +coon-hunt. The Sawyer lads were of the +party, Skimpy and three brothers, all much +alike, all long-legged, red-haired, freckled-faced +fellows, and not fascinating to look +upon, but they took a great deal of pleasure +in themselves, and there was considerable +boy-nature to the square inch in these four +Sawyers. They were first-rate comrades too; +could both take a joke and make one; all had +bright, honest, steady brown eyes, and they +were evidently destined to grow better looking +as they grew older. With one exception +they were clad in whole, stout homespun garments, +well woven and well made, for their +mother was a peculiarly precise, neat, and industrious +woman. Skimpy was the exception; +his elbows were out; his ankles could +not wait for his trousers to grow, so they +showed themselves, right nimble and sturdy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>members, although the garment, which was +blue, had been encouraged lengthwise with +a fresh contrasting piece of copper-colored +jeans; his knees bulged against the threadbare +cloth in a way that intimated they would +not long be able to shelter themselves in their +flimsy retirement. He and his mother found +it difficult to reconcile their diverse theories +of the uses and the care of clothes. Although +serious enough when they climaxed, these +differences had no depressing effect on Skimpy’s +spirits, and did not suffice to save his +wardrobe. He harbored no unfilial resentment, +but he thought his mother a very queer +and particular woman.</p> + +<p>The Sawyers had brought with them the +dutiful clerk, who was also preëminent as a +coon-dog. There he sat in his yellow hide, +decorated with his slit ear, and his docked +tail, and his half-closed eyelid. When away +from the store his demeanor lacked the urbanity +which characterized him there. He bore +himself now with the surly air of a magnate +whose affability has been swallowed up in the +consciousness of importance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span></p> + +<p>The Sawyers specially piqued themselves +on being the proud possessors of Bose. Every +now and then one would reverently glance at +the animal, as he sat upright lolling out an +indifferent tongue, and say to those unacquainted +with him—“Mind how ye fool +with Bose—he’s sharp” (with an excited eye +and a wag of the red head); “he’s mighty +fierce.” And the other Sawyers would nod +their heads in confirmation of this report of +Bose’s belligerent qualities. They had a sort +of hero-worshiping reverence for this trait of +dog-sharpness, but any one who did not think +respectfully of Bose was some one who did +not care to go coon-hunting. He was the +central figure of the group that had collected +in the woods by a sulphur spring, on a slope +of one of the minor ridges at the base of the +Great Smoky. The early dusk had not yet +fallen, but the shadows were lengthening fast, +and night was on the way. The boughs of +the trees above their heads were drawn in +fine distorted lines on a crimson sky; here +and there a slant of sunshine fell amongst +the brown shadows upon some red and yellow +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>fantasy of foliage that so blazed with +color and light in its dusky surroundings +that it might seem some outburst of fire +which had been slyly “set out” in the +woods.</p> + +<p>The sulphur spring had sought to hide itself, +it might seem. Across a narrow, rocky cleft +lay a great flat slab, and a rill trickled away +somewhere; no one would have imagined that +beneath this slab was a spring with brown +crystalline water, and a vibrant whisper, and +some exquisite perfumed breath of freshness +borrowed from the dawn of day. The dogs +knew where it was, running to it with lolling +tongues and with much affectation of thirst, +yet wanting only a drop or two. For other +dogs were there and they seemed to have heard +and to have profited by the Sawyers’ account +of Bose, or perhaps the dignity of his mien +awed them, or experience admonished them, +for none of them molested him, although they +became involved in noisy fights with each +other, or gambols as turbulent. The boys, +ten or twelve in number, all had cow-horns +to blow and torches to carry, and while they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>waited for certain cronies to arrive the talk +was chiefly of the subject that had brought +them together. The coon seemed a fascinating +study apart from his great gifts of celerity. +Mentally he is generously endowed. +If Skimpy might be believed the coon can +do anything short of reading, writing, and ciphering.</p> + +<p>“Even mam, she hev ter ’low ez coons +ain’t lackin’ fur head-stuffin’,” he remarked, +as he stood with his arms akimbo. “You-uns +know the kind o’ ways mam hev gin herself +over ter—a-sweepin’, an’ a-scourin’, an’ +a-cleanin’, till I actially looks ter see ef she +won’t take ter washin’ the chickens’ faces an’ +curryin’ the cat. Waal, Cousin Eph Bates, +he stopped thar one day with his pet coon. +An’ mam she made him welcome an’ set out +the table. An’ mam, she ’lowed the coon +mus’ be hongry, so she called it an’ gin it a +nice piece o’ corn dodger. What’s that coon +do?” he cried, his eyes widening with the interest +of the recital. “Popped up on the +aidge o’ the drinkin’ pail an’ ondertook ter +wash that thar piece o’ dodger ’twixt his fore +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>paws, ’fore he would eat it. I wish ye could +hev seen mam’s face. I laffed till I like ter +drapped in my tracks. An’ Cousin Eph—he +jes’ hollered. An’ mam, she hed furgot, +ef she ever knowed, how coons do; she say, +‘Cousin Eph, ye needn’t bring no sech pertic’lar +vis’tor ter my house ag’in—a-washin’ +the clean vittles <i>I</i> gin him.’ Thar sot the +coon, ez onconsarned, a-washin’ his hands an’ +a-washin’ the dodger.” Skimpy suited the action +to the words and teetered up and down, +washing his paws and an imaginary piece of +corn dodger. “I laffed an’ laffed. That +coon like ter been the death o’ me ’fore he got +away from thar.”</p> + +<p>“I know that thar coon o’ Eph Bates’s,” +cried Ike. “I stayed up ter his house one +night along o’ his chill’n an’ ’twar bright +moonlight whenst I went ter bed in the roof-room, +but after a while I woke up an’ I ’lowed +’twar a hailstorm goin’ on outside on the roof. +Ye never hearn sech a skedaddlin’ up an’ +down them clapboards. Kem ter find out, +’twar nuthin’ but the coon a-playin’ tag with +his shadder in the moonlight.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, he’s a powerful tricky, Mister Coon +air,” Skimpy declared, his freckled face distended +with relish of Mr. Coon’s smartness. +“Mam an’ Cousin Eph hed sot tharselfs down +afore the fire an’ got ter talkin’ ’bout’n the +folkses in the Cove, an’ how mighty few o’ +’em had enny sech religion ez they purtended +ter hev, when mam she put her hand in her +pocket fur ter git her knittin’. An’ there +warn’t nuthin’ in her pocket but a ball o’ +yarn. An’ she looked up, an’ thar war a +great long e-end o’ it a-stretchin’ ter the door. +An’ thar on the steps sot Mister Coon with +them knittin’ needles, an’ the sock, a-holdin’ +’em like he war knittin’, ez onconsarned—oh +my! I laffed ag’in.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll bet yer mam didn’t laff,” said an intimate +of the family.</p> + +<p>“Naw,” Skimpy admitted. “Mam, she’s +mighty sober-sided. She’d like the coon better +ef he wore spec’s an’ cut wood. Cousin +Eph, he axed her how many rows that coon +knit. An’ mam, she said—‘<i>None!</i> He +drug two needles bodaciously out an’ spiled +fower rows.’ Mam ’lowed ez she thought she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>hed the mos’ mischievious created critter—meanin’ +me—but she said she b’lieved Cousin +Eph mought take the prem<i>ium</i>. An’ Cousin +Eph, he said enny time she war minded ter +swap he’d trade the coon fur me. An’ mam, +she cut her eye round at me an’ tole me I hed +better mend my manners; the mounting would +talk mightily ’bout me ef I war traded off fur +a coon ’thout enny boot.”</p> + +<p>“That thar mus’ be the same coon ez Cousin +Eph Bates fotched along o’ him ter the +store when he kem ter trade, las’ summer,” +said Obadiah, the eldest Sawyer. “An’ dad, +he tole Cousin Eph ter holp hisself. An’ nobody +noticed the coon till Cousin Eph war +ready ter go, an’ tuk ter huntin’ fur him. I +don’t reckon that coon could surely hev thunk +ez dad meant it fur <i>him</i> whenst he told Cousin +Eph ter holp hisself. But leastwise the coon +done it; he holped <i>his</i>-self. They fund him +propped up on the aidge o’ the sugar bar’l, +an’ they say the way his whiskers war gormed +with sugar war a sight ter be seen. He hedn’t +no expression ter his face, an’ he looked +plumb cross-eyed with pleasure. Sugar in his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>paws, too, and dad kerried on like he war +mighty nigh demented. An’ he wanted +Cousin Eph ter pay for that sugar the coon +hed eat, an’ said he wanted that thar coon’s +skin. But Cousin Eph, he snatched his coon +up under his arm an’ ’lowed he mought ez well +try ter trade fur one o’ his chill’n’s hides. I +b’lieve he gin dad some money or suthin’, +though. He sot out arter that with his coon +fur home.”</p> + +<p>“Waal, he warn’t so ’fectionate with that +thar coon las’ time I seen him,” Ike added his +testimony. “’Twar over yander at the church-house +in the gap. An’ whilst the folks war +settin’ inside, a-listenin’ ter the preachin’, +we-uns hearn the biggest rumpus outside +’mongst the teams, an’ everybody looked +plumb wretched, wonderin’ ef ’twar suthin’ +hed happened ter thar steer or horse critter. +An’ dad whispered ter me ter go out an’ see. +An’ thar, ’mongst all the wagins, an’ yokes o’ +oxen, an’ saddle horses under the trees, war a +young claybank horse ez b’long ter Eph Bates. +An’ that thar coon he had slyed off an’ follered +his master ter the church-house, an’ stiddier +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>goin’ inside—it’s a mercy he didn’t—he +seen Eph’s horse, an’ he clomb the tree, an’ +drapped down on the pommel o’ the saddle. +Waal, sir, sech kickin’! that horse war young +an’ skeery; sech squealin’! An’ whenst I +seen him he war tremblin’ like he hed a fit o’ +the ague, an’ then he’d turn his head an’ git +a glimge o’ that thar citizen in the saddle, an’ +begin ter plunge an’ shy an’ snort ag’in. Jes’ +’fore I got ter him he bruk his halter, an’ he +lit out; around an’ around that thar church-house +he went a-cavortin’ an’ a-gallopin’, Mister +Coon settin’ in the saddle, a-holdin’ on fur +life, an’ a-smilin’ from ear to ear. An’ the +folks in the church-house seen what war +a-goin’ on, an’ Eph an’ some o’ them nigh the +door run out an’ hollered, ‘Whoa! Whoa!’ +at the horse. Didn’t do no good. Ez soon +ez the critter seen he couldn’t shake the coon +off he bolted an’ run through the woods. Eph, +he walked home that Sunday, five mile, but +Mister Coon, he rid.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mister Coon, oh, Mister Coon,” +Skimpy was murmuring, and presently he +broke into song:—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Bob Snooks, he eat up all in his plate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ he dreampt a dream that night right late.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A-settin’ on a cloud war a big raccoon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A-eatin’ an’ a-washin’ his paws in the moon.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twar brimmin’ full o’ clabber an’ whey.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His tail war ringed with black an’ gray;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It hung plumb down ter the poplar-tree,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ he wagged it up an’ down in glee.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="center">CHORUS.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, Mister Coon! oh, Mister Coon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, take them dirty paws out’n the moon.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“He looked at Bob, ter wink an’ grin,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ then Bob say—‘Ez sure ez sin</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’ll yank ye off’n the aidge o’ that moon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though ye air a mos’ surprisin’ coon.’</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bob sicked on Towse—<i>Towse clomb the tree!</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ grabbed the coon right nat’rally.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ suddint Bob woke—thar war <i>no</i> raccoon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bob wisht he hed lef’ him up thar on the moon.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="center">CHORUS.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, Mister Coon! oh, Mister Coon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, why can’t ye once more balance on the moon.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>It was quite dark before they were fairly +started. The shadows gloomed thick about +them. The stars were in the sky. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>sound of the boyish voices whooping and calling, +and singing snatches of the coon-song, +echoed far and wide among the solemn woods +and the listening rocks. The dogs answered +to the eager urgency of their masters by +wheezing and snuffing about the ground as +they ran with their muzzles down, but the +best among them, even the preëminent Bose, +could conjure no coon where no coon was.</p> + +<p>“What ails ’em ter take ter sech a piece o’ +briars,” Skimpy cried out suddenly with an +accompaniment of a ripping sound. “Ef I +tear up these hyar clothes o’ mine enny mo’ +I’ll hev some rents ter mend in my skin, fur +my mother hev sot it down ef I gin her so +many repairs ter make she’ll gin me some.”</p> + +<p>This terrifying prospect did not unduly +alarm Skimpy nor hinder his joyous pursuit +of the coon. He was the first fellow to fall +into the briars and to flounder into the branch. +His nimble feet followed more closely than +any others their canine precursors. It was +he who cried out and encouraged the dogs +and kept them together, and even the self-sufficient +and experienced Bose hearkened to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>his counsel and lent himself to guidance. +Skimpy was close upon the docked tail of this +animal when suddenly the wheezing Bose +emitted a short sharp cry and sprang off in +the darkness with all the dogs after him.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VII"> + VII. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>The moon was just beginning to rise. A +vague red glow suffused the summit of the +eastern mountains. It hardly revealed, but in +some sort it suggested, the presence of the +vast forests of the Cove, that still stood dusky +and gloomily mysterious. The solemn silence, +native to the solitudes, was for the nonce annihilated. +The whole night seemed to ring +with the shouting triumph of the boys. The +cry of the dogs was unintermittent. Naught +impeded the wild chase, save that now and +then a projecting root caught an unwary foot, +and a boy would go crashing to the ground, +his companions jumping over his prostrate +form, or perhaps falling upon him, then +scrambling up together and away again hilariously. +Sometimes a horn would sound, and +if one had cared to listen he might have wondered +to hear the countless blasts that the +echoes wound, or laughed to fancy how that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>mimic chase in the air did fare. Sometimes, +too, a voice would call out from the van of +the line, “Oh, Mister Coon!” And anon +Keedon Bluffs repeated the words in a solemn +staccato, as if they were some uncomprehended +incantation. “Oh, Mister Coon!”</p> + +<p>What that gentleman thought of it all nobody +can say. Whether he resented the fact +that his coat was considered too good for him, +and just good enough for a cap for somebody +else; or whether he felt complimented that he +was esteemed so game that it was accounted a +pleasure to see him fight, singly, a score of savage +dogs, and die in the jaws of the enemies he +crippled, nobody will ever know. The only certain +thing is that he carried his fat and his fur, +and his palpitating identity inside of them, as +fast and as far as he could. And then in desperation +he swiftly climbed a tree, and sat +there panting, looking down with eyes whose +dilated pupils defied the night, to mark how +the fierce rout came at full cry over the rise. +The boys knew what he had done, notwithstanding +the dark forests that intervened, for +the dogs announced in loud and joyful barks +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>that the coon was treed as they besieged the +oak, springing as high as they could about its +trunk. There was a chorus, “Oh, Mister +Coon!” from the hunters as they came pelting +over the hill, almost dead beat with the +run. For the coon had footed it bravely, and +treeing him was long delayed.</p> + +<p>The torches, skimming swiftly about under +the oak, which was close upon a precipice, +flared in the darkness far along the slopes, and +the coon hunt glimpsed from the distant cove +was like an errant constellation, run away +from the skies. Nearer, flame and smoke +flaunted back in the wind, showing the colors +of a limited section of the autumn woods close +about, and thus conjuring an oasis of gorgeous +brilliance in that desert of gloom. In the radiance +of the fringed flaring lights might be +distinguished, in high relief against the dusky +background, Ike’s eager face, and Skimpy’s +hatchet-like features,—as he bent to beseech +Bose to calm himself instead of bounding +futilely about the tree which he could not +climb like the dream-dog,—and the muscular +poses of Obadiah Sawyer, who wielded the axe +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>about the trunk of the tree. How the echoes +answered! How the rocks rang with the stalwart +strokes! The chips flew with every cleavage. +The dogs leaped, and barked on every +shrill key of impatience. The coon, barely +visible, crouched in the darkness, growled, +and looked down on his boisterous enemies. +“Keep out’n the way o’ this axe, I tell ye,” +Obadiah Sawyer would cry as the backward +motion would threaten one of the boys or their +four-footed comrades, who pressed so close +about the tree as to lose all sense of safety.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, without any warning, the trunk +of the tree not half severed, the coon ran down +almost over Obadiah into the midst of the +dogs. There was a frantic plunge amongst +them; a fierce growling and yelping and snapping; +a crunching of teeth; and now and +then as one suffered the sharp fangs of the +coon, a hideous clamor that seemed to pierce +the sky.</p> + +<p>The boys stood amazed at this innovation +on the part of Mr. Coon, whose sense of etiquette +does not usually permit him to tackle +the dogs until the falling of the tree throws +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>the hapless creature into their jaws. How he +distinguished the sound in all that shrill tumult +Skimpy could never say;—a low growl, +exceeding in ferocity aught he had ever before +heard, caught his attention. He moved back +a pace and held the torch aloft. There, upon +the bole of the tree, slowly descending from +limb to limb, with lissome noiseless tread, +with great yellow eyes, illuminated by the +flare, was a full-grown female panther, made +bold enough to face the light by the imminence +of the danger, for the cutting down of +the tree meant certain dislodgment amongst +the dogs and the boys. This was the denizen +of the oak, the discovery of whom had made +the coon prefer the dogs.</p> + +<p>Skimpy needed but a single glance. He +said afterward that it flashed upon him in a +moment that the animal’s young were perhaps +in a crevice of the great wall of rock close at +hand, and that for this reason she had not fled +from the noise and the lights. Skimpy dashed +his torch to the ground, and crying “Painter! +Painter!” he set out at a pace which has seldom +been excelled. All the torches were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>flared upward. The creature glared down at +the boys and growled. There was not a gun +in the party. Obadiah in a sort of mental +aberration flung his axe into the tree; it almost +grazed the animal’s nose, then fell upon +the back of a yelping dog.</p> + +<p>Each boy seemed to announce his flight by +taking up the panic-stricken cry of “Painter!” +The dogs had discovered that more had been +treed than the coon, which at last had been +killed. They would not heed the whistlings +and the callings of their masters, and as the +boys ran a tremendous yelping and growling +announced that the panther had sprung from +the tree amidst the pack. Presently something, +with its tail between its legs, shot by +the hindmost boy, and another, and yet another. +The dogs had felt the panther’s teeth +and claws and were leaving, but none of these +fugitives was Bose.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” cried Skimpy, “le’s go back—le’s +go back—Bose will be bodaciously eat up! +Le’s go back an’ call Bose off!”</p> + +<p>“Call the painter on, ye mean!” exclaimed +Ike. “Ye can’t do nuthin’ ter hurt a painter +’thout ye hed a gun!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh Bose!” plained another of the Sawyers +in a heart-wrung voice. “What’ll mam +do ’thout Bose! Sech a shepherd! Sech a +dog ter take keer o’ the baby, too! Sech a +gyard dog!” For Bose’s virtues were not +all belligerent, but shone resplendent in times +of peace. “Oh <i>Bose</i>,” he shrieked down the +wind, “let the painter be!”</p> + +<p>“Oh <i>Bose</i>!” cried Obadiah in a tone of +obituary. “Sech a coon dog! <i>Bose!</i> An’ a +swimmer! <i>Bose!</i> How he used ter drive up +the cow! Oh, <i>Bose</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Ye talk like nobody in the mountings hed +a dog but you-uns,” panted one of the fleeing +hunters. “Ye ought ter be thankful ye air +out’n the painter’s jaws—’thout no gun!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Bose ain’t no common dog!” cried +the bereaved Skimpy; “Bose is like folks! +Bose <i>is</i> folks!” rising to the apotheosis of +grief.</p> + +<p>He did not run like folks. Deserted both +by boys and dogs he had bravely encountered +the panther. It required not only a broken +rib and repeated grips of the creature’s teeth, +but the stealthy approach of its mate to convince +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>Bose how grievously he was overmatched. +Then this gifted dog, whose prowess +was only exceeded by his intelligence, saw +that it was time to run. He passed the boys +with the action of a canine meteor. He sought +the seclusion beneath the house and he did +not leave it for days.</p> + +<p>When Ike struck into the road that leads +by Keedon Bluffs he was feeling considerably +nettled by the result of the adventure, and +resolved that hereafter he would always carry +a gun for any presumable panther that might +hang upon the outskirts of a coon-hunt. He +walked on slowly for a time, sure that the +panther would hardly follow so far, if indeed +she had followed at all. He listened now and +then, hearing no sound of the hunt or of the +hunters. It was growing late, he knew as he +glanced at the sky. The moon had risen high—a +waning moon of a lustrous reddish tint, +sending long shafts of yellow light down the +dusky woods, and, despite its brightness, of +grewsome and melancholy suggestions. As +the road turned he came upon the great Bluffs +towering above the river, and he noted the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>spherical amber reflection in the dark current +below, with trailing lines of light and gilded +ripples seeming to radiate from it. A vague +purple nullity had blurred the familiar distances, +but close at hand all was wonderfully +distinct. The gloomy forest on one side of the +road drew a sharp summit line along the sky. +A blackberry bush, denuded of all but a few +leaves, was not more definite than the brambly +wands of its shadow on the sandy road. +As he drew nearer he noted how dark the +water was, how white in the slant of the yellow +moonlight rose the great sheer sandstone +Bluffs; how black, how distinct were the cavities +in the rock. And the voiceless beams +played about the old cannon-ball on the ledge. +How silent! Only his crunching tread, half +muffled in the soft sand; the almost imperceptible +murmur of the deep waters; the +shrilling of a cricket somewhere, miraculously +escaped from the frost. Near midnight, it +must have been. He realized how tired he +was. He suddenly sat down on the verge of +the Bluffs, his feet dangling over, and leaned +his back against a bowlder behind him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span></p> + +<p>He drew a long sigh of fatigue and gazed +meditatively below. The next moment he +gave a quick start. There along the ledges +and niches of the great Bluffs, climbing down +diagonally with the agility of a cat, was a +dark figure, that at the instant he could hardly +recognize as beast or man—or might it be +some mysterious being that the cavities of the +rock harbored! As he remembered the stories +of the witches of Keedon Bluffs, which he +had flouted and scorned, he felt a cold thrill +quiver through every limb.</p> + +<p>A sharp exclamation escaped his lips. Instantly +he saw the climbing creature give a +great start and then stand still as if with responsive +fright. He bent forward and strained +his eyes.</p> + +<p>He had not yet recovered his normal pulse; +his heart was still plunging with wild throbs; +nevertheless he noted keenly every movement +of the strange object, and as it turned in the +direction whence came the intrusive voice, it +looked up apprehensively. Ike said nothing, +but gazed down into the pallid face lifted in +the white moonlight.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII"> + VIII. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Hello!” cried out the figure.</p> + +<p>“Hello!—hello!—hello!” the echoing +voices of Keedon Bluffs sepulchrally hailed +the boy.</p> + +<p>Now Ike would have been indignant had +some one suspected him of being afraid of the +witches of the Bluffs. But he was immensely +relieved by this form of address. For although +he had never held intimate converse with +witches he felt sure they did not say “Hello!”</p> + +<p>He leaned over and responded in a sturdy +tone “Hello, yerse’f!”</p> + +<p>“Hello yerse’f!” cried out the prompt +echoes. Ike drew back a little. Although he +had acquitted the climbing man of being a +witch, he could not repulse an odd uncomfortable +feeling that scores of mischievous invisible +spirits of the rock were assisting at the +conversation. He could imagine that they +nudged each other as they repeated the words. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>Perhaps they all fell to silently laughing when +a belated voice far down the river called in +a doubtful and hesitant tone, “Hello yerse’f!”</p> + +<p>“Who’s that up thar?” demanded the +man, still looking up.</p> + +<p>“Ike Guyther,” the boy replied.</p> + +<p>He could not accurately distinguish the +sound, so confused was he by the iteration +of the meddlesome echoes, but it seemed to +him that the man uttered a sudden gruff +imprecation at the revelation of his name, +and surely the tell-tale rocks were presently +grumbling in an uncertain and displeased +undertone.</p> + +<p>Ike strained his eyes to recognize the features, +but the man looked down suddenly and +coughed dubiously.</p> + +<p>There was something vaguely familiar in +his voice that might have served to establish +his identity but for the repetitious sounds +that followed every word.</p> + +<p>“What air ye doin’ up thar?” demanded +the man, and all the echoes became inquisitorial.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span></p> + +<p>“Been a-coon-huntin’. What ye doin’ +down thar?” said Ike, at last thinking it +but fair that he should ask a few questions +himself.</p> + +<p>The white face was once more turned +downward, and the man coughed and seemed +to try to spit out his doubt. It had evidently +not occurred to him that he himself was +unrecognized, for with a tone that indicated +that he sought to make the best of an awkward +situation he said, “Why, I hearn Ab +talkin’ wunst in a while ’bout climbin’ down +Keedon Bluffs, ter that old cannon-ball on +that ledge, an’ I ’lowed I’d try ef the thing +could be done—jes’ fur fun—ha! ha! +Toler’ble tough fun, though.”</p> + +<p>The vain effort at jollity, the strained +nervous tone, the merciless echoes exaggerated +a thousand fold. But Ike Guyther sat +unheeding, more perturbed than he could +well have expressed.</p> + +<p>It was Jerry Binwell, his father’s guest. +How had he escaped, Ike wondered, from +the roof room where his host thought he lay +sleeping? Had he stolen out from amongst +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>the unconscious family, leaving the doors ajar +that any marauder might enter? He could not. +Old Hiram slept as lightly as a cat, and the +blind man was often wakeful and restless. +And what could be his object here in the +stealthy midnight, risking life and limb—nay, +neither! Ike Guyther, watching him +climbing—with the frightful depths below +into which a false step would instantly precipitate +him—lost that morbid and nervous +fascination which a feat of great danger +induces in the spectator, and began suddenly +to experience a sort of confidence, +merging into certainty. He was amazed at +the lightness, the strength, the marvelous +elasticity, the fine precision of every movement. +Strain credulity as he might, he could +not believe Binwell when he said suddenly, +“But I ain’t goin’ ter try it enny furder—break +my neck! This hyar chicken is a-gittin’ +old an’ stiff; couldn’t git down thar ter +save my life.”</p> + +<p>He climbed up and up, his silent shadow +climbing with him till he neared the spot +where Ike sat, when he suddenly paused. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>“Git up, Ike,” he said; “that’s the only +place whar thar’s purchase enough ter pull +up by.”</p> + +<p>He evidently knew all the ground. Ike +dragged himself out of the way, and, with +his hands in his pockets, stood pensively +watching him as he pulled himself to the +verge, and then upon his knees, and so to his +feet on the roadside. He paused for a moment, +panting. He looked at his companion +with an expression which had no relation to +the words on his lips. Many a boy might +not have detected this yawning gulf between +what he meant and what he said, but Ike’s +senses were sharpened by suspicion and anxiety.</p> + +<p>“Whew! Great Molly Har’!” Jerry +mopped his brow with his red cotton handkerchief. +“I’m too old fur sech didoes as +this hyar—old man’s a-goin’ fas’. Knees +plumb bent. Don’t ye laff, Ike! Don’t ye +laff.” Ike had shown no sign of merriment. +“An’ ’fore everything don’t ye tell Ab ez I +tried ter climb down Keedon Bluffs ter that +old ball, an’ couldn’t. I wouldn’t hev the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>mounting ter git a-holt o’ that thar joke on +me fur nuthin’!”</p> + +<p>He looked sharply at the boy, who said not +a word, but simply stared at him as he stood +on the verge of the Bluff in the slanting +melancholy yellow light of the waning moon. +There was a quiver in Binwell’s nostril, a +nervous motion of the lips, a keen inimical +gleam of the eyes under his hat brim. He +was giving Ike more notice than he had ever +before bestowed on him.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” he cried jocularly, clapping the +boy on the shoulder, “don’t ye tell on me, +Ike—ye won’t, will ye?”</p> + +<p>This direct appeal brought an answer. +But Ike was on his guard.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe then uncle Ab would quit thinkin’ +ez how <i>he</i> could,” he said cautiously.</p> + +<p>Jerry Binwell suddenly changed his tactics.</p> + +<p>“Tell ennybody ye want ter, ye wide-mouthed +shoat, ye! Ef I can’t climb down +thar nobody else kin, an’ nobody air a-goin’ +ter try. Got too tender feelin’s fur thar necks. +I ain’t ashamed o’ gittin’ old nohow! Ye’ll +be whar I am some day, Ike, ef ye don’t die +fust.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span></p> + +<p>He strode on ahead with a deft free step. +Ike, doubtful and grievously ill at ease, followed. +Come what might he felt that he +would tell his father all, and let him solve +the mystery about this strange guest. Then +he began to reflect how slight this “all” +was. There were the innuendoes of the +men at the store; but his father knew as +well as he how little Jerry Binwell had been +liked in his early youth, how strong the prejudice +remained. The affront to old Corbin +was indeed reprehensible, but as to climbing +about the rocks at night surely any one might +do that who was foolish or idle or nimble +enough.</p> + +<p>Ike was surprised that although he found +in summing up there was no positive heinous +wickedness involved, his aversion to the +man remained and his resolution was strong. +He would tell his father all that he had +heard, that he had seen. He would shift +the responsibility. His shoulders were not +strong enough to carry it.</p> + +<p>Jerry’s long, lean figure, with the company +of his longer and leaner shadow which dogged +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>his steps like some pursuing phantom of sorrow +or dismay that might materialize in the +fullness of time, kept steadily down the road. +He made no pretense of silence or concealment, +but whistled blithely and loud—a +sound to pierce the pensive hour with discordant +interruption. Did it awaken the +birds? A peevish, intermittent chirring rose +drowsily from the woods, and then was still, +and anon sounded again. Or was it that the +dawn was coming hardily upon the slowly +departing night, long lingering, loath to +go? The moon showed no paling sign; belts +of pearly vapors, catching its light, were +rising from the furthest reaches of the purple +mountains. And here the river was +dark and deep; and there it flowed in translucent +amber waves, with a silver flash of +foam, all the brighter for the shadow of the +rock hard by. And now it was out of sight +and there were the long stretches of the familiar +woods on either hand, with no suggestion +of the vivid tints of autumn, only a +dusky black alternating with a gleaming gold +strewn like the largess of a dream fantasy all +a-down the winding ways.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span></p> + +<p>Morning surely; the thrush sings a stave. +And silence again.</p> + +<p>The shadows falter, though the pensive +lunar light yet lingers. And again the thrush—fresh, +thrilling, a quiver of ecstasies, a +soaring wing, though it catches the yellow +moonbeams. The sky reddens. Alas, for +the waning moon! Oh, sorry ghost; how +pale! how pale!</p> + +<p>For the prosaic day is in the awakening +woods. The mountains rise above their encompassing +mists and shadows. Beneath +them, brown and gray, with closed batten +shutters, Ike sees, slowly revealed, his father’s +house, the sheep lying huddled at one side, +barely astir—a head lifted now, and then +dropped—the cow drowsing in a fence corner; +the chickens beginning to jump down +from the althea bushes, where, despite the +autumnal chill, they still roost. And, as the +first slanting sun ray shoots up over the mountains, +the door opens, and there is thrust out +the pink face of Rosamond, dimpling with +glee at the sight of them, and her shout of +glad recognition is loud enough to waken all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>the sluggards in the cabin, or for that matter +in the Cove.</p> + +<p>The cabin, however, was already astir. Ike +learned, with emotions not altogether relating +to the recital, that his father’s aunt who had +brought him up from infancy had been taken +ill, and a runner having been sent to apprise +him he had gone over to the Carolina side, +and would not return until the old woman +should be better or the worst over.</p> + +<p>Ike had postponed his disclosures too long. +There was little good, he thought, as he +swung his axe at the wood-pile—as wide +awake as though he had participated in no +coon-hunt—to tell his mother; she had cares +enough—and what could she do? And truly +he had nothing to tell except to put into words +vague suspicions; nay, his thoughts were not +so well defined; to canvass actions and accents +and looks that displeased him. They +all knew—at least they would not be surprised +to learn that Jerry Binwell had not +outlived the malice of his youth. Aunt Jemima +would regard the slightest word against +him as an effort to bereave her of this late-blooming +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>pleasure and joy of her life, the little +Rosamond. Ike hopefully considered for a +time the blind man’s aversion to Binwell. +Abner would never hear nor reply when he +spoke—and since the first night, he had not +spoken to Binwell, except indeed one day +when he chanced to stumble against the +sprawling loafer before the fire. Abner struck +at him fiercely and called out imperiously—“Get +out of my way—or I will kick you +out!”</p> + +<p>Jerry had moved, but there was an odd +glancing expression from his half-closed lids +that alarmed Ike, so malignant it seemed. +The little girl had run gayly up, caught +Abner by the hand, and guided him to his +place by the fire. For she it was who had +superseded all the others, and had made the +blind artillery-man her special charge. All +day she was laughing beside him. Any time +the oddly assorted couple could be met, she +leading him carefully, holding two of his +bronzed fingers, as they strolled down the +sunset road, or they might be seen sitting +on the wood-pile while he told her stories +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>or sang. And she sang also, loud and clear—gayly +too, whatever might have been the +humble poet’s mood—in no wise dismayed +or hindered by the infantile disability of +not being able to carry a tune. She had a +thousand quirks and conceits, incredibly entertaining +to him in his enforced idleness. +She had watched wide-eyed when Hiram +Guyther read from an old and tattered Testament, +for the accomplishment of reading was +rare in the region, and had not before been +brought to her observation. Often thereafter +she equipped herself with a chip, held sturdily +before her dancing eyes, and from this +unique book she droned forth, in imitation of +Hiram’s gruff voice, strange stories of beasts +and birds, and the human beings about her, +pausing only to scream with laughter at her +own wit, and then gruffly droned on once +more. She fell ill once for a day or so—a +red and a swollen throat, and a flushing, dull-eyed +fever. Aunt Jemima and Ike’s mother +exhausted their skill and simple remedies, and +went about haggard and nervous; and the +blind man, breaking a long silence, said suddenly, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>“Ef ennything war ter happen ter +that thar child I’d ’low the Lord hed fursook +me.”</p> + +<p>A neighbor, who happened to be at the +house, eyed him curiously. “Ef I war you-uns, +Ab,” he said, “I’d ’low ez He hed +fursook me whenst He let my eyes git put +out.”</p> + +<p>The brave fellow had had no repinings, not +even when the war was his daily thought. +Now he seemed to have forgotten it, so full, +and varied, and cheerful an interest had this +little creature brought into his life. Often +aunt Jemima would tell in gladsome superlatives +what she looked like, and when she +spoke he would turn an intent smiling face +toward her as if he beheld some charming +image.</p> + +<p>What was the use of talking, Ike thought, +remembering all this. They would not jeopardize +the loan of this treasure for all that +Jerry Binwell could do or say.</p> + +<p>He cut away vehemently at the wood, making +the chips fly and the mountain echoes +ring. He responded curtly, but without discourtesy, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>when Jerry Binwell came out of the +house, took a seat upon the wood-pile, and +began to talk to him. Jerry had a confidential +tone, and he slyly laughed at the folks in +the Cove, and he took on a comrade-like manner—implying +a certainty of appreciation +and sympathy—that might once have flattered +Ike, coming from one so much older +than himself. Now, however, Ike merely +swung the axe in silence, casting an occasional +distrustful glance at the thin sharp +face with its long grayish goatee. More than +once he encountered a keen inquiring look +that did not seem to agree with the careless, +casual nature of the talk.</p> + +<p>“Old Jake Corbin—ye know him; oh yes, +ye seen me h’ist him up on the beam thar at +the store—waal, he be powerful keen ter get +a chance ter torment other folks, but cut a +joke on him, an’ I tell ye, old Jake’ll git his +mad up, sure. I seen him the ’tother day, an’ +he plumb looked wild-cats at me—fairly +glared. Tell ye, Ike, ye an’ me’ll git round +him some day, an’ hev some fun out’n him—git +his dander up an’ see him hop.” He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>winked at Ike and chewed resolutely on his +huge quid of tobacco.</p> + +<p>“Naw, I won’t,” said Ike suddenly. “I +hev’ been raised ter respec’ my elders. An’ +I’m a-goin’ ter do it now jes’ the same ez +afore ye kem.”</p> + +<p>“Bless my bones!” cried Jerry Binwell, +affecting contemptuous surprise and speaking +in a jeering falsetto voice. “Jes’ listen how +leetle Sally do talk—ye plumb perlite leetle +gal!” He leered unpleasantly at the flushing +boy. Then he suddenly resumed his natural +tone and his former manner, as if he had +borne no part in this interlude.</p> + +<p>“Ye oughter hear how he talks ’bout you-uns, +Ike—’lows ye air plumb lazy.”</p> + +<p>“That war a true word whenst he said it,” +interpolated Ike.</p> + +<p>“An’ never done yer work, an’ war onreliable, +an’ onstiddy, an’ hedn’t no grit ter stan’ +up ter yer word, an’ thar war no sech thing +ez makin’ a man out’n ye. I hearn him say +that an’ mo’, ’fore twenty other men.”</p> + +<p>Ike’s axe had dropped to the ground. He +listened with a red cheek and a glowing eye. +The other watched him intently.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span></p> + +<p>“Waal, that’s pretty tough talk,” said +Ike.</p> + +<p>“’Tis <i>that</i>!” assented Binwell.</p> + +<p>“But I hev been shirking some an’ no mistake, +an’ I reckon the old man ’lowed that +war jes’ the kind o’ stuff I be made out’n, totally. +Now I be a-goin’ ter show him ’tain’t +nuthin’ more ’n a streak.”</p> + +<p>And the steady strokes of the axe rang, and +the chips flew, and the mountains echoed the +industrial sound.</p> + +<p>Jerry Binwell looked unaccountably disappointed +and disturbed. He changed the subject. +“Why war ye axin’ Ab fur the loan o’ +his gun this mornin’?”</p> + +<p>“Kase dad hev kerried his’n off, an’ I be +a-goin’ ter git up the boys an’ go arter that +thar painter. It riles me powerful ter go +a-huntin’ a coon an’ git run by a painter. +So I ’lowed we-uns would go ter-night.”</p> + +<p>Again the man slouching on the wood-pile +seemed unaccountably worried and ill at ease. +This reminded Ike of that curious nocturnal +climbing of the rocks, and when he went up +to the roof-room for some lead to mould bullets +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>for the gun, he stood looking about him +and wondering how Jerry Binwell contrived +to escape from his hospitable quarters without +rousing the family who slept in the room and +in the shed-room below. There was no window; +the long tent-like place was illumined +only by the many cracks in the wall and roof. +They had a dazzling silvery glister when one +looked steadily at the light pouring through +them amongst the brown timbers, and the +many garments, and bags, and herbs, and peltries, +hanging from the ridge-pole. One of +these rifts struck him as wider than he had +thought any of them could be. He reached +up and touched the clapboard. It was loose; +it rose with the pressure. A man not half so +active as Binwell could have sprung through +and upon the roof, and thence swung himself +to the ground.</p> + +<p>The panther was surprised and killed that +night. Jerry Binwell, and several other men +who heard of the adventure, joined the party. +They were all in high feather going home, +and Skimpy sang a number of his roundelays, +as he had often done before without +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>exciting any particular admiration. He sang +from animal spirits, as the other boys, less +musically endowed, shouted and grotesquely +yelled. Nevertheless, with the musician’s +susceptibility to plaudits, his ear was attuned +to Jerry Binwell’s exclamation, addressed to +one of the men in the rear, “Jes’ listen how +that thar young one kin sing! ’Pears plumb +s’prisin’!”</p> + +<p>And the good-natured mountaineer returned, +“That’s a fac’. Wouldn’t be +s’prised none ef Skimp shows a reg’lar gift +fur quirin’.”</p> + +<p>“He sings better now’n all the folkses in +the church-house,” said the guileful Jerry.</p> + +<p>The flattered Skimpy!</p> + +<p>He knew that the society of Ike had been +forbidden to him, lest he should come in contact +with this elderly reprobate, but he felt a +great flutter of delight when Binwell, coming +up beside him, as he trotted along in the +moonlight, said again that he could sing like +all possessed, and declared that if he had a +fiddle he could teach Skimpy many new tunes +that he had heard when he lived down in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>Persimmon Cove. “Mighty fiddlin’ folks +down thar,” he added, seductively.</p> + +<p>Now there was hanging on the wall at the +Sawyer house—and it is barely possible that +Jerry Binwell may have seen it there—a +crazy old fiddle and bow. It was claimed as +the property of Obadiah, the eldest of the +boys, who had his share of such musical +talent as blessed the Sawyer family. In him +it expressed itself in fiddling to the exclusion +of his brothers—for very intolerant +was he of anybody who undertook to “play +the fool with this fiddle,” as he phrased it. +A critical person might have said that he +played the fool with it himself, or perhaps +that it played the fool with him. But such +as the performance was, he esteemed the instrument +as the apple of his eye, and was +very solicitous of not breaking its “bredge.” +Therefore Skimpy was a very bold boy, and +preposterously hopeful, when he suggested +to Binwell that he could borrow Obadiah’s +fiddle, and thus the treasures of sound so +rapturously fiddled forth by the dwellers in +Persimmon Cove might rejoice the air in +Tanglefoot.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span></p> + +<p>“Naw, naw, don’t ’sturb Obadiah,” said +the considerate Jerry. “Jes’ to-morrer evenin’, +two hours by sun, whenst he ain’t needin’ +it an’ ain’t studyin’ bout’n it, ye jes’ git +it, an’ ye kem an’ meet me by the sulphur +spring, an’ I kin l’arn ye them new chunes.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy’s ridiculous attenuated shadow +thumped along in front of them; Jerry’s eyes +were fixed upon it—he was too cautious to +scan the boy himself. It stumped its toe +presently on a stone which Skimpy was too +much absorbed to see, and so it had to hop +and limp for a while. Skimpy said nothing, +for he was wondering how it would be easiest +and safest to undertake to play the fool with +that fiddle of Obadiah’s.</p> + +<p>They were a considerable distance in advance +of the others and nearing Keedon +Bluffs; the whoopings of their invisible companions, +who were hidden by the frequent +turns in the road, came now and again upon +the air, arousing the latent voices of the +rocks; occasionally there was only the sound +of loud indistinguishable talking, as if the +powers of the earth and the air had broken +out in prosaic communion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span></p> + +<p>“Pipe up, sonny,” said the paternal Jerry, +seeing that the conversation was not likely +to be resumed. “Gin us that one bout’n +‘Dig Taters;’ that thar one air new ter +me.”</p> + +<p>To his surprise Skimpy refused. “I can’t +’pear ter git no purchase on it hyar. Them +rocks keep up sech a hollerin’.”</p> + +<p>They trudged on in silence for a few +minutes. Then said Skimpy, glancing back +over his shoulder, “I wish them boys would +stir thar stumps an’ overhaul us. I hate ter +be with sech a few folks arter night-fall ’roun +Keedon Bluffs,”—he shrank apprehensively +from the verge.</p> + +<p>“What fur?” demanded Jerry sharply.</p> + +<p>“Kase,” Skimpy lowered his voice and +slipped nearer to his companion, “the folkses +’low ez thar be witches ’round hyar of a +night arter it gits cleverly dark an’ lays by +day in them hollows in the Bluffs, an’ kem +out of a night ter strangle folkses.” He suddenly +remembered from whom he had heard +these fables. “Ye know ’twar <i>you-uns</i> ez +war a-tellin’ me an’ Ike ’bout them witches +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>fus’ evenin’ we ever seen ye—along this +hyar road with yer kyart an’ yer leetle gal.”</p> + +<p>Binwell was silent for a moment. Then +he began to laugh in a chuckling way, and +the Bluffs responded in muffled and sinister +merriment. “’Twar jes’ a pack o’ lies, +Skimp!” he said jovially. “I jes’ done it +ter skeer that thar boy ez war along o’ you-uns—Ike +Guyther. He be powerful easy +skeered, an’ I wanted ter see how he’d look! +I tell ye of a night he jes’ gathers his bones +tergether an’ sets close ter the ha’th. Ef +enny witches take arter him, they’ll hev ter +kem down the chimbly afore all the fambly. +Ike, he puts them witches on thar mettle ter +ketch him.”</p> + +<p>“Waal, sir!” exclaimed the candid Skimpy, +“it skeered me a sight wuss’n it did Ike. +I ’lowed I’d never git home; ef I hed hed +ez many feet ez a thousand-legs I could hev +fund a use fur ’em all. An’ them two I did +hev mos’ weighed a ton. Ike never ’peared +ter me ter skeer a speck.”</p> + +<p>There was no doubt in his tones. He was +a friendly fellow himself, and he looked only +for fair-dealing in others.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span></p> + +<p>“Waal, I never went ter skeer <i>you-uns</i>,” +said Jerry in his companionable manner. “I +seen from the fust jes’ what sort’n boy you-uns +war—stiddy, an’ reliable, an’ the kind o’ +feller ez a body kin put dependence in—know +jes’ whar ter find ye.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy listened in tingling delight to this +sketch—it would not have been recognized +at home. His mother might have considered +it ridicule.</p> + +<p>“I jes’ wanted ter skeer that thar t’other +boy”—he was looking Skimpy over very +closely as he spoke, his eyes narrowing, his +lips pursed up in a sort of calculation—he +might have seemed to be mentally measuring +Skimpy’s attenuated frame. “I jes’ wanted +ter skeer that thar t’other boy. He’s powerful +mean, Ike is. He air always a-purtendin’ +ter like ennybody, an’ then a-laffin’ at ’em +ahint thar backs. I didn’t know him then, +but I knowed his uncle Ab, an’ I seen the +minit I clapped eyes on him ez they war jes’ +alike. An’ ez I hed a reason fur it, I skeered +him. He’s mighty cantankerous ahint ennybody’s +back,” Jerry continued as he strode +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>on, swinging his right arm. “I hev hearn +him declar’ ez that thar old cur o’ yourn, Bose, +air the bes’-lookin’ member o’ the Sawyer +fambly.” He glanced sharply at Skimpy, +steadily stamping along the sandy road.</p> + +<p>“Waal, ye know,” said Skimpy in a high +excited voice, “Bose, ye know, is a plumb +special coon-dog. An’ he’s sharp; mighty +few gyard-dogs sech ez Bose. An’ he air a +shepherd too. I’ll be bound none o’ our +sheep air ever missin’ or kilt. An’ Bose sets +ez much store by the baby ez enny o’ the +fambly do; he jes’ gyards that cradle; he’ll +snap at me if I so much ez kem nigh it—nobody +but mam kin tech that baby arter +Bose takes his stand. An’ Bose, he kin go +out an’ find our cow out’n fifty an’ fetch +her home.”</p> + +<p>Binwell had long ago perceived that he +had touched the wrong chord. Skimpy was +quite content to be rated as secondary in +beauty to the all-accomplished and beloved +Bose.</p> + +<p>“I know Bose,” he admitted. “Bose is +hard to beat.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span></p> + +<p>“<i>Yes</i>, sir! Yes, <i>sir</i>!” And Skimpy wagged +his convinced head.</p> + +<p>“But Ike ’lows he be ugly.”</p> + +<p>“Shucks! I say ugly!” cried Skimpy +scornfully; he was willing to be considered +no beauty himself—but <i>Bose</i>!</p> + +<p>“An’ he ’lows he’d jes’ ez lief hear Bose +howl ez you-uns sing.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy paused, turning his astonished face +up to Binwell, the moonlight full upon its +stung and indignant expression. Now Bose +had never been considered musical—not even +by Skimpy. He drew the line that bounds +perfection at Bose’s dulcet utterances. He +was almost incredulous at this, despite his +confiding nature.</p> + +<p>“Why, I hev jes’ sot an’ sung fur Ike till +I mighty nigh los’ my breath.”</p> + +<p>“Ye oughter hear him mock ye, arter ye +gits gone. Oh, Mister Coon! Oh, e-aw, +Mister Kyune!” mimicked Jerry in an insulting +falsetto. “He ’lows it gin him the +year-ache; ye ’members how bad he had it.”</p> + +<p>“Dellaw!” exclaimed the outdone and +amazed Skimpy, stopping in the road, his +breath short, his face scarlet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span></p> + +<p>“Made me right up an’ down mad,” said +Jerry. “Oh, I knowed that Ike, minit I set +eyes on him! I knowed his deceivin’ natur’. +I wanted ter skeer him away from Keedon +Bluffs. I never minded you-uns. I’d jes’ ez +lief tell you-uns ez not why I wanted ter +keep him off’n ’em.”</p> + +<p>“What fur?” said Skimpy, once more +trudging along.</p> + +<p>“Waal, hyar I be whar my road turns off +from yer road,” said Jerry, pausing. He +stood at the forks of the road, half in the +light of the moon, half in the shadow of the +thinning overhanging foliage. The mists +were in the channel of the river, and the +banks were brimming with the lustrous +pearly floods; the blue sky was clear save +that the moon was beset by purple broken +clouds—all veined about with opalescent +gleams. The shadows were black in the +woods; the long shafts of light, yellow and +slanting, penetrated far down the aisles, which +seemed very lonely and silent; an acorn +presently fell from the chestnut oak above +Binwell’s head into the white sandy road, so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>unfrequented that the track of a wagon which +had passed long before would hardly be soon +displaced unless by the wind or the rain.</p> + +<p>“I tell ye,” said Jerry, looking down into +the candid upturned face beneath the torn +brim of the old white wool hat, “ye fetch +Obadiah’s fiddle ter-morrer, an hour ’fore +sundown, ter the sulphur spring, an’ I’ll l’arn +ye them new chunes. An’ I’ll tell ye all +’bout Ike, an’ what he said an’ why I wanter +keep sech ez him off’n them Bluffs.”</p> + +<p>“Waal,” assented Skimpy, “I kin make +out ter git the fiddle, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>But it was with little joyous anticipation +that he turned away. Ike’s words, as reported +by Binwell, rankled in his heart; it +was hot and heavy within him. He even +shed a forlorn tear or two—to thus make +acquaintance with the specious delusions of +friendship. It was not so much the sting of +wounded vanity, although he was sensible too +of this—but that Ike should affect to esteem +him so dearly and ridicule him behind +his back! He was generous enough, however, +to seek to make excuses to himself for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>his friend. “I reckon,” he muttered, “it +mus’ hev been arter dad wouldn’t lemme go +with Ike no mo’ an’ it riled him, an’ so he +tuk ter tongue-lashin’ me. I reckon he never +thunk ez I couldn’t holp it.”</p> + +<p>And thus he disappeared down the woodland +ways, leaving Jerry Binwell standing in +the road and looking meditatively after him.</p> + +<p>“I reckon it’s better ennyhow,” Binwell +soliloquized. “Ike’s a hundred times smarter’n +him, but he air smart enuff. Bes’ not be +too smart. An’ though he be ez tall ez Ike +he’s a deal stringier; he’s powerful slim. +Ike ain’t much less’n me—an’ I be a deal +too bulky—git stuck certain. Skimpy’s the +boy.”</p> + +<p>He remained silent for a time, vacantly gazing +down the woods. Then suddenly he +turned and betook himself homeward.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IX"> + IX. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>Circumstances the next day seemed adverse +to Skimpy’s scheme. Obadiah for some +time past had not been musically disposed, and +the violin had hung silent on the cabin wall +in company with strings of red peppers, and +bags of herbs, and sundry cooking utensils. +That afternoon the spirit of melody within +him was newly awakened.</p> + +<p>Skimpy, who had been lurking about the +place, watching his opportunity, was dismayed +to see Obadiah come briskly out of +the cabin door with the instrument in his +hand, and establish himself in a rickety +chair on the porch. He tilted this back on +its hind-legs until he could lean against the +wall, stuck the violin under his chin, and +with his long lean arm in a fascinating crook, +he began to bow away rapturously. They +were very merry tunes that Obadiah played—at +least the tempo was lively and required +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>a good many quick jerks and nods of the +head, and much flirting and shaking of his +long red mane to keep up with it. Occasionally +his bow would glance off the strings with +a very dashing effect, when he would hold it +at arm’s-length, and grin with satisfaction, +and wink triumphantly at Skimpy, who had +come and seated himself on the steps of the +porch hard by. He looked up from under +the wide brim of his hat somewhat wistfully +at Obadiah.</p> + +<p>The violinist was happier for an audience, +although he could have sat alone till sunset, +with one leg doubled up under the other, which +swayed loosely from the tilted elevation of +the chair, and played for his own appreciative +ear, and found art sufficient unto itself. But +applause is a pleasant concomitant of proficiency +and he loved to astonish Skimpy. His +hat had fallen on the floor, and the kitten, +fond of queer places to sleep, had coiled herself +in the crown, and now and then lifted +her head and looked out dubiously at Skimpy. +Just above Obadiah was a shelf on which +stood a pail of water and a gourd. What +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>else there was up there an inquisitive young +rooster was trying to find out, having flown +over the heedless musician, still blithely +sawing away.</p> + +<p>“He oughter hev his wings cropped, so ez +he couldn’t fly around that a-way,” said +Skimpy suddenly. “Oughtn’t he, Oby?”</p> + +<p>Now one would imagine that when Obadiah +was harmoniously disposed all the chords of +his nature would be attuned to the fine +consonance which so thrilled him. On the +contrary the vibrations of his temper were +most discordant when his mood was most +melodic. He had one curt effective rejoinder +for any remark that might seek to interrupt +him.</p> + +<p>“Hesh up!” he said, tartly.</p> + +<p>His mother, a tall gaunt woman of an aggressively +neat appearance, was hanging out +the clothes to dry on the althea bushes in the +sun. She was near enough to overhear the +conversation, and she suddenly joined in it.</p> + +<p>“Nobody oughter want ter tie up other +folkses tongues till they be right sure they +hev got no call ter be tongue-tied tharself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span></p> + +<p>To this reproof Obadiah refrained from +making any unfilial reply, but scraped away +joyously till Skimpy, longing for silence and +the fiddle, felt as if the mountains shimmering +through the haze were beginning to +clumsily dance, and experienced a serious +difficulty in keeping his own feet still, so +nervous had he become in his eagerness to +lay hold of the bow himself.</p> + +<p>Sunset would be kindling presently—he +gazed anxiously toward the western sky across +the vast landscape, for the cabin was perched +well up on the mountain slope, and the privilege +of overlooking the long stretches of +valley and range and winding river was curtailed +only by the limits of vision. The sun +was as yet a glittering focus of dazzling +white rays, but they would be reddening +soon, and doubtless his new friend was already +waiting for him at the sulphur spring.</p> + +<p>“I wisht ye’d lemme hev that thar fiddle +a leetle while, Oby,” he said suddenly, his +manner at once beguiling for the sake of the +favor he sought, and reproachful for the denial +he foresaw.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span></p> + +<p>Obadiah’s arm seemed electrified—there +was one terrific shriek from the cat-gut, and +then his quivering hand held the bow silent +above the strings.</p> + +<p>“Air ye turned a bodacious idjit, Skimp?” +he cried, positively appalled by the audacity +of the request. “I wouldn’t hev ye a-ondertakin’ +ter play the fool with this hyar fiddle, +fur”—he hesitated, but his manner swept +away worlds of entreating bribes—“fur +<i>nuthin’</i>.”</p> + +<p>The young rooster, finding that there was +nothing upon the shelf except the water-pail +and gourd, and hardly caring to appropriate +them, had made up his mind to descend. +After the manner of his kind, however, he +teetered about on the edge of the shelf in +some excitement, unable to determine just at +what spot to attempt the leap. Twice or +thrice he spread his bronzed red and yellow +wings, stretched his neck, and bowed his +body down—to rise up exactly where he was +before. At last the adventurous fowl decided +to trust himself to providence. With a squawk +at his own temerity he fluttered awkwardly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>off the shelf, and almost alighted on the musician’s +head, giving a convulsive clutch at +it with his claws as he flopped past. There +was a distressful whine from the fiddle-strings +in Obadiah’s sudden perversion of the bow; +he had forgotten all about the rooster on the +shelf; he jumped back with a galvanic jerk, +as he felt the fluttering wings about his head +and the scrape of the yellow claws, and +emitted a sharp cry of startled dismay.</p> + +<p>Bose, who had been lying close beside a +clumsy wooden box on rockers, growled surlily, +fixing a warning eye on the boy; then his +voice rose into a gruff bark. There was no +longer use in his keeping quiet and guarding +the cradle. Beneath the quilts was a great +commotion; the personage enveloped therein, +although sleeping according to infantile etiquette +with its head covered, had no mind to +be thus eclipsed when broad awake. There +presently emerged a pair of mottled fists, the +red head of the Sawyer tribe, an indignant, +frowning red face, and a howl so vigorous +that it seemed almost visible. It had no accompaniment +of tears, for the baby wept for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>rage rather than grief, and sorrow was the +share of those who heard him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawyer turned and looked reproachfully +at the group on the porch.</p> + +<p>“’Twarn’t <i>me</i>, mam, ’twar the rooster ez +woke the baby,” Obadiah exclaimed, seeking +to exculpate himself.</p> + +<p>Bose was stretching himself to a surprising +length, all his toe-nails elongated as he spread +out his paws, and still half-growling and half-barking +at Obadiah, the utterance complicated +with a yawn.</p> + +<p>“’Twar the rooster,” reiterated Obadiah—“the +rooster, an’—an’—Bose.”</p> + +<p>“’Twarn’t Bose!” exclaimed Skimpy, +loyally.</p> + +<p>“Hesh up!” said the dulcet musician.</p> + +<p>“Needn’t tell me nuthin’ ag’in Bose—I +know Bose!” said Mrs. Sawyer emphatically—thus +a good name is ever proof +against detraction. “Hang up that thar +fiddle, Oby,” she continued. “I wonder the +baby ain’t been woked up afore considerin’ +the racket ye kep’ up. An’ go down yander +ter the ’tater patch an’ see ef yer dad don’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>need ye ter holp dig the ’taters. I don’t +need ye hyar—an’ that fiddle don’t need ye +nuther. I be half crazed with that thar +everlastin’ sawin’ an’ scrapin’ o’ yourn, keep-in’ +on ez ef yer muscles war witched, an’ ye +<i>couldn’t</i> quit.”</p> + +<p>She sat down on a chair beside the cradle +and began to rock it with her foot, readjusting +the while the quilts over the head of the +affronted infant, who straightway flung them +off again that he might have more room for +his vocalization.</p> + +<p>Obadiah went obediently and hung up the +fiddle, and presently looking down the slope +Skimpy saw him wending his way toward the +potato patch.</p> + +<p>“I dunno how kem Oby ’lows that thar old +fiddle b’longs to him, more’n it do ter the +rest o’ we-uns,” Skimpy observed discontentedly, +when the baby’s vociferations had subsided +into a sort of soliloquy, keeping time +with the rhythmic motions of the rockers. It +was neither mutter nor wail nor indicative of +unhappiness, but it expressed a firmly perverse +resolution not to go to sleep again if he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>could help it, and rose instantly into a portentous +howl if the monotonous rocking was +intermitted for a moment.</p> + +<p>“’Twar yer gran’dad’s fiddle,” said Mrs. +Sawyer. “That’s the only sure enough owner +it ever hed—he never gin it ter nobody in +partic’lar whenst he died. An’ it jes’ hung +thar on the wall till Obadiah ’peared ter take +a kink ter play it.”</p> + +<p>Obadiah doubtless considered himself entitled +to the fiddle by the right of primogeniture—though +Obadiah did not call it by this +name. As Skimpy reflected upon the nature +of his brother’s claim he felt that there was +no reason why he should not insist on sharing +the ownership. It was not Obadiah’s +fiddle—it belonged to the family.</p> + +<p>The baby’s voice sank gradually to a jerky +monotone, then to a murmur and so to silence. +The rockers of the cradle jogged thumpingly +up and down the floor for a few minutes +longer. And then Mrs. Sawyer betook herself +once more to her task of hanging out the +clothes, while Bose guarded the cradle, and +Skimpy still sat on the steps, his elbows on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>his knees, and his pondering head held between +his hands.</p> + +<p>The lengthening yellow sunbeams poured +through the cabin door, venturing gradually +up the walls to where the silent instrument +hung, filling it with a rich glow and playing +many a fantasy though never stirring a +string.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="X"> + X. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>When Jerry Binwell repaired to the sulphur +spring that afternoon, there was no waiting +figure amongst the rocks beside it. He +paused at a little distance and glanced about +with surprise. Then he slouched on toward +the trysting place. In all the long avenues +of the woods that seemed illumined by the +clear amber tint of the dead leaves covering +the ground, on which the dark boles of the +trees stood out with startling distinctness, his +roving eye encountered no living creature, except +indeed a squirrel. It was perched upright +upon the flat slab that almost hid the +spring, eating a chestnut held between its +deft paws; it scudded away, its curling tail +waving as it ran up a tree hard by, and Binwell +heard it chattering there afterward; +more than once it dropped empty nutshells +upon the man’s hat as he waited half-reclining +among the rocks beside the spring. +Time dawdled on; the sunshine adjusted itself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>to a new slant; it deepened to a richer +tint; the shadows became pensive; the squirrel +had fled long ago. Often Binwell lifted +himself on his elbow and glanced about him, +frowning surlily; but the vast woods were +utterly solitary and very still this quiet day. +Once a rustling sound caught his ear, and +as he sprang up looking about hopefully for +the boy, his motion alarmed some hogs that +were roaming wild in the forest to fatten on +the mast. They stood still, and fixed small +sharp eyes intently upon him, then with an +exclamatory and distrustful vociferation they +ran off through the woods hardly less fleetly +than deer. Jerry Binwell muttered his discontent, +and glancing once more at the sky +began to walk slowly about, keeping the +spring in sight. Still no Skimpy came. The +man’s face wore an expression both scornful +and indignant as he paused at last.</p> + +<p>The forest was remarkably free from undergrowth +just here; the fiery besoms of the annual +conflagrations destroyed the young and +tender shoots, and left to the wilderness something +of the aspect of a vast park. Only on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>one side, and that was where the ground sloped +suddenly to the depths of a rugged ravine, an +almost impenetrable jungle of laurel reached +from the earth into the branches of the trees. +Its ever-green leaves had a summer suggestion +as the sun glanced upon them; none had +changed, none had fallen. And yet, as he +looked, he noted a thinning aspect, a sort of +gap at a certain point in the massive wall of +interlacing boughs, made, he fancied, when +some lumbering bear tore a breach in search +of winter quarters in those bosky securities. +He was an idle man, and trifles were wont to +while away his time. His momentary curiosity +served to mitigate the tedium of waiting +for Skimpy. He slowly strolled toward the +gap amidst the foliage, wondering whether the +animal had only lately passed, whether it was +possible to come upon it in its lair and surprise +it. He was near enough to lay his hand +on the laurel leaves when he noticed there +was a distinctly marked path threading its +way through the tangle. He could not see +the ground, but a furrow amongst the boughs +indicated continual passing and repassing. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>For a few yards this was visible as he stood +looking through the gap of bent and broken +branches; then the rift among the leaves +seemed to curve and he saw no further. Still +meditating on the bear, he experienced some +surprise when he observed in the marshy +earth in the open space near where he stood +the print of a man’s boot; not his own, as he +was half-inclined to think at first. For as he +held his foot above the track, he saw that the +print in the moist earth was much broader, +and that the man walked with a short pace, +far different from his own long stride. The +steps had not only gone into the laurel but +had come thence; often, too, judging from +the number and direction of the footprints.</p> + +<p>“I wonder whar this path leads,” he +said. “Somebody must be moonshinin’ hyar-abouts.”</p> + +<p>He stood gazing down meditatively. The +broad footprint was always the same, the +step always the short measure indicating a +slow and heavy man.</p> + +<p>This suggested the idea of old Corbin. +The retort, in the nature of a practical joke, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>played on the old codger at the store, had not +altogether satisfied Binwell’s enmity; this, +in fact, was, in a measure, reinforced by the +surly silence and looks of aversion which had +since been meted out to him throughout the +community. It was more than curiosity which +he now felt; it was a certain joy in secretly +spying upon his enemy, and there was a +merry sneer in his eyes as he began to push +his way through the laurel. As the path +curved, he saw the groove among the leaves +anew before him, and he had but to follow +its twists and turns. A long way it led him +down the rugged descent, the laurel leaves +almost closing over his head, the great forest +trees rising high above the thicket, flinging +their darkling shadows into the midst. He +was chuckling to think what a time of it old +Corbin must have had to get down. “An’ +how in Kingdom Come did he ever git up +ag’in?” he laughed.</p> + +<p>The words had hardly escaped his lips before +he emitted a husky cry of surprise: he +had come suddenly to his journey’s end. In +the midst of a clear patch of rocky ground, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>where even the sturdy laurel could not strike +root, were scattered shavings and bits of +wood, and stretching into the dense growth, +so long they were, lay two staunch but slender +poles upon the ground. They were joined +by rungs, well fitted in a workman-like manner. +It was in fact a great ladder, the like +of which had never been seen in Tanglefoot +Cove, and, indeed, rarely elsewhere. It +might have reached from the river bank to +the hollows of Keedon Bluffs! As Binwell +gazed with starting eyes he noted that it was +nearly completed—only a few rungs remained +to be set in.</p> + +<p>A sudden vibrating sound set all the stillness +to jarring; he turned abruptly, his +nerves tense, an oath between his teeth. It +was too late for him to hide, to flee. He +could only gaze in despair at Skimpy’s red +head, his white wool hat set on the back of +it, bobbing along through the laurel; his +freckled, grinning face was bowed on Obadiah’s +fiddle that wailed and complained beneath +his sawing arm.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the urgency of the moment +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>that made Binwell bold and rallied his quick +expedients. He did not even wonder how +the boy had happened to discover him. +Skimpy had descried him from a distance in +the open woods, and had followed, bringing +the fiddle according to their agreement. Binwell +looked gravely at the boy and motioned +to him to advance. The fiddle ceased to +shiver beneath Skimpy’s inharmonious touch, +and with his eyes stretched, and his mouth +too, for that matter, he pressed on down to +the spot. He could not restrain a wondering +“Waal, sir!” when Binwell pointed to the +ladder.</p> + +<p>“Don’t say nuthin’, Skimp,” said Binwell. +“Lay the fiddle an’ bow thar in the laurel; +level em’ so ez they won’t fall; thar! Ye +kin find ’em ag’in by that thar rock. Now +take a-holt of that thar ladder, ’bout hyar; +that’s the dinctum—an’ jes’ foller me.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy recognized this as an odd proceeding, +and yet he hardly felt warranted in +questioning Jerry Binwell. He could not +refuse his assistance in a mere matter of +“toting”; he began to think that this service +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>was the reason his friend had appointed +this place of meeting on pretext of playing +the fiddle. He did not definitely suspect +anything worse than a scheme to get a little +unrequited work from him. More especially +were his doubts annulled by the quiet glance +with which Jerry Binwell met his eager inquiring +look.</p> + +<p>“Yes, take a-holt right thar”—as if this +was an answer to all that the boy was about +to ask. Binwell himself had run swiftly +ahead and had caught up the other extremity +of the ladder. He went straight forward, +breaking a path through the jungle by the +aid of the ladder that he allowed to precede +him by ten or twelve feet. He did not hesitate, +although there was no rift here amongst +the leaves to guide him. His manner was as +assured as if he were following a definite +route that he had traveled often. Skimpy +had no doubt that he knew whither he was +going through that trackless desert. Nevertheless +Binwell now and then looked back +over his shoulder at the sun, as if to make +sure of the direction which he was taking. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>did not care to notice the anxious freckled +face, down the vista of the leaves, from which +all jocundity had vanished. For Skimpy, although +the best-natured of boys, began to +rebel inwardly. He had a troublous consciousness +that Jerry Binwell would not be +safe to trust, and wondered that he could +have so disregarded his father’s wish that +he should not be brought into this association. +It seemed odd to Skimpy that the +danger should have manifested itself so close +upon the heels of the warning. In common +with many boys, he was apt to regard the +elders as too cautious, too slow. He had not +learned as yet that it is experience which has +made them so. It was not merely mentally +that he was ill at ease. His bare feet were +beginning to burn, for they had now climbed +long distances up the mountain slope amidst +the laurel. The weight of the ladder asserted +itself in every straining muscle, and yet he +realized that his callow strength would hardly +have enabled him to carry one end, were it +not for the aid of the upholding boughs of +the laurel, that would not suffer it to touch +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>the ground, even when his grasp sometimes +relaxed in spite of himself. He dreaded to +think how he would fare when they should +emerge into the open woods. “I won’t tote +my e-end no furder,” he said to himself, still +striving to look upon himself as a free agent.</p> + +<p>He called once or twice to Binwell, who +feigned not to hear. His deafness suddenly +vanished when Skimpy stopped and the ladder +lay upon the interlacing laurel-boughs. +“Whar be we-uns a-goin’ ter tote this hyar +contrivance, ennyways?” the boy demanded.</p> + +<p>“Jes’ a leetle furder, sonny,” said Jerry +Binwell paternally, turning upon him a quiet +face, immovable save for the industriously +ruminant jaws, subduing a great quid of tobacco; +he was apparently so unaware of any +cause for suspicions that they were erased +from Skimpy’s mind. He took up his end of +the ladder again, thinking it probably belonged +to Binwell, and thankful that he had +put into words no intimation of his vague but +uneasy doubts. He even hummed a song as +he stumped along, willing enough to be cheerful +if the adventure only signified a little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>work for no pay. “But I’d hev ruther not +l’arn them chunes folks fiddle down in Persimmon +Cove ef I hed knowed I hed ter skitter +up the mounting this-a-way.”</p> + +<p>For they were in truth near the summit, +not ascending the great bald, but in a gap +between two peaks. The laurel had given +way to open woods, and Skimpy’s end of the +ladder almost dragged. The trees, instead of +the great forest kings on the mountain slopes +below, were the stunted growths peculiar to +the summit. They heard no call of herder, +no tinkle of bell, for the cattle that found +summer pasturage here had been rounded up +and driven home to the farms in the “flat-woods.” +The silence was intense; they saw +no living creature save a buzzard circling high +in the red skies of the sunset. Skimpy +thought for a moment they were going down +on the North Carolina side; he was about to +protest; the way was indescribably rocky +and tortuous; the night was coming on. Suddenly +Binwell paused.</p> + +<p>“Kem along, sonny; take the ladder in the +middle an’ feed it out ter me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span></p> + +<p>Skimpy, wondering, took the ladder in the +middle, giving it a series of shoves toward +Binwell, who suddenly lifted the end, and +with one effort flung it from him—and out +of the world, as it seemed to Skimpy.</p> + +<p>He listened for a moment, hearing it crash +among the tree-tops as it went falling down +the precipice whence Binwell had thrown it. +A moment after there was silence as intense +as before. Then Binwell knelt on the verge +and looked down the abyss. He raised a +triumphant grinning face, and silently beckoned +to Skimpy. The boy went forward and +knelt too, to look over. At first he could see +nothing but the shelving side of the mountain; +the deep abyss gloomed with shadows, +the richness of the autumnal colors sombre +and tempered beneath the purple dusk. And +then he discovered one end of the ladder, +barely perceptible in the top of a pine-tree.</p> + +<p>“It lodged ’mongst them pines,” said the +jubilant Binwell. “It’s safe, summer or +winter; nobody’ll find it but the birds or the +squir’ls.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy could no longer resist. “Air—air—it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>yourn?” he faltered, struggling with +his instinct of politeness.</p> + +<p>Binwell had risen to his feet; he was rubbing +the earth off his hands—recklessly bedaubed +when he had knelt down—and also +from his trousers, nimbly raising first one +knee, then the other, for the purpose. He +was chuckling unpleasantly as he looked at +the boy.</p> + +<p>“Ever see folks fling thar own ladders off’n +the bluffs, an’ land ’em ’mongst the tree-tops +fur the birds ter roost in?”</p> + +<p>Skimpy stared, and ruefully shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Waal then! what ye talkin’ ’bout?” +Binwell’s tone was cheerful, triumphant; a +sinister triumph.</p> + +<p>The dumfounded Skimpy faltered,—</p> + +<p>“Whose war it, then?”</p> + +<p>“Dunno edzac’ly,” cried the blithe Binwell.</p> + +<p>“Waal, now, that ain’t fair!” protested +Skimpy, indignantly. “I’m goin’ right +down ter the Cove, and tell.”</p> + +<p>“Naw, ye won’t! Naw, ye won’t!” +exclaimed the undismayed Binwell. “Ef +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>ye do, ye’ll git jailed quick’n never war +seen.”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t done nothin’,” cried Skimpy, recoiling.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t ye! Tote a man’s ladder up the +mounting, over ter the Carliny side, an’ tumble +it down ’mongst the pine tops, whar he’d +hev ter make another ter reach it. Mebbe +the constable an’ old Greeps, ez be jestice o’ +the peace, don’t ’low ez that’s suthin’, but +I reckon they will!”</p> + +<p>Skimpy was silent in acute dismay. Into +what danger, what wrong-doing, had he not +thrust himself by his disobedience! He +looked at the grinning face, flushed by the +fading remnant of the roseate sunset, feeling +that he was in Binwell’s power, wondering +what he should do, how he should be liberated +from the toils spread for him.</p> + +<p>“See now, Skimp,” said Binwell beguilingly, +and the poor boy’s heart leaped up at +the kindly tone, for he sought to put the best +construction on Jerry Binwell’s intentions, if +only to calm his own despair and distress. +“I could jes’ take ye under my arm—so,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>he tucked Skimpy’s head under his arm and +lightly lifted him high off his feet—“an’ +strong ez I be I could fling ye off’n that bluff +half down that thar gorge; thar wouldn’t be +enough o’ ye lef’ ter pick up on a shovel; +an’ that would keep ye from tellin’ tales on +me, I reckon.” He swung the boy perilously +close to the edge of the precipice, then set +him gently on his feet. “But I don’t want +ter hurt ye, an’ I ain’t goin’ ter do it. I +know ye air a plumb honer’ble, good sorter +boy, an’ ain’t goin’ ter make a tale-tell o’ +yerse’f, even if ye wouldn’t git jailed. I +wouldn’t trest no boy I ever see but you-uns. +I wouldn’t trest Ike Guyther fur nuthin’. I +war goin’ ter tell you-uns all ’bout’n it ennyways, +even ’fore I fund that thar ladder. +An’ then ye kin jedge whether I be right or +wrong.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy, eager to be reassured, felt his +heart lighten with the words. He strained +his credulity to believe in Jerry Binwell. +Surely he had not done so very wrong; there +might be no harm in the man, after all. He +drew a deep breath of relief, and then picked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>up his hat which had fallen from his head +when Jerry Binwell was illustrating the terrible +fate he might decree for the lad if he +chose. The man was closely studying his +face when their eyes met once more, but Binwell +said simply that they had better go after +Obadiah’s fiddle or night would overtake +them before they found it.</p> + +<p>He talked as they went.</p> + +<p>“Ye see, Skimpy,” he said, “my tongue +don’t lay holt nat’rally ter the words, kase I +hev got some things ter tell ez I ain’t right +proud on.”</p> + +<p>He glanced down at the wondering, upturned +face, with its eyes wide with anticipation, +and its mouth opening as if to swallow, +without the customary grain of salt, any big +tale which might be told.</p> + +<p>“Ye hearn old Corbin say, yander at the +store that day, ez I run durin’ the War. An’ +I h’isted him up on the beam fur shamin’ me +’fore all them folks. Waal, I oughtn’t ter +done it, kase ’twar true—<i>jes’ one time</i>! I +felt powerful ’shamed ter hear ’bout it ag’in—plumb +bowed down.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span></p> + +<p>The crafty eyes scanning Skimpy’s ingenuous +face saw that he was sympathetic.</p> + +<p>“War ain’t a healthy bizness, nohow,” +continued Jerry. “But thar air lots o’ men, +ez run heap more’n me, ez don’t hev it +fetched up ag’in ’em every day. Lots o’ +runnin’ war done in the War—but folks +nowadays ginerally talks ’bout thar fightin’. +Some nimble fellers showed their heels in +them times—folks ez live right hyar in the +Cove. But I be the only one ez hev got ter +hear ’bout it in these days. It’s kase I’m +pore, Skimp. Ef I hed a good cabin an’ +right smart cornfield, an’ consider’ble head o’ +stock, ye wouldn’t hear ’bout my runnin’ that +time.”</p> + +<p>Cynicism is eminently infectious. Skimpy +wagged his head significantly. “You wouldn’t +indeed!” the gesture seemed to say.</p> + +<p>“They don’t like me jes’ kase I’m pore. +An’ kase I’m pore they call me shif’less. I +hev hed a heap o’ trouble; sech truck ez I +hed I war obleeged ter spen’ fur doctors’ +’tendance on my wife, ez war ailin’ always, +an’ arter all she died at last.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span></p> + +<p>The unromantic Skimpy, meditating on the +case, felt that at least the doctors’ bills were +at an end.</p> + +<p>“An’ now I be homeless, an’ a wanderer, +an’ hev my leetle gal ter feed. Folks actially +want ter take her away from me. Ef +’twarn’t fur her, them Guythers wouldn’t +let me stay thar a day.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy knew that this was true. Ike had +confided so much to him of the family feeling +on the matter.</p> + +<p>“An’ now folks in the Cove air a-fixin’ ter +drive me out’n it—me an’ little Rosamondy. +They can’t set the law onto me, fur I never +done nothin’ ag’in it—so they be a-goin’ ter +laff me out’n it. Ye wanter know whose +ladder that is?” he broke off with apparent +irrelevance.</p> + +<p>Skimpy nodded an eager assent.</p> + +<p>“It’s old Corbin’s, I’ll be bound, an’ I’ll +tell ye why I ’low sech; no man but him kin +do sech a job. Waal, ye know what he wants +it fur? He wants somebody ez be light an’ +handy ter climb up Keedon Bluffs by it ter +them hollows. An’ ye wanter know what +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>fur? Ter git suthin’ ez air hid in one o’ ’em. +An’ ye wanter know what that be?”</p> + +<p>Skimpy’s face in the closing dusk might +have been cut out of stone, so white and set +it was—such a petrified expectancy upon it. +The man’s eyes glittered as he held his own +face nearer and spoke in a hissing whisper, +albeit in the lonely wilderness none could +hear his words.</p> + +<p>“Some war maps, an’ orders in a box what +a courier—thinkin’ he war a-goin’ ter be captured—hid +thar; an’ he war killed afore +ever he got ’em ag’in. An’ long o’ ’em air +a letter a-tellin’ ’bout me a-runnin’ an’ +a-orderin’ me ter be shot fur a deserter. An’ +old Corbin, bearin’ a gredge ag’in me, air +a-goin’ ter perduce ’em an’ fairly laff me out’n +the Cove. An’ I ain’t got nowhar ter go.”</p> + +<p>“He’s mighty mean!” cried Skimpy, his +heart swelling with indignation.</p> + +<p>“Waal, I wanter scotch his wheel!” exclaimed +Binwell. “I don’t want him ter +do it.”</p> + +<p>“How kin ye purvent it?” said Skimpy, +briskly. Surely there was no malice, no mischief +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>on Binwell’s part in this. His spirits +had risen to their normal high pitch.</p> + +<p>“Waal, Skimp, I hev been a-studyin’ +bout’n it. But till I fund that ladder—it +air too long fur enny mortal place but Keedon +Bluffs—an’ made sure o’ what he war +a-doin’ of, I warn’t sati’fied in my mind. Ef +ye’ll holp me—kase I be too bulky nowadays +ter creep in one o’ them hollows—ef +I’ll kerry ye down thar will ye snake in an’ +git the box? Ye ’feared?”</p> + +<p>For Skimpy had drawn back at this proposition. +“Naw,” he faltered, but with an affirmative +tendency. He saw Binwell’s teeth +and eyes gleam through the dusk. This man +<i>who ran</i> was laughing at him for being afraid +of the great heights of Keedon Bluffs, of the +black abysses below!</p> + +<p>“We hed better hev tuk the ladder ter +climb by,” suggested Skimpy.</p> + +<p>“An’ hev old Corbin come along the river +bank an’ take it down whilst we war on it? +I’m better’n enny ladder ye ever see, bein’ +so strong. Feel my arm,” he held it out. +“Shucks, boy! Fust time I ever see ye, ye +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>war talkin’ ter Ike ’bout climbin’ down thar +’thout enny holp. But mebbe ef ye don’t +want ter go, Ike will. I hain’t axed him yit. +I’d ruther hev you-uns. But I reckon he +ain’t <i>afeard</i>.”</p> + +<p>In addition to Skimpy’s sympathy for +the ostracized Binwell his terror of being +considered a coward was very great. “Naw—I’ll +go—I ain’t ’feared; but I be powerful +oneasy an’ troubled bout’n that thar ladder.”</p> + +<p>“Waal, arter we git the box—the papers +air in it—we’ll go over to yon side o’ the +mounting with a axe, an’ cut down the tree ez +cotched the ladder, an’ tote it back whar we +fund it.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy’s objections vanished at the prospect +of being able to undo soon the harm he +had done. He hoped fervently that old Corbin +would not miss his ladder before it was +replaced.</p> + +<p>“Hyar’s Obadiah’s fiddle!” exclaimed Binwell, +who led the way while the boy followed +through the laurel, grown quite dark now; +and when they emerged into the open woods +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>they beheld the stars glistening in the shallows +of the branch, and many a pensive +glimmer came through the bare boughs, and +through the thinning leaves.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XI"> + XI. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>The ladder was early missed; indeed it was +the next morning that old Corbin puffed and +pushed through the laurel to the bare space +where his handiwork had been wont to lie and +to grow apace, rung by rung. He did not at +first notice its absence. He put his box of +tools on the ground. Then he sat down on a +rock and mopped his brow with his red bandana +handkerchief and gazed meditatively +down the vistas of the woods. The Indian +summer was abroad in the land, suffusing it +with languor and light—a subtly tempered +radiance; with embellishments of color, soft +and brilliant; with fine illusions of purpling +haze; with a pensive joy in sheer existence. +How gracious it was to breathe such air, such +aromatic perfumes; to hear such melodic +sounds faintly piped with the wind among the +boughs. Ah, summer, not going, surely! for +despite the sere leaf one must believe it had +barely come.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span></p> + +<p>They were not poetic lungs which Mr. Corbin +wore, encased in much fat, but they expanded +to the exquisite aroma of the morning +as amply as if they differentiated and +definitely appreciated it. He drew several +long luxurious sighs, and then it seemed as +if he would breathe no more. He gasped; +turned red; his eyes started from his head. +He had taken notice at last that the ladder +had been removed. He arose tremulously +and approached the spot where it usually lay. +There was no trace of it. He staggered a few +steps backward in dismayed recoil. His spectacles +fell to the ground, the lenses shattering +on the stones.</p> + +<p>“Witches!” he spluttered. “Witches!” +He cast one terrified appealing look at the +solitudes about him, half-fearing to see the +mystic beings that his superstition deemed +lurking there; then he began to waddle—for +he could hardly be said to run—as fast as he +could go along the path through the laurel.</p> + +<p>Tremulous alike with his years and the +shock of surprise, his condition was pitiable +by the time he reached the store—for he at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>once sought his friend and crony the storekeeper. +And some time elapsed before he +could be restored to his normal calmness and +make intelligible the detail of what had befallen +him. Peter Sawyer was a man of considerable +acumen. He was far more disposed +to believe that the ladder had been found by +some freakish boys who had mischievously +hidden it in the laurel hard by, than that it +had been spirited away by witches. He considered, +however, that his old friend had been +victimized beyond the limits of fun, and before +setting out for the spot he summoned the +constable of the district to their aid, for he +felt that arrests for malicious mischief were +in order. Both he and the officer were prepared +to beat the laurel and patrol the neighborhood +and ferret out the miscreants. They +arranged their plans as they trudged on together, +now and then pausing to wait for old +Corbin as he pounded along behind them. +The storekeeper was detailing, too, to the +constable the reasons for the manufacture of +the long ladder—for he was the confidential +friend of Jake Corbin, and in fact had suggested +the scheme.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span></p> + +<p>“We mought ez well let ye inter the secret +fus’ ez las’, kase this hyar case air one +fur the strong arm o’ the law.” He threw +back his narrow lizard-like head and laughed, +showing his closely-set tobacco-stained teeth.</p> + +<p>“Strong ez it air ’tain’t plumb long +enough!” he added.</p> + +<p>The constable, a thick-set, slow man, cocked +his head inquiringly askew.</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t long enough,” continued Sawyer, +enjoying the involutions of the method of disclosure +he had adopted. “The arm o’ the +law ain’t long enough ter reach up ter them +hollows in Keedon Bluffs!”</p> + +<p>“In Keedon Bluffs!” echoed the amazed +officer.</p> + +<p>“Jes’ so,” said Sawyer, laughing and nodding. +“So we hev lengthened its reach by +the loan of a ladder.” He strode on silently +for a few moments beside the constable, their +two shadows following them down the red +clay road, in advance of old Corbin, who was +lumbering on behind attended by a portly, +swaying, lunging image of himself, impudently +magnified and nearly twice as big.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span></p> + +<p>“Ye see,” resumed Sawyer, “Jake Corbin +b’lieves ez some o’ old Squair Torbett’s money +an’ sech, what he hid in the war times, air +right up <i>yander</i> in one o’ them holes—’twar +this hyar Jerry Binwell, ez war a slim boy +then, an’ Ab Guyther ez holped ter hide it. +Waal, ye know how things turned out. The +Squair died ’fore many months were over an’ +them boys had run away to the Wars. Waal, +ye know how cur’ous the heirs acted—looked +sorter sideways when questioned, an’ swore +they never hed hed no money out’n Keedon +Bluffs.”</p> + +<p>“I ’member,” said the constable, “Ed declared +out he never b’lieved thar war no +money thar.”</p> + +<p>“Waal, Ed’s dead, an’ the tother heir +moved ter Arkansas, an’ the kentry-side ginerally +b’lieved like them—that thar warn’t +no money thar—big fool tale. Waal, hyar +kems back Jerry Binwell, arter twenty year, +bein’ pore ez Job’s tur-r-key, an’ takes ter +a-loafin’ roun’ them Bluffs; I seen him thar +twict myself. An’ Ab Guyther hev tuk ter +declarin’ he wants ter climb down Keedon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>Bluffs an’ lay his hand on that thar old cannon-ball.”</p> + +<p>“Wants ter lay his hand on Squair’s old +money-box, ye better say,” exclaimed Corbin.</p> + +<p>“Waal now, I ain’t goin’ ter b’lieve nuthin’ +ag’in Ab!” exclaimed the constable excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Ennyhow,” wheezed old man Corbin, +“we-uns ’lowed we’d git a ladder an’ summons +a officer an’ take down that box, ef we could +git a boy ter climb in, an’ turn it over ter the +law. Jerry Binwell ain’t done nuthin’ ez yit +ter warrant arrestin’ him, but we jes’ ’lowed +we-uns warn’t a-goin ter set by an’ let him +put folks on beams an’ steal money, an’ loaf +around ef thar war enny way ter pervent it.”</p> + +<p>The constable seemed to approve of the +plan, and only muttered a stipulation that he +did not believe Ab had anything to do with +any rascality.</p> + +<p>Little was said as they pushed through the +tangle of the laurel. The storekeeper was +ahead, leading the way, for he knew it well, +having often come to consult his crony. +“Waal, sir!” he exclaimed in indignant ruefulness +when the bare rocky space was revealed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>along which the great ladder was wont +to stretch. He glanced around excitedly at +the constable, directing his attention to the +spot, then called aloud, “Why, Jake,” in a +voice of exasperated compassion.</p> + +<p>A cold chill was upon old Corbin as he +waddled through the last of the tangled +bushes; it required no slight nerve for him to +again approach the place. He quivered from +head to foot and wailed forth tumultuously, +“I hev been snared by the witches. Le’s git +out’n these hyar witched woods! Don’t ye +reckon ’twar the witches? It mus’ hev been +the witches!”</p> + +<p>A new idea suddenly struck Peter Sawyer. +“’Twarn’t no witches,” he declared abruptly. +“An’ ’twarn’t no mischievous boys! ’Twar +Jerry Binwell; that’s who hev got that ladder. +Ef we-uns could ketch him a-nigh hyar +I’d git him ’rested sure. He hev fund out +what we air wantin’ ter do.”</p> + +<p>“Better find the ladder an’ git the box fust. +We-uns don’t want him—a rascal—ez much +ez the law wants the Squair’s money-box ter +gin it back ter the heirs,” said the cautious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>constable. “Go slow an’ sure. Besides I +don’t wanter make no foolish arrests. The +jestice would jes’ discharge him on sech evidence +ag’in him ez we kin show—kase we +can’t tell all we know,—fur the word would +git all over the Cove, an’ some limber-legged +fellow mought climb up thar, an’ ef he didn’t +break his neck he mought git the box. I tell +ye—I’m a-goin’ ter set a watch on them +Bluffs from day-dawn till it’s cleverly dark. +An’ ef that thar ladder be in these hyar +woods I’ll find it.”</p> + +<p>These wise counsels were heeded. Old Corbin +started back to the store with his friend +after one more apprehensive, tremulous, and +searching glance for the witches’ lair in the +laurel which he dreaded to discover, and the +constable took his way cautiously through the +woods toward the river.</p> + +<p>The morning wore on to the vertical noontide +when the breeze died, and the shadows +collapsed, and the slumberous purple haze +could neither shift nor shimmer, but brooded +motionless over the ravines and along the +mountain slopes; the midday glowed, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>burned with color more richly still, until the +vermilion climax of the sunset made splendid +the west, and tinged the east with gold +and pink reflections. And all day the constable +himself, hidden in a clump of crimson +sour-wood, knelt on the summit of the Bluffs, +watching the deep silent gliding of the river +and the great sand-stone cliffs—with here a +tuft of grass or a hardy bush in a niche, with +sheer reaches and anon crevices, and on a +ledge the ball from the deadly gun, lying silent +and motionless in the sun.</p> + +<p>Nothing came except a bird that perched +on the cannon-ball; a mocking-bird, all newly +plumed. He trimmed his jaunty wing, and +turned his brilliant eye and his delicately +poised head upward. Then, with his white +wing-feathers catching the light, away he +went to where the echoes awaited him. A +star was in the river—its silver glitter striking +through the roseate reflections of the +clouds; and presently the darkness slipped +down.</p> + +<p>And the constable’s joints were very stiff +when he clambered out of the clump of sour-wood +shoots.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XII"> + XII. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>It was a very dark night. The wind freshened; +leaves were set adrift in the black void +spaces; the jarring of bare boughs, continually +clashing together, pervaded the gloom: +the water was ruffled, and the reflection of +the stars was distorted or annulled amongst +the vacillating ripples as the faint beams fell. +No other sound near Keedon Bluffs, no other +stir.</p> + +<p>By the fireside of Hiram Guyther’s house +one could hardly be unconscious of the tumult +of the mountain forest, or of the swirl of the +wind in the funnel-like depths of the Cove, +however deep the reverie, however the fire +might crackle as the big blazes sprang up the +chimney, however the little Rosamondy might +laugh or might sing.</p> + +<p>“How the wind blows!” the blind man +said from time to time, lifting his gray head +and his young face. And aunt Jemima would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>remark on “the powerful clatter” of the orchard +boughs and the rustling swish of the +Indian corn standing dead and stark in the +fields.</p> + +<p>As the trumpeting blast came down the +chimney once more Ab roused himself anew +and exclaimed, “’Minds me o’ the night Rosamondy +kem.”</p> + +<p>“Did the wind blow me hyar?” cried +Rosamondy, as she sat in her little chair.</p> + +<p>“The bes’ wind that ever blew!” declared +aunt Jemima, her gleaming spectacles intercepting +her caressing glance.</p> + +<p>Jerry Binwell turned a trifle aside in his +chair to hide the scornful curve of his lips. +There was no need to shift his posture. Aunt +Jemima’s eyes were bent once more upon her +knitting, and Abner was blind alike to sneers +and smiles. Rosamond’s attention was fixed +upon a big red apple roasting and sputtering +between two stones that served as fire-dogs. +Now and then, with the aid of a stick, she +turned the other side of the apple to the heat. +Only the blinking cat saw the jeer on his face, +and this animal was too frequently ridiculed to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>care to cultivate any fine distinctions in the +nature of laughs. Curiously enough, the cat +wore a queer gown of blue-checked homespun +and a ruffled cap that was often awry, for she +sometimes put up a disaffected paw to scrape +it off, or it became disarranged in hasty or too +energetic washings of her face. She had been +thus accoutered by aunt Jemima to appease +Rosamondy’s craving for a live doll. The cat +was very much alive, and seated before the +fire she had an antique and dame-like look, +which was highly appreciated by her owner, +but which was totally destroyed when she +walked on all-fours. The live doll was eminently +satisfactory to Rosamond, and except +for the tyranny of her garments was in danger +of being killed by kindness.</p> + +<p>The laugh on Jerry Binwell’s face was only +a transient gleam. He relapsed into brooding +gravity and meditatively eyed the fire.</p> + +<p>“Ab,” he said suddenly, when aunt Jemima +had left the room to join Mrs. Guyther, +who was “sizin’” yarn in the shed-room, +and he could hear their voices in animated +controversy as to the best methods. “Ab, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>I’ll tell ye what this windy night in the fall +of the year ’minds me of.”</p> + +<p>His voice had the most agreeable inflections +of which it was capable, but it elicited +no response, for Abner had not relented toward +his old comrade, and seldom would +seem aware of his existence. Binwell’s face +contorted into a disagreeable grimace. This +secret taunt the blind man was spared. Then +Binwell’s smooth tones went on as if he had +not expected a rejoinder.</p> + +<p>“’Minds me o’ that night in the old War +time whenst me an’ you-uns holped old Squair +Torbett ter hide his plunder from g’rillas an’ +sech—ye ’member how the wind blowed?”</p> + +<p>Abner’s fire-lit face glowed with more than +the reflection of the flames. His lip curled; +the reminiscence seemed to afford him some +occult amusement.</p> + +<p>“I ’member! I ’member!” he said slowly; +then he chuckled softly to himself.</p> + +<p>Binwell’s eyes were fixed upon him with +an antagonistic intentness, as if he would fain +seize upon his withheld thought in some unconscious +betrayal of face. But the blind man +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>could only hear his voice, languid and reminiscent, +drawling on, aimlessly, it seemed. +“Waal, I ’members it too, mighty well. How +flustry the old man war! Wonder if we’ll be +that-a-way when we-uns git ez old ez him? +He gin us the box, an’ we-uns kerried it ter +the top o’ the Bluffs, an’ ye clomb down +whilst I watched. An’ wunst in a while the +old man would nudge me,” then with a quick +change of voice—“‘Ain’t that a horse a-lopin’, +Jerry? hear it? hear it?’ An’ I’d say, +‘It’s the wind, Squair—the wind, a-wallopin’ +up the gorge.’ An’ then he’d rest fur a minit +an’ say, ‘Air sign o’ Ab? That thar boy’ll +break his neck, I’m ’feared.’ An’ I’d say, ‘I +hear the clods in the niches a-fallin’ whilst he +climbs, Squair; he’s a-goin’ it.’ An’ then he’d +clutch me by the arm, an’ say, whispery an’ +husky, ‘Jerry! Jerry! what’s that down the +road—the jingle o’ spurs, the clank o’ a sabre?’ +An’ I’d say—‘It’s jes’ the dead +leaves, Squair, a-rustlin’ as they fly in the +wind.’ An’ he warn’t easy one minit till ye +clomb up the Bluffs ag’in, empty-handed an’ +the box hid.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span></p> + +<p>As he talked, Rosamond’s hands had fallen +still in her lap while she listened with the +wide-eyed wonder of childhood. Her curling +yellow hair, ruddily gleaming in the firelight, +hung down over her shoulders, her cheek was +flushed, her great gray eyes, full of starry +lights and yet pensively shadowed by her +long black lashes, were fixed upon his face. +When the tension slackened she sighed deeply +and stirred, and then lapsed into intent interest +again.</p> + +<p>The blind man had bent forward, his +elbows on his knees. “I ’members,” he said +again.</p> + +<p>“I never did know, Ab, whether ye fund +them hollows in the Bluffs a toler’ble tight fit, +nor how fur back they run in them rocks; +but ye war a mighty slim boy in them days.”</p> + +<p>“Warn’t slim enough ter git inter the fust +nor the second,” spoke up the blind soldier +briskly, with awakened interest.</p> + +<p>“So ye put it inter the thurd?” demanded +Jerry.</p> + +<p>If he could have seen himself how well he +would have thought it that his old comrade +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>could not see him! His head was thrust forward +till all the ligaments in his long thin +neck were visible, strained and stretched. +His eyes were starting. His breath was +quick, and his under jaw had dropped. +Rosamond had a half affrighted look as she +sat in her chair on the hearth beside the +sleeping dogs and the grotesquely attired cat +that was gravely washing its face.</p> + +<p>The blind man nodded. “Yes,” he said +simply, “I put it in the thurd, an’ pritty far +back, too.”</p> + +<p>The chimney was resounding with the burden +of the blast as it sang without; its tumultuous +staves echoed far up the mountain +slopes. Abner lifted his head to listen, hearing +perhaps the faint din of the winds of +memory blowing as they listed about Keedon +Bluffs. The next instant his attention was +recalled. In the momentary absorption the +sharpened hearing of the blind had failed +him. He subtly knew that there was a +change in the room, but what it was he could +not say. He stretched out his hand with a +groping gesture. “Jerry,” he called out in a +friendly voice. There was no answer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span></p> + +<p>The puzzled expression deepened on his +face. He heard the stirring of the child. +“Rosamondy,” he said, “who’s hyar?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody,” the vibrant, sweet voice answered, +“nobody but me—an’ Mis’ Cat.”</p> + +<p>“Whar’s Jerry?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Gone out,” she said promptly. “Sech +walkin’ on tiptoes I never see.”</p> + +<p>There sounded instantly a queer thumping +on the puncheon floor, a tumble, a great +gush of treble laughter; then the eccentric +thumping was renewed and Abner knew that +Rosamondy was imitating the deft celerity of +Binwell’s exit on tiptoes. He did not laugh. +He leaned back in his chair with doubt and +perplexity corrugating his brow.</p> + +<p>A step was upon the ladder, descending +from the roof-room—not Ike’s usual light +step, but he it was, slowly appearing from +the shadows. Even after he had emerged +into the genial firelight their gloom seemed +still to rest upon his face, and his eyes were +at once anxious and mournful. He withstood +as well as he could the shock of welcome with +which Rosamond rushed upon him, seizing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>him round the knees till he almost toppled +over, and was constrained to wildly wave his +arms in order to regain his equilibrium. She +fell into ecstasies of delight because of the +awkward insecurity he exhibited, and as with +outstretched arms, and flying hair, and tangled +feet, and rippling, gurgling cries, she +mimicked him, he found himself at liberty +to sink into a chair. And then while Rosamond, +always long in exhausting her jokes, +still toppled about the floor, he silently brooded +over the fire.</p> + +<p>Once or twice he raised his eyes and +looked toward his uncle who seemed too lost +in reverie. Sometimes Abner lifted his head +to listen to the rioting winds and again bent +it to his dreams. The white firelight flickered, +and now the brown shadow wavered. +He was presently subtly aware of a new presence +by the hearth, unseen by others as all +must be by him.</p> + +<p>“Ye hev got trouble alongside o’ ye, Ike,” +he remarked. “Ye’re mighty foolish. It’s a +great thing ter be young, an’ strong, an’ hev +all yer senses. The beastises hev got mo’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>gumption than ye. Ever see a young strong +critter, free an’ fat, that war mournful? Naw; +an’ ye ain’t goin’ ter. Ye hev got the worl’ +in a sling. An’ ye set an’ mope.”</p> + +<p>Ike made an effort to rouse himself. “I +know I oughtn’t,” he said in a strained voice, +“but I be mighty—mighty troubled.”</p> + +<p>“Jes’ so,” said the blind man.</p> + +<p>Ike looked at the flickering white flames +for a moment, at the pulsing red coals, at the +vacillating brown shadows. Rosamondy had +rushed into the shed-room to exhibit her imitation +of Ike to his mother and aunt Jemima. +He listened to the chorus of voices for a moment, +then he said, “I dunno but what I’m +foolish, uncle Ab, but I hearn what ye tole +Jerry Binwell jes’ now ’bout whar ye hid +the Squair’s money-box, an’—an’ I wisht +ye hedn’t done it.”</p> + +<p>“What fur?” the blind man lifted his face +lighted with sudden interest, “ye be ’feared +ez he mought ’low it’s thar yit an’ go arter it +an’ git his neck bruk.”</p> + +<p>Ike moved uneasily.</p> + +<p>“That’s jes’ the reason he tried to keep me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>an’ Skimpy Sawyer from climbin’ down thar +one evenin’—fust time I ever seen him; +tried ter skeer we-uns with witches an’ sech. +The Squair’s money-box air what he war arter, +I be bound, the night o’ the coon hunt +whenst I cotch him thar. I’m feared he’ll +git it. I dunno what to do! I s’picioned +suthin’, but I never ’lowed ’twar money. +He’ll git arrested ef he don’t mind.”</p> + +<p>“I wisht he would,” said Abner; he +chuckled fiercely and fell to revolving his +old grudges.</p> + +<p>“Waal, I’d hate that mightily,” said Ike +dolorously, “arrested out’n we-uns’s house. +I war goin’ ter tell dad nex’ day, but he war +gone ’fore I got home. I wisht Jerry Binwell +bed never kem hyar!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Ike,” Abner retorted cogently, +“then leetle Rosamondy would never hev +kem!”</p> + +<p>“I seen old Corbin an’ the constable with +thar heads mighty close tergether ter-day,” +Ike went on drearily, “an’ arterward I passed +down the river-bank on the opposite side ter +Keedon Bluffs, an’ I see the constable a-hidin’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>hisself in a clump o’ sour-wood. I dunno +what ter do. I feel ’sponsible, somehows. +I don’t want him ter git the money—a thievin’ +scamp—and yit I don’t want him ter git +arrested.” He paused in astonishment.</p> + +<p>Abner Guyther was laughing in sardonic +delight. “He ain’t goin’ ter git the money!” +he cried. “An’ I dunno nobody ez needs arrestin’ +ez bad ez he do—somebody oughter +scotch his wheel, sartain! G’long, Ike; +g’long ter bed. An’ quit addlin’ yer brains +’bout’n yer elders.”</p> + +<p>Ike was not reassured by the reception of +his disclosure. And he had not told the +worst of his troubles. More than once of late +he had seen Skimpy and Binwell together. +He had felt no resentment that his friend +had been forbidden association with him, +to avoid contact with this elderly villain. It +seemed wise in Skimpy’s father, and he only +wished that his own had been sufficiently uninfluenced +and firm to have determined upon +a similar course. Noting the constable in the +clump of sour-wood, and with his own recollection +of Binwell climbing down Keedon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>Bluffs, he had been smitten with terror for +Skimpy’s sake. He knew that Binwell had +some reason of his own for affecting the lad’s +society. In cudgeling his mind for the man’s +motive he had brought to light the true one +which might not have been so readily presented +were not Keedon Bluffs so continually +in his thoughts of late. He was sure that +Binwell wished Skimpy, being light and slim, +to explore the hollows of the Bluffs—with +what end in view he had not definitely known +until to-night. Nevertheless the conviction +that his simple-hearted friend had become +involved in serious danger had been strong +enough that afternoon to induce him to go to +Skimpy’s home. Old man Sawyer sat on the +porch morosely smoking his pipe, and Ike +paused at the fence and whistled for Skimpy—a +shrill, preconcerted signal; it was in the +deepest confidence that he was about to impart +his suspicions and his warnings and he +did not feel justified in including the elder +Sawyer in the colloquy. It might be a slander +on Jerry Binwell, after all. “An’ I don’t +wanter be a backbiter like him,” said Ike to +himself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span></p> + +<p>The whistle brought Skimpy promptly out +from the barn. To Ike’s surprise, however, +he did not approach the fence, which was at +some distance from the house. He simply +stood near the porch with his old hat on the +back of his red head, his long arms crooked, +his hands thrust into his pockets, and upon +his face a sardonic grin that seemed broader +than anything in his whole physical economy.</p> + +<p>“Kem down hyar. I hev a word ter say +ter ye,” called Ike.</p> + +<p>He felt as if he were dreaming when instead +of replying Skimpy swayed himself grotesquely +and mockingly about, and began to +sing with outrageous fluctuations from the key +“Oh-aw-e-Mister Coon! Oh-aw-i-Mister +Ky-une.”</p> + +<p>It seemed a frenzied imitation of himself, +and Ike was about to speak when Skimpy, +putting his fingers in his ears that he might +not hear Ike, although to the casual observer +it might well seem that he had good reasons +for not wanting to hear himself, bellowed +and piped mockingly, “Oh-aw-i-Mister +Kyune! That’s the way he ’lows I sing,” he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>observed in an aside to his father, who might +have been carved from a corn-cob, for all +the animation he showed, except to silently +smoke his corn-cob pipe.</p> + +<p>“I never!” cried Ike indignantly; “somebody +hev been settin’ ye ag’in me—a backbitin’ +scamp! An’ I’ll be bound I know who +’twar.”</p> + +<p>But Skimpy’s fingers were in his ears, and +he was still swaying back and forth and making +the air shudder with his mock vocalizations. +At last Ike turned away in sheer futility, +angered and smarting, but as anxious +and troubled as before.</p> + +<p>Now he was sorry he had not persisted for +he had not realized how immediate and terrible +was the danger to Skimpy. He sat still +for a moment, afraid to say aught of the perplexities +that racked him, lest being mistaken +he might needlessly implicate Skimpy in any +crime that Binwell might commit. Presently +he rose with a look of determination on his +face. The sound of the lifting latch, the +cold in-rushing of the air, the light touch of +the flakes of ashes set a-flying from the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>hearth, notified Abner that he was solitary +by the fire. He heard the cat purring, the +low murmuring of the flames in the chimney, +the wind outside, the voices of the two women +busy in the shed-room.</p> + +<p>Another stir of a latch and a presence entered +bright even to the blind man. “All +alone-y by hisself-y!” Rosamondy cried as +she pattered across the floor and flung herself +into his arms. He shared much baby talk +with Mrs. Cat, but he was not jealous of +that esteemed friend, for he was Rosamondy’s +preferred crony. Through her, life had come +to mean for him a present as well as a past, +and to hold for him a future and a vista. +He planned for her with the two old women. +He had let it be known to all his relatives +that all he had in the world—his horse, +his cows, his share of the cabin, his gun, +a captured sabre—was to be hers at his +death. Always in his simple dreams for enriching +her, and for her fair fate, Jerry Binwell’s +image would be intruded like some +ugly blight upon it all. He had heretofore +thrust away the thought of him, and dreamed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>on resolutely. Somehow he could not do this +to-night. As he patted her on the head and +heard the silken rustle of her hair beneath +his hand, he could but remember that it was +her father risking his life on the rocks, his +liberty, the lurking officer and everlasting ignominy, +which must surely rebound upon her.</p> + +<p>“She wouldn’t know nuthin’ ’bout it now, +ef he war branded ez a thief, but she air a-goin’ +ter be a gal ez will keer mightily fur a good +name an’ sech. Jerry Binwell hain’t never +hed a good name wuth talkin’ ’bout, but he +ain’t never yit been branded ez a thief.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cat was brought and perched upon his +knee, and he was required to shake hands and +inquire after her health and that of her family, +which ceremony both he and the poor +animal performed lugubriously enough, although +with a certain dexterity, having been +trained to it by frequent repetitions. Rosamondy, +however, found herself a better improvisor +than he of conversation for Mrs. Cat, +and as she prattled on his anxious thoughts +reverted to the subject.</p> + +<p>“He air her dad, an’ he’ll be disgraced fur +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>life, an’ I could hev purvented it. Too late! +Too late!” he groaned aloud.</p> + +<p>He felt like a traitor as she passed her soft +little arm around his neck and kissed his +cheek—pale now, although it had never +blanched for shot or shell. He had both her +and Mrs. Cat to hold, and although both were +of squirming tendencies his mind could still +steadily pursue its troublous regrets.</p> + +<p>“But I oughtn’t ter hev done it jes’ fur +Rosamondy, nuther. I oughter hev done it +fur the sake of—<i>folks</i>! A man oughter keep +another man from doing wrong, ef he kin, +same ez ter keep his own score clear—them +ez kin stan’ ter thar guns oughter keer ter +keep the whole line from waverin’, stiddier +a-pridin’ tharse’fs on the aim o’ thar one battery. +Laws-a-massy; I wish I hed tole him. +I wish I hed gin him a word. He mus’ be +nigh thar now. Ef I jes’ could ketch him! +Ef I jes’ could find my way! I ain’t been +nigh thar fur twenty year. Fur one hour o’ +sight ter save a man from crime! Fur one +hour o’ sight to hold the battle-line! Fur +one hour o’ sight to do the Lord’s kind will!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span></p> + +<p>He was speaking aloud. He had risen +from his chair, the little girl and her cat slipping +softly down upon the floor. He took +a step forward, both groping hands outstretched. +“Fur one hour o’ sight!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll lead ye, unky Ab,” the child compassionately +exclaimed, putting up her soft, warm +hand to his cold trembling fingers.</p> + +<p>“Lead me! yes! Lead me ter Keedon +Bluffs,” he cried eagerly. “She kin do it! +She kin save him! Stop,” he caught himself. +“Look out, Rosamondy. Air the night +dark?”</p> + +<p>She opened the door; a mild current of +air flowed in above her yellow head, for the +wind now was laid. She saw the dark woods +gloom around; the stars glimmer in the vast +spaces of the sky; but about the mountain +summit shone an aureola of burnished gold.</p> + +<p>“The moon’s a-risin’,” she said.</p> + +<p>He placed his hand in hers; she stepped +sturdily upon the ground. The door closed, +and the hearth was vacant behind them but +for the flicker of the flames, the drowsing +dogs, and the purring Mrs. Cat.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII"> + XIII. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>That night as Skimpy sat with the family +group by the fireside in his father’s cabin, he +had much ado to maintain a fictitious flow of +spirits, for at heart he was far from cheerful. +Often he would pause, the laugh fading from +his face, and he would lift his head as if listening +intently. Surely the wind had no message +for him as it came blaring down the +mountain side! What significance could he +detect in the clatter of the bare boughs of the +tree by the door-step that he should turn pale +at their slightest touch on the roof? Then +recognizing the sound he would draw a deep +breath of relief, and glance covertly about the +circle to make sure that he had been unobserved. +So expert in feigning had poor Skimpy +become that he might have eluded all but +the vigilance of a mother’s eye.</p> + +<p>“Air ye ailin’, Skimpy?” she demanded +anxiously. “Ye ’pear ter feel the wind. Ye +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>shiver every time it blows brief. Be thar +enny draught thar in the chinkin’?”</p> + +<p>“Naw’m!” said Skimpy hastily. “I war +jes’ studyin’ ’bout that thar song—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘The sperits o’ the woods ride by on the blast,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An’ a witch they say lives up in the moon.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heigh! Ho! Jine in the chune!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Jine in, neighbor, jine in the chune!’</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>“It jes’ makes my marrer freeze in my +bones ter sing that song,” Skimpy said when +his round fresh voice had quavered away into +silence—somehow he could not sing to-night.</p> + +<p>“Waal, I never set no store by sech,” said +his mother. She looked reassuringly at him +over the head of the baby, who slept so much +during the day that he kept late hours, and +did his utmost to force the family to follow +his example. He sat on her knee, sturdily +upright, although she held her hand to his +back under the mistaken impression that his +youthful spine might be weak; but he had +more backbone—literally and metaphorically—than +many much bigger people. He was +munching his whole fist, for his mouth seemed +not only large but flexible, and as he gazed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>into the fire he soliloquized after an inarticulate +fashion. His face was red; his head was +bald except for a slight furze, which was very +red, along the crown; notwithstanding his +youth he looked both aged and crusty.</p> + +<p>Bose was at his mistress’s feet. He too sat +upright, meditatively watching the fire with +his one eye, and now and then lifting the remnants +of his slit ears with redoubled attention +as the wind took a fiercer twirl about the +chimney. Occasionally as the baby’s monologue +grew loud and vivacious, Bose wagged +the stump of his tail in joy and pride, and it +thwacked up and down on the floor.</p> + +<p>It was a very cheerful hearth—the grinding +tidiness of Mrs. Sawyer showed its value +when one glanced about the well-ordered +room; at the clean pots and pans and yellow +and blue ware on the shelves; at the +bright tints of the quilts on the bed and of +the hanks of yarn and strings of peppers +hanging from the rafters that harbored no +cobwebs; at the clear blazes unhindered by +ashes.</p> + +<p>Obadiah with his fiddle under his chin was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>directly in front of the fire. He was tightening +and twanging the strings; now and then +cocking the instrument close to his ear to better +distinguish the vibrations. There are few +musicians who have a more capable and discerning +air than Obadiah affected in those +impressive moments of preparation. His +three brothers sat on a bench, drawn across +the hearth in the chimney corner, its equilibrium +often endangered, for the two at one +end now and again engaged in jocose scuffling, +and Skimpy in the corner was barely heavy +enough to keep it from upsetting. Sometimes +their father, solemnly smoking his corn-cob +pipe, would, with a sober sidelong glance and +a deep half-articulate voice, admonish them to +be quiet, and their efforts in this direction +would last for a few moments at least. In +one of these intervals their father spoke suddenly +to Skimpy.</p> + +<p>“I war downright glad ye tuk Ike up ez +short ez ye done this evenin’, Skimp,” he +said. “Though,” he added, with an afterthought, +“I don’t want ye to gin yerse’f up +ter makin’ game o’ folks.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span></p> + +<p>“’Twar him ez fust made game o’ me,” +said Skimpy, ruefully, the taunt devised by +the ingenious Binwell still rankling deep in +his simple heart.</p> + +<p>The twanging fiddle-strings were suddenly +silent. Obadiah looked up with a fiery glance. +“What gin the critter the insurance ter make +game o’ you-uns, Skimp?” he demanded angrily.</p> + +<p>Until today Skimpy had never mentioned +his grievance, so deeply cut down was his self-esteem, +and so reduced his pride in his “gift +in quirin’.” He had hardly understood it +himself, but he dreaded to have the family +know how low his powers were rated lest +they too think poorly of them. For Skimpy +himself had come to doubt his gift—the insidious +jeer had roused the first self-distrust +that had ever gnawed him. His voice no +longer sounded to him so full, so sweet, and +loud, and buoyant. He sang only to quaver +away, forlorn and incredulous after the first +few tones. No more soaring melodies for him. +He could only fitfully chirp by the wayside.</p> + +<p>“He ’lowed,” said Skimpy, turning red, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>“ez I couldn’t sing—ez Bose, thar, could +sing better’n <i>me</i>—hed a better voice; Bose, +yander, mind ye.”</p> + +<p>Bose at the sound of his name looked up +with a sleepy inquiry in his single eye. +Skimpy did not notice, but began to wheeze +and rasp forth,—</p> + +<p>“‘Oh-aw-ee-ye, Mister Kyune, Oh, Mister +Kyune!’ That’s the way he ’lowed I sing.”</p> + +<p>“Dell-law!” Obadiah’s flexible lips distended +in a wide and comprehensive sneer +that displayed many large irregular teeth, and +was in more ways than one far from beautiful. +But to Skimpy no expression had ever +seemed so benignant, indicating as it did the +strength of fraternal partisanship.</p> + +<p>“He’s jes’ gredgin’ ye, Skimp,” cried Obadiah. +“Else he be turned a bodacious idjit! +He air a idjit fur the lack o’ sense! Shucks!”—his +manner was the triumph of lofty contempt +as he again lifted his violin to his ear—“don’t +ye ’sturb me ag’in ’bout Ike Guyther. +Don’t ye, now.”</p> + +<p>The two boys who sat at the end of the +bench talked together, so eager were they to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>express their scorn. “The whole Smoky +Mountings knows better’n that!” cried one +belligerently.</p> + +<p>“Nobody kin sing like Skimpy—sings like +a plumb red-headed mocking-bird, an’ Ike +knows that fac’ ez well ez road ter mill,” said +the other.</p> + +<p>His mother had almost dropped the baby, +who made a great lunge toward Bose. +“Why,” she cried, “Skimpy gits his singin’ +ways right straight from his gran-dad Grisham—<i>my</i> +dad—ez war knowed ter be the +mos’ servigrous singer they hed ennywhar +roun’ in this kentry fifty year ago. I hev +hearn all the old folks tell ’bout’n his singin’ +an’ his fiddlin’ when he war young, an’ I +’members he sung fune’l chunes whenst he +war a old man; he hed gin up the ways o’ +the worl’ an’ he wouldn’t sing none ’ceptin’ +’round the buryin’ groun’ whenst they war +c’mittin’ some old friend ter the yearth. An’ +his voice would sound strange—strange, an’ +sweet an’ wild, like the water on the rocks in +a lonesome place, or the voice of a sperit +out’n the sky. Oh my!—oh my!”—she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>was rocking herself to and fro with the baby +in her arms, her distended eyes looking far +down the vistas of the past. “How I ’members +it—how I ’members it!”</p> + +<p>Hark! Skimpy starts with a sudden shock. +Was that the beating of the boughs on the +roof, drum-like, or a rub-a-dub measure played +with two pea-sticks on the rail fence of the +garden—the signal by which Jerry Binwell +was to summon him should he conclude to +try the hazardous enterprise this night? The +wind—only the wind; wild weather without! +Thankful he was to be left to this cheerful +fireside, and the warm partisan hearts so near +akin to him.</p> + +<p>“I wonder ye didn’t larrup Ike, Skimpy,” +said Obadiah. “Ye could do it. He’s heavy, +but mighty clumsy. Ye could run aroun’ +him fifty times whilst he war a-turnin’ his fat +sides roun’.”</p> + +<p>Obadiah knitted his brows and nodded confidently +at Skimpy.</p> + +<p>“I never thunk ’bout fightin’,” responded +Skimpy. “My feelin’s war jes’ so scrabbled +up I never keered fur nuthin’ else! Arter +Ike an’ me hed been so frien’ly too!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s like my dad. Skimpy’s like his +gran-dad,” said Mrs. Sawyer, dreamily. “He +war tender an’ easy hurt in his feelin’s.”</p> + +<p>Like that saintly old man! How <i>could</i> +she think it. Skimpy was ready to burst +into tears. And yet, he argued, there was +nothing wicked about what he was to do. He +wished only to help Jerry Binwell to secure +the box of papers that could do naught but +harm now—to help a man who could have +no other aid. Why did the enterprise terrify +him as a crime might? he asked himself in +exasperation. Certainly as far as he could +see there was no mischief in it. As far as +he could see! Alas, Skimpy! How shortsighted +a boy is apt to be! He began to say +to himself that it was because everybody was +down on Binwell, being poor and therefore +unpopular, that he too was influenced by the +prevalent feelings, even when he sought to be +friendly. Yet this reasoning was specious. If +it had involved no disobedience, his heart +would have been light enough. He could +have gone along gayly with his father, whom +he trusted, and explored every chasm and cavity +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>in Keedon Bluffs, or, for the matter of +that, in the Great Smoky Mountains. But +as he listened for the summons—a faint travesty +of a drum-beat on the rail fence—he +would grow rigid and pale, and when the +boughs swaying in the blast touched with +quick, tremulous twigs the clapboards of the +roof with a tapping sound, he shivered, and +started from his seat, and fell back again, hot +and cold by turns.</p> + +<p>“I be glad fur ye ter hev no mo’ ter do +with them Guythers, ennyhow,” said his father +gravely. “They hev acted mighty +strange bout’n Jerry Binwell—an’ ef they +consorts with sech ez him me an’ mine can’t +keep in sech comp’ny. Folks hev tuk ter specla’tin’ +powerful bout’n Ab an’ him hevin’ been +sech enemies—Ab war blinded through his +treachery—an’ now livin’ peaceable together +under one roof. Some folks ’low ez Ab hev +got his reasons fur it, an’ they ain’t honest +ones. I ain’t a-goin’ ter pernounce on that; I +ain’t a-goin ter jedge, kase I don’t want ter be +jedged. I reckon I’d show up powerful small—though +honest—thar ain’t no two ways +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>’bout that, I thank the mercy. But ye done +mighty well, Skimpy, ter gin up yer frien’ +like I tole yer ter do thout no questions, kase +this Binwell war thar. Ye’ll l’arn one day ez +I hed a reason—a mighty good one, too.”</p> + +<p>He sucked his pipe sibilantly. “Ye done +mighty well, Skimpy,” he repeated with an +earnest sidelong glance at his son.</p> + +<p>Skimpy listened, half choking with the confession +that crowded to his lips. And yet +how could he divulge that he had given up +Ike indeed for Binwell himself; how could +he confide Binwell’s secret of the Bluffs, the +story of the courier and his hidden box and +the order to be shot as a deserter; and above +all, how could he admit having assisted in +throwing away old Corbin’s ladder—the +malice and the mischief of it frightened him +even yet.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell ez soon ez I kin put it back. I’ll +tell dad ennyhows; I hev got ter holp Jerry +Binwell this time, but arter that I’ll never go +along o’ him ag’in,” he thought, as he stared +pale and abstractedly at his father, who was +tilted back in his chair contentedly smoking +his pipe.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span></p> + +<p>Obadiah twanged gleefully on his fiddle +while the firelight and shadows danced to the +measure; the other two boys scuffled merrily +with one another, sometimes leaving the +bench to “wrastle” about the floor, falling +heavily from time to time. The baby sputtered +and crowed and grabbed Bose’s ear in +a strong mottled fist until that amiable animal +showed the white of his eye in gazing +pleadingly upward at the infantile tyrant. +The wind whirled about the house, the door +shook, and the branches of the tree close by +thrashed the roof.</p> + +<p>“Why, Skimpy, how mournful ye look!” +exclaimed Mrs. Sawyer.</p> + +<p>“Shucks!” said Obadiah fraternally, “ye +needn’t be mournin’ over Ike an’ his comp’ny. +I wouldn’t gin a pig-tail, nor a twist of one, +fur Ike!”</p> + +<p>“Ye hev got comp’ny a plenty at home,” +exclaimed Mrs. Sawyer, “with yer three big +brothers”—</p> + +<p>“An’ the baby,” cried one of the wrestlers +pausing for breath.</p> + +<p>“An’ Bose,” added the other, red-faced and +panting.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span></p> + +<p>“Laws-a-massy, Skimp,” exclaimed Obadiah, +rising to the heights of heroism, “I’ll +gin ye the loan o’ my fiddle. Thar!”</p> + +<p>He placed the instrument in Skimpy’s +trembling hand, and laid the bow across his +knee. And this from Obadiah, who had always +seemed without feeling except for his +own music!</p> + +<p>Their kindness melted Skimpy, who held +the instrument up to his agitated face as if +to shield it from observation, and burst into +tears.</p> + +<p>“Waal, sir!” exclaimed the wrestlers in +chorus.</p> + +<p>“Tut—tut—Skimpy boy!” said his father +in remonstrance.</p> + +<p>Obadiah’s face was anxious. “Jes’ lean a +leetle furder ter the right, Skimp,” he said, +“don’t drap no tears inter the insides o’ that +thar fiddle—might sp’ile it tee-totally.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy held the violin well to one side, +and wept as harmlessly as he might. He +found a great relief in his sobs, a relaxation +of the nervous tension—he might have told +them all then had it not been for the inopportune +solicitude of his mother.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span></p> + +<p>“Ye hed better go ter bed, sonny. I know +it’s early yit, but ye look sorter raveled +out. Ye better go ter bed an’ git a good +sleep, an’ ye won’t keer nuthin’ ’bout Ike an’ +his aggervations in the mornin’.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy, still carefully holding the precious +violin, sat on the bench for a moment longer, +struggling with that extreme reluctance to +retire which is characteristic of callow humanity. +But he felt that it would be better +to be out of the sight of them all; he might +be tempted to say or do something that he +would regret afterward; he rose slowly, and +with an averted face, held the fiddle and bow +out toward Obadiah who grasped them with +alacrity, glad enough that his generosity had +not resulted in the total destruction of the +instrument in which his heart was bound up. +Skimpy with slow tread and a downcast look +which greatly impressed the two sympathetic +wrestlers, who were standing still now and +gravely gazing after him, took his way up the +ladder in the corner which ascended into the +roof-room of the cabin. He paused when +he had almost reached the top, turned and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>glanced down doubtfully at the group below.</p> + +<p>The flames, yellow and red, filled all the +chimney, and the little room was brave in the +golden glow. Already the two wrestlers were +again matching strength in friendly rivalry, +seizing each other by the waist, and swaying +hither and thither with sudden jerks to compass +a downfall—their combined shadow on +the wall reeling after them seemed some +big, frightful two-headed monster. Obadiah’s +cheek was tenderly bent upon the violin; a +broad smile was on his face as the whisking +bow in his deft handling drew out the tones. +The baby’s stalwart grip on Bose’s ear had +begun to elicit a long, lingering, wheezing +whine for mercy, not unlike the violin’s utterance; +it ended in a squeak before Mrs. Sawyer +noticed how the youngster was enjoying +himself.</p> + +<p>“Pore Bose!” she cried as she unloosed +the mottled pink and purple fist, and then +with a twirl she whisked the baby around on +her lap with his back to his victim. A forgiving +creature was Bose, for as the baby’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>bald head turned slowly on its neck and the +staring round eyes looked after the dog, +Skimpy could hear his stump of a tail wagging +in cheerful fealty to the infant, and +thwacking the floor—although the wrestlers +were unusually noisy, although the violin +droned and droned, and although the winds +sang wildly without and the sibilant leaves +whirled.</p> + +<p>Skimpy hesitated even then for a moment +as he stood on the ladder; finally he mounted +the remaining rungs, his story untold.</p> + +<p>It was not very dark in the roof-room; +through the aperture in the floor, where the +ladder came up, rose the light from the fire +below, and there were many cracks which +served the same purpose of illumination. +Skimpy could see well enough the two beds +where he and his brothers were wont to +sleep. Garments hung from the rafters, +familiar some of them and often worn, and +others were antique and belonged to elders +in the family long ago dead; these had never +been taken down since placed there by their +owners; several were falling to pieces, shred +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>by shred, others were still fresh and filled +out, and bore a familiar air of humanity.</p> + +<p>Skimpy did not approach the beds, he +quietly crossed the room to the gable end, +paused to listen, then opened the batten shutter +of a little glassless window beside the +chimney. Dark—how dark it was as he +thrust out his head; he started to hear a dull +swaying of the garments, among the rafters, +as if they clothed again life and motion. +Only the illusion of the wind, he remembered, +as he strove to calm the tumultuous +throbbing of his heart, his head instinctively +turning toward the fluttering vestments that +he could barely see.</p> + +<p>The wind still piped—not so sonorous a +note, however; failing cadences it had and +dying falls, as of a song that is sung to the +end. Once again the boughs beat upon the +eaves—and, what was that! Skimpy’s heart +gave a great plunge, and he felt the blood +rush to his head. A faint clatter—a ra-ta-ta, +beaten drum-like on the rail fence of the +“garden spot”—or was it his fancy?</p> + +<p>The wind comes again down the gorge. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>The althea bushes and the holly shiver together. +The dead Indian corn, standing +writhen and bent in the fields, sighs and +sighs for the sere season. And the boughs +of the tree lash the roof. An interval. And +once more—ra-ta-ta! from the garden fence! +And ra-ta-ta, again.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV"> + XIV. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>The group below took no heed how the +time passed. Thinking of it afterward, they +said it seemed only a few moments before +they heard amongst the fitful gusts of the +wind, wearing away now, and the dull stirring +of the tree without, a hurried, irregular +footstep suddenly falling on the porch, a +groping, nervous hand fumbling at the latch.</p> + +<p>“Hev ye los’ yer manners ez ye can’t knock +at the door,” said Peter Sawyer sardonically, +speaking through his teeth, for he still held +his pipe-stem in his mouth.</p> + +<p>Ike had burst in without ceremony and +stood upon the threshold, holding the door in +one hand and gazing about with wild eyes, +half blinded by the light, uncertain whether +Skimpy was really absent or overlooked +among the rest.</p> + +<p>“I—I—kem ter see Skimpy,” he faltered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawyer had set the baby on the floor +beside Bose, and had folded her arms stiffly. +She looked at Ike with heightened color and +a flashing eye.</p> + +<p>“Waal, I ain’t keerin’ ef ye never see +Skimpy ag’in,” she said indignantly, “considerin’ +the way ye treat him. That thar +boy air tender in his feelin’s, an’ he hev been +settin’ hyar an’ cryin’ his eyes out ’count o’ +you-uns. Ye want ter torment him some mo’, +I s’pose.”</p> + +<p>Ike stared bewildered. “I ain’t never +tormented Skimp none ez I knows on.”</p> + +<p>“Ye ain’t!” exclaimed Obadiah, scornfully. +Then grotesquely distorting his face +he careened to one side and began to wheeze +distractingly—“Oh—aw—yi-i, Mister Ky-une, +Oh—aw—ee-ee, Mister Ky-une.”</p> + +<p>As Ike still stood holding the door open, the +flames bowed fantastically before the wind, +sending puffs of smoke into the room and +scurrying ashes about the hearth.</p> + +<p>“Kem in, ef ye air a-comin’, an’ go out ef +ye air a-goin’,” said Mrs. Sawyer tartly. +“Ennyhow we-uns will feel obligated ef ye’ll +shet that door.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span></p> + +<p>The invitation was none too cordial, but +Ike availed himself of the opportunity to +speak, since the matter was so important.</p> + +<p>He closed the door and sat down on the end +of the bench where Skimpy had been sitting +so short a time before.</p> + +<p>“Skimp ’lows that’s the way ye mocked +him,” said Obadiah. “An’ ye wants ter see +him ag’in, do ye? Ef I war Skimp I’d gin +ye sech a dressin’ ez ye wouldn’t want ter +see <i>me</i> ag’in soon.” He winked fiercely at +Ike and nodded his head. Then he stuck his +violin under his chin and began to saw away +once more as if nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>Ike gave a great gulp as if he literally +swallowed a bitter dose in taking Obadiah’s +defiance; the strain on his temper was severe, +but he succeeded in controlling himself. +It was in a calm and convincing voice that +he said:—</p> + +<p>“Oby, ye an’ me, an’ Skimp, and the +t’others”—pointing to the tangled-up wrestlers—“hev +been too good frien’s ter be parted +by folks tattlin’ lies an’ tales from one ter +’nother. I never said sech. I never mocked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>Skimpy’s singin’ sence I been born. I hev +sot too much store by Skimp fur that, an’ he +oughter know it.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawyer’s expression softened. “Ye +only would hev proved yerse’f a idjit ef ye +hed faulted Skimpy’s singin’,” she said. +Then, still more genially—“Set up closer +ter the fire. It mus’ be airish out’n doors. +Who d’ye reckon tole Skimp sech a wicked, +mean story on ye?”</p> + +<p>Ike trembled in his eagerness to tell. “I +dunno fur true, Mis’ Sawyer, and mebbe I +oughtn’t ter say, but I b’lieves it be Jerry +Binwell, kase Skimpy hev been goin’ a powerful +deal with him lately, an’”—</p> + +<p>Peter Sawyer turned suddenly upon the +boy. “The truth ain’t in ye, Ike Guyther. +Ye knows ez yer dad an’ yer uncle, an’ yerse’f +an’ yer folks ginerally, air the only critters in +the Cove ez would ’sociate with Jerry Binwell, +an’ live in fellowship with him under the same +roof. I ’low they air crazy—plumb bereft. +It’s yer folks ez hev harbored him hyar, an’ +ye can’t tar Skimpy with sayin’ he consorts +with sech. I forbid Skimp ever ter go with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>you-uns enny mo’, so’s ter keep him out’n +Binwell’s way. Now, sir; ye can’t shoulder +him off on Skimpy!”</p> + +<p>Ike’s face turned scarlet. “I hev glimpsed +Skimp with him ag’in an’ ag’in. An’ I +b’lieves he be a-goin’ ter git Skimp inter +mischief.”</p> + +<p>Obadiah laid his fiddle down on his knee, +pursed up his lips, and looked aggravatingly +cross-eyed at Ike, up from his toes to the +crown of his head.</p> + +<p>“’Twouldn’t take much mo’, Ike, ter make +<i>me</i> settle you-uns,” he observed.</p> + +<p>“I ain’t keerin’ fur you-uns, Obadiah!” +cried Ike. “I hev kem ter say my say—an’ +I’m a-goin’ ter do it. I b’lieve Jerry Binwell +air arter old Squair Torbett’s money +what folks ’low he hid in a box in a hollow o’ +Keedon Bluffs.”</p> + +<p>Peter Sawyer’s pipe had fallen from his +hand, and the fire and tobacco and ashes +rolled out upon the hearth. He gave it no +heed. He sat motionless, leaning forward, +his elbows on his knees, his surprised, intent +eyes fixed upon the boy’s face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span></p> + +<p>“I never s’picioned at fust what he war arter, +though I seen him foolin’ roun’ them +Bluffs an’ a-climbin’ on the ledges. But I +knowed ’twar suthin’ cur’us. An’ whenst I +seen Skimp along o’ him so much I kem hyar +this evenin’ an’ tried ter warn him. But ter-night +I hearn Jerry Binwell ax uncle Ab—him +it war ez holped the Squair hide the box +whilst Jerry Binwell watched—what hollow +he hid it in.”</p> + +<p>“An’—an’—did Ab tell him?” demanded +Peter Sawyer, leaning down, his excited face +close to Ike’s, his eyes full of curiosity and +more—intention, suspicion.</p> + +<p>Once again Ike recognized the false position +into which his uncle was thrust. How could +any man’s honest repute survive a misunderstanding +like this? He realized that in his +eager desire to save his friend his tongue had +outstripped his prudence.</p> + +<p>“I jes’ wanter tell Skimp what I hearn,” +he said, declining to answer categorically, +“an’ then let him go on with Binwell ef he +wants ter. I war feared he’d purvail on +Skimp, by foolin’ him somehows, ter snake +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>inter them hollows an’ git that box fur him. +Whar be Skimp?”</p> + +<p>“Asleep in bed, whar he oughter be, Ike,” +said Skimpy’s mother contentedly rocking by +the fire.</p> + +<p>Peter Sawyer hesitated for a moment. +Then he slowly rose. “’Twon’t hurt Skimp +ter wake him up. He mought ez well hear +this ez not.”</p> + +<p>He winked at his wife. He thought that +if Skimpy were present he himself would hear +more of the whereabouts of the box, which +might prove of service in the constable’s +search for it, when the ladder could be found +or a substitute provided. He walked toward +the primitive stairway, feeling very clever +and a trifle surprised at the promptitude and +acumen of his decision. He himself would +wake Skimpy in order to give him a quiet +caution not to become involved in any quarrel +that might restrain or prevent Ike’s disclosure. +He tramped slowly and heavily up +the ladder as if he were not used to it, and +indeed he seldom ascended into the roof-room, +its chief use being that of a dormitory for the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>boys. As he left the bright scene below, suffused +with mellow light, the shadows began +to gloom about him as if they came down a +rung or two to meet him or to lend him a +helping hand; he raised his eyebrows and +peered curiously about. His head was hardly +above the level of the floor of the loft before +he became aware that the roof-room was full +of motion. He gave a sudden start, and stood +still to stare, to collect his senses that surely +had played him false. No,—solemnly wavering +to and fro, a pace here, a measure there, +was the gaunt company of old clothes, visible +in the glimmer through the crevices of +the floor, and bearing the semblance of life in +the illusions of the faint light and the failing +shadow, as if they had outwitted fate somehow, +despite their owners’ mounds in the little +mountain graveyard. Peter Sawyer gasped—then +he shivered. And it was, perhaps, +this involuntary expression of physical discomfort +which led his mind to judge of cause +and effect. “The winder mus’ be open,” he +said through his chattering teeth.</p> + +<p>The next moment he saw it—he saw the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>purplish square amidst the darkness of the +walls; the naked boughs of the tree without; +and high, high—for he was looking upward—the +massive looming mountain, and the +moon, the yellow waning moon, rising through +the gap in the range.</p> + +<p>“The wind’s laid,” he muttered, “or the +flappin’ o’ that thar shutter would hev woke +the boy afore this time.”</p> + +<p>He clumsily ascended the remaining rungs +and strode across the floor to Skimpy’s bed, +looking now with curious half-averted eyes +at the lifelike figures of the old clothes, and +then at the yellow moon shining through the +little window into the dusky place, and drawing +the shadow of the neighboring tree upon +the floor.</p> + +<p>Sawyer’s hand touched the pillow.</p> + +<p>“Skimpy!” he said. And again, “Skimpy!”</p> + +<p>It was a louder tone. A penetrating quality +it had, charged as it was with a sudden, +keen fear.</p> + +<p>“Fetch a light!” he cried, running to the +top of the ladder, dashing away the spectral +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>garments. “Fetch the lantern, Oby, or a tallow +dip.”</p> + +<p>Below they heard his quick footsteps returning +to the bed as they sprang up, affrighted, +yet hardly knowing what had happened.</p> + +<p>“Skimpy!” his voice sounded strong again—reassured; +he could not, would not believe +this thing. “Quit foolin’, sonny; whar hev +ye hid?”</p> + +<p>Skimpy’s mother had waited for neither +the candle nor the lantern; she mounted the +ladder by the light of the fire, and she understood +what had happened almost as soon as +Ike did, as pale and dismayed he looked over +her shoulder into the dusky garret. The +golden moonlight fell through the little window +upon the slowly-pacing clothes, and drew +the image of the bare tree upon the floor, and +slanted upon the empty bed by which Peter +Sawyer stood crying aloud—“He hev gone, +wife; he hev gone!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XV"> + XV. + </h2> + +</div> + +<p>The great gray sandstone heights of Keedon +Bluffs began to glimmer in the midst of +the black night when the yellow moon, slow +and pensive, showed its waning disk, half +veiled with a fibrous mist, in the gap of the +eastern mountain. The woods were still +densely dark on the other side of the road. +A slender beech, white and spectral, was +dimly suggested at their verge, shuddering +and shivering in the last vagrant gust of the +wind. Skimpy glanced fearfully at it for a +moment as he came softly down the road and +then he stood shivering too, with his hands in +his pockets.</p> + +<p>A swift, dark figure, as noiseless as if unhampered +with substance, appeared at his side, +and a husky, wheezing voice murmured suddenly—“Hyar +we air, Skimp!”</p> + +<p>Even so bated a tone did not elude the +alert echo. “S-Skimp-imp-mp,” the Bluffs +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>were sibilantly multiplying the tones. It +seemed to Skimpy that some vague spy of the +earth or of the air was repeating the sound to +charge its memory with the word. He could +ill trust even Keedon Bluffs with the secret +of his name now, and he looked with futile +deprecation over his shoulder at every whisper +of the familiar word.</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk!” he said nervously.</p> + +<p>“Shucks!” exclaimed Binwell; “I’d sing +ef I war minded ter—an’ ef I hed a pipe +like yourn. What ails ye ter be so trembly? +’Tain’t no s’prisin’ job—it’s fun, boy! An’ +ter-morrer ye and me will go an’ cut down +them pines an’ git old Fat-sides’ ladder out’n +’em.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy plucked up a little. The prospect +of retrieving his folly reassured him. It was +the hour, the secrecy of his escape from the +roof-room window at home, the atmosphere of +mystery that surrounded the adventure, he +endeavored to think, rather than any distrust +of Jerry Binwell, which shook his nerves. He +lent himself with docile acquiescence to a sort +of harness of rope which the man slipped over +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>his head and secured beneath his armpits, one +end fastened to Binwell’s arm. Its ostensible +use was to aid the boy while climbing, in +case he should slip among the ledges. A +mind prone to suspicion might have deemed +its utility most pronounced in preventing +Skimpy from hiding anew or making off with +anything of value which he might find hidden +in the hollows.</p> + +<p>There were no shadows on the brow of +the precipice when the golden rays from the +moon rested broadly upon the road or journeyed +in long stately files down the sylvan +vistas. Both man and boy had slipped from +the verge, and were clambering along the +jagged, oblique ledges of the Bluffs, Skimpy +often stayed and helped by the strong hand +of the other. The moon was higher now in +the sky. A white radiant presence suddenly +began to walk upon the water. Down between +the banks it came, upon the lustrous +darkness of the current and the mirrored +shadows, diffusing softest splendor, most benignant +and serene. Skimpy, pausing to rest, +hearing the stir of the pines on the opposite +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>bank and the musical monotone of the river, +stood mopping his brow and clinging to the +strong arm held out to him; he abruptly +pointed out the reflection of the moon to his +companion, and asked if it did not remind +him of that night on a distant sea when Christ +came walking along the troubled waves.</p> + +<p>A sudden great lurch! It was not Skimpy, +but Binwell—the athlete—who started abruptly, +and almost fell from the Bluff into the +water far below. He recovered himself with +an oath.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t ye got no better sense, ye weasel! +’n ter set out with sech senseless, onexpected +gabble in sech a job ez this? Naw, it don’t +look like nuthin’—nuthin’ but a powerful onlucky +wanin’ moon, a-showin’ how the time’s +a-wastin’. Ye hustle yer bones else I’ll drap +ye down thar an’ then ye’ll find out what’s +walked on the water.”</p> + +<p>Skimpy said nothing; he heartily wished +he was on the top of Keedon Bluffs once more. +Their steps dislodged now and then a bit of +stone from the rock that fell with a ringing +sound against the face of the Bluffs into the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>river. Sometimes clods dropped with a muffled +thud; every moment the moon grew +brighter. There were no more stoppages on +the way. Binwell urged the boy on whenever +he would pause for breath, and it was +not long before they were near the gaping +cavities that looked grewsome and uninviting +enough as Skimpy approached. He cast one +despairing glance up at the face of the cliffs—it +seemed that he could never again stand on +the summit, so long, so toilsome was the way. +He might have thought it short enough with +some hearty comrade. For Binwell’s grasp +was savage now on the boy’s arm; he cursed +Skimpy under his breath whenever a step faltered. +He no longer cared to be smooth, to +propitiate. “He’d take me by the scruff o’ +the neck, an’ pitch me into the ruver ef I didn’t +do his bid now, bein’ ez I can’t holp myself,” +thought Skimpy, appalled.</p> + +<p>A pity that a boy cannot inherit his father’s +experience—but must learn wisdom as it +were under the lash!</p> + +<p>Very black indeed the first of the cavities +was as he passed; he hardly dared look within +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>the embrasure-like place; no grim muzzle of a +gun he beheld, no bursting shell flung forth; +only a bat’s soft, noiseless wings striking him +in the face as he climbed by on the ledge below. +The second hollow was passed too, and +now for the third. Binwell stopped the boy, +and began to rearrange the cords beneath his +arms. “Confound ye,” he said, his fingers +trembling over the knots as he lifted his eyes +reproachfully to the boy’s face, “ye hev got +me plumb upset with yer fool talk—I ’lowed +jes’ now I hearn leetle Rosamondy a-callin’ +me.”</p> + +<p>The rocks were vibrating softly—but could +the echoes of Keedon Bluffs repeat the fancy +of a sound!</p> + +<p>Skimpy stretched his arm into the cavity +as far as it might go, half expecting it to be +snatched by the claw of a witch; but no—his +empty palm closed only on the clammy +air.</p> + +<p>“Up with ye!” said Jerry impatiently.</p> + +<p>One moment—and there were the duskily +purple mountains, the gray obscurity of the +misty intervals, the lustrous darkness of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>river, the fair sky, and the reigning moon; +then the vault-like blackness of the hollow.</p> + +<p>The boy scuffled along it for a few moments, +“snakin’ it,” he called the process, +and feeling like so much pith in the bark. +Binwell still paid out the cord as Skimpy +crept further and further, and then—</p> + +<p>What was the matter with the rocks! Endowed +with Rosamond’s voice they called him +again and again, with dulcet treble iteration +that was like the fine vibrations of a stringed +instrument all in tune. He listened, paling a +little; it was no fancy; he was discovered. +He stood his ground for the nonce. What +affinity for harm and wrong! The coward +might be brave for a space.</p> + +<p>Another voice; he jerked nervously at the +cord on Skimpy’s arm. It was Abner’s voice; +he was on the summit of the Bluffs. He too +was calling aloud:</p> + +<p>“Kem up, Jerry, ’tain’t no use. Kem +up.”</p> + +<p>Jerry made no answer; he muttered only +to himself, “Ye’ll fall off’n the aidge o’ that +Bluff unbeknown ter yerse’f, ole mole!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span></p> + +<p>Abner began anew and all the echoes were +pleading and insistent. “Kem up, Jerry! +Ye’ll be deesgraced fur life, and hyar’s leetle +Rosamondy a-waitin’ fur ye!”</p> + +<p>Jerry was standing breathless, for Skimpy +within was suddenly motionless. Then the +cord grew slack in his hand, for the boy was +coming out backward.</p> + +<p>Binwell gave no heed to the commotion on +the summit. A heavy, clanking metallic +sound had caught his ear—it was the money-box +of the Squire which the boy was dragging +out, every moment coming nearer to +that clutching, quivering hand.</p> + +<p>Ah, Rosamond, calling in vain! Give it +up, old soldier! No battle-cry of honor can +rally comrades like this. But they pressed +perilously close to the edge of the cliff—the +blind man and the little child—beginning +to sob together with dreary helplessness and +futility, and casting their hopeless entreaties +upon the night air, the echoes joining their +pleas with wild insistence, and the forest +silence holding its breath that no wistful +word might be lost.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span></p> + +<p>And thus others found them, shadowy figures +as stealthily approaching as if the blind +man could see, and the confiding little child +wonder;—two, three, four, five figures pausing +on the summit of the cliff, watching in +intensest excitement the man on the ledge, +and, slowly emerging from the cavity, dragging +after him an iron box twelve inches +square perhaps and weighty to handle, a boy, +slight, agile, unmistakable.</p> + +<p>Skimpy, covered with dust, choking, out +of breath, confused by the sound of voices on +the summit and the clamor of the echoes, +hardly knew how it was that he should hear +in the medley the familiar tones of his father +calling on Heaven to pity him, for his son +was a thief! He heard too the voice of the +child and the blind soldier’s entreaties. And +then the sharp tones of the constable rang +out—“Surrender thar—or I fire!” His +senses reeled as Binwell, catching the box +from his hands, turned and with quick leaps +like a fox’s clambered on down the ledges. +The cord was still about Skimpy’s shoulders; +with a sharp twist he came to his knees in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>great pain; then the end of the rope swung +slack below, and he knew that Binwell had +just cut it to liberate himself—a great splash +in the river told that he had taken to the +water and the constable’s bullet whizzed by +the Bluffs a second too late.</p> + +<p>“He’ll hev ter gin up the box time I light +out arter him,” cried the constable; “I’ll +meet up with him by the ruver-bank. He +can’t run fur with a heavy box full o’ gold +an’ silver.”</p> + +<p>There was no use in keeping the secret +longer.</p> + +<p>“It’s full o’ sand!” cried the blind man +with dreary contempt in the fact. “The +Squair kerried it full o’ sand whenst he buried +it—jes’ fur a blind. He knowed Jerry +s’picioned he hed money an’ he never trested +him. Jerry kep’ watch, an’ I clomb the +Bluffs, an’ hid the box. Whar the Squair an’ +me actially hid the money war in a hollow o’ +one o’ the logs o’ his house, an’ thar’s whar +the money war kep’ till the e-end o’ the war. +The heirs knowed it all the time. Write ter +Arkansas an’ ax the one ez be livin’ thar.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span></p> + +<p>A relish was added to the excitement +which the events produced throughout the +Cove next day by the gossips’ speculations +on Binwell’s disappointment—how he must +have looked, what he must have said, when he +felt sufficiently safe to open the box and found +it full of sand. For he made good his escape, +the pursuit being given over instantly upon +the discovery that he had stolen nothing worth +having. The constable contented himself with +declaring that he should never again come +within the district save to be ushered into the +county jail. The neighborhood cronies congregated +at the store and talked the matter +over, each having some instance of Binwell’s +duplicity to relate. All were willing enough +to credit Peter Sawyer’s account of how +Skimpy had been deluded into assisting Binwell’s +scheme by the pretense that there were +only papers hidden in the box which he had a +right to destroy. Notwithstanding the fact +that no suspicion rested upon him, Skimpy +was not for a long time so blithe a lad as before +he climbed down Keedon Bluffs. And +he is ready now to believe that his father +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>learned a good many things in those years of +seniority which are still unknown to him, and +he has some respect for experience. It is not +necessary to scald him now in order to convince +him that boiling water is—as it is said +to be—hot.</p> + +<p>The blind man’s story was amply confirmed +by a letter from the surviving heir who had +been told by his father of the hoax of the +hidden box, and who had always relished its +mystery, since it had served its purpose and +had diverted plunder and search from the +hoard concealed in the wall.</p> + +<p>At Hiram Guyther’s cabin, however, the +gossip had no zest. For the first time a deep +gloom had fallen on the blind soldier’s face as +he sat in his enforced inactivity, a-wasting his +life away in the chimney corner. His gray +hair hardly seemed so incongruous now, for +an ashen furrowed pallid anxiety had replaced +the florid tints of cheek and brow. Sometimes +he would rise from his chair and stride +back and forth the length of the room; now +and again a deep sigh would burst from him.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t mind it, Ab,” Mrs. Guyther +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>would say in her comforting soft drawl. “Ye +done all ye could—more ’n enny other man +would, ’flicted with blindness. Fairly makes +me shiver whenst I ’member ye an’ Rosamondy +walkin’ along them cliffs in the dead +o’ night like ye done.”</p> + +<p>“She’ll never be able ter live through it +when she finds out ’bout her dad; she’s a gal +ez be a-goin’ ter hev a heap o’ feelin’s,” he +would groan, with prescient grief for the gay +Rosamond’s future woes. “It’ll plumb kill +her ter know she don’t kem o’ honest folks. +Ef it don’t—it’s wuss yit; fur it’ll break +her sperit, an’ that’s like livin’ along ’thout +a soul; sorter like walkin’ in yer sleep.”</p> + +<p>And even Ike’s mother could say naught +to this.</p> + +<p>Only on aunt Jemima’s countenance a grim +satisfaction began to dawn. She was not an +optimist; nevertheless she contrived to extract +a drop of honey from all this wormwood.</p> + +<p>“It’s all fur the bes’—I’ve hearn that +preached all my days. Ev’y body knowed +ennyhow ez he war mean enough fur ennything—ter +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>steal, ef ’casion riz. An’ he war +her dad; couldn’t git roun’ that! All’s fur +the bes’! Ef he hed hev stayed he mought +hev tuk a notion ter kerry Rosamondy away +from hyar. <i>Now</i> he don’t dare ter show his +nose hyar ag’in. An’ we hev got Rosamondy +safe an’ sure fur good an’ all.”</p> + +<p>So she knitted on with a stern endorsement +of the course of events expressed in her +firmly-set lips and the decisive click of her +needles.</p> + +<p>Even this view did not mitigate Abner’s +grief, and he sorrowed on for Rosamondy’s +sake.</p> + +<p>The secret of Keedon Bluffs once discovered +was spread far and wide. The news, crossing +the ranges, penetrated other coves, and was +talked of round many a stranger’s hearth. +Even to Persimmon Cove, where Jerry Binwell +had married, the story came, albeit +tardily. It was told first there by the sheriff, +who had chanced to be called to that remote +and secluded spot in pursuit of some evil doer +hiding in the mountains, and he gave to the +constable, as he passed through Tanglefoot +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>Cove on his way to the county town, sundry +items, gathered during his stay in Persimmon +Cove, which that functionary felt it was his +duty to communicate to the Guythers.</p> + +<p>It was a widow whom Jerry Binwell had +married in Persimmon Cove—a young woman +with one child; and when he left the +place after her death, he took his stepdaughter +with him; some people said his +motive was to spite her grandmother, with +whom he had quarreled, and who had sought +to claim her; others said that it was because +the little Rosamond contrived to keep a strong +hold on the heart of every creature that came +near her, and had even won upon Jerry Binwell. +Certain it was that old Mrs. Peters, +her grandmother, had heard with great delight +the tidings of Rosamond’s whereabouts, +and the sheriff had promised her to acquaint +with the facts the family with whom the child +lived.</p> + +<p>Every member of the household felt stunned +as by a blow when the constable had left them +to their meditations. Even Rosamond, with +all her merry arts, could not win a smile from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>the grave and troubled faces grouped about +the fire, and she desisted at last; she leaned +her head, with its floating lengths of golden +hair, against the brown logs of the wall, and +looked wistfully at them all with a contemplative +finger in her pink mouth.</p> + +<p>“She hev ter go!” said the upright Hiram +Guyther with a sigh, “she ain’t ourn ter +keep.”</p> + +<p>“We hev ter gin her up,” groaned the +blind man.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Guyther looked wistfully at her with +moist eyes, and dropped a half-dozen stitches +in her knitting.</p> + +<p>And aunt Jemima suddenly threw her blue-checked +cotton apron over her head, and burst +into a tumult of passionate tears. “I wisht,” +she exclaimed—wicked old soul!—“thar +warn’t no sech thing ez right an’ wrong! +But I don’t keer fur right. An’ I don’t keer +fur wrong. They shan’t take my child away +from hyar.”</p> + +<p>Although it wrung their hearts they decided +to relinquish their household treasure. But +they temporized as well as their scanty tact +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>would enable them. A message was sent to +old Mrs. Peters, coupled with an invitation to +come and make them a visit. And thus they +eked out the weeks.</p> + +<p>One day—a day of doom it seemed to +them—there rode up to the door a small +wizened old woman, sharp-eyed, with a high +voice and a keen tongue; she was riding a +white mare with a colt at her heels. She +scarcely seemed perturbed by Rosamond’s reluctance +to recognize her. The alert eyes +took in first with an amazed stare the child’s +cleanly and whole attire, her delicately tended +flowing hair, her fine, full, glowing look of +health; then with more furtive glances she +expended what capacity for astonishment remained +to her on the scoured puncheon floor, +the neat women and men, the loom, with a +great roll of woven cloth of many yards hanging +to it; the evidences of a carefully adjusted +domestic routine, of thrift and decorum +and moral worth; the cooking and quality +of the meal presently set forth on the table. +She had not lived so long in this world to be +unable to recognize sterling people when she +met them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span></p> + +<p>They all talked on indifferent topics for a +time. But presently she broke forth.</p> + +<p>“I dunno ez I oughter up an’ remark it +so flat-footed—but I never expected ter find +Jerry Binwell’s friends sech ez you-uns. I +wouldn’t hev rid my mare’s back sore ef I +hed. I dunno ez I’d hev kem at all.”</p> + +<p>“Waal,” said Hiram Guyther, “I reckon +’twar leetle Rosamondy ez jes’ tangled herself +up in our heart-strings—an’ that made us +put up with Jerry. We ’lowed he war her +dad.”</p> + +<p>“I’m powerful glad he ain’t!” said Abner.</p> + +<p>“I say!” cried the sharp little woman +scornfully. “<i>Her dad</i> war a mighty solid, +’sponsible, ’spectable young man, an’ good-lookin’ +till you couldn’t rest! He’d hev +lived till he war eighty ef his gun hedn’t +bust an’ killed him. I dunno what ailed +Em’line ter marry sech ez Jerry arterward. +He made way with everything her fust husband +lef’ her, an’ mighty nigh all I hed, +’mongst his evil frien’s an’ drinkin’. But he +always war mighty good ter Rosamondy. I’ll +gin him that credit.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span></p> + +<p>“Ennybody would be good ter sech a child +ez Rosamondy!” cried aunt Jemima.</p> + +<p>“Waal, we war all frien’s ter Jerry, ez fur +ez he’d let us be, an’ ter the leetle gal,” said +Hiram, solidly, “an’ I hope, mum, ye’ll let +her spen’ cornsider’ble of her time with us.”</p> + +<p>This was the cautious way it began, although +it fired aunt Jemima’s blood to hear +the permission humbly craved instead of +claimed as a right.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Peters smilingly accorded it. She +herself had entered upon a long visit; whenever +she made a motion to return, the family +so vehemently demurred that she relented, +only stipulating that when she should depart +aunt Jemima should accompany her. She +took a sad pleasure in the talk of the blind +artillery-man, her own son, who was killed in +battle, having been in the same command. +Abner remembered him after a time, and told +her many things of his army life which she +had not before known. She had a sort of +maternal tenderness for his comrade, and +loved to see how Rosamond had blossomed +in the waste places of his life.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t think ’twould be right ter take +her away from Ab,” she said, when the visit +was at last at an end. And so only the two +old women went to Persimmon Cove; together +they came back after a time. And thus for +years, the old cronies, cherishing so strong a +bond of friendship, have vibrated on visits to +and fro. But whoever comes or goes Rosamond +has never yet left the hearthstone made +brighter by her presence.</p> + +<p>And when she and the blind artillery-man +walk hand in hand down the shady road to +Keedon Bluffs, she always cries out gleefully +when she sees the great cannon-ball arrested +midway on the ledge, and he tells her again +how it must have burst forth from the muzzle +of the gun far away, and, sounding its shrill +battle cry, whirled through the air, describing +a great arc against the sky, dropping at last, +spent and futile, on the ledge there above the +river.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” he says, “sometimes, Rosamondy, +I feels ez ef I’d like ter lay my hand +on that ball ef I could git nigh it—’minds +me so o’ the war times; ’twould bring ’em +nigher; they seems a-slippin’ away now.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span></p> + +<p>“I hate that cannon-ball; it kem so nigh +a-killin’ somebody,” says Rosamondy, “an’ I +hate war times. An’ I don’t want folks ter +be hurted no mo’.”</p> + +<p>And in the deep peace of the silent mountain +fastnesses and the sheltered depths of the +Cove, they leave the old ball, spent and mute +and harmless, lying on the ledges of Keedon +Bluffs, above the reddening river, and take +their way homeward through the sunset glow.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_1">[1]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Standard_and_Popular_Library_Books"> + <span class="gothic">Standard and Popular Library Books</span><br> + <span class="smaller"><span class="smaller">SELECTED FROM THE CATALOGUE OF</span><br> + HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.</span> + </h2> + +</div> + +<div class="hanging"> + +<p><b>A Club of One.</b> An Anonymous Volume, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Brooks Adams.</b> The Emancipation of Massachusetts, crown +8vo, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>John Adams and Abigail Adams.</b> Familiar Letters of, +during the Revolution, 12mo, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Oscar Fay Adams.</b> Handbook of English Authors, 16mo, +75 cents; Handbook of American Authors, 16mo, 75 cents.</p> + +<p><b>Louis Agassiz.</b> Methods of Study in Natural History, Illustrated, +12mo, $1.50; Geological Sketches, Series I. and II., +12mo, each, $1.50; A Journey in Brazil, Illustrated, 12mo, +$2.50; Life and Letters, edited by his wife, 2 vols. 12mo, +$4.00; Life and Works, 6 vols. $10.00.</p> + +<p><b>Anne A. 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B. McClellan.</b> The Life and Campaigns of Maj.-Gen. +J. E. B. Stuart. With Portrait and Maps, 8vo, $3.00.</p> + +<p><b>G. W. Melville.</b> In the Lena Delta, Maps and Illustrations, +8vo, $2.50.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_10">[10]</span></p> + +<p><b>T. C. Mendenhall.</b> A Century of Electricity. 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Owen Meredith.</b> Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated, +12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; <i>Library Edition</i>, Portrait +and 32 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; Lucile, <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, +8 Illustrations, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, 8 Illustrations, +$1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Olive Thorne Miller.</b> Bird-Ways, 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>John Milton.</b> Paradise Lost. <i>Handy-Volume Edition</i>, 32mo, +$1.00. <i>Riverside Classic Edition</i>, 16mo, Illustrated, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>S. Weir Mitchell.</b> In War Time, 16mo, $1.25; Roland +Blake, 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>J. W. 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Cr. 8vo, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>James Parton.</b> Life of Benjamin Franklin, 2 vols. 8vo, $5.00; +Life of Thomas Jefferson, 8vo, $2.50; Life of Aaron Burr, +2 vols. 8vo, $5.00; Life of Andrew Jackson, 3 vols. 8vo, $7.50; +Life of Horace Greeley, 8vo, $2.50; General Butler in New +Orleans, 8vo, $2.50; Humorous Poetry of the English Language, +12mo, $1.75; full gilt, $2.25; Famous Americans of +Recent Times, 8vo, $2.50; Life of Voltaire, 2 vols. 8vo, $6.00; +The French Parnassus, 12mo, $1.75; crown 8vo, $3.50; Captains +of Industry, 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_11">[11]</span></p> + +<p><b>Blaise Pascal.</b> Thoughts, 12mo, $2.25; Letters, 12mo, $2.25.</p> + +<p><b>Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.</b> The Gates Ajar, 16mo, $1.50; +Beyond the Gates, 16mo, $1.25; Men, Women, and Ghosts, +16mo, $1.50; Hedged In, 16mo, $1.50; The Silent Partner, +16mo, $1.50; The Story of Avis, 16mo, $1.50; Sealed Orders, +and other Stories, 16mo, $1.50; Friends: A Duet, 16mo, +$1.25; Doctor Zay, 16mo, $1.25; Songs of the Silent World, +16mo, gilt top, $1.25; An Old Maid’s Paradise, 16mo, paper, 50 +cents; Burglars in Paradise, 16mo, paper, 50 cents; Madonna +of the Tubs, cr. 8vo, Illustrated, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Phillips Exeter Lectures</b>: Delivered before the Students of +Phillips Exeter Academy, 1885-6. By <span class="smcap">E. E. Hale</span>, <span class="smcap">Phillips +Brooks</span>, Presidents <span class="smcap">McCosh</span>, <span class="smcap">Porter</span>, and others. 12mo, +$1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt.</b> Selected Poems, 16mo, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Carl Ploetz.</b> Epitome of Universal History, 12mo, $3.00.</p> + +<p><b>Antonin Lefevre Pontalis.</b> The Life of John DeWitt, +Grand Pensionary of Holland, 2 vols. 8vo, $9.00.</p> + +<p><b>Margaret J. Preston.</b> Colonial Ballads, 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Adelaide A. Procter.</b> Poems, <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00; <i>Red-Line +Edition</i>, small 4to, $2.50.</p> + +<p><b>Progressive Orthodoxy.</b> 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Sampson Reed.</b> Growth of the Mind, 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>C. F. Richardson.</b> Primer of American Literature, 18mo, $.30.</p> + +<p><b>Riverside Aldine Series.</b> Each volume, 16mo, $1.00. First +edition, $1.50. 1. Marjorie Daw, etc., by <span class="smcap">T. B. Aldrich</span>; +2. My Summer in a Garden, by <span class="smcap">C. D. Warner</span>; 3. Fireside +Travels, by <span class="smcap">J. R. Lowell</span>; 4. The Luck of Roaring Camp, etc., +by <span class="smcap">Bret Harte</span>; 5, 6. Venetian Life, 2 vols., by <span class="smcap">W. D. Howells</span>; +7. Wake Robin, by <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>; 8, 9. The Biglow +Papers, 2 vols., by <span class="smcap">J. R. Lowell</span>; 10. Backlog Studies, by <span class="smcap">C. +D. Warner</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Henry Crabb Robinson.</b> Diary, Reminiscences, etc. cr. 8vo, +$2.50.</p> + +<p><b>John C. Ropes.</b> The First Napoleon, with Maps, cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Josiah Royce.</b> Religious Aspect of Philosophy, 12mo, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Edgar Evertson Saltus.</b> Balzac, cr. 8vo, $1.25; The Philosophy +of Disenchantment, cr. 8vo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>John Godfrey Saxe.</b> Poems, <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, Illustrated, +<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_12">[12]</span>small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00; <i>Household Edition</i>, +Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25.</p> + +<p><b>Sir Walter Scott.</b> Waverley Novels, <i>Illustrated Library +Edition</i>, 25 vols. 12mo, each $1.00; the set, $25.00; Tales of a +Grandfather, 3 vols. 12mo, $4.50; Poems, <i>Red-Line Edition</i>. +Illustrated, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>W. H. Seward.</b> Works, 5 vols. 8vo, $15.00; Diplomatic History +of the War, 8vo, $3.00.</p> + +<p><b>John Campbell Shairp.</b> Culture and Religion, 16mo, $1.25; +Poetic Interpretation of Nature, 16mo, $1.25; Studies in Poetry +and Philosophy, 16mo, $1.50; Aspects of Poetry, 16mo, +$1.50.</p> + +<p><b>William Shakespeare.</b> Works, edited by R. G. White, <i>Riverside +Edition</i>, 3 vols. cr. 8vo, $7.50; The Same, 6 vols., cr. +8vo, uncut, $10.00; The Blackfriars Shakespeare, per vol. +$2.50, <i>net.</i> (<i>In Press.</i>)</p> + +<p><b>A. P. Sinnett.</b> Esoteric Buddhism, 16mo, $1.25; The Occult +World, 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>M. C. D. Silsbee.</b> A Half Century in Salem. 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Dr. William Smith.</b> Bible Dictionary, <i>American Edition</i>, 4 +vols. 8vo, $20.00.</p> + +<p><b>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</b> Poems, <i>Farringford Edition</i>, +Portrait, 16mo, $2.00; <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated, 12mo, +$1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; Victorian Poets, 12mo, $2.00; +Poets of America, 12mo, $2.25. The set, 3 vols., uniform, +12mo, $6.00; Edgar Allan Poe, an Essay, vellum, 18mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>W. W. Story.</b> Poems, 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50; Fiammetta: A +Novel, 16mo, $1.25. Roba di Roma, 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50.</p> + +<p><b>Harriet Beecher Stowe.</b> Novels and Stories, 10 vols. 12mo, +uniform, each $1.50; A Dog’s Mission, Little Pussy Willow, +Queer Little People, Illustrated, small 4to, each $1.25; Uncle +Tom’s Cabin, 100 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.00; <i>Library Edition</i>, +Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; <i>Popular Edition</i>, 12mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Jonathan Swift.</b> Works, <i>Edition de Luxe</i>, 19 vols. 8vo, the +set, $76.00.</p> + +<p><b>T. P. Taswell-Langmead.</b> English Constitutional History. +New Edition, revised, 8vo, $7.50.</p> + +<p><b>Bayard Taylor.</b> Poetical Works, <i>Household Edition</i>, 12mo, +$1.75; cr. 8vo. full gilt, $2.25; Melodies of Verse, 18mo, vellum, +<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_13">[13]</span>$1.00; Life and Letters, 2 vols. 12mo, $4.00; Dramatic Poems, +12mo, $2.25; <i>Household Edition</i>, 12mo, $1.75; Life and +Poetical Works, 6 vols. uniform. Including Life, 2 vols.; Faust, +2 vols.; Poems, 1 vol.; Dramatic Poems, 1 vol. The set, cr. +8vo, $12.00.</p> + +<p><b>Alfred Tennyson.</b> Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Portrait and +Illustrations, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; <i>Illustrated +Crown Edition</i>, 2 vols. 8vo, $5.00; <i>Library Edition</i>, +Portrait and 60 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, +Portrait and Illustrations, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, +$1.00; Complete Works, <i>Riverside Edition</i>, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, +$6.00.</p> + +<p><b>Celia Thaxter.</b> Among the Isles of Shoals, 18mo, $1.25; +Poems, small 4to, $1.50; Drift-Weed, 18mo, $1.50; Poems +for Children, Illustrated, small 4to, $1.50; Cruise of the Mystery, +Poems, 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Edith M. Thomas.</b> A New Year’s Masque and other Poems, +16mo, $1.50; The Round Year, 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Joseph P. Thompson.</b> American Comments on European +Questions, 8vo, $3.00.</p> + +<p><b>Henry D. Thoreau.</b> Works, 9 vols. 12mo, each $1.50; the +set, $13.50.</p> + +<p><b>George Ticknor.</b> History of Spanish Literature, 3 vols. 8vo, +$10.00; Life, Letters, and Journals, Portraits, 2 vols. 12mo, +$4.00.</p> + +<p><b>Bradford Torrey.</b> Birds in the Bush, 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Sophus Tromholt.</b> Under the Rays of the Aurora Borealis, +Illustrated, 2 vols. $7.50.</p> + +<p><b>Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer.</b> H. H. Richardson and +his Works.</p> + +<p><b>Jones Very.</b> Essays and Poems, cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Annie Wall.</b> Story of Sordello, told in Prose, 16mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Charles Dudley Warner.</b> My Summer in a Garden, <i>Riverside +Aldine Edition</i>, 16mo, $1.00; <i>Illustrated Edition</i>, square +16mo, $1.50; Saunterings, 18mo, $1.25; Backlog Studies, +Illustrated, square 16mo, $1.50; <i>Riverside Aldine Edition</i>, +16mo, $1.00; Baddeck, and that Sort of Thing, 18mo, $1.00; +My Winter on the Nile, cr. 8vo, $2.00; In the Levant, cr. 8vo, +$2.00; Being a Boy, Illustrated, square 16mo, $1.50; In the +<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_14">[14]</span>Wilderness, 18mo, 75 cents; A Roundabout Journey, 12mo, +$1.50.</p> + +<p><b>William F. Warren, LL.D.</b> Paradise Found, cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>William A. Wheeler.</b> Dictionary of Noted Names of Fiction, +12mo, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Edwin P. Whipple.</b> Essays, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, each $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Richard Grant White.</b> Every-Day English, 12mo, $2.00; +Words and their Uses, 12mo, $2.00; England Without and +Within, 12mo, $2.00; The Fate of Mansfield Humphreys, +16mo, $1.25; Studies in Shakespeare, 12mo, $1.75.</p> + +<p><b>Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney.</b> Stories, 12 vols. 12mo, each $1.50; +Mother Goose for Grown Folks, 12mo, $1.50; Pansies, 16mo, +$1.25; Daffodils, 16mo, $1.25; Just How, 16mo, $1.00; Bonnyborough, +12mo, $1.50; Holy Tides, 16mo, 75 cents; Homespun +Yarns, 12mo, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>John Greenleaf Whittier.</b> Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated, +12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; <i>Cambridge Edition</i>, +Portrait, 3 vols. 12mo, $5.25; <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, Portrait, +Illustrated, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00; +<i>Library Edition</i>, Portrait, 32 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; Prose +Works, <i>Cambridge Edition</i>, 2 vols. 12mo, $3.50; The Bay of +Seven Islands, Portrait, 16mo, $1.00; John Woolman’s Journal, +Introduction by Whittier, $1.50; Child Life in Poetry, +selected by Whittier, Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; Child Life in +Prose, 12mo, $2.00; Songs of Three Centuries, selected by +Whittier: <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full +gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; <i>Library Edition</i>, 32 Illustrations, 8vo, +$3.50; Text and Verse, 18mo, 75 cents; Poems of Nature, 4to, +Illustrated, $6.00; St. Gregory’s Guest, etc., 16mo, vellum, +$1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Woodrow Wilson.</b> Congressional Government, 16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>J. A. Wilstach.</b> Translation of Virgil’s Works, 2 vols. cr. 8vo, +$5.00.</p> + +<p><b>Justin Winsor.</b> Reader’s Handbook of American Revolution, +16mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>W. B. Wright.</b> Ancient Cities from the Dawn to the Daylight, +16mo, $1.25.</p> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76600 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/76600-h/images/cover.jpg b/76600-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..17870c9 --- /dev/null +++ b/76600-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/76600-h/images/riverside-press.jpg b/76600-h/images/riverside-press.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4f7f67 --- /dev/null +++ b/76600-h/images/riverside-press.jpg |
