THE FLIGHT.
THE dark hours of that January night saw the two brothers riding
hard up into the mountains toward that tiny cleft in the peaks
above East Caney where Lance now remembered the cave that he had
once said should shelter him in case he ever killed a man.
Sylvane had much of Lance's pride and courage, with little of
his dash and perversity. Had the peril been his own, one might
have guessed that he would meet it with the gentle stoicism old
Kimbro showed. But that Buddy should be in peril, fleeing for
his life! The boy's universe reeled around him, confusion
reigned where he should have been efficient and orderly; and
when they stopped at the cabin in the Gap for supplies, what
with the agony of Lance's burn and the disarray of his brother's
whole mentality, they made sad work of it. Something to eat,
something to keep warm with, something to dress the hurt--these
were the things the boy tried to remember, and forgot, and could
not find, when he fancied the galloping hoofs of pursuers with
every gust that shook the big trees in the dooryard.
He got for the dressing of the arm only a roll [341] of new cloth,
rough and unsuitable; while a few extra garments, a blanket,
meat, meal, salt, a cooking vessel and some white beans made up
the rest of his packet. He came out at the last carrying Lance's
banjo and put it on top of the supplies.
"'Way up yon they'll be nobody to hear you, and I reckon it
might take off the edge of the lonesomeness," he half apologized
when Lance looked curiously at it in the light of the lantern
his brother held.
The owner of the banjo made no movement to take it and swing it
upon his back, neither did he decline it; but indifferently
Sylvane was allowed to bring the once cherished possession
along.
Through the cold, naked woods, they pushed to East Caney. The
creek was up. It was three o'clock, nearly four hours before the
wintry dawn might be expected; yet a late moon had risen
sufficiently to show them the swollen torrent. These mountain
streams, fed by the snows of the higher ranges, clear, cold,
boulder checked and fretted, sometimes rise in a night to a fury
of destruction, scouring away whole areas from one bank or
another. To-night Caney, great with the snows from both of the
twin peaks above it which a January thaw had sent down, made
traveling in its bed a matter of life and death. Yet the boys
must attempt it. Once [342] behind that barrier of roaring water,
Lance would be safe. True, mountain streams often subside as
abruptly as they rise, so that no one could tell how long this
particular safety would last.
"I reckon we can git through better 'n the nags," Sylvane said
dubiously, as they divided the pack between them, and started
out on the desperate enterprise of leaping from boulder to
boulder through the swirling waters. They lost one bundle in the
struggle, and they came through fearfully exhausted. Lance with
that left arm one surface of exquisite torture, his countenance
pinched and his jaw set, his eyes burning in the white face that
his brother could dimly discern. But they did get through, and
came drenched, dripping, shuddering with cold, into the little
valley.
The last time Lance had seen the place it was brimmed with the wine
of summer, green, full of elusive forest scents, bird-haunted,
drowsing under July sides, and the most beautiful creatures it
held in its sweet shelter were Callista and her child. Now his
desolate gaze searched its dim obscurity for the black loom of
the rock house that had given its roof to their happy gipsying.
The blanket and clothing had gone down roaring Caney; but the
banjo, carried carefully on Sylvane's shoulders, whined against
the bare twigs of the Judas tree he was passing under, whimpered
something in its twanging undertone that [343] demanded awfully
of Lance, "How many miles--how many years?"
Without waiting for his brother, and the lantern which the boy
was relighting, he dashed down the slope, past the stark, empty
rock house--swerving a little like a man going wide of an open
grave--and gained the steep pathway to the cave, where Sylvane,
panting after, overtook him.
"I'm obliged to get a fire for you, and see can I tie up that
there arm," the boy declared pitifully. "Lance, I'm that sorry I
lost your blanket and clothes that I don't know what to do!" And
his voice trembled.
"It don't make any difference about me," Lance said wearily.
"I'd like for you to be dry and warm before you start back--but
there's no time. You got to get away from here as quick as you
can. If we leave the horses tied down there, and anybody sees
'em--you've got to get away quick, Buddy."
"Where'd I better take Sate?" asked Sylvane, as he had asked
before.
"I've been studyin' about that," Lance told him. "They're bound
to know I'm in the mountains. We can't get rid of the nag, and
if he goes to our house it will seem no more than natural. Best
just take him home and put him in the stable."
Sylvane had gathered pitch pine for light and [344] heat. He made
a roaring fire and then attempted an awkward dressing of the
injured arm. The rough cloths hurt. There was no liniment, not
even flour to lay on the burn. Lance locked his teeth in agony
and bore it till time seemed to press.
"Go on, Buddy," he urged. "When you can get to me with anything,
do it. When you can't--I'll make out, somehow."
"The good God knows I hate to leave you like this," the lad
repeated, as he made his final preparations for departure.
"Pappy or me will be here inside of two days and bring you news,
and something to keep warm with, and something to eat. Lance,
please lemme leave ye my coat--"
"No, no, Sylvane, you'd nigh about freeze without it a-ridin'
home. It's not cold in the cave here. You go on now, Buddy--that's
a good boy." And blindly the younger lad turned and crept down the
bank. [345]