Early in the morning following his trip to North Wilkesboro' Uncle
Dick Siddon rode off to Pleasant Valley, there to prosecute his
sentimental labors for the pleasuring of the Widow Brown. Alvira fared
abroad on some errand to a neighboring cabin. Plutina, her usual
richness of coloring dimmed by a troubled night, was left alone. In
the mid-forenoon she was sitting on the porch, busy over a pan of
beans, which she was stringing for dinner. As she chanced to raise her
eyes, she saw Dan Hodges coming up the path. At sight of the evil
lowering face, repulsion flared hot in the girl. The instinct of
flight was strong, but her good sense forbade it. She felt a stirring
of unfamiliar terror in the presence of the man. She scorned herself
for the weakness, but it persisted. Her very fear dictated the
counsels of prudence. She believed that in dissimulation lay her only
possibility of safety. The thought of any intercourse with the
moonshiner was unspeakably repugnant, yet she dared not risk needless
offense. Nevertheless, the first effect of her resolve was a
self-contempt that moved her to wrath, and made her opening speech
more venomous even than it had been otherwise.
"Howdy, my little honey?" Hodges called out as he shambled to a halt
before her. His coarse features writhed in a simper that intensified
their ugliness. His coveting of this woman was suddenly magnified by
sight of her loveliness, flawless in the brilliant light. The
blood-shot eyes darted luxuriously over the curving graces beneath the
scant homespun garment.
The girl sensed the insult of the man's regard. It, rather than the
insolent familiarity of address, provoked her outburst.
"Shet yer mouth, Dan Hodges," she snapped. "I've done told ye afore,
ye kain't 'honey' me. If ye wants to pass the time o' day, jest don't
fergit as how hit's Miss Plutiny fer you-all."
Hodges gaped bewilderedly under the rebuke. Then he growled
defiantly.
[Illustration:
_Clara Kimball Young under the direction of Lewis J. Selznick._
BAD BLOOD BETWEEN RIVALS.]
"Wall, I'll be dogged! Quite some spit-fire, hain't ye? Reckon I know
what's a-bitin on ye. Ye're mad kase Uncle Dick tuk the mounting land
ye gals look to heir to, to bail me and Ben." He stared at the girl
ominously, with drawn brows. His voice was guttural with threatening.
"So be ye mout hev to eat them words o' your'n. Mebby, when I've done
tole ye a thing er two, ye'll be a-askin' of me to call ye 'honey.'
Mebby, ye'll want to hover yer ole 'hon,' arter I let's ye know a
thing or two 'bout the doin's o' you-all an' thet damned little runt,
thet reportin' dawg sweetheart o' your'n--Zeke Higgins."
The girl was stricken. She understood the outlaw's reference. Somehow
he had gained certain knowledge of Zeke's part in saving the
Quaker-school-teacher spy. She realized that the criminal gang would
not hesitate at the murder of one who had thus foiled them. For the
moment, she gave no heed to the danger that menaced herself as well.
Her whole concern was for her lover. The single comfort came from the
fact of his absence. Much as she had been longing for his coming, her
prayer now was that he should not return until these men were
imprisoned.
With a fierce effort toward bravery in the face of catastrophe,
Plutina stood up, and drew herself proudly erect. Her dark eyes
flashed wrathfully. She spoke with disdain:
"Ye wouldn't dast say that to Zeke Higgins' teeth. Mebby, he hain't so
thick through as you-all, and he hain't so thick-headed, nuther. An'
he hain't no runt, as ye'd find quick 'nuf, if so be's ye dast stand
up to him, man to man, 'stid o' with a gun from the laurel. He's a
man--what you-all hain't. He hain't the kind to layway from the
bushes, ner to be a-stealin' his neighbor's cattle an' hawgs. An'
what's more Dan Hodges, ef ye say as how Zeke ever reported ary still,
ye're a hell-bustin' liar!"
Her jibes were powerless against the coarse-fibered brute. He grinned
malevolently as he jeered at her.
"Thar, now! Hain't it a pity to have a sweetheart what hain't brave
'nuf to stand 'is ground, an' runs off, an' leaves 'is gal to fit fer
'im." Then, abruptly, the moonshiner's expression changed to one meant
to be ingratiating. "Wall, now, Miss Plutiny, I shore likes the way ye
stan's up fer the pore cuss. But, arter all, hes' done up and left ye.
An' he hain't comin' back. Hit wouldn't be healthy fer him to come
back," he added, savagely. "An' what's more, ye hain't a-gwine to jine
'im whar he's at. The Hodges' crowd won't stan' fer no sech! He's been
writ, Zeke Higgins has, with the sign o' the skull an' the cross--the
hull thing. Ye know what thet means, I reckon."
Plutina blenched, and seated herself again, weakly. It was true, she
knew the fantastic rigmarole, which made absurd the secret dictates of
these illiterate desperadoes. But that absurdity meant death, none the
less--death for the one she loved. In her misery, she listened almost
apathetically as Hodges went on talking in his heavy, grating voice.
"Zeke Higgins knows as how the Allens give us the word 'bout 'is
crossin' Bull Head with the spy. He knows thet, if 'e shows up in
this-hyar kentry ag'in, the Devil's Pot'll have 'im fer a b'ilin'. An'
thet's 'nuf fer Zeke's case. Now, we'll jest chin a mite 'bout
your'n."
There was a little interval of silence, in which the girl stared
unseeingly toward the splendors of the blossoming rhododendrons that
fringed the clearing. The apathy had passed now, and she listened
intently, with self-control to mask the despair that welled in her
heart. It seemed to her that here was the need for that dissimulation
she had promised herself--need of it for life's sake, however hateful
it might be, however revolting to her every instinct. So she listened
in a seeming of white calm, while the flames shriveled her soul.
The man straightened his great bulk a little, and regarded the girl
with new earnestness. Into his speech crept a rude eloquence, for he
voiced a sincere passion, though debased by his inherent bestiality.
"Plutiny Siddon, I've knowed ye, an' I've craved ye, this many year.
Some way, hit just seemed as how I couldn't he'p hit. The more ye
mistreated me, the more I wanted ye. Hit shames me, but hit's true as
preachin'. An' hit's true yit--even arter seein' yer bare futprint
tracks thar on the Branch, alongside them of a man with shoes--the
damned revenuer what got us. Ye showed 'im the place, Plutiny
Siddon--cuss ye, fer a spy!... An' I craves ye jest the same.... An'
I'll have ye--right soon!"
At this saying, terror mounted high in the girl. The thing she so
dreaded was come to pass. She forgot, for a few moments, the threats
against her lover. Despair crushed her in the realization of
discovery. Her treachery was known to the man she feared. The peril
she had voluntarily risked was fallen upon her. She was helpless, at
the mercy of the criminal she had betrayed--and she knew that there
was no mercy in him. She shrank physically, as under a blow, and sat
huddled a little, in a sudden weakness of body under the soul's
torment. Yet she listened with desperate intentness, as Hodges went on
speaking. She cast one timid glance toward him, then dropped her gaze,
revolted at the grotesque grimaces writhen by the man's emotions.
"Harkin to me, Miss Plutiny!" he pleaded, huskily. "Harkin to me! I
knows what I'm a-doin' of. They hain't nothin' ye kin do to stop me.
Kase why? Wall, if ye love yer gran'pap, ye'll hold yer tongue 'bout
all my talk. Yep! He's done pledged his land to keep me an' Ben out o'
the jail-house till cote. If ye tells 'im I'm a-misusin' o' ye, he'd
cancel the bond, an' try to deliver me up. I knows all thet. But he
wouldn't cancel no bond, an' no more he wouldn't do any deliverin' o'
me up. Kase why? Kase he'd jest nacherly die fust. Thet's why. The
land'd be good fer the bond jest the same till Fall. Thet'd give me
an' Ben a heap o' time to git ready to light out o' this-hyar kentry.
They hain't nary pusson a-goin' to bother us none. They knows hit's
healthier a-mindin' their own business. I been dodgin' revenuers
fifteen year, an' I'll dodge ag'in, an' take my savin's along, too.
An' they's quite some savin's, Plutiny."
Hodges paused, as if to give greater impressiveness to the conclusion
of his harangue. His voice as he continued held a note of savage
finality.
"So, ye understand, Plutiny, I hain't afeared none arter what I done
told ye'll happen, if so be ye talk. I knows ye love yer gran'pap, an'
hain't a hankerin' fer 'im to be murdered. Now, I'm gwine to leave ye
till t'-morrer, to git kind o' used to the idee as how ye're gwine to
leave this-hyar kentry with me arter I pays yer gran'pap the money fer
the bail. If you-all is so plumb foolish as to say no, hit 'll jest
leave yerself an' yer kin in the hands o' we boys to reckon with. Do
as I'm a-sayin' on, an' I'll shore fergit 'bout yer reportin' the
still. I'll jest 'low to myself as how ye was only a gal, an' used
damn' poor jedgment. I hold hit were powerful unkind o' you-all,
seein' as how we-uns hain't never wronged ye none. I suspicion ye had
hit figgered out as how Zeke could come back 'ere a'gin if ye had me
kotched. Wall, little missy, Dan Hodges air jest a mite too cunnin'
fer ye." The boaster gloated over his cowering victim, malice
sparkling in his lustful eyes.
It seemed to the girl that she was in truth hopelessly ensnared by
fate. Her harried thoughts ran in a circle, dizzily. She could find no
loophole for escape from the net. The mesh of the outlaw's deviltry
was strong; her flutterings were feeble, futile. She found one ray of
comfort in Zeke's absence. She forgot it in distress for the danger to
her grandfather. Then, horror for herself beat upon her spirit. But a
memory of her first resolve came to her. From stark necessity, she put
her whole reliance on an effort to temporize. She felt that her only
recourse in this emergency must lie in deceiving the ruffian who thus
beset her. Much as she abhorred him, she had no choice. There was none
to whom she could appeal for succor. She must depend absolutely upon
her ability to beguile him. She must hide the revulsion inspired by
his mere presence. She must arm herself with the world-old weapons of
her sex, and by wiles blind him to the truth of her feeling, gain time
for--something, anything! At least here was room for hope, uncertain,
absurd even, yet hope. A little color crept to her pallid cheeks. If
she could but manage the deceit to secure delay until the Fall.
She raised her eyes furtively toward the adversary, an appraising
glance, as if to judge his gullibility. The brutish passion of the man
showed in the pendulous lower lip, thrust forward a little, in the
swinish lifting of the wide-flaring nostrils, in the humid glowing of
the inflamed eyes. A nausea of disgust swept over her. She fought it
down. Then, with hypocrisy that amazed herself, she met his ardent
stare boldly, though with a pretense of timidity. She spoke with a
hesitant, remonstrant voice, as if in half-hearted protest,
"Hit's dangerous to talk hyar, Dan," she said. She assumed a pose of
coquetry. "If I agrees to save Gran'pap an' 'is land, an' takes ye,
have ye got money 'nough fer us to git along among the furriners down
below?" A pleased smile showed. "An' could ye buy me purty clo's an'
sech-like? Don't ye dast lie to me, Dan Hodges, fer a woman wants
plenty o' nice fixin's. An' if ye means hit all, like ye says, I'll
meet ye at Holloman Gate t'-morrer at twelve, an' give ye yes er no."
The moonshiner received with complacence this evidence of yielding on
the girl's part. He had, indeed, the vanity that usually characterizes
the criminal. It was inconceivable to his egotism that he must be
odious to any decent woman. Plutina's avaricious stipulation
concerning money pleased him as a display of feminine shrewdness. He
was in nowise offended. The women of his more intimate acquaintance
did not scruple to bargain their charms. From such trollops, he gained
his estimate of the sex. The sordid pretense by Plutina completed his
delusion. The truckling of familiars had inflated conceit. He swelled
visibly. The finest girl in the mountains was ready to drop into his
arms! Passion drove him toward her.
Plutina raised her hand in an authoritative gesture. She could feign
much, but to endure a caress from the creature was impossible.
Somehow, by some secret force in the gesture, his advance was checked,
he knew not why.
"Not now, Dan," she exclaimed, sharply. She added a lie, in
extenuation of the refusal: "Alviry's in the house. Besides, I got to
have time to think, like ye said. But I'll be at the gate t'-morrer."
Hodges accepted her decree amiably enough. He was still flattered by
her complaisant attitude toward his wooing.
"Ye're talkin' sense, Plutiny--the kind I likes to hear. I'll be thar,
waitin' fer ye, ye kin bet on thet." Then his natural truculence
showed again in a parting admonition: "An' don't you-all try fer to
play Dan Hodges fer a fool. If so be ye does, ye'll wish to God ye
hadn't."
With the threat, he turned and went lumbering down the path, to vanish
quickly within the shadows of the wood.