Plutina had no sleep the night following her encounter with Dan
Hodges. Throughout the dragging hours, she was tortured by sinister
imaginings. She exhausted her brain in futile strivings for some means
of escape from the mesh of circumstance. It was not until the gray
twilight of dawn shone through the curtains that a possibility of
relief stirred in her mind. It was out of desperation that the idea
sprang. She felt herself so utterly forlorn and helpless in her
loneliness that the despair was overpowering. It was then, at last,
that the inspiration came to her: She would confess everything to her
grandfather!
Though she quailed before the prospect, she rejoiced as well. The old
man was strong and resourceful. He would know how to meet and overcome
the outlaw's villainy. Moreover, now that her decision had been made,
Plutina was surprised to find her alarm over such confession greatly
lessened from what she had supposed possible. She began to realize
that some intangible change in her grandfather himself was responsible
for this. She became convinced that the new gentleness had had its
origin in the unselfish abandonment of his marital hopes. It was as if
that renunciation had vitally softened him. Perhaps, in this strange
mood, he would be less intolerant of her fault in turning informer.
His prejudice could find no excuse for her treachery, she knew, yet
the peril in which she had involved herself, and him, might arouse his
pity. Assuredly, he would be moved to instant action for both their
sakes. For that reason alone, if for no other, she must tell him her
story without a moment of unnecessary delay.
In the course of the morning, Plutina took advantage of an
opportunity, whilst her sister was busy in the garden, and went to her
grandfather, who was taking his ease on the porch. She was encouraged
by the mild and benignant expression on the old man's face, which had
been more often fierce, as she remembered it through the years. She
seated herself quietly, and then proceeded immediately to confession.
There was no attempt at palliation of her offense, if offense it were.
She gave the narrative of events starkly, from the moment when she had
first seen Hodges descending Luffman's Branch to the time of her
separation from him at the clearing, on the yesterday.
Throughout the account, the listener sat sprawled in the big willow
rocker, his slippered feet resting on the porch rail. The huge body
was crumpled into an awkward posture, which was never changed, once
the history was begun. The curved wooden pipe hung from his lips,
black against the iron gray cascade of beard, but he did not draw at
it again, after the opening-sentences from his granddaughter's lips.
Plutina, looking down, perceived that the folded hands, lying in his
lap, were clenched so strongly that the knuckles showed bloodless.
Yet, he made no movement, nor offered any word of comment or of
question. When the girl had made an end, and sat waiting distressedly
for his verdict, he still rested mute, until the silence became more
than she could endure, and she cried out in pleading:
"Kain't ye fergive me, Gran'pap?"
Uncle Dick turned, and looked reproachfully at the distraught girl. A
great tenderness shone from the black eyes, in which age had not
dimmed the brilliance. As she saw the emotion there, a gasp of
rapturous relief broke from Plutina's lips. The stern restraints of
her training were broken down in that moment. She dropped to her knees
by the old man's side, and seized his hands, and kissed them, and
pressed them to her bosom. He released one of them presently, and laid
it gently on the dusk masses of his grandchild's hair in silent
blessing. His voice, when at last he spoke, was softer than she had
heard it ever before.
"Why, Tiny, ye mustn't be afeared o' yer ole gran'pap. I thinks a heap
o' my kin, an' ye're the clusest. I loves ye gal--more'n anythin' er
anybody else in the world, though I wouldn't want Alviry to hear thet.
I hain't mindin' what ye done none. I'd stan' by ye, Tiny, if he had
the hull cussed Gov'ment at yer back. I hain't got no likin' fer
revenuers, but I got a heap less for Dan Hodges."
He paused for a moment and lifted his hand from the girl's head to
stroke the gray beard thoughtfully, before he continued:
"I been thinkin' a right-smart lot o' things jest lately. I 'low I'm
a-gittin' old, mebby. An' I opine as 'tween the revenuers and Dan
Hodges, I hain't so much agin the Gov'ment as I was."
Again, he fell silent, as if in embarrassment over an admission so at
variance with the tenets of a lifetime. Then he spoke with sudden
briskness:
"But ye'd orter a-killed the critter then an' thar, Tiny!"
"I jest somehow couldn't, Gran'pap. I'm shore sorry." The girl felt
poignant shame for the weakness thus rebuked.
"I 'low I hain't likely to have no sech feelin's a-holdin' o' me
back," Uncle Dick remarked, drily. "Hit's my foolishness bailin' 'im
out got us in the pizen mess. I 'low I'll cancel the bond. But, fust,
I'd have to take the skunk to the jail-house, dead er alive. He'll
stan' some urgin', I reckon."
"Ye'll be keerful, Gran'pap," Plutina exclaimed anxiously, as she
stood up.
"Now, don't ye worrit none," Uncle Dick ordered, tartly. His usual
rather dictatorial manner in the household returned to him. "You-all
run along. I want to think."
The girl went obediently. The reaction from despair brought
joyousness. Of a sudden, she became aware of the blending perfumes of
the wild flowers and the lilting of an amorous thrush in the wood. Her
lids narrowed to dreamy contemplation of the green-and-gold traceries
on the ground, where the sunlight fell dappled through screening
foliage. Fear was fled from her. Her thought flew to Zeke, in longing
as always, but now in a longing made happy with hopes. There might be
a letter awaiting her from New York--perhaps even with a word of
promise for his return. She smiled, radiant with fond anticipations.
Then, after a word of explanation to Alvira, she set off at a brisk
pace over the trail toward Cherry Lane.
The girl went blithely on her way, day-dreaming of the time when Zeke
should be come home to her again. She stopped at the Widow Higgins'
cabin, to receive felicitations over the escape of Uncle
[Illustration:
_Clara Kimball Young under the direction of Lewis J. Selznick._
"WHEN ZEKE COMES HOME AGAIN."]
Dick from Fanny Brown. Plutina was not minded to harass the older
woman with the tale of Dan Hodges. The outlaw's threats against Zeke
would only fill the mother's heart with fears, against which she could
make no defense. Otherwise, however, the tongues of the two ran busily
concerning the absent one. And then, soon, Plutina was again hurrying
over the trail, which the bordering wild flowers made dainty as a
garden walk. Once, her eyes turned southward, to the gloomy grandeur
of Stone Mountain, looming vast and portentous. The blur of shadow
that marked the Devil's Cauldron touched her to an instant of
foreboding, but the elation of mood persisted. She raised her hand,
and the fingers caressed the bag in which was the fairy crystal, and
she went gaily forward, smiling.
* * * * *
Uncle Dick, meantime, was busy with sterner thoughts, and his task was
harmonious to his musings, for he was cleaning and oiling his rifle
with punctilious care. He did not hasten over-much at either the
thinking or the work. The shades of night were drawing down when,
finally, he hung the immaculate weapon on its hooks. He ate in
solitary silence, served by Alvira, who ventured no intrusion on this
mood of remoteness with which she was familiar from experience. The
old man had determined to go forth and seize, and deliver to the
custody of the law, the person of Dan Hodges. At the best, he would
surprise the outlaw, and the achievement would be simple enough; at
the worst, there would be a duel. Uncle Dick had no fear over the
outcome. He believed himself quicker and surer with the rifle than
this scoundrel of half his years. At grips, of course he would have no
chance. But the affair would not come to grips. He would see to that.
He went to bed contentedly, and slept the peaceful sleep of wholesome
age, undisturbed by any bickerings of conscience.
It was while he was dressing, next morning, that a measure of prudence
occurred to Uncle Dick. During the period of his absence, it would be
well for Plutina to avoid risk by keeping in the cabin, with her rifle
at hand. There was no telling how audacious the moonshiner might
become in his rage over the ignominy to which the girl had subjected
him.
At the breakfast-table, he spoke sharply to Alvira, as she placed the
plate of fried ham and eggs before him.
"Tell Tiny, I'm a-wantin' her."
"Tiny hain't hyar yit," was the answer. "Hit's time she was."
"Whar's she gone!" Uncle Dick demanded, gruffly. He detested any
interruption of his plans.
"Tiny stayed over to the Widder Higgins's las' night," Alvira
explained. "Hit's time she come back."
Uncle Dick snorted with indignation.
"She didn't say nothin' to me 'bout stayin' over thar," he said
crossly.
"Nor to me, nuther," Alvira declared. "She never does beforehand. When
the Widder Higgins kind o' hangs on, Tiny jest stays, an' comes back
in the mornin'. She orter been 'ere afore now."
Uncle Dick pushed away the plate of food, half-eaten. Dread had fallen
on him suddenly. He tried to thrust it off, but the weight was too
heavy for his strength of will. Perforce he yielded to alarm for the
girl's safety. A great fear was upon him lest it be too late for the
warning he had meant to give. He growled a curse on his own folly in
not guarding against immediate attack by the outlaw. It was with small
hope of finding his apprehensions groundless that he set forth at
once, rifle in hand, for the cabin of the Widow Higgins. There, his
fears were confirmed. The old woman had seen nothing of Plutina, since
the short pause on the way to the post-office. Uncle Dick groaned
aloud over the fate that might have come on the girl. He told enough
to give the Widow Higgins some understanding of the situation, and
bade her go to his own house, there to remain and to comfort Alvira.
For himself, he would first search over the Cherry Lane trail for any
trace of his vanished granddaughter, and thereafter raise the
hue-and-cry to a general hunt through the mountains for the capture or
killing of the villain, and the recovery of the girl, dead or alive.
Not for an instant did the old man doubt that Hodges had done the
deed.
Uncle Dick had no more than passed Luffman's Branch on his way over
the Cherry Lane Trail, when a joyous hail caused him to lift his eyes
from their close scrutiny of the beaten earth. Descending the trail, a
little way in front of him, appeared the slender, erect form of the
one-armed veteran. The bridegroom moved with a jaunty step, and his
wrinkled features radiated gladness. But, as he came near, his face
sobered at sight of the other's expression. His voice was solicitous.
"I 'low somethin' air wrong," he ventured.
Uncle Dick in his distress welcomed the note of sympathy. Somehow, he
felt curiously drawn to this successful rival, and he was sure that
his feeling was returned. Between the two men there was a curious
mutual respect, as if each relied on the entire good sense of one who
had loved Fanny Brown. The older man craved a confidant; he was avid
for counsel and every possible assistance in this emergency. He told
the facts as concisely as possible, while Seth Jones, wedded raptures
forgot, listened in growing sorrow and dismay. At the end, he spoke
simply:
"I'll take a look 'long with ye, Mister Siddon. I done a heap o'
trackin' in my time, out West. Perhaps, I kin he'p ye some."
Uncle Dick put out his hand, and the two palms met in a warm clasp,
witness of friendship's pact. Forthwith, they gave themselves to
minute examination of the trail for any sign of the missing girl.
For a time, their patient search went unrewarded. But, about a
half-mile beyond Luffman's Branch, they came on an area still affected
by one of the small showers so frequent in the mountains. Here, the
veteran's alert eyes distinguished a footprint outlined in the damp
dust.
"Yer gal was barefut, I reckon," he said. He pointed to the imprint
just before where he was standing.
"Yep," Uncle Dick answered. There was a little mist over his eyes, as
he glanced down. "Yep; hit's her'n."
The veteran went forward confidently now.
"She was a-steppin' plumb brisk," he declared; "feelin' pretty peart,
I 'low; feet kind o' springy-like."
Uncle Dick shivered at the words. He had a ghastly vision of Plutina
moving at this moment with painfully dragging steps somewhere afar in
the fastnesses of the mountains. But he said nothing of the worst
fears to his companion. He only followed on, watching closely lest
something escape the other's survey. Almost, he found himself hoping
they might come on the girl's dead body. Death is not the worst of
evils.
After a mile, or a little less, the area of the shower was passed.
Uncle Dick could hardly distinguish any sign of the footprints in the
heavy dust of the trail, but he accepted without question the
veteran's assertion that they were easily perceptible to the trained
sight. Suddenly, Seth Jones halted, and peered intently, stooping low.
Uncle Dick, too, bent to look, but the faint markings in the dirt were
without significance to him. The veteran moved to the roadside and
searched on hands and knees over the yard of grass between the trail
and a thicket. When he stood erect again, he regarded his companion
inquiringly.
"They seem to be the tracks o' some mighty-big, hefty cuss, what come
out o' these-hyar bushes, an' tuk along arter her. Kin ye make a guess
who hit mout be, Mister Siddon?"
Uncle Dick's face grew black with a rage that was the more frightful
because it had no object on which to vent itself.
"Hit's him!" he mumbled thickly, choking over the effort for
self-control. Abruptly, he abandoned the attempt. His big voice
boomed forth in a torrent of blasphemous imprecations. When, finally,
he rumbled into silence, and stood panting for breath, the veteran,
who had appeared to listen with great interest and perhaps some
pleasure, spoke soothingly:
"You-all was shore some eloquent, an' I 'low the ornery critter
deserves every mite on hit. An', anyhow, I reckon ye done saved
yerse'f a stroke. Ye was a-lookin' like ye'd bust, but ye let off the
steam a-cussin' 'im out. Now, let's see." He went back to the trail,
and advanced very slowly, for the markings were faint even to his
skilled eyes. Uncle Dick, trembling a little from the violence of his
outburst, followed faithfully, but he could no longer detect traces of
the passing of either man or girl.
Thus, in slow progress, they came at last to the fork of the trail.
This is at the extreme easterly slope of Bull Head Mountain, which
rises from the north side of the valley as if in sullen rivalry of
Stone Mountain below. In the division of the trail here, one branch
ascends toward Glade Creek, across the mountain, while the other keeps
on straight to Cherry Lane. Within the fork of the trails lies a
fallen giant of the coves, a huge yellow poplar, almost hidden along
its length by the embowering thickets. Toward this, in an advance
tediously slow, the veteran made his way. When, finally, he was come
up to the great bole, he stood quietly for minutes, gazing everywhere
round about. Uncle Dick, emulating his companion, peered earnestly,
and soon he, too, perceived the evidences that something out of the
ordinary had occurred just here. Over a considerable space next the
trunk there were signs of a struggle. Broken branches showed on some
of the bushes; leaves from the poplar shoots were lying on the grass;
the turf was freshly torn here and there. The veteran bent over, and
picked up an object from the ground, which he held out. Uncle Dick
gave one glance, and uttered a cry of despair. He recognized it as a
button from the dress Plutina had been wearing the day before.
The further search of the veteran achieved little. He was able only to
make sure that the footprints led off through the forest toward the
south. But, now, the impressions were no longer of one following the
other. Instead, it was revealed that the two walked side by side.
Uncle Dick groaned as his companion told him of this. Plutina had been
attacked; she had fought; she had been overcome--and she was still
alive!