One by one, as the afternoon wore on, the spectators began to desert
the jury of view, their progress over the mountain being slower than
had been anticipated. So often, indeed, did insoluble difficulties
arise touching the location of the road and questions of dispute that
it might be wondered that the whole body did not perish by faction.
After the party had passed the boundary line of Persimmon Sneed's
tract, where he seemed to consider the right of eminent domain merged
in nothingness in comparison to his lordly prerogatives as owner in
fee simple, he ceased to urge as heretofore. He dictated boldly to the
jury. He rode briskly on in advance, as if doing the honors of his
estate to flattered guests, now and again waving his hand to
illustrate his proposition, his keen, high-pitched voice overcoming in
its distinct utterance the sound of hoofs and spurs, and the
monotonous bass contradictions proffered by Silas Boyd.
And the jury of view, silent and circumspect, rode discreetly on.
Persimmon Sneed's mare seemed as fresh as himself, and when he would
turn, as he often did, to face the fatigued, wilted, overwhelmed jury
jogging along on their jaded steeds, tired out with the long day's
jaunt and the rough footing, the mare would move swiftly backward in a
manner that would have done credit to the manege of a circus. And at
this extreme advantage Persimmon Sneed and his raised adjuring
forefinger seemed impossible to be gainsaid. His arguments partook of
the same unanswerable character.
"Ye don't see none o' my cattle, do ye?" He waved his hand toward the
woods flecked with the long slantings of the sun. "I hev got more 'n a
hunderd head grazin' right hyar in the bresh. Cattle-thieves could
call an' salt 'em easy enough, but they couldn't drive 'em off through
the laur'l thar; it's thick ez hell!" pointing to the dense jungle.
"But ef we-uns hed this hyar road what ye air aimin' ter lay off, why,
a leetle salt an' a leetle drivin' an' a moonlight night would gather
'em, an' the whole herd would be in Georgy by daybreak. I wouldn't hev
the hawn of a muley cow lef'. Now, ez it be, them cattle air ez safe
from sight ez ef I hed swallowed 'em!" And he whirled again, and led
the column.
The jury of view rode disconsolately on.
They experienced a temporary relief when they had passed the confines
of his tract,--for it was across but a protruding tongue of the main
body of his land that the road was expected to run,--and entered upon
the domain of the "valley man with the lung complaint;" for this
diverted Persimmon Sneed to the more amiable task of narrating how the
stranger had sought to buy land of him, and the high prices he had
scornfully refused, the adaptability of his land to his own especial
needs being so phenomenally apt.
A sudden query from Silas Boyd rendered their respite short: "What's
that man Selwyn want so much land fur, ennyhows? He hev been tryin'
ter buy all that 'crost the gorge, too." He waved his hand toward the
gloomy woods darkening on the opposite slope.
"Ter graze cattle, o' course," promptly surmised Persimmon Sneed.
"Jes' look at my fine chance o' yearlin's, a-layin' on fat an' bone
an' muscle every day, with no expense nor attendance, an' safe an'
sound an' sure. An' now," he cried suddenly, and the shuddering jury
saw the collocation of ideas as it bore down upon them, and Persimmon
Sneed swiftly turned, facing them, while the mare nimbly essayed a
_passado_ backward, "ye air talkin' 'bout changin' all this,
ruinationin' the vally o' my land ter me. Ye 'low ye want ter permote
the interus' o' the public! Waal," raising an impressive forefinger,
"ain't _I_ the public?"
No one ventured a reply.
The jury of view rode desperately on.
They had presently more cause for depression of spirit. It began to be
evident that with the dusk some doubt had arisen in the minds of the
mountaineers of the party as to the exact trend of the herder's trail.
The doubt intensified, until further progress proved definitively that
the indistinct trail was completely lost. Darkness came on apace; the
tangled ways of the forest seemed momently more tortuous; wolves were
not rare in the vicinity; rumors of a gang of horse-thieves were rife.
After much discussion, the jury of view agreed that they would go no
further at present, but wait for the rising of the moon, on the theory
that it would then be practicable to make their way to the Hood cabin,
on the other side of the mountain, which was their immediate goal, and
which they had expected to reach by sunset; unaware that in their
devious turnings they had retraced several miles of their course, and
were now much nearer Selwyn's dwelling in the woods than the terminus
of their route.
Despite their uncertainty and anxiety, the rest was grateful. The
shades of night were cool and refreshing after the glare of the day,
as they sat smoking on the rocks about the verge of the mountain. The
horses had been unsaddled, and were picketed in an open glade at a
little distance: in recurrent pauses in the talk, the sound of their
grazing on the scanty grass came to the ear; all else was silence save
the tinkling of a mountain rill,--a keen detached appoggiatura rising
occasionally above the monody of its murmurous flow,--and the
melancholy chiming of some lingering cicada, the latest spared of the
frost.
The night was as yet very dark; the stars were dull in a haze, the
valley was a vague blur; even the faces of the men could not be dimly
distinguished. Strange, then, that an added visibility suddenly
invested the woods and the sky-line beyond a dense belt of timber.
"'Pears ter me toler'ble early fur the moon," observed one of the men.
"She's on the wane now, too."
"'Tain't early, though," replied the sullen bass voice of Silas Boyd
from the darkness; it was lowered, that the others might not hear.
"That thar old perverted Philistine of a Persimmon Sneed kep' us
danderin' roun' hyar till mighty nigh eight o'clock, I'll bet,
a-persistin' an' a-persistin' he knowed the road, when he war plumb
lost time we got on that cowpath. An' the jury o' view, they hed ter
take Persimmon Sneed's advice, he bein' the oldest, an' wait _hyar_
fur the risin' moon. Persimmon Sneed will repent he picked out this
spot,--he'll repent it sure!"
This dictum was only the redundancy of discontent; but when, in the
light of subsequent events, it was remembered, and special gifts of
discernment were attributed to Silas Boyd, he did not disclaim them,
for he felt that his words were surely inspired by some presentiment,
so apt were they, and so swiftly did the fulfillment follow the
prophecy.
There was a sudden stir among the group. The men were getting quickly
to their feet, alert, tense, with broken whispers and bated breath.
For there, on a bare slope, viewed diagonally across the gorge and
illumined with a wavering pallor, the witch-face glared down at them
from the dense darkness of the woods. The quick chilly repulsion of
the strangers as they gazed spellbound at the apparition was
outmatched by the horror of those who had known the fantasy from
childhood;--never thus had they beheld the gaunt old face! What
strange unhallowed mystery was this, that it should smile and grimace
and mock at them from out the shadowy night, with flickers of light as
of laughter running athwart its grisly lineaments? What evil might it
portend? They all stood aghast, watching this pallid emblazonment of
the deep night.
"Boys," said old Dent Kirby tremulously, "thar's suthin' powerful
cur'ous 'bout this 'speriunce. That thar light war never kindled in
heaven or yearth."
"Let's go!" cried Jeremiah Sayres. "We hev got ter git out'n this
somehows."
"Go whar?" croaked Silas Boyd, his deep bass voice lowered to a
whisper. "I be 'feard ter quit the trail furder. 'Pinnock's Mis'ry' be
hyar-abouts somewhar, a plumb quicksand, what a man got into an'
floundered an' sank, an' floundered agin, an' whenst they fund him his
hair war white an' his mind deranged. Or else we-uns mought run off'n
a bluff somewhar, an' git our necks bruk."
Now Persimmon Sneed was possessed of a most intrusive curiosity, and
he was further endowed with a sturdy courage.
"I'll jes' step off a leetle way to'des that light, an' view whar it
kems from," he observed coolly. "The woods air too wet to burn."
He would not listen to protest.
"The witch-face ain't never blighted me none," he rejoined stoutly as
he set forth.