Blossom still knelt at the bedside with eyes of absorbed suffering and
fingers that strayed flutteringly toward the bandaged head.
Bear Cat, with his hand on the latch, lingered at the door, held there
by a spell which he seemed powerless to combat. His part here was
played out and to remain longer was an intrusion--yet he seemed unable
to go. The kneeling girl was not even conscious of his presence. For
her there was no world except that little one bounded by the sides and
the end of the bed upon which her lover lay dying. Her hands clasped
themselves at last and her face buried itself in the coverings. She was
praying.
Bear Cat saw the glimmer of the firelight on her hair and to him it was
all the lost gold of his dreams. He caught the sweet graciousness of
her lissome curves, and his own fingers clutched at the shirt which had
become stiff with dried blood. Once she had prayed for him, he
remembered--but that was before her real power of loving had burned to
its fulness. Now he stood there forgotten.
He did not blame her for that forgetfulness. It only demonstrated the
singleness of devotion of which she was capable; the dedication of
heart which he had once hoped would be lavished on himself.
He, too, was so centered on one yearning that he was beyond the
realization of lesser matters, so that the gaunt preacher came within
arm's length unnoticed and laid a hand on his shoulder. Brother
Fulkerson nodded toward the other room, and Turner followed him with
the dumb and perfunctory abstraction of a sleep-walker.
"Now, son, ef hit hain't too late ter avail, let's hev a look at yore
own hurts. Ye didn't come through totally unscathed yore own self."
Bear Cat stood apathetically and his eyes turned hungrily toward the
stout partition of logs beyond which knelt the girl. It was not until
the older man had spoken the second time that he replied with a flat
tonelessness of voice, "My worst hurts ... hain't none ... thet ye kin
aid."
"Thet's what I aims ter find out." Joel Fulkerson's manner was brisk
and authoritative. "Strip off yore coat an' shirt."
Indifferently Bear Cat obeyed. Several times his lips moved without
sound, while the other pressed investigating fingers over the
splendidly sinewed torso and bathed away the dried blood.
"Hit looks p'intedly like ye've been seekin' ter prove them fruitless
stories thet bullets kain't kill ye," observed the preacher at the end
of his inspection, speaking with a somber humor. "Ye've done been shot
right nigh yore heart, an' ther bullet jest glanced round a rib without
penetratin'. Ye've done suffered wounds enough ter kill a half-dozen
ord'nary humans--an' beyond wastin' a heap of blood ye don't seem much
injured."
"I wisht," declared the young man bitterly, "ye'd done told me thet I
was about ter lay down an' die. Thet's all I'm longin' fer now."
For some moments they were silent; then Joel Fulkerson's grave pupils
flickered and a hint of quaver stole into his voice.
"Son, I've done spent my life in God's sarvice--unworthily yet plumb
earnest, too, an' thar's been times a-plenty when hit almost looked ter
me like He'd turned aside His face in wrath fer ther unregenerate sin
of these-hyar hills. I've hed my big dreams, too, Turner ... an' I've
seed 'em fail. Oftentimes, despairin' of ther heathenism of ther
growed-ups, I've sot my hopes on ther comin' generation. If ther
children could be given a new pattern of life ther whole system mout
come ter betterment."
The young man had been putting on again his discarded shirt and coat,
but his hands moved with the fumbling and apathetic motions of a
sleep-walker. His face, turned always toward that room beyond the wall,
was set in a dull immobility, yet he heard what the elder man was
saying, and listened with the impatience of one whose thoughts are in
travail, and whose interest for abstractions is dead. The preacher
recognized this, but with a resolute effort he continued. "When _you_
war a leetle shaver I seed in yore eyes thet ye hed dreams above
sordidness.... Oft-times when I watched ye gazin' off acrost the most
distant ridges I 'lowed that God hed breathed a wonderful gift inter ye
... ther ability ter dream an' make them dreams come true. I seed thet
ye hed _power_, power thet mout do great good or make yore name a
terror ter mankind, dependin' on which way ye turned hit." An agonized
groan came brokenly from the twisted lips. Bear Cat dropped into a
chair and covered his eyes with trembling palms. He had faced his
enemies without flinching, but after the cumulative forms of torture
through which he had passed to-night, his stoicism threatened to break
under the kind intentions of a talkative friend.
Still the evangelist went on: "I had visions of a new type of mountain
folks--some day ... when boys like you an' gals like Blossom grew
up--and wedded. Folks with all the honesty an' generosity we've got
now--but with ther black hate an' suspicion gone--. Ay--an' ther cause
of hit gone, too,--ther blockade stills."
Turner's nails bit into his temples as if with an effort to hold the
fugitive reason in his bursting head, as the words assaulted his ears.
"I've set hyar afore my fire many's ther night, a-dreamin' of some day
when there'd be a grandchild on my knee ... yore child an' Blossom's
... a baby thet would be trained up right."
Suddenly Turner's silence of apathy broke and he fell to trembling,
while his eyes flared wildly. "In God's name why does ye have ter taunt
me in this hour with reminders of all thet I've lived fer an' lost?
Does ye reckon I kin ever fergit hit?" He broke off, then went on again
with panting vehemence. "I hain't never had no dream but what was jest
a part of _thet_ dream.
"Why I've stood up thar on ther ridges in ther spring when ther face of
God's earth war so beautiful thet I've wondered ef His heaven could be
much better--an' thet's ther sperit of ther hills thet Blossom stood
fer ter me." The shaking voice gathered volume and passion. "I've seed
ther bleak misery of winter strangle all but ther breath of life
hitself outen folks thet lives hyar--an' thet's what this country means
ter me without Blossom! Folks knows how ter hate up hyar, but jest now,
somehow, I feels thet no man in all these God-forsaken mountings kin
hate life an' humanity like I hates 'em!"
Joel Fulkerson responded soberly though without reproof: "Yore man
Lincoln could go right on when things was turrible black. When his own
ends failed he still went on--fer others. He didn't give way ter hate.
He could go on tell he give his life hitself--fer dreams of betterin'
things thet needed betterment, an' he come from ther same blood as us."
"Wharfore in God's name does ye stand thar preachin' at me?" The young
man's reaction from stunned torpor to passion had brought with it
something like the fever of madness.
"Ye knows I holds with ye es ter schools--an' all fashion of
betterment--but what's them things ter me now? What I wants in this
hour is ter visit on ther man thet's ruint my life ther direst
punishment thet kin be meted out--an' he's cheatin' me by a-dyin'.
Listen--" He broke off and bent his head toward the wall of Blossom's
room and his voice took on a queer, almost maniacal note. "Kain't ye
heer her--in thar--groanin' out her heart! Let me git outen hyar.... I
kain't endure hit.... I'm liable ter do even _you_ an injury ef I
stays--albeit I loves ye!"
"I hates thet man in thar, too, Turner." The preacher laid a
restraining hand on his companion's taut arm and sought to soothe the
frenzy of wrath with the cool steadiness of his tone. "I've had need
ter pray fer strength against thet hate--but I've heered ther Stacy
rallyin' cry ter-night an' we've got ter hev speech."
"Speech hain't ergoin' ter mollify me. What I wants is ter hev ther
things I've suffered this night paid fer. Hit's all _got_ ter be paid
fer!" The inheritor of feudal instincts wheeled and burst from the
room, the preacher following more slowly but still determined.
Outside Turner halted. The ordeal through which he had passed had left
him shaken in a frenzy of passion, and he stood looking about him with
the gaze of a wild beast fretting under the feral urge of blood-lust.
With a clan easily inflamed and gathering to his call, Brother
Fulkerson realized the danger of that mood. Its menace must be met and
stemmed before it ran to a flood-tide of homicidal violence.
The preacher came close and spoke quietly.
"I don't know yit what tuck place ter night--over yon," he said. "I
only knows I've heered acrost ther hills a sound I'd prayed I mout
never hear ergin--ther cry of ther Stacys rallyin' fer battle. Ye've
got power, son--power beyond ther common. What air ye goin' ter do with
hit? Air ye a-goin' ter fergit yore dreams, because ther future's black
afore ye? Or air ye goin' ter be big enough, since ye're denied
children of yore own, ter make them dreams come true fer ther benefit
of other men's children?"
Bear Cat Stacy's voice as he answered was gratingly hard and his eyes
were unyielding.
"I don't know yit," he savagely announced. "I don't know yit fer sure
whose a-goin' ter need punishment, but I've called on my kinsmen ter
gather--an' when I knows the truth we'll be ready to deal hit out full
measure."
"Ther days of feuds is past, son. Fer God's sake don't be ther
backwardest man in all this evil-ridden country--you thet should be the
forwardest."
But Bear Cat's hands, clenched into fists, were raised high above his
head.
"My paw's in jail," he ripped out. "I hed ter go over thar ter hide out
in Virginny. Ef them things hadn't come ter pass mebby I mout hev saved
Blossom from her tribulation." Suddenly he fell silent. In the dim
light the preacher saw his face alter to the ugly set of a gargoyle and
his body come to such sudden rigidity as paralysis might have brought.
"God Almighty in heaven!" Turner exclaimed, then his words come racing
in a torrent of frenzy. "I war a damn' fool not ter hev seed hit afore!
Why air my paw in jail? Why did Kinnard Towers counsel me ter go ter
Virginny an' hide out? Hit war because he war plannin' ter murder Jerry
Henderson--an' he didn't dast do hit with us hyar! I knows now who
needs killin' an' so holp me God, I hain't a goin' ter lay down ner
sleep, ever again, until I kills him!" The eyes burned madly; the
figure shook and he would have rushed off at the moment had not the
preacher caught his arms and held them doggedly even though the
infuriated young giant tossed him about in his efforts to free himself.
Yet for all his thinness and age, Joel Fulkerson had power in his
frame--and an unshakeable determination in his heart.
"Listen ter me," he pleaded. "I won't keep ye hyar long--an' ef ye
don't listen now, ye won't never forgive yoreself hereafter.... Ye
hain't got no cause ter misdoubt my loyalty.... I hain't never asked a
favor of ye afore."
At any other time Turner would have acquiesced without debate and in a
spirit of fairness, but now he was driven by all the furies of his
blood. He had been through the icy chill of dull despair and then
plunged into the blast furnace of red wrath. Upon some guilty agency
reprisal must be wreaked--and as if with a revelation, he thought he
saw the origin of the conspiracy which his father had long ago
suspected.
He saw it so late because until now his mind had been too focused on
effects to hark back to causes, and now that he did see it, unless he
could be curbed, he would run amuck with the recklessness of a Mad
Mullah.
"Let me go, damn ye," the young man almost shrieked as he tore himself
loose from the restraining grasp, and flung the old preacher spinning
to the side so that he fell to his knees, shaken. He clambered up
slowly with a thin trickle of blood on his lips, where his teeth had
cut them in the fall.
"Thet war a pity, Bear Cat," he said in a queer voice, though still
unangered, wiping his mouth with his bony hand. "I'd thought thet we
two--with a common sorrow between us----" There he broke off, and the
boy stood for a breathing space, panting and smoldering. He could not
come back to cold sanity at one step because he had been too far shaken
from his balance--but as he watched the gray-haired man, to whom he had
always looked up with veneration and love, standing there, hurt to the
quick, and realized that upon that man he had laid violent hands, the
crazy fire in his arteries began to cool into an unutterable
mortification.
Since the cattle trader's story had been told back in the Virginia
cabin, until this moment, his mind had been successively scorched with
wrath, chilled in despair and buffeted by hurricane violence, but never
had it for a tranquil instant been stilled to normality. Over at the
Quarterhouse, when in Berserker rage he had been lashing out through a
red mist of battle, he had suffered less than since, because in action
he was spending the hoarded accumulation of wrath--but since then he
had been in the pits of an unbearable hell.
Now at the sight of that unresenting figure, wiping the blood from its
lip, a new emotion swept him with a flood of chagrin and self-contempt.
He had struck down a friend, defenseless and old, who had sought only
to give true counsel. The stubborn spirit that had upheld him as he
fought his fever-scalded way over the hills, and remained with him as
he watched the wedding ceremony, broke; and with face hidden behind
spread palms and a body racked by a spasm of collapse, he shook with
dry sobs that come in wrenching incoherence from deep in his chest.
He reeled and rocked on his feet under the tempest of tearless
weeping--and like a blind man staggered back and forth, until the
preacher, with a hand on each shoulder, had soothed him, as a child is
soothed. At last he found the power of speech.
"Fer God's sake, Brother Fulkerson, fergive me ... ef ye kin.... I
don't know what I'm doin'.... I'm seein' red." Again his voice vaulted
into choleric transports. "Ye says I mustn't call ther Stacys ter
bloodshed. Ye're right. Hit's my own private job--an' I'm goin' back
thar ter kill him--now! But es fer _you_, I wouldn't hev treated ye
with sich disrespect fer no cause in ther world--ef I hadn't been
well-nigh crazed."
"Son, I forgives ye full free ... but ye jest suspicions these other
matters. Ye hain't dead sure--and ye hain't ther man ter go out killin'
without ye _air_ plumb sartain.... Now will ye set down an' give me
leave ter talk a spell?"
The boy dropped upon the edge of the porch and jerked with a palsy of
wretchedness, and as he sat the old preacher pleaded.
For a while Bear Cat's attention was perfunctory. He listened because
he had promised to listen, but as the evangelist swept on with an
earnestness that gave a fire of eloquence to his uncouth words, his
congregation of one was heeding him because of the compulsion of
interest. He saw a bigger enemy and one more worthy of his warfare
behind the malign individual who was, after all, only its figure-head
and coefficient.
"Ef them ye loves hed been struck ter death by a rattlesnake--and hit
war feasible fer ye, 'stid of jest killin' ther snake, ter put an end
ter ther pizen hitself--fer all time--would ye waste strength on a
single sarpent?" The eyes of the speaker were glowing with ardor. "Men
like Kinnard air snakes thet couldn't do no harm save fer ther pizen of
ther copper worms. Hit's because they pertects them worms thet ther
lawless stands behind sich men--an' ther law-abidin' fears 'em. Wipe
out ther curse itself--an' ye wipes out ther whole system of meanness
an' murder." He paused, and for the first time since his outburst Bear
Cat spoke soberly.
"Over thar--at ther Quarterhouse--whar they sought ter git
Henderson--they warn't nothin' but a yelpin' pack of mad dogs--all
fired ter murder with white licker."
Brother Fulkerson nodded.
"I said ye hed power, an' I don't want ter see ye misuse hit.
"Ye asked me a spell back why I pestered ye with talk about betterment
in this hour of yore affliction. Hit's because I wants ye ter go on
fightin' fer thet dream--even ef hit's denied ye ter profit by hit. I
wants thet jest now with ther Stacys gatherin' in from back of beyond,
ye starts out leadin' 'em rightfully 'stid of wrongfully--fer whichever
way ye leads, ye'll go far."
Bear Cat Stacy rose from his seat. His chest still heaved, but his eyes
were aflame with a fire no longer baleful. In them was the thrilling
blaze of far-reaching vision. For a time he stood silent, then he
thrust out his hand.
"Brother Fulkerson, I've done been right close ter hell's edge
ter-night--but ye've brought me out. I hevn't put by my resolve ter
punish murder--if I can prove hit--but I've put by punishin' hit with
more murder. I aims ter make an end of blockadin'."
"Praise God," murmured Brother Fulkerson with the glowing face of an
old and wearied prophet who sees a younger and mightier rise before
him. Yet because his own long labors had taken heavy toll of weariness,
he knew the ashes of despair as well as the flame of ardor. Now he
found himself arguing the insurmountable difficulties. "But how does ye
aim ter persuade men ter forego blockadin'? Yore own kinfolks air
amongst 'em."
Bear Cat's excitement of resolve brought a tremor to his voice.
"By God, I don't aim ter persuade 'em over-much. I aims ter force 'em.
I aims ter rip out every still this side of Cedar Mounting--Stacys' and
Towers' alike, an' I don't aim ter sneak up on 'em, but ter march open
about ther business!"
It was to a campaign of persuasion, rather than abrupt coercion, that
the preacher had sought to guide his convert, and at this announcement
of audacious purpose he shook his head, and the hopefulness faded from
his pupils.
"The system hes hits roots set deep in ancient toleration, an' hooked
under ther rocks themselves. Afore ye alters hit by fo'ce, ye've got
ter shake, ter the bottom-most ledges, hills thet hain't never been
shuck afore."
But Bear Cat Stacy had within the hour become the crusader in spirit,
hot with a new-born purpose, and it would have been as possible to send
molten lava traveling uphill to go tamely back again into its bursted
crater, as to shake his purpose. He was in eruption.
"I knows thet, but I aims ter blast out the bed-rock hitself an' build
hit up anew.
"Hit seems ter me right now es ef I kin see ther picture of this land
in y'ars ter come. I kin see men walkin' with thar heads high an' thar
gaze cl'ar--'stid of reelin' in thar saddles an' scowlin' hate outen
drunken eyes. I kin see sich schools es Jerry Henderson named ter me in
other valleys an' coves.
"Ye says hit hain't a-goin' ter be easy, but I tells ye more then
thet--hit's goin' ter be jest one mite short of impossible--an'
none-the-less I'm a-goin' ter do hit. I'm a-goin' ter lay ther
foundations fer a peace thet kin endure. I reckon folks'll laugh at 'em
fust, an' then mark me down fer death, but I means ter prevail afore I
quits--an' I'm beholden ter ye fer p'intin' me ther way."
The preacher clasped his hands in a nervous uncertainty. The transition
from night to the twilight of the day's beginning had passed through
its most ghostly vagueness to a fog-wrapped morning. A dour veil of
gray and sodden mists trailed along the slopes with that chill that
strikes at the heart and quenches the spirit in depression.
Joel Fulkerson stood, gray, too, and colorless.
"I don't hardly know how ter counsel ye, son," he said, and his voice
was that of a man whose burden of weariness was crushing him.
"Ye aims ter do a thing thet hain't nuver been successfully undertook
afore. Ef ye seeks ter fo'ce men 'stid of persuadin' 'em--ye're mighty
liable ter fail--and cause ther valleys ter run red."
Bear Cat's lips twisted themselves into a smile ironically mirthless.
"Brother Fulkerson," he said, "in thar--ye kin almost hear her moanin'
now--is ther gal thet I've always loved. Ter me ther ground she walks
on is holy--ther air she breathes is ther only air I kin breathe
without tormint ... ter-night I fotched hyar ther man thet my heart was
clamorin' ter kill: fotched him hyar ter wed with her." As he paused
Turner's face twitched painfully.
"Ye says I mustn't undertake this job in no spirit of vengeance. Thar
hain't no other fashion I _kin_ undertake hit. I must needs throw
myself inter this warfare with all ther hate--an' all ther love thet's
in my blood. I hain't a-goin' ter try ter gentle iniquity--I'm goin'
ter strive ter tromp hit underfoot."
When Bear Cat was joined by Joe Sanders a few minutes later, the ridges
were still grim and unrelieved heaps of ragged gray. The sky was
lowering and vague, and the face of the sun pale and sullen.
Joe, too, in that depressing dimness looked like a churlish ghost, and
as the pair stood silently in the road they saw a trio of horsemen
approaching and recognized at their head Dog Tate, mud-splashed and
astride a horse that limped stiffly with weariness.
Dog slid from his saddle, and reported briefly.
"Ther boys air a-comin' in from ther branch waters an' ther furthermost
coves. I've done started a tide of men flowin' ter-night."
"I'm beholden ter ye. I reckon we'd all better fare over ter my house
and make ready ter meet 'em thar."
Tate leaned forward and gripped Bear Cat's arm.
"I've done warned everybody thet our folks must come in quiet. I 'lowed
ye'd want ter hold counsel afore any man fired a shot--but--" He paused
and looked furtively about him, then lowered his voice. "But thar's a
thing comin' ter pass thet don't pleasure me none. Kinnard Towers air
a-ridin' over hyar ter hev speech with ye--an' ef ye jest says ther
word--thar hain't no need of his ever gittin' hyar."
"Kinnard Towers!" For an instant an astonished and renewed anger flared
in Bear Cat's pupils, and the face of the other man blackened with the
malevolence of a grudge long nursed and long festering in repression.
"Kinnard Towers," repeated Dog Tate, vindictively mouthing the name.
"He's hired more men killed then he's got teeth in his jaws. He's raked
hell itself, stirrin' tribulation fer yore people an' mine--an' I've
done took my oath. Jest es soon es things start poppin' he's my man ter
kill!"
Abruptly Tate fell to trembling. His face became a thing of ash and
flint. From his pocket he drew a small package folded in newspaper,
which he unwrapped and held out, displaying an old and very soiled
handkerchief, spotted with dark discolorations. A shrill note sharpened
his voice as he spoke in vehement haste.
"Thar hit air! Thet's my daddy's 'kerchief--an' thet spot air ther
blood thet was spilled outen his heart--by a bullet Kinnard Towers
caused ter be fired! Seems like I kin see him a-lyin' thar now, sort of
gaspin' an' tryin' ter say somethin' ter me, thet he didn't never
succeed in utterin' afore he died! I wasn't hardly more'n a baby them
days an' when I come ter manhood they'd done made a truce an' yore paw
'lowed thet hit bound me. But now!" The man's excited tones cracked
like a mule-whip. "Now ef ther truce air ended, hit's my right ter hev
ther fust chance."
Slowly, with a comprehending sympathy but a firm resolution, Stacy
shook his head.
"Ye've got ter be as heedful an' patient es ye bade ther others be.
I've got a right-sensible hankerin' atter vengeance myself to-day,
Dog--but I've got ter hold my hand for a spell yit, an' ye've got ter
give me yore solemn pledge ter hold your'n, too. Hit mustn't be said
thet ef any man--even Kinnard--trusts us enough ter ride inter our
midst when we're gathered, he kain't be heered in safety."
The messenger stood looking down at the grewsome souvenir of the
tragedy which he believed left him a debtor with an unpaid score. Clan
obedience and individual lust for reprisal shook him in profound
dilemma, but finally, with a strong effort, he nodded his head--though
grudgingly.
"I gives ye my hand," he said in a dull voice, and up to them at that
moment rode a spattered horseman who, because of Towers' relationship
and marriage with a Stacy wife, was qualified as a neutral.
"I brings tidin's from Kinnard Towers," he announced. "He seeks ter
hold a parley with ye. He comes in peace, an' he wants yore pledge thet
he kin fare hither without harm."
Turner's jaw came out with a belligerent set, but he answered slowly.
"I was over at his place last night an' he didn't hardly hold _me_
harmless. None-the-less, tell him ter come on. I'll send back a few of
my kinfolks with ye ter safeguard him along ther way."