When the curtain of unconsciousness rolled up again Blossom was no
longer in the cave, but was lying on the ground between the rocks
outside. It was dark now, but a lantern was lighted near at hand, and
her wrists and ankles ached with the bite of knotted ropes.
Although she could see no one, she had the distinct sense of eyes
gazing at her from somewhere beyond the narrow circle of light and as
she stirred uneasily, she heard a voice that seemed to come from behind
the sandstone at her right. "She's done come ter herself. Now we've
need ter hasten." Then from her left a sugar-loaf bowlder appeared to
question her.
"Whar did he go to? You knows an' we knows ye know--an' we don't aim
ter be trifled with neither. Ef ye speaks out honest an' ready, we'll
go an' git him fust an' then come back an' sot ye free afterwards."
Blossom writhed with a realization that she was in the hands of
creatures as savagely merciless as wolves, but she set her teeth.
"I hain't never a-goin' ter tell ye," she declared staunchly, "not ef
ye kills me!" A satirical laugh drifted from the shadows.
"All right, then, we've done made provision fer thet, too. Ef ye won't
tell us whar he's at we'll find out fer ourselves, but we aims ter
leave one man hyar with ye when we goes. He's done been drinkin'
right-smart licker--an' he natch'rally won't want ye ter go away an'
tell his name ter nobody."
The unseen speaker paused significantly, then added with a deliberate
brutality: "I reckon ye'll have ter be mighty sweet ter thet man ef ye
hopes ter go away from hyar alive."
The girl lay blanched but unyielding. She did not dare to hope that the
threat was empty and her single chance lay in parrying for time. Bear
Cat had said he would come back with reinforcements in two hours--if he
won through--but he, too, was facing desperate odds and already they
might have overwhelmed him: he might have failed in his dive from
precipice to tree-top.
Her heart sank into a nausea of terror. No outrage was beyond these
human jackals, but she was bred to iron courage and the warlike blood
in her veins welled up in defiance.
"I've done already give ye my answer," she retorted, forgetting her
ideals of diction. "I don't aim ter alter hit none--damn ye!"
"We aims ter be plumb fa'r an' reasonable," wheedled the voice of the
spokesman with an evil sneer. "Deespite yore contrary muleishness,
we're goin' ter tarry hyar jest precisely five minutes by ther watch
ter afford ye a chanst ter study ther matter over, but don't make no
mistake. We means, in sum an' substance, jest what we says ... most
anythin's liable ter happen ter ye when we goes away."
Blossom's pulses pounded so furiously that her sanity reeled through a
thousand nightmare tortures before she heard the detestable voice once
more drawling, "Wa'al, time's up. Ef ye fo'ces us now, hit's jest plain
suicide--thet's all."
After that, for a while, she remembered nothing save the delusion that
she was drowning--sinking down and still more deeply down through
eternities. Her next definite impression came when she found herself
inside the cave, with her head resting against the muddied knees of a
man who sat cross-legged on the ground. At the mouth of the grotto was
a lantern with its dimming shield turned outward so that, inside, its
light fell in a grotesque effect of ragged formlessness.
As she stirred into returning consciousness, the creature who was
cradling her aching head on his marrow-bones, took down the tin cup
which just then obscured his face.
Blossom recognized Ratler Webb and the breath stopped in her tightened
throat.
The degenerate face was unshaven and bristling. Its blood-shot eyes
smirked at her with the brutalized leer of a satyr. The man bent over a
little and with grimy fingers fondled the hair on her neck and temples.
"Jest tek yore time, sweetheart," he said. "Don't hasten ter rouse
yoreself up. We've got ther night afore us."
As the girl flinched and struggled away from the beast-light of those
predatory eyes, her captor only clasped her the closer so that his
alcoholic breath came sickeningly close to her face. He chuckled
thickly as he added, "I reckon I kin allow ye a leetle time--because
we're beholden ter ye. We didn't hev no notion whar yore beau war
a-hidin' at twell we left thet note over thar. Then ye led us straight
ter ther place."
* * * * *
Turner Stacy had clambered and slid precariously down the hickory tree
without greater mishap than raw and bleeding hands. Once more on the
ground, he ran like a madman, bending low in the timber.
The signal fire which he meant to build on the bald crest of Pinnacle
Rock, would send out a flare visible to three states. Already he was
twenty-five hundred feet above sea-level, but there remained a climb of
almost a thousand more, and he was taking the direct and well-nigh
perpendicular route.
Breathless, panting, vaulting from rock to rock; gripping, on faith,
root and sapling, he climbed the steep stairway--where sometimes the
earth shelved away underfoot--and he clutched wildly out for fresh
support. Once there, with a fire blazing, he would have twenty or more
of his nearest adherents riding to the rescue. They would rally on the
highway just below the signal fire itself and there seek
instructions--or signs. Fortunately for the present need, the
night-riders had developed a mysterious but thorough system of
communication. Their code of signals embraced a series of crude
emblems, which to the initiated designated the zone into which they
were called for action.
With frenzied haste Bear Cat laid and lighted his fire on the bald
summit--pausing only long enough to see its red glare leaping upward.
Then he plunged downward again.
Along the highroad, which, for a little way, he followed boldly, he
placed peeled twigs bent into circles at various conspicuous places,
knowing that those who were to come would read from them the course to
follow.
After that he disappeared into the thickets again and traveled swiftly.
Twice, as he hurried, soft-footed, through the woods he halted and
threw himself flat while members of the pursuing party well-nigh ran
over him. But eventually he reached a litter of giant rocks that stood
like undisciplined sentinels guarding the cave's entrance. Then he
stopped and listened, and when he heard no sound he crept forward
obsessed with apprehension. He could not escape the feeling that this
seeming of calm was dangerously deceptive.
Finally as he lay flattened and listening with all his faculties
razor-edged, he heard something that electrified him--a woman's scream.
Clawing out his pistol, he threw all caution to the winds and raced for
the entrance of the cave, and as he went he heard it again, now sharp
and terrified, and he recognized Blossom's voice.
In his haste it did not even occur to him to feel surprised that no
rifles greeted him. An exaltation of wrath intoxicated him with
superlative confidence. He could meet and overcome a host of enemies!
His voice rose in Berserker frenzy. "I'm a-comin', Blossom! I'm
a-comin'!"
* * * * *
For perhaps three-quarters of an hour after Blossom had recovered
consciousness the second time, it had pleased her captor to sit across
the narrow way from her, gloating with a bestial satisfaction over her
helplessness, while he poured white stuff from bottle to tin cup.
Despite the advantages of his position, Ratler had thoughts which were
disconcerting. At his hands lay the final opportunity to glut his
long-starved hunger for revenge: to glut it fully and in a fashion of
beastly brutality, and for that he had waited with a singleness of
thought and purpose.
But behind him to-night he must leave no witness, and as he approached
his task, he found that his nerves needed the steadying of strong
drink--and yet more strong drink. Out of the flask he was not only
drawing appeasement of thirst, but fuel for determination.
For a while he had even dozed while the girl, bound hand and foot, had
shudderingly watched his dissolute and depraved face.
Then at the end he had risen, stretched his long arms and sauntered
insolently over, looking down while he phrased repulsive compliments to
her beauty.
Tiring eventually of his cat-and-mouse deliberateness, Ratler leaned
down and, putting his arm about her waist, drew her up to him. Then it
was that with all the revulsion that was in her she had screamed not
once but until his hand had choked off her breath--and at that instant
she had heard the shout from beyond the cave's entrance.
Webb heard it, too, and hurled the woman away from him, suddenly
brought back to something nearer sobriety by the shock. He wheeled and
trained his pistol on the entrance. He had laid aside his rifle and
there was no time now to hunt for it. Bear Cat would have to stoop and
edge his way into the place and in the process he could be easily
dispatched.
But while he waited Ratler's knees shook and when, instead of crawling,
he saw a shape dive almost horizontally through the aperture his
courage evaporated. The lantern was badly placed and it confused the
man inside because it darkened the opening while it left him in plain
sight. Ratler's revolver was spitting venomously but ineffectually. His
hand was unsteady and his eye confused. The drunkard was reeling as he
fought and after a dazed moment he felt himself caught in a
bone-breaking embrace while the butt of a pistol hammered the
consciousness out of his skull.
Turner Stacy was a wild man now. He stumbled blindly out of the cave
dragging a limp figure behind him, and when he straightened up again
and wiped his sweat-streaming face he had hurled the thing bodily
outward, where the ravine dropped down a hundred feet.
He came back, palsied and shaken, and as he bent over the girl and cut
away her bonds, his voice struggled through dry sobs.
"Blossom," he pleaded brokenly, "Blossom, tell me ye're only
affrighted. Tell me thet ye didn't come ter no harm--fer my sake."
"I hain't hurt--Turney," she managed to whisper. "Ye came back--in
time--jest barely in time."
She stood leaning weakly against the rock wall with her hands pressed
tightly to her face.
The man stood, panting with excitement and exertion, but into his
pupils came a sudden light of hope.
"Blossom," he whispered huskily, "Blossom--ye didn't ... come over ...
hyar ... because ye ... because ye keered fer me, did ye?"
She took her hands away from her temples and looked at him with a white
face, and in the unhappy honesty of her eyes the man read his answer.
It was as if she had said, "My heart lies over there in _his_ grave,"
and slowly, gravely Turner nodded his head. His face had gone gray, but
through its misery it held a stamp of gentleness.
"I understands ye," he said simply. "I won't never pester ye no more."
Then as some note of alarm came to his ears he wheeled, all alertness
again and his hand was once more gripping his pistol.
"I've only got three ca'tridges left," he said to himself. "Hit's nip
an' tuck now which git hyar fust."
As he reached the mouth of the cave a shout came out of the darkness.
"Ratler, air ye in thar?" and out into the night went the defiant
response. "No, Ratler hain't hyar, but Bear Cat Stacy's hyar. Come on
an' git me ef ye wants me."
There was a silence after that, which he knew meant a parley. As he
knelt waiting he felt a hand on his shoulder and with eyes still
searching the ominous darkness he spoke low, in a trained effort at
self-control:
"Blossom, hit looks like we're trapped. Ye came inter this peril in an
effort ter save me--an' I fears hit's goin' ter be hopeless. I hain't
got but three ca'tridges left."
"Save one of 'em, Turney," she said without a tremor in her voice.
"Shoot twice ef ye wants ter do hit--an' then give ther pistol ter me.
I kain't bear ter fall inter their hands again."
Then as they counted the seconds they heard another sound. From across
the nearer crests lusty voices, raised in unison, were chanting. Turner
even fancied he could distinguish the familiar words, "Mine eyes have
seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." There was a clatter of
gravel under dispersing footsteps and a low wake of frightened
oaths--and the night had taken the attacking party to itself.
* * * * *
The Stacys had pressing topics to discuss. The activities of their
young kinsman were no longer a matter of theory but a condition, and
their clan attitude toward him must be determined. Was he to be
regarded as a renegade or as one still entitled to recognition?
At the house of Joe Stacy on a cold winter day a dozen of the elders
gathered to discuss this matter.
"Bear Cat's done cast off all regards fer fam'ly loyalty," cried out a
turbulent spirit whose eyes and voice bespoke fellowship with the jug.
"He's makin' war on everything we've ever stood fer. Thet damned
furriner bewitched him, I reckon. He's jest rampagin' round with a
passel of wuthless Stacys and Towerses alike, destroyin' propitty. He's
stirrin' up ther cast-offs an' woods-colts of both factions an' he
hain't nuthin' more ner less then a damn' traitor."
But Joe Stacy, steadier of balance, thrust himself into the discussion.
"Thet hain't no fa'r ner rightful statement," he said slowly with the
weight of thoughtful force. "Thar's some amongst us thet don't hold
with Bear Cat an' some thet does--but he hain't no traitor. He told us
out-spoken what he aimed ter do afore he commenced doin' hit, an' thet
needed courage. Myself, I thinks he's a man with a vision, an' afore we
casts him out I aims ter be heered."
There was a hum of discussion and while it was at its height, the elder
Turner Stacy burst tempestuously into the midst of the gathering. The
old man shook with rage and his voice quavered.
"By God," he roared, "thet boy's plumb crazed. He's got ter be
handled--an' checked. I suffered him ter bust up my old still 'cause I
knowed ther new one was a-comin', but now he's busted up ther new one,
too. Hit war a beautiful piece of copper--an' right hard ter smuggle
in."
The group of elders regarded the old blockader with varying emotions,
as he stood glaring with an ember-like ferocity which he genuinely
believed to be righteous indignation. But Joe Stacy, his own brother,
permitted his shrewd eyes to twinkle as he laid a calming hand on the
anger-palsied shoulder of the new arrival.
"Wa'al now, Turner," he suggested dryly, "by yore own showin' ye lied
ter ther boy an' consented ter quit stillin'. Hit's right sensibly like
these-hyar other outrages thet's done been reported. He hain't nuver
interfered with no man's _lawful_ business yit--an' albeit I don't know
who ther fellers air thet rides with him by night, I kin discarn right
well by thar way they does things thet thar hain't no licker-befuddled
folks amongst 'em." Suddenly the speaker's voice rose. "An', by God, I
knows another thing besides thet! I knows thet some fellers roundabout,
thet used ter be red-eyed an' sullen-visaged, kin look a man straight
in ther face ter-day, clear-sighted an' high-headed. I've got a notion
thet ye kin jest erbout identify these-hyar outlaws by ther way they
carries thar chins high."
"What law air thar fer a man ter sot out compellin' other men ter adopt
his notions, I wants ter know?" came the fierce demand, and Joe Stacy
smiled.
"Thet's a fa'r question," he admitted, "an' I'll meet hit with an
answer ther minit' ye tells me what law thar air fer blockadin'."
* * * * *
One morning Bear Cat was coming along the road when he heard voices
beyond the bend, and turned into the brush. Looking out, he saw such a
strange procession that he emerged again.
A man whose back was stooped, and whose face wore a dull stamp of
hopelessness, trudged along, carrying a bundle over his shoulder and a
dilapidated carpet-bag in one hand. Behind him trailed three small
children, the largest two also staggering under rough bundles.
"Whar be ye a-goin', Matthew Blakey?" hailed Stacy, and the man halted.
He opened a mouth well-nigh toothless, though he was yet young, and
replied in a tone of deep depression. "I'm farin' over ter thet new
school, with fotched-on teachers in Fletcher County. I aims ter ask 'em
ter take in these-hyar chil'len."
"Hain't ye goin' ter house 'em an' tend 'em no longer yore own self?"
was the somewhat stern interrogation, and the man's pale blue eyes
filled suddenly with a suspicion of tears.
"Since thar mother died three y'ars back, I've done sewed an' washed
all thar clothes my own self--an' gone out inter ther field an' wucked
for 'em," he said humbly. "I've done raised 'em es right es I knows,
but I kain't do what I ought fer 'em. When I has ter leave 'em I kain't
holp but study, s'pose ther house war ter ketch fire? They're all
sleepy-headed leetle shavers."
"Why don't ye git married again?"
The voice shook a little. "Young 'uns oughtn't ter hev but just one
mammy--an' I couldn't nuver be content with no other woman." He paused.
"Hit's forty mile ter thet school, an' mebby they're full up--but I've
done been over thar an' seed hit." The weary eyes lighted. "God knows I
nuver 'lowed thet thar _war_ sich fine places ter raise chil'len to'rds
humanity an' l'arn 'em all manner of wisdom!"
"All right, go on over thar, Matthew," said Bear Cat in a
matter-of-fact voice, but in his own pupils gleamed a soft light, "an'
when ye come back jine with me. I'm seekin' ter bring hit erbout thet
we kin hev a school like thet over hyar--whar yore children wouldn't be
so far away."
The father stood twisting his broganed toe in the mud. "I heers thet ye
don't tolerate licker, Bear Cat," he said sheepishly. "Hit hain't nuver
made me mean ner nuthin' like thet--but since my woman died I've done
tuck ter drinkin' hit--I misdoubts ef I could plumb stop."
Bear Cat Stacy smiled. "Ter-morrer drink half what ye've been usin' an'
next day cut thet down a leetle. Anyhow come an' hev speech with me."
Matthew nodded and Turner watched the little procession trail out of
sight behind the gray screen of the timber-line. "All sore-eyed, an'
all sickly," he commented under his breath. "Not one of 'em gittin' a
chanst ter grow straight! Mebby over thar, they will, though."