'I hearn tell ez thar war a right smart passel o' folks baptized over
yander in Scolacutta River,' she remarked encouragingly.
'I baptized fourteen.'
She turned the warm brightness of her eyes upon him. 'They hed all fund
grace!' she exclaimed.
'They 'lowed so. I hopes they'll prove it by thar works,' he said,
without enthusiasm.
'Ye war a-prayin' fur 'em on the bald?' she asked, apprehending that he
accounted these converts peculiarly precarious.
'Naw,' he replied, with moody sincerity; 'I war a-prayin' fur myself.'
There was another pause, longer and more awkward than before.
'What work be you-uns a-doin' of?' asked Dorinda timidly. She quailed a
trifle before the uncomprehended light in his eyes. It was not of her
world, she felt instinctively.
'I hev ploughed some, holpin' Jonas Trice, an' hev been a-hauling wood.
I tuk my rifle along,' he added, 'thinkin' I mought see suthin' ez would
be tasty fur the old men's supper ez I kem home, but I forgot ter look
around keen.'
There was a sudden sound along the road--a sound of quick hoof-beats.
Because of the deep sand the rider was close at hand before his approach
was discovered. He drew rein abruptly, and they saw that it was Gid
Fletcher, the blacksmith of the Settlement.
'Hev you-uns hearn the news?' he cried excitedly, as he threw himself
from the saddle.
The man, leaning on the rifle, looked up, with no question in his eyes.
There was an almost monastic indifference to the world suggested in his
manner.
'Thar's a mighty disturbamint at the Settle_mint_. Las' night this hyar
Rick Tyler--what air under indictment fur a-killin' o' Joel Byers--he
kem a-nosin' 'roun' the Settle_mint_ a-tryin' ter buy powder----'
Dorinda stretched out her hand; the trees were unsteady before her; the
few faint stars, no longer pulsating points of light, described a circle
of dazzling gleams. She caught at the yoke on the neck of the oxen; she
leaned upon the impassive beast, and then it seemed that every faculty
was merged in the sense of hearing. The horse had moved away from the
blacksmith, holding his head down among the boulders, and snuffing about
for the water he remembered here with a disappointment almost pathetic.
'War he tuk?' demanded the preacher.
'Percisely so,' drawled the blacksmith, with a sub-current of elation in
his tone.
There was a sudden change in Kelsey's manner. He turned fiery eyes upon
the blacksmith. Light and life were in every line of his face. He drew
himself up tense and erect; he stretched forth his hand with an accusing
gesture.
''Twar you-uns, Gid Fletcher, ez tuk the boy!'
'Lord, pa'son, how'd you-uns know that?' exclaimed the blacksmith. His
manner combined a difference, which in civilization we recognise as
respect for the cloth, with the easy familiarity, induced by the
association since boyhood, of equals in age and station. 'I hedn't let
on a word, hed I, D'rindy?'
The idea of an abnormal foreknowledge, mysteriously possessed, had its
uncanny influences. The lonely woods were darkening about them. The
stars seemed very far off. A rotting log in the midst of the debris of
the stream, in a wild tangle of underbrush and shelving rocks, showed
fox-fire and glowed in the glooms.
'I knowed,' said Kelsey, contemptuously waiving the suggestion of
miraculous forecast, 'bekase the sher'ff hain't been in the Big Smoky
for two weeks, an' that thar danglin' shadder o' his'n rid off las'
Monday from Jeemes's Mill in Eskaqua Cove. An' the constable o' the
deestric air sick abed. So I 'lowed 'twar you-uns.'
'An' why air it me more'n enny other man at the Settle_mint_?' The
blacksmith's blood was rising; his sensibilities descried a covert taunt
which as yet his slower intelligence failed to comprehend.
'An' ye hev rid with speed fur the sher'ff--or mebbe ter overhaul the
dep'ty--ter come an' jail the prisoner afore he gits away.'
'An' why me, more'n the t'others?' demanded the blacksmith.
'Yer heart air ez hard ez your anvil, Gid Fletcher,' said the
mind-reader. 'Thar ain't another man on the Big Smoky ez would stir
himself ter gin over ter the gallus or the pen'tiary the frien' ez
trested him, who hev done no harm, but hev got tangled in a twist of a
unjest law. Ef the law tuk him, that's a differ.'
''Tain't fur we-uns ter jedge o' the law!' exclaimed Gid Fletcher, his
logic sharpened by the anxiety of his greed and his prideful
self-esteem. 'Let the law jedge o' his crime.'
'Jes' so; let the law take him, an' let the law try him. The law is ekal
ter it. Ef the sheriff summons me with his posse, I'll hunt Rick Tyler
through all the Big Smoky----'
'Look-a-hyar, Hi Kelsey, the Gov'nor o' Tennessee hev offered a reward
o' two hundred dollars----'
'Blood-money,' interpolated the parson.
'Ye kin call it so, ef so minded; but ef it war right fur the Guv'nor
ter offer it, it air right fur me ter yearn it.'
He had come very close. It was his nature and his habit to brook no
resistance. He subdued the hard metals upon his anvil. His hammer
disciplined the iron. The fire wrought his will. His instinct was to
forge this man's opinion into the likeness of his own. His conviction
was the moral swage that must shape the belief of others.
'It air lawful fur me ter yearn it,' he repeated.
'Lawful!' exclaimed the parson, with a tense, jeering laugh. 'Judas war
a law-abidin' citizen. He mos' lawfully betrayed _his_ Frien' ter the
law. Them thirty pieces o' silver! Sech currency ain't out o'
circulation yit!'
Quick as a flash the blacksmith's heavy hand struck the prophet in the
face. The next moment his sudden anger was merged in fear. He stood,
unarmed, at the mercy of an assaulted and outraged man, with a loaded
rifle in his hands and all the lightnings of heaven quivering in his
angry eyes.
Gid Fletcher had hardly time to draw the breath he thought his last,
when the prophet slowly turned the other cheek.
'In the name of the Master,' he said, with all the dignity of his
calling.
As the blacksmith mounted his horse and rode away, he felt that the
parson's rifle-ball would be preferable to the gross slur that he had
incurred. His reputation, moral and spiritual, was annihilated; and he
held this dear, for piety, or its simulacrum, on the primitive Big
Smoky, is the point of honour. What a text! What an illustration of
iniquity he would furnish for the sermons, foretelling wrath and
vengeance, that sometimes shook the Big Smoky to its foundations! He was
cast down and indignant too.
'Fur Hi Kelsey ter be a-puttin' up sech a pious mouth, an' a-turnin' the
t'other cheek, an' sech, ter me, ez hev seen him hold his own ez stiff
in many a free-handed fight, an' hev drawed his shootin'-irons on folks
agin an' agin! An' he fairly tuk the dep'ty, at that thar disturbamint
at the meet'n'-house, by the scruff o' the neck, an' shuck him ez ef he
hed been a rat or suthin', an' drapped him out'n the door. An' now ter
be a-turnin' the t'other cheek! An' thar's that thar D'rindy, a-seein'
it all, an' a-lookin' at it ez wide-eyed ez a cat in the dark.'
Dorinda went home planning a rescue. Against the law this probably was,
she thought. 'Ef it air--it oughtn't ter be,' she concluded arbitrarily.
'It don't hurt nobody.' How serious it was--a felony--she did not know,
nor did she care. She went on sturdily, debating within herself how best
to tell the news. With an intuitive knowledge of human nature, she
reckoned on the prejudice aroused by the recital of the blacksmith's
assault upon the preacher, and the forbearance of the man of God. She
began to count those who would be likely to attempt the enterprise when
it should be suggested. There were the five men at home, all bold,
reckless, antagonistic to the law, and at odds with the sheriff. She
paused, with a frightened face and a wild gesture, as if to ward off an
unforeseen danger. Send them to meet him! Never, never would she lift
her hand or raise her voice to aid in fulfilling that grimly prophesied
death on the muzzle of the old rifle-barrel. She trembled at the thought
of her precipitancy. His life was in her hand. With a constraining moral
sense she felt that it was she who had placed it in jeopardy, and that
she held it in trust.
She was cold, shivering. There was a change in the temperature; perhaps
hail had fallen somewhere near, for the rare air had icy suggestions.
She was seldom out so late, and was glad to see, high on the slope, the
light that was wont to shine like a star into the dark depths of Eskaqua
Cove. The white mists gathered around it; a circle of pearly light
encompassed it, like Saturn's ring. As she came nearer, the roof of the
house defined itself, with its oblique ridge-pole against the sky, and
its clay and stick chimney, also built in defiance of rectangles, and
its little porch, the curtaining hop-vines, dripping, dripping, with
dew. In the corner of the rail fence was the 'crumply cow,' chewing her
cud.
The radiance of firelight streamed out through the open door, around
which was grouped a number of shadows, of intent and wistful aspect.
These were the hounds, and they crowded about her ecstatically as she
came up on the porch.
She paused at the door, and looked in with melancholy eyes. The light
fell on her face, still damp with the dew, giving its gentle curves a
subdued glister, like marble; the dark blue of her dress heightened its
fairness. A sudden smile broke upon it as she leaned forward. There were
three men, Ab, Pete, and Ben, seated around the fire; but she was
looking at none of them, and they silently followed her gaze. Only one
pair of eyes met hers--the eyes of a fat young person, wonderfully
muscular for the tender age of three, who sat in the chimney-corner in a
little wooden chair, and preserved the important and impassive air of a
domestic magnate. This was hardly impaired by his ill-defined, infantile
features, his large tow-head, his stolid blue eyes, his feminine garb of
blue-checked cotton, short enough to disclose sturdy white calves and
two feet with the usual complement of toes. He looked at her in grave
recognition but made no sign.
'Jacob,' she softly drawled, 'whyn't ye go ter bed?'
But Jacob was indisposed to conversation on this theme; he said nothing.
'Whyn't you-uns git him ter bed?' she asked of the assemblage at large.
'He'll git stunted, a-settin' up so late in the night.'
'Waal,' said one of the huge jeans-clad mountaineers, taking his pipe
from his mouth, and scrutinizing the subject of conversation, 'I 'low it
takes more'n three full-grown men ter git that thar survigrus buzzard
ter bed when he don't want ter go thar, an' we warn't a-goin' ter resk
it.'
'I did ax him ter go ter bed, D'rindy,' said another of the bearded
giants, 'but he 'lowed he _wouldn't_. I never see a critter so pompered
ez Jacob; he ain't got no medjure o' respec' fur nobody.'
The subject of these strictures gazed unconcernedly, first at one
speaker, then at the other. Dorinda still looked at him, her face
transfigured by its tender smile. But she was fain to exert her
authority. 'Waal, Jacob,' she said decisively, 'ye mus' gin yer cornsent
ter go ter bed, arter a while.'
Jacob calmly nodded. He expected to go to bed some time that night.
The hounds had taken advantage of Dorinda's entrance to creep into the
room and adjust themselves among the family group about the fire. One of
them, near Jacob, lured by the tempting plumpness, put out a long, red
tongue, and gave a furtive lick to his fat white leg. The little
mountaineer promptly doubled his plucky fist, and administered a sharp
blow on the black nose of the offender, whose yelp of repentant pain
attracted attention to the canine intruders. Ab Cayce rose to his feet
with an oath. There was a shrill chorus of anguish as he actively kicked
them out with his great cowhide boots.
'Git out'n hyar, ye dad-burned beastises! I hev druv ye out fifty times
sence sundown; now _stay_ druv!'
He emphasized the lesson with several gratuitous kicks after the room
and the porch were fairly cleared. But before he was again seated the
dogs were once more clustered about the door, with intent bobbing heads
and glistening eyes that peered in wistfully, with a longing for the
society of their human friends, and a pathetic anxiety to be accounted
of the family circle.
There was more stir than usual in the interval between supper and
bedtime. During the three memorable days that Dorinda had sojourned in
Tuckaleechee Cove, Miranda Jane's ineffective administration had
resulted in domestic chaos in several departments. The lantern by which
the cow was to be milked was nowhere to be found. The filly-like Miranda
Jane, with her tousled mane and black forelock hanging over her eyes,
was greatly distraught in the effort to remember where it had been put
and for what it had been last used, and was 'plumb beat out and beset,'
she declared, as she cantered in and cantered out, and took much
exercise in the search, to little purpose. One of the men rose
presently, and addressed himself to the effort. He found it at last, and
handed it to Dorinda without a word. He did not offer to milk the
cow--as essentially a feminine task, in the mountains, as to sew or
knit. When she came back she sat down among them in the chair usually
occupied by her grandmother--who had in her turn gone on a visit to
'Aunt Jerushy' in Tuckaleechee Cove--and as she busied herself in
putting on her needles a sizable stocking for Jacob she did not join in
the fragmentary conversation.
Ab Cayce, the eldest, talked fitfully as he smoked his pipe--a lank,
lantern-jawed man, with a small, gleaming eye and a ragged beard. The
youngest of the brothers, Solomon, was like him, except that his long
chin, of the style familiarly denominated jimber-jawed, was still smooth
and boyish, and, big-boned as he was, he lacked in weight and somewhat
in height the proportions of the senior. Peter was the contentious
member of the family. He was wont to bicker in solitary disaffection,
until he seemed to disprove the adage that it takes two to make a
quarrel. He was afflicted with a stammer, and at every obstruction his
voice broke out with startling shrillness, several keys higher than the
tone with which the sentence commenced. He was loose-jointed and had a
shambling gait; his hair seemed never to have outgrown the bleached,
colourless tone so common among the children of the mountains, and it
hung in long locks of a dreary drab about his sun-embrowned face. His
teeth were irregular, and protruded slightly. 'Ez hard-favored ez Pete
Cayce,' was a proverb on the Big Smoky. His wrangles about the amount of
seed necessary to sow to the acre, and his objurgation concerning the
horse he had been ploughing with that day, filled the evening.
'Thar ain't a durned fool on the Big Smoky ez dunno that thar sayin'
'bout'n the beastises:--
"One white huff--buy him;
Two white huffs--try him;
Three white huffs--deny him;
Four white huffs an' a white nose--
Take off his hide an feed him ter the crows."'
Outside, the rising wind wandered fitfully through the Great Smoky, like
a spirit of unrest. The surging trees in the wooded vastness on every
side filled the air with the turbulent sound of their commotion. The
fire smouldered on the hearth. The room was visible in the warm glow:
the walls, rich and mellow with the alternate dark shade of the hewn
logs and the dull yellow of the 'daubin''; the great frame of the
warping-bars, hung about with scarlet and blue and saffron yarn; the
brilliant strings of red pepper, swinging from the rafters. The
spinning-wheel, near the open door, revolved slightly, with a stealthy
motion, when the wind touched it, as though some invisible woodland
thing had half a mind for uncanny industrial experiments.
Dorinda told her news at last, in few words and with what composure she
could command. As the listeners broke into surprised ejaculations and
comments, she sat gazing silently at the fire. Should she speak the
thought nearest to her heart? Should she suggest a rescue? She was torn
by contending terrors--fears for them, for the man in his primitive
shackles at the Settlement, for the enemy whose life she felt she had
jeopardized. She had a wild vision--half in hope, half in anguish--of
her brothers, in the saddle, armed to the teeth and riding like the
wind. They had not moved of their own accord. Should she urge them to
go?
Oh, never had the long days on the Big Smoky, never had all the years
that had visibly rolled from east to west with the changing seasons,
brought her so much of life as the last few hours--such intensity of
emotion, such swiftness of thought, such baffling perplexity, such woe!