torch had suddenly flickered out, but a pale light showed the entrance to
the cave. Two heads were thrust anxiously out, then the watchers ran to
meet them.
“Is Martin hurt?” exclaimed Talitha as she caught hold of him.
“I don’t really think so,” assured her teacher, “but he must be chilled
through. We must get him in by the fire—not too close—and rub him well.
I wish he had something hot to drink.”
Gradually Martin came to himself, although he seemed much exhausted. He
lay propped up near the fire, the girls hovering over him while Miss
Howard and Abner again disappeared. Presently they returned with the
sorrel.
Except for numerous bruises and being badly shaken up, the old horse had
escaped injury, but it was plainly evident that he would not be able to
carry Talitha farther on her journey.
None of the party were thinking of that now, they were too thankful to be
together once more. Fortunately the cave was large enough to allow of
the animals being tethered near the entrance and leave room about the
fireplace for their riders to spread the scanty supper. It was meagre
enough, and the party thought hungrily of the bountiful dinner they had
eaten that noon—it seemed like yesterday. If the weather permitted them
to go on the next morning there would be several hours’ journey before
they could get anything more to eat, and if they were obliged to stay
longer— That was too serious to think about and they tried to help Miss
Howard make as light of the situation as possible.
“I saved an ear of corn for the sorrel,” whispered Talitha to Abner.
“It’s in Jack’s saddlebag.” It was terribly hard to see the faithful
animals nosing about on the ground for a bit of provender—much worse than
going without herself, Talitha thought. Abner nodded and slipped away.
After a time he returned with an armful of sticks and threw them down
before the fire.
“I can easily find enough to last through the night, and perhaps I can
get a little fodder if I look around. It doesn’t seem to be snowing
quite so much, but I can hardly tell, it’s so sheltered here,” he said,
choosing some dry pine for another torch.
“If you are going to start out foraging I’m going with you,” Miss Howard
declared. “I don’t want any more people getting lost. I’m sure that
Martin wouldn’t care to repeat his experience.”
The young fellow shook his head. “I’ll be all right come morning,
though,” he announced confidently.
“Let us go along and help Abner, then we can get all that is needed in
two or three trips,” begged Gincy.
The young woman hesitated. “I don’t know but it might be a good plan,”
she answered finally. “But Martin must stay right where he is and try to
get rested.”
Miss Howard halted at the entrance to the passageway, holding the torch
aloft and keeping a sharp eye on her charges. She might have been
Liberty enlightening the mountains as she stood there—the light flaming
out over the white slopes beyond. The snow was still falling upon them,
but in more scattering flakes as though the storm had spent its force.
Suddenly, she saw—with a start—little gleams of light flash far upon the
opposite mountain-side. They vanished and again appeared in another
place as though people—there were certainly more than one—were moving
about. She thought of the coat she had found in the cave, and her old
anxiety returned. Talitha and Gincy coming up—their arms heaped with
firewood—wondered at her pale face.
“I reckon you’re plumb tuckered out,” said the latter sympathizingly.
“My, what a pile Abner’s got! Don’t you ’low it’ll do us to-night if
we’re careful?”
The teacher surveyed it with doubt, but she only said calmly, “I’m sure
it will last a long time, and if we should need any more it can be easily
gathered.”
“If I only had a hatchet I could get some big sticks down in that
holler,” panted Abner. “I picked up a little green stuff for the beastes
to nibble at, it’ll make ’em more content, but it’s mighty poor feedin’.”
Entering the cave they found Martin asleep by the fire. Quietly they
moved about, making themselves comfortable as possible for the night and
were soon dozing around the fireplace.
Miss Howard did not allow her eyes to close. She watched and listened,
alert to catch any unusual sound, while the young people around her slept
fitfully.
Late in the night she heard voices, then a wild shout and the crunching
of hoofs in the snow. The mules did not stir, but the horses became
restless and one of them whinnied. The sleepers awoke suddenly and sat
up. Miss Howard looked at her watch, it was nearly twelve o’clock. She
smiled at them sleepily.
“Don’t you want to sing something?” she inquired. “Perhaps the night
won’t seem so long if we do.”
Talitha rubbed her eyes. It was a strange request at that late hour and
in such a place, but she cheerfully joined in with the others when her
teacher began the old choral so familiar to Bentville pupils:
“A mighty fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing—”
The strong, young voices filled the cave with strange echoes which
penetrated into the night. The singers caught the spirit of the song as
they went on and on. All their fears for the morrow had vanished. The
dumb creatures looked around at them in astonishment.
Miss Howard was keeping her eyes on the entrance as she sang. Over the
animals’ heads she could see a light coming along the passageway. It
grew brighter and brighter as it neared the cave opening. Her charges
did not see it; Martin was singing with closed eyes, and the two girls
were watching Abner pile fresh sticks upon the fire. She knew how
superstitious were the mountain people, especially the lawless ones who
were fugitives from justice because of their propensity for appropriating
their neighbours’ horses and cattle. Was it possible that after all her
little party was to be molested?
As the last note died away, a man’s head, covered with a coonskin cap,
was thrust inside and then as suddenly withdrawn. “Come on, Joe, Gid,
here they are safe and sound!” shouted a bluff voice, and the
Bradshaws—father and sons—hurried into the cave.
With delighted shouts the wayfarers gathered around them.
“We’ve been beatin’ ’bout these here mountings sence nine o’clock,” said
the older man, “and we war jest ready ter give up when we heard the
singin’. Hit war powerful deceivin’ at first—a-comin’ up out’n the
ground that-away, till I ’lowed you war nowhar but in that old still
cave.”
“Then it was the light from your lanterns I saw when the young people
were gathering the firewood. Didn’t you see my torch?”
Joe Bradshaw laughed while his father and brother looked sheepish. “Yes,
we did see it, but Pappy and Gid ’lowed it was a harnt. At first it
looked like a fire from where we were, and then it disappeared so
suddenly it really was mystifying.”
“’Twas the singin’ thet fetched us,” persisted the elder Bradshaw. “We’d
been expectin’ you sence before sundown, and when hit went on nine
o’clock and war dark and snowy I ’lowed you war lost and we jest set out
ter sarch. Thar war a passel o’ hoss thieves in these parts a leetle
spell back, and we ’lowed, too, thet mebbe they’d got a holt of your
beastes and left you ter foot hit. Thet’s the reason we didn’t sarch
here fust thing. This has been the place ter find sech as them, and we
warn’t nowise anxious ter make their ’quaintance.”
“Gid has some corn in the saddlebags for the beastes,” said Joe, “and I
have something for your supper that mother sent. You must be nearly
starved.”
But Talitha agreed with her teacher that it would be better to wait until
morning and have a hearty meal before continuing their journey. Relieved
of the necessity for watchfulness, Miss Howard was soon asleep. After
talking a little longer her charges followed suit while the Bradshaws
kept careful guard.
It was later than usual when the little company breakfasted the next
morning. There was no finer cook in all the mountains than Mrs.
Bradshaw. A large loaf of light bread and a bag of crullers were a
welcome addition to the potatoes Joe had put roasting in the ashes at an
early hour, and the bacon, eggs, and coffee served in true camp fashion.
As they ate they could hear the melting snow dripping from the rocks.
The sun was shining and sent splashes of light into the passageway. They
could not be otherwise than merry, although they listened with a shiver
to Martin’s account of his experience the previous night.
“It seemed as though I slipped miles—that I should never get to the foot
of this awful mountain. And I could hear the old sorrel tearing along
after me. Every minute I expected he’d land on top and I’d be crushed to
a pulp—”
“But he didn’t,” Abner chimed in. “The old beastie is sure ’nough game.
I’ve seen him slide down into the holler from Red Mountain when it was
icy, and he just put his legs together stiff and slipped along as slick
as—”
“You’d better ride my hoss critter the rest of the way,” Gid offered with
true mountain hospitality. “I’ll lead the sorrel home and keep him ’til
he’s called fer—thar’s ’nough stable room.”
Talitha felt as grateful for this proposal as Abner and Gincy could
possibly have done, for she knew the animal would have the best of care
and a long rest. Dan Gooch would not be able to come for him until
spring opened.
Before leaving the cave Miss Howard brought out the coat she had tucked
away. The elder Bradshaw examined it closely, while the others watched
his face, which wore a mysterious expression. “I’d best pack hit ’long
with me,” he said presently. “I might happen on the owner; I reckon he
war in haste ter git away or he’d never left sech as this behind in the
ol’ still cave. I call hit downright onlucky.”
“I never knew before there was a still in these parts,” said Martin. “I
thought it was over by Pigg Branch.”
“Mebbe you’ll find one thar now if you’ll take the resk of sarchin’ fer
hit, but this here one war put out o’ business a cornsiderable spell
back.” The man chuckled with such evident amusement that all but Miss
Howard and his two sons stared in surprise.
“I think you’d better tell them,” urged the former, “it is a very
interesting story.”
“My mam war sure ’nough peart,” grinned the old man. “Lish Dumley kep’
this still when I war ’bout Joe’s age, and pap and I uster come up and
call on him oftener’n war fer our good. Hit made mam mighty sober-sided,
but we never paid no ’tention ter anythin’ she said. One day she tuk hit
inter her head ter go ter the Gap ter see Lizy Sneed-they war gals
tergether—and left pappy and me ter tend the young-uns.
“That night this ol’ still war raided and Lish Dumley and his men caught
red-handed. Hit’s the last they seen of the mountings fer many a year,
’cept mebbe what they could view through the bars.”
“I ’low your mammy was mightily pleasured to have the stillin’ stopped,”
said Gincy innocently.
Mr. Bradshaw smiled broadly. “Law, yes. When mam undertook a thing hit
war good as done. She never said nothin’ ter nobody, but the sheriff let
hit leak out; he war thet pleased mam war so gritty. Pappy ’lowed
Dumley’d burn our cabin once he got out’n the pen, but I reckon he war
too broken-sperited ter take revenge thet’d only shut him up agin.”
“I ’low our mammy’d do the same thing if thet still war a-runnin’ now,”
said Gid proudly. “She air mighty servigrous when hit comes ter whiskey
and sech, and pappy air jest as set agin hit, too.”
The little party looked with a new interest around the cave, and at the
dark silent object which the sheriff and his men had wrecked that it do
no more harm. If it only had a voice how many strange tales it could
tell them.
Out on the trail once more with the sun shining above their heads, they
made more rapid progress than the day previous. Gid was far in the rear
leading the sorrel. Not more than a quarter of a mile from the cave, Mr.
Bradshaw, who was ahead, stopped suddenly. As the rest of the party came
up he pointed into a sheltered hollow shut in by rocky walls.
“See whar those fellers stopped last night. Hit’s a wonder they didn’t
rout you out of thet cave and take your beastes.” A heap of ashes and
the much trodden earth showed where the desperadoes had camped. Gincy
and Talitha were pale with fright. How near they had been to danger
after all!
Because of their late start, the party did not reach the Bradshaw home
until nearly noon.
“I ’lowed you’d come,” Mrs. Bradshaw declared. “The boys and their pappy
generally gits what they go after. Only I reckoned they might hev
fetched along a couple or so of them hoss thieves, the sheriff and his
men hev been a-sarchin’ fer, seein’ thar war sech a comp’ny of you,” she
added.
“I hev found whar they war last night,” exclaimed Pappy Bradshaw
triumphantly. “And I hev somethin’ ter remember the leader of the gang.
He may be a-callin’ fer hit some day.” The man chuckled loudly to
himself, but Miss Howard instantly changed the subject.
In good season the next morning the party were once more on their way and
reached Bentville early that evening.
XV
THE WALKING PARTY
SPRING came on apace. There was a lingering perfume from the apple
blossoms in the air when Lalla proposed a walking party. “We’ll go to
the Crater, have our supper, and come back by moonlight. Miss Howard’s
going with us—isn’t it grand?”
“Splendid!” said Gincy. “I reckon Miss Howard’s planning to let some one
else inspect the rooms and hall this afternoon; she knows I can’t squeeze
in another thing and go. I’m worn out already trying to plan for my
work, and lessons, and music.”
“That’s all arranged,” said Lalla, “we’re to start promptly from the
front steps at two o’clock. I’ll help you put away the towels; I’m all
ready this minute!”
Gincy looked at Lalla’s short, brown skirt and percale waist as she was
counting the sheets. “Well,” she said at last, “I don’t believe I’ve a
thing to wear—climbing’s terribly hard on clothes.”
“I’ve another old skirt you’re welcome to; it’s a fright, though.”
“Bring her along, I’ll be plumb tickled to improve her looks,” agreed
Gincy gaily.
Lalla ran off and soon reappeared with a bright homespun. “That’s what I
wore for the first three months. I thought it was pretty then; I never
saw such a thing to wear, you can’t tear it to save your life!”
“I’ll be a regular beacon light, we won’t need the moon coming back,”
said Gincy as she flew around to finish her morning’s work. “I’ll put a
twist of red ribbon around Abner’s old hat. I’ve a piece that’s almost a
match.”
When the four girls gathered on the front porch of the Hall, there sat
Miss Howard with her folding easel and box of paints. “Girls,” she said,
“suppose we change our minds and go to Slate Lick this afternoon, then I
can do some sketching.”
“Good!” exclaimed Gincy delightedly. “I haven’t been out that way at
all.”
“It’s mighty pretty, and not so hard walking,” said Kizzie, and the rest
seemed equally pleased with the change.
“We’ll go down Scafflecane Pike and cut across to the railroad, it’s a
good deal shorter.” Miss Howard gathered up her belongings and started
off ahead at a brisk pace. At the gate they met Mallie and Nancy Jane,
the latter had been crying.
“Let’s ask them to go with us,” said Miss Howard, turning suddenly.
There was a brief consultation behind the cypresses, then Lalla sped back
after the two.
“Tell them to come just as they are!” called Urilla. “Thank goodness,
they aren’t dressed up.”
“What a queer looking bundle,” remarked Mallie as the two joined the
waiting group.
“Isn’t it?” responded Gincy, patting a bulky parcel. “Shooting irons
come handy whar thar air dangerous animals,” relapsing into her former
vocabulary.
Nancy Jane brightened visibly. “I’m glad some one feels funny; I’ve been
too homesick for anything all day. I haven’t had a letter this week.”
“You’ll get one on the evening mail,” Gincy assured her. “No news, good
news. I belong to the Don’t Worry Club; you’d better join.”
“Guess I will. I’ve got to scratch around and find out about a lot of
new birds before I see Professor Lewis again. I don’t know any, for
sure, except robins and buzzards. This will be a good time to get
information.”
There was a general laugh in which Nancy Jane joined, her sorrows for the
moment occupying the background. They filed down the long, straight road
and crossed Silver Creek. There was a substantial bridge—built for high
water—but Lalla and Mallie preferred the rickety foot-bridge farther down
which trembled at every slight bit of weight imposed upon it. Miss
Howard watched rather anxiously, but was soon reassured. They reached
the farther end safely and started off across the fields toward the
railroad.
The foothills seemed a vast, undulating semicircle. One bold knob higher
than the rest, with precipitous sides patched with pines, stood out with
more importance; but it lacked their allurement of tender colouring.
Straight into the heart of the range, the railroad cut its way, and a
long, creeping freight train trailed by just as they turned to follow the
track. A shower of cinders deluged Mallie and Lalla; they wheeled and
walked backward until Gincy and Kizzie caught up. Nancy Jane panted
close behind.
“I’ve got a monster in my eye!” moaned Mallie, plucking at the offender.
Her efforts were vain, and each girl, in turn, was rewarded in the same
way. Urilla and Miss Howard, far in the rear, were talking too earnestly
to make much progress, or notice the group ahead.
“I’m so glad your mother’s better,” the teacher was saying. “I know you
want to stay, and we can’t spare such girls as you very well.”
Urilla’s face beamed. “Oh, Miss Howard, do you really mean it? I feel
that I’m improving, I was so stupid at first—now I can see through things
better. Gincy’s helped me, she’s always saying something nice and
encouraging.”
“Gincy’s a treasure!” said Miss Howard warmly. “But where are the girls,
they were on the track a minute ago?”
Another train thundered by. “I wish they wouldn’t keep so far ahead,
that’s the 3:15, and it goes like lightning when it’s making up time,”
Urilla remarked uneasily.
They hurried along, scanning each clump of bushes and stack of grain, but
no one was visible. “They couldn’t have gone in here!” exclaimed Miss
Howard, looking at a little weather beaten cabin very near the track.
Then she listened. Yes, there were voices that sounded familiar.
Through the half-open door, the two caught glimpses of Gincy’s bright
skirt and gay hat.
“I wonder what they’re doing, and why we didn’t see them when they turned
off the track,” said Urilla as they opened a rickety gate and went into
the yard. “What a dreadful place to live!”
Miss Howard agreed as she looked at the forlorn and desolate little cabin
with not one home-like feature; even the yard was bare and wind-swept.
“Why, there’s Talitha!”
“What?” The two pushed up eagerly.
“Mrs. Donnelly told me this morning she had gone to see some of her
kinfolk, but I didn’t know they lived here,” said Urilla, looking
curiously at the bare little cabin.
Standing just inside the door, the missing girls were talking to Talitha,
who, with her dress pinned up around her and a towel over her head, was
busy cleaning. Three small children played near the fireplace, and
beyond, propped upon an old pillow, her bright eyes watching the
newcomer, was the tiniest woman they had ever seen.
“Have you had measles?” asked Talitha, waving her broom at them. “If you
haven’t, stay out.”
“Of course,” answered Urilla scornfully, “years ago; but I don’t see
any.”
Another wave directed them to a small bed near a darkened window. Two
flushed faces peered above a ragged quilt.
“Why!” gasped Urilla, taking in the situation. “But how did you know? I
thought—”
Miss Howard suddenly interrupted with, “This must be Mrs. Gantley. I
intended to find you yesterday, but I thought you lived on the Big Hill
pike. Are you feeling better?”
The little woman shifted her position slightly, a shadow of a smile
flitting across her face. “Yes, since Tally came I’m easier in my mind.
The children ain’t bad sick—jest feverish and powerful troublesome; I
couldn’t keep ’em from ketchin’ cold no way, out o’ bed.”
Gincy and Talitha were having a quiet conference in another part of the
room. “I found out this morning that she’s kin on mother’s side—way
back,” said the latter in a low voice. “They used to live in Cowbell
Hollow, but he ran away and left them a month ago.”
Talitha looked unutterable things as she referred to the recreant Mr.
Gantley. Accustomed as she was to the delinquencies of the mountain men,
the desertion of a helpless family seemed the blackest of crimes. She
glanced meaningly in the direction of a large basket in the corner, and
whispered, “They were almost starving. Martin helped me or I couldn’t
have got it here—Mrs. Donnelly gave me so many things, but—”
“See here,” said Gincy, slipping an arm around Talitha’s waist, “I’m
going to stay and help; I can go for a walk any Saturday. We’ll scrub
the children, gather wood, and cook. Won’t it be fun!”
“Are you sure you want to?” asked Talitha, her tired face brightening.
“Of course; the rest can trot along just the same.”
“Dear me,” grumbled Lalla as they proceeded without Gincy, “I’d like to
get hold of that man. Do you know anything about the family, Miss
Howard?”
“Not much, only he’s fond of moonshine. He sold the home about three
weeks ago—told her he was getting ready to come to Bentville, where there
was a good school for the children. When she found that he had really
gone, she thought he might be here and followed him.” Miss Howard walked
on with her head held high; she did not want the girls to read in her
face the fulness of disgust which she felt for a man of that type. There
were others like him whose sons and daughters were working their way
through school, trying to redeem the family name and become worthy
citizens.
“It’s a shame!” said Mallie. “They ought to catch him and make him work
good and hard—beat him if he didn’t—and give all his wages to his folks.
I’d teach him to run away from those pretty children, and—”
“There isn’t a chair in the house,” interrupted Nancy Jane, “and I didn’t
see a dish. That poor woman might just as well chase a Bushy tail;
she’ll never see him again—not until the children grow up, then he’ll
come back and live on them.”
“I should be glad to get rid of him,” said Urilla conclusively. “I’ve
seen men like that before.”
There was silence for a moment, and the group became more widely
scattered. Lalla forged straight ahead until she was several rods in
advance. She scanned the great slate boulders on either side and
listened. There were voices, familiar ones, then all was quiet.
Everywhere the foothills hemmed them in. Suddenly a rock crashed in
front of her. Looking up she saw Abner’s shock of light hair as, flat on
his stomach, he peered over the edge of the cliff. The head disappeared
and an improvised mask took its place.
“Halt!” commanded a muffled voice which closely resembled Martin’s.
Lalla threw up her hands in mock fright. “Come around behind that pine
tree, we’re laying for some of our crowd. There’s something in the wind
to-day, for Raphael Sloan and Joe Bradshaw sneaked off without letting us
know—dropped out all of a sudden. Keep your eye peeled for them, won’t
you? Likely they’re up at the springs.”
“Don’t let the rest know we’re here,” warned Abner, peering over Martin’s
shoulder, “it might spoil the fun.”
“I guess not,” agreed Lalla with her old love for a joke. “Go ahead and
have your fun; but what if they go back the other way?”
“You mustn’t let ’em. Think up some scheme; you can do it.” Both heads
disappeared as Nancy Jane’s voice was borne to them from below.
Lalla picked a few violets and walked on carelessly, looking up at the
mountains on the opposite side. “Hurry up or we’ll never get there!” she
called back, waving her flowers; “there’ll be heaps of these at Slate
Lick.”
The gorge widened. A trickling, shallow stream crept through the bed.
The foothills seemed suddenly to have become mountains and surrounded
them, making a basin-like valley. On the opposite side, sheltered by
walnuts, stood a few deserted houses and a building which seemed halfway
between a store and a peanut stand.