the fowl shall be dead," she explained. "It demands less skill to break
the poor thing's neck when it isn't writhing wildly."
"And it does not r-rouse the br-rutal desire to kill that seems to live
in every one of us men. Will Miss Sydney be there?"
"Yes, she is going on horseback--"
"Ah!"
"--with John Wendell."
"Eh?"
"You didn't meet them--John and Katrina Wendell--when they were here in
the spring. They went North again not long after you came to Oakwood."
"Oh, dear madam, I do so earnestly hope that my going to Oakwood did
not depr-rive you of more welcome guests."
"Not the least in the world. They went back to New York to put the
crown to a pretty romance."
"A love-story!"
"Katrina was sent down here, under her brother's care, to forget a
certain Tom Schuyler, whom her mother considered impossible because he
was penniless."
"The poor but honest suitor."
"A poor but lavish suitor would describe him better. It seems that an
aunt of his was moved to give him a present of five hundred dollars. He
says that he had just paid his tailor's bill as a concession to his
desire to _range_ himself, and he really didn't know what to do with
the money. It wasn't enough to get anything really nice with,--he'd
been trying to make his father give him an automobile,--unless it were
a ring for Katrina. He concluded, however, that Mrs. Wendell would
object to her daughter's accepting it, and that he might as well take a
little flyer with it."
"Take--what is that?"
"Speculate--in stocks."
"And he made his for-rtune?"
"No, on the contrary. He took his father's advice about his purchase,
and lost his five hundred dollars within twenty-four hours."
"Then wherefr-rom came his good luck? For surely I perceive the
pr-resence of good luck."
"His father was so remorseful over his poor counsel, and so delighted
with Tom's apparent desire to 'settle down,' that he made amends for
his unfortunate 'tip' by giving his son a very decent sum of money."
"It is like a story, is it not? So the brother and sister went up from
here to the wedding."
"It was only a few days ago, and now Tom and Katrina have come to us on
their _Hochzeitreise_."
"And the brother?"
Mrs. Carroll glanced amusedly at her companion.
"He came to-day on the afternoon train, to continue the visit which
Katrina insisted on shortening for him in May, he says."
"You will enjoy them."
Friedrich's tone was not enthusiastic, and he pulled his moustache
gloomily.
"Very much. They are charming young people. See, there are Tom and
Katrina now, just turning into the field."
Von Rittenheim raised his hat as Mrs. Schuyler waved her hand to Mrs.
Carroll, and studied critically the bride's radiant face and pretty
gown as the victoria followed the phaeton through the opened
fence-rails. He found her charming and acknowledged it reluctantly, not
because he begrudged her her beauty, nor because he thought her
handsomer than Sydney, for he did not, but because he had a secret fear
of the attractiveness of the brother of so fascinating a girl.
"Tom," said Mrs. Carroll, as Mrs. Schuyler came to the side of the
carriage, "I want you to know my very dear friend, Baron von
Rittenheim--Mr. Schuyler. Now take the Baron over to Katrina, Tom, and
then find Mrs. Morgan,--that's she in the red-wheeled buggy,--and beg
her to come and sit with me here. Vandeborough," to the coachman,
"drive me under that apple-tree, where there is more shade. How do you
do, Eliza?" she said to a woman by whom the carriage slowly passed;
"I'm glad to see you out to-day. And you, Mary. Jack Garren, is that
you? You grow too fast for my memory. Ah, Jane, I hope your rheumatism
is better,--and is that Mattie's Bertha? Stop here, Vandeborough. This
will be comfortable. Ah, Mrs. Morgan, it is kind of you to make me a
little visit, but I couldn't possibly climb into that buggy of yours. I
don't know how you achieve it."
"Nor do Ah, Mrs. Carroll. Ah thought it was high five years ago, when
Ah didn't consider mahself overly fat, so you can imagine what the
effort is now." And she shook jovially.
"Is the Doctor here?"
"Yes, indeed. He drove me. He always comes to these things. They
generally need him before they get through, and it often saves him a
long trip into the mountains if he's on the spot when things happen."
"I dare say his presence prevents a good many quarrels."
"Maybe so; but Ah should hate to have any mo' fights than there are.
There's always whisky about, you know."
"If the chief crop of this country could be changed, what a blessing it
would be!"
"Ah don't know as it would make much difference as long as potatoes
were left."
"And thirst."
"There's Bob now. O-oh, Bob!" she called, waving a fat hand to her son
as he cantered across the open on his gray.
Bob looked about for the source of the call, and turned his horse
towards the tree.
"He's growing handsome, Mrs. Morgan," said Mrs. Carroll, in an
undertone, as the tall fellow leaped to the ground, slipped the bridle
over his arm, and pulled off his cap.
"He looks as his father did at his age," returned Mrs. Morgan, fondly,
glancing across to where her husband was talking to a group of lank
mountaineers from whom he was hardly to be distinguished.
"It's right nice of you to come this afternoon, Mrs. Carroll," Bob was
saying. "The people always appreciate it. What is it, mother? Those
boys? Oh, they're having a game of ball; and the men you see over
yonder are throwing horseshoes over a peg--with mighty poor skill, too.
Here come Patton McRae and Susy. Excuse me. I'll help him with his
horses," for Patton's black mare hated the harness even more than she
did the saddle, and was doing her best to demoralize her mate and
overturn the buggy.
Sydney, entering the field from the State Road, glanced past the
tethered mules and the chair-laden wagons, from which the horses had
been taken, to where Bob sat in the carriage beside Susy, saying
something very pretty to her, if downcast lids and a blush are any
evidence; in reality, teasing her about an absent sweetheart.
Wandering farther, her eyes saw the quoit-throwers, and the groups of
women and children sitting in the shade, enjoying an interchange of
gossip with the zest of infrequent meetings. She saw the clusters of
laughing negroes, and the tent where Pete and his wife were doing a
vigorous business in cakes and ice-cream and lemonade. She waved her
hand to her grandmother and Mrs. Morgan. She noticed the men and boys
who strolled with apparent aimlessness towards the thicket on the edge
of the field, and returned wiping their lips on their sleeves. And she
saw Katrina talking animatedly to Baron von Rittenheim, who sat beside
her, while Patton McRae watched her with adoring eyes, and Tom wore the
conscious smile that indicates the young husband's pride of possession.
Sydney had been feeling very much without occupation since the Baron
had gone home, and the anticipation of seeing him again this afternoon
had been pleasant to her. He never had made love to her more definitely
than on the morning after his interview with Dr. Morgan, but to herself
she acknowledged that he admired her, and while she was not sure of his
entertaining a more pronounced feeling, up to this time she had known, at
least, that his eyes were only for her. And here he was _revelling_--she
underlined the word in her thought--in Katrina's vivacity and charm. The
sensation of rivalry was new to her and not pleasant.
As for Bob, she had a feeling of warm affection for dear old Bob, and a
desire to be useful to him, and she meant to make her influence over
him one for good, if that were possible. She was thoroughly glad in the
news that had come to her that Bob had not been drinking for several
months now. But how he could help referring to the passage that had
occurred between them she could not understand. She didn't really
want him to make love to her,--that was a notion altogether too
unmaidenly,--but she did feel as if an expression of affection from
_somebody_ would be very comforting.
She turned to John Wendell, who rode beside her, and gave him a more
generous smile than it had been his lot to receive while Sydney was the
possessor of those agreeable anticipations of the early afternoon.
"You like it? All this?" She waved her hand comprehensively.
"I love it," he answered, promptly, looking at her clear-cut face with
its frame of red hair under her sailor hat, and at the well-made linen
habit.
"It must be novel to you."
"Not very." He pulled his moustache to conceal an amused smile. "It
depends upon where new ends and old begins, you see. Now, I came down
here in April, so my feeling is not 'the last cry.'"
"But at that time of year you didn't see--oh, how foolish you are!" she
cried, and touched Johnny with her spur. His response brought him near
the phaeton, which seemed a focal point for a general movement.
"They're going to have the gander-pulling now," exclaimed Bob, who had
come with Susy to join the group. "The best view will be from this
side."
"Are you going to ride, Mr. Morgan?" asked Katrina.
"Yes, I think so."
"Bob never can resist any game that's played with a horse," said
Sydney, laughing.
"You know you'd like right well to try it yourself," he retorted.
Baron von Rittenheim gave his seat beside Mrs. Schuyler to Miss McRae,
and went to Sydney's side.
"At last the sun begins to shine," he said, in a low voice, smiling up
at her and patting Johnny's neck.
"Your universe has many suns, I'm afraid," responded Sydney, a trifle
pettishly, yet swiftly, scanning his face for signs of returning
health. She was not unobservant, either, of his new white summer
clothes.
Friedrich glanced across the horse to Mrs. Schuyler.
"I find agr-reeable the light of the lesser planets," he said,
"but--there is only one Sun."
Looking up at her, he laughed again, so heartily and with such genuine
pleasure at seeing her that Sydney melted.
"You look so _well_," she cried. "It is a delight to see you. But it's
not a compliment to our care that you grow better so fast when you
leave us."
"R-rather is it a tr-ribute to your so admirable nursing that has
pr-repared me to r-recover with speed, even though I have it no
longer."
"Will you ride, Baron?" asked Bob. "You're welcome to Gray Eagle if you
will."
"I thank you, gr-reatly, but I dare not. The eye of my care-taker is
upon me, and your Herr Father is here somewhere. No, decidedly, I am
afraid," and he leaned with every appearance of contentment against
Johnny's shoulder.
"How about you, Mr. Wendell?"
"I think I will, if Miss Sydney will trust me with the horse."
"Of course; and I'll give you a lovely prize if you bring me the head."
"It's yours," cried John, while Friedrich bit his lip, in annoyance,
and thought on the _Ewigweibliche_.
"Can you find me something, Mr. Morgan?" cried Schuyler. "I really
can't stand here and see you fellows having this fun without me."
"What's Mr. Schuyler driving, Sydney? 'Possum? She'll do, if you don't
mind. I'll swipe a saddle off of one of those mules over there." And he
and Tom fell to unharnessing the useful 'Possum, while the Baron held
Gray Eagle and commented on Bob's resource.
"He is full of device," he said, heartily, "and r-ready, always, to
think and to do." And Sydney remembered some of the things he had done,
and nodded with misty eyes.
XV
The Gander-Pulling
Under all the trees where horses had been hitched, the mountaineers
were tightening girths, mending unsound bridles, and pulling down
stirrups from the saddles across which they had been flung to be safe
from fly-kicking hoofs.
Some men had switches tucked under their saddle-flaps. Others, less
provident, swung on to their beasts, and, heavily elastic, trotted
across to the brush to cut a "hickory" from a sourwood-tree.
Pete was testing the strength of a stout oak pole driven into the
ground, across whose fork was lashed, like the cross-bar of a "T," a
leaf-stripped sapling. To the tip of this rod the negro was tying the
legs of a big, white goose, whose extended wings and pendant head
betrayed compliance with inexorable law.
"Hit's a damn shame," Pete murmured, as he anointed the creature's neck
and head with liberal smearings of lard. "Whar de fun o' pullin' on a
ole daid t'ing lak dis? But Ah hope dey'll tink hit's great!" And he
beat vigorously on a pan to attract the attention of all hearers.
"Gen'lemen. O-oh, gen'lemen!" he cried, at the top of his lungs. "Now
fo' a great ole gander-pullin'! De only one we've had in dis settle-_ment_
fo' t'ree year. Every gen'leman as craves to enter dis gander-pullin'
will kin'ly ride up here and _de_-posit a quarter 'f a dollar. Only
twenty-five cen's fo' de priv'lege o' takin' a pull at dis yer
goose,--warranted a tasty goose! One-half dis sum o' money goes to de
gen'leman who succeeds in _re_-movin' de haid from dis fowl, an' also
de goose hitself, which sho' do look lak good eatin'!"
Pete's old hat soon sagged with the coins that were tossed into it,
while his keen eye noted each entry as surely as if he wrote the name
in black and white. It would have been useless for anyone to try to
enter the lists without paying the proper fee.
Two lines of excited onlookers served at once to define a lane, whose
ultimate point was the gallows whereon hung the goose, and to rouse to
excitement the horses, whose overworked spirits did not respond
promptly to the sudden stimulus.
They cheered the aspirants with jovial condemnation.
"Show us what yo' ole plug c'n do, 'Gene."
"Sho', Alf, you-all ain' goin' to ride that po' critter!"
"He's powerful gaunted up, yo' war-horse, Bud."
"Mighty strength'nin' ploughin' is, but not stimmerlatin'!"
"High-strung animal, that clay-bank o' Pink's."
Pink's temper was in that state where he enjoyed hugely gibes at his
friends' expense, but was in no mood to receive amiably jests directed
against himself.
"Whar's you-all's horse?" he shouted, in exasperation, to one of his
tormentors. "Ah reckon no one would len' you anythin' mo' vallyble 'n a
billy-goat. Now dry up. Pete, start this thing."
He rode to the end of the passage where the horsemen were gathering.
Alf Lance, Melissa's father, whose horses Bud and Pink were riding,
scanned them both to make sure that they were not too drunk to be
trusted with his animals.
Pete fussed about nervously.
"Which o' you gents will begin dis pullin'?" he called. "Now, sahs,
come on."
Pink pushed his horse towards the edge of the crowd, but he was hailed
with dissuasive cries.
"Aw, hold on, Pink."
"Don' be so bigoty."
"Who you-all think ye are?"
"Where's Bob Morgan?"
"Yes, Bob's the feller!"
"O-oh, Bob!"
It was their tribute to the Doctor, this giving precedence to his son,
and Bob so understood it. It was, therefore, irritating to have Pink
thrust forward his red face and look him over sneeringly.
"Aw, gwan," he cried, "lessee what you-all c'n do."
The bunch of horsemen fell to one side, and Bob started Gray Eagle from
well back in the field near the deserted wagons. He passed the mounted
men and thundered through the lines of standing howlers. The gray had
been his master's coadjutor in so many situations of excitement and
even peril, that the cheering mob did not provoke him unduly. He
galloped, unswervingly, up to the hanging goose, though his ears were
pricked forward, and he shuddered as the instinctive repulsion from
death pulsed through him. Bob's outstretched hand grasped the long and
slippery neck, while the inarticulate yell with which the Southern
farmer calls his dogs and chases his cows and terrifies his enemies
went up from the onlookers. Tightly he clutched the greasy thing, and
tried to give a sharp twist that should break the vertebrae. But his
hand slipped swiftly down to the flat head, which offered no hold for
his grasp, the beak ripped through his fingers, and the sapling, which
had bent and followed him as Gray Eagle dashed on, snapped back, waving
triumphantly its unharmed burden.
"Hard lines, old man, but the fun lasts longer so," cried Wendell, as
Bob pulled up beside him after circling the spectators.
"Who's that?" the New Yorker asked, as a lank country horse plunged
down the lane, shied violently at the feathered horror, threw his rider
into the crowd, and galloped with flapping stirrups over the field.
"'Gene Frady. He never can stay on anything. He's all right, dad," to
the Doctor, who was moving towards the upper end. "See, he's chasing
his horse now."
With a drunken whoop, Pink Pressley rushed his animal towards the
prize; but his condition, combined with twitches and jerks of the
bridle, and rakings of the spur, had acted upon his mount's usually
stolid nerves, and half-way up the alley he whirled about and tore
back, carrying his cursing rider far up the road before he calculated
the probable results to himself of this outburst, and consented to
return.
Bud Yarebrough was more fortunate. He leaned far forward and succeeded
in getting a firm grasp of the neck, but he had guided his horse too
close to the bird, and his jerk drew it directly over his face,
blinding him with grease and feathers.
His plight was greeted with howls of derision, which fell into silence
as John Wendell made the trial. His unpractised hand in some way pulled
down the goose, and the rebound of the sapling plucked the booty out of
his grasp, and flung it high above his head.
Tom Schuyler was equally unlucky.
Alf Lance forgot that he was left-handed until he was close upon his
quarry, when he dropped his reins and pawed vaguely at the air as his
horse carried him on.
Another yell announced Pink Pressley's return. Now his chastened steed
bore him straight enough to the goal, but by that time Pink was too
drunk to distinguish the goose he was after from the flock that swirled
and dipped before his eyes, and he never touched a feather.
"Doctor, you-all'll have to show us how," said Alf Lance.
"Come on, Doctor."
"Yes, yo' the feller."
"Bob, give yo' father yo' horse and let him larn ye what's what."
"Oh, I hope he'll do it," cried Sydney. "He's capital at it!"
"Fo' the Lawd's sake!" ejaculated Mrs. Morgan, rising to her feet in
the carriage and steadying herself by an informal hand on Mrs.
Carroll's shoulder. "Fo' the Lawd's sake, if that ain't Henry Morgan!
Well, did you ever!" And her fat body trembled with pride and
excitement.
Gray Eagle took his second turn with the same equanimity as if his own
master were on his back. He galloped handsomely towards the goose;
there was a quick snatch and a snap, and the old man turned short and
came back, holding aloft his trophy.
"Wah, wah, wah!"
Yells, whistles, and cat-calls greeted his success. Sydney and Katrina
and Mrs. Carroll clapped their hands, and the Doctor, folding in his
handkerchief the somewhat dubious treasure, rode over to the apple-tree
and presented it to his wife.
During the confusion attendant upon the harnessing of horses and mules,
Bob, restoring 'Possum's saddle to the mule from which he had borrowed
it, heard Pink Pressley's voice on the other side of the big oak by
which he was working.
"Howdy, Mr. Baron," he was saying.
"How_dee_," responded von Rittenheim, with an accent that made Bob
throw back his head and laugh silently. "You had bad fortune with your
horse this afternoon."
"Correct. Damn pore horse. Some day Ah'll have a good horse o' mah own,
not a ole borrowed plug. Ah'm goin' to be rich some day. You-all know
how, eh? Say,"--he was wagging his head solemnly to and fro,
disgustingly near von Rittenheim's face,--"Ah reckon you'd like to go
into business with me now ye made a start at hit."
Bob remained behind his shield, hoping that Pressley would go away
before von Rittenheim had the mortification of seeing him.
"Ah reckon you-all need money mahty bad," drawled the drunken voice. "A
feller always does when he wants to get married, 'n hit's clear what
yo' after with Miss Sydney."
Like bolts from heaven, two blows fell upon him simultaneously, and von
Rittenheim and Bob faced each other over his fallen body.
"Leave him alone," said Bob, hoarsely. "He'll sleep it off."
Then he strolled over to his father.
"Dad, I suspect you'd better take a look at Pink Pressley under the big
oak-tree. I've just given him a biff in the solar plexus, or mighty
near it."
XVI
On the Bridge
All through July the growing heat of summer forced the people of the
low country up into the mountains in search of an altitude where
humidity is not a factor in the sum total of suffering. Every evening's
six o'clock train brought families of travellers, glad to escape from
the steaming heat of Charleston or Savannah, or ready to run the risk
of the fever-killing frost coming too late for the beginning of the New
Orleans schools. They emerged dishevelled and weary from the hot cars.
The elders counted children, nurses, and luggage; the children sat down
at once upon the ground and took off their shoes and stockings.
By the first of August the whole Asheville plateau was transformed from
its winter state.
The large towns were filled with pretty, pale girls, gay in muslins and
ribbons and big hats, who danced and drank soda-water in the mornings
and danced again in the evenings, or went on drag-rides, and flirted at
all hours.
The small hotels in the country were full of the same girls, chaperoned
by gay mammas, who played whist six hours a day, while their charges
found temperate amusement in walking to the post-office in the cool,
purple dusk, and in dancing--chiefly with each other--after supper.
The proportion of men to girls was the usual summer ratio. Nice
discriminations of extreme age or extreme youth counted for little
against ability to dance. The girl with brothers of almost any size was
popular among her kind, and the girl who "grabbed" was held in cordial
contempt.
Woe be unto the youth who really fell in love. His courtship was the
cynosure of all eyes. Its progress was reported hourly. His presence
was noted and his absence commented upon. His ardor was gauged by the
thermometer of many eyes, and the barometer of hotel partisanship
betrayed the storms of love.
The Neighborhood awoke from its winter sleep. Every house had its
guests, and there were constant gayeties both by day and evening.
The first moon of August, by lighting the dark forest roads, became
responsible for nightly festivities. On one of the earliest evenings of
the month she looked down upon carriages and horsemen making their way
to the French Broad, where Fletcher's Bridge crosses the river. The
Schuylers, with Sydney and John, were in the Oakwood surrey, while
Vandeborough cantered behind to take care of the horses "while de white
folkses eats."
[Illustration: To the French Broad, where Fletcher's Bridge crosses the
river]
The Cotswold party filled a three-seated buckboard and a surrey, and
rejoiced further in outriders. Baron von Rittenheim bestrode his mule.
The Delaunays brought a carriage-load of girls, who laughed a great
deal in the soft, full voices the far South gives her daughters. From
the Hugers' party came scraps of talk about "the City," and the "Isle
of Palms."
There was a wagon-load of people from the Buck Mountain House, too,
friends of the Hugers.
By Sydney's command the picnic fire was built by the river's bank in a
large field, whose openness showed the quick march across the heavens
of the rising moon.
Every one brought a stick to lay on the blazing pile. Bob and one of
the Delaunay girls fetched water from a spring that hid its coolness
under a shelving rock in the forest across the road. Susy McRae made
the coffee, hindered by John's advice, more voluble than useful. Tom
Schuyler was instructed in the proper method of propping up a broiler
before the blaze, so that the chicken might cook without exacting a
human burnt offering. Patton volunteered for the task of getting the
potatoes into the ashes. The rest of the girls laid the table-cloths on
the ground, and opened the baskets, and the rest of the men hunted up
logs for seats, and brought the cushions and rugs from the carriages.
Sydney dominated the scene, giving a clever suggestion to Tom,
encouraging Susy to disregard John's teasing, which threatened some
harm to the coffee, sympathizing with Patton over a burn, and showing
Katrina how to cook bacon on a long forked stick.