X.

Shattuck turned with an excited, flushed face and his eyes triumphant.

He had no intuition of Rhodes's anxious, disconcerted frame of mind,

for the candidate was seized by a sudden fear that he was to have

no opportunity to confer with Felix Guthrie anent the living issues

of the election. His long ride had been taken with scant result,

indeed, to flatter an old woman and to loll on the grass with the

acquiescent younger brother, who would not hesitate to rescind the

promise of support he had made if he fancied that it fell under the

disapproval of Felix. Rhodes had had no idea that the colloquy would be

so soon terminated. He scrambled sheepishly to his feet as the others

precipitately passed, oblivious of the two under the tree.

"Hello! Hold on!" cried Rhodes. "Where are you making off to?"

Guthrie turned an absorbed face upon him, continuing what he was

saying, but including him in the invitation extended to Shattuck to

come to the house for refreshment for themselves and their horses

before beginning the descent of the mountain.

"We hev had dinner long ago, but I know mam kin git ye up some sorter

snack ter hearten ye up, an' ye kin leastwise take a drink 'long o' Eph

an' me. An' I'll loan ye a pickaxe an' a spade, an' saddle my beastis,

an' holp ye go an' dig."

It seemed to Rhodes unpardonable that his friend should be so forgetful

of the interests of the election, for the allusion to the pickaxe

and spade, coupled with his previous knowledge of Shattuck's chief

absorption, was enough to acquaint him with the nature of the business

in progress. The color had diffused itself over his handsome face to

the roots of his brown hair, and his eyes were surprised and perturbed

as he mechanically glanced about his attire, picking here and there a

clinging barley straw from his garments. He contrived, on joining the

others, to walk abreast with them, and thus end the burdensome dialogue

with Eph, who, in no degree offended by his defection and accustomed to

slight consideration, lagged cheerfully in the rear, chewing a straw

with abnormal activity of jaw, his hat pushed far back from his broad,

sunburned, fleshy face, his gait shambling and awkward, as if he still

were in the furrow.

Rhodes, however willingly he might have balked his friend's preference

in the choice of a subject of conversation, could hardly intimate with

impunity that the enlightened voter, whose suffrage he coveted, held

forth upon a theme which he considered trivial and to the last degree

irksome. Nevertheless, as he walked along in the glare of the sun upon

the forever shoaling waves of the silver-green grain, and listened

to Guthrie droning forth his slowly forming purposes concerning the

arrangements for the investigation of the pygmy graves, his irritation

that the primary intention of his visit should be frustrated, and the

interest appertaining to his candidacy ruthlessly thrust aside, so

increased that he set himself to devise an expedient whereby he might

safely disparage the matter in hand, and thus reassert the significance

of his presence and the propriety of his prominence as guest. He turned

his head suddenly, archly lifting his eyebrows, and distending his eyes

with a burlesque of amazement; then breaking into his joyous "ha! ha!"

he clapped Guthrie jocosely on the shoulder.

"Lordy mercy, Fee!" he exclaimed, "you don't mean to say that Shattuck

is devil-ing you about his confounded Little People! Stave him off! Gag

him! Shut him up somehow. Don't listen to him, thinking he'll quit in

the course of time. For he won't! I've tried him. The more inches you

give him the more ells he'll take."

Mr. Rhodes had a theory that culture is synonymous with mind and

essentially coexistent. That each assists the other, no one will

deny; but that they are often largely independent, one of the other,

is frequently demonstrated. The man of more culture than capacity is

painfully familiar to us all. In the rural districts the reverse may

sometimes be observed--a stalwart mental endowment, unaided by aught

of alien training, seeming occasionally, in its highest development

and in an uncouth subject, so incongruous as to strike one as almost

inspirational.

It was none of these rare native intelligences, full-winged and of

strong flight, that Felix Guthrie possessed; only a good plodding

capacity, serviceable afoot, but of much sturdiness, and indeed of some

slight acrobatic activity. Rhodes was more taken aback than he had

thought possible when his host, bending grave, disconcerting eyes upon

him, said:

"It war _me_ a-talkin' about the Leetle People. Yer ears didn't serve

ye right, fur me an' Mr. Shattuck don't talk in no ways alike. Them

Leetle People 'pear ter me ez well wuth talkin' 'bout ez some folks

ez be bigger in stature but small-minded. Thar air a heap o' them

leetle-big men lef' yit. So plenty 'tain't wuth while ter go diggin'

'em up ez cur'osities whenst dead."

There was no direct implication which of necessity conveyed offence,

but Rhodes again flushed darkly, and his expression changed with the

change of color. His regret had always that most nettling quality,

self-reproach. No man can repent with the fervor of him who has the

candor to blame himself. After an interval of tart internal colloquy

with his inner consciousness, in which he called himself a fool, with

the emphatic prefix of a certain strong old adjective, unhackneyed even

by constant use, and upbraided himself that he should have supposed

that Guthrie, like more simple-minded, ignorant men, would adopt his

plausible words instead of the facts, he recovered in some degree his

normal complexion and assurance, and responded glibly:

"Mountain air is mighty good for Shattuck if it's cured him of his

crazy gabble about the Leetle People. Ha! ha! ha! Hey, Shattuck? I'll

send him up here every few days, Fee, when the fit begins to come on

again. You can hobble him out there in the orchard to keep him from

running away. Ha! ha! ha! May get his wits back on your mountain air.

For I swear to you he has said hardly a sane thing to me since he

first heard there was any pygmy burying-ground round hereabouts. Ha!

ha! ha!"

Guthrie did not laugh, nor did Shattuck; but Ephraim, trudging in the

rear, strove to be polite as best he knew how, and added a guffaw to

the forced laugh of the visitor, with whom no one else would consent to

be merry.

Rhodes accorded no overt attention to their silence; but his eyes, the

iris of each somehow like a darkly ripe cherry in a certain red lustre,

albeit merely escaping blackness, like a cherry too in its definite

pronounced effect of roundness, were restless and unnoticing, and as

Shattuck caught their gleam they looked angry and hot.

Shattuck was one of those people who accept the Biblical injunction

touching the forgiveness of injuries, but in a purely human way. He

would not revenge himself, for this was not becoming in one acquainted

in some sort with Christianity, nor did it comport with the dignity of

a gentleman. But he could not forget. He resented Rhodes's apparently

causeless anger toward him now, and it recalled the disagreements

of the morning, which still galled him. The stay that he had made

here, pleasant enough he had once deemed it, grew irksome in the

recollection, in the light of these new relations with his host. He

was saying to himself that it was time he was off; he was tired of it

all, and Rhodes was insufferable. He had no mind to bear the brunt of

all the mishaps and irritation of electioneering, and this was indeed a

lucky ride, since on the eve of departure it gave him the opportunity

of examining the sarcophagi of the so-called pygmies at once and

with the permission and aid of the man who owned the land. He had not

realized how definitely he had given up this hope until the expectation

was before him again in so immediate a guise. It would have been an

incalculable loss to have relinquished the chance, and quitted the

region no wiser than he came. His step was light, his face was sharp

and eager; he looked anxiously toward the west as they neared the

house, to gain some intimation through the trees how the sun fared down

the great glistening concave of the western sky. The hour mattered less

to him than the duration of the light.

He was hardly less impatient of interruption than Rhodes had become,

and, widely at variance though the subjects were that respectively

absorbed them, they both saw with unanimity of sentiment that Mrs.

Guthrie, standing in the doorway, had a knitted angry brow, and a mien

which betokened that they were far enough from her contemplation, and

that topics of an engrossing character were in her mind and framing

themselves into speech. The pervasive green tint, which seemed a trait

of the very atmosphere in this dankly shady spot, rendered her white

hair even whiter, her gray gown, her blue checked apron, on which she

mechanically wiped her spectacles, more distinct. Her face was deeply

furrowed with its frown, and there was something about her heavy jaw,

her half-parted thin lips, her pertinacious eye, that gave testimony to

establish the terrible stories that were told about her.

"Fee," she said, in a strained harsh voice, as soon as they were well

within ear-shot, not waiting for a nearer approach, "I hev got bad news

fur ye."

"I mought hev knowed it," her step-son responded, promptly. He looked

at her with a reluctant face, as if by postponing to give audience to

the new disaster he nullified it. He evidently held the fear of an

unknown calamity as less than its realization. There was manifested

none of the usual impulse to fling one's self upon the point of the

sword held out. He knew too much already of that sharp edge of trouble.

His many words, his dallying with the imminent discovery, bore an odd

contrast to her silence, her intent ready gaze, her expectant waiting

attitude. "I never knowed ye ter hev enny other sorter news. Bad news

follers me. Ef I war ter go ter the eends o' the yearth--plumb ter

Texas--I'd meet a man thar with, 'Fee, I hev got bad news fur ye.' Bad

news begun fur me the day I war born. A body mought hev said: 'Fee,

hyar ye air! I hev got bad news fur ye! Sech a life ez ye hev got ter

live; sech a death ter die!' An' whenst I git ter hell, the devil will

be thar with, 'Fee, I hev got bad news fur ye; sech an eternity o'

mis'ry ez even you-uns, with all yer speriunce o' dolefulness, hain't

bed no notion of!' An' the funny part of it," he cried, with a sudden

change of tone, taking off his hat and shaking his long ringleted hair

backward, "none of 'em can't tell me no news. I _expect_ it--'tain't

news! I expec' everything bad! Torment an' trouble can't be news ter

Fee Guthrie!"

His step-mother made no rejoinder, although words evidently trembled

upon her lips, and all the impetus of disclosure was in her eager

eye; the effort by which she constrained herself to mute waiting upon

his will was intimated in every line of her hard set face. There was

even drawn upon it an expression of spurious sympathy, a pretence of

affectionate deprecation, infinitely sycophantic and painful to see

in a woman of her age and with her white hair. She was kind enough

now, doubtless, to her step-son, when all her interests hung upon

his clemency. The humble Ephraim was hardly able to emulate her

subservience to his brother's procrastination of the evil moment, and

more than once broke out with an exclamation compounded of impatience

and displeasure: "Dell lawsy mercy!" "Did ennybody ever?" His face

was red and eager, and in its round, expectant, pouting look it

was positively of a porcine expression. Even the preoccupied and

uninterested Rhodes was moved to a wish to elicit the intelligence.

"I hope it's nothing very serious, Mrs. Guthrie," he said, anticipating

developments in reply.

But she still stood silent, looking intently with her bright, fierce

eyes at Felix, who broke out instead:

"Oh, I'll be bound it's serious! I don't look like a feller ez hev

many jokes ter fill up my days. Leastwise, they ain't jokes ter me. I

reckon, though, mebbe I be a joke myself--ter the devil. I'll bet all

I hev got ez he fairly holds his sides whenst laffin' at me, a-goin'

on like I do a-tryin' ter repent o' my sins, while all the 'bad news,'

ez mam names it, in the kentry is on the hue and cry arter me all the

time. I ain't got no stiddy chance ter repent." He had reached the

porch at last, and leaned against one of the vine-grown posts, his hat

in his hand, his frowning brow uncovered. The others stood about in

expectant attitudes, the lout Ephraim the very picture of painful,

agitated suspense, his mouth open, his eyes fixed on the stern, eager

face of his step-mother, his hat on the back of his head.

Felix glanced up presently, and with a changed, steady voice said,

"Talk on, mam."

All her forced composure gave way suddenly. She seemed metamorphosed

into a fury in the very instant. "Felix, Felix," she cried, between her

set teeth, "yer cattle! Somebody be arter yer cattle. Peter Brydon rid

by hyar jes' now, an' tole me ez one o' yer young steers war lyin' dead

yander by Injun Bluffs. An' up on the mounting that fine red cow Beauty

Bess air dead, too, an' half tore up." Her teeth were grinding, one jaw

upon the other; there was foam upon her lips.

"Wolves!" he said, quietly, looking up at her, a certain surprise on

his face. "No use takin' on 'bout that. Hev ter lose some cattle by

wolves every year. I ain't so close-fisted ez ter mind losin' a few

cattle wunst in a while by accident." He cast a deprecatory glance at

Shattuck, the first token of self-consciousness, of anxious regard for

the opinion of others, which the young townsman had ever remarked in

him. He evidently was touched by a sense of shame; he could not endure

to be held susceptible of distress for a small loss of worldy goods.

There was a distinct intimation of reproach in his voice as he added,

"Waal, mam, I never knowed you-uns ter git inter sech a takin', an'

'low it would lay me so low, jes' kase thar be a few head o' cattle

los' by wolves out'n my herd."

"_Wolves! wolves! wolves!_" She huskily jerked out the words. "Ever

hear o' wolves cuttin' a beastis's throat with a knife? _Wolves!_ Ever

hear o' wolves cuttin' out the tenderline, an' leavin' the rest o' the

meat ter spile, or ter the buzzards, till they want another feed? Then

they make ch'ice o' another fat brute, an' get jes' the best cuts o'

meat, an' leave the rest ter waste. _Wolves!_--two-legged _wolves_! An'

they ain't much _afeard_ o' you-uns, Fee Guthrie, them wolves ain't."

She had an accurate knowledge of his springs of action. He hardly cared

for the loss, but as her detail progressed, the wantonness of the

waste, the possible motive of spite, called a flush into his cheek and

a spark into his eye. The moment the last words passed her lips, and

the fact was made patent to his mind that his name was not a terror to

protect his property, his whole consciousness was resolved into fire.

He stood for one instant motionless, a terrible oath upon his lips.

Then he sprang off like an unleashed hound, with her exultant laugh

harshly ringing through the dusky shades behind him.

"I knowed it. Fee'll lay 'em low enough!" she cried, with the

satisfaction of a Bellona, as she towered above them all, her stern,

lined, dark old face so repellently triumphant that both her visitors

felt a sense of recoil. "Felix will tame 'em--he'll tame them wolves.

He air ekal ter it." She nodded her head, with a look promissory

of horrors, and then fell to rubbing her left arm, which had been

partially paralyzed of late years.

Rhodes gazed wistfully into the dense umbrageous tangle whence his host

had disappeared. "Now I don't think it's sensible to send Fee off that

way. He might get hurt," he said.

"He ain't one o' that kind," replied the old woman, with a fierce

pride in the spirit that had tamed even hers. "The Guthries--ye hev

hearn them called 'the fightin' Guthries'--air a survigrous tribe. An'

my step-son Felix air knowed ter be the bravest o' all the 'fightin'

Guthries.' Whenst ye see him a-crawlin' out'n the leetle eend o' the

horn, ye let me know."

A quick thud of hoofs, the deep-mouthed, joyous baying of a fierce

hound that galloped after the horseman, gave notice to the party, whose

vision was all cut off by the heavy woods, of the departure of the

master of the house. Mrs. Guthrie looked at the two visitors with a

smile as she listened, then fell again to softly rubbing her arm.

Rhodes and Shattuck, although from diverse points of view, could hardly

have been more disconcerted than by the turn affairs had taken. The

candidate was without recourse. He had allowed the golden opportunity

of electioneering with Felix to evade him while he lounged under

the tree in the barley field with the unimportant younger brother.

He conceived a repugnant hatred of this unconscious factor in his

discomfiture as he glanced at Ephraim, who stood gazing dully and

blankly in the direction whence the sound of the hoofs had come, now

faint in the distance. With his elastic faculty for regret, Rhodes was

upbraiding himself anew, taking account of the wasted day, the long

ride, and the fact that electioneering in this quarter was estopped,

since the visit could not be decorously repeated; presently he was

seized by forebodings that the waste of time was not at an end, for

Shattuck's project was not so easily concluded. As the candidate's

attention returned to the matters more immediately in hand, he became

aware that his friend was declining to take luncheon with Mrs. Guthrie,

on the score that he should hardly have time to get to the foot of the

mountain and accomplish before sundown an errand upon which Felix had

promised to accompany him.

"Ephraim, however, will do as well," he said, genially, turning to the

younger brother, who instantly signified his acquiescence, and made off

with alacrity for the pickaxe and spade. "But as I'll leave you Mr.

Rhodes, I am sure I shall not be missed," Shattuck saw fit to add to

his own excuses.

"No," Rhodes said, somewhat curtly; "if you go, I shall go too. I don't

want my visitors"--he added, recovering his smile in a meagre degree,

and bending it upon Mrs. Guthrie's forbidding countenance as she looked

from one to the other--"to go about the mountains breaking their necks,

and then putting the blame on me for not being along to advise and

point out the way."

"Jes' ez yer please," she retorted, tartly, still looking from one to

the other. "We ain't never considered our Ephraim plumb smart like

Felix. But I never did expec' ter hear ez he warn't even fit fur a

guide-post. But jes' ez ye two gentlemen feel disposed." And she

reseated herself in her chair upon the porch, and resumed her knitting.

"Oh, you stay, Rhodes," Shattuck insisted, aghast at interfering so

radically with Mrs. Guthrie's lunch as to remove both guests from the

feast. "You can stay."

If Rhodes had been entirely at liberty, it is doubtful whether he

would have remained. There was something so menacing in the old

woman's eye, so coercively albeit vaguely frightful to the imagination,

that the idea of spending a few hours alone with her, to eat at her

board and sit by her fireside and listen to her talk, with that thin

friendly veneer scarcely concealing the harsh vindictiveness of her

nature, was not to be contemplated with equanimity. Whether he would

have feared poison, or the stealthy stroke of a knife, or some other

manifestation of a cruel insanity, although mental aberration had never

been associated with her deeds, Rhodes would hardly have ventured upon

the ordeal of a solitary meal served by her. Nevertheless, he noted

with a pang of anger and alarm that she did not second Shattuck's

insistence, and that the invitation was no longer open to him. If she

heard his adieux, somewhat constrained and uncharacteristic, if she saw

his outstretched hand, she made no sign except by a short nod, which

he might either interpret as response, or as merely the emphasis of

concluding a long row of counted stitches upon her knitting-needles.

She laid them down presently to hearken to the faint baying of

Guthrie's hound on the far slope of the mountain, the echo striking

back the sound, augmented like the voice of a pack in full cry, and

thus, with uplifted eyes and intent, listening attitude, she was left

in the deep green shadow growing duskier.

"Now see what you've done!" cried Rhodes, angrily, and all oblivious of

the presence of Ephraim, as they walked away to their horses hitched to

the fence. "It does seem to me you might forbear insulting my friends."

Ephraim looked with quick anxiety from one to the other. On his ready

impulse he spoke, forestalling Shattuck's reply. "Oh, ye can't holp

makin' mam mad; she gits mad 'kase other folks breathe the breath o'

life. The only way ter suit her is ter die, an' gin her the Great Smoky

Mountings fur elbow-room. Nuthin' less."

"I had no idea that you would come too," protested Shattuck. "I thought

that if one of us stayed, the courtesies would be amply observed; and

so they would."

"You had no right to think," said Rhodes, putting his foot into the

stirrup, his face scarlet under his dark straw hat. "You continually

jeopardize my interests by taking the initiative in my affairs. We

had accepted her invitation, and you had no right to withdraw, as I

couldn't stay without you."

"Laws-a-massy, boys! don't git ter quar'lin'," Ephraim eagerly and

familiarly adjured them, as he mounted an old sorrel mare, who was

attended by a frisking long-legged colt. "Ye don't expec' mam ter vote

fur ye noways ennyhow, Mr. Rhodes. It don't make no diff'unce. Me an'

Fee ain't goin' ter hold no gredge agin ye; ye needn't mind."

The unvarnished promise, and the evident comprehension of his

intentions and mission, however grating to Rhodes's more delicate

sensibilities and pride, were nevertheless salutary. Once more the

ground of offence was proved untenable, and he saw that a simulation

of reconciliation was in order. Although he chafed under the continual

constraints with which Shattuck had unintentionally burdened him,

he felt that it was not yet time to boldly throw them off. Thus he

adjusted himself anew to their weight.