It was a fine sensation for the group of gossips that always seemed
an essential appurtenance to the blacksmith shop at the cross-roads
when, this bright morning, the sheriff of the county, an infrequent and
unfamiliar apparition, rode up to the open doors, and drew rein under
the branches of the overhanging oak-tree. So broadly spreading were
these branches that not even the diminishing shadow, ever waning as the
day waxed on to noon, had bereft the space beneath of its gray-green
gloom and its sense of dew. A wagon, one wheel lying tire-less on the
ground, and a stout stave lashed crutch-like in its place, stood near
by in the full yellow glare, with a reduced cartoon of itself, sadly
out of drawing, on the sand beneath it, supplemented by a caricature
of two men who sat upon its pole. The interior of the shop looked
dark and cool, and the blacksmith's father, bareheaded and in his
shirt-sleeves in a rickety chair by the door, caught the softening
effect of its twilight in his aged and minutely wrinkled face. Two or
three dim figures were indistinct within; upon a bench outside a couple
of loafers smoked, while still another utilized as a seat the roots of
the tree. The shadow of its foliage played on the clapboards of the
roof, long ago broken here and there, and still unmended, for the rain
and the snow were welcome to wreak their worst, drizzling through upon
the republican simplicity of the "dirt floor" within. Hardly a curl
of smoke ascended from the chimney, and as the officer cast his eye
along the two red clay winding roads, both of a most irresponsible and
vagrant-like aspect, as if they had no goal in expectation, there was
no other sign of habitation in sight; the woods closed in, limiting the
prospect; here and there mountains rose, seeming, as always, nearer
than reality warrants; and it was a most sequestered, slumberous spot
to which the sheriff had betaken his brisk individuality and the
energetic potentiality of his official presence.
So welcome a break in the monotony had not occurred for many a day. A
sentiment of gratitude merely for his company pervaded the by-standers.
They looked for no developments more striking than the detail of the
ordinary news from the town, some good-natured raillery back and forth,
and the intimation of his errand, which perchance might touch the
summoning of jurors or witnesses in some of the more remote districts
of his bailiwick; and each idler was devoutly glad that the allurements
of plough and harrow and hoe had not availed to keep him at work and
at home on this momentous occasion, which might not be duplicated for
months. But when the officer's hard face and unsmiling eyes betokened
the more serious import of his visit, there ran through the assembly a
keen thrill of curiosity and expectancy.
The sheriff, not perhaps all indifferent to the flutter his advent
roused, flung the reins over his horse's head and dismounted.
"News?" He echoed the question that had been coupled with the
salutation, and glanced loweringly about. "News enough. _Murder!_"
He spoke the word with a melodramatic unction, dropping his voice. He
was a tall, well-built man, of a large frame, implying bone and muscle
rather than fat, and promising most stalwart possibilities; and if the
somewhat imposing strut, which was his favorite method of locomotion,
savored of pride, it also invited attention to the many reasons which
had justified him in indulging that sentiment. He turned with the
blacksmith to the eager examination of the hoof of his horse which had
cast a shoe, and was going a trifle lame. As the smith, this colloquy
over, set about repairing the disaster, the officer, taking off his
hat, lent himself with an air of consideration to heed the clamorous
inquiries.
"It's a tough job, an' I ain't s'prised if I have you all on a posse
'fore night." He shook his head with serious intimations as he seated
himself on an empty inverted barrel just outside the door. "Ye,
Phineas!" he broke off, admonishing the smith, who had paused in paring
the horse's hoof, which he held between his knees upon his leather
apron, his stooping posture unchanged, his bushy eyebrows lifted as he
looked up from under them in expectant curiosity at the officer. "_Ye_
jes' _perceed_ with yer rat-killin'. I'm in a hurry ter git away from
hyar! An' I'm a-goin' ter ketch them buzzardy rascals, ef I hev ter go
ter Texas." He nodded with the word as if he expressed the limits of
the known globe.
"I'll be bound ye do, sher'ff!" cried the blacksmith's father, with an
eagerness to bring himself to the great man's notice and impress his
own importance--a characteristic of local magnates other than rural.
He had seized upon the first opportunity, and thus the matter of his
speech was less cogent than he would fain have had it. "Ye needn't be
borryin' trouble thinkin' they air hid well. Town-folks git out'n thar
depth mighty quick whenst they take ter the mountings. I be a old man
now, turned sixty, an' I hev knowed a power o' sher'ffs, through not
many bein' re-'lected, an' they don't hev no trouble ketchin' town
malefactors ez takes ter the woods."
The sheriff bent his eyes upon the toe of his big spurred boot as his
long leg swung it before him. A sarcastic smile curved his shaven
lips. It seemed for a moment as if he would not speak. Then, with that
respect for the old so habitually shown among the mountaineers, he
said, "These are mounting folks--mounting folks, Mr. Bakewell."
The smith dropped the horse's hoof, the knife clattering upon the
ground, and straightened his bent back. "In the name o' goodness," he
cried, overcome with curiosity, "_who_ hev been kilt?"
The sheriff, albeit his enjoyment of the frenzied interest of which he
was the centre showed in every line of his gloomy, important face, was
dominated by his official conscience. He pointed to the implement on
the ground.
"Pick up that thar contraption an' _go to work_," he said, sternly.
"Gimme a horse ter ride on, or the law will take arter _you_, with a
sharp stick, too."
The smith bent down to his work once more, his eyes fixed,
nevertheless, on the officer's face instead of the hoof between his
knees; the horse turned slowly his head, and looked back with evident
surprise at these dallying and unprecedented proceedings.
The sheriff resumed: "Mounting men, 'cordin' ter the _ante_-mortem
statement."
"Air--air he _dead_?" said one of the men on the wagon pole, leaning
suddenly forward.
"Persumed ter be, hevin' been buried," replied the officer, his
sarcastic mien unchecked now by the mandates of decorum.
"Mighty fool ter run agin the mounting folks, hey?" said the old man,
reflectively rubbing his pointed chin, and with the air of tempering
his regrets, as if he thought that, with this foolhardy temerity, the
blood of the unknown was presumably upon his own head.
"He war a-travellin' peaceable along the road," said the sheriff,
suddenly entering upon the pleasure of narrative; "bound fur the
Spondulix Silver Mine, on the t'other side o' Big Injun Mounting. An'
the weather bein' so durned hot, an' the moon nigh the full, he rid
at night, like mos' folks do, ye know, the road bein' no lonesomer
sca'cely 'n by day, an' he hed fire-arms. And he hed suthin' else; he
hed 'bout fifteen hundred dollars ter kerry, ez nobody but the head men
o' the mine an' him knowed 'bout. Thar's the riddle of it!" He paused,
the lids drooping meditatively over his thoughtful eyes as if he sought
to pierce the mystery.
"Fifteen hundred dollars!" exclaimed the old man, as if he could hardly
credit the existence of so many in company; he had seen few of this
welcome denomination at a time. His look, unguarded for the moment,
implied suspicion that the sheriff was drawing the long-bow.
"'Twar ter pay off the hands an' some o' the expenses o' the gear an'
sech--they war behindhand some," continued the sheriff. "Thar ain't no
express nor railroad nor nuthin', 'ceptin' jes' the mail-rider, an'
they 'lowed 'twar safer in this man's hands, special ez they 'lowed ez
nobody knowed nuthin' 'bout it, 'ceptin' him an' them. Mus' hev got
out somehows, though." He lifted his eyes, scanning each of the group
in turn as if to note the impression. "Fur he 'lowed he rid along
feelin' ez free an' favored ez ef 'twar broad daylight, an' his horse
travelled well, an' didn't feel the weather none, an' though he war a
stranger ter the kentry, he never thunk o' sech a thing ez danger till
he got 'bout two mile past Doctor Ganey's house; he war on the top o'
a hill, a-beginnin' ter go down, an' the moon war ez bright ez day,
an' him a-whistlin' of a dancin' chune, whenst he tuk up a notion ez
thar war suthin' movin' down in the road on the level; sorter 'peared
ter him one minit 'twar men, an' the nex' minit he 'lowed 'twar jes'
the wind in a pack o' bushes--sumach an' blackberries an' such--ter
one side o' the road. He halted fur a minit, an' didn't see nuthin',
nor hear nuthin'; so he rid on, an' whenst he reached the levels thar
started up in the midst o' the road--he 'lowed it 'peared ter him ez
hell hed spewed 'em out all of a suddenty, fur he couldn't see _whar_
they kem from--a gang o' 'bout half a dozen mounting fellers. He 'lowed
he hed never seen 'em afore, an' they didn't know him, fur they called
him 'stranger.' Every man pursented a pistol at him, an' look whar
he would, 'twar down a muzzle. But they war all a-laffin' at him, an'
purtendin' not ter be so fur on the cold side o' friendly; they kep'
callin' out, claimin' his horse, 'lowin' he hed stole it from them, an'
tellin' him he hed ter gin it up, an' march afoot, an' grinnin', an'
axin' him ef he didn't know they hung horse-thieves, an' sayin' they
war a-goin' ter make him git down on his knees an' thank them fur his
life; an' he war a-declarin' an' a-protesting an' though he had drawed
his pistol, he hadn't fired it. An' ez they war a-tryin' ter pull him
out'n the saddle, one sly rascal cut the girth, an' an idee kem ter him
ez the whole consarn lurched; he slipped his feet out'n the stirrups,
an' let saddle an' saddle-bags drap ter the ground, fur he 'lowed they
meant ter kill him, sure, an' that way he got loosed fur a second, an'
in that second he whirled his horse round an' galloped along the road,
leadin' the gang that fired arter him at every jump. One bullet went
through his lung--lef' lung I b'lieve Doctor Ganey say. I ain't sure
now whether 'twar lef', or right, or middle, or what not; leastwise
Doctor Ganey pulled a tur'ble long face whenst the man had eluded the
horse-thieves an' got inter his hands."
"Dun'no' which war the fryin'-pan an' which war the fire, myself,"
commented old Bakewell.
"But he tole the man at fust he wouldn't die," continued the sheriff.
"But I could hev tole him he would whenst he called Doctor Ganey,"
chuckled the sexagenarian.
The officer looked somewhat surprised, for the "valley folks" thought a
trifle better of science expressed in drugs than did the mountaineers,
who presumed them to be the spontaneous production of the apothecary
shop, and thus opposed to nature, expressed in herbs. He was, however,
country-bred, hailing originally from one of the mountain spurs, and
had been transplanted to the town only by the repeated success of his
political schemes, resulting in his election to the office of sheriff
on more than one occasion. The rural standpoint medically was thus
perfectly comprehensible to him; and, being in full health, entirely
independent of aught that Doctor Ganey might or might not know, he
himself leaned to facile disparagement.
"Folks in Colbury 'lowed Doctor Ganey ought not ter hev let him be
brung ter town nex' day in the cool o' the mornin' on a spring bed an'
in a spring wagon; though he war turrible anxious ter be sure ter make
a ante-mortem statement; the robbers hed got the saddle-bags an' money,
ye see, an' he didn't want folks ter think 'twar him ez stole it."
There was a momentary pause, broken only by the sharp staccato sound
of the hammer within the shop, beating into shape the shoe that must
be fitted to the hoof; the horse outside turned his glossy neck,
holding up the unshod hind foot a trifle from the ground, and looked
through the door into the dark interior of the forge, where the
smith's figure was to be dimly discerned in the scanty flicker of
the smouldering fire; the animal watched the process with a definite
anxiety and interest that seemed to bespeak a desire to superintend
its proper performance. His resignation to human guidance evidently
arose more from the constraint of circumstance than reliance on man's
superior wisdom. More than once the blacksmith stopped to listen,
and afterward the matters at the forge went awry; outside one could
hear him muttering surly comments upon the inanimate appurtenances,
especially when he dropped the hot iron once in taking it from the
coals, letting it slip through the inadequate grasp of the tongs, and
requested it to go to a hotter place even than the fire, and there to
be infinitely and inimitably "dad-burned." All of which had as little
effect as such objurgations usually do upon the insensate offender; but
the ebullitions seemed to serve, like thunder, to clear the atmosphere,
and to enable the smith better to resign himself to the terrible
deprivation of the sheriff's talk, lost in the reverberations of his
own hammer and the sibilant singing of the anvil.
Outside, the sound hardly impinged upon the privilege of conversation.
The sheriff's lip was curling; he hastily shifted one leg over the
other, and this posture enabled him to eye the toe of his boot,
with which he seemed to have confidences in some sort, reverting
to it in moments when at a loss, as if its contemplation in some
incomprehensible way refreshed his memory.
"Waal, the bosses o' the consarn--shucks! mighty knowin' cusses--they
_would_ hev it 'twar some folks down yander neighborin' the mines. I
won't say who, and I won't say what," he interpolated, with a sudden
recollection of a seemly official reticence; "but ez 'twar thought the
man wouldn't die, an' all war keen ter git holt o' the money agin, I
hed ter go fust an' air thar s'picions, ez arter a-chasin' an' a-racin'
an' keepin' secret an' mighty dark turned out nuthin' at all. Fust one
man an' then t'other showed up in a different place that night. Every
one! I lef' word with my dep'ty, Ben Boker, who 'twas _I_ wanted looked
arter, an' he tuk sick with the bilious fever the very day I lef', an'
air a-bed yit; so I hev got behindhand with this job, an' I hope the
folks won't lay it up agin me."
"Waal," said the old man, leaning forward, his hard hands clasped, a
smile upon his wrinkled face, a slender sunbeam sifting through the
boughs of the oak-tree, touching the thick tufts of gray hair on his
brow, and brightening them to a whiter lustre, "I'll be bound old
man Ganey warn't behindhand with _his_ job," and he lifted his heavy
eyebrows and chuckled softly.
"Naw, sir," said the officer, respectfully. "The doctor's job tuk off
day before yestiddy mornin' 'fore daybreak. The doctor 'lowed ef he
could make sunup he mought last through till evenin'. But he had seen
his las' sunrise."
"Ez ef Dr. Ganey knowed sech," exclaimed the old man. "He 'pears ter
me ez ef his foolishness grows on him. Ye'll die whenst yer time kems,
an' it'll kem mighty quick ef ye hev in Ganey. An' yit," with a nodding
head and narrowing eyes, "thar be them ez fairly pins thar hopes o'
salvation on ter the wisdom, that air foolishness, o' that old consarn.
Thar's a valley man, Shattuck, ez hev been 'bidin' fur a while with Len
Rhodes in the cove, a-holpin' him 'lectioneer, an' whenst Len fell down
a-dancin'--mus' hev been drunk--at the Pettingill infair, an' seemed
ter bump his head a passel, an' shed some blood, nuthin' would do this
Shattuck but Ganey mus' be sent fur. He threatened old man Pettingill
with the gallus ef Rhodes should die."
"Old Zack Pettingill! Why, he's one of my _bes'_ friends, an' a
better man never lived," interrupted the officer, although he lent an
attentive ear, for Rhodes was of the opposite party, and the sheriff
was a candidate for re-election.
"Yes, sir"--the old man redoubled his emphasis--"though Phil Craig
war in the house a-bathin' the wounds an' a-bindin' 'em up with yerbs
ter take the soreness out. An' ef ye'll b'lieve me he cavorted so ez
old Zack Pettingill, though an obstinate old sinner, hed ter gin up,
an' put Steve Yates on his bes' horse, an' send seventeen miles fur
Ganey. It all 'peared so onreasonable an' so all-fired redic'lous ez I
couldn't holp but b'lieve ez this hyar Shattuck hed some yerrand o' his
own ter send Yates on, special ez Dr. Ganey never kem."
"P'litical bizness--bribery an' sech," suggested the sheriff,
acrimoniously, for each man was phenomenally eager for the success of
the whole ticket. So closely were the opposing factions matched, so
high ran party spirit in this section, that his own candidacy, albeit
for a far different office, made him in some sort Rhodes's opponent.
"Mought hev been electioneerin'. I hev always 'lowed, though, whenst ye
fund out whar Steve Yates be now, ye'll find out what Shattuck sent him
fur, though some say Yates jes' hed a quar'l with his wife, an' hed run
away from her."
The officer's color suddenly changed; it beat hot in his bronzed
cheeks; it seemed even to deepen in his eyes, that were of too light a
tint ordinarily. He pushed his hat back from his brow, where the beads
of perspiration had started in the roots of his brown hair.
"Hain't Yates kem back yet?" he asked, breathlessly.
"Hide nor hair hev been seen o' him since that night."
"What night?" demanded the officer.
"Night o' the Pettingill infair, o' course," rejoined the old man,
tartly; "an' that war the second day o' July--a Friday it war; they
oughter hev got the weddin' over 'fore Friday. Them young folks can't
expec' no luck."
"They can't hev none worse'n they _hev_ hed, 'cordin' ter my view,
a-marryin' one another. The Lord's been toler'ble hard on 'em a'ready,
I'm thinkin'."
This observation came from one of the men perched on the pole of
the broken wagon, reputed to be a rejected suitor of the bride, and
a defeated rival of the groom. The opportunity for the ridicule of
sentimental woe in which the rustic delights was too good to be lost,
and under the cloak of the raillery the sheriff unobtrusively drew out
a note-book and casually referred to it. The night of the second of
July--a Friday night--the agent of the Spondulix Mine was waylaid by
horse-thieves, lost his saddle and the treasure in his saddle-bags in
the fracas, and received in his flight such wounds that he died thereof
within a few weeks. The officer had closed the book and returned it to
his pocket before the attention of the party had reverted to him anew.
"What sorter man air this hyar Shattuck?" he asked, casually, as he
held a huge plug of tobacco between his teeth, from which he gnawed,
with an admirable display of energy, a fragment for present use. "What
sorter man?"
"Waal," said old Bakewell, narrowing his eyes and pursing his mouth
critically, as he glanced absently down at a brilliant patch of
sunshine, gilded and yellow in the midst of the dark olive-green shadow
of the oak-tree, "I dun'no' what ter say 'bout'n a man ez goes roun'
payin' folks ter dig in Injun mounds fur a lot o' bowls an' jars an'
sech like, whenst fur the money he could buy better ones right down
yander at the store."
The officer had faced about on the barrel and sat bolt-upright, a hand
on either knee, his amazement looking alertly out of his light-gray
eyes.
"He hev quit that, though, lately," the smith struck in, dropping the
hoof to which he had tentatively applied the shoe and standing still,
half supporting himself with his hand on the shoulder of the animal,
who once more turned his head with a slow, deprecatory motion, and
gazed back upon the displeasing and seemingly incompetent doings of
this dilatory workman. "Baker Anderson--he's a half-grown boy ez hev
been 'bidin' at Mis' Yates's of a night ter keer fur the house agin
lawless ones an' sech--he kem hyar this mornin' ter git his plough
sharpened, an' he 'lows ez this hyar Shattuck say he wants ter dig up
the bones of the Leetle People, buried nigh the ruver on Fee Guthrie's
lan'. An' Steve favored it; but Mis' Yates 'lowed she'd shoot him ef he
tampered with the Leetle People's bones, an' Baker 'lows ez that war
why Steve lef' her."
"The Leetle People!" echoed the sheriff in a dazed tone, as if he
hardly believed his ears.
"Lord A'mighty, Tawmmy Carew! Hain't ye never heard 'bout a lot o'
small-sized people, no bigger'n chil'n, ez hed this kentry 'fore the
Injun kem--'bout the time o' the flood, I reckon." Old Bakewell hardily
hazarded this speculation, which had about as much justification
of probability as the conclusions of many other scientists of more
pretensions. "Hev ye got yer growth ez a man, an' lived ter be 'lected
sher'ff o' the county, an' ter thrive on the hope o' bein' 'lected
agin, an' _yit_ air ez green ez a gourd?--so green ez never ter hev
hearn tell o' the Leetle Stranger People?" demanded the old man,
scornfully.
Thus adjured, the sheriff, for his credit's sake, was fain to refresh
his memory. "'Pears like I useter know some sech old tale ez that,
but I had nigh forgot it," he said, mendaciously, the lie staring
irrepressibly out of his widely opened, astonished eyes. "I never
'lowed it war true."
"But it _air_ true," said the smith, the shoe and hammer hanging
listlessly in one hand, while the other, leaning heavily on the horse's
back, sufficed to transfer much of his weight to the animal. "They air
the nighest neighbors Mis' Yates hev got. An' though Steve an' this man
Shattuck agreed so mighty well, Mis' Yates couldn't abide the idee o'
diggin' up the Leetle People's bones, an' swore she'd shoot ennybody ez
tried it. An', by hokey"--with a sudden excitement in his eyes--"she
_done_ it! Las' night, Baker say, this man an' Rhodes war thar in the
pig buryin'-ground--he calls them humans 'pigs'--an' she gin 'em two
toler'ble fair shots. Shoots toler'ble well fur a 'oman. Baker say the
bullet cut through Shattuck's hair good fashion."
"Waal, that's agin the law," said the sheriff, with his bitter,
implacable official expression; "assault with intent to kill."
"Oh, shet up, Tawmmy," the old man admonished him from the
vantage-ground of his age and experience. "What else air fire-arms
manufactured fur?"
Beyond this cogent reasoning "Tawmmy's" speculation could not go.
Nevertheless, he was sworn to administer the law, albeit thrice proven
a foolish device of fools, and his brow did not relax. It was with
a dark frown, indeed, that he contemplated the mental image of Mrs.
Yates, because he felt that it behooved women so to order their walk
and conversation as to keep without the notice of the law, since
it was infinitely unpalatable to him to enforce it where they were
concerned, making him, rather than the culprit, the sufferer, and
forcing him to endure many unclassified phases and extremes of mental
anguish. He protested at times that they ought to be exempted from the
operations of the law. "They ain't got no reason, nohow," he gallantly
asseverated. "An' what sorter figure does a big man cut arrestin' a
leetle bit of a 'oman? An' no jury ain't goin' ter convict 'em, ef they
kin git around it, an' no jedge ain't goin' ter charge agin 'em, ef he
kin holp himself. The law jes' devils the sher'ff with 'em; _he_ hev
got ter go through all the motions fur nuthin'. They say Jedge Kinnear
air a out an' out 'oman's jedge. An' no man, even in civil cases, hev
got a chance agin enny 'oman or enny minor chil'n, gals 'specially, in
his court. Waal, now, _I'm_ a _man's_ sher'ff. An' I want the wimmin
an' chil'n ter keep out'n my way, an' I'll keep out'n theirn."
Shattuck, however, and especially as connected with Rhodes, offered a
prospect more in keeping with his professions and views of his office.
"What do he want ter dig up thar bones fur?" he demanded. "That air
agin the law, too."
"Fur the hist'ry o' the kentry, Baker say," the smith suggested; the
phrase seemed to have a sort of coherency that commended it generally.
But the sheriff shook his head. "I hev studied the history o' the
kentry," he asserted, capably. "I hev 'tended school, an' the Leetle
People hain't got nuthin' ter do with the hist'ry o' the kentry. I
read 'bout the Injun war, an' the Revolutionary war, an' the Mexican
war, an' this las' leetle war o' ourn, an' the Leetle People warn't in
_none_ of 'em."
He was silent for a moment, looking at the ground, his head tilted
askew, a wistful expression on his face, so did the mystery baffle him.
The light taps of the hammer sounding on the air as the smith drove
in the last nail were suddenly blended with the quick hoof-beats of a
galloping horse, and Guthrie, mounted on Cheever's famous roan, came
into view along the vista of the road, reining up under the tree as he
recognized the sheriff.
It was a scene remembered for many a day, reproduced as the preamble of
the fireside tale recited for years afterward by the by-standers. The
sheriff, standing with his hand on the forelock of the captive charger,
his head a trifle bent, listened with a languid competent smile as if
he had known before all that the horseman recounted; Guthrie himself,
pale from the loss of blood, his hair hanging upon his shoulders, his
face, so fierce, so austere, framed by his big black hat, his spurs
jingling on his high boots, his pistols and formidable knife in his
belt, began to take to their accustomed eyes the changed guise which
afterward attended his personality when they told of the part he
bore and of all that befell him. The only exclamations came from the
spectators, as they pressed close about the two restive horses. They
fell back amazed and impressed by the official coolness when all was
done, and the sheriff turned calmly aside.
"Come, Guthrie," he only said, "you may ride with me to-day."
And with this he put his foot in the stirrup.
[Illustration: "'COME, GUTHRIE,' HE ONLY SAID."]