Ralph and His Grandfather.
Meanwhile Jase Vaughn sat on his mule looking quietly on, as if he were
entirely unconcerned in the result of the struggle between Ralph and
his grandfather.
Old Granger, finding himself baffled, flung down the rifle upon the
ground and strode off up the road, muttering wildly to himself like one
demented.
"Hold on, grandpa!" shouted Ralph, picking up the gun. "I'll be with
you in a minute."
But the old man heeded not, and soon disappeared round a bend of the
road in the direction of his home.
"He's too old to change," said Jase. "But I really don't see any
reason why you and me should keep up this foolishness. If my father
shot yourn, thar was a cousin of your father's fought a duel with my
dad 'way down in Georgy. Both on 'em were hurt so bad they never
walked again."
"We heard of it," returned Ralph, "and I couldn't help thinking at the
time what fools our families were to keep up a feud started, I reckon,
by our great grandfathers."
"Right, you are, young feller. Hit all come of doggin' hogs outn a
sweet tater patch; so I've heard."
"Then there was a row, I reckon."
"Yes. One word brought on another, till at last some one got hurt,
then the shootin' begun. I never did take much to the business myself,
but somehow I didn't have the energy to set the thing straight. I'm
powerful glad ye done what ye have done today, and I passes you my word
that Jase Vaughn has done with the feud as well as you."
This time it was Ralph's turn to offer his hand. After another hearty
shake little Clell threw himself upon the lad's neck with childish
abandon.
"I like 'oo!" he cried again.
"Well, I swow!" exclaimed Jase. "He's takin' a plum likin' to you.
But we must be gettin' on. If ever I can do anything for you, don't
'low my bein' a Vaughn keep you from lettin' me know."
Then Jase clucked to his mule and rode away, with little Clell craning
his neck to catch a last glimpse of Ralph, who, shouldering his rifle,
began to retrace his steps towards home.
As he proceeded his face grew grave. How would his incensed relative
receive him?
Since the grandmother's and his father's death Ralph and the old man
had lived principally by themselves. The boy's own mother had died
when he was a baby. Now and then some woman would be hired to do some
house-work, usually the wife or daughter of some tenant to whom Bras
Granger rented a portion of his land. But they seldom remained long,
and Ralph had, perforce, to take their place from time to time.
He grew as expert at cooking and other simple household duties as he
was at shooting, trapping, and similar mountain accomplishments. Thus
the two had lived on together, with little outside society, relying
mainly on themselves for diversion as well as support.
The maintenance of the feud was the old man's greatest wish. It was as
meat and drink to his soul.
When Ralph showed the indifference he often felt on that subject, his
grandfather always flew into a rage.
"To think that my only living descendant should go back on the family,
is too much to bear," he said. "There's only nephews and cousins
'sides you, Ralph. They are scattered here and yonder; they ain't a
carin' much about the family honor. Hit all depends on you, boy. I
wonder your pap's ghost ain't a haantin' you for bein' so careless."
Then Ralph would vaguely promise to do better, and the subject would be
dropped, only to crop up again whenever the old man felt more savagely
inclined than usual. Today, however, was the first time that the two
had come to an open and violent rupture.
When the boy came in sight of the cabin he beheld his grandparent
seated in the doorway absorbed, apparently in deep reflection.
Ralph crossed the foot log, opened the gate and walked up to the door.
"I am sorry I displeased you today," he began, "but I just couldn't do
what you wanted me to do----"
"Shet your mouth!" interrupted Granger harshly. "You are a disgrace to
your kin. I never would a believed it if my eyes hadn't a seen and my
ears a heard. You are no longer a grandson of mine. D'ye hear?"
Ralph's perplexed and distressed look seemed to again infuriate the old
man.
"Pack up your traps and get outn here!" he raged, brandishing his
walking stick. "My house is no longer a home for such as you."
"Wh--where shall I go?" asked Ralph, still dazed over this astounding
outcome of the Vaughn incident.
"Mebbe you'd better go over to Jase Vaughn's," sneered old Granger.
"His father killed yourn, but you don't care for such a little thing as
that."
"Grandpa," cried Ralph, stung to indignation at last, "it is cruel of
you to treat me so, simply because I wouldn't commit murder.
Yes--murder. I say it would have been murder! I'm no coward; and it
is cowardly to shoot down a man and him not knowing."
"You reprobate!" gasped the obdurate old mountaineer. "I've a notion
to thrash you--right here."
He again shook his cane and glared his hatred of Ralph's conduct. But
the boy only said:
"I'd rather you beat me than do what I always would be miserable over.
Let's drop it, grandpa."
He passed into the cabin and observed a small pile of clothing on the
floor.
"There's your duds, boy," said Bras Granger grimly. "Pick 'em up and
pull your freight outn here."
Ralph surveyed the old man curiously; but as he noted the latter's
stern, unyielding aspect he said no more until he had rolled up a clean
shirt and a pair of socks. A tear or two fell as he tied the bundle in
a large handkerchief.
"Am I to take the gun?" asked he, gulping down his emotion as best he
could.
"No!" almost shouted the old man. "What business you got with a gun?
Come now; are you ready?"
Ralph nodded; his heart was too full to speak.
The old man stood aside and pointed to the door. Ralph held out his
hand.
"Good by," he managed to falter forth. "May God forgive you for
turnin' me out this day."
He passed through the yard, feeling for the gate, for his eyes were dim
with moisture. Crossing the foot log, he walked on until he came to a
rise of ground just where the road made a sudden turn.
Then he wheeled, dashed the tears away, and took a last look at the
place where he was born and had always lived.
Shut in by wild and rugged mountains, far from the world's great life,
humble and homely, it was still the only place on earth where the
orphaned lad had felt that he had any natural right to be. And now,
even this slender thread had been rudely severed by his nearest living
relative.
"Good-by, old home," said he audibly, as he waved his hand in a
farewell gesture. "I hate to leave you when it comes to the pinch, but
if I live I'll make my way somewhere's else. There's other places
beside these mountains where a boy can get on, I know."
He resumed his way, forcing back the tears, and soon found his emotions
subside.
A conviction that he had acted right throughout the altercation with
old Bras, helped him to bear more cheerfully the hard fact that he was
not only homeless but almost moneyless. This last misfortune did not
press on him heavily, as in that secluded region people were
universally hospitable. Ralph had never paid for a meal or a night's
lodging in his life.
As he happened to take an easterly course he kept it merely because it
would lead him to the lowlands and the towns as quickly as any other
route.
He had at once resolved to leave his native mountains. Inexperienced
as he was, he instinctively felt that there were better things in store
for an energetic lad in other parts of the country than he would be apt
to find anywhere near his home.
He struck a lively pace and had walked nearly a mile, with his bundle
under his arm, when he met Jase Vaughn returning from the mill.
"Hello, youngster!" quoth that worthy man as cordially as if Ralph and
himself had been warm friends all along. "Where you carryin' yourself
to? Old man got in good humor yet?"
"He has turned me out, lock, stock, and barrel," replied the boy,
swallowing his pride in this humiliating confession.
"W-h-a-a-t?" ejaculated Jase thoroughly amazed, while Clell smiled at
Ralph in a most amiable manner.
"Grandpa was so provoked because I declined to obey him," said Ralph,
"that he told me to pack up and get out."
"For good and all?"
"Yes, for good. At least I sh'an't go back any more--unless--he was to
send for me."
"Bully for you! I wouldn't either. Give you the shake 'cause you
wouldn't let him put a bullet hole through me! Well, I swow!"
Jase stared at Ralph in mingled admiration and compassion.
"The dadburned old fool!" he continued. "'Scuse me, Ralph, no
reflections on your fambly, but hit kind o' teches my feelin's to see
you fired in this shape, long o' your actin' the gentleman with me.
Where be you goin'?"
"Somewhere's down below; I don't know exactly where."
"Got any money?"
"A little. I'm going to hunt work; then I'll soon make more. I
sha'n't stay in the mountains."
Jase drew forth a greasy leather wallet and extracted a five dollar
bill, which he eyed reflectively as if forcing himself to make up his
mind, then suddenly handed it to Ralph, who thanked him but shook his
head.
"Dang it! Let me loan it to you then. Didn't you as good as save my
life? Look, Clell wants you to take it, don't you, Clell?"
The little fellow laughed, seized the bill from his father's hand, and
tossed it towards Ralph, saying:
"Take it; take it. I like 'oo, Walph."
Ralph felt another rising in his throat as he stooped to pick up the
note; but he could not bring himself to the point of accepting so great
a favor from one of the Vaughns.
"I--I really don't need it," said he. "Hold on! Jase! Do hold up a
minute."
"Can't, old feller," called back Jase, who had suddenly spurred his
mule into a trot when he saw the note in Ralph's hand. "Pay me when
you get back, if you'd rather."
"But I say! I can't keep this money----"
"Good by," came floating back on the breeze. "I don't know nothin'
'bout no money. Take good care of yourself."
Then Jase, boy, and mule, whipped round a crook of the road and were
seen no more.
Ralph's first impulse was to throw the bill away. But sober second
thoughts prevailed, and somewhat reluctantly he placed it with the rest
of his slender stock of cash.
"Jase means well," thought he, resuming his tramp. "I don't know that
either of us are to blame 'cause our families have been at outs for so
long. When I get to making something I'll send it back."
All that day Ralph trudged manfully on. At times grief would be
uppermost in his heart when he thought of the way in which his
grandfather had treated him.
Once, as he passed a cabin where a boy of about his own age stood
washing his hands on the porch, and he caught a glimpse of a cheerful
interior, with dinner smoking on the table, he felt very homesick. He
wished he was back, preparing his grandpa's noonday meal.
As he did not feel hungry he did not stop anywhere until about sunset,
when he walked up to a double penned house that looked roomy and
hospitable. Several dogs ran out barking.
"Here, you Boss! Git out'n thar, Louder! Pick up a stick and frail
the nation outn 'em, boy."
A tall, shock headed, awkward man had come onto the porch and was
making these remarks with great vigor but entire good nature. The dogs
subsided, and Ralph ran lightly up the steps.
"Come in. Take a chair by the fire. What mought your name be these
hard times?"
"I'm Ralph Granger, from over about Hiawassee Gap."
"Son of old Bras?"
Ralph assented, when the shock headed man called to his wife, who was
sifting meal for the supper:
"Tildy this must be one of your kin folks." Then, turning to Ralph, "My
wife was a Granger; one of the Gregory branch. Well, tell us all about
yourself. Don't mind the children, they always are in the way, anyhow."
Ralph, finding that he was among friends, related briefly the events of
the day and wound up by again expressing his detestation of the feud.
Mr. Dopples, for that was the shock headed man's name, nodded approval.
"We mountain folks live too much outn the world," said he. "What you
goin' to do?"
"Anything honest, to make a living. I'm not going to stay in these
parts though."
"If you've any notion of goin' down about Columbia, I can direct you to
a friend of mine as lives there. Comes up here every summer to fish
and hunt. Got lots of coin, and is always wantin' me to go down there
and take a regular town spree with him. Oh he's a sight!"
"What is his name? I don't suppose he would care anything about me.
He never heard of me, anyhow."
"Name is Captain Shard; he keeps a big livery stable. You just tell
him you're a friend of mine, and I'll bet my steers agin a coon skin
you're at home straight."
Soon after supper Ralph was shown to his bed in a shed room at the rear
of the house. In the mountains the people go to bed and rise early
from habit.
Before eight o'clock a sound of heavy breathing could be heard from
every room. Under the floor the very dogs were steeped in dreams of
coon and 'possum hunting.
Suddenly Ralph awoke, feeling a pressure on his chest. The room was
not so dark but that he could detect a shadowy figure at the bedside.
A prickly chill ran through his veins, but before he could speak, a
voice whispered:
"Give me your hand," and as the boy dazely obeyed, the pressure on his
chest was removed as another hand was lifted from there, that firmly
grasped his own.
"I can feel your pulse jump; you're skeered, Ralph."
"Wh--who are--you?" faltered Ralph, unable to make out as yet whether
it was a "haant" or a living person that had awakened him thus.
"Don't know me?" There was a titter of nearly noiseless laughter.
"Felt me pressin' your chist, didn't you?"
"Yes. At first I thought I must be stiflin', but----"
"If you want to wake a person 'thout speakin', you press on their
chist. Hit always fetches 'em. Don't you know me yet?"
Ralph murmured a low negative.
"Well, then, I'll tell you I'm----"
A sound of feet striking the floor heavily was heard from one of the
other rooms, and was followed by the voice of Mr. Dopples, calling out:
"Tildy! Oh, Tildy! Where be ye, Tildy?"