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A PAGAN OF THE HILLS
by
CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK
Author of
"The Call of the Cumberlands,"
"The Battle Cry,"
"When Bearcat Went Dry," Etc., Etc.
Frontispiece by George W. Gage
[Frontispiece: Sometimes, in these days, she went to a crest from which
the view reached far off for leagues over the valley.]
New York
W. J. Watt & Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1919, by
W. J. Watt & Company
A PAGAN OF THE HILLS
CHAPTER I
"It's plum amazin' ter heer ye norate thet ye've done been tradin' and
hagglin' with old man McGivins long enough ter buy his logs offen him
and yit ye hain't never met up with Alexander. I kain't hardly fathom
hit noways."
The shambling mountaineer stretched himself to his lean length of six
feet two, and wagged an incredulous head. Out of pale eyes he studied
the man before him until the newcomer from "down-below" felt that, in
the attitude, lay almost the force of rebuke. It was as though he
stood self-convicted of having visited Naples without seeing Vesuvius.
"But I haven't been haggling with Mr. McGivins," he hastened to
remonstrate. "On the contrary we have done business most amicably."
The native of the tangled hills casually waved aside the distinction of
terms as a triviality and went on: "I hain't nuver heered tell of no
man's tradin' in these hyar Kentucky mountains without he haggled
considerable. Why thet's what tradin' denotes. Howsomever what
flabbergasts me air thet ye hain't met up with Alexander. Stranger, ye
don't know nothin' about this neck o' the woods a-tall!"
Parson Acup, so called for the funereal gravity of his bearing and
expression, and Brent the timber-buyer, stood looking down from
beetling cliffs rigidly bestowed with collossal and dripping icicles.
To their ears came a babel of shouts, the grating of trees, long
sleet-bound but stirring now to the thaw--the roar of blasting powder
and the rending of solid rock.
Brent laughed. "Now, that you've fathomed the density of my
ignorance," he suggested, "proceed to enlighten me. Upon what does
this Alexander rest his fame? What character of man is he?"
"Wa'al, stranger, I've done always held ther notion thet we folks up
hyar in these benighted hills of old Kaintuck, war erbout the
ign'rantest human mortals God ever suffered ter live--but even us knows
erbout Alexander. Fust place he hain't no man at all. He's a
gal--leastwise, Alexander was borned female but she's done lived a plum
he-life, ever since."
"A woman--but the name----"
"Oh, pshaw! Thar hain't nuthin' jedgmatic in a name. Old man McGivins
he jest disgusts gals and so he up and named his fust born Alexander
an' he's done reared her accordin'."
Brent arched his brows as his informant continued, gathering headway in
the interest of his narrative. "Old man McGivins he's done read a
lavish heap of books an' he talks a passel of printed wisdom. He
'lowed thet Alexander wa'nt no common man's name but thet hit signified
a hell-bustin' survigrous feller. By his tellin', ther fust Alexander
whaled blazes outen all creation an' then sot down an' cried like a
baby because ther job he'd done went an' petered out on him. Ter me,
thet norration savers right strong of a damn lie."
Brent nodded as he smilingly replied, "I've read of that first
Alexander, but he's been dead a good many centuries."
"Long enough ter leave him lay an' ferget about him, I reckon," drily
observed the parson. "Anyhow atter a spell Old Man McGivins had
another bornin' at his dwellin-house an' thet time hit proved out to be
a boy. His woman sought ter rechristen ther gal Lizzie or Lake Erie or
somethin' else befittin petticoats. She 'lowed thet no godly man
wouldn't hardly seek a woman in wedlock, ner crave fer her to be ther
mother of his children with a name hung on her like Alexander Macedonia
McGivins."
Brent's eye twinkled as he watched the unbending gravity of the other's
face and since comment seemed expected he conceded, "There seems to be
a germ of reason in that."
"Then ther boy commenced growin' up, lazy-like an' shiftless,"
enlightened the parson. "Ther old man 'lowed thet hit wouldn't hardly
be no fallacy ter name him Lizzie or Lake Erie, but he swore on a hull
stack of Bibles thet he aimed ter make a man of ther gal."
Suddenly the speaker broke off and his brow clouded. Following the
apprehensive direction of the frowning eyes as one might follow a
dotted line the man from the city saw a young mountaineer
surreptitiously tilting a flask to his lips in the lee of a huge
boulder. Palpably the drinker believed himself screened from view, and
when he had wiped the neck of the flask with the palm of his hand and
stowed it away again in his breast pocket he looked furtively about
him--and that furtiveness was unusual enough to elicit surprise in this
land where men drank openly and made moonshine whiskey and even gave it
to their small children.
"Since ther time of corn drappin' an' kiverin'," said the Parson,
slowly, "Bud Sellers hain't teched a dram afore now. Hit don't
pleasure me none ter see him startin' in afresh."
"He's been working hard," suggested the timber buyer tolerantly. "I've
watched him and he never seems to tire. Maybe he felt the need of a
stimulant."
But Acup growled. "When Bud leaves licker alone thar hain't no better
boy nowhars. When he follers drinking he gits p'izen mean right down
to ther marrer in his insidest bone. Folks calls him ther mad-dog
then. Ef these men finds out he's drinkin', they'll quit work an'
scatter like pa'tridges does when they sees a hawk flutterin' overhead."
The loose-jointed giant turned on his heel and left Brent standing
alone. Snow after snow had fallen this winter and frozen tight, heaped
high by blizzard after blizzard until all the legendary "old fashioned
winters" had been outdone and put to shame. Then without warning had
come some warm breath across the peaks bringing January rains on the
heels of zero frigidity and thaws of unprecedented swiftness. While
the "spring-tide" was to have been an agency of safe delivery for the
felled timber this premature flood threatened to be a lawless one of
devastation. Brent had rushed up here from the city driven by anxiety
as to the logs he had contracted to buy--logs which the oncoming flood
threatened to ravish into scattered and racing drift. He had found old
man McGivins toiling without sleep or rest; racing against the
gathering cohorts of a Nature turned vandal, and into the fight and
stress he had thrown himself and all his energies.
That there was even the slimmest of chances to save the poplar, was a
fact due to a peculiar conformation of the levels there, and to
exceptional circumstances.
"Gin'rally we just rolls ther logs down hill when we cuts 'em an' lets
'em lay thar whar they falls in ther creek beds," McGivins had
explained. "Afore ther spring tide comes on with ther thaws an' rains,
we builds a splash dam back of 'em an' when we're ready we blows her
out an' lets 'em float on down ter ther nighest boom fer raftin'. Ef a
flood like this comes on they gits scattered, an' we jest kisses 'em
good-bye. Thet's happenin' right now all along these numerous small
creeks."
But McGivins had cut his timber near a river that could float not only
loose logs but rafts, and in a small lake-like basin hemmed in by
cliffs and separated by a gorge from the river he had gathered them and
bound them into three large rafts. Only such a stage as came with the
"tide" would convert the gorge into a water-way out, and only then wen
the great dam built across it had been dynamited.
Now came this flood, infinitely more powerful than the ordinary rise of
spring. The dam was threatened and must be strengthened and raised
higher. If it gave way, he too must "kiss his logs good-bye."
As the city man speculated on the odds against him Old Man McGivins
himself materialized at his elbow. His lips were tight-set and his
brow was furrowed. For him the situation savored of impending tragedy.
These trees had been reluctantly felled from a virgin tract of forest
heretofore unscarred by the axe, and they had been his long-hoarded
treasure. He had held on to them much as a miser holds to his savings
because he loved them. Even when Brent had offered a good price,
running well into thousands, he had wrestled with himself. When the
axes had rung and the saws whined through the scarlet and golden
autumn, it had almost seemed to him that he was executing living and
beloved friends. Now an inimical force of Nature threatened to rob him
of them and of his remuneration as well. Yet as he stood there, with
the sweat and grime of his labor drying on his forehead, his brooding
eyes held a patriarchal dignity of uncomplaining courage.
"All these hyar men air my neighbors, Mr. Brent," he said with a manner
of instinctive courtesy. "They hain't a-workin' fer wages but jest ter
kinderly convenience me--I reckon we're both of us right smart beholden
to 'em."
The city man acquiescently nodded his head but he was thinking chiefly
of the calm patience and the tireless strenuousity with which McGivins,
himself, was battling against calamity.
"They are friends of yours," he answered. "They realize that your loss
will be heavy if----" He broke off there and the other went on.
"Hit'll mighty nigh cripple me ef we don't save 'em. I've done held on
ter thet timber fer a long spell of years an' I sorrers ter part with
hit now. But thar's a right weighty mortgage on my land an' hit's held
by a man thet don't squander no love on me at best."
Brent gritted his teeth. He had heretofore known only in the
indirectness of theory the sudden capriciousness of mountain weather;
storms that burst and cannonade without warning; trickling waters that
leap overnight into maddened freshets. Now he was seeing in its
blood-raw ferocity the primal combat between man and the elements.
With a troubled brow Parson Acup returned and addressed McGivins.
"Aaron," he said bluntly, "right numerous fellers air threatenin' ter
quit us and we kain't spare a single hand."
The old man flinched as if under a blow from a trusted hand. "What fer
does they aim ter quit?" he demanded.
"Bud Sellers has started in drinkin' licker, an' a'ready he's gittin'
malignant. Ther Martin boys an' ther Copelands an' others beside 'em,
'lows thet they ain't seekin' no heedless trouble and hit's more
heedful-like fer 'em ter go on home an' avoid an affray. Ef they stays
on hit's right apt to end in blood-lettin'."
McGivins drew himself to a more rigid erectness. "Go back an' tell
them boys thet I needs 'em," he ordered. "Tell 'em ef they don't stand
by me now, I'm ruint. I'll send Bud away ef thet's all thet's frettin'
'em."
"I wouldn't counsel ye ter cross Bud jest now," advised Acup, but the
other laughed under his long beard, a low angry laugh, as he turned on
his heel and, with the man from the city following him, started in
search of the troublemaker.
Bud was found at last behind the great hump of towering rock. The
place, walled in by beetling precipice, was beginning to darken into
cloister-dim shadows. Bud's back was turned and he did not hear the
footfall of the two men who had come upon him there. He knew that when
once he succumbed to the thirst it meant a parting with reason and a
frenzy of violence. But when the first savor of the fiery moonshine
stuff had teased his palate and the first warmth had glowed in his
stomach it meant surrender to debauch--and already he had gone too far
to fight the appetite which was his ruin.
Now he stood with the flask to his lips and his head bent back, but
when he had drunk deep he turned and saw the two figures that were
silently observing him.
His eyes were already blood-shot and his cheeks reddened. The motions
of his lithe body were unsteady. With a shamefaced gesture the young
man sought to conceal the flask under his coat, then a fickle change
came to his mood. His head bent down low like a bull's and his
shoulders hulked in a stiffening defiance.
"Spyin' on me, air ye?" The question rasped savagely from his
thickened lips. "Well, damn ther pair of ye, spies desarves what they
gits! I'm a free man an' I don't suffer no bull-dozin' from nobody."
He lurched forward with so threatening an air that Brent stepped a
little to the side and instinctively his hand went to the coat pocket
where he carried a pistol. But Bud ignored him, focussing his
attention upon the mountain man to whom he had come in friendship and
service for the stemming of a disaster. He came with a chin out-thrust
close to the older and bearded face. Truculence and reckless bravado
proclaimed themselves in the pose, as he bulked there. "Wa'al," he
snarled, "ye heered me, didn't ye?"
But McGivins had not altered his attitude. He had not given back a
stride nor moved his arms. Now he spoke quietly.
"I'm sore grieved to see you comin' ter this pass, Bud," he said. "We
all knows what hit means every time. I'm obleeged ter ye fer what
ye've already done--an' I'll ask ye, now, ter go on home afore ye
drinks any more whiskey--or starts any ruction amongst my neighbors."
"So thet's hit, air hit?" Bud rocked a little on his feet as he stood
confronting the steady challenge of Aaron McGivins. "So ye lets a man
work slavish fer ye all day, and then starts in faultin' him ef he
takes a drink at sun-down. Well damn ye, I don't aim ter go nowhars
tell I'm ready an' ambitious ter go--does ye hear thet or does I hev
ter tell ye again?"
With a very deliberate motion McGivins lifted one arm and pointed it
towards the west--that way lay the nearest boundary of his tract.
"I've done asked ye plum civil ter go, because ef you don't go other
fellers will--fellers thet's wuth somethin'. Now I orders ye ter get
offen my land. Begone!"
What happened next was such a tumult of abruptness that Brent found
himself standing inactive, not fully grasping the meaning of the
situation. From Bud came a roar of anger as he lunged and grappled
with the bearded elder, carrying him back in the onslaught. With a
belated realization, Brent threw himself forward but just as his hand
fell on the shoulder of Bud Sellers he heard a report, muffled because
it was fired between two savagely embraced bodies. The lumber buyer
had seen no weapon drawn. That had been the instinctive legerdemain of
mountain quickness, which even drink had not blunted. As he wrenched
Bud back, the wounded figure stood for a moment swaying on legs that
slowly and grotesquely buckled into collapse at the knees until Aaron
McGivins crumpled down in a shapeless heap.
Bud Sellers wrenched himself free with a muscular power that almost
hurled Brent to the ground, and the pistol fell from his hand. For a
moment the young assailant stood there with an expression of dismayed
shock, as though, in his sleep, he had committed a crime and had
awakened into an appalled realization. Then, ignoring Brent, he
wheeled and lunged madly into the laurel.
Figures came running in response to the alarm of pistol report and
shouting, but old man McGivins, whom they carried to the nearest
bonfire, feebly nodded his head. Parson Acup was bending over him and
when he rose it was with a dubious face.
"I fears me thet wound's mighty liable ter be a deadener," he said.
Then the wounded man lifted a trembling hand. "Git me over home," he
directed shortly, "An' fer God's sake, boys, go forward with this work
till hit's finished."