the drifts in the deep abysses melted, and heavy rains came on. The
mists clung, shroud-like, to Pine Mountain. The distant ranges seemed
to withdraw themselves into indefinite space, and for weeks Cynthia was
bereft of their familiar presence. Myriads of streamlets, channeling
the gullies and swirling among the bowlders, were flowing down the
steeps to join Lost Creek, on its way to its mysterious sepulchre
beneath the mountains.
And at last the spring opened. A vivid green tipped the sombre plumes
of the pines. The dull gray mists etherealized to a silver gauze, and
glistened above the mellowing landscape. The wild cherry was blooming
far and near. From the summit of the mountain could be seen for many
a mile the dirt-road in the valley,--a tawny streak of color on every
hilltop, or winding by every fallow field and rocky slope. A wild, new
hope was suddenly astir in Cynthia's heart; a new energy fired her
blood. It may have been only the recuperative power of youth asserting
itself. To her it was as if she had heard the voice of the Lord; and
she arose and followed it.
II.
Following the voice of the Lord, Cynthia took her way along a sandy
bridle-path that penetrates the dense forests of Pine Mountain. The
soft spring wind, fluttering in beneath her sun-bonnet, found the
first wild-rose blooming on her thin cheek. A new light shone like a
steadfast star in her deep brown eyes. "I hev took a-holt," she said
resolutely, "an' I'll never gin it up. 'Twarn't his deed, an' I'll
prove that, agin his own word. I dunno how,--but I'll prove it."
The woods seemed to open at last, for the brink of the ridge was close
at hand. As the trees were marshaled down the steep declivity, she
could see above their heads the wide and splendid mountain landscape,
with the benediction of the spring upon it, with the lofty peace of the
unclouded sky above it, with an impressive silence pervading it that
was akin to a holy solemnity.
There was a rocky, barren slope to the left, and among the brambly
ledges sheep were feeding. As the flock caught her attention she
experienced a certain satisfaction. "They hed sheep in the Lord's
life-time," she observed. "He gins a word 'bout'n them more'n enny
other critter."
And she sat down on a rock, among the harmless creatures, and was less
lonely and forlorn.
A little log house surmounted the slope. It was quaintly awry,
like most of the mountaineers' cabins, and the ridgepole, with its
irregularly projecting clapboards serrating the sky behind it,
described a negligently oblique line. Its clay chimney had a leaning
tendency, and was propped to its duty by a long pole. There was a
lofty martin-house, whence the birds whirled fitfully. The rail fence
inclosing the dooryard was only a few steps from the porch. There
rested the genial afternoon sunshine. It revealed the spinning-wheel
that stood near the wall; the shelf close to the door, with a pail of
water and a gourd for the incidentally thirsty; the idle churn, its
dasher on another shelf to dry; a rooster strutting familiarly in at
the open door; and a newly hatched brood picking about among the legs
of the splint-bottomed chairs, under the guidance of a matronly old
"Dominicky hen." In one of the chairs sat a man, emaciated, pallid,
swathed in many gay-colored quilts, and piping querulously in a high,
piercing key to a worn and weary woman, who came to the fence and
looked down the hill as he feebly pointed.
"Cynthy--Cynthy Ware!" she called out, "air that you-uns?"
Cynthia hesitated, then arose and went forward a few steps. "It be me,"
she said, as if making an admission.
"Kem up hyar. Jube's wantin' ter know why ye hain't been hyar ter
inquire arter him." The woman waited at the gate, and opened it for
her visitor. She looked hardly less worn and exhausted than the broken
image of a man in the chair. "Jube counts up every critter in the
mountings ez kems ter inquire arter him," she added, in a lower voice.
"'Pears-like ter me ez it air about time fur worldly pride ter hev
loosed a-holt on him; but Satan kin foster guile whar thar ain't enough
life left fur nuthin' else, an' pore Jube hev never been so gin over
ter the glory o' this world ez now."
"He 'pears ter be gittin' on some," said the girl, although she hardly
recognized in the puny, pallid apparition among the muffling quilts the
bluff and hale mountaineer she had known.
"Fust-rate!" weakly piped out the constable. "I eat a haffen pone
o' bread fur dinner!" Then he turned querulously to his wife: "Jane
Elmiry, ain't ye goin' ter git me that thar fraish aig ter whip up in
whiskey, like the doctor said?"
"'T ain't time yit, Jube," replied the patient wife. "The doctor 'lowed
ez the aig must be spang fraish; an' ez old Topknot lays ter the minit
every day, I'm a-waitin' on her."
The wasted limbs under the quilts squirmed around vivaciously. "An'
yander's the darned critter," he cried, spying old Topknot leisurely
pecking about under a lilac bush, "a-feedin' around ez complacent an'
sati'fied ez ef I warn't a-settin' hyar waitin' on her lazy bones!
Cynthy, I'm jes' a-honing arter suthin' ter eat all the time, an'
that's what makes me 'low ez I'm gittin' well; though Jane Elmiry"--he
glared fiercely at his meek wife, "hev somehows los' her knack at
cookin', an' sometimes I can't eat my vittles when they air fetched ter
me."
He fell back in his chair, his tangled, over-grown hair hardly
distinguishable from his tangled, over-grown beard. His eyes roved
restlessly about the quiet landscape. A mist was gathering over the
eastern ranges; shot with the sunlight, it was but a silken and filmy
suggestion of vapor. A line of vivid green in the valley marked the
course of Lost Creek by the willows and herbage fringing its banks. A
gilded bee, with a languorous drone, drifted in and out of the little
porch, and the shadow of the locust above it was beginning to lengthen.
The tree was in bloom, and Cynthia picked up a fallen spray as she sat
down on the step. He glanced casually at her; then, with the egotism of
an invalid, his mind reverted to himself.
"Why hain't ye been hyar ter inquire arter me, Cynthy,--you-uns, or yer
dad, or yer mam, or somebody? I hain't been lef' ter suffer, though,
'thout folkses axin' arter me, I tell ye! The miller hev been hyar day
arter day. Baker Teal, what keeps the store yander ter the Settlemint,
hev rid over reg'lar. Tom Peters kems ez sartain ez the sun. An' the
jestice o' the peace"--he winked weakly in triumph, "Squair Bates--hev
been hyar nigh on ter wunst a week. The sheriff or one o' the dep'ties
hain't been sca'ce round hyar, nuther. An' some other folkses--I name
no names--sends me all the liquor I kin drink from a still ez they say
grows in a hollow rock round hyar somewhar. They sends me all I kin
drink, an' Jane Elmiry, too. I don't want but a little, but Jane Elmiry
air a tremenjious toper, ye know!" He laughed in a shrill falsetto
at his joke, and his wife smiled, but faintly, for she realized the
invalid's pleasant mood was brief. "Ef I hed a-knowed how pop'lar I be,
I'd hev run fur jestice o' the peace stiddier constable. But nex' time
thar'll be a differ; that hain't the las' election this world will ever
see, Cynthy." Then, as his eyes fell upon her once more, he remembered
his question. "Why n't ye been hyar ter inquire arter me?"
The girl was confused by his changed aspect, his eager, restless talk,
his fierce girding at his patient wife, and lost what scanty tact she
might have otherwise claimed.
"The folkses ez rid by hyar tole us how ye be a-gittin' on. An' we-uns
'lowed ez mebbe ye wouldn't want ter see us, bein' ez we war always
sech friends with 'Vander, an'"--
The woman stopped her by a hasty gesture and a look of terror. They
did not escape the invalid's notice.
"What ails ye, Jane Elmiry?" he cried, angrily. "Ye act like ye war
_de_stracted!"
A sudden fit of coughing impeded his utterance, and gave his wife the
opportunity for a whispered aside. "He ain't spoke 'Vander's name sence
he war hurt. The doctor said he warn't ter talk about his a-gittin'
hurt, an' the man ez done it. The doctor 'lowed 't would fever him an'
put him out'n his head, an' he must jes' think 'bout'n gittin' well all
the time, an' sech."
Jubal Tynes had recovered his voice and his temper. "I hain't got
no grudge agin' 'Vander," he declared, in his old, bluff way, "nur
'Vander's friends, nuther. It air jes' that dad-burned idjit, 'Lijah,
ez I _de_spise. Jane Elmiry, ain't that old Topknot ez I hear
a-cack-lin'? Waal, waal, sir, dad-burn that thar lazy, idle poultry!
Air she a-stalkin' round the yard yit? Go, Jane Elmiry, an' see whar
she be. Ef she ain't got sense enough ter git on her nest an lay a aig
when desirable, she hain't got sense enough ter keep out'n a chicken
pie."
"I mought skeer her off'n her nest," his wife remonstrated.
But the imperious invalid insisted. She rose reluctantly, and as she
stepped off the porch she cast an imploring glance at Cynthia.
The girl was trembling. The mere mention of the deed to its victim
had unnerved her. She felt it was perhaps a safe transition from the
subject to talk about the idiot brother. "I hev hearn folks 'low ez
'Lijah oughter be locked up, but I dunno," she said.
The man fixed a concentrated gaze upon her. "Waal, ain't he?"
"'Lijah ain't locked up," she faltered, bewildered.
His face fell. Unaccountably enough, his pride seemed grievously cut
down.
"Waal, 'Lijah ain't 'sponsible, I know," he reasoned; "but bein' ez he
treated me this way, an' me a important off'cer o' the law, 'pears-like
'twould a-been more respec'ful ef they hed committed him ter jail ez
insane, or sent him ter the 'sylum,--fur they take some crazies at the
State's expense." He paused thoughtfully. He was mortified, hurt. "But
shucks!" he exclaimed presently, "let him treat haffen the county ez he
done me, ef he wants ter. I ain't a-keerin'."
Cynthia's head was awhirl. She could hardly credit her senses.
"How war it that 'Lijah treated you-uns?" she gasped.
In his turn he stared, amazed.
"Cynthy, 'pears-like ye hev los' yer mind! How did 'Lijah treat me?
Waal, 'Lijah whacked me on the head with his brother's sledge, an'
split my skull, an' the folks say some o' my brains oozed out. I hev
got more of 'em now, though, than ye hev. Ye look plumb bereft. What
ails the gal?"
"Air ye sure--sure ez that war the happening of it?--kase 'Vander tells
a differ. He 'lowed ez 't war _him_ ez hit ye with the sledge. An'
nobody suspicioned 'Lijah."
Jubal Tynes looked very near death now. His pallid face was framed in
long elf-locks; he thrust his head forward, till his emaciated throat
and neck were distinctly visible; his lower jaw dropped in astonishment.
"God A'mighty!" he ejaculated, "why hev 'Vander tole sech a lie?
_Sure!_ Why, I _seen_ 'Lijah! 'Vander never teched the sledge. An'
'Vander never teched me."
"Ye hev furgot, mebbe," she urged, feverishly. "'T war in the dark."
"Listen at the gal argufyin' with me!" he exclaimed, angrily. "I _seen_
'Lijah, I tell ye, in the light o' the forge fire. 'T war n't more 'n a
few coals, but ez 'Lijah swung his arm it fanned the fire, an' it lept
up. I seen his face in the glow, an' the sledge in his hand. 'Lijah war
hid a-hint the hood. 'Vander war t' other side o' the anvil. I gripped
with 'Lijah. I seen him plain. He hit me twict. I never los' my senses
till the second lick. Then I drapped. What ails 'Vander, ter tell sech
a lie? Ef I hed a-died, stiddier gittin' well so powerful peart, they'd
hev hung him, sure."
"Mebbe he thought they'd hang 'Lijah!" she gasped, appalled at the
magnitude of the sacrifice.
"'Lijah ain't 'sponsible ter the law," said Jubal Tynes, with his
magisterial aspect, "bein' ez he air a ravin' crazy, ez oughter be
locked up."
"I reckon 'Vander never knowed ez that war true," she rejoined,
reflectively. "The 'torney-gineral tole Pete Blenkins, when 'Vander war
convicted of receivin' of stolen goods, ez how 'Vander war toler'ble
ignorant, an' knowed powerful little 'bout the law o' the land. He done
it, I reckon, ter pertect the idjit."
Jubal Tynes made no rejoinder. He had fallen back in his chair, so
frail, so exhausted by the unwonted excitement, that she was alarmed
anew, realizing how brief his time might be.
"Jubal Tynes," she said, leaning forward and looking up at him
imploringly, "ef I war ter tell what ye hev tole me, nobody would
believe me, 'kase--'kase 'Vander an' me hev kep' company some. Hedn't
ye better tell it ter the Squair ez how 'Vander never hit ye, but
said he did, ter git the blame shet o' the idjit 'Lijah, ez ain't
'sponsible, nohows? Ain't thar no way ter make it safe fur 'Vander?
They 'lowed he wouldn't hev been convicted of receivin' of stolen goods
'ceptin' fur the way the jury thought he behaved 'bout resistin' arrest
an' hittin' ye with the sledge."
The sick man's eyes were aflame. "Ye 'low ez I'm goin' ter die, Cynthy
Ware!" he cried, with sudden energy. "I'll gin ye ter onderstand ez I
feel ez strong ez a ox! I won't do nuthin' fur 'Vander. Let him stand
or fall by the lie he hev tole! I feel ez solid ez Pine Mounting! I
won't do nuthin' ez ef I war a-goin' ter die,--like ez ef I war a
chicken with the pip--an' whar air that ole hen ez war nominated ter
lay a aig, ter whip up in whiskey, an' ain't done it?"
A sudden wild cackling broke upon the air. The red rooster, standing by
the gate, stretched up his long neck to listen, and lifted his voice in
jubilant sympathy. Jubal Tynes looked around at Cynthia with a laugh.
Then his brow darkened, and his mind reverted to his refusal.
"Ye jes' onderstand," he reiterated, "ez I won't do nuthin' like ez ef
I war goin' ter die."
She got home as best she could, weeping and wringing her hands much
of the way, feeling baffled and bruised, and aghast at the terrible
perplexities that crowded about her.
Jubal Tynes had a bad night. He was restless and fretful, and
sometimes, when he had been still for a while, and seemed about to sink
into slumber, he would start up abruptly, declaring that he could not
"git shet of studying 'bout 'n 'Vander, an' 'Lijah, an' the sledge,"
and violently wishing that Cynthia Ware had died before she ever came
interrupting him about 'Vander, and 'Lijah, and the sledge. Toward
morning exhaustion prevailed. He sank into a deep, dreamless sleep,
from which he woke refreshed and interested in the matter of breakfast.
That day a report went the excited rounds of the mountain that he
had made a sworn statement before Squire Bates, denying that Evander
Price had resisted arrest, exonerating him of all connection with the
injuries supposed to have been received at his hands, and inculpating
only the idiot Elijah. This was supplemented by Dr. Patton's affidavit
as to his patient's mental soundness and responsibility.
It roused Cynthia's flagging spirit to an ecstasy of energy. Her
strength was as fictitious as the strength of delirium, but it
sufficed. Opposition could not baffle it. Obstacles but multiplied its
expedients. She remembered that the trained and astute attorney for
the State had declared to Pete Blenkins, after the trial, that the
prosecution had no case against Evander Price for receiving stolen
goods, and must have failed but for the prejudice of the jury. It was
proved to them by his own confession that he had resisted arrest and
assaulted the officer of the law, and circumstantial evidence had a
light task, with this auxiliary, to establish other charges. Now, she
thought, if the jury that convicted him, the judge that sentenced
him, and the governor of the State were cognizant of this stupendous
self-sacrifice to fraternal affection, could they, would they, still
take seven years of his life from him? At least, they should know of
it,--she had resolved on that. She hardly appreciated the difficulty of
the task before her. She was densely ignorant. She lived in a primitive
community. Such a paper as a petition for executive clemency had
never been drawn within its experience. She could not have discovered
that this proceeding was practicable, except for the pride of office
and legal lore of Jubal Tynes. He joyed in displaying his learning;
but beyond the fact that such a paper was possible, and sometimes
successful, and that she had better see the lawyer at the Settlement
about it, he suggested nothing of value. And so she tramped a matter
of ten miles along the heavy, sandy road, through the dense and
lonely woods; and weary, but flushed with joyous hope, she came upon
the surprised lawyer at the Settlement. This was a man who built the
great structure of justice upon a foundation of fees. He listened to
her, noted the poverty of her aspect, and recommended her to secure the
coöperation of the convict's immediate relatives. And so, patiently
back again, along the dank and darkening mountain road.
The home of her lover was not an inviting abode. When she had turned
from the thoroughfare into a vagrant, irresponsible-looking path,
winding about in the depths of the forest, it might have seemed
that in a group which presently met her eyes, the animals were the
more emotional, alert, and intelligent element. The hounds came
huddling over the rickety fence, and bounded about her in tumultuous
recognition. An old sow, with a litter of shrill soprano pigs, started
up from a clump of weeds, in maternal anxiety and doubt of the
intruder's intentions. The calf peered between the rails in mild wonder
at this break in the monotony. An old man sat motionless on the fence,
with as sober and business-like an aspect as if he did it for a salary.
The porch was occupied by an indiscriminate collection of household
effects,--cooking utensils, garments, broken chairs,--and an untidy,
disheveled woman. An old crone, visible within the door, was leisurely
preparing the evening meal. Cynthia's heart warmed at the sight of the
familiar place. The tears started to her sympathetic eyes. "I hev kem
ter tell ye all 'bout'n 'Vander!" she cried impulsively, when she was
welcomed to a chair and a view of the weed-grown "gyarden-spot."
But the disclosure of her scheme did not waken responsive enthusiasm.
The old man, still dutifully riding the fence, conservatively declared
that the law of the land was a "mighty tetchy contrivance," and he
didn't feel called on to meddle with it. "They mought jail the whole
fambly, ez fur ez I know, an' then who would work the gyarden-spot, ez
air thrivin' now, an' the peas fullin' up cornsider'ble?"
Mrs. Price had "no call ter holp sot the law on 'Lijah agin 'Vander's
word. I dunno what the folks would do ter 'Lijah ef Jube died, sence he
hev swore ez he hev done afore Squair Bates. Some tole me ez 'Lijah air
purtected by bein' a idjit but I ain't sati'fied 'bout'n that. 'Lijah
war sane enough ter be toler'ble skeered when he hearn bout'n it all,
an' hev tuk ter shettin' hisself up in the shed-room when strangers kem
about." And indeed Cynthia had an unpleasant impression that the idiot
was looking out suspiciously at her from a crack in the door, but he
precipitately slammed it when she turned her head to make sure. The old
crone paused in her preparations for supper, that she might apply all
her faculties to argument. "It don't 'pear ter reason how the gov'nor
will pardon 'Vander fur receivin' of stolen goods jes' 'kase 't warn't
him ez bruk Jube Tynes's head," she declared. "Vander war jailed fur
_receivin' stolen goods_,--nobody never keered nothin' fur Jube Tynes's
head! _I_ hev knowed the Tynes fambly time out'n mind," she continued,
raising her voice in shrill contempt. "I knowed Jubal Tynes, an' his
daddy afore him. An' now ter kem talkin' ter me 'bout the gov'nor o'
Tennessee keerin' fur Jube Tynes's nicked head. _I_ don't keer nothin'
'bout Jube Tynes's nicked head; an' let 'em tell the gov'nor that fur
_me_, an' see what he will think then!"
Poor Cynthia! It had never occurred to her to account herself gifted
beyond her fellows and her opportunities. The simple events of their
primitive lives had never before elicited the contrast. It gave her
no satisfaction. She only experienced a vague, miserable wonder that
she should have perceptions beyond their range of vision, should be
susceptible of emotions which they could never share. She realized that
she could get no material aid here, and she went away at last without
asking for it.
Her little all was indeed little,--a few chickens, some "spun-truck,"
a sheep that she had nursed from an orphaned lamb, a "cag" of
apple-vinegar, and a bag of dried fruit,--but it had its value to the
mountain lawyer; and when he realized that this was indeed "all" he
drew the petition in consideration thereof, and appended the affidavits
of Jubal Tynes and Dr. Patton.
"She ain't got a red head on her for nothin'," he said to himself,
in admiration of her astuteness in insisting that, as a part of his
services, he should furnish her with a list of the jury that convicted
Evander Price.
"For every man of 'em hev got ter sot his name ter that thar petition,"
she averred.
He even offered, when his energy and interest were aroused, to take the
paper with him to Sparta when he next attended circuit court. There, he
promised, he would secure some influential signatures from the members
of the bar and other prominent citizens.
When she was fairly gone he forgot his energy and interest. He kept the
paper three months. He did not once offer it for a signature. And when
she demanded its return, it was mislaid, lost.
Oratory is a legal requisite in that region. He might have taken some
fine points from her unconscious eloquence, inspired by love and grief
and despair, her scathing arraignment of his selfish neglect, her
upbraidings and alternate appeals. It overwhelmed him, in some sort,
and yet he was roused into activity unusual enough to revive the lost
document. She went away with it, leaving him in rueful meditation. "She
_hain't_ got a red head on her for nothin'," he said, remembering her
pungent rhetoric.
But as he glanced out of the door, and saw her trudging down the road,
all her grace and pliant swaying languor lost in convulsive, awkward
haste and a feeble, jerky gait, he laughed.
For poor Cynthia had become in some sort a grotesque figure. Only
Time can pose a crusader to picturesque advantage. The man or woman
with a great and noble purpose carries about with it a pitiful little
personality that reflects none of its lustre. Cynthia's devotion, her
courage, her endurance in righting this wrong, were not so readily
apparent when, in the valley, she went tramping from one juror's house
to another's as were her travel-stained garments, her wild, eager eye,
her incoherent, anxious speech, her bare, swollen feet,--for sometimes
she was fain to carry her coarse shoes in her hands for relief in the
long journeyings. Her father had refused to aid "sech a fool yerrand,"
and locked up his mare in the barn. Without a qualm, he had beheld
Cynthia set out resolutely on foot. "She'll be back afore the cows kem
home," he said, with a laughing nod at his wife. But they came lowing
home and clanking their mellow bells in many and many a red sunset
before they again found Cynthia waiting for them on the banks of Lost
Creek.
The descent to a lower level was a painful experience to the little
mountaineer. She was "sifflicated" by the denser atmosphere of the
"valley country," and exhausted by the heat; but when she could think
only of her mission she was hopeful, elated, and joyously kept on
her thorny way. Sometimes, however, the dogs barked at her, and the
children hooted after her, and the men and women she met looked askance
upon her, and made her humbly conscious of her disheveled, dusty
attire, her awkward, hobbling gait, her lean, hungry, worn aspect.
Occasionally they asked for her story, and listened incredulously and
with sarcastic comments. Once, as she started again down the road, she
heard her late interlocutor call out to some one at the back of the
house, "Becky, take them clothes in off 'n the line, an' take 'em in
quick!"
And though her physical sufferings were great, she had some tears to
shed for sorrow's sake.