Clarsie's thoughts had overtaken the scenes when she should have died
that sudden terrible death: when there would be no one left to feed
the chickens; when no one would care if the pigs cried with the pangs
of hunger, unless, indeed, it were time for them to be fattened before
killing. The mare,--how often would she be taken from the plow, and
shut up for the night in her shanty without a drop of water, after her
hard day's work! Who would churn, or spin, or weave? Clarsie could not
understand how the machinery of the universe could go on without her.
And Towse, poor Towse! He was a useless cumberer of the ground, and it
was hardly to be supposed that after his protector was gone he would
be spared a blow or a bullet, to hasten his lagging death. But Clarsie
still stood in the road, and watched the face of the ghost, as he, with
his eager, starting eyes, scanned her open, ingenuous countenance.
"Ye do ez ye air bid, or it'll be the worse for ye," said the "harnt,"
in the same quivering, shrill tone. "Thar's hunger in the nex' worl'
ez well ez in this, an' ye bring me some vittles hyar this time
ter-morrer, an' don't ye tell nobody ye hev seen me, nuther, or it'll
be the worse for ye."
There was a threat in his eyes as he disappeared in the laurel, and
left the girl standing in the last rays of moonlight.
A curious doubt was stirring in Clarsie's mind when she reached home,
in the early dawn, and heard her father talking about the sheriff and
his posse, who had stopped at the house in the night, and roused its
inmates, to know if they had seen a man pass that way.
"Clarsie never hearn none o' the noise, I'll be bound, 'kase she always
sleeps like a log," said Mrs. Giles, as her daughter came in with the
pail, after milking the cow. "Tell her 'bout'n it."
"They kem a-bustin' along hyar a while afore daybreak, a-runnin' arter
the man," drawled Mr. Giles, dramatically. "An' they knocked me up,
ter know ef ennybody hed passed. An' one o' them men--I never seen
none of 'em afore; they's all valley folks, I'm a-thinkin'--an' one of
'em bruk his saddle-girt' a good piece down the road, an' he kem back
ter borrer mine; an' ez we war a-fixin' of it, he tole me what they
war all arter. He said that word war tuk ter the sheriff down yander
in the valley--'pears ter me them town-folks don't think nobody in
the mountings hev got good sense--word war tuk ter the sheriff 'bout
this one-armed harnt that walks Chilhowee; an' he sot it down that
Reuben Crabb warn't dead at all, an' Joel jes' purtended ter hev buried
him, an' it air Reuben hisself that walks Chilhowee. An' thar air two
hunderd dollars blood-money reward fur ennybody ez kin ketch him. These
hyar valley folks air powerful cur'ous critters,--two hunderd dollars
blood-money reward fur that thar harnt that walks Chilhowee! I jes' sot
myself ter laffin' when that thar cuss tole it so solemn. I jes' 'lowed
ter him ez he couldn't shoot a harnt nor hang a harnt, an' Reuben Crabb
hed about got done with his persecutions in this worl'. An' he said
that by the time they hed scoured this mounting, like they hed laid off
ter do, they would find that that thar puny little harnt war nuthin'
but a mortal man, an' could be kep' in a jail ez handy ez enny other
flesh an' blood. He said the sheriff 'lowed ez the reason Reuben hed
jes' taken ter walk Chilhowee sence Joel died is 'kase thar air nobody
ter feed him, like Joel done, mebbe, in the nights; an' Reuben always
war a pore, one-armed, weakly critter, what can't even kerry a gun, an'
he air driv by hunger out'n the hole whar he stays, ter prowl round
the cornfields an' hencoops ter steal suthin',--an' that's how he kem
ter be seen frequent. The sheriff 'lowed that Reuben can't find enough
roots an' yerbs ter keep him up; but law!--a harnt eatin'! It jes' sot
me off ter laffin'. Reuben Crabb hev been too busy in torment fur the
las' four year ter be a-studyin' 'bout eatin'; an' it air his harnt
that walks Chilhowee."
The next morning, before the moon sank, Clarsie, with a tin pail in her
hand, went to meet the ghost at the appointed place. She understood
now why the terrible doom that falls upon those to whom a spirit may
chance to speak had not descended upon her, and that fear was gone; but
the secrecy of her errand weighed heavily. She had been scrupulously
careful to put into the pail only such things as had fallen to
her share at the table, and which she had saved from the meals of
yesterday. "A gal that goes a-robbin' fur a hongry harnt," was her
moral reflection, "oughter be throwed bodaciously off'n the bluff."
She found no one at the forks of the road. In the marshy dip were only
the myriads of mountain azaleas, only the masses of feathery ferns,
only the constellated glories of the laurel blooms. A sea of shining
white mist was in the valley, with glinting golden rays striking
athwart it from the great cresset of the sinking moon; here and there
the long, dark, horizontal line of a distant mountain's summit rose
above the vaporous shimmer, like a dreary, sombre island in the midst
of enchanted waters. Her large, dreamy eyes, so wild and yet so
gentle, gazed out through the laurel leaves upon the floating gilded
flakes of light, as in the deep coverts of the mountain, where the
fulvous-tinted deer were lying, other eyes, as wild and as gentle,
dreamily watched the vanishing moon. Overhead, the filmy, lace-like
clouds, fretting the blue heavens, were tinged with a faint rose.
Through the trees she caught a glimpse of the red sky of dawn, and the
glister of a great lucent, tremulous star. From the ground, misty blue
exhalations were rising, alternating with the long lines of golden
light yet drifting through the woods. It was all very still, very
peaceful, almost holy. One could hardly believe that these consecrated
solitudes had once reverberated with the echoes of man's death-dealing
ingenuity, and that Reuben Crabb had fallen, shot through and through,
amid that wealth of flowers at the forks of the road. She heard
suddenly the far-away baying of a hound. Her great eyes dilated, and
she lifted her head to listen. Only the solemn silence of the woods,
the slow sinking of the noiseless moon, the voiceless splendor of that
eloquent day-star.
Morning was close at hand, and she was beginning to wonder that the
ghost did not appear, when the leaves fell into abrupt commotion,
and he was standing in the road, beside her. He did not speak, but
watched her with an eager, questioning intentness, as she placed the
contents of the pail upon the moss at the roadside. "I'm a-comin' agin
ter-morrer," she said, gently. He made no reply, quickly gathered the
food from the ground, and disappeared in the deep shades of the woods.
She had not expected thanks, for she was accustomed only to the
gratitude of dumb beasts; but she was vaguely conscious of something
wanting, as she stood motionless for a moment, and watched the
burnished rim of the moon slip down behind the western mountains. Then
she slowly walked along her misty way in the dim light of the coming
dawn. There was a footstep in the road behind her; she thought it was
the ghost once more. She turned, and met Simon Burney, face to face.
His rod was on his shoulder, and a string of fish was in his hand.
"Ye air a-doin' wrongful, Clarsie," he said, sternly. "It air agin the
law fur folks ter feed an' shelter them ez is a-runnin' from jestice.
An' ye'll git yerself inter trouble. Other folks will find ye out,
besides me, an' then the sheriff'll be up hyar arter ye."
The tears rose to Clarsie's eyes. This prospect was infinitely more
terrifying than the awful doom which follows the horror of a ghost's
speech.
"I can't holp it," she said, however, doggedly swinging the pail back
and forth. "I can't gin my consent ter starvin' of folks, even ef they
air a-hidin' an' a-runnin' from jestice."
"They mought put ye in jail, too,--I dunno," suggested Simon Burney.
"I can't holp that, nuther," said Clarsie, the sobs rising, and
the tears falling fast. "Ef they comes an' gits me, and puts me in
the pen'tiary away down yander, somewhars in the valley, like they
done Jane Simpkins, fur a-cuttin' of her step-mother's throat with
a butcher-knife, while she war asleep,--though some said Jane war
crazy,--I can't gin my consent ter starvin' of folks."
A recollection came over Simon Burney of the simile of "hendering the
sun from shining."
"She hev done sot it down in her mind," he thought, as he walked on
beside her and looked at her resolute face. Still he did not relinquish
his effort.
"Doin' wrong, Clarsie, ter aid folks what air a-doin' wrong, an' mebbe
_hev_ done wrong, air powerful hurtful ter everybody, an' henders the
law an' jestice."
"I can't holp it," said Clarsie.
"It 'pears toler'ble comical ter me," said Simon Burney, with a sudden
perception of a curious fact which has proved a marvel to wiser men,
"that no matter how good a woman is, she ain't got no respect fur
the laws of the country, an' don't sot no store by jestice." After
a momentary silence he appealed to her on another basis. "Somebody
will ketch him arter a while, ez sure ez ye air born. The sheriff's
a-sarchin' now, an' by the time that word gits around, all the mounting
boys'll turn out, 'kase thar air two hunderd dollars blood-money fur
him. An' then he'll think, when they ketches him,--an' everybody'll
say so, too,--ez ye war constant in feedin' him jes' ter 'tice him ter
comin' ter one place, so ez ye could tell somebody whar ter go ter
ketch him, an' make them gin ye haffen the blood-money, mebbe. That's
what the mounting will say, mos' likely."
"I can't holp it," said Clarsie, once more.
He left her walking on toward the rising sun, and retraced his way to
the forks of the road. The jubilant morning was filled with the song of
birds; the sunlight flashed on the dew; all the delicate enameled bells
of the pink and white azaleas were swinging tremulously in the wind;
the aroma of ferns and mint rose on the delicious fresh air. Presently
he checked his pace, creeping stealthily on the moss and grass beside
the road rather than in the beaten path. He pulled aside the leaves
of the laurel with no more stir than the wind might have made, and
stole cautiously through its dense growth, till he came suddenly upon
the puny little ghost, lying in the sun at the foot of a tree. The
frightened creature sprang to his feet with a wild cry of terror, but
before he could move a step he was caught and held fast in the strong
grip of the stalwart mountaineer beside him. "I hev kem hyar ter tell
ye a word, Reuben Crabb," said Simon Burney. "I hev kem hyar ter tell
ye that the whole mounting air a-goin' ter turn out ter sarch fur
ye; the sheriff air a-ridin' now, an' ef ye don't come along with me
they'll hev ye afore night, 'kase thar air two hunderd dollars reward
fur ye."
What a piteous wail went up to the smiling blue sky, seen through the
dappling leaves above them! What a horror, and despair, and prescient
agony were in the hunted creature's face! The ghost struggled no
longer; he slipped from his feet down upon the roots of the tree, and
turned that woful face, with its starting eyes and drawn muscles and
quivering parted lips, up toward the unseeing sky.
"God A'mighty, man!" exclaimed Simon Burney, moved to pity. "Whyn't ye
quit this hyar way of livin' in the woods like ye war a wolf? Whyn't ye
come back an' stand yer trial? From all I've hearn tell, it 'pears ter
me ez the jury air obleeged ter let ye off, an' I'll take keer of ye
agin them Grims."
"I hain't got no place ter live in," cried out the ghost, with a keen
despair.
Simon Barney hesitated. Reuben Crabb was possibly a murderer,--at the
best could but be a burden. The burden, however, had fallen in his way,
and he lifted it.
"I tell ye now, Reuben Crabb," he said, "I ain't a-goin' ter holp no
man ter break the law an' hender jestice; but ef ye will go an' stand
yer trial, I'll take keer of ye agin them Grims ez long ez I kin fire a
rifle. An' arter the jury hev done let ye off, ye air welcome ter live
along o' me at my house till ye die. Ye air no-'count ter work, I know,
but I ain't a-goin' ter grudge ye fur a livin' at my house."
And so it came to pass that the reward set upon the head of the harnt
that walked Chilhowee was never claimed.
With his powerful ally, the forlorn little spectre went to stand his
trial, and the jury acquitted him without leaving the box. Then he came
back to the mountains to live with Simon Burney. The cruel gibes of his
burly mockers that had beset his feeble life from his childhood up, the
deprivation and loneliness and despair and fear that had filled those
days when he walked Chilhowee, had not improved the harnt's temper. He
was a helpless creature, not able to carry a gun or hold a plow, and
the years that he spent smoking his cob-pipe in Simon Burney's door
were idle years and unhappy. But Mrs. Giles said she thought he was "a
mighty lucky little critter: fust, he hed Joel ter take keer of him an'
feed him, when he tuk ter the woods ter pertend he war a harnt; an'
they do say now that Clarsie Pratt, afore she war married, used ter
kerry him vittles, too; an' then old Simon Burney tuk him up an' fed
him ez plenty ez ef he war a good workin' hand, an' gin him clothes an'
house-room, an' put up with his jawin' jes' like he never hearn a word
of it. But law! some folks dunno when they air well off."
There was only a sluggish current of peasant blood in Simon Burney's
veins, but a prince could not have dispensed hospitality with a more
royal hand. Ungrudgingly he gave of his best; valiantly he defended
his thankless guest at the risk of his life; with a moral gallantry
he struggled with his sloth, and worked early and late, that there
might be enough to divide. There was no possibility of a recompense
for him, not even in the encomiums of discriminating friends, nor
the satisfaction of tutored feelings and a practiced spiritual
discernment; for he was an uncouth creature, and densely ignorant.
The grace of culture is, in its way, a fine thing, but the best that
art can do--the polish of a gentleman--is hardly equal to the best that
Nature can do in her higher moods.
* * * * *
[Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation left as printed.]