{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_74706/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_74706","id":"gutenberg_74706","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/74706","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Mountain life -- Tennessee -- Fiction","United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction"],"text":"BOOKS BY\n\n\u201cCharles Egbert Craddock.\u201d\n\n(MARY N. MURFREE.)\n\n\nIN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS. Short Stories. 16mo, $1.25.\n\nDOWN THE RAVINE. A Story for Young People. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.00.\n\nTHE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS. A Novel. 16mo, $1.25.\n\nIN THE CLOUDS. A Novel. 16mo, $1.25.\n\n                         HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.\n                           BOSTON AND NEW YORK.\n\n\n\n\n                              IN THE CLOUDS\n\n                                    BY\n                         CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK,\n        AUTHOR OF \u201cIN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS,\u201d \u201cDOWN THE RAVINE,\u201d\n             \u201cTHE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS,\u201d ETC.\n\n                              [Illustration]\n\n                           BOSTON AND NEW YORK\n                      HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY\n                      The Riverside Press, Cambridge\n                                   1887\n\n                             Copyright, 1886,\n                           BY MARY N. MURFREE.\n\n                          _All rights reserved._\n\n                    _The Riverside Press, Cambridge_:\n             Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE CLOUDS.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\n\nIn the semblance of the cumulus-cloud from which it takes its name,\ncharged with the portent of the storm, the massive peak of Thunderhead\ntowers pre\u00ebminent among the summits of the Great Smoky Mountains, unique,\nimpressive, most subtly significant.\n\nWhat strange attraction of the earth laid hold on this vagrant\ncloud-form? What unexplained permanence of destiny solidified it and\nfixed it forever in the foundations of the range?\n\nKindred thunderheads of the air lift above the horizon, lure, loiter,\nlean on its shoulder with similitudes and contrasts. Then with all the\nbuoyant liberties of cloudage they rise,\u2014rise!\n\nAlas! the earth clasps its knees; the mountains twine their arms about\nit; hoarded ores of specious values weigh it down. It cannot soar! Only\nthe cumbrous image of an ethereal thing! Only the ineffective wish vainly\nfashioned like the winged aspiration!\n\nIt may have said naught of this to Ben Doaks, but it exerted strenuous\nfascinations on the sense alert to them. Always he turned his eyes toward\nThunderhead, as he came and went among his cattle on the neighboring\nheights of Piomingo Bald, a few miles distant to the northeast. Often he\nleft the herder\u2019s cabin in the woods below, and sat for hours on a rock\non the summit, smoking his pipe and idly watching the varying aspects of\nthe great peak. Sometimes it was purple against the azure heavens; or\ngray and sharp of outline on faint green spaces of the sky; or misty,\nimmaterial, beset with clouds, as if the clans had gathered to claim the\nchangeling.\n\n\u201c\u2019Pears-like ter me ez I couldn\u2019t herd cattle along of a mo\u2019\nlow-sperited, say-nuthin\u2019 critter\u2019n ye be, Ben,\u201d his partner remarked\none day, sauntering up the slope and joining him on the summit. \u201cYe\njes\u2019 set up hyar on the bald an\u2019 gape at Thunderhead like ez ef\nye war bereft. Now, down in the cove ye always air toler\u2019ble good\ncompany,\u2014nimble-tongued ez ennybody.\u201d\n\nHe thrust his cob-pipe into his mouth and pulled away silently at\nit, gazing at the smoke as it curled up with delicate sinuosity and\ntransparently blue.\n\nBen Doaks did not reply at once. There was no need of haste on Piomingo\nBald.\n\n\u201cWaal, I dunno but it air a sorter lonesome place, an\u2019 a-body don\u2019t feel\nmuch like talkin\u2019 no-ways,\u201d he drawled at last. \u201cBut ye\u2019ll git used ter\nit, Mink,\u201d he added, in leisurely encouragement. \u201cYe\u2019ll git used ter it,\narter a while.\u201d\n\nMink looked down disconsolately at the vast array of mountains below him\non every side. The nearest were all tinged with a dusky purple, except\nfor the occasional bare, garnet-colored stretches of the \u201cfire-scalds,\u201d\nrelics of the desolation when the woods were burned; the varying tints\nwere sublimated to blue in the distance; then through every charmed\ngradation of ethereal azure the ranges faded into the invisible spaces\nthat we wot not of. There was something strangely overwhelming in the\nstupendous expanse of the landscape. It abashed the widest liberties\nof fancy. Somehow it disconcerted all past experience, all previous\nprejudice, all credence in other conditions of life. The fact was visibly\npresented to the eye that the world is made of mountains.\n\nThat finite quality of the mind, aptly expressing itself in mensuration,\nmight find a certain relief in taking note of the curious \u201cbald\u201d\nitself,\u2014seeming some three or four hundred bare acres on the summit. Wild\ngrass grows upon its gradual slope; clumps of huckleberry bushes appear\nhere and there; occasional ledges of rock crop out. A hardy flower will\nturn a smiling face responsive to the measured patronage of the chilly\nsunshine in this rare air. The solemnity of the silence is broken only by\nthe occasional tinkling of cow-bells from the herds of cattle among the\nwoods lower down on the mountain side.\n\n\u201cI never kin git used ter it,\u201d said Mink, desperately. \u201cI never kin git\nused ter hevin\u2019 sech dumbness about me, an\u2019 seein\u2019 the time go so slow.\n\u2019Pears ter me some fower or five hunderd year sence we eat brekfus\u2019,\u2014an\u2019\nI ain\u2019t hongry, nuther.\u201d\n\nHe was a tall, singularly lithe man of twenty-four or five, clad in\na suit of brown jeans. He wore his coat closely buttoned over his\nblue-checked cotton shirt, for the August days are chilly on Piomingo\nBald. His broad-brimmed white wool hat was thrust back on his head,\nshowing his tousled auburn hair that hung down upon his collar, curling\nlike a cavalier\u2019s. He had a keen, clear profile, a quickly glancing, dark\neye, and his complexion was tanned to a rich tint that comported well\nwith the out-door suggestions of his powder-horn and belt and shot-pouch,\nwhich he wore, although his rifle was at the cabin. He maintained the\nstolid gravity characteristic of the mountaineer, but there was a covert\nalertness about him, a certain sharpness of attention almost inimical,\nand slow and dawdling as he was he gave the impression of being endowed\nwith many an agile unclassified mental faculty.\n\nHis eyes followed the flight of a bird soaring in great circles high\nabove the \u201cbald,\u201d sometimes balanced motionless in mid-air,\u2014a pose of\nineffable strength and buoyancy,\u2014then majestically circling as before.\n\n\u201cThat thar buzzard \u2019pears ter be a-loungin\u2019 around in the sky, a-waitin\u2019\nfur we-uns ter die,\u201d he said, lugubriously.\n\nDoaks broke with an effort from his reverie, and turned his languid gaze\non the malcontent herder.\n\n\u201cIn the name o\u2019 heaven, Mink Lorey,\u201d he said solemnly, \u201cwhat is it ye\n_do_ like ter do?\u201d\n\nDespite the spark of irritation in his eye, he seemed colorless,\nespecially as contrasted with his comrade. He had a shock of fair hair\nand a light brown beard; the complexion which is the complement of this\ntype had freckled in its exposure to the sun instead of tanning, and\nadded its original pallor to the negative effect. He had good features,\nbut insignificant in their lack of any marked peculiarity except for the\nhonest, candid look in the serious gray eye. He too wore a broad white\nwool hat and a suit of brown jeans.\n\nMink gazed at his companion with an expression of brightening interest.\nHe found himself and his own idiosyncrasies, even when berated, more\nagreeable to contemplate than the mountains. He did not reply, perhaps\nappreciating that no answer was expected.\n\n\u201cYe don\u2019t like ter herd up hyar, an\u2019 the Lord knows I ain\u2019t keerin\u2019 ter\nhev ye. Ye hev gin me ez much trouble ez all the cattle an\u2019 thar owners\nbesides. When ye wanted ter kem so bad, an\u2019 sorter go partners with me,\nI \u2019lowed ye\u2019d be lively, an\u2019 a toler\u2019ble good critter ter hev along. An\u2019\nye hev been ez lonesome an\u2019 ez onconsiderate an\u2019 ez ill-convenient ez a\nweanin\u2019 baby,\u201d he declared, rising to hyperbole. \u201cWhat _do_ ye like ter\ndo?\u201d\n\nOnce more Mink refrained from reply. He looked absently at an isolated\ndrift of mist, gigantic of outline, reaching from the zenith to the\ndepths of Piomingo Cove, and slowly passing down the valley between the\nGreat Smoky and the sun-flooded Chilhowee Mountain, obscuring for the\nmoment the red clay banks of the Scolacutta River, whose current seemed a\nmere silver thread twining in and out of the landscape.\n\n\u201cLook a-hyar at the way ye go on,\u201d said Doaks, warming to the subject,\nfor there are few exercises so entertaining as to preach with no sense of\nparticipation in sin. \u201cYe went ter work at that thar silver mine in North\nCar\u2019liny, an\u2019 thar ye stayed sorter stiddy an\u2019 peaceful till ye seen yer\nchance. An\u2019 Pete Rood, he kem an\u2019 stayed too, an\u2019 he war sorter skeered\no\u2019 the ways,\u2014not bein\u2019 used ter minin\u2019. An\u2019 then yer minkish tricks\nbegan. Fust, when that thar feller war let down inter the shaft an\u2019 ye\nhed a-holt o\u2019 the windlass, ye drapped a few clods o\u2019 clay in on him, an\u2019\nthen a leetle gravel, an\u2019 then mo\u2019 clay. Then he bellered that the shaft\nwar cavin\u2019 in on him, an\u2019 plead an\u2019 prayed with ye ter wind him up quick.\nAn\u2019 ye wouldn\u2019t pull. An\u2019 when the t\u2019other fellers run thar an\u2019 drawed\nthat man out he war weak enough ter drap.\u201d\n\n\u201cI \u2019member!\u201d cried Mink, with a burst of unregenerate laughter. \u201cHe said,\n\u2018Lemme git out\u2019n this spindlin\u2019 hell o\u2019 a well!\u2019\u201d\n\nHe sprang up, grotesquely imitating the gesture of exhaustion with which\nthe man had stepped out of the bucket to firm ground.\n\n\u201cWaal, it mought hev turned out a heap wus,\u201d said Doaks, \u201c\u2019kase they\n\u2019lowed down yander \u2019bout Big Injun Mounting, whar Rood hails from, ez he\nhev got some sort\u2019n heart-disease. An\u2019 a suddint skeer mought hev killed\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cShucks!\u201d said Mink, incredulously. He looked disconcerted, however, and\nthen sat down on the rock as before. Ben Doaks went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 that warn\u2019t enough fur ye. When they hed Rood thar a-pumpin\u2019 out\nwater, all by himself all night, nuthin\u2019 would do ye but ye must hide up\nthar in the Lost-Time mine in the dark o\u2019 the midnight an\u2019 the rain, an\u2019\nexplode a lot o\u2019 gunpowder, an\u2019 kem a-bustin\u2019 out at him from the mouth\no\u2019 the tunnel, wropped in a sheet an\u2019 howlin\u2019 like a catamount. He run\nmighty nigh a mile.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Mink, in sturdy argument, \u201cI ain\u2019t \u2019sponsible \u2019kase Peter\nRood air toler\u2019ble easy skeered.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey never hired ye ter work thar no mo\u2019, bein\u2019 ez that war \u2019bout all\nthe use ye put yerse\u2019f ter in the silver mine in North Car\u2019liny.\u201d\n\nDespite the reproof, Doaks was looking kindly at him, for the wayward\nMink had evidently endeared himself in some sort to the elder herder, who\nwas weakly conscious of not regarding his enormities with the aversion\nthey merited.\n\nThe young man\u2019s countenance fell. His mischief differed from that of his\nnamesake in all the sequel\u00e6 of an accusing conscience. But stay! What\ndo we know of the mink\u2019s midday meditations, his sober, _ex post facto_\nregrets?\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 what do ye do then,\u2014\u2019kase they turned ye off? Ye go thar of a night,\nwhen nobody\u2019s at the windlass, an\u2019 ye busts it down an\u2019 flings the bucket\nan\u2019 rope an\u2019 all down the shaft.\u201d\n\nMink was embarrassed. \u201cHow d\u2019 ye know?\u201d he retorted, with acrid futility.\n\u201cHow d\u2019 ye know \u2019twar me?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Kase it air fairly kin ter yer actions,\u2014know it by the family favor,\u201d\nsaid Doaks. \u201cAx ennybody ennywhar round the Big Smoky who did sech an\u2019\nsech, an\u2019 they\u2019d all say, Mink. Ye know the word they hev gin ye, \u2018Mink\nby name an\u2019 Mink by natur.\u2019\u201d\n\nLorey made no further feint of denial. He seemed a trifle out of\ncountenance. He glanced over his shoulder at the rugged horizontal\nsummit line of Chilhowee, rising high above the intervenient mountains,\nand sharply imposed upon the mosaic of delicate tints known as the\nvalley of East Tennessee, which stretches so far that, despite its\nsharp inequalities, it seems to have the level monotony of the sea till\nWalden\u2019s Ridge, the great outpost of the Cumberland Mountains, meets the\nconcave sky.\n\nThen, as his wandering attention returned to those sterner heights close\nat hand, their inexpressible gravity, their significant solemnity, which\nhe could not apprehend, which baffled every instinct of his limited\nnature, smote upon him.\n\nHe broke out irritably:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat do ye jes\u2019 set thar a-jowin\u2019 at me fur, Ben, like a long-tongued\nwoman, \u2019bout what I done an\u2019 what I hain\u2019t done, in this hyar lonesome\nplace whar I hev been tolled ter by you-uns? I never begged ter be\n\u2019lowed ter herd along of ye, nohow. When I kem an\u2019 axed ye \u2019bout\u2019n it,\nye \u2019lowed ye\u2019d be powerful glad. An\u2019 ye said ez so many o\u2019 the farmers\nin the flat woods hed promised ter bunch thar cattle an\u2019 send \u2019em up\nter ye fur the summer season, that ye war plumb skeered \u2019bout thar bein\u2019\ntoo many fur one man ter keer fur, an\u2019 ye didn\u2019t see how ye\u2019d git along\n\u2019thout a partner. An\u2019 ye \u2019lowed ye\u2019d already rented Piomingo Bald right\nreasonable, an\u2019 the owners o\u2019 the cattle would pay from seventy-five\ncents to a dollar a head; an\u2019 ye\u2019d gin me a sheer ef I\u2019d kem along an\u2019\nholp ye,\u2014an\u2019 all sech ez that. An\u2019 I kem up in the spring, an\u2019 I hev been\non this hyar durned pinnacle o\u2019 perdition ever sence. It \u2019minds me all\nthe time o\u2019 that thar high mounting in the Bible whar the Tempter showed\noff all the kingdoms o\u2019 the yearth. What ails ye ter git arter me? I\nhain\u2019t tried no minkish tricks on you-uns.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe hev, Mink. Yes, ye hev.\u201d\n\nMink looked bewildered for a moment. Then a shade of consciousness\nsettled on his face. He lifted one foot over his knee, and affected\nto examine the sole of his boot. The light zephyr was tossing his\nlong, tangled locks, the sun shone through their filaments. No vanity\nwas expressed in wearing them thus,\u2014only some vague preference, some\nprosaic prejudice against shears. Their fineness and lustre did nothing\nto commend them, and they had been contemptuously called a \u201csandy\nbresh-heap.\u201d His bright eyes had a fringe of the same unique tint that\nsoftened their expression. He dropped his boot presently, and fixed\nhis gaze upon a flitting yellow butterfly, lured by some unexplained\nfascination of fragrance to these skyey heights.\n\n\u201cYe can\u2019t make out ez I stand in _yer_ way, enny,\u201d he said at last,\nenigmatically.\n\nDoaks\u2019s face flushed suddenly. \u201cNaw, I ain\u2019t claimin\u2019 ez I hev enny\nchance. Ef I hed, an\u2019 ye _war_ in my way,\u201d he continued, abruptly, with\na sudden flare of spirit, \u201cI\u2019d choke the life out\u2019n ye, an\u2019 fling yer\nwu\u2019thless carcass ter the wolves. I\u2019d crush yer skull with the heel o\u2019 my\nboot!\u201d\n\nHe stood up for a moment; then turned suddenly, and sat down again. Mink\nlooked at him curiously, with narrowing lids.\n\nDoaks\u2019s hands were trembling. His eyes were alert, alight. The blood\nwas pulsing fast through his veins. So revivified was he by the bare\ncontemplation of the contingency that he seemed hardly recognizable as\nthe honest, patient, taciturn comrade of Piomingo Bald.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d Mink said presently, \u201cthat war one reason I wanted ter herd\nalong o\u2019 you-uns this year. I \u2019lowed I\u2019d make right smart money through\nthe summer season, an\u2019 then me an\u2019 Lethe would git married nex\u2019 fall,\nmebbe. My folks air so pore an\u2019 shiftless,\u2014an\u2019 I\u2019d ez lief live along of\na catamount ez Lethe\u2019s step-mother,\u2014an\u2019 so I \u2019lowed we\u2019d try ter git a\nleetle ahead an\u2019 set up for ourselves.\u201d\n\nDoaks trembled with half-repressed excitement.\n\n\u201cYe tole me ez ye an\u2019 she hed quar\u2019led,\u201d he said. \u201cYe never dreampt o\u2019\nsech a thing ez savin\u2019 fur a house an\u2019 sech till this minit. Ye ain\u2019t\nbeen ter see her sence ye hev been on the Big Smoky till ye fund out ez I\nwent down thar wunst in a while, an\u2019 the old folks favored me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d retorted Mink, hardily, \u201cI know she\u2019d make it up with me enny\nminit I axed her.\u201d\n\nDoaks said nothing for a time. Then suddenly, \u201cWaal, then, ef ye air\nlayin\u2019 off ter marry Lethe Sayles, whyn\u2019t ye quit hangin\u2019 round Elviry\nCrosby, an\u2019 terrifyin\u2019 Peter Rood out\u2019n his boots? They\u2019d hev been\nmarried afore now, ef ye hed lef\u2019 \u2019em be.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhyn\u2019t she quit hangin\u2019 round me, ye\u2019d better say!\u201d exclaimed Mink, with\nthe flattered laugh of the lady-killer. \u201cLaws-a-massy, I don\u2019t want ter\ninterfere with nobody. Let the gals go \u2019long an\u2019 marry who they please,\u2014\nan\u2019 leave me alone!\u201d\n\nHis manner implied, _if they can_! And he laughed once more.\n\nDoaks glanced at him impatiently, and then turned his eyes away upon\nthe landscape. Fascinations invisible to the casual gaze revealed\nthemselves to him day by day. He had made discoveries. In some seeming\nindefiniteness of the horizon he had found the added beauty of distant\nheights, as if, while he looked, the softened outline of blue peaks,\ngiven to the sight of no other creature, were sketched into the picture.\nOnce a sudden elusive silver glinting, imperceptible to eyes less trained\nto the minuti\u00e6 of these long distances, told him the secret source of\nsome stream, unexplored to its head-waters in a dark and bosky ravine.\nSometimes he distinguished a stump which he had never seen before in a\ncollection of dead trees, girdled long ago, and standing among the corn\nupon so high and steep a slope that the slant justified the descriptive\ngibe of the region, \u201cfields hung up to dry.\u201d The sky too was his\nfamiliar; he noted the vague, silent shapes of the mist that came and\nwent their unimagined ways. He watched the Olympian games of the clouds\nand the wind. He marked the lithe lengths of a meteor glance across the\nAugust heavens, like the elastic springing of a shining sword from its\nsheath. The moon looked to meet him, waiting at his tryst on the bald.\n\nHe had become peculiarly sensitive to the electric conditions of the\natmosphere, and was forewarned of the terrible storms that are wont to\nbreak on the crest of the great mountain.\n\nOften Mink appealed to him as he did now, imputing a certain\nresponsibility.\n\n\u201cEnny thunder in that thar cloud?\u201d he demanded, with the surly distrust\nwhich accompanies the query, \u201cDoes your dog bite?\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw; no thunder, nor rain nuther.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m powerful glad ter hear it, \u2019kase I don\u2019t \u2019sociate with this hyar\nbald when thar\u2019s enny lightning around.\u201d\n\nHe had heard the many legends of \u201clightning balls\u201d that are represented\nas ploughing the ground on Piomingo, and he spoke his fears with the\nfrankness of one possessed of unimpeachable courage.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s what makes me _de_spise this hyar spot,\u201d he said, irritably.\n\u201cThings \u2019pear so cur\u2019ous. I feel like I hev accidentally stepped off\u2019n\nthe face o\u2019 the yearth. An\u2019 I hev ter go mighty nigh spang down ter the\nfoot o\u2019 the mounting \u2019fore I feel like folks agin.\u201d\n\nHe glanced downward toward the nearest trees that asserted the right\nof growth about this strange and barren place. \u201cYe can\u2019t git used ter\nnothin\u2019, nuther. Them cur\u2019ous leetle woods air enough ter make a man \u2019low\nhe hev got the jim-jams ez a constancy. I dunno _what\u2019s_ in \u2019em! My flesh\ncreeps whenever I go through \u2019em. I always feel like ef I look _right\nquick_ I\u2019ll see suthin\u2019 awful,\u2014witches, or harnts, or\u2014I dunno!\u201d\n\nHe looked down at them again, quickly; but he was sure not quickly enough.\n\nAnd the woods were of a strange aspect, chiefly of oaks with gnarled\nlimbs, full-leaved, bulky of bole, but all uniformly stunted, not one\nreaching a height greater than fifteen feet. This characteristic gave a\nweird, unnatural effect to the long avenues beneath their low-spreading\nboughs. The dwarfed forest encircled Piomingo Bald, and stretched along\nthe summit of the range, unbroken save where other domes\u2014Silar\u2019s Bald,\nGregory\u2019s Bald, and Parsons\u2019 Bald\u2014rose bare and gaunt against the sky.\n\n\u201cEz ter witches an\u2019 harnts an\u2019 them, I ain\u2019t never seen none hyar on\nPiomingo Bald,\u201d said Doaks. \u201cIt ain\u2019t never hed the name o\u2019 sech, like\nThunderhead.\u201d\n\nMink placed his elbows on his knees, and held his chin in his hand. His\nroving dark eyes were meditative now; some spell of imagination lay\nbright in their depths.\n\n\u201cHev _he_ been viewed lately?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cWho?\u201d demanded Doaks, rousing himself.\n\n\u201cThat thar Herder on Thunderhead,\u201d said Mink, lowering his voice. The\nfibrous mist, hovering about the summit of Thunderhead and stretching\nits long lines almost over to Piomingo Bald, might in some mysterious\ntelegraphy of the air transmit the matter.\n\n\u201cNot ez I knows on,\u201d said Doaks. \u201cHe ain\u2019t been viewed lately. But Joe\nBoyd, he\u2019s a-herdin\u2019 over thar now: I kem acrost him one day las\u2019 week,\nan\u2019 he \u2019lowed ez his cattle hed been actin\u2019 powerful strange. I \u2019lowed\nthe cattle mus\u2019 hev viewed the harnt, an\u2019 mebbe he war tryin\u2019 ter \u2019tice\n\u2019em off.\u201d\n\n\u201cEf ye\u2019ll b\u2019lieve me,\u201d said Mink ruminatively, after a pause, \u201cI never\nhearn none o\u2019 them boys tell a word about that thar harnt of a herder on\nThunderhead.\u201d\n\n\u201cThem t\u2019other herders on Thunderhead don\u2019t hanker ter talk \u2019bout him,\nno-ways,\u201d said Doaks. \u201cIt\u2019s powerful hard ter git a word out\u2019n \u2019em \u2019bout\nit; they\u2019re mighty apt ter laff, an\u2019 \u2019low it mus\u2019 be somebody ridin\u2019\nroun\u2019 from \u2019cross the line. But it\u2019ll make enny of \u2019em bleach ef ye ax\n\u2019em suddint ef all o\u2019 Joshua Nixon\u2019s bones war buried tergether.\u201d\n\nThe mists had spanned the abyss of the valley in a sheer, gossamer-like\nnetwork, holding the sunbeams in a glittering entanglement. They\nelusively caressed the mountain summit, and hung about the two lounging\nfigures of the herders,\u2014a sort of ethereal eavesdropping of uncomfortable\nsuggestions,\u2014and slipped into the dwarfed woods, where they lurked\nspectrally.\n\n\u201cWaal, ef ye ax \u2019em ef Joshua Nixon\u2019s bones war all buried tergether\nthey\u2019ll bleach,\u201d Doaks repeated. \u201cSee that thar sort\u2019n gap yander?\u201d he\ncontinued, pointing at a notch on the slope of Thunderhead. \u201cThey fund\nhis bones thar under a tree streck by lightning. They \u2019lowed that war\nthe way he died. But the wolves an\u2019 the buzzards hedn\u2019t lef\u2019 enough ter\nmake sure. They hed scattered his bones all up an\u2019 down the slope. He hed\nherded over thar a good many year, an\u2019 some o\u2019 the t\u2019other boys keered\nfur the cattle till the owners kem in the fall.\u201d\n\nHe recounted slowly. Time was no object on Piomingo Bald.\n\n\u201cWaal, nobody hearn nuthin\u2019 mo\u2019 \u2019bout\u2019n it fur a few years, till one day\nwhen I war herdin\u2019 thar the cattle war all fund, runned mighty nigh ter\ndeath, an\u2019 a-bellerin\u2019 an\u2019 a-cavortin\u2019 ez ef they war \u2019witched. An\u2019 one\no\u2019 the herders, Ike Stern, kem in thar ter the cabin an\u2019 \u2019lowed he hed\nseen a lot o\u2019 strange cattle \u2019mongst our\u2019n, an\u2019 a herder ridin\u2019 \u2019mongst\n\u2019em. \u2019Twar misty, bein\u2019 a rainy spell, an\u2019 he lost the herder in the\nfog. Waal, we jes\u2019 \u2019lowed \u2019twar somebody from Piomingo Bald huntin\u2019 fur\nstrays, or somebody from \u2019cross the line. So we jes\u2019 went on fryin\u2019 the\nmeat, an\u2019 bakin\u2019 the hoe-cake, an\u2019 settin\u2019 roun\u2019 the fire; but this hyar\nman kept on complainin\u2019 he couldn\u2019t holp seein\u2019 that thar herder. An\u2019\nwunst in a while he\u2019d hold his hand afore his eyes. An\u2019 one o\u2019 the old\nherders,\u2014Rob Carrick \u2019twar,\u2014he jes\u2019 axed him what that herder looked\nlike. An\u2019 Ike jes\u2019 sot out ter tell. An\u2019 the coffee war a-bilin\u2019, an\u2019 the\nmeat a-sizzlin\u2019, an\u2019 Carrick war a-squattin\u2019 afore the fire a-listenin\u2019\nan\u2019 a-turnin\u2019 the meat, till all of a suddint he lept up an\u2019 drapped his\nknife, yellin\u2019, \u2018My God! ye lyin\u2019 buzzard, don\u2019t ye set thar a-tellin\u2019\nme ez Josh Nixon hev kem all the way from hell ter herd on Thunderhead!\nDon\u2019t ye do it! Don\u2019t ye do it!\u2019 An\u2019 Ike Stern,\u2014he looked like he seen\nDeath that minit; his eyes war like coals o\u2019 fire, an\u2019 he trembled all\nover,\u2014he jes\u2019 said, \u2018I see I hev been visited by the devil, fur I hev\nbeen gin ter view a dead man, apin\u2019 the motions o\u2019 life.\u2019\u201d\n\nDoaks pulled at his pipe for a few moments, his eyes still absently fixed\non the purple peak shimmering in the gauzy white mists and the yellow\nsunshine.\n\n\u201cI never shell furgit that night. Thar war three men thar: one hed herded\nalong o\u2019 Josh on Thunderhead, but Ike Stern had never seen him in life,\nan\u2019 me not at all. Waal, sir! the rain kem down on the roof, an\u2019 the\nwind war like the tromplin\u2019 o\u2019 a million o\u2019 herds o\u2019 wild cattle. We\n\u2019lowed we hed never hearn sech a plungin\u2019 o\u2019 the yellemints. The night\nwar ez dark ez a wolf\u2019s mouth, \u2019cept when it lightened, an\u2019 then we could\nsee we war wropped in the clouds. An\u2019 through all them crackin\u2019 peals\nthem men talked \u2019bout that thar harnt o\u2019 a Herder on Thunderhead. Waal,\nnex\u2019 mornin\u2019 Stern jes\u2019 gin up his job, an\u2019 went down the mounting ter\nPiomingo Cove. An\u2019 he stayed thar, too. They \u2019lowed he done no work fur a\nyear an\u2019 a day. His time war withered an\u2019 his mind seemed darkened.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe \u2019pears ter hev toler\u2019ble good sense now,\u201d said Mink, striving against\ncredulity.\n\n\u201cYes, he hev spryed up powerful.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Mink, constrained by the fascination of the supernatural, \u201cI\nhev hearn ez Carrick seen the Herder, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe did,\u201d replied Doaks. \u201cArter a while\u2014a week, mebbe\u2014Rob kem up ter me\nan\u2019 axed, \u2018Whar\u2019s them cattle a-bellerin\u2019?\u2019 I listened, but I never\nhearn nuthin\u2019. We hed missed some steers arter Ike hed seen the Herder,\nan\u2019 Rob war sorter \u2019feard they\u2019d run down inter the cove. He jumped on\na half-bruk clay-bank colt an\u2019 rid off, thinkin\u2019 the bellerin\u2019 mought\nbe them. Waal, time passed. I hed nuthin\u2019 in partic\u2019lar ter do: cattle\nwar salted the day before. Time passed. I jes\u2019 sot thar. I \u2019lowed I\u2019d\nwait till Rob kem back, then I\u2019d go a-huntin\u2019. Time passed. I \u2019lowed\nI\u2019d furgit how ter talk ef I warn\u2019t herdin\u2019 along o\u2019 sech a sociable\ncritter ez Rob, an\u2019 I wondered ef I war by myself up on Thunderhead ef\nI\u2019d hev ter talk ter myse\u2019f a little. An\u2019 ez I sot thar in the fog\u2014\u2019twar\nSeptember then, an\u2019 we war clouded ez a constancy\u2014I said, jes\u2019 like a\nfool, out loud, suddint, \u2019Howdy, sir!\u2019 Waal, I never _did_ know what I\nseen ez I looked up; mought hev been the mist, mought hev been the devil.\nI _\u2019lowed_ I seen a man on a horse gallopin\u2019 off in the fog. Then I hearn\na power o\u2019 jouncin\u2019 hoofs, an\u2019 hyar kem Rob\u2019s colt arearin\u2019 an\u2019 a-pawin\u2019,\nskeered ter death mighty nigh, with all the hide scraped off\u2019n his knees,\nan\u2019 his shins barked bad. I seen he hed hed a fall; so I jumped up an\u2019\nrun down a leetle piece along the trail, an\u2019 thar war Rob lyin\u2019 on the\ngroun\u2019, flunged over the colt\u2019s head ez neat an\u2019 nip! I run up ter him.\nI \u2019lowed he war hurt. He never answered a word I axed him. His eyes war\nstretched open bigger \u2019n enny eye I ever seen, an\u2019 he said, \u2018Ye hev\nviewed him too, Ben, I know it, fur ye\u2019ve got the \u201charnt bleach.\u201d I know\nthe reason now,\u2019 says Rob, \u2019ez he herds on Thunderhead,\u2014\u2019kase his bones\nwarn\u2019t all buried tergether, though we sarched nigh an\u2019 we sarched fur.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cDid the Herder tell him that?\u201d asked Mink, with a sudden accession of\ncredulity.\n\n\u201cNaw, ye durned fool!\u201d exclaimed Doaks, scandalized at the idea of this\nbreach of spectral etiquette. \u201cThe Herder jes\u2019 passed him like the wind,\nan\u2019 the colt jes\u2019 reared and flung Rob over his head.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Mink sturdily, \u201cI b\u2019lieve \u2019twar nuthin\u2019 but somebody from\nthe Car\u2019liny side, ridin\u2019 roun\u2019 an\u2019 tollin\u2019 off cattle.\u201d\n\n\u201cMebbe,\u201d said Doaks, non-committally. \u201cYe can\u2019t prove nuthin\u2019 by me. All\nI know is, Carrick seen his face, an\u2019 he jes\u2019 fell in a sorter stupor\nfor a year an\u2019 a day. I hev hearn o\u2019 sech sperits ez can\u2019t kill ye, but\njes\u2019 wither yer time, an\u2019 mebbe this hyar Herder on Thunderhead be one o\u2019\nthem.\u201d\n\nNeither spoke, for some moments. Both sat gazing fixedly at the massive\nmountain in the likeness of a cloud lowering aggressively over the mean\naltitudes of the range. What wrath of elements did it hold enchained?\nWhat bolts of heaven unhurled? What strange phenomena of being might lurk\nin those mystic vapors metamorphosed into the solidities of earth\u2014this\napostate cloud that asserted itself a mountain? The sky was clear about\nit now; the mists had all drifted over to Piomingo Bald, veiling the\ndwarfed forests.\n\nSuddenly there was a vague shiver among them. Into the silence was\nprojected the report of a rifle. The two men sprang to their feet, and\nlooked at each other.\n\n\u201cSomebody a-huntin\u2019, I reckon,\u201d said Mink. He was beginning to laugh, a\nlittle shamefacedly.\n\n\u201cListen!\u201d said Doaks. \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d\n\nThe cattle were bellowing with affright in the stunted woods. The earth\nshook under their hoofs. A young bull came plunging out of the mists. He\npaused as he reached the bare slope, lifted his head, and looked back\nover his shoulder with great dilated eyes.\n\n\u201cWhat ails the cattle?\u201d exclaimed Doaks, running down the slope. Mink\nhesitated for a moment, then followed.\n\nThe boles of the dwarfed trees stood shadowy here and there, growing\nstill more indistinct further, and fading into the white opaque\nblankness of the vapor. So low were their summits that one could see the\ntopmost boughs, despite the encompassing mist.\n\nAll the cattle were in the wildest excitement, snorting and bellowing,\nand, with lowered horns, and tails in the air, they were making at full\nspeed for the upper regions of the bald. Each, bursting out of the\ndensities of the fog, separated from the others, seemed to give some\nindividual expression of bovine rage. There might be heard, but not seen,\nan infuriated animal hard by, tearing up the ground.\n\n\u201cWaal, I never \u2019sperienced the like in my life off \u2019n Thunderhead!\u201d\nexclaimed Doaks.\n\nMink said nothing; he sprang aside to avoid the headlong rush of a brute\nthat shot out of the mist and into it again with the swift unreality of\nan apparition.\n\nThen he spoke suddenly. \u201cYe never said he rid with a rifle.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho?\u201d asked Doaks, bewildered. He was in advance. He looked back over\nhis shoulder. \u201cWho?\u201d he repeated.\n\n\u201cThat thar Herder from Thunderhead.\u201d said Mink.\n\n\u201cYe dough-faced idjit,\u2014what d\u2019 ye mean?\u201d\n\nMink pointed silently.\n\nA few yards distant there was a rude barricade of felled trees, laid\ntogether after the zigzag manner of a rail fence. It was intended to\nprevent the cattle from running down a precipitous ravine which it\noverlooked. Close to it in the mist a cow was lying. There was no\nmistaking the attitude. The animal was dead. A carefully aimed rifle-ball\nhad penetrated the eye, and buried itself in the brain.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\nThere was blood upon the ground. An awkward attempt had been made to cut\nthe brute\u2019s throat, and, this failing, the rifle had been called into\nuse. Doaks walked up to the animal, and turned her head to look for the\nbrass tag about her horns which would bear her owner\u2019s mark. She wore no\ntag, and her hide had never known the branding-iron. His eye fell on a\npeculiar perforation in her ear.\n\n\u201cMink,\u201d he exclaimed, with a note of anguish, \u201cthis hyar critter\u2019s _my\ncow_!\u201d\n\nMink came up, his countenance adjusted to sympathy. He had little of\nthe instinct of acquisition. He was almost incapable of any sentiment\nof that marvelous range of emotions which vibrate with such fineness of\nsusceptibility to the alternations of gain and loss. He looked like an\nintelligent animal as he helped make sure of the herder\u2019s mark.\n\n\u201cYe hed sech a few head o\u2019 stock o\u2019 yer own, ennyways,\u201d he observed, with\na dolorous lack of tact.\n\n\u201cOh, Lord A\u2019mighty, none sca\u2019cely,\u201d exclaimed Doaks, feeling very poor.\n\u201cI dunno how in this worl\u2019 this hyar cow happened ter be singled out.\u201d\n\n\u201cMebbe he hed a gredge agin ye, too, \u2019bout them bones, bein\u2019 ez ye herded\non Thunderhead wunst,\u201d suggested Mink.\n\n\u201cWhat bones?\u201d demanded Doaks, amazed.\n\n\u201cWhy, his\u2019n,\u201d said Mink, in a lowered voice.\n\n\u201cIn the name o\u2019 reason, Mink, what air ye a-drivin\u2019 at?\u201d cried Doaks,\nflustered and aghast.\n\n\u201cWhy, the Herder, o\u2019 course. Him ez skeered the cattle on Thunderhead. I\n\u2019lowed mebbe he hed a gredge agin you-uns, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow\u2019d he kem over hyar?\u201d demanded Doaks, with scorn, as if the harnt of\na Herder were limited to the locality of Thunderhead. \u201cIt\u2019s a deal mo\u2019\nlikely ter be some livin\u2019 man ez hev got a gredge agin ye fur yer minkish\nways, an\u2019 seein\u2019 the critter hed no tag on, an\u2019 warn\u2019t branded nuther,\nkilled her fur ye.\u201d\n\nMink drew a long breath. \u201cWaal, I hope so, the Lord knows. I\u2019d settle\nhim.\u201d An essentially mundane courage was his, but a sturdy endowment as\nfar as it went.\n\nHis imagination was of the pursuant order; it struck out no new trail,\nbut, given a lead, it could follow with many an active expression of\npower. He accepted at once this suggestion, with a confidence as complete\nas if he had never credited the grudge of a ghostly herder.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I\u2019ll be bound I kin tell ye jes\u2019 who \u2019twar,\u201d he said, stoutly,\nproducing a corollary to the proposition he had adopted as his own.\n\u201c\u2019Twar that thar pop-eyed fool Peter Rood. I reckon ye hev noticed, ef\none o\u2019 them black-eyed, thick-set, big-headed men git made game of \u2019bout\nennything, he\u2019ll pay ye back some mean way. Stiddier skeerin\u2019 me fur\nskeerin\u2019 him, he kems hyar an\u2019 shoots that cow.\u201d\n\nHe thrust one hand in his leather belt, and turned his bold bright\nglance on his partner. As he stood at his full height, vigorous, erect,\na touch of freakishness in his eyes, decision expressed in his clear-cut\nfeatures, a certain activity suggested even in his motionless pose, it\nmight have seemed that the revenge of shooting the cow was the more\nhopeful project.\n\nDoaks, a philosopher in some sort, and reflective, could discriminate as\nto motives.\n\n\u201cRood never done it fur that by itself. I don\u2019t b\u2019lieve he would hev done\nit _jes\u2019_ fur that. But the way ez ye hev been performin\u2019 sence \u2019bout\nElviry Crosby air powerful aggervatin\u2019. I hearn tell ez she hev turned\nRood off, an\u2019 won\u2019t speak ter him, though the weddin\u2019 day hed been set! I\nreckon he felt like payin\u2019 ye back ennyhow it kem handy.\u201d\n\nDoaks drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket, wrenched off a fragment\nwith his strong teeth, and, talking indistinctly as he chewed, continued,\nthe anxiety of forecast blunting the actual pain of experience.\n\n\u201cEf he keeps this hyar up, Mink,\u2014ef it\u2019s him, an\u2019 he kems roun\u2019 shootin\u2019\nat cattle agin,\u2014he mought git some o\u2019 the owners\u2019 stock nex\u2019 time, an\u2019\nthey mought hold me \u2019sponsible. I dunno whether they could or no. I \u2019low\nhe war \u2019quainted with this cow, an\u2019 knowed her ter be yourn, an\u2019 never\ndrempt ez ye hed swopped her off ter me. I wisht ter Gawd the critter\nknew ye hed no cattle on the mounting, an\u2019 ain\u2019t \u2019sponsible ter the\nowners, ez ye never traded with them, but arter my contract war made ye\njes\u2019 went shares with me.\u201d\n\nHe seated himself on the rude fence in an awkward attitude, his long legs\ndangling, and drew out a red cotton handkerchief with which he rubbed his\ncorrugated brow as vigorously as if he could thus smooth out the pucker\nin his brain.\n\n\u201cWaal, waal! this mortal life!\u201d he exclaimed, presently. \u201cSatan won\u2019t\nleave ye in peace. Ye may go an\u2019 set yerse\u2019f up on the bald of a\nmounting, herdin\u2019 \u2019mongst the dumb ones, an\u2019 the worl\u2019 an\u2019 the things o\u2019\nthis life will kem a-cropin\u2019 up on ye with a rifle, an\u2019 ye be \u2019bleeged\nter turn \u2019roun\u2019 an\u2019 cornsider how ye kin keep what ye hev got an\u2019 how ye\nkin git mo\u2019. I useter \u2019low ef I war a perfessin\u2019 member, _this_ worl\u2019\nwouldn\u2019t stick so in my craw; so I tuk cornsider\u2019ble pains ter git\nreligion, an\u2019 mighty nigh wore out the mourners\u2019 bench settin\u2019 on it so\nconstant, till I war actially feared the Lord would be pervoked ter see\nme in the front row o\u2019 them convicted o\u2019 sin at _every_ revival, and\nvisit wrath on me. An\u2019 I never got religion at last; though I feel nigher\nter it on Piomingo Bald than ennywhar else, till Rood, or somebody,\nstarts up like they hed a contract with Satan to be-devil me.\u201d\n\nMink listened with a sort of affectionate ruefulness. Then he broke\nforth, suddenly, \u201cMebbe I mought see Rood ef I war ter go down ter\nPiomingo Cove, whar the boys be goin\u2019 ter shoot fur beef this evenin\u2019.\nAn\u2019 I kin let him know I don\u2019t own no cattle up hyar, an\u2019 hain\u2019t got no\ntrade with the owners, an\u2019 ain\u2019t \u2019sponsible ter nobody.\u201d\n\nThere was a sudden expression of alarm in Doaks\u2019s face. \u201cDon\u2019t ye let\nRood know we suspicioned him, \u2019kase he _mought_ hev hed nuthin\u2019 ter do\nwith it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw,\u201d said Mink, with a diplomatic nod, \u201cI\u2019ll jes\u2019 tell that whilst I\u2019m\na-spreadin\u2019 the tale \u2019bout the cow.\u201d\n\nThere was a short silence. Doaks still sat, with a pondering aspect, on\nthe fence.\n\n\u201cRood mought take his gredge out on you-uns some other way, Mink,\u201d\nhe suggested presently. He felt bound in conscience to present the\ncontingency.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m ekal ter him,\u201d said Mink hardily.\n\nIn fact, Mink bore the most lightsome spirit down the mountain, scarcely\nto be expected in a man who goes to invite a more personal direction\nof the machinations of a feud. He would have dared far more to secure\na respite from the loneliness of Piomingo Bald, to say nothing of the\nopportunity of mingling in the festivity of shooting for beef. He\nhad not even a qualm of regret for the solitary herder whom he left\nstanding at the fence, gazing down at him a trifle wistfully. He was\nout of sight presently, but Doaks heard the mare\u2019s hoofs long after he\nhad disappeared,\u2014the more distinctly, because of the animal\u2019s habit of\nstriking her hind feet together.\n\nThe mists had lifted. It was a positive happiness to Mink to watch the\nforests expand, as he went down and down the rugged ways of the herders\u2019\ntrail. There were taller trees on every hand; great beds of ferns,\ntheir fronds matted together, began to appear; impenetrable jungles of\nthe laurel stretched all along the deep ravines. Now and then a flash\nof crimson rejoiced the sight; from far gleamed the red cones of the\ncucumber tree; the trumpet-flower blossomed in the darkling places; he\nmarked the lustre of the partridge-berry by the wayside.\n\nThe earth was moist from the recent rains, as the narrow, slippery\npath, curving between a sheer declivity on one side and an almost\nperpendicular ascent on the other, might testify. His mare traveled it in\na devil-may-care fashion, snatching as she went at leaves on the slope\nabove, regardless that a false step would precipitate both herself and\nher rider into eternity. Noticing this breach of manners, Mink now and\nthen gave a reckless jerk at the bit.\n\n\u201cDad-burn ye! ye buzzard! A greedy body would \u2019low ye hed never hearn\ntell o\u2019 nuthin\u2019 ter eat afore in this worl\u2019!\u201d\n\nHere it was only, above these depths, that he might see the sky,\u2014afar\noff, as was meet that it should be: he, the earthling, had no kinship\nwith its austere infinities. The growths of the forest were now of\nincredible magnitude and magnificence. Up and up towered the massive\nboles, with a canopy of leaves so dense that all the firmament was\neffaced, and the sunshine trickling through had a white, tempered\nglister like the moonbeams. What infinite stretches of solitudes! What\nmeasureless mountain wilds! In these solemn spaces Silence herself walked\nunshod.\n\nYet stay! A crystalline vibration, a tinkling tremor, a voice smiting the\nair, so delicately attuned to all sylvan rhythms, with an accent so fine,\nso faint,\u2014surely, some oread a-singing!\n\nNay\u2014only the mountain torrent, dashing its fantastic cascades down its\nrocky channel, with a louder burst of minstrelsy and a flash of foam as\nits glittering swirl of translucent water revealed itself, the laurel and\nferns crowding upon its banks and a cardinal flower reflected multiform\nin a deep and shadowy pool. A mossy log spanned it as foot-bridge, and\nthen it slipped away into the forest, to spring out suddenly and cross\nthe road again and again before it reached the base of the mountain. Mink\nreckoned the distance by its reappearances, in default of other means.\n\n\u201cYe be a-travelin\u2019 toler\u2019ble smart this evenin\u2019,\u201d he observed to the\nmare. \u201cYe be mighty nigh ez glad ter git off\u2019n that thar buzzard\u2019s roost\nup yander ez I be, though I don\u2019t crack my heels tergether \u2019bout it like\nyou-uns do yourn.\u201d\n\nHe did not follow the road into Eskaqua Cove when he reached the level\nground. He struck off through one of the ridges that lie like a moulding\nabout the base of the mountains, crossed another nameless barrier, then\ndescended into Piomingo Cove. Sequestered, encompassed by the mountains,\nrugged of surface, veined with rock, its agricultural interest is hardly\nserved by the conditions which enhance its picturesque aspect. The roofs\nof a few log cabins at long intervals peer out from among scanty orchards\nand fields. Tobacco flourishes down the sides of steep funnel-shaped\ndepressions worked exclusively with the hoe, and suggesting acrobatic\ncapacity as a co-requisite with industry to cultivate it. The woods make\nheavily into the cove, screening it from familiar knowledge of its hills\nand dales.\n\nMink, trotting along the red clay road, came suddenly upon the banks\nof the Scolacutta River, riotous with the late floods, fringed with\nthe papaw and the ivy bush. Beyond its steely glint he could see the\nsun-flooded summit of Chilhowee, a bronze green, above the intermediate\nranges: behind him was the Great Smoky, all unfamiliar viewed from an\nunaccustomed standpoint, massive, solemn, of dusky hue; white and amber\nclouds were slowly settling on the bald. There had been a shower among\nthe mountains, and a great rainbow, showing now only green and rose and\nyellow, threw a splendid slant of translucent color on the purple slope.\nIn such environment the little rickety wooden mill\u2014with its dilapidated\nleaking race, with its motionless wheel moss-grown, with its tottering\nsupports throbbing in the rush of the water which rose around them, with\na loitering dozen or more mountaineers about the door\u2014might seem a feeble\nexpression of humanity. To Mink the scene was the acme of excitement and\ninterest. His blood was quickening as he galloped up, his hair tossing\nunder the wide brim of his hat, his stirrup-leathers adjusted to the full\nlength of his leg according to the custom of the country, his rifle laid\nacross the pommel of his saddle.\n\n\u201cEnny chance lef\u2019 fur me?\u201d he asked, as he reined in among the loungers.\n\nThis observation was received in some sort as a salutation.\n\n\u201cHy\u2019re, Mink,\u201d said several voices at once. Other men merely glanced up,\ntheir eyes expressing languid interest.\n\n\u201c_Ye_ don\u2019t want ter shoot, Mink,\u201d said one, with a jocose manner. \u201cYe\nknowed all the chances would be sold by now. Ye hev jes\u2019 kem \u2019kase ye\nhearn old Tobias Winkeye air out agin.\u201d\n\nMink\u2019s dark eyes seemed afire with some restless leaping light. His\ninfectious laughter rang out. \u201cNever s\u2019picioned it,\u2014so holp me Jiminy!\n_When?_\u201d\n\n\u201cTer-night. Ye keep powerful low,\u201d with a cautionary wink.\n\n\u201cI reckon so,\u201d promised Mink cordially.\n\nA sullen remonstrance broke into these amenities.\n\n\u201cWaal, Jer\u2019miah Price, I dunno ez ye hev enny call ter let all that out\nter Mink Lorey.\u201d\n\nPete Rood, who delivered this reproof, was not an ill-looking fellow\nnaturally, but his black eyes wore a lowering, disaffected expression.\nHis swarthy square-jawed face indicated a temperament which might be\ndifficult to excite to any keen emotion, and was incapable of nice\ndiscrimination; but which promised, when once aroused, great tenacity\nof purpose. He wore a suit of gray jeans, loosely fitting, giving his\nheavy figure additional breadth. He carried his hands in his pockets, and\nlounged about, throwing an occasional word over his shoulder with a jerky\nincidental manner.\n\n\u201cWhy not tell Mink?\u201d exclaimed Jerry Price, a long, lank fellow, far too\ntall and slim for symmetry, and whose knees had a sort of premonitory\ncrook in them, as if he were about to shut up, after the manner of a\nclasp-knife, into comfortable and convenient portability. His head was\nfrankly red. His freckles stood out plainly for all they were worth;\nand, regarded as freckles, they were of striking value. A ragged red\nbeard hung down on his unbleached cotton shirt. Physically, he had not a\ntrait to commend him; but a certain subtle magnetism, that inborn fitness\nas a leader of men, hung upon his gestures, vibrated in his words,\nconstrained acquiescence in his rude logic. \u201cAin\u2019t Mink always been along\nof we-uns?\u201d he added.\n\nMink dismounted slowly and hitched his mare to the limb of a dogwood\ntree hard by. Then, leaning upon his rifle, he drawled, \u201c\u2019Pears like\neverybody\u2019s gittin\u2019 sot agin me these days. I dunno who \u2019twar, but this\nvery mornin\u2019 somebody kem up on Piomingo Bald an\u2019 shot a cow ez used ter\nb\u2019long ter me.\u201d\n\nHe raised his eyes suddenly. Rood had lounged off a few steps with an\nidle gait, swaying from side to side, his hands still in his pockets. But\nthere was tenseness in the pose of his half-turned head. He was listening.\n\n\u201cHed ye done traded her off?\u201d asked Price, interested. \u201cGimme a chaw o\u2019\nterbacco.\u201d\n\n\u201cAin\u2019t got none. Pete, can\u2019t ye gin this hyar destitute cuss a chaw o\u2019\nterbacco?\u201d\n\nRood could not choose but turn his face, while he held out his plug. The\ncrafty Mink scanned it, as he leaned his own sun-burned cheek upon the\nmuzzle of the long rifle on which he lazily supported his weight.\n\n\u201cNaw, Jerry, \u2019twarn\u2019t my cow. I can\u2019t keep nuthin\u2019 long enough ter lose\nit; I hed traded her off to Ben Doaks.\u201d\n\nThere was no mistaking the patent disappointment on Rood\u2019s face. One with\nfar less sharp intelligence than Mink possessed might have descried that\nhot look in his eyes, as if they burned,\u2014that vacillating glance which\ncould fix on naught about him. The surprise of the moment deterred him\nfrom observing Mink, whose air of unconsciousness afterward afforded no\nground for suspicion or fear.\n\nRood pocketed his plug, and presently slouched off toward the tree where\nthe marksmen were preparing for the shooting-match.\n\nNow and then there flitted to the door of the mill the figure of a\nstripling, all dusted with flour and meal, and with a torn white hat\non his head. He wore ragged jeans trousers of an indeterminate hue,\nand an unbleached cotton shirt. When the men were strolling about, he\nslunk into the duskiness within. But when they were all intent upon the\nprojected trial of skill, he crept shyly to the door, and looked out with\na singularly blank, inexpressive gaze.\n\n\u201cHy\u2019re ye, Tad!\u201d called out Mink gayly.\n\nThe young fellow stood for an instant staring; then, with a wide, foolish\ngrin of recognition, disappeared among the shadows within.\n\n\u201cLet the idjit be, Mink,\u201d said old Griff, the miller, querulously,\u2014\u201clet\nhim be.\u201d\n\nHe was a man of sixty years, perhaps, and bending beneath their weight.\nHis white beard was like a patriarch\u2019s, and his long hair hung down to\nmeet it. He had a parchment-like skin, corrugated, and seeming darker for\nthe contrast with his hair and beard. Beneath his bushy white eyebrows,\nrestless, irritable eyes peered out. He was barefooted, as was the boy,\nand his poverty showed further in the patches on his brown jeans clothes.\n\n\u201cNaw, I won\u2019t,\u201d said Mink irreverently. \u201cI want ter see what Tad does\nwhen he skeets off an\u2019 hides that-a-way.\u201d\n\nHe pressed into the mill, and the old man looked after him and cursed him\nin his beard. He swore with every breath he drew.\n\n\u201cGo on, ye dad-burned fool\u2014go on ter damnation! Ever sence that thar\nsneakin\u2019 Mink hev been roun\u2019 hyar,\u201d he continued, addressing Price,\n\u201cTad \u2019pears weaker \u2019n ever. I can\u2019t \u2019bide ter keep Tad in the house.\nHe gits into one o\u2019 his r-uproarious takin\u2019s, an\u2019 it looks like hell\ncouldn\u2019t hold him,\u2014skeers the chill\u2019n mighty nigh ter death. Yes, sir!\nmy gran\u2019chil\u2019n. Daddy war shot by the revenuers, mammy died o\u2019 the lung\ncomplaint, an\u2019 the old man\u2019s got \u2019em all ter take keer of\u2014ten o\u2019 \u2019em.\nAn\u2019 my nevy Tad, too, ez war born lackin\u2019. An\u2019 ev\u2019y one of \u2019em\u2019s got a\nstommick like a rat-hole\u2014ye can\u2019t fill it up. Yes, sir! The Lord somehows\nhev got his hand out in takin\u2019 keer o\u2019 me an\u2019 mine, an\u2019 he can\u2019t git it\nin agin.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, they holps ye mightily, plowin\u2019 an\u2019 sech, don\u2019t they,\u2014the biggest\nones; an\u2019 one o\u2019 the gals kin cook, that thar spry one, \u2019bout fifteen\nyear old; I\u2019m a-goin\u2019 ter wait fur her,\u2014beats all the grown ones in the\ncove fur looks,\u201d said the specious Jerry Price. \u201cAn\u2019 they air all mighty\ngood chill\u2019n, ain\u2019t they? Oughter be. Good stock.\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw, sir; naw, sir!\u201d the old man replied, so precipitately that his\niterative mutter had the effect of interruption. \u201cDurries\u2019 meanes\u2019\nchill\u2019n I ever see. Ripenin\u2019 fur hell! Scandalous mean chill\u2019n.\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon so,\u201d said Rood suddenly. \u201cThar goes one o\u2019 \u2019em now.\u201d He pointed\nto a scapegrace ten years of age, perhaps, clad in a suit of light blue\nchecked cotton. His trousers reached to his shoulder blades, and were\nsustained by a single suspender. A ragged old black hat was perched\non the back of his tow head. He had the clothes-line tied to the hind\nleg of a pig which he was driving. He seemed to be in high feather,\nand apparently felt scant lack of a more spirited steed. In fact, the\npig gave ample occupation to his skill, coming to a halt sometimes and\nrooting about in an insouciant manner, reckless of control. When he was\npushed and thumped and forced to take up the line of march, he would\nsqueal dolorously and set out at a rate of speed hardly predicable of the\nporcine tribe. \u201cLook how he\u2019s a-actin\u2019 to that thar pore peeg,\u201d added\nRood.\n\nOld Gus Griff fixed his dark eye upon him.\n\n\u201cEnny friend o\u2019 yourn?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cWho?\u201d demanded Rood, amazed.\n\n\u201cThat thar peeg.\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw, o\u2019 course not.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen keep yer jaw off\u2019n him. Who set ye up ter jedge o\u2019 the actions o\u2019\nmy gran\u2019chile. That thar boy\u2019s name air \u2019Gustus Thomas Griff\u2014fur _me_!\nAn\u2019 I got nine mo\u2019 gran\u2019chil\u2019n jes\u2019 like him. An\u2019 ye lay yer rough\ntongue ter a word agin one o\u2019 \u2019em, an\u2019 old ez I be I\u2019ll stretch ye out\nflat on that thar groun\u2019 they air a-medjurin\u2019 ter shoot on. Ye greasy\nscandal-hit scamp yerse\u2019f!\u201d\n\nRood was fain to step back hastily, for the miller came blustering\nup with an evident bellicose intention. \u201cLord A\u2019mighty, old man!\u201d he\nexclaimed, \u201cI never said nuthin\u2019 agin \u2019em, \u2019cept what ye say yerse\u2019f. I\nwouldn\u2019t revile the orphan!\u201d\n\n\u201cJes\u2019 stop a-pityin\u2019 \u2019em, then, durn ye!\u201d exclaimed the exacting old man.\n\u201cThey ain\u2019t no orphans sca\u2019cely nohows, with thar grandad an\u2019 sech alive.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s what I knowed, Mr. Griff,\u201d said the bland Price, standing\nbetween them. \u201cPete\u2019s jes\u2019 \u2019bidin\u2019 the time o\u2019 the fool-killer. Must be\na powerful rank crap fur him somewhar, bein\u2019 ez Pete\u2019s spared this long.\nThat\u2019s what I knowed an\u2019 always say \u2019bout them chill\u2019n.\u201d\n\nThe old man, mollified for the instant, paused, his gnarled knotted\nhands shaking nervously, the tremor in his unseen lips sending a vague\nshiver down all the length of his silver beard. The excitement, painful\nto witness, was dying out of his eager eyes, when a mad peal of laughter\nrang out from the recesses of the old mill.\n\n\u201cWhat be that thar blamed idjit a-doin\u2019 of now! him an\u2019 that thar minkish\nMink!\u201d\n\nHe turned and went hastily into the shadowy place. Bags of grain were\nscattered about. The hopper took up much room in the limited space;\nbehind it the miller\u2019s nephew and Mink were sitting on the step of a rude\nplatform. They had a half-bushel measure inverted between them, and on it\nwas drawn a geometric figure upon which were ranged grains of corn.\n\nThere was a pondering intentness on the idiot\u2019s wide face very nearly\napproaching a gleam of intelligence. Mink, incongruously patient and\nsilent, awaited Tad\u2019s play; both were unaware of the old man, among the\ndusky shadows, peering at them from over the hopper. At last, Tad, with\nan appealing glance at Mink, and an uncertain hand, adjusted a grain of\ncorn. He leaned forward eagerly, as Mink promptly played in turn. Then,\nfixing all the faculties of his beclouded mind upon the board, he finally\nperceived that the game had ended, and that his opponent was victor. Once\nmore his harsh laughter echoed from the rafters. \u201cYe won it, Mink. Ye won\nthe coon.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want yer coon,\u201d said Mink, good-naturedly. \u201cYe kin keep yer coon\nter bet nex\u2019 time.\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw, ye kin hev the coon, Mink!\u201d He caught at a string dandling from a\nbeam. \u201cKem down hyar, ye idjit!\u201d he cried, with a strange, thick-tongued\nenunciation. \u201cKem down hyar, ye damned fool!\u201d\n\nThe old man suddenly made his way around the hopper and stood before\nthem. Tad rose, with a startled face. Mink looked up composedly.\n\n\u201cDo ye know what ye air a-doin\u2019 of, Mink Lorey?\u201d asked the old man,\nsternly.\n\n\u201cL\u2019arnin\u2019 Tad ter play \u2018five corn,\u2019\u201d said Mink, innocently. \u201cHe kin play\nright sorter peart fur a lackin\u2019 one. I dunno ez I b\u2019lieve Tad\u2019s so\npowerful fursaken no-ways, ef ennybody would take the pains ter l\u2019arn\nhim. I b\u2019lieves he\u2019d show a right mind arter a while.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 thar ye sit, ez complacent ez a bull-frog\u2014ye that the Lord\nhev favored with senses,\u201d cried the old man, \u201csech ez they be,\u201d he\nstipulated, making not too much of Mink\u2019s endowments, \u201ca-usin\u2019 of \u2019em ter\nruin a pore idjit boy,\u201d\u2014Mink\u2019s eyes flashed surprise,\u2014\u201ca-l\u2019arnin\u2019 him ter\nplay a gamblin\u2019 game.\u201d\n\n\u201cShucks! _five corn!_\u201d cried Mink, accustomed to the iniquity of \u201cplayin\u2019\nkyerds,\u201d and scorning to rate the puerile beguilements of \u201cfive corn\u201d\namong the \u201cgambling games\u201d which he had mastered,\u2014\u201cwhat\u2019s _five corn_!\nEnny child kin play it\u2014that thar coon could l\u2019arn it ef he hed a mind ter\ndo it. I don\u2019t want the critter. Tad; I don\u2019t want it.\u201d\n\nThe old man\u2019s tongue had found its ready oaths. \u201cA-fixin\u2019 on the idjit\nboy fur the prey o\u2019 Satan. A-l\u2019arnin\u2019 him ter play a gamblin\u2019 game ter\ndamn his soul. An\u2019 a-trickin\u2019 him out\u2019n his coon.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never!\u201d cried Mink, in hasty extenuation. \u201cI jes\u2019 put up my rifle\nagin his coon ter make him think he war playin\u2019 sure enough! But I ain\u2019t\na-goin\u2019 ter keep his coon, an\u2019 I don\u2019t want it, nuther!\u201d\n\n\u201cI kin read the future,\u201d cried out the old man, suddenly, flinging up\nhis hand and shading his peering eyes with it. \u201cI kin view the scenes o\u2019\nhell. I see ye, Mink Lorey, a-writhin\u2019 in the pits o\u2019 torment, with the\nflames a-wroppin\u2019 round ye, an\u2019 a-swallerin\u2019 melted iron an\u2019 a-smellin\u2019\nsulphur an\u2019 brimstone. I see ye! Bless the Lord,\u2014I see ye thar!\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw, _ye don\u2019t_!\u201d interpolated Mink, angrily.\n\nThe idiot had slunk to one side, and was gazing at the two with a white,\nstartled face, still mechanically jerking the string, at the end of which\nthe reluctant coon tugged among the beams above.\n\n\u201cI see ye thar,\u2014damned yerse\u2019f fur tryin\u2019 ter damn the idjit\u2019s soul!\u201d\n\n\u201cYe\u2019d better look arter yer own soul!\u201d cried Mink, \u201can\u2019 quit l\u2019arnin\u2019 the\nidjit ter cuss. He do it percisely like he gits the word from ye, an\u2019\nye air a perfessin\u2019 member, what shouts at the camp-meetin\u2019, an\u2019 prays\nwith \u2019the Power,\u2019 an\u2019 laffs with the \u2018holy laff\u2019! Shucks! I hev hearn ye\nexhortin\u2019 them on the mourners\u2019 bench.\u201d\n\nOnce more the old man broke out angrily.\n\nMink interrupted. \u201cQuit cussin\u2019 me! Quit it!\u201d he cried. He wore a more\nharried look than one would have believed possible, as the miller, with\nhis hoary head and tremulous beard, pressed close upon him in the dark,\nnarrow apartment, the idiot\u2019s white face\u2014a sort of affrighted glare upon\nit\u2014dimly visible beside him. \u201cQuit it! I ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter take nare\nnuther word off \u2019n ye!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow ye goin\u2019 ter holp it? Goin\u2019 ter hit a old man,\u2014old enough ter be\nyer grandad, eh?\u201d suggested the wary old creature, making capital of his\ninfirmities.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll bust yer mill down, ef ye don\u2019t lemme out\u2019n it Lemme out!\u201d cried\nMink, tumultuously, striving to push past.\n\nJerry Price\u2019s long, lank figure appeared in the doorway. It was not\npolicy which animated him, for he had nothing at stake. With an inherent\nknowledge of human nature, some untutored instinctive capacity for\nmanipulating its idiosyncrasies, he half consciously found a certain\nsatisfaction in exercising his keen acumen on the men about him. It\nmight have been employed more profitably in the field of local politics,\nhad the gift been adequately realized and valued. He was of an amiable,\neven of an admirable, temperament, and he devised the adjustment of many\ncomplications, in which open interference would avail naught, by subtly\nappealing to some predominant motive or sentiment with the accuracy with\nwhich a surgeon can touch a nerve.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar, Mink,\u201d he said, apparently unobservant of any signs of a\nquarrel, \u201cain\u2019t you-uns a-goin\u2019 ter shoot?\u201d\n\nMink\u2019s angry aspect dropped like a husk.\n\n\u201cWaal, I can\u2019t, ye know,\u201d he said, in a voice eager with interest. \u201cThey\n\u2019lowed ter me ez they hed done made up the money an\u2019 bought the beef, an\u2019\nall the chances are gone,\u2014six fur a dollar, shillin\u2019 apiece.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, I bought eight chances. I\u2019ll let ye hev two of \u2019em, ef two\u2019ll do\nye.\u201d\n\n\u201cJiminy Crack-corn an\u2019 I don\u2019t keer!\u201d exclaimed Mink, doubling himself\npartly in a gesture of ecstasy, and partly to reach a silver coin that\nled a lonesome life in the depths of his long pocket. He handed it over,\nand slapped his leg with a sounding thwack. \u201cI could shoot ye all off \u2019n\nthe ground, an\u2019 I kin git the fust an\u2019 second ch\u2019ice in two cracks.\u201d\n\nRood, in the doorway behind Price, regarded the transaction with\ndisapproval.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t b\u2019lieve it\u2019s \u2019cordin\u2019 ter rules, Jerry,\u201d he expostulated, \u201cter\ngo roun\u2019 an\u2019 swap off yer chances arter ye paid fur \u2019em. I never seen it\ndone afore, no-ways.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe hold yer jaw!\u201d said Price, imperious, though good-natured. \u201cI hev\nshot fur beef \u2019fore ye war born!\u201d\u2014a diminutive marksman, were this\nstatement to receive full credit, since he was but a year or two older\nthan Rood.\n\nIrregular though it may have been, there was no appeal from the\nself-arrogated authority of Price, and his oft-reiterated formula as to\nhis experience before his interlocutor\u2019s birth had all the enlightened\nfunctions of precedent.\n\nRood said no more, appreciating the futility of remonstrance. He stood,\nsurly enough, in the doorway, listening absently to the garrulous clamor\nof the old miller, who was telling again and again of Mink\u2019s iniquity in\nteaching Tad \u201cfive corn,\u201d and of his threats against the mill.\n\n\u201cI dare ye ter lay a finger on the mill!\u201d he cried. \u201cI\u2019ll put ye in that\nthar hopper an\u2019 grind every ounce o\u2019 yer carcass ter minch meat.\u201d\n\nMink gave him no heed. He had joined the group of marksmen near the\ntree on which the targets were to be fixed. He was loading his gun,\nholding the ball in the palm of his hand, and pouring enough powder\nover it to barely cover it in a conical heap. He dexterously adjusted\nthe \u201cpatching,\u201d and as he rammed down the charge he paused suddenly.\nFrom a little log cabin on a rise hard by, a delicate spiral wreath of\nsmoke curled up over the orchard, and airily defined itself against\nthe mountain. Beside the rail fence a girl of fifteen was standing;\nsunny-haired, blue-eyed, barefooted, and slatternly. The peaches were\nripe in the weighted trees above her head; he heard the chanting bees\namong them. The pig was grunting luxuriously among their roots and the\nfallen over-ripe fruit; for his driver, \u2019Gustus Tom, and the elder boy,\nJoseph, had gone down to the mill for a closer view of the shooting; the\nsmall girls who had mounted the fence being deterred from accompanying\nthem by feminine decorum. The dogs appertaining to the place had also\ngone down to the mill, and were conferring with the followers of the\ncontestants in the match. One, however, a gaunt and gray old hound,\nthat had half climbed the fence, hesitated, his fore-paws resting\non the topmost rail, a lean, eager curiosity on his grave, serious\ncountenance, his neck stretched, his head close to the pretty head of the\ngolden-haired maiden.\n\n\u201cHowdy, sis!\u201d called out the bold Mink, the ramrod arrested half-way\nin the barrel, his face shadowed by his broad-brimmed hat, his hair\nflaunting in the wind.\n\nShe gave a flattered smile, full of precocious coquetry.\n\n\u201cSick him, Bose!\u201d she exclaimed to the faithful dog. \u201cSick him!\u201d\n\nBose fastened his glare on Mink, raised his bristles, and growled\nobediently.\n\nThe young man with a gay laugh drove the charge home, and rattled the\nramrod sharply into its place.\n\nAlready the first report of the rifle had pealed into the quietude of\nthe cove; the rocks clamored as with the musketry of a battle. Far, far\nand faint the sound clanged back from the ranges between Chilhowee and\nthe river, from all the spurs and ravines of the Big Smoky. The sunshine\nhad the burnished fullness of post-meridian lustre, mellow, and all\nunlike the keen, matutinal glitter of earlier day; but purple shadows\nencircled the cove, and ever and anon a shining curve was described on\nthe mountain side as the wings of a homeward-bound bird caught the light.\nSometimes the low of cattle rose on the air. The beef, as the young ox\nwas prematurely called, lifted his head, listening. He stood, the rope\nabout his neck, secured to a hitching-post near the mill, looking calmly\nupon the ceremonies that sealed his destiny. It is to be hoped, in view\nof the pangs of prescience, that the animal\u2019s deductive capacities and\nprophetic instincts are not underrated, or the poor beef\u2019s presence at\nthe shooting-match might express the acme of anguished despair. He was\nan amiable brute, and lent himself passively to the curiosity of \u2019Gustus\nTom, who came up more than once, gazed fixedly at him, and examined\nhis horns and hoofs, his eyes and nozzle, doubtless verifying some\npreconceptions as to facts in natural history.\n\nThe young mountaineers seemed to shoot with startling rapidity. Only\none green hand labored under the delusion that a long aim can do aught\nbut \u201cwobble the eyes.\u201d As each flung himself prostrate, with a grave\nintentness of expression and a certain precipitancy of gesture, it might\nhave seemed some strange act of worship, but for the gun resting upon\na log placed for the purpose, sixty yards from the mark,\u2014the customary\ndistance in shooting-matches with the old-fashioned rifle,\u2014and the sudden\nsharp crack of the report. Their marksmanship was so nearly equal that it\nbecame readily apparent that the office of the anxious-eyed judges was\nnot an enviable honor. Occasionally disputes arose, and the antagonists\ngathered around the tree, examining the targets with vociferous\ngesticulation which often promised to end in cuffs. Once the two judges\ndisagreed, when it became necessary to call in an impartial \u201cthirdsman\u201d\nand submit the question. The old miller, placid once more, accepted the\ntrust, decided judiciously, and the match proceeded.\n\nMink\u2019s turn came presently.\n\nAs he ran deftly in and out among the heavy young mountaineers, he\nseemed more than ever like some graceful wild animal, with such elastic\nlightness, such reserve of strength, such keen endowment of instinct.\nHe arranged in its place his board, previously blackened with moistened\npowder, and marked with a cross drawn on it with a knife-blade; each\ncontestant had brought a precisely similar target. Then, to distinguish\nthe centre at sixty yards he carefully affixed a triangular piece of\nwhite paper, so that it touched the cross at the intersection of the\nlines. As he ran lightly back to the log and flung himself upon the\nground, his swift movement and his lithe posture struck the attention of\none of the men.\n\n\u201cNow, ain\u2019t ye the livin\u2019 image o\u2019 a mink! Ye\u2019ve got nothin\u2019 ter do but\nter crope under that thar log, like thar war a hen hidin\u2019 thar, an\u2019 ye\nwar tryin\u2019 ter git it by the throat.\u201d\n\nMink cast his bright eyes upward. \u201cYe shet up!\u201d he exclaimed. Then he\nplaced his rifle on the log and aimed in a twinkling,\u2014his finger was on\nthe trigger.\n\nAt this moment \u2019Gustus Tom, in his overwhelming curiosity, contrived to\nget his small anatomy between the marksman and the tree. The jet of red\nlight leaped out, the funnel-shaped smoke diffused itself in a formless\ncloud, and the ball whizzed close by the boy\u2019s head.\n\nThere ensued a chorus of exclamation. The old man quavered out piteously.\nMink, dropping the rifle to the ground, leaped up, seized the small boy\nby the nape of the neck, and deposited him with a shake in the bosom of\nhis aged relative.\n\n\u201cYe limb o\u2019 Satan, \u2019Gustus Tom!\u201d cried out the old man. \u201cAin\u2019t ye got no\nbetter sense \u2019n ter go out fur a evenin\u2019 walk \u2019twixt that thar tree an\u2019\nthese hyar boys, ez couldn\u2019t begin ter shoot agin me an\u2019 my mates when I\nshot for beef whenst I war young? A-many-a-time I hev fired the five bes\u2019\nshots myself, an\u2019 won all the five ch\u2019ices o\u2019 the beef, an\u2019 jes\u2019 druv the\ncritter home,\u2014won it all! But these hyar fool boys jes\u2019 ez soon bang yer\nhead off ez hit the mark. Ye g\u2019 long \u2019fore I skeer the life out\u2019n ye!\u201d\n\nAnd \u2019Gustus Tom, in the unbridled pride of favoritism and with the fear\nof no man before his eyes, went along as far as the front rank of the\ncrowd, continuing a fervid spectator of the sport.\n\nThe agitation of the moment had impaired to a slight degree Mink\u2019s aim.\nThe shot was, however, one of the best yet made, and there was a clamor\nof negation when he insisted that he ought to have it over. The judges\nruled against him and the sport proceeded.\n\nAs Rood made his last shot, his strongly marked dark face was lighted\nwith a keen elation. Although, according to strictest construction, the\nball had not penetrated the centre, it was within a hair\u2019s breadth of it,\nand it was so unlikely that it would be surpassed that he tasted all the\nassured triumphs of victory before the battle was won.\n\nWith Mink\u2019s second shot arose the great dispute of the day. Like Rood\u2019s,\nit was not fairly in the bull\u2019s-eye, if the point of intersection might\nbe so called, but it too lacked only a hair\u2019s breadth. Mink was willing\nenough for a new trial, but Rood, protesting, stood upon his rights. The\njudges consulted together apart, re\u00ebxamined the boards, finally announced\ntheir incapacity to decide, and called in the \u201cthirdsman.\u201d\n\nMink made no objection when the miller, as referee, came to look at the\nboard. He, too, examined it closely, holding his big hat in his hand\nthat it might cast no shadow. There was no perceptible difference in the\nvalue of the two shots. Mink hardly believed he had heard aright when the\n\u201cthirdsman,\u201d with scarcely a moment\u2019s hesitation, declared there was no\ndoubt about the matter. Rood\u2019s shot was the fairer. \u201cI could draw a line\n\u2019twixt Mink\u2019s and the centre.\u201d\n\nThere was a yell of derision from the young fellows. Rood wore a\nprovoking sneer. Mink stood staring.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar,\u201d he said roughly, \u201cye haffen-blind old ow_el_! Ye can\u2019t\ntell the differ \u2019twixt them shots. It\u2019s a tie.\u201d\n\n\u201cRood\u2019s air the closest, an\u2019 he gits the fust ch\u2019ice o\u2019 beef!\u201d said the\nold man, his white beard and mustache yawning with his toothless laugh.\n\u201cAi-yi! Mink, ye ain\u2019t so powerful minkish yit ez ter git the fust ch\u2019ice\no\u2019 beef.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe\u2019ll hev the second ch\u2019ice, Mink,\u201d said Price consolingly. He himself,\nthe fourth best shot, had the fourth choice.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t hev the second ch\u2019ice!\u201d exclaimed Mink. \u201cIt\u2019s nobody but that\nthar weezened old critter ez \u2019lows I oughter. Fust he sent his gran\u2019son,\nthat thar slack-twisted \u2019Gustus Tom, ter git in my aim,\u2014wisht I hed\nshot him! An\u2019 then, when I lets him be thurdsman, he air jes\u2019 so durned\nm\u2019licious he don\u2019t even stop an\u2019 take a minit ter decide.\u201d Mink\u2019s heart\nwas hot. He had been wounded in his most vulnerable susceptibility, his\npride in his marksmanship.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar, Mink!\u201d remonstrated Price, \u201cye ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 off \u2019fore the\nbeef\u2019s been butchered an\u2019 ye git the second ch\u2019ice. Stop! Hold on!\u201d\n\nFor Mink was about to mount.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want no beef,\u201d he said. \u201cI hev been cheated \u2019mongst ye. I won\nthe fust ch\u2019ice, an\u2019 I won\u2019t put up with the second.\u201d\n\nPrice was nonplused for a moment; then he evolved a solution. \u201cI\u2019ll sell\nit, Mink,\u201d he cried, \u201can\u2019 bring ye the money! An\u2019 don\u2019t ye furgit old\nTobias Winkeye,\u201d he added beguilingly.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s old Tobias Winkeye?\u201d asked the miller tartly.\n\nPrice laughed, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans trousers,\nand looked around, winking at the others with a jocosity enfeebled\nsomewhat by his light sparse lashes. \u201cJes\u2019 a man ez hev got a job fur\nMink,\u201d he said, enigmatically.\n\nThe old miller, baffled, and apprehending the mockery, laughed loud and\naggressively, his white beard shaking, his bushy eyebrows overhanging his\ntwinkling eyes.\n\n\u201cHedn\u2019t ye better bust the mill down, Mink?\u201d he said floutingly.\n\n\u201cI will,\u2014see ef I don\u2019t!\u201d Mink retorted, as he wheeled his mare.\n\nOnly idle wrath, an idle threat, void of even the vaguest intention. They\nall knew that at the time. But the significance of the scene was altered\nin the light of after events.\n\nMink\u2019s fate had mounted with him, and the mare carried double as he rode\nout of Piomingo Cove.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\nThe iterative echoes of the shooting-match, sharply jarring from mountain\nto mountain, from crag to crag, evoked a faint reverberation even in the\ndistant recesses of Wild-Cat Hollow. Alethea Sayles, sitting at her loom\non the porch of the little log cabin, paused, the shuttle motionless in\nher deft hand, to listen.\n\nAll aloof from the world was Wild-Cat Hollow, a limited depression, high\nup on the vast slope of the Great Smoky. It might have seemed some secret\nnook, some guarded fastness, so closely did the primeval wilderness\nencompass it, so jealously did the ridgy steeps rise about it on every\nhand. It was invisible from the valley below, perhaps too from the\nheights above. And only a glimpse was vouchsafed to it of the world from\nwhich it was sequestered: beyond a field, in a gap of the minor ridges\nsuperimposed upon the mountain, where the dead and girdled trees stood in\nspectral ranks among the waving corn, might be seen a strip of woods in\nthe cove below, a glint of water, a stately file of lofty peaks vanishing\nalong the narrow skyey vista. Sunrise and sunset,\u2014the Hollow knew them\nnot: a distant mountain might flare with a fantasy of color, a star of\nabnormal glister might palpitate with some fine supernal thrill of dawn;\nbut for all else, it only knew that the night came early and the day\nbroke late, and in many ways it had meagre part in the common lot.\n\nThe little log cabin, set among its scanty fields, its weed-grown\n\u201cgyarden spot,\u201d and its few fruit-trees, was poor of its kind. The\nclapboards of its roof were held in place by poles laid athwart them,\nwith large stones piled between to weight them down. The chimney was\nof clay and sticks, and leaned away from the wall. In a corner of the\nrickety rail fence a gaunt, razor-backed hog lay grunting drowsily.\nUpon a rude scaffold tobacco leaves were suspended to dry. Even the\nmartin-house was humble and primitive: merely a post with a cross-bar,\nfrom which hung a few large gourds with a cavity in each, whence the\nbirds were continually fluttering. Behind it all, the woods of the steep\nascent seemed to touch the sky. The place might give a new meaning to\nexile, a new sentiment to loneliness.\n\nSeldom it heard from the world,\u2014so seldom that when the faint rifle-shots\nsounded in the distance a voice from within demanded eagerly, \u201cWhat on\nyearth be that, Lethe?\u201d\n\n\u201cShootin\u2019 fur beef, down in the cove, I reckon, from thar firin\u2019 so\nconstant,\u201d drawled Alethea.\n\n\u201cYe dunno,\u201d said the unseen, unexpectedly, derisive of this conjecture.\n\u201cThey mought be a-firin\u2019 thar bullets inter each other. Nobody kin\ncount on a man by hisself, but a man in company with a rifle air jes\u2019 a\noutdacious, jubious critter.\u201d\n\nAlethea looked speculatively down at the limited section of the cove\nvisible from the Hollow above. Her hazel eyes were bright, but singularly\ngrave. The soft sheen of her yellow hair served to definitely outline\nthe shape of her head against the brown logs of the wall. The locks lay\nnot in ripples, but in massive undulations, densely growing above her\nforehead, and drawn in heavy folds into a knot at the back of her head.\nShe had the delicate complexion and the straight, refined lineaments so\nincongruous with the poverty-stricken mountaineer, so commonly seen among\nthe class. Her homespun dress was of a dull brown. About her throat, of\nexquisite whiteness, was knotted a kerchief of the deepest saffron tint.\nHer hands and arms\u2014for her sleeves were rolled back\u2014were shapely, but\nrough and sun-embrowned. She had a deliberate, serious manner that very\nnearly approached dignity.\n\n\u201cI hopes they ain\u2019t,\u201d she said, still listening. \u201cI hopes they ain\u2019t\na-shootin\u2019 of one another.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, I\u2019m a-thinkin\u2019 the lead wouldn\u2019t be wasted on some of \u2019em,\u201d said\nthe acrid voice. \u201cPiomingo Cove could make out mighty well \u2019thout some o\u2019\nthem boys ez rip an\u2019 rear aroun\u2019 down thar ez a constancy. I dunno ez I\u2019d\nfeel called on ter mourn fur Mink Lorey enny. An\u2019 I reckon the cove could\nspare him.\u201d\n\nLooking through the window close by the bench of the loom, Alethea could\nsee the interior of the room, rudely furnished and with the perennial\nfire of the wide chimney-place slowly smouldering in a bed of ashes. A\nhalf-grown Shanghai pullet was pecking about the big flat stones of the\nhearth in a premature and unprescient proximity to the pot. There were\ntwo bedsteads of a lofty build, the thick feather beds draped with quilts\nof such astounding variety of color as might have abashed the designers\nof Joseph\u2019s coat. The scrupulous cleanliness and orderliness of the place\nwere as marked a characteristic as its poverty.\n\nA sharp-featured woman of fifty sat in a low chair by the fire,\nwearing a blue-checked homespun dress, a pink calico sun-bonnet, and a\ncob-pipe,\u2014the last was so constantly sported that it might be reckoned an\narticle of attire. She was not so old as she seemed, but the loss of her\nteeth and her habit of crouching over the fire gave her a cronish aspect.\n\nAlethea hesitated. Then, with a deprecatory manner, she said in her soft\ncontralto drawl, \u201cHe ain\u2019t down \u2019mongst the boys in Piomingo Cove none.\u201d\n\nMrs. Sayles sneered. \u201cYe b\u2019lieve that?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe be a-herdin\u2019 cattle along o\u2019 Ben Doaks on Piomingo Bald.\u201d\n\nMrs. Sayles looked at her step-daughter and puffed a copious wreath of\nsmoke for reply.\n\n\u201cReuben tole me that hisself,\u2014an\u2019 so did Ben Doaks,\u201d persisted Alethea.\n\n\u201c_Mink_, I calls him, an\u2019 nuthin\u2019 shorter,\u201d said Mrs. Sayles,\nobdurately,\u2014as if anything could be shorter. \u201cBut ef Ben Doaks gin the\nsame word, it mus\u2019 be a true one.\u201d\n\nAlethea flushed. \u201cI know ye air sot agin Reuben, but I\u2019d believe his word\nagin enny other critter\u2019s in the mountings.\u201d\n\n\u201cSet a heap o\u2019 store on him, don\u2019t ye?\u201d said Mrs. Sayles, sarcastically.\n\u201cAn\u2019 when he kem a-courtin\u2019 ye, an\u2019 \u2019peared crazy \u2019bout\u2019n ye, an\u2019 ye\nan\u2019 him war promised ter marry, ye couldn\u2019t quit jowin\u2019 at him fur one\nminit. Ye plumb beset him ter do like _ye_ thought war right,\u2014ez ef _he_\nhed no mo\u2019 conscience o\u2019 his own \u2019n that pullet thar, an\u2019 hedn\u2019t never\nhearn on salvation. An\u2019 ye\u2019d beg an\u2019 beg him ter quit consortin\u2019 with\nthe moonshiners; an\u2019 a-drinkin\u2019 o\u2019 apple-jack an\u2019 sech; an\u2019 a-rollickin\u2019\nround the kentry; an\u2019 layin\u2019 folkses fences down on the groun\u2019; an\u2019\nliftin\u2019 thar gates off\u2019n the hinges; an\u2019 ketchin\u2019 thar geese, an\u2019 pickin\u2019\n\u2019em, an\u2019 scatterin\u2019 thar feathers in the wind, an\u2019 sendin\u2019 \u2019em squawkin\u2019\nhome; an\u2019 a-playin\u2019 kyerds; an\u2019 a-whoopin\u2019, an\u2019 ridin\u2019, an\u2019 racin\u2019. An\u2019\nye war always a-preachin\u2019 at him, an\u2019 tryin\u2019 ter straighten him out, an\u2019\nmake him suthin\u2019 he war never born ter be.\u201d\n\nHer pipe was smoked out. She drew from her pocket a fragment of tobacco\nleaf, which was apparently not sufficiently cured for satisfactory\nsmoking, for she laid it on the hot ashes on the hearth and watched it as\nit dried, her meditative eyes shaded by her pink calico sun-bonnet.\n\n\u201cNaw, sir!\u201d she continued, as she crumpled the bit of leaf with her\nfingers and crowded it into the bowl of her pipe, \u201cI hev never liked\nMink. I ain\u2019t denyin\u2019 it, nuther. I ain\u2019t gamesome enough ter git tuk\nup with sech ways ez his\u2019n. Mighty few folks air! But I could see\nreason in the critter when he \u2019lowed one day, right hyar by this very\nchimbly-place,\u2014he sez, sez he, \u2018Lethe, ye don\u2019t like nuthin\u2019 I do or say,\nan\u2019 I\u2019m durned ef I kin see how ye like _me_!\u2019\u201d\n\nAlethea\u2019s serious, lustrous eyes, looking in at the window, saw not the\nuncouth interior of her home,\u2014no! As in a vision, irradiated by some\nenchantment, she beheld the glamours of the idyllic past, fluctuating,\nwaning.\n\nEven to herself it sometimes seemed that she might have been content more\nlightly. Her imbuement with those practical ideas of right and wrong, the\nreligion of deeds rather than the futilely pious fervors of the ignorant\nmountaineers in which creed and act were often widely at variance, was\nas mysterious an endowment as the polarity of the loadstone. She was not\nintrospective, however; she never even wondered that she should speak\nopenly, without fear or favor, as she felt impelled. Had she lived in an\nage when every inward monition was esteemed the voice of the Lord, she\nmight have fancied that she was called to warn the world of the errors\nof its ways. Her sedulous conscience, the austere gravity of her spirit,\nher courage, her steadfastness, her fine intelligence, even her obdurate\nself-will, might all have had assertive values in those long bygone days.\nAs an historic woman, she might have founded an order, or juggled with\nstate-craft, or perished a martyr, or rode, enthusiast, in the ranks\nof battle. By centuries belated in Wild-Cat Hollow, she was known as a\n\u201cperverted, cross-grained gal\u201d and \u201ca meddlin\u2019 body,\u201d and the \u201cwidder\nJessup\u201d had much sympathy for having in a misguided moment married\nAlethea\u2019s father. Sometimes the Hollow, distorted though its conscience\nwas, experienced a sort of affright to recognize its misdeeds in her\ncurt phrase. It could only ask in retort who set her up to judge of her\nelders, and regain its wonted self-complacency as best it might. Even her\nown ascetic rectitude lacked some quality to commend it.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t find no regular fault with Lethe,\u201d her step-mother was wont to\nsay, \u201c\u2019ceptin\u2019 she\u2019s jes\u2019\u2014Lethe.\u201d\n\nMrs. Sayles\u2019s voice, pursuing the subject, recalled the girl\u2019s attention:\u2014\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 ye tired his patience out,\u2014the critter hed mo\u2019 \u2019n I gin him credit\nfur,\u2014an\u2019 druv him off at last through wantin\u2019 him ter be otherwise. An\u2019\nnow folks \u2019low ez him an\u2019 Elviry Crosby air a-goin\u2019 ter marry. I\u2019ll be\nbound she don\u2019t harry him none \u2019bout\u2019n his ways, \u2019kase her mother tole\nme ez she air mighty nigh a idjit \u2019bout\u2019n him, an\u2019 hev turned off Peter\nRood, who she hed promised ter marry, though the weddin\u2019 day hed been\nset, an\u2019 Pete air wuth forty sech ez Mink.\u201d\n\nAlethea turned away abruptly to her work, and as she lightly tossed the\nshuttle to and fro she heard, amidst the creaking of the treadle and the\nthumping of the batten, her step-mother\u2019s persistent voice droning on:\u2014\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 so ye hed yer say, an\u2019 done yer preachin\u2019, an\u2019 he profited by it. I\nreckon he \u2019lowed ef ye jawed that-a-way afore ye war married, thar war\nno yearthly tellin\u2019 what ye _could_ say arterward. An\u2019 now,\u201d rising to\nthe dramatic, \u201chyar kems along Ben Doaks, powerful peart an\u2019 good enough\nter satisfy ennybody; perlite, an\u2019 saaft-spoken, an\u2019 good-lookin\u2019, an\u2019\nrespected by all, an\u2019 ready ter marry ye ter-morrer, ef ye\u2019ll say the\nword. He owns cattle-critters\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 sheep,\u201d put in an unexpected voice. A dawdling young woman, with\na shallow blue eye and a pretty, inane soft face, had stepped into the\nback door, and heard the last words of the monologue which apparently had\nbeen often enough repeated to admit of no doubt as to its tenor. She had\na slatternly, ill-adjusted look, and a snuff-brush in the corner of her\nmouth.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 herds cattle in the summer season,\u201d said Mrs. Sayles.\n\n\u201cHe hev a good name \u2019mongst the cattle-owners,\u201d observed the young woman,\nher daughter-in-law.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 hev bought him right smart land,\u201d added Mrs. Sayles.\n\n\u201cDown in Piomingo Cove! not h\u2019isted up on the side o\u2019 the mounting, like\nwe-uns!\u201d exclaimed the young woman, with more enthusiasm than one would\nhave believed possible from the flaccid indifference of her manner.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 he put in all the fair weather las\u2019 winter a-raisin\u2019 him a house,\u201d\nMrs. Sayles pursued.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 he \u2019lowed ter me ez every log war hefted, an\u2019 every pat o\u2019 clay war\ndaubed on the chinkin\u2019, with the thought o\u2019 Lethe!\u201d cried the other.\n\n\u201cHe hev been plantin\u2019 round thar some, a\u2019ready,\u201d said the old woman.\n\n\u201cCorn, pumpkins, wheat, an\u2019 terbacco,\u201d supplemented the daughter-in-law.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 he hev got him some bee-gums,\u2014I never hearn how many bees,\u201d said\nMrs. Sayles.\n\n\u201cDown in Piomingo Cove!\u201d the climax of worldly prosperity.\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Sayles, with a freshened realization of\ndespair. \u201cLethe ain\u2019t never goin\u2019 ter live in that house! I dunno what\nails the gal! She takes a notion ez she likes a man with sech ways ez she\ncan\u2019t abide, an\u2019 she quar\u2019ls with him mornin\u2019 an\u2019 evenin\u2019. An\u2019 then when\na feller kems along, with all sort\u2019n good ways ez she likes, she don\u2019t\nlike _him_! Gals never acted similar whenst I war young. I \u2019low it mus\u2019\nbe the wiles o\u2019 Satan on the onruly generation.\u201d\n\n\u201cLethe \u2019pears ter think the Lord hev app\u2019inted the rocky way,\u201d said the\nother. \u201cShe be always a-doin\u2019 of what\u2019s the hardest. An\u2019 she can\u2019t quit\nnowhar this side o\u2019 nuthin\u2019! Ef ever she\u2019s condemned ter Torment she\u2019ll\nkerry a leetle kindlin\u2019 along, fur fear the fire won\u2019t be het up hot\nenough ter burn her fur her sins.\u201d\n\nShe was silent during a momentary activity of the snuff-brush.\n\n\u201cBut ef _I_ war you-uns, Lethe, an\u2019 hed the chance o\u2019 livin\u2019 in my own\nhouse all ter myself\u201d\u2014she began anew.\n\n\u201cPlenty o\u2019 elbow-room,\u201d interrupted Mrs. Sayles; \u201cnot all jammed\ntergether, like we-uns hyar.\u201d\n\nAlethea, aware of her lack of logic, made an effort to effect a diversion.\n\n\u201cI never hearn o\u2019 folks a-grudgin\u2019 a gal house-room, an\u2019 wantin\u2019 her ter\ngo off an\u2019 marry fur a place ter bide,\u201d she said, pausing in her weaving.\n\nMrs. Sayles, who piqued herself, not without some reason, on her kindness\nto her step-daughter, having her prosaic welfare, at least, at heart,\nretorted in righteous wrath. \u201cAn\u2019 nobody ain\u2019t never said no sech word,\u201d\nshe declared, with amplest negation. \u201cGrudgin\u2019 ye house-room,\u2014shucks!\u201d\n\n\u201cOne less wouldn\u2019t be no improve_mint_ ter we-uns, Lethe,\u201d said the\ndaughter-in-law. \u201cWe air jes\u2019 like a hen settin\u2019 on forty aigs: she kin\nkiver \u2019em ez well ez thirty-nine.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I ain\u2019t got no medjure o\u2019 patience with this latter-day\nfoolishness!\u201d said Mrs. Sayles, tartly. \u201cWhenst I war young, gals married\nthar fust chance,\u2014mought hev been afeard they\u2019d never git another,\u201d she\nadded, impersonally, that others might profit by this contingency. \u201cAn\u2019 I\ndon\u2019t keer much nohow fur these hyar lonesome single wimmen. Ye never kin\ngit folks ter b\u2019lieve ez they ever _hed_ enny chance.\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy, Lethe,\u201d the daughter-in-law reassured her, still vaguely\nserene, \u201cI ain\u2019t wantin\u2019 ter git shet o\u2019 ye, nohow. Ye hev tuk mo\u2019 keer\no\u2019 my chill\u2019n than I hev, an\u2019 holped me powerful. It\u2019s well ye done it,\ntoo, fur Jacob Jessup ain\u2019t sech ez kin content me with Wild-Cat Hollow.\nI war raised in the cove!\u201d\n\n\u201cThar\u2019s L\u2019onidas now, axin\u2019 fur suthin\u2019 ter eat,\u201d said the uncompromising\nAlethea, whose voice was the slogan of duty.\n\nThe loom occupied a full third of the space on the little porch; two or\nthree rickety chairs stood there, besides; a yoke hung against the wall;\nthe spinning-wheel was shadowed by the jack-bean vines, whose delicate\nlilac blooms embellished the little cabin, clambering to its roof; on\nthe floor were several splint baskets. A man was languidly filling them\nwith peaches, which he brought in a wheel-barrow from the trees farther\ndown on the slope. He was tall and stalwart, but his beard was gray,\nand he had assumed the manner and all the exemptions of extreme age;\noccasionally he did a little job like this with an air of laborious\nprecision. He was accompanied both in going and coming by his step-son\u2019s\ndaughter, a tow-headed, six-year-old girl, and a gaunt yellow dog. The\nlittle girl\u2019s voice, dictatorial and shrill, was on the air continuously,\nbroken only by the low, acquiescent refrain of the old man\u2019s replies,\ncarefully adjusted to meet her propositions. The dog paced silently and\ndiscreetly along, his appreciation of the placid pleasure of the occasion\nplainly manifested in his quiet demeanor and his slightly wagging tail.\nHis decorum suffered a lapse when, as they came close to the porch, he\nobserved Leonidas issue from the door,\u2014a small boy of four, a plump\nlittle caricature of a man, in blue cotton trousers, an unbleached cotton\nshirt, and a laughably small pair of knitted suspenders. He held in\nhis hand a piece of fat meat several inches square, considered in the\nmountains peculiarly wholesome for small boys, and a reliable assistant\nin \u201cgittin\u2019 yer growth.\u201d\n\nTige paused not for reflection. He sprang upon the porch, capering\ngleefully about, and uttering shrill yelps of discovery with much his\ntriumphant manner in treeing a coon. Leonidas shared the common human\nweakness of overestimating one\u2019s own size. He thought to hold the booty\nout of Tige\u2019s reach, and extended his arm at full length, whereupon the\ndog, with an elastic bound and extreme nicety of aim, caught it and\nswallowed it at a single gulp. Leonidas winked very fast; then, realizing\nhis bereavement, burst into noisy tears. Tige\u2019s facetiousness had a\ndiscordantly sudden contrast in the serious howl he emitted as he was\nkicked off the porch by the child\u2019s father. This was an unkempt young\nfellow just emerging from the shed-room. He had a red face and swollen\neyes, and there were various drowsy intimations in his manner that he\nwas just roused from sleep. No natural slumber, one might have judged;\nthe odor of whiskey still hung about him, and he walked with an unsteady\ngait to the end of the porch and sat down on the edge of the floor, his\nfeet dangling over the ground. Tige, who had sought refuge beneath the\nhouse, and was giving vent to sundry sobbing wheezes, thrust his head out\nto lick his master\u2019s boots. Upon this mollifying demonstration, the man\nlooked down with the lenient expression of one who loves dogs. \u201cWhat ails\nye, then,\u201d he reasoned, \u201cter be sech a fool as ter \u2019low ye kin be let ter\nrob a child the size o\u2019 L\u2019onidas thar?\u201d\n\nAnd forthwith the mercurial Tige came out, cheerful as before.\n\nIn the limited interval when Leonidas\u2014who had been supplied with another\npiece of meat, but still wept aloud with callow persistence because of\nthe affronts offered by Tige\u2014was fain to pause for breath, and between\nthe alternate creaking of the treadle of the loom and the thumping of the\nbatten, the man\u2019s ear caught that unwonted stir in the air, the sound of\nconsecutive rifle-shots.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar,\u201d he cried, springing to his feet, \u201cwhat\u2019s that a-goin\u2019 on\ndown in the cove? Lethe, stop trompin\u2019 on that thar n\u2019isy treadle, so ez\nI kin listen! Quit yellin\u2019, ye catamount!\u201d with a vengeful glance at the\nsmall boy.\n\nBut the grief of Leonidas was imperative, and he abated nothing.\n\nJacob Jessup stood for an instant baffled. Then suddenly he put both\nhands to his mouth, and roused all the echoes of Wild-Cat Hollow with a\nringing halloo.\n\n\u201cWho be ye a-hollerin\u2019 at?\u201d asked his mother from her nook in the chimney\ncorner.\n\n\u201cI \u2019lowed I viewed a man up yander \u2019mongst them woods,\u2014mought be one o\u2019\nthe herders.\u201d\n\nAlethea\u2019s foot paused on the treadle. Her uplifted hand stayed the\nbatten, the other held the shuttle motionless. She turned her head and\nwith a sudden rich flush on her cheek and a deep light in her lifted\neyes looked up toward the forests that rose in vast array upon the steep\nslopes of the ridge until they touched the sky. Accustomed to the dusky\nshadows of their long avenues, she discerned a mounted figure in their\nmidst. There was a tense moment of suspense. The man had wheeled his\nhorse on hearing the halloo. He seemed to hesitate; then in lieu of\nresponse he took his way down the hill toward the cabin. The trees were\nfewer on the edge of the clearing. Before he drew rein by the rail fence\nshe had turned back to the loom, and once more the shuttle winged its\nshort, clumsy flights, like a fledgeling bird, from one side to the\nother, and the treadle creaked, and the batten thumped, and she spared\nnot an instant from her work.\n\nFor it was only Ben Doaks dismounting, glad of a pretext, throwing the\nreins over a projecting rail of the fence, and tramping up to the house.\n\n\u201cHowdy,\u201d he observed comprehensively. And the family, meditatively eying\nhim, responded, \u201cHowdy.\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep yer health, Ben?\u201d the old woman demanded. She had come to the door,\nand took a gourd of water from a pail which was on a shelf without. She\ndrank leisurely, and tossed the surplus water from the gourd across\nthe porch, where it spattered the half-grown pullet, which shunted off\nsuddenly with a loud, shocked exclamation, as if it sported half a score\nof ruffled petticoats.\n\n\u201cYes\u2019m,\u201d drawled Ben, seating himself on the edge of the porch, near\nJacob, \u201cI keeps toler\u2019ble well.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dunno how ye do it,\u2014livin\u2019 off\u2019n what ye cooks yerse\u2019f.\u201d She\nmanifested a truly mundane interest in the eligible young man. She did\nnot return to her chair by the fireside, but sat down on the doorstep.\n\u201cI\u2019d look ter be p\u2019isoned ef I hed ter live on yer cookin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, I reckon _ye_ couldn\u2019t put up with it right handy, seem\u2019 the\nsorter table ye set out hyar.\u201d\n\nWas the old woman more than human, to be untouched by this sincere\ntribute?\n\n\u201cYe oughter kem down hyar oftener ye do, Ben, an\u2019 bide ter meals,\u201d she\nsaid, her spectacles turned upon him with a certain grave luminosity.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll make ye powerful welcome ter sech vittles ez we hev got. Ye ain\u2019t\nbeen hyar fur a right smart time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know that, but somehows I never kin feel right welcome comin\u2019 so\noften,\u201d said Ben. He had leaned back against the post of the porch. He\ncould look, without moving, into Alethea\u2019s grave, absorbed face as she\nworked.\n\n\u201c\u2019Count o\u2019 Lethe? Shucks! thar ain\u2019t but one fool hyar. Mought kem ter\nsee the rest o\u2019 we-uns.\u201d\n\nAlethea\u2019s face flushed. Ben Doaks, dismayed to be the indirect occasion\nof her anger, and secretly affronted by the breach of decorum which he\nconsidered involved in this open mention of his bootless suit, hastened\nto change the subject. \u201cDid ye hev a word ter say ter me, Jacob?\u201d he\nasked. \u201cYe \u2019lowed, day \u2019fore yestiddy, ye wanted ter sell yer steer.\u201d\n\nThere was now no sound from the cove. The burnished glisters of the\nsunshine hung above it, holding in suspension a gauzy haze, through which\nthe purple mountains were glamourous and darkly vague. Jacob, his senses\nyet in thrall, could hardly recall the question he had desired to ask\nconcerning the rifle-shots that had trivially jarred its perfect serenity.\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d he said hastily. \u201cBuck, ye know,\u201d with the manner of\nintroduction. \u201cYander he be.\u201d He pointed to a gaunt dun-colored ox with\nlong horns and a joyless mien, standing within a few feet of a rude\ntrough which the spring branch kept supplied.\n\n\u201cJacob,\u201d said Alethea, turning her head with a knitted brow, \u201cef ye sell\nBuck, how air we goin\u2019 ter plough our craps? How air we goin\u2019 ter live\nalong?\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Sayles. \u201cI ain\u2019t s\u2019prised none ef the man\nez marries Lethe at last will find out he hev got a turrible meddler. She\njes\u2019 ups an\u2019 puts inter her elders\u2019 affairs ez brash ez ef hern war the\nonly brains in the fambly. Jacob\u2019s a-savin\u2019 ter buy a horse, child. Yer\ndad \u2019lowed Jacob mought use his jedgmint \u2019bout all the crappin\u2019, bein\u2019 ez\nyer dad\u2019s old an\u2019 ain\u2019t long fur this worl\u2019. So Jacob hev determinated\nter buy a horse. Who wants ter work a steer when they ken hev a horse?\u201d\n\nDoaks looked intently at Alethea, loyally eager to range himself on her\nside. She was oblivious of his presence now; every faculty was on the\nalert in her single-handed contest against the family.\n\n\u201cWhar\u2019s the money he hev saved?\u201d she demanded.\n\nHer step-brother seemed frowzier than ever, as he lifted his eyebrows in\nvain cogitation for an answer.\n\n\u201cYe shet up,\u201d he said, in triumphant substitution; \u201cye ain\u2019t no kin ter\nme.\u201d\n\nAlethea, all lacking in the bland and mollifying feminine influences that\nsubtly work their ends in seeming submission, bluntly spoke her inmost\nthought:\n\n\u201cEz long ez thar\u2019s a moonshine still a-runnin\u2019 somewhar round Piomingo\nCove, Jacob ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter save no money.\u201d\n\n\u201cThar ain\u2019t no still round hyar ez I knows on,\u201d said Doaks, in surprise.\n\u201cOver yander in Eskaqua Cove thar air a bonded still, I know.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat bonded still hev ter sell wholesale, hevin\u2019 no license otherwise,\u201d\nshe retorted, \u201can\u2019 Jacob hain\u2019t saved enough yit ter buy by the five\ngallon. An\u2019 though he may \u2019pear sober ter you-uns, he don\u2019t ter me.\u201d\n\nJacob bore her scathing glance with an admirable equanimity.\n\n\u201cYe shet up, Lethe; ye dunno nuthin\u2019 \u2019bout stills, bonded or no.\nLook-a-hyar, Ben, don\u2019t ye want ter buy Buck? See him thar?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want him,\u201d said Ben.\n\nJacob turned fiercely on Alethea. \u201cWhyn\u2019t ye hold yer jaw, ef ye know\nhow; ye have done spiled my trade. Look-a-hyar, Ben,\u201d he said alluringly,\n\u201cit\u2019s this hyar steer,\u201d\u2014there was but one,\u2014\u201cthis hyar steer; he\u2019s wuth\nmoney. I tell ye,\u201d he vociferated, with a drunken wag of his head,\n\u201cBuck\u2019s a good steer. I dunno ef I kin git my cornsent ter trade Buck\noff, no-ways. Buck\u2019s plumb like a member o\u2019 the fambly. I tell ye we-uns\nfairly dote on Buck.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, I don\u2019t want him. Older \u2019n enny of ye, ain\u2019t he?\u201d drawled Ben. He\nwas not a dull fellow, and he had taken his cue. He would decry the ox\nand forego his bargain, a consciously hopeless sacrifice to his affection.\n\nJacob straightened himself with an effort, and stared at his interlocutor.\n\n\u201cWho? Buck? Why, Buck ain\u2019t much older than L\u2019onidas thar.\u201d He waved\nhis hand toward the boy, who had perched on the bench of the loom\nbeside Alethea. Now and then she patted his shoulder, which effort at\nconsolation he received with a distinct crescendo; he had begun to relish\nthe sound of his vocal performance, evidently attempting new and bizarre\neffects.\n\n\u201cL\u2019onidas air about four year old, ain\u2019t he, Mis\u2019 Jessup?\u201d Doaks asked\nof the young matron, who seemed placidly regardless how the negotiation\nshould terminate.\n\n\u201cI b\u2019lieve he\u2019s \u2019bout four,\u201d she said, without animation.\n\n\u201cWaal, he be toler\u2019ble bouncin\u2019 fur that,\u201d said Doaks, looking with the\neye of speculation at the boy, as if he were about to offer a bid for\nLeonidas, \u201cbut I kin see a heap o\u2019 diff\u2019unce \u2019twixt his size an\u2019 Buck\u2019s.\u201d\n\nThe drunken man turned and stared at the diminutive person on the bench.\n\u201cWaal,\u201d he said in a low-spirited way, as if he must yield the point, \u201cI\nnever knowed ye wanted a steer o\u2019 that size. Wouldn\u2019t be much use ter ye.\nOur\u2019n ain\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe \u2019pears sorter jubious in his temper. Does he hook?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho? Buck?\u201d\u2014with an air of infinite amazement. \u201cWhy, Buck\u2019s ez saaft ez\nL\u2019onidas thar.\u201d\n\nAs Leonidas was just now extremely loud, the comparison was hardly\nfelicitous.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want no work-ox, nohow,\u201d said Doaks. \u201cI want cattle ter fatten.\u201d\n\n\u201cJes\u2019 try Buck. He\u2019ll lay on fat fur ev\u2019y ear o\u2019 corn fedded him. Ye\ndunno Buck. He hain\u2019t laid on much yit, \u2019kase, ye see,\u201d\u2014Jessup\u2019s voice\ntook a confidential intonation, although it was not lowered because of\nthe roaring Leonidas,\u2014\u201cwe-uns ain\u2019t hed much corn ter feed ter Buck,\nbein\u2019 back\u2019ard las\u2019 year. The drought cotched our late corn, an\u2019 so Buck,\nthough he worked it, he never got none sca\u2019cely. An\u2019 that\u2019s why he ain\u2019t\nno fatter \u2019n he be.\u201d\n\nLogical of Buck, but it availed him as little as the logic of misfortunes\nprofits the rest of the world.\n\nAlethea had risen and turned half round, leaning against the great clumsy\nframe of the loom. Her posture displayed her fine height; her supple\nfigure was slight, as became her age, but with a suggestion of latent\nstrength in every curve. There was something strangely inconsistent in\nthe searching, serious expression of her grave brown eyes and the lavish\nendowment of her beauty, which seemed as a thing apart from her. Perhaps\nonly Ben Doaks noted, or rather felt in a vague, unconscious way, the\nfascination of its detail: the lustre of her dense yellow hair showing\nagainst the brown wall, where a string of red peppers hung, heightening\nthe effect; the glimpse of her white throat under the saffron kerchief;\nthe lithe grace of her figure, about which her sober-hued dress fell in\nstraight folds. To the home-folks she gave other subjects to contemplate.\n\n\u201cNaw,\u201d she drawled, in her soft, low voice, whose intonation only\nsuggested sarcasm, \u201cwe didn\u2019t plant much o\u2019 nuthin\u2019 las\u2019 year,\u2014hed no\nseed sca\u2019cely, an\u2019 nuthin\u2019 ter trade fur \u2019em. The plenties\u2019 o\u2019 ennythin\u2019\nroun\u2019 hyar-abouts war bresh whiskey, an\u2019 ez Buck don\u2019t drink it he ain\u2019t\nno fatter \u2019n he be.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Doaks, feeling all the discomforts incident to witnessing a\nfamily row, incompetent to participate by reason of non-membership, \u201cI\n\u2019lowed the mountings hed in an\u2019 about done with moonshinin\u2019, cornsiderin\u2019\nthe way the raiders kep\u2019 up with the distillers. It\u2019s agin the law, ye\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t a-keerin\u2019 fur the law,\u201d said Alethea loftily. \u201cThe law air jes\u2019\nthe men\u2019s foolishness, an\u2019 they air a-changin\u2019 of it forever till \u2019tain\u2019t\ngot no constancy. Ef I war minded ter break it I\u2019d feel no hendrance in\nthe sperit.\u201d\n\nHer eyes met his. He looked vaguely away. Certainly there was no\nreasoning on this basis.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t right,\u201d she said suddenly. \u201cJacob sleeps an\u2019 drinks his time\naway, an\u2019 don\u2019t do his sheer o\u2019 the work. I done _all_ the ploughin\u2019 this\nyear,\u2014me an\u2019 Buck,\u2014an\u2019 I ain\u2019t one o\u2019 the kind ez puts up with sech. I\nain\u2019t a Injun woman, like them at Quallatown. Pete Rood,\u2014he hev been over\nthar,\u2014he \u2019lows the wimmen do _all_ the crappin\u2019 while the men go huntin\u2019.\nI\u2019ll kerry my e-end o\u2019 the log, but when the t\u2019other e-end draps \u2019pears\nter me I oughter drap mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat ye goin\u2019 ter do, Lethe?\u201d said the old woman. \u201cGoin\u2019 ter take ter\nidlin\u2019 an\u2019 drinkin\u2019 bresh whiskey, too?\u201d\n\nShe laughed, but she sneered as well.\n\nAlethea, all unmoved by her ridicule, drawled calmly on: \u201cI dunno nuthin\u2019\n\u2019bout bresh whiskey, an\u2019 I ain\u2019t idled none, ez the rest o\u2019 you-uns kin\nsee; but ef Jacob don\u2019t do his stent nex\u2019 year, thar\u2019ll be less corn hyar\nthan this.\u201d\n\nIt was hard for Doaks to refrain from telling her that there was a home\nready for her, and one to share it who would work for both. Only futility\nrestrained him. He flushed to the roots of his light brown hair, and as\na resource he drew out a clasp-knife and absently whittled a chip as he\nlistened.\n\n\u201cWaal, wimmen hev ter holp men along with thar work wunst in a while,\u201d\nsaid Mrs. Sayles patronizingly. \u201cYe\u2019ll find that out, child, whenst ye\ngit married.\u201d\n\n\u201cEf I war married,\u201d said Alethea, severely contemplating the\npossibility,\u2014and Doaks felt a vague thrill of jealousy,\u2014\u201cI\u2019d do his work\nef he war ailin\u2019 ennywise, but not ter leave him in the enjyement o\u2019\nbresh whiskey.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe shet up, Lethe,\u201d said Jacob, nettled. \u201cYe ain\u2019t no kin ter me,\u2014jes\u2019\na step-sister,\u2014an\u2019 ye ain\u2019t got no right ter jow at me. Ye dunno nuthin\u2019\n\u2019bout bresh whiskey. Ye dunno whar it\u2019s made nor who makes it.\u201d\n\n\u201cEf I did\u201d\u2014she began abruptly.\n\nHe looked up at her with a sober dismay on his face.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t go ter \u2019lowin\u2019 ye\u2019d gin the word ter the revenuers?\u201d he said.\n\nMrs. Sayles dropped her knitting in her lap.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar, Lethe,\u201d she exclaimed, \u201cit\u2019s ez much ez yer life\u2019s wuth ter\nsay them words!\u201d\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t said \u2019em,\u201d declared Alethea. She looked vaguely away with absent\neyes, disregarding Jacob\u2019s growling defense of himself, which consisted\nin good measure of animadversions on people who faulted their elders and\ngals who couldn\u2019t hold their tongues. Suddenly she stepped from the porch.\n\n\u201cWhar be ye goin\u2019, Lethe?\u201d demanded Mrs. Sayles, ruthlessly interrupting\nJacob\u2019s monologue.\n\n\u201cTer hunt up that thar lam\u2019,\u201d replied Alethea calmly, as if nothing else\nhad been under discussion. \u201cI ain\u2019t seen nuthin\u2019 of it ter-day, an\u2019 some\no\u2019 the chill\u2019n\u2014I b\u2019lieve \u2019twar Joe\u2014\u2019lowed its dam war down yander nigh\nBoke\u2019s spring yestiddy, actin\u2019 sorter cur\u2019ous, an\u2019 I reckon suthin\u2019 \u2019s\nhappened ter it.\u201d\n\nDoaks looked after her as she went, tempted to follow. She took her way\ndown the path beside the zigzag rail-fence. All the corners were rank\nwith wild flowers, vines and bushes, among which her golden head showed\nfrom time to time as in a wreath. She was soon without the limits of\nWild-Cat Hollow. More than once she paused as she went, holding her\nhands above her eyes, and looking at the vast array of mountains on\nevery side. A foreign land to her, removed even from vague speculation;\nshe only saw how those august summits lifted themselves into the sky,\nhow the clouds, weary-winged, were fain to rest upon them. There was a\nvague blurring at the horizon-line, for a shower was succeeded by mist.\nThe woods intervened presently; the long stretches of the majestic\navenues lay before her, all singularly open, cleared of undergrowth\nby the fiery besom of the annual conflagration. It was very silent;\nonce only she heard the shrill trilling of a tree-frog; and once the\ninsistent clamor of a locust broke out close at hand, vibrating louder\nand louder and dying away, to be caught up antiphonally in the distance.\nOften she noted the lightning-scathed trees, the fated of the forest,\nwrithen and blanched and spectral among their flourishing kindred. There\nwere presently visible at the end of the long leafy vista other dead\ntrees: their blight was more prosaic; they stood girdled and white in\nan abandoned field that lay below the slope on which she had paused,\nand near the base of the mountain. A broken rotting rail-fence still\nencircled it. Blackberry bushes, broom-sedge, a tangle of weeds, were a\ntravesty of its crops. A fox, a swift-scudding tawny streak, sped across\nit as she looked. Hard by there was a deserted hut: the doors were open,\nshowing the dark voids within; the batten shutters flapped with every\nchanging whim of the winds. Fine sport they had often had, these riotous\nmountain sprites, shrieking down the chimney to affright the loneliness;\nthen falling to sobs and sighs to mock the voices of those who had known\nsorrow here and perhaps shed tears; sometimes wrapping themselves in snow\nas in a garment, and reeling in fantastic whirls through the forlorn and\nempty place; sometimes twitting the gaunt timbers with their infirmities,\nand one wild night wrenching off half a dozen clapboards from the roof\nand scattering them about the door. Thus the moon might look in, seeing\nno more those whose eyes had once met its beam, and even the sunlight\nhad melancholy intimations when it shone on the forsaken hearth-stone.\nA screech-owl had found refuge among the rafters, and Alethea heard its\nquavering scream ending in a low, sinister chuckle. There was a barn near\nat hand,\u2014a structure of undaubed, unhewn logs, with a wide open pass-way\nbelow the loft to shelter wagons and farm implements; it seemed in better\nrepair than the house. The amber sky above the dark woods had deepened to\norange, to crimson; the waning light suffused the waters of the spring\nbranch which flowed close by the barn, the willows leaning to it, the\nferns laving in it. The place was incredibly solitary and mournful with\nthe persistent spectacle of the deserted home, suggestive of collapsed\nenergies, of the defeated scheme of some simple humanity.\n\nA faint bleat rose suddenly. Alethea turned quickly. Amongst a patch of\nbriers she caught a glimpse of something white; another glance,\u2014it was\nthe ewe, quietly nibbling the grass.\n\nAlethea had no intention of moving softly, but her skirts brushing\nthrough the weeds made hardly a sound. Her light, sure step scarcely\nstirred a leaf. The ewe saw her presently, and paused in feeding. She\nhad been making the best of her woes, remaining near her lamb, which had\nfallen into a sink-hole, sustained by the earth, gravel and banks of\nleaves held in the mouth of the cavity. Its leg was broken, and thus,\nalthough the sheep could venture to it, the lamb could not follow to the\nvantage-ground above. Seeing that succor was at hand, the sheep lost all\npatience and calmness, and ran about Alethea in a distracting fashion,\nbleating, till the lamb, roused to a renewed sense of its calamities,\nbleated piteously too. As it lay down in the cavity upon the dead leaves,\nit had a strangely important look upon its face, appreciating how much\nstir it was making in the world for one of its size. Alethea noticed\nthis, albeit she was too self-absorbed at the moment. These treacherous\nhopper-shaped sink-holes are of indefinite depth, and are often the\nmouths of caves. To reach the lamb she must needs venture half across the\ncavity. She stepped cautiously down the debris, holding fast the while to\nthe branches of an elder-bush growing on its verge. She felt the earth\nsinking beneath her feet. The sheep, which had jumped in too, sprang\nhastily out. Alethea had a dizzying realization of insecurity. She caught\nthe lamb up in one arm, then stepped upon the sinking mass and struggled\nup the side of the aperture, as with a great gulp the leaves and earth\nwere swallowed into the cavity. She looked down with that sickening sense\nof a sheer escape, still holding the lamb in one arm; the other hand\nreadjusted the heavy masses of her golden hair, and the saffron kerchief\nabout the neck of her brown dress. The sheep, one anxiety removed, was\nthe prey of another, and pressed close to Alethea, with outstretched head\nand all the fears of kidnapping in her pleading eyes.\n\nAlethea waited for a moment to rest. Then as she glanced over her\nshoulder her heart seemed to stand still, her brain reeled, and but for\nher acute consciousness she would have thought she must be dreaming.\n\nThe clearing lay there all as it was a moment before: the deserted\nbuildings, the weed-grown fields, the rotting rail fence; the woods\ndark about it, the sky red above it. Around and around the old barn, in\na silent circuit, three men were solemnly tramping in single file. She\nstood staring at them with dilated eyes, all the mystic traditions of\nsupernatural manifestations uppermost in her mind. Once more the owl\u2019s\nscream rent the brooding stillness. How far that low, derisive chuckle\nechoed! A star, melancholy, solitary, was in the pensive sky. The men\u2019s\nfaces were grave,\u2014once, twice, thrice, they made the round. Then they\nstood together in the open space beneath the loft, and consulted in\nwhispers.\n\nOne suddenly spoke aloud.\n\n\u201cOh, Tobe!\u201d he called.\n\n\u201c_Tobe!_\u201d called the echoes.\n\nThere was no answer. All three looked up wistfully. Then they again\nconferred together in a low tone.\n\n\u201cOh, Tobias!\u201d cried the spokesman in a voice of entreaty.\n\n\u201c_Tobias!_\u201d pleaded the plaintive echoes.\n\nStill there was no answer. The owl screamed suddenly in its weird,\nshrill tones. It had flown out from among the rafters and perched on\nthe smokeless chimney of the hut. Then its uncanny laughter filled the\ninterval.\n\nOnce more the men whispered anxiously to each other. One of them, a tall,\nungainly, red-haired fellow, seemed to have evolved a solution of the\nproblem which had baffled them.\n\n\u201cMister Winkeye!\u201d he exclaimed, with vociferous confidence.\n\nThe echoes were forestalled. A sneeze rang out abruptly from the loft of\nthe deserted old barn,\u2014a sneeze resonant, artificial, grotesque enough to\nset the blades below to roaring with delighted laughter.\n\n\u201cHe mus\u2019 hev his joke. _Mister Winkeye_ air a mighty jokified old man,\u201d\ndeclared the red-haired fellow.\n\nThey made no effort to hold further communication with the sneezer in the\nloft. They hastily placed a burly jug in the centre of the space below,\nand laid a silver half-dollar upon the cob that served as stopper. The\ncoin looked extremely small in this juxtaposition. There may be people\nelsewhere who would be glad of a silver coin of that size capable of\nfilling so disproportionately large a jug. Then they ran off fleetly out\nof the clearing and into the woods, and Alethea could hear the brush\ncrackling as they dashed through it on the slopes below.\n\nShe was still pale and tremulous, but no longer doubts beset her. She\nunderstood the wiles of the illicit distiller, pursued so closely by the\nartifices of the raiders that he was prone to distrust the very consumers\nof his brush whiskey. They never saw his face, they knew not even his\nname. They had no faint suspicion where his still was hidden. They were\nnot even dangerous as unwilling witnesses, should they be caught with\nthe illicit liquor in their hands. The story that they had left a jug\nand a half-dollar in a deserted barn, and found the jug filled and the\ncoin vanished, would inculpate no one. From the loft the distiller or\nhis emissary could see and recognize them as they came. Alethea, having\ncrept down the slope amongst the briers in search of the lamb, had been\nconcealed from him. She was seized instantly by the desire to get away\nbefore he should appear. She coveted the knowledge of no such dangerous\nsecret. She walked boldly out from the leafy covert, that he might see\nher in the clearing and delay till she was gone.\n\nThe lamb was bleating faintly in her arms; the sheep pressed close to her\nside, nudging her elbow with an insistent nozzle. The last flush of the\nday was on her shining hair and her grave, earnest face. The path led\nher near the barn. She hesitated, stopped, and drew back hastily. A man\nwas swinging himself alertly down from the loft. He caught up the coin,\nslipped it into his pocket, and lifted the jug with the other hand. The\nnext moment he dropped it suddenly, with a startled exclamation. His eyes\nhad met her eyes. There was a moment of suspense charged with mutual\nrecognition. Then she ran hastily by, never pausing till she was far away\nin the deep obscurity of the woods.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nThe night came on. The dark summits of the great mountains were heavily\ndefined against the sky. Here and there along those steep slanting lines\nthat mark the ravines a mist hung, vaguely perceived. A point of red\nlight might gleam in the dusky depths of Piomingo Cove where the flare\nof a hearth-stone flickered out. All the drowsy nocturnal voices joined\nin iterative unison, broken only when the marauding wolf of the Great\nSmoky howled upon the bald. The herders ruefully thought of the roaming\nyearlings, and presaged calamity. All the world was sunk in gloom, till\ngradually a rayonnant heralding halo, of a pallid and lustrous green,\nappeared above the deeply purple summits; in its midst the yellow moon\nslowly revealed itself, and with a visible tremulousness rose solemnly\ninto the ascendency of the night.\n\nIt was high in the sky when Mink Lorey rode along the wild mountain ways.\nMore than once he looked up earnestly at it, not under the spell of\nlunar splendors, but with a prosaic calculation of the hour. Suddenly he\ndrew up the mare. He lifted his head, listening. Voices sounded in the\ndepths of the woods,\u2014faint, far, hilarious voices; then absolute silence.\nHe struck the mare with his heels. The animal pushed on unwillingly,\nbreaking through the brush, stumbling over the stones, scrambling up\nand down steep slopes. All at once, with a burst of laughter, there was\ndisclosed an opening in the forest. A glory of pale moonlight suffused\nthe mountains in the distance and the shimmering mists in the valley. In\nthe flecking shadow of the great trees were half a dozen figures, with\nhairy moonlit faces and shining eyes, seated on logs or rocks, or lying\nupon the ground.\n\nNot fauns nor satyrs; not Bacchus come again with all his giddy rout.\nOnly the malcontents because of the bonded still.\n\n\u201cHy\u2019re, Mink!\u201d exclaimed Jerry Price. \u201cWe fund the jug hyar \u2019cordin\u2019 ter\npromise, hid in a hollow tree.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope,\u201d said Mink with sudden apprehension, as he dismounted, \u201cthar be\nsome lef\u2019 fur me.\u201d\n\n\u201cA leetle, I reckon. Hyar, Mink, wet yer whistle.\u201d\n\nMink sat down on the roots of a tree draped from its summit to its lowest\nbough with the rank luxuriance of a wild grapevine. The pendent ends\nswayed in the wind. The dew was upon the bunches of green fruit and the\ndelicate tendrils, and the moonlight slanted on them with a glistening\nsheen.\n\nMink took the jug, which gurgled alluringly. He removed the cob that\nserved as stopper, and smelled it with the circumspect air of those who\ndrink from jugs. Then he turned it up to his mouth. A long bubbling\nsound, and he put it down with a sigh of satisfaction.\n\n\u201cYe don\u2019t \u2019pear ez riled ez ye did when ye rid out\u2019n Piomingo Cove,\u201d\nsuggested Pete Rood.\n\nHe had a swaggering, triumphant manner, although he was lying on the\nground.\n\nMink, leaning back against the bole of the tree, the moonlight full on\nhis wild dark eyes, his clear-cut face, and tousled hair, gave no sign of\nanger or even of attention.\n\n\u201cWhar hev ye been all this time?\u201d asked Jerry Price.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Mink leisurely, \u201cye know that thar coon ez Tad gin me,\u2014I won\nit at \u2018five corn:\u2019 arter I hed rid out\u2019n Piomingo Cove an\u2019 hed started\nup the mounting, I hearn suthin\u2019 yappin\u2019 arter me, an\u2019 thar war Tad\na-fetchin\u2019 his coon. That thar idjit hed run mighty nigh three miles\nter fetch me his coon! Waal, I hedn\u2019t no \u2019casion fur a cap, an\u2019 the\ncoon war a powerful peart leetle consarn,\u2014smiled mighty nigh ekal ter a\npossum,\u2014an\u2019 I \u2019lowed Elviry Crosby mought set store by sech fur a pet,\nan\u2019 so I rid over thar an\u2019 gin the coon ter her. She war mos\u2019 pleased ter\ndeath ter git the critter.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe ain\u2019t been thar ever sence!\u201d exclaimed Jerry.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Mink demurely. \u201cI bided ter supper along of \u2019em,\u2014the old\nfolks bein\u2019 powerful perlite an\u2019 gin me an invite.\u201d\n\nJerry poked him in the ribs. \u201cYe air a comical cuss! Ye hev got all the\ngals in the mountings crazy \u2019bout\u2019n ye.\u201d\n\nMink laughed lightly, and stayed the fleet jug, which was agile\nconsidering its bulk, and once more drank deeply. If he had needed zest\nfor his draught, he might have found it in the expression of Pete Rood\u2019s\nface. He had already revenged himself, but he must needs push the matter\nfurther. He smiled with reminiscent relish, as he leaned against the tree.\n\n\u201cElviry axed mighty p\u2019inted ef I war a-goin\u2019 right straight up ter\nthe herders\u2019 cabin ter-night, an\u2019 I tole her ez I hed a job on hand\nwith a man named Tobias Winkeye ez I hed ter look arter fust. But she\nsuspicioned suthin\u2019, \u2019count o\u2019 the name, I reckon, though she never\ndrempt \u2019twar jes\u2019 whiskey. She \u2019lowed she hed never hearn o\u2019 nobody named\nsech. An\u2019 I tole her she hed: her dad used ter like old Winkeye mightily,\nthough _she_ didn\u2019t know him ez well ez some. She \u2019lowed I war a-goin\u2019\noff a-courtin\u2019 some other gal. It war toler\u2019ble hard ter pacify her,\u201d\nwith a covert glance at Rood. \u201cI hed ter talk sixteen ter the dozen.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, we hed better look out how our tongues wag so slack with that thar\nname,\u201d said Price. \u201cI lef\u2019 old man Griff settin\u2019 outside the mill door\na-waitin\u2019 fur old Winkeye ter ride by,\u2014bein\u2019 ez I hed gin the word he\nlives in Eskaqua Cove,\u2014\u2019kase he wanted ter warn him not ter let no job o\u2019\nwork go ter Mink Lorey. He \u2019lowed he war goin\u2019 ter gin Mink a bad name.\u201d\n\nMink\u2019s blood, fired by the liquor, burned at fever heat. His roving eyes\nwere distended and unnaturally bright as the moonlight flashed into them.\nHis cheek was deeply flushed. Despite the rare chill air of the heights,\nhe was hot; often he took off his hat to let the wind play in his long\ntangled hair that hung down to his shoulders, and lay in heavy moist\nrings on his forehead. Every fibre was strained to the keenest tension\nof excitement. He was equally susceptible to any current of emotion, to\nanger or mirth. He broke out indignantly:\u2014\n\n\u201cOld man Griff hed better quit tryin\u2019 ter spite me. I\u2019ll fix him fur it.\nI\u2019m goin\u2019 by thar this very night an\u2019 lift the mill gate an\u2019 set the\nwheel a-runnin\u2019. It\u2019ll be ez good ez a coon-fight ter see him kem out\u2019n\nhis house an\u2019 cuss!\u201d\n\nHe burst into sudden laughter.\n\n\u201cOh, ah! Oh, ah!\u201d he sang,\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe wind blows brief, the moon hangs high;\n    Oh, listen, folks!\u2014the dead leaves fly.\n    The witch air out with a broom o\u2019 saidge,\n    Ter sweep \u2019em up an\u2019 over the aidge\n    O\u2019 the new-made grave, \u2018ter hide,\u2019 she said,\n    \u2018The prints o\u2019 my fingers buryin\u2019 the dead;\n    Fur how he died\u2014oh, ah! oh, ah!\n    I\u2019d tell ef \u2019twarn\u2019t fur the mornin\u2019 star.\u2019\u201d\n\nHis mellow, rich baritone voice, hilarious and loud, echoed far and wide,\nand incongruously filled the solemn solitudes.\n\n\u201cWho air a-goin\u2019 ter hear?\u201d he demanded, when caution was suggested. \u201cThe\nherders on the mounting? Too fur off! Too high up! Asleep, besides.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey\u2019d think \u2019twar a wolf,\u201d said Peter Rood, still lying at length on\nthe ground.\n\nMink had his sensibilities. On these harmonious numbers he piqued\nhimself. He felt affronted.\n\n\u201cA leetle mo\u2019, an\u2019 I\u2019ll break this jug over yer head. Nobody ain\u2019t\na-goin\u2019 ter think ez my singin\u2019 air a wolf.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe hand it hyar,\u201d said Pete; \u201cnobody gits a fair show at that jug but\nyou-uns.\u201d As he rose to his knees one foot caught in a grapevine, in his\nhaste.\n\n\u201cWait till it be empty,\u201d said Mink, making a feint of lifting it to his\nmouth. Then turning suddenly, he faced Pete Rood as he staggered to his\nfeet, and dealt a blow which sent that worthy once more prone upon the\nground.\n\nThere was a jumble of excited protest from the others, each vociferously\ntrying to quiet his companions. Mink was squaring off with clenched fists.\n\n\u201cKem on,\u201d he observed, \u201cthar\u2019s ground enough hyar fur ez many ez kin\nkiver it.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar,\u201d exclaimed Jerry Price, whose grief that the placidities\nof the festivity should be frustrated very nearly resembled a regard for\nlaw and order, \u201cye two boys hev jes\u2019 got ter quit fightin\u2019 an\u2019 sech, an\u2019\nspilin\u2019 the enjyement o\u2019 the rest o\u2019 we-uns. Quit foolin\u2019, Mink. Ye ain\u2019t\nhurt no-ways, air ye, Pete?\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy, naw,\u201d said Pete unexpectedly. \u201cMink never knocked me down\nnohow. I jes\u2019 cotched my foot in a grapevine. That\u2019s all.\u201d\n\nBut he lifted himself heavily, and he limped as he walked to a rock at a\nlittle distance and sat down.\n\nMink with his sudden change of temper let the encounter pass as a bit of\nfun. He referred to the jug frequently afterward, and again burst into\nsong:\u2014\n\n            \u201cOh, ah! Oh, ah!\n    The weevil\u2019s in the wheat, the worm\u2019s in the corn,\n    The moon\u2019s got a twist in the eend o\u2019 her horn;\n    Fur the witch, she grinned and batted her eye,\n    An\u2019 gin \u2019em an ail ez she went by\n    Ter fresk in the frost, \u2018an\u2019 show,\u2019 she said,\n    \u2018I kin dance on my ankle-j\u2019ints an\u2019 swaller my head,\n    An\u2019 how I do it, oh, ah! oh, ah!\n    I\u2019d tell ef \u2019twarn\u2019t fur the mornin\u2019 star.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe others joined tumultuously in the chorus. One sprang up, dancing a\nclumsy measure and striking his feet together with an uncouth deftness\nworthy of all praise in the estimation of his comrades. They broke\ninto ecstatic guffaws, in the midst of which Mink\u2019s \u201cOh, ah! Oh, ah!\u201d\nheralding the next verse, seemed a voice a long way off. Down the ravine\nwas visible a collection of great white trees, girdled and dead long ago,\nstanding in some field, all so tiny in the distance that it was as if the\nfingers of a ghostly hand had pointed upward at the group of revelers on\nthe ridge.\n\nThe shadows had shifted, slanted. The moon was westering fast. Every\ngauzy effect of vapor had its fascination in the embellishing beam,\nand shone vaguely iridescent All were drifting down the valley toward\nChilhowee. Above them rose that enchanted mountain\u2019s summit, with its\nlong irregular horizontal line, purple and romantic, suggestive of its\ncrags, its caves, its forests, and its wild unwritten poetry. A star was\nclose upon it. Peace brooded on its heights.\n\nThe prophecy of dawn was momently reiterated with fuller phrase, with\nplainer significance. Even Mink, reluctant to recognize it, yielded at\nlast to Jerry Price\u2019s insistence. And indeed the jug was empty.\n\n\u201cPut the jug in the hollow tree, then, like we promised, an\u2019 let\u2019s go,\u201d\nsaid Mink. \u201cMos\u2019 day, ennyhow. \u2018Oh, ah! Oh, ah! The daylight\u2019s apt ter\nbreak,\u2019 said the witch.\u201d\n\nThe jug was thrust in the hollow of the tree, and the drunken fellows, in\nthe securities of their fancied quiet, went whooping through the woods.\nThe owl\u2019s hoot ceased as their meaningless clamor rose from under the\nboughs. Now and then that crisp, matutinal sound, the vibrant chirp of\nhalf-awakened nestlings, jarred the air.\n\nThe group presently began to separate, some going down to Eskaqua Cove,\nwhere they would find their several homes if they could, but would at\nall hazards lay down their neighbors\u2019 fences. Rood lingered for a time\nwith Mink and one or two others who cherished the design of seeing old\nman Griff\u2019s mill started before day. He turned off, however, when they\nhad reached the open spaces of Piomingo Cove. It lay quiet, pastoral,\nencircled by the solemn mountains, with the long slant of the moonbeams\nupon it and the glister of the dew. The fields had all a pearly, luminous\neffect, marked off by the zigzag lines of the rail fences and the dark\nbushes that stood in corners. The houses, indicated by clumps of trees\namong which they nestled, were dark and silent. Not even a dog barked.\nWhen a cock crew the sudden note seemed clear and resonant as a bugle.\n\u201cCrowin\u2019 fur fower o\u2019clock.\u201d said Mink.\n\nThe road ran among woods much of the distance; through the trees could\nbe caught occasional glimpses of the illuminated world without. But\npresently they gave way. A wide, deep notch in the summit of a mountain\nrevealed the western sky. The translucent amber moon swung above these\npurple steeps, all suffused with its glamourous irradiation. Below,\nthe shining breadth of the Scolacutta River swept down from the vague\ndarkness. It was still night, yet one could see how the pawpaw and the\nlaurel crowded the banks. The oblique line of the roof of the mill was\ndrawn against the purple sky; its windows were black; its supports were\nreflected in the stream with a distinct reduplication; the water trickled\ndown from crevices in the race with a lace-like effect, seeming never\nto fall, but to hang as if it were some gauzy fragment of a fabric.\nBeneath the great wheel, motionless, circular, shadowy, was a shoaling\nyellow light, pellucid and splendid,\u2014the moon among the shallows. The\nnatural dam, a glassy cataract, bursting into foam and spray, was whitely\nvisible, with surging rapids below. The sound seemed louder than usual;\nit deadened the snap when Mink cut a pole from a pawpaw tree and hastily\ntrimmed the leaves. He climbed gingerly upon the timbers of the race,\nthen paused, looked back, and hesitated.\n\nThe others had reined in their horses, and stood, ill-defined equestrian\nshadows, on the bank watching him.\n\nHe placed the pole beneath the lever by which the gate was raised, its\nother end being within the building. There was no sound but the monotone\nof the river. Then with a great creak the gate was lifted. The imprisoned\nwater came through with a tumultuous rush. Mink felt the stir beneath as\nthe wheel began to revolve. There was a sudden jar, a jerk, the structure\nswayed beneath him, a crash among the timbers, a harsh, wrenching sound\nas they tore apart. He saw the faint stars reel as in some distraught\nvision. He heard the wild exclamations of the men on the bank. He could\nnot distinguish what they said, but with an instinct rather than any\nappreciation of cause and effect he tried to draw away the pole to let\nthe gate down.\n\nToo late. Through the sunken wreck of the race the water still poured\nover the madly plunging wheel. Mink sprang upon the bank, fell upon his\nhands and knees, and as he struggled to his feet he saw beneath the race\nthe grotesque distortions of the simple machinery. Some villain\u2019s hand\nhad adroitly contrived a series of clogs, each of insufficient weight to\nstop the wheel with the water still pouring over it, but as it crushed\nthem\u2014first an empty barrel, then a pole, then a fence-rail\u2014giving it a\nsuccession of shocks that were fast breaking it in pieces. Thus what\nwas designed for jest should result in destruction. The mill itself was\na rotten old structure at best. Jarring with every convulsive wrench\nand jerk of the bewitched wheel, its supports tottered feebly in the\nwater, and when all at once the race came down, and the wheel and the\nheavy beams were driven against its walls, for an instant it quivered,\nthen careened, crashed. There was a great cloud of dust rising from the\ntumbled wreck on the bank. In the water, floating away on the swollen\nfloods, were timbers, and barrels, and boards, and parts of the clapboard\nroof.\n\nAnd then, from their midst, as if the old building had an appreciated\nagony in its dissolution, a great cry of pain went up. Mink turned\nwith a white face, as he put his foot in the stirrup, to stare over\nhis shoulder. Surely he was drunk, very drunk. Had the others heard? A\ntwinkling light sprang up beyond the orchard boughs. The house had taken\nthe alarm. His companions were getting away in haste. Sober enough for\nflight and flapping their elbows, they crowed in mockery. Mink leaped\ninto his saddle to ride as ride he must, still looking with a lingering\nfear over his shoulder, remembering that quavering cry.\n\nWas he drunk, or did he hear? Could any creature have been in the mill,\nundisturbed,\u2014for they were so craftily quiet,\u2014asleep till awakened by\nthose death throes of the little building? Could it have been a pet fawn\nbleating with almost a human intonation in that common anguish of all\nlife, the fear of death,\u2014a pet cub? What! his heart ached for it,\u2014he, the\nhardy hunter? Oh, was his conscience endowed with some subtle discernment\nmore acute than his senses? It seemed a surly fate that had crept up on\nthe unwitting creature in the dark, in the humble peace of its slumbers.\nAnd he was sorry, too, for the old man\u2019s mill; and then a vague terror\npossessed him when he thought of the trickery with the wheel. Surely the\nhand of another had compassed its destruction, yet when or why he could\nnot understand, could not guess; or was he himself the miscreant? He\ncould not remember what he had done; he had been so very drunk.\n\nAh, should he ever again see Chilhowee thus receive the slant of the\nsunrise, and stand revealed in definite purple heights against the pale\nblue of the far west? Should he ever again mark that joyous matutinal\nimpulse of nature as the dawn expanded into day? The note of a bird,\nsweet, thrilling with gladness, came from the woods, so charged with the\nspirit of the morning that it might have been the voice of the light.\nAnd the dew was rich with the fragrance of flowers, and as he galloped\nalong the bridle-path they stretched their rank growth across his way,\nsometimes smiting him lightly in the face, like a challenge to mirth.\nWhen he climbed the steep ridge from which were visible the domes of the\nGreat Smoky, all massive and splendid against the dispersing roseate\ntints in the sky, the sunlight gushing down in a crimson flood while\nthe dazzling focus rose higher than the highest bald, he cared less to\nlook above than into the shadowed depths of Piomingo Cove. Did he fancy,\nor could he see a stir there? An atom slowly moved down the lane, and\nacross the red clay slope of a hill,\u2014another, and yet one more. Was the\nsettlement already roused with the news of the disaster to the mill? He\nturned and pressed his mare along the rocky road, up slopes and down\nagain, still ascending and descending the minor ridges that lie about\nthe base of the Smoky. Sometimes he wondered at himself with a harsh,\nimpersonal reprehension, as if his deed were another\u2019s. \u201cHow\u2019s the old\nman goin\u2019 ter make out ter barely live \u2019thout his mill?\u201d he demanded of\nhimself; \u201can\u2019 them gran\u2019chil\u2019n ter keer fur, an\u2019 Tad, an\u2019 all.\u201d\n\nThen would come again the recollection of that strange muffled scream,\nand though the sun was warm he shivered.\n\nOften he drew up the mare and listened with a vague sense of pursuit.\nStillness could hardly be more profound. Not the stir of a leaf, never a\nstealthy tread. Then as he started again down the rocky way, some vagrant\necho, or a stone rolling under his mare\u2019s hoof, would bring to him again\nthat sudden affright, and he would swiftly turn to see who dogged him.\n\nThere were many curves in the path, and once in its opening vista he saw\nbefore him a girl with yellow hair outlined against the green and gold\nfoliage of the sunlit woods, clad in brown homespun, partly leading and\npartly driving a dun-colored ox, with a rope knotted about his long horns.\n\nShe paused, swaying hard on it to check the animal, when she beheld the\nhorseman, and her brown eyes were full of surprised recognition.\n\nMink gravely nodded in response to her grave salutation. He seemed at\nfirst about to pass without stopping, but when it was evident that she\nintended to let the ox trudge on he drew up the mare.\n\n\u201cHowdy, Lethe,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cHowdy,\u201d returned Alethea.\n\n\u201cEnny news?\u201d\n\nShe shook her head without speaking.\n\n\u201cWhar be ye a-goin\u2019 with Buck?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cArter the warpin\u2019 ars. They war loaned ter aunt Dely, an\u2019 she hain\u2019t got\nbut one steer ter haul \u2019em home. So Buck hed ter go.\u201d\n\nThe ox had reached up his dun-colored head for the leaves, all green and\nflecked with golden light. She had loosed her hold upon the rope, and\nseriously gazed at Mink.\n\n\u201cI war down ter Crosby\u2019s yestiddy evenin\u2019,\u201d he observed, watching her.\n\n\u201cI hopes ye enjyed yerse\u2019f,\u201d she said, with tart self-betrayal.\n\nHe laughed a little, and turned the reins in his hands. He relished\ninfinitely the sight of the red and angry spot on either cheek, the spark\nin her eye.\n\n\u201cI did,\u201d he said jauntily, noting the effect of his words. \u201cI seen\nElviry.\u201d\n\nShe made an effort at self-control.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d she returned, calmly, although her voice trembled a little, \u201cI\nhope ye kin agree with her better \u2019n ye ever done with me. We warn\u2019t made\nfur one another, I reckon, no-ways.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I hain\u2019t never axed Elviry; \u2019tain\u2019t never gone ez fur ez that. I\n\u2019lowed ez mebbe ye an\u2019 me mought make it up some day.\u201d\n\nHe was only trying her, but the vaunted feminine intuition did not detect\nthis. Her cheek crimsoned. Her eyes were full of liquid lights. She\nlaughed, a low gurgling laugh of happiness, that, nevertheless, broke\ninto a sob.\n\n\u201cI dunno \u2019bout that,\u201d she said, evasively, belying the rapture in her\nface.\n\nShe was very beautiful at the moment A cultivated man, versed in the\nharmonies of line and color, tutored to discriminate expressions and\ngauge feelings and recognize types, might have perceived something\ninnately noble in her, foolish though the affection was which embellished\nher.\n\nEven he was impressed by it. \u201cI hev never axed nobody but ye,\u201d he said.\n\u201cNot even arter we quar\u2019led.\u201d\n\nHe was not bound by this, which he knew full well, and it promised\nnothing. But it held her love and loyalty for him, if ever he should want\nthem.\n\nNevertheless, while he piqued himself on his domination, he was under\nher influence at the fleeting moment when he was with her. Perhaps her\npresence induced some tender affinity for the better things. He said\nwith a sigh, \u201cI hev done gone an\u2019 got in a awful scrape, Lethe. I reckon\nnobody never hed sech a pack o\u2019 troubles in this worl\u2019.\u201d\n\nWith a sort of pitying deprecation of the wiles of old Tobias Winkeye she\ngravely listened. Once she unconsciously put up her hand and stroked his\nmare. He was petulant, like a spoiled child, when he told how he only\nmeant a jest and such woful destruction had ensued. \u201cAn\u2019 me so boozy\nI dunno _what_ I done. An\u2019 that thar pore old man! An\u2019 his mill plumb\nruined! An\u2019 all his gran\u2019chillen an\u2019 Tad ter keer fur!\u201d\n\nHer face had become very pale. Her voice trembled as she said,\u2014\n\n\u201cAin\u2019t sech agin the law, Reuben?\u201d\n\nShe always called him by his name, rather than the sobriquet his pranks\nhad earned. He was unfamiliar with himself thus dignified, and it gave\nhim an added sense of importance.\n\n\u201cYes, but \u2019tain\u2019t nuthin\u2019 but ten dollar fine, mebbe, an\u2019 a few days in\njail,\u201d\u2014she gasped,\u2014\u201c_ef_ they ketches me.\u201d\n\nHe looked at her with a swift, crafty brightness that was wonderfully\nlike the little creature whose name he bore.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t keer fur that, though,\u201d he added after a pause. \u201cBein\u2019 in\njail fur rollickin\u2019 roun\u2019 the kentry jes\u2019 fur fun ain\u2019t a disgrace, like\nfur stealin\u2019 an\u2019 sech. What pesters me so is studyin\u2019 \u2019bout the old man\nand his mill, plumb ruined. Lord! Lord! I\u2019d gin my mare an\u2019 hogs an\u2019 gun\nef it hed never happened!\u201d\n\nShe stood meditative and motionless against the leafy background, all\ndark and restful verdure close at hand, opening into a vista of luminous\nemerald lightened in the distance to a gilded green where the sunshine\nstruck aslant with a climax of gold.\n\n\u201cI reckon ye think so, Reuben, but ye wouldn\u2019t,\u201d she said at last, with\nher fatal candor.\n\nHe winced. He was both hurt and angry as he rejoined, \u201cAn\u2019 why wouldn\u2019t\nI?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, ye be \u2019bleeged ter know ef ye war ter gin the old man yer mare an\u2019\ngun an\u2019 hogs, he\u2019d be more \u2019n willin\u2019 ter gin it up agin ye. The mill\nstones air thar yit under the water, an\u2019 he could sell that truck o\u2019\nyourn an\u2019 build ez good a shanty ez he hed afore,\u2014better, \u2019kase \u2019twould\nbe new.\u201d\n\nHe looked down at her, tapping his heavy boot with the hickory switch in\nhis hand.\n\n\u201cYe ain\u2019t changed none, since we war promised to marry,\u201d he said slowly.\n\u201cThen ye war forever a-jawin\u2019 an\u2019 a-preachin\u2019 at me \u2019bout what I done an\u2019\nwhat I oughter do, same ez the rider. Ye talk \u2019bout jewty ez brash ez ef\n_ye_ never hed none, same ez he does \u2019bout religion. He ain\u2019t hurt with\n_that_, ef ye watch him fresk \u2019round when they air pourin\u2019 him out a dram\nor settin\u2019 out the table. That\u2019s sech grace ez he hev got, but he kin\ntalk powerful sober ter other folks; jes\u2019 like you-uns. I\u2019m sorry I ever\ntole ye about it, enny ways. I\u2019m sorry I met up with ye this mornin\u2019\u201d\u2014\n\nThe girl\u2019s face was as visibly pained as if he had cruelly struck her.\nHe went on tumultuously, aggregating wrath and a sense of injury and a\ndesire of reprisal with every word.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry I ever seen ye! Ye \u2019mind me o\u2019 that thar harnt o\u2019 a Herder on\nThunderhead the folks tells about Ef ye happen ter kem upon him suddint,\nan\u2019 don\u2019t turn back but ketch his eye, that year air withered. Nuthin\u2019 ye\nplant will grow, an\u2019 ef the craps air laid by they won\u2019t ripen. He can\u2019t\nkill ye; he jes\u2019 spiles yer chance. An\u2019 ye \u2019minds me o\u2019 him.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Reuben!\u201d the girl cried, in deprecation.\n\n\u201cYe do,\u2014ye do! I tole ye, \u2019kase I lowed mebbe ye mought holp me,\u2014more\nfool me!\u2014leastways ye mought be sorry. Shucks! And now I\u2019m sorry I tole\nye.\u201d\n\nHe struck the mare suddenly and slowly rode past. He glanced back once.\nIf Alethea had been looking wistfully after him he might have paused.\nHe expected it; he had even listened for her to call. The light fell\nwith a rich tinge on her golden hair and her delicate profile as she\nreached up to adjust the rope on the long horns of the dun-colored ox.\nThe vacillating color of the leaves shoaling in the wind and the sunshine\nseemed the more fantastic for the sober hue of her brown gown and the\ncrude red clay path. Even when the ox resumed his journey she did not\nonce look back, and presently the fluctuating leaves hid her from sight.\n\nMink\u2019s gust of temper had served to divert him for the moment from the\ncontemplation of his perplexities. Now they reasserted themselves.\nBefore, however, he had seen no hope of extrication. But Alethea\u2019s words\nhad given him something. He began to appreciate the necessity of a\ndefinite plan of action. If he should go up to Piomingo Bald he would be\ntaken at the herders\u2019 cabin by the officers of the law. His home could be\nno refuge. He felt a respite essential. He craved the time to think of\nAlethea\u2019s suggestion, to canvass the ground, to judge what was possible.\nAt last he dismounted and turned his mare out; even here he could hear\nthe occasional jangling bells of the herds, and the animal would soon\nfollow the familiar sound. He took his way on foot down the mountain and\nthrough Eskaqua Cove. \u201cThe news\u2019ll travel slower \u2019n me,\u201d he said.\n\nHe hardly felt hunger; he did not realize his fatigue. The red clay roads\nwere vacant, the few daily passers were not yet astir. He avoided, as far\nas he might, the possibility of meeting them by taking short cuts over\nthe mountains and through valleys. His instinct was to remove himself\nfrom his accustomed haunts. Nevertheless, he had no definite intention\nof hiding, for after traversing Hazel Valley, he struck boldly into the\ncounty road that leads up the eastern slope of Big Injun Mountain. He\nhad no thought of resisting arrest. He walked along meditatively, hardly\nconscious even of the company of his shadow climbing the mountain with\nhim, until he suddenly found that it had skulked away and he was bereft\nof this vague similitude of a comrade. For the sun was already west of\nBig Injun. A pensive shade lay far down the slope, but below there was\nagain the interfulgent play of sunshine itinerant with the wind among the\nleaves.\n\nOnce he sat down on a rock close by the road, with his head in his hands\nand his elbows on his knees, and sought again to adjust his course to\nthe best interests of conscience and policy. A woman with a bag of fruit\non her back passed him presently. He replied to her \u201chowdy;\u201d then after\na time rose and trudged up and up the road. He had known repentance\nbefore, for he was plastic morally. But in his experience there had been\nno perplexity. It seemed to him, with the urgency of decision and the\nturmoil of doubt pressing upon him, that it was happier to be resolutely\nreckless. The harassments of uncertainty had affected his nerves, and he\ngave a quick start when the abrupt jangle of a bell smote the air. On\nthe opposite side of the road, among the great craggy steeps, there was\na wide, low niche in the face of the cliff, with a beetling roof and a\nconfusion of rocks and bushes below. Sheep had climbed into it; some were\nstanding looking down at him, now and then stirring and setting the bell\nto clanking fitfully; others lay motionless in the shadowy nook. He was\nabout to go on; suddenly he turned and began to scale the huge fragments\nof rock to the niche in the cliff.\n\n\u201cYe clar out,\u201d he said to the sheep as they scuttled away at his\napproach; \u201cye hev got the very spot I want.\u201d\n\nThey huddled together as he crept in; two or three hastily ran out upon\nthe rocks,\u2014only a little frightened, for they began presently to nibble\nthe grass growing in the rifts. He lay down, pillowing his head upon\nhis arm, and turning his eyes on the scene without. He could see far\nbelow into the depths of Hazel Valley, with hill and dale in undulatory\nsuccession. The light glanced here and there on the minute lines of a\nzigzag fence; on a field in which the stark and girdled trees stood in\nevery gaunt attitude of despair; on a patch striped with green where\ntobacco grew in orderly ranks,\u2014all amongst the dense forests, upon\nwhich these tiny suggestions of civilization seemed only some ephemeral\nincident, ineffective, capable of slightest significance. Beyond, the\nwooded mountains rose in the densities of unbroken primeval wilderness,\nwith irregular summit-lines, with graduating tones from bronze-green to\nblue-gray, with a solemnity that even the sunshine did not abate. Still\nfurther, the Great Smoky, veiled with mist and vague with distance,\nstood high against the sky,\u2014so high that but for the familiar changeless\noutline it must have seemed the fiction of the clouds.\n\nThe sheep came back and crowded about him,\u2014he lay so still. Once he was\nconscious of their motion; he intended to rouse himself in a moment and\ndrive them off. And once afterward he was vaguely aware of the tinkle of\nthe bell. Then he heard no more.\n\nThe afternoon wore on. The sunlight deepened to orange and burned to red.\nThe mountains were all garbed in purple. The sky above that splendid\nsummit-line of the Great Smoky caught the reflection from the west and\nwas delicately roseate. Cow-bells were clanking in Hazel Valley, faintly,\nfaintly. A star, most serene, was at the zenith.\n\nThe sheep in the dark niche of the crags stirred, and huddled together\nagain, and were quiet. The moon came and looked coyly in, as if she\nsought Endymion. The face of the mountaineer, its reckless spirit all\nspent, was gentle and young in the soft, shy light.\n\nAll at once he was awake. The sheep were crowding timorously about him. A\nvoice broke with sudden discord into the harmonies of the night.\n\n\u201cNuthin\u2019 but sheep, I reckon.\u201d\n\nThere was a great scuffling among the rocks and bushes, and Mink ventured\nto lift his head.\n\nHe saw the mist-filled valley below; the glister of the moon in the skies\nabove; the infinite expanse of mountain forms all along the background;\nand in the stony road on the verge of the precipice an equestrian group\nstanding motionless in shadow and sheen.\n\nHe recognized the sheriff of the county among them, and the constable\nfrom Piomingo Cove was in the act of clambering up the rocks.\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nThe officer laid his hand on the jagged lower ledge of the niche. His hat\nand its shadow, like some double-headed monster, slowly appeared above\nthe verge as he climbed the crag. The sheep shrank back precipitately\ninto the cavernous place, their hoofs crowding over the young\nmountaineer. He lay at full length in motionless suspense.\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s pause. A cloud crossed the moon. Its shadow fell in\nHazel Valley. A gust of wind stole along the mountain slopes, sighing as\nit went, as if its errand were of sorrow. Then, silence. The brilliant\nlustre burst forth again, suffusing the heights above and the depths so\nfar below. In the midst of the craggy steeps the huddled sheep looked\nmildly down, with bright, apprehensive eyes, at the constable.\n\n\u201cNuthin\u2019 but sheep,\u201d he said, scanning the interior of the niche.\n\nIt seemed to Mink, hidden by his fleecy comrades, that the stone walls\nof his refuge resounded with the loud throbbing of his heart, which must\nbetray him.\n\n\u201cD\u2019 ye reckon,\u201d said the sheriff below, \u201cez that woman could hev made a\nmistake \u2019bout hevin\u2019 seen him on this road?\u201d\n\n\u201cMrs. Beale knows Mink Lorey ez well ez I do,\u201d declared the constable.\n\n\u201cMought hev been foolin\u2019 us some,\u201d suggested the sheriff, suspiciously.\n\n\u201cShe hain\u2019t got no call,\u201d the constable reasoned. As he partly stood on a\nsharp projection, and partly hung by one arm to the ledges of the niche,\nhe took a plug of tobacco from his pocket and perilously gnawed at it.\n\n\u201cWaal, I reckon he ain\u2019t round hyar-abouts,\u201d said the sheriff, with an\nintonation of disappointment \u201cWe hed better push on.\u201d\n\nThe double-headed monster, chewing as he went, the action reproduced in\nfrightful pantomime on the floor of the cavern, slowly withdrew. There\nwas heavy breathing; the sound of falling clods and fragments of rock,\nand of straining bushes and roots as the descending officer clutched\nthem. A sudden final thud announced that he had sprung upon his feet on\nlevel ground.\n\nA momentary interval, a clatter of hoofs, and the file of horsemen, with\ntheir mounted shadows erect upon the vertical cliffs of the rock-bound\nroad, passed slowly along the wild, narrow way. Long after they had\ndisappeared the sound of the hoof-beats intruded upon the stillness, and\ndied away, and again smote the air with dull iteration, reverberating\nfrom distant crags of the winding road.\n\nWhen all was still, Mink\u2019s mind turned again to his perplexities with a\nsharpened sense of the necessity of decision. The project which Alethea\nhad suggested began to shape itself in his mind in full detail, as he lay\nthere and thought it over. The alternative of skulking about to avoid\narrest was too doubtful and limited to be contemplated.\n\n\u201cThe sheriff air a-ridin\u2019 now,\u201d he said, \u201can\u2019 the constable too\u2014an\u2019 what\nmade \u2019em fetch along fower other men ez a posse?\u201d he broke off suddenly,\nrecognizing the incongruity.\n\nHis lip curled with satisfaction. \u201cThey mus\u2019 hev been powerful \u2019feared o\u2019\nme,\u201d he said, his heart swelling with self-importance, \u201cter think \u2019twould\ntake six men ter arrest me fur a leetle job like that.\u201d\n\nHe appreciated, however, that the midnight caper at the mill had shaken\nall the securities of the mountain community, and it was to the immediate\npersonal interest of every man within twenty miles that he should be\ndealt with as harshly as the law would allow. But if, he argued, without\nwaiting for arrest, he should go down to-morrow,\u2014not to old Griff (bold\nas he was, he hardly dared encounter the miller\u2019s rage), but to some man\nof influence, some mediator, old Squire White, perhaps,\u2014and tell what he\nhad done, and offer in reparation to give the miller all he possessed,\nhis mare, his gun, his hogs, might he not thus avert the more serious\nphases of a prosecution, or perhaps escape altogether?\n\nTurn as he might, he could see only the sacrifice of his little all as\nthe price of his orgy.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d hev ter pay it ter the lawyer ter defend me; or mebbe old Griff\ncould git it out\u2019n me ez damages ennyhow. I can\u2019t holp losing it. I\u2019ll\ngin it up, an\u2019 begin over, an\u2019 make it up with Lethe,\u2014I don\u2019t keer a\nstraw fur all the t\u2019others,\u2014an\u2019 git married an\u2019 be stiddy. I never war so\nwild nohow when me an\u2019 her war promised. Mebbe bein\u2019 jawed at, an\u2019 sech,\nair good fur folks, an\u2019 holped ter keep me quiet in them days,\u2014leastwise\nez quiet ez I war able ter be,\u201d he qualified, the recollection of sundry\nactive vagaries constraining him.\n\nAlthough doubts and fears still lurked in his mind, he found himself\nwaiting for dawn, not with hope or impatience, but with the dull\nresolution of reluctant decision. He could hardly have said why, but he\nexperienced a disappointment as he noted the weather signs. The mists\nthickened and pervaded the moonbeams in gigantic wavering spectral\neffects. Over toward the Great Smoky they slowly tended, those veiled\nmystic figures, with diaphanous trailing garments, and with sometimes a\nlifted hand as if to swear by the heaven it almost touched. He watched\nthe throngs grow denser, lose the similitude of individuality, take\non the aspect of lowering clouds. The moonbeams glittered faintly and\nfailed. When the day broke at last, the light expressed itself only in\nthe dull visibility of the enveloping vapors. Not the depths of Hazel\nValley, not the slopes of Big Injun Mounting, could be seen as he\nclambered out of the niche and down upon the road. Even the log at its\nverge serving as a curb seemed a sort of defense against the usurping\nimmateriality which had engulfed the rest of the world. He heard the\nmoisture dripping from the summit of the craggy heights; sometimes, too,\nthe quick, tumultuous patter of a shower in Hazel Valley, as if a cloud\nhad lost its balance on the brink of the mountain and had fallen into the\ndepths beneath.\n\nHe trudged along, seeing nothing but the blank inexpressiveness of the\nencompassing fog, with only the vaguest divination of the locality and\nthe distance.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t feel so weighted ef the weather would clear,\u201d he said.\n\nOnce he paused, suddenly recollecting that the county court was in\nsession, and that Squire White was doubtless at Shaftesville. When\nhe thought of the unaccustomed scenes of the town, the people, their\nquestions and comments, he wavered again. Then he remembered Alethea.\n\u201cShe \u2019lowed \u2019twould be jestice an\u2019 the bes\u2019 ez I could do ennyhows, an\u2019\nsomehows the critter \u2019pears ter be right in her jedgmints. So I reckon\nI\u2019ll jes\u2019 \u2019bide by Lethe\u2019s word.\u201d\n\nPresently the mists began to lift. He could see along the green aisles\nof the forest how they wavered and shifted in the tops of the trees.\nEverywhere the flowers were blooming,\u2014the trumpet blossom and the\njewel-weed, the delicate lilac \u201cChristmas flower,\u201d the \u201cmountain snow,\u201d\nthe red cardinal blossoms, and, splendid illumination of the woods, the\nChilhowee lily. All along the wayside, silvery cascades tumbled over the\nrocks amongst fantasies of ferns, and the laurel and the ivy crowded the\nbanks of the torrent. When he was fairly in the valley, fences bordered\nthe road, with poke-berries darkly glittering in corners crowded with\nweeds. He was nearing Shaftesville now. A little house appeared here and\nthere, a stretch of open land, stacks of fodder, an occasional passer.\n\nHigh up in the air were suggestions of sunshine, yellow, diffusive,\nbut not penetrating the vapors below. All at once the beams burst\nthrough. The mists dallied for a moment longer; then with a suggestion\nof spreading wings they rose in slow, shining, ethereal flights. Among\nthem, as he skirted the crest of a hill, appeared the roofs of the little\ntown, the tower of the court-house, the church steeple, all dissolving\ninto invisibility like some vain vagary of the mist, as he descended into\nthe intervenient dale.\n\nThe grass-grown streets were astir with jeans-clad countrymen already\nin with wagons drawn by oxen, or with a flock of bleating sheep running\nhelter-skelter, and demonstrating their bucolic proclivities by a\nstartling lack of adaptation to the thoroughfares of Shaftesville; a few\nloungers were sitting on the barrels and boxes in front of the doors of\nthe stores; Mink met no one he knew as he went. One man on the rickety\nsteps of the court-house knew him, perhaps, for he looked hard at him\nas he passed; then turned and stared after him with an expression which\nMink could hardly analyze. He scowled fiercely in return, and took his\nway into the room in which several of the justices sat, amicably chatting\ntogether, for the day\u2019s proceedings had not yet been inaugurated. With\na sudden irritation and bewilderment Mink beheld upon each countenance,\nthe moment they caught sight of him, the same amazed intentness which\nhad characterized the look of the man on the steps. He felt a sort of\ndull ache in his heart, a turbulence in his blood pulsing fast, a heavy,\ndazed consciousness which gave the scene the dim unreality of a dream:\nthe sunshine, pale and flickering, outlining the panes of the windows on\nthe dirty floor; the stove, that stood in its place winter and summer;\nthe circle of bearded, jeans-clad justices, all their faces turned toward\nhim, seeming not unlike, with the same expression upon each.\n\nMink began abruptly, but with an effort, addressing the chairman. \u201cI kem\nover hyar, Squair,\u201d he said, \u201c\u2019kase I wanter leave ter men what I done.\nI ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter hide nuthin\u2019 nor run away from nuthin\u2019. I ain\u2019t sayin\u2019\nwhat I done war right, but I\u2019m willin\u2019 ter abide by my deed ez fur ez\nleavin\u2019 it ter men, an\u2019 furder.\u201d\n\nHe was fluent now. There was an exhilaration in this close attention\nfrom these men whom he esteemed mighty in the law, in this pose of\nimportance before them, in the generosity of the offer he was about to\nmake. He spoke responsive to the respectful surprise with which his fancy\nhad endowed them.\n\n\u201cI war drunk, Squair. I ain\u2019t denyin\u2019 it none. Naw, sir, I ain\u2019t.\u201d\n\nHe nodded his head, and pushed his broad hat further back on his long,\nauburn locks.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll jes\u2019 tell ye how it war, Squair.\u201d He shifted his weight upon one\nstalwart leg, and bent over a little, and looked down meditatively at\nhis boots as he arranged his ideas in his mind. \u201cI war drunk, Squair,\u201d\nhe reiterated, as he rose once more to the perpendicular. \u201cHow I kem so,\nit don\u2019t consarn me to say. But me an\u2019 old man Griff, we hed hed words\n\u2019bout my l\u2019arnin\u2019 Tad ter play \u2018five corn\u2019; he \u2019lowed \u2019twar a gamblin\u2019\ngame,\u2014mighty old-fashioned game, ye know yerself, Squair,\u2014an\u2019 ez I kem\nalong back that night I \u2019lowed I\u2019d start the mill an\u2019 see him run out\nskeered. An\u2019 I dunno what I done ter the wheel, but it jes\u2019 seemed ter\nbe plumb \u2019witched when I lifted the gate. It jes\u2019 performed an\u2019 cavorted\nround like it hed the jim-jams;\u2014ye never seen nuthin\u2019 act like it done\nsence ye war born, Squair. An\u2019 I tried ter let the gate down, but war\nplumb shuck off\u2019n the race. An\u2019 the mill begun ter shake, Squair, an\u2019\nfust I knowed down it went inter the ruver. An\u2019 ez I seen a light in the\nold man\u2019s house I \u2019lowed he war a-comin\u2019 fur me.\u201d He laughed a little.\n\u201cOld Griff be a powerful survigrous old man when his dander hev riz, so I\njes\u2019 rid off ez fas\u2019 ez I could.\u201d\n\nThere was no responsive smile upon the stony, staring faces turned toward\nhim. But he was quite at ease now. He hardly cared to notice that a man\nwent hurriedly out of the room and came back. \u201cI\u2019m mighty sorry fur the\nold man, Squair,\u201d he resumed, \u201csurely I am. An\u2019 ter prove it, me an\u2019\nthe gal I\u2019m a-goin\u2019 ter marry, we-uns \u2019greed tergether ez I\u2019d gin him\nmy mare, an\u2019 my hogs, an\u2019 a gun, an\u2019 fower sheep, an\u2019 \u2019twould build him\nanother mill better \u2019n the one he hed, ef he could git the mill-stones\nhefted. I\u2019d go holp myself.\u201d\n\nStill not a word from the justices. Other men had begun to come in. They,\ntoo, stood silently listening. Mink was all debonair and cheery again,\nso fairly had he exploited his mission. As to the man who had gone out\nand returned, Mink stared hard at him, for he was not an acquaintance,\nyet he approached and held out his hand. Mink slowly extended his own. A\nsudden grip of iron encircled the unsuspecting member; the other hand was\ncaught in a rude grasp. A harsh, grating sound, the handcuffs were locked\nupon his wrists, and the deputy sheriff lifted a countenance scarlet\nwith repressed excitement. He passed his hands quickly all along the\nprisoner\u2019s side to make sure that he carried no concealed weapons, then\nejaculated, \u201cNow ye\u2019re all right!\u201d\n\nThe young mountaineer\u2019s head was in a whirl. His heart beat tumultuously.\nHis voice sounded to him far away. His volition seemed to rebel. Surely\nhe did not utter the stammering, incoherent, foaming curses that he\nheard. They terrified him. He strove with futile strength to tear off\nthese fetters, every muscle strained. For the first time in his life,\nhe, the wild, free creature of the woods, felt the bonds of constraint,\nthe irking touch of a man he could not strike. Old Squire White, who had\nmoved out of the way with an agility wonderful in a man of his years,\nexhorted the deputy to his duty.\n\n\u201cYe mus\u2019 gin him the reason fur his arrest, ez he hev axed fur it, Mr.\nSkeggs, sech bein\u2019 the law o\u2019 Tennessee. Ye\u2019d better tell him, sence\nthe sher\u2019ff hev kerried off the warrant, that he air arrested fur the\ndrownding o\u2019 Tad Simpkins.\u201d\n\nMink hardly heard. He did not heed. He only tore desperately at the\nhandcuffs, every cord standing out, every vein swelled to bursting;\nstamping wildly about while the scuttling, excited crowd nimbly kept out\nof his way. He turned the glare of reddened eyes upon the deputy, who\nmechanically repeated the justice\u2019s words, still following the prisoner\nwith soothing insistence. Suddenly Mink made a burst toward the door;\nhe was seized by a dozen willing hands, thrown down and pinioned. He\nfainted, perhaps, for it was only the free outer air that roused him\nto the knowledge that he was borne through the streets, followed by a\ngaping, hooting crowd, black and white. Then ensued another interval\nof unconsciousness. When he came to himself he stared blankly at his\nunfamiliar surroundings.\n\nHe was alone. He felt weak, sore. He turned his bewildered eyes toward\nthe light. The window was barred. He sprang up from the bed on which he\nlay, and tried the door. He beat upon it and shouted in baffled rage.\nStealthy footsteps sounded outside from time to time, excited whispers,\nand once a low titter.\n\nSomehow, ridicule conquered him as force could not. He slunk back to\nthe bed, and there he lay quiet, that no stir might come to the mocker\nwithout. Sometimes he would lift his head and listen with a sort of\nterror for the step, for the suppressed breathing, for the low laugh.\nOften his eyes would rest, dilated, fascinated, on the door. Then he\nwould fall back, reviewing futilely the scenes through which he had\npassed. What was that strange thing they had said? It was indistinct\nfor a time; he could not constrain his reluctant credulity. But those\nterrible words, the drowning of Tad Simpkins, beset his memory, and came\nback to him again and again. And then he recalled that weird cry from\nout the crash of the falling timbers of the mill. Could the ill-treated\nlittle drudge have slept there? He had a vague idea that he had once\nheard that when the old man was angry he would swear that he would not\ngive Tad house-room, and would cast him out into the night, or shut him\ninto the mill and lock the door upon him. And remembering that cry of\ndespair, so anguished an echo rose to Mink\u2019s lips that he turned and\nburied his head in the pillow because of the scoffer in the hall without.\n\nThe room darkened gradually; shadows were glooming about him. The moon\nrose after a time. The beams in radiant guise came slanting in, and\ndespite the bars stood upon the floor, a lustrous presence, and leaned\nagainst the wall. It reminded him of the angel of the Lord,\u2014tall,\nethereal, fair, and crowned with an amaranthine wreath,\u2014who burst the\nbars and appeared to the disciple in prison. With that arrogation of all\nspiritual bounties, so pathetically human, he perceived no incongruity\nthat such a similitude should appear to him. In some sort it comforted\nhim. It moved from time to time, and slowly crossed, pace by pace, the\nfloor of the cell.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nThat terrible isolation of identity, the burden of individuality which\nevery man must bear alone, is never so poignantly appreciated as when\nsome anguish falls on the solitary soul, while those who would wish to\nshare it are unconscious and others uncaring.\n\nNews, the worldling, was never a pioneer, and hangs aloof from the long\nstretches of the wildernesses of the Great Smoky Mountains. It seemed\nafterward to Alethea that she had lacked some normal faculty, to have\nbeen so tranquilly uncognizant, so heedlessly placid, in the days that\nensued. The glimpse of the world vouchsafed to Wild-Cat Hollow was\nsilent, peaceful, steeped in the full, languorous sheen of the midsummer\nsun. To look down upon the cove, with its wooded levels, its verdure,\nits silver glint of waters, and its sheltering mountains, it might have\nseemed only the scene of some serenest eclogue\u2014especially one afternoon\nwhen the red west flung roseate tints upon the strata clouds and the\ndelicate intervenient spaces of the pale blue heavens, and suffused the\nsolemn ranges and the quiet valley with a tender glamour. The voices\nprojected upon this mute placidity had a strident emphasis. There was\nthe occasional clamor of guinea-fowls about the barn, and some turkeys\nwere flying up to roost on the naked boughs of a dead tree, drawn in high\nrelief and sharp detail against the sky; they fluttered down often, with\nheavy wings, and ungainly flappings, and discordant cries, in their\nvain efforts to settle the question of precedence that harassed them.\nThe lowing of the homeward-bound cows had fugue-like communings with\ntheir echoes. Alethea, going out to meet them, doubted within herself at\ntimes whether they had crossed the mountain stream that coursed through\nWild-Cat Hollow. The blackberry brambles swayed full fruited above it;\nin the lucid, golden-brown, gravelly depths a swift shadow darted,\nturned, cleft the surface with a fin, and was gone. A great skeleton\ntree, broken half-way, hollow long ago, stood on the bank, rotted by the\nwinter\u2019s floods that ceaselessly washed it when the stream was high, and\nbleached by the summer\u2019s suns to a bone-like whiteness. A great ball of\nfoam, mysterious sport of the waters, caught in an eddy, was whirling\ngiddily. One could fancy a figure of some fine ethereal essence might\njust have been veiled within it. The woods, dense, tangled with vines,\nsombre with shadows, bore already the downcast look of night. Alethea\neyed them languidly as she came down to the lower fence, her piggin on\nher head, one hand staying it, while the other gave surreptitious aid to\nthe efforts of L\u2019onidas and Lucindy to take down the bars, as they piqued\nthemselves upon rendering her this stalwart service. Tige had come too,\nand now and then he pawed and pranced about the calves, that were also\nexpectantly waiting at the opening of the inclosure. One of them who had\nknown him of yore only lifted his ears and fixed a remonstrant stare upon\nhim. But the other, young and of an infantile expression, ran nimbly from\nhim, and bleated plaintively, and pressed in between Alethea and the\nchildren, in imminent danger of having his brains knocked out in the wild\nhandling of the bars.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s enough,\u201d she drawled presently, moderating their energies; \u201cthe\ncalf\u2019ll git out ef ye take down enny mo\u2019. The cow kin step over sech ez\nbe left.\u201d\n\nThe faint clanging of cow-bells stirred the air. The little house on the\nrise at one side was darkly brown against the irradiated mountains seen\nin the narrow vista of the gap. The martins fluttered from the pendulous\ngourds and circled about the chimneys, and were gone again. The sky\ncast its bright gold about the Hollow, on the tow heads of the barefoot\nchildren, and multiplied the shimmers in the swirls of the stream.\n\nAlethea looked once more toward it, hearing again the far-off lowing. A\nsudden movement attracted her eye. Against the great hollow whitened tree\na man was leaning, whittling a stick with a clasp-knife, and now and then\nfurtively eying her.\n\nFor a moment she did not move a muscle. The color surged into her face,\nand receded, leaving it paler than before. A belated humming-bird, its\nbreast a glistening green, beat the air with its multiplied suggestions\nof gauzy wings close to her golden head, and was gone like a flash.\nThe children babbled on. Tige was afraid of a stick which L\u2019onidas had\nbrought to keep off the calf while the cow was milked, and he yelped\nbefore he was struck, without prejudice to yelping afterward.\n\nThe man presently drew himself erect, closed his knife with a snap, and\nwalked up slowly toward the fence.\n\n\u201cHowdy?\u201d he said, as he came.\n\nShe leaned one elbow on the rails, and with the other hand she held the\nempty piggin. She only nodded in return.\n\nHe had an embarrassed, deprecatory manner. He was tall and lank,\nand clumsy of gait. He had an indifferent, good-natured expression,\nincongruous with the gleam of anxiety in his eye. His face was almost\ncovered by a long, straggling brown beard.\n\n\u201cWhat made ye run off so t\u2019other night down yander ter Boke\u2019s Spring? I\nhed a word ter say ter ye.\u201d\n\n\u201cI war sorry I seen ye.\u201d\n\nHe fixed a keen look upon her.\n\n\u201cWhat fur?\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t want ter know who \u2019twar a-moonshinin\u2019,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cWaal, ye air the only one,\u201d he declared.\n\nHe looked about him dubiously.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t keerin\u2019 none,\u201d he added. \u201cMe an\u2019 yer mother war kin somehow; I\ndisremember how, edzac\u2019ly\u2014through the Scruggses, I reckon. Ef she war\nalive she\u2019d gin ye the word ez she air kin ter Sam Marvin, sure. Nobody\nain\u2019t \u2019spicioned nuthin\u2019 \u2019bout moonshinin\u2019 but you-uns, \u2019cept them ez be\nin it.\u201d\n\nHe put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the fence. The\nclanking of the cow-bell was nearer. The little calf bleated, and thrust\nits soft head over the bars.\n\n\u201cI wanted ter say a word ter ye,\u201d he continued, still more ill at ease\nbecause of her silence. \u201cI seen ye comin\u2019 along o\u2019 all them chill\u2019n,\u201d\nnodding at Leonidas and Lucinda, who seemed to deserve being accounted\nmore numerous than they were, having engaged in a wordy altercation over\nthe bars; the little fellow dragging them off to some special spot which\nhe had chosen, of occult advantage, while the girl, older and wiser,\ninsisted that they should lie handy where they were. Only Tige listened\nto the conversation, slowly wagging his tail. \u201cI \u2019lowed I couldn\u2019t talk\nter ye \u2019thout bein\u2019 hendered, but I reckon I\u2019ll try. I\u2019m kin ter ye,\u2014that\nbe a true word. An\u2019 I\u2019m moonshinin\u2019. Ye ain\u2019t tole nobody \u2019bout seein\u2019 me\nan\u2019 the jug thar in Boke\u2019s barn?\u201d\n\nHe fixed his eyes, eager with the query, upon her face.\n\nShe slowly shook her head in negation.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 ye won\u2019t, eh?\u201d\n\nHe smiled beguilingly, showing his long, tobacco-stained teeth.\n\n\u201cEf nobody axes me.\u201d\n\nHis countenance fell suddenly.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar, Lethe Sayles, don\u2019t ye fool with me, a-doublin\u2019 on yer\nwords like a fox on his tracks,\u201d he said roughly. Then, more temperately,\n\u201cI\u2019m afeard o\u2019 that very thing,\u2014ef somebody axes ye.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t likely,\u201d said Alethea.\n\n\u201cI dunno,\u201d he insisted, wagging his big head in doubtful pantomime. \u201cI\nwant ye ter \u2019low ye won\u2019t tell.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t b\u2019lieve in sech ez moonshinin\u2019 an\u2019 drinkin\u2019 liquor.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat fur?\u201d he demanded, with an air of being ready for argument.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t religion.\u201d\n\n\u201cShucks!\u201d exclaimed Sam Marvin contemptuously. \u201cD\u2019 ye reckon ef \u2019twarn\u2019t\nreligion I\u2019d plant corn an\u2019 raise my own damnation, an\u2019 sit an\u2019 bile\nwrath, an\u2019 still fury, an\u2019 yearn Torment, by sech? Naw, sir! Ye oughter\ngo hear the rider read the Bible: every one o\u2019 them disciples drunk low\nwines in them days, an\u2019 hed it at weddin\u2019s an\u2019 sech; the low wines is on\nevery page.\u201d\n\nAlethea was for a moment overborne by this argument.\n\nThen, \u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t right,\u201d persisted the zealot of Wild-Cat Hollow.\n\n\u201cWill ye listen at the gal!\u201d he exclaimed, in angry apostrophe. But\ncontrolling himself, he added quietly, \u201cYe let older heads \u2019n yourn\njedge, Lethe. Yer brains ain\u2019t ripened yit, an\u2019 livin\u2019 off in Wild-Cat\nHollow ye ain\u2019t hed much chance ter see an\u2019 l\u2019arn. Yer elders knows bes\u2019.\nThat\u2019s what the Bible says.\u201d\n\nDown the shadowy vista of the path on the opposite side of the stream\nthe long horns and slowly nodding heads of the cows appeared. The little\ncalf frisked with nimble joy on legs that seemed hardly bovine in their\nagility. Lucinda ran to bring the pail of bran, and Leonidas produced a\nhandful of salt in a small gourd. The moonshiner saw that his time was\nshort.\n\n\u201cWhat ails ye, ter think \u2019tain\u2019t right, Lethe?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cLook how good-fur-nuthin\u2019 it makes Jacob Jessup, an\u2019\u2014an\u2019 Mink Lorey, an\u2019\nall them boys in Piomingo Cove.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s thar own fault, not the good liquor\u2019s. Look at me. I ain\u2019t\ngood-fur-nuthin\u2019. Ever see me drunk? How be I a-goin\u2019 ter keer fur sech a\nhouseful ez we-uns hev got \u2019thout stillin\u2019 the corn? Can\u2019t sell the corn\n\u2019n the apples nuther, an\u2019 can\u2019t raise nuthin\u2019 else on the side o\u2019 the\nmounting, an\u2019 I\u2019m too pore ter own lan\u2019 in the cove.\u201d\n\nThe cows were fording the stream. The water foamed about their flanks.\nTheir breath was sweet with the mountain grasses.\n\nHe looked at Alethea, suspiciously.\n\n\u201cYe ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter promise me ye won\u2019t tell ef ye be axed?\u201d he said,\nwith an air of finality.\n\nIn her heart the compact of secrecy was already secure. Somehow she\nwithheld the assurance. It was all wrong, she felt. And if in fear he\nshould desist, so much the safer for him, so much the better would the\ncommunity fare.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter promise nuthin\u2019,\u201d she said, slowly, her lustrous\neyes full upon his face. \u201cI ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter do nuthin\u2019 ter holp along\nwhat ain\u2019t right.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, then, Lethe Sayles, ye jes\u2019 \u2019member ez ye war warned,\u201d he said, in\na low, vehement voice, between his set teeth, and coming up close to her.\n\u201cAn\u2019 ef ever we-uns air fund out an\u2019 raided, we-uns will keep in mind ez\nnobody knowed but you-uns; an\u2019 whether we be dragged off ter jail an\u2019\nour still cut up an\u2019 sech or no, ye won\u2019t git off scot-free. Ye mark my\nwords. Ye air warned.\u201d\n\nShe had shrunk from his glittering eyes and angry gestures. Nevertheless,\nshe struck back with ready sarcasm.\n\n\u201cThen, mebbe I won\u2019t tell,\u201d she said, in her soft drawl, \u201cfur I be\ntoler\u2019ble easy skeered.\u201d\n\nHe stared at her in the gathering dusk; then turned, and took his way\nacross the mossy log that bridged the stream and down the path through\nthe woods.\n\nFor a moment she had an overwhelming impulse to call him back. Long\nafterward she had cause to remember its urgency. Now she only leaned\nupon the rail fence, even her golden hair dim in the closing shadows,\nand gazed with uncomprehended wistfulness after him as he disappeared\ndown the path, and reappeared in a rift of the foliage, and once more\ndisappeared finally.\n\nAnd here the cow\u2019s great head was thrust over the bars, and L\u2019onidas\nwas on hand in full force to engage in combat with the little calf,\nand Lucindy was alert with the bucket of bran. All through the milking\nAlethea was sensible of a yearning regret in her heart. And although\nshe had the testimony of good conscience and could say in full faith,\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t right,\u201d she was not consoled.\n\nShe lifted the pail of milk to her head, and as they went back to the log\ncabin the moon projected their grotesque shadows as a vanguard, and for\nall Leonidas ran he could not overtake the quaint little man that led the\nway.\n\nStars were in the sky, aloof from the moon. A mocking-bird sang on an\nelder-bush among the blossoms, fragrant and white; and from time to time,\nas he joyously lifted his scintillating wings, the boughs seemed enriched\nwith some more radiant bloom. The rails of the fence had a subdued\nglimmer,\u2014the moonlight on the dew.\n\nHer heart, with its regretful disquiet, was out of harmony with the\nnocturnal peace of the scene; she had somehow an intimation of an\nimpending sorrow before she heard the sound of sobbing from the porch.\n\nThe vines that clambered about it were drawn upon the floor with every\nleaf and tendril distinct. The log cabin was idealized in some sort with\nthe silver lustre of the moon, the glister of the dew, the song of the\nbird, and the splendid suggestions of the benighted landscape; yet there\nwas the homely loom, the spinning-wheel and its shadow, the cat in the\ndoorway, with the dull illumination of the smouldering fire behind her,\neying a swift, volant shadow that slipped in and out noiselessly, and\nperhaps was a bat. A group of figures stood in the tense attitudes of\nlistening surprise. But a girl had flung herself upon the bench of the\nloom, now leaning against the frame and weeping aloud, and now sitting\nerect and talking with broken volubility.\n\n\u201cHyar be Elviry Crosby,\u201d Mrs. Sayles said, as Alethea stepped upon the\nporch and set the piggin on the shelf.\n\nThe visitor looked up, with her dark eyes glistening with tears. Her\nface was pale in the moonbeams. She had short dark hair, thin and fine,\nshowing the shape of her delicate head, and lying in great soft rings\nabout her brow and neck. As she spoke, her quivering red lips exhibited\nthe small, regular white teeth. She was slight and about the medium\nheight, and habited in a yellowish dress, from which the moonlight did\nnot annul the idea of color.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t got no gredge agin Lethe,\u201d she said, gazing at her with a\ncertain intentness, \u201cbut I hev got my feelin\u2019s, an\u2019 I hev got my pride,\nan\u2019 I ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter hev no jail-bird a-settin\u2019 up ter me! I\u2019m sorry\nI ever seen him!\u201d she declared, with a fresh burst of tears, throwing\nherself back against the loom. \u201cBut ez Lethe never hed nobody else, _she_\nmought put up with the raccoon ez he fetched me,\u2014fur I won\u2019t gin the\ncritter house-room, now.\u201d\n\nAs Alethea gazed at her, amazed and uncomprehending, a sudden movement\non the loom caught her attention. About the clumsy beams a raccoon\nwas climbing nimbly, turning his eyes upon her, full of the peculiar\nbrightness of the night-roaming beast. She noticed his grin as he hung\nabove the group, as if he perceived in the situation humor of special\nzest.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter keep it!\u201d cried Elvira. \u201cAll the kentry will be\ntellin\u2019, ennyhow, ez I hev kep\u2019 company with a murderer.\u201d A low, muffled\ncry escaped from Alethea\u2019s lips. \u201cHe kem a-makin\u2019 up ter me till I went\nan\u2019 turned off Pete Rood, ez war mad ez hops. I can\u2019t hender \u2019em from\nknowin\u2019 it. But I ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter hev that thar spiteful leetle beast\na-grinnin\u2019 at me \u2019bout\u2019n it, like he war makin\u2019 game o\u2019 me fur bein\u2019\nsech a fool. I\u2019d hev killed it, \u2019ceptin\u2019 I \u2019lowed thar hed been enough\nonnecessary killin\u2019 along o\u2019 Mink Lorey.\u201d\n\n\u201cElviry!\u201d exclaimed Alethea, her voice so tense, so vibrant, so charged\nwith anguish, that, low as it was, it thrilled the stillness as a shriek\nmight hardly do, \u201cwhat hev Reuben done?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, \u2018Reuben,\u2019 ez ye calls him,\u201d cried the other, sitting upright on the\nbench of the loom, her dark eyes flashing and dry,\u2014\u201cyer fine Reuben tore\ndown old Griff\u2019s mill, an\u2019 drownded his nevy, Tad, an\u2019 war put in jail,\nan\u2019 air goin\u2019 ter be tried, an\u2019 hung, I reckon. That\u2019s what \u2018Reuben\u2019\ndone! He\u2019s Mink by name an\u2019 Mink by natur\u2019\u2014an\u2019 oh! I wish I hed never\nseen him.\u201d\n\nShe once more leaned on the loom behind her, and bowed her head on her\nhands.\n\n\u201cNo!\u2014no!\u201d cried Alethea. She caught her breath in quick gasps; for one\nmoment she seemed losing consciousness. The mountains in the background,\nthe faint stars in the sky, the shadowy roof, the swaying vines, the\nraccoon in their midst with his grotesque grin, were before her suddenly\nas if she had just awakened. She had sunk into a chair.\n\n\u201cYe kin call me a liar! So do!\u201d cried Elvira, lifting her head defiantly.\n\u201cBut he went hisself down ter the court-house an\u2019 told it hisself, an\u2019\nwanted ter gin his gun an\u2019 mare ef they\u2019d let him off.\u201d She laughed\u2014a\ndainty little laugh of scorn. \u201cThat\u2019s what he \u2019lowed the idjit war wuth.\nBut my dad \u2019lows ez the law sets store on the idjit\u2019s life same ez folks\nginerally.\u201d\n\nAlethea felt as if she were turning to stone. Was it her advice that had\nled him into danger? Was it her fatal insistence that he should see the\nright as it was revealed to her?\n\nShe sprang to her feet, the eager questions crowding to her lips.\n\n\u201cYe shet up, Lethe!\u201d said her step-mother, entertained by the unwonted\nspectacle of Elvira\u2019s dramatic grief, and not caring to hear again\nthe news of the tragedy already recited. As to Mink, he had only been\novertaken by the disasters which must have fallen upon him sooner or\nlater, and he was in many ways a good riddance. This phase was uppermost\nin her mind when she said, \u201cYe see now what gals git fur goin\u2019 agin thar\nelders\u2019 word. I\u2019ll be bound, Elviry, \u2019twarn\u2019t yer mother\u2019s ch\u2019ice fur ye\nter take Mink an\u2019 gin Pete Rood the go-by.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat it warn\u2019t!\u201d cried the repentant Elvira, with a gush of tears. \u201cI\nwish I hed bided by her word! I reckon I war born lackin\u2019! I hev been\nsech a fool!\u201d\n\nMrs. Sayles turned to look at Alethea and nod her head in triumphant\nconfirmation. Then she remarked consolingly, \u201cWaal, waal, I reckon ye kin\ntoll Pete Rood back.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dunno,\u201d sobbed Elvira. \u201cI met him yestiddy at the cross-roads in\nPiomingo Cove, an\u2019 he jes\u2019 turned his head aside an\u2019 walked by \u2019thout\nnare word. I wish\u2014oh, I wish I hed never seen that thar minkish Mink.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Mrs. Sayles, who was very human, and who, despite her\nsympathy for Elvira, had a rankling recollection of her taunt for\nAlethea\u2019s paucity of the material for \u201ckeeping company,\u201d \u201cI hopes\nLethe\u2019ll take warning\u2019, an\u2019 not fling away her good chance, fur the sake\no\u2019 the wuthless, like Mink an\u2019 sech.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho be her good chance?\u201d exclaimed Elvira, the jealousy nourished on\ngeneral principles checking her grief.\n\n\u201cShucks, child! ye purtendin\u2019 not ter know ez Ben Doaks hev mighty nigh\nwore out his knee-pans a-beggin\u2019 an\u2019 a-prayin\u2019 Lethe ter listen ter him!\u201d\n\nElvira was meeker after this, and presently rose to go.\n\n\u201cI hed ter kem arter dark, else I couldn\u2019t hev hed Sam an\u2019 the mare,\nbein\u2019 ez she hev been workin\u2019 in the field ter-day,\u201d she remarked.\n\nThere was the mare dozing at the gate, and Sam, a boy with singularly\nlong legs and arms, looking something like an insect of the genus\n_Tipula_, was waiting too. She mounted behind him, and together they rode\noff in the moonlight, taking their way over the nearest ridge, and so out\nof sight.\n\n\u201cWaal, waal, sir!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Sayles, as she reseated herself on the\nporch, with her knitting in her hand, \u201cthat thar Mink Lorey never hed\nno jedgmint no-ways. He couldn\u2019t hev tuk ch\u2019ice of a wuss time ter git\nfetched up afore a court \u2019n jes\u2019 now. Squair White tole me ez our Jedge\nAverill hev agreed ter exchange with Jedge Gwinnan from over yander in\nKildeer County nex\u2019 term, ez he can\u2019t try his cases, bein\u2019 kin ter them\nez air lawing. So Gwinnan will hold court in Shaftesville nex\u2019 term. I\u2019d\nhate mightily fur sech a onsartin, onexpected critter ez him ter hev enny\nsay-so \u2019bout me or mine. But shucks! Men folks ennyhow,\u201d she continued,\ndiscursively, her needles swiftly moving, as if they were endowed with\nindependent volition, and needed no supervision, \u201cair freakish, an\u2019\nfractious, an\u2019 sot in thar way, an\u2019 gin ter cur\u2019ous cavortin\u2019. It never\ns\u2019prised me none ez arter the Lord made man he turned in an\u2019 made woman,\nthe fust job bein\u2019 sech a failure.\u201d\n\nThere was a pause. The regular metre of the katydid\u2019s song pulsed in\nthe interval. The dewdrops glimmered on the chickweed by the porch. The\nfragrance of mint and ferns was on the air, and the smell of the dark\norchard. Now and then an abrupt thud told that a great Indian peach had\nreached the measure of ripeness and had fallen. Through the open window\nand door the moonlight lay in glittering rhomboids on the puncheon floor.\nAll the interior was illuminated, and the grotesque figure of the pet\ncub was distinctly visible to Jacob Jessup, who was lounging on the\nporch without, as the creature stole across the floor, and rose upon\nhis hind legs to reach the pine table. As he thrust his scooping claw\ninto the bread trough,\u2014the long, shallow, wooden bowl in which batter\nfor corn-dodgers was mixed,\u2014he turned his cautious head to make sure he\nwas unobserved, and his cunning, twinkling eyes met Jessup\u2019s. Somehow\nthe sudden consciousness of the creature, his nervous haste to be off,\nappealed to Jessup\u2019s lenient mood. He listened to the scuttling claws on\nthe puncheon floor as the beast hurried out of the back door, and while\nhe debated whether or not he should play informer, his wife, sitting on\nthe doorstep with the baby in her arms, asked suddenly,\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2019Pears like ye air sorter sot agin this Jedge Gwinnan, mother. I never\nhearn afore ez ye knowed him whenst ye lived in Kildeer County. What\nsorter man be he?\u201d\n\nMrs. Sayles wagged her head inside her sun-bonnet to intimate contempt.\n\n\u201cA young rooster, \u2019bout fryin\u2019 size,\u201d she said, laughing sneeringly, the\nscorn accented by her depopulated gums. It seemed very forlorn to be\nlaughed at like that.\n\n\u201cWaal, a man can\u2019t be \u2019lected jedge till he\u2019s thirty,\u201d said Jessup,\nconsciously imparting information. \u201cHe\u2019s been on the bench right smart\ntime, too.\u201d\n\nMrs. Sayles looked at him over her spectacles, still knitting, as if her\nindustry were a disconnected function.\n\n\u201cWhat air thirty?\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal\u201d\u2014began Jessup, argumentatively, puffing at his cob pipe. Thirty\nseemed to him a mature age. And the constitution of the State evidently\npresumes folly to be permanent if it is not in some sort exorcised before\nreaching that stage of manhood. He did not continue, however, seeing that\nthirty was held to be very young by Mrs. Sayles, who, to judge from her\nwrinkles, might be some four or five hundred.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t \u2019quainted with the man myself,\u201d she went on presently, \u201can\u2019\nwhat\u2019s more I ain\u2019t wantin\u2019 ter be. But,\u201d impressively, \u201cI know a woman\nez knowed that man\u2019s mother whenst he war a baby. She \u2019lowed he war a\npowerful cantankerous infant, ailin\u2019 an\u2019 hollerin\u2019 all night an\u2019 mighty\nnigh all day; couldn\u2019t make up his mind ter die, an\u2019 yit warn\u2019t willin\u2019\nter take the trouble ter live.\u201d\n\nJessup felt it a certain injustice that the nocturnal rampages of infancy\nshould be as rancorously animadverted upon as the late hours of a larger\ngrowth.\n\n\u201cWaal, Jedge Gwinnan is powerful pop\u2019lar now\u2019days,\u201d he urged. \u201cHe made a\nmighty fine race when he war \u2019lected.\u201d\n\n\u201cShucks! ye can\u2019t tell me nuthin\u2019!\u201d said his mother, self-sufficiently.\n\u201cI know all \u2019bout him, an\u2019 Jedge Burns too, ez war on the bench afore\nJeemes Gwinnan. Whenst I war a widder-woman an\u2019 lived in Kildeer\nCounty we-uns useter hev Jedge Burns on the circuit. He war a settled,\nmiddle-aged man \u2019bout fifty, an\u2019 the law war upheld, an\u2019 things went\neasy, an\u2019 he war \u2019lected time arter time, till one year they all turned\ncrazy \u2019bout this hyar feller, ez war run by his party through fools bein\u2019\nsca\u2019ce, I s\u2019pose. Jeemes war \u2019lected. I tell ye I know all \u2019bout him.\nHe war born right yander nigh Colbury, an\u2019 I know a woman ez useter be\nmighty friendly with his mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat fambly in Colbury did he marry inter?\u201d asked her daughter-in-law,\nmore interested in items of personal history than in his judicial record.\n\n\u201cBless yer soul, he air a single man. His heart air set on hisself.\nHe wouldn\u2019t marry no gal \u2019thout she hed some sorter office she could\n\u2019lect him ter, ez be higher\u2019n jedge. He be plumb eat up with scufflin\u2019\nan\u2019 tryin\u2019 ter git up in the world higher\u2019n the Lord hev set him, an\u2019\n\u2019tain\u2019t religion; that \u2019tain\u2019t. He minds me o\u2019 Lucifer. He\u2019ll fall some\nday. Not out o\u2019 heaven, mebbe, \u2019kase he ain\u2019t never goin\u2019 ter git thar,\nbut leastwise out\u2019n his circuit. Somebody\u2019ll top him off, an\u2019 mebbe I\u2019ll\nlive ter see the day. I dunno, though, I\u2014Laws-a-massy!\u201d she exclaimed,\nso suddenly that both her listeners started, \u201clook-a-yander at that thar\nperverted tur-r-key hen an\u2019 her delikit deedies, ez air too leetle ter\nroost! She\u2019s a-hoverin\u2019 of \u2019em in that thar tall grass, wet with the dew,\nan\u2019 it\u2019ll be the death o\u2019 \u2019em! Whyn\u2019t Lethe tend ter \u2019em when she kem up\nfrom milkin\u2019? Lethe! Lethe! Whar\u2019s that gal disappeared ter?\u201d\n\nWith the vagrant instinct of the wild fowl still strong in the\ndomesticated turkey, she had distrusted the hen-house, and because of her\nbrood she was prevented from roosting high up in the old dead tree.\n\nThere was no answer to Mrs. Sayles\u2019s call. The daughter-in-law made a\nfeint of busily rocking the baby, and after a doubtful glance at her\nMrs. Sayles got up briskly, putting her knitting-needles into her ball\nof yarn, and thrusting them both into her deep pocket. She clutched\nher bonnet further forward on her head, took up a splint basket, and\npresently there arose a piping sound among the weeds, as she darted\nthis way and that in the moonlight with uncanny agility, catching the\ndeedies one by one and transferring them to her basket. The turkey hen,\nher long neck stretched, her wings outspread, ran wildly about, now and\nthen turning and showing irresolute, futile fight for a moment, and again\nstriving to elude the whole misfortune with her long, ungainly strides.\nWhen Mrs. Sayles in triumph unbent her back for the last time and started\ntoward the house, the fluttered mother following, clamoring hysterically,\nshe exclaimed:\n\n\u201cWhar _be_ that thar triflin\u2019 Lethe?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Pears like ter me ez I hearn Lethe go up the ladder ter the roof-room a\nconsider\u2019ble while ago,\u201d said the old man slowly, speaking for the first\ntime during the evening.\n\nOnce more Mrs. Sayles paused irresolute.\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy, then, ef the gal\u2019s asleep I reckon I mought ez well put\nthe tur-r-key an\u2019 deedies inter the hen-house myse\u2019f; but \u2019pears ter me\nthe young folks does nuthin\u2019 nowadays but doze.\u201d\n\nShe took a step further, then suddenly bethought herself. \u201cHyar, Jacob,\u201d\nshe said to her son, handing him the basket, \u201cmake yerse\u2019f nimble. I\nreckon ye hev got sense enough ter shet that thar tur-r-key an\u2019 deedies\nup in the hen-house. Leastwise I\u2019ll resk it.\u201d\n\nSleep was far from Alethea that night. For hours she sat at the roof-room\nwindow, looking out with wide, unseeing eyes at the splendid night. And\nso she had given her counsel freely in the full consciousness of right,\nand the man she loved had done her bidding. What misery she had wrought!\nShe winced to know how his thoughts must upbraid her. She remembered his\npetulant taunts, his likening her to the Herder on Thunderhead, whose\nglance blights those on whom he looks; and she wondered vaguely if the\nharnt knew the woe it was his fate to wreak, and if it were grief to him\nas he rode in the clouds on the great cloud-mountain.\n\n\u201cI reckon I know how he feels,\u201d she said.\n\nAn isolated star blazing in the vast solitudes of the sky above the peak\nof Thunderhead burst suddenly into a dazzling constellation before her\neyes, for she felt the hot tears dropping down one by one on her hand.\n\nAlas, Alethea! one needs to be strong to attain martyrdom for the sacred\nsake of the right.\n\nHer tears wore out the night, but when the sun rose she was fain to dry\nthem.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nThe site of the old mill continued the scene of many curious groups long\nafter all efforts for the recovery of the body had ceased. The river was\ndragged no more, and hope was relinquished. There had never been any\nstrong expectation of success. The stream was abnormally high considering\nthe season of the year, and running with great impetuosity. Though with\nthe aggregations of its tributaries swollen by the late rains it had the\nvolume of a river, it retained all the capricious traits of the mountain\ntorrent which it had been. It was full of swirling rapids, of whirlpools,\nof sudden cataracts. Its bed was treacherous with quicksands and rugged\nwith bowlders. Hitched to the miller\u2019s orchard fence were rows of horses,\ndozing under their old Mexican saddles or the lighter weight of a ragged\nblanket or a folded quilt; teams of oxen stood yoked under the trees of\nthe open space beyond; children and dogs sat on the roots or lay in the\ngrass, while the heavy, jeans-clad figures of the mountaineers explored\nthe banks as they chewed their quids with renewed vigor, and droned the\ngossip in drawling voices.\n\nThe same faces were seen day after day,\u2014often enough to excite no\nparticular remark that, whoever came or was absent, Peter Rood was here\nwith the dawn, and night found him still strolling along the banks,\nlooking upon the swollen floods with gloomy, insistent dark eyes, as\nif he were seeking to read in the writhing lines of the current the\ninscrutable secret of the Scolacutta River. Sometimes, with his hands\nin his pockets, his lowering face shadowed by his broad hat, he would\nsilently listen to the speculations of those who found solace for the\nfutility of the undertaking in the enlarged conjectural field which\nfailure afforded, discussing the relative probabilities whether the body\nhad floated down to the Tennessee River, or whether it had been engulfed\nby the quicksands and buried forever, or caught among the rocks of the\njagged bank and wedged in, to be found some day\u2014a ghastly skeleton\u2014by a\nterrified boy, fishing or wading at low water.\n\nIt was only when these bootless surmises had palled at last, through many\nrepetitions and lack of further developments, that the ruins of the old\nmill asserted an interest. There seemed a strange hush on the landscape,\nhere where the wheel would whir no more. A few timbers scattered about,\na rotten old stump that had served as part of the foundation, the hopper\nwashed up by the waters, several of the posts which had upheld the race,\nwere all that was left of the old mill, so long the salient feature of\nthe place that more than one mountaineer was beset with bewilderment\nat the sight,\u2014the recollection of the oblique line of the roof against\nthe mountain, the open door, the reflections in the water, having more\nreality than the bereft bank of the river.\n\nAnd now the old miller\u2014seeming older than before\u2014was wont to come\ntottering out with his stick, the gay sunshine on his long, white hair,\nand sit on the broken timbers, forlorn amidst the ruins of his poverty.\nAt first his appearance created renewed excitement, and his old customers\nand friends pressed up to speak to him and hear what he would say,\nfeeling a certain desire to mark the moral phenomena of loss and the fine\nprocesses of grief. But he held his clasped hands upon the stick, and\nsilently shook his bowed gray head in his ragged old hat.\n\n\u201cI reckon ye\u2019d better leave him alone,\u201d his pretty granddaughter said;\nfor she always accompanied him, and stood, as radiant as youth may\never be, twirling the end of her tattered apron between her fingers,\nher tangled yellow hair, like skeins of sunshine, hanging down on\nher shoulders, and her blue, undismayed eyes looking with a shallow\nindifference upon the scene. It was replete with interest and curiosity,\nnot to say awe, to the little four-year-old sister who hung upon her\nskirts, or thrust a tow head from behind her grandfather. Sometimes her\nlips were wreathed with a smile as she saw some child in the crowd, but\nif the demonstration were returned she straightway hid her head in the\nold man\u2019s sleeve and for a while looked out no more.\n\nOnce old Griff spoke suddenly. \u201c\u2019Gustus Tom,\u201d for his favorite kept\nbeside him, \u201cye wouldn\u2019t treat nobody mean, would ye?\u201d\n\n\u201cWould ef they treated me mean,\u201d said \u2019Gustus Tom, with an unequivocal\nnod, which intimated that his code of ethics recognized retribution.\n\u201c\u2019Thout,\u201d he qualified, \u201c\u2019twar sister Eudory thar,\u201d\u2014he glanced at the\nlittle girl,\u2014\u201cI\u2019d gin \u2019em ez good ez they sent.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t religion, \u2019Gustus Tom,\u2014\u2019tain\u2019t religion,\u201d said the old man\nbrokenly. \u2019Gustus Tom, with his fragment of hat on the side of his tow\nhead, hardly looked as if he cared.\n\nA grizzled old mountaineer in jeans, with a stern, square face and a\ndeep-set eye, that was lighted suddenly, spoke abruptly in a sepulchral\nvoice.\n\n\u201cYe oughter go ter camp, Brother Griff,\u201d he said in a religious\ntwang,\u2014\u201cye oughter go ter camp, an\u2019 tell yer \u2019speriunce! Ye hev lived\nlong. Ye hev wrastled with the devil. Ye hev seen joy, ye hev knowed\nsorrow, ye hev fund grace. Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Ye air full o\u2019 \u2019speriunce,\nbrother, an\u2019 ye oughter go ter camp an\u2019 comfort yerse\u2019f, an\u2019 sing, an\u2019\npray.\u201d\n\n\u201cI pray no mo\u2019,\u201d said the old man, lifting his aged, piteous face.\n\u201cI\u2019m \u2019feared the Lord mought hear me an\u2019 answer my prayer.\u201d He smote\nhis breast. \u201cI ain\u2019t keerin\u2019 fur the mill. I ain\u2019t keerin\u2019 for the\nchill\u2019n,\u2014they\u2019ll make out somehows. But ef my prayers could take back\nevery word o\u2019 wrath I ever spoke ter the idjit, every lick I struck him,\nI\u2019d weary the very throne o\u2019 grace. Ef I could git him back an\u2019 begin\nover\u2014but I can\u2019t! An\u2019 I won\u2019t pray fur myself, fur the Lord mought hear\nme. An\u2019 I want ter remember every one o\u2019 them words an\u2019 every lick, an\u2019\npay back fur \u2019em, wropped in the flames o\u2019 Torment.\u201d\n\nHe got up and tottered away toward the house, followed by his\ngrandchildren, leaving the by-standers staring after him, strangely\nthrilled.\n\n\u201cWaal, I hopes they won\u2019t hear at the camp-meetin\u2019 o\u2019 his talkin\u2019\nsech ez that,\u201d remarked the elderly adviser in dismay. \u201cThey hev been\na-sermonizin\u2019 a good deal \u2019bout Tad\u2019s early death an\u2019 Mink Lorey\u2019s awful\ncrime, an\u2019 sech, ter them young sinners over yander ter camp, an\u2019 it\n\u2019peared ter be a-sorter skeerin\u2019 of \u2019em, a-sorter a-shooin\u2019 of \u2019em inter\nthe arms o\u2019 grace. An\u2019 I hopes none o\u2019 \u2019em will hear \u2019bout the old man\na-repentin\u2019 an\u2019 wantin\u2019 ter burn, an\u2019 sech, fur the boy\u2019s hevin\u2019 been\nc\u2019rected by his elders; they air perverted enough now agin them ez hev\nauthority over \u2019em.\u201d\n\n\u201cOld Griff would change his mind \u2019bout burnin\u2019 ef he seen the fire one\ntime,\u201d said another, winking seriously, as if he spoke from pyrotechnic\nexperience. Then with a sudden change of tone, \u201cWhat ails Pete Rood?\u201d\n\nFor Rood was leaning against a tree, his swarthy face overspread with a\nsallow paleness, his lips blue, his eyes half closed, his hand clutching\nat his heart.\n\nHe said it was nothing much; he had been \u201ctuk\u201d this way often before; he\nwould be better presently. Indeed, he was shortly able to walk down to\nthe bank of the river, and sit and listen to the surmises of a half dozen\nidle fellows, lying in the grass, as to the drowning of Tad and the fate\nof Mink, and the terrible illustrations that both had furnished in the\nsermons at the camp-meeting in Eskaqua Cove.\n\nAnd when he left them at last it was to the camp-meeting he went.\n\nThe afternoon brought a change in the weather. Rood noted it as he\nrode his raw-boned horse over the ranges and down the red clay roads\ninto Eskaqua Cove. Clouds had gathered, obscuring the sun. There were\nno shadows, no gradations of light, no point of brilliant climax.\nThe foliage was heavy masses of solid color. Only in certain plumy\nsilver-green boughs lurked a subdued glister, some luculent enchantment;\nfor if ever the moonlight were enmeshed by a tree it is in the branches\nof the white pine.\n\nSilence had fallen, as if the source of light were also source of sound.\nThere was wind in the upper atmosphere, but no breath stirred the leaves.\nTwilight had sunk upon the cove before he turned off into a road leading\nup a wooded hill. In the dusk, sundry equine figures loomed up. The head\nof a horse was clearly defined against a patch of the pale sky, and a\nshrill neigh jarred the quiet. There were wagons, too, under the trees,\nempty, the teams unharnessed, and the poles lying on the ground. A dim\nlight, deeply yellow, shone among the boles of the trees further on, a\nlittle misty, because already large drops were falling. All unmindful of\nthe rain, a row of young men and half-grown boys perched on a rail fence\nin crouching attitudes, not unlike gigantic roosting fowls. Now and then\na subdued, drawling voice sounded from among them, and a smothered laugh\nwas attestation of callow humanity. They were not devoid of interest in\nthe proceedings of the camp-meeting, but it was in the impersonal quality\nof spectator, and they held aloof from the tabernacle as if they had no\nsouls to be saved. They turned to look down at Rood as he dismounted and\nhitched his horse, and he heard his own name passed along the row, it\nbeing a self-constituted register of all who came and went. The little\ngate dragged and creaked on its hinges, and resisted as if it grudged\nthe spiritual opportunities to which it gave access, and desired to\npoint the fact that salvation was not easy to come by. As it yielded\nand Rood entered the inclosure there were more yellow lights showing\nwith misty halos in the olive-green dusk. They came from the doors of a\nrow of shanties, floorless and windowless, which served as quarters for\nthe crowd at night. There was a great flaring flame in the rear of each\ncabin, with leaping red tongues, surrounded by busy, hovering figures\nthat cast huge distorted shadows against the encompassing foliage, as\nif some uncanny phenomenal beings were stalking a solemn round among\nthe trees. These fires had uncomfortable spiritual suggestions. But\nthey issued merely from the kitchens, the most cheerful things at camp,\nand here saint and sinner were equally heartily represented. Supper was\nover, however. The hymn rising even now from the tabernacle was far from\ncheerful: one of the long-drawn, melancholy songs, with wild, thrilling\nswells and sudden falls and monotonous recitative passages, sometimes\nbreaking into a strange, ecstatic chant. The serried vertical lines of\nrain seemed to vibrate with it like the strings of a harp. Far away\nthe thunder rolled in its pauses. More than once the sudden lightning\nillumined the grounds with a ghastly gleam, and the rhythmic solemn song\nwent on like a part of the storm. It was a grave assemblage under the\ngreat roof of the rude structure, shown in the dim light of six or eight\nkerosene lamps fixed against the posts. At one end was a platform with\na bench, on which sat some five or six of the preachers participating\nin the exercises. Brother Jethro Sims, a hoary-headed patriarch, was\nwalking slowly up and down the main aisle, clapping his hands and singing\nwith a look of ecstasy in his upturned eyes which a sophisticated\nreligionist might vainly wonder at, finding that his superior attainments\nand advanced theories had bereft him of the power to even comprehend\nsuch faith, such piously prescient joys. The ground was covered with\na deep layer of straw, deadening the stir among the rows of benches.\nMany of these, having no backs, served to acquaint their occupants with\nmartyrdom and to offer a premium to the naturally upright. There were\nnumbers of little children present, for as yet the lenient rule of the\nmountain churches tolerates their babble and even their crying in reason.\nHere and there one of the humbly clad young women, with her sleeping\ninfant in her arms, the yellow light falling upon its head and on her\nsolemn, listening, almost holy face, might remind one of another peasant\nmother whose Child is the hope of the world. The extreme seriousness,\nthe devout aspiration, the sublimity of the unquestioning faith, that\nanimated the meeting, could annul ignorance, poverty, uncouthness.\n\nThere were many canine figures on the outskirts of the crowd, now and\nthen peering with wolfish green eyes and weird effect from the darkness\namong the laurel, which was beginning to sway and sound with the wind.\nThose in the full light, standing even beneath the roof and, with lolling\ntongue and wagging tail, looking upon the proceedings, seemed peculiarly\nidle here and to incur the imputation of loafers, despite that they\nare never very busy elsewhere. Others were more selfishly employed,\ncreeping about under the benches and among the feet of the congregation,\nsearching in the straw for the bits of bread and meat thrown aside by the\nfrequenters of the meeting who did not camp on the grounds, but brought\ntheir lunch for the midday, and went home at night. One little dapper\nyellow dog had bounded on the end of the mourners\u2019 bench, and sat there,\ngravely gazing about him with small, affable eyes, all unnoticed by the\nelders, but threatening the gravity of an urchin, who grinned and coughed\nto hide the grin, breaking out with a wild, uncontrollable vocalization,\nrelic of the whooping-cough, not long over-past. He was finally motioned\nout of the tabernacle, and scudded across in the rain to the shanty,\nwhile the little dog sat demure and unmolested on the mourners\u2019 bench.\n\nLarger sinners were gathering there presently, albeit slowly.\n\n\u201cCome! come!\u201d cried the old man sonorously over the singing. \u201cDelay not!\nMy brethren, I hev never seen a meetin\u2019 whar the devil held sech a strong\nhold! Come! Hell yawns fur ye! Come! Yer time is short! Grace beckons!\nCome! The fires o\u2019 perdition air kindled! The flames air red!\u201d\n\nAnd as his voice broke forth once more in the chanting, the thunder\nrolled as a repetition of his summons, the lightning glared, all the\nmountains became visible over the woods of the abrupt declivity toward\nthe east; and higher still above the summits was revealed a vast\ncloud-vista in the midst of the black night, vividly white, full of\nsilent surging motion, with strange suggestions of bending forms, of an\nawful glister at the vanishing point,\u2014darkness enveloped it, and once\nmore the thunder pealed.\n\nAs the gathering storm burst, the monotonously chanting voices seemed\nkeyed to an awed undertone, lisping with this mighty psalm of nature,\u2014the\nthunder and its echo in the mountains, the tumultuous cry of the wind,\nand the persistent iteration of the rain. In the intervals of its\nsplendid periods, one might feel it a relief to hear the water timidly\nsplashing in the little ditches that served to drain the ground on either\nside of the tabernacle, and the continual whisper in the pines above the\nprimitive structure. Here and there two or three boughs hung down further\nthan the rest, fringing the eaves. Ben Doaks noted, when the lightning\nflared again, that just between them the distant peak of Thunderhead\nloomed dimly visible,\u2014or was it a cloud? Strain his eyes as he might, he\ncould hardly say.\n\nFor Ben Doaks was there, the first to respond to the earnest exhortations\nto the sinners to come forward. He had a shamefaced look as he shambled\nup and took his seat on the mourners\u2019 bench, while the little dog sat\nunnoticed at the other end. Doaks was quick, however, to observe that one\nof the preachers eyed him sharply, and spoke to another, who shook his\nhead with a gesture indeed of negation, but an expression of reluctant\naffirmation, and he felt sure that they recognized how often he had sat\nthere, and that they were saying to each other that it was of no use,\u2014he\nwas evidently rejected by grace.\n\nNow and then low voices sounded in the midst of the singing,\u2014the\nChristians urging those convicted of sin to go up and be prayed for.\nOthers came forward. There was more stir than before; a vivid curiosity\nwas on many faces turning about to see who was going up, who was\nresisting entreaty, who ought to be convicted of sin, being admirably\nsupplied with obliquity of which to repent.\n\nPete Rood sat, his black eyes on the ground, intent, brooding, deeply\ngrave. Elvira Crosby thought at first that he affected to overlook her.\nThen, with a sinking of the heart, she realized that indeed he did\nnot see her. The tears welled up to her eyes. The past was not to be\nrecalled. When was he ever before unaware of her presence? He had been\nso eager, so devoted, so unlike the capricious lover for whom she had\nlightly flung him away. It was all over, though. She looked about her\nto divert her mind, to preserve her composure. She noted Mrs. Sayles in\nthe congregation, identifying her by her limp sun-bonnet. Mrs. Sayles\nhad long been saying that she intended to put splints in it some day\nwhen time favored her; but it still hung over her eyes, obscuring her\nvisage, except her mouth, as she sang, and she was an edifying spectacle\nof a disregard of earthly pomps and a lack of vain interest in baubles\nand bonnets. Alethea\u2019s face, like some fair flower half enfolded in its\nsheath, was visible in the funnel-shaped depths of her own brown bonnet,\nwith a glistening suggestion of her gold hair on her forehead, and one\nescaped tress hanging down beneath the curtain on her dark brown homespun\ndress. She did not sing, and she looked downcast.\n\nIn the aisle between the two benches reserved for the mourners the\nbrethren were crowding, talking individually to the contrite sinners,\nsometimes with such effect that sobs and tears broke forth; and then\nthe hymn was renewed, with the rhythmic sound of the clapping of hands,\nwhile the thunder crashed and the forked lightnings darted through\nthe sky. The lurid scenic effects added their impressiveness to the\nterrible word-painting of another preacher, who was less interesting\nthough not less efficient than that gentle old man, Brother Jethro Sims.\nHe described hell with an accurate knowledge of its topography, its\n_personnel_, and its customs, which was a triumph of imagination, and\nmade one feel that he had surely been there. A young woman suddenly\nbroke into wild screams, shouting that she had found her salvation, and\nclapping her hands, and crying, \u201cGlory!\u201d finally fainting, and being\nborne out into the rain.\n\nIn the aisles they all often knelt, praying aloud in turns: sometimes,\nthe voice of one failing in a whispered Amen! another would cry out\ninsistently, \u201cLet us continue the supplication!\u201d And once more the prayer\nwould go up.\n\nThere were no more conversions. Over and again the brethren announced\nin pious dudgeon that it was a stubborn meeting, and hell gaped for the\nsinner. It was evidence of the sincerity of the mourners, and their\nanxiety not to deceive themselves and others, that they could thus resist\nthe urgency of the impassioned appeals, that with quivering nerves they\ncould still withhold all demonstrations of yielding until the spirit\nshould descend upon them.\n\nPresently persons who desired the prayers of the congregation were\nrequested to rise and make known their wish. It might be feared that some\nof the compliances did not tend to preserve domestic harmony. One woman\nasked prayers for her husband, whose heart, she stated, was not in his\nreligion, and the defiant contradiction expressed in the face of a man\nseated beside her suggested that she had thus publicly made reprisal for\nsundry conjugal differences. Nevertheless, old Brother Sims said, \u201cAmen!\u201d\nMrs. Sayles rose and begged prayers for the \u201cheadin\u2019 young folks o\u2019 the\nkentry, that they\u2019d be guided by thar elders, an\u2019 not trest thar own\ngreen jedgmints, an\u2019 finally be led ter grace.\u201d And all the old people\nsaid, heartily, \u201cAmen!\u201d Many turned to look at Alethea, whose face had\nbecome a delicate pink.\n\nAnd suddenly Peter Rood rose. \u201cI want the prayers o\u2019 the godly,\u201d he said,\nnow and then casting a hasty glance at Brother Sims, who stood listening\nintently, his chin in the air, his hands arrested in the gesture of\nclapping, \u201cfur light ter my steps. I reckon I\u2019m a backslider, fur I git\nno light when I pray. It\u2019s all dark,\u2014mighty dark!\u201d His voice trembled.\nHe was beginning to lose his self-control. \u201cMy actions tarrify me! I\n\u2019lowed wunst I hed fund grace, but in trouble I hev no helper.\u201d\n\nThe lightnings flashed once more. The swift illumination seemed to blanch\nhis swarthy face, and lighted his uplifted black eyes with a transient\ngleam. \u201cI\u2019m in sin an\u2019 great mis\u2019ry. I hev done wrong.\u201d He was about to\nsit down.\n\n\u201cMake reparation, brother, an\u2019 free yer soul in prayer,\u201d said the old man.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t!\u201d he cried, shrilly. \u201cI\u2019m \u2019feard! I\u2019m \u2019feard o\u2019 my life. I\nwouldn\u2019t hev done sech \u2019ceptin\u2019 I war drunk,\u2014drunk with liquor an\u2019 drunk\nwith spite.\u201d\n\nHe felt that he was saying too much. He sat down, biting his lip till the\nblood started. Then he rose and faltered, \u201cI want yer prayers fur light.\u201d\n\n\u201cAmen!\u201d said Brother Sims.\n\nRood had recovered himself abruptly. He was looking about with furtive\nsharpness through the congregation, seeking to gauge the effect of what\nhe had said when under the strong spell of religious excitement that\nhad swayed the crowd. Fearful as he was, he detected only curiosity,\ninterest, nothing more marked; for in the rhetoric of frenzied repentance\nthese good men often apply to themselves language that seriously\nentertained could only grace an indictment.\n\nThe rain had ceased; the quiet without seemed to conduce to a calmer\nspirit within. The fervor of the meeting had spent itself. Only a few of\nthe brethren were \u201cworkin\u2019\u201d with Ben Doaks; his face was troubled and\nperplexed, his anxious eyes turned from one to another.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t ye feel ye air jes\u2019 a wuthless worm a-crawlin\u2019 round the throne o\u2019\ngrace? Can\u2019t ye feel that only mercy kin save ye?\u2014fur ye richly desarve\ndamnation.\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy, naw,\u201d said poor, candid Ben, greatly harried. \u201cI think\nmighty well o\u2019 myself!\u201d\n\nAnd so they left him in his sins. The crowd was breaking up, chiefly\nseeking their several camps, as the shanties were called. But a few had\ncome merely to participate in the exercises of the evening, and these\nwere busy in harnessing their horses or yoking their oxen into their\nwagons on the hillside without the inclosure. The declivity was veined\nwith rivulets, into which the heavy feet of the men and beasts splashed;\nthe leaves continuously dripped; frogs were croaking near at hand in\nthe sombre woods,\u2014not so dark now, for the melancholy waning moon shone\namong the breaking clouds. The rumble of wheels presently intruded upon\nthe low-toned conversation, the burden of which was the meeting and\nreminiscent comparison with other meetings. Several of the boys, not\nburdened with immortality, took leave less decorously, whooping loudly at\neach other as they galloped past the vehicles, and were soon out of sight\nand hearing.\n\nThe red clay road was presently lonely enough as Alethea trudged along\nit. There was no room for her in the little wagon which Buck drew in\nsingle harness, as might be called the ropes by which the ox, fastened\nbetween the shafts, was made to dispense with a yoke-fellow. A rope tied\nto his horn was intended to guide him along any intricacies of the road\nwith which he might not be acquainted. Mrs. Sayles, her daughter-in-law,\nand several of the children were seated in the wagon, and sometimes\nAlethea walked in advance, and sometimes fell into the rear. It was no\ngreat distance that they were to travel,\u2014their destination being her\naunt\u2019s house in Eskaqua Cove, where they were to spend the night before\nwagoning up the Great Smoky.\n\nAlethea was beset with her own unquiet thoughts; the remorse that would\nnot loose its hold; the strange wrong which the right had wrought. Her\nconscience, forever on the alert\u2014serving, if need were, as proxy\u2014could\nfind no flaw in what she had counseled; and thus perverse fate, in\nthe radiant guise of rectitude, had led Reuben Lorey to despair, and\ndelivered her to grief.\n\nShe hardly noted the incidents of the wayside,\u2014the foot-bridge over\nthe creek; the stars amongst the ripples; the sound of the insects; the\nzigzag fences on either hand; the mists that lurked among the trees,\nthat paced the turn-rows of the corn-fields, that caught the moonbeams,\nand glittered against the dark mountain side. It was another gleam that\nstruck her attention; she looked again,\u2014the slant of the rays against the\nwindows of a little school-house. There was a deep impression of silence\nupon it, vacant in the night, dark but for the moonbeams. The pines that\noverhung it were sombre and still. The vapors shifted about it, fringing\neven the rotten palings that inclosed it. Her feet had followed her gaze.\nShe was near the edge of the narrow road, as she paused to wait for Buck\nand the wagon to come up. She heard nothing as she listened. She said to\nherself that she must be a long way ahead. She was sensible of fatigue\npresently; the excitements of the evening were superimposed on the work\nof the day. She leaned against the tottering fence. Her bonnet had fallen\nback on her shoulders; she rested her head on her hand, her elbows on\nthe low palings. She might have dreamed for a moment. Suddenly something\ntouched her. She turned her head quickly; her shriek seemed to pierce the\nsky, for there in the inclosure,\u2014did she see aright?\u2014the idiot\u2019s face!\nwhite with a responsive terror upon it, vanishing in the mist. Or was it\nthe mist? Did she hear the quick thud of retreating footsteps, or was it\nthe throbs of her own plunging heart? As she turned, wildly throwing up\nboth arms, she beheld Buck and the wagon on the crest of the hill, with\nthe worshipers from the camp-meeting, and the sight restored to her more\nmundane considerations.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\n\nIn those long days while Mink languished in jail, he wondered how the\nworld could wag on without him. He hungered with acute pangs for the\nmountains; he pined for the sun and the wind. Sometimes he stood for\nhours at the window, straining for a breath of air. Then the barred\naspect of the narrow scene outside of the grating maddened him, and he\nwould fling himself upon his bed; and it would seem to him that he could\nnever rise again.\n\nHe speculated upon Alethea with a virulence of rage which almost\nfrightened him,\u2014whether she had heard of his arrest, how she had received\nthe news.\n\n\u201cMighty pious, I reckon,\u201d he sneered. \u201cI know ez well ez ef I hed seen\nher ez she be a-goin\u2019 \u2019round the kentry a-tellin\u2019 \u2019bout my wickedness,\nan\u2019 how she worried an\u2019 worked with me, an\u2019 couldn\u2019t git me shet o\u2019 my\nevil ways.\u201d\n\nHe thought of Elvira, too, with a certain melancholy relish of her\nfancied grief. His heart had softened toward her as his grudge against\nAlethea waxed hot. \u201c_She_ tuk it powerful hard, I know. I\u2019ll be bound it\nmighty nigh killed her,\u2014she set so much store by me. But I reckon her\nfolks air glad, bein\u2019 ez they never favored me.\u201d\n\nIt seemed to him, as he reflected on the probable sentiment of his\nfriends and neighbors, that he had lived in a wolfish community, ready\nwith cowardly cruelty to attack and mangle him since fortune had brought\nhim down.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m carrion now; I\u2019ll hev ter expec\u2019 the wolves an\u2019 buzzards,\u201d he said\nbitterly to his lawyer, as they canvassed together what witnesses they\nhad best summon to prove his general good character, and whom they should\nchallenge on the jury list. There was hardly a man of the number on whom\nMink had not played some grievous prank calculated to produce a rankling\ngrudge and foster prejudice. He recited these with a lugubrious gravity\nincongruous enough with the subject matter, that often elicited bursts of\nunwilling laughter from the perplexed counsel.\n\nThis was a bluff, florid man of forty, with a hearty, resonant voice, a\nlight blue eye, thick, yellow hair, which he wore cut straight across\nbeneath his ears, showing its density, and thrown back without parting\nfrom his forehead. When the locks fell forward, as they often did, he\ntossed them back with an impatient gesture. He had a long mustache and\nbeard. His lips were peculiarly red. Altogether he was a high-colored,\nnoisy, confident, blustering fellow, and he inspired Mink with great\nfaith.\n\n\u201cI done a better thing \u2019n I knowed of whenst I voted an\u2019 electioneered so\nbrash fur you-uns ez floater in the legislatur\u2019,\u201d said Mink one day, in a\nburst of hopefulness. When he had sent for the lawyer to defend him, he\nhad based his appeal for aid partly on his political services, and relied\non them to atone for any deficiency of fees.\n\n\u201cDo it again, Mink, early and often!\u201d And the floater\u2019s jolly laughter\nrang out, jarring against the walls of the bare room, which was, however,\nfar more cheerful for the sound.\n\nMink had found in the requirements of the approaching trial, urged upon\nhis attention by the lawyer, a certain respite from his mental anguish.\nBut in the midst of the night, griefs would beset him. In his dreams the\nhumble, foolish individuality of the idiot boy was invested with awe,\nwith a deep pathos, with a terrible dignity. It seemed often that he was\nawakened by the clutch of a hand to an imperative consciousness of the\ncrime of which he was accused, to a torturing uncertainty of his guilt\nor innocence. His conscience strove in vain to reckon with him.\n\n\u201cMebbe, though, the jury kin tell?\u201d he said one morning, piteously, to\nhis counsel, who had come cheerily in, to find him wild-eyed and haggard.\n\n\u201cA jury,\u201d said the lawyer sententiously, \u201cis the cussedness of one man\nmultiplied by twelve.\u201d\n\nHe had flung his somewhat portly bulk into a chair which creaked beneath\nhis weight, and he was looking at his client with calculating keenness.\nHe had supplemented a fair knowledge of the law with a theory of human\nmotives, deduced from his experience among men both as a politician\nand before the courts. In their less complex expressions he was quick\nto detect them. But he was devoid of intuition, of divination. His\ninstincts were blunt. His moral perceptions were good, but elementary.\nHis apprehension of crime was set forth in its entirety and in due detail\nby the code of Tennessee with the consequent penalty prescribed by the\nstatute. He recognized no wrong unpunishable by law. The exquisite\nanguish of a moral doubt, the deep, helpless, hopeless affliction\nof remorse, the keen, unassuaged pangs of irreparability,\u2014he had no\nspiritual sense to take cognizance of these immaterial issues. If Mink,\nescaping by his counsel\u2019s clever use of a technicality, should ever again\nthink of the miller, dream of the boy weltering in the river, wake with\nthe sound of that weird scream in his ears, Mr. Harshaw would wonder at\nhim as a fool. As to the bar of conscience, how could that vague essence\nassume all the functions of a court under the constitution?\n\nAnd still conning his simple alphabet of the intricate language of\nemotions, he interpreted the prisoner\u2019s wan cheek and restless eyes as\nthe expression of fear. This induced a secret irritation and an anxiety\nas to how he had best conduct the case, in view of his professional\nreputation. He had besought Mink in his own interests to be frank, and\nnow he was perplexed by doubts of his client\u2019s candor.\n\nIt required only a few moments\u2019 reflection to assure himself that he had\nbest assume, for the purposes of defense, the guilt of the prisoner until\nproved innocent. As he placed both hands on his knees he pursed up his\nlips confidentially, and with a quick sidelong glance he said,\u2014\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got some time, though, before we have to face \u2019em, Mink. We\u2019re\nentitled to one continuance, on account of the inflamed state of public\nsentiment.\u201d\n\nThe brooding, abstracted look passed suddenly from Mink\u2019s face, leaving\nit more recognizable with its wonted bright intentness.\n\n\u201cAir ye \u2019lowin\u2019 ye\u2019d put off the trial furder \u2019n the day be set fur, Mr.\nHarshaw?\u201d he asked, with the accents of dismay. \u201cFur Gawd\u2019s sake, don\u2019t\nlet \u2019em do that. I wouldn\u2019t bide hyar, all shet up\u201d\u2014his eyes turned from\nwall to wall with the baffled eagerness of a caged beast\u2014\u201cI wouldn\u2019t bide\nhyar a day longer \u2019n I\u2019m \u2019bleeged ter, not ter git shet o\u2019 damnation.\nLord A\u2019mighty, don\u2019t go a-shovin\u2019 the day off; hurry it up, ef ye kin. I\nwant ter kem ter trial an\u2019 git back ter the mountings. I feel ez ef I be\nbound ter go.\u201d\n\nThe lawyer still looked at him with his keen sidelong glances.\n\n\u201cThe jury stands \u2019twixt you and the mountains, Mink. Mightn\u2019t get out,\nafter all\u2019s said and done.\u201d\n\nMink looked at him with a sudden alarm in his dilated eyes, as if the\ncontingency had been all undreamed of.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019ll be bound ter let me out,\u201d he declared. \u201cI ain\u2019t feared o\u2019 the\njury.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you don\u2019t know what you did yourself, you can\u2019t expect them to be\nmuch smarter in finding it out,\u201d reasoned the lawyer.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t done nuthin\u2019 ter keep me jailed this hyar way,\u201d said Mink,\nhardily. \u201cI feel it in my bones I\u2019ll git out. I never try them bars,\u201d\nnodding at the window, \u201cbut what I looks fur \u2019em ter break in my hand.\u201d\n\n\u201cSee here,\u201d said the lawyer, sternly, \u201cyou let \u2018them bars\u2019 alone; you\nain\u2019t going ter do yourself any good breaking jail.\u201d\n\nHe looked down meditatively at his feet, and stamped one of them that his\ntrousers might slip further down over his boot-leg, which deported itself\nassertively and obtrusively, as if it were in the habit of being worn on\nthe outside.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he said reflectively, \u201cif you want to be tried speedily,\nbut what it\u2019s best, anyhow. We won\u2019t have Averill to preside; he\u2019s\nincompetent in a number of civil cases, and Jim Gwinnan will hold court.\nHe\u2019s a\u201d\u2014he pursed up his red lips again, and looked about with an air\nintimating a high degree of contempt; Mink hung upon his words with an\noppressive sense of helplessness and eagerness, that now and then found\nvent in an unconscious long-drawn sigh\u2014\u201cwell, he\u2019s a selfish, ambitious\nsort of fellow, and he\u2019s found out it\u2019s mighty popular to make a blow\nabout cleaning up the docket, and avoiding the law\u2019s delays, and trotting\nthe lawyers right through. He\u2019ll hold court till twelve o\u2019clock at night,\nand he just opposes, tooth and nail, every motion for delay. I reckon\nhe\u2019d make it look as if we were afraid to come to trial, if we wanted a\ncontinuance; so it\u2019s just as well, if you feel ready, for we mightn\u2019t get\nit, after all.\u201d\n\nMink experienced a new fear. \u201cAin\u2019t he a mighty bad kind of a jedge ter\nhev?\u201d he faltered, quaking before the mental vision of the man who held\nhis fate in the hollow of his hand.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Harshaw musingly, \u201che ain\u2019t a bad judge for us for this\nreason,\u2014though he\u2019s mighty apt to lean to public opinion, he\u2019s a sound\nlawyer, and he\u2019s mighty careful about his rulings. He don\u2019t get reversed\nby the S\u2019preme Court. That\u2019s what he sits on the bench for: not to\nadminister justice,\u2014he don\u2019t think about justice once a week,\u2014but to\nbe affirmed by the S\u2019preme Court. He\u2019s more particular than Averill in\nlittle things, and he won\u2019t let the attorney-general walk over him, like\nAverill does,\u2014sorter spunky.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hev seen the \u2019torney-gineral,\u2014hearn him speak wunst. They \u2019lowed he\nwar a fine speaker,\u201d submitted Mink, anxious concerning the untried,\nunmeasured forces about to be arrayed against him.\n\n\u201cMighty fine,\u201d said Harshaw, derisively. \u201cGot a beautiful voice\u2014for\ncalling hogs!\u201d\n\nHe laughed and rose. \u201cOh, bless my soul, I plumb forgot!\u201d he exclaimed.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a girl out here wanting to see you. Don\u2019t know but what she may\nbe your sweetheart;\u201d he winked jocosely. \u201cPerkins said she might come in\nif you want to see her. Looks like she\u2019s walked about forty mile,\u2014plumb\nbeat out.\u201d\n\nMink was flattered. Instantly he thought of Elvira, and he remembered the\njourney with his offering of the raccoon that fateful night.\n\n\u201cShe hev got dark hair an\u2019 eyes, an\u2019 air toler\u2019ble leetle ter be growed\nup?\u201d he asked. The remark was in the form of a question, but it was\nuttered with the conviction of certainty.\n\n\u201cLord, no! Sandy hair, big brown eyes, and tall, and\u201d\u2014\n\nHe paused, for Mink had risen suddenly.\n\n\u201cYe go tell her,\u201d he said, passionately, pointing at the door,\u2014\u201cgo\nstraight an\u2019 tell her ter keep in mind what I said bout\u2019n the harnt on\nThunderhead, an\u2019 how I \u2019lowed she favored him; ef she can\u2019t kill, she\nsp\u2019iles yer chance.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, look here, Mink,\u201d remonstrated the lawyer.\n\n\u201cGo \u2019long an\u2019 tell her!\u201d cried Mink, imperatively. \u201cTell her I want her\nter cl\u2019ar out from hyar. Tell her I can\u2019t breathe ef she\u2019s nigh.\u201d He\nclutched at his throat, tearing open his collar with both hands. \u201c\u2019Twar\nher ez brung me hyar. \u2019Twar her ez got me locked an\u2019 barred up. An\u2019 now I\ndon\u2019t want ter see her no mo\u2019 ez long ez I live. Gin her that word from\nme,\u2014an\u2019 the Herder on Thunderhead what she favors.\u201d\n\nThe lawyer, with a gesture of expostulation, left the cell, appreciating\nthat it was an unpleasant job to tell the travel-stained apparition at\nthe door that her journey was in vain.\n\nShe was sitting upon the doorstep, in the sunshine, her brown bonnet\nhanging half off her golden head; her homespun dress seemed dark upon the\nrough gray stone. She watched absently, with her serious brown eyes, the\ngauzy wings of a blue-bottle that droned slumberously by. She held with\nidle hands the yellow blossoms of the golden-rod that she had plucked by\nthe way. There was no passing in the street, hardly a sound; so still she\nsat that a lizard, basking in the sun, did not scruple to run across her\nmotionless feet. She had taken off her coarse shoes to ease them after\nher long walk, for they were swollen and bruised.\n\nShe looked up with a start when the lawyer stood in the door. \u201cNo, sis,\u201d\nhe said in a debonair fashion, glancing about the street. \u201cMink ain\u2019t in\na good humor to-day, and you can\u2019t see him.\u201d\n\nShe cast up to him her haggard eyes, full of appeal, of fear, of woe. He\nhad no intention of stabbing her with the cruel words of the message.\n\u201cYou can\u2019t see him to-day; some other day.\u201d He waved his hand with a\npromissory gesture, and was turning away.\n\nShe sprang up with a cry. \u201cThey hendered him! They wouldn\u2019t let him!\u201d she\nsaid, with quivering lips.\n\n\u201cYes, yes. They hindered him,\u201d he kindly prevaricated.\n\nHer eyes were suddenly all on fire. As he caught their gleam he\nhesitated, looking at her. Her cheeks were flushed. Her teeth were set.\nShe raised her clenched hand.\n\n\u201cHe lied ter me, that thar jailer. He \u2019lowed I mought see Reuben. He\nlied! he lied! I\u2019ll\u2014I\u2019ll\u201d\u2014She dropped her threatening hand. \u201cLord! Lord!\nwhat kin I do!\u201d\n\n\u201cLook here, girl,\u201d said the lawyer, alarmed at the idea of an indignant\ndemonstration on the part of any of his client\u2019s friends. \u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t the\njailer\u2019s fault. Mink said he wouldn\u2019t see you.\u201d\n\nShe stood as if stunned for a moment. Then, her confidence in Mink\nrebounding, \u201cI don\u2019t b\u2019lieve ye!\u201d she said, bluntly.\n\n\u201cWell, then, maybe you will when I tell you that he told me to ask you to\nclear out, and to remind you of the \u2018harnt\u2019 on Thunderhead that he said\nyou favored.\u201d\n\nShe shrank back as if he had struck her. He eyed her indignantly. \u201cI\nreckon you\u2019ll believe me now. Well, begone. We\u2019ve had enough of you.\u201d\n\nHe turned and walked off briskly. He heard the court-house bell jangling\nout its summons, for the chancery court was in session, and he quickened\nhis pace. He gave a start of irritation when he became aware that she was\nfollowing him. He turned and faced her.\n\n\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d he said, abruptly.\n\n\u201cI want ter tell ye su\u2019thin\u2019,\u201d she gasped. She leaned forward as if to\ntouch his arm. He moved suddenly back, and she almost fell. She showed no\nanger, but came a faltering pace nearer, with the same imploring gesture.\n\u201cI mus\u2019 tell ye suthin\u2019 \u2019bout Reuben, soon ez I git my breath,\u2014suthin\u2019\nye\u2019d never b\u2019lieve.\u201d\n\nPerhaps it was an unreasoning anger which possessed him, but he was late,\nand she had cast the lie in his teeth, and somehow her presence irked\nhim, and he vaguely sought to forecast what she had to say.\n\n\u201cNo, you won\u2019t, for I ain\u2019t going to listen. You just take yourself off,\nand stay at home if you know how, and satisfy yourself with the harm you\nhave done already. You\u2019d better put out, and so I tell you.\u201d\n\nHe turned once more and strode away rapidly. He heard a faint cry\nbehind him, and, for a time, pursuing steps. He quickened his own. In\nfact, he presently ran lightly,\u2014marvelously lightly for a man of his\nbulk,\u2014laughing within himself the while at the absurdity and incongruity\nof the episode, should it be noticed by any one in the sleepy streets.\nAfter a little he looked over his shoulder, half in relenting, half in\ncuriosity.\n\nShe was not following him. She was limping back toward her shoes, that\nlay on the steps of the jail.\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\n\nIt was close upon nightfall when Alethea, on her homeward journey,\nreached the banks of the Scolacutta River. It still had a melancholy\nversion of the sunset imprinted upon its surface. It was full of dreamy\ncrimson tints, and olive-green shadows, and gentle pensive effects of\nundistinguishable lustres. Its ceaseless monotone was on the air; its\nbreath was of freshness and fragrance; the bluffs that towered above it\ngave the austerity of rugged rocks and the dignity of great heights to\nthe incidents of its margin. Stunted trees clung to the niches of these\nsplintered cliffs; everywhere along the banks the leaves of the sourwood\nwere red and gay as a banner, the tassels all gleaming and white; the\ndogwood showed a flaunting ochreous tint, but the sweet-gum was as yet\nonly a dull purple, and the sumach had merely hung out its garnet tufts.\nAn amethystine haze rested on the nearest mountains, softening the\npolychromatic richness that glimmered all along the great slopes; further\naway they wore the softened blue of autumn. The scene was familiar to\nher, for she had already passed through the gap of the mountain down into\nEskaqua Cove, and her aunt Dely\u2019s house lay among the tawny corn-fields\non the other side. Very lonely this habitation was among the great\ncompany of the mountains; they rose about the cove on every side with\na visible immensity of wilderness which belittled the slight hold of\nhumanity expressed in the house, the fields, the road that seemed itself\na vagrant, for there was no bourne in sight of the wide landscape to\nwhich it might be supposed to tend.\n\nThe log cabin had heard the river sing for nearly a century. It appeared\nfor many years the ready prey of decay: the chimney leaned from the\nwall, the daubing was falling from the chinking, there were holes in the\nfloor and the roof. Suddenly a great change came over it. The frivolity\nof glass enlivened the windows where batten shutters had formerly\nsufficed; a rickety little porch was added; a tiny room was partitioned\noff from this, and Mrs. Purvine rejoiced in the distinction of possessing\na company bedroom, which was far from being a haven of comfort to the\noccasional occupant of those close quarters. She had always been known to\nharbor certain ambitions. Her husband\u2019s death, some two or three years\nbefore, had given her liberty to express her tastes more fully than when\nhampered by his cautious conservatism. And now, although the fields\nmight be overrun with weeds, and the sheep have the rot, and the poultry\nthe cholera, and the cow go dry, and the \u201cgyarden truck\u201d defer to the\ncrab-grass, and the bees, clever insects, prepare only sufficient honey\nfor their own use, Mrs. Purvine preserved the appearance of having made a\ngreat rise in life, and was considered by the casual observer a \u201cmighty\nspry widder woman.\u201d Such a one as Mrs. Sayles shook her head and spared\nnot the vocabulary. \u201cDely,\u201d she would observe, \u201cair my husband\u2019s sister,\nan\u2019 I ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter make no words about her. Ef she war ennybody else\u2019s\nsister, I\u2019d up an\u2019 down declar\u2019 ez she hev been snared in the devices\no\u2019 the devil, fur sech pride ez hern ain\u2019t godly,\u2014naw sir! nur religion\nnuther. Glass in the winder! Shucks! she\u2019d better be thinkin\u2019 \u2019bout\ngittin\u2019 light on salvation,\u2014that she hed! Folks ez knowed Dely whenst\nshe war a gal knowed she war headin\u2019 an\u2019 sot agin her elders, an\u2019 run\naway from home ter git married, an\u2019 this is what kem of sech onregenerate\nways. _Glass_ in the winder! I\u2019ll be bound the devil looks through that\nwinder every day at yer aunt Dely whenst she sets thar an\u2019 spins. He gits\na glimge o\u2019 her when she ain\u2019t a-lookin\u2019. The pride o\u2019 the yearth is\nmighty strong in her. Ye oughter sati\u2019fy yerse\u2019f with \u2019sociatin\u2019 with her\nin this life, fur ye ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter meet up with her in heaven. Naw,\nsir, yer aunt Dely\u2019ll remember that winder in the darkness o\u2019 Torment,\nan\u2019 ef she war ennybody else\u2019s sister than my own husband\u2019s _I\u2019d say so_.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine was standing on the porch, so fine a manifestation of her\npride, and gazing with unrecognizing curiosity at Alethea as the girl\ncame up the stony hillside.\n\nMrs. Purvine hardly looked the woman of a vaulting worldly ambition.\nShe had a broad, moon-like face and blue eyes with much of the whites\nshowing, the more as she had a trick of peering over her spectacles.\nShe had no teeth; despite her social culture she had never heard of a\nfalse set, or her mouth would have been a glittering illustration of the\ndentist\u2019s art. She held in her hand a short clay pipe, from which the\nsmoke slowly curled. She wore a blue-checked homespun apron, but a calico\ngown, being, according to report, \u201ctoo triflin\u2019\u201d to do very much weaving\nat home, and the cross-roads store was only ten miles from her house, on\nthe road to Shaftesville. She had journeyed even to the town, twice or\nthrice in her life, mounted on a gray mare with a colt at her heels, and\nhad looked from beneath her sun-bonnet at the metropolitan splendors and\nhabits with a starveling\u2019s delight in such of the meagre conventional\ngraces of life as the little village possessed, and as were vouchsafed\nto her comprehension. Nobody knew whence she derived her \u201cvagrantin\u2019\nways;\u201d for these excursions earned for her the reputation of an insatiate\ntraveler, and her frivolous disposition and pride were the occasion\nof much reprehension and comment. They could hardly take the form of\nremonstrance, however, without open rupture; for Mrs. Purvine, right well\naware of them, with an acumen and diplomacy grafted like some strange\nexotic upon her simple character, was always bewailing the frivolous\ntendency of the times, the pride of \u201csome folks,\u201d the worthless nature of\nwomen nowadays, and foisting herself upon her interlocutor as an example\nof all homely and primitive tastes and virtues.\n\nHer moon face suddenly assumed an expression of recognition and of stern\nreprobation as she came solemnly down from the door, a feat which it was\ndifficult to perform with stateliness or even safety; for the two or\nthree plank steps were only set against the wall, and although far more\nimposing than the hewn logs or rough stones customary elsewhere, they\nwere extremely insecure. Often when a foot was placed upon the lowest of\nthe number they careened forward with the weight.\n\nMrs. Purvine accomplished the descent with dignity, and as she held the\ngate open she addressed her niece, looking full in her tear-stained face:\u2014\n\n\u201cI knowed it would kem ter this,\u2014I knowed it, sooner or later. What\u2019s\nthat thar step-mother o\u2019 yourn been doin\u2019 ter ye?\u201d\n\nAlbeit Mrs. Sayles had few equals as a censor, Mrs. Purvine, with a\nsecret intuition of her animadversions, returned them as best she might,\nand Mrs. Sayles\u2019s difficult position as a step-mother rendered her as a\nshorn lamb to the blast.\n\n\u201cNuthin\u2019,\u201d sobbed Alethea,\u2014\u201cnuthin\u2019 ez I knows on.\u201d She started up the\nsteps, which bounded forward with a precipitancy that had a startling\neffect as if the house had jumped at her. Alethea stumbled, and Mrs.\nPurvine commented upon her awkwardness:\u2014\n\n\u201cLook at the gal,\u2014usin\u2019 her feet with no mo\u2019 nimbleness \u2019n a cow.\nLaws-a-massy, young folks ain\u2019t what they war in my day. Whenst I war a\ngal, \u2019fore I jined the church an\u2019 tuk ter consortin\u2019 with the saints,\nye oughter hev seen me dance! Could shake my foot along with the\nnimblest! But I ain\u2019t crackin\u2019 up bran dances, nuther. I\u2019m a perfessin\u2019\nmember,\u2014bless the Lord! Satan hides in a fiddle. Ye always remember yer\naunt Dely tole ye that word. An\u2019 ef ever ye air condemned ter Torment,\ndon\u2019t ye up an\u2019 \u2019low ez ye hed no l\u2019arnin\u2019; don\u2019t ye do it.\u201d Then looking\nover her spectacles, \u201cWhat ails ye, ef \u2019tain\u2019t that step-mother?\u201d\n\n\u201cI hev been ter Shaftesville. I bided all night at Cousin Jane Scruggs\u2019s\nin Piomingo Cove, an\u2019 next day I footed it ter town.\u201d\n\nThis announcement would have surprised any one more than the roving Mrs.\nPurvine. Even she demanded, as in duty bound, with every intimation of\ndeep contempt, \u201cLaws-a-massy, what ye wanter go ter Shaftesville fur?\u201d\n\n\u201cI went ter see Reuben Lorey in jail,\u201d replied Alethea.\n\nMrs. Purvine looked at her with an expression of deep exasperation.\n\u201cWaal,\u201d she observed sarcastically, \u201cI\u2019d hev liked ter seen him thar,\ntoo. I ain\u2019t seen ez good a fit ez Mink Lorey an\u2019 the county jail fur\nthis many a day. Kem hyar one night, an\u2019 tuk them bran\u2019 new front steps\no\u2019 mine, an\u2019 hung \u2019em up on the martin-house. An\u2019 thar war a powerful\ndeep snow that night, an\u2019 it kivered the consarn so ez nex\u2019 mornin\u2019 we\ncouldn\u2019t find out what unyearthly thing hed fell on the martin-house, an\u2019\nwe war fairly feared \u2019twar a warnin\u2019 or a jedgmint till we missed them\nfront steps. They ain\u2019t never been so stiddy sence.\u201d\n\nAlethea had laid aside her bonnet and bathed her face. She was going\nabout the house in a way which was a tribute to Mrs. Purvine\u2019s\nhospitality, for she felt much at home there. She had glanced toward the\ngreat fireplace, where the ashes piled on the top of the oven and the\ncoffee-pot perched on the trivet over the coals told that the work of\npreparing supper was already done. She suddenly took down the quilting\nframe, suspended to the beams above by long bands of cloth, produced\nthread and thimble from her pocket, and, seating herself before it\nas before a table, began to quilt dexterously and neatly where Mrs.\nPurvine\u2019s somewhat erratic performance had left off long before. The\nsmouldering firelight touched her fine, glistening hair, her pensive,\ndowncast face; there was still light enough in the room through the\npernicious glass window to reveal the grace of her postures and her\nslender figure. Aunt Dely, with some instinct for beauty native in\nher blood along with her \u201cvagrantin\u2019 ways\u201d and her original opinions,\ncontemplated her for a time, and presently commented upon her.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m yer father\u2019s own sister,\u201d she averred. \u201cI ain\u2019t denyin\u2019 it none,\nthough he did go an\u2019 marry that thar Jessup woman, ez nobody could\nabide; an\u2019 I hate ter see a peart gal like you-uns, ez air kin ter me,\na-sp\u2019ilin\u2019 her eyes an\u2019 a-cryin\u2019 over a feller ez her folks don\u2019t favor\nno-ways. Yer elders knows bes\u2019, Lethe.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, aunt Dely, you-uns _married_ a man ez yer elders never favored;\nthey war powerful sot agin him.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine was clad in logic as in armor.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 look how it turned out,\u2014him dead an\u2019 me a widder woman!\u201d\n\nAlethea stitched on silently for a moment. Then she observed with unusual\nsoftness, for she feared being accounted \u201csassy,\u201d \u201cI \u2019lowed I hed hearn\nye say he war fifty-five year old, when he died.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s fifty-five?\u201d demanded Mrs. Purvine aggressively. \u201cI knowed a man\nez war a hunderd an\u2019 ten.\u201d\n\nAnd so Alethea was forced to acquiesce in the proposition that Mrs.\nPurvine\u2019s consort had been cut off in the flower of his youth as a\njudgment for having some thirty years previous eloped with the girl of\nhis heart.\n\nBoth women looked conscious when a sudden step sounded in cautious ascent\nof the flight before the door, which illustrated so pointedly the truism\nthat pride goes before a fall, and a tall, lank, stoop-shouldered,\nred-headed fellow strode in at the door.\n\n\u201cAir yer eyesight failin\u2019 ye, Jerry Price?\u201d Mrs. Purvine admonished him.\nHe was her husband\u2019s nephew. \u201cThar\u2019s Lethe Sayles.\u201d\n\nBeing called to order in this manner might well embarrass the young\nman, who had not expected to see Alethea, and who was rebuked for the\ndereliction before he was well in the room.\n\nHe shambled up to shake hands with her with a somewhat elaborate show of\ncordiality.\n\n\u201cWaal, Lethe,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cye air a sight fur sore eyes! Ain\u2019t seen ye\nfur a month o\u2019 Sundays.\u201d\n\n\u201cLooks like she hed sore eyes herself, bound with red ferretin\u2019,\u201d\ncommented Mrs. Purvine gruffly. She often had a disposition, as she\naverred, to knock these young people\u2019s heads together,\u2014a sufficiently\ndangerous proceeding, for according to her account there were not two\nsuch hard heads in all Eskaqua Cove and Piomingo to boot. She had\ncherished an earnest desire to make a match between them, frustrated only\nby their failure to second the motion. They were well aware of this, and\nit impaired the ease of their relations, hampering even the exchange of\nthe compliments of the season.\n\n\u201cYoung folks take the lead!\u201d Mrs. Purvine often exclaimed, oblivious of\nher own sentimental history. \u201cEf nobody war wantin\u2019 \u2019em ter marry they\u2019d\nbe runnin\u2019 off with one another.\u201d\n\nShe had considered this breach of obedience on the part of her husband\u2019s\nnephew a special instance of filial ingratitude, and had begun to remind\nhim, and in fact to remember, all that she had done for him.\n\n\u201cFolkses \u2019lowed ter me, whenst Jerry Price\u2019s mammy died, ez I hed\nbetter leave him be, an\u2019 his aunt Melindy Jane would keer fur him. An\u2019\nI hedn\u2019t been merried but a few years, an\u2019 bein\u2019 ez I runned away my\nfolks wouldn\u2019t gin me nuthin\u2019, an\u2019 me an\u2019 my old man war most o\u2019 the\nfurniture we hed in the house. But law! we hed plenty arter a while,\nan\u2019 ter spare!\u201d cried the rich aunt Dely. \u201cAn\u2019 they all \u2019lowed I hed\nbetter not lumber myse\u2019f up with other folkses chill\u2019n. Waal, I never\nexpected ter, when I went ter the fun\u2019el. But thar on the floor sot the\nhardest-featured infant I ever seen, red-headed, blinkin\u2019 eye, lean, an\u2019\nsucked his thumb! An\u2019 all them folks war standin\u2019 \u2019round him, lookin\u2019\ndown at him with thar eyes all perverted an\u2019 stretched, like a gobbler\nlooks at a deedie \u2019fore he pecks him on the noodle. An\u2019 they were all\npityin\u2019 Melindy Jane fur hevin\u2019 ter keer fur him. Thar she war settin\u2019\nwropped in a shawl, an\u2019 \u2019pearin\u2019 ez ef she could bite a ten-penny nail\nin two, sayin\u2019 she mus\u2019 submit ter the Lord! Waal, \u2019peared ter me ez I\njes\u2019 could view the futur\u2019, an\u2019 the sorter time Red-head would hev along\no\u2019 a woman ez war submittin\u2019 on account o\u2019 him ter the Lord! An\u2019 I jes\u2019\nups an\u2019 lied afore \u2019em all. I sez, \u2018That\u2019s the purties\u2019 child I ever see.\nSurely he is!\u2019 An\u2019 I sez right hearty ter the b\u2019reaved husband, \u2018Ephr\u2019im,\nef ye\u2019ll gin him ter me, I\u2019ll keer fur him till he\u2019s able ter keer fur\nme.\u2019 An\u2019 Eph looked up ez s\u2019prised an\u2019 pleased, and says, \u2018_Will_ ye,\nDely?\u2019 An\u2019 ef ye\u2019ll b\u2019lieve me, arter I hed called him \u2018purty\u2019 Melindy\nJane \u2019lowed _she_ wanted him, an\u2019 hed nuthin\u2019 ter say \u2019bout the Lord. But\nI jes\u2019 stepped inter the floor an\u2019 snatched him up under my arm, an\u2019 set\nout an\u2019 toted him five mile home. An\u2019 lean ez he \u2019peared, he war middlin\u2019\nheavy. I rubbed some pepper on his thumb that night. He ain\u2019t sucked it\nsence.\u201d\n\nJerry Price used to listen, calmly smoking, hardly identifying himself\u2014as\nwhat man would!\u2014with the homely subject of the sketch; and yet with a\ncertain sense of obligation to Mrs. Purvine, returning thanks in some\nsort in behalf of the unprepossessing infant.\n\n\u201cYe an\u2019 me made a right good trade out\u2019n it, ain\u2019t we, aunt Dely?\u201d he\nwould say.\n\nShe formerly accorded jocund acquiescence to this blithe proposition. But\nnow she would exclaim, \u201cDid ennybody think ye\u2019d grow up ter set yerse\u2019f\nter spite me, an\u2019 won\u2019t do nuthin\u2019 I ax ye? \u2019Kase I hev sot my heart on\nhevin\u2019 Lethe Sayles ter live along o\u2019 me, ye won\u2019t go courtin\u2019 her.\u201d\n\nThe specious Price would demand, \u201cHow d\u2019ye know ez I won\u2019t?\u201d\n\nAnd hope would once more gleam from the ashes of Mrs. Purvine\u2019s\ndisappointments.\n\n\u201cLethe\u2019s been ter Shaftesville,\u201d she said, nodding triumphantly, sure to\nimpress Jerry with this statement, for he was as worldly as she. Then,\nwith sudden animation, she turned to her niece: \u201cLethe, did ye see enny\nlookin\u2019-glasses thar like mine?\u201d She pointed to a cherry-framed mirror,\nsome ten or twelve inches square, hung upon the wall at a height that\nprevented it from reflecting aught but the opposite wall. It was as\nwell, perhaps, for glass of that quality could only return a corrugated\nimage that might have induced depression of spirit in one gazing on the\nperversions of its surface. The walls were pasted over with pictures\nfrom almanacs and bright-tinted railway advertisements; for her husband\nhad once been postmaster of the invisible neighborhood, and these were\nthe most important trophies and emoluments of the office. They quite\ncovered the mellow brown logs and the daubing between, and were as crude\nand gairish a substitute as well might be. They were the joy of Mrs.\nPurvine\u2019s heart, however, and as she dwelt upon them and committed them\nto memory they assumed all the functions of a literature. She valued\nhardly less a cheap clock that stood upon a shelf, and gave no more\nintimation of the passage of time than a polite hostess. Whether it had\nno works, whether it had sustained some internal injury, whether the\nworldly nephew and aunt had not sufficient knowledge of the springs of\nits being to wind it up, Alethea never speculated and Mrs. Purvine did\nnot care. It was more than was owned by any one else in her acquaintance,\nand she rejoiced without stint in its possession.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I\u2019ll be bound ye never seen no clock like mine!\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cNaw\u2019m,\u201d said Alethea; \u201cbut I jes\u2019 went ter the jail.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat fur?\u201d demanded Jerry. He was leaning against the door, and did not\nnotice that he kept the light from Alethea\u2019s work, but she was unwilling\nto remonstrate, and sewed on in the shadow.\n\n\u201cShe went ter see Mink Lorey,\u201d said his aunt. \u201cI hope he \u2019lowed he war\nsorry fur his sins,\u2014though \u2019twon\u2019t do him no good now; oughter hev been\nsorry fust.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never seen him,\u201d said Alethea.\n\nMrs. Purvine had knelt before the fire for the purpose of investigating\nthe baking of the egg-bread; she held the lid of the oven up with a bit\nof kindling, while she turned half around to fix an astonished gaze on\nthe girl.\n\n\u201cIn the name o\u2019\u2014Moses!\u201d\u2014she produced the adjuration as if she thought it\nequal to the occasion,\u2014\u201cwhat did ye kem hyar lyin\u2019 \u2019bout\u2019n it, Lethe,\nan\u2019 sayin\u2019 ye hed been ter see him? Ye\u2019ll git yer nose burnt, an\u2019 I\u2019ll\nbe glad of it.\u201d She broke off suddenly, addressing a hound that, lured\nby the appetizing odor gushing out from under the lid of the oven, had\napproached with a sinuous, beguiling motion, and was extending his long\nneck. \u201cYe\u2019d look mighty desirable with a blister on it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never said I seen Reuben,\u201d returned Alethea, regardless of this\ninterlude. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t see me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat fur?\u201d asked Jerry excitedly.\n\nThe lid fell from Mrs. Purvine\u2019s hand upon the oven with a crash. She was\nspeechless with amazement.\n\nAlethea sat, her hands clasped on the quilting frame, the glow of the\nfirelight full on her golden hair; her beauty seemed heightened by the\nrefined pathos which weeping often leaves upon the face when it is once\nmore calm. It was hard to say the cruel words, but her voice was steady.\n\n\u201cHe \u2019lowed I favored the harnt on Thunderhead what sp\u2019iles folkses\u2019\nprospects. I hed \u2019lowed ter him, when I las\u2019 seen him, ez he oughter gin\nwhat he hed ter old man Griff. An\u2019 he went ter Shaftesville. An\u2019 they\njailed him.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine\u2019s moon face turned scarlet. \u201cNow, ain\u2019t ye up an\u2019 down\n\u2019shamed o\u2019 yerse\u2019f, Lethe Ann Sayles? Ter set store by a man ez talks ter\nyou-uns like that!\u201d She rose, with a toss of her head. \u201cThe kentry hev\ngot my cornsent ter hang him!\u201d\n\nShe began to move about more briskly as she placed the plates on the\ntable. The fact of this breach between Alethea and Mink was auspicious to\nher darling scheme. \u201cNaw, child,\u201d she said as the girl offered to assist,\n\u201cye set an\u2019 talk ter Jerry \u2019bout Mink; he wants ter hear \u2019bout Mink.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wisht I could be witness fur Reuben,\u201d said Alethea, feeling an intense\nrelief to be able to mention this without revealing her secret. \u201cI\nb\u2019lieve I could holp Reuben some.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhyn\u2019t ye go ter his lawyer?\u201d asked Jerry. \u201cHarshaw, they say, he hev\ngot ter defend him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t listen; he fairly run from me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn Moses\u2019s name!\u201d cried Mrs. Purvine, with sibilant inversion of her\nfavorite exclamation, \u201cwhat ails them crazy bucks in Shaftesville? All of\n\u2019em got the jim-jams, in jail an\u2019 out!\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Jerry coolly, \u201cef ye want ter tell him sech ez ye know, I\u2019ll\n_make_ him listen ter ye. I hev been summonsed on the jury fur the nex\u2019\nterm, an\u2019 I\u2019ll hev ter go ter Shaftesville or be fined. An\u2019 ef ye air\nthar I\u2019ll see Harshaw don\u2019t run from ye,\u2014else he won\u2019t run fur, no mo\u2019.\nHe\u2019ll lack his motions arter that.\u201d\n\n\u201cAi-yi! When Jerry talks he ain\u2019t minchin\u2019 his words!\u201d cried aunt Dely\nadmiringly.\n\nAlethea was very grateful for this stalwart championship. She said\nnothing, however, for she had no cultured phrases of acknowledgment.\nHer spirits rose; her flagging brain was once more alert; she was\neager to be alone,\u2014to think what she would say to the lawyer, to Mink,\non the witness-stand. She hardly noticed Mrs. Purvine\u2019s manner of\nself-gratulation, or her frequent glances toward her young people as\nthey sat together before the dull fire. Alethea was very beautiful, and\nJerry\u2014Mrs. Purvine never deluded herself with denials of her adopted\nson\u2019s ugliness\u2014was good and manly, and as sharp as a brier. Any man might\nbe esteemed a poor match for looks, unless it were the worthless Mink, so\nsafe in jail.\n\nThe feat a woman\u2019s imagination can accomplish in a given time is the most\ntriumphant illustration of the agility of the human mind. Before either\nspoke again Mrs. Purvine had elaborated every detail of the courtship and\nengagement, pausing from time to time, as she placed the dishes on the\ntable, and looking about the room in complete abstraction, planning how\nto arrange the furniture to give space for the dancing at the infair.\n\n\u201cSet out the supper in the shed-room, an\u2019 take these hyar two beds an\u2019\nthar steads up-steers inter the roof-room,\u201d she muttered, measuring with\nher eye. \u201cThe loom kin jes\u2019 be h\u2019isted out \u2019n the shed-room inter the\nyard\u2014an\u2019 I don\u2019t keer ef I never see it agin\u2014an\u2019 the spinning-wheels set\nin the bedroom.\u201d As to Satan, she had forgotten that he was quite capable\nof making himself small enough to hide in the fiddle.\n\nThe light was growing dull out of doors; the stridulous voices of the\nSeptember insects sounded ceaselessly, scarcely impinging upon the sense\nof quiet, so monotonous was the iteration of their song. The strokes\nof an axe, betokening activity at the wood-pile, seemed to cleave the\nsilence, and reverberated from the mountains, as if the echoes were\nkeeping a tally. Alethea had rolled up the quilting frame, and it\nswung from the beams. Presently the children were trooping in, three\ngreat awkward boys, who evidently formed themselves upon Jerry Price\u2019s\nmanner, except the youngest, a lad of fourteen, whose face had a certain\ninfantile lower, saved over from his juvenile days, and concentrating\nreadily into a pout. Even his mother admitted that he was \u201csp\u2019iled some.\u201d\nTogether they made short work of the egg-bread and \u201cbr\u2019iled bacon.\u201d\n\nThey tarried not long afterward, but trooped noisily up the ladder to\nthe roof-room; and as they strode about on the floor, which was also the\nceiling of the room below, it seemed momently that they would certainly\ncome through.\n\nJerry lighted his pipe and sat on the doorstep; the fashionable Mrs.\nPurvine lighted hers and took a chair near. All the doors stood open, for\nthe night was sultry. The stars were very bright in the moonless sky. The\ndogs lolling their tongues, sat on the porch, or lay in the dewy grass;\nmaking incursions now and then into the room, climbing cavalierly over\nJerry\u2019s superfluity of long legs, and nosing about among the ashes to\nmake sure that none of the scraps had escaped.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t ye know I never waste nuthin\u2019, ye grisly gluttons?\u201d demanded Mrs.\nPurvine, the model housekeeper. But their fat sides did not confirm this\nstatement, and, bating a wag of homage in the extreme tip of their tails,\nthey paid no attention to her.\n\n\u201cWhat _I\u2019m_ a-honin\u2019 ter know,\u201d said Jerry Price presently, \u201cair how them\nboys ez war along o\u2019 Mink an\u2019 war summonsed ez witnesses air goin\u2019 ter\nprove he war drunk. Ef they \u2019low Mink war drunk the \u2019torney-gin\u2019al \u2019ll\ntry ter make out he war sober. He\u2019s a-goin\u2019 ter ax, \u2018Whar\u2019d he git the\nwhiskey, bein\u2019 \u2019s all the still thar is air a bonded still, an\u2019 by law\ncan\u2019t sell less \u2019n five gallons. Then them boys\u2019ll be afeard ter tell\nwhar they got the whiskey, \u2019kase folks mought think they knowed who war\nmakin\u2019 it. An\u2019 ef the moonshiners war raided, _they_ mought declar\u2019 ez\nsome o\u2019 them boys war aidin\u2019 an\u2019 abettin\u2019 \u2019em, an\u2019 the revenuers would\narrest them too.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t ye know who air makin\u2019 it?\u201d Alethea asked, a vivid picture in\nher mind of Boke\u2019s barn, and Jerry Price and his cronies stalking their\nfantastic rounds about it.\n\n\u201cNaw, sir! an\u2019 don\u2019t wanter, nuther. I war along o\u2019 \u2019em in the woods that\nnight. I holped tote the jug. We lef\u2019 it empty in Boke\u2019s barn an\u2019 fund it\nfilled, but I dunno nuthin\u2019 mo\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cLethe,\u201d said Mrs. Purvine, handing her a ball of gray yarn, the\nknitting-needles thrust through an ill-knit beginning of a sock, \u201cI wish\nye\u2019d try ter find out whar I drapped them stitches, an\u2019 ravel it out an\u2019\nknit it up agin. I hate ter do my work over, an\u2019 I hev ter be powerful\npartic\u2019lar with Jerry\u2019s socks,\u2014he wears \u2019em out so fas\u2019. Ye\u2019d \u2019low he war\na thousand-legs, ef ye could see the stacks of \u2019em I hev ter darn.\u201d\n\nAlethea drew up a great rocking-chair, and now and then leaned over its\narms toward the fire to catch the red glow of the embers upon her work,\nas her deft hands repaired the damages of Mrs. Purvine\u2019s inattention.\nSuddenly she said in a pondering tone, \u201cWhy would the \u2019torney-gineral\nruther prove Reuben war sober?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Kase ef he war proved drunk the jury would lean ter him,\u201d said Jerry.\n\nShe laid her work down in her lap, and gazed intently at him. His face\nhad the transient glow of his pipe upon it, and then, as he took it from\nhis lips, was as indistinct as his long, lank figure disposed in the\ndoorway.\n\n\u201cThey oughtn\u2019t ter do it,\u2014but they do. I ain\u2019t never seen nare jury hold\na drunk man ez up an\u2019 down \u2019sponsible ez ef he war sober. They\u2019ll lean\nter him ef he could be proved drunk.\u201d\n\nAlethea said nothing. Her mental attitude was one of intense receptivity.\nHer keen appreciation of how much depended on her comprehension, her\ndesire that no point should escape her attention, were positive pain in\ntheir acute consciousness.\n\nThe discerning Jerry went on with that acumen and cogency which were such\nodd concomitants of his ignorance and uncouthness:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt makes me laff every time I see a witness swore ter tell \u2018the truth,\nthe whole truth, an\u2019 nuthin\u2019 but the truth.\u2019 Folks is so apt ter b\u2019lieve\nthe truth air jes\u2019 what they wanter b\u2019lieve. Git them boys skeered up\nright smart \u2019bout the revenuers on one side an\u2019 the moonshiners on t\u2019\nother, an\u2019 they\u2019ll feel the truth war ez none o\u2019 we-uns hed ennythin\u2019\nter drink that night; mought hev hed a dram o\u2019 cider, or mebbe nuther\nstronger \u2019n yerb tea, but nobody war bodaciously boozy. Then they don\u2019t\nknow sure enough whar the liquor kem from; mos\u2019 folks don\u2019t b\u2019lieve\nthar\u2019s no still round \u2019bout the mountings now.\u201d\n\nAlethea leaned back in the rocking-chair, her nerveless hands falling\nidly upon the work in her lap. The crude mosaic of advertisements on the\nwalls started out with abnormal distinctness, as a tiny flame rose from\nthe embers and fell into sudden extinction among the ashes, leaving the\nonly picture in the room the dusky night-scene dimly painted in purple\nand dove color upon the panes of the window.\n\nIt was only she who could remedy the deficiency in this valuable\ntestimony. She knew full well the source of their secret supply. She it\nwas who had seen the jug left in the barn by the roistering blades, and\nthe moonshiner swing down from the loft to seize upon it. She had his\nfull confession from his own lips. She appreciated the distinctions the\njury would make between hilarious drunken sport and coolly intentional\nmalice in the prisoner, and that it was in her hands to sacrifice one of\nthese men to the other.\n\nFor the first time she was quick to distrust her own intuitions. Her\ntyrant conscience, hitherto always ready to immolate every cherished\nwish on the altar of the right, seemed now the suavest mentor, urging\nthat her lover\u2019s liberty, his life for aught she knew, should not be\njeopardized to protect a man whose vocation she accounted a curse to the\ncommunity. She felt a secret amaze that her first vague project should\nexpand into a fully equipped plan, with hardly a conscious process of\nthought to give it shape and detail. Her natural doubts, her efforts at\nalternatives, were flouted by some inner imperious determination. It was\nin the nature of a concession from this suddenly elate and willful power\nthat she obtained her own consent, as she would have phrased it, to warn\nSam Marvin, for the sake of his \u201chouseful,\u201d that he might elude capture,\nand perhaps save his still and appliances from destruction. And she would\nwarn Jerry, too, despite that triumphant, tumultuous consciousness which\nheld all else so slight since she had knowledge that could aid in proving\nMink\u2019s irresponsibility for what he had really done, and his innocence of\nthe graver crime of which he was accused.\n\n\u201cJerry,\u201d she said, observing that Mrs. Purvine had fallen asleep in\nher chair, her moon face all askew, her idle hands neatly rolled up in\nher apron,\u2014\u201cJerry, I reckon ye wouldn\u2019t want me a-goin\u2019 testifyin\u2019 ter\nShaftesville ef ye knowed I seen you-uns leave the jug that evenin\u2019 in\nBoke\u2019s barn. I sca\u2019cely b\u2019lieved \u2019twar ye, at fust, all of ye acted so\ncur\u2019ous; I \u2019lowed \u2019twar sperits in yer likeness. An\u2019 I seen the distiller\nkem an\u2019 git the jug. An\u2019 he seen me.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar, Lethe!\u201d exclaimed Jerry, seriously. \u201cDon\u2019t joke \u2019bout sech\nez that. Ye know the moonshiners mought fairly kill ye, ef they fund out\nye knowed an\u2019 tole on \u2019em. They hev done sech afore now. Ye keep yer\nmouth shet an\u2019 yer tongue \u2019twixt yer teeth, ef ye knows what\u2019s healthy\nfur ye.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t jokin\u2019,\u201d said Alethea.\n\n\u201cYe mind what I say,\u201d declared Jerry. \u201cI ain\u2019t afeard myself o\u2019 the\nmoonshiners nor the revenuers, nare one,\u2014ain\u2019t got no call ter be,\u2014but\nwords sech ez ye air speakin\u2019 air powerful ticklish an\u2019 techy kind o\u2019\ntalk. Ye better tend ter the cows an\u2019 sheep an\u2019 weavin\u2019 an\u2019 sech, an\u2019\nleave the men\u2019s business alone. I hev never knowed,\u201d continued Jerry,\na trifle acrimoniously, \u201ca woman git ten steps away from home but what\nshe acts ez ef she hed tuk off her brains an\u2019 lef\u2019 \u2019em thar along of her\nevery-day clothes.\u201d\n\n\u201cI jes\u2019 went ter git the lam\u2019 out\u2019n a hole,\u201d said Alethea, in no wise\ndaunted, and ready with her retort. \u201cHis leg\u2019s mendin\u2019, though he hops\nsome yit. An\u2019 I war in the cow-pen when the moonshiner kem an\u2019 talked ter\nme.\u201d\n\n\u201cListen at ye, a-settin\u2019 talkin\u2019 \u2019bout law-breakers,\u201d said the fastidious\nMrs. Purvine, who had abruptly waked. \u201cI ain\u2019t kin ter none o\u2019 \u2019em. Naw,\nsir, an\u2019 I wouldn\u2019t own it ef I war. Mind me o\u2019 yer uncle Pettin Guyther,\nez war always talkin\u2019 \u2019bout murder an\u2019 robbery: every tale he told they\nkilled the folks a diff\u2019ent way,\u2014spilled thar blood somehows, an\u2019 cracked\nthar skulls bodaciously; an\u2019 whenever he\u2019d git hisself gone from hyar I\nuseter be \u2019feared lawless ones would kem hyar of a night ter thieve an\u2019\nkill, knowin\u2019 ez I hed consider\u2019ble worldly goods. The Bible say riches\nain\u2019t no \u2019count. Mebbe so, but I ain\u2019t so sure \u2019bout that.\u201d\n\nPerhaps it was her clock which she had in mind, for\u2014without any monition\nfrom it, however\u2014she added, \u201cTime ter go ter bed, chill\u2019n,\u2014time ter go\nter bed.\u201d\n\nShe did not rise from her chair at once. She admonished Jerry to \u201ckiver\u201d\nthe fire with ashes, and watched him as he did it. Then he tramped up\nthe ladder to the roof-room, noisily enough to wake the dead, perhaps,\nbut not aunt Dely\u2019s boys.\n\nShe gave a long, mournful yawn of sleepiness and fatigue, and stretched\nher arms wearily above her head. Then with sudden cheerfulness she\nexclaimed, \u201cLethe, ye hain\u2019t never hed a chance ter sleep in the bedroom!\u201d\n\nShe spoke as if there were but one on the face of the earth.\n\n\u201cYe hev never been down hyar \u2019thout yer elders an\u2019 sech, ez ye hev\nhed ter show respec\u2019 ter, an\u2019 stan\u2019 back fur,\u2014yer step-mam, an\u2019 Jacob\nJessup\u2019s wife, an\u2019 sech; but ye shell sleep in the bedroom one time,\nsure, instead o\u2019 in this room, ez be het up so hot with cookin\u2019 supper in\nit.\u201d\n\nShe rose bustlingly to stir up the fire, that there might be light enough\nto make the requisite preparations. Alethea\u2019s heart failed her when she\nthought of the tiny apartment partitioned off at the end of the porch,\nand beheld her aunt lighting a little tin lamp without a chimney at\nthe fire. The mountain girl, with all the conservatism of her class,\npossessed the strength of prejudice against innovation which usually\nappertains to age. The characteristic of years seemed reversed as she\nlooked on with reluctance, and the old woman flustered about, full of\nher experimental glories and her eager relish of a new fashion. \u201cYe kem\nalong, child!\u201d she exclaimed, her moon face wreathed with a toothless\nsmile and the redolent emanations of the smoking and sputtering lamp. It\nwas placed on a shelf in the little room, and as Alethea buttoned the\ndoor it gave out less light than a suffocating odor. It served, however,\nto reveal the timbers that formed the sides of the room, for it was\nbuilt after the treasures of the post-office had been exhausted in the\ndecoration of the main house. Upon them hung an array of Mrs. Purvine\u2019s\ndresses, suspended by the neck, and suggesting the uncheerful idea of a\nrow of executed women. The bed was high, huge with feathers and heaped\nwith quilts. There were no means of ventilation, unless sundry cracks\nincident to mountain architecture might be relied upon. Alethea made\nhaste to extinguish the lamp. When she had climbed the altitudes of the\nfeather bed she could not sleep. The roof-room at home, with its windows\nand its sweeps of high air, was not so fine, it might be, but as she\nsmothered by slow degrees she thought poorly of fashion. Her brain was\nhot with the anxious, strenuous thoughts that seethed through it. She was\nmuch less cheerful as the hours wore on. The recollections of the sad\nday bore heavily upon her spirit. Over and again Mink\u2019s cruel words, the\nridicule to which the lawyer had subjected her in her own estimation,\nthe affront to her dignity,\u2014she had no such fine name for it, she could\nonly feel,\u2014came back to her, and she could but marvel that the evening\nhad passed so placidly; she wondered that she even lived, so acute were\nthe pangs of her wounded pride. She had an ineffable repugnance to the\nidea of ever seeing Harshaw again; for herself alone, for her life, she\nfelt, she would have made no further effort. \u201cI\u2019ll do it fur Reuben,\nthough,\u201d she said. The thought of him, too, was very bitter. Her wakeful\neyes were hot, but they harbored no tears. Once she slipped down from\nthe bed and unbuttoned the door, hoping to sleep with the influx of air.\nIt came in fresh, sweet, full of the sense of dew. The night was not\nblack; only a subdued gray shadow lay over all the land: how its passive,\nneutral aspect expressed the idea of rest! Looking out from the cavernous\noverhanging portal of the little porch, she could see the Great Smoky,\ndarkly rising above the cove. She heard the stir of a bird roosting in an\nalthea bush by the gate, and then a scuttling noise under the house. She\nhad moved very softly, but the vigilant Towser bounded upon the porch.\nHe knew her\u2014for she spoke to him instantly\u2014as well as he knew his name,\nbut for some unexplained affectation of his nature he would not recognize\nher, and sat before her door and barked at her with a vehemence that made\nthe roof ring, the sound reverberating from the mountains as if a troop\nof wolves were howling in the melancholy woods. Twice he tired of this\npastime, and withdrew under the house, coming out once more to renew it.\nShe shut the door, finally, and again and again he threw himself against\nit, at last lying down before it and growling at intervals. She fell\nasleep after a time, through sheer fatigue, regardless of the lack of air\nin the little dungeon; waking heavy-eyed and fagged in the morning, able\nto acquiesce only faintheartedly when Mrs. Purvine triumphantly saluted\nher: \u201cWaal, Lethe, now nobody kin never say ez ye ain\u2019t slep\u2019 in the\nbedroom.\u201d\n\nAll day she felt the effects of her vigil. She thought it was this which\nhad touched her courage. She stood still with a quaking at her heart,\nwhen, climbing the Great Smoky, she reached the forks in the road where\nshe should turn off to go to Sam Marvin\u2019s house. There was no view of\nthe valley. The woods were immeasurable about her, all splendid with\nthe pomp and state of autumn. Those great trees, ablaze with color,\u2014the\nflaming yellow of the hickory, the rich, dull purple of the sweet-gum,\nthe crimson of the oaks,\u2014reached up in endless arches above her head, all\nboldly painted against the blue sky. An incredible brilliancy of effect\nwas afforded by the long vistas, free of undergrowth, and carpeted with\nthe poly-tinted leaves. Among the boughs often the full purple clusters\nof the muscadines hung, the vines climbing to the tops of the trees,\nand then trailing over to the ground. As she stood she heard a creaking\nand straining of the strong cables,\u2014a fox in their midst as they lay\ntangled upon the earth. She noted, too, the translucent red globes of the\npersimmon hanging upon trees denuded of all but a few yellow leaves.\n\nShe sat down on a log at the forks of the road, feeling greatly perturbed\nand anxious. To do what she proposed to do was to take her life in her\nhands. Not her step-mother alone, but Jacob Jessup, had warned her, and\nJerry Price had repeated what they had said, almost in their very words.\nBut they had only sought to curb her foolish tongue. They had never\ndreamed of the reckless temerity of going into the moonshiner\u2019s den to\ndefy him, proclaim herself the informer, and warn him to save himself.\nHe had already threatened her; she remembered his stern, vehement face\nin the closing dusk. She wondered that her mind should balk from the\ndecision so imperatively urged upon it. She seemed, as it were, to catch\nherself in lapses of attention. Often she looked, first at one, then at\nthe other, of the roads,\u2014neither visible for more than a few yards up the\nsteep ascent,\u2014as if she expected some diversion, some extraneous aid, in\nher dilemma, something to happen to decide it for her.\n\nWhat, she said to herself, if never again she should behold this place?\nWhat if, in taking choice of the forks of the road, she should take a\npath she might never tread again?\n\nAnd then she wondered that she should notice that the log on which she\nsat was a \u201click log,\u201d should speculate whether the cattle often came here\nfor salt, should look idly into the cleft within it to see if perchance\nthere were still salt there.\n\nIt would be safer, it might be better for all, to give her testimony if\nit should be called for, and leave Sam Marvin to the law. \u201cI\u2019m fairly\nfeared o\u2019 him, ennyways. I\u2019m feared ter go thar an\u2019 let him know that\nhe\u2019ll git fund out, mebbe, fur I\u2019ll tell on him ef I\u2019m summonsed ez a\nwitness. My step-mother\u2019s always sayin\u2019 I\u2019m a meddler, an\u2019 mebbe I be.\u201d\n\nShe listened to the sound of an outgushing roadside spring. She looked up\nat the new moon, which seemed to follow the lure of the wind beckoning in\nthe trees. They shook their splendid plumes together like an assemblage\nof bowing courtiers, gayly bedight.\n\nShe remembered the \u201chouseful,\u201d the pinching poverty, the prison, the\ndestruction of the still. She rose reluctantly and turned to the left.\nHer eyes were bright; her cheeks were flushed; her red lips parted. She\nlistened intently from time to time: not a sound but her own slow, light\nfootfall. She had thought to hear the dogs barking, for the place was\nnow near at hand. When she saw a rail-fence terminating the vista her\nheart gave a great bound; she paused, looking at it with dilated eyes.\nThen she went on, up and up, till the house came in view,\u2014a forlorn\nlittle cabin, with a clay and stick chimney, smokeless! She stared at it\namazed. There was no creature in the hog-pen, which was large for the\npretensions of the place,\u2014the distillery refuse explained its phenomenal\nsize, perhaps; the door of the house swung loose in the wind. There were\nseveral slats nailed across the entrance low down, evidently intended to\nkeep certain vagrant juveniles from falling out of the door. No need for\nthis now. The place was deserted. Alethea walked up to the fence,\u2014the\nbars lay upon the ground,\u2014and stepped over the slats into the empty room.\nThe ashes had been dead for days in the deep chimney-place; a few rags in\na corner fluttered in the drafts from crannies; the whole place had that\nindescribable mournfulness of a deserted human habitation that had so\npathetically appealed to her in the little house at Boke\u2019s Spring. Here\nit pierced her heart. It was from fear of her that they had fled,\u2014and\nwhither? A poor home at best, where could they find another? She need\nnot have quaked, she said to herself; they had not sought to still her\ntongue, lest it should wag against them. They had uprooted their home,\nand had withdrawn themselves alike from the informer and the law that\nthreatened them. The tears sprang into her eyes. She deprecated their\nbitter feeling, their saddened lives, their deserted hearth-stone. And\nyet it was all wrong that they should distill the brush whiskey, and\ncould she say she was to blame?\n\nA faint scratching sound struck her attention. It came from behind the\nclosed door of the shed-room. She stood listening for a moment, unable to\naccount for it. Then she went forward and unlatched the door.\n\nA starved cat, emaciated and forlorn to the last degree, forgotten in\nthe removal, shut by some accident into the room, crept quivering out.\nIt went through the dumb show of mewing; it could not walk; its bones\nalmost pierced its skin. Its plight served to approximate the date of the\nflitting. It had been there for days, weeks perhaps.\n\nShe picked up the creature, and carried it home in her arms.\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\n\nThe little brick court-house in Shaftesville had stood for half a century\nin the centre of the village square, as impassive as an oracle to the\ndecrees which issued from it. Even time seemed able to make but scant\nimpression upon it. True, the changes of the day might register on its\nwindows, flaring with fictitious fires when the sun was in the west, or\nreflecting the moonlight with pallid glimmers, as if some white-faced\nspectre had peered out into the midnight through the dusty pane. Mosses\nclung to its walls; generations of swallows nested in its chimneys,\nsoaring up from them now and then, bevies of black dots, as if the\nrecords below had spewed out a surplusage of punctuation marks and blots;\ndecay had touched a window-sill here and there. But it was still called\nthe \u201cnew court-house,\u201d in contradistinction to the primitive log building\nthat it had replaced; and despite some inward monitions of its age once\nin a while, its long experience of various phases of life, its knowledge\nof the coming and going of many men who would come and go no more, it\nwas enabled to maintain an air of jaunty unconsciousness, as it was\nstill the handsomest edifice in Shaftesville and of a somewhat imposing\narchitectural pretension. It had beheld many a \u201cState\u2019s day\u201d dawn like\nthis, with fitful gusts of wind and rain, with a frenzied surging of the\nboughs of the hickory-trees about it as if some sylvan grief beset them,\nwith a continual shifting of the mists that veiled the mountains and hung\nabove the roofs of the straggling little town.\n\nThe few stores, all of which faced the square, were early full of\ncustomers clad in jeans, with heavy cowhide boots deeply bemired by the\nred clay mud of the streets, and with gruff faces that expressed surly\ndisapproval of the frills and frippery of civilization as exhibited\nin Shaftesville. Canvas-covered wagons, laden with produce and drawn\nby oxen, stood before the doors, and among the piles of corn and bags\nof apples and chestnuts children\u2019s wide-eyed, grave faces looked out\ncautiously from behind the flaps at the inexplicable \u201ctown ways.\u201d In\nthe intervals of the down-pour there was much stir in the streets. Men\nwith long-skirted coats and broad hats and stern, grizzled faces rode\nabout on gaunt mountain horses. Now and then one would be accompanied by\nan elderly woman in homespun dress, a shawl and sun-bonnet, wearing a\nsettled look of sour disaffection, and chirruping a sharp warning rather\nthan encouragement to her stumbling, antiquated gray mare. There were\nmany horses hitched to the palings of the court-house fence, and numbers\nof men lounged about the yard, all crowding up the steps as the tuneless\nclangor of the bell smote the air. Around the door of the jail boys and\nrowdyish young men assembled, waiting with an indomitable patience,\ndespite the quick, sharp showers, to see the prisoner led out.\n\nThe people of Shaftesville regarded the swarm of visitors as somewhat\nan encroachment upon their vested rights. \u201cLeave _anybody_ in the\nmountains?\u201d was a frequent raillery.\n\n\u201cYe town folks jes\u2019 \u2019lowed ye\u2019d hev all the fun ter yerselves o\u2019 seein\u2019\nMink Lorey tried, ye grudgin\u2019 half-livers,\u201d the mountaineers would\nretort; \u201cbut from what I kin see, I reckon ye air sorter mistook this\ntime, sure.\u201d\n\nAnd indeed the court-room was crowded as it had seldom been in the fifty\nyears that justice had been meted out here. In the space without the\nbar the benches groaned and creaked beneath the weight of those who had\ntaken the precaution to secure seats in advance, and had occupied them in\ndreary waiting since early in the morning. The forethought of one coterie\nhad come to naught, for the bench succumbed beneath twenty stalwart\nmountaineers; its feeble supports bent, and as the party collapsed in a\nwild mingling of legs and arms, waving in frantic efforts to recover\nequilibrium, Shaftesville was \u201cmighty nigh tickled ter death,\u201d for the\nfirst time that day. As the sprawling young fellows sheepishly gathered\nthemselves together, a burst of jeering laughter filled the room, only\ngradually subdued by the sheriff\u2019s \u201cSilence in court!\u201d\n\nThe attorney-general was already piling his books and papers on the\ntable, consulting his notes and absorbed in his preparations. He was a\nman of fifty, perhaps, with a polished bald head that might have been\nof interest to a phrenologist (for it had sundry marked protuberances),\nblunt, strong features, a heavy lower jaw, an expression of insistent\ncommon sense, and a deep bass voice. He was sonorously clearing his\nthroat just now, and was wiping from his thick, short, grizzled mustache\ndrops of some fluid that gave a pervasive unequivocal odor to his breath.\nIt had only rejoiced his stomach, however, and did not affect the keen\nacumen for which he was famous, and he was settling to his work with\nan evident intention of giving the defense all they would be able to\nwrestle with. The old miller, in his rags and patches, sat beside him as\nprosecutor. His face wore a strange meekness. Now and then he lifted his\nbleared eyes with an intent look, as if hearing some unworded counsels;\nthen shook his head and bowed it, with its long white locks, upon his\nhands clasped on his stick. There were many glances directed toward him,\nhalf in commiseration, half in curiosity; but these sentiments were bated\nsomewhat by familiarity, for there was hardly a man in Cherokee County\nwho had not visited the ruins of the mill and heard much gossip about the\nold man\u2019s uncharacteristic humility and submissive grief.\n\nA stronger element of interest was added to the impending trial by the\ncircumstance that it was a stranger on the bench. Comparatively few of\nthe assemblage had been in attendance the preceding days, during the\ntrial of the civil cases, and in the preliminary moments, throughout the\nopening of the court, the reading of the minutes, the calling of the\nroll, the miscellaneous motions, until the criminal docket was taken up\nand the case called, the judge sustained the fixed gaze of one half the\ncounty.\n\nHe did not embody the sleek, successful promise of his reputation. He\nhad the look of a man who has fought hard for all that he has won,\nand, unsatisfied, is ready to fight again. It was a most unappeased,\nbelligerent spirit expressed in his eyes. They were of a dark gray, and\ndeeply set. He had straight black hair, cut short about his head. His\nface wore a repressed impatience; sharp lines were drawn about it, making\nhim seem somewhat older than his age, which was thirty-five or six; his\nnose had a fine, thin nostril; his chin was round and heavy. He wore a\nlong mustache; now and then he gnawed at the end of it. He sat stiffly\nerect before the desk, his elbow upon it, his chin resting in his hand.\nHis blue flannel suit hung negligently on his tall, slender figure, and\nthey were lean, long fingers that held his chin.\n\nHe was looking about with a restless eye. The great round stove in the\nroom was red hot. Snow had been seen on the summits of the distant Smoky,\nand was not this sure indication that winter was at hand? The sheriff\nwas a man of rigid rule and precedent, and the fire had been built\naccordingly.\n\nThe judge spoke suddenly. He had a singularly low, inexpressive voice, a\nfalling inflection, and a deliberate, measured manner. \u201cMr. Sheriff,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201choist that window, will you?\u201d\n\nAll the windows were occupied by men and boys, some of them standing that\nthey might obtain a better view of the prisoner when he should be led in.\nFrom the sill of the window indicated they descended with clumsy hops and\nthumps upon the floor, as they made way for the sheriff to admit the air.\nThere was a half-suppressed titter from those more fortunately placed, as\nthe dispossessed and discomfited spectators crowded together against the\nwall. The judge glanced about with displeasure in his eyes.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll have you to understand,\u201d he said in his unimpassioned drawl, \u201cthat\na trial before a court of justice is not a circus or a show. And if\nthere\u2019s not more quiet in this court-room, I\u2019ll send one half of this\ncrowd to jail.\u201d\n\nThere was quiet at once. The gaze fixed upon him was suddenly an\nunfriendly look. To be sure, he was not a visiting clergyman, but one\nexpects a certain degree of urbanity from the stranger within one\u2019s\ngates, however lofty his mission and imperious his authority. Their own\njudicial magnate, Judge Averill, was a very lenient man, fat, and bald,\nand jolly. The frequenters of the place could but be impressed with the\ncontrast. If Judge Averill found the room or the weather too warm, he\ntook off his coat, and tried his cases clothed in his right mind, and in\nlittle else. Everybody in the county was familiar with the back of his\nvest, which had a triangular wedge of cloth let into it, for the judge\nhad become more expansive than when the vest was a fit. He was a sound\nlawyer and an excellent man, and his decisions suffered no disparagement\nfrom his shirt sleeves.\n\nThe pause of expectation was prolonged. The stove was cracking, as it\nabruptly cooled, as if with inarticulate protest against these summary\nproceedings. The autumnal breeze came in dank and chill at the window.\nThe spectators moved restlessly in their places. There was a sharp\ncontrast between the townspeople\u2014especially the lawyers within the bar,\nin their dapper store clothes, and with that alert expression habitual\nwith men who think for a living\u2014and the stolid, ruminative mountain\nfolks, with unshorn beards and unkempt heads, habited in jeans, and\nlounging about in slouching postures.\n\nThere was a sudden approach of feet in the hall,\u2014the feet, to judge\nby their nimble irresponsibility, of scuttling small boys. A thrill\nof excitement ran through the crowd as a heavier tramp resounded. The\nsheriff in charge of the prisoner, who was accompanied by his counsel,\ncame into the room so swiftly as almost to impair the effect of the\nentry, and Mink and his lawyer sat down within the bar.\n\nOddly enough, Mink\u2019s keen, bright eyes were elate as he glanced about.\nHe looked so light, so alert, so elastically ready to bound away,\nthat those cautious souls, who like to be on the safe side, felt that\nit would conduce to the public weal if he were still ironed. He was\nvisibly excited, too; his expression conveyed the idea of an inadequate\nrecognition of everything that he saw, but he stood up and pleaded \u201cNot\nguilty\u201d in a steady, strong voice, and with his old offhand, debonair,\nmanly manner. He held his hat in his hand,\u2014a long time, poor fellow,\nsince he had had need of it; his clothes still bore the rents of the\nstruggle when he was captured; his fine hair curled down upon his brown\njeans coat collar; and his face had an unwonted delicacy of effect, the\nrefined result of the prosaic \u201cjail-bleach.\u201d He seemed most thoroughly\nalive. In contrast any other personality suggested torpor. His strong\npeculiarities had a certain obliterative effect upon others; he was the\nclimax of interest in the room. The judge looked at him with marked\nattention.\n\nHarshaw had flung himself back in his chair, that quaked in every fibre\nbeneath him. He mopped his flushed face with his handkerchief, sighed\nwith fatness and anxiety, and pulled down his vest and the stubs of his\nshirt sleeves about his thick wrists, for he wore no cuffs. He leaned\nforward from time to time, and whispered with eager perturbation to the\nprisoner, who seemed to listen with a sort of flout of indifference and\nconfident protest. Mink\u2019s conduct was so unexpected, so remarkable, that\nit attracted general attention. The members of the bar had taken note\nof it, and presently two or three commented in whispers on Harshaw\u2019s\npreoccupation. For he, a stickler at trifles, a man that fought on\nprinciple every point of his case, had allowed something to slip his\nnotice. The names of the jury were about to be drawn. The sheriff,\nseeking, according to the law, that exponent of guilelessness, \u201ca child\nunder ten years of age,\u201d had encountered one in the hall, and came\nback into the room, beckoning with many an alluring demonstration some\nsmall person, invisible because of the density of the crowd. It once\nmore showed a disposition to titter, for the sheriff, a bulky, ungainly\nman, was wreathing his hard features into sweetly insistent smiles,\nwhen there appeared, in the open space near the judge\u2019s desk, a little\nmaiden, following him, beginning to smile, too, under so many soft\nattentions. Her blowzy, uncovered hair was of a sunny hue; her red lips\nparted to show her snaggled little teeth; her eyes, so fresh, so blue,\nwere fastened upon him with an expression of blandest favor; her plump\nlittle body was arrayed in a blue-checked cotton frock; and despite the\nseason her feet were bare. It was perhaps this special mark of poverty\nthat attracted the attention of one of the lawyers. He was a man of\nextraordinary memory, a politician, and well acquainted in the coves. He\nlooked hard at the little girl. Then he whispered to a crony that she\nwas the miller\u2019s granddaughter. For it was \u201cSister Eudory.\u201d They watched\nHarshaw with idle interest, expecting him to identify the small kinswoman\nof the drowned boy, and to derive from the fact some fine-spun theory of\nincompetency. He did not recognize her, however,\u2014perhaps he had never\nbefore seen her; he only gave her a casual glance, and then turned his\neyes upon the jury list in his hands.\n\nThe scrolls bearing the names of the proposed jurors were placed in\na hat, and the sheriff, bowing his long back, extended it to \u201cSister\nEudory.\u201d\n\nShe held her pretty head askew, looked up, smiling with childish coquetry\nat the judge, put in her dimpled hand with a delicate tentative gesture,\ntook out a scroll, and under the sheriff\u2019s directions, handed it to the\nclerk with an elaborate air of bestowal. He looked at it, and read the\nname aloud.\n\nHer charming infantile presence, as she stood by the judge\u2019s desk among\nthe grave, bearded men, drawing the jury with her dimpled hands,\nwon upon the crowd. There were laughing glances interchanged, and no\ndissenting opinion as to the prettiness and \u201cpeartness\u201d of \u201cSister\nEudory.\u201d She was evidently under the impression that she was performing\nsome great public feat, as she again thrust in her hand, caught up\nanother scroll, and smiled radiantly into the face of the judge, who was\nvisibly embarrassed by the blandishments of the small coquette. He hardly\nknew how to return her gaze, and instead he glanced casually out of the\nwindow close by.\n\nThe defense frequently availed themselves of their right of peremptory\nchallenge. This was a matter of preconcerted detail with the jury list\nbefore them. Whenever it was possible they challenged \u201cfor cause\u201d\nuntil the _venire_ was exhausted. Then jurors were summoned from the\nby-standers. It was not exactly the entertainment for which the crowd\nhad been waiting, but they found a certain interest in seeing Mink, no\nlonger indifferent, lean forward, and with acrimonious eagerness whisper\ninto the counsel\u2019s ear presumable defamations of the juror, who looked on\nhelplessly and with an avidity of curiosity as to what was about to be\npublicly urged against him. Over and again the sheriff made incursions\ninto the streets, summoning talesmen wherever he could lay his hands on\nsuitable persons. Men of undoubted integrity and sobriety were scarce at\nthe moment, for the good citizens of Shaftesville, averse to the duty,\nand hearing that he was abroad on this mission, disappeared as if the\nearth had swallowed them. Plunging into the stores, the baffled official\nwould encounter only the grins of the few callow clerks\u2014proprietor and\ncustomers having alike fled. Once he pursued the flying coat-tails and\nthe soles of the nimble feet of one of the solid men of the town around a\ncorner, never coming nearer. It was a time-honored custom to respond thus\nto one\u2019s country\u2019s call, and engendered no bitterness in the sheriff\u2019s\nbreast. Perhaps he considered this saltatory exercise one of the official\nduties to which he had been dedicated.\n\nThe difficulty of securing a jury was unexampled in the annals of the\ncounty. Many, otherwise eligible, confessed to a prejudice against Mink,\nand had formed and freely expressed an opinion as to his guilt. One old\ncodger from some sequestered cove of the mountains, never before having\nvisited Shaftesville, and desirous of adding to the strange tales of his\ntravels the unique experience of serving on the jury, dashed his own\nhopes when questioned as usual, by replying glibly in the affirmative.\nHe said, too, that the \u201coutdacious rascality of the prisoner showed in\nhis face, an\u2019 ef they locked him up for life he\u2019d be a warnin\u2019 ter the\nother mischievious young minks, fur the kentry war a-roamin\u2019 with \u2019em.\u201d\nHis look of blank amazement and discomfiture when told to \u201cstand aside\u201d\nelicited once more the ready titter of the crowd and the sheriff\u2019s\nformula, \u201cSilence in court!\u201d\n\nAs such admissions were made, Mink sat, his head thrust forward, his\nbright, intent eyes flashing indignantly, a fluctuating flush on his\npallid cheek, his whole lithe, motionless figure seeming so alert that it\nwould scarcely have astonished the community if he had sprung upon the\nholder of these aggressive views of his guilt. His lawyer sneered, and\nnow and then exchanged a glance of scornful comment with him,\u2014for Harshaw\nhad recovered his equanimity in the exercise of that most characteristic\nquality, his pugnacity, during his wrangles with the attorney for the\nState in challenging the jurymen.\n\nThe crude gray light of the autumn day waned. A dim shadow fell over the\nassemblage. Gusts of wind dashed the rain against the grimy panes, the\ndrops trickling down in long, irregular lines; the yellow hickory leaves\nwent whirling by, sometimes dropping upon the window-ledges, and away\nagain on the restless blast. The mists pressed against the glass, then\nquivered and disappeared, and came once more. Occasionally a great hollow\nvoice sounded from the empty upper chambers of the building and through\nthe long halls; the doors left ajar slammed now and then, and the sashes\nrattled as the wind rose higher.\n\nIt was not more cheerful when the lamps were lighted, for the court\ndid not adjourn at the usual hour. A strong smell of coal oil and of\nill-trimmed wicks pervaded the air; a bated suffusion of yellow radiance\nemanated from them into the brown dimness of the great room. The\nillumined faces were dull with fatigue and glistening with perspiration,\nfor the stove was once again red-hot,\u2014an old colored man, with a tropical\nidea of comfort, appearing at close intervals with an armful of wood.\nOld Griff\u2019s long white hair gleamed among the darker heads within the\nbar. He had fallen asleep, his forehead bowed on his hands, his hands\nclasped on his stick. Strange shadows seemed to be attending court.\nGrotesque distortions of humanity walked the walls, and lurked among the\nassemblage, and haunted the open door, and looked over the shoulder of\nthe judge.\n\nIt began to be very apparent to the spectators, the bar, the prisoner,\nthe attorney-general, and the sheriff, that Judge Gwinnan had the\nfixed purpose of sitting there without adjournment until the requisite\ncompetent dozen jurors should be secured. It was already late, long past\nthe usual hour for supper, and although the lawyers and the crowd, who\ncould withdraw and refresh themselves as they wished, might approve of\nthis ascetic determination neither to eat nor to sleep until the jury was\nachieved, the sheriff, his deputy absent, felt it a hardship. He was a\nbulky fellow, accustomed to locomotion only on horseback. He had taken\nmuch exercise to-day on foot, a sort of official Diogenes,\u2014searching for\na mythical unattained man of an exigent mental and moral pattern,\u2014with\nnot even a tub as a haven to which he might have the poor privilege of\nretiring. When he next darted out with a sort of unwieldy agility into\nthe hall, which was lighted by a swinging lamp, the wick turned too high\nand the chimney emitting flames tipped with smoke, he was not easily to\nbe withstood. He seized upon a man leaning idly against the wall, his\nhands in his pockets, whom he had not seen before to-day. \u201cYe air the\nvery feller I\u2019m a-lookin\u2019 fur!\u201d he cried, magnifying the accident into a\nfeat of intention.\n\nPeter Rood drew back further against the wall, with a shocked expression\non his swarthy face and in his glittering black eyes. \u201cI can\u2019t!\u201d he\ncried. \u201cLemme go!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy can\u2019t ye?\u201d demanded the sheriff.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t well,\u201d protested Rood, more calmly.\n\n\u201cShucks!\u201d the officer incredulously commented. \u201cEf all I hev hearn o\u2019\nthat sort to-day war true, thar ain\u2019t a hearty, whoppin\u2019 big man in\nCherokee County but what\u2019s got every disease from the chicken pip ter the\nyaller fever. Come on, Pete, an\u2019 quit foolin\u2019.\u201d\n\nUnder the strong coercion of the law administered by a sheriff who wanted\nhis supper, Rood could but go.\n\nDespite his rapacious interest in all that concerned the tragedy, he\nhad hitherto held aloof from the court-house; he had withdrawn himself\neven from the streets, fearing to meet the sheriff. Seeing the great\nyellow lights in the windows, each flaring in the rainy night like some\nmany-faceted topaz, he had fancied that the trial must be well under way,\nfor no gossip had come to him in his hiding-place of the difficulty of\nsecuring a jury. He could no longer resist his curiosity. He strode at\nhis leisurely gait up the steps, meaning merely to glance within, when\nthe sheriff issued upon him.\n\nAs he came with the officer into the room, Mink scanned him angrily,\nleaned forward, and whispered sharply to the lawyer. Rood was trembling\nin every fibre; the fixed gaze of all the crowd seemed to pierce him; his\ngreat eyes turned with a fluctuating, meaningless stare from one official\nto the other.\n\nHe was a freeholder, not a householder. He had expressed no opinion as to\nthe guilt of the prisoner. Had he formed none? He had not thought about\nit. He was challenged by the defense on the score of personal enmity\ntoward the prisoner, the peremptory challenges being exhausted. As he\nwas otherwise eligible he was put upon his _voir dire_.\n\nHarshaw looked steadily at him for a moment, his red lips curling,\nsitting with his arms folded across his broad chest. Mink\u2019s bright, keen\nface close behind him was expectant, already triumphant. His hand was on\nthe back of his counsel\u2019s chair.\n\nSuddenly Harshaw, tossing his hair from his brow, leaned forward, with\nhis folded arms on the table before him.\n\n\u201cDid you not, sir,\u201d he said, smacking his confident red lips, and with\nan exasperatingly deliberate delivery,\u2014\u201cdid you not on the twentieth day\nof August ascend a certain summit of the Great Smoky Mountains called\nPiomingo Bald, and there\u201d\u2014he derisively thrust out his red tongue and\nwithdrew it swiftly\u2014\u201cshoot and kill a certain cow, believing it to belong\nto Mink Lo\u2014to Reuben Lorey?\u201d\n\nThe judge\u2019s eyes were fixed upon Rood. He seemed strangely agitated,\nshocked; his face assumed a ghastly pallor.\n\nThe attorney-general protested that the juror was not obliged to answer\na question which tended to fasten disgrace, nay crime, upon him; Harshaw\nthe while still leaning on the table, laughing silently, and looking with\nthe roseate dimples of corpulent triumph at their discomfiture.\n\n\u201cThe juror need not answer,\u201d said the judge.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m mighty willin\u2019 ter answer, jedge,\u201d gasped Rood. \u201cI never done no\nsech thing sence I war born.\u201d\n\nIn the estimation of all the crowd it was natural that he should say\nthis; to accept the privilege of silence would be admission.\n\n\u201cLet me put another question in altogether another field,\u201d said Harshaw,\nsmoothing his yellow beard. \u201cIf it please the court to permit us to cite\nthe decision of an inferior court, perhaps, but altogether beyond the\njurisdiction of this honorable court, I should like to refer to the dicta\nin the courts of Cupid. Were not you and the prisoner suitors for the\nhand of the same young lady?\u201d\n\nIt tickled him, to use a phrase most descriptive of the enjoyment he\nexperienced, to describe in this inflated manner the humble \u201ccourtin\u2019\u201d of\nthe mountaineers. There was a broad smile on many of the faces within the\nbar, the townspeople relishing particularly a joke of this character on\nthe mountain folks. The judge\u2019s discerning gray eye was fixed upon him as\nhis pink laugh expanded, his peculiarly red lips showing his strong white\nteeth.\n\n\u201cYes, sir, we war,\u201d Rood admitted. He was calm now; his agitation had\nexcited no comment; it was to be expected in a man surprised, confounded,\nand dismayed by so serious a charge.\n\n\u201cYou were! How interesting! Go where you may, the world\u2019s the same! The\ncharmer spreads her snare even up in the cove! And you and Reuben Lorey\nfell together in it, two willing victims. And as he got the best of it,\nas the lady preferred him, it would be natural that you should have some\nlittle grudge against him, hey?\u201d\n\n\u201cI dunno how he got the best of it,\u201d said Rood sharply. \u201cI ain\u2019t got no\ngrudge agin him fur that. \u2019Twar jes\u2019 yestiddy she sent me word by her\nmother ter kem back; she war jes\u2019 foolin\u2019 Mink.\u201d\n\nHe was evidently glad to tell it; he did not care even for the giggle in\nthe crowd.\n\nThe lawyer was abashed for a moment, and Mink, so long accustomed to be\nrated a breaker of hearts, a lady-killer, was grievously cut down. In\nall the episodes of that day which had so bristled with animosity this\nwas the first moment that his spirit flagged, despite that he had never\nheretofore cared for Elvira,\u2014did not care for her now.\n\nRood hardly was aware how the examination was tending; in the interests\nof self-defense he had overlooked its purpose. He stood staring with\nblank amaze when the judge\u2019s voice ended the discussion.\n\n\u201cThe juror is competent,\u201d he said.\n\nThe two remaining talesmen being unchallenged, the jury was duly\nimpaneled and sworn.\n\nThe court was adjourned. The sleepy crowd filed out into the streets,\nthe lights in the court-house windows disappeared, and a dark and vacant\ninterval ensued.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\n\nThe morning dawned with a radiant disdain of mists. The wind was buoyant,\nelated. The yellow sunshine, in its vivid perfection, might realize to\nthe imagination the light that first shone upon the world when God saw\nthat it was good. The air was no insipid fluid, breathed unconsciously.\nIt asserted its fragrance and freshness in every respiration. It\nstirred the pulses like some rare wine; it seemed, indeed, the subtle\ndistillation of all the fruitage of the year, enriched with the bouquet\nof the summer, and reminiscent of the delicate languors of the spring.\nThe sky had lifted itself to empyreal heights, luminously blue, with\noccasional faint fleckings of fleecy vapors. The white summits of the\nmountains were imposed against it with a distinctness that nullified\ndistance; even down their slopes, beyond the limits of the snowfall, the\npolychromatic vestiges of autumn were visible, with no crudity of color\nin these sharp contrasts, but with a soft blending of effect. Within\nthe court-house great blocks of sunshine fell upon the floor through\nthe dirty panes. Several of the sashes were thrown up to admit the air.\nThe rusty stove stood cold and empty. Many a day had passed since the\nspider-webs that hung from the corners of the ceiling and draped the\nbare windows of the great room had been disturbed. They might suggest to\nthe contemplative mind analogies to the labyrinthine snares of the law,\nwhere the intrusive flies perish miserably, and the spiders batten. On\none of the window-panes a blue-bottle climbed the glass, intent on some\nunimagined achievement; always slipping when near the top, and falling\nbuzzing drearily to the bottom, to recommence his laborious ascent in the\nsunshine. Sometimes he would fly away, droning in melancholy disgust,\npresently returning and renewing his futile efforts. He was a fine moral\nexample of perverted powers, and might well be commended to the notice\nof human malcontents,\u2014by nature fitted to soar, but sighing for feats of\npedestrianism. In contrast with the day in its alertness, its intense\nbrilliancy, yesterday was blurred, dim, like some distorted dream hardly\nworth crediting as a portent. It might need as attestation of its reality\nthe jury which it had brought forth. They were all early in their places,\nhaving been sequestered in charge of the sheriff, and having slept as it\nwere under the wing of the law. The privilege accorded by law, in phrase\nof munificent bestowal,\u2014to be tried by a jury of one\u2019s peers,\u2014seems\nat times a gigantic practical joke, perpetrated by justice on simple\nhumanity. They were indeed Mink\u2019s peers so far as ignorance, station,\u2014for\nmost of them were mountaineers,\u2014poverty, and prejudice might suffice.\nFew were so intelligent, but none so lawless. Most of them were serving\nunder protest, indifferent to the dignity of the great engine of justice\nwhich they represented. The two or three who showed willingness were\nsuspected, either by the defense or the prosecution, of occult motives.\nAll looked unkempt, stolid, dogged, even surlily stupid, as they sat in\ntwo rows, chewing as with one gesture. Gradually, however, they visibly\nbrightened under the bland courtesy of Mr. Kenbigh, the attorney for the\nState, who took early occasion to say\u2014and he paraphrased the remark more\nthan once in the course of the day\u2014that he had never had the pleasure of\ntrying a case before so intelligent a jury, or one to whom the sacred\ninterests of justice could be so safely entrusted. Harshaw, too, deported\nhimself toward them with a mollifying suavity which, to judge from his\nordinary manner, would have seemed impossible. He had a very pretty wit,\nof a rough and extravagant style, that greatly commended him to them and\nrelieved the irksomeness of their duress. Mink had evidently been tutored\nin regard to his demeanor toward them. He forbore to scowl at Pete Rood\nwith the fierce dismay his face had worn when he saw his enemy sworn on\nthe preceding night. But his dissembling was limited. He simply would\nnot look at Rood at all. There was an unaffected confidence, almost\nindifference, upon his handsome face that occasioned much comment. It\nhad already been rumored among the bar, thence percolating through the\ntown at large, that the defense had discovered important testimony at\nthe last moment, but that for some reason Harshaw had desired to apply\nfor a continuance. The prisoner, it was said, had protested, and refused\ndownright, declaring that by nightfall, by to-morrow at farthest, he\nwould be on his way to his home in Hazel Valley. This rumor gave an added\ninterest to the moment when the witnesses were brought in to be sworn and\nput under the rule. The crowd scanned each with a fruitless conjecture\nas to which possessed the potent and significant knowledge on which the\ndefense relied. Several of them were women, demure as nuns in their\nstraight skirts and short waists and long, tunnel-like sun-bonnets. The\nmountain men strode in, and stared about them freely, and were very bold,\nin contrast to these decorous associates, with their grave, downcast eyes\nand pale, passionless faces. The book was held toward the witnesses, two\nor three were instructed to put their hands upon it, and then the clerk,\nin a voice that might have proceeded from an automaton, so wooden was\nthe tone and elocution, recited the oath with a swiftness that seemed\nprofane. The group stood half in the slanting sunbeams, half in the\nbrown shadow, close about the clerk\u2019s desk. Among the tall, muscular\nfigures of the mountain men and the pallid, attenuated elder women was\nAlethea, looking like some fine illusion of the dusky shadow and gilded\nsunshine, with her golden hair and her brown homespun dress. How shining\ngolden her hair, how exquisitely fresh and pure her face, how deep and\nluminous and serious her brown eyes, showed as never before. Somehow she\nwas embellished by the incongruity of the sordid surroundings of the\ncourt-room, the great, haggard, unkempt place, and the crude ugliness of\nits frequenters. Her face was fully revealed, for she had pushed back\nher bonnet that she might kiss the book. As she took it from the clerk\u2019s\nhand and pressed her lips to it, Mink\u2019s heart stirred with a thrill it\nhad never before known. He was entering as a discoverer upon a new realm\nof feeling. He experienced a subtle astonishment at the turbulence, the\nfierceness, of his own emotion.\n\nThe judge was looking at her!\n\nGwinnan\u2019s hand still held his pen. His head was still bent over the paper\non which he wrote. The casual side-glance of those discerning gray eyes\nwas prolonged into a steady gaze of surprise. He did not finish the word\nhe was writing. He laid the pen down presently. He watched her openly,\nunconsciously, as she gave back the book, and as she walked with the\nother witnesses into the adjoining room to await the calling of her name.\n\nMink could hardly analyze this strange emotional capacity, this new\nendowment, that had come to him, so amazed was he by its unwonted\npresence. He had not known that he could feel jealousy. He could not\nidentify it when it fell upon him. He had been so supreme in Alethea\u2019s\nheart, so arrogantly sure of its possession, that he had not cared for\nBen Doaks\u2019s hopeless worship from afar; it did not even add to her\nconsequence in his eyes. But that this stranger of high degree\u2014he would\nnot have phrased it thus, for he had been reared in ignorance of the\ndistinction of caste, yet he instinctively recognized it in the judge\u2019s\npower, his isolated official prominence, his utter removal from all the\nconditions of the mountaineer\u2019s world\u2014that _this_ man should look at her\nwith that long, wondering gaze, should lay down his pen, forgetting the\nword he was to write!\n\nMink felt a terrible pang of isolation. For the first time Alethea was\nin his mind as an independent identity, subject to influences he could\nscarcely gauge, perhaps harboring thoughts in which he had no share. Her\nlove for him had hitherto served for him as an expression of her whole\nnature. He had never recognized other possibilities. Even her continual\npleas that he should take heed of the error of his ways he had esteemed\nas evidence of her absorption in him, her eager, earnest aspiration for\nhis best good; she would endure his displeasure rather than forego aught\nthat might inure to his welfare. He had felt no gratitude that she had\ncome to rescue him, as she had often done, never so sorely needed as now;\nit had seemed to him natural that she should bestir herself, since she\nloved him so. The first doubt of the permanence and pervasiveness of this\nparamount affection stirred within him. He wondered if she had noticed\nthe man\u2019s look, if she were flattered by it. He sought to reassure\nhimself. \u201cLethe jes\u2019 bogues along, though, seein\u2019 nuthin\u2019, studyin\u2019 \u2019bout\nsuthin\u2019 else; mebbe she never noticed. But ef Mis\u2019 Purvine hed been hyar,\nor Mis\u2019 Sayles, I be bound, they\u2019d hev seen it, an\u2019 tole her, too, else\nthey ain\u2019t the wimmen I take \u2019em fur.\u201d He marveled whether Gwinnan had\nthought she was pretty. He himself had always accounted her a fairly\n\u201cgood-lookin\u2019 gal,\u201d but no better favored than Elvira Crosby.\n\nHe had had no fear of the result of the case since he had known of\nAlethea\u2019s strange glimpse of Tad; he was, too, in a moral sense,\ninfinitely relieved by the circumstance. Otherwise he might not have\nbeen able to entertain a train of thought so irrelevant to the testimony\nwhich was being given by the witnesses for the State. He heard it only\ncasually, although he now and then languidly joined the general smile\nthat rewarded some happy hit of Harshaw\u2019s. These pleasantries were\nchiefly elicited in cross-examining the witnesses for the State, and in\nwrangles with the attorney-general as to the admissibility of evidence.\nKenbigh, with a determination of purple wrath to his bald head, would\nin his stentorian roar call aloud upon his authorities with a reverent\nfaith as if they were calendared saints. More than once the court ruled\nagainst him, when it seemed appropriate in his next remark to drop his\nvoice to a rumbling basso profundo. He maintained due respect for the\njudge and showed a positive affection for the jury, but the very sight\nof Harshaw would excite him to an almost bovine expression of rage,\u2014the\nflorid counsel being like a red rag to a bull. At first the only point\nwhich Harshaw seemed desirous to make was that none of the witnesses had\nattached any importance to Mink\u2019s threats, the afternoon of the shooting\nmatch, to \u201cbust down the mill,\u201d until they heard of the disaster. He\ntried, too, to induce them to admit that Mink was a good fellow in the\nmain. The tragic results, however, of his late mischief had given a new\nand serious interpretation to all his previous pranks, and the witnesses\nwere more likely to furnish supplemental instances of freakish malice and\nthe mischievous ingenuity of his intentional reprisals than to palliate\nhis jocose capers. One old man, a by-stander at the shooting match, was\nespecially emphatic, even venomous. Harshaw involved him in a sketch of\nwhat he considered a young man should be. When asked where he had ever\nknown such a man he naively confessed,\u2014himself, \u201cwhenst I war young.\u201d\n\nHarshaw found it much safer to take the aggressive. He played upon the\nalternating fears which Mink\u2019s comrades entertained of the revenuers and\nthe moonshiners. He seemed to question rather _pro forma_ than with the\nexpectation of eliciting serious results, and to amuse himself with the\ninvolutions and contradictions in which he contrived to enmesh them, in\nreplying to his questions as to their sobriety that night in the woods,\nwhat they had to drink, how much it required to make them drunk.\n\nTo the witness it was not a reassuring playfulness. Harshaw looked very\nformidable as he sat, his chair tilted back on its hind legs, both hands\nclasping the lapels of his coat. Whenever he made a point he smacked his\nconfident red lips.\n\n\u201cYou were perfectly sober that night?\u201d\n\nThe witness virtuously assented.\n\n\u201cAnd why shouldn\u2019t you be,\u201d said the crafty Harshaw, \u201cwhen we all know\nthere is no still but the God-fearing bonded still in the whole country!\nLook at the jury, and tell them that you were not drinking that night.\u201d\n\nThe unfortunate witness faltered that he _had_ been drinking some.\n\n\u201cYou had!\u201d exclaimed Harshaw, with the accents of surprise. \u201cAnd yet you\nsay, on oath, that you were sober. Now what do you call sober? We must\ninquire into this. What do you take? I wish I could put that question as\nit should be between gentlemen, but\u201d\u2014he waved his fat hand\u2014\u201csome other\nday.\u201d\n\nThe witness stared dumbly at him, and the crowd grinned.\n\n\u201cLet me put the question in another form. How much of the reverend stuff\nis enough to settle you? A pint?\u201d\n\nThe witness gallantly declared that he could stand a pint.\n\n\u201cA jugful?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, naw, sir,\u201d\u2014meaning a jugful would not be necessary.\n\nIn the staccato of affected amaze, \u201c_Barrelful!_\u201d\n\nThe badgered witness protested and explained, and Harshaw asked, lowering\nhis voice, as if it were exceedingly important, \u201cNow, did that whiskey\ntaste like _brush_ whiskey?\u201d\n\nAs the quaking, shock-headed country lout replied, the facetious counsel\nrecoiled.\n\n\u201cWhat! you tell this honorable court, and this intelligent jury, and this\nupright and learned and teetotaling attorney for the State, that you\ndon\u2019t know the difference in the taste between the illicit corn juice of\nthe mountains and the highly honorable, pure, rectified liquor, taxed\nand stamped, made and drunk, under the auspices of this great, good, and\nglorious government!\u201d\n\nThe judge, who had watched Harshaw with a dilated, gleaming gray eye and\na quivering nostril, spoke abruptly.\n\n\u201cThe court will not longer tolerate this buffoonery,\u201d he drawled.\n\u201cCounsel may cross-examine witness, and if he has _nothing_ to say he may\nbe silent.\u201d\n\nHarshaw flushed deeply. He had always enjoyed certain privileges as a\nwit. Judge Averill, who loved a joke for its own gladsome sake, had often\npermitted him to transcend decorum. He had no idea, however, of figuring\nas the butt of his own ridicule. He was a quick fellow, and took what\nadvantage was possible of the situation. \u201cIf it please your Honor,\u201d he\nsaid, rising to address the judge, and with an air of great courtesy,\n\u201cI will waive the right of cross-examination, since my methods fail in\nsatisfying the court.\u201d\n\nGwinnan looked at him with thinly veiled antagonism. Harshaw relapsed\ninto his tilted chair, still lightly holding his lapels, that favorite\nposture of rural gentlemen, listening with an air of polite but\nincidental attention to the attorney-general\u2019s examination of the next\nwitness, and declining with a wave of his fat hand to cross-examine.\n\nA stir of excitement pervaded the bar; great interest was aroused in\nthe audience. An old farmer, sitting on one of the benches, holding one\ntreasured knee in both hands, put his foot on the floor to take care\nof itself, and leaned forward in breathless eagerness to lose no word.\nOthers, who had been less attentive, were nudging one another, and asking\nwhat had been said. Again and again, as the successive witnesses were\nturned over to the defense for cross-examination, and the lawyer waved\nhis pudgy hand, there was a suppressed sensation. His freak of silence\nhad the effect of greatly expediting matters, and the attorney-general\nannounced before the adjournment for dinner that he had no more witnesses\nto call.\n\nIn conducting the examination of the defendant\u2019s witnesses Harshaw\nwas extremely grave. He had an excited gleam in his eye, a flurried,\nprecipitate manner, as he went on. Now and then he nodded his head, and\ntossed back his mane of yellow hair as if it were heavy and harassed him.\nHe still sat in the big, important posture he liked to assume, but every\nglance was full of an acute anxiety.\n\nMink strove again to fix his mind on the testimony. Over and over it\nwandered. He only knew vaguely that his best friends were assuring the\njury that his escapades were all in mirth and naught in malice, and\ninstancing as indications of his deeper nature all the good turns he had\never done. He was a loose-handed fellow. He had no thrifty instincts, and\nperhaps because he valued lightly he gave freely. But the habit, such as\nit might be, was displayed to the jury under the guise of generosity.\n\nThe sunlight now slanting upon the walls had turned to a deep golden-red\nhue, for the early sunset was close at hand. Through a western window\none might see the great vermilion sphere, begirt with a horizontal band\nof gray cloud, and sinking down into the dun-colored uncertainties about\nthe horizon. The yellow hickory-tree beside the window showed through\nits thinning leaves the graceful symmetry of its black boughs. The room\nwas dropping into a mellow duskiness, hardly obscurity, for as yet the\nsoft light was sufficient to make all objects distinct in the midst of\nthe gathering shadow,\u2014the lawyers, the prisoner, the tousled heads of the\naudience, the attentive jury, the unwearied judge. Harshaw could even\nread his own handwriting as he looked at the list he held, and said, \u201cMr.\nSheriff, call Alethea Sayles.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlethea Sayles,\u201d roared Mr. Sheriff at the door, as if Alethea Sayles\nwere \u201cbeyond the seas\u201d and hard of hearing besides, instead of waiting\nexpectantly in the adjoining room, ten steps away.\n\nAs she came in, Mink was quick to notice the interest on Gwinnan\u2019s\nface,\u2014a sort of grave curiosity without any element of disrespect. She\nhad a look in her eyes which Mink had often seen before, and which at\nonce rebuked and angered him,\u2014an expression of spiritual earnestness,\nof luminous purity; he had sneered at it as \u201ctrying to look pious.\u201d She\nsat down in the witness-chair, and pushed back from her forehead her\nlong bonnet; under its brown rim her golden hair showed in lustrous\nwaves. Her saffron kerchief was knotted beneath her round chin. Her\nface was slightly flushed with the excitement of the moment, but she\nwas not flurried, nor embarrassed, nor restless, nor uncouth, as many\nof her predecessors had been. Her deliberate, serious manner gave her\nan air of great value, and as she began to reply to the questions, her\nclear-voiced, soft drawl pervaded the court-room, singularly silent\nnow, and there was a growing impression that hers was the important\ntestimony for which all had been waiting. Harshaw\u2019s manner served to\nconfirm this. He was repressed, grave; only the quick, nervous glance of\nhis opaque blue eye indicated his excitement; his questions were framed\nwith the greatest care, and some of these were strange enough to excite\ncomment. He asked her first to tell all that she knew about the party in\nthe woods that night,\u2014whether they were drinking and had access to any\nample supply of liquor. She recited her adventure at Boke\u2019s barn, and\ndetailed the subsequent interview with the moonshiner and her refusal\nto keep his secret, throughout scarcely suppressed excitement in the\ncourt-room, for every man knew that with the words she courted martyrdom\nand took her life in her hands. Harshaw seemed to prize this attestation\nof her courage and her high sense of the sacred obligations of her oath,\nand dexterously contrived it so that the judge and the jury should be\nfully impressed with the crystalline purity of her moral sense, with her\nimmovable determination to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing\nbut the truth. He persevered in the examination of this point with great\npertinacity, despite many stormy wrangles with the attorney for the\nState as to the pertinence and admissibility of the evidence, and the\noccasional ruling of the judge against him. Enough was secured, however,\nto prove that despite the limitations of the bonded still, Mink had had\nthe opportunity to get drunk if he chose, and his habits were not those\nof a teetotaler.\n\nThe lawyer\u2019s questions then became more inexplicable.\n\n\u201cWhen you discovered that you could give some testimony in this case,\nwhat did you do?\u201d\n\nAlethea pushed back her bonnet still further, and stared at him.\n\n\u201cWhy, you-uns know,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cTell the jury.\u201d\n\nLike many rural witnesses, she persisted in addressing the judge. She\nwould fix her serious brown eyes on the stolid wooden faces in the\njury-box, then lift them to the judge and answer.\n\n\u201cI kem down ter the jail ter see Reuben, an\u2019 tell him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd did you see him?\u201d\n\nShe looked at Harshaw, with a deep humiliation and resentment\nintensifying the flush on her delicate cheek to a burning crimson. His\ngravity, the respect of his manner, reassured her. She replied with her\ndeliberate dignity,\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201cYou-uns know mighty well he wouldn\u2019t see me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen what did you do?\u201d\n\nShe seemed for a moment doubtful if she would answer.\n\n\u201cI dunno how ye hev forgot,\u201d she said slowly. \u201c_I_ hain\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want you to tell the jury,\u201d he explained.\n\n\u201cI tried to make you listen.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what did I do?\u201d\n\nOnce more she pushed her brown bonnet further from her golden head, and\nlooked at him silently.\n\nThe pause was so long that the attorney-general remarked that really he\ncould not see the pertinence of the examination.\n\nThe judge spoke presently: \u201cCounsel would do well not to harass the\nwitness with unnecessary questions.\u201d\n\nWhat new life was in the man\u2019s tones! He had forgotten to drawl. There\nhad been many a badgered witness on the stand to-day whom he had not\ninterfered to protect. Mink eyed him narrowly through the closing dusk.\nHe was leaning forward upon the desk. He was listening with no impartial\njudicial interest. A personal concern was expressed in his face.\n\nThe sympathetic cadence in his voice struck on other ears than Mink\u2019s.\nIt was like an open sesame to Alethea\u2019s heart. The pent-up indignation\nburst forth. She was all at once eager to tell the affronts she could\nnot resent. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t listen ter me, jedge!\u201d she cried. \u201cHe ran from\nme,\u2014actially ran down the street. An\u2019 I didn\u2019t know what ter do. An\u2019\nnobody knowed \u2019bout \u2019n it but me. An\u2019 I dassent tell nobody \u2019ceptin\u2019 the\nlawyer. An\u2019 Jerry Price,\u2014him ez air on the jury,\u2014he \u2019lowed ef I knowed\nsuthin\u2019 I wanted ter tell in court, he\u2019d _make_ the lawyer listen, an\u2019 so\nhe did. An\u2019 I tole him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen was that?\u201d asked Harshaw.\n\n\u201cYestiddy mornin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo that was the reason you didn\u2019t tell it before?\u201d\n\n\u201cI war feared ter tell ennybody but the lawyer, \u2019kase Reuben\u2019s enemies\nmought fix it somehows so \u2019twouldn\u2019t be no \u2019count.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, what was this you wanted to tell?\u201d\n\nHer face was growing dim among the glooms. The dusky figures within the\nbar, the shadowy judge, the indistinct mass of the crowd, the great\nwindows,\u2014indefinite gray squares,\u2014seemed for a moment the darker because\nof a dull suffusion of yellow light in the halls, falling through the\ndoorways, and heralding the coming of the lamps.\n\n\u201cI wanted to tell that I seen Tad Simpkins arter they \u2019lowed he war\ndrownded.\u201d\n\nThere was absolute silence for a moment; then, wild commotion. Men were\ntalking loudly to each other in the crowd. The lights came in with a\nflare. Several of the jury requested to have the answer repeated. The\nattorney-general began to ask a question, left off, and bent his head to\nhis notes. A sudden shrill, quaking voice pierced the tumult.\n\n\u201cI know it air a true word!\u201d cried the old miller, clasping his hands.\n\u201cGod would not deliver my soul ter hell. I fund him in my youth, but my\nage air the age o\u2019 the backslider. He would not desert me, though! An\u2019 I\nhev been gin ter do my good works o\u2019 faith anew. I\u2019ll find my boy. I\u2019ll\nmake amends. I\u2019ll\u201d\u2014\u2014\n\nThe sheriff\u2019s insistence, \u201cSilence in court!\u201d had no coercion for him. He\nbegan to sob and cry aloud, and to call the idiot\u2019s name, and was finally\ntaken by the deputy and led out of the court-room, the officer promising\nto come and let him know as soon as Alethea had disclosed the boy\u2019s\nwhereabouts.\n\nMink glanced around him in triumph. His lip curved. A brilliant elation\nshone in his eyes. He tossed back, with an arrogant gesture, his long,\nred, curling hair, gilded by the lamplight to a brighter hue. He joyed\nto see the discomfiture of his detractors, who had given their testimony\nwith all the gusto that appertains to stamping on a man, literally and\nmetaphorically, who is already down. He noted, too, the surprise and\npleasure in Ben Doaks\u2019s eye, in Jerry Price\u2019s freckled, ugly face, and,\nstrangely enough, Peter Rood looked transfigured. His surly scowl was\ngone, as if it had never existed. His swarthy face was irradiated by his\ngreat excited eyes. A flush dyed his cheek. His breath came in quick\ngasps. He seemed inordinately relieved, delighted. What! because the\nforlorn little idiot was not dead? Mink could not understand it. With\nnot even a surmise to explain the demonstration, he stared in suddenly\nrenewed gravity at his old enemy on the jury.\n\nAs soon as order was restored, Harshaw resumed his questions.\n\n\u201cTell the jury when and where you saw him, and how you are sure it was\nafter he was reputed to be drowned.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Kase \u2019twar on the Monday o\u2019 the camp-meetin\u2019 in Eskaqua Cove, an\u2019 that\nwarn\u2019t begun till arter the mill war busted down,\u201d said Alethea.\n\nShe detailed the scene at the little school-house in her uncouth\nphrasings, every syllable carrying conviction to her hearers. Her bonnet\nhad fallen quite back on her shoulders. Her face was delicately ethereal\nin the lamplight,\u2014so much of the sincerities of her nature it expressed,\nso fine and true an intelligence, that, beautiful as it was, it was still\nmore spiritual. The strange story she had told was improbable. Looking\nupon her face it was impossible to doubt it.\n\n\u201cThat night, what did you do?\u201d\n\n\u201cI let Buck an\u2019 the rest o\u2019 the fambly go by ter aunt Dely\u2019s house, an\u2019\nwhenst they war out o\u2019 sight I called Tad, but he wouldn\u2019t answer. An\u2019\nthen I climbed over the fence, an\u2019 sarched an\u2019 sarched fur him. But I\ncouldn\u2019t find him,\u2014not in the house, nor under it, nare one. Then I went\non ter aunt Dely\u2019s,\u2014Mis\u2019 Purvine\u2019s,\u201d she added, decorously, remembering\nthat her relative was a stickler for etiquette, and might not relish\nthe familiar appellation of kinship in a public assembly. \u201cI never tole\nnobody, \u2019kase I war feared ez whoever hed Tad a-hidin\u2019 of him fur spite\nagin Reuben would hear \u2019bout\u2019n it, an\u2019 take him so fur away ez we-uns\ncouldn\u2019t never ketch him agin. I went back ter the school-house over an\u2019\nover, a-sarchin\u2019 fur him, hopin\u2019 he\u2019d take a notion ter kem thar agin.\nAn\u2019 at last I \u2019lowed I\u2019d tell the lawyer.\u201d\n\nIt had become very plain to the listeners that it was in the interests\nof his client that Harshaw had permitted his own rude conduct to be made\npublic. The prosecution could not now reasonably demand why a hue and cry\nhad not been raised, and why the boy was not brought into court, as it\nwas very evident that because of the witness\u2019s mistaken secrecy and the\nlawyer\u2019s purblind folly the facts had not become known to the defense\nuntil the preceding day, when it was futile to search a place where the\nfugitive had been glimpsed three months before.\n\nThe attorney-general, about to cross-examine the witness, cleared\nhis throat several times on a low key. He began with a deliberation\nand caution which indicated that he considered her formidable to the\ninterests of the State. He sat with his side to the table,\u2014the rural\nlawyer seldom rises save to address the court,\u2014with one elbow upon it,\nand the other hand twirling his heavy gold watch-chain that festooned his\nample stomach. More than once he desisted in this operation, and passed\nhis hand soothingly over his bald head, as if he were encouraging his\nideas. He at once sought to show an interested motive in the testimony.\n\nWas she a relation of the prisoner? Was she not interested in him? Was he\nnot her lover? Ah, he had been! And he was not now? And why?\n\nAlethea\u2019s simple and modest decorum in answering these questions abashed\nthe ridicule that the mere mention of the tender passion always excites\nin a rural crowd. She only threw added light upon her character when she\nreplied:\n\n\u201cReuben didn\u2019t like folks ter argufy with him. I useter beg him not ter\nplay kyerds, an\u2019 be so powerful gamesome, an\u2019 drink whiskey, an\u2019 git in\nsech a many scrapes. An\u2019 he \u2019lowed \u2019twarn\u2019t my business. An\u2019 I reckon\n\u2019twarn\u2019t But it never \u2019peared-like ter me ez sech goin\u2019s-on war right,\nan\u2019 I couldn\u2019t holp sayin\u2019 so. An\u2019 so he \u2019lowed ez me an\u2019 him couldn\u2019t\nagree, an\u2019 thar war no use a-tryin\u2019.\u201d\n\nMink glanced up at Gwinnan to note the impression of this plain\nstatement. The judge was looking at _him_.\n\nThe attorney-general went on, hoping to find a discrepancy in her\ntestimony, yet hardly knowing how he had best approach it. The court-room\nhad relapsed into absolute silence. One could hear in the pauses the\nslight movement of the branches of the trees without as the light wind\nstirred. They were distinctly visible beside the windows, for the night\nwas fair. All the long upper sashes gave upon a sky of a fine, pure\nazure, seeming more delicate for the dull yellow lamplight flooding\nthe room. The moon with an escort of clouds was riding splendidly up\ntoward the meridian; now and then they closed jealously about her, and\nagain through their parting ranks she looked out radiantly and royally\non her realms below. The frost touched the panes here and there with a\ncrystalline sparkle. The attorney-general fixed his eyes upon the moon as\nhe pondered; then, his fingers drumming lightly upon the table, he asked,\n\u201cIt was at the little school-house on the road to Bethel camp-ground?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d said Alethea.\n\n\u201cWere you ever there before?\u201d\n\n\u201cA many a time,\u201d said Alethea. \u201cThe folkses in Eskaqua Cove goes thar ter\npreachin\u2019.\u201d\n\nHe glanced again absently at the moon, his fingers still drumming on the\ntable.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a church-house, then,\u201d he said, adopting the vernacular, \u201cas well\nas a school-house?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d assented the witness.\n\n\u201cWell, is this fence by which you were standing the fence around the\nplay-yard?\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw, sir,\u201d said Alethea, amazed at the idea of this civilized provision\nfor youthful sports. \u201cThe palin\u2019s air round three sides o\u2019 the house,\nleavin\u2019 out the side whar the door be, ter pertect the graves.\u201d\n\nThe drumming fingers of the attorney-general were suddenly still. \u201cIt\nis a graveyard, then?\u201d he said, in a sepulchral undertone, overmastered\nhimself by the surprise.\n\n\u201cYes, sir. Folks air buried thar. It\u2019s a graveyard.\u201d\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s no place more appropriate for a boy in poor Tad\u2019s predicament to\nbe!\u201d cried the lawyer. \u201cLook here,\u201d squaring himself before the table and\nplacing his elbows upon it, \u201cdo you believe in ghosts?\u201d\n\nHarshaw had changed color; he had been fiercely biting his red lips and\nstroking his yellow beard throughout these interrogatories, seeing their\ndrift more clearly, perhaps, than the prosecuting officer did. Now he\nsprang to his feet, and insisted that the attorney for the State should\nnot be permitted to play upon the superstition of the witness. She had\nseen no ghost. The court would not, he hoped, permit the questions\nto take the form of an attempt to persuade a witness\u2014of great native\nintelligence, indeed, and of the highest moral worth, but densely\nignorant, and doubtless saturated with the ridiculous superstitions\nof the uneducated\u2014that in seeing this fugitive lad she had beheld a\nsupernatural manifestation. \u201cIn one moment, sir,\u201d he interpolated,\naddressing Peter Rood, who sat in the back row of the jury, and who had\nsuddenly bent forward, pointing a long finger at the witness, as if he\nwere about to ask a question. \u201cThe boy doubtless swam out of the river,\nand being a maltreated little drudge ran away, and is now somewhere held\nin hiding by persons inimical to the prisoner. The witness had a glimpse\nof him. There is no man here ignorant enough to believe that she saw a\nghost,\u2014least of all the learned and astute counsel for the State.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe she saw a ghost,\u201d said the attorney-general, still\nseated, cocking up his eyes at his vehement opponent. \u201cI do believe,\nhowever, most firmly, that the witness had an illusion, hallucination.\u201d\n\nThere was a stir in the audience and the jury as he uttered these big\nwords. They seemed to represent something more vaguely formidable than a\nghost.\n\n\u201cCounsel must conduct the examination on a reasonable basis,\u201d remarked\nthe judge.\n\n\u201cI will do so, your Honor,\u201d in the basso profundo of deep respect.\n\nMink, agitated, trembling with the sudden shock, leaned forward and\nlooked with burning eyes at Alethea. How was she discrediting the\ntestimony she had given for him? How was she jeopardizing his fate?\n\nShe was almost overcome for a moment. Her nerves were shaken; she was\nappalled by the sudden revolution her simple disclosure had wrought.\nHer lips trembled, her eyes filled, but she made a gallant struggle for\nself-control, and answered in a steady voice the attorney-general\u2019s next\nquestion.\n\n\u201cDid the boy wear a hat, or was he bare-headed?\u201d\n\nThere was suppressed excitement in the audience, for Tad\u2019s hat and coat,\nrecovered from the river, had been shown to the jury while she was in the\nante-room with the other witnesses.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t notice,\u2014\u2019twar so suddint\u201d\n\n\u201cHow was he dressed?\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t see,\u201d faltered Alethea.\n\n\u201cWhat _did_ you see?\u201d\n\n\u201cI seen his face, ez clear ez I see yourn this minit.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow did he look,\u2014hearty?\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw, sir; he looked mighty peaked. His face war bleached,\u201d\u2014a thrill ran\nthrough the crowd,\u2014\u201can\u2019 I reckon he war skeered ez he seen me, fur he\n\u2019peared plumb tarrified.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow long did you see his face?\u201d\n\n\u201cA minit, mebbe; the fog passed \u2019twixt us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, there was fog!\u201d\n\nThe attorney-general cast a triumphant sidelong glance at the jury.\n\nHe paused abruptly, and turned toward them.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, sir,\u201d he said, addressing Peter Rood. \u201cI had quite\nforgotten you wanted to ask a question.\u201d\n\nIt did not immediately strike him as odd that the man was still in the\nsame position,\u2014in the shadow, leaning forward, supported on the back\nof the chair of the juryman in front of him, and still pointing at the\nwitness with a long finger.\n\nThe judge took note of the lapse of time. \u201cMr. Sheriff,\u201d he said,\nirritably, \u201cwake that juror up. The man\u2019s asleep.\u201d\n\nThere was a stir in the jury-box among the attentive eleven men. The\njuror on whose chair the immovable figure leaned turned his head, and met\nthe fixed gaze of the eyes so close to his own.\n\nHe sprang up with a loud cry.\n\n\u201cThe man is dead!\u201d he shrieked.\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\n\nThe finger of the dead man still pointed at Alethea. His ghastly eyes\nwere fixed upon her. The chair of the juryman in front of him had\nsustained his weight in the same position in which he had fallen when the\nfirst shock of the idea that the witness had seen a spectre instead of\nthe boy, alive and well, had thrilled through the room.\n\nFor a few moments it was a scene of strange confusion. The crowd rose\nfrom their seats, and surged up to the bar. New-comers were rushing in\nfrom the halls. Some one was calling aloud the name of the principal\nphysician of the place. Many were clamoring to know what had happened.\nThe judge\u2019s voice sounded suddenly. \u201cLook out for your prisoner, Mr.\nSheriff!\u201d he exclaimed sharply; for the officer still stood as if\ntransfixed beside the dead man, on whose shoulder he had laid hold. No\nhand, however heavy, could rouse him from the slumber into which he had\nfallen.\n\nThe sheriff turned toward the prisoner. The proud mountaineer, keenly\nsensitive to an indignity, burst out angry and aggrieved. \u201cI hain\u2019t\nbudged a paig!\u201d he cried. And indeed he had not moved. \u201cIt\u2019s jes\u2019 \u2019kase\nyou-uns set thar in jedgmint, an\u2019 I hev ter set hyar an\u2019 be tried, ez ye\nkin say sech ez that ter me!\u201d\n\nHarshaw had vehemently clutched his client\u2019s arm as a warning to be\nsilent. To his relief, he perceived that Gwinnan had not heard. He was\nabsorbed in directing a physician to be called, and formally adjourned\ncourt until nine o\u2019clock the following morning. The reluctant jurymen,\nquivering with excitement and consumed with curiosity as to the\nsubsequent proceedings, were led off from the scene in charge of an\nofficer,\u2014himself a martyr to duty,\u2014with many an eager backward glance and\nthought. The crowd hung around outside with unabated excitement. Often\nit effected an entrance and surged through the doors, to be turned out\nagain by the orders of the physicians. Many climbed on the window-ledges\nto look through. The lower branches of the hickory-trees swarmed with the\nfigures of nimble boys. The wind now was high. The boughs swayed back and\nforth with a monotonous clashing. Leaves continually fell from them like\nthe noiseless flight of birds. The moon showed the pale, passionless sky;\na planet swung above the distant mountains, burning with the steadfast\npurity of vestal fires; the inequalities of the hills and dales on\nwhich the rugged little town was built\u2014very dark beneath the delicately\nillumined heavens\u2014showed in the undulating lines of lighted windows,\nglimmering points stretching out into the gloom. Constantly the weighted\ngate clanged as men trooped into the court-house yard. The shadows seemed\nto multiply the number of the crowd.\n\nSuddenly there was a cry: \u201cHe\u2019s comin\u2019! They\u2019re bringin\u2019 him! He\u2019s\ncomin\u2019!\u201d\n\nThe expectation had been so strong that the physician would pronounce\nit some transient paroxysm of the heart, which he was known to often\nsuffer, that the crowd was stricken into a shocked silence to recognize\nthe undertaker among the men coming out and bearing a litter on which\nthe motionless figure was stretched. One glance at it, and there seemed\nnothing so inanimate in all nature. The moon, the trees, even the\ninvisible wind, were endowed with redundant life, with identity, with all\nthe affirmations of speculation, of imagination, in comparison with the\nterrible nullity of this thing that once was Peter Rood. It expressed\nonly a spare finality.\n\nIt was strange to think he could not hear the wind blow, straight from\nthe mountains, the dull thud of the many feet that followed him through\nthe gate and down the street; could not see the moon which shone with a\nghastly gleam upon his stark, upturned face. He was dead!\n\nHe was so dead that already his world was going on with a full\nacceptation of the idea. He had no longer an individuality as Peter\nRood; he was only considered as a dead man. Considered as a dead man, he\nfurnished the judge with a puzzle which irritated him. Gwinnan could not\nremember any case in which a man had died upon a jury, and he debated\nwithin himself whether this instance came under the statute leaving it to\nthe discretion of the court, in the case of a sick juror, to discharge\nthe jury and order a new one to be impaneled, or to excuse the juror and\nsummon another in his place from the by-standers. He went into one of the\nlawyers\u2019 offices, and turned over a few books in search of precedent.\n\nThe attorney-general utilized the respite. He had lingered at the scene\nfor a time, animated by curiosity. But when one of the physicians who\nhad been summoned to the court-house, returned to his office, after the\nvain efforts to resuscitate the man, he found the attorney for the State\nseated before the wood fire, his hands clasped behind his head, his feet\nstretched out upon the hearth, his chair tilted back upon its hind legs,\nwaiting for him in comfortable patience.\n\nThere was no carpet on the floor. The small windows were lighted by tiny\npanes of glass. The hearth was broken in many places, but painted a\nbright red with a neat home-made varnish of powdered bricks mixed with\nmilk, commonly used in the country. There were several splint-bottomed\nchairs, an easy-chair, and one or two tables; book-cases covered the\nwalls from the floor to the ceiling. It was the doctor\u2019s professional\nopinion that tobacco was the ruin of the country; on the high mantelpiece\nwere ranged several varieties of pipe, from the plebeian cob and\nbrier-root to the meerschaum presented by a grateful patient, all bearing\nevidences of much use.\n\nKenbigh looked up quietly as the owner of the appropriated quarters\nwalked in. Dr. Lloyd was a tall, spare man of sixty odd, with a back\nthat never bent, dressed punctiliously in black broadcloth and the most\nimmaculate linen of an old-fashioned style. His thick hair was white.\nHe wore a stiff mustache; his shaven chin was square and resolute;\nhis features were singularly straight. His gray eye expressed great\ncleverness and goodness, but there was a refined sarcasm in the curl of\nhis lips, and he affected a blunt indifference of manner, not to say\nbrusqueness.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, doctor,\u2014nothing with my vitals, or I wouldn\u2019t have trusted\nmyself near you. The instinct of self-preservation is strong. I have come\nfor some information.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn aching void in the regions of your brain, eh? Well, at your time of\nlife that\u2019s incurable.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want you,\u201d said the lawyer, his eyes roaming around the medical\nlibrary, ranged upon the wall, with a gloating, gluttonous gleam at the\nidea of the feast of information within the covers of the volumes, \u201cto\nlecture me, doctor.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s your Medical Jurisprudence?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t teach me all I want to know about ghosts.\u201d\n\nSurprise was something Dr. Lloyd was never known to express or imply. He\nsat looking at the visitor with his calm professional eye, as if it were\nthe most habitual thing in the world for sane lawyers to come into his\noffice at night, wanting to know about ghosts.\n\n\u201cI want to know all about absurd illusions,\u2014in people of undoubted\nsanity.\u201d\n\n\u201cSubject of some scope,\u201d dryly remarked the doctor.\n\n\u201cI want to know all that _you_ know about hallucinations, visions. I want\nan elaborate exposition of the visual apparatus as connected with the\nbrain, and of the derangement of its nervous functions.\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my word, you\u2019re a pretty fellow!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd then I want you to lend me _all_ your books.\u201d And once more he gazed\naround on the coveted treasures of the shelves.\n\nOne of the great logs had burned in two, the chunks falling forward upon\nthe other blazing sticks. The doctor had made a move toward the tongs,\nbut the lawyer arose, and with a sort of cumbrous agility kicked first\none and then the other into the space between the dogs. Dr. Lloyd watched\nthis proceeding with silent disapproval. Far be it from him to put his\ndapper old-fashioned foot-gear to any such purpose.\n\nThe warmth of the fire was grateful, for it had grown much colder\nwithout. The wind surged down the street like the passing of many feet,\nsome tumultuous human rush. The fir-tree beside the door was filled with\nvoices, sibilant whisperings, sighs. Clouds were scudding through the\nsky; Kenbigh could see them from where he sat listening to the doctor\u2019s\nmonologue. The moonlight lay on the old-fashioned garden without, all\npillaged by the autumn winds,\u2014the rose-bushes but leafless wands; the\narbors, naked trellises; the walks, laid off with rectangular precision,\nshowing what the symmetry of its summer guise had been, as a skeleton\nmight suggest the perfection of the human form. The lights in the\ntwo-story frame house beyond\u2014for the doctor\u2019s office was in the yard of\nhis dwelling and the garden lay a little to the rear\u2014were extinguished\none by one. A dog close by barked for a time, with echoes from the\nhills and depressions, and then fell to howling mournfully. The doctor\ntalked on, now and then taking down the books to illustrate; marking the\npassages with a neat strip of paper in lieu of turning down a leaf, as\nKenbigh seemed disposed to do. He piled the volumes beside his apt pupil\non the candle-stand, and as the lawyer fell to at them he himself read\nfor a time, as a light recreation, from a history in some twelve volumes.\nTo a country gentleman of ample leisure and bookish habit, this lengthy\nwork was but as a mouthful.\n\nDr. Lloyd rose at last, knocked the ashes out of his pipe upon the head\nof one of the fire-dogs, glanced at the absorbed lawyer, and remarked,\n\u201cYou\u2019ll come over to my house to go to bed after a little more, won\u2019t\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cReckon so,\u201d responded Kenbigh, without lifting his head.\n\nThe fire flared up the chimney in great white flames; they emanated from\na lustrous, restless, pulsing red heart. The sparks flew. The faint and\njoyous sounds from the logs were like some fine fairy minstrelsy which\none is hardly sure one hears. A sylvan fragrance came from the pile of\nwood in the corner, the baskets of chips, the pine knots.\n\nThe doctor left the room, opened the door and looked back.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you set the house afire and burn up these books,\u201d he said, with\nthe first touch of feeling in his tones that night.\n\nThe results of the attorney-general\u2019s vigil were abundantly manifest in\nhis speech to the jury the following day. For that body was recruited\nby summoning another talesman in Rood\u2019s place, and the trial perforce\nbegan anew; Gwinnan apparently thinking this alternative served better\nthe ends of justice than to risk the delays and vicissitudes of again\nsecuring a competent jury. This decision encouraged Mink, who had been\ntortured by the fear that by some disaster the case would be continued\nto the next term. He was not now greatly perturbed by the strange turn\nwhich the attorney-general had contrived to give to Alethea\u2019s testimony.\nSince Harshaw had found that any one claimed to have seen Tad after\nthe report of the boy\u2019s death he had felt confident of an acquittal,\nlaying much stress on the necessity of proving the _corpus delicti_, as\nhe phrased it; and Mink accepted his lawyer\u2019s opinion and relied upon\nit. He had not been greatly affected by Rood\u2019s fate, so absorbed was he\nby his own interests; but it was a moment of tense excitement when the\ntestimony again reached the juncture at which, on the preceding day, the\nunfortunate juror had leaned forward and pointed at the witness, his\nquestion failing on his lips in the dumbness of death. Nothing further\nwas elicited from Alethea except that she did believe in ghosts, but that\nshe was sure she had seen Tad alive, albeit he had stood among the graves\nwith a blanched face, disappearing in a moment, lost in the mist.\n\nThe whole testimony occupied much less time than on the previous day, and\nas the afternoon progressed it began to be apparent that the case would\ngo to the jury before the court adjourned.\n\nThe surprise of the day was the speech of the attorney-general. It opened\nsimply enough. He sought to show that it was impossible for Tad to be\nalive. The poor boy was doubtless at the bottom of the river. How could\nit be otherwise? Assume, as his learned opponent would have them believe,\nthat he had swum ashore. Where was he now? The suggestion that he was\nin the custody of some enemy of the prisoner, who sought by concealing\nhim to effect the incarceration of Reuben Lorey in the penitentiary for\na long term, was so absurd that he hesitated to argue such a foolish\nposition before so intelligent a body of men as the jury whom he had the\npleasure of addressing. Who would, for revenge, encounter the hazards\nof such a scheme? The boy was as well known throughout the section as\nPiomingo Bald. Any chance glimpse of him by a casual visitor would fling\nthe conspirators themselves into the clutches of the law, that would be\nloath to lightly loose its hold on such rascals. Who would voluntarily\nburden themselves with the support of an idiot? If anybody had found Tad,\nhe would have been mighty quick to carry the boy back to old man Griff.\nSay that no one had detained him,\u2014what then? He was an idiot, incapable\nof taking care of himself. If he were wandering at large, starving, half\nclad, would not some one have seen him besides Alethea Sayles, in all\nthese weeks, gentlemen, in all these months? It was a remarkable story\nthat the witness had told,\u2014a remarkable story. (The counsel seemed to\nfind fit expression of his sense of its solemnity by sinking his basso\nprofundo to a thunderous mutter.) No one for a moment could doubt the\nsanity of that witness. She was evidently a girl of fine common sense;\nan excellent girl, too,\u2014no one could for a moment doubt the truth of any\nword she uttered. The fact was, Alethea Sayles saw a strange thing that\nnight. She thought she saw Tad. It was only his image, not himself. \u201cThe\nforlorn boy is dead, gentlemen,\u201d he continued. \u201cShe saw the fantasy of\nher own anxious, overwrought brain. He was in her mind. She had pondered\nlong upon him, and upon the plight of her lover, who had killed him. What\nwonder, then, that in the mist, and the flickering moonlight, and the\nlonely midnight, she should fancy that she saw him!\u201d\n\nHe told the gaping and amazed jury that this was not an isolated\ninstance. He mentioned other victims of hallucination; he detailed the\nstrange experiences of Nicolai, of Spinoza, of Dr. Bostock, of Lord\nLondonderry, of Baron de G\u00e9ramb, of Leuret, of Lord Brougham.\n\nHarshaw, who had sat listening, with his hands in his pockets and his\nlegs crossed, a smile of ostentatious derision upon his face, grew grave\nupon the mention of the last name. He had never heard of the others,\nbut to attempt to bolster a theory of spectral apparition by this name,\nrevered in the profession, was, he felt, a juridical sacrilege that\nshould cause the attorney-general to be at the very least stricken from\nthe rolls.\n\nAs Kenbigh went on, expounding the relative and interdependent functions\nof the brain and eye, the fine and subtle theories of spiritual and\nphysical life, its vague boundaries, its unmeasured capabilities,\u2014the\ndeductions, the keen analysis of science, all reduced to the vernacular\nin the mouth of a man trained by years of practice to speak to the\npeople,\u2014Harshaw sat in blank dismay. He had never heard of any spiritual\nmanifestation but the vulgar graveyard ghost, usually headless, stalking\nin its shroud to accomplish missions of vengeance upon the very ignorant\nin the deep midnight. But Kenbigh\u2019s account of sundry ethereal-minded\nand mild-mannered spectres, with a preference for high company, singing,\nappearing at dinner-tables, conversing agreeably, arrayed in conventional\ngarb, as decorous and reasonable and as mindful of etiquette as if\nstill bound by all the restraints of the world, the flesh, and the\ndevil, disappearing as noiselessly as they had come, with no appreciable\nresult of the visit,\u2014it shocked every sense of precedent within him.\nHe was country-bred and did not know that when ghosts are fashionable\nthey conduct themselves as fashionable people do. He noted keenly the\ndiscrepancies in the scientific explanations. Always, despite its show of\nlearning, its systems, its terminology, its physiology, its psychology,\nand its persistent reference of supernatural appearances to natural\ncauses, Reason retires from the spectral exhibition with some admission\nof occult influences, not fully understood,\u2014in effect making a bow to the\nghost in question, \u201cSaving your presence.\u201d He noticed, too, that the jury\nwere listening with that intentness and eager interest which characterize\nevery mind, even the most ignorant, in considering things of the other\nworld, manifestations of hidden agencies. When he rose to reply he felt\nat a loss. The sound, however, of his own hearty voice ringing against\nthe walls, instead of the sepulchral basso profundo of the attorney for\nthe State, the motion of his own stalwart arm sawing the air,\u2014for he\nwas in the habit of impressing his views with a good deal of muscular\nexertion,\u2014had an invigorating effect upon him, and brought him back to\nhis normal state of confidence and bluster. He found words for his ready\nscorn. He sought to discredit the attorney-general\u2019s phantoms. He did not\nknow where the counsel got these old women\u2019s tales; they were an insult\nto the intelligence of the jury. The learned counsel knew mighty well\nhe wasn\u2019t going to be called upon for his authorities,\u2014medical books\ncan\u2019t be produced as evidence in a court of justice, much less ghost\nstories, \u201cRaw-head and bloody-bones\u201d! For his own part, he didn\u2019t believe\na word of them. A fact is a thing that can be proved. The law requires\nauthentication. \u201cHenry Brougham, Lord Chancellor, saw visions, did he?\nAnd may be Lord Coke dreamed dreams,\u201d he sneered indignantly. \u201cAnd Lord\nMansfield perchance walked in his sleep. And who knows they did? And what\ndrivel is this! Gentlemen, _we_ live in the nineteenth century!\u201d\n\nThe aspersion of Lord Brougham\u2014for thus he considered the anecdote\u2014was\nvery bitter to him. He was a man of few enthusiasms, and such\nhero-worship as was possible to him had been expended upon the great\nlights of his profession whose acquaintance he had formed in his early\nreading of law, some twenty years ago. He so dwelt upon this point that\nthe jury received the valuable impression that Henry Brougham was a\nchancellor and a \u201cvalley man,\u201d hailing from Knoxville, perhaps, and was\nheld in high esteem by the lawyers in Shaftesville, and that Harshaw\nseemed to think the attorney-general had slandered him. He wrenched\nhimself from this phase of the subject with some difficulty. \u201cGentlemen,\u201d\nhe said sarcastically, \u201cthe attorney-general is a mighty smart man. He\u2019s\ngot a heap of learning lately about visions.\u201d He glanced down obliquely\nat his opponent; he would have given a good deal to know how the counsel\nfor the State came by his information. He could have sworn that it was\nnot indigenous. \u201cBut there are plenty of folks in this town could have\ntold him just as much and more. He\u2019s mighty particular to show the\ndifference between _il_-lusion and _de_-lusion, and hallucination and\nmania. Visions! That ain\u2019t what _we_ call \u2019em, gentlemen. Down here in\nthe flat woods we call \u2019em\u2014\u2018snakes\u2019!\u201d The hit told, and he went on,\nencouraged. \u201cRight over yonder in Tim Becker\u2019s saloon they keep every\nassortment of vision. Men have seen green rabbits there, and black dogs,\nand snakes, and whole menageries of hallucinations. Is anybody going\nto believe Alethea Sayles had the jim-jams that night, coming from\ncamp-meeting? She had no call to see visions! This girl had her head in\nher hands; she was leaning on the fence; she felt some one touch her; she\nlooked up, and saw the boy before her. Mighty few of the ghosts that we\nhave heard of had such consistency of entity as to make their presence\nperceived by the sense of touch; on the contrary, it is thus that their\nunreality is often demonstrated in these same fables. A lady passes her\nfan through one immaterial image. A man thrusts his knife vainly into\nthe misty heart of another. And why does this instance differ? Because,\ngentlemen, there was no phantom. It was Tad Simpkins in flesh and blood.\nThe fugitive boy sees Alethea Sayles, whom he knows well; he is about\nto appeal to her; he lays his hand on her hand. She lifts her head, and\nat the unexpected appari\u2014sight, she screams, and the foolish boy is\nfrightened, and flees!\u201d\n\nHe went on to say that he would impose upon the patience of this court\nand jury only for a few moments longer. He wanted to contradict the\nstatements of the attorney-general that no one would voluntarily burden\nhimself with the support of a useless member of society. \u201cHow many yaller\ndogs at your houses, gentlemen? I\u2019d be afraid to count how many at mine.\nHow many of your wife\u2019s relations? No, gentlemen, none of us are so\nrich in this world\u2019s goods as we deserve to be, but we ain\u2019t got down\nto dividing bread and meat that close yet. As to the reckless crime of\nkeeping the boy in hiding in order to put Mink Lorey in the penitentiary\nfor involuntary manslaughter,\u2014why, gentlemen, if there were not just such\nreckless people continually committing crimes, the consequences of which\nthey cannot escape, the attorney-general and I would have nothing to do.\nWe\u2019d have to suck our paws for a living, like a bear in the winter, and\nlook at one another,\u2014a profitless entertainment, gentlemen.\u201d\n\nHe sat down, his pink smile enlivening his countenance, well satisfied\nwith his efforts and with the prospects of the case.\n\nThe attorney-general, who had the last word, was very brief in saying it.\nThe judge charged the jury, and he, too, was brief. The long slant of\nsunshine falling athwart the room was reddening when the jury were led\nout by the officer to their deliberations, noisily ascending the stairs\nto the jury-room above, assigned to their use.\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\n\nThey slouched into their lair, looking more like offenders detained\nagainst their will than the free and enlightened citizens of a great\ncountry in the exercise of the precious privilege of serving on the jury.\nThey were all tired. They had undergone much excitement. They felt the\nmental strain of the arguments and counter-arguments to which they had\nlistened.\n\n\u201cIt hev fairly gin me a mis\u2019ry in my head ter hev ter hear ter them\nred-mouthed lawyers jaw an\u2019 jaw, like they done!\u201d exclaimed one, flinging\nhimself in a chair, and putting his feet up against the round sides of\nthe stove, which was cold and fireless, the day being warm and genial.\nThe windows were open, the sunlight streaming over the dusty floor and\nchairs and benches. Two or three of the jurymen, looking out, laughing,\nand making signs to the people in the streets, were smartly remonstrated\nwith by the officer in charge.\n\nHis objections had the effect of congregating them in the middle of the\nroom, where the discussion began, most of them lighting their pipes, and\ntilting their chairs on the hind legs. Two or three lifted their feet\nto the giddy eminence of the backs of other chairs; several stretched\nthemselves at lank, ungainly length upon the benches. They were mostly\nyoung or middle-aged men; the senior of the party being a farmer of\nfifty, with a pointed, shaven chin, newly sprouting with a bristly beard,\nover which he often passed his hand with a meditative gesture. His eyes\nwere downcast; he leaned his elbows on his knees; his mien was depressed,\nnot to say afflicted. \u201cI ain\u2019t hearn ten words together,\u201d he remarked.\n\u201cI never knowed when they lef\u2019 off, sca\u2019cely, bein\u2019 so all-fired oneasy\nan\u2019 beset \u2019bout them cattle o\u2019 mine.\u201d He turned to explain to the new\njuror whom they had taken on that morning. \u201cBen Doaks hed my cattle\na-summerin\u2019 of \u2019em up on Piomingo Bald, an\u2019 when the cattle war rounded\nup I went thar ter pick out mine, an\u2019 I druv \u2019em down an\u2019 got ez far ez\nShaftesville, an\u2019 I let \u2019em go on with Bob, my son, \u2019bout fifteen year\nold. An\u2019 I stopped hyar ter git a drink an\u2019 hear a leetle news. An\u2019\ndurned ef they didn\u2019t ketch me on the jury! An\u2019 Bob dunno what\u2019s kem o\u2019\nme, an\u2019 I dunno what\u2019s kem o\u2019 Bob an\u2019 the cattle, nor how fur they hed\ntraveled along the road \u2019fore they fund out I warn\u2019t comin\u2019 arter.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, I reckon they be all right,\u201d said the new man, a hunter from the\nmountains, just come into town with game to sell.\n\n\u201cLord knows! _I_ don\u2019t!\u201d said the old fellow, sighing over the futility\nof speculation. \u201cEf Bob war ter draw the idee ez I got hurt, or robbed,\nor scrimmagin\u2019 in them town grog-shops,\u2014I hev always been tellin\u2019 him\na all-fired pack o\u2019 lies \u2019bout the dangers in sech places, bein\u2019 ez I\nwarn\u2019t willin\u2019 ter let him go whar I\u2019d go myself,\u2014he\u2019d leave them cattle\na-standin\u2019 thar in the road, an\u2019 kem back ter town ter s\u2019arch fur me.\nHe hain\u2019t got much \u2019speriunce, an\u2019 he ain\u2019t ekal ter keerin\u2019 fur them\ncattle. They\u2019ll stray, an\u2019 I\u2019ll never see \u2019em agin.\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon they hev strayed back ter the mountings by this time; must\nbe wilder \u2019n bucks, ef they hev been out all summer,\u201d suggested a\nbroad-faced twinkling-eyed young fellow, with a jocose wink at the others.\n\n\u201cBob dozes, too; sorter sleepy-headed, ye know,\u201d said the old man, taking\nnote of all the contingencies. \u201cI hev seen him snooze in the saddle,\nef the cattle war slow. He\u2019s growin\u2019, an\u2019 runs mighty hard, an\u2019 ef he\nsets still, he falls off. Ef he got tired, he\u2019s apt ter lie down in a\nfence-corner ter rest; an\u2019 he mought go ter sleep thar, an\u2019 somebody\nmought toll the cattle off. Or else he mought ax somebody ter keer fur\nthe cattle till he could kem back an\u2019 find me. Lord A\u2019mighty, thar\u2019s no\nyearthly tellin\u2019 what Bob mought do!\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, again, he _moughtn\u2019t_\u201d said Jerry Price. \u201cYe hev jes\u2019 got ter gin\nup yer hold on worldly things when ye air on a jury, like ye war dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but when ye air dead ye ain\u2019t able ter be pestered by studyin\u2019\n\u2019bout what yer administrator air a-doin\u2019 with yer yearthly chattels an\u2019\ncattle.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow d\u2019ye know?\u201d demanded Price. \u201cArter all we hearn ter-day, a body\nmought b\u2019lieve a real likely harnt air ekal ter ennything in motion an\u2019\nlooks, an\u2019 ye dunno _what_ they air studyin\u2019 \u2019bout. But time\u2019s a-wastin\u2019.\n\u2019Less we air wantin\u2019 ter bide hyar all night agin, we hed better be\ntalkin\u2019 \u2019bout our verdict on Mink Lorey. The jedge\u2019s waitin\u2019, an\u2019 from\nall I hev seen o\u2019 him he ain\u2019t handy at patience.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, sir,\u201d said the man with his feet on the stove, who was the foreman\nof the jury, taking his pipe from his mouth, \u201cI ain\u2019t settin\u2019 much store\non Gwinnan. I don\u2019t b\u2019lieve he acted right an\u2019 \u2019cordin\u2019 ter law about\nthis jury. Thar\u2019s thirteen men on this jury!\u201d\n\nThey all sat motionless, staring at him.\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d he declared, reinserting his pipe between his teeth, and\nspeaking with them closed upon it. \u201cI know the law! My uncle war a\njestice o\u2019 the peace fur six year, \u2019bout ten year ago. An\u2019 he hed a Code\no\u2019 Tennessee! An\u2019 I read in it! Some mighty interestin\u2019 readin\u2019 in the\nCode o\u2019 Tennessee. Sure\u2019s ye born, thar is! The law say the juror, ef he\nbe ailin\u2019, kin be excused, an\u2019 another summonsed. But Peter Rood warn\u2019t\nexcused, nor discharged nuthar. He\u2019s on this jury yit.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, fur Gawd\u2019s sake, don\u2019t git ter jawin\u2019 \u2019bout Peter Rood!\u201d cried\nBylor, the man on whose chair the dead juror had fallen, and who had\nturned his face to the close encounter of the stare of death in those\nglassy eyes. Bylor\u2019s nerves were still unstrung. He looked as ill as a\nbroad-shouldered, sun-burned, brawny fellow could look. \u201cI never slep\u2019\na wink las\u2019 night; an\u2019 that thar cussed \u2019torney-gineral a-tellin\u2019 them\nawful tales \u2019bout harnts all day, an\u2019 that thar solemn Lethe Sayles\npurtendin\u2019 she hed seen that drownded idjit,\u2014I felt ez ef I\u2019d fall down\nin a fit ef they didn\u2019t quit it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t b\u2019lieve she seen Tad\u2019s harnt,\u201d said Ben Doaks, instinctively\nadopting her view.\n\n\u201cThen what war it in the _graveyard_ fur?\u201d demanded the foreman\nconclusively.\n\nThere was momentary silence. The sunshine was dying out on the floor; the\ndim tracery of the boughs of the hickory-tree was the only manifestation\nof its presence. The rural sound of the lowing of cattle came in on\nthe soft air,\u2014the village kine were returning from their pastures. The\nvoices of men in the rooms below rose and fell fitfully; they were trying\nanother case, in the interim of waiting for the verdict.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 how kem nobody hev seen him sence, \u2019ceptin\u2019 Lethe Sayles?\u201d he\nsupplemented his question.\n\n\u201cThe jedge hinted ez much ez we-uns oughter be powerful keerful o\u2019 not\nconvictin\u2019 a man fur killin\u2019, when a witness claimed ter hev seen the\ndead one sence,\u201d argued Jerry Price, ambiguously.\n\n\u201cShe never seen nuthin\u2019 but his ghost,\u201d said the foreman.\n\n\u201cBen, how\u2019d that leetle red cow o\u2019 mine git her hawn bruk?\u201d interpolated\nthe bereaved cattle-owner, meditating on the vicissitudes experienced by\nhis herds in their summer vacation.\n\n\u201cGawd A\u2019mighty, man, quit talkin\u2019 \u2019bout yer cattle, interruptin\u2019 we-uns\njes\u2019 ez we war a-gittin\u2019 ter the p\u2019int!\u201d exclaimed the foreman.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d heap ruther hear Mr. Beames talk \u2019bout his cattle \u2019n hear \u2019bout\nharnts, an\u2019 sech,\u201d said Bylor, as he lay on the bench. He was still\nfeeling far from well. He got up presently, and went to the officer, who\nwas at the door, and petitioned for something to drink. But that worthy,\ndetermined upon the literal performance of duty, withstood his every\npersuasion, even when he declared he was \u201cplumb sick;\u201d and the rest of\nthe jury, alarmed lest he should be excused, another juror summoned,\nand the whole performance of the trial begin anew, the agony of their\ndetention thus lengthening indefinitely, pleaded for him. The officer\u2019s\ndevotion to what he considered his duty did not save him from some abuse.\n\n\u201c\u2019Twould sarve ye right ef we war ter lay a-holt o\u2019 ye an\u2019 fling ye outer\nthis winder,\u201d said Ben Doaks.\n\n\u201cYe mis\u2019able leetle green gourd, ye dunno nuthin\u2019 \u2019bout nuthin\u2019,\u201d\ndeclared the foreman, the much informed because of the Code.\n\n\u201cWaal, ye kin say what ye wanter,\u201d retorted the official. He was a young\nman; he had a resolute eye and a shock head. \u201cBut ye ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter\ngit out\u2019n here till ye find yer verdict.\u201d He withdrew his tousled head\nsuddenly, and shut the door on them.\n\nRebellion availing nothing, they resorted to faction.\n\n\u201cYe needn\u2019t be so powerful techy \u2019bout harnts; ye ain\u2019t seen none ez I\nknows on,\u201d said the foreman, turning upon the sick juror.\n\n\u201cNaw, an\u2019 I don\u2019t wanter hear \u2019bout none o\u2019 \u2019em till my stommick feels\nstronger.\u201d\n\n\u201cShucks! that air nuthin\u2019 oncommon, seein\u2019 harnts an\u2019 sech. Plenty o\u2019\nfolks hev seen the same one. Thar\u2019s ever so many o\u2019 them herders on\nThunderhead hev seen the harnt ez herds up thar. Rob Carrick seen him. I\nhave hearn him tell \u2019bout\u2019n it arter he got his mind back. Hain\u2019t you,\nBen?\u201d\n\nThe moon was at the eastern windows. The white lustre poured in. The\ngreat room seemed lonely and deserted, despite the group of deliberating\njurymen, and the colorless double with which each had been furnished, to\nape his gesture, and caricature his size, and dog his every step. An owl\nwas hooting in some distant tree. The voices from the street were faint.\n\n\u201cAin\u2019t that thar weasel of a constable goin\u2019 ter hev no lamps brung hyar\nter-night?\u201d exclaimed Bylor.\n\nBut the lamps which came in almost immediately were inadequate to contend\nwith the solemn, ethereal, white pervasion of the night that still hung\nin the window, and lay upon the floor, and showed the gaunt bare tree\noutside. They only gave a yellow cast to the circle in which the party\nsat, and made their faces seem less pallid and unnatural.\n\n\u201cYes, I hev hearn Carrick tell it a many a time. He used ter herd with\nJosh Nixon in life.\u201d Ben Doaks paused a moment. \u201cI seen the Herder wunst\nmyse\u2019f, though I never felt right sure about it till ter-night. I \u2019lowed\nI mought jes\u2019 hev fancied it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat made ye sure \u2019bout it ter-night?\u201d demanded Bylor, starting up from\nthe bench.\n\n\u201c\u2019Count o\u2019 what the \u2019torney-gineral said \u2019bout _hell_ucination. I know\nnow ez \u2019twar a vision sent from hell, an\u2019 I reckon that air one reason\nI hev fund it air so hard ter git religion. My mind hev got too much in\nleague with Satan.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, Carrick \u2019lowed ez Josh Nixon kem back from hell ter herd on\nThunderhead \u2019kase all his bones warn\u2019t buried tergether,\u201d said the\nforeman.\n\n\u201cLaw, Ben,\u201d broke out the owner of cattle, \u201cI wonder ef them beef bones\nwe seen on the top o\u2019 Piomingo Bald warn\u2019t the bones o\u2019 that thar leetle\nblack heifer o\u2019 mine ez couldn\u2019t be fund, an\u2019 ye \u2019lowed mus\u2019 hev been eat\nby a wolf.\u201d\n\n\u201cI knocked off the vally o\u2019 that thar heifer in our settlin\u2019 up, an\u2019 I\nhed hoped ter hear no mo\u2019 o\u2019 her in this mortal life!\u201d cried Ben Doaks,\nlifting his voice from the bated undertone in which he had discussed the\nspectral phenomena to an indignant worldly resonance. \u201cI didn\u2019t know ez\nye branded yer beastis on her bones,\u201d sarcastically; \u201cthe las\u2019 time I\nseen her she war too fat ter show \u2019em. I never looked fur yer mark on\nthem bones on the bald.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said a slow, measured voice, with that unnatural tone one has in\nspeaking to one\u2019s self, \u201cTad hev got no call ter kem back.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho air ye a-talkin\u2019 ter?\u201d cried Bylor, starting up, his nerves\nquivering at the slightest provocation.\n\n\u201cSomebody told me just then \u2019twar Tad\u2019s harnt,\u201d said Price, rousing\nhimself with an effort.\n\n\u201cThey never!\u201d cried Bylor. \u201cOld man Beames hain\u2019t got done moanin\u2019 \u2019bout\nhis cattle, like they war the ornymints o\u2019 the nation. Nobody never\nopened thar mouths ter ye. Ye jes\u2019 answered ter nuthin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cHarshaw never b\u2019lieved Lethe Sayles seen no harnt,\u201d declared one.\n\n\u201cHe _hed_ ter say that,\u201d observed the foreman, evidently of spectral\ntendencies, \u201cno matter what he believed. The \u2019torney-gin\u2019al war powerful\nsure she seen a harnt.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe \u2019lowed it war a _hell_ucination,\u201d protested Bylor, being extremely\naverse to any theory involving supernatural presence.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d argued the logical Price, \u201che \u2019lowed ez a _hell_ucination war\nsuthin\u2019 ez looks like a person, but \u2019tain\u2019t him. Now ain\u2019t that a harnt?\nAin\u2019t Tad\u2019s harnt suthin\u2019 that looks like Tad, an\u2019 ain\u2019t Tad?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d cried Bylor, springing from the bench, \u201cI feel obligated ter git\naway from sech talk! I jes\u2019 look ter see Peter Rood a-stalkin\u2019 round hyar\ndirec\u2019ly, with that awful stare he hed in his eyes when he war stone dead\nfur ever so long, with his face so close ter mine. I can\u2019t abide it no\nlonger! Let\u2019s toss up. Heads, acquit! Tails, convict!\u201d He produced a coin\nfrom his pocket.\n\n\u201cNaw, ye won\u2019t,\u201d said the foreman quickly. \u201cNaw! We\u2019ll delib\u2019rate on this\nhyar question, an\u2019 decide it like a jury oughter.\u201d\n\nBylor cast a glance at the windows, each with its great white image upon\nthe floor below; at the dim faces about him; at the lamps, dull and\nyellow, making the moonlight seem more pallid and vaguely blue. He threw\nhimself upon the bench, and for a long time was silent.\n\n\u201cLook hyar,\u201d said Jerry Price, \u201cit hev jes\u2019 got down ter this,\u2014harnt or\nno harnt. Ef Lethe Sayles seen _Tad_, Mink never killed him, an\u2019 hev ter\nbe acquitted. Ef Lethe Sayles seen Tad\u2019s harnt, Mink killed him whilst\ndoin\u2019 a unlawful act, an\u2019 he hev ter go ter the pen\u2019tiary fur involuntary\nmanslaughter, ez the jedge \u2019lows sech be a felony.\u201d\n\nThe wrangle over the question, which bristled with difficulties enough,\nbegan anew. They were even more illogical and irritable than before.\nThey were utterly unused to debate, to reason. The mental strain of\nlaboriously applying their attention to each detail, striving to\nmaster circumstance and argument, throughout the two days during which\nthe case had been tried twice before them, had resulted in a certain\ndegree of prostration of their faculties. The singular surprise in the\nevidence and the sudden death of one of their number had unnerved them\nall, more or less. Being ignorant men, untrained to discriminate and\ndifferentiate, while they could accept the strange occurrences which the\nattorney-general had brought to their knowledge, they were not able to\nperceive and apply the scientific explanations. And in fact many of these\nwere lame and inadequate. They had heard these seemingly supernatural\ninstances from a man of education and acumen, and it had fallen to\ntheir lot to probe the probabilities, and possibilities, and decide an\nimportant question based upon them. They were no nearer a conclusion when\nBen Doaks, who had been sitting with his arms folded, silently meditating\nfor a time, broke out abruptly, \u201cThat\u2019s it! Tad\u2019s harnt kem back \u2019kase\n_his_ bones ain\u2019t buried.\u201d\n\nBylor once more started up. \u201cWho tole ye that? Who said it fust?\u201d\n\n\u201cI dunno,\u201d replied Ben Doaks quietly. \u201cSome o\u2019 them boys.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey never!\u201d cried Bylor. \u201cI hev been listening ter every one. Some o\u2019\nye answers the words o\u2019 a man who never speaks aloud! Thar\u2019s a harnt\non this jury! I know it! I feel it!\u201d He stood up at his full height,\ntrembling like a leaf. He was in a nervous panic. \u201cGentlemen, we hev\ngot\u201d\u2014he faltered at the name\u2014\u201chim with us yet. Thar\u2019s thirteen men on\nthis jury. For Gawd\u2019s sake, let\u2019s go down an\u2019 tell the jedge we can\u2019t\nagree. I\u2019ll see Rood d\u2019rec\u2019ly, an\u2019 ye will too.\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy!\u201d cried old Beames, interested for the first time in aught\nsave his cattle. \u201cI\u2019ll make a break an\u2019 run\u201d\u2014he did not say where, the\nobdurate officer being on the other side of the door. He too rose,\nagitated, his toothless jaw shaking. \u201cI couldn\u2019t abide ter see him, like\nhe looked las\u2019 night!\u201d\n\n\u201cThar\u2019s thirteen men on the jury. Thar\u2019s no use denyin\u2019 it,\u201d said the\nforeman, \u201cwhether Pete Rood\u2019s sperit\u2019s in the panel or no.\u201d\n\nA great shadow suddenly flapped awkwardly across the floor. Every man of\nthem started. But it was only the owl they had heard in the distance,\nnow flying past the window. The situation was not more cheerful when the\nill-omened bird settled itself on the branch of the hickory-tree, and\nshrilled its nerve-thrilling cry and convulsively chuckled aloud.\n\nThe foreman rose, too. \u201cThar\u2019s no use a-tryin\u2019,\u201d he said: \u201cwe can\u2019t\nagree, an\u2019 we hev got a right ter disagree. Le\u2019s go down an\u2019 tell the\njedge, an\u2019 git discharged. I ain\u2019t easy shook, but this hyar whole case\nhev been powerful cur\u2019ous, an\u2019 I hev mighty nigh petered out.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook hyar, oughtn\u2019t we ter hold on a while longer? Fur Mink Lorey will\nhev ter stay in jail fur four months more, till he kin git tried at the\nnext term,\u201d suggested Jerry Price.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m willin\u2019,\u201d said Ben Doaks reluctantly. He looked doubtfully over his\nshoulder as he spoke. \u201cEh?\u201d he said, as he turned his head back again.\n\n\u201cNobody never said nuthin\u2019,\u201d declared the foreman.\n\n\u201cI \u2019lowed I hearn somebody call my name.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be bound ye did!\u201d cried Bylor. \u201cBut nobody called it ez we kin\nsee\u2014yit.\u201d\n\nHe rushed to the door and summoned the officer. The court was notified,\nand the twelve men were conducted down the stairs, each conscious of the\npresence of the unseen thirteenth.\n\nIt was like a transition from the conditions of delirium to the serene\natmosphere of right reason. The windows were all flaring with lights,\nas if the court-room were some factory that ran all night. The lawyers\nlooked fagged and worn out; they had the air of working by momentum\naggregated during the day rather than by immediate exertion. It was\na contrast to Averill\u2019s leisurely procedure, and they regarded the\ninnovation with exasperation and the judge with some personal animosity.\nHe had his pen still in his hand; there was a moment\u2019s silent waiting\nwhile he finished the line he was writing. Mink had been brought out from\njail. He sat feverishly impatient and bright-eyed.\n\nHarshaw and the attorney-general turned expectant and interested faces\ntoward the jury.\n\nThe judge laid down his pen and looked kindly at them. He viewed them as\na bit of completed work. He had a great respect for completed work.\n\nWhen they were asked if they had agreed upon their verdict, the foreman\nanswered that they could not agree.\n\nThe prisoner\u2019s countenance changed instantly. It had upon it an\nexpression of blank amaze, then of sharp distress. Harshaw\u2019s face fell.\nThe attorney-general pricked up his ears. The judge looked grave,\nconcerned.\n\n\u201cDo you desire any further instructions,\u2014any point of difficulty\nexplained?\u201d\n\nThe foreman interpreted this formula as a general inquiry into the nature\nof the trouble. He began precipitately, the quaking men behind him\nfeeling all the despair of being the members of a responsible corporate\nbody of which he was the mouthpiece.\n\n\u201cYe see, jedge, we-uns can\u2019t but feel thar\u2019s thirteen men on this jury.\u201d\n\nThey felt the judge\u2019s quick gray eye counting them. Perhaps at that\nmoment they were all indifferent to the terrors of their spectral\nassociate, so much more substantial a source of terror being presented to\nthem.\n\nThe man who had read the Code went on: \u201cPete Rood\u2014him ez died las\u2019\nnight\u2014war neither excused nor discharged, so thar\u2019s thirteen men on this\njury; an\u2019 we hearn him talkin\u2019 up-stairs along o\u2019 the rest o\u2019 the jurors,\nsometimes interruptin\u2019 us, an\u2019 we-uns can\u2019t agree \u2019count o\u2019 thar bein\u2019 a\nharnt on the jury.\u201d\n\nEven he faltered before the look in the face of the judge, whose\ndecisions were thus frankly criticised. There was something terrible in\nthe fury that his eyes expressed. He sat motionless, with an air of great\ncalmness and dignity. His face, however, crimsoned to the roots of his\nhair. The veins in his forehead stood out swollen and blue. There was an\nintense silence for a moment. Then his voice, as always, singularly low\nand inexpressive, broke the pause.\n\n\u201cMr. Sheriff,\u201d he said, \u201cconduct those thirteen\u2014those twelve men to the\ncounty jail, and keep them there for contempt of court until ten o\u2019clock\nto-morrow morning, permitting no communication with others.\u201d\n\nHe directed that a fine of ten dollars should be entered against each,\nand forthwith adjourned the court.\n\nThis high-handed proceeding had no parallel in the annals of the circuit.\nHarshaw, swelling with rage, found knots of men eagerly discussing it, as\nhe pushed his way out into the hall. Some one was advancing the opinion\nthat a jury in jail was no longer a jury, but merely twelve culprits.\nAnother found a hearty laugh in the reflection that they would not\nprobably discover so many harnts in jail as in the jury-room. A third\ndemanded of Harshaw, \u201cWhy didn\u2019t he discharge the jury, and imprison them\nas men?\u201d\n\n\u201cToo afraid of the S\u2019preme Court,\u201d Harshaw hissed between his teeth.\n\u201cWish he had! On appeal a premature discharge would operate as an\nacquittal of the prisoner.\u201d\n\nHe regarded the action of the judge as an outrage, and he did not\nhesitate to express this opinion. He had expended much time and force\nupon his case, and looked for no compensation but the satisfaction of\nsuccess. He had that excellent quality in a lawyer, the faculty of making\nhis client\u2019s cause his own. He felt the hardship of this extension of\nthe prisoner\u2019s jeopardy scarcely less deeply than Mink himself. A little\nremonstrance with the ignorant men, a little pocketing of personal and\njudicial pride, a few coaxing, explanatory words, might have sent them\nback refreshed and invigorated to their deliberations, with a good hope\nof agreement. Now, there was no prophesying what effect these strong\nmeasures would have upon them. He believed that Gwinnan had transcended\nall the authority of his office. \u201cBy God,\u201d he cried, \u201cif he keeps on like\nhe\u2019s started he\u2019ll get impeached some day! And if I could see my way to\nit, I swear I\u2019d introduce the resolution in the House myself!\u201d\n\nHe walked off, his head swimming a little. He had said this rash thing\nbefore a motley crowd, and at any time it might be repeated to Gwinnan,\nwho was himself a politician in some sort, and a man of great force.\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\n\nImprisonment proved an efficacious method of exorcising the \u201charnt\u201d\nupon the jury. Much of the sojourn in the county jail was expended in\ncriminations and recriminations. Not one of the jurymen would admit any\nresponsibility for their plight. Not one had entertained the slightest\nbelief in their ghostly associate. The mere contact with that practical,\nprosaic mundane force, the law of the land, had so restored them that\nthey were emboldened to roundly denounce the harnt. And the name of poor\nPeter Rood, which had been whispered with bated breath in the jury-room,\ncame smartly enough from the tongue even of Bylor. In fact, he was the\nmost persistent in disavowing susceptibility to spectral influence.\n\n\u201cI begged an\u2019 begged ye ter shet up talkin\u2019 \u2019bout sech,\u201d he cried, which\nwas indeed the truth. \u201cAn\u2019 ye jes\u2019 kep\u2019 it up an\u2019 kep\u2019 it up, till ye\nskeered yerse\u2019fs out\u2019n yer boots, an\u2019 then I couldn\u2019t do nuthin\u2019 with ye.\u201d\n\nThey had all been locked temporarily into one room of the jail, while\nthe sheriff and jailer consulted in regard to the accommodations for\nso unusual a number of prisoners. In their close quarters the jurymen\nleaned against the wall or walked the floor, jostling each other in the\nshadow, for the room was dark save for the moonbeams slanting through the\nbars of the window. The foreman hung about in the obscure places, freely\naddressed,\u2014for they knew, without seeing, that he was there,\u2014and required\nto bear the brunt of all the reproaches for the calamity. Once he plucked\nup spirit to retort.\n\n\u201cYe war the very man ez yapped fur the dep\u2019ty,\u201d he said to Bylor, who\nallowed himself to be drawn into argument.\n\n\u201cHow\u2019d I know ez you-uns war a-goin\u2019 ter traipse down them steers an\u2019\n\u2019low ter the jedge ez you-uns knowed mo\u2019 law \u2019n he do? Ye dad-burned aged\nidjit, ef ye warn\u2019t older \u2019n me I\u2019d lay ye out on this floor.\u201d\n\n\u201cI felt jes\u2019 like the tail of a dog in a fight,\u2014could neither holp nor\nhender the critter ez toted me ahint him, but war jes\u2019 ez apt ter git\ngnawed ez him,\u201d said Jerry Price disconsolately.\n\n\u201cI looked ter see the jedge fetch him a pop \u2019side the head, myself,\u201d said\nthe new juryman, evidently unacquainted with judicial methods. He had\nregarded his capture to serve on the jury as a woful disaster, and could\nhardly bear up under this aggregation of misfortunes. \u201cEf I hed knowed\nwhat war comin\u2019, I wouldn\u2019t hev followed him down them steers.\u201d\n\n\u201cSix spry young steers \u2019mongst my cattle,\u2014I\u2019ll never see \u2019em agin!\u201d cried\nold man Beames from out the darkness, reminded anew of his journeying\nherds under the insufficient guidance of Bob. \u201cI hev never done no wrong\nin my life. I hev tuk heed ter my feet ter walk in the right way. An\u2019\nhyar in my old age, through another man\u2019s fault, the door of a jail hev\nbeen shet on me.\u201d\n\nHis voice dropped. They were all feeling the poignant humiliation of the\nimprisonment. They were honest men, to whom it could scarcely have come\nbut for this mischance. At every contortion of wounded pride they turned\nupon the unlucky foreman.\n\n\u201cI \u2019lowed I\u2019d drap in my tracks,\u201d cried Ben Doaks, \u201cwhenst he jes\u2019 tuk\nthe Code o\u2019 Tennessee by the hawns an\u2019 tail, an\u2019 dragged it up afore the\njedge.\u201d\n\nAnd Jerry Price was fain to sneer, too.\n\n\u201cDid the Code hev nuthin\u2019 in it \u2019bout cuttin\u2019 out the tongue of a foreman\nof a jury?\u201d he demanded.\n\nBut the Code was an unabated fact still, and the nephew of the ex-justice\nalone could say what was in it. \u201cNaw, sir!\u201d he retorted, emboldened by\nthe allusion to his superior knowledge, \u201cnor about jailin\u2019 a jury,\nnuther. I don\u2019t b\u2019lieve the jedge hed the right ter jail the jury.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d drawled Jerry, satirically, \u201cwe-uns hed better make up our minds\npowerful quick how we air a-goin\u2019 ter pay him back fur it.\u201d\n\nThe foreman was saved the mortification of acknowledging the hopelessness\nof reprisal. A voice without sounded suddenly.\n\n\u201cI wanter see how many thar air,\u201d said the jailer.\n\n\u201cOn a jury? Shucks! ye\u2019re funnin\u2019. Twelve,\u201d in the familiar tones of the\nsheriff.\n\n\u201cI jes\u2019 wanter look at \u2019em agin.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe sha\u2019n\u2019t,\u201d retorted the sheriff.\n\nHe did not reckon on the fact that although he, as sheriff, had the\nlegal authority and control of the jail, the jailer was possessed of the\nmaterial keys, and locked and unlocked the doors at will. He opened this\none now, gingerly, and the men within felt the grin they could not see.\n\n\u201cBrung \u2019em hyar \u2019kase they couldn\u2019t count,\u201d he said, jocosely. \u201cThey air\nthe fust boarders we hev hed fur sech ez that.\u201d\n\nThe sheriff, who was holding a lamp in the hall, pulled the door to,\nstill animated by his sense of duty, and the jury heard the lock click as\nthe facile jailer turned the key.\n\n\u201cThey \u2019lowed thar war a harnt in the jury-room,\u201d said the officer.\n\nWithin all were silent, that they might hear.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t s\u2019prised none,\u201d said the jailer; \u201cplenty o\u2019 harnts hyar. Men\nez war hung, ye know,\u2014liked our accommodations better\u2019n them they got\narterwards; that brings \u2019em back. Tim Jenkins war dragged right out\u2019n\nthat thar room whar the jury be now, when the lynchers kem an\u2019 tuk him.\nHed me tied down-steers, ye \u2019member.\u201d\n\nHe went off gayly down the hall, jingling his keys. Presently his voice\nwas heard in another mood, swearing at the judge and demanding, \u201cWhat\nsorter man is this hyar Gwinnan, ennyhow, ez you-uns hev got out thar on\nthe bench? Send me twelve men ter eat an\u2019 sleep, an\u2019 the jail ez full ez\nit air! Does he think I keep a tavern? Thar ain\u2019t room enough hyar fur\ntwelve fleas!\u201d\n\nHe compassed the problem somehow, for the jurymen, smarting with\nthe indignity and hardship, were led forth the next morning, having\nslept as well as was possible considering the united grievances of\nthe accommodations and the mortification, and eaten as their reduced\nappetites and the prison fare permitted.\n\nThey resumed their deliberations in the jury-room, and it argues much for\ntheir earnest desire to do right and their respect for their oath that\nthey did not find a verdict at hap-hazard. They reported again and again\nthat they could reach no decision. They were held over Sunday, and after\nnightfall on Monday they came into the court-room, and in guarded phrase\nand with some perturbation of manner announced once more that they could\nnot agree as to the guilt or innocence of the prisoner.\n\nIn answer to the usual question, the foreman was eager to explain that\nthey had experienced no difficulty other than a difference of opinion,\nand felt no want of further instructions. He forbore to offer criticisms\nupon judicial methods, and the men behind him, all acutely realizing\nthe position of the dog\u2019s tail, breathed more freely. The judge looked\nat them with a certain resentment in his eyes. He leaned back in his\nchair, gnawing the end of his mustache. Mink sat beside his lawyer,\neager, intent, hardly appreciating at the moment the significance of\nthe disagreement. Harshaw had turned aside with a pettish mutter to his\nyellow beard, for the final adjournment for the term impended, Gwinnan\nbeing compelled to leave on the train that night to hold court in a\nremote county in his own circuit.\n\nHow Gwinnan could infuse into his impassive mien and his soft,\nexpressionless drawl so caustic a suggestion of displeasure is one of\nthose mysteries of manner addressed to a subtle and receptive sense which\ncan take account of so fine and elusive a medium of communication.\nThe jury, in receiving their discharge, felt like culprits until they\nwere once more at large and in the outer air, when they swore at the\njudge with the heartiest unanimity,\u2014on this point they could agree,\u2014and\npromised themselves, taking note of his character as politician, that\nif ever they were vouchsafed the opportunity they would retaliate. Then\namong the loungers about the tavern they fell to asking the news with the\nhungry interest of travelers who have been long absent.\n\nThey experienced a certain surprise to find that their accountability\nas jurors had not ceased with their discharge. There was a manifest\ninclination on the part of public opinion, as embodied in the idlers\nabout the hotel, to hold them individually responsible for the mischances\nof the trial. Perhaps the impression that they had been long absent was\nstrengthened by the revolution which popular prejudice had accomplished\nin the interval. Its flexibility could hardly be better illustrated than\nby the fact that the prankish Mink had suddenly risen in its estimation\nto the dignity of a public martyr.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s a tremenjious wild scamp, the Lord knows,\u201d said one, \u201cbut folks\nain\u2019t jailed fur bein\u2019 gamesome, an\u2019 by rights ye oughter hev turned Mink\nout\u2019n that jail this evenin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cYessir,\u201d assented another. \u201cMink oughter be mighty nigh Hazel Valley by\nnow, ef he had been gin a fair trial.\u201d\n\nThat conclusive formula, \u201cThis is a free country, by the Lord!\u201d was\noften insistently reiterated in the discussion, for the bewildered jury\ndiscovered that the persuasion of the prisoner\u2019s innocence had never\nwavered after Alethea Sayles had sworn that she had seen Tad Simpkins\nsince the disaster. The community at large had not been subjected to\nthe morbid influences of seclusion, and mental stress, and the nervous\nshock which the jury had sustained upon the death of Peter Rood, and the\nnecessity of persistent consideration of spiritual and spectral phenomena\nforced upon them by the attorney-general.\n\n\u201cYou see, gentlemen,\u201d said a young sprig of a lawyer, glad to air his\ninformation, \u201cyou went off on the wrong road. \u2019Twarn\u2019t the business o\u2019\nthe defense to account for Tad. \u2019Twas the prosecution\u2019s business to prove\nthat he was dead and that Mink killed him. And they didn\u2019t do it; they\njust proved he was missing, for that girl swore she saw him afterward.\nThey\u2019ve got to prove the _corpus delicti_, gentlemen, in a case like\nthis.\u201d\n\nThe jurymen were laughed to scorn when they suggested their doubts of the\ngenuineness of Tad\u2019s appearance.\n\n\u201cNow didn\u2019t the attorney-general stuff you as full of lies as an egg\nof meat!\u201d cried the young lawyer, divided between admiration of the\nattorney-general\u2019s resources and contempt for their credulity.\n\n\u201cYe air the only folks in Cherokee County ez b\u2019lieves sech,\u201d said another\nby-stander. \u201cOld man Griff an\u2019 all his gran\u2019chil\u2019n lef town yestiddy\nevenin\u2019 plumb sati\u2019fied Tad\u2019s alive, an\u2019 goin\u2019 ter hunt him up. An\u2019 then\nI reckon the old man\u2019ll furgit all about his repentance, an\u2019 club an\u2019\nbeat him same ez he always done.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d demanded the ex-foreman, who was disposed to maintain the\ndifficulty of the question, \u201chow could a idjit keer fur hisself all this\ntime?\u201d\n\n\u201cTad never war sech a idjit; could run a mill, an\u2019 plough, an\u2019 pull\nfodder, an\u2019 feed stock! I\u2019ll be bound thar\u2019s a mighty differ round old\nman Griff\u2019s diggins now, sure. He \u2019peared a idjit mos\u2019ly when he war beat\nover the head. Mos\u2019 folks would look miser\u2019ble then. He air lackin\u2019, I\nknow, but I reckon he kin work fur hisself ez well ez he done fur old\nman Griff. It\u2019s a plumb shame ter jail Mink Lorey fur fower month more\ntill he kin git another fool jury ter try him, an\u2019 mebbe send him ter the\nPen\u2019tiary fur five year. I dunno what oughter be done ter sech a jury ez\nyou-uns.\u201d\n\nIt was probably well for the public peace that events of general interest\nhad taken place during the seclusion of the jury which the by-standers\nfound a certain gloomy satisfaction in detailing; their attention was\nthus readily enough diverted from the disagreements of the jury-room\nto the circumstances of Peter Rood\u2019s funeral,\u2014who preached the sermon,\nand who were in attendance. They all sat, solemnly chewing, tilted back\nin their splint-bottomed chairs on the front gallery of the little\nhotel. The lights which came from the doors and windows of the building,\nslanting out in wide shafts, seemed to sever the gloom in equal sections.\nThe figures of the men were dimly seen in the dusky intervals. The stars,\nin infinite hosts, were marshaled in the black sky, for the moon was\nlate to-night. Only about the horizon were melancholy desert spaces. The\nsummit line of the distant mountains was indistinguishable in the gloom.\nThe landscape was all benighted. The presence of invisible trees close\nat hand was perceptible only to some fine sense of the differing degrees\nof density in the blackness. A horse trotted through the slant of light,\nfalling into the road and showing the sleek roan of the steed and the\nimpassive face under the drooping hatbrim of the rider,\u2014then loomed an\nindeterminate centaur in the alternate glooms. The sounds of the town\nwere shrill, then faint, with lapses of silence. One forlorn cricket was\npiping somewhere between the bricks of the pavement.\n\n\u201c\u2019Pears ter me,\u201d said Bylor, \u201ctoler\u2019ble cur\u2019ous ez they wagoned\ndeceased\u201d\u2014he had adopted the word from the reports of the sermon\u2014\u201cway up\nyander ter Eskaqua Cove, ter be buried in the graveyard thar.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d explained a by-stander, \u201chis mother \u2019lowed he\u2019d feel mo\u2019 lonesome\ndown hyar \u2019n he would \u2019mongst the mountings,\u2014an\u2019 I reckon he would.\u201d\n\n\u201cEnnybody ez air dead always looked lonesome ter me,\u201d suggested Ben Doaks.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t b\u2019lieve thar\u2019s a man in the Newnited States, alive or dead, ez\nlonesome ez me!\u201d cried the cattle-owner. \u201cI wisht that thar durned moon\nwould heft over the mountings. Ez soon ez she shows her aidge I\u2019m a-goin\u2019\nter light out arter my cattle an\u2019 Bob.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Pears ter me,\u201d said Doaks, reflectively, \u201cez things hev turned out\nmighty cur\u2019ous, ez he war buried in the same graveyard whar Lethe Sayles\nseen Tad\u2019s harnt.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t go by thar of a dark night fur nuthin\u2019,\u201d declared Bylor.\n\u201cMought see both of \u2019em.\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon,\u201d said Ben Doaks, \u201cez Peter Rood knows all \u2019bout\u2019n it\nnow,\u2014whether it war Tad\u2019s harnt or no.\u201d\n\nSomething at a distance sounded sharply and fell into silence.\n\n\u201cI reckon folks ez air dead hev got suthin\u2019 mo\u2019 ter tend ter\u2019n studyin\u2019\n\u2019bout folks they knowed in this life,\u201d said Bylor, nodding his head with\ngrim conviction.\n\n\u201cYes, sir-ee!\u201d exclaimed the ex-foreman, as he chewed vigorously, and\nspat at the post which upheld the floor of the gallery above; he was an\neffective marksman. \u201cThey hev got a verdict in the courts of the t\u2019other\nworld on Peter Rood by now. They ain\u2019t got no failin\u2019 human jury thar,\u201d\nhe continued sanctimoniously. \u201cI reckon he\u2019s burnin\u2019 in Torment before\nnow.\u201d He offered this suggestion with that singular satisfaction in the\nsymmetry of the theory of fiery retribution characteristic of the rural\nreligionist.\n\nBen Doaks stirred uneasily. \u201cI dunno \u2019bout that,\u201d he said, dubiously.\n\u201cRood war a perfessin\u2019 member.\u201d He himself laid great stress upon this\nunattained grace.\n\n\u201cI know that,\u201d said the ex-foreman, \u201cbut \u2019tain\u2019t done him no good. I\nhearn him \u2019low at camp ez he war a backslider, an\u2019 ef the truth war\nknowed I reckon he war a black-hearted sinner.\u201d\n\nOnce more that strange sound, half smothered by the distance, smote upon\nthe air. Then the regular hoof-beat of a horseman riding by on the red\nclay road interposed and rattled against the stones, and echoed from the\nbridge below with hollow reverberations.\n\n\u201cWhat war that cur\u2019ous noise?\u201d demanded Ben Doaks.\n\n\u201cSounded ter me like cattle a-bellerin\u2019,\u201d said old man Beames.\n\nThe attentive pause was illustrated by the red spark of each man\u2019s\npipe, dulling as it was held motionless for a moment in the hand;\nthen restored to the smoker\u2019s lips, it glowed into subdued brilliancy,\nsometimes giving an elusive glimpse of the delicate and shadowy blue\nvapor curling from the bowl. They heard nothing but a vague murmur,\ndropping presently into silence.\n\n\u201cI b\u2019lieve,\u201d said Bylor, \u201cez Peter Rood hed suthin\u2019 on his mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cMe, too,\u201d spoke up another man. \u201cHe sot next ter me, an\u2019 he looked\ntroubled an\u2019 tried, somehows, an\u2019 wunst in a while he sighed mightily. I\ndunno what ailed him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon he war sick,\u201d suggested a by-stander.\n\n\u201cHe didn\u2019t \u2019pear ter be sick. He turned an\u2019 looked at me plumb pleased\nter death when that Lethe Sayles \u2019lowed Tad war alive. An\u2019 then when the\n\u2019torney-gineral made it out ez \u2019twar jes\u2019 Tad\u2019s harnt he jumped for\u2019ards,\nan\u2019 pinted with his finger, an\u2019 next thing I knowed the man war a harnt\nhisself.\u201d\n\nThe sound in the distance had become continuous, louder. Once more it\nbroke upon the conversation. \u201cBoys,\u201d said Jerry Price, in a tone of\nconviction, \u201csuthin\u2019 is a-goin\u2019 on somewhar.\u201d\n\nThe vocation for the _r\u00f4le_ of spectator is strong in humanity. Each of\nthe long, lank mountaineers started up with unusual willingness, under\nthe impression that he was balked of some entertainment at which nature\nintended that he should be dead-headed. The distant murmur was once more\nlost in the sounds nearer at hand. A sudden resonant, brazen clangor\nchallenged the dark stillness. It had a vibratory, swaying iteration,\nfor it was the court-house bell, rung as an alarum to the law-abiding\npopulation. As the group started swiftly in the direction of the sound, a\nman came running at great speed down the pavement, almost overturning old\nBeames, and called loudly to the proprietor of the hotel, asking if Judge\nGwinnan were within. They recognized the deputy sheriff as he rushed into\nthe bar-room.\n\n\u201cThe old man\u2019s been hevin\u2019 hell with Mink Lorey, down yander at the\njail,\u201d he explained in breathless gasps. \u201cHe kerried on like a crazy\nidjit when we tuk him back,\u2014fout like a wild-cat every foot o\u2019 the way.\nAn\u2019 now thar\u2019s a crowd at the jail a-batterin\u2019 the doors, an\u2019 breakin\u2019\nthe winders, an\u2019 swearin\u2019 they\u2019ll take Mink Lorey out.\u201d\n\nIn pursuit of the promise of excitement their feet did not lag. They\nheard, as they set out, the deputy\u2019s rasping voice behind them renewing\nhis anxious demand for Judge Gwinnan; then it was lost in the ceaseless\nthud of their own feet, and the insistence of the bell filling the\ndarkness with its deliberate alternations of tone, till the night rocked\nand swayed with the oscillating, remonstrant sound. Approaching the\ncourt-house, they could hear those fainter and continuous vibrations\nof the bell-metal, the turbulent but bated undertones, that set the\nair a-trembling and seemed some muttered affirmation, some reserve of\nclamors, that should presently break out, too, and utter wrath and\nmeasured menace. The darkness seemed unparalleled, since there was\nsomething to be done and at hazard. Only at long intervals in the\nblackness, windows of dwellings were opened, and here and there a\nventuresome female head was thrust out in baffled and hopeless curiosity.\nBut most of the houses had closed blinds and barred doors, for the alarum\nof the court-house bell had told the inmates all that the prudent might\ncare to learn. The streets of Shaftesville, grass-grown as they were,\nhad known the tread of lynchers, and distrusted any lawless mission.\nIt was so dark that men, meeting at intersections of the streets, ran\nblindly against each other, recoiling with oaths,\u2014sometimes against trees\nand posts. A few provident souls carrying lanterns, and looking in the\nblackness like fleet fire-flies, were made aware when they encountered\nthe rescuers, in pressing in among the crowd in the jail-yard,\u2014the\nposse and the mob otherwise indistinguishable,\u2014by having the lanterns\nstruck out of their hands. The jail was silent; its very vicinity had a\nsuggestion of glum resistance. Some consciousness of a darker and solid\nmass in the air was the only cognizance that the senses could take of\nits propinquity, except, indeed, the sound of breaking glass. A rail had\nbeen dragged from a fence, and, in the hands of unseen parties, after the\nmanner of a battering-ram, the glass in the lower panes was shattered.\nThis was wanton destruction, for the bars withstood the assault. The\nworking of some instrument at them, ever and anon, was an evasive bit\nof craft, for follow the sound as they might, the sheriff and his posse\ncould never locate it. A light showing in an upper window was saluted by\na volley of stones, and quickly disappeared. The missiles fell back in\nthe dense, panting, nameless, viewless crowd, eliciting here and there a\nhowl, succeeded by jeering laughter.\n\nOnce, as the glass crashed in a lower window, a child\u2019s voice within\nwhimpered suddenly; a soothing murmur, and the child was silent.\n\n\u201cMis\u2019 Perkins,\u201d called out a voice from among the mob to the jailer\u2019s\nwife, \u201cmake Jacob open the do\u2019! Tell him we\u2019ll string him up ef he don\u2019t,\nwhen we git holt o\u2019 him.\u201d\n\nThere was intense silence in the closely jammed, indistinguishable crowd\nwithout, for who could say who was the posse or who the mob, helpless\nagainst each other?\n\nA murmur of remonstrance within. An interval. A sharp insistence from the\ncrowd, and a quavering response.\n\n\u201cI _can\u2019t_, gentlemen!\u201d cried a shrill feminine voice. \u201cJake\u2019s sech a\nbull-headed fool, he _won\u2019t_!\u201d\n\nThe summit line of the distant mountains was becoming vaguely visible;\nthe stars were not less bright, the black earth was as dark as ever, but\nthe moon-rise was imminent.\n\nThere was suddenly a surging commotion in the crowd; it swayed hither and\nthither, and rushed violently upon the door. The point of attack being\nplain enough, there was some feeble resistance, offered presumably by the\nposse. A pistol was fired in the air\u2014another\u2014a wild turmoil; all at once\nthe door crashed and gave way; half the assailants were carried over its\nsplintered ruins by the force of their own momentum. There were lights\nenough now springing up in every direction. Men with torches dashed\nthrough the halls, holding them aloft with streaming clouds of flame and\nsmoke, as erratic as comets. It required only a moment, with the united\nexertions of half a dozen stalwart young fellows, to break the door of\nMink\u2019s cell; it offered no such opposition as the main entrance.\n\nThere was no cry of joy as they rushed in; no fraternal embrace for the\nliberators who had risked so much in the cause of natural justice.\n\nThe cell was empty. The bars at the window were firm as ever. The locked\ndoor was broken but a moment ago. And he was gone!\n\nThe word rang through the building. The infuriated crowd pervaded the\ncell in a moment, like some tumultuous flood. The jailer himself was not\nto be found. His wife and children had sought refuge elsewhere.\n\nThe doors were guarded against the sheriff, while a select party searched\nevery room in the house. Some serious fright was occasioned to certain\nmalefactors, who had reason to fear the people more than the law, and\nesteemed the jail in some sort as a haven, but there were many who\nappealed for liberation. One of these, a victim of the federal court,\nBig Brandy Owen by name, made so earnest an insistence that his case was\nconsidered. But he was no genuine moonshiner, it was argued; he was only\na saloon-keeper who had fallen a victim to the liquor laws. \u201cWe dunno\nye,\u201d they prevaricated. \u201cYe ain\u2019t labeled Brandy, ye see.\u201d And so they\nlocked his door upon him.\n\nThey did as much damage as they could, in default of accomplishing their\nobject, and on retiring they dispersed without recognition among the\npeaceful citizens who had weakly striven, half-heartedly, to uphold the\nlaw.\n\nThe moon was up. The Great Smoky Mountains, in magnificent immensity,\nclasped the world in the gigantic curve about the horizon east and\nsouth. The trees seemed veiled in some fine, elusive silver gauze,\nso gleaming a line of light came to the eye from their boughs. Frost\nsparkled upon the grass-fringed streets. The shadows were sharp and\nblack. The stars\u2014few now\u2014faintly scintillated in empyreal distances. The\ntown was so still, not even a dog barked. The rescuers experienced a\nluxury of bravado in the realization that it was for fear of them that it\nwas fain to hold its breath and lie in darkness, save for the light of\nthe moon. Perhaps it was as well, and spared further mischief, that they\nexulted in riding their horses at a gallop through the streets, breaking\nnow and then into wild fantasies of yells, with a fantastic refrain of\nechoes.\n\nThe rioters after a time disappeared. A long interval, and perhaps a\nsingle equestrian figure would ride down the straggling street and whoop\naloud, and turn in his saddle to listen for a comrade\u2019s response, and\nthen ride on.\n\nFinally silence fell. The waning moon was high. The night was well-nigh\nspent. Sundry movements of shadows on window blinds, sundry dim yellow\nlights showing through them, despite the lustre of the moon, indicated\nthat the inhabitants considered that the drama had been played, and were\nbetaking themselves to bed. Alethea Sayles, crouching in the dormer\nwindow of the cottage where the witness fee had sufficed to lodge her,\nlooking with dilated eyes over the little town enmeshed in the silver net\nof its frosted trees, strained her ears in the silence, and exclaimed in\nthe anguish of suspense, \u201cThey mus\u2019 hev tuk him out, Aunt Dely, or they\nwouldn\u2019t hev been so gamesome.\u201d\n\nShe knew little of town ways. Had the mob been successful, the frost\nitself could not vanish more silently.\n\nMrs. Purvine, her wise head pillowed, for the first time in her life, as\nshe remarked, on \u201ctown folkses\u2019 geese,\u201d sleepily assented.\n\nThe moon looked down in Alethea\u2019s upturned eyes. The pine that stood\nby the window tapped upon the pane. She felt as if it were a friendly\nand familiar thing, here where there were so few trees; for the sight\nof houses\u2014crowded, indeed, they seemed\u2014overwhelmed her in some sort,\nand embarrassed her. It was all a-shimmer with the frost; even an empty\nbird\u2019s-nest on a bough was a miracle of delicate interweaving of silver\ngleams. Her hair in its rich dishevelment fell in coils and tangles\nhalf-way to her waist. She clasped her hands over one knee. It was an\ninterval of peace.\n\n\u201cLethe!\u201d said Mrs. Purvine, rousing herself. \u201cAin\u2019t that gal kem ter\nbed yit!\u201d The admonition was a subterfuge. She was about to impart\ninformation. \u201cLethe, ef ye b\u2019lieve me, these hyar crazy muskrats o\u2019 town\nfolks hev got _sun-bonnets ready-made_ in these hyar stores.\u201d\n\nThe vicissitudes of the trial had been the veriest trifles to her. She\nhad utilized the metropolitan sojourn. She had pervaded the stores, as\nwomen of her sort do elsewhere. Mighty little there was in these stores\nthat Aunt Dely had not rummaged.\n\n\u201cYe tole me that afore,\u201d said the absorbed Alethea.\n\nMrs. Purvine chuckled aloud as she reviewed the fact. It afforded her an\noccult complacence, yet she laughed at it.\n\nPresently she recurred to it.\n\n\u201cMy cracky! Lethe,\u201d she exclaimed, \u201c_who_ makes \u2019em?\u201d\n\nAnd with this problem in her mind, she fell asleep among the comforts of\n\u201ctown folkses\u2019 geese.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\n\nThe fires of discontent smouldered throughout the next day. Although many\nof the country people had left town, there was more than the usual stir\nupon the streets. Idle knots of men strolling about or standing on the\ncorners neglected their avocations in eager discussion of the events of\nthe previous evening. There was very general reprehension of the action\nof the mob,\u2014so general that it might suggest a wonder as to whence\ncame its component elements, and an unpleasant feeling that perhaps a\nsatirical ringleader might be advancing these rebukes, and watching with\nsecret laughter their effect. Many rumors prevailed, some so fantastic\nas to balk the credulity that sought to accept them, and others probable\nenough to be a solution of Mink\u2019s disappearance. Some maintained that\nhe had been liberated by the mob. Others said that at the time of the\nonslaught he had been hidden in the cellar with the jailer and the\njailer\u2019s family; and this was again roundly denied, for the cellars were\nreported to have been thoroughly searched. It was said, too, that the\nprisoner had been gagged, bound securely, and boldly carried forth from\nthe back door through the crowd in the intense darkness, and that he was\nnow held in retreat at the sheriff\u2019s house. However it might have been,\nthat officer received about noonday two or three threatening letters\nsigned, \u201cThe men that elected you.\u201d\n\nHe had since been disposed to exonerate himself, and he bore a\ntroubled, anxious face about the town, and talked in a loud, strained,\nremonstrant falsetto. It was through some words which he let fall, in the\nperturbation of the discovery that he was liable to be held to account\npersonally by this unknown and numerous enemy, that it became public\nhe had applied to Judge Gwinnan, not in his judicial capacity, but for\nadvice in this emergency, and that it was Gwinnan who had devised the\nruse which had baffled the rescuers.\n\nThe curiosity as to Mink\u2019s fate grew so pronounced as the day wore on\nthat a party of young roughs went openly to the jail and interrogated\nthe jailer. For that functionary had returned. He showed himself at the\nwindow of his stronghold jauntily enough. He had a jovial expression, a\nblack mustache that turned cheerfully upward,\u2014for he laughed often and\nusually laughed last,\u2014quick brown eyes, and a bushy, unkempt head; he was\nunshaven and in his shirt-sleeves. He seemed to care not an atom for the\nillogical views of his fellow-citizens.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m appinted by the sher\u2019ff o\u2019 Cherokee County ter keep folks in jail,\nan\u2019 by Hokey, I\u2019m a-goin\u2019 ter do it.\u201d\n\nThey begged him to let them in; they had come to see him\nsociably,\u2014a-visitin\u2019, they protested.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t git in hyar, \u2019thout ye steal a horse or kill yer gran\u2019mother,\none.\u201d He shook his keys jocosely at them, and vanished.\n\nAt noon, when the train was due at the little station, the mystery was\nsolved. The jailer was strolling up and down the platform, grave enough\nfor once in his life, and with apparently no purpose. Asked if he were\ngoing to Glaston he replied, with an effort at his usual manner, \u201cNot in\nthese clothes, if the court knows itself, an\u2019 it rather think it do!\u201d\n\nIt was a day of doubtful moods, of sibilant gusts of wind and intervals\nof brooding stillness. There was a pervasive suggestion of moisture in\nthe air, but as yet no rain. The odor of decaying leaves came from the\nwoods on the other side of the road. The sunshine was uncertain. White\nclouds were silently astir in the upper regions of the atmosphere; among\nthe distant blue ranges the intervenient valleys could be distinctly\nlocated by the mist rising from them, elusively showing, then veiling\nthe farther heights, and anon falling like some airy cataract over a\nmountain side, seeming to cleave it in twain, and simulating a gap, a\npass, in the impenetrabilities of the massive clifty range. The little\nstream that flowed along on the other side of the rails reflected the\nvacillating sentiments of the sky: now a cloud driving faster than\nits current showed upon its lustrous olive-green surface among the\nreflections of the crimson sumach bushes that lined its banks; and now it\nglittered in a burst of sunshine and emulated the azure of the changing\nheavens. The little town lay at a considerable distance; whether it\nhoped to grow up to the depot, or desired the advantages of civilization\nwithout its close contact, one might speculate in vain. Its clustering\nroofs were quite distinct among the thinning red and yellow and brown\nleaves of the trees.\n\nA number of loungers waited to watch the train pass; for it was only a\nshort time since the road had been completed, and the engine was still\na mechanical miracle in the estimation of many of the country people,\nwho came sometimes great distances to see it. Harshaw was going down to\nattend the court at Glaston. He was much smarter than usual, although\nhe wore on his yellow head a soft wide hat, which gave him a certain\nhighwayman-like aspect. A gay necktie of blue shot silk showed beneath\nhis yellow beard; his stiffly starched cuffs, already much crumpled,\nprotruded beneath his coat-sleeves.\n\n\u201cWhat are you about, my friend? Going to jump the country?\u201d he demanded\nof the deputy-sheriff, who was embarrassed, and replied evasively that\nhe was waiting to see a man. Harshaw turned to greet Gwinnan, who was\nalso going off, having adjourned the court a few moments too late the\npreceding evening and thereby failing to catch the night train. Harshaw\naccosted him with a full expression of his large, bluff, familiar\nmanner. It was received with a certain coolness, which may have been\nGwinnan\u2019s normal social temperature, but Harshaw was keenly alert to\ndescry significance, and was disposed to refer it to the hasty threat\nat the court-house door. Gwinnan\u2019s impassive inexpressiveness gave him\nno intimation whether or not it had been repeated, and as the judge\nstood looking about the little unpainted wooden depot, all its business\neasily to be comprised in the two rooms, Harshaw began to detail to him\nhow much the road had cost, how it was hoped it would aid in developing\nthe resources of the country, how it had already begun to conduct itself\nlike a sure enough grown-up railroad, and had got into law. Suddenly the\ntwo shining parallel rails trembled with a metallic vibration. A distant\nroar growing ever nearer and louder impinged upon the air. A cloud of\nsmoke appeared above the trees, and with a glitter of burnished metal,\na turmoil of sound, a swift gliding rush, the overpowering imperious\npresence of the engine gladdened the sight of the simple country folks.\n\nGwinnan was silent as Harshaw talked, until suddenly that worthy broke\noff, \u201cHello! what\u2019s going on here?\u201d\n\nSome distance up the red clay road from the direction of the town,\na buggy was driven at a furious rate, with the evident intention of\nforestalling the departure of the train.\n\nAll the loungers saw it. The conductor saw it, and yet he cried out,\n\u201cAll aboard!\u201d and sprang upon the platform as the train began to move.\nThe by-standers understood the ruse the next moment. There were two men\nin the buggy: one was handcuffed; the other was the sheriff. The deputy\nand two guards dragged the prisoner across the platform and upon the\nslowly moving train, which forthwith rattled away around the curve at the\ngreatest speed of which it was capable, leaving the suspected rescuers\ngazing blankly at it, and realizing that because of the insecurity of the\ncounty jail Mink was to be lodged in the metropolitan prison of Glaston.\n\nIt is said that nothing so expands the mental horizon as the experience\nof emotion. In this sense Mink was becoming a wise man. He knew despair\nnot as a word, a theory, a sentiment, but in its baffled, futile\nfinality. He had conned all the fine vacillations of suspense. He had\nexhausted the delusions of hope.\n\nOnly the passion of rage had as yet unsated capacities. As he sat in\nthe car, shackled, among his guards, he fixed his shining eyes, full\nof suppressed ferocity, on Gwinnan\u2019s face, who was absorbed in a book\nand heedless of his fellow-travelers. The guards did not notice the\nprisoner\u2019s gaze, and after a moment it was diverted for a time. For Mink\nhad quick enough perceptions and no mean power of deduction. He divined\nthat his guards and fellow-passengers were in much perturbation lest the\ntrain should be stopped. At every intersection of the country roads with\nthe track there was a perceptible flurry amongst them, an anxious outlook\nto descry mounted and armed men.\n\nHe had himself no further expectation of deliverance.\n\n\u201cNobody\u2019s goin\u2019 ter resk ten year in the Pen\u2019tiary fur rescuin\u2019 me in\nbroad daylight whar they could be knowed. Ef the mob wanted ter hang me,\nthough, _they would_,\u201d he said, with the cynicism of the truth.\n\n\u201cNobody wants ter hang you-uns, Mink, nor hurt ye no-ways. All ye need is\na leetle patience ter wait fur another trial,\u201d said the deputy.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t got no mo\u2019 patience,\u201d said Mink drearily.\n\nHis fatigued faculties, that had almost sunk into stupor under the\nstrain of excitement and suspense, roused themselves to take note of the\nsurroundings. The motion of the train filled him with amaze. He held\nhis breath to see the fantasies of the flying landscape without. The\npanting snorts and leaps of the engine, like some great living monster,\nthe dull rolling of the wheels, the iterative alternating sound of the\nclanking machinery, each registered a new estimate of life upon his\nintent, expressive face. His eyes rested on the lamp fixtures shining in\ntheir places as if he beheld enchantment. The tawdry ornamentation, the\npaneling of light and dark woods with occasional glimmers of gilding,\nthe red velvet of the seats, were to his unaccustomed eyes unparalleled\nmagnificence. He asked no questions. He accepted it all simply, without\ncomment, without consciousness. His fine head, with its rich coloring of\ncomplexion and eyes and hair, looked as if it might have been painted\nupon the panel of maple on which it leaned, he sat so still. His hat lay\non the seat beside him; he was well used now not to wear it. It may have\nbeen because he was innocent, it may have been because he felt no shame,\nbut the handcuffs on his wrists seemed not more ignominious than a wild\ncreature\u2019s captivity.\n\nHe had been so docile, so unresisting all the morning, that the deputy,\nwho had grown to like the young fellow in their constrained intercourse,\nand valued him far more than a duller and a better man, was disposed to\ntreat him as gently as was consistent with duty. The guards were jolly\nand they joked with him; but he had little to say, and presently they\ntalked to each other, and looked over their shoulders at the rest of the\ncompany, covertly entertaining themselves with such fragments of the\nconversation as the roaring and clangor of the train permitted to be\naudible. They noticed after a time that the surroundings had ceased to\ninterest him, and that he was looking with lowering and surly ferocity at\nJudge Gwinnan, intent upon his book.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar,\u201d said one of the guards, nudging Mink violently, \u201cye \u2019pear\nlike some wild varmint. Ye look ez keen an\u2019 wicked an\u2019 mean ez a mink.\nQuit eyin\u2019 Jedge Gwinnan like that, else I\u2019ll blindfold ye,\u2014sure\u2019s ye\nborn, I will.\u201d\n\nMink\u2019s dilated eyes rested upon the unconscious, half-averted face for a\nmoment longer. Then they turned to the face of the deputy in front of him.\n\n\u201cThat thar man,\u201d he said between his set teeth, and for all his voice\nwas low it was distinct, even in the rumbling and noise of the train,\nso charged it was with the emphasis of intention, the definiteness of a\ncherished revenge,\u2014\u201cd\u2019ye know what he hev done ter me? He put Pete Rood\non the jury, though he knowed Pete hated me, an\u2019 why. He put the jury in\njail, \u2019kase they war fools, an\u2019 \u2019lowed they hed a harnt on the panel,\nan\u2019 bein\u2019 jailed conflusticated \u2019em so they couldn\u2019t find a verdict.\n_He_ knows an\u2019 _they_ know Tad\u2019s alive, but I hev got ter bide in jail\nfower month longer an\u2019 resk the Pen\u2019tiary agin, account o\u2019 a drownded boy\nez hev run away. An\u2019 when my friends wanted ter take me out\u2019n jail,\u2014God\nA\u2019mighty! I didn\u2019t know I hed sech friends,\u2014he goes out\u2019n his way ter\ntell the sher\u2019ff how ter flustrate \u2019em. An\u2019 I war gagged an\u2019 ironed, an\u2019\ntoted out\u2019n the back door, an\u2019 kep\u2019 at the sher\u2019ff\u2019s house, an\u2019 am tuk\noff on the train. \u2019Twarn\u2019t his business. Ye know thar warn\u2019t ez much ez\nthat done whenst the lynchers kem fur Tim Jenkins,\u2014_not ter save the\nman\u2019s life_.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, he hed ter be hung some time, ennyhow,\u201d said the deputy\nindisputably.\n\n\u201cWhat did this hyar Jedge Gwinnan do all this hyar fur?\u201d continued Mink.\n\n\u201cWaal, Mink, he war obleeged ter, by his office. Ye know I don\u2019t hold no\ngrudge ter ye, yit I\u2019m \u2019bleeged ter iron ye an\u2019 gyard ye. I couldn\u2019t set\nno mo\u2019 store by ye ef ye war my own blood relation,\u201d said the deputy.\n\n\u201cNaw, sir! naw!\u201d exclaimed Mink. \u201cThis hyar man have tuk a notion ter\nLethe Sayles,\u2014I seen it; an\u2019 he \u2019lows I ain\u2019t good enough fur her, an\u2019 he\nbe doin\u2019 sech ez he kin agin me on account o\u2019 her.\u201d\n\nThe deputy sheriff broke into a horse-laugh. The others laughed, too,\nmore moderately. \u201cYe air teched in the head, Mink,\u201d one of them remarked.\n\n\u201cMebbe so,\u201d Mink responded quietly enough, but with a glancing gleam in\nhis dark eyes. \u201cBut I\u2019ll remember what he hev done ter me. An\u2019 I\u2019ll git\neven with him fur it. By the Lord, I\u2019ll git even with him fur it. An\u2019 ye\nshell see the day.\u201d\n\nHe leaned back against the window, with his eyes bright, his lips\ncurving, tossing his tangled hair with a quick, excited gesture, as if he\nsaw his revenge an accomplished fact.\n\nSomehow his look impressed the guards.\n\n\u201cNaw, ye won\u2019t,\u201d said one of them. \u201cYe won\u2019t do nuthin\u2019 like it. Ye air\ngoin\u2019 ter jail _fower_ month, an\u2019 arter that ter the Pen\u2019tiary _five_\nyear, an\u2019 time ye git out\u2019n thar ye\u2019ll be so powerful pleased ter be\nfoot-loose ye\u2019ll mind yer manners the rest o\u2019 yer days, an\u2019 ye will hev\nclean furgot Jedge Gwinnan.\u201d\n\nHe evidently thought some harshness salutary. Mink made no reply, and\nthey presently fell to talking together of their town affairs and gossip,\nexcluding him from the conversation, in which, in truth, he desired to\ntake no share.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\n\nIn contrast with the steam-cars, the old ox-cart was a slow way of\ngetting through the world, and had little of that magnificence which\nforced itself upon Mink\u2019s jaded and preoccupied faculties. But as\nAlethea turned her face toward the mountains, it seemed the progress\ninto Paradise, so happy was she in the belief that the rescuers had\nprevailed. For she, aunt Dely, and Jerry Price had left town early\nthat morning, before doubts and contradictions were astir. The waning\nyellow moon still swung high in the sky, above the violet vapors of the\nlevel west. Long shadows were stalking athwart the fields and down the\nwoodland ways, as if some mystic beings of the night were getting them\nhome. A gust of wind came shivering along the road once and again,\u2014an\ninvisible, chilly presence, that audibly rustled its weird garments and\nconvulsively caught its breath, and was gone. Above the Great Smoky\nMountains the inexpressible splendors of the day-star glowed and burned.\nShe walked behind the cart much of the time with Jerry, while aunt Dely\nsat, a shapeless mass, within it. A scent of tar issued from its clumsy\nwheels, heavy with the red clay mire of many a mile; a rasping creak\nexuded from its axles, in defiance of wagon-grease. The ox between his\nshafts had a grotesque burliness in the moonlight. The square, unpainted\nlittle vehicle was a quaint contrivance. Four of the dogs ran beneath it,\nin leash with their nimble shadows. And aunt Dely\u2019s sun-bonneted head,\nnodding with occasional lapses into sleep, was faithfully reproduced in\nthe antics of the silhouettes upon the ground that journeyed with them.\n\nNow and again the Scolacutta River crossed their way in wide, shining\ncurves scintillating with the stars, and then Alethea would perch upon\nthe tail-board, and Jerry would clamber into his place as driver, and the\ndogs would yelp and wheeze on the bank, reluctant to swim, and the ox\nwould plunge in, sometimes with a muttered low of surprise to find the\nwater so cold. Fording the stream was slow work; the wheels often scraped\nagainst great hidden bowlders, threatening dislocation and destruction\nto the running gear. The transit was attended with a coruscation of\nglittering showers of spray, and left a foaming track across the swift\ncurrent. Sometimes it was a hard pull up the steep, rocky bank opposite.\nThe old ox had a sober aspect, a resolute tread, and insistently nodding\nhorns. His sturdy rustic demeanor might have suggested that he was glad\nto be homeward bound, and to turn his back upon the frivolities of\ncivilization and fashion. Not so aunt Dely. It seemed for a time as if\nher enforced withdrawal from these things had impaired her temper. She\nwoke up ever and anon with caustic remarks.\n\n\u201cI reckon now, Lethe Ann Sayles, ye be goin\u2019 ter bide along o\u2019 yer\nstep-mother?\u201d\n\n\u201cYe know that\u2019s my home. I hev ter, aunt Dely.\u201d\n\nThe girl\u2019s voice was clear, sweet, thrilling with gladness, like some\nsuddenly awakened bird\u2019s singing a stave before dawn.\n\n\u201cI b\u2019lieve ye!\u201d satirically. \u201cEnnybody but you-uns would be \u2019shamed\nter own up ez ye hev got no home. Old ez ye be, an\u2019 ye ain\u2019t married\nyit! How old be ye? Lemme see,\u201d\u2014with a tone intimating that she would\ngive no quarter,\u2014\u201cnineteen year, five month, an\u2019 fower days. It\u2019s plumb\nscandalous,\u201d she muttered, arranging her shawl about her. \u201cYe Bluff!\u201d\naddressing the ox in a querulous crescendo, \u201cye goin\u2019 ter jolt the life\nout\u2019n me, a-tryin\u2019 ter ape the gait o\u2019 the minchin\u2019 sinners ye seen in\nShaftesville! Actially the steer hev got the shuffles! I tell ye, Sodom\nan\u2019 G\u2019morrah warn\u2019t nowhar fur seethin\u2019 sin ter Shaftesville. The devil\nbe a-gatherin\u2019 his harvest thar. His bin an\u2019 barn air full. Them folks\nwill know some day ez store clothes ain\u2019t no defense agin fire. They hev\nbartered thar salvation fur store clothes. But I do wisht,\u201d she broke off\nsuddenly, dropping her voice from her sanctimonious whine to her cheery\ndrawl, \u201cI hed one o\u2019 them ready-made sun-bonnets. I hed traded off all my\nfeathers an\u2019 truck for store sugar an\u2019 sech afore I seen \u2019em. I was so\nfull o\u2019 laff that I couldn\u2019t keep my face straight whenst I viewed the\ncontrivance.\u201d\n\nThe darkness had fled; the moonlight had failed; the fine, chastened\npallor of the interval\u2014the moment\u2019s pause before the dawn\u2014showed the\ncolorless sky, the massive dusky mountains, the stretches of woods below,\nalmost leafless now, the gaunt, tawny fields here and there, the zigzag\nlines of the rail fences, the red clay road. There were gullies of such\ndepth on either side that the ox, who received so little supervision that\nhe appeared to have the double responsibility of drawing and driving\nthe cart, demonstrated, in keeping out of pitfalls, ampler intellectual\ncapacities than are usually credited to the bovine tribe. But indeed his\ngifts were recognized. \u201cI ain\u2019t s\u2019prised none ef some day Bluff takes\nter talkin\u2019,\u201d his mistress often averred, with her worldly pride in her\npossessions.\n\nThe wind freshened; the white frost gleamed; a pale flush, expanding into\na suffusion of amber light, irradiated the sky; and the great red wintry\nsun rose slowly above the purple ranges.\n\nThey had barely passed through a gap of the mountains and entered Eskaqua\nCove, when they saw riding along an intersecting road close to the bank\nof the river a girl in a yellow homespun dress, with a yellow bonnet on\nher head, and mounted on a great white mare. She had the slaie of a loom\nin her hand which she had borrowed of a neighbor, and which served to\nexplain her early errand.\n\nAlethea, in her joy, had forgotten Elvira Crosby\u2019s sneers and gibes the\nnight she had brought to the Hollow the raccoon which Mink had given her.\nAll other considerations were dwarfed by the rapturous idea that he was\nat liberty. Eager to tell the news, she sprang forward.\n\n\u201cElviry!\u201d she cried. The girl drew up her mare and turned about. Alethea\nran down the road and caught the bridle. \u201cElviry,\u201d she reiterated,\n\u201cReuben air out o\u2019 jail! He\u2019s free! He\u2019s free!\u201d\n\nThe news was not received as she expected. Elvira put back her bonnet\nfrom the soft rings of short hair that lay about her head. She fixed her\ndark eyes on Alethea in doubting surprise.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d she demanded, as if herself sitting in judgment, \u201cwho killed Tad?\u201d\n\n\u201cTad be alive ez I be!\u201d cried Alethea, harried by the reawakening of\nthose questions which she had thought were forever set at rest.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 did the jury say sech?\u201d Elvira asked. It might have seemed that with\nthe breach between her and Mink irreparable, she was not rejoiced to hear\nof his good fortune.\n\n\u201cThe jury couldn\u2019t \u2019gree,\u201d said Alethea breathlessly. \u201cThe rescuers tuk\nhim out.\u201d\n\n\u201cSech ez that be agin the law,\u201d said Elvira staidly.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t keerin\u2019 fur the law!\u201d cried Alethea. \u201cHe hev done no harm, an\u2019\nall the kentry knowed it. An\u2019 \u2019twarn\u2019t right ter keep him cooped in jail.\nSo they tuk him out.\u201d\n\nShe lifted her head and smiled. Ah, did she indeed look upon a wintry\nlandscape with those eyes? So irradiated with the fine lights of joy, so\nsoft, they were, it might seem they could reflect only endless summers.\nThe gaunt, bleak mountains shivered in the niggardliness of the averted\nsun; the wind tossed her loose locks of golden hair from beneath her\nbrown bonnet as if they were flouts to the paler beams.\n\nElvira looked down at her with the pitiless enmity of envy.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d she said, \u201c\u2019twixt ye two ye hev done me a powerful mean turn.\nMink kep\u2019 a-tryin\u2019 ter cut out Pete Rood till I didn\u2019t know my own mind.\nAn\u2019 then ye a-tellin\u2019 them tales \u2019bout harnts till Pete drapped dead,\u2014ye\nknowin\u2019 he hed heart-disease! Yes, sir, he\u2019s dead; buried right over\nyander in the graveyard o\u2019 the church-house in the cove. An\u2019 I reckon ye\nbe sati\u2019fied now,\u2014ef _ye kin_ be sati\u2019fied.\u201d\n\nShe looked away over the swift flow of the river, and began to fleck her\nshoe with the hickory switch she carried.\n\nAlethea\u2019s face fell. She still stood holding the mare\u2019s rein, but aunt\nDely\u2019s voice had broken upon the silence. For Bluff had followed Alethea\nwhen she turned from the main road, and had refused to be guided by Mrs.\nPurvine\u2019s acrid remonstrance. As to Jerry, he was stalking on ahead,\nunaware that the others were not close on his steps. Sawing upon the\nropes on Bluff\u2019s horns which served for reins, Mrs. Purvine succeeded in\ndrawing him up when she reached the spot where the two girls stood. She\nsuddenly joined in the conversation with an astute intention.\n\n\u201cYes, sir, Mink\u2019s out,\u201d she said, confirming her niece\u2019s statement. \u201cAn\u2019\nye\u2019ll hev ter do mighty little tollin\u2019 ter git him back agin, Elviry,\u201d\nshe added beguilingly.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want no jail-bird roun\u2019 me,\u201d said Elvira, with a toss of her\nhead.\n\n\u201cMebbe ye air right, child!\u201d cried Mrs. Purvine. \u201cThat\u2019s edzacly what\nI tole Lethe.\u201d She nodded gayly, and her head-gear, swaying with the\nexpressive gesture, could not have seemed more jaunty had it been a\nready-made sun-bonnet from the store. \u201cYe mark my words, Lethe air goin\u2019\nter marry a man she seen in Shaftesville.\u201d Elated with this effort of\nimagination, she continued, inspirationally, \u201cHe \u2019lowed she war a plumb\nbeauty, beat ennything he ever dreampt could hev kem out\u2019n the mountings.\nHe air a town man, an\u2019 he be a fust-rate one.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, aunt Dely!\u201d faltered Alethea, amazed and almost speechless.\n\nBut aunt Dely, charmed with the image she had conjured up, had no mind to\nrelinquish this mythical man, and added another touch of verisimilitude:\n\u201cHe\u2019s well off, too. Lethe, she don\u2019t keer nuthin\u2019 \u2019bout riches, but\nbein\u2019 ez I hev \u2019sociated so much with town folks, I sorter set store by\nworldly goods,\u2014though not enough ter resk my soul\u2019s salvation, nuther.\u201d\n\nAunt Dely\u2019s evident desire was to combine spiritual and material welfare,\nand in this she was not unlike more sophisticated religionists.\n\nThe opinionated Bluff being induced to turn around at last, Mrs. Purvine\nlet fly a Parthian dart: \u201cBut ez ter you-uns, Elviry, I dunno whether\nye hed better be lookin\u2019 down on fust one boy, an\u2019 then another. Ye\u2019ll\ngit lef\u2019 hyar a lonesome single woman, the fust thing ye know,\u2014_the only\none in the cove_! But then, mebbe ye\u2019d better jes\u2019 bow yer mind ter the\ndispensation, fur arter all ye moughtn\u2019t be able ter ketch Mink. The gals\nhoney him up so ez he air toler\u2019ble sp\u2019iled; they \u2019low he air special\ngood-lookin\u2019, though I hev never been able ter see good looks in him\nsence he kem ter my house, one night, an\u2019 bedeviled my front steps so ez\nthey hev never been so stiddy sence.\u201d\n\n\u201cAunt Dely,\u201d cried Alethea, when they were once more on their homeward\nway, \u201cwhat ailed ye ter tell Elviry sech a pack o\u2019\u201d\u2014Respect for her\nelders restrained her.\n\n\u201cI war prompted by my conscience!\u201d replied the logical Mrs. Purvine,\nunexpectedly. \u201cI can\u2019t be at peace with my conscience \u2019thout doin\u2019 all\nI kin ter purvent a spry, good-lookin\u2019 gal like you-uns from marryin\u2019 a\nwuthless critter sech ez Mink Lorey.\u201d She made no secret of her designs.\n\u201cHe be good a plenty an\u2019 ter spare fur that thar snake-eyed Elviry\nCrosby, but I want ye ter marry Jerry Price, an\u2019 kem an\u2019 live along o\u2019\nme.\u201d\n\nThe immaterial suitor evolved by Mrs. Purvine\u2019s conscience dwelt in\nAlethea\u2019s mind with singular consistency and effect afterward. When\nshe was once more in Wild-Cat Hollow, and day after day passed,\u2014short\ndays they were, of early winter,\u2014and Mink did not come, expectation was\nsupplanted by alternations of hope and disappointment, and they in their\nturn by fear and despair. Was it possible, she asked herself, that he\ncould have heard and credited this fantastic invention of Mrs. Purvine\u2019s\naffection and pride; that Elvira had poisoned his mind; that he was\njealous and angry; that for this he had held aloof? Then the recollection\nof their old differences came upon her. His sorrows had obliterated them\nin her contemplation. It did not follow, however, that they had brought\nher nearer to him. He had long ago fallen away from her. Why should she\nexpect that he would return now? She remembered with a new interpretation\nhis joyous relief the morning that she had told to him and his lawyer\nin the jail the story of her glimpse of Tad; although she had shared\nhis gratulation, it was for his sake alone. She remembered his burning\neyes fixed with fiery reproaches upon her face in the court-room, when\nthe disclosure was elicited that it was in a graveyard she had seen the\nmissing boy. After all, she had done nothing for him; her testimony had\nfostered doubt and roused superstition, and other and stronger friends\nhad effected his release.\n\nShe became silent, sober-eyed, and absorbed, and went mechanically about\nthe house. Her changed demeanor occasioned comment from Mrs. Jessup, who\nsat idle, with a frowzy head and an active snuff-brush, by the fireside\ninstead of on the porch, as in the summer days. \u201cWhen Lethe fust kem back\nfrom Shaftesville she \u2019peared sorter peart an\u2019 livened up. Her brain war\nshuck up, somehow, by her travels. I \u2019lowed she war a-goin\u2019 ter behave\narter this like sure enough folks,\u2014but shucks! she \u2019pears ter be feared\nter open her mouth, else folks\u2019ll know she hev got a tongue \u2019twixt her\nteeth.\u201d For Alethea found it hard now to reply to the continued queries\nof Mrs. Sayles and Mrs. Jessup, who had relished her opportunity, and in\nthe girl\u2019s observation of village life were enjoying all the benefits\nof travel without impinging upon their inertia or undertaking its\nfatigues. The elder woman sat smoking in the corner, her pink sun-bonnet\noverhanging her pallid, thin face, ever and anon producing a leaf of\nbadly cured tobacco, and drying it upon the hearth-stone before serving\nher pipe. Now and then she chuckled silently and toothlessly at some\ndetail of the gossip. It had hurt the girl to know how little they cared\nfor the true object of the expedition. Mink Lorey was naught to them, and\nthey did not affect a picturesque humanity which they did not feel.\n\n\u201cWaal, sir!\u201d Mrs. Sayles would say, \u201cI\u2019ll be bound them town folks air\ntalkin\u2019 \u2019bout Dely Purvine yit. I jes\u2019 kin view in the sperit how she\nwent a-boguein\u2019 roun\u2019 that town, stare-gazin\u2019 everything, like she\nwar raised nowhar, an\u2019 warn\u2019t used ter nuthin\u2019. Didn\u2019t the folks laff\npowerful at yer aunt Dely?\u201d\n\n\u201cI never seen nobody laffin\u2019,\u201d protested Alethea, loyally.\n\nJacob Jessup, sober enough, but surly, was wont also to sit in these\ndays idle by the fire. The farm work, such as it was, had been done. The\nstock he fed when he liked. He chose to consider Alethea\u2019s metropolitan\ntrip as a bit of personal self-assertion, and sneered whenever it was\nmentioned, and sought to ignore it as far as he might. For his own part,\nhe had never been to Shaftesville, and he grudged her the distinction. He\nwould not recognize it; he treated the fact as if it were not, and thus\nhe extinguished it. He seemed somehow, as he sprawled idly about, to take\nup much more room by the fire than the women, despite their skirts, and\nhe was often engaged in altercations with the dogs, the children, and the\npet cub as to the space they occupied. The bear had been reared in a bad\nschool for his manners; he had grown intelligent and impudent and selfish\nin captivity among his human friends. He would stretch himself along the\nhearth in front of the family, absorbing all the heat, snarling, and\nshowing his teeth sometimes, but steeling himself in his fur and his fat\nand his fortitude, and withstanding kicks and blows till his persecutor\nwas tired. Sometimes Jessup would catch him by the rolls of fat about\nhis neck and drag him to the door, but the nimble beast would again be\nstretched upon the hearthstones before the man could reach his chair.\nJessup did the brute no great hurt, for, lowering and ill-natured as the\nfellow was, he was kindly disposed toward animals, and this made the more\nmarked a sort of spite which he seemed to entertain toward the raccoon\nwhich Mink had given Elvira, and which she had brought to Alethea. The\ngrotesque creature was in some sort a domestic martyr. As it scuttled\nabout the uneven puncheon floor, he would affect to stumble over it,\nswear at it, seize it by the tail, and fling it against the wall. But\nthe coon\u2019s griefs were readily healed. It would skulk away for a time,\nand then be seen eating stolen delicacies in its dainty fashion, washing\nthe food between its two fore-paws in the drinking pail. Old man Sayles,\nsilent, subdued, sat a sort of alien at his own fireside, sorting seeds,\nand bits of tobacco, buttons, herbs, tiny gourds, which went by the\nname of \u201clumber\u201d with him, in a kind of trough beneath the window that\nserved in lieu of sill. Now and then he passed his hand over his head\nand sighed. Perhaps he regretted his second matrimonial venture; for the\ndomestic scene was one of frowzy confusion, very pronounced when crowded\ninto one small room, instead of being shared with the porch, which the\nwind swept now and shook, and where the mists congregated in the evenings\nor the frosts convened. The Jessup children were shrill at play. The\nbaby had got on its feet, and was walking into everything,\u2014unwary pans\nand kettles and tubs of water. Tige\u2019s overbearing disposition was very\nmanifest in his capacity as fireside companion. And when the chimney\nsmoked, and L\u2019onidas preferred his complaints at Alethea\u2019s side as she\nsat and carded wool, and the cub leaned his weight against her as he\ncontemplated the fire with his head upon her knee, and her step-mother\nscolded, and Jacob Jessup fumed and contradicted, and the experimental\nbaby brought down the churn with a crash, while the cat lapped amidst\nthe waste, Mrs. Jessup would shift her snuff-brush to the other corner\nof her pretty mouth, and demand, \u201cNow ain\u2019t Lethe a plumb fool ter live\nhyar along o\u2019 sech cavortin\u2019 ways up on the side o\u2019 a mounting, a-waitin\u2019\nfur a pore wuthless scamp like Mink Lorey, when she could hev a house\nter herself in Piomingo Cove, with no hendrance but Ben Doaks, a quiet\nrespectable boy, ez I don\u2019t look down on \u2019kase he ain\u2019t got religion! I\nknow some folks ez religion itself can\u2019t holp.\u201d\n\nSometimes, however,\u2014it was at long intervals,\u2014even Mrs. Jessup would\nbe summoned to rouse herself from the heavy sluggishness that made all\nexertion, beyond the necessary routine, positive pain. The code of\netiquette that prevails in the mountains, simple as it is, has yet its\nrigorous requirements; and when the death of a kinsman in Eskaqua Cove\npresently occurred, the graceless creature deplored it less than the\nsupervening necessity of attending the obsequies. There was no snow, nor\nice, nor rain, to urge as an excuse. The weather was singularly fine and\ndry. It was easier getting down the mountain now than in the summer. And\nso she was constrained to go.\n\nThe sunshine was still, languid; the air was calm, Wild-Cat Hollow wore\nits wintry aspect, although below in the cove one might have glimpses of\nred and yellow, as if the autumn yet lingered. Everywhere there was a\nwider outlook because of the denudation of the woods, and the landscape\nwas the more gaunt, the more rugged. It was like a mind stripped of the\nillusions of youth; the stern facts are the plainer, and alas! more\nstern. The purplish-garnet hue of the myriads of bare boughs in the\nforests covering the mountain slopes contrasted with the indeterminate\nblue of the sky. There was a fibrous effect in their fine detail; even\nthe great mass, seen at a distance, was like some delicate penciling.\nSingularly still it was, the air very dry; the dead leaves on the ground\ndid not rustle; the corn-stalks, standing withered and yellow in the\nfields, did not stir. The only motion was the slow shifting of the\nshadows as the day went on, and perhaps high, high even above the Great\nSmoky, a swift passing of wild geese flying southward, their cabalistic\nsyllable _Houk! houk!_ floating down, seeming in the silence strangely\nintoned and mysterious. At night a new moon looked through the rigid,\nnaked trees. The feeble glimmer from the little log cabin was solitary.\nThe stars themselves were hardly more aloof from the world. The narrow\nvista through the gap only attested how darkly indistinguishable was the\ncove, how annihilated in the blackness were the mountains.\n\nNo sound of cattle drifted down now from the bald; the herds were gone;\nsometimes in the midnight the howl of a wolf echoed and re-echoed in\nall the tortuous ways of the wilderness; then silence, that seemed to\ntremble with fear of the reiteration of the savage cry. Alethea was prone\nto be wakeful and sad and anxious, so perhaps it was well that she had\nmuch to occupy her thoughts during the day. The baby fretted for his\nmother. Mrs. Jessup was not a model mother, but she was the only one\nthe baby had, and he was not recreant to filial sentiment. He exacted a\nvast number of petty attentions from Alethea which he had never before\nrequired. Tige and the cub resented the pampering she gave him; they were\njealous and made their feeling known in many dumb manifestations: they\nkept themselves sadly in the way; now they were hungry and now they were\nthirsty, and they whined continually about her.\n\nShe hardly noticed at first that a thick haze had appeared over the cove,\nbut as yet did not dim the sky. It climbed the mountain sides, and hung\nlike a gauze veil about the cabin and the sheds. Suddenly she became\naware of the pungent odor of smoke. She put the child away from her, as\nhe clung to her skirts, and stepped out upon the porch. The dog and cub\npressed close after her, fancying that they had scored one against the\nbaby, who had sunk, squalling because of his desertion, upon the floor.\n\nShe looked about for a moment at the still white presence that had\nusurped the earth, the air, the sky.\n\n\u201cSomebody hev set out fire in the woods!\u201d she cried.\n\n\u201cHev ye jes\u2019 fund that out?\u201d drawled Jacob Jessup, as he sat on the\nporch. Her father and he were languidly discussing whether they should\nfire against it. It was far enough away as yet, they thought, and with\nthe annual conflagrations in the woods they had become experts in judging\nof the distance and of the emergencies of fighting fire with fire.\n\nShe listened as they talked, thinking that Sam Marvin\u2019s home, miles away,\nwould presently be in danger, if they were right as to the location of\nthe fire. The cruel flames would complete the desolation she had wrought.\nHer conscience winced always at the recollection of its bare, denuded\nplight. Some small reparation was suggested in the idea that she might\nsave it; she might go thither now and fire the dead leaves on the slopes\nbelow. Above there was a desolate, barren stretch of rocks, covering many\nacres, which the flames could hardly overleap. There was no wind, but a\nslight stir was now in the air. Its current was down the mountain.\n\nShe set out, Tige and the coon with her: the wild thing ambling demurely\nalong with all the decorum of cultivated manners; the domestic animal\nbarking and leaping before her in mad ecstasy for the simple privilege of\nthe excursion. The cub looked after them from the doorway, whined, and\ncrept within to the fire.\n\nAs she went she was vividly reminded of the day when she had journeyed\nthither before, although the woods had then worn the rich guise of\nautumn, and they were now austere and bleak and silent, and shrouded in\nthe white smoke. She even noted the lick-log at the forks of the road,\nwhere she had sat and trembled and debated within herself. She wondered\nif what she had said in the court-room would pursue the moonshiner in his\nhiding place. Would it harm him? Had she done right or wrong?\n\nStill walking on up the steep slant to the moonshiner\u2019s house, seeing\nonly a yard or two before her, she at last came upon the fence. She\npaused and leaned upon the rails, and looked about her. The corn-field\ncomprised more acreage than is usual in mountain agriculture. The\ndestination of the crop was not the limited legitimate market of the\nregion. It was planted for use in the still. She experienced another pang\nwhen she realized that it too was a grievous loss; for Sam Marvin had\nbeen forced to leave the fruit of his industry when it stood immature.\nNow, early in December, the full crisp ears leaned heavily from the\nsere stalk. She wondered that the abandoned crop, a fine one, had not\nbeen plundered. Then she bethought herself how deep in the wilderness\nit stood secluded. All at once she heard a rustling among the corn. Her\nfirst thought was the bear. In amaze she discerned a wagon looming hard\nby in the smoke. Then the indistinct figures of a man, a woman, and\na half-grown girl came slowly down the turn row. To judge from their\ngestures, they were gathering the corn.\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\n\nAlethea stood motionless for some little time, still leaning on the\nfence. A stalk of golden-rod, brown and withered, its glory departed,\ntouched the rails now and then. Its slight, infrequent swaying was the\nonly intimation of wind, except that the encompassing smoke, filling\nthe vast spaces between heaven and earth, shifted occasionally, the\ndense convolutions silently merging into new combinations of ill-defined\nshapes,\u2014colorless phantasmagoria, dimly looming. It might have seemed as\nif all the world had faded out, leaving only these blurred suggestions of\nunrecognized forms, like the vestiges of forgotten \u00e6ons.\n\nEven the harvesters did not maintain always a human aspect. Through\nthe haze they were grotesque, distorted, gigantic; their hands vaguely\nvisible, now lifted, now falling, in their deliberate but ceaseless work.\nThey looked like vagrants from that eccentric populace of dreams, given\nover to abnormal, inconsequent gestures, to shifting similitudes, to\npreposterous conditions and facile metamorphoses of identity. Alethea\nfelt a strange doubt, in recognizing Sam Marvin, whether it were indeed\nthe moonshiner whom she saw.\n\nAn insistent silence possessed the air, broken only by the rustle of the\ncrisp husks as the three dim figures pulled the corn. Suddenly there\nsounded a mad, scuttling rush, shrill canine yelps, and a series of\nnimble shadows vaulted over the fence. The coon ran up a tree, while\nthe moonshiner\u2019s dogs ranged themselves beneath it, with upturned heads\naskew, and gloating, baffled eyes, and moans of melancholy frustration,\npunctuated ever and anon with yaps of more poignant realization of the\ncoon\u2019s inaccessibility. Tige, irresolute, showed fight at first to the\nstrangers; then he too sat down, and with quivering fore-paws and wagging\ntail wheezed and yelped at his fireside companion, as if he had no\npersonal acquaintance with the raccoon, had held with him no relations of\nenforced amity, and could not wait one moment to crunch his bones.\n\nThe half-grown girl, desisting from her work, turned her head in the\ndirection of the noise, and caught a glimpse of Alethea. She had an\nexcited eye, high cheek-bones, and a thin, prominent nose. Her face\nlooked peculiarly sharp inside her flabby sun-bonnet. She was at the\n\u201cgrowing age,\u201d and her frock was consequently short for the bare,\nsun-embrowned legs which protruded from it. Her bare feet were long and\nbony. She seemed to be growing lengthwise only, for her shoulders were\nnarrow, her arms slim. She had a callow, half-fledged look, not unlike a\nShanghai pullet. Her manner was abrupt and fluttered, and her voice high\nand shrill.\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy!\u201d she exclaimed, jumping precipitately backward on her\nlong, attenuated legs, \u201cyander\u2019s Lethe Sayles!\u201d\n\nBoth the man and the woman started violently,\u2014not because of the matter\nof the disclosure, but of its manner, as was manifested in his rebuke.\n\n\u201cBy Gosh, Sereny! ef ye ain\u2019t mighty nigh skeered me ter death!\u201d he cried\nangrily. \u201cS\u2019pose it air Lethe Sayles!\u201d He bowed his body grotesquely\namidst the smoke, as he emphasized his reproof. \u201cAir she ennything so\npowerful oncommon ez ye hev ter jump ez sprightly ez ef ye hed stepped on\na rattlesnake, an\u2019 squeech out that-a-way? Howdy, Lethe,\u201d he added, with\nan odd contrast of a calm voice and a smooth manner, as if Alethea were\ndeaf to these amenities. \u201cThrivin\u2019, I s\u2019pose?\u201d\n\nAlethea faltered that she was well, and said no more. The imperative\nconsciousness of all that she had done against him, of all for which she\nfeared him, prevailed for a time. She knew that it would have been wiser\nto venture some commonplace civility, and then go. But that insistent\nconscience, strong within her, forbade this. She was all unprepared now\nfor the disclosure of her testimony in the court-room, but the fact that\nshe had ever intended to warn him made it seem as if this were due. She\nfelt as if she had missed a certain fortification of her courage in\nthat she had not had the privilege of trembling over the prospect, of\nfamiliarizing herself with it, of approaching it slowly, but none the\nless surely, by lessening degrees of trepidation. She wondered that he\ndid not look at her with more of the indignation which she knew he must\nfeel toward her. Bitterness, however, was acridly manifested in the\nwoman\u2019s manner, her averted head, her sedulous silence. She continued\nindustriously pulling the corn, as if no word had been spoken, no\ncreature stood by. The gallinaceous girl, silent too, returned to her\nwork, but often looked askance at Alethea over her shoulder.\n\nThe man spoke presently. His face and figure were blurred now in the\nsmoke. It was as if a shadow had purloined a sarcastic voice. Alethea\u2019s\nnerves were unstrung by the surprise of the meeting, and the fact that\nshe could see only this elusive suggestion of his presence harassed and\ndiscomposed her.\n\n\u201cWaal, Lethe, I dunno ez I be s\u2019prised ter see ye. I hev seen ye sech a\nmany times whenst I never expected ye,\u2014startin\u2019 up yander at Boke\u2019s barn\nez suddint ez ef ye hed yer headquarters in the yearth or the sky. An\u2019\njes\u2019 at this junctry, whenst we air a-tryin\u2019 ter steal our _own_ corn\naway from hyar, ye kem a-boundin\u2019 out\u2019n the smoke, like ye hed no abidin\u2019\nplace more \u2019n a witch or that thar Herder on Thunderhead, or sech harnts.\nI never see yer beat ez a meddler. Satan ain\u2019t no busier with other\nfolkses\u2019 souls.\u201d\n\nShe made no reply. The shifting vapor hid the tree where the bright-eyed\ncoon hung fast by his claws, and the wheezing yapping of the foiled dogs\nbesieging his stronghold seemed strangely loud and near since they were\ninvisible.\n\nThe shucks rustled sibilantly. The ears of maize fell with a monotonous\nsound upon the heaps in the turn row.\n\n\u201cWhat did the revenuers do when they kem up the mounting?\u201d Marvin asked\nsuddenly. His tone was all alert now with curiosity. He could reserve his\nrebukes till his craving for gossip should be satisfied. Conversation, a\nfine art elsewhere, assumes the dignity of a privilege in these sparsely\nsettled wilds, where its opportunities are scant.\n\n\u201cThey ain\u2019t never kem, ez I knows on,\u201d said Alethea tremulously. They\nmight come yet, and here he was still unwarned and at the mercy of\naccident. She had climbed the fence, springing lightly down on the other\nside, and had mechanically begun to assist them in their work,\u2014the usual\ncourtesy of a guest in the mountains who finds the host employed.\n\n\u201cSlip-shuck it, Lethe,\u201d he remarked, calling her attention to the fact\nthat the outer husks were left upon the stalks, and the ear, enveloped\nmerely in its inner integuments, was thrown upon the heap. \u201cI hates\npowerful ter be obleeged ter leave all this hyar good roughness;\u201d he\nindicated the long rows of shucks upon the stalks. \u201cMy cattle would be\nmighty thankful ter hev sech fedded ter \u2019em. But the corn itself air\nabout ez much ez I kin haul so fur\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201c_Don\u2019t_ ye tell her wharabouts we-uns lives nowadays,\u201d broke out the\nwoman.\n\nShe was standing near Alethea, and she turned and looked at her. The\ngirl\u2019s fresh and beautiful countenance was only more delicate, more\nsensitive, with that half-affrighted perturbation on it, that piteous\ndeprecation. The elder woman\u2019s face was furrowed and yellow in contrast;\nher large, prominent eyes, of a light, hazel color, were full of tears,\nand had a look as if tears were no unfamiliar visitants. She wiped them\naway with the curtain of her pink sun-bonnet, and went on pulling the\ncorn.\n\n\u201cI dunno whar Sam Marvin lives, myself,\u201d the moonshiner declared, with\nreckless bravado. \u201cI don\u2019t go by that name no mo\u2019.\u201d\n\nHe straightened up and set his arms akimbo, as he laughed.\n\n\u201cYe needn\u2019t send no mo\u2019 o\u2019 yer spies, Lethe, arter me,\u201d he declared. \u201cMy\nneighbors way over yander dunno no sech man ez Sam Marvin.\u201d\n\nAlethea\u2019s lifted hand paused upon the shuck on the sere stalk. As she\nturned half round he saw her face in the smoke; her golden hair and\nfresh cheek, and the saffron kerchief tied beneath the round chin. He\nwas not struck by her beauty; it always seemed a thing apart from her,\nthe slightest incident of her personality, so much more forceful were\nthe impressions of her character, so much more intimately her coercive\nopinions concerned those with whom she came in contact. But in her clear\neyes he detected a surprise which he hardly understood at the moment. And\nhe paused to look at her, wondering if it were only simulated.\n\nHer heart throbbed with a dull and heavy pain. So angry were they because\nshe would not promise to keep their secret. She shrank from their rage\nwhen she should tell that she had voluntarily disclosed it.\n\n\u201cYe\u2019ll be purtendin\u2019 ez \u2019twar somebody else ez sent the spy ter make sure\no\u2019 the place whar we kep\u2019 our still. I _know ye_!\u201d He wagged his head in\nmore active assertion that her machinations could not avail against his\ndiscernment.\n\n\u201cI never sent no spy,\u201d faltered Alethea.\n\n\u201cThar now! What did I tell ye!\u201d he broke out, laughing disdainfully;\nthe woman added a high, shrill, unmirthful refrain; even Serena the\npullet, stepping about in the smoke on her long, yellow feet and in her\nabbreviated garments, cackled scornfully.\n\n\u201cYe may thank yer blessed stars,\u201d cried the woman scathingly,\u2014she could\nhold silence no longer\u2014\u201cez ye done nuthin\u2019 agin we-uns. An\u2019 the revenuers\nnever raided our still, nor got nare drap o\u2019 our liquor, nor tuk nuthin\u2019\no\u2019 ourn. Yer bones would be a-bleachin\u2019 on the hillside ef they hed!\nJes\u2019 afore yer spy kem them white-livered men\u2014Sam thar, an\u2019 the t\u2019other\ndistillers\u2014war a-talkin\u2019 \u2019bout how they could make ye hesh up yer mouth,\nez ye wouldn\u2019t keep it shet yerse\u2019f. They \u2019lowed it never seemed right\nhandy ter them ter shoot a woman same ez a man, an\u2019 I jes\u2019 up-ed an\u2019\ntole \u2019em ez ye desarved no better \u2019n a bullet through that yaller head\no\u2019 yourn, an\u2019 they could git a shot at ye enny evenin\u2019 whenst ye war\na-drivin\u2019 up the cow. An\u2019 I \u2019lowed ez whenst a woman went a-meddlin\u2019 an\u2019\ninformin\u2019 like a man, let her take what a man hev ter take. Naw, sir!\nbut they mus\u2019 run away, \u2019count o\u2019 a meddler like you-uns, an\u2019 go live\nsomwhar else! An\u2019 I hed ter leave my home, an\u2019 the three graves o\u2019 my\ndead chill\u2019n, yander on the rise, ez lonesome an\u2019 ez meagre-lookin\u2019 ez ef\nthey war three pertater hills.\u201d\n\nShe burst into a tumult of tears. The smoke wafted down, obscuring\nher,\u2014there was commotion in its midst, for the wind was rising,\u2014and her\nsobs sounded from out the invisibility that had effaced the earth as if\nsome spirit of grief were abroad in it.\n\n\u201cShet up, M\u2019ria! Ye talk like ye hed no mo\u2019 sense \u2019n a sheep. The chill\u2019n\nain\u2019t in them graves,\u201d Marvin said, with the consolations of a sturdy\northodoxy.\n\n\u201cThar leetle bones is,\u201d said the spirit of grief from the densities of\nthe clouds.\n\nAnd he could not gainsay this.\n\nShe wept on persistently for the little deserted bones. He could not feel\nas she did, yet he could understand her feeling. His under-jaw dropped\na little; some stress of melancholy and solemnity was on his face, as\nif a saddened retrospection were evoked for him, too. But it was a\nrecollection which his instinct was to throw off, rather than to cherish\nas a precious sorrow, jealously exacting for it the extremest tribute of\nsighs and tears.\n\n\u201cLethe,\u201d he said suddenly, with a cheerful note, \u201cbein\u2019 ez they never\ncotch us, did they pay ye ennything ez informer? I ain\u2019t right sure how\nthe law stands on that p\u2019int. The law \u2019pears ter me ter be a mighty\nonstiddy, contrariwise contrivance, an\u2019 the bes\u2019 way ter find out\nennything _sartain sure_ \u2019bout\u2019n it air ter \u2019sperience it. Did they pay\nye ennything?\u201d\n\n\u201cI never informed the revenuers,\u201d declared Alethea, once more.\n\nHe turned upon her a look of scorn.\n\n\u201cI knowed ye war a powerful fool, a-talkin\u2019 \u2019bout \u2018what\u2019s right,\u2019 an\u2019\npreachin\u2019 same ez the rider, an\u2019 faultin\u2019 yer elders. But I never knowed\nye war a liar an\u2019 a scandalous hypocrite. The Bible say, \u2018Woe ter ye,\nhypocrites!\u2019 I wonder ye ain\u2019t hearn that afore; either a-wrastlin\u2019 with\nyer own soul, or meddlin\u2019 with other folkses\u2019 salvation.\u201d It occurred to\nhim that he preached very well himself, and he was minded, in the sudden\nvanity of the discovery, to reiterate, \u201cWoe unto ye, hypocrite!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat makes ye \u2019low ez I gin the word ter the revenuers?\u201d demanded\nAlethea.\n\n\u201c\u2019Kase the spy kem up thar with yer name on his lips. \u2018Lethe Sayles,\u2019 he\nsez,\u2014\u2018Lethe Sayles.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe girl stared wide-eyed and amazed at him.\n\nMarvin\u2019s wife noted the expression. \u201cOh, g\u2019long, Lethe Sayles!\u201d she cried\nimpatiently; \u201cye air so deceivin\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe spy!\u201d faltered Alethea. \u201cWho war the spy? I never tole nobody \u2019bout\nseein\u2019 ye at Boke\u2019s barn, nor whenst I war milkin\u2019 the cow, nuther, till\na few weeks ago. Ye hed lef\u2019 hyar fur months afore then.\u201d\n\nThe woman, listening, with an ear of corn in her motionless hand, turned\nand cast it upon the heap with a significant gesture of rejection, as if\nshe thus discarded the claims of what she had heard. She sneered, and\nlaughed derisively and shrill. The pullet, too, broke into mocking mirth,\nand then both fell to pulling corn with a sort of flouting energy.\n\n\u201cOh, shucks!\u201d exclaimed Marvin, with a feint of sharing their\nincredulity. But he held his straggling beard in one hand, and looked\nat Alethea seriously. To him her manner constrained belief in what she\nhad said. \u201cWhy, Lethe,\u201d he broke out, abruptly, \u201c\u2019twarn\u2019t long arter\nthat evenin\u2019 whenst I seen ye a-milkin\u2019 the cow when the spy kem. We-uns\nwar a-settin\u2019 roun\u2019 the still,\u2014we kep\u2019 it in the shed-room, me an\u2019 my\npartners,\u2014an\u2019 we war a-talkin\u2019 \u2019bout you-uns, an\u2019 how ye acted; an\u2019\nM\u2019ria, she war thar, an\u2019 she went agin ye, an\u2019 \u2019lowed ez we hed better\nmake ye shet yer mouth; an\u2019 some o\u2019 the boys were argufyin\u2019 ez ye war\njes\u2019 sayin\u2019 sech ez ye done ter hear yerse\u2019f talk, an\u2019 feel sot up in\nyer own \u2019pinion. They \u2019lowed ye\u2019d be feared ter tell, sure enough, but\nye hankered ter be begged ter shet up. \u2019Twar a powerful stormy night.\nI never hear a wusser wind ez war a-cavortin\u2019 round the house. An\u2019 the\nlightnin\u2019 an\u2019 thunder hed been right up an\u2019 down sniptious. A lightnin\u2019\nball mus\u2019 hev bust up on Piomingo Bald, \u2019kase nex\u2019 day I see the ground\ntore up round the herders\u2019 cabin, though Ben Doaks warn\u2019t thar,\u2014hed\ngone down ter the cove, I reckon. Waal, sir, it quit stormin\u2019 arter a\nwhile, but everything war mighty damp an\u2019 wet; the draps kep\u2019 a-fallin\u2019\noff\u2019n the eaves. We could hear the hogs in the pen a-squashin\u2019 about\nin the mud. An\u2019 all of a suddenty they tuk ter squealin\u2019 an\u2019 gruntin\u2019,\nskeered mighty nigh ter death. An\u2019 my oldest son, Mose, he \u2019lowed it\nwar a varmint arter \u2019em; an\u2019 he snatched his gun an\u2019 runned out ter\nthe hog-pen. An\u2019 thar they war, all jammed up tergether, gruntin\u2019 an\u2019\nsnortin\u2019; an\u2019 Mose say he war afeard to shoot \u2019mongst \u2019em, fur fear o\u2019\nhittin\u2019 some o\u2019 them stiddier the varmint. An\u2019 whilst he war lookin\u2019\nright keerful,\u2014the moon hed kem out by then,\u2014he seen, stiddier a wolf,\nsuthin\u2019 a-bowin\u2019 down off\u2019n the fence. An\u2019 the thing cotch up a crust\no\u2019 bread, or a rind o\u2019 water-million, or suthin\u2019, out o\u2019 the trough fur\nthe hogs, an\u2019 then sot up ez white-faced on the fence, a-munchin\u2019 it an\u2019\na-lookin\u2019 at him. An\u2019 Mose \u2019lowed he war so plumb s\u2019prised he los\u2019 his\nsenses. He \u2019lowed \u2019twar a harnt,\u2014it looked so onexpected. He jes\u2019 flung\nhis rifle on the groun\u2019 an\u2019 run. It\u2019s mighty seldom sech tracks hev been\nmade on the Big Smoky ez Mose tuk. We-uns ain\u2019t medjured \u2019em yit, but\nMose hev got the name \u2019mongst the gang o\u2019 bein\u2019 able ter step fourteen\nfeet at a stride.\u201d\n\nHe showed his long, tobacco-stained teeth in the midst of his straggling\nbeard, and as he talked on he gnawed at a plug of tobacco, as if, being\nno impediment to thought, it could be none to its expression.\n\n\u201cMose lept inter the house, declarin\u2019 thar war a harnt a-settin\u2019 on the\nfence. Ye know Jeb Peake?\u2014hongry Jeb, they useter call him.\u201d Marvin\nbroke off suddenly, having forgotten the significance and purpose of the\nrecital in the rare pleasure of recounting. Even his wife\u2019s face bore\nonly retrospective absorption, and Serena had lifted her head, and fixed\nan excited, steadfast eye upon him. \u201cWaal, hongry Jeb war a-settin\u2019 thar\nin the corner, an\u2019 bein\u2019 toler\u2019ble sleepy-headed he hed drapped off,\nhis head agin the chimbley. An\u2019 when Mose kem a-rampagin\u2019 in thar, with\nhis eyes poppin\u2019 out, declarin\u2019 thar war a harnt settin\u2019 on the fence,\neatin\u2019,\u2014\u2018_Eatin\u2019 what?_\u2019 sez hongry Jeb, a-startin\u2019 up. Ha! ha! ha!\u201d\n\n\u201cJeb ain\u2019t never forgot the bottom o\u2019 the pot yit,\u201d chimed in the wife.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t a-grudgin\u2019 him ter eat, though,\u201d stipulated the moonshiner,\n\u201cnor the harnt, nuther. I jes\u2019 \u2019lowed ez that thar white-faced critter\na-settin\u2019 on the fence, a-thievin\u2019 from the hog, mought take up a fancy\nter Mose\u2019s rifle, lef\u2019 onpertected on the ground. So I goes out. Nuthin\u2019\nwarn\u2019t settin\u2019 on the fence, \u2019ceptin\u2019 the moonlight an\u2019 that thar\nonregenerate young tur-rkey ez nuthin\u2019 could hender from roostin\u2019 on the\nrails o\u2019 the hog-pen, stiddier on a limb o\u2019 a tree, \u2019longside o\u2019 the\nt\u2019other tur-rkeys.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 thar a fox cotch her afore daybreak,\u201d interpolated Mrs. Marvin,\nsupplying biographical deficiencies.\n\n\u201cI always _did_ b\u2019lieve \u2019twar them thar greedy old hogs,\u201d said Serena.\n\nMarvin went on, disregarding the interruption:\u2014\n\n\u201cI picked up Mose\u2019s gun, an\u2019 in I kem. I barred up the door, an\u2019 then I\nsot down an\u2019 lighted my pipe. An\u2019 Jeb, he tuk ter tellin\u2019 tales \u2019bout\nall the folks ez he ever knowed ter be skeered haffen ter death\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cNare one of \u2019em war Jeb,\u201d remarked the observant Mrs. Marvin, seizing\nthe salient trait of the romancer. \u201cIn all Jeb\u2019s tales _he_ comes out\u2019n\nthe big e-end o\u2019 the hawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 ez I sot thar, jes\u2019 wallin\u2019 my eyes round the room, I seen suthin\u2019\nthat, ef the t\u2019others hed said they seen, I\u2019d hev tole \u2019em they war\nlyin\u2019. \u2019Twar a couple o\u2019 eyes an\u2019 a white face peekin\u2019 through the holes\nin the chinkin\u2019 o\u2019 the walls, whar the daubin\u2019 hed fell out. \u2019Twar right\nclose ter me at fust,\u2014that war how I kem ter see it so plain. I \u2019lowed\nter jes\u2019 stick my knife right quick inter one o\u2019 them eyes. I \u2019lowed\n\u2019twar a raider. \u2019Fore I could move \u2019twar gone! Then all of a suddenty I\nseen the face an\u2019 eyes peekin\u2019 in close ter the door. I jes\u2019 flew at it\nthat time,\u2014warn\u2019t goin\u2019 ter let nuthin\u2019 hender\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cI war \u2019twixt him an\u2019 the door, an\u2019 he jes\u2019 run over me,\u201d interpolated\nthe pullet. \u201cKnocked me plumb over, head fust, inter a tub o\u2019 beer. Hed\nter set in the sun all nex\u2019 day fur my hair ter dry out, an\u2019 I smelt like\na toper.\u201d\n\nSam Marvin not ungenially permitted his family thus to share in telling\nhis story. He resumed with unabated ardor:\u2014\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I jumped through the door so quick that the spy jes\u2019 did see me,\nan\u2019 war steppin\u2019 out ter run when I cotch him by the collar. I don\u2019t\nreckon thar ever war a better beatin\u2019 \u2019n I gin him. I hed drapped my\nknife a-runnin\u2019, an\u2019 I hed no dependence \u2019ceptin\u2019 my fists. His face war\nso bloody I didn\u2019t know him a-fust, when I dragged him in the house,\nwith his head under my arm. An\u2019 when I seen him I knowed he never kem\nof hisself, but somebody had sent him. An\u2019 I say, \u2018What did ye kem hyar\nfur?\u2019 An\u2019 he say, \u2018Lethe Sayles.\u2019 An\u2019 I say, \u2018Who sent ye?\u2019 An\u2019 he say,\n\u2018Lethe Sayles.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Lethe, see what a liar ye hev been fund out ter be!\u201d said the\nwoman, scornfully. \u201cLord knows I never \u2019lowed ye would kem ter sech. I\nknowed ye whenst ye war a baby. A fatter one I never see. Nobody would\nhev b\u2019lieved ye\u2019d grow up sour, an\u2019 preachified, an\u2019 faultin\u2019 yer elders,\nan\u2019 bide a single woman, ez ef nobody would make ch\u2019ice o\u2019 ye.\u201d\n\nAlethea looked vaguely from one to the other. Denial seemed futile. She\nasked mechanically, rather than from any definite motive, \u201cDid ye hear o\u2019\nenny revenuers arter that?\u201d\n\n\u201cDidn\u2019t wait ter,\u201d said Marvin. \u201cWe hed hearn enough, knowin\u2019 ez ye hed\ntole, an\u2019 the word hed got round the kentry, so ez the spy hed been sent\nup ter make sure o\u2019 the place. We-uns war too busy a-movin\u2019 the still\nan\u2019 a-hustlin\u2019 off. Ef thar hed been time enough fur ennything, I reckon\nsome o\u2019 them boys would hev put a bullet through that thar sandy head o\u2019\nyourn. But the raiders never kem up with we-uns, nor got our still an\u2019\nliquor,\u2014we-uns war miles an\u2019 miles away from hyar the night arter Tad kem\na-spyin\u2019.\u201d\n\nAlethea stood staring, speechless. \u201cTad!\u201d she gasped at last. \u201c_Tad!_\u201d\n\nThey all stopped and looked at her through the wreathing smoke, as if\nthey hardly understood her.\n\n\u201cLethe, ye air too pretensified ter be healthy!\u201d Mrs. Marvin exclaimed at\nlast.\n\n\u201cO\u2019 course ye knowed, bein\u2019 ez ye tole him,\u201d said the moonshiner. He did\nnot resume his work, but stood gazing at her. They were all at a loss,\namazed at her perturbation.\n\nHer breath came fast; her lips were parted. One lifted hand clung to\nthe heavily enswathed ear of corn upon the tall, sere stalk; the other\nclutched the kerchief about her throat, as if she were suffocating. Her\nface was pale; her eyes were distended.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t look so pop-eyed fur nuthin\u2019,\u201d remarked the pullet, in callow\npertness; she might not have been suspected of laying so much stress on\nappearances.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m tryin\u2019 ter think,\u201d said Alethea, dazed, \u201cef that war afore Tad war\ndrownded or arterward.\u201d\n\nMarvin turned, and leered significantly at his family.\n\n\u201cMus\u2019 hev been afore he war drownded, I reckon,\u201d he said satirically.\n\n\u201cLethe Sayles,\u201d observed Serena reprehensively, \u201cye air teched in the\nhead.\u201d\n\nShe tossed her own head with a conviction that, if not strictly\nornamental, it was level. Then, like the sane fowl that she was, she went\nstepping about on her long, yellow feet with a demure, grown-up air.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Alethea, fixing the dates in her mind, \u201cit mus\u2019 hev been\narterwards\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cLikely,\u201d interrupted Sam Marvin.\n\n\u2014\u201c\u2019kase that very evenin\u2019 arter I seen ye at the cow-pen Elviry Crosby\nkem an\u2019 tole ez how Reuben Lorey hed bust down old man Griff\u2019s mill, an\u2019\nhis nevy Tad war in it, an\u2019 war drownded in the ruver.\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-me!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Marvin, clutching her sun-bonnet with both\nhands, and thrusting it backward from her head, as if it intercepted the\nnews.\n\n\u201cWaal, sir!\u201d cried the moonshiner, amazed.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d cried Alethea, clasping both her hands, \u201cef I hed called ye back\nthat evenin\u2019, an\u2019 promised not ter tell, like I war minded ter do\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cYe \u2019lowed \u2019twarn\u2019t right,\u201d suggested the moonshiner.\n\n\u2014\u201cye would hev knowed ez Tad warn\u2019t no spy, but war jes\u2019 vagabondin\u2019\nround the kentry, a runaway, houseless an\u2019 hongry; an\u2019 ye would hev\ntuk him back ter old man Griff, an\u2019 Reuben wouldn\u2019t hev been tried fur\nkillin\u2019 him!\u201d\n\n\u201cShucks, Mink warn\u2019t tried fur sech sure enough?\u201d said Marvin, uneasily.\nHis face had changed. His wife was turning the corner of her apron\nnervously between her fingers, and looking at him in evident trepidation.\n\n\u201cHe hev been in jail fur months an\u2019 months,\u201d said Alethea. \u201cAn\u2019 when he\nwar tried, I told on the witness stand \u2019bout glimpsin\u2019 Tad one night\nwhenst I kem from camp,\u2014mus\u2019 hev been the same night whenst he went up\nthe mounting ter yer house, \u2019kase thar war a awful storm. An\u2019 when I seen\nhim suddint I screamed, bein\u2019 s\u2019prised; an\u2019 I reckon that war the reason\nhe said \u2018Lethe Sayles.\u2019 An\u2019 at the trial they lowed I hed seen nuthin\u2019\nbut Tad\u2019s harnt, an\u2019 the jury disagreed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019\u2014an\u2019\u2014an\u2019 air Mink in jail yit?\u201d demanded the moonshiner, his jaw\nfalling in dismay.\n\n\u201cThe rescuers tuk him out,\u201d said Alethea.\n\n\u201cWaal, sir,\u201d he exclaimed, with a long breath. \u201cYe see,\u201d\u2014he seemed to\nfeel that he must account for his excitement and interest,\u2014\u201cbein\u2019 hid\nout, I hain\u2019t hearn no news, sca\u2019cely, sence we-uns lef\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhar be Tad now?\u201d Alethea asked suddenly, realizing that here was the\nman who had seen him last.\n\nHe glanced quickly at her, then in perplexed dubitation at his wife. In\ncommon with many women, she was willing enough to steer when it was all\nplain sailing, but among the breakers she left him with an undivided\nresponsibility. She fell to pulling corn with an air of complete\nabsorption in her work.\n\nHe made a clumsy effort at diversion. \u201cBy Gosh,\u201d he declared, waving his\nhand about his head, \u201cef this hyar smoke don\u2019t clar away, we-uns\u2019ll all\nbe sifflicated in it.\u201d\n\nBut the smoke was not now so dense. High up, its sober, dun-colored folds\nwere suffused with a lurid flush admitted from the wintry sunset. The\nblack, dead trees within the inclosure stood out distinctly athwart the\nblank neutrality of the gray, nebulous background. The little house on\nthe rise was dimly suggested beyond the corn-field, across which skulked\nprotean shapes of smoke,\u2014monstrous forms, full of motion and strange\nconsistency and slowly realized symmetry, as if some gigantic prehistoric\nbeasts were trembling upon the verge of materialization and visibility.\nThe wind gave them chase. It had lifted its voice in the silences.\nLike a clarion it rang down the narrow ravine below. But Sam Marvin,\nexpanding his lungs to the freshened air, declared that he felt \u201cplumb\nsifflicated.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhar be Tad now?\u201d persisted Alethea.\n\nHe spat meditatively upon the ground. \u201cWaal, Lethe,\u201d he said at last,\n\u201cthat\u2019s more\u2019n I know. I dunno whar Tad be now.\u201d\n\nShe detected consciousness in the manner of the woman and the girl. She\nbroke out in a tumult of fear:\u2014\n\n\u201cYe didn\u2019t harm Tad, did ye?\u201d with wild, terrified eyes fixed upon him.\n\u201cYe didn\u2019t kill Tad fur a spy?\u2014\u2019kase he warn\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cShet up, ye blatant fool!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Marvin, \u201clayin\u2019 sech ez that\nat we-uns\u2019s door.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 shet up yerse\u2019f, M\u2019ria. Least said, soonest mended,\u201d Marvin\ninterposed. \u201cLook-a-hyar, Lethe Sayles, ye hev done harm enough; it may\nbe \u2019kase it war right. Take sech satisfaction ez ye kin in yer notion. It\nnever turned out right,\u2014turned out mighty wrong. I ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter answer\nye nare nuther word. I hev got a question ter ax you-uns right now. Who\nwar it ye tole \u2019bout findin\u2019 out \u2019twar me a-moonshinin\u2019?\u201d\n\nShe detailed tremulously the scene in the court-room, and the impression\nit produced was altogether at variance with her expectations. Perhaps,\nhowever, it was only natural that Sam Marvin should feel less interest in\nthe belated disclosure, which he had thought was made months previous,\nthan in the circumstances of the trial, Peter Rood\u2019s death, the\nimprisonment of the jury, and the riot of the rescuing mob. As to his\nwife, she was chiefly shocked by the publicity attaching to testimony in\nopen court.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 ye jes\u2019 stood up thar, Lethe Sayles, ez bold-faced ez a\nbiscuit-block, an\u2019 lifted up yer outdacious voice afore all them men?\nWaal, sir! Waal! I dunno what the wimmen air a-comin\u2019 ter!\u201d\n\n\u201cI war obligated ter tell sech ez I knowed,\u201d Alethea contended against\nthis assumption of superior delicacy. \u201cI never felt no more bold-faced\nthan in tellin\u2019 \u2019speriunce \u2019fore the brethren at camp.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, child!\u201d cried Mrs. Marvin. \u201cIt\u2019s the spirit o\u2019 grace movin\u2019 at camp,\nbut at court it\u2019s the nimbleness o\u2019 the devil.\u201d\n\nAlethea argued no further, for conversation was impeded by the succeeding\noperations of gathering the crop. Marvin was leading the team of the\ngreat wagon from one to another of the heaps of corn. The huge creaking\nwheels crushed the ranks of stalks that fell in confusion on either side;\nthe white canvas cover had been removed from the hoops, in order to\nfacilitate the throwing of the corn into the wagon. Through the wreaths\nof smoke appeared the long ears of a pair of mules. Sam Marvin had\napparently found his new home in a thirstier locality than his old, for\nhe was evidently thriving. The pair of mules might have been considered\na sorry team in point of appearance: their sides were rubbed bare with\nthe friction of the trace-chains; they were both unkempt, and one was\nvery tall and the other small, but they were stalwart and sure-footed and\nfleet, and a wonderful acquisition in lieu of the yoke of slow oxen she\nremembered. The continuous thud, as the ears of corn were thrown into the\nwagon, enabled Marvin to affect not to hear Alethea\u2019s reiteration as to\nTad\u2019s fate.\n\n\u201cI wisht ye\u2019d tell me suthin\u2019 \u2019bout\u2019n Tad,\u201d she said piteously. \u201cI wisht\nI knew ye hedn\u2019t hurt him, nor\u2014nor\u201d\u2014\n\nShe paused in the work, looking drearily about her. The wind tossed her\ngarments; she was fain at times to catch her bonnet by the curtain, to\nhold it. The smoke had taken flight; dragons, winged horses, griffins,\nforgotten myths, all scurrying away before the strong blast. And still\nthey came and went, and rose once more, for the wind that lifted the\nsmoke fanned the fire. The flames were in sight along the base of Big\nInjun Mounting, writhing now like fiery serpents, and now rising like\nsome strange growth in quivering blades; waving and bowing, appearing\nand disappearing, and always extending further and further. They seemed\nso alive, so endowed with the spirit of destruction, so wantonly alert,\nso merciless to the fettered mountain that tossed its forests in wild\ncommotion, with many a gesture of abject despair, and spite of all could\nnot flee. Their strong, tawny color contrasted with the dull garnet\nof the bare boughs and the deep, sombre green of the solemn pines. The\nsmoke carried from the fire a lurid reflection, fading presently in the\nprogress across the landscape of the long, dun-colored flights. The\nwintry sunset was at hand. The sky was red and amber; the plains of the\nfar west lay vaguely purple beneath. On Walden\u2019s Ridge, rising against\nthe horizon, rested the sun, from which somehow the dazzling fire seemed\nwithdrawn, leaving a sphere of vivid scarlet, indescribably pure and\nintense, upon which the eye could nevertheless gaze undaunted.\n\nPensive intimations there were in its reduced splendors; in the deep\npurple of Chilhowee, in the brown tints of the nearer ranges. Something\nwas gone from the earth,\u2014a day,\u2014and the earth was sad, though it had\nknown so many. And the night impended and the unimagined morrow. And thus\nthe averted Future turns by slow degrees the face that all flesh dreads\nto see. The voice of lowing cattle came up from the cove. The fires in\nthe solitudes burned apace.\n\n\u201cI hev axed ye time an\u2019 agin, Sam Marvin, whar Tad be. Ef ye don\u2019t tell,\nI\u2019ll be bound ter b\u2019lieve ye moonshiners hev done suthin\u2019 awful ter him.\u201d\n\nThey were about to depart on their journey. Already Serena was on her\nuneasy bed of corn in the ear. But the pullet\u2019s life had been made\nup chiefly of rough jouncing, and never having heard of a wagon with\nsprings, she was in a measure incapable of appreciating her deprivation.\nShe had wrapped a quilt of many colors about her shoulders, for the\nevening air was chill, and she looked out of the opening in the back\nof the canvas-covered wagon in grotesque variegation. Mrs. Marvin was\nclimbing upon the wheel to her seat on the board in front. The moonshiner\nstood by the head of one of the mules, busy arranging the simple\ntackling. He looked with a sneer at Alethea over the beast\u2019s neck.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I hev tole ye, Lethe Sayles, ez I dunno whar Tad be now. I\u2019m a\nmighty smart man, sure enough, but \u2019twould take a smarter one \u2019n me ter\nsay whar Tad be now, an\u2019 what he be a-doin\u2019.\u201d\n\nHe looked at his wife with a grin. She laughed aloud in tuneless scorn.\nThe girl, gazing out of the back of the wagon as it jolted off, echoed\nthe derision in a shrill key. And as the clumsy vehicle went creaking\ndown the precipitous slope, beyond which could be seen only the flaming\nbase of the opposite mountain, all luridly aflare in the windy dusk, they\nseemed to Alethea as if they were descending into Tophet itself.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.\n\n\nFor a long time that night Alethea sat on the cabin porch in Wild-Cat\nHollow, absently watching the limited landscape seen through the narrow\ngap of the minor ridges superimposed upon the great mountain. The\nsky was dark but for the light that came from the earth. The flames\nwere out of sight behind the intervening ranges. Weird fluctuating\ngleams, however, trembled over the cove below, and summoned from the\ndarkness that stately file of peaks stretching away along the sole\nvista vouchsafed to the Hollow. Sometimes the illumination was a dull\nred suffusion, merging in the distance into melancholy gradations of\ntawny yellow and indeterminate brown, and so to densest gloom. Again\nit was golden, vivid, fibrous, divergent, like the segment of a halo\nabout some miraculous presence, whose gracious splendor was only thus\nsuggested to the debarred in Wild-Cat Hollow. The legions of the smoke\nwere loosed: down in the cove, always passing in endless ranks what way\nthe wind might will; along the mountain side, marshaled in fantasies\nreflecting from the fires subtle intimations of color,\u2014of blue and red\nand purple; deploying upward, interposing between the constellations,\nthat seemed themselves upon the march. There were clouds in the sky; the\nnight was chill. Alethea gathered her shawl over her head. Now and then\nTige, who sat beside her, wheezed and glanced over his shoulder at the\ndoor ajar, as if to urge her to go in. Sometimes he ran thither himself,\nlooking backward to see if she would follow him. Then, as she continued\nmotionless, he would come and sit beside her, with a plaintive whine of\nresignation. Tige was pensive and humble to-night, and was making an\nedifying show of repentance. On the homeward walk he had been disposed to\nfollow the example of the moonshiner\u2019s dogs and harass the coon, thereby\nbecoming acquainted with the teeth of the smiling creature, and incurring\nAlethea\u2019s rebukes and displeasure.\n\nIt was a cheerful scene within, glimpsed through the half-open door,\ncontrasting with the wild, dark world without, and its strange glares\nand fluctuating glooms and far-off stars and vast admeasurements of\nloneliness. The old woman knitted and nodded in her rocking-chair; Jessup\nand Mr. Sayles smoked their pipes, and ever and anon the old man began\nanew to detail\u2014the pipe-stem between his teeth\u2014the legends that his\ngrandfather had learned from the Indians of the hidden silver mines in\nthese mountains, found long ago, and visited stealthily, the secret of\nthe locality dying with its discoverer, who thus carried out of the world\nmore than he brought with him. Their eyes gloated on the fire as they\ntalked, seeing more than the leaping yellow flames or the white heats of\nthe coals below. It might seem as if the craving for precious metal is a\nnatural appetite, since these men that knew naught of the world, of the\ninfluence of wealth, of its powers, of its infinite divergences, should\nbe a-hungered for it in their primitive fastnesses, and dream of it by\nnight.\n\n\u201cOn the top of the Big Smoky Mountings, on a spot whar ye kin see the\nTennessee River in three places at once,\u201d said the old man, repeating the\nformula of the tradition.\n\nJessup puffed his pipe a moment in silence, watching the wreathing smoke.\n\u201cI know twenty sech spots,\u201d he said presently.\n\nThe old man sighed and shifted his position. \u201cMe too,\u201d he admitted. \u201cBut\nthar it be,\u201d he observed, \u201cfur the man ez air a-comin\u2019.\u201d\n\nThey fell silent, perhaps both projecting a mental ideal of the man of\nthe future, and the subservient circumstance that should lead him to\nstand one day on these stupendous heights, with sunshine and clouds about\nhim and the world at his feet, and to look upon the mystic curves of the\nriver, trebly visible, strike his heel upon the ground, and triumphantly\nproclaim, \u201cIt is here!\u201d\n\nThe dogs lay about the hearth; one, a hound, in the shadow, with his\nmuzzle stretched flat on the floor between his fore-paws, had saurian\nsuggestions,\u2014he was like an alligator. Leonidas and Lucinda had gone to\nbed, but the baby was still up and afoot. The fiat of nursery ethics that\ngentry of his age should be early asleep had been complied with only so\nfar as getting him into his night-gown, which encased his increasing\nplumpness like a cylinder. He wore a queer night-cap, that made him look\nincongruously ancient and feminine. He plodded about the puncheon floor,\nin the joy of his newly acquired powers of locomotion, with reckless\nenthusiasm. His shadow accompanied him, magnified, elongated,\u2014his\nsimilitude as he might be in years to come; he seemed in some sort\nattended by the presentiment of his future. The energy, however, with\nwhich he had started on his long journey through life would presently be\nabated. In good sooth, he would be glad to sit down often and be still,\nand would find solace in perching on fences and whittling, and would\nknow that hustling through this world is not what one might hope. He had\nfallen under the delusion that he could talk as well as walk, and was\ninarticulately loquacious.\n\nAlethea\u2019s errand outside was to gather chips from the wood-pile hard by,\nto kindle the morning\u2019s fires. It had been long since rain had fallen,\nbut the routine of spreading them upon the hearth, to dry during the\nnight, was as diligently observed as if the reason that gave rise to the\nhabit now existed. The splint baskets filled and redolent of the hickory\nbark, stood at her feet, yet she did not move.\n\nShe was solitary in her isolated life, with her exalted moral ideal that\ncould compromise with nothing less than the right. She had known no human\nbeing dominated by a supreme idea. The reformers, the martyrs, all who\nhave looked upward, sacrificed in vain for her\u2014not even as a tradition,\nan exemplar might they uphold when she failed. Religion was vague,\ndistorted, uncomprehended, in the primitive expoundings to which she was\naccustomed. Her inherent conscience prevailed within her like some fine,\necstatic frenzy. It was of an essence so indomitably militant that in her\nignorant musings it seemed that it must be this which marshals the human\nforces, and fights the battle of life, and is unconquered in death, and\nwhich the stumbling human tongue calls the soul. And yet so strange it\nwas, she thought, that she could not always recognize the right,\u2014that she\nmust sedulously weigh and canvass what she had done and what she might\nhave done, and what had resulted.\n\nShe dwelt long on the moonshiner\u2019s story. She was heart-sore for the\nhungry idiot, filching from the hogs,\u2014and what forlorn fate had he found\nat last! She drew her shawl closer about her head, and shivered more\nwith her fears than with the wind. She was very tired; not in body, for\nshe was strong and well, but in mind and heart and life. Somehow, she\nfelt as if she were near the end,\u2014surely there was not enough vitality\nof hope to sustain her further,\u2014the frequent illusion of sturdy youth,\nwith the long stretches of weary years ahead. There was even a certain\nrelaxation of Mink\u2019s tyrannous hold upon her thoughts. It was not that\nshe cared for him less, but she had pondered so long upon him that her\nimagination was numb; she had beggared her invention. She could no more\nproject scenes where he walked with all those gentler attributes with\nwhich her affection, despite the persistent contradictions of her subtler\ndiscernment, had invested him. She could no longer harass herself with\ndoubts of his state of mind, with devising troublous reasons why he had\navoided her, with fears of harm and grief menacing him. She had revolted\nat last from the thrall of these arid unrealities. She felt, in a sort\nof grief for herself, that they were but poor delusions that occupied\nher. He must come, and come soon, her heart insistently said. And yet\nso tired was her heart that she felt in a sort of dismay that were he\nhere to-night there would be no wild thrill of ecstasy in her pulses, no\ntrembling joys. All that she had suffered\u2014despair, and frantic hope that\nwas hardly less poignant, and keen anxieties, and a stress of care\u2014had\nmade apathy, quiet, rest, nullity, the grave, seem dearer than aught the\nearth could promise.\n\n\u201cHe oughter hev kem afore,\u201d she said to herself, in weary deprecation.\n\nAnd then she thought that perhaps now, since he was at liberty again, he\nwas happy with Elvira, and she experienced another pang to know that she\nwas not jealous.\n\nThe clouds had obscured the few stars. The wind was flagging; the smoke\ngrew denser; the forest flames emitted only a dull red glow; the file of\npeaks that they had conjured from the blackness of night was lost again\nin the deepening gloom.\n\nShe was roused suddenly to the fact that it was intensely quiet in-doors.\nShe could even hear the sound of the fire in the deep chimney-place; it\nwas \u201ctreadin\u2019 snow,\u201d the noise being very similar to the crunch of a\nfootfall on a frozen crust. She rose, looking upward and holding her hand\nto the skies; the glow from within fell upon her fair face, half hooded\nin the shawl, and upon her pensive eyes. Flakes were falling; now, no\nmore; and again she felt the faint touch in her palm.\n\nHer first thought was of Mrs. Jessup, and the impediment that a\nsnow-storm might prove to her return; and thus she was reminded that the\npedestrian within was still, for she no longer heard the thud of his\nbare feet on the floor. He had fallen asleep in a corner of the hearth,\nwith a gourd in one hand, and in the other a doll, made, after the rural\nfashion, of a forked twig arrayed in a bit of homespun. Tige watched him\nas he was borne off to his cradle with an envy that was positively human.\n\nIt was for the baby\u2019s sake that Mrs. Jessup returned the next day,\ndespite the deep snow that covered the ground. She had had a dream about\nhim, she declared,\u2014a dreadful dream, which she could not remember.\nIt had roused all the maternal sentiment of which she was capable.\nShe had endured some serious hardship in coming to assure herself of\nhis well-being, for she was obliged to walk much of the way up the\nmountain,\u2014the snow and ice making the road almost impracticable, and\nrendering it essential that there should be as little weight as possible\nin the wagon; to a woman of her sedentary habit this was an undertaking\nof magnitude. After her wild-eyed inquiry, \u201cAir Ebenezer well ez common?\u201d\nshe seemed to hold him responsible for the deceit of her dream, as if he\nwere in conspiracy with her sleeping thoughts, and to be disappointed\nthat the trouble which she had given herself was altogether unnecessary.\n\n\u201cYe fat gopher!\u201d she remarked, contemptuously, eying his puffy red\ncheeks. \u201cDon\u2019t lean on me. I\u2019m fit ter drap. Lean on yer own dinner. I\u2019ll\nbe bound Lethe stuffed ye ez full ez a sassidge.\u201d\n\nShe addressed herself to bewailing that she had curtailed her visit,\nhaving enjoyed it beyond the limits which the lugubrious occasion of the\nfuneral might seem to warrant.\n\n\u201cMis\u2019 Purvine war mighty perlite an\u2019 saaft-spoken. I never see a house\nso fixed up ez hem air,\u2014though I don\u2019t b\u2019lieve that woman hev more\u2019n two\nor three hogs ter slarter fur meat this year, ef that. I slep\u2019 in the\nbedroom; \u2019twar mighty nice, though colder\u2019n \u2019twar in the reg\u2019lar house,\nthrough hevin\u2019 no fire. I reckon that\u2019s what sot me off ter dreamin\u2019 a\npack o\u2019 lies \u2019bout that thar great hearty catamount, fairly bustin\u2019 with\nfatness. I wisht I hed bided in the cove! Mis\u2019 Purvine begged me ter\nbide. We-uns went ter the fun\u2019el tergether, an\u2019 the buryin\u2019, an\u2019 we went\nround an\u2019 seen my old neighbors, an\u2019 traded ter the sto\u2019. An\u2019 I spun some\nfur Mis\u2019 Purvine.\u201d\n\n\u201cMighty little, I\u2019ll bet,\u201d declared her husband inopportunely, \u201cef what\nye do hyar be enny sign.\u201d\n\nWhereupon Mrs. Jessup retorted that she wished she had made an excuse of\nthe snow to remain with Mrs. Purvine until the thaw, and retaliated amply\nby refusing to tell what hymns were sung at the funeral, and to recite\nany portion of the sermon.\n\nThis resolution punished the unoffending members of the family as\nseverely as Jessup himself; but it is a common result that the innocent\nmany must suffer for the guilty unit,\u2014justice generally dealing in the\ngross. The old man\u2019s lower jaw fell, dismayed at the deprivation. He\nhad relinquished sorting his \u201clumber,\u201d and had roused himself to listen\nand note. The details would long serve him for meditation, and would\ngradually combine in his recollection in dull mental pictures to dwell\non hereafter, and to solace much lonely vacant time. Mrs. Sayles was\nirritated. Alethea had looked to hear something from Mink, and Jessup was\nunexpectedly balked.\n\nNothing could be more complete than Mrs. Jessup\u2019s triumph, as she held\nher tongue,\u2014having her reason. Her blue eyes were bright with a surface\ngleam, as it were; there was a good deal of fresh color in her face. She\nwas neater than usual, having been \u201csmartened up ter meet the folks in\nthe cove.\u201d Her snuff-brush, however, was very much at home in the corner\nof an exceedingly pretty mouth. As they all sat before the fire, she\ntook off the socks which Aunt Dely had lent her, and which she had worn\nup the mountain over her shoes, because of the snow; and she could not\naltogether refrain from remark.\n\n\u201cEf these hyar socks hedn\u2019t been loant ter me,\u201d she said, holding one of\nthem aloft, \u201cI couldn\u2019t holp noticin\u2019 how Mis\u2019 Purvine turned them heels,\nknittin\u2019 \u2019em. I do declar\u2019, ef these hyar socks fits Jerry Price, he hev\ngot a foot shaped like Buck\u2019s, an\u2019 no mistake.\u201d\n\nIt jumped with her idle humor to keep them all waiting, uncertain whether\nor not she would relent and disclose the meagre gossip they pined to\nhear. Nothing was developed till Jacob Jessup, retaliating in turn,\nflatly refused to go and feed Buck, still harnessed in the wagon.\n\nAlethea rose indignantly.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t lay off ter do yer work ginerally, but I ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter let the\nsteer go hongry,\u201d she said, \u201c\u2019kase ye air idle an\u2019 onfeelin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t ye let him go hongry, then,\u201d said Jessup, provokingly.\n\nIt had ceased to snow. When Alethea opened the door many of the traits\nof Wild-Cat Hollow were so changed amid the deep drifts that one who had\nseen it only in its summer garb might hardly recognize it. Austere and\nbleak as it was, it had yet a symmetry that the foliage and bloom, and\neven the stubble and fallen leaves of autumn, served only to conceal.\nThe splendid bare slope down the mountain, the precipitous ascent on\neither side of the deep ravine, showed how much the idea of majesty may\nbe conveyed in mere lines, in a gigantic arc. The boles of the trees\nwere deeply imbedded in drifts. On the mountain above, the pines and\nthe firs supported great masses of snow lodged amongst the needles.\nSometimes a sharp crack told that a branch had broken, over-burdened.\nThe silence was intense; the poultry had hardly ventured off their\nroosts to-day; the gourds that hung upon a pole as a martin-house were\nwhitened, and glittered pendulous. Once, as Alethea stood motionless, a\nlittle black-feathered head was thrust out and quickly withdrawn. Down\nin the cove the snow lay deep, and the forests seemed all less dense,\nlined about as they were with white, which served in some sort as an\neffacement. Through the narrow gap of the ridges was revealed the long\nmountain vista, with the snowy peaks against the gray sky. Very distinct\nit all was, sharply drawn, notwithstanding that there lacked but an hour,\nperhaps, of the early nightfall. For a moment she had forgotten her\nerrand; the next she turned back in surprise. \u201cWhar\u2019s Buck an\u2019 the wagin?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Mrs. Jessup, still serenely casual, \u201che\u2019s a-kemin\u2019 up the\nmounting along o\u2019 Ben Doaks. I met Ben, an\u2019 I \u2019lowed ez I didn\u2019t know\nhow I\u2019d make out ter drive sech a obstinate old steer up the mounting in\nall this snow. Buck hev fairly tuk ter argufyin\u2019 \u2019bout the road ter go,\ntill ye dunno whether ye air drivin\u2019 the steer or the steer air drivin\u2019\nyou-uns. I mos\u2019 pulled off his hawns sence I been gone. So Ben, he \u2019lowed\nhe\u2019d like ter kem an\u2019 spen\u2019 a few days along o\u2019 we-uns, ennyhow.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhyn\u2019t ye tell that afore?\u201d demanded her mother-in-law angrily. \u201cYe want\nhim ter \u2019low ez we air a-grudgin\u2019 him victuals. Lethe, put in some mo\u2019 o\u2019\nthem sweet \u2019taters in the ashes ter roast, an\u2019 ye hed better set about\nsupper right now.\u201d\n\nFor Mrs. Sayles had been accounted in her best days a good housekeeper,\nfor the mountains, and she cherished the memory of so fair a record.\nPerhaps her reputation owed something to the fact that she entertained\na unique theory of hospitality, and made particularly elaborate\npreparations when the guests were men. \u201cWimmen don\u2019t keer special \u2019bout\neatin\u2019. Show \u2019em all the quilts ye have pieced, an\u2019 yer spun truck, an\u2019\nyer gyardin, an\u2019 they\u2019ll hev so much ter study \u2019bout an\u2019 be jealous \u2019bout\nez they won\u2019t want nuthin\u2019 much ter eat.\u201d\n\nNow she proceeded to \u201cput the big pot into the little pot,\u201d to use a\nrural expression, singularly descriptive of the ambitious impossibilities\nachieved. She did it chiefly by proxy, directing from her seat in the\nchimney corner Alethea\u2019s movements, but wearing the absorbed, anxious\ncountenance of strategy and resource. The glory of the victory is due\nrather to the head that devised than to the hands that executed; as in\ngreater battles the pluck of the soldiery is held subordinate to the\nscience of the commander.\n\nIt was no mean result that smoked upon the table when the sound of Buck\u2019s\nslow hoofs was heard on the snow without, and a warm welcome was in\nreadiness besides. A cheerful transition it was from the bleak solitudes:\nthe fire flared up the chimney; the peppers and the peltry hanging from\nthe rafters might sway in draughts that naught else could feel; the snow\nwithout was manifested only by the drifts against the batten shutters,\nvisible in thin white lines through the cracks, and in that intense\nsilence of the muffled earth which appeals to the senses with hardly less\ninsistence than sound.\n\nBen\u2019s aspect was scarcely so negative, so colorless, as usual, despite\nhis peculiarly pale brown hair and beard. The sharp sting of the cold air\nhad brought a flush to his face; his honest, candid gray eyes were bright\nand eager. His manner was very demure and propitiatory, especially to\nMrs. Sayles, who conducted herself with an ideally motherly air, which\nwas imbued with many suggestions of approval, even of respect.\n\n\u201cHowdy, Ben, howdy? We-uns air mighty glad ter see ye, Ben.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t ye git too proud, Ben,\u201d said Mrs. Jessup, roused from her inertia\nby the unwonted excitements of her journey to the cove, and, since she\nwas not too lazy to exercise her perversity, thoroughly relishing it.\n\u201cThey\u2019d be jes\u2019 ez glad ter see ennybody,\u2014it air so beset an\u2019 lonesome up\nhyar. They fairly tore me ter pieces with thar questions whenst I kem.\u201d\n\nAnd this reminded old man Sayles that the details of the funeral could\nbe elicited from Ben Doaks. Upon request the young man lugubriously\nrehearsed such portions of the sermon as he could remember, prompted now\nand then by Mrs. Jessup, who did not disdain to refresh his recollection\nwhen it flagged; he even lifted his voice in a dolorous refrain to show\nhow a certain \u201chyme chune\u201d went. But his attention wandered when supper\nwas over, and he observed Alethea, with a bowl of scraps in her hand and\na shawl over her head, starting toward the door.\n\nThe dogs ran after her, with voracious delight in the prospect of supper,\nand bounded up against the door so tumultuously that she had difficulty\nin opening it.\n\n\u201cGoin\u2019 ter feed the dogs, Lethe?\u201d said Ben Doaks, seizing the\nopportunity. \u201cI\u2019ll keep \u2019em back till ye kin git out.\u201d\n\nHe held the door against the dogs, and when he shut it he too was on\nthe outer side. It was not yet quite dark; the whiteness of the snow\ncontended with the night. The evening star showed through the rifts in\nthe clouds, and then was obscured. The dogs were very distinct as they\nran hither and thither on the snow at Alethea\u2019s feet, while she leaned\nagainst the post of the porch and threw to them scraps from the bowl.\n\nBen knew that his time was short. \u201cLethe,\u201d he said, with a lamentable\nlack of tact, \u201cI hearn ez how ye hev done gin up waitin\u2019 fur Mink.\u201d\n\nHer lustrous eyes seemed all undimmed by the shadows. The sheen of her\nhair was suggested beneath the faded shawl, drawn half over her head.\nWhat light the west could yet bestow, a pearly, subdued glimmer, was on\nher face. She said nothing.\n\nHe lifted his hand to the low eaves of the porch,\u2014for he was very\ntall,\u2014and the motion dislodged a few flakes that fell upon her head. He\ndid not notice them.\n\n\u201cI hearn Mis\u2019 Purvine \u2019low ye air all plumb outdone with Mink, an\u2019\nwouldn\u2019t hev him ef he war ter ax ye agin,\u2014an\u2019 I reckon ye won\u2019t see him\nno mo\u2019. \u2019Tain\u2019t likely, ye know. An\u2019 Mis\u2019 Purvine \u2019lowed ye hed been\nmightily struck with a man in Shaftesville,\u2014a town cuss\u201d (with acrimony),\n\u201cez war mighty nigh demented \u2019bout yer good looks an\u2019 sech. Now, Lethe,\nye dunno nuthin\u2019 \u2019bout\u2019n them town folks, an\u2019 the name they hev got at\nhome, \u2019mongst thar neighbors.\u201d\n\nShe looked steadily at him, never moving a muscle save to cast more\nscraps to the hounds, who, when their tidbits became infrequent, or were\naccidentally buried in the snow by inopportune movements of their paws,\ngamboled about to attract her attention; rising upon their hind legs, and\nalmost dancing, in a manner exceedingly creditable to untrained mountain\ndogs.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I \u2019lowed I war a tremenjious fool ter hev kep out\u2019n the way \u2019count\no\u2019 Mink,\u2014jes\u2019 \u2019kase ye seemed ter set so much store by him. T\u2019other folks\nmought kem in whilst I war a-holdin\u2019 back. Nobody ain\u2019t never goin\u2019 ter\nkeer fur ye like I do, Lethe. Mink don\u2019t\u2014never did. An\u2019 my house air\nready fur ye enny day ye\u2019ll walk in. I got ye a rockin\u2019-cheer the t\u2019other\nday, an\u2019 a spinnin\u2019-wheel. It looks like home, sure enough, down thar,\nLethe. I jes\u2019 gazed at that thar rockin\u2019-cheer afore the fire till I\ncould fairly see ye settin\u2019 in it. But shucks, I kin hear ye callin\u2019\nchickens roun\u2019 thar,\u2014\u2018Coo-chee, Coo-chee!\u2019\u2014enny time I listens right\nhard.\u201d He laughed in embarrassment because of his sentimentality. \u201cI\nreckon I mus\u2019 be gittin\u2019 teched in the head.\u201d\n\nIt was snowing again. From those stupendous heights above the Great Smoky\nMountains down into the depths of Piomingo Cove the flakes steadily fell.\nMyriads of serried white atoms interposed a veil, impalpable but opaque,\nbetween Wild-Cat Hollow and the rest of the world. Doaks looked about him\na little, and resumed suddenly:\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t purtendin\u2019 I\u2019m better \u2019n other men. I never _could_ git\nreligion. I ain\u2019t nigh good enough fur ye,\u2014only I think mo\u2019 of ye. I\u2019m\nmean \u2019bout some things. I couldn\u2019t holp but think, whenst I hearn \u2019bout\nMink, ez now ye\u2019d gin him up. I warn\u2019t _bodaciously_ glad, but I couldn\u2019t\n_holp_ thinkin\u2019 \u2019twar better fur ye an\u2019 me. Ye\u2019d be happier married ter\nme, Lethe, than ter him, enny time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t never goin\u2019 to marry you-uns, Ben,\u201d she said drearily. \u201cAn\u2019 now\nye hev hed yer say, an\u2019 thar\u2019s no use a-jawin\u2019 no mo\u2019 \u2019bout\u2019n it.\u201d\n\nShe turned to go in. Tige was already scratching at the door, as eager\nfor the fire as he had been for his supper. She glanced at Ben over her\nshoulder, with some appreciation of his constancy, some pity for his\ndisappointment.\n\n\u201cYe hed better go make a ch\u2019ice \u2019mongst some o\u2019 them gals in the cove,\u201d\nshe suggested.\n\nHe cast a glance of deep reproach upon her, and followed her silently\ninto the house. Their return was the occasion of some slight flutter in\nthe home circle, in which had prevailed the opinion that the young folks\nout in the cold \u201cwar a-courtin\u2019.\u201d\n\nAll relics of the supper were cleared away; the fire leaped joyously\nup the chimney. L\u2019onidas and Lucindy were asleep. The baby in his\nnight-gown, all unaware that he cut an unpresentable figure before\ncompany, pounded up and down the floor, unmolested. The pipes were\nlighted. As Ben Doaks leaned down to scoop up a coal from the fire, his\nface was distinct in the flare, and Mrs. Jessup noted the disappointment\nand trouble upon it. Mrs. Sayles too deduced a sage conclusion. A glance\nwas exchanged between the two women. Then Mrs. Jessup, with a view to\nrighting matters between these young people, whom fate seemed to decree\nshould be lovers, asked abruptly, \u201cDid ye tell Lethe the news \u2019bout Mink?\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw,\u201d Doaks responded, somewhat shortly. \u201cI \u2019lowed she knowed it long\nago.\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw, she don\u2019t,\u201d said Mrs. Jessup; \u201cnone o\u2019 we-uns hyar on the mounting\nknowed it.\u201d\n\nShe paused to listen to the wind, for it was astir without. A hollow,\nicy cry was lifted in the dark stillness,\u2014now shrill and sibilant, now\nhoarsely roaring, then dying away in the distance, to be renewed close at\nhand. The boughs of the bare trees beat together. The pines were voiced\nwith a dirge. The porch trembled, and the door shook.\n\n\u201cWhy, Lethe,\u201d resumed Mrs. Jessup, turning toward the girl, as she sat\nin a low chair in the full radiance of the firelight, \u201cMink ain\u2019t out\u2019n\njail. The rescuers never tuk him out.\u201d\n\nThe color left Alethea\u2019s face. Her doubting eyes were dilated. Mrs.\nJessup replied to the expression in them.\n\n\u201cMis\u2019 Purvine, she \u2019lowed ez she an\u2019 you-uns hearn everybody sayin\u2019 the\nrescuers tuk him out afore ye lef\u2019 Shaftesville that mornin\u2019. That war\ntown talk. But \u2019twarn\u2019t true. The jailer an\u2019 the sher\u2019ff tied an\u2019 gagged\nhim, an\u2019 tuk him out tharse\u2019fs in the midst o\u2019 the dark, whenst nobody\ncould see \u2019em. Makes me laff ter think how they fooled them boys! They\njes\u2019 busted up the jail so ez \u2019twarn\u2019t safe ter try ter keep him thar no\nmo\u2019, an\u2019 the nex\u2019 day the dep\u2019ty an\u2019 two gyards tuk him down ter the jail\nat Glaston,\u2014an\u2019 thar he\u2019s safe enough.\u201d\n\nAlethea\u2019s first thought, charged with vague, causeless self-reproach,\nwas that she had let Sam Marvin, who had seen Tad since the disaster at\nthe mill, go in the belief that Mink had been released. But how could\nshe have detained him? And would he, a moonshiner, suffer himself to be\nsubp\u0153naed as a witness, and thus insure his own arrest?\n\nHer lips moved without a sound, as if she were suddenly bereft of the\npower to articulate.\n\n\u201cGlaston, that\u2019s a fac\u2019,\u201d reiterated Mrs. Jessup, noticing the\ndemonstration, \u201c\u2019kase I see \u2019Lijah Miles, ez war one o\u2019 the gyards. He\nkem up ter the cove ter the fun\u2019el, bein\u2019 ez his wife war kin ter the\ncorpse. She war one o\u2019 the Grinnells afore she war married,\u2014not the\nJer\u2019miah fambly, but Abadiah\u2019s darter; an\u2019 Abadiah\u2019s gran\u2019mother war own\ncousin ter the corpse\u2019s mother\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cI dunno \u2019bout\u2019n that,\u201d said Mrs. Sayles, following this genealogical\ndetail with a knitted brow and a painstaking attention.\n\n\u201cCorpse war \u2019bleeged ter hev hed a mother wunst, ef ever he war alive,\u201d\nsaid Mrs. Jessup, recklessly.\n\n\u201cI reckon I know _that_\u201d retorted Mrs. Sayles. \u201cBut \u2019Lijah Miles\u2019s wife\u2019s\nfather\u2019s grandmother war the aunt o\u2019 the corpse, stiddier his mother\u2019s\ncousin,\u201d\u2014she tossed her head with a cheerful sense of accuracy,\u2014\u201csure ez\nye air a born sinner.\u201d\n\nMrs. Jessup paused in her recital, leaned her elbows on her knees, and\nfixed her eyes on the fire, as if following some abstruse calculation.\nThe wind swept about the house and whistled down the chimney, till even\nTige roused himself, and lifted his head to listen and to growl.\n\n\u201cWaal, hev it so,\u201d said the young woman, unable to contradict. \u201cHowbeit\nhe war kin ter the corpse, he kem ter the fun\u2019el, an\u2019 arterward, ez he\nwar goin\u2019 back ter Shaftesville, he stopped at Mis\u2019 Purvine\u2019s an\u2019 stayed\nall night. An\u2019 he tole us \u2019bout\u2019n takin\u2019 Mink ter jail in Glaston. An\u2019\n\u2019twar the fust Mis\u2019 Purvine knowed ez Mink warn\u2019t out. But she \u2019lowed\nshe\u2019d miss him less in jail \u2019n out.\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon everybody feels that-a-way \u2019bout Mink,\u201d interpolated Mrs.\nSayles. \u201cFolks never knowed what _could_ happen onexpected an\u2019 upsettin\u2019\ntill Mink\u2019s capers l\u2019arned \u2019em.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, none o\u2019 his capers ever war like this las\u2019 one o\u2019 his\u2019n,\u201d said\nMrs. Jessup, nodding seriously. \u201cThey tuk him ter Glaston, an\u2019 \u2019Lijah\nMiles war one o\u2019 the gyards. They tuk him on the steam-kyars.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be bound Mink war fairly skeered by them steam-kyars!\u201d exclaimed\nMrs. Sayles, with all the assumption of superior experience, although she\nherself had never had a glimpse of them.\n\n\u201cWaal, I reckon not, from the way he kerried on \u2019cordin\u2019 ter \u2019Lijah,\u201d\nsaid Mrs. Jessup, clasping one knee as she talked, eying the fire.\n\u201c\u2019Lijah \u2019lowed he never seen sech a fool. Mink got ter talkin\u2019 ter the\ngyards an\u2019 dep\u2019ty \u2019bout this hyar Jedge Gwinnan\u201d\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201cNeedn\u2019t tell me nuthin\u2019 \u2019bout Jedge Gwinnan. \u2018Jeemes\u2019 air what they call\nhim over yander in Kildeer County. An\u2019 \u2018Jim,\u2019 too,\u201d said Mrs. Sayles. \u201cI\nknowed a woman ez knowed that man\u2019s mother whenst he war a baby.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, he\u2019s changed some sence then. He ain\u2019t a baby now. Mink kep\u2019\na-talkin\u2019 ter his gyards \u2019bout Gwinnan, an\u2019 swearin\u2019 Gwinnan had spited\nhim in the trial,\u2014put Pete Rood on the jury an\u2019 sent \u2019em ter jail, an\u2019\ntole the sher\u2019ff ter look arter his prisoner or he\u2019d escape the night\nPete Rood fell dead, an\u2019 tole \u2019em how ter keep the crowd from rescuin\u2019\nhim, an\u2019 all sech ez that. An\u2019 what d\u2019 ye reckon Mink \u2019lowed Gwinnan hed\ndone it fur? \u2019Kase Gwinnan hed tuk a notion hisself ter Lethe Sayles, an\u2019\n\u2019lowed Mink warn\u2019t good enough fur her.\u201d\n\nThe incongruity of the idea impressed none of them. They all looked\nsilently expectant as Mrs. Jessup went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cWaal, Mink swore ez some day he\u2019d git his chance, an\u2019 he\u2019d git even\nwith Gwinnan, sure. An\u2019 \u2019Lijah, he seen ez Mink war a-lookin\u2019 at Jedge\nGwinnan,\u2014the jedge, he war a-goin\u2019 down on the train ter Glaston, an\u2019\nthen out ter wharever he war a-goin\u2019 ter hold court, an\u2019 he war a-smokin\u2019\nin the \u2018smokin\u2019-kyar,\u2019 \u2019Lijah say they call it, whar they hed Mink. An\u2019\n\u2019Lijah say Mink looked at Gwinnan with his mouth sorter open, an\u2019 his jaw\nsorter drapped, an\u2019 his eyes ez set ez ef he war a wild beastis.\u201d\n\nOnce more the wind, tumultuous, pervasive, with all the vast solitudes\ngiven over to it, swept down the mountain with shrill acclaim.\n\n\u201cGoin\u2019 ter hev some weather arter this,\u2014ye mind my words,\u201d said Mrs.\nSayles, listening a moment.\n\n\u201cWaal, \u2019Lijah never thunk nuthin\u2019 mo\u2019, an\u2019 Mink kep\u2019 his eyes ter hisself\nthe rest o\u2019 the way. When they got ter Glaston the gyards sorter waited\nfur the t\u2019other folks ter git out fust, an\u2019 then they started. Waal,\n\u2019Lijah say the dep\u2019ty he jumped off\u2019n the platform fust, an\u2019 tole Mink\nter kem on. An\u2019 the dep\u2019ty\u2014\u2019Lijah say the dep\u2019ty set a heap o\u2019 store\nby Mink\u2014he war a-tellin\u2019 Mink ter look how many tracks an\u2019 locomotives\nan\u2019 sech thar war in the depot, an\u2019 not noticin\u2019 Mink much. An\u2019 \u2019Lijah\nsay he seen Mink dart ter one side; he \u2019lowed Mink war makin\u2019 a bust\nter git away. Naw, sir! Gwinnan hed stopped by the side o\u2019 the kyar ter\nspeak ter a man. \u2019Lijah say he felt like he war a-dreamin\u2019 when he seen\nMink lift up both his handcuffed hands an\u2019 bring the irons down on the\njedge\u2019s head. \u2019Lijah say him an\u2019 the dep\u2019ty an\u2019 the t\u2019other gyard hed\nthar pistols out in a second. But they war feared ter shoot, fur the\njedge, stiddier drappin\u2019 on the groun\u2019, whurled roun\u2019 an\u2019 grabbed the\nman ez hit him. He got Mink by the throat, an\u2019 held on ter him same ez\na painter or sech. He nearly strangled Mink ter death, though the jedge\nwar fairly blinded with his own blood. Mink writhed an\u2019 wriggled so they\ncouldn\u2019t tell one man from t\u2019other. The gyards war feared ter shoot at\nMink, \u2019kase they mought kill the jedge. They tore Mink loose at last.\nThey \u2019lowed his face war black ez ef he hed been hung. He won\u2019t tackle\nGwinnan agin in a hurry. Ye \u2019lowed Gwinnan war a feeble infant, mother;\nhe ain\u2019t very feeble now. Though he did faint arterward, an\u2019 war hauled\nup ter the tavern in a kerridge. They hed ter hev some perlice thar ter\nholp keep the crowd off Mink, takin\u2019 him ter jail. Waal, \u2019Lijah say they\ndunno whether the jedge will live or no,\u2014suthin\u2019 the matter with his\nhead. But even ef he do live, \u2019Lijah say we ain\u2019t likely ter see Mink\nin these parts no mo\u2019 fur a right smart while, \u2019kase he hearn thar ez\nassault with intent ter c\u2019mit murder air from three ter twenty-one year\nin the pen\u2019tiary. An\u2019 I reckon enny jury would gin Mink twenty\u201d\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201cYes, sir, he needs a good medjure!\u201d exclaimed the negative Mr. Sayles,\nwith unwonted hearty concurrence.\n\n\u201cMink will be an old man by the time he do git back,\u201d computed Mrs.\nSayles.\n\n\u201cNow, Lethe,\u201d argued Mrs. Jessup, \u201cain\u2019t ye got sense enough ter see ez\nMink ain\u2019t nobody ter set sech store on, an\u2019 ef ye like him it\u2019s \u2019kase ye\nair a fool?\u201d\n\nThe girl sat as if stunned, looking into the fire with vague distended\neyes. She lifted them once and gazed at Mrs. Jessup, as if she hardly\nunderstood.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar, Lethe, what sorter face air that ye hev got onter ye?\u201d\ncried Mrs. Sayles. \u201cYe better not set yer features that-a-way. I hev\nhearn folks call sech looks \u2018the dead-face,\u2019 an\u2019 when ye wear the\n\u2018dead-face\u2019 it air a sign ye air boun\u2019 fur the grave.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, that\u2019s whar we all air boun\u2019 fur,\u201d moralized old man Sayles.\n\n\u201cQuit it!\u201d his wife admonished the girl, who passed her hand over her\nface as if seeking to obliterate the obnoxious expression. \u201cYe go right\nup-steers ter bed. I\u2019m goin\u2019 ter gin ye some yerb tea.\u201d\n\nShe took down a small bag, turning from it some dried leaves into her\nhand, and looked at them mysteriously, as if she were about to conjure\nwith them.\n\nThe girl rose obediently, and went up the rude, uncovered stairs to the\nroof-room. After an interval Mrs. Jessup observed the babbling baby\npointing upward. Among the shadows half-way up the flight Alethea was\nsitting on a step, looking down vacantly at them. But upon their sudden\noutcry she seemed to rouse herself, rose, and disappeared above.\n\n\n\n\nXIX.\n\n\nGwinnan, upon recovering consciousness, showed no retrospective interest\nin the scene at the depot. He remarked imperatively to the physician whom\nhe found in attendance that it was necessary for him to leave during\nthe afternoon,\u2014in fact, as soon as possible,\u2014to hold court in a distant\ncounty. He added, for the instruction of the doctor, that the clerk could\nopen court, and had no doubt done so on Monday and Tuesday, and would\nbe obliged to repeat this on Wednesday, without the presence of the\npresiding judge, but Thursday was the last day for which the statute had\nprovided the alternative. He evidently expected that if the physician had\nany flimsy objections he would withdraw them before this grave necessity,\nunderstanding that this was no time for the indulgence of professional\nwhimseys.\n\nThere was something so arrogantly disregardful of any other claims upon\nhis attention, so belittling of merely corporeal considerations, that the\nphysician would have been a little less than medical had he been able\nto repress a certain sense of domination as he answered, \u201cWell, that\nhappened more than two weeks ago, judge, and I reckon court was adjourned\nover to the next term.\u201d\n\nGwinnan became aware with a sort of amaze that the hands he lifted did\nnot seem his own; that his head was light and giddy, or dully aching;\nthat he was fretful and helpless; that no manner of respect was paid to\nhis views. He was hardly pleased by the exchange of identity with this\nill-adjusted, listless, forlorn being; the less when he finally grew able\nto stand upon his feet again, and was informed that for the next month\nor so he must do nothing but seek to interest and entertain the invalid,\nto see that he forbore to dwell on business, to seek to occupy his\nattention with passing events, to divert him with trifles.\n\nIt might have seemed even to others an arduous task to amuse with\nincidents a man whose every waking moment was occupied by principles.\nSo completely had his rarefied, judicial ambition, his pride of office,\nhis solicitous reverence of its dignity, attenuated his personality that\nhe cared little for Gwinnan as a man; he respected him as a judge. He\nhad held himself sedulously to his aspirations; as it were on his knees,\nhe had served his vocation day and night. It was to him as essential an\norganic constituent of his being as the lungs; he could ill live without\nit, even for a time. Perhaps he might not have made the effort had\nnot the physician warned him that he might never be fit for business,\nnever again sit upon the bench, should he overexert himself now, before\nrecovering from the effect of those terrible blows upon the skull. He\nbecame suddenly tractable, wistful, and turned mournfully to the search\nof light entertainment. He assented with a dreary docility to the\nprescription of a change of air and scene. He accepted without demur,\nwith a dull sense of endurance, the plan briskly devised for him to spend\na week or two in Nashville, and if he did not recuperate rapidly, to go\nthence South for the winter. He was not given to scanning his own mental\nposes and adjusting them to some theory of symmetry; he could but feel,\nhowever, as if he were already dead, stalking among scenes in which he\nhad no interest, half-heartedly mingling with men whose every instinct\nwas as far removed from the spirit that swayed him as if some essential\ncondition of existence divided them. It was with a truly post-mortem\nindifference that he listened to the talk of his friends who sought him\nout during his stay in Nashville,\u2014very interesting talk, doubtless, but\npurposeless, inefficacious; they cited neither case nor section. He\npreferred to sit alone and idle before the blazing coal fire in his own\nroom,\u2014expressionless with the stereotyped hotel furniture; now and then\nhe roused himself, with a conscientious start, when he found his mind\nrevolving like a moth around some _scintilla juris_ which had a special\nattraction for him.\n\nHe had experienced a sense of reluctant relinquishment to find how the\nweeks had fled during his illness. Winter had advanced; the Cumberland\nRiver was full of floating ice; the town had the shrunken, deserted,\ntorpid aspect common to every southern city when the snow is on the\nground. No one was abroad without absolute necessity except the English\nsparrow, prosperous exile. In the hope of varying the tedium, one\nevening, Gwinnan sat down in one of the arm-chairs drawn close to the\nbalustrade of the corridor overlooking the rotunda. It was a coigne of\nvantage from which all the life of the hotel was visible. Below, at the\ndesk, the in-coming travelers were registering their names; the click of\nbilliards was a cheerful incident of the atmosphere, with the rising of\nthe fumes of many a cigar. On the opposite corridor the clatter of dishes\ncould be heard from the dining-room, and occasionally there emerged\ngentlemen and toothpicks. The rumble of the elevator sounded ceaselessly,\nand now and then fluttering flounces issued from its door which was\nvisible down a cross-hall.\n\nBehind Gwinnan the great windows opened upon the snowy street. He could\nsee the white roofs opposite gleam dimly against the nebulous sky.\nCarriage-lamps sometimes flashed past, yellow, lucent with jeweled\neffects. An electric light hard by flamed with a fibrous radiance, and\nempurpled the black night, and conjured circles, mystically white,\nfar-reaching into the snow. The plate-glass gave a reflection of his\nlong lank figure and the red velvet arm-chair, and of the innumerable\nchildren of the place, racing about, unrestrained, in white frocks, much\nbedizened. There was a dog among them, a poodle, in his white frock too,\naccoutered also with a sharp, shrill cry, and swiftly gamboling despite\nmuch fat. He had as independent an aspect as if he knew that all the\nlegislators crowded into all the caucuses in the city could not compass\na dog-law that would interfere with his pretty liberty, or place a tax\non his frizzy head. The sovereign people would have none of it. And so\nthe obnoxious law stands repealed, and the dog-star is in the ascendant.\nNow and then he came and sat at Gwinnan\u2019s feet, with a lolling tongue and\npanting sides.\n\nThere had been a caucus in the reading-room of the hotel, and presently\nthe doors opening upon the corridor began to disgorge knots of men, some\nof whom walked off together, others stood in discussion. Now and then one\nwas seized by a lobbyist, lying in wait. Gwinnan was aware of Harshaw\u2019s\npresence before he saw him: a liquid, gurgling, resonant laugh, and then\nthe floater, accompanied by a colleague into whose arm he had hooked his\nown, came through the door. His hat was thrust on the back of his yellow\nhead; he stroked his yellow beard with a gesture of self-satisfaction;\nhis face was broad and animated, and pink with prosperity.\n\nFortune was favoring Mr. Harshaw, and few men have ever basked in her\nsmiles so appreciatively. He had the reputation of being very influential\nin the House. His co\u00f6peration was eagerly sought. In truth, as a\nwire-puller he had developed marked dexterity, and there were precious\nfew things that Mr. Harshaw could not accomplish in a caucus. He did a\nlittle \u201clog-rolling,\u201d but he was chary of the interchange of favors,\ncarrying his point usually by persistence and pugnacity, and he possessed\ntremendous staying power as a debater. He had a certain barbaric delight\nin oppression; having become possessed of the opportunity, he used it\noften when neither he nor his constituents had anything to gain. He took\nadvantage of his ascendency to pay off many old grudges, some of them\nof a purely arbitrary construction and \u00e6sthetic nature. He was in some\nsort aware that his colleagues were ashamed of his rough manners, his\nbullying, his coarse onslaughts, in which, being of the same political\nparty, they were often constrained to appear as his supporters. He\ncontinually alluded to himself as if he were of peculiarly humble origin,\nrepresenting himself as being _of_ the People, _from_ the People, and FOR\nthe People, and forcing the conclusion that the other members from his\nregion were bloated aristocrats. Nevertheless, whoever would go to the\nState Senate next session, it seemed safe to say that the demagogue had\nassured his own nomination; for merit had a fine chance to be modest, as\nbehooves it, while Mr. Harshaw was shaping the future by manipulating the\npresent.\n\nAnd now suddenly he was not quite sure that he wanted the nomination.\nIn these days, while he divided his time between the beautiful Capitol\nbuilding and one of the hotels of the town, he meditated much upon Mink\u2019s\nassault upon Judge Gwinnan in the depot of Glaston. Not in the interest\nof his client, however; even the most solicitous of counsel could not be\nexpected to occupy his attention with the fate of the wayward Mink, who\nhad passed beyond his aid. Mink\u2019s deed did not in truth seem to Harshaw\nso very much amiss. Of course he recognized its iniquity, being one of\nthose cognizable by the law, but he also perceived in it the finger of\nProvidence,\u2014laid somewhat heavily, it must be confessed, on Gwinnan. He\nspeculated deeply, despite his other absorptions, on who would probably\nbe elected to supply Gwinnan\u2019s place, in case of the death of the wounded\nincumbent, and he reflected that he himself as a lawyer was highly\nesteemed in that circuit, for he had a large practice throughout the\nregion, and that moreover, by a certain fortuitous circumstance, he was\neligible for the position; although his law office was in Shaftesville,\nhe lived on his farm which was several miles distant, just within the\nboundaries of Kildeer County, one of the judicial circuits over which\nGwinnan presided. Apart from his repute at the bar, he was well known to\nthe people at large through certain popular measures he had advocated.\nHe devoted himself to these with renewed ardor. He never allowed himself\nto view with a vacillating mind any course, however obviously salutary,\nwhen he had once discovered with a keen instinct that it was unlikely to\nsecure the approval of the masses. Nevertheless, he applied his tact with\nsuch success that this foregone conclusion was not readily apparent, and\nhe was continually beset for his influence. He had a secret gratulation\nthat he was held in special veneration by the lobbyists. He could ill\nmaintain the aspect of unwilling captive, when he was waylaid and\nbutton-holed, and his attention eagerly entreated for certain measures.\nAs an anxious-faced man, who had evidently been awaiting him, stepped\nforward now, glancing with a casual apology at his friend, who walked on,\nHarshaw\u2019s reluctant pause, his frown, his important bored sufferance,\nwere as fine histrionically as if he were playing at being a statesman on\na stage,\u2014which, indeed, he was.\n\nHe listened with a divided mind to the outpouring of the lobbyist, his\nopaque blue eyes fixed in seeming deliberation upon the chandelier\nhanging down into the rotunda below, his exceedingly red lips pursed up\nin a pucker of dubitation. Now and then he patted the toe of one boot on\nthe floor meditatively. Occasionally he looked his interlocutor full in\nthe face, asking a question, presumably a poser; then his triumphant,\nresonant, burly laugh would vibrate above the dancing of the over-dressed\nchildren, and the riotous barking of the dog, and the tinkling waltzes\nplayed by a band of musicians ranged about the fountain in the rotunda.\nHis entertainment in his own self-importance and posings was so absorbing\nthat the lobbyists and the advocates of many measures were often at a\nloss to know how best to reach Mr. Harshaw\u2019s desire to serve his country;\nfor he did not love money, and his integrity, as far as it was concerned,\nwas above suspicion.\n\nAll at once genuine interest usurped these feignings on his face. His\neye fell on Judge Gwinnan walking along the corridor, and leaning upon\na stout cane. He looked very thin, very pale, taller than before, and\nsomehow his face was more youthful with the wistfulness of illness upon\nit, his hair clipped close, and the eyes hollow and luminous. He moved\nslowly, and with little spirit.\n\nHarshaw stepped briskly forward, with a curt \u201cExcuse me\u201d to the lobbyist,\ntaking no reproach for leaving him with his mouth open, for it seemed his\nnormal condition.\n\n\u201cWhy, judge,\u201d Harshaw exclaimed, with his bluff familiarity, \u201cyou look\nbloomin\u2019!\u201d He was about to stretch out his hand, but desisted, noticing\nthat Gwinnan held his hat in one hand, and leaned upon his stick with the\nother. He took the judge by the elbow, as he walked a few steps with him.\nA dim image of the pair paced along in the plate-glass windows, as if\ntheir doubles were stalking without in the snow in scenes of which they\nwere unconscious. \u201cI had no idea you were pulling together so fast,\u201d he\ncontinued, scanning the face which was almost spectral in its attenuation\nand pallor, in close contrast to his own fat floridity of countenance,\nhis red lips, his gleaming white teeth, his mane of yellow hair, and his\ndense yellow beard. His wide, black soft hat stuck on the back of his\nhead accented his high color. \u201cBut I declare, it\u2019s worth while for a man\nto get hit over the head to find out how important he is, and how he is\nesteemed. I never knew more profound sympathy and indignation than the\naffair excited. As to myself, I felt it especially, as I had taken so\nmuch stock in that rascally client of mine.\u201d\n\nGwinnan made no reply. His face was turned toward Harshaw with a certain\nunresponsiveness, an inscrutable questioning, a cadaverous gravity. His\nhollow eyes were very bright and large. Somehow they put Harshaw out of\ncountenance. Something there was in their expression beyond his skill to\ndecipher. He became a trifle embarrassed, and yet he could not have said\nwhy. He went on at random. He had observed that a number of people were\nremarking them. There was nothing uncommon in the peripatetic method that\nthe interview had taken, but suddenly he found it odd that Gwinnan had\nnot paused.\n\n\u201cThat fellow, Mink Lorey, is a most extraordinary and unexpected kind\nof scamp,\u201d Harshaw proceeded uneasily, making talk. \u201cTo my certain\nknowledge, he cared so little about the girl that he refused to see her\nwhen she came to visit him in jail. But the idea that another man admired\nher seemed to set him wild.\u201d\n\nGwinnan stopped short.\n\n\u201cWhat girl?\u201d he asked, in his soft, inexpressive drawl.\n\n\u201cThe girl that testified,\u2014Alethea Sayles,\u201d said Harshaw, relieved that\nGwinnan had spoken, and striving for his old bluff assurance, but still\nconscious that he had lost his tact. \u201cShe was pretty, very pretty indeed,\nand you were not alone in having the good taste to notice it. The rest of\nus didn\u2019t have to pay for it with a broken head, though, eh, judge? Ha!\nha!\u201d\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s pause.\n\n\u201cMr. Harshaw,\u201d said Gwinnan, leaning against one of the great pillars,\nthe reflection in the plate-glass duplicating the posture on the snowy\nsidewalk, as if that other self, liberated and in isolated independence,\nbusied in different scenes, now meditated, and now spoke and now lifted\na fiery glance, \u201cI will take this opportunity to tell you that I believe\nyou to be an egregious liar, and I know you for an arrant hypocrite.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir!\u201d cried Harshaw, starting back, tingling from the words as if they\nwere blows. He made an instinctive gesture toward his pistol pocket;\nit was empty. He was acutely conscious of the spectators who pressed a\nlittle nearer, noticing the excitement.\n\nGwinnan\u2019s voice had a singular carrying quality, and every deliberate,\nlow-toned word was distinct.\n\n\u201cI repudiate your professions of friendship. I despise your protestations\nof sympathy. If your threats at the court-house door in Shaftesville had\nbeen earlier repeated to me, ludicrously impotent as they are, you should\nnever have approached me again. Now,\u201d\u2014his voice broke suddenly, in his\nfeebleness and excitement, and was thin and tremulous and shrill,\u2014\u201ckeep\nout of my way, or I will beat you with this stick like a dog!\u201d\n\nGwinnan had lifted the stick, and shook it threateningly in his trembling\nhand. Harshaw, with his own reasons for declining to give the first blow,\ncould only shrink and wince in anticipation. The stick did not descend\non him, however, for Gwinnan turned, and, leaning on it, made his way\ndown the corridor among the wondering men, who slowly opened an aisle for\nhim in their midst.\n\n\n\n\nXX.\n\n\nIt was a confused scene which Gwinnan had left. Harshaw\u2019s friends\npressed about him, animated equally, perhaps, by curiosity and surprise.\nHis self-restraint had given way. He swore with every breath he drew,\nrepeating, in answer to questions, the unlucky threat over and again.\n\u201cI said that he would be impeached, and that I would introduce the\nresolution in the House myself. And so, by God, I will!\u201d\n\nHis face was hot and scarlet. The perspiration stood out on his forehead.\nHe ground his teeth and clenched his hands. He would walk forward a few\nunsteady steps, then pause to reiterate and explain, and swear that if\nGwinnan were not at death\u2019s door he would cowhide him within an inch\nof his life. The progress of the group, slow as it was, with these\nfrequent interruptions, was in the direction of the stairs. It was\nchiefly composed of members of the legislature, and, there being a night\nsession, they mechanically took their way to the Capitol. A few gentlemen\nlounging about the corridor were watching their exit with the gusto\nof disinterested spectators, as they disappeared down the staircase,\nreappearing below in the rotunda,\u2014Harshaw still in the van, his florid\nface bloated with rage, his hat on the back of his head, his hands thrust\nin the pockets of his trousers. His friends wore a becoming gravity, but\nHarshaw was too thoroughly a man of this world not to suspect that they\nvalued more the diversion he furnished than his interests as affected\nby the episode. They all crossed the office, and disappeared finally\nthrough the street door, and the spectators on the corridor shifted\ntheir postures, and tipped off the ash grown long on their cigars, and\ncommented.\n\n\u201cBiggest blatherskite out of hell, Harshaw is,\u201d remarked a young fellow,\nwho flung himself diagonally into a seat, hanging his long legs over one\narm of the chair and resting his back against the other. He put his cigar\ninto his mouth, and puffed at his ease. He had a pale face, thin dark\nhair, irregular features, straight black eyebrows, and wide, black eyes,\nquickly glancing, but with a suggestion of melancholy. He was handsomely\ndressed, although he wore his clothes with a slouching, irreverent air,\nas if he gave his attire scant heed. Despite their cut and quality, there\nwas nothing dapper about him. He had a lank, listless white hand, and\na foot singularly long and narrow. His forehead was remarkably high,\naustere, and noble; one might look in vain for correlative expressions\nin the other features. He was languid and inattentive, but this manner\nsuggested affectation, for it did not eliminate the idea of energy. He\nsmoked a great deal, and drank not much, but discriminatingly; he was\nproud of seeming reckless, and of being more reckless than he seemed.\nHe had other qualities more genial. He knew a good dog when he saw\nhim. He knew a good horse, and he loved him. He was the possessor of\na liberal hand and a long purse. He had an enthusiastic admiration\nof fine principles, and he had\u2014the pity of it!\u2014his own definition of\nfine principles. He entertained a horror of anything base, and he had\na command of very strong language to characterize it. He arrogated to\nhimself the finer attributes. He strained for the heroic poise. He would\nfeel nothing, believe nothing, do nothing, that was unbecoming of what\nhe esteemed the noblest expression of man and gentleman. Nevertheless\nhe had no serious objects in life, no absorbing ambition, no ability to\noriginate. But he could espouse another man\u2019s cause with a fervor of\nunselfishness. The excitements and vicissitudes of the affairs of others\nrejoiced the voids of his capacities for emotion. He was of the stuff of\nwhich adherents are made, essentially a partisan. His prototypes have\nridden in the ranks of every losing cause since the world began. He was\nof the essence of those who are born for freaks of valor, for vagrant\nenthusiasms, for misguided fantastic feuds, for revolution.\n\n\u201cDo you think, sir, that Mr. Harshaw had no foundation for his threat,\u201d\nsaid an elderly granger, who leaned against a pillar,\u2014\u201cno foundation for\nthis charge against Judge Gwinnan?\u201d\n\n\u201cGwinnan may have ruled against him a time or two,\u201d said Kinsard. \u201cThat\u2019s\nabout the size of it.\u201d\n\nHe had a pedigree as long as his favorite colt\u2019s, but this was the way he\ntalked.\n\n\u201cIt is a gross slander, then; it implies a stealage, or taking a bribe,\nor some malfeasance in office,\u2014the judicial office,\u201d said one of the\nby-standers.\n\n\u201cIt was very shabby in Harshaw to say it; then, thinking Gwinnan\nhad never heard of it, to go fawning up, pretending to be so mighty\nfriendly,\u201d rejoined another.\n\nKinsard\u2019s black eyes turned slowly from one speaker to the other.\n\n\u201cIf I had been Judge Gwinnan, I would have killed him for it,\u201d he said,\nwith his cigar held tightly between his fingers. \u201cI would have spilt his\nbrains, not his blood; and I would have had some scientific man to find\nthe precise section of the brain structure which ideated that theory,\nand I would have had it comminuted, and vaporized, and transmuted into\nnothingness.\u201d\n\nHe spoke with calmness, as if these things were done every day for the\nvengeful in Tennessee.\n\nThe granger took off his spectacles suddenly. He wanted to see this\nextraordinary young man, who he had an idea was too dangerous to be at\nlarge.\n\nThe others looked at him with a less serious air. They had before heard\nhim talk.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said a certain Mr. Forsey, also a young man, who had dropped upon\nthe broad window-seat and lounged there, holding one knee in his clasped\nhands, and smoking too, \u201cdo you think Harshaw would have ventured to say\nit if there were no foundation for it,\u2014if Gwinnan had done nothing to\nsuggest such a proceeding? What motive had Harshaw?\u201d\n\nHe was a different manner of man. He had close-cut fair hair, a face\nbroad across the cheek-bones and narrow at the chin, sparse whiskers and\na light gray, wide-open eye. He had a sedulously neat appearance, a soft\ntread, and delicate white hands, in one of which he held his hat.\n\n\u201cWhat motive? What motive for slander? Go to first principles. Gwinnan\nhas got something that Harshaw wants.\u201d Kinsard put his cigar into his\nmouth and went on talking as he held it fast between his teeth. \u201cWhat\nfools we all are! We make laws against predatory beasts and decree their\nextermination. Pay a bounty for the scalps of the marauding men, I\nsay,\u2014the sharp fellows who ravage and pillage and have contrived so far\nto keep the law on their side. But pshaw!\u201d he shifted his legs over the\narm of the chair impatiently. \u201cHe can\u2019t hurt Gwinnan. Talk can\u2019t compass\nthe impeachment of a judge. Gwinnan is one of the strongest men on the\nbench. Made the stiffest show that ever was seen when he ran against old\nJudge Burns, who had sat on the bench in that circuit till everybody\nthought he owned it. Old man could have mortgaged the bench,\u2014could have\nraised money on it, I haven\u2019t a doubt. Gwinnan couldn\u2019t have beat Burns,\nif he hadn\u2019t been above reproach and suspicion; it\u2019s a tremendous thing\nto upset an old fixture like that.\u201d\n\nMr. Kinsard\u2019s views, as his colleagues in the legislature had discovered\nto their confusion, were apt to confirm his hearers in the opposite\nopinion. A bill was much safer when he arrayed himself against it. Mr.\nForsey was not convinced that so serious a charge would have been made\nwith absolutely nothing to support it. The idea of the blurtings of\nan uncontrolled rage occurred to neither of them. Forsey sat looking\nso steadily at the dapper toe of his boot for a time, and yet with so\nstealthy a stillness, that his manner might have suggested the bated\nexultation of a cat that had had a glimpse of a frisking mouse in that\nneighborhood, and was waiting to pounce upon it.\n\n\u201cJudge Gwinnan has the reputation,\u201d gravely remarked the granger, who\nlooked as if he might be a pillar of the church, \u201cof being a very upright\nman, a most worthy man, and a Christian gentleman.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course he is,\u201d said Kinsard; \u201cno question about it, and nobody but\na fool would have thought of anything else. I am going to introduce a\nbill,\u201d he added seriously, \u201cto make the fool-killer a State officer. We\nneed him more than a geologist, or a governor, or anybody but a sheriff.\nA fool-killer ought to be on the State pay-roll.\u201d\n\nNo one said anything further, for Kinsard was lazily pulling himself out\nof the contortions into which he had sunk in the chair.\n\nHe was very striking when he stood at his full height. There was an\nair of dash and bravery about him engaging to the imagination. His\nhigh, broad forehead gave nobility and seriousness to a face that would\notherwise have been only sparkling, or sneering, or melancholy, as\nhis mood dictated. One might have hoped that should he wear out his\nfantastic, aimless, erratic spirit, should some blow subdue it and give\nit into his control, he would develop great gifts hitherto dwarfed and\ndenied. He was aware of them in some sort; he bore himself as a man\nendowed with some splendor of preeminence. And others accorded it. Youth\nhas much credit given to its promise, despite that it so often falls in\nthe bud or fails in the fruit. But it rarely has so brilliant a prospect\nas here; and after he had strolled off at a leisurely, swinging gait,\nsaying that he was going to the House, where a bill was coming up that\nhe wanted to kill, they all looked after him, and commented on him, and\ncalled him a fine, high-minded young man, and said that it was a good\nthing for young fellows to have political ambition, and that it was dying\nout among that class generally, who was too fond of making money and of\nusing their time to their own advantage.\n\nHe stood for a moment on the steps of the hotel, drawing on his gloves.\nDespite the snow, there was a faint suggestion of spring in the air. A\nthaw had set in. He heard drops slowly pattering down from the cornice\nabove. The blue-white splendors of the electric light, with its myriad\nfine and filar rays whorled out into the darkness, showed a deserted\nstreet. A carriage, looking with its two lamps like some watchful-eyed\nmonster, pulled up in front of the door, and the colored driver, with a\nwide display of a toothful grin, alighted with a \u201cWant a hack, boss?\u201d\n\n\u201cJim, Tom\u2014oh, it\u2019s Dick,\u201d said Kinsard, glancing at the dusky face in the\nlamplight; he knew all the colored folks in town. \u201cWell, drive me to the\nCapitol, and don\u2019t be all night about it, either.\u201d\n\nHe flung himself upon the seat, lifted his long, slender feet to the\nopposite cushions, and with a complete collapse of anatomy resigned\nhimself to the transit. The vehicle moved from the curb with something of\nthe sound of a boat pushing off from shore, so splashing was its progress\nthrough the deep slush of the streets. The hoof-beats of the horses were\nmuffled; the voice of the driver sounded, and was still again. Kinsard\nsmoked in idle abstraction, hardly thinking, perhaps, even of his mission\nand the slaughter of the \u201cinnocent William,\u201d as he slangily called the\nbill which he intended to kill. When the carriage had climbed the Capitol\nhill, on which the fair edifice towered, glimmering vaguely white against\nthe purple night, its rows of illuminated windows all gleaming yellow,\nand casting dim shafts of light adown the snowy slopes of the grounds\nbelow, he roused himself and looked out. Even after he had alighted and\nascended the long flights of stone steps, between the groups of great\nfigures that stand beneath the flaring gas lamps, he turned, and more\nthan once walked the length of the stately portico, gazing down with\na vague attraction which he could hardly have explained at the snowy\nroofs of the city, on its many hills, amidst the dun-colored intervals\nof the streets and the misty depressions. The heavens were purple above\nit; the stars palpitated in the infinite distances; a late moon was\nrising. He recognized the outline of Fort Negley to the south against\nthe sky; he saw the steely gleam of the river. Spires, long glancing\nlines of light, domes, turrets, mansard roofs, mingled in picturesque\nfantasies of architecture. A bell rang out a mellow note; the icy air\nhad crystalline vibrations. Here and there the aureola of an unseen\nelectric light, the mere fringes of lustre, seemed the rising of some\nmore cheerful orb; for melancholy hung upon the progress of the moon.\nIn the tower of a public building Time lifted a smiling face in an\nilluminated dial, and far away to the west he saw a planet touch a spire,\nin an unprophesied conjunction. The lights of homes, yellow, steady,\ngleaming in some fantasy of form, seemed themselves a constellation of\nmore genial suggestion than the pallid keener clustered scintillations of\nthe chimeras of the skies. The gilded cross of the cathedral held aloft\nover the city was sublimated in the moonbeams and the fair nocturnal\ninfluences; it was mystic, effulgent, seeming to radiate light like the\nconsecrated sign in a vision. He did not feel the cold; he stood for\na long time, with his hands in his pockets, his overcoat falling back\non his shoulders, watching with his restless eyes the quiet snowy town\nsuffused with dreamy yellow light and pervaded by long, pensive shadows.\nSuddenly he turned and went within.\n\nThe House of Representatives presented a spectacle not altogether\nunprecedented in his experience. A spirited debate was in progress.\nSixteen men were trying to speak at once. The seventeenth earnest orator\nwas forcibly held in his chair by his friends. The speaker\u2019s gavel\nsounded continuously, but produced little effect upon the incoherency of\nthe discussion. Other members were talking in low tones of alien matters;\none had fallen asleep. His snores might have been generally noticed but\nfor the commotion. Kinsard glanced at him as he took his seat close by.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the best oratorical effort I ever heard McKimmon make,\u201d he said\nto a friend. \u201cObserve how he sticks to the point: iterative, it is\ntrue; tautology might be urged against it as mere diction; but I admire\nits simplicity, its comprehensibility, its continuity. There are no\ndigressions; nothing is done for effect; plain, cogent, impressive. It is\na fine display of natural eloquence.\u201d His colleague burst out laughing,\nand Kinsard looked at him in apparent surprise, lifting his straight\nblack eyebrows a little. Then he asked if the bill to remove the county\nseat of Kildeer County had yet been reached.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said his friend, \u201cbut Harshaw has been around here after you three\nor four times.\u201d\n\nThe speaker\u2019s gavel had succeeded in securing order, and now the sixteen\nmen\u2019s statements and counter-statements were elicited in decorous\nroutine. The sudden cessation of noise roused Mr. McKimmon, whose\nsomnolency ended in a snort and a conviction that he had not closed\nhis eyes. He perceived a suspicion to the contrary in the minds of his\nnearest neighbors, and he could not account for it.\n\nAfter the House had voted upon the question of public policy which had so\nagitated it, various minor bills were taken up, and there was a good deal\nof quiet movement, groups of two or three colloguing together here and\nthere, and Harshaw came up again to talk to Kinsard.\n\n\u201cI want to know whether you\u2019ll co\u00f6perate with us against the bill for\nmoving the county seat of Kildeer County.\u201d\n\nHe stood leaning one arm upon Kinsard\u2019s desk; the other was akimbo. He\nknitted his brow meditatively, and pursed up his red lips, and looked not\nat Kinsard, but at his inkstand. He had not altogether recovered from the\nrebuff so publicly given in the hotel corridor.\n\nIt is always a misfortune when a man of Harshaw\u2019s stamp has to contend\nwith any degree of injustice. He had repeated to Gwinnan the truth, and\nfor it he had been given the lie direct in circumstances under which\nhe could not resent it; even the original threat was only the blurtings\nof an honest rage and for another man\u2019s sake. He was clever in adroitly\njustifying means and ends. To be armed with the truth, a genuine\ngrievance endowed him with a force, a self-respect, all-potent in their\nway, and a wonderful driving-wheel to an already lubricated and too alert\nmachinery. He had an imperative serious air which seemed to intimate to\nMr. Kinsard that this was no time for fooling.\n\nKinsard was eccentric, ill-balanced. He was made up of prejudices, and he\nobeyed the impulse of the moment as other men obey interest or law. He\nwas not predisposed in Harshaw\u2019s favor. He took a different view of the\nscene upon which Harshaw presumed. He looked up, a whimsical light in his\ngrave eyes, as he allowed Harshaw to waste his breath in urging him to\nvote against a bill which he was already pledged to kill.\n\n\u201cThe county line of those portions taken from Cherokee and Kildeer\ncounties to form a new county in no instance approaches the county seat\nof Kildeer within eleven miles. There is no use for the people of Kildeer\nto commit the extravagance of a new court-house when they already have\none,\u2014a frame building, it is true, but spacious.\u201d\n\nHe looked very spacious himself, as he stood erect and waved his arm, the\nmental vision of the commodious Temple of Justice of Kildeer before him.\n\n\u201cThen, sir, it is thought there may be a railroad to the present county\nseat, a branch of the T. C. V., which will aid in developing the\nresources of the country.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t believe in railroads,\u201d said Kinsard, unexpectedly.\n\u201cWhenever they get to talking about running a railroad from one little\ntown where there is nothing to another little town where that nothing is\nnot wanted, I understand it as developing the resources of the country.\u201d\n\nHarshaw was not in a mood to be bantered.\n\n\u201cMr. Kinsard,\u201d he said, \u201cyou are either a fool absolute, or you think I\nam.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs far as you are concerned,\u201d said Kinsard with mock courtesy, \u201cI have\nthe highest opinion of your intelligence; ergo, it is more than probable\nthat I _am_ a fool.\u201d\n\nHarshaw endeavored to recover himself. He reassumed his more genial\nmanner. \u201cAdmit that we are a choice brace. Well, now, we want you on our\nside; all the solid, substantial people of Kildeer County are arrayed\nagainst it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, there are some solid citizens for it,\u201d said Kinsard perversely, \u201cor\nyou\u2019d be willing for it to be put to the popular vote.\u201d\n\nHarshaw looked keenly at him. \u201cJudge Gwinnan has been talking to you,\nhasn\u2019t he? We\u2019ve had to fight his influence all the way through.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Judge Gwinnan is a prominent citizen of that county and a very\nsensible man, and if he is in favor of the change he must have good\nreasons,\u201d said Kinsard, seriously. \u201cThat\u2019s enough to take it through.\u201d\n\nHarshaw cast an indignant glance upon him. \u201cWell, before I\u2019m done with\nit I\u2019ll show you that this General Assembly isn\u2019t run by Judge Gwinnan\u2019s\ninfluence and by his myrmidons. I am glad you have let me know at last\nwhose mouthpiece you are!\u201d\n\nHe walked away with that extraordinary quickness and lightness so\nincongruous with his portliness. Kinsard\u2019s black eyes, that seemed\nkindled with actual flames, followed him for a moment. Then, as\ncomprehension slowly dawned upon him, and with a wrench as if he broke\nfrom actual physical restraint, he started from his seat to follow.\n\n\u201cNo, you won\u2019t, now; no, you won\u2019t.\u201d His nearest neighbor had locked his\narm into Kinsard\u2019s, and held it like a vise. He was a square-built, slow,\nmuscular man, solid as granite. His eyes were fixed upon Harshaw, who was\nalready speaking against the bill. \u201cWhat is that man saying?\u201d\n\nKinsard at once lapsed into attention. Harshaw was a clear and forcible\nspeaker, and with lucid arguments ranged upon the side of conservatism\nand economy he was giving the advocates of the measure a very stiff\nfight. They got on their feet time and again, and came at him. He had\na great fund of pugnacity, and on principle fought every point. His\nface was flushed; his eyes were grave and intent; his frequent gestures\nponderous and forcible. Now and then he tossed back his mane of yellow\nhair, as if its weight vexed him. He sought to show the ephemeral nature\nof the advantages urged, the solid interests relinquished. Presently his\nold slogan was resounding on the air. He was representing that the sacred\ninterests of the people were imperiled by the machinations of the bloated\nplutocracy of Kildeer County. He wanted it to be distinctly understood\nthat he did not charge any nefarious practices, any corrupt influences;\nonly that most subtle, insidious, and pervasive sway always exerted by\nthe views of men of position, men of family, men of \u201cprawperty,\u201d against\nthe simple will and simple needs of the Plain People. The high-toned\nfolks, the few rich folks, wished the county seat moved to Damascus,\nbecause they had \u201cprawperty\u201d there. (He pronounced \u201cprawperty\u201d with so\ncontemptuous an intonation that one felt one could never take pleasure\nin paying taxes again.) They had \u201cprawperty,\u201d and railroad stock, and\nthus from the people, the many of moderate means, who had built up the\npresent county town and made it what it was, who spent their money right\nthere instead of going off to patronize merchants and schools in Glaston,\nas was the habit of the wealthy,\u2014from this class would be wrenched those\nprivileges which they had made valuable. All those advantages which had\nbeen nursed for years, which were so much actual materialization of the\nefforts of the Plain People, would go to\u2014not to Tophet, as one might have\nexpected from the tone, but to\u2014Damascus!\n\nBut he would champion their rights; he would be heard; he would not heed\nthe ostentatious reference of the gentleman from Cherokee to his watch.\nWhy, he could tell the speaker that these same influential men had their\npersonal representation in this House. A member confessed to him that\nbecause one of these little great men wanted a thing it had to go through\nthis General Assembly. \u201cAnd so his mouthpiece repeats his wish, his tool\ndoes his will!\u201d\n\nA murmur arose.\n\nKinsard was on his feet in an instant.\n\n\u201cMr. Speaker,\u201d he thundered, \u201cthe member means _me_!\u201d\n\nThere was sudden silence.\n\nHe stood at his full height, his head thrown back, his brilliant eyes\nfixed angrily on Harshaw.\n\nHarshaw was dumfounded. He had expected Kinsard to quake silently and\nsecretly under the lash; to quiver in terror lest his identity be hinted.\nThis open avowal had routed him. He was in an ill-humor, but he had no\ndesire to seriously attack Kinsard on a point like this. He wanted to\npunish him, to intimidate him; to threaten that most sensitive possession\nof the young and spirited, his reputation, or, as Kinsard would have\nphrased it, his \u201csacred honor.\u201d He had the usual contempt of a man of\nforty for youth,\u2014its self-assertion, its domineering. He intended the\nchance allusion as discipline. He had fallen under his own lash. He stood\nin dismay as Kinsard reiterated, \u201cHe means _me_!\u201d\n\nThere was a general laugh; the imputation, in view of his character, his\nprominence, his wealth, his very eye, was so absurd.\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d\u2014Kinsard\u2019s tones were grandiloquent,\u2014\u201cin view of the publicity of\nthis charge, I consider that I am wounded in my reputation, and I demand\nreparation.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can make no formal retraction,\u201d said Harshaw, hastily, \u201cfor I have\nimputed no discredit, except being easily dominated.\u201d\n\nKinsard fixed upon him a look of amazement. He turned again to the chair.\n\u201cMr. Speaker,\u201d he said, \u201cthe member from the floterial district of\nCherokee and Kildeer\u201d\u2014he sedulously avoided the word \u201cgentleman\u201d\u2014\u201clabors\nunder a mistake. I do not demand the retraction of a word. Perhaps he\nwill understand this token.\u201d He took his glove, and cast it in the open\nspace before the speaker\u2019s desk.\n\nOnly a nineteenth-century kid glove, with two porcelain buttons at the\nwrist, but it was flung down with as splendid and gallant a gesture as if\nit were a gauntlet of mail.\n\nThe old fellows, who had outlived folly such as this, were grinning at\nthe revival of their ancient manners. The younger men, profiting by the\ntraditions of their elders, were grave and quivering with excitement.\nHarshaw was in a quandary, conscious of being ridiculous in the eyes of\none class, and of being defied in the eyes of the other. He would not do\nso absurd a thing as to lift Kinsard\u2019s glove. Yet with the significance\nof the \u201ctoken\u201d he was ashamed to let it lie.\n\nAnd the speaker had a big job on his hands.\n\nThe gavel sounded now and again. Someone, with a pious view of making bad\nworse, was calling attention to the anti-dueling legislation. Another\nreminded Mr. Kinsard of his \u201csacred obligations\u201d to his constituents,\nto the people of Tennessee, to the House, all of which seemed to have\nescaped him for the moment. Kinsard\u2019s colleague had sprung forward,\nrecovered the somewhat ridiculous glove, and, crumpling it up, put it\ninto his own pocket. He succeeded in attracting the attention of the\nchair and of the House. He wished\u2014he spoke in a labored way, with a pause\nbetween each phrase, and a rising inflection\u2014to remark that the House was\ndisposed to take a great deal on trust. The gentleman had not given any\nchallenge. Did a member ask what that glove meant, then? Why, defiance!\nDueling was with a _deadly_ weapon; _deadly_ weapon was of the essence of\nthe offense. The gentleman might have preferred to have a round or two\nat fisticuffs, or, perhaps, simply to engage in debate. (Derisive cries\nand laughter.) Defiance only! It was a breach of all the proprieties\nto mention the anti-dueling laws in this connection. Too much taken\nfor granted, Mr. Speaker. If I should be heard to say to a man that I\nwould see him before dinner, it would be highly preposterous to have me\narrested. We might be going to kill each other, it is true, but then,\nagain, we might be only going to \u201csmile.\u201d\n\nThe speaker sat listening gravely, much wishing to further the acceptance\nof this view, for he considered the demonstration mere boyish wrath and\nfolly. He made strong efforts for the adjustment of the difficulty.\nHarshaw rose presently, and begged to call attention to the fact that he\nhad named no names, had given no intimation as to identity. He had spoken\nindefinitely, and the gentleman had insisted upon revealing himself. He\nwould say that he desired to provoke no quarrel; he had no ill-will to\nthe gentleman in question. He begged to withdraw what he had said, and he\ntendered his apologies.\n\nKinsard, under the pressure that was brought to bear, could hardly do\nless than accept them, and thus, it seemed at the time, the matter ended.\n\nIt had been a stormy evening for Harshaw. He was, however, well\naccustomed to contention. It was not this that irked him; he writhed\nunder the sense of disadvantage, of being brought in propinquity to\ndefeat. He was a man not susceptible of the finer emotions of success,\nof gratulation because of the thing attained rather than the plaudits\nof attainment. His sensibility to achievement was manifested in a\ncertain sordid inversion of values. He made popularity, position,\nsocial opportunity, political preferment, the end of mental supremacy,\nrather than its humble incident. And thus it was that, rough as he was,\ncourageous, obstinate, full of rugged nodules of traits, hard, strong,\nbut limited, there was no solid substratum of absolute sincere purpose\nin his nature, no bed-rock impervious to all infiltration of temptation,\nall extraneous influence; whatever he might build would fail at the\nfoundation.\n\nHis world had changed to him in some sort during the short hours since\nthe darkness had fallen. He strode into the hotel feeling a different\nman. He found it necessary to assert himself. All the fight in him was\non the alert. He cared little for Kinsard or for the scene itself in\nthe House, but it was peculiarly obnoxious to him that it should have\nbeen another chance allusion to the man he hated which precipitated the\ncollision. He revolted from the fact that it might seem a reiteration of\nthe lesson received earlier in the evening. He knew that many commented\nupon the coincidence, and that doubtless he was recommended to leave\nGwinnan alone. Now submission was not what he was prepared to offer. He\npreferred that it should seem a persistent attack on Gwinnan. Once more\nhe returned to the charge.\n\nHe was serious, lowering, formidable. He did not go at once to his room,\nas the lateness of the hour might have impelled him. He was quick to\nobserve the faces of the legislators about: some were merely curious;\nothers held a half-cloaked triumph; and still others an open gloating\nsatisfaction. It was with a manner which was a distinct replication to\nall three manifestations that he lounged about the reading-room with a\nstriding gait, his hat on the back of his head, his hands in his pockets,\nand his cigar fast between his teeth. He finally threw himself into a\nchair by the table before the open fire in the inner room, and said\nin a meditative undertone to a gentleman with whom he had sufficient\nassociation to make it seem a confidence to a friend, \u201cI reckon I\u2019ll have\nto write to Judge Gwinnan.\u201d The others heard it, however, and it was\nto several that he read the letter when it was completed. They thought\nit very bold; to show that it was not empty bluster, but written with\nall the sincerity of immediate intention, he rang for a bell-boy, and\ndispatched it in their presence to Gwinnan\u2019s room.\n\nThat gentleman\u2019s physician still urged his patient to cultivate a more\nvivid interest in life, in passing events; to seek to absorb himself;\nto rouse himself. Mr. Harshaw\u2019s letter very effectually compassed this\nresult.\n\nThe writer begged to call Judge Gwinnan\u2019s attention to sundry facts\nwhich he proceeded to set forth in due detail. He premised that he would\nendeavor to take no other notice of an insult offered him by a man who\nwas virtually at death\u2019s door, and who might uncharitably, perhaps,\nbe supposed to have taken advantage of that circumstance; such as the\nadvantage was, he made Judge Gwinnan most heartily welcome to it. In\ndefense of his reputation for veracity, however, he felt it necessary\nto state his authority, besides his own observation, for saying that\nJudge Gwinnan had taken such notice of a very beautiful girl, who\nwas a witness, as to render her lover, who was the prisoner, wildly\njealous, and to result in the injuries from which Judge Gwinnan was now\nunfortunately suffering. His authority was the deputy sheriff and the two\nguards, to whom the prisoner stated these facts, swearing that he would\nget even with Judge Gwinnan. Mr. Harshaw begged to remark in addition\nthat he fully realized that he was ill advised in saying he would like to\nintroduce a resolution to impeach Judge Gwinnan. He knew that the action\nof a court in a matter of contempt committed in the presence of the court\nis wholly a matter of judicial discretion not liable to be reviewed by\nthe court above, and therefore it should have been free from impotent\ncriticism, which could avail naught to either counsel or prisoner, who\nhave absolutely no resource nor recourse. He deeply regretted his words,\nand their futility.\n\nThe mock apology, which had been highly appreciated by the coterie in\nthe reading-room, the whole tenor of the letter, the revelation which it\nmade, had important results to Judge Gwinnan, who was accustomed to deal\nwith larger motives and finer issues than Harshaw\u2019s wrath or satire could\nfurnish.\n\nHe had such exceeding confidence in the dignity and decorum of Gwinnan as\njudge that at first it seemed almost impossible that he should have taken\nsuch notice of the witness as to attract the attention of others. But\nthere was a sort of coercive evidence in the circumstance that the girl\u2019s\nface had lingered in his mind with a luminous distinctness, a surprised\npleasure, a newly awakened sense of beauty, which he had associated with\nno other face that he could remember. He was not a sentimental man.\nHe had had few romantic experiences, and the flavor they had left was\nvapid and foolish. Alethea had not primarily impressed him as beautiful.\nShe looked so noble, so true, so radiantly good. It was altogether an\nabstract sentiment, a tribute to the lofty qualities which he revered and\nshe embodied.\n\nHe cared so little for Gwinnan as Gwinnan that he entertained the mildest\nresentment toward the man who had struck him on the head with his iron\nshackles. The indignity offered by the foreman of the jury, and afterward\nby Harshaw, to Gwinnan the judge had burned into his consciousness, and\nthe scars would be there on the judgment day. The knowledge that the\nattack was not in revenge for some fancied wrong in the trial, but that\nit was the frenzy of a madly jealous lover in chains and in expatriation,\naltered the whole aspect of the case for Gwinnan as Gwinnan.\n\nThe judge could not, perhaps, have sufficiently condemned Gwinnan\u2019s state\nof mind as he sat down and wrote to Mr. Kenbigh, the attorney for the\nState at Glaston, requesting that no action should be taken in regard to\nthe assault, as he was not willing to prosecute.\n\n\n\n\nXXI.\n\n\nAlethea Sayles awoke early the morning after the momentous news of Mink\u2019s\njourney had come to Wild-Cat Hollow; such an awakening as a barn-swallow\nmight know, the familiar of the rafters and the clapboards. There was\nno other ceiling to the roof-room. She might put up her hand and touch\nit where she lay, but in the centre it was higher,\u2014high enough for many\npendent uses: bags of cotton swung from the ridge-pole; hanks of yarn;\nbunches of pepper; gourds; old hats and garments, of awry, distorted,\nfacetious aspect in their caricature of the habit of humanity. The snow\npressed heavily without; through the crevices vague white glimpses of\nthe drifts might be seen, for the dull glow from the fire in the room\nbelow penetrated the cracks between the boards of the flooring, which\nserved as the ceiling of the lower story. Light came in, too, from the\nrifts between the wall and the great stick-and-clay chimney, which\nbulged outward, being built outside the house, as is the habit in the\nregion. It was the light of the waning moon, fitful, fluctuating, for\nclouds were astir. Now and then, too, Alethea could see the great morning\nstar with its tremulous glister, seeming nearer, dearer, than all the\nothers,\u2014splendid, yet tender and full of promise. She looked wistfully\nat it for a moment, feeling the dull aching wound in her heart, and\nforgetting what dealt it. Then it all came back to her, and she wondered\nshe had awakened again. She could not understand how she lived. She felt\nas if she could rise no more. But the cow was to be milked; she listened\nto the cocks crowing. The baby, who had developed a virulent habit of\nearly rising, was already astir. She heard his thumping bare feet on\nthe floor of the room below; he would be cold, and she thought of the\ndanger of the embers, and remembered that the sluggard his mother still\ndrowsed. The breakfast must be cooked, the dishes must be washed. Her\nphysical strength was asserting itself against the shock to her mind. Her\ncollapsed energies were recuperated by sleep, albeit the slumber induced\nby the primitive narcotics of the \u201cyerb bag.\u201d Ah, the world of Wild-Cat\nHollow, small though it was, was full of work, and she must lay hold. And\nso she rose once more, and joined hands with joyless duty.\n\nBen Doaks sojourned with them for a time, and went hunting with Jessup,\nand brought back game, and made Mrs. Sayles presents of the peltry. As he\nsat by the fire at night he told the news from the cove in great detail,\nand discussed it freely with Mrs. Jessup, and developed remarkable\ncapacities for acquiescence. Old Griff, he said, was having a mighty hard\nwinter. His mill had proved a sore loss, for he was bereft of his tolls,\nand he had planted little corn. \u201cHe mought make out, though. His meat\nlooks thrivin\u2019; he hain\u2019t killed yit.\u201d Ben spoke of the miller\u2019s hogs\nafoot as if they held their fat in trust and were stewards of their own\nbacon. The old man seemed failing, and talked much about Tad; sometimes\nas if he had already returned, sometimes as if he momently expected him.\nThe children, too, \u201c\u2019peared thrivin\u2019,\u201d though Ben didn\u2019t believe Sophy\nwould ever be good for much except to look at, and the little ones \u201call\n\u2019peared ragged ez ef she didn\u2019t study \u2019bout them much.\u201d\n\n\u201cToo many peart, spry boys in the cove fur her ter study \u2019bout, stiddier\nthem,\u201d said Mrs. Sayles, with a scornful toss of the head, histrionically\nseeing the situation from Sophy\u2019s standpoint.\n\n\u201cJerry Price \u2019pears ter set a heap o\u2019 store by Sophy\u2019s looks,\u201d submitted\nBen, with the implication of the remark.\n\n\u201cWaal, \u2019twould be a jedgmint on Dely Purvine fur all her onwholesome\nvanity an\u2019 slack-twisted sort o\u2019 religion, ef that thar Jerry Price, ez\nshe hev brung up ez ef he war her own son,\u2014though his looks air enough\nter tarrify a mole,\u2014war ter marry Sophy Griff.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, sir, one thing,\u2014her housekeepin\u2019 couldn\u2019t \u2019stonish him none arter\nMis\u2019 Purvine\u2019s,\u201d remarked Mrs. Jessup, with an elaborate semblance of\nseeing the brighter side of things.\n\n\u201cShucks!\u201d Mrs. Sayles commented. \u201cHe\u2019d miss mightily the show and the\nshine he hev been used ter along o\u2019 Mis\u2019 Purvine.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Ben, \u201cI don\u2019t b\u2019lieve ez Mis\u2019 Purvine would mind much who\nJerry marries, so long ez he keeps clar o\u2019 Elviry Crosby. Mis\u2019 Purvine\nair mightily outdone with her. She hev been mournin\u2019 fur Peter Rood same\nez ef she war a widder-woman. An\u2019 ye know she wouldn\u2019t speak ter him ez\nlong ez Mink war out\u2019n the grip o\u2019 the sher\u2019ff. She tried ter toll Pete\nback arterwards. I hearn him \u2019low sech when they war drawin\u2019 the jury. I\ndunno how she made out.\u201d\n\nMrs. Sayles gazed at the fire solemnly from under her pink sun-bonnet.\n\u201cDeath tolled him,\u201d she said lugubriously.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d jes\u2019 ez lief Death as Elviry Crosby,\u201d said Mrs. Jessup, in calm\nsuperiority to the wiles of feminine fascination.\n\nOld man Sayles shook his head in negation.\n\n\u201cMighty dark under the ground,\u201d he said, with terror of the termination\nof life; which for him signified so little that a sponge with a vocable\nor two might have seemed his correlative.\n\nBut when Ben was gone,\u2014and the sight of Alethea, silent, absorbed,\npallid, broken-hearted, gave him little wish to prolong his stay,\u2014the\nscene at the fireside was less amicable and cheerful. The elder women,\nbereft of gossip, bickered over the trifling mishaps of the day. The old\nman sorted his \u201clumber.\u201d Jessup slouched and lazed and smoked. Only the\nweather varied the aspect of the world. The snow slipped away in the\nthaw, leaving mud and ooze and intervals of blackened ice. Then the rains\ndescended, and the scene without was dimly visible through the long,\nslanting, dun-colored fringes of the cloud. The roof clamored with the\nresonant fall of the drops, the clapboards leaked, and puddles formed\neven in the ashes of the chimney corner. The sun might shine vaguely for\na day. The chill splendors of the wintry constellations scintillated\nicily in the dark spaces of the night. But the clouds, rallying from\nevery repulse, closed once more about the Great Smoky, and ravine and\npeak and cove were again deeply covered with snow.\n\nMrs. Jessup bewailed the change. \u201cI war a-hopin\u2019,\u201d she remarked, \u201cez\nwe would hev no mo\u2019 fallin\u2019 weather, so Lethe could go ter the meetin\u2019\nat the church-house in Eskaqua Cove, an\u2019 fetch up some word o\u2019 what\u2019s\na-goin\u2019 on down thar ter this benighted roost. _I_ war raised in the\n_cove_! I ain\u2019t used ter sech a dwindlin\u2019 sort o\u2019 life ez this hyar.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat ailed ye, then, ter marry a mounting boy?\u201d Mrs. Sayles would demand\nin resentment.\n\n\u201c\u2019Kase I war the mos\u2019 outdacious an\u2019 astonishin\u2019 fool in Cherokee County.\u201d\n\nMrs. Jessup was not a woman of great abilities, but she had an uncommon\ngift of conclusiveness in retort.\n\nMrs. Sayles could only knit off her needle with a sort of whisking\nscornfulness of gesture.\n\nAnd presently, not to be silenced, she demanded when the meetin\u2019 was to\nbe held.\n\n\u201cTo-morrer\u2019s the day; this be Sat\u2019dy. Ter-morrer\u2019s Sunday.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe snow\u2019s a dry snow,\u201d remarked Mrs. Sayles. \u201cI dunno what\u2019s ter hender\nLethe, ef she feels minded ter go ter meetin\u2019.\u201d\n\nIt never occurred to either of them to undertake themselves the hardships\nand dangers of the excursion. Even Mrs. Jessup, pining for the fuller\ndevelopment and richer social opportunities of life in the cove, did not\ncovet them to the extent of exertion.\n\nAlethea was glad to be alone. The burden of the work, however\nmechanically accomplished, had pressed heavily upon her consciousness.\nThe acrimony, the continual talk, the trivial stir, had impinged\njarringly upon her deeper absorption. The infinite solitude of the\nwilds, the austere dignity of their silence, harmonized with her mood.\nShe had craved to hear the preaching. She was spiritually an hungered.\nShe turned to the consolations of religion. Now and then she drew a deep\nsigh as she went, and paused and looked about her with eyes that felt as\nif they had wept long; but they were dry, and tears for a time had been\nstrangers. She was fain to note closely to-day the aspects of the outer\nworld, or, woodland creature though she was, she might have missed her\nway in the tortuous intricacies that the road had followed in striving\nto make and keep a footing among the steeps. Icicles still hung to the\ndark faces of the crags, grim and distinct upon the snowy slopes about\nthem. On every side towered the great trees, their gigantic proportions\nmore incredibly imposing when fully revealed in bare bole and branch than\nwhen the foliage had veiled them. Now and then she met a mist, stealing\nsoftly, silently along, or lurking like some half-affrighted apparition\nin the depth of ravines, or peering down from over unmeasured heights.\nAs the road turned abruptly she saw a mass of white vapor against the\nsky,\u2014nay, it was Thunderhead, the great cloud-mountain. There was\nmovement upon the slopes of the peak. The mists shifted to and fro, with\nvague gray shadows mysteriously attendant upon them. Sudden gusts of\nwind swept through the forest, rousing it to motion, to weird murmurs.\nShe gathered her brown shawl about her and drew her bonnet forward. And\nthen the wind would slip away, and she would hear it repeating its mystic\napostrophe far off among the ravines of Thunderhead, or Big Injun, or\nanother of the mighty company of the border. Through rifts of the clouds\ncame sometimes a pallid glimpse of the midday moon. It had a strange\nghastly gleam on this sad gray day, above the great legendary mountain.\nShe stood and gazed at it for a moment in vague fascination, then she\nturned and went on. She saw occasionally the footprints of small animals\nin the snow. Often she looked after them, for she had the compassionate\ntenderness of a compatriot for these little mountaineers. Once she\nnoticed a rabbit that crouched chilled and trembling for an instant, and\nthen went leaping through the frozen weeds.\n\nShe was not cold. It was growing warmer as she made her way down to lower\nlevels, and much of the time she walked rapidly. Only when she cautiously\ncrossed the mountain torrent, icy and motionless save that in its crystal\nheart a stream like a silver arrow swiftly and silently glided, glancing\nin the light, she felt the chill of the day. For the foot-bridge was hung\nwith icicles and enveloped in deceptive snow that fell at the touch of\nher foot, and she began to be afraid she would lose so much time here\nthat she might be late and miss some part of the sermon. When the cove\nbecame visible, one might fail to discern any expression of the social\nopportunities for which Mrs. Jessup valued it. In its wintry guise it\nwas peculiarly open to the eye: its forests were bare; the unbroken snow\nlay in its broad fields in lieu of its harvested crops; its road was\ndistinguishable by the narrow interval between the zigzag fences; the\nserpentine lines of the river were defined by its snow-fringed laureled\nbanks; here and there a curl of blue smoke arose from the chimney of a\nlittle house heavily thatched with drifts.\n\nThe church had for Alethea many melancholy associations. She paused at\nthe palings, remembering the night when she had stood here in the silent\nmoonshine, in the full summer-tide, and the vapors had shifted about,\nand in their midst she had seen the boy whom they had said was dead. How\nmuch had come into her life since then, and, alas, how much had gone\nforth forever! The snow hung heavy in the pine-trees; the faint moon was\nin the fretted gray sky above the mountains. The little house was dark\nand drear under its whitened roof. The snow was melting close to the\nchimney. She heard the drops trickling down. The mounds in the inclosure\nwere very distinct. Some of them had a square of palings close about:\nthose were the graves of the well-to-do people of the cove. She could\nhardly have said, but for her life-long knowledge of the place, which\nwas the new-made grave where lay the man who had pointed at her with his\nlast living impulse, whose last word was intended for her, becoming dumb\non his lips as his life died in him,\u2014a word never to be heard, never to\nbe answered. Here they all were, little ephemeral mounds in the midst of\nthe great eternities of the mountains. She wondered if there were words\nto be said buried with the others; deeds to be done or undone; hopes\nunrealized; promises deferred until now when time was no more for them.\nLife was transitory, and so she was minded anew of the preacher.\n\nHe was already in the pulpit when she entered the low, dark little\nbuilding, with its scanty congregation huddled on the few benches. He\nwas a long-haired, wild-eyed, jeans-clad mountaineer, with a powerful\nphysique and an admiration of prowess. He was a worthy and a well-meaning\nman, and there are those of his profession wiser than he who forget that\nthey are apostles of peace. The circumstantial account of various feuds\ndetailed in the Old Bible proved of intense interest to the majority of\nhis congregation, who listened with eager faces and spellbound attention.\nThe methods of slaughter in those days seem to have had phenomenal\ndiversity, and certainly exceeded anything of the sort that had ever been\nheard of in Eskaqua Cove.\n\nAlethea\u2019s mind was too closely held in subordination to reverence for\nher to acknowledge, even to herself, how little this discourse met her\npeculiar needs. She endeavored to fix her attention humbly upon the\nharrowing details of barbarity; now and then an expression of wincing\nsympathy was in her clear eyes.\n\nThe application of the sermon\u2014for it had an application\u2014was to be found\nin the thankfulness which every professing member should experience\nbecause his lot was cast in Eskaqua Cove, where such practices did not\nobtain, and the fear which the unregenerate should harbor, since these\ntortures were nothing in comparison to what would happen to him in the\nnext world, unless he forthwith mended his ways.\n\nIt left a certain trace of meditative astonishment among the heavy\nmountaineers, slouching out to their horses and wagons, slowly commenting\nwhile chewing hard on their great quids of tobacco. The women lingered\nand talked in a lack-lustre fashion to one another of their ailments,\nand interchanged inquiries concerning absent members of the family.\nSophy Griff stood by the palings, debating whether she should accept the\nproffer of one of the youths to take her home on his horse behind him.\n\nShe was looking about doubtfully. \u201cI brung two o\u2019 the chil\u2019ren along o\u2019\nme, but they \u2019pear ter hev runned off somewhar. I dunno ez I wanter leave\n\u2019em.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey\u2019ll be home \u2019fore supper-time,\u201d urged the gallant. \u201cTrest \u2019em ter\ngit thar ef thar\u2019s enny eatin\u2019 goin\u2019 on.\u201d\n\nWith this logic she suffered herself to be persuaded, mounted his horse\nbehind him, and they rode away after the manner of a cavalier and his\nlady-love of the olden time.\n\nAlethea trudged along the road to Mrs. Purvine\u2019s house, for the journey\nup the mountain was hardly a possible achievement after the fatigues\nof the descent. The sun had come out. It scintillated on the snow. The\ncascades in the half-frozen river glittered iridescent. The bluffs\nwere outlined with drifts in all their fissures; icicles clung to them\nat every jutting point, and the stunted trees of their summit, whose\ninsistent roots seemed to pierce the stone, were encased in ice, and\nsparkled as the wind moved them. In the midst of all this splendor\nMrs. Purvine\u2019s house was dark and humble, despite the porch, and the\nfront steps, and the glass windows. In the half-buried garden a bevy\nof dark figures sped this way and that over the snow. They were aunt\nDely\u2019s boys chasing rabbits. The creatures, half famished and bold with\nnecessity,\u2014fatally distinct on the whitened ground,\u2014were deftly knocked\non the head with a stick, and one blow from such experts was sufficient.\nIn the party was a smaller boy, whom, at first, Alethea was puzzled to\nremember. Presently she recognized \u2019Gustus Tom, and this prepared her\nto see, when she entered, \u201csister Eudory,\u201d sitting in front of Mrs.\nPurvine\u2019s fire.\n\nThe pernicious glass in the windows added much cheerfulness to the\napartment in weather like this. It aided the firelight in revealing\nsister Eudory\u2019s tangle of flaxen hair and beguiling plumpness, as she\nsat, looking demure and wise, in one of the large rickety chairs. She was\nnearly five years of age now, and a great girl, and when she got down and\nwent and stood behind the churn, in an affectation of shyness because of\nAlethea\u2019s presence, she was not hidden by the article, and the handle of\nthe dasher was insufficient to obscure her downcast face and her finger\nin her mouth.\n\n\u201cYer aig will pop an\u2019 bust, fust thing ye know,\u201d said aunt Dely, the\npolitic.\n\nAnd Eudora forthwith came briskly out to investigate an egg which she was\nroasting in the ashes, the kind present of Mrs. Purvine. The hen that\nlaid it was stalking about the room in unconscious bereavement. Now and\nthen there was a shrill piping from a basket on the floor, from which\noverflowed, as it were, a downy collection of fall \u201cdeedies,\u201d hatched\ntoo late to stand any chance of weathering the winter except by being\nreared into those obnoxious animals, house-chickens. A matronly feathered\nhead would occasionally be thrust out with a remonstrant cluck, and the\nassemblage, miraculously escaping the heedless human foot, would climb\ninto the basket, and there would ensue a soft sound of snuggling down and\ndrowsy pipings. All of which excited sister Eudory almost to ecstasy.\n\nMrs. Purvine experienced less complacence. \u201cEf ennybody ain\u2019t got no\nbaby, an\u2019 feels like adoptin\u2019 one ter take trouble about, jes\u2019 let \u2019em\ngit \u2019em a settin\u2019 o\u2019 aigs an\u2019 hatch out some fall deedies. They\u2019ll be ez\nmuch trouble ez twins!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhyn\u2019t you-uns stay ter the meetin\u2019 ter the church-house, Eudory?\u201d\ndemanded Alethea.\n\nThe little girl, kneeling on the hearth, anxiously adjusted a broom straw\non the egg to see if it were done,\u2014when, according to culinary tradition,\nthe straw would turn; she glanced up with her charming smile showing her\nsnaggled little teeth.\n\n\u201c\u2019Gustus Tom wouldn\u2019t bide,\u201d she declared.\n\n\u201cWaal, now, \u2019Gustus Tom oughter begin ez early ez he kin,\u201d said Mrs.\nPurvine. \u201cSech ez \u2019Gustus Tom hev a mighty wrastle with Satan \u2019fore\nthey git grace. \u2019Gustus Tom hev got a long way o\u2019 wickedness afore him.\nHe oughter be among them in early youth convicted o\u2019 sin an\u2019 afeard o\u2019\nSatan.\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw,\u201d said the child, sitting upright and staring steadily at the straw.\n\u201cHe be \u2019feared o\u2019 Pete Rood. An\u2019 he won\u2019t bide a-nigh the church-house.\u201d\n\nThe light of the fire was on her face. Its breath stirred her bright\nhair. Her chubby hand hovered about the egg in the ashes. Surely the\nstraw was turning at last.\n\n\u201cPete Rood is dead, Eudory,\u201d said Mrs. Purvine, rebukingly.\n\n\u201cIn the groun\u2019,\u201d said Eudory unequivocally.\n\nThe mention of him recalled to Alethea that momentous day of drawing the\njury, the mystery of Tad\u2019s fate, the hardships of Mink\u2019s duress, and\nfinally the calamity which he had brought upon himself.\n\nAlethea had taken off her bonnet, and sat down in the rocking-chair\nbefore the fire, her eyes fixed reflectively upon the great burning logs.\nThe interior of Mrs. Purvine\u2019s house always had a leisurely aspect;\nto-day it wore the added quiet and ease of Sunday stillness. It was\nevident that here no anxious female heart was \u201charried ter death,\u201d in\nyearnings for the perfecting of a theory of housekeeping.\n\nMrs. Purvine, sitting with her empty hands in her lap, once more\nrebuked sister Eudory, the decorums of the day giving a more stringent\ninterpretation to her code of manners.\n\n\u201cYe mustn\u2019t say \u2019Gustus Tom air \u2019feard o\u2019 Pete Rood, \u2019kase he air dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s what \u2019Gustus Tom say\u2014he say don\u2019t talk \u2019bout\u2019n it.\u201d Eudora looked\nup gravely. \u201cHe be wusser \u2019feard now \u2019n he war when Pete Rood war \u2019live.\u201d\n\nThere was a sudden hand on the latch, and \u2019Gustus Tom came hastily in.\n\n\u201cLook-a-hyar, sister Eudory!\u201d he cried remonstrantly, seizing her by the\narm, \u201cwhat ails ye ter let yer tongue break loose that-a-way? Shet up! Ye\npromised ye wouldn\u2019t tell.\u201d\n\nHe had an excited, grave, frightened look that was incongruous with the\nroguish cast of his features; his torn old hat was jauntily askew; his\nclothes were ragged; a single suspender seemed quite adequate to support\nso many holes; his shoes were broken. There was a distinct deprecation\nand anxiety in his face more pitiable than poverty, as he looked from one\nto the other of the women. He was evidently wondering how much of his\nsecrets the faithless sister Eudory had told. He could not control his\nfears. He broke out suddenly:\n\n\u201cHev she tole \u2019bout\u2019n what I done?\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine, who was jocose with children, and who could not appreciate\nat this stage of the disclosure that anything of moment impended, folded\nher arms slowly across her bosom, looked at him over her spectacles,\na great deal of the whites of her blue eyes showing, and with mock\nsolemnity nodded assent.\n\n\u201cWaal, waal\u2014did she tell \u2019bout\u2019n the\u2014the mill, too?\u201d\n\nAunt Dely shook her head in burlesque reproach. \u201cShe hev tole on ye,\n\u2019Gustus Tom. Yer wicked ways air made plain.\u201d\n\nHis eyes were wildly starting from his head; he caught his breath in\nquick gasps. The little girl first detected the genuine terror which he\nwas suffering, and as she held his hand she began to whimper and to lay\nher head against his ragged shirt-sleeve.\n\n\u201cOh, Mis\u2019 Purvine,\u201d cried \u2019Gustus Tom, \u201cI never knowed aforehand how\n\u2019twar goin\u2019 ter turn out, else I\u2019d never hev gone thar that night, an\u2019 I\nwouldn\u2019t hev knowed no mo\u2019 \u2019bout who bust down the mill \u2019n nobody else!\u201d\n\n\u201cDidn\u2019t Mink bust the mill down?\u201d asked Mrs. Purvine, staring.\n\n\u201cNaw,\u201d said \u2019Gustus Tom, miserably, \u201cMink never.\u201d\n\nAunt Dely suddenly sat upright, and took her spectacles from her\nastonished eyes. She was about to speak sharply, but met Alethea\u2019s\nwarning glance, and desisted.\n\n\n\n\nXXII.\n\n\nConscience, the great moral inquisitor, whose sessions are held in\nsecret, whose absolute justice is untempered by mercy, whose processes\nare unrelated and superior to the laws of the land, makes manifest\nits decrees only at such long intervals that we are prone to consider\ntheir results exceptional. Although its measures are invariably meted,\nthey are seldom so plainly set forth as in Peter Rood\u2019s fate. Alethea,\nlistening to \u2019Gustus Tom\u2019s story, saw in aghast dismay how he had been\npursued by those terrible potencies of the right which he had sought\nto disregard. Many things that had been vague were made distinct. She\nunderstood suddenly the meaning of the strange words he had spoken at\nthe camp-meeting, when his spiritual struggles had nearly betrayed him.\nShe divined the mingled fear and self-reproach, and at the same time the\ncowardly gratulation he experienced because of his fancied security, when\nentrapped to serve on the jury. She remembered with a new comprehension\nhis joyous excitement when it appeared that the idiot boy had not been\ndrowned, and the pallid anguish on his face as the lawyer dexterously\nreversed the probabilities. It might seem that he had expiated his deed,\nbut the extremest penalties were not abated. He had been a pillar in the\nchurch, renowned for a certain insistent piety, and zealous to foster\ngood repute among men; and this last possession that he held dear upon\nearth, which may be maintained even by a dead man, who can carry naught\nout of the world, was wrested from him.\n\nThe truth which he had so feared, which he had so labored to hide, over\nwhich the grave had seemed to close, was at last brought to light by very\nsimple means.\n\nOn the eventful morning, the miller\u2019s erratic grandson, awaking early, he\nknew not why, had sought to utilize the occurrence by robbing an owl\u2019s\nnest in the hollow of a tree beside the mill. The day had not yet dawned,\nand he hoped that one or the other of the great birds would be away on\nits nocturnal foragings, so that he might the more easily secure the\nowlet, which he had long wanted for a pet. It was very still, \u2019Gustus Tom\nsaid. The frogs by the water had ceased their croaking; the katydids were\nsilenced long ago; he heard only the surging monotone of the gleaming\ncascade falling over the natural dam. He had climbed the tree to the\nlower limbs, and had perched on one of them to rest for a moment, when\nthere broke upon the air the sound of the galloping of a horse far away,\napproaching at a tremendous rate of speed. Presently he came into view,\nhis head stretched forward, his coat flecked with foam, his rider plying\nboth heel and whip.\n\nThis rider was Peter Rood, whom \u2019Gustus Tom knew well, as he often came\nto the mill. He dismounted hastily, close to the water-side. He walked\nuncertainly, even pausing sometimes to steady himself by holding to\nthe supports of the old mill. He was evidently very drunk, and thus it\nappeared to \u2019Gustus Tom the less surprising that he should drag two or\nthree fence rails stranded on the margin of the river,\u2014which was high\nand full of floating rubbish,\u2014and laboriously place them in a position\nto cumber the wheel; an empty barrel, too, he found and put to this use,\nsome poles, drift-wood. He paused after a careful survey of his work, and\nheld up his head, looking away toward the east, as if he were listening.\nIt seemed to \u2019Gustus Tom, all veiled by the dew-tipped chestnut leaves,\nthat Rood was strangely intent of purpose for a drunken man. He heard,\nlong before the boy did, some monition of approach in the distance, for\nhe caught eagerly at his horse\u2019s bridle. Yet he was drunk enough to find\ndifficulty in mounting. As the animal swerved, he was obliged to grasp\nthe stirrup with one hand in order to steady it, so that he could put\nhis foot in it; then he flung his right leg over the saddle, and away he\nwent along the grassy margin of the road,\u2014noiseless, swift, dark, like\nsome black shadow, some noxious exhalation of the night.\n\n\u2019Gustus Tom explained at this point, with tears and many anxious\ntwistings of the button on his shirt front,\u2014which was quite useless, the\ncorrelative button-hole being torn out,\u2014that he understood so little of\nwhat all this meant at the time that it seemed to him the only important\npoint involved was to remember to tell his grandfather early in the day\nof Pete Rood\u2019s drunken freak of clogging the mill-wheel. He did not call\nout and make his presence known, because he was frightened by the man\u2019s\nstrange conduct and terrible look. As he still sat meditating on the limb\nof the tree, the sound which had aroused Peter Rood again broke upon the\nsilence. Once more the regular thud of hoofs\u2014of many hoofs. The pace was\nfar slower than the rattling gallop at which Pete Rood had come. There\nwere several men in the group that presently appeared. \u2019Gustus Tom knew\nsome of them,\u2014he couldn\u2019t help knowing Mink Lorey from far off; he looked\nso wild and gamesome; the moonlight was on his face and all his hair was\nflying. He knew Mink well. Mink it was who climbed the timbers of the\nrace and lifted the gate. And once more \u2019Gustus Tom, with quivering lips\nand twisting the futile button on his shirt front, began to exculpate\nhimself. He did not understand what Mink was about to do until the gate\nwas lifted and the water surged through. The wheel, turning with its\ncuriously contrived clogs, jerked spasmodically, gave sudden violent\nwrenches, finally breaking and crashing against the shanty, that itself\ntottered and careened and fell. He heard Tad scream, for the idiot,\nhaving incurred the miller\u2019s displeasure during the day, had been locked\nin the mill, supperless, to sleep. \u2019Gustus Tom did not see the boy in the\nriver, because of the falling timbers, the clouds of dust and flour and\nmeal, and the commotion of the water. The men galloped away, Mink among\nthem. For the house had been alarmed by the noise; old Griff ran out,\nwringing his hands and crying aloud, first for the loss of the mill, then\nfor the fate of the idiot. The others of the family came, too. \u2019Gustus\nTom easily slipped down unobserved from the tree, in the midst of the\nexcitement, and no one was aware, except sister Eudory, that he knew more\nthan the rest. Lately she had noticed that he was afraid of the dark and\nwould not sit alone; and she had begun to say so much of this that he was\nalarmed lest she might excite the suspicions of others. And so, thinking\nshe would keep his secret,\u2014he would have divulged it to no one else,\u2014he\ntold her that he was afraid of Peter Rood, who was dead, and who perhaps\nhad found out in the other world that he knew the secret, and would come\nand haunt him to make sure that he did not reveal it. And at the renewal\nof these ghastly terrors \u2019Gustus Tom bent his head upon his arm, and\nbegan to sob afresh.\n\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t ye tell at fust, \u2019Gustus Tom?\u201d asked Alethea, her mind\nfutilely reviewing the complications that circumstance had woven about\nMink Lorey.\n\n\u2019Gustus Tom lifted his head, a gleam of this world\u2019s acumen shining\nthrough the tears in his eyes.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019d hev walloped the life out\u2019n me, ef I hed told. He kem nigh every\nday ter the mill arterward, whenst they war a-s\u2019archin\u2019 fur the body. An\u2019\nhis eyes looked so black an\u2019 mad an\u2019 cur\u2019ous whenst he cut \u2019em round at\nme, I \u2019lowed he knowed what I knowed. An\u2019 I war afeard o\u2019 him.\u201d\n\nAunt Dely could not be altogether repressed. \u201cWaal, \u2019Gustus Tom, ye air\na bad aig,\u201d she remarked, politely. \u201cYe ter know all that whenst ye war\ndown thar at Shaftesville, along o\u2019 yer gran\u2019dad, an\u2019 seen them men\na-talkin\u2019 by the yard-medjure, an\u2019 a-cavortin\u2019 \u2019bout in the court, ez\nprideful ez ef thar brains war ez nimble ez thar tongues; an\u2019 ye look at\n\u2019em try Mink fur bustin\u2019 down the mill an\u2019 drowndin\u2019 Tad, an\u2019 ye ter know\nez Pete Rood done it,\u2014an\u2019 ye say nuthin\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said \u2019Gustus Tom, sorely beset, \u201che war a-settin\u2019 thar in the\ncheer; he could hev told hisself.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhyn\u2019t ye tell arter he drapped dead?\u201d suggested the politic Mrs.\nPurvine.\n\nThe boy winced at the recollection. \u201cHe looked so awful!\u201d he said,\nputting up his hand to his eyes as if to shut out the image presented. \u201cI\nwar \u2019feared he\u2019d harnt me.\u201d\n\nIt occurred to sister Eudora that this investigation was degenerating\ninto a persecution of \u2019Gustus Tom. She had looked from one to the other\nin grave excitement and with a flushing face, as she stood on the hearth,\nthe breath from the fire waving her flaxen hair, hanging upon her\nshoulders.\n\nSuddenly, with an accession of color, she stepped across the broad,\nill-joined stones, and, fixing a threatening eye on Mrs. Purvine\u2019s\nmoon-face, she lifted her fat hand, and retributively smote that lady on\nthe knee.\n\n\u2019Gustus Tom had never manifested any special desire to suit his own\nconduct to a high standard of deportment, but he appeared to entertain\nthe most sedulous solicitude concerning sister Eudory\u2019s manners, and to\nbe jealous that she should be esteemed the pink of juvenile propriety.\nHis mortification at the present lapse was very great. It expressed\nitself in such unequivocal phrase, such energetic shakings of his\ntow-head, which seemed communicated, with diminished rigor, however,\nto her plump little shoulders,\u2014for he went through all the motions of\ndiscipline,\u2014that Mrs. Purvine, beaming with injudicious laughter, was\nforced to interfere. Her indulgence did not serve to reassure sister\nEudory, who stood dismayed at the fullness of fraternal displeasure.\nShe presently put her hands before her eyes, although she did not shed\ntears, and thus she was led toward the door, to be taken home as unfit\nfor polite society. Mrs. Purvine hurried after her, carrying the roasted\negg\u2014which was very hot, in its shell\u2014between two chips, and further\npressing upon her a present of a sweet-potato, an ear of pop-corn, and a\nyoung kitten, all of which sister Eudory, regardless of the animate and\nthe inanimate, the hot and the cold, carried together in her apron. The\naffront was but a slight matter to aunt Dely, whose lenient temperament\nprecluded her from viewing it as an enormity; but as the brother and\nsister went away in humiliation, one could well guess that sister Eudora\nwould be a woman grown before she would be allowed to contemplate with\nindifference the dreadful day when she \u201chit Mis\u2019 Purvine.\u201d\n\nIn whatever manner it might have seemed judicious to make use, in Mink\u2019s\ninterest, of the disclosures of Peter Rood\u2019s agency in the destruction\nof the mill, anything like caution, or reserve, or secrecy was rendered\nimpossible by the circumstance that it was Mrs. Purvine who shared in the\ndiscovery of the fact. For weeks no one passed the house, going or coming\non the winding road, whom she did not descry through the worldly glass\nwindows,\u2014which thus demonstrated an additional justification for their\nexistence,\u2014and whom she did not hail with a loud outcry from the unsteady\nflight of steps, and bring to a not unwilling pause as she hurried out to\nthe fence, with her glib tongue full of words. There was no weather too\ncold for the indulgence of this gossip. Sometimes aunt Dely would merely\nfling her apron over her head, if the exigency suggested haste; or she\nwould hood herself with her shawl, like a cowled friar, and stand in the\nsnow, defiant of the rigors of the temperature. More often, however, the\npasser-by would suffer himself to be persuaded to come in and sit down\nby aunt Dely\u2019s fire, and discuss with her all the details so tardily\nelicited. Pete Rood\u2019s death, considered as a judgment upon him, was a\nfavorite point of contemplation, offering that symmetrical exposition\nof cause and effect, sin and retribution, peculiarly edifying to the\nobdurate in heart and acceptable to the literalist in religion. So much\nwas said on this subject at the store, and the blacksmith-shop, and the\nsaw-mill,\u2014those places where the mountain cronies most congregated,\u2014that\nit came to the ear of Rood\u2019s relatives with all the added poignancy of\ncomment. They indignantly maintained that only the ingenuity of malice\ncould feign to attach any special meaning to the moment or manner of his\ndeath, for it was widely known that he had for years suffered from a\nserious affection of the heart; they stigmatized the whole story as an\neffort to blacken his name in order to clear Mink Lorey. Their attitude\nand sentiment enlisted a certain sympathy, and it was only when they were\nnot of the company that the counter-replication was made that it was a\nsupremely significant moment when Peter Rood\u2019s doom fell upon him, and\nthat it behooves those who sit in the shadow of death to be not easily\ndiverted from the true interpretation of the darkling signs of the wrath\nof God.\n\nIt was a scene of pathetic interest when his aged mother, resolved\nupon forcing a recantation, came herself to the miller\u2019s home. A dark,\nwithered, white-haired crone she was, with a hooked nose and a keen,\nfierce, intent eye that suggested strength of mind and purpose defying\nage and ailments. She shrewdly questioned the boy, and sought to involve\nhim in discrepancies and to elicit some admission that the story had\nbeen prompted by Alethea Sayles. Her dark-browed sons stood about the\ngreat white-covered ox-wagon, their bemired boots drawn high over\ntheir trousers, their broad hats pulled down to their lowering eyes,\nmaintaining a sedulous silence. So strong a family resemblance existed\nbetween them and the dead man that \u2019Gustus Tom was greatly perturbed\nas from time to time he glanced at them; looking away instantly with a\nresolution to see them no more, and yet again with a morbid fascination\nturning his eyes to meet theirs, before whose dark and solemn anger he\nquailed. Now and then the sobs would burst from him, and he would lay his\nhead on his arm against the rails, as he cowered in the fence corner;\nfor the old woman would not enter the miller\u2019s house, but stood upon\nthe frozen crust of snow by the roadside, and looked upon the denuded\nsite of the mill, and the turbulent river, and the austere bleak bluffs\non the opposite bank. The miller peered out from his door, himself the\nimpersonation of winter, his snowy locks and beard falling about his\nrugged face; the desolate little shanty was plainly to be seen among the\nnaked and writhen boughs of the orchard, that bore only snow and icicles\nin the stead of the bloom and fruit they had known.\n\nCross-questioning, threats, all the devices of suggestion, availed\nnaught. The terrible story once told, \u2019Gustus Tom found the pluck somehow\nto stand by it without other support than the uncognizant affection of\nsister Eudory; for the shallow Sophy cared for none of it. She came to\nthe door once to lead the old man within from the piercing wind, and she\nlingered for a moment, her golden hair flying in the blast; her placid\nblue eyes and superficial smile underwent no change when the old woman\nturned away, baffled and hopeless and stricken.\n\n\u201cI \u2019lowed my son war dead,\u201d she said to the cluster of gossips who\nhad assisted at the colloquy. She shook her head as she leaned upon\nher stick, and hobbled down across the frozen ruts of the road toward\nthe wagon. \u201cI \u2019lowed my son war dead, an\u2019 I mourned him. But I said\nthe words of a fool, for he war alive; the best part of him, his good\nname, war lef\u2019 ter me. An\u2019 now he air beset, an\u2019 druv, an\u2019 run down ter\ndeath,\u2014fur ye air a-murderin\u2019 of him in takin\u2019 his good name. Lemme know,\nneighbors,\u201d\u2014she turned, with her hand upon the wheel,\u2014\u201cwhen the deed air\nfairly done, so ez I kin gin myself ter mournin\u2019 my son, fur then he\u2019ll\nbe plumb dead.\u201d\n\nThe two dark-browed brothers said never a word; the slow oxen started;\nthe wagon moved creaking down the road toward the snowy mountains, with\ntheir whitened slopes and black trees, and gray shadows.\n\nThe public sentiment excited in favor of Mink Lorey by the developments\nduring his trial, and which had expressed itself in the riot and attempt\nat a rescue, had sustained a rebuff consequent upon his assault on\nJudge Gwinnan. Nevertheless, it is difficult to nullify a popular\nprepossession, and the discovery that the young mountaineer had been\nthe victim of the machinations of the true criminal, that he had been\nplaced in jeopardy, had suffered many months\u2019 imprisonment, had still\nlonger duress in prospect, served to justify him in some sort, and\nreinstated him in the feelings of the people, never very logical. All\nthe details of the trial were canvassed anew with reviviscent interest.\nNow that the veil of mystery was torn from it, there seemed still other\ninculpations involved. It would appear to imply some gross negligence,\nsome intentional spite, some grotesque perversion of justice, that the\ncriminal should have been one of the jury impaneled to try an innocent\nman. The fact itself was shocking. It was significant that only through\naccident had it come to light, and it augured grievous insecurity of\nliberty, life and property.\n\nMr. Harshaw, who had returned to Shaftesville upon the adjournment, for\na few days, of the Legislature, was not slow to note the direction and\nprogress of popular favor. In the state of his feelings toward Gwinnan,\nhe had no great impulse to combat the position taken by the unlearned\nthat it was a grave dereliction on the part of the court that Pete Rood\nhad been admitted to the panel. Why should he expound the theory of\njudicial challenges, the conclusiveness of the _voir dire_, in instances\nof general eligibility? He truly believed that in the incarceration\nof the jury Gwinnan had sacrificed the interests of the defense and\na favorable verdict, and as he felt much reminiscent interest in the\ndetails of his cases, he could listen with all the relish of mental\naffirmation to the denunciations of the stranger judge, who was often\nprofanely apostrophized and warned to show his head no more in Cherokee\nCounty.\n\n\u201cSomebody besides Mink Lorey\u2019ll try ter beat some sense inter it, ef\nhe do,\u201d said Bylor. The bitterness of the affront offered to the jury\nby their imprisonment had grown more poignant as time went on, for\nwhile the general excitement had gradually subsided, the fact remained.\nNot one of the unlucky panel, venturing from time to time into town\nwith peltry, or game, or produce for sale, could escape the gibes and\nlaughter of retrospective ridicule. The dignity of the interests involved\nhad ceased to be a shield to them. Even the acrimony excited by their\nfailure to agree had yielded to light sarcasm and jocose scorn,\u2014not\nill-natured, perhaps, but sufficiently nettling to proud and sensitive\nmen whom accident had succeeded in immuring behind the bars. Everywhere\nthe subject lurked in ambuscade,\u2014in the stores, at the tavern, on the\nstreets. The jailer was the most hospitable man alive. \u201cWhen\u2019ll ye\nkem an\u2019 take pot-luck agin, gentlemen?\u201d he would hail them in chance\nencounters. \u201cMy door air easy ter open\u2014_from the outside_.\u201d Or he would\ncall out, with a roguish twinkle in his brown eyes, \u201cHow\u2019s \u2019rithmetic up\nin the cove?\u201d in allusion to the unlucky thirteen on the panel. It seemed\nto them that humiliation was their portion, and the festive and gala\noccasion known as \u201cgoin\u2019 ter town,\u201d which had hitherto been so replete\nwith excitement and interest, and was in the nature of a tour and a\nrecompense of toil, had resolved itself into a series of mortifications.\n\nHarshaw\u2019s law-office proved in some sort a refuge to the coterie, as\nit had always been more or less a resort. It had some of the functions\nof a club-house, and its frequenters felt hardly less at home than its\nproprietor. He was a man difficult to be taken amiss by his country\nfriends. He had a sonorous, hearty greeting for whoever came. If he were\nat work, half a dozen sprawling fellows talking about his fireside were\nno hindrance to the flow of his thought, the scratch of his pen, or the\nchase of some elusive bit of legal game through the pages of a law-book.\nMore often he bore a part in the conversation. The bare floor defied the\nred clay mire that came in with the heavy boots; the broken bricks in\nthe hearth were not more unsightly in his eyes for the stains of tobacco\njuice. The high mantelpiece was ornamented by a box of tobacco, a can of\nkerosene, and an untrimmed lamp that asserted its presence in unctuous\nodors. There were some of the heavy books of his profession in a case,\nand many more lying in piles on the floor, near the walls, defenseless\nagainst the borrower. There was a window on one side of the office, and\nanother opening upon the street. At this a face was often applied, with\na pair of hands held above the eyes to shut out the light, that the\npasser-by might scan the interior, perchance to see if someone sought\nwere within; perchance merely to regale an idle curiosity. The unique\nproceeding occasioned no comment and gave no offense. An open door showed\nan inner apartment, where consultations were held when too important for\nthe ear of the indiscriminate groups in the main office, and where there\nwas a lounge, on which he slept during court week, or when political\nbusiness was too brisk to admit of his driving out to his home on his\nfarm, some miles from the town.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Harshaw, tilting his chair back upon its hind legs until\nit creaked and quaked with the weight, and clasping both hands behind\nhis yellow head, \u201cI wonder you ain\u2019t willing for Gwinnan to be a fool,\nconsidering what Mink got for beating his skull into a different shape.\u201d\n\nThe county boasted no weekly newspaper, and without it the news was a\nlaggard. Ben Doaks looked up with interest; Bylor paused expectant. Jerry\nPrice, too, was present, for there was an unusual number from the coves\nin town\u2014this was county court week, and the crowd assembled offered\nspecial facilities for trading stock and small commodities.\n\nThe hickory logs crackled on the hearth above the gleaming coals, and the\nwhite and yellow flames were broadly flaring; great beds of gray ashes\nlay beneath, for they were seldom removed; the murmurous monotone of the\nfire filled the pause.\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d said Harshaw, taking his pipe from his lips and knocking\nthe ashes from the bowl, \u201cMink got a sentence for twenty years in the\npenitentiary for assault with intent to commit murder.\u201d\n\nThere was dead silence. The clay pipe that Jerry Price was smoking fell\nfrom his hands unheeded, and broke into fragments on the hearth. This\nknowledge affected the group more than the news of Mink\u2019s death might\nhave done. That at least was uncertain. The mind flags and fails to\nfollow in the journey to the unknown the spirit that has quitted the\nfamiliar flesh,\u2014the entity for which it has merely a name, an impression,\nan illusion of acquaintance. But this sordid, definite fact, this\nmeasure of desolation bounded by four walls, this hopeless rage, this\nmental revulsion from ignominy, all were of mortal experience and easily\nimagined.\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d resumed Harshaw, his florid face grave but firm. He had the\nair of a man whose feelings have been schooled to calmness, but who\nprotests against a fact. \u201cI did what I could for Mink. I couldn\u2019t defend\nhim myself,\u2014couldn\u2019t leave the interests of my constituents in the House\nfor the sake of an individual; but I put the case in Jerome Maupert\u2019s\nhands. Maupert couldn\u2019t help it. Mink was locking the door of the state\nprison and double-locking it every time he lifted his hand to strike\nGwinnan. A _judge_, you know,\u201d\u2014he rolled his eyes significantly at the\ngroup,\u2014\u201ca judge is a mighty big man, and Mink is just a poor mountain\nboy.\u201d\n\nHe stuck his pipe into his mouth again, and vigorously puffed it into a\nglow.\n\n\u201cThe crowd in court cheered when the jury gave their verdict,\u201d he said.\n\nThe group looked at each other with quick, offended glances; then lapsed\ninto gazing at the fire and contemplating the circumstances.\n\n\u201c\u2019Pears like ez nobody kin git even with Gwinnan right handy,\u201d said\nBylor. \u201cEf \u2019twarn\u2019t fur makin\u2019 bad wuss fur Mink, I\u2019d wisht ez he hed\nkilled him.\u201d\n\n\u201cShucks!\u201d said Harshaw scornfully. \u201cGwinnan thinks he\u2019s mighty popular\nwith the people. He\u2019s always doing the humbugging and bamboozling dodge.\nJust before I left Glaston the attorney-general\u2014Kenbigh, you know\u2014showed\nme a letter from Judge Gwinnan asking him to take no notice of Mink\u2019s\nassault, as he wasn\u2019t willing to prosecute.\u201d\n\nHe brought his chair down with a thump on its forelegs, and looked about\nthe circle, his roseate plump face full of bantering sarcasm.\n\n\u201cWhat war his notion fur that?\u201d demanded Doaks, slowly possessing himself\nof the facts.\n\n\u201cTo impose on the people\u2014so good\u2014so lenient\u201d\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201cMighty lenient, sure!\u201d interpolated Bylor. He rubbed his wrist\nmechanically; he never was quite sure that he had not been shackled.\n\n\u201cLetter dated just about two weeks after Mink was sentenced,\u201d Harshaw\nsneered.\n\n\u201cWaal, who war the prosecutor, then?\u201d demanded Jerry Price, at a loss.\n\n\u201cWhy, of course they didn\u2019t wait for a prosecutor. Mink was tried on a\npresentment by the grand jury; and as the criminal court came on right\nstraight, Kenbigh just hurried him through. He\u2019s a regular blood-hound,\nKenbigh is.\u201d\n\nThere was a silence for a few moments. Several of the sticks of wood\nhad burned in two and fallen apart, and were sending up dull columns of\nsmoke, some of which puffed into the room,\u2014an old trick of the chimney\u2019s,\nif the testimony of the blackened ceiling be admitted.\n\n\u201cAs if,\u201d cried Harshaw, suddenly uncrossing and crossing his legs,\nreversing their position, \u201cGwinnan, of all the men in the world, wouldn\u2019t\nknow and think of that! But Kenbigh seemed to take it _all_ in,\u2014seemed\nto think \u2019twas Gwinnan\u2019s modesty. He showed me the answer he wrote to\nthe judge.\u201d Harshaw cast up his eyes meditatively to the ceiling, as\nif seeking to recall the words. \u201cHe begged to express his admiration\nof Judge Gwinnan\u2019s modesty in thinking that so serious an injury to\none of the most brilliant ornaments of the State judiciary could fail\nto be summarily punished, or would need his personal interposition as\nprosecutor.\u201d\n\nThey all listened with an absent air, as if the refusal to hear the\ncompliments nullified them.\n\nHarshaw gave a short, satirical laugh, showing his strong white teeth.\n\n\u201cI wisht ter Gawd that thar Gwinnan wanted ter go ter Congress, or sech,\nez would fling him \u2019fore the vote o\u2019 Cher\u2019kee County,\u2014it be in the same\ncongressional deestric\u2019 whar he hails from,\u2014I\u2019d show him,\u201d said Bylor,\nshaking his head with the savagery of supposititious revenge, and in\nthe full delusion of unbridled power characteristic of the free and\nindependent American unit. \u201c_I\u2019d_ show him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon everybody don\u2019t feel like we-uns do,\u201d said Jerry Price, who,\nalthough he smarted under the unmerited disgrace he had experienced at\nthe hands of Gwinnan, had submitted to it as a judicial necessity. Its\nrankling pangs were manifested only when, chancing to meet the foreman,\nJerry would ask, in a manner charged with interest and an affectation of\nmystery, whether he had had his tongue measured yet, and how many joints\nit had been ascertained to have.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re a little more disgruntled over in Kildeer than you are here,\u201d\nHarshaw declared. \u201cYou\u2019d allow the court-room was a distric\u2019 school, if\nyou could know the way he domineers over there. I always look to see the\nlearned counsel put his finger in his mouth and whine when Gwinnan gets\non the rampage.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, look-a-hyar, Mr. Harshaw,\u201d demanded Bylor, \u201cdo you-uns call this a\nfree country? Ain\u2019t thar no way o\u2019 stoppin\u2019 him off? Goin\u2019 ter hev five\nmo\u2019 years o\u2019 him on the bench?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019ll be impeached some day, mark my words,\u201d Harshaw declared; and\nthen he fell to eying the smoking fire with slow, sullen, vengeful\nspeculation, and for the rest of the day he was not such jovial company\nas his general repute for good-fellowship might promise.\n\nIn this interval of leisure which the recess afforded him, both as\nlegislator and lawyer, Harshaw devoted himself to furthering his\npolitical prospects and strengthening his hold upon the predilections\nof the people. He was a man of many mental and moral phases: he sang\nloud and long at the revival at the cross-roads church; he attended\nrural merry-makings; he connived at having his own house \u201cstormed\u201d by\na surprise party, the preparations being profuse and exhilarating, and\nthe flavor of his hospitality was not impaired by his shaking hands\nwith his guests, and violently promising to vote for them at the next\nelection, each enlightened and independent citizen being himself not\nquite clear as to who was the prospective candidate: but the whole\nepisode faded from recollection with the evening, mingling with the\nvain phantasmagoria of wild elation, and subsequent drowsiness, and\nretributive headache, and physical repentance. He went on a camp hunt\nwith a party of roaring blades. The weather in the changeful Southern\nwinter had turned singularly fine and dry; the air had all the crisp\nbuoyancy of autumn and all the freshness of spring; fires drowsed on\nhearths; doors stood ajar; the sunshine was pervasive, warm, languorous,\nimbued with pensive vernal illusions. One might wonder to see the silent\nsere grass; were there indeed no whirring songs, no skittering points of\nlight, hovering in mazy tangles, and telling the joy that existence might\nprove to the tiniest insect life? Birds? The trees were empty, but one\nmust look to make sure: only the rising quail from the clumps of withered\nweeds; only the infrequent cry of the wild turkey down the bare, sunny\nvistas of the woods. The shadows of the deciduous trees were spare and\nlinear, distinctly traced on the brown ground or upon the gray rock. In\nthese fine curves and strokes of dendritic scripture a graceful sylvan\nidyl might perchance be deciphered by the curious. But the dense masses\nof laurel and the darkling company of pines cloaked themselves in their\nencompassing gloom, in these bright days as ever, and in their shade the\ndank smell and the depressing chill attested the winter. Vague shimmers\nhung about the mountains, blue in the distance, garnet and brown and\nblack close at hand. The terrible heights and unexplored depths, the\nvast, sheer, precipitous descents, the titanic cliffs, the breadth, the\nmuscle, the tremendous velocity of the torrents hurling down the gorges,\ngave august impressions of space unknown to the redundant richness of the\nsummer woods. There were vistas of incomparable amplitude, as still,\nwith the somnolent sunshine and the sparse shadow, as if they were some\nluminous effect on a canvas, painted in dark and light browns, graduated\nthrough the tints of the sere leaf in ascendant transition to the pale\ngold of the sunbeams; affording, despite the paucity of detail, an\necstasy to the sense of color.\n\nIt was a moment of pre\u00ebminent consequence to Harshaw one day, when far\nup a stately avenue a deer appeared with the suddenness of an illusion,\nyet giving so complete a realization of its presence that the very\nfullness and splendor of its surprised eyes left their impression. Then,\nas in some jugglery of the senses, the animal with consummate grace and\nlightness, vanished, bounding through the laurel.\n\nThe wind was adverse and the hounds did not readily catch the scent.\nA few tentative, melancholy yelps of uncertainty arose; then a deep,\nmusical, bell-like bay, another, and the pack opened with a great\nswelling, oscillating cry, that the mountains echoed as with a thousand\nvoices, and in a vast compass of tone. The mounted men, hallooing to\none another, dashed off in different directions, making through the\nwoods towards various \u201cstands\u201d which the deer might be expected to pass.\nNow and then the horn sounded to recall the stragglers,\u2014inexpressibly\nstirring tones, launched from crag to crag, from height to height;\nfar-away ravines repeated the summons with a fine and delicate mystery of\nresonance, rendered elusive and idealized, till one might believe that\nnever yet did such sound waves float from the prosaic cow-horn of the\nmountaineer.\n\nHarshaw\u2019s pursuits had not been those of a Nimrod, and although a\ngood horseman and a fair marksman, he had found himself at a grievous\ndisadvantage with others of the party who were mountaineers and crack\nshots. Stimulated by rivalry, they had achieved prodigies in instances of\nquickness of sight and unerring aim in unpropitious, almost impossible\ncircumstances. They had already had some good sport, in which he\nhad acquitted himself creditably enough; but his inexperience and\nignorance of the topography of the country had given him some occasion\nto perceive that without more familiarity with the localities he could\nnot fully enjoy a camp hunt. He was not surprised when, becoming\ninvolved in an almost impenetrable tangle of the laurel, he lost his\ncompanions, who got over the broken ground with an amazing swiftness,\ndivination of direction, and quickness of resource. He drew rein upon\nemerging, and listened to the baying hounds: now loud, now faint and\nfar away; now sharply yelping for the lost trail, and again lifting the\nexultant, bell-like cry of bated triumph. He despaired of rejoining his\nfriends till the deer was lost or killed, and, remembering the pluck\nof the _personnel_ of the diversion, of the deer, the hounds, and the\nmountaineers, he reflected that this result might not soon ensue.\n\nThe echoes infinitely confused the sounds, giving no reliable suggestion\nof the direction which the hunt was taking. He pushed on for a time\u2014a\nlong time, his watch told him\u2014in the complete silence of the wintry\nwoods. He began to experience a dull growing apprehensiveness. He had\nno faint approximative conjecture concerning the locality; there was no\npath, not even a herders\u2019 trail. He could himself establish no landmark\nby which he might be guided. There was a lavish repetitiousness in the\nscene: grand as it might be with scarred cliffs and sudden chasms and\nstupendous trees, it was presented anew with prolific magnificence forty\nyards further, and ride as he might he seemed to make no progress. As\ntime passed, there recurred to his recollection instances\u2014rare, it is\ntrue, but as uninviting to the imagination as infrequent\u2014of men who have\nbeen lost in these fastnesses, trained woodsmen, herders, the familiars\nof the wild nature into whose penetralia even they had ventured too\nfar. A handful of bleaching bones might tell the story, or perhaps the\nmysterious disappearance would be explained by much circling of birds of\nprey. Mr. Harshaw felt a sudden violent appreciation of the methods and\ninterests and affluent attractiveness of the civilized world. He could\nnot sufficiently condemn his folly in venturing out of its beaten track;\nin leaving, even for a space, the things he loved for the things he cared\nnot for. The scene was inexpressibly repugnant to him; the woods closed\nhim in so frowningly; his mind recoiled from the stern, Gorgon-like\nfaces of the crags on every hand. The wintry sunlight was reddening; he\ncould see only the zenith through the dense forest, and upon its limited\nsection were interposed many interlacing outlines of the bare boughs;\nnevertheless, he was aware that the sky was clouding. The wind did not\nstir; the woods were appallingly still; there was no sound of horn or\nhounds; the chase had gone like a phantom hunt,\u2014suddenly evoked, as\nsuddenly disappearing.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII.\n\n\nAs Harshaw paused to let his mare breathe, an abrupt sound smote his ear;\nhe lifted his head to listen. It was the fitful clank of a cow-bell\u2014and\nagain; nearer than he had thought at first. He experienced infinite\nrelief. The prosaic jangling had a welcome significance. It intimated\nthe vicinity of some dwelling-place, for at this season the cattle are\nnot at large in the withered pasturage of the mountain. He heard the\nbushes cracking at a little distance; he pressed his reluctant mare\nin that direction, through a briery tangle, over the trunks of fallen\ntrees, pausing now and then to listen to the sound. Suddenly there\nwas a great thwack; a thick human tongue stammered a curse. There was\nsomething strange and repellent and unnatural in the mouthing tones. The\nnext moment he understood. The laurel gave way into the open aisles of\nthe brown woods; a red suffusion of the sunset lingered among the dark\nboles on the high slopes, contending with, rather than illuminating,\nthe lucent yellow tints on the dead leaves. A red cow shambled along at\na clumsy run amidst the pervasive duskiness, that was rather felt than\nseen; and driving her with a long hickory sprout was a tall mountain boy,\nwho turned his head at the sound of the hoofs behind him, showing under\nthe bent and drooping brim of an old white hat a pale and flabby face,\non which pitiless nature had fixed the stamp of denied intelligence.\nHe gazed, with open mouth and starting eyes, at the horseman; then,\nregardless of Harshaw\u2019s friendly hail, he dropped his stick, and with a\nstrange, unearthly howl he fled along the woodland ways like a frightened\ndeer. He plunged into the laurel, and was out of sight in a moment.\n\nHarshaw began to drive the cow along, hoping she would take the\nfamiliar barn-yard way. He could hardly gauge his relief when, almost\nimmediately, he saw before him a rail-fence; and yet he had an accession\nof irritation because of the folly, the futility, of the whole mishap.\nHis consciousness was so schooled to the exactions of political life that\nhe experienced a sort of grotesque shame as if the misadventure were\nalready added to the capital of a political opponent expert in the art of\nridicule.\n\nNo one was visible in the little clearing. Smoke, however, was curling\nbriskly from the chimney of a log hut; there was a barn of poles hard by,\nevidently well filled. Harshaw hallooed, with no response save that his\nhearty voice roused the dogs; they came trooping from under the house and\nfrom out of it, sharply barking, although two or three, still drowsy,\npaused to stretch themselves to a surprising length and to yawn with a\nvast dental display. The cow went in by the way, doubtless, that she\nhad come out, stepping over the fence, where a number of rails had been\nthrown off. Harshaw, thinking it as well to encounter the dogs within the\ninclosure as without, followed her example, the mare resisting slightly,\nand stumbling over those of the rails that lay upon the ground. He saw\nthat his approach had occasioned a commotion within the house; there was\na vague flutter of skirts elusively appearing and disappearing. Across\nthe doorway, low down, were nailed wooden slats, doubtless to restrain\nthe excursiveness of a small child, who suddenly thrust his head over\nthem, and was instantly snatched back by some invisible hand.\n\nNevertheless, the inhabitants were presently induced to hold a parley,\nperhaps because of Harshaw\u2019s manifest determination to force an entrance,\ndespite the dogs that leaped and yelped about his stirrup irons, their\nvocal efforts more shrilly keyed as his whip descended among them; for\nalthough he held his revolver cocked, he was too shrewd a politician to\npresent its muzzle to a mountaineer\u2019s dog save in the direst emergency. A\nwoman suddenly appeared at the door. She looked at him with so keen and\ndoubtful a gaze, with a gravity so forbidding, a silence so significant,\nthat, accustomed as he was to the hospitable greeting and smile of\nwelcome that graces the threshold of every home of the region, however\nhumble, he lost for the moment his ready assurance. When he told her\nof his plight, she received the statement with the chilling silence of\nincredulity. Nevertheless, upon his request for shelter for the night\nand a guide the next morning, she did not refuse, as he had feared, but\ntold him in a spiritless way to \u201c\u2019light and hitch,\u201d and that the boy\nwould look after his horse. He strode up to the house, the dogs, suddenly\nall very friendly, at his heels, and stepped over the barricade that\nrestrained the adventurous juvenile who was now hanging upon it, looking\nwith eager interest at the world of the door-yard, which was a very wide\nworld to him. He followed Harshaw to his seat by the fire, eying with\ngreat persistence his boots and his spurs. The latter exerted upon him\nspecial fascinations, and he presently stooped down and applied a small\ninquisitive finger to the rowel. The interior was not unlike the other\nhomes of the region,\u2014two high beds, a ladder ascending to a chamber in\nthe roof, a rude table, a spinning-wheel, at which a gaunt, half-grown\ngirl was working as industriously as if oblivious of the stranger\u2019s\npresence. The woman sat with her arms folded, her eyes on the fire,\npondering deeply. A young man came to the back door, glanced in, and\nturned away.\n\nWhen the woman fixed her grave, wide, prominent eyes upon Harshaw, there\nwas something in their expression so unnerving that his refuge seemed\nhardly more comfortable than the savage wilderness without. But he said\nbluffly to himself that he had not stumped Kildeer and Cherokee for\nnothing; he rallied his traditions as a politician. Surely, he reflected,\nhe who could so beguile other men\u2019s adherents to vote for him could win\nhis way to a simple woman\u2019s friendship, if he tried.\n\nHe looked at the child and smiled, and said that the boy was \u201cmighty\npeart.\u201d He dropped into the vernacular as a conscious concession to the\nhabits of the \u201cplain people.\u201d\n\nThe woman\u2019s fierce face was transfigured. \u201cThat\u2019s a true word, stranger,\u201d\nshe said, beamingly. \u201cAn\u2019 Philetus ain\u2019t three year old yit, air he,\nSereny?\u201d\n\nThe girl in an abrupt, piping way confirmed the marvel, and Harshaw\nlooked again at Philetus, who had no sort of hesitancy in seeking to take\noff the spurs and convert them to his own use.\n\nHis mother went on: \u201cPhiletus, though, ain\u2019t nigh so pretty ez three\nothers I hed ez died. Yes, sir, we-uns lived up higher than this, on a\nmounting over yander thar.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou haven\u2019t been living here long?\u201d said Harshaw, merely by way of\nmaking talk.\n\nThe woman instantly resumed her stony, impassive manner. \u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t long\nnor short by some folkses\u2019 medjure,\u201d she said equivocally. She looked\nwatchfully at him from time to time. An old gray cat that sat on the\nwarm stones in the corner of the hearth, purring, and feigning to lift\nnow one of her fore-paws and then the other, eyed him with a round,\nyellow, somnolent stare, as if she too had a charge to keep him under\nsurveillance. She got up suddenly, arching her back, to affectionately\nrub against the great booted feet of the idiot, who came and leaned on\nthe chimney and gazed solemnly at the stranger. He was overgrown and\noverfat, and had a big, puffy, important face and a cavalier, arrogant\nmanner.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019 wanter,\u201d he said, in his thick, mouthing utterance, as the woman,\nonce more seeming flustered and anxious, told him to take the basket and\ngo out to the wood pile and fill it with chips.\n\nThe whir of the spinning-wheel was suddenly silent, and the girl, who\nofficiated as a sort of echo of her mother\u2019s words, a reflection of her\nactions, came and emptied the basket of the few bits of bark within it,\nand handed it to him.\n\n\u201cG\u2019 way, Sereny,\u201d he said good-naturedly, but declining the duty.\n\nThe unfathomable dispensation of idiocy, its irreconcilability with\nmundane theories of divine justice or mercy, its presentment at once\nrepellent and grotesque, has its morbid effect when confronted with\nsanity. Harshaw was a man neither of delicate instincts nor of any subtle\nendowment, but the contemplation of the great vacant face grimacing at\nhim, coupled with the singular influences of his reception, required\na recollection of the anguished anxiety he had experienced, the sound\nof the rising wind without, the sight of the whirling dead leaves, the\ngathering gloom of the cloudy dusk, to reconcile him to the conditions of\nhis refuge.\n\n\u201cWell, my man,\u201d he said, looking at the boy, \u201cwhat\u2019s _your_ name?\u201d\n\nThe idiot grinned importantly. \u201cTad,\u201d he stuttered thickly,\u2014\u201cTad\nSimpkins. What\u2019s yourn?\u201d\n\nHarshaw sat for a moment in stunned surprise. Then all the discomforts of\nthe situation vanished before the triumphs of this discovery. This\u2014this\ngreat, well-fed, hearty creature, the forlorn, maltreated idiot depicted\nby the evidence in Mink Lorey\u2019s trial; this, the pitiable boy drowned\nin the mill like a rat in a trap; this, the elusive spectre of the\nattorney-general\u2019s science! The next moment it occurred to him that he\nmust use special caution here; the motives that had led these people to\nharbor the idiot, if not to conceal him, were suspicious, and favored his\ntheory in the trial\u2014which he had adopted more from the poverty of his\nresources than a full credulity\u2014that the retirement of the boy reputed\ndrowned was prompted by a deep-seated enmity to Mink Lorey.\n\nHe turned to the woman, all his normal faculties on the alert.\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s a fact, Mrs. Simpkins; your son ain\u2019t plumb bright,\u2014I can\nsee that,\u2014but he\u2019s right there. I ought to tell you _my_ name.\u201d\n\n\u201cMine ain\u2019t Simpkins,\u201d said the woman suddenly, responding quickly to\nhis clever touch, \u201can\u2019 Tad thar ain\u2019t my son.\u201d She was mixing corn-meal\nbatter for bread in a wooden bowl; she stirred it energetically as she\nwent on with a sort of partisan acrimony: \u201cMebbe he ain\u2019t bright, ez ye\ncall it, but I ain\u2019t never hearn o\u2019 Tad doin\u2019 a mean thing yit,\u2014not ter\nthe chill\u2019n, nor dogs, nor cats, nor nuthin\u2019. He may be lackin\u2019 in the\nhead, but he ain\u2019t lackin\u2019 in the heart; thar\u2019s whar\u2019s the complaint o\u2019\nmos\u2019 folks ez ain\u2019t idjits. I dunno which air held gifted in the sight o\u2019\nthe Lord. \u2019Tain\u2019t in human wisdom ter say. Tad\u2019ll make a better show at\nthe jedgmint day\u2019n many folks ez \u2019low they hev hed thar senses through\nlife.\u201d\n\n\u201cAin\u2019t no idjit, nuther,\u201d protested Tad, gruffly.\n\n\u201cWell, my name\u2019s Harshaw\u2014Bob Harshaw.\u201d The guest leaned forward, with\nhis elbows on his knees, looking steadily at her as he talked. She held\nher head on one side, listening eagerly, almost laboriously, sedulous\nthat she should lose no point, showing how sharp had been her desire for\nhim to give an account of himself. As he noticed this, he was more than\never sure that the household had some cause to fear the law. His vanity\nreceived a slight shock in the self-evident fact that she had never\nbefore heard of him. \u201cI\u2019m a lawyer from Shaftesville. I defended Mink\nLorey when he was tried for drowning that chap.\u201d\n\n\u201cFlung me in the water!\u201d exclaimed Tad parenthetically.\n\n\u201cI hearn \u2019bout that,\u201d said the woman. She had knelt on the broad\nhearth-stone, depositing the bowl beside her while she made up the pones\nin her hands, tossing them from one palm to the other, then placing them\nupon the hoe which smoked upon the hot live coals drawn out from the bed\nof the fire. \u201cI war glad the rescuers tuk him out,\u201d she continued, \u201cfur\nTad ain\u2019t drownded.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe rescuers didn\u2019t take him out,\u201d said Harshaw, sharply.\n\nThe woman looked up, surprised; her hand shook a little with the\nbread in it; she was evidently capable of appreciating the weight of\nresponsibility.\n\n\u201cWhy, Lethe Sayles told me so,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cLethe Sayles!\u201d he exclaimed, perplexed. Her name instantly recalled\nGwinnan\u2014incongruous association of ideas!\u2014and Mink\u2019s persuasion of\nGwinnan\u2019s enmity toward him for her sake. Had she known the judge before?\nhe wondered. Had Mink some foundation for his jealousy beyond the\ndisasters of the trial? Somehow, this false representation to the people\nwho knew that the lad was not drowned had, he thought, an undeveloped\nsignificance in view of that fact. Harshaw resolved that there should\nbe no question of the substantiality of Tad\u2019s apparition when the case\nshould come up to be tried anew. He forgot himself for the moment. \u201cI\u2019ll\nproduce you in open court, my fine fellow,\u201d he said, swaggering to his\nfeet and striking the boy on his fat shoulder. \u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m bound\nfor!\u201d\n\nHe had naught in mind save the details of his case. He regarded the\nincident only as the symmetrical justification of his conduct of the\nevidence and his evolution of the theory of the crime. He did not pause\nto reflect on its slight and ineffective value to Mink himself, to whom\nan acquittal could only mean that a few years were not to be added to the\nlong term of imprisonment which already impended for him. He did not even\nnotice that the woman rose suddenly from her knees, went toward the door,\nand beckoned in the burly young fellow who had appeared on the porch at\nintervals, covertly surveying the scene within.\n\n\u201cNaw, sir,\u201d she exclaimed, with an agitated, accelerated method of speech\nand a fierce eye, \u201cye won\u2019t! Ye ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter kem in hyar an\u2019 spy us\nout an\u2019 perduce us in court, fur yer profit an\u2019 our destruction.\u201d Harshaw\nturned and gazed at her, with a flushing, indignant face. The young man\nhad his rifle in his hand; she herself was taking down a gun which lay in\na rack above the fireplace. \u201cYe warn\u2019t axed ter kem in hyar, but it be\nour say-so ez ter when ye go out.\u201d\n\nThe surprise of it overpowered him for a moment; he stood blankly staring\nat them. The next, he realized that his pistols were in the holster\nwith his saddle, and his gun that he had placed beside the door had been\nremoved. He was not, however, deficient in physical courage.\n\n\u201cTake care how you attempt to detain me!\u201d he blustered.\n\nShe laughed in return, shrilly, mirthlessly; as he looked at her he was\nsure that she would not hesitate to draw the trigger that her long, lean\nfingers, bedaubed with the corn-meal batter, already touched.\n\nThe idiot put his hands before his eyes, with a hoarse, wheezing moan\nof horror and remonstrance. The girl looked on with the tranquillity of\nsanity.\n\nHarshaw could rely only on the superiority of his own intellectual\nendowments.\n\n\u201cWhy, look here, madam,\u201d he said bluffly, rallying his wits, \u201cwhat do you\nwant of me,\u2014to stay here? I have got no notion of going, I assure you;\nnot till daybreak, anyhow.\u201d\n\nHe flung himself into his chair, and looked up at her with an\nexasperating composure, as if relegating to her all the jeopardy of the\ninitiative and the prerogatives of action.\n\nShe quailed before this unexpected submission. She could have had no\ndoubts as to her course had he shown fight; the tall and subsidiary\nyoung man also wore an air of sheepish defeat. Harshaw stifled his\nquestions; he gave no sign of the anger that seethed within him, the\nhaunting fear that would not down. He stretched out his booted legs to\nthe warm fire, feeling in the very capacity of motion, in the endowment\nof sensation, a relief, an appreciated value in sheer life which is the\ncommon sequence of escape, and remembering that by this time, but for his\nquick expedient, he might be in case to never move again. He thrust his\nbroad hat far back on his yellow head, put his hands into his pockets,\nand looked in his confident fashion about his surroundings, while the\nwoman lowered her weapon, and presently went mechanically about her\npreparations for supper, evidently attended by some lurking regret for\nher precipitancy. She looked askance at him now and then, and after a\ntime ventured upon a question.\n\n\u201cYe say yer name be Harshaw?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cI said so,\u201d Harshaw replied. So alert were her suspicions that she\nfancied significance in the simple phrase. She exchanged a quick glance\nwith the young man, who appeared at once lowering and beset with doubt.\n\nEven Tad apprehended the meaning in the look.\n\n\u201cYe know my name, \u2019pears like, better \u2019n yourn,\u201d he grinned, with a\nguttural, foolish laugh.\n\nAs the boy spoke Harshaw was impressed anew with the change in his fate;\nthe creature of cuffs and curses, who had been the very derision of\nperverse circumstances, was a marvelous contrast to the well-fed, fat,\nkindly-tended lad who leered good-humoredly from where he lounged against\nthe great chimney. Yet despite this attestation of benignant impulses\nharbored here, there was the rifle, which had had such importunate\nconcern for his attention, standing ready at the woman\u2019s right hand.\n\n\u201cWell, madam,\u201d said the politician, \u201cI have been about right smart in the\nmountains, and I have partaken of the cheer around many a hearth-stone,\nbut this is the first time I have ever been invited to look down the\nmuzzle of a rifle.\u201d\n\nShe winced visibly at this reflection upon her hospitality, as she knelt\non the hearth, slipping the knife under the baking pones on the hoe, and\nturning them with a dexterous flip.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t have believed it,\u201d continued Harshaw. \u201cI have never heard of\nanybody but law-breakers giving themselves to such practices,\u2014moonshiners\nand the like.\u201d\n\nThe woman suddenly lifted her face, her dismayed jaw falling at the\nsignificant word. Harshaw could have laughed aloud. The simple little\nriddle was guessed. And yet the situation was all the graver for him.\nThere was a step outside; the door opened for only a narrow space;\ndarkness had fallen; the room was illumined by the flaring flames darting\nup the chimney; he knew that he was scrutinized sharply from without, and\nnow and then he heard the sound of voices in low conference.\n\nIt was well, doubtless, that the secret petitions he preferred to\nthe powers of the earth and the air for the utter confusion and the\neternal destruction of the mountain hunters who had made so slight\nand ineffective a search for him\u2014or perhaps none at all\u2014could not be\nrealized, or his misfortune might have engendered far-reaching and\ndivergent calamity, disproportionate in all eyes save his own.\n\nHe knew now that he had stumbled upon a gang of moonshiners, and had been\ntaken for a revenue spy, or a straggler from a raiding party. How to\nescape with this impression paramount, or indeed how to escape at all,\nwas a question that bristled with portentous dubitation. He was content\nto pretermit it in the guarded watchfulness that absorbed his every\nfaculty, as one by one the men strode in to the number of four or five,\neach casting upon him a keen look, supplementing the survey through the\ndoor.\n\nOne of them he suddenly recognized. \u201cI have seen you before,\u201d he said,\nwith a jolly intonation. \u201cThis is Sam Marvin, ain\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nThe owner of the name was discomfited when confronted with it, and seeing\nthis, Harshaw was sorry that he had, with the politician\u2019s instinct, made\na point of remembering it.\n\nHe could with difficulty eat, despite the fatigues of the day, but he sat\ndown among them with a hearty show of appetite and with his wonted bluff\nmanner. His sharpened attention took cognizance of many details which\nunder ordinary circumstances he would not have noticed. He could have\nsworn to every one of the rough faces\u2014and right welcome would have been\nthe opportunity\u2014grouped about the table. The men ate in a business-like,\ncapacious fashion, especially one lean, lank fellow, with unkempt black\nhair and a thin face, the chin decorated with what is known as a goatee.\nNotwithstanding their roughness they were not altogether unkind. Philetus\ncould not complain of disregarded pleas as he begged from chair to chair,\nunder the firm impression that there was something choice in the _menu_\nnot included in the contents of the pan placed for him on a bench, which\nshould serve as table, while he was to be seated on an inverted noggin.\nAnd the dogs spent the time of the family meal alternately in a petrified\nexpectancy and sudden elastic bounds to catch the bits flung liberally\nover the shoulders.\n\nWhen the repast, conducted chiefly in silence, was concluded, the\ngroup reassembled about the hearth-stone, the pipes were lighted, and\nconversation again became practicable. It required some strong control of\nhis faculties to bear himself as an honored guest instead of a suspected\ninformer, trapped, but Harshaw managed to support much of his wonted\nmanner as he lighted a pipe that he had in his pocket and pulled it into\na strong glow. Nevertheless, he was beset with a realization of how easy\nit would be for them to rid themselves of him without a possibility\nthat his fate would excite suspicion. As he looked into the flaming\ncoals of the fire, his quickened imagination could picture a man lying\nlifeless at the foot of a great wall of rocks,\u2014lying motionless where\nhe had fallen, but with an averted face,\u2014and another vista in which\nhis horse, with an empty saddle, with pistols in the holster, cropped\nthe grass on a slope. He thought of it often afterward,\u2014the man lying\nlifeless beneath the crags, with a face he did not see! This was the\ndoom that persistently forced itself upon him as most obviously, most\ninsistently, his; naught else could so readily release these desperadoes\nfrom the peril that threatened them. He began to remember various stories\nof Marvin\u2019s old encounters with the \u201crevenuers:\u201d on one occasion shots\nhad been exchanged; one or more of the posse had been killed; he could\nnot remember accurately, but he thought this was accredited to Jeb\nPeake,\u2014\u201chongry Jeb,\u201d who could, according to the popular account of him,\n\u201cchaw up five men of his weight at a mouthful an\u2019 beg for more.\u201d They\nhad much at stake; perhaps, as they looked into the fire with that slow,\nruminative gaze, they also saw a picture,\u2014a halter wavering in the wind.\nThe room alternately flared and faded as the flames rose and fell. It\nbore traces of renovation: the door was new, the floor patched. He made a\nrough guess that Marvin had taken possession of one of the long-deserted\nhuts seen at intervals in the mountains. Raindrops presently pattered on\nthe roof; then ceased, as if waiting breathlessly for some mandate; and\nagain a fusillade; and anon torrents. The melancholy elements in the wild\nwastes without seemed not uncheerful companions in lieu of the saturnine\ngroup about the fire. Alack, for liberty, the familiar thing! Harshaw\nsought to reassure himself, noting their kindness to the idiot and to the\nlittle child. Philetus climbed over their feet, and made demands, of a\nfrequency appalling to a mind less repetitious than the one encased in\nthe downy yellow head, to be ridden on their great miry boots.\n\nSuddenly Marvin spoke: \u201cMy wife \u2019lows ez how ye defended Mink Lorey when\nhe war tried.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did,\u201d said Harshaw jauntily.\n\n\u201cWaal, did this hyar gal,\u2014this Lethe Sayles, ez lives yander at the\nt\u2019other eend o\u2019 the county,\u2014did she up an\u2019 tell in court ennything \u2019bout\nme?\u201d\n\nHarshaw was not a truthful man for conscience\u2019 sake; but in the course of\nhis practice he had had occasion to remark the inherent capacity of the\ntruth for prevailing. He was far too acute to prevaricate.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said, sticking two fingers into his vest-pocket and swinging\nthe leg he had crossed over the other, \u201cshe swore that you were\nmoonshining and told her so; she had told me as much before. We wanted to\nprove that Mink was drunk, and had somewhere to get whiskey besides the\nbonded still. We couldn\u2019t get in all the evidence, though.\u201d\n\nThe fire snapped and sparkled and flared. The pendent sponge-like masses\nof soot clinging to the chimney continually wavered in the strong current\nof air; now and then fire was communicated to it, and a dull emblazonment\nof sparks would trace some mysterious characters, dying out when half\nrealized.\n\nHarshaw could but see that his frankness had produced its impression:\nthere was a troublous cast in all the stolid countenances around the\nhearth; but he was glad to be regarded as a problem as well as a danger.\n\n\u201cIn the name o\u2019 Gawd,\u201d exclaimed Marvin irritably, \u201cwhy did ye kem hyar\nter this hyar place fur? Ain\u2019t Shaftesville big enough ter hold ye?\u201d\n\nHarshaw repeated the account of himself which he had already given to\nMrs. Marvin. \u201cI ain\u2019t ready to go yet,\u201d he remarked. \u201cBut when your\nwife thought I wanted to, by George, she got down the gun and said I\nshouldn\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe know too much,\u201d suddenly put in \u201chongry Jeb,\u201d who looked as\ncadaverous and as melancholy as his name might imply.\n\n\u201cI know enough to shut my mouth,\u201d said Harshaw bluffly, \u201cand keep it\nshut.\u201d\n\nHe looked eagerly at \u201chongry Jeb,\u201d as he threw this out tentatively.\n\nThe mountaineer\u2019s face was distinct in the firelight, and he gazed at the\nleaping flames instead of at the speaker.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t able ter afford ter resk it,\u201d said \u201chongry Jeb.\u201d He made\na sudden pass across his jugular toward his left ear, exclaiming\n\u201cTchisk!\u201d\u2014the whites of his eyes and the double row of his shining teeth\nshowing as he smiled horribly on Harshaw.\n\nThe lawyer turned sick. How could he hope that these moonshiners would\njeopardize aught for his sake? He could trust only to himself.\n\nThere was some drinking as the evening wore on; the monotony of this\nproceeding was beguiled by the fact that one of the dogs took a drop\noccasionally, at the instance of the youngest of the moonshiners\u2014a mere\nboy of twenty\u2014and Marvin\u2019s son Mose. It was desired that he should extend\nhis fitness as a boon companion by the use of a pipe, but he revolted\nat fire and distrusted smoke, and displayed much power of shrillness\nwhen snatched by the ears and cuffed. He was finally kicked out, to\ncrawl wheezingly under the house, debarred from the hearth-stone which\nunaccomplished dogs who were not even bibulous, much less smokers, were\nprivileged to enjoy.\n\nBut the evening was not convivial. The moonshiners brooded silently as\nthey drank and smoked. Among them, unmolested, Tad sat. He had never been\nso happy as now, poor fellow. He goggled about and laughed to himself\ntill he fell asleep, his grotesque head dropping to one side, his mouth\nopen, snoring prosperously.\n\nMarvin glanced at him presently. Then he looked at Harshaw, showing\nhis long tobacco-stained teeth as he laughed. \u201cI hearn ye hev all been\nin a mighty tucker ter know what hed kem o\u2019 Tad, down yander in the\nflatwoods,\u201d he said. He sat in a slouching posture as he smoked, his legs\ncrossed, his shoulders bent, his head thrust forward. \u201cLethe Sayles tole\nme \u2019bout\u2019n it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOld Griff has nearly lost his mind about Tad,\u201d said Harshaw.\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d demanded Marvin, with an affectation of deep surprise. \u201cCan\u2019t he\nfind nuthin\u2019 else ter cuss an\u2019 beat?\u201d\n\n\u201cPore\u2014old\u2014man!\u201d exclaimed \u201chongry Jeb,\u201d wagging his black head, and\nshowing the gleaming whites of his eyes in his characteristic sidelong\nglance.\n\n\u201cWell, I expect Tad has been a good deal better off along of you,\u201d\nHarshaw admitted. \u201cBut that don\u2019t make it right for you to have kidnapped\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cLord knows, we-uns didn\u2019t want him,\u201d said Marvin. \u201cWe-uns ain\u2019t gifted\nin goadin\u2019 sech a critter ez him, like old man Griff. We can\u2019t git work\nenough out\u2019n him ter wuth the stealin\u2019. He jes\u2019 kem up ter whar we-uns\nlived, one night. I reckon \u2019twar several nights arter he war flung in the\nwater. He looked mighty peaked.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I never see a critter so hongry,\u201d put in the pullet boldly from her\nseat in the chimney corner, her long yellow feet dangling beneath her\nshort homespun skirt, her hair, which was luxuriant, gathered in a sort\nof top-knot on her head, \u201c\u2019thout \u2019twar Jeb thar.\u201d She gave a cackling\nlaugh of elation at this thrust, as she knitted off her needle in a\nmanner that might make one wonder to see a pullet so deft.\n\nJeb good-naturedly grinned, and Marvin went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cWe reckoned he war a spy for the revenuers, \u2019kase they \u2019lowed we\nwouldn\u2019t suspect sech ez him, sent ter find out edzac\u2019ly whar the place\nbe, an\u2019 we war \u2019feared ter let him go back.\u201d\n\nHarshaw winced.\n\n\u201cSo we jes\u2019 kerried him off along o\u2019 we-uns. Mebbe \u2019twarn\u2019t right, but\nfolkses sech ez we-uns air can\u2019t be choosers.\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw, sir; else we can\u2019t be folkses,\u201d said \u201chongry Jeb.\u201d\n\nHow could he grin, with that lean, ghastly countenance, whenever he\ncontemplated his terrible jeopardy!\n\n\u201cEf Tad hed been well keered fur at home I\u2019d hev felt wuss, but\n\u2019twouldn\u2019t hev made no differ,\u201d said Marvin; \u201cbut I know\u2019d I could do\nbetter by him \u2019n old Griff.\u201d\n\n\u201cMink\u2019s in jail now to be tried again for drowning him,\u201d said Harshaw,\nsurprised at his own boldness.\n\n\u201cWaal, stranger,\u201d said Marvin satirically, evidently going to make the\nbest of it, \u201cthe court air gin over ter makin\u2019 mistakes, an\u2019 we pay taxes\nter support a S\u2019preme Court ter make some mo\u2019. Man\u2019s human, arter all; he\ncan\u2019t be trested ter turn from everything else, an\u2019 take arter the right\nan\u2019 jestice. He ain\u2019t like my gran\u2019dad\u2019s dog, ez would always leave the\nscent of deer or b\u2019ar an\u2019 trail Injun. That dog knowed what war expected\nof him, an\u2019 he done it. But man\u2019s human. Man\u2019s nuthin\u2019 but human.\u201d\n\n\u201cHo! ho! ho!\u201d laughed \u201chongry Jeb,\u201d in appreciative elation.\n\nA pause ensued.\n\nThe sound of the rain on the roof was intermitted at intervals, and the\nwind lifted a desolate voice in the solitudes. The sense of the vast\nwilderness without, measureless, trackless, infinitely melancholy, preyed\nupon the consciousness. Perhaps Harshaw, in the quick transition from the\nartificial life of the world, was more susceptible to these influences,\nmore easily abashed, confronted with the grave, austere, and august\npresence of Nature. He had a fleeting remembrance of life in the city:\nthe gush of soft light; the mingled sound of music and the babbling of\nthe fountain in the rotunda of the hotel; the Capitol building, seen\nsometimes through morning fogs and contending sunshine, isolated in\nthe air above the roofs of the surrounding town, like a fine mirage,\nsome turreted illusion; and again its white limestone walls ponderously\nimposed, every line definite, upon the deep blue midday sky.\n\nThat other sphere of his existence seemed for the moment more real to\nhim; he had a reluctance as of awakening from a trance, as he gazed at\nthe unkempt circle of mountaineers about the dying fire.\n\nThey were beginning to yawn heavily now. Marvin was laying the chunks\ntogether and covering them with ashes, to keep the coals till morning.\nHarshaw looked on meditatively. Once, as he lifted his eyes, he became\naware that they were all covertly watching him with curiosity and\nspeculation.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV.\n\n\nQuiet did not immediately ensue. After Harshaw had been ushered up the\nrickety ladder to the roof-room he heard voices below in low-toned\nconference. Occasionally he noted the peculiar chuckle of \u201chongry\nJeb,\u201d suppressed even beneath its usual undertone; for it was a sort\nof susurrus of laughter, never absolutely vocal,\u2014a series of snorts\nand pantings. It was not jocular at best, and now conveyed sinister\nsuggestions to Harshaw, as he listened to the vague sound of words he\ncould not distinguish. He had not been conscious of an effort of close\nobservation during the evening, and he was surprised to discover how\ndefinitely he could differentiate the murmurs, the mere methods of\nspeech, of the various members of the household. As they discussed his\nfate, he knew who urged measures, who was overpowered in argument, who\ndoubted. Now and then a word or two in the woman\u2019s shrill voice broke\nfrom the huskiness of her whisper, for she was the most insistent of the\ngroup. He divined that her views were not mild, and he took hope from\nthe intimations of opposition in the tones of the men as they gruffly\ncounseled quiet. She it was, he felt sure, whom most he had to fear.\n\nHe had thrown himself, dressed as he was, on the sorry couch, which was\nmade by placing two poles between the logs of the house, supported at\nthe other end by a cross-bar laid in two crotched uprights on the floor.\nIt was not a stable contrivance, nor, although it upheld a heavy feather\nbed, conducive to slumber, but Harshaw cared little for sleep.\n\nThe rain came through the leaks in the roof, now in an intermittent,\nsullen pattering, and now the drops falling in quick succession, tossed\nby the wind that whistled through the crevices, and piped a shrill\nrefrain to the sonorous cadences trumpeted by the great chimney. Once, in\na sudden flash of lightning, which was far distant and without thunder,\nhe saw through gaps in the chinking, the white clouds pressing close to\nthe house.\n\nAgain and again his courage would reassert itself, of its own sheer\nforce, and he would experience a sort of affront that it had ever\nlapsed. He hardly knew how he could hereafter face that fact in his\nconsciousness. Then, in arguing to reinstate his self-respect, he would\nreview the dangers of his position,\u2014and thus rouse anew the fears he had\nsought to still. He would wonder that he did not die of fright; that\nhe made no effort to escape, to fire the house and force his way out\nin the confusion,\u2014his fingers even fumbled the matches in his pocket;\nthat he could lie still and listen to the sound of words impossible to\ndistinguish; that he could turn, with the heavy gesture of one roused\nfrom sleep, when he heard a footfall on the rude stairs, and look yawning\nover his shoulder, and demand in a slumbrous voice, \u201cWhy in the hell do\nyou make such a racket?\u201d\n\nA glimmer of light quivered on the brown rafters; it grew momently less\nflickering; it revealed the wretched apartment, the slanting floor,\none or two pallets rolled up against the wall. And finally, as from a\ntrap-door of a theatre, through the rude aperture in the floor, Jeb\u2019s\ngaunt black head appeared among the shadows which the tallow dip, that he\ncarried in his hand, could not dispel.\n\nHe came in, and placed the sputtering light on a strut that supported one\nof the rafters, and was converted to shelf-like utility. Marvin followed,\nsitting down on the foot of Harshaw\u2019s bed. His face was more lowering\nthan that of the other man; he leaned his hands ponderingly on his\nknees, his elbows turned outward, and bent his eyes on the floor in deep\nmeditation.\n\nThere was a short silence.\n\n\u201cHello?\u201d said Harshaw interrogatively, raising himself on his elbow and\nboldly taking the initiative. \u201cAnything the matter?\u201d\n\nJeb sat down on a keg close to the chimney, and the perturbed hosts\nglanced at one another.\n\n\u201cWaal, stranger,\u201d said Marvin, \u201cye hev gone an\u2019 put us in a peck o\u2019\ntroubles, ter kem interruptin\u2019 us in this fur place, whar we hev been\nhunted an\u2019 hounded ter.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d remarked \u201chongry Jeb,\u201d \u201csame ez the varmint, ez be specially\nlef\u2019 out\u2019n salvation by the Bible.\u201d\n\nMarvin cast a glance over his shoulder at Harshaw. Then he continued,\nevidently striving to put the worst possible interpretation on the\nsituation and to work himself into a rage: \u201cWe-uns air a-thinkin\u2019 ez ye\nmought be a spy fur the revenuers.\u201d\n\nHarshaw let his head fall back on the pillow. His resonant, burly laugh\nrang out, jarring the rafters, and rousing in its hearty jocundity the\nreciprocity of a smile on \u201chongry Jeb\u2019s\u201d cadaverous face. Even Marvin,\ncasting another hasty look over his shoulder, was mollified.\n\n\u201cYe\u2019d better be keerful how ye wake Philetus up, with his nap haffen out;\nye\u2019ll \u2019low ye air neighborin\u2019 a catamount,\u201d he admonished his guest.\n\n\u201cI tell you,\u201d said Harshaw, clasping his hands behind his yellow head as\nhe lay at length, \u201cyou fellows live up here in these lonesome woods till\nyour brains are addled. Why on earth would I, single-handed, mind you, a\nlawyer, a member of the legislature, with a good big farm of my own and\nhalf a dozen houses in town,\u201d (he had never before thought to brag of\nthem,) \u201crisk myself here, for the little reward I could get _if_\u2014mighty\nbig _if_, folks\u2014if I could get away again?\u201d\n\nHe lifted his eyes, with a bluff challenge of fair play.\n\n\u201cYou know who _I_ am. You\u2019ve seen me in Shaftesville. You know my farm\ndown there in Kildeer County, on Owl Creek. Spy! Shucks! it makes me\nlaugh. Do the quality often come spying for the revenuers in this\nneighborhood?\u201d\n\nTen days ago he could not have believed that, however closely harried,\nhis tongue would ever so forget its formula as thus to repudiate his\nalignment with the Plain People, and to claim to rank with \u201cthe quality.\u201d\n\nUnder other circumstances the two mountaineers might have resented\nthis arrogation of superiority. They were, however, by virtue of their\nlaw-breaking, a trifle more worldly-wise than their stolid compatriots\nof the hills. It had been in some sort an education; had familiarized\nthem with the springs of commercial action, the relations of producer and\nconsumer, the value of money or its equivalent; had endowed them with an\nappreciation of emergency and an ingenuity in expedients and makeshifts;\nhad forced upon their contemplation the operations of the law; and their\ngreat personal risk had superinduced care, thoughtfulness, and the\nexercise of a certain rude logic.\n\nAs they unconsciously sought to realize Harshaw\u2019s position in the world,\nresources, opportunity, their suspicion that he was a spy gradually waned.\n\nThere was a pause. The candle sputtered on the timber where it had\nbeen placed, the flame now rising apparently with an effort to touch a\nresinous knot in the wood just above it, and now crouching in a sudden\ngust from a crevice hard by. The rain came down with redoubled force for\na few moments, then subsided again into its former steady, monotonous\nfall. Harshaw\u2019s senses, preternaturally keen now, detected an almost\nimperceptible stir on the ladder that ascended to the loft. He knew as\nwell as if he had seen the coterie that Marvin\u2019s wife and the rest of\nthe moonshiners were sitting on the rounds, listening and awaiting the\nannouncement of his fate. Perhaps it was this which prompted his reply,\nwhen Marvin said pettishly,\u2014\n\n\u201cIt air all M\u2019ria\u2019s fault. Ef she hedn\u2019t been so powerful quick ter git\ndown the gun, ye\u2019d hev never knowed nor axed whar ye war, nor s\u2019picioned\nnuthin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I would, though,\u201d Harshaw declared.\n\nMarvin once more looked over his shoulder, and the lawyer quaked at the\nrisk he ran.\n\n\u201cI saw Tad, you know, and I was figurin\u2019 round, big as all-out-of-doors,\nhow I was going to produce him in court, and she thought I meant right\noff. Then, the minute I saw _you_ I knew you,\u2014and I had heard that girl\nsay you were moonshining.\u201d\n\n\u201cAi-yi! Sam Marvin!\u201d cried a shrill feminine voice from the primitive\nstairway, \u201cthat\u2019s what ye got fur tryin\u2019 ter put the blame on me!\u201d\n\nSam Marvin turned his bushy head toward the aperture in the floor.\nIt might seem that Mrs. Marvin had left him nothing to say, but the\nversatility of the conjugal retort is well-nigh limitless, and he could\ndoubtless have defended himself with an admirable valor had not Jeb \u201cthe\nhongry\u201d interfered.\n\n\u201cShet up, Sam,\u201d he said, looking positively famished in his lean anxiety.\n\u201cWe-uns hedn\u2019t thunk o\u2019 that. Mink Lorey hev got ter be tried agin.\u201d\n\nIt was all that Harshaw could do to restrain some expression of despair\nat this infelicitous turn given to the consultation, at which he seemed\nto assist to devise his own doom. He found a certain relief in shifting\nhis position, and still, with his hands clasped under his head, briskly\nparticipated in the conversation.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he assented in a debonair way which caused Marvin to look at him\nin lowering amazement, \u201cI\u2019m Mink\u2019s lawyer, but I couldn\u2019t testify for\nhim. I couldn\u2019t swear of my own knowledge that this Tad is the same boy,\nfor I never saw him before.\u201d\n\nBoth of the men lapsed into the attitude of laborious pondering. Now and\nthen each looked at the other, as if to descry some intimation of the\nmutual effect.\n\nHarshaw, with another bold effort to possess the situation, yawned widely\nand stretched his muscles.\n\n\u201cOh\u2014oh\u2014oh\u2014oh!\u201d he exclaimed on a steadily descending scale. \u201cWell,\ngentlemen,\u201d his features once more at rest, his voice normal, \u201cI\nshould be glad to continue our conversation to-morrow\u201d\u2014he waved his\nhand bluffly\u2014\u201cor next week. I ain\u2019t used to huntin\u2019,\u2014that is, huntin\u2019\ndeer,\u2014and I\u2019m in and about knocked up. If you\u2019ve got anything to say to\nme, say it now, or keep it till to-morrow.\u201d\n\nThe two looked doubtfully at each other.\n\n\u201cMr. Harshaw,\u201d said Marvin, \u201cwe-uns air feared to let you-uns go.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo to sleep?\u201d asked Harshaw jocosely.\n\nJeb grinned, weakly, however, and Marvin continued:\u2014\n\n\u201cTer go \u2019way at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Harshaw, easily, with another demonstration of somnolence,\n\u201cI\u2019ll stay just as long as you like; you\u2019re a clever lot of fellows, and\nI\u2019ll be contented enough, I\u2019ll be bound. Your sitting up all night is the\nonly fault I\u2019ve got to find with you.\u201d\n\nThey apparently submitted this answer from one to the other, and each\nsilently canvassed it.\n\n\u201cYe know too much,\u201d said \u201chongry Jeb.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll know more if I stay. I\u2019ll find out whether you _are_ moonshining\nnow, sure enough, and where the still is.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s jes\u2019 what I hev been tellin\u2019 ye!\u201d cried Mrs. Marvin\u2019s shrill\nvoice from the ladder.\n\n\u201cShet up, M\u2019ria!\u201d exclaimed Marvin, before \u201chongry Jeb\u201d could interpose\nhis pacifying \u201cShet up, Sam.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d resumed Marvin, in angry perturbation, \u201cit\u2019s mighty\nill-convenient, yer nosin\u2019 us out this way, up hyar, an\u2019 many a man fixed\nlike me an\u2019 Jeb would fling ye off\u2019n a bluff, ez ef ye hed fell thar, an\u2019\nturn yer mare loose.\u201d\n\nOnce more Harshaw\u2019s rich, round laughter jarred the room.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m in earnest,\u201d said Marvin, sternly. \u201cThat\u2019s what most men would do.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no, they wouldn\u2019t,\u201d said Harshaw, cavalierly.\n\n\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t they?\u201d demanded Marvin, his curiosity aroused by this\nstrange indifference.\n\n\u201cBecause these fellows I was hunting with will be sure to find this\nplace, and _they_ would know I wouldn\u2019t go fall off a bluff of my own\naccord, after such a good supper as I had here, and such a good bed.\nThey wouldn\u2019t know I wasn\u2019t allowed to sleep in it, though, on account of\na long-jawed couple like you two.\u201d\n\nHe looked the picture of unconcern,\u2014as if he had not really credited\ntheir words.\n\n\u201cThey couldn\u2019t track ye hyar,\u201d argued Jeb; \u201cground too dry in the evening\nfur yer critter\u2019s huffs to make enny mark.\u201d\n\n\u201cBless your bones!\u201d cried Harshaw, contemptuously, \u201cI broke a path\nnigh a yard wide in the brush, and I blazed every oak-tree I met with\nmy hunting-knife,\u2014look and see how hacked it is,\u2014and I cut my name on\nthe first beech I came across. Think I was going to get lost in this\nwilderness without leaving any way for my friends to find me? They know\npretty well where they left me. As soon as it\u2019s light enough they\u2019ll be\non my track.\u201d\n\nHe lied seldom, but with startling effect. The verisimilitude of his\ninvention, which had flashed upon him at the last moment, carried\nconviction. The other two men looked at each other in consternation.\n\nThis they thought was the secret of his ease of mind. This was the\nreason that he was willing to abide with them as long as they listed.\nThese mysterious friends, these lurking hunters, might materialize at\nany moment when day should fairly dawn. The moonshiners asked with eager\ncuriosity the names of the party. Marvin knew none of them, for it was a\nnew region to him, and his vocation restricted his social opportunities.\nHe had sprung up from the bed, and stood holding his ragged beard with\none hand, and gazing with perplexed eyes at the recumbent lawyer. The\nfrightful deed that he and his confederates had contemplated, that\nhad seemed their only safe recourse,\u2014to fling the intruder over a\nprecipice, and to leave his mare grazing near, as if in his search he had\nfallen,\u2014had a predestined discovery through the craft of the man who had\nmarked the devious trail of his footsteps to their door. The moonshiner\ntrembled, as he stood so near this pitfall into which he had almost\nstumbled.\n\nThere had been a stir on the ladder; clumsy feet descended the rickety\nrungs. The movements below continued; there sounded the harsh scraping\nof a shovel on the rude stones of the hearth, and presently the newly\nkindled flames were crackling up the chimney; the flickering tallow dip\nwas not so bright that the lines of light in the crevices of the flooring\nmight not indicate how the room below was suddenly illumined. A smell of\nfrying bacon presently pervaded the midnight.\n\n\u201cBy Gosh!\u201d cried Marvin, rousing himself from his brown study with a\nquick start, \u201cair M\u2019ria demented, ter set out a-cookin\u2019 o\u2019 breakfus\u2019 in\nthe middle o\u2019 the night?\u201d\n\nHe turned himself suddenly about, and started down the ladder. \u201cHongry\nJeb,\u201d looking after him with a keen anxiety, rose abruptly, took the\ncandle, and, holding it above his lean, cadaverous face, vanished by slow\ndegrees through the trap-door, feeling with his feet for each round of\nthe ladder before he trusted his weight upon it. Harshaw lifted himself\nupon his elbow, watching the gradual disappearance. His face was pink\nonce more; the flesh that had seemed ten minutes since to hang flabbily\nupon it was firm and full; his opaque blue eyes were bright; the last\nfeeble, ineffective rays of the vanishing candle showed his strong white\nteeth between his parted red lips, and his triumphant red tongue thrust\nout derisively.\n\nThen he fell back on his pillow and tried to sleep. He felt, however, the\npressure of the excitement; his pulses, his nerves, could not so readily\naccord with his calm mental conclusions, his logical inference of safety.\nThe tension upon his alert senses was unrelaxed. The stir below-stairs\nmade its incisive impression now, when he hardly cared to hear, as\nbefore, when he had strained every faculty to listen. He knew that it\nwas Mrs. Marvin who had first devised the solution of the difficulty;\nshe had already set about its execution while she advocated the measure,\nand insisted and argued with the men, who were disposed to canvass\nalternatives, and doubt, and wait. Often her shrill voice broke from the\nbated undertone in which they sought to conduct the conference, or she\nwhispered huskily, with vibrant distinctness, hardly less intelligible.\n\n\u201cYe an\u2019 Jeb take him,\u201d she urged. \u201cLet the t\u2019others go an\u2019 hide round\n\u2019bout the still. When the hunters git hyar they\u2019ll find me an\u2019 Mose an\u2019\nthe chillen, an\u2019 I\u2019ll tell \u2019em my old man be gone with Mr. Harshaw,\na-guidin\u2019 him down the mounting. They\u2019ll never know ez thar be enny\nmoonshinin\u2019 a-goin\u2019 on hyar-abouts,\u2014nuthin\u2019 ter show fur it.\u201d\n\nShe clashed her pans and pots and kettles, in the energy of her\ndiscourse, and Harshaw lost the muttered objection.\n\n\u201cEf ye don\u2019t,\u201d she persisted, in her sibilant whisper,\u2014\u201cef ye kill him,\nfling him off\u2019n the bluff or sech,\u2014they\u2019ll find the body, sure!\u201d\n\nA chill ran through the listener as he bent his ear.\n\n\u201cThe buzzards or the wolves will fust, an\u2019 them men\u2019ll track him ter our\ndoor, an\u2019 track _ye_ ter the spot.\u201d\n\nThe rain pelted on the roof; the flames roared up the chimney; the\nfrying meat sputtered and sizzled, and the coffee dissipated a beguiling\npromissory odor. One of the men\u2014the lawyer thought it was \u201chongry\nJeb\u201d\u2014suggested in a dolorous whisper that they could depend in no degree\non Harshaw\u2019s promise of secrecy. No man regarded an enforced pledge as\nsacred.\n\n\u201cThem\u2019s all _old_ offenses, ennyhows,\u201d argued the woman. \u201cBut this hyar,\nwhat ye men air a-layin\u2019 off ter do\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018Ye _men_\u2019!\u201d sneered her husband. \u201c_Ye_ war the bouncin\u2019est one o\u2019 the\nwhole lay-out fur doin\u2019 of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Lord A\u2019mighty,\u201d she protested, \u201cwho\u2019d ever hev thunk o\u2019 sech a\nsmart thing ez markin\u2019 his trail ter the very door? He mus\u2019 be the devil.\nSmart enough, ennyways!\u201d\n\nShe clashed her pots and pans once more, and moved about heavily across\nthe floor.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t misdoubtin\u2019 but what he _air_ a big man whar he hails from, an\u2019\nthey sets store by him, an\u2019 they\u2019d be mighty apt ter stir round powerful\narter him ef he was los\u2019. An\u2019 this would be a new offense,\u2014sure ter git\nfund out. An\u2019 Lord knows, we-uns hev been runned mighty nigh ter the\njumpin\u2019-off place from the face o\u2019 the yearth, an\u2019 I want ter be let ter\nset down, an\u2019 ketch my breath, an\u2019 see Philetus grow an\u2019 git hearty, an\u2019\nlet me hev a chance ter die in peace.\u201d\n\nOnce more Jeb\u2019s rumbling voice rose along the stairway.\n\n\u201cShet up, Jeb!\u201d she cried. \u201cYe hev jes\u2019 been a-settin\u2019 thar all the\nnight a-shakin\u2019 yer head, an\u2019 a-lowin\u2019 ye wisht he hed done suthin\u2019 mean\nter ye, so ez in gittin\u2019 rid o\u2019 him yer feelins wouldn\u2019t be hurt. Now\nyer feelins air safe, an\u2019 ye ain\u2019t got no mo\u2019 thankfulness \u2019n that thar\ncross-eyed, mangy hound fur the loan o\u2019 a pipe.\u201d\n\nThe mystery of cerebration; the strange, unmeasured force which works\nin uncomprehended methods to unforeseen results; the subtle process\nnow formulating, and now erasing, an idea, like the characters of a\npalimpsest, was never so potently present to Harshaw as in contemplating\nthe inspiration, the lucky thought, that had given him back to life,\nto hope, to sheer identity. He took himself to task, knowing that the\nobvious, the natural, the simple suggestion had lain all the evening in\nhis mind, waiting the effective moment. He reproached himself that he\nshould have suffered the agony of fright which he had endured. \u201cI might\nhave known,\u201d he argued within himself, in his bluff vanity, \u201cthat _I_\u2019d\ncome out all right.\u201d\n\nHe fell asleep, presently, and when he was roused he rose with so genuine\na reluctance that the last lurking doubt which Marvin and \u201chongry Jeb\u201d\nhad entertained vanished, as he went yawning down the ladder.\n\n\u201cI hate ter hev ter turn ye out\u2019n my house \u2019fore day,\u201d Marvin remarked,\n\u201cbut ye know I\u2019m hunted like a b\u2019ar, or suthin\u2019 wild, an\u2019 I can\u2019t be\nexpected ter show manners like folks. Me an\u2019 Jeb air a-goin\u2019 ter take ye\npretty fur off, so ez ye kin never find yer way back, an\u2019 by daylight\nye\u2019ll be set in yer road. I\u2019m hopin\u2019 yer friends won\u2019t git hyar; ef they\ndoes, I don\u2019t want \u2019em ter kem in, an\u2019 ef they hain\u2019t got no reason ter\nstop I reckon they\u2019ll go on. I\u2019m powerful sorry ye kem along.\u201d\n\n\u201cThough ye be toler\u2019ble good com\u2019p\u2019ny, an\u2019 we-uns ain\u2019t got nuthin\u2019 agin\nyou-uns,\u201d remarked \u201chongry Jeb,\u201d politely.\n\n\u201c\u2019Kase,\u201d continued Marvin, in a sing-song fashion, as he sat down at his\ntable, on which the corn-dodgers and bacon smoked, \u201c\u2019kase we-uns air\nhunted an\u2019 driv by the law,\u2014ez \u2019lows we sha\u2019n\u2019t still our own corn ef we\nair a mind ter,\u2014we hev been afeard ye\u2019d tell \u2019bout\u2019n we-uns an\u2019 whar we\nair hid.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat for?\u201d demanded Harshaw, with an incidental manner. He too was\nseated at the board; one elbow was on it, and he passed his hand over his\neyes and yawned as he spoke. \u201cSo as to be dead sure to get beat like hell\nthe next time I run for anything? An informer is mighty unpopular, no\nmatter what he has got to tell. And make the biggest kind of hole in my\nlaw practice?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s a fac\u2019,\u201d said Jeb, impressed with the logic of this proposition.\n\n\u201cThe favor of Cherokee and Kildeer counties is the breath of my political\nlife, and you don\u2019t catch me a-fooling with it by letting my jaw wag too\nslack,\u201d continued Harshaw.\n\nPhiletus, the only member of the family that had gone to bed, slumbered\npeacefully in a small heap under the party-colored quilts. The dancing\nfirelight revealed his yellow head, and again it was undistinguishable in\nthe brown shadow. The pullet and Mose sat on a bench at one side of the\nfire, and the moonshiners tilted their chairs back on the hind legs, and\nwatched the bright and leaping flames, which were particularly clear, the\nfire being rekindled upon a warm hearth and in a chimney already full of\nhot air. The occasional yawning of the group gave the only indication\nof the hour. The sharp-faced woman sat in her chair, with folded arms,\nand ever and anon gazing at her guest, who had so strangely commended\nhimself. His clever ruse to insure being followed by his friends had\ninduced infinite admiration of his acumen.\n\n\u201cI reckon ef ye wanted ter go ter Congress or sech, thar wouldn\u2019t be\nnuthin\u2019 ter hender,\u201d she said slowly, contemplating him.\n\nShe was a simple woman, and he a wise man. He flushed with pleasure to\nhear his cherished thought in another\u2019s words. He bore himself more\njauntily at the very suggestion. He toyed with his knife and fork as he\nprotested.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a mighty long road to travel \u2019twixt me and Congress.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, you-uns kin make it, I\u2019ll be bound,\u201d she said.\n\nAnd he believed her.\n\nAs he rose from the table, at the conclusion of the meal, he took out his\npurse.\n\n\u201cNare cent,\u201d said Marvin hastily. \u201cWe-uns hev been obligated by yer\ncomp\u2019ny, an\u2019 air powerful pleased ter part in peace.\u201d\n\nHarshaw insisted, however, on leaving his knife for Philetus, and\nexpressed regret that one of the blades was broken.\n\n\u201cHe can\u2019t cut hisself with that un, nohow,\u201d said the anxious mother, in\ngraciously accepting it.\n\nHarshaw divined that she might have valued it more if all the blades had\nbeen in like plight. She placed it carefully on the high mantelpiece,\nwhere, it was safe to say, Philetus would not for some years be able to\nattain it.\n\nHarshaw never forgot that ride. As the light flickered out from the door\ninto the black midnight, vaguely crossed with slanting lines of rain,\nto the rail-fence where his mare stood, saddled, the pistols in the\nholster, he experienced an added sense of confidence in his own methods\nand capacities, and an intense elation that so serious an adventure had\nterminated with so little injury.\n\nWhen he was in the saddle he looked back at the little house, crouching\nin the infinite gloom of the night and the vast forests that overhang\nit, with no fierce recollection of his trepidation, of his deadly\nand imminent peril. In conducting himself with due regard for the\nrepresentations he had made, his mental attitude had in some sort adapted\nitself to his manner, and he felt as unconcerned, as easy, as friendly,\nas he looked. He hallooed back a genial adieu to the household standing\nin the doorway, in the flare of the fire. Philetus, roused by the noise\nto the sense of passing events, appeared in the midst, rubbing his eyes\nwith both hands. The group gave the guest godspeed, the dogs wagged\ntheir tails. As Harshaw rode out of the inclosure, the vista of the room\nseemed some brilliant yellow shaft sunk in the dense darkness. And then\nhe could see nothing: the rain fell in the midst of the black night; he\nfelt it on his hands, his face, his neck; he turned up the collar of\nhis coat; he heard the hoofs of his mare splashing in the puddles, and\nhe marveled how the beast could see or follow Jeb, who, mounted on the\nsmaller of Marvin\u2019s two mules, led the way, while Marvin himself brought\nup the rear. He could only trust to the superior vision of the animal,\nand adjust himself to the motion which indicated the character of the\nground they traversed: now through tangles and amongst rocks; now coming\nalmost to a halt, as the mare stepped over the fallen bole of a tree; now\na sudden jump, clearing unseen obstructions; now down hill, now up; now\nthrough the rushing floods of a mountain torrent. Harshaw\u2019s buoyant mood\nmaintained itself; his bluff voice sounded in the midst of the dreary\nrainfall, and his resonant, gurgling laugh over and again rang along the\ndark, wintry fastnesses. His geniality was communicated to the other men,\nand the conversation carried on at long range was animated and amicable.\n\n\u201cI wonder what\u2019s become of those scamps I was hunting with,\u201d he\nremarked. \u201cI just know that shed of pine branches they fixed has leaked\non \u2019em this night. I\u2019ll bet they\u2019re wallowin\u2019 in mud.\u201d He experienced a\ncertain satisfaction in the thought. They had not been so badly scared\nas he, but at all events the camp hunters could not be happy under these\ncircumstances.\n\nHow vast, how vast was the wilderness! Unseen, it gave an impression of\ninfinite space. The wind clashed the bare boughs above his head. The\npines wailed and groaned aloud. The commotion of the elements, the many\nsubordinate, undetermined sounds, the weird, tumultuous voices of the\nforest, rising often to a terrible climax, had a mysterious, overpowering\neffect. It was a relief to detect a familiar note in the turmoil, even if\nit were the howl of a wolf, or the distant crash of a riven tree. How his\nmare plunged and floundered!\u2014her head and neck now high before him, till\nhe almost fell back upon her haunches, and now diving down so low that he\nhad much ado to keep from slipping over the pommel.\n\n\u201cWell, Marvin,\u201d said Harshaw, once more on level ground, \u201cif you and Jeb\nwill come down to my farm and visit me, I\u2019ll promise you one thing,\u2014I\nwon\u2019t turn you out of the house at midnight in a down-pour like this\u2014ha!\nha! ha! Confound you, old lady,\u201d\u2014to the mare, as she stumbled,\u2014\u201cstand up,\ncan\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou-uns oughtn\u2019t ter set us down that-a-way,\u201d said Marvin, grieved at\nthe reflection on his hospitality.\n\n\u201cLord A\u2019mighty!\u201d exclaimed \u201chongry Jeb,\u201d\u2014his tones from out of the\ndarkness were vaguely yearning,\u2014\u201ctalkin\u2019 ter me \u2019bout ever kemin\u2019 ter\nsee ennybody at thar farm! Ye mought ez well ax that thar wolf ez we-uns\nhearn a-hollerin\u2019 yander, \u2018Jes\u2019 kem an\u2019 set awhile, Mister Wolf, an\u2019 eat\nsupper at my farm.\u2019 I wouldn\u2019t dare no mo\u2019 ter show my muzzle in the\nsettle_mints_ \u2019n he would his\u2019n. The law \u2019lows both o\u2019 us air pests an\u2019\ncumberers o\u2019 the groun\u2019, an\u2019 thar\u2019s a price on his head ez well ez mine.\nThe law \u2019lows we air both murderers.\u201d\n\nThere was a pause, while the thud of the horses\u2019 hoofs was barely heard\non the dank, soft mould. Then the voice of \u201chongry Jeb\u201d seemed to detach\nitself from kindred dreary voices of the rain and the winds and the\nwoods, and become articulate.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s edzac\u2019ly whar it hurts my feelins. The wolf air enough mo\u2019 like\nthe revenuers, a-seekin\u2019 who they may devour. I oughter played the sheep,\nI reckon, an\u2019 gin \u2019em my blood stiddier lead; but I\u2019m human,\u2014I\u2019m human,\u201d\ninsistently. \u201cAn\u2019 when a feller with a pistol draws a bead on me, I jes\u2019\nnaterally whips up my rifle an\u2019 bangs too. An\u2019 he war a pore shot an\u2019 I\nwar a good un, an\u2019 he got the wust o\u2019 it.\u201d\n\nThe horses surged through the ford of an invisible torrent, stumbling\namong the rolling bowlders and struggling out on the other bank, and\nthen they could hear again the monotonous falling of the multitudinous\nraindrops; the dreary wind took up its refrain, and the melancholy voice\nof Jeb began anew.\n\n\u201c\u2019Twould hev been self-defense, ef I hedn\u2019t been engaged in a unlawful\nact, preferrin\u2019 ter squeege the juice out\u2019n my apples, an\u2019 bile an\u2019\nsell it, \u2019n ter let \u2019em rot on the groun\u2019. I war a fool. I \u2019lowed the\napples war mine. Me an\u2019 my dad an\u2019 my gran\u2019dad hed owned the orchard an\u2019\nthe lan\u2019 sence the Injun went. But \u2019twarn\u2019t my apples,\u2014b\u2019long ter the\ngovernmint. I ain\u2019t never shot at no man ez didn\u2019t shoot at me fust. But\n\u2019tain\u2019t self-defense fur me. I\u2019m got ter play sheep.\u201d\n\nThe woful tenor of this discourse seemed to anger Marvin suddenly.\n\n\u201cWaal, I wish ye war slartered _now_!\u201d he broke out. \u201cI\u2019d jes\u2019 ez lief\nlisten ter that thar wolf conversin\u2019 by the hour. What ails ye, Jeb, ter\ngit set a-goin\u2019 so all-fired lonesome an\u2019 doleful?\u201d\n\n\u201cLord, nuthin\u2019,\u201d said Jeb amenably, from the van of the procession. \u201cI\nain\u2019t lonesome nor doleful, nuther. When Mr. Harshaw \u2019lowed suthin\u2019\n\u2019bout my kemin\u2019 ter see him on his farm, it jes\u2019 reminded me sorter ez\nwhen I war young, afore my diff\u2019unce with the governmint, I used ter\nbe a powerful lively boy, an\u2019 knowed plenty o\u2019 folks, an\u2019 went about\nmightily,\u2014never lived like I does now. I war sorter o\u2019 a vagrantin\u2019\nboy,\u2014used ter consort with boys in the valley, an\u2019 they\u2019d kem up ter the\ncove an\u2019 bide an\u2019 go huntin\u2019, an\u2019 I\u2019d go down ter thar farms; an\u2019 that\u2019s\nhow it kem I knowed whar ye live on Ow_el_ Creek. Powerful good land some\nof it air,\u2014mellow, rich sile; some cherty hillsides, though. None o\u2019 them\nboys hev turned out like me. Why, I used ter know Jeemes Gwinnan ez well\nez the road ter mill, an\u2019 Jim\u2019s a jedge a-gracin\u2019 the bench, an\u2019 I\u2019m\u2014a\nwolf!\u201d\n\nHarshaw experienced a sudden quickening of interest. \u201cYou knew Gwinnan?\u201d\n\n\u201cLord, yes; ez well ez the bark knows the tree. Jeemes war a fine shot,\nan\u2019 he liked huntin\u2019 fust-rate. He hedn\u2019t his health very well, an\u2019 his\nmother, bein\u2019 a widder-woman, war more\u2019n naterally foolish \u2019bout\u2019n him,\nan\u2019 war always lookin\u2019 fur him ter die. So she\u2019d keep him out\u2019n doors ez\nwell ez she could. But he\u2019d kerry his book along, an\u2019 read, \u2019thout he war\na-huntin\u2019. So she let him kem whenst he war jes\u2019 a boy, an\u2019 go huntin\u2019 in\nthe mountings along o\u2019 the men growed. An\u2019 it done him good. He war ez\nfine a shot ez I ever see.\u201d\n\nA wonderful thing was happening in the woods,\u2014the familiar miracle of\ndawn. The vast forests were slowly asserting dim outlines of bole and\nbranch, lodgment for the mist which clothed them in light and fleecy\nillusions of foliage. A gray revelation of light, rather the sheer values\nof distinctness than a realized medium, was unfolding before the eye.\nThe serried slants of rain fell at wider intervals, and the equestrian\nform of Jeb became visible,\u2014lank, lean, soaked with rain, his old white\nhat shedding the water from its brim in rivulets upon his straight and\nstraggling hair. As he jogged along on the little mule, whose long\nears seemed alternately to whisk off the shades of night, he seemed\na forlornly inadequate individual to have had a \u201cdiff\u2019unce with the\ngovernmint.\u201d\n\n\u201cJim\u2019s what reminded me of how I war fixed in life,\u201d he went on, more\ncheerfully. \u201cAn\u2019 this hyar whole trip air what reminded me o\u2019 Jim. I\nguided him\u2014mus\u2019 hev been fourteen year ago, or mo\u2019\u2014through jes\u2019 sech a\nrainy night ez this, an\u2019 through these hyar very woods\u2014naw, sir! more\ntowards the peak o\u2019 Thunderhead.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dunno ez ye hev got enny call ter be so durned pertic\u2019lar \u2019bout the\npercise spot,\u201d said Marvin, significantly.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s a fac\u2019,\u201d said Jeb, good-naturedly. \u201cI guided him through the\nmountings an\u2019 over the line inter the old North State.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat in hell did he want to go there for, in the rain and the dead of\nthe night?\u201d asked Harshaw. His breath was quick; he felt that he panted\non the brink of a discovery. Now plunge!\n\n\u201c\u2019Kase, stranger, he war obleeged ter, sorter like you-uns,\u201d said Jeb\nenigmatically.\n\nHe looked back over his shoulder, with perhaps some stirring doubt, some\nvague suspicion, at the man who followed; but Harshaw, now lifting a hand\nto thrust a branch from across the path, now adjusting the bridle about\nthe mare\u2019s head, seemed so careless, so casual, in his curiosity that Jeb\nwas reassured as to the innocuousness of his gossip, and went on.\n\n\u201cYe see, them fellers he consorted with\u2014huntin\u2019, an\u2019 a-pitchin\u2019 o\u2019\nquates, an\u2019 a-foot-racin\u2019, an\u2019 sech\u2014war mostly powerful servigrus,\ngamesome folks; an\u2019 some o\u2019 \u2019em war gin ter toler\u2019ble wild ways, an\u2019\nJeemes\u2014his mother never keered much what he done, so ez he\u2019d quit\nstickin\u2019 so all-fired constant ter his law-books, \u2019kase he war a-studyin\u2019\nlaw by that time in old Squair Dinks\u2019s law-office in Colbury\u2014he war \u2019bout\ntwenty-two year old\u2014he war mixed up in a deal o\u2019 them goin\u2019s-on. An\u2019\nfrom one little thing an\u2019 another he hed some ill-will started agin him\nwunst in a while. Him an\u2019 Eph Saunders hed a fallin\u2019-out wunst. Eph war\na tremenjious strong man, an\u2019 he kep\u2019 flingin\u2019 words at Jeemes. Sence\nJeemes hed tuk ter studyin\u2019 o\u2019 law an\u2019 sech, an\u2019 \u2019peared right hearty, he\ntuk up with town ways powerfill, an\u2019 went ter meet\u2019n a-Sunday nights,\nescortin\u2019 the gals, an\u2019 dressed hisself like a plumb peacock. An\u2019 whenst\nEph \u2019tended circus in Colbury he met up with Jeemes, who hed a lot o\u2019 his\ngal cousins along. An\u2019 Eph war drunk, an\u2019 Jim gin him a push aside, an\u2019\nEph, he fell on the groun\u2019. Waal, sir, it like ter killed Eph,\u2014ter be\nknocked down by a man o\u2019 Jeemes\u2019s weight! Jim couldn\u2019t hev done it ef Eph\nhedn\u2019t been drunk. Eph jes\u2019 mourned like Samson arter his hair war cut\noff. Ye\u2019d hev \u2019lowed he war _de_-sgraced fur life! An\u2019, like Samson, he\nwarn\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter bide stopped off an\u2019 done fur. He kep\u2019 a-sendin\u2019 all\nsorts o\u2019 words ter Jeemes; an\u2019 ez Jeemes never wanted no fuss with Eph,\nhe kep\u2019 out\u2019n his way for a while. An\u2019 Eph, he \u2019lowed ez Jim war afeard\nan\u2019 a-hidin\u2019. Waal, sir, that hustled up Jeemes\u2019s feelins mightily.\nHe jes\u2019 wanted ter keep out\u2019n his mother\u2019s hearin\u2019, though; she war a\npowerful chicken-hearted, floppy kind o\u2019 woman,\u2014skeered at everything.\nThen Jeemes, he sent Eph word ez he warn\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter be beat inter a\njelly fur nuthin\u2019 by a man twict his size; but he war a-kemin\u2019 up ter\nsettle him with his rifle. An\u2019 Eph, he sent word he\u2019d meet him at the big\nSulphur Spring, thar on that spur o\u2019 the mounting nigh Gran\u2019dad\u2019s Creek.\nEf Jeemes so much ez dared ter cross the foot-bredge over Gran\u2019dad\u2019s\nCreek, an\u2019 set his foot on the t\u2019other side, Eph swore he\u2019d shoot him\ndead. An\u2019 Eph, he sent word ter come Chewsday an hour by sun, an\u2019 bring\nhis friends ter see fair play.\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy!\u201d exclaimed Marvin, in the fervor of reminiscence, \u201cI kin\njes\u2019 see that thar spot,\u2014that thar old foot-bredge in the woods, an\u2019 the\nwater high enough ter lap the under side o\u2019 the log; \u2019twar hewn a-top,\nan\u2019 made toler\u2019ble level footin\u2019. An\u2019 me an\u2019 Jeb dodgin\u2019 in the laurel,\nfur fear Eph would shoot \u2019fore Jeemes crost.\u201d\n\n\u201cJeemes seemed toler\u2019ble long a-crossin\u2019,\u201d Jeb resumed,\u2014\u201cI \u2019member that;\nan\u2019 he stopped at the furder eend, an\u2019 lifted his rifle ter his shoulder\nter be ready ter shoot. An\u2019 thar stood Eph, a-sightin\u2019 him keerful ez he\nkem\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cYou were both there?\u201d said Harshaw, hastily.\n\n\u201cLord, yes,\u201d said Jeb. \u201cJeemes hed stayed at my dad\u2019s house the night\nafore. An\u2019 he never brung none o\u2019 his town friends,\u2014afeard o\u2019 word\ngittin\u2019 ter his mother. So me an\u2019 Sam,\u2014Sam, he lived nigh me,\u2014we-uns went\nalong.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid he kill Eph?\u201d demanded Harshaw, the query swift with the momentum of\nthe wish.\n\n\u201cWaal, not edzac\u2019ly,\u201d drawled Jeb. \u201cThat\u2019s whar the funny part kem in.\nEph, he knowed ef Jeemes shot fust he war a dead man,\u2014mighty few sech\nshots ez Jeemes,\u2014but he warn\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter murder him by shootin\u2019 him\nafore he put his foot on the groun\u2019 an\u2019 tuk up the dare. So he waited,\nan\u2019 Jeemes stopped short right at the aidge o\u2019 the bredge.\u201d\n\n\u201cLord, I \u2019members how he looked!\u201d cried Marvin. \u201cHe had tuk off his coat\nan\u2019 vest, though we-uns hed tole him that thar b\u2019iled shirt o\u2019 his\u2019n war\na good mark for Eph, ez looked jes\u2019 the color o\u2019 the clay-bank ahint him,\nin them brown jeans clothes. Jim\u2019s straw hat war drawn down over his\neyes; he war jes\u2019 about the build o\u2019 his ramrod,\u2014slimmest, stringiest\nboy!\u2014ez delikit-lookin\u2019 ez a gal. One thing Eph called him, ez riled him\nwuss \u2019n all, war \u2018Miss Polly.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cHe hev widened out mightily sence then, though he ain\u2019t got no fat ter\nspare yit,\u201d put in Jeb.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 then, suddint,\u201d resumed Marvin, \u201che jes\u2019 stepped his foot right on\nthe groun\u2019. In that very minute Eph\u2019s gun flashed. An\u2019 I seen Jeemes\nstandin\u2019 thar, still sightin\u2019. An\u2019 then Eph, he drapped his gun, an\u2019 held\nhis hands afore his face, an\u2019 yelled out, \u2018Shoot, ef ye air a-goin\u2019 ter\nshoot! I ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter stan\u2019 hyar no longer.\u2019 An\u2019 Jeemes, he looked\nez scornful\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cI never seen a boy\u2019s looks with sech a cuttin\u2019 aidge ter \u2019em,\u201d\ninterpolated Jeb.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 Jeemes, he say, \u2018I ain\u2019t a-wastin\u2019 powder ter-day. I never \u2019lowed ez\nskunks war game.\u2019 An\u2019 he drapped his gun.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes sir!\u201d exclaimed Jeb, \u201che jes\u2019 hed that much grit,\u2014ter stan\u2019 up ez a\nshootin\u2019 mark fur Eph Saunders, an\u2019 prove he warn\u2019t afeard o\u2019 nothin\u2019. He\ndid sir!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, look here, my good friends!\u201d cried the lawyer. \u201cThat was a duel. It\nwas a cool, premeditated affair. They met by previous appointment, and\nfought with deadly weapons and with witnesses. It was a duel.\u201d\n\n\u201cMebbe so,\u201d said Jeb, indifferently and uncomprehendingly. \u201cI call it\nclean grit.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d went on Marvin, \u201cI run across the bredge lookin\u2019 fur Eph\u2019s\nbullet. I said, \u2018Whar\u2019d it go?\u2019 An\u2019 by that time Eph an\u2019 them low down\nKitwin boys war slinkin\u2019 off. An\u2019 sez Jeemes, \u2018Don\u2019t let \u2019em know it. I\ndon\u2019t want my mother ter hear \u2019bout it. She air fibble an\u2019 gittin\u2019 old.\u2019\nAn\u2019 thar I seen the breast o\u2019 his shirt war slow a-spottin\u2019 with blood.\nWaal, sir, that\u2019s how kem me an\u2019 Jeb an\u2019 him rid over the mountings inter\nNorth Carolina, whar he hed some kinsfolks livin\u2019 \u2019mongst the hills.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe see,\u201d\u2014Jeb again took up his testimony,\u2014\u201che didn\u2019t want the news ter\ngit ter his mother afore he got well, \u2019kase he war delikit, an\u2019 she war\nalways a-lookin\u2019 fur him ter die; an\u2019 Eph never knowed Jim war shot, an\u2019\ncouldn\u2019t kerry the tale down ter Colbury. Waal, we-uns war all young an\u2019\ntoler\u2019ble bouncin\u2019 fools, I tell ye, an\u2019 we sorter got light on that fac\u2019\nwhenst we-uns sot out ter ride with a man with a gun-shot wound\u2014I furgits\n\u2019zac\u2019ly whar the doctor say the bullet went in\u2014miles an\u2019 miles through\nthe mountings; an\u2019 the dark kem on an\u2019 the rain kem down, an\u2019 Jeemes got\nout\u2019n his head. An\u2019 this ride with you-uns air what reminded me o\u2019 it.\u201d\n\n\u201c_I_ ain\u2019t out of my head!\u201d cried Harshaw, with covert meaning. \u201cYou bet\nyour immortal soul on that!\u201d\n\n\u201cNaw,\u201d\u2014Jeb admitted the discrepancy,\u2014\u201cbut the rain, an\u2019 the ride, an\u2019 the\nmountings, an\u2019 the darksomeness.\u201d\n\n\u201cLord! a body wouldn\u2019t hev b\u2019lieved how Jeemes\u2019s pride war hurt ter be\ncalled afeard!\u201d exclaimed Marvin. \u201cI \u2019low he\u2019d hev let Eph chop him up in\nminch meat ter prove he warn\u2019t. He air prouder of hisself \u2019n enny man I\never see. Thar\u2019s whar his soul is\u2014in his pride.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m glad ter hear it,\u201d said Harshaw, so definitely referring to an\noccult interpretation of his own that the old white hat, bobbing along\nin front of him, turned slowly, and he saw the lank, cadaverous face\nbelow it, outlined with its limp wisps of black hair against the nebulous\nvapors. So strong an expression of surprise did Jeb\u2019s features wear\nthat Harshaw hastily added, \u201cA man that ain\u2019t got any pride ain\u2019t worth\nanything.\u201d\n\n\u201cEf he hev got ennything ter be proud of,\u201d stipulated melancholy Jeb.\n\nThe day had fully dawned; the rain, the mists, the looming forests,\nhad acquired a dull verity in the stead of the vague, illusory shadows\nthey had been. Nevertheless, the muddy banks of the creek down which\nthe mare slided, her legs rigid as iron; the obstructions of the\nford,\u2014rocks, fallen limbs of trees, floating or entangled in intricacies\nof overhanging bushes,\u2014were all rendered more difficult, for Harshaw\nmechanically controlled the reins instead of trusting to the mare\u2019s\ninstinct; as he sawed on the bit, while she threw back her head, foaming\nat the mouth, he brought her to her knees in the midst of the stream.\nThe water surged up about the great boots which he wore drawn over his\ntrousers to the knee, and the mare regained her footing with snorting\ndifficulty. There were no expletives, and Jeb looked back in renewed\nsurprise.\n\n\u201cYe mus\u2019 be studyin\u2019 powerful hard, stranger,\u201d he commented, \u201cnot ter hev\nseen that thar bowlder.\u201d\n\n\u201cYer beastis war a-goin\u2019 ter take slanchwise across the ruver whar thar\nwarn\u2019t nuthin\u2019 ter hender, till ye in an\u2019 about pulled the jaw off\u2019n\nher,\u201d Marvin said, as Harshaw pushed through the swollen flood and up the\nopposite bank. His flushed face was grave; his eyes were intent; he rode\nalong silently. He was indeed thinking.\n\nHe was thinking that if what they had told him were true\u2014and how could\nhe doubt it?\u2014Gwinnan in taking the official oath had committed perjury;\nhe was disqualified for the judicial office, and liable to impeachment.\nHarshaw was vaguely repeating to himself and trying to remember the\nphraseology of the anti-dueling oath exacted of every office-holder in\nthe State of Tennessee,\u2014an oath that he had not directly or indirectly\ngiven or accepted a challenge since the adoption of the Constitution of\n1835.\n\nUnder what pretext, what secret reservation or evasion, had Gwinnan been\nable to evade this solemn declaration? Or had he adopted the simple\nexpedient of swallowing it whole? Harshaw wondered, remembering all the\nacerbities of Gwinnan\u2019s canvass and election, that the old story had not\nbefore come to light. But it was a section of frequent feuds and bloody\ncollisions, the subject was trite and unsuggestive, and the details of an\nold fight might seem to promise no novel developments. How odd that he,\nof all men, should stumble on it, in view of its most signal significance!\n\nAuxiliary facts pressed upon his attention. Nothing that could be now\nurged against an official was so prejudicial as the crime of dueling.\nThe episode of Kinsard\u2019s boyish demonstration attested the temper of\nthe public. With much difficulty had his friends shielded him by its\nambiguity; and indeed only because it was a meaningless folly, without\nintention or result, had it proved innocuous. Even Kinsard, fire-eater as\nhe was, had been forced to accept their interpretations of its harmless\nintent, and to subside under the frown of public displeasure. The more\nlenient members of the House had had cause to regret their clemency,\nthe disapproval of their constituents being expressed in no measured\nmanner by the local journals. But no ambiguity was here; this was the\naccomplished fact, this the clue that long he had sought. Even if the\nHouse should decline to act in the matter, Gwinnan could be removed by\njudicial proceedings. He would think it out at his leisure. How lucky,\nhow lucky was this ride!\n\nThe rain had ceased at last. They were among the minor ridges that lie\nabout the base of the Great Smoky. They had ridden many a mile out of\ntheir way,\u2014Harshaw could not say in what direction,\u2014so that he might\nnot easily retrace his steps. The mists still hung about them when they\nturned from the almost imperceptible path, which Jeb had followed with\nsome keen instinct or memory, into a road,\u2014a rough wagon track. Bushes\nwere growing in its midst, bowlders lay here and there; its chief claim\nto identification as a highway being its occasional mud-puddles, of\nappalling depth and magnitude, and its red clay mire, fetlock deep at\nleast.\n\nHarshaw roused himself suddenly, as the two moonshiners intimated their\nintention of parting company with him.\n\n\u201cThar\u2019s yer way, stranger,\u201d said Marvin, pausing on the rise and pointing\ndown the road. It was visible only a few rods in the mist, dreary and\ndeserted, with deep ditches, heavily washed by the rain, on either hand;\nit might seem to lead to no fair spaces, no favored destination where\none might hope to be. But Harshaw drew up his mare, and gazed along it\nwith kindling eyes. His felt hat drooped in picturesque curves about his\ndense yellow hair, soaked like his beard, to a darker hue. His closely\nbuttoned coat had a military suggestion. His heavy figure was imposing on\nhorseback. He flushed with sudden elation. Alack! he saw more trooping\ndown that prosaic dirt road than the mist, hastily scurrying; than the\nprogress of the wind in the swaying of the stunted cedars, clinging\nto the gashed and gully-washed embankments; than the last trickling\nstragglers of the storm.\n\nHe did not notice, or he did not care, that the two men had remarked his\nsilence, his evident absorption. He glanced cursorily at them, as they\nsat regarding him,\u2014one on the little lank mule, his partner on the big\nlean one, both drenched, and forlorn, and poverty-stricken, and humble\nof aspect. The politician\u2019s mare, perhaps recognizing the road down\ninto Kildeer County, where she had spent the first frisky years of her\ntoilsome pilgrimage, showed a new spirit, and caracoled as Harshaw rode\nup to the two men to offer his hand.\n\n\u201cFarewell, stranger,\u201d they said; and in the old-fashioned phrase of the\nprimitive Plain People, \u201cFarewell,\u201d he replied.\n\nThey stood looking after him, hardly understanding what they lacked,\nwhat they had expected, as the mare, with a mincing, youthful freshness,\ncantered a little way along the grassy margin of the road, above the\nrivulets in the ditches, surging twelve or fourteen feet below.\n\nPresently Harshaw paused, yet unobscured by the mist which had gathered\nabout him, and glanced over his shoulder,\u2014not to thank them for such aid\nand comfort as they had given him.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d he said, a little ill at ease because of the restive mare,\n\u201cI must thank you for the story you told me. You don\u2019t know how much\ngood it did me. A pretty little story, with a pretty little hero. A very\n_pretty_ little story, indeed.\u201d\n\nHe bent his roseate, dimpled smile upon them, and waved his hand\nsatirically; with a bound the mare disappeared in the mist, leaving the\ngrave, saturnine mountaineers staring after him, and listening to the\nmeasured hoof-beat of his invisible progress till it died in the distance.\n\nThen they looked at each other.\n\n\u201cSam,\u201d said Jeb, when they had turned again into their fastnesses, where\nthey could ride only in single file, \u201cI dunno ef we-uns done right las\u2019\nnight. This worl\u2019 would be healthier ef that man war out\u2019n it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t misdoubtin\u2019 that none,\u201d replied Marvin. \u201c\u2019Peared ter me powerful\ncomical, the way he took off down the road, an\u2019 I ain\u2019t able ter study\nout yit what he meant. My gran\u2019mam always \u2019lowed ez them ez talks in\nriddles larnt thar speech o\u2019 the devil, him bein\u2019 the deceivin\u2019 one. But\n\u2019twarn\u2019t healthy fur we-uns ter kill him, even ef we could hev agreed ter\ndo it. I reckon them hunters _would_ hev tracked him. An\u2019 I don\u2019t b\u2019lieve\nhe war no spy nor sech.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor me nuther,\u201d said \u201chongry Jeb,\u201d well enough satisfied with the\ntermination of the adventure, \u201cthough I ain\u2019t likin\u2019 him now ez well ez I\ndone a-fust.\u201d\n\nThey liked him still less, and all their old suspicions returned with\nredoubled force, upon reaching home, when the afternoon was well\nadvanced. For no hunters had yet appeared, and the lurking moonshiners,\nbecoming surprised because of this, had tracked Harshaw\u2019s way to the\nhouse by the broken brush, the hairs from the mane and tail of the\nmare, a bit of his coat clutched off by the briers, the plain prints of\nthe mare\u2019s hoofs along a sandy stretch protected from the rain by the\nbeetling ledges of a crag. There were many oak-trees along this path,\u2014not\none blazed by a hunting-knife. They understood at last his clever lie.\nAnd Marvin upbraided M\u2019ria:\u2014\n\n\u201cThar air more constancy in the ways o\u2019 the wind, an\u2019 mo\u2019 chance o\u2019\ncountin\u2019 on \u2019em, \u2019n that thar woman. Fust he mus\u2019 be dragged out straight\nan\u2019 kilt,\u2014flunged off\u2019n the bluff,\u2014else we-uns would all go ter jail, an\u2019\nPhiletus be lef\u2019 ter starve \u2019mongst the painters, ez wouldn\u2019t keep him\ncomp\u2019ny, but would eat him up. Then when the man limbered his jaw an\u2019 sot\nout ter lyin\u2019, she gits so all-fired skeered, she hed breakfus\u2019 cooked\nfor we-uns ter journey \u2019fore I could sati\u2019fy my mind \u2019bout nuthin\u2019. Ef\nthe truth war knowed, we\u2019d all be safer ef M\u2019ria were flunged over the\nbluff.\u201d\n\nAnd Maria, staring at the line of oak-trees, all undesecrated by the\nknife, could not gainsay it.\n\nShe could only wring her hands, and rock herself to and fro, and revolve\nher troublous fears, and grow yet more wan and gaunt with her prescient\nwoes for them all\u2014and for Philetus.\n\n\n\n\nXXV.\n\n\nOn the second day of February, the ground-hog, true to his traditions,\nemerged from his hole, and looked about him cautiously for his shadow.\nFortunately, it was not in attendance. And by this token the spring was\nearly, and all the chill rains, and late frosts, and unpropitious winds,\nand concomitant calamities, that might have ensued had he found his\nill-omened shadow awaiting him, were escaped. It was not long afterward\nthat small protuberances appeared on every twig and wand and branch,\nalthough the trees had not budded save in these promissory intimations.\nThe sap was stirring. The dead world was quickened again. That beautiful\nsymbolism of the miracle of resurrection was daily presented in the\nreawakening, in the rising anew of the spring. So pensively gladsome it\nwas, so gently approaching, with such soft and subtle languors! The sky\nwas blue; the clouds how light, how closely akin to the fleecy mists!\nSheep-bells were tinkling\u2014for what! the pastures were already green! And\nhere and there a peach-tree beside a rail-fence burst forth in a cloud of\nblossoms so exquisitely petaled, so delicately roseate, that only some\nfine ethereal vagary of the sunset might rival the tint. Sometimes among\nthe still leafless mountains these pink graces of color would appear,\nbetokening the peach orchard of some hidden little hut, its existence\nonly thus attested. The Scolacutta River was affluent with the spring\nfloods: a wild, errant stream this, with many a wanton freak, with a\nweakness for carrying off its neighbor\u2019s rails; for snatching huge\nslices of land from the banks; for breaking off trees and bushes, and\nwhirling them helplessly down its current, tossing and teetering in a\nfrantic, unwilling dance. Many a joke had it played before and since the\ndisaster to old Griff\u2019s mill. The sunbeams might seem the strings of a\nharp; whenever touched by a wing they were quivering and thrilling with\nsongs. Slow wreathing blue smoke curled in fields here and there where\nthe fires of rubbish blazed; sometimes a stump would burn sullenly all\nnight and char slowly, and with a puff of wind burst anew into flames.\nThe soft lustres of the Pleiades and the fiery Aldebaran were resplendent\nin the heavens, and the moon was the paschal moon. A vernal thrill had\nblessed the wild cherry, and it gave out its glad incense. For miles and\nmiles the exquisite fragrance from its vast growths on the mountain-side\npervaded the air. And presently the mountain-side wore the tender verdure\nof budding leaves, and even the gloomy pines were tipped with new tufts\nof vivid green, unlike their sombre hue; and here and there crags\nflaunted a bourgeoning vine, and the wild ivy crept on the ground where\nthe wood violet bloomed. All day the ploughs turned the furrow, and the\nair echoed with the calls \u201cgee, haw\u201d to the slow oxen.\n\nAnd Mrs. Purvine was greatly distraught in the effort to remember exactly\nwhere she had stowed away certain bags of seed necessary, in view of\ntheir best interests, to be sown in the light of the moon.\n\nHer sun-bonnet was all awry, her face wrinkled and anxious with the\ncares of the spring-tide \u201cgyarden spot,\u201d her gestures laborious and\nweary, as she sat on her porch, the lap of her ample apron filled with\nsmall calico bags, each of which seemed to have a constitutional defect\nin its draw-string; for when found closed it would not open, and if by\nchance open it would not close. There was a sort of shelf in lieu of\nbalustrade against the posts of the porch, and on this were placed two or\nthree pieces of old crockery,\u2014providentially broken into shapes that the\ningenious could utilize,\u2014in which seeds were immersed in water, that they\nmight swell in the night, and thus enter the ground prepared to swiftly\ngerminate. One of these broken dishes stood on the floor at her feet, and\na graceless young rooster, that had the air of loafing about the steps,\napproached by unperceived degrees, picked up several of the seed, and\nwas quenching his thirst, when spied by Mrs. Purvine, who was viciously\npulling the strings of a recalcitrant bag.\n\n\u201cIn the name o\u2019 Moses!\u201d she adjured him so solemnly that the rooster\nstopped and looked at her expectantly. \u201cI\u2019m in an\u2019 about minded ter cut\nthem dish-rag-gourd seed out\u2019n yer craw, ye great, big, ten-toed sinner,\nyou! Ye needn\u2019t turn yer head up \u2019twixt every sup,\u2014so thankful ter the\nLord fur water. Ye\u2019ll find mo\u2019 water in the pot \u2019n that. A-swallerin\u2019\nthem few dish-rag-gourd seed ez nimble an\u2019 onconsarned, an\u2019 me jes\u2019\na-chasin\u2019 an\u2019 a-racin\u2019 an\u2019 wore ter the bone ter find some mo\u2019! Ye\u2019d\nbetter leave \u2019em be.\u201d\n\nThe rooster, hardly comprehending the words, was about to again sample\nthe delicacy, when aunt Dely, stamping to startle him, inadvertently\noverturned the dish and the seed on the floor. The fowl scuttled off,\nlooking askance at the ruin, and the water dripped through the cracks of\nthe puncheon floor.\n\nSo absorbed had she been that she had not observed an approach, and\nAlethea was at the foot of the steps when she lifted her eyes.\n\n\u201cHyar I be, aunt Dely,\u201d said the girl, noticing Mrs. Purvine\u2019s occupation\nwith a surprise that seemed hardly warranted, and speaking in a\nbreathless, eager way. \u201cAir you-uns feelin\u2019 enny better?\u201d\n\nFor once in her life the crafty Mrs. Purvine was embarrassed; to conceal\nher confusion, she engaged in a strenuous struggle with one of the bags\nof seed.\n\n\u201cI feel toler\u2019ble well,\u201d she said at last, gruffly.\n\n\u201cWaal!\u201d exclaimed Alethea, in amazement. \u201cFrom the word Ben Doaks brung\nter Wild-Cat Hollow, ez he war drivin\u2019 up some steers ter the bald o\u2019 the\nmounting, we-uns \u2019lowed ez ye hed been tuk awful sick, an\u2019 war like ter\ndie.\u201d\n\n\u201cI sent ye that word,\u201d said Mrs. Purvine with admirable effrontery. \u201cI\nknowed thar warn\u2019t no other way ter git ye down hyar. When hev ye hed the\nperliteness ter fetch them bones o\u2019 yourn hyar afore?\u201d She looked over\nher spectacles with angry reproach at the girl.\n\n\u201cWaal, aunt Dely,\u201d said Alethea in her dulcet, mollifying drawl, sitting\ndown on the step as she talked, \u201cye know I hev hed ter do so much o\u2019 the\nploughin\u2019 an\u2019 sech, a-puttin\u2019 in o\u2019 our craps. We-uns hev got sech a lot\no\u2019 folks up ter our house. An\u2019 I dunno when Jacob Jessup hev done less\nwork \u2019n he hev this spring.\u201d\n\n\u201cThought ye be always \u2019lowin\u2019 ye ain\u2019t layin\u2019 off ter do his work,\u201d said\nthe elder tartly.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d rejoined Alethea wearily, \u201cI don\u2019t \u2019pear ter hev the grit ter\nhold out an\u2019 quar\u2019l over it, like I used ter do. I reckon my sperit\u2019s\na-gittin\u2019 bruk; but I don\u2019t mind workin\u2019 off in the field, \u2019thout no\njawin\u2019, whar I kin keep comp\u2019ny with my thoughts.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t want ter keep comp\u2019ny with \u2019em,\u201d said aunt Dely cavalierly.\n\u201cI\u2019ll be bound they air heavier ter foller \u2019n the plough. Mighty solemn,\nlow-sperited thoughts fur a spry young gal like you-uns! Ef yer head\ncould be turned inside out, thar ain\u2019t nobody ez wouldn\u2019t \u2019low it mus\u2019\noutside be gray. They\u2019d say, \u2018In the name o\u2019 Moses! old ez this inside,\nan\u2019 yaller outside! \u2019Tain\u2019t natur\u2019!\u2019\u201d\n\nThe girl had taken off her bonnet. Her beauty was undimmed, despite\na pensive pallor on her delicate cheek. She fanned herself with her\nsun-bonnet, and the heavy, undulating folds of her lustrous yellow hair\nstirred softly. \u201cI\u2019m powerful glad ter find ye hevin\u2019 yer health same ez\ncommon,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m s\u2019prised ter hear ye say so,\u201d declared Mrs. Purvine, tart from her\nrenewed conflicts with the bag. \u201cI ain\u2019t sick, bless the Lord, but I\nwanted ye ter kem down hyar an\u2019 bide with me, an\u2019 I knowed I couldn\u2019t\ntole ye out\u2019n that thar Eden, ez ye call Wild-Cat Hollow, \u2019thout\npurtendin\u2019 ter be nigh dead. So I jes\u2019 held my han\u2019 ter my side an\u2019 tied\nup my head, an\u2019 hollered ter Ben Doaks ez he went by. He looked mighty\nsorry fur me!\u201d A faint smile flickered across her broad face. \u201cI hed laid\noff ter go ter bed afore you-uns kem, though. I will say fur ye ez ye\ntravel toler\u2019ble fas\u2019. Yes, sir!\u201d she went on, after a momentary pause.\n\u201cI live in a ongrateful worl\u2019. I hev ter gin out I\u2019m dyin\u2019 ter git my\nown niece ter kem ter see me. An\u2019 thar\u2019s that thar Jerry Price, ez I\nhev raised from a ill-convenient infant ez won\u2019t do nuthin\u2019 I say, nor\nmarry nobody I picks out fur him. I\u2019ll be boun\u2019 he wouldn\u2019t hev no say-so\n\u2019bout\u2019n it ef his aunt Melindy Jane hed hed the raisin\u2019 of him. An\u2019 Bluff\nez good ez \u2019lowed this mornin\u2019 ez he\u2019d hook me ef I didn\u2019t quit foolin\u2019\nin his bucket o\u2019 bran,\u2014\u2019kase I \u2019lowed ez mebbe the saaft-soap gourd war\ndrapped in it, bein\u2019 ez I couldn\u2019t find it nowhar, an\u2019 I war afear\u2019d\n\u2019twouldn\u2019t agree with the critter\u2019s insides. An\u2019 thar\u2019s that rooster,\u201d\u2014he\nwas now out among the weeds,\u2014\u201che war a aig ez got by accident inter a\ntur-r-key\u2019s nest, an\u2019 when he war hatched she wouldn\u2019t hev him; an\u2019 ez\nI hed no hen ez war kerryin\u2019 o\u2019 chickens his size, _I_ hed ter care fur\nhim. I useter git up in my bare feet in the middle o\u2019 a winter night ter\nkiver up that thar rooster in a bat o\u2019 cotton, fur he war easy ter git\ncold, an\u2019 he could holler ez loud ez a baby. An\u2019 arter all, he kem hyar\nan\u2019 eat up \u2019bout haffen my dish-rag-gourd seed! I dunno what in Moses\u2019\nname is kem o\u2019 the other bags. Never mind!\u201d\u2014she shook her head as she\naddressed the jaunty and unprescient fowl,\u2014\u201cI\u2019ll git up the heart ter\nkill ye some day; an\u2019 ef I can\u2019t eat ye, bein\u2019 so well acquainted with\nye, I\u2019ll be boun\u2019 Jerry kin.\u201d\n\nAlethea, apprised how precious the seeds were, began to gather them up as\nshe sat on the step.\n\n\u201cListen ter Jerry, now!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Purvine, with whom the world had\nevidently gone much amiss to-day. \u201cNeedn\u2019t tell me he don\u2019t hurt Bluff\u2019s\nfeelins, callin\u2019 him names whilst ploughing an\u2019 yellin\u2019 at him like a\nplumb catamount. Ef Bluff hedn\u2019t treated me like he done this mornin\u2019,\nI\u2019d go thar an\u2019 make Jerry shet up.\u201d\n\nNow and then the ox and the man at the plough-tail came into view at\nthe end of the field that sloped down to the road. One of aunt Dely\u2019s\nboys was dropping corn in the furrow, and the other followed with a hoe\nand covered the grain in. Alethea watched them with the interest of a\npractical farmer.\n\nAunt Dely, too, looked up, repeating the old formula:\u2014\n\n    \u201cOne fur the cut-worm an\u2019 one fur the crow,\n    Two fur the blackbird an\u2019 one fur ter grow.\u201d\n\nJerry, glancing toward the house, called out a salutation to Alethea, and\nthen at long range entered upon a colloquy with Mrs. Purvine touching the\nlack of seed.\n\n\u201cWhar\u2019s that thar t\u2019other bag o\u2019 seed-corn?\u201d he demanded.\n\n\u201cWaal, I ain\u2019t got none!\u201d cried out Mrs. Purvine peremptorily. \u201cI mus\u2019\nhev made a mistake, and fedded that thar bag o\u2019 special an\u2019 percise\nfine seed-corn ter the chickens,\u2014I wish they war every one fried. I\ndisremember now what I done, an\u2019 what I done it fur. Ye jes\u2019 gear up\nBluff in the wagin an\u2019 go ter mill, an\u2019 see ef ye can\u2019t git some thar.\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy!\u201d objected Jerry, \u201c\u2019tain\u2019t no use ter make Bluff go. I kin\ngit thar an back quicker an\u2019 easier \u2019thout him \u2019n with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe do ez ye air bid,\u201d said Mrs. Purvine; and while Jerry stared she\npresently explained, as she sawed away on the draw-strings of a bag, \u201cI\nwant ye ter take Lethe along ter the post-office, ter see ef thar\u2019s enny\nletter fur me.\u201d\n\nNow, Mrs. Purvine had never written nor received a letter in her life; in\nfact, would not have understood the functions of a post-office, had it\nnot been for her husband\u2019s incumbency some years ago. Nevertheless, in\ncommon with half the country-side, whenever she thought of it she gravely\ndemanded if there were a missive for her, and was gravely answered in the\nnegative, and went her way well content.\n\nBoth young people understood her ruse well enough,\u2014to throw them\ntogether, in the hope that propinquity might do a little match-making.\nSince Mink\u2019s long sentence of imprisonment had been pronounced upon him,\nshe felt that there was no longer fear of rivalry from that quarter, as\nthe Supreme Court would hardly reverse so plain and just a judgment. And\nnow, she thought, is Jerry\u2019s golden opportunity. However, she elaborately\njustified the expedition upon the basis of convenience.\n\n\u201cYe _could_ fetch the letter an\u2019 the corn too,\u201d she observed, in a\ncogitating manner; \u201cbut then, goin\u2019 ter mill, ye\u2019d be apt ter git meal\nsprinkled onto it. I reckon I\u2019d better send Lethe too. Ye kin leave her\nat the post-office till ye go ter mill.\u201d\n\nThis verisimilitude imposed even upon Alethea.\n\n\u201cWho air ye expectin\u2019 a letter from, aunt Dely?\u201d said the girl.\n\nMrs. Purvine was equal to the occasion.\n\n\u201cI \u2019lowed,\u201d she said, with swift inspiration, \u201cez some o\u2019 them folks ez\nwe-uns bided with down thar in Shaftesville mought take up a notion ter\nwrite ter us.\u201d\n\nAlethea thought this not unlikely, and set out with Jerry with some\ninterest, fully prepared to preserve the precious letter from any contact\nwith meal.\n\nMrs. Purvine, her ill-humor evaporating in the successful exploiting of\nher little plan, gazed after them with a benignant smile illuminating her\nfeatures, as they creaked off in the slow little ox-cart, its wheels now\nleaning outward and now bending inward, as the loose linch-pin or some\nobstruction in the road might impel. She noted, however, that the old\nslouch hat and the brown sun-bonnet, with its coy tress of golden hair\nshowing beneath its curtain, were seldom turned toward each other, and\nthere was evidently little disposition for conversation between the two\nyoung people.\n\n\u201cBluff hev got mos\u2019 o\u2019 the brains in that thar comp\u2019ny,\u201d she said to\nherself with indignation because of their mutual indifference. \u201cBut Lethe\nAnn Sayles air mighty diffe\u2019nt from some wimmin, ef she kin hold her jaw\nfur twenty year, an\u2019 keep that thar dead-an\u2019-gin-out look on her face\nfur Mink Lorey. He can\u2019t git back \u2019fore then. An\u2019 Jerry\u2019s got ez good a\nchance ez Ben Doaks. But it\u2019s mighty hard on a pore old woman like me,\nez hed trouble enough marryin\u2019 herself off thirty year ago, a-runnin\u2019\naway an\u2019 sech, ter gin herself ter studyin\u2019 \u2019bout sech foolishness in her\nold age ez love-makin\u2019, an\u2019 onsettlin\u2019 her mind, \u2019kase they hain\u2019t got\nenough sense ter do thar courtin\u2019 \u2019thout help.\u201d\n\nBut this unique grievance was so inadequate that Mrs. Purvine gave\nup the effort to eke out thereby her ill-humor, and gazed about with\nplacid complacence at the spring landscape, tossing all the bags of seed\ntogether into a splint basket, to be sorted at some more propitious day.\n\nIn Bluff\u2019s slow progress along the red clay road, the gradual unfolding\nof the scene, the vernal peace, the benedictory sunshine, had their\nbenignant effect on Alethea. Absorbed as she had been, in descending the\nmountain, by her anxiety for the specious aunt Dely\u2019s illness, she had\nnot noted until now how far the spring was advanced in the sheltered\ndepths of the cove, how loath to climb to the sterile fastnesses of\nWild-Cat Hollow.\n\n\u201cThe season \u2019pears ter be toler\u2019ble back\u2019ard in the hollow, jedgin\u2019 by\nthe cove,\u201d she remarked, her eyes resting wistfully upon the tender\nverdure on the margin of the river. The sun was warm, for it was not\nlong past noon, and Bluff stopped to drink in the midst of the ford.\nThe translucent brown water above the bowlders, all distinct in its\nclear depths, washed about the miry wheels, and lapsed with soft sighs\nagainst the rocky banks; great silvery circles elastically expanded on\nits surface about the ox\u2019s muzzle, distorting somewhat the image of his\nhead and his big, insistent, sullen eyes and long horns, as he drank.\nWhenever the sunbeams struck the current a bevy of tiny insects might be\nseen, skittering about over the water; and hark! a frog was croaking on\na rotten log in the dank shadow of the laurel. From the fields beyond\nthe call of the quail was sweet and clear. The ranges encompassing the\ncove on every hand seemed doubly beautiful, doubly dear, with the\ntender promise of summer upon them, with the freshened delights of soft\nairs pervading them, with the predominant sense of the liberated joys\nof nature in the bourgeonings and the blooms, in the swift rushing of\ntorrents, in the whirl of wings. The wooded lines of those summits close\nat hand were drawn in fine detail against the sky, save where the great\nbalds towered,\u2014symmetrical, ponderous, bare domes; further mountains\nshowed purple and blue, and among them was a lowering gray portent that\nmight have seemed a storm-cloud, save to those who knew the strange,\ncumulose outline of Thunderhead.\n\nEverywhere birds were building. A couple of jays were carrying straws\nfrom a heap in a corner of a fence; they rose with a great whirl of blue\nand white feathers, as Bluff, his horns nodding, approached them. A dove\nwas cooing in a clump of dogwood trees, whitely blooming by the road.\nThere was a great commotion of wings in the air from a lofty martin-house\nin a wayside door-yard, as the plucky denizens chased a hawk round and\nround and out of sight.\n\n\u201cThought that thar war the way ter the post-office at Squair Bates\u2019s,\nJerry,\u201d Alethea observed, pointing down one of those picturesque winding\nroads, so common to the region, threading the forests, its tawny red\nconvolutions flecked with shadow and sheen, showing in long, fascinating\nvistas, and luring one to follow.\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d said Jerry, \u201cbut I hev got ter take ye ter the post-office\nat Locust Levels. Ain\u2019t ye hearn aunt Dely \u2019low that? An\u2019 I hev got ter\nleave ye thar whilst I go ter the grist-mill nigh by, off the road a\npiece.\u201d\n\nAlethea flushed with a dull annoyance, recognizing the device that the\nlong drive might be still longer. She nevertheless made no comment. They\nwere each too dutiful to vary the plan of the journey, although aunt Dely\nmight have considered this only obedience in the letter, and not in the\nspirit, as neither again spoke for a mile or more.\n\n\u201cThis be Kildeer County,\u201d said Jerry, at last, breaking the long\nsilence. \u201cWe-uns crossed the line back thar \u2019bout haffen hour ago.\u201d\n\nAlethea\u2019s pensive enjoyment of the gentle influences of the scene was\nmarred. To be sure, aunt Dely had an unequivocal right to send, if she\nliked, to the post-office at Locust Levels, a hamlet of Kildeer County,\nrather than to the one nearer, in her own county; but it was a patent\nsubterfuge that she should expect to receive letters here from their\nfriends in Shaftesville. It was Alethea\u2019s excellent common sense that had\npreserved her from the folly of the continual anticipation of a letter,\nso common among ignorant people, who, with no acquaintances elsewhere,\nbeset the post-offices with their demands. She had never asked for a\nletter for herself, and there had begun to be revealed to her the fact\nthat it was not a post-office which could produce an epistle for Mrs.\nPurvine; she needed a correspondent.\n\n\u201cEf ye \u2019low ye\u2019ll feel like a fool axin\u2019 fur that thar letter, Lethe,\u201d\nsaid the acute Jerry, divining her thoughts, \u201cI\u2019ll do it. I never mind\nfeelin\u2019 like a fool,\u2014thar\u2019s a heap o\u2019 \u2019em in this worl\u2019. An\u2019 whenever I\nacts like one, I remembers I\u2019m in powerful good company. An\u2019 that\u2019s why I\ndon\u2019t try ter be no smarter \u2019n I am.\u201d\n\nBut Alethea said that she would ask for the letter, as aunt Dely had\ndirected. When she alighted from the wagon at Locust Levels, Jerry and\nBluff drove off at a whisking pace, which indicated that both might feel\nrelieved.\n\nAt the post-office the wood-pile was in front of the house, and therefore\nthe approach was over chips, splinters, and shreds of bark, which gave\nout a pungent fragrance. It was a low little gray cabin, partly of log\nand partly of plank, and with a blossoming company of peach-trees about\nit. They hung over the fence, and all the steep bank down to the road was\ncovered with their pink petals shed in the wind. Some golden candlesticks\nand \u201cbutter-and-eggs\u201d were blooming inside the rickety little palings,\nand a girl stood upon the porch beside a spinning-wheel.\n\nAlethea noted the unrecognizing stare bent upon her. She opened the gate\nwith difficulty, and went up on the shaded porch. The girl had stopped\nspinning, but was still gazing at her. A yellow dog, who had been asleep\non the floor, his muzzle on his fore-paws, also scanned her curiously,\nnot stirring his head, only lifting his eyes. When she faltered her\ninquiry for a letter for Mrs. Purvine, the dog got up as briskly as if he\nwere the postmaster.\n\n\u201cFur who?\u201d demanded a masculine voice, as a man with a plough-line in his\nhand stepped around the corner, lured by the sound of the colloquy.\n\n\u201cMis\u2019 Purvine,\u201d repeated Alethea.\n\nHe looked at her with a touch of indignation. He would never get through\nhis spring ploughing at this rate. He strode into the house, however, to\ninvestigate. \u201cI never hearn o\u2019 her in all my life,\u201d he said tartly.\n\nAnd Alethea began to have a realization how very wide this world is.\n\nThe walls of the room bore many flaming graces of advertisement, pasted\nover the logs. They were of more fantastic device and a newer fashion\nthan Mrs. Purvine\u2019s relics of her husband\u2019s postmastership. There were\ntwo neat beds in the room, a very clean floor, and a woman in the\nchimney-corner, smoking her pipe, who nodded with grave courtesy to\nAlethea.\n\nThe postmaster inserted a key in the lock of a table-drawer, and there,\nby some perversity, it stuck; it would neither come out nor go further\nin, nor turn in either direction. The dog had entered, too, as he always\ndid, with a business-like air, and was standing beneath the table, slowly\nwagging his tail and lolling out his tongue; what strange ideas did he\nconnect with the distribution of the mail? His position involved some\ndanger, as his master struggled and pulled at the drawer, and jerked the\ntable about. Finally, one of its legs came in contact with the foot of\nthe dog, who had the worst of it. As his shrieks filled the room, the\nperspiring man turned to Alethea.\n\n\u201cI know thar ain\u2019t no letter fur no Mis\u2019 Purvine,\u201d he declared. \u201cThar air\njes fower letters in this hyar dad-burned drawer, an\u2019 they be fur Judge\nGwinnan. Ye see I can\u2019t open it.\u201d\n\nThe mail seemed indeed in safe-keeping. His daughter, who had been\npeering down the road, suddenly spoke:\u2014\n\n\u201cYe\u2019ll hev ter open it. Fur thar be Jedge Gwinnan now, a-ridin\u2019 up on\nthat thar roan colt o\u2019 his\u2019n, what he hev jes\u2019 bruk.\u201d\n\nA little play with the key, and the drawer abruptly opened.\n\nThere was, indeed, no letter for Mrs. Purvine, and snatching up the four\nfor Judge Gwinnan, with some newspapers, the postmaster ran hastily out,\nhailing the rider as he drew rein at the corner of the orchard fence.\n\nAlethea hesitated for a moment at the gate, gazing at the equestrian\nfigure that had paused under the soft pink glamours of the orchard. She\nhad heard of his belated plea for Mink Lorey. He evidently bore no grudge\nfor his injuries. Suddenly there flashed into her mind a word that she\nmight say for that graceless and forlorn wight,\u2014a word which, perhaps,\nmight not be taken amiss; and if it should do no good, it could at least\nwork no harm. It was an abrupt resolution. She stood in eager impatience,\nyet loath to interrupt him.\n\nGwinnan read his letters, one by one, while the postmaster went back to\nthe plough, where the gray mare dozed in the furrow.\n\nAs Gwinnan gathered up the reins, looking absently ahead, the girl\nwaiting by the roadside signed to him to stop. He did not see her.\nSomehow Alethea could not speak. She sprang forward with a hoarse cry, as\nhe was about to pass like a flash, and caught his bridle. The young horse\nswerved, instead of trampling upon her, but dragging her with him.\n\n\u201cTake care!\u201d cried out Gwinnan sharply. He drew up his horse with an\neffort, and looked down at her in amazement as she still clung to the\nbridle.\n\nThe next moment he recognized her.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI.\n\n\nUnder the strong pull on the curb, the young horse stood quivering in\nevery limb beneath the blossoming peach boughs that overhung the grassy\nmargin of the road. There seemed a reflection of their delicate roseate\ntints in Alethea\u2019s upturned face, as with one hand she still grasped the\nbridle. Her old brown bonnet, falling back, showed her golden hair in its\ndusky tunnel. The straight blooming wands of the volunteer peach sprouts,\nthat had sprung up outside the zigzag barriers of the rail fence,\nclustered about the folds of her homespun dress, as she stood in their\nmidst.\n\nAll at once she was trembling violently. Her luminous brown eyes\nsuddenly faltered. In her every consideration she herself was always so\nsecondary\u2014not with a sedulous effort of subordination, but yielding with\na fine and generous instinct to the interest of others\u2014that until this\nmoment she had had no self-consciousness in regard to the jealousy which\nhad resulted in Gwinnan\u2019s injuries. For this he had been struck down\nand brought near to death. Some sense of a reciprocal consciousness, an\noverwhelming deprecation of Mink\u2019s folly in fancying him a rival, a vague\nwonderment as to the effect of the idea upon Gwinnan, seized upon her for\nthe first time now in his presence, as if she had had no leisure hitherto\nto think of these things. She could not speak. She could not meet his\nserious, intent, expectant eye.\n\n\u201cDid you have something to say to me?\u201d he asked, taking the initiative.\n\nIt was the same tone that had given her sympathetic encouragement in the\ncourt-room, charged with a personal interest, a grave solicitude, all\nunlike the superficial, unmeaning courtesy of the lawyers. She spoke\nimpetuously now as then, and with instant reliance upon him.\n\n\u201cI hearn, jedge,\u201d she cried, looking up radiantly at him, \u201cez how ye hev\ngin out ez ye never wanted Reuben Lorey ter be prosecuted fur tryin\u2019 ter\nkill ye, an\u2019 axed fur him ter be let off, an\u2019 I \u2019lowed ye hold no gredge\nagin him. \u2019Pears ter me like ye war powerful good \u2019bout\u2019n it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he was prosecuted,\u201d the judge said quickly, fancying that she was\nunder a delusion.\n\n\u201cI know!\u201d she cried, with a poignant accent. \u201cI know! I hearn it all.\u201d\n\nShe thought of his justification, his fancied provocation, and once more\ntimidity beset her. How could she have found courage to speak in his\nbehalf to Gwinnan? The judge himself was embarrassed; she knew it by the\nway he turned the reins in his hands. She noted details which usually,\nwhen her faculties were not so abnormally alert, would not have arrested\nher attention: the sleek coat of the handsome young horse, which now\nand then shook his head as if in disdain of her grasp; the super-fine\naccoutrements of saddle and bridle; the smooth hands that held the reins;\nthe severely straight lineaments, shadowed by the brim of the hat; and\nthe searching, intent gray eyes, which saw, she felt, her inmost thought.\n\nThe postmaster, ploughing, came ever and anon down to the fence, pausing\nthere to turn, and sometimes to thrust with his foot the clinging mould\nfrom the share. Occasionally he glanced at the incongruous couple, but\nas if the colloquy between them were a very normal incident, and with\nthat courteous lack of curiosity and speculation characteristic of the\nregion. All the fowls of the place followed in the furrow, clucking\nwith gustatory satisfaction; now and then, with a gluttonous outcry,\nthey darted to certain clods upturned by the plough, and the pantomime\nindicated much mortality among those poor troglodytes, the worms of the\nearth.\n\n\u201cYou wanted to speak to me about him,\u201d said Gwinnan, with, it seemed to\nher, wonderful divination.\n\n\u201cYe know, jedge,\u201d she said, more calmly, instantly reassured whenever he\nspoke, \u201cthey hev fund out ez \u2019twarn\u2019t him ez bust down the mill. A boy\nseen it done, an\u2019 he war feared ter tell afore. I reckon that war what\nset Reuben off so awful onruly,\u2014knowin\u2019 he never done it, nor drownded\nTad nuther,\u2014an\u2019 the \u2019torney-gin\u2019al makin\u2019 folks \u2019low I seen a harnt.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dare say,\u201d remarked Gwinnan, dryly.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I \u2019lowed,\u201d she continued, looking at him with beautiful, beseeching\neyes \u201cez \u2019twon\u2019t do him much good ef he does git off at his nex\u2019 trial,\n\u2019kase then he\u2019ll be bound ter be in the prison arterward, ennyhow, fur\ntwenty years. An\u2019 I \u2019lowed I\u2019d ax ye, seein\u2019 ez ye don\u2019t hold no gredge\nagin him,\u2014I wonder at ye, too!\u2014ef ye can\u2019t do nuthin\u2019 ez kin git him out\nnow.\u201d\n\nThe wind waved the peach boughs above their heads, and the pink petals\nwere set a-drifting down the currents of the air. Among the blossoms bees\nwere booming, and on a budding spray a blue and crested jay was jauntily\npluming its wings. Gold flakes of sunshine shifted obliquely through\nthe rosy, inflorescent bower delicately imposed upon the blue sky. In\nits fine azure cirrus clouds were vaguely limned. On the opposite side\nof the road was the bluff end of a ridge, presenting a high escarpment\nof grim splintered rocks; among the niches ferns grew and vines trailed\ndownward; there came from them a dank, refreshing odor, for moisture\ncontinuously trickled from them, and a hidden spring in a cleft by the\nwayside asserted its presence,\u2014its tinkling distinctly heard in the pause\nthat ensued.\n\nHe looked meditatively at the jagged heights. Then suddenly he turned his\neyes upon her.\n\nShe was only a simple mountain girl, but it seemed to him that never\nsince the first spring bloomed had woman worn so noble and appealing a\nface, so fine and delicate a personality. The crude dialect, familiar\nenough to him accustomed to the region, significant of ignorance, of\npoverty, of hopeless isolation from civilization, of uncouth manners, was\nin her all that speech might be, a medium for her ideas; the coarseness\nof her dress could hardly impinge upon the impression of her grace,\u2014it\nwas merely a garb. Her embarrassment had ceased. She looked straight at\nhim; the unconscious dignity of her manner, the calmness of her grave\neyes, the fading flush in her cheek, betokened that she had made her\nappeal to his generosity and that she had faith in it.\n\nHe was not a man who gave promises lightly. He was still silent. Again he\nlooked up the road, with an absorbed and knitted brow. He tipped his hat\nfurther forward over his face; he shifted the reins uncertainly in his\nhands; the horse impatiently shook his head and struck the ground with\nhis forefoot.\n\n\u201cIt would be the worst thing I could do\u2014for you,\u201d Gwinnan said at last,\nsurprised himself at the tone he was taking.\n\nShe made no rejoinder; her face did not change; she only looked\nexpectantly at him.\n\n\u201cYou ought not to marry a man like that,\u201d he continued. \u201cYou are too good\nfor him; and that is not saying much for you either.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d she cried, renewing her hold upon the bridle, and looking up with\na face that coerced credence, \u201c\u2019tain\u2019t fur myself I want him free! It\nair jes\u2019 fur him. He \u2019peared ter set mo\u2019 store by another gal than me. I\nain\u2019t thinkin\u2019 ez we-uns would marry then. Like ez not he\u2019d go straight\nter Elviry Crosby.\u201d\n\nAnother man might have experienced an amusement, a sort of self-ridicule,\nthat he should remember the names of the infinitely insignificant,\nuncouth and humble actors in the little drama played in the court-room.\nBut to Gwinnan people were people wherever he found them, and he had\nmore respect for their principles than for their clothes. He recollected\nwithout effort the mention of Elvira in the testimony.\n\nNevertheless, with the many-sided view of the lawyer, he rejoined,\noblivious of the suggestion conveyed, \u201cI think not. It was on your\naccount he attacked me.\u201d\n\nHer face crimsoned, but with that fine instinct of hers she steadfastly\nmet his gaze, intimating that she placed no foolish interpretation upon\nhis words or actions. She answered quietly enough, \u201cReuben air sometimes\ngin ter reckless notions. I reckon he noticed ez ye tuk up fur me whenst\nthem lawyers war so besettin\u2019. He warn\u2019t used ter sech ez that in\nWild-Cat Hollow. Folks ginerally air sot agin me. Though I ain\u2019t treated\nmean, no-ways,\u201d she added, hastily, lest she might decry her relatives.\n\u201cOnly nobody thinks like me.\u201d\n\nA forlorn isolation she suggested,\u2014away up in the Great Smoky Mountains,\nthinking her unshared thoughts.\n\nThere was an increased attention in his face as he demanded, \u201cThink\ndifferently about what?\u201d\n\nHe had an imperative eye, an insistent voice. It did not occur to\nher that his interest was strange. And indeed he was not a man to be\nquestioned.\n\nShe paused for a moment, her eyes full of a dreamy retrospection. She was\nnot looking at him, but at the boughs of pink blossoms above his horse\u2019s\nhead, and then she absently glanced at a black butterfly, bespangled with\norange and blue, flying across the road to the ferns about the spring. As\nthe fluttering wings disappeared she seemed to start from her reverie.\n\n\u201cJedge,\u201d she said, in a piteous deprecation, \u201cthings seem right ter me,\nan\u2019 other folks thinks \u2019em wrong. An\u2019 I feel obleeged ter do what I \u2019low\nair right, an\u2019 it all turns out wrong. An\u2019 then I\u2019m besides myself with\nblame! I reckon ye wouldn\u2019t b\u2019lieve it, but it\u2019s all my fault \u2019bout\u2019n\nthis trouble o\u2019 Reuben Lorey\u2019s. Ef it hedn\u2019t been fur me, he wouldn\u2019t hev\ngone down ter Shaftesville ter gin up all he hed ter old man Griff\u2014like\nI tole him ter do ez soon ez I hed hearn \u2019bout bustin\u2019 the mill down. I\ntole him ter do it, an\u2019 he done it. An\u2019 look,\u2014look!\u201d She lifted her hand\nas if she drew a veil from the disastrous sequences. Her voice choked,\nher eyes were full of tears. \u201cAn\u2019 then I told that thar moonshiner ez I\nwouldn\u2019t promise ter keep his secret, an\u2019 they runned away fur fear o\u2019\nme, \u2019kase Tad went thar arter he got out o\u2019 the ruver. I seen Sam Marvin\narterward, an\u2019 he \u2019lowed ter me they s\u2019posed he war a spy, an\u2019 beat him,\nan\u2019\u2014an\u2019\u2014I dunno _what_ else they done ter him. None o\u2019 that would hev\nhappened ef I hed promised ter hold my tongue. But it didn\u2019t \u2019pear right\nter me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you were right not to promise,\u201d he said, reassuringly. \u201cNo one\ncan do more than what seems right; that is,\u201d\u2014it behooves a man of his\nprofession to modify and qualify,\u2014\u201cwithin the limits of the law.\u201d\n\nShe looked up at him a little wonderingly. Her latent faculties for\nspeculation were timorously developing in the first realization of\nintelligent sympathy that had ever fallen to her lot. How strange that\nsuch as he\u2014and somehow she subtly appreciated in him that unification\nof mental force, education, civilization, natural endowment, and moral\ntraining, of the existence of which she was otherwise unconscious\u2014should\ntolerate her doctrine; nay, should revere and accept it as a creed!\n\n\u201cA heap o\u2019 harm an\u2019 wrong hev kem of it,\u201d she said, submitting the logic\nof Wild-Cat Hollow.\n\n\u201cThat is not our lookout. The moral law is to do what seems right, no\nmatter what happens.\u201d\n\nA vague smile broke upon his face; his eyes were illumined with a new\nlight; he seemed suddenly young and very gentle.\n\n\u201cYou need never be afraid of doing any harm; you may rely on it, you know\nwhat is right.\u201d\n\nHe was laughing at himself a moment later,\u2014to gravely discuss these\nelementary ethics with a weighty sense. And yet he was glad to reassure\nher.\n\n\u201cOh, jedge!\u201d she cried, overcome with a sense of relief, with her happy\nreliance on his superior knowledge,\u2014was not he the judge?\u2014\u201cthat ain\u2019t\nwhat folks tell me. They \u2019low I be like that thar harnt o\u2019 a herder on\nThunderhead; ef I can\u2019t kill ye, I jes\u2019 withers yer time an\u2019 spiles yer\nprospects. Oh!\u201d\u2014she struggled for self-control,\u2014\u201cI hev studied on that\nsayin\u2019 till it \u2019peared \u2019twould kill me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhoever told you that was very cruel, and I dare say very worthless,\u201d\nsaid Gwinnan sharply. He was prompted by a vicarious resentment; he was\npicturing to himself some harsh-faced mountain neighbor as he asked\nsternly, \u201cWho said it?\u201d\n\nShe saw the indignation in his countenance and suddenly feared that she\nwas near to wrecking her lover\u2019s interest with the powerful man whom she\nsought to enlist.\n\n\u201cI\u2014I can\u2019t tell,\u201d she faltered.\n\nHe waived the matter. \u201cAll right,\u201d he said, hastily. His face had\nhardened; he was laughing a little, cynically. Who it was he knew right\nwell. He had known right well, too, and many months ago, that she\nwas infatuated with this young fellow,\u2014how dashing, how spirited the\nscapegrace looked in his sudden recollection!\u2014and only now he began\nto definitely resent it. He glanced down at her with reprehensive,\nreproachful eyes. He was but a man, for all that he sat upon the bench\nand knew the law.\n\nAlethea noted the subtle change in his face. It bewildered and\nconfused her, but the surprise of it was as naught to the amazement\nthat overpowered her to discover that the sky was reddening, the sun\nwas sinking low to the purple Chilhowee, all the intervenient levels\nwere suffused with a golden haze, and down the tawny, winding road she\ndiscerned a moving speck, which she divined might be Jerry Price and\nBluff coming for her from the mill. Her rigorous conscience took her to\ntask that, beguiled by a word of sympathy, of comprehension, she should\nhave let the forlorn interests of her captive lover wait while she\nlistened.\n\n\u201cOh, jedge,\u201d she exclaimed, clinging to the bridle,\u2014and it seemed he\nheard for the first time the voice of supplication,\u2014\u201cI know ye ain\u2019t one\nez medjures a gredge an\u2019 pays it back. An\u2019 I \u2019lowed I\u2019d ax ye ter do\nsuthin\u2019 fur him. He air a onruly boy, I know, but he never meant ter do\nsech\u2014no harm\u2014leastwise he\u2014He war harried by things turnin\u2019 out so ez he\ncouldn\u2019t git jestice. An\u2019 leastwise, jedge\u201d\u2014\n\nPoor Alethea was unskilled in argument, and even Harshaw had been fain to\nlet Mink\u2019s moral worth pass without emblazonment.\n\n\u201cOh, jedge,\u201d she cried, \u201cef ye could do suthin\u2019 fur him, \u2019twould be sech\na favior ter him,\u2014all his life\u2019s gone in that sentence,\u2014an\u2019\u2014an\u2019 ter me.\u201d\n\nHe slowly shook his head.\n\n\u201cNot to you. It surprises me that you, who know so well what is right and\ngood, should care for a man like that. He has only two alternations: he\nis either mischievous or malicious.\u201d\n\nShe was once more helplessly feeling aloof from all the world; for here\nhis sympathy ended.\n\n\u201cIt is a folly, and that is very wrong. You have mind enough, if you\nwould exert it, to be sensible, to be anything you like.\u201d\n\nAnd because he thought, with all the rest, that she was too good for the\nman she loved, he would not help? Ah, what joys of liberty, what griefs\nof long laborious years, what daily humiliation of that sturdy pride,\nwhat inexorable tortures to break that elastic spirit,\u2014for break at last\nit must,\u2014had Mink\u2019s half-hearted affection cost him! Her face had grown\npale suddenly; the ebbing of her hope, that had rushed in upon her in a\nstrong, tumultuous tide, was like the ebbing of life. Her eyes filled\nwith tears, and her despair looked through them at him.\n\nHe had known much of the finalities of life. He dealt in conclusions.\nVolition, circumstance, character, might all make vital play in the\nvaried causes that brought the event under his jurisdiction, but he\nwielded the determining influence and affixed the result. All human\nemotions had been unveiled to him: he could finely distinguish and\nseparate into its constituent elements hate, misery, despair, fear, rage,\nenvy; he even must needs seek to analyze the incomprehensible black heart\nof the murderer. He was a man of ample learning, of high ambitions, of\nexcellent nerve, untouched by any morbid influence. He had pronounced the\ndeath sentence without a tremor. He was deliberate, cautious, reserved.\n\nAnd yet because her cheek paled, because her eyes looked at him with the\nreproach of a dumb creature cruelly slain, because she said no word,\nhe was pierced with pity for her. He was definitely aware now of his\nown generosity when he promised aught for her lover. He was amazed at\nhimself,\u2014amazed at the pang that it gave him when he said,\u2014\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019ll try,\u2014I\u2019ll see what can be done. I shall be in Nashville soon,\nand I\u2019ll talk to the governor, and make a strong effort to get a pardon.\nNot at once, you understand, but after a little time.\u201d\n\nHe gathered up the reins; the long horns of Bluff, approaching very near,\nwere affronting the tender sensibilities of the roan colt, who snorted\nand stamped at the sight of them, and seemed likely to bolt. Alethea had,\nperforce, moved back among the pink blossoms by the wayside; from amidst\nthem she looked up at Gwinnan with a rapture of gratitude, of admiration,\nof benediction, for which she had no words. She felt that she did not\nneed them, for he understood so well, he understood so strangely, her\nmost secret thought. He nodded to her and to the staring Jerry, who sat\nin the ox-cart. And then the restive roan bounded away into the golden\nspring sunshine, his glossy coat and flying mane distinct against the\ndelicate green of the wayside, far, far up the road; and presently he was\nbut a dwindling atom, and anon lost to view.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII.\n\n\nThe spectacular effects of the newly built railroad through Cherokee\nCounty are of ceaseless interest to the denizens of the little log-cabins\nthat lie at wide intervals upon the route, along which, indeed, for many\nmiles, the only trace of civilization and progress is the occasional\nswift apparition of the locomotive, and the long parallel rails\nglistening in the sun. The dwellers in a certain hut near the river might\nbe considered to afford typical manifestations. The children appear\nbehind the rickety fence, or perhaps perched on the giddy eminence of\nthe topmost rail, and salute the engine with the dumb show of much\nshouting and sometimes of derision. An old man hastily hobbles to the\ndoor; a woman busy in hanging out clothes in the sun on the althea bushes\ndesists, to stare; the round-eyed baby on the doorstep becomes motionless\nin amaze; the gazing dogs wag approving tails; the farmer, leaning on\nhis plough-handles, watches it till it is but a speck in the distance;\na cow in the pasture breaks into a shambling run and turns her head to\nlook back in affright; and near the woods-lot is a panic-stricken filly,\nplunging, and kicking, and snorting. And however often the sight of it\nmay be vouchsafed, always the great splendid burnished motor, with its\nclouds of white steam, its thunderous gait, its servitors standing upon\nthe platforms, and all its trains of loaded coaches, from which human\nfaces look forth, to be curiously scanned, is thus greeted. But at night\na mystery hangs about it. The reverberations of its footsteps may sound\nin the deepest dreams. Where is the darkness so dense, when is the storm\nso wild, that it cannot make its way as it lists? It seems then to these\nsimple folks like some development of abnormal force, as it rends the\ngloom with its white glare, as it skims the denser medium of the earth\nlike a meteor through the sky,\u2014or some strange serpent with a glittering\neye, drawing swiftly its sparkling lengths along. The rocks clamor with\nthe wild clangors it has taught them, and the tumultuous, exultant\nshrieks of its whistle pierce the night. And for a time after it is gone\nthe rails shiver with the thought of it, and the hills cry out again and\nagain with fear.\n\nIt might appear that in the river lurks some danger for this bold\nmarauder; always it slackens its speed and bates its voice when it\napproaches the bridge, and gives to the current a thousand glittering\ngauds of reflection. If the hour is not too late, the wayside family\ngather at the door to watch the train cross. When it reaches the other\nside, and speeds away with a loud cry of triumph and a renewed redundancy\nof motion, the old man turns, with an air of disappointment and a wag\nof the head and a muttered insistence: \u201cCan\u2019t do that thar fool trick\n_every_ time.\u201d He had opposed the theory of railroads, and had looked\nfor a judgment to descend; in especial he had watched the building of\nthe bridge in a spirit of indignation, prophesying that there would be\na \u201cbig drownding\u201d there one day, and had even lavished his advice upon\nthe engineer in charge of the work, who, nevertheless, did not desist.\nAlways he was convinced that that gossamer web, that union of strength\nand lightness, would give way sometime under the weight, and one spring\nnight, as he hobbled to the door as usual to look at the flying and fiery\ndragon, no longer mythical, the catastrophe seemed imminent.\n\nThere was a variety of passengers in the smoking-car. The commercial\ntraveler, returning with the swallow, was taking his way once more to the\nplaces that knew him. Conference had been held in a neighboring town, and\nthe reverend gentlemen, homeward bound, were secular of aspect, genial\nand jolly, enveloped in clouds of tobacco smoke of their own making. The\ndeputy-sheriff of Cherokee County was on board, and in his charge was\nMink Lorey, on his way to stand his new trial in Shaftesville, handcuffed\nwith Pete Owens, of the same county, who had had the misfortune to lose\nhis temper on a small provocation, and to kill his brother. They and the\nguards were also a merry party. The deputy was undisguisedly glad to see\nMink again, and rehearsed for his benefit the news from the town, and the\nrumors from the coves, and the vague echoes from the mountains, as he sat\nfacing his prisoner, his elbows on his knees, fanning himself with his\nhat, now and then tousling his rough hair with one hand as he laughed, as\nif to add this dishevelment to the contortions and grotesqueness of his\nhilarity.\n\nMink listened with the wistful attention of one for whom all these things\nare forever past. This world of redundant interest was to be his world\nno more. Already it wore only the tender glamours of memory. The brown\nshadows and yellow lights from the lamps were shifting and shoaling, as\nthe train jogged and lurched continually. The fluctuating gleams showed\nthat his face was a trifle thin, perhaps; the expression of his vivid\nbrown eyes had changed; they were desperate and hardened, but quickly\nglancing and even brighter and larger than before. His white wool hat\nwas thrust on the back of his head as he leaned against the red velvet\ncushion, and his auburn hair, longer than ever, curled down upon the\ncollar of his brown jeans coat. Now and then, when the deputy waxed\nfacetious, Mink laughed aloud in sympathy.\n\nThe moon was a-journeying, too, with all the train of stars. Always\nthrough the open window one could find a serene transition from the\ninterior, with its gaudy colors, its lounging masculine figures,\nits wreathing tobacco smoke, and the suffusion of yellow light and\nalternating brown shadow. The sky was pure and blue; the young\nmountaineer marked the weather-signs; the wind was astir,\u2014a breeze other\nthan that caused by the motion of the train; he saw the trees on the\nhillsides waving in the sweet spontaneity of the air; he noted the\nshadow of the great locomotive swiftly traversing the wheat-fields, with\nits piles of smoke scurrying behind it, and seeming not less material. He\nleaned toward the window, and called to the deputy to mark how forward\nthe crops were. And then he fell back with a white despair on his face,\nfor the train was thundering through a forest, and the interfulgent sheen\nand shadow amongst the great trees had caught the woodland creature\u2019s\neye. The sylvan fragrance came to him for a moment. The fair, lonely\nvista lured him. How long, how long it had been since he had trodden such\nwilds! Rocks towered in the midst, and he was glad when they closed about\nthe way, and the reverberating clamors of the cut drowned the groan that\nburst from him. And then they grew fainter, and here were the levels\nonce more, and suddenly\u2014the Tennessee River! How should he fail to know\nits splendid breadth and muscle, its majestic sinuosity as it curved! He\nleaned once more toward the window, catching at the sill; the man with\nwhose hand his own was manacled complained of the strain. He dropped his\nhand, and once more looked out as the train, at a bated and circumspect\npace, drew its slow length upon the bridge. Most of the passengers were\nlooking out, too, under the fascination that the water of a landscape\nalways exerts upon travelers. The moon hung above the broad vista of the\ndark, lustrous stream, flinging upon its surface some gigantic magical\ncorolla, softly refulgent, to float on the water like a great white\nlily. The dense forests, with a deeper gloom of shadow at their roots,\nstood solemn and silent on either hand. The glare of the head-light\nfell distorted on the ripples, and the lanterns of the brakemen evoked\ntwinkling reflections below. The dank vernal odors from the banks came in\non the breeze, and the wheels rolled slowly, and yet more slowly; they\nwere just beginning to accelerate their speed when one of the passengers,\nglancing within to comment to a friend, saw the lithe young prisoner rise\nsuddenly and liberate his hand with a violent jerk, while his companion\nin shackles with a hoarse cry, clutched frantically at him. The guard\nturned with a start, as the young mountaineer, with an indescribably\nswift and elastic bound, sprang through the window and caught the timbers\nof the bridge. A violent jerk, a bell\u2019s sharp jangle, and an abrupt\nshiver ran through all the length of the train. Then the reflection\nof the glare of the head-light and the lesser gleaming points in the\nriver were motionless. The train was at a stand-still in the middle of\nthe bridge. A wild clamor arose from many voices; the brakemen on the\nplatforms flashed their lanterns back and forth; a heavy body sprang into\nthe swift waters with a great splash, and the sharp crack of a pistol\nechoed from the dark woods on either bank.\n\nThe startled passengers were treated to a fine display of conflicting\nauthorities as they poured out on the platform of the smoking-car, where\nit seemed that the conductor of the train was laboring under the delusion\nthat he could arrest the deputy-sheriff of Cherokee County.\n\n\u201cYou had no right to pull the bell-cord and stop my train,\u2014and stop it on\nthe bridge!\u201d he exclaimed.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m bound ter ketch my prisoner!\u201d cried the deputy-sheriff, wildly. \u201cHe\nwas handcuffed with this one, and he slipped his paw out somehow, an\u2019\nlept through the window, an\u2019 perched thar on that timber o\u2019 the bredge;\nan\u2019 I knowed he war expectin\u2019 the train ter go right on, an\u2019 I pulled the\nrope ter stop it. I\u2019d hev hed him,\u2014I\u2019d hev hed him, ef the durned Mink\nhedn\u2019t tuk ter the water! Lemme go! Lemme go!\u201d\n\nBut the train was in motion again, slowly crossing the bridge, and the\nofficer could only rush to a window and look wildly over the waters,\nillumined by the head-light and the glimmer of the moon, and fire at\ndevious black floating objects that showed resemblance to the head of a\nswimming man struggling for his life. Several of the passengers derived\ngreat sport from this unique target-shooting, and the quiet was invaded\nwith cries of excitement mingled with the reiterations of the pistol\npealing over the water. There! a fair shot! the object sinks,\u2014only a\nfloating rail, for it is distinct as it rises once more to the surface;\nand again the balls make havoc only among the ripples. The quarry\neludes,\u2014eludes strangely. He must have had great practice in diving, or,\nas one hopeful soul cries out, he must be at the bottom of the river.\n\nIts current was placid enough when the train was safely on the other side\nat a stand-still, and the people from the little log-cabin below climbed\nthe embankment to hear the cause of the unprecedented stoppage. The\nbridge did not break on this occasion, but the old man is very sure they\ncannot do this \u201cfool trick\u201d again.\n\nAlthough the train waited for a time while the banks of the river were\npatrolled, it was gone clanging on its way long before the rocks had\nceased to echo the tramp of excited horsemen and their hoarse cries, as\nthey beat the bushes in the neighboring woods, for the whole country-side\nwas roused. The opinion that the reckless young mountaineer had, in\nleaping into the river, struck against some floating log, and had been\nkilled by the concussion, or had gone to the bottom among the bowlders\nwith a fatal force, gained ground as the day gradually dawned and no\ntrace of him was detected.\n\nBy degrees the search degenerated into the idler phases of morbid\ncuriosity. Many people visited the spot, ostensibly to join in the\neffort, who stared at the bridge and speculated on its height, and\nstrolled up and down the banks, wondering futilely. Even when the sunset\nwas reddening the river; when the evening star was tangled in the boughs\nof a white pine on the bank; when the sound of lowing kine was mellow on\nthe air; when the bridge doffed its massive aspect, and became illusory,\na shadow not more material than its shadow in the current below,\u2014footing\nfor the moonbeams, lodgment for the dew, a perch for a belated bird,\nfamiliar of the mist,\u2014vague figures still lingered about the water-side,\nand raucous voices grated on the evening air. But at last the darkness\nslipped down; the train came and went; silence fell upon the river, save\nfor its own meditative, iterative voice, the croaking of frogs, and\nthe exquisite melody of the mocking-bird, as he sang in the slant of\nthe moonbeams glistening through fringes of the pines. A wind rose and\ndied away. The night was inexpressibly solitary. Far off a dog howled.\nThe constellations imperceptibly tended westward. And presently, in\nthe dark loneliness of the dead hour, something,\u2014an otter, a musk-rat,\na mink?\u2014some stealthy wild thing, stirred itself at the water\u2019s edge,\nbeneath a broad ledge of the jagged, beetling rocks along the bank, under\nthe current, on the gravelly shallows. It made much commotion; the water\nreceded in widening circles far out toward the middle of the river,\u2014a\nscramble, a stroke or two, and it rose to its full height, and waded to\nthe shore; for it was the battered image of a man. He wore no hat; his\nlong locks hung in straight wisps down upon his shoulders. He glanced\nabout him continually with fearful eyes, as he hobbled stiffly up the\nbank. Once he sat down on the roots of a tree in the shadow, and essayed\nto draw off the great boots, heavy with water, and hampering his every\nmotion. But the leather, so long steeped, had swelled, and he could not\ndivest himself of them.\n\n\u201cMought lose \u2019em, ennyhow, ef I war ter take \u2019em off,\u201d he said, sturdily\nadapting his optimism to the cumbrous impediments. And so he limped on.\nHe shivered in every limb. Over and again his breath seemed to fail him.\nMore than once his head whirled, and he leaned against a tree to steady\nhimself. The air was chill, but although the wind blew he was not sorry;\nit would the earlier dry his garments.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I reckon I hev done cotch all the rheumatiz I kin hold, ennyways,\na-layin\u2019 thar under the aidge o\u2019 the ruver, half kivered with water fur a\nnight an\u2019 a day.\u201d\n\nWhen the woods began to give way to fields he hung back, feeling desolate\nand affrighted. How could he barter these sheltering shadows, this\nnullifying darkness, for those wide, exposed spaces of the pasture? Its\ndewy slope, with here and there an outcropping rock, but never a bush\nnor a tree, lay under the slanting light of the moon. The mountains,\nhowever, he knew were in that direction; and presently he took courage\nto climb the fence, and with his hobbling shadow at his side,\u2014from\nwhich he sometimes shrunk with sudden fear, glancing over his shoulder\naskance,\u2014skulked across the grassy expanse, now in the melancholy sheen,\nand now in the vague shade of a drifting cloud. There were sheep huddled\nand white, at one side of the slope, all asleep, save one, that held its\nhead up and looked at him with a contemplative eye as he passed. A dog\nseemed their only guardian. He did not bark, but came down toward the\nstranger with a sinister growl. Mink had no fear of dogs, and somehow\nthey trusted him. The shepherd sniffed in surprise at his heels, bounded\nup to lick his hand, followed with a wagging tail till he climbed the\nfence, and regretfully saw him take his way down the road. For his\ncourage was renewed by its own achievements. He was bold enough presently\nto invade a garden where potatoes had lately been planted, and he dug up\nthe sliced fragments, each carefully cut that it might contain two or\nmore \u201ceyes.\u201d He found, too, some turnips, and was greatly refreshed and\nstrengthened by his surreptitious meal. As he rose from the garden border\nand turned away among the currant bushes, he was confronted suddenly by\nthe figure of a man. He sprang back, his heart plunging. He thought for a\nmoment that he was discovered. And yet\u2014it stood so strangely still. Only\na suit of clothes stuffed with straw, and surmounted by an ancient and\nbattered hat.\n\nMink gazed gravely at the scarecrow, that had surpassed its evident\ndestiny in frightening that larger fowl, a jail-bird.\n\nIt might seem that with the weight of his heavy cares, the anguish of\nhis forlorn plight, the dispiriting influence of his imprisonment,\nthe jeopardy of his tortured freedom, his doubtful future,\u2014exhausted,\nchilled, sore,\u2014he would find scant amusement or relish in the grotesque\nimage. One might wonder at the zest with which he applied himself, with\nconvulsive, feeble efforts, to uproot the pole that sustained it. He\nconveyed it across the garden,\u2014daring the dogs,\u2014and placed the scarecrow\nwhere it might seem to peer into the front window of the house. He stood\nlooking at it with intense satisfaction for a moment,\u2014so like a man it\nwas! He could forecast how the women of the household would cry aloud\nwith terror when they should see it, how the mystified men would stare\nand swear. He did not laugh; the feat in some other method satisfied his\nsense of the ludicrous. It did not occur to him as a futile waste of\nhis time and strength,\u2014of both he presently stood in sore need. For the\nday was breaking when he still trudged between the zigzag lines of farm\nfences, along a road that bore evidences of much travel, in a country\nwhich he did not know, of which the only familiar objects were the dying\nmoon and the slowly developing outline of the Great Smoky Mountains, far\naway.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll git ter Shaftesville in time ter stan\u2019 my trial, ef I don\u2019t mind,\n\u2019fore the dep\u2019ty does,\u201d he said to himself in a panic.\n\nNowhere were forests visible promising shelter. Here and there a limited\nwoods-lot lined the road; more often fields of corn, barely showing\ntender sprouts above the ground, or stretches of winter wheat or millet,\nor pastures. He was in the midst of a scene of exclusive agricultural\nsignificance, when the startling sound of wagon wheels broke upon\nthe air, and the figure of a man driving a pair of strong mules rose\ngradually from over the brow of the hill.\n\nMink\u2019s clothes were already dry; his hair curled freshly once more, but\nhe was painfully conscious of the lack of his hat, and he knew that the\nteamster\u2019s eyes rested upon him in surprise. The man drew up his mules at\nonce. But the wily fugitive hailed him first.\n\n\u201cHowdy,\u201d Mink remarked, advancing sturdily, putting one foot on the hub\nof the front wheel and his hand on the off mule\u2019s back, and looking\nup with his bold, bright eyes at the driver. \u201cDo you-uns hail from\nnighabouts?\u201d\n\n\u201cDown yander at Peters\u2019 Cross-Roads,\u201d responded the stranger promptly.\n\n\u201cI ax kase I \u2019lowed mebbe ye hed hearn some word o\u2019 that thar prisoner ez\ngot away from the sher\u2019ff o\u2019 Cher\u2019kee County,\u2014Reuben Lorey.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Mink_ Lorey, I hearn his name war,\u201d corrected the teamster.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d\u2014Mink\u2019s careless glance wandered aimlessly up and down the sunny\nroad,\u2014\u201che oughter be named Mink, ef he ain\u2019t; mean enough.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe\u2019re \u2019quainted with him, I reckon,\u201d said the teamster, still looking at\nhis hatless head.\n\n\u201cMighty well! He hev gin me a heap o\u2019 trouble. I dunno but I\u2019d nigh ez\nsoon he\u2019d be in the bottom o\u2019 the Tennessee Ruver ez not. We-uns hail\nfrom the same valley,\u2014Hazel Valley.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat ye doin\u2019 \u2019thout no hat?\u201d demanded the saturnine, perplexed, and\nvaguely suspicious man.\n\n\u201cLost it in the ruver. Been fishin\u2019. I hev been visitin\u2019 some folks in\nthe flatwoods ez I be mighty well \u2019quainted with. I\u2019m goin\u2019 ter git me\nanother hat at the store.\u201d\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\u201cThey \u2019low that thar man war drownded,\u201d said the teamster, discursively.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Mink, drawlingly, \u201cI \u2019lowed I\u2019d ax, so ez when I git ter\nHazel Valley I mought tell his folks a straight tale.\u201d\n\nThe teamster\u2019s wonderment, being satisfied as to the bare head of the\nyoung fellow, he was eager to proceed on his journey. Certainly all\nimaginable suspicions must have been allayed by the pertinacity with\nwhich Mink hung upon the wheel, and talked about the rheumatism he feared\nhe had caught a-fishing, and declared he had found no sport in it.\n\nFinally, with apparent reluctance, he took his foot from off the hub, and\nthe teamster was glad to go creaking along on his journey.\n\nAlthough the danger was so successfully thwarted, the strain upon his\ningenuity, his nerves, and his presence of mind had told heavily upon\nMink\u2019s reserve force of strength and courage. When at last he reached\nthe deep woods he was more dead than alive, as he flung himself down in\nthe hollow of a poplar-tree, struck long ago by lightning,\u2014its great\nlength fallen, its branches burned, only its gigantic stump standing\nto boast the proportions this chief of the savage wilds had borne. The\nyoung mountaineer doubted, as he fell asleep, if he would ever wake.\nBut exhaustion did not prevail. Over and again, with a nervous start,\nconsciousness would seize upon him, and he would be himself long enough\nto contrast his forlorn plight with the feignings of his dream, and so\nsink again into troubled slumber. And yet it was with a deep satisfaction\nthat he gazed out at intervals upon the lonely crowded sylvan limits.\nThe underbrush closed about him; the great trees upreared their heads\nagainst the sky, showing only a glimpse of the blue or a flake of the\nburnished vernal sunshine. How restful the sight, how reassuring the\nsound of the wind in the leaves! A squirrel frisked by, sleek and dapper,\nwith a brilliant, unaffrighted eye and a long curling tail. The familiar\ncreature seemed like a friend. \u201cHowdy, mister,\u201d observed Mink. \u201cYe air\none citizen ez I ain\u2019t afeard on.\u201d\n\nBut the squirrel came no more, although ever and anon Mink lifted\nhimself to look out. He noted the moss, green and gray, on the bark of a\nrotting log; he started to hear the woodpecker tapping; he listened for\na time to a crested red-bird\u2019s song, but its iteration was somnolent in\nits effects, and when Mink next opened his eyes darkness enveloped the\nworld. He could hardly say whom he might be; he did not know where he\nwas. The oppression of his familiar cell in the Glaston jail filled his\nconsciousness until, as he groped about him, he felt the rotting sides of\nthe old tree and realized that he was free.\n\n\u201cI mus\u2019 be a-travelin\u2019,\u201d he said to himself.\n\nFree, but with so burning a pain in every limb that he could hardly\nstand upon his feet; and what was this new misfortune? His forlorn boots\nwere bursting into fragments. As he staggered into the moonshine he\nsat down, and putting one foot on his knee examined the sole in rueful\ncontemplation.\n\n\u201cNow don\u2019t that thar beat kingdom come! Them boots war mighty nigh new\nwhen I went ter jail, an\u2019 I never stood on \u2019em none thar sca\u2019cely. Mus\u2019\nhev been the soakin\u2019 they got. I ain\u2019t useter goin\u2019 bar\u2019foot lately, an\u2019\nhow\u2019ll I travel thirty mile this-a-way?\u201d\n\nIt was at a slow gait that he hobbled along; now and then he stumbled,\nand would have fallen but for his hasty clutch at a bush or a tree. His\nfeet were pierced by flints through the crevices of his boots, and he was\npresently aware that he was marking his steps with his blood. He made\nscant progress, although he struggled strenuously, and it was long before\nday when he was fain to lie down in a rift in a great bank of rocks, and\nrecruit his wasted energies with sleep. \u201cI hope I ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter die\nin sech a hole ez this,\u201d he said, \u201cez ef I war a sure-enough mink. But\nLaws-a-massy, what be I, ef I ain\u2019t a mink?\u201d\n\nHe laughed sarcastically as he turned himself over. He had evolved some\nharsh theories of worldly inequalities. If he had knocked Jerry Price\nor Ben Doaks senseless with a bit of iron, he argued, he would have\nhardly been in jeopardy of arrest; the affair would perchance have been\nchronicled by the gossips as \u201ca right smart fight.\u201d But he must forfeit\ntwenty years of his life for assaulting a man of Gwinnan\u2019s quality. And\nhe had some bitter reflections to divert his mind, with the functions\nof a counter-irritant, from his aching bones, his bleeding feet, his\noverpowering sense of fatigue.\n\nIt was the next night\u2014for he again lay hidden all day\u2014that he at last\npassed through the gap of the mountain and entered Eskaqua Cove. His\nspirits had risen at the sight of the familiar things,\u2014the foam on the\nriver dancing in the light of the moon, the dense solemn forests, the\ngreat looming, frowning rocks. He hardly cared how steep the hillsides\nwere, how his sore feet burned and ached, how heavily he dragged his\nweight. He could have cried aloud with joy when he beheld the little\nfoot-bridge which he knew so well, albeit he could scarcely stagger over\nthe narrow log; the low little house on the bank where Mrs. Purvine\nlived. It was dark and silent under the silver moon, for the hour was\nlate, reckoning by rural habits,\u2014about ten o\u2019clock, he guessed. He\nhesitated for a moment when he was in the road beside the fence. He\nthought he might shorten the way by crossing the corn-field, for the\nroad made a bend below. He had climbed the fence and was well out in\nthe midst of the sprouting grain, when suddenly he started back. There\nwas a shadow coming to meet him. He could not flee. He could not hope\nto escape observation. And yet, when he looked again, the dim figure\nwas curiously busy, and was not yet aware of his presence. It was the\nfigure of a woman, and he presently recognized Mrs. Purvine. Her head was\nevidently much wrapped up against the night air, and her sun-bonnet was\nfain to perch in a peaked attitude, in order to surmount the integuments\nbelow; it was drawn down over her face, and by other means than the sight\nof her countenance he identified her. It might seem an uncanny hour for\nindustry, but Mink could well divine that Mrs. Purvine had experienced\nbelated pangs of conscience concerning sundry rows of snap-beans, left\ndefenseless, save for her good wishes, against the frost. She was\nengaged in covering them,\u2014detaching a long board from a pile beside the\nfence, and placing it with a large stone beneath either end above the\ntender vegetable. Her shadow was doing its share, although it gave vent\nto none of the pantings and puffings and sighs with which the flesh\nprotested, as it were, against the labor. It jogged along beside her on\nthe brown ground in dumpy guise, and stooped down, and rose up, and set\nits arms akimbo to complacently observe the effect of the board, and\neven wore a sun-bonnet at the same impossible angle. It started off with\ncorresponding alacrity to the pile to fetch another board for another\nrow, and was very busy as it stooped down to adjust a stone beneath. It\neven sprang back and threw up both arms in sudden affright, when Mrs.\nPurvine exclaimed aloud. For a deft hand had lifted the other end of the\nboard, and as she glanced around she saw a man kneeling on the mould and\nplacing the stone so that the delicate snap-beans might be sheltered.\n\n\u201cIn the name o\u2019 Moses!\u201d faltered Mrs. Purvine between her chattering\nteeth, as she rose to her feet, \u201cair that thar Mink Lorey\u2014or\u2014or\u201d\u2014she\nremembered how far away, how safe in jail, she had thought him\u2014\u201cor his\nharnt?\u201d\n\nMink turned his pallid face toward her. She saw the lustrous gleam of his\ndark eyes.\n\nHe hesitated for a moment. Then, he could not resist. \u201cI died \u2019bout two\nweeks ago,\u201d he drawled circumstantially.\n\nMrs. Purvine stood as one petrified for a moment. Then credulity revolted.\n\n\u201cNaw, Mink Lorey!\u201d she said sternly. \u201cNaw, sir! Ye ain\u2019t singed nowhar.\nEf ye war dead, ye\u2019d never hev got back onscorched.\u201d She shook her\nenveloped head reprehensively at him.\n\nRegret had seized upon him. The fleeting privilege of frightening Mrs.\nPurvine scarcely compensated for the risks he felt he ran in revealing\nhimself.\n\nHe stood silent and grave enough as she set her arms akimbo and gazed\nspeculatively at him.\n\n\u201cHow d\u2019 ye git out\u2019n jail?\u201d she demanded.\n\n\u201cThrough thar onlockin\u2019 the door,\u201d said Mink.\n\nMrs. Purvine knitted her puzzled brows.\n\n\u201cWar they willin\u2019 fur ye ter leave?\u201d she asked, seeking to fathom the\nmystery.\n\n\u201cWaal, Mis\u2019 Purvine,\u201d equivocated the fugitive, jauntily, \u201cI ain\u2019t never\nfund nobody, nowhar, right up an\u2019 down _willin\u2019_ fur me to leave \u2019em.\nThey hed ter let me go, though.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, sir!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Purvine, with the accent of disappointment.\n\u201cI never b\u2019lieved ez Jedge Gwinnan war in earnest whenst he promised\nLethe Sayles ter git ye pardoned. Whenst she kem back rej\u2019icin\u2019 over it\nso, I \u2019lowed the jedge war jes\u2019 laffin\u2019 at her.\u201d\n\nThe man, staring at her with unnaturally large and brilliant eyes,\nrecoiled suddenly, and his shadow seemed to revolt from her words. \u201cJedge\nGwinnan! pardon!\u201d he cried, contemptuously, his voice rising shrilly into\nthe quiet night. \u201cHe got me no pardon! I\u2019d hev none off\u2019n him, damn him!\nI\u2019d bide in the prison twenty year, forty year,\u2014I\u2019d rot thar,\u2014afore I\u2019d\ntake enny faviors out\u2019n _his_ hand! Lord! let me lay my grip on that man\none more time, an\u2019 hell an\u2019 all the devils can\u2019t pull me off!\u201d\n\nHis strength failed to support his excitement. He staggered to the pile\nof boards and leaned against them, panting. Mrs. Purvine noted how white\nhis face was, how exhausted his attitude.\n\n\u201cYe \u2019pear sorter peaked,\u201d she remarked, prosaically, \u201can\u2019 ye walk\ntoler\u2019ble cripple.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d observed Mink, with his wonted manner, \u201cit \u2019peared ter me a\ntoler\u2019ble good joke ter jump off the middle o\u2019 the bredge inter the\nTennessee Ruver. But it turned out same ez mos\u2019 o\u2019 my jokes,\u2014makes me\nlaugh on the wrong side o\u2019 my mouth.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine began to understand. Her lower jaw dropped. \u201cWhar hev ye hed\nennything ter eat?\u201d she demanded, with bated breath.\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Mink, argumentatively, \u201ceatin\u2019 \u2019s a powerful expensive\nbusiness; we-uns would all save a heap ef we\u2019d quit eatin\u2019.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine received this in pondering silence. Then she broke forth\nsuddenly:\u2014\n\n\u201cYe air a outdacious, sassy, scandalous mink, an\u2019 I hev \u2019lowed ez much\nfur many a year, but I never looked ter see the time when ye\u2019d kem an\u2019\nprop yerse\u2019f up in my gyarden-spot, an\u2019 look me in the eye, an\u2019 call me\nstingy. How war I ter know ye warn\u2019t ez full ez a tick, ye impident\nhalf-liver? I kin see ez ye ain\u2019t fat in no-wise, but how kin I tell by\nthe creases in a man\u2019s face what he hed fur dinner?\u201d\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy, Mis\u2019 Purvine!\u201d exclaimed Mink, truly contrite for the\nuntoward interpretation which his words seemed to bear. \u201cI never meant\nsech ez that. Ef it hed been enny ways nigh cookin\u2019 time, I\u2019d hev kem\nright in,\u2014ef I hedn\u2019t been afraid ye\u2019d tell on me,\u2014an\u2019 axed ye fur a\nsnack. Ain\u2019t I eat hyar time an\u2019 agin along o\u2019 Jerry Price? I hev hed a\nheap o\u2019 meals from you-uns,\u2014more \u2019n ye know \u2019bout, fur I hev treated yer\nwater-million patch ez ef it hed been my own.\u201d\n\nIf Mrs. Purvine was placated, she did not at once manifest the fact.\n\u201cWhat d\u2019ye know \u2019bout cookin\u2019 time, or cookin\u2019, ye slack-twisted, lazy,\nsenseless critter? Jes\u2019 kerry yer bones right inter that thar door, fur\neat ye hev got ter. In Moses\u2019s name!\u201d she ejaculated piteously, \u201cthe boy\nkin sca\u2019cely walk.\u201d\n\nBut Mink hesitated. \u201cI don\u2019t wanter see Jerry,\u201d he said. \u201cI dunno what\nJerry mought think \u2019bout\u2019n it all.\u201d\n\n\u201cJerry\u2019s dead asleep, an\u2019 so air all the boys,\u201d declared the industrious\nMrs. Purvine. \u201cYe reckon ye air goin\u2019 ter find ennybody up this time o\u2019\nnight \u2019ceptin\u2019 a hard-workin\u2019 old woman like me? I can\u2019t be no surer o\u2019\nye \u2019n I be a\u2019ready. Go \u2019long in, \u2019fore I set Bose on ye.\u201d\n\nHe was sorry for himself,\u2014to gauge the joy, the comfort, that the very\nsight of the humble and familiar room afforded him. The fire had been\ncovered with ashes, but Mrs. Purvine promptly pulled out the coals and\npiled on the pine knots, and the white flare showed the low-ceiled\napartment, the walls covered with the old advertisements; the puncheon\nfloor; the many strings of pepper and hanks of yarn hanging from the\nbeams, and the quilting-frame clinging to them like a huge bat; the two\nhigh beds; the glister of the ostentatious mirror; the prideful clock,\nsilent on the shelf. As the interior became brilliantly illuminated, Mink\nlooked suspiciously at the glass in the windows; he experienced a relief\nto note that the batten shutters were closed.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t want nobody ter git a glimge o\u2019 me,\u201d he said, \u201c\u2019kase I\ndunno but what they mought try ter hold ye \u2019sponsible fur feedin\u2019 me,\ncornsiderin\u2019 I be a runaway.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey ain\u2019t never ter goin\u2019 ter find out ez ye hev been hyar now,\u201d said\nMrs. Purvine.\n\n\u201cThey mought ax ye,\u201d suggested Mink.\n\n\u201cWaal, lies air healthy.\u201d Mrs. Purvine accommodated her singular ethics\nto many emergencies. \u201cChurch-yards air toler\u2019ble full, but thar ain\u2019t\nnobody thar ez died from tellin\u2019 lies. Not but what I\u2019m a perfessin\u2019\nmember,\u201d she qualified, with a qualm of conscience, \u201can\u2019 hev renounced\ndeceit in gineral; but ef ennybody kems hyar inquirin\u2019 roun\u2019 \u2019bout my\nbusiness,\u2014what I done with this little mite o\u2019 meat, an\u2019 that biscuit,\nan\u2019 the t\u2019other pot o\u2019 coffee,\u2014I answer the foolish accordin\u2019 ter his\nfolly, like the Bible tells me, an\u2019 send him reji\u2019cin\u2019 on his way.\u201d\n\nMink, his every fear relieved, thought it a snug haven after the storms\nthat he had weathered, as he sat in Mrs. Purvine\u2019s own rocking-chair, and\nfelt the grateful warmth of the blaze. He had hardly hoped ever again to\nknow the simple domestic comforts of the chimney-corner. The coffee put\nnew life into him, and after he had eaten the hot ash cake and bacon,\nbroiled on the coals, he took, at her insistence, another cup, and drank\nit as she sat opposite him near the hearth. In this last potation she\njoined him, having poured her coffee into a gourd, to save the trouble,\nas she explained, of washing another cup and saucer.\n\n\u201cHow do Lethe keep her health?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cFust-rate,\u201d said Mrs. Purvine. Her tone had changed. She looked at him\nspeculatively from under the brim of her sun-bonnet, which she wore much\nof the time in the house. \u201cShe air peart an\u2019 lively ez ever.\u201d\n\nHis lip curled slightly. He was sarcastic and critical concerning\nAlethea\u2019s mental attitude,\u2014the reaction, perhaps, of much rebuke and\ncriticism received at her hands.\n\n\u201cI reckon she ain\u2019t missed me none, then?\u201d he hazarded.\n\n\u201cWaal, she never seen much o\u2019 you-uns las\u2019 summer, bein\u2019 ez ye war\nconstant in keepin\u2019 company with Elviry then; though she\u2019s missed ye\ncornsider\u2019ble. Ye needn\u2019t never \u2019low the gals will furgit ye, Mink,\u201d\nshe added graciously. \u201cThe las\u2019 time Lethe seen Jedge Gwinnan she war\na-beggin\u2019 him fur ye,\u2014an\u2019 he promised, too. Lethe\u2019s pretty enough ter\nmake a man do mos\u2019 ennything,\u2014leastwise these hyar town folks think so.\u201d\n\nThe color had sprung into Mink\u2019s face. He stood up for a moment,\nsearching for Jerry\u2019s tobacco on the mantelpiece. He lighted his pipe by\na coal which he scooped up with the bowl, and as he put the stem between\nhis lips he looked hard at Mrs. Purvine\u2019s placid face, as she drank her\ncoffee from the gourd, and meditatively swung her foot; the right knee\nwas crossed over the left; the other foot was planted squarely upon the\nfloor; a narrow section of a stout gray stocking was visible above a\nleather shoe, laced incongruously with a white cotton cord, the kitten\nhaving carried off its leather string, and Mrs. Purvine continually\n\u201cdisremembering,\u201d to more properly supply its place.\n\n\u201cBen Doaks,\u2014air he still thinkin\u2019 \u2019bout marryin\u2019 Lethe?\u201d demanded Mink\nbetween a series of puffs.\n\n\u201cEf he air, he air barkin\u2019 up the wrong tree, I kin tell ye!\u201d exclaimed\nMrs. Purvine, angrily. \u201cLethe Sayles air goin\u2019 ter marry a town\nman,\u2014leastwise that\u2019s what all the kentry air sayin\u2019. He \u2019lows she be\nplumb beautiful! An\u2019 I always did think so, though she air my own niece,\u201d\nas if this ought to be an obstacle. \u201cI names no names,\u201d\u2014which would have\nbeen difficult, under the circumstances,\u2014\u201cbut he air a town man, an\u2019 hev\ngot a high place, an\u2019 air well off. Some folks don\u2019t keer nuthin\u2019 \u2019bout\nmoney, but I ain\u2019t one of \u2019em. An\u2019 he air o\u2019 good folks,\u2014fust-rate stock;\nan\u2019 I sets store on fambly, too.\u201d\n\nMink was leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees; his eyes burned\nupon her face; his pipe-stem was quivering in his gaunt hand.\n\n\u201cWhar did she meet up with him?\u201d\n\n\u201cDown in Shaftesville, when she went ter testify fur you-uns,\u201d said Mrs.\nPurvine. Then, with her sudden felicity of inspiration. \u201cHe seen her fust\nin the court-room, an\u2019 he war smitten at sight.\u201d\n\nShe could not accurately define the impression she was making. But\nshe grew a little frightened as she watched the keen, clear-cut face,\nchanging unconsciously, responsive to her intimations: his wild dark\neyes, in no sort tamed or dimmed, dwelt steadily on the white vistas of\nthe fire; his fine red hair was tossed back, curling on his collar. As\nshe looked at him, constrained to note how handsome he was, she wished\nvery heartily, poor woman, that that mythical fortunate suitor had added\nto the charming qualities with which she had endowed him the simple\nessential, existence.\n\nMink burst suddenly into a satiric laugh, startling to hear. Mrs. Purvine\nturned upon him, the gourd trembling in her hand.\n\n\u201cYe ain\u2019t got no manners, Mink Lorey,\u201d she said, trying to resume her\nnote of superficial severity. \u201cWhat be ye a-laffin\u2019 at?\u201d\n\n\u201cJes\u2019 at thoughts,\u201d he said enigmatically; \u201cthoughts!\u201d\n\n\u201cThoughts \u2019bout me, I\u2019ll be bound,\u201d said Mrs. Purvine aggressively.\n\n\u201cNaw; jes\u2019 \u2019bout Lethe an\u2019 that thar town man.\u201d He whirled from the fire,\nand walked up and down the floor with his hands in his pockets.\n\n\u201cWaal, don\u2019t ye say no mo\u2019 \u2019bout\u2019n him,\u201d said Mrs. Purvine, desirous of\ncontemplating him no longer, \u201can\u2019 don\u2019t ye ax me who he be\u2014fur I won\u2019t\ntell ye!\u201d\n\n\u201cThar ain\u2019t no need ter ax ye; I _know_.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine pondered on this for a moment. She forgot it in her effort\nto persuade the young fellow to accept the hospitalities of the spare\nbedroom, of which she was so proud. \u201cYe kin jest stay in thar all night,\nMink, an\u2019 all ter-morrer. Ye won\u2019t wake up fur no breakfus\u2019 arter the\ntramp ye hev hed, an\u2019 a long sleep\u2019ll ease yer bones. An\u2019 ter-morrer\nnight, \u2019bout ten o\u2019clock, arter all the chill\u2019n hev gone ter sleep\nI\u2019ll gin ye a good meal, an\u2019 ye kin set out, heartened up an\u2019 strong.\nI\u2019d ruther Jerry an\u2019 the boys didn\u2019t know \u2019bout yer bein\u2019 hyar, \u2019kase\nI dunno what the law does ter folks ez holps them ez be runnin\u2019 from\njestice\u2014or injestice; \u2019bout the same thing, ez fur ez I kin make out. An\u2019\nI don\u2019t want them ter git inter trouble.\u201d\n\n\u201cMebbe the sher\u2019ff\u2019ll kem arter you-uns,\u201d Mink warned her.\n\n\u201cWaal, I\u2019ll tell him I ain\u2019t got no time to waste, an\u2019 ter take himself\noff the way he kem;\u201d and Mrs. Purvine dismissed the imaginary officer\nwith a lofty sniff.\n\nIt seemed to Mrs. Purvine, the next day, that many immediate requisites\nwere stowed away temporarily in the bedroom. She was continually on the\nalert to prevent Jerry or the boys from invading it. \u201cKeep out\u2019n that\nthar bedroom. I ain\u2019t keerin\u2019 ef ye _ain\u2019t_ got no symblin\u2019 seed. I ain\u2019t\ngoin\u2019 ter let ye s\u2019arch _thar_. I hev got all my fine quilts what I\npieced myself\u2014\u2019ceptin\u2019 with a leetle help from Lethe Sayles\u2014a-hangin\u2019 up\nthar ter air. Hang \u2019em up in the sun, ye say? Who d\u2019ye reckon wants ter\nfade them gay colors out?\u201d\n\nWhen at last Jerry desisted in deference to this new strange whim, one of\nthe boys was beset with anxiety to get his shoes which he had set away\nthere.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the way the shoe-leather goes,\u2014walkin\u2019 on it,\u201d said aunt Dely\nreasonably. \u201cNaw, sir! save them soles, an\u2019 go bar\u2019foot. The weather\u2019s\nwarm now.\u201d\n\nThe youngest, the most pertinacious and hard to resist, was tumultuous to\nget a certain \u201cwhang o\u2019 leather\u201d which Bluff needed to complete his gear,\nin order to continue ploughing.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t a-keerin\u2019 ef one o\u2019 Bluff\u2019s horns war lef\u2019 in thar, an\u2019 he\ncouldn\u2019t wink without it. I ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter hev them quilts disturbed.\u201d\n\nShe presently became drowsy, because of her long vigil of the preceding\nnight, and placed her chair before the door that no one might enter\nwithout rousing her, and thus, a solemn sentinel, she alternately knitted\nand nodded away the afternoon.\n\nIt was a great relief to her when the house was still, the family all\nasleep, and the fugitive\u2019s meal prepared. She had taken special pains\nwith it, albeit she went about it yawningly, and had filled a tin pail\nwith provisions that he might carry with him.\n\nShe waited ten minutes or so after all was ready. She listened as she\nknelt on the hearth. There was no sound from within but the stertorous\nbreathing of the sleepers in the roof-room. From without only the murmur\nof the river, the croaking of a frog, the stir of the wind came in at the\nopen back door, through which she could see the white moonshine, lying\nin lonely splendor upon the dark, prosaic expanse of the newly ploughed\nfields. She rose and closed it, that the fugitive might not be revealed\nto the casual eye of any nocturnal fisherman, striking through her domain\non his way to the river bank. Then she went to the bedroom door.\n\nAs she tapped on it, the door moved under the pressure, and she saw that\nit was unbuttoned on the inside. \u201cThat thar keerless boy ought ter hev\nbuttoned this door!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cThe sher\u2019ff could hev gone right in\nand nabbed him whilst he war asleep. Ye Mink! _Mink!_\u201d\n\nThere was no answer.\n\n\u201cWaal, sir! I never seen the beat.\u201d Then in imperative crescendo, \u201c_Ye\nMink!_\u201d\n\nShe pushed the door open, presently. The moonlight slanted through the\nporch and into the little bedroom, revealing the bed, empty, the room\ndeserted save for Mrs. Purvine\u2019s rows of dresses hanging by the neck, and\nthe piles of quilts on a shelf, rising in imposing proportions to attest\nher industry and a little help from Lethe Sayles.\n\nHe had fled,\u2014when, why? She could not say; she could not imagine. She\nstood staring, with a vacillating expression on her face. She was ready\nfor an outburst of futile anger, could she construe it as one of his\nminkish tricks; he might even now be far away, laughing to picture how\nshe would look when she would stand at the open door and find the room\nempty. Her face reddened at the thought. But perhaps, she argued, more\ngenerously, he had taken some alarm, and fled for safety.\n\nMrs. Purvine had had no experience in keeping secrets, and her colloquial\nhabits were such as did not tend to cultivate the gift. More than once,\nthe next day, as she pondered on the mysterious disappearance of Mink,\nshe would drop her hands and exclaim in meditative wonderment, \u201cWaal!\nwaal! waal! This worl\u2019! This worl\u2019! an\u2019 a few mo\u2019 ekal ter it.\u201d\n\nIt went hard with her to resist the curious questionings that this\ndemonstration was calculated to excite. But when asked what she was\ntalking about she would only reply in enigmatical phrase, \u201cLaros to\nketch meddlers!\u201d and shake her head unutterably. Nevertheless, when it\nbecame evident that her household had exhausted all their limited wiles\nto elicit the mystery of which she seemed suddenly and incomprehensibly\npossessed, and had reluctantly desisted, her resolution grew weaker\ninstead of stronger, and she was bereft of a piquant interest in their\nqueries and guesses. She began herself to play around the dangerous\nsubject; her remarks seemed to excite no suspicion and no surprise, and\nthus she was astonished in her turn.\n\n\u201cI wonder, Jerry,\u201d she said, as he and she, their pipes freshly lighted\nafter supper, strolled about the \u201cgyarden-spot\u201d to note how the truck was\nthriving, Bose and a comrade or two at their heels,\u2014\u201cI wonder how high\nthat thar new bredge be over the Tennessee Ruver?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever medjured it,\u201d returned Jerry, his eyes twinkling as they met her\nserious gaze.\n\n\u201cYe g\u2019 \u2019long!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Purvine tartly. She was addressing only\nthe unfilial spirit that prompted his reply, for she had no intention of\ndismissing the audience, as she resumed at once in her usual tone. \u201cWaal,\nfrom all ye hev hearn, wouldn\u2019t ye \u2019low ez ennybody jumpin\u2019 off\u2019n it war\n\u2019bleeged ter break thar neck?\u201d she argued.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d hev thunk so,\u201d admitted Jerry, \u201cbut it seems not.\u201d\n\nShe looked sharply at him from over her spectacles as she canvassed his\nreply. It must have been accident. How could he know aught of Mink? She\nwas for a moment so impressed with a sense of danger here that she took\nrefuge in silence.\n\n\u201cThem peas\u2019ll hev ter be stuck afore long,\u201d Jerry remarked presently,\ncomplacent in their growth.\n\nBut the simple pleasures of a garden were too insipid to enchain the\ninterest of the sophisticated Mrs. Purvine; her mind reverted to her\nburning secret and the many speculations to which it gave rise. She\nhardly noted the red sky, stretching so far above the purple mountains;\nthe river, with reflections of gold and pink amidst its silver glinting.\nIn the south Procyon, star of ill-omen, swung in the faint blue spaces. A\nwhip-poor-will sang. Darkness impended.\n\nOnce more she skirted the forbidden topic.\n\n\u201cWaal, I wouldn\u2019t advise nobody ter try it.\u201d She was alluding not to the\nindustrial necessity of sticking the peas, but to jumping off the bridge.\n\n\u201cNaw, sir,\u201d Jerry assented quietly. \u201c\u2019Bout some things Mink \u2019pears ter\nhev the devil\u2019s own luck, though ginerally they run agin him. I reckon\nnobody but Mink could hev lept from that bredge an\u2019 swum out\u2019n the ruver\n\u2019thout gittin\u2019 cotched.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine trembled from head to foot. As she turned her face toward\nhim the light of the evening struck upon her glittering spectacles in the\ndepths of her sun-bonnet, and it seemed a fiery and penetrating gaze she\nbent on her adopted son.\n\n\u201cIn the name o\u2019 Moses, Jerry Price!\u201d she solemnly adjured him. \u201cHow did\nyou-uns know ennything \u2019bout Mink Lorey?\u201d\n\n\u201cSame way ye did,\u201d said Jerry, in the accents of surprise.\n\nMrs. Purvine sat down abruptly on the pile of boards beside the fence.\n\nJerry, astonished at her evident agitation, proceeded:\n\n\u201cYer mem\u2019ry air failin\u2019 surely, ef ye hev furgot ez the dep\u2019ty sher\u2019ff\ntole us \u2019bout\u2019n it yestiddy,\u2014rid his critter right up thar ter the side\no\u2019 the fence, an\u2019 I lef\u2019 Bluff whar I war a-ploughin\u2019 an\u2019 went down an\u2019\ntalked ter him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat war I a-doin\u2019 of?\u201d demanded Mrs. Purvine, feebly.\n\n\u201cYe war settin\u2019 knittin\u2019 right in front o\u2019 the bedroom door,\u2014ter keep\nwe-uns from raidin\u2019 in on them quilts ez ye war airin\u2019 in the bedroom\nwhar thar ain\u2019t no air.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine breathed more freely. She had a vague memory of hearing a\nman hallooing at the fence, and of seeing Jerry running to meet him; the\nrest was lost in the deep slumber which she called \u201cdozin\u2019 off,\u201d as she\nsat sentinel in front of the door.\n\n\u201cI mus\u2019 hev been noddin\u2019,\u201d she said, trembling again at the idea that the\nsheriff and the prisoner had been at such close quarters. \u201cI never hearn\nnone o\u2019 it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d explained Jerry, \u201che hed traced Mink up somewhar nighabouts. An\u2019\nhe war mighty keen ter ketch him. He \u2019lowed Mink war a turrible fool ter\nhev runned off, kase they hedn\u2019t lef\u2019 Glaston more\u2019n two hours \u2019fore\nMink\u2019s pardon kem. Jedge Gwinnan hed gone an\u2019 beset the gov\u2019nor, an\u2019 tole\nhim \u2019twar a plumb mistake, an\u2019 Mink warn\u2019t no reg\u2019lar jail-bird, nor\nhardened critter, nor nuthin\u2019 but a simple country boy. An\u2019 he\u2019d hed a\nreg\u2019lar martyrdom o\u2019 injestice, an\u2019 sech. An\u2019 the \u2019sault war jes\u2019 a boy\u2019s\nhittin\u2019 a feller ez he \u2019lowed war gittin\u2019 the better o\u2019 him. \u2019Twarn\u2019t\n\u2019count o\u2019 the trial. He war jes\u2019 jealous. Jedge Gwinnan \u2019lowed ez the\nfight war mighty onfair, kase Mink war chained an\u2019 he warn\u2019t. An\u2019 he\nwouldn\u2019t hev let him be prosecuted ef he could hev knowed it in time ter\nhev holped it. An\u2019 ez Mink\u2019s case hed been affirmed by the S\u2019preme Court\nthe gov\u2019nor pardoned him. Skeggs \u2019lowed folks say the gov\u2019nor war right\ndown glad ter do it, kase he hev hed ter be toler\u2019ble hard on some folks\nlately ez applied fur pardons; an\u2019 he war glad Mink\u2019s case kem along,\nkase he didn\u2019t want ter git onpop\u2019lar, an\u2019 ter \u2019pear set agin mercy ez a\nconstancy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal! waal!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Purvine, divided between surprise and an\neffort to gauge the effect of this intelligence on the prisoner listening\nin the little room.\n\n\u201cSkeggs \u2019lowed \u2019twar mighty mean in Mink ter hide out an\u2019 leave him ter\nketch all the consequences,\u2014he air \u2019sponsible fur the \u2019scape,\u2014kase they\ndon\u2019t want Mink fur nuthin\u2019 now but that thar leetle case \u2019bout\u2019n the\nmill, an\u2019 everybody knows Tad ain\u2019t dead, an\u2019 Mink never bust down the\nmill nohow. Mr. Harshaw \u2019lows he seen Tad when he war huntin\u2019 up in the\nmountings. An\u2019 Lethe, she seen him. An\u2019 Skeggs air honin\u2019 an\u2019 moanin\u2019\n\u2019bout\u2019n it, an\u2019 \u2019lows Mink mought kem an\u2019 be tried, ef he hed the feelins\no\u2019 a man stiddier a mink.\u201d\n\nMrs. Purvine rose slowly, and bent her meditative steps toward the door,\nwondering all the more why Mink should have disappeared so mysteriously,\ncognizant as he must have been of how his dangers had lessened, whither\nhe had gone, with what purpose.\n\n\u201cAunt Dely,\u201d said Jerry, suddenly, following her slowly, \u201chow did ye know\nennything \u2019bout Mink, ef ye never hearn Skeggs tell it?\u201d\n\n\u201cJerry Price,\u201d said Mrs. Purvine, sternly, \u201cef ye hed been raised by yer\naunt Melindy Jane, I\u2019ll be bound ye\u2019d hev larned better\u2019n ter ax fool\nquestions with every breath ye draw.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII.\n\n\nHarshaw considered a knowledge of human nature as essential a tool of his\ntrade as the Tennessee Reports, and the common human attributes, so far\nas he had discerned them, were definitely abstracted and tabulated in his\nmind,\u2014for he was systematic mentally.\n\nNevertheless, he was profoundly ignorant of these traits as manifested in\nhis own personality. Had another member of the legislature risen in his\nplace one day, when the spring was just beginning to open, stating that\nhe desired to make a motion based on public rumor, to which he considered\nthe attention of the House should be directed, Harshaw could not have\nfailed to note the ring of triumph in the voice, the predatory gleam in\nthe eye, the restive eagerness of address, the swift fluency of excited\nwords. He would not have been slow to deny to the demonstration those\nmotives so insistently arrogated,\u2014public justice, patriotism, sense of\nduty.\n\nHis manner had riveted the attention of the House, which was more\nthan usually quiet. It had that sombre, undecorative aspect common to\nassemblages exclusively of men. The effect of uniformity of attire was,\nhowever, annulled in a measure by the varying expressions in countenance,\nin age, in attitude. The metropolitan representatives had a more dapper\nappearance than the members from the outlying districts, who were\ndistinguished by a solid and serious mien that promised an intolerance of\nflippancy in matters of religion, and morals, and manners.\n\nHere and there was a face individual enough to arrest attention.\nKinsard\u2019s head, with its high, earnest brow, its roving, melancholy black\neyes, its sharp, characteristic features, stood out from the rest in\nstrong relief, canceling the heads about it to a nebulous suggestion\nof humanity. He lounged in one of the most negligent of his dislocated\npostures. He had a smile of bitter contempt on his face, which bore no\nrelation to his attitude of indifference, and expressed an energy of\nanger which he was at a loss how best to wreak. More than once he looked\naway from Harshaw, as if to divert his thoughts, to allay his irritation,\nby the contemplation of the scene without.\n\nThe windows stood open to the bland spring air. The languid, quiescent\nsunshine loitered along the great white stone porticoes, looking in\noften, a smiling, sheeny presence, upon the grave deliberations within.\nThe river glistened in lustrous curves between high banks fringed\nwith green as far as the eye could reach. The roofs of the city below\nwere almost smokeless,\u2014only here and there a wreathing hazy curl. The\nold forts on the hills wore all the dismantled and sunken aspect of\ndesuetude, and gathered into the scars of war the blossoms of peace and\nthe nestlings, and garnered the songs and the smiles of spring to make\nthe waste places merry.\n\nHardly a sound entered at the window,\u2014only the droning of a portly bee\nwhich, arrayed in a splendid buff jerkin and a black belt, came swiftly\nin and went again in a slant of sunshine. Harshaw\u2019s voice, echoing from\nthe stone walls, seemed doubly weighty and impressive and resonant.\n\nThe House had already received an intimation of what he was about to\nsay, and although his animosity to Gwinnan impugned his credibility and\nrelaxed the surprise which had been occasioned, his bold overt allusions\nto his antagonism, his sturdy, undaunted address, had their effect. He\nsaid he must impinge upon the indulgence of the House for some personal\nexplanation. Had he consulted his own inclinations he would have let\nthe matter pass. It had come to his knowledge with no solicitation, no\nsuspicion, by accident, or\u2014with a reverent intonation\u2014providentially,\nhe might better say. But (suspended effect) he was sworn (with a wag of\nthe head) to serve the interests of the people of Tennessee, and (he\nthumped the desk) right zealously would he discharge that precious and\nsupreme trust! The duty of laying this matter before the representatives\nof the people was the more distasteful to him because he was personally\nin antagonism to Judge Gwinnan, whose title to the judicial office it\ncontroverted and whose integrity it assailed. He did not seek to disguise\nthe truth; he wished it to be understood\u2014and let the fact have what\nweight it might\u2014that he would be glad to see Judge Gwinnan removed from\nthe office which it was charged he had profaned. Apart from all else, he\nhad practiced in Gwinnan\u2019s circuit; he had experienced his tyranny; he\nhad seen a jury snatched from their deliberations and clapped into jail\nfor some petty ignorant infringement of the deep reverence which Judge\nGwinnan exacted for his presence. No!\u2014and the walls rang with the strong,\nrobust tones,\u2014he would esteem Judge Gwinnan\u2019s removal a source of great\ngratulation and a furtherance of justice. But he would be glad, for his\nown private considerations, if the circumstances upon which the motion\nwould presently be made could have come to the ear of some other member;\nhe appreciated that there was (sneering and smiling) a lack of grace,\nof seemliness, in the emanation of the proposition from him, an avowed\npersonal enemy; moreover, he might expose himself to suspicions of his\nmotive.\n\n\u201cRight for once!\u201d cried the unruly Kinsard, striking in suddenly.\n\nThe gavel sounded, and the interruption subsided.\n\nHarshaw\u2019s opaque blue eyes turned mechanically in the direction of the\nvoice, but with a preoccupied air of seeing nothing he went on, holding\nthe lapels of his coat, as he stood squarely beside his desk.\n\nHe could have evaded; he could have delegated the duty to another\nmember,\u2014have made the facts known, have had the witnesses canvassed,\nhave set the machinery in motion, without himself appearing at all.\n\u201cBut, Mr. Speaker,\u201d with an arrogant port, \u201cit is not my habit to beat\nabout the bush. I may be maligned by my foes, I may be misinterpreted by\nmy friends, I may be misjudged even by my constituents, but it is my\nprinciple to come forth openly, and let my personal feeling weigh for\nwhatever it may be worth.\u201d\n\nHe paused for a moment, stroking his yellow beard with an excited\ngesture, his flushed face grave, his eyes intent, absorbed; his whole\npresence instinct with determination, a hazardous tenacity, a ponderous\nforce. Then dropping his voice to the artificial dead-level elocutionary\nintonation, he proceeded to make a formal motion that a committee be\nappointed to investigate and report upon the accusations brought against\nJudge Gwinnan, charging him with having fought a duel, thus being\ndisqualified for office; and with perjury in taking the official oath.\n\nThere was an interval of absolute silence when he had resumed his seat.\nSignificant glances were interchanged. It seemed that the motion would be\nlost, until a little bland, cat-like fellow arose to say in a falsetto\nvoice, \u201cMr. Speaker, I second the motion.\u201d\n\nKinsard turned his indolent anatomy about and looked with a scathing eye\nat the little man, as, flushed and flustered, he took his seat. There was\nno possible propriety in the charge of collusion; the two members had all\nthe liberties of consultation and co\u00f6peration. Then why, he argued within\nhimself, should Forsey look like a cat stealing cream? Bestirring his\nrecollection, he recalled in him a certain willingness to think ill of\nJudge Gwinnan when previously threatened by Harshaw; and still dredging\nfor a motive, he remembered, though it happened some years ago, that\nGwinnan, sitting as special judge, had blocked the game of a big public\ncontract swindle, in which Forsey had had a large money interest.\n\nForsey had not the nerve of Harshaw, who was looking about him in\nreddening displeasure and frowning prognostication of the baffling of his\nvengeance. If he had indeed no backing but the irresolute Mr. Forsey, the\nmeasure would be defeated by a most triumphant majority. The prospect\nroused all his belligerent spirit, and he held up his head with a snort\nof defiant welcome, like a war-horse smelling the battle from afar, when,\nthe question being stated from the chair, a member rose to say that he\ndoubted the jurisdiction of the House.\n\n\u201cIf this matter be reported correctly as I have heard it during the\nlast two or three days,\u2014to my very great surprise,\u2014if Judge Gwinnan be\ndisqualified by reason of having before his incumbency fought a duel,\nthen he never was a judge except _de facto_. As I understand it, only an\nofficer _de jure_ can be impeached for crimes committed in office.\u201d\n\nForsey wanted to know if perjury in taking the official oath were not a\ncrime committed in office.\n\nAnother member asked whether it was the commission of the crime itself\nwhich disqualified, or the conviction of the crime.\n\nThe gavel sounded, and the member who had the floor persisted.\n\n\u201cI take it that the House cannot prefer articles of impeachment against a\nprivate citizen who has unlawfully usurped an office. If he is removed at\nall, it should be by proceedings in the chancery court in the nature of a\n_quo warranto_.\u201d\n\nMr. Kinsard rose, half leaning against his desk with a swaying negligence\nof posture, to call attention to the fact that anything in the nature\nof _quo warranto_ wouldn\u2019t begin to do. To have a little one-horse\nchancellor way up yonder in the seclusion of the mountains dump Judge\nGwinnan out of his office would not serve the purpose. Could any man\nimagine that that proceeding, known merely to the members of the bar and\nthe few intelligent citizens of that benighted district who took note\nof such matters, would satisfy such an animosity as the member from the\nfloaterial district of Cherokee and Kildeer had avowed, with a cheek\nwhich might be contemplated only in astounded admiration? Would the\ninfliction of that limited degradation glut the member\u2019s ravening greed\nfor revenge for his personal grudges? No! the member wished to disgrace\nJudge Gwinnan with all the publicity that even the attempt to impeach\nwould entail\u2014he designed that it should be canvassed throughout the\nlength and breadth of the State. It should resound through the clarion\ncolumns of every newspaper. Every State in the Union should know that\nthe Senate of Tennessee had organized as a court of impeachment, and the\nname of Gwinnan should be the synonym of contumely. Upon his word, he\ncould hardly take in the vastness of the effrontery that emboldened the\nmember to acknowledge, to proclaim to this House, his gross, his sordid\npersonal motives, in attacking one of the most able, most respected,\nmost diligent, most upright, of the State judiciary. He appealed to the\nhigher feeling of the House. He begged that they would not be driven like\nso many sheep into an investigation which was in its very inception an\ninsult, an outrage, and a scandal.\n\nA member demanded from his seat if it were not an obligation imperatively\nimposed upon the House to inquire into such a rumor, for the purpose of\nascertaining and eliciting the truth or falsehood it promulgated. Since\nsuch a rumor was abroad, it behooved Judge Gwinnan\u2019s friends to advocate\nan investigation, for it was his only hope of vindication if he were\nmaligned.\n\nHarshaw, leaning forward, both arms on his desk, attentively listening,\npursed up his red lips meditatively and nodded with abstracted\naffirmation, as if pondering the position. He gave no outward expression\nof gratulation, but he was quick to mark the accession of recruits to\nhis ranks. He could command a stalwart and callous fortitude. He could\nreceive without wincing, without anger, without shame, Kinsard\u2019s jeers\nand thrusts, for the sake of the aroused antagonism which seemed the\nnatural sequence of the young man\u2019s insistent arguments.\n\n\u201cIt specially becomes the House,\u201d continued the member, \u201cto countenance\nno leniency in regard to dueling and all that pertains to it, after the\nwill of the people has been so unequivocally expressed in regard to the\nmatter of the challenge, or what was so construed, upon this floor.\u201d\n\nThe member was rebuked here for infringement of parliamentary usage\nin upbraiding, as it were, the previous actions of the House and\ninterrupting the member who had the floor.\n\nKinsard, restive under the interpolation, seized the opportunity to\nresume. \u201cThere is no pretense of justification for adopting formal\nresolutions to asperse the oath of an honorable man, least of all at the\ninstigation of his avowed personal enemy. The story we have heard is at\nits worst merely a country boy\u2019s \u2018taking up a dare.\u2019 I will venture to\nsay that there is not a man within the sound of my voice who has not had\nsimilar affrays,\u2014has not in the days of his youth \u2018taken up a dare,\u2019 has\nnot fought by appointment.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill the member explain what he means by a duel?\u201d demanded Harshaw. He\ndid not turn his big yellow head; he only cast his opaque blue eyes at\nKinsard, and once more looked down at his hands clasped on his desk.\n\nFor a moment Kinsard, taken unaware, was checked.\n\n\u201cPerhaps the member had best begin at the beginning, and define a\nchallenge,\u201d suggested a satiric voice from the rear.\n\nThere was a sharp call to order from the chair, and Kinsard, rallying\nhimself, went tumultuously on.\n\n\u201cI am not a dictionary,\u201d he proclaimed angrily. \u201cI am not here to\nenlighten your ignorance.\u201d\n\nHarshaw, elated by the allusion to the old question of the challenge,\nintimating anew a flocking to his standard, interrupted cleverly: \u201cI have\na dictionary right here,\u2014a law dictionary.\u201d He read aloud, \u201cDueling is\nthe fighting of two persons, one against another, at an appointed time\nand place, on a precedent quarrel.\u201d\n\nKinsard vociferously claimed the floor, although it had become very\nevident to the House that the interest he advocated fared hardly less\nseverely at the hands of its friend than its foe. In debate he was no\nmatch for the wily Harshaw,\u2014his natural endowments, his enthusiasms, his\nfiner emotions, succumbing to a practiced logic, and a militant habit,\nand an instinctive discernment of the vulnerable point.\n\n\u201cIt is impossible to seriously maintain that a fight between a couple of\ncountry boys is a duel,\u201d he vehemently insisted. \u201cEverybody knows that\nthe common acceptation of the idea of a duel is a combat between men\u2014men\nof station\u201d (Harshaw leaned forward with an air of mock attention,\nplacing his hand ostentatiously behind his ear)\u2014\u201con some question of\nhonor, fighting under the control and direction of their seconds, at a\nspecified number of paces, and with pistols\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cEnactment provides that they shall be silver-mounted, hair-trigger?\u201d\nsneered Harshaw.\n\nOnce more there was a call to order. But Kinsard, badgered, turned at bay.\n\n\u201cI heard Judge Gwinnan tell you once that unless you kept out of his way\nhe would beat you with a stick, like a dog. How you do tempt the cur\u2019s\ndeserts!\u201d\n\nHarshaw rose hastily to his feet. He stood for a moment, his head\nlowered, his eyes flaming from under his knitted brows; he looked like\nthe champion mad bull of an arena, about to charge. Suddenly he turned,\nand without a word resumed his seat. There was a storm of applause from\nevery quarter of the House. A dozen voices were crying that the offensive\nwords should be taken down; the clerk hastily obeyed; they were read\naloud, and the speaker called upon Kinsard to deny them or retract.\n\nKinsard could have said with all the fervor of truth that he was sorry\nindeed, but it was in an inapplicable sense. He saw, with a sinking of\nthe heart, the havoc he was making in another\u2019s fate,\u2014the moral murder\nthat hung upon his hands. He looked about with despair at the faces\naround him: they had been friendly, partisan, when he began to speak\nagainst the motion; now they were reluctant, alienated, antagonistic.\nIt were better for Gwinnan had he had no friend but his own repute. The\nimpetuous young fellow felt that he had done the worst that was possible.\nHe would not now eat his words. He looked at Harshaw with an indignant\ndivination of his motives, when that gentleman, begging the indulgence\nof the House, moved that the matter be dropped. He was not here to\nmaintain personal consequence. He was willing\u2014nay, eager\u2014to waive any\nindividual considerations which hindered the deliberations of the House\nand the course of justice. If the member were so ungenerous as to decline\nto apologize for words spoken in heat, confirming them in cool malice,\nhe himself was able to overlook them, the more as his character was, he\ntrusted, too favorably known to be injured by these reflections.\n\nHe sat down in the midst of a clamor from a number of eager occupants\nof the floor,\u2014one of whom the speaker presently recognized,\u2014protesting\nagainst the unparliamentary nature of the proposal. The objectionable\nwords were again read, and the speaker called upon Kinsard to apologize\nor to deny them.\n\nPerhaps Kinsard alone appreciated in this edifying demonstration\nHarshaw\u2019s policy. He could not be tempted to run counter. He would not\nslack his pursuit of Gwinnan for another trail, however alluring. He\nhad higher game in view than the stripling\u2019s insults could furnish. And\nhe had made himself an example of marvelous tolerance, forbearance, and\ndignity.\n\nKinsard, lowering and pierced with all the barbed realization of futility\nand defeat, adopted his words, refused to retract or apologize, and,\nbeing commanded by the speaker to withdraw, took up his hat, and, with a\nscornful, indifferent manner that angered every member as if charged with\na personal relation, strode out of the room.\n\nHarshaw had followed his motions with narrowing eyelids. His attention\nhad relaxed with momentary exultation at this result. He was smiling a\nlittle in his beard, and he glanced in a debonair preoccupation out of\nthe window near his seat. The sky was red, for the sun was going down. He\nnoted the flush with a casual eye, unprescient how it should be with him\nwhen the day, fading now and dropping its dulling petals on every side,\nshould whitely bloom again. Then he reverted with zest to the proceedings\nwithin.\n\nKinsard walked slowly along the portico to the flight of steps. A belt\nof clouds, their edges glinting with gold, obscured the scarlet disk of\nthe sun, but from their lower verge a great glory of yellow light gushed\ndown, each of the multitudinous rays distinct, giving a fibrous effect,\nupon the blue hills of the horizon, upon the city in the foreground. Here\nand there they struck upon a spire or a tin roof that responded with a\nglister fiercely white. The intervals showed soft shadows of restful\ntints, the tops of the budding trees, the silver-gray shingles of an old\nhouse, and here and there an open space where the renewed blue-grass\ngrew apace. It wore a dark richness all adown the slopes of the Capitol\nhill. Somehow as he noted it there was borne upon him for the moment a\nsubtle intimation of the serenity of that life of Nature close to our\nartificial existence,\u2014mysterious, inevitable, quiescent. The contrast\ngave a sharpened sense of the turmoils of his heart, the weariness of his\nspirit, the rasping jars of his petty cares. He paused on the sidewalk\nand looked about him. Then he produced a cigar, and took his way down\ninto the city.\n\nHe did not fear the sentence of the House. He was resolute in the\nposition he had taken, but he carried throughout the evening an\nimperative sense of abeyance. He noticed with a secret scorn the clumsy\nefforts of his legislative friends to sound his state of mind, when they\ncame down from the Capitol; he divined their fear of a collision, their\nanxiety that the asperities with Harshaw should be allowed to quietly\ndrop. They sought to have him observe that they considered he had the\nbest of it, and that an apology now from him would mean merely a desire\nto promote public interest. Only the age of another adviser\u2014his father\u2019s\nfriend as well as his own\u2014restrained him from openly ridiculing the deep\nsatisfaction which this mentor evidently derived from the fact that\nthe young man\u2019s mind would be occupied with lighter themes during the\nevening, and he might forget the rancors of the debate. His thoughts,\nhowever, were incongruous enough with the scene of a fashionable\nwedding, where he officiated as an usher, and he paced the aisles of the\nchurch with as mechanical a notice of his surroundings as a somnambulist.\nHis attention hardly pretermitted its hold upon the subject that had\nabsorbed him, and when again at liberty he went at once to his room at\nthe hotel, with a view of changing his dress to attend the night session\nof the House.\n\nIt was the slightest matter that attracted his notice. He had lighted\nthe gas, and as he glanced into a drawer of the bureau some trivial\ndifference from the usual arrangement of his effects caught his eye.\nHe stood for a moment in motionless surprise. Perhaps it was accident,\nperhaps his alert divination, but he slipped his hand beneath the pile\nof garments and touched a wooden case of pistols. He flushed slightly,\nand for a moment he was ashamed. He had doubted if it were still there.\nHe had thought that perhaps his cautious friends might have robbed him,\npending the time when he was in anger, of the means to do more than war\nwith words. He had taken instant fire at the idea of an interference with\nhis liberty. It was the smouldering embers of this thought that actuated\nhim rather than any serious expectation, but suddenly he turned back to\nthe bureau and lifted the case. He opened it slowly. It was empty. He\ngazed at the vacant space, his eyes flashing, his cheek flushing. The\npistols had been abstracted and the case left that his attention might\nnot by its absence be directed to the weapons. He could easily divine all\nof his friends\u2019 arguments. He would not notice the disappearance of the\npistols, they must doubtless have said, unless he wanted them. He would\nnot want them unless he were intent upon some fatal folly. He could not\nsupply himself anew, for all the shops were closed, and by to-morrow he\nwould be in a cooler frame of mind.\n\nHis indignation was natural enough. He took heed, too, of contingencies\nof which his anxious friends, accustomed to him always in the character\nof assailant, lost sight. \u201cI should be helpless,\u201d he said, \u201cif that man\nshould attack me. I should be incapable of self-defense.\u201d\n\nSuddenly he caught up a light spring overcoat, threw it over his arm,\nand left the room. As he went down the staircase into the rotunda of\nthe hotel, he seemed the embodiment of handsome, gay, fortunate youth.\nHis cheek was flushed; his eyes were very brilliant. He paced up and\ndown the floor for a moment in front of the counter, for strangers were\nregistering their names and the clerks were busy. The fountain tossed up\nits spray, and the tinkling drops fell into the basin; around it plants\nwere blooming. Somebody journeying from the South had presented the hotel\nwith a little alligator, that splashed about in the water and was a\nsource of diversion to the out-comers and in-goers, many of whom paused\nto rouse it up with their canes and punch the head of the infant saurian.\nKinsard walked presently to the desk.\n\n\u201cI want to borrow a pistol,\u201d he said to the clerk, to whom he was well\nknown.\n\nThe official, fancying that the guest contemplated a journey or a long\nnocturnal drive into the country, and that the request was a matter\nmerely of precaution, turned with alacrity, took a pistol out of a\ndrawer, and laid it on the counter. He was looking for the cartridges,\nwhen an acquaintance of Kinsard\u2019s demanded casually, \u201cWhat do you want a\ngun for?\u201d\n\nKinsard lifted his brilliant, reckless eyes. \u201cTo shoot Bob Harshaw,\u201d he\ndeclared.\n\nThe clerk turned hastily from his search and made a motion to clutch the\npistol.\n\nKinsard\u2019s grasp had closed upon the handle.\n\n\u201cMan alive!\u201d he cried angrily, \u201cdo you think I would use it except for\nself-defense?\u201d\n\nHe hastily thrust it into his pistol-pocket and went out into the night.\n\nIt was moonless and very dark, despite the myriads of scintillating\nstars. The Capitol was visible only as suggested in the irradiations of\nits great, flaring, yellow windows and the lights without on either side\nof the long flight of steps. As Kinsard ascended he noticed on the broad\nportico a group of men, separating at the moment, three of them going\nwithin and one approaching the steps.\n\nHe could not fail to recognize Harshaw\u2019s bluff manner, his portly figure,\nhis long, yellow beard, and his brisk, light step; and as the younger\nman walked along the portico, Harshaw\u2019s eyes, glancing out sharply\nfrom under the brim of his slouch hat, identified him. There was no\none by to note how they should meet; the significance of the encounter\nmight have rejoiced the lovers of sensation. Kinsard was about to pass\nwithout salutation, but Harshaw, whirling half round on his light heel,\npaused, and with a bantering smile on his dimpled pink face showing in\nthe gaslight above their heads, \u201cGreat news!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cThey\u2019ve\nappointed a committee to investigate \u2018the jedge\u2019!\u201d\n\nKinsard experienced a sharp pang of dismay for Gwinnan\u2019s sake.\n\n\u201cAnd I suppose you are satisfied now,\u201d he said, bitterly.\n\n\u201cOh, no, my dear little sir. I am not half satisfied!\u201d cried Harshaw,\nwith his liquid rotund laugh. His foreshortened shadow swayed on the\nblocks of white limestone as if it could scarcely contain itself for\nlaughter.\n\nHe had lost the poise which he had endured so much to maintain that\nday. He was intoxicated with his triumph; and indeed he could afford to\nindulge it, for he felt that there was nothing now at stake.\n\n\u201cAnd that is the reason,\u201d continued Harshaw, \u201cthat I feel I owe you an\nobligation which I must not let pass without acknowledgment. In your able\nand cogent speech this afternoon you did more to effect Judge Gwinnan\u2019s\nimpeachment than, unaided, I could possibly have compassed. Let me beg\nyou to accept my thanks\u2014ha! ha! ha!\u201d\n\nDeeply wounded by this thrust, and conscious of the injury he had done\nGwinnan\u2019s interests, Kinsard turned upon him, but not without dignity.\n\n\u201cMr. Harshaw,\u201d he said, \u201cif I believed you to be sincere in this matter,\nif I thought you were not ingeniously perverting the facts and the law,\nI should most willingly co\u00f6perate with you. But I know your motives to\nbe a rancorous jealousy and an insatiable spite. And if I have not done\nanything to nullify them, it is not because I am without the will.\u201d\n\nHe looked at his interlocutor from head to foot, as if he found a source\nof surprise in his very embodiment.\n\n\u201cI cannot imagine how a soul so petty should be so corpulently lodged. It\nmight appropriately animate some tiny writhing worm that, showing venom,\ncould be crushed by a foot.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook here, youngster,\u201d said Harshaw, sneering and showing his strong\nwhite teeth, his eyes gleaming under the brim of his hat, \u201cI know you\nmean you\u2019d take my life if you could defy the consequence. But you\u2019d\nbetter mind how you go to extremes in Gwinnan\u2019s service. I have a\ncontempt for you, but a pity, too. I know you are only his miserable\ntool, his abject creature.\u201d\n\nKinsard sprang forward with the suddenness of a tiger. A stinging thrill\nran through Harshaw\u2019s face before he could realize that with an open palm\nhe had been struck upon the cheek.\n\nIt was the impulse of the moment,\u2014he never could afterward explain it\nto his will, he never could justify it to his policy; he was shocked\nwith an extreme surprise when the keen, abrupt tone of a pistol rang\nupon the chill night air, and he became conscious that he was shaking a\nsmoking weapon in his right hand, jarred in some manner by the discharge.\nThe young man had flung himself upon him; he saw as in a dream Kinsard\ntake one convulsive step backward and fall from the verge of the great\nportico to the stones below. There was a moment of intense silence.\nHarshaw looked wildly to the doors, the windows, expecting the issuance\nof startled men, roused from their deliberations. It was strange; if\nthe pistol-shot had been heard, it had doubtless been accounted some\nviolation of the law prohibiting target-practicing within the corporate\nlimits. Hardly a minute had elapsed when Harshaw ran down the long flight\nto where the man lay, half in the shadow and half in the light, at the\nfoot of the stone wall.\n\n\u201cAre you hurt?\u201d he cried in an agonized voice, as he bent over the\nmotionless figure. \u201cAre you dead\u2014already?\u201d\n\nHe took one of the listless white hands,\u2014very listless it was, and chill.\n\nAs he moved the submissive figure he felt the pistol in the pocket; he\ndrew it forth, glad at least that the man was armed. As he turned it\nin his hands he saw in despair that it was unloaded. What theory of\nself-defense could this bear? The next moment his quick eye noted that\nthe bore and make were the same as his own weapon\u2019s. He slipped in a\ncartridge, two, three, and replaced it in Kinsard\u2019s pocket. Then he rose\nto his feet to summon help. He turned as he was about to ascend the\nsteps, and looked back fearfully over his shoulder.\n\nThe sudden remembrance of his vision smote him. He gazed upon the scene\nas if he had before beheld it. The man lay there at the foot of great\nrocks, motionless and with an averted face.\n\nHe had braced himself as well as he might to endure the shock of\npublic reprehension, surprise, repulsion, reacting on his own nerves,\nsensitive to every variation of popular opinion, when he should go to\nhis associates, his weapon in his hand, the report of his own foul deed\nupon his lips. And yet, strong as he was, he faltered, he tottered, he\nfell almost fainting against the door at which he entered. He had a vague\nidea of the startled faces turned toward him, the expectant stillness,\nthe sound of his hoarse, disconnected words in an appalled staccato,\nthe sudden rush, the wild clamor. He hardly recognized the two men who\ndisengaged themselves from the turmoil and came to him,\u2014the best friends\nhe had in the world, he might be sure now. He was only aware of what he\nhad said and how well he had said it, when he was supported between them\nto a carriage, and was driving with them and with the officer who had\nbeen summoned at his request, to the magistrate\u2019s house. His friends were\ntalking together in respectful undertones of this \u201cunfortunate affair,\u201d\nand arranging the details,\u2014a little complicated because of the late\nhour,\u2014that there might be naught more unseemly than giving speedy bail.\nNeither intruded on his reserve. The officer was silent, unofficial,\nrespectfully null, effaced. The stars were bright in the dark sky. The\nhorses\u2019 hoofs flashed fire.\n\nThe magistrate, roused to the fact that justice may not sleep when\nwrongs are to be righted, made the necessary inquiries in so grave and\ncourteous a tone that it seemed he recognized that the occasional killing\nof a gentleman may be lamentable to the deceased and inconvenient to the\nsurviving, but was nothing to unduly stretch the limits of his elastic\nimpartiality and abeyance of harsh opinion. He promptly accepted the\nproffered bail, and Harshaw\u2019s friends left him only at his bedroom door,\nwhere they shook hands gravely and kindly with him, and in response to\nsome muttered thanks declared they proposed to see him through.\n\nHe found beneath the door the cards and notes of other friends who,\nhearing some wild rumor of the trouble, had called to proffer services.\nHis lips curled triumphantly as he scanned them one by one. They\nrepresented the estimation in which he was held. They intimated a\nreliance on his good faith and motive in any deed.\n\n\u201cBut I tell you, Mr. Harshaw,\u201d he said ceremoniously to himself, \u201c\u2019twould\nhave been mighty different if \u2019twasn\u2019t for your own smartness!\u201d For he\ncould hardly thank his craft enough for the timely expedient of slipping\nthe cartridges into Kinsard\u2019s empty pistol.\n\nHe slept badly in the earlier part of the night, but toward day he fell\ninto a deep and dreamless slumber, and woke refreshed. It was later\nthan usual, and he was solitary at breakfast save for the company of\nstrangers. The corridors were well-nigh deserted when he came out with\nhis unfolded newspaper in his hand,\u2014he would not look at it earlier.\nMost of the members who sojourned at the same hotel had gone to the\nCapitol. The reading-rooms were quite empty, but for the presence of\nthe sunlight in glittering white blocks upon the carpet. He had lighted\na cigar and flung himself into a chair, nerving himself to read the\naccounts of the shooting and the comments, when suddenly one of his\nbondsmen came into the room with so precipitate a manner, so perturbed\na face, that the trouble so cleverly manipulated assumed anew an\nindefinitely threatening aspect. He felt his muscles tighten, his pulses\nquicken as he asked hastily, \u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d\n\nHe could not mistake the nature of the look the man bent on him; it made\nhim tingle from head to foot. And yet his errand was the last offices of\nfriendship.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re too quick on the trigger in more ways than one, Harshaw,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cKinsard was not hit.\u201d\n\nIf Harshaw\u2019s conscience had suffered one pang, this announcement might\nhave weighed more with him than all that was to come. The extreme\nsurprise told only on his nerves: his heart thumped heavily; his breath\nwas short, his face flushed; he looked at his interlocutor with eyes that\nseemed lidless in their intentness.\n\n\u201cKinsard was not shot. He lost his balance and was stunned by the fall.\nThey have been working with him all night long, but the doctor says he\u2019ll\npull through now.\u201d The man faltered a little. It was hard to look into\nanother man\u2019s eyes and say this. \u201cHe revived once before you left. He saw\nyou in the gaslight load his pistol with your cartridges. And then he\nfainted again. I thought I\u2019d tell you. The whole town\u2019s talking.\u201d\n\nIt was admirably managed,\u2014Harshaw\u2019s long, amazed stare, the slow rising\nfrom the chair, the rotund resonant laughter filling the room. It renewed\nhis friend\u2019s faith in him.\n\n\u201cLie, eh?\u201d he asked anxiously.\n\n\u201cGo away!\u201d Harshaw bluffly waved him off. \u201cI\u2019m done with you. Coming to\n_Me_ with a cock-and-bull story like this,\u2014the visions a stunned man saw\nbetween his faints!\u201d\n\nAs he took his way boldly down into the rotunda amongst the crowds\nof men assembled there, the effect of his presence, his manner, his\nbluff hilarious voice as he canvassed the story, did much to annul its\ncredibility, in fact might have destroyed it but for the recollection of\nthe clerk\u2019s declaration\u2014silently pondered\u2014that the pistol loaned was new,\nhad never been discharged; that the box of cartridges was unopened in his\npossession; that Kinsard went straight from him to the Capitol; that the\nshooting occurred within fifteen minutes.\n\nThe subtle perception of this mental reservation had no influence on\nHarshaw\u2019s capable swagger and burly ridicule, but as he noted it he\nwas saying again and again to himself, \u201cYou\u2019re a mighty smart man, Bob\nHarshaw. You\u2019re just a little mite _too_ smart. There\u2019s no mistake this\ntime. It is you who are dead\u2014politically as dead as Hector.\u201d\n\nNo action was taken in the matter by the legislature, for it bristled\nwith unprecedented difficulties. The session was drawing to a close,\nand Harshaw\u2019s term ceased with it. His usefulness ceased previously.\nWhatever measures he had advocated were tainted with suspicion and\nencountered disfavor. Bereft of the influences of his enmity toward\nJudge Gwinnan, the committee appointed to investigate the charges\nagainst him deliberated, and dawdled, and finally reported adversely to\nthe resolution to prefer articles of impeachment. Their doubt of the\njurisdiction of the legislature was said to be the determining cause of\ntheir action. It was a perplexed and a troublous question. And thus they\nwashed their hands of it.\n\nIt had been in this cause that Harshaw had flung himself away, and it was\nin this result that he experienced the extremest rigors of defeat. It\nadded to the helpless chagrin with which he watched his future, coming on\nso fast that already its coarsened grotesque features were wearing the\nimmediate aspect of the present. A fine contrast he was, to be sure, to\nthe man whose seat on the bench he had sought to shake, still serenely\nimmovable, while he, the loiterer about the tavern at Shaftesville,\nbeginning to drink heavily now, although his habits had been temperate,\ntelling idle stories to the other loiterers with the zestful skill\nacquired as a politician, useless now, must needs watch all the interests\nthat he had spent his life to conserve dwindle by degrees, till, case\nafter case withdrawn from him, he should become a mere hanger-on in those\ncourts in which he had aspired to preside.\n\nAnd then there came to him news for which he felt he had no commensurate\ncapacity for astonishment. Gwinnan, aggrieved by the indecision of the\nlegislature, was clamoring for a vindication. It was nominally at the\nrelation of a third party that the attorney-general brought a suit in\nthe chancery court to test his title to office; and in the interval\nbefore the trial Mr. Harshaw had a great deal to say about judicial\nwhitewashing, and speculated much concerning the probable result of\nthe case, and pondered deeply on Gwinnan\u2019s motives in encountering its\nhazards.\n\nSometimes he was half minded to accredit their probity, and then,\nambitious of all that may serve to lift, he fell envious again, and\nrailed at his harsh penalty, that, being not all base, one crafty\ndeed\u2014sequence of how many crafty thoughts!\u2014should determine his future\nand affix his life sentence.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX.\n\n\nIt seemed to Mink Lorey, trudging on toward the mountains, as if they\nhad been suddenly caught up in the clouds. The horizon had fallen from\ntheir invisible summits to the levels of the cove, and where the flat\nstretches of the perspective met the nullities of the enveloping vapors\nthe scene had all the prosaic, denuded desolation of prairie distances.\nYearning for the sight of the blue peaks, he felt as if it were in\nrebuke, in alienation, that they had hidden their faces from him, had\ndrawn the tissues of the air about them and veiled their heads. As the\nday unfolded hour by hour, as the distance lessened mile by mile, he\nsought if perchance in a rent of the mist he might not glimpse some dome,\nthe familiar of his early life, unchanged through all the vicissitudes\nthat time had wrought for him. Once he was not sure if it were mountain\nor cloud outlined in individual symmetry amongst the indeterminate,\nshapeless masses of vapor. Then the haze thickened, and he lost the\nsemblance, whether of earth or air.\n\nIt was before dawn that he had escaped from the haven he had found,\nand Mrs. Purvine, throughout the day, keeping watch over these snug\nquarters, guarded an empty nest. After the first deep, dreamless slumber\nof exhaustion he had silently slipped out, taking his way toward the\nGreat Smoky, the thought of Alethea heavier than all his calamities. He\nknew naught of the report of his pardon; he hardly cared now what might\nbetide him. He would see her and tax her with her fickle heart, and then\nhe would flee whither he might. Sometimes, as he toiled along, he would\nraise his arm with a frantic gesture, and again and again his lips moved\nunconsciously as he forecast in sibilant mutters the words that he would\nsay.\n\nThere was little danger at this early hour of meeting any traveler along\nthe deserted road, but he hardly felt safe until he reached the base\nof the Great Smoky, and was amongst the dense laurel of those mighty\nforests, still veiled with the mists and effaced from the day. He turned\nback often, despite the numbing clutch of despair in his heart and the\nturbulence of his rage, hoping that he might see again Chilhowee with\nthe sunshine on it; with the circuit of birds in the adjacent domains\nof the sky; with detached flakes of mist, like stole-clad figures, in\nairy processional pacing the summit to elusive evanescences; with its\ncolors of bronze-green, and anon purple, and, stretching far away, more\nfinely, softly azure than the heaven it touched. Alas, no,\u2014this he might\nremember. And yet he had chance rencontres with old familiars. A torrent,\ngray-green, glassy, whitely foaming, darted out from the vapors suddenly,\nand was suddenly withdrawn into the blank spaces. And was he akin to the\nbalsam firs; could he have met brethren with more joy? Even when they\ntowered undistinguishably above him, they whispered to him a word now and\nthen, and filled the air with the cordial, inspiriting sense of their\npresence. And what was this? He stood still to listen, staring into the\nwhite vagueness of the invisible woods. A fitful, metallic tinkling. Was\nhe so high up the great steeps that already he could distinguish the\nbells of the herds, or was this a stray? He heard a hoof struck upon the\nground presently, the sound of munching teeth, and suddenly a horse\u2019s\nhead was thrust forward amongst the mists, showing a black mane and wide\nbrilliant eyes and the arch of a clay-bank neck.\n\n\u201cThar ye be, Grasshopper! At it agin, air ye?\u201d Mink called out, with the\nrancorous formula of an old reproach.\n\nIt was a horse that he knew, and knew well,\u2014one of the charges of the\nherders during the previous summer,\u2014a wild young creature, with a\nproclivity for breaking bounds and straying. The animal pricked up his\nears at the sound of his name, and his eyes met Mink\u2019s with seeming\nrecognition. The young mountaineer reflected that it was he who had\nusually salted the animals. With a hope of bettering his plight he held\nout his hand.\n\n\u201cCobe! Cobe!\u201d he called seductively. The horse looked dubiously at him,\nas he stood, one hand thrust in his leather belt, his white hat\u2014an old\none belonging to Jerry Price, which Mrs. Purvine had loaned him\u2014perched\non the back of his head, his red hair limp with the moisture of the damp\nday. The creature approached gingerly, snuffing at the empty hand. He\nmoved back abruptly, detecting the deception; but Mink had caught him by\nthe halter which he wore, and sprung upon his back.\n\n\u201cGimme a lift up the mounting, Grasshopper,\u201d suggested Mink placidly.\n\nThe stray reared and plunged and kicked, striving to unhorse the rider,\nwho, although without saddle or bridle, contrived to maintain his seat,\nbut could neither govern nor guide the animal, that at last bolted off\nthrough the woods, running as rapidly as the nature of the ground would\npermit. On he went, invading the mists; piercing the invisibilities of\nthe wilderness; up hill and down; among bowlders and gigantic trees,\ndimly looming; fording streams and standing pools and morasses; pausing\nto kick and rear and plunge anew, and away once more. Mink waited calmly\ntill the stray should exhaust his energies. This proved longer than he\nhad anticipated. But after several delusive intimations of abating speed\nthe horse fell into a canter, then into a trot, and as Mink pulled on\nthe halter the comity with his rider was renewed once more, and he lent\nhimself to guidance. Looking about him, the young mountaineer could\nhardly say where he had been carried. Once as the mist shifted he saw\nthrough the limbs of stunted trees a great peak, a mile away perhaps,\nappearing and disappearing elusively among the rifts. He began to\nunderstand that he was on the summit of the ridge in the interval between\ntwo great uprising domes. Often he must needs lie flat on the horse\u2019s\nback, lest the low boughs of the ancient dwarfed trees sweep him to\nthe ground; as it was, they played cruel havoc with his old jeans coat,\nand once snatched his hat away. He drew up with difficulty, and as he\nclapped it on his head he heard again, in the momentary silence of his\nhorse\u2019s hoofs, the tinkling of bells other than the one which the nomadic\nGrasshopper wore at his neck. He rode toward the sound. It led him into a\nlimited open space where the trees, struck and burned by the lightnings,\nhad fallen charred upon the earth: two or three cows were pausing to crop\nin the lush grass, despite the crack of a whip and the call of a herder.\nMink recognized the voice of his old comrade, Doaks.\n\nThe mounted figure of the fugitive loomed, half discerned, gigantic in\nthe mist, as Ben Doaks stood and stared. The horse, restive, freakish,\nrose upon his hind feet, pawing the air. The young mountaineer, half\ndoubting the policy of revealing himself, his prudent fears returning,\nhesitated, then leaned forward and waved his hand. He did not speak, for\nDoaks suddenly, with a wild shrill cry of terror, turned and fled.\n\nMink sat his horse motionless, staring in amazement. An angry flush rose\nto the roots of his hair.\n\n\u201cBen\u2019s \u2019feared ter hev enny dealin\u2019s with law-breakers an\u2019 sech,\u201d he\nsneered. \u201c\u2019Feared the law mought take arter him.\u201d\n\nHe rode along for a few moments, pondering his jeopardy and the long\nimprisonment to which he was sentenced. If this demonstration were any\nindication of the feeling against him, he would be taken again here\namongst the herders, or at his home in Hazel Valley, or in Wild-Cat\nHollow.\n\n\u201cI oughtn\u2019t ter go ter see Lethe,\u201d he said to himself. \u201cI ought jes\u2019 ter\nhustle over inter North Carliny, whar they dunno me, an\u2019 git in with\nsome o\u2019 them folks ez lives lonesome, the herders, or them Injuns at\nQuallatown, till the sher\u2019ff gits tired o\u2019 huntin\u2019 fur me. Nobody \u2019lows\nbut what I\u2019m dead \u2019cept Mis\u2019 Purvine, an\u2019 she ain\u2019t a-goin\u2019 ter tell on\nme. I dunno \u2019bout Lethe; mebbe she\u2019ll \u2019low \u2019tain\u2019t right, \u2019specially\nsence she air so powerful pleased with the jedge. I\u2019ll git cotched sure\nef I keep a-roamin\u2019 \u2019round hyar like a painter, or that thar harnt o\u2019 a\nherder ez rides on Thunderhead.\u201d\n\nWith the words there flashed upon him a new interpretation of Ben Doaks\u2019s\nsudden flight. He recollected the significance of an equestrian figure\nhere, strangely silent, looming in the mist. As he looked about him,\ncatching vague glimpses of the neighboring peaks, he recognized the\nslopes of Thunderhead.\n\n\u201cBen mus\u2019 hev been over ter s\u2019arch fur strays, an\u2019 I reckon ye air one of\n\u2019em, Grasshopper,\u201d he said.\n\nHis lips were curving, and his eyes brightening beneath the brim of the\nold wool hat. His prudent resolves vanished. He leaned forward and deftly\ndivested the horse of the bell. He tossed his head gayly as he struck his\nheels against the flanks of the animal with an admonition to get up.\n\n\u201cEf I don\u2019t ride up thar an\u2019 skeer them herders on Thunderhead inter\nfits, I\u2019m the harnt Ben takes me fur, that\u2019s all.\u201d\n\nThat misty morning was long remembered on Thunderhead. To the herders,\nbusy with their simple, leisurely, bucolic avocation on the great\nelevated pastures, as aloof from the world, as withdrawn from mundane\ninfluence, as if they herded on lunar mountains, there appeared, veiled\nwith the mist and vague with a speedy gait, the traditional phantom\nhorseman: more distinct than they could have imagined, more personally\naddressing its presence to the spectators, silently waving its hand, and\nonce leaning forward and clutching at the empty air, as if it would fain\nreach them, and once assuming an aggressive aspect and leveling an unseen\nweapon.\n\nThe cattle had not all arrived at their summer pastures from the coves\nand the \u201cflat woods.\u201d To-day young Bylor, whose father was a farmer\non the slopes below, had driven up a \u201cbunch\u201d of cows, and while he\nwas standing quite alone at some distance from the cabin, engaged in\nreadjusting a brass tag which had been lost from the horn of one of the\nanimals, he heard the sound of an approach, and glanced about him in\nthe fleecy white nullity that had taken the place of the erased world.\nHe did not recognize in the dim figure of the horseman the terrible\nghostly herder, the steed rearing and plunging, the erect figure\nlooming gigantic, merging with no distinct outlines into the enveloping\nuncertainty of the mist. He stood stolidly gazing for a moment; then he\nhailed it.\n\n\u201cHowdy, stranger!\u201d he cried.\n\nThe figure paused; the horse fell upon his haunches and pawed the air\nwith his forefeet, while the rider leaned forward, beckoning slowly as\nBylor approached. What monition induced him to pause he could hardly have\nsaid. The significance of the insistently beckoning apparition flashed\nupon him in the moment. He turned precipitately, stumbling over the roots\nof a tree and falling prone upon the ground; then recovering himself, he\nran at full speed through the blinding fog toward the cabin. He swore\nafterward that he heard behind him the tramp of a horse\u2019s hoofs and a\nvoice laughing mockingly.\n\nAt the herders\u2019 cabin he found Ben Doaks and his partner from Piomingo\nBald, pallid and shaken, among the other herders who had gathered\nthere, all panic-stricken, and each arguing to shift to his partner the\nresponsibility of the care of the cattle, that he might leave the weird,\nhaunted summits, and find rest and peace and reassuring human comradeship\nin the prosaic depths of the cove.\n\n\u201cFrom what I hev hearn tell \u2019bout that thar herder,\u201d said Doaks, with his\nfacile credulity, \u201cnone o\u2019 we-uns air a-goin\u2019 ter hev sense enough ter\nkeer fur cattle \u2019n\u2019 nuthin\u2019 else fur a year an\u2019 a day. Leastwise that hev\nbeen the \u2019speriunce o\u2019 other folks ez hev viewed the harnt.\u201d\n\nHe laid on another stick of wood, for the day was chill, and the great\nfire crackled and sparkled, and the red and yellow flames darted up\nthe rude and tremulous chimney, and gave the one bright element of\nilluminated color to the dark interior. The bearded men grouped about the\nfire were seated one upon a keg of salt, three on a log, and Ben Doaks\nhad dropped on a saddle flung down upon the hearth. The door was closed;\nonce it came unbuttoned, and every face turned quickly to scan the\nshivering mists, pallid and cold and opaque, crowding to the entrance, to\nbe shut out summarily into the vast vagueness of the outer world.\n\n\u201cI dunno ez I feel ennywise lackin\u2019,\u201d observed another, after a long\nintrospective pause. He rubbed his hand meditatively over his beard. \u201cI\nnever \u2019lowed ez I war special gifted, but I ain\u2019t a spang fool yit.\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon we hain\u2019t hed time ter \u2019speriunce it,\u201d said Doaks, as he\nsettled himself to wait for the dreaded doom, a little astonished,\nsubacutely, to be conscious of no diminution of mental power.\n\n\u201cI seen him so close!\u201d cried Bylor. \u201cI wish ter goodness I hed shot at\nhim!\u201d\n\n\u201cBullet would jes\u2019 hev gone through him,\u201d said Doaks, \u201c\u2019thout\ninterruptin\u2019 him none.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d rejoined Bylor, \u201cI hev hearn some folks \u2019low ef ye shoots at a\nharnt they don\u2019t like it, an\u2019 sorter makes tharse\u2019fs sca\u2019ce arter that.\nI dunno what ailed him ter take arter me. I never herded with him on\nThunderhead. I ain\u2019t no herder, an\u2019 never war. I hate powerful ter go\ndown inter the cove ter drivel fur a year an\u2019 a day. I never done no work\nsca\u2019cely las\u2019 year, through feelin\u2019 sorter keerless \u2019bout\u2019n it. An\u2019 ef I\nhed drempt bout\u2019n\u2019 this hyar harnt a-takin\u2019 arter me I\u2019d hev put in my\nwork then.\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal, ye can\u2019t git the time back,\u201d said Ben Doaks; and many an idler\nbefore and since Bylor has learned this melancholy truth.\n\nHe sat silent for a time, ruefully pondering upon his blasted industrial\nprospects. Then he broke forth fretfully once more:\u2014\n\n\u201cI war fool enough ter go so close. I seen the very hat he wore,\u201d\u2014his\ntones were full of a despairing regret,\u2014\u201ca big white hat sot onto the\nback o\u2019 his head.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat war jes\u2019 Josh Nixon,\u201d said the elder of the herders, gravely\nshaking his head. \u201cThat war the very kind o\u2019 hat he wore, an\u2019 set the\nsame.\u201d\n\nThree of the five hats in the room were of that exact description; in\nfact, it was a fashion common enough in the region for Jerry Price to\nhave two alike, and the old one which Mrs. Purvine had lent the fugitive\nwas hardly distinguishable from Mink\u2019s own, floating down the Tennessee\nRiver.\n\nIt did not shadow a face altogether appreciative of his own pranks, as\nMink drew it down over his brow and rode away in the mist, when convinced\nthat the herders were likely to come out no more for the present.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t take no sure enough enjyemint in nuthin\u2019,\u201d he complained. \u201cI\nfeel so badgered an\u2019 hunted.\u201d\n\nHe looked about him doubtfully. A few strides of his horse and he would\nbe across the state line, and safer than for many a day. He stood\ndrearily contemplating the vacancy of the clouds above the Carolina side,\nas unresponsive to the imagination as his future, which in vain he sought\nto forecast. He suddenly wheeled.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m bound ter see Lethe, though! I\u2019m bound ter tell her I hev fund her\nout. She\u2019ll know what I think o\u2019 her afore I\u2019m done.\u201d\n\nHe pressed the horse, broken now to a steady gait, into the elusive ways\nof the herders\u2019 trail through the weird, stunted woods along the ridge to\nthe great Piomingo Bald; thence into a path that led down into Wild-Cat\nHollow. He noted its well-worn and smooth curves.\n\n\u201cBen Doaks hev made a reg\u2019lar turnpike, a-travelin\u2019 ter see Lethe\nSayles,\u201d he said, with some half scornful pity that would not bestir\nitself to be jealous.\n\nHe made a wide detour of the little house, nestling in the great cleft\nof the mountain, occasionally becoming dimly visible as the mist shook\nout its gauzy folds in long pervasive shivers, and anon obliterated as it\ndropped its denser curtain. Over the valley it was torn into fringes, a\nslant of sunlight gilding it, the blue of the sky showing through.\n\nOne of the sudden precipitous ascents from the deep depression of the\nhollow was distinctly imposed against the horizon. There were great\nrocks, with herbs and grasses growing in niches, on either side of a\nnarrow gorge. Two splintered cliffs amongst them were like a rude and\ngigantic gateway giving access to the higher verdant slopes of the\nmountain. His eyes, turning mechanically toward the opening vista, were\narrested by the sight of Alethea high up the gorge, standing in the\nclifty gateway. Her sun-bonnet, still tied under her chin, had fallen\non her shoulders; her yellow hair was like the golden sunlight denied\nto the dreary heights; her familiar brown homespun dress was distinct\nagainst the tender green of the slope; a basket of herbs was on her\narm. Now and then she moved a step and plucked a sprig from a niche,\nand again she would pause looking down upon the valley, where the white\nglister of the mist united with the suffusion of yellow sunshine beyond\nin a gauzy, splendid sheen that now and then parted to reveal the purple\nmountains, the blue sky, the silver river, the fields as radiantly green\nas the meadows of the blest. His heart beat with emotions he hardly\ncomprehended, as he noted her luminous, grave, undimmed eyes, her fair,\ndelicately tinted face.\n\nHe dismounted and hitched the horse by the halter to a tree. She did not\nsee him; she heard nothing; she silently looked about her, and plucked\nthe herb she sought. He took his way softly up the gorge among the fallen\nfragments of rock; he was standing still in the great rift that simulated\na gateway when she turned slowly, and her eyes, widening with fear, with\nsurprise, with rapture, fell upon him.\n\nHis heart could but thrill at her loud, wild cry of joy. He had meant to\nupbraid her. She was sobbing on his shoulder, and he held her in his arms.\n\nThe mists flickered and faded about them; the sunshine slanted down\nthrough the clouds. The wind lifted its wings, for they heard the flutter\nof the breeze, and beside some hidden nest amongst the gray old rocks a\nmocking-bird was suddenly singing\u2014singing!\n\n\u201cYe war pardoned! I know it!\u201d she cried. \u201cI know it!\u201d\n\nHe had for once a thought for her,\u2014a vain regret to annul her joy. When\nhad Alethea looked thus?\u2014the radiant spirit of love, the triumphant\ndelight of the spring.\n\nHe delayed replying. He stooped to gather up the herbs that had fallen on\nthe ground; for the old hound that followed her had smelt the basket, and\nwas thrusting his intrusive muzzle among them.\n\n\u201cWhat be ye a-doin\u2019 of, Lethe?\u201d asked Mink, restoring them, and setting\nthe basket up on a bowlder.\n\nTo detail the simple domestic errand relaxed the tense agitation of their\nmeeting, and it was a relief to him to listen.\n\n\u201cA-getherin\u2019 wild sallet fur dinner,\u201d she drawled, her happy smiles\nand tears together in her eyes. \u201cOur turnip patch never done nuthin\u2019,\nsca\u2019cely, an\u2019 ez we-uns ain\u2019t got no turnip-greens I \u2019lowed I\u2019d gether a\nmess o\u2019 wild sallet. The chillen hone so fur suthin\u2019 green.\u201d\n\nThere was no quivering sense of deprivation in her voice; the hardships\nof poverty would wear to-day the guise of triumphant expedient.\n\n\u201cI hev got about enough,\u201d she said, smiling up at him. \u201cYe kem on ter the\nhouse an\u2019 I\u2019ll gin ye a soon dinner. Ye mus\u2019 be tired an\u2019 hongry with yer\ntravels. They\u2019ll all make ye welcome.\u201d\n\nHe hesitated. In the supreme happiness of the moment, his face had in a\nmeasure lost the lines that anxiety and suffering had drawn. But now, as\nhe stood doubtful of what he should say, she noted his changed expression.\n\n\u201cReuben,\u201d she cried, in tender commiseration, laying her hand on his arm,\n\u201cwhat makes ye look like that? What hev happened ter you-uns?\u201d\n\n\u201cWaal,\u201d said Mink, leaning against the wall of rock behind him, \u201cright\nsmart o\u2019 different things,\u2014fust an\u2019 last.\u201d\n\nThe simple heart\u2019s-ease in being near her again,\u2014he had not realized how\ndear he held it,\u2014in hearing her voice, full of solicitude for him, in the\nrenewing of his unconscious reliance upon her love, had begun to give way\nto the antagonism inevitable between them, with their widely opposing\nviews of life and duty, their uncongenial characters and aims.\n\nHe laughed satirically. \u201cYe talk \u2019bout pardon! I hain\u2019t got no pardon. I\n\u2019low ye wimmin-folks hev got no feelin\u2019 nor pride nuther. I wouldn\u2019t hev\nno pardon off\u2019n Gwinnan. I wouldn\u2019t take a favior from him,\u2014not ter save\nhim from hell, nor me nuther. But I hev got no pardon.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe air foolin\u2019 me, Reuben, ain\u2019t ye?\u201d she exclaimed, hopefully.\n\nHe shook his head.\n\nShe gazed gravely at him. \u201cHow\u2019d ye git away?\u201d\n\n\u201cBruk an\u2019 run.\u201d\n\nShe stood still; her heart sank; her eyes filled with tears. \u201cOh,\u201d\nshe cried, with all the despair of a relinquished hope, \u201cI couldn\u2019t\nbut b\u2019lieve yestiddy, when Jacob Jessup kep\u2019 a-lookin\u2019 so secret an\u2019\nm\u2019licious, ez thar war good news ez he wouldn\u2019t lemme hear,\u2014more \u2019n he\ntold \u2019bout what Jedge Gwinnan said when he rid up ter the cabin, whilst\nwe war all away ter the church-house ter the revival. An\u2019 I b\u2019lieved\n\u2019twar ez you-uns war pardoned. I hev drempt of it! I hev prayed fur it!\nI\u2019d hev died fur it!\u201d\n\n\u201cLook hyar, Lethe Sayles!\u201d he exclaimed, tense and erect again. \u201cThat\nthar ain\u2019t a true word ez ye air a-tellin\u2019 me,\u2014ez that thar man hev kem\nter Wild-Cat Hollow!\u201d His eyes blazed upon her.\n\nShe was deprecating and downcast. Her intuition warned her that it\nbehooved her to be careful. She was too deliberate. He broke out\nvehemently:\n\n\u201cHe hev! An\u2019 \u2019twar ter see you-uns.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know \u2019twar, Reuben, but\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cI swear ter Heaven,\u201d he cried, lifting his clenched right hand, \u201cez\nthe Lord never afore built sech a fool ez me!\u201d His self-pity and\nself-contempt were pathetic. \u201cAin\u2019t I jes\u2019 now been down yander ter Mis\u2019\nPurvine\u2019s, an\u2019 hear her tell how that man\u2014oh, curse him, curse him!\u2014air\nnigh dead in love with ye, an\u2019 ye hed promised ter marry him!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Reuben, no! \u2019Tain\u2019t true. It air jes\u2019 one o\u2019 aunt Dely\u2019s notions.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 I kem hyar fit in mind ter kill ye dead,\u201d he went on. \u201cAn\u2019 the minit\nI see ye I furgit it all, an\u2019 ye twist me round yer finger the same ez\nef I war a bit o\u2019 spun truck! G\u2019way, Lethe!\u201d\u2014his voice broke; \u201cdon\u2019t ye\ntech me.\u201d He moved away, that she might not lay her remonstrant hand\non his shoulder. \u201cI wait on yer word like a child. Ye got me inter all\nthis trouble through heedin\u2019 yer wisdom ez turned out folly fur me. The\nfoolishness o\u2019 them ez air bereft air wise ter me! Ye done it!\u201d\n\nHe struck his hands despairingly together as he thought of his forlorn\npast. Perhaps he was the happier that his reflective moods were so rare.\n\n\u201cI know, Reuben,\u2014I know I did. But I never meant it. I jes\u2019 wanted ye ter\ndo what war right.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but I hev got ter abide by the consequences o\u2019 what _ye_ think air\nright,\u2014don\u2019t ye know it?\u201d he demanded.\n\n\u201cEf I could hev suffered fur it, stiddier you-uns,\u201d she declared, in\ntears, \u201cI\u2019d hev gone ter jail happy\u2014happy.\u201d\n\nHis manner changed suddenly. He was at once shocked and displeased. \u201cWhat\nair ye talkin \u2019bout, Lethe?\u201d he said, in stern rebuke. \u201cDon\u2019t ye know\nthar ain\u2019t no \u2019spectable wimmin in jail?\u201d\n\nThis had not occurred to her. She only sighed, and looked away at the\nshifting mist over the sunlit valley at the heavier masses of cloud\ndropping down upon the mountain above. A great eagle, near enough to\nshow the gallant spread of his broad wings, swept from their midst,\npoised in the sunlight high above the cove, and swooped to the slopes\nbelow. Mink\u2019s gaze followed the bird, his easily diverted interest\nquickening. Alethea strove to take advantage of the moment. \u201cI jes\u2019 want\nter tell ye, Reuben\u201d\u2014she began.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want ye ter tell me nuthin\u2019!\u201d he cried, fixing on her his brown\nfiery eyes, with a bright red spark in their pupils. \u201cYe make a fool\nout\u2019n me. Ye don\u2019t let me hev no mind o\u2019 my own. I reckon it air \u2019kase\nI be in love with ye,\u2014an\u2019 nobody else. All the t\u2019other gals war in love\nwith me.\u201d\n\nThere was none of his jaunty self-sufficiency as he said this,\u2014only a\ndreary recognition of the fact.\n\n\u201cYe hev cut me out\u2019n a heap, Lethe; enny one o\u2019 \u2019em would hev been mighty\nwillin\u2019 ter put up with me an\u2019 my ways. They never harried me none, ez ef\nI couldn\u2019t do nuthin\u2019 right. I reckon I\u2019d hev been happy an\u2019 peaceable\nmarried ter enny o\u2019 them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know, Reuben, an\u2019 that\u2019s the reason I wanter tell ye\u201d\u2014She paused,\nexpecting to be interrupted. But he was looking at her coolly and calmly,\nwaiting and listening. He was saying to himself that he might safely\nhear; it was best that he should know. He would be on his guard. He\nwould not blindly fall again under her influence. He felt with secret\nelation, stern and savage, the handle of a pistol in his pocket. He had\nthought it no harm to borrow Jerry Price\u2019s for the purpose of resisting\narrest, finding it on the shelf in the spare room at Mrs. Purvine\u2019s, the\nless because it was he who had given it to his friend, with his wonted\nfree-handedness,\u2014but indeed he had won it lightly, shooting for it at a\nmatch.\n\nHe stood with one hand on his hip, the other laid against the rock. His\nhead was a little thrown back, his hair tossing slightly in the renewing\nbreeze; he looked at her with dissent and doubt in every line of his face.\n\n\u201cYe see, he kem hyar ter ax me \u2019bout Sam Marvin. Ye know I tole on the\ntrial \u2019bout him moonshinin\u2019.\u201d\n\nMink nodded. The thought of those terrible alternations of hope and\ndespair and remorse was very bitter to him still.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 he \u2019lowed I knowed whar Marvin be now.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s he want along o\u2019 Marvin?\u201d demanded Mink, surprised.\n\n\u201cHe wanted Marvin, but mostly Jeb Peake, ter testify fur him, \u2019kase he\n\u2019lows thar air goin\u2019 ter be some sort\u2019n trial agin him. Mr. Harshaw got\nit up, Jacob Jessup said. Jacob \u2019lowed the jedge war powerful outed\nter find out ez Jeb war s\u2019pected o\u2019 hevin\u2019 kilt a man, \u2019kase he war\nfeared nare one o\u2019 \u2019em could be tolled out ter testify fur him. An\u2019\nJacob tole him ez Marvin hed quit this mounting, but he hed hearn ez\ndown on one o\u2019 them ridges nigh Thunderhead thar war a strange man ez\nwar a-moonshinin\u2019,\u2014Jacob\u2019s mighty apt ter know sech ez that,\u2014an\u2019 he hed\ntuk old man Craig\u2019s house, what he hed lef\u2019 ter go ter North Car\u2019liny\nter live with his son. An\u2019 from the account Jacob hearn o\u2019 these folks\nhe wouldn\u2019t be s\u2019prised none ef them war Sam an\u2019 Jeb. An\u2019 the jedge\nknowed the house an\u2019 whar it be. An\u2019 he jes\u2019 lit out ter ride over thar\nan\u2019 see. He went yestiddy evenin\u2019, an\u2019 he air kemin\u2019 back hyar ter-day.\n\u2019Kase he tole Jacob ef he couldn\u2019t toll Sam or Jeb ter testify thar\u2019d be\nno witnesses but his enemies. He \u2019lowed he\u2019d stay all night at Bylor\u2019s\nhouse, though Jake tole him ter be mighty keerful how he talked about\nSam an\u2019 Jeb thar, fur old man Bylor air runnin\u2019 fur office,\u2014sher\u2019ff, or\nconstable, or jestice, or suthin\u2019,\u2014an\u2019 wouldn\u2019t ax no better \u2019n ter git\na chance ter harry law-breakers. An\u2019 the jedge \u2019lowed ez things hed come\nter a pretty pass with him, an\u2019 rid off.\u201d\n\nShe looked up at Mink gravely, earnestly. She had sat down on one of the\nrocks beside the basket; her hand toyed with a sprig of the herbs within;\nher dense golden hair, heavily undulating, was all the brighter for the\ncontrast with the dark green vine that draped the gray rocks behind and\nabove her, the delicate coloring of her face the finer, the tint of the\nsaffron kerchief, knotted beneath her chin, the more intense. Her brown\ngown lay in straight, simple folds about her lithe figure; the gaunt old\nhound sat down at her feet and leaned his head on her knee.\n\nMink had not always been definitely aware of her beauty,\u2014it was not\nof the type which most appeals to the rural admirer; but its subtle,\nunrealized fascinations had swayed him unconsciously. Now he looked at\nher critically, speculatively, striving to behold her as she appeared to\nGwinnan, to adjust his estimate to Mrs. Purvine\u2019s report of the florid\njudicial compliments. He cared naught for the rumor of the impending\ntrial. He felt no gratulation that Harshaw had been able to compass the\njeopardy, if not the disgrace, of the man he hated. He gazed at her with\nsedulous attention, to see her with Gwinnan\u2019s eyes.\n\n\u201cLethe,\u201d he said, suddenly,\u2014he had dropped down upon the ground near her\nfeet, and leaned back against the rock,\u2014\u201cdid Jedge Gwinnan say ennything\nter you-uns \u2019bout me?\u201d\n\nShe was in a tremor instantly.\n\nHe did not seem to notice. He was affecting to offer the dog a morsel in\na deceptive bit of stone, and as the creature, with a dubiously wrinkling\nand sniffing nose, would attempt to take it he would snatch it away. \u201cDid\nhe?\u201d he persisted, looking up at her from under the brim of the old white\nhat.\n\n\u201cWhenst I talked ter him an\u2019 begged him ter git ye a pardon or suthin\u2019,\u201d\nshe said. She was not without the tact to avail herself of discreet\nellipses; but she forecast with dread that with these he would not be\ncontent.\n\n\u201cWhat did he say?\u201d He was suffering the hound to lick the stone in\nbaffled reproach, and turn away disdainful. Mink\u2019s lip was curling with\nfierce sarcasm as he reiterated, \u201cWhat did he say?\u201d\n\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t ondertake ter remember all he said, Reuben. \u2019Twar down yander\nat the post-office at Locust Levels. Me an\u2019 Jerry Price rid thar in the\nwagin ter see ef thar war enny letter fur Mis\u2019 Purvine.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be bound I kin tell ye suthin\u2019 _ye_ said!\u201d exclaimed Mink. \u201cYe tole\nhim ez he war powerful good ter hold no gredge agin me.\u201d\n\nShe turned her despairing eyes upon him. He could read the truth in their\nclear depths.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 he tole ye ez ye war too good ter marry me.\u201d\n\nThere was no need to answer.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 ye b\u2019lieved him!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Reuben, ye know better \u2019n that!\u201d she exclaimed, reassured to speak\nfreely. \u201cHe jes\u2019 talked \u2019bout\u2019n ye like my step-mother, an\u2019 aunt Dely,\nan\u2019 Jake Jessup\u2019s wife; none o\u2019 them air gamesome, an\u2019 they don\u2019t set\nstore on gamesome ways. \u2019Twar jes\u2019 sech talk ez theirn.\u201d\n\nHe listened, his chin in his hand, his elbow on the rock. She should not\ndelude him again; he would not succumb to her influence. He felt the\nhandle of the pistol in his pocket. There was affirmation in its very\ntouch.\n\n\u201cGamesome ain\u2019t what _he_ said. He \u2019lowed I war m\u2019licious.\u201d\n\nOnce more he glanced up to read the truth in her eyes.\n\nHe slowly pulled himself to his feet. He stood for a moment, erect\nand jaunty, his hand thrust in his leather belt, his eyes bright and\nconfident, his hair tossing back as he moved his head.\n\n\u201cYe tole him how good he war,\u201d his merciless divinations went on.\n\nShe cowered beneath his serene and casual glance.\n\n\u201cYe don\u2019t deny it, an\u2019 yit ye expec\u2019 me ter not b\u2019lieve what the whole\nkentry air a-sayin\u2019,\u2014ez ye hev promised ter marry him an\u2019 hev gin me the\ngo-by.\u201d\n\nHe turned abruptly away. \u201cReuben,\u201d she cried, \u201cair ye goin\u2019 agin, when\nye hev jes\u2019 kem back?\u201d She laid her importunate hands upon his arm. His\nresolution was strong now; he could afford to be lenient and to humor her.\n\n\u201c\u2019Bleeged ter, Lethe,\u201d he said softly, looking down upon her with\nthe calmness of finality. She did not loose her hold. \u201cEf ye keep me\na-foolin\u2019 hyar longer \u2019n I oughter stay, I mought git cotched agin,\u201d he\nwarned her\u2014\u201cfur twenty year! Jake Jessup would ez soon arrest me ez not.\u201d\n\nShe relaxed her grasp, looking fearfully about her in the mist and at the\nsummit of the great rocks. She followed him, the old hound by her side,\ndown to the spot where the horse still stood hitched.\n\n\u201cBut ye\u2019ll kem back agin, Reuben?\u201d she said, her heart-break in her\nvoice, her eyes full of tears.\n\n\u201cLaws-a-massy, yes; times an\u2019 times. I kin whistle plumb like a\nmocking-bird, an\u2019 whenever ye hear one a-singin\u2019 the same chune three\ntimes ye kem out \u2019mongst the rocks an\u2019 ye\u2019ll find me.\u201d\n\nOnce more he held her at arm\u2019s length and looked searchingly at her\ntearful face. Suddenly he mounted his horse and rode away.\n\n\n\n\nXXX.\n\n\nHe did not maintain this sedulous semblance of calmness as he galloped\nthe wild young horse along the mountain slopes in the mist. His eyes\nburned; his teeth were fiercely set; sometimes he lifted his right hand\nand shook it clenched as if he held his vengeance within his grasp and\nwould not lightly let it go. Over and again he cried aloud a curse upon\nthe man he hated, and then he would fall to muttering his grudges, all\nunforgotten, all registered indelibly in his mind despite its facile\nlaxity, despite its fickle traits. He reviewed the events since the\nmorning that Alethea had stood by the judge\u2019s desk, and he laid down his\npen to gaze, to the afternoon when, amongst the blossoms and the sunshine\nand the birds, they had talked together, and she had asked a futile\nthing, doubtless to beguile the hour, and he had warned her solemnly.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t goin\u2019 ter North Car\u2019liny, an\u2019 leave \u2019em hyar tergether,\u201d he\ndeclared vehemently. \u201cI\u2019ll meet up with him somewhar this side o\u2019 the\nCraig house. I\u2019ll dare him ter fight, an\u2019 ef he don\u2019t kill me I\u2019ll kill\nhim, an\u2019 kiss the hand that does the deed!\u201d\n\nThe mists shivered to listen; the rocks repeated the threat, and again\nin hesitant dread, and still once more a word in an awed and tremulous\nstaccato. On and on he went,\u2014never abating speed, flying over the\nbroken ground; deaf to the sound of horn and hounds borne fitfully from\nthe slopes below on some hardly perceptible current of the air, and\nagain dying to the dumbness of the shrouded woods; blind to the burly\napparition of a bear trotting out of the clouds and in again, although\nthe horse reared and pawed the air; callous to the keen chill of the\ntorrent, swollen out of its banks with the spring rains till it surged\nabout his limbs as he forded through. Over and again the mountain\nwater-courses intercepted his path, but only once his attention was\nattracted to his surroundings, and this was because there seemed here\na check upon his progress, and he must needs take heed of his way.\nThe stream known as Gran\u2019dad\u2019s creek showed in the thickening mist\na turbulent volume, a swollen breadth, covering rocks and brush and\ngullies, and washing the boles of trees far from its normal channel; he\nhardly knew where he might safely take the ford. Now the water elusively\nglimmered, swift, foaming, full of enormous bowlders, and with trees\nstanding in its midst; and as he went down to the verge in a cleft of the\nrock the vapors closed again, and it seemed to recede into invisibility.\nThe horse had become restive. He resisted and snorted, and finally\ndeliberately faced about, as he was recklessly urged to enter the stream.\nHe was forced again to the margin, when suddenly Mink thought he was\ndreaming. The fluctuating vapors parted once more, and in the rifts he\nsaw on the opposite bank the man he sought. He stood in numb surprise; a\nstrange overwhelming sense of hatred possessed him with the image thus\npalpably presented; he quivered with a recollection of all his wrongs.\nThis was no dream. It was Gwinnan returning from the moonshiners\u2019 house.\nHe rose from his stirrups and waved his hand with a smile. Mink heard his\nringing halloo. Then Gwinnan pressed his roan colt down to the margin of\nthe water and took the ford.\n\n\u201cSaved us wettin\u2019 our feet agin, Grasshopper,\u201d Mink observed. He was\nvery distinct as he sat on the bareback stray; his feet dangling without\nstirrups, his big wool hat, his flaunting auburn hair, his keen,\nclear-cut face, all definitely painted on the opaque white background\nof the mist; a bole was barely outlined here and there behind him, or\na towering crag, as if there were other elements of the picture merely\nsketched in. More than once Gwinnan lifted his grave eyes toward him. But\nwhen the mist came between them, surging in a great cloudy volume, Mink\ndrew the pistol from his pocket.\n\n\u201cYe don\u2019t kerry straight. I \u2019member yer tricks. I reckon he hev got a\nsix-shooter, but I\u2019ll resk ye, ennyhows. I\u2019ll wait till he kems across\nan\u2019 then dare him to fight.\u201d\n\nAs he waited it might have seemed that he was the only human creature in\nthe world, so desolately vacant were the barren mists, so unresponsive\nto the sense of the landscape that they hid, so null, so silent, save\nfor the river, forever flowing on like life, resistless as eternity.\nThe interval was long to his impatience,\u2014so long that, alarmed at last\nlest his revenge be snatched from him by some mischance, at this supreme\nmoment when it had seemed the fierce joy he had craved was vouchsafed,\nhe hastily rode along the clifty bank above the tumultuous current.\nOnce more the mist lifted. Suddenly he saw the roan colt, his full eyes\nstarting from his head, his scream almost human in its frantic terror,\npawing the cliffs, to the base of which the encroaching waters had risen;\nfinding no footing, no shallows, only the forbidding inaccessibilities of\nthe rocks. The saddle was vacant. The rider had been swept away by the\nwanton vagaries of the current.\n\nThe young mountaineer stared stolidly and uncomprehendingly for a\nmoment. In a sort of daze he dismounted from his horse. He hardly\nrealized what had happened, until, as he climbed deftly down among the\nsplintered crags, lithe, agile, sure-footed as a deer, he saw clinging\nto a bramble growing from a fissure, and supported on a ledge of the\nrock, the unconscious figure familiar to his dream of vengeance. It was\nforestalled! The wild freak of the mountain torrent had given him his\nheart\u2019s desire, and yet his hands were clean. The wolves, the wild dogs,\nand the vultures would not leave the man to creep away were there yet\nlife left in him.\n\nAnd there was life. He noted the convulsive fluttering of breath, the\ntrembling clutch of the fingers; for the nerves remembered the saving\nboughs that the senses had forgotten.\n\nAs Mink stood looking down he suddenly lifted his head with a quick\nstart, as if a word had been spoken to him from out the silence. Why this\ngratuity of pity, this surging fellow-feeling, this clamorous instinct to\naid? Was a hand held out to him in his hour of need? Nay, he might have\nknown rescue and release, his future might now be fair and free, but for\nthe device of this man who had bestirred himself to thwart the friendly\nmob. Was not his hope attained, his prayer? Here was a sublimated\nrevenge. His enemy would die at his feet, and yet his hands were clean.\n\nAnd at this moment he was muttering, \u201cI\u2019ll be bound ef he hed a leetle\nwild-cat whiskey now \u2019twould save his life ez respons\u2019ble ez ef \u2019twar ez\nlegal ez the taxed corn-juice.\u201d\n\nHe stood thinking for a moment. There was Marvin\u2019s still at the Craig\nhouse, as Alethea had said, two miles away; the man would be dead of\nexhaustion before help could come thence. But not a quarter of a mile\nbelow, on one of the divergent ridges of Thunderhead, was Bylor\u2019s home.\nMink started with affright. The old man was a candidate for office. The\ncertainty of arrest awaited him there, whatever his mission. It was a\ndecision swift as an impulse. It meant twenty years\u2019 imprisonment at hard\nlabor, and he realized it as he sprang upon the bare back of his horse.\n\n\u201cI reckon I kin make a break an\u2019 run, or tunnel out, or suthin\u2019,\u201d he\nsaid, with his preposterous hopefulness; \u201cleastwise, I can\u2019t leave him\nthar ter die that-a-way, half drownded and harried ter death by wolves\nan\u2019 painters an\u2019 buzzards. Ef the darned critter,\u201d he cried out, in a\nrenewal of despair, \u201cwould hev jes\u2019 stood up an\u2019 been shot like healthy\nfolks!\u201d\n\nMink never reached his destination.\n\nIt was not held to be a strange nor an unjustifiable action that young\nBylor was led to do. He said afterward that that day, as he made his\nway home in the midst of the clouds that begirt the mountain, he was\naffrighted to behold again, evolved from their expressionless monotony,\nthe equestrian figure of the mystic herder that rides on Thunderhead. His\nnerves were shaken, for before that morning he had seen the \u201charnt,\u201d and\nat close quarters. He noted the wildly beckoning hand vague in the mist;\nhe heard, or thought he heard, a shrill, insistent hail; he quickened\nhis pace, pursued by the thunderous hoofs of the spectral steed, riding\nhim down, as he feared. He faced about in desperate terror and fired his\nrifle.\n\nThen he knew what he had done, for the rider lurched from the horse and\nfell, and the animal dashed past him, running at full speed. It was Mink\nLorey whom he found upon the ground,\u2014strong enough only to gasp out his\nerrand; and though Bylor rose instantly to obey his behest and go to\nsuccor Gwinnan, Mink was dead before he left.\n\nNo great loss, the country-side said, and indeed it was suspected for a\ntime that Gwinnan\u2019s straits had resulted from Mink\u2019s wanton mischief.\nWhen the facts became known, one or two reflective souls\u2014recognizing\nin his deed that universal vital element of better possibilities astir\nwithin him insistently militant, enlisting every sterling trait common to\nhumanity\u2014were moved to say that he was not all mink.\n\nNo one in the mountains, however, fully appreciated the impulse that had\ncontrolled him except Alethea. To her it served as a sacred apotheosis,\nand she adored his memory for what he might have been, and forgot what he\nwas. Often, when the spring bloomed, or the summer was flushing with the\nwild roses and the roseate dawns and the red sunset-tides, she hearkened\nto the mocking-bird\u2019s singing, thrice\u2014thrice the mystic strain, and she\nwas wont to go and search for her lover at their tryst among the crags.\nAnd when she would come back, her face so full of peace, her eyes softly\nluminous, her drawling formula, \u201cJest been talkin\u2019 with Reuben \u2019mongst\nthe rocks,\u201d pervaded with tranquil joy, her step-mother and Mrs. Jessup\nwould whisper apart and look askance upon her, and start at any sudden\njar or sound, as if it were instinct with her spectre lover\u2019s freakish\npresence.\n\nAnd so, patient drudge though she was, they listened to Mrs. Purvine\u2019s\neager insistence to have her bide in the cove; and although she went to\nlive with this cheery soul, it was with tears and sighs and sadness to\nleave the clifty gorges that he haunted.\n\nBut she found the mocking-bird singing there, thrice, thrice the mystic\nstrain, amongst the rocky banks of the Scolacutta River. And so she\nsmiled again.\n\nExcept for this delusion she gave little indication of the unsettling of\nher mind. She was placidly happy with her aunt, though the two women were\nmuch alone, for Jerry Price presently married Sophy Griff. He became the\nsole dependence of the miller and his grandchildren, but a measure of\nMrs. Purvine\u2019s jaunty prosperity seemed to follow him. Old Griff\u2019s little\nlog cabin took on a more pretentious guise, and there was a slipshod\nthrift within. Jerry lifted the mill-stones and rebuilt the mill, and\nthe whir began anew as if it had never left off; and the old miller sat\nwithout the door, and listened, and grew garrulous and cheerful and dusty\nwith meal and flour, and brightened into some faint reflection of his old\nimperative self. Tad never reappeared from the moonshiners\u2019 lair, and\nthey still successfully elude the law.\n\nThe failure to secure their testimony proved no disaster to Gwinnan, as\nthe chancellor held that a duel is a matter of deliberate and formal\narrangement between men who recognize both the nature of the proceeding\nand the law infringed.\n\nNevertheless, Gwinnan was not satisfied. He had never regarded the matter\nas a duel; he had forgotten even the circumstances. Once brought forcibly\nto his mind, he dissented from the decision of the case, which he had\nwatched more as if from the bench than from the bar. He resigned when\nreinstated.\n\nThe relinquishment of his ambition was very bitter to him. He had infused\ninto it much of the essence of his identity; it had amply promised the\nend for which he had rejoiced to labor; it had borne a lofty and isolated\nexistence. And yet, as he brooded on his despoiled life, his trained\nmind, applied to moral discernment, could but perceive at length that\nit had been sheerly a technical excellence toward which he had bent his\nenergies, a selfish end he had held in view. Without a high ennobling\npurpose, without a dominate hope to dispense benefit, his unsanctified\nambition had only lured with a wish to rise, and despite the heights\nto which it had attained it had been held to earth by its own inherent\nweight.\n\n\n\n\nWorks of Fiction.\n\nPUBLISHED BY\n\nHOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY,\n\n4 PARK ST., BOSTON; 11 E. 17TH ST., NEW YORK.\n\n\nThomas Bailey Aldrich.\n\n    Story of a Bad Boy. Illustrated. 12mo.                           $1.50\n    Marjorie Daw and Other People. 12mo.                              1.50\n    The Same. 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With Dickens Dictionary. 30 vols                      45.00\n    Christmas Carol. Illustrated. 8vo, full gilt                      2.50\n    The Same. 32mo.                                                    .75\n    Christmas Books. Illustrated. 12mo.                               2.00\n\nCharlotte Dunning.\n\n    A Step Aside. 16mo.                                               1.25\n\nEdgar Fawcett.\n\n    A Hopeless Case. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.                    1.25\n    A Gentleman of Leisure. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.             1.00\n    An Ambitious Woman. 12mo.                                         1.50\n\nF\u00e9nelon.\n\n    Adventures of Telemachus. 12mo.                                   2.25\n\nMrs. James A. Field.\n\n    High-Lights. 16mo.                                                1.25\n\nHarford Flemming.\n\n    A Carpet Knight. 16mo.                                            1.25\n\nBaron de la Motte Fouqu\u00e9.\n\n    Undine, Sintram and his Companions, etc. 32mo.                     .75\n    Undine and other Tales. Illustrated. 16mo.                        1.00\n\nJohann Wolfgang von Goethe.\n\n    Wilhelm Meister. Translated by Thomas Carlyle. Portrait of\n      Goethe. In two volumes. 12mo.                                   3.00\n    The Tale and Favorite Poems. 32mo.                                 .75\n\nOliver Goldsmith.\n\n    Vicar of Wakefield. _Handy-Volume Edition._ 32mo, gilt top        1.00\n    The Same. \u201cRiverside Classics.\u201d Illustrated. 16mo.                1.00\n\nJeanie T. Gould (Mrs. Lincoln).\n\n    Marjorie\u2019s Quest. Illustrated. 12mo.                              1.50\n\nThomas Chandler Haliburton.\n\n    The Clockmaker; or, The Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of\n      Slickville. Illustrated. 16mo.                                  1.00\n\nA. S. Hardy.\n\n    But Yet a Woman. 16mo.                                            1.25\n    The Wind of Destiny. 16mo.                                        1.25\n\nMiriam Coles Harris.\n\n    Rutledge.\n    The Sutherlands.\n    Frank Warrington.\n    St. Philips.\n    Richard Vandermarck.\n    A Perfect Adonis.\n    Missy.\n    Happy-Go-Lucky.\n    Ph\u0153be.\n    Each volume, 16mo.                                                1.25\n    Louie\u2019s Last Term at St. Mary\u2019s. 16mo.                            1.00\n\nBret Harte.\n\n    The Luck of Roaring Camp, and Other Sketches. 16mo.               1.50\n    The Luck of Roaring Camp, and Other Stories. Riverside Aldine\n      Series. 16mo.                                                   1.00\n    Mrs. Skaggs\u2019s Husbands, and Other Sketches. 16mo.                 1.50\n    Tales of the Argonauts, and Other Stories. 16mo.                  1.50\n    Thankful Blossom. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.                   1.25\n    Two Men of Sandy Bar. A Play. 18mo.                               1.00\n    The Story of a Mine. 18mo.                                        1.00\n    Drift from Two Shores. 18mo.                                      1.25\n    Twins of Table Mountain, etc. 18mo.                               1.25\n    Works. Rearranged, with an Introduction and a Portrait. In five\n      volumes, crown 8vo.\n    Poetical Works, and the drama, \u201cTwo Men of Sandy Bar,\u201d with an\n      Introduction and Portrait.\n    The Luck of Roaring Camp, and Other Stories.\n    Tales of the Argonauts and Eastern Sketches.\n    Gabriel Conroy.\n    Stories and Condensed Novels.\n      Each volume                                                     2.00\n      The set                                                        10.00\n    Flip, and Found at Blazing Star. 18mo.                            1.00\n    In the Carquinez Woods. 18mo.                                     1.00\n    On the Frontier. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.                    1.00\n    By Shore and Sedge. \u201cLittle Classic style.\u201d 18mo.                 1.00\n    Maruja. A Novel. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.                    1.00\n    Snow-Bound at Eagle\u2019s. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.              1.00\n    The Queen of the Pirate Isle. A Story for Children. Colored\n      Illustrations by Kate Greenaway. 4to.                           1.50\n\nWilhelm Hauff.\n\n    Arabian Days Entertainments. Illustrated. 12mo.                   1.50\n\nNathaniel Hawthorne.\n\nWorks. _New Riverside Edition._ With an original etching in each volume,\nand a new Portrait. With bibliographical notes by George P. Lathrop.\nComplete in twelve volumes, crown 8vo.\n\n    Twice-Told Tales.\n    Mosses from an Old Manse.\n    The House of the Seven Gables, and The Snow-Image.\n    The Wonder-Book, Tanglewood Tales, and Grandfather\u2019s Chair.\n    The Scarlet Letter, and The Blithedale Romance.\n    The Marble Faun.\n    Our Old Home, and English Note-Books. 2 vols.\n    American Note-Books.\n    French and Italian Note-Books.\n    The Dolliver Romance, Fanshawe, Septimius Felton, and, in an\n      Appendix, the Ancestral Footstep.\n    Tales, Sketches, and Other Papers. With Biographical Sketch by\n      G. P. Lathrop, and Indexes.\n        Each volume                                                   2.00\n        The set                                                      24.00\n    New _\u201cLittle Classic\u201d Edition_. Each volume contains Vignette\n      Illustration. In twenty-five volumes, 18mo.\n        Each volume                                                   1.00\n        The set                                                      25.00\n    New _Wayside Edition_. With Portrait, twenty-three etchings,\n      and Notes by George P. Lathrop. In twenty-four volumes,\n      12mo, gilt top                                                 36.00\n    New _Fireside Edition_. In six volumes, 12mo.                    10.00\n    A Wonder-Book for Girls and Boys. _Holiday Edition._ With\n      Illustrations by F. S. Church. 4to.                             2.50\n    Twice-Told Tales. _School Edition._ 18mo.                         1.00\n    The Scarlet Letter. _Holiday Edition._ Illustrated by Mary\n      Hallock Foote. 8vo, full gilt                                   3.00\n    _Popular Edition._ 12mo.                                          1.00\n    True Stories from History and Biography. 12mo.                    1.25\n    The Wonder-Book. 12mo.                                            1.25\n    Tanglewood Tales. 12mo.                                           1.25\n    The Snow-Image. Illustrated in colors. Small 4to.                  .75\n    Grandfather\u2019s Chair. _Popular Edition._ 16mo, paper covers         .15\n    Tales of the White Hills, and Legends of New England. 32mo.        .75\n    Legends of Province House, and A Virtuoso\u2019s Collection 32mo.       .75\n    True Stories from New England History. 16mo, boards                .45\n\nOliver Wendell Holmes.\n\n    Elsie Venner. A Romance of Destiny. Crown 8vo.                    2.00\n    The Guardian Angel. Crown 8vo.                                    2.00\n    The Story of Iris. 32mo.                                           .75\n    My Hunt after the Captain. 32mo.                                   .40\n    A Mortal Antipathy. Crown 8vo.                                    1.50\n\nAugustus Hoppin.\n\n    Recollections of Auton House. Illustrated. Small 4to.             1.25\n    A Fashionable Sufferer. Illustrated. 12mo.                        1.50\n    Two Compton Boys. Illustrated. Small 4to.                         1.50\n\nBlanche Willis Howard\n\n    One Summer. A Novel. _Holiday Edition._ 12mo.                     1.50\n    New _Popular Edition_. Illustrated by Hoppin. 12mo.               1.25\n\nWilliam Dean Howells.\n\n    Their Wedding Journey. Illustrated. 12mo.                         1.50\n    The Same. Illustrated. Paper covers. 16mo.                         .50\n    The Same. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.                           1.25\n    A Chance Acquaintance. Illustrated. 12mo.                         1.50\n    The Same. Illustrated. Paper covers. 16mo.                         .50\n    The Same. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.                           1.25\n    A Foregone Conclusion. 12mo.                                      1.50\n    The Lady of the Aroostook. 12mo.                                  1.50\n    The Undiscovered Country. 12mo.                                   1.50\n    Suburban Sketches. 12mo.                                          1.50\n    A Day\u2019s Pleasure, etc. 32mo.                                       .75\n\nThomas Hughes.\n\n    Tom Brown\u2019s School-Days at Rugby. _Illustrated Edition._ 16mo.    1.00\n    Tom Brown at Oxford. 16mo.                                        1.25\n\nHenry James, Jr.\n\n    A Passionate Pilgrim, and Other Tales. 12mo.                      2.00\n    Roderick Hudson. 12mo.                                            2.00\n    The American. 12mo.                                               2.00\n    Watch and Ward. \u201cLittle Classic\u201d style. 18mo.                     1.25\n    The Europeans. 12mo.                                              1.50\n    Confidence. 12mo.                                                 1.50\n    The Portrait of a Lady. 12mo.                                     2.00\n\nAnna Jameson.\n\n    Studies and Stories. New Edition. 16mo, gilt top                  1.25\n    Diary of an Ennuy\u00e9e. New Edition. 16mo, gilt top                  1.25\n\nDouglas Jerrold.\n\n    Mrs. Caudle\u2019s Curtain Lectures. Illustrated. 16mo.                1.00\n\nSarah Orne Jewett.\n\n    Deephaven. 16mo.                                                  1.25\n    Old Friends and New. 18mo.                                        1.25\n    Country By-Ways. 18mo.                                            1.25\n    The Mate of the Daylight. 18mo.                                   1.25\n    A Country Doctor. 16mo.                                           1.25\n    A Marsh Island. 16mo.                                             1.25\n    A White Heron and Other Stories. 18mo.                            1.25\n\nRossiter Johnson.\n\n    \u201cLittle Classics.\u201d Each in one volume. 18mo.\n        I. Exile.\n       II. Intellect.\n      III. Tragedy.\n       IV. Life.\n        V. Laughter.\n       VI. Love.\n      VII. Romance.\n     VIII. Mystery.\n       IX. Comedy.\n        X. Childhood.\n       XI. Heroism.\n      XII. Fortune.\n     XIII. Narrative Poems.\n      XIV. Lyrical Poems.\n       XV. Minor Poems.\n      XVI. Nature.\n     XVII. Humanity.\n    XVIII. Authors.\n        Each volume                                                   1.00\n        The set                                                      18.00\n    The Same. In nine volumes, square 16mo.                          13.50\n\n(_Sold only in sets._)\n\nCharles and Mary Lamb.\n\n    Tales from Shakespeare. 18mo.                                     1.00\n    The Same. Illustrated. 16mo.                                      1.00\n    The Same. _Handy-Volume_ Edition. 32mo, gilt top                  1.00\n\nHarriet and Sophia Lee.\n\n    Canterbury Tales. In three volumes. The set, 16mo.                3.75\n\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n    Hyperion. A Romance. 16mo.                                        1.50\n    _Popular Edition._ 16mo.                                           .40\n    _Popular Edition._ Paper covers, 16mo.                             .15\n    Outre-Mer. 16mo.                                                  1.50\n    _Popular Edition._ 16mo.                                           .40\n    _Popular Edition._ Paper covers, 16mo.                             .15\n    Kavanagh. 16mo.                                                   1.50\n\nFlora Haines Loughead.\n\n    The Man who was Guilty. 16mo, paper covers                         .50\n\nMarried for Fun.\n\n    By an Anonymous Author. 16mo, paper covers                         .50\n\nS. Weir Mitchell.\n\n    In War Time. 16mo.                                                1.25\n    Roland Blake. 16mo.                                               1.25\n\nElizabeth Stuart Phelps.\n\n    The Gates Ajar. 16mo.                                             1.50\n    Beyond the Gates. 16mo.                                           1.25\n    Men, Women, and Ghosts. 16mo.                                     1.50\n    Hedged In. 16mo.                                                  1.50\n    The Silent Partner. 16mo.                                         1.50\n    The Story of Avis. 16mo.                                          1.50\n    Sealed Orders, and Other Stories. 16mo.                           1.50\n    Friends: A Duet. 16mo.                                            1.25\n    Doctor Zay. 16mo.                                                 1.25\n    An Old Maid\u2019s Paradise. 16mo, paper covers                         .50\n    Burglars in Paradise. 16mo, paper covers                           .50\n    Madonna of the Tubs. Illustrated. 12mo.                           1.50\n\nMarian C. L. Reeves and Emily Read.\n\n    Pilot Fortune. 16mo.                                              1.25\n\nRiverside Paper Series.\n\n    1. But Yet a Woman. By A. S. Hardy.\n    2. Missy. By Miriam Coles Harris.\n    3. The Stillwater Tragedy. By T. B. Aldrich.\n    4. Elsie Venner. By O. W. Holmes.\n    5. An Earnest Trifler. By Mary A. Sprague.\n    6. The Lamplighter. By Maria S. Cummins.\n    7. Their Wedding Journey. By W. D. Howells.\n    8. Married for Fun. Anonymous.\n    9. An Old Maid\u2019s Paradise. By Miss E. S. Phelps.\n    10. The House of a Merchant Prince. By W. H. Bishop.\n    11. An Ambitious Woman. By Edgar Fawcett.\n    12. Marjorie\u2019s Quest. By Jeanie T. Gould.\n    13. Hammersmith. By Mark Sibley Severance.\n    14. Burglars in Paradise. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.\n    15. A Perfect Adonis. By Miriam Coles Harris.\n    16. Stories and Romances. By H. E. Scudder.\n    17. Leslie Goldthwaite. By Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney.\n    18. The Man who was Guilty. By Flora Haines Loughead.\n    19. The Guardian Angel. By O. W. Holmes.\n    20. The Cruise of the Alabama. By P. D. Haywood.\n    21. Prudence Palfrey. By T. B. Aldrich.\n    22. Pilot Fortune. By Marian C. L. Reeves and Emily Read.\n    23. Not in the Prospectus. By Parke Danforth.\n    24. Choy Susan, and Other Stories. By W. H. Bishop.\n    25. Sam Lawson\u2019s Fireside Stories. By Harriet Beecher Stowe.\n    26. A Chance Acquaintance. By W. D. Howells.\n        Each volume, 16mo, paper covers                               0.50\n\nRiverside Pocket Series.\n\n    1. Deephaven. By Sarah Orne Jewett.\n    2. Exile. (\u201cLittle Classics.\u201d)\n    3. Adirondack Stories. By P. Deming.\n    4. A Gentleman of Leisure. By Edgar Fawcett.\n    5. Snow-Image, and other Twice-Told Tales. By N. Hawthorne.\n    6. Watch and Ward. By Henry James.\n    7. In the Wilderness. By C. D. Warner.\n    8. Study of Hawthorne. By G. P. Lathrop.\n    9. Detmold. By W. H. Bishop.\n    10. Story of a Mine. By Bret Harte.\n    Each volume, 16mo, cloth                                           .50\n\nJoseph Xavier Boniface Saintine.\n\n    Picciola. Illustrated. 16mo.                                      1.00\n\nJacques Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.\n\n    Paul and Virginia. Illustrated. 16mo.                             1.00\n    The Same, together with Undine, and Sintram. 32mo.                 .75\n\nSir Walter Scott.\n\nThe Waverley Novels. _Illustrated Library Edition._ Illustrated with 100\nengravings by Darley, Dielman, Fredericks, Low, Share, Sheppard. With\nglossary and a full index of characters. In 25 volumes, 12mo.\n\n    Waverley.\n    Guy Mannering.\n    Old Mortality.\n    Black Dwarf, and Legend of Montrose.\n    Heart of Mid-Lothian.\n    Bride of Lammermoor.\n    Ivanhoe.\n    The Monastery.\n    The Abbot.\n    Kenilworth.\n    The Pirate.\n    The Fortunes of Nigel.\n    Peveril of the Peak.\n    Quentin Durward.\n    The Antiquary.\n    Rob Roy.\n    St. Ronan\u2019s Well.\n    Redgauntlet.\n    The Betrothed, and The Highland Widow.\n    The Talisman, and Other Tales.\n    Woodstock.\n    The Fair Maid of Perth.\n    Anne of Geierstein.\n    Count Robert of Paris.\n    The Surgeon\u2019s Daughter, and Castle Dangerous.\n        Each volume                                                   1.00\n        The set                                                      25.00\n    Tales of a Grandfather. _Illustrated Library Edition._\n      With six steel plates. In three volumes, 12mo.                  4.50\n    Ivanhoe. _Popular Edition._ 12mo.                                 1.00\n\nHorace E. Scudder.\n\n    The Dwellers in Five-Sisters\u2019 Court. 16mo.                        1.25\n    Stones and Romances. 16mo.                                        1.25\n\nMark Sibley Severance.\n\n    Hammersmith: His Harvard Days. 12mo.                              1.50\n\nJ. E. Smith.\n\n    Oakridge: An Old-Time Story of Maine. 12mo.                       2.00\n\nMary A. Sprague.\n\n    An Earnest Trifler. 16mo.                                         1.25\n\nWilliam W. Story.\n\n    Fiammetta. 16mo.                                                  1.25\n\nHarriet Beecher Stowe.\n\n    Agnes of Sorrento. 12mo.                                          1.50\n    The Pearl of Orr\u2019s Island. 12mo.                                  1.50\n    Uncle Tom\u2019s Cabin. _Illustrated Edition._ 12mo.                   2.00\n    The Minister\u2019s Wooing. 12mo.                                      1.50\n    The Mayflower, and Other Sketches. 12mo.                          1.50\n    Dred. New Edition, from new plates. 12mo.                         1.50\n    Oldtown Folks. 12mo.                                              1.50\n    Sam Lawson\u2019s Fireside Stories. 12mo.                              1.50\n    My Wife and I. Illustrated. 12mo.                                 1.50\n    We and Our Neighbors. Illustrated. 12mo.                          1.50\n    Poganuc People. Illustrated. 12mo.                                1.50\n      The above eleven volumes, in box                               16.00\n    Uncle Tom\u2019s Cabin. _Holiday Edition._ With Introduction,\n      and Bibliography by George Bullen, of the\n      British Museum. Over 100 Illustrations. 12mo.                   3.00\n    The Same. _Popular Edition._ 12mo.                                1.00\n\nGen. Lew Wallace.\n\n    The Fair God; or, The Last of the \u2019Tzins. 12mo.                   1.50\n\nHenry Watterson.\n\n    Oddities in Southern Life. Illustrated. 16mo.                     1.50\n\nRichard Grant White.\n\n    The Fate of Mansfield Humphreys, with the Episode of Mr.\n      Washington Adams in England. 16mo.                              1.25\n\nAdeline D. T. Whitney.\n\n    Faith Gartney\u2019s Girlhood. Illustrated. 12mo.                      1.50\n    Hitherto: A Story of Yesterdays. 12mo.                            1.50\n    Patience Strong\u2019s Outings. 12mo.                                  1.50\n    The Gayworthys. 12mo.                                             1.50\n    Leslie Goldthwaite. Illustrated. 12mo.                            1.50\n    We Girls: A Home Story. Illustrated. 12mo.                        1.50\n    Real Folks. Illustrated. 12mo.                                    1.50\n    The Other Girls. Illustrated. 12mo.                               1.50\n    Sights and Insights. 2 vols. 12mo.                                3.00\n    Odd, or Even? 12mo.                                               1.50\n    Boys at Chequasset. Illustrated. 12mo.                            1.50\n    Bonnyborough. 12mo.                                               1.50\n    Home-Spun Yarns. Short Stories                                    1.50\n\nLillie Chace Wyman.\n\n    Poverty Grass. 16mo.                                              1.25","title":"In the clouds","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":152504}