v/ 
 
[Page 108 
 
 WHY DON T YE SHOOT? 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER STOKIES 
 
 BY JOHN FOX, JK. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 1896 
 
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rigttta reserved. 
 
TO 
 
 MINERVA CARR 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 AND 
 
 KENTUCKY 
 
 MY MOTHER- STATE 
 
 M522978 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 1 
 
 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 91 
 
 THE LAST STETSON 179 
 
 HELL FER SARTAIN 217 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " WHY DON T YE SHOOT ? " Frontispiece 
 
 DAD Facing page 70 
 
 SHERD RAINES, THE PREACHER " "192 
 
 " PRAY FER YER ENEMIES, ELI ! " " " 202 
 
 OLD DADDY MARCUM u u 206 
 
PUBLISHERS NOTE 
 
 OF the stories included in this volume, "A Mountain Europa" 
 and "A Cumberland Vendetta" were originally published in 
 the Century Magazine. " The Last Stetson " and " On Hell-fer- 
 sartain Creek " appeared in HARPER S WEEKLY. 
 
 The frontispiece and the illustration " Dad " were originally 
 published in the Century Magazine, and are reproduced in this 
 volume by arrangement with the publishers. 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 As Clayton rose to his feet in the still air, the 
 tree-tops began to tremble in the gap below him, and 
 a rippling ran through the leaves np the mountain 
 side. Drawing off his hat he stretched out his arms 
 to meet it, and his eyes closed as the cool wind 
 struck his throat and face and lifted the hair from 
 his forehead. About him the mountains lay like a 
 tumultuous sea the Jellico Spur, stilled gradually 
 on every side into vague, purple shapes against the 
 broken rim of the sky, and Pine Mountain and the 
 Cumberland Range racing in like breakers from the 
 north. Under him lay Jellico Valley, and just vis 
 ible in a wooded cove, whence Indian Creek crept 
 into sight, was a mining-camp a cluster of white 
 cabins from which he had climbed that afternoon. 
 At that distance the wagon-road narrowed to a bri 
 dle-path, and the figure moving slowly along it and 
 entering the forest at the base of the mountain was 
 shrunk to a toy. For a moment Clayton stood with 
 his face to the west, drinking in the air; then tight 
 ening his belt, he caught the pliant body of a sap 
 ling and swung loose from the rock. As the tree 
 flew back, his dog sprang after him. The descent 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 was sharp. At times he was forced to cling to the 
 birch-tops till they lay flat on the mountain-side. 
 
 Breathless, he reached at last a bowlder from 
 which the path was easy to the valley below, and he 
 leaned quivering against the soft rug of moss and 
 lichens that covered it. The shadows had crept 
 from the foot of the mountains, darkening the valley, 
 and lifting up the mountain-side beneath him a long, 
 wavering line in which met the cool, deep green of 
 the shade and the shining bronze where the sunlight 
 still lay. Lazily following this line, his eye caught 
 two moving shadows that darted jagged shapes into 
 the sunlight and as quickly withdrew them. As the 
 road wound up towards him, two figures were soon 
 visible through the undergrowth. Presently a head 
 bonneted in blue rose above the bushes, and Clay 
 ton s half-shut eyes opened wide and were fixed 
 with a look of amused expectancy where a turn of 
 the path must bring rider and beast into plain sight. 
 Apparently some mountain girl, wearied by the 
 climb or in a spirit of fun, had mounted her cow 
 while driving it home; and with a smile at the 
 thought of the confusion he would cause her, Clay 
 ton stepped around the bowlder and waited. With 
 the slow, easy swing of climbing cattle, the beast 
 brought its rider into view. A bag of meal lay 
 across its shoulders, and behind this the girl for 
 she was plainly young sat sidewise, with her bare 
 feet dangling against its flank. Her face was turned 
 towards the valley below, and her loosened bonnet 
 half disclosed a head of bright yellow hair. 
 
 Catching sight of Clayton, the beast stopped and 
 lifted its head, not the meek, patient face he expect- 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 5 
 
 ed to see, but a head that was wrinkled and vicious 
 the head of a bull. Only the sudden remem 
 brance of a dead mountain custom saved him from 
 utter amazement. He had heard that when beasts 
 of burden were scarce, cows, and especially bulls, 
 were worked in plows and ridden by the moun 
 taineers, even by the women. But this had become 
 a tradition, the humor of which greater prosperity 
 and contact with a new civilization had taught even 
 the mountain people to appreciate. The necessities 
 of this girl were evidently as great as her fear of 
 ridicule seemed small. When the brute stopped, 
 she began striking him in the flank with her bare 
 heel, without looking around, and as he paid no at 
 tention to such painless goading, she turned with 
 sudden impatience and lifted a switch above his 
 shoulders. The stick was arrested in mid-air when 
 she saw Clayton, and then dropped harmlessly. 
 The quick fire in her eyes died suddenly away, and 
 for a moment the two looked at each other with 
 mutual curiosity, but only for a moment. There 
 was something in Clayton s gaze that displeased her. 
 Her face clouded, and she dropped her eyes. 
 
 "G long," she said, in a low tone. But the bull 
 had lowered his head, and was standing with feet 
 planted apart and tail waving uneasily. The girl 
 looked up in alarm. 
 
 " Watch out thar !" she called out, sharply. " Call 
 that dog off quick !" 
 
 Clayton turned, but his dog sprang past him and 
 began to bark. The bull, a lean, active, vicious- 
 looking brute, answered with a snort. 
 
 " Call him off, I tell ye !" cried the girl, angrily, 
 
6 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 springing to the ground. " Git out o the way. 
 Don t you see he s a-comin at ye ?" 
 
 The dog leaped nimbly into the bushes, and the 
 maddened bull was carried on by his own impetus 
 towards Clayton, who, with a quick spring, land 
 ed in safety in a gulley below the road. When he 
 picked himself up from the uneven ground where he 
 had fallen, the beast had disappeared around the 
 bowlder. The bag had fallen, and had broken open, 
 and some of the meal was spilled on the ground. 
 The girl, flushed and angry, stood above it. 
 
 " Look thar, now," she said. " See whut you ve 
 done. Why n t ye call that dog off ?" 
 
 " I couldn V said Clayton, politely. " He wouldn t 
 come. I m sorry, very sorry." 
 
 " Can t ye manage yer own dog ?" she asked, half 
 contemptuously; 
 
 " Not always." 
 
 " Then ye oughter leave him to home, and not let 
 him go round a-skeerin folks beastes." With a 
 little gesture of indignation she stooped and began 
 scooping up the meal in her hand. 
 
 " Let me help you," said Clayton. The girl 
 looked up in surprise. 
 
 " You go way;" she said. 
 
 But Clayton stayed, watching her helplessly. He 
 wanted to carry the bag for her, but she swung it to 
 her shoulder, and moved away. He followed her 
 around the bowlder, where his late enemy was 
 browsing peacefully on sassafras-bushes. 
 
 "You stay thar now," said the girl, "and keep 
 that dog back." 
 
 " Won t you let me help you get up ?" he asked. 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 7 
 
 Without answering, the girl sprang lightly to the 
 bull s back. Once only she looked around at him. 
 He took off his hat, and a puzzled expression came 
 into her face. Then, without a word or a nod, she 
 rode away. Clayton watched the odd pair till the 
 bushes hid them. 
 
 " Europa, by Jove /" he exclaimed, and he sat 
 down in bewilderment. 
 
 She was so very odd a creature, so different from 
 the timid mountain women who shrank with averted 
 faces almost into the bushes when he met them. She 
 had looked him straight in the face with steady eyes, 
 and had spoken as though her sway over mountain 
 and road were undisputed and he had been a wretched 
 trespasser. She paid no attention to his apolo 
 gies, and she scorned his offers of assistance. She 
 seemed no more angered by the loss of the meal 
 than by his incapacity to manage his dog, which 
 seemed to typify to her bis general worthlessness. 
 He had been bruised by his fall, and she did not 
 even ask if he were hurt. Indeed, she seemed not 
 to care, and she had ridden away from him as 
 though he were worth no more consideration than 
 the stone under him. 
 
 He was amused, and a trifle irritated. How could 
 there be such a curious growth in the mountains ? he 
 questioned, as he rose and continued the descent. 
 There was an unusual grace about her, in spite of 
 her masculine air. Her features were regular, the 
 nose straight and delicate, the mouth resolute, the 
 brow broad, and the eyes intensely blue, perhaps 
 tender, when not flashing with anger, and altogether 
 without the listless expression he had marked in 
 
8 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 other mountain women, and which, he had noticed, 
 deadened into pathetic hopelessness later in life. 
 Her figure was erect, and her manner, despite its 
 roughness, savored of something high-born. Where 
 could she have got that bearing? She belonged to 
 a race whose descent, he had heard, was unmixed 
 English ; upon whose lips lingered words and forms 
 of speech that Shakespeare had heard and used. 
 Who could tell what blood ran in her veins ? 
 
 Musing, he had come almost unconsciously to a 
 spur of the mountains under which lay the little 
 mining-camp. It was six o clock, and the miners, 
 grim and black, each with a pail in hand and a little 
 oil-lamp in his cap, were going down from work. 
 A shower had passed over the mountains above him, 
 and the last sunlight, coming through a gap in the 
 west, struck the rising mist and turned it to gold. 
 On a rock which thrust from the mountain its gray, 
 somber face, half embraced by a white arm of the 
 mist, Clayton saw the figure of a woman. He waved 
 his hat, but the figure stood motionless, and he turned 
 into the woods towards the camp. 
 
 It was the girl ; and when Clayton disappeared she 
 too turned and went on her way. She had stopped 
 there because she knew he must pass a point where 
 she might see him again. She was little less indiffer 
 ent than she seemed ; her motive was little more than 
 curiosity. She had never seen that manner of man 
 before. Evidently he was a " f urriner " from the 
 " settlemints." No man in the mountains had a 
 smooth, round face like his, or wore such a queer 
 hat, such a soft, white shirt, and no " galluses," or 
 carried such a shiny, weak-looking stick, or owned a 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 9 
 
 dog that he couldn t make mind him. She was not 
 wholly contemptuous, however. She had felt vague 
 ly the meaning of his politeness and deference. She 
 was puzzled and pleased, she scarcely knew why. 
 
 " He was mighty accommodating" she thought. 
 " But whut," she asked herself, as she rode slowly 
 homeward " whut did he take off his hat f er ?" 
 
 II 
 
 LIGHTS twinkled from every cabin as Clayton 
 passed through the camp. Outside the kitchen 
 doors, miners, bare to the waist, were bathing their 
 blackened faces and bodies, with children, tattered 
 and unclean, but healthful, playing about them ; 
 within, women in loose gowns, with sleeves uprolled 
 and with disordered hair, moved like phantoms 
 through clouds of savory smoke. The commissary 
 was brilliantly lighted. At a window close by im 
 provident miners were drawing the wages of the 
 day, while their wives waited in the store with 
 baskets unfilled. In front of the commissary a 
 crowd of negroes were talking, laughing, singing, 
 and playing pranks like children. Here two, with 
 grinning faces, were squared off, not to spar, but to 
 knock at each other s tattered hat ; there two more, 
 with legs and arms indistinguishable, were wrestling ; 
 close by was the sound of a mouth-harp, a circle 
 of interested spectators, and, within, two dancers 
 pitted against each other, and shuffling with a zest 
 that labor seemed never to affect. 
 
 Immediately after supper Clayton went to his 
 
10 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 room, lighted his lamp, and sat down to a map he 
 was tracing. His room was next the ground, and a 
 path ran near the open window. As he worked, 
 every passer-by would look curiously within. On 
 the wall above his head a pair of fencing-foils were 
 crossed under masks. Below these hung two pistols, 
 such as courteous Claude Duval used for side-arms. 
 Opposite were two old rifles, and beneath them two 
 stone beer-mugs, and a German student s pipe ab 
 surdly long and richly ornamented. A mantel close 
 by was filled with curiosities, and near it hung a 
 banjo unstrung, a tennis-racket, and a blazer of 
 startling colors. Plainly they were relics of German 
 student life, and the odd contrast they made with the 
 rough wall and ceiling suggested a sharp change in 
 the fortunes of the young worker beneath. Scarcely 
 six months since he had been suddenly summoned 
 home from Germany. The reason was vague, but 
 having read of recent American failures, notably in 
 Wall Street, he knew what had happened. Reach 
 ing New York, he was startled by the fear that his 
 mother was dead, so gloomy was the house, so sub 
 dued his sister s greeting, and so worn and sad his 
 father s face. The trouble, however, was what he 
 had guessed, and he had accepted it with quiet res 
 ignation. The financial wreck seemed complete ; 
 but one resource, however, was left. Just after the 
 war Clayton s father had purchased mineral lands in 
 the South, and it was with the idea of developing these 
 that he had encouraged the marked scientific tastes 
 of his son, and had sent him to a German university. 
 In view of his own disaster, and the fact that a 
 financial tide was swelling southward, his fore- 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 11 
 
 thought seemed an inspiration. To this resource 
 Clayton turned eagerly ; and after a few weeks at 
 home, which were made intolerable by straitened 
 circumstances, and the fancied coldness of friend 
 and acquaintance, he was hard at work in the heart 
 of the Kentucky mountains. 
 
 The transition from the careless life of a student 
 was swift and bitter ; it was like beginning a new 
 life with a new identity, though Clayton suffered 
 less than he anticipated. He had become interested 
 from the first. There was nothing in the pretty 
 glen, when he came, but a mountaineer s cabin and 
 a few gnarled old apple-trees, the roots of which 
 checked the musical flow of a little stream. Then 
 the air was filled with the tense ring of hammer and 
 saw, the mellow echoes of axes, and the shouts of 
 ox-drivers from the forests, indignant groans from 
 the mountains, and a little town sprang up before 
 his 1 eyes, and cars of shining coal wound slowly 
 about the mountain-side. 
 
 Activity like this stirred his blood. Busy from 
 dawn to dark, he had no time to grow miserable. 
 His work was hard, to be sure, but it made rest and 
 sleep a luxury, and it had the new zest of indepen 
 dence ; he even began to take in it no little pride 
 when he found himself an essential part of the quick 
 growth going on. When leisure came, he could take 
 to woods filled with unknown birds, new forms of 
 insect life, and strange plants and flowers. With 
 every day, too, he was more deeply stirred by the 
 changing beauty of the mountains hidden at dawn 
 with white mists, faintly veiled through the day with 
 an atmosphere that made him think of Italy, and en- 
 
12 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 riclied by sunsets of startling beauty. But strongest 
 of all was the interest he found in the odd human 
 mixture about him the simple, good-natured dark 
 ies who slouched past him, magnificent in physique 
 and picturesque with rags; occasional foreigners just 
 from Castle Garden, with the hope of the New World 
 still in their faces ; and now and then a gaunt moun 
 taineer stalking awkwardly in the rear of this march 
 towards civilization. Gradually it had dawned upon 
 him that this last, silent figure, traced through Vir 
 ginia, was closely linked by blood and speech with 
 the common people of England, and, moulded per 
 haps by the influences of feudalism, was still strik 
 ingly unchanged ; that now it was the most distinc 
 tively national remnant on American soil, and 
 symbolized the development of the continent-, and 
 that with it must go the last suggestions of the pio 
 neers, with their hardy physiques, their speech, their 
 manners and customs, their simple architecture and 
 simple mode of life. It was soon plain to him, too, 
 that a change was being wrought at last the change 
 of destruction. The older mountaineers, whose bewil 
 dered eyes watched the noisy signs of an unintelligible 
 civilization, were passing away. Of the rest, some, 
 sullen and restless, were selling their homesteads and 
 following the spirit of their forefathers into a new 
 wilderness ; others, leaving their small farms in ad 
 jacent valleys to go to ruin, were gaping idly about 
 the public works, caught up only too easily by the 
 vicious current of the incoming tide. In a century the 
 mountaineers must be swept away, and their ignorance 
 of the tragic forces at work among them gave them 
 an unconscious pathos that touched Clayton deeply. 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 13 
 
 As he grew to know them, their historical impor 
 tance yielded to a genuine interest in the people 
 themselves. They were densely ignorant, to be sure ; 
 but they were natural, simple, and hospitable. Their 
 sense of personal worth was high, and their democ 
 racy or aristocracy, since there was no distinction 
 of caste absolute. For generations son had lived 
 like father in an isolation hardly credible. No influ 
 ence save such as shook the nation ever reached 
 them. The Mexican war, slavery, and national poli 
 tics of the first half-century were still present issues, 
 and each old man would give his rigid, individual 
 opinion sometimes with surprising humor and force. 
 He went much among them, and the rugged old 
 couples whom he found in the cabin porches so 
 much alike at first quickly became distinct with a 
 quaint individuality. Among young or old, how 
 ever, he had found nothing like the half-wild young 
 creature he had met on the mountain that day. In 
 her a type had crossed his path had driven him 
 from it, in truth that seemed unique and inexplica 
 ble. He had been little more than amused at first, 
 but a keen interest had been growing in him with 
 every thought of her. There was an indefinable 
 charm about the girl. She gave a new and sudden 
 zest to his interest in mountain life ; and while he 
 worked, the incidents of the encounter on the moun 
 tain came minutely back to him till he saw her again 
 as she rode away, her supple figure swaying with ev 
 ery movement of the beast, and dappled with quiver 
 ing circles of sunlight from the bushes, her face 
 calm, but still flushed with color, and her yellow hair 
 shaking about her shoulders not lustreless and flax- 
 
14 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 en, as hair was in the mountains, he remembered, 
 but catching the sunlight like gold. 
 
 Almost unconsciously he laid aside his pencil and 
 leaned from his window to lift his eyes to the dark 
 mountain he had climbed that day. The rude melo 
 dy of an old-fashioned hymn was coming up the 
 glen, and he recognized the thin, quavering voice of 
 an old mountaineer, Uncle Tommy Brooks, as he 
 was familiarly known, whose cabin stood in the 
 midst of the camp, a pathetic contrast to the smart 
 new houses that had sprung up around it. The old 
 man had lived in the glen for nearly three-quarters 
 of a century, and he, if any one, must know the girl. 
 With the thought, Clayton sprang through the win 
 dow, and a few minutes later was at the cabin. The 
 old man sat whittling in the porch, joining in the 
 song with which his wife was crooning a child to 
 sleep within. Clayton easily identified Europa, as 
 he had christened her ; the simple mention of her 
 means of transport was sufficient. 
 
 " Ridin a bull, was she ?" repeated the old man, 
 laughing. " Well, that was Easter Hicks, old Bill 
 Hicks s gal. She s a sort o connection o mine. Me 
 and Bill merried cousins. She s a cur us critter as 
 ever I seed. She don seem to take atter her dad 
 nur her mammy nother, though Bill allus had a quar 
 streak in im, and was the wust man I ever seed 
 when he was disguised by licker. Whar does she 
 live ? Oh, up thar, right on top o Wolf Mountain, 
 with her mammy." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " Yes ; fer her dad ain t thar. No ; V he ain t 
 dead. I ll tell ye " the old man lowered his tone 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 15 
 
 " thar used to be a big lot o moonsliinin done in 
 these parts, V a raider come hyeh to see bout it. 
 Well, one mornin he was found layin in the road 
 with a bullet through him. Bill was s picioned. 
 Now, I ain t a-sayin as Bill done it, but when a 
 whole lot more rode up thar on hosses one night, 
 they didn t find Bill. They hain t found him yit, 
 fer he s out in the mountains somewhar a-hidin ." 
 
 " How do they get along without him ?" asked 
 Clayton. 
 
 " Why, the gal does the work. She ploughs with 
 that bull, and does the plantin herself. She kin chop 
 wood like a man. N as fer shootin , well, when 
 huntin s good n thar s shootin - matches round 
 about, she don t have to buy much meat." 
 
 " It s a wonder some young fellow hasn t married 
 her. I suppose, though, she s too young." 
 
 The old man laughed. " Thar s been many a live 
 ly young feller that s tried it, but she s hard to ketch 
 as a wildcat. She won t hev nothin to do with other 
 folks, n she nuver comes down hyeh into the valley, 
 cept to git her corn groun er to shoot a turkey. 
 Sherd Raines goes up to see her, and folks say he 
 air try in to git her into the church. But the gal 
 won t go nigh a meetin -house. She air a cur us 
 critter," he concluded emphatically, " shy as a deer 
 till she air stirred up, and then she air a caution ; 
 mighty gentle sometimes, and ag in stubborn as a 
 mule." 
 
 A shrill infantile scream came from within, and 
 the old man paused a moment to listen. 
 
 "Ye didn t know I had a great-grandchild, did 
 ye ? That s it a-hollerin . Talk about Easter bein 
 
16 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 too young to merry ! Why, hit s mother air two 
 year younger n Easter. Jes come in liyeli a minit." 
 The old mountaineer rose and led the way into the 
 cabin. Clayton was embarrassed at first. On one 
 bed lay a rather comely young woman with a child 
 by her side ; on a chest close by sat another with her 
 lover, courting in the most open and primitive man 
 ner. In the corner an old grandam dozed with her 
 pipe r her withered face just touched by the rim of 
 the .firelight. Near a rectangular hole in the wall 
 which served the purpose of a window, stood a girl 
 whose face, silhouetted against the darkness, had in 
 it a curious mixture of childishness and maturity. 
 
 " Whar s the baby?" asked Uncle Tommy. 
 
 Somebody outside was admiring it, and the young 
 girl leaned through the window and lifted the infant 
 within. 
 
 u Thar s a baby fer ye !" exclaimed the old moun 
 taineer, proudly, lifting it in the air and turning its 
 face to the light. But the child was peevish and 
 fretful, and he handed it back gently. Clayton was 
 wondering which was the mother, when, to his amaze 
 ment, almost to his confusion, the girl lifted the child 
 calmly to her own breast. The child was the mother 
 of the child. She was barely fifteen, with the face of 
 a girl of twelve, and her motherly manner had struck 
 him as an odd contrast. He felt a thrill of pity for 
 the young mother as he called to mind the aged 
 young wives he had seen who were haggard and care 
 worn at thirty, and who still managed to live to an 
 old age. He was indefinably glad that Easter had 
 escaped such a fate. When he left the cabin, the old 
 man called after him from the door : 
 
A MOUNTAIN" EUROPA 17 
 
 "Thar s goin to be a shootin - match among the 
 boys to-morrer, V I jedge that Easter 11 be on hand. 
 She al ays is." 
 
 " Is that so ?" said Clayton. " Well, I ll look out 
 for it." 
 
 The old mountaineer lowered his voice. 
 
 " Ye hain t thinkin about takin a wife, air ye ?" 
 
 " No, no !" 
 
 " Well, ef ye air," said the old man, slowly, " I m 
 a-thinkin yu ll hev to buck up ag in Sherd Raines, 
 fer ef I hain t like a goose a-pickin o grass by moon 
 shine, Sherd air atter the gal fer hisself, not fer the 
 Lord. Yes," he continued, after a short, dry laugh ; 
 " V mebbe ye ll hev to keep an eye open fer old Bill. 
 They say that he air mighty low down, V kind o 
 sorry V skeery, fer I reckon Sherd Raines hev told 
 him he hev got to pay the penalty fer takin a human 
 life ; but I wouldn t sot much on his bein sorry ef 
 he was mad at me and had licker in him. He hates 
 furriners, and he has a crazy idee that they is all 
 raiders V lookin fer him." 
 
 " I don t think I ll bother him," said Clayton, turn 
 ing away with a laugh. " Good-night !" With a lit 
 tle cackle of incredulity, the old man closed the door. 
 The camp had sunk now to perfect quiet ; but for 
 the faint notes of a banjo far up the glen, not a 
 sound trembled on the night air. 
 
 The rim of the moon was just visible above the 
 mountain on which Easter what a pretty name that 
 was ! had flashed upon his vision with such theatric 
 effect. As its brilliant light came slowly down the 
 dark mountain-side, the mists seemed to loosen their 
 white arms, and to creep away like ghosts mistaking 
 
18 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 the light for dawn. With the base of the mountain 
 in dense shadow, its crest, uplifted through the va 
 pors, seemed poised in the air at a startling height. 
 Yet it was near the crest that he had met her. Clay 
 ton paused a moment, when he reached his door, to 
 look again. Where in that cloud-land could she 
 live ? 
 
 Ill 
 
 WHEN the great bell struck the hour of the next 
 noon, mountaineers with long rifles across their 
 shoulders were moving through the camp. The glen 
 opened into a valley, which, blocked on the east by 
 Pine Mountain, was thus shut in on every side by 
 wooded heights. Here the marksmen gathered. All 
 were mountaineers, lank, bearded men, coatless for 
 the most part, and dressed in brown home-made 
 jeans, slouched, formless hats, and high, coarse boots. 
 Sun and wind had tanned their faces to sympathy, in 
 color, with their clothes, which had the dun look of 
 the soil. They seemed peculiarly a race of the soil, 
 to have sprung as they were from the earth, which 
 had left indelible stains upon them. All carried long 
 rifles, old-fashioned and home-made, some even with 
 flint-locks. It was Saturday, and many of their wives 
 had come with them to the camp. These stood near, 
 huddled into a listless group, with their faces half 
 hidden in check bonnets of various colors. A bar 
 baric love of color was apparent in bonnet, shawl, and 
 gown, and surprisingly in contrast with such crude- 
 ness of taste was a face when fully seen, so modest 
 was it. The features were always delicately wrought, 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 19 
 
 and softened sometimes by a look of patient suffer 
 ing almost into refinement. 
 
 On the other side of the contestants were the peo 
 ple of the camp, a few miners with pipes lounging 
 on the ground, and women and girls, who returned 
 the furtive glances of the mountain women with 
 stares of curiosity and low laughter. 
 
 Clayton had been delayed by his work, and the 
 match was already going on when he reached the 
 grounds. 
 
 "You ve missed some mighty fine shootin ," said 
 Uncle Tommy Brooks, who was squatted on the 
 ground near the group of marksmen. " Sherd s been 
 a-beatin ever body. I m afeard Easter hain t a-com- 
 in . The match is most over now. Ef she d been 
 here, I don t think Sherd would a got the ch ice 
 parts o that beef so easy." 
 
 " Which is he ?" asked Clayton. 
 
 "That ta.ll feller thar loadin his gun." 
 
 " What did you say his name was?" 
 
 " Sherd Raines, the feller that s goin to be our 
 circuit-rider." 
 
 He remembered the peculiar name. So this was 
 Easter s lover. Clayton looked at the young moun 
 taineer, curiously at first, and then with growing in 
 terest. His quiet air of authority among his fellows 
 was like a birthright ; it seemed assumed and accept 
 ed unconsciously. His face was smooth, and he was 
 fuller in figure than the rest, but still sinewy and lank, 
 though not awkward ; his movements were too quick 
 and decisive for that. With a casual glance Clayton 
 had wondered what secret influence could have turned 
 to spiritual things a man so merely animal-like in face 
 
20 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 and physique ; but when the mountaineer thrust back 
 his hat, elemental strength and seriousness were ap 
 parent in the square brow, the steady eye, the poise 
 of the head, and in lines around the strong mouth 
 and chin in which the struggle for self-mastery had 
 been traced. 
 
 As the mountaineer thrust his ramrod back into 
 its casing, he glanced at the woods behind Clayton, 
 and said something to his companions. They, too, 
 raised their eyes, and at the same moment the old 
 mountaineer plucked Clayton by the sleeve. 
 
 " Thar comes Easter now." 
 
 The girl had just emerged from the edge of the 
 forest, and with a rifle on one shoulder and a bullet- 
 pouch and powder-horn swung from the other, was 
 slowly coming down the path. 
 
 "Why, how air ye, Easter?" cried the old man, 
 heartily. " Goin to shoot, air ye ? I lowed ye 
 wouldn t miss this. Ye air mighty late, though." 
 
 " Oh, I only wanted a turkey," said the girl. 
 
 " Well, I m a-comin up to eat dinner with ye to- 
 morrer," he answered, with a laugh, " fer I know ye ll 
 git one. Y u re on hand fer most o the matches 
 now. Wild turkeys must be a-gittin skeerce." 
 
 The girl smiled, showing a row of brilliant teeth 
 between her thin, red lips, and, without answering, 
 moved towards the group of mountain women. Clay 
 ton had raised his hand to his hat when the old man 
 addressed her, but he dropped it quickly to his side 
 in no little embarrassment when the girl carelessly 
 glanced over him with no sign of recognition. Her 
 rifle was an old flint-lock of light build, but nearly 
 six feet in length, with a shade of rusty tin two feet 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 21 
 
 long fastened to the barrel to prevent the sunlight 
 from affecting the marksman s aim. She wore a 
 man s hat, which, with unintentional coquetry, was 
 perched on one side of her head. Her hair was 
 short, and fell as it pleased about her neck. She 
 was barefooted, and apparently clad in a single gar 
 ment, a blue homespun gown, gathered loosely at her 
 uncorseted waist, and showing the outline of the bust 
 and every movement of the tall, supple form beneath. 
 Her appearance had quickened the interest of the 
 spectators, and apparently was a disturbing influence 
 among the contestants, who were gathered together, 
 evidently in dispute. From their glances Clayton 
 saw that Easter was the subject of it. 
 
 " I guess they don t want her to shoot them that 
 hain t won nothin ," said Uncle Tommy. 
 
 " She hev come in late," Clayton heard one say, 
 "V she oughtn to shoot. Thar hain t no chance 
 shootin ag in her noways, V I m in favor o barrin 
 her out." 
 
 " Oh no ; let her shoot " the voice was Raines s. 
 "Thar hain t nothin but a few turkeys left, V ye d 
 better bar out the gun stid o the gal, anyway, fer 
 that gun kin outshoot anything in the mountains." 
 
 The girl had been silently watching the group as 
 if puzzled ; and when Raines spoke her face tightened 
 with sudden decision, and she strode swiftly towards 
 them in time to overhear the young mountaineer s 
 last words. 
 
 " So hit s the gun, is hit, Sherd Raines ?" The 
 crowd turned, and Raines shrank a little as the girl 
 faced him with flashing eyes. " So hit s the gun, is 
 hit ? Hit is a good gun, but ye ought to be ashamed 
 
22 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 to take all the credit way from me. But ef you air 
 so sartain hit s the gun," she continued, " I ll shoot 
 yourn, V y u kin hev mine ef I don t beat ye with yer 
 own gun." 
 
 "Good fer you Easter!" shouted the old moun 
 taineer. 
 
 Raines had recovered himself, and was looking at 
 the girl seriously. Several of his companions urged 
 him aloud to accept the challenge, but he paid no heed 
 to them. He seemed to be debating the question 
 with himself, and a moment later he said, quietly : 
 
 " N you kin hev mine ef I don t beat you." 
 
 This was all he said, but he kept his eyes fixed on 
 the girl s face ; and when, with a defiant glance, she 
 turned towards the mountain women, he followed and 
 stopped her. 
 
 " Easter," Clayton heard him say, in a low, slow 
 voice, " I was tryin to git ye a chance to shoot, fer 
 ye hev been winnin so much that it s hard to git up 
 a match when ye air in it." The hard look on the 
 girl s face remained unchanged, and the mountaineer 
 continued, firmly : 
 
 " N I told the truth ; fer ef ye pin me down, I do 
 think hit is the gun." 
 
 " Jes you wait n see," answered the girl, shortly, 
 and Raines, after a questioning look, rejoined the 
 group. 
 
 " I won t take the gun ef I win it," he said to them ; 
 " but she air gittin too set up n proud, n I m goin 
 to do my best to take her down a bit." 
 
 There was nothing boastful or malicious in his 
 manner or speech, and nobody doubted that he would 
 win, for there were few marksmen in the mountains 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 23 
 
 his equals, and he would have the advantage of using 
 his own gun. 
 
 " Look hyeh," said a long, thin mountaineer, com 
 ing up to the group, " thar ain t but one turkey left, 
 n I d like to know what we air goin to shoot at 
 ef Sherd n Easter gits a crack at him." 
 
 In the interest of the match no one had thought 
 of that, and a moment of debate followed, which 
 Clayton ended by stepping forward. 
 
 " I ll furnish a turkey for the rest of you," he said. 
 
 The girl turned when he spoke and gave him a 
 quick glance, but averted her eyes instantly. 
 
 Clayton s offer was accepted, and the preliminary 
 trial to decide who should shoot first at the turkey 
 was begun. Every detail was watched with increas 
 ing interest. A piece of white paper marked with two 
 concentric circles was placed sixty yards away, and 
 Raines won with a bullet in the inner circle. The 
 girl had missed both, and the mountaineer offered 
 her two more shots to accustom herself to the gun. 
 She accepted, and smiled a little triumphantly as she 
 touched the outer circle with one bullet and placed 
 the other almost in the centre. It was plain that the 
 two were evenly matched, and several shouts of ap 
 proval came from the crowd. The turkey was hob 
 bled to a stake at the same distance, and both were 
 to fire at its head, with the privilege of shooting at 
 fifty yards if no rest were taken. 
 
 Raines shot first without rest, and, as he missed, 
 the girl followed his example. The turkey dozed on 
 in the sunlight, undisturbed by either. The moun 
 taineer was vexed. With his powerful face set de 
 terminedly, he lay down flat on the ground, and, rest- 
 
24 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 ing liis rifle over a small log, took an inordinately 
 long and careful aim. The rifle cracked, the turkey 
 bobbed its head unhurt, and the marksman sprang to 
 his feet with an exclamation of surprise and chagrin. 
 As he loaded the gun and gravely handed it to the 
 girl, the excitement grew intense. The crowd pressed 
 close. The stolid faces of the mountaineer women, 
 thrust from their bonnets, became almost eager with 
 interest. Raines, quiet and composed as he was, 
 looked anxious. All eyes followed every movement 
 of the girl as she coolly stretched her long, active 
 figure on the ground, drew her dress close about it, 
 and, throwing her yellow hair over her face to shade 
 her eyes from the slanting sunlight, placed her cheek 
 against the stock of the gun. A long suspense fol 
 lowed. A hush almost of solemnity fell upon the 
 crowd. 
 
 " Why don t the gal shoot ?" asked a voice, im 
 patiently. 
 
 Clayton saw what the matter was, and, stepping 
 towards her, said quietly, " You forgot to set the 
 trigger." 
 
 The girl s face colored. Again her eye glanced 
 along the barrel, a puff of smoke flew from the gun, 
 and a shout came from every pair of lips as the 
 turkey leaped into the air and fell, beating the 
 ground with its wings. In an instant a young 
 mountaineer had rushed forward and seized it, and, 
 after a glance, dropped it with a yell of triumph. 
 
 " Shot plum through the eyes !" he shouted. 
 " Shot plum through the eyes !" 
 
 The girl arose, and handed the gun back to 
 Raines. 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 25 
 
 " Keep hit," he said, steadily. " Hit s yourn." 
 " I don t want the gun," she said, " but I did 
 want that turkey n " a little tauntingly " I did 
 want to beat you, Sherd Raines." 
 
 The mountaineer s face flushed and darkened, but 
 he said nothing. He took no part in the shooting 
 that followed, and when, after the match was over, 
 the girl, with her rifle on one shoulder and the tur 
 key over the other, turned up the mountain path, 
 Clayton saw him follow her. 
 
 IV 
 
 A FORTNIGHT later Clayton, rifle in hand, took 
 the same path. It was late in May. The leafage 
 was luxuriant, and the mountains, wooded to the 
 tops, seemed overspread with great, shaggy rugs of 
 green. The woods were resonant with song-birds, 
 and the dew dripped and sparkled wherever a shaft 
 of sunlight pierced the thick leaves. Late violets 
 hid shyly under canopies of May-apple ; bunches of 
 blue and of white anemone nodded from under fallen 
 trees, and water ran like hidden music everywhere. 
 Slowly the valley and the sound of its life the low 
 ing of cattle, the clatter at the mines, the songs of 
 the negroes at work sank beneath him. The chorus 
 of birds dwindled until only the cool, flute-like notes 
 of a wood-thrush rose faintly from below. Up he 
 went, winding around great oaks, fallen trunks, loose 
 bowlders, and threatening cliffs until light glimmered 
 whitely between the boles of the trees. From a gap 
 where he paused to rest, a " fire-scald " was visible 
 
26 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 close to the crest of the adjoining mountain. It was 
 filled with the charred, ghost -like trunks of trees 
 that had been burned standing. Easter s home must 
 be near that, Clayton thought, and he turned tow 
 ards it by a path that ran along the top of the 
 mountain. After a few hundred yards the path 
 swerved sharply through a dense thicket, and Clay 
 ton stopped in wonder. 
 
 Some natural agent had hollowed the mountain, 
 leaving a level plateau of several acres. The earth 
 had fallen away from a great sombre cliff of solid 
 rock, and clinging like a swallow s nest in a cleft of 
 this was the usual rude cabin of a mountaineer. The 
 face of the rock was dark with vines, and the cabin 
 was protected as by a fortress. But one way of ap 
 proach was possible, and that straight to the porch. 
 From the cliff the vines had crept to roof and chim 
 ney, and were waving their tendrils about a thin 
 blue spiral of smoke. The cabin was gray and tot 
 tering with age. Above the porch on the branches 
 of an apple-tree hung leaves that matched in richness 
 of tint the thick moss on the rough shingles. Under 
 it an old woman sat spinning, and a hound lay asleep 
 at her feet. Easter was nowhere to be seen, but her 
 voice came from below him in a loud tone of com 
 mand ; and presently she appeared from behind a 
 knoll, above which the thatched roof of a stable was 
 visible, and slowly ascended the path to the house. 
 She had evidently just finished work, for a plough 
 stood in the last furrow of the field, and the fra 
 grance of freshly turned earth was in the air. On 
 the porch she sank wearily into a low chair, and, 
 folding her hands, looked away to the mountains. 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 27 
 
 Clayton climbed the crumbling fence. A dead 
 twig snapped, and, startled by the sound, the girl 
 began to rise ; but, giving him one quick, sharp look, 
 dropped her eyes to her hands, and remained mo 
 tionless. 
 
 " Good - morning," said Clayton, lifting his hat. 
 The girl did not raise her face. The wheel stopped, 
 and the spinner turned her head. 
 
 " How air ye ?" she said, with ready hospitality. 
 " Come in an hev a cheer." 
 
 "No, thank you," he answered, a little embar 
 rassed by Easter s odd behavior. " May I get some 
 water ?" 
 
 " Sartinly," said the old woman, looking him over 
 curiously. " Easter, go git some fresh." 
 
 The girl started to rise, but Clayton, picking up 
 the bucket, said, quickly, 
 
 " Oh no ; I won t trouble you. I see the spring," 
 he added, noticing a tiny stream that trickled from 
 a fissure at the base of the cliff. 
 
 " Who air that feller, Easter ?" the mother asked, 
 in a low voice, when Clayton was out of hearing. 
 
 " One o them f urriners who hev come into Injun 
 Creek," was the indifferent reply. 
 
 "That s splendid water," said Clayton, returning. 
 "May I give you some?" The old woman shook 
 her head. Easter s eyes were still on the mountains, 
 and apparently she had not heard him. 
 
 " Hit air good water," said the mother. " That 
 spring never does go dry. You better come in and 
 rest a spell. I suppose ye air from the mines ?" she 
 added, as she turned to resume spinning. 
 
 "Yes," answered Clayton. "There is good hunt- 
 
28 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 ing around here, isn t there ?" he went on, feeling 
 that some explanation was due for his sudden arrival 
 away up in that lone spot. 
 
 There was no answer. Easter did not look tow 
 ards him, and the spinning stopped. 
 
 " Whut d you say ?" asked the old woman. 
 
 Clayton repeated his question. 
 
 " Thar used to be prime huntin in these parts 
 when my dad cleared off this spot more n fifty year 
 ago, but the varmints hev mostly been killed out. 
 Bat Easter kin tell you better n I kin, for she does 
 all our huntin , n she kin outshoot mos any man 
 in the mountains." 
 
 " Yes ; I saw her shoot at the match the other 
 day down at the mines." 
 
 " Did ye ?" a smile of pleasure broke over the 
 old woman s face " whar she beat Sherd Raines? 
 Sherd wanted to mortify her, but she mortified him, 
 I reckon." 
 
 The girl did not join in her mother s laugh, though 
 the corners of her mouth twitched faintly. 
 
 " I like shooting, myself," said Clayton. " I would 
 go into a match, but I m afraid I wouldn t have 
 much chance." 
 
 " I reckon not, with that short thing ?" said the 
 old woman, pointing at his repeating-rifle. " Would 
 ye shoot with that ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," answered Clayton, smiling ; " it shoots 
 very well." 
 
 "Howfer?" 
 
 "Oh, a long way." 
 
 A huge shadow swept over the house, thrown by 
 a buzzard sailing with magnificent ease high above 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 29 
 
 them. Thinking that he might disturb its flight, 
 Clayton rose and cocked his rifle. 
 
 "Ye re not going to shoot at that?" said the old 
 woman, grinning. The girl had looked towards him 
 at last, with a smile of faint derision. 
 
 Clayton took aim quickly and fired. The huge 
 bird sank as though hit, curved downward, and with 
 one flap of his great wings sailed on. 
 
 " Well, ef I didn t think ye had hit him !" said 
 the old woman, in amazement. " You kin shoot, fer 
 a fac ." 
 
 Easter s attention was gained at last. For the 
 first time she looked straight at him, and her little 
 smile of derision had given way to a look of mingled 
 curiosity and respect. 
 
 " I expected only to scare him," said Clayton. 
 "The gun will carry twice that far." 
 
 " Hit s jest as well ye didn t hit him," said the 
 old woman. " Hit air five dollars fine to kill a buz 
 zard around hyeh. I d never thought that little 
 thing could shoot." 
 
 " It shoots several times," said Clayton. 
 
 "Hit does whut?" 
 
 " Like a pistol," he explained, and, rising, he di 
 rected several shots in quick succession at a dead 
 tree in the ploughed field. At each shot a puff of 
 dust came almost from the same spot. 
 
 When he turned, Easter had risen to her feet in 
 astonishment, and the mother was laughing long and 
 loudly. 
 
 " Don t ye wish ye had a gun like that, Easter ?" 
 she cried. 
 
 Clayton turned quickly to the girl, and began ex- 
 
30 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 plaining the mechanism of the gun to her, without 
 appearing to notice her embarrassment, for she 
 shrank perceptibly when he spoke to her. 
 
 " Won t you let me see your gun ?" he asked. 
 
 She brought out the old flint-lock, and handed it 
 to him almost timidly. 
 
 " This is very interesting," he said. " I never 
 saw one like it before." 
 
 "Thar hain t but one more jest like that in the 
 mountains," said the old woman, " V Easter s got 
 that. My dad made em both." 
 
 " How would you like to trade one for mine, if 
 you have two 2" said Clayton to the girl. " I ll give 
 you all my cartridges to boot." 
 
 The girl looked at her mother with hesitation. 
 Clayton saw that both wondered what he could 
 want with the gun, and he added, 
 
 " I d like to have it to take home with me. It 
 would be a great curiosity." 
 
 " Well," said the mother, " you kin hev one ef ye 
 want hit, and think the trade s fa r. 
 
 Clayton insisted, and the trade was made. The 
 old woman resumed spinning. The girl took her 
 seat in the low chair, holding her new treasure in 
 her lap, with her eyes fixed on it, and occasionally 
 running one brown hand down its shining barrel. 
 Clayton watched her. She had given no sign what 
 ever that she had ever seen him before, and yet a 
 curious change had come over her. Her imperious 
 manner had yielded to a singular reserve and timid 
 ity. The peculiar beauty of the girl struck him now 
 with unusual force. Her profile was remarkably 
 regular and delicate ; her mouth small, resolute, and 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 31 
 
 sensitive ; heavy, dark lashes shaded her downcast 
 eyes ; and her brow suggested a mentality that he 
 felt a strong desire to test. Her feet were small, 
 and so were her quick, nervous hands, which were 
 still finely shaped, in spite of the hard usage that 
 had left them brown and callous. He wondered if 
 she was really as lovely as she seemed ; if his stand 
 ard might not have been affected by his long stay 
 in the mountains ; if her picturesque environment 
 might not have influenced his judgment. He tried 
 to imagine her daintily slippered, clad in white, with 
 her loose hair gathered in a Psyche knot ; or in 
 evening dress, with arms and throat bare ; but the 
 pictures were difficult to make. He liked her best 
 as she was, in perfect physical sympathy with the 
 natural phases about her ; as much a part of them as 
 tree, plant, or flower, embodying the freedom, grace, 
 and beauty of nature as well and as unconsciously 
 as they. He questioned whether she hardly felt 
 herself to be apart from them ; and, of course, she 
 as little knew her kinship to them. 
 
 She had lifted her eyes now, and had fixed them 
 with tender thoughtfulness on the mountains. What 
 did she see in the scene before her, he wondered : 
 the deep valley, brilliant with early sunshine ; the 
 magnificent sweep of wooded slopes ; Pine Mountain 
 and the peak -like Narrows, where through it the 
 river had worn its patient way ; and the Cumber 
 land Range, lying like a cloud against the horizon, 
 and bluer and softer than the sky above it. He 
 longed to know what her thoughts were ; if in them 
 there might be a hint of what he hoped to find. 
 Probably she could not tell them, should he ask her, 
 
32 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 so unconscious was she of her mental life, whatever 
 that might be. Indeed, she seemed scarcely to know 
 of her own existence ; there was about her a simplic 
 ity to which he had felt himself rise only in the 
 presence of the spirit about some lonely mountain- 
 top or in the heart of deep woods. Her gaze was 
 not vacant, not listless, but the pensive look of a sen 
 sitive child, and Clayton let himself fancy that there 
 was in it an unconscious love of the beauty before 
 her, and of its spiritual suggestiveness a slumbering 
 sense, perhaps easily awakened. Perhaps he might 
 awaken it. 
 
 The drowsy hum of the spinning-wheel ceased 
 suddenly, and his dream was shattered. He won 
 dered how long they had sat there saying nothing, 
 and how long the silence might continue. Easter, 
 he believed, would never address him. Even the 
 temporary intimacy that the barter of the gun had 
 brought about was gone. The girl seemed lost in 
 unconsciousness. The mother had gone to her loom, 
 and was humming softly to herself as she passed the 
 shuttle to and fro. Clayton turned for an instant 
 to watch her, and the rude background, which he 
 had forgotten, thrust every unwelcome detail upon 
 his attention : the old cabin, built of hewn logs, held 
 together by wooden pin and angur-hole, and shingled 
 with rough boards ; the dark, windowless room ; the 
 unplastered walls; the beds with old-fashioned high 
 posts, mattresses of straw, and cords instead of slats ; 
 the home-made chairs with straight backs, tipped with 
 carved knobs ; the mantel filled with utensils and 
 overhung with bunches of drying herbs ; a ladder 
 with half a dozen smooth worn steps leading to the 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA S3 
 
 loft; and a wide, deep fireplace the only suggestion 
 of cheer and comfort in the gloomy interior. An 
 open porch connected the single room with the 
 kitchen. Here, too, were suggestions of daily duties. 
 The mother s face told a tale of hardship and toil, 
 and there was the plough in the furrow, and the girl s 
 calloused hands folded in her lap. With a thrill of 
 compassion Clayton turned to her. What a pity ! 
 what a pity ! Just now her face had the peace of a 
 child s ; but when aroused, an electric fire burned 
 from her calm eyes and showed the ardent tempera 
 ment that really lay beneath. If she were quick and 
 sympathetic and she must be, he thought who 
 could tell how rich the development possible for 
 her? 
 
 " You hain t seen much of this country, I reckon. 
 You hain t been here afore ?" 
 
 The mother had broken the silence at last. 
 
 " No," said Clayton ; " but I like it very much." 
 
 " Do ye ?" she asked, in surprise. " W T hy, I lowed 
 you folks from the settlemints thought hit was 
 mighty scraggy down hyeh." 
 
 "Oh no. These mountains and woods are beau 
 tiful, and I never saw lovelier beech-trees. The col 
 oring of their trunks is so exquisite, and the shade 
 is so fine," he concluded, lamely, noticing a blank, 
 look on the old woman s face. To his delight the 
 girl, half turned towards him, was listening with puz 
 zled interest. 
 
 " Well," said the old woman, " beeches is beauti 
 ful to me when they s mast enough to feed the 
 hogs." 
 
 Carried back to his train of speculations, Clayton 
 
34 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 started at this abrupt deliverance. There was a sus 
 picion of humor in the old woman s tone that showed 
 an appreciation of their different standpoints. It 
 was lost on Clayton, however, for his attention had 
 been caught by the word " mast," which, by some ac 
 cident, he had never heard before. 
 
 " Mast," he asked, " what is that ?" 
 
 The girl looked towards him in amazement, and 
 burst into a low, suppressed laugh. Her mother ex 
 plained the word, and all laughed heartily. 
 
 Clayton soon saw that his confession of ignorance 
 was a lucky accident. It brought Easter and him 
 self nearer common ground. She felt that there was 
 something, after all, that she could teach him. She 
 had been overpowered by his politeness and defer 
 ence and his unusual language, and, not knowing 
 what they meant, was overcome by a sense of her in 
 feriority. The incident gave him the key to his fut 
 ure conduct. A moment later she looked up covertly, 
 and, meeting his eyes, laughed again. The ice was 
 broken. He began to wonder if she really had no 
 ticed him so little at their first meeting as not to 
 recognize him, or if her indifference or reserve had 
 prevented her from showing the recognition. He 
 pulled out his note-book and began sketching rapid- 
 .ly, conscious that the girl was watching him. When 
 he finished, he rose, picking up the old flint-lock. 
 
 " Won t ye stay and hev some dinner ?" asked the 
 old woman. 
 
 " No, thank you," 
 
 " Come ag in," she said, cordially, adding the 
 mountaineer s farewell, " I wish ye well." 
 
 " Thank you, I will. Good-day." 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 35 
 
 As he passed the girl lie paused a moment and 
 dropped the paper into her lap. It was a rude 
 sketch of their first meeting, the bull coming at him 
 like a tornado. The color came to her face, and 
 when Clayton turned the corner of the house he 
 heard her laughing. 
 
 " Whut you laughin at, Easter ?" asked the mother, 
 stopping her work and looking around. 
 
 For answer the girl rose and walked into the house, 
 hiding the paper in her bosom. The old woman 
 watched her narrowly. 
 
 " I never seed ye afeard of a man afore," she said 
 to herself. " No, nur so tickled bout one, nother. 
 Well, he air as accommodatin a feller as I ever sec, 
 ef he air a furriner. But he was a fool to swop his 
 gun fer hern." 
 
 THEREAFTER Clayton saw the girl whenever pos 
 sible. If she came to the camp, he walked up the 
 mountain with her. No idle day passed that he did 
 not visit the cabin, and it was not long before he found 
 himself strangely interested. Her beauty and fear 
 lessness had drawn him at first ; her indifference and 
 stolidity had piqued him ; and now the shyness that 
 displaced these was inconsistent and puzzling. This 
 he set himself deliberately at work to remove, and 
 the conscious effort gave a peculiar piquancy to their 
 intercourse. He had learned the secret of associa 
 tion with the mountaineers to be as little unlike them 
 as possible and he put the knowledge into practice. 
 He discarded coat and waistcoat, wore a slouched 
 
36 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 hat, and went unshaven for weeks. He avoided all 
 conventionalities, and was as simple in manner and 
 speech as possible. Often when talking with Easter, 
 her face was blankly unresponsive, and a question 
 would sometimes leave her in confused silence. He 
 found it necessary to use the simplest Anglo-Saxon 
 words, and he soon fell into many of the quaint ex 
 pressions of the mountaineers and their odd, slow 
 way of speech. This course was effective, and in 
 time the shyness wore away and left between them a 
 comradeship as pleasant as unique. Sometimes they 
 took long walks together on the mountains. This 
 was contrary to mountain etiquette, but they were 
 remote even from the rude conventionalities of the 
 life below them. They even went hunting together, 
 and Easter had the joy of a child when she discovered 
 her superiority to Clayton in woodcraft and in the 
 use of a rifle. If he could tell her the names of 
 plants and flowers they found, and how they were 
 akin, she could show him where they grew. If he 
 could teach her a little more about animals and their 
 habits than she already knew, he had always to fol 
 low her in the search for game. Their fellowship 
 was, in consequence, nevermore complete than when 
 they were roaming the woods. In them Easter was 
 at home, and her ardent nature came to the surface 
 like a poetic glow from her buoyant health and beau 
 ty. Then appeared all that was wayward and elfin- 
 like in her character, and she would be as playful, 
 wilful, evanescent as a wood-spirit. Sometimes, when 
 they were separated, she would lead him into a 
 ravine by imitating a squirrel or a wild-turkey, and, 
 as he crept noiselessly along with bated breath and 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 37 
 
 eyes peering eagerly through the tree -tops or the 
 underbrush, she would step like a dryad from behind 
 some tree at his side, with a ringing laugh at his dis 
 comfiture. Again, she might startle him by running- 
 lightly along the fallen trunk of a tree that lay across 
 a torrent, or, in a freak of wilfulness, would let her 
 self down the bare face of some steep cliff. If he 
 scolded her, she laughed. If he grew angry, she 
 was serious instantly, and once she fell to weeping 
 and fled home. He followed her, but she barricaded 
 herself in her room in the loft, and would not be 
 coaxed down. The next day she had forgotten that 
 she was angry. 
 
 Her mother showed no surprise at any of her 
 moods. Easter was not like other " gals," she said ; 
 she had always been " quar," and she reckoned would 
 "allus be that way." She objected in no wise to 
 Clayton s intimacy with her. The " furriner," she 
 told Raines, was the only man who had ever been 
 able to manage her, and if she wanted Easter to do 
 anything " ag in her will, she went to him fust" a 
 simple remark that threw the mountaineer into deep 
 thoughtfulness. ( 
 
 Indeed, this sense of power that Clayton felt over 
 the wilful, passionate creature thrilled him with 
 more pleasure than he would have been willing to 
 admit ; at the same time it suggested to him a cer 
 tain responsibility. Why not make use of it, and a 
 good use? The girl was perhaps deplorably igno 
 rant, could do but little more than read and write ; 
 but she was susceptible of development, and at times 
 apparently conscious of the need of it and desirous 
 for it. Once he had carried her a handful of violets, 
 
38 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 and thereafter an old pitcher that stood on a shelf 
 blossomed every day with wild -flowers. He had 
 transplanted a vine from the woods and taught her 
 to train it over the porch, and the first hint of ten 
 derness he found in her nature was in the care of 
 that plant. He had taken her a book full of pict 
 ures and fashion-plates, and he had noticed a quick 
 and ingenious adoption of some of its hints in her 
 dress. 
 
 One afternoon, as he lay on his bed in a darkened 
 corner of his room, a woman s shadow passed across 
 the wall, returned, and a moment later he saw East 
 er s face at the window. He had lain quiet, and 
 watched her while her wondering eyes roved from 
 one object to another, until they were fastened with 
 a long, intent look on a picture that stood upon a 
 table near the window. He stirred, and her face 
 melted away instantly. A few days later he was sit 
 ting with Easter and Raines at the cabin. The moth 
 er was at the other end of the porch, talking to a 
 neighbor who had stopped to rest on his way across 
 the mountains. 
 
 " Easter air a-gittin high notions," she was say 
 ing, " n she air a-spendin her savin s, V all mine 
 she kin git hold of, to buy fixin s at the commissary. 
 She must hev white crockery, n towels, n new 
 fangled forks, n sich-like." A conscious flush came 
 into the girl s face, and she rose hastily and went 
 into the house. 
 
 "I was afeard," continued the mother, "that she 
 would hev her hair cut short, n be a-flyin with rib- 
 bins, n spangled out like a rainbow, like old Lige 
 Hicks s gal, ef I hadn t heerd the furriner tell her 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 39 
 
 it was beastly. Thar hain t no fear now, fer what 
 that furriner don t like, Easter don t n other." 
 
 For an instant the mountaineer s eyes had flashed 
 on Clayton, but when the latter, a trifle embarrassed, 
 looked up, Raines apparently had heard nothing. 
 Easter did not reappear until the mountaineer was 
 gone. 
 
 There were other hopeful signs. "Whenever Clay 
 ton spoke of his friends, she always listened eager 
 ly, and asked innumerable questions about them. If 
 his attention was caught by any queer custom or 
 phrase of the mountain dialect, she was quick to ask 
 in return how he would say the same thing, and what 
 the custom was in the " settlemints." She even 
 made feeble attempts to model her own speech after 
 his. 
 
 In a conscious glow that he imagined was philan 
 thropy, Clayton began his task of elevation. She 
 was not so ignorant as he had supposed. Appar 
 ently she had been taught by somebody, but when 
 asked by whom, she hesitated answering, and he had 
 taken it for granted that what she knew she had puz. 
 zled out alone. He was astonished by her quick 
 ness, her docility, and the passionate energy with 
 which she worked. Her instant obedience to every 
 suggestion, her trust in every word he uttered, made 
 him acutely and at times uncomfortably conscious 
 of his responsibility. At the same time there was in 
 the task something of the pleasure that a young 
 sculptor feels when, for the first time, the clay begins 
 to yield obedience to his fingers, and something of 
 the delight that must have thrilled Pygmalion when 
 he saw his statue tremulous with conscious life. 
 
40 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 VI 
 
 THE possibility of lifting the girl above her own 
 people, and of creating a spirit of discontent that 
 might imbitter her whole life, had occurred to Clay 
 ton ; but at such moments the figure of Raines came 
 into the philanthropic picture forming slowly in his 
 mind, and his conscience was quieted. He could 
 see them together ; the gradual change that Easter 
 would bring about in him, the influence of the two 
 on their fellows. The rnining-camp grew into a town 
 with a modest church on the outskirts, and a cottage 
 where Raines and Easter were installed. They stood 
 between the old civilization and the new, under 
 standing both, and protecting the native strength 
 of the one from the vices of the other, and train 
 ing it after more breadth and refinement. But 
 Raines and Easter did not lend themselves to the 
 picture so readily, and gradually it grew vague and 
 shadowy, and the figure of the mountaineer was 
 blurred. 
 
 Clayton did not bring harmony to the two. At 
 first he saw nothing of the mountaineer, and when 
 they met at the cabin Raines remained only a short 
 time. If Easter cared for him at all, she did not 
 show it. How he was regarded by the mother, Clay 
 ton had learned long ago, when, in answer to one of 
 his questions, she had said, with a look at Easter, 
 that " Raines was the likeliest young feller in them 
 mountains " ; that " he knew more n anybody round 
 thar " ; that " he had spent a year in the settlemints, 
 was mighty religious, and would one day be a cir- 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 41 
 
 cuit-rider. Anyhow," she concluded, " he was a 
 mighty good friend o theirn." 
 
 But as for Easter, she treated him with unvarying 
 indifference, though Clayton noticed she was more 
 quiet and reserved in the mountaineer s presence ; 
 and, what was unintelligible to him, she refused to 
 speak of her studies when Raines was at the cabin, and 
 warned her mother with an angry frown when the lat 
 ter began telling the mountaineer of " whut a change 
 had come over Easter, and how she reckoned the gal 
 was a-gittin eddicated enough fer to teach anybody 
 in the mountains, she was a-larnin so much." 
 
 After that little incident, he met Raines at the 
 cabin oftener. The mountaineer was always taciturn, 
 though he listened closely when anything was said, 
 and even when addressed by Easter s mother his at 
 tention, Clayton noticed, was fixed on Easter and him 
 self. He felt that he was being watched, and it ir 
 ritated him. He had tried to be friendly with the 
 mountaineer, but his advances were received with a 
 reserve that was almost suspicion. As time went on, 
 the mountaineer s visits increased in frequency and 
 in length, and at last one night he stayed so long 
 that, for the first time, Clayton left him there. 
 
 Neither spoke after the young engineer was gone. 
 The mountaineer sat looking closely at Easter, who 
 was listlessly watching the moon as it rose above the 
 Cumberland Range and brought into view the waver 
 ing outline of Pine Mountain and the shadowed val 
 ley below. It was evident from his face and his 
 eyes, which glowed with the suppressed fire of some 
 powerful emotion within, that he had remained for a 
 purpose ; and when he rose and said, " I reckon I 
 
42 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 better be a-goin , Easter," his voice was so unnatural 
 that the girl looked up quickly. 
 
 " Hit air late," she said, after a slight pause. 
 
 His face flushed, but he set his lips and caught 
 the back of his chair, as though to steady himself. 
 
 " I reckon," he said, with slow bitterness, " that 
 hit would a been early long as the furriner was 
 hyeh." 
 
 The girl was roused instantly, but she said noth 
 ing, and he continued, in a determined tone : 
 
 " Easter, thar s a good deal I ve wanted to say to 
 ye fer a long time, but I hev kept a-puttin hit off 
 until I m afeared maybe hit air too late. But I m 
 a-goin to say hit now, and I want ye to listen." He 
 cleared his throat huskily. " Do ye know, Easter, 
 what folks in the mountains is a-sayin ?" 
 
 The girl s quick insight told her what was coming, 
 and her face hardened. 
 
 " Have ye ever knowcd me, Sherd Raines, to keer 
 what folks in the mountains say? I reckon ye mean 
 as how they air a-talkin about me ?" 
 
 " That s what I mean," said the mountaineer 
 "you V him." 
 
 " Whut air they a-sayin ?" she asked, defiantly. 
 Raines watched her narrowly. 
 
 " They air a-sayin as how he air a-comin up here 
 mighty often ; as how Easter Hicks, who hev never 
 keered fer no man, air in love with this furriner 
 from the settlemints." 
 
 The girl reddened, in spite of her assumed indif 
 ference. 
 
 " They say, too, as how he air not in love with her, 
 V that somebody oughter warn Easter that he air 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 43 
 
 not a-mcanin good to her. You hev been seen 
 a-walkin in the mountains together." 
 
 " Who s seed me ?" she asked, with quick suspi 
 cion. The mountaineer hesitated. 
 
 " I hev," he said, doggedly. 
 
 The girl s anger, which had been kindling against 
 her gossiping fellows, blazed out against Raines. 
 
 "You ve been watchin me," she said, angrily. 
 " Who give ye the right to do it ? What call hev ye 
 to come hyar and tell me whut folks is a-sayin ? Is 
 it any o yd 1 business? I want to tell ye, Sherd 
 Raines " her utterance grew thick " that I kin take 
 keer o myself ; that I don t keer what folks say ; V 
 I want ye to keep away from me. N ef I sees ye 
 a-hangin round V a-spyin , ye ll be sorry fer it." 
 Her eyes blazed, she had risen and drawn herself 
 straight, and her hands were clinched. 
 
 The mountaineer stood motionless. " Thar s an 
 other who s seed ye," he said, quietly " up thar," 
 pointing to a wooded mountain, the top of which was 
 lost in mist. The girl s attitude changed instantly 
 into vague alarm, and her eyes flashed upon Raines 
 as though they would sear their way into the mean 
 ing hidden in his quiet face. Gradually his motive 
 seemed to become clear, and she advanced a step tow 
 ards him. 
 
 " So you ve found out whar dad is a-hidin ?" she 
 said, her voice tremulous with rage and scorn. " N 
 ye air mean and sorry enough to come hyeh V tell 
 me ye ll give him up to the law ef I don t knuckle 
 down V do what ye wants me ?" 
 
 She paused a moment. Was her suspicion cor 
 rect? Why did he not speak? She did not really 
 
44 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 believe what she said. Could it be true ? Her nos 
 trils quivered ; she tried to speak again, but her 
 voice was choked with passion. With a sudden 
 movement she snatched her rifle from its place, and 
 the steel flashed in the moonlight and ceased in a 
 shining line straight at the mountaineer s breast. 
 
 " Look hyeh, Sherd Kaines," she said, in low, un 
 steady tones, " I know you air religious, V I know 
 as how, when y u give yer word, you ll do what you 
 say. Now, I want ye to hold up yer right hand and 
 sw ar that you ll never tell a livin soul that you know 
 whar dad is a-hidin ." 
 
 Raines did not turn his face, which was as emotion 
 less as stone. 
 
 " Air ye goin to sw ar ?" she asked, with fierce 
 impatience. Without looking at her, he began to 
 speak very slowly : 
 
 " Do ye think I m fool enough to try to gain yer 
 good-will by a-tellin on yer dad ? We were on the 
 mountains, him n me, n we seed ye V the f urriner. 
 Yer dad thought hit was a spy, n he whipped up 
 his gun n would a shot him dead in his tracks ef I 
 hadn t hindered him. Does that look like I wanted 
 to hurt the furriner ? I hev knowed yer dad was up 
 in the mountains all the time, n I hev been a-totin 
 things fer him to eat. Does that look like I wanted 
 to hand him over to the law ?" 
 
 The girl had let the rifle fall. Moving away, she 
 stood leaning on it in the shadow, looking down. 
 
 " You want to know what call I hev to watch ye, 
 n see that no harm comes to ye. Yer dad give me 
 the right. You know how he hates furriners, n ? 
 whut he would do ef he happened to run across this 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 45 
 
 furriner atter he has been drinkin . I m a-meddlin 
 because I hev told him that I am goin to take keer 
 o ye, V I mean to do it ef ye hates me fer it. I m 
 a-watchin ye, Easter," he continued, " V I want ye 
 to know it. I knowed the furriner begun comin 
 here cause ye air not like gals in the settlemints. 
 Y u air as cur us to him as one o them bugs an 
 sich-like that he s always a-pickin up in the woods. 
 I hevn t said nuthin to yer dad, fer fear o his 
 harmin the furriner ; but I hev seed that ye like him, 
 an hit s time now fer me to meddle. Ef he was in 
 love with ye, do ye think he would marry ye ? I hev 
 been in the settlemints. Folks thar air not as we 
 citizens air. They air bigoted V high-heeled, n 
 they look down on us. I tell ye, too n hit air fer 
 yer own good he air in love with somebody in the 
 settlemints. I hev heerd it, n I hev seed him 
 a-lookin at a picter in his room ez a man don t look 
 at his sister. They say hit s her. 
 
 " Thar s one thing more, Easter," he concluded, as 
 he stepped from the porch. " He is a-goin away. I 
 heard him say it yestiddy. What will ye do when 
 he s gone ef ye lets yerself git to thinkin so much of 
 him now ? I ve warned ye now, Easter, fer yer own 
 good, though ye mought think I m a-workin fer ray- 
 self. But I know I hev done whut I ought. I ve 
 warned ye, n ye kin do whut ye please, but I m 
 a-watchin ye." 
 
 The girl said nothing, but stood rigid, with eyes 
 wide open and face tense, as the mountaineer s steps 
 died away. She was bewildered by the confused 
 emotions that swayed her. Why had she not indig- 
 nantlv denied that she was in love with the " fur- 
 
46 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 riner " ? Raines had not hinted it as a suspicion. 
 He had spoken it outright as a fact, and he must 
 have thought that her silence confirmed it. He had 
 said that the " furriner " cared nothing for her, and 
 had dared to tell her that she was in love with him. 
 Her cheeks began to burn. She would call him 
 back and tell him that she cared no more for the 
 " furriner " than she did for him. She started from 
 the steps, but paused, straining her eyes through the 
 darkness. It was too late, and, with a helpless little 
 cry, she began pacing the porch. She had scarcely 
 heard what was said after the mountaineer s first ac 
 cusation, so completely had that enthralled her mind; 
 now fragments came back to her. There was some 
 thing about a picture ah ! she remembered that pict 
 ure. Passing through the camp one afternoon, she 
 had glanced in at a window and had seen a rifle once 
 her own. Turning in rapid wonder about the room, 
 her eye lighted upon a picture on a table near the 
 window. She had felt the refined beauty of the girl, 
 and it had impressed her with the same timidity 
 that Clayton had when she first knew him. Fasci 
 nated, she had looked till a movement in the room 
 made her shrink away. But the face had clung in 
 her memory ever since, and now it came before her 
 vividly. Clayton was in love with her. Well, what 
 did that matter to her ? 
 
 There was more that Raines said. " Goin away." 
 Raines meant the " furriner," of course. How did 
 he know ? Why had Clayton not told her ? She did 
 not believe it. But why not? He had once told her 
 that he would go away some time ; why not now ? 
 But why why did not Clayton tell her? Perhaps 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 47 
 
 he was going to her. She almost stretched out her 
 hands in a sudden, fierce desire to clutch the round 
 throat and sink her nails into the soft flesh that rose 
 before her mind. She had forgotten that he had ever 
 told her that he must go away, so little had it im 
 pressed her at the time. She had never thought of a 
 possible change in their relations or in their lives. 
 She tried to think what her life would be after he 
 was gone, and she was frightened ; she could not 
 imagine her old life resumed. When Clayton came, 
 it was as though she had risen from sleep in a dream, 
 and had lived in it thereafter without questioning its 
 reality. Into his hands she had delivered her life 
 and herself with the undoubting faith of a child. 
 She had never thought of their relations at all. Now 
 the awakening had come. The dream was shattered. 
 For the first time her eye was turned inward, where 
 a flood of light brought into terrible distinctness the 
 tumult that began to rage so suddenly within. 
 
 One hope only flashed into her brain perhaps 
 Raines was mistaken. But even then, if he were, 
 Clayton must go some time ; he had told her that. 
 On this fact every thought became centred. It was 
 no longer how he came, the richness of the new life 
 he had shown her, the barrenness of the old, Raines s 
 accusation, the shame of it the shame of being 
 pointed out and laughed at after Clayton s departure ; 
 it was no longer helpless wonder at the fierce emo 
 tions racking her for the first time : her whole being 
 was absorbed in the realization which slowly forced 
 itself into her heart and brain some day he must go 
 away ; some day she must lose him. She lifted her 
 hands to her head in a dazed, ineffectual way. The 
 
48 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 moonlight grew faint before her eyes; mountain, 
 sky, and mist were indistinguishably blurred ; and 
 the girl sank down upon her trembling knees, down 
 till she lay crouched on the floor with her tearless 
 face in her arms. 
 
 The moon rose high above her and sank down 
 the west. The shadows shortened and crept back 
 to the woods, night noises grew fainter, and the 
 mists floated up from the valley and clung around 
 the mountain-tops ; but she stirred only when a quer 
 ulous voice came from within the cabin. 
 
 "Easter," it said, " ef Sherd Raines air gone, y u 
 better come in to bed. Y u ve got a lot o work to 
 do to-morrer." 
 
 The voice called her to the homely duties that 
 had once filled her life and must fill it again. It 
 was a summons to begin anew a life that was dead, 
 and the girl lifted her haggard face in answer and 
 rose wearily. 
 
 VII 
 
 ON the following Sunday morning, when Clayton 
 walked up to the cabin, Easter and her mother were 
 seated in the porch. He called to them cheerily as 
 he climbed over the fence, but only the mother an 
 swered. Easter rose as he approached, and, with 
 out speaking, went within doors. He thought she 
 must be ill, so thin and drawn was her face, but her 
 mother said, carelessly, 
 
 " Oh, hit s only one o Easter s spells. She s been 
 sort o puny V triflin o late, but I reckon she ll be 
 all right ag in in a day or two." 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 49 
 
 As the girl did not appear again, Clayton conclud 
 ed that she was lying down, and went away without 
 seeing her. Her manner had seemed a little odd, 
 but, attributing that to illness, he thought nothing 
 further about it. To his surprise, the incident was 
 repeated, and thereafter, to his wonder, the girl 
 seemed to avoid him. Their intimacy was broken 
 sharply off. When Clayton was at the cabin, either 
 she did not appear or else kept herself busied with 
 household duties. Their studies ceased abruptly. 
 Easter had thrown her books into a corner, her 
 mother said, and did nothing but mope all day ; and 
 though she insisted that it was only one of the girl s 
 "spells," it was plain that something was wrong. 
 Easter s face remained thin and drawn, and acquired 
 gradually a hard, dogged, almost sullen look. She 
 spoke to Clayton rarely, and then only in monosylla 
 bles. She never looked him in the face, and if his 
 gaze rested intently on her, as she sat with eyes down 
 cast and hands folded, she seemed to know it at once. 
 Her face would color faintly, her hands fold and un 
 fold nervously, and sometimes she would rise and go 
 within. He had no opportunity of speaking with 
 her alone. She seemed to guard against that, and, 
 indeed, Raines s presence almost prevented it, for 
 the mountaineer was there always, and always now 
 the last to leave. He sat usually in the shadow of 
 the vine, and though his face was unseen, Clayton 
 could feel his eyes fixed upon him with an intensity 
 that sometimes made him nervous. The mountaineer 
 had evidently begun to misinterpret his visits to the 
 cabin. Clayton was regarded as a rival. In what 
 other light, indeed, could he appear to Raines? 
 
 4 
 
50 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 Friendly calls between young people of opposite sex 
 were rare in the mountains. When a young man 
 visited a young woman, his intentions were sup 
 posed to be serious. Raines was plainly jealous. 
 
 But Easter? What was the reason for her odd 
 behavior ? Could she, too, have misconstrued his 
 intentions as Raines had ? It was impossible. But 
 even if she had, his manner had in no wise changed. 
 Some one else had aroused her suspicions, and if 
 any one it must have been Raines. It was not the 
 mother, he felt sure. 
 
 For some time Clayton s mother and sister had 
 been urging him to make a visit home. He had 
 asked leave of absence, but it wa a busy time, and 
 he had delayed indefinitely. In a fortnight, how 
 ever, the stress of work would be over, and then he 
 meant to leave. During that fortnight he was 
 strangely troubled. He did not leave the camp, 
 but his mind was busied with thoughts of Easter 
 nothing but Easter. Time and again he had reviewed 
 their acquaintance minutely from the beginning, but 
 he could find no cause for the change in her. 
 When his work was done, he found himself climb 
 ing the mountain once more. He meant to solve the 
 mystery if possible. He would tell Easter that he 
 was going home. Surely she would betray some 
 feeling then. 
 
 At the old fence which he had climbed so often 
 he stopped, as was his custom, to rest a moment, 
 with his eyes on the wild beauty before him the 
 great valley, with mists floating from its gloomy 
 depths into the tremulous moonlight; far through 
 the radiant space the still, dark masses of the Cum- 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 51 
 
 berland lifted in majesty against the east ; and in 
 the shadow of the great cliff the vague outlines of 
 the old cabin, as still as the awful silence around it. 
 A light was visible, but he could hear no voices. 
 Still, he knew he would find the occupants seated 
 in the porch, held by that strange quiet which nat 
 ure imposes on those who dwell much alone with 
 her. He had not been to the cabin for several 
 weeks, and when he spoke Easter did not return 
 his greeting ; Raines nodded almost surlily, but from 
 the mother came, as always, a cordial welcome. 
 
 " I m mighty glad to see ye," she said ; " you 
 haven t been up fer a long time." 
 
 " No," answered Clayton ; " I have been very 
 busy getting ready to go home." He had watched 
 Easter closely as he spoke, but the girl did not lift 
 her face, and she betrayed no emotion, not even 
 surprise ; nor did Raines. Only the mother showed 
 genuine regret. The girl s apathy filled him with 
 bitter disappointment. She had relapsed into bar 
 barism again. He was a fool to think that in a few 
 months he could counteract influences that had been 
 moulding her character for a century. His purpose 
 had been unselfish. Curiosity, the girl s beauty, his 
 increasing power over her, had stimulated him, to 
 be sure, but he had been conscientious and earnest. 
 Somehow he was more than disappointed ; he was 
 hurt deeply, not only that he should have been so 
 misunderstood, but for the lack of gratitude in the girl. 
 He was bewildered. What could have happened? 
 Could Raines really have poisoned her mind against 
 him ? Would Easter so easily believe what might have 
 been said against him, and not allow him a hearing? 
 
62 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 " I ve been expecting to take a trip home for sev 
 eral weeks," he found himself saying a moment later ; 
 " I think I shall go to-morrow." 
 
 He hardly meant what he said ; a momentary pique 
 had forced the words from him, but, once spoken, 
 he determined to abide by them. Easter was stirred 
 from her lethargy at last, but Clayton s attention was 
 drawn to Raines s start of surprise, and he did not 
 see the girl s face agitated for an instant, nor her 
 hands nervously trembling in her lap. 
 
 " Ter-morrer !" cried the old woman. " Why, ye 
 most take my breath away. I declar , I m down 
 right sorry you re goin , I hev tuk sech a shine to 
 ye. I kind o think I ll miss ye more n Easter." 
 
 Raines s eyes turned to the girl, as did Clayton s. 
 Not a suggestion of color disturbed the pallor of the 
 girl s face, once more composed, and she said noth 
 ing. 
 
 " You re so jolly V lively," continued the mother, 
 " V ye allus hev so much to say. You air not like 
 Easter n Sherd hyar, who talk bout as much as two 
 stumps. I suppose I ll hev to sit up n talk to the 
 moon when you air gone." 
 
 The mountaineer rose abruptly, and, though he 
 spoke quietly, he could hardly control himself. 
 
 " Ez my company seems to be unwelcome to ye," 
 he said, " I kin take it away from ye, n I will." 
 
 Before the old woman could recover herself, he 
 was gone. 
 
 " Well," she ejaculated, " whut kin be the matter 
 with Sherd ? He hev got mighty cur us hyar of late, 
 n so hev Easter. All o ye been a-settin up hyar 
 ez ef you was at a buryin . I m a-goin to bed. 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 63 
 
 You V Easter kin set up long as ye please. I sup 
 pose you air comin back ag in to see us," she said, 
 turning to Clayton. 
 
 " I don t know," he answered. " I may not ; but 
 I shaVt forget you." 
 
 " Well, I wish ye good luck." Clayton shook 
 hands with her, and she went within doors. 
 
 The girl had risen, too, with her mother, and was 
 standing in the shadow. 
 
 " Good-bye, Easter," said Clayton, holding out his 
 hand. 
 
 As she turned he caught one glimpse of her face 
 in the moonlight, and its whiteness startled him. 
 Her hand was cold when he took it, and her voice 
 was scarcely audible as she faintly repeated his words. 
 She lifted her face as their hands were unclasped, 
 and her lips quivered mutely as if trying to speak ; 
 but he had turned to go. For a moment she watched 
 his darkening figure, and then with stifled breath 
 almost staggered into the cabin. 
 
 The road wound around the cliff and back again, 
 and as Clayton picked his way along it he was op 
 pressed by a strange uneasiness. Easter s face, as 
 he last saw it, lay in his mind like a keen reproach. 
 Could he have been mistaken ? Had he been too 
 hasty? He recalled the events of the evening. He 
 began to see that it was significant that Raines had 
 shown no surprise when he spoke of going home, 
 and yet had seemed almost startled by the sudden 
 ness of his departure. Perhaps the mountaineer 
 knew he was going. It was known at the camp. 
 If he knew, then Easter must have known. Per 
 haps she had felt hurt because he had not spoken 
 
64: A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 to her earlier. What might Raines not have told 
 her, and honestly, too? Perhaps he was uncon 
 sciously confirming all the mountaineer might have 
 said. He ought to have spoken to her. Perhaps 
 she could not speak to him. He wheeled suddenly 
 in the path to return to the cabin, and stopped still. 
 
 Something was hurrying down through the under 
 growth of the cliff-side which towered darkly behind 
 him. Nearer and nearer the bushes crackled as 
 though some hunted animal were flying for life 
 through them, and then through the laurel-hedge 
 burst the figure of a woman, who sank to the ground 
 in the path before him. The flash of yellow hair 
 and a white face in the moonlight told him who it 
 was. 
 
 " Easter, Easter !" he exclaimed, in sickening fear. 
 " My God ! is that you ? Why, what is the matter, 
 child ? What are you doing here ? T 
 
 He stooped above the sobbing girl, and pulled 
 away her hands from her face, tear-stained and 
 broken with pain. The limit of her self-repression 
 was reached at last ; the tense nerves, strained too 
 much, had broken ; and the passion, so long checked, 
 surged through her like fire. Ah, God ! what had 
 he done ? He saw the truth at last. In an impulse 
 of tenderness he lifted the girl to her feet and held 
 her, sobbirig uncontrollably, in his arms, with her 
 head against his breast, and his cheek on her hair, 
 soothing her as though she had been a child. 
 
 Presently she felt a kiss on her forehead. She 
 looked up with a sudden fierce joy in her eyes, and 
 their lips met. 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 55 
 
 VIII 
 
 CLAYTON shunned all self-questioning after that 
 night. Stirred to the depths by that embrace on 
 the mountain-side, he gave himself wholly up to the 
 love or infatuation he did not ask which that en 
 thralled him. Whatever it was, its growth had been 
 subtle and swift. There was in it the thrill that 
 might come from taming some wild creature that 
 had never known control, and the gentleness that to 
 any generous spirit such power would bring. These, 
 with the magnetism of the girl s beauty and person 
 ality, and the influence of her environment, he had 
 felt for a long time ; but now richer chords were set 
 vibrating in response to her great love, the struggle 
 she had against its disclosure, the appeal for tender 
 ness and protection in her final defeat. It was ideal, 
 he told himself, as he sank into the delicious dream ; 
 they two alone with nature, above all human life, 
 with its restraints, its hardships, its evils, its dis 
 tress. For them was the freedom of the open sky 
 lifting its dome above the mountains ; for them 
 nothing less kindly than the sun shining its bene 
 diction ; for their eyes only the changing beauties 
 of day and night ; for their ears no sound harsher 
 than the dripping of dew or a bird-song ; for them 
 youth, health, beauty, love. And it was primeval 
 love, the love of the first woman for the first man. 
 She knew no convention, no prudery, no doubt. Her 
 life was impulse, and her impulse was love. She 
 was the teacher now, and he the taught ; and he 
 stood in wonder when the plant he had tended 
 
66 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 flowered into such beauty in a single night. Ah, 
 the happy, happy days that followed ! The veil that 
 had for a long time been unfolding itself between 
 him and his previous life seemed to have almost 
 fallen, and they were left alone to their happiness. 
 The mother kept her own counsel. Raines had dis 
 appeared as though Death had claimed him. And 
 the dream lasted till a summons home broke into it 
 as the sudden flaring up of a candle will shatter a 
 reverie at twilight. 
 
 IX 
 
 THE summons was from his father, and was em 
 phatic ; and Clayton did not delay. The girl ac 
 cepted his departure with a pale face, but with a 
 quiet submission that touched him. Of Raines he 
 had seen nothing and heard nothing since the night 
 he had left the cabin in anger ; but as he came down 
 the mountain after bidding Easter good-bye, he was 
 startled by the mountaineer stepping from the bush 
 es into the path. 
 
 " Ye air a-goin home, I hear," he said, quietly. 
 
 " Yes," answered Clayton ; " at midnight." 
 
 " Well, I ll walk down with ye a piece, ef ye don t 
 mind. Hit s not out o my way." 
 
 As he spoke his face was turned suddenly to the 
 moonlight. The lines in it had sunk deeper, giving 
 it almost an aged look ; the eyes were hollow as from 
 physical suffering or from fasting. He preceded 
 Clayton down the path, with head bent, and saying 
 nothing till they reached the spur of the mountain. 
 Then in the same voice : 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 57 
 
 " I want to talk to ye awhile, V I d like to hev 
 ye step inter my house. I don t mean ye no harm," 
 he added, quickly, " V hit ain t fer." 
 
 " Certainly," said Clayton. 
 
 The mountaineer turned into the woods by a nar 
 row path, and soon the outlines of a miserable lit 
 tle hut were visible through the dark woods. Raines 
 thrust the door open. The single room was dark 
 except for a few dull coals in a gloomy cavern which 
 formed the fireplace, 
 
 " Sit down, ef ye kin find a cheer," said Raines, 
 "V I ll fix up the fire." 
 
 "Do you live here alone?" asked Clayton. He 
 could hear the keen, smooth sound of the mountain 
 eer s knife going through wood. 
 
 " Yes," he answered ; " f er five year." 
 
 The coals brightened ; tiny flames shot from them ; 
 in a moment the blaze caught the dry fagots, and 
 shadows danced over floor, wall, and ceiling, and van 
 ished as the mountaineer rose from his knees. The 
 room was as bare as the cell of a monk. A rough 
 bed stood in one corner ; a few utensils hung near 
 the fireplace, wherein were remnants of potatoes 
 roasting in the ashes, and close to the wooden shut 
 ter which served as a window was a board table. On 
 it lay a large book a Bible a pen, a bottle of ink, 
 and a piece of paper on which were letters traced 
 with great care and difficulty. The mountaineer 
 did not sit down, but began pacing the floor be 
 hind Clayton. Clayton moved his chair, and Raines 
 seemed unconscious of his presence as with eyes 
 on the floor he traversed the narrow width of the 
 cabin. 
 
58 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 "Y u hevn t seed me up on the mount in lately, 
 hev ye ?" he asked. " I reckon ye hevn t missed 
 me much. Do ye know whut I ve been doin ?" he 
 said, with sudden vehemence, stopping still and 
 resting his eyes, which glowed like an animal s from 
 the darkened end of the cabin, on Clayton. 
 
 "I ve been tryin to keep from killin ye. Oh, 
 don t move don t fear now ; ye air as safe as ef 
 ye were down in the camp. I seed ye that night on 
 the mount in," he continued, pacing rapidly back and 
 forth. " I was waitin fer ye. I meant to tell ye 
 jest whut I m goin to tell ye ter-night ; V when 
 Easter come a-tearin through the bushes, V I seed 
 ye ye a-standin together" the words seemed to 
 stop in his throat " I knowed I was too late. 
 
 " I sot thar fer a minute like a rock, V when ye 
 two went back up the mount in, before I knowed it I 
 was hyar in the house thar at the fire mouldin a bul 
 let to kill ye with as ye come back. All to oncet I 
 heerd a voice plain as my own is at this minute : 
 
 " Air you a-thinkin bout takin the life of a fel- 
 low-creatur, Sherd Raines you thet air tryin to be 
 a servant o the Lord ? 
 
 " But I kept on a-mouldin , V suddenly I seed ye 
 a-layin in the road dead, V the heavens opened, V 
 the face o the Lord was thar, n he raised his hand 
 to smite me with the brand o Cain n look thar !" 
 
 Clayton had sat spellbound by the terrible earnest 
 ness of the man, and as the mountaineer swept his 
 dark hair back with one hand, he rose in sudden 
 horror. Across the mountaineer s forehead ran a 
 crimson scar yet unhealed. Could he have inflicted 
 upon himself this fearful penance? 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 59 
 
 " Oh, it was only the moulds. I seed it all so plain 
 that I throwed up my hands, fergittin the moulds, V 
 the hot lead struck me thar ; but," he continued, sol 
 emnly, " I knowed the Lord hed tuk that way o pun- 
 ishin me fer the sin o havin murder in my mind, V I 
 fell on my knees right thar a-prayin fer f ergiveness : 
 V since that night I hev stayed away from ye till the 
 Lord give me power to stand ag in the temptation 
 o harrain ye. He hev showed me another way, 
 V now I hev come to ye as he hev tol me. I 
 hevn t tol ye this fernothin . Y u kin see now whut 
 I think o Easter, ef I was tempted to take the life o 
 the man who tuk her from me, V I reckon ye will 
 say I ve got the right to ax ye whut I m a-goin to. 
 I hev knowed the gal sence she was a baby. We 
 was children together, and thar hain t no use hidin 
 that I never keered a straw fer anuther woman. She 
 used to be mighty wilful V contrary, but as soon as 
 you come I seed at oncet that a change was comin 
 over her. I mistrusted ye, V I warned her ag in 
 ye. But when I 1 arned that ye was a-teachin her, 
 and a-doin whut I had tried my best to do V 
 failed, I let things run along, thinkin that mebbe 
 ever thing would come out right, after all. Mebbe hit 
 air all right, but I come to ye now, V I ax ye in the 
 name of the livin God, who is a-watchin you V a-guid- 
 in me, air ye goin to leave the po gal to die sorrowin 
 fer ye, or do ye aim to come back n marry her ?" 
 
 Raines had stopped now in the centre of the 
 cabin, and the shadows flickering slowly over him 
 gave an unearthly aspect to his tall, gaunt figure, as 
 he stood with uplifted arm, pale face, glowing eyes, 
 and disordered hair. 
 
60 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 " The gal hasn t got no protecter her dad, as you 
 know, is a-hidin from jestice in the mount ins and 
 I m a-standin in his place, V I ax ye to do only 
 whut you know ye ought." 
 
 There was nothing threatening in the mountain 
 eer s attitude, nor dictatorial; and Clayton felt his 
 right to say what he had, in spite of a natural im 
 pulse to resent such interference. Besides, there 
 sprang up in his heart a sudden great admiration 
 for this rough, uncouth fellow who was capable of 
 such unselfishness ; who, true to the trust of her 
 father and his God, was putting aside the strong 
 est passion of his life for what he believed was 
 the happiness of the woman who had inspired it. 
 He saw, too, that the sacrifice was made with per 
 fect unconsciousness that it was unusual or admi 
 rable. He rose to his feet, and the two men faced 
 each other. 
 
 " If you had told me this long ago," said^Clayton, 
 " I should have gone away ; but you seemed distrust 
 ful and suspicious. I did not expect the present 
 state of affairs to come about, but since it has, I tell 
 you frankly that I have never thought of doing any 
 thing else than what you have asked." 
 
 And he told the truth, for he had already asked 
 himself that question. Why should he not marry 
 her ? He must in all probability stay in the moun 
 tains for years, and after that time he would not be 
 ashamed to take her home, so strong was his belief 
 in her quickness and adaptability. 
 
 Raines seemed scarcely to believe what he heard. 
 He had not expected such ready acquiescence. He 
 had almost begun to fear from Clayton s silence that 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 61 
 
 he was going to refuse, and then God knows what 
 he would have done. 
 
 Instantly he stretched out his hand. 
 
 " I hev done ye great wrong, V I ax yer pardin," 
 he said, huskily. " I want to say-that I bear ye no 
 gredge, V thet I wish ye well. 1 hope ye won t 
 think hard on me," he continued ; " I hev had a hard 
 fight with the devil as long as I can ricolect. I hev 
 turned back time V ag in, but thar hain t nothin 
 ter keep me from goin straight ahead now." 
 
 As Clayton left the cabin, the mountaineer stopped 
 him for a moment on the threshold. 
 
 "Thar s another thing I reckon I ought to tell 
 ye," he said ; " Easter s dad air powerfully sot ag in 
 ye. He thought ye was an officer at fust, V hit was 
 hard to git him out o the idee thet ye was spyin 
 fer him ; V when he seed ye goin to the house, he 
 got it inter his head that ye mought be meanin 
 harm to Easter, who air the only thing alive thet he 
 keers fer much. He promised not to tech ye, n I 
 knowed he would keep his word as long as he was 
 sober. It 11 be all right now, I reckon," he conclud 
 ed, " when I tell him whut ye aims to do, though he 
 hev got a spite ag in all furriners. Far well ! I wish 
 ye well ; I wish ye well." 
 
 An hour later Clayton was in Jellico. It was 
 midnight when the train came in, and he went imme 
 diately to his berth. Striking the curtain accident 
 ally, he loosed it from its fastenings, and, doubling 
 the pillows, he lay looking out on the swiftly pass 
 ing landscape. The moon was full and brilliant, and 
 there was a strange, keen pleasure in being whirled 
 in such comfort through the night. The mists al- 
 
62 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 most hid the mountains. They seemed very, very 
 far away. A red star trembled in the crest of Wolf 
 Mountain. Easter s cabin must be almost under that 
 star. He wondered if she were asleep. Perhaps 
 she was out on the porch, lonely, suffering, and think 
 ing of him. He felt her kiss and her tears upon his 
 hand. Did he not love her ? Could there be any 
 doubt about that ? His thoughts turned to Raines, 
 and he saw the mountaineer in his lonely cabin, sit 
 ting with his head bowed in his hands in front of 
 the dying fire. He closed his eyes, and another 
 picture rose before him a scene at home. He had 
 taken Easter to New York. How brilliant the light ! 
 what warmth and luxury ! There stood his father, 
 there his mother. What gracious dignity they had ! 
 Here was his sister what beauty and elegance and 
 grace of manner ! But Easter ! Wherever she was 
 placed the other figures needed readjustment. There 
 was something irritably incongruous Ah ! now he 
 had it his mind grew hazy he was asleep. 
 
 DURING the weeks that followed, some malignant 
 spirit seemed to be torturing him with a slow reali 
 zation of all he had lost ; taunting him with the pos 
 sibility of regaining it and the certainty of losing it 
 forever. 
 
 As he stepped from the dock at Jersey City 
 the fresh sea wind had thrilled him like a memory, 
 and his pulses leaped instantly into sympathy with 
 the tense life that vibrated in the air. He seemed 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 63 
 
 never to have been away so long, and never had 
 home seemed so pleasant. His sister had grown 
 more beautiful ; his mother s quiet, noble face was 
 smoother and fairer than it had been for years ; and 
 despite the absence of his father, who had been hast 
 ily summoned to England, there was an air of cheer 
 fulness in the house that was in marked contrast to 
 its gloom when Clayton was last at home. He had 
 been quickened at once into a new appreciation of 
 the luxury and refinement about him, arid he soon 
 began to wonder how he had inured himself to the 
 discomforts and crudities of his mountain life. Old 
 habits easily resumed sway over him. At the club 
 friend and acquaintance were so unfeignedly glad to 
 see him that he began to suspect that his own inner 
 gloom had darkened their faces after his father s 
 misfortune. Day after day found him in his favor 
 ite corner at the club, watching the passing pageant 
 and listening eagerly to the conversational froth of 
 the town the gossip of club, theatre, and society. 
 His ascetic life in the mountains gave to every pleas 
 ure the taste of inexperience. His early youth seemed 
 renewed, so keen and fresh were his emotions. He 
 felt, too, that he was recovering a lost identity, and 
 still the new one that had grown around him would 
 not loosen its hold. He had told his family noth 
 ing of Easter why, he could scarcely have said 
 and the difficulty of telling increased each day. His 
 secret began to weigh heavily upon him ; and though 
 he determined to unburden himself on his father s 
 return, he was troubled with a vague sense of decep 
 tion. When he went to receptions with his sister, 
 this sense of a double identity was keenly felt amid 
 
64 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 the lights, the music, the flowers, the flash of eyes 
 and white necks and arms, the low voices, the polite, 
 clear-cut utterances of welcome and compliment. 
 
 Several times he had met a face for which he had 
 once had a boyish infatuation. Its image had never 
 been supplanted during his student career, but he 
 had turned from it as from a star when he came 
 home and found that his life was to be built with his 
 own hands. Now the girl had grown to gracious 
 womanhood, and when he saw her he was thrilled 
 with the remembrance that she had once favored 
 him above all others. One night a desire assailed 
 him to learn upon what footing he then stood. He 
 had yielded, and she gave him a kindly welcome. 
 They had drifted to reminiscence, and Clayton 
 went home that night troubled at heart and angry 
 that he should be so easily disturbed ; surprised 
 that the days were passing so swiftly, and pained 
 that they were filled less and less with thoughts of 
 Easter. With a pang of remorse and fear, he deter 
 mined to go back to the mountains as soon as his 
 father came home. He knew the effect of habit. He 
 would forget these pleasures felt so keenly now, as 
 he had once forgotten them, and he would leave be 
 fore their hold upon him was secure. 
 
 Knowing the danger that beset him, Puritan that 
 he was, he had avoided it all he could. He even 
 stopped his daily visits to the club, and spent most 
 of his time at home with his mother and sister. Once 
 only, to his bitter regret, was he induced to go out. 
 Wagner s tidal wave had reached New York; it was 
 the opening night of the season, and the opera was 
 one that he had learned to love in Germany. The 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 65 
 
 very brilliancy of the scene threw him into gloom, so 
 aloof did he feel from it all the great theatre aflame 
 with lights, the circling tiers of faces, the pit with 
 its hundred musicians, their eyes on the leader, who 
 stood above them with baton upraised and German 
 face already aglow. 
 
 }n his student days he had loved music, but he 
 had little more than trifled with it ; now, strange 
 ly enough, his love, even his understanding, seemed 
 to have grown ; and when the violins thrilled all the 
 vast space into life, he was shaken as with a passion 
 newly born. All the evening he sat riveted. A rush 
 of memories came upon him memories of his stu 
 dent life with its dreams and ideals of culture and 
 scholarship, which rose from his past again like 
 phantoms. In the elevation of the moment the triv 
 ial pleasures that had been tempting him became 
 mean and unworthy. With a pang of bitter regret 
 he saw himself as he might have been, as he yet 
 might be. 
 
 A few days later his father came home, and his 
 distress of mind was complete. Clayton need stay 
 in the mountains but little longer, he said ; he was 
 fast making up his losses, and he had hoped after 
 his trip to England to have Clayton at once in New 
 York ; but now he had best wait perhaps another 
 year. Then had come a struggle that racked heart 
 and brain. All he had ever had was before him 
 again. Could it be his duty to shut himself from 
 this life his natural heritage to stifle the highest 
 demands of his nature ? Was he seriously in love 
 with that mountain girl ? Had he indeed ever been 
 sure of himself? If, then, he did not love her be- 
 
 5 
 
66 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 yond all question, would he not wrong himself, wrong 
 her, by marrying her ? Ah, but might he not wrong 
 her, wrong himself even more ? He was bound to 
 her by every tie that his sensitive honor recognized 
 among the duties of one human being to another. 
 He had sought her; he had lifted her above her own 
 life. If one human being had ever put its happiness 
 in the hands of another, that had been done. If he 
 had not deliberately taught her to love him, he had 
 not tried to prevent it. He could not excuse him 
 self ; the thought of gaining her affection had oc 
 curred to him, and he had put it aside. There was no 
 excuse ; for when she gave her love, he had accepted 
 it, and, as far as she knew, had given his own unre 
 servedly. Ah, that fatal moment of weakness, that 
 night on the mountain - side ! Could he tell her, 
 could he tell Raines, the truth, and ask to be released ? 
 What could Easter with her devotion, and Raines 
 with his singleness of heart, know of this substitute 
 for love which civilization had taught him ? Or, 
 granting that they could understand, he might return 
 home ; but Easter what was left for her ? 
 
 It was useless to try to persuade himself that her 
 love would fade away, perhaps quickly, and leave no 
 scar ; that Raines would in time win her for himself, 
 his first idea of their union be realized, and, in the 
 end, all happen for the best. That might easily be 
 possible with a different nature under different con 
 ditions a nature less passionate, in contact with the 
 world and responsive to varied interests ; but not 
 with Easter alone with a love that had shamed 
 him, with mountain, earth, and sky unchanged, and 
 the vacant days marked only by a dreary round of 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 67 
 
 wearisome tasks. He remembered Raines s last words 
 "Air ye goin to leave the po gal to die sorrowin 
 fer ye ?" What happiness would be possible for 
 him with that lonely mountain -top and the white 
 drawn face forever haunting him ? 
 
 That very night a letter came, with a rude super 
 scription the first from Easter. Within it was a 
 poor tintype, from which Easter s eyes looked shyly 
 at him. Before he left he had tried in vain to get 
 her to the tent of an itinerant photographer. During 
 his absence, she had evidently gone of her own ac 
 cord. The face was very beautiful, and in it was an 
 expression of questioning, modest pride. " Aren t 
 you surprised ?" it seemed to say " and pleased ?" 
 Only the face, with its delicate lines, and the throat 
 and the shoulders were visible. She looked almost 
 refined. And the note it was badly spelled and writ 
 ten with great difficulty, but it touched him. She 
 was lonely, she said, and she wanted him to come 
 back. Lonely that cry was in each line. 
 
 His response to this was an instant resolution to 
 go back at once, and, sensitive and pliant as his nat 
 ure was, there was no hesitation for him when his 
 duty was clear and a decision once made. With 
 great care and perfect frankness he had traced the 
 history of his infatuation in a letter to his father, to 
 be communicated when the latter chose to his moth 
 er and sister. Now he was nearing the mountains 
 again. 
 
68 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 XI 
 
 THE journey to the mountains was made with a 
 heavy heart. In his absence everything seemed to 
 have suffered a change. Jellico had never seemed so 
 
 O 
 
 small, so coarse, so wretched as when he stepped 
 from the dusty train and saw it lying dwarfed and 
 shapeless in the afternoon sunlight. The State line 
 bisects the straggling streets of frame-houses. On 
 the Kentucky side an extraordinary spasm of mo 
 rality had quieted into local option. Just across the 
 way in Tennessee was a row of saloons. It was 
 " pay-day " for the miners, and the worst element of 
 all the mines was drifting in to spend the following 
 Sabbath in unchecked vice. Several rough, brawny 
 fellows were already staggering from Tennessee into 
 Kentucky, and around one saloon hung a crowd of 
 slatternly negroes, men and women. Heartsick with 
 disgust, Clayton hurried into the lane that wound 
 through the valley. Were these hovels, he asked him 
 self in wonder, the cabins he once thought so poetic, 
 so picturesque ? How was it that they suggested now 
 only a pitiable poverty of life ? From each, as he 
 passed, came a rough, cordial shout of greeting. 
 Why was he jarred so strangely ? Even nature had 
 changed. The mountains seemed stunted, less beau 
 tiful. The light, streaming through the western gap 
 with all the splendor of a mountain sunset, no longer 
 thrilled him. The moist fragrance of the earth at 
 twilight, the sad pipings of birds by the wayside, the 
 faint, clear notes of a wood - thrush his favorite 
 from the edge of the forest, even the mid-air song of 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 69 
 
 a meadow - lark above his head, were unheeded as, 
 with face haggard with thought and travel, he turned 
 doggedly from the road and up the mountain towards 
 Easter s home. The novelty and ethnological zeal 
 that had blinded him to the disagreeable phases of 
 mountain life were gone ; so was the pedestal from 
 which he had descended to make a closer study of 
 the people. For he felt now that he had gone among 
 them with an unconscious condescension ; his inter 
 est seemed now to have been little more than curios 
 ity a pastime to escape brooding over his own 
 change of fortune. And with Easter ah, how pain 
 fully clear his mental vision had grown ! Was it the 
 tragedy of wasting possibilities that had drawn him 
 to her to help her or was it his own miserable self 
 ishness, after all ? 
 
 No one was visible when he reached the cabin. 
 The calm of mountain and sky enthralled it as com 
 pletely as the cliff that towered behind it. The day 
 still lingered, and the sunlight rested lightly on each 
 neighboring crest. As he stepped upon the porch 
 there was a slight noise within the cabin, and, peer 
 ing into the dark interior, he called Easter s name. 
 There was no answer, and he sank wearily into a 
 chair, his thoughts reverting homeward. By this 
 time his mother and sister must know why he had 
 come back to the mountains. He could imagine 
 their consternation and grief. Perhaps that was 
 only the beginning ; he might be on the eve of caus 
 ing them endless unhappiness. He had thought to 
 involve them as little as possible by remaining in the 
 mountains ; but the thought of living there was now 
 intolerable in the new relations he would sustain to 
 
70 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 the people. What should he do? where go? As he 
 bent forward in perplexity, there was a noise again 
 in the cabin this time the stealthy tread of feet 
 and before he could turn, a rough voice vibrated 
 threateningly in his ears : 
 
 " Say who ye air, and what yer business is, mighty 
 quick, er ye hain t got a minute to live." 
 
 Clayton looked up, and to his horror saw the 
 muzzle of a rifle pointed straight at his head. At 
 the other end of it, and standing in the door, was a 
 short, stocky figure, a head of bushy hair, and a pair 
 of small, crafty eyes. The fierceness and suddenness 
 of the voice, in the great silence about him, and its 
 terrible earnestness, left him almost paralyzed. 
 
 " Come, who air ye ? Say quick, and don t move, 
 nother." 
 
 Clayton spoke his name with difficult} . The butt 
 of the rifle dropped to the floor, and with a harsh 
 laugh its holder advanced to him with hand out 
 stretched : 
 
 " So ye air Easter s feller, air ye ? Well, I m yer 
 dad that s to be. Shake." 
 
 Clayton shuddered. Good heavens ! this was East 
 er s father ! More than once or twice, his name had 
 never been mentioned at the cabin. 
 
 " I tuk ye fer a raider," continued the old moun 
 taineer, not noticing Clayton s repulsion, " n ef ye 
 had a been, ye wouldn t be nobody now. I reckon 
 Easter hain t told ye much about me, n I reckon she 
 hev a right to be a leetle ashamed of me. I had a 
 leetle trouble down thar in the valley I s pose you ve 
 heerd about it n I ve had to keep kind o quiet. 
 I seed ye once afore, n I come near shootin ye, 
 
DAD 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 thinkin ye was a raider. Am mighty glad I didn t, 
 fer Easter is powerful sot on ye. Sherd thought I 
 could resk comin down to the weddin . They hev 
 kind o give up the s arch, n none o the boys won t 
 tell on me. We ll hev an old-timer, I tell ye. Ye 
 folks from the scttlemints air mighty high-heeled, 
 but old Bill Hicks don t allus go bar footed. He kin 
 step purty high, n he s a-goin to do it at that 
 weddin . Hev somefin ?" he asked, suddenly pull 
 ing out a flask of colorless liquid. " Ez ye air to be 
 one o the fambly, I don t mind tellin ye thar s the 
 very moonshine that caused the leetle trouble down 
 in the valley." 
 
 For fear of giving offence, Clayton took a swallow 
 of the liquid, which burned him like fire. He had 
 scarcely recovered from the first shock, and he had 
 listened to the man and watched him with a sort of 
 enthralling fascination. He was Easter s father. He 
 could even see a faint suggestion of Easter s face in 
 the cast of the features before him, coarse and de 
 graded as they were. He had the same nervous, im 
 petuous quickness, and, horrified by the likeness^ 
 Clayton watched him sink back into a chair, pipe in 
 mouth, and relapse into a stolidity that seemed in 
 capable of the energy and fire shown scarcely a mo 
 ment before. His life in the mountains had made 
 him as shaggy as some wild animal. He was coat- 
 less, and his trousers of jeans were upheld by a 
 single home-made suspender. His beard was yet 
 scarcely touched with gray, and his black, lustreless 
 hair fell from under a round hat of felt with ragged 
 edges and uncertain color. The mountaineer did 
 not speak again until; with great deliberation and 
 
72 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 care, he had filled a cob pipe. Then he bent his 
 sharp eyes upon Clayton so fixedly that the latter let 
 his own fall. 
 
 "Mebbe ye don t know that I m ag in furriners," 
 he said, abruptly, " all o ye ; V ef the Lord hisself 
 hed a tol me thet my gal would be a-marryin one, 
 I wouldn t a believed him. But Sherd hev tol me 
 ye air all right, V ef Sherd says ye air, why, ye air, 
 I reckon, V I hevn t got nothin to say ; though I 
 hev got a heap ag in ye all o ye." 
 
 His voice had a hint of growing anger under the 
 momentary sense of his wrongs, and, not wishing to 
 incense him further, Clayton said nothing. 
 
 "Ye air back a little sooner than ye expected, 
 ain t ye ?" he asked, presently, with an awkward 
 effort at good -humor. "I reckon ye air gittin 
 anxious. Well, we hev been gittin ready fer ye, V 
 you n Easter kin hitch ez soon ez ye please. Sherd 
 Raines air goin to do the marryin . He air the best 
 friend I got. Sherd was a-courtin the gal, too, but 
 he hevn t got no gredge ag in ye, V he hev promised 
 to tie ye. Sherd air a preacher now. He hev just 
 got his license. He didn t want to do it, but I told 
 him he had to. We ll hev the biggest weddin ever 
 seed in these mountains, I tell ye. Any o yo folks 
 be on hand ?" 
 
 " No," answered Clayton, soberly, " I think not." 
 
 " Well, I reckon we kin fill up the house." 
 
 Clayton s heart sank at the ordeal of a wedding 
 
 with such a master of ceremonies. He was about 
 
 to ask where Easter and her mother were, when, 
 
 to his relief, he saw them both in the path below, 
 
 approaching the house. The girl was carrying a 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 73 
 
 bucket of water on her head. Once he would have 
 thought her picturesque, but now it pained him to 
 see her doing such rough work. When she saw 
 him, she gave a cry of surprise and delight that 
 made Clayton tingle with remorse. Then running 
 to him with glowing face, she stopped suddenly, 
 and, with a look down at her bare feet and soiled 
 gown, fled into the cabin. Clayton followed, but the 
 room was so dark he could see nothing. 
 
 " Easter !" he called. There was no answer, but he 
 was suddenly seized about the neck by a pair of un 
 seen arms and kissed by unseen lips twice in fierce 
 succession, and before he could turn and clasp the 
 girl she was laughing softly in the next room, 
 with a barred door between them. Clayton waited 
 patiently several minutes, and then asked : 
 
 " Easter, aren t you ready ?" 
 
 " Not yit not yet /" She corrected herself with 
 such vehemence that Clayton laughed. She came 
 out presently, and blushed when Clayton looked her 
 over from head to foot with astonishment. She was 
 simply and prettily dressed in white muslin ; a blue 
 ribbon was about her throat, and her hair was 
 gathered in a Psyche knot that accented the classi 
 cism of her profile. Her appearance was really re 
 fined and tasteful. When they went out on the 
 porch he noticed that her hands had lost their tanned 
 appearance. Her feet were slippered, and she wore 
 black stockings. He remembered the book of fashion- 
 plates he had once sent her; it was that that had 
 quickened her instinct of dress. He said nothing, 
 but the happy light in Easter s face shone brighter 
 as she noted his pleased and puzzled gaze. 
 
74 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 "Why, ye look like another man," said Easter s 
 mother, who had been looking Clayton over with a 
 quizzical smile. " Is that the way folks dress out in 
 the settlemints? N look at that gal. Ef she hev 
 done anythin sence ye hev been gone but " The 
 rest of the sentence was smothered in the palm of 
 Easter s hand, and she too began scrutinizing Clay 
 ton closely. The mountaineer said nothing, and af 
 ter a curious glance at Easter resumed his pipe. 
 
 "You look like a pair o butterflies," said the 
 mother when released. " Sherd oughter be mighty 
 proud of his first marryin . I s pose ye know he air 
 a preacher now ? Ye oughter heerd him preach last 
 Sunday. It was his fust time. The way he lighted 
 inter the furriners was a caution. He lowed he 
 was a-goin to fight cyard-playin and dancin ez long 
 ez he hed breath." 
 
 " Yes ; V thar s whar Sherd air a fool. I m ag in 
 furriners, too, but thar hain t no harm in dancin , n 
 thar s goin to be dancin at this weddin ef I m 
 alive." 
 
 1 Easter shrank perceptibly when her father spoke, 
 and looked furtively at Clayton, who winced, in spite 
 of himself, as the rough voice grated in his ear. 
 Instantly her face grew unhappy, and contained an 
 appeal for pardon that he was quick to understand 
 and appreciate. Thereafter he concealed his repul 
 sion, and treated the rough bear so affably that 
 Easter s eyes grew moist with gratitude. 
 
 Darkness was gathering in the valley below when 
 he rose to go. Easter had scarcely spoken to him, 
 but her face and her eyes, fixed always upon him, 
 were eloquent with joy. Once as she passed behind 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 75 
 
 him her hand rested with a timid, caressing touch 
 upon his shoulder, and now, as he walked away from 
 the porch, she called him back. He turned, and she 
 had gone into the house. 
 
 " What is it, Easter ?" he asked, stepping into the 
 dark room. His hand was grasped in both her own 
 and held tremblingly. 
 
 " Don t mind dad," she whispered, softly. Some 
 thing warm and moist fell upon his hand as she un 
 loosed it, and she was gone. 
 
 That night he wrote home in a better frame of 
 mind. The charm of the girl s personality had as 
 serted its power again, and hopes that had almost 
 been destroyed by his trip home were rekindled by 
 her tasteful appearance, her delicacy of feeling, and 
 by her beauty, which he had not overrated. He 
 asked that his sister might meet him in Louisville 
 after the wedding whenever that should be. They 
 two could decide then what should be done. His 
 own idea was to travel ; and so great was his confi 
 dence in Easter, he believed that, in time, he could 
 take her to New York without fear. 
 
 XII 
 
 IT was plain that Raines to quiet the old man s 
 uneasiness, perhaps had told him of his last meet 
 ing with Clayton, and that, during the absence of the 
 latter, some arrangements for the wedding had been 
 made, even by Easter, who in her trusting innocence 
 had perhaps never thought of any other end to their 
 relations. In consequence, there was an unprece- 
 
76 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 dented stir among the mountaineers. The marriage 
 of a " citizen " with a " f urriner " was an unprece 
 dented event, and the old mountaineer, who began 
 to take some pride in the alliance, emphasized it at 
 every opportunity. 
 
 At the mines Clayton s constant visits to the 
 mountain were known to everybody, but little atten 
 tion had been paid to them. Now, however, when 
 the rumor of the wedding seemed confirmed by his 
 return and his silence, every one was alert with a 
 curiosity so frankly shown that he soon became 
 eager to get away from the mountains. Accordingly, 
 he made known his wish to Easter s parents that the 
 marriage should take place as soon as possible. 
 Both received the suggestion with silent assent. 
 Then had followed many difficulties. Only as a 
 great concession to the ideas and customs of " f urrin- 
 ers" would the self-willed old mountaineer agree 
 that the ceremony should take place at night, and 
 that after the supper and the dance, the two should 
 leave Jellico at daybreak. Mountain marriages were 
 solemnized in the daytime, and wedding journeys were 
 unknown. The old man did not understand why 
 Clayton should wish to leave the mountains, and the 
 haste of the latter seemed to give him great offence. 
 When Clayton had ventured to suggest, instead, that 
 the marriage should be quiet, and that he and Easter 
 should remain on the mountain a few days before 
 leaving, he fumed with anger; and thereafter any 
 suggestion from the young engineer was met with a 
 suspicion that looked ominous. Raines was away on 
 his circuit, and would not return until just before the 
 wedding, so that from him Clayton could get no 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 77 
 
 help. Very wisely, then, he interfered no more, but 
 awaited the day with dread. 
 
 It was nearing dusk when he left the camp on his 
 wedding -night. Half-way up the mountain he 
 stopped to lean against the kindly breast of a bowl 
 der blocking the path. It was the spot where he 
 had seen Easter for the first time. The mountains 
 were green again, as they were then, but the scene 
 seemed sadly changed. The sun was gone ; the 
 evening-star had swung its white light like a censer 
 above Devil s Den ; the clouds were moving swiftly 
 through the darkening air, like a frightened flock 
 seeking a fold ; and the night was closing fast over 
 the cluster of faint camp-fires. The spirit brooding 
 over mountain and sky was unspeakably sad, and 
 with a sharp pain at his heart Clayton turned from 
 it and hurried on. Mountain, sky, and valley were 
 soon lost in the night. When he reached the cabin 
 rays of bright light were flashing from chink and 
 crevice into the darkness, and from the kitchen came 
 the sounds of busy preparation. Already many 
 guests had arrived. A group of men who stood 
 lazily talking in the porch became silent as he ap 
 proached, but, recognizing none of them, he entered 
 the cabin. A dozen women were seated about the 
 room, and instantly their eyes were glued upon him. 
 As the kitchen door swung open he saw Easter s 
 mother bending over the fireplace, a table already 
 heavily laden, and several women bustling about it. 
 Above his head he heard laughter, a hurried tramp 
 ing of feet, and occasional cries of surprise and de 
 light. He paused at the threshold, hardly knowing 
 what to do, and when he turned a titter from one 
 
78 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 corner showed that his embarrassment was seen. 
 On the porch he was seized by Easter s father, who 
 drew him back into the room. The old mountaineer s 
 face was flushed, and he had been drinking heavily. 
 
 " Oh, hyar ye air !" he exclaimed. " You re rio;ht 
 on hand, hain t ye? Hyar, Bill," he called, thrusting 
 his head out of the door, "you V Jim V Milt come 
 in hyar." Three awkward young mountaineers en 
 tered. " These fellers air goin to help ye." 
 
 They were to be his ushers. Clayton shook 
 hands with them gravely. 
 
 " Oh, we air about ready fer ye, V we air only 
 waitin fer Sherd and the folks to come," continued the 
 mountaineer, jubilantly, winking significantly at Clay 
 ton and his attendants, who stood about him at the 
 fireplace. Clayton shook his head firmly, but the 
 rest followed Hicks, who turned at the door and re 
 peated the invitation with a frowning face. Clayton 
 was left the focus of feminine eyes, whose unwaver 
 ing directness kept his own gaze on the floor. Peo 
 ple began to come in rapidly, most of whom he had 
 never seen before. The room was filled, save for a 
 space about him. Every one gave him a look of 
 curiosity that made him feel like some strange ani 
 mal on exhibition. Once more he tried to escape to 
 the porch, and again he was met by Easter s father, 
 who this time was accompanied by Raines. 
 
 The young circuit-rider was smoothly shaven, and 
 dressed in dark clothes, and his calm face and simple 
 but impressive manner seemed at once to alter the 
 atmosphere of the room. He grasped Clayton s 
 hand warmly, and without a trace of self-conscious 
 ness. The room had grown instantly quiet, and 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 79 
 
 Raines began to share the curious interest that Clay 
 ton had caused; for the young mountaineer s sermon 
 had provoked discussion far and wide, and, moreover, 
 the peculiar relations of the two towards Easter were 
 known and rudely appreciated. Hicks was subdued 
 into quiet respect, and tried to conceal his incipient 
 intoxication. The effort did not last long. When 
 the two fiddlers came, he led them in with a defiant 
 air, and placed them in the corner, bustling about 
 officiously but without looking at Raines, whose face 
 began to cloud. 
 
 " Well, we re all hyar, I reckon !" he exclaimed, in 
 his terrible voice. " Is Easter ready ?" he shouted 
 up the steps. 
 
 A confused chorus answered him affirmatively, and 
 he immediately arranged Clayton in one corner of 
 the room with his serious attendants on one side, 
 and Raines, grave to solemnity, on the other. East 
 er s mother and her assistants came in from the 
 kitchen, and the doors were filled with faces. Above, 
 the tramping of feet became more hurried ; below, 
 all stood with expectant faces turned to the rude 
 staircase. Clayton s heart began to throb, and a 
 strange light brightened under Raines s heavy brows. 
 
 " Hurry up, thar !" shouted Hicks, impatiently. 
 
 A moment later two pairs of rough shoes came 
 down the steps, and after them two slippered feet 
 that fixed every eye in the room, until the figure and 
 face above them slowly descended into the light. 
 Midway the girl paused with a timid air. Had an 
 angel been lowered to mortal view, the waiting peo 
 ple would not have been stricken with more wonder. 
 Raines s face relaxed into a look almost of awe, and 
 
80 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 even Hicks for the instant was stunned into rever 
 ence. Mountain eyes had never beheld such loveli 
 ness so arrayed. It was simple enough the gar 
 ment all white, and of a misty texture, yet it formed 
 a mysterious vision to them. About the giiTs brow 
 was a wreath of pink and white laurel. A veil had 
 not been used. It would hide her face, she said, and 
 she did not see why that should be done. For an 
 instant she stood poised so lightly that she seemed 
 to sway like a vision, as the candle-lights quivered 
 about her, with her hands clasped in front of her, 
 and her eyes wandering about the room till they 
 lighted upon Clayton with a look of love that seemed 
 to make her conscious only of him. Then, with 
 quickening breath, lips parted slightly, cheeks slowly 
 flushing, and shining eyes still upon him, she moved 
 slowly across the room until she stood at his side. 
 
 Eaines gathered himself together as from a dream, 
 and stepped before the pair. Broken and husky at 
 first, his voice trembled in spite of himself, but 
 thereafter there was no hint of the powerful emo 
 tions at play within him. Only as he joined their 
 hands, his eyes rested an instant with infinite tender 
 ness on Easter s face as though the look were a 
 last farewell and his voice deepened with solemn 
 earnestness when he bade Clayton protect and cher 
 ish her until death. There was a strange mixture in 
 those last words of the office and the man of divine 
 authority and personal appeal and Clayton was 
 deeply stirred. The benediction over, the young 
 preacher was turning away, when some one called 
 huskily from the rear of the cabin : 
 
 " Whyn t ye kiss the bride ?" 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 81 
 
 It was Easter s father, and the voice, rough as it 
 was, brought a sensation of relief to all. The young 
 mountaineer s features contracted with swift pain, 
 and as Easter leaned towards him, with subtle delica 
 cy, he touched, not her lips, but her forehead, as rev 
 erently as though she had been a saint. 
 
 Instantly the fiddles began, the floor was cleared, 
 the bridal party hurried into the kitchen, and the 
 cabin began to shake beneath dancing feet. Hicks 
 was fulfilling his word, and in the kitchen his wife 
 had done her part. Everything known to the 
 mountaineer palate was piled in profusion on the 
 table, but Clayton and Easter ate nothing. To him 
 the whole evening was a nightmare, which the solemn 
 moments of the marriage had made the more hide 
 ous. He was restless and eager to get away. The 
 dancing was becoming more furious, and above the 
 noise rose Hicks s voice prompting the dancers. The 
 ruder ones still hung about the doors, regarding 
 Clayton curiously, or with eager eyes upon the feast. 
 Easter was vaguely troubled, and conflicting with 
 the innocent pride and joy in her eyes were the 
 questioning glances she turned to Clayton s darken 
 ing face. At last they were hurried out, and in came 
 the crowd like hungry wolves. 
 
 Placing Clayton and Easter in a corner of the 
 room, the attendants themselves took part in the 
 dancing, and such dancing Clayton had never seen. 
 Doors and windows were full of faces, and the room 
 was crowded ; from the kitchen came coarse laughter 
 and the rattling of dishes. Occasionally Hicks would 
 disappear with several others, and would return with 
 his face redder than ever. 
 
82 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 Easter became uneasy. Once she left Clayton s 
 side and expostulated with her father, but he shook 
 her from his arm roughly. Raines saw this, and a 
 moment later he led the old mountaineer from the 
 room. Thereafter the latter was quieter, but only 
 for a little while. Several times the kitchen was 
 filled and emptied, and ever was the crowd unsteadier. 
 Soon even Raines s influence was of no avail, and 
 the bottle was passed openly from guest to guest. 
 
 " Whyn t ye dance ?" 
 
 Clayton felt his arm grasped, and Hicks stood 
 swaying before him. 
 
 " Whyn t ye dance ?" he repeated. " Can t ye 
 dance ? Mebbe ye air too good like Sherd. Well, 
 Easter kin. Hyar, Mart, come V dance with the gal. 
 She air the best dancer in these parts." 
 
 Clayton laid his hand upon Easter as though to 
 forbid her. The mountaineer saw the movement, 
 and his face flamed ; but before he could speak, the 
 girl pressed Clayton s arm, and, with an appealing 
 glance, rose to her feet. 
 
 " That s right," said her father, approvingly, but 
 with a look of drunken malignancy towards Clayton. 
 " Now," he called out, in a loud voice, " I want this 
 couple to have the floor, n everybody to look on n 
 see what is dancin . Starfe the fiddles, boys." 
 
 It was dancing. The young mountaineer was a slen 
 der, active fellow, not without grace, and Easter seemed 
 hardly to touch the floor. They began very slowly 
 at first, till Easter, glancing aside at Clayton and see 
 ing his face deepen with interest, and urged by the 
 remonstrances of her father, the remarks of the on 
 lookers, and the increasing abandon of the music, 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 83 
 
 gave herself up to the dance. The young mountaineer 
 was no mean partner. Forward and back they glided, 
 their swift feet beating every note of the music ; 
 Easter receding before her partner, and now advanc 
 ing towards him, now whirling away with a disdain 
 ful toss of head and arms, and now giving him her 
 hand and whirling till her white skirts floated from 
 the floor. At last, with head bent coquettishly tow 
 ards her partner, she danced around him, and when 
 it seemed that she would be caught by his out 
 stretched hands she slipped from his clasp, and, with 
 burning cheeks, flashing eyes, and bridal wreath 
 showering its pink-flecked petals about her, flew to 
 Clayton s side. 
 
 " Mebbe ye don t like that," cried Hicks, turning 
 to Raines, who had been gravely watching the 
 scene. 
 
 Raines said nothing in reply, but only looked the 
 drunken man in the face. 
 
 " You two," he continued, indicating Clayton with 
 an angry shake of his head, " air a-tryin to spile 
 ever body s fun. Both of ye air too high-heeled fer 
 us folks. Y u hev got mighty good now that ye air 
 a preacher," he added, with a drunken sneer, irrita 
 ted beyond endurance by Raines s silence and his 
 steady look. " I want ye to know Bill Hicks air 
 a-runnin things here, V I don t want no meddlin . 
 I ll drink right here in front o ye" holding a bottle 
 defiantly above his head " V I mean to dance, too. 
 I warn ye now," he added, staggering towards the 
 door, " I don t want no meddlin ." 
 
 Easter had buried her face in her hands. Her 
 mother stood near her husband, helplessly trying to 
 
84 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 get him away, and fearing to arouse him more. 
 Raines was the most composed man in the room, and 
 a few moments later, when dancing was resumed, 
 Clayton heard his voice at his ear : 
 
 " You d better go up-stairs n wait till it s time to 
 go," he said. " He hev got roused ag in ye, and 
 ag in me too. I ll keep out o his way so as not to 
 aggravate him, but I ll stay hyar fer fear something 
 will happen. Mebbe he ll sober up a little, but I m 
 afeard he ll drink more n ever." 
 
 A moment later, unseen by the rest, the two mount 
 ed the stairway to the little room where Easter s 
 girlhood had been passed. To Clayton the peace of 
 the primitive little chamber was an infinite relief. A 
 dim light showed a rude bed in one corner and a pine 
 table close by, whereon lay a few books and a pen and 
 an ink-bottle. Above, the roof rose to a sharp angle, 
 and the low, unplastered walls were covered with 
 pictures cut from the books he had given her. A 
 single window opened into the night over the valley 
 and to the mountains beyond. Two small cane-bot 
 tom chairs were near this, and in these they sat 
 down. In the east dark clouds were moving swiftly 
 across the face of the moon, checking its light and 
 giving the dim valley startling depth and blackness. 
 Rain-drops struck the roof at intervals, a shower of 
 apple-blossoms rustled against the window and drift 
 ed on, and below the muffled sound of music and 
 shuffling feet was now and then pierced by the shrill 
 calls of the prompter. There was something omi 
 nous in the persistent tread of feet and the steady 
 flight of the gloomy clouds, and, quivering with 
 vague fears, Easter sank down from her chair to 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 85 
 
 Clayton s feet, and burst into tears, as he put his 
 arms tenderly about her. 
 
 " Has he ever treated you badly ?" 
 
 " No, no," she answered ; " it s only the whiskey." 
 
 It was not alone of her father s behavior that 
 she was thinking. Memories were busy within her, 
 and a thousand threads of feeling were tightening 
 her love of home, the only home she had ever known. 
 Now she was leaving it for a strange world of which 
 she knew nothing, and the thought pierced her like 
 a physical pain. 
 
 " Are we ever coming back ag in ?" she asked, with 
 sudden fear. 
 
 " Yes, dear," answered Clayton, divining her 
 thoughts ; " whenever you wish." 
 
 After that she grew calmer, and remained quiet so 
 long that she seemed to have fallen asleep like a tired 
 child relieved of its fears. Leaning forward, he 
 looked into the darkness. It was after midnight, 
 surely. The clouds had become lighter, more lumi 
 nous, and gradually the moon broke through them, 
 lifting the pall from the valley, playing about the 
 edge of the forest, and quivering at last on the win 
 dow. As he bent back to look at the sleeping girl, 
 the moonlight fell softly upon her face, revealing its 
 purity of color, and touching the loosened folds of 
 her hair, and shining through a tear-drop which had 
 escaped from her closed lashes. How lovely the face 
 was ! How pure ! How childlike with all its hidden 
 strength ! How absolute her confidence in him ! 
 How great her love ! It was of her love that he 
 thought, not of his own ; but with a new realization 
 of her dependence upon him for happiness, his clasp 
 
8ft A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 tightened about her almost unconsciously. She 
 stirred slightly, and, bending his head lower, Clayton 
 whispered in her ear : 
 
 " Have you been asleep, dear ?" 
 
 She lifted her face and looked tenderly into his 
 eyes, shaking her head slowly, and then, as he bent 
 over again, she clasped her arms about his neck 
 and strained his face to hers. 
 
 Not until the opening of the door at the stairway 
 stirred them did they notice that the music and dan 
 cing below had ceased. The door was instantly closed 
 again after a slight sound of scuffling, and in the 
 moment of stillness that followed, they heard Raines 
 say calmly : 
 
 " No ; you can t go up thar." 
 
 A brutal oath answered him, and Easter started to 
 her feet when she heard her father s voice, terrible 
 with passion ; but Clayton held her back, and hur 
 ried down the stairway. 
 
 " Ef ye don t come away from that door," he could 
 hear Hicks saying, " V stop this meddlin , I ll kill 
 you stid o the furriner." 
 
 As Clayton thrust the door open, Raines was stand 
 ing a few feet from the stairway. The drunken 
 man was struggling in the grasp of several moun 
 taineers, who were coaxing and dragging him across 
 the room. About them were several other men 
 scarcely able to stand, and behind these a crowd of 
 shrinking women. 
 
 " Git back ! git back !" said Raines, in low, hur 
 ried tones. 
 
 But Hicks had caught sight of Clayton. For a 
 moment he stood still, glaring at him. Then, with a 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 87 
 
 furious effort, he wrenched himself from the men who 
 held him, and thrust his hand into his pocket, back, 
 ing against the wall. The crowd fell away from him 
 as a weapon was drawn and levelled with unsteady 
 hand at Clayton. Raines sprang forward ; Clayton 
 felt his arm clutched, and a figure darted past him. 
 The flash came, and when Raines wrenched the 
 weapon from the mountaineer s grasp the latter was 
 standing rigid, with horror-stricken eyes fixed upon 
 the smoke, in which Easter s white face showed like 
 an apparition. As the smoke drifted aside, the girl 
 was seen with both hands at her breast. Then, while a 
 silent terror held every one, she turned, and, with out 
 stretched hands, tottered towards Clayton; and as he 
 caught her in his arms, a low moan broke from her lips* 
 
 Some one hurried away for a physician, but the 
 death-watch was over before he came. 
 
 For a long time the wounded girl lay apparently 
 unconscious, her face white and quiet, Only when a 
 wood-thrush called from the woods close by were her 
 lids half raised, and as Clayton pushed the shutter 
 open above her arid lifted her gently, she opened her 
 eyes with a grateful look and turned her face eagerly 
 to the cool air. 
 
 The dawn was breaking. The east was already 
 aflame with bars of rosy light, gradually widening. 
 Above them a single star was poised, and in the 
 valley below great white mists were stirring from 
 sleep. For a moment she seemed to be listlessly 
 watching the white, shapeless things, trembling as 
 with life, and creeping silently into wood and up 
 glen ; and then her lashes drooped wearily together. 
 
88 A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 
 
 The door opened as Clayton let her sink upon the 
 bed, breathing as if asleep, and he turned, expecting 
 the physician. Raines, too, rose eagerly, stopped 
 suddenly, and shrank back with a shudder of repul 
 sion as the figure of the wretched father crept, half 
 crouching, within. 
 
 " Sherd !" 
 
 The girl s tone was full of gentle reproach, and so 
 soft that it reached only Clayton s ears. 
 
 " Sherd !" 
 
 This time his name was uttered with an appeal 
 ever so gentle. 
 
 " Pore dad ! Pore dad !" she whispered. Her 
 clasp tightened suddenly on Clayton s hand, and her 
 eyes, were held to his, even while the light in them 
 was going out. 
 
 A week later two men left the cabin at dusk. 
 
 Half-way down the slope they came to one of the 
 unspeakably mournful little burying-grounds where 
 in the mountain people rest after their narrow lives. 
 It was unhedged, uncared for, and a few crumbling 
 boards for headstones told the living generation 
 where the dead were at rest. For a moment they 
 paused to look at a spot under a great beech where 
 the earth had been lately disturbed. 
 
 " It air shorely hard to see," said one, in a low, 
 slow voice, " why she was taken, V him left ; why 
 she should hev to give her life fer the life he took. 
 But He knows, He knows," the mountaineer continued, 
 with unfaltering trust; and then, after a moment s 
 struggle to reconcile fact with faith: "The Lord 
 took whut He keered fer most, V she was ready, V 
 he wasn t." 
 
A MOUNTAIN EUROPA 89 
 
 The other made no reply, and they kept on in si 
 lence. Upon a spur of the mountain beneath which 
 the little mining -town had sunk to quiet for the 
 night they parted with a hand-clasp. Not till then 
 was the silence broken. 
 
 " Thar seems to be a penalty fer lovin too much 
 down hyar," said one ; " V I reckon," he added, 
 slowly, " that both of us hev got hit to pay." 
 
 Turning, the speaker retraced his steps. The 
 other kept on toward the lights below. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 THE cave had been their hiding-place as children ; 
 it was a secret refuge now against hunger or dark 
 ness when they were hunting in the woods. The 
 primitive meal was finished ; ashes were raked over 
 the red coals ; the slice of bacon and the little bag of 
 meal were hung high against the rock wall ; and the 
 two stepped from the cavern into a thicket of rhodo 
 dendrons. 
 
 Parting the bushes towards the dim light, they 
 stood on a massive shoulder of the mountain, the 
 river girding it far below, and the afternoon shadows 
 at their feet. Both carried guns : the tall mountain 
 eer, a Winchester; the boy, a squirrel rifle longer 
 than himself. Climbing about the rocky spur, they 
 kept the same level over log and bowlder and through 
 bushy ravine to the north. In half an hour they ran 
 into a path that led up home from the river, and they 
 stopped to rest on a cliff that sank in a solid black 
 wall straight under them. The sharp edge of a steep 
 cornfield ran near, and, stripped of blade and tassel, 
 the stalks and hooded ears looked in the coming dusk 
 a little like monks at prayer. In the sunlight across 
 the river, the corn stood thin and frail. Over there 
 
94 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 a drouth was on it ; and when drifting thistle-plumes 
 marked the noontide of the year, each yellow stalk 
 had withered blades and an empty sheath. Every 
 where a look of vague trouble lay upon the face of the 
 mountains, and when the wind blew the silver of the 
 leaves showed ashen. Autumn was at hand. 
 
 There was no physical sign of kinship between 
 the two, half-brothers though they were. The tall 
 one was dark ; the boy, a foundling, had flaxen hair, 
 and was stunted and slender. He was a dreamy- 
 looking little fellow, and one may easily find his like 
 throughout the Cumberland paler than his fellows, 
 from staying much in-doors, with half-haunted face, 
 and eyes that are deeply pathetic when not cunning ; 
 ignorantly credited with idiocy and uncanny powers ; 
 treated with much forbearance, some awe, and a little 
 contempt ; and suffered to do his pleasure nothing, 
 or much that is strange without comment. 
 
 "I tell ye, Rome," he said, taking up the thread of 
 talk that was broken at the cave, " when Uncle Gabe 
 says he s afeard thar s trouble comin , hit s a-comin ; 
 V I want you to git me a Winchester. I m a-gittin 
 big enough now. I kin shoot might nigh as good 
 as you, V whut am I fit fer with this hyeh ole paw 
 paw pop-gun ?" 
 
 " I don t want you fightin , boy, I ve told ye. Y u 
 air too little n puny, V I want ye to stay home 
 n take keer o mam n the cattle ef fightin does 
 come. I reckon thar won t be much." 
 
 "Don t ye?" cried the boy, with sharp contempt 
 " with ole Jas Lewallen a-devilin Uncle Rufe, n 
 that black-headed young Jas a-climbin on stumps 
 
 n sayin out 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 95 
 
 open in Hazlan that ye air afeard o him ? Yes ; V 
 he called me a idgit." The boy s voice broke into 
 whimper of rage. 
 
 " Shet up, Isom ! Don t you go gittin mad now. 
 You ll be sick ag in. I ll tend to him when the 
 time comes." Rome spoke with rough kindness, 
 but ugly lines had gathered at his mouth and fore 
 head. The boy s tears came and went easily. He 
 drew his sleeve across his eyes, and looked up the 
 river. Beyond the bend, three huge birds rose into 
 the sunlight and floated towards them. Close at 
 hand, they swerved sidevvise. 
 
 "They hain t buzzards," he said, standing up, his 
 anger gone ; " look at them straight wings !" 
 
 Again the eagles swerved, and two shot across 
 the river. The third dropped with shut wings to 
 the bare crest of a gaunt old poplar under them. 
 
 " Hit s a young un, Rome !" said the boy, excit 
 edly. " He s goin to wait thar tell the old uns 
 come back. Gimme that gun !" 
 
 Catching up the Winchester, he slipped over the 
 ledge ; and Rome leaned suddenly forward, looking 
 down at the river. 
 
 A group of horsemen had ridden around the bend, 
 and were coming at a walk down the other shore. 
 Every man carried something across his saddle-bow. 
 There was a gray horse among them young Jas 
 per s and an evil shadow came into Rome s face, 
 and quickly passed. Near a strip of woods the gray 
 turned up the mountain from the party, and on its 
 back he saw the red glint of a woman s dress. With 
 a half-smile he watched the scarlet figure ride from 
 the woods, and climb slowly up through the sunny 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 corn. On the spur above, and full in the rich yellow 
 light she halted, half turning in her saddle. He rose 
 to his feet, to his full height, his head bare, and* 
 thrown far back between his big shoulders, and, 
 still as statues, the man and the woman looked at 
 each other across the gulf of darkening air. A full 
 minute the woman sat motionless, then rode on. At 
 the edge of the woods she stopped and turned again. 
 The eagle under Rome leaped one stroke in the 
 air, and dropped like a clod into the sea of leaves. 
 The report of the gun and a faint cry of triumph 
 rose from below. It was good marksmanship, but 
 on the cliff Rome did not heed it. Something had 
 fluttered in the air above the girl s head, and he 
 laughed aloud. She was waving her bonnet at him. 
 
 It 
 
 JUST where young Stetson stood, the mountains 
 racing along each bank of the Cumberland had sent 
 out against each other, by mutual impulse, two great 
 spurs. At the river s brink they stopped sheer, with 
 crests uplifted, as though some hand at the last 
 moment had hurled them apart, and had led the 
 water through the breach to keep them at peace. 
 To-day the crags look seamed by thwarted passion ; 
 and, sullen with firs, they made symbols of the 
 human hate about the base of each. 
 
 When the feud began, no one knew. Even the 
 original cause was forgotten. Both families had come 
 as friends from Virginia long ago, and had lived as 
 enemies nearly half a century. There was hostility 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 97 
 
 before the war, but, until then, little bloodshed. 
 Through the hatred of change characteristic of the 
 mountaineer the world over, the Lewallens were for 
 the Union. The Stetsons owned a few slaves, and 
 they fought for them. Peace found both still neigh 
 bors and worse foes. The war armed them, and 
 brought back an ancestral contempt for human life ; 
 it left them a heritage of lawlessness that for mutual 
 protection made necessary the very means used by 
 their feudal forefathers ; personal hatred supplanted 
 its dead issues, and with them the war went on. The 
 Stetsons had a good strain of Anglo-Saxon blood, 
 and owned valley-lands ; the Lewallens kept store, 
 and made " moonshine " ; so kindred and debtors 
 and kindred and tenants were arrayed with one or 
 the other leader, and gradually the retainers of both 
 settled on one or the other side of the river. In time 
 of hostility the Cumberland came to be the boundary 
 between life and death for the dwellers on each shore. 
 It was feudalism born again. 
 
 Above one of the spurs each family had its home : 
 the Stetsons, under the seared face of Thunderstruck 
 Knob ; the Lewallens, just beneath the wooded rim 
 of Wolf s Head. The eaves and chimney of each 
 cabin were faintly visible from the porch of the 
 other. The first light touched the house of the 
 Stetsons ; the last, the Lewallen cabin. So there 
 were times when the one could not turn to the sun 
 rise nor the other to the sunset but with a curse in 
 his heart ; for his eye must fall on the home of his 
 enemy. 
 
 For years there had been peace. The death of 
 Rome Stetson s father from ambush, and the fight in 
 
98 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 the court-house square, had forced it. After that fight 
 only four were left old Jasper Lewallen, and young 
 Jasper, the boy Rome, and his uncle, Rufe Stetson. 
 Then Rufe fled to the West, and the Stetsons were 
 helpless. For three years no word was heard of him, 
 but the hatred burned in the heart of Rome s mother, 
 and was traced deep in her grim old face while she 
 patiently waited the day of retribution. It smoul 
 dered, too, in the hearts of the women of both clans 
 who had lost husbands or sons or lovers ; and the 
 friends and kin of each had little to do with one an 
 other, and met and passed with watchful eyes. In 
 deed, it would take so little to turn peace to war that 
 the wonder was that peace had lived so long. Now 
 trouble was at hand. Rufe Stetson had come back 
 at last, a few months since, and had quietly opened 
 store at the county-seat, Hazlan a little town five 
 miles up the river, where Troubled Fork runs seeth 
 ing into the Cumberland a point of neutrality for 
 the factions, and consequently a battle-ground. Old 
 Jasper s store was at the other end of the town, and 
 the old man had never been known to brook com 
 petition. He had driven three men from Hazlan 
 during the last term of peace for this offence, and 
 everybody knew that the fourth must leave or fight. 
 Already Rufe Stetson had been warned not to ap 
 pear outside his door after dusk. Once or twice 
 his wife had seen skulking shadows under the trees 
 across the road, and a tremor of anticipation ran 
 along both banks of the Cumberland. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 III 
 
 A FORTNIGHT later court came. Rome was going 
 to Hazlan, and the feeble old Stetson mother limped 
 across the porch from the kitchen, trailing a Win 
 chester behind her. Usually he went unarmed, but 
 he took the gun now, as she gave it, in silence. 
 
 The boy Isom was not well, and Rome had told 
 him to ride the horse. But the lad had gone on 
 afoot to his duties at old Gabe Bunch s mill, and 
 Rome himself rode down Thunderstruck Knob 
 through the mist and dew of the early morning. 
 The sun was coming up over Virginia, and through 
 a dip in Black Mountain the foot - hills beyond 
 washed in blue waves against its white disk. A 
 little way down the mountain, the rays shot through 
 the gap upon him, and, lancing the mist into tatters, 
 and lighting the dew-drops, set the birds singing. 
 Rome rode, heedless of it all, under primeval oak 
 and poplar, and along rain-clear brooks and happy 
 water-falls, shut in by laurel and rhododendron, and 
 singing past mossy stones and lacelike ferns that 
 brushed his stirrup. On the brow of every cliff he 
 would stop to look over the trees and the river to 
 the other shore, where the gray line of a path ran 
 aslant Wolfs Head, and was lost in woods above and 
 below. 
 
 At the river he rode up-stream, looking still across 
 it. Old Gabe Bunch hallooed to him from the door 
 way of the mill, as he splashed through the creek, 
 and Isom s thin face peered through a breach in the 
 logs. At the ford beyond, he checked his horse with 
 
100 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 a short oath of pleased surprise. Across the water a 
 scarlet dress was moving slowly past a brown field of 
 corn. The figure was bonneted, but he knew the 
 girl s walk and the poise of her head that far away. 
 Just who she was, however, he did not know, and he 
 sat irresolute. He had seen her first a month since, 
 paddling along the other shore, erect, and with bon 
 net off and hair down ; she had taken the Lewallen 
 path up the mountain. Afterwards he saw her going 
 at a gallop on young Jasper s gray horse, bare-headed 
 again, and with her hair loose to the wind, and he 
 knew she was one of his enemies. He thought her 
 the girl people said young Jasper was going to mar 
 ry, and he had watched her the more closely. From 
 the canoe she seemed never to notice him ; but he 
 guessed, from the quickened sweep of her paddle, 
 that she knew he was looking at her, and once, 
 when he halted on his way home up the mountain, 
 she half turned in her saddle and looked across at 
 him. This happened again, and then she waved her 
 bonnet at him. It was bad enough, any Stetson seek 
 ing any Lewallen for a wife, and for him to court 
 young Jasper s sweetheart it was a thought to laugh 
 at. But the mischief was done. The gesture thrilled 
 him, whether it meant defiance or good-will, and the 
 mere deviltry of such a courtship made him long for 
 it at every sight of her with the river between them. 
 At once he began to plan how he should get near her, 
 but through some freak she had paid no further heed 
 to him. He saw her less often for a week, indeed, 
 he had not seen her at all till this day and the 
 forces that hindrance generates in an imperious nat 
 ure had been at work within him. The chance now 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 101 
 
 was one of gold, and with his life in his hand he 
 turned into the stream. Across, he could see some 
 thing white on her shoulder an empty bag. It was 
 grinding -day, and she was going to the mill the 
 Lewallen mill. She stopped as he galloped up, and 
 turned, pushing back her bonnet with one hand ; and 
 he drew rein. But the friendly, expectant light in 
 her face kindled to such a blaze of anger in her eyes 
 that he struck his horse violently, as though the beast 
 had stopped of its own accord, and, cursing himself, 
 kept on. A little farther, he halted again. Three 
 horsemen, armed with Winchesters, were jogging 
 along towards town ahead of him, and he wheeled 
 about sharply. The girl, climbing rapidly towards 
 Steve Bray ton s cabin, was out of the way, but he 
 was too late to reach the ford again. Down the road 
 two more Lewallens with guns were in sight, and he 
 lashed his horse into the stream where the water was 
 deep. Old Gabe, looking from the door of his mill, 
 quit laughing to himself ; and under cover of the 
 woods the girl watched man and horse fighting the 
 tide. Twice young Stetson turned his head. But 
 his enemies apparently had not seen him, and horse 
 and rider scrambled up the steep bank and under 
 shelter of the trees. The girl had evidently learned 
 who he was. Her sudden anger was significant, as 
 was the sight of the Lewallens going armed to court, 
 and Rome rode on, uneasy. 
 
 When he reached Troubled Fork, in sight of Haz- 
 lan, he threw a cartridge into place, and shifted the 
 slide to see that it was ready for use. Passing old 
 Jasper s store on the edge of town, he saw the old 
 man s bushy head through the open door, and Le- 
 
102 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 wallens and Braytons crowded out on the steps and 
 looked after him. All were armed. Twenty paces 
 farther he met young Jasper on his gray, and the 
 look on his enemy s face made him grip his rifle. 
 With a flashing cross-fire from eye to eye, the two 
 passed, each with his thumb on the hammer of his 
 Winchester. The groups on the court-house steps 
 stopped talking as he rode by, and turned to look at 
 him. He saw none of his own friends, and he went 
 on at a gallop to Rufe Stetson s store. His uncle was 
 not in sight. Steve Marcum and old Sam Day stood 
 in the porch, and inside a woman was crying. Sever 
 al Stetsons were near, and all with grave faces gath 
 ered about him. 
 
 He knew what the matter was before Steve spoke. 
 His uncle had been driven from town. A last warn 
 ing had come to him on the day before. The hand 
 of a friend was in the caution, and Rufe rode away 
 at dusk. That night his house was searched by men 
 masked and armed. The Lewallens were in town, and 
 were ready to fight. The crisis had come. 
 
 IV 
 
 BACK at the mill old Gabe was troubled. Usually 
 he sat in a cane-bottomed chair near the hopper, whit 
 tling, while the lad tended the mill, and took pay in 
 an oaken toll-dish smooth with the use of half a cen 
 tury. But the incident across the river that morn 
 ing had made the old man uneasy, and he moved 
 restlessly from his chair to the door, and back 
 again, while the boy watched him, wondering what 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 103 
 
 the matter was, but asking no questions. At noon 
 an old mountaineer rode by, and the miller hailed 
 him. 
 
 " Any news in town ?" he asked. 
 
 " Hain t been to town. Reckon fightin s goin 
 on thar from whut I heerd." The careless, high- 
 pitched answer brought the boy with wide eyes to 
 the door. 
 
 "Whut d ye hear?" asked Gabe. 
 
 " Jes heerd fightin s goin on !" 
 
 Then every man who came for his meal brought a 
 wild rumor from town, and the old miller moved his 
 chair to the door, and sat there whittling fast, and 
 looking anxiously towards Hazlan. The boy was in 
 a fever of unrest, and old Gabe could hardly keep 
 him in the mill. In the middle of the afternoon the 
 report of a rifle came down the river, breaking into 
 echoes against the cliffs below, and Isom ran out the 
 door, and stood listening for another, with an odd 
 contradiction of fear and delight on his eager face. 
 In a few moments Rome Stetson galloped into sight, 
 and, with shrill cry of relief, the boy ran down the 
 road to meet him, and ran back, holding by a stirrup. 
 Young Stetson s face was black with passion, and his 
 eyes were heavy with drink. At the door of the 
 mill he swung from his horse, and for a moment was 
 hardly able to speak from rage. There had been no 
 fight. The Stetsons were few and unprepared. They 
 had neither the guns nor, without Rufe, the means to 
 open the war, and they believed Rufe had gone for 
 arms. So they had chafed in the store all day, and 
 all day Lewallens on horseback and on foot were in 
 sight ; and each was a taunt to every Stetson, and, few 
 
104 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 as they were, the young and hot-headed wanted to 
 go out and fight. In the afternoon a tale-bearer had 
 brought some of Jasper s boasts to Rome, and, made 
 reckless by moonshine and much brooding, he sprang 
 up to lead them. Steve too caught up his gun, but 
 old Sam s counsel checked him, and the two by force 
 held Rome back. A little later the Lewallens left 
 town. The Stetsons too disbanded, and on the way 
 home a last drop of gall ran Rome s cup of bitter 
 ness over. Opposite Steve Brayton s cabin a jet of 
 smoke puffed from the bushes across the river, and a 
 bullet furrowed the road in front of him. That was 
 the shot they had heard at the mill. Somebody was 
 drawing a " dead-line," and Rome wheeled his horse 
 at the brink of it. A mocking yell came over the 
 river, and a gray horse flashed past an open space in 
 the bushes. Rome knew the horse and knew the 
 yell ; young Jasper was " bantering " him. Nothing 
 maddens the mountaineer like this childish method 
 of insult ; and telling of it, Rome sat in a corner, and 
 loosed a torrent of curses against young Lewallen and 
 his clan. 
 
 Old Gabe had listened without a word, and the 
 strain in his face was eased. Always the old man 
 had stood for peace. He believed it had come after 
 the court-house fight, and he had hoped against hope, 
 even when Rufe came back to trade against old Jas 
 per ; for Rufe was big and good-natured, and unsus 
 pected of resolute purpose, and the Lewallens power 
 had weakened. So, now that Rufe was gone again, 
 the old miller half believed he was gone for good. 
 Nobody was hurt ; there was a chance yet for peace, 
 and with a rebuke on his tongue and relief in his 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 105 
 
 face, the old man sat back in his chair and went on 
 whittling. The boy turned eagerly to a crevice in 
 the logs and, trembling with excitement, searched the 
 other bank for Jasper s gray horse, going home. 
 
 " He called me a idgit," he said to himself, with a 
 threatening shake of his head. " Jes wouldn t / like 
 to hev a chance at him ! Rome ull git him ! Rome 
 ull git him !" 
 
 There was no moving point of white on the broad 
 face of the mountains nor along the river road. Jas 
 per was yet to come and, with ears alert to every 
 word behind him, the lad fixed his eyes where he 
 should see him first. 
 
 " Oh, he didn t mean to hit me. Not that he ain t 
 mean enough to shoot from the bresh," Rome broke 
 out, savagely. " That s jes whut I m afeard he will 
 do. Thar was too much daylight fer him. Ef he 
 jes don t come a-sneakin over hyeh, n waitin in the 
 lorrel atter dark fer me, it s all I ax." 
 
 " Waitin in the lorrel !" Old Gabe could hold back 
 no longer. " Hit s a shame, a burnin shame ! I don 
 know whut things air comin to ! Pears like all you 
 young folks think about is killin somebody. Folks 
 usen to talk about how fer they could kill a deer ; 
 now it s how fer they kin kill a man. I hev knowed 
 the time when a man would a been druv out o the 
 county fer drawin a knife ur a pistol ; n ef a feller 
 was ever killed, it was kinder accidental, by a Bar 
 low. I reckon folks got use 7 to weepons n killin n 
 bushwhackin in the war. Looks like it s been gittin 
 wuss ever sence, n now hit s dirk n Winchester, n 
 shootin from the bushes all the time. Hit s wuss n 
 stealin money to take a feller-creetur s life that way !" 
 
106 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 The old miller s indignation sprang from memo 
 ries of a better youth. For the courtesies of the code 
 went on to the Blue Grass, and before the war the 
 mountaineer fought with English fairness and his 
 fists. It was a disgrace to use a deadly weapon in 
 those days ; it was a disgrace now not to use it. 
 
 " Oh, I know all the excuses folks make," he went 
 on : " hit s fa r fer one as tis fer t other ; ye can t 
 fight a man fa r n squar who ll shoot you in the 
 back ; a pore man can t fight money in the counts ; 
 n thar hain t no witnesses in the lorrel but leaves ; 
 n dead men don t hev much to say. I know it 
 all. Hit s cur us, but it act ally looks like lots o 
 decent young folks hev got usen to the idee 
 thar s so much of it goin on, n thar s so much 
 talk bout killin n layin out in the lorrel. Reck 
 on folks 11 git to pesterin women n strangers 
 bimeby, n robbin n thievin . Hit s bad enough 
 thar s so leetle law thet folks hev to take it in their 
 own hands oncet in a while, but this shootin from 
 the bresh hit s p int ly a sin n shame ! Why," he 
 concluded, pointing his remonstrance as he always 
 did, " I seed your grandad and young Jas s fight up 
 thar in Hazlan full two hours fore the war fist and 
 skull n your grandad was whooped. They got up 
 and shuk hands. I don t see why folks can t fight 
 that way now. I wish Rufe n old Jas n you n 
 young Jas could have it out fist and skull, n stop 
 this killin o people like hogs. Thar s nobody left 
 but you four. But thar s no chance o that, I reck 
 on." 
 
 " I ll fight him anyway, n I reckon ef he don t die 
 till / lay out in the lorrel fer him, he ll live a long 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 1QY 
 
 time. Ef a Stetson ever done sich meanness as that 
 I never heerd it." 
 
 " Nother hev I," said the old man, with quick jus 
 tice. " You air a overbearin race, all o ye, but I 
 never knowed ye to be that mean. Hit s all the 
 wuss fer ye thet ye air in sech doin s. I tell ye, 
 Rome" 
 
 A faint cry rose above the drone of the millstones, 
 and old Gabe stopped with open lips to listen. The 
 boy s face was pressed close to the logs. A wet 
 paddle had flashed into the sunlight from out the 
 bushes across the river. He could just see a canoe 
 in the shadows under them, and with quick suspi 
 cion his brain pictured Jasper s horse hitched in the 
 bushes, and Jasper stealing across the river to way 
 lay Rome. But the canoe moved slowly out of sight 
 down-stream and towards the deep water, the pad- 
 dler unseen, and the boy looked around with a weak 
 smile. Neither seemed to have heard him. Rome 
 was brooding, with his sullen face in his hands ; the 
 old miller was busy with his own thoughts : and the 
 boy turned again to his watch. 
 
 Jasper did not come. Isom s eyes began to ache 
 from the steady gaze, and now and then he would 
 drop them to the water swirling beneath. A slow 
 wind swayed the overhanging branches at the mouth 
 of the stream, and under them was an eddy. Es 
 caping this, the froth and bubbles raced out to the 
 gleams beating the air from the sunlit river. He 
 saw one tiny fleet caught; a mass of yellow scum 
 bore down and, sweeping through bubbles and eddy, 
 was itself struck into fragments by something afloat. 
 A tremulous shadow shot through a space of sun- 
 
108 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 light into the gloom cast by a thicket of rhododen 
 drons, and the boy caught his breath sharply. A 
 moment more, and the shape of a boat and a human 
 figure quivered on the water running under him. 
 The stern of a Lewallen canoe swung into the basin, 
 and he sprang to his feet. 
 
 " Rome !" The cry cut sharply through the drow 
 sy air. "Thar he is ! Hit s Jas !" 
 
 The old miller rose to his feet. The boy threw 
 himself behind the sacks of grain. Rome wheeled 
 for his rifle, and stood rigid before the door. There 
 was a light step without, the click of a gun-lock with 
 in ; a shadow fell across the doorway, and a girl stood 
 at the threshold with an empty bag in her hand. 
 
 WITH a little cry she shrank back a step. Her 
 face paled and her lips trembled, and for a moment 
 she could not speak. But her eyes swept the group, 
 and were fixed in two points of fire on Rome. 
 
 "Why don t ye shoot?" she asked, scornfully. 
 " I hev heerd that the Stetsons have got to makin 
 war on women-folks, but I never believed it afore." 
 Then she turned to the miller. 
 
 " Kin I git some more meal hyeh ?" she asked. 
 " Or have ye stopped sellin to folks on t other side ?" 
 she added, in a tone that sought no favor. 
 
 "You kin have all ye want," said old Gabe, 
 quietly. 
 
 " The mill on Dead Crick is broke ag in," she 
 continued, " n co n is skeerce on our side. We ll 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 1Q9 
 
 have to begin buyin purty soon, so I thought I d 
 save totin the co n down hyeh." She handed old 
 Gabe the empty bag. 
 
 " Well," said he, " as it air gittin late, V ye have 
 to climb the mountain ag in, I ll let ye have that 
 comin out o the hopper now. Take a cheer." 
 
 The girl sat down in the low chair, and, loosening 
 the strings of her bonnet, pushed it back from her 
 head. An old-fashioned horn comb dropped to the 
 floor, and when she stooped to pick it up she let her 
 hair fall in a heap about her shoulders. Thrusting 
 one hand under it, she calmly tossed the whole mass 
 of chestnut and gold over the back of the chair, 
 where it fell rippling like water through a bar of 
 sunlight. With head thrown back and throat bared, 
 she shook it from side to side, and, slowly coiling it, 
 pierced it with the coarse comb. Then passing her 
 hands across her forehead and temples, as women do, 
 she folded them in her lap, and sat motionless. The 
 boy, crouched near, held upon her the mesmeric look 
 of a serpent. Old Gabe was peering covertly from 
 under the brim of his hat, with a chuckle at his lips. 
 Rome had fallen back to a corner of the mill, sobered, 
 speechless, his rifle in a nerveless hand. The passion 
 that fired him at the boy s warning had as swiftly 
 gone down at sight of the girl, and her cutting re 
 buke made him hot again with shame. He was an 
 gry, too more than angry^ because he felt so help 
 less, a sensation that was new and stifling. The 
 scorn of her fac, as he remembered it that morning, 
 hurt him again while he looked at her. A spirit of 
 contempt was still in her eyes, and quivering about 
 her thin lips and nostrils. She had put him beneath 
 
110 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 further notice, and yet every toss of her head, every 
 movement of her hands, seemed meant for him, to 
 irritate him. And once, while she combed her hair, 
 his brain whirled with an impulse to catch the shin 
 ing stuff in one hand and to pinion both her wrists 
 with the other, just to show her that he was master, 
 and still would harm her not at all. But he shut 
 his teeth, and watched her. Among mountain women 
 the girl was more than pretty ; elsewhere only her 
 hair, perhaps, would have caught the casual eye. She 
 wore red homespun and coarse shoes ; her hands 
 were brown and hardened. Her arms and shoulders 
 looked muscular, her waist was rather large being 
 as nature meant it and her face in repose had a 
 heavy look. But the poise of her head suggested 
 native pride and dignity ; her eyes were deep, and 
 full of changing lights ; the scarlet dress, loose as it 
 was, showed rich curves in her figure, and her move 
 ments had a certain childlike grace. Her brow was 
 low, and her mouth had character ; the chin was firm, 
 the upper lip short, and the teeth were even and 
 white. 
 
 " I reckon thar s enough to fill the sack, Isom," 
 said the old miller, breaking the strained silence of 
 the group. The girl rose and handed him a few 
 pieces of silver. 
 
 " I reckon I d better pay fer it all," she said. " I 
 s pose I won t be over hyeh agin." 
 
 Old Gabe gave some of the coins back. 
 
 " Y u know whut my price al ays is," he said. 
 
 " I m obleeged," answered the girl, flushing. " Co n 
 hev riz on our side. I thought mebbe you charged 
 folks over thar more, anyways." 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA m 
 
 " I sells fer the same, ef co n is high ur low," was 
 the answer. " This side or t other makes no diff unce 
 to me. I hev frien s on both sides, V I take no part 
 in sech doin s as air a shame to the mountains." 
 
 There was a quick light of protest in the girl s 
 dark eyes ; but the old miller was honored by both 
 factions, and without a word she turned to the boy, 
 who was tyi-ng the sack. 
 
 " The boat s loose !" he called out, with the string 
 between his teeth ; and she turned again and ran 
 out. Rome stood still. 
 
 " Kerry the sack out, boy, V holp the gal." Old 
 Gabe s voice was stern, and the young mountaineer 
 doggedly swung the bag to his shoulders. The girl 
 had caught the rope, and drawn the rude dugout 
 along the shore. 
 
 " Who axed ye to do that ?" she asked, angrily. 
 
 Rome dropped the bag into the boat, and merely 
 looked her in the face. 
 
 "Look hyeh, Rome Stetson" the sound of his 
 name from her lips almost startled him -" I ll hev 
 ye understan that I don t want to be bounden to 
 you, nor none o yer kin." 
 
 Turning, she gave an impatient sweep with her 
 paddle. The prow of the canoe dipped and was 
 motionless. Rome had caught the stern, and the 
 girl wheeled in hot anger. Her impulse to strike 
 may have been for the moment and no longer, or 
 she may have read swiftly no unkindness in the 
 mountaineer s steady look ; for the uplifted oar was 
 stayed in the air, as though at least she would hear 
 him. 
 
 "I ve got nothin ag in you" he said, slowly. 
 
112 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 " Jas Lewallen liev been threatenin 1 me, V I thought 
 it was him, V I was ready fer him, when you come 
 into the mill. I wouldn t hurt you nur no other 
 woman. Y u ought to know it, V ye do know it." 
 
 The words were masterful, but said in a way that 
 vaguely soothed the girl s pride, and the oar was let 
 slowly into the water. 
 
 " I reckon y u air a friend o his," he added, still 
 quietly. " I ve seed ye goin up thar, but I ve got 
 nothin ag in ye, whoever ye be." 
 
 She turned on him a sharp look of suspicion. " I 
 reckon I do be a friend o hisn," she said, deliber 
 ately ; and then she saw that he was in earnest. A 
 queer little smile went like a ray of light from her 
 eyes to her lips, and she gave a quick stroke with 
 her paddle. The boat shot into the current, and was 
 carried swiftly towards the Cumberland. The girl 
 stood erect, swaying through light and shadow like 
 a great scarlet flower blowing in the wind ; and Rome 
 watched her till she touched the other bank. Swing 
 ing the sack out, she stepped lightly after it, and, 
 without looking behind her, disappeared in the 
 bushes. 
 
 The boy Isom was riding away when Rome turned, 
 and old Gabe was watching from the door of the mill. 
 
 " Who is that gal ?" he asked, slowly. It seemed 
 somehow that he had known her a long while ago. 
 A puzzled frown overlay his face, and the old miller 
 laughed. 
 
 " You a-axin who she be, V she a-axin who you 
 be, V both o ye a-knowin one nother sence ye was 
 knee-high. Why, boy, hit s old Jasper s gal Mar- 
 thv !" 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 113 
 
 VI 
 
 IN a flash of memory Rome saw the girl as vividly 
 as when he last saw her years ago. They had met 
 at the mill, he with his father, she with hers. There 
 was a quarrel, and the two men were held apart. 
 But the old sore as usual was opened, and a week 
 later Rome s father was killed from the brush. He 
 remembered his mother s rage and grief, her calls 
 for vengeance, the uprising, the fights, plots, and 
 ambushes. He remembered the look the girl had 
 given him that long ago, and her look that day was 
 little changed. 
 
 When fighting began, she had been sent for safety 
 to the sister of her dead mother in another county. 
 When peace came, old Jasper married again and the 
 girl refused to come home. Lately the step-mother 
 too had passed away, and then she came back to live. 
 All this the old miller told in answer to Rome s ques 
 tions as the two walked away in the twilight. This 
 was why he had not recognized her, and why her 
 face yet seemed familiar even when he crossed the 
 river that morning. 
 
 " Uncle Gabe, how do you reckon the gal knowed 
 who I was ?" 
 
 " She axed me." 
 
 " She axed you ! Whar ?" 
 
 " Over thar in the mill." The miller was watch 
 ing the young mountaineer closely. The manner of 
 the girl was significant when she asked who Rome 
 was, and the miller knew but one reason possible for 
 his foolhardiness that morning. 
 
114 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 " Do you mean to say she have been over hyeh 
 afore ?" 
 
 " Why, yes, come to think about it, three or four 
 times while Isom was sick ; and whut she come fer 
 I can t make out. The mill over thar wasn t broke 
 long, V why she didn t go thar or bring more co n 
 at a time, to save her the trouble o so many trips, I 
 can t see to save me." 
 
 Young Stetson was listening eagerly. Again the 
 miller cast his bait. 
 
 " Mebbe she s spyin ." 
 
 Rome faced him, alert with suspicion ; but old 
 Gabe was laughing silently. 
 
 " Don t you be a fool, Rome. The gal comes and 
 goes in that boat, V she couldn t see a soul without 
 my knowin it. She seed ye ridin by one day, V 
 she looked mighty cur us when I tole her who ye 
 was." 
 
 Old Gabe stopped his teasing, Rome s face was so 
 troubled, and himself grew serious. 
 
 " Rome," he said, earnestly, " I wish to the good 
 Lord ye wasn t in sech doin s. Ef that had been 
 young Jas stid o Marthy, I reckon ye would a 
 killed him right thar." 
 
 " I wasn t going to let him kill me," was the sul 
 len answer. 
 
 The two had stopped at a rickety gate swinging 
 open on the road. The young mountaineer was 
 pushing a stone about with the toe of his boot. 
 He had never before listened to remonstrance with 
 such patience, and old Gabe grew bold. 
 
 " You ve been drinkin ag in, Rome," he said, 
 sharply, " V I know it. Hit s been moonshine that s 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 115 
 
 whooped you Stetsons, not the Lewallens, long as I 
 kin rickollect, V it ull be moonshine ag in ef ye don t 
 let it alone." 
 
 Rome made no denial, no defence. " Uncle Gabe," 
 he said, slowly, still busied with the stone, " hev that 
 gal been over hyeh sence y u tol her who I was !" 
 
 The old man was waiting for the pledge that 
 seemed on his lips, but he did not lose his temper. 
 
 " Not till to-day," he said, quietly. 
 
 Rome turned abruptly, and the two separated 
 with no word of parting. For a moment the miller 
 watched the young fellow striding away under his 
 rifle. 
 
 " I have been atter peace a good while," he said 
 to himself, " but I reckon thar s a bigger hand 
 a-workin now than mine." Then he lifted his voice. 
 " Ef Isom s too sick to come down to the mill to- 
 morrer, I wish you d come V holp me." 
 
 Rome nodded back over his shoulder, and went 
 on, with head bent, along the river road. Passing 
 a clump of pines at the next curve, he pulled a bot 
 tle from his pocket. 
 
 "Uncle Gabe s about right, I reckon," he said, 
 half aloud ; and he raised it above his head to hurl 
 it away, but checked it in mid-air. For a moment 
 he looked at the colorless liquid, then, with quick 
 nervousness, pulled the cork of sassafras leaves, 
 gulped down the pale moonshine, and dashed the 
 bottle against the trunk of a beech. The fiery stuff 
 does its work in a hurry. He was thirsty when he 
 reached the mouth of a brook that tumbled down 
 the mountain along the pathway that would lead him 
 home, and he stooped to drink where the water spar- 
 
116 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 kled in a rift of dim light from overhead. Then he 
 sat upright on a stone, with his wide hat-brim curved 
 in a crescent over his forehead, his hands caught 
 about his knees, and his eyes on the empty air. 
 
 He was scarcely over his surprise that the girl 
 was young Lewallen s sister, and the discovery had 
 wrought a curious change. The piquant impulse of 
 rivalry was gone, and something deeper was taking 
 its place. He was confused and a good deal troubled, 
 thinking it all over. He tried to make out what the 
 girl meant by looking at him from the mountain 
 side, by waving her bonnet at him, and by^ coming 
 to old Gabe s mill when she could have gone to her 
 own. To be sure, she did not know then who he 
 was, and she had stopped coming when she learned ; 
 but why had she crossed again that day ? Perhaps 
 she too was bantering him, and he was at once angry 
 and drawn to her ; for her mettlesome spirit touched 
 his own love of daring, even when his humiliation 
 was most bitter when she told him he warred on 
 women ; when he held out to her the branch of peace 
 and she swept it aside with a stroke of her oar. But 
 Rome was little conscious of the weight of subtle 
 facts like these. His unseeing eyes went back to her 
 as she combed her hair. He saw the color in her 
 cheeks, the quick light in her eyes, the naked, full 
 throat once more, and the wavering forces of his 
 unsteady brain centred in a stubborn resolution 
 to see it all again. He would make Isom stay at 
 home, if need be, and he would take the boy s place 
 at the mill. If she came there no more, he would 
 cross the river again. Come peace or war, be she 
 friend or enemy, he would see her. His thirst was 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 117 
 
 fierce again, and, with this half-drunken determina 
 tion in his heart, he stooped once more to drink 
 from the cheerful little stream. As he rose, a loud 
 curse smote the air. The river, pressed between two 
 projecting cliffs, was narrow at that point, and the 
 oath came across the water. An instant later a man 
 led a lamed horse from behind a bowlder, and stooped 
 to examine its leg. The dusk was thickening, but 
 Rome knew the huge frame and gray beard of old 
 Jasper Lewallen. The blood beat in a sudden tide 
 at his temples, and, half by instinct, he knelt behind 
 a rock, and, thrusting his rifle through a crevice, 
 cocked it softly. 
 
 Again the curse of impatience came over the still 
 water, and old Jasper rose and turned towards him. 
 The glistening sight caught in the centre of his 
 beard. That would take him in the throat ; it might 
 miss, and he let the sight fall till the bullet would cut 
 the fringe of gray hair into the heart. Old Jasper, so 
 people said, had killed his father in just this way ; 
 he had driven his uncle from the mountains ; he was 
 trying now to revive the feud. He was the father 
 of young Jasper, who had threatened his life, and 
 the father of the girl whose contempt had cut him 
 to the quick twice that day. Again her taunt 
 leaped through his heated brain, and his boast to 
 the old miller followed it. His finger trembled at 
 the trigger. 
 
 " No ; by , no !" he breathed between his teeth ; 
 
 and old Jasper passed on, unharmed. 
 
118 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 VII 
 
 NEXT day the news of Rufe Stetson s flight went 
 down the river on the wind, and before nightfall the 
 spirit of murder was loosed on both shores of the 
 Cumberland. The more cautious warned old Jas 
 per. The Stetsons were gaining strength again, they 
 said ; so were their feudsmen, the Marcums, enemies 
 of the Braytons, old Jasper s kinspeople. Keeping 
 store, Rufe had made money in the West, and money 
 and friends right and left through the mountains. 
 With all his good-nature, he was a persistent hater, 
 and he was shrewd. He had waited the chance to 
 put himself on the side of the law, and now the law 
 was with him. But old Jasper laughed contemptu 
 ously. Rufe Stetson was gone again, he said, as he 
 had gone before, and this time for good. Rufe had 
 tried to do what nobody had done, or could do, while 
 he was alive. Anyway, he was reckless, and he cared 
 little if war did come again. Still, the old man pre 
 pared for a fight, and Steve Marcum on the other 
 shore made ready for Rufe s return. 
 
 It was like the breaking of peace in feudal days. 
 The close kin of each leader were already about him, 
 and now the close friends of each took sides. Each 
 leader trading in Hazlan had debtors scattered 
 through the mountains, and these rallied to aid 
 the man who had befriended them. There was no 
 grudge but served a pretext for partisanship in the 
 coming war. Political rivalry had wedged apart 
 two strong families, the Marcums and Braytons ; a 
 boundary line in dispute was a chain of bitterness; 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA H9 
 
 a suit in a country court had sown seeds of hatred. 
 Sometimes it was a horse-trade, a fence left down, 
 or a gate left open, and the trespassing of cattle ; in 
 one instance, through spite, a neighbor had docked 
 the tail of a neighbor s horse had " muled his crit 
 ter," as the owner phrased the outrage. There was 
 no old sore that was not opened by the crafty lead 
 ers, no slumbering bitterness that they did not wake 
 to life. " Help us to revenge, and we will help you," 
 was the whispered promise. So, had one man a 
 grudge against another, he could set his foot on one 
 or the other shore, sure that his enemy would be 
 fighting for the other. 
 
 Others there were, friends of neither leader, who, 
 under stress of poverty or hatred of work, would 
 fight with either for food and clothes ; and others 
 still, the ne er-do-wells and outlaws, who fought by 
 the day or month for hire. Even these were secured 
 by one or the other faction, for Steve and old Jasper 
 left no resource untried, knowing well that the fight, 
 if there was one, would be fought to a quick and 
 decisive end. The day for the leisurely feud, for 
 patient planning, and the slow picking off of men 
 from one side or the other, was gone. The people 
 in the Blue Grass, who had no feuds in their own 
 country, were trying to stop them in the mountain. 
 Over in Breathitt, as everybody knew, soldiers had 
 come from the " settlements," had arrested the lead 
 ers, and had taken them to the Blue Grass for the 
 feared and hated ordeal of trial by a jury of " bigot 
 ed furriners." On the heels of the soldiers came a 
 young preacher up from the Jellico hills, half " citi 
 zen," half "furriner," with long black hair and a 
 
120 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 scar across his forehead, who was stirring up the 
 people, it was said, "as though Satan was atter 
 them." Over there the spirit of the feud was broken, 
 and a good effect was already perceptible around 
 Hazlan. In past days every pair of lips was sealed 
 with fear, and the non-combatants left crops and 
 homes, and moved down the river, when trouble 
 began. Now only the timid considered this way of 
 escape. Steve and old Jasper found a few men who 
 refused to enter the fight. Several, indeed, talked 
 openly against the renewal of the feud, and some 
 body, it was said, had dared to hint that he would 
 send to the Governor for aid if it should break out 
 again. But these were rumors touching few people. 
 
 For once again, as time and time again before, one 
 bank of the Cumberland was arrayed with mortal 
 enmity against the other, and old Gabe sat, with 
 shaken faith, in the door of his mill. For years he 
 had worked and prayed for peace, and for a little 
 while the Almighty seemed lending aid. Now the 
 friendly grasp was loosening, and yet the miller did 
 all he could. He begged Steve Marcum to urge Rufe 
 to seek aid from the law when the latter came back ; 
 and Steve laughed, and asked what justice was possi 
 ble for a Stetson, with a Lewallen for a judge and 
 Braytons for a jury. The miller pleaded with old 
 Jasper, and old Jasper pointed to the successes of 
 his own life. 
 
 " I hev triumphed ag in my enemies time V 
 ag in," he said. " The Lord air on my side, n I 
 gits a better Christian ever year." The old man 
 spoke with the sincerity of a barbarism that has sur 
 vived the dark ages, and, holding the same faith, the 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 121 
 
 miller had no answer. It was old Gabe indeed who 
 had threatened to send to the Governor for soldiers, 
 and this he would have done, perhaps, had there not 
 been one hope left, and only one. A week had gone, 
 and there was no word from Rufe Stetson. Up on 
 Thunderstruck Knob, the old Stetson mother was 
 growing pitiably eager and restless. Every day she 
 slipped like a ghost through the leafless woods and 
 in and out the cabin, kindling hatred. At every 
 dawn or dusk she was on her porch peering through 
 the dim light for Rufe Stetson. Steve Marcum was 
 ill at ease. Rome Stetson alone seemed unconcerned, 
 and his name was on every gossiping tongue. 
 
 He took little interest and no hand in getting 
 ready for the war. He forbade the firing of a gun 
 till Rufe came back, else Steve should fight his fight 
 alone. He grew sullen and morose. His old mother s 
 look was a thorn in his soul, and he stayed little at 
 home. He hung about the mill, and when Isom be 
 came bedfast, the big mountaineer, who had never 
 handled anything but a horse, a plough, or a rifle, 
 settled himself, to the bewilderment of the Stetsons, 
 into the boy s duties, and nobody dared question 
 him. Even old Gabe jested no longer. The matter 
 was too serious. 
 
 Meanwhile the winter threw off the last slumbrous 
 mood of autumn, as a sleeper starts from a dream. 
 A fortnight was gone, and still no message came 
 from the absent leader. One shore was restive, un 
 easy ; the other confident, mocking. Between the 
 two, Rome Stetson waited his chance at the mill. 
 
122 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 VIII 
 
 DAY was whitening on the Stetson shore. Across 
 the river the air was still sharp with the chill of 
 dawn, and the mists lay like flocks of sheep under 
 shelter of rock and crag. A peculiar cry radiated 
 from the Lewallen cabin with singular resonance on 
 the crisp air the mountain cry for straying cattle. 
 A soft low came from a distant patch of laurel, and 
 old Jasper s girl, Martha, folded her hands like a 
 conch at her mouth, and the shrill cry again startled 
 the air. 
 
 " Ye better come, ye pieded cow-brute." Picking 
 up a cedar piggin, she stepped from the porch 
 towards the meek voice that had answered her. 
 Temper and exertion had brought the quick blood 
 to her face. Her head was bare, her thick hair was 
 loosely coiled, and her brown arms were naked 
 almost to the shoulder. At the stable a young 
 mountaineer was overhauling his riding-gear. 
 
 " Air you goin to ride the hoss to-day, Jas ?" she 
 asked, querulously. 
 
 " That s jes whut I was aimin to do. I m a-goin 
 to town." 
 
 " Well, I lowed I was goin to mill to-day. The 
 co n is mos gone." 
 
 "Well, y u lowed wrong," he answered, imper- 
 turbably. 
 
 "Yu re mean, Jas Lewallen," she cried, hotly; 
 " that s whut ye air, mean dog-mean !" 
 
 The young mountaineer looked up, whistled softly, 
 and laughed. But when he brought his horse to the 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA ]23 
 
 door an hour later there was a bag of corn across the 
 saddle. 
 
 "As ye air so powerful sot on goin to mill, 
 whether or no, I ll leave this hyeh sack at the bend 
 o the road, V ye kin git it thar. I ll bring the 
 meal back ef ye puts it in the same place. I hates to 
 see women-folks a-ridin this hoss. Hit spiles him." 
 
 The horse was a dapple-gray of unusual beauty, 
 and as the girl reached out her hand to stroke his 
 throat, he turned to nibble at her arm. 
 
 " I reckon he d jes as lieve have me ride him as 
 you, Jas," she said. " Me V him have got to be 
 great friends. Ye orter n t to be so stingy." 
 
 " Well, he ain t no hoss to be left out n the bresh 
 now, n I hain t goin to low it." 
 
 Old Jasper had lounged out of the kitchen door, 
 and stood with his huge bulk against a shrinking 
 pillar of the porch. The two men were much alike. 
 Both had the same black, threatening brows meeting 
 over the bridge of the nose. A kind of grim humor 
 lurked about the old man s mouth, which time might 
 trace about young Jasper s. The girl s face had no 
 humor ; the same square brows, apart and clearly 
 marked, gave it a strong, serious cast, and while she 
 had the Lewallen fire, she favored her mother enough, 
 so the neighbors said, " to have a mighty mild, takin 
 way about her ef she wanted." 
 
 "You re right, Jas," the old mountaineer said; 
 " the hoss air a sin n temptation. Hit do me good 
 ever time I look at him. Thar air no sich hoss, 1 
 tell ye, this side o the settlements." 
 
 The boy started away, and the old man followed, 
 and halted him out of the girl s hearing. 
 
124 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 " Tell Eli Crump V Jim Stover to watch the 
 Breathitt road close now," he said, in a low voice. 
 "See all them citizens I tol ye, n tell em to be 
 ready when I says the word. Thar s no tellin whut s 
 goin to happen." 
 
 Young Jasper nodded his head, and struck his 
 horse into a gallop. The old man lighted his pipe, 
 and turned back to the house. The girl, bonnet in 
 hand, was starting for the valley. 
 
 " Thar ain t no use goin to Gabe Bunch s fer yer 
 grist," he said. " The mill on Dead Crick s a-runnin 
 ag in, n I don t want ye over thar axin favors, 
 specially jes now." 
 
 " I lef somethin fer yc to eat, dad," she replied, 
 " ef ye gits hongry before I git back." 
 
 " You heerd me ?" he called after her, knitting his 
 brows. 
 
 " Yes, dad ; I heerd ye," she answered, adding to 
 herself, " But I don t heed ye." In truth, the girl 
 heeded nobody. It was not her way to ask consent, 
 even her own, nor to follow advice. At the bend of 
 the road she found the bag, and for an instant she 
 stood wavering. An impulse turned her to the river, 
 and she loosed the boat, and headed it across the 
 swift, shallow water from the ford and straight 
 towards the mill. At every stroke of her paddle 
 the water rose above the prow of the boat, and, 
 blown into spray, flew J>ack and drenched her ; the 
 wind loosed her hair, and, tugging at her skirts, 
 draped her like a statue; and she fought them, 
 wind and water, with mouth set and a smile in her 
 eyes. One sharp struggle still, where the creek 
 leaped into freedom ; the mouth grew a little firmer, 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 125 
 
 the eyes laughed more, the keel grated on pebbles, 
 and the boat ran its nose into the withered sedge on 
 the Stetson shore. 
 
 A tall gray figure was pouring grain into the 
 hopper when she reached the door of the mill. She 
 stopped abruptly, Rome Stetson turned, and again 
 the two were face to face. No greeting passed. 
 The girl lifted her head with a little toss that 
 deepened the set look about the mountaineer s 
 mouth ; her lax figure grew tense as though strung 
 suddenly against some coming harm, and her eyes 
 searched the shadows without once resting on him. 
 
 " Whar s Uncle Gabe ?" She spoke shortly, and 
 as to a stranger. 
 
 " Gone to town," said Rome, composedly. He 
 had schooled himself for this meeting. 
 
 " When s he comin back ?" 
 
 " Not fore night, I reckon." 
 
 " Whar s Isom ?" 
 
 " Isom s sick." 
 
 " Well, who s tendin this mill 2" 
 
 For answer he tossed the empty bag into the 
 corner and, without looking at her, picked up an 
 other bag. 
 
 " I reckon ye see me, don t ye ?" he asked, coolly. 
 " Hev a cheer, and rest a spell. Hit s a purty long 
 climb whar you come from." 
 
 The girl was confused. She stayed in the door 
 way, a little helpless and suspicious. What was 
 Rome Stetson doing here ? His mastery of the situa 
 tion, his easy confidence, puzzled and irritated her. 
 Should she leave ? The mountaineer was a Stetson, 
 a worm to tread on if it crawled across the path. It 
 
126 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 would be like backing down before an enemy. He 
 might laugh at her after she was gone, and, at that 
 thought, she sat down in the chair with composed 
 face, looking through the door at the tumbling water, 
 which broke with a thousand tints under the sun, 
 but able still to see Rome, sidewise, as he moved 
 about the hopper, whistling softly. 
 
 Once she looked around, fancying she saw a 
 smile on his sober face. Their eyes came near 
 meeting, and she turned quite away. 
 
 " Ever seed a body out n his head ?" 
 
 The girl s eyes rounded with a start of surprise. 
 
 "Well, it s plumb cur us. Isom s been that way 
 lately. Isom s sick, ye know. Uncle Gabe s got 
 the rheumatiz, V Isom s mighty fond o Uncle Gabe, 
 n the boy pestered me till I come down to he p him. 
 Hit p int ly air strange to hear him talldn . He s 
 jes a-ravin bout hell n heaven, n the sin o killin 
 folks. You d ha thought he hed been convicted, 
 though none o our fambly hev been much atter 
 religion. He says as how the wrath uv a livin God 
 is a-goin to sweep these mount ins, ef some mighty 
 tall repentin hain t done. Of co se he got all them 
 notions from Gabe. But Isom al ays was quar, 
 V seed things hisself. He ain t no fool !" 
 
 The girl was listening. Morbidly sensitive to the 
 supernatural, she had turned towards him, and her 
 face was relaxed with fear and awe. 
 
 " He s havin dreams n sich-like now, n I reckon 
 thar s nothing he s seed or heerd that he don talk 
 about. He s been a-goin on about you," he added, 
 abruptly. The girl s hands gave a nervous twitch. 
 " Oh, he don t say nothin ag in ye. I reckon he 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 127 
 
 tuk a fancy to you. Mam was plumb distracted, 
 not knowin whar he had seed ye. She thought it 
 was like his other talk, V I never let on a-knowin 
 how mam was." A flush rose like a flame from the 
 girl s throat to her hair. " But hit s this war," 
 Kome went on in an unsteady tone, " that he talks 
 most about, V I m sorry myself that trouble s 
 a-comin ." He dropped all pretence now. " I ve 
 been a-watchin fer ye over thar on t other shore a 
 good deal lately. I didn t know ye at fust, Marthy " 
 he spoke her name for the first time " V Gabe 
 says y u didn t know me. I remembered ye, though, 
 V I want to tell ye now what I tol ye then : I ve 
 got nothin ag in you. I was hopin ye mought 
 come over ag in hit was sorter cur us that y u was 
 the same gal the same gal " 
 
 His self-control left him; he was halting in speech, 
 and blundering he did not know where. Fumbling 
 an empty bag at the hopper, he had not dared to 
 look at the girl till he heard her move. She had 
 risen, and was picking up her bag. The hard antag 
 onism of her face calmed him instantly. 
 
 " Hain t ye goin to have yer grist ground ?" 
 
 " Not hyeh," she answered, quickly. 
 
 "Why, gal " He got no further. Martha was 
 gone, and he followed her to the bank, bewildered. 
 
 The girl s suspicion, lulled by his plausible ex 
 planation, had grown sharp again. The mountaineer 
 knew that she had been coming there. He was at 
 the mill for another reason than to take the boy s 
 place ; and with swift intuition she saw the truth. 
 
 He got angry as she rowed away angry with 
 himself that he had let her go ; and the same half- 
 
128 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 tender, half-brutal impulse seized him as when he 
 saw her first. This time he yielded. His horse was 
 at hand, and the river not far below was narrow. 
 The bridle-path that led to the Lewallen cabin 
 swerved at one place to a cliff overlooking the river, 
 and by hard riding and a climb of a few hundred* 
 feet on foot he could overtake her half-way up the 
 mountain steep. 
 
 The plan was no more than shaped before he was 
 in the saddle and galloping down the river. The set 
 of his face changed hardly a line while he swam 
 the stream, and, drenched to the waist, scaled the 
 cliff. When he reached the spot, he found the 
 prints of a woman s shoe in the dust of the path, 
 going down. There were none returning, and he 
 had not long to wait. A scarlet bit of color soon 
 flashed through the gray bushes below him. The 
 girl was without her bag of corn. She was climb 
 ing slowly, and was looking at the ground as though 
 in deep thought. Reckless as she was, she had 
 come to realize at last just what she had done. She 
 had been pleased at first, as would have been any 
 woman, when she saw the big mountaineer watching 
 her, for her life was lonely. She had waved her 
 bonnet at him from mere mischief. She hardly 
 knew it herself, but she had gone across the river 
 to find out who he was. She had shrunk from him 
 as from a snake thereafter, and had gone no more 
 until old Jasper had sent her because the Lewallen 
 mill was broken, and because she was a woman, and 
 would be safe from harm. She had met him then 
 when she could not help herself. But now she 
 had gone of her own accord. She had given this 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 129 
 
 Stetson, a bitter enemy, a chance to see her, to talk 
 with her. She had listened to him ; she had been 
 on the point of letting him grind her corn. And 
 he knew how often she had gone to the mill, and 
 he could not know that she had ever been sent. 
 Perhaps he thought that she had come to make 
 overtures of peace, friendship, even more. The sus 
 picion reddened her face with shame, and her anger 
 at him was turned upon herself. Why she had gone 
 again that day she hardly knew. But if there was 
 another reason than simple perversity, it was the 
 memory of Rome Stetson s face when he caught her 
 boat and spoke to her in a way she could not answer. 
 The anger of the moment came with every thought 
 of the incident afterwards, and with it came too 
 this memory of his look, which made her at once 
 defiant and uneasy. She saw him now only when 
 she was quite close, and, startled, she stood still ; 
 his stern look brought her the same disquiet, but she 
 gave no sign of fear. 
 
 " Whut s the matter with ye ?" 
 
 The question was too abrupt, too savage, and the 
 girl looked straight at him, and her lips tightened 
 with a resolution not to speak. The movement put 
 him beyond control. 
 
 "Y u puts hell into me, Marthy Lewallen ; y u 
 puts downright hell into me." The words came be 
 tween gritted teeth. " I want to take ye up V throw 
 ye off this cliff clean into the river, V I reckon the 
 next minute I d jump off atter ye. Y u ve witched me, 
 gal ! I forgits who ye air V who I be, V sometimes 
 I want to come over hyeh n kerry ye out n these 
 mount ins, n nuver come back. You know vvhut 
 
130 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 I ve been watchin the river fer sence the fust time I 
 seed ye. You know whut I ve been a-stayin at the 
 mill fer, V Steve mad V mam a-jowerin V a-look- 
 in over hyeh fer ye night V day ! Y u know whut 
 I ve jes swum over hyeh fer ! What s the matter with 
 ye?" 
 
 Martha was not looking for a confession like this. 
 It took away her shame at once, and the passion of 
 it thrilled her, and left her trembling. While he 
 spoke her lashes drooped quickly, her face soft 
 ened, and the color came back to it. She began 
 intertwining her fingers, and would not look up at 
 him. 
 
 " Ef y u hates me like the rest uv ye, why don t ye 
 say it right out? N ef ye do hate me, whut hev 
 you been lookin cross the river fer, n a-shakin yer 
 bonnet at me, n paddlin to Gabe s fer yer grist, 
 when the mill on Dead Crick s been a-runnin , n I 
 know it ? You ve been banterin me, hev ye ?" the 
 blood rose to his eyes again. " Ye mustn t fool 
 
 with me, gal, by , ye mustn t. Whut hev you 
 
 been goin over thar fer ?" He even took a threat 
 ening step towards her, and, with a helpless gesture, 
 stopped. The girl was a little frightened. Indeed, 
 she smiled, seeing her power over him : she seemed 
 even about to laugh outright ; but the smile turned 
 to a quick look of alarm, and she bent her head sud 
 denly to listen to something below. At last she did 
 speak. " Somebody s comin !" she said. " You d 
 better git out o the way," she went on, hurriedly. 
 " Somebody s comin , I tell ye ! Don t ye hear ?" 
 
 It was no ruse to get rid of him. The girl s eyes 
 were dilating. Something was coming far below. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 131 
 
 Rome could catch the faint beats of a horse s hoofs. 
 He was unarmed, and he knew it was death for him 
 to be seen on that forbidden mountain ; but he was 
 beyond caution, and ready to welcome any vent to his 
 passion, and he merely shook his head. 
 
 " Ef it s Satan hisself, I hain t goin to run." The 
 hoof-beats came nearer. The rider must soon see 
 them from the coil below. 
 
 " Rome, hit s Jas He s got his rifle, and he ll 
 kill ye, n me too!" The girl was white with dis 
 tress. She had called him by his name, and the tone 
 was of appeal, not anger. The black look passed 
 from his face, and he caught her by the shoulders 
 with rough tenderness ; but she pushed him away, 
 and without a word he sprang from the road and 
 let himself noiselessly down the cliff. The hoof- 
 beats thundered above his head, and young Jasper s 
 voice hailed Martha. 
 
 "This hyeh s the bigges meal I ever straddled. 
 Why d n t ye git the grist ground?" 
 
 For a moment the girl did not answer, and 
 Rome waited, breathless. " Wasn t the mill runnin ? 
 Whyn t ye go on cross the river ?" 
 
 " That s whut I did," said the girl, quietly. " Uncle 
 Gabe wasn t thar, n Rome Stetson was. I wouldn t 
 low him to grin the co n, n so I toted hit back." 
 
 " Rome Stetson !" The voice was lost in a volley 
 of oaths. 
 
 The two passed out of hearing, and Rome went 
 plunging down the mountain, swinging recklessly 
 from one little tree to another, and wrenching limbs 
 from their sockets out of pure physical ecstasy. 
 When he reached his horse he sat down, breathing 
 
132 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 heavily, on a bed of moss, with a strange new yearn 
 ing in his heart. If peace should come ! Why not 
 peace, if Rufe should not come back ? He would be 
 the leader then, and without him there could be no 
 war. Old Jasper had killed his father. He was too 
 young at the time to feel poignant sorrow now, 
 and somehow he could look even at that death in a 
 fairer way. His father had killed old Jasper s broth 
 er. So it went back : a Lewallen killed a Stetson ; 
 that Stetson had killed a Lewallen, until one end of 
 the chain of deaths was lost, and the first fault could 
 not be placed, though each clan put it on the other. 
 In every generation there had been compromises pe 
 riods of peace ; why not now ? Old Gabe would 
 gladly help him. He might make friends with young 
 Jasper ; he might even end the feud. And then 
 he and Martha why not? He closed his eyes, and 
 for one radiant moment it all seemed possible. And 
 then a gaunt image rose in the dream, and only the 
 image was left. It was the figure of his mother, 
 stern and silent through the years, opening her grim 
 lips rarely without some curse against the Lewallen 
 race. He remembered she had smiled for the first 
 time when she heard of the new trouble the flight of 
 his uncle and the hope of conflict. She had turned 
 to him with her eyes on fire and her old hands 
 clinched. She had said nothing, but he understood 
 her look. And now Good God ! what would 
 she think and say if she could know what he had 
 done ? His whole frame twitched at the thought, 
 and, with a nervous spring to escape it, he was on 
 his feet, and starting down the mountain. 
 
 Close to the river he heard voices below him, and 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 133 
 
 he turned his horse quickly aside into the bushes. 
 Two women who had been washing clothes passed, 
 carrying white bundles home. They were talking 
 of the coming feud. 
 
 " That ar young Stetson ain t much like his dad," 
 said one. " Young Jas has been a-darin V a-ban- 
 terin him, V he won t take it up. They say he air 
 turnin out a plumb coward." 
 
 When he reached the Stetson cabin three horses 
 with drooping heads were hitched to the fence. 
 All had travelled a long way. One wore a man s 
 saddle ; on the others were thick blankets tied to 
 gether with leathern thongs. 
 
 In the dark porch sat several men. Through the 
 kitchen door he could see his mother getting supper. 
 Inside a dozen rifles leaned against the wall in the 
 firelight, and about their butts was a pile af ammu 
 nition. In the doorway stood Rufe Stetson. 
 
 IX 
 
 ALL were smoking and silent. Several spoke 
 from the shadows as Rome stepped on the porch, 
 and Rufe Stetson faced him a moment in the door 
 way, and laughed. 
 
 " Seem kinder s prised ?" he said, with a search 
 ing look. " Wasn t lookin for me ? I reckon I ll 
 s prise sev ral ef I hev good-luck." 
 
 The subtlety of this sent a chuckle of appreciation 
 through the porch, but Rome passed in without an 
 swer. 
 
 Isom lay on his bed within the circle of light, and 
 
134: A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 his face in the brilliant glow was white, and his eyes 
 shone feverishly. " Rome," he said, excitedly, " Un 
 cle Rufe s hyeh, V they laywayed him, V " He 
 paused abruptly. His mother came in, and at her 
 call the mountaineers trooped through the covered 
 porch, and sat down to supper in the kitchen. They 
 ate hastily and in silence, the mother attending their 
 wants, and Rome helping her. The meal finished, 
 they drew their chairs about the fire. Pipes were 
 lighted, and Rufe Stetson rose and closed the door. 
 
 " Thar s no use harryin the boy," he said ; " I 
 reckon he ll be too puny to take a hand." 
 
 The mother stopped clearing the table, and sat on 
 the rock hearth close to the fire, her withered lips 
 shut tight about a lighted pipe, and her sunken eyes 
 glowing like the coal of fire in its black bowl. Now 
 and then she would stretch her knotted hands ner 
 vously into the flames or knit them about her knees, 
 looking closely at the heavy faces about her, which 
 had lightened a little with expectancy. Rufe Stet 
 son stood before the blaze> his hands clasped behind 
 him, and his huge figure bent in reflection. At in 
 tervals he would look with half-shut eyes at Rome, 
 who sat with troubled face outside the firelight. 
 Across the knees of Steve Marcum, the best marks 
 man in the mountains, lay the barrel of a new Win 
 chester. Old Sam Day, Rufe s father-in-law and 
 counsellor to the Stetsons for a score of years, sat 
 as if asleep on the opposite side of the fireplace from 
 the old mother, with his big square head pressed 
 down between his misshapen shoulders. 
 
 "The time hev come, Rome." Rufe spoke be 
 tween the puffs of his pipe, and Rome s heart quick- 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 135 
 
 ened, for every eye was upon him. " Thar s goin 
 to be trouble now. I hear as how young Jasper hev 
 been talkin purty tall about ye lowin as how ye 
 air afeard o him." 
 
 Rome felt his mother s burning look. He did not 
 turn towards her nor Rufe, but his face grew sullen, 
 and his voice was low and harsh. " I reckon he ll 
 find out about that when the time comes," he said, 
 quietly too quietly, for the old mother stirred un 
 easily, and significant glances went from eye to eye. 
 Rufe did not look up from the floor. He had been 
 told about Rome s peculiar conduct, and, while the 
 reason for it was beyond guessing, he knew the tem 
 per of the boy and how to kindle it. He had thrust 
 a thorn in a tender spot, and he let it rankle. How 
 sorely it did rankle he little knew. The voice of the 
 woman across the river was still in Rome s ears. 
 Nothing cuts the mountaineer to the quick like the 
 name of coward. It stung him like the lash of an ox- 
 whip then ; it smarted all the way across the river 
 and up the mountain. Young Jasper had been charg 
 ing him broadcast with cowardice, and Jasper s peo 
 ple no doubt believed it. Perhaps his own did his 
 uncle, his mother. The bare chance of such a hu 
 miliation set up an inward rage. He wondered how 
 he could ever have been such a fool as to think of 
 peace. The woman s gossip had swept kindly im 
 pulses from his heart with a fresh tide of bitter 
 ness, and, helpless now against its current, he sul 
 lenly gave way, and let his passions loose to drift 
 with it. 
 
 " Whar d ye git the guns, Rufe ?" Steve was 
 testing the action of the Winchester with a kind- 
 
136 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 ling look, as the click of the locks struck softly 
 through the silence. 
 
 " Jackson ; way up in Breathitt, at the eend of 
 the new road." 
 
 " No wonder y u ve been gone so long." 
 
 " I had to wait thar fer the guns, V I had to travel 
 atter dark comin back, V lay out n the bresh-by 
 day. Hit s full eighty mile up thar." 
 
 " Air ye shore nobody seed ye ?" 
 
 The question was from a Marcum, who had come 
 in late, and several laughed. Rufe threw back his 
 dusty coat, which was ripped through the lapel by a 
 bullet. 
 
 "They seed me well nough fer that," he said, 
 grimly, and then he looked towards Rome, who 
 thought of old Jasper, and gave back a gleam of 
 fierce sympathy. There were several nods of ap 
 proval along with the laugh that followed. It was a 
 surprise so little consideration of an escape so nar 
 row from Rufe ; for, as old Gabe said, Rufe was 
 big and good-natured, and was not thought fit for 
 leadership. But there was a change in him when he 
 came back from the West. He was quieter ; he 
 laughed less. No one spoke of the difference ; it 
 was too vague ; but every one felt it, and it had an 
 effect. His flight had made many uneasy, but his 
 return, for that reason, brought a stancher fealty 
 from these ; and this was evident now. All eyes 
 were upon him, and all tongues, even old Sam s, 
 waited now for his to speak. 
 
 " What we ve got to do, we ve got to do mighty 
 quick," he began, at last. " Things air changin . I 
 seed it over thar in Breathitt. The soldiers V that 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 137 
 
 scar-faced Jellico preacher hev broke up the fightin 
 over thar, n ef \ve don t watch out, they ll be a-doin 
 it hyeh, when we start our leetle frolic. We hain t 
 got no time to fool. Old Jas knows this as well as 
 me, n thar s goin to be mighty leetle chance fer 
 em to lay way n pick us off from the bresh. Thar s 
 goin to be fa r fightin fer once, thank the Lord. 
 They bushwhacked us durin the war, n they ve lay- 
 wayed us n shot us to pieces ever sence ; but now, 
 ef God A mighty s willin , the thing s a-goin to be 
 settled one way or t other at last, I reckon." 
 
 He stopped a moment to think. The men s breath 
 ing could be heard, so quiet was the room, and Rufe 
 went on telling in detail, slowly, as if to himself, the 
 wrongs the Lewallens had done his people. When 
 he came to old Jasper his voice was low, and his 
 manner was quieter than ever. 
 
 " Now old Jas have got to the p int whar he says 
 as how nobody in this county kin undersell him n 
 stay hyeh. Old Jas druv Bond Vickers out n the 
 mount ins fer tryin hit. He druv Jess Hale away ; 
 n them two air our kin." 
 
 The big mountaineer turned then, and knocked 
 the ashes from his pipe. His eyes grew a little 
 brighter, and his nostrils spread, but with a sweep of 
 his arm he added, still quietly : 
 
 " Y all know whut he s done." 
 
 The gesture lighted memories of personal wrongs in 
 every breast ; he had tossed a firebrand among fagots, 
 and an angry light began to burn from the eyes that 
 watched him. 
 
 " Ye know, too, that he thinks he has played the 
 same game with me ; but ye don t know, I reckon, 
 
138 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 that he had ole Jim Stover V that mis able Eli 
 Crump a-hidin in the bushes to shoot me " again 
 he grasped the torn lapel ; " that a body warned me 
 to git away from Hazlan ; V the night I left home 
 they come thar to kill me, V s arched the house, V 
 skeered Mollie V the leetle gal most to death." 
 
 The mountaineer s self-control was lost suddenly 
 in a furious oath. The men did know, but in fresh 
 anger they leaned forward in their chairs, and twisted 
 about with smothered curses. The old woman had 
 stopped smoking, and was rocking her body to and 
 fro. Her lips were drawn in upon her toothless 
 gums, and her pipe was clinched against her sunken 
 breast. The head of the old mountaineer was lifted, 
 and his eyes were open and shining fiercely. 
 
 " I hear as how he says I m gone fer good. Well, 
 I have been kinder easy - goin , hatin to fight, but 
 sence the day I seed Rome s dad thar dead in his 
 blood, I hev had jes one thing I wanted to do. Thar 
 wasn t no use stayin hyeh ; I seed that. Rome thar 
 was too leetle, and they was too many fer me. I 
 knowed it was easier to git a new start out West, n 
 when I come back to the mount ins, hit was to do 
 jes whut Tm going to do now" He wheeled 
 suddenly upon Rome, with one huge hand lifted. 
 Under it the old woman s voice rose in a sudden wail : 
 
 " Yes ; n I want to see it done befoh I die. I 
 hain t hyeh fer long, but I hain t goin to leave as 
 long as ole Jas is hyeh, n I want ye all to know it. 
 Ole Jas hev got to go fust. You hear me, Rome ? 
 I m a-talkin to you, boy ; I m a-talkin to you. Hit s 
 yo time now !" 
 
 The frenzied chant raised Rome from his chair. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 139 
 
 Rufe himself took up the spirit of it, and his voice 
 was above all caution. 
 
 "Yes, Rome ! They killed him, boy. They sneaked 
 on him, V shot him to pieces from the bushes. 
 Yes ; hit s yo time now ! Look hyeh, boys !" He 
 reached above the fireplace and took down an old 
 rifle his brother s which the old mother had suf 
 fered no one to toucTi. He held it before the fire, 
 pointing to two crosses made near the flash -pan. 
 " Thar s one fer ole Jim Lewallen! Thar s one fer 
 olc Jas ! He got Jim, but ole Jas got him, V thar s 
 his cross thar yit ! Whar s yo> gun, Rome ? Shame 
 on ye, boy !" 
 
 The wild-eyed old woman was before him. She 
 had divined Rufe s purpose, and was already at his 
 side, with Rome s Winchester in one hand and a 
 clasp-knife in the other. Every man was on his 
 feet ; the door was open, and the boy Isom was at 
 the threshold, his eyes blazing from his white face. 
 Rome had strode forward. 
 
 " Yes, boy ; now s the time, right hyeh before us 
 all ! 
 
 The mother had the knife outstretched. Rome 
 took it, and the scratch of the point on the hard 
 steel went twice through the stillness "one more fer 
 the young un ;" the voice was the old mother s 
 then twice again. 
 
 The moon was sinking when Rome stood in the 
 door alone. The tramp of horses was growing fainter 
 down the mountain. The trees were swaying in the 
 wind below him, and he could just see the gray cliffs 
 on the other shore. The morning seemed far away j 
 it made him dizzy looking back to it through the 
 
140 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 tumult of the day. Somewhere in the haze was the 
 vision of a girl s white face white with distress for 
 him. Her father and her brother he had sworn to 
 kill. He had made a cross for each, and each cross 
 was an oath. He closed the door ; and then he gave 
 way, and sat down with his head in both hands. 
 The noises in the kitchen ceased. The fire died 
 away, and the chill air gathered about him. When 
 he rose, the restless eyes of the boy were upon him 
 from the shadows. 
 
 X 
 
 IT was court-day in Hazlan, but so early in the 
 morning nothing was astir in the town that hinted 
 of its life on such a day. But for the ring of a 
 blacksmith s anvil on the quiet air, and the fact that 
 nowhere was a church-spire visible, a stranger would 
 have thought that the peace of Sabbath overlay a 
 village of God-fearing people. A burly figure 
 lounged in the porch of a rickety house, and yawned 
 under a swinging sign, the rude letters of which 
 promised "private entertainment" for the traveller 
 unlucky enough to pass that way. In the one long, 
 narrow main street, closely flanked by log and 
 framed houses, nothing else human was in sight. 
 Out from this street, and in an empty square, stood 
 the one brick building in the place, the court-house, 
 brick without, brick within ; unfinished, unpencilled, 
 unpainted; panes out of the windows, a shutter off 
 here and there, or swinging drunkenly on one hinge ; 
 the door wide open, as though there was no privacy 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 141 
 
 within a poor structure, with the look of a good 
 man gone shiftless, and fast going wrong. 
 
 Soon two or three lank brown figures appeared 
 from each direction on foot ; then a horseman or 
 two, and by-and-by mountaineers came in groups, on 
 horse and on foot. In time the side alleys and the 
 court-house square were filled with horses and mules, 
 and even steers. The mountaineers crowded the nar 
 row street : idling from side to side ; squatting for 
 a bargain on the wooden sidewalks ; grouping on the 
 porch of the rickety hotel, and on the court-house 
 steps ; loitering in and out of the one store in sight. 
 Out in the street several stood about a horse, looking 
 at his teeth, holding his eyes to the sun, punching 
 his ribs, twisting his tail ; while the phlegmatic own 
 er sat astride the submissive beast, and spoke short 
 answers to rare questions. Everybody talked poli 
 tics, the crop failure, or the last fight at the seat of 
 some private war ; but nobody spoke of a Lewallen 
 or a Stetson unless he knew his listener s heart, and 
 said it in a whisper. For nobody knew when the 
 powder would flash, or who had taken sides, or that 
 a careless word might not array him with one or the 
 other faction. 
 
 A motley throng it was in brown or gray home 
 spun, with trousers in cowhide boots, and slouched 
 hats with brims curved according to temperament, 
 but with striking figures in it : the patriarch with 
 long, white hair, shorn even with the base of the 
 neck, and bearded only at the throat a justice of 
 the peace, and the sage of his district; a little 
 mountaineer with curling black hair and beard, and 
 dark, fine features ; a grizzled giant with a head rug- 
 
142 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 ged enough to have been carelessly chipped from 
 stone ; a bragging candidate claiming everybody s 
 notice ; a square-shouldered fellow surging through 
 the crowd like a stranger ; an open-faced, devil-may- 
 care young gallant on fire with moonshine ; a skulk 
 ing figure with brutish mouth and shifting eyes. In 
 deed, every figure seemed distinct ; for, living apart 
 from his neighbor, and troubling the law but little in 
 small matters of dispute, the mountaineer preserves 
 independence, and keeps the edges of his individu 
 ality unworn. Apparently there was not a woman 
 in town. Those that lived there kept housed, and 
 the fact was significant. Still, it was close to noon, 
 and yet not a Stetson or a Lewallen had been seen. 
 The stores of Rufe and old Jasper were at the ex 
 tremities of the town, and the crowd did not move 
 those ways. It waited in the centre, and whetted 
 impatience by sly trips in twos and threes to stables 
 or side alleys for " mountain dew." Now and then 
 the sheriff, a little man with a mighty voice, would 
 appear on the court-house steps, and summon a wit 
 ness to court, where a frightened judge gave instruc 
 tions to a frightened jury. But few went, unless 
 called ; for the interest was outside : every man in 
 the streets knew that a storm was nigh, and was 
 waiting to see it burst. 
 
 Noon passed. A hoarse bell and a whining hound 
 had announced dinner in the hotel. The guests were 
 coming again into the streets. Eyes were brighter, 
 faces a little more flushed, and the " moonshine " 
 was passed more openly. Both ways the crowd 
 watched closely. The quiet at each end of the street 
 was ominous, and the delay could last but little 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 143 
 
 longer. The lookers - on themselves were getting 
 quarrelsome. The vent must come soon, or amonp* 
 them there would be trouble. 
 
 " Thar comes Jas Lewallen !" At last. A dozen 
 voices spoke at once. A horseman had appeared far 
 down the street from the Lewallen end. The clouds 
 broke from about the sun, and a dozen men knew 
 the horse that bore him ; for the gray was prancing 
 the street sidewise, and throwing the sunlight from 
 his flanks. Nobody followed, and the crowd was 
 puzzled. Young Jasper carried a Winchester across 
 his saddle-bow, and, swaying with the action of his 
 horse, came on. 
 
 "What air he about?" 
 
 " He s a plumb idgit." 
 
 " He mus be crazy." 
 
 " He s drunk !" 
 
 The wonder ceased. Young Jasper was reeling. 
 Two or three Stetsons slipped from the crowd, and 
 there was a galloping of hoofs the other way. An 
 other horseman appeared from the Lewallen end, 
 riding hastily. The new-comer s errand was to call 
 Jasper back. But the young dare-devil was close to 
 the crowd, and was swinging a bottle over his head. 
 
 " Come back hyeh, Jas ! Come hyeh !" The 
 new-comer was shouting afar off while he galloped. 
 Horses were being untethered from the side - alleys. 
 Several more Lewallen riders came in sight. They 
 could see the gray shining in the sunlight amid the 
 crowd, and the man sent after him halted at a safe 
 distance, gesticulating ; and they, too, spurred for 
 ward. 
 
 " Hello, boys!" young Jasper was calling out, as 
 
144 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 he swayed from side to side, the people everywhere 
 giving him way. 
 
 " Fun to-day, by ! fun to-day ! Who ll hev 
 
 a drink? Hyeh s hell to the Stetsons, whar some 
 of em 11 be fore night !" 
 
 With a swagger he lifted the bottle to his lips, 
 and, stopping short, let it fall untouched to the 
 ground. He had straightened in his saddle, and was 
 looking up the street. With a deep curse he threw 
 the Winchester to his shoulder, fired, and before his 
 yell had died on his lips horse and rider were away 
 like a shaft of light. The crowd melted like magic 
 from the street. The Stetsons, chiefly on foot, did 
 not return the fire, but halted up the street, as if par 
 leying. Young Jasper joined his party, and they, 
 too, stood still a moment, puzzled by the irresolution 
 of the other side. 
 
 " Watch out ! they re gittin round ye ! Run for 
 the court - house, ye fools I ye, run !" The voice 
 came in a loud yell from somewhere down the street, 
 and its warning was just in time. 
 
 A wreath of smoke came about a corner of the 
 house far down the street, and young Jasper yelled, 
 and dashed up a side - alley with his followers. A 
 moment later judge, jury, witnesses, and sheriff were 
 flying down the court-house steps at the point of 
 Lewallen guns ; the Lewallen horses, led by the gray, 
 were snorting through the streets ; their riders, bar 
 ricaded in the forsaken court-house, were puffing 
 a stream of fire and smoke from every window of 
 court-room below and jury-room above. 
 
 The streets were a bedlam. The Stetsons were 
 yelling with triumph. The Lewallens were divided, 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 145 
 
 and Rufe placed three Stetsons with Winchesters on 
 each side of the court-house, and kept them firing. 
 Rome, pale and stern, hid his force between the 
 square and the Lewallen store. He was none too 
 quick. The rest were coming on, led by old Jasper. 
 It was reckless, riding that way right into death ; 
 but the old man believed young Jasper s life at stake, 
 and the men behind asked no questions when old 
 Jasper led them. The horses hoofs beat the dirt 
 street like the crescendo of thunder. The fierce old 
 man s hat was gone, and his mane-like hair was shak 
 ing in the wind. Louder and still the Stetsons 
 were quiet quiet too long. The wily old man saw 
 the trap, and, with a yell, whirled the column up an 
 alley, each man flattening over his saddle. From 
 every window, from behind every corner and tree, 
 smoke belched from the mouth of a Winchester. 
 Two horses went down ; one screamed ; the other 
 struggled to his feet, and limped away with an 
 empty saddle. One of the fallen men sprang into 
 safety behind a house, and one Jay still, with his 
 arms stretched out and his face in the dust. 
 
 From behind barn, house, and fence the Lewallens 
 gave back a scattering fire ; but the Stetsons crept 
 closer, and were plainly in greater numbers. Old 
 Jasper was being surrounded, and he mounted again, 
 and all, followed by a chorus of bullets and tri 
 umphant yells, fled for a wooded slope in the rear of 
 the court-house. A dozen Lewallens were prisoners, 
 and must give up or starve. There was savage joy 
 in the Stetson crowd, and many-footed rumor went 
 all ways that night. 
 
 Despite sickness and Rome s strict order, Isom 
 
 10 
 
146 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 had ridden down to the mill. Standing in the door 
 way, he and old Gabe saw up the river, where the 
 water broke into foam over the ford, a riderless gray 
 horse plunging across. Later it neighed at a gate 
 under Wolf s Head, and Martha Lewallen ran out to 
 meet it. Across under Thunderstruck Knob that 
 night the old Stetson mother listened to Isom s 
 story of the fight with ghastly joy in her death- 
 marked face. 
 
 XI 
 
 ALL night the court-house was guarded and on 
 guard. At one corner of the square Rufe Stetson, 
 with a few men, sat on watch in old Sam Day s 
 cabin the fortress of the town, built for such a 
 purpose, and used for it many times before. The 
 prisoners, too, were alert, and no Stetson ventured 
 into the open square, for the moon was high ; an 
 exposure anywhere was noted instantly by the whistle 
 of a rifle-ball, and the mountaineer takes few risks 
 except under stress of drink or passion. Rome 
 Stetson had placed pickets about the town wherever 
 surprise was possible. All night he patrolled the 
 streets to keep his men in such readiness as he 
 could for the attack that the Lewallens would surely 
 make to rescue their living friends and to avenge the 
 dead ones. 
 
 But the triumph was too great and unexpected. 
 Two Braytons were dead ; several more were pris 
 oners with young Jasper in the court - house ; and 
 drinking began. 
 
 As the night deepened without attack, the Stetsons 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 147 
 
 drank more, and grew reckless. A dance was started. 
 Music and " moonshine " were given to every man 
 who bore a Winchester. The night was broken 
 with drunken yells, the random discharge of fire 
 arms, and the monotone of heavy feet. The two 
 leaders were helpless ; the inaction of the Lewallens 
 puzzled them. Chafed with anxiety, they kept their 
 eyes on the court-house or on the thicket of gloom 
 where their enemies lay. But the woods were as 
 quiet as the pall of shadows over them. Once Rome, 
 making his rounds, saw a figure crawling through a 
 field of corn. It looked like Crump s, but before he 
 could fire the man rolled like a ball down the bushy 
 bank to the river. An instant later some object went 
 swiftly past a side-street somebody on horseback. A 
 picket fired an alarm. The horse kept on, and Rome 
 threw his rifle on a patch of moonlight. When the 
 object flashed through, his finger was numbed at the 
 trigger. In the moonlight the horse looked gray, and 
 the rider was seated sidewise. A bullet from the court 
 house clipped his hat-brim as he ran recklessly across 
 the street to where Steve Marcum stood in the dark 
 behind old Sam s cabin. 
 
 " Jim Hale 11 git him as he goes up the road," 
 said Steve, calmly and then with hot impatience, 
 u Why the hell don t he shoot ?" 
 
 Rome started forward in the moonlight, and Steve 
 caught his arm. Two bullets hissed from the court 
 house, and he fell back. 
 
 A shot sounded from the bushes far away from 
 the road. The horse kept on, and splashed into 
 Troubled Fork, and Steve swore bitterly. 
 
 " Hit ain t Jim. Hit s that mis able Bud Vickers ; 
 
148 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 he s been a-standin guard out n the bushes stid o 
 the road. That was a spy, I tell ye, V the coward 
 let him in and let him out. They ll know now we re 
 all drunk ! Wh tit s the matter?" 
 
 Rome s mouth was half open. He looked white 
 and sick, and Steve thought he had been hit, but he 
 took off his hat. " Purty close !" he said, with a 
 laugh, pointing at the bullet-hole through the brim. 
 
 Steve, unsuspicious, went on : " Hit was a spy, 
 I tell ye. Bud was afeard to stan in the road, n I m 
 goin out thar n twist his damned neck. We ve 
 got em, Rome ! I tell ye, we ve got em ! Ef we 
 kin git through this night, and git the boys sober 
 in the morning, we ve got em shore !" 
 
 The night did pass in safety, darkness wore away 
 without attack, and morning broke on the town in 
 its drunken stupor. Then the curious silence of the 
 Lewallens was explained. The rumor came that old 
 Jasper was dead, and it went broadcast. Later, 
 friends coming to the edge of the town for the 
 bodies of the dead Lewallens confirmed it. A ran 
 dom ball had passed through old Lewallen s body in 
 the wild flight for the woods. During the night he 
 had spent his last breath in a curse against the man 
 who fired it. 
 
 Then each Stetson, waked from his drunken sleep, 
 drank again when he heard of the death. The day 
 bade fair to be like the night, and again the anxie 
 ty of the leaders was edged with fear. Old Jasper 
 dead and young Jasper a prisoner, the chance was 
 near to end the feud. There would be no Lewallen 
 left to lead their enemies. But, again, they were well- 
 nigh helpless. Already they had barely enough men 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 149 
 
 to guard their prisoners. Of the Marcums, Steve 
 alone was able to handle a Winchester. Outside the 
 sounds of the carousal were in the air and growing 
 louder. In a little while, if the Lewallens but knew 
 it, escape would be easy and the Stetsons could be 
 driven from the town. 
 
 " Oh, they know it," said Steve. " They ll be 
 a-whoopin down out o them woods purty soon, V 
 we re goin to ketch hell. I d like to know mighty 
 well who that spy was last night. That cussed Bud 
 Vickers says it was a ha nt, on a white hoss, with 
 long hair fly in in the wind, n that he shot plumb 
 through it. I jus wish I d a had a chance at it." 
 
 Still, noon came again without trouble, and the 
 imprisoned Lewallens had been twenty - four hours 
 without food. Their ammunition was getting scarce. 
 The firing was less frequent, but the watch was as 
 close as ever. Twice a Winchester had sounded a 
 signal of distress. All knew that a response must 
 come soon ; and come it did. A picket, watching 
 the river road, saw young Jasper s horse coming 
 along the dark bushes far up the river, and brought 
 the news to the group standing behind old Sam s 
 cabin. The gray galloped into sight, and, skirting the 
 woods, came straight for the town with a woman 
 on his back. The stirrup of a man s saddle dangled 
 on one side, and the woman s bonnet had fallen from 
 her head. Some one challenged her. 
 
 " Stop, I tell ye ! Don t ye go near that court 
 house ! Stop, I tell ye ! I ll shoot ! Stop !" 
 
 Rome ran from the cabin with a revolver in each 
 hand. A drunken mountaineer was raising a Win 
 chester to his shoulder. Springing from the back of 
 
150 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 the gray at the court-house steps was Martha Le- 
 wallen. 
 
 " I ll kill the fust man that lifts his finger to hurt 
 the gal," Rome said, knocking the drunken man s 
 gun in the air. " We hain t fightin women !" 
 
 It was too late to oppose her, and the crowd stood 
 helplessly watching. No one dared approach, and, 
 shielding with her body the space of the opening 
 door, she threw the sack of food within. Then she 
 stood a moment talking and, turning, climbed to 
 her saddle. The gray was spotted with foam, and 
 showed the red of his nostrils with every breath as, 
 with face flushed and eyes straight before her, she 
 rode slowly towards the crowd. What was she about? 
 Rome stood rigid, his forgotten pistols hanging at 
 each side; the mouth of the drunken mountaineer 
 was open with stupid wonder ; the rest fell apart as 
 she came around the corner of the cabin and, through 
 the space given, rode slowly, her skirt almost brush 
 ing Rome, looking neither to the right nor to the 
 left ; and when she had gone quite through them 
 all, she wheeled and rode, still slowly, through the 
 open fields towards the woods which sheltered the 
 Lewallens, while the crowd stood in bewildered si 
 lence looking after her. Yells of laughter came from 
 the old court-house. Some of the Stetsons laughed, 
 too ; some swore, a few grumbled ; but there was 
 not one who was not stirred by the superb daring of 
 the girl, though she had used it only to show her 
 contempt. 
 
 "Rome, you re a fool ; though, fer a fac , we can t 
 shoot a woman ; n anyways I ruther shoot her 
 than the hoss. But lemme tell ye, thar was more n 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 151 
 
 sump n to eat in that bag! They air up to some 
 dodge." 
 
 Rufe Stetson had watched the incident through a 
 port-hole of the cabin, and his tone was at once jest 
 ing and anxious. 
 
 " That grub won t last more n one day, I reckon," 
 said the drunken mountaineer. "We ll watch out 
 fer the gal nex time. We re boun to git em one 
 time or t other." 
 
 " She rid through us to find out how many of us 
 wasn t dead drunk," said Steve Marcum, still watch 
 ing the girl as she rode on towards the woods ; " V 
 I m a-thinkin they ll be down on us purty soon now, 
 n I reckon we ll have to run fer it. Look thar, 
 boys !" 
 
 The girl had stopped at the edge of the woods ; 
 facing the town, she waved her bonnet high above 
 her head. 
 
 " Well, whut in the " he said, with slow empha 
 sis, and then he leaped from the door with a yell. 
 The bonnet was a signal to the beleaguered Lewal- 
 lens. The rear door of the court-house had been 
 quietly opened, arid the prisoners were out in a 
 body and scrambling over the fence before the pick 
 ets could give an alarm. The sudden yells, the crack 
 of Winchesters, startled even the revellers ; and all 
 who could, headed by Rome and Steve Marcum, 
 sprang into the square, and started in pursuit. But 
 the Lewallens had got far ahead, and were running 
 in zigzag lines to dodge the balls flying after them. 
 Half-way to the woods was a gully of red clay, and 
 into this the fleetest leaped, and turned instantly to 
 cover their comrades. The Winchesters began to 
 
152 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 rattle from the woods, and the bullets came like rain 
 from everywhere. 
 
 " T-h-up J T-h-up! T-h-up!" there were three of 
 them the peculiar soft, dull messages of hot lead 
 to living flesh. A Stetson went down ; another 
 stumbled ; Rufe Stetson, climbing the fence, caught 
 at his breast with an oath, and fell back. Rome and 
 Steve dropped for safety to the ground. Every other 
 Stetson turned in a panic, and every Lewallen in the 
 gully leaped from it, and ran under the Lewallen fire 
 for shelter in the woods. The escape was over. 
 
 " That was a purty neat trick," said Steve, wiping 
 a red streak from his cheek. " Nex time she tries 
 that, she ll git herself into trouble." 
 
 At nightfall the wounded leader and the dead one 
 were carried up the mountain, each to his home ; 
 and there was mourning far into the night on one 
 bank of the Cumberland, and, serious though Rufe 
 Stetson s wound was, exultation on the other. But 
 in it Rome could take but little part. There had 
 been no fault to find with him in the fight. But a 
 reaction had set in when he saw the girl flash in the 
 moonlight past the sights of his Winchester, and her 
 face that day had again loosed within him a flood of 
 feeling that drove the lust for revenge from his veins. 
 Even now, while he sat in his own cabin, his thoughts 
 were across the river where Martha, broken at last, 
 sat at her death vigils. He knew what her daring 
 ride that day had cost her, with old Jasper dead out 
 there in the woods ; and as she passed him he had 
 grown suddenly humbled, shamed. He grew heart 
 sick now as he thought of it all ; and the sight of his 
 mother on her bed in the corner, close to death as 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 153 
 
 she was, filled him with bitterness. There was no 
 help for him. He was alone now, pitted against 
 young Jasper alone. On one bed lay his uncle 
 nigh to death. There was the grim figure in the 
 corner, the implacable spirit of hate and revenge. 
 His rifle was against the wall. If there was any joy 
 for him in old Jasper s death, it was that his hand 
 had not caused it, and yet God help him ! there 
 was the other cross, the other oath. 
 
 XII 
 
 THE star and the crescent were swinging above 
 Wolfs Head, and in the dark hour that breaks into 
 dawn a cavalcade of Lewallens forded the Cumber 
 land, and galloped along the Stetson shore. At the 
 head rode young Jasper, and Crump the spy. 
 
 Swift changes had followed the court-house fight. 
 In spite of the death of Rufe Stetson from his wound, 
 and several other Stetsons from ambush, the Le 
 wallens had lost ground. Old Jasper s store had 
 fallen into the hands of creditors " furriners " for 
 debts, and it was said his homestead must follow. 
 In a private war a leader must be more than leader. 
 He must feed and often clothe his followers, and 
 young Jasper had not the means to carry on the feud. 
 The famine had made corn dear. He could feed 
 neither man nor horse, and the hired feudsmen fell 
 away, leaving the Lewallens and the Bray tons and 
 their close kin to battle alone. So Jasper avoided 
 open combat and resorted to ambush and surprise ; 
 and, knowing in some way every move made by the 
 
154 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 Stetsons, with great daring and success. It was 
 whispered, too, that he no longer cared who owned 
 what he might want for himself. Several dark deeds 
 were traced to him. In a little while he was a terror 
 to good citizens, and finally old Gabe asked aid of 
 the governor. Soldiers from the settlements were 
 looked for any day, and both factions knew it. At 
 the least this would delay the war, and young Jasper 
 had got ready for a last fight, which was close at 
 hand. 
 
 Half a mile on the riders swerved into a wooded 
 slope. There they hid their horses in the brush, 
 and climbed the spur stealthily. The naked woods 
 showed the cup-like shape of the mountains there 
 a basin from which radiated upward wooded ravines, 
 edged with ribs of rock. In this basin the Stetsons 
 were encamped. The smoke of a fire was visible in 
 the dim morning light, and the Lewallens scattered 
 to surround the camp. The effort was vain. A 
 picket saw the creeping figures ; his gun echoed a 
 warning from rock to rock, and with yells the Le 
 wallens ran forward. Rome sprang from sleep near 
 the fire, bareheaded, rifle in hand, his body plain 
 against a huge rock, and the bullets hissed and spat 
 about him as he leaped this way and that, firing as 
 he sprang, and shouting for his men. Steve Mar- 
 cum alone answered. Some, startled from sleep, had 
 fled in a panic ; some had run deeper into the woods 
 for shelter. And bidding Steve save himself, Rome 
 turned up the mountain, running from tree to tree, 
 and dropped unhurt behind a fallen chestnut. Other 
 Stetsons, too, had turned, and answering bullets be 
 gan to whistle to the enemy. But they were widely 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 155 
 
 separated and ignorant of one another s position, 
 and the Lewallens drove them one by one to new 
 hiding-places, scattering them more. To his right 
 Rome saw Steve Marcum speed like a shadow up 
 through a little open space, but he feared to move. 
 Several Lewallens had recognized him, and were 
 watching him alone. He could not even fire ; at the 
 least exposure there was a chorus of bullets about 
 his ears. In a moment they began to come oblique 
 ly from each side ; the Lewallens were getting around 
 him. In a moment more death was sure there, and 
 once again he darted up the mountain. The bullets 
 sang after him like maddened bees. He felt one cut 
 his hat and another sting his left arm, but he raced 
 up, up, till the firing grew fainter as he climbed, and 
 ceased an instant altogether. Then, still farther be 
 low, came a sudden crash of reports. Stetsons were 
 pursuing the men who were after him, but he could 
 not join them. The Lewallens were scattered every 
 where between him and his own men, and a descent 
 might lead him to the muzzle of an enemy s "Win 
 chester. So he climbed over a ledge of rock and 
 lay there, peeping through a crevice between two 
 bowlders, gaining his breath. The firing was far 
 below him now, and was sharp. Evidently his pur 
 suers were too busy defending themselves to think 
 further of him, and he began to plan how he should 
 get back to his friends. But he kept hidden, and, 
 searching the cliffs below him for a sheltered de 
 scent, he saw something like a slouched hat just 
 over a log, scarcely fifty feet below him. Presently 
 the hat was lifted a few inches ; a figure rose cau 
 tiously and climbed towards the ledge, shielding 
 
156 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 itself behind rock and tree. Very quietly Rome 
 crawled back to the face of the cliff behind him, and 
 crouched behind a rock with his cocked rifle across 
 his knees. The man must climb over the ledge ; 
 there would be a bare, level floor of rock between 
 them the Lewallen would be at his mercy and 
 Rome, with straining ears, waited. There was a 
 foot-fall on the other side of the ledge ; a soft clink 
 of metal against stone. The Lewallen was climbing 
 slowly slowly. Rome could hear his heavy breath 
 ing. A grimy hand slipped over the sharp comb of 
 the ledge ; another appeared, clinched about a Win 
 chester then the slouched hat, and under it the 
 dark, crafty face of young Jasper. Rome sat like 
 the stone before him, with a half-smile on his lips. 
 Jasper peered about with the sly caution of a fox, 
 and his face grew puzzled and chagrined as he 
 looked at the cliffs above him. 
 
 " Stop thar !" 
 
 He was drawing himself over the ledge, and the 
 low, stern voice startled him, as a knife might have 
 done, thrust suddenly from the empty air at his 
 breast. Rome rose upright against the cliff, with 
 his resolute face against the stock of a Winchester. 
 
 " Drap that gun !" 
 
 The order was given along Stetson s barrel, and 
 the weapon was dropped, the steel ringing on the 
 stone floor. Rome lowered his gun to the hollow of 
 his arm, and the two young leaders faced each other 
 for the first time in the life of either. 
 
 " Seem kinder s prised to see me," said the Stet 
 son, grimly. " Hev ye got a pistol ?" 
 
 Young Jasper glared at him in helpless ferocity. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 157 
 
 Naw !" 
 
 " Knife?" 
 
 He drew a Icmg-bladed penknife from his pocket, 
 and tossed it at Rome s feet. 
 
 " Jes move over thar, will ye ?" 
 
 The Lewallen took his stand against the cliff, 
 Rome picked up the fallen rifle, and leaned it against 
 the ledge. 
 
 " Now, Jas Lewallen, thar s nobody left in this 
 leetle trouble cept you V me, n ef one of us was 
 dead, I reckon t other could live hyeh, n thar d be 
 peace in these mount ins. I thought o that when I 
 had ye at the eend o this Winchester. I reckon 
 you would a shot me dead ef I had poked my head 
 over a rock as keerless as you." That is just what 
 he would have done, and Jasper did not answer. 
 " I ve swore to kill ye, too," added Rome, tapping 
 his gun ; " I ve got a cross fer ye hyeh." 
 
 The Lewallen was no coward. Outcry or resist 
 ance was useless. The Stetson meant to taunt him, 
 to make death more bitter; for Jasper expected 
 death, and he sullenly waited for it against the cliff. 
 
 "You ve been banterin me a long time now, 
 lowin as how ye air the better man o the two ; n 
 I ve got a notion o givin ye a chance to prove yer 
 tall talk. Hit s not our way to kill a man in cold 
 blood, n I don t want to kill ye anyways ef I kin 
 he p it. Seem s prised ag in. Reckon ye don t be 
 lieve me ? I don t wonder when I think o my own 
 dad, n all the meanness yo folks have done mine ; 
 but I ve got a good reason fer not killin ye ef I 
 kin he p it. Y u don t know what it is, n y u ll never 
 know ; but I ll give ye a chance now fer yer life ef 
 
158 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 y u ll sw ar on a stack o Bibles as high as that tree 
 thar that y u ll leave these mount ins ef 1 whoops ye, 
 V nuver come back ag in as long as you live. I ll 
 leave, ef ye whoops me. Now, whut do ye say ? 
 Will ye sw ar ?" 
 
 " I reckon I will, seein as I ve got to," was the 
 surly answer. But Jasper s face was dark with sus 
 picion, and Rome studied it keenly. The Lewallens 
 once had been men whose word was good, but he 
 did not like Jasper s look. 
 
 " I reckon I ll trust ye," he said, at last, more 
 through confidence in his own strength than faith in 
 his enemy ; for Jasper whipped would be as much at 
 his mercy as he was now. So Rome threw off his coat, 
 and began winding his homespun suspenders about 
 his waist. Watching him closely, Jasper did the same. 
 
 The firing below had ceased. A flock of mountain 
 vultures was sailing in great circles over the thick 
 woods. Two eagles swept straight from the rim of 
 the sun above Wolf s Head, beating over a turbulent 
 sea of mist for the cliffs, scarcely fifty yards above the 
 ledge, where a pine-tree grew between two rocks. 
 At the instant of lighting, they wheeled away, each 
 with a warning scream to the other. A figure lying 
 flat behind the pine had frightened them, and now a 
 face peeped to one side, flushed with eagerness over 
 the coming fight. Both were ready now, and the 
 Lewallen grew suddenly white as Rome turned again 
 and reached down for the guns. 
 
 " I reckon I ll put em a leetle furder out o the 
 way," he said, kicking the knife over the cliff ; and, 
 standing on a stone, he thrust them into a crevice high 
 above his head. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 159 
 
 " Now, Jas, we ll figlit this gredge out, as our 
 grandads have done afore us." 
 
 Lewallen and Stetson were man to man at last. 
 Suspicion was gone now, and a short, brutal laugh 
 came from the cliff. 
 
 " I ll fight ye ! Oh, by God, I ll fight ye !" 
 
 The ring of the voice struck an answering gleam 
 from Rome s gray eyes, and the two sprang for 
 each other. It was like the struggle of primeval men 
 who had not yet learned even the use of clubs. For 
 an instant both stood close, like two wild beasts 
 crouched for a spring, and circling about to get at 
 each other s throats, with mouths set, eyes watch 
 ing eyes, and hands twitching nervously. Young 
 Jasper leaped first, and the Stetson, wary of closing 
 with him, shrank back. There were a few, quick, 
 heavy blows, and the Lewallen was beaten away with 
 blood at his lips. Then each knew the advantage of 
 the other. The Stetson s reach was longer ; the 
 Lewallen was shorter and heavier, and again he 
 closed in. Again Rome sent out his long arm. A 
 turn of Jasper s head let the heavy fist pass over his 
 shoulder. The force of the blow drove Rome forward ; 
 the two clinched, and Jasper s arms tightened about 
 the Stetson s waist. With a quick gasp for breath 
 Rome loosed his hold, and, bending his enemy s 
 head back with one hand, rained blow after blow in 
 his face with the other. One terrible stroke on the 
 jaw, and Jasper s arms were loosed ; the two fell 
 apart, the one stunned, the other breathless. One 
 dazed moment only, and for a third time the Lewal 
 len came on. Rome had been fighting a man ; now 
 he faced a demon. Jasper s brows stood out like 
 
160 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 bristles, and the eyes under them were red and fierce 
 like a mad bull s. Again Rome s blows fell, but 
 again the Lewallen reached him, and this time he got 
 his face under the Stetson s chin, arid the heavy 
 fist fell upon the back of his head, and upon his 
 neck, as upon wood and leather. Again Rome had 
 to gasp for breath, and again the two were fiercely 
 locked their corded arms as tense as serpents. 
 Around and around they whirled, straining, tripping, 
 breaking the silence only with deep, quick breaths 
 and the stamping of feet, Jasper firm on the rock, 
 and Rome s agility saving him from being lifted in 
 the air and tossed from the cliff. There was no 
 pause for rest. It was a struggle to the end, and a 
 quick one ; and under stress of excitement the figure 
 at the pine-tree had risen to his knees jumping 
 even to his feet in plain view, when the short, strong 
 arms of the Lewallen began at last to draw Rome 
 closer still, and to bend him backward. The Stetson 
 was giving way at last. The Lewallen s vindictive 
 face grew blacker, and his white teeth showed be 
 tween his snarling lips as he fastened one leg 
 behind his enemy s, and, with chin against his 
 shoulder, bent him slowly, slowly back. The two 
 breathed in short, painful gasps ; their swollen 
 muscles trembled under the strain as with ague. 
 Back back the Stetson was falling ; he seemed 
 almost down, when the trick is an old one whirl 
 ing with the quickness of light, he fell heavily on 
 his opponent, and caught him by the throat with 
 both hands. 
 
 " Nough ?" he asked, hoarsely. It was the first 
 word uttered. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 161 
 
 The only answer was a fierce struggle. Rome 
 felt the Lewallen s teeth sinking in his arm, and 
 his fingers tightened like twisting steel, till Jasper- 
 caught his breath as though strangling to death. 
 
 " Nough ?" asked the hoarse voice again. 
 
 No answer; tighter clinched the fingers. The 
 Lewallen shook his head feebly ; his purple face 
 paled suddenly as Rome loosed his hold, and his 
 lips moved in a whisper. 
 
 " Nough !" 
 
 Rome rose dizzily to one knee. Jasper turned, 
 gasping, and lay with his face to the rock. For 
 a while both were quiet, Rome, panting with open 
 mouth and white with exhaustion, looking down 
 now and then at the Lewallen, whose face was 
 turned away with shame. 
 
 The sun was blazing above Wolf s Head now, and 
 the stillness about them lay unbroken on the woods 
 below. 
 
 " I ve whooped ye, Jas," Rome said, at last ; " I 
 whooped ye in a fa r fight, V I ve got nothin now 
 to say bout yer tall talk, n I reckon you hevn t 
 nuther. Now, hit s understood, hain t it, that y u ll 
 leave these mountains ? 
 
 " Y u kin go West," he continued, as the Lewallen 
 did not answer. " Uncle Rufe used to say thar s a 
 good deal to do out thar, n nobody axes questions. 
 Thar s nobody left hyeh but you n me, but these 
 mount ins was never big hough fer one Lewallen n 
 one Stetson, n you ve got to go. I reckon ye won t 
 believe me, but I m glad I didn t hev to kill ye. But 
 you ve promised to go, now, n I ll take yer word 
 
 fer it." He turned his face, and the Lewallen, 
 11 
 
162 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 knowing it from the sound of his voice, sprang to his 
 feet. 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 A wild curse burst from Rome s lips, and both 
 leaped for the guns. The Lewallen had the start of 
 a few feet, and Rome, lamed in the fight, stumbled 
 and fell. Before he could rise Jasper had whirled, 
 with one of the Winchesters above his head and his 
 face aflame with fury. Asking no mercy, Rome hid 
 his face with one arm and waited, stricken faint all 
 at once, and numb. One report struck his ears, 
 muffled, whip-like. A dull wonder came to him that 
 the Lewallen could have missed at such close range, 
 and he waited for another. Some one shouted a 
 shrill halloo. A loud laugh followed ; a light seemed 
 breaking before Rome s eyes, and he lifted his head. 
 Jasper was on his face again, motionless ; and Steve 
 Marcum s tall figure was climbing over a bowlder 
 towards him. 
 
 " That was the best fight I ve seed in my time, 
 by God" he said, coolly, " V, Rome, y u air the biggest 
 fool this side o the settlements, I reckon. I had 
 dead aim on him, n I was jest a-thinkin hit was a 
 purty good thing fer you that ole long-nosed Jim 
 Stover chased me up hyeh, when, damn me, ef that 
 boy up thar didn t let his ole gun loose. I d a-got 
 Jas myself ef he hadn t been so all-fired quick o 
 trigger." 
 
 Up at the root of the pine-tree Isom stood motion 
 less, with his long rifle in one hand and a little cloud 
 of smoke breaking above his white face. When 
 Rome looked up he started down without a word. 
 Steve swung himself over the ledge. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 163 
 
 " I heerd the shootin ," said the boy, " up thar at 
 the cave, V I couldn t stay thar. I knowed ye could 
 whoop him, Rome, V I seed Steve, too, but I was 
 afeard " Then he saw the body. His tongue 
 stopped, his face shrivelled, and Steve, hanging with 
 one hand to the ledge, watched him curiously. 
 
 " Rome," said the boy, in a quick whisper, " is he 
 daid ?" 
 
 " Come on !" said Steve, roughly. " They ll be up 
 hyeh atter us in a minute. Leave Jas s gun thar, V 
 send that boy back home." 
 
 That day the troops came young Blue Grass 
 Kentuckians. That night, within the circle of their 
 camp-fires, a last defiance was cast in the teeth of 
 law and order. Flames rose within the old court 
 house, and before midnight the moonlight fell on 
 four black walls. That night, too, the news of 
 young Jasper s fate was carried to the death-bed of 
 Rome s mother, and before day the old woman 
 passed in peace. That day Stetsons and Lewallens 
 disbanded. The Lewallens had no leader ; the Stet 
 sons, no enemies to fight. Some hid, some left the 
 mountains, some gave themselves up for trial. Upon 
 Rome Stetson the burden fell. Against him the law 
 was set. A price was put on his head, his house 
 was burned a last act of Levvallen hate and Rome 
 was homeless, the last of his race, and an outlaw. 
 
 XIII 
 
 WITH the start of a few hours and the sympathy 
 of his people one mountaineer can defy the army of 
 
164 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 the United States ; and the mountaineers usually laugh 
 when they hear troops are coming. For the time 
 they stop fighting, and hide in the woods ; and when 
 the soldiers are gone, they come out again, and 
 begin anew their little pleasantries. But the soldiers 
 can protect the judge on his bench and the county- 
 seat in time of court, and for these purposes they 
 serve well. 
 
 The search for Rome Stetson, then, was useless. 
 His friends would aid him ; his enemies feared to be 
 tray him. So the soldiers marched away one morn 
 ing, and took their prisoners for safe-keeping in the 
 Blue Grass, until court should open at Hazlan. 
 
 Meantime, spring came and deepened the moun 
 tain spring. The berries of the wintergreen grew 
 scarce, and Rome Stetson, "hiding out," as the 
 phrase is, had to seek them on the northern face 
 of the mountains. The moss on the naked winter 
 trees brightened in color, and along the river, where 
 willows drooped, ran faint lines of green. The trail- 
 ing-arbutus gave out delicate pink blossoms, and 
 the south wind blew apart the petals of the anemone. 
 Soon violets unfolded above the dead leaves ; azaleas 
 swung their yellow trumpets through the under 
 growth ; overhead, the dogwood tossed its snow-flakes 
 in gusts through the green and gold of new leaves 
 and sunlight ; and higher still waved the poplar 
 blooms, with honey ready on every crimson heart for 
 the bees. Down in the valley Rome Stetson could 
 see about every little cabin pink clouds and white 
 clouds of peach and of apple blossoms. Amid the 
 ferns about him shade-loving trilliums showed their 
 many-lined faces, and every opening was thickly peo- 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 165 
 
 pled with larkspur seeking the sun. The giant magno 
 lia and the umbrella-tree spread their great creamy 
 flowers; the laurel shook out myriads of pink and 
 white bells, and the queen of mountain flowers was 
 stirring from sleep in the buds of the rhododendron. 
 
 With the spring new forces pulsed the mountain 
 air. The spirit of the times reached even Hazlan. 
 A railroad was coming up the river, so the rumor 
 was. When winter broke, surveyors had appeared ; 
 after them, mining experts and purchasers of land. 
 New ways of bread-making were open to all, and the 
 feudsman began to see that he could make food and 
 clothes more easily and with less danger than by 
 sleeping with his rifle in the woods, and by fighting 
 men who had done him no harm. Many were tired 
 of fighting ; many, forced into the feud, had fought 
 unwillingly. Others had sold their farms and wild 
 lands, and were moving towards the Blue Grass or 
 westward. The desperadoes of each faction had fled 
 the law or were in its clutches. The last Lewallen 
 was dead ; the last Stetson was hidden away in the 
 mountains. There were left Marcums and Braytons, 
 but only those who felt safest from indictment ; in 
 these a spirit of hostility would live for years, and, 
 roused by passion or by drink, would do murder now 
 on one side of the Cumberland and now on the other; 
 but the Stetson-Lewallen feud, old Gabe believed, 
 was at an end at last. 
 
 All these things the miller told Rome Stetson, who 
 well knew what they meant. lie was safe enough 
 from the law while the people took no part in his 
 capture, but he grew apprehensive when he learned 
 of the changes going on in the valley. None but 
 
166 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 old Gabe knew where he was, to be sure, but with 
 his own enemies to guide the soldiers he could not 
 hope to remain hidden long. Still, with that love of 
 the mountains characteristic of all races born among 
 them, he clung to his own land. He would rather 
 stay where he was the space of a year and die, he 
 told old Gabe passionately, than live to old age in 
 another State. 
 
 But there was another motive, and he did not 
 hide it. On the other side he had one enemy left 
 the last, too, of her race who was more to him than 
 his own dead kindred, who hated him, who placed at 
 his door all her sorrows. For her he was living like 
 a wolf in a cave, and old Gabe knew it. Her he 
 would not leave. 
 
 " I tell ye, Rome, you ve got to go. Thar s no use 
 talkin . Gouht comes the fust Monday in June. 
 The soldiers will be hyeh. Hit won t be safe. Thar s 
 some that s picions I know whar ye air now, V 
 they ll be spyin , V mebbe hit ll git me into trouble, 
 too, aidin V abettin a man to git away who air 
 boun to the law." 
 
 The two were sitting on the earthen floor of the 
 cave before a little fire, and Rome, with his hands 
 about his knees, and his brows knitted, was staring 
 into the yellow blaze. His unshorn hair fell to his 
 shoulders ; his face was pale from insufficient food 
 and exercise, and tense with a look that was at once 
 caged and defiant. 
 
 " Uncle Gabe," he asked, quietly, for the old man s 
 tone was a little querulous, " air ye sorry ye holped 
 me ? Do ye blame me fer whut I ve done ?" 
 
 " No," said the old miller, answering both ques- 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 167 
 
 tions ; " I don t. I believe whut ye tol me. Though, 
 even ef ye hed a done it, I don t know as I d blame 
 ye, seein that it was a fa r fight. I don t doubt he 
 was doin his best to kill you." 
 
 Rome turned quickly, his face puzzled and dark 
 ening. 
 
 " Uncle Gabe, whut air you drivin at ?" The old 
 man spat into the fire, and shifted his position un 
 easily, as Rome s hand caught his knee. 
 
 " Well, ef I have to tell ye, I s pose I must. Thar s 
 been nothin pertickler ag in ye so fer, cept fer 
 breakin that confederatin statchet bout bandin 
 fightin men together ; V nobody was very anxious 
 to git hoi o ye jes fer that, but now " the old man 
 stopped a moment, for Rome s eyes were kindling 
 " they say that ye killed Jas Lewallen, V that ye air 
 a murderer ; n hit air powerful strange how all of a 
 suddint folks seem to be gittin down on a man as 
 kills his fellow-creetur ; n now they means to hunt 
 ye till they ketch ye." 
 
 It was all out now, and the old man was relieved. 
 Rome rose to his feet, and in sheer agony of spirit 
 paced the floor. 
 
 " I tol ye, Uncle Gabe, that I didn t kill him." 
 
 " So ye did, n I believe ye. But a feller seed 
 you n Steve comin from the place whar Jas was 
 found dead, n whar the dirt n rock was throwed 
 about as by two bucks in spring-tirne. Steve says he 
 didn t do it, n he wouldn t say you didn t. Looks 
 to me like Steve did the killin , n was lyin a leetle. 
 He hain t goin to confess hit to save your neck ; n 
 he can t no way, fer he hev lit out o these mount ins 
 long ago." 
 
168 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 If Steve was out of danger, suspicion could not 
 harm him, and Rome said nothing. 
 
 " Isom s got the lingerin fever ag in, V he s out n 
 his head. He s ravin bout that fight. Looks like 
 ye tol him bout it. He says, * Don t tell Uncle 
 Gabe ; n he keeps sayin it. Hit ll mos kill him 
 ef you go way ; but he wants ye to git out o the 
 mountains ; n , Rome, you ve got to go." 
 
 " Who was it, Uncle Gabe, that seed me n Steve 
 comin way from thar 2" 
 
 " He air the same feller who hev been spyin ye 
 all the time this war s been goin on ; hit s that dried- 
 faced, snaky Eli Crump, who ye knocked down n 
 choked up in Ilazlan one day fer sayin something 
 ag in Isom." 
 
 " I knowed it- I knowed it oh, ef I could git my 
 fingers roun his throat once more jes once more 
 I d be mos ready to die." 
 
 He stretched out his hands as he strode back and 
 forth, with his fingers crooked like talons ; his shadow 
 leaped from wall to wall, and his voice, filling the 
 cave, was, for the moment, scarcely human. The old 
 man waited till the paroxysm was over and Rome 
 had again sunk before the fire. 
 
 "Hit u d do no good, Rome," he said, rising to 
 go. " You ve got enough on ye now, without the 
 sin o takin his life. Yon better make up yer mind 
 to leave the mount ins now right way. You re a-git- 
 tin no more n half-human, livin up hyeh like a cata 
 mount. I don t see how .ye kin stand it. Thar s 
 no hope o things blowin over, boy, n givin ye a 
 chance o comin out ag in, as yer dad and yer grandad 
 usen to do afore ye. The citizens air gittin tired o 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 169 
 
 these wars. They keeps out the furriners who makes 
 roads V buys lands; they air ag in the law, ag in 
 religion, ag in yo pocket, n ag in mine. Lots o 
 folks hev been ag in all this fightin fer a long time, 
 but they was too skeery to say so. They air talkin 
 mighty big now, seein they kin git soldiers hyeh to 
 pertect em. So ye m ought as well give up the idea 
 o staying hyeh, less n ye want to give yourself up 
 to the law." 
 
 The two stepped from the cave, and passed through 
 the rhododendrons till they stood on the cliff over 
 looking the valley. The rich light lay like a golden 
 rnist between the mountains, and through it, far down, 
 the river moaned like the wind of a coming storm. 
 
 " Did ye tell the gal whut I to? ye ?" 
 
 " Yes, Rome ; hit wasn t no use. She says Steve s 
 word s as good as yourn ; n she knowed about the 
 crosses. Folks say she swore awful ag in ye at 
 young Jas s burial, lowin that she d hunt ye down 
 herse f, ef the soldiers didn t ketch ye. I hain t seed 
 her sence she got sick ; pears like ever body s sick. 
 Mebbe she s a leetle settled down now no tellin . 
 No use foolin with her, Rome. You git away from 
 hyeh. Don t you worry bout Isom I ll take keer 
 o him, n when he gits well, he ll want to come atter 
 ye, n I ll let him go. He couldn t live hyeh with 
 out you. But y u must git away, Rome, n git away 
 mighty quick." 
 
 With hands clasped behind him, Rome stood and 
 watched the bent figure slowly pick its way around 
 the stony cliff. 
 
 " I reckon I ve got to go. She s ag in me ; they re 
 all ag in me. 1 reckon I ve jes got to go. Some- 
 
170 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 how, I ve been kinder hopin " He closed his lips 
 to check the groan that rose to them, and turned 
 again into the gloom behind him. 
 
 XIV 
 
 JUNE came. The wild rose swayed above its image 
 along every little shadowed stream, and the scent of 
 wild grapes was sweet in the air and as vagrant as 
 a bluebird s note in autumn. The rhododendrons 
 burst into beauty, making gray ridge and gray cliff 
 blossom with purple, hedging streams with snowy 
 clusters and shining leaves, and lighting up dark 
 coverts in the woods as with white stars. The leaves 
 were full, wood-thrushes sang, and bees droned like 
 unseen running water in the woods. 
 
 With June came circuit court once more and the 
 soldiers. Faint music pierced the dreamy chant of 
 the river one morning as Rome lay on a bowlder in 
 the summer sun ; and he watched the guns flashing 
 like another stream along the water, and then looked 
 again to the Lewallen cabin. Never, morning, noon, 
 or night, when he came from the rhododendrons, or 
 when they closed about him, did he fail to turn his 
 eyes that way. Often he would see a bright speck 
 moving about the dim lines of the cabin, and he 
 would scarcely breathe while he watched it, so easily 
 would it disappear. Always he had thought it was 
 Martha, and now he knew it was, for the old miller 
 had told him more of the girl, and had wrung his 
 heart with pity. She had been ill a long while. The 
 "furriners" had seized old Jasper s cabin and land. 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 171 
 
 The girl was homeless, and she did not know it, for 
 no one had the heart to tell her. She was living 
 with the Braytons ; and every day she went to the 
 cabin, " moonin V sorrowin aroun , as old Gabe 
 said ; and she was much changed. 
 
 Once more the miller came for the last time, he 
 said, firmly. Crump had trailed him, and had learned 
 where Rome was. The search would begin next day 
 perhaps that very night and Crump would guide 
 the soldiers. Now he must go, and go quickly. The 
 boy, too, sent word that unless Rome went he would 
 have something to tell. Old Gabe saw no signifi 
 cance in the message ; but he had promised to de 
 liver it, and he did. Rome wavered then ; Steve 
 and himself gone, no suspicion would fall on the lad. 
 If he were caught, the boy might confess. With 
 silence Rome gave assent, and the two parted in an 
 apathy that was like heartlessness. Only old Gabe s 
 shrunken breast heaved with something more than 
 weariness of descent, and Rome stood watching him 
 a long time before he turned back to the cave that 
 had sheltered him from his enemies among beasts 
 and men. In a moment he came out for the last 
 time, and turned the opposite way. Climbing about 
 the spur, he made for the path that led down to the 
 river. When he reached it he glanced at the sun, 
 and stopped in indecision. Straight above him was 
 a knoll, massed with rhododendrons, the flashing 
 leaves of which made it like a great sea-wave in the 
 slanting sun, while the blooms broke slowly down 
 over it like foam. Above this was a gray sepulchre 
 of dead, standing trees, more gaunt and spectre-like 
 than ever, with the rich life of summer about it. 
 
172 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 Higher still were a dark belt of stunted furs and 
 the sandstone ledge, and above these home. He 
 was risking his liberty, his life. Any clump of 
 bushes might bristle suddenly with Winchesters. If 
 the soldiers sought for him at the cave they would 
 at the same time guard the mountain paths ; they 
 would guard, too, the Stetson cabin. But no matter 
 the sun was still high, and he turned up the steep. 
 The ledge passed, he stopped with a curse at his 
 lips and the pain of a knife-thrust at his heart. A 
 heap of blackened stones and ashes was before him. 
 The wild mountain-grass was growing up about it. 
 The bee-gums were overturned and rifled. The gar 
 den was a tangled mass of weeds. The graves in the 
 little family burying -ground were unprotected, the 
 fence was gone, and no boards marked the last two 
 ragged mounds. Old Gabe had never told him. He 
 too, like Martha, was homeless, and the old miller 
 had been kind to him, as the girl s kinspeople had 
 been to her. 
 
 For a long while he sat on the remnant of the 
 burned and broken fence, and once more the old tide 
 of bitterness rose within him and ebbed away. There 
 were none left to hate, to wreak vengeance on. It 
 was hard to leave the ruins as they were ; and yet he 
 would rather leave weeds and ashes than, like Mar 
 tha, have some day to know that his home was in 
 the hands of a stranger. When he thought of the 
 girl he grew calmer ; his own sorrows gave way to 
 the thought of hers ; and half from habit he raised 
 his face to look across the river. Two eagles swept 
 from a dark ravine under the shelf of rock where he 
 had fought young Jasper, and made for a sun-lighted 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 173 
 
 peak on the other shore. From them his gaze fell 
 to Wolf s Head and to the cabin beneath, and a name 
 passed his lips in a whisper. 
 
 Then he took the path to the river, and he found 
 the canoe where old Gabe had hidden it. Before 
 the young moon rose he pushed into the stream and 
 drifted with the current. At the mouth of the creek 
 that ran over old Gabe s water-wheel he turned the 
 prow to the Le wall en shore. 
 
 " Not yit ! Not yit !" he said. 
 
 XV 
 
 THAT night Rome passed in the woods, with his 
 rifle, in a bed of leaves. Before daybreak he had 
 built a fire in a deep ravine to cook his breakfast, 
 and had scattered the embers that the smoke should 
 give no sign. The sun was high when he crept cau 
 tiously in sight of the Lewallen cabin. It was much 
 like his own home on the other shore, except that 
 the house, closed and desolate, was standing, and the 
 bees were busy. At the corner of the kitchen a rusty 
 axe was sticking in a half-cut piece of timber, and on 
 the porch was a heap of kindling and fire wood the 
 last work old Jasper and his son had ever done. In 
 the Lewallens garden, also, two graves were fresh ; 
 and the spirit of neglect and ruin overhung the place. 
 
 All the morning he waited in the edge of the lau 
 rel, peering down the path, watching the clouds race 
 with their shadows over the mountains, or pacing to 
 and fro in his covert of leaves and flowers. He be 
 gan to fear at last that she was not coming, that she 
 
174 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 was ill, and once he started down the mountain 
 towards Steve Brayton s cabin. The swift descent 
 brought him to his senses, and he stopped half-way, 
 and climbed back again to his hiding-place. What 
 he was doing, what he meant to do, he hardly knew. 
 Mid-day passed ; the sun fell towards the mountains, 
 and once more came the fierce impulse to see her, 
 even though he must stalk into the Brayton cabin. 
 Again, half-crazed, he started impetuously through 
 the brush, and shrank back, and stood quiet. A 
 little noise down the path had reached his ear. In a 
 moment he could hear slow foot-falls, and the figure 
 of the girl parted the pink-and-white laurel blos 
 soms, which fell in a shower about her when she 
 brushed through them. She passed quite near him, 
 walking slowly, and stopped for a moment to rest 
 against a pillar of the porch. She was very pale ; 
 her face was traced deep with suffering, and she was, 
 as old Gabe said, much changed. Then she went 
 on towards the garden, stepping with an effort over 
 the low fence, and leaned as if weak and tired against 
 the apple-tree, the boughs of which shaded the two 
 graves at her feet. For a few moments she stood 
 there, listless, and Rome watched her with hungry 
 eyes, at a loss what to do. She moved presently, 
 and walked quite around the graves without looking 
 at them ; then came back past him, and, seating her 
 self in the porch, turned her face to the river. The 
 sun lighted her hair, and in the sunken, upturned 
 eyes Rome saw the shimmer of tears. 
 
 " Marthy !" He couldn t help it the thick, low 
 cry broke like a groan from his lips, and the girl 
 was on her feet, facing him. She did not know the 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 175 
 
 voice, nor the shaggy, half-wild figure in the shade of 
 the laurel ; and she started back as if to run ; but 
 seeing that the man did not mean to harm her, she 
 stopped, looking for a moment with wonder and 
 even with quick pity at the hunted face with its 
 white appeal. Then a sudden spasm caught her 
 throat, and left her body rigid, her hands shut, and 
 her eyes dry and hard she knew him. A slow pal 
 lor drove the flush of surprise from her face, and 
 her lips moved once, but there was not even a whis 
 per from them. Rome raised one hand before his 
 face, as though to ward off something. " Don t look 
 at me that way, Marthy my God, don t ! I didn t 
 kill him. I sw ar it ! I give him a chance fer his 
 life. I know, I know Steve says he didn t. Thar 
 was only us two. Hit looks ag in me ; but I hain t 
 killed one nur t other. I let em both go. Y u don t 
 believe me ?" He went swiftly towards her, his gun 
 outstretched. " Hyeh, gal 1 I heerd ye swore ag in 
 me out thar in the gyarden lowin that you was 
 goin to hunt me down yerself if the soldiers didn t. 
 Hyeh s yer chance !" 
 
 The girl shrank away from him, too startled to 
 take the weapon ; and he leaned it against her, and 
 stood away, with his hands behind him. 
 
 " Kill me ef ye think I m a-lyin to ye," he said. 
 " Y u kin git even with me now. But I want to tell 
 ye fust " the girl had caught the muzzle of the gun 
 convulsively, and was bending over it, her eyes burn 
 ing, her face inscrutable " hit was a fa r fight be 
 twixt us, V I whooped him. He got his gun then, 
 V would a killed me ag in his oath ef he hadn t 
 been shot fust. Hit s so, too, bout the crosses. I 
 
176 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 made em ; they re right thar on that gun ; but whut 
 could I do with mam a-standin right thar with the 
 gun V Uncle Rufe a-tellin bout my own dad layin 
 in his blood, n Isom V the boys lookin on ! Bat 
 I went ag in my oath ; I give him his life when I 
 had the right to take it. I could a killed yer dad 
 once, n I had the right to kill him, too, fer killin 
 mine ; but I let him go, n I reckon I done that fer 
 ye, too. Pears like I hain t done nothin sence I 
 seed ye. over thar in the mill that day that wasn t 
 done fer ye. Somehow ye put me dead ag in my 
 own kin, n tuk away all my hate ag in yourn. I 
 couldn t fight fer thinkin I was fightin you, n 
 when I seed ye comin through the bushes jes now, 
 so white n sickly-like, I couldn t hardly git breath, 
 a-thinkin I was the cause of all yer misery. That s 
 all I" He stretched out his arms. " Shoot, gal, ef ye 
 don t believe me. I d jes as lieve die, ef ye thinks 
 I m lyin to ye, n ef ye hates me fer whut I hain t 
 done." 
 
 The gun had fallen to the earth. The girl, trem 
 bling at the knees, sank to her seat on the porch, 
 and, folding her arms against the pillar, pressed her 
 forehead against them, her face unseen. Rome 
 stooped to pick up the weapon. 
 
 " I m goin way now," he went on, slowly, after a 
 little pause, " but I couldn t leave hyeh without seein 
 you. I wanted ye to know the truth, n I lowed 
 y u d believe me ef I tol ye myself. I ve been a-wait- 
 in thar in the lorrel fer ye sence mornin . Uncle 
 Gabe tol me ye come hyeh ever day. He says I ve 
 got to go. I ve been hopin I mought come out o 
 the bushes some day. But Uncle Gabe says ever - 
 
A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 177 
 
 body s ag in me more n ever, V that the soldiers 
 mean to ketch me. The gov ner out thar in the set 
 tlements says as how he ll give five hundred dollars 
 fer me, livin or dead. He ll nuver git me livin I ve 
 swore that n as I hev done nothin sech as folks 
 on both sides hev done who air walkin roun free, I 
 hain t goin to give up. Hit s purty hard to leave 
 these mount ins. Reckon I ll nuver see em ag in. 
 Been livin like a catamount over thar on the Knob. 
 I could jes see you over hyeh, n I reckon I hain t 
 done much cept lay over thar on a rock n watch ye 
 movin round. Hit s mighty good to feel that ye 
 believe me, n I want ye to know that I been stayin 
 over thar fer nothin on earth but jes to see you 
 ag in ; n I want ye to know that I was a-sorrowin 
 fer ye when y u was sick, n a-pinin to see ye, n 
 a-hopin some day y u m ought kinder git over yer 
 hate fer me." He had been talking with low tender 
 ness, half to himself, and with his face to the river, 
 and he did not see the girl s tears falling to the 
 porch. Her sorrow gave way in a great sob now, and 
 he turned with sharp remorse, and stood quite near her. 
 
 " Don t cry, Marthy," he said. " God knows hit s 
 hard to think I ve brought all this on ye when I d 
 give all these mount ins to save ye from it. Whut 
 d ye say ? Don t cry." 
 
 The girl was trying to speak at last, and Rome 
 bent over to catch the words. 
 
 " I hain t cryin fer myself," she said, faintly, and 
 then she said no more ; but the first smile that had 
 passed over Rome s face for many a day passed then, 
 and he put out one big hand, and let it rest on the 
 heap of lustrous hair. 
 12 
 
178 A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA 
 
 " Marthy, I hate to go way, leavin ye hyeh with 
 nobody to take kecr o ye. You re all alone hyeh in 
 the mount ins; I m all alone; n I reckon I ll be all 
 alone wharever I go, ef you stay hyeh. I got a boat 
 down thar on the river, n I m goin out West whar 
 Uncle Rufe use to live. I know I hain t good fer 
 nothin much " he spoke almost huskily ; he could 
 scarcely get the words to his lips " but I want ye to 
 go with me. Won t ye ?" 
 
 The girl did not answer, but her sobbing ceased 
 slowly, while Rome stroked her hair; and at last she 
 lifted her face, and for a moment looked to the other 
 shore. Then she rose. There is a strange pride in 
 the Kentucky mountaineer. 
 
 " As you say, Rome, thar s nobody left but you, 
 n nobody but me; but they burned you out, n we 
 hain t even yit." Her eyes were on Thunderstruck 
 Knob, where the last sunlight used to touch the Stet 
 son cabin. 
 
 " Hyeh, Rome !" He knew what she meant, and 
 he kneeled at the pile of kindling-wood near the 
 kitchen door. Then they stood back and waited. 
 The sun dipped below a gap in the mountains, the 
 sky darkened, and the flames rose to the shingled 
 porch, and leaped into the gathering dusk. On the 
 outer edge of the quivering light, where it touched 
 the blossomed laurel, the two stood till the blaze 
 caught the eaves of the cabin ; and then they turned 
 their faces where, burning to ashes in the west, was 
 another fire, whose light blended in the eyes of each 
 with a light older and more lasting than its own 
 the light eternal. 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 A MIDSUMMER freshet was running over old Gabe 
 Bunch s water-wheel into the Cumberland. Inside 
 the mill Steve Marcum lay in one dark corner with 
 a slouched hat over his face. The boy Isom was 
 emptying a sack of corn into the hopper. Old Gabe 
 was speaking his mind. 
 
 Always the miller had been a man of peace ; and 
 there was one time when he thought the old Stetson- 
 Levvallen feud was done. That was when Rome 
 Stetson, the last but one of his name, and Jasper 
 Lewallen, the last but one of his, put their guns 
 down and fought with bare fists on a high ledge 
 above old Gabe s mill one morning at daybreak. 
 The man who was beaten was to leave the moun 
 tains ; the other was to stay at home and have peace. 
 Steve Marcum, a Stetson, heard the sworn terms and 
 saw the fight. Jasper was fairly whipped ; and when 
 Rome let him up he proved treacherous and ran for 
 his gun. Rome ran too, but stumbled and fell. 
 Jasper whirled with his Winchester and was about to 
 kill Rome where he lay, when a bullet came from 
 somewhere and dropped him back to the ledge again. 
 Both Steve Marcum and Rome Stetson said they had 
 
182 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 not fired the shot ; neither would say who had. Some 
 thought one man was lying, some thought the other 
 was, and Jasper s death lay between the two. State 
 troops came then, under the Governor s order, from 
 the Blue Grass, and Rome had to drift down the river 
 one night in old Gabe s canoe and on out of the 
 mountains for good. Martha Lewallen, who, though 
 Jasper s sister and the last of the name, loved and 
 believed Rome, went with him. Marcums and Bray- 
 tons who had taken sides in the fight hid in the 
 bushes around Hazlan or climbed over into Virginia. 
 A railroad started up the Cumberland. " Furriners " 
 came in to buy wild lands and get out timber. Civ 
 ilization began to press over the mountains and down 
 on Hazlan, as it had pressed in on Breathitt, the 
 seat of another feud, in another county. In Breath 
 itt the feud was long past, and with good reason old 
 Gabe thought that it was done in Hazlan. 
 
 But that autumn a panic started over from Eng 
 land. It stopped the railroad far down the Cumber 
 land ; it sent the " furriners " home, and drove civ 
 ilization back. Marcums and Braytons came in from 
 hiding, and drifted one by one to the old fighting- 
 ground. In time they took up the old quarrel, and, 
 with Steve Marcum and Steve Brayton as leaders, 
 the old Stetson-Lewallen feud went on, though but 
 one soul was left in the mountains of either name. 
 That was Isom, a pale little fellow whom Rome had 
 left in old Gabe s care ; and he, though a Stetson 
 and a half-brother to Rome, was not counted, be 
 cause he was only a boy and a foundling, and because 
 his ways were queer. 
 
 There was no open rupture, no organized division 
 
THE LAST STETSON 183 
 
 that might happen no more. The mischief was 
 individual now, and ambushing was more common. 
 Certain men were looking for each other, and it was 
 a question of " drawin quick V shootin quick" 
 when the two met by accident, or of getting the ad 
 vantage " from the bresh." 
 
 In time Steve Marcum had come face to face with 
 old Steve Brayton in Hazlan, and the two Steves, as 
 they were known, drew promptly. Marcum was in 
 the dust when the smoke cleared away ; and now, 
 after three months in bed, he was just out again. He 
 had come down to the mill to see Isom. This was 
 the miller s first chance for remonstrance, and, as 
 usual, he began to lay it down that every man who 
 had taken a human life must sooner or later pay for 
 it with his own. It was an old story to Isom, and, 
 with a shake of impatience, he turned out the door 
 of the mill, and left old Gabe droning on under his 
 dusty hat to Steve who, being heavy with moon 
 shine, dropped asleep. 
 
 Outside the sun was warm, the flood was calling 
 from the dam, and the boy s petulance was gone at 
 once. For a moment he stood on the rude platform 
 watching the tide ; then he let one bare foot into 
 the water, and, with a shiver of delight, dropped 
 from the boards. In a moment his clothes were on 
 the ground behind a laurel thicket, and his slim 
 white body was flashing like a faun through the 
 reeds and bushes up-stream. A hundred yards away 
 the creek made a great loop about a wet thicket of 
 pine and rhododendron, and he turned across the 
 bushy neck. Creeping through the gnarled bodies 
 of rhododendron, he dropped suddenly behind a 
 
184 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 pine, and lay flat in the black earth. Ten yards 
 through the dusk before him was the half-bent figure 
 of a man letting an old army haversack slip from 
 one shoulder ; and Isom watched him hide it with a 
 rifle under a bush, and go noiselessly on towards the 
 road. It was Crump Eli Crump, who had been a 
 spy for the Lewallens in the old feud, and who was 
 spying now for old Steve Brayton. It was the sec 
 ond time Isom had seen him lurking about, and the 
 boy s impulse was to hurry back to the mill. But it 
 was still peace, and without his gun Crump was not 
 dangerous ; so Isom rose and ran on, and, splashing 
 into the angry little stream, shot away like a roll of 
 birch bark through the tawny crest of a big wave. 
 He had done the feat a hundred times ; he knew 
 every rock and eddy in flood-time, and he floated 
 through them and slipped like an eel into the mill- 
 pond. Old Gabe was waiting for him. 
 
 " Whut ye mean, boy," he said, sharply, " reskin 
 the fever an ager this way ? No wonder folks thinks 
 ye air half crazy. Git inter them clothes now n 
 come in hyeh. You ll ketch yer death o cold swim- 
 min this way atter a fresh." 
 
 The boy was shivering when he took his seat at 
 the funnel, but he did not mind that ; some day he 
 meant to swim over that dam. Steve still lay mo 
 tionless in the corner near him, and Isom lifted the 
 slouched hat and began tickling his lips with a 
 straw. Steve was beyond the point of tickling, and 
 Isom dropped the hat back and turned to tell the 
 miller what he had seen in the thicket. The dim 
 interior darkened just then, and Crump stood in 
 the door. Old Gabe stared hard at him without a 
 
THE LAST STETSON 185 
 
 word of welcome, but Crump shuffled to a chair un 
 asked, and sat like a toad astride it, with his knees 
 close up under his arms, and his wizened face in his 
 hands. Meeting Isom s angry glance, he shifted his 
 own uneasily. 
 
 " Seed the new preacher comin long to-day ?" he 
 asked, drawing one dirty finger across his forehead. 
 " Got a long scar cross hyeh." 
 
 The miller shook his head. 
 
 " Well, he s a-comin . I ve Been waitin fer him 
 up the road, hut I reckon I got to git cross the 
 river purty soon now." 
 
 Crump had been living over in Breathitt since the 
 old feud. He had been "convicted" over there by 
 Sherd Raines, a preacher from the Jellico Hills, and 
 he had grown pious. Indeed, he had been trailing 
 after Raines from place to place, and he was follow 
 ing the circuit-rider now to the scene of his own 
 deviltry Hazlan. 
 
 "Reckon you folks don t know I got the cirkit- 
 rider to come over hyeh, do ye f he went on. "Ef 
 he can t preach ! Well, I d tell a man ! He kin jus 
 draw the heart out n a holler log ! He * convicted 
 me fust night, over thar in Breathitt. He come 
 up thar, ye know, to stop the feud, he said ; n thar 
 was laughin from one eend o Breathitt to t other ; 
 but thar was the whoppinest crowd thar I ever see 
 when he did come. The meetin -house wasn t big 
 enough to hold em, so he goes out on the aidge o 
 town, n climbs on to a stump. He had a woman 
 with him from the settlemints she s a-waitin at 
 Hazlan fer him now n she had a cur us little box, 
 n he put her n the box on a big rock, n started in 
 
186 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 a-callin era his bretherin V sisteren, V folks seed 
 mighty soon that he meant it, too. He s always 
 mighty easy-like, tell he gits to the blood-penalty." 
 
 At the word Crump s listeners paid sudden heed. 
 Old G-abe s knife stopped short in the heart of the 
 stick he was whittling ; the boy looked sharply up 
 from the running meal into Crump s face and sat still. 
 
 " Well, he jes prayed to the Almighty as though 
 he was a-talkin to him face to face, V then the 
 woman put her hands on that box, n the sweetes 
 sound anybody thar ever heerd come out n it. Then 
 she got to singin . Hit wusn t nuthin anybody 
 thar d ever heerd ; but some o the women-folks was 
 a snifflin fore she got through. He pitched right 
 into the feud, as he calls hit, n the sin o sheddin 
 human blood, I tell ye ; n twixt him n the soldiers 
 I reckon thar won t be no more fightin in Breathitt. 
 He says, n he always says it mighty loud " Crump 
 raised his own voice " that the man as kills his fel 
 ler-critter hev some day got to give up his own blood, 
 sartin n shore." 
 
 It was old Gabe s pet theory, and he was nodding 
 approval. The boy s parted lips shook with a spasm 
 of fear, and were as quickly shut tight with suspi 
 cion. Steve raised his head as though he too had 
 heard the voice, and looked stupidly about him. 
 
 "I tol him," Crump went on, "that things was 
 already a-gittin kind o frolicsome round hyeh ag in ; 
 that the Marcums n Braytons was a-takin up the 
 ole war, n would be a-plunkin one nother every 
 time they got together, n a-gittin the whole coun 
 try in fear n tremblin now that Steve Marcum 
 had come back." 
 
THE LAST STETSON 187 
 
 Steve began to scowl, and a vixenish smile hovered 
 at Isom s lips. 
 
 " He knows mighty well fer I tol him that thar 
 hain t a wuss man in all these mountains than that 
 very Steve " The name ended in a gasp, and the 
 wizened gossip was caught by the throat and tossed, 
 chair and all, into a corner of the mill. 
 
 " None o that, Steve !" called the miller, sternly. 
 " Not hyeh ! Don t hurt him now !" 
 
 Crump s face stiffened with such terror that Steve 
 broke into a laugh. 
 
 " Well, ye air a skeery critter !" he said, contempt 
 uously. " I hain t goin to hurt him, UncP Gabe, but 
 he must be a plumb idgit, a-talkin bout folks to thar 
 face, V him so puny an spindlin ! You git !" 
 
 Crump picked himself up trembling " Don t ye 
 ever let me see ye on this side o the river ag in, now " 
 and shuffled out, giving Marcum one look of fear 
 and unearthly hate. 
 
 " Convicted !" snorted Steve. " I heerd old Steve 
 Brayton had hired him to lay way me, n I sw ar I be 
 lieve hit s so." 
 
 " Well, he won t hev to give him more n a chaw o 
 tobaccer now," said Gabe. " He ll come purty near 
 doin hit hisself, I reckon, ef he gits the chance." 
 
 " Well, he kin git the chance ef I gits my leetle 
 account settled with ole Steve Brayton fust. Pears 
 like that old hog ain t satisfied shootin me hisself." 
 Stretching his arms with a yawn, Steve winked at 
 Isom and moved to the door. The boy followed him 
 outside. 
 
 " We re goin fer ole Brayton about the dark o the 
 next moon, boy," he said. " He s sort o s picious 
 
188 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 now, V we ll give him a leetle time to git tame. I ll 
 have a bran - new Winchester fer ye, Isom. Hit ll 
 be like ole times ag in, when Rome was hyeh. Whut s 
 the matter, boy ?" he asked, suddenly. Isom looked 
 unresponsive, listless. " Air ye gittin sick ag in ?" 
 
 " Well, I hain t feelin much peert, Steve." 
 
 " Take keer o yourself, boy. Don t git sick now. 
 We ll have to watch Eli Crump purty close. I don t 
 know why I hain t killed that spyin skunk long ago, 
 ceptin I never had a shore an sartin reason fer 
 doin it." 
 
 Isom started to speak then and stopped. He would 
 learn more first; and he let Steve go on home un 
 warned. 
 
 The two kept silence after Marcum was gone. 
 Isom turned away from old Gabe, and stretched him 
 self out on the platform. He looked troubled. The 
 miller, too, was worried. 
 
 " Jus a hole in the groun ," he said, half to him 
 self ; " that s whut we re all comin to ! Pears like we 
 mought help one nother to keep out n hit, stid o 
 holpin em in." 
 
 Brown shadows were interlacing out in the mill- 
 pond, where old Gabe s eyes were intent. A current 
 of cool air had started down the creek to the river. 
 A katydid began to chant. Twilight was coming, 
 and the miller rose. 
 
 " Hit s a comfort to know you won t be mixed up 
 in all this devilment," he said ; and then, as though 
 he had found more light in the gloom : " Hit s a com 
 fort to know the new rider air shorely a-preachin the 
 right doctrine, V I want ye to go hear him. Blood 
 fer blood life fer a life ! Your grandad shot ole 
 
THE LAST STETSON 189 
 
 Tom Lewallen in Hazlan, Ole Jack Lewallen shot 
 him from the bresh. Tom Stetson killed ole Jack ; 
 ole Jas killed Tom, n so hit comes down, fer back 
 as I can ricollect. I hev nuver knowed hit to fail." 
 The lad had risen on one elbow. His face was pale 
 and uneasy, and he averted it when the miller turned 
 in the door. 
 
 " You d better stay hyeh, son, n finish up the grist. 
 Hit won t take long. Hev ye got victuals fer yer 
 supper ?" 
 
 Isom nodded, without looking around, and when 
 old Gabe was gone he rose nervously and dropped 
 helplessly back to the floor. 
 
 " Pears like old Gabe knows I killed Jas," he 
 breathed, sullenly. " Pears like all of em knows hit, 
 n air jus a-tormentin me." 
 
 Nobody dreamed that the boy and his old gun had 
 ended that fight on the cliff ; and without knowing 
 it, old Gabe kept the lad in constant torture with his 
 talk of the blood-penalty. But Isom got used to it 
 in time, for he had shot to save his brother s life. 
 Steve Marcum treated him thereafter as an equal. 
 Steve s friends, too, changed in manner towards him 
 because Steve had. And now, just when he had reached 
 the point of wondering whether, after all, there might 
 not be one thing that old Gabe did not know, Crump 
 had come along with the miller s story, which he had 
 got from still another, a circuit-rider, who must know 
 the truth. The fact gave him trouble. 
 
 " Mebbe hit s goin to happen when I goes with 
 Steve atter ole Bray ton," he mumbled, and he sat 
 thinking the matter over, until a rattle and a whir in 
 side the mill told him that the hopper was empty. 
 
190 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 He arose to fill it, and, coming out again, he beard 
 hoof -beats on the dirt road. A stranger rode around 
 the rhododendrons and shouted to him, asking the 
 distance to Hazlan. He took off his hat, when Isom 
 answered, to wipe the dust and perspiration from 
 his face, and the boy saw a white scar across his 
 forehead. A little awe-stricken, the lad walked tow 
 ards him. 
 
 "Air you the new rider whut s goin to preach up 
 to Hazlan ?" he asked. 
 
 Raines smiled at the solemnity of the little fellow. 
 " Yes," he said, kindly. " Won t you come up and 
 hear me 2" 
 
 " Yes, sir," he said, and his lips parted as though 
 he wanted to say something else, but Raines did not 
 notice. 
 
 " I wished I had axed him," he said, watching the 
 preacher ride away. " Uncle Gabe knows might 
 nigh ever thing, V he says so. Crump said the rider 
 said so ; but Crump might a been lyin . He most 
 al ays is. I wished I had axed him." 
 
 Mechanically the lad walked along the mill-race, 
 which was made of hewn boards and hollow logs. 
 In every crevice grass hung in thick bunches to the 
 ground or tipped wiry blades over the running water. 
 Tightening a prop where some silvery jet was getting 
 too large, he lifted the tail-gate a trifle and lay down 
 again on the platform near the old wheel. Out in 
 the mill-pond the water would break now and then 
 into ripples about some unwary moth, and the white 
 belly of a fish would flash from the surface. It was 
 the only sharp accent on the air. The chant of the 
 katydids had become a chorus, and the hush of 
 
THE LAST STETSON 191 
 
 darkness was settling over the steady flow of water 
 and the low drone of the millstones. 
 
 " I hain t afeerd," he kept saying to himself " I 
 hain t afeerd o nothin nor nobody;" but he lay 
 brooding until his head throbbed, until darkness 
 filled the narrow gorge, and the strip of dark blue 
 up through the trees was pointed with faint stars. 
 He was troubled when he rose, and climbed on Rome s 
 horse and rode homeward so troubled that he 
 turned finally, and started back in a gallop for 
 Hazlan. 
 
 It was almost as Crump had said. There was no 
 church in Hazlan, and, as in Breathitt, the people 
 had to follow Raines outside the town, and he 
 preached from the road-side. The rider s Master 
 never had a tabernacle more simple : overhead, the 
 stars and a low moon ; close about, the trees still and 
 heavy with summer ; a pine torch over his head like 
 a yellow plume ; two tallow dips hung to a beech on 
 one side, and flicking to the other the shadows of 
 the people who sat under them. A few Marcums and 
 Bray tons were there, one faction shadowed on Raines s 
 right, one on his left. Between them the rider stood 
 straight, and prayed as though talking with some 
 one among the stars. Behind him the voice of the 
 woman at her tiny organ rose among the leaves. And 
 then he spoke as he had prayed ; and from the first 
 they listened like children, while in their own home 
 ly speech he went on to tell them, just as he would 
 have told children, a story that some of them had 
 never heard before. " Forgive your enemies as He 
 had forgiven his," that was his plea. Marcums and 
 Braytons began to press in from the darkness on 
 
192 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 each side, forgetting each other as the rest of the 
 people forgot them. And when the story was quite 
 done, Eaines stood a full minute without a word. 
 No way was prepared for what followed. Abruptly 
 his voice rose sternly "Thou shalt not kill;" and 
 then Satan took shape under the torch. The man 
 was transformed, swaying half crouched before them. 
 The long black hair fell across the white scar, and 
 picture after picture leaped from his tongue with 
 such vividness that a low wail started through the 
 audience, and women sobbed in their bonnets. It 
 was penalty for bloodshed not in this world ; pen 
 alty eternal in the next: and one slight figure under 
 the dips staggered suddenly aside into the darkness. 
 
 It was Isom ; and no soul possessed of devils was 
 ever more torn than this, when he splashed through 
 Troubled Fork and rode away that night. Half a 
 mile on he tried to keep his eyes on his horse s neck, 
 anywhere except on one high gray rock to which 
 they were raised against his will the peak under 
 which he had killed young Jasper. There it was 
 staring into the moon, but watching him as he fled 
 through the woods, shuddering at shadows, dodg 
 ing branches that caught at him as he passed, and on 
 in a run, until he drew rein and slipped from his sad 
 dle at the friendly old mill. There was no terror for 
 him there. There every bush was a friend ; every 
 beech trunk a sentinel on guard for him in shining 
 armor. 
 
 It was the old struggle that he was starting through 
 that night the old fight of humanity from savage to 
 Christian ; and the lad fought it until, with the birth 
 of his wavering soul, the premonitions of the first 
 
SHERD RAINES, THE PREACHER 
 
THE LAST STETSON 193 
 
 dawn came on. The patches of moonlight shifted, 
 paling. The beech columns mottled slowly with gray 
 and brown. A ruddy streak was cleaving the east 
 like a slow sword of fire. The chill air began to 
 pulse and the mists to stir. Moisture had gathered 
 on the boy s sleeve. His horse was stamping un 
 easily, and the lad rose stiffly, his face gray but calm, 
 and started home. At old Gabe s gate he turned in 
 his saddle to look where, under the last sinking star, 
 was once the home of his old enemies. Farther 
 down, under the crest, was old Steve Brayton, alive, 
 and at that moment perhaps asleep. 
 
 " Forgive your enemies ;" that was the rider s plea. 
 Forgive old Steve, who Lad mocked him, and had driv 
 en Rome from the mountains ; who had threatened old 
 Gabe s life, and had shot Steve Marcum almost to 
 death ! The lad drew breath quickly, and, standing 
 in his stirrups, stretched out his fist, and let it drop, 
 slowly. 
 
 II 
 
 OLD Gabe was just starting out when Isom reached 
 the cabin, and the old man thought the boy had been 
 at the mill all night. Isorn slept through the day, 
 and spoke hardly a word when the miller came home, 
 though the latter had much to say of Raines, the 
 two Steves, and of the trouble possible. He gave 
 some excuse for not going with old Gabe the next 
 day, and instead went into the woods alone. 
 
 Late in the middle of the afternoon he reached the 
 mill. Old Gabe sat smoking outside the door, and 
 Isom stretched himself out on the platform close to 
 
 13 
 
194 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 the water, shading his eyes from the rich sunlight 
 with one ragged sleeve. 
 
 " UncP Gabe," he said, suddenly, " s posin Steve 
 Brayton was to step out n the bushes thar some 
 mawnin n pull down his Winchester on ye, would 
 ye say, Lawd, fergive him, fer he don t know whut 
 he do ?" 
 
 Old Gabe had told him once about a Stetson and a 
 Lewallen who were heard half a mile away praying 
 while they fought each other to death with Winches 
 ters. There was no use " prayin an shootin , the 
 miller declared. There was but one way for them to 
 escape damnation ; that was to throw down their 
 guns and make friends. But the miller had forgot 
 ten, and his mood that morning was whimsical. 
 
 " Well, I mought, Isom," he said, " ef I didn t 
 happen to have a gun handy." 
 
 The humor was lost on Isom. His chin was mov 
 ing up and down, and his face was serious. That 
 was just it. He could forgive Jas Jas was dead ; he 
 could forgive Crump, if he caught him in no devil 
 ment ; old Brayton even after Steve s revenge was 
 done. But now The boy rose, shaking his head. 
 
 " UncP Gabe," he said, with sudden passion, " whut 
 ye reckon Rome s a-doin ?" 
 
 The miller looked a little petulant. " Don t ye git 
 tired axin me that question, Isom ? Rome s a-scratch- 
 in right peert fer a livin , I reckon, fer hisself n 
 Marthy. Yes, n mebbe fer a young un too by this 
 time. Ef ye air honin fer Rome, why don t ye rack 
 out n go to him ? Lawd knows I d hate to see ye 
 go, but I tol Rome I d let ye whenever ye got ready, 
 n so I will." 
 
THE LAST STETSON 195 
 
 Isom had no answer, and old Gabe was puzzled. 
 It was always this way. The boy longed for Rome, 
 the miller could see. He spoke of him sometimes 
 with tears, and sometimes he seemed to be on the 
 point of going to him, but he shrank inexplicably 
 when the time for leaving came. 
 
 Isom started into the mill now without a word, as 
 usual. Old Gabe noticed that his feet were unsteady, 
 and with quick remorse began to question him. 
 
 " Kinder puny, hain t ye, Isom ?" 
 
 " Well, I hain t feelin much peert." 
 
 u Hit was mighty kecrless," old Gabe said, with 
 kindly reproach, " swimmin the crick atter a fresh." 
 
 " Hit wasn t the swimmin ," he protested, dropping 
 weakly at the threshold. " Hit was settin out n the 
 woods. I was in Hazlan t other night, Uncl Gabe, to 
 hear the new rider." 
 
 The miller looked around with quick interest. 
 
 " I ve been skeered afore by riders a-tellin bout the 
 torments o hell, but I never heerd nothin like his 
 tellin bout the Lord. He said the Lord was jes as 
 pore as anybody thar, and lived jes as rough ; that 
 he made fences and barns n ox-yokes n sech like, 
 an he could n write his own name when he started 
 out to save the worP ; an when he come to the p int 
 whar His enemies tuk hoi of Him, the rider jes 
 crossed his fingers up over his head n axed us if we 
 didn t know how it hurt to run a splinter into a fel 
 ler s hand when he s loggin , or a thorn into yer foot 
 when ye re goin barefooted. 
 
 " Hit jes made me sick, Uncl Gabe, hearin him 
 tell how they stretched Him out on a cross o wood, 
 when He d come down fer nothin but to save em, 
 
196 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 n stuck a spear big as a co n-knife into His side, V 
 give Him vinegar, n let Him hang thar n die, with 
 His own mammy a-standin down on the groun a-cry- 
 in n watchin Him. Some folks thar never heerd 
 sech afore. The women was a-rockin , n ole Granny 
 Day axed right out ef that tuk place a long time ago ; 
 n the rider said, Yes, a long time ago, mos two 
 thousand years. Granny was a-cryin , UncP Gabe, 
 an she said, sorter soft, Stranger, let s hope that hit 
 hain t so ; n the rider says, But Iftt air so ; n He 
 fergive em while they was doin 1 it." 1 That s wliut got 
 me, Uncl Gabe ; n when the woman got to singin , 
 somethin kinder broke loose hyeh" Isom passed his 
 hand over his thin chest " n I couldn t git breath. 
 I was mos afeerd to ride home. I jes layed at the 
 mill studyin , till I thought my head would bust. 
 I reckon hit was the Sperit a-workin me. Looks 
 like I was mos convicted, Uncl Gabe." His voice 
 trembled, and he stopped. " Crump was a-lyin !" he 
 cried, suddenly. " But hit s wuss, Uncl Gabe ; hit s 
 wuss ! You say a life fer a life in this worP ; the 
 rider says hit s in the next, n I m mis ble, UncP 
 Gabe. Ef Rome I wish Rome was here !" he cried, 
 helplessly. " I don t know whut to do !" 
 
 The miller rose and limped within the mill, and 
 ran one hand through the shifting corn. He stood 
 in the doorway, looking long and perplexedly tow 
 ards Hazlan ; he finally saw, he thought, just what 
 the lad s trouble was. He could give him some com 
 fort, and he got his chair and dragged it out to the 
 door across the platform, and sat down in silence. 
 
 " Isom," he said at last, " the Sperit air shorely 
 a-workin ye, n I m glad of it. But ye mus n t 
 
THE LAST STETSON 197 
 
 worry about the penalty a-fallin on Rome. Steve 
 Marcum killed Jas he can t fool me V I ve told 
 Steve he s got that penalty to pay ef he gits up this 
 trouble. I m glad the Sperit s a-workin ye, but ye 
 mus n t worry 5 bout Rome." 
 
 Isom rose suddenly on one elbow, and with a rnoan 
 lay back and crossed his arms over his face. 
 
 Old Gabe turned and left him. 
 
 " Git up, Isom." It was the miller s voice again, 
 an hour later. " You better go home now. Ride the 
 hoss, boy," he added, kindly. 
 
 Isom rose, and old Gabe helped him mount, and 
 stood at the door. The horse started, but the boy 
 pulled him to a standstill again. 
 
 " I want to ax ye jes one thing more, Uncl Gabe," 
 he said, slowly. " S posin Steve had a- killed Jas 
 to keep him from killin Rome, hev he got to be 
 damned fer it jes the same ? Hev he got to give up 
 eternal life anyways ? Hain t thar no way out n it 
 no way ?" 
 
 There was need for close distinction now, and the 
 miller was deliberate. 
 
 "Ef Steve shot Jas," he said, " jes to save Rome s 
 life he had the right to shoot him. Thar hain t no 
 doubt bout that. The law says so. But" there 
 was a judicial pause " I ve heerd Steve say that he 
 hated Jas wuss n anybody on earth, cept old Bray- 
 ton ; n ef he wus glad o the chance o killin him, 
 why the Lord air merciful, Isom ; the Bible air true, 
 n hit says an eye fer an eye n a tooth fer a tooth, 
 n I never knowed hit to fail but the Lord air 
 merciful. Ef Steve would only jes repent, n ef, 
 
198 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 stid o fightin the Lord by takin human life, he d 
 fight fer Him by savin it, I reckon the Lord would 
 forgive him. Fer ef ye lose yer life fer Him, He do 
 say you ll find it ag in somewhar sometime." 
 
 Old Gabe did not see the sullen despair that came 
 into the boy s tense face. The subtlety of the an 
 swer had taken the old man back to the days when 
 he was magistrate, and his eyes were half closed. 
 Isom rode away without a word. From the dark of 
 the mill old Gabe turned to look after him again. 
 
 " I m afeerd he s a-gittin feverish ag in. Hit looks 
 like he s convicted; but" he knew the wavering 
 nature of the boy " I don t know I don t know." 
 
 Going home an hour later, the old man saw several 
 mountaineers climbing the path towards Steve Mar- 
 cum s cabin ; it meant the brewing of mischief. And 
 when he stopped at his own gate, he saw at the bend 
 of the road a figure creep from the bushes on one 
 side into the bushes on the other; It looked like 
 Crump. 
 
 Ill 
 
 IT was Crump, and fifty yards behind him was 
 Isom, slipping through the brush after him Isom s 
 evil spirit old Gabe> Raines, a conviction," blood- 
 penalty, forgotten, all lost in the passion of a chase 
 which has no parallel when the game is man. 
 
 Straight up the ravine Crump went along a path 
 which led to Steve Marciim s cabin. There was a 
 clump of rhododendron at the head of the ravine, and 
 near Steve s cabin. About this hour Marcum would 
 be chopping wood for supper, or sitting out in his 
 
THE LAST STETSON 199 
 
 porch in easy range from the thicket. Crump s plan 
 was plain : he was about his revenge early, and Isom 
 was exultant. 
 
 "Oh no, Eli, you won t git Steve this time. Oh 
 naw !" 
 
 The bushes were soon so thick that he could no 
 longer follow Crump by sight, and every few yards 
 he had to stop to listen, and then steal on like a 
 mountain- cat towards the leaves rustling ahead of 
 him. Half-way up the ravine Crump turned to the 
 right and stopped. Puzzled, Isom pushed so close 
 that the spy, standing irresolute on the edge of the 
 path, whirled around. The boy sank to his face, and 
 in a moment footsteps started and grew faint ; Crump 
 had darted across the path, and was running through 
 the undergrowth up the spur. Isom rose and hurried 
 after him ; and when, panting hard, he reached the 
 top, the spy s skulking figure was sliding from Steve s 
 house and towards the Breathitt road ; and with a 
 hot, puzzled face, the boy went down after it. 
 
 On a little knob just over a sudden turn in the 
 road Crump stopped, and, looking sharply about him, 
 laid his gun down. Just in front of him were two 
 rocks, waist-high, with a crevice between them. Draw 
 ing a long knife from his pocket, he climbed upon 
 them, and began to cut carefully away the spreading 
 top of a bush that grew on the other side. Isom 
 crawled down towards him like a lizard, from tree to 
 tree. A moment later the spy was filling up the 
 crevice with stones, and Isom knew what he was 
 about; he was making a "blind "to waylay Steve, 
 who, the boy knew, was going to Breathitt by that 
 road the next Sunday. How did Crump know that 
 
200 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 how did he know everything? The crevice filled, 
 Crump cut branches and stuck them between the 
 rocks. Then he pushed his rifle through the twigs, 
 and taking aim several times, withdrew it. When he 
 turned away at last and started down the road, he 
 looked back once more, and Isom saw him grinning. 
 Almost chuckling in answer, the lad slipped around 
 the knob to the road the other way, and Crump threw 
 up his gun with a gasp of fright when a figure rose 
 out of the dusk before him. 
 
 "HoP on, Eli!" said Isom, easily. "Don t git 
 skeered ! Hit s nobody but me. Whar ye been?" 
 
 Crump laughed, so quick was he disarmed of suspi 
 cion. " Jes up the river a piece to see Aunt Sally 
 Day. She s a fust cousin o mine by marriage." 
 
 Isom s right hand was slipping back as if to rest 
 on his hip. " D you say you d been convicted, Eli ?" 
 
 Crump s answer was chantlike. " Yes, Lawd, 
 reckon I have." 
 
 " Goin to stop all o yer lyin , air ye," Isom went 
 on, in the same tone, and Crump twitched as though 
 struck suddenly from behind, "an stealin n lay- 
 way in 1 ?" 
 
 " Look a - hyeh, boy " he began, roughly, and, 
 mumbling a threat, started on. 
 
 " Uh, Eli !" Even then the easy voice fooled him 
 again, and he turned. Isom had a big revolver on 
 a line with his breast. "Drap yer gun !" he said, 
 tremulously. 
 
 Crump tried to laugh, but his guilty face turned 
 gray. "Take keer, boy," he gasped; "yer gun s 
 cocked. Take keer, I tell ye !" 
 
 " Drap it, damn ye I 1 Isom called, in sudden fury, 
 
THE LAST STETSON 201 
 
 " V git clean away from it!" Crump backed, and 
 Isom came forward and stood with one foot on the 
 fallen Winchester. 
 
 "I seed ye, Eli. Been maldn a blind fer Steve, 
 hev ye ? Goin to shoot him in the back, too, air ye ? 
 You re kctched at last, Eli. You ve done a heap o 
 devilment. You re gittin wuss all the time. You 
 oughter be dead, n now " 
 
 Crump found voice in a cry of terror and a whine 
 for mercy. The boy looked at him, unable to speak 
 his contempt. 
 
 "Git down thar!" he said, finally; and Crump, 
 knowing what was wanted, stretched himself in the 
 road. Isom sat down on a stone, the big pistol across 
 one knee. 
 
 " Roll over !" Crump rolled at full length. 
 
 " Git up !" Isom laughed wickedly. " Ye don t 
 look purty, Eli." He lifted the pistol and nipped a 
 cake of dirt from the road between Crump s feet. 
 With another cry of fear, the spy began a vigorous 
 dance. 
 
 " Hoi on, Eli ; I don t want ye to dance. Ye be 
 long to the chu ch now, n I wouldn t have ye go 
 ag in yer religion fer nothin . Stan still !" Another 
 bullet and another cut between Crump s feet. " Pears 
 like ye don t think I kin shoot straight. Eli," he 
 went on, reloading the empty chambers, " some folks 
 thinks I m a idgit, n I know em. Do you think I m 
 aidgit, Eli?" 
 
 " Actin mighty nateral now." Isom was raising 
 the pistol again. " Oh, Lawdy ! Don t shoot, boy 
 don t shoot !" 
 
 " Git down on yer knees ! Now I want ye to beg 
 
202 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 fer mercy that ye never showed that ye wouldn t 
 V showed Steve. . . . Purty good," he said, encour 
 agingly. 
 
 " Mebbe ye kin pray a leetle, seem ez ye air a 
 chu ch member. Pray fer yer enemies, Eli ; Uncl 
 Gabe says ye must love yer enemies. I know how 
 ye loves me, V I want ye to pray fer me. The 
 Lawd mus sot a powerful store by a good citizen 
 like you. Ax him to fergive me fer killin ye." 
 
 " Have mercy, O Lawd," prayed Crump, to com 
 mand and the prayer was subtle " on the mur 
 derer of this thy servant. A life fer a life, thou hev 
 said, Lawd. Fer killin me he will foller me, V 
 ef ye hev not mussy he is boun fer the lowes pit o 
 hell, O Lawd" 
 
 It was Isom s time to wince now, and Crump s 
 pious groan was cut short. 
 
 " Shet up !" cried the boy, sharply, and he sat a 
 moment silent. " You ve been a-spyin on us sence 
 I was borned, Eli," he said, reflectively. "I be 
 lieve ye laywayed dad. Y u spied on Rome. Y u 
 told the soldiers whar he was a-hidin . Y u tried to 
 shoot him from the bresh. Y u found out Steve was 
 goin to Breathitt on Sunday, V you ve jes made a 
 blind to shoot him in the back. I reckon thar s no 
 meanness ye hain t done. Dad al ays said ye sot a 
 snare fer a woman once a woman ! Y u loaded a 
 musket with slugs, V tied a string to the trigger, n 
 stretched hit cross the path, n y u got up on a cliff 
 n whistled to make her slow up jes when she struck 
 the string. I reckon that s yer wust but I don t 
 know." 
 
 Several times Crump raised his hands in protest 
 
THE LAST STETSON 203 
 
 while his arraignment was going on ; several times 
 he tried to speak, but his lips refused utterance. The 
 boy s voice was getting thicker and thicker, and he 
 was nervously working the cock of the big pistol up 
 and down. 
 
 " Git up !" he said ; and Crump rose with a spring. 
 The lad s tone meant release. 
 
 " Yon hain t wuth the risk. I hain t goin to kill 
 ye. I jus wanted to banter ye V make ye beg. 
 You re a good beggar, Eli, V a powerful pray-er. 
 You ll be a shinin light in the chu ch, ef ye gits a 
 chance to shine long. Fer lemme tell ye, nobody 
 ever ketched ye afore. But you re ketched now, n 
 I m goin to tell Steve. He ll be a-watchin fer ye, 
 n so 11 I. I tell ye in time, ef ye ever come over 
 hyeh ag in as long as you live, you ll never git back 
 alive. Turn roun ! Hev ye got any balls ?" he 
 asked, feeling in Crump s pockets for cartridges. 
 " No ; well " he picked up the Winchester and 
 pumped the magazine empty "I ll keep these," he 
 said, handing Crump the empty rifle. " Now git 
 away an git away quick !" 
 
 Crump s slouching footsteps went out of hearing, 
 and Isom sat where he was. His elbows dropped to 
 his knees. His face dropped slowly into his hands, 
 and the nettles of remorse began to sting. He took 
 the back of one tremulous hand presently to wipe 
 the perspiration from his forehead, and he found it 
 burning. A sharp pain shot through his eyes. He 
 knew what that meant, and, feeling dizzy, he rose and 
 started a little blindly towards home. 
 
 Old Gabe was waiting for him. He did not 
 answer the old man s querulous inquiry, but stumbled 
 
204 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 towards a bed. An hour later, when the miller was 
 rubbing his forehead, he opened his eyes, shut them, 
 and began to talk. 
 
 " I reckon I hain t much better n Eli, Uncl Gabe," 
 he said, plaintively. " I ve been abusin him down 
 thar in the woods. I come might nigh killin him 
 onct." The old man stroked on, scarcely heeding 
 the boy s words, so much nonsense would he talk 
 when ill. 
 
 " I ve been lyin to ye, Uncl Gabe, n a-deceivin of 
 ye right along. Steve s a-goin atter ole Brayton I m 
 goin too Steve didn t kill Jas hit wusn t Steve 
 hit wusn t Rome hit was " The last word stopped 
 behind his shaking lips ; he rose suddenly in bed, 
 looked wildly into the miller s startled face, and, 
 dropping with a sob to the bed, went sobbing to 
 sleep. 
 
 Old Gabe went back to his pipe, and while he 
 smoked his figure shrank slowly in his chair. He 
 went to bed finally, but sleep would not come, and 
 he rose again and built up the fire and sat by it, 
 waiting for day. His own doctrine, sternly taught 
 for many a year, had come home to him ; and the 
 miller s face when he opened his door was gray as 
 the breaking light. 
 
 IV 
 
 THERE was little peace for old Gabe that day at the 
 mill. And when he went home at night he found 
 cause for the thousand premonitions that had haunted 
 him. The lad was gone. 
 
 A faint light in the east was heralding the moon 
 
THE LAST STETSON 205 
 
 when Isom reached Steve Marcum s gate. There 
 were several horses hitched to the fence, several dim 
 forms seated in the porch, and the lad hallooed for 
 Steve, whose shadow shot instantly from the door 
 and came towards him. 
 
 " Glad to see ye, Isom," he called, jubilantly. " I 
 was jes about to sen fer ye. How d ye happen to 
 come up ?" 
 
 Isom answered in a low voice with the news of 
 Crump s "blind," and Steve laughed and swore in 
 the same breath. 
 
 " Come hyeh !" he said, leading the way back ; and 
 at the porch he had Isom tell the story again. 
 
 " Whut d I tell ye, boys ?" he asked, triumphantly. 
 " Don t believe ye more n half believed me." 
 
 Three more horsemen rode up to the gate and came 
 into the lio;ht. Every man was armed, and at Isom s 
 puzzled look, Steve caught the lad by the arm and 
 led him around the chimney-corner. He was in high 
 spirits. 
 
 " Tears like ole times, Isom. I m a-goin fer that 
 cussed old Steve Brayton this very night. He s 
 behind Crump. I s picioned it afore ; and now I 
 know it fer sartain. He s a-goin to give Eli a 
 mule V a Winchester fer killin me. AVe re goin to 
 s prise him to-night. He won t be lookin fer us 
 I ve fixed that. I wus jcs about to sen fer ye. I 
 hain t fergot how ye kin handle a gun." Steve 
 laughed significantly. " Y u re a good frien o mine, 
 V I m goin to show ye that I m a frien o yourn." 
 
 Isom s paleness was unnoticed in the dark. The 
 old throbbing began to beat again at his temple ; 
 the old haze started from his eyes. 
 
206 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 " Ilyeh s ycr gun, Isom," he heard Steve saying 
 next. The fire was blazing into his face. At the 
 chimney-corner was the bent figure of old Daddy 
 Marcum, and across his lap shone a Winchester. 
 Steve was pointing at it, his grim face radiant ; the 
 old man s toothless mouth was grinning, and his 
 sharp black eyes were snapping up at him. 
 
 "Hit s yourn, I tell ye," said Steve again. "I 
 aimed jes to lend it to ye, but ye ve saved me frum 
 gittin killed, mebbe, V hit s yourn, now yourn, 
 boy, fer keeps." 
 
 Steve was holding the gun out to him now. The 
 smooth, cold touch of the polished barrel thrilled 
 him. It made everything for an instant clear again, 
 and feeling weak, Isom sat down on the bed, grip 
 ping the treasure in both trembling hands. On one 
 side of him some one was repeating Steve s plan of 
 attack. Old Brayton s cabin was nearly opposite, 
 but they would go up the river, cross above the mill, 
 and ride back. The night was cloudy, but they would 
 have the moonlight now and then for the climb up 
 the mountain. They would creep close, and when 
 the moon was hid they would run in and get old 
 Brayton alive, if possible. Then the rest was with 
 Steve. 
 
 Across the room he could hear Steve telling the 
 three new-comers, with an occasional curse, about 
 Crump s blind, and how he knew that old Brayton 
 was hiring Crump. 
 
 " Old Steve s meaner n Eli," he said to him 
 self, and a flame of the old hate surged up from the 
 fire of temptation in his heart. Steve Marcum was 
 his best friend ; Steve had shielded him. The boy 
 

 OLD DADDY MARCUM 
 
THE LAST STETSON 207 
 
 had promised to join him against old Brayton, and 
 here was the Winchester, brand-new, to bind his word. 
 
 " Git ready, boys ; git ready." 
 
 It was Steve s voice, and in Isom s ears the voice 
 of the preacher rang after it. Again that blinding 
 mist before his eyes, and the boy brushed at it irri 
 tably. He could see the men buckling their cartridge- 
 belts, but he sat still. Two or three men were going 
 out. Daddy Marcnm was leaning on a chair at the 
 door, looking eagerly at each man as he passed. 
 
 " Hain t ye goin , Isom ?" 
 
 Somebody was standing before him twirling a rifle 
 on its butt, a boy near Isom s age. The whirling 
 gun made him dizzy. 
 
 " Stop it !" he cried, angrily. Old Daddy Marcum 
 was answering the boy s question from the door. 
 
 " Isom goin ?" he piped, proudly. " I reckon he 
 air. Whar s yer belt, boy ? Git ready. Git ready." 
 
 Isom rose then he could not answer sitting down 
 and caught at a bedpost with one hand, while he 
 fumbled at his throat with the other. 
 
 " I hain t goin ." 
 
 Steve heard at the door, and whirled around. 
 Daddy Marcum was tottering across the floor, with 
 one bony hand uplifted. 
 
 " You re a coward !" The name stilled every 
 sound. Isom, with eyes afire, sprang at the old man 
 to strike, but somebody caught his arm and forced 
 him back to the bed. 
 
 "Shot up, dad," said Steve, angrily, looking 
 sharply into Isom s face. " Don t ye see the boy s 
 sick ? He needn t go ef he don t want to. Time to 
 start, boys." 
 
208 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 The tramp of heavy boots started across the 
 puncheon floor and porch again. Isom could hear 
 Steve s orders outside ; the laughs and jeers and 
 curses of the men as they mounted their horses ; he 
 heard the cavalcade pass through the gate, the old 
 man s cackling good-bye; then the horses hoofs 
 going down the mountain, and Daddy Marcum s hob 
 bling step on the porch again. He was standing in 
 the middle of the floor, full in the firelight, when the 
 old man reached the threshold standing in a trance, 
 with a cartridge-belt in his hand. 
 " Good fer you, Isom !" 
 The cry was apologetic, and stopped short. 
 "The critter s fersaken," he quavered, and, cowed 
 by the boy s strange look, the old man shrank away 
 from him along the wall. But Isom seemed neither 
 to see nor hear. He caught up his rifle, and, waver 
 ing an instant, tossed it with the belt on the bed and 
 ran out the door. The old man followed, dumb with 
 amazement. 
 
 " Isom !" he called, getting his wits and his tongue 
 at last. " Hyeh s yer gun ! Come back, I tell ye ! 
 You ve fergot yer gun ! Isom ! Isom !" 
 
 The voice piped shrilly out into the darkness, and 
 piped back without answer. 
 
 A steep path, dangerous even by day, ran snake- 
 like from the cabin down to the water s edge. It 
 was called Isom s path after that tragic night. No 
 mountaineer went down it thereafter without a firm 
 faith that only by the direct help of Heaven could 
 the boy, in his flight down through the dark, have 
 . reached the river and the. other side alive. The 
 path dropped from ledge to ledge, and ran the brink 
 
THE LAST STETSON 209 
 
 of precipices and chasms. In a dozen places the boy 
 crashed through the undergrowth from one slippery 
 fold to the next below, catching at roots and stones, 
 slipping past death a score of times, and dropping 
 on till a flood of yellow light lashed the gloom be 
 fore him. Just there the river was most narrow ; the 
 nose of a cliff swerved the current sharply across, 
 and on the other side an eddy ran from it up-stream. 
 These earthly helps he had, and he needed them. 
 
 There had been a rain-storm, and the waves swept 
 him away like thistle-down, and beat back at him as 
 he fought through them and stood choked and pant 
 ing on the other shore. He did not dare stop to rest. 
 The Marcums, too, had crossed the river up at the 
 ford by this time, and were galloping towards him ; 
 and Isom started on and up. When he reached the 
 first bench of the spur the moon was swinging over 
 Thunderstruck Knob. The clouds broke as he 
 climbed ; strips of radiant sky showed between the 
 rolling masses, and the mountain above was light and 
 dark in quick succession. He had no breath when 
 he reached the ledge that ran above old Steve s cabin, 
 and flinging one arm above it, he fell through sheer 
 exhaustion. The cabin was dark as the clump of firs 
 behind it; the inmates were unsuspecting; and Steve 
 Marcum and his men were not far below. A rum 
 bling started under him, while he lay there and grew 
 faint the rumble of a stone knocked from the path 
 by a horse s hoof. Isom tried to halloo, but his voice 
 stopped in a whisper, and he painfully drew himself 
 upon the rock, upright under the bright moon. A 
 quick oath of warning came then it was Crump s 
 shrill voice in the Braytori cabin and Isom stumbled 
 
 14 
 
210 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 forward with both hands thrown up and a gasping 
 cry at his lips. One flash came through a port-hole 
 of the cabin. A yell broke on the night Crump s 
 cry again arid the boy swayed across the rock, and, 
 falling at the brink, dropped with a limp struggle out 
 of sight. 
 
 THE news of Isom s fate reached the miller by way 
 of Hazlan before the next noon. Several men in the 
 Brayton cabin had recognized the boy in the moon 
 light. At daybreak they found blood-stains on the 
 ledge and on a narrow shelf a few feet farther down. 
 Isom had slipped from one to the other, they said, 
 and in his last struggle had rolled over into Dead 
 Creek, and had been swept into the Cumberland. 
 
 It was Crump who had warned the Braytons. No 
 body ever knew how he had learned Steve Marcum s 
 purpose. And old Brayton on his guard and in his 
 own cabin was inpregnable. So the Marcums, after 
 a harmless fusillade, had turned back cursing. Mock 
 ing shouts followed after them, pistol-shots, even the 
 scraping of a fiddle and shuffling on the ledge. But 
 they kept on, cursing, across the river and back to 
 Daddy Marcum, who was standing in the porch, peer 
 ing for them through the dawn, with a story to tell 
 about Isom. 
 
 " The critter was teched in the head," the old man 
 said, and this was what the Braytons, too, believed. 
 Bat Steve Marcum, going to search for Isom s body 
 next day, gave old Gabe another theory. He told 
 the miller how Daddy Marcum had called Isom a 
 
THE LAST STETSON 211 
 
 coward, and Steve said the boy had gone ahead to 
 prove he was no coward. 
 
 " He had mighty leetle call to prove it to me. 
 Think o his takin ole Brayton all by hisself !" he 
 said, with a look at the yellow, heaving Cumberland. 
 " N , Lord ! think o his swimmin that river in the 
 dark !" 
 
 Old Gabe asked a question fiercely then and de 
 manded the truth, and Steve told him about the hand- 
 to-hand fight on the mountain -side, about young 
 Jasper s treachery, and how the boy, who was watch 
 ing the fight, fired just in time to save Rome. It 
 made all plain at last Rome s and Steve s denials, 
 Isom s dinning on that one theme, and why the boy 
 could not go to Rome and face Martha, with her own 
 blood on his hands. Isom s true motive, too, was 
 plain, and the miller told it brokenly to Steve, who 
 rode away with a low whistle to tell it broadcast, and 
 left the old man rocking his body like a woman. 
 
 An hour later he rode back at a gallop to tell old 
 Gabe to search the river-bank below the mill. He 
 did not believe Isom dead. It was just his " feelin ," 
 he said, and one fact, that nobody else thought im 
 portant the Brayton canoe was gone. 
 
 " Ef he was jes scamped by a ball," said Steve, 
 " you kin bet he tuk the boat, V he s down thar in 
 the bushes somewhar now waitin fer dark." 
 
 And about dusk, sure enough, old Gabe, wandering 
 hopefully through the thicket below the mill, stum 
 bled over the canoe stranded in the bushes. In the 
 new mud were the tracks of a boy s bare feet leading 
 into the thicket, and the miller made straight for 
 home. When he opened his door he began to shake 
 
212 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 as if with palsy. A figure was seated on the hearth 
 against the chimney, and the fire-light was playing 
 over the face and hair. The lips were parted, and 
 the head hung limply to the breast. The clothes were 
 torn to rags, and one shoulder was bare. Through 
 the upper flesh of it and close to the neck was an 
 ugly burrow clotted with blood. The boy was asleep. 
 
 Three nights later, in Hazlan, Sherd Raines told the 
 people of Isom s flight down the mountain, across 
 the river, and up the steep to save his life by losing 
 it. Before he was done, one gray -headed figure 
 pressed from the darkness on one side and stood 
 trembling under the dips. It was old Steve Brayton, 
 who had fired from the cabin at Isom, and, dropping 
 his Winchester, he stumbled forward with the butt 
 of his pistol held out to Raines. A Marcum appeared 
 on the other side with the muzzle of his Winchester 
 down. Raines raised both hands then, and imperi 
 ously called on every man who had a weapon to 
 come forward and give it up. Like children they 
 came, Marcums and Braytons, piling their arms on 
 the rock before him, shaking hands right and left, 
 and sitting together on the mourners bench. 
 
 Old Brayton was humbled thereafter. He wanted 
 to shake hands with Steve Marcum and make friends. 
 But Steve grinned, and said, " Not yit," and went off 
 into the bushes. A few days later he went to Haz 
 lan of his own accord and gave up his gun to Raines. 
 He wouldn t shake hands with old Brayton, he said, 
 nor with any other man who would hire another man 
 to do his " killin ;" but he promised to fight no more, 
 and he kept his word. 
 
THE LAST STETSON 213 
 
 A flood followed on New- Year s day. Old Gabe s 
 canoe his second canoe was gone, and a Marcum 
 and a Brayton worked side by side at the mill hol 
 lowing out another. The miller sat at the door 
 whittling. 
 
 " Pears like folks is havin bad luck with thar dug 
 outs," said the Brayton. " Some triflin ,cuss took 
 old Steve Brayton s jes to cross the river, without 
 the grace to tie it to the bank, let lone takin it back. 
 I ve heard ez how Aunt Sally Day s boy Ben, who 
 was a-fishin that evenin , says ez how he seed Isom s 
 harnt a-floatin across the river in it, without techin 
 a paddle." 
 
 The Marcum laughed. " Idgits is thick over hyeh," 
 he said. " Ben s a-gittin wuss sence Isom was killed. 
 Yes, I ricollect Gabe hyeh lost a canoe jes atter a 
 flood more n a year ago, when Rome Stetson V 
 Marthy Lewallen went a-gallivantin out n the moun 
 tains together. Hyeh s another flood, V old Gabe s 
 dugout gone ag in." The miller raised a covert 
 glance of suspicion from under his hat, but the 
 Marcum was laughing. " Ye oughter put a trace- 
 chain on this un," he added. " A rope gits rot 
 ten in the water, V a tide is mighty apt to break 
 it." 
 
 Old Gabe said that " mebbe that wus so," but he 
 had no chain to waste ; he reckoned a rope was 
 strong enough, and he started home. 
 
 " Old Gabe don t seem to keer much now bout 
 Isom," said the Brayton. " Folks say he tuk on so 
 awful at fust that hit looked like he wus goin crazy. 
 He s gittin down right peert ag in. Hello !" 
 
 Bud Vickers was carrying a piece of news down 
 
214 THE LAST STETSON 
 
 to Hazlan, and he pulled up his horse to deliver it. 
 Aunt Sally Day s dog had been seen playing in the 
 Breathitt road with the frame of a human foot. 
 Some boys had found not far away, behind a withered 
 " blind," a heap of rags and bones. Eli Crump had 
 not been seen in Hazlan since the night of the Bray- 
 ton raid. 
 
 " Well, ef hit was Eli," said the Brayton, waggishly, 
 " we re all goin to be saved. Eli s case 11 come fust, 
 an ef thar s only one Jedgrnent-day, the Lord l ll 
 nuver git to us." 
 
 The three chuckled, while old Gabe sat dreaming 
 at his gate. The boy had lain quiet during the 
 weeks of his getting well, absorbed in one aim to 
 keep hidden until he was strong enough to get to 
 Rome. On the last night the miller had raised one 
 of the old hearth-stones and had given him the hire 
 of many years. At daybreak the lad drifted away. 
 Now old Gabe was following him down the river and 
 on to the dim mountain line, where the boy s figure 
 was plain for a moment against the sky, and then 
 was lost. 
 
 The clouds in the west had turned gray, and the 
 crescent had broken the gloom of the woods into 
 shadows when the miller rose. One star was com 
 ing over Black Mountain from the east. It was 
 the Star of Bethlehem to old Gabe ; and, star-like 
 on both sides of the Cumberland, answering fires 
 from cabin hearths were giving back its message at 
 last. 
 
 " Thar hain t nothin to hender Rome V Marthy 
 now. I nuver knowed anybody to stay way from 
 these mount ins ef he could git back ; V Isom said 
 
THE LAST STETSON 215 
 
 Thar hain t nothin to hender 
 nothin now." 
 
 On the stoop of the cabin the miller turned to 
 look again, and then on the last Stetson the door was 
 closed. 
 
ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK 
 
ON HELL -FER-S ART AIN CREEK 
 
 THAR was a dancin - party Christmas night on 
 " Hell fer Sartain." Jes tu n up the fust crick be 
 yond the bend, V climb onto a stump, V holler about 
 once, n you ll see how the name come. Stranger, 
 hit s hell fer sartain ! Well, Rich Harp was thar from 
 the head-waters, n Harve Hall toted Nance Osborn 
 clean across the Cumberlan . Fust one ud swing 
 Nance, n then t other. Then they d take a pull out n 
 the same bottle o moonshine, n fust one n then 
 t other they d swing her ag in. N Abe Shivers 
 a-settin thar by the fire a-bitin his thumbs ! 
 
 Well, things was sorter whoopin , when somebody 
 ups n tells Harve that Rich had said sump n ag in 
 Nance n him ; n somebody ups n tells Rich that 
 Harve had said sump n ag in Nance n him. In a 
 minit, stranger, hit was like two wild-cats in thar. 
 Folks got em parted, though, but thar was no more a- 
 swingin uv Nance that night. Harve toted her back 
 over the river, n Rich s kinsfolks tuk him up " Hell 
 fer Sartain " ; but Rich got loose, n lit out lickety- 
 split fer Nance Osborn s. He knowed Harve lived too 
 fer over Black Mountain to go home that night, n he 
 rid right across the river n up to Nance s house, n 
 hollered fer Harve. Harve poked his head out n the 
 loft he knowed whut was wanted n Harve says, 
 
220 ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK 
 
 " Uh, Rich, come in hyeh V go to bed. Hit s too 
 late !" N Rich seed him a-gapin like a chicken, V 
 in he walked, stumblin might nigh ag in the bed 
 whar Nance \vas a-layin , listenin n not sayin a 
 word. 
 
 Stranger, them too fellers slept together plum 
 frien ly, n they et together plum frien ly next morn- 
 in , n they sa ntered down to the grocery plum 
 frien ly. N Rich says, " Harve," says he, " let s 
 hev a drink." " All right, Rich," says Harve. N 
 Rich says, " Harve," says he, " you go out n that 
 door n I ll go out n this door." * " All right, Rich," 
 says Harve. N out they walked, stiddy, n thar was 
 two shoots shot, n Rich n Harve both drapped, n 
 in ten minits they was stretched out on Nance s bed, 
 n Nance was a-lopin away fer the yarb doctor. 
 
 The gal missed em both plum faithful. Rich didn t 
 hev much to say, n Harve didn t hev much to say. 
 Nance was sorter quiet, n Nance s mammy, ole 
 Nance, jes grinned. Folks come in to ax atter em 
 right peert. Abe Shivers come cl ar cross the river 
 powerful frien ly n ever time Nance ud walk 
 out to the fence with him. One time she didn t come 
 back, n ole Nance fotched the boys thar dinner, n 
 ole Nance fotched thar supper, n then Rich he axed 
 whut was the matter with young Nance ; n ole Nance 
 jes snorted. Atter a while Rich says, " Harve," says 
 he, " who tol you that I said that word ag in you n 
 Nance?" "Abe Shivers," says Harve. " N who 
 toP you that I said that word ag in you n Nance ?" 
 "Abe Shivers," says Rich. N both says, "Well, 
 damn me !" N Rich tu ned right over n begun 
 pullin straws out n the bed. He got two out, n he 
 
ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK 221 
 
 bit one off, V he says, " Harve," says he, " we ll 
 draw fer him. The shortes gits him." N they 
 drawed. "Well, nobody ever knowed which got the 
 shortes straw, stranger, but 
 
 Thar ll be a dancin -party comin Christmas night 
 on "Hell fer Sartain." Rich Harp 11 be thar from 
 the head-waters. Harve Hall s a-goin to tote the 
 Widder Shivers clean across the Curnberlan jes the 
 same. Fust one 11 swing Nance, V then t other. 
 Then they ll take a pull out n the same bottle o 
 moonshine, V fust one V then tother they ll 
 swing her ag in jes the same. Abe won t be thar. 
 He s a-settin by a bigger fire, I reckon (ef he ain t 
 in it), a-bitin his thumbs ! 
 
 THE END 
 
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