Heart of the Blue Ridge Part 12

You-all 'lowed ye could git me with money. If ye had all they is in the world, hit wouldn't be enough. An' ye thought I tuk money fer reportin' the still. Wall, I didn't. I reported thet-thar still o'

your'n kase I seed ye a-settin' b'ar-traps fer humans, an' hit made me hate ye even wuss 'n I done hated ye afore."

Somehow, the flame of her fury was dying. The girl felt this, and bitterly resented it, yet she was powerless. It seemed to her that with all the strength of her nature she was desirous of killing this enemy. He stood cowering before her in dread. Her finger on the trigger needed only the slightest flexing to speed the death he merited. And, for some occult reason, the will to slay failed her. She was enraged against her own weakness of resolve. Nevertheless, she was helpless. Her mood had reached its climax in the impulsive wounding of the other man. Now, her blood was losing its fever. With the slowing pulse, the softer instincts prevailed to thwart her purpose. Despite an anguished eagerness, she could not kill this trembling wretch. She loathed her frailty, even as she yielded to it. She must let him go unscathed, a foe the more dangerous after this humiliation. Of no use to threaten him, to extort promises. There was no truth in him. He must be left free to work what evil he would. Oh, if only the wrath in her had not died too soon!

"Put yer han's down, an' march up the trail," she commanded, presently. Her voice was lifeless. The man drew new hope from the quality of it. He ventured no resistance to the command, but went padding softly through the dust. Behind him, Plutina followed, her bare feet padding an echo. Her right hand hung at her side, but it retained the revolver, ready for instant use. As she came to Hodges'

rifle, she picked it up, and threw it far down into the ravine. At the clattering noise of its fall, the outlaw started, but he did not pause in his stride, or turn. The girl's whole soul was convulsed with longing that he should make some effort of revolt--anything. Then, she would shoot and kill--oh, so gladly!

But the instinct to live guided the man. He trudged meekly. There was no excuse against him. So, they came at last near to the Siddon clearing, where a little path ran through the wood toward the house.

Here, Plutina paused, without a word. She was ashamed of herself, grievously ashamed of this softness of fiber that had spared a life.

Without a word, she watched him pa.s.s along the trail, up the slope, and out of sight beyond. Her face was drawn and white, and the great eyes were brooding with bitterness, when, finally, she stirred, and moved forward in the path. She slipped the revolver into its holster.

Then, her fingers went to the bag that held the fairy cross to her breast. She fondled it tenderly. She was longing as never before for the giver of the talisman.

CHAPTER XV

Plutina had no sleep the night following her encounter with Dan Hodges. Throughout the dragging hours, she was tortured by sinister imaginings. She exhausted her brain in futile strivings for some means of escape from the mesh of circ.u.mstance. It was not until the gray twilight of dawn shone through the curtains that a possibility of relief stirred in her mind. It was out of desperation that the idea sprang. She felt herself so utterly forlorn and helpless in her loneliness that the despair was overpowering. It was then, at last, that the inspiration came to her: She would confess everything to her grandfather!

Though she quailed before the prospect, she rejoiced as well. The old man was strong and resourceful. He would know how to meet and overcome the outlaw's villainy. Moreover, now that her decision had been made, Plutina was surprised to find her alarm over such confession greatly lessened from what she had supposed possible. She began to realize that some intangible change in her grandfather himself was responsible for this. She became convinced that the new gentleness had had its origin in the unselfish abandonment of his marital hopes. It was as if that renunciation had vitally softened him. Perhaps, in this strange mood, he would be less intolerant of her fault in turning informer.

His prejudice could find no excuse for her treachery, she knew, yet the peril in which she had involved herself, and him, might arouse his pity. a.s.suredly, he would be moved to instant action for both their sakes. For that reason alone, if for no other, she must tell him her story without a moment of unnecessary delay.

In the course of the morning, Plutina took advantage of an opportunity, whilst her sister was busy in the garden, and went to her grandfather, who was taking his ease on the porch. She was encouraged by the mild and benignant expression on the old man's face, which had been more often fierce, as she remembered it through the years. She seated herself quietly, and then proceeded immediately to confession.

There was no attempt at palliation of her offense, if offense it were.

She gave the narrative of events starkly, from the moment when she had first seen Hodges descending Luffman's Branch to the time of her separation from him at the clearing, on the yesterday.

Throughout the account, the listener sat sprawled in the big willow rocker, his slippered feet resting on the porch rail. The huge body was crumpled into an awkward posture, which was never changed, once the history was begun. The curved wooden pipe hung from his lips, black against the iron gray cascade of beard, but he did not draw at it again, after the opening-sentences from his granddaughter's lips.

Plutina, looking down, perceived that the folded hands, lying in his lap, were clenched so strongly that the knuckles showed bloodless.

Yet, he made no movement, nor offered any word of comment or of question. When the girl had made an end, and sat waiting distressedly for his verdict, he still rested mute, until the silence became more than she could endure, and she cried out in pleading:

"Kain't ye fergive me, Gran'pap?"

Uncle d.i.c.k turned, and looked reproachfully at the distraught girl. A great tenderness shone from the black eyes, in which age had not dimmed the brilliance. As she saw the emotion there, a gasp of rapturous relief broke from Plutina's lips. The stern restraints of her training were broken down in that moment. She dropped to her knees by the old man's side, and seized his hands, and kissed them, and pressed them to her bosom. He released one of them presently, and laid it gently on the dusk ma.s.ses of his grandchild's hair in silent blessing. His voice, when at last he spoke, was softer than she had heard it ever before.

"Why, Tiny, ye mustn't be afeared o' yer ole gran'pap. I thinks a heap o' my kin, an' ye're the clusest. I loves ye gal--more'n anythin' er anybody else in the world, though I wouldn't want Alviry to hear thet.

I hain't mindin' what ye done none. I'd stan' by ye, Tiny, if he had the hull cussed Gov'ment at yer back. I hain't got no likin' fer revenuers, but I got a heap less for Dan Hodges."

He paused for a moment and lifted his hand from the girl's head to stroke the gray beard thoughtfully, before he continued:

"I been thinkin' a right-smart lot o' things jest lately. I 'low I'm a-gittin' old, mebby. An' I opine as 'tween the revenuers and Dan Hodges, I hain't so much agin the Gov'ment as I was."

Again, he fell silent, as if in embarra.s.sment over an admission so at variance with the tenets of a lifetime. Then he spoke with sudden briskness:

"But ye'd orter a-killed the critter then an' thar, Tiny!"

"I jest somehow couldn't, Gran'pap. I'm sh.o.r.e sorry." The girl felt poignant shame for the weakness thus rebuked.

"I 'low I hain't likely to have no sech feelin's a-holdin' o' me back," Uncle d.i.c.k remarked, drily. "Hit's my foolishness bailin' 'im out got us in the pizen mess. I 'low I'll cancel the bond. But, fust, I'd have to take the skunk to the jail-house, dead er alive. He'll stan' some urgin', I reckon."

"Ye'll be keerful, Gran'pap," Plutina exclaimed anxiously, as she stood up.

"Now, don't ye worrit none," Uncle d.i.c.k ordered, tartly. His usual rather dictatorial manner in the household returned to him. "You-all run along. I want to think."

The girl went obediently. The reaction from despair brought joyousness. Of a sudden, she became aware of the blending perfumes of the wild flowers and the lilting of an amorous thrush in the wood. Her lids narrowed to dreamy contemplation of the green-and-gold traceries on the ground, where the sunlight fell dappled through screening foliage. Fear was fled from her. Her thought flew to Zeke, in longing as always, but now in a longing made happy with hopes. There might be a letter awaiting her from New York--perhaps even with a word of promise for his return. She smiled, radiant with fond antic.i.p.ations.

Then, after a word of explanation to Alvira, she set off at a brisk pace over the trail toward Cherry Lane.

The girl went blithely on her way, day-dreaming of the time when Zeke should be come home to her again. She stopped at the Widow Higgins'

cabin, to receive felicitations over the escape of Uncle

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Clara Kimball Young under the direction of Lewis J. Selznick._ "WHEN ZEKE COMES HOME AGAIN."]

d.i.c.k from f.a.n.n.y Brown. Plutina was not minded to hara.s.s the older woman with the tale of Dan Hodges. The outlaw's threats against Zeke would only fill the mother's heart with fears, against which she could make no defense. Otherwise, however, the tongues of the two ran busily concerning the absent one. And then, soon, Plutina was again hurrying over the trail, which the bordering wild flowers made dainty as a garden walk. Once, her eyes turned southward, to the gloomy grandeur of Stone Mountain, looming vast and portentous. The blur of shadow that marked the Devil's Cauldron touched her to an instant of foreboding, but the elation of mood persisted. She raised her hand, and the fingers caressed the bag in which was the fairy crystal, and she went gaily forward, smiling.

Uncle d.i.c.k, meantime, was busy with sterner thoughts, and his task was harmonious to his musings, for he was cleaning and oiling his rifle with punctilious care. He did not hasten over-much at either the thinking or the work. The shades of night were drawing down when, finally, he hung the immaculate weapon on its hooks. He ate in solitary silence, served by Alvira, who ventured no intrusion on this mood of remoteness with which she was familiar from experience. The old man had determined to go forth and seize, and deliver to the custody of the law, the person of Dan Hodges. At the best, he would surprise the outlaw, and the achievement would be simple enough; at the worst, there would be a duel. Uncle d.i.c.k had no fear over the outcome. He believed himself quicker and surer with the rifle than this scoundrel of half his years. At grips, of course he would have no chance. But the affair would not come to grips. He would see to that.

He went to bed contentedly, and slept the peaceful sleep of wholesome age, undisturbed by any bickerings of conscience.

It was while he was dressing, next morning, that a measure of prudence occurred to Uncle d.i.c.k. During the period of his absence, it would be well for Plutina to avoid risk by keeping in the cabin, with her rifle at hand. There was no telling how audacious the moonshiner might become in his rage over the ignominy to which the girl had subjected him.

At the breakfast-table, he spoke sharply to Alvira, as she placed the plate of fried ham and eggs before him.

"Tell Tiny, I'm a-wantin' her."

"Tiny hain't hyar yit," was the answer. "Hit's time she was."

"Whar's she gone!" Uncle d.i.c.k demanded, gruffly. He detested any interruption of his plans.

"Tiny stayed over to the Widder Higgins's las' night," Alvira explained. "Hit's time she come back."

Uncle d.i.c.k snorted with indignation.

"She didn't say nothin' to me 'bout stayin' over thar," he said crossly.

"Nor to me, nuther," Alvira declared. "She never does beforehand. When the Widder Higgins kind o' hangs on, Tiny jest stays, an' comes back in the mornin'. She orter been 'ere afore now."

Uncle d.i.c.k pushed away the plate of food, half-eaten. Dread had fallen on him suddenly. He tried to thrust it off, but the weight was too heavy for his strength of will. Perforce he yielded to alarm for the girl's safety. A great fear was upon him lest it be too late for the warning he had meant to give. He growled a curse on his own folly in not guarding against immediate attack by the outlaw. It was with small hope of finding his apprehensions groundless that he set forth at once, rifle in hand, for the cabin of the Widow Higgins. There, his fears were confirmed. The old woman had seen nothing of Plutina, since the short pause on the way to the post-office. Uncle d.i.c.k groaned aloud over the fate that might have come on the girl. He told enough to give the Widow Higgins some understanding of the situation, and bade her go to his own house, there to remain and to comfort Alvira.

For himself, he would first search over the Cherry Lane trail for any trace of his vanished granddaughter, and thereafter raise the hue-and-cry to a general hunt through the mountains for the capture or killing of the villain, and the recovery of the girl, dead or alive.

Not for an instant did the old man doubt that Hodges had done the deed.

Uncle d.i.c.k had no more than pa.s.sed Luffman's Branch on his way over the Cherry Lane Trail, when a joyous hail caused him to lift his eyes from their close scrutiny of the beaten earth. Descending the trail, a little way in front of him, appeared the slender, erect form of the one-armed veteran. The bridegroom moved with a jaunty step, and his wrinkled features radiated gladness. But, as he came near, his face sobered at sight of the other's expression. His voice was solicitous.

"I 'low somethin' air wrong," he ventured.

Uncle d.i.c.k in his distress welcomed the note of sympathy. Somehow, he felt curiously drawn to this successful rival, and he was sure that his feeling was returned. Between the two men there was a curious mutual respect, as if each relied on the entire good sense of one who had loved f.a.n.n.y Brown. The older man craved a confidant; he was avid for counsel and every possible a.s.sistance in this emergency. He told the facts as concisely as possible, while Seth Jones, wedded raptures forgot, listened in growing sorrow and dismay. At the end, he spoke simply:

"I'll take a look 'long with ye, Mister Siddon. I done a heap o'

trackin' in my time, out West. Perhaps, I kin he'p ye some."