Heart of the Blue Ridge Part 16

Brant brought his dog to the spot, pointed to the footprint, and slipped the leash. The hound lowered its head, snuffed at the ground, and gave tongue. In the same second, it was off at speed, running with muzzle low, with the continuous whining yelps that told of a warm scent. It did not vanish into the coverts as all had expected, but followed through the open place that led to the northward, skirting the wood. As the men hurried after, they caught a final glimpse of the dog two hundred yards beyond, just disappearing over a ridge. They followed the sound of its baying with what haste they might, yet slowly, by reason of the difficult going. The dog's cries guided them, much to the surprise of Uncle d.i.c.k and the marshal, straight toward Sandy Creek Falls, whither the first tracks of the outlaw and the girl had led, and where they had been so mysteriously lost. As the three scrambled up a steep ascent, scarcely a hundred yards from the sand-bar, there came to their ears from the hound a high, melancholy howl.

"It means that Jack is at fault, somehow," Brant explained in answer to a grunt of inquiry from Uncle d.i.c.k. "Something puzzling him for a minute."

The two listeners looked at each other with grave faces. Was it possible, they wondered, that the hound would be baffled, even as they had been, there at the pool? But their expression lightened the next moment, for two sharp, harsh barks came from the dog, which was evidently still in the neighborhood of the falls, and its master interpreted:

"Jack's treed his game, sure's you're born!"

The three topped the ridge, and broke into a run down the slope, their rifles at the ready. Within the minute, they leaped from the thicket into the open place below the falls. Then, with one accord, they stopped short and stood staring bewilderedly.

The hound continued its deep-chested baying. It stood erect on its hind legs, almost to a man's height. It was supported by its fore-paws extended as far up as they would reach against the wall of the precipice, a little to the left of the waterfall. As it barked, the dog held its muzzle pointed straight upward. There could be no doubt, if the sensitiveness of the brute were to be relied on, that its quarry had, in some incomprehensible fashion, contrived to mount the sheer surface of the cliff. That the hound was sure, was made plain by the rigidity of its posture, by the fierce, challenging ululations, which pealed forth incessantly.

The three men went forward presently, their gaze wandering aloft from the dog, over the inaccessible expanse of vertical cliffs. They came down to the sand-bar, and followed it around the pool, still in silence, and still with their puzzled eyes roving hither and yon for some clue to understanding of this thing. But, of a sudden, Uncle d.i.c.k shouted:

"I see how 'tis! I sh.o.r.ely kotch on. Looky thar!"

The marshal and Brant followed the direction of his pointing arm, but they saw nothing to make the matter clear--only a tiny ledge, fifty feet above them, along which grew a few bushes and clumps of ground pine. It offered no hiding-place for a child even, hardly footing for the outlaw's heavy bulk. But Uncle d.i.c.k shook his head to rebuke their lack of comprehension, then explained:

"Dan's a keen un, all right," he said, with grudging admiration. "But this-hyar time he's done left 'is mark fer my ole eyes to see. Now, you-all jest throw yer eyes o' vision up the side o' the cliff ag'in.

If ye looks cluss, ye kin see a streak o' dampness on the rock. Hit's jet as if a mounting rattler mout 'a' dove down the rock right thar.

But 'twa'n't thet. Thet-thar streak is the mark of a wet rope--er mebby a grape-vine. Thet's the way them devils git up an' down. I'll bet every stick o' my mounting timber them cusses got a cave up thar, offen the ledge. P'rhaps Garry Hawks jest got up, since we-uns seen 'im. An' the rock hain't had time to dry from the rope, er vine, a-gittin' wet in the falls. Dan Hodges thought he had a mighty cute place to lay out in. But he's kotched jest the same--d.a.m.n 'im!... Good dawg!" The change in Uncle d.i.c.k's voice as he spoke the last two words was startling.

The two listeners accepted the old man's solution, but they did not share his enthusiasm. On the contrary, they were very grave, for the task before them appeared formidable, if not impossible, of achievement. As they continued silent, gazing upward with frowning faces, Uncle d.i.c.k regarded them at first in perplexity, then in rapidly-mounting apprehension.

"What's a-bitin' on ye?" he demanded, at last.

The marshal replied.

"There's no way of getting them out of there. They're armed and not particular about murder. They can hold that fort till kingdom-come.

Dan could alone. There's nothing for it but to starve 'em out--if they're there."

"And the trouble about that is," Brant added, "that they've got the girl for hostage. It seems to me that this Dan Hodges has the whip-hand."

For a little, Uncle d.i.c.k, who had paled under the tan, stood silent, looking helplessly from one to the other of his companions. Then he groaned aloud. But in the next instant, he straightened to his full height. His face grew convulsed with rage, as he faced the cliff, and his great voice volumed above the clamor of the cataract:

"G.o.d A'mighty d.a.m.n ye, Dan Hodges! d.a.m.n ye--d.a.m.n ye!"

And then again:

"d.a.m.n ye, Dan Hodges, ferever an' ferever!"

CHAPTER XIX

Plutina's treatment of Hodges had had a curious effect on that lawless character. The humiliation to which he had been subjected had indeed filled him with vicious rage, but, too, it had inflamed his pa.s.sion for the girl. Her scorn and her fierce mastery of him had made her more than ever desirable. He was fascinated by the strength and courage she had displayed. Brutal and evil as he was, Hodges was strong physically, and, in his own wicked way, strong of will. Because he was stronger than his fellows, he ruled them. Strength was, in fact, the one thing that he could admire. The revelation of it in Plutina at once set her apart from all other women, and gave to his craving for her a clumsy sort of veneration. But that veneration was strangely modified by resolve to be avenged for the insult she had put upon him. Thus, it had come about that he planned to satisfy his varied feelings toward the girl by the abduction. He swore to master her, to change her insolence to fawning submission, to abject fondness.

Hodges wasted no time. His sluggish brain began its scheming the moment a turn in the trail hid him from view, after the ignominious march from the Holloman Gate. At sunrise, next morning, he was lurking on the borders of the Siddon clearing, spying on the movements of the family. He even witnessed Plutina's confession to her grandfather, of which he guessed the purport, and at which he cursed vilely beneath his breath. When Plutina set forth for the Cherry Lane post-office, he followed, slinking through the forest at a safe distance from the trail. He was not quite certain as to where or when he should attack the girl, but he meant to seize the first favorable opportunity, whether it came sooner or later. It came, as a matter of fact, very soon, and it was given by Plutina herself.

There at the fallen poplar, the girl found a comfortable nook on the big trunk, where her back was supported by a limb. The serenity of the scene soothed her over-wrought nerves. The sense of relief that had come from confession to her grandfather was less vivid now. In its stead was a blessed peacefulness. She watched lazily the visible details of forest life around about her. Her attention centered finally on a yellow-hammer, which was industriously boring the trunk of a dead chestnut. From the nest near-by, the callow young thrust naked heads, with bills gaping hungrily. Then, in a twinkling, birds and forest vanished, and she was standing on the mist-strewn steeps of Stone Mountain, and Zeke's arm was about her, and her hand was clasped in his. So, she slept, and smiled a little in her dreams, for the touch of the breeze on her cheek seemed the caress of her lover's lips. From his lair in the laurel, Dan Hodges, watching, knew that his opportunity was come. The outlaw laid down his rifle, and drew from a pocket a stout leash of cowhide, a yard long. Glancing from time to time at his intended victim, to see that she still slept, he hastily fashioned a slip-noose at either end of the thong. This done, he began moving forward with the utmost caution, taking advantage of the cover, that he might remain invisible should the girl awake. He held the leash in his two hands ready for instant action. A slight detour brought him around the stump of the poplar, just behind Plutina.

Advancing with even increased carefulness now, he approached until the girl was easily within his reach. As she reclined on the tree-trunk, her left hand hung at length on the side next to him. The right arm was bent along the supporting branch, and the hand pillowed her cheek.

After a moment of doubt, Hodges decided that he would attempt to secure the free wrist in a noose of the leash without awakening her.

It would be easy then to catch and bind the other wrist. In the confusion of sudden rousing from sleep, she would make no effective resistance. The capture would be very simple.

It was, in truth, tragically simple, yet not so simple as the outlaw had antic.i.p.ated. From dreams of tenderness, Plutina was suddenly started to hateful realization by the scarcely perceptible touch of this being so repugnant to her every instinct. She was confused, indeed, but not too confused for frantic resistance. It needed no more than recognition of the man's brutal face so close to hers to inspire her. She fought him with every ounce of her strength. The left hand was useless, held down by his on the thong, with the noose drawn taut about the wrist. But the outlaw, though he contrived to get the other noose over her right hand, failed somehow to tighten it at once. She was able to strike at him again and again. Her blows fell on his face, and they were st.u.r.dy blows. Hodges made no effort to avoid them, nor struck back--only busied himself with the effort to tighten the noose.

It was evident that he disdained her attack. A certain virile pride forbade defense against this onslaught of a girl. Finally, he brought his left hand to aid in adjusting the second noose. In the few seconds of liberty, Plutina abandoned blows, and resorted to savage clawing at the evil face. Her ten nails streaked the coa.r.s.e features with blood.

But still he seemed absolutely indifferent to such wounds as she could inflict. Then, the noose slipped to tightness. The girl's hands were brought close together behind her back, where she stood beside him. He knotted the slack of the leash, and holding the loop, grinned triumphantly at his captive. His b.l.o.o.d.y face was a mask of malice.

"Ye d.a.m.ned little wildcat," he growled, yet with an unmistakable note of admiration in his voice, "if I sarved ye 'cordin' to yer earnin's, I'd sh.o.r.ely tap ye over thet-thar purty haid o' your'n, an' pitch ye over into the Devil's Kittle, to wait fer yer runt lover to come arter ye." He twisted her about viciously. Despite her strength, unusual in a woman, Plutina was powerless in his grip. Holding her close, face to face, he contemplated the girl's pitiable distress with gloating eyes in which there was no faintest suggestion of pity. The prisoner met the malignant gaze for an instant. Then, her eyes fell, and she stood trembling. She was panting, partly from terror, partly from the violence with which she had struggled. Hodges chuckled, well content over the impression he had made. He would show her how a woman should be tamed! But the thing must be done in full accord with a plan he had made. Now that the captive had duly learned her first lesson in submissiveness, he might relax a little from his severity for a time.

Besides, too much fright might leave her helpless on his hands, which would be highly inconvenient, since there was a rough journey on foot before them. When he next spoke, he tried, without much success, to make his voice conciliatory.

"Thar hain't no call fer ye to be so dum skeery--leastways, not yit. I hain't a-hurtin' ye none--not yit--only jest a-tyin' yer han's to keep 'em out o' mischief. But I reckon as how ye'll hev to eat them words ye spoke to me at the gate yistiddy. I 'low ye done forgot the warnin'

I gin ye 'bout playin' Dan Hodges fer a fool. Ye're lookin' mighty sorry ye ever tried hit." He chuckled again, as he meditated a humorous effort: "Ye know thet pore feller what ye winged yistiddy?"

He shook his head reprovingly. "You-all sh.o.r.e hadn't orter never 'ave done no sech thing. Garry wa'n't a-bitin' on ye none. He's hurt bad, Garry is, an' he needs a nuss the worst way, Garry does. An' so I come an' got ye." He guffawed over his wit. "If ye'll behave I'll let loose o' ye a mite, an' we'll stroll along a matter of a few mile to whar Garry's waitin' awful impatient."

Suddenly, unreasoning fear surged up in Plutina, brimmed over in a torrent of pleading words. She knew the uselessness of appeal to this callous wretch. But the instinct of terror in her horrible situation mastered the girl, so that she forgot pride, and besought his mercy.

She was ghastly pale, and the dilated eyes were almost black, with a stricken look in their clouded depths. Her voice was shaking.

"Lemme go Dan--lemme go. Ye've done got even with me now fer yistiddy.

Lemme go--I ax it of ye, Dan. I done ye dirt yistiddy, 'cause I was scared o' ye. An' I'm scared o' ye now, Dan. Lemme go home, an' I won't never tell n.o.body how ye kotched me."

She had raised her eyes beseechingly. Now, as she saw the smug mockery on her captor's face, she fell silent. The futility of any pleading was too plain. Her eyes shifted to the ground again. But the first wild fear was past, and she began to think with some clearness. At once, it occurred to her that she must guard her strength jealously.

She had already wasted too much in vain physical struggling and in vainer emotional outbursts. She must save her energies henceforth both of body and of mind, that she might have wherewith to contrive, escape and wherewith to accomplish it, or wherewith to fight against a l.u.s.tful brute to the very death.

Hodges spoke approval.

"Ye're gittin' sense. Better save yer breath to cool yer porrich, stid o' wastin' hit a-whinin' to me. But I sh.o.r.e admire fer to hear ye squawk. Ye hain't quite so d.a.m.ned uppitty as ye was yistiddy."

"I 'low I must do what ye says," Plutina agreed, listlessly. She felt very weary, now that the reaction was upon her. At whatever cost, she must have an interval in which to recover from this weakness.

"Thet's the ticket!" Hodges exclaimed, with a jovialty meant to be winning. He went behind her, and loosened the knot he had last tied, so that her wrists, although still fast bound, had a little play. The length of the loop allowed him to move by her side with it over his arm. "You-all jest mosey acrost to thet-thar birch clump," he directed, pointing. "I got a rifle-gun yender, what I kain't noways do without."

Plutina walked obediently at his side in the direction indicated, and stood pa.s.sively while he picked up the weapon. Then, in response to his command, she set off with him through the tortuous forest paths to the southward.

For the time being, Plutina's dominant emotion was a vast depression.

It bore down on her like a physical burden, under which she had hardly the power to go forward with slouching steps. It was as if the end of the world were come, with the loss of everything good and clean and happy. The only reality was this foul creature to whom she was bound, from whom there was no escape, who had but to speak and she must obey, who had the authority to compel obedience. She was sick with horror of the man's nearness. She felt defilement from the avid eyes, which moved over her in wanton lingering from head to foot, and back again.

But she had no resource against him. She could only endure for the present, awaiting the return of strength. She could see no glimmer of hope anywhere. Yet, she strove numbly against this enveloping despair.

She told herself again and again that, somehow, relief would come before the dreaded crisis. The words were spiritless; they brought no conviction. Nevertheless, she kept repeating them mutely to herself, as she trudged drearily beside Hodges toward Stone Mountain.

"I'll git clar o' him somehow--I will, I will! Gran'pap'll kill 'im!

Zeke'll come! He will!"

It was incredible that her lover could come, that he could even know of the evil, until too late to save her. Yet, the thought of his coming subtly cheered her. It persisted in defiance of all reason. And the affrighted girl clung to it with desperate tenacity, as a drowning man to the life line. She kept repeating to herself, "Zeke'll come! He will, he will!" as if the phrases were a spell for the soothing of terror. She wished that her hands were free to touch the fairy crystal in her bosom.

The outlaw, after uncouth efforts at conversation, which met with no response, relapsed into sullen silence, and he mended the pace until the girl was hard put to it to keep up with his stride. On the first slopes of Stone Mountain, he halted, evidently at a spot where he had camped on other occasions, for presently he produced a skillet and coffee-pot and materials for a rude meal from their concealment in the bushes. But his first care was to place the prisoner on a log, where a sapling at her back served for attaching the loop of the leash. He then busied himself with making a fire and preparing the food, from time to time jeering at the helpless girl, who watched him with smouldering hate in her eyes.

"Hit's you-all orter be a-doin' these-hyar ch.o.r.es," he declared, with a grin. "An' they's a good time a-comin' when ye'll be plumb tickled to death to wait on yer Danny boy. A good time comin', cuss ye!"