Heart of the Blue Ridge Part 5

The old man had a reputation almost as notorious as that of Hodges himself. The girl felt a wave of disgust, mingled with alarm, as she caught sight of the face, almost hidden behind a h.o.a.ry thicket of whiskers. The fellow was dirty, as always, and his ragged clothes only emphasized the emaciation of his dwarfed form. But the rheumy eyes had a searching quality that disturbed the girl greatly. She knew that the man was distinguished for his intelligence as well as for his general worthlessness. In the experience of years, he had always escaped the raiders, nor had they been able ever to secure any evidence against him. He was, in fact, as adroit of mind as he was tough of body. He had lived hard all his days, either in drunken carouse or lying out in the laurel to escape the summons of the courts. Where, alas! a holier man might have been broken long ago, the aged reprobate thrived, and threatened to infest the land for years to come. Now, he greeted the girl casually enough, made a purchase, and took his departure. He seemed quite unsuspicious, but Plutina felt that his coming on her thus was an evil omen, and, for a moment, she faltered in her purpose.

A hand went to her bosom, and touched the tiny leather bag that hung from a cord about her neck inside the gown. Within it was the fairy crystal. The touch of it strengthened her in some subtle fashion. It was as if to her weakness there came miraculously something vital, something occultly helpful in her need, from the distant lover. The superst.i.tion, begotten and nourished always in the fastnesses of the heights, stirred deeply within her, and comforted her. Of a sudden, courage flowed back into her. She took down the receiver.

After all, nothing was accomplished. The marshal was not in his office, but absent somewhere in the mountains. Plutina would not risk giving information to any other than the officer himself, whom she knew, and respected. Disconsolate, she abandoned the attempt for the time being, and set out to get a bag of wheat flour from the mill close by, on the other side of Roaring River.

As Plutina, with the bag of flour on shoulder, was making her way back from the mill, across the big sycamore trunk that serves as a foot bridge, a horse splashed into the ford alongside. The girl looked up, to see the very man she sought. Marshal Stone called a cheery greeting, the while his horse dropped its head to drink.

"Howdy, Plutina?"

"Howdy, Mr. Stone," she answered. Her free hand went again to the talisman in her bosom. Surely, its charm was potent!

"All's well as common, at home?" Stone continued. His critical eyes delighted in the unconscious grace of the girl, as she stood poised above the brawling stream, serene in her physical perfection; and above the delicately modeled symmetry of form was the loveliness of the face, beautiful as a flower, yet strong, with the shining eyes and the red lips, now parted in eagerness. The marshal wondered a little at that eagerness. He wondered still more at her hurried speech after one quick glance to make sure that none could overhear:

"I mustn't be seed talkin' to ye, but I got somethin' to say 'll he'p ye arn yer pay. Kin ye meet me in an hour by the sun, at the ole gate on the east end o' Wolf Rock?"

The marshal's answer wasted no words:

"Go on, gal--I'll be there."

Wolf Rock, a huge, jutting ma.s.s of barren cliff, though tiny beside the bulk of Stone Mountain, which overshadows it, lies between Garden Creek and Thunder Branch, a little to the north of where these streams flow into Roaring River. Its situation, nearly midway between the mill and the Siddon Cabin, made it a convenient point for the meeting between Plutina and the officer. Its loneliness lessened the element of danger. Both were prompt to the rendezvous. Well under the hour, man and girl were standing together within a bower of newly blossoming rhododendrons. Above them, the naked rock bent sharply, its granite surface glistening in the hot noonday sun. They had withdrawn some score of yards from the old wooden gate that barred the lane here, lest a chance pa.s.ser-by see them together. Plutina opened her mind without hesitation. The decision once made, she had no thought of drawing back.

"I 'low I kin trust ye, Mister Stone," she said simply, and the sincerity of the l.u.s.trous eyes as they met his confirmed her words.

"Afore you-all's time in the revenue service, raiders done kilt my daddy. I kain't never fergive them men, but they's out o' the service now, er I wouldn't have come to ye. Gran'pap says they's a better lot o' revenuers now 'n what used to be an' he says as how Marshal Stone don't do no dirt. Thet's why I'm a-trusting ye, so's ye kin kotch the pizen-meanest white man a-makin' likker in the hull Stone Mountain country--him an' his gang an' his still."

The marshal's eyes sparkled.

"I reckon you're talking about Dan Hodges," he interjected.

Plutina nodded her head in somber acquiescence.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Clara Kimball Young under the direction of Lewis J. Selznick._ JOINES' MILL.]

"Then you needn't have any scruples about giving information," Stone continued, urgently. "He and his gang are a menace to the peace of the settlement. I'll keep you out of it, of course, to save you embarra.s.sment."

"Ye'd better," Plutina retorted, "to save my life. I don't know's I mind bein' embarra.s.sed so much, but I don't feel called to die yit."

"No, no; there won't be anything like that," the marshal exclaimed, much disconcerted. "I'll see no trouble comes to you. n.o.body'll know your part."

"'Cept me!" was the bitter objection. "If 'twas anybody but that ornery galoot, I wouldn't say a word. Ye know that."

"I know," Stone admitted, placatingly.

In his desire to change her mood, he blundered on:

"And there's the reward for getting the 'copper'--twenty dollars for you Plutina. If we get Hodges, I'll give you another fifty out of my own pocket. That'll buy you a nice new dress or two, and a hat, and some silk stockings for those pretty legs of yours."

Plutina flared. The red glowed hot in her cheeks, and the big eyes flashed. The mellow voice deepened to a note of new dignity, despite her anger.

"I hain't come hyar to gas 'bout rewards, an' money outten yer pocket, Mister Stone, or 'bout my clothes an' sech. I'm an engaged woman.

When I wants to cover my legs with stockin's Zeke Higgins' money'll do the payin', an' he won't need no he'p from no d.a.m.ned revenuer."

Stone, realizing too late the error in his diplomacy, made what haste he could to retrieve it. His smile was genial as he spoke. He seemed quite unabashed, just heartily sympathetic, and his manner calmed the girl's irritation almost at once.

"Oh, you little mountain hornet! Well, you are telling me news now.

And it's the kind to make any old bachelor like me weep for envy.

Lucky boy, Zeke! I guess he knows it, too, for he's got eyes in his head. About the money--why, you've a right to it. If Dan Hodges and his gang ain't rounded up quick, they'll be killing some good citizen--like me, perhaps."

Plutina had recovered her poise, but she spoke no less firmly:

"No, suh, I won't tech the money. I kin show ye how to kotch the hull gang, but not fer pay, an not fer love o' no revenuer, neither. Hit's jest fer the good o' this country hyarbout. Dan Hodges has done sot b'ar-traps to kotch you-all. An' anybody might walk plumb into 'em, but not if I kin he'p hit."

Forthwith, she made the situation clear to her eager listener.

"Kin you-all meet me, an hour by the sun in the mornin', on the trail to Cherry Lane post-office jest beyond the Widder Higgins' clearin'?

I'll take ye to the place, whar ye kin see the still, an' the traps."

"I'll have to move lively," the marshal answered, with a somewhat rueful laugh. "Twenty miles' ride to North Wilkesboro', and back. But I'll do it, of course. I wouldn't miss it for a good deal. I'll have my men waiting at Trap Hill. If things shape right, I'll make the raid to-morrow night."

CHAPTER VIII

Marshal John Stone was a mountaineer of the better sort, who had the respect and admiration of the law-abiding citizens in his district, and the hate of the evil-doers. He stood full six feet in his socks, and he was broad and muscled in proportion. His gray eyes were of the sort to harden to steel against an enemy, to soften wonderfully for a friend. The mouth, half-hidden by the thick mustache, was very firm, yet p.r.o.ne to smiles. To an excellent intelligence had been added a fair amount of education. Since he respected both himself and his work, and had developed a veritable pa.s.sion for the capture of malefactors, he was more than usually successful. His zeal, tempered with discretion, had won the appreciative attention of official superiors. There could be no doubt that promotion would shortly remove him to a higher plane of service. The fact would have been most agreeable to Stone, but for two things. He desired beyond all else, before going from the mountains, to capture Dan Hodges, who had so persistently flouted the law, and himself, its representative; the second unsatisfied ambition was to come on the long-lost Burns'

still.

The Scottish poet's poverty was almost equal to his genius. On that account, Robert Burns was glad to secure the stipend of fifty pounds a year to which he became ent.i.tled on his appointment as exciseman in 1788. It may be that his convivial habits made his official position particularly acceptable, since doubtless his perquisites included the keeping of his own jug filled. And there were moonshiners among the Scottish hills in those days, as perhaps there are to-day. On occasion, the poet made a gift of a captured still to some discreet friend. One recipient emigrated to America, and bore into the wilderness that has become North Carolina the kettle and cap of copper on which Burns had graven his name, and the date, 1790. Afterward, as the years pa.s.sed, the still knew many owners, mostly unlawful. It won fame, and this saved it from the junk-heap of its fellows, when seized by the Federal officers. Three times, it was even placed on public exhibition. As many, it was stolen by moonshiners. For years now, it had remained in secret. Marshal Stone yearned to recapture the Burns still. There was no reason whatsoever for believing it to be in the possession of Hodges, yet it might as easily be with that desperado as with another. There was at least the possibility. The marshal, as he rode north before the dawn next morning, felt a new kindling of hope.

It seemed to him almost certain that the opportunity was at hand to satisfy one ambition at least by putting Hodges behind the bars. For the other, it was on the lap of the G.o.ds.

The officer was at pains to use every precaution to avoid being observed while in company with the girl, whom he duly met at the appointed place while the sun was yet low on the eastern horizon. The two made their way with what quiet they could through devious paths to Luffman's Branch. The dew lay heavy on the laurel leaves of the thickets, and the breeze was perfumed with the penetrant fragrance of many blossoms. The day was thrilling with the matins of the birds. The balsamic air was a wine of life. The rugged mountain peaks seemed to stand as an impregnable barrier against the confusions and evils of the larger world. But the man and the girl recked nought of these things as they went forward, with cautious steps and watchful eyes.

They knew that the tranquil scene masked wickedness close by them, which would not hesitate to destroy. The discovery of the marshal in that vicinity would mean for him the bullet of an a.s.sa.s.sin from out the screen of leaves, and the same fate--or worse--for his companion.

The corpses would be lost in the Devil's Cauldron. Men would whisper grim surmises, and whisper low lest the like come upon them. And that would be all.

They reached the cliff top overlooking the little canon, and Plutina pointed out the location of the traps on the strip of dry ground below, and the huddles of brush that disguised the buildings of the still. Then, the girl went her way. She had done her part. The man remained to study the scene above for hours through his gla.s.ses, and to map out the night's campaign into the enemy's country.

A delicate moonlight fell over the mountains, when, in the evening, Stone led his men from the rendezvous at Trap Hill. The six were heavily armed and well mounted. Their course at the outset led them along the Elkin road to Joines' store, where they swung into the trail over which Zeke and Plutina had walked the day of their parting. The cavalcade rode swiftly. There was no conversation; only the pounding of hoofs and the jangling of accoutrements. When, at last, they reached the edge of the Widow Higgins' clearing, they turned sharply to the eastward, following the path toward the Cherry Lane post-office. Presently, at a low word of command from the leader, they halted and dismounted. The horses were left to the care of one man in a near-by thicket, and the remainder of the party continued the advance on foot.

The marshal, during his watch on the still that day, had planned his attack in every detail. He hoped to make his capture of the gang without unnecessary casualties, for in this particular he had achieved an enviable record, on which he prided himself. At first, he had thought of ascending along the course of Luffman's Branch, after springing the traps, but had given over the plan as one offering more chance of the raiders being discovered prematurely. Instead, he had decided on taking his men up the mountainside by a round-about route, likely to be free from watchers. His men were already instructed in every point, so now they followed him rapidly and almost noiselessly, as he forced his way through the thick growths of the wooded slopes.

The darkness added to the difficulties of the progress, but the posse were inured to hardships, and went onward and upward resolutely.

Despite the necessities of the detour, they came surprisingly soon to a height from which they looked across a small ravine to the level s.p.a.ce where the still perched by the stream. A few whispered words from the leader, and the company crept with increased care across the ravine. From the ridge beyond, three of the men pa.s.sed forward to make ambush--one above, and one below, and one on the far side of the still. Stone and a single companion remained, hiding behind the clumps of rhododendrons.

It was with huge satisfaction that the marshal recognized Hodges himself, plainly revealed by the firelight. The "kettle" was running at full blast. The seasoned hickory logs, in the rough stone furnace beneath the kettle, were burning fiercely, and the blue and gold of their flames lighted all the scene into vivid relief against the background of shadows. Stone, even at his distance, could see distinctly the tiny stream of colorless mountain-corn whiskey, as it flowed out from the worm into the keg placed to receive it. The leader of the gang was seated at ease on a stool just outside the brush enclosure that masked the buildings. The villain was evidently in a mood of contentment, untainted by remorse over the havoc his traps might wreak on any pa.s.sing through the gorge below. Rather, doubtless, the memory of those sinister sentinels gave him a sense of safety, on which his serenity was founded. In his lap was a banjo which he thrummed vigorously, with rhythmic precision, if no greater musical art, and head and body and feet, all gave emphasis to the movement. At intervals, his raucous voice rumbled a s.n.a.t.c.h of song. It was evident that the moonshiner was mellow from draughts of his own potent product.

Others of the gang were busied here and there, bulking grotesquely as they moved about the fire, seeming disheveled demons of the pit. Like some master imp torturing a pigmy over the flames, old Ben York was kneeling close beside the blaze, holding to the coals a hickory stick, which served as spit for the roasting of a squirrel. The brilliance shone full on the frowsy gray whiskers, and, above them, the blinking, rheumy eyes, so intent on the proper browning of the game. None of the outlaws had a weapon in his grasp--a fact noted with satisfaction by the chief of the raiders, who knew that these men would not scruple against bloodshed to escape arrest. There were arms at hand, of course; Hodges' rifle was visible, leaning against a ground pine within his reach. But Stone hoped that the surprise would be such that the gang could not avail themselves of their weapons.

Hodges had just completed a strident rendering of "Cripple Crick," and had thumped out the opening bars of "Short'nin' Bread," when the marshal gave the signal for attack--a single flash of his electric torch. In the same second, the raiders' rifles crashed out. The big bullets struck true to aim in the ground of the open place before the fire. A shower of dirt and pebbles spat back viciously. Some of the flying fragments struck the men, terrifying them with the thought of bullet wounds. Hodges, as the reports sounded, felt the bruise of stones on his bare legs, and shrieked in panic fear. His instinctive recoil carried him over backward, from the stool to the ground. The banjo jangled discordant triumph over his fall. When, dazed by the suddenness of it all, he would have struggled up, he found himself fast in the clutches of two raiders, who locked manacles on his wrists. Stone grunted joyously as he surveyed the captive. The others of the gang, except Ben York, had contrived to slip away into the laurel, whither it would avail nothing to follow them, save useless risk of being killed from ambush. But the marshal cared little for the escape of the lesser malefactors. He had succeeded in taking prisoner the most notorious criminal of the mountains.

Ben York had failed to effect his usual flight, because of being at a disadvantage on his knees. Before he could scramble up for a plunge into the thickets the enemy was upon him. Yet, even in this moment of shock, the old scoundrel's cunning sought and found a ruse. He stood swaying for seconds, and then tumbled limply headlong to the ground, in a drunkard's fall, familiar to his muscles by experience through three-score years. So he lay inert, seemingly sodden from the kettle's brew. His captors, if resolved to hold him prisoner, would be forced to the arduous task of carrying him through the dark, down the rough slopes. It would be strange, he mused complacently, if in the course of the journey, their vigilance did not relax a little. And a very little would suffice him! Then, though to all appearance in a drunken stupor, he sighed. He was unhappily aware that the revenue men would not be gentle in their efforts to arouse him to consciousness. Whether they believed him shamming or not, they would use no doubtful measures. But, whatever might come, he must endure it for the sake of escape.