Heart of the Blue Ridge Part 9

"Seems like he was 'most ole enough to git sense," Plutina agreed.

"Mebby we're mistook 'bout his intentions," Alvira suggested, hopefully. "O' course, he git's a heap of enjoyment settin' to Widder Brown. But he hain't got to be plumb foolish, an' marry her. I guess as how hit's fer you-all he's arter the gold kase Zeke'll be comin'

home by-'n'-bye."

Plutina shook her head dubiously. It was the custom of the lover himself to seek, in the gold-bearing sands of the tiny mountain stream to the west, for the grains from which to fashion a ring for his sweetheart. Many a wife of the neighborhood wore such proudly on forefinger or thumb. The old man was not fond enough of toil to undertake the slow washing out of gold there unless for a selfish sentimental reason. And her fears were confirmed that afternoon by Zeke's mother whom she visited.

"They hain't nary chance to save him no more," the old woman averred, lugubriously. "Hit's allus been said hyarbouts as how a feller allus gits his gal sh.o.r.e, if he pans her a ring in Pleasant Valley."

"Huh--girl!" quoth Plutina.

Yet this amorous affair was of small moment just now to the granddaughter, though she voluntarily occupied her thoughts with it.

She hoped thus to keep in the background of her mind the many fears that threatened peace, by reason of her part in the night's work. She knew that she could trust the secrecy of Marshal Stone, but there was the possibility of discovery in some manner unforeseen. There was even the chance that suspicion against her had been aroused in Ben York.

She could not bear to contemplate what must follow should her betrayal of the still become known. It was a relief to be certain that the two men she chiefly dreaded would be in jail, and unable personally to wreak vengeance. It was improbable, she thought, that persons so notorious and so detested could secure bail. But, even with them out of the way, the case would be disastrous on account of her grandfather's hatred of the revenue officers, and more especially, of those among his own people guilty of the baseness of informing. Should her deed come to his knowledge, it would mean tragedy. She dreaded the hour when he should hear of the raid, and was glad that he had gone away, for in all likelihood he would have the news before his return and the first shock of it would have pa.s.sed.... So it fell out.

Uncle d.i.c.k rode briskly toward the little stream that tumbles down the mountain west of Air Bellows Gap, where long ago men washed for gold in feverish desire of wealth. Now, none sought a fortune in the branch grit, where a day's labor at best could yield no more than a dollar or two in gold. Only devoted swains, like himself, hied them there to win wherewithal for a bauble with which to speed their wooing. Uncle d.i.c.k chose a favorable spot, and washed steadily until the blackened old copper skillet itself shone like the flecks of gold he sought. When he ceased he had a generous pinch of the precious dust carefully disposed in a vial. He hid the skillet to serve another day, and set out on his return. Before he crossed Garden Greek, a neighbor, whom he met on the trail, told him of the raid. Eager for all particulars, Uncle d.i.c.k turned his mount into the high road, and hurried to Joines' store.

The single-footing mare carried him quickly to this place of a.s.sembly for neighborhood gossip, where he found more than the usual number gathered, drawn by excitement over the raid. The company was in a mixed mood, in which traditional enmity against the "revenuers" warred against personal rejoicing over the fate fallen on Dan Hodges, whom they hated and feared. From the garrulous circle of his acquaintance, Uncle d.i.c.k speedily learned the history of the night. The account was interrupted by the coming of a clerk to the store door. He waved his hand toward the group on the steps to command attention.

"You, Uncle d.i.c.k!" he called. "No'th Wilkesboro' wants ye on the telephone."

Wondering mightily at the unexpected summons, the old man hurried to the instrument.

"h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!" he roared, in a voice to be heard across the miles.

"Be that you-all, Uncle d.i.c.k?" the question came thinly.

"Yep. Who be you?"

"Hit's Dan Hodges. I reckon you-all done hearn 'bout last night."

"Yep. I sh.o.r.e have hearn a heap," Uncle d.i.c.k acquiesced, sourly. "I tole ye to quit, the officers air gittin' so a'mightly peart. They hain't no more chance fer a good set o' men to make a run--to say nothin' of a wuthless gang like your'n.... What ye want o' me?"

The reply was explicit enough.

"The hearin' 's to-morrer 'fore the United States Commissioner.

Marshal Stone says the bail'll be two thousand dollars, cash or land.

They hain't n.o.body kin put hit up, 'cept you-all, Uncle d.i.c.k. An', if ye don't, Ben an' me'll have to lay in jail till Fall. If ye'll he'p me, Uncle d.i.c.k, ye know Dan Hodges won't never fail ye."

"That's what I'm afeared on," Uncle d.i.c.k retorted, glumly. "I 'most know 'twas you-all an' yer gang kilt thet-thar heifer o' mine in cold blood. Now, the ole man ye've treated dirt is yer las' chance. Wall, cuss ye! I'll come down t'-morrer an' bail ye out--not kase I love ye any, but kase I'm again the revenuers. An' listen 'ere! I'm some old, but I'm some spry yit, ye bet! You-all stop round these parts whar I kin keep an eye on ye till Fall Cote. If ye don't, d.a.m.n ye!--wall, my ole rifle's bright an' 'iled, an' I'll git ye! Jest remember thet, Dan Hodges: I'll git ye!" And with this grim warning, Uncle d.i.c.k slammed the receiver on its hook, and stalked out of the store.

On the following day, he journeyed duly to North Wilkesboro', where, despite the protest of his lawyer, he put up his land as security for the appearance of the two malefactors. Uncle d.i.c.k was a consistent conservative. Had the accident of birth made him an English squire, he would have been a stanch Tory, would have held the King's commission on the bench of justices, and would have administered the penalties of the law with exceeding severity against poachers. Having been born in the Blue Ridge Mountains, he staked his property in behalf of two scoundrels, for the sake of an inherited feud against the Federal authority.

Nevertheless, his personal distrust of the men he had thus relieved was made manifest when, immediately after the commitment of the two before the Commissioner, he betook himself to a hardware store, where he bought a forty-one caliber Colt's revolver, with a holster and a box of cartridges. He had given up the habitual carrying of weapons on his seventy-fifth birthday, as unseemly and unnecessary for one of his patriarchal years. Now, he reverted to the use as a measure of prudence.

"The d.a.m.ned dawg's done me dirt, an' he hain't above doin' hit ag'in,"

he muttered, as he strapped the holster beneath his left arm.

To his womankind, Uncle d.i.c.k spoke of the affair casually, concealing his apprehensions. Neither of the granddaughters ventured remonstrance, though Alvira's pretty face was mutinous, and Plutina felt a sickening sense of calamity rushing upon her. It seemed to her the irony of fate that her own relation should thus interfere to render abortive the effect she had risked so much to secure. She realized, with a shrinking misery, that the sufferers from her act were now at liberty to inflict vengeance upon her, should suspicion be born in them. For the first time in her life, Plutina experienced a feminine cowardice, bewailing her helplessness. There was none to whom she might turn for counsel; none, even, in whom she might confide. It was no mere chimera of fear that beset her. She was far too sensible and too strong for hysterical imaginings. But she knew that her peril was real and grave. In the face of it, she felt suddenly a new longing for the absent lover. Hitherto, her fondness had been tender and pa.s.sionate, touched with the maternal protectiveness that is instinctive in every woman. Now, a new desire of him leaped in her.

She yearned for rest on his bosom, secure within the shelter of his arms, there to pour forth all the story of her trouble, there to hear his voice of consolation, there to be at peace. She touched the fairy crystal that lay between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and she smiled, very sadly, and very wistfully.

"Zeke will sh.o.r.ely come," she whispered, "if I need him--bad enough."

There was a tremor in her voice, but it was not of doubt.

CHAPTER XII

Early in the morning following his trip to North Wilkesboro' Uncle d.i.c.k Siddon rode off to Pleasant Valley, there to prosecute his sentimental labors for the pleasuring of the Widow Brown. Alvira fared abroad on some errand to a neighboring cabin. Plutina, her usual richness of coloring dimmed by a troubled night, was left alone. In the mid-forenoon she was sitting on the porch, busy over a pan of beans, which she was stringing for dinner. As she chanced to raise her eyes, she saw Dan Hodges coming up the path. At sight of the evil lowering face, repulsion flared hot in the girl. The instinct of flight was strong, but her good sense forbade it. She felt a stirring of unfamiliar terror in the presence of the man. She scorned herself for the weakness, but it persisted. Her very fear dictated the counsels of prudence. She believed that in dissimulation lay her only possibility of safety. The thought of any intercourse with the moonshiner was unspeakably repugnant, yet she dared not risk needless offense. Nevertheless, the first effect of her resolve was a self-contempt that moved her to wrath, and made her opening speech more venomous even than it had been otherwise.

"Howdy, my little honey?" Hodges called out as he shambled to a halt before her. His coa.r.s.e features writhed in a simper that intensified their ugliness. His coveting of this woman was suddenly magnified by sight of her loveliness, flawless in the brilliant light. The blood-shot eyes darted luxuriously over the curving graces beneath the scant homespun garment.

The girl sensed the insult of the man's regard. It, rather than the insolent familiarity of address, provoked her outburst.

"Shet yer mouth, Dan Hodges," she snapped. "I've done told ye afore, ye kain't 'honey' me. If ye wants to pa.s.s the time o' day, jest don't fergit as how hit's Miss Plutiny fer you-all."

Hodges gaped bewilderedly under the rebuke. Then he growled defiantly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Clara Kimball Young under the direction of Lewis J. Selznick._ BAD BLOOD BETWEEN RIVALS.]

"Wall, I'll be dogged! Quite some spit-fire, hain't ye? Reckon I know what's a-bitin on ye. Ye're mad kase Uncle d.i.c.k tuk the mounting land ye gals look to heir to, to bail me and Ben." He stared at the girl ominously, with drawn brows. His voice was guttural with threatening.

"So be ye mout hev to eat them words o' your'n. Mebby, when I've done tole ye a thing er two, ye'll be a-askin' of me to call ye 'honey.'

Mebby, ye'll want to hover yer ole 'hon,' arter I let's ye know a thing or two 'bout the doin's o' you-all an' thet d.a.m.ned little runt, thet reportin' dawg sweetheart o' your'n--Zeke Higgins."

The girl was stricken. She understood the outlaw's reference. Somehow he had gained certain knowledge of Zeke's part in saving the Quaker-school-teacher spy. She realized that the criminal gang would not hesitate at the murder of one who had thus foiled them. For the moment, she gave no heed to the danger that menaced herself as well.

Her whole concern was for her lover. The single comfort came from the fact of his absence. Much as she had been longing for his coming, her prayer now was that he should not return until these men were imprisoned.

With a fierce effort toward bravery in the face of catastrophe, Plutina stood up, and drew herself proudly erect. Her dark eyes flashed wrathfully. She spoke with disdain:

"Ye wouldn't dast say that to Zeke Higgins' teeth. Mebby, he hain't so thick through as you-all, and he hain't so thick-headed, nuther. An'

he hain't no runt, as ye'd find quick 'nuf, if so be's ye dast stand up to him, man to man, 'stid o' with a gun from the laurel. He's a man--what you-all hain't. He hain't the kind to layway from the bushes, ner to be a-stealin' his neighbor's cattle an' hawgs. An'

what's more Dan Hodges, ef ye say as how Zeke ever reported ary still, ye're a h.e.l.l-bustin' liar!"

Her jibes were powerless against the coa.r.s.e-fibered brute. He grinned malevolently as he jeered at her.

"Thar, now! Hain't it a pity to have a sweetheart what hain't brave 'nuf to stand 'is ground, an' runs off, an' leaves 'is gal to fit fer 'im." Then, abruptly, the moonshiner's expression changed to one meant to be ingratiating. "Wall, now, Miss Plutiny, I sh.o.r.e likes the way ye stan's up fer the pore cuss. But, arter all, hes' done up and left ye.

An' he hain't comin' back. Hit wouldn't be healthy fer him to come back," he added, savagely. "An' what's more, ye hain't a-gwine to jine 'im whar he's at. The Hodges' crowd won't stan' fer no sech! He's been writ, Zeke Higgins has, with the sign o' the skull an' the cross--the hull thing. Ye know what thet means, I reckon."

Plutina blenched, and seated herself again, weakly. It was true, she knew the fantastic rigmarole, which made absurd the secret dictates of these illiterate desperadoes. But that absurdity meant death, none the less--death for the one she loved. In her misery, she listened almost apathetically as Hodges went on talking in his heavy, grating voice.

"Zeke Higgins knows as how the Allens give us the word 'bout 'is crossin' Bull Head with the spy. He knows thet, if 'e shows up in this-hyar kentry ag'in, the Devil's Pot'll have 'im fer a b'ilin'. An'

thet's 'nuf fer Zeke's case. Now, we'll jest chin a mite 'bout your'n."

There was a little interval of silence, in which the girl stared unseeingly toward the splendors of the blossoming rhododendrons that fringed the clearing. The apathy had pa.s.sed now, and she listened intently, with self-control to mask the despair that welled in her heart. It seemed to her that here was the need for that dissimulation she had promised herself--need of it for life's sake, however hateful it might be, however revolting to her every instinct. So she listened in a seeming of white calm, while the flames shriveled her soul.

The man straightened his great bulk a little, and regarded the girl with new earnestness. Into his speech crept a rude eloquence, for he voiced a sincere pa.s.sion, though debased by his inherent b.e.s.t.i.a.lity.

"Plutiny Siddon, I've knowed ye, an' I've craved ye, this many year.