by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XII THE MYSTERY TRAIL
As Florence halted in her upward march she felt herself overawed by aterrible sense of desolation. For an hour she had traveled over the mostsilent, lonely trail her feet had ever trod. Little more than a footpath,possible mayhap to a sure-footed horse, the trail wound up and up and uptoward the point where the green of forest ended in massive crags oflimestone. She was now among the crags.
Far away on the opposite mountainside the sun was still shining, but onthis trail there fell neither sunlight nor form of shadow. The northslope lay bathed in the perpetual chill of a cheerless autumn. No soundcame to her from above, not a whisper from below. Beneath her feet wassolid rock, above her more rock.
"What's the use?" she asked herself as she stood there irresolute. "Therecouldn't be a pass. There just couldn't. Yet it seems there must be! Andsome way, some way, I must escape! To-morrow is my trial. To fail toappear is to face disgrace. Besides, there are my faithful friends, mybondsmen. I must not fail them!"
Once more, with an eagerness born of despair, she pressed forward.
It was, indeed, the day before the trial. Three days has passed since shehad entered the forbidden portals of the rock made gateway. Little Halliewas now so far recovered that she at this moment sat wrapped in ablanket, smiling at the flames in the great fireplace. Yes, Hallie wasall right now, but she, Florence, was in trouble. It was necessary thatshe return to the settlement. But how was she to do it? Three times thatday she had approached the stone gateway. Each time the silent sentinelhad appeared, treading his monotonous watch before the trail. She had notmustered up the courage to ask him to let her pass.
"There must be another trail, a pass over the mountains at the head ofthe creek," she had told herself. So, before the day had half gone, shehad walked slowly up the creek trail until far beyond sight of thefarthest cabin. Then she had quickened her pace almost to a run.
One thing she had seen in passing the cabins had surprised her not alittle. As she rounded a corner she had caught a gleam of white and hadat once recognized the forms of three persons standing in the shadows ofa great pine. Two were men, one a grown boy. That boy, there could be nomistake, was Bud Wax. The white she had seen was the wrappings on hisarm, which was still in a sling.
With his back to her he was so engrossed in the conversation which he wascarrying on with the other man that he did not so much as see her.
From that distance she caught only fragments of the talk. As the boy'svoice rose shrill and high, almost as if in anger, she heard:
"Hit's your bounden duty. That's what hit are! Look what she's beendoin'. Look--"
But here she passed behind a clump of young pines which muffled the soundof his voice.
As she pushed on through the deepening shadows she thought of this andwondered deeply. Bud had disappeared before she was up that firstmorning. She had always supposed that he had escaped to his home in thedarkness of night and storm. But here he was. What was she to make ofthat? Why had he come in the first place? Why had he stayed? Was he,also, virtually their prisoner? Or had he gone out and returned for areason? What was his feeling toward her? There had been times during thatlast week of school that she had surprised on his face a look almost ofadmiration. The look had vanished so quickly that she had doubted itsexistence.
And that night? Why had he leaped at the one-armed giant when he put outa hand to seize her? It looked like a desire to protect her. But why? Washe not from the camp of the enemy--Black Blevens' camp? Had she notdestroyed his most priceless possession, hammered it to bits between tworocks? What could she think?
Her thoughts were suddenly cut short. Before a wall of stone that towereda hundred feet in air, she had come to the end of the trail.
* * * * * * * *
In the meantime, all unknown to Marion and Mrs. McAlpin, a clan wasgathering at the mouth of Laurel Branch. It was Ransom Turner's clan. Astrangely silent, uncommunicative people, the mountaineers of theCumberlands seldom confide fully in those who have but late come to liveamong them. Ransom Turner and the men of his clan had not confided theirsuspicions, nor even all that they knew about Florence's strangedisappearance, to either Marion nor Mrs. McAlpin.
Having always suspected that the mysterious child, Hallie, had somehowstrayed beyond the portals of the gate that led to the head of the creek,and that she belonged to that silent, forbidden land beyond, they hadassumed that she had found her way back to her home.
That Florence had followed Hallie beyond the gate, they had suspected atonce. As time passed and she did not return, this suspicion, aided bycertain rumors that came to their ears, became a conviction.
"Hit's up there she are!" Ransom Turner had been heard to whisper morethan once.
"Hit certain are!" came with a nod of wise heads for answer.
Now it was the day before Florence's trial, and the school election aswell. Ransom's men did not like the stinging remarks that came from thecamp of Black Blevens.
"To-morrow's the trial," Ransom had said. "She's bound to be here. Gotell the boys to git up their rifles an' pistol guns an' come here atsunset."
This was said to a trusty henchman, who was away at once. In a smallclearing a little way up the side of Big Black Mountain, a clearingcompletely surrounded by thickets of laurel and mountain ivy, the menwere now straying in to drop silently down upon the grass.
A grim, silent group they were. Here was a lanky, long-bearded patriarchwith a squirrel rifle that stood as tall as he, and here a boy of sixteenwith a shiny modern rifle. Here were dark-bearded, middle-aged men withleather holsters buckled to their belts.
Conversation was all in whispers. One caught but fragments of it.
"Hit's whar she are."
"Hit's plumb quare about Bud Wax."
"Will they fight, you reckon?"
"Sure they will."
"Bud's been home once, I hearn tell. Hit's what Bud said that made Ransomso sartin about her bein' up thar."
So the whispering went on and more men straggled in as the shadows fell.
The people at the mouth of Laurel Branch had always resented the presenceof their mysterious neighbors beyond the stone gateway. To a certaindegree, also, they had feared them. Things mysterious inspire terror.Tales of their strange doings had not grown smaller in their telling. Theone-armed giant had become a veritable Cyclops. The beady-eyed stranger,who had once or twice been seen beyond the gates, was a man of strangelymagic power. Such were the yarns that had been spun.
To-night, however, all these spells must vanish before the demand of coldsteel. To-morrow was trial day and election day. Florence was needed. Shemust be at the mouth of Laurel Branch at sun up. They meant to bring herhome. As soon as darkness fell these grim warriors of the hills meant tomarch past that stone gateway. If a sentry attempted to stop them hewould be silenced. They would ask the release of their teacher, the onewho had dared to stand and fight for their rights and the rights of theirlittle ones. If they could secure her release by peaceable means theywould do it. If it meant a fight, then a fight it would be.
And so, at the very hour when Florence trudged up the dark and shadowytrail, the clan was gathering.
As for Florence, as has been said, she had come to what appeared to be asudden end of the trail. Before her was a towering wall of rocks.
But a well trodden path, beaten hard by the tread of hundreds who havepassed that way, does not end so abruptly. Like the current of a sunkenriver, it must always go somewhere. By a careful examination of hersurroundings, the girl found that certain sandstone boulders that lay injagged heaps to the right of her were worn smooth. These smooth spots,she reasoned, had been made by human feet.
At once, with a bound, she was away up this natural stairway. Up, up, upshe climbed till her heart thumped wildly and her head whirled. Then, toher vast surprise, just as she reached the topmost pinnacle she came upona black heap of coal and directly before
her a coal shaft yawned.
"A coal mine!" she exclaimed in disgust, sinking down breathless upon arock. "I have come all this way to find only a coal mine!"
In these mountains, this was no discovery. The mountains were full ofcoal. There was wanted only a railroad to make the country rich. But tothink that she had come all this way in the hope of finding a way out,only to find there was nothing left but to retrace her steps and tochoose between taking the desperate chance of slipping past that pacingguard in the dark or remaining quietly within the gates until somethinghappened that would set her free.
"And that last," she groaned, "can never be. Never! I must escape! I mustnot miss my trial!"
In the frenzy of this resolve she sprang to her feet. But what was this?The moment's rest and the cooling breeze had quieted her heart. She couldthink more clearly. This was no coal mine; could not be. A coal mine atthe top of the mountain, a mile by trail from the nearest cabin? Whatfolly! There were veins of coal lower down. She had seen them, and opencoal mines, too, almost at the cabin's door. What, then, could this mean?Here was coal, a coal vein, and an open drift, and yet it was not a mine.
Boldly she set a foot inside the dark opening. At once her foot shot frombeneath her and she went sprawling. Only by a desperate clutching at theragged rocks at her side was she prevented from gliding downward into adark, unknown abyss.
Frightened, with hands lacerated by the sudden gripping of the rocks, andwith heart beating wildly, she clung there panting until her head cooledand she realized that she was resting on a rocky step.
Drawing herself up, she found she was able to sit in a comfortableposition and gaze about her. Just before her was utter darkness; behindher was the fading light of day.
Groping about in her pocket, she found a box of safety matches. Havinglighted one of these she held it far out before her. At once her lipsparted in an exclamation of surprise.
Before her, leading down, down, down, was a rude stairway cut in solidrock. On either side of the stairway were mine props, and back of thesewere black walls of coal.
It was all clear to her in an instant; not all, perhaps, but much. Therewere many just such veins of coal as this in the rockiest portions of theCumberlands. She had heard of them. After the ages had passed when coalhad been deposited upon the surface of the earth and strata of earth androcks piled upon them, there had come some tremendous disturbance of theearth's surface which had tilted rocks and coal deposits as well, andthis was just such a vein.
There was nothing so strange about that, but it was strange to find thisnatural stairway leading downward to some regions unknown.
Just as her match flickered and went out her eyes caught the gleam ofsomething white in a niche of the rock at her side. At once she wasfumbling eagerly for another match.
To her consternation, in her excitement she let the box drop from herfingers.
Bump, bump, bump, it went down the steps. For an instant her heart stoodstill. Had it gone on down? Was she left without a light? She thought ithad stopped on the third step, but could not be sure.
Slowly, carefully, she felt her way over the damp and slippery steps. Onestep, two, three. She felt them over carefully. No matches. Her heartsank. One more step, a hasty groping in the dark, then a cry of joy. Shegripped the box.
The next moment the place was alight with a reddish yellow glow, and thenext instant, standing up, she was grasping the white object that hadcaught her eye. It was one of four tallow candles that lay in a rockyniche.
Holding her match to it, she had the joy of seeing its wick sputter, thenflame up.
One moment she hesitated. Then, putting one of the candles in her pocket,and holding another well before her, with a firm and steady step shebegan the descent into the mysterious cavern.
