Uncle Bogg kept throwing the lantern light first to one side of the path, then to the other. His eyes were searching the woods, though it was impossible to see more than a few feet. There was a tenseness in him that had quickly communicated itself to Ruby Mae and me.
Suddenly a twig snapped loudly in the woods to our left and all of us jumped. The old man stopped, set the lantern down on the ground, his gun instantly in position, his right hand on the trigger. But our straining ears heard only the creaking of the branches and the eerie cry of a hoot owl. “Thought I heerd a varmint,” he explained after a long time.
The explanation was not convincing. Wild animals would not make him that jittery. Few wolves or wild boars must be left in these mountains and certainly no mountain man would be afraid of a bear. Hunting was the sport they liked best.
Ruby Mae’s face looked chalky white in the dim light. “Thought I seen a shadder movin’—there!” she whispered, pointing into the woods, sidling closer to Uncle Bogg.
Once again the old man raised the lantern and peered. “Lots of shadders,” he answered briefly. “C’mon, let’s go.”
He quickened his pace so that Ruby Mae and I had trouble keeping up with him. I noticed that he kept his right hand on his gun. No, he was not watching for animals.
I was relieved when Uncle Bogg suddenly broke the silence. “Miss Christy, onybody told you yit about the tall cornstalk in our barnyard?”
“Tall cornstalk? No.”
“Wal, it happened like this—Our family was all out on the porch ’bout the crack of dawn one mornin’ shellin’ a turn of seed corn for plantin’ when Opal called us to come git breakfast.”
While I was puzzled at his sudden talkativeness, I was delighted to sense a tall tale coming. “When I went to breakfast, I drapped the ear of corn I was shellin’ off’n the porch. After we’d et, I saw that the ear of corn had fell into the pig trough. Water in the trough had done swelled up one of the grains on that corn cob to ’bout as big as a small apple. Wal, I shelled the rest of it off, but put that big one in my pocket. “Went on down to the field to plant the seed corn. Directly felt somethin’ bumpin’ my leg. Swear-r-r, if that grain of corn hadn’t swelled big as a ball. Took it out, set it at the aidge of the field, went on plantin’.
“Got all the corn in by the aidge of dark. Went to look at that grain of corn—wouldn’t you know—hit had swelled so, looked big as a pumpkin. Must have weighed nigh on thirty pound.”
The story was rolling out exuberantly now. Uncle Bogg was still walking fast, as alert as ever, and as he talked he kept holding the lantern up and peering into the woods. I realized now that he was deliberately trying to divert us.
“Wal, I called Tom and Isaak and we dug a good-size hole, rolled that grain of corn in. Shoveled the dirt over, stomped it down, turned to go, when a-whammity-bang, heard somethin’ behind us. Jerked round, and that stalk of corn had shot out’n the ground and was already ten foot or so in the air.
“Wal, that evenin’ Jeb Spencer come over, said one of his cows had got out. Asked had we seen her. Told him we hadn’t.
“When Jeb started to leave, I asked him, ‘Jeb, did you ride over?’ Said he had. ‘Where’d you tie your mare?’
“ ‘To a big saplin’ there in your cornfield.’
“Had a good idey what that saplin’ was. Boys and me went down with Jeb to the field where we’d been plantin’ and I says to him, ‘Is that where you tied the mare, Jeb?’
“ ‘Yep, that’s the place all right.’
“We looked, but there warn’t no sign of any horse. Jeb had thought that cornstalk was a poplar tree or somethin’. Told Isaak to run for the lantern and my old rifle. Flashed the lantern up that stalk and Lord help my time-a-day, thar was the mare ’bout sixty foot off’n the ground a-hangin’ by the bridle. So Isaak held the light and I shot the bridle rein in two, and when the horse fell, Jeb got on and rode off back home.”
The story was having the effect Uncle Bogg wanted. Ruby Mae was chuckling. “That’s the most plumb durn foolishness I ever heard.”
“No such thing.”
“Ungle Bogg,” she giggled, “everybody knows you like a good story and don’t mind handlin’ the truth a little carelesslike to git one.”
“Why, you needn’t be so gosh-derned skeptical. What I’m tellin’ you is facts as pure as Scripture. Why, in less than two weeks time that cornstalk was as tall as a big oak tree. It sprouted a purty big ear for every blade, most of ’em ’bout a hundred foot from the ground. Slowed up a little when the rest of the corn tasseled out and commenced silkin’. You couldn’t see the corn on that stalk by then, not even with a spyglass.
“Come cuttin’ time we had to ask all our neighbor folks to holp. Took me and Tom and Jeb Spencer and all the men we could git together most all day hackin’ at that cornstalk. ’Bout sundown it started a-fallin’. We watched it fall awhile, but it got plumb fit dark before it had fell all the way. Heard it hit the ground about midnight. Made a purty big racket. Woke us up, as a matter of fact. Knowed it must have fell over a big scope of land.
“ ’Bout day-bust, we walked up into the pasture field to see which-a-way it had fell. It lay acrost the crik, over Jeb’s place, by some thick woods northside of the road. And still we couldn’t see the end of it. We rode over Coldsprings Branch and all the way acrost Pebble Mountain, and—don’t you know—directly t’other side of the mountain we met a string of people who had come from miles around to see that thar cornstalk. Some excitement, runnin’ hither and yon. Matter of fact, that cornstalk was lyin’ yander acrost the Tennessey-North Carolina line and the state police were gatherin’. Hit was a fearsome sight to behold. Course, we acted like we’d never seed that cornstalk before in our born lives, jest wheeled and run, come back home like streaks of greased lightnin’.”
The moon had risen and we were coming out of the woods. Somehow the darkness no longer seemed threatening; moonlight was bathing everything in a soft amiable light. I looked back and realized that we were almost home. Uncle Bogg had so beguiled us with his tall tale that he had brought us all that long way through the woods without our knowing it.
“Mission house jest around the bend now,” the old man said blithely. “Be glad to see it myself.”
As we reached the edge of the mission yard, we saw David leaning on the fence. He came striding forward to meet us. “Am I glad to see you! Where have you been? Uncle Bogg, thanks for walking the girls home.”
The old man set the lantern on the ground and let go a stream of tobacco juice. “You’re not half as glad as I am t’ see you. Opal’s baby died last night. She asked Miz Christy to come and holp lay out the young’un. While she was doin’ that, some neighbor-men come in. They’d had too much likker. I heerd them . . .”
“Hold the story a minute, Uncle Bogg.” David turned to us, “Girls, Ida has waited supper for you. Guess you’d better go on in and eat it.”
We told Uncle Bogg good-bye and as we turned toward the house, I heard David say, “You know a Cutter Gap man—drunk or sober—wouldn’t harm a woman.”
But what Uncle Bogg answered we could not hear.
The way sometimes led through the woods, sometimes along the edge of cliffs tilted precipitously over ravines. I was glad to be riding the mission mule rather than the new horse Prince. Theo might be ancient and disreputable-looking and have one bad hip, but at least he was sure-footed on the mountain trails. An hour ago when we had set out for the Lufty Branch church (where David held an outpost Sunday school twice a month) he had insisted that I ride Prince, but I had demurred. The stallion was too spirited for me. All of us in the mission house had teased David about selecting a horse so fiery that only he could ride him, but he consistently ignored our comments. There he was now on a dangerously narrow ledge, controlling the beautiful black animal with a softly spoken sentence and a touch of the hand.
We were coming now to the deepest part of the woods. David and Prince were already out of sight among the
tall trees. Here where the virgin timber grew, the path was wider. Tulip trees, giant beeches, and red spruce lifted massive limbs overhead to form an arching roof like a cathedral. Theo’s slow jogging—nothing could ever persuade Theo to go faster—would turn one into either a philosopher or a dullard.
All around me the trees stood sentinel over a solitude that stretched backward into time. It awed me to realize that these proud trees had been here for centuries before any human eye had seen their grandeur. Later the trees had stood vigil over the Indians—Cherokee land. After that had come the first white settlers streaming down from Pennsylvania on the Wilderness Road, most of them walking, a few riding, with their worldly possessions on pack horses—an axe, a gun, a frying pan, some gunpowder, a little salt, and some starter-dough. As they struggled along the Indian trails or followed the river-routes to make their way in a new land, they had looked upon the same trees I was seeing now.
Silence enfolded me. Here in the deep forest even the animals’ hooves were muted, for underneath was a carpet of pine needles inches thick. Suddenly my mule stumbled over a root in the path and I reached out to pat his neck reassuringly. Immediately David called back over his shoulder, “You all right?”
“Yes, fine. Theo’s just dragging his feet.”
David reined in Prince and waited for me to catch up. “We’d better stay together.” He looked at me and grinned.
I knew that I was a funny sight, riding sidesaddle using a man’s tack. My long black woolen riding skirt was draped over the mule’s belly, almost dragging the ground. “I’m self-conscious enough as it is,” I pleaded. “So don’t laugh at me, please.”
“You should be riding Prince,” he retorted. “Change your mind?”
“No. I’ll stay this way. I’m no horsewoman. You know that.”
“You could be. It’s no harder than walking seven miles in the snow.” There was approval in his voice.
We rode awhile longer in silence. When David spoke again his tone was serious. “Christy, don’t take any more trips away from the mission without me.”
I stared at him, astonished at the change in his mood. “Why, David? What’s the matter?”
He stared down at the reins he was holding, as though trying to make up his mind whether to speak or not. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But when Uncle Bogg walked you and Ruby Mae home the other night, it wasn’t those three men from the cabin he was afraid of.”
“Then—then what was it?”
“Some other men followed you through those woods, Christy. Men Uncle Bogg had never seen before.”
Apparently my face did not register sufficient surprise because he said it again more slowly. “Uncle Bogg didn’t know them, Christy. And Uncle Bogg knows every man, woman and puppy-dog between here and the North Carolina line.”
“They were strangers, then?”
“Not only strangers, but strangers from a long way away. And, Christy, until we find out who they are and what they’re doing here, I want you to stay close to the mission.”
“But—what would bring anyone into Cutter Gap who didn’t belong here? What would strangers want here?”
“That’s what I don’t know,” David said, and again I heard the grim edge to his voice. “And that’s what I intend to find out.”
Ahead we could hear the sound of rushing water. But not until Prince and Theo had rounded the bend did we see Big Spoon Creek plunging down the mountain across our path. It was still frozen near the edges but in the center of the creek the water swirled and eddied, whipping itself into frothy bubbles as it plunged over rocks and floating branches.
David halted on the bank, his eyes appraising the situation.
“Water’s higher than I’ve ever seen it. If Prince and Theo refuse to ford it, they won’t be seeing us today at any Sunday school.” He looked at me quizzically, obviously trying to throw off the uneasy mood that had gripped us both. “I’ll go first and hope that Prince will set an example for old Theo. Wish me luck—”
The stallion stepped confidently into the water. A few feet from shore Prince paused to drink. “Recognizes good drinking water when he sees it,” David flung over his shoulder. “Know what I’ve discovered about horses in these mountains? They’re choosy. Let garbage or any such thing be dumped into a creek and they won’t touch a drop.” When finally Prince had gotten all he wanted, he plunged on into midstream, carefully avoiding the biggest boulders.
As soon as I saw horse and rider splashing up the opposite bank, I urged my mule into the creek. Everything went well until we were almost in the middle, then suddenly I felt icy water on my legs. “David,” I shrieked, “he’s falling.”
“Stay on his back! Hang on. Encourage him, he’ll make it.”
The mule struggled but could not get his footing. I was leaning forward clutching Theo’s neck to keep from sliding off his back. I tried encouragement. “Take your time, old boy. There—now. Try again. Oh David, it’s his bad hip. I’m too heavy for him. His bad leg slides right out.”
David was shaking his head. “It’s too deep to wade, Christy. You’re too gentle with that old mule. Hit him with the reins. Hit him harder.”
Finally even David saw that it was no use. He groaned, “What a mess. Jump off and I’ll help you.”
“No, don’t! You’ll ruin your suit,” I called. “Stay there, I’m coming.” The water was almost to my waist with my wet skirts tugging me downstream. I wanted to shed the heavy woolen one, but instead tried to drape it over one arm as I struggled toward shore.
David pulled me up on the bank. My teeth were chattering. He began rubbing my hands between his. “We’ve got to do something for you in a hurry. Doc MacNeill’s cabin is somewhere near. If I can find it, I’ll take you there.”
I nodded mutely as I tried to wring the water out of my skirt. By now the mule had gotten to his feet and was across the creek. As David grabbed his bridle he said, “You can’t walk in those sopping shoes either. You ride the horse, Christy, and I’ll lead poor old limping Theo and stay close to you. It can’t be far.”
We didn’t say much as we went up the narrow trail. Our eyes were searching the horizon. Finally we saw a cabin, silvery gray etched against the shadows of Green Ridge. Smoke trailed from the chimney.
“That’s it. Doc’s place,” David said with relief. He put his hand to his mouth and shouted. In a moment the door opened and a man’s stocky figure appeared.
“Who is it?” a voice called.
David answered, and the doctor came striding down the hill toward us. He was wearing brown corduroys and a plaid hunting shirt, open at the neck. I got the same impression of overflowing vitality that I’d had in the Spencers’ cabin, only I couldn’t help thinking that this man seemed more in character in hunting clothes than with surgical instruments in his hands. What was it about him that made him more like a farmer or a woodsman than a physician?
“Anything wrong?”
“Nothing serious. Christy got soaked in the creek. Could we dry her out by your fire?”
The doctor turned his full attention to me—and again that curious look came into his eyes that I had noticed at the Spencer cabin before the operation. “Delighted,” he said briefly. “Come on up.”
At the top of the hill near the cabin door, I tried to dismount, only to find that my legs were numb with cold. David almost had to pry me off the stallion. “Oh, my shoes are so stiff,” I groaned.
“Hang onto my arm. Only a few steps more.”
Once inside the door, I saw that this was strictly a man’s place. There was the smell of tobacco, stuffed deer heads on the walls, antlers, a bearskin rug on the hearth, and a great many framed pictures, mostly men.
“Miss Huddleston, sit down here.” The doctor pulled out a three-legged stool for me. He stood there scrutinizing me. Then suddenly he said, “Those clothes mustn’t dry on you. Let me see what I can find for you to wear.”
I was only too willing. “My skirt’s wool. It’s going to take
a while to dry.”
The doctor strode into an adjoining room and in a minute returned with some clothes over his arm. “Here, try these.”
I took them. One was a faded flannel shirt. Then I held up a pair of man’s pants in front of me.
Dr. MacNeill stood gazing down at me, his hazel eyes sweeping me up and down. “You can’t wear those,” he concluded. “They come up to your armpits.”
“She could turn up the pant legs,” David suggested. “But how would I hold them up? Two of me could get inside.”
“Well, then, let’s see what else we can do.” He paused a moment, then abruptly turned toward a closed door that I had not noticed before, to the right of the main living portion of the cabin. Surprisingly, the doctor took a key out of his pocket to unlock the door. I glanced over at David questioningly, but his eyes were fixed on the door which Dr. MacNeill had entered and then carefully closed behind him. He looked as puzzled as I.
The minutes dragged by. I sank down on the little stool close to the fire. When our host still did not return, I found myself looking around the room. On a tilt-top table beside me sat a canister of tobacco with a man’s pipe lying beside it. The pipe was so distinctive-looking! Gingerly, I picked it up to look more closely at the wide silver band on the stem. There were words engraved in an antique script on the silver, but they made no sense to me . . . Tha mo chas air ceann mo naimhdean. Puzzled, I laid the pipe back in its place.
Just beyond the table on the hearth sat a luster jug with cattails and dried flowers, now dust-covered. On the other side of the fireplace was something not quite in character with the rest of the furnishings—a low chair, certainly not a man’s chair judging from its dainty spindled back. Then my thoughts were pulled away by a gradual awareness of a clock ticking loudly on the mantel. Looking closely I could read the inscription: “London—1743.” I wondered where the doctor had gotten the clock.
“Think you could get into this?” Dr. MacNeill had walked into the room so softly that neither of us had heard him. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that the door behind him had been closed again. He was holding up a flower-sprigged dress; other garments were over his arm.
Christy Page 14
