The Trail of the Lonesome Pine

by John Fox

  IV

  Even the geese in the creek seemed to know that he was a stranger and todistrust him, for they cackled and, spreading their wings, fled cacklingup the stream. As he neared the house, the little girl ran around thestone chimney, stopped short, shaded her eyes with one hand for a momentand ran excitedly into the house. A moment later, the bearded giantslouched out, stooping his head as he came through the door.

  "Hitch that 'ar post to yo' hoss and come right in," he thunderedcheerily. "I'm waitin' fer ye."

  The little girl came to the door, pushed one brown slender hand throughher tangled hair, caught one bare foot behind a deer-like ankle andstood motionless. Behind her was the boy--his dagger still in hand.

  "Come right in!" said the old man, "we are purty pore folks, but you'rewelcome to what we have."

  The fisherman, too, had to stoop as he came in, for he, too, was tall.The interior was dark, in spite of the wood fire in the big stonefireplace. Strings of herbs and red-pepper pods and twisted tobacco hungfrom the ceiling and down the wall on either side of the fire; and inone corner, near the two beds in the room, hand-made quilts of manycolours were piled several feet high. On wooden pegs above the doorwhere ten years before would have been buck antlers and an old-fashionedrifle, lay a Winchester; on either side of the door were auger holesthrough the logs (he did not understand that they were port-holes) andanother Winchester stood in the corner. From the mantel the butt of abig 44-Colt's revolver protruded ominously. On one of the beds in thecorner he could see the outlines of a figure lying under a brilliantlyfigured quilt, and at the foot of it the boy with the pine dagger hadretreated for refuge. From the moment he stooped at the door somethingin the room had made him vaguely uneasy, and when his eyes in swiftsurvey came back to the fire, they passed the blaze swiftly and met onthe edge of the light another pair of eyes burning on him.

  "Howdye!" said Hale.

  "Howdye!" was the low, unpropitiating answer.

  The owner of the eyes was nothing but a boy, in spite of his length: somuch of a boy that a slight crack in his voice showed that it was justpast the throes of "changing," but those black eyes burned on withoutswerving--except once when they flashed at the little girl who, with herchin in her hand and one foot on the top rung of her chair, was gazingat the stranger with equal steadiness. She saw the boy's glance, sheshifted her knees impatiently and her little face grew sullen. Halesmiled inwardly, for he thought he could already see the lay of theland, and he wondered that, at such an age, such fierceness could be: soevery now and then he looked at the boy, and every time he looked, theblack eyes were on him. The mountain youth must have been almost sixfeet tall, young as he was, and while he was lanky in limb he was wellknit. His jean trousers were stuffed in the top of his boots and weretight over his knees which were well-moulded, and that is rare with amountaineer. A loop of black hair curved over his forehead, down almostto his left eye. His nose was straight and almost delicate and his mouthwas small, but extraordinarily resolute. Somewhere he had seen that facebefore, and he turned suddenly, but he did not startle the lad with hisabruptness, nor make him turn his gaze.

  "Why, haven't I--?" he said. And then he suddenly remembered. He hadseen that boy not long since on the other side of the mountains, ridinghis horse at a gallop down the county road with his reins in his teeth,and shooting a pistol alternately at the sun and the earth with eitherhand. Perhaps it was as well not to recall the incident. He turned tothe old mountaineer.

  "Do you mean to tell me that a man can't go through these mountainswithout telling everybody who asks him what his name is?"

  The effect of his question was singular. The old man spat into the fireand put his hand to his beard. The boy crossed his legs suddenly andshoved his muscular fingers deep into his pockets. The figure shiftedposition on the bed and the infant at the foot of it seemed toclench his toy-dagger a little more tightly. Only the little girlwas motionless--she still looked at him, unwinking. What sort of wildanimals had he fallen among?

  "No, he can't--an' keep healthy." The giant spoke shortly.

  "Why not?"

  "Well, if a man hain't up to some devilment, what reason's he got fernot tellin' his name?"

  "That's his business."

  "Tain't over hyeh. Hit's mine. Ef a man don't want to tell his name overhyeh, he's a spy or a raider or a officer looking fer somebody or," headded carelessly, but with a quick covert look at his visitor--"he's gotsome kind o' business that he don't want nobody to know about."

  "Well, I came over here--just to--well, I hardly know why I did come."

  "Jess so," said the old man dryly. "An' if ye ain't looking fer trouble,you'd better tell your name in these mountains, whenever you're axed. Efenough people air backin' a custom anywhar hit goes, don't hit?"

  His logic was good--and Hale said nothing. Presently the old man rosewith a smile on his face that looked cynical, picked up a black lump andthrew it into the fire. It caught fire, crackled, blazed, almost oozedwith oil, and Hale leaned forward and leaned back.

  "Pretty good coal!"

  "Hain't it, though?" The old man picked up a sliver that had flown tothe hearth and held a match to it. The piece blazed and burned in hishand.

  "I never seed no coal in these mountains like that--did you?"

  "Not often--find it around here?"

  "Right hyeh on this farm--about five feet thick!"

  "What?"

  "An' no partin'."

  "No partin'"--it was not often that he found a mountaineer who knew whata parting in a coal bed was.

  "A friend o' mine on t'other side,"--a light dawned for the engineer.

  "Oh," he said quickly. "That's how you knew my name."

  "Right you air, stranger. He tol' me you was a--expert."

  The old man laughed loudly. "An' that's why you come over hyeh."

  "No, it isn't."

  "Co'se not,"--the old fellow laughed again. Hale shifted the talk.

  "Well, now that you know my name, suppose you tell me what yours is?"

  "Tolliver--Judd Tolliver." Hale started.

  "Not Devil Judd!"

  "That's what some evil folks calls me." Again he spoke shortly. Themountaineers do not like to talk about their feuds. Hale knew this--andthe subject was dropped. But he watched the huge mountaineer withinterest. There was no more famous character in all those hills than thegiant before him--yet his face was kind and was good-humoured, but thenose and eyes were the beak and eyes of some bird of prey. The littlegirl had disappeared for a moment. She came back with a blue-backedspelling-book, a second reader and a worn copy of "Mother Goose," andshe opened first one and then the other until the attention of thevisitor was caught--the black-haired youth watching her meanwhile withlowering brows.

  "Where did you learn to read?" Hale asked. The old man answered:

  "A preacher come by our house over on the Nawth Fork 'bout three yearago, and afore I knowed it he made me promise to send her sister Sallyto some school up thar on the edge of the settlements. And after shecome home, Sal larned that little gal to read and spell. Sal died 'bouta year ago."

  Hale reached over and got the spelling-book, and the old man grinnedat the quick, unerring responses of the little girl, and the engineerlooked surprised. She read, too, with unusual facility, and herpronunciation was very precise and not at all like her speech.

  "You ought to send her to the same place," he said, but the old fellowshook his head.

  "I couldn't git along without her."

  The little girl's eyes began to dance suddenly, and, without opening"Mother Goose," she began:

  "Jack and Jill went up a hill," and then she broke into a laugh and Halelaughed with her.

  Abruptly, the boy opposite rose to his great length.

  "I reckon I better be goin'." That was all he said as he caught up aWinchester, which stood unseen by his side, and out he stalked. Therewas not a word of good-by, not a glance at anybody. A few minutes laterHale heard the creak of a barn door on wooden
hinges, a cursing commandto a horse, and four feet going in a gallop down the path, and he knewthere went an enemy.

  "That's a good-looking boy--who is he?"

  The old man spat into the fire. It seemed that he was not going toanswer and the little girl broke in:

  "Hit's my cousin Dave--he lives over on the Nawth Fork."

  That was the seat of the Tolliver-Falin feud. Of that feud, too, Halehad heard, and so no more along that line of inquiry. He, too, soon roseto go.

  "Why, ain't ye goin' to have something to eat?"

  "Oh, no, I've got something in my saddlebags and I must be getting backto the Gap."

  "Well, I reckon you ain't. You're jes' goin' to take a snack righthere." Hale hesitated, but the little girl was looking at him with suchunconscious eagerness in her dark eyes that he sat down again.

  "All right, I will, thank you." At once she ran to the kitchen and theold man rose and pulled a bottle of white liquid from under the quilts.

  "I reckon I can trust ye," he said. The liquor burned Hale like fire,and the old man, with a laugh at the face the stranger made, tossed offa tumblerful.

  "Gracious!" said Hale, "can you do that often?"

  "Afore breakfast, dinner and supper," said the old man--"but I don't."Hale felt a plucking at his sleeve. It was the boy with the dagger athis elbow.

  "Less see you laugh that-a-way agin," said Bub with such deadlyseriousness that Hale unconsciously broke into the same peal.

  "Now," said Bub, unwinking, "I ain't afeard o' you no more."