The Trail of the Lonesome Pine

by John Fox

  X

  Hale opened his eyes next morning on the little old woman in black,moving ghost-like through the dim interior to the kitchen. A wood-thrushwas singing when he stepped out on the porch and its cool notes had theliquid freshness of the morning. Breakfast over, he concluded to leavethe yellow mule with the Red Fox to be taken back to the county town,and to walk down the mountain, but before he got away the landlord's sonturned up with his own horse, still lame, but well enough to limp alongwithout doing himself harm. So, leading the black horse, Hale starteddown.

  The sun was rising over still seas of white mist and wave after waveof blue Virginia hills. In the shadows below, it smote the mists intotatters; leaf and bush glittered as though after a heavy rain, and downHale went under a trembling dew-drenched world and along a tumblingseries of water-falls that flashed through tall ferns, blossoming laureland shining leaves of rhododendron. Once he heard something move belowhim and then the crackling of brush sounded far to one side of theroad. He knew it was a man who would be watching him from a covert and,straightway, to prove his innocence of any hostile or secret purpose, hebegan to whistle. Farther below, two men with Winchesters rose fromthe bushes and asked his name and his business. He told both readily.Everybody, it seemed, was prepared for hostilities and, though the newsof the patched-up peace had spread, it was plain that the factions werestill suspicious and on guard. Then the loneliness almost of LonesomeCove itself set in. For miles he saw nothing alive but an occasionalbird and heard no sound but of running water or rustling leaf. At themouth of the creek his horse's lameness had grown so much better thathe mounted him and rode slowly up the river. Within an hour he couldsee the still crest of the Lonesome Pine. At the mouth of a creek amile farther on was an old gristmill with its water-wheel asleep, andwhittling at the door outside was the old miller, Uncle Billy Beams,who, when he heard the coming of the black horse's feet, looked up andshowed no surprise at all when he saw Hale.

  "I heard you was comin'," he shouted, hailing him cheerily by name."Ain't fishin' this time!"

  "No," said Hale, "not this time."

  "Well, git down and rest a spell. June'll be here in a minute an' youcan ride back with her. I reckon you air goin' that a-way."

  "June!"

  "Shore! My, but she'll be glad to see ye! She's always talkin' about ye.You told her you was comin' back an' ever'body told her you wasn't: butthat leetle gal al'ays said she KNOWED you was, because you SAID youwas. She's growed some--an' if she ain't purty, well I'd tell a man! Youjes' tie yo' hoss up thar behind the mill so she can't see it, an' gitinside the mill when she comes round that bend thar. My, but hit'll be asurprise fer her."

  The old man chuckled so cheerily that Hale, to humour him, hitched hishorse to a sapling, came back and sat in the door of the mill. The oldman knew all about the trouble in town the day before.

  "I want to give ye a leetle advice. Keep yo' mouth plum' shut about thishere war. I'm Jestice of the Peace, but that's the only way I've keptouten of it fer thirty years; an' hit's the only way you can keep outenit."

  "Thank you, I mean to keep my mouth shut, but would you mind--"

  "Git in!" interrupted the old man eagerly. "Hyeh she comes." His kindold face creased into a welcoming smile, and between the logs of themill Hale, inside, could see an old sorrel horse slowly coming throughthe lights and shadows down the road. On its back was a sack of corn andperched on the sack was a little girl with her bare feet in the hollowsbehind the old nag's withers. She was looking sidewise, quite hidden bya scarlet poke-bonnet, and at the old man's shout she turned the smilingface of little June. With an answering cry, she struck the old nag witha switch and before the old man could rise to help her down, slippedlightly to the ground.

  "Why, honey," he said, "I don't know whut I'm goin' to do 'bout yo'corn. Shaft's broke an' I can't do no grindin' till to-morrow."

  "Well, Uncle Billy, we ain't got a pint o' meal in the house," she said."You jes' got to LEND me some."

  "All right, honey," said the old man, and he cleared his throat as asignal for Hale.

  The little girl was pushing her bonnet back when Hale stepped into sightand, unstartled, unsmiling, unspeaking, she looked steadily at him--onehand motionless for a moment on her bronze heap of hair and thenslipping down past her cheek to clench the other tightly. Uncle Billywas bewildered.

  "Why, June, hit's Mr. Hale--why---"

  "Howdye, June!" said Hale, who was no less puzzled--and still she gaveno sign that she had ever seen him before except reluctantly to give himher hand. Then she turned sullenly away and sat down in the door of themill with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

  Dumfounded, the old miller pulled the sack of corn from the horseand leaned it against the mill. Then he took out his pipe, filled andlighted it slowly and turned his perplexed eyes to the sun.

  "Well, honey," he said, as though he were doing the best he could with adifficult situation, "I'll have to git you that meal at the house. 'Boutdinner time now. You an' Mr. Hale thar come on and git somethin' to eatafore ye go back."

  "I got to get on back home," said June, rising.

  "No you ain't--I bet you got dinner fer yo' step-mammy afore you left,an' I jes' know you was aimin' to take a snack with me an' ole Hon."The little girl hesitated--she had no denial--and the old fellow smiledkindly.

  "Come on, now."

  Little June walked on the other side of the miller from Hale back to theold man's cabin, two hundred yards up the road, answering his questionsbut not Hale's and never meeting the latter's eyes with her own. "OleHon," the portly old woman whom Hale remembered, with brass-rimmedspectacles and a clay pipe in her mouth, came out on the porch andwelcomed them heartily under the honeysuckle vines. Her mouth and facewere alive with humour when she saw Hale, and her eyes took in both himand the little girl keenly. The miller and Hale leaned chairs againstthe wall while the girl sat at the entrance of the porch. Suddenly Halewent out to his horse and took out a package from his saddle-pockets.

  "I've got some candy in here for you," he said smiling.

  "I don't want no candy," she said, still not looking at him and with alittle movement of her knees away from him.

  "Why, honey," said Uncle Billy again, "whut IS the matter with ye? Ithought ye was great friends." The little girl rose hastily.

  "No, we ain't, nuther," she said, and she whisked herself indoors. Haleput the package back with some embarrassment and the old miller laughed.

  "Well, well--she's a quar little critter; mebbe she's mad because youstayed away so long."

  At the table June wanted to help ole Hon and wait to eat with her, butUncle Billy made her sit down with him and Hale, and so shy was she thatshe hardly ate anything. Once only did she look up from her plate andthat was when Uncle Billy, with a shake of his head, said:

  "He's a bad un." He was speaking of Rufe Tolliver, and at the mention ofhis name there was a frightened look in the little girl's eyes, when shequickly raised them, that made Hale wonder.

  An hour later they were riding side by side--Hale and June--on throughthe lights and shadows toward Lonesome Cove. Uncle Billy turned backfrom the gate to the porch.

  "He ain't come back hyeh jes' fer coal," said ole Hon.

  "Shucks!" said Uncle Billy; "you women-folks can't think 'bout nothin''cept one thing. He's too old fer her."

  "She'll git ole enough fer HIM--an' you menfolks don't think less--youjes' talk less." And she went back into the kitchen, and on the porchthe old miller puffed on a new idea in his pipe.

  For a few minutes the two rode in silence and not yet had June liftedher eyes to him.

  "You've forgotten me, June."

  "No, I hain't, nuther."

  "You said you'd be waiting for me." June's lashes went lower still.

  "I was."

  "Well, what's the matter? I'm mighty sorry I couldn't get back sooner."

  "Huh!" said June scornfully, and he knew Uncle Billy in his guess as tothe trouble was far afield, and
so he tried another tack.

  "I've been over to the county seat and I saw lots of your kinfolks overthere." She showed no curiosity, no surprise, and still she did not lookup at him.

  "I met your cousin, Loretta, over there and I carried her home behind meon an old mule"--Hale paused, smiling at the remembrance--and still shebetrayed no interest.

  "She's a mighty pretty girl, and whenever I'd hit that old---"

  "She hain't!"--the words were so shrieked out that Hale was bewildered,and then he guessed that the falling out between the fathers was moreserious than he had supposed.

  "But she isn't as nice as you are," he added quickly, and the girl'squivering mouth steadied, the tears stopped in her vexed dark eyes andshe lifted them to him at last.

  "She ain't?"

  "No, indeed, she ain't."

  For a while they rode along again in silence. June no longer avoided hiseyes now, and the unspoken question in her own presently came out:

  "You won't let Uncle Rufe bother me no more, will ye?"

  "No, indeed, I won't," said Hale heartily. "What does he do to you?"

  "Nothin'--'cept he's always a-teasin' me, an'--an' I'm afeered o' him."

  "Well, I'll take care of Uncle Rufe."

  "I knowed YOU'D say that," she said. "Pap and Dave always laughs at me,"and she shook her head as though she were already threatening herbad uncle with what Hale would do to him, and she was so serious andtrustful that Hale was curiously touched. By and by he lifted one flapof his saddle-pockets again.

  "I've got some candy here for a nice little girl," he said, as thoughthe subject had not been mentioned before. "It's for you. Won't you havesome?"

  "I reckon I will," she said with a happy smile.

  Hale watched her while she munched a striped stick of peppermint. Hercrimson bonnet had fallen from her sunlit hair and straight down from itto her bare little foot with its stubbed toe just darkening with driedblood, a sculptor would have loved the rounded slenderness in thecurving long lines that shaped her brown throat, her arms and her hands,which were prettily shaped but so very dirty as to the nails, and herdangling bare leg. Her teeth were even and white, and most of themflashed when her red lips smiled. Her lashes were long and gave atouching softness to her eyes even when she was looking quietly at him,but there were times, as he had noticed already, when a broodinglook stole over them, and then they were the lair for the mysteriousloneliness that was the very spirit of Lonesome Cove. Some day thatlittle nose would be long enough, and some day, he thought, she would bevery beautiful.

  "Your cousin, Loretta, said she was coming over to see you."

  June's teeth snapped viciously through the stick of candy and then sheturned on him and behind the long lashes and deep down in the depth ofthose wonderful eyes he saw an ageless something that bewildered himmore than her words.

  "I hate her," she said fiercely.

  "Why, little girl?" he said gently.

  "I don't know--" she said--and then the tears came in earnest and sheturned her head, sobbing. Hale helplessly reached over and patted her onthe shoulder, but she shrank away from him.

  "Go away!" she said, digging her fist into her eyes until her face wascalm again.

  They had reached the spot on the river where he had seen her first, andbeyond, the smoke of the cabin was rising above the undergrowth.

  "Lordy!" she said, "but I do git lonesome over hyeh."

  "Wouldn't you like to go over to the Gap with me sometimes?"

  Straightway her face was a ray of sunlight.

  "Would--I like--to--go--over--"

  She stopped suddenly and pulled in her horse, but Hale had heardnothing.

  "Hello!" shouted a voice from the bushes, and Devil Judd Tolliver issuedfrom them with an axe on his shoulder. "I heerd you'd come back an'I'm glad to see ye." He came down to the road and shook Hale's handheartily.

  "Whut you been cryin' about?" he added, turning his hawk-like eyes onthe little girl.

  "Nothin'," she said sullenly.

  "Did she git mad with ye 'bout somethin'?" said the old man to Hale."She never cries 'cept when she's mad." Hale laughed.

  "You jes' hush up--both of ye," said the girl with a sharp kick of herright foot.

  "I reckon you can't stamp the ground that fer away from it," said theold man dryly. "If you don't git the better of that all-fired temper o'yourn hit's goin' to git the better of you, an' then I'll have to spankyou agin."

  "I reckon you ain't goin' to whoop me no more, pap. I'm a-gittin' toobig."

  The old man opened eyes and mouth with an indulgent roar of laughter.

  "Come on up to the house," he said to Hale, turning to lead the way, thelittle girl following him. The old step-mother was again a-bed; smallBub, the brother, still unafraid, sat down beside Hale and the old manbrought out a bottle of moonshine.

  "I reckon I can still trust ye," he said.

  "I reckon you can," laughed Hale.

  The liquor was as fiery as ever, but it was grateful, and again theold man took nearly a tumbler full plying Hale, meanwhile, about thehappenings in town the day before--but Hale could tell him nothing thathe seemed not already to know.

  "It was quar," the old mountaineer said. "I've seed two men with thedrap on each other and both afeerd to shoot, but I never heerd of sech aring-around-the-rosy as eight fellers with bead on one another and not ashoot shot. I'm glad I wasn't thar."

  He frowned when Hale spoke of the Red Fox.

  "You can't never tell whether that ole devil is fer ye or agin ye, butI've been plum' sick o' these doin's a long time now and sometimesI think I'll just pull up stakes and go West and git out ofhit--altogether."

  "How did you learn so much about yesterday--so soon?"

  "Oh, we hears things purty quick in these mountains. Little DaveTolliver come over here last night."

  "Yes," broke in Bub, "and he tol' us how you carried Loretty from townon a mule behind ye, and she jest a-sassin' you, an' as how she said shewas a-goin' to git you fer HER sweetheart."

  Hale glanced by chance at the little girl. Her face was scarlet, and alight dawned.

  "An' sis, thar, said he was a-tellin' lies--an' when she growed up shesaid she was a-goin' to marry---"

  Something snapped like a toy-pistol and Bub howled. A little brown handhad whacked him across the mouth, and the girl flashed indoors withouta word. Bub got to his feet howling with pain and rage and started afterher, but the old man caught him:

  "Set down, boy! Sarved you right fer blabbin' things that hain't yo'business." He shook with laughter.

  Jealousy! Great heavens--Hale thought--in that child, and for him!

  "I knowed she was cryin' 'bout something like that. She sets a greatstore by you, an' she's studied them books you sent her plum' to pieceswhile you was away. She ain't nothin' but a baby, but in sartain waysshe's as old as her mother was when she died." The amazing secret wasout, and the little girl appeared no more until supper time, when shewaited on the table, but at no time would she look at Hale or speak tohim again. For a while the two men sat on the porch talking of the feudand the Gap and the coal on the old man's place, and Hale had no troublegetting an option for a year on the old man's land. Just as dusk wassetting he got his horse.

  "You'd better stay all night."

  "No, I'll have to get along."

  The little girl did not appear to tell him goodby, and when he went tohis horse at the gate, he called:

  "Tell June to come down here. I've got something for her."

  "Go on, baby," the old man said, and the little girl came shyly down tothe gate. Hale took a brown-paper parcel from his saddle-bags, unwrappedit and betrayed the usual blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, rosy-cheeked doll.Only June did not know the like of it was in all the world. And as shecaught it to her breast there were tears once more in her uplifted eyes.

  "How about going over to the Gap with me, little girl--some day?"

  He never guessed it, but there were a child and a woman before him nowand bo
th answered:

  "I'll go with ye anywhar."

  * * * * * * *

  Hale stopped a while to rest his horse at the base of the big pine. Hewas practically alone in the world. The little girl back there wasborn for something else than slow death in that God-forsaken cove, andwhatever it was--why not help her to it if he could? With this thoughtin his brain, he rode down from the luminous upper world of the moon andstars toward the nether world of drifting mists and black ravines. Shebelonged to just such a night--that little girl--she was a part of itsmists, its lights and shadows, its fresh wild beauty and its mystery.Only once did his mind shift from her to his great purpose, and that waswhen the roar of the water through the rocky chasm of the Gap made himthink of the roar of iron wheels, that, rushing through, some day, woulddrown it into silence. At the mouth of the Gap he saw the white valleylying at peace in the moonlight and straightway from it sprang again, asalways, his castle in the air; but before he fell asleep in his cottageon the edge of the millpond that night he heard quite plainly again:

  "I'll go with ye--anywhar."