by John Fox
XXXI
Before dawn Hale and the doctor and the old miller had reached the Pine,and there Hale stopped. Any farther, the old man told him, he would goonly at the risk of his life from Dave or Bub, or even from any Falinwho happened to be hanging around in the bushes, for Hale was hatedequally by both factions now.
"I'll wait up here until noon, Uncle Billy," said Hale. "Ask her, forGod's sake, to come up here and see me."
"All right. I'll axe her, but--" the old miller shook his head.Breakfastless, except for the munching of a piece of chocolate, Halewaited all the morning with his black horse in the bushes some thirtyyards from the Lonesome Pine. Every now and then he would go to the treeand look down the path, and once he slipped far down the trail and asideto a spur whence he could see the cabin in the cove. Once his hungryeyes caught sight of a woman's figure walking through the little garden,and for an hour after it disappeared into the house he watched for it tocome out again. But nothing more was visible, and he turned back to thetrail to see Uncle Billy laboriously climbing up the slope. Halewaited and ran down to meet him, his face and eyes eager and his lipstrembling, but again Uncle Billy was shaking his head.
"No use, John," he said sadly. "I got her out on the porch and axed her,but she won't come."
"She won't come at all?"
"John, when one o' them Tollivers gits white about the mouth, an' thareyes gits to blazin' and they KEEPS QUIET--they're plumb out o' reacho' the Almighty hisself. June skeered me. But you mustn't blame her jes'now. You see, you got up that guard. You ketched Rufe and hung him, andshe can't help thinkin' if you hadn't done that, her old daddy wouldn'tbe in thar on his back nigh to death. You mustn't blame her, John--she'smost out o' her head now."
"All right, Uncle Billy. Good-by." Hale turned, climbed sadly back tohis horse and sadly dropped down the other side of the mountain and onthrough the rocky gap-home.
A week later he learned from the doctor that the chances were even thatold Judd would get well, but the days went by with no word of June.Through those days June wrestled with her love for Hale and her loyaltyto her father, who, sick as he was, seemed to have a vague sense of thetrouble within her and shrewdly fought it by making her daily promisethat she would never leave him. For as old Judd got better, June'sfierceness against Hale melted and her love came out the stronger,because of the passing injustice that she had done him. Many times shewas on the point of sending him word that she would meet him at thePine, but she was afraid of her own strength if she should see him faceto face, and she feared she would be risking his life if she allowed himto come. There were times when she would have gone to him herself, hadher father been well and strong, but he was old, beaten and helpless,and she had given her sacred word that she would never leave him. Soonce more she grew calmer, gentler still, and more determined to followher own way with her own kin, though that way led through a breakingheart. She never mentioned Hale's name, she never spoke of going West,and in time Dave began to wonder not only if she had not gotten overher feeling for Hale, but if that feeling had not turned into permanenthate. To him, June was kinder than ever, because she understood himbetter and because she was sorry for the hunted, hounded life he led,not knowing, when on his trips to see her or to do some service for herfather, he might be picked off by some Falin from the bushes. So Davestopped his sneering remarks against Hale and began to dream his olddreams, though he never opened his lips to June, and she was unconsciousof what was going on within him. By and by, as old Judd began to mend,overtures of peace came, singularly enough, from the Falins, and whilethe old man snorted with contemptuous disbelief at them as a pretence tothrow him off his guard, Dave began actually to believe that they weresincere, and straightway forged a plan of his own, even if the Tolliversdid persist in going West. So one morning as he mounted his horse at oldJudd's gate, he called to June in the garden:
"I'm a-goin' over to the Gap." June paled, but Dave was not looking ather.
"What for?" she asked, steadying her voice.
"Business," he answered, and he laughed curiously and, still withoutlooking at her, rode away.
* * * * * * *
Hale sat in the porch of his little office that morning, and the Hon.Sam Budd, who had risen to leave, stood with his hands deep in hispockets, his hat tilted far over his big goggles, looking down at thedead leaves that floated like lost hopes on the placid mill-pond. Halehad agreed to go to England once more on the sole chance left him beforehe went back to chain and compass--the old land deal that had come tolife--and between them they had about enough money for the trip.
"You'll keep an eye on things over there?" said Hale with a backwardmotion of his head toward Lonesome Cove, and the Hon. Sam nodded hishead:
"All I can."
"Those big trunks of hers are still here." The Hon. Sam smiled. "Shewon't need 'em. I'll keep an eye on 'em and she can come over and getwhat she wants--every year or two," he added grimly, and Hale groaned.
"Stop it, Sam."
"All right. You ain't goin' to try to see her before you leave?" Andthen at the look on Hale's face he said hurriedly: "All right--allright," and with a toss of his hands turned away, while Hale satthinking where he was.
Rufe Tolliver had been quite right as to the Red Fox. Nobody would riskhis life for him--there was no one to attempt a rescue, and but a few ofthe guards were on hand this time to carry out the law. On the last dayhe had appeared in his white suit of tablecloth. The little old womanin black had made even the cap that was to be drawn over his face, andthat, too, she had made of white. Moreover, she would have his body keptunburied for three days, because the Red Fox said that on the third dayhe would arise and go about preaching. So that even in death the Red Foxwas consistently inconsistent, and how he reconciled such a dual lifeat one and the same time over and under the stars was, except to histwisted brain, never known. He walked firmly up the scaffold steps andstood there blinking in the sunlight. With one hand he tested the rope.For a moment he looked at the sky and the trees with a face that waswhite and absolutely expressionless. Then he sang one hymn of two versesand quietly dropped into that world in which he believed so firmly andtoward which he had trod so strange a way on earth. As he wished, thelittle old woman in black had the body kept unburied for the threedays--but the Red Fox never rose. With his passing, law and order hadbecome supreme. Neither Tolliver nor Falin came on the Virginia sidefor mischief, and the desperadoes of two sister States, whose skirtsare stitched together with pine and pin-oak along the crest of theCumberland, confined their deviltries with great care to places longdistant from the Gap. John Hale had done a great work, but the limit ofhis activities was that State line and the Falins, ever threatening thatthey would not leave a Tolliver alive, could carry out those threats andHale not be able to lift a hand. It was his helplessness that was makinghim writhe now.
Old Judd had often said he meant to leave the mountains--why didn't hego now and take June for whose safety his heart was always in his mouth?As an officer, he was now helpless where he was; and if he went awayhe could give no personal aid--he would not even know what washappening--and he had promised Budd to go. An open letter was clutchedin his hand, and again he read it. His coal company had accepted hislast proposition. They would take his stock--worthless as they thoughtit--and surrender the cabin and two hundred acres of field and woodlandin Lonesome Cove. That much at least would be intact, but if he failedin his last project now, it would be subject to judgments against himthat were sure to come. So there was one thing more to do for Junebefore he left for the final effort in England--to give back her home toher--and as he rose to do it now, somebody shouted at his gate:
"Hello!" Hale stopped short at the head of the steps, his right handshot like a shaft of light to the butt of his pistol, stayed there--andhe stood astounded. It was Dave Tolliver on horseback, and Dave's righthand had kept hold of his bridle-reins.
"Hold on!" he said, lifting the other with a wide gesture of peace. "Iw
ant to talk with you a bit." Still Hale watched him closely as he swungfrom his horse.
"Come in--won't you?" The mountaineer hitched his horse and slouchedwithin the gate.
"Have a seat." Dave dropped to the steps.
"I'll set here," he said, and there was an embarrassed silence for awhile between the two. Hale studied young Dave's face from narrowedeyes. He knew all the threats the Tolliver had made against him, thebitter enmity that he felt, and that it would last until one or theother was dead. This was a queer move. The mountaineer took off hisslouched hat and ran one hand through his thick black hair.
"I reckon you've heard as how all our folks air sellin' out over themountains."
"No," said Hale quickly.
"Well, they air, an' all of 'em are going West--Uncle Judd, Loretty andJune, and all our kinfolks. You didn't know that?"
"No," repeated Hale.
"Well, they hain't closed all the trades yit," he said, "an' they moughtnot go mebbe afore spring. The Falins say they air done now. Uncle Judddon't believe 'em, but I do, an' I'm thinkin' I won't go. I've got aleetle money, an' I want to know if I can't buy back Uncle Judd's housean' a leetle ground around it. Our folks is tired o' fightin' and Icouldn't live on t'other side of the mountain, after they air gone, an'keep as healthy as on this side--so I thought I'd see if I couldn't buyback June's old home, mebbe, an' live thar."
Hale watched him keenly, wondering what his game was--and he went on:"I know the house an' land ain't wuth much to your company, an' as thecoal-vein has petered out, I reckon they might not axe much fer it." Itwas all out now, and he stopped without looking at Hale. "I ain't axin'any favours, leastwise not o' you, an' I thought my share o' Mam's farmmought be enough to git me the house an' some o' the land."
"You mean to live there, yourself?"
"Yes."
"Alone?" Dave frowned.
"I reckon that's my business."
"So it is--excuse me." Hale lighted his pipe and the mountaineerwaited--he was a little sullen now.
"Well, the company has parted with the land." Dave started.
"Sold it?"
"In a way--yes."
"Well, would you mind tellin' me who bought it--maybe I can git it fromhim."
"It's mine now," said Hale quietly.
"YOURN!" The mountaineer looked incredulous and then he let loose ascornful laugh.
"YOU goin' to live thar?"
"Maybe."
"Alone?"
"That's my business." The mountaineer's face darkened and his fingersbegan to twitch.
"Well, if you're talkin' 'bout June, hit's MY business. Hit always hasbeen and hit always will be."
"Well, if I was talking about June, I wouldn't consult you."
"No, but I'd consult you like hell."
"I wish you had the chance," said Hale coolly; "but I wasn't talkingabout June." Again Dave laughed harshly, and for a moment his angry eyesrested on the quiet mill-pond. He went backward suddenly.
"You went over thar in Lonesome with your high notions an' your slicktongue, an' you took June away from me. But she wusn't good enough feryou THEN--so you filled her up with yo' fool notions an' sent her awayto git her po' little head filled with furrin' ways, so she could befitten to marry you. You took her away from her daddy, her family, herkinfolks and her home, an' you took her away from me; an' now she's beenover thar eatin' her heart out just as she et it out over here when shefust left home. An' in the end she got so highfalutin that SHE wouldn'tmarry YOU." He laughed again and Hale winced under the laugh and thelashing words. "An' I know you air eatin' yo' heart out, too, becauseyou can't git June, an' I'm hopin' you'll suffer the torment o' hell aslong as you live. God, she hates ye now! To think o' your knowin' theworld and women and books"--he spoke with vindictive and insultingslowness--"You bein' such a--fool!"
"That may all be true, but I think you can talk better outside thatgate." The mountaineer, deceived by Hale's calm voice, sprang to hisfeet in a fury, but he was too late. Hale's hand was on the butt of hisrevolver, his blue eyes were glittering and a dangerous smile was athis lips. Silently he sat and silently he pointed his other hand at thegate. Dave laughed:
"D'ye think I'd fight you hyeh? If you killed me, you'd be electedCounty Jedge; if I killed you, what chance would I have o' gittin' away?I'd swing fer it." He was outside the gate now and unhitching his horse.He started to turn the beasts but Hale stopped him.
"Get on from this side, please."
With one foot in the stirrup, Dave turned savagely: "Why don't you go upin the Gap with me now an' fight it out like a man?"
"I don't trust you."
"I'll git ye over in the mountains some day."
"I've no doubt you will, if you have the chance from the bush." Hale wasgetting roused now.
"Look here," he said suddenly, "you've been threatening me for a longtime now. I've never had any feeling against you. I've never doneanything to you that I hadn't to do. But you've gone a little too farnow and I'm tired. If you can't get over your grudge against me, supposewe go across the river outside the town-limits, put our guns down andfight it out--fist and skull."
"I'm your man," said Dave eagerly. Looking across the street Hale sawtwo men on the porch.
"Come on!" he said. The two men were Budd and the new town-sergeant."Sam," he said "this gentleman and I are going across the river to havea little friendly bout, and I wish you'd come along--and you, too, Bill,to see that Dave here gets fair play."
The sergeant spoke to Dave. "You don't need nobody to see that you gitfair play with them two--but I'll go 'long just the same." Hardly a wordwas said as the four walked across the bridge and toward a thicketto the right. Neither Budd nor the sergeant asked the nature of thetrouble, for either could have guessed what it was. Dave tied his horseand, like Hale, stripped off his coat. The sergeant took charge ofDave's pistol and Budd of Hale's.
"All you've got to do is to keep him away from you," said Budd. "Ifhe gets his hands on you--you're gone. You know how they fightrough-and-tumble."
Hale nodded--he knew all that himself, and when he looked at Dave'ssturdy neck, and gigantic shoulders, he knew further that if themountaineer got him in his grasp he would have to gasp "enough" in ahurry, or be saved by Budd from being throttled to death.
"Are you ready?" Again Hale nodded.
"Go ahead, Dave," growled the sergeant, for the job was not to hisliking. Dave did not plunge toward Hale, as the three others expected.On the contrary, he assumed the conventional attitude of the boxerand advanced warily, using his head as a diagnostician for Hale'spoints--and Hale remembered suddenly that Dave had been away at schoolfor a year. Dave knew something of the game and the Hon. Sam straightwaywas anxious, when the mountaineer ducked and swung his left Budd's heartthumped and he almost shrank himself from the terrific sweep of the bigfist.
"God!" he muttered, for had the fist caught Hale's head it must, itseemed, have crushed it like an egg-shell. Hale coolly withdrew his headnot more than an inch, it seemed to Budd's practised eye, and jabbedhis right with a lightning uppercut into Dave's jaw, that made themountaineer reel backward with a grunt of rage and pain, and when hefollowed it up with a swing of his left on Dave's right eye and anotherterrific jolt with his right on the left jaw, and Budd saw the crazyrage in the mountaineer's face, he felt easy. In that rage Dave forgothis science as the Hon. Sam expected, and with a bellow he started atHale like a cave-dweller to bite, tear, and throttle, but the lithefigure before him swayed this way and that like a shadow, and with everyside-step a fist crushed on the mountaineer's nose, chin or jaw, until,blinded with blood and fury, Dave staggered aside toward the sergeantwith the cry of a madman:
"Gimme my gun! I'll kill him! Gimme my gun!" And when the sergeantsprang forward and caught the mountaineer, he dropped weeping with rageand shame to the ground.
"You two just go back to town," said the sergeant. "I'll take keer ofhim. Quick!" and he shook his head as Hale advanced. "He ain't goin' toshake hands with you."
The two turned back across the bridge and Hale went on to Budd's officeto do what he was setting out to do when young Dave came. There he hadthe lawyer make out a deed in which the cabin in Lonesome Cove andthe acres about it were conveyed in fee simple to June--her heirs andassigns forever; but the girl must not know until, Hale said, "herfather dies, or I die, or she marries." When he came out the sergeantwas passing the door.
"Ain't no use fightin' with one o' them fellers thataway," he said,shaking his head. "If he whoops you, he'll crow over you as long ashe lives, and if you whoop him, he'll kill ye the fust chance he gets.You'll have to watch that feller as long as you live--'specially whenhe's drinking. He'll remember that lickin' and want revenge fer it tillthe grave. One of you has got to die some day--shore."
And the sergeant was right. Dave was going through the Gap at thatmoment, cursing, swaying like a drunken man, firing his pistol andshouting his revenge to the echoing gray walls that took up his criesand sent them shrieking on the wind up every dark ravine. All the way upthe mountain he was cursing. Under the gentle voice of the big Pinehe was cursing still, and when his lips stopped, his heart was beatingcurses as he dropped down the other side of the mountain.
When he reached the river, he got off his horse and bathed his mouth andhis eyes again, and he cursed afresh when the blood started afresh athis lips again. For a while he sat there in his black mood, undecidedwhether he should go to his uncle's cabin or go on home. But he had seena woman's figure in the garden as he came down the spur, and the thoughtof June drew him to the cabin in spite of his shame and the questionsthat were sure to be asked. When he passed around the clump ofrhododendrons at the creek, June was in the garden still. She waspruning a rose-bush with Bub's penknife, and when she heard him comingshe wheeled, quivering. She had been waiting for him all day, and, likean angry goddess, she swept fiercely toward him. Dave pretended not tosee her, but when he swung from his horse and lifted his sullen eyes,he shrank as though she had lashed him across them with a whip. Her eyesblazed with murderous fire from her white face, the penknife in her handwas clenched as though for a deadly purpose, and on her trembling lipswas the same question that she had asked him at the mill:
"Have you done it this time?" she whispered, and then she saw hisswollen mouth and his battered eye. Her fingers relaxed about the handleof the knife, the fire in her eyes went swiftly down, and with a smilethat was half pity, half contempt, she turned away. She could not havetold the whole truth better in words, even to Dave, and as he lookedafter her his every pulse-beat was a new curse, and if at that minute hecould have had Hale's heart he would have eaten it like a savage--raw.For a minute he hesitated with reins in hand as to whether he shouldturn now and go back to the Gap to settle with Hale, and then he threwthe reins over a post. He could bide his time yet a little longer, fora crafty purpose suddenly entered his brain. Bub met him at the door ofthe cabin and his eyes opened.
"What's the matter, Dave?"
"Oh, nothin'," he said carelessly. "My hoss stumbled comin' down themountain an' I went clean over his head." He raised one hand to hismouth and still Bub was suspicious.
"Looks like you been in a fight." The boy began to laugh, but Daveignored him and went on into the cabin. Within, he sat where he couldsee through the open door.
"Whar you been, Dave?" asked old Judd from the corner. Just then he sawJune coming and, pretending to draw on his pipe, he waited until she hadsat down within ear-shot on the edge of the porch.
"Who do you reckon owns this house and two hundred acres o' landroundabouts?"
The girl's heart waited apprehensively and she heard her father's deepvoice.
"The company owns it." Dave laughed harshly.
"Not much--John Hale." The heart out on the porch leaped with gladnessnow.
"He bought it from the company. It's just as well you're goin' away,Uncle Judd. He'd put you out."
"I reckon not. I got writin' from the company which 'lows me to stayhere two year or more--if I want to."
"I don't know. He's a slick one."
"I heerd him say," put in Bub stoutly, "that he'd see that we stayedhere jus' as long as we pleased."
"Well," said old Judd shortly, "ef we stay here by his favour, we won'tstay long."
There was silence for a while. Then Dave spoke again for the listeningears outside--maliciously:
"I went over to the Gap to see if I couldn't git the place myself fromthe company. I believe the Falins ain't goin' to bother us an' I ain'thankerin' to go West. But I told him that you-all was goin' to leave themountains and goin' out thar fer good." There was another silence.
"He never said a word." Nobody had asked the question, but he wasanswering the unspoken one in the heart of June, and that heart sanklike a stone.
"He's goin' away hisself-goin' ter-morrow--goin' to that same place hewent before--England, some feller called it."
Dave had done his work well. June rose unsteadily, and with one hand onher heart and the other clutching the railing of the porch, she creptnoiselessly along it, staggered like a wounded thing around thechimney, through the garden and on, still clutching her heart, to thewoods--there to sob it out on the breast of the only mother she had everknown.
Dave was gone when she came back from the woods--calm, dry-eyed, pale.Her step-mother had kept her dinner for her, and when she said shewanted nothing to eat, the old woman answered something querulous towhich June made no answer, but went quietly to cleaning away the dishes.For a while she sat on the porch, and presently she went into her roomand for a few moments she rocked quietly at her window. Hale was goingaway next day, and when he came back she would be gone and she wouldnever see him again. A dry sob shook her body of a sudden, she putboth hands to her head and with wild eyes she sprang to her feet and,catching up her bonnet, slipped noiselessly out the back door. Withhands clenched tight she forced herself to walk slowly across thefoot-bridge, but when the bushes hid her, she broke into a run as thoughshe were crazed and escaping a madhouse. At the foot of the spur sheturned swiftly up the mountain and climbed madly, with one hand tightagainst the little cross at her throat. He was going away and she musttell him--she must tell him--what? Behind her a voice was calling, thevoice that pleaded all one night for her not to leave him, that hadmade that plea a daily prayer, and it had come from an old man--wounded,broken in health and heart, and her father. Hale's face was before her,but that voice was behind, and as she climbed, the face that she wasnearing grew fainter, the voice she was leaving sounded the louder inher ears, and when she reached the big Pine she dropped helplessly atthe base of it, sobbing. With her tears the madness slowly left her,the old determination came back again and at last the old sad peace. Thesunlight was slanting at a low angle when she rose to her feet and stoodon the cliff overlooking the valley--her lips parted as when she stoodthere first, and the tiny drops drying along the roots of her dull goldhair. And being there for the last time she thought of that time whenshe was first there--ages ago. The great glare of light that she lookedfor then had come and gone. There was the smoking monster rushing intothe valley and sending echoing shrieks through the hills--but there wasno booted stranger and no horse issuing from the covert of maple wherethe path disappeared. A long time she stood there, with a wandering lookof farewell to every familiar thing before her, but not a tear came now.Only as she turned away at last her breast heaved and fell with one longbreath--that was all. Passing the Pine slowly, she stopped and turnedback to it, unclasping the necklace from her throat. With tremblingfingers she detached from it the little luck-piece that Hale had givenher--the tear of a fairy that had turned into a tiny cross of stonewhen a strange messenger brought to the Virginia valley the story of thecrucifixion. The penknife was still in her pocket, and, opening it, shewent behind the Pine and dug a niche as high and as deep as shecould toward its soft old heart. In there she thrust the tiny symbol,whispering:
"I want all the luck you could ever give me, little cross--for HIM."Then she pulled th
e fibres down to cover it from sight and, crossing herhands over the opening, she put her forehead against them and touchedher lips to the tree.
Keep it Safe Old Pine, Frontispiece]
"Keep it safe, old Pine." Then she lifted her face--looking upwardalong its trunk to the blue sky. "And bless him, dear God, and guard himevermore." She clutched her heart as she turned, and she was clutchingit when she passed into the shadows below, leaving the old Pine towhisper, when he passed, her love.
* * * * * * *
Next day the word went round to the clan that the Tollivers would startin a body one week later for the West. At daybreak, that morning, UncleBilly and his wife mounted the old gray horse and rode up the river tosay good-by. They found the cabin in Lonesome Cove deserted. Many thingswere left piled in the porch; the Tollivers had left apparently in agreat hurry and the two old people were much mystified. Not until noondid they learn what the matter was. Only the night before a Tolliverhad shot a Falin and the Falins had gathered to get revenge on Judd thatnight. The warning word had been brought to Lonesome Cove by LorettaTolliver, and it had come straight from young Buck Falin himself. SoJune and old Judd and Bub had fled in the night. At that hour they wereon their way to the railroad--old Judd at the head of his clan--hisright arm still bound to his side, his bushy beard low on his breast,June and Bub on horseback behind him, the rest strung out behind them,and in a wagon at the end, with all her household effects, the littleold woman in black who would wait no longer for the Red Fox to arisefrom the dead. Loretta alone was missing. She was on her way with youngBuck Falin to the railroad on the other side of the mountains. Betweenthem not a living soul disturbed the dead stillness of Lonesome Cove.
