The Call of the Cumberlands

as to the progress of the hounds, and near sundown, as a postscript to their information, a volley of gunshot signals sounded from a

ead of the house, curtly. "Samson o

was he to be found. A few minutes later, Samson's figu

in' ter ask ye," he said, "but them dawgs is makin' fe

on n

a-goin' ter ask ye no questions. But, ef ye sees fit ter face hit out, I'd love ter prove ter these hyar men thet us Souths don't break our word. We done agreed ter this truce. I'd like ter invite 'em in, an' let them da

, but he saw the old man's face work with suppres

be a-settin' right out thar in front. I'm plumb willin' te

here about Spicer South's cabin with the possibilities of bloodshed. The moments seemed to drag interminably. In the expressionless faces that so quietly vanished; in the absolutely calm and businesslike fashion in which, with no spoken order, every man fell immediately into his place of readiness and concealment, he read an omin

raised a shading hand to gaze off up the road. She, too, understood the tenseness of the situation as her grim, but unflinching, features

at her, and jerked hi

ed, curtly, and without a word

d small fingers clutching in wild terror at a palpitant breast. In this country, where human creatures seemed to sh

meet; nothing of the enemies who had brought dogs, confident that they would make their run straight to his lair. That subject had not been mentioned between them since

I'll be

ed and followed noiselessly, slipping from rhododendron clump to laurel thicket as stealthily as though she were herself the object of an enemy's attack. She knew tha

se gray, moss-covered rocks and the fronds of clinging ferns. At her feet bloomed wild flowers for which she knew no names except those with which s

eyes wide-stretched and terrified. With a catch in her throat, she shifted from her crouching attitude to a kneeling posture, and clasped her hands desperately, and raised her face, while her lips mov

he hain't committed no sin. I reckon ye knows, since ye knows all things, thet hit'll kill me ef I loses him, an' tho

end of the road. Several travel-stained men were leading mules, and holding two tawny and

ack-luster absence of interest. Such a calm reception was uncanny. The trailers felt sure that in a moment more the dogs would fall into accusing excitement. Logically, these men should be waiting to receive them behind barricaded doors. There must be some hidden significance. Possibly, it was an invitation to walk into amb

unnecessarily far away from his sides, and

" hailed the old ma

ent, "I have been employed to furnish a pair of bloodh

Souths in an affable tone, which betrayed no deeper note

y, as one bent on making his attitude clear, "except to supply the dogs a

gely nodded his head as he made the remark. "

arrassment of his position growing as the colloquy proceeded. "I want to ask you w

behind its half-open door. The master of the house crossed the stile, the low sun shining on his shock of gr

ross my fence. Ef they does"-the voice rang menacingly-"hit'll mean that they're a-bustin' the truce-an' they won't never go out ag'in. But you air safe in hyar. I g

astonishment from the

rned his face t

," he shouted, "an' le

a half-moment of terrific suspense, then the beasts clambered by the seated figure, passing on each side and circled aimlessly about the yard-their quest unended. They sniffed indifferently about the trouser legs of the men who sauntered indolently out of the door. They trotted into the house and out again, and mingled

d the man from the Bluegrass,

is dogs stood branded as false trailers. But, when he rejoined the group in the road, he found himself looking

he kinsman of the man who had been

low?" echoed th

drifted, as he meant them to, across to the ears o

'count curs thet don't know their business, they come for some reason. They seemed mighty interested in gittin' hyar

arded Winchesters at their sides. It seemed that, after all, the incident was not closed. The man from Lexington, finding himself face to face with a new difficulty, t

bout," he proclaimed. "Go axe 'em w

gged countenance stiffened. He started to speak, but Sa

feller, Unc' Spicer."

ed to the own

wered all the questions them dawgs hes axed. We done treated you an' yore houn's plumb friendly. Es fer them other men, we hain't got nothin' ter say ter 'em. They done come hyar because they hoped they could git me

o himself that he had done all he could do without becoming the aggressor. For the moment, he was beaten. He looked up, and from t

et's see what them damn

t around the shoulder of the mountain. The Souths had met and fronted an accusation made after the enemy's own choice and method. A jury of two hounds had acquitted them. It was not only because the dogs had refused to recog

nd why she had done it, and, framing a stern rebuke for the foolhardiness of the venture, he plunged up the acclivity in pursuit. But, as he made his way cautiously, he heard around the shoulder of a mass of piled-up sandstone a sha

to his knees beside her. "Sally, thar hain't not

rs of happiness. He sought for words, but no words came, and his lips and eyes, unused to soft e

d again came a rumor that Jesse Purvy was dying, but always hard on its heels came another to the effe

louder than the falling of a walnut, the boy halted and laid a silencing hand on the painter's shoulder. Then followed an unspoken command in his companion's eyes. Lescott sank down behind a rock, cloaked with gli

aight line, and his eyes narrow with a glint of tense hate. Yet, a moment later, with a nod t

, Jim,"

on as though to bring his rifle to his shoulder. But, seeing Samson

n', Sa

drawled the boy who lived there, and the question

n' through,"

he wagon road more ha

cion ye fer stealin' l

ghed mendaciously. "That's the reason, Samson. I was k

eye steadily, a

've been all the time. Ye lies when ye talks 'bout passin' through. Ye've done been spyin' hyar, ever since Jesse Purvy got shot, an' all thet time ye've done been watch

There was nothing to say. He was discovered in the

thet I'm tryin' like all hell ter keep this truce. But ye must sta

," replied the othe

r reason why hit hain't h

nd made his way o

ching, as the other was lost in the underg

ths met another in the road, the customary dialogue would be: "Hee

r day, the unveiling of the monumental hills, and the transitions from hazy wraith-like whispers of hues, to strong, flaring riot of c

loat higher. Trees and mountains grew taller. The sun, which showed first as a ghost-like disc of polished aluminum, struggled through orange and vermilion into a sphere of living flame. It was as though the Creator were breathing on a formless void to kindle it into a vital and splendid cosmos, a

'low ter comme

tist, with his unhurt hand, impat

e other laughed. It was a typical question. So long as one had

d the palette; mix the colors; wipe the brushes and do half a dozen equally necessary th

s one ter do the p

es

"between the two of us, we've got three hands. I reck

wed in his face, and t

udyin' 'bout this here thing, an' I hustled up an' got thet corn weeded, an' now I'm throu

d then his face ligh

nounced, "Lescott, Sout

although the expression was one of sheer delight, i

e thought of, but already the influence on Samson of this man from the other world was disquieting his uncle's thoughts. With his mother's milk, the boy had fed on hatred of his enemies. With his training, he had been reared to feudal animosities

sel and arrange the paraphernalia, Lescott sat drinking in through

s brush. After that he began laying in his key tones and his fundamental sketching with

e was seeing. His gaze took in the way the fingers held the brushes; the manner of mixing the pigments, the detail of method. Sometimes, when he saw a brush dab into a color whose use he did not at once u

eaking of his fettered restiveness in the confinement of his life; of the wa

nd a gray shape flirted a bushy tail. Samson's hand slipped silently out, and the rifle

y. "That was neat work. He was partl

ffectionately picked up the rifle. It was a repeating Winchester, carrying a long steel-jacketed b

verent voice, "was my pap's. I reckon there hain'

ensible.... Killing Hollmans was not murder.... It was duty. He seemed to see the smoke- blackened cabin and the mother of the boy sitting, with drawn face, in dread of the hours. He felt the racking nerve-tension of a life in which the father went forth

it unnecessary to put the story into words. Samson told how his mother had turned pallid, and stretched out

ve got

ing the remaining two years of her life. For some hours, "old" Henry South, who in a less-wasting life would hardly have been middle-aged, had lingered. They were hours of conscious suffering, with no power to speak, but before he died he had beckoned his ten-year-ol

f her, pap," he h

e. After a brief pause, Samson told of the funeral. He had a remarkable way of visualizing in rough speech the desolate picture; the wailing mourners on the bleak hillside, with the November clouds hanging low and trailing their wet streamers. A "jolt-wagon" had carried the coffin in lieu of a hearse. Saddled mules stood tethered against the picket fence. The dogs that had followed their masters started a rabbit close

hey wouldn't let us have it that way. From this day