Down the Ravine

Birt felt sure of that; Nate, w

once to the bark-mill in the morning, confident that he would n

the bark, and the mule jogged around and around, and the hot sun shone, and the voices of the men handling the hides at the tanpit wer

o the tanyard today. Bir

over yander ter Nate Griggs's house an' tell him ter come over hyar, bein' ez I want to see him partic'lar, I'll fix ye a squir'l-trap

lating eyes at the bark-mill and out upon the deep forest. The exact date on which this p

tter than the woodpile, and a five-mile tramp through its tangles wearied his bones not so much as p

d leaf was whirling away against the azure sky. Even a buzzard had its picturesque aspects, circling high above the mountains in its strong, majestic flight. To breathe the balsamic, sunlit air was luxury, happiness; it was a wonder that Rufe got on as fast as he did. How fragrant and cool and dark was the shadowy valley! A silver cloud lay deep in the waters of the "lick." Why Rufe made up his mind to go down there, he could hardly have said - sheer curiosity, perhaps. He knew he had plenty of ti

I reckon," he said.

up and stared. It looked like a rude platform. After a moment, he divined that it was the remnant of a scaffold from which some early settler of Tennessee had been wont to fire upon the deer or the buffalo at the "lick," below. Such relics, some of them a century old, are to be seen to this day in sequestered nooks of the Cumberland Mountai

looked out of a hollow, higher still, with an inarticulate mutter of mingled reproach, and warning, and anxiety. Rufe settled himself on the platform, his bare feet dangling about joc

un-dogs in the

r laid - 't war

e woods betim

int-lock, "Na

e, in the cro

catamount gr

he! An' a

catamount l

ance in the owl's demeanor increased ever

ame of by a

I could in

up, for my da

in the slack

ack - Nance si

old gal jes' fla

he! An' a

ed catamount

rosy amethystine tint, like nothing earthly - like the mountains of a dream, perhaps. The buzzard had alighted in the top of a tree not far down the slope, a tree long ago lightning-scathed, but still rising, gaunt

ried to

tiest hunter t

r catamount t

suddenly to the r

see, not even from the summit of the crags, for the tree was be

he dead tree. He began to think he had been led here for a purpose. Now Rufe was not so good a boy as to be on the continual lookout for rewards of merit. On the contrary, the day of reckoning meant with him the day of punishment. He had heard recounted an unpleasant superstition that when the red sunsets were flaming round the western mountains, and the valleys were dark and drear, and the a

ntended as a warning to him to cease in time his evil ways - tormenting Towse, pulling Tennessee's hair, shirking the woodpile,

tree. He lost his grip once, and crashed from one branch to another, scratching himself handsomely in the operation. The owl, emboldened by h

e air; the echoes answered, and all the

ain. "'Tain't goin' ter s'prise me none now, ef I gits my neck bruk along o' this resky

ange object he had descried. The owl still watched him, and bobbed its head and hooted after him. When he drew near the lightning-scathed tree, he paused ro

mildly surprised expression. He smiled kindly when he saw Rufe. Incongruously enough, he had a hammer in his hand. He was going