Heart of the Blue Ridge Part 10

Some way, hit just seemed as how I couldn't he'p hit. The more ye mistreated me, the more I wanted ye. Hit shames me, but hit's true as preachin'. An' hit's true yit--even arter seein' yer bare futprint tracks thar on the Branch, alongside them of a man with shoes--the d.a.m.ned revenuer what got us. Ye showed 'im the place, Plutiny Siddon--cuss ye, fer a spy!... An' I craves ye jest the same.... An'

I'll have ye--right soon!"

At this saying, terror mounted high in the girl. The thing she so dreaded was come to pa.s.s. She forgot, for a few moments, the threats against her lover. Despair crushed her in the realization of discovery. Her treachery was known to the man she feared. The peril she had voluntarily risked was fallen upon her. She was helpless, at the mercy of the criminal she had betrayed--and she knew that there was no mercy in him. She shrank physically, as under a blow, and sat huddled a little, in a sudden weakness of body under the soul's torment. Yet she listened with desperate intentness, as Hodges went on speaking. She cast one timid glance toward him, then dropped her gaze, revolted at the grotesque grimaces writhen by the man's emotions.

"Harkin to me, Miss Plutiny!" he pleaded, huskily. "Harkin to me! I knows what I'm a-doin' of. They hain't nothin' ye kin do to stop me.

Kase why? Wall, if ye love yer gran'pap, ye'll hold yer tongue 'bout all my talk. Yep! He's done pledged his land to keep me an' Ben out o'

the jail-house till cote. If ye tells 'im I'm a-misusin' o' ye, he'd cancel the bond, an' try to deliver me up. I knows all thet. But he wouldn't cancel no bond, an' no more he wouldn't do any deliverin' o'

me up. Kase why? Kase he'd jest nacherly die fust. Thet's why. The land'd be good fer the bond jest the same till Fall. Thet'd give me an' Ben a heap o' time to git ready to light out o' this-hyar kentry.

They hain't nary pusson a-goin' to bother us none. They knows. .h.i.t's healthier a-mindin' their own business. I been dodgin' revenuers fifteen year, an' I'll dodge ag'in, an' take my savin's along, too.

An' they's quite some savin's, Plutiny."

Hodges paused, as if to give greater impressiveness to the conclusion of his harangue. His voice as he continued held a note of savage finality.

"So, ye understand, Plutiny, I hain't afeared none arter what I done told ye'll happen, if so be ye talk. I knows ye love yer gran'pap, an'

hain't a hankerin' fer 'im to be murdered. Now, I'm gwine to leave ye till t'-morrer, to git kind o' used to the idee as how ye're gwine to leave this-hyar kentry with me arter I pays yer gran'pap the money fer the bail. If you-all is so plumb foolish as to say no, hit 'll jest leave yerself an' yer kin in the hands o' we boys to reckon with. Do as I'm a-sayin' on, an' I'll sh.o.r.e fergit 'bout yer reportin' the still. I'll jest 'low to myself as how ye was only a gal, an' used d.a.m.n' poor jedgment. I hold hit were powerful unkind o' you-all, seein' as how we-uns hain't never wronged ye none. I suspicion ye had hit figgered out as how Zeke could come back 'ere a'gin if ye had me kotched. Wall, little missy, Dan Hodges air jest a mite too cunnin'

fer ye." The boaster gloated over his cowering victim, malice sparkling in his l.u.s.tful eyes.

It seemed to the girl that she was in truth hopelessly ensnared by fate. Her harried thoughts ran in a circle, dizzily. She could find no loophole for escape from the net. The mesh of the outlaw's deviltry was strong; her flutterings were feeble, futile. She found one ray of comfort in Zeke's absence. She forgot it in distress for the danger to her grandfather. Then, horror for herself beat upon her spirit. But a memory of her first resolve came to her. From stark necessity, she put her whole reliance on an effort to temporize. She felt that her only recourse in this emergency must lie in deceiving the ruffian who thus beset her. Much as she abhorred him, she had no choice. There was none to whom she could appeal for succor. She must depend absolutely upon her ability to beguile him. She must hide the revulsion inspired by his mere presence. She must arm herself with the world-old weapons of her s.e.x, and by wiles blind him to the truth of her feeling, gain time for--something, anything! At least here was room for hope, uncertain, absurd even, yet hope. A little color crept to her pallid cheeks. If she could but manage the deceit to secure delay until the Fall.

She raised her eyes furtively toward the adversary, an appraising glance, as if to judge his gullibility. The brutish pa.s.sion of the man showed in the pendulous lower lip, thrust forward a little, in the swinish lifting of the wide-flaring nostrils, in the humid glowing of the inflamed eyes. A nausea of disgust swept over her. She fought it down. Then, with hypocrisy that amazed herself, she met his ardent stare boldly, though with a pretense of timidity. She spoke with a hesitant, remonstrant voice, as if in half-hearted protest,

"Hit's dangerous to talk hyar, Dan," she said. She a.s.sumed a pose of coquetry. "If I agrees to save Gran'pap an' 'is land, an' takes ye, have ye got money 'nough fer us to git along among the furriners down below?" A pleased smile showed. "An' could ye buy me purty clo's an'

sech-like? Don't ye dast lie to me, Dan Hodges, fer a woman wants plenty o' nice fixin's. An' if ye means. .h.i.t all, like ye says, I'll meet ye at Holloman Gate t'-morrer at twelve, an' give ye yes er no."

The moons.h.i.+ner received with complacence this evidence of yielding on the girl's part. He had, indeed, the vanity that usually characterizes the criminal. It was inconceivable to his egotism that he must be odious to any decent woman. Plutina's avaricious stipulation concerning money pleased him as a display of feminine shrewdness. He was in nowise offended. The women of his more intimate acquaintance did not scruple to bargain their charms. From such trollops, he gained his estimate of the s.e.x. The sordid pretense by Plutina completed his delusion. The truckling of familiars had inflated conceit. He swelled visibly. The finest girl in the mountains was ready to drop into his arms! Pa.s.sion drove him toward her.

Plutina raised her hand in an authoritative gesture. She could feign much, but to endure a caress from the creature was impossible.

Somehow, by some secret force in the gesture, his advance was checked, he knew not why.

"Not now, Dan," she exclaimed, sharply. She added a lie, in extenuation of the refusal: "Alviry's in the house. Besides, I got to have time to think, like ye said. But I'll be at the gate t'-morrer."

Hodges accepted her decree amiably enough. He was still flattered by her complaisant att.i.tude toward his wooing.

"Ye're talkin' sense, Plutiny--the kind I likes to hear. I'll be thar, waitin' fer ye, ye kin bet on thet." Then his natural truculence showed again in a parting admonition: "An' don't you-all try fer to play Dan Hodges fer a fool. If so be ye does, ye'll wish to G.o.d ye hadn't."

With the threat, he turned and went lumbering down the path, to vanish quickly within the shadows of the wood.

CHAPTER XIII

After his day of toil in Pleasant Valley, Uncle d.i.c.k Siddon sprawled at ease on the porch, smoking his pipe, and watching with mildly sentimental eyes the rosy hues of the cloud ma.s.ses that crowned Stone Mountain. His mood was tranquilly amorous. The vial in his pocket was full of golden grains. Presently, he would fas.h.i.+on a ring. Then, heigh-ho for the parson! He smiled contentedly over his vision of the buxom Widow Brown. Her placid charms would soothe his declining years.

A tempestuous pa.s.sion would be unbecoming at his age. But the companions.h.i.+p of this gentle and agreeable woman would be both fitting and pleasant. Really, Uncle d.i.c.k mused, it was time he settled down.

One should be sedate at eighty. But he sighed.

A horseman appeared over the brow of the hill. The horse traveled slowly, as if wearied by many miles. A single glance at the erect, soldierly figure made known to Uncle d.i.c.k that this was a stranger, and he watched intently. As the rider came nearer, he hesitated, then guided his mount toward the clearing. Uncle d.i.c.k perceived, of a sudden, that the left sleeve of the stranger's coat, which was pinned across the breast, was empty. At the sight, a great sadness fell on him. He guessed the ident.i.ty of the horseman. His soul was filled with mourning over a shattered romance. He fairly winced as the rider drew rein before him, with a cheery, "Howdy?"

There was a curious constraint in Uncle d.i.c.k's voice, as he made hospitable answer.

"Howdy, yerse'f, Stranger? 'Light, an' come in."

"I hain't time to 'light," the traveler declared. "Jones is my name.

What mout your'n be?"

Uncle d.i.c.k descended the steps, regarding the visitor intently. There was a perceptible aloofness in his manner, though no lack of courtesy.

"My name pa.s.ses fer Siddon. I 'low ye hain't familiar round these-hyar parts?"

"I'm right-smart strange, I reckon," was the admission. "But I was borned forty-mile south o' here, on the Yadkin. My father owned the place Daniel Boone lived when he sickened o' this-hyar kentry, kase it wa'n't wild 'nough. I'm kin ter Boone's woman--Bryant strain--raised 'twixt this-hyar creek an' Air Bellows."

"Wall, say ye so!" Uncle d.i.c.k exclaimed, heartily. "Why, I knowed ye when ye was a boy. You-all's pap used to buy wool, an' my pap tuk me with 'im to the Boone place with 'is Spring shearin'. Thet makes we-uns some sort o' kin. Ye'd better 'light an' take a leetle breathin' spell. A drink o' my ole brandy might cheer ye. An' ye know," he concluded, with a quick hardening of his tones, "hit's customary to know a stranger's business up in these-hyar mountings."

The horseman took no offense.

"I rid up to the balcony jest to make inquiry 'bout a friend what I hain't seed in a right-smart bit, an' who I learnt was a-livin' a lonely widder's life on Guarding Creek. Could you-all direct me to the abode o' one Widder Brown? I hev some private an' pussonal business with the widder. Hit's a kind what don't consarn nary human critter but me an' her."

Uncle d.i.c.k sought no further for information, but issued the requested direction, and moodily watched the horseman out of sight. Then, with a sigh that was very like a groan, he moved away toward a small outbuilding, in which was a forge. Here when he had set the forge glowing, he took from his pocket the vial of gold dust, and emptied the contents into a ladle. When the metal was melted, he poured off the dross, and proceeded to hammer the ingot into a broad band.

Eventually, he succeeded in forming a ma.s.sive ring of the virgin gold. But, throughout the prosecution of the task, there was none of that fond elation which had upborne him during the hours while he gathered the material. On the contrary, his s.h.a.ggy brows were drawn in a frown of disappointment. He cursed below his breath from time to time, with pointed references to one-armed veterans, who dast come back when they hadn't orter. He was still in a saddened and rebellious mood, when he returned to the porch, where he found his granddaughters seated at some sewing. His face lightened a little at sight of them.

"Guess I got my han's full 'nough o' women-folks, anyhow," he muttered. "Fine gals they be, too!" He regarded them attentively, with a new pride of possession. "I 'low I hain't a-kickin' much of any. I reckon like 'nough I be settled down right now, only I didn't know 'nough to know it." He chuckled over this conceit, as he seated himself, and became uncommonly sociable, somewhat to the distress of Plutina, who found it difficult to conceal her anxiety.

Dusk was falling when the horseman reappeared. This time there was no hesitation, as he turned from the road into the clearing. Uncle d.i.c.k rose, and shouted greeting, with labored facetiousness.

"Wall, Mister Jones, I 'lowed as how ye mout be the tax-collector, arter the widder's mite, seein' how long ye was a-hangin' on up thar.

Me an' the gals'd feel a right-smart consarn to lose f.a.n.n.y Brown fer a neighbor, if she was pushed too hard fer her debts."

"Mister Siddon, suh," the stranger answered promptly. "I opine you-all hain't half-bad at a guess. I be a tax-collector, so to speak, a debt-collector. Hit's a debt contracted fifty-year agone. f.a.n.n.y Brown done tole me as how you-all been good neighbors o' her'n, so I don't mind tellin' ye she's willin' fer me to collect thet-thar debt o'

mine." There was an expression of vast complacency on the veteran's face, as he stroked the tuft of whisker on his chin, and he smiled on his three auditors half-triumphantly, half-shamefacedly. "I got cheated o' her oncet by being too slow. I hain't goin' to do no sech foolishness ag'in. T'-morrer, if the clerk's office is open, I'll git the satisfaction piece an' Preacher Roberts'll tie the knot good and proper--amen!"

Uncle d.i.c.k sighed audibly at the announcement, but his chagrin was given no further expression as he invited the victorious rival to dismount and partake of his hospitality. Alvira received the news with bubbling delight, which showed gaily in her sparkling black eyes and dimpling cheeks. Even Plutina was heartened by the discovery that her grandfather's folly, as she deemed it, must end, though there could be no gladness in her by reason of the fear.

It was after the supper was done, when the visitor's horse stood at the door, that Uncle d.i.c.k took a sudden resolve.

"Alviry," he ordered, "you-all come hold this-hyar hoss, a leetle minute, whilst me an' 'im has a confab."

He led the puzzled veteran to a bench beneath a locust, out of earshot of his granddaughters, who regarded the proceeding curiously, and not without apprehension since they knew the violent temper of the old man when thwarted. They were relieved to perceive that his demeanor remained altogether peaceable.

"Hit's jest this-away, Seth Jones," Uncle d.i.c.k began at once, after the two were seated side by side on the bench. "Ye see, I knew you-all, an' yer name an' yer business, soon's I sot eyes on ye. Hit were thet-thar danglin' sleeve o' your'n as ye rid up the path what done hit. I knowed then as how my fate was sealed, s' fur's the Widder Brown's consarned. f.a.n.n.y done told me about you-all an' yer disapp'intment. She allers said, arter her man died, as how ye'd be a-comin' 'long, though I was hopin' ye wouldn't--cuss ye! Excuse me--no offense intended. The widder an' me has been clost friends, an'

I told her from the first as how I respected the claims of this-hyar Jones galoot, if so be he turned up afore we got hitched. An' now hyar ye be--dang hit!"

The veteran cleared his throat apologetically. His own happiness made him exaggerate the injury thus wrought by his reappearance. He ventured no remark, however. He could not say that the woman in the case was hardly worth troubling over, and, for the life of him, he could think of nothing else in the way of consolation. He discreetly cleared his throat a second time, and maintained a masterly silence.

But the garrulous old man at his side needed no encouragement. He quickly resumed his discourse, with a certain unctuous enjoyment, distinctly inconsistent with his love-lorn pose.

"Seth Jones," he announced solemnly, "if you-all an' me was young ag'in, an' fired by the pa.s.sion o' youth, thar wouldn't be no love-feast hyar jest now like this un. No, sirree! Hit'd sh.o.r.e be war a-twixt we-uns--with h.e.l.l a-poppin' at the end on't fer one, mebby both. But my blood don't git het up now the way hit use' to did. I'm thinkin' fer the widder's sake hit's good ye're younger ner me, an'

got more years to give 'er. So, Mr. Jones, when all's said an' done, I'm glad ye come to Guarding Creek."

Then, Uncle d.i.c.k, in his turn, displayed some slight symptoms of embarra.s.sment, and cleared his throat in a manner to shock a drawing-room.