A Chilhowee Lily | Page 2

Crann's lank, angular frame; his narrow, bony face; his nose,
long yet not large, sharp, pinched; his light grey eyes, set very closely
together; his straggling reddish beard, all were fitting concomitants to
accent the degree of caustic contempt he expressed. "Oh, to be sure!"
he drawled. "It'll be powerful public up hyar in the mounting in the
midnight,--that's a fac'!--an' moonlight is mighty inconvenient to them

ez wants ter git spied on through totin' a lantern in cur'ous places."
This sarcasm left the two remonstrants out of countenance. Pete
Swofford found a certain resource in the agitations of his bear, once
more shrinking and protesting because of the dogs. "Call off yer
hound-dogs, Rufe," he cried irritably, "or I'll gin 'em a bullet ter
swallow."
"Ye air a plumb fool about that thar bar, Pete," Kinnicutt said sourly,
calling off the hounds nevertheless.
"That thar bar?" exclaimed Swofford. "Why, thar never war sech a bar!
That thar bar goes ter mill, an' kin fetch home grist,--ef I starts him out
in the woods whar he won't meet no dogs nor contrairy cattle o' men he
kin go ter mill all by his lone!--same ez folks an' the bes' kind o' folks,
too!"
In fact the bear was even now begirt with a meal-bag, well filled, which
although adding to his uncouth appearance and perhaps unduly
afflicting the sensibilities of the horse, who snorted and reared at the
sight of him, saved his master the labor of "packing" the heavy weight.
Swofford had his genial instincts and in return was willing to put up
with the cubbishness of the transport,--would wait in the illimitable
patience of the utterly idle for the bear to climb a tree if he liked and
pleasantly share with him the persimmons of his quest;--would never
interfere when the bear flung himself down and wallowed with the bag
on his back, and would reply to the censorious at home, objecting to the
dust and sand thus sifting in with the meal, with the time honored
reminder that we are all destined "to eat a peck of dirt" in this world.
"Whenst ye fust spoke o' digging" said Kinnicutt, interrupting a
lengthening account of the bear's mental and moral graces, "I 'lowed ez
ye mought be sayin' ez they air layin' off ter work agin in the
Tanglefoot Mine."
Ozias Crann lifted a scornful chin. "I reckon the last disasters thar hev
interrupted the company so ez they hain't got much heart todes diggin'

fur silver agin over in Tanglefoot Cove. Fust," he checked off these
misfortunes, by laying the fingers of one hand successively in the palm
of the other, "the timbers o' one o' the cross cuts fell an' the roof caved
in an' them two men war kilt, an' thar famblies sued the company an'
got mo' damages 'n the men war bodaciously wuth. Then the nex' thing
the pay agent, ez war sent from Glaston, war held up in Tanglefoot an'
robbed--some say by the miners. He got hyar whenst they war out on a
strike, an' they robbed him 'cause they warn't paid cordin' ter thar lights,
an' they did shoot him up cornsider'ble. That happened jes' about a year
ago. Then sence, thar hev been a awful cavin' in that deep shaft they
hed sunk in the tunnel, an' the mine war flooded an' the machinery
ruint--I reckon the company in Glaston ain 't a-layin' off ter fly in the
face o' Providence and begin agin, arter all them leadin's ter quit."
"Some believe he warh't robbed at all," Kinnicutt said slowly. He had
turned listlessly away, evidently meditating departure, his hand on his
horse's mane, one foot in the stirrup.
"Ye know that gal named Loralindy Byars?" Crann said craftily.
Kinnicutt paused abruptly. Then as the schemer remained silent he
demanded, frowning darkly, "What's Loralindy Byars got ter do with
it?"
"Mighty nigh all!" Crann exclaimed, triumphantly.
It was a moment of tense suspense. But it was not Crann's policy to
tantalize him further, however much the process might address itself to
his peculiar interpretation of pleasure. "That thar pay agent o' the
mining company," he explained, "he hed some sort'n comical name--oh,
I remember now, Renfrow--Paul Renfrow--waal--ye know he war shot
in the knee when the miners way-laid him."
"I disremember now ef it war in the knee or the thigh," Swofford
interposed, heavily pondering.
Kinnicutt's brow contracted angrily, and Crann broke into open wrath:
"an' I ain't carin', ye fool--what d' ye interrupt fur like that?"

"Wall," protested Swofford, indignantly, "ye said 'ye know' an' I didn't
know."
"An' I ain't carin'--the main p'int war that he could neither ride nor walk.
So the critter crawled! Nobody knows how he gin the strikers the slip,
but he got through ter old