A Knight of the Cumberland | Page 3

settled into a fine resultant of wisdom,
patience, toleration and firmness. His manner was profound and his
voice oily and soothing.
``May it please your Honor--my young friend frankly pleads guilty.''
He paused as though the majesty of the law could ask no more. ``He is
a young man of naturally high and somewhat--naturally, too, no
doubt--bibulous spirits. Homoepathically-- if inversely--the result was
logical. In the untrammelled life of the liberty- breathing mountains,
where the stern spirit of law and order, of which your Honor is the
august symbol, does not prevail as it does here--thanks to your Honor's
wise and just dispensations--the lad has, I may say, naturally acquired a
certain recklessness of mood--indulgence which, however easily
condoned there, must here be sternly rebuked. At the same time, he
knew not the conditions here, he became exhilarated without malice,
prepensey or even, I may say, consciousness. He would not have done
as he has, if he had known what he knows now, and, knowing, he will
not repeat the offence. I need say no more. I plead simply that your
Honor will temper the justice that is only yours with the mercy that is
yours--only.''
His Honor was visibly affected and to cover it--his methods being
informal--he said with sharp irrelevancy:
``Who bailed this young feller out last night?'' The sergeant spoke:
``Why, Mr. Marston thar''--with outstretched finger toward the young
engineer. The Blight's black eyes leaped with exultant appreciation and
the engineer turned crimson. His Honor rolled his quid around in his
mouth once, and peered over his glasses:
``I fine this young feller two dollars and costs.'' The young fellow had
turned slowly in his chair and his blue eyes blazed at the engineer with
unappeasable hatred. I doubt if he had heard his Honor's voice.

``I want ye to know that I'm obleeged to ye an' I ain't a-goin' to fergit it;
but if I'd a known hit was you I'd a stayed in jail an' seen you in hell
afore I'd a been bounden to ye.''
``Ten dollars fer contempt of couht.'' The boy was hot now.
``Oh, fine and be--'' The Hon. Samuel Budd had him by the shoulder,
the boy swallowed his voice and his starting tears of rage, and after a
whisper to his Honor, the Hon. Samuel led him out. Outside, the
engineer laughed to the Blight:
``Pretty peppery, isn't he?'' but the Blight said nothing, and later we saw
the youth on a gray horse crossing the bridge and conducted by the Hon.
Samuel Budd, who stopped and waved him toward the mountains. The
boy went on and across the plateau, the gray Gap swallowed him. That
night, at the post-office, the Hon. Sam plucked me aside by the sleeve.
``I know Marston is agin me in this race--but I'll do him a good turn
just the same. You tell him to watch out for that young fellow. He's all
right when he's sober, but when he's drunk--well, over in Kentucky,
they call him the Wild Dog.''
Several days later we started out through that same Gap. The glum
stableman looked at the Blight's girths three times, and with my own
eyes starting and my heart in my mouth, I saw her pass behind her
sixteen-hand-high mule and give him a friendly tap on the rump as she
went by. The beast gave an appreciative flop of one ear and that was all.
Had I done that, any further benefit to me or mine would be
incorporated in the terms of an insurance policy. So, stating this, I
believe I state the limit and can now go on to say at last that it was
because she seemed to be loved by man and brute alike that a big man
of her own town, whose body, big as it was, was yet too small for his
heart and from whose brain things went off at queer angles, always
christened her perversely as--``The Blight.''

II

ON THE WILD DOG'S TRAIL
So up we went past Bee Rock, Preacher's Creek and Little Looney, past
the mines where high on a ``tipple'' stood the young engineer looking
down at us, and looking after the Blight as we passed on into a dim
rocky avenue walled on each side with rhododendrons. I waved at him
and shook my head--we would see him coming back. Beyond a
deserted log- cabin we turned up a spur of the mountain. Around a
clump of bushes we came on a gray-bearded mountaineer holding his
horse by the bridle and from a covert high above two more men
appeared with Winchesters. The Blight breathed forth an awed whisper:
``Are they moonshiners?''
I nodded sagely, ``Most likely,'' and the Blight was thrilled. They might
have been squirrel-hunters most innocent, but the