A Mountain Europa | Page 3

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*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN
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Prepared by David Reed [email protected] or [email protected]
A Mountain Europa By John Fox, Jr.
TO JAMES LANE ALLEN
I
As Clayton rose to his feet in the still air, the tree-tops began to tremble
in the gap below him, and a rippling ran through the leaves up the
mountain-side. Drawing off his hat he stretched out his arms to meet it,
and his eyes closed as the cool wind struck his throat and face and
lifted the hair from his forehead. About him the mountains lay like a
tumultuous sea-the Jellico Spur, stilled gradually on every side into
vague, purple shapes against the broken rim of the sky, and Pine
Mountain and the Cumberland Range racing in like breakers from the
north. Under him lay Jellico Valley, and just visible in a wooded cove,
whence Indian Creek crept into sight, was a mining-camp-a cluster of
white cabins-from which he had climbed that afternoon. At that
distance the wagon-road narrowed to a bridle-path, and the figure
moving slowly along it and entering the forest at the base of the
mountain was shrunk to a toy. For a moment Clayton stood with his
face to the west, drinking in the air; then tightening his belt, he caught
the pliant body of a sapling and swung loose from the rock. As the tree
flew back, his dog sprang after him. The descent was sharp. At times he
was forced to cling to the birch-tops till they lay flat on the
mountain-side.
Breathless, he reached at last a bowlder from which the path was easy
to the valley below, and he leaned quivering against the soft rug of
moss and lichens that covered it. The shadows had crept from the foot
of the mountains, darkening the valley, and lifting up the mountain-side
beneath him a long, wavering line in which met the cool, deep green of
the shade and the shining bronze where the sunlight still lay. Lazily
following this line, his eye caught two moving shadows that darted

jagged shapes into the sunlight and as quickly