A Mountain Europa | Page 8

about Easter bein' too young to merry! Why hit's mother air two
year younger'n Easter. Jes come in hyeh a minit." The old mountaineer
rose and led the way into the cabin. Clayton was embarrassed at first.
On one bed lay a rather comely young woman with a child by her side;
on a chest close by sat another with her lover, courting in the most open
and primitive manner. In the corner an old grandam dozed with her
pipe, her withered face just touched by the rim of the firelight. Near a
rectangular hole in the wall which served the purpose of a window,
stood a girl whose face, silhouetted against the darkness, had in it a
curious mixture of childishness and maturity.
"Whar's the baby? " asked Uncle Tommy.
Somebody outside was admiring it, and the young girl leaned through
the window and lifted the infant within.
Thar's a baby fer ye! " exclaimed the old mountaineer, proudly, lifting
it in the air and turning its face to the light. But the child was peevish
and fretful, and he handed it back gently. Clayton was wondering
which was the mother, when, to his amazement, almost to his confusion,

the girl lifted the child calmly to her own breast. The child was the
mother of the child. She was barely fifteen, with the face of a girl of
twelve, and her motherly manner had struck him as an odd contrast. He
felt a thrill of pity for the young mother as he called to mind the aged
young wives he had seen who were haggard and care-worn at thirty,
and who still managed to live to an old age. He was indefinably glad
that Easter had escaped such a fate. When he left the cabin, the old man
called after him from the door:
"Thar's goin' to be a shootin'-match among the boys to-morrer, 'n' I
jedge that Easter '11 be on hand. She al'ays is."
"Is that so? " said Clayton. " Well, I'll look out for it."
The old mountaineer lowered his voice.
"Ye hain't thinkin' about takin' a wife, air ye?"
"No, no!"
" Well, ef ye air," said the old man, slowly, "I'm a-thinkin' yu'll have to
buck up ag'in Sherd Raines, fer ef I hain't like a goose a-pickin' o' grass
by moonshine, Sherd air atter the gal fer hisself, not fer the Lord. Yes,"
he continued, after a short, dry laugh; "'n' mebbe ye'll hav to keep an
eye open fer old Bill. They say that he air mighty low down, 'n' kind o'
sorry 'n' skeery, for I reckon Sherd Raines hev told him he hav got to
pay the penalty fer takin' a human life; but I wouldn't sot much on his
bein' sorry ef he was mad at me and had licker in him. He hates
furriners, and he has a crazy idee that they is all raiders 'n' lookin' fer
him."
"I don't think I'll bother him," said Clayton, turning away with a laugh.
"Good-night t" With a little cackle of incredulity, the old man closed
the door. The camp had sunk now to perfect quiet; but for the faint
notes of a banjo far up the glen, not a sound trembled on the night air.
The rim of the moon was just visible above the mountain on which
Easter-what a pretty name that was !-had flashed upon his vision with

such theatric effect. As its brilliant light came slowly down the dark
mountain-side, the mists seemed to loosen their white arms, and to
creep away like ghosts mistaking the light for dawn. With the base of
the mountain in dense shadow, its crest, uplifted through the vapors,
seemed poised in the air at a startling height. Yet it was near the crest
that he had met her. Clayton paused a moment, when he reached his
door, to look again. Where in that cloud-land could she live?
III
WHEN the great bell struck the hour of the next noon, mountaineers
with long rifles across their shoulders were moving through the camp.
The glen opened into a valley, which, blocked on the east by Pine
Mountain, was thus shut in on every side by wooded heights. Here the
marksmen gathered. All were mountaineers, lank, bearded, men,
coatless for the most part, and dressed in brown home-made jeans,
slouched, formless hats, and high, coarse boots. Sun and wind had
tanned their faces to sympathy, in color, with their clothes, which had
the dun look of the soil. They seemed peculiarly a race of the soil, to
have sprung as they were from the earth, which had left indelible stains
upon them. All carried long rifles, old-fashioned and home-made, some
even with flint-locks. It was Saturday, and many of their wives had
come with