A Pagan of the Hills

A Pagan of the Hills, by Charles
Neville

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Title: A Pagan of the Hills
Author: Charles Neville Buck

Release Date: August 20, 2006 [eBook #19089]
Language: English
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A PAGAN OF THE HILLS
by
CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK
Author of
"The Call of the Cumberlands," "The Battle Cry," "When Bearcat Went
Dry," Etc., Etc.
Frontispiece by George W. Gage

[Frontispiece: Sometimes, in these days, she went to a crest from which
the view reached far off for leagues over the valley.]

New York W. J. Watt & Company Publishers Copyright, 1919, by W. J.
Watt & Company

A PAGAN OF THE HILLS
CHAPTER I
"It's plum amazin' ter heer ye norate thet ye've done been tradin' and
hagglin' with old man McGivins long enough ter buy his logs offen him
and yit ye hain't never met up with Alexander. I kain't hardly fathom hit
noways."
The shambling mountaineer stretched himself to his lean length of six

feet two, and wagged an incredulous head. Out of pale eyes he studied
the man before him until the newcomer from "down-below" felt that, in
the attitude, lay almost the force of rebuke. It was as though he stood
self-convicted of having visited Naples without seeing Vesuvius.
"But I haven't been haggling with Mr. McGivins," he hastened to
remonstrate. "On the contrary we have done business most amicably."
The native of the tangled hills casually waved aside the distinction of
terms as a triviality and went on: "I hain't nuver heered tell of no man's
tradin' in these hyar Kentucky mountains without he haggled
considerable. Why thet's what tradin' denotes. Howsomever what
flabbergasts me air thet ye hain't met up with Alexander. Stranger, ye
don't know nothin' about this neck o' the woods a-tall!"
Parson Acup, so called for the funereal gravity of his bearing and
expression, and Brent the timber-buyer, stood looking down from
beetling cliffs rigidly bestowed with collossal and dripping icicles. To
their ears came a babel of shouts, the grating of trees, long sleet-bound
but stirring now to the thaw--the roar of blasting powder and the
rending of solid rock.
Brent laughed. "Now, that you've fathomed the density of my
ignorance," he suggested, "proceed to enlighten me. Upon what does
this Alexander rest his fame? What character of man is he?"
"Wa'al, stranger, I've done always held ther notion thet we folks up
hyar in these benighted hills of old Kaintuck, war erbout the ign'rantest
human mortals God ever suffered ter live--but even us knows erbout
Alexander. Fust place he hain't no man at all. He's a gal--leastwise,
Alexander was borned female but she's done lived a plum he-life, ever
since."
"A woman--but the name----"
"Oh, pshaw! Thar hain't nuthin' jedgmatic in a name. Old man
McGivins he jest disgusts gals and so he up and named his fust born
Alexander an' he's done reared her accordin'."

Brent arched his brows as his informant continued, gathering headway
in the interest of his narrative. "Old man McGivins he's done read a
lavish heap of books an' he talks a passel of printed wisdom. He 'lowed
thet Alexander wa'nt no common man's name but thet hit signified a
hell-bustin' survigrous feller. By his tellin', ther fust Alexander whaled
blazes outen all creation an' then sot down an' cried like a baby because
ther job he'd done went an' petered out on him. Ter me, thet norration
savers right strong of a damn lie."
Brent nodded as he smilingly replied, "I've read of that first Alexander,
but he's been dead a good many centuries."
"Long enough ter leave him lay an' ferget about him, I reckon," drily
observed the parson. "Anyhow atter a spell Old Man McGivins had
another bornin' at his dwellin-house an' thet time hit proved out to be a
boy. His woman sought ter rechristen ther gal Lizzie or Lake Erie or
somethin' else befittin petticoats. She 'lowed thet no godly man
wouldn't hardly seek a woman in wedlock, ner crave fer her to be ther
mother of his children with a name hung on her like Alexander
Macedonia McGivins."
Brent's eye twinkled as he watched the unbending gravity of the