Call of the Cumberlands | Page 9

five shoots from the
laurel.... Purvy hain't died yit.... Some says as how his folks has sent ter
Lexington fer bloodhounds."
The boy's eyes began to smolder hatefully.
"I reckon," he spoke slowly, "he didn't git shot none too soon."
"Samson!" The old man's voice had the ring of determined authority.
"When I dies, ye'll be the head of the Souths, but so long es I'm
a-runnin' this hyar fam'ly, I keeps my word ter friend an' foe alike. I
reckon Jesse Purvy knows who got yore pap, but up till now no South
hain't never busted no truce."
The boy's voice dropped its softness, and took on a shrill crescendo of
excitement as he flashed out his retort.
"Who said a South has done busted the truce this time?"
Old Spencer South gazed searchingly at his nephew.
"I hain't a-wantin' ter suspicion ye, Samson, but I know how ye feels
about yore pap. I heered thet Bud Spicer come by hyar yistiddy plumb
full of liquor, an' 'lowed he'd seed Jesse an' Jim Asberry a-talkin'
tergether jest afore yore pap was kilt." He broke off abruptly, then
added: "Ye went away from hyar last night, an' didn't git in twell atter
sun-up--I just heered the news, an' come ter look fer ye."
"Air you-all 'lowin' thet I shot them shoots from the laurel?" inquired
Samson, quietly.
"Ef we-all hain't 'lowin' hit, Samson, we're plumb shore thet Jesse
Purvy's folks will 'low hit. They're jest a-holdin' yore life like a hostage
fer Purvy's, anyhow. Ef he dies, they'll try ter git ye."
The boy flashed a challenge about the group, which was now drawing
rein at Spicer South's yard fence. His eyes were sullen, but he made no
answer.

One of the men who had listened in silence now spoke:
"In the fust place, Samson, we hain't a-sayin' ye done hit. In the nex'
place, ef ye did do hit, we hain't a-blamin' ye--much. But I reckon them
dawgs don't lie, an', ef they trails in hyar, ye'll need us. Thet's why
we've done come."
The boy slipped down from his mule, and helped Lescott to dismount.
He deliberately unloaded the saddlebags and kit, and laid them on the
top step of the stile, and, while he held his peace, neither denying nor
affirming, his kinsmen sat their horses and waited.
Even to Lescott, it was palpable that some of them believed the young
heir to clan leadership responsible for the shooting of Jesse Purvy, and
that others believed him innocent, yet none the less in danger of the
enemy's vengeance. But, regardless of divided opinion, all were alike
ready to stand at his back, and all alike awaited his final utterance.
Then, in the thickening gloom, Samson turned at the foot of the stile,
and faced the gathering. He stood rigid, and his eyes flashed with deep
passion. His hands, hanging at the seams of his jeans breeches,
clenched, and his voice came in a slow utterance through which
throbbed the tensity of a soul-absorbing bitterness.
"I knowed all 'bout Jesse Purvy's bein' shot.... When my pap lay a-dyin'
over thar at his house, I was a little shaver ten years old ... Jesse Purvy
hired somebody ter kill him ... an' I promised my pap that I'd find out
who thet man was, an' thet I'd git 'em both--some day. So help me, God
Almighty, I'm a-goin' ter git 'em both--some day!" The boy paused and
lifted one hand as though taking an oath.
"I'm a-tellin' you-all the truth.... But I didn't shoot them shoots this
mornin'. I hain't no truce-buster. I gives ye my hand on hit.... Ef them
dawgs comes hyar, they'll find me hyar, an' ef they hain't liars, they'll
go right on by hyar. I don't 'low ter run away, an' I don't 'low ter hide
out. I'm agoin' ter stay right hyar. Thet's all I've got ter say ter ye."
For a moment, there was no reply. Then, the older man nodded with a

gesture of relieved anxiety.
"Thet's all we wants ter know, Samson," he said, slowly. "Light, men,
an' come in."
CHAPTER IV
In days when the Indian held the Dark and Bloody Grounds a pioneer,
felling oak and poplar logs for the home he meant to establish on the
banks of a purling water-course, let his axe slip, and the cutting edge
gashed his ankle. Since to the discoverer belongs the christening, that
water-course became Cripple-shin, and so it is to-day set down on atlas
pages. A few miles away, as the crow flies, but many weary leagues as
a man must travel, a brother settler, racked with rheumatism, gave to
his creek the name of Misery. The two pioneers had come together
from Virginia, as their ancestors had come before them