The Guns of Bull Run | Page 8

the ends like
that of a duelist. He was dressed in black broadcloth, the long coat
buttoned closely about his body, but revealing a full and ruffled shirt

bosom as white as snow. His face expressed no emotion, but the
mountaineer cursed violently.
"I can read the story at once," said the editor, shrugging his shoulders.
"I know the mountaineer. He's Bill Skelly, a rough man, prone to reach
for the trigger, especially when he's full of bad whiskey as he is now,
and the other, Arthur Travers, is no stranger to you. Skelly is for the
abolition of slavery. All the mountaineers are. Maybe it's because they
have no slaves themselves and hate the more prosperous and more
civilized lowlanders who do have them. Harry, my boy, as you grow
older you'll find that reason and logic seldom control men's lives."
"Skelly was excited over the news from South Carolina," said Harry,
continuing the story, which he, too, had read, as an Indian reads a trail,
"and he began to drink. He met Travers and cursed the slave- holders.
Travers replied with a sneer, which the mountaineer could not
understand, except that it hurt. Skelly snatched out his pistol and fired
wildly. Travers drew his and would have fired, although not so wildly,
but friends seized him. Meanwhile, others overpowered Skelly and
Travers is not excited at all, although he watches every movement of
his enemy, while seeming to be indifferent."
"You read truly, Harry," said Gardner. "It was a fortunate thing for
Skelly that he was overpowered. Somehow, those two men facing each
other seem, in a way, to typify conditions in this part of the country at
least."
Harry was now watching Travers, who always aroused his interest. A
lawyer, twenty-seven or eight years of age, he had little practice, and
seemed to wish little. He had a wonderful reputation for dexterity with
cards and the pistol. A native of Pendleton, he was the son of parents
from one of the Gulf States, and Harry could never quite feel that he
was one of their own Kentucky blood and breed.
"You can release me," said Travers quietly to the young men who stood
on either side of him holding his arms. "I think the time has come to
hunt bigger game than a fool there like Skelly. He is safe from me."

He spoke with a supercilious scorn which impressed Harry, but which
he did not wholly admire. Travers seemed to him to have the quiet
deadliness of the cobra. There was something about him that repelled.
The men released him. He straightened his long black coat, smoothed
the full ruffles of his shirt and walked away, as if nothing had
happened.
Skelly ceased to struggle. The aspect of the crowd, which was largely
hostile, sobered him. Steve Allison, the town constable, appeared and,
putting his hand heavily upon the mountaineer's shoulder, said:
"You come with me, Skelly."
But old Judge Kendrick intervened.
"Let him go, Steve," he said. "Send him back to the mountains."
"But he tried to kill a man, Judge."
"I know, but extraordinary times demand extraordinary methods. A
great and troubled period has come into all our lives. Maybe we're
about to face some terrible crisis. Isn't that so?"
"Yes," replied the crowd.
"Then we must not hurry it or make it worse by sudden action. If Skelly
is punished, the mountaineers will say it is political. I appeal to you, Dr.
Russell, to sustain me."
The white head of the principal showed above the crowd.
"Judge Kendrick is right," he said. "Skelly must be permitted to go. His
action, in fact, was due to the strained conditions that have long
prevailed among us, and was precipitated by the alarming message that
has come today. For the sake of peace, we must let him go."
"All right, then," said Allison, "but he goes without his pistol."
Skelly was put upon his mountain pony, and he rode willingly away

amid the snow and the coming dusk, carrying, despite his release, a
bitter heart into the mountains, and a tale that would inflame the
jealousy with which upland regarded lowland.
The crowd dispersed. Gardner returned to his office, and Harry went
home. He lived in the best house in or about Pendleton and his father
was its wealthiest citizen. George Kenton, having inherited much land
in Kentucky, and two or three plantations further south had added to his
property by good management. A strong supporter of slavery, actual
contact with the institution on a large scale in the Gulf States had not
pleased him, and he had sold his property there, reinvesting the money
in his native and, as he believed, more solid state. His title of colonel
was real. A graduate of West Point, he had fought