The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains | Page 8

he said.
There was a crash; the door lay in splinters on the floor; the men rushed precipitately over it.
They came back laughing sheepishly. The officer's face was angry and scarlet.
"Don't take the bar'l, - don't take the bar'l!" the old woman besought of him, as she fairly hung upon his arm. "I dunno how the boys would cavort ef they kem back an' fund the bar'l gone."
He gave her no heed. "Why n't ye tell me that man war n't thar?" he asked of the girl.
"Ye did n't ax me that word," said Dorinda.
"No, 'Cajah Green, ye did n't," said one of the men, who, since the abortive result of their leader's suspicion, were ashamed of their mission, and prone to self-exoneration. "I 'll stand up ter it ez she answered full an' true every word ez ye axed her."
"Lor'-a'mighty! Ef I jes' knowed aforehand how it will tech the boys when they view the door down onto the floor!" exclaimed the old woman. "They mought jounce round hyar ez ef they war bereft o' reason, an' all thar hope o' salvation hed hung on the hinges. An' then agin they mought 'low ez they hed ruther hev no door than be at the trouble o' shettin' it an' barrin' it up ez they come an' go. They air mighty onsartin in thar temper, an' I hev never hankered ter see 'em crost. But fur the glory's sake, don't tech the bar'l. It's been sot thar ter age some, ef the Lord will spare it."
In the girl's lucent eyes the officer detected a gleam of triumph. How far away in the tangled labyrinths of the mountain wilderness, among the deer-paths and the cataracts and the cliffs, had these long hours led Rick Tyler!
He spoke on his angry impulse: "An' I ain't goin' ter furgit in a hurry how I hev fund out ez ye air a-consortin' with criminals, an' aidin' an' abettin' men ez air fleein' from jestice an' wanted fur murder. Ye look out; ye 'll find yerself in Shaftesville jail 'fore long, I'm a-thinkin'."
"He stopped an' talked ez other folks stop an' talk," Dorinda retorted. "I could n't hender, an' I hed no mind ter hender. He took no bite nor sup ez others hev done. 'Pears like ter me ez we hev gin aid an' comfort ter the off'cer o' the law, ez well ez we could."
And this was the story that went down to Shaftesville.
The man, his wrath rebounding upon himself, hung his head, and went down to the trough, and mounted his horse without another word.
The others hardly knew what to say to Dorinda. But they were more deliberate in their departure, and hung around apologizing in their rude way to the old woman, who convulsively besought each to spare the barrel, which had been set in the shed-room to "age some, ef it could be lef' alone."
Dorinda stood under the jack-bean vines, blossoming purple and white, and watched the men as they silently rode away. All the pride within her was stirred. Every sensitive fibre flinched from the officer's coarse threat. She followed him out of sight with vengeful eyes.
"I wish I war a man!" she cried, passionately.
"A-law, D'rindy!" exclaimed her grandmother, aghast at the idea. "That ain't manners!"
The shadows were beginning to creep slowly up the slopes of the Great Smoky Mountains, as if they came from the depths of the earth. A roseate suffusion idealized range and peak to the east. The delicate skyey background of opaline tints and lustre made distinct and definite their majestic symmetry of outline. Ah! and the air was so clear! What infinite lengths of elastic distances stretched between that quivering trumpet-flower by the fence and the azure heights which its scarlet horn might almost seem to cover! The sun, its yellow blaze burned out, and now a sphere of smouldering fire, was dropping down behind Chilhowee, royally purple, richly dark. Wings were in the air and every instinct was homeward. An eagle, with a shadow skurrying through the valley like some forlorn Icarus that might not soar, swept high over the landscape. Above all rose the great "bald," still splendidly illumined with the red glamour of the sunset, and holding its uncovered head so loftily against the sky that it might seem it had bared its brow before the majesty of heaven.
When the "men folks," great, gaunt, bearded, jeans-clad fellows, stood in the shed-room and gazed at the splintered door upon the floor, it was difficult to judge what was the prevailing sentiment, so dawdling, so uncommunicative, so inexpressive of gesture, were they.
"We knowed ez thar war strangers prowlin' roun'," said the master of the house, when he had heard his mother's excited account of the events of the day. "We war a-startin' home ter dinner,