The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains | Page 9

an' seen thar beastises hitched thar a-nigh the trough. An' I 'lowed ez mebbe they mought be the revenue devils, so I jes' made the boys lay low. An' Sol war set ter watch, an' he gin tile word when they hed rid away."
He was a man of fifty-five, perhaps, tough and stalwart. His face was as lined and seamed as that of his mother, who had counted nearly fourscore years, but his frame was almost as supple as at thirty. This trait of physical vigor was manifested in each of his muscular sons, and despite their slow and lank uncouthness, their movements suggested latent elasticity. In Dorinda, his only daughter, it graced her youth and perfected her beauty. He was known far and wide as "Ground-hog Cayce," but he would tell you, with a flash of the eye, that before the war he bore the Christian name of John.
Nothing more was said on the subject until after supper, when they were all sitting, dusky shadows, on the little porch, where the fireflies sparkled and the vines fluttered, and one might look out and see the new moon, in the similitude of a silver boat, sailing down the western skies, off the headlands of Chilhowee. A cricket was shrilling in the weeds. The vague, sighing voice of the woods rose and fell with a melancholy monody. A creamy elder blossom glimmered in a corner of the rail fence, hard by, its delicate, delicious odor pervading the air.
"I never knowed," said one of the young men, "ez this hyar sher'ff - this 'Cajah Green - war sech a headin' critter."
"He never teched the bar'l," said the old woman, not wishing that he should appear blacker than he had painted himself.
"I s'pose you-uns gin him an' his gang a bite an' sup," remarked Ground-hog Cayce.
"They eat a sizable dinner hyar," put in Mirandy Jane, who, having cooked it, had no mind that it should be belittled.
"An' they stayed a right smart while, an' talked powerful frien'ly an' sociable-like," said old Mrs. Cayce, "till the sher'ff got addled with the notion that we hed Rick Tyler hid hyar. An' unless we-uns hed tied him in the cheer or shot him, nuthin' in natur' could hev held him. I 'lowed't war the dram he tuk, though D'rindy, thinks differ. They never teched the bar'l, though."
"An' then," said Dorinda, with a sudden gush of tears, all the afflicted delicacy of a young and tender woman, all the overweening pride of the mountaineer, throbbing wildly in her veins, her heart afire, her helpless hands trembling, "he said the word ez he would lock me up in the jail at Shaftesville, sence I hed owned ter seein' a man ez he war n't peart enough ter ketch. He spoke that word ter me, - the jail!"
She hung sobbing in the doorway.
There was a murmur of indignation among the group, and John Cayce rose to his feet with furious oath.
"He shell rue it" he cried, - "he shell rue it! Me an' mine take no word off'n nobody. My gran'dad an' his three brothers, one hunderd an' fourteen year ago, kem hyar from the old North State an' settled in the Big Smoky. They an' thar sons rooted up the wilderness. They crapped. They fit the beastis; they fit the Injun; they fit the British; an' this last little war o' ourn they fit each other. Thar hev never been a coward 'mongst 'em. Thar hev never been a key turned on one of 'em, or a door shet. They hev respected the law fur what it war wuth, an' they hev stood up fur thar rights agin it. They answer fur thar word, an' others hev ter answer." He paused for a moment.
The moon, still in the similitude of a silver boat, swung at anchor in a deep indentation in the summit of Chilhowee that looked like some lonely pine-girt bay; what strange, mysterious fancies did it land from its cargo of sentiments and superstitions and uncanny influences!
"Drindy," her father commanded, "make a mark on this hyar rifie-bar'l fur 'Cajah Green's word ter be remembered by."
There was a flash in the faint moonbeams, as he held out to her a long, sharp knife. The rifle was in his hand. Other marks were on it commemorating past events. This was to be a foregone conclusion.
"No, no!" cried the girl, shrinking back aghast. "I don't want him shot. I would n't hev him hurted fur me, fur nuthin'! I ain't keerin' now fur what he said. Let him be, - let him be."
She had smarted under the sense of indignity. She had wanted their sympathy, and perhaps their idle anger. She was dismayed by the revengeful passion she had roused.
"No, no!" she reiterated, as one of the younger men,