The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains | Page 8

manner.

"No! - I done tole ye," she said indignantly. "The word o' the men folks
hev been gin ter keep that thar door shet, an' shet it's goin' ter be kep'."
The officer laid his hand upon it.
"Ye must n't bust it open!" shrilled the old woman. "Laws-a-massy! ef
thar be many sech ez you-uns in Shaftesville, I ain't s'prised none that
the Bible gits ter mournin' over the low kentry, an' calls it a vale o' tears
an' the valley o' the shadder o' death!"
The sheriff had placed his powerful shoulder against the frail batten
floor.
"Hyar goes!" 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