The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains | Page 9

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, 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,"