The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains | Page 7

awk'ard an' back'ard. I war married when I war sixteen, - sixteen scant."
The girl felt that she was indeed of advanced years, and the sheriff said that his daughter was not yet sixteen, and he thought it probable she weighed more than Dorinda.
He lighted his pipe presently, and tilted his chair back against the wall.
"Yes'm," he said, meditatively, gazing out of the window at the great panorama, "it's a pretty big spot o' kentry ter hev ter hunt a man over. Now ef't war one o' the town folks we could make out ter overhaul him somehows; but a mounting boy, - why, he's ez free ter the hills ez a fox. I s'pose ye hain't seen him hyar-abouts?"
"I hain't hearn who it air yit," the old woman replied, putting her hand behind her ear.
"It's Rick Tyler; he hails from this deestric. I won't be 'stonished ef we ketch him this time. The gov'nor has offered two hunderd dollars reward fur him; an' I reckon somebody will find it wuth while ter head him fur us."
He was talking idly. He had no expectation of developments here. He had only stopped at the house in the first instance for the question which he had asked at every habitation along the road. It suddenly occurred to him as polite to include Dorinda in the conversation.
"Ye hain't seen nor hearn of him, I s'pose, hev ye?" inquired the sheriff, directly addressing her.
As he turned toward her he marked her expression. His own face changed suddenly. He rose at once.
"Don't trifle with the law, I warn ye," he said, sternly. "Ye hev seen that man."
Dorinda was standing beside her spinning-wheel, one hand holding the thread, the other raised to guide the motion. She looked at him, pale and breathless.
"I hev seen him. I ain't onwillin' ter own it. Ye never axed me afore."
The other members of the party had crowded in from the porch, where they had been sitting since dinner, smoking their pipes. The officer, realizing his lapse of vigilance and the loss of his opportunity, was sharply conscious, too, of their appreciation of his fatuity.
"Whar did ye see him?" he asked.
"I seen him hyar - this mornin'." There was a stir of excitement in the group. "He kem by on his beastis whilst I war a-ploughin', an' we talked a passel. An' then he tuk Pete's plough, ez war idle in the turnrow, an' holped along some; he run a few furrows."
"Which way did he go?" asked the sheriff, breathlessly.
"I dunno," faltered the girl.
"Look-a-hyar!" he thundered, in rising wrath. "Ye'll find yerself under lock an' key in the jail at Shaftesville, ef ye undertake ter fool with me. Which way did he go?"
A flush sprang into the girl's excited face. Her eyes flashed.
"Ef ye kin jail me fur tellin' all I know, I can't holp it," she said, with spirit. "I kin tell no more."
He saw the justice of her position. It did not make the situation easier for him. Here he had sat eating and drinking and idly talking while the fugitive, who had escaped by a hair's breadth, was counting miles and miles between himself and his lax pursuer. This would be heard of in Shaftesville, - and be a candidate for re‘lection! He beheld already an exchange of significant glances among his posse. Had he asked that simple question earlier he might now be on his way back to Shaftesville, his prisoner braceleted with the idle handcuffs that jingled in his pocket as he moved.
He caught at every illusive vagary that might promise to retrieve his error. He declared that she could not say which way Rick Tyler had taken because he was not gone.
"He's in this house right now!" he exclaimed. He ordered a search, and the guests, a little while ago so friendly, began exploring every nook and cranny.
"No, no!" cried the old woman, shrilly, as they tried the door of the shed-room, which was bolted and barred. "Ye can't tech that thar door. It can't be opened, - not ef the Gov'nor o' Tennessee war hyar himself, a-moan-in' an' a-honin' ter git in."
The sheriff's eyes dilated. "Open the door, - I summon ye!" he proclaimed, with his imperative official 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!"