The Trail of the Lonesome Pine | Page 4

start again while the fisherman
would stand quiet and waiting for a while--and then he would begin to
wind again. In her wonder, she rose unconsciously to her feet and a
stone rolled down to the ledge below her. The fisherman turned his
head and she started to run, but without a word he turned again to the
fish he was playing. Moreover, he was too far out in the water to catch
her, so she advanced slowly--even to the edge of the stream, watching
the fish cut half circles about the man. If he saw her, he gave no notice,
and it was well that he did not. He was pulling the bass to and fro now
through the water, tiring him out--drowning him--stepping backward at
the same time, and, a moment later, the fish slid easily out of the edge
of the water, gasping along the edge of a low sand-bank, and the

fisherman reaching down with one hand caught him in the gills. Then
he looked up and smiled--and she had seen no smile like that before.
"Howdye, Little Girl?"
One bare toe went burrowing suddenly into the sand, one finger went to
her red mouth--and that was all. She merely stared him straight in the
eye and he smiled again.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Her eyes fell at the ancient banter, but she lifted them straightway and
stared again.
"You live around here?"
She stared on.
"Where?"
No answer.
"What's your name, little girl?"
And still she stared.
"Oh, well, of course, you can't talk, if the cat's got your tongue."
The steady eyes leaped angrily, but there was still no answer, and he
bent to take the fish off his hook, put on a fresh minnow, turned his
back and tossed it into the pool.
"Hit hain't!"
He looked up again. She surely was a pretty little thing--and more, now
that she was angry.
"I should say not," he said teasingly. "What did you say your name
was?"

"What's YO' name?"
The fisherman laughed. He was just becoming accustomed to the
mountain etiquette that commands a stranger to divulge himself first.
"My name's--Jack."
"An' mine's--Jill." She laughed now, and it was his time for
surprise--where could she have heard of Jack and Jill?
His line rang suddenly.
"Jack," she cried, "you got a bite!"
He pulled, missed the strike, and wound in. The minnow was all right,
so he tossed it back again.
"That isn't your name," he said.
"If 'tain't, then that ain't your'n?"
"Yes 'tis," he said, shaking his head affirmatively.
A long cry came down the ravine:
"J-u-n-e! eh--oh--J-u-n-e!" That was a queer name for the mountains,
and the fisherman wondered if he had heard aright-- June.
The little girl gave a shrill answering cry, but she did not move.
"Thar now!" she said.
"Who's that--your Mammy?"
"No, 'tain't--hit's my step-mammy. I'm a goin' to ketch hell now." Her
innocent eyes turned sullen and her baby mouth tightened.
"Good Lord!" said the fisherman, startled, and then he stopped-- the
words were as innocent on her lips as a benediction.

"Have you got a father?" Like a flash, her whole face changed.
"I reckon I have."
"Where is he?"
"Hyeh he is!" drawled a voice from the bushes, and it had a tone that
made the fisherman whirl suddenly. A giant mountaineer stood on the
bank above him, with a Winchester in the hollow of his arm.
"How are you?" The giant's heavy eyes lifted quickly, but he spoke to
the girl.
"You go on home--what you doin' hyeh gassin' with furriners!"
The girl shrank to the bushes, but she cried sharply back:
"Don't you hurt him now, Dad. He ain't even got a pistol. He ain't no--"
"Shet up!" The little creature vanished and the mountaineer turned to
the fisherman, who had just put on a fresh minnow and tossed it into
the river.
"Purty well, thank you," he said shortly. "How are you?"
"Fine!" was the nonchalant answer. For a moment there was silence
and a puzzled frown gathered on the mountaineer's face.
"That's a bright little girl of yours--What did she mean by telling you
not to hurt me?"
"You haven't been long in these mountains, have ye?"
"No--not in THESE mountains--why?" The fisherman looked around
and was almost startled by the fierce gaze of his questioner.
"Stop that, please," he said, with a humourous smile. "You make me
nervous."

The mountaineer's bushy brows came together across the bridge of his
nose and his voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"What's yo' name, stranger, an' what's yo' business over hyeh?"
"Dear me, there you go! You can see I'm fishing, but why does
everybody in these mountains want to know my name?"
"You heerd me!"
"Yes." The fisherman turned again and saw the giant's rugged