The Trail of the Lonesome Pine | Page 9

the porch
while Bub carved away at another pine dagger on the stoop. As Hale
passed out the door, a querulous voice said "Howdye" from the bed in
the corner and he knew it was the step-mother from whom the little girl
expected some nether-world punishment for an offence of which he
was ignorant. He had heard of the feud that had been going on between
the red Falins and the black Tollivers for a quarter of a century, and this
was Devil Judd, who had earned his nickname when he was the leader
of his clan by his terrible strength, his marksmanship, his cunning and
his courage. Some years since the old man had retired from the
leadership, because he was tired of fighting or because he had
quarrelled with his brother Dave and his foster-brother, Bad
Rufe--known as the terror of the Tollivers--or from some unknown
reason, and in consequence there had been peace for a long time--the
Falins fearing that Devil Judd would be led into the feud again, the
Tollivers wary of starting hostilities without his aid. After the last
trouble, Bad Rufe Tolliver had gone West and old Judd had moved his
family as far away as possible. Hale looked around him: this, then, was
the home of Devil Judd Tolliver; the little creature inside was his
daughter and her name was June. All around the cabin the wooded

mountains towered except where, straight before his eyes, Lonesome
Creek slipped through them to the river, and the old man had certainly
picked out the very heart of silence for his home. There was no
neighbour within two leagues, Judd said, except old Squire Billy
Beams, who ran a mill a mile down the river. No wonder the spot was
called Lonesome Cove.
"You must ha' seed Uncle Billy and ole Hon passin'," he said.
"I did." Devil Judd laughed and Hale made out that "Hon" was short for
Honey.
"Uncle Billy used to drink right smart. Ole Hon broke him. She
followed him down to the grocery one day and walked in. 'Come on,
boys--let's have a drink'; and she set 'em up an' set 'em up until Uncle
Billy most went crazy. He had hard work gittin' her home, an' Uncle
Billy hain't teched a drap since." And the old mountaineer chuckled
again.
All the time Hale could hear noises from the kitchen inside. The old
step-mother was abed, he had seen no other woman about the house
and he wondered if the child could be cooking dinner. Her flushed face
answered when she opened the kitchen door and called them in. She
had not only cooked but now she served as well, and when he thanked
her, as he did every time she passed something to him, she would
colour faintly. Once or twice her hand seemed to tremble, and he never
looked at her but her questioning dark eyes were full upon him, and
always she kept one hand busy pushing her thick hair back from her
forehead. He had not asked her if it was her footprints he had seen
coming down the mountain for fear that he might betray her, but
apparently she had told on herself, for Bub, after a while, burst out
suddenly:
"June, thar, thought you was a raider." The little girl flushed and the old
man laughed.
"So'd you, pap," she said quietly.

"That's right," he said. "So'd anybody. I reckon you're the first man that
ever come over hyeh jus' to go a-fishin'," and he laughed again. The
stress on the last words showed that he believed no man had yet come
just for that purpose, and Hale merely laughed with him. The old fellow
gulped his food, pushed his chair back, and when Hale was through, he
wasted no more time.
"Want to see that coal?"
"Yes, I do," said Hale.
"All right, I'll be ready in a minute."
The little girl followed Hale out on the porch and stood with her back
against the railing.
"Did you catch it?" he asked. She nodded, unsmiling.
"I'm sorry. What were you doing up there?" She showed no surprise
that he knew that she had been up there, and while she answered his
question, he could see that she was thinking of something else.
"I'd heerd so much about what you furriners was a-doin' over thar."
"You must have heard about a place farther over--but it's coming over
there, too, some day." And still she looked an unspoken question.
The fish that Hale had caught was lying where he had left it on the edge
of the porch.
"That's for you, June," he said, pointing to it, and the name as he spoke
it was sweet to his ears.
"I'm much obleeged," she said, shyly. "I'd 'a' cooked