The Trail of the Lonesome Pine | Page 7

with the pine dagger had retreated for refuge. From the moment he stooped at the door something in the room had made him vaguely uneasy, and when his eyes in swift survey came back to the fire, they passed the blaze swiftly and met on the edge of the light another pair of eyes burning on him.
"Howdye!" said Hale.
"Howdye!" was the low, unpropitiating answer.
The owner of the eyes was nothing but a boy, in spite of his length: so much of a boy that a slight crack in his voice showed that it was just past the throes of "changing," but those black eyes burned on without swerving--except once when they flashed at the little girl who, with her chin in her hand and one foot on the top rung of her chair, was gazing at the stranger with equal steadiness. She saw the boy's glance, she shifted her knees impatiently and her little face grew sullen. Hale smiled inwardly, for he thought he could already see the lay of the land, and he wondered that, at such an age, such fierceness could be: so every now and then he looked at the boy, and every time he looked, the black eyes were on him. The mountain youth must have been almost six feet tall, young as he was, and while he was lanky in limb he was well knit. His jean trousers were stuffed in the top of his boots and were tight over his knees which were well-moulded, and that is rare with a mountaineer. A loop of black hair curved over his forehead, down almost to his left eye. His nose was straight and almost delicate and his mouth was small, but extraordinarily resolute. Somewhere he had seen that face before, and he turned suddenly, but he did not startle the lad with his abruptness, nor make him turn his gaze.
"Why, haven't I--?" he said. And then he suddenly remembered. He had seen that boy not long since on the other side of the mountains, riding his horse at a gallop down the county road with his reins in his teeth, and shooting a pistol alternately at the sun and the earth with either hand. Perhaps it was as well not to recall the incident. He turned to the old mountaineer.
"Do you mean to tell me that a man can't go through these mountains without telling everybody who asks him what his name is?"
The effect of his question was singular. The old man spat into the fire and put his hand to his beard. The boy crossed his legs suddenly and shoved his muscular fingers deep into his pockets. The figure shifted position on the bed and the infant at the foot of it seemed to clench his toy-dagger a little more tightly. Only the little girl was motionless--she still looked at him, unwinking. What sort of wild animals had he fallen among?
"No, he can't--an' keep healthy." The giant spoke shortly.
"Why not?"
"Well, if a man hain't up to some devilment, what reason's he got fer not tellin' his name?"
"That's his business."
"Tain't over hyeh. Hit's mine. Ef a man don't want to tell his name over hyeh, he's a spy or a raider or a officer looking fer somebody or," he added carelessly, but with a quick covert look at his visitor--"he's got some kind o' business that he don't want nobody to know about."
"Well, I came over here--just to--well, I hardly know why I did come."
"Jess so," said the old man dryly. "An' if ye ain't looking fer trouble, you'd better tell your name in these mountains, whenever you're axed. Ef enough people air backin' a custom anywhar hit goes, don't hit?"
His logic was good--and Hale said nothing. Presently the old man rose with a smile on his face that looked cynical, picked up a black lump and threw it into the fire. It caught fire, crackled, blazed, almost oozed with oil, and Hale leaned forward and leaned back.
"Pretty good coal!"
"Hain't it, though?" The old man picked up a sliver that had flown to the hearth and held a match to it. The piece blazed and burned in his hand.
"I never seed no coal in these mountains like that--did you?"
"Not often--find it around here?"
"Right hyeh on this farm--about five feet thick!"
"What?"
"An' no partin'."
"No partin'"--it was not often that he found a mountaineer who knew what a parting in a coal bed was.
"A friend o' mine on t'other side,"--a light dawned for the engineer.
"Oh," he said quickly. "That's how you knew my name."
"Right you air, stranger. He tol' me you was a--expert."
The old man laughed loudly. "An' that's why you come over hyeh."
"No, it isn't."
"Co'se not,"--the old fellow laughed again. Hale shifted the talk.
"Well, now that you know my name, suppose you tell me what yours is?"
"Tolliver--Judd Tolliver."