Wolfs Head | Page 6

heightened emphasis by reason
of the elemental turmoils without. True, the rain beat in a deafening
fusillade upon the roof, and the ostentation of the one glass window, a
source of special pride to its owner, was at a temporary disadvantage in
admitting the fierce and ghastly electric glare, so recurrent as to seem
unintermittent. But the more genial illumination of hickory flames, red
and yellow, was streaming from the great chimney-place, and before
the broad hearth the guests were ensconced, their outstretched boots
steaming in the heat. Strings of scarlet peppers, bunches of dried herbs,
gourds of varied quaint shapes, hung swaying from the rafters. The old
man's gay, senile chirp of welcome was echoed by his wife, a type of
comely rustic age, who made much of the fact that, though housebound
from "rheumatics," she had reared her dead daughter's "two orphin
famblies," the said daughter having married twice, neither man "bein'
of a lastin' quality," as she seriously phrased it. Meddy, "the eldest
fambly," had been guide, philosopher, and friend to the swarm of
youngsters, and even now, in the interests of peace and space and

hearing, was seeking to herd them into an adjoining room, when a
sudden stentorian hail from without rang through the splashing of the
rain from the eaves, the crash of thunder among the "balds" of the
mountains, with its lofty echoes, and the sonorous surging of the wind.
"Light a tallow-dip, Meddy," cried old Kettison, excitedly. "An' fetch
the candle on the porch so ez we-uns kin view who rides so late in sech
a night 'fore we bid 'em ter light an' hitch."
But these were travelers not to be gainsaid--the sheriff of the county
and four stout fellows from the town of Colbury, summoned to his aid
as a posse, all trooping in as if they owned the little premises. However,
the officer permitted himself to unbend a trifle under the influence of a
hospitable tender of home-made cherry-bounce, "strong enough to walk
from here to Colbury," according to the sheriff's appreciative phrase.
He was a portly man, with a rolling, explanatory cant of his burly head
and figure toward his interlocutor as he talked. His hair stood up in two
tufts above his forehead, one on each side, and he had large, round,
grayish eyes and a solemn, pondering expression. To Meddy, staring
horror-stricken, he seemed as owlishly wise as he looked while he
explained the object of his expedition.
"This district have got a poor reputation with the law, Mr. Kettison.
Here is this fellow, Boyston McGurny, been about here two years, and
a reward for five hundred dollars out for his arrest."
"That's Boy's fault, Sher'ff, not our'n," leered the glib old man. He, too,
had had a sip of the stalwart cherry-bounce. "Boy's in no wise
sociable."
"It's plumb flying in the face of the law," declared the officer. "If I had
a guide, I'd not wait a minute, or if I could recognize the man whenst I
viewed him. The constable promised to send a fellow to meet me
here,--what's his name!--yes, Smith, Barton Smith,--who will guide us
to where he was last glimpsed. I hope to take him alive." he added with
an inflection of doubt.
Certainly this was a dreary camp-hunt, with all its distasteful sequelae.

Purcell, who had no more imagination than a promissory note, silently
sulked under the officer's intimation that, being able-bodied men, he
would expect the hunters also to ride with him. They were not of his
county, and doubted their obligation, but they would not refuse to aid
the law. Bygrave, however, realized a "story" in the air, and Seymour
was interested in the impending developments; for being a close
observer, he had perceived that the girl was in the clutch of some
tumultuous though covert agitation. Her blood blazed at fever-heat in
her cheeks; her eyes were on fire; every muscle was tense; and her
brain whirled. To her the crisis was tremendous. This was the result of
her unwarranted interference. Who was she, indeed, that she should
seek to command the march of events and deploy sequences? Her
foolish maneuvering had lured this innocent man to ruin, capture,
anguish, and death. No warning could he have; the window was opaque
with the corrugations of the rainfall on the streaming panes, and set too
high to afford him a glimpse from without. And, oh, how he would
despise the traitor that she must needs seem to be! She had not a
moment for reflection, for counsel, for action. Already the signal,--he
was prompt at the tryst,--the sharp, crystalline vibration of the tap on
the glass!
The sheriff rose instantly with that cumbrous agility sometimes
characterizing portly men. "There he is now!" he exclaimed.
But Meddy, with a little