A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND

By John Fox, Jr. 

CONTENTS

 I. The Blight in the Hills II. On the Wild Dog's Trail III. The Auricular Talent of the Hon. Samuel Budd IV. Close Quarters V. Back to the Hills VI. The Great Day VII. At Last--The Tournament VIII. The Knight Passes

A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND

I. THE BLIGHT IN THE HILLS

High noon of a crisp October day, sunshine flooding the earth withthe warmth and light of old wine and, going single-file up throughthe jagged gap that the dripping of water has worn down through theCumberland Mountains from crest to valley-level, a gray horse and twobig mules, a man and two young girls. On the gray horse, I led thetortuous way. After me came my small sister--and after her and likeher, mule-back, rode the Blight--dressed as she would be for a gallop inCentral Park or to ride a hunter in a horse show. 

I was taking them, according to promise, where the feet of other womenthan mountaineers had never trod--beyond the crest of the Big Black--tothe waters of the Cumberland--the lair of moonshiner and feudsman, whereis yet pocketed a civilization that, elsewhere, is long ago gone. Thishad been a pet dream of the Blight's for a long time, and now the dreamwas coming true. The Blight was in the hills. 

Nobody ever went to her mother's house without asking to see her evenwhen she was a little thing with black hair, merry face and black eyes. Both men and women, with children of their own, have told me that shewas, perhaps, the most fascinating child that ever lived. There be somewho claim that she has never changed--and I am among them. She beganearly, regardless of age, sex or previous condition of servitude--shecontinues recklessly as she began--and none makes complaint. Thus wasit in her own world--thus it was when she came to mine. On the waydown from the North, the conductor's voice changed from a command toa request when he asked for her ticket. The jacketed lord of thedining-car saw her from afar and advanced to show her to a seat--thatshe might ride forward, sit next to a shaded window and be free from theglare of the sun on the other side. Two porters made a rush for her bagwhen she got off the car, and the proprietor of the little hotel in thelittle town where we had to wait several hours for the train into themountains gave her the bridal chamber for an afternoon nap. From thislittle town to "The Gap" is the worst sixty-mile ride, perhaps, in theworld. She sat in a dirty day-coach; the smoke rolled in at the windowsand doors; the cars shook and swayed and lumbered around curves anddown and up gorges; there were about her rough men, crying children, slatternly women, tobacco juice, peanuts, popcorn and apple cores, butdainty, serene and as merry as ever, she sat through that ride with aradiant smile, her keen black eyes noting everything unlovely within andthe glory of hill, tree and chasm without. Next morning at home, wherewe rise early, no one was allowed to waken her and she had breakfast inbed--for the Blight's gentle tyranny was established on sight and variednot at the Gap. 

When she went down the street that day everybody stared surreptitiouslyand with perfect respect, as her dainty black plumed figure passed; thepost-office clerk could barely bring himself to say that there was noletter for her. The soda-fountain boy nearly filled her glass with syrupbefore he saw that he was not strictly minding his own business; theclerk, when I bought chocolate for her, unblushingly added extra weightand, as we went back, she met them both--Marston, the young engineerfrom the North, crossing the street and, at the same moment, a drunkenyoung tough with an infuriated face reeling in a run around the cornerahead of us as though he were being pursued. Now we have a volunteerpolice guard some forty strong at the Gap--and from habit, I startedfor him, but the Blight caught my arm tight. The young engineer in threestrides had reached the curb-stone and all he sternly said was:

"Here! Here!"

The drunken youth wheeled and his right hand shot toward his hip pocket. The engineer was belted with a pistol, but with one lightning movementand an incredibly long reach, his right fist caught the fellow's jawso that he pitched backward and collapsed like an empty bag. Then theengineer caught sight of the Blight's bewildered face, flushed, grippedhis hands in front of him and simply stared. At last he saw me:

"Oh, " he said, "how do you do?" and he turned to his prisoner, but thepanting sergeant and another policeman--also a volunteer--were alreadylifting him to his feet. I introduced the boy and the Blight then, andfor the first time in my life I saw the Blight--shaken. Round-eyed, shemerely gazed at him. 

"That was pretty well done, " I said. 

"Oh, he was drunk and I knew he would be slow. " Now something curioushappened. The dazed prisoner was on his feet, and his captors werestarting with him to the calaboose when he seemed suddenly to come tohis senses. 

"Jes wait a minute, will ye?" he said quietly, and his captors, thinkingperhaps that he wanted to say something to me, stopped. The mountainyouth turned a strangely sobered face and fixed his blue eyes on theengineer as though he were searing every feature of that imperturbableyoung man in his brain forever. It was not a bad face, but the avenginghatred in it was fearful. Then he, too, saw the Blight, his face calmedmagically and he, too, stared at her, and turned away with an oathchecked at his lips. We went on--the Blight thrilled, for she had heardmuch of our volunteer force at the Gap and had seen something already. Presently I looked back. Prisoner and captors were climbing the littlehill toward the calaboose and the mountain boy just then turned his headand I could swear that his eyes sought not the engineer, whom we leftat the corner, but, like the engineer, he was looking at the Blight. Whereat I did not wonder--particularly as to the engineer. He had beenin the mountains for a long time and I knew what this vision from homemeant to him. He turned up at the house quite early that night. 

"I'm not on duty until eleven, " he said hesitantly, "and I thoughtI'd----"

"Come right in. "

I asked him a few questions about business and then I left him and theBlight alone. When I came back she had a Gatling gun of eager questionsranged on him and--happy withal--he was squirming no little. I followedhim to the gate. 

"Are you really going over into those God-forsaken mountains?" he asked. 

"I thought I would. "

"And you are going to take HER?"

"And my sister. "

"Oh, I beg your pardon. " He strode away. 

"Coming up by the mines?" he called back. 

"Perhaps will you show us around?"

"I guess I will, " he said emphatically, and he went on to risk his neckon a ten-mile ride along a mountain road in the dark. 

"I LIKE a man, " said the Blight. "I like a MAN. "

Of course the Blight must see everything, so she insisted on going tothe police court next morning for the trial of the mountain boy. The boywas in the witness chair when we got there, and the Hon. Samuel Budd washis counsel. He had volunteered to defend the prisoner, I was soon told, and then I understood. The November election was not far off and theHon. Samuel Budd was candidate for legislature. More even, the boy'sfather was a warm supporter of Mr. Budd and the boy himself mightperhaps render good service in the cause when the time came--as indeedhe did. On one of the front chairs sat the young engineer and it was aquestion whether he or the prisoner saw the Blight's black plumes first. The eyes of both flashed toward her simultaneously, the engineer coloredperceptibly and the mountain boy stopped short in speech and his pallidface flushed with unmistakable shame. Then he went on: "He had liqueredup, " he said, "and had got tight afore he knowed it and he didn't meanno harm and had never been arrested afore in his whole life. "

"Have you ever been drunk before?" asked the prosecuting attorneyseverely. The lad looked surprised. 

"Co'se I have, but I ain't goin' to agin--leastwise not in this heretown. " There was a general laugh at this and the aged mayor rappedloudly. 

"That will do, " said the attorney. 

The lad stepped down, hitched his chair slightly so that his back wasto the Blight, sank down in it until his head rested on the back of thechair and crossed his legs. The Hon. Samuel Budd arose and the Blightlooked at him with wonder. His long yellow hair was parted in the middleand brushed with plaster-like precision behind two enormous ears, hewore spectacles, gold-rimmed and with great staring lenses, and his facewas smooth and ageless. He caressed his chin ruminatingly and rolledhis lips until they settled into a fine resultant of wisdom, patience, toleration and firmness. His manner was profound and his voice oily andsoothing. 

"May it please your Honor--my young friend frankly pleads guilty. " Hepaused as though the majesty of the law could ask no more. "He isa young man of naturally high and somewhat--naturally, too, nodoubt--bibulous spirits. Homoepathically--if inversely--the result waslogical. In the untrammelled life of the liberty-breathing mountains, where the stern spirit of law and order, of which your Honor is theaugust symbol, does not prevail as it does here--thanks to your Honor'swise and just dispensations--the lad has, I may say, naturally acquireda certain recklessness of mood--indulgence which, however easilycondoned there, must here be sternly rebuked. At the same time, he knewnot the conditions here, he became exhilarated without malice, prepenseyor even, I may say, consciousness. He would not have done as he has, if he had known what he knows now, and, knowing, he will not repeat theoffence. I need say no more. I plead simply that your Honor will temperthe justice that is only yours with the mercy that is yours--only. "

His Honor was visibly affected and to cover it--his methods beinginformal--he said with sharp irrelevancy:

"Who bailed this young feller out last night?" The sergeant spoke:

"Why, Mr. Marston thar"--with outstretched finger toward the youngengineer. The Blight's black eyes leaped with exultant appreciation andthe engineer turned crimson. His Honor rolled his quid around in hismouth once, and peered over his glasses:

"I fine this young feller two dollars and costs. " The young fellow hadturned slowly in his chair and his blue eyes blazed at the engineer withunappeasable hatred. I doubt if he had heard his Honor's voice. 

"I want ye to know that I'm obleeged to ye an' I ain't a-goin' to fergitit; but if I'd a known hit was you I'd a stayed in jail an' seen you inhell afore I'd a been bounden to ye. "

"Ten dollars fer contempt of couht. " The boy was hot now. 

"Oh, fine and be--" The Hon. Samuel Budd had him by the shoulder, theboy swallowed his voice and his starting tears of rage, and after awhisper to his Honor, the Hon. Samuel led him out. Outside, the engineerlaughed to the Blight:

"Pretty peppery, isn't he?" but the Blight said nothing, and later wesaw the youth on a gray horse crossing the bridge and conducted by theHon. Samuel Budd, who stopped and waved him toward the mountains. Theboy went on and across the plateau, the gray Gap swallowed him. Thatnight, at the post-office, the Hon. Sam plucked me aside by the sleeve. 

"I know Marston is agin me in this race--but I'll do him a good turnjust the same. You tell him to watch out for that young fellow. He's allright when he's sober, but when he's drunk--well, over in Kentucky, theycall him the Wild Dog. "

Several days later we started out through that same Gap. The glumstableman looked at the Blight's girths three times, and with my owneyes starting and my heart in my mouth, I saw her pass behind hersixteen-hand-high mule and give him a friendly tap on the rump as shewent by. The beast gave an appreciative flop of one ear and thatwas all. Had I done that, any further benefit to me or mine would beincorporated in the terms of an insurance policy. So, stating this, Ibelieve I state the limit and can now go on to say at last that it wasbecause she seemed to be loved by man and brute alike that a big man ofher own town, whose body, big as it was, was yet too small for his heartand from whose brain things went off at queer angles, always christenedher perversely as--"The Blight. "

II. ON THE WILD DOG'S TRAIL

So up we went past Bee Rock, Preacher's Creek and Little Looney, pastthe mines where high on a "tipple" stood the young engineer looking downat us, and looking after the Blight as we passed on into a dim rockyavenue walled on each side with rhododendrons. I waved at him and shookmy head--we would see him coming back. Beyond a deserted log-cabin weturned up a spur of the mountain. Around a clump of bushes we came ona gray-bearded mountaineer holding his horse by the bridle and from acovert high above two more men appeared with Winchesters. The Blightbreathed forth an awed whisper:

"Are they moonshiners?"

I nodded sagely, "Most likely, " and the Blight was thrilled. They mighthave been squirrel-hunters most innocent, but the Blight had heard muchtalk of moonshine stills and mountain feuds and the men who run themand I took the risk of denying her nothing. Up and up we went, thosetwo mules swaying from side to side with a motion little short ofelephantine and, by and by, the Blight called out:

"You ride ahead and don't you DARE look back. "

Accustomed to obeying the Blight's orders, I rode ahead with eyes tothe front. Presently, a shriek made me turn suddenly. It was nothing--mylittle sister's mule had gone near a steep cliff--perilously near, asits rider thought, but I saw why I must not look back; those two littlegirls were riding astride on side-saddles, the booted little right footof each dangling stirrupless--a posture quite decorous but ludicrous. 

"Let us know if anybody comes, " they cried. A mountaineer descended intosight around a loop of the path above. 

"Change cars, " I shouted. 

They changed and, passing, were grave, demure--then they changed again, and thus we climbed. 

Such a glory as was below, around and above us; the air like champagne;the sunlight rich and pouring like a flood on the gold that the beecheshad strewn in the path, on the gold that the poplars still shook highabove and shimmering on the royal scarlet of the maple and the sombrerusset of the oak. From far below us to far above us a deep curvingravine was slashed into the mountain side as by one stroke of a giganticscimitar. The darkness deep down was lighted up with cool green, interfused with liquid gold. Russet and yellow splashed the mountainsides beyond and high up the maples were in a shaking blaze. TheBlight's swift eyes took all in and with indrawn breath she drank it alldeep down. 

An hour by sun we were near the top, which was bared of trees andturned into rich farm-land covered with blue-grass. Along these uplandpastures, dotted with grazing cattle, and across them we rode toward themountain wildernesses on the other side, down into which a zigzag pathwriggles along the steep front of Benham's spur. At the edge of thesteep was a cabin and a bushy-bearded mountaineer, who looked likea brigand, answered my hail. He "mought" keep us all night, but he'd"ruther not, as we could git a place to stay down the spur. " Could weget down before dark? The mountaineer lifted his eyes to where the sunwas breaking the horizon of the west into streaks and splashes of yellowand crimson. 

"Oh, yes, you can git thar afore dark. "

Now I knew that the mountaineer's idea of distance is vague--but heknows how long it takes to get from one place to another. So we starteddown--dropping at once into thick dark woods, and as we went loopingdown, the deeper was the gloom. That sun had suddenly severed allconnection with the laws of gravity and sunk, and it was all the darkerbecause the stars were not out. The path was steep and coiled downwardlike a wounded snake. In one place a tree had fallen across it, and toreach the next coil of the path below was dangerous. So I had thegirls dismount and I led the gray horse down on his haunches. The mulesrefused to follow, which was rather unusual. I went back and from a safedistance in the rear I belabored them down. They cared neither for grayhorse nor crooked path, but turned of their own devilish wills along thebushy mountain side. As I ran after them the gray horse started calmlyon down and those two girls shrieked with laughter--they knew no better. First one way and then the other down the mountain went those mules, with me after them, through thick bushes, over logs, stumps and bowldersand holes--crossing the path a dozen times. What that path was there fornever occurred to those long-eared half asses, whole fools, and by andby, when the girls tried to shoo them down they clambered around andabove them and struck the path back up the mountain. The horse hadgone down one way, the mules up the other, and there was no health inanything. The girls could not go up--so there was nothing to do but godown, which, hard as it was, was easier than going up. The path was notvisible now. Once in a while I would stumble from it and crash throughthe bushes to the next coil below. Finally I went down, sliding one footahead all the time--knowing that when leaves rustled under that foot Iwas on the point of going astray. Sometimes I had to light a match tomake sure of the way, and thus the ridiculous descent was made withthose girls in high spirits behind. Indeed, the darker, rockier, steeperit got, the more they shrieked from pure joy--but I was anything thanhappy. It was dangerous. I didn't know the cliffs and high rocks wemight skirt and an unlucky guidance might land us in the creek-bed fardown. But the blessed stars came out, the moon peered over a farthermountain and on the last spur there was the gray horse browsing in thepath--and the sound of running water not far below. Fortunately on thegray horse were the saddle-bags of the chattering infants who thoughtthe whole thing a mighty lark. We reached the running water, struck aflock of geese and knew, in consequence, that humanity was somewherenear. A few turns of the creek and a beacon light shone below. The palesof a picket fence, the cheering outlines of a log-cabin came in view andat a peaked gate I shouted:

"Hello!"

You enter no mountaineer's yard without that announcing cry. It wasmediaeval, the Blight said, positively--two lorn damsels, a benightedknight partially stripped of his armor by bush and sharp-edged rock, a gray palfrey (she didn't mention the impatient asses that had turnedhomeward) and she wished I had a horn to wind. I wanted a "horn" badlyenough--but it was not the kind men wind. By and by we got a response:

"Hello!" was the answer, as an opened door let out into the yard a broadband of light. Could we stay all night? The voice replied that the ownerwould see "Pap. " "Pap" seemed willing, and the boy opened the gateand into the house went the Blight and the little sister. Shortly, Ifollowed. 

There, all in one room, lighted by a huge wood-fire, rafters above, puncheon floor beneath--cane-bottomed chairs and two beds the onlyfurniture-"pap, " barefooted, the old mother in the chimney-corner witha pipe, strings of red pepper-pods, beans and herbs hanging aroundand above, a married daughter with a child at her breast, two or threechildren with yellow hair and bare feet all looking with all their eyesat the two visitors who had dropped upon them from another world. TheBlight's eyes were brighter than usual--that was the only sign she gavethat she was not in her own drawing-room. Apparently she saw nothingstrange or unusual even, but there was really nothing that she did notsee or hear and absorb, as few others than the Blight can. 

Straightway, the old woman knocked the ashes out of her pipe. 

"I reckon you hain't had nothin' to eat, " she said and disappeared. Theold man asked questions, the young mother rocked her baby on her knees, the children got less shy and drew near the fireplace, the Blight andthe little sister exchanged a furtive smile and the contrast of theextremes in American civilization, as shown in that little cabin, interested me mightily. 

"Yer snack's ready, " said the old woman. The old man carried the chairsinto the kitchen, and when I followed the girls were seated. The chairswere so low that their chins came barely over their plates, and demureand serious as they were they surely looked most comical. There was theusual bacon and corn-bread and potatoes and sour milk, and the two girlsstruggled with the rude fare nobly. 

After supper I joined the old man and the old woman with apipe--exchanging my tobacco for their long green with more satisfactionprobably to me than to them, for the long green was good, and strong andfragrant. 

The old woman asked the Blight and the little sister many questions andthey, in turn, showed great interest in the baby in arms, whereat theeighteen-year-old mother blushed and looked greatly pleased. 

"You got mighty purty black eyes, " said the old woman to the Blight, and not to slight the little sister she added, "An' you got mighty purtyteeth. "

The Blight showed hers in a radiant smile and the old woman turned backto her. 

"Oh, you've got both, " she said and she shook her head, as though shewere thinking of the damage they had done. It was my time now--to askquestions. 

They didn't have many amusements on that creek, I discovered--andno dances. Sometimes the boys went coon-hunting and there werecorn-shuckings, house-raisings and quilting-parties. 

"Does anybody round here play the banjo?"

"None o' my boys, " said the old woman, "but Tom Green's son down thecreek--he follers pickin' the banjo a leetle. " "Follows pickin' "--theBlight did not miss that phrase. 

"What do you foller fer a livin'?" the old man asked me suddenly. 

"I write for a living. " He thought a while. 

"Well, it must be purty fine to have a good handwrite. " This nearlydissolved the Blight and the little sister, but they held on heroically. 

"Is there much fighting around here?" I asked presently. 

"Not much 'cept when one young feller up the river gets to tearin' upthings. I heerd as how he was over to the Gap last week--raisin'hell. He comes by here on his way home. " The Blight's eyes openedwide--apparently we were on his trail. It is not wise for a member ofthe police guard at the Gap to show too much curiosity about the lawlessones of the hills, and I asked no questions. 

"They calls him the Wild Dog over here, " he added, and then he yawnedcavernously. 

I looked around with divining eye for the sleeping arrangements soon tocome, which sometimes are embarrassing to "furriners" who are unable tograsp at once the primitive unconsciousness of the mountaineers and, inconsequence, accept a point of view natural to them because enforced byarchitectural limitations and a hospitality that turns no one seekingshelter from any door. They were, however, better prepared than I hadhoped for. They had a spare room on the porch and just outside the door, and when the old woman led the two girls to it, I followed with theirsaddle-bags. The room was about seven feet by six and was windowless. 

"You'd better leave your door open a little, " I said, "or you'll smotherin there. "

"Well, " said the old woman, "hit's all right to leave the door open. Nothin's goin' ter bother ye, but one o' my sons is out a coon-huntin'and he mought come in, not knowin' you're thar. But you jes' holler an'he'll move on. " She meant precisely what she said and saw no humor atall in such a possibility--but when the door closed, I could hear thosegirls stifling shrieks of laughter. 

Literally, that night, I was a member of the family. I had a bed tomyself (the following night I was not so fortunate)--in one corner;behind the head of mine the old woman, the daughter-in-law and thebaby had another in the other corner, and the old man with the two boysspread a pallet on the floor. That is the invariable rule of courtesywith the mountaineer, to give his bed to the stranger and take tothe floor himself, and, in passing, let me say that never, in along experience, have I seen the slightest consciousness--much lessimmodesty--in a mountain cabin in my life. The same attitude on thepart of the visitors is taken for granted--any other indeed holds mortalpossibilities of offence--so that if the visitor has common sense, allembarrassment passes at once. The door was closed, the fire blazed onuncovered, the smothered talk and laughter of the two girls ceased, thecoon-hunter came not and the night passed in peace. 

It must have been near daybreak that I was aroused by the old manleaving the cabin and I heard voices and the sound of horses' feetoutside. When he came back he was grinning. 

"Hit's your mules. "

"Who found them?"

"The Wild Dog had 'em, " he said. 

III. THE AURICULAR TALENT OF THE HON. SAMUEL BUDD

Behind us came the Hon. Samuel Budd. Just when the sun was slitting theeast with a long streak of fire, the Hon. Samuel was, with the jocundday, standing tiptoe in his stirrups on the misty mountain top andpeering into the ravine down which we had slid the night before, and hegrumbled no little when he saw that he, too, must get off his horseand slide down. The Hon. Samuel was ambitious, Southern, and a lawyer. Without saying, it goes that he was also a politician. He was not anative of the mountains, but he had cast his fortunes in the highlands, and he was taking the first step that he hoped would, before manyyears, land him in the National Capitol. He really knew little about themountaineers, even now, and he had never been among his constituents onDevil's Fork, where he was bound now. The campaign had so far been fullof humor and full of trials--not the least of which sprang from the factthat it was sorghum time. Everybody through the mountains was makingsorghum, and every mountain child was eating molasses. 

Now, as the world knows, the straightest way to the heart of the honestvoter is through the women of the land, and the straightest way to theheart of the women is through the children of the land; and one methodof winning both, with rural politicians, is to kiss the babies wide andfar. So as each infant, at sorghum time, has a circle of green-brownstickiness about his chubby lips, and as the Hon. Sam was averse to"long sweetenin'" even in his coffee, this particular political devicejust now was no small trial to the Hon. Samuel Budd. But in the languageof one of his firmest supporters Uncle Tommie Hendricks:

"The Hon. Sam done his duty, and he done it damn well. "

The issue at stake was the site of the new Court-House--two localitiesclaiming the right undisputed, because they were the only two placesin the county where there was enough level land for the Court-Houseto stand on. Let no man think this a trivial issue. There had been asimilar one over on the Virginia side once, and the opposing factionsagreed to decide the question by the ancient wager of battle, fist andskull--two hundred men on each side--and the women of the county withdifficulty prevented the fight. Just now, Mr. Budd was on his way to"The Pocket"--the voting place of one faction--where he had never been, where the hostility against him was most bitter, and, that day, he knewhe was "up against" Waterloo, the crossing of the Rubicon, holding thepass at Thermopylae, or any other historical crisis in the history ofman. I was saddling the mules when the cackling of geese in the creekannounced the coming of the Hon. Samuel Budd, coming with his chin onhis breast-deep in thought. Still his eyes beamed cheerily, he liftedhis slouched hat gallantly to the Blight and the little sister, and hewould wait for us to jog along with him. I told him of our troubles, meanwhile. The Wild Dog had restored our mules and the Hon. Sam beamed:

"He's a wonder--where is he?"

"He never waited--even for thanks. "

Again the Hon. Sam beamed:

"Ah! just like him. He's gone ahead to help me. "

"Well, how did he happen to be here?" I asked. 

"He's everywhere, " said the Hon. Sam. 

"How did he know the mules were ours?"

"Easy. That boy knows everything. "

"Well, why did he bring them back and then leave so mysteriously?"

The Hon. Sam silently pointed a finger at the laughing Blight ahead, andI looked incredulous. 

"Just the same, that's another reason I told you to warn Marston. He'salready got it in his head that Marston is his rival. "

"Pshaw!" I said--for it was too ridiculous. 

"All right, " said the Hon. Sam placidly. 

"Then why doesn't he want to see her?" "How do you know he ain'twatchin' her now, for all we know? Mark me, " he added, "you won't seehim at the speakin', but I'll bet fruit cake agin gingerbread he'll besomewhere around. "

So we went on, the two girls leading the way and the Hon. Sam nowtelling his political troubles to me. Half a mile down the road, asolitary horseman stood waiting, and Mr. Budd gave a low whistle. 

"One o' my rivals, " he said, from the corner of his mouth. 

"Mornin', " said the horseman; "lemme see you a minute. "

He made a movement to draw aside, but the Hon. Samuel made acounter-gesture of dissent. 

"This gentleman is a friend of mine, " he said firmly, but with greatcourtesy, "and he can hear what you have to say to me. "

The mountaineer rubbed one huge hand over his stubbly chin, threw one ofhis long legs over the pommel of his saddle, and dangled a heavy cowhideshoe to and fro. 

"Would you mind tellin' me whut pay a member of the House of Legislatur'gits a day?"

The Hon. Sam looked surprised. 

"I think about two dollars and a half. "

"An' his meals?"

"No!" laughed Mr. Budd. 

"Well, look-ee here, stranger. I'm a pore man an' I've got a mortgageon my farm. That money don't mean nothin' to you--but if you'll draw outnow an' I win, I'll tell ye whut I'll do. " He paused as though to makesure that the sacrifice was possible. "I'll just give ye half of thattwo dollars and a half a day, as shore as you're a-settin' on that hoss, and you won't hav' to hit a durn lick to earn it. "

I had not the heart to smile--nor did the Hon. Samuel--so artless andsimple was the man and so pathetic his appeal. 

"You see--you'll divide my vote, an' ef we both run, ole Josh Barton'llgit it shore. Ef you git out o' the way, I can lick him easy. "

Mr. Budd's answer was kind, instructive, and uplifted. 

"My friend, " said he, "I'm sorry, but I cannot possibly accede to yourrequest for the following reasons: First, it would not be fair to myconstituents; secondly, it would hardly be seeming to barter the noblegift of the people to which we both aspire; thirdly, you might lose withme out of the way; and fourthly, I'm going to win whether you are in theway or not. "

The horseman slowly collapsed while the Hon. Samuel was talking, andnow he threw the leg back, kicked for his stirrup twice, spat once, andturned his horse's head. 

"I reckon you will, stranger, " he said sadly, "with that gift o' gabo' yourn. " He turned without another word or nod of good-by and startedback up the creek whence he had come. 

"One gone, " said the Hon. Samuel Budd grimly, "and I swear I'm rightsorry for him. " And so was I. 

An hour later we struck the river, and another hour upstream broughtus to where the contest of tongues was to come about. No sylvan dellin Arcady could have been lovelier than the spot. Above the road, a bigspring poured a clear little stream over shining pebbles into the river;above it the bushes hung thick with autumn leaves, and above them stoodyellow beeches like pillars of pale fire. On both sides of the road satand squatted the honest voters, sour-looking, disgruntled--a distinctlyhostile crowd. The Blight and my little sister drew great and curiousattention as they sat on a bowlder above the spring while I went withthe Hon. Samuel Budd under the guidance of Uncle Tommie Hendricks, whointroduced him right and left. The Hon. Samuel was cheery, but he wasplainly nervous. There were two lanky youths whose names, oddly enough, were Budd. As they gave him their huge paws in lifeless fashion, theHon. Samuel slapped one on the shoulder, with the true democracy of thepolitician, and said jocosely:

"Well, we Budds may not be what you call great people, but, thank God, none of us have ever been in the penitentiary, " and he laughed loudly, thinking that he had scored a great and jolly point. The two young menlooked exceedingly grave and Uncle Tommie panic-stricken. He plucked theHon. Sam by the sleeve and led him aside:

"I reckon you made a leetle mistake thar. Them two fellers' daddy diedin the penitentiary last spring. " The Hon. Sam whistled mournfully, but he looked game enough when his opponent rose to speak--Uncle JoshBarton, who had short, thick, upright hair, little sharp eyes, and arasping voice. Uncle Josh wasted no time:

"Feller-citizens, " he shouted, "this man is a lawyer--he's a corporationlawyer"; the fearful name--pronounced "lie-yer"--rang through the crowdlike a trumpet, and like lightning the Hon. Sam was on his feet. 

"The man who says that is a liar, " he said calmly, "and I demand yourauthority for the statement. If you won't give it--I shall hold youpersonally responsible, sir. "

It was a strike home, and under the flashing eyes that staredunwaveringly, through the big goggles, Uncle Josh halted and stammeredand admitted that he might have been misinformed. 

"Then I advise you to be more careful, " cautioned the Hon. Samuelsharply. 

"Feller-citizens, " said Uncle Josh, "if he ain't a corporationlawyer--who is this man? Where did he come from? I have been born andraised among you. You all know me--do you know him? Whut's he a-doin'now? He's a fine-haired furriner, an' he's come down hyeh from thesettlemints to tell ye that you hain't got no man in yo' own deestrictthat's fittin' to represent ye in the legislatur'. Look at him--look athim! He's got FOUR eyes! Look at his hair--hit's PARTED IN THE MIDDLE!"There was a storm of laughter--Uncle Josh had made good--and if the Hon. Samuel could straightway have turned bald-headed and sightless, hewould have been a happy man. He looked sick with hopelessness, but UncleTommie Hendricks, his mentor, was vigorously whispering something inhis ear, and gradually his face cleared. Indeed, the Hon. Samuel wassmilingly confident when he rose. 

Like his rival, he stood in the open road, and the sun beat down on hisparted yellow hair, so that the eyes of all could see, and the laughterwas still running round. 

"Who is your Uncle Josh?" he asked with threatening mildness. "I knowI was not born here, but, my friends, I couldn't help that. And justas soon as I could get away from where I was born, I came here and, "he paused with lips parted and long finger outstretched, "and--I--came--because--I WANTED--to come--and NOT because I HAD TO. "

Now it seems that Uncle Josh, too, was not a native and that he had lefthome early in life for his State's good and for his own. Uncle Tommiehad whispered this, and the Hon. Samuel raised himself high on both toeswhile the expectant crowd, on the verge of a roar, waited--as did UncleJoshua, with a sickly smile. 

"Why did your Uncle Josh come among you? Because he was hoop-poled awayfrom home. " Then came the roar--and the Hon. Samuel had to quell it withuplifted hand. 

"And did your Uncle Joshua marry a mountain wife? No I He didn't thinkany of your mountain women were good enough for him, so he slips downinto the settlemints and STEALS one. And now, fellow-citizens, that isjust what I'm here for--I'm looking for a nice mountain girl, and I'mgoing to have her. " Again the Hon. Samuel had to still the roar, andthen he went on quietly to show how they must lose the Court-House siteif they did not send him to the legislature, and how, while they mightnot get it if they did send him, it was their only hope to send onlyhim. The crowd had grown somewhat hostile again, and it was after onetelling period, when the Hon. Samuel stopped to mop his brow, that agigantic mountaineer rose in the rear of the crowd:

"Talk on, stranger; you're talking sense. I'll trust ye. You've got bigears!"

Now the Hon. Samuel possessed a primordial talent that is rather rare inthese physically degenerate days. He said nothing, but stood quietly inthe middle of the road. The eyes of the crowd on either side of the roadbegan to bulge, the lips of all opened with wonder, and a simultaneousburst of laughter rose around the Hon. Samuel Budd. A dozen men sprangto their feet and rushed up to him--looking at those remarkable ears, asthey gravely wagged to and fro. That settled things, and as we left, the Hon. Sam was having things his own way, and on the edge of the crowdUncle Tommie Hendricks was shaking his head:

"I tell ye, boys, he ain't no jackass even if he can flop his ears. "

At the river we started upstream, and some impulse made me turn in mysaddle and look back. All the time I had had an eye open for the youngmountaineer whose interest in us seemed to be so keen. And now I saw, standing at the head of a gray horse, on the edge of the crowd, a tallfigure with his hands on his hips and looking after us. I couldn't besure, but it looked like the Wild Dog. 

IV. CLOSE QUARTERS

Two hours up the river we struck Buck. Buck was sitting on the fence bythe roadside, barefooted and hatless. 

"How-dye-do?" I said. 

"Purty well, " said Buck. 

"Any fish in this river?"

"Several, " said Buck. Now in mountain speech, "several" means simply "agood many. "

"Any minnows in these branches?"

"I seed several in the branch back o' our house. "

"How far away do you live?"

"Oh, 'bout one whoop an' a holler. " If he had spoken Greek the Blightcould not have been more puzzled. He meant he lived as far as a man'svoice would carry with one yell and a holla. 

"Will you help me catch some?" Buck nodded. 

"All right, " I said, turning my horse up to the fence. "Get on behind. "The horse shied his hind quarters away, and I pulled him back. 

"Now, you can get on, if you'll be quick. " Buck sat still. 

"Yes, " he said imperturbably; "but I ain't quick. " The two girls laughedaloud, and Buck looked surprised. 

Around a curving cornfield we went, and through a meadow which Buck saidwas a "nigh cut. " From the limb of a tree that we passed hung a pieceof wire with an iron ring swinging at its upturned end. A little fartherwas another tree and another ring, and farther on another and another. 

"For heaven's sake, Buck, what are these things?"

"Mart's a-gittin' ready fer a tourneyment. "

"A what?"

"That's whut Mart calls hit. He was over to the Gap last Fourth o' July, an' he says fellers over thar fix up like Kuklux and go a-chargin' onhosses and takin' off them rings with a ash-stick--'spear, ' Mart callshit. He come back an' he says he's a-goin' to win that ar tourneymentnext Fourth o' July. He's got the best hoss up this river, and onSundays him an' Dave Branham goes a-chargin' along here a-picking offthese rings jus' a-flyin'; an' Mart can do hit, I'm tellin' ye. Dave'smighty good hisself, but he ain't nowhar 'longside o' Mart. "

This was strange. I had told the Blight about our Fourth of July, andhow on the Virginia side the ancient custom of the tournament stillsurvived. It was on the last Fourth of July that she had meant to cometo the Gap. Truly civilization was spreading throughout the hills. 

"Who's Mart?"

"Mart's my brother, " said little Buck. 

"He was over to the Gap not long ago, an' he come back mad as hops--" Hestopped suddenly, and in such a way that I turned my head, knowing thatcaution had caught Buck. 

"What about?"

"Oh, nothin', " said Buck carelessly; "only he's been quar ever since. My sisters says he's got a gal over thar, an' he's a-pickin' off theserings more'n ever now. He's going to win or bust a belly-band. "

"Well, who's Dave Branham?"

Buck grinned. "You jes axe my sister Mollie. Thar she is. "

Before us was a white-framed house of logs in the porch of whichstood two stalwart, good-looking girls. Could we stay all night? Wecould--there was no hesitation--and straight in we rode. 

"Where's your father?" Both girls giggled, and one said, with frankunembarrassment:

"Pap's tight!" That did not look promising, but we had to stay justthe same. Buck helped me to unhitch the mules, helped me also to catchminnows, and in half an hour we started down the river to try fishingbefore dark came. Buck trotted along. 

"Have you got a wagon, Buck?"

"What fer?"

"To bring the fish back. " Buck was not to be caught napping. 

"We got that sled thar, but hit won't be big enough, " he said gravely. "An' our two-hoss wagon's out in the cornfield. We'll have to string thefish, leave 'em in the river and go fer 'em in the mornin'. "

"All right, Buck. " The Blight was greatly amused at Buck. 

Two hundred yards down the road stood his sisters over the figure of aman outstretched in the road. Unashamed, they smiled at us. The man inthe road was "pap"--tight--and they were trying to get him home. 

We cast into a dark pool farther down and fished most patiently; not abite--not a nibble. 

"Are there any fish in here, Buck?"

"Dunno--used ter be. " The shadows deepened; we must go back to thehouse. 

"Is there a dam below here, Buck?"

"Yes, thar's a dam about a half-mile down the river. "

I was disgusted. No wonder there were no bass in that pool. 

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"You never axed me, " said Buck placidly. 

I began winding in my line. 

"Ain't no bottom to that pool, " said Buck. 

Now I never saw any rural community where there was not a bottomlesspool, and I suddenly determined to shake one tradition in at least onecommunity. So I took an extra fish-line, tied a stone to it, and climbedinto a canoe, Buck watching me, but not asking a word. 

"Get in, Buck. "

Silently he got in and I pushed off--to the centre. 

"This the deepest part, Buck?"

"I reckon so. "

I dropped in the stone and the line reeled out some fifty feet and beganto coil on the surface of the water. 

"I guess that's on the bottom, isn't it, Buck?"

Buck looked genuinely distressed; but presently he brightened. 

"Yes, " he said, "ef hit ain't on a turtle's back. "

Literally I threw up both hands and back we trailed--fishless. 

"Reckon you won't need that two-hoss wagon, " said Buck. "No, Buck, Ithink not. " Buck looked at the Blight and gave himself the pleasure ofhis first chuckle. A big crackling, cheerful fire awaited us. Throughthe door I could see, outstretched on a bed in the next room, the limpfigure of "pap" in alcoholic sleep. The old mother, big, kind-faced, explained--and there was a heaven of kindness and charity in herdrawling voice. 

"Dad didn' often git that a-way, " she said; "but he'd been out a-huntin'hawgs that mornin' and had met up with some teamsters and gone to apolitical speakin' and had tuk a dram or two of their mean whiskey, andnot havin' nothin' on his stummick, hit had all gone to his head. No, 'pap' didn't git that a-way often, and he'd be all right jes' as soon ashe slept it off a while. " The old woman moved about with a cane and thesympathetic Blight merely looked a question at her. 

"Yes, she'd fell down a year ago--and had sort o' hurt herself--didn'tdo nothin', though, 'cept break one hip, " she added, in her kind, patient old voice. Did many people stop there? Oh, yes, sometimesfifteen at a time--they "never turned nobody away. " And she had a bigfamily, little Cindy and the two big girls and Buck and Mart--who wasout somewhere--and the hired man, and yes--"Thar was another boy, but hewas fitified, " said one of the big sisters. 

"I beg your pardon, " said the wondering Blight, but she knew that phrasewouldn't do, so she added politely:

"What did you say?"

"Fitified--Tom has fits. He's in a asylum in the settlements. "

"Tom come back once an' he was all right, " said the old mother; "but heworried so much over them gals workin' so hard that it plum' throwed himoff ag'in, and we had to send him back. "

"Do you work pretty hard?" I asked presently. Then a story came thatwas full of unconscious pathos, because there was no hint ofcomplaint--simply a plain statement of daily life. They got up beforethe men, in order to get breakfast ready; then they went with the meninto the fields--those two girls--and worked like men. At dark theygot supper ready, and after the men went to bed they worked on--washingdishes and clearing up the kitchen. They took it turn about gettingsupper, and sometimes, one said, she was "so plumb tuckered out thatshe'd drap on the bed and go to sleep ruther than eat her own supper. "No wonder poor Tom had to go back to the asylum. All the while thetwo girls stood by the fire looking, politely but minutely, at the twostrange girls and their curious clothes and their boots, and the waythey dressed their hair. Their hard life seemed to have hurt themnone--for both were the pictures of health--whatever that phrase means. 

After supper "pap" came in, perfectly sober, with a big ruddy face, giant frame, and twinkling gray eyes. He was the man who had risen tospeak his faith in the Hon. Samuel Budd that day on the size of the Hon. Samuel's ears. He, too, was unashamed and, as he explained his plightagain, he did it with little apology. 

"I seed ye at the speakin' to-day. That man Budd is a good man. He donesomethin' fer a boy o' mine over at the Gap. " Like little Buck, he, too, stopped short. "He's a good man an' I'm a-goin' to help him. "

Yes, he repeated, quite irrelevantly, it was hunting hogs all day withnothing to eat and only mean whiskey to drink. Mart had not come inyet--he was "workin' out" now. 

"He's the best worker in these mountains, " said the old woman; "Martworks too hard. "

The hired man appeared and joined us at the fire. Bedtime came, and Iwhispered jokingly to the Blight:

"I believe I'll ask that good-looking one to 'set up' with me. " "Settin'up" is what courting is called in the hills. The couple sit up in frontof the fire after everybody else has gone to bed. The man puts his armaround the girl's neck and whispers; then she puts her arm around hisneck and whispers--so that the rest may not hear. This I had related tothe Blight, and now she withered me. 

"You just do, now!"

I turned to the girl in question, whose name was Mollie. "Buck told meto ask you who Dave Branham was. " Mollie wheeled, blushing and angry, but Buck had darted cackling out the door. "Oh, " I said, and I changedthe subject. "What time do you get up?"

"Oh, 'bout crack o' day. " I was tired, and that was discouraging. 

"Do you get up that early every morning?"

"No, " was the quick answer; "a mornin' later. "

A morning later, Mollie got up, each morning. The Blight laughed. 

Pretty soon the two girls were taken into the next room, which was along one, with one bed in one dark corner, one in the other, and a thirdbed in the middle. The feminine members of the family all followed themout on the porch and watched them brush their teeth, for they had neverseen tooth-brushes before. They watched them prepare for bed--and Icould hear much giggling and comment and many questions, all of whichculminated, by and by, in a chorus of shrieking laughter. That climax, as I learned next morning, was over the Blight's hot-water bag. Neverhad their eyes rested on an article of more wonder and humor than thatwater bag. 

By and by, the feminine members came back and we sat around the fire. Still Mart did not appear, though somebody stepped into the kitchen, andfrom the warning glance that Mollie gave Buck when she left the room Iguessed that the newcomer was her lover Dave. Pretty soon the old manyawned. 

"Well, mammy, I reckon this stranger's about ready to lay down, ifyou've got a place fer him. "

"Git a light, Buck, " said the old woman. Buck got a light--achimneyless, smoking oil-lamp--and led me into the same room where theBlight and my little sister were. Their heads were covered up, butthe bed in the gloom of one corner was shaking with their smotheredlaughter. Buck pointed to the middle bed. 

"I can get along without that light, Buck, " I said, and I must havebeen rather haughty and abrupt, for a stifled shriek came from under thebedclothes in the corner and Buck disappeared swiftly. Preparations forbed are simple in the mountains--they were primitively simple for methat night. Being in knickerbockers, I merely took off my coat andshoes. Presently somebody else stepped into the room and the bed in theother corner creaked. Silence for a while. Then the door opened, and thehead of the old woman was thrust in. 

"Mart!" she said coaxingly; "git up thar now an' climb over inter bedwith that ar stranger. "

That was Mart at last, over in the corner. Mart turned, grumbled, and, to my great pleasure, swore that he wouldn't. The old woman waited amoment. 

"Mart, " she said again with gentle imperiousness, "git up thar now, Itell ye--you've got to sleep with that thar stranger. "

She closed the door and with a snort Mart piled into bed with me. Igave him plenty of room and did not introduce myself. A little more darksilence--the shaking of the bed under the hilarity of those astonished, bethrilled, but thoroughly unfrightened young women in the dark corneron my left ceased, and again the door opened. This time it was the hiredman, and I saw that the trouble was either that neither Mart nor Buckwanted to sleep with the hired man or that neither wanted to sleepwith me. A long silence and then the boy Buck slipped in. The hired mandelivered himself with the intonation somewhat of a circuit rider. 

"I've been a-watchin' that star thar, through the winder. Sometimes hitmoves, then hit stands plum' still, an' ag'in hit gits to pitchin'. " Thehired man must have been touching up mean whiskey himself. Meanwhile, Mart seemed to be having spells of troubled slumber. He would snoregently, accentuate said snore with a sudden quiver of his body and thenwake up with a climacteric snort and start that would shake the bed. This was repeated several times, and I began to think of the unfortunateTom who was "fitified. " Mart seemed on the verge of a fit himself, andI waited apprehensively for each snorting climax to see if fits were afamily failing. They were not. Peace overcame Mart and he slept deeply, but not I. The hired man began to show symptoms. He would roll andgroan, dreaming of feuds, _quorum pars magna fuit_, it seemed, and ofreligious conversion, in which he feared he was not so great. Twice hesaid aloud:

"An' I tell you thar wouldn't a one of 'em have said a word if I'd beenkilled stone-dead. " Twice he said it almost weepingly, and now and thenhe would groan appealingly:

"O Lawd, have mercy on my pore soul!"

Fortunately those two tired girls slept--I could hear theirbreathing--but sleep there was little for me. Once the troubled soulwith the hoe got up and stumbled out to the water-bucket on the porch tosoothe the fever or whatever it was that was burning him, and after thathe was quiet. I awoke before day. The dim light at the window showed anempty bed--Buck and the hired man were gone. Mart was slipping out ofthe side of my bed, but the girls still slept on. I watched Mart, forI guessed I might now see what, perhaps, is the distinguishing trait ofAmerican civilization down to its bed-rock, as you find it through theWest and in the Southern hills--a chivalrous respect for women. Martthought I was asleep. Over in the corner were two creatures the like ofwhich I supposed he had never seen and would not see, since he came intoo late the night before, and was going away too early now--and twoangels straight from heaven could not have stirred my curiosity any morethan they already must have stirred his. But not once did Mart turn hiseyes, much less his face, toward the corner where they were--not once, for I watched him closely. And when he went out he sent his littlesister back for his shoes, which the night-walking hired man hadaccidentally kicked toward the foot of the strangers' bed. In a minute Iwas out after him, but he was gone. Behind me the two girls opened theireyes on a room that was empty save for them. Then the Blight spoke (thisI was told later). 

"Dear, " she said, "have our room-mates gone?"

Breakfast at dawn. The mountain girls were ready to go to work. Alllooked sorry to have us leave. They asked us to come back again, andthey meant it. We said we would like to come back--and we meant it--tosee them--the kind old mother, the pioneer-like old man, sturdy littleBuck, shy little Cindy, the elusive, hard-working, unconsciously shiveryMart, and the two big sisters. As we started back up the river thesisters started for the fields, and I thought of their stricken brotherin the settlements, who must have been much like Mart. 

Back up the Big Black Mountain we toiled, and late in the afternoon wewere on the State line that runs the crest of the Big Black. Right ontop and bisected by that State line sat a dingy little shack, and there, with one leg thrown over the pommel of his saddle, sat Marston, drinkingwater from a gourd. 

"I was coming over to meet you, " he said, smiling at the Blight, who, greatly pleased, smiled back at him. The shack was a "blind Tiger"where whiskey could be sold to Kentuckians on the Virginia side andto Virginians on the Kentucky side. Hanging around were the slouchingfigures of several moonshiners and the villainous fellow who ran it. 

"They are real ones all right, " said Marston. "One of them killed arevenue officer at that front door last week, and was killed by theposse as he was trying to escape out of the back window. That house willbe in ashes soon, " he added. And it was. 

As we rode down the mountain we told him about our trip and the peoplewith whom we had spent the night--and all the time he was smilingcuriously. 

"Buck, " he said. "Oh, yes, I know that little chap. Mart had him posteddown there on the river to toll you to his house--to toll YOU, " he addedto the Blight. He pulled in his horse suddenly, turned and looked uptoward the top of the mountain. 

"Ah, I thought so. " We all looked back. On the edge of the cliff, farupward, on which the "blind Tiger" sat was a gray horse, and on it was aman who, motionless, was looking down at us. 

"He's been following you all the way, " said the engineer. 

"Who's been following us?" I asked. 

"That's Mart up there--my friend and yours, " said Marston to theBlight. "I'm rather glad I didn't meet you on the other side of themountain--that's 'the Wild Dog. '" The Blight looked incredulous, butMarston knew the man and knew the horse. 

So Mart--hard-working Mart--was the Wild Dog, and he was content todo the Blight all service without thanks, merely for the privilege ofsecretly seeing her face now and then; and yet he would not look uponthat face when she was a guest under his roof and asleep. 

Still, when we dropped behind the two girls I gave Marston the Hon. Sam's warning, and for a moment he looked rather grave. 

"Well, " he said, smiling, "if I'm found in the road some day, you'llknow who did it. "

I shook my head. "Oh, no; he isn't that bad. "

"I don't know, " said Marston. 

The smoke of the young engineer's coke ovens lay far below us and theBlight had never seen a coke-plant before. It looked like Hades evenin the early dusk--the snake-like coil of fiery ovens stretching up thelong, deep ravine, and the smoke-streaked clouds of fire, trailing likea yellow mist over them, with a fierce white blast shooting up hereand there when the lid of an oven was raised, as though to add freshtemperature to some particular male-factor in some particular chamberof torment. Humanity about was joyous, however. Laughter and banterand song came from the cabins that lined the big ravine and the littleravines opening into it. A banjo tinkled at the entrance of "PossumTrot, " sacred to the darkies. We moved toward it. On the stoop sat anecstatic picker and in the dust shuffled three pickaninnies--one boy andtwo girls--the youngest not five years old. The crowd that was gatheredabout them gave way respectfully as we drew near; the little darkiesshowed their white teeth in jolly grins, and their feet shook the dustin happy competition. I showered a few coins for the Blight and on wewent--into the mouth of the many-peaked Gap. The night train was comingin and everybody had a smile of welcome for the Blight--post-officeassistant, drug clerk, soda-water boy, telegraph operator, hostler, who came for the mules--and when tired, but happy, she slipped fromher saddle to the ground, she then and there gave me what she usuallyreserves for Christmas morning, and that, too, while Marston was lookingon. Over her shoulder I smiled at him. 

That night Marston and the Blight sat under the vines on the porchuntil the late moon rose over Wallens Ridge, and, when bedtime came, theBlight said impatiently that she did not want to go home. She had to go, however, next day, but on the next Fourth of July she would surely comeagain; and, as the young engineer mounted his horse and set his facetoward Black Mountain, I knew that until that day, for him, a blightwould still be in the hills. 

V. BACK TO THE HILLS

Winter drew a gray veil over the mountains, wove into it tiny jewels offrost and turned it many times into a mask of snow, before spring brokeagain among them and in Marston's impatient heart. No spring had everbeen like that to him. The coming of young leaves and flowers andbird-song meant but one joy for the hills to him--the Blight was comingback to them. All those weary waiting months he had clung grimly to hiswork. He must have heard from her sometimes, else I think he would havegone to her; but I knew the Blight's pen was reluctant and casual foranybody, and, moreover, she was having a strenuous winter at home. Thathe knew as well, for he took one paper, at least, that he might simplyread her name. He saw accounts of her many social doings as well, andate his heart out as lovers have done for all time gone and will do forall time to come. 

I, too, was away all winter, but I got back a month before the Blight, to learn much of interest that had come about. The Hon. Samuel Budd hadear-wagged himself into the legislature, had moved that Court-House, andwas going to be State Senator. The Wild Dog had confined his recklesscareer to his own hills through the winter, but when spring came, migratory-like, he began to take frequent wing to the Gap. So far, heand Marston had never come into personal conflict, though Marston keptever ready for him, and several times they had met in the road, eyedeach other in passing and made no hipward gesture at all. But thenMarston had never met him when the Wild Dog was drunk--and when sober, Itook it that the one act of kindness from the engineer always stayed hishand. But the Police Guard at the Gap saw him quite often--and to it hewas a fearful and elusive nuisance. He seemed to be staying somewherewithin a radius of ten miles, for every night or two he would circleabout the town, yelling and firing his pistol, and when we chased him, escaping through the Gap or up the valley or down in Lee. Many planswere laid to catch him, but all failed, and finally he came in one dayand gave himself up and paid his fines. Afterward I recalled thatthe time of this gracious surrender to law and order was but littlesubsequent to one morning when a woman who brought butter and eggs to mylittle sister casually asked when that "purty slim little gal with thesnappin' black eyes was a-comin' back. " And the little sister, pleasedwith the remembrance, had said cordially that she was coming soon. 

Thereafter the Wild Dog was in town every day, and he behaved well untilone Saturday he got drunk again, and this time, by a peculiar chance, itwas Marston again who leaped on him, wrenched his pistol away, and puthim in the calaboose. Again he paid his fine, promptly visited a "blindTiger, " came back to town, emptied another pistol at Marston on sightand fled for the hills. 

The enraged guard chased him for two days and from that day the Wild Dogwas a marked man. The Guard wanted many men, but if they could have hadtheir choice they would have picked out of the world of malefactors thatsame Wild Dog. 

Why all this should have thrown the Hon. Samuel Budd into such gloomI could not understand--except that the Wild Dog had been so loyal ahenchman to him in politics, but later I learned a better reason, thatthreatened to cost the Hon. Sam much more than the fines that, as Ilater learned, he had been paying for his mountain friend. 

Meanwhile, the Blight was coming from her Northern home through thegreen lowlands of Jersey, the fat pastures of Maryland, and, as thewhite dresses of schoolgirls and the shining faces of darkies thickenedat the stations, she knew that she was getting southward. All the wayshe was known and welcomed, and next morning she awoke with the keen airof the distant mountains in her nostrils and an expectant light in herhappy eyes. At least the light was there when she stepped daintily fromthe dusty train and it leaped a little, I fancied, when Marston, bronzedand flushed, held out his sunburnt hand. Like a convent girl she babbledquestions to the little sister as the dummy puffed along and she bubbledlike wine over the midsummer glory of the hills. And well she might, forthe glory of the mountains, full-leafed, shrouded in evening shadows, blue-veiled in the distance, was unspeakable, and through the Gap thesun was sending his last rays as though he, too, meant to take a peep ather before he started around the world to welcome her next day. And shemust know everything at once. The anniversary of the Great Day on whichall men were pronounced free and equal was only ten days distant andpreparations were going on. There would be a big crowd of mountaineersand there would be sports of all kinds, and games, but the tournamentwas to be the feature of the day. 

"A tournament?" "Yes, a tournament, " repeated the little sister, and Marston was going to ride and the mean thing would not tell whatmediaeval name he meant to take. And the Hon. Sam Budd--did the Blightremember him? (Indeed, she did)--had a "dark horse, " and he had betheavily that his dark horse would win the tournament--whereat the littlesister looked at Marston and at the Blight and smiled disdainfully. Andthe Wild Dog--DID she remember him? I checked the sister here with aglance, for Marston looked uncomfortable and the Blight saw me do it, and on the point of saying something she checked herself, and her face, I thought, paled a little. 

That night I learned why--when she came in from the porch after Marstonwas gone. I saw she had wormed enough of the story out of him to worryher, for her face this time was distinctly pale. I would tell her nomore than she knew, however, and then she said she was sure she had seenthe Wild Dog herself that afternoon, sitting on his horse in the bushesnear a station in Wildcat Valley. She was sure that he saw her, and hisface had frightened her. I knew her fright was for Marston and not forherself, so I laughed at her fears. She was mistaken--Wild Dog was anoutlaw now and he would not dare appear at the Gap, and there was nochance that he could harm her or Marston. And yet I was uneasy. 

It must have been a happy ten days for those two young people. Everyafternoon Marston would come in from the mines and they would go offhorseback together, over ground that I well knew--for I had been allover it myself--up through the gray-peaked rhododendron-bordered Gapwith the swirling water below them and the gray rock high above whereanother such foolish lover lost his life, climbing to get a flower forhis sweetheart, or down the winding dirt road into Lee, or up throughthe beech woods behind Imboden Hill, or climbing the spur of Morris'sFarm to watch the sunset over the majestic Big Black Mountains, wherethe Wild Dog lived, and back through the fragrant, cool, moonlit woods. He was doing his best, Marston was, and he was having trouble--as everyman should. And that trouble I knew even better than he, for I had onceknown a Southern girl who was so tender of heart that she could refuseno man who really loved her she accepted him and sent him to her father, who did all of her refusing for her. And I knew no man would know thathe had won the Blight until he had her at the altar and the priestlyhand of benediction was above her head. 

Of such kind was the Blight. Every night when they came in I could readthe story of the day, always in his face and sometimes in hers; andit was a series of ups and downs that must have wrung the boy's heartbloodless. Still I was in good hope for him, until the crisis cameon the night before the Fourth. The quarrel was as plain as thoughtypewritten on the face of each. Marston would not come in that nightand the Blight went dinnerless to bed and cried herself to sleep. Shetold the little sister that she had seen the Wild Dog again peeringthrough the bushes, and that she was frightened. That was herexplanation--but I guessed a better one. 

VI. THE GREAT DAY

It was a day to make glad the heart of slave or freeman. The earth wascool from a night-long rain, and a gentle breeze fanned coolnessfrom the north all day long. The clouds were snow-white, tumbling, ever-moving, and between them the sky showed blue and deep. Grass, leaf, weed and flower were in the richness that comes to the green things ofthe earth just before that full tide of summer whose foam is driftingthistle down. The air was clear and the mountains seemed to have brushedthe haze from their faces and drawn nearer that they, too, might bettersee the doings of that day. 

From the four winds of heaven, that morning, came the brave and thefree. Up from Lee, down from Little Stone Gap, and from over in Scott, came the valley-farmers--horseback, in buggies, hacks, two-horse wagons, with wives, mothers, sisters, sweethearts, in white dresses, floweredhats, and many ribbons, and with dinner-baskets stuffed with good thingsto eat--old ham, young chicken, angel-cake and blackberry wine--to bespread in the sunless shade of great poplar and oak. From Bum Hollow andWildcat Valley and from up the slopes that lead to Cracker's Neck camesmaller tillers of the soil--as yet but faintly marked by the gewgawtrappings of the outer world; while from beyond High Knob, whose crownis in cloud-land, and through the Gap, came the mountaineer in theprimitive simplicity of home spun and cowhide, wide-brimmed hat andpoke-bonnet, quaint speech, and slouching gait. Through the Gap he camein two streams--the Virginians from Crab Orchard and Wise and Dickinson, the Kentuckians from Letcher and feudal Harlan, beyond the BigBlack--and not a man carried a weapon in sight, for the stern spirit ofthat Police Guard at the Gap was respected wide and far. Into the town, which sits on a plateau some twenty feet above the level of the tworivers that all but encircle it, they poured, hitching their horses inthe strip of woods that runs through the heart of the place, and broadens into a primeval park that, fan-like, opens on the oval level fieldwhere all things happen on the Fourth of July. About the street theyloitered--lovers hand in hand--eating fruit and candy and drinkingsoda-water, or sat on the curb-stone, mothers with babies at theirbreasts and toddling children clinging close--all waiting for thecelebration to begin. 

It was a great day for the Hon. Samuel Budd. With a cheery smile andbeaming goggles, he moved among his constituents, joking with yokels, saying nice things to mothers, paying gallantries to girls, and chuckingbabies under the chin. He felt popular and he was--so popular that hehad begun to see himself with prophetic eye in a congressional seat atno distant day; and yet, withal, he was not wholly happy. 

"Do you know, " he said, "them fellers I made bets with in the tournamentgot together this morning and decided, all of 'em, that they wouldn'tlet me off? Jerusalem, it's most five hundred dollars!" And, lookingthe picture of dismay, he told me his dilemma. It seems that his "darkhorse" was none other than the Wild Dog, who had been practising at homefor this tournament for nearly a year; and now that the Wild Dog was anoutlaw, he, of course, wouldn't and couldn't come to the Gap. And saidthe Hon. Sam Budd:

"Them fellers says I bet I'd BRING IN a dark horse who would win thistournament, and if I don't BRING him in, I lose just the same as thoughI had brought him in and he hadn't won. An' I reckon they've got me. "

"I guess they have. "

"It would have been like pickin' money off a blackberry-bush, for I wasgoin' to let the Wild Dog have that black horse o' mine--the steadiestand fastest runner in this country--and my, how that fellow can pick offthe rings! He's been a-practising for a year, and I believe he could runthe point o' that spear of his through a lady's finger-ring. "

"You'd better get somebody else. "

"Ah--that's it. The Wild Dog sent word he'd send over another feller, named Dave Branham, who has been practising with him, who's just asgood, he says, as he is. I'm looking for him at twelve o'clock, an' I'mgoin' to take him down an' see what he can do on that black horse o'mine. But if he's no good, I lose five hundred, all right, " and hesloped away to his duties. For it was the Hon. Sam who was masterof ceremonies that day. He was due now to read the Declaration ofIndependence in a poplar grove to all who would listen; he was to act asumpire at the championship base-ball game in the afternoon, and he wasto give the "Charge" to the assembled knights before the tournament. 

At ten o'clock the games began--and I took the Blight and the littlesister down to the "grandstand"--several tiers of backless benches withleaves for a canopy and the river singing through rhododendrons behind. There was jumping broad and high, and a 100-yard dash and hurdling andthrowing the hammer, which the Blight said were not interesting--theywere too much like college sports--and she wanted to see the base-ballgame and the tournament. And yet Marston was in them all--dogged andresistless--his teeth set and his eyes anywhere but lifted toward theBlight, who secretly proud, as I believed, but openly defiant, mentionednot his name even when he lost, which was twice only. 

"Pretty good, isn't he?" I said. 

"Who?" she said indifferently. 

"Oh, nobody, " I said, turning to smile, but not turning quickly enough. 

"What's the matter with you?" asked the Blight sharply. 

"Nothing, nothing at all, " I said, and straightway the Blight thoughtshe wanted to go home. The thunder of the Declaration was still rumblingin the poplar grove. 

"That's the Hon. Sam Budd, " I said. 

"Don't you want to hear him?"

"I don't care who it is and I don't want to hear him and I think you arehateful. "

Ah, dear me, it was more serious than I thought. There weretears in her eyes, and I led the Blight and the little sisterhome--conscience-stricken and humbled. Still I would find that youngjackanapes of an engineer and let him know that anybody who made theBlight unhappy must deal with me. I would take him by the neck and poundsome sense into him. I found him lofty, uncommunicative, perfectly aliento any consciousness that I could have any knowledge of what was goingor any right to poke my nose into anybody's business--and I did nothingexcept go back to lunch--to find the Blight upstairs and the littlesister indignant with me. 

"You just let them alone, " she said severely. 

"Let who alone?" I said, lapsing into the speech of childhood. 

"You--just--let--them--alone, " she repeated. 

"I've already made up my mind to that. "

"Well, then!" she said, with an air of satisfaction, but why I don'tknow. 

I went back to the poplar grove. The Declaration was over and the crowdwas gone, but there was the Hon. Samuel Budd, mopping his brow withone hand, slapping his thigh with the other, and all but executing apigeon-wing on the turf. He turned goggles on me that literally shonetriumph. 

"He's come--Dave Branham's come!" he said. "He's better than the WildDog. I've been trying him on the black horse and, Lord, how he can takethem rings off! Ha, won't I get into them fellows who wouldn't let meoff this morning! Oh, yes, I agreed to bring in a dark horse, and I'llbring him in all right. That five hundred is in my clothes now. You seethat point yonder? Well, there's a hollow there and bushes all around. That's where I'm going to dress him. I've got his clothes all right anda name for him. This thing is a-goin' to come off accordin' to Hoyle, Ivanhoe, Four-Quarters-of-Beef, and all them mediaeval fellows. Justwatch me!"

I began to get newly interested, for that knight's name I suddenlyrecalled. Little Buck, the Wild Dog's brother, had mentioned him, whenwe were over in the Kentucky hills, as practising with the Wild Dog--asbeing "mighty good, but nowhar 'longside o' Mart. " So the Hon. Sam mighthave a good substitute, after all, and being a devoted disciple of SirWalter, I knew his knight would rival, in splendor, at least, any thatrode with King Arthur in days of old. 

The Blight was very quiet at lunch, as was the little sister, and myeffort to be jocose was a lamentable failure. So I gave news. 

"The Hon. Sam has a substitute. " No curiosity and no question. 

"Who--did you say? Why, Dave Branham, a friend of the Wild Dog. Don'tyou remember Buck telling us about him?" No answer. "Well, I do--and, by the way, I saw Buck and one of the big sisters just a while ago. Hername is Mollie. Dave Branham, you will recall, is her sweetheart. Theother big sister had to stay at home with her mother and little Cindy, who's sick. Of course, I didn't ask them about Mart--the Wild Dog. Theyknew I knew and they wouldn't have liked it. The Wild Dog's around, Iunderstand, but he won't dare show his face. Every policeman in town ison the lookout for him. " I thought the Blight's face showed a signal ofrelief. 

"I'm going to play short-stop, " I added. 

"Oh!" said the Blight, with a smile, but the little sister said withsome scorn:

"You!"

"I'll show you, " I said, and I told the Blight about base-ball at theGap. We had introduced base-ball into the region and the valley boysand mountain boys, being swift runners, throwing like a rifle shot fromconstant practice with stones, and being hard as nails, caught the gamequickly and with great ease. We beat them all the time at first, but nowthey were beginning to beat us. We had a league now, and this was thechampionship game for the pennant. 

"It was right funny the first time we beat a native team. Of course, wegot together and cheered 'em. They thought we were cheering ourselves, so they got red in the face, rushed together and whooped it up forthemselves for about half an hour. "

The Blight almost laughed. 

"We used to have to carry our guns around with us at first when we wentto other places, and we came near having several fights. "

"Oh!" said the Blight excitedly. "Do you think there might be a fightthis afternoon?"

"Don't know, " I said, shaking my head. "It's pretty hard for eighteenpeople to fight when nine of them are policemen and there are forty morearound. Still the crowd might take a hand. "

This, I saw, quite thrilled the Blight and she was in good spirits whenwe started out. 

"Marston doesn't pitch this afternoon, " I said to the little sister. "Heplays first base. He's saving himself for the tournament. He's done toomuch already. " The Blight merely turned her head while I was speaking. "And the Hon. Sam will not act as umpire. He wants to save hisvoice--and his head. "

The seats in the "grandstand" were in the sun now, so I left thegirls in a deserted band-stand that stood on stilts under trees on thesouthern side of the field, and on a line midway between third base andthe position of short-stop. Now there is no enthusiasm in any sport thatequals the excitement aroused by a rural base-ball game and I neversaw the enthusiasm of that game outdone except by the excitement of thetournament that followed that afternoon. The game was close andMarston and I assuredly were stars--Marston one of the first magnitude. "Goose-egg" on one side matched "goose-egg" on the other until the endof the fifth inning, when the engineer knocked a home-run. Spectatorsthrew their hats into the trees, yelled themselves hoarse, and I sawseveral old mountaineers who understood no more of base-ball than of thelost _digamma_ in Greek going wild with the general contagion. Duringthese innings I had "assisted" in two doubles and had fired in three"daisy cutters" to first myself in spite of the guying I got from theopposing rooters. 

"Four-eyes" they called me on account of my spectacles until a newnickname came at the last half of the ninth inning, when we were inthe field with the score four to three in our favor. It was then thata small, fat boy with a paper megaphone longer than he was waddled outalmost to first base and levelling his trumpet at me, thundered out in asudden silence:

"Hello, Foxy Grandpa!" That was too much. I got rattled, and when therewere three men on bases and two out, a swift grounder came to me, Ifell--catching it--and threw wildly to first from my knees. I heardshouts of horror, anger, and distress from everywhere and my own heartstopped beating--I had lost the game--and then Marston leaped in theair--surely it must have been four feet--caught the ball with his lefthand and dropped back on the bag. The sound of his foot on it and therunner's was almost simultaneous, but the umpire said Marston's wasthere first. Then bedlam! One of my brothers was umpire and the captainof the other team walked threateningly out toward him, followed by twoof his men with base-ball bats. As I started off myself towards them Isaw, with the corner of my eye, another brother of mine start in a runfrom the left field, and I wondered why a third, who was scoring, satperfectly still in his chair, particularly as a well-known, red-headedtough from one of the mines who had been officiously antagonistic rantoward the pitcher's box directly in front of him. Instantly a dozen ofthe guard sprang toward it, some man pulled his pistol, a billy crackedstraightway on his head, and in a few minutes order was restored. Andstill the brother scoring hadn't moved from his chair, and I spoke tohim hotly. 

"Keep your shirt on, " he said easily, lifting his score-card with hisleft hand and showing his right clinched about his pistol under it. 

"I was just waiting for that red-head to make a move. I guess I'd havegot him first. "

I walked back to the Blight and the little sister and both of themlooked very serious and frightened. 

"I don't think I want to see a real fight, after all, " said the Blight. "Not this afternoon. "

It was a little singular and prophetic, but just as the words left herlips one of the Police Guard handed me a piece of paper. 

"Somebody in the crowd must have dropped it in my pocket, " he said. Onthe paper were scrawled these words:

"_Look out for the Wild Dog!_"

I sent the paper to Marston. 

VII. AT LAST--THE TOURNAMENT

At last--the tournament! Ever afterward the Hon. Samuel Budd called it"The Gentle and Joyous Passage of Arms--not of Ashby--but of the Gap, by-suh!" The Hon. Samuel had arranged it as nearly after Sir Walter aspossible. And a sudden leap it was from the most modern of games to agame most ancient. 

No knights of old ever jousted on a lovelier field than the green littlevalley toward which the Hon. Sam waved one big hand. It was level, shorn of weeds, elliptical in shape, and bound in by trees that ran ina semicircle around the bank of the river, shut in the southern border, and ran back to the northern extremity in a primeval little forest thatwood-thrushes, even then, were making musical--all of it shut in bya wall of living green, save for one narrow space through which theknights were to enter. In front waved Wallens' leafy ridge and behindrose the Cumberland Range shouldering itself spur by spur, into thecoming sunset and crashing eastward into the mighty bulk of Powell'sMountain, which loomed southward from the head of the valley--allnodding sunny plumes of chestnut. 

The Hon. Sam had seen us coming from afar apparently, had come forwardto meet us, and he was in high spirits. 

"I am Prince John and Waldemar and all the rest of 'em this day, " hesaid, "and 'it is thus, '" quoting Sir Walter, "that we set the dutifulexample of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are ourselvesher guide to the throne which she must this day occupy. " And so saying, the Hon. Sam marshalled the Blight to a seat of honor next his own. 

"And how do you know she is going to be the Queen of Love and Beauty?"asked the little sister. The Hon. Sam winked at me. 

"Well, this tournament lies between two gallant knights. One will makeher the Queen of his own accord, if he wins, and if the other wins, he'sgot to, or I'll break his head. I've given orders. " And the Hon. Samlooked about right and left on the people who were his that day. 

"Observe the nobles and ladies, " he said, still following Sir Walter, and waving at the towns-people and visitors in the rude grandstand. "Observe the yeomanry and spectators of a better degree than the merevulgar"--waving at the crowd on either side of the stand--"and thepromiscuous multitude down the river banks and over the woods andclinging to the tree-tops and to yon telegraph-pole. And there is myherald"--pointing to the cornetist of the local band--"and wait--by myhalidom--please just wait until you see my knight on that black chargero' mine. "

The Blight and the little sister were convulsed and the Hon. Sam wenton:

"Look at my men-at-arms"--the volunteer policemen with bulginghip-pockets, dangling billies and gleaming shields of office--"and at myrefreshment tents behind"--where peanuts and pink lemonade were keepingthe multitude busy--"and my attendants"--colored gentlemen with spongesand water-buckets--"the armorers and farriers haven't come yet. But myknight--I got his clothes in New York--just wait--Love of Ladies andGlory to the Brave!" Just then there was a commotion on the free seatson one side of the grandstand. A darky starting, in all ignorance, tomount them was stopped and jostled none too good-naturedly back to theground. 

"And see, " mused the Hon. Sam, "in lieu of the dog of an unbeliever wehave a dark analogy in that son of Ham. "

The little sister plucked me by the sleeve and pointed toward theentrance. Outside and leaning on the fence were Mollie, the big sister, and little Buck. Straightway I got up and started for them. They hungback, but I persuaded them to come, and I led them to seats two tiersbelow the Blight--who, with my little sister, rose smiling to greetthem and shake hands--much to the wonder of the nobles and ladies closeabout, for Mollie was in brave and dazzling array, blushing fiercely, and little Buck looked as though he would die of such conspicuousness. No embarrassing questions were asked about Mart or Dave Branham, but Inoticed that Mollie had purple and crimson ribbons clinched in one brownhand. The purpose of them was plain, and I whispered to the Blight:

"She's going to pin them on Dave's lance. " The Hon. Sam heard me. 

"Not on your life, " he said emphatically. "I ain't takin' chances, " andhe nodded toward the Blight. "She's got to win, no matter who loses. " Herose to his feet suddenly. 

"Glory to the Brave--they're comin'! Toot that horn, son, " he said;"they're comin', " and the band burst into discordant sounds that wouldhave made the "wild barbaric music" on the field of Ashby sound like alullaby. The Blight stifled her laughter over that amazing music withher handkerchief, and even the Hon. Sam scowled. 

"Gee!" he said; "it is pretty bad, isn't it?"

"Here they come!"

The nobles and ladies on the grandstand, the yeomanry and spectators ofbetter degree, and the promiscuous multitude began to sway expectantlyand over the hill came the knights, single file, gorgeous in velvets andin caps, with waving plumes and with polished spears, vertical, restingon the right stirrup foot and gleaming in the sun. 

"A goodly array!" murmured the Hon. Sam. 

A crowd of small boys gathered at the fence below, and I observed theHon. Sam's pockets bulging with peanuts. 

"Largesse!" I suggested. 

"Good!" he said, and rising he shouted:

"Largessy! largessy!" scattering peanuts by the handful among thescrambling urchins. 

Down wound the knights behind the back stand of the base-ball field, andthen, single file, in front of the nobles and ladies, before whom theydrew up and faced, saluting with inverted spears. 

The Hon. Sam arose--his truncheon a hickory stick--and in a stentorianvoice asked the names of the doughty knights who were there to win gloryfor themselves and the favor of fair women. 

Not all will be mentioned, but among them was the Knight of theHolston--Athelstanic in build--in black stockings, white negligee shirt, with Byronic collar, and a broad crimson sash tied with a bow at hisright side. There was the Knight of the Green Valley, in green and gold, a green hat with a long white plume, lace ruffles at his sleeves, andbuckles on dancing-pumps; a bonny fat knight of Maxwelton Braes, inHighland kilts and a plaid; and the Knight at Large. 

"He ought to be caged, " murmured the Hon. Sam; for the Knight at Largewore plum-colored velvet, red base-ball stockings, held in place withsafety-pins, white tennis shoes, and a very small hat with a very longplume, and the dye was already streaking his face. Marston was thelast--sitting easily on his iron gray. 

"And your name, Sir Knight?"

"The Discarded, " said Marston, with steady eyes. I felt the Blight startat my side and sidewise I saw that her face was crimson. 

The Hon. Sam sat down, muttering, for he did not like Marston:

"Wenchless springal!"

Just then my attention was riveted on Mollie and little Buck. Both hadbeen staring silently at the knights as though they were apparitions, but when Marston faced them I saw Buck clutch his sister's arm suddenlyand say something excitedly in her ear. Then the mouths of bothtightened fiercely and their eyes seemed to be darting lightning at theunconscious knight, who suddenly saw them, recognized them, and smiledpast them at me. Again Buck whispered, and from his lips I could makeout what he said:

"I wonder whar's Dave?" but Mollie did not answer. 

"Which is yours, Mr. Budd?" asked the little sister. The Hon. Sam hadleaned back with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his white waistcoat. 

"He ain't come yet. I told him to come last. "

The crowd waited and the knights waited--so long that the Mayor rose inhis seat some twenty feet away and called out:

"Go ahead, Budd. "

"You jus' wait a minute--my man ain't come yet, " he said easily, butfrom various places in the crowd came jeering shouts from the men withwhom he had wagered and the Hon. Sam began to look anxious. 

"I wonder what is the matter?" he added in a lower tone. "I dressed himmyself more than an hour ago and I told him to come last, but I didn'tmean for him to wait till Christmas--ah!"

The Hon. Sam sank back in his seat again. From somewhere had comesuddenly the blare of a solitary trumpet that rang in echoes around theamphitheatre of the hills and, a moment later, a dazzling something shotinto sight above the mound that looked like a ball of fire, coming inmid-air. The new knight wore a shining helmet and the Hon. Sam chuckledat the murmur that rose and then he sat up suddenly. There was no faceunder that helmet--the Hon. Sam's knight was MASKED and the Hon. Samslapped his thigh with delight. 

"Bully--bully! I never thought of it--I never thought of it--bully!"

This was thrilling, indeed--but there was more; the strange knight'sbody was cased in a flexible suit of glistening mail, his spear point, when he raised it on high, shone like silver, and he came on like aradiant star--on the Hon. Sam's charger, white-bridled, with long maneand tail and black from tip of nose to tip of that tail as midnight. TheHon. Sam was certainly doing it well. At a slow walk the stranger drewalongside of Marston and turned his spear point downward. 

"Gawd!" said an old darky. "Ku-klux done come again. " And, indeed, itlooked like a Ku-klux mask, white, dropping below the chin, and witheye-holes through which gleamed two bright fires. 

The eyes of Buck and Mollie were turned from Marston at last, andopen-mouthed they stared. 

"Hit's the same hoss--hit's Dave!" said Buck aloud. 

"Well, my Lord!" said Mollie simply. 

The Hon. Sam rose again. 

"And who is Sir Tardy Knight that hither comes with masked face?" heasked courteously. He got no answer. 

"What's your name, son?"

The white mask puffed at the wearer's lips. 

"The Knight of the Cumberland, " was the low, muffled reply. 

"Make him take that thing off!" shouted some one. 

"What's he got it on fer?" shouted another. 

"I don't know, friend, " said the Hon. Sam; "but it is not my businessnor prithee thine; since by the laws of the tournament a knight may ridemasked for a specified time or until a particular purpose is achieved, that purpose being, I wot, victory for himself and for me a handful ofbyzants from thee. "

"Now, go ahead, Budd, " called the Mayor again. "Are you going crazy?"

The Hon. Sam stretched out his arms once to loosen them for gesture, thrust his chest out, and uplifted his chin: "Fair ladies, nobles of therealm, and good knights, " he said sonorously, and he raised one hand tohis mouth and behind it spoke aside to me:

"How's my voice--how's my voice?"

"Great!" His question was genuine, for the mask of humor had dropped andthe man was transformed. I knew his inner seriousness, his oratoricalcommand of good English, and I knew the habit, not uncommon amongstump-speakers in the South, of falling, through humor, carelessness, orfor the effect of flattering comradeship, into all the lingual sins ofrural speech; but I was hardly prepared for the soaring flight the Hon. Sam took now. He started with one finger pointed heavenward:

 "The knights are dust And their good swords are rast; Their souls are with the saints, we trust. "

"Scepticism is but a harmless phantom in these mighty hills. We BELIEVEthat with the saints is the GOOD knight's soul, and if, in the radiantunknown, the eyes of those who have gone before can pierce the littleshadow that lies between, we know that the good knights of old lookgladly down on these good knights of to-day. For it is good to beremembered. The tireless struggle for name and fame since the sunriseof history attests it; and the ancestry worship in the East and theworld-wide hope of immortality show the fierce hunger in the human soulthat the memory of it not only shall not perish from this earth, butthat, across the Great Divide, it shall live on--neither forgetting norforgotten. You are here in memory of those good knights to prove thatthe age of chivalry is not gone; that though their good swords are rust, the stainless soul of them still illumines every harmless spear pointbefore me and makes it a torch that shall reveal, in your own heartsstill aflame, their courage, their chivalry, their sense of protectionfor the weak, and the honor in which they held pure women, brave men, and almighty God. 

"The tournament, some say, goes back to the walls of Troy. The form ofit passed with the windmills that Don Quixote charged. It is with you tokeep the high spirit of it an ever-burning vestal fire. It was a deadlyplay of old--it is a harmless play to you this day. But the prowess ofthe game is unchanged; for the skill to strike those pendent rings is noless than was the skill to strike armor-joint, visor, or plumed crest. It was of old an exercise for deadly combat on the field of battle; itis no less an exercise now to you for the field of life--for the quickeye, the steady nerve, and the deft hand which shall help you strike themark at which, outside these lists, you aim. And the crowning triumphis still just what it was of old--that to the victor the Rose of hisworld--made by him the Queen of Love and Beauty for us all--shall giveher smile and with her own hands place on his brow a thornless crown. "

Perfect silence honored the Hon. Samuel Budd. The Mayor was noddingvigorous approval, the jeering ones kept still, and when after the lastdeep-toned word passed like music from his lips the silence held swayfor a little while before the burst of applause came. Every knight hadstraightened in his saddle and was looking very grave. Marston's eyesnever left the speaker's face, except once, when they turned with anunconscious appeal, I thought, to the downcast face of Blight--whereatthe sympathetic little sister seemed close to tears. The Knight of theCumberland shifted in his saddle as though he did not quite understandwhat was going on, and once Mollie, seeing the eyes through themask-holes fixed on her, blushed furiously, and little Buck grinned backa delighted recognition. The Hon. Sam sat down, visibly affected by hisown eloquence; slowly he wiped his face and then he rose again. 

"Your colors, Sir Knights, " he said, with a commanding wave of histruncheon, and one by one the knights spurred forward and each heldhis lance into the grandstand that some fair one might tie thereon thecolors he was to wear. Marston, without looking at the Blight, held hisup to the little sister and the Blight carelessly turned her face whilethe demure sister was busy with her ribbons, but I noticed that thelittle ear next to me was tingling red for all her brave look ofunconcern. Only the Knight of the Cumberland sat still. 

"What!" said the Hon. Sam, rising to his feet, his eyes twinkling andhis mask of humor on again; "sees this masked springal"--the Hon. Samseemed much enamored of that ancient word--"no maid so fair that hewill not beg from her the boon of colors gay that he may carry them tovictory and receive from her hands a wreath therefor?" Again the Knightof the Cumberland seemed not to know that the Hon. Sam's winged wordswere meant for him, so the statesman translated them into a mutualvernacular. 

"Remember what I told you, son, " he said. "Hold up yo' spear here tosome one of these gals jes' like the other fellows are doin', " and as hesat down he tried surreptitiously to indicate the Blight with hisindex finger, but the knight failed to see and the Blight's face wasso indignant and she rebuked him with such a knife-like whisper that, humbled, the Hon. Sam collapsed in his seat, muttering:

"The fool don't know you--he don't know you. "

For the Knight of the Cumberland had turned the black horse's head andwas riding, like Ivanhoe, in front of the nobles and ladies, his eyesburning up at them through the holes in his white mask. Again he turned, his mask still uplifted, and the behavior of the beauties there, as onthe field of Ashby, was no whit changed: "Some blushed, some assumed anair of pride and dignity, some looked straight forward and essayed toseem utterly unconscious of what was going on, some drew back in alarmwhich was perhaps affected, some endeavored to forbear smiling and therewere two or three who laughed outright. " Only none "dropped a veil overher charms" and thus none incurred the suspicion, as on that field ofAshby, that she was "a beauty of ten years' standing" whose motive, gallant Sir Walter supposes in defence, however, was doubtless "asurfeit of such vanities and a willingness to give a fair chance tothe rising beauties of the age. " But the most conscious of the fairwas Mollie below, whose face was flushed and whose brown fingers werenervously twisting the ribbons in her lap, and I saw Buck nudge her andheard him whisper:

"Dave ain't going to pick YOU out, I tell ye. I heered Mr. Budd tharmyself tell him he HAD to pick out some other gal. "

"You hush!" said Mollie indignantly. 

It looked as though the Knight of the Cumberland had grown rebelliousand meant to choose whom he pleased, but on his way back the Hon. Sam must have given more surreptitious signs, for the Knight of theCumberland reined in before the Blight and held up his lance to her. Straightway the colors that were meant for Marston fluttered from theKnight of the Cumberland's spear. I saw Marston bite his lips and I sawMollie's face aflame with fury and her eyes darting lightning--nolonger at Marston now, but at the Blight. The mountain girl held nothingagainst the city girl because of the Wild Dog's infatuation, but thather own lover, no matter what the Hon. Sam said, should give his homagealso to the Blight, in her own presence, was too much. Mollie lookedaround no more. Again the Hon. Sam rose. 

"Love of ladies, " he shouted, "splintering of lances! Stand forth, gallant knights. Fair eyes look upon your deeds! Toot again, son!"

Now just opposite the grandstand was a post some ten feet high, with asmall beam projecting from the top toward the spectators. From the endof this hung a wire, the end of which was slightly upturned in line withthe course, and on the tip of this wire a steel ring about an inch indiameter hung lightly. Nearly forty yards below this was a similarring similarly arranged; and at a similar distance below that wasstill another, and at the blast from the Hon. Sam's herald, thegallant knights rode slowly, two by two, down the lists to the westernextremity--the Discarded Knight and the Knight of the Cumberland, stirrup to stirrup, riding last--where they all drew up in line, somefifty yards beyond the westernmost post. This distance they took thatfull speed might be attained before jousting at the first ring, sincethe course--much over one hundred yards long--must be covered in sevenseconds or less, which was no slow rate of speed. The Hon. Sam aroseagain:

"The Knight of the Holston!"

Farther down the lists a herald took up the same cry and the good knightof Athelstanic build backed his steed from the line and took his placeat the head of the course. 

With his hickory truncheon the Hon. Sam signed to his trumpeter to soundthe onset. 

"Now, son!" he said. 

With the blare of the trumpet Athelstane sprang from his place and cameup the course, his lance at rest; a tinkling sound and the first ringslipped down the knight's spear and when he swept past the last postthere was a clapping of hands, for he held three rings triumphantlyaloft. And thus they came, one by one, until each had run the coursethree times, the Discarded jousting next to the last and the Knight ofthe Cumberland, riding with a reckless Cave, Adsum air, the very last. At the second joust it was quite evident that the victory lay betweenthese two, as they only had not lost a single ring, and when the blackhorse thundered by, the Hon. Sam shouted "Brave lance!" and jolliedhis betting enemies, while Buck hugged himself triumphantly and Mollieseemed temporarily to lose her chagrin and anger in pride of her lover, Dave. On the third running the Knight of the Cumberland excited asensation by sitting upright, waving his lance up and down between theposts and lowering it only when the ring was within a few feet of itspoint. His recklessness cost him one ring, but as the Discarded had lostone, they were still tied, with eight rings to the credit of each, forthe first prize. Only four others were left--the Knight of the Holstonand the Knight of the Green Valley tying with seven rings for secondprize, and the fat Maxwelton Braes and the Knight at Large tying withsix rings for the third. The crowd was eager now and the Hon. Samconfident. On came the Knight at Large, his face a rainbow, his plumewilted and one red base-ball stocking slipped from its moorings--tworings! On followed the fat Maxwelton, his plaid streaming and his kiltsflapping about his fat legs--also two rings!

"Egad!" quoth the Hon. Sam. "Did yon lusty trencherman of Annie Laurie'sbut put a few more layers of goodly flesh about his ribs, therebyprojecting more his frontal Falstaffian proportions, by my halidom, hewould have to joust tandem!"

On came Athelstane and the Knight of the Green Valley, both with but tworings to their credit, and on followed the Discarded, riding easily, andthe Knight of the Cumberland again waving his lance between the posts, each with three rings on his spear. At the end the Knight at Largestood third, Athelstane second, and the Discarded and the Knight of theCumberland stood side by side at the head of the course, still even, andnow ready to end the joust, for neither on the second trial had missed aring. 

The excitement was intense now. Many people seemed to know who theKnight of the Cumberland was, for there were shouts of "Go it, Dave!"from everywhere; the rivalry of class had entered the contest and nowit was a conflict between native and "furriner. " The Hon. Sam was almostbeside himself with excitement; now and then some man with whom he hadmade a bet would shout jeeringly at him and the Hon. Sam would shoutback defiance. But when the trumpet sounded he sat leaning forward withhis brow wrinkled and his big hands clinched tight. Marston sped up thecourse first--three rings--and there was a chorus of applauding yells. 

"His horse is gittin' tired, " said the Hon. Sam jubilantly, and theBlight's face, I noticed, showed for the first time faint traces ofindignation. The Knight of the Cumberland was taking no theatricalchances now and he came through the course with level spear and, withthree rings on it, he shot by like a thunderbolt. 

"Hooray!" shouted the Hon. Sam. "Lord, what a horse!" For the first timethe Blight, I observed, failed to applaud, while Mollie was clapping herhands and Buck was giving out shrill yells of encouragement. At thenext tilt the Hon. Sam had his watch in his hand and when he saw theDiscarded digging in his spurs he began to smile and he was looking athis watch when the little tinkle in front told him that the course wasrun. 

"Did he get 'em all?"

"Yes, he got 'em all, " mimicked the Blight. 

"Yes, an' he just did make it, " chuckled the Hon. Sam. The Discardedhad wheeled his horse aside from the course to watch his antagonist. Helooked pale and tired--almost as tired as his foam-covered steed--buthis teeth were set and his face was unmoved as the Knight of theCumberland came on like a demon, sweeping off the last ring with a low, rasping oath of satisfaction. 

"I never seed Dave ride that-a-way afore, " said Mollie. 

"Me, neither, " chimed in Buck. 

The nobles and ladies were waving handkerchiefs, clapping hands, andshouting. The spectators of better degree were throwing up theirhats and from every part of the multitude the same hoarse shout ofencouragement rose:

"Go it, Dave! Hooray for Dave!" while the boy on the telegraph-pole wasseen to clutch wildly at the crossbar on which he sat--he had come neartumbling from his perch. 

The two knights rode slowly back to the head of the lists, where theDiscarded was seen to dismount and tighten his girth. 

"He's tryin' to git time to rest, " said the Hon. Sam. "Toot, son!"

"Shame!" said the little sister and the Blight both at once so severelythat the Hon. Sam quickly raised his hand. 

"Hold on, " he said, and with hand still uplifted he waited till Marstonwas mounted again. "Now!"

The Discarded came on, using his spurs with every jump, the red of hishorse's nostrils showing that far away, and he swept on, spearing offthe rings with deadly accuracy and holding the three aloft, but havingno need to pull in his panting steed, who stopped of his own accord. Up went a roar, but the Hon. Sam, covertly glancing at his watch, stillsmiled. That watch he pulled out when the Knight of the Cumberlandstarted and he smiled still when he heard the black horse's swift, rhythmic beat and he looked up only when that knight, shouting to hishorse, moved his lance up and down before coming to the last ring and, with a dare-devil yell, swept it from the wire. 

"Tied--tied!" was the shout; "they've got to try it again! they've gotto try it again!"

The Hon. Sam rose, with his watch in one hand and stilling the tumultwith the other. Dead silence came at once. 

"I fear me, " he said, "that the good knight, the Discarded, has failedto make the course in the time required by the laws of the tournament. "Bedlam broke loose again and the Hon. Sam waited, still gesturing forsilence. 

"Summon the time-keeper!" he said. 

The time-keeper appeared from the middle of the field and nodded. 

"Eight seconds!" "The Knight of the Cumberland wins, " said the Hon. Sam. 

The little sister, unconscious of her own sad face, nudged me to look atthe Blight--there were tears in her eyes. 

Before the grandstand the knights slowly drew up again. Marston's horsewas so lame and tired that he dismounted and let a darky boy lead himunder the shade of the trees. But he stood on foot among the otherknights, his arms folded, worn out and vanquished, but taking his bittermedicine like a man. I thought the Blight's eyes looked pityingly uponhim. 

The Hon. Sam arose with a crown of laurel leaves in his hand:

"You have fairly and gallantly won, Sir Knight of the Cumberland, andit is now your right to claim and receive from the hands of the Queenof Love and Beauty the chaplet of honor which your skill has justlydeserved. Advance, Sir Knight of the Cumberland, and dismount!"

The Knight of the Cumberland made no move nor sound. 

"Get off yo' hoss, son, " said the Hon. Sam kindly, "and get down on yo'knees at the feet of them steps. This fair young Queen is a-goin' to putthis chaplet on your shinin' brow. That horse'll stand. "

The Knight of the Cumberland, after a moment's hesitation, threw his legover the saddle and came to the steps with a slouching gait and lookingabout him right and left. The Blight, blushing prettily, took thechaplet and went down the steps to meet him. 

"Unmask!" I shouted. 

"Yes, son, " said the Hon. Sam, "take that rag off. "

Then Mollie's voice, clear and loud, startled the crowd. "You betternot, Dave Branham, fer if you do and this other gal puts that thingon you, you'll never--" What penalty she was going to inflict, I don'tknow, for the Knight of the Cumberland, half kneeling, sprang suddenlyto his feet and interrupted her. "Wait a minute, will ye?" he saidalmost fiercely, and at the sound of his voice Mollie rose to her feetand her face blanched. 

"Lord God!" she said almost in anguish, and then she dropped quickly toher seat again. 

The Knight of the Cumberland had gone back to his horse as though to getsomething from his saddle. Like lightning he vaulted into the saddle, and as the black horse sprang toward the opening tore his mask from hisface, turned in his stirrups, and brandished his spear with a yell ofdefiance, while a dozen voices shouted:

"The Wild Dog!" Then was there an uproar. 

"Goddle mighty!" shouted the Hon. Sam. "I didn't do it, I swear I didn'tknow it. He's tricked me--he's tricked me! Don't shoot--you might hitthat hoss!"

There was no doubt about the Hon. Sam's innocence. Instead of turningover an outlaw to the police, he had brought him into the inner shrineof law and order and he knew what a political asset for his enemies thatinsult would be. And there was no doubt of the innocence of Mollie andBuck as they stood, Mollie wringing her hands and Buck with open mouthand startled face. There was no doubt about the innocence of anybodyother than Dave Branham and the dare-devil Knight of the Cumberland. 

Marston had clutched at the Wild Dog's bridle and missed and the outlawstruck savagely at him with his spear. Nobody dared to shoot because ofthe scattering crowd, but every knight and every mounted policeman tookout after the outlaw and the beating of hoofs pounded over the littlemound and toward Poplar Hill. Marston ran to his horse at the upper end, threw his saddle on, and hesitated--there were enough after the WildDog and his horse was blown. He listened to the yells and sounds of thechase encircling Poplar Hill. The outlaw was making for Lee. All at oncethe yells and hoof-beats seemed to sound nearer and Marston listened, astonished. The Wild Dog had wheeled and was coming back; he was goingto make for the Gap, where sure safety lay. Marston buckled his girthand as he sprang on his horse, unconsciously taking his spear withhim, the Wild Dog dashed from the trees at the far end of the field. AsMarston started the Wild Dog saw him, pulled something that flashed fromunder his coat of mail, thrust it back again, and brandishing his spear, he came, full speed and yelling, up the middle of the field. It was astrange thing to happen in these modern days, but Marston was an officerof the law and was between the Wild Dog and the Ford and liberty throughthe Gap, into the hills. The Wild Dog was an outlaw. It was Marston'sduty to take him. 

The law does not prescribe with what weapon the lawless shall besubdued, and Marston's spear was the only weapon he had. Moreover, theWild Dog's yell was a challenge that set his blood afire and thegirl both loved was looking on. The crowd gathered the meaning of thejoust--the knights were crashing toward each other with spears at rest. There were a few surprised oaths from men, a few low cries from women, and then dead silence in which the sound of hoofs on the hard turf waslike thunder. The Blight's face was white and the little sister wasgripping my arm with both hands. A third horseman shot into view out ofthe woods at tight angles, to stop them, and it seemed that the threehorses must crash together in a heap. With a moan the Blight buried herface on my shoulder. She shivered when the muffled thud of body againstbody and the splintering of wood rent the air; a chorus of shrieksarose about her, and when she lifted her frightened face Marston, theDiscarded, was limp on the ground, his horse was staggering to his feet, and the Wild Dog was galloping past her, his helmet gleaming, his eyesablaze, his teeth set, the handle of his broken spear clinched in hisright hand, and blood streaming down the shoulder of the black horse. She heard the shots that were sent after him, she heard him plunge intothe river, and then she saw and heard no more. 

VIII. THE KNIGHT PASSES

A telegram summoned the Blight a home next day. Marston was in bed witha ragged wound in the shoulder, and I took her to tell him good-by. Ileft the room for a few minutes, and when I came back their hands wereunclasping, and for a Discarded Knight the engineer surely wore a happythough pallid face. 

That afternoon the train on which we left the Gap was brought to asudden halt in Wildcat Valley by a piece of red flannel tied to the endof a stick that was planted midway the track. Across the track, fartheron, lay a heavy piece of timber, and it was plain that somebody meantthat, just at that place, the train must stop. The Blight and I wereseated on the rear platform and the Blight was taking a last look ather beloved hills. When the train started again, there was a cracking oftwigs overhead and a shower of rhododendron leaves and flowers droppedfrom the air at the feet of the Blight. And when we pulled away from thehigh-walled cut we saw, motionless on a little mound, a black horse, andon him, motionless, the Knight of the Cumberland, the helmet on hishead (that the Blight might know who he was, no doubt), and both handsclasping the broken handle of his spear, which rested across the pommelof his saddle. Impulsively the Blight waved her hand to him and I couldnot help waving my hat; but he sat like a statue and, like a statue, sat on, simply looking after us as we were hurried along, until horse, broken shaft, and shoulders sank out of sight. And thus passed theKnight of the Cumberland with the last gleam that struck his helmet, spear-like, from the slanting sun.