of ti)e 
 
 C[lnit)et0itp of H^ottb Carolina 
 
 Collection of 0ott^ Catoliniana 
 
 (OntiotDeD bp 
 
 5io5n feptunt !^iU 
 
 of t|)e Class of 1889 
 
 Mfc47r 
 

 '^^jJjr. 
 
 ^/^ / f22 
 
 This book must not 
 be taken from the 
 Library building. 
 
 Form No. 471 
 
THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 A TALE OF THE NORTH 
 CAROLINA MOUNTAINS 
 
 BY 
 DAVID REED MILLER 
 
 BOSTON 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 
 1911 
 
Copyright, 1911 
 Sherman, French &= Company 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I More or Less Relevant 1 
 
 II A Cluster of Azaleas 7 
 
 III The Call of the Conch Shell ... 16 
 
 IV Behind the Cataract 23 
 
 V Whoa, Bucephalus 28 
 
 VI Over the Range 40 
 
 VU Spears and Pruning Hooks .... 51 
 
 VIII On the Altar of Patriotism .... 58 
 
 IX The Second State 67 
 
 X An Apparition 76 
 
 XI Between Two Flags 86 
 
 XII Tragedy of the Twin Oaks .... 96 
 
 XIII O, THE Pity of It! 101 
 
 XIV Desolation 106 
 
 XV The Old Well-Sweep 110 
 
 XVI A Fire in Eden 122 
 
 XVII As One Whom His Mother Comforteth 130 
 
 XVIII The Stybright School of Philosophy . 138 
 
 XIX The Red Swan's Neck 145 
 
 XX The Apple Woman 153 
 
 XXI A Mountain Mine 164 
 
 XXII The Caverns 176 
 
 XXIII Miss Larue 188 
 
 XXIV At the Foot of the Rainbow . . . 196 
 XXV The Trail of the Serpent .... 210 
 
 XXVI A Rift in the Clouds 218 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVII The Diverted Jouhxey 233 
 
 XXVIII Ahithophel Falls Shoiot on His Coun- 
 sel 240 
 
 XXIX Snags Groucher Redivivus 245 
 
 XXX Gyp Seeks an Old Friend 257 
 
 XXXI Between the Rivers 266 
 
 XXXII Solving the Riddle 274 
 
 XXXIII De Chrysalis Done Broke .... 280 
 
 XXXIV Roses and Palms 288 
 
 XXXV The Old Spanish Fort 296 
 
 XXXVI The Red Light 303 
 
 XXXVII The Old Parson Goes a Fishing . . 313 
 
 XXXVIII On the Sea Wall 323 
 
THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
CHAPTER I 
 MORE OR LESS RELEVANT 
 
 "Th' boy'd better been t' home savin' his 
 mammy all this trouble o' huntin' him," growled 
 Snags Groucher, an aboriginal crone whose one 
 protruding tooth was her only claim to immor- 
 tality. 
 
 "Wat ye talkin' about?" inquired the Rev. 
 William Watchcob, a grey-haired mountaineer 
 preacher, who had finished his "preachin'," and 
 stood talking to a group of parishioners at the 
 church door. He was somewhat out of sorts, 
 notwithstanding his late lurid dissertation on 
 original sin. The rain falling in gentle rhythm 
 without held the few jarring members within 
 doors. 
 
 "I be talkin' erbout Gyp, that 'bominable wee 
 Stybright cub who's alius givin' his daddy and 
 mammy trouble," Snags replied with unnecessary 
 glow in her sharp, resolute eyes. 
 
 "It hain't Gyp, it's his daddy that's a doin' it 
 all," snapped Judy Gans, "gettin' drunk an' 
 chasin' his wife an' boy out'n th' house ! That's 
 th' ole man : I know him !" 
 
 "Ef th' ole man do get drunk an' beller aroun' 
 th' house, it's his own house, hain't it? Ef a 
 
2 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 man can't do as he pleases t' home, what's th' use, 
 by goll!" 
 
 The philosophy came from Snags. 
 
 "I'd jes like t' see a man do as he pleases 
 about my house !" and Judy Gans pitched her nose 
 a few inches into the air. "I'd like t' see him 
 comin' home drunk, a howlin' an' a swearin' like 
 ole Guy Stybright !" and her mouth snapped shut 
 with an emphasis that was ominous. 
 
 "Considerin' that yer an ole maid th' pint's not 
 well put," and Snags grinned sarcastically 
 across toward Terbaccy Tom. 
 
 "Same t' you, Snags !" retorted Judy ; "ye'r 
 not only a glowerin' ole maid yersel ; but no man 
 was ever fool enough t' ast ye!" 
 
 "An' Gyp ran away, did he, 'cause his daddy 
 came home drunk," interposed the preacher, de- 
 siring to allay the rising hostilities between the 
 lambs of his flock. 
 
 "I'm thinkin' he didn't run fur; jes hiked off 
 into the mountings an' hid, an' has his mammy 
 lookin' atter him an' worrit t' death fear o' him 
 bein' lost fer good," was Judy's reply to the min- 
 ister. 
 
 "He's an annoyin' cuss, anyway," interpolated 
 Terbaccy Tom, who had been outwitted on sev- 
 eral occasions by the wide-awake little fellow. 
 "Th' child hain't afeared o' his daddy 's much as 
 he likes t' give trouble." 
 
 "Who wouldn't run from a drunken daddy.? 
 Th' devil hain't yit invented a wuss critter than 
 
MORE OR LESS RELEVANT 3 
 
 a drunk man. He's hell's best crap, 's fur as my 
 obserwation goes," and the nose of Judy Gans 
 took another ominous tilt. 
 
 "Well, all I haster say is, cf ole Stybright 
 wantster git drunk 'e can git as drunk as 'e's 
 a mindter, fer all me ; an' th' drunker the bet- 
 ter," and Snags ducked her head toward Judy 
 with an emphasis which had little effect on that 
 worthy. 
 
 "Th' fuller th' funnier," laughed Sykes Snick- 
 erby. 
 
 "The drunker 'e gits th' sooner weuns'll git 
 rid of him. He's a blight on th' community, like 
 a bit of carrion by the roadside," Judy ventured 
 with a humanitarian grip on the situation. 
 
 " 'E's mighty poor goods t' keep in stock, an' 
 that's true for ye all," echoed the preacher. 
 "Nobody hain't a realizin' nothin' off'n him, an' 
 'e hain't no blessin' t' nobody. But there's lots 
 o' space fer him t' crawl up an' git good. It's 
 a long way up to th' first limb, an' ye better be 
 tryin' t' gin him a lift 'stead o' pullin' him down." 
 
 Judy Gans gave her little round nose another 
 wink : "Wen 'e comes into my house a smellin' 
 like a corpse, woe t' him, I say ; woe t' him !" 
 
 "An' what 'u'd you do?" Snags ventured. 
 
 "It's a mighty poor fireplace what can't keep a 
 kittle bilin'." 
 
 "D' ye mean ye'd scald th' old soak?" 
 
 "I'd do it, or die a tryin'." 
 
 "Isn't a man's mouth his own, an' his thrapple. 
 
4 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 too? an' ef he wants ter put pisen into it, hain't 
 he a right to? An' I'm th' gal t' gin him a help 
 at it," and Snags became quite polemic in her 
 attitude, as she snapped her red eyes and blinked 
 toward the preacher. 
 
 "Snags, ye'd better be still. Th' devil gits all 
 the fool fellers what commit suicide whether by 
 hangin', drownin' or th' drink route. An' there 
 be people what had better be still about their 
 betters, 'stead o' givin' him a boost downward 
 by cncouragin' him," replied the sky pilot insin- 
 uatingly. 
 
 There was a titter in the group, and Snags' 
 eye blazed on the preacher : "Ye talk lak a saint ; 
 but yer hain't no more piety than a duck," and 
 she whisked across the aisle, sat down on a bench 
 and glowered on her spiritual adviser. 
 
 "I know Gyp didn't run off, 'cept he had to," 
 the preacher continued, oblivious of the gloom 
 that settled over the face of his irascible pa- 
 rishioner. "He's a bright boy ; but he can't 
 stand the fury of his drunken daddy. He's a soul 
 in him that's wuth a lookin' atter ; a soul what'll 
 live longer'n these here mountings an' outshine 
 th' sun. He looks a langwidge out'n them eyes 
 o' his'n what's wuth a listenin' to. That boy's 
 gwinter live when the sun has no more fire in it 
 than a wet sponge." 
 
 "Well, an' won't th' hull batch o' us do th' 
 same, even oP snappy critters like Judy Gans 
 an' fool preachers who think they'r smart?" The 
 voice of Snags sounded like the tearing of a 
 
MORE OR LESS RELEVANT 5 
 
 piece of sheeting as she delivered herself of these 
 felicitous observations. 
 
 "Th' pahson's cogs is gettin wobbly," ventured 
 Jim Habor, grinning irreverently, and coming to 
 the rescue of Snags. 
 
 "Needs a hunk o' pone. Give him a slab f'm 
 yer bag, Snags," haw-hawed Terbaccy Tom, 
 whose dislike for the preacher was only exceeded 
 by his love for whiskey. 
 
 "Er a chaw o' terbaccy," sarcastically drawled 
 the Groucher woman, as she deposited a wad from 
 her own mouth on the church floor. 
 
 "Er a pinch o' th' tickler," added Jay Grimp, 
 as he took a snuff-box from his pocket, helped 
 himself and returned it to its place. 
 
 "Or a sip o' mounting dew," tittered Jim Ha- 
 bor, the worst reprobate in the neighborhood. 
 
 "Rail away, ye heathen," retorted the preacher, 
 as he cocked his eye toward Habor, Grimp and 
 Terbaccy Tom. "When th' old Red Man with th' 
 horns and barbed tail comes t' North Car'liny, 
 ye'll git what's comin' to ye. Meantime ye'd bet- 
 ter be out helpin Seloe Stybright find her lost 
 boy." 
 
 "She'll git no help f'm me," jerked Snags 
 Groucher, as she twisted herself off the bench 
 and went out of the building. 
 
 "An' she'll git none f'm me," echoed Grimp. 
 
 "Nothin' doin' here!" snuffed Terbaccy Tom. 
 
 "What's a hurtin' you heathen that ye can't 
 help a poor woman in trouble?" Judy Gans in- 
 quired. 
 
6 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "That's w'at I'd like ter know," interposed 
 Sykes Snickerby, "I'd help a nigger out'n a hog 
 waller, ef he couldn't get out hisself," and he 
 beamed on Judy as if an aureole were already on 
 his brow. 
 
 "D'ye wanter know why I'm doin' nothin?" 
 Tom replied, "I'll tell yer. Th' hull batch o' 
 them Stybrights is Union. I'm C'nfed'rate an' 
 agin that gang." 
 
 "Well, Tom, if I'd a neighbor in trouble I'd 
 help her out, by goll, no matter what flag she was 
 a marchin' under." 
 
 "Give us yer claw on that," said Snickerby, as 
 he jumped forward and clutched the hand of his 
 friend Judy. 
 
 "An' I say so, too," added the minister; 
 "that's a mighty good gospill, Judy. Humanity's 
 bigger'n a flag." 
 
 But Terbaccy Tom was not there to benefit by 
 the observation. He and Jim Habor had fol- 
 lowed Snags into the woods ; and Grimp soon 
 went out to keep them company. 
 
 "Rain's over, Judy ; come away, you and Snick- 
 erby. We'll help th' woman. But ye needn't t' 
 worry about Gyp ;" said the Rev. William Watch- 
 cob, "he's hid somewhar. He'll be back t' th' 
 house soon as th' old man leaves. That's Gyp's 
 way. He dreads that daddy o' his'n, but he 
 loves his mammy, an' hain't a runnin' away f'm 
 her. I^Iaybe he's t' home now. We'll go see; 
 come along." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 A CLUSTER OF AZALEAS 
 
 A CLUMSY cart, drawn by a slow, swaggering 
 ox, jolted over the gravelly road that wound 
 over the North Carolina mountains. The lau- 
 rels on the hillsides looked like drifts of snow. 
 The numberless shades of green announced that 
 the woodlands were awake from their wintry re- 
 pose. Under the low-branched pines the grey of 
 a little stream flashed in pleasant fellowship with 
 the leafy canopy that roofed it over. But 
 neither the stolid ox nor the drowsy driver gave 
 the least heed to a small sprite of humanity, the 
 lost Gyp, who stood timorously by the side of 
 the rivulet with his eyes on the drunken driver. 
 In his hand he held a cluster of flaming azaleas 
 so large that he was half hidden by their glowing 
 splendors. The heavy cart bumped slowly past 
 and went on its way. 
 
 The lad was bare-footed and bare-headed. His 
 trousers were held in place by pieces of twine, 
 while his thin, brown shirt was open at the throat 
 and swung loose, revealing a breast tanned al- 
 most the color of the earth beneath his feet. His 
 face was a sweet, pathetic one, such as any artist 
 would love to paint, yet one to which childish 
 
 7 
 
8 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 sorrow had paid many an unwelcome visit. His 
 dark eyes were lustrous and beautiful, his cheeks 
 ruddy and his teeth like flakes of chrysolite. 
 There he stood like a frightened fawn, screened 
 by the azaleas, gazing with those sweet, tender 
 eyes of his on his drunken father as he drove 
 around the bend of the road and disappeared. 
 
 The little fellow so feared his father that he 
 would hide behind the rocks and trees or under 
 the rhododendrons or in the thickets of elders 
 when his unnatural parent came brawling 
 home from his revels in the mountains. There he 
 would wait and watch until his father left the 
 house, or until his mother came in search of him, 
 when he would hide his face in her faded skirts 
 and whine : 
 
 "Maw, why be he so bad to weuns?" 
 
 And the mother, taking her frightened child 
 in her arms, would point far up the mountain 
 to a little stream that fell over the rocks and 
 say: 
 
 "See th' stream?" 
 
 "Yes, maw." 
 
 "Up there, mah child, is th' devil o' th' still; 
 an' th' devil o' th' still be in him." 
 
 So it came about that to the mind of little 
 Gyp there was something awful associated with 
 those heights. He knew not the meaning of the 
 word "still." It might be some poisonous vine, 
 some ferocious wild beast, or a terrible giant who 
 ruled the solitudes ; but whatever it was, he knew 
 
A CLUSTER OF AZALEAS 9 
 
 that it made his father ugly and cruel. And 
 when on this bright i\Iay morning he burst into 
 the house and fell cursing on the floor, the lad 
 fled like a frightened fawn to the mountains. 
 The day slowly passed, and as he came not to his 
 home when the evening shadows fell, the mother 
 could scarcely contain herself in her distress. 
 
 "Won't mah boy nuvver come back t' me.'' 
 He's mah life, mah heav'n. O Gyp !" and she 
 wrung her hands in her grief as she looked un- 
 successfully out through the door upon the 
 crooked mountain paths. The night came on and 
 still he did not return, and with the darkness came 
 a deeper gloom in her soul. She pressed her 
 hands to her bosom and sobbed: 
 
 "Mah heart, mah heart ! O God hain't mah 
 wee boy nuvver comin' back t' me?" She held 
 her throbbing breast and listened for his foot- 
 steps ; but no sound came out of the night. She 
 went to the door and gazed into the mighty si- 
 lences, but the darkness had no answer. She 
 ran to her husband, who had long since returned 
 with his ox-cart, and lay in a drunken slumber. 
 But all she could get from him was a grunt of 
 unconsciousness. He would not be aroused. She 
 turned away with an aching heart, took down the 
 lantern from the rafter, and, touching its candle 
 with a lighted splinter, drew her shawl about her 
 and passed into the all-pervasive pathos of the 
 
 night. 
 
 The dallying winds played with the fringe of 
 
10 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 her tattered shawl and fanned the bulb of her 
 lantern as she took the trail which she knew her 
 boy had often taken. Deep in a cool ravine, 
 where, in the full blaze of noon, scarcely a ray 
 of sunshine penetrated. Gyp had made for him- 
 self a miniature farm and playhouse with make- 
 believe fields and barns. Twigs, laid on the 
 ground, served for fences, and brown and white 
 pebbles were herds of cattle. Acorns were stacks 
 of hay, and the mountain stream was to him a 
 great flowing river where fairies played and boats 
 were wrecked and armies drowned. Here the boy 
 would spend long hours dreaming dreams which 
 older men have dreamed and wiser heads have 
 cherished. 
 
 Would she find him here, here in this retreat 
 now so dark that the night and silence were op- 
 pressive? Her lantern threw spectral lights 
 about her, which, like wraiths and phantoms, 
 seemed to whisper in her ears : "We know, but 
 we won't tell !" 
 
 Slowly her little star moved up the ravine 
 twinkling among the trees, and as she went she 
 peered into the shadows clucking the solitary 
 word, "Gyp !" But no answer came. 
 
 She swung around a gnarled pine, leaped down 
 over its crooked roots, and came to the play- 
 ground. She examined every nook and corner; 
 but her boy was not there. Here were the "man- 
 sion," and the "barns," and the "cattle," and the 
 noisy "river," but there was not the slightest 
 
A CLUSTER OF AZALEAS 11 
 
 indication that he had been there during the day. 
 Her heart sank like lead. Her one hope had 
 been that he had fallen asleep in this familiar 
 place and had not awakened when the night came 
 on. She called, still hoping that he might be 
 somewhere near: 
 
 "Gyp! Gyp!" 
 
 But there was no answer. 
 
 Then louder, with more of anguish in her voice : 
 
 "GYP ! G-Y-P !" 
 
 She set down her lantern and listened, as one 
 might listen for the last speech of the dying. 
 The blood tingled through her veins. Never did 
 mortal ear strive to catch the mysteries of the 
 night with greater solicitude. But the darkness 
 swallowed up her cry and gave her nothing in 
 return. She lost all fear of the night and the 
 place, and putting her hands to her mouth she 
 fairly shrieked into the black and remorseless 
 night the name of her lost boy. 
 
 The cry of a startled bird and the flutter of 
 wings crashing through the branches were the only 
 response. 
 
 One star still glimmered on her horizon. She 
 remembered that her boy had sometimes gone to 
 the opposite side of the mountain-valley where 
 the Falls of Okaluna flung themselves from the 
 dark brow of Thunder Cliffy and the Red Swan's 
 Neck lay under the stars. It was a long distance ; 
 but it was hope ; it was her only one ; and weak 
 and trembling, with the perils of the night about 
 
12 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 her, she seized her lantern, clutched her shawl 
 at her throat and hastened down the trail. She 
 would look into her home as she passed. Maybe 
 her husband would go with her. Maybe the lad 
 had returned. She pushed open the door. All 
 was silence and darkness. With her glimmer of 
 a candle she searched the room. She went to 
 Gyp's bed in the corner. It was empty. Her 
 husband still lay in his drunken stupor. She 
 shook him ; but it was like shaking a dead animal. 
 Stupid and sullen and sodden, he gave no heed. 
 
 "Wak' up, wak' up mah man ! Poor Gyp's 
 lost !" and she shook him again ; but he only 
 rolled, pulpy and unresisting, like the body of 
 a dog newly dead. She caught him by the beard 
 and shook him, as she held the light before his 
 face, till he began to blink and grunt. 
 
 "Stybright, th' boy's gone! 'E's lost! wak' 
 up, wak' up !" 
 
 He opened his rheumy eyes and stared a mo- 
 ment as one dazed. Then a frown darkened his 
 face as he snarled : 
 
 "Watcher mean, Seloc, 'sturbin' mah rest?" 
 
 "Gyp's out on th' mountings. 'E's lost ! O 
 Guy, our poor boy's lost !" 
 
 He fell back on his bed grunting: "Good 
 rid'nce. 'T 's only a trick, (hie.) G'way wum- 
 man an' lemme sleep." 
 
 What use was he in that awful hour, he with 
 his swaggering limbs, muddled brain and brutal 
 tongue.'' With a silent appeal to the pity of 
 
A CLUSTER OF AZALEAS 13 
 
 God she replenished her light and faced the dark- 
 ness once more. 
 
 In the solitudes a lantern glimmered like a 
 firefly in the mountain pass. She hailed it and 
 it came slowly toward her, and, as she held her 
 own light above her head, its rays fell full upon 
 the faces of Snags Groucher and Jim Habor. 
 They^R'ere her enemies, but sorrow softens our 
 asperities. She looked into the face of the 
 Groucher woman : 
 
 "Oh, Snags, have yer seen him?" 
 
 "Seen who?" she answered contemptuously. 
 
 "Mah boy, mah lost boy, Gyp !" 
 
 "Naw; an' I don't care to. Mebby th' little 
 beast is burrowin' under a stump, among th' 
 rocks like a woodchuck," 
 
 Seloe overlooked the insult and answered: 
 "Oh, Snags, I know you don't like me or him. 
 Mebby it's our fault. But if you'n Habor'll help 
 me find him, I'll be yer frien' forever." 
 
 "To th' divil with yer friendship. An hour's 
 huntin' in th' dark's too big a price t' pay fer it. 
 I'd ruther block up th' hole into which th' var- 
 mint's crawled, an' let him rot there." 
 
 The desperate mother clutched the bail of her 
 lantern until her finger nails sunk into her hands. 
 The fire flashed from her eyes. She could have 
 leaped upon the Groucher woman and torn her 
 to pieces. 
 
 "D' ye mock me?" she hissed. 
 
 "Yer snifflin' hain't a 'sturbin' me. Yer brat's 
 
14 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 better lost than found. W'y don't yer git th' 
 preacher, er old Judy or Sykes Snickerby to 
 ketch yer runaway colt?" k 
 
 Seloe set down her lantern and leaped upon the 
 woman and bore her to the earth, when Habor 
 interfered, threw the Stybright woman to one side, 
 and taking Snags by the arm, said: 
 
 "Come away. Snags, afore she eats ye:^' and 
 they disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 Seloe picked up her lantern and turned on her 
 way wounded and weak because of the compas- 
 sionless hearts and insulting lips. With a soul 
 torn by their inhumanity, by the sodden indiffer- 
 ence of her husband and the loss of her boy, she 
 pursued her way, heartsore and trembling, into 
 the sympathetic silence of the great mountains. 
 At last she turned an angle in the road and the 
 spray of the Falls drifted into her face. 
 
 She called her boy, but the noise of the falling 
 water swallowed up her cry. A zigzag trail led 
 to the overhanging ledge, beneath which was a 
 narrow shelf of rock. The perils of the ascent 
 were doubled by the darkness. The stones were 
 slippery with the spray ; but, nothing daunted, 
 she toiled up the hazardous path. Great boul- 
 ders, fallen from the cliff in some primeval time, 
 frowned upon her. She passed a cave, dark and 
 terrifying, and a little beyond it a pile of rocks 
 was bunched like some Druidic altar. It was a 
 gruesome place even at noonday. 
 
 She returned, entered the cave and examined 
 
;^ 
 
 A CLUSTER OF AZALEAS 15 
 
 every part of it. She searched the dark, mysteri- 
 ous altar, climbed the rocks, and sought the re- 
 cesses under the crags. She explored the menac- 
 v^ shelf to its beetling brink, and, with her arm 
 thrown about a friendly tree, held her lantern 
 over the edge and peered down into the abyss. 
 But there was nothing in all those fierce, wild 
 hei^kts to give the mother the least whisper of 
 hope. Nature had sealed both her heart and her 
 lips, Hope turned to stone in the soul of the 
 mother, and Despair seemed her last and only 
 friend. She threw her hands into the air and 
 shrieked : 
 
 "O mah God, mah God ! Where is mah darlin' 
 child .^" 
 
 A mist swam before her eyes, her knees gave 
 way, the lantern dropped from her nerveless 
 hand, she fell in a faint, and compassionate night 
 closed the vision. 
 
 A mountaineer, passing along the road far 
 down in the valley, heard a wild shriek, and look- 
 ing up saw that the mountain was on fire. 
 
CHAPTER III ^ 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CONCH SHELL 
 
 The drunken Stybright awoke to find his home 
 deserted. There was no fire on the hearth. 
 There was no fragrance of the morning meal, 
 no sound of foot-fall on the floor. He raised 
 himself on his elbow, rubbed his eyes, and gazed 
 about him. His wife had not occupied her place 
 by his side. He looked down into the corner 
 where Gyp was accustomed to sleep, but the bed 
 was undisturbed. Then he called : 
 
 "Seloe ! Gyp !" 
 
 Only the sound of his voice came back to him. 
 
 He leaped to the floor and looked about the 
 room. Everything remained as when, in drunken 
 imbecility, he threw himself upon the bed the 
 previous evening. 
 
 "Powerful strange!" he ejaculated, rubbing his 
 eyes. 
 
 He opened the door and gazed into the forests 
 and off upon the hills. There was only the calm 
 of the morning to greet his vision. Again he 
 called : 
 
 "Seloe ! Gyp !" 
 
 The mountains gave no answer and the wood- 
 lands were mute. 
 
 16 
 
CALL OF THE CONCH SHELL 17 
 
 "Powerful strange!" he repeated, shaking his 
 shaggy head. 
 
 He was anxious now and fully awake. Con- 
 fusing thoughts perplexed him. What did it 
 mean.? He went up to the cliff' that hung above 
 his home, and, putting his brawny hands over his 
 eyes, peered inquiringly up and down the narrow 
 valley and off upon the slopes of the hills. Only 
 the peace of nature was there. Then he called 
 into the dreamy beauty of the morning: 
 
 "Selo-o-o-o-c ! S-e-1-o-o-e !" 
 
 The hills seemed to mock him and to fling 
 back into his face the name of the woman he had 
 so cruelly wronged. 
 
 If ever man was thoroughly alarmed it was 
 Guy Stybright. He feared that his wife had 
 left him forever. Confusion took possession of 
 his brain. The very thought of being aban- 
 doned by wife and child because of his inhumanity 
 to them filled him with unutterable dismay. He 
 knew it would be serving him right; but the 
 thought of it was anguish to him. He started 
 down the mountain scarcely knowing where he 
 was going or what he intended to do, yet whim- 
 pering as he went : 
 
 "Mah wumman an' mah wee lad gone !" 
 
 Once more he examined the house. Then he 
 walked all around it. He went down the path 
 to the road, passed under the rhododendrons and 
 searched the elder thickets, until, sobbing like a 
 child, he cried: 
 
18 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "O Seloe, come back, come back mah wumman, 
 come back t' me, Seloe!" 
 
 The clouds rolled from Thunder Cliff where the 
 lantern fell and the fire still burned. Down in 
 the valley and off upon the hillsides the smoke 
 from neighboring chimneys told him that the 
 morning meal was being prepared. At last into 
 his feverish brain came the confused scene of the 
 previous evening. Gradually it dawned upon him 
 that Seloe had stood by his bedside with an anx- 
 ious face and told him something about little 
 Gyp ; but what it was he could not now remem- 
 ber. He recalled her plea for help, and how he 
 had repulsed her. It all came back to him like 
 some Satanic dream. And now his Seloe was lost, 
 maybe dead — dead, if not by his own hand, by his 
 own inhumanity ! 
 
 He ran to the house, seized his hat and, with- 
 out waiting for a bite of food, fled to the nearest 
 neighbor, where he told his pathetic story. 
 
 It was not long until runners were speeding 
 here and there along the mountain paths arousing 
 their neighbors. The whole community joined in 
 the search. Every cabin was deserted. Never 
 did the woman with her candle search more dili- 
 gently for the lost coin, or the shepherd for the 
 wayward sheep, than did these sympathetic high- 
 landers for their neighbor and her child. 
 
 It was arranged that if the lost were found 
 three prolonged blasts on a conch shell would 
 be blown from the crags above the Stybright 
 
CALL OF THE CONCH SHELL 19 
 
 home ; and many a time during the k)ng day were 
 the eyes of the searchers turned to the cliff, while 
 listening ears waited, yet waited in vain, for the 
 longed-for sound. Again and again the search- 
 ers crossed each other's paths and exchanged 
 anxious inquiries. 
 
 Judy Gans and Sykes Snickerby were always 
 together, more diligent in searching for each 
 other's affections than for the lost mother and 
 her son. The parson with his snow-white hair 
 was a conspicuous figure in the shadowy defiles. 
 Jay Grimp and Terbaccy Tom were plotting how 
 they could best plant the Confederate flag over 
 all that community. Habor and the Groucher 
 woman were already suggesting the torch and the 
 stiletto to accomplish that end. 
 
 "Did yer see anywhere a wumman an' a wee 
 lad in yer travels.'*" Stybright inquired, despair- 
 ingly, of a lone horseman who came down the 
 graveled road, little caring at that hour whether 
 the Union stood or fell. The reins were loose on 
 the neck of the shambling steed, while the rider 
 sat with his face in a book oblivious of anyone's 
 presence until he heard the pitiful voice by his 
 side. 
 
 "Heavens!" ejaculated the startled man, as he 
 looked into Stybright's woebegone countenance. 
 "You frightened me most out of my wits." 
 
 "I've lost mah wumman an' mah boy," cried 
 Stybright, the tears running down his cheeks. 
 
 "I saw nothing of them. Oh, sir, did you see 
 
20 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 the terrible fire which last night filled the heavens 
 above the Falls of Okaluna?" 
 
 "A fire? An' did yer see no pale, tired wum- 
 man ?" 
 
 "Only the fire. It was the most terrible sight 
 I ever witnessed. I stood there fascinated, and 
 watched it for more than an hour. Huge vol- 
 umes of smoke, flushed with yellow flame, raced 
 over the brilliantly illuminated plateau, while the 
 soaring pines, wrapped in fire — " 
 
 "Watcher mean by them words.'' Did yer see 
 no wumman.'^" 
 
 "I saw the awful mountain, and it seemed to 
 be in volcanic eruption. Tongues of fire darted 
 into the air and vanished. Webs of flames were 
 flung heavenward — " 
 
 "Listen to me !" 
 
 " — as if torn by invisible hands from the blaz- 
 ing looms of some horrible inferno — " 
 
 "O stranger, stranger ! Did yer see — " 
 
 "Sounds of distant thunder boomed from the 
 heights as boulders were rent by the heat or 
 burned-off" pines fell with a crash." 
 
 Stybright was becoming furious. The utter 
 indifference of the man to the cry of his heart 
 fairly enraged him. His teeth ground together. 
 But the rider, carried away with the remembrance 
 of the gorgeous spectacle, held to his bombastic 
 narrative, heedless of the anguish of the soul that 
 gazed so pleadingly into his own : 
 
 "The heavens were lit up. The vast dome hid 
 
CALL OF THE CONCH SHELL 21 
 
 its stars and flashed back the furious paroxysms 
 that heat against it hkc the tides of a fiery sea. 
 The darkness recoiled on itself, and beyond the 
 arena of supernatural light the night grew sullen 
 and ominous—" 
 
 "Just as I be — " 
 
 " — as if infuriate nature were about to vent 
 her anger upon the moaning earth and — " 
 
 "Pull it f'm its hoss an' pitch th'nfernal thing 
 into til' ditch!" hissed the exasperated Stybright, 
 as he grasped the heartless rider by the arm, 
 pulled him from his horse, flung him down by the 
 side of the road and leaped upon him. 
 
 "Ye'U triful 'ith a desperate man, wull yer?" 
 and he clutched his throat with the grip of a 
 steel claw and shook him as a terrier might a 
 rat. "Wus there a wumman an' a boy near 
 th' fire.P Ansur afore I kill ye!" 
 
 "I heard a w-w-oman's v-v-voice in the f-f-fire," 
 gurgled the prostrate horseman. 
 
 Stybright waited for no more. He leaped from 
 his victim and ran in the direction of Thunder 
 Cliff", the prey of the worst apprehensions. He 
 was pitiable to behold; haunted with fear, aghast 
 at the conjuring of what might have happened 
 as he saw the smoke of the conflagration still 
 hanging above the mountain like a mighty para- 
 chute. 
 
 Exhausted with his running, faint from hunger 
 and grief, overwhelmed with a sense of his own 
 guilt in the matter, he fell upon his knees and 
 
22 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 with tears and sobs cried to God to come to his 
 rescue and help him find his lost Seloe and Gyp. 
 It was the wail of a frenzied soul. "Give back, 
 give back mah wife an' wee boy, an' I'll dig my 
 whiskey still f'm th' earth an' throw it intil the 
 catarac' of Lindeno ! An' mah drinkin' '11 go 
 with it. Help me, O God, an' I'll quit." 
 
 No sound of conch shell broke the stillness of 
 the day. Along the trails and in the deep de- 
 files they searched. Amid jungles deep and the 
 fissures of mighty rocks, where vultures soar and 
 plunging torrents foam ; in dens where spotted 
 serpents flash their forked tongues ; wherever 
 mortal form might hide or human corpse might 
 lie those faithful mountaineers sought the lost. 
 
 The shadows climbed slowly up the peaks and 
 pushed the sunshine from the summits. Sty- 
 bright saw that the dreaded night would over- 
 take him before he reached the Falls. His fears 
 were swifter than his feet, and his heart was like 
 lead as he wound his way toward the smoking 
 mountain. As he passed his home he waited for 
 a little food to strengthen him, for the worst was 
 yet to come. He pushed open the door, and 
 stood there a moment amazed. There sat his 
 wife and child by the fireless chimney, their wide- 
 open eyes turned inquiringly toward him. He 
 rushed into his wife's arms crying: 
 
 "O mah God, Seloe, Seloe !" 
 
 It was then the conch shell sounded from the 
 cliff. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 BEHIND THE CATARACT 
 
 "Seloe, Seloe !" St ybright crooned as he patted 
 his wife on the cheek in his wonderful delight. 
 He could scarcely reconcile himself to the joy of 
 her presence. Seloe was startled at the unusual 
 effusiveness. She could scarcely believe her own 
 eyes. She feared her husband was losing his 
 mind. It was a revelation. She knew not what 
 to make of it, while Gyp looked on from a safe 
 distance, ready to take to the woods on the slight- 
 est provocation. 
 
 "Mah dear Seloe !" crooned the happy man as 
 he frisked about her, almost beside himself with 
 joy. He took her in his arms and rained kisses 
 upon her pale cheeks. Gyp thought it about 
 time to break for the elder thicket ; but meeting 
 some neighbors at the door returned. Stybright 
 in his exuberance gave no heed to their coming. 
 
 "Whar ye been, Seloe? Gyp, whar ye been? 
 Weuns been a huntin' youns ; an' I been a prayin' ! 
 Whar ye been?" 
 
 Seloe looked at him in amazement. All this from 
 the man whom, only a few hours ago, she had 
 left drunken in his bed with brutal curses on his 
 lips ! And this incoming of the neighbors with 
 
 23 
 
24< THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 strange, inquiring looks ! She gazed from one to 
 the other, and said: 
 
 "Wat's been a happenin'?" 
 
 "Th' Lord bless ye, Seloe !" fervently ejacu- 
 lated the Rev. William Watchcob ; "won't ye tell 
 th' people whar ye been all this time, an' w'at 
 yer been a doin', you an' th' lad?" 
 
 "Not till th' world ends, an' har'ly then, kin 
 I tell ye th' happenin' o' las' night. But I've 
 foun' mah boy, an' that's blessin's a plenty." 
 
 "But, Seloe," entreated the eager husband who 
 sat gazing into her face, "weuns been a huntin' 
 an' a scourin' all th' hills fer ye. An' I been 
 most like a wild animal, jes plum crazy fer ye." 
 
 "Well, Guy, ye know th' boy was lost, an' some- 
 thin' tol' me t' go way ofF to th' Thunder ClifF 
 an' I went." 
 
 "Not alone, Seloe ; yer didn't go alone through 
 all th' night far off to th' Cliff, Seloe, not in 
 th' dark, did yer.?" 
 
 "I shorely did. Tired an' broken an' mos' 
 dead I went, up th' face o' th' cliff, over th' 
 slipp'ry rocks an' leaves an' moss, slippin' an' 
 fallin' an' cryin' — " 
 
 "Maw, w'y didn't ye call an' I'd a cum t' ye?" 
 Gyp tenderly inquired. 
 
 "jNIah boy, I called till I thought mah heart 
 would burst right thar ; all alone in th' wild night 
 thar I cried. An' I fell faintin' t' th' groun', an' 
 th' lantern set fire t' th' leaves. It was that ci-y 
 that waked ye, Gyp." 
 
BEHIND THE CATARACT 25 
 
 "O Seloe !" gasped Stybright as he seized her 
 hand, "how near I cum t' losin' ye !" 
 
 "Yes, paw," shouted Gyp, aroused at the re- 
 membrance of the peril in which they both were ; 
 "maw, she been a mos' burndcd up, an' I said, 
 'Quick, maw, dish-a-way,' an' tugged at her skirts 
 t' waken her. I hollered an' hollered an' maw 
 woke up, an' th' fire was a droppin' f'm th' big 
 pines an a crecpin' in th' grass, an' hissin' in th' 
 trees lak a storm, an' I tho't we be both roasted, 
 an' maw saw th' fire an' saw me, an' clasped me 
 t' her breast an' screamed so's I know God hcer'd." 
 
 "Wat did yer do, Gyp ; how'd ye git out o' 
 th' fire?" 
 
 "I took maw by th' hand, 'quick, maw ! behind 
 th' Falls!' I hollered, an' we run'd behind th' 
 fallin' water, an' — " 
 
 "Ye don't mean t' tell us, boy, that yer went 
 under th' Falls of Okaluna when th' fire was 
 a ragin'?" spoke up Judy Gans, who had been lis- 
 tening spellbound. 
 
 "That's jes w'at we did, 'cept not under but 
 back o' th' Falls," answered Seloe. "Thar be a 
 mighty cave in thar 'ith damp leaves an' a bad 
 smell; an' nobody but jes Gyp an' th' chipmunks 
 knowed it was thar. An' thar we stayed till 
 mornin', th' rocks makin' a roof above us, th' 
 Falls porin' an' a porin' an' a roarin' all night 
 in front of us, an' although all th' mountings was 
 afire we wus safe. Gyp an' me." 
 
 "Maw, wusn't it awful.'"' 
 
26 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "It was th' mercy o' Gawd !" reverently ex- 
 claimed the Rev. William Watchcob. "It was 
 sure th' mercy o' Gawd !" 
 
 "I might a killed ye, Seloe, 'ith mah drinkin', 
 an' I been a mos' crazy all day f'r fear I had," 
 was the trembling acknowledgment of Stybright. 
 "I might a killed ye 'cause I been so bad t' ye," 
 and he rubbed his nose with his bandanna and 
 gave a little snuff that sounded like a sob. 
 
 "Aw, ye been a doin' nuthin', you good ole fel- 
 ler," and Seloe reached over and patted him for- 
 givingly on the cheek. "You was jes a takin' 
 yer rest while I been a huntin' wcunscs little boy." 
 
 "O but I was drunk, Seloe, I was drunk, 
 drunk!" he answered quickly, taking her thin 
 white hand in his and stroking it soothingly as 
 a child might the back of a favorite tabby. Then 
 looking around at Gyp, he said: 
 
 "Gyp, whar ye been, mah boy, when yer mammy 
 been a huntin' ye.f"' 
 
 "W'y, paw, I jest went t' th' Falls t' see things, 
 an' as I stood thar a lookin' up t' th' mounting 
 top, I wunnered w'at lay beyent it. I saw th' 
 sun a settin' behin' th' cliff, an' I tho't, maybe, 
 it was still a sittin' thar, an' I clum up t' see 
 w'at it looked like w'en it was a doin' nothin'. I 
 tho't it might be a fairy place 'ith purty things 
 an' bu'ful faces, an' I wunnered if there wus 
 houses an' w'at tha looked like, an' w'at sort o' 
 creeters lived in 'em, an' w'at cur'us things I'd 
 see thar. An', paw, I didn't know it was wrong 
 
BEHIND THE CATARACT 27 
 
 to climb up an' find out. So I clum up among 
 th' rocks an' sticks an' j aggers an' pisen vines, 
 wet moss an' ferns an' slippery things, an' w'en 
 I got thar, w'y paw, it's jes like this side o' th' 
 mounting, jes dirt an' trees an' things. The 
 sun wasn't sett in' thar at all. It was jes a goin' 
 on an' on ; an' I stood an' looked at its big face 
 as it rested on th' aidge o' th' furdest mounting. 
 I looked at it, with it's big ^^allcr face like a 
 punkin, an' it seemed as if it wanted t' say 
 something t' me, an' I up an' tol' it t' go on an' 
 say w'at it had a mind ter. But it wouldn't say 
 nuthin', jes sot thar a gapin'. Then it sneaked 
 down behin' th' hill. An', paw, I got so tired 
 a lookin' an' a climbin' an' a thinkin' that I jes 
 lay down at th' head o' th' Falls an' went asleep, 
 an' I never woke up till I heered maw a scream- 
 in'." 
 
 "Did y^ ever hear th' likes o' that?" commented 
 the grey-haired preacher. "Th' boy an' the sun 
 facin' other, a gazin' at other, each a lookin' 
 into th' eyes o' th' other! The center o' light 
 an' the center o' a soul. An' the soul'll live w'en 
 th' sun goes down t' come up no more. Heavings, 
 but it's an idee ! I'll preach on that at my next 
 apintment." 
 
 "An' how'd ye get out'n th' cave, Gyp.-^" 
 "O we jes stayed till th' fire got away from 
 thar, an' we clum out an' come home th' back 
 way o' th' mounting." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 WHOA, BUCEPHALUS! 
 
 Many a day has passed since that eventful 
 night, and Gyp is much more contented since his 
 father has fulfilled his vow and thrown his still 
 into the rushing waters of Lindeno. He is be- 
 ginning to feel himself somewhat of a man, and 
 to take more than a boyish interest in things 
 about him. One evening he was seated by the 
 roadside watching the antics of a grey squirrel 
 in the boughs of a hickory tree, when his atten- 
 tion was diverted by the sound of a small voice: 
 "Gyp, it's ha'nted." 
 
 Gyp turned and saw standing near by a negro 
 lad about his own size, bare-headed, bare-footed, 
 and almost bare-legged, plunging the toes of one 
 foot into the dust of the roadway. He had great, 
 glistening eyes and plump, round cheeks. 
 "Wat's ha'nted?" Gyp inquired. 
 "Ole shanty on de hill." 
 "Wat's th' matter 'ith th' shanty?" 
 "Full o' ghostses, jes full o' awful ghostses !" 
 "Ghostses hain't nuffin, Mose, tha hain't jes 
 nuffin at all." 
 
 "O tha be, Gyp, an' powerful bad." 
 "Did yer see 'em? How'd ye know?" 
 
 28 
 
WHOA, BUCEPHALUS! 29 
 
 "Dad he got mos' caught las' night !" 
 
 "Did?" 
 
 "Yes'n he feci de ghostses bref bio' dish-a-way : 
 s-h-o-o-o, w-h-e-o !" and Mose puckered his lips 
 and expelled his breath by way of illustration. 
 " 'Deed, Gyp, dat ar olc ghos' jes' rampages an' 
 rumpages fru dat ar house till weuns be skert 
 mos' t' dcf, an' maw she be about plum sick, an' 
 pap's limp as a rag." 
 
 "I haint afear'd o' no ghostses as ever wus 
 born." 
 
 "I be, Gyp." 
 
 "Say, Mose, le's go up an' kotch 'em?" 
 
 "Yer don't dast." 
 
 "Cm on ; who's afear'd. Le's youns an' weuns 
 have a ghost hunt?" 
 
 "It'll eat yer head off, Gyp. It cries like a 
 cat." 
 
 "Who cares fer a cat?" contemptuously an- 
 swered the Stybright lad. 
 
 "But dish hain't no cat. Hit's a ghost, an' it'll 
 swish yer head off'n roast it in de fiah. Yer 
 don't dast, Gyp, yer don't dast." 
 
 "Let 'er swish, Mose ! I be up at youns 's 
 cabin when de dark come on." 
 
 The proposition so frightened the tattered 
 little pickaninny that he stood speechless, gazing 
 into the face of Gyp ; then turned to see if the 
 road was clear toward home. 
 
 "Who's this little nigger you got here?" in- 
 quired Gyp's father, coming up at that moment. 
 
30 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 Without waiting for an answer he said to Mose: 
 "Boy, w'at's yer name?" 
 
 "Moses - Elijer - Jer'mijer - 'lysses - Ajax - 
 Ad'nijer-Ishma'l Jones." 
 
 "That's a whoppen' big name fer sech a teenty 
 mite. W'at does yer pap call yer.^*" 
 
 "Mose." 
 
 "That sounds like gitten' somewhar. It's 
 def'nit. It's t' th' pint." 
 
 Mose waited for no more catechetical exercises. 
 His black feet flew up the road as if the world 
 were coming to an end, and scarcely halted till 
 he came in sight of the "ole shanty," where gob- 
 lins and spirits of evil were supposed to revel. 
 As the paintless weather-boarding appeared 
 through the trees, Mose slackened his pace. He 
 ducked his head and peered between the rails of 
 the fence, his empty little head filled with all sorts 
 of uncanny imaginings. He saw the ruins of 
 the old mansion, and he crept slowly along, 
 hunkering down behind the sagging, lichen-cov- 
 ered palings. His eyes glared at the open doors 
 and the sasliless windows, the mossy roof, the 
 tall chimneys, the bunches of forsaken shrubs, 
 and his trembling heart beat faster and faster 
 lest some terrible wraith should flit across his 
 vision. On he crept till he passed the gateposts, 
 then with all the energy that was in his fat little 
 body he ran, swinging his arms and uttering a 
 series of almost inaudible grunts, and looking 
 back over his shoulder at each jump to make sure 
 
WHOA, BUCEPHALUS! 31 
 
 that all the goblins of the nether world were not 
 after him. 
 
 When he reached homo he found a number 
 of men sitting out on the woodpile discussing 
 this very thing. There was Pete Johnsing wiio 
 had seen Gen. Washington in all his glory, and 
 remembered all the distinguished presidents and 
 other great men of the earth for the last three- 
 score-years-and-ten, including the great "Mr. 
 Linkum." He knew a thing or two. He had 
 waited on "IMassa Tom," when in the days of his 
 prime he ruled in that now ghost-haunted man- 
 sion. "0 yes," he told the startled group, he 
 remembered the "young leddies and gemmen," 
 and how they filled the night with conviviality. 
 Great old house it was, the pride of the neighbor- 
 hood, piazzas wide, doors ample, columns fluted, 
 halls roomy, mirrors shining, carpets luxurious, 
 everybody happy. Grand times when the night 
 was filled with music and the slippered darkies 
 served. And the plantation? yes, Pete John- 
 sing knew all about how the black men toiled in 
 the fields and tickled the thin, red earth till it 
 smiled with plenty, and how the darkies made the 
 big house hilarious with song, and snored in tlieir 
 quarters, or in some jubilant hoe-down made grim 
 night joyous in spite of itself. No talk about 
 ghosts in those days. But now! The gray- 
 thatched patriarch pointed his thin index finger 
 toward the ridge, delivered a volley of tobacco 
 juice toward the woodpile, and said: 
 
32 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Wat yo' know about ghostses in dat manshun, 
 Jim Sluby?" 
 
 "I knows too much, 'deed I does, Pete John- 
 sing." 
 
 "Well, w'at yo' know?" 
 
 "I knows I seed suffin walkin' dar in de light 
 o' de moon, an' it sung lak de win' in de hazel 
 bushes. An' I heah'd bells on de staihs, an' sof 
 sounds lak de purrin' o' a cat. An' I see white 
 fo'ms movin' behin' de winders wid a soun' lak 
 a tree w'en it breshes ag'in de side o' de house." 
 
 "Dan Blossom, w'at yo' know.'^" Pete inquired, 
 giving no heed to the gruesome tale told by Sluby. 
 
 "W'en I thinks 'bout w'at I knows I'ze so skert 
 I git all wobbly." 
 
 "Tell it out ; it's lies anyway, 'sides, dar hain't 
 no ghostses in dis woodpile." 
 
 "One night," proceeded the truthful Dan, "I 
 comin' pas' ole shanty an' I seed de shuttahs 
 movin', an' odder things a movin'. I seed two 
 cullud men with no heads on 'em come out'n de 
 big house an' go to de well. An' dem cullud 
 men laid dah skinny ban's on de win'las an' 
 swung it roun' an' roun'. An' I heah'd it creak 
 an' creak; an' I see dem headless black gemmen 
 look down into de well as if somethin' down dar. 
 I seed 'em bring up a skull on dat 'ar win'las 
 out'n de well an' tak' it in dar yarms an' go 
 back into de big house ; an I heah'd suffin cough ; 
 den suffin fell down staihs, bump, bump, bumpety 
 bump, as if dem niggah's heads a bumpin' down, 
 
WHOA, BUCEPHALUS! 33 
 
 bumpty, bunipty ; an' suffin squealed lak a rabbit 
 w'en a dawg has it in his mouth. An' now, w'cn 
 I comes pas' dat ar house, I comes a roun' by 
 de back medder." 
 
 "O Unc' Pete Johnsing," Mose broke in, out 
 of breath, "Gyp Stybriglit lie be — he be — goin' 
 t' de big house t' ketch — t' ketch de go-o-o-oses !" 
 
 "Who gwine do dat?" echoed a half dozen ter- 
 rified voices. 
 
 "Gyp ! he gwine — gwine t'night." 
 
 "We'll stop dat. Ghostses '11 eat 'em up. 
 Whar Unc' 'Lijer? He's afeah'd o' nuffin." 
 
 "Unc' Lije gone t' town fob med'cine fob li'l 
 sick Pete." 
 
 "Le's go meet 'im an' help 'im keep Gyp away 
 'fore th' ghostses eat 'im. Cm on." 
 
 Very reluctantly the frightened negroes obeyed. 
 Uncle Elijah was the reputed hero of the com- 
 munity. At a good distance from danger Goliath 
 of Gath was nothing to him. He was afraid of 
 nothing. His vocabulary was all heroics. Lions 
 and hyenas were his daily food, and grizzlies 
 were nothing accounted of. Meanwhile Uncle 
 Elijah was having some experiences unknown to 
 the woodpile philosophers. He had left the doc- 
 tor's office as the shades of evening were falling, 
 and as he neared the "ghos' house" his fears for 
 his own skin were greater than his anxiety for 
 little Pete. 
 
 The steed on which he rode was old and thin, 
 and his stumpy knees stood out like pine knots. 
 
34. THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 The creature's head was immense, and his ears 
 rose and fell as his heavy hoofs thumped over 
 the roadway. When he attempted to trot the 
 sound of his feet reminded one of the old-time 
 singing master counting time: "one-two-three- 
 four ; one- two-three-four ; one-two-three-sing !" 
 
 "Sof'ly dah, Bocef'lus !" crooned the rider, pat- 
 ting his raw-boned steed on the shoulder. "Wish 
 I had some cotton bolls to put on yo' big, clumsy 
 foots !" 
 
 His own heart was thumping against his ribs. 
 Everything was still as he passed the empty 
 house, save the whisper of the winds and the oc- 
 casional flap of a loose board on the gable. A 
 white owl flew out and perched on a dead tree, 
 making a slight crash among the branches. 
 Uncle Elijah turned quickly and saw two great 
 eyes burning like candles. He had just passed 
 what he supposed to be the danger line when 
 a puff of wind lifted his hat from his frowsy head 
 and tossed it into the roadway. 
 
 "Wo-ah, Bocef'lus !" he snapped like the sound 
 of a percussion cap. But Bucephalus had en- 
 tered into the spirit of the place and refused to 
 be halted. 
 
 "Wo-ah, wo-ah dah, yo' dum beas' !" he urged, 
 pulling on the reins and leaning back until the 
 stirrups stuck out straight before him. "Wo-o 
 dah, I say wo-o dah !" 
 
 He heard something behind him, and he gave 
 himself a twist in the saddle and looked back. 
 
WHOA, BUCEPHALUS! 36 
 
 O horrors of horrors! A strange object was 
 after him. 
 
 "Wow-wow-wow ! Go, Bocef'lus, go-ah ! we be 
 bof dead niggehs. Go, Bocef — wow-wow-wow-ow ! 
 I's a duni, dead niggch, suah !" 
 
 Bucephalus pattered along beating time with 
 his clumsy batons, being, as was supposed, on 
 a full gallop, oscillating up and down like the 
 walking beam in an oil derrick, and making about 
 as much headway, his ears wig-wagging like sig- 
 nals on a battle ship. As ill luck would have it, 
 his clumsy legs seemed to get tangled up in some 
 way, and with a groan the old horse plunged for- 
 ward with his ill-shapen nose in the dust, and 
 rolled over on his side. Uncle Elijah turned a 
 somersault over the beast's head and landed on 
 the broad of his back in the middle of the road. 
 He felt that his time had come, and, gathering 
 himself together, looked down that direful high- 
 way and, feeling that his end was near, raised his 
 imploring eyes to heaven and prayed: 
 
 "Hab mussy, Lawd ! De good Lawd hab 
 mussy an' grab ol' 'Lijer quick afore dat ghos' 
 gittem ! Snatch me f'm de jaws ob de adve'sary, 
 an' spare my li'l Pete." 
 
 "Dat you, Unc' 'Lige?" 
 
 "I'm all a ready, Massa Ghos' ; but be mussyful 
 to mah boy Pete." 
 
 "Aw, 'Lige! ghostses hain't jes nuffin' at all." 
 
 "W'a.? dat you, Gyp.^" 
 
 "Yes, I been a doin' ma best t' ketch up." 
 
36 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 At the witching hour "o' night's black arch the 
 keystane," Gyp and the contingent from the 
 woodpile conference came over the hill and down 
 the road leading to the haunted mansion. It 
 was a strange company. White men and black 
 bent on running dowTi the bogies and hobgoblins. 
 To the negro company were added the Rev. Wil- 
 liam Watchcob, Jim Habor, Terbaccy Tom and 
 Jay Grimp. It was a sorry looking procession. 
 The negroes were bunched together, silent as the 
 grave, the white folks leading on. The witch 
 of Endor, as she stood face to face with the spirit 
 of Samuel, could not have been filled with greater 
 awe and horror. They felt that they were 
 marching into the very clutches of the Evil One. 
 But they wanted to "see Gyp through." Their 
 wild eyes swept the night like searchlights, as 
 they bumped and knocked against each other and 
 tramped on one another's heels. Not one of 
 them would go nearer the house than the "big 
 road." There they stood bunched like a flock of 
 sheep on a hot summer's day. They called to 
 Gyp, and plead in all manner of staccato notes 
 not to rush into the jaws of this invisible dragon. 
 
 "Goo'-bye, Gyp ! De Lawd hab mussy !" they 
 muttered at him as he started up the grass-grown 
 walk. Poor Gyp ! they never expected to see him 
 again alive. 
 
 "Don't you niggers let that boy go in there 
 alone," demanded the Rev. William Watchcob. 
 "Be brave and show your colors !" 
 
WHOA, BUCEPHALUS! 37 
 
 "G'off'n slio' yo' own culuhs," hissed a brawny 
 negro as his eyes flashed on the minister. 
 
 "I'll go. I'll not see that boy go alone. 
 Which of you is man enough to go along?" 
 
 "Take that sassy Jim Habor and Terbaccy 
 Tom. Take care o' yer own white trash." 
 
 But on looking about, those worthies could 
 not be seen. 
 
 "Wait, Gyp ; hold on a minute. I'm goin' 
 along. I'll show these skert niggers that the par- 
 son's not afear'd." 
 
 They started for the door and looked in, peer- 
 ing this way and that. They stood a moment in 
 the dark hall, only the faint glimmer of their 
 lantern relieving the heavy, ominous silence. 
 
 "Poor Gyp!" the negroes clucked, "we'll neb- 
 beh see 'im no mo'. Goo'-bye, Gyp, goo'-bye!" 
 
 There was a muffled sound as of a sack of 
 grain falling on the floor, followed by a crash 
 like wings striking against a window. A mo- 
 mentary flash of fire blazed through the doorway 
 and lit up the cracks in the wall. The sound of 
 a pistol reverberated through the hollow cham- 
 bers and smote on the ears of the horrified ne- 
 groes. Following it came a sound like the bump- 
 ing over the floor of a decapitated chicken, and 
 then a short, sharp, snappy noise like that made 
 by an owl in captivity. A light at the rear of 
 the building grew brighter and brighter, and two 
 forms were seen fleeing through the shrubs and 
 tangled vines. It looked as if the house was on 
 
38 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 fire. A scream rent the air and the negroes fled 
 pell-mell from that bedeviled and unholy place. 
 
 There was another shot, and out of the build- 
 ing came a shriek which filled the night like the 
 cry of a beast in pain. Up the road the black 
 feet flew, the negroes snorting and puffing and 
 tumbling over each other. Once out of sight of 
 that demoniacal spot they halted to talk over the 
 situation. They wondered how Gyp and the par- 
 son were making it, and they decided, after much 
 palaver and brave argument, to go back. When 
 they crossed the ridge they saw the sharp tongues 
 of fire leaping from the windows. They hurried 
 down and, when they came to the old sagging 
 gate posts, they saw two shadowy forms outlined 
 against the background of flame. 
 
 "It's Gyp's ghos' an' anodder ghos' ! Wow- 
 wow !" and away they fled again, never stopping 
 till they reached the crest of the hill, when, look- 
 ing back, they saw flames bursting through the 
 roof and filling all the horizon with palpitant 
 fire. 
 
 "De wo'ld am cummin' to an eend," declared 
 Pete Johnsing, whose masterful spirit at the 
 woodpile again found expression. 
 
 "Look dah! Look dah ! Wha' dat, niggehs?" 
 exclaimed the excited Pete, as he pointed to two 
 figures plainly visible in the light of the burning 
 structure. 
 
 "Fo' de Lawd, niggehs, it's Gyp an' de pah- 
 son !" 
 
WHOA, BUCEPHALUS! 39 
 
 "Yit's dar ghostscs ! Run, niggchs, run ; tha's 
 attcr us ! Wow-wow-wow ! Run'r we be all dead 
 niggehs, suali." 
 
 And they did run, run as the terrified never 
 ran before or since — all except old Elijah, 
 whose fall from Bucephalus had so lamed him 
 that running was out of the question. He threw 
 himself down by the roadside the most woe- 
 begone of mortals, hoping that the ghosts of his 
 little friend and of the preacher would pass him 
 by unnoticed, yet assuredly feeling that his mor- 
 tal end was near. 
 
 The ghosts, however, did see him. They 
 walked straight up to him, and one of them coolly 
 said: 
 
 "You old fool, what are you doin' here.?" 
 
 "I'm a waitin' fer de golden ladder t' dim' up 
 home, Mr. Ghos' !" 
 
 "Whar dem odder niggers gone?" 
 
 "De good Lawd done gib 'em dc use o' dar 
 laigs an' they done gone an' use 'em. Ize aready 
 fer de golden staihs ; but ma laig's mos' broke, 
 so Mistah Ghos' tech it sof'ly." 
 
 "You old ejit, we'er not ghos'es. Ize Gyp, an' 
 that's th' pahson, an' thar's de ghose's w'at ha'nt 
 th' big house," and he flung a dead owl and a cat 
 at his feet. "Ghostses hain't jes nuffin' at all." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 OVER THE RANGE 
 
 "T'morrer, Gyp, we's gwine over th' range," 
 said Seloe Stjbright to her boy. 
 
 "W'y we gwine ober dar?" 
 
 "Jus' t' rest an' see the water an' th' white 
 swans." 
 
 "Be it far away, maw?" 
 
 "It's a right smart bit." 
 
 "See lots o' nice things?" 
 
 "Lots an' lots of 'em, Gyp." 
 
 "Be paw gwine, too?" 
 
 "We be all gwine, mah boy." 
 
 "Wat's it lak on that 'ar side o' th' moun- 
 ting? Be thar houses an' dogs an' critters, 
 trees an' streams, an' be folks ober dar like 
 weuns ?" 
 
 "Jus' de same, Gyp, but difF'nt. Th' lake's 
 full o' water, an' dar be skiffs an' fine boys an' 
 gals a floatin', sometimes a singin', sometimes a 
 fishin' an' sometimes a sittin' on de green grass 
 pullin' white cloveh an' a watchin' dar shadders 
 in de lake. An' dar be sojers an' tents an' flags 
 an' guns an' drums." 
 
 "My, maw, I wisht it was t'morrer." 
 
 "Weuns be not a ready fer t'morrer, Gyp. 
 
 40 
 
OVER THE RANGE 41 
 
 Lots o' things t' do, kase weuns'll not be back 
 
 soon." 
 
 "I'll help yer out, maw; w'at yer wants me 
 t' do?" 
 
 "Well, Gyp, yer maw wants yer t' go up th' 
 mounting t' Terbaccy Tom's house an' tell'm 
 yer mammy wants t' borry his boss t' carry her 
 over th' range." 
 
 " 'E's a bad man, maw. 'E's agin us." 
 
 "I know. Gyp; but he'll do it; he'll do it fer 
 me this time." 
 
 "He's a secesh, maw?" 
 
 "Yes, Gyp, I know; but 'e'll not hurt yer." 
 
 "I'll go, maw," and away he went, barefoot, 
 up the graveled road with all the hopefulness and 
 dear anticipations of youth, thinking only of the 
 morrow and the good times before him, and how 
 very far away they seemed. 
 
 He stopped suddenly, for he saw before him 
 a big black thing on wheels, the like of which he 
 had never seen before. A closed carriage was a 
 very unusual sight in that part of the country, 
 and Gyp was greatly exercised to make out what 
 it was and what it meant. But his curiosity was 
 intensified when he heard conversation, and look- 
 ing under the trees he saw a sweet-faced girl for 
 whom a well-dressed, elderly gentleman was break- 
 ing branches of rhododendron. The girl's arms 
 were full of the glowing blossoms and the 
 ground at her feet was radiant with sprays of 
 color. As they came toward the carriage with 
 
42 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 their arms laden, the girl discovered Gyp by the 
 roadside, 
 
 "Oh, papa! what a funny-looking young fel- 
 low!" 
 
 "Isn't he an odd chap?" said the elderly gen- 
 tleman, smiling. 
 
 "I wonder what his name is?" 
 
 "We'll find out, Aida. Say, boy ; come up 
 here." 
 
 Gyp's heart bounded. He scarcely knew 
 whether to be pleased or frightened, but came 
 forward somewhat shyly, wondering in his heart 
 what this strange man and this beautiful girl 
 wanted with him. 
 
 "Boy, what's your name?" 
 
 "Gyp." 
 
 "Isn't that a funny name, papa?" 
 
 "What's the rest of it, my lad?" 
 
 "It's jes Gyp, Gyp Stybright, that's all." 
 
 "Gyp Stybright," echoed the little girl. 
 "Isn't he queer, papa ; with the oddest name you 
 ever heard?" laughed the sweet, pink-faced child 
 behind her sheaf of rhododendrons. 
 
 "W'at be your name. Mister?" and Gyp turned 
 inquisitor. 
 
 "Do I have to tell you my name?" the stranger 
 replied with arched brows. 
 
 "I top yer w'at mine was. Don't yer wanter 
 play fair?" 
 
 The question amused the little girl immensely. 
 "Why certainly, my boy, I always play fair. 
 You're a bright young man. Gyp." 
 
OVER THE RANGE 43 
 
 "But yer haven't toP me w'at ycr name be?" 
 
 "Do you think you would know if I told you?" 
 
 "I alius knows w'at I be tol'." 
 
 "Well, Gyp, I'll tell you ; my name is Richard 
 Moncure. Now do yon know?" 
 
 "Yes, it be Richard Moncure. But I nebber 
 heerd o' ye afore. Whar'd ye come f'm?" 
 
 "No matter, boy ; I'm here now. Where'd you 
 hail from?" 
 
 "Down yander. Say, whose gal's that ye got?" 
 
 At this blunt question both ]Mr. ]Moncure and 
 his daughter laughed heartily. The musical 
 voice of the girl was the sweetest Gyp had ever 
 heard. He looked at her in wonderment ; then 
 at Mr. IMoncure and joined in the laughter, 
 shoAving his array of exquisite teeth. 
 
 "Isn't he droll, papa; just the cutest fellow 
 you ever saw?" 
 
 "Ain't ye gwinc t' tell me th' gal's name? I 
 gin ye mine." 
 
 "Gyp, you'd tempt anybody to give you all 
 they had. If it will do 3^ou any good and make 
 your heart any happier I will tell you. This is 
 my daughter, Aida." 
 
 "That's a mighty purty name." 
 
 "And Aida's a mighty pretty girl." 
 
 "Deed she be," was Gyp's decided comment. 
 
 "And she is just as pretty as she looks," re- 
 plied Moncure, plaj'fully. 
 
 "0 papa, hush !" 
 
 " 'E kin keep on a goin' ef he's a mindter, as 
 fur as I care." 
 
44 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Well, good -bye, Gyp ; we are going," and 
 Mr. Moncure handed his daughter into the car- 
 riage. 
 
 "Whar be ye gwine?" the boy asked, disap- 
 pointed that they were to leave him so soon. 
 
 "Home," and the wheels began to move down 
 the road. 
 
 "Good-bye, Gyp," called Aida, as she thrust 
 her head out of the carriage and waved her hand 
 to the bewildered boy, who scarcely knew what 
 to make of it all. He stood there watching the 
 retreating conveyance as it rocked and swayed 
 over the rough road until it disappeared around 
 a point of the hill. 
 
 "Nebbeh seed th' lak o' that in all mah bo'n 
 days," mused the lad as he proceeded on his way. 
 "That's a heap better'n th' lake an' th' white 
 swan's w'at maw was talkin' about. I'll bet she's 
 nice ;" and he looked back in the hope that he 
 might see them return. But instead of seeing 
 the carriage, he beheld Terbaccy Tom coming 
 through the woods with his gun on his shoulder. 
 Seeing Gyp he stopped. 
 
 "Hello, you rat !" he called scornfully to the 
 boy. 
 
 "Hello, Terbaccy Tom." 
 
 "Don't call me Terbaccy Tom. Call me Tom. 
 I'm goin' t' lick the first cuss what calls me 
 that name again." 
 
 "I didn't know yer had another name." 
 
 "Well I have an' people'll soon find it out." 
 
OVER THE RANGE 45 
 
 "Well yer needn't t' jaw me; I didn't gin it 
 to yer." 
 
 "Co'se not. Wliar ye gwine?" 
 
 "Maw sent me up t' youns house t' ast ye ef 
 she'n paw c'd borrcr yer hoss fer t'morrer t' 
 drive over th' mounting." 
 
 "I ain't got no hoss." 
 
 "Y' ain't.'' W'y I seed ye a drivin' it yistl- 
 day." 
 
 "I sold it to-day to th' C'nfed'rate Gov'ment, 
 an' am just on my way home." 
 
 "Wat's th' C'nfed'rate Gov'ment.?" Gyp in- 
 quired, scarcely comprehending these tremen- 
 dously big words. If Tom had said "rebel" or 
 "secesh" Gyp would have known ; but such over- 
 whelming nomenclature was too much for him. 
 "Wat yer mean by them words?" 
 
 "Them's the fellers what's a gwine to lick all 
 creation out'n them Union cusses." 
 
 "Wat tha been a doin'.?" 
 
 "Tryin' t' free th' niggers. Some o' you fel- 
 lers a gwine t' git shot up, 'fore long. I got a 
 big-mouthed ole dawg here what'U bark at th' 
 heels o' some o' you Unloners onc't it gets a 
 chance," and he patted his gun knowingly. 
 
 "x\n' don't yer fergit, Tom, that dawgs what 
 barks too much sometimes gits pepper in ther' 
 own legs. I'm sorry yer hain't got no hoss," 
 said the boy, not desiring to carry the other 
 question farther. "I spec' maw'll hafter stay 
 t' home." 
 
46 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "That's th' bes' place fer wimmin these days. 
 It's gettin' pretty skeery here in the mountings, 
 with the Yanks on one side and th' Johnnies on th' 
 tother. Be you a Yank?" 
 
 Gyp pulled a small soiled United States flag 
 out of his trouser pocket, shook it out before 
 Tom and said: "That's whar I be." 
 
 "And that's whar I be," echoed Tom, taking 
 a Confederate flag from his shot pouch and hold- 
 ing it up alongside of Gyp's flag. "Y'see it's 
 bigger'n yourn." 
 
 "Yes'n, you be bigger'n I be, but I c'n out 
 run ye, an' out climb ye, an' out jump ye; an' 
 I've seen menny a bantam rooster lick an oP yal- 
 ler shanghai an' mak' it run. You fellers'll git 
 licked, Tom, ef you is bigger'n I be." 
 
 "Gyp, I like yer stuff"; an' I'm sorry we be 
 on diff^'nt sides." 
 
 "I spose we's all gotter take sides, Tom. But 
 I wanted t' go over th' mounting t' see th' lake 
 an' th' swans an' the nice houses. Now I'll hafter 
 stay t' home, an' maw an' paw too, kase weuns 
 can't get no boss." 
 
 "Walkin' 's good." 
 
 "Maw can't walk. Maw hain't well. Maw 
 haster do lots o' work. She hitches the ox t' 
 th' bull-tongue plow an' plows. Maw drops th' 
 corn in th' groun' an' hoes th' sprouts, an' pulls 
 th' fodder an' totes it t' th' shed. Maw hoes th' 
 taters in th' patch beyent th' house. She goes 
 t' town in th' two-wheeled cart, sells th' chickens 
 
OVER THE RANGE 47 
 
 an' th' beans, an' tli' squir'ls w'at paw shoots. 
 An' maw she's mos' plum done out ; an' paw tho't 
 he'd lak t' give maw a rest over th' range at th' 
 hike." 
 
 The cold heart of Tom was touched by the 
 boy's pathos, and by the tears which were on 
 his cheeks, and he replied: 
 
 "I'd give yer th' lioss. Gyp, but it's gone." 
 
 "Guess I'd better go, too," and Gyp turned 
 sorrowfully toward home. 
 
 "Weuns'll go up the mounting, anyhow," was 
 Guy Stybright's hopeful comment when Gyp told 
 of his disappointment. "I can borry a cart, an' 
 weuns'll hitch up th' ol' ox, Jerry ; an', maw, 
 weuns'll git yer t' th' lake. So jes go t' bed an' 
 sleep til th' mornin'." 
 
 Stybright awoke early next morning. He 
 saw that Seloe was resting quietly by his side 
 and he thought he would not disturb her. "Mah 
 poor, tired wumman ; let her sleep for the ride 
 is a long one ;" and he slipped quietly from the 
 bed, kindled the fire and arranged for the morn- 
 ing meal. Very softly he went about through 
 the house. With the journey before them he felt 
 that a little more sleep would do her good. He 
 brought some water from the spring; then took 
 a pail from a forked stick on the wall and went 
 out to milk. He fed the old ox, Jerry, and re- 
 turned to the house to find "the mammy" and 
 Gyp still asleep. Day was breaking, and the 
 mists of the morning hung grey along the valley. 
 
48 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 He went to the bedside and laid his hand gently 
 on the white brow that was turned from him, and 
 said: 
 
 "Mah sweet wumman — what ! Seloe ! O mah 
 God, Seloe, Seloe !" He started back, stared at 
 the woman a moment, then caught her pale face 
 in his hands and turned it toward him. Her wide- 
 open eyes glared on him as they had never done 
 before. A look not of earth was there. He 
 knew what it meant. 
 
 "O Seloe, Seloe ! Speak t' me, mah darlin', 
 mah darlin' ; O be j^ou dead, mah poor Seloe ! 
 Wak' up, mah love an' speak t' me ; mah darlin' 
 wak' t' me ; speak t' me. O God ! God ! God !" 
 
 The pitiful lamentations of the husband at his 
 awful discovery filled the house and woke Gyp 
 from his little couch in the corner. He looked 
 into the bed whereon his mother lay, white and 
 unresponsive. He had never seen death in this 
 guise before, and he could not realize it. He 
 bent over and kissed the cold lips, saying: 
 
 "Wak' up, mammy, weuns be goin' t' dim' th' 
 mountings th' day !" 
 
 "She's clum her last mounting. Gyp ! O God ! 
 God ! we be alone, alone !" and the father in his 
 pitiful grief threw himself on the bed, took her 
 in his arms and bore the rigid form to the door. 
 
 "Give her th' breath o' th' mountings and 
 mebby she'll come to. Look up, mah Seloe, on 
 the old hills. Open yer lungs. Breathe in th' 
 mornin'," and his tears fell upon her face as he 
 
OVER THE RANGE 49 
 
 looked, O so hungcringly, into those expression- 
 less eyes. "Seloe, Seloe ! mah darlin', has 
 yer husband killed yer that he made life so hard 
 fer ye?" and he drew the cold cheek up and 
 pressed it against his own again and again. 
 "F'rgive nie, mah poor dead love ; speak an' tell 
 me yes, tell me I be f'given an' tell me once 
 more 'at yer loves me ! O Gyp, Gyp ! yer poor 
 mammy's gone ; she be gone. Gyp !" 
 
 "Wat yer mean, paw.?" 
 
 "Mah boy, mah boy ; she be dead, O mah God 
 be with htr, she be dead !" 
 
 And Gyp, seeing his father's tears, began to 
 cry, and tugged at the robe of his mother, and 
 clung to her skirts. 
 
 "Don't cry, mah boy. She be gone t' heav'n. 
 pore, pore mammy ;" and he pressed her speech- 
 less lips to his in a paroxysm of grief and affec- 
 tion. 
 
 "She'll never speak t' me an' li'l Gyp, no 
 more !" 
 
 "Won't she never come back to weuns, never?" 
 
 "She'll never come back. Gyp. Never. God's 
 took her. God's took her!" 
 
 Stybright carried the precious burden back 
 and laid it on the bed. And never did nurse or 
 mother smooth the coverings about a sleeping 
 babe with greater gentleness than did the hard, 
 rough hands of the crushed husband draw the 
 thin, faded quilts about the form of his beloved 
 dead, sobbing and clucking the almost inaudible 
 
50 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 name, "Seloe ! Seloe !" through his blinding tears. 
 
 "Gyp," sobbed the father, turning from the 
 bed to his mystified and weeping child, "Weuns'll 
 have a bite t' eat, an' you must run an' tell th' 
 people. Pore boy, pore boy !" and he took the 
 boy upon his knees. "And she loved yer. Gyp ; 
 she loved yer, an' now we'll hafter put her in th' 
 groun'." 
 
 "I don't want t' put my maw in th' groun'," 
 and the lad looked appealingly to his father 
 through his tears. 
 
 "Nuther do I, Gyp ! O Seloe, Seloe ! God ! 
 God ! God !" and the grief-mastered father set 
 the child down from his knees, leaned his elbows 
 on the table and, with his face in his hands, 
 cried as if his heart would break. 
 
 Seloe had gone over the range. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 SPEARS AND PRUNING HOOKS 
 
 "It's awful, Judy." 
 
 "What's awful, Sykes?" 
 
 "The things that Jim Habor and Terbaccy 
 Tom be up to." 
 
 "What's they been a doin' next?" 
 
 "Gone and set the old house afire." 
 
 "Whose house; not yourn?" 
 
 "No, the old ghost house." 
 
 "Did y'ever!" 
 
 "Nothin' left but ashes." 
 
 "What possessed them, Sykes.'"' 
 
 "The devil." 
 
 "They'd do anything the devil wanted them to." 
 
 "That's so, Judy; that's so. The father of 
 lies is the daddy of Jim Habor." 
 
 "But why'd they bum the house down.?" 
 
 "So's to get the blame put on the parson and 
 Gyp. Habor has a gredge agin 'em, ye know." 
 
 "But I don't see how they could burn the 
 buildin' an' the other fellers get the blame on't." 
 
 "It's this way, Judy. Gyp and the preacher 
 was on a ghost hunt. Preacher went along to 
 please Gyp. Habor and Tom sneaked into the 
 buildin' the back way, like the scoundrels they 
 
 61 
 
52 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 is, and while the house was bein' searched by the 
 tother fellers, set it afire and run, so's the 
 preacher and the boy'd be found in there and 
 get the blame of it. They're agoin' to swear 
 they seen 'em in thar when the bleeze started." 
 
 "I don't wonder ye called it awful. That 
 Habor's old Nick's first bom child. When the 
 gallows gits its own Jim'll be at the end of the 
 rope." 
 
 "Yes'n some day they may ferget to hang him ; 
 jest drill him with a han'full o' buckshot. 
 Hangin's a slow process when the mob gits busy." 
 
 "But is there nothin' they can do to save them- 
 selves, the preacher and Gyp.'' Cayn't they 
 prove they didn't do it?" 
 
 "In times like these, Judy, men don't get a 
 chance to prove anything." 
 
 "But they cayn't do nothin' without convictin' 
 'em, and shorely they cayn't get no ividence 
 agin' 'em." 
 
 "But if the gorillars get them, they won't need 
 no ividence. Gorillars don't ask yer to prove 
 nothin'." 
 
 "What's yer meanin', Sykes.? You shorely 
 don't mean to tell me — " 
 
 "That's jest what I be tellin' ye, Judy. And 
 the big pity it is, Jim'll spread the lie, and the 
 gorillars'll believe him, and there'll be a rush in 
 the night and the mornin'll see what it'll see." 
 
 "Ye don't mean, Sykes, that they'll kill the 
 preacher and the boy for doin' nothin'?" 
 
SPEARS AND PRUNING HOOKS 53 
 
 "That's the game, Judy, that's the game. 
 Thcy's Union, ye know !" 
 
 "It's the game of brutes !" and there was fire 
 in Judy's eyes as she spoke, and there was an 
 ominous twitch to her little round nose. 
 
 "Jim's in that class, all right. All beasts has 
 hearts ; but Jim Habor's got nuthin' but a giz- 
 zard. He's brute lackin' the necessary innards." 
 
 "What you think they'll do.?" 
 
 "Maybe get atter them in the night when 
 they's a sleepin' and burn the house over them, 
 as they tried to do in the old ghost house." 
 
 "But the parson and Gyp ain't so easy 
 trapped. Thcy's not agwine to be snared like 
 that. Has nobody put 'em on their guard or told 
 'em t' be kccrful?" 
 
 "They know the whole game, Judy ; and are 
 jest watchin' fer them fellers to attack 'em. 
 Somebody else'll drop 'fore they does, ef they 
 don't watch out." 
 
 "0 I hope they'll get 'em fust. They is ter- 
 rible men, Habor and Terbaccy Tom." 
 
 "That's true, Judy, true as fallin' into the 
 crick. They is dangerous ; and there'll be no 
 peace in these mountings until they's got rid of. 
 And there is that pesky Snags Groucher ; she's the 
 worst rattler in the whole nest of sarpints." 
 
 "And a rattler she is, Sykes, a she rattlesnake, 
 sneakin' in the grass, with pisen in her one yaller 
 snag and vile tongue." 
 
 "There's agoin' to be times up in these mount- 
 
54, THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 ings, Judy. Blood's agoin' to flow afore this 
 thing ends. It's a flowin' now." 
 
 "D'ye mean that the bloody flood of war will 
 splash up this high.?" 
 
 "That's what I means, Judy ; awful times is 
 on us." 
 
 "It makes my blood boil. We'll hafter take a 
 hand, Sykes." 
 
 "And the wust of it is, it'll be among old 
 friends and neighbors." 
 
 "But what can we do.^"' 
 
 "Shoot or be shot." 
 
 "They haint no middle ground.'"' 
 
 "None." 
 
 "Cayn't leave the country if we wanted to or 
 make our getaway?" 
 
 "No. They'd ketch us afore we got out." 
 
 "Then we'll stay and defend ourselves." 
 
 "Or go out and shoot them first." 
 
 "It's awful, Sykes. But if it's God's will I'll 
 get my gun." 
 
 "And the sooner ye get it the safer ye'll be." 
 Judy Gans was mute for a little while. She lis- 
 tened to the rushing of the water in the ravine 
 below. Birds were in the boughs of the trees. 
 The air was filled with fragrance. There was 
 a quiet over all the mountains as if nature were 
 asleep. She looked up into the face of her com- 
 panion and said: 
 
 "It's all so peaceful. I cayn't think it possi- 
 ble. Don't let us talk any more about it." 
 
SPEARS AND PRUNING HOOKS 55 
 
 "Ceasin' to talk won't stop the war. It's 
 here." 
 
 "But it seems so terrible. Sit down, Sykes, 
 here on this step, and let us talk about other 
 things." 
 
 "I'll do it, Judy. It's a pleasure to get a fel- 
 ler's mind away from blood and butchery. I've 
 been thinkin' about them so much that I'm about 
 ready to shoot the first feller what says a word 
 agin' the old flag." 
 
 "So be I. But we're not a goin' to talk any 
 more about that." 
 
 "No, nothin' more now ; we'll have a sweet time 
 together, fer there's no tellin' when we may have 
 another chance." 
 
 "Now don't get blue, Sykesy. They'll be lots 
 o' chances." 
 
 "Tell you what we'll do ; make 'em if they 
 hain't none." 
 
 "Make what.?" 
 
 "Chances, dear." 
 
 "Chances fer what?" 
 
 'Now Judy, you's gcttin' me in a corner.?" 
 'Well cayn't ye get out." 
 
 "Maybe." 
 
 "If ye cayn't I'll give ye a lift." 
 
 "Judy, I'm alius happy when a sittin' along 
 side o' you." 
 
 "That's comfortin'." 
 
 "Ye have a way with ye that makes a fellow 
 feel as if peaches was ripe." 
 
 "I 
 
56 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "I'm a fustrate comforter, Sykes." 
 
 Snickerby's warlike feelings were indefinitely 
 postponed. He sat on the step of Judy's cabin. 
 He looked up to the sharp peak towering before 
 them, a few straggling pines dotting its rocky 
 slopes with bits of shadows. He glanced at the 
 twisted roadway which lay like some great red- 
 dish monster with its head hidden beyond a clus- 
 ter of tulip trees. He pulled his long chin, 
 looked into Jud^^'s face and replied : 
 
 "Yes, Judy, it's mighty palliatin' when a feller 
 can set all alone with a girl what onderstands 
 him." 
 
 "And sees right through him," and she gave 
 one of those sweet, hilarious laughs which startled 
 the whole neighborhood into good cheer and made 
 companions of the rocks and hills. 
 
 "There's somethin' I've been a thinkin' for 
 a long time, Judy." 
 
 "That's interestin'; about me?" 
 
 "You'n me." 
 
 "Can I help you any on it?" 
 
 "Dunno. It's up to you when you knows what 
 it is." 
 
 "But I cayn't help much when I knows nothin'." 
 
 "Well, I'm jes startin' in to 'luminate. Been 
 a wantin' to tell ye about it; but this pesky 
 war's kep me back." 
 
 "Why'd that keep ye back?" 
 
 "Cause I might be killed, and then it wouldn't 
 be wuth while." 
 
SPEARS AND PRUNING HOOKS 57 
 
 "But ycr not dead yet, so be happy while ye 
 can. Lcniiiie hear it." 
 
 "Well, Judy, y' know you've got a cabin and 
 I've got a cabin." 
 
 "That makes two cabins." 
 
 "You live alone and I live alone." 
 
 "That's two livin' alone." 
 
 "I'm on yan side o' the mounting and you're 
 on this side the mounting." 
 
 "Good piece apart, Sykes, for war times." 
 
 "What's the use, Judy." 
 
 "Nothin' in it, Sykes." 
 
 "Which side o' the mount ing'd you ruther live 
 on.?" 
 
 "The side you're on." 
 
 "Well, I'm on this side noAv." 
 
 "Then stay, Sykesey." 
 
 "It's a good move." 
 
 "Yer don't hafter move. Stay whar ye be." 
 
 And Snickerby stayed. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 ON THE ALTAR OF PATRIOTISM 
 
 From gathering rhododendrons on the moun- 
 tain-side Mr. Moncure and his daughter, Aida, 
 made their way to their beautiful Southern home. 
 Richard Moncure was a Northerner by birth 
 and education, but had removed to the South 
 many years before the outbreak of the Great 
 Rebellion. The past year had been to him one of 
 great anxiety. He saw the new flag of the Con- 
 federacy flung to the winds, and how cheerfully 
 thousands of his fellow citizens followed it. 
 What should he do? Go with the people of his 
 adopted state, or flee to the North and follow 
 the flag of his childhood? 
 
 He sat on the wide piazza of his home medi- 
 tating on the momentous issues that confronted 
 him. The days were growing darker with each 
 set of sun and the extreme gravity of the situa- 
 tion was forcing itself upon him. Looking up 
 from his reverie he saw a buggy halt at the 
 gate. His old friend, Wade Hampton, leaped 
 to the ground and ran up the walk to greet 
 him. There was intense concern in their counte- 
 nances as they met, grasped hands and looked 
 into each other's faces. In that glance whole 
 
 5S 
 
ON THE ALTAR OF PATRIOTISM 59 
 
 histories and tragedies were written. Mr. Hamp- 
 ton was the first to speak after the cordial greet- 
 ing. 
 
 "I am on my way Nortli, Moncure, and I have 
 stopped to say good-bye. There is no knowing 
 when we may meet again." 
 
 "Have you really cast the die?" 
 
 "There is nothing else to do. I cannot re- 
 main here and be neutral, and I cannot go with 
 the South." 
 
 "Come up a few minutes and let us talk it 
 over. These are grievous times, friend Hamp- 
 ton," Moncure said, pathetically, as they walked 
 to the end of the piazza and sat facing each 
 other. 
 
 "I can scarcely believe it possible," ]\Ir. 
 Hampton responded with a sigh, "that the Union 
 between the states must be dissolved. To set up 
 two separate governments side by side would, 
 in my judgment, be more than a mistake; it 
 would be a national crime." 
 
 "Our Southern statesmen do not seem to re- 
 alize that a slave nation on one side of the Po- 
 tomac and a free nation on the other would 
 result in no end of bitter contention and recrimi- 
 nation, if not in border-ruffianism and ultimately 
 in civil war. It would certainly involve inter- 
 national complications which would prove dis- 
 astrous to both nations." After a moment's 
 pause, Moncure added solemnly : "Maybe it is 
 just as well that this great question be settled 
 
60 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 by this generation, and settled once for all." The 
 sigh that followed was one of renunciation. 
 
 "Possibly, if it must come," Hampton replied, 
 "now is as good a time as any ; but only God 
 knows what the end will be." 
 
 "Sometimes it is better to endure the ills we 
 have than to throw open the bloody gates of war 
 and by fratricidal conflict end them ! But who 
 knows whether this is such a time? Slavery is 
 the only bone of contention between the sections, 
 and I feel that it would be better to meet the 
 inevitable calmly, strive to be just and equita- 
 ble, frame laws in the interests of the entire na- 
 tion, do the thing that is right, trust God and 
 let the question of slavery settle itself." 
 
 "I believe so. With that out of the way all 
 grounds for hostility would disappear and the 
 valiant South and vigorous North dwell together 
 in amity and industrial peace." 
 
 "It seems now impossible," sighed Moncure as 
 he leaned back in his chair. 
 
 "No doubt you are right. The day of reason 
 is passed. Argument and compromise are over. 
 Sad and awful as it is, the war is on in grim and 
 ghastly earnestness." And Mr. Hampton paced 
 back and forth on the piazza as he spoke. 
 "Brother has taken up arms against brother, 
 father against son, neighbor against neighbor. 
 The husbandman has abandoned his plow and the 
 laborer his tools ; the high born and the low born 
 have gone forth side by side, some in blue, some 
 
ON THE ALTAR OF PATRIOTISM 61 
 
 in gray, to shoot, to stab and club each other to 
 the death. The lawyer has given up his briefs 
 and the physician his patients to join in the game 
 of human butcliery. Ministers of God have gone 
 down from their pulpits to fight against each 
 other in carnal death-grip, or, as becomes them 
 better, to go forth as spiritual guides and com- 
 forters on the red fields of the dying. The tidal 
 waves, one running North and the other running 
 South, have met in terrific onslaught and the 
 red spray of the collision has been flung heaven 
 high, and the south wind blows it North and the 
 north wind blows it South, and it falls in scarlet 
 dew on mountain and plain, on river and lake, on 
 the altar of prayer and on the communion table ; 
 and in that scarlet rain the nation has at last 
 awoke. But it is too late to put up our um- 
 brellas." 
 
 Mr. Hampton was almost beside himself as he 
 gave utterance to these fervid sentiments. His 
 eyes burned restlessly as if he saw the mighty 
 shock of war and valleys filled with heroic dead. 
 
 "Then," said Moncure, "we must take the 
 hazard and abide by the consequences." 
 
 "Moncure," and Hampton turned directly 
 upon his friend, and pointing his long index 
 finger toward him, "it is time for us to leave the 
 country." 
 
 "I have come to that conclusion. For the 
 past few weeks the loafers on the street corners 
 have barked the word 'Union' at me as I passed 
 
62 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 along; and no longer ago than yesterday, when 
 my daughter, Aida, was with me, I saw her blue 
 eyes flash with indignation as some sneering re- 
 mark was made about the old flag. For her 
 sake and my own, I feel that we must leave. It 
 is not safe to remain longer." 
 
 "Have you received any threatening letters?" 
 
 "Yes ; to-day I received an outrageous com- 
 munication from Jim Habor, the Confederate 
 scout, and that villain and blackguard, Terbaccy 
 Tom, warning me that unless I espoused the Con- 
 federate cause within ten days, or left the coun- 
 try, I would be waited on by the vigilantes." 
 
 "They were very considerate to give you ten 
 days. They notified me that unless I left the 
 country within twenty-four hours, or reported 
 for military duty, I would be shot !" 
 
 "Is it possible !" Mr. Moncure paused a mo- 
 ment. Then the old-time patriotic fire blazed in 
 his eyes. "My brother," said he with emphasis, 
 "we cannot check the avalanche nor turn back 
 the tidal wave. The red spray is falling around 
 us now. There is nothing before us but bloody 
 arbitrament at the cannon's mouth. I see it all. 
 The mountains are filled with horses and chariots 
 of fire ! Passion is in the saddle and the peace- 
 maker's vocation is gone. Heaven help us." 
 
 "That is true, my brother. The two flags are 
 face to face and the fight must go to a finish. 
 The sooner we reach the lines the better," and he 
 arose to go. 
 
ON THE ALTAR OF PATRIOTISM 63 
 
 "Wade Hampton," and Mr. Moncure spoke 
 with deep emotion, "my neighbor and friend, 
 farewell. I will follow you within twenty-four 
 hours." 
 
 They clasped hands and stood for a moment 
 looking into each other's faces. They were giv- 
 ing up everything — home, possessions, friends, 
 possibly life. But they felt it to be the call of 
 patriotism, and there was no turning back. 
 Their hands gripped with the friendship of years. 
 
 "Farewell, ^Moncure, and may God bless and 
 help you." 
 
 "Hampton, farewell ; God be with you, and give 
 you safe journey to the Union lines." 
 
 The wheels died away and Moncure turned into 
 the house. That morning he had read the Four- 
 teenth Chapter of Isaiah, and although he was 
 no exegcte, it seemed to have a wonderful mean- 
 ing to him. Now it came back with added sig- 
 nificance. He picked up a well-worn Bible from 
 the table and turned again to the words of the 
 prophet, and read: Prepare ye slaughter for his 
 children for the iniquity of their fathers! "Ter- 
 ribly true," said he by way of comment. "The 
 fathers have sinned and we and our children 
 must suffer. And because they have sinned we 
 must 'prepare slaughter !' " 
 
 He read on: / will break the Assyrian in my 
 land and upon my mountains, and tread him un- 
 der foot; then shall the yoke depart from off 
 them and his burdens depart from their shoul- 
 
64 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 der. "Ah, there will be plenty of 'breaking upon 
 my mountains,' breakings of homes and breakings 
 of hearts and breakings of hopes and cherished 
 friendships ! and the result will be that the 'yoke' 
 shall be broken and the burden lifted from the 
 shoulders of the oppressed! It is the prophesy 
 of broken fetters and liberated bondsmen." He 
 continued : 
 
 There cometh a smoke out of the North, and 
 there is no straggler in his ranks. What then 
 shall one answer the messenger of the nation? 
 "It started yonder at Sumpter, but now the smoke 
 of battle has darkened all the Potomac. And 
 what shall my answer be to the messenger of the 
 nation? A patriot has but one duty — to obey." 
 He closed the Bible and laid it on the table. 
 
 "Come here, my daughter," he called up the 
 stairway to Aida. 
 
 "Yes, papa." 
 
 As she came tripping joyously down the stairs, 
 he said to her, extending his hands : 
 
 "My daughter, we leave the old home to-night." 
 
 "Is it as bad as that, papa?" 
 
 "Yes, my child. Take your last look on these 
 familiar scenes, for we must give them all up. 
 Come with me a moment." 
 
 He led her by the hand to the garden, where 
 luxurious flowers bloomed and two tall lindens 
 cast their welcome shade. Two graves were there, 
 graves which the father had not failed to visit 
 day by day for years. They kept his great 
 
ON THE ALTAR OF PATRIOTISM 65 
 
 heart soft and tender. They were the graves of 
 his wife and only son. He knelt down and kissed 
 the bright blossoms about which the purity of the 
 dead seemed to linger. He laid his hands caress- 
 ingly on the green mounds and his tears rained 
 like jewels into the sympathetic grass. It was 
 love's last libation. Would he ever look upon 
 these graves again.'' The pitiless presentment 
 forced its way into his very soul. He arose, his 
 eyes swimming in their baths of tears, and as he 
 turned to take a last look, he said through his 
 sobs : "God be with you till we meet again." 
 
 Aida took him by the hand, kissed it, and 
 looking up into his face, said: 
 
 "Dear papa, it's hard to be a patriot, isn't it?" 
 "Yes, my child, God knows how hard it is for 
 us. But we cannot be anything else." 
 "If you go to war, papa, I'll go too." 
 "We will talk of that again, my darling child. 
 Now we must prepare to leave our beautiful home 
 and these dear graves and make our way North 
 as best we can. We will never see our home 
 again. They will burn it when we are gone. 
 The one thing for us to do now is to save our 
 lives, if possible. This is the price of liberty." 
 When they returned to the house they found 
 Jim Habor at the door, in his grey uniform and 
 insolent manner, while Terbaccy Tom held the 
 horses at the gate. A crafty, sinister smile was 
 on his face, as he raised his hat, bowed contempt- 
 uously, and handed Mr. Moncure a piece of pa- 
 
66 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 per. He then turned to the gate, where he and 
 Tom mounted their horses and rode away to- 
 ward the city. As they looked back they saw 
 Moncure and Aida with their heads close to- 
 gether reading the white sheet which seemed to 
 tremble in their hands. The note read: 
 
 "Mr. Richard Moncure: 
 
 "You will report for service at the Confederate 
 headquarters to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. 
 
 "Jim Haboe." 
 
 "The fool !" hissed Moncure through his close- 
 shut teeth. "Eight a. m. ! There are sixteen 
 hours between this and eight to-morrow morning. 
 It is moonlight. Six hours will find us at the 
 Stybright cabin, and ten more beyond the reach 
 of all danger!" 
 
 If our prophesies only came true, how sweet 
 a thing it would be to paint the hours that lie 
 beyond ! 
 
 "But papa, what about the bandits?" 
 
 "My darling, we take our chances !" 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 THE SECOND STATE 
 
 It was court week in the town of Franklin. 
 The clingy temple of justice stood a solemn mass 
 of brick, columned at the entrance and domed at 
 the roof, in the midst of a campus of patriarchal 
 trees. A broad street, with dilapidated side- 
 walks, bounded the public square in the midst of 
 which the court house stood. The homes of the 
 residents hung round about the farther side of 
 the street and gazed into the shadowy campus 
 like little fat Dutch burghers watching a circus 
 tent. A few streets swung off from this box-like 
 center of the town and lost themselves in the en- 
 compassing woods. The mountains stood round 
 about the county seat and, from their soaring 
 heights, overshadowed the scales of justice. 
 
 It was 9 : 30 by the old clock back of the 
 judge's bench. The morning was as gentle as 
 ever tempted the meadow blossoms into smiling 
 loveliness or awakened maiden and lover to the 
 sweetness of domestic bliss. One could almost 
 hear the throbbing of the world's great heart and 
 the breathings of the everlasting hills. It was 
 a day of great significance to all who dwelt in 
 that hill country. Court was about to convene, 
 
 67 
 
68 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 and already the red highways leading into the 
 town echoed the hoofs of hurrying steeds and the 
 shouts of the mountaineers. What man of woman 
 born would willingly absent himself from the 
 great concourse which invariably assembled on 
 the village green on the opening day of court? 
 Not that these mountain folk were personally con- 
 cerned in the administration of law, for not one 
 in a hundred had lawyer to fee or wrong to right. 
 Court week was a sort of semi-annual round-up 
 where far separated acquaintances came to renew 
 their friendships, form new ties or settle ani- 
 mosities in the usual way. What the muster was 
 to the fathers and the county fair to the rural 
 populations farther north, court week was to the 
 dwellers of these North Carolina strongholds. 
 
 And so on this pure, crystal morning they came 
 down out of the mountains and up out of the val- 
 leys, and seemingly from the very dens and caves 
 of the earth. They swarmed from everywhere. 
 Gloomy recesses, untrodden by foot of tourist, 
 yielded up their bearded dwellers, and, mounted 
 on carts or wagons, ox-hauled or ass-drawn, they 
 crowded the highways and byways heading toward 
 the little mountain town. They came riding in 
 singles and doubles, in pairs and in squads, on 
 mule back, horse back and cow back ; men bearded 
 to the eyes and men, like the priest in the nursery 
 rhyme, all shaven and shorn ; mustached men, 
 goateed men, bright-eyed and sullen-eyed; men in 
 shirt sleeves and men in blouses ; men straw-hat- 
 
THE SECOND STATE 69 
 
 ted, and no hatted ; hats broad-brimmed, narrow- 
 brimmed and no-brimmed ; men with lunch bas- 
 kets on their arms and women witli balloon- 
 shaped pokes hung from their saddle horns ; silent 
 men, noisy men, men whose laughter made the 
 hills reecho and men whose brows were like the 
 storm-clouds on the brow of Thunder Cliff; 
 women whose faces were furrowed like the hill- 
 slopes or fair as a June landscape when the first 
 fruits are ripening. 
 
 Thus they came, these men and women of the 
 mountains, until the groves nearby were filled 
 with whinnying steeds or clogged with paintless 
 carts and wagons, while groups of garrulous 
 neighbors puffed their pipes, exchanged lugu- 
 brious wit, pulled their harness from their steeds 
 and threw it beyond the reach of inconsiderate 
 hoofs. 
 
 The court house square was filled with men and 
 women in pleasant mood, the men circulating over 
 the green or chatting in friendly groups, while 
 their wives and daughters, sisters and sweet- 
 hearts, clad in picturesque attire, mingled with 
 the throng or gossiped on the benches beneath 
 the trees. It was a rough and ready crowd with 
 no frills and no hypocrisy: a people near to na- 
 ture's heart — indeed, too near. They grasped 
 each other's hands, smiled, chatted and mumbled 
 unconsidered lies like other people, vaunted their 
 local heroisms and crowed over their own ex- 
 ploits. 
 
70 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 Big Perk Thompson was the observed of all 
 observers. He was most gorgeous in his attire, 
 and caused many a smile among the maidens and 
 an occasional guffaw among the men. His suit 
 was of Antwerp blue. His beard was long and 
 bushy with a sporadic streak of grey. His hair 
 fell on his shoulders and he wore a greasy, broad- 
 brimmed slouch hat. Perk Thompson was 
 straight as an arrow and moved through the 
 crowd with an air of importance. His pipe was 
 a cob with a section of grapevine inserted. He 
 was in ill humor because of the side glances and 
 tittering of the women and the awful wit of the 
 men. He was pretty near the limit of endur- 
 ance, as anyone might have known by the volumes 
 of smoke that encircled his scowling face. Perk 
 was a Union man, and in the absence of the blue 
 of the Northern army, he pressed his old Antwerp 
 suit into service, and it had become the target of 
 friend and foe alike. Terbaccy Tom came along, 
 with his gun, and seeing the gorgeous suit with 
 which Perk was empanoplied, it was too much for 
 him, and he stood there, gazing at Perk, and 
 grinning like a gargoyle, and shook till the car- 
 tridge box fairly rattled in his pocket. 
 
 "Heavings and earth, what a frock!" burst 
 from his lips as he roared with uncontrollable 
 laughter. 
 
 Perk shot out his muscular fist and landed full 
 on Tom's face and sent him spinning like a top. 
 "I've just been waitin' fer some old shanghai to 
 
THE SECOND STATE 71 
 
 cackle about that air suit! It's alius safe fer 
 fools t' keep their mouths shet," and he glowered 
 down at his victim as Jay Grimp stooped to help 
 him to his feet. 
 
 "This is only borrered, Perk!" Tom muttered 
 as he rubbed the blood from his face. 
 
 "Yer free to return it any day, now ef yer 
 wanter. This blue sleeve's alius loaded fer men 
 like you who goes among his neighbors with a 
 gun on his shoulder." 
 
 "Ther'll be another day, Perk Thompson, when 
 yer blue clothes won't save yer! Put that in yer 
 cob, ye ol' blue-backed crab !" shouted Tom, with 
 a shameless disregard for his figures of speech, 
 as he started to move away. 
 
 "Ye don't need t' wait. I'm right here. Put 
 down yer gun," and Perk flung his blue coat on 
 the grass. "I jest wanter get a good chance at 
 some o' you roving traitors," and Perk started to 
 follow, but was restrained by his friends. 
 
 "Let him go," said Snickerby. 
 
 "We've gotter pluck th' feathers offin these 
 buzzards whenever we ketch 'em." 
 
 "Oyes — Oyes!" shouted the court crier from a 
 window in the second story of the court house, 
 "C o u r t-i s - n o w-i n-session-and-all-people-h a v i n '- 
 business-afore-said-court-will-come-this-way !" and 
 the window went down with a bang. 
 
 Part of the crowd began surging toward the en- 
 trance, but many remained beneath the trees. At 
 this moment a change was given to the day's pro- 
 
72 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 ceedings for many. A tall, gaunt man, with a 
 beard of snowy whiteness falling over his bosom 
 and drifting about his shoulders, ascended the 
 court house steps and stood facing the crowd. 
 His eyes were black and piercing as an eagle's 
 and looked out from beneath the long thatches of 
 his brows, as with stentorian voice he called the 
 crowd to give attention. It was the Rev. Wil- 
 liam Watchcob. 
 
 "Mah fren's," said he, "it be put upon me t' 
 proclaim th' funneral of Seloe Stybright, who 
 died two year ago t'morrer. Th' funneral will 
 be preached at th' grave o' Seloe this atternoon 
 at two by th' clock. It war announced at th' 
 big meetin' on th' Sunday just past two weeks ago 
 t' take place th' first Sunday follerin' th' third 
 Satterday o' this month, which'd be next Sun- 
 day ; but fer reasons which th' bereft Guy will 
 make known at th' funneral, th' time am changed 
 to this atternoon." 
 
 What a hubbub the announcement caused. It 
 set hundreds of tongues wagging. It gave the 
 crowd a new theme on which to amplify, and 
 scores of them lost all interest in the proceed- 
 ings upstairs. Seloe Stybright had been dead for 
 two years. 
 
 "Funny thing this," whispered one woman to 
 another. 
 
 "Not a bit funny. That's the way down here." 
 
 "Don't yer preach th' funneral when the pus- 
 son dies .J"' 
 
THE SECOND STATE 78 
 
 "Not ginnerally. It may be preached when 
 th' mourners git ready." 
 
 "An' do yer keep th' corpse in th' house all 
 this while?" 
 
 "Naw. Th' burr>'in' takes place a few hours 
 atter death ; but th' funneral preachin' may be 
 months, er may be years, atter th' burryin'." 
 
 "That's a strange way o' doin', seems t' me." 
 
 "Funny thing happened last week. Nappy 
 Jones been dead more'n a year ; an' th' parson 
 came to do th' preachin', an' what do you think.'' 
 Th' widdy Jones was thar wid her second man, 
 an' she a leanin' on his arm listenin' to her fust 
 husband's vartues." 
 
 "An' this Stj'bright woman's been in th' grave 
 two years.'"' 
 
 "Jesso ; but Guy needn't a been in sich a hurry 
 with th' preachin'." 
 
 The festivities of the day were changed for 
 many. The funeral had equal attraction for the 
 crowds. ]\Iany remained to hear the chaffering 
 of the attorneys upstairs, but more repaired to 
 the plateau where the body of Seloe lay. There 
 was bustle among the carts and wagons as men 
 threw the harness on their animals and hooked 
 them up to their cumbersome vehicles and jogged 
 over the rough highway. Scores of them has- 
 tened on foot, carrying their meal pokes with 
 them. 
 
 The old preacher led the way and called to 
 the people to follow. The court crier cried in 
 
74. THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 vain. He raised his window, rang his bell, 
 shouted his "Oyes, Oyes" over the heads of the 
 people ; but soon called to a deserted campus. 
 
 It was a picturesque scene there upon the 
 mountain side that bright afternoon. The nar- 
 row "shelf" literally swarmed with men, women 
 and children in many-hued attire. It was a veri- 
 table flower garden in ever-changing color, a sort 
 of human kaleidoscope moving in ever-varying 
 situations. There was little to indicate the so- 
 lemnity of a funeral. The preacher rose by the 
 side of the grave and a hush fell on the throng as 
 everyone recognized his interesting presence. 
 His eyes glowed beneath his angular brows. His 
 snow-white beard was the sport of the winds as 
 it drifted about his face and shoulders like shred- 
 ded silk. He was loud in his praise of the dead, 
 and when he had finished the "preachin'," he 
 called upon Guy Stybright and Gyp to come for- 
 ward. And there by the two-year-old grave 
 friends and neighbors came forward, one by one, 
 and expressed their sympathy and dropped words 
 of consolation into the ears of father and son. 
 
 The minister once more arose, and stretching 
 his long right arm and skinny forefinger into the 
 air, said : 
 
 "The 'flicted husband bids me say t' th' people 
 that, t' save time an' th' comin' t'gither o' his 
 many frien's some other day, he an' Selma Lumbo 
 have made up to be jined in holy mattermony ; 
 an' as it is nobody's business but their'n there 
 
THE SECOND STATE 76 
 
 hain't nuthin' in the way. So if th' people will 
 be still I'll jine 'em. Guy an' Selma will arise, 
 come for'ard an' be jined." 
 
 And there by the grave of Seloe the afflicted 
 husband entered his second state. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 AN APPARITION 
 
 Selma Stybright was a good second to Seloe. 
 Stronger in character, less yielding, she was able 
 to hold her own against the world. But for all 
 that she was a cheerful, home-loving, good-na- 
 tured soul. She busied herself in her new home 
 as if she had always ruled it. It did not take 
 her long to get accustomed to its internal af- 
 fairs, or to obtain an inventory of her new pos- 
 sessions. A sweep of the rafters with her not 
 incurious eyes, where strips of bacon, hoops of 
 sausage and bunches of withered herbs hung ; a 
 glance into the three-cornered cupboard with its 
 few poor possessions ; a survey of the mantel- 
 shelf with its snuff-sticks and tobacco cans ; a 
 hasty look around the scantily furnished room, 
 with its one bed in the farther corner and Gyp's 
 couch stretched on the floor by its side, like a 
 lion's cub at the feet of its mother, and her task 
 was completed. She had entered into her king- 
 dom, thankful that she had done so well. 
 
 It was a drowsy evening, long months after the 
 picturesque marriage at the grave of Seloe, and 
 the three members of the Stybright home were 
 seated by the open fire-place. A bed of coals 
 
 76 
 
AN APPARITION 77 
 
 was on the hearth. Schiia arose, and going to a 
 table by tlie wall, busied herself with prepar- 
 ing a loaf for breakfast. 
 
 "Paw, did yer see that.?" 
 
 "See what, Gyp?" 
 
 "That face at th' winder?" 
 
 "I seed no face." 
 
 "Paw, I seed a face clus by th' glass. It was 
 a awful ugly face. It looked like Snags." 
 
 "Snags Groucher!" and Guy Stybright leaped 
 to his feet. "What's that she rebel doin' here !" 
 and he ran to the door, went out into the dark- 
 ness and looked all about the house, but could see 
 no one. 
 
 "Nobody thar. Gyp," he said as he returned 
 to his place by the open hearth. 
 
 "Paw, I seed that 'ar face as plain as yourn." 
 
 "I heered somethin' crashin' down through the 
 bushes by th' run — but it might-a-been a hawg," 
 Stybright nodded, as he twisted off a chew of to- 
 bacco and thrust the plug into his trouser pocket. 
 
 "An' it miglit-a-been Snags. My, but she 
 looked ugly !" 
 
 Sehna continued at her dough, her dress pinned 
 behind her and her sleeves rolled to her elbows. 
 Guy looked at her with a feeling of self-congrat- 
 ulation as he saw her thrust her white knuckles 
 into the batter. He felt that there were cir- 
 cumstances in which he might have done very 
 much worse. That was as far as he dared to 
 trust himself and as near as he ever came to ex- 
 
78 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 pressing his affection. He smiled complaisantly 
 as he deposited a mouthful of saliva among the 
 coals which Selma had drawn into place to heat 
 her oven. Then he dropped off into a doze, with 
 his elbows on his knees and his chin on his palms, 
 occasionally nodding or glowering dreamily 
 toward the glowing coals. Gyp was seated with 
 his head in his sleeve and his arm on the back of 
 his chair, asleep. There was no speech between 
 the drowsy husband and wife. Garrulity was 
 not a part of their united fortunes. The only 
 sound that broke the stillness was the plunging 
 of Selma's fists into the bread bowl and the heavy 
 breathing of Gyp with his nose in the angle of his 
 arm. 
 
 The door was shoved open and Wade Hampton 
 entered. 
 
 "Never mind, Stybright," said he, "don't rise, 
 I can wait only a minute." 
 
 "Glad t' see yer, Hampton ; come in." 
 
 "I only want a bite to eat, and then I must 
 hasten on." 
 
 "Gwine North? Selma, git 'im a bite." 
 
 "Yes, and I fear I am being followed. I have 
 no time to lose." 
 
 "I'll throw yer boss a few nubbins while ye're 
 eatin' yer pone." 
 
 "W'at makes yer think ye're bein' follered.f"' 
 Guy asked on his return. 
 
 Without answering the question directly, 
 Hampton inquired: 
 
AN APPARITION 79 
 
 "Have you seen Terbaccy Tom or Snags 
 Groucher in this neighborhood recently?" 
 
 Gyp and the father looked significantly at 
 each other. 
 
 "I told yer, paw," Gyp nodded. 
 
 "Th' boy sez he seed a face at th' winder." 
 
 "WOien did he see it?" 
 
 "Th' night, an' it looked like Snagses." 
 
 "No doubt it was she, and it bodes no good 
 for any of us." 
 
 "Wat be she a doin' erroun' here?" 
 
 "She's a traitor, Guy, she's a traitor; and 
 Tom, you know, is both a traitor and a villain." 
 
 "He be one of th' worst on these mountings." 
 
 "That is true. He has no more regard for 
 the life of a Union man or woman than you have 
 for a catamount. We must beware of both." 
 
 "As they hain't a showin' us no mercy, we 
 hain't none in their debt. I hain't a goin' out 
 any more 'ithout me shootin' irons." 
 
 "What time was Snags here?" 
 
 "About an hour ago." 
 
 "It is a good thing for me that I was not here 
 when she looked through the window, and per- 
 haps well for all of us." 
 
 A knock at the door interrupted the conver- 
 sation, and Guy jumped for his gun, took it from 
 its hooks on the wall, and shouted : 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 The door swung slowly open and a ghastly 
 apparition stood before them. Selma screamed 
 
80 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 and raised her hands in alarm. Hampton 
 sprang to his feet and drew his pistol from his 
 pocket. Both men glared at the stranger. Be- 
 fore them stood a pitiable object of humanity, 
 as gaunt and haggard as ever darkened the door 
 of a mountaineer. He was wasted to a skeleton. 
 His cheeks were sunken until every tooth seemed 
 outlined against the flesh. His eyes glared out 
 of their sockets with a luster that was startling. 
 He was hatless, and his unkempt hair stood out 
 from his head in a tangled shock. He was shirt- 
 less, and his tattered blouse and pantaloons hung 
 loose upon him like the rags on a scarecrow. He 
 had neither shoes nor stockings, and his trou- 
 sers were frayed to ribbons at the knees. If 
 Seloe had come down from her grave on the little 
 plateau above the cabin and appeared in her 
 shroud they could not have been more startled. 
 
 The stranger raised his thin, wasted arm and 
 bracing himself against the doorpost, looked with 
 his deep, burning eyes straight into the amazed 
 face of Stybright, as he said: 
 
 "Union or Confederate?" 
 
 Guy threw his hand upon the trigger, raised 
 his gun to his shoulder as he thundered back : 
 
 "Union or C'nfed'rate, say I?" 
 
 "Oh, Guy, Guy !" shrieked Selma, as she ran 
 to him and with her hands covered with dough, 
 grasped the gun and pushed it out of range. 
 "He's Union, Guy ; he's Union t Don't yer see 
 th' blue on 'im.?" 
 
AN APPARITION 81 
 
 "Yes, I'm a soldier of the Union, escaped from 
 one of tlie Southern prisons." 
 
 "Well, ycr among frien's," Guy responded as 
 he hung his gun on the wall. 
 
 There was a hurrying to make the stranger 
 welcome. Hampton advanced at once to grasp 
 his hand, and Guy, as soon as he had hung up 
 his gun, was enthusiastic in his hospitality. 
 Selma hastened to set before her guests all that 
 her poor accommodations could afford. 
 
 "Wat's yer name, INIister.'"' Gyp abruptly 
 asked, as he stood by tlic side of the chair and 
 looked up into the haggard face of the stranger. 
 
 "Jack Conway ; and you can see by these tat- 
 tered colors that I belong to the Northern army." 
 
 "Where did yer come from?" Guy asked. 
 
 "Salisbury." 
 
 "And how did yer git here? Did yer come 
 alone? Did nobody help yer?" 
 
 "God was with me, and good friends helped mc 
 or I never could have come over that long dis- 
 tance. When I escaped I was scarcely able to 
 walk; yet the thought of being free — out under 
 God's own sky, black though it was, filled me with 
 abounding hope. It felt like heaven. It was the 
 happiest hour I ever knew." 
 
 "And was yer all alone in the darkness? M}', 
 how'd ye git along? Didn't they git after ye?" 
 and Gyp continued to ask one question after an- 
 other. 
 
 "I was alone, my boy ; and could only trust 
 
82 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 God and stumble on into the moonless solitude 
 of the night. But I was free ; and that gave me 
 courage. I praised the Almighty for the night 
 and the pathless darkness. I thanked Him that 
 the gossiping stars were hidden and that his 
 hand had veiled the telltale moon." 
 
 Selma had stopped kneading her bread and 
 stood with her back to the Avail and her white 
 arms folded gazing with wide open astonishment 
 at the speaker. Gyp had subsided into silence, 
 while Guy ground his teeth at the recital of the 
 inhumanity which his guest had received. 
 
 "Th' vipers ! I'd skin 'cm alive !" and he 
 landed a mouthful of saliva in the fireplace. 
 
 "Did you have great difficulty in finding your 
 way to friends?" was asked by Wade Hampton, 
 who found himself so interested in the story of 
 Conway that he forgot that he himself was in 
 flight to escape the fury of the South. 
 
 "Sometimes I floundered and fell, as my feet 
 were caught by confederated vines, but I arose 
 and stumbled on, tunneling my way farther and 
 farther into the friendly chaos of the night. I 
 saw at length a light in the distance. It shone 
 like the headlight of a locomotive boring its way 
 through the hospitable silence. But I saw that 
 it was stationary. It made a path for me 
 through the darkness, and I headed straight for 
 it as one might walk into the face of a star. 
 When I reached it, I found it to be, as I had 
 hoped, the window of a negro's cabin." 
 
AN APPARITION 83 
 
 "Then you knew that you had found friends ! 
 These poor shives have always been friendly to 
 the old flag. I have never yet been disappointed 
 by one of them," and Hampton looked at Sty- 
 bright, assured that he would confirm his state- 
 ment. 
 
 "I never saw a disloyal nigger," and the fire- 
 place was replenished with another volley, as 
 Guy turned and inquired of Mr. Conway : "The 
 niggers were ready ter help yer.?" 
 
 "Yes, they were. As I came up to the cabin I 
 saw on the wide hearth an old mammy busying 
 herself with the morning meal. By her side a 
 swarthy old man bent over the fire and was fill- 
 ing his pipe. As I rapped both turned and 
 looked at me with a startled expression. 
 
 " 'Fo' de Lawd, Sambo, yits anodder o' dem 
 Linkum sojers!' came from the mammy. 
 
 " 'Git back dar in de shadder !' Sambo called, 
 as he came toward me, and closed the door as he 
 came out. He told me that the Confederate 
 spies were prowling about the neighborhood. 
 Then he took me into the house, and as there were 
 no shades on the windows, he placed a quilt before 
 the fire to screen the light. A rude table was 
 in the center of the room ; this he shoved to one 
 side, and said to me: 
 
 " 'Massa Sojer, yo's not safe hyar a minit !' 
 He then lifted a tattered square of carpet on 
 which the table had stood, and under the carpet 
 was a trap door. 
 
84 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 " 'Down hyar, an' be quick'n all the grey 
 backs in de Souf'll ncbbeh git yer.' Following 
 his directions I slowly worked my way backward 
 down a crude pole-ladder and found myself in 
 utter darkness. 'Lots o' good fellehs been down 
 dar afore ye, Massa. De Lawd's good angels'll 
 feed yer bimeby.' " 
 
 "Did ye ever hear th' likes o' that?" and Selma 
 turned to her husband with an approving look. 
 "Who'd a thunk it?" 
 
 "I'm a thinkin' that the Lord will have 
 extra crowns for old Sambo and Chloe when the 
 time comes," said Hampton. 
 
 "It was mighty well done fer two old niggers !" 
 and Guy twisted off another chew, as he added, 
 "Oh, them vipers !" 
 
 "As my eyes began to adapt themselves to the 
 situation, I found a chair and a rude cot await- 
 ing me," continued Conway. "In a moment I 
 was sound asleep, and never was slumber more 
 refreshing to the weary than to me in that hole 
 in the ground under the cabin floor. Here they 
 kept me and fed me for two da^'^s and then Sambo 
 piloted me a night's journey, and guided by his 
 instruction I made my way through the moun- 
 tains until I knocked at your hospitable door this 
 evening." 
 
 "There are dangers on every hand. We are 
 in the midst of perils. There is not one of us 
 safe. We must either flee to the North, or arm 
 ourselves and hide in the mountains, and there 
 
AN APPARITION 85 
 
 make our defense until the war is over," com- 
 mented Hampton when Conway had finished. 
 
 "It's either shoot or be shot," was Stybright's 
 laconic answer. 
 
 "An', paw, I believe Snags is around here to- 
 night," commented Gyp. 
 
 "Never mind, boy, she'll not come around to- 
 night. She's too big a coward. If she saw you 
 lookin' at her through the winder, she'll know 
 that weuns'll be on the lookout fer her, an' she'll 
 not show up th' night." 
 
 Hampton rose, examined his ammunition and 
 his gun, and then saying good-night, passed out 
 into the darkness. 
 
 That night as Conway lay dreaming on his 
 rude straw bed on the floor. Gyp, who could not 
 sleep for thinking over his thrilling story, rolled 
 over toward him and raising himself on his elbow, 
 looked down into the tired, wan face and said : 
 
 "Don't ye worry. Mister, weuns'll see yer 
 through." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 BETWEEN TWO FLAGS 
 
 Eager as Conway was to see the old flag and 
 get beyond the possibility of recapture, he recog- 
 nized the necessity of remaining, and, with grati- 
 tude to the lowly couple for their proffered hos- 
 pitality, he made himself content. But the time 
 came when his longing to be away was grati- 
 fied. Gyp knew the paths of the mountains, the 
 resorts of the "guerrillas," as well as the homes 
 of the loyal mountaineers. He volunteered to be 
 Mr. Conway's guide. But Conway hesitated to 
 place himself under the protection of one who 
 seemed so youthful in appearance and apparently 
 unfitted to cope with possible dangers. 
 
 "Mister," said Gyp, with an air of injured in- 
 nocence, "my maw toP me about a boy onct that 
 killed a lion and a b'ar, and 'e wern't much big- 
 ger'n I be. The same feller hit a big giant on 
 th' head 'ith a stone an' knocked th' feller over, 
 then 'e jumped on 'im an' cut his head off. Don't 
 yer think a boy knows nawthin'?" 
 
 "He wer' born t' th' mountings," his father 
 added, "an' 'e kin find a path out o' danger as a 
 squir'l finds its way f'm one tree to another or as 
 a bee flies home over the hills." 
 
 86 
 
BETWEEN TWO FLAGS 87 
 
 "Don't ycr worry, Mister, weuns'll sec yer 
 through." 
 
 "What about arms?" Conway inquired. 
 
 " 'Twon't do no harm t' fotch 'em ah)ng," Gyp 
 replied. 
 
 "Guns is alius in place in time o' war," Guy 
 added. 
 
 That night Gyp led Conway into the camps 
 where the loyalists were "lying out." Some of 
 these men were deserters from the Southern army, 
 men who would not fight against the old flag, 
 and, with the loyal mountaineers, made common 
 cause of their patriotism. 
 
 Gyp and Conway passed one cabin after an- 
 other. Some of them were deserted, and in none 
 of them did they discover any light. These 
 cabins were perched on narrow terraces or on 
 the banks of secluded streams ; they were hidden 
 among scrawny trees on the stumpy edges of tim- 
 berless tracts, or in little "clearings" where the 
 thin soil had scarcely felt the point of the plow. 
 
 At one of these rude houses they stopped. It 
 was built of rough logs, and, within, was devoid of 
 ornament and of every indication of culture. 
 There was but one window, a square opening 
 cut in the end of the building, without glass or 
 sash, and was closed by a coarse board-shutter 
 which swung to its place on wooden hinges. Gyp 
 approached it cautiously, motioning to Conway 
 to remain behind. He gave a signal like the 
 bleating of a sheep, repeating it three times. 
 
88 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 The door creaked on its wooden hinges and swung 
 slowly open. There was no light within, and 
 but little without, only the faint grey which fil- 
 tered through the trees ; yet therein Gyp could 
 dimly discern the outlines of a tall man in the 
 doorway. He was bare-headed and his hair 
 hung on his shoulders. In spite of the darkness 
 Gyp recognized the tall form of the Rev. William 
 Watchcob. 
 
 "May weuns come in a bit, preacher?" 
 
 "Come in, Gyp," the loyal minister replied, 
 recognizing the voice of the boy. "This shack's 
 open to anyone who gives that signal. Come 
 in." 
 
 "We've gotter be mighty keerful," the preacher 
 informed Conway after the door had been closed. 
 
 "Is the danger so very great?" Conway in- 
 quired. 
 
 "It is great. They are after us, and we are 
 just waitin' our chance. They are hidden about 
 somewhere, and we are liable to be shot at any 
 moment. We're not a molestin' anyone; but if 
 them guerrillas come a searchin' our houses an' a 
 shootin' us men, jest because we be loyal to the 
 old flag, then it's man hunt man and Death gets 
 th' fellow what's off guard. Sometimes it's the 
 man in grey that's found with a hole in his head, 
 and sometimes it's the man in blue. It's a 
 mighty ticklish business, stranger." 
 
 "It's a terrible situation," sighed Conway as 
 he thought of the peril of these loyal people. 
 
BETWEEN TWO FLAGS 89 
 
 "When warned of danger men flee to tlic bush," 
 W^atchcob continued, "their wives or other mem- 
 bers of the family, creep out in the night and 
 carry 'cm food, and keep 'em informed as well 's 
 they can of any movements o' th' enemy of 
 which they may hear. The children be of'n 
 made to do picket duty. A young girl carelessly 
 pickin' strawberries or searchin' for lady-slip- 
 pers is in reality a little sentinel on duty watchin' 
 some road over which the enemy might come. 
 Or some lad with his bow and arrows strolls out, 
 as if he were a huntin' game, but he alius keeps 
 in view the broad highway, that, like a yellow or 
 reddish storm-fed stream, winds in and out far 
 down the mounting side." 
 
 "The danger here," Conway suggested, "is 
 almost as great as at the front." 
 
 "The danger t' home is greater, an' t' life it be 
 as uncertain." 
 
 The preacher's voice was interrupted by the 
 entrance of Big Perk Thompson, still wearing his 
 gorgeous Antwerp blue. 
 
 " 'Nother home gone," was his first exclama- 
 tion, as he set his gun in the corner. "That 
 devil, Terbaccy Tom, '11 not fire any more build- 
 in's for awhile." 
 
 "Did ye git him?" 
 
 "I sent him down the mounting with some lead 
 in his back. He'll at least think the fleas be 
 bad in the neighborhood of his spinal column 
 for some days t' come." 
 
90 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Wat's 'e been a doin'?" Gyp asked. 
 
 "I caught him runnin' from Hank Hummel's 
 home atter he had set it afire, and I sent some 
 ca^^enne pepper atter him." 
 
 "I seed 'im set fire to th' ole ghost house th' 
 night th' preacher an' me went t' hunt th' ghosts," 
 Gyp excitedly replied, recalling the conflagra- 
 tion on that eventful night. 
 
 "That is true," the preacher added. "I saw 
 the villain run f'm the house after he had ap- 
 plied the torch. He'd burn a home as quick as 
 a pile of leaves. This neighborhood '11 not be 
 safe until that man is either shot or hung." The 
 old minister spoke with an emphasis which caused 
 Perk Thompson to sneer. 
 
 "And Snags Groucher is just as bad." 
 
 "Worse," echoed the preacher. 
 
 "She was with him when he fired the Hummel 
 home. I c'd have shot her; but I didn't 
 dare shoot a woman, though the time may come 
 when we will have to." 
 
 "Treason knows no sex," remarked Conway. 
 
 "She has betrayed our men to death and 
 burned their homes, an' it must be our duty to 
 arrest her and keep her under guard until this 
 thing is settled. If walls and chains will not 
 keep her, then we will use th' rope." 
 
 "She has long since forfeited her life. But 
 for th' sake of her sex we will spare her, unless 
 further depredations and bloodshed on her part 
 call for the sacrifice. But we'll try th' prison 
 
BETWEEN TWO FLAGS 91 
 
 first. It seems such an awful thing to shoot a 
 woman." 
 
 "True fcr you, preacher, but we must save our 
 homes from the torch, and our wives and children 
 from being burned alive. A woman who will do 
 this hain't fit t' live." 
 
 Conway listened to the recital of the perils of 
 the mountaineers and learned what these non-com- 
 batants had to endure for liberty. He saw the 
 light of the burning home shimmering above the 
 trees. He saw these men who were walking ar- 
 senals, each with a trusty rifle, a great bowie- 
 knife, haversack and canteen. He looked into 
 their honest faces, and thought of the sacrifices 
 for freedom that were made in the land of the 
 South ; but his reverie was cut short by Gyp, as 
 he said: 
 
 "Better be a goin', Conway." 
 
 The two passed out into the darkness, and up 
 a long swinging path that doubled in and out 
 of ravines ever climbing higher and higher. 
 
 "Yer won't be noways skert if I show yer.-"' 
 
 "No, Gyp; what is it you wish to show me?" 
 Conway answered, a little curious as to what Gyp 
 had to attract his attention at that hour of the 
 night. 
 
 Gyp crooked his finger as a sign for him to 
 follow. He then led ofT through the thickets and 
 jungles of laurel where there was no path, and 
 soon came into an open clearing, along one side 
 of which ran a high ledge of rocks. On the top 
 
92 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 of the ledge a lone tree stood out in silhouette. 
 Gyp stopped, laid his hand on Conway's arm and 
 pointing toward the spectral tree, whispered into 
 his ear: 
 
 "That's him!" 
 
 Looking up Conway saw the dark form of a 
 man swinging like a plummet from the spectral 
 pine. It was clearly outlined against the back- 
 ground of sky, and was enough to make one's 
 blood run cold. Gyp relieved the tension by say- 
 ing: 
 
 "He hadn't orter been a pokin' around a 
 shootin' of us fellers." 
 
 The young man's sense of horror had been 
 chilled by the fearful exigencies of war. He 
 thought no more of such a ghastly sight than 
 of a dead crow hanging to a stake in the corn- 
 field. 
 
 "Gyp, this is awful. Who is it?" 
 
 "Secesh." 
 
 "What did he do?" 
 
 "Shooted a Unioner down hyar, an' thar he 
 be a regrettin' of it." 
 
 "How long has he been there?" 
 
 "Oh, a right smart spell." 
 
 "What an awful thing is war!" exclaimed the 
 old soldier, not unmindful of the terrible expe- 
 riences through which he himself had so recently 
 passed. 
 
 With that they turned back into the thicket 
 and the two soon regained the trail. As they 
 
BETWEEN TWO FLAGS 93 
 
 climbed the dark slope they passed the charred 
 ruins of a cabin on their right. Gyp said to Con- 
 way as they were passing: 
 
 "Tha's all gone, every one on 'em, dad an' four 
 boys. One of 'em died in a rebel dungeon. A 
 'nother in a prison down in Alabamy. Two of 
 'em started fer th' North t' jine th' Union army 
 an' th' g'rillars got 'em an' shot 'em an' killed 
 'em an' left 'em on th' field fer bugs an' birds 
 t' eat. An' one night th' ole man an' his wum- 
 man wer a sittin' eatin' ther taters, 'sturbin' no 
 one, an' them g'rillars shooted in at th' winder an' 
 killed 'em both. Then they burnt th' house on 
 'em. An I know 'at Snags an' Terbaccy Tom 
 was back of it. Yer needn't wonder that Perk 
 Thompson thinks she oughter be hung. Th' folks 
 what burned it was kotched, all 'cept Snags and 
 Tom, an' tha' didn't have no time t' say, 'now I 
 lay me !' If tha lets us alone weuns ain't a 
 'sturbin' nobody. But w'en tha keep a huntin' 
 us like coons an' foxes, an' shootin' us an' burnin' 
 weunses houses, tha's jcs' gotter look out. Th' 
 Lord's agin a secesh, an' so be I." 
 
 Gyp pointed out to Conway log stables, and 
 barns made of thin poles, in the lofts of which 
 they might have seen rolls of blankets and coarse 
 mattresses, the property of those who were lying 
 out. But the two passed on in silence. 
 
 The morning was beginning to show grey in the 
 eastern horizon as they came down a lonely path 
 to where a little river lay before them. Gyp, 
 
94 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 with a backward movement of his hand toward 
 Conway, said: 
 
 "Stay hyar." 
 
 He then crept softly to the edge of the water 
 and listened. He looked up and down the shore, 
 but in the dim light of the morning he could see 
 nothing. Then he imitated the cry of a screech- 
 owl. In a little while he heard the muffled dip 
 of oars, and a shadowy boat came out of the 
 darkness and pulled alongside. 
 
 "I have been expecting you." 
 
 The voice was that of a young person, Indeed 
 it sounded almost childlike, and Conway was as- 
 tonished when he saw a bit of a girl with loose 
 flowing hair and rosy cheeks step from the boat. 
 
 "We must not detain a moment," she said 
 softly. "There is danger." They took their 
 places in the boat and she pulled into the stream. 
 They were soon on the opposite bank of the river, 
 where they stepped ashore and the boat was 
 drawn up under heavy, overhanging branches. 
 They made their way along a gloomy forest 
 path, guided by this young heroine, to her fath- 
 er's cabin. It was only a short distance from the 
 shore, but so completely enshrouded by dense 
 foliage that its location would not be suspected 
 by anyone prowling along the river bank. And 
 yet it was so near that this little Miss could hear 
 Gyp's prearranged signal. When they reached 
 the cabin it was both dark and empty. 
 
 "Who be you.'' Aida.?" It was the first time 
 
BETWEEN TWO FLAGS 96 
 
 tliat any of them had spoken since leaving the 
 farther side of the river. 
 
 "Yes, Gyp. I am Aida, the little girl you 
 found gathering rhododendrons on the mountain 
 side. But we must not detain. The enemy have 
 been shadowing these parts for days. Our men 
 are all in the bush. We will go there at once." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 TRAGEDY OF THE TWIN OAKS 
 
 Conway was brought safely into the camp of 
 the refugees and left in the care of Union men. 
 Gyp and Aida saw much of each other. Their 
 acquaintance ripened wonderfully. They were 
 one and inseparable. The woodland rambles 
 were for them alone. But the stay of the Sty- 
 bright boy was necessarily brief; his errand ac- 
 complished he must hasten his return ; and one 
 evening when the shadows fell and the stars came 
 out they were alone by the river bank. Gyp was 
 returning, and as they were about to shove the 
 boat into the stream they heard the sound of 
 horses' feet galloping on the opposite side of the 
 river, Aida laid her hand on Gyp's arm with 
 an admonitory "h-u-s-h !" Then the sound of the 
 hurrying hoofs died away and the boat was 
 thrust out from its leafy canopy and rowed noise- 
 lessly to the other side. No word was spoken, 
 lest the very winds which fanned their cheeks 
 might prove traitors to their hopes. 
 
 Gyp wanted to speak. He wished to tell his 
 fair pilot the great happiness which he felt ; but 
 he knew that silence was wiser than speech. There 
 was an atmosphere about his heart which was 
 
 96 
 
TRAGEDY OF THE TWIN OAKS 97 
 
 new and strange to him, and which did not 
 wholly arise from a sense of gratitude. He 
 hardly knew how to describe it, yet he knew it was 
 a mighty comfortable feeling for a young fellow 
 to have ; and somehow he felt more at peace with 
 the world in that little shell of a boat than the 
 circumstances seemed to justify. He longed to 
 take the oars from those fair hands and row 
 away with Aida to some enchanted isle beyond 
 the sound of war and the hate of men. ]iut he 
 thought it a most delightful experience to be 
 wholly in her hands. He had no difficulty in re- 
 signing himself to the bliss of the situation. 
 
 The boat glided softly under the boughs and 
 came to rest. Gyp stepped lightly ashore lest 
 the snapping of a twig or the crackling of dead 
 leaves might loosen an avalanche of armed men. 
 In the darkness he managed to lay his hand on 
 Aida's and press his thanks for braving the dan- 
 gers of the night for his sake. There was a low 
 swash of water among the reeds, and, with a 
 whispered good-bye, he was alone. The boat 
 slipped away over the water as softly as the 
 swimming of a swan. 
 
 On the return journey Gyp avoided the main 
 road as much as possible, and when it became 
 necessary for him to follow it his step was as 
 light as the foot of a sparrow in the snow. Some- 
 time toward midnight he came out of the woods, 
 left the narrow foot-path and entered the open 
 road. He knew there was danger, yet in that 
 
98 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 part of the mountains it seemed the only way for 
 him to take, and he trusted to darkness and good 
 luck. 
 
 The highway took a little downward pitch and 
 twisted around the end of a stone spring-house 
 where the swing of the hill led to a strip of fring- 
 ing willows. He knew by the tall, undefined mass 
 of oaks, by the dip of the hill and the shadowy 
 rampart of willows just where he was. Above 
 the road he saw a blur on the hill slope which he 
 knew to be a farm house. He stood for a mo- 
 ment to listen, then hurried on. A few hours 
 would bring him home. 
 
 He darted into the deeper shadows of the oaks, 
 and stumbled over some obstruction in his path. 
 He rallied, stumbled again and this time fell. 
 His hand struck something soft and yielding, as 
 when one lays his hand on a fur robe that has 
 been folded, or as when a child lies down with its 
 head on a dog. 
 
 He raised himself on his knees and moved his 
 hand cautiously over the dark object whose out- 
 lines he could not see. It felt like a human being! 
 The touch was like that of clothing, a coat or 
 jacket, he knew not what. His fingers ran into 
 a bunch of hair and then — his blood ran cold. 
 In spite of all his previous caution he cried: 
 
 "It's a man ! It's a man !" 
 
 Then, his blood still tingling in his veins, he 
 felt the cold face, moved his trembling fingers 
 into the sockets of the eyes. The clothes were 
 
TRAGEDY OF THE TWIN OAKS 99 
 
 moist, the hair was clammy and sticky. It was 
 blood, coagulated blood! 
 
 "Murder ! murder !" 
 
 His voice trembled. There was a suppressed 
 cry mingled with fear and horror. He leaped 
 to his feet, only to stumble over another dead 
 body, and still another ; but whether friends or 
 foes he could not tell. 
 
 He ran to that dull blur on the hillside, fell 
 against a low fence, rose, climbed the hill and 
 rapped furiously on the door. After much 
 knocking, and the loud barking of chained dogs, 
 a sash was raised and a head thrust out of an 
 upper window : 
 
 "What's the matter down there?" 
 
 "It's murder ! murder ! Somebody's been 
 killed down here under the big trees !" 
 
 "And who be you?" 
 
 "Get a light, quick ! Tha's three men dead ! 
 Hurry up an' come down hyar !" 
 
 "Who be you, anyway? Speak or I'll set the 
 dogs on yer." 
 
 "I'm Gyp; Gyp Stybright. Hurry up." 
 
 "Well you'd better go home and mind yer own 
 business or ther'll be four down thar 'stead o' 
 three !" 
 
 "0 Snags! Snags!—" 
 
 The window came down with a bang. Gyp 
 knew the voice of the syren and that the dogs 
 would be on him in a moment unless he fled. He 
 ran, as best he could through the darkness, to 
 
100 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 the cabin of Perk Thompson and the old preacher, 
 and reached it so exhausted and terrified that 
 he could scarcely speak. The neighborhood was 
 soon aroused. They knew that the dead under 
 the twin oaks were Union men. There was no 
 other inference from the hate of Snags Groucher. 
 An armed band was soon hastening toward the 
 scene of the tragedy. As they reached the oaks 
 a dark lantern was held down to the blood-stained 
 faces of the dead. Thompson took the light and 
 held it close to the nearest body. He saw what 
 he feared, but he reached down his hand and 
 turned the face of the dead where it lay in a 
 matrix of blood. Then he sprang upright, swung 
 his lantern in the air and shrieked: 
 
 "Vengeance ! Vengeance ! It's the Jennings 
 boys and Guy Stybright ; it's poor Guy Sty- 
 bright ! Now come the vengeance of the Lord !" 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 OH THE PITY OF IT! 
 
 Gyp kneeled down and took the blood-stained 
 head of his father in his hands and wept until 
 those fierce men turned away their faces. Little 
 weeping had they done for many a year; but the 
 sight of that poor boy kneeling there in his fa- 
 ther's blood, the pitiful face tortured in the parox- 
 ysms of death, trying, by the dim light of the lan- 
 tern, to wipe away the sand and blood from his 
 face, caused those men to turn aside into the dark- 
 ness and sob like little children. But it was only 
 for a moment. The awful horror and iniquity of 
 the tragedy turned their hearts to stone and their 
 tears to ice. 
 
 Stybright and two of his neighbors had evi- 
 dently been hanged and then shot. The ghastly 
 work completed, the bodies had been cut down and 
 left where they fell. 
 
 The first impulse of the mountaineers was to 
 burn and burn until not a home or hiding place 
 belonging to this murderous crew were left stand- 
 ing — to shoot, to hang and club to death, until, 
 like rattlesnakes, the whole "hissing brood of 
 vipers" was destroyed. The same measure which 
 they had meted would be measured unto them. 
 
 101 
 
102 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Let us first take care of our dead," Parson 
 Watchcob suggested. "These murderers can be 
 dealt with later." 
 
 "Their blood'll flow for this awful crime !" 
 hissed Perk Thompson, and he turned and looked 
 toward the shadowy farmhouse on the hillside. 
 
 "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," 
 roared Sykes Snickerby. 
 
 "The vengeance of the Lord can wait," replied 
 the minister. 
 
 "Did ye ever read this, preacher, 'whoso shed- 
 deth man's blood by man shall his blood be shed?' 
 That's my creed till every haunt of these mur- 
 derers is cleaned out." Saying this, Snickerby 
 stooped down and laid hold of Stybright, saying, 
 "Come on boys. Let us carry them away from 
 this accursed spot." 
 
 It was a solemn procession that filed through 
 the forests that sad morning, bearing with little 
 speech and much revengeful thought their pathetic 
 burden. At the home of the two murdered broth- 
 ers they left their dead until their bodies could 
 be decently laid away to rest. 
 
 Not until they reached this place had they 
 discovered that Perk Thompson and Sykes Snick- 
 erby were not with them. As one of the men 
 stood in the doorway he discovered a great light 
 in the west. It shone like a blaze of sunset over 
 the mountains. There were pulsing waves of 
 fire which beat against the sloping roof of the 
 heavens till the whole firmament blushed. 
 
OH THE PITY OF IT! 103 
 
 "Fire ! fire ! There's a burnin' beyond the hill," 
 exclaimed the preacher, as he shaded his eyes 
 with his hand and watched the pulsations of light 
 along the horizon. 
 
 "That's some o' Perk's doin's," Mark Dawson 
 replied, as he stood with Stybright's bloody coat 
 in his hand, looking over the preacher's shoulder. 
 "Perk's up to somcthin'." 
 
 "Do ye think he's back o' that?" 
 
 "Dunno ; but when I took his place at th' first 
 turn after leavin' th' oaks I heerd him say: 
 'Curse that hillside brood !' an' I ha'n't see him 
 sence." 
 
 Dawson and tAvo others ran to the crest of the 
 mountain and looked toward the west. Flames 
 were pouring through the windows of a distant 
 dwelling. It stood on the edge of a great forest, 
 and by the light of the burning home they could 
 see a broad road that writhed across the land- 
 scape. There were trees at the top of the hill 
 where the road dropped into the valley, and at 
 the foot of the hill there was a little white build- 
 ing. 
 
 "That's the house," said Dawson, "Perk's got 
 his work in." 
 
 "What house? What's Perk been a doin?" 
 
 "The house whar Snags threatened to set the 
 dogs on Gyp. Perk and Sykes got 'em all right." 
 
 "Think Sykes's in that, too?" 
 
 "Ha'n't seen him for an hour. Whar'd ye 
 suppose he'd go? Sykes wouldn't a run away 
 
104 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 from helpin' to carry th' dead 'lest he had im- 
 portant business." 
 
 "Ther' don't seem to be nobody about th' 
 house." 
 
 "Ther' ha'n't nobody t' be about th' house," 
 echoed Perk himself, as he and Sykes Snickerby 
 came suddenly on them from a by-path. 
 
 "Perk w'at you been a doin'?" 
 
 "Been a settlin' up Guy Stybright's estate." 
 
 "Payin' his bills, be you?" 
 
 "One of them's paid, anyhow." 
 
 "He makes a mighty prompt executioner," 
 laughed Sykes. 
 
 "Y' mean executor," tittered Dawson. 
 
 "Naw: executioner's the word. It reaches th' 
 spot quicker," was Sykes' retort. 
 
 "He won't bother no more Unioners, the vil- 
 lain," Perk added, pointing toward the burning 
 home and bunch of trees by the roadside. 
 
 "Who won't?" Mark Dawson inquired. 
 
 "That scoundrel, Terbaccy Tom." 
 
 "What did ye do to him?" 
 
 "D'ye see them trees 'way over yander?" 
 
 "Over where we found Stybright?" 
 
 "Yes: d'ye see 'em?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Well ast them what's th' matter with Ter- 
 baccy Tom. They won't tell no lies." 
 
 "They've sure seen enough for one night, them 
 trees hez." 
 
 "We swung 'im up by th' same rope that Sty- 
 
OH THE PITY OF IT! 105 
 
 bright was hung with," Perk continued by way 
 of information. 
 
 "An' w'at sort of a motto d'3'e s'pose Perk 
 tacked onto him?" Sykcs inquired. 
 
 "Dunno." 
 
 "Hung a board about his neck, and on it he 
 wrote: 'As you measure to your neighbor he will 
 measure back to you.' " 
 
 "There was one on 'em got away that ought 
 to be a hangin' beside him." 
 
 "Who was that.?" 
 
 "That she rebel, Snags Grouchcr." 
 
 "Yer wouldn't a hanged a woman, would yer?" 
 
 "Dunno. She settled th' question by gcttin' 
 away," lamented S3'kes, 
 
 "It was a mighty delicate dee-fickulty that was 
 got out'n th' way when she sneaked into the 
 woods," Perk added. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 DESOLATION 
 
 Gyp hastened away to tell Selma the awful tid- 
 ings, while others sped through the fastnesses to 
 tell among the loyal cabins the story of the brutal 
 murders. The morning had fully dawned when 
 Gyp struck the old familiar trail that led down to 
 the house. The east glowed with radiance. The 
 lowing of cattle and the barking of dogs in the 
 valley below came to his ears like memories 
 of other days before this awful grief rived his 
 heart. It all seemed in such contrast to the 
 hideous scenes of the past few hours. The sweet 
 dream of Aida on the water which only a little 
 while ago filled his soul with rapture and the 
 awful thing that had since happened was like the 
 mixing of heaven and hell in equal parts. But 
 the awful tumult of the tragedy had, for the time, 
 blotted from his soul the sweet apocalypse of 
 love. 
 
 He came around the hill in full view of the nar- 
 rows, in which his home was located. The great 
 chasm was filled with that soft grey mist which 
 trails along the hill-slopes when the rains and 
 the nights are gone. Ragged edges of smoke 
 jutted into the lateral valleys and hung lazily 
 
 106 
 
DESOLATION 107 
 
 there as if their wings were weighted. Gyp en- 
 tered the languorous smoke-belt. The air was 
 full of the odor of charred timber, as when one 
 throws a pail of water on wood embers. He 
 thought of the fireside at home, and of Selma 
 preparing breakfast for his father, who, he knew, 
 would never come back to her. 
 
 He stopped a little while at the grave of his 
 dead mother, Seloe, and then bounded, with his 
 heavy heart, down the oft-trodden path which led 
 to his home. 
 
 But the home was not there ! 
 
 Charred ruins and desolation greeted him. 
 
 His amazed and bewildered eyes saw only the 
 smoking ends of logs which once had formed parts 
 of that humble abode. For a moment he stood 
 aghast, dazed and stupefied. The horror of it 
 seemed to have turned him to stone. His soul 
 sank within him. Then into his bewildered mind 
 came thoughts of Selma, and he ran to the smok- 
 ing ruins and searched eagerly for her. But 
 there was not a living thing anywhere to greet 
 him. He called, but there was no answer. It 
 seemed as if his brave heart would break with the 
 overwhelming weight of misfortune. Father, 
 mother, home — all gone in a night ! Alone in this 
 great world of chaos and brutality where men 
 hunted their fellows like beasts of the wild and 
 showed them less pity. His spirit was crushed. 
 His very soul seemed to have left his pathetic 
 body, and he sat there a forlorn, heart-broken 
 
108 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 waif amid the blackened cinders of his home. 
 There was not a soul to comfort him, not a friend 
 to tell him what it all meant — this desolate, this 
 speechless, this inexpressibly wicked tragedy 
 which was passing before his eyes. There he sat 
 on one of the half-burned beams of his home with 
 his face in his hands, crushed, weeping, empty- 
 hearted. 
 
 But he stayed his tears when he remembered 
 Selma. What had become of her? There was 
 tragedy in the very uncertainty. Again he 
 searched among the ashes for some tidings of her, 
 but searched in vain. Then he ran to the near- 
 est neighbors, as he had done once before when 
 Seloe lay dead in her bed. But the neighbors 
 knew as little as he. 
 
 The news of the disaster to the Stybright home 
 spread like wildfire over the mountains, and the 
 sympathetic highlanders came down from the 
 hills and up from the valleys and in dumb curi- 
 osity hung about the ruins. They raked the 
 embers and tossed the smouldering ends of logs 
 aside. But all they discovered was a few bleached 
 and crumbling bones. Whether they belonged to 
 a human being or to the few smoked hams which 
 once hung from the rafters no one could tell. 
 They found no trace of Selma ; and they never did. 
 She had vanished from the knowledge of the liv- 
 ing as completely as if carried to heaven in a 
 whirlwind of fire. And amid the mysteries of 
 the great war there was none more talked about 
 
DESOLATION 109 
 
 than the unknown yet deeply feared fate of Sehna 
 Styhright. 
 
 Gyp slipped away from the sympathetic neigh- 
 bors and went up to the clifF overhead and there 
 threw himself on the grave of Scloe. If she with 
 her warm and tender mother-love could only 
 speak to his crushed heart ! If he could only go 
 out with her again to the little playground among 
 the pines and rhododendrons ! 
 
 "jNIaw, won't yer speak t' me?" he sobbed, as 
 his tears fell on her unresponsive grave. "I ain't 
 got nobody t' love me now ! I found paw dead 
 on th' road 'ith his whiskers all bloody. An' our 
 home's burned all up, an' nobody knows nothin' 
 about my other maw. You was alius good t' me. 
 Won't yer speak t' me, maw ? I don't know where 
 t' go nor what to do." 
 
 But there was neither voice nor cry nor any 
 that regarded. 
 
 The lips of the dead were mute and the grave 
 had no message. Crushed with his burdens, worn 
 out with grief and travel, hungry and sore at 
 heart, he fell asleep on the grave of his mother, 
 where God gave him a few moments of sweet 
 oblivion. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 THE OLD WELL-SWEEP 
 
 "What you wimmin doin' here, perched about 
 these ashes?" 
 
 The shrill voice was that of Snags Groucher as 
 she suddenly appeared in the midst of a group 
 of women at the ruins of the Stybright home. 
 They were at first startled, then their astonish- 
 ment turned to hate and revenge. 
 
 "Snags Groucher, w'at's th' meanin' o' this?" 
 leaped from the lips of Judy Gans. 
 
 "It don't concern you'ns what I know," was 
 the impudent reply. 
 
 "Well weuns think it do, an' we be a goin' to 
 find out," and Judy's nose gave a few character- 
 istic twitches. 
 
 "When ye do ye can notify me at me offis !" 
 sneered the Groucher woman with a disdainful 
 curl of the lip. 
 
 "Y' know me, Snags Groucher?" and Judy's 
 eyes flashed fire. 
 
 "Yes I know yer. I'd re-cog-nize the wink o' 
 that nose in Halifax. I know yer, Judy Gans, an' 
 it hain't added much to me fund o' knowledge," 
 and she gave a defiant toss of the head. 
 
 "Were you here last night, or were you not?" 
 
 110 
 
THE OLD WELL-SWEEP 111 
 
 Judy asked calmly in spite of the terrible prov- 
 ocation, as she pointed to the smouldering em- 
 bers. 
 
 "An' if I was, that's my c'nsam ; an' if I 
 wasn't it's none o' 3'ourn." 
 
 "You had something to do with the burnin' o' 
 this home last night, an' the murder o' Stybright 
 an' the Jennings boys. Now clear yourself or 
 take Avhat's comin' t' ye." 
 
 "I thank ye very much fer yer good opinion 
 of me. You'ns be very kind," with a most tantal- 
 izing and offensive bow. 
 
 "You're our prisoner. Take hold of her, 
 women." 
 
 Snags had not observed that the women in 
 their eagerness to hear what was said had com- 
 pletely surrounded her, and at the command of 
 Judy Gans immediately closed in on her, taking 
 hold of her arms and waist and hair and feet. 
 Snags fought like a tigress till her hands were 
 bound and her feet tied. 
 
 "Tie her up to a tree," said Mrs. Dawson, a tall 
 angular woman with an assertive jaw and an eye 
 that was not good to look into. "Tie her up. 
 We'll force her to confess." 
 
 "Git a pair o' pincers an' pull out a few of 
 her hairs," insisted Sade McQueen ; "that won't 
 be half as bad as burnin' wimmin in their own 
 homes." 
 
 "Do you know me now, Snags Groucher.'"' 
 Judy's face was livid with her exertion. Her 
 
112 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 hair was disheveled and hung about her face like 
 dead grass over a brook's edge. 
 
 "You're next, Judy Gans. You'r time's a 
 comin ! Jes wait !" Snags retorted, her small 
 eyes flashing a hate that was positively satanic. 
 
 "Don't yer threaten. Yer in our hands now. 
 Will ye answer : Had ye or had ye not anything 
 t' do with th' burnin' o' th' house an' th' killin' o' 
 Stybright?" 
 
 "None o' yer business ! Did yer have anything 
 to do with the burnin' o' my home last night an' 
 th' hangin' o' Tcrbaccy Tom?" 
 
 "Is he hung?" 
 
 "Yes, stretched to a lim' o' th' twin oaks." 
 
 "Then we'll sing th' doxology ; if th' preacher 
 was only here t' lift th' chune." But Sade Mc- 
 Queen's suggestion was not seconded. Judy 
 Gans was too serious. 
 
 "We had nothing to do with burnin' yer home 
 or the hangin' o' Tom. An' we didn't even 
 know he was hung, though we knew he orter been 
 long ago. But we'll settle one thing at a time. 
 Be ye goin' t' answer my question?" 
 
 "Make her answer, Judy," demanded Mrs. Daw- 
 son. 
 
 "Git it out of her," insisted Sade McQueen. 
 
 "Answer, or be hanged," called Jen Coney, 
 from the outer circle of the crowd. 
 
 "Snags, weuns is not goin' to dawdle no fur- 
 der. Y' jes' gotter answer and no more lyin' or 
 foolin'." 
 
THE OLD WELL-SWEEP 113 
 
 "I'll see th' whole bunch o' ye hanged afore I 
 gin yc any satisfaction." 
 
 "T' the crick with her. Maybe a bath'll be 
 good fcr her temper." The suggestion was from 
 Sndo ]\IcQueen. 
 
 "T' the crick! T' the crick with her!" 
 shouted a half dozen voices at once, and away to 
 the creek they started with their obstinate and 
 resisting prisoner. 
 
 On the bank of the stream Stybrlght had 
 rigged up a well-sweep for the purpose of secur- 
 ing water from the center of the creek. The 
 sweep was set on a pivot a few feet from the 
 ground in such way that the heavy end of the pole 
 overbalanced the long end which reached over the 
 water. When the pail was full it was an easy 
 matter to swing the sweep on its pivot, lift the 
 pail from its fastening and empty it. To this 
 crude invention the women came half-dragging, 
 half-carrying their infuriate and blaspheming 
 prisoner. 
 
 "Stop yer swearin'. Snags, or ye'll git an extry 
 dip fer that," called the Coney woman. 
 
 "Will ye tell now, afore we rig ye up t' th' 
 sweep? It's yer last chance." 
 
 "Find out what yer want to find, ye bawlin' 
 heathen," and the answer was followed with a 
 string of oaths which made the cheeks of the 
 women blanch. 
 
 "Fasten her on, wimmin ! Sade, you and Jen 
 Coney do th' tyin, an' do it t' stick." Judy had 
 
114 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 now passed the compromise line. There was to 
 be no more trifling. Into the water Snags must 
 go. 
 
 "O we'll tie her good an' proper. We've been 
 to th' horse shed an' have th' ropes." 
 
 It was no holiday task to tie the desperate 
 woman as she writhed and kicked, and cursed 
 all the women in that hill country and the old 
 flag and everybody that believed in it. But in 
 spite of all her screaming and vituperation she 
 was securely bound to the beam, like a martyr to 
 the stake. Three or four women threw them- 
 selves on the heavy end of the sweep and s^vung 
 it around slowly over the water. Judy Gans left 
 her place to see how things were progressing ; but 
 no sooner had she removed her weight from the 
 end of the sweep than the rest of the women let 
 go, and the end of the sweep dropped with a tre- 
 mendous splash into the water and Snags dipped 
 down and out of sight. 
 
 "Swing 'er out, wimmen', she's had enough!" 
 shouted Judy, winking her nose like a rabbit. 
 
 And the terrified woman, her clothing soaked 
 through, was pushed ashore, sputtering like a 
 porpoise, the water streaming from hair and 
 hands and clothing. 
 
 "Now mebby ye'll confess, Snags Groucher." 
 
 "I'll n-n-never c-c-cunfess t-t-t' nuthin'." 
 
 "Drown her ; drown her, Judy. Soak th' she 
 traitor." 
 
 "D'ye hear what they say, Snags. They'll put 
 
THE OLD WELL-SWEEP 115 
 
 ye under an' keep ye there if ye don't tell them 
 th' truth about last night. If ye want to live 
 confess ; ef ye don't confess, in ye go." 
 
 "Put me in ef ye want to ; put me under an' 
 keep me there; but I'll n-n-never g-g-go back on 
 my crowd." 
 
 "In with her ag'in, wimmin. Keep her in a bit 
 longer this time." 
 
 "Cool her off. Soak the perfanity out'n her." 
 
 "She's earned more'n she's gittin'. In with 
 her." 
 
 "She might as well end her days at the end o' 
 a well-sweep as at th' end of a rope or th' lim' 
 of a tree," snapped Sade McQueen. 
 
 "Weuns don't wanter kill anybody jes' yet. 
 Keep th' sweep a movin' there, wimmin. A little 
 more weight on th' butt end, please." 
 
 "She be a right smart bit heavier than when we 
 dumped her in th' tother time," chirped Jen 
 Coney, as the pitiful Snags dropped into the 
 water the second time. 
 
 "Now swinger out ag'in," directed Judy. 
 
 The women bunched themselves on the end of 
 the sweep ; but her clothes being saturated, the 
 weight was too heavy for them to overcome. 
 They tried and tried again. 
 
 "We can't raise her !" the women shouted to 
 Judy Gans. 
 
 "Some more o' ye throw yerselves onto the 
 beam, there, and be quick afore the cussed woman 
 drownds." 
 
116 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 They rushed to the heavy end of the sweep and 
 threw all their weight upon it, but the water- 
 logged burden at the farther end was too much 
 for them. 
 
 "Come here th' rest o' ye. Put yer shoulders 
 against the beam there an' push with all yer 
 might. Bear down there, ye wimmin, down on the 
 butt end. Push, everybody !" 
 
 With hard pushing, some of the women in the 
 water to their knees, they managed to shove the 
 sweep with its limp and flabby burden ashore. 
 The last spark of life seemed to have fled. The 
 women were frightened. They did not really 
 want to drown the poor creature. They were all 
 excited, suggesting a dozen things at once. They 
 tore off the ropes with which she was bound and 
 released the miserable creature. They lifted the 
 sweep from the pivot and threw it on the ground, 
 placed the limp and gasping woman over it, face 
 down, and tried to force the water out of her 
 lungs. 
 
 "Open her collar," shouted one. 
 
 "Turn her on her side," suggested another. 
 
 "Give her a pinch of liquor," called a third. 
 
 "Try her with a bit o' snuff," yelled Mother 
 Mixy. 
 
 "Throw some water in her face," gurgled Jen 
 Coney. 
 
 "B'gosh, she's had enough o' water fer a spell," 
 giggled Sade McQueen. 
 
 "Rub her laigs," pleaded Mrs. Dawson. 
 
THE OLD WELL-SWEEP 117 
 
 Some called one thing and some another, mean- 
 while Judy Gans kept winking her nose and keep- 
 ing up artificial respiration until the sorely tor- 
 tured woman began to show signs of life. As 
 soon as she was able to speak, Judy Gans assumed 
 her former role, pretending that this strangula- 
 tion was just what Avas intended. 
 
 "Now maybe ye'll tell. Who burned this 
 house?" 
 
 "D-d-dunno." 
 
 "What'd ye do with Guy?" 
 
 "Nawthin'." 
 
 "She's lyin' ag'in," shouted Sade. "Hang her 
 this time." 
 
 "Wa'n't Guy an' Selma t' home w'en ye 
 burned th' house?" 
 
 "Naw." 
 
 "Aw, she burned it. She burned it!" 
 
 "Ye lie, Sade McQueen." 
 
 Sade bounded toward the furious woman but 
 was intercepted. 
 
 "She just said Guy and Selma wasn't there 
 when the house was burned," Sade declared ve- 
 hemently. "How'd she know they wasn't there if 
 she was not there herself? If she knows they 
 wasn't there then she was there and she oughter 
 be hung." 
 
 "Did yer see Selma last night?" 
 
 "I told ye I didn't. Hush yer fool questions." 
 
 "Did yer see Gyp las' night?" 
 
 "Didn't see the brat." 
 
118 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "She's lyin' ag'in. He didn't Wcauken ye up an' 
 ast ye t' cum t' help 'im with th' dead men under 
 th' oak trees, did he?" sneered Sade. "Ye didn't 
 tell 'im ye'd kill 'im if he didn't go home, did ye," 
 she taunted. 
 
 "I tell ye I didn't see that polecat last night." 
 
 "An ye didn't tell 'im ye'd set th' dogs on 'im, 
 did ye?" 
 
 "If I'd a wanted t' set the dogs on 'im I'd a 
 done it." 
 
 Further inquiry was interrupted by the unex- 
 pected arrival of Perk Thompson and Sykes 
 Snickerby, who had taken a notion to run down 
 and see the ruins. 
 
 "What-why-who's this ye got here; not Snags 
 Groucher?" Perk sputtered. 
 
 "Hevings be praised!" ejaculated Sykes. 
 "That's what I call a speshul providence." 
 
 "Heep providence has to do with sich as you 
 be!" snapped Snags, as she glared defiantly in 
 his face. 
 
 "Ye got away from us last night, but ye'er 
 at the end o' yer string now. We have ceased 
 to have any pity fer murderers." 
 
 "Murderers ! An' who hung poor Tom ?" 
 
 "I helped to, and we did it because he was a 
 murderer and had forfeited his life." 
 
 "We intend to clean this neighborhood of all 
 home-burners and murderers. Hereafter there 
 will be no quarter. They are to be shot or hung 
 whenever found. War knows no respect of per- 
 
THE OLD WELL-SWEEP 119 
 
 sons," was the pitiless conclusion announced by 
 Perk Thompson. 
 
 "What ye been a doin' with th' wench?" Sykes 
 asked of Judy. 
 
 "Duck'd her in th' crick t' make her c'nfess." 
 
 "Did she own to helpin' to kill Guy an' th' 
 Jennings boys?" 
 
 "She won't own t' nawthin." 
 
 "We'll jes' keep a grip on Snags until a few 
 things is settled." 
 
 "Where's Gyp?" Perk inquired. 
 
 "Up to Seloe's burryin' place." 
 
 "Take her up there and let Gyp answer whether 
 she saw him last night." 
 
 "Don't untie her hands. She'll scratch 3'er 
 eyes out." 
 
 "Come along, Snags." 
 
 Perk took one arm and Sykes the other and led 
 her up the path to the spot where Gyp was 
 sleeping. 
 
 "It's a God's mercy that's on him," said Judy 
 to Mrs. Dawson, as they saw the boy lying so 
 peacefully on the grave, unconscious of all the 
 horror that was going on about him. They did 
 not like to awaken him, and stood at a distance, 
 like Hagar in the wilderness. But as soon as 
 the men came up with their captive, Thompson 
 said: 
 
 "Wake up, Gyp." The boy sprang instantly 
 to his feet and stood for a moment as one dazed. 
 The presence of so many people at first fright- 
 
120 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 ened him, until he realized that they were his 
 friends, and that Snags was a prisoner. 
 
 "Gyp, do you know this woman?" 
 
 "That's Snags." 
 
 "Where did you see her last?" 
 
 "At th' winder away over yander where my 
 paw was killed." 
 
 "She says she did not see you last night?" 
 
 "If she didn't see me it was kase I was in th' 
 shadder of th' house. I seed her, an' she heerd 
 me, an' talked t' me." 
 
 "What did she say to you?" 
 
 "She ast me who I was, an' I tol' her ; and she 
 said fer me t' get out o' that or ther'd be an- 
 other dead man under th' oaks." 
 
 "How'd she know there was any dead men under 
 the trees?" 
 
 "She'll have ter answer." 
 
 "What else did she say to you when you were 
 asking for mercy and help at the dead hour of 
 night?" 
 
 "She said if I didn't get outa that she'd sic 
 th' dogs on me, an' she dropped th' winder as if 
 she was agoin' t' do it." 
 
 "That's enough. Come along, Snags. We 
 know all about yer villainies : how ye burned Hank 
 Hummel's home, and planned t' capture Conway 
 afore he got away from the Stybright home. But 
 ye failed. He got away too soon for ye." 
 
 "Yes," said Gyp, interrupting," I seed her a 
 lookin' through our winder." 
 
THE OLD WELL-SWEEP 121 
 
 "They tried to get you, too. Gyp. But you 
 left with Conway one day afore they came ; but 
 they burnt yer house an' killed yer paw. They 
 hung the Jennings boys who happened t' be in 
 your house that evening when they came. But 
 Terbaccy Tom'll hang no more men, an' Snags'll 
 burn no more cabins. An' there's Jim Habor 
 and Kernal Maxwell an' a few others'll find out 
 afore long which is th' toughest — ther necks or 
 the lim' of a tree. Come along." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 A FIRE IN EDEN 
 
 Hidden among the trees in one of the fairest 
 portions of the Rondolet Valley was the hospi- 
 table home of Col. Richard Maxwell. It was a 
 quiet, restful place, such as the weary long for 
 at the worn end of life. The fine old mansion 
 was overshadowed by towering pines and mimosa 
 trees, and the spacious grounds were pillared with 
 primeval oaks and mulberries. Roses bloomed 
 along graveled walks, and the greensward smiled 
 in the pleasant riot of blue and white violets. 
 Honeysuckles burdened the fences and aspiring 
 ivy climbed the great columnar oaks and swung 
 in airy festoons from lofty branches, or, ham- 
 mock-like, joined bough to bough in sylvan reci- 
 procity. 
 
 About this luxurious manor-house the moun- 
 tains stood eternal. They were wooded to the 
 summit, except where the toiling mountaineers 
 had cleared the timber and reared their lowly 
 habitations. Along the rugged slopes there were 
 patches of red earth denuded of all forest glory, 
 on which the mountain people had planted their 
 vines and orchards of peach and apple, or fields 
 of corn and cotton, and where the hardy sons of 
 
 122 
 
A FIRE IN EDEN 123 
 
 toil forced from the sun-kissed earth a poor but 
 honest livelihood. 
 
 Col. Maxwell sat on his pleasant piazza gazing 
 dreamily over his pipe into tranquil sublimity and 
 emptiness. His gaze was toward the sunset, as if 
 he were bidding that great placque of gold a 
 friendly good-evening. Already the green hel- 
 mets of the mountains were edged in crimson. 
 The clouds over distant Thunder Cliff had melted 
 into dissolving islands of fire. The whole horizon 
 was softened into orange and mist. A lone senti- 
 nel star came out and stood over the mountain 
 of Melrose, a beacon on the coast of a better 
 country. 
 
 And still Col. Maxwell sat hugging his pipe and 
 his idle fancy. The night closed in, and, like a 
 horrid specter, there passed before his vision the 
 memory of the night before and the bloody work 
 in which he had been engaged. 
 
 "O God!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet, 
 "that a scene of such tranquillity should be 
 marred by such a memory!" 
 
 Then he paced restlessly back and forth along 
 the piazza, grinding his teeth against the pipe- 
 stem, and emitting puffs of smoke which told of 
 the deep intensity of his feeling. 
 
 "What insidious disturbers of the peace these 
 memories of ours are! Here I am, owner of all 
 this magnificent landscape, all this beauty, this 
 evening fragrance, this harmony of heaven and 
 earth at their best ; and to sit here in the glory 
 
IM THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 of it all and have my reveries broken by the intru- 
 sion of such damnable deeds which memory keeps 
 flaunting before my vision ! That Stybright ! and 
 those Jennings curs ! Served them right. Why 
 should I have compunctions of conscience? Bah! 
 This is war. And all's fair in war. There's 
 nothing more to be said. Casuistry has here no 
 right of eminent domain." 
 
 He sat down in his luxurious armchair and 
 threw his feet over the railing. 
 
 He was a loyal southerner with scores of 
 slaves and smiling acres. He loved the South. 
 He believed in the war. He hated every man who 
 hated the historic institution of human slavery. 
 War was war, and war was here, and foes must 
 be crushed wherever found. He had no apologies 
 and no regrets. These men, he mused in his so- 
 liloquy of self-justification, had forfeited their 
 lives. They did their work and they got their 
 wages. 
 
 The night settled around him as he was thus 
 complaisantly justifying his part in the previous 
 night's tragedy. A dark shadow passed under 
 the mimosa on the right of the piazza. Think- 
 ing it was one of his slaves he gave no heed to 
 it. He struck a match and held the blazing 
 splinter to his pipe. It was fatal. In the puff 
 of light his face was outlined. Scarcely had he 
 tossed the match over the balustrade when two 
 Winchesters were leveled upon him and Perk 
 Thompson demanded: 
 
A FIRE IN EDEN 125 
 
 "Hands up!" 
 
 "What's the meaning — !" the sentence was not 
 completed. A gun was thrust almost into his 
 mouth and a trigger clicked. His hands went 
 up just as Thompson pushed the gun aside, and 
 the ball that would have blown his head from 
 his shoulders was wasted in the air. 
 
 "Come along, Kernal, 'with what measure ye 
 mete it shall be measured t' you.' " 
 
 "You don't mean to tell me that — " 
 
 "We ben't talkin', Kernal, we be a doin' 
 things, as you was last night." 
 
 "For God's sake—" 
 
 "Hush yer perfanity. Why didn't ye call on 
 Gawd last night when ye was throwin' th' rope 
 over the oak lim' fer Stybright and the Jennings 
 boys.P Ef ye be such a friend o' Gawd's he'll give 
 yer a chance t' explain a few things afore long an' 
 ef he don't, we will." 
 
 A score of men by this time had filled the lawn 
 with their shouting : "Remember Guy Stybright !" 
 "Stybright and the Jenningses !" "Remember the 
 twin oaks and what we found there !" "Don't 
 fergit it, Kernal !" 
 
 "Into the house, boys ;" shouted Sykes Snick- 
 erby, "as he had no respect fer home, nuther will 
 we." 
 
 Into the wide halls they dashed, spreading like 
 a flood from right to left, while the members of 
 the household fled as from a pestilence. Maxwell 
 was flung into a dark closet under the stairs and 
 
126 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 the door locked upon him. Two of their num- 
 ber stood guard, while the others searched the 
 house for other Confederates. Finding none, 
 Mark Dawson turned to Sykes and said : 
 
 "Nothin' doin' here; where's the wine?" 
 
 "The wine cellar ! The wine cellar !" shouted 
 Sam Sharp, "follow me!" 
 
 Soon there was a popping of corks and a 
 sparkle of glasses and the crowd made them- 
 selves hilarious. Col. Maxwell was forgotten, 
 save by the guards, who watched the conviviality 
 with distrust. There was uproarious merriment 
 over the easy capture of the Colonel, and Mark 
 Dawson and Sam Sharp joined in a clog dance 
 for the amusement of the others. In the midst of 
 their merriment the burly voice of Perk Thomp- 
 son called from the hall: 
 
 "Men, let's get to business !" 
 
 "Yes," roared Sykes Snickerby, "let's get this 
 job ofF'n our hands." 
 
 "Now fer serious business," Dawson responded. 
 "Hurry up, Perk." 
 
 "Men, bring out the Kernal," Thompson com- 
 manded. 
 
 The lock was thrown back and the door of the 
 closet pulled open and two guns were leveled 
 through the dark entrance. 
 
 "Come out, Kernal, or die where you be." 
 
 But the Colonel did not respond. 
 
 "Come out, Kernal, d'ye hear.?" 
 
 Still no response. 
 
A FIRE IN EDEN 127 
 
 "Don't shoot, yet, boys," directed Thompson. 
 "We mustn't be balked o' the hangin' — gotta hev 
 some fun out o' this." 
 
 "Let him test one of his own oak limbs," sug- 
 gested Sam Sharp. 
 
 "Yes, he seems to be rayther fond o' oaks and 
 hemp," drawled Dawson. 
 
 "Kernal," shouted Thompson, "we give yer 
 jes' three minutes to come out." 
 
 The guns were still drawn to the shoulders of 
 the guards, ready as soon as Thompson gave the 
 command. 
 
 "One minit's gone, Kernal." 
 
 "Two minit's gone." 
 
 "Guns ready, boys." 
 
 "One, two, three, fire !" 
 
 The guns belched their terrible charges into 
 the dark closet. The detonation was something 
 terrific. The whole house thundered with the 
 explosion. Nothing could be seen save a wreath 
 of smoke that curled up from the entrance. 
 There was not a sound to be heard under the 
 stairway. 
 
 "Guess ye've did yer work purty good, fellers ; 
 don't even hear him kickin' in thar." 
 
 A candle was fastened on the end of a bayonet 
 and thrust into the closet. 
 
 Horrors ! The place was empty ! 
 
 With wild eyes and chagrined, desperate 
 faces the baffled men pressed into the doorway and 
 gazed into the dimly lighted recess, only to dis- 
 
128 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 cover a trap-door by which their captive had 
 dropped into the cellar. 
 
 "S'round tli' house an' th' slave quawtahs !" 
 shouted Thompson at the top of his voice. 
 
 "Shoot any man down who attempts to break 
 through th' lines," added Snickerby. 
 
 "Fire th' house !" called Thompson in stentor- 
 ian tones. "If he's in it, let him come out ; if 
 he stays in let him roast !" 
 
 "All I want is another chance," swore Mark 
 Dawson, regretting that he had not been more 
 successful on his first attempt on the piazza. 
 
 "INIatches ! matches !" 
 
 "Away with your matches. Fling th' candles 
 into the beds !" 
 
 "Bust his ile lamps on the floors." 
 
 "Let him feel how it goes to have yer home 
 burned over yer head." 
 
 The flames were soon bursting through the 
 doors and windows, and the old trees and the 
 night were lit with weird and awful glory and 
 with the wickedness of man. The ivy on the 
 tops of the mimosa trees hissed and swayed in 
 the heat, the green leaves crackled, bent up and 
 dropped in little spits of fire into the grass. 
 The whole scene seemed to ache with retribu- 
 tion. The blaze of that splendid old manor- 
 house, with all its treasures of art, was lit by the 
 tinder carried over from the Stybright cabin ! 
 
 "Wonder how th' Kernal likes t' play a losin' 
 hand at his own game?" Dawson contemptuously 
 sneered, as he stood in view of the cellar door in 
 
A FIRE IN EDEN 129 
 
 the hope that the smoke and flame would cause 
 Maxwell to try escaping that way. 
 
 "Th' Kernal's gotter stan' by his own logic." 
 
 "Y' heard what he said: 'War is war?' " 
 
 "An' that Stybright had done his work an' 
 got his wages. Well's he's gittin' his, all right." 
 
 "If any of you fellers see him," Perk called, 
 "shoot him on the spot." 
 
 "Ther'll be no arrest this time," muttered Daw- 
 son, nursing his chagrin. 
 
 Following the instructions of Thompson the 
 roads were picketed, also the outbuildings and 
 the slave quarters. The mortification over los- 
 ing their prisoner when they had him so success- 
 fully entrapped caused them now to forget every- 
 thing except his recapture, dead or alive. In 
 their frenzy they searched the slave cabins, ex- 
 amined every building and the shadow of every 
 tree and shrub. By the light of the burning 
 dwelling they did their work effectually ; but no- 
 where was Colonel Maxwell found. He had either, 
 as they supposed, escaped to the mountains be- 
 fore his absence was discovered, or else was bur- 
 ied under the smouldering ruins of his home. 
 
 Meanwhile Aunt Dinah lay in her cabin simu- 
 lating sleep, but a vision passed before her eyes 
 of her "Ole Massa" plunging through the lawn 
 and into her cabin, and out through the rear 
 door to the mountains, and she held her fat sides 
 and chuckled: 
 
 "Lawdy, how dem white trash am fooled." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AS ONE WHOM HIS MOTHER COM- 
 
 FORTETH 
 
 Gyp Stybright had no part in the proceedings 
 at the Maxwell manor or in the summary execu- 
 tion of others who were engaged in the murder 
 of his father. Gyp was old far beyond his years ; 
 old in courage, in strategy and in that ready 
 grasp of things which amounted almost to gen- 
 ius. But now he had no heart for these inhu- 
 manities which were shown by friend and foe 
 alike. His spirit was so crushed that it was 
 absolutely alone. It seemed out of touch with 
 all things about him. He cared only for rest, 
 or for the sweet sympathy of one who had felt 
 the bitterness of grief and found the way of con- 
 solation. He felt that an awful wrong had been 
 done him ; but the feeling in his heart was not one 
 of retaliation but of utter emptiness and desola- 
 tion. 
 
 He could think of but one friend whom he 
 really longed to see, and that was the sweet, far- 
 away maiden, the dip of whose vanishing oars yet 
 sounded in his ears. For a few days he re- 
 mained with those who had prepared the body of 
 his father for the last untroubled sleep. But 
 more and more his heart yearned for the gentle 
 
 130 
 
AS A MOTHER COMFORTETH 131 
 
 Aida far over the cruel mountains. He knew 
 not what to do, and he knew not how she could 
 help him, but he wanted sympathy. He wanted 
 love. He wanted his mother back from the grave 
 on the green terrace above the ashes of his home. 
 He wanted his father ; but he, too, lay speechless 
 in the uncompassionate earth. And now he 
 wanted Aida. She only was left. He felt that 
 if he were only with her his heart would not be 
 so empty. The world was so big and he was so 
 small. The mountains were so great and majes- 
 tic, but in all their mighty strength there was 
 no help for him. So many homes, and his own 
 in ashes. So many people, and now all of them 
 strangers. Sympathetic they might be, loving 
 too, as the love of the great world goes, but 
 when the heart's dearest kindred are in the earth, 
 all unresponsive to prayers and tears alike, how 
 very, very cold the once glowing world appears ! 
 Whither could the poor boy turn? 
 
 In all this empty waste there seemed but one 
 bright spot to the orphan boy. Had he known 
 of the consolations of the gospel he might have 
 looked up, but now his dreams were beyond the 
 mountains. Quietly he slipped away into the 
 great forests with his grief as his only companion, 
 his sense of misfortune sometimes rocked into 
 slumber by the jeweled hand of hope. Over 
 mountain paths he toiled, his one burden the sor- 
 row that he bore. The birds seemed to hush 
 their song as he came near, and the dark pines 
 
132 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 hung their boughs low as if in neighborly compas- 
 sion. There was a hush in the cascades whose 
 waters were wont to tinkle rhythmically, like the 
 bells on the robe of the Jewish high priest. They 
 slipped soothingly as if to lull the grief of their 
 fellow pilgrim. Gyp thought he had never seen 
 such a quiet world. He saw a great eagle spread 
 its wings and sail far out, high above the crystal 
 thread of a stream that wound through a deep 
 and narrow valley, and he longed for such pin- 
 ions that he might fly away somewhere and be 
 at rest. But whither? 
 
 Aida and her friends heard with deep and ten- 
 der sorrow the sad story which he brought. 
 
 "You are welcome to our camp, my poor boy," 
 said Mr. Moncure kindly. "We will take care of 
 you." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. Where's Conway, the Union 
 soldier I brung you.?" 
 
 Gyp felt better acquainted with him than any- 
 one else, and he wanted to tell him what had be- 
 fallen the home which had once entertained him. 
 
 "He has gone, Gyp. He and Hampton have 
 taken their chances of getting through to the 
 Northern army." 
 
 It was another hope crushed. Aida was now the 
 only one with whom he could talk freely, and she 
 listened with tenderness and pity as he rehearsed 
 the tragic story of the few days since they had 
 parted. Her cheeks were white and scarlet by 
 turns. Indignation and compassion swept her 
 
AS A MOTHER COMFORTETH 133 
 
 heart as one wave follows another. And when 
 the men turned away to their duties she went 
 over and sat beside him on the bench by the 
 door. 
 
 "I know how you feel," she said to him. "My 
 mother lies far away under the green grass in 
 the garden at home, and my little brother's grave 
 is by her side. There is no one there now to 
 water the flowers or train the myrtle where they 
 lie. My old home, too, is gone. At least I sup- 
 pose it is burned long ago, and I can sympa- 
 thize with you." 
 
 He raised his tear-dimmed eyes to hers. In 
 all his life he had never seen such a look of beau- 
 tiful tenderness, such sweet and trustful com- 
 passion. If angels ever look through the eyes of 
 mortals he was sure they were looking upon him 
 then. He gave a little sob, but could not trust 
 himself to speak. 
 
 "Do you remember," she said, trying to cheer 
 him, "how brave you were that night when you 
 piloted Mr. Conway all alone over the dark 
 mountains .''" 
 
 "Y-e-s," he replied hesitatingly between his 
 sobs. 
 
 "And don't you remember that other night 
 when there was not a star in the sky, when you 
 pressed my hand and left me on the dark river, 
 and with no companion started back home on your 
 perilous journey? How heroic you were then. 
 Don't you remember it?" 
 
134 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "That was the night they killed my paw." 
 
 "And do you recall how fearlessly you ran 
 through those dangerous forests to find someone 
 to help with the dead men, before you knew that 
 your father was among them, or whether the 
 dead men were friends or foes?" 
 
 "If I'd a know'd it was my paw, I'd a never 
 left 'im." 
 
 "But in the kindness of your heart for others 
 in misfortune you forgot all about yourself. 
 Now, when everything is so dark you will try 
 again to be brave, won't you?" 
 
 "Aida, this is difF'nt. My heart's broke. But 
 if you'll help me I'll be as brave as I can." 
 
 "I'll help you all in my power. Gyp. But you 
 know a young girl like me cannot do much in 
 these awful war times when men are so wicked." 
 
 "Won't they ever be good, like my maw was?" 
 
 "I only know of one place where men never 
 cease to be good." 
 
 "Tell me, Aida. Oh, tell me." 
 
 "In heaven." 
 
 "That's where my maw is." 
 
 "And mine, too. It's where our preacher said 
 all the good go when the}- die." 
 
 "My paw didn't use t' be good ; but he quit 
 bein' bad, an' I know he must be in heaven, too." 
 
 "If he is. Gyp, you don't need to cry." 
 
 "I wisht he was here. Paw was so big an' 
 strong." 
 
 "God'll comfort you, Gyp." 
 
AS A INIOTHER COMFORTETH 135 
 
 "I wisht he would." 
 
 "He has sent you to us, and papa and I will 
 help you all we can." 
 
 "Did he send me t' you, Aida?" 
 
 "I think so. He does all things that are good." 
 
 "Well I'm sure he did good that time ; I couldn't 
 a found anybody what would a been as nice t' 
 me as you be." 
 
 "And then papa told you that you could stay 
 right here, and make your home with us. Now 
 wasn't God good to you?" 
 
 "How did God send me here? I thought I 
 come all alone, an' nobody ever tol' me t' come. 
 I jes come myself." 
 
 "But he knew that you were in trouble, and he 
 put it in your heart to come. That's the way he 
 does." 
 
 "How'd ye find it all out, Aida. I never 
 know'd such things." 
 
 "My mamma used to tell me about how God 
 would take care of me when she went away to 
 heaven. And he has. And the preacher used to 
 tell the congregation how he watched over a great 
 nation one time and led them by a pillar of fire to 
 a beautiful country." 
 
 "I don't want no piller o' fire under my head. 
 It'd burn all my hair off." 
 
 "It wasn't a pillow, it was a pillar of fire, a 
 sort of beacon that went before the horses and 
 carriages and soldiers. But he guides us all some 
 way. He won't leave one of us. Don't you know 
 
136 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 that the little birds can't fall down unless he 
 lets them." 
 
 "Well, Aida, if he looks after the woodpeckers 
 and the yallerhammcrs don't you think he'll look 
 atter me?" 
 
 "He surely will. Just stay here and trust 
 him." 
 
 "Him an' you." 
 
 "Yes, we will both be your friends, so don't 
 cry any more. Listen! Did you hear that?" 
 
 "What was it ?" 
 
 "Sounds like a woman's voice." 
 
 "It be, an' they be runnin' an' a comin 'this 
 way." 
 
 "What can it be?" 
 
 "Oh, Aida, it's Snags. It's Snags, an' she's got 
 out." 
 
 "Out of where? Who is she?" 
 
 "Snags Groucher. I know her. She helpt t' 
 kill my paw!" 
 
 At that moment the furious woman dashed 
 past them, never looking around. Down toward 
 the river she ran, her hair streaming on the 
 winds. 
 
 "Oh, Gyp, the boat! the boat!" 
 
 He understood, and the two leaped from their 
 places and ran in pursuit to overtake her if pos- 
 sible before she gained the boat. They reached 
 the river just as she was bending over the skiff 
 in her efforts to push it out into the stream. 
 Gyp was running so furiously that he was un- 
 
AS A MOTHER COMFORTETH 137 
 
 able to check himself and ran into her with such 
 force that she was knocked headforemost over 
 the boat into the river. She dived like a muskrat 
 and disappeared coming again to the surface half 
 way across the stream, and was soon swimming 
 under the overhanging branches on the opposite 
 shore. 
 
 No sooner had she disappeared in the woods 
 than Sam Sharp, Perk Thompson and Mark Daw- 
 son reached the river and leaped into the boat and 
 shoved out in hot pursuit. 
 
 "How did it happen, Snickerbj?" Mr. Moncure 
 inquired later in the day. 
 
 "Ye know th' confounded creeter war confined 
 in that ar cabin what we use fer a prison. An' 
 th' darn grounhawg climbed up th' chimbly an' 
 got on th' roof an' swung out on a lim' an' 
 jumped t' th' ground an' run fer th' water like 
 a hawg o' Gadara." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE STYBRIGHT SCHOOL OF PHILOS- 
 OPHY 
 
 These mountain vigils gave to Gyp and Aida 
 a common purpose, and they entered with zest 
 into any exploit that threw them into each oth- 
 er's company. Gyp was characterized by rugged 
 honesty and innocence and, withal, a quaint orig- 
 inality, an artlessness and a genuine manliness 
 which attracted Aida from the first time they 
 met ; and there was in her the sweetness and cul- 
 tivated grace, the charm of manner and the 
 gift of conversation which made her the admira- 
 tion of the whole camp. This won the love not 
 only of the orphan boy, but of everyone who 
 knew her. To him, however, she seemed a most 
 wonderful creature, the most beautiful and fas- 
 cinating he had ever looked upon. During these 
 days they were much together, and the days 
 seemed more charming because of it. 
 
 As they rambled through the woods or over 
 the great heights or stood alone on some prom- 
 ontory looking away over wondrous landscapes 
 of quiet valley and winding stream, dull, slant- 
 ing roads and the green webs of outlying mead- 
 
 138 
 
SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY 139 
 
 ows, patches of orchards, homesteads and dimin- 
 utive mountains — looking as Moses the servant 
 of God looked from his blue Pisgah over the 
 land of promise — they were building temples 
 more enduring than ever stood on Mount Zion 
 or the Acropolis. Neither of them in these bliss- 
 ful, self-centered days thought much, if indeed, 
 at all, of what the future held for them. The 
 tonic of the mountain breezes brought the roses 
 to their cheeks and gave them all the vigor, elas- 
 ticity and abounding hopefulness of youth. In- 
 visible hands were toiling at the inner temples, 
 and "there was neither hammer nor axe nor any 
 tool of iron heard while they were building." Na- 
 ture was silently shaping her ideals. 
 
 Gyp's ready hands constructed a rustic bench 
 in one of their sylvan retreats, and to this de- 
 lightful resort they often came, spending long 
 hours in happy fellowship, making odd devices 
 out of moss or bark or wild flowers. Not far 
 away there were cool rocks where ferns abounded 
 and a thread-like stream unraveled itself from 
 some hidden spool and became tangled among 
 grasses, and mosses and jeweled the maidenhair 
 ferns by its side. Here birds rocked themselves 
 to sleep in the depths of pleasant trees or, cra- 
 dled in their cup-like nests, sang their luUabys 
 to their dreaming young. 
 
 "Aida," Gyp inquired as they sat one day in 
 their cozy bower, "Hev ye ever been t' th' schools 
 where they hev books an' larn things?" 
 
140 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Yes, Gyp, I've been to school nearly all my 
 life until we were driven from home by this cruel 
 war." 
 
 "Well I wisht I c'd go, so's I'd know things 
 an' c'd use langvvidge like you." 
 
 "Gyp, you do know a great many things. 
 Why I just envy you your knowledge of trees 
 and brooks and birds and all sorts of creeping 
 things. You can find your way out of any part 
 of the mountains like a bee." 
 
 "But, Aida, bugs an' things can't make me 
 talk fine an' han'le langwidge. A bug's a bug, 
 but langwidge is dif'nt." 
 
 "You have learned from observation, and I 
 have only learned from books, so you are even 
 with me." 
 
 "Some way I can't see through things. I see 
 things an' they be away beycnt me, an' I don't 
 know th' meanin' of 'em, an' I can't think 'em out. 
 It's like gettin' lost in th' woods an' ye can't find 
 th' way back." 
 
 "And who is there that does not get lost when 
 he tries to think out the things around him? 
 Why, Gyp, I just don't know anything at all. 
 I havn't begun to learn yet." 
 
 "But you see things an' say things so nice; 
 but when I tries to think 'em out my mind gets 
 all snarled up like a ball o' yarn an' I don't know 
 how t' untangle it. It be jus' like a big cloud 
 what don't know whar it's gwine to, an' jus' 
 swirls aroun' an' aroun' an' gets blacker and 
 
SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY 141 
 
 blacker all th' time, an' then begins t' thunder an' 
 lighten." 
 
 "We all learn as we grow older and our mind 
 becomes clearer. When the Avar is over maybe 
 you can go to school." 
 
 "Oh, but I'd like to get eddycation so's I c'd 
 keep things cleared up in my mind, jus' as maw 
 uster clear th' coffee by puttin' eggs in it." 
 
 "And that's just what I want to do by and by, 
 go to school and get wise and know things and be 
 able to talk like my dear old teacher." 
 
 "But ye beenter school, Aida, an' ye air wise 
 an' has bu'ful langwidge. I wisht I know'd all ye 
 know an' c'd say things so powerful nice." 
 
 "Now, Gyp, I'll tell you what let's do : I'll teach 
 you what I know as well as I can, and you teach 
 me what you know about insects and birds and 
 wild game and the highways and byways of the 
 rabbits and squirrels and the striped chipmunks 
 and gophers. Is it a bargain?" 
 
 "Oh, that'll be powerful nice," then after a 
 pause: "but I don't know much about them crit- 
 ters." 
 
 "And I don't know much about school teaching, 
 so we are even. But we'll have a school." 
 
 "Where'll we hev it.?" 
 
 "Right here, and right away." 
 
 "How'll we start it." 
 
 "You'll be Professor of Natural History, and 
 I'll be Instructor in Any-Thing-You-Like — rhet- 
 oric, grammar or orthography." 
 
142 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "I don't know nuthin' about them things. 
 Never seed any of 'em on these mountings." 
 
 "But I'm going to teach you. You'll be my 
 pupil and I'll be yours, and we'll just have the 
 funniest school you ever heard of." 
 
 "When's school t' begin?" 
 
 "Right now. Ring the bell." 
 
 "Ha'n't got none." 
 
 "Well, hunt around and get something. You're 
 the teacher, remember." 
 
 "There ha'n't nothin' here that'll ring, Aida." 
 
 "I'll tell you : take this stick and hit that rock 
 over there three times." 
 
 "What fer?" 
 
 "To call books." 
 
 "But books won't come fer callin'." 
 
 "No they won't ; but that's to be our bell, and 
 when it rings school will begin." 
 
 Slash ! slash ! slash ! and the rock resounded 
 with the thump of Gyp's stick until the little 
 stream quivered and wondered what was doing 
 among the young people. 
 
 "Now," Aida proceeded to say, "you are to call 
 the school to order. Rap with your knuckles on 
 this bench and then I'll sit down and wait for you 
 to call the class in Natural History." 
 
 Gyp rapped according to directions, and Aida 
 hung her bonnet on the branch of a tulip tree 
 and took her seat. 
 
 "Now say : 'Class in Natural History will take 
 its place.'" No, wait! This is going to be a 
 
SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY 143 
 
 religious school, and you'll have to conduct chapel 
 
 exercises." 
 
 "What's them?" 
 
 "Why chapel exercises mean that you've got to 
 open this school with prayer." 
 
 "I didn't know that a school was like a can o' 
 jam what had t' be opened afore y' got at th' 
 goodies." 
 
 "Well it has, Professor Gyp Stybright, and 
 you'd better just hurry up and pray or there 
 won't be any school." 
 
 Gyp got down on his knees and laying his 
 hands and head on Aida's lap, as he used to do 
 on his mother's knee, said : 
 
 " ' Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep; 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to take. 
 
 "School's open," said Gyp, rising to his feet. 
 "W'at I gotter do next?" 
 
 "The insect class is now going to be heard. 
 Mr. Prof. Stybright, here is a bug which flew 
 into my lap while you were conducting chapel 
 exercises. What is the name of this little crea- 
 ture, please?" 
 
 "Bug?" he responded interrogatively, looking 
 down into her hands which she held together, edge 
 to edge, forming a dainty little bowl in which the 
 creature was vainly seeking some avenue to lib- 
 erty. "Lemmy see: That air is w'at I be callin' 
 a snappin' bug." 
 
144. THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A snappin' bug." 
 
 "Why do you call it that?" 
 
 "Lemmy show yer." He took the wriggling 
 thing between his thumb and forefinger. "Watch 
 'im. See him snap? See that?" 
 
 The insect raised its head and brought it 
 down with a quick jerk making a clicking sound 
 each time. This it repeated as rapidly as its 
 bugship could go through the motions. 
 
 "That's w'y we be callin' 'im a snappin' bug." 
 
 "Where does it live, and what does it do for a 
 living?" 
 
 "Lives under th' bark of ole rotten logs an' 
 about stumps an' under fence corners. He's a 
 harmless critter; won't bite or kick or git into 
 yer hair. Does nothin' fer a livin' but jes' snap." 
 
 "He gets the snap on people, doesn't he?" 
 
 "Yes, he do." 
 
 "Well, I think that's school enough for one 
 day. It's time for intermission, anyway." 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 So passed the weeks and months, and one event- 
 ful day Gyp and Aida were together happy in 
 their woodland retreat. They were now one 
 and inseparable. So absorbed were they in each 
 other's company that they did not notice a soli- 
 tary horseman making his way along the distant 
 valley. Only a field-glass could have told whether 
 the far off rider were friend or foe. The horse 
 was a light bay and cantered over the dusty 
 road at a lively pace. From a mere speck in 
 the distance the proportions and color were now 
 clearly distinguishable. The rider swung around 
 a curve in the road, crossed the bridge over a 
 little stream, turned the shoulder of the hill and 
 passed out of sight. He came again into view 
 farther up the mountain side. Patiently yet per- 
 severingly, he came, with eager glances about him, 
 occasionally lifting his field-glass to his eyes and 
 scanning the hills. For a little while he stood 
 outlined like an equestrian statue on a distant 
 summit, his glass to his eyes ; then the forests shut 
 him off from view. Yet perseveringly he fol- 
 lowed the mountain road until he came near to 
 the place where the young lovers sat delightfully 
 
 145 
 
14<6 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 absorbed in their woodland retreat, oblivious of 
 the approach of friend or foe. 
 
 The traveler paused as he heard their mirth 
 and chatter, then quietly urged his horse a little 
 nearer. Glancing through the foliage he recog- 
 nized them as the children of his enemies, friends 
 of the North and enemies of the stars and bars. 
 He had seen Gyp before, and Aida, he was sure, 
 was the daughter of Richard Moncure, one of 
 the ring-leaders in this nest of "liers-out." He 
 remembered the face of the girl as the one he 
 had seen that day, long months ago, when he and 
 Terbaccy Tom served the notice on her father 
 the evening before he fled from his home. 
 
 The rider was Jim Habor, as cruel and relent- 
 less as ever. The blood still burned in his veins 
 against the followers of the old flag, and when 
 he discovered who these happy, unsuspecting 
 young people were a wild and wicked thought took 
 possession of him. He thought he saw a way 
 by which this camp of mountaineers might be 
 wholly suppressed. He would capture Aida and 
 Gyp, carry them within the Confederate lines 
 and hold them as hostages under threat of death 
 until ]\loncure and his men would throw down their 
 arms and take the oath of allegiance to the Con- 
 federate standard. The more he thought of it, 
 the more his daring spirit rose to the occasion. 
 He determined that, live or die, he would risk it. 
 
 But to capture them, single-handed, and make 
 off with them was no easy matter. Besides he 
 
THE RED SWAN'S NECK 147 
 
 knew not how near their friends might be; and 
 a failure to capture either one of them might de- 
 feat the whole plot and bring an armed posse 
 down upon him before he could make good his 
 escape. But, he mused, what good is Gyp? He 
 has no friends who would care where he was. 
 His capture would accomplish nothing; but to 
 take Aida and leave him, ah, there was the danger 
 to his success. He would shoot Gyp and carry 
 Aida away ! No one would mourn the little ras- 
 cal if he now leveled his gun and laid him to sleep 
 among the leaves. Let the robins cover him as 
 they did the babes in the wood. He has no 
 friends who would throw down their arms to 
 ransom him. Then let him rot. Ah, but the 
 sound of a rifle ! That would defeat him. 
 
 Unexpectedly to him the difficulty adjusted 
 itself. As his malignant eyes peered like a wolf's 
 through the foliage he saw Gyp lean over and 
 whisper something to the beautiful girl by his 
 side, and heard him say : 
 
 "Good-bye, Aida, I'm goin' t' th' lookout. I'll 
 be back as soon as I see ther's no danger," and 
 he took his gun and disappeared among the 
 trees. 
 
 The road up which Habor had come winds up 
 the face of the mountain like the graceful curve 
 of a swan's neck. The red earth gives it the 
 color of the fields themselves ; and because of 
 this peculiarity it is locally known as "The Red 
 Swan's Neck." When the trees are denuded of 
 
148 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 their leaves the suggestiveness of the comparison 
 is most apparent. The cleared field at the edge 
 of the woods and this bare, crooked highway, ris- 
 ing from one end of it, presents a most striking 
 resemblance to a swan. It was around this tor- 
 tuous grade that Habor had climbed to where 
 this terrible opportunity now confronted him. 
 
 Aida, with a piece of needle-work in her hands, 
 was all unconscious of her peril. 
 
 No sooner had Gyp disappeared than Habor 
 straightened himself in his saddle, drew in his 
 reins, and, with his open palm patted his faith- 
 ful steed and spoke to her softly as a mother 
 might croon to her babe. The fiery, impulsive 
 creature seemed to understand the will of her 
 master, and to be in accord with it. 
 
 "Do your duty, Nelly," he whispered, as he 
 pressed his heels against her flanks. She stepped 
 forward as softly as if the brown leaves were 
 wool beneath her feet. The snapping of a twig 
 caused Aida to look up. Habor dashed his spurs 
 into the horse's sides and sprang at one bound 
 to where she sat. Before the frightened girl 
 realized what it all meant Habor bent from his 
 saddle, caught her rudely by the arm and lifted 
 her to his side. He then turned his horse and 
 was soon out on the road, where he gave the ani- 
 mal full rein and she bounded away like an ar- 
 row from the bow. 
 
 "Help! Murder! Save me!" shrieked the terri- 
 fied girl. 
 
THE RED SWAN'S NECK 149 
 
 Habor laid his coarse, ungloved hand over her 
 mouth and hissed in her ear : 
 
 "Hush ! None of your nonsense ! No harm 
 will come to you if you be quiet. Be still, I tell 
 you !'' he demanded with an oath. 
 
 "Help ! help ! help !" she shrieked until the echo- 
 ing hills sent back the cry. 
 
 Habor could not prevent her shrieks. He had 
 but two hands, and one was needed to guide his 
 furious steed and the other to hold this kid- 
 napped and terrified girl in the saddle. The horse 
 dashed down the road at a frightful pace while 
 Aida sent her wild cry among the cliffs. Gyp 
 heard the first cry of alarm, and glancing under 
 the branches of the trees saw a fierce man in 
 grey lift the struggling girl to his side and gal- 
 lop away. He raised his rifle to shoot, but it was 
 too late. Rider and steed in one momentary 
 flash of color passed from his view. He was hor- 
 rified, and heard nothing but the vanishing cry, 
 growing fainter and fainter : 
 
 "H-e-l-p ! h-e-l-p ! h-e-lp !" 
 
 The young rifleman's thoughts were as quick 
 as the flight of the kidnapper. He saw the di- 
 rection taken and, leaping toward the highway, 
 prayed : 
 
 "Gawd help me, and I'll save her!" 
 
 He saw the horseman start down the sinuous 
 way, which lay a great g on the mountain side. 
 Across the first steep semi-circle he bounded as 
 one leaping for life. He plunged down the slope, 
 
150 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 crashing through underbrush, and like a wild 
 chamois among its native rocks, leaping ten feet 
 or more at a bound. Clearing rocks and fallen 
 timbers at peril of instant death he came in sight 
 of the road just in time to see the furious horse- 
 man dash out of sight. Aida, endeavoring to 
 twist herself from her captor's hands threw her 
 head backward and caught a momentary glimpse 
 of Gyp as he stood with his rifle to his shoulder 
 ready to fire. She thrust her white arm toward 
 him and cried: 
 
 "Save me ! Save me !" 
 
 He dared not shoot. She was in direct line 
 and the ball to reach Habor must pass through 
 her body. In a moment they were out of sight. 
 
 "Gawd help me an' I'll ketch him on th' next 
 turn !" 
 
 He ran across the road and at one bound 
 landed far down the mountain side. Aida did 
 not hear his hopeful exclamation. But she re- 
 membered that she had a penknife of her fath- 
 er's in her pocket. She slipped her hand under 
 the folds of her dress and worked the blade of 
 the knife open. She little dreamed of the conse- 
 quences of what she was about to do, and as little 
 cared. Tragedies were not new to her. She 
 grasped the handle firmly and her teeth ground 
 together as she made one savage lunge, intend- 
 ing to sever, if possible, an artery in the captor's 
 wrist, never pausing to consider what the result 
 might be if she succeeded. She missed her mark 
 
THE RED SWAN'S NECK 151 
 
 but struck the bridle reins severing them from 
 Habor's hands. The severed reins fell among 
 the horses' fl3"ing feet where they snapped and 
 cracked like the lashes of whips. 
 
 "Whoa, Nelly! whoa! whoa! wh-o-a !" Habor 
 coaxed, realizing the impending peril to both at 
 that awful pace. 
 
 "Wh-o-a, lady ; softly now ; wh-o-a, good Nelly, 
 whoa-wh-o-a." 
 
 Then he felt the sharp sting of the blade in 
 his arm as Aida made a second thrust at him. 
 
 "Curse your infernal knife," and he caught 
 her hand and rudely wrenched it from her grasp 
 and flung it away. 
 
 For once the faithful steed refused to obey her 
 master's will, and now that the reins were loose 
 and all power of restraint gone she plunged down 
 the steep grade more furiously than ever. Trees 
 and rocks flashed past them and the overhanging 
 boughs seemed to sing in their ears or, striking 
 their faces, cut like sharp wires, while the shrieks 
 of Aida and the curses of Habor Avere added to 
 the resounding thunder of the flying hoofs. 
 Whipped by the reins which dangled among her 
 feet and crazed by the pain of Habor's spurs the 
 furious beast flung herself forward, feet front and 
 rear almost on a level. Her eyes were fire. The 
 foam flew from the bridle-bit and the blood 
 dripped from her hot flanks. Her ears were 
 thrown back and her head thrust forward until it 
 seemed to rest on her outstretched legs, her mane 
 
152 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 blowing like the spray of rain from the roof-cone. 
 Uncontrollable and devil-haunted she seemed bent 
 on the destruction of both captor and captive. 
 
 Down they came, swinging around the short 
 second semi-circle of the swan's neck, the horse 
 bending inward until Habor was almost torn 
 from her back against the steep bank of the road- 
 way. Hatless and white as the skirts of the girl 
 in his arms — skirts now stained with blood from 
 his wounded wrist — Habor clung with one hand 
 to the pommel of the saddle while that shodden 
 thunderbolt bored her way like a conical shell 
 around the red highway. Both riders were silent 
 now. The cheeks of each were white as snow. 
 They expected that wild Mazeppa flight would 
 land them before God. 
 
 As the terrible animal hurled herself around 
 the curve. Gyp fired, but the wild creature never 
 wavered in her flight. Habor uttered a cry of 
 pain, swung to one side, clasped his hand upon 
 his side and seemed about to fall from the saddle, 
 then regained his position as that palpitant thun- 
 derbolt hurled herself past Gyp and disappeared 
 in a cloud of dust. Gyp saw the outstretched 
 hand of Aida as she passed and heard her van- 
 ishing cry: 
 
 "Oh, Gyp ! Gyp !" . . 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 THE APPLE WOMAN 
 
 The report of Aida's capture produced the 
 utmost consternation in the camp of the loyalists. 
 Col. Moncure was dazed for a time. The thought 
 of his child being in the power of the wicked and 
 relentless Habor made him sick at heart. Gyp 
 was wild in his excitement and almost furious in 
 his insistence that something must be done at 
 once to rescue her from the villain's clutches. 
 Dawson and Thompson and Snickerb}^ and all 
 the rest of them urged immediate action. There 
 was but one mind in their councils. At all haz- 
 ards Aida must be rescued. 
 
 After the first fury of the awful tidings had 
 passed they set themselves to consider the sit- 
 uation. Gyp was satisfied that his rifle shot had 
 wounded the Confederate scout. His swaying 
 in the saddle after the shot was fired, the clasp- 
 ing of his hand on his side and his unsteadiness 
 for the moment satisfied them that he must have 
 been sorely wounded. As a consequence one of 
 two things would happen, Aida would be left at 
 the nearest camp of the Confederates, or, pos- 
 sibly, at the first home of those who were in hearty 
 sympathy with the Southern cause. With loss 
 
 153 
 
154 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 of blood and the pain of a possible serious in- 
 jury the flight could not be continued far. The 
 first thing, therefore, was for the swiftest riders 
 to follow at once. Indeed, if the wound were 
 severe, the girl might have been dropped by the 
 wayside and, therefore, all the more need of haste. 
 
 Perk Thompson and Sam Sharp were in their 
 saddles before the conference was ended, and their 
 flight down the Red Swan's Neck would have 
 done credit to Habor's spirited bay, Nellie. 
 From the point of the crags the little group stood 
 watching the flight of the two horsemen. They 
 saw them come around the bend of the road on 
 the crest of the distant spur, a moment outlined 
 against the peerless blue of heaven, then a cloud 
 of dust from the red scar of a highway and the 
 riders disappeared to come again into view down 
 in the valley, then over the bridge and away by 
 the stream until they were but specks in the dis- 
 tance. A vanishing blur and all was lost to view. 
 
 The riders thought at once of old Bridget, the 
 apple woman, who lived alone in a crude shack in 
 a secluded nook hidden away from the public 
 road. She was known to be in fullest sympathy 
 with the Confederate cause. It had been known 
 for some time that she visited their camp to dis- 
 pose of fruit and toothsome tidbits of cookery. 
 To her home the horsemen dashed in the hope of 
 either finding Aida or of gaining information. 
 
 The old woman at first positively refused to 
 tell anything. But when Thompson threatened 
 
THE APPLE WOMAN 155 
 
 immediate hanging for being in league with the 
 enemy, she promised to tell all she knew. She 
 told them that Habor had stopped there and had 
 asked her to take care of the girl for a few 
 days. But she had only one room in her miser- 
 able abode and no possible place where the cap- 
 tive could be concealed, and she did not dare 
 take charge of her. She confessed everything; 
 how that Habor was sorely injured and was bleed- 
 ing profusely, was weak through the loss of blood 
 and was scarcely fit to continue his flight. His 
 wound she had dressed as well as could be ; his 
 bridle reins were gathered up and his trembling 
 steed, wet with sweat and white with foam, urged 
 on. 
 
 Without waiting for further information Perk 
 and Sam leaped into their saddles and were off 
 in swift pursuit. They reached the crest of jNIont 
 Aloe and swung around its summit to the south- 
 ern side, and there, before them lay a most won- 
 drous vision — forests and valleys, blue streams 
 and cabin homes, orchards and many fraternal 
 mountains, and on the slopes of green fields far 
 away lay the camp of the Confederates. Thomp- 
 son lifted his glass to his eyes. The white tents 
 were distinctly outlined. He could see the 
 horses coralled and the pickets on duty. Then his 
 hand trembled, his teeth ground together, an 
 oath leaped from his livid lips, and, handing the 
 glass to Sharp, he exclaimed: 
 
 "The cursed wretch !" 
 
156 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 Sharp gazed a moment, lowered the glass and 
 turned to Thompson, the hate fairly burning in 
 his eyes. 
 
 "It's all up. Perk." 
 
 "No need t' ride furder." 
 
 "It will kill Moncure." 
 
 "Not a bit of it. It will stir him to fury." 
 
 "It must be strategy now." 
 
 "We'll hafter go back an' consult." 
 
 Their spirits sank as they turned their horses 
 about and galloped homeward. 
 
 "What next, Sam.?" 
 
 "That's th' question: What next.?" was 
 Sharp's hopeless answer. 
 
 "One thing's sartin, something gottcr be done 
 an' done at onct." 
 
 "We gotter git inside that ar camp, somehow." 
 
 "It will be at th' peril of our lives." 
 
 "It's life fcr life. Perk, life fer life." 
 
 "And th' life of th' girl's of more value than 
 yourn or mine." 
 
 For awhile there was silence between them as 
 they rode on together. Perk was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 "An idee, Sam, an idee ! be hevins I got an 
 idee." 
 
 "Lemmy hev it." 
 
 "Old Irish Bridget must git Aida out." 
 
 "But she's on their side !" 
 
 "That's the very reason why she must serve 
 
 us." 
 
THE APPLE WOMAN 157 
 
 "How? I'm waltin'." 
 
 "Well, th' fust thing's t' git th' old woman." 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 "Bridget fust and plans afterward." 
 
 "Yer hain't a supposin' they'd exchange Aida 
 fer that old Irish apple woman, be you?" 
 
 "No, sir-ee. They hain't sech fools. They 
 wouldn't exchange Aida fer all the women in the 
 county, least not at this time. We must get 
 Aunt Bridget on our way back and carry her 
 into camp and then make our plans." 
 
 "It won't be difF'cult job t' git th' old woman." 
 
 "Well, she's jes' gotter be got. That's all 
 ther is to it ; an' that's th' only way out of it 
 that I see." 
 
 The horsemen rode up to Aunt Bridget's 
 shack. She was sitting by the door with a basket 
 of apples preparing to start for the Confeder- 
 ate camp. 
 
 "Don't yer want a ride, Bridget?" 
 
 "Not wid the loikes av yez." 
 
 "O come, now. We'll give yer a lift on yer 
 way." 
 
 "Divil the lift wull ye give a body, bad luck 
 to yez. It's up to some haythen divilment ye 
 are. I can see it in the bloody eyes ave ye. Aff 
 wid yez an' lave a poor body alone." 
 
 "Sam'll take yer basket, Bridget, an' ye can 
 jump up in front of me." 
 
 "And d'ye think it's hankerin' afther yer so- 
 ciety, I am? Yez'll not be takin' me to the 
 
158 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 camp where I'm wantin' to go. I know yez well ; 
 yer not that sort, ye bloody Unioners." 
 
 "I'll promise ye, Bridget, we'll see that ye git 
 thar an' no harm t' ye." 
 
 "That's th' livin' truth, Bridget ; he's not lyin' 
 t' ye," Sam added. 
 
 "An a shwate bit av a crayther I'd be ridin' 
 through the mountains wid a mon's arm aboot 
 me. Aff wid ye fer a haythen blackguard." 
 
 "Ye needn't be a mistrustin' us, fer ye hev 
 t' come along. Y' see how it is, Bridget." 
 
 "I see. I'm in your power, an' I'm too ould to 
 fight. I'll go because I have to, bad scram to 
 the min who would shtale an ould body loike me." 
 
 "Give me your hand an' jump right up. Sam'll 
 take yer basket an' look atter yer apples." 
 
 Moncure, Dawson, Gyp, and, indeed, the whole 
 camp were still on the outlook watching for the 
 return of Thompson and Sharp. 
 
 "O Mr. Moncure !" cried Gyp excitedly, as he 
 handed the glass to the Colonel. "They'r comin' ! 
 They'r comin'! an' they've got Aida! They've 
 got Aida! I seed 'em comin' down th' hill." 
 
 Moncure took the glass and looked long and 
 eagerly ; then lowered it with a sigh. 
 
 "It's not she. Gyp. They'r bringing a woman, 
 but is not Aida. They have evidently not found 
 her," and Col. Moncure turned away to hide his 
 emotion. 
 
 There was no little surprise when Thompson 
 and Sharp returned with the old apple woman, a 
 
THE APPLE WOMAN 159 
 
 haggard, shriveled crone, instead of the beautiful 
 girl who had been carried away. There was 
 amazement and no little disgust when, at first, 
 they saw them ascending the Red Swan's Neck 
 carrying the bent and decrepit woman rather 
 than the beloved one for whom they had been so 
 anxiously waiting. 
 
 "What's the meaning of this, Thompson?" 
 Moncure asked with no little sternness but more 
 of confusion in his tone. 
 
 "I'll explain, fer we're all disapinted. We 
 came to this old woman's shack and learned that 
 Habor had stopped there with the girl. Habor 
 wanted her to keep Aida fer a few days ; but she 
 would not because she was afear'd. Habor is 
 badly wounded, she says, an' weak f'm th' loss 
 of blood. She helped him dress the wound and 
 then he hurried on carryin' th' girl with him. 
 We rushed away on th' full gallop an' when we 
 had rounded the shoulder o' Mont Aloe, we saw 
 th' camp of th' enemy. An' while we were lookin', 
 what did we see but Habor rushing in through 
 the picket lines with Aida in his arms. We saw 
 the men surround her, toss ther caps in th' air 
 an' lead her away t' her tent. Then we re- 
 turned to Aunt Bridget's place an' arrested her 
 just as she was leaving fer th' Confed'rate camp." 
 
 Moncure and Gyp were heartbroken at the 
 report. There was universal sadness and dis- 
 appointment. There was silence for a moment, 
 when Moncure, recovering himself, asked: 
 
160 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "WTiat do you propose to do with this old 
 woman?" 
 
 "She must secure the release of Aida !" 
 
 "She? How?" 
 
 "That's th' question now to be decided." 
 
 "What have you to suggest?" 
 
 "Somethin' after this sort : You know she's 
 been in th' habit o' visitin' th' camp almost daily 
 with knicknacks, gimcracks an' thingumbobs of 
 one sort an' a nuther t' sell t' th' soldiers. She 
 has th' confidence o' them people. But she must 
 be made our friend an' go inside th' camp an' 
 find out all about Aida ; meet with her ; speak with 
 her, out o' hearin' o' th' others, of course, an' 
 comfort th' poor girl with th' assurance that 
 help'll come soon. Then come back to us, tell 
 us what she finds, an' then we can lay our plans 
 fer rescue. Thet's my idee." 
 
 Gratitude shone in the wounded father's eyes. 
 His heart seemed to be somewhat eased of its 
 great burden at the plausibility of Thompson's 
 plan. He went up to him and, grasping him by 
 the hand, said: 
 
 "Thompson, God bless you ; God bless you ! 
 Sharp, May heaven ever be your friend. I don't 
 seem to be equal to this great calamity. You 
 know she's all I have. But come now, let us con- 
 sult together, for we must act at once." 
 
 "This woman must be bribed," said Thompson. 
 "We must make it worth her while to play th' 
 traitor. That's all ther is in it." 
 
THE APPLE WOMAN 161 
 
 "I will see her at once," was Moncure's em- 
 phatic response. "For the present everything de- 
 pends upon her." 
 
 The father, weak from his grief, and suppress- 
 ing every feeling of casuistry, went over to the 
 little cabin where Bridget was detained and said 
 to her: 
 
 "Bridget, you and I must get better acquainted. 
 You have been a friend of the South. That is 
 your right. It is your privilege to take what- 
 ever side appeals to your judgment and patriot- 
 ism. You have your beliefs as the rest of us 
 have ours. We will not harm one hair of your 
 head. You will be just as safe with us as with 
 your best friends, and we will prove to you that 
 we are, indeed, better than any friend you have 
 on the other side, if you will do what we would 
 like to have you do." 
 
 "Phwat wull ye be afther havin' me do.?" with 
 stern emphasis and flashing eyes. 
 
 "Nothing harmful, you may be sure. Listen 
 to me a minute. You know Jim Habor.?" 
 
 "Faith I do thot, an' a brave sojer mon he is." 
 
 "He called at your house to-day with a young 
 lady?" 
 
 "He did, Sor." 
 
 "That young lady was my daughter." 
 
 "Praise be ! But she's the beauty : as foine a 
 little leddy as I ever clapped me two eyes on." 
 
 "Habor carried her off to his camp, didn't 
 he.?" 
 
162 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Thot he did, wid the blood shtramin' from 
 his soide where some crool mon had shot him." 
 
 "Badly wounded, was he?" 
 
 "He may be dead afore this wid the pain av 
 him." 
 
 "Now, Bridget, I want my daughter back, and 
 you must help me get her." 
 
 "The saints presarve us !" she cried with up- 
 stretched hands. "I'm no a god nor a gineral. 
 She's beyent me power, Mishter Moncure." 
 
 "Bridget, if you'll help me get my daughter I 
 will give you one thousand dollars and place you 
 beyond the possibility of want as long as you live. 
 You won't have to sell any more apples or work 
 hard as you do now." 
 
 "Great hivins, mon ! ye talk loike a king. 
 Thot's more money than I've seen in all Ameriky." 
 And then after a moment's reflection, "But if 
 they foind it out they'll hang me to the rafters 
 ave me shanty ; an phwat gude's a thoosand dol- 
 lars to an ould woman wid her neck in a schling?" 
 
 "Bridget, there's not the least bit of danger, 
 if you are discreet. Those people over in the 
 camp all know you, and they are all your friends. 
 There is not one of them that will ever suspect 
 you. If they should examine you, have nothing 
 suspicious about your person, and you will be all 
 right. As soon as my child is rescued the thou- 
 sand dollars will be put in your hands. You 
 can stay in our camp, if you wish, till the war 
 is over, and I will then take you north, or I will 
 
THE APPLE WOMAN 163 
 
 send you back to Ireland to see your old home 
 and friends." 
 
 That last remark was a master stroke. At the 
 mention of her old home in the green Isle the 
 tears came into the old body's eyes. It had been 
 the dream of her life to get back to Killarney. 
 It was enough. Moncure had conquered with 
 one line. All the wit and cunning of her race 
 would be at his service. 
 
 "I'm wid yez, Mishter Moncure. Wan flag's 
 as gude as another to me, when me heart is back 
 in ould Oirland. Phwat do yez want me to do?" 
 
 "Take j^our basket of apples and go to the 
 camp just as you intended doing. Act as you 
 have always done. Do not be different in any 
 way. But find out all you can about my daugh- 
 ter. See her if you can without awakening sus- 
 picion. Tell her for me to keep heart and be 
 brave, though no need to do that, for no braver 
 girl ever lived, and come back to us this even- 
 ing and report. Gyp will take you on horseback 
 to Mont Aloe, and will meet you this evening 
 after dark at your shack." 
 
 "The blissin' av hivin be on yez an' comfort yez 
 for yer daughter. I'll see her if I have to choke 
 the sintry. But that's a bit av a crack I'm havin' 
 wid yez. I'll be joodishus." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 A MOUNTAIN MINE 
 
 "They'll not send us an offer of exchange," 
 was Moncure's reflection as the men conferred 
 together. "They will wait for the terms to come 
 from us. The distress is ours, not theirs. They 
 will wait till the anxiety with us becomes unendur- 
 able." 
 
 "But, Kernal," Thompson ventured, "the pur- 
 pose o' that ar' gang beyond Mont Aloe is to 
 suppress our camp, an' th' sooner th' better, 
 fer them. If they can bring us to terms by 
 usin' Aida they'll do it 'ithout waitin' fer a prop- 
 osition f'm us." 
 
 "Would they expect us to make a proposition 
 to throw down our arms and take an oath of al- 
 legiance to the Confederacy in exchange for a 
 young girl, however dear she may be to us? 
 They may hope to force us to that point but 
 they will not expect us to propose such terms." 
 
 "Do you intend then to wait?" 
 
 "Not one moment later than Bridget's return. 
 If she brings any definite information relative to 
 the situation on which we can base action we will 
 lay our plans at once. You saw their camp. Is 
 it strong?" 
 
 164 
 
A MOUNTAIN MINE 165 
 
 "Not more than fifteen or twenty tents. 
 Maybe not so many. And its only a band o' 
 bushwhackers an' gorillers." 
 
 "If the worst comes to the worst we will attack 
 them in the night, destroy their camp and rescue 
 my daughter." 
 
 "Ther might be danger t' th' girl in a night 
 attack, or in any attack. They'll expect it an' 
 prepare for it. We'll plan when Biddy comes ; 
 for that we must wait." 
 "Well, here she is now." 
 "News fer yez, Mishter Moncure." 
 "What is it, Bridget? Is Aida safe?" 
 "Yer daughter's in the camp beyent." 
 "Yes, Kernal," Gyp hurried to add, "an she 
 saw Aida !" 
 
 "Thot I did, an' she's in a noice comfortable 
 tint, watched over be a woman wid the name o' 
 Shnags !" 
 
 "Great hevings !" roared Thompson, "It hain't 
 as bad as that, is it?" 
 
 "Can it be possible !" Moncure added ; "your 
 first intimation filled me with hope; your last 
 declaration is enough to drive one to despair, or 
 to infuriate vengeance." His fingers clutched 
 into the palms of his hands until they almost bled. 
 "That's not good news, Bridget. We could 
 hardly expect anything worse than for her to be 
 in the hands of that revengeful and brutal crea- 
 ture." 
 
 "Sure, there was no harrum bein' done to the 
 
166 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 girrul. She was layin' there in her bunk as 
 peaceful as a saint at her prayers. But the 
 saints whin they pray don't lie on the broad av 
 their backs. She lay there, the shwate face av 
 her shmilin' on yez loike the bit av an angel she 
 is, sor." 
 
 "Did you speak with her?" 
 
 "Sure for you, Mishter Moncure, I did thot. 
 But I had to be joodishus. The scowlin' cray- 
 ther they be callin' Shnags, though afore the war 
 they do be callin' her Molly Groocher, was a 
 listenin' to ivery wurred, an' it was right for her, 
 for ye will raymimber that I'm a bit rebel whin 
 I'm in thot camp. An' I had to invint a bit av 
 a strategy. I looked aboot me, an' I saw no 
 wathcr in the tint. Av coorse at that I wanted a 
 drink ; an' I up an' sez I to Shnags, sez I, sure an' 
 have yez a bit o' wather in yer tint to refrish an 
 ould Oirish woman, knowin' all the whoile there 
 wasn't a drap in the hoose. Ye see I was actin' 
 joodishus. 'Naw,' sez she, 'but if yez'll be afther 
 watchin' the wench' — ye see she was so insultin' 
 an' the shwate baby not sayin' a wurred — 'I'll 
 be aff to the shpring an' get yez a drap to wet 
 yer whistle.' Wid thot I handed her a big roond 
 apple as rid and shwate as iver yez clapped yer 
 two jaws on. 'An,' sez I, 'D'ye see thim claws 
 o' mine,' sez I, doublin' up me fingers loike thot. 
 'I'll spile the beauty o' the winch,' sez I, 'if she 
 begins any tantrums or foolishness wid me.' An' 
 wid thot Shnags was pleased, an' she up an' aff 
 
A MOUNTAIN MINE 167 
 
 to the shpring. Thin I whishpcred to the girrul, 
 an' sez I, 'Be aisy wid ye now, Aida. Whist 
 ye, sez I, not a wurrid o' this thot I'm tellin' 
 yez, or be St. Patrick, sez I, it's death till both av 
 us, an' wull ye moind thot?' sez I. 'Yer father 
 sint me to yez. Be aisy and don't fret,' sez I. 
 'He tould me to tell ye to be brave,' sez I. 'He's 
 prayin' fer yez, an' he'll have ye out o' this 
 cursed place afore Sunday. Whist ye, now niver 
 a wurred, or be the saints it's all wan wid the two 
 av us ; yez'll be kill't an' me own ould neck'll 
 shwing fer it. An' how,' sez I, 'would this 
 wrinkled ould thrapple look wid a halter aroond 
 it?' An' wid thot she shmoiled an' said: 'Bliss 
 ye, Bridget, an' kiss papa for me.' But I'll be 
 joodishus, Mishter Moncure ; I'll not insist on 
 carryin' out yer girrul's insthructions, but to 
 pacify the child I told her I'd be happy to carry 
 out her wull in thot mather." 
 
 "Did she look worn or distressed?" 
 
 "She looked white loike." 
 
 "Was she injured by the ride?" 
 
 "Shure she made no complaint, an' I didn't ask 
 her. There was nothin' wrong wid the child ex- 
 cept bein' tired an' narvous loike." 
 
 "How about the camp?" 
 
 "In phwat way, Mishter Moncure?" 
 
 "Many men in it?" 
 
 "I couldna be afther tellin' yez ; but I'm 
 thinkin' not more than twinty min, an' half o' 
 them away most av the toime." 
 
168 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Where is Aida's tent located in its relation 
 to the others?" 
 
 "D'e raymimber the field o' Tim Mecune?" 
 
 "I know where it is," Snickerby responded 
 eagerly. "I used t' dig coal over there." 
 
 "Well thin, sor, yez'll be raycallin' the place. 
 The tint is located where ye took the coal out. 
 The land's fallin' in and it's left a sort av depris- 
 sion in the soide av the hill, a sort av gully ; 
 an' a bit av a shtrame comes out where the 
 moine's tumbled in. Her tint is joost in there, 
 if ye wuU, sor." 
 
 "I know th' place," Snickerby answered, ex- 
 citedly'. "I once helped to put out coal there. 
 But it didn't pay, an' we gave up diggin' on 
 that side o' th' mounting, an' made an entry on 
 th' other side. The timbers of th' platform an' 
 th' ones at th' entry were then taken around to 
 the other side o' th' mounting to th' new openin', 
 an' th' old mine fell in leavin' th' depression which 
 Biddy speaks of. I hev an idee !" 
 
 "Indade an' it makes a cozy bit av a place, 
 the place where the gurrcl's tint is sitchooated. 
 It's retoired loike," 
 
 "Jeerusalem ! Jeerusalem ! I've got it, Snick- 
 erby ; I've got it !" exclaimed Perk at the top of 
 his voice, jumping excitedly to his feet and slap- 
 ping his leg with vehemence. 
 
 "Phwat the divil's ailin' yez !" and Bridget 
 looked at him in amazement. "Is it crazy ye are? 
 or is it fleas or wasps?" 
 
A MOUNTAIN MINE 169 
 
 "Snickerby," roared Thompson, ignoring the 
 interrogations of the apple woman. "You know 
 th' inside o' that mine?" 
 
 "Every foot of it ; an' I know what yer thinkin' 
 about. I see yer pint, fer I had it first. Hal- 
 lelujy! We'll have that girl out o' that hor- 
 net's nest afore this time t'morrer !" 
 
 "Explain yourselves, men. I don't under- 
 stand." 
 
 "Why, Kernal, it's as clear as th' moon. Don't 
 yer see? The girl's at one end o' th' mine. We 
 can go in at th' tother end, dig through an' git 
 'er !" 
 
 "Hooray ! Yep, yep, yep ! We'll git 'er out ; 
 we'll gitter out ; we'll gitter out in th' mornin'." 
 And Perk and Sam Sharp executed a double clog 
 among the leaves. 
 
 "Heaven help us ! But are you sure you can 
 trace the old mine?" 
 
 "Sure ; ab-so-loote-ly, Kernal. I know every 
 foot of it. What's t' hinder from goin' into th' 
 mine, makin' our way by th' light o' lamps to th' 
 blind end, dig through into th' Johnnies' camp, 
 pick up the girl an' bring her home? Ye see they 
 can't foller us in the mine." 
 
 "All we gotter do is dig through that ar thin 
 crust into the gully whar Biddy says her tent 
 is," confirmed Thompson, 
 
 "It looks workable, gentlemen. We'll try it, 
 and at once. Get your picks and at nightfall we 
 start." 
 
170 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Hooray, an' it's now fer th' game !" shouted 
 Dawson, as he started to leave. 
 
 "Wait a minute, men. There are a few things 
 to consider before we start. It may take days to 
 dig through ; then you have Snags and the gang 
 of ruffians to contend with. We must carry both 
 picks and guns." 
 
 "Th' thing can be done in a few hours. It all 
 depends. I know that mine. Every foot of it. 
 I've worked in it when coal was put out just 
 where that ar tent is. I helped drive the entry 
 f'm th' tother side. We can do it, and we will!" 
 
 "Now yer talkin' ! That's th' way t' put it. 
 We can an' we will, an' we'll get right at it," 
 and Perk started for his pick and gun. 
 
 "But, men, wait. Let us complete our plans. 
 Aida ought to know about this, and be ready to 
 join us if we succeed in getting through." 
 
 "Ther' hain't goin' to be no 'if in this plan. 
 We're a gAvine t' git thar." 
 
 "But if we should break through into the tent 
 suddenly where she and Snags are, and perhaps 
 others, they might be frightened and flee into the 
 camp, and we might lose the day at the very 
 moment of success. Let the plan be fully ma- 
 tured. Bridget," inquired Moncure, turning to 
 the old woman, "do you think any of the Johnnies 
 suspected you to-day?" 
 
 "Niver the wan, Mishter INIoncure. If they 
 had, sure I wouldn't been here. I'd a been 
 roostin' in the guard hoose." 
 
A MOUNTAIN MINE 171 
 
 "Do you think that you could go again and tell 
 Aida to be on the lookout for us if the earth 
 should give way back of her tent?" 
 
 "Whin Mishter Moncure gives the wurred I'm 
 right wid yez." 
 
 "Then, Bridget, get away a little earlier to- 
 morrow morning to the camp, tempt Snags 
 Groucher from the tent, and while she is out tell 
 Aida of our plans. If you fail, everything may 
 fail." 
 
 "An' I'll not fail. Trust an ould Oirish woman 
 for thot. I'll outwit the Shnags crather, an' I 
 will be joodishus. Ye have me han' on that, 
 Mishter Moncure." 
 
 "Just remember dear old Ireland and keep your 
 wits where you can use them,." 
 
 "Sure an' I'll see Killarney afore the snow 
 flies, or me name's not Biridget O'Hallaran. I 
 love th' Johnny byes, an' I loves yez all, now 
 that I'm wid yez, but oh, you dear ould Immer- 
 ald Isle ! An' it's now yer daughter, Mishter 
 Moncure. Ye'll see her th' morrow, rest yer 
 sowl, gude mon ! An' I'll be afF this minute an' 
 get me baskets ready for th' mornin'." 
 
 "And the rest of us will be in the mine before 
 the stars come out." 
 
 It was late the following afternoon. Bridget, 
 Aida and Snags were in the tent. Snags was 
 loud in her denunciation of "the brutal gang" 
 of mountaineers who had hanged her friend Ter- 
 
172 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 baccy Tom, and would have hanged her if she 
 had not outwitted them. She gloried in the 
 escape of herself and Col. Maxwell, and now of 
 the capture of the daughter of the ringleader of 
 the villainous crew, and it wouldn't be long until 
 she would see the whole set of them swinging 
 from some good hickory. She hoped how soon 
 she might enjoy the sight. 
 
 "An' how is the mon, Habor?" inquired Bridget. 
 "Too bad, Miss Groocher, thot a brave sojer lad 
 loike him should be on the broad av his back wid 
 a bloody woond in the chist av him, an' him a 
 sufferin' so." 
 
 "He'll get well all right. Then woe to the 
 gang on the mountain top ! He'll give that snif- 
 flin' pup, Gyp, two or three holes as good as he's 
 got." 
 
 "If Gyp had not been afraid of injuring me," 
 Aida asserted in defense of her friend, "your Ha- 
 bor, instead of lying in his comfortable tent, would 
 have been lying on the broad of his back on the 
 Red Swan's Neck, dead, as he deserved to be!" 
 
 "Hear the loikes av her. Miss Groocher; did 
 yez iver ! She's I'yal to her daddy an' the rist 
 o' them. She's not subjooed yet, be me sowl," 
 and the wink which Bridget gave to the captive 
 maid was very different from what her words to 
 Snags implied, but which the young girl fully 
 understood. 
 
 "You oughter be thankful yer livin' 'stead o' 
 complainin' ag'n the man who might have dashed 
 
A MOUNTAIN MINE 173 
 
 ye to pieces when ye jabbed him with yer bloody 
 knife." And Snags snarled like a wild beast on 
 the brave girl. "He risked his life t' save ye, 
 ye ungrateful huzzy !" 
 
 "Risked his life !" Aida scornfully retorted ; 
 "what's a man's life worth who shamefully at- 
 tacks unprotected girls and runs away for fear of 
 a boy ! A savage Indian would have been more 
 brave." 
 
 "His life's worth more'n any little doll-faced 
 wench like you !" 
 
 "Evidently he regarded his life worth more 
 than his honor and his manliness. He has put 
 himself on a level with savages, while Gyp stands 
 out as a hero." 
 
 "He captured ye for yer good, ye huzzy !" 
 
 "And Gyp shot him for his good. Habor did 
 his vile work and now he is reaping his wages." 
 
 "And you'll git yourn afore we're through with 
 you," and the frown on Snags' face was satanic. 
 
 "Hist ye, now. Phwat's the gude o' all this 
 blatherin'? Yez have got to live together fer 
 a while, an' why not live peaceable.'' Yez have 
 gone far enough, the two av yez. Be gude an' 
 heed an' ould Oirish body. Yer both noice bodies. 
 I say. Miss Groocher, wad yez moind goin' doon 
 to the tint where thot gude sojer mon, Habor, Is 
 an' ast him if I could be av any hellup to him. 
 Ye see I don't have a great deal to occepy me 
 toime, an' if I can be av use tell him Bridget is 
 at his sarvice." 
 
174. THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "He don't know yer," Snags answered. 
 
 "Be hivins, he knows me well. Sure and wasn't 
 it meselluf that he was after askin' to take this bit 
 av an inimy whin he fled wid her and come to me 
 hoose, bleeding loike a shtuck pig. An' didn't I 
 bind up the woond av him an' fix his bridle-reins, 
 cut by this darin' yoong thing when flyin' doon 
 the moontain? Ah, Miss Groocher, there's none 
 that he knows bether than Bridget O'Hallaran. 
 Tell him, and he'll raymimber. Sure I'd loike t' 
 see him, an' hellup him, if me sarvice 'd be wil- 
 come." 
 
 "Will you stay with this impudent creature 
 while I'm gone? Habor asked me to come to his 
 tent this afternoon. He wanted to give some in- 
 struction about this impertinent thing. May be 
 he wants to marry her !" 
 
 "The saints presarve him if he does." 
 
 "Will ye stay.?" Snags inquired. 
 
 "Trust me for kapin' the girrul till yez coom 
 back." 
 
 Scarcely had Bridget reminded Aida of the plan 
 of her friends for her rescue, until her listening 
 ears heard a muffled sound which she recognized 
 as the breaking of the picks through the earth 
 back of the tent. 
 
 "Be aisy now, me shwate leddy. Don't get ex- 
 cited. It's yoore friends. Be calm an' joo- 
 dishus." 
 
 Bridget stooped down, raised the side of the 
 tent and peeped out ; and there, grinning through 
 
A MOUNTAIN MINE 175 
 
 a great hole in the hill were the faces of Snick- 
 erby and Judy Gans. 
 
 "All ready, Sykes?" 
 
 "All ready, Bridget." 
 
 Bridget seized a knife which lay on the bench 
 by her side and slashed the tent from top to 
 bottom, and the sides fell apart showing the en- 
 trance to the mine. 
 
 "Jump, Aida, at wance, and yoore safe." 
 
 Aida sprang through the opening and was 
 caught in the arms of her father who smothered 
 her with caresses and kisses. Gyp stood by wait- 
 ing his turn, which he feared would never come. 
 Bridget, without waiting for her baskets leaped 
 into the opening after Aida and was royally wel- 
 comed. At that moment Snags returned, and see- 
 ing the tent empty and the side rent in twain 
 uttered a scream of alarm and turned to flee for 
 help, when Thompson and Sam Sharp leaped 
 through the throat of the mine, seized the woman, 
 thrust a handkerchief into her mouth and dragged 
 her into the opening. Once safely in the mine her 
 hands were tied and the gag removed, w4th the 
 command that if she uttered any outcry it would 
 be immediately replaced. 
 
 "Remember, Snags, the stiller the better. But 
 we'll see that you do not climb up any more chim- 
 bleys." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE CAVERNS 
 
 MoNCURE and his band had their headquarters 
 in a rambling structure which stood drearily a 
 short distance beyond a ledge of rocks which over- 
 looked a narrow plateau. A flight of steps cut 
 in the ledge connected the two levels. The build- 
 ing was old, stained by storms, but was appar- 
 ently as strong as when erected in some far dis- 
 tant time. It looked as if it had been smitten 
 with the pestilence that walketh in darkness and 
 the destruction that wasteth at noonday. Old, 
 storm-beaten, weather-worn, it determined not to 
 give way to the ravages of time. The trees about 
 it rose stark and appealingly. Their leafless arms 
 craved sympathy for some great misfortune that 
 had overtaken them and moaned in the soughing 
 winds like the spirits of the lost. Over the walls 
 a gnarled wistaria climbed, or rather clung, 
 for it was dead as the ghostly sentinels that 
 reared their skeleton forms nearby. Honey- 
 suckles clasped the inhospitable fa9ade and hung 
 dumb and marrowless in their last embrace. Over 
 the stark trees the wild grape once climbed, but 
 there was now neither leaf nor blossom nor pur- 
 ple cluster in all their disconsolate vines. 
 
 176 
 
THE CAVERNS 177 
 
 The building was of stone and had long ceased 
 to be the habitation of man. When it was built, 
 why or by whom, no one seemed to know. It had 
 evidently been a castle of defense in former times, 
 but had been abandoned when the necessity for its 
 use ceased. It was three stories in height, and, 
 with the exception of the first floor, there was no 
 division into rooms. The entrance was from the 
 side facing the ledge and opened into a large 
 apartment with stone floor and concrete walls. 
 It was probably used in time of war as a mess- 
 room, and was so used now by Moncure and his 
 men. This apartment was succeeded by a tor- 
 tuous outlet, or hallway, narrow and dark, which 
 rambled into a chamber about equal in size with 
 the mess-room. This was the kitchen, or cook- 
 room. From the crooked hallway stalls led off' 
 on either side into darkness and emptiness. The 
 second apartment was dismal. It was dimly 
 lighted from embrasures near the ceiling. Other 
 than these narrow, oblong openings there were no 
 windows. 
 
 There was no means of communication between 
 the first and second floors ; but a spiral stairway 
 of stone ran up a sort of enclosed tower built 
 of the same material, and passed through the sec- 
 ond to the third floor. The second floor was 
 entered by trap doors opening from the third 
 story on stairs which dropped down to the floor 
 below. There were three or four of these stair- 
 ways at equal intervals along the east side of the 
 
178 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 room. These flights of steps could be raised by 
 weights like the terminal of a modern fire-escape. 
 About four feet from the floor a line of em- 
 brasures, or slanting portholes, ran around the 
 building. The floor had similar openings in 
 various parts, so that riflemen could command not 
 only all approach to the building; but should 
 the enemy succeed in forcing an entrance to the 
 lower story they were sure to be shot down by 
 marksmen in the room overhead. In times of 
 danger all entrance to the third floor by means 
 of the stairway was shut off" by a stone trap 
 which swung to its place by means of tackle and 
 grapplers. The walls of stone without and con- 
 crete within reduced the possibility of fire and 
 the danger from musketry or arrows to the mini- 
 mum. This second floor was without division into 
 apartments, and was large enough to accommo- 
 date fifty or more men. 
 
 The third story, like the second, was one long 
 room extending from one end of the building to 
 the other. Here were blankets rolled up and 
 thrown in heaps. Clothing hung on the walls and 
 boxes of ammunition and provision were dis- 
 tributed here and there without much system or 
 order. Guns were stacked in the corners or 
 rested in forked brackets. The room was cold, 
 dreary and inhospitable, yet in the event of an 
 attack a place of almost absolute safety. As 
 a final safeguard, a tunnel passed from the third 
 floor, and also one from the first, back into the 
 
THE CAVERNS 179 
 
 side of the mountain. These connected, like the 
 two arms of a Y, with a third, and this in turn 
 communicated with a subterranean cavern whose 
 ramifications and exit were known only to the 
 little band themselves. 
 
 To this early war-time structure Snags 
 Groucher was brought by Thompson, Snickerby 
 and Judy Gans. 
 
 "Ther'll be no climbin' up th' chimbly this 
 time," Perk began by way of reminder to the 
 captive woman. 
 
 "We'll put her underground whar she'll be 
 safe," Snickerby added, with no double entendre 
 in his remark. 
 
 "D'3'e mean t' bury me alive, ye gorillers?" 
 and Snags looked as if she would tear them both 
 to pieces. 
 
 "Oh, no, weuns gwine t' be real good. Ye 
 know th' Good Book says, 'Love yer enemies,' " 
 Jud}' replied with audacious irony, "ye've been 
 so sweet an' gentle to our friends. We'll put yer 
 in a house safer'n any king ever lived in, an' 
 stronger," 
 
 Snags was at a loss to understand these in- 
 sinuations, tantalizing rather than wicked. But 
 she had made up her mind to go to the stake if 
 need be, but she would curse them in the flames. 
 
 They led her, blindfolded, through the mess- 
 room and into the dark, crooked conduit and out 
 to the kitchen end of the fort. At the northwest 
 corner, where the spiral stairway started on its 
 
180 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 mission to the third floor, Perk stooped down, 
 threw back a sunken bolt, raised a door and threw 
 it against the wall. The opening disclosed a 
 flight of stairs leading down into a dismal and 
 gruesome chamber. A lamp burned dimly in a 
 niche in the wall, filling the place with a sickly 
 light and a vile odor. Sykes lifted the lamp from 
 its niche and the three passed across the chamber 
 to the opposite side. Here a heavy, creaking 
 door was thrown open and they entered the tun- 
 nel. It was cool and damp, smelt of the under- 
 world and was pitch dark except for the feeble 
 light which Sykes carried in his hand. This pas- 
 sageway, with its phantom lights and shades, led 
 them, after a few windings, into a wide and spec- 
 tral cavern. The bandage was then taken from 
 the captive woman's eyes. 
 
 "I'll light th' lamps fer ye. Snags," and with 
 that Judy Gans, a little more sympathetic than 
 formerly, touched a match to a large oil jet, and 
 then to another, whereupon the whole interior 
 flashed in prismatic and scintillant splendor. The 
 cavern was most dazzling in its beauty. The walls 
 and ceiling blazed with indescribable pyrotechny. 
 Stalactites glistened everywhere and stalagmites 
 glowed like mushrooms and tufts of strange herb- 
 age crystallized and gleaming from a thousand 
 angles. White cones and alabaster columns, 
 rosettes of porphyry, masses of onyx mixed with 
 curious shapes of chalcedony, tangled masses of 
 scintillant filigree and arches of short, sharp tusks 
 
THE CAVERNS 181 
 
 that dripped and sparkled like stars. The star- 
 tling beauty of the scene caused the group of in- 
 vaders, captors and captive alike, to stand and 
 gaze upon that wonderworld. Their hard na- 
 tures seemed to soften and the red blood of war 
 was swallowed up in the alabastrine purity of the 
 scene. All were compelled for the moment to 
 suppress their hate and give way to mutual ex- 
 pressions of admiration. At length Snags Grou- 
 cher turned to Judy Gans and said, with a touch 
 of tenderness in her voice : 
 
 "Be yer goin' t' put me in this shinin' place?" 
 
 "For a spell." 
 
 "I won't mind it." 
 
 "It's what we be callin' Heaven's Subway ; but 
 ther' ain't no stick-an-mud-chimbly fer ye V 
 climb out by, so enj'y yerself," and Judy wrinkled 
 her short nose and smiled like a pumpkin on hal- 
 loween. 
 
 Sykes endeavored to break into the amenities 
 by saying: 
 
 "We'll try to have Habor here some of these 
 days t' share your underground heavin'. It 
 haint good, ye know, fer a woman t' be alone." 
 
 "Oh, but yer kind, ye big gawk!" and the 
 woman bowed sarcastically. 
 
 "You'll find a chair and a cot over there," said 
 Judy as they turned and lighted themselves out, 
 leaving the captive woman to her own reflections. 
 Meanwhile Gyp and Aida had broken away from 
 Col. Moncure and the others and were felicita- 
 
182 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 ting themselves in each other's presence. They 
 tripped down the stone steps on the ledge, and, 
 hand in hand went back to the rustic bower where 
 the now happy girl had met with her terrible ex- 
 perience. It seemed almost an age to them, so 
 wonderfully do the hours impose themselves upon 
 us when the heart's grief closes other inlets. 
 Back to the old tr^^sting place they went, where 
 once again they seated themselves and let their 
 souls flow into one roseate channel which hope, 
 sweet hope, carved for them through green val- 
 leys of fellowship. After all trial has for us all 
 its aftermath where heaven comes to remind us 
 of the sweet bliss of the immortals. 
 
 "Aida, I'm ten years older 'n when I wus here 
 afore." 
 
 She looked into his joyous face with a happy 
 smile and said: 
 
 "I do not see any wrinkles on your brow or 
 any grey hairs on your head. But then I'm 
 older, too. I've had experience enough to last 
 me a lifetime. But I never was so happy, so 
 ex-quis-ite-ly happy as now." 
 
 "Wasn't it awful?" 
 
 "I aged fifteen years on that Red Swan's Neck, 
 and if the ride had lasted much longer I would 
 have been in glory giving Methuselah pointers on 
 longevity." 
 
 "You earned heav'n by that ride. I ain't 
 much up on the glory country ; but if I had any- 
 thing t' do 'ith th' gates up thar they'd be as wide 
 
THE CAVERNS 183 
 
 open fer you when th' time comes, as Tim Me- 
 cune's coal mine was this atternoon." 
 
 "If I get through those gates as safely as I 
 got through the mines I won't need to worry, 
 will I, Gyp?" 
 
 "But you hain't agoin' fer awhile. I'll hold th' 
 gates so jer can't get in." 
 
 "Would you deprive me of heaven, and you 
 pretend to think so much of me?" 
 
 "I do think so much of ye ; but I's g^vineter 
 give ye yer heaven here, if I can get a hold of it 
 myself." 
 
 "Oh, I'm too old for any earthly paradise now. 
 Look into my face. See the wrinkles since we 
 were here last. Why, Gyp, I was then but fif- 
 teen. That was day before yesterday ; but 
 I somehow dropped twenty-five years between here 
 and Camp Mecune. I said a minute ago, fifteen 
 years, I'm sure it must have been a quarter of a 
 century, and the ride was less than an hour." 
 
 "I've heard o' a thousan' years bein' as one 
 day, an' one day as a thousan' years. But th' 
 One who said that never gets any older. An' 
 you'll never be a day older than you was day 
 afore yesterday. God made ye an' put himself 
 in ye and ther' won't be no wrinkles an' grey 
 hairs." Gyp was somewhat proud of his learn- 
 ing, but remembered he'd heard Mr. Moncure say 
 something like it the day before. 
 
 "Oh, what a terrible heretic you are ! Well, 
 Gyp, I lived at about that rate — a thousand years 
 
184 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 in one day — when we were flying around the 
 curves of that fearful highway." 
 
 "Wasn't ye afraid you would be killed?" 
 "Afraid? No, I did not care. I felt as if I'd 
 rather be dashed to atoms and picked up as star- 
 dust at the resurrection, than be under the power 
 of that awful man one moment. I was furious, 
 but not afraid, I would have pulled him from 
 the saddle if I could and gone to death with him. 
 I forgot myself. I was out of myself. I was not 
 I. I was in a trance. Whether in the body or 
 out of the body I could not tell, and I did not 
 care. I was an abstraction, with not a feeling I 
 had ever known. I was one whom I had never 
 seen before, and I pray God I may never see 
 again. If there is such thing as the spirit leav- 
 ing the body, and being someone else, I was that 
 one, until unnerved and prostrate I came back to 
 myself in Irish Bridget's cabin." 
 
 "What if I'd a shot yer when I fired at Habor." 
 "Oh, I'd just sprouted wings and gone up to 
 see mamma and wait for you." 
 
 "I'd ruther hev ye here. Did ye see me afore I 
 shot?" 
 
 "My dear boy, I did see you, and for the mo- 
 ment it brought me back to earth. I remem- 
 bered you and papa, and I called till I thought 
 my lungs would crack and my throat fly to pieces. 
 The look on your face as we swept past, the utter 
 anguish of it, set all my feelings to mutiny once 
 more." 
 
THE CAVERNS 185 
 
 "Aida, do you know I could a shot him dead 
 if I hadn't been afraid o' hurtin' you? That's 
 th' reason he was wounded 'stead o' bein' shot 
 through th' heart. If I'd aimed nearer it would 
 a put you in danger." 
 
 "At that moment, Gyp, I would rather have 
 been shot by you than to be held by the arm of 
 that brutal man." 
 
 "I'm awfully glad I didn't shoot as well as I 
 could. I thought I could wound him so's he 
 would havter let you go. But I thought a world 
 had gone out o' me when, 'stead o' fallin' f'm th' 
 saddle, he steadied himself and dashed away 'ith 
 you." 
 
 "Well, it's all over now except the memories 
 that have gone into my soul never to come out 
 again. My nerves are in a shocking condition ; 
 but, thank God, I'm here." 
 
 "I'm afear'd it's not all over, Aida. If Habor 
 ever gets well there'll be trouble fer you an' me." 
 
 "I fear it. He hissed his devilish insinuations 
 in my ear when his bleeding arm was about me and 
 his face was white as death." 
 
 "We must both be on our guard." 
 
 "We'll not be caught napping the next time." 
 
 "Was Snags good t' yer, Aida?" 
 
 "She was cross and hateful and swore at me 
 and threatened to throw acid in my face if I 
 attempted to get away." 
 
 "Well, she's safe now, where she won't bother 
 anyone till the end o' th' war." 
 
186 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "And there was Bridget. Oh, I'm so glad 
 papa's going to reward her." 
 
 "You owe your release largely to her." 
 
 "And to yourself, papa, Thompson, Sykes, 
 Judy Gans and all the rest of them." 
 
 "I'm so happy you're back again on this bench, 
 and well." 
 
 "After this I think I can be a better Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 "An' I'm gwine t' be better, too. If I'd a lost 
 yer, Aida, there wouldn't a been no more heav'n 
 fer me. The stars would a gone plum out an' 
 I'd a died like a young hawk blow'd out o' th' 
 nest." 
 
 "Would you have taken it so hard. Gyp?" 
 
 "Aida, I hain't got nobody in this world but 
 jes you." 
 
 "That's what papa says," and she looked into 
 his face with a bewitching smile. 
 
 "He'd a got over it." 
 
 "Don't 3^ou think you would have for- 
 gotten me soon if I had never come back.-'" 
 
 "Never. I'd a gone an' hunted up your grave 
 an' dug down beside yer an' told them t' cover me 
 over. I'd lie there fer ever'n ever an' never want 
 t' waken." 
 
 "Oh, you young heathen ; don't you believe in a 
 resurrection?" 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Getting awake at the judgment day." 
 
 "I don't want no judgment; an' what's th' use 
 o' me gettin' awake if you be dead?" 
 
THE CAVERNS 187 
 
 "But I'll be awake, too." 
 
 "That's diff'nt. I'd git up mighty quick in the 
 mornin' if I know'd you was about. But if you 
 wasn't I'd jest sleep happy knowin' that you was 
 down thar, too. What we gwine t' do when th' 
 war's over?" 
 
 "I'm afraid that's too far oif to plan for." 
 
 "There's nothin' too far away t' plan fer if 
 ye want it. Say — what was that, Aida?" and 
 both stopped to listen to a voice calling through 
 the woods. 
 
 "It's Bridget," Aida responded, "wonder what 
 she wants? There she comes. What is it, dear 
 old soul? I could just hug you to my heart." 
 
 "Well, yez'd bether be careful an' not get the 
 wrong wan in yer arrums. Y' look shwate and 
 happy, but yoore father's afther wantin' to talk 
 wid yez." 
 
 "I will go at once. Say, Bridget, won't you 
 give me that old log cabin of yours for a sou- 
 venir?" 
 
 "For a phwat?" 
 
 "As a memento. You know now that you're 
 going to Ireland you'll not want it any more." 
 
 "Thot I wull, my dear girrul. I'll give it to 
 ye and yoore shwate bye, Gyp. An' yez may 
 shtart hoosekapin' in it ; an' hiven grant yez 
 lots o' little Gyps." 
 
 "Shame on you, Bridget. What does papa 
 want?" 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 MISS LARUE 
 
 Another horseman came riding up the tortu- 
 ous highway of the Red Swan's Neck ; but this one 
 carried the stars and stripes. His horse was 
 jaded, but he urged him to the limit of his speed. 
 Waving his loyal flag he called to the moun- 
 taineers who were eagerly watching his every 
 movement. But his words fell short of their des- 
 tination. He was alone and there was no fear 
 of a surprise ; besides the flag that he bore was 
 his security. Up the hill he came, the pant- 
 ing horse wet with his long journey, the foam 
 dripping from his bridle bits and his distended 
 nostrils red with the fire in his heated blood. 
 
 "Victory ! Victory !" cried the unknown, wav- 
 ing his silken banner. "Lee has surrendered and 
 the war is over. Peace ! Peace !" 
 
 "What! the war at an end.?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the stranger, "Praise God 
 from whom all blessings flow." 
 
 Moncure shouted his welcome to the herald of 
 peace, and raising his hand toward heaven, cried: 
 "All hail the power of Jesus name !" 
 
 Men threw their guns on the ground and their 
 caps into the trees and danced over the grass like 
 
 188 
 
MISS LARUE 189 
 
 children in a May-day festival, shouting and sing- 
 ing the "Star Spangled Banner," "The Red, 
 White and Blue," "Yankee Doodle," and other 
 airs. Bedlam broke loose, and everybody was 
 happy. Then Aida took up the patriotic strains 
 of "Home, Sweet Home," but she had not pro- 
 gressed far until tears were on many cheeks, and 
 she herself was obliged to stop in the midst of 
 the song. What one had not suffered in his 
 home? Gyp's was in ashes. Moncure's and 
 Aida's was long since a ruin, only the bleak walls, 
 windowless and ragged, remained. Judy Gans' 
 nose winked and twinkled furiously. Nobody had 
 bothered her cabin, and she had installed Snick- 
 erby as a protecting a?gis — her suffering was 
 purely vicarious, yet she wept with the rest of 
 them. "The war is over ! The war is over !" 
 The news spread like wildfire over all the moun- 
 tains and in-to every camp, fortress and strong- 
 hold. Prison doors flew open and pickets were 
 called in. Now the warriors will go back to their 
 homes, lay aside their implements of warfare, for- 
 get their animosities and resume the arts of peace. 
 There was rejoicing on both sides of the conflict, 
 and all were glad that the terrible days of frat- 
 ricidal war were over. 
 
 Gyp was the first to leave the camp. The her- 
 ald of glad tidings brought a special message for 
 him. It was imperative. His uncle had died and 
 a legacy awaited him, but upon certain condi- 
 tions. One of these was that he become com- 
 
190 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 panion and helper of the widow in her grief and 
 feebleness. It was with great reluctance and no 
 little sadness that he bade good-bye to his friends. 
 With Aida the parting was peculiarly tender. 
 It seemed like dropping out of his life all that 
 gave happiness to it. As he had said to her once 
 before, she was all that he had, and now she could 
 not even tell him where her lot would be cast. 
 She must be with her father. North or South, 
 but which of the twain she knew no more than 
 her disconsolate sweetheart. He was therefore 
 obliged to leave without knowing where her ad- 
 dress would be. He was glad that the cruel war 
 was over, but now that the end had come there 
 was for him a crumbling of castles and a con- 
 fusion of hopes and dear anticipations. All his 
 dreams were coming back to him and, like autumn 
 leaves, falling dead around him. Doubts and 
 misgivings rushed in upon him with nothing tangi- 
 ble anywhere. Would she send her address? If 
 it were possible she would do so. So they parted, 
 a grief in each heart, a genuine sorrow which 
 the victory at Appomattox could not allay. It 
 was a severing of natures that had grown to be 
 everything to each other, and for how long, 
 neither knew. 
 
 Gyp's soul sank within him as he came down 
 the red highway in company with the herald of 
 peace. At the last, turn of the road he looked 
 back. Aida stood out in full view, her handker- 
 chief giving quivering puffs of encouragement and 
 
MISS LARUE 191 
 
 occasionally finding its way to her eyes. He 
 paused, and in spite of the stranger by his side, 
 threw a kiss backward. Aida returned the af- 
 fectionate salutation and then the cruel earth 
 came between them and the vision was swallowed 
 up in the great, weltering tide of time and change. 
 Alas, for the dreams that we dream and the castles 
 that we build. 
 
 No one could have been more tender to his aged 
 aunt than this strong young man fresh from the 
 rugged experience of the camp and the hardships 
 of civil war. He did everything that a heart 
 could do softened by tender and pathetic experi- 
 ences and made thoughtful by the fact that this 
 helpless relative had lost her stay and strength, 
 and in her feebleness and grief had no one to lean 
 upon. It was little that kind hands could do. 
 The grief over her great loss was an ever abiding 
 presence. It gnawed like a vulture at her bleed- 
 ing heart and would not cease. After a few 
 months of unappeasable heartache she gave up 
 the struggle and went to join her companion be- 
 yond the veil. 
 
 The following years passed away like a watch 
 in the night. Gryp dreamed his dreams. He 
 builded his castles, only to see them dissolve at his 
 feet. He planned for a future when Aida and he 
 would meet again, and when he hoped to be in a 
 position to give her a home worthy of her beauty 
 and culture. But oh, what a dense tangle and 
 jungle the future is! Into the unknown she had 
 
192 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 slipped like a meteor from the midst of its stars. 
 But surely she shall not be forever hidden! 
 Surely for him his morning star will rise, but 
 where, or when, or how? Meanwhile he will build 
 into himself all elements of strength. He will 
 fit himself for that day, for come it must. He 
 must not presume to mix his illiteracy with her 
 culture. Meanwhile the years are passing, and 
 she is swallowed up in the vast unknown like a 
 jewel dropped into the sea. 
 
 These were thoughts that harassed and tor- 
 mented him, at turns encouraging or filling him 
 with despair. The day of this insistent reverie 
 found him strolling in the woods through which 
 lay the open highway. His attention was ar- 
 rested by a layer of red earth alternating with 
 quartz pebbles and flakes of glistening mica. He 
 picked up a handful of odd stones and sat down 
 to examine them. He was philosophizing over the 
 similarity of the quartz and an arrow-head which 
 he had taken from his pocket, when he heard the 
 patter of hoofs on the hard roadway behind him. 
 He turned in the direction of the sound and saw 
 a lady on horseback approaching. He thought 
 he knew everyone for miles around ; but here was 
 a face new and strange to him, and beautiful as 
 strange. She was one of the fairest creatures he 
 had ever looked upon. Her complexion was like 
 the quartz which he held in his hand, but there 
 was a delicate pink in her cheeks which the rose- 
 quartz had not. Her eyes were like flakes of 
 
MISS LARUE 193 
 
 obsidian and her lips like the wild azalea blos- 
 soms. From her jaunty cap a cataract of dark 
 hair was liberated and fell in torrents on her 
 shoulders. 
 
 Since parting from Aida on the Red Swan's 
 Neck, Gyp had never seen anyone so beautiful. 
 As she came up to where he sat she reined in her 
 spirited steed and inquired : 
 
 "Young man, will you be so kind as to direct 
 me to Lasuda?" 
 
 Gyp leaped to his feet, led her to the edge of 
 the woods, and pointing to a gash through the 
 crest of the distant hills, said: 
 
 "Y' take th' pass, foUer th' road an' it'll bring 
 ye there." 
 
 "Then I am all right. I feared that I had lost 
 my way." 
 
 "You be right on th' way, good lady." 
 
 "Thank you very much. I have been out 
 among these wonderful mountains seeking pupils 
 for my new school at Lasuda, and I feared I had 
 missed my way home. Would you take me for a 
 schoolma'am?" she naively inquired. 
 
 "I would like to," answered the young man with 
 an expression of countenance which conveyed 
 more to the teacher's mind than Gyp intended. 
 She was amused at the response, but, of course, 
 knew nothing of the deep yearning of the boy's 
 heart that prompted it. 
 
 "Would you like to go to school?" 
 
 Would he! Was there anything in this world 
 
194. THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 that he would rather do? Had he not during 
 these past years been doing his best to get rid of 
 "we'ns" and "you'ns" and "his'ns," and the little 
 chips of language which had become so apparent 
 ever since he had met his dear Aida ! Now the 
 thought of an education abashed and confused 
 him. He turned the pebbles in his hand, and, 
 with his eyes still upon them, said modestly : 
 
 "I have alius wanted to go." 
 
 "Where do your parents live.'"' 
 
 "They be both dead." 
 
 "Why, that's very sad." 
 
 "Paw was killed by the g'rillers and is layin' 
 over yander on the mounting. An' our home was 
 burned an' I 'spec' my maw was in it. But I 
 dunno. I allow she an' paw have found each 
 other afore this." 
 
 "My young friend, you have had sore tragedies 
 in your life. Was your father Union?" 
 
 "Yessam. There never was but one flag in th' 
 Stybright cabin." 
 
 "Oh, you are Gyp Stybright, then?" 
 
 "Yes, an' now, too." 
 
 "I have heard of you, what a brave young man 
 you are, and have been in the perilous times of 
 war." 
 
 Scarcely knowing how to respond to this com- 
 plimentary allusion to himself, he turned the 
 quartz pebbles over in his hand and hesitated. 
 
 "You had great times out on the mountains, 
 years ago," she continued. 
 
MISS LARUE 195 
 
 "They were ter'ble times ; yes, lovely times !" 
 then Gyp looked confused and blushed, while the 
 young equestrienne gave a rollicking laugh which 
 rang among the hills. Gyp looked up into her 
 face wondering why she had laughed, but con- 
 scious that he had said something rather am- 
 biguous. 
 
 "I have heard that you are interested in an 
 education," she said, repressing her merriment. 
 "I will be delighted to have you for one of my 
 pupils. Can you come.'"' 
 
 "Indeed I can. I'll be powerful glad t' go." 
 
 He was so overjoj^ed that he scarcely knew how 
 to act. Two or three times the pebbles and ar- 
 row-head slipped from his hand and were picked 
 up and toyed with in utter aimlessness and con- 
 fusion. Do we wonder .f* Had he not there seen 
 the gates of a great opportunity swing open of 
 their own accord.'* Was not life about to re- 
 adjust itself agreeably to his fondest dreams .^ 
 Hope was coming back to him with the brightest 
 garlands on her brow. The young man was, in- 
 deed, "powerful glad." 
 
 The fair rider turned her horse, gathered up 
 her reins and said to the bewildered boy : 
 
 "Do not fail me. Gyp. I will expect you. My 
 name is Miss Larue." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW 
 
 Gyp watched the retreating figure as she 
 dashed down the road and out of sight. His 
 mind was in a delightful tumult. He was ecstatic 
 over what was in store for him. He threw his 
 pebbles into the ravine and thrusting the arrow- 
 head into his pocket hurried away to communi- 
 cate the good news. 
 
 "But, Gyp, what I gwine do when you be 
 gone?" inquired a tall rawboned, dull-witted fel- 
 low-laborer named Jay Hanks, on learning of 
 Gyp's plans for an education. "What I gwine 
 do 'ith no one t' help dig th' taters?" 
 
 "Maybe some angel'll come to your help as she 
 come to me," ventured the philosopher of the 
 quartz pebbles by way of possible solution of the 
 difficulty. 
 
 "An' mebby she won't; then what.?" 
 
 "You'll hafter take your chances. There's al- 
 ius an angel for the feller what's lookin' for her." 
 
 "But I'm not a gawkin' erroun' these here 
 mountings huntin' for angels." 
 
 "Nuther was I, but she come." 
 
 "You believe in angels, do yer.-^" 
 
 "You jes' bet I do. I've seen 'em." 
 
 196 
 
THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW 197 
 
 "More'n one?" 
 
 "Yes, I lived in camp with one." 
 
 "Camp! Gosh! Angels don't live in camps," 
 snorted Hanks contemptuously. 
 
 "Don't they? I saw a angel over the moun- 
 tings what would make yer mouth water." 
 
 "You be daft, boy. Angels is in th' sky an' 
 wear wings." 
 
 "Well, I've seen 'em in the woods without wings 
 or feathers; jes' nice white skirts, bright eyes 
 and lovely hair." 
 
 "Aw, Gyp ; yer foolin' ; that's a gal !" 
 
 "And cayn't a gal be an angel?" 
 
 "Naw; not in these diggin's. Leastwise I 
 never seed 'em." 
 
 "Well, you'd better get away f'm home and 
 get idees. There's jes' gobs o' angels runnin' 
 around." 
 
 "They don't show up much whar I be." 
 
 "That hain't nuthin' ag'in an angel. They 
 goes when they's sent for, or when you's doin' 
 suthin' to fotch 'em." 
 
 "What you be a doin' down thar by th' crick 
 when that 'ar angel on hossback cum' t' yer?" 
 
 "Med'tatin'." 
 
 "'Bout speerits an' things?" 
 
 "Naw; jes' thinkin'." 
 
 "Well, when a feller's a thinkin' he be a thinkin' 
 'bout suthin, ben't he?" 
 
 "Same's I'm doin' now. Hanks you know I 
 be a goin' over the mounting to the old camp?" 
 
198 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Why you gwine?" 
 
 "See if I can find out any o' the people." 
 
 "What fur?" 
 
 "Oh, jes' to tell 'em." 
 
 "Tell 'em what.?" 
 
 "My good luck." 
 
 Without waiting for further parley Gyp 
 started on his journey, leaving the dumbfounded 
 Hanks watching his retreating figure. 
 
 A strange conflict was in the young man's 
 mind as he passed over the roads so familiar to 
 him years before in the days of horrid war. But 
 it was not that that disturbed him. It was the 
 mingling of great hopes which seemed to surge 
 against each other until like combining floods 
 they were lost in each other. He hoped to learn 
 something of Aida Moncure, and be able to let 
 her know of his great good fortune. Then there 
 was the new school at Lasuda, where he would 
 soon be as a pupil ; and all the wonderful pros- 
 pects into which these would lead him. He 
 seemed as if he were treading the celestial moun- 
 tains. 
 
 When he came to the cabin of Col. Moncure 
 there was no evidence of life to be seen. The 
 leaves had drifted about the door, decay had set 
 in and the faces of other days were wanting. 
 The path into the woods was dull as if no foot 
 had trodden it for years. The door was slightly 
 ajar. He pushed it open and stood on the 
 threshold. The place was deserted. There was 
 
THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW 199 
 
 a smell of emptiness, the dank, heavy odor which 
 loves the desolate places. Leaves were wind- 
 drifted in the corners of the rooms. The little 
 mirror that hung on the wall over the washstand 
 was gone, likewise the cot in the corner whereon 
 Aida slept. There were no guns resting in the 
 forked sticks, no hunting garments on the pegs, 
 nor uniforms of warrior days. Nothing in all the 
 place but a memory. He went out to the old 
 camp ground. It, too, was deserted. Then to 
 the "school in the grove." The old bench was 
 there, but worn and rough by storms and sun- 
 shine. 
 
 He wondered if Aida had left any word for 
 him. Did she dream that he might one day wan- 
 der back to the old haunts.'* If so, was there no 
 line anywhere, no memorial to tell him whither 
 she had flown, or if there was love still in her 
 heart for him.'* He searched the empty rooms, 
 but found only dead leaves and the charred ends 
 of logs in the chimney recess. The one solitary 
 sound that greeted his ears was the noisy tapping 
 of a woodpecker on a dead oak by the old fort. 
 Tears were in his eyes and he came away heavy- 
 hearted, climbed the stone steps in the edge of 
 the clifF and went up to the fort. The door stood 
 open. Here, too, the winds and the winters had 
 been playing pranks. The wistaria had fallen 
 and lay in a heap of brush where weeds had grown 
 and died, and armies of leaves, defeated in the 
 battle with storms, had found their sepulcher. 
 
200 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 The mess-room was empty. He walked through 
 the crooked conduit to the kitchen. Ashes, only 
 ashes. He climbed the stone spiral to the third 
 floor. The storage boxes gaped up at him, but 
 held no welcome. The blankets were gone. The 
 guns had disappeared. No memorial of former 
 days remained. He raised a trap and descended 
 to the intermediate floor. Only emptiness was 
 there, and no sound save the echo of his footfall. 
 The embrasures twinkled around the wall, emit- 
 ting a glimmer of light. The place was more 
 desolate in peace than in war. 
 
 Gyp thought of the cave, and ascended to the 
 third loft once more and tried the entrance to 
 the tunnel. The door had been so eff'ectively 
 sealed that its outlines could not be even traced. 
 He went down the stairway to the door on the 
 first floor leading to the underground chamber. 
 He remembered where he had seen Perk Thomp- 
 son secure the key. Could he expect it to be there 
 still? He would examine. He went to the wall, 
 where he found a stone six inches square had been 
 neatly fitted. After some prying and twisting he 
 succeeded in removing it. He found there an ob- 
 long receptacle into which he thrust his arm, but 
 there was nothing. He thought it strange that a 
 secret receptacle should be so carefully planned 
 and have nothing in it; but on second thought 
 he said: "Of course all treasure would be re- 
 moved." On withdrawing his hand it struck 
 against a loose stone in the interior wall. He 
 
. THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW 201 
 
 remembered that Thompson had spent quite a lit- 
 tle time here, more than he thought necessary in 
 merely depositing a key. The memory of it 
 aroused his suspicion. Maybe there was a pocket 
 within a pocket. With a little effort he suc- 
 ceeded in dislodging the suspicious stone, when 
 back of it he discovered a shelf on which lay a 
 bunch of keys, a half dozen or more, fastened to 
 a ring. The keys were large, of ancient pattern, 
 brass and discolored with age. Thompson had 
 removed the key of the under chamber from the 
 ring to hide the thought that other keys were 
 there, but had carefully replaced it. After sev- 
 eral attempts the key was found which unlocked 
 the iron clasp. The door was thrown back and 
 he descended to the gloomy apartment below. 
 The lamp was still in the niche. He touched it 
 with a match, and was gratified to find oil in it. 
 With one of the keys in his hand he opened the 
 door leading to the lower arm of the Y. He 
 passed through into the tunnel, closed the door 
 behind him and slowly made his way to "The Hall 
 of Stalactites," where Snags Groucher had been 
 imprisoned a few days before the announcement 
 of peace. Now that he was here he wondered why 
 he had come. He could not expect to find any- 
 one here. But his heart was weary, and so he 
 wandered aimlessly about and came at last to 
 these chambers where he had often been before 
 and where he and Aida had been very happy ex- 
 ploring the crystalline vaults. He ducked under 
 
202 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 the heavy ceiling and strolled about through "The 
 Crystal Grotto," the "Chamber of Columns," the 
 "Queen's Boudoir," and all the glories of this en- 
 chanted underworld. But he found nothing, 
 nothing that he sought for, nothing that his heart 
 craved and yearned for, only this magicland, only 
 this fairyland, only this wonderland. 
 
 He was returning by "The King's Treasury," 
 when he paused. The chamber was almost closed 
 up. He wondered why this place should be called 
 a treasury. He climbed to the top of rubbish 
 which nearly blocked the entrance, fastened his 
 lamp on the end of a stick which he carried and 
 thrust it into the darkness. There was nothing 
 there but the almost impenetrable gloom, no mag- 
 nificence of formation, no beauty of wall or of 
 ceiling, none of the glorious sights to be seen 
 elsewhere in the caverns. He thought it all the 
 more strange. "King's Treasury" and no treas- 
 ures ! It was dark as a coal mine. He climbed 
 over the rubbish and entered, hunkering along the 
 floor with his sickly glimmer of a light. His foot 
 struck against a piece of metal. He picked it up 
 and examined it by the smoking light. It was 
 part of an ancient armor. Other pieces were 
 found, a helmet, the broken shaft of a spear, paul- 
 drons, mailed apron and knee pieces. His curi- 
 osity was now genuinely aroused. He examined 
 the wall, and by groping about discovered shelves 
 and niches whereon and wherein treasures had no 
 doubt been placed, but had been carried away. 
 
THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW 203 
 
 One of the shelves had fallen bringing away with 
 it part of the wall. Holding his lamp close to 
 this fissure he saw a horizontal line. Then he dis- 
 covered one perpendicular to it. He tore away 
 part of the wall and unearthed a door which had 
 at one time been securely walled up. He tried 
 to open it. It was immovable, solid as the wall 
 itself. Pie endeavored to insert the broken shaft 
 of the spear under one of the hinges, but failed. 
 Then he thought of the keys. One after another 
 was tried to no purpose. He took up the last 
 one, and the largest of all. It entered the key- 
 hole, but would not turn the lock. He was satis- 
 fied he had found the right key. The lock was 
 rusty, no doubt. Again he tried, and again un- 
 availingly. Then an expedient came to him. He 
 took two small pieces of the armor, placed one on 
 either side of the flat, circular head of the key, 
 thus giving himself a larger leverage. He threw 
 his strength upon it. The lock began to grit. 
 It had moved a little. He worked it back and 
 forth, gaining a little each time, till finally the 
 bolt fell back and there was nothing to do but 
 open the door. He took hold of the handle and 
 pulled. It was fast. It would not budge. He 
 ran the spear shaft through the ring in the door, 
 took one end of it in each hand, placed one foot 
 firmly against the wall, pulled with his might, and 
 the door was open. 
 
 He thrust his lamp into the vault. There were 
 the treasures of kings ! There were pots and 
 
204 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 bowls filled with gold — coin and bullion. There 
 were bags of silver on the shelves, and plate of 
 ancient and exquisite workmanship. Gyp was so 
 excited he scarcely knew what to do. The dim 
 flickering of the lamp but poorly revealed the in- 
 valuable treasure Avhich he had discovered. Most 
 of the bags were broken with age and the money 
 lay in heaps on the shelves and over the floor. 
 He emptied one shelf after another and piled their 
 contents around him. There were precious 
 stones, sapphires and opals and amethysts, dia- 
 monds and topazes, names which he scarcely knew, 
 yet whose rich and resplendent colors blazed upon 
 him in the twilight of the vault. There were cups 
 and flagons and trays, intricate in tracery and 
 orientally wrought. jNIore treasure than he had 
 ever seen or dreamed of. He held the coin to 
 the light. It was gold, he knew, and the coins 
 were large. He could not read the superscrip- 
 tions nor tell what country they belonged to ; yet 
 he knew the pieces were valuable and the amount 
 greater than he could count. 
 
 Here was a fortune bej'ond the dreams of ava- 
 rice. What would he do with it? He could not 
 tell. It was too great a problem. As it had been 
 safe here for generations, there was now probably 
 no safer place for it. Here he would leave it for 
 the present. He filled his pockets with some of 
 the most valuable coins, replaced the wonderful 
 treasure on the shelves and receptacles of the 
 vault, closed the door and bolted it, returned the 
 
THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW 205 
 
 , keys to his pocket, left the armor where he had 
 found it on the floor of the cavern, and made his 
 way back to the fort, a new man, new to himself, 
 ready to face his ambitions and master his prob- 
 lems. 
 
 Reaching the fort he divided the keys, placed 
 those belonging to the caverns in his pocket and 
 returned the remaining ones to the hole in the 
 wall where he had found them, restored the guard- 
 ian stone to its place and started for home. He 
 crossed the red highway where he and Aida had 
 met their thrilling experience away back in '65. 
 
 "Then," he soliloquized, "I had one treasure, 
 now I have two. One of them is hidden from the 
 world, the other is hidden from me. Heaven help 
 me to bring them together." 
 
 He passed on, a new way over the mountain, 
 crossed a bridge which hung above a black and 
 shuddering chasm. Here he left the road and 
 followed a path leading more directly to the sum- 
 mit. He climbed to the crest of one of those 
 flinty sphinxes and for a moment stood gazing 
 into the fathomless spaces where God's great 
 world lay as if in sleep, so still, so tranquil, so 
 voiceless, its great cones pillowed against the blue 
 infinite. Then he turned and followed a circuit- 
 ous trail. He beheld something ahead of him 
 like a little patch of sky shining among the trees. 
 He first thought it a glimpse of heaven, but as 
 he saw it move, and then disappear he was con- 
 vinced of his mistake. He crept cautiously from 
 
206 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 tree to tree by way of reconnoiter. Then he saw 
 a coil of smoke rise from a cluster of rocks and 
 the patch of sky move out in full view. He 
 straightened up, rubbed his eyes, gazed again 
 more intently. Surely he was mistaken. His 
 eyes seemed to burn a path through the rhododen- 
 drons. 
 
 "It looks like him," he muttered to himself. 
 "It is his coat. It is his walk ! Yes, that's him ! 
 That's him." Then he called: "Hello, old Perk 
 Thompson; what ye doin' up here.'"' 
 
 Instantly the "patch of sky" disappeared, and 
 in a moment reappeared with a gun leveled at 
 Gyp, and shouted : 
 
 "Throw up yer ban's an' stan' thar!" 
 
 "Don't shoot, Perk, don't ye know me? I'm 
 Gyp Stybright." 
 
 "Hevings an' rattlesnakes, Gyp ! Whar'd ye 
 drop f'm.^" and Thompson leaned his gun against 
 a tree and hurried to greet his old friend. "I 
 tell yer I cum mighty nigh pepperin' ye with th' 
 old blunderbus." 
 
 "Dear old Perk, but I'm glad to see yer !" 
 
 "So be I, Gyp, glad t' see ye. How'd ye git 
 here.?" 
 
 "Been visitin' the old camp ground." 
 
 "An' how'd ye know me.?" 
 
 "Know ye. Perk. I'd know that ar sky-blue 
 suit if I met it in purgatory. Why don't y' get 
 another.?" 
 
 "This is another ; ye didn't suppose I'd be a 
 
THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW 207 
 
 wearin' that 'ar old suit all these years since th' 
 war?" 
 
 "Can't ye find a red .one, or a green one for a 
 change?" 
 
 "Aw, Gyp, me boy ; this is my peculiarity. 
 We'ns is knowed by our clothes, same as a sheep 
 is by its wool, same as a rabbit by its track. If 
 it hadn't been fer that 'ar blue suit ye wouldn't 
 a knowed me. Gyp ! Ye mightened a hollered and 
 ye might a been layin' down thar in th' ravine 
 no wiser. Y' see peculiarity's a good thing." 
 
 "What ye doin' here, Perk? What's that 
 smoke over there?" 
 
 "It hain't alius safe fer a feller t' meddle with 
 another feller's smoke ; but I know yer. Gyp. 
 Yer wouldn't blow me. Come along. I'll show 
 yer suthin'. I'm runnin' a still; makin' moon- 
 shine ; gatherin' dew whar dew never fell before. 
 It's like manna f'm heving. Hev a sip?" Perk 
 winked, crooked his finger and led the way to a 
 den among the rocks. Shoving a stone aside he 
 disclosed a hidden box-like opening into which 
 he thrust his arm and drew out a long, black 
 bottle. 
 
 "Yer needn't mind. Perk. Licker killed my 
 maw. I thank ye all the same, but I don't be 
 touchin' it." 
 
 Perk straightened himself up and stood with 
 the cup in one hand and the bottle in the other, 
 gazing at Gyp in dumb wonderment, trying to 
 grasp the meaning of his speech. Then he 
 
208 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 turned, thrust the bottle back among the rocks, 
 pushed the stone in its place, sat down on a stump 
 and looking Gyp straight in the face, said, dis- 
 dainfully : 
 
 "Yer either a saint er a fool!" 
 
 "I'm neither, Perk. I'm just tryin' to be a 
 man." 
 
 "Be ye workin' fer th' gov'ment huntin' out 
 stilleries?" and Perk looked very straight at Gyp 
 and with a fire in his eyes which was not good to 
 warm at. 
 
 "No, Perk. I been a drivin' the bull-tongue 
 plow since the war, and raisin' taters. I'm goin' 
 to school to-morrow to get an edycation. I told 
 ye the truth. Ye needn't be afeard. Ye can 
 trust me. I never betrayed a friend, and I'm 
 not goin' to begin on you. Perk. Ye mind them 
 days in the camp?" 
 
 "Them gov'ment fellers be alius spyin' around 
 fer us moonshiners, an' as yer on yer way home, 
 I'll walk ye a bit along th' trail." 
 
 "Perk, where'd the Moncures go after the 
 war.'*" 
 
 "Up North." 
 
 "Does ye know what part of the North.'"' 
 
 "I know nothin'. Gyp, 'cept they said they was 
 agoin' f'm here t' Knoxville, an' f'm thar to Cin- 
 'snati. They was goin' furder North, but whar, 
 I dunno." 
 
 Gyp's mind was now a whirlpool that sucked 
 in everything about Aida and gave nothing back. 
 
THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW 209 
 
 He only knew, and it was all that he could learn, 
 that the idol of his heart was somewhere in the 
 great Northland. Into that vast dream-country 
 that lay beyond the Ohio she had vanished. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 
 
 When the Civil War closed Snags Groucher 
 went directly on her release from the caverns to 
 Camp Mecune. The olive branch was nothing to 
 her. No white dove circled about her heart. 
 Peace might spread its protecting a^gis over the 
 states ; she remained bitter as ever. The rebel- 
 lion in her soul was hotter than before. No 
 proclamation can still the fury of impassioned 
 hate, nor all the batteries of infuriate war drive 
 it away. 
 
 Snags found Habor, as she hoped to find him, 
 in his tent. The wound in his breast was un- 
 healed, the bitterness of his feelings rankled 
 deeper than ever, and her presence only caused 
 the current of his wrath to rise to a more tur- 
 bulent level. They were both furious because the 
 war had terminated before the opportunity came 
 for their revenge. They could not now attribute 
 their hostility to these people to patriotism for 
 the South. Appomattox had declared that there 
 was now no South, no North ; no Confederate, no 
 Federal forces. The nation was one again, and 
 any attack made against their former enemies 
 would come under the condemnation of civil law. 
 
 210 
 
TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 211 
 
 To strike down an enemy would be murder. 
 That, however, in no way allayed the fierce fury 
 that burned within them. They would be re- 
 venged upon Gyp and Aida, let the consequences 
 be what they may. 
 
 In those furious days, before the Confederate 
 camp was dissolved, and while Habor was still a 
 sufferer from his wound, his passion raged like 
 a fire unquenchable. 
 
 "That devil-band has dispersed," he stormed, 
 "and here I am, unable to leave my bed, racked 
 with pain while they go off with whole skins. But 
 Gyp shall not escape me. Once my wound is 
 healed I'll track him into the very flames of 
 Tophet." 
 
 "If it hadn't a been fer him, ye wouldn't a had 
 t' suffer as yer doin'," the w^oman responded. 
 
 "I've charged this agony all up to him. He 
 will have to pay the debt to the last cent." 
 
 "And we'll get it ; ay, we'll get it ! every last 
 blood-red cent of it !" 
 
 "I'm no Shylock," said the wounded man, "but 
 the pound of flesh is mine, and I'll take it nearest 
 the heart. Have the scales ready. Snags !" 
 
 "An' think o' poor Terbaccy Tom! my Tom, 
 an' what he suffered off yander on th' oaks." 
 
 "Oh, there's many a score to be settled." 
 
 "Some of them as ain't dead '11 wish they were. 
 But won't it be murder, Jim.'"' 
 
 "Murder be d d ! They'll have to catch us 
 
 before they skin us. Our work will be so cun- 
 
212 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 ningly done that the devil himself won't be able 
 to find any evidence against us." 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed the heartless woman. 
 "The Twin Oaks, the Red Swan's Neck will rise 
 up in jedgment ag'in us all; but who cares. 
 We'll get them! we'll get them!" 
 
 "What are we going to do with that doll-face 
 girl?" inquired Habor, with a sudden turn in the 
 conversation. 
 
 "Aida?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Let her dangle f'm a lim'." 
 
 "Oh, no ! I have a better fate for her !" and 
 his laugh was that of a fiend. "I'll have my sweet 
 revenge for the bloody gash of her knife." 
 
 "There's one apiece for us, Habor ! Ha ! ha ! 
 ha! You take the path of the crimson-cheeked 
 doll and I'll take th' trail o' Gyp. I can follow 
 th' scent o' blood. Oh, I'm a regular blood- 
 hound!" and her laugh was like the crackling of 
 flames among thorns. 
 
 "Let me once get over this wound, and the end 
 of the world'll come sooner than I'll give over my 
 purpose." 
 
 The nurse, sitting by his side, had listened 
 patiently to the terrible conversation, and at last 
 dared to say : 
 
 "But, Mr. Habor, hav'n't these people already 
 suffered quite a good deal at our hands?" 
 
 Snags and Habor turned upon her in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 213 
 
 "What d'ye mean?" angrily inquired Snags, 
 who did not welcome any interference. 
 
 "Take Gyp, for instance," the nurse continued, 
 scarcely noticing the angry inquiry, "He has 
 lost his father. You know he was hung by our 
 people ; and his stepmother, Selma, Avas con- 
 sumed, of course unintentionally, in the burning 
 of her cabin. Gyp's home was destroyed and all 
 his possessions, and to-day he is an orphan and 
 an outcast." 
 
 "That's a good deal, I'll admit; but it's only 
 part of the pay that's coming to him. He and 
 they got what they deserved." 
 
 "If that accursed brat was out o' th' way, you 
 wouldn't have any revengeful memories to cher- 
 ish, nor would I," added the cruel Snags, her face 
 livid with the memory. 
 
 "Besides this is not a public affair any longer ; 
 it is an individual matter." 
 
 "That's so, Habor, every word of it. He shot 
 you in cold blood, in broad daylight. Ha ! ha ! 
 It's a comin' to him ! It's a comin' to him ! 
 Loose the bloodhounds and the vultures." 
 
 "But we must not forget," the nurse ventured, 
 addressing Snags, "that Mr. Habor had invaded 
 their camp and had stolen this girl. Had Gyp 
 similarly crept into our camp and stolen one of 
 our sweet young women, would you not have felt 
 that, according to the rules of war, you were 
 justified in shooting him as he fled with the girl 
 in his arms.'"' 
 
2U THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Sure I'd a shot him. I'd a made his hateful 
 hide look like old granny's sieve." 
 
 "Then your logic justifies the shooting of Mr. 
 Habor." 
 
 "To the devil with logic," Habor snorted 
 contemptuously. "Such reasoning would vipset 
 every plan of getting even. Must I suffer this 
 awful pain and no redress?" 
 
 "But you said just now," the nurse continued, 
 "that you would be revenged upon the girl. 
 Surely the girl did nothing but defend herself 
 when she felt that her life was at stake." 
 
 "There wasn't the slightest danger to the girl's 
 life. She was perfectly safe. The only danger 
 was through her own foolishness in drawing a 
 knife at that awful hour when I needed all my wit 
 and strategy." 
 
 "But you were responsible for the 'awful hour.' 
 If you had not stolen the girl you would not have 
 met your injury. How could she know that no 
 evil was intended?" said the nurse, rather warmly. 
 "She may have thought that your feelings then 
 were the same as you represent them now ; and in 
 view of the insinuation just made in regard to 
 your method of vengeance, do you not think she 
 was justified in defending herself?" 
 
 "And so I must suffer to gratify an accursed 
 sentiment ! Neither logic nor religion can claim 
 the rules of the road when vengeance has the 
 right of way." 
 
 "Surel}^ Mr. Habor, revenge is beneath the 
 
TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 215 
 
 consideration of a great soul ; and I am sure, 
 when you have recovered from this abnormal con- 
 dition you will look at things differently." 
 
 "Never! Never! I'll track that girl to the 
 ends of the earth. I will abide my time. Re- 
 venge is sweet, and it is coming." 
 
 "That's th' stuff, Habor ! No goody-goody 
 talk fer us. We'll sleep better in our graves 
 when their souls have paved the way. Gyp fer 
 me ; Aida fer you, ha ! ha !" 
 
 "Then, Mr. Habor," said the nurse, with an 
 expression of indignation on her crimson coun- 
 tenance, "if such is your determination, you will 
 kindly permit me to withdraw from the tent and 
 from further attendance upon you," and the nurse 
 bowed politely and turned to leave. Amazed, 
 Habor said to her : 
 
 "Do you intend to leave me in this condition 
 of suffering.^" 
 
 "I know of no reason why I should use my 
 talent to restore you to health and strength 
 for any such wicked purpose as you have just 
 decided upon. You have Miss Groucher ; let her 
 be your helper." 
 
 It was along in the afternoon, when Habor was 
 resting more eas}^ that he said to Snags : 
 
 "To what part of the North did Col. Moncure 
 
 go?" 
 
 "I've been trying to find out, but can't." 
 
 "No matter," said he turning on his pillow ; 
 
 "there's no city so big that I won't search it ; no 
 
216 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 mountain so high that I won't climb it ; no sea 
 so broad that I won't sail it. I'll drag hell with 
 a muckrake but I'll find her." Then after a 
 twinge of pain, he said: "By the way, Snags, I 
 don't understand that capture of Aida and your- 
 self." 
 
 "Nuther do I." 
 
 "Do you think the old apple woman had any- 
 thing to do with it?" 
 
 "I don't know. She alius seemed faithful." 
 
 "She seemed that way. Of course it would 
 not do to seem any other way. If she had been 
 in the conspiracy that would have spoiled her 
 plan." 
 
 "But if she had wanted to help the girl to es- 
 cape, why wouldn't she have taken her the day 
 you wanted to leave her at her home? Besides, 
 Jim, they captured her the same time they took 
 the girl and me." 
 
 "That might all have been arranged to deceive 
 you." 
 
 "It might a been." 
 
 "It all seems very strange." 
 
 "How did they know there was a mine there, 
 Jim, and that she was confined in the blind end 
 of it?" 
 
 "That old beast, Snickerby, used to dig coal 
 there. He planned that part, you may be sure." 
 
 "My, but I'd like to get my claws on that 
 feller ! Ther' wouldn't be much of him left fer 
 old Judy Gans to wink her nose at." 
 
TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 217 
 
 "It's one of the mysteries that I want to see 
 cleared up." 
 
 "When you get the girl maybe she'll explain." 
 "Whether the mystery is solved or not, life for 
 nic will have but one mission till I have accom- 
 plished my purpose," and as another spasm of 
 pain racked him, Snags soothed his brow and 
 told him he must be quiet. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 
 
 Gyp found In the home of one of his friends an 
 old trunk, covered with the mottled skin of a 
 fawn, with which the moths had taken distressing 
 liberties. Its lock and hinges were large enough 
 for the gates of a fortress, while phalanxes of 
 brass tacks stood guard over and around it. 
 Into this heirloom he packed his few poor be- 
 longings, and waited for Old Mose to carry him 
 to Lasuda. As the old negro was long in com- 
 ing Gyp strolled up the road and sat down on a 
 stump and waited. In the midst of his reveries 
 he heard a voice singing: 
 
 " 'Swing low, sweet char-i-ot, 
 Comin' for to carry me home; 
 Swing low, sweet char-i-ot, 
 Comin' for to carry me home,' " 
 
 and presently around a bend in the road Mose 
 came into view in his two-wheeled cart, driving 
 his skinny Bucephalus, bumping over the stones, 
 his elbows on his knees and his rope-reins dan- 
 gling from his hands, shoeless and hatless, his 
 fuzzy thick hair covering his black dome like 
 snow. He seemed to howl, rather than sing, and 
 
 218 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 219 
 
 his harsh, discordant notes echoed shrilly through 
 the hills : 
 
 " 'His track I see, and I'll pursue-u-u, 
 Comin' for to carry me ■ — ' 
 
 Woa, Bocef'lus !" she shouted, as he threw his feet 
 against the front of the cart and pulled on ^le 
 ropes, staring at the figure sitting by the road- 
 side. 
 
 "Fo' de Lawd an' de gospill. Gyp, dat you? 
 Whuff er yo' come hyar?" 
 
 "Just come out here to wait for ye." 
 "Ye mos' skert the relig'n all out'n me. You 
 look lak a ghos'." 
 
 "Ghostses hain't jes nuffin' at all, Mose." 
 "Yah! yah! yah!" and Moss tossed his grey 
 thatch in uproarious laughter at the remembrance 
 of his former experience with ghosts. "What a 
 fool niggeh I done mak' o' meself 'bout that ole 
 ha'nted house. You done cuahed me. Gyp, yah ! 
 yah ! yah ! Suah you done cuahed me o' dem fool 
 ghos' noshuns. Come right down hyah, Gyp, 
 and git in dis wagon. We git you trunk, den 
 we's gwine go by Mose's cabin an' see my Dinah. 
 She's de greates' niggeh on de yearth, 'cept Mose, 
 yah ! yah ! 
 
 'Comin' for to carry me home,' 
 
 Nebbeh see dat woman. Gyp? She's a dahlin' 
 pickaninny, an' she done weigh three hundred 
 pounds. 
 
220 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 'She's sweet as a peach, 
 An' she sticks lak a leech, 
 
 An' she twines lak a mawnin' glory.' 
 
 Yo' done fall in lub wid mah honey-dove, suah, 
 'Comin' fer to carry me home.' " 
 
 Dinah was a great heroine in the eyes of Old 
 Mose, and since her part in the escape of Col. 
 Maxwell she had grown wonderfully in the old 
 negro's estimation. In comparison with her 
 Miriam and Deborah were low down and far away, 
 and the queen of Sheba was a back number. 
 Mose was her twig, and she bent him ; her dough, 
 and she kneaded him ; her kingdom, and she ruled 
 him. She made him go to church when he wanted 
 to go fishing. She compelled him to give up his 
 fiddle and keep away from the hoe-downs. She 
 told him no man could go to heaven with a fiddle 
 under his arm. Mose shook his head. It was a 
 hard thing to believe, nevertheless he said he'd be- 
 lieve it if "it tuk the las' mite o' sense he had." 
 He yielded, but shook his woolly pate. Mose in 
 heaven, and no fiddle? It didn't seem sensible; 
 but Dinah said so, and Dinah was wise. And the 
 much neglected violin hung on one side of the 
 chimney and the banjo on the other, and Mose 
 sat between them and glowered into the ashes. 
 
 "Won't there be any fiddles in heaven, Mose.?" 
 Gyp asked. 
 
 "I dunno," he ruminated. "Ef dey done got 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 221 
 
 hawps up dar, what's de matter wid a fiddle? 
 Niggeh no good up dar 'thout fiddle an' bones. 
 He knows nuffin about a hawp," and he continued 
 to shake his thatch. He seemed to be getting 
 very serious, and kept muttering some unintel- 
 ligible jargon. 
 
 "What's the matter, Mose.?" 
 
 "I'm mad; mad's a rattler." 
 
 "At me? I han't done ye no harm." 
 
 "It's Dinah!" 
 
 "Why, you just said she was the best woman 
 on the earth." 
 
 "Lookee heah, Gyp. Dinah's smawt; but she 
 done act de fool. Dinah done got relig'n, and 
 dey be havin' one o' dem niggeh camp meetin's at 
 de meetin' house. An' I be a wo'kin' hawd all 
 day, an' come home tiahd out. W'at yo' think 
 dis hyah niggeh foun' w'en he come to de cabin 
 hawdly able to wa'k?" 
 
 "What did ye find?" 
 
 "Three niggeh preachers a sittin' dar at mah 
 table wid Dinah, a eatin' mah chuckin, an' she a 
 smilin' lak she dead in lub wid de hull niggeh Con- 
 fence !" 
 
 "And it made ye mad?" 
 
 "Mad ! W'en de debbil went aroun' roarin foh 
 suffin to dewour, he ben't ha'f as fur'us as I be. 
 Me a wo'kin' hawd wid de sweat on mah brow an' 
 dem niggeh preachers eatin' up mah las' ole 
 shanghai : wouldn't dat raise de bile on de Pos'le 
 Pawl?" 
 
222 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Of course ye didn't do nothin'." 
 
 "Do nuffin, boy ! Ye haynt on to de ways o' 
 de married folk. I said to them, 'Git outen 
 hyah, y' low-down, wuffless cannerbals, eatin' up 
 a pore man's chuckin f'm behin' his back.' And I 
 up an' chase 'em outen de cabin." 
 
 "Didn't that make Dinah powerful angry?" 
 
 "We was boff hot enough to tak' off de grid- 
 dle. We was mos' baked thro'. Dinah she done 
 tuck mah fiddle kase dem wuffless niggeh preach- 
 ers say a man cayn't get to glory wid a fiddle. 
 And she done feed dat las' ole shanghai rooster 
 to dem same oudashus men. A feller's gotter 
 stan' up foil his relig'n." 
 
 "Was that all before you left home to-day?" 
 Gyp asked. 
 
 "Bless yer, Gyp, it happen yeahs ago ; but 
 w'en it comes ober me it sets me bilin' lak a kittle in 
 sugah-makin' time. Dar be some things it am hawd 
 foil a 'spectable niggeh to fo'get, an' dese hyah 
 chucken eatin' niggeh preachers am one on 'em." 
 
 "Then you don't play the fiddle any more, 
 Uncle Mose?" 
 
 "Sof'ly dar !" replied Mose, brightening up. 
 "Dinah say a man cayn't keep his relig'n an' his 
 fiddle goin' at de same time. Couse I don' lak to 
 fight lak I uster; so I jes lets dat fiddle hang 
 ag'in de jam. But w'en Dinah goes out washin 
 — Lawdy me, w'at a time dis niggeh do hab wid 
 dat vi'lin." 
 
 "But I thought you got religion, Mose?" 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 223 
 
 Mose studied a moment, then looked down at 
 his black toes and said, ruminatingly : 
 
 "I don't think it ketched. Gyp. But relig'n 
 or no relig'n, I don't want no niggeh preachers 
 dewourin' mah poultry. A hones' coon gotter 
 stan' up foh hisself or dey'll eat de ruff off'n de 
 shanty. Yer don't know dem chicken-grabs. 
 Dey didn't leave bones 'nuff o' dat ole rooster to 
 make a huskin' peg." 
 
 It was hard for Gyp to become interested in 
 these reminiscences of the loquacious negro. He 
 longed to inquire of Mose what he knew of the 
 Moncures, and to what part of the North they 
 had gone ; but the noisy old fellow did not give 
 him a chance to do more than respond indiffer- 
 ently to his chatter. He kept up his cascades of 
 nothings, haw-hawing and yah-yahing, shaking 
 his shock of snowy wool, tittering, gibbering and 
 supposedly entertaining the young man, until he 
 came in sight of his lowly cabin. 
 
 "Di-nah ! Di-nah !" he called in stentorian tones, 
 when Gyp, looking up saw a mountain of flesh 
 almost filling the doorway. 
 
 "Dat's Dinah. She's mah angel," and Mose 
 pushed his thumb in the direction of the door. 
 Gyp saw a great, round, wrinkled face and be- 
 turbaned head; a body plump, chunky as if she 
 had been put together in three spheroidal sec- 
 tions. She was fatness and amiability personi- 
 fied. Her thick, pudgy arms hung out and en- 
 closed her like parentheses. 
 
224* THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Don't I done gone tele ye she's mah angel?" 
 Mose repeated with more emphasis, feeling that 
 Gyp had not been sufficiently enthusiastic over 
 Dinah's charms. Gyp hastened to respond: 
 
 "When yer gittin', Mose, there's nothin' like 
 gittin' a plenty." 
 
 "Speakin' about them there Moncures, Gyp," 
 Mose said a little later, 'if I wah asked for mah 
 opinyun I'd hafter say they went either Norf or 
 Souf, or somewhar else afteh de wah. Y' see its 
 a long ways to get anywheres f'm hyah. I spec 
 Dinah knows. Dat woman she knows mor'n de 
 queen o' de Shebites. She kin tell yer how de 
 camel got fru de eye o' de needle and backed out 
 ag'in. Dar haint jes nuffin dat dat woman don't 
 know about g'ogafy." 
 
 Gyp was fairly beside himself with joy at the 
 rich opportunity that opened before him at La- 
 suda. His fellowship with Aida had shown him 
 his need of "larnin." If he could only "han'le 
 langwidge" he felt that she would have one rea- 
 son less for not regarding him favorably. Even 
 in this he congratulated himself that he had made 
 considerable progress since the days of the 
 "school in the grove." Then there was Miss 
 Larue. What a charm she was to him. He had 
 heard about the Queen of Sheba ; but he did not 
 know that she had turned school teacher and had 
 come away up to Lasuda. But there she was, 
 sure enough. And she was to be his instructor ! 
 No wonder the days and the weeks and the years 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 2£5 
 
 rolled swiftly away ; and never was Mohammedan 
 more devoted to his prayers than was Gyp to his 
 tasks. But in all the school there was nothing 
 quite so attractive as Miss Larue. No smiles 
 were quite like hers, and no words touched his 
 heart like the words of his beautiful teacher. He 
 felt himself drawn irresistibly toward her. She 
 had always a good word in the halls when they 
 met, always a winsome smile when he came to re- 
 cite his lessons. In the evenings they would sit 
 on the piazza and she would tell him the story of 
 the trees, and when the storms broke over the 
 mountains she would talk to him of air currents, 
 of electrical forces and atmospheric pressure. 
 
 On clear nights their talk was of the stars. 
 In the time of their blossoming she told him of 
 the habitat and fellowship of flowers. She ex- 
 plained to him all about the quartz strata which 
 had interested him the day when they first met. 
 She revealed to him the philosophy of coinmon 
 things, and led his inquiring mind beyond the 
 reach of the astronomic lens into spaces where 
 stars grow dim and they need no sun, neither 
 light of the moon to shine there. 
 
 And one evening in a burst of confidence, Gyp 
 told his benefactress of his great find in the 
 mountain cave. Together they talked about it, 
 and wondered how it came there. They could 
 not tell ; they could but theorize. Miss Larue 
 spoke of the early adventurers along the Atlan- 
 tic coast and of their battles with the Indians. 
 
226 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 She talked of the Spaniards, of the French, of 
 the English, of the lost colony of Roanoke, and 
 of the treasures which the explorers found in 
 possession of the aborigines. She thought of 
 the prisoners carried into captivity, of possible 
 treasure captured with them, and of explorations 
 of which history has said but little, and surmised 
 that these conditions might account for the 
 treasure hidden in the cave. Then Gyp told her 
 what he had resolved to do with it. He would 
 devote this new-found riches to the advancement 
 of his people. He would build institutions of 
 learning; he would establish libraries, he would 
 erect churches that the ignorance and irreligion 
 of his people might be superseded by something 
 better. Thus they would talk in the quiet of the 
 evenings, dream their dream of coming years. 
 
 Next to Aida there was no one like Miss Larue. 
 And sometimes as she talked to him, his mind 
 would wander away into the vague and mys- 
 terious Northland, there to search through great 
 cities and quiet hamlets for the desire of his 
 heart. Then his mind would return to his fair 
 preceptress, and he wondered how God had ever 
 made two creatures so beautiful, and how gracious 
 it was of him to give them both to him as friends. 
 
 But with all the happiness that came to him 
 as he saw the development of his mind and his 
 gradual triumph over those things which once 
 seemed so vague and far away, he had, neverthe- 
 less, one thorn in the flesh. It was not Habor 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 227 
 
 or Snags Groucher, for he knew not yet of their 
 secret plottings against the brightness of his fu- 
 ture. It was Sam Crew, a shameless young 
 scapegrace, who had been sowing thorns in Gyp's 
 path ever since he came to Lasuda. He permitted 
 no opportunity to pass without a contemptuous 
 remark or some cruel insinuation about Gyp's 
 father being hung. He was coarse, profane and 
 vulgar of speech, and because Gyp refused to be 
 drawn into any controversy with him it made him 
 all the more tantalizing and offensive. 
 
 Gyp had gone to the woods to study the life 
 that he met there and to bring home questions 
 for Miss Larue to answer. Sam came along while 
 Gyp was in a brown study over an orchid which 
 he was examining. 
 
 "Wat yer moonin' about, glowerin' there like 
 a stone dog on th' doorstep .f"' Sam inquired, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 Heretofore Gyp had paid no attention to his 
 sneering remarks ; but as they were now by them- 
 selves in the woods he came to the conclusion 
 that forbearance had its limitations, and he re- 
 plied : 
 
 "The woods are as free for gentlemen as they 
 are for boors and ruffians like you." 
 
 "Then I be a ruffian, be I?" and Sam started 
 toward him with a stick. 
 
 "Put down that stick, you coward. If you're 
 a man, show it." 
 
 "I'll put you down with the stick, ye son of a 
 
228 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 catamount," and he raised his arm to strike, but 
 before it fell Gyp leaped upon him and threw 
 him heavily to the ground. 
 
 "How do you like that for a stone dog?" 
 
 "This is only begun, curse you." 
 
 "Ye don't need to curse. Only cowards curse." 
 
 "I be a coward, be I.'* Y' said that once be- 
 fore," and he sprang like a wildcat at his an- 
 tagonist. Gyp leaped to one side and landed a 
 blow which sent him reeling against a large white- 
 oak tree. Sam was now furious. He stood a 
 moment with his back to the tree glaring at Gyp 
 and using the most frightful oaths. 
 
 "If ye would put more strength into your arms 
 and less into yer cussin' ye wouldn't need to lean 
 against a tree for support. Save your wind and 
 come on," came tantalizingly from the lips of his 
 adversary. 
 
 Sam needed no second invitation. He came 
 again ; this time a little more cautiously. He 
 aimed a terrific blow at Gyp's face, which he 
 parried, and responded to with a blow which sent 
 Sam rolling among the leaves. But he was on 
 his feet in a moment and back at Gyp with the 
 fury of a wild animal. His anger was more vio- 
 lent, but his strength was noticeably weaker. 
 
 "Yer losin' yer grip, Sam. Ye've swore about 
 all the oaths you know. Suppose you do a little 
 fightin' for a change." 
 
 "There's fer yer taunt !" and Gyp received a 
 blow which dazed him for a moment, and as he 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 229 
 
 staggered under it, Sam caught him and threw 
 him to the ground. "Now I've got yer !" and he 
 reached for his throat, but Gyp turned him, 
 leaped upon him, and, pressing his arms into 
 the ground, hissed: 
 
 "Here you'll stay, Sam Crew, until you promise 
 me two things : that you'll treat me as a gentle- 
 man and quit swearing." 
 
 "I'll see ye in—" 
 
 "No you won't. Ye see me right here ; and 
 right here I'm going to stay till ye promise." 
 
 "I'll stay here forever, afore I promise." 
 
 "Well Sam, it's vacation and I'll stay right 
 with you." 
 
 "Let me turn over." 
 
 "No, sir. You'll not move one inch until you 
 promise. You've treated me as mean as any man 
 could treat another. Now we're going to have 
 it out. It's going to be settled right here and 
 now." 
 
 "Let me up, and we'll fight it out." 
 
 "We've fought it out ; and if I'm a stone dog, 
 you're the under dog in the fight. You've done 
 all the barlcin' at me you're a goin' to." 
 
 Sam began to snort and swear ; but Gyp placed 
 his hand over his mouth and said : "If I can't stop 
 your swearing one way I will another." 
 
 "Play fair, Gyp," Sam protested, as Gyp re- 
 moved his hand. 
 
 "I've played fair. I've stood your taunts now 
 for almost four years and never resented them. 
 
230 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 When I threw you a moment ago I gave you a 
 fair chance to come at me again. I might have 
 choked you, as you intended to do to me. More 
 than that I might have given you such a beating 
 as you would not forget as long as you live. 
 But I've spared ye. I've played fair, Sam, and 
 you'll promise me or here you'll stay all night 
 with your back on the moss and Gyp Stybright 
 roostin' on your stomach. Do just as you've a 
 mind to ; I'm in no hurry." And he noncha- 
 lantly took a cracker from his pocket and began 
 eating. 
 
 "Darn ye." 
 
 " 'Tain't wuth while, Sam." 
 
 "Lemme up." 
 
 "Then promise." 
 
 "I'll not promise." 
 
 "Then j^ou're in for it." 
 
 "I'll holler fer help." 
 
 "The moment you holler I'll jam a handful of 
 moss into your mouth. No, Sam, you'll do no 
 hollerin'." 
 
 "Lemme up, will yer, ye're hurtin' me stum- 
 mick." 
 
 Gyp took another cracker from his pocket and 
 craunchcd away in silence, paying no heed to 
 Sam's demand. 
 
 "Get ofF'n me stummick, I tell ye!" 
 
 "I'll get off when ye promise. Till then I 
 stick." 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 231 
 
 "But ye'r hurtin' me." 
 
 "It'll quit hurtin' when I get off, and I'll get 
 off when ye promise." 
 
 "Be je goin' t' sit ther' forever.'"' 
 
 "Dunno, Sam, it's up to you." 
 
 "Well, I'll promise to treat ye right if ye'li 
 get off." 
 
 "Thank ye, Sam ; now ye're half through." 
 
 "Then ease up a little." 
 
 "Not till you promise to quit swearin'." 
 
 "It's none o' yer business whether I swear or 
 not. If I treat yer right, that's all yer oughter 
 ast of a feller." 
 
 "It's wicked t' swear ; and you've hurt Miss 
 Larue's feelin's and the feelin's of lots of the 
 boys and girls. You've been a nuisance with 
 your bad language; and here I sit till ye give 
 your word and honor that ye'll quit forever." 
 
 "Suppose I promise an' then break over?" 
 
 "Then you make yourself a liar." 
 
 "D'ye call me a liar.?" 
 
 "No, Sam. I said that if you broke your 
 promise you'd make yourself one. And it's up 
 to you to say whether you'll break over or not." 
 
 "Well, if ye're not a goin' to git off'n my 
 stummick till I promise, here goes." 
 
 "Then you've quit, good and for all.'"' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you won't take it back when you get up ?" 
 
 "No. Oh, Gyp ! git off'n me stummick." 
 
232 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "All right, Sam, and here's my hand. Now let 
 us be friends." 
 "Well, d— " 
 "Sam!" 
 "I promise. Here's me claw." 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE DIVERTED JOURNEY 
 
 When Col. Moncure and his daughter left the 
 North Carolina mountains at the close of the war 
 their purpose was to go directly North and visit 
 the scenes of the Colonel's boyhood. But after 
 they had bidden farewell to the friends of their 
 camp life, and had started on their way, Aida 
 expressed a strong desire to see their southern 
 home once more. This necessitated a change in 
 their plans, and, unknown to their friends, they 
 turned their faces southward. It was a sad home- 
 going for them both. They found Ichabod writ- 
 ten everywhere. They saw only windowless walls 
 where they had left a beautiful mansion. Par- 
 titions of rooms had fallen and lay in heaps of 
 rubbish. The parlor, once the scene of luxury 
 and delight, was but a melancholy pit, filled with 
 the debris of partitions and fallen floors. The 
 ragged remnants of foundations spoke only of 
 desolation. Wild vines clambered over the ruins 
 in a vain endeavor to hide their spoliation from 
 the gaze of their former masters. After sorrow- 
 fully viewing the waste and wreck of their once 
 lovely home they went over to the graves in the 
 garden. It was like going through the field of 
 
 233 
 
234 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 the slothful and by the vineyard of the man void 
 of understanding. "It was all grown over with 
 thorns and the face thereof was covered with 
 nettles." The stone wall was broken down — 
 carted away to make defenses against the north- 
 ern arms. The beautiful flowers had vanished 
 and the precious mounds which marked the rest- 
 ing places of their beloved dead, had disappeared 
 — rooted up by vandal swine or tramped by pred- 
 atory cattle into the earth. If Moncure and 
 Aida wept when they said farewell to this sacred 
 place, they had more reason for weeping now. 
 With heavy hearts and unrestrained tears they 
 turned to the weather-worn cabin of one of their 
 former servants, old IVIammy Rachel. To their 
 delight they found it occupied and the door 
 standing open. The wrinkled and lame old negro 
 turned her face toward them as they entered, 
 and called : 
 
 "Who dat at de doo', stannin' dar in de light?" 
 
 "Don't you know me, mammy .^ Take a good 
 look," INIoncure answered. 
 
 "Ah don't know yer; yo' face all dim in de 
 shadder." 
 
 "Then maybe you will know this young lady.'"' 
 and he laid his hand upon Aida's shoulder. 
 
 "Mammy's eyes mos' gone. De yearth an' de 
 sky mos' bof shet out. De light am dim an' I 
 caj^n't rec'nize ye. Tell me who yo' be, an' who 
 be de gyrl.!^" 
 
 "God bless you, Rachel; I did not think you 
 
THE DIVERTED JOURNEY 235 
 
 would ever forget Colonel Moncure and Aida, the 
 little girl whom jou nursed when a baby." 
 
 "Yes, mammy, dear old soul, I'm Aida; but 
 you see I'm quite a young lady." 
 
 "De Ian' o' goodness : de Lawd be prais'd !" 
 and she tottered over, leaning on the top of her 
 staff, and threw her arms about Aida in an 
 ecstasy of welcome. "De good Lawd bress ye, 
 Aida ! Ah nebbeh 'spected to see yo' ag'in. De 
 Lawd open mah pore ole eyes to see yo' bressed 
 face once moah. Bress de Lawd, oh mah soul, 
 an' fo'get not all his bennyfits !" 
 
 "We're awfully glad to see you, too, you dear 
 old faithful mammy," the young lady responded. 
 
 "We've thought of you so often during these 
 awful years. Wasn't it good of the Lord to 
 spare us when so many brave ones have fallen 
 since we last saw each other?" 
 
 "Oh, chile ! chile ! de wah was not f oh sweet 
 young eyes lak yoahs. Dead men an' coffins ; 
 coffins an' dead men. Fightin' an' fiahs, fiahs an' 
 fightin' ; but, praise de Lawd it's all obeh now, 
 and Ah seed ye bof befo' Ah gone died. Now, 
 Lawd, let thy suvvant depawt in peace. De 
 bloody wah am obeh, but mah boys am gone ! 
 Sambo an' Pete an' Andy — all gone ! Mammy 
 lef alone, honey, all erlone. Only yo' come back. 
 Mebby de boys drap in some day befo' Ah go. 
 But mammy hain't got long to wait. Ah'm jes' 
 a sittin' hyah in de shadders waitin' fo' de Lawd 
 to come. Oh, mah boys ! mah boys !" and the 
 
236 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 tears rolled down her cheeks, but whether at the 
 sorrow of parting with them, or at the joy of 
 the hoped-for reunion, Moncure did not inquire. 
 He said, softly : 
 
 "The Lord comfort and support you for the 
 boys you have given up for the old flag." 
 
 "He done gone been good to me. De Lawd 
 been wid me mawnin', noon an' night. Oh, Ah 
 been in Beulah Ian' suah ! De shinin' ones come 
 an' jes' fill mah hawt an' fill dish ole cabin wid 
 glory. Dem boys all Linkum sojers, an' Ah's 
 gwine see 'em ag'in. Ah's waitin', Ah's waitin' ! 
 Praise de Lawd ; he's comin', yes, he's a comin' 
 soon, an' mammy won't hab long to wait twell 
 she see huh boys ag'in. Rachel been a mownin' 
 foh huh chilluns ; but, Kunnel, Ah's gwine see 'em 
 an' de Lawd gwine wipe away all teahs f'm mah 
 eyes." 
 
 "Yes, Rachel, we'll meet our dear ones again ; 
 so don't cry ! Weeping may endure for a night, 
 but joy Cometh in the morning. Till then, poor 
 troubled heart, may the 'shining ones' be with 
 you." 
 
 "Nebbeh feah ; they'll be wid me, Kunnel. 
 Dey's been right hyah in dish cabin when de 
 stahs shine an' when de sunbeams come in at de 
 doo'." 
 
 "Now, mammy, if you'll excuse me for a little 
 while, I'd like to look after a little business. I 
 will leave Aida with you till I return, which will 
 be soon." 
 
THE DIVERTED JOURNEY 237 
 
 When her father had gone out, Aida looked 
 up into the tear-stained face, and said : 
 
 "Dear papa is concerned about mamma's grave 
 and the grave of my little brother. They are in 
 a shameful condition." 
 
 "Come sit on mah knees, honey, 'till mammy 
 talk wid yer," Rachel replied, drying her tears 
 on her apron, and endeavoring to forget her sor- 
 row, "De graves all gwine be open some day, 
 honey ; an' yo' own deah mammy won't be in de 
 gyarden no moah. We's all gwine home. But, 
 Lawdy, chile, how yo's grow'd, an' how yo' look 
 lak yo' deah mammy gone to de glory Ian' long 
 ago. Ah, chile, suah Ah tho't yo' nebbeh gwine 
 come back to me no moah ; but heah yo' be. An' 
 Ah praise Him fo' it." 
 
 "I wanted to come back to see you and see 
 our once beautiful home ; but it's all gone. I 
 suppose I ought not to murmur, when your loss 
 has been so much greater than ours. I have dear 
 papa left. Rachel, you know we had so many 
 nice pictures on the walls when we left, and 
 mamma had collected so many rare and curious 
 things in her travels. Do you know if they were 
 all burned.'"' 
 
 "Bress ye, honey, ebberything went. Yo' nice 
 books an' picters an' cawpets, dishes an' cuh- 
 tains. De fiah sweep clean, sweet chile. Mah 
 little Aidah's room an' all its nice things, an' 
 de Kunnel's papers. Nuffin lef 'cept jes' walls 
 an' ashes an' sorrow." 
 
238 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Isn't war an awful thing? Why do men want 
 to do such wicked things?" 
 
 "It's Satan, chile. It's de debbil. But soon as 
 men git de Lawd in dar hawts de swords gwine 
 be beat into plowpints an' de speahs into grub- 
 bin' hooks." 
 
 "Well, I wish I could see the factories started 
 now. I'd help gather up the swords and the 
 spears." 
 
 "An' old mammy he'p yo' fro' 'em into de 
 meltin' pot, an' mould de plowpints." 
 
 "Say, mammy, I've got something good to tell 
 you." 
 
 "What yo' gwine tell me, honey?" 
 
 "I've got a beau !" 
 
 "Yo chile ! W'y bress yo' hawt, honey, it 
 hain't hawdly yisterday sence Ah fed ye on a 
 bottle !" 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" and Aida's merry laugh rang 
 through the cabin. "But, mammy, see what a 
 young lady I am now. Don't you think I'm old 
 enough for someone to love me?" 
 
 "De whole wo'ld been a lovin' ye, chile, ebbeh 
 sence yo' was bohn ; but yo' seem to me jes' lak 
 a li'l baby cryin' obeh yo' fust teeth." 
 
 "Were you ever in love, mammy?" 
 
 "Me? Ah fell in lub wid Jake when Ah no 
 mo'n fo'teen." 
 
 "In love at fourteen? Oh, mammy, you were 
 worse than I. Where was your mother's bottle 
 at that time?" 
 
THE DIVERTED JOURNEY 239 
 
 "Go long, chile. Ye's makin' spo't o' yo' ole 
 mammy." 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by the re- 
 turn of the Colonel. They then bade their old 
 household servant good bye and turned away from 
 the cabin and the old home, home no more, and 
 made their way farther south through fields made 
 desolate by the war, down to New Orleans. Here 
 they waited for some days for a steamer for St. 
 Augustine, and from there they made their way 
 northward, and then acoss the ocean to Spain. 
 The Colonel felt a yearning to see again many 
 of the scenes which he and his dear wife had 
 visited years ago, and here, and in other eastern 
 lands, he and his interesting daughter gave them- 
 selves up to travel and study. 
 
 If they had sought to escape from the wrath 
 of Habor they could not have hidden their trail 
 more successfully, nor have lost themselves so 
 completely in this vast, tangled wilderness of a 
 world. But they knew nothing of the vengeance 
 that was nursing itself into a frenzy away back 
 in Camp Mecune. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 AHITHOPHEL FALLS SHORT ON HIS 
 
 COUNSEL 
 
 School days at Lasuda were over, and as Gyp 
 was about to descend the piazza steps he turned 
 to wave a last farewell to teachers and school- 
 mates. Miss Larue, his ever faithful friend, 
 placed a snow-white missive in his hand and, 
 closing his fingers over it, whispered : 
 
 "Do not open till you reach home." 
 
 "Thank you, very much. Good bye. Miss 
 Larue." 
 
 At the foot of the steps he met Sam Crew. 
 Sam was very much of a changed man since the 
 day when he and Gyp fought their differences 
 to a finish in the woods. He had learned to treat 
 all his schoolmates with respect and even cor- 
 diality. He had quit swearing, and was trying to 
 live as a gentleman should. The school wondered 
 at the change, but knew not the reason of it. 
 And now as the boys were about to separate. 
 Gyp extended his hand with the remark: 
 
 "Good bye, Sam. Hope lots of good things 
 will come your way." 
 
 "I'm not ready to say good bye. I'm going 
 along with you a short distance." 
 
 340 
 
AHITHOPHEL FALLS SHORT 241 
 
 "Glad to have you, Sam." 
 
 "Wat you goin' to do now that you are 
 through?" Sam inquired after a long tramp over 
 the hills, when they had sat down on a spur over- 
 looking a splendid reach of mountain, plain and 
 winding stream. 
 
 Gyp hesitated. He looked off to Avhere a few 
 houses flecked the far-away landscape, like sheep 
 that were newly shown, and replied, confidentially : 
 
 "Sam, you've kept your word with me. I've 
 trusted you, and I believe you have done the 
 same with me. I'm going to tell you something 
 that I never told anyone. I've got the sweetest 
 little girl on earth." 
 
 "You, a girl?" 
 
 "That's just what I have." 
 
 "Miss Larue?" 
 
 "No, not Miss Larue ; but you bet she is the 
 best woman I ever saw — except one." 
 
 "Who's the one, Gyp; out with it?" 
 
 "Oh, you don't know her. Don't live in these 
 diggin's." 
 
 "Then where?" 
 
 "I wish I knew." 
 
 "Aw, Gyp ; come off your perch. Don't pre- 
 tend you're trustin' me when you're tellin' me 
 nothing." 
 
 "Honest, Sam. I don't know where she is, and 
 I would give anything if I did." 
 
 "Run away and left you with cold feet?" 
 
 "Not that ; but she's gone." 
 
M2 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Well, then, I'd let her run. Girls that run 
 away from fellers ain't worth worryin' over. Let 
 her go. Gyp." 
 
 "The counsel of Ahithophel is not good at this 
 time." 
 
 "And who's Ahithophel.? Her daddy.?" 
 
 "Oh, some old Jew fellow." 
 
 "You seem to hanker after the girl, don't 
 you.?" 
 
 "Now you're getting warm, Sam. That's the 
 exact truth. But it isn't all the truth." 
 
 "Then give us the rest of it, and that Ahitho- 
 phel Jew feller may change his mind." 
 
 "It's about this way, Sam. In war times Aida 
 — that's her name — and I were for some months 
 in the mountain camp. Just as the war came to 
 an end my uncle died, leaving me his heir. I 
 was obliged by certain conditions of the will to 
 remain on the farm for a length of time. Of 
 course the camp broke up and I saw her no 
 more." 
 
 "And she didn't leave you no word?" 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 "Nor write you a letter nor nothin'.? " 
 
 "Nothing since that day." 
 
 "Well, how in Sam Hill are you going to get 
 her when you don't know where she is.?" 
 
 "That's the thing that's bothering me." 
 
 "Friends know nothing.?" 
 
 "Not a thing except what old Perk Thompson 
 told me." 
 
AHITHOPHEL FALLS SHORT 243 
 
 "What's 'Old Sky Blue' know about it?" 
 
 "Perk was one of our band; and he said that 
 when they broke camp Aida Moncure and her 
 father went North." 
 
 "What part of the North?" 
 
 "Perk couldn't tell." 
 
 "North's a big country." 
 
 "But a mighty poor country for a pretty girl 
 like Aida to hide in." 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 "Sam, you can't keep a girl as lovely as she 
 is hid. All the people in the town'll know her. 
 Oh, you just go into any town, New York, for 
 instance, ask: 'Where's that girl with the heav- 
 enly eyes, cheeks like the sunset, voice as if all 
 the angels had pooled their sweetness and made 
 her a present of it' ; and if she's in that town, 
 every young man'll jump to his feet and say, 
 'I know : come with me ; I'll show you where she 
 lives.' " 
 
 "Yes, and maybe find her some other fellow's 
 wife, with lots of little baby togs in the laundry." 
 
 "Sam, shame on you. Got no poetry in your 
 soul? No, sir; I won't believe it. She's waiting 
 for me somewhere." 
 
 "And how are you going to find out?" 
 
 "I'm going to search the cities till I find her. 
 You asked me a moment ago what I was going 
 to do now. My business is to find that girl." 
 
 "Gyp, it's folly." 
 
 "If you knew her you wouldn't think so. 
 
244 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 Solomon would give all his glory for a girl like 
 Aida. Yes, and swap his harem, too, for one 
 good look. Sam, you just come around in a few 
 years and you'll find me the happiest man on the 
 top of this footstool." 
 
 "Well, Gyp, good bye. Get her if you can. 
 I wish you good luck." 
 
 "I can, and I will. If the earth holds her, I'll 
 find her." 
 
 "That's the way to talk it," and he arose and 
 took his schoolmate by the hand. "Good bye ; I 
 must go. You've made a man of me, and I want 
 to tell you so before we part. But I guess I'm 
 the first fellow that was ever reformed by an- 
 other fellow sitting on his stomach. So long, 
 old boy." 
 
 "So long, Sam." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 SNAGS GROUCHER REDIVIVUS 
 
 Gyp walked over the thin upper edge of the 
 peak and came to Sunset Rock. Two thousand 
 feet below him swept a narrow valley, where, at 
 the foot of the chasm, the tall pines and sinewy 
 oaks looked like seaweed. A narrow ribbon of 
 water crept sinuously out of sight, its shores 
 fringed with masses of reeds like tufts of moss, 
 so very far away they were. Gyp feasted his 
 soul upon the scene. Around him were the wood- 
 anemone and the passion flower, the yellow or- 
 chid and the fire-pink. Far below him a ven- 
 turesome vulture spread its dark wings and 
 soared off into the infinite. Round and round on 
 level pinions it floated, with this graceful river 
 of silver more than a thousand feet beneath it. 
 As Gyp sat drinking in the sublimity of the 
 scene, he was startled by a scream which rent the 
 air as with a knife blade. He jumped to his 
 feet and turned in the direction from which the 
 sound came. But there was nothing to be seen. 
 He listened, but there was only the silence of the 
 everlasting hills. 
 
 He turned again to the vision before him, so 
 vast, so restful ; unbroken by crag or cliff or 
 
 245 
 
246 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 populous city, unscarred by iron rail or mast of 
 vessel. It was nature at rest. The aspiring 
 mountain masses overreached each other in their 
 eagerness to touch the sapphire fringes on the 
 garments of God. Then came that awful scream 
 once more, as inharmonious with the scene as the 
 devil's entry into paradise. The cry seemed 
 nearer than before and chilled the blood in his 
 veins. He went down the road a short distance 
 to a clump of foliage ; but found nothing to re- 
 ward his search. He was familiar with the cry 
 of the catamount ; but this was another cry. It 
 was the voice of a human being, but where it 
 came from he could not tell. He called, but there 
 was no response. Then he turned back to the 
 Rock once more. It was a glorious sight to fall 
 in with, and it seemed as if his soul was held 
 there. He thought of the might of Him whose 
 "strength setteth fast the mountains." That 
 morning he had heard jNIiss Larue quote : "The 
 strength of the hills is His," and he felt sure that 
 he knew now something of its meaning. Away 
 beyond the little, tin-foil river he saw red patches 
 of earth lying like foxes' skins on the ground, and 
 on one of these patches a cabin home sat squat, 
 like Milton's toad, but the sons of toil who 
 wrought in the umber earth were invisible to the 
 naked eye. The strange color of the earth re- 
 called to mind his experience on the Red Swan's 
 Neck years ago, and his thoughts were away on 
 impossible explorations, when that wild voice 
 
SNAGS GROUCHER REDIVIVUS 247 
 
 again broke the glorious stillness. This time it 
 
 seemed very near to him, and sang in rasping 
 
 tones : 
 
 Toads and bats for the adder's den; 
 Rue and dew for the poison fen; 
 Hell for the souls of bloody men; 
 
 Blood-y men, blood-y men, 
 Hell for the souls of blood-y men. 
 
 The words were rasped in a fearful monotone, 
 which was punctuated by that unearthly scream 
 which Gyp had already heard thrice. 
 
 Turning in the direction of the sound he saw, 
 coming up the path, a gaunt, witch-like creature, 
 bent half over, leaning heavily on the top of her 
 staff. Her hands shook as if with the palsy, 
 making her staff tremble as she leaned upon it. 
 She was clad in a black robe, girt about the 
 waist with a red sash whose ends hung almost to 
 her feet. A blue sun-bonnet fell back on her 
 shoulders, bringing her sharp, angular features 
 into outline. Her hair hung loosely on either 
 side and was pushed behind her large florid ears. 
 As the winds dallied with it, it was tossed in drifts 
 across her face or over her shoulders. She 
 walked slowly, looking from side to side, shaking 
 her cane with her palsied hands and keeping 
 step to that gruesome song: 
 
 Toads and bats for the adder*o den. 
 
 Gyp took a step backward, gazed intently 
 upon her for a moment, and shuddered: 
 
248 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Snags Groucher, or I'm a ghost! And if it 
 is, I may soon be one!" There he stood trans- 
 fixed, his startled eyes riveted upon her. "Crazy, 
 crazy ! wandering through the mountains a maniac 
 and a terror," he said in a whisper, not daring 
 to utter the words aloud. 
 
 She came on, humming that awful monologue: 
 
 Blood-y men, blood-y men; 
 Hell and hate — 
 
 She looked up suddenly and stopped. She saw 
 Gyp standing on that frightful precipice gazing 
 directly upon her. Her eyes snapped and 
 burned, and seemed to penetrate him like X-rays. 
 She jammed her staff down hard upon the earth, 
 and shook it back and forth as she rasped: 
 
 "Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! Ah-h-h-h-h-h !" 
 She stamped her foot and shrieked: 
 
 "Blood-y men, blood-y men; 
 Hell's the place for the blood-y men." 
 
 Her burning eyes were upon him ; yet he never 
 flinched from that awful gaze. He knew that she 
 was insane, and that he stood face to face with 
 a wild animal. For him there was no escape ex- 
 cept directly past her. She had him at bay on 
 that frightful crag. He started toward her, 
 thinking to get away as soon as possible from 
 that imminent peril. She gave a little hop to- 
 ward him and uttered that blood-curdling: 
 
 "Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! Ah-h-h-h-h-h !" 
 
SNAGS GROUCHER REDIVIVUS 249 
 
 Evidently she had not recognized him ; and it 
 was not strange that she did not, for this fine- 
 looking, well-dressed man was very different from 
 the knee-breeched, bare-foot lad she had seen 
 years ago. In that lack of recognition Gyp felt 
 that his hope now lay. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do for you?" he in- 
 quired sympathetically. 
 
 She blinked on him a moment with her search- 
 light eyes ; then walked away a few paces ; turned 
 about and confronted him again, and, extending 
 her sharp nose and chin, she hissed: 
 
 "Toads and bats for the adder's den; 
 Rue and dew for the poison fen — 
 
 "Man !" she shrieked, "Man, they're agoin' to 
 roast ! They're agoin' to roast, down under the 
 rocks an' the stones an' the graves an' the rotten 
 places where the dead be !" 
 
 "Who are going to roast?" Gyp ventured, his 
 blood running cold at the awful horror of her 
 declaration. 
 
 "The men who be keepin' up this war." 
 
 "What war?" 
 
 "Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! What war? Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! 
 Out yander on the Jim River. Out yander on 
 Mish'nary Ridge. Ah-h-h-h-h-h! An' I'll see 
 the bonfire in hell, an' I'll hear 'em crackle ! 
 My! My! My!" and she thrust her long, 
 skinny fingers into her tangled hair and shrieked: 
 
250 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "O the war! the war! Blood, blood is on the 
 soul of things !" 
 
 "There is no war," Gyp sympathized. "There 
 is no fighting now on the Potomac or along the 
 James River. The boys are home now." 
 
 "It's a lie! It's a lie!" She jabbed her staff 
 into the ground and gave two or three little hops 
 into the air. Her whole body swayed back and 
 forth as she hissed through her teeth : "The fight- 
 in' hain't over, damn 'im, it hain't agoin' to be 
 over. It's a lie. The boys hain't home. They're 
 in the earth, and in the sea, and under rocks and 
 wrecks and bleachin' out yander on the mount- 
 ings. They're roastin' in fire and a freezin' in 
 ice, and the birds is peckin' them in the woods. 
 Me and Gineral Jackson can lick the hull North 
 and tear 'em in twain lim' f 'm lim'. D'y hear me : 
 tear 'em in twain." 
 
 "No doubt about it," Gyp assented. He felt 
 it was the safest thing to do. 
 
 "Say, I'm huntin' a man!" 
 
 "A man? There are plenty of them in the 
 mountains." 
 
 "Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! Mighty few wuth skinnin'. 
 I'm after a man, a little bare-foot man. These 
 hands'll claw him, and rend him, and tear him, 
 and pull him lim' f'm lim'." 
 
 "You're not much in love with the man you are 
 
 seeking." 
 
 "Love! love! Tha hain't no love in hell, and 
 that's where I be. Have YOU seen him.?" and 
 
SNAGS GROUCHER REDIVIVUS 251 
 
 she fixed her ghastly-red eyes on Gyp and thrust 
 her skinny forefinger almost into his face. 
 
 "I don't know whom you mean." 
 
 "His name's Gyp. Gyp Stybright, curse him : 
 little, wooly-headed curse, bare head, bare feet, 
 so high," indicating with her hand. "He's the 
 man. Oh, I'll get 'im. I'll give him to the eagles, 
 the tumble-bugs and the spotted snakes." 
 
 A chill ran over the young man. He looked 
 into her eyes which seemed to burn in their 
 sockets, fed by an inextinguishable hate. Gyp 
 had never seen a look so satanic or one so terri- 
 ble mantle the face of a human being. 
 
 "Where are you going to seek him?" he in- 
 quired, endeavoring to keep up a desultory con- 
 versation, at the same time trying to work his 
 way backward from the precipice. 
 
 "Over the earth ; into the sea ; up into heaven ; 
 down into hell. I'll rake the cinders till I find 
 him ; rake 'em ; rake 'em till I turn up his little 
 scorched soul in the ashes," and with her skeleton 
 finger she stooped down and clawed the grass, 
 pulling it out by the roots and separating the 
 blades. Then she flung it away. "Ah-h-h-h-h-h ! 
 He's not there. Say, man ! look here," and she 
 raised a flap on the skirt of her dress, took out 
 a pistol and handed it to him. "See that? 
 That's for Gyp. Its full. Smell it. Smells 
 good, don't it? Smells bloody. Fire it off." 
 
 This gave Gyp his opportunity. He stepped 
 a few paces beyond her, bringing the crazy crea- 
 
252 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 ture between him and the yawning abyss. He 
 then turned his face toward the canyon, held out 
 his hand and fired. 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" she laughed, as the reverbera- 
 tion resounded among the hills. "See him writhe ! 
 there in the dust ! Writhe, ha ! look at the blood. 
 You've killed him. Ha ! ha ! ha !" and her laugh 
 was that of a fiend. "See here, man," and she 
 took from the pocket in her skirt a leather sheath, 
 old and worn, and drew from it a savage looking 
 dagger, replaced the sheath in her pocket and 
 held up the rusty blade before him. 
 
 "Lovely, isn't it.? That's for Gyp," and she 
 turned the point toward him and looked along 
 its edge straight into his face. "Here, see this," 
 and she pointed to some dark spots on the blade. 
 "It looks like rust ; but the dagger lies. It's 
 blood. D'ye know whose blood that is.'' An- 
 SAver me." 
 
 "I certainly do not." 
 
 "That's the blood of Selma Stybright, this 
 spot, right here; see that mark.? That's where I 
 stabbed her afore I burned the house over her. 
 The blood came up that far. It went in just 
 so deep. See that black line there, there where 
 I'm a pointin'? That's where I stabbed Gyp's 
 daddy after we'd hung him to the oaks. And 
 right here," and she touched the point of the 
 accursed steel, "right here will drip the blood of 
 that little brat. Gyp, when I get 'im!" 
 
 The young man was horrified at the awful 
 
SNAGS GROUCHER REDIVIVUS 253 
 
 revelation of that inhuman, demon-haunted crea- 
 ture. He believed every word of her fearful 
 story, and his blood boiled in his veins. His face 
 grew ashen as she continued her harsh and brutal 
 narrative. His nerves tingled so that he could 
 scarcely restrain himself. His first impulse was 
 to fling her over the rock and give her flesh to 
 the beasts of the field and to the fowls of the air. 
 Here was a chance to avenge the cruel murder 
 of his parents, by hurling her down into that 
 roaring abyss. But he saw that the vengeance 
 of God was already upon her. She was no longer 
 responsible. The Judge of all the earth was 
 already dealing with her. Heaven had antici- 
 pated him. If there was a hell in this world she 
 was in it, a torment to herself and a terror to 
 her fellow-beings, without God and without hope 
 in the world. 
 
 "I will leave her in His hands," he said, and 
 he handed back the blood-stained blade, rusted 
 with the life's blood of his father and mother. 
 
 "Oh, I'll git 'im yet. He's over yander kickin' 
 where you shot him. I smell the blood of him 
 here," and she lifted the dagger to her nostrils. 
 "It'll drip right there. Gyp's blood will. Oh, I'll 
 git 'im and Habor'll get the wench." 
 
 "Habor ! Habor 1" he shouted, amazed. "Who 
 is Habor, and whom is he trying to get?" 
 
 "Ah-h-h-h-h !" she rasped, and pointed toward 
 the sharp peak to her right, and raised her harsh, 
 discordant voice almost to a scream : "The Red 
 
254. THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 Swan's Neck; the flying horse; Habor; Alda ; 
 he's on her trail ; he'll find her ; ha ! ha ! ha ! Man, 
 he'll get her !" 
 
 The horror of such a possibility almost un- 
 manned the young mountaineer. The thought 
 that Habor was alive and on the trail of one he 
 loved had never dawned upon him. Now the 
 thought of it filled his whole being with a feel- 
 ing of unutterable horror and dismay. His 
 Aida ; his darling ! and he knew not where to find 
 her or how to help her. What could he do.? 
 Where could he go? 
 
 "Where is Moncure? and where are Habor and 
 this girl you speak of.?" he seemed to demand, 
 rather than ask. 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" Her laugh was demoniacal, 
 and her fiendish, imp-like countenance glowed 
 with a light that might have flashed from some 
 inner Gehenna. That was all. She stared into 
 his ashen face, but made no further answer. 
 
 "Where did Habor go in his search? Tell 
 me !" he thundered. 
 
 Her red eyes still burned into his face. Her 
 fingers clutched nervously as if she was about to 
 leap upon him and rend him to pieces. He thrust 
 his hand into his pocket where he had placed 
 the pistol a few moments ago and closed his hand 
 tightly upon it. The maniac stamped her feet 
 and jabbed her staff into the ground, gnashed 
 her teeth together and hissed, as she shot out her 
 bony index finger : 
 
SNAGS GROUCHER REDIVIVUS 255 
 
 "Where do the spirits of weasels go, and tom- 
 cats when the bull dogs kill 'em? What becomes 
 of the souls of bats and snails, red lizards and 
 black roaches?" 
 
 "Tell me," he interrupted, "where is Habor 
 and where is Aida Moncure? Don't ask me such 
 infernal things. Where are those people: an- 
 swer me!" 
 
 "Call up the ghosts of dead toads and ask 
 them; ask the soul of the blue jay which the 
 hawk has eaten. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Yer wants to 
 know where Habor, my lover, has gone? Let 
 the wild goose that flies down from the north 
 lakes answer. I've sent him abroad for another 
 lover !" She walked away a few paces ; glanced 
 back over her shoulder at him and returned. 
 "Look at my hands !" and she thrust them to- 
 ward him. They were filthy, withered and her 
 long nails curved up like an eagle's claws. 
 
 "Man, what do you see there? They're red, 
 red here on the palm and here on the back, red, 
 red. It's blood, man ; it's blood ! Here rests 
 the blood of the men and women I've killed. I 
 love the smell of the blood. I've burned them 
 in their houses, and drowned them in the river ; 
 and hanged them to the trees ; and shot them 
 through the doors and winders in their homes. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 It was a hard thing for Gyp to say, when he 
 knew that this terrible creature had helped to 
 murder his own father and mother, yet suppress- 
 
256 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 ing the natural enmity which arises unbidden, he 
 said: 
 
 "We must forgive and forget." 
 
 "Forget ! Forgive ! Who can forgive sins 
 but God only," she shrieked, and her voice re- 
 verberated among the mountains. She glared at 
 him a moment, turned about and deliberately 
 walked away. She passed up the trail, a black 
 tottering crescent bending over the top of her 
 staff, wailing that fierce, imprecatory strain: 
 
 "Toads and bats for the adder's den; 
 Rue and dew for the poison fen; 
 Hell for the souls of blood-y men." 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 GYP SEEKS AN OLD FRIEND 
 
 Gyp hurried from that awful place. It had 
 given him a glimpse of the paradise of God, yet 
 a paradise through which there passed the shriek- 
 ing ruin of Snags Groucher like a wraith flung 
 up from the world of lost souls. A short walk 
 brought him to the top of the hill above the Falls 
 of Okaluna. He saw not yet the cataract ; but 
 he saw a sweet little stream that babbled and 
 simpered on its way down to the cliff. He leaped 
 across it and followed the stream to the Falls, 
 where, white with rage, it flung itself from the 
 cliff''s edge down upon slippery shelves, hurried 
 around great boulders and flinging defiance in 
 the face of branch and root and every lithological 
 obstruction, sprang sheer from the precipice and 
 fell in beads of chrysolite far down amid un- 
 friendly rocks. 
 
 The sweep of the stream and the plunge of the 
 waterfall brought back to young Stybright's 
 mind the memories of years ago. It was at this 
 very spot that he lay asleep when his mother 
 sought him so bravely through that distant, 
 perilous night. Here is where she fell, lantern 
 in hand, and set fire to the leaves and mountain 
 
 257 
 
258 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 side, and started that memorable conflagration. 
 Beneath the escarpment of rock on which he stood 
 he and his mother had crept for protection from 
 the awful fire. There were still standing many 
 of the trees scorched and blasted by the fierce 
 heat. 
 
 What changes since that night ! 
 
 Oh, what memories had this day brought to 
 him! 
 
 But he must not wait. He must find his loved 
 and long lost Aida, and rescue her from any pos- 
 sible danger from the relentless Habor. He crept 
 cautiously down the mountain cliff, picking his 
 way over rocks that were wet with spray and 
 slippery with dead leaves and mosses, throwing 
 his arms about the trunks of young trees for 
 support, making stairs by striking his heels into 
 the soft earth, clinging to roots that jutted from 
 the rocky slope, zigzagging here and there until 
 at last he reached the hard, pebbly road along 
 which he and Old Mose had passed years ago on 
 their way to Lasuda. He crossed the roadway 
 and disappeared in the dense woods. He thought 
 of the treasure-cave near the old camp ground 
 and of the riches that there awaited him. He 
 thought of the splendid fortune which he would 
 bring to his beloved Aida, rare and costly stones, 
 wonderful jewels, gold and silver, traced in all 
 the cunning of ancient craftsmen. He thought 
 of the good which he would be enabled to do with 
 his riches for all these mountain people. But 
 
GYP SEEKS AN OLD FRIEND 259 
 
 the valley was already chill with the dews and 
 damps of gathering night as he emerged from the 
 forest and entered a little clearing. Beyond it, 
 among the trees, he saw a glimmer of light. It 
 was the cabin of an old acquaintance. He ap- 
 proached it and rapped on the door. He was 
 answered by the growl and yelp of a cur within. 
 
 "Shet up !" came a coarse voice, and the door 
 was pulled open. Gyp knew not the strange face 
 that confronted him. 
 
 "Is my old friend, Ard Stammel, in?" the way- 
 farer inquired. 
 
 "Ard Stammel.? Yes, 'e be in — in th' tuther 
 world. Ard 'e be dead an' gone a right smart 
 spell. Ef ye digs deep enufF ye'll fin' his bones 
 out yander beyent th' steer shed." 
 
 "Oh, I am very sorry. I had not heard of his 
 death." Gyp then remembered that he had not 
 seen Ard since the war. Before that time he 
 used to play with his children about the door and 
 meet them on the mountain paths. 
 
 "Can I see any of his children?" he interro- 
 gated. 
 
 "I reckon ye kin ef ye go whar tha be." 
 
 "Then his family does not live here?" 
 
 "Bless ye, no ; I been a livin' hyar years an' 
 years." 
 
 "What's your name?" 
 
 "Lon Kluney ; an' what be you'n ?" 
 
 "Gyp Stybright." 
 
 "Never heered o' ye. Come in," 
 
260 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 Gyp entered because he was weary and hungry, 
 rather than from any cordiahty in the tone of 
 the invitation, or of welcome in the strange, star- 
 ing faces that glared into his as he entered. 
 
 "Tak' a cheer," and a backless tripod was 
 shoved toward him. 
 
 A sorry medley of humanity was about him. 
 There were fully a dozen men, women and chil- 
 dren, with not a pair of shoes among them, 
 poorly clad, with poverty written on every coun- 
 tenance. Two families were housed in this one 
 small room, like as many swine. They all seemed 
 to be using tobacco in some form, except the 
 very little children. Some were smoking, some 
 were chewing, and some with their snuff-sticks 
 were rubbing their filthy gums. Cleanliness was 
 a lost art, and decency had gone to keep it com- 
 pany. 
 
 "Hev a sip o' dew?" hospitably inquired 
 Kluney, as he took from the mantel a large bot- 
 tle filled with almost transparent whiskey, and 
 handed it toward his guest. 
 
 "Thank you, I never drink." 
 
 "Not drink mounting dew? Humph!" grunted 
 Kluney, replacing the bottle on the shelf with a 
 manifest feeling of irritation that his hospitality 
 had been rejected by this stranger. "Then yer 
 don't hafter," with another disapproving grunt. 
 
 "Mountain dew once turned into a frost and 
 killed my mother," Gyp quietly responded, "and 
 before she died I promised her that I would never 
 
GYP SEEKS AN OLD FRIEND 261 
 
 touch it, and thus far I have kept my word. I'm 
 not thirsty ; but I am hungr}^, and if you will of- 
 fer me a piece of pone I will accept it with thanks 
 in place of the drink you so kindl}' tendered me." 
 
 "M'riar, pone; give th' stranger pone," called 
 Kluney to a bronzed woman whose stolid face 
 seemed already to have turned into an interroga- 
 tion point. 
 
 Mariah, a brawny woman, with great blue veins 
 traversing her bared arms, opened a corner cup- 
 board, took out a slab of com bread and with a 
 broad, sword-like knife, cut off a slice large enough 
 to supply the wants of two hungry men. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Kluney, the one-fourth of that !" 
 
 But with a sniff that her hospitality should be 
 quartered, that generous dame handed him the 
 entire amount without saying a word. 
 
 "And so Ard Stammel is dead.''" Gyp ventured, 
 interrogatively, desiring to open up some line of 
 conversation. "Can you tell me the cause of his 
 death.?" 
 
 "Ard had tribble 'ith his neck an' it tuk him 
 off'n his feet," Kluney responded as stolid and 
 impassive as a gargoyle. 
 
 "I see, I see," said Gyp meditatively. "He 
 was hanged for being a Union man." 
 
 "Eggsackly." 
 
 "Tell me about it." 
 
 "He was tuk by th' Greys an' 'e had a Yankee 
 flag; an' that was th' evydence ag'n 'im." 
 
 "And they hanged him.?" 
 
262 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Th' Greys said as how tha thought 'e mought 
 be more account in heaven than in these North 
 C'liny mountings, an' so tha sent 'im through by 
 th' rope route." 
 
 "What became of his family?" 
 
 "Well, 'is widdy wer kind o' upset th' turn 
 things tuk, an' she sol' off 'er stawk an' taters, 
 'er craps an sich 'thout gettin' much, an' tuk her 
 chilluns an' got away f m hyah." 
 
 "Where are they living now?" 
 
 "Dunno. Never been heern o' sense." 
 
 "Have any friends?" 
 
 "Unioners help her, I guess. She war mighty 
 sot on th' ol' flag, an' I jedge she war looked 
 alter. An' I hain't noways a 'gredgin' 'er." 
 
 "It all seems very sad." 
 
 "We be all puny critters." 
 
 "You don't recall the names of any of the 
 Unioners ?" 
 
 "Yes, there war a feller be th' name o' INIany- 
 cure, er Mocure, er somethin' o' that sort." 
 
 Gyp's heart bounded. 
 
 "Was he a colonel — Colonel Moncure?" 
 
 "A kunnel, er captain, er somethin' er 'nother — 
 a briggydear gineral, mebby." 
 
 "Did he have a daughter?" 
 
 " 'E had a gurl 'ith blue eyes an' a short frock. 
 D'ye know 'em?" 
 
 "I have heard of them," evasively. 
 
 "Whar did ye hear?" 
 
 "Through Perk Thompson." 
 
GYP SEEKS AN OLD FRIEND 263 
 
 "What does ol' 'Sky Blue' know o' thim peo- 
 ple?" 
 
 "Mighty little, Mr. Kluney, mighty little." 
 
 " 'E orter been shot, ol' 'Sky Blue' ort." 
 
 "What did he do.?" 
 
 "Helpt hang my dad." 
 
 "Your father.'"' in astonishment. 
 
 "Yep." 
 
 "Why.?" 
 
 "Oh, dad, 'e been out a riddin' th' mountings 
 o' thim pesky Unioners." 
 
 "And he was arrested.?" 
 
 "No, stranger ; 'e war hanged." 
 
 "That is very sad." 
 
 "We be all puny critters." 
 
 "But about Ard Stammel's family: Do you 
 think Colonel Moncure aided her.?" 
 
 "Yes. I heern he sent her money an' she clared 
 out North." 
 
 "You do not know where they settled in the 
 North.?" Gyp eagerly asked, it must be confessed, 
 with more of a desire to know of the location of 
 Aida than of the widow of his friend. 
 
 "Manycure, I be heern, went t' Pittchburgh. 
 Dunno whar th' widdy went." 
 
 "Pittsburgh !" 
 
 "Dunno whar it be, but that's whar I heern th' 
 feller went." 
 
 A great light shone in the young man's soul. 
 It seemed to light up a whole destiny. He had 
 gotten hold of something definite — if reliable. 
 
264 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 Suddenly a shadow swept across his face, and he 
 inquired : 
 
 "There was another fellow, by the name of 
 Habor, not a Union man, who had once captured 
 this young lady during the war. Did you ever 
 hear anything about him?" 
 
 "Gone North, too." 
 
 Then the light in Gyp's soul went out suddenly, 
 and the revelation of Snags Groucher came back 
 to him. 
 
 "When did he go North.?" 
 
 "Some years atter th' Manycures." 
 
 "Did he know where the Moncures were living 
 at the time he went North.?" 
 
 " 'E didn't know ; but he said as how he'd find 
 'em ef he had ter scratch hell with a fine tooth 
 comb." 
 
 "If that is where he's looking for Aida he'll 
 find himself on the wrong trail." 
 
 "He had it in fer th' Manycures. He never 
 fergot th' dab that gurl giv' him when he war a 
 stealin' her on th' Swan's Neck." 
 
 Gyp's eyes flashed fire for a moment. All his 
 composure fled at the awful thought of Aida's 
 danger. It was not Moncure that the villain 
 wanted. It was the girl who had wounded him 
 on that mad dash around the curves of the Red 
 Swan's Neck. Gyp's very soul took fire. He 
 seemed unable to reason. His thoughts were in 
 mutiny against the confusing situation in which 
 he found himself. Hundreds of miles from her, 
 
GYP SEEKS AN OLD FRIEND 265 
 
 even if her locality were certainly known. What 
 could he do? He grew faint at heart. His 
 cheeks blanched as if he had received a stab in 
 the heart. 
 
 "Be ye sick, stranger?" 
 
 "No," was the faint reply. "I'm myself, now." 
 
 "Here, tak' a sip o' this?" and Kluney reached 
 for the black bottle again. 
 
 "Thank you. It is nothing. It is over now." 
 
 "That Habor's a catamount," Kluney said with 
 an oath. "I'd like to skin 'im an' nail his hide on 
 th' end o' th' woodshed. Cheated me in a mule 
 trade," and he took a drink from his own bottle 
 and replaced it on the mantel. 
 
 In Gyp's brain there was a tumult of fire and 
 ice. Habor on the trail of Aida ! 
 
 "Great God, protect her !" 
 
 He arose and went out into the night, that 
 under the benign stars he might form his resolu- 
 tions. If God would give him wings to-morrow 
 he would be beyond the Ohio. But alas, men have 
 only feet ! 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 BETWEEN THE RIVERS 
 
 It was long before Gyp got to sleep that 
 night. The situation seemed so confusing and 
 helpless. He tossed on his rude bed in his own 
 home, his brain in a whirl, vainly trying to blaze 
 a path through the dense jungle of his fears. It 
 was toward morning when he fell into a troubled 
 sleep, and in his sleep a vision came to him. He 
 saw in his dreams a little city with quaint old 
 buildings and narrow streets. A river flowed on 
 either side of the city and the two streams merged 
 and flowed unitedly to the sea. One of the rivers 
 slipped between the city and the sea, forming a 
 beautiful island, in the midst of which a banded 
 lighthouse rose dark against the sky. He saw 
 sails upon the water and ships upon the sea and 
 the foam tumbling white upon the sandy beach. 
 He saw fashionable carriages on the streets and 
 the city filled with people in holiday attire. 
 
 He saw — or thought he saw — the waving of tall 
 palmettoes and the swaying of long grey mosses 
 from boughs of ancient trees. He heard the rip- 
 pling music of mocking-birds and saw rich and 
 beautiful flowers abloom everywhere. 
 
 On the bank of the eastern river a fair and 
 
 266 
 
BETWEEN THE RIVERS 267 
 
 radiant maiden stood and looked toward the east 
 where the great ships were upon the water. She 
 was robed in spotless white. Jewels flashed from 
 her throat and fingers. Her face was as fair as 
 the dream of an angel and she looked thought- 
 fully toward the infinite. He saw her lips part, 
 and this is what the dream-voice brought to his 
 eager soul : 
 
 "As these rivers unite and flow into the sea, 
 so shall the lives of Gyp Stybright and — " 
 
 "Aida Moncure!" exclaimed the excited 
 dreamer, and awoke to find the vision shattered, 
 as if he had thrown a stone through a mirror. 
 But the dream was elysium. 
 There was no more sleep for Gyp, and he was 
 infinitely glad when the morning began to edge 
 its way through the chinks in the walls. 
 
 "What a vision! Wliat does it mean.?" he in- 
 quired, rubbing his eyes. "This may be a path 
 through the jungle. Grant it, dear heaven!" 
 
 All his past came rushing back to him in a 
 tumultuous cascade of memories. He thought of 
 the happy days with Aida in the mountain camp, 
 and wondered if the dream held any meaning for 
 him. He wondered most of all at Aida's pro- 
 longed silence of the years, and why all direct 
 knowledge of her since the day of their parting 
 had been withheld from him. But there she 
 stood in his vision, there by the river's side. 
 Could there be any mistake about it? She was 
 more beautiful than ever. She was a girl no 
 
 O' 
 
268 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 longer, but a charming woman, fairer than any 
 he had ever seen. 
 
 What had she said? 
 
 "As these streams flow together, so shall the 
 lives of Gyp Stybright and — " there it had 
 stopped. 
 
 "Why did I in my consummate idiocy shut out 
 the remainder of that sentence which might have 
 meant happiness for me? Why did I awake and 
 blot out that name which meant everything? 
 Would she have joined her own name with mine, 
 she so exquisite, so lovely, and I only a poor 
 mountaineer without lineage, without name, with- 
 out wealth?" Then he caught his breath at the 
 remembrance of the treasure hid in the cave. 
 "Ah, but she knows nothing of this. Could such 
 extremes be harmoniously joined? Will my cher- 
 ished happiness end as the vision ended, in a 
 blank?" 
 
 His mind went back to Sunset Rock and to the 
 startling vision of Snags Groucher. He con- 
 jured up the old cabin home and the smoulder- 
 ing embers. He saw again the rusty dagger of 
 the peripatetic maniac — rusted with the blood of 
 his father and mother. Then came the revelation 
 of Lon Kluney of Aida's sojourn in the North 
 and of the departure of the bloodthirsty Habor 
 in search of her. These, with the vision of the 
 night and the awful recollection of the preceding 
 day stirred his brain until it whirled like a cy- 
 clone. He was almost beside himself. "God help 
 
BET\^^EN THE RIVERS 269 
 
 me !" he cried as he smote his brain and leaped to 
 his feet. The upper and the nether worlds 
 seemed to have chosen his humble cabin as a bat- 
 tle-field, and the fight was on. What would he 
 do? There was but one thing to be done, find 
 Aida and protect her from the man who had gone 
 on her trail. He would search every clue. Find 
 her he must. Find her he would. This very day 
 he would speed away as fast as steam could carry 
 him. No more sleep. The battle in the brain 
 had murdered sleep. 
 
 Before leaving his room an incident occurred 
 which gave a new turn to the program of the day 
 — one of those trifling things which sometimes 
 change the whole current of one's destiny. As 
 he took his coat from the wall a letter fell from 
 the pocket. He picked it up and saw that it was 
 the one which Miss Larue had placed in his hands 
 at parting. He hastily broke the seal and read : 
 
 "Mr. Stybright: 
 
 "Find a city by the sea where two rivers 
 meet and you will find happiness. 
 
 "Miss Larue." 
 
 "The letter and the vision are one !" exclaimed 
 he excitedly. "Where is the city.'' Where are 
 the rivers.? East, West, North, South; on lake 
 shore or gulf shore, Pacific Coast or Atlantic? 
 A city and two rivers ! I saw them in my vision 
 of the night. As the two streams unite, so shall 
 
270 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 she and I, and she — she was Aida! I know it. 
 That face is photographed on my soul from the 
 days of the mountain camp, and though it change 
 a thousand fold and become each day more radi- 
 ant with the change, I cannot be deceived. 'Find 
 the city and you will find happiness.' Happiness 
 with her ! Sweet heaven, bless thee forever, I 
 shall find the city ; I shall find the rivers ; I shall 
 find the peerless creature on the shore ! But 
 how? Aye, there's the rub; but find her I shall. 
 The horror of my fear shall not extinguish the 
 brightness of my hope." 
 
 He folded the letter and replaced it in his 
 pocket, partook of a hurried breakfast and was 
 gone over the mountains by the way he had come. 
 "No northern mission till I see Miss Larue," he 
 said to himself, and as he hurried away to Lasuda 
 he thus reasoned: 
 
 "How does Miss Larue know all this? How 
 did she come by such information? If she knows 
 this much she knows more. If she knows there is 
 happiness for me in the city between the rivers, 
 she knows where those rivers are and where the 
 city is. If she knows that there is happiness for 
 me, she knows through whom that bliss is to 
 come." Thus he mused and filled his mind with 
 interrogations and deductions. He could not un- 
 derstand why she had not told him before he left 
 the school. Had she known all these years where 
 his dear Aida was residing? Had she kept the 
 knowledge purposely from him? "And she was 
 
BETWEEN THE RIVERS 271 
 
 so kind to me," he continued musingly. "Pos- 
 sibly it may have been just this cherished knowl- 
 edge that made her so kind." As these thoughts 
 perplexed him the beautiful Miss Larue became 
 to him more of a problem than ever. "Cer- 
 tainly," he reasoned, "if this knowledge has been 
 in her possession all these years it must have been 
 withheld for some good and sufficient reason. 
 But what could it be.P" 
 
 He found Miss Larue sweet but uncommunica- 
 tive. 
 
 "It is a confidence," she said to him. "You 
 would not have me untrue to my promise?" 
 
 "Certainly not. What you have done, Miss 
 Larue, I am sure must be right, but I cannot un- 
 derstand it." 
 
 "But you w ill bye and bye ; and you will re- 
 alize that what we have done for your especial 
 comfort and happiness was the wisest thing to 
 do." 
 
 "Whom do you mean by 'we'.?" 
 
 Miss Larue gave a little start, feeling that the 
 inquiry had laid bare her secret. 
 
 "Miss Moncure and myself," she replied with 
 a smile, admitting everything. 
 
 "Then she has understood all along .f*" 
 
 "You have not been forgotten." 
 
 "And you have kept in communication with 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is she married?" 
 
27S THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Bless your dear heart, no." 
 
 "There is one thing more I would like to ask: 
 Does she think of me as in other days?" 
 
 For answer Miss Larue picked up a volume of 
 Shakespeare, turned a few pages and pointing to 
 a familiar sentiment, handed him the book. This 
 is what he read: 
 
 "Doubt that the stars are fire; 
 Doubt that the world doth move; 
 Doubt truth to be a liar; 
 But never doubt my love." 
 
 Gyp was so overjoyed he could scarcely re- 
 strain his emotion. He sprang to his feet and 
 grasped Miss Larue's hand with the fervor of a 
 lover and could scarcely refrain from embracing 
 her. He poured his gratitude into her ears and 
 told her of the vision of the preceding night, of 
 the city and the rivers and the charming lady on 
 the river's shore and of the unfinished exclama- 
 tion ; and then he asked : 
 
 "Is it far from the junction of the rivers to 
 the sea?" 
 
 "Considering the previous length of the rivers, 
 yes." 
 
 "Then we shall have many years of bliss to- 
 gether ?" 
 
 "Your hope runs ahead of your discovery, my 
 young friend." 
 
 "But I shall find her, shall I not?" 
 
 "I am no interpreter of dreams, neither a 
 
BETWEEN THE RIVERS 273 
 
 prophet nor the daughter of a prophet. I can 
 only say that your vision corresponds to the 
 present abiding place of Miss Moncure. The 
 rest you must discover." 
 
 "I cannot ask you to break your pledge. You 
 have been very kind ; have told me far more than 
 I dreamed of learning. But will you answer me 
 this : To whom did you give your pledge ?" 
 
 "To Miss Aida." 
 
 "Thank you very much, Miss Larue. But why 
 this secrecy.?" 
 
 "For reasons which Miss Aida will make known 
 when you meet." 
 
 "And that city: is it East, West, North or 
 South.?" 
 
 "It is a city by the sea where the rivers meet. 
 Your future happiness is largely a question of 
 geography." 
 
 "And if I fail.?" 
 
 "Then return to me." 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 SOLVING THE RIDDLE 
 
 "A QUESTION of geography? What is the rid- 
 dle? A maze with my darling at the center of 
 it. Let me find the starting point and I will find 
 the center. Give me the end of a thread and I 
 will unravel a destiny. 'Find a little city by the 
 sea where two rivers meet and you will find hap- 
 piness.' So reads the riddle. Now if there were 
 but one city in this broad land where two rivers 
 meet the problem would be an easy one. Let me 
 see: What's the matter with New York? The 
 North River and the East River flow together and 
 pass through the bay to the sea. And there, too 
 is Philadelphia, with its Delaware and Schuylkill 
 uniting and following in fellowship to the ocean. 
 But this must be a city 'by' the sea. There is 
 therefore a limitation. But is there but one sea 
 on which a city with two rivers is located? Only 
 one seaboard city where the rivers join? The 
 proposition lacks definiteness. It is wanting in 
 particulars. Let me read again," and he took 
 Miss Larue's note from his pocket : 
 
 " 'Find a little city by the sea where two rivers 
 meet, and you will find happiness.' " 
 
 "Oh, I see; it is not 'the' city, but a city. 
 
 S74 
 
SOLVING THE RIDDLE 275 
 
 That's another proposition. I will examine my 
 geography." 
 
 He turned to his text-book and ran his finger 
 along the entire northern and eastern coast- 
 lines, and cities by the sea he could find in plcnt}^, 
 but to his surprise, not one could he find where 
 two rivers met to form another as suggested by 
 the riddle. He examined the southern and west- 
 ern shores. He found cities on lake and river, 
 on bay and river, on sound and river, on gulf and 
 river, but strange to say his atlas indicated not 
 one city where the rivers fulfilled the conditions. 
 If such cities existed his geography did not show 
 them. 
 
 "The maze is more intricate than I thought." 
 Gyp threw himself back in his chair with his hands 
 under his head. 
 
 "Let me read it again." Then, after a few 
 moments' reflection: "It does not say 'on,' but 
 by. But, of course, no city would be on the sea. 
 'By' is the proper word. I have read of lake vil- 
 lages built on piles ; but there are no such places 
 to bother me ; and even if there were, two rivers 
 could not meet there. Men do not build cities 
 'on' but by the sea." 
 
 He scanned the coast-line again, but with no 
 better result. 
 
 "The path to the castle does not lie in that di- 
 rection. I must seek it some other where." 
 
 He asked his neighbors. But what did they 
 know about cities by the sea or anywhere else ! 
 
276 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 They could tell the roads to the little towns where 
 they sold pork and eggs and traded mountain 
 dew for salt and pepper. They could tell how 
 the squirrels lived and where they made their run- 
 aways. They could tell where the brooding vul- 
 ture sat, and the burrow where the wild fox made 
 his lair. Every peak and promontory, and every 
 bridle-path over the great mountains, were famil- 
 iar to them. But cities by the far-off seas were 
 things they never worried over or even thought 
 of. Gyp could get no information there, and he 
 soon gave up trying. The lips of the teachers in 
 the seminary were closed to him, and consultation 
 there was out of the question. They had evi- 
 dently conspired to have him pursue his investi- 
 gation alone. "And they are right," he solilo- 
 quized, "for if Aida is worth having she is worth 
 discovering." Miss Larue had given him a clue : 
 this he must work out alone. In addition to this 
 his dream had come as a flashlight. 
 
 "The dream ! the dream !" he exclaimed, as if a 
 sudden revelation had come to him. In his geo- 
 graphical explorations he had forgotten it. "Put 
 the dream and the riddle side by side, and the 
 two may lead me through the labyrinth. Strange 
 that I had overlooked it. Did not the tantaliz- 
 ing Miss Larue say, 'The vision corresponds to 
 the riddle?' Now what was the vision I saw?" 
 he continued musing, "a little city lying between 
 two rivers, and between one of the rivers and the 
 sea there was an island. Now let me see: New 
 
SOLVING THE RIDDLE 277 
 
 York lies between two rivers, and between it and 
 the sea is Long Island. Here is the solution! 
 Wait. Ah, this was a 'little' city, while New 
 York is a great metropolis. In the dream the 
 two rivers united and flowed as one river to the 
 sea. But here the bay carries the waters of both 
 rivers to the ocean. I must give this city up. 
 Aida is not in New York. 
 
 "I saw, also, quaint, old fashioned buildings in 
 my dream. These things do not correspond to 
 the old Manhattan city. And then, too, I saw 
 fashionable turnouts thronging the narrow streets, 
 and bazars of curios everywhere. I saw luxuri- 
 ous hotels with wide piazzas thronged with patri- 
 cian guests. These things suggest a fashionable 
 resort rather than a great commercial center. I 
 also saw in my dream clusters of tall palmettoes 
 waving their luxurious fronds in parks and along 
 street sides. I saw the narrow, ragged leaves of 
 the banana, and grey mosses hanging from live 
 oaks. I heard through it all the rollicking song 
 of the mocking-bird. 
 
 "And so I must abandon all cities on the north- 
 ern seaboard. The solution of the riddle lies 
 not that way. 
 
 "But the circle is narrowing. It is possibly 
 some resort away off on the Pacific." 
 
 He thought over the vision again. 
 
 "No, it could not have been on the Pacific 
 coast," he contended, "for the woman in white 
 stood on the beach and looked toward the sea and 
 
278 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 the east. The river was between her and the is- 
 land, and the island was between the river and 
 the sea. She was therefore somewhere on the 
 east coast and in one of the southern states. 
 That is suggested bj the palmettoes. So much 
 is certain. 
 
 "And still the circle is narrowing." 
 
 Again he turned to his geography, but again 
 he was hopelessly lost. 
 
 "Now," said he, "let me summarize what I have 
 thus far learned. In the first place Miss Aida is 
 in a city. She is in a little city. It is a fash- 
 ionable city. It is some southern resort. It is 
 on the Atlantic seaboard. It is an old city, with 
 quaint buildings and narrow streets, yet with 
 many great hotels. Where is there such a city.''" 
 
 His geography and atlas gave him no satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 "It is more than a question of geography, at 
 least such a geography as Miss Larue has placed 
 in my hands. I will examine my history." 
 
 He reached up to a little swinging shelf by the 
 window, took down a history of the United States 
 and turned to the early Spanish explorations in 
 Florida. There an old print of that portion of 
 the state familiar to the explorers met his eyes. 
 
 "I have it ! I have it !" he shouted as he flung 
 the book on the floor and jumped to his feet, fling- 
 ing his hat against the wall. "E-u-r-e-ka! The 
 little city, the city with the waving palms and 
 quaint old buildings, the city between the rivers! 
 
SOLVING THE RIDDLE 279 
 
 The Matanzas ! the San Sebastian ! and the is- 
 land of Anastasia ! Hooray ! I have threaded 
 the maze. I have reached the citadeL Ye gods, 
 I've won. What's the matter with Old St. Au- 
 gustine !" 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 DE CHRYSALIS DONE BROKE 
 
 "Blessed be steam. Heaven crown with fade- 
 less laurels the man who first harnessed the in- 
 visible spirit of steam to the flying wheels." 
 
 Thus thought the excited lover as he hurried 
 away toward the Mecca of his hopes in the land 
 of Ponce de Leon. How the villages sped away 
 and the little cabins danced and pirouetted, and 
 larger dwellings courtesied to the chambered 
 thunderbolt as it bored its way through fields 
 and forests like an arrow from the bow of Omnip- 
 otence. What pictured beauty was enrolled as 
 the green canvas, dashed with stream and foliage 
 and blue background of sky, was whisked out of 
 view ! Downward — downward — downward swept 
 the windowed wonder with the golden eagles on its 
 glowing panels. But swifter than steam are a 
 lover's hopes. Even the thunderbolt creeps with 
 laggard step when the desire of one's heart is at 
 the world's end. The wires overhead sang their 
 fEolian strains to the wooing winds, but they 
 brought no message to the separated lovers. 
 
 The St, John's river was crossed and down 
 through the timbered tracts the whirring wheels 
 ran toward the sea. Through fields of palmet- 
 
 280 
 
DE CHRYSALIS DONE BROKE 281 
 
 toes, through groves of lime and lemon and 
 orange ; past emerald oaks, sinewy and sympa- 
 thetic, whose hoary mosses waved in the winds 
 like old men's beards. Flowers starred the fields 
 and the air was spice-laden. A long screech of 
 the locomotive swept through the streaming pen- 
 nants of the live oaks ; a liveried porter thrust 
 his head through the doorway, gobbled some in- 
 distinguishable name into the faces of the pas- 
 sengers and darted back as if a pestilence had 
 smitten him. The wheels slowed down, ground 
 hard upon the brakes, and the train stood still. 
 
 Gyp stepped upon the platform at St. Augus- 
 tine. 
 
 Half a hundred carriages with their noisy 
 drivers, an equally vociferous delegation of run- 
 ners from various hotels and lodging houses, the 
 noise of escaping steam, the rattle of trunks and 
 trucks on the platform caused him to think that 
 he had landed at the tower of Babel. He 
 threaded his way through the tumult, leaped into 
 a trap and soon was driven out of the hurly- 
 burly. 
 
 "Do you know Richard Moncure.?" Gyp in- 
 quired of the driver. 
 
 "Ize a heahed ob dat name, sah; I has, suah." 
 
 "Then you do not know him.?" 
 
 "I cayn't jes' say as how I knows on him; but 
 Ize a heahed tell ob dat name ; I hez, done suah ; 
 an' ef 'e be a livin' heah I'll fin' 'im fo' yo'." 
 
 "Can you get me a directory.?" 
 
282 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "Dunno, boss. I hayn't got none in me pants ; 
 but Ize got some fine cut, ef it's t'baccy you's 
 atter." 
 
 "I want a directory, a book that tells where 
 people live." 
 
 "Boss, yer don't need no book, Ize gwine drive 
 yo' right dar." 
 
 "Drive me to the post-office. I'll make inquiry 
 there." 
 
 "All a-right, boss ; but tha's a fixin' up the 
 street. It's all tored up, an I'll jes' tak' yo' 
 roun' dishaway." 
 
 They turned into a narrow street and drove 
 down toward the barracks at the lower end of 
 town. 
 
 As they came out on a little park near the 
 Matanzas Gyp was surprised to find the streets 
 filled with fashionable carriages and gay turnouts 
 of one kind and another. Men and women were 
 in holiday attire. Hundreds of well-dressed peo- 
 ple stood about the enclosure, lounged on the 
 park benches, sat along the sea-wall or occupied 
 their fashionable equipages. It was a gay and 
 animated scene upon which the young moun- 
 taineer looked. The band sent its martial strains 
 crashing upon the air. At the farther end of the 
 parade ground a many-jointed flagstaff flung the 
 stars and stripes in one magnificent mass of color 
 upon the winds. Beyond the sea-wall lay the 
 placid river. Its plain of crystal was unbroken, 
 save where an occasional sail whitened the water 
 
DE CHRYSALIS DONE BROKE 283 
 
 or a ship's keel left its vanishing scar. Beyond 
 the river was the Island of Anastasia. The dark 
 green of its foliage lying irregularly against the 
 horizon was relieved by an occasional dwelling 
 and the white dunes flung up by the distant 
 ocean. Out of the midst of the irregular mass 
 of green the tall Anastasia light lifted its pictur- 
 esque and cylindrical shaft in bands of white and 
 black spirals. 
 
 It was a restful picture, new and entrancing 
 to the young man from the North Carolina moun- 
 tains. But the one thing that filled his mind 
 above all others was his dream and the message 
 of Miss Larue. He could not dismiss it from his 
 mind. There was the jNIatanzas ; yonder lay An- 
 astasia, and out beyond it throbbed the blue 
 ocean. Somewhere on this shore his dream had 
 pictured the darling of his heart with her rapt 
 gaze fixed upon the distant sea, or was it the is- 
 land.'' He looked nervously about him. Would 
 he find her, now that he had come all this long 
 distance? The sudden stopping of the trap, 
 in the midst of the great throng, brought his rev- 
 erie to an end. 
 
 "Woa, dah ; yo' dum beas'," came in staccato 
 notes from the driver. "Watch whar yo' g^ine 
 wid dem slammin' hoofs o' yo'n." 
 
 "What's the meaning of this gathering, 
 driver.?" Gyp inquired. 
 
 "De mil'tary ban' gibs er open-aiah concuht fo' 
 de bennyfit o' de town an' sich as hab eahs an' 
 
284 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 want t' heah. Ef yo' lak t' heah de music I'll jes' 
 keep mah hoss chuck up." 
 
 Gyp was intensely fascinated with the scene 
 about him. The band finished its program and 
 marched away. But still the crowd lingered. 
 Suddenly the notes of a bugle blown from the 
 barracks caused him to turn. He saw the troops 
 in their white uniforms march in rhythmic hexa- 
 meters upon the green, while the band sent its pa- 
 triotic strains far away beyond the crest of 
 Anastasia. It was the first real warlike array he 
 had ever seen, and he watched it with intense in- 
 terest. A sentry paced to and fro to prevent in- 
 trusion upon the grounds by the too eager yet 
 admiring spectators. Color-bearers marched 
 across the plaza, and, with their ensigns, took 
 their places at the head of the column. Around 
 the parade ground there was a living fence, a 
 solid wall of nationalities — the Syrian from his 
 bazar, the Jew from his gems and sandalwood, 
 the German from his beer shop and his cups, the 
 Cuban from his booth of Havanas, the African 
 from his siesta in the sun and the Minorcan from 
 his truck fields. There, too, were greasy loafers 
 whittling their misconsidercd lives away, the mag- 
 nate and the newsboy, the minister with his creed 
 and the politician with his muckrake. What a 
 polyglot it was ! The thunder of the sunset gun 
 sent its reverberations over city, island and river, 
 and the mass of patriotic color which all day long 
 waved from the towering flagstaff, dropped from 
 
DE CHRYSALIS DONE BROKE 285 
 
 its place of honor and was folded up for the night. 
 The blue files of soldiers moved like a poem over 
 the greensward, and in faultless rhythm, went 
 through their varied evolutions. It all seemed so 
 new, so wonderful, so unique and beautiful that 
 Gyp was content to gaze upon it in admiring 
 silence. He forgot for the moment the dream of 
 his highland home and the blissful purpose that 
 had brought him, a stranger, to this quaint old 
 Spanish city. 
 
 At length the troops marched back to their 
 quarters and the crowds of spectators began to 
 disperse. The sea-wall was soon deserted, park 
 benches were emptied and the carriages rolled 
 away. Gyp ordered liis driver on ; but in turn- 
 ing into the crowded street the wheel of his trap 
 became interlocked with the wheel of a carriage 
 turning in the opposite direction. The crash 
 frightened the spirited team in the carriage and 
 they sprang forward almost overturning both 
 vehicles. The driver checked his horses in a mo- 
 ment, but the leader, a magnificent creature, sleek 
 as velvet, with eyes flashing fire, reared, pawed 
 the air with his angry hoofs, and in his descent, 
 veered toward his excited and nervous companion 
 and landed across the pole of the carriage. He 
 struggled and plunged and finally threw himself, 
 bringing the other horse to the ground with him. 
 All was uproar and confusion. Women shrieked 
 and ran to places of safety. Men ran to help or 
 to get out of the way, while some seized upon the 
 
286 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 struggling horses as they lay entangled in their 
 harness. 
 
 The only occupant of the carriage, now that the 
 driver had leaped to the help of his horses, was a 
 young lady who sat calm in the midst of the ex- 
 citement until the beautiful leader sprang into the 
 air when she became nervous. But when the 
 furious steed fell she turned her face toward the 
 trap in which Gyp was seated and called: 
 
 "Will someone please assist me?" 
 
 Gyp sprang to her rescue, and throwing open 
 the carriage door, helped her to a place of safety. 
 
 "I thank you very much," she said, looking 
 gratefully into his strong and manly face. "You 
 have saved my — " 
 
 She stopped suddenly. Her expression of 
 gratitude changed to one of inquiry, then to as- 
 tonishment. Their eyes met. Surely she had 
 seen that face before. And Gyp? Never had 
 he heard so sweet a voice but once, nor beheld 
 such a beautiful face except in his vision. Yes, 
 it was she ! Yes, it was he ! The North Caro- 
 lina mountains ; the school in the grove ; the fear- 
 ful ride down the Red Swan's Neck ! 
 
 "Aida Moncure ! You darling creature !" Gyp 
 exclaimed, as he saw in that radiant being the 
 vision of his highland dream. 
 
 "Why, Gyp — you precious boy — is this? It 
 is ! It is !" came from the bewildered Aida. The 
 suddenness of their meeting seemed to paralyze 
 their tongues for a moment and they stood smil- 
 
DE CHRYSALIS DONE BROKE 287 
 
 ing confusedly into each other's faces, as "eyes 
 looked love to eyes that spake again." 
 
 "My darling," Gyp stammered, "this is a most 
 delicious surprise." 
 
 "It does not seem possible ! How good and 
 strong and happy you look," she replied with the 
 lovelight illuminating her face. 
 
 "Bless you, Sweet, who wouldn't look happy 
 with a heart such as mine and a vision like this 
 before me.?" 
 
 The crowd surged about the struggling horses 
 and some cried one thing and some another : 
 
 "Keep away from his heels !" 
 
 "Sit down on his head !" 
 
 "Cut the harness and let him up !" 
 
 "Get away there and give room !" 
 
 Amid the uproar no one seemed to notice the 
 reunited lovers, except Gyp's old obsequious 
 driver who pocketed his fare and with a broad 
 grin watched the happy couple walk away. 
 
 "Ize a-heahed tell ob gettin' honey out'n de 
 cawkus ob a lion, but dis am de fust time Ize 
 ebbeh heah'd ob two sweethawts a Icapin' out'n 
 a smashup into each oddeh's awms ! De crys'lis 
 done broke dat time, suah ; an de buttehfly done 
 mak' off wid annoddeh fly ! Yah, yah, yah !" 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 ROSES AND PALMS 
 
 Only the votaries of love will understand the 
 sacred sanctuary where the hearts of Gyp and 
 Aida offered their incense. Their happiness made 
 them oblivious to all surroundings. Gyp saw not 
 the quaintness of old St. George street nor heeded 
 the rough cobble stones under his feet. He saw 
 not the overhanging balconies beneath which the 
 draymen drove their springless two-wheeled carts 
 and in which gaily attired maids and matrons 
 sat and chatted of their dull, sublunary affairs. 
 He did not notice the absence of sidewalks or that 
 the doors of the dwellings broke the plain, con- 
 crete walls on a level with the street. He saw 
 not the rich foliage that rose above garden walls, 
 or the hidden lawns where the spray of concealed 
 fountains wasted itself among the blossoming 
 trees. Palms extended their graceful fronds 
 above the lovers' heads as if in benediction, but 
 they saw them not. Gyp saw nothing of the 
 quaint old city and Aida's vision was no better. 
 How the world shrivels in presence of our infat- 
 uations ! 
 
 Aida laid her jeweled hand on a small wicker 
 gate. It opened to her touch, and the lovers 
 
 288 
 
ROSES AND PALMS 289 
 
 passed from the street into a spacious lawn 
 adorned with shrubs and trees and all manner of 
 flowers. The walk on either side was flanked with 
 a brilliant mosaic of color. The lawn was abloom 
 with roses. Foliage plants, like oriental rugs, 
 lay here and there upon the greensward. Jes- 
 samine climbed the trellises. Tall cabbage palms 
 stood like sylvan priests in this charming court 
 of nature. The date-palm, a patriarch among 
 its fellows, looked benignly upon the sweethearts. 
 Gyp's observing eyes rested upon magnolias and 
 fig trees, upon Japanese plums, spice myrtle and 
 rubber plant. He saw the bamboo and bananas, 
 while flowers of countless variety were every- 
 where. It was a charming sight for the young 
 highlander. And there, too, was Aida, the sweet- 
 est flower of them all ! It seemed as if he had 
 entered paradise at last. 
 
 Heaven grant that the devil may not find his 
 way into it! 
 
 Aida paused long enough to indicate to Gyp 
 the especial beauty of the place and to point out 
 its most interesting features. They then passed 
 up the broad steps of an umber-colored villa and 
 took seats on the piazza with this charming pic- 
 ture in the foreground. To Gyp it was idyllic, 
 a vision of fairyland. 
 
 "Like Israel of old we are still living in booths," 
 said Aida, turning her radiant face upon her 
 companion. "This is but our temporary home." 
 
 "I am sure," replied Gyp, graciously, "that no 
 
290 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 wilderness could be so fit an abiding place for my 
 charming Israelite as this bower of beauty. Mir- 
 iam's timbrel would never be silent here." 
 
 "But where is the ransomed host to call forth 
 the exultant strains?" answered the sweet young 
 pessimist, with a smile. 
 
 "Look at me," her companion responded, 
 "haven't I just got out of the land of Egypt and 
 the house of bondage? Not much of a Moses, 
 I'll admit, nor much of a host, but I'm out of the 
 bondage in which your loveliness first found me. 
 I have come through my Red Sea, and it has 
 opened almost miraculously before me, and here 
 I have found, not only this magnificent wilderness 
 of floral glory, but Miriam as well." 
 
 "And I see that you have 'learned langwidge' 
 since we first met in your highland Goshen," she 
 answered with a sweet, rollicking laugh. 
 
 "Yes, thanks to my good friends known and 
 unknown." 
 
 "And thanks to yourself. I can scarcely be- 
 lieve as I look into your face, so changed, so 
 manlier grown, that you are the same little bare- 
 foot Gyp who undertook to teach me 'bug knowl- 
 edge' in those crazy days on the mountains." 
 
 "And it is just as hard for me to realize that 
 you are the same gentle Charon who rowed me 
 over the black and lonely Styx that awful night 
 when I found my father and his neighbors mur- 
 dered. And yet if I lost much in those never-to- 
 be-forgotten days I also gained much ; for out of 
 
ROSES AND PALMS 291 
 
 them has come my education, humble as it is, and 
 the antecedent happy associations formed by those 
 times of privation and peril." 
 
 "And I am sure our happiness is mutual, as 
 our trials and misfortunes then were. Do you 
 remember the bluebells and the yellow lady-slip- 
 pers and the white blossoms of the tulip trees?" 
 
 "Miss Aida, I shall never forget, not while 
 mocking birds sing and the azaleas bloom in my 
 native mountains." 
 
 "Oh, they were such dear times in spite of all 
 the hazard of brutal war." 
 
 "Do you think of them that way.? I am so 
 glad, for a hundred times I have lived again those 
 immortal days, and there was no joy there except 
 as associated with yourself. And as I have 
 thought them all over again and again life has 
 seemed more beautiful with each returning mem- 
 ory. But I would not think you would care to 
 recall them." 
 
 "And the reason is.''" 
 
 "Well, with me that was home, and I had been 
 familiar with all the hardships incident to that 
 wild life. But you were reared otherwise, and 
 those wild scenes and wilder men were so foreiffn 
 to all your previous years. The wonder is that 
 you endured it and lived through it." 
 
 "I just delighted in it, and the memory of those 
 days is one of my greatest luxuries. It is the one 
 romance of my life." 
 
 "Mixed up with those rough mountaineers .''" 
 
S92 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "No little maiden ever had such a body-guard 
 of noble patriots and unselfish friends. I felt as 
 safe and happy as if engirdled by walls of bris- 
 tling steel." 
 
 "But I remember once on a time a young and 
 happy maiden fell into the hands of the enemy." 
 
 "And I recall a brave young mountaineer who 
 came to the rescue. By the way, Gyp, what has 
 become of my old captor, Jim Habor?" 
 
 "Do you know nothing.?" Gyp interrogated, 
 recalling the information he had gained a short 
 time before leaving his native state. 
 
 "No. I have never heard of him since that 
 day." 
 
 "The report in the mountains was that he had 
 followed you North." 
 
 "But we did not go North." 
 
 "Not go North?" Gyp inquired in amaze- 
 ment. "It was reported among your old friends 
 and neighbors that when the camp broke up you 
 and your dear father returned to the home of his 
 childhood." 
 
 "That was our original intention ; but after we 
 had started we changed our minds and returned 
 to our old home in North Carolina. But we re- 
 mained there only a few hours, everything was so 
 sad and desolate. From there we went to New 
 Orleans, then around by water to this dear old 
 town ; and from here we made our way to Spain 
 and spent years abroad." 
 
 "Praise God we were all deceived and Habor 
 
ROSES AND PALMS 293 
 
 missed his mission. But we will drop that sub- 
 ject." 
 
 At that moment the angelus sounded from the 
 old cathedral and seemed to hang in the air like 
 an unforgotten hope. 
 
 For a blissful hour they sat in the shelter of 
 the dying day. It was a time when the immortal 
 past came back again and between the joy of the 
 days that were gone and the bliss of the passing 
 moment their hearts were filled to overflowing. 
 
 As Gyp walked down St. George street that 
 night he was unspeakably happy. The thing that 
 he hoped for had come to him. 
 
 As he turned out of the street he felt a sudden 
 revulsion of feeling. He felt that everything was 
 not right. He was almost sure that someone was 
 following him. But it was easy to be mistaken. 
 The streets were full of people. Need he think 
 strange that there were those following him when 
 scores of men and women were yet abroad.'' It 
 was but an hallucination. He would dismiss it 
 from his mind. He passed into his hotel, yet in 
 spite of everything a specter seemed to haunt him. 
 He exchanged a few whispered words with the 
 clerk and went directly to his room. 
 
 It was an hour or more after he had gone to 
 his apartment that a dissipated creature entered 
 the office and with sinister countenance looked 
 around the lobby. He went to the clerk's desk, 
 glanced over the register, turned about and passed 
 out into the street. 
 
294* THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 Aida meanwhile had gone within the villa. The 
 floors were soft with luxurious rugs. Rich por- 
 tiers hung in the doorway. Paintings by master 
 hands adorned the walls. The entire furnishing 
 was in harmony with refined taste and gave an air 
 of restfulness to the apartments. She ascended 
 the stairway to her chamber, a pleasant apart- 
 ment facing the south and west. Two windows, 
 hung with spotless lace, looked out upon St. 
 George street, and two looked down upon the 
 lawn with its wealth of floral beauty. The room 
 was not lavish in its appointments. A center 
 table, dripping with faultless needle work, showed 
 the touch of her own artistic hand. A few easy 
 chairs, dresser and luxurious lounge, a bed with 
 graceful canopy, and modest axminster on the 
 floor completed the furnishings. The walls, or- 
 nate with bric-a-brac, photographs and souvenirs 
 from foreign lands, showed the skillful arrange- 
 ment of a woman's hand. 
 
 "What a day this has been !" Aida soliloquized, 
 throwing herself on the couch and losing herself 
 in delightful reverie. Her mind went back over 
 those picturesque and stormy days in the moun- 
 tains. She thought of their "school," of the days 
 and nights of peril, of her capture by Habor and 
 their awful flight down the mountain road. She 
 thought of the end of the war and of the move- 
 ments of herself and father afterward and of his 
 subsequent death. All came back to her as clear 
 as the stars in her beautiful southern sky. There 
 
ROSES AND PALMS 295 
 
 came also a consciousness of her ingratitude to- 
 ward her lover in that she had never let him know 
 of her movements. "And there are other things 
 which will gladden us both by explanation." 
 
 She arose in response to a rap at the door. 
 On opening it the bell-boy placed a letter in her 
 hand. She closed the door and tore open the 
 seal. It contained a card with one line scrawled 
 across it. The blood left her cheeks as she read : 
 
 "I am Jim Habor. I'm onto your game. 
 Beware." 
 
 "My God, help us !" she exclaimed as she 
 clasped her hands and pressed them to her heart. 
 She paced the room, every faculty of brain and 
 soul in tumult. "Great God keep this serpent 
 out of my Eden !" she cried, lifting her imploring 
 eyes to heaven. Then she threw herself on the 
 couch, but in a moment rose and went to a trunk 
 in the corner of the room, took out the trays and 
 down in the bottom of it she found a little box 
 which she placed on the table. She opened it and 
 took out a pistol and a box of cartridges. "It's 
 well enough to pray; but I'll see that my gun is 
 all right." She had not forgotten the days in 
 the mountains when she had learned the use of 
 firearms. She filled the cylinder of her revolver, 
 laid it on the table, and replaced the box and 
 trays in her trunk. 
 
 "Oh, if I could only warn Gyp !" she sighed, "but 
 he did not tell me where he was lodging. God 
 be with him till we meet again." 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE OLD SPANISH FORT 
 
 AiDA lay with her pistol under her head that 
 night, though what she expected to do with it 
 she scarcely knew. But in some way she felt a 
 security in having it near. She knew how re- 
 morseless Plabor was, and she might need protec- 
 tion against his vengeance. She had not for- 
 gotten her target practice, and she felt that she 
 might be called upon to make some use of it in 
 personal defense. Habor's enmity might be 
 vented upon her or upon Gyp, but if upon either 
 it would be upon both. The tumult in her soul 
 was something terrible. She had just entered 
 her Eden. The happiness for which she had 
 waited so long had at last come to her. Now 
 to have it dashed to earth as if beneath an 
 avalanche of snow ! 
 
 "Oh, I wish that Gyp would come !" she sighed. 
 But what would she say to him? Would it be 
 wise to tell him of the menace contained in the 
 note of the previous night? It would destroy 
 his happiness as well as her own. Why should 
 she blight this hour of his consummate bliss? 
 Maybe her fears were unduly aroused. Could 
 she not trust her lover to meet an emergency 
 
 296 
 
THE OLD SPANISH FORT 297 
 
 should it ever come? And if it should not come, 
 why blight his pleasure with her direful fore- 
 bodings ? 
 
 But could she pull the fear from her own heart 
 and meet him with a smile, with the delirious self- 
 oblivion of yesterday? Could she cast off the 
 presentiment which all night long had haunted her, 
 and appear her own dear happy self when he 
 came? She would try. She would thrust this 
 devil of apprehension out of the Eden of her bliss 
 and be happy for the day ; then she would tell 
 him. He must know. If anything should hap- 
 pen to him unwarned, she would never forgive 
 herself. 
 
 They had just made the circuit of the terre- 
 plein at old Fort Marion and stood facing the 
 east. The Hot-shot furnace was beneath them. 
 Beyond it the water-battery, on whose escarp- 
 ment a black-throated cannon crouched like a 
 watch-dog and looked sullenly over the bay. On 
 their right the Matanzas river lay bright in the 
 sunlight, calm as a saint of God awaiting his cor- 
 onation. The winds which breathed on the palms 
 were not sufficient to fill the fisherman's sails, as, 
 almost imperceptibly, they moved over the wave- 
 less water. In front of them the river widened 
 into the bay. Anastasia arose green beyond the 
 river, with the white and black spirals of the 
 lighthouse rising out of its feathery ridge. To 
 the left the sand dunes of North Beach glistened 
 in the sun, and between the green of the marshy 
 
298 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 plain on the south and the glimmering sand hills 
 on the north the bay made its escape into the 
 sea. Black backs of dolphins undulated in the 
 water as they floated here and there, and Gyp 
 thought he understood why, in the early days of 
 the Spanish explorers, this river was called "The 
 River of Dolphins." Far away to the east the 
 blue line of the horizon dipped ocean-ward, while 
 the ceaseless threnody of the sea sounded faint 
 where the crested sand-bars shone white with the 
 combs of dissolving foam. 
 
 They were reclining on the parapet wrapped 
 in admiration of the scene and its sweet tran- 
 quillity. 
 
 "Will you be seated.?" and Gyp motioned to- 
 ward an empty settee. "This beautiful vision 
 will still be ours and we can look upon it without 
 weariness." 
 
 Reluctantly Aida removed her eyes from the 
 bay. It was not the scene that entranced her at 
 that moment. It was a small craft near the 
 Anastasia shore in which two men were seated. 
 One was handling the limp sail and the other sat 
 with his glass trained upon the fort. Aida could 
 not distinguish the features of the men, but there 
 rushed across her mind the warning of the night 
 before and she thought of Habor. Could that be 
 he, and had he recognized them? Was that his 
 glass which seemed to sweep the embrasures in 
 front of her.? Then she gave her head a toss, as 
 if to say, Why these fears? Are there not hun- 
 
THE OLD SPANISH FORT 299 
 
 dreds of pleasure seekers passing over these 
 waters every day? Why should not this historic 
 fort be an object of interest? They are but 
 tourists out for a sail. 
 
 "Yes, Gyp ; it is a beautiful scene. I never 
 grow weary of it. A hundred times I have climbed 
 the grey stairs to look upon it. It brings me 
 rest." 
 
 "This old fort has some remarkable history," 
 Gyp observed, glancing about him. 
 
 "But few histories are more picturesque. That 
 river there, the Matanzas, has had its sands 
 drenched with the blood of many a martyred 
 Huguenot. It might well be called 'The River 
 of Blood.' But I do not care to speak of those 
 horrid days. It is better to be in harmony with 
 the happier scenes around us." 
 
 "Let the past keep its tragedies. Ours be the 
 bliss of to-day," Gyp agreed. 
 
 "It is better to date beginnings from pleasant 
 events than from sad ones." 
 
 "Some way I'm not very philosophical to-day. 
 My heart is not in that scene but in this settee." 
 
 "It is a good place to be," she responded with 
 a winsome smile. 
 
 "You are not disappointed that I do not grow 
 exuberant over dolphins and fishing smacks 
 when I have waited all these years for a sight of 
 your blessed face." 
 
 "The beauty of the things we look at are but 
 comparative after all. Every hour has its com- 
 
300 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 paratives and superlatives," she replied medi- 
 tatively. 
 
 "This seems so unreal to me. It seems as if 
 I were a chapter in a fairy tale, and passing 
 through some other fellow's experience." 
 
 "Do you wish it were a chapter out of fairy- 
 land?" 
 
 "Heaven bless you, darling. The bliss of this 
 hour is greater than I ever dared to dream: I, 
 the hatless, bootless ragamuffin among the wild 
 azaleas of the North Carolina mountains. Isn't 
 it good for the soul?" he exclaimed with a burst 
 of laughter, which recalled to Aida the old back- 
 woods days. 
 
 "Your dreams are surely coming true, and so 
 
 are mine." 
 
 "And have you dreamed, too?" 
 
 "They were more than dreams." 
 
 "What were they?" 
 
 "Noonday hopes." 
 
 "Have you been living all these years in the 
 hope that we would meet again?" 
 
 "It has been the one bright thread of gold that 
 ran through all the web of years ; the one thread 
 that has never tarnished, the one that has re- 
 mained unsullied amid time and change, pleasure 
 and pain." 
 
 "And that hope has been my beacon light, even 
 when I gave Sam Crew that walloping out in the 
 Lasuda woods," laughed the glad-hearted lover. 
 
 "Sam Crew? Who is he.?" 
 
THE OLD SPANISH FORT 301 
 
 "Oh, Sam was one of the boys at school whom 
 I had to trounce in order to make him friendly. 
 He was a tough customer." 
 
 "How did the plan succeed?" 
 
 "Made him the best friend I had among the 
 pupils." 
 
 "That's certainly a novel method of making 
 friends." 
 
 "Sam was nothing if not novel. Oh, but that 
 was a lark. I'll tell you about it some day. Let's 
 take a walk." 
 
 They made the circuit of the terreplein. A 
 few strolling tourists sauntered here and there, 
 leaned over the parapet or gazed through the 
 quaint towers on the points of the spear-shaped 
 bastions. As they descended the broad stairs 
 and turned away from the fort, Aida said: 
 
 "Do you know, dear Gyp, ever since that day 
 on the Red Swan's Neck a presentiment has once 
 and again swept across the horizon of my 
 brightest hopes ?" 
 
 "Habor.P" 
 
 "Yes, Habor." 
 
 "Oh, you dear, sweet, brave little girl ! Do 
 not let such things worry you. Habor has dis- 
 appeared from our knowledge for years. He left 
 for the north shortly after you left for the south, 
 and he has been unknown to his old haunts ever 
 since." 
 
 "For all that, my darling, I am sometimes 
 afraid. Let us be on our guard." She hoped 
 
302 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 from this he might understand, or at least sur- 
 mise her meaning. 
 
 "We'll 'trust God and keep our powder dry.' 
 We will not permit any ill omen to darken the sky 
 of our happiness. We'll meet our troubles when 
 they come. Till then," said he, "we will be 
 happy." 
 
 Arm in arm they passed the pj^ramids of black 
 balls and antiquated cannon and came into the 
 delirious sunlight and fragrance of the park. 
 But neither of them noticed a dark, heavy-browed 
 idler who leaned over the wall gazing dowTi at 
 the fiddler-crabs in the marshy bottom of the 
 moat. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE RED LIGHT 
 
 As Gyp passed down street on his way to his 
 hotel he saw hanging in front of a drinking resort 
 a red light which swung, like a danger signal, be- 
 fore the entrance. Its lurid glare was to him 
 most suggestive. As he drew near he heard 
 angry voices, followed by the report of a pistol 
 and a sharp cry of pain. The door flew open and 
 a man plunged into the street hatless and coat- 
 less, whom Gyp, had he been better acquainted 
 with the city, would have recognized as Emil 
 Roberts, the worst desperado of the neighbor- 
 hood. His arms were bare to the elbows and, 
 pistol in hand, he fled before his pursuers. They 
 called upon him to halt, but he only ran the 
 faster. They came directly toward Gyp, who 
 stepped aside to let them pass. A shot was fired 
 by one of the pursuers. A fusillade followed in 
 the midst of obscenity and the vilest impreca- 
 tions. Gyp was struck by a stray shot, and, with 
 a cry of pain, placed his hand to his side, stag- 
 gered toward the nearest building and fell heavily 
 to the street. He lay bleeding for some minutes 
 before the police succeeded in dispersing the 
 crowd and calling an ambulance. Emil Roberts 
 
 303 
 
304 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 lay wounded only a few feet from where Gyp fell. 
 He was thrown into the ambulance and the two 
 wounded men, lying side by side, were conveyed to 
 the hospital. 
 
 Gyp's wound was found to be severe. The ball 
 entered his left side and passing obliquely 
 through the lung, lodged in the muscles of the 
 back. It gave him severe pain, and his pale 
 face, almost as white as the pillow on which it 
 rested, was in striking contrast to the ruddy 
 cheeks which his native mountains had given him 
 as an inheritance. The only thought in his mind 
 was the pain which the news of his injury would 
 bring to Aida. He managed as soon as possible 
 to have a note conveyed to her. She came at 
 once to his bedside, and with her love and sym- 
 pathy and the deep tenderness of her ministra- 
 tions made the first night of this most deplo- 
 rable tragedy one never to be forgotten. There 
 was a blending of pleasure and pain that neu- 
 tralized the acuteness of suffering and added a 
 sweetness to their grief. 
 
 Aida was at first disposed to connect the injury 
 to her lover with the threat of Habor. But when 
 she came to the hospital and learned the circum- 
 stances surrounding his wounding she felt that 
 it might have been one of those unfortunate ac- 
 cidents which may sometimes happen to the in- 
 nocent. And yet she was not altogether satis- 
 fied. The matter would be investigated. jVIean- 
 time her place was beside the sufferer. 
 
THE RED LIGHT 305 
 
 Gyp had little to say as he lay there so white 
 with pain and the loss of blood. But he was not 
 unconscious of the sweet and gentle ministries of 
 the angel of his hope as she bent over hini 
 with a tenderness which the angels themselves 
 might almost envy. Never were hands more 
 soothing or ministries more sympathetic and 
 helpful. Every want was anticipated through 
 the long and painful night. Her hand was on 
 his pulse, or soothed his brow; and when the 
 surgeon and nurse had gone aside for consulta- 
 tion, she deemed it neither sin nor sacrilege to 
 press her own warm, ruddy lips against the pale 
 cheek of the sufferer. Once she turned aside and 
 bowed her fair face in her hands to weep over the 
 needless pain to the one she loved. The calm, 
 uncomplaining heroism with which he met his 
 misfortune was only superseded by the brave and 
 noble spirit which kind heaven had sent to his 
 side for such a time as this. 
 
 In the meantime the one who was the cause of 
 all this suffering and confusion of hope, the 
 drunken murderer, Emil Roberts, lay only a short 
 distance away on the same floor. His wound was 
 much more serious than Gyp's, and only the most 
 careful nursing would save his life, and if saved 
 it would be but for the gallows, as his victim of 
 the saloon brawl lay dead in the morgue. The 
 murder was so causeless, so unprovoked, that 
 should Roberts recover he must expiate his guilt 
 in accordance with that age-old, universal law 
 
306 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 of our race, "Whoso sheddeth man's blood by man 
 shall his blood be shed." 
 
 Days and weeks passed. Aida was untiring 
 in her attendance upon her lover. But not in- 
 frequently she paused at the cot of the poor 
 wretch who had been the cause of all her distress 
 and the bodily pain of the one whom she held so 
 dear. For this man she entertained no enmity. 
 Many a delicacy she left at his couch in the 
 name of Him who assures us that such kindness 
 shall not fail of its reward. Not infrequently 
 she shared with him some provision which she had 
 prepared for the one whose white cot was now the 
 dearest spot on earth to her. She could not 
 have it in her heart to cherish resentment against 
 one whose suffering was so keen and who must 
 so soon appear before the judgment bar of God. 
 She would not turn aside from a kindness which 
 might bring some brief ray of sunshine into his 
 heart and lead him to serious thoughts. 
 
 Meanwhile Gyp was rapidly recovering. He 
 was beginning to converse hopefully with those 
 about him. One day, as he leaned against a bar- 
 ricade of pillows, Aida pulled a chair up along- 
 side and said: 
 
 "Gyp, dear, I have something real good to tell 
 you." 
 
 "Everything you tell me, dearest, is good, al- 
 ways good," and he laid his pale hand upon hers. 
 "What is it now, dear?" 
 
 "Darling, I have been waiting a long time for 
 
THE RED LIGHT 307 
 
 this opportunity. But the doctor cautioned me 
 to wait until you were stronger. Now you will 
 soon be able to leave the hospital and there can- 
 not be any possible danger, so I am not going 
 to keep my secret any longer." 
 
 "And you have been hiding secrets from me all 
 these weeks. What a remarkable woman you 
 are." 
 
 "You didn't think I could do it.? But then 
 you know I had to. When it comes to saving 
 your precious life, I can keep a secret. Now, 
 here it is : do you remember the escaped prisoner, 
 Mr. Conway, who came to your father's home 
 years ago.^"' 
 
 "Indeed I do remember him, very well." 
 
 "And do you remember the time I met you both 
 in my little boat that dark night, and then later 
 when Mr. Conway left us and made his way North 
 to join the Federal army.'"' 
 
 "Very distinctly, dear," and Gyp wondered 
 why she asked these questions. 
 
 "Ten days or more ago I had a visit from Mr. 
 Conway. Now you are surprised, I know." 
 
 "Indeed you do surprise me. There is no man 
 I would rather meet. Is he still here?" 
 
 "No, he has gone. But you will see him later. 
 You were too ill to see him at the time. He came 
 hurriedly, especially on your account, and was 
 very much disappointed in not seeing you, but 
 was rejoiced to know that you were on the sure 
 road to recovery." 
 
308 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "How did he know I was here?" 
 
 "Gyp, dear, the awful tragedy of that night 
 when you were so sorely wounded was published 
 everywhere. Mr. Conway saw an account of it 
 in a northern paper and he dropped his business 
 and came down to see you and render what aid 
 he could." 
 
 "That was certainly most kind of him. I wish 
 I could have seen him." 
 
 "He's such a fine looking man ; not much like 
 the skeleton that came tottering to your door. 
 He said that since the war he had lost track of 
 you, and many a time had wondered what had be- 
 come of the barefoot lad who had befriended 
 him when there was only a step between him and 
 death. He is an iron manufacturer in Pennsyl- 
 vania and is at the head of an extensive business. 
 More than that, Gyp, he has made you an offer 
 of a very lucrative position in the mills as soon 
 as you are able to travel. He will write jj^ou in 
 a few days giving particulars, and will later call 
 upon you. And so, dear, you see your misfor- 
 tune has not been wholly a misfortune, for it has 
 given you a powerful friend, provided a lucra- 
 tive business; and then just think of how much 
 dearer we are to each other than ever before." 
 
 "My darling, it did not need any such pain 
 as we have endured to prove our love for each 
 other. But, somehow, it all seems too good to 
 be true," 
 
 "It does seem that way ; and how do you sup- 
 
THE RED LIGHT 309 
 
 pose I kept it all these many days," she answered 
 smilingly, and patted his pale cheek tenderly. 
 "Do you know it reminds me of Samson's riddle?" 
 
 "Samson's riddle? What's that?" 
 
 "Oh, you precious heathen ! Don't you know 
 your Bible? Listen: 'Out of the eater came 
 forth meat and out of the strong came forth 
 sweetness.' " 
 
 "That's a beautiful riddle, but I don't see any 
 point to it." 
 
 "You blessed skeptic ! Now don't be too 
 critical, please, and remember that I never 
 studied theology, except in your 'School of Philos- 
 ophy.' But let this be the interpretation of the 
 thing: Out of your adversity has come forth 
 a changed destiny, and out of your pain has 
 come forth fortune. Now how do you think I 
 would do for a professor in exegesis, or what- 
 ever the word is?" 
 
 "Bless you, darling, you are equal to a whole 
 theological seminar}^, and a nunnery thrown in 
 for good measure. But, talking about fortunes 
 reminds me that I have yet to tell you of my 
 great discovery." Gyp then told his sweetheart 
 of the crystal caverns and of what he had found 
 there in the King's Treasury ; he told her of his 
 twilight plannings with Miss Larue and of the 
 use he desired to make of his riches. And as they 
 talked together they already saw in vision a great 
 moral and intellectual transformation, educa- 
 tional and religious centers to which the boys 
 
310 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 and girls were coming as doves to their windows. 
 They saw the lowly cabins giving place to cultured 
 homes, church spires and college belfries. They 
 saw flouring mills and manufacturing plants take 
 the place of the crude still, and the rugged patri- 
 otism of the people forging to a higher civiliza- 
 tion when the mountains and the hills would sing 
 together in mutual prosperity. 
 
 The days following this conversation Gyp was 
 Avonderfully exuberant. He longed for the time 
 when he would be discharged from the hospital. 
 His companion in suffering grew daily more sullen 
 and uncommunicable; at times so profane and 
 blasphemous that he was unapproachable. His 
 wounds healed slowly. He had little to say to his 
 nurse. He was peevish, fretful, complaining, 
 when not too sullen to speak at all. He was irri- 
 tated by the pleasantries of those who tried to 
 cheer him, and gave vent to frequent outbursts 
 of profanity Avhen the least thing went wrong. 
 When told that Gyp would soon be out of the 
 hospital he became furious and cursed the un- 
 happy fate which compelled him to suffer when 
 others were enjoying freedom from bodily tor- 
 ture. His face grew livid, and he railed out at 
 Gyp and Aida, the nurse, and everyone who came 
 near or had anything to do with him. 
 
 His passion was terrible, and some were in- 
 clined to think him insane from his suffering. 
 Watching his opportunity when his physician and 
 nurse were out of the room, and Aida had gone 
 
THE RED LIGHT 311 
 
 down street on an errand, he arose from his cot 
 and made his way tremblingly and half-blind in 
 his weakness toward the couch where Gyp lay 
 asleep. He staggered along the way, holding on 
 to chairs and tables until he reached the cot 
 whereon the sleeper lay unconscious of what was 
 before him. Roberts glared down at him a mo- 
 ment like a wild animal, then grasping him by 
 the throat with his weak and nerveless hand, 
 threw himself upon him and hissed through his 
 teeth : 
 
 "Curse you, I've got you at last ! You're in 
 my power now. You don't remember me. You 
 think my name's Roberts. It's a lie. It's Ha- 
 bor. Jim Habor. Do you know me now, you 
 cursed rat ! This beard has been my disguise. 
 We met on the Red Swan's Neck. Now we meet 
 on the brink of hell. Prepare to meet your God. 
 Your wound was not an accident. I shot you, 
 and I shot to kill. I've shadowed that girl for 
 months. There's the wound she made on my 
 wrist and here's the scar of the gunshot in my 
 side. Curse her and you ! I've watched you 
 both since you came. Now it's the end. Die !" 
 and he grasped a knife, a short-bladed fruit knife 
 which the nurse had left on the stand, and with 
 all the hate and enfeebled strength which he could 
 command, his devilish eyes flashing their triumph, 
 raised his trembling arm to strike, when, like 
 Abraham of old, the uplifted hand was stayed as 
 the blood rushed to his brain. The room grew 
 
312 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 black as night about him ; his knees gave way and 
 he fell to the floor as a sack of grain might have 
 fallen. A few minutes later when the nurse en- 
 tered the room she found Habor dead on the 
 floor and Gyp speechless from the shock. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE OLD PARSON GOES A FISHING 
 
 One of the surprises that awaited Gyp on his 
 discharge from the hospital was the finding of his 
 old friend, the Rev. William Watchcob at the 
 breakfast table the first morning after going to his 
 hotel. He was the same old, angular, grey- 
 bearded man, much older in appearance, but with 
 the same snappy eyes hidden beneath their craggy 
 brows. 
 
 "Ever go a fishin'?" the old man inquired after 
 a dozen or more questions had been asked and 
 answered. 
 
 "Not in this neighborhood," responded the 
 young convalescent. 
 
 "Like fishin'.'"' without raising his eyes from 
 the breakfast table. 
 
 "I'm not greatly interested." 
 
 "Well I am. I look upon fishin' as a very or- 
 thodox callin' ; has good ancestry about the old 
 lake o' Galilee. Comes well connected. Con- 
 duces to repose o' soul, fishin' does. It gives the 
 nerves a sort o' felicitous settin'. Twixt nibbles 
 lies the promised land o' Contemplation, and twixt 
 contemplations you haul in your suckers. Want 
 to go.?" 
 
 313 
 
314 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 "I've some mighty important business on hand, 
 parson." 
 
 "Drop business and fish." 
 
 "Back by noon?" 
 
 "Long afore it. I'll come when ye wanter." 
 
 "Then I'll go." After his long confinement he 
 thought the outing would do him good. 
 
 "Driver," said the old man a little later, "you 
 know where I was yesterday? Drive us there." 
 
 They drove out of town, through long reaches 
 of palmetto scrub and patches of pine where the 
 verdureless sand lay glistening in the sun, 
 
 "Yes, Gyp, I'm still a Baptis' preacher, re- 
 tired from active service. I'm cnjoyin' the con- 
 solations o' my theology 'thout pesterin' about 
 unrooly sinners or bein' pestered by 'em. But 
 you see I still have a hankerin' after the water, 
 same as a loon, same as a goose. Hence my 
 fishin' proclivities. A Baptis', y' know, is a 
 creetur partakin' largely o' the duck natur. 
 Divin' an' paddlin' in the crick is sort o' heredi- 
 tary. No matter how far you carry him into the 
 scrub he will waddle back quack-quackin' to the 
 pool. Ye can't wean 'im f'm the aqueous ele- 
 ment." 
 
 When they reached the water the old man lost 
 no time in getting down to work, and was better 
 rewarded for his toil than the ordinary piscato- 
 rial adventurer. Every catch was followed with 
 a running comment, or homily, with his fish for a 
 text. 
 
PARSON GOES A FISHING 315 
 
 "You're a well-to-do sort of a fellow," he com- 
 mented, as he twisted the hook out of the mouth 
 of a speckled perch. "H-e-m ! a leader among 
 your companions, I allow ; a sort o' spotted poli- 
 tician, mayhap, but ye got the graft in yer gills 
 once too often. Ye've been in some sort o' ras- 
 cally business, and 3'e'r spots won't wash out — a 
 sort o' Lady Macbeth, lackin' the pettycoats. 
 Ye'r sides are sleek an' 3'e'r fins are sharp, an' 
 3^e'r built for gettin' thar ; but, ha ! ha ! ha ! ye'r 
 landed ! ye'r landed ! The slippery sinners '11 
 sometimes get caught on the gospill hook — some- 
 times ! Now there was Bunyan, and there was 
 Luther, and there was Jerry McAuley, and there 
 was — " 
 
 The line fairly whizzed through the air and a 
 poor little "shiner" shot aloft and whirled like a 
 leaf of the quaking-ash, and tearing itself from 
 the hook, disappeared in the water. 
 
 "Gone b'gosh ! Just like some sinners I know 
 of. We throw out the line o' invitation. They 
 parley, they trifle, they nibble at the truth, whisk 
 around and come back an' go to dawdlin' again. 
 Smell at it, peck at it, taste of it, wink and blink 
 and work their gills, then, maybe, take the bait 
 o' truth in the aidgc o' their triflin' jaws, stid o' 
 takin' a good square holt and holdin' on. We 
 pull, as in good grace we are bound to do ; and 
 about the time we think we got 'em landed on the 
 shores o' the kingdom they wriggle off the hook 
 and drop back again into worldliness. It's the 
 
316 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 natural result o' too much nibblin'. Don't nib- 
 ble, young man. Bite, lay holt. Get a good 
 square grip ; clap ye'r maxillaries right down on 
 the truth, snap ye'r teeth into it, and, my eye! 
 but ye'll get thar. 
 
 "There, see that? See that, young man?" A 
 glistening bream hung whirling from the line's end 
 like a plummet of silver. The old parson threw 
 it at his feet where it flopped around and danced 
 a minuet on nose and tail and beat time on the 
 dry planks much to the disgust of the reverend 
 father. 
 
 "He conducts himself like one o' the vain fel- 
 lows," sneered the old fisherman. "A society 
 scapegrace, without doubt. Probably belongs to 
 the high Church, and thinks 'cause this isn't lient 
 it don't make no difference what's doin'. Upper 
 crust, 'thout a doubt ; one o' the godless 300 ! O 
 yes," he rambled on as he twisted a shrimp onto 
 his hook and flung it hissing onto the water, 
 "I've seen lots o' sinners jus' like that shameless 
 bream. Get 'em into the church and they won't 
 be still a minute. They want to dance, or play 
 eucher, or fool with the fiddle, or run to the god- 
 less the-a-ter and keep the young folks in per- 
 petual hot water, an' hot water haint no part o' 
 the Baptis' constitution an' by-laws. The 
 preacher has to run his dear laigs off^ keepin' 
 them in line. Admonition has no more effeck on 
 'em than a shower bath on a 'gator. An' prayer 
 meetin'? Ye couldn't keep 'em in there 'cept ye 
 
PARSON GOES A FISHING 317 
 
 tie 'em to a pillar, lock the door an' have their 
 vittles fotched to 'em. An' then, ten to one, 
 they'd pull the staple out and get away, specially 
 if they is Baptis's. What that sort needs is sus- 
 tainin' grace to — 
 
 "Oh, there now ! Tubs and firkins, what a 
 shame !" And he pulled out a fish no larger than 
 a slice of a potato. "Poor thing ! Here, 3'ou : 
 go right back into the water! Stay there and 
 don't be meddlin' again with temptation. And 
 that reminds me o' the little folks in this all- 
 around work o' the kingdom. They, too, get 
 caught on the gospill hook. And, indeed, I think 
 it seasonable and scripturally reasonable that the 
 kids should be trained up in the sanctuary with 
 suitable pastoral supervision and admonitory 
 oversight. The little minnows need angle-worms 
 as well as the big, green-eyed, envious bass. But 
 for all that I don't encourage 'em joinin' the 
 church too young — too young, mind you. I've 
 had to throw 'em back into the water to let 'em 
 grow a bit. Feed 'em on the catechism and 
 gristle and see that they be a digestin' the nutri- 
 ment. Catechism, like homeopathy, is good for 
 children. They should tackle it with a realizin' 
 sense an' not take the hook in their gills 'thout 
 considerin'. Like fishes they are best when not 
 caught too young. But how young? Now that 
 is a question. Children, like these piscatorial 
 nibblers, differ ; and home training is a provender 
 that you've got to figger on. But I must say as 
 
318 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 how home trainin' don't put much hair on the 
 hide these times, beggin' yer pardon, young man, 
 for mixin' the figger. 
 
 "Sakes alive!" ejaculated the good man, with 
 that prodigal abandon of speech so characteristic 
 of those who angle in many waters. "What'n the 
 name o' Jordan's stormy banks has got onto that 
 hook? See it! See it! I'd jus' like to know! 
 Such lawlessness and irregularity o' procedure I 
 never see since we ejeckted Brother Shamokin 
 from the conference for contumacy. Yes, an' for 
 usin' langwidge that wouldn't weigh sixteen 
 ounces to the pound. He wa'n't even up to the 
 Baptis's low water mark. How that creetur 
 pulls ! I bet you a Rous's version 'gain a pair 
 overalls it's a 'gator!" 
 
 He tried to land it ; but the rod sprang into a 
 hoop with no result. The denizen of the deep 
 held its own. The parson swung his pole hither 
 and yon and the line sung through the water like 
 a thread in the window when the winds are up. 
 But the catch floundered about as if it was not 
 particularly concerned about the movements on 
 the pier. It would not "play" according to any 
 recognized authority. In that event the good 
 father would have gone by the "book." There 
 seemed to be nothing in the "Standards" to meet 
 the case. The "higher critics" were silent on 
 landing a thing like that. They were better at 
 "diggin' for grubs than for catchin' fish. They 
 know all about the whale and the size o' his thrap- 
 
PARSON GOES A FISHING 319 
 
 pie, but when it comes to helpin' ole Baptis' 
 preachers catch sinners or suckers they'r off bur- 
 rowin' in the sand like woodchucks. They'r down- 
 pullin' 'stead o' up-buildin'." 
 
 "Better let him go, parson," suggested Gyp. 
 
 "What ? And lose a two-dollar-and-a-half pole, 
 line, bobber and hook? Boy, I'm an old Baptis' 
 preacher, but I hain't no ejit. There's sumthin' 
 down thar ; an' it's alius bigger when you can't see 
 it. That fish may be a little Antinomian, or like 
 some o' them ]Methodisses w^ho pull on the gospill 
 hook 'thout shettin' their mouths: jes up an' hol- 
 ler an' pull on the line an' work their gills an' 
 wag for more. Cayn't blame 'em, howsomever, 
 if they're gettin' the genooine bait. The more ye 
 get the fatter ye is. But this here contumachus 
 sinner'll know more when I land him plump on 
 the dock." 
 
 The venerable divine felt himself without "prec- 
 edent." No twist of the pole would bring up 
 that denizen of the deep. 
 
 "This is abnormal ; it is onprecedented, and I 
 must do as I am led." With that the old man 
 dropped the pole on the planks, laid hold of the 
 line with his two clerical hands and pulled for 
 dear life. But the catch dragged like a stone at 
 the bottom. Then he turned with his back to the 
 water and drew the line over his shoulder, as if 
 drawing a load of wood up hill. When he had 
 drawn his fish to the side of the pier he turned 
 about, wrapped the line about his hands and 
 
820 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 pulled straight up. He was doing "as he was 
 led," when the line caught in a crack in one of 
 the planks and suddenly snapped. The parson 
 turned a back somersault and fell into the water 
 on the opposite side of the pier. 
 
 "By heck!" he sputtered, as he flung the water 
 out of his nose and eyes. 
 
 Gyp ran to his help, but the old fisherman 
 emerged from his cool bath and floated ashore, 
 sputtering like a seal, with his hair in his eyes 
 and his beard in ropes and his thin trousers cling- 
 ing to his limbs like wet paper to the palings 
 after a storm. 
 
 "Young man!" he puffed and snorted as he 
 climbed up the bank, dripping like a merino in 
 sheep-washing. "Young man, come here! Bear 
 me witness ; y' see I'm ashore, and I havn't made 
 one untoward or infelicitous observation; not one 
 to which you could fix an exclamation point, 'cept 
 'by heck!' an' 'by heck!' 's orthodox Baptis' for 
 dammit. Many a man in my predicament would 
 have blurted out things unmailable and unspell- 
 able. He would have used language for all that 
 was in it. He would have thrown off the brakes 
 regardless of the stress on the britchen and let 
 her go. But here I stand a soggy monyment to 
 the integerty o' the ministry and the Third 
 C'mandment." 
 
 "Can I be of any help to you, parson.?" Gyp 
 solicitously inquired. "Hadn't we better drive to 
 a near-by house where you may be able to make 
 
PARSON GOES A FISHING 321 
 
 some changes in your raiment?" but for the life 
 of him he could scarcely keep back the tears of 
 laughter. It hurt his side so that he was afraid 
 his wound would break out afresh. 
 
 "What, go away and lose that fish? I'm a 
 Baptis' and a sticker. I'll trust the Lord and 
 keep these britches on till that thing's landed. I 
 speak as in a figger and not after the manner of 
 my seek." 
 
 His clothing stuck to him as if it had been 
 glued there, yet he seized the broken end of the 
 line which still stuck in the plank and with a lit- 
 tle more caution began to draw up, as one would 
 draw a bucket out of a well, hand under hand. 
 The first thing he saw was a great mouth coming 
 up out of the water, then a couple of flexible 
 horns and two glistening eyes that shone above 
 the encircling ripples. Parson Watchcob's blood 
 began to creep, his hat fell into the water, but he 
 kept on pulling. Then he saw a long, dark, slip- 
 pery, rubber-like back with the color shading into 
 satiny white on the belly. 
 
 "Shades of Jonah and the whale ! It's a cat ! 
 a measly, pharisaical catfish !" 
 
 He flung it on the pier ; and the great, grue- 
 some creature writhed and yawned and twisted 
 its exorbitant mouth, worked its flexible horns 
 and stared at the preacher with glassy eyes, as 
 if to say: "I'd just like to get a good hold of 
 you for a minute !" 
 
 But the old divine looked down upon his victim 
 
322 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 as if ashamed to have wasted on it so much phy- 
 sical energy and unprofitable speculation, to say 
 nothing of a good orthodox immersion. Then he 
 tied his broken line, baited his hook, threw it on 
 the water and blurted: 
 
 "It's often the misfortune o' the minister o' 
 the gospill to be taken in with a thing like that ! 
 That groveling cat looks and acts for all the 
 world like a dastard infidel. They're always try- 
 in' to get the preachers into deep water, and, 
 dodgastem, they sometimes succeed ! But we land 
 'em at last, once the hook is in their jaws. Reg- 
 ular agnostic, he is ! Look at his mouth. I 
 never see so much capacity put to so poor a use. 
 Wouldn't that make the ordinary infidel green 
 with envy and kindle the fires o' jealousy in the 
 soul of a higher critic? What magnificent re- 
 sources goin' to waste. Agnostic through and 
 through or my diagnose fails. These critters 
 sometimes mingle with more wholesome fishes, as 
 infidels with better folk. But who eats a catfish.? 
 Who loves a catfish? Who writes sonnets to a 
 catfish? Nay, verily. As the catfish among the 
 fishes, so is the infidel among the sons of men." 
 
 With that he reeled up his line, the disgust 
 plainly showing in his countenance. 
 
 "Come on, young man. Even a Baptis' knows 
 when he's had enough o' water. Come along 
 home." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 ON THE SEA WALL 
 
 AiDA and Gyp, their hospital days happily 
 over, stood upon the sea wall. The moon rose 
 out of the deep and silvered the watery east. Old 
 ocean glistened like a plain of isinglass. Across 
 the shimmering desert of water a boulevard of 
 light ran from the moon's disk to the grey spit 
 of sand on the glimmering beach, climbed the 
 long comb of dunes and lost itself in the marsh- 
 green of Anastasia. Falling upon the Matanzas 
 the moon-ribbon bound the sea-wall where the lov- 
 ers stood to the soft lunar placque that shone so 
 benign and far away. The thin blade of the is- 
 land alone severed the path of glory which joined 
 these far-flung terminals. 
 
 "The dream ! The dream !" exclaimed Gyp en- 
 thusiastically, as he pointed his index finger to- 
 ward the sea. 
 
 "What dream.?" Aida inquired, as she looked 
 into his animated face. 
 
 "The dream that helped me solve the riddle." 
 "Now, dear, you are talking in riddles." 
 "Bless you, darling, I had forgotten. Did you 
 ever hear of a mysterious little problem prepared 
 by two sweet young ladies and given to an unso- 
 
 323 
 
SM THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 phisticated mountaineer away out yonder in the 
 land of the sky?" 
 
 "A problem? Two young ladies? Off in the 
 mountains?" she responded in a trinity of in- 
 terrogations and a sweet assumption of ignorance. 
 
 "Yep !" laughed Gyp, lapsing into his native 
 vernacular. 
 
 "Young ladies ! a dream ! I know nothing of 
 any dream." 
 
 "It is this way : Two very interesting gentle 
 folk gave me a geographical problem, and before 
 I solved it I had a dream, and the beautiful vi- 
 sion which I saw in my dream was the same that 
 lies before us here to-night." 
 
 "Oh, tell me about it! Do. You excite my 
 curiosity." 
 
 "Look at the scene and you behold the dream. 
 There is one thing different." 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 "I wasn't in the dream ; but I'm here." 
 
 "The mystery deepens." 
 
 "And the young lady of the vision was the fair- 
 est I ever saw." 
 
 "Now I'm going to be jealous." 
 
 "There is the river — ^just as I saw it in my 
 dream ; yonder looms the lighthouse ; here are 
 the ships, the island and the light foam tumbling 
 on the beach. Oh, it's the same scene, Aida, dear, 
 the same scene ! It's the dream, the dream !" and 
 he clapped his hands exult ingly. 
 
ON THE SEA WALL 325 
 
 "You seem to be having a splendid good time 
 with it, all to yourself," laughed the merry- 
 hearted girl. "Won't you be kind enough to un- 
 wind your spool a little for the sake of your 
 precious ignoramus?" 
 
 "I'm unraveling, darling, and I think you un- 
 derstand how to wind up the yarn pretty well. 
 Listen : I saw tall palmettoes, and here they are ; 
 I beheld long Spanish mosses swaying in the winds 
 like old men's beards, and there on the trees are 
 the mosses, my dear." 
 
 "And I'm likely to be moss-grown before I am 
 much wiser," and her rollicking laugh was con- 
 tagious. But Gyp resisted the infection and 
 went right on : 
 
 "I heard mocking-birds sing, as we heard them 
 to-day, sweet and rhythmical as your own happy 
 voice. And I saw on all sides rare and beautiful 
 flowers, well-dressed people with bright smiles and 
 happy faces, and best of all, I saw a radiant 
 maiden — " 
 
 "Yes, I heard that a moment ago. You see 
 now I am jealous," and she gave his arm a sug- 
 gestive squeeze just to let him know that she did 
 not mean a word of it. "Can't you tell me about 
 her.?" 
 
 "My vocabulary is not equal to the occasion or 
 the subject. She was an exquisite creature, and 
 she looked toward the east, just as we are look- 
 ing now. The ships stood upon the sea, just as 
 
326 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 they stand now. The island lay blank across my 
 vision, just as it lies now. It's all there, m}^ dear 
 one! The young lady was robed in spotless 
 white, just as she is robed now. Her throat and 
 fingers flashed with jewels, just as they flash 
 now. Her face was fair and sweet as the face of 
 an angel, just as it is now, with a bit of the blush 
 of the sunrise in it." 
 
 "Oh, Gyp, I can't stand this. No wonder her 
 cheeks were red, as mine are now. Listen to me. 
 I have a thousand things to tell you before you 
 go farther." 
 
 "Wait, darling," and he stooped and kissed the 
 sunrise blush on her cheek, then, with anointed 
 lips he went right on : 
 
 "And this lovely creature looked upon the river 
 so sweetly that the river was charmed ; and in my 
 dream I heard her say : — " 
 
 "What did you hear her say?" 
 
 "Nothing !" 
 
 "Nothing?" 
 
 "I mean she got no whither with her speech." 
 
 "A most entertaining female, surely." 
 
 "But she led me on a most delightful quest." 
 
 "I'm listening." 
 
 "This, beloved, is what she said: 'As these 
 rivers unite and flow to the sea, so shall the lives 
 of Gyp Stybright— ' " 
 
 "Oh, go on ; go on. I'm wonderfully in- 
 terested." 
 
 "That's all. She got no farther. You see I 
 
ON THE SEA WALL 327 
 
 awoke, and awaking spoiled the vision. Now I'm 
 waiting for her to finish the sentence !" 
 
 "Oh, what a sweet, old, tantalizing fellow you 
 are !" 
 
 "The dream was heaven to me ; and I am now 
 waiting for the angel to swing the doors ajar and 
 let me in. 
 
 ?» 
 
 "Gyp, dear, that's magnificent. I have never 
 been so near the celestial gates in my life as just 
 right now. But I must explain things before I 
 let you go any farther." 
 
 "What things?" 
 
 "Things that lie between our parting on the 
 mountains and our meeting here." 
 
 "Let the dead past bury its dead." 
 
 "It cannot. Only the living can bury the dead. 
 But this is neither death, funeral nor epitaph for 
 either of us." 
 
 "No, darling. It is a resurrection. There- 
 fore let the old years go. Whatever you did was 
 right. Whatever you failed to do was right, and 
 that's the end on't. Let me ask, what of that 
 conundrum about the rivers.?" 
 
 "Oh, that artless riddle about finding the city 
 between the rivers and you would find happiness.? 
 That was but a bit of girl fun to introduce the 
 subject nearest your heart and mine." 
 
 "But if I had failed.?" 
 
 "But you did not." 
 
 "Now, you darling girl, tell me," and he took 
 both her hands in his, "shall the prophesy of the 
 
3S8 THE RED SWAN'S NECK 
 
 rivers come true? You know they ran together 
 to the sea. Shall the rivers typify our lives?" 
 
 "How can I tell, you precious boy ! I can only 
 hope, can you?" 
 
 And that night they started down the way of 
 the rivers.