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 4 
 
Heart of the Blue Ridge 
 
They went sedatel}-, in all seeming, for the mountain folk are 
 chary in demonstrations of affection 
 
Heart of the Blue Ridge 
 
 BT 
 
 WALDRON BAILY 
 
 FRONTISPIECE BY 
 
 DOUGLAS DUER 
 
 w 
 
 I 
 
 New York 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1915, by 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 Publishtd May 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
 
TO 
 
 Jrtting; ^arl|eller 
 
 WITH THE APPRECIATION OF THB AUTHOR 
 
 o 
 o 
 
Heart of the Blue Ridge 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHERE the trail bent over a knoll, Zeke 
 halted, and put down from his shoulder 
 the hickory cudgel ,with its dangling 
 valise of black oilcloth — total of baggage with 
 which he was faring forth into the world. Then, 
 he straightened himself, and looked back over the 
 way he had come. 
 
 There, to the east, the dusk of night still lay 
 somberly, hardly touched by the coming dawn. 
 Through the shadows, the mountain masses loomed 
 formidable and mysterious, vaguely outlined against 
 the deeper gloom of valleys. The melancholy of the 
 scene seemed a fit setting for the cottage that rested 
 invisible within the forest, a half-mile distant from 
 him. In imagination, he saw the withered old 
 woman, his mother, still standing on the threshold, 
 looking toward him, even as he looked toward her, 
 
2 HEART OF. THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 her heart warm with love, her every thought a 
 prayer for his happiness. It was borne in on Zeke 
 once again that she would be very lonely in her 
 desolate home, where death had spared to her only 
 this son. . . . And, now, he was gone from her ! 
 A poignant sorrow welled in him. 
 
 Zeke thrust the emotion away, lest it unman him. 
 He faced about, drearily enough, and stood with 
 downcast, unseeing eyes, in anxious pondering. And 
 then, presently, assuagement was granted him. He 
 lifted his gaze, and behold! here was another world, 
 all of soft splendors, of throbbing radiance. 
 
 The eager beams of the unrisen sun shimmered 
 above the mountain ranges of the horizon, and 
 streamed toward the zenith in a panoply of har- 
 monious hues, colorful promise of the May morn- 
 ing's joyous mood. Of a sudden, under the soothing 
 influence, the watcher became listener as well. His 
 ears noted with delight the glad singing of the birds 
 in the wood around about. His glance caught the 
 white gleam of the tiny belled blossoms that clustered 
 on a crooked sour-wood by the path, and the pene- 
 trant perfume of them stirred to life a new and 
 subtler emotion. A flame of tenderness burned in 
 the clear hazel of his eyes, as he stared out over 
 the trail before him. Under the increasing light 
 his gaze could distinguish the line of the valley a 
 mile further on, in which the Siddon cottage lay 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 3 
 
 hidden. His firmly-set lips relaxed abruptly into 
 a smile of wistful softness. He swung stick and 
 bag across his shoulder once again, and set off 
 briskly down the slope of the knoll. His thoughts 
 were no longer gray over the mother who mourned 
 his going: they were roseate with anticipations of 
 beholding the girl he loved. Now, the mood of the 
 morning danced in his blood. The palpitant desire 
 of all nature in the spring thrilled through his heart. 
 His mind was filled with a vision of her gracious 
 young loveliness, so soon to be present before him 
 at their meeting. . . . Their meeting — their 
 parting ! At thought of that corollary, a cold despair 
 clutched the lad, a despair that was nothing like the 
 sedate sorrow over leaving his mother, a despair that 
 was physical sickness, wrenching, nauseating, but 
 passed beyond the physical to rack the deeps of 
 being. For the first time, jealousy surged hideous 
 in him, born of the realization that she must be 
 left exposed to the wooing of other men — she, the 
 utterly desirable! In a fierce impulse of mingled 
 fear and rage, he stopped short, and cried out : 
 
 "I'll be damned if they kin steal her! She's 
 mine. She done told me so, and Plutiny wouldn't 
 
 lie r 
 
 From an ambush of laurel bushes close beside 
 the path, a tall, slender form stood forth, the lissome 
 figure of a girl in the budding charm of womanhood. 
 
4 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 There was a lithe, curving beauty in the lines that 
 the scant homespun gown outlined so clearly. The 
 swift movement by which she revealed herself was 
 instinct with grace. As she rested motionless, with 
 arms extended in a gesture of appeal, there was a 
 singular dignity in the pose, a distinction of per- 
 sonality that was in no wise marred by bare feet 
 and shapeless gown; not even by the uncouthness 
 of dialect, when she spoke. And winsomeness of 
 form and bearing was crowned by the beauty of 
 her face, in which the insipidity of regular features 
 was redeemed by exquisite coloring of rose and 
 white, and by the dusk brilliance of the eyes. The 
 tender lips were wreathed to playful reproach, as 
 she addressed the lover for whom she thus waited 
 at the dawn : 
 
 "Zekie — oh, Zekie! Ye hain't a-cussin' o' mc, 
 be ye?" 
 
 The young man, surprised, started, and regarded 
 the girl in confusion. The red that had suffused 
 his tanned cheeks deepened to a burning blush of 
 embarrassment, as he realized that his outburst had 
 been overheard by her who had been the cause of it. 
 But his eyes met her quizzical glance with candid 
 directness. After a moment, he spoke. All the 
 harshness was gone from his voice; its soft drawl 
 was vibrant with tenderness. 
 
 "No, Honey, I hain't a'cussin' o' you-all. I was 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE g 
 
 jest a-mentionin' some folks. But I hain't a- feared. 
 Nobody hain't a-goin' to steal yer love from me." 
 
 ''Nobody — never, Zeke!" the girl answered, sim- 
 ply. There was an infinite honesty, an unalterable 
 loyalty, in the curt words. 
 
 As he listened, the flush died from the lover's 
 face; contentment shone in his expression. 
 
 "1 knowed hit, Honey — I knowed hit all the 
 time. I know when I come back I'll find ye waitin'." 
 
 "Ye'll come back, I reckon, with fool idees 'bout 
 what yer women- folks ought to wear, like them 
 furriners down below." Her face relaxed into a 
 genial smile, which brought a dimple to shadow the 
 pink bloom of her cheek. But there was a trace 
 of pensiveness; the vague hint of jealousy in the 
 slow tones: 
 
 *'Yes, I'll be a-waitin' till ye come, Zekie. An' 
 if the wearin' o' shoes an' stockin's '11 make ye any 
 happier, why, I guess I kin stand 'em — an' them 
 ladies' straighteners, too. Yep, I'd wear 'em, if they 
 did squeeze me fit to bust." 
 
 Since Plutina had thus come to meet him, there 
 was no need that he should follow further the trail 
 toward the Siddon cabin, which lay out of his 
 course. At the girl's suggestion that she should 
 accompany him a little way on the first stage of his 
 journey out into the world, the two turned back 
 toward the broader path, which led to the south- 
 
6 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 west until it met the North Wilkesboro' road. The 
 two walked side by side, along this lovers' lane of 
 nature's kindly devising. They went sedately, in 
 all seeming, for the mountain folk are chary in 
 demonstrations of affection. Yet, beneath the aus- 
 tere mask imposed by convention, their hearts were 
 thrilling with the rapture each found in the near 
 presence of the other. The glamour of romance was 
 like a golden mist over all the scene, irradiating each 
 leaf and flower, softening the bird-calls to fairy 
 flutings, draping the nakedness of distant rugged 
 peaks, bearing gently the purling of the limpid 
 brook along which the path ran in devious com- 
 placence. Often, indeed, the lovers' way led them 
 into the shallows, through which their bare feet 
 splashed unconcerned. The occasional prismatic 
 flash of a leaping trout in the deeper pools caught 
 their eyes. So, presently, the girl was moved to 
 speak — with visible effort, very shyly, for the ex- 
 pression of her love in words was a thing unfamiliar, 
 difficult. 
 
 'T sha'n't have nobody to make flies fer now," 
 she said dully. 'T jest hain't a-goin' arter the trout 
 fer fun no more till ye comes back." 
 
 Zeke would have answered, but he checked the 
 words at his lips, lest the trembling of his voice 
 might betray a feeling deemed inconsistent with 
 manliness. They went forward in silence, a-quiver 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 7 
 
 with desire each of the other, yet mute with the 
 forced repression of custom. Now, too, the sor- 
 row of the parting so close at hand, colored their 
 mood more and more, so that the golden glamour 
 first dimmed and then changed into a sinister pall 
 which overhung all the loveliness of the morning. 
 'At a turn in the path, where it topped a rise, before 
 descending a long slope to the highway, Zeke came 
 to a standstill. The girl paused obediently beside 
 him. He fumbled in a pocket awkwardly, and 
 drew forth a tiny square of coffee-colored stone, 
 roughly lined, which he held out toward his com- 
 panion. The tracery of the crystal formed a Maltese 
 cross. The girl expressed no surprise. She ac- 
 cepted the token with a grave nod as he dropped i\ 
 into her palm, and she remained gazing down at it 
 with eyes hidden under the heavy white lids and long, 
 curving lashes of shadowy brown. 
 
 Zeke spoke, very earnestly: 
 
 "Hit's fer good luck, Tiny — fer good luck to 
 he'p ye while we're apart. Mebby, hit'll git in hits 
 work by softenin' the hardness o' yer gran'pap's 
 heart agin me." 
 
 In truth, the concentration of his thought on the 
 fragment of stone had been enough of itself to give 
 a talisman occult potence. That concentration of 
 desire for the girl's well-being was not merely of 
 this moment. It had been with him constantly dur- 
 
8 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ing long hours of tedious clambering yesterday, when 
 he followed the channel of Garden Creek through 
 its tortuous course among the ravines of the Blue 
 Ridge, through the narrow defile of the Devil's 
 Garden, sunless, strewn with rubble of boulders, 
 with a chaos of shattered rock masses — debris, super- 
 stition said, of cataclysm — of the Crucifixion, when 
 the mountain crests tore themselves asunder, and 
 cast their pinnacles into the abyss for rage and grief. 
 The searcher had climbed on and on, until he reached 
 the nook sacred to the crystals. For concerning 
 these, also, the superstition had its say, and told that 
 the little pieces of stone, with the cross marked on 
 each, were, in fact, the miraculously preserved tears 
 shed by the fairies of these fastnesses in the dread 
 hour of the Saviour's anguish. The lover had 
 sought long for a crystal that should be perfect. 
 Now that it lay within the girl's hand, he was con- 
 tent of his toil. Surely, whatever the truth concern- 
 ing its origin, it was a holy thing, for the emblem it 
 bore. It would serve to shield her against aught 
 evil that might threaten — even the grandfather's 
 enmity against him, which set a barrier between 
 them and happiness. The crystal would abide with 
 her in sign of his love's endurance, strong to save her 
 and to cherish her against any ill. He sighed with 
 relief, when she raised the crystal, and dropped it 
 within her bosom. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 9 
 
 Still, as always, fearful of showing emotion tOQ 
 openly, Zeke hastened to introduce a new topic. He 
 took from a pocket a book of twelve two-cent post- 
 age stamps, to secure which he had trudged the four 
 miles from his mother's cabin to the Cherry Lane 
 post-office. The book, in its turn, was proffered to 
 Plutina, who accepted it in mild bewilderment. 
 
 The lover explained : 
 
 "Honey," he said, without any embarrassment 
 over the fact, "ye knows my ole mammy hain't edi- 
 cated, an' I want ye to write for her once a month, 
 arter I write to tell ye w^har I'll be." 
 
 The girl nodded tacit acceptance of the trust, and 
 consigned the stamps to a resting place alongside the 
 crystal. And then, after a little, she spoke heavily: 
 
 "I reckon as how you-all better be a-joggin', 
 Zeke." 
 
 For answer, the lad caught the girl in his arms, 
 and gave her a kiss on either cheek — the hearty, 
 noisy smacks of the mountaineer's courting. But, 
 in the next instant, he drew her close in an embrace 
 that crushed the two warm bodies to rapture. His 
 lips met hers, and clung, till their beings mingled. 
 Afterward, he went from her voicelessly. Voice- 
 lessly, she let him go. . . . There could be no 
 words to comfort the bitterness of such parting. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 WHEN he was come within view of Joines' 
 mill and store on Roaring River, Zeke 
 halted again for a final look back toward 
 the wild home land, which he was now leaving for 
 the first time. The blackness of his mood after 
 parting with the girl had passed, though melancholy 
 still made him its own. The resilience of youth 
 was turning his spirits again toward the hopes that 
 had inspired this going forth from his own familiar 
 little wilderness into the vast and unknown wilder- 
 ness of the world beyond. As he stared out at the 
 scattered peaks, reared like conning towers over the 
 sprawling medley of ridge and valley, a throb of 
 fondness shook his heart. It was not sprung from 
 esthetic appreciation of the wild and romantic land- 
 scape, though this had been sufficient to justify the 
 stir of feeling. His sensibility was aroused by the 
 dear friendliness of all the scene, where hollows and 
 heights had been his constant haunts through all 
 the days of childhood and adolescence until this 
 hour. Of a sudden, he realized as never before a pro- 
 found tenderness for this country of beetling crags 
 
 10 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE ii 
 
 and crystal rivers, of serene spaces and balsamic airs. 
 Hitherto, he had esteemed the neighborhood in some 
 dull, matter-of-course fashion, such as folk or- 
 dinarily give to their native territory. But, in this 
 instant of illumination, on the eve of separating 
 himself from the place, love of it surged within him. 
 This was his home, the dwelling of his dear ones. 
 He felt toward it a quick reverence as for something 
 strangely sacred. His eyes went to the great bulk 
 of Stone Mountain, which jutted just before him 
 to the east, its league of naked rock lying like some 
 monstrous guardian of the place. Somehow, the 
 dignity of the massive curving cliffs soothed him, 
 heartened him anew. The immutability of the huge 
 mound of stone was a prophecy. Through the ages, 
 it had maintained its ward steadfastly. So it would 
 remain. A gush of confidence washed away the last 
 of the watcher's depression. He could go on his 
 way undismayed. These things here that were so 
 dear to him would abide his return. The old mother 
 and Plutina would rest secure against his home- 
 coming. The time, after all, would not be long. 
 Meantime, there was the great adventure. Zeke 
 whirled, and trudged blithely onward. 
 
 Opportunity had come to Zeke Higgins, and 
 he had not hesitated to seize it. His desire 
 for a larger life than that of the tiny, scrabbly 
 mountain farm had been early excited; it had per- 
 
ifi HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 sisted ; it had increased steadily, though the possibil- 
 ity of its realization had seemed remote. Stark 
 poverty demanded that he remain to coax a scant 
 living from the soil for his mother. Yet, his deter- 
 mination was fixed. He got some smattering of 
 education, along with Plutina, from a kindly Quaker 
 who came among the "Boomers" of the Blue Ridge 
 as a missionary school-teacher. Thus, Zeke learned 
 surprisingly much. His thirsty brain took up 
 knowledge as a sponge takes up water. So great 
 was his gratitude to this instructor that, when the 
 stranger was revealed as a revenue officer questing 
 illicit stills, Zeke, despite inherited prejudice, guided 
 the hunted man by secret trails over the mountains 
 into Virginia, and thereby undoubtedly saved a life. 
 Indeed, the disappearance of the officer was so well 
 contrived that the mountaineers themselves for a 
 time did not suspect the fact of the escape. There 
 is a great basin in the rock on the north side of Stone 
 Mountain. It has been hollowed out through cen- 
 turies by the little stream that comes leaping madly 
 down the ledges. The cauldron has a sinister repute. 
 It is deemed the sepulchre of more than one spy, 
 cast down into the abyss from the mountain's brim. 
 It was generally believed that the false school-teacher 
 was of the number. 
 
 Somehow, long afterward, report had it that the 
 man was alive. Rumor implicated Zeke as having 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 13 
 
 had a share in the fellow's escape. Old Dick Siddon, 
 Plutina's grandfather, heard. He had hated the 
 "revenuers" always. Since the death of his only 
 son at their hands, his hatred had become a mania. 
 He was a strong man, fierce in anger. When he 
 bade his grandchild dismiss her favored suitor, she 
 feigned obedience. She, and Zeke as well, knew the 
 futility of fighting the old man's prejudices. But, 
 with the optimism of youth, the lovers hoped for 
 happiness. A little older, they might at least defy 
 the hostile guardian. In the meantime, Zeke was 
 determined to attain material prosperity during the 
 period of waiting. 
 
 Then, Richard Sutton came into the mountains 
 of the Blue Ridge. He chanced on Zeke, made use 
 of the lad as a guide. Soon mutual liking and 
 respect developed. Sutton was a manufacturer of 
 tree-nails — the wooden pins used in ships' timbers. 
 Here in the ranges was an abundance of locust tim- 
 ber, the best for his need. And there was much talk 
 of a branch railway to come. His alert business 
 imagination saw that a factory located at the source 
 of supply would be advantageous. He saw, too, the 
 capacity for development in his young friend. Zeke's 
 familiarity with the region might be valuable — more 
 valuable still his popularity and the respect accorded 
 him in the community. Sutton suggested to the 
 young man that he should come to New York 
 
14 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 presently, there to learn the details of manufacture, 
 with the prospect of return, later on, to manage the 
 business in the mountains. Naturally, the project 
 was splendid to Zeke's ambition. His only fear had 
 been lest his departure be delayed by lack of money, 
 for pride would not let him confess his extremity 
 to Sutton. There must be some cash in hand for 
 his mother's support, until he should be able to send 
 her more. Then, as he fretted, opportunity favored 
 him anew, for a surveying party came to run a 
 railroad branch north to Stone Mountain. He was 
 employed as ax-man and assistant cook. His wages 
 solved the difficulty, so far as his mother's need 
 was concerned. For the rest, he took only a small 
 sum to his own use, since he was minded to work 
 his way north on shipboard from Norfolk. It was in 
 accord with such high hopes that this May morning 
 found him tramping, barefooted, into Joines' store, 
 with the black oilcloth valise slung from his shoulder. 
 
 The halt here was a necessary feature in Zeke's 
 itinerary. On a previous visit to the store, he had 
 purchased a pair of serviceable, if rather ungainly, 
 shoes. Since he would have no occasion for their 
 use at home, he had saved himself the trouble of 
 carrying them to and fro. 
 
 *T reckon I'll take them-thar shoes o' mine," he 
 said to the grizzled proprietor, after an exchange of 
 friendly greetings with the few loungers present. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 15 
 
 These were well aware of his planned departure, 
 though ignorant of his definite aims. 
 
 ''Ye hain't a-goin' to put 'em on yit, be ye?" the 
 storekeeper inquired, solicitously. 
 
 ''Not till I git to North Wilkesboro'," Zeke 
 answered, to the obvious relief of the assembly, as 
 he opened the bag. While he was busy stowing the 
 shoes, the onlookers commented cynically on the 
 folhes of fashion. 
 
 "An' I've hearn tell," one concluded, "that durn- 
 nigh everybody done war shoes in the city, all year 
 roun'." 
 
 Perhaps the young man felt a pleasant glow of 
 superiority in reflecting on the fact that such follow- 
 ing of city fashion would soon distinguish him. But 
 his innocent vanity was not to be unduly flattered. 
 
 "Ca'late to stay away till ye've made yer fortin, 
 in course, sonny?" one of the older men suggested. 
 He enjoyed some local reputation as a w^ag, the 
 maintenance of which so absorbed his energies that 
 his wife, who had lost whatever sense of humor she 
 might once have had, toiled both indoors and out. 
 
 "Why, yes, o' course," Zeke replied unsuspect- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Better kiss we-uns good-by, sonny," was the re- 
 tort. "You-all '11 be gone quite some time." 
 
 The sally was welcomed with titters and guffaws. 
 Zeke was red to the ears with mortification and 
 
i6 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 anger, as he shut the vaHse, shouldered it, and strode 
 to the door. But even in the time of that passing, he 
 mastered his mood in a measure. He had no wish 
 to make his farewell to these neighbors in bitterness 
 of spirit. So, at the door, he turned and grinned 
 amiably on the group. 
 
 "I want pleasant things to remember hyarabouts, 
 all thet-thar long time I got to be away," he said, 
 with a quizzical drawl ; ''so I kain't be a-kissin' o' ye 
 none. My stomick hain't none so strong nohow," 
 he added, with the coarseness that usually flavored 
 the humor of the countryside. 
 
 Then, abruptly, the smile left his lips; the lines 
 of his face hardened; the hazel eyes brightened 
 and widened a little. His low, slow voice came 
 firmly, with a note of tense earnestness. It was as 
 if he spoke to himself, rather than to the slouching 
 men, who regarded him curiously. 
 
 "I hain't leavin' all this-hyar 'cause I don't love 
 hit," he declared. 'T do love hit, an' I aim to come 
 back by-an-bye — I shore do!" 
 
 Forthwith, embarrassed anew by this unmeditated^ 
 outburst, he hurried off, amid an astonished silence 
 which was broken at last by the storekeeper. 
 ^ "Thet-thar Zeke Higgins," he ventured, somewhat 
 indistinctly through his matting of whiskers, ''I 
 swow if he hain't got right feelin's, fer all he's so 
 durn peart." And his cronies nodded assent. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 17 
 
 As he pressed onward, the adventurer quickly 
 regained his poise. The novelty of the situation 
 thrilled him agreeably. His thoughts were crowded 
 with imaginings of the strange things to come. Am- 
 bitious vision of himself successful among the city's 
 throngs made his pulses beat faster. He felt that 
 he had within him the power to achieve something 
 worth while in the world. Certainly, he would not 
 fail for lack of striving. But no triumph elsewhere 
 could ever wean him from his love for the Blue 
 Ridge — for his home country. Yes, it was as he 
 had said there in the store : He would come back. 
 He would come back to the cabin in the "cove" under 
 the shadows of Stone Mountain — back to the old 
 mother, back to Plutina. A warmth of exquisite 
 tenderness vibrated through him, as his hope leaped 
 to that home-coming, to the time when once again 
 the girl should rest clinging on his bosom. And a 
 great peace lay under all his joy of anticipation. His 
 love knew no doubt. She had given her heart to 
 him. Through his every wandering, whatever 
 might betide, her love would be with him, to com- 
 fort him in sorrow, to crown him in happiness. A 
 bird's song recalled the lilt of her laughter. He saw 
 again the tremulous curving of her mouth, red 
 against the fine warm pallor of her face at parting. 
 Passion welled in him. He halted yet once again, 
 and stood with face suffused, gazing back. It was 
 
i8 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 as if he were swayed by a sudden secret sense that 
 warned him of her misery in this hour of his ex- 
 altation — her misery where she lay prone under the 
 tangle of laurel by Garden Creek, sobbing out that 
 anguish which is the penalty woman must pay for 
 love. 
 
 Zeke's eyes fastened anew on the rounded bulk 
 of Stone Mountain's cliffs. The immutability of 
 them, and the majesty, relieved the tenseness of his 
 mood. He resumed his way serenely. . . . But 
 Plutina wept on, unassuaged. 
 
 When he drew near to North Wilkesboro', where 
 he proposed to make a first essay in railway journey- 
 ing, Zeke seated himself under the shade of a grove 
 of persimmon-trees by the wayside, there painfully 
 to encumber his feet with the new shoes. As he 
 laced these, he indulged in soliloquy, after a fashion 
 bred of his lonely life, on a subject born of his im- 
 mediate surroundings. 
 
 "1 hain't noways superstitious," he mused com- 
 placently, ''but this grove ain't no nice place, bein' as 
 it must be a nigger cemetery. Uncle Dick Siddon 
 says they's always niggers buried whar they's per- 
 simmon-trees, an' he says the niggers come first. 
 An' Uncle Dick, he ought to know, bein' he's eighty- 
 odd-year old. Anyhow, it seems reasonable, 'cause 
 niggers do swaller the stuns when they eats per- 
 simmons, an' so, o' course, jest nacher'ly the trees 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 19 
 
 '11 spring up where the niggers git planted. So 
 they'd be ha'nts like 's not. But I hain't supersti- 
 tious — not a mite. Mr. Sutton, he said such things 
 as ha'nts an' witch-doctors an' such was all plumb 
 foolishness. Still, my mammy has seen — " 
 
 He fell silent, recalling old wives' tales of fear- 
 some things seen and heard of nights. The shoes 
 adjusted, he took from the black bag a holster, 
 which sheltered a formidable-appearing Colt's re- 
 volver. Having made sure that the weapon was 
 loaded and in perfect order, Zeke returned it to 
 the holster, which he put on snugly under the left 
 arm-pit. These final preparations complete, he got 
 up, and hastened into the town. 
 
 One bit more of his musings he spoke aloud, just 
 before he entered the main street: 
 
 ''No, I hain't superstitious. But, by crickey! 
 I'm plumb tickled I giv Plutiny thet fairy cross. 
 They say them stones is shore lucky." 
 
 At the railway station, Zeke asked for a ticket to 
 Norfolk. 
 
 ''Want a return-trip ticket ?" the friendly station- 
 agent suggested. He supposed the young mountain- 
 eer was taking a pleasure excursion to the city. 
 
 But Zeke shook his head defiantly, and spoke with 
 utter forgetfulness of his experience in Joines' store. 
 
 "No," he declared stoutly, "I hain't a-comin' back 
 till Fve made my fortin." 
 
20 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "You'll be a long time gone from this-here State 
 o' Wilkes," the agent vouchsafed dryly. He would 
 have said more, but his shrewd eyes saw in this 
 young man's expression something that bade him 
 pause, less sceptical. The handsome and wholesome 
 face showed a strength of its own in the resolute 
 curving nose and the firmly-set lips and the grave, 
 yet kindly, eyes, with a light of purposeful intelli- 
 gence glowing within their clear deeps. The tall 
 form, broad of shoulder, deep of chest, narrow of 
 hip, though not yet come to the fulness of maturity, 
 was of the evident strength fitted to toil hugely at 
 the beck of its owner's will. The agent, conscious 
 of a puny frame that had served him ill in life's 
 struggle, experienced a half- resentment against this 
 youth's physical excellence. He wondered, if, after 
 all, the boast might be justified by the event. 
 
 *'Train in ten minutes," he said curtly, as he 
 pushed out the ticket. 
 
 So, presently, Zeke, found himself seated for the 
 first time on the red plush seat of a railway carriage. 
 The initial stage of his journey was ended ; the sec- 
 ond was begun. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE right of way from North Wilkesboro' 
 to Greensboro' runs through a region where 
 every vista delights the eye with wild and 
 romantic scenes. The rails follow the course of the 
 upper reaches of the Yadkin River, with swift suc- 
 cession of vicious curves and heavy grades. The 
 twistings of the road-bed, so advantageous for pre- 
 senting the varied loveliness of the wilds, were by 
 way of being a real torture to the young adventurer, 
 who sat in seeming stolidity near the rear door of 
 the smoking-car, with the black bag between his 
 feet. Even experienced travelers found the lunges 
 of the train trying to their nerves as it shot at speed 
 around "hairpin" bends, or hurled itself to the fall 
 of a steeper descent. To Zeke, who for the first 
 time knew the roar and jolt of such travel, this 
 trip was a fearsome thing. To sit movelessly there, 
 while the car reeled recklessly on the edge of abysses, 
 was a supreme trial of self-control. The racking 
 peril fairly sickened him. A mad impulse of flight 
 surged in him. Yet, not for worlds would he have 
 let anyone guess his miserable alarm. 
 
 21 
 
22 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Nevertheless, one there was who apprehended in 
 some measure the ordeal through which the moun- 
 taineer was passing — happily, a kindly observer. 
 An elderly man, across the aisle from Zeke, re- 
 garded his fellow passenger with particular intent- 
 ness. It seemed to him that, in some vague way, the 
 clean-cut face was familiar. His curiosity thus 
 aroused, he perceived the tenseness of expression and 
 attitude, and shrewdly suspected the truth. It was 
 with benevolent intent, rather than for the gratifica- 
 tion of inquisitiveness, that he finally got up and 
 seated himself in the vacant place alongside the 
 younger man. 
 
 Zeke's perturbation caused him to start nervously 
 at this advent of a stranger, but a single glance into ^ 
 
 the wrinkled, yet hale, face of the man reassured 
 him. The visitor's amiable character showed plainly 
 in his dim blue eyes, which twinkled merrily. More- • ; 
 
 over, there was a sure witness of worth in the empty f 
 
 sleeve, pinned to his left breast, on which showed | 
 
 the cross of honor. The humor lurking in the eyes \ 
 
 was grotesquely manifested in his first address: 
 
 ^'This-hyar railroad hain't no fitten one fer be- 
 ginners," he announced, with a chuckle. "Hit's | 
 plumb likely to make a squirrel into a nut." f 
 
 Zeke smiled, somewhat ruefully. He under- ] 
 
 stood the play on words since "boomer," the moun^ 
 taineers' own name for the red squirrel, is often S 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 23 
 
 applied to themselves. But the distraction afforded 
 by the garrulous veteran was a relief. A new spur 
 was given to their mutual interest when, after tell- 
 ing his name, it was discovered that his father had 
 been a company-mate with Seth Jones, the veteran, 
 in the Twelfth North Carolina Volunteers. The old 
 man's curiosity was highly gratified by this explana- 
 tion of the inherited likeness that had puzzled him, 
 and he waxed reminiscent and confidential. The 
 diversion was welcome to his listener, where doubt- 
 less many another might have found the narrative 
 of by-gone campaigns tedious in this prolix retell- 
 ing. Ultimately, indeed, the youth's sympathies 
 were aroused by Jones' tale of misfortune in love, 
 wherein his failure to write the girl he left behind 
 him had caused her first to mourn him as dead, and 
 eventually to marry her second choice. 
 
 "But I've jest got scrumptious news," he ex- 
 claimed, his rheumy eyes suddenly clear and spark- 
 ling. ''Seems as how Fanny's a widder. So, I'm 
 a-goin' to try my luck, an' no shelly-shallyin', now 
 I've got her located arter a mighty lot o' huntin'. 
 Yes, sir, sonny," he concluded, with a guffaw, ''old 
 as I be, I'm a-goin' a-courtin'. If I ever see ye 
 ag'in, I'll tell ye how it comes out. I s'pose I seem 
 plumb old fer sech foolishness to a boy like you be, 
 but some hearts keep young till they stop. I'm 
 
24 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 pretty spry fer my age, too, if I do say so as 
 shouldn't." 
 
 Zeke was not so surprised by the old man's hopes 
 as he might have been, were it not for the example 
 of Plutina's grandfather, who, somewhat beyond 
 fourscore, was still scandalously lively, to the delec- 
 tation of local gossip. But, though after the depart- 
 ure of Jones at a junction, Zeke reflected half- 
 amusedly on the rather sere romances of these two 
 ancient Romeos, he was far from surmising that, 
 at the last, their amorous paths would cross. 
 
 There was still further harrowing experience for 
 Zeke after reaching the Southern Railway's ter- 
 minal on the pier at Pinner's Point, in Virginia, 
 for here he was hurried aboard the ferry-boat, and 
 was immediately appalled by the warning blast of 
 the whistle. Few bear that strident din undis- 
 mayed. This adventurer had never heard the like 
 — only the lesser warning of locomotives and the 
 siren of a tannery across twenty miles of distance. 
 Now, the infernal belching clamor broke in his very 
 ears, stunning him. He quivered under the impact, 
 stricken to the soul for seconds of shock. But the 
 few careless eyes that chanced to scan the moun- 
 taineer noted no faltering in face or form. He stood 
 to all appearance serenely, easily poised, his atti- 
 tude replete with the grace of physical power, his 
 mouth firmly closed, his widely-set eyes unwavering. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 25 
 
 Even the cudgel, and the black bag still dangling 
 from it, could not offset a certain aloof dignity that 
 masked distress by stern effort of will. 
 
 Nothing further occurred for a little to afflict 
 the traveler's unaccustomed nerves, and he soon 
 found himself pleasurably absorbed in contempla- 
 tion of the novel surroundings. The boat was near- 
 ing the Norfolk landing when his eyes fell on a 
 dog, held in leash by a young woman. Both the 
 beast and its mistress commanded his instant atten- 
 tion, in which wonder was the chief emotion. The 
 dog itself was a Boston bull-terrier, which was a 
 canine species wholly strange to the mountaineer's 
 experience, limited as it had been to hounds and 
 mongrels of imanalyzable genealogy. The brute's 
 face had an uncanny likeness to a snub-nosed, heavy- 
 jowled "boomer" whom Zeke detested, and he eyed 
 the creature askance by reason of the resemblance. 
 
 "Hit's plumb man-faced," was his verdict. "T 
 shore prefer 'em jest plain dawg." His eyes went 
 then from the leash to the girl holding it, and he 
 hardly restrained a gasp, in which admiration was 
 mingled with amazement. The ordinary observer 
 would have seen only a pretty girl, of the fluffy 
 blond type, smartly tailored in blue serge, with the 
 skirt decorously slit. But Zeke saw a vision from 
 another world than that of the slatternly mountain 
 women, whose toil left them neither opportunity nor 
 
26 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ambition for nicety in dress, which, indeed, was 
 finally prohibited by ignorance as well as poverty. 
 This girl stood out in startling relief, marvelous 
 revelation from the new world he was entering. 
 Slowly, with concentration, the young man scruti- 
 nized the vision, noting every detail, from the natty 
 turban with its swaying feather wand to the daintily 
 pointed ties, above which were to be glimpsed trim 
 silk-clad ankles. Yet, the novel charm of her failed 
 utterly to disturb the loyalty of his heart. His h^m- 
 gry soul found exquisite satisfaction in the spectacle 
 of feminine refinement thus presented for the first 
 time, but his devotion to the roughly garbed moun- 
 tain girl was in no wise imperiled. On the con- 
 trary, his imagination busied itself with an effort 
 to picture Plutina thus splendidly arrayed. 
 
 "I 'low she's plumb handsome," he meditated. 
 "But, shucks! Tiny beats her holler. In them 
 duds, she'd have her skun a mile. . . . But thet- 
 thar man- faced dawg! I'd shore hate like pizen to 
 be found daid along with thet ornery pup." 
 
 As he mused, no hint came out of the future as 
 to the time when, in very truth, he would be close 
 to death, and that same dog an actor in the drama, 
 one to be deeply esteemed, not contemned. But 
 that time was not yet. In fact, the immediate fu- 
 ture was not destined to remove his prejudice 
 against the buU-tCirrier. On the contrary! 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 2^ 
 
 The fixity of Zeke's staring penetrated the girl's 
 consciousness. She turned abruptly, and her blue 
 eyes met his in a cool glance that seemed to pass 
 through him and on, as if he were something quite 
 invisible, altogether beneath notice. Zeke felt 
 the rebuke keenly, though innocent of intentional 
 offense. The instincts of gentlemanly blood from 
 which he was somewhere distantly descended made 
 him realize his fault in manners, though he had had 
 no guidance from experience. The ready blush 
 burned hot on brow and cheeks; he dropped his 
 gaze confusedly to the dog. 
 
 Even the beast, he perceived, reprobated his con- 
 duct. It was staring up at him fiercely from red 
 eyes, and the hackles stood erect, though it did not 
 growl. Evidently, it resented undue attention to 
 its mistress. 
 
 There was a movement forward of the passen- 
 gers, as the ferry-boat drew into its slip. Zeke 
 advanced with the others, following close behind 
 the girl and the dog, which strained at the leasH 
 in order still to stare menacingly at the young man. 
 Then, without warning, the action became swift 
 and violent. The ferry-boat crashed against the 
 yielding walls of the slip. Zeke, unprepared for 
 the shock, was thrown from his balance. One of 
 the heavy new shoes smashed down on a paw. The 
 dog sprang and snapped. The jaws missed, because 
 
28 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the girl tugged at the leash in the same second. 
 Zeke instinctively kicked at the brute in self- 
 defense. His foot took the animal fairly in the 
 jaw, and lifted it from the floor, just as the girl 
 turned. She cried out in shrill anger at this rough 
 stranger's wanton attack on her pet, for so she 
 interpreted the event. She maintained her hold on 
 the leash bravely, lest worse follow. But her 
 strength was insufficient to restrain the creature of 
 fighting breed. It lunged forward with such sud- 
 denness that both its mistress and its enemy were 
 taken unawares. The girl was dragged in tow. 
 Zeke would have leaped aside, but he was too late 
 to escape the encounter, though he mitigated it. 
 The iron jaws clanged shut, but in the slack of the 
 victim's sturdy jeans, instead of in the flesh. The 
 massive mouth was locked vise-like. Because of the 
 cloth's sturdiness, the dog swung clear of the floor. 
 The girl still strove frantically, though vainly, at 
 the leash, shrieking commands which were un- 
 heeded. Zeke, confused, chagrined, ashamed, 
 wrathful, shook himself violently to be free, with- 
 out avail. The other passengers scurried forth, 
 with a panic cry of "Mad dog!" 
 
 Zeke's wrath mounted. He had had little train- 
 ing in self-restraint, and his passions were of the 
 primitive sort. Now, abruptly, the lesser emotions 
 were overwhelmed by the might of his rage. He 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 29 
 
 was conscious only of the humiliating fact that this 
 hideous man-faced dog had fastened itself on 
 him, and there hung. Zeke bent and twisted, his 
 two hands on the creature's jaws. Then he set him- 
 self to wrench them apart. His strength, great as 
 it was availed nothing against that remorseless grip. 
 The resistance goaded him to fury. He gave over 
 the effort to prise the teeth apart, and put all his 
 might into a frenzied pull. There were instants 
 of resistance, then the hissing noise of rending 
 cloth. A huge fragment of the stout jeans was 
 torn out bodily. Zeke hurled the animal violently 
 from him. The leash was snapped from the girl's 
 hands. The dog's body shot across the cabin, 
 hurtled against the wall. The indomitable brute 
 tumbled to the floor, and lay there stunned. But 
 even in defeat, he carried down with him between 
 rigid jaws the blue-jeans banner of victory. 
 
 With a bound, the girl crossed the space, and 
 fell on her knees beside the inert form, crooning 
 over it pitifully. In the same moment, the gust 
 of anger in Zeke ended. He stood motionless, ex- 
 cept for his quickened breathing, with eyes fast on 
 the girl. Remorse stabbed him as he realized her 
 distress, for which he was responsible. He went 
 toward her hesitatingly, forgetful of bag and stick, 
 which had fallen at the outset of the melee. He 
 .ventured to address her, stammering confusedly. 
 
30 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "I 'low he hain't daid, nor nothin' Hke thet," he 
 said; ''jest takin' a nap-Hke." His wrath gave a 
 final flicker, as he looked down at the ugly face 
 cushioned within the girl's hands. "An ornery- 
 critter like thet-thar pup ought to be kept shet-up," 
 he concluded spitefully. 
 
 The girl lifted a face in which blue eyes were 
 flaming. 
 
 'Tt's you ought to be shut up, you horrible man!" 
 she cried. "And you will be. I'll see to that." 
 
 "Now, don't be plumb foolish," Zeke expostulated. 
 The varmint hain't hurt none — not a mite. 
 
 " 1 lie 
 ma'am." 
 
 Beast !" the girl ejaculated, concisely. 
 
 Zeke retorted with high indignation. 
 
 "I jest nacher'ly hain't a-goin' to stand still an* 
 say ^Thank ye !' while I'm bein' et up piecemeal by 
 no dawg — specially one with a face like his'n." 
 
 He would have said more, but paused with mouth 
 agape, eyes widening, his expression horror- 
 stricken. For, just then, the bull-terrier snorted 
 loudly, and unclosed its red eyes. The clenched 
 jaws, too, relaxed. Thus released, the broad strip 
 of jeans fluttered to the floor. Its movement 
 caught Zeke's gaze. He recognized the cloth. The 
 ghastly truth burst in his brain. In an agony of 
 embarrassment, he clasped his hands to that portion 
 of his person so fearfully despoiled. Moved by his 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 31 
 
 sudden silence, impressed perhaps by some subtle 
 impact of this new and dreadful emotion on his 
 part, the girl looked up. She, too, had noted sub- 
 consciously the fall of the cloth from the dog's 
 jaws. Now. as she saw the young man's face of 
 fire and observed his peculiar posture, she under- 
 stood. Her own crimson cheeks rivaled those of 
 the afflicted one. She turned and bent low over 
 her reviving pet. Her shoulders were .shaking, 
 Zeke was shuddering. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE conventions of dress are sometimes pes- 
 tilential. If any doubt this truth let him 
 remember the nightmares wherein his 
 nudity made torment. And, while remembering the 
 anguish such lack of clothing has occasioned in 
 dreams, let him. think with pity on the suffering of 
 Zeke whose plight was real. It was in sooth, a 
 predicament to strain the savoir faire of the most 
 polished courtier. Perhaps, the behavior of the 
 mountaineer was as discreet as any permitted by 
 the unfortunate circumstances, and could hardly 
 have been improved on by the Admirable Crichton 
 himself. He simply retained an immobile pose, 
 facing the girl, with his whole soul concentrated in 
 desire that the earth should split asunder to engulf 
 him. The tide of his misery was at its flood, so that 
 it grew no worse when some deck-hands thrust the 
 forward doors open, and a policeman bounded into 
 the cabin, drawn revolver in hand. 
 
 But the bull-terrier Was to escape the fate un- 
 justly inflicted on so many of its fellows. The 
 
 32 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 33 
 
 girl, crouching over the dog, barred the poHceman's 
 purpose. 
 
 ''Get away from him, miss," the officer directed. 
 ''He ain't safe, even if he's quiet. I know mad 
 dogs. A bullet's the only medicine." 
 
 *'Chub isn't mad in the least," the girl snapped; 
 "though he's been through enough to make him 
 crazy — and so have I. If you're so anxious to do 
 your duty, officer," she added, bitterly, "why don't 
 you arrest that horrid, hulking man over there?" 
 She pointed a neatly gloved, accusing finger at the 
 motionless Zeke, who was staring fixedly at the 
 point where he hoped the abyss might yawn. 
 
 "What's he done?" the policeman inquired gruffly. 
 He was miffed over this lost opportunity. The 
 slayer of a mad dog is always mentioned as a hero 
 in the newspapers. 
 
 The girl stood up. The dog, at the end of the 
 leash, also stood up, and shook itself. It had, to 
 all seeming, recovered fully. It regarded Zeke in- 
 tently from its red eyes. But it did not growl. It 
 was plain that the bull-terrier was thinking deeply, 
 and that Zeke was the center around which though'^ 
 revolved. But, if the dog did not growl, its mistress 
 showed no lessening of hostility. She explained 
 succinctly to the representative of the law: 
 
 "He assaulted my dog — with his feet and his 
 hands," 
 
34 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "And maybe he bit him, too!" the policeman 
 suggested, with heavy sarcasm. He could not for- 
 give this pretty girl for foiling his heroism. 
 
 The girl did not heed. Her white brow was 
 wrinkled in a frown. She was recalling, with an 
 effort, her somewhat meager knowledge of legal 
 terms. 
 
 "I shall charge him with homicidal assault," she 
 announced firmly. 
 
 "I hope you'll tell that to the sarge," the officer 
 chuckled, his pique forgotten in appreciation of the 
 girl's naive announcement. "V\\ take this chap to 
 the station-house. You'll appear against him, 
 miss?" The girl nodded emphatically. He turned 
 on Zeke, frowning. ''Come on quiet, young feller, 
 if you know what's good for ye." His practiced 
 eye studied the young mountaineer's physique 
 respectfully. 
 
 Zeke made no movement, nor answered nor 
 lifted his eyes. The policeman attributed this de- 
 meanor to recalcitrancy. He put the revolver in 
 his pocket, drew his club and took a step forward. 
 Yet, he sensed something unfamiliar in the situ- 
 ation; the stiff posture of the arms and hands of 
 the culprit attracted his attention. He felt vaguely 
 that something of a painful nature was toward. He 
 stopped short, puzzled, and spoke; 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 35 
 
 "What's the matter with ye, anyhow?" he de- 
 manded fiercely. "Hain't ye got any tongue?" 
 
 Then, at last, Zeke raised his eyes. They went 
 first to the forward door, to make sure that the 
 girl had vanished. There were only two mildly in- 
 terested deck-hands in the cabin, beside the police- 
 man, though soon the place would be filled with 
 newly arriving passengers. He looked at the offi- 
 cer squarely, with despair in his expression : 
 
 "Hit ain't my tongue — hit's my pants!" he said 
 huskily. *'Hit's the seat of my pants. Hit's — hit's 
 thar!" He nodded toward the strip of jeans left 
 on the floor by the dog. 
 
 The policeman stared at the fragment of cloth, 
 then his gaze returned appreciatively to the victim's 
 hands. He threw his head back and bellowed with 
 laughter, echoed raucously by the deck-hands. Zeke 
 waited grimly until the merriment lessened a little. 
 
 "I hain't a-stirrin' nary a step to no jail-house,'* 
 was his morose announcement, "unless somebody 
 gits me some pants with a seat to 'em." 
 
 The policeman liked his ease too well to fight 
 needlessly, and he had an idea that the thews and 
 sinews of the boomer might make a good account 
 of themselves. Moreover, he was by way of being 
 a kindly soul, and he apprehended in a measure the 
 young man's misery. 
 
 "Can you dig up a pair of jumpers?" he asked 
 
36 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the deck-hands. "You can have 'em back by call- 
 ing at the station to-morrow." 
 
 In this manner, the difficulty was bridged. Clad 
 in the dingy and dirty borrowed garment, the burn- 
 ing shame fell from Zeke, and he w^as once again 
 his own man. Nevertheless, he avoided looking 
 toward the piece of torn cloth lying on the floor, as 
 he went out with the policeman. He only wished 
 that he might with equal ease leave behind all mem- 
 ory of the lamentable episode. 
 
 Zeke's tractability increased the favorable im- 
 pression already made on the officer by the moun- 
 taineer's wholesome face and modest, manly bear- 
 ing. It was evident that this was no ordinary rake- 
 helly boomer come to town. There was, too, the 
 black bag to witness that the prisoner was an hon- 
 est voyager. On the way to the station, the con- 
 stable listened with unusual patience to Zeke's curt 
 account of the misadventure, and the narrative was 
 accepted as truth — the more readily by reason of 
 some slight prejudice against the dog, which had 
 failed as an exploiter of heroism. In consequence, 
 the policeman grew friendly, and promised interces- 
 sion in his captive's behalf. This was the more 
 effective when, on arrival at the station-house, it 
 was learned that the girl with the dog had not 
 appeared. Nor was there sign of her after a period 
 of waiting. The sergeant at the desk decided that 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 37 
 
 there could be no occasion to hold the prisoner. But 
 he frowned on the deadly weapon, which the usual 
 search had revealed. 
 
 " 'Twon't do for you to go totin' that cannon 
 promiscuous/' he declared. "You shore don't need 
 a gun — ^you shore do need breeches. What's the 
 answer? . . . Hock the gun, and buy some 
 pants." 
 
 Thus simply did an alert mind solve all difficul- 
 ties of the situation. 
 
 So in the end, Zeke issued safely from his first 
 bout with mischance and found himself well con- 
 tent, for his dress now was more like that of the 
 men about him. The new trousers were full length, 
 which the jeans had not been, and the creases down 
 the legs were in the latest style. The salesman had 
 so stated, and Zeke observed with huge satisfaction 
 that the stiffness of the creases seemed to mark the 
 quality of the various suits visible in the streets. 
 And his own creases were of the most rigid! Zeke 
 for the first time in his life, felt that warm thrill 
 which characterizes any human integer, whether 
 high or low, when conscious of being especially well 
 dressed. 
 
 Followed an interval of loitering. The sights of 
 the town formed an endless panorama of wonder 
 to the lad's eager vision. Though he was a year past 
 the age of man's estate, this was his first opportunity 
 
38 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 of beholding a town of any size, of seeing face to 
 face things of which he had heard a little, had 
 read more. His fresh, receptive mind scanned 
 every detail with fierce concentration of interest, 
 and registered a multitude of vivid impressions to 
 be tenaciously retained in memory. 
 
 And ever with him, as he roamed the streets, 
 went a tall slender girl, barefooted, garbed in home- 
 spun, with great dark brown eyes that looked ten- 
 derly on him from beneath the tumbled bronze 
 masses of her hair. No passer-by saw her, but the 
 mountaineer knew her constant presence, and with 
 her held voiceless communion concerning all things 
 that he beheld. His heart exulted proudly over the 
 bewildering revelations of many women, both beau- 
 tiful and marvelously clad in fine raiment — for this 
 girl that walked with him was more radiantly fair 
 than any other. 
 
 It was late afternoon when, finally, Zeke aroused 
 himself to think of the necessities of his position. 
 Then, after a hasty and economical meal at a lunch 
 counter near the water-front, he made haste to the 
 pier, where his attention was at once riveted on an 
 Old Dominion Liner, which was just backing out 
 into the river. He watched the great bulk, fascinated, 
 while it turned, and moved away down the harbor, 
 to vanish beyond Sewall's Point, on its way toward 
 Hampton Roads. Immediately afterward, his at- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 39 
 
 tention was attracted to a much smaller steamer, 
 which drew in on the opposite side of the wharf. 
 There chanced to be no one else near, and, as the 
 boat slid into the slip, a man in the bow hurled a 
 coil of rope toward Zeke, with an aim so accurate 
 that it fell across Zeke's shoulder. 
 
 *'Don't dodge it, you lubber !" the man roared, in 
 answer to the mountaineer's instinctive movement. 
 "Haul it in, an' make fast to the punchin'." 
 
 Zeke obeyed readily enough, hauled in the hawser, 
 and made the loop fast over the piling. At the 
 same moment, he saw two negroes, blacker from 
 soot and grime than nature had made them, who 
 leaped down from the deck, and scampered out of 
 sight. He heard the captain in the pilot-house 
 shouting down the tube. 
 
 *There go your nigger stokers on the run." 
 
 Zeke could both see and hear the man in the 
 engine-room, who vowed profanely that he would 
 ship a pair of white men, to sail before ten that 
 night. It seemed to the listener that the situation 
 might develop to his advantage. When, presently, 
 the captain descended to the dock, Zeke made bold 
 to accost that red-faced and 'truculent-appearing 
 person. Much to his surprise, his request for work 
 met with an amiable reply. The captain verified 
 what Zeke already knew, that the engineer had 
 
40 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 need of men, and bade the inquirer get aboard and 
 offer himself. 
 
 In the engine-room, the harried chief scowled on 
 the intruder. 
 
 *'What the devil do you want?" he cried harshly. 
 
 But Zeke's purpose was too earnest to be put 
 down by mere ungraciousness. 
 
 *'Work," he replied with a smile. 
 
 Something in the applicant's aspect mitigated the 
 engineer's asperity. 
 
 "Ever fire a boiler?" he questioned, more affably. 
 
 "Yes, an' no," Zeke answered; "not any real 
 steam b'iler. But, when hit comes to keepin' a 
 hick'ry fire under a copper kittle, an' not scorchin' 
 the likker, wall, I 'lows as how I kin do hit. An' 
 when it comes to makin' o' sorghum m'lasses, I hain't 
 never tuk off my hat to nobody yit. Fer the keepin' 
 o' proper temp'rature folks says, I'm 'bout's good's 
 anybody in Wilkes." 
 
 "Humph! — boomer," the engineer grunted, and 
 there was silence for a moment. When next he spoke, 
 his manner was kindly. 
 
 "Those niggers of mine skedaddled 'cause they're 
 lazy and worthless. But the stoke-hole is hell, all 
 right. It ain't no place for a youngster like you. 
 I'll hustle round to the gin-mills an' get hold of a 
 pair of tough guys. But there's something else," 
 he went on, as Zeke's face fell. "If you can make 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 41 
 
 sorghum molasses and moonshine without scorchin* 
 'em, you'll fill the bill, I reckon. We cruise off the 
 coast for menhaddin — fat backs — for the oil in 'em. 
 We carry steam-jacket kettles. I've got a green 
 man now who's no good. I'll fire him and take you 
 on. Thirty a month and your board — more by-and- 
 bye, if you suit." 
 
 Zeke, elated at this opportunity, felt, nevertheless, 
 that honesty required of him some further explana- 
 tion. But the engineer dismissed consideration of 
 the future. 
 
 "A month will give you enough for your fare to 
 New York. If you ain't pressed for time, a voyage 
 will do you good. But don't let the captain get a 
 sight of that black bag, or it'll go overboard. Sailors 
 are afeared of 'em," he chuckled. ''The Netise, 
 my old ship, ran into The Blanche off Creek Beacon, 
 in a fog, and sunk her. We rescued officers and 
 crew, but the captain — Smith, his name was — 
 couldn't stop cussin' 'cause he'd allowed a nigger 
 mammy to go aboard as a passenger along with her 
 old black bag, which was the why of the wreck, 
 'cording to his way of thinking. Took his friends 
 nigh onto a year, to convince him that The Neuse 
 was to blame for the collision. I suspect he'll al- 
 ways have it on his conscience that he did finally col- 
 lect damages off our owners." The engineer 
 
42 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 chuckled again. "Stow your bag under your bunk 
 in the fore peak before the captain comes aboard." 
 
 The Bonita was a stanchly buih and seaworthy 
 craft with a draft of less than twelve feet under full 
 cargo, which made possible her use of the shorter 
 and smoother inland water-way from Norfolk to 
 Beaufort, North Carolina, where was the factory. 
 Zeke, who would remain idle until the first catch of 
 fish, went early to his bunk the first evening aboard, 
 wearied by the long and exciting day. He had, in- 
 deed, scarce time to contemplate a guardian vision 
 of Plutina ere his senses were locked in slumber, 
 and his next consciousness was of a dim morning 
 light struggling into the gloom of the stuffy peak, 
 and the jolting rhythm of the engine, which an- 
 nounced that the voyage was begun. When he hur- 
 ried on deck, he was at first disappointed to learn 
 that the boat was still some distance from the open 
 sea, for which he longed with all an inlander's 
 curiosity over the mystery of endless waters. The 
 Bonita was now working forward slowly through 
 the old Dismal Swamp Canal, to reach the Pasquo- 
 tank River and Albemarle Sound. Zeke's astonished 
 eyes perceived in every direction only the level, mel- 
 ancholy expanse of the swamp. His sensitive soul 
 found, nevertheless, a strange charm and beauty 
 in the scene. There was space here, even as in the 
 mountains. Yet this calm was not of strength; he 
 
 J 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 43 
 
 felt vaguely, like that he had known, but the tran- 
 quillity of nature in another, a weaker, less-whole- 
 some mood, apathetic, futile. The thickly dotting 
 cypresses and junipers, bedecked with streaming 
 draperies of Spanish moss, touched the vistas with 
 a funereal aspect. The languid movement of the 
 festoons under the breeze was like the sighings o£ 
 desolation made visible. The dense tangle of the 
 undergrowth stretched everywhere, repellent, un- 
 relieved by the vivid color flashes of the mountain 
 blossoms. Stagnant wastes of amber-hued water 
 emphasized the dreariness. 
 
 Zeke's spirits were too exultant to suffer more 
 than a fleeting depression from this first survey of 
 the waste. He realized how unjust his impressions 
 might be when he learned that this seemingly filthy 
 water was highly esteemed. The deck-hand, filling 
 the water barrel from a pail let over the ship's side, 
 explained the swamp water's virtues. 
 
 *'A11 the capens fill their barrels with it. Juniper 
 w^ater cures chills an' fever, an' keeps 'em off if ye 
 hain't got 'em. Some says it's better 'n gin for the 
 kidneys." But the deck-hand looked doubtful. 
 
 Zeke, still suspicious because of the unlikeness of 
 this liquid to the crystal-clear element of the moun- 
 tains, essayed an experimental swallow, then spat 
 disgustedly. 
 
 "Hit may be all right fcr med'cine, or yarb tea," 
 
^44 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE • 
 
 was his verdict, "but it needs real water to wash it 
 down." 
 
 The progress was tediously slow, for a strong 
 southwest wind had come on, which lowered the 
 water in the canal, so that The Bonita often went 
 scraping along the bottom, and betimes stuck fast in 
 the mud. When they were come to the Lake Drum- 
 mond region, Captain Lee decided to tie up until a 
 change or falling of the wind, with its consequent 
 rise of water in the channel. At the point where 
 they finally made fast to the bank, there was an old 
 trail, a woods road long abandoned, running off into 
 the jungle. Zeke promptly set off to explore this, 
 and almost at once espied a wild turkey; a plump 
 gobbler, feeding in the path before him. There 
 could be no doubt as to the acceptability of such 
 food aboard and Zeke hastened back to The Bonita, 
 where the captain gladly loaned him a rifle. Thus 
 equipped, Zeke returned to the wilderness trail. He 
 was not surprised to find that the turkey had van- 
 ished, nor disheartened, for he was sure that a little 
 patience would bring him in sight of game, and there 
 was leisure a plenty since an interval must elapse 
 after a change in the wind before the deepening of 
 the water. Within a half-hour, he shot a turkey 
 from its perch in a cypress. With much satisfaction, 
 Zeke swung the gobbler, which was big and fat, over 
 his shoulder, and set out to return. Almost at once, 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 45 
 
 however, his steps were arrested by the faint baying 
 of a hound. As he Hstened, the sound grew louder, 
 as if the dog drove its quarry toward him. The in- 
 stinct of the chase dominated the mountaineer. He 
 cast down the turkey, and waited, hopeful that a 
 deer or bear might cross the path within range. 
 
 Soon, he heard a noisy crackling of underbrush 
 a little to his right, but near at hand. With the 
 rifle in readiness Zeke peered from the concealment 
 of a cypress trunk. But it was neither the lithe 
 leaping form of a deer, nor the uncouth shambling 
 bulk of swamp bear that broke from the cover a 
 moment later. Instead, there lurched into view a 
 huge negro. The fugitive's clothing hung in shreds, 
 witness of the cat's-briar claws; his face, from the 
 same cause, was torn and bleeding. The breath 
 wheezed loudly through the open mouth; the sweat 
 ran in streams from the face ; the eyes rolled whitely. 
 There was terror in his expression. He carried a 
 thick club. Now, as he came to a halt, it was plain to 
 the watcher that the runner's fear had at last driven 
 him to make a stand, when he could flee no further. 
 Zeke had no difficulty in understanding the situation 
 sufficiently well. The negro was undoubtedly a 
 criminal who had fled in the hope of refuge from 
 the law in the swamp's secret lurking places. Now 
 trailed by the dog, he was brought to bay. Zeke 
 determined, as a measure of prudence, to remain in- 
 
46 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 active until the issue between man and dog should 
 be adjusted. Otherwise, he might find himself en- 
 gaged against both man and beast with only a single 
 bullet to his aid. 
 
 The querulous cries of the dog here and there 
 showed that the scent had been lost where the negro 
 had splashed through some pool. Then, abruptly, a 
 sharp volley announced recovery of the track. A 
 minute later a huge black-and-tan body catapulted 
 from the thicket into the open space of the trail. 
 From his cover, Zeke watched excitedly. The 
 negro, who had stood with club swung back ready 
 for the blow, was caught at disadvantage by the pur- 
 suer's emergence at an unexpected point. The 
 branches of the thicket projected to prevent a blow. 
 The dog, silent now, hurled itself straight at the 
 man's throat. But the negro, alert to the peril, 
 avoided the charge by a swift spring to the side. 
 Zeke heard the great jaws of the beast click shut 
 as it shot harmlessly past its foe ; he heard the sav- 
 age growl with which it whirled to renew the attack. 
 As it leaped a second time the negro's club fell true 
 in a mighty stroke — caught the creature fair on the 
 skull, stopped it in midair, dropped it dead to the 
 ground. 
 
 Zeke's turn in the action w^as come, at last. Even 
 as the negro stood gloating over his victory, the 
 mountaineer, with leveled rifle, stepped from the 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 47 
 
 concealment of the cypress, and cried a sharp com- 
 mand : 
 
 ''Drop thet-thar club, an' stand still whar ye be, 
 if ye don't want to be kilt!" 
 
 The effect on the exultant negro was almost piti- 
 ful. Where had been the assurance of final escape 
 was now the certainty of capture. The shock of 
 contrasting emotions was too much for the fellow's 
 strength, coarse-fibered and hardened as he was. He 
 stared at Zeke with protruding eyes, his face grown 
 gray. His thrilling joy in the slaying of the dog 
 was lost in the black despair of defeat. The club 
 fell from the trembling fingers, and in the next 
 moment the man himself sagged to the ground and 
 crouched whimpering, whining, in a child-like aban- 
 don to fatigue and grief. Then, presently, while the 
 captor watched in some perplexity, the moaning 
 ceased. In its stead came a raucous rhythm — the 
 sleep of utter exhaustion. 
 
 A sound of footsteps on the path caught Zeke's 
 ear. He turned, and saw close at hand a short, 
 stockily built, swarthy-complexioned man of middle 
 age, who came swinging forward at a lope. The 
 newcomer halted at sight of the mountaineer. 
 
 **Seen anything of a big nigger or a hound passing 
 this way?" he demanded. 
 
 Zeke nodded, gravely. 
 
 ''Ye'll find the two of 'em right thar." H@ raised 
 
7 
 
 48 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the rifle, which the other man now observed for the 
 first time, and with it pointed to where, beyond the 
 cypress-tree, the negro huddled, breathing stertor- 
 ously, beside the dead body of the dog. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 DUN clouds of tragedy, crimson-streaked with 
 sinister romance, shadow the chronicles of 
 the forty-mile square that makes the Dis- 
 mal Swamp. Thither, aforetime, even as to-day, 
 men fled into the labyrinthine recesses to escape the 
 justice — or the injustice — of their fellows. Run- 
 away slaves sought asylum within its impenetrable 
 and uncharted mazes of thicket and quaking earth, 
 of fetid pool and slithering quicksands. Such fugi- 
 tives came no more after the emancipation. Instead 
 of slaves, there were black men who had outraged 
 the law, who fled into the steaming, noxious waste 
 in order to evade the penalty for crime. For a time, 
 these evil-doers were hunted through the tortuous 
 trails in the canebrakes with blood-hounds, even as 
 their predecessors had been. But the kennels of the 
 man-hunting dogs were ravaged by the black tongue, 
 soon after the ending of the Civil War. Poisoners, 
 too, took toll of the too intelligent brutes. The 
 strain rapidly grew less — became extinct. Whereat, 
 the criminals of Dismal Swamp rejoiced in unholy 
 glee. Their numbers waxed. Soon, they came to be 
 
 49 
 
50 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 a serious menace to the peace and safety of the com- 
 munities that bordered on the infested region. 
 
 One sufferer from these conditions so resented the 
 depredations of maraude,rs that he bought in Eng- 
 land two splendid stag-hounds, keen of scent, in- 
 telligent, faithful to their task, strong enough to 
 throttle their quarry, be it deer or man. By the aid 
 of these creatures, many criminals were captured. 
 Their owner, by the intrepidity of his pursuit, was 
 given a nickname, ''Cyclone" Brant. The speed and 
 force and resistlessness of him justified the designa- 
 tion. Together with his dogs. Jack and Bruno, he 
 won local fame for daring and successful exploits 
 against the lurking swamp devils. It was this man 
 who now, canvas-clad, with rifle in hand, looked in 
 the direction indicated by Zeke. He was dripping 
 wet, plastered with slime of the bogs. For a few 
 seconds, he stood staring in silence. Then a little, 
 gasping cry broke from his lips. He strode for- 
 ward, and fell to his knees beside the body of the 
 dog. He lifted the face of the hound gently in his 
 two hands, and looked down at it for a long time. 
 
 There was a film of tears in Brant's eyes when, at 
 last, he put the head of the dog softly back on the 
 earth, and stood up, and turned toward the moun- 
 taineer. He made explanation with simple direct- 
 ness. The negro was a notorious outlaw, for whose 
 capture the authorities of Elizabeth City offered a 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 51 
 
 reward of five hundred dollars. Half of this sum 
 would be duly paid to Zeke. 
 
 This news stirred the young man to the deeps. 
 To his poverty-stricken experience, the amount was 
 princely. The mere mention of it made privations 
 to vanish away, luxuries to flourish. He had roseate 
 visions of lavish expenditures : a warm coat for the 
 old mother, furbelows for Plutina, "straighteners'' 
 even, if she would have them. The dreamer 
 blushed at the intimacy of his thought. It did not, 
 occur to his frugal soul that now he need not con-r 
 tinue on The Bonita, but might instead go easily 
 to New York by train. He was naively happy in 
 this influx of good fortune, and showed his emotion 
 in the deepened color under the tan of his cheeks 
 and in the dancing lights of the steady eyes. 
 
 'T'm shore plumb glad I kotched him," he said 
 eagerly, ^'if thar's a right smart o' money in hit. 
 If he's as right-down bad as ye says he is, I'm 
 powerfully sorry I didn't wing 'im 'fore he got 
 yer dawg.' 
 
 Brant shook his head regretfully. 
 
 'Tt's my fault," he confessed. T oughtn't to 
 have taken the chance with Bruno alone. I should 
 have had Jack along, too. With more than one 
 dog, a man won't stand against 'em. He'll take to 
 a tree." He shook off the depression that 
 descended as he glanced down at the stiffening body 
 
52 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 of the beast. There was a forced cheerfulness in 
 his tones when he continued : "But how did you get 
 into the swamp? I take you to be from the moun- 
 tains." 
 
 Zeke's manner suddenly indicated no small pride. 
 
 *'Vm a sailor, suh," he explained, with great dig- 
 nity. "I'm the cookin' chief on the fishin' steamer, 
 Bonita/' 
 
 Brant surveyed the mountaineer with quizzically 
 appraising eyes. 
 
 "Been a sailor long?" he questioned, innocently. 
 
 "Wall, no, I hain't," Zeke conceded. His voice 
 was reluctant. "I was only tuk on las' night. I 
 hain't rightly begun sailorin' yit. Thet's how I 
 c'd come arter thet gobbler." He pointed to the 
 bird lying at the foot of the cypress. Abruptly, 
 his thoughts veered again to the reward. "Oh, 
 cracky ! Jest think of all thet money earned in two 
 minutes ! Hit's what I come down out o' the moun- 
 tains fer, an' hit 'pears like I done right. I'd shore 
 be tickled to see all thet-thar money in dimes an' 
 nickels, n' mebby a few quarters thrown in!" 
 'You're tied up near here?" Brant inquired. 
 'Bout a mile over," was the answer. "Will ye 
 take yer nigger thar first?" 
 
 "Yes, I know Captain Lee. He'll give me a 
 chance at your gobbler, and then passage to Eliza- 
 beth City." 
 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 53 
 
 That same afternoon, The Bonita continued her 
 voyage. The captain obhgingly made a landing at 
 Ehzabeth City, where Brant lodged his prisoner, 
 and where the gratified Zeke stowed in his wallet 
 ten times as much money as he had ever before pos- 
 sessed at one time. Naturally, he was in a mood 
 of much self-complacency, for, in addition to the 
 money gain, his adventure had notably increased his 
 prestige aboard ship, where Brant's praise for 'his 
 prompt and efficient action was respectfully ac- 
 cepted. Yet, despite his contentment, the mountain- 
 eer found himself strangely troubled as he lay in 
 his bunk, after the ship had got under way. It 
 may be that his perturbation had a physical cause, 
 at least in part, for there was more movement now 
 as the vessel slid through the waves of Pamlico 
 Sound. It was while he tossed restlessly, troubled 
 over this unaccustomed inability to sleep, that there 
 came a memory of the black bag: 
 
 'T plumb fergot the dum hoodoo !" Zeke muttered, 
 in huge disgust. *'An' the chief said I must git an- 
 other the first chance." Then he grinned vain- 
 gloriously into the darkness of the fore-peak. ''But 
 I reckon hit hain't put no cuss on me yit — seein' as 
 how I got a job an' a peck o' money right smack 
 off." Presently, however, his nervous mood sug- 
 gested a sinister possibility. 'T'rhaps, it don't work 
 on land — only jest on the sea, or mebby jest whar 
 
54 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 it happens to be at. Hit wa'n't 'long with me when 
 I ketched the nigger. I 'low I ought to 'a' got 
 rid o' the pesky thing like the chief said." 
 
 Zeke realized that sleep was not for him. If he 
 had had any hope otherwise, it was ended when the 
 fog-horn of The Bonita wound its melancholy blasts, 
 and other trumpetings began to sound over tlie 
 waste from near and far. Already, by dint of 
 many inquiries, Zeke had acquired enough informa- 
 tion to know that the mournful noise was the ac- 
 companiment of a fog. Curious to see, he rose, 
 and felt his way to the small port-hole, through 
 which he sought to peer out into the night. His 
 vision compassed no more than a few fathom's dis- 
 tance; beyond, all was blackness. The port was 
 open, and the cold mist stealing in chilled him. Zeke 
 shivered, but an inexplicable disturbance of spirit 
 kept him from the warmth of the blankets. He 
 chose rather to slip on his trousers, and then again 
 to gaze blindly out into the mysterious dark of this 
 new world. He found himself hearkening intently 
 for the varied calls of warning that went wailing 
 hither and yon. The mellow, softly booming, 
 yet penetrant notes of the conch-shells blown by 
 the skippers of smaller craft, came almost soothingly 
 to his ears. All the others, harsher, seemed tocsins 
 of terror. 
 
 Standing there at the port, with the floating 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 55 
 
 drops of mist drenching his face, Zeke fell into a 
 waking dream. He was again clambering over the 
 scarped cliffs of Stone Mountain; beside him Plu- 
 tina. His arm was about her waist, and their 
 hands were clasped, as they crept with cautious, feel- 
 ing steps amid the perils of the path. For over 
 the lofty, barren summit, the mist had shut down 
 in impenetrable veils. Yet, through that murk of 
 vapor, the two, though they moved so carefully, 
 went in pulsing gladness, their hearts singing the 
 old, old, new, new mating song. A mist not born 
 of the sea nor of the mountain, but of the heart, 
 was in the lad's eyes while he remembered and 
 lived again those golden moments in the mountain 
 gloom. It seemed to him for a blessed minute that 
 Plutina was actually there beside him in the tiny, 
 rocking space of the fore-peak; that the warmth of 
 her hand-clasp thrilled into the beating of his 
 pulses. Though the illusion vanished swiiftly, the 
 radiance of it remained, for he knew that then, 
 and always, the spirit of the girl dwelt with him. 
 
 The mountaineer's interval of peace was rudely 
 ended. A wild volley of blasts from The Bonita's 
 whistle made alarum. Bells clanged frantically in 
 the engine-^room close at hand. A raucous fog-horn 
 clamored out of the dark. To Zeke, still dazedly 
 held to thought of the mountains, the next sound 
 was like the crashing down of a giant tree, which 
 
56 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 falls with the tearing, splitting din of branches 
 beating through underbrush. An evil tremor shook 
 the boat. Of a sudden, The Bonita heeled over to 
 starboard, almost on her beams' ends. Zeke saved 
 himself from falling only by a quick clutch on the 
 open port. From the deck above came a contusion 
 of fierce voices, a strident uproar of shouts and 
 curses. Then, The Bonita righted herself, tremu- 
 lously, languidly, as one sore-stricken might sit up, 
 very feebly. The sailors in the fore-peak, with a 
 chorus of startled oaths, leaped from the bunks, and 
 fled to the deck. Zeke followed. 
 
 Clinging to a stanchion, the mountaineer could 
 distinguish vaguely, in the faint lights of the lanterns, 
 the bows of a three-masted schooner, which had 
 sheared through the port-side of The Bonita. The 
 bowsprit hung far over the smaller ship, a wand 
 of doom. The beating of the waves against the 
 boat's side came gently under the rasping, crunch- 
 ing complaint of timber against timber in combat: 
 The schooner's sails flapped softly in the light 
 breeze. Zeke, watching and listening alertly, 
 despite bewilderment, heard the roaring commands 
 of a man invisible, somewhere above him, and 
 guessed that this must be the captain of the 
 schooner. He saw the crew of The Bonita clamber- 
 ingv one after another at speed, up the anchor 
 chain at the bow of the destroyer. He realized 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 57 
 
 that flight was the only road to safety. But, even 
 as he was tensed to dart forward, he remembered his 
 treasure of money under the bunk pillow. 
 
 On the instant, he rushed to the fore-peak, seized 
 the wallet and the black bag, and fled again to the 
 deck. At the moment when he reappeared, a gust of 
 quickening breeze filled the schooner's sails. The 
 canvas bellied taut. The grinding, clashing clamor 
 of the timbers swelled suddenly. The schooner 
 wrenched herself free, and slipped, abruptly silent, 
 away into the night and the mist. Ere Zeke 
 reached the rail in his leap, the schooner had van- 
 ished. For a minute, he heard a medley of voices. 
 Then, while he stood straining his eyes in despair, 
 these sounds lessened — died. The mountaineer 
 stood solitary and forsaken on the deck of a sink- 
 ing ship. 
 
 Finally, Zeke spoke aloud in self-communion. 
 The words rang a little tremulous, for he realized 
 that he was at grips with death. 
 
 "Hit's what I gits fer fergittinV' was his regret- 
 ful comment. *T reckon, if so be I'd ever got onto 
 thet-thar schooner with this-hyar damn' bag, she'd 
 'a' sunk, too. Or, leastways, they'd have chucked 
 me overboard like Jonah, fer causin' the hull cussed 
 trouble with this pesky black bag o' mine." 
 
 Zeke perceived that the doomed vessel was set- 
 tling by the head. He surmised that time was short. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Nevertheless, he took leisure for one duty he 
 deemed of prime importance. With all his strength 
 in a vicious heave, he cast the black bag from him 
 into the sea. 
 
 *T hain't superstitious," he remarked, sullenly; 
 ^'thet is, not exzackly. An' I reckon I'm gittin' rid o' 
 that conjure satchel a mite late. I guess hit's done 
 hit's damnedest a'ready." 
 
 Inquiries during the leisurely voyaging through 
 the canal had given Zeke knowledge concerning the 
 life-belts. Now, he buckled one of them about his 
 body hastily, for even his ignorance could not fail 
 to interpret the steady settling of the vessel into 
 the water. The strain of fighting forebears in the 
 lad set him courageous in the face of death. But his 
 blood was red and all a-tingle with the joy of life, 
 and he was very loath to die. His heart yearned 
 for the girl who loved him. His desire for her was 
 a stabbing agony. The thought of his mother's 
 destitution, deprived of him in her old age, was 
 grievous. But his anguish was over the girl — an- 
 guish for himself; yet more for her. The drizzle 
 of the fog on his cheeks brought again a poignant 
 memory of the mist that had enwrapped them on 
 the stark rocks of the mountain. A savage revolt 
 welled in him against the monstrous decree of fate. 
 He cried out roughly a challenge to the elements. 
 Then, in the next instant, he checked the futile out- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 59 
 
 burst, and bethought him how best to meet the 
 catastrophe. 
 
 The instinct of flight from the rising waters led 
 Zeke to mount the pilot-house. The lanterns shed 
 a flickering light here, and the youth uttered a cry 
 of joy as his eyes fell on the life-raft. The shout 
 was lost in the hissing of steam as the sea rushed 
 in on the boilers. All the lights were extinguished 
 now, save the running lamps with their containers 
 of oil. Quickly, the noise from the boiler-room 
 died out, and again there was silence, save for the 
 occasional bourdoning of the horns or the mocking 
 caress of the waves that lapped the vessel's sides — 
 like a colossal serpent licking the prey it would de- 
 vour betimes. In the stillness, Zeke wrought 
 swiftly. He wasted no time over the fastenings. The 
 blade of his knife slashed through the hemp lashings, 
 and the raft lay clear. He made sure that it was 
 free from the possibility of entanglement. Then, 
 as the boat lurched sickeningly, like a drunken man 
 to a fall, Zeke stretched himself face downward 
 lengthwise of the tiny structure, and clenched his 
 hands on the tubes. There was a period of drag- 
 ging seconds, while The Bonita swayed sluggishly, 
 in a shuddering rhythm. Came the death spasm. 
 The stern was tossed high; the bow plunged for 
 the depths. Down and down — to the oyster rocks 
 
6o HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 of Teach's Hole, in Pamlico Sound. As the vessel 
 sank, the raft floated clear for a moment, then the 
 suction drew it under, buffeted it — spewed it forth. 
 It rode easily on the swirling waters, at last. As 
 the commotion from the ship's sinking ceased, the 
 raft moved smoothly on the surface, rocking gently 
 with the pulse of the sea. Zeke, half -strangled, 
 almost torn from his place by the grip of the water 
 in the plunge, clung to his refuge with all the 
 strength that was in him. And that strength pre- 
 vailed. Soon, he could breathe fully once again, 
 and the jaws of the sea gave over their gnawing. 
 After the mortal peril through which he had won, 
 Zeke found his case not so evil. The life was still 
 in him, and he voiced a crude phrase of grateful- 
 ness to Him who is Lord of the deep waters, even 
 as of the everlasting hills. 
 
 Near Teach's Hole, Ocracoke Inlet offers a shal- 
 low channel between the dunes from Pamlico 
 Sound to the open sea. Here the varying tides rush 
 angrily, lashed by the bulk of waves behind. To- 
 night, the ebb bore with it a cockle-shell on which 
 a lad clung, shivering. But the soul was still strong 
 in him for all his plight. He dared believe that he 
 would yet return safe to the mountains, to the love 
 that awaited him there. 
 
 Once the castaway smiled wryly : 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 6i 
 
 "I hain't superstitious none — leastways, I dun- 
 no's I be," he muttered, doubtfully. "But hit's 
 plumb lucky I got rid o' thet-thar dum black bag 
 jest as I did, or I'd 'a' been a goner, shore!" 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE days dragged heavily for Plutina, after 
 the departure of her lover. She endured 
 ■ the period of tense waiting as best she 
 might, since endure she must, but this passive lone- 
 liness, without a word from the man of her heart, 
 was well-nigh intolerable. She did not weep — after 
 that single passionate outburst while yet her lips 
 were warm from his kiss. She was not of the 
 weak fiber to find assuagement in many tears, nor 
 had she nerves that needed the chemical soothing 
 of flooded eyes. She had, indeed, strength suffi- 
 cient for the trial. She bore her sorrow bravely 
 enough, but it pierced her through and through. She 
 knew her lover, and she knew herself. Because of 
 that knowledge she was spared the shameful suffer- 
 ing of a woman who fears, with deadly fear, lest 
 her lover be untrue. Plutina had never a doubt as 
 to the faith of the absent one. A natural jealousy 
 sometimes leaped in her bosom, at thought of him 
 exposed to the wiles of women whom she suspected 
 of all wantonness. But she had no cowardly 
 thought that the fairest and most cunning of them 
 
 62 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 63 
 
 could oust her from the shrine of Zeke's heart. 
 Her great grief lay in the failure of any word 
 from the traveler. The days became weeks; al- 
 most a month had gone since he held her in his 
 arms, and still no message came. This was, in 
 truth, strange enough to justify alarm. It was 
 with difficulty that she drove back a temptation to 
 imagine evil happenings. She went oftener.the six 
 miles to the Cherry Lane post-office. 
 
 When she descended the trail toward Thunder 
 Branch this morning, she saw Zeke's mother stand- 
 ing in the doorway of the cabin on the far side of 
 the stream. The bent figure of the old woman 
 rested motionless, with one hand lifted to shade her 
 eyes from the vivid sunlight, as she watched the 
 girl's approach. 
 
 *'Mornin', Tiny," she said tenderly, as the girl 
 crossed the clearing. "On yer way to the Lane, I 
 reckon?" 
 
 "Mornin', Mis' Higgins," came the cheery 
 answer. *Yes, I 'lowed as how ye'd love to hear, 
 an' I c'd git away. The corn's laid by ; the sorghum 
 cane's done hoed. Alviry's gone to he'p Gran'pap 
 with a bee-tree. Hit's a big yaller poplar, up 'twixt 
 Ted Hutchins' claim an' the ole mine-hole. Gran'- 
 pap 'lows as how hit'll have to be cut an' split, an' 
 wuth hit — over a hundred pounds, all sour-wood 
 honey, 'cept 'bout ten pounds early poplar. Gran'- 
 
64 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 pap's right-smart tickled. I told Alviry to watch 
 out he don't go an' tote half of it up to thet-thar 
 Widder Brown. You-all must come over an' git 
 what ye kin use o' the honey, Mis' Higgins, afore 
 the widder gits her fingers in the jar." 
 
 "Ye don't opine thet-thar gran'pap o' your'n aims 
 to git hitched ag'in at his age, do ye, Tiny? Hit'd 
 be plumb scand'lous — an' him eighty past. At thet 
 age, he's bound to have one foot in the grave, fer 
 all he's so tarnation spry an' peart in his carryin's 
 
 on." 
 
 ''Lord knows what he'll do," the girl replied, 
 carelessly. ''He's allers been given credit fer havin' 
 fotchin' ways with women. I hope he won't, though. 
 They say, folks what marry upwards o' eighty is 
 mighty short-lived." 
 
 The topic led Zeke's mother to broach apprehen- 
 sion of her own: 
 
 "Tiny, ye don't have no idee thet our Zeke's gone 
 daffy on some o' them Evish-lookin' critters 
 down below, like ye showed me their picters in the 
 city paper oncet?" 
 
 "Naw, no danger o' thet," was the stout assur- 
 ance. "Zeke's got too much sense. Besides, he 
 hain't had no time to git rich yit. The paper done 
 said as how them kind's arter the coin." 
 
 As she went her way, the girl's mind reveled in 
 thoughts of the days to come, when Zeke should be 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 65 
 
 rich in sooth, and his riches for her. She swun^ 
 her sun-bonnet in vigorous slaps against her bare 
 legs, to scatter the ravenous mosquitoes and yellow 
 flies, swarming from the thickets, and she smiled 
 contentedly. 
 
 ^T'r'aps, them women's got more edication 'n 
 me," she mused aloud, complacently, ''but I kin fill 
 them silk stockin's plumb up." Her face grew brood- 
 ing with a wistful regret in the sudden droop of 
 the tender red lips. "I 'low I jest orter 'a' swung 
 onto thet-thar neck o' his'n an' hollered fer Par- 
 son, and got spliced 'fore he went." She shook 
 her head disconsolately. "Why, if he don't come 
 back, I'll be worse nor the widders. Humph, I 
 knows 'em — cats ! They'll say : 'Tiny Siddon didn't 
 never have no chance to git married — her disperzi- 
 tion an' her looks wa'n't compellin' 'nough to ketch 
 a man." 
 
 The great dark eyes were clouded a little with 
 bitter disappointment, when, two hours later, the 
 girl came swiftly down the steep slopes from 
 Cherry Lane, for once again there had been no let- 
 ter for her. Despite her courage, Plutina felt a chill 
 of dismay before the mystery of this silence. 
 Though faith was unshaken, bewilderment op- 
 pressed her spirit. She could not understand, and 
 because she could not understand, her grief was 
 heavy to bear Then, presently, she chanced upon 
 
66 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 a new mystery for her distraction — though this 
 was the easier to her solving. 
 
 As she descended into a hollow by Luffman's 
 branch, which joins Thunder Branch a little way 
 above the Higgins' clearing, Plutina's alert ears 
 caught a sound that was not of the tumbling waters. 
 Through all the noises of the stream where it leaped 
 and sprayed in miniature falls over cluttering bowl- 
 ders and fallen pines, she could distinguish the 
 splashing of quick footsteps in the shallows. Some 
 instinct of caution checked the girl's advance. In- 
 stead of going forward openly, she turned aside and 
 approached the bank where crowding alders and 
 ivy formed a screen. Here, she parted the vines 
 stealthily, and peered up the water-course. 
 
 A man was descending the run with hurried 
 strides, wading with bare feet, or springing from 
 rock to rock where were the deeper pools. A Win- 
 chester nestled in the crook of his left arm; two 
 huge bear-traps, the jaws wickedly fanged, were 
 swung from a rope over his right shoulder ; a short- 
 helved ax was thrust within his belt. He wore only 
 a cotton shirt open at the neck, dirty throughout, 
 patched jeans trousers, and a soft hat, green from 
 long use. Beneath the shading brim showed a 
 loutish face, the coarse features swollen from dis- 
 sipation, the small black eyes bleared, yet alert and 
 penetrating in their darting, furtive glances. It 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE e^ 
 
 was Dan Hodges, a man of unsavory repute. The 
 girl, though unafraid, blessed the instinct that had 
 guided her to avoid a meeting. 
 
 There were two prime factors in Plutina's de- 
 testation of Hodges. The first was due to his in- 
 solence, as she deemed it, in aspiring for her favor. 
 With httle training in conventional ideas of deli- 
 cacy, the girl had, nevertheless, a native refinement 
 not always characteristic of her more-cultured sis- 
 ter women. There was to her something unspeak- 
 ably repugnant in the fact that this bestial person 
 should dare to think of her intimately. It was as 
 if she were polluted by his dreaming of her kisses, 
 of her yielding to his caresses. That he had so 
 aspired she knew, for he had told her of his desire 
 with the coarse candor of his kind. Her spurning 
 of the uncouth advances, had excited his wrath; it 
 had not destroyed his hopes. He had even ventured 
 to renew his suit, after the news of an engagement 
 between Plutina and Zeke had gone abroad. He 
 had winced under the scourge of the girl' scorn, 
 but he had shown neither- penitence nor remorse. 
 Plutina had forborne any account of this trouble to 
 her lover, lest, by bad blood between the two men, 
 a worse thing befall. 
 
 The second cause of the girl's feeling was less 
 direct, though of longer standing, and had to do 
 with the death of her father. That Siddon, while 
 
68 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 yet in his prime, had been slain in a raid on a still 
 by the revenue officers, and that depite the fact 
 that he was not concerned in the affair, save by the 
 unfortunate chance of being present. Plutina, 
 though only a child at the time, could still remem- 
 ber the horror of that event. There was a singular 
 personal guiltiness, too, in her feeling, for, on the 
 occasion of the raid, her grandfather had been look- 
 ing out from a balcony, and had seen the revenue 
 men urging their horses up the trail, the sunlight 
 glinting on their carbines. He had seized the great 
 horn, to blow a warning to those at the secret still 
 on the mountain above. Plutina could remember 
 yet the grotesque bewilderment on his face, as no 
 sound issued — then the wrath and despair. The 
 children, in all innocence, had stuffed the horn with 
 rags. The prank had thus, in a way, cost two 
 lives — one, that of "Young" Dick Siddon. The 
 owner of the raided still had been Dan Hodges, and 
 him Putina despised and hated with a virulence 
 not at all Christian, but very human. She had all 
 the old-time mountaineer's antipathy for the ex- 
 tortion, as it was esteemed, of the Federal Govern- 
 ment, and her father's death had naturally inflamed 
 her against those responsible for it. Yet, her loath- 
 ing of Hodges caused her to regret that the man 
 himself had escaped capture thus far, though twice 
 bis still had b^en destroyed, once within the year. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 69 
 
 A high, jutting wall of rock hid the stream 
 where it bent sharply a little way from Plutina's 
 shelter. Presently, she became aware that Hodges 
 had paused thus beyond the range of her vision, 
 and was busy there. She heard the blows of the 
 ax. General distrust of the man stirred up in her 
 a brisk curiosity concerning the nature of his action 
 in this place. On a previous day, she had observed 
 that the limpid waters of the brook had been sullied 
 by the milky refuse from a still somewhere in the 
 reaches above. Now, the presence of Dan Hodges 
 was sufficient to prove the hidden still his. But 
 the fact did not explain his business here. That 
 it was something evil, she could not doubt, for the 
 man and his gang were almost outlaws among their 
 own people. They were known, though unpunished, 
 thieves, as well as ''moonshiners," and there were 
 whispers of more dreadful things — of slain men 
 vanished into the unsounded depths of the Devil's 
 Cauldron. The gorge of the community — careless 
 as it had been of some laws in the past, and too 
 ready to administer justice according to its own 
 code — had risen against the vicious living of the 
 gang that accepted Hodges as chief. It seemed to 
 Plutina that duty conspired with curiosity to set 
 her spying on the man. 
 
 The espionage, though toilsome enough, was not 
 otherwise difficult. Toward the bend, the banks 
 
70 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 rose sharply on both sides of the stream, forming a 
 tiny canon for the channel. The steep slope on 
 the east side, where the girl now ascended, was 
 closely overgrown with laurel and little thickets 
 of ground pine, through which she was hard beset 
 to force her way — the more since she must move 
 with what noiselessness she might. But her strength 
 and skill compassed the affair with surprising 
 quickness. Presently, she came to the brim of the 
 little cliff, and lying outstretched, cautiously looked 
 down. Already, a hideous idea had entered her 
 mind, but she had rejected it with horror. What 
 she now saw confirmed the thought she had not 
 dared to harbor. 
 
 Within this bend of the brook, the lessening 
 volume of the channel had left a patch of rich soil, 
 heavily overgrown with lush grasses and clusters 
 of flowering weeds. A faint trace of passing steps 
 ran across the bit of dry ground, the path of those 
 that followed the stream's course. Fair in this 
 dim trail, near the center of the plot, a stake had 
 been driven deep. At the moment, Hodges was 
 driving into the ground a similar stake, a yard 
 further down. It was evident that the stakes had 
 been previously left here In readiness, since he had 
 not carried them In his descent, and the iron rings 
 bound to them must have been attached In a forge. 
 The two massive traps were lying half-hidden in 
 
 .^v 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 71 
 
 the luxuriant growth close by. As Plutina watched 
 with affrighted intentness, the man finished driv- 
 ing the second stake. He lifted one of the traps, 
 and carried it to the upper stake. With the aid of 
 a stone for anvil, he succeeded in clumsily riveting 
 the trap's length of chain to the ring on the stake. 
 The like was done with the other trap at the lower 
 stake. Then, the man undertook the setting of the 
 traps. The task was accompHshed very quickly for 
 both, though the strength of the jaws taxed his 
 muscles to their utmost. Finally, he strewed leaves, 
 and bent grass, until no least gleam of metal be- 
 trayed the masked peril of the trail. Plutina sick 
 with the treacherous deviltry of the device, heard 
 the grunt of satisfaction with which Hodges con- 
 templated his finished work. Forthwith, he picked 
 up his rifle, thrust the ax-helve within his belt, and 
 set off up the gulch. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THERE could be no doubt. Those massive 
 traps, with their cruel teeth of steel, 
 meant by the makers for the holding of 
 beasts, had been set here by Hodges for the snar- 
 ing of men. The contrivance was fiendishly efficient. 
 From her coign of vantage on the cliff top, Plu- 
 tina could see, on a height above, the brush-covered 
 distillery. A thin, blue column of smoke rose 
 straight in the calm air, witness that the kettle was 
 boiling over hickory logs, that a "run" of the liquor 
 was being made. Plutina recalled that, in a recent 
 raid against Hodges, the still had been captured 
 and destroyed though the gang had escaped. Such 
 loss was disastrous, for the new copper and worm 
 and fermenters meant a cost of a hundred dollars, 
 a sum hard to come on in the mountain coves. 
 Usually, the outfit is packed on the men's backs to 
 hiding in the laurel, afterward shifted to another 
 obscure nook by running water. It was plain that 
 Hodges had grown more than ever venomous over 
 the destruction of his still, and had no scruples as 
 to the means he would employ to prevent a repeti- 
 
 72 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 73 
 
 tion of such catastrophe. No need now to fear 
 lest sentinels be not alert. The natural path to the 
 still was along the course of the stream. The un- 
 wary passer over the tiny stretch of greensward on 
 which the girl looked down, would follow the dim 
 trail of footsteps, and so inevitably come within the 
 clutch of the great jaws, which would hurl them- 
 selves together, rending and crunching the flesh be- 
 tween. The victim's shrieks of anguish under the 
 assault would be a warning to the lawless men 
 above. They would make ready and flee with their 
 possessions, and be lost in the laurel once again. 
 Yes, the device was simple, diabolically simple, and 
 adequate. It required only that its executant should 
 be without bowels of compassion. 
 
 Plutina, strong-nerved as she was, found herself 
 shuddering as she realized the heinousness of this 
 thing. The soft bloom of the roses in her cheeks 
 faded to white; the dark radiance of the eyes was 
 dimmed with horror; the exquisite lips were com- 
 pressed harshly against their own quivering weak- 
 ness. For Plutina, despite strength of body and 
 sane poise of soul, was a gentle and tender woman, 
 and the brutal project spread before her eyes was 
 an offense to every sensibility. Then, very soon, the 
 mood of passive distress yielded to another emo- 
 tion: a lust for vengeance on the man who would 
 insure his own safety thus, reckless of another's 
 
74 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 cost. A^ new idea came to the girl. At its first 
 advent, she shrank from it, conscience-stricken, for 
 it outraged the traditions of her people. But the 
 idea returned, once and again. It seemed to her 
 that the evil of the man justified her in any meas- 
 ure for his punishment. She had been bred to' 
 hate and despise a spy, but it was borne in on her 
 now that duty required of her to turn informer 
 against Dan Hodges. There was more even than 
 the inflicting of punishment on the outlaw; there 
 was the necessity of safeguarding the innocent 
 from the menace of those hidden man-traps. Any 
 ^'furriner" from down below might wander here, 
 whipping the stream; or any one of the neighbor- 
 hood might chance on the spot. The Widow Hig- 
 gins' heifers sometimes strayed; the old woman 
 might come hither, seeking them. Plutina shud- 
 dered again, before the terrible vision of the one 
 who was like a mother to her, caught and mangled 
 by the pointed fangs waiting amid the grasses 
 below. 
 
 The question as to her right conduct in the af- 
 fair remained with the girl, as she descended from 
 the cliff, and made her way slowly homeward. She 
 temporized by a precautionary measure. At the 
 widow's cabin, she secured the old woman's prom- 
 ise not to go beyond the clearing in quest of the 
 cattle. But the difficulty as to her course was not 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 75 
 
 abated. Inclination urged her to advise the author- 
 ities concerning the locations of still and traps, and 
 inclination was reinforced by justice. Yet, over 
 against this, there were the powerful influence of her 
 upbringing, the circumstances of her environment^ 
 the tragedy of her father's death, the savage re- 
 sentment of her grandfather, already virulent against 
 her lover — all forces to inspire enmity against the 
 representatives of a law regarded as the violation 
 of inalienable rights. True, there was growing an 
 insidious change in the sentiment of the community. 
 Where all had once been of accord, the better ele- 
 ment were now becoming convinced that the illicit 
 liquor-making cursed the mountains, rather than 
 blessed. Undoubtedly, some effect of this had 
 touched the girl herself, without her knowledge, 
 else she had never thought to betray even such a mis- 
 creant as Hodges. There was, however, an abid- 
 ing hate of the informer here, as always among 
 decent folk, though along with it went reprobation of 
 the traffic in moonshine. Plutina felt that she could 
 never justify her action in the sight of her people, 
 should she bring the revenue men into the moun- 
 tain. Her own grandfather w^ould curse her, and 
 drive her forth. His feeling had been shown clear- 
 ly in the case of Zeke. So, in her period of un- 
 certainty and stress, there was none of whom the 
 girl could take counsel. But, in the end, she de- 
 
^6 - HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 cided that she must give warning to the United 
 States marshal. The task demanded care. On 
 absolute secrecy depended, in all likelihood, her very 
 life. 
 
 The trove of honey had come opportunely, since 
 the sale of a portion afforded Plutina plausible ex- 
 cuse for her trip to Joines' store. There, a tele- 
 phone had been recently installed, and it was the 
 girl's intention to use this means of communication 
 with the marshal. That the danger of detection 
 was great, she was unhappily aware, but, she could 
 devise no plan that seemed less perilous. So, early 
 in the morning of the day following her discovery, 
 she made her way along the North Wilkesboro' 
 road, carrying twenty pounds of the sour-wood 
 honey. At the store, she did her trading, and 
 afterward remained loitering, as is the custom of 
 shoppers in the region. The interval of waiting 
 seemed to her interminable, for trade was brisk. 
 There was always someone near enough the tele- 
 phone to overhear, for it was unprotected by a booth. 
 But, finally, the customers lessened. The few re- 
 maining were in the front of the store, at a safe 
 distance from the instrument which was on a shelf 
 at the back. Plutina believed that her opportunity 
 was come. She knew the amount of the toll, and 
 had the necessary silver in her hand to slip into the 
 box. Then, just as she was about to take down the 
 
 's. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE ^^ 
 
 receiver, her apprehensive glance, roving the room, 
 fell on Ben York, who entered briskly, notwith- 
 standing his seventy years, and came straight toward 
 her. Plutina's lifted hand fell to her side, and 
 dread was heavy on her. For Ben York was the 
 distiller in Hodges' gang. 
 
 The old man had a reputation almost as notori- 
 ous as that of Hodges himself. The girl felt a wave 
 of disgust, mingled with alarm, as she caught sight 
 of the face, almost hidden behind a hoary thicket 
 of whiskers. The fellow was dirty, as always, and 
 his ragged clothes only emphasized the emaciation 
 of his dwarfed form. But the rheumy eyes had a 
 searching quality that disturbed the girl greatly. 
 She knew that the man was distinguished for his 
 intelligence as well as for his general worthlessness. 
 In the experience of years, he had always escaped 
 the raiders, nor had they been able ever to secure 
 any evidence against him. He was, in fact, as adroit 
 of mind as he was tough of body. He had lived hard 
 all his days, either in drunken carouse or lying out 
 in the laurel to escape the summons of the courts. 
 iWhere, alas ! a holier man might have been broken 
 long ago, the aged reprobate thrived, and threatened 
 to infest the land for years to come. Now, he 
 greeted the girl casually enough, made a purchase, 
 and took his departure. He seemd quite unsus- 
 picious, but Plutina felt that his coming on her 
 
78 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 thus was an evil omen, and, for a moment, she 
 faltered in her purpose. 
 
 A hand went to her bosom, and touched the tiny 
 leather bag that hung from a cord about her neck 
 inside the gown. Within it was the fairy crystal. 
 The touch of it strengthened her in some subtle 
 fashion. It was as if to her weakness there came 
 miraculously something vital, something occultly 
 helpful in her need, from the distant lover. The 
 superstition, begotten and nourished always in the 
 fastnesses of the heights, stirred deeply within her, 
 and comforted her. Of a sudden, courage flowed 
 back into her. She took down the receiver. 
 
 After all, nothing was accomplished. The mar- 
 shal was not in his office, but absent somewhere in 
 the mountains. Plutina would not risk giving in- 
 formation to any other than the officer himself, 
 whom she knew, and respected. Disconsolate, she 
 abandoned the attempt for the time being, and set 
 out to get a bag of wheat flour from the mill close 
 by, on the other side of Roaring River. 
 
 As Plutina, with the bag of flour on shoulder, was 
 making her way back from the mill, across the 
 big sycamore trunk that serves as a foot bridge, a 
 horse splashed into the ford alongside. The girl 
 looked up, to see the very man she sought. Mar- 
 shal Stone called a cheery greeting, the while his 
 horse dropped its head to drink. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 79 
 
 ''Howdy, Plutina?" . 
 
 ''Howdy, Mr. Stone," she answered. Her free 
 hand went again to the talisman in her bosom. 
 Surely, its charm was potent ! 
 
 ''All's well as common, at home?" Stone contin- 
 ued. His critical eyes delighted in the unconscious 
 grace of the girl, as she stood poised above the 
 brawling stream, serene in her physical perfection; 
 and above the delicately modeled symmetry of form 
 was the loveliness of the face, beautiful as a flower, 
 yet strong, with the shining eyes and the red lips, 
 now parted in eagerness. The marshal wondered 
 a little at that eagerness. He wondered still more 
 at her hurried speech after one quick glance to make 
 sure that none could overhear: 
 
 *T mustn't be seed talkin' to ye, but I got some- 
 thin' to say'll he'p ye arn yer pay. Kin ye meet me 
 in an hour by the sun, at the ole gate on the east 
 end o' Wolf Rock?" 
 
 The marshal's answer wasted no words: 
 
 "Go on, gal— I'll be there." 
 
 Wolf Rock, a huge, jutting mass of barren cliff, 
 though tiny beside the bulk of Stone Mountain, 
 which overshadows it, lies between Garden Creek 
 and Thunder Branch, a little to the north of 
 where these streams flow into Roaring River. Its 
 situation, nearly midway between the mill and the 
 Siddon Cabin, made it a convenient point for the 
 
8o HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 meeting between Plutina and the officer. Its lone- 
 liness lessened the element of danger. Both were 
 prompt to the rendezvous. Well under the hour, 
 man and girl were standing together within a bower 
 of newly blossoming rhododendrons. Above them, 
 the naked rock bent sharply, its granite surface 
 glistening in the hot noonday sun. They had with- 
 drawn some score of yards from the old wooden 
 gate that barred the lane here, lest a chance passer- 
 by see them together. Plutina opened her mind 
 without hesitation. The decision once made, she 
 had no thought of drawing back. 
 
 "I 'low I kin trust ye, Mister Stone," she said 
 simply, and the sincerity of the lustrous eyes as 
 they met his confirmed her words. ''Afore you- 
 all's time in the revenue service, raiders done kilt 
 my daddy. I kain't never fergive them men, but 
 they's out o' the service now, er I wouldn't have 
 come to ye. Gran'pap says they's a better lot o* 
 revenuers now 'n what used to be an' he says as 
 how Marshal Stone don't do no dirt. Thet's why 
 I'm a-trusting ye, so's ye kin kotch the pizen-mean- 
 est white man a-makin' likker in the hull Stonei 
 Mountain country — him an' his gang an' his still. 
 
 The marshal's eyes sparkled. 
 
 "I reckon you're talking about Dan Hodges, 
 he interjected. 
 
 Plutina nodded her head in somber acquiescence. 
 
 )> 
 
 j» 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 8i 
 
 "Then you needn't have any scruples about giv- 
 ing information," Stone continued, urgently. ''He 
 and his gang are a menace to the peace of the settle- 
 ment. I'll keep you out of it, of course, to save you 
 embarrassment." 
 
 "Ye'd better," Plutina retorted, "to save my 
 life. I don't know's I mind bein' embarrassed so 
 much, but I don't feel called to die yit." 
 
 "No, no; there won't be anything like that," the 
 marshal exclaimed, much disconcerted. "I'll see no 
 trouble comes to you. Nobody'll know your part." 
 
 " 'Cept me!" was the bitter objection. "If 'twas 
 anybody but that ornery galoot, I wouldn't say a 
 word. Ye know that." 
 
 "I know," Stone admitted, placatingly. 
 
 In his desire to change her mood, he blundered 
 on: 
 
 "And there's the reward for getting the 'copper' 
 — twenty dollars for you Plutina. If we get Hodges, 
 I'll give you another fifty out of my own pocket. 
 That'll buy you a nice new dress or two, and a hat, 
 and some silk stockings for those pretty legs of 
 yours." 
 
 Plutina flared. The red glowed hot in her cheeks, 
 and the big eyes flashed. The mellow voice deep- 
 ened to a note of new dignity, despite her anger. 
 
 "I hain't come hyar to gas 'bout rewards, an' 
 money outten yer pocket, Mister Stone, or 'bout 
 
82 HEART OF. THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 my clothes an' sech. I'm an engaged woman. When 
 I wants to cover my legs with stockin's Zeke Hig- 
 gins' money'll do the payin', an' he won't need no 
 he'p from no damned revenuer." 
 
 Stone, realizing too late the error in his diplom- 
 acy, made what haste he could to retrieve it. His 
 smile was genial as he spoke. He seemed quite un- 
 abashed, just heartily sympathetic, and his manner 
 calmed the girl's irritation almost at once. 
 
 *'0h, you little mountain hornet! Well, you are 
 telling me news now. And its the kind to make any 
 old bachelor like me weep for envy. Lucky boy, 
 Zeke! I guess he knows it, too, for he's got eyes in 
 his head. About the money — why, you've a right 
 to it. If Dan Hodges and his gang ain't rounded 
 up quick, they'll be killing some good citizen — ^like 
 me, perhaps." 
 
 Plutina had recovered her poise, but she spoke 
 no less firmly : 
 
 "No, suh, I won't tech the money. I kin show 
 ye how to kotch the hull gang, but not fer pay, an 
 not fer love o' no revenuer, neither. Hit's jest fer 
 the good o' this country hyarbout. Dan Hodges 
 has done sot b'ar-traps to kotch you-all. An' anjf- 
 body might walk plumb into 'em, but not if I kin 
 he'p hit." 
 
 Forthwith, she made the situation clear to her 
 eager listener. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 83 
 
 "Kin you-all meet me, an hour by the sun in 
 the mornin', on the trail to Cherry Lane post-office 
 jest beyond the Widder Higgins' clearin' ? I'll take 
 ye to the place, whar ye kin see the still, an' the 
 traps." 
 
 *T'll have to move lively," the marshal answered, 
 with a somewhat rueful laugh. "Twenty miles* 
 ride to North Wilkesboro', and back. But I'll do 
 it, of course. I wouldn't miss it for a good deal. 
 I'll have my men waiting at Trap Hill. If things 
 shape right, I'll make the raid to-morrow night." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MARSHAL John Stone was a mountaineer 
 of the better sort, who had the respect and 
 admiration of the law-abiding citizens in 
 his district, and the hate of the evil-doers. He 
 stood full six feet in his socks, and he was broad 
 and muscled in proportion. His gray eyes were of 
 the sort to harden to steel against an enemy, to 
 soften wonderfully for a friend. The mouth, half- 
 hidden by the thick mustache, was very firm, yet 
 prone to smiles. To an excellent intelligence had 
 been added a fair amount of education. Since he 
 respected both himself and his work, and had de- 
 veloped a veritable passion for the capture of male- 
 factors, he was more than usually successful. His 
 zeal, tempered with discretion, had won the appre- 
 ciative attention of official superiors. There could 
 be no doubt that promotion would shortly remove 
 him to a higher plane of service. The fact would 
 have been most agreeable to Stone, but for two 
 things. He desired beyond all else, before going 
 from the mountains, to capture Dan Hodges, who 
 had so persistently flouted the law, and himself, its 
 
 84 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 85 
 
 representative; the second unsatisfied ambition was 
 to come on the long-lost Burns' still. 
 
 The Scottish poet's poverty was almost equal to* 
 his genius. On that account, Robert Burns was 
 glad to secure the stipend of fifty-pounds a year to 
 which he became entitled on his appointment as 
 exciseman in 1788. It may be that his convivial 
 habits made his official position particularly accept- 
 able, since doubtless his perquisites included the 
 keeping of his own jug filled. And there were 
 moonshiners among the Scottish hills in those days, 
 as perhaps there are to-day. On occasion, the poet 
 made a gift of a captured still to some discreet 
 friend. One recipient emigrated to America, and 
 bore into the wilderness that has become North 
 Carolina the kettle and cap of copper on which 
 Burns had graven his name, and the date, 1790. 
 Afterward, as the years passed, the still knew many 
 owners, mostly unlawful. It won fame, and this 
 saved it from the junk-heap of its fellows, when 
 seized by the Federal officers. Three times, it was 
 even placed on public exhibition. As many, it was 
 stolen by moonshiners. For years now, it had re- 
 mained in secret. Marshal Stone yearned to re- 
 capture the Burns still. There was no reason 
 whatsoever for believing it to be in the possession 
 of Hodges, yet it might as easily be with that des- 
 perado as with another. There was at least the 
 
86 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 possibility. The marshal, as he rode north before 
 the dawn next morning, felt a new kindling of 
 hope. It seemed to him almost certain that the 
 opportunity was at hand to satisfy one ambition at 
 least by putting Hodges behind the bars. For the 
 other, it was on the lap of the gods. 
 
 The officer was at pains to use every precaution to 
 avoid being observed while in company with the 
 girl, whom he duly met at the appointed place while 
 the sun was yet low on the eastern horizon. The 
 two made their way with what quiet they could 
 through devious paths to Luffman's Branch. The 
 dew lay heavy on the laurel leaves of the thickets, 
 and the breeze was perfumed with the penetrant fra- 
 grance of many blossoms. The day was thrilling 
 with the matins of the birds. The balsamic air was 
 a wine of life. The rugged mountain peaks 
 seemed to stand as an impregnable barrier against 
 the confusions and evils of the larger world. But 
 the man and the girl recked nought of these things 
 as they went forward, with cautious steps and 
 watchful eyes. They knew that the tranquil scene 
 masked wickedness close by them, which would not 
 hesitate to destroy. The discovery of the marshal 
 in that vicinity would mean for him the bullet of 
 an assassin from out the screen of leaves, and the 
 same fate — or worse — for his companion. The 
 corpses would be lost in the Devil's Cauldron. Men 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 87 
 
 would whisper grim surmises, and whisper low lest 
 the like come upon them. And that would be all. 
 
 They reached the cliff top overlooking the little 
 canon, and Plutina pointed out the location of the 
 traps on the strip of dry ground below, and the hud- 
 dles of brush that disguised the buildings of the still. 
 Then, the girl went her way. She had done her 
 part. The man remained to study the scene above 
 for hours through his glasses, and to map out the 
 night's campaign into the enemy's country. 
 
 A delicate moonlight fell over the mountains, 
 when, in the evening, Stone led his men from the 
 rendezvous at Trap Hill. The six were heavily 
 armed and well mounted. Their course at the out- 
 set led them along the Elkin road to Joines' store, 
 where they swung into the trail over which Zeke 
 and Plutina had walked the day of their parting. 
 The cavalcade rode swiftly. There was no con- 
 versation; only the pounding of hoofs and the 
 jangling of accoutrements. When, at last, they 
 reached the edge of the Widow Higgins' clearing, 
 they turned sharply to the eastward, following the 
 path toward the Cherry Lane post-office. Pres- 
 ently, at a low word of command from the leader, 
 they halted and dismounted. The horses were left 
 to the care of one man in a near-by thicket, and 
 the remainder of the party continued the advance 
 on foot. 
 
88 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The marshal, during his watch on the still that 
 day, had planned his attack in every detail. He 
 hoped to make his capture of the gang without un- 
 necessary casualties, for in this particular he had 
 achieved an enviable record, on which he prided 
 himself. At first, he had thought of ascending along 
 the course of Luffman's Branch, after springing 
 the traps, but had given over the plan as one offer- 
 ing more chance of the raiders being discovered 
 prematurely. Instead, he had decided on taking his 
 men up the mountainside by a round-about route, 
 likely to be free from watchers. His men were al- 
 ready instructed in every point, so now they fol- 
 lowed him rapidly and almost noiselessly, as he 
 forced his way through the thick growths of the 
 wooded slopes. The darkness added to the diffi- 
 culties of the progress, but the posse were inured to 
 hardships, and went onward and upward resolutely. 
 Despite the necessities of the detour, they came sur- 
 prisingly soon to a height from which they looked 
 across a small ravine to the level space where the 
 still perched by the stream. A few whispered words 
 from the leader, and the company crept with in- 
 creased care across the ravine. From the ridge 
 beyond, three of the men passed forward to make 
 ambush — one above, and one below, and one on the 
 far side of the still. Stone and a single companion 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 89 
 
 remained, hiding behind the clumps of rhododen- 
 drons. 
 
 It was with huge satisfaction that the marshal 
 recognized Hodges himself, plainly revealed by the 
 firelight. The ''kettle" was running at full blast. 
 The seasoned hickory logs, in the rough stone fur- 
 nace beneath the kettle, were burning fiercely, and 
 the blue and gold of their flames lighted all the 
 scene into vivid relief against the background of 
 shadows. Stone, even at his distance, could see dis- 
 tinctly the tiny stream of colorless mountain-corn 
 whiskey, as it flowed out from the worm into the 
 keg placed to receive it. The leader of the gang 
 was seated at ease on a stool just outside the brush 
 enclosure that masked the buildings. The villain 
 was evidently in a mood of contentment, untainted 
 by remorse over the havoc his traps might wreak 
 on any passing through the gorge below. Rather, 
 doubtless, the memory of those sinister sentinels 
 gave him a sense of safety, on which his serenity 
 was founded. In his lap was a banjo which he 
 thrummed vigorously, with rhythmic precision, if 
 no greater musical art, and head and body and 
 feet, all gave emphasis to the movement. At in- 
 tervals, his raucous voice rumbled a snatch of song. 
 It was evident that the moonshiner was mellow 
 from draughts of his own potent product. 
 
 Othefs of the gang were busied here and there, 
 
90 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 bulking grotesquely as they moved about the fire, 
 seeming disheveled demons of the pit. Like some 
 master imp torturing a pigmy over the flames, old 
 Ben York was kneeling close beside the blaze, hold- 
 ing to the coals a hickory stick, which served as 
 spit for the roasting of a squirrel. The brilliance 
 shone full on the frowsy gray whiskers, and, above 
 them, the blinking, rheumy eyes, so intent on the 
 proper browning of the game. None of the out- 
 laws had a weapon in his grasp — a fact noted with 
 satisfaction by the chief of the raiders, who knew 
 that these men would not scruple against bloodshed 
 to escape arrest. There were arms at hand, of 
 course; Hodges' rifle was visible, leaning against 
 a ground pine within his reach. But Stone hoped 
 that the surprise would be such that the gang 
 could not avail themselves of their weapons. 
 
 Hodges had just completed a strident rendering 
 of ^'Cripple Crick," and had thumped out the open- 
 ing bars of ''Short'nin' Bread," when the marshal 
 gave the signal for attack — a single flash of his 
 electric torch. In the same second, the raiders' 
 rifles crashed out. The big bullets struck true to 
 aim in the ground of the open place before the fire. 
 A shower of dirt and pebbles spat back viciously. 
 Some of the flying fragments struck the men, terri- 
 fying them with the thought of bullet wounds. 
 Hodges, as the reports sounded, felt the bruise of 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 91 
 
 stones on his bare legs, and shrieked in panic fear. 
 His instinctive recoil carried him over backward, 
 from the stool to the ground. The banjo jangled 
 discordant triumph over his fall. When, dazed by 
 the suddenness of it all, he would have struggled 
 up, he found himself fast in the clutches of two raid- 
 ers, who locked manacles on his wrists. Stone 
 grunted joyously as he surveyed the captive. The 
 others of the gang, except Ben York, had contrived 
 to slip away into the laurel, whither it would avail 
 nothing to follow them, save useless risk of being 
 killed from ambush. But the marshal cared little 
 for the escape of the lesser malefactors. He had 
 succeeded in taking prisoner the most notorious 
 criminal of the mountains. 
 
 Ben York had failed to effect his usual flight, be- 
 cause of being at a disadvantage on his knees. Be- 
 fore he could scramble up for a plunge into the 
 thickets the enemy was upon him. Yet, even in 
 this moment of shock, the old scoundrel's cunning 
 sought and found a ruse. He stood swaying for 
 seconds, and then tumbled limply headlong to the 
 ground, in a drunkard's fall, familiar to his muscles 
 by experience through three-score years. So he lay 
 inert, seemingly sodden from the kettle's brew. His 
 captors, if resolved to hold him prisoner, would be 
 forced to the arduous task of carying him through 
 the dark, down the rough slopes. It would be 
 
92 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 strange, he mused complacently, if in the course of 
 the journey, their vigilance did not relax a little. 
 And a very little would suffice him ! Then, though 
 to all appearance in a drunken stupor, he sighed. He 
 was unhappily aware that the revenue men would 
 not be gentle in their efforts to arouse him to con- 
 sciousness. Whether they believed him shamming 
 or not, they would use no doubtful measures. But, 
 whatever might come, he must endure it for the 
 sake of escape. 
 
 The raiders realized the need of haste, for they 
 must be done with their work here, and down the 
 steeps of the mountain into the open road, ere the 
 fugitives should have time to arm themselves, and 
 waylay the posse from the thickets. So, with due 
 watchfulness of the two prisoners, the men set about 
 that task of destruction which their duty required. 
 The fermenters, huge tubs holding the mixture 
 of meal, malt and water making ready for the still, 
 received first attention. Since York had fallen be- 
 fore these, the men rolled him roughly to one side, 
 without arousing him to any sign of consciousness. 
 Stone knew the man to be shamming, since there 
 had been no show of even incipient drunkenness 
 before the moment of the raid. He resolved to try 
 a test at least, for he was alert to the hindrance the 
 limp form would prove in the descent of the moun- 
 tain. He thrust the body forward with his foot. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 93 
 
 close to one of the great "stands" of the mixture, 
 and bade an appreciative assistant apply the ax to 
 the slippery-elm hoops that bound the staves. As 
 the bands fell and the great volume of liquid gushed 
 forth, the raiders leaped aside from the flood. But 
 York never stirred. The down-rushing tide fell 
 fairly on him, engulfed him. He made no move- 
 ment, no outcry. Even Stone himself v^as led to a 
 half- remorseful wonder whether he had been de- 
 ceived concerning the fellow's state. Then, after 
 a few seconds, the bald head rose, glistening from 
 the pool of the ''beer." The thin wisps of gray 
 hair hung in dank strings; the jungle of beard 
 seemed strangely thin; there was something curi- 
 ously unlike Ben York in the lineaments. The 
 marshal guessed that the metamorphosis was 
 wrought by the swirling mess, which had scrubbed 
 the weazened face almost clean for the first time 
 in the memory of living man. As the dilapidated 
 head emerged, it showed the grotesque caricature 
 of a Neptune, whose element was not the waters 
 of ocean, but the shattered hogsheads of ''beer." 
 Even now, however, Ben clung to his role. Once 
 his face was clear, he continued to sit placidly, 
 though the surface of the viscous pool was at his 
 neck. For better effect, he blinked vacuously, and 
 gurgled. Perhaps, memory of a bath in infancy 
 inspired him. He had had none since. He beat his 
 
94 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 scrawny hands in the "beer," and cackled. It was 
 admirable art, but wasted. 
 
 The eight fermenters were broken and emptied, 
 the whiskey stores, both "singlin's" and "doublin's," 
 were poured out on the ground, which drank them 
 as thirstily as did ever law-scorning ''boomer." 
 Then, the raiders turned to the chief spoils, kettle, 
 cap and worm. Stone and his men took the copper 
 worm from the cooling barrel, removed the cap, 
 drew the fire from the furnace, and finally pulled 
 down the kettle. In the varied excitement of the 
 night, the marshal had almost forgotten his second 
 great ambition, in the accomplishment of his first. 
 Almost, not quite. Now, the memory of it jumped 
 within him. He thrust the cap where the glow of 
 the fire would light it clearly, dropped to his knees, 
 and peered closely. His stern face relaxed abruptly 
 to joyousness. 
 
 "By the Lord, boys," he shouted, "it's the Bobbie 
 Burns' still!" 
 
 Nevertheless, Stone wasted no time in exultation. 
 He merely ordered his men to carry the copper uten- 
 sils along, instead of destroying them on the spot. 
 Then, he addressed Ben York, who grinned idioti- 
 cally from toothless gums, where he crouched in the 
 diminishing puddle. The marshal's voice rasped. 
 
 ''You're going with us, Ben. It's for you to 
 say how. If we have to, we'll carry you — all the 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 95 
 
 way. We'll snake you down the mountains with- 
 out being too almighty careful of that rum-tanned 
 hide of yours, and then we'll sling you across the 
 roughest-gaited horse we've got — face down across 
 the saddle and roped snug. That's the way you'll 
 do twenty-odd miles, Ben, if we have to tote you 
 down a single rod. Make up your mind — now! 
 It'll be too late to change it, in a minute. You're 
 plumb sober, and I know it. Get up, you old fox !'* 
 
 And Ben York, shivering in his sticky, drenched 
 rags, recognized the inevitable, and scrambled to 
 his feet, snarling curses. 
 
 *'Hit was thet-thar damned gal!" he mumbled 
 venomously. But none heard. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 IT is a far cry from the savagery of the Illicit 
 mountain still to that consummate luxury of 
 civilization, an ocean-going steam yacht. Yet, 
 in actual space, the distance between these two ex- 
 tremes was not great. The Josephine, all in snowy 
 white, save for the gleam of polished brass-work, 
 and flying the pennant of the New York Yacht Club, 
 glided forth from Norfolk Harbor in serene mag- 
 nificence on the same day that The Bonita chugged 
 fussily over the same course. The yacht was set- 
 ting out on the second stage of her leisurely pleasure 
 voyage to Bermuda. The skipper had been in- 
 structed to follow the coast southward as far as 
 Frying Pan Shoals, for the sake of rounding Hat- 
 teras. Afterward, since the weather grew menacing, 
 the craft continued down the coast to Cape Lookout, 
 where anchor was dropped in the Harbor of Refuge. 
 The island that lies there is a long, narrow, bar- 
 ren strip of sand, dotted thickly with dunes. Only 
 a coarse marsh grass grows, with dwarfed pines and 
 cedars. In this bleak spot live and thrive droves of 
 wild ponies, of uncertain ancestry. It was these 
 
 96 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 97 
 
 creatures that just now held the attention of two per- 
 sons on the yacht. 
 
 Under the awning in the stern, two girls were 
 chatting as they dawdled over their morning choco- 
 late. The younger and prettier of these was Joseph- 
 ine Blaise, the motherless daughter of the yacht- 
 owner; the other was Florence Marlow her most 
 intimate friend. , 
 
 *'Dad told me I could have the runabout ashore," 
 Josephine was saying, with a sudden access of ani- 
 mation. *'We'll go along the beach, as long as the 
 going's good, or till we scare up the ponies." 
 
 **I do hope we'll see them digging holes in the 
 sand, so as to get fresh water," Florence exclaimed. 
 
 But Josephine was quick to dissent: 
 
 "They don't dig for water," she explained, with a 
 superior air. "They dig the holes in the beach 
 when the tides out, and then the tide comes in and 
 fills the holes, of course. When it ebbs, the ponies 
 go around and pick out the fish, and eat them.'* 
 
 Florence stared disbelievingly. 
 'Oh, what a whopper !" she cried. 
 'Captain Hawks told me himself," Josephine as- 
 serted, with confidence. "He knows all about them — 
 he's seen them wild on the island and tame on the 
 mainland." 
 
 "Same oneS; probably!" was the tart retort. "I 
 
 
98 HEART OE THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 thought the doctor lied ably, but he's truth itself 
 compared with that hairy-skipper of yours." 
 
 Josephine tossed her head. 
 
 *'We'll run 'em down and observe their habits, 
 scientifically, and convince you.'* 
 
 A glance shoreward showed the car awaiting 
 them. As they descended the ladder to the launch, 
 a yelp sounded from the deck, and a bull-terrier 
 came charging after. Florence regarded the dog 
 without any evidence of pleasure. 
 
 *'Does the pest go, too ?" she asked, resignedly. 
 
 Josephine pulled the terrier's ears fondly, as it 
 cuddled close against her skirt. 
 
 "Chubbie deserves an outing after the bump he 
 got from that horried man yesterday," she said. 
 
 The girls exchanged glances, and laughed over 
 some secret joke. When, presently, they were seated 
 together in the runaabout, with Josephine at the 
 wheel, the bull-terrier squatted in dignity on the 
 small back seat. The level sand formed a perfect 
 roadway, and the car darted smoothly and swiftly 
 between the twin barren spaces of land and sea. 
 As they swept forward, the girls watched alertly 
 for a glimpse of the ponies among the dunes, 
 but there was nowhere any sign of a living thing, 
 save the few hurrying gulls. They had gone per- 
 haps twenty miles, and were beginning to fear dis- 
 appointment, when, without warning, a drove of 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 99 
 
 the horses came galloping over the crest of a little 
 rise, a half-mile beyond. As the car ran forward, 
 along the ribbon of sand below the higher ground, 
 the ponies suddenly perceived it, and halted with 
 the precision of a troop of cavalry. Near at hand, 
 now, the girls could note details, and both observed 
 with interest the leader, which stood a little in ad- 
 vance of his troop, at the end near the approaching 
 machine. He was a handsome creature, with lines 
 as suavely strong as an Arabian's. He stood with 
 head held high, tail streaming, a fore-hoof pawing 
 challengingly at the sand. Only the thick, shaggy 
 bay coat showed the barbarian, rather than the thor- 
 oughbred. The mares, a score of them in one 
 orderly rank behind him, were crowding and lash- 
 ing out nervously, as they watched the strange 
 monster racing so fast on the ocean's edge. Some 
 of them nickered curiously. But the stallion rested 
 silent, until the automobile halted, hardly fifty yards 
 away. Then he tossed his head proudly, and blared 
 a great trumpet-note of defiance. Josephine in- 
 stinctively answered with the horn. The mechani- 
 cal cry broke harshly, swelled and wailed. The 
 eerie response terrified the mares; it perplexed and 
 alarmed their lord. But he showed no dismay. For 
 a moment still, he remained motionless. His noisy 
 challenge rang forth once again. Since the invader 
 on the sands below kept silence, nor made any 
 
loo HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 movement toward attack, the leader seemed to feel 
 that his prestige was safe enough; that prudence 
 were now the better part. He sounded a low call, 
 and set off at a gallop along the ridge top. The 
 rank of mares pounded obediently at his heels. 
 
 *'0h, after them, Josie!" Florence cried. 
 
 In a moment, the car shot forward. The horn 
 clamored again. The fleeing horses looked back, 
 then leaped to new speed before the monster that 
 threatened them with unknown terrors. As the 
 car increased its pace, the ponies strove the harder. 
 Their strides lengthened, quickened. The stunted 
 marsh grass beat on the low bellies. Despite their 
 desperate striving, the runabout drew closer and 
 closer, reached abreast of them. . The excitement of 
 the chase was in the sparkling eyes of the girls. 
 The dog, scrambling up and falling in its seat, 
 yelped madly. Here, the beach broadened to a 
 sharper ascent of the ridge. Josephine shifted the 
 wheel. The car swung in a wide curve and drove 
 straight toward the panic-stricken troop, as if it 
 would soar up to them. Fear took pride's place in 
 the leader's heart. He sounded a command. The 
 flying drove veered, vanished from the ridge top. 
 The muflled thudding of hoofs came faintly for a 
 minute against the sea wind. Then, as the car 
 came to a standstill, the girls listened, but heard no 
 sound. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE loi 
 
 "It was bully fun!" Josephine said. "I'm sorry 
 it s over. 
 
 "After that run, they may be thirsty enough to 
 dig for water," Florence suggested, with a laugh. 
 "Let's climb up, and take a look round from the 
 ridge." 
 
 But a glance from this point of advantage made it 
 clear that the peculiarities of the ponies in drinking 
 or fishing were not to be explained to-day. They 
 were visible still, to be sure, but a mile off, and the 
 rapidity with which the moving mass diminished to 
 the eye was proof that they were still in panic. 
 
 "We might as well get back to the yacht," was 
 Josephine's rueful comment. "There's not another 
 single thing to see, now they're gone." She ran 
 her keen gaze over the dreary waste of the island 
 with a little shiver of distaste. Then her glance 
 roved the undulant expanse of sea. She uttered a 
 sharp ejaculation of surprise. 
 
 "There is something, after all," she called out, 
 excitedly. "See — over there!" 
 
 Florence looked in the direction marked by the 
 pointing finger. 
 
 *Tt's a canoe," she hazarded, as her eyes fell on 
 the object that bobbed lightly in the surf, two hun- 
 dred yards from the shore. "I can see the man in 
 it. He's lying down. Funny I" 
 
102 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 But Josephine, wiser from much experience on 
 shipboard, now saw clearly, and the sight thrilled. 
 
 *lt's a Hfe-raft," she declared, with a tremor in 
 her voice; and there's a man on it. It's a — real — 
 castaway. Come !" 
 
 With that, she set off running down the steep 
 slope of the ridge toward the sea. Behind her came 
 Florence, startled and alarmed. The dog barked 
 exultantly once, then leaped ahead, only to return 
 and circle the slowxr playfellows joyfully. They 
 came to the water's edge, and halted, perforce. 
 Josephine saw the raft, as it rode on a breaking 
 wave. It was perceptibly nearer. She dared hope 
 it might be brought within reach. With deft mo- 
 tions, the flannel skirt was tucked within her belt, 
 leaving her legs free. Florence, somewhat reluc- 
 tantly, made the like adjustment. The bull-terrier, 
 disheartened by this immobility, sat on its haunches, 
 and regarded the two doubtfully, perhaps prudishly 
 disapproving. From time to time the raft showed 
 for a few seconds; only to vanish again behind the 
 screen of spume. But it advanced shoreward, 
 steadily. The body of the man was distinct — prone, 
 motionless. The girls watched and waited in palpi- 
 tant eagerness. The dog, sensing the tension of the 
 moment, began to hasten to and fro. snuffing and 
 whining. Suddenly, the two cried out in the same 
 moment. They saw the raft floating fast and 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 103 
 
 smoothly toward them qu the crest of a breaker. 
 They dashed forward, knee-deep, to meet the charge. 
 The huge mass of the wave pounded upon them, al- 
 most swept them from their feet. The angry waters 
 boiled about them. It was up to their waists now. 
 The flying spray lashed their faces and blinded 
 them. When, at last, their vision cleared, the raft 
 had vanished. They caught sight of it again, pres- 
 ently. It was floating from them, already fifty yards 
 distant. 
 
 Nevertheless, the girls, though discouraged, did 
 not give over their hope of rescue. Not even when 
 another wave thrust the raft fairly upon them, so 
 that their hands clutched the tubes, then tore it ruth- 
 lessly from their puny grasp, and flung it afar. The 
 dog, accustomed to sporting in the surf with its 
 mistress, rushed to seize this flotsam, but the power- 
 ful jaws could find no hold. As the dog approached, 
 swimming, Josephine put her hand to its collar, and 
 so supported it while they waited anxiously for the 
 raft's return. 
 
 It came more quickly than before. It was, indeed, 
 as if fate finally relented, for the raft was borne 
 this time on a smaller wave, almost with gentleness, 
 as it seemed. Yet, the gentleness of appearance was 
 only mockery. When the two girls laid hands on 
 it with all their strength it swerved violently, 
 wrested itself from their clutch. Josephine cried out 
 
104 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 in despair. She saw the dog, released by her effort, 
 plunging forward. A rope dragged in the raft's 
 wake, a remnant of the lashings. The dog lunged 
 viciously, and its jaws locked on the rope. Immedi- 
 ately, then, the bull-terrier began swimming toward 
 the shore. There was no progress. But the going 
 of the raft was momentarily stayed. Josephine saw 
 the opportunity and shrieked to Florence. The two 
 sprang, and caught the raft again. It rested pas- 
 sively in the grasp of the three. The dog continued 
 swimming, its face set resolutely shoreward. The 
 girls, up to their breasts in water, stepped forward, 
 tugging lustily. The three advanced slowly. The 
 raft moved with them. 
 
 It was a struggle that taxed the strength of each 
 to the uttermost. Those three puny creatures fight- 
 ing against the might of the ocean for the body of a 
 dead man! Dead the man seemed, at least, to the 
 girls, who, after one glance into the drawn and 
 ghastly face of their burden, dared not look again. 
 The undertow writhed about their legs, jerked at 
 them wrath fully. Waves crashed upon them with 
 shattering force. Once, Florence was hurled from 
 her footing, but her hands held their grip on the 
 raft. The wrenching shock was sustained by Joseph- 
 ine and the dog. They gave a little, but with fierce, 
 stubborn resistance. Florence regained her feet. 
 The rout was stayed. The pitiful combat between 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 105 
 
 pigmies and Titans was on again. There was good 
 blood in the three. A fighting ancestry had dow- 
 ered them with the courage that does not know de- 
 feat when it is met. Their strength was exhausted. 
 Yet, they battled on. A great comber smashed 
 against them. It snatched the raft from the weak- 
 ened hold of the girls, threw it far up on the sand. 
 The dog shot in a wide arc through the air. They 
 could hear its grunt as it fell. But the jaws were 
 still locked. In the same instant, the beast was 
 firmly set, hauling at the rope. The raft was held 
 for a little by the dog alone, against the waters as 
 they sucked back. Then, the girls tottered to aid. 
 They fell to their knees in the shallows, and clung 
 frantically. The waves hissed away from them. 
 
 They feared the coming of a larger breaker to 
 undo their work. Josephine perceived to her aston- 
 ishment that the man was not fastened to the raft, 
 except by the vise-like gripping of his big hands. 
 And, too, she saw now that he was living. She 
 guessed that he was stupefied by exhaustion, yet 
 not swooning. She shrieked to him to unclench his 
 fingers. It may be that his dulled brain understood 
 in a measure; it may be that he was come to the 
 very end of his strength. Anyhow, as she put her 
 fingers to his, there was no resistance. The grasp 
 that had withstood the sea's fury, yielded at once 
 to the soft pressure of her touch. The two girls 
 
io6 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 summoned new energy to the task. The dog let go 
 the rope, and, whining curiously, caught a trouser 
 leg between its teeth, and aided. Somehow, the 
 three contrived to roll and push and pull the inert 
 form to a point of safety. Then, they sank down, 
 panting. 
 
 Josephine stirred first. With a gasping sigh, she 
 struggled to a sitting position. The dog at once 
 stood up, and shook itself with great violence. The 
 drops splashed over the face of Florence, and she, 
 in turn, opened her eyes, groaned deeply, and sat 
 up, with a wry smile of discomfort. 
 
 "What'll we do with the corpse?" she inquired, 
 in an undertaker's best manner. 
 
 The funereal suggestion, so sincerely offered, pro- 
 voked Josephine to a weak peal of laughter. 
 
 "Better wait to worry over that till he's dead," 
 she answered briskly, if somewhat incoherently. 
 ''And he will be, if we don't watch out. There 
 should be a flask in the motor. Run and get it, Flo.' 
 I'll chafe his hands." 
 
 "Run!" the other exclaimed. 'Tf I can crawl it, 
 I'll be proud." Nevertheless, she got to her feet, 
 stiffly, but readily enough. "And sprinkle water 
 on his face," she called over her shoulder. "It 
 might cheer him anyhow, after having had it all 
 over him by the ton. Both girls in the first reaction 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 107 
 
 from the stress of their war against death were 
 brimming with joyousness, notwithstanding fatigue. 
 
 While Josephine rubbed the rough hands as 
 strongly as she could between her own tender ones, 
 the dog drew near. When the girl looked up, she 
 saw that her pet was licking the man's face. She 
 called out in sharp rebuke. At the same moment, 
 the castaway's eyes unclosed. For long seconds, he 
 stared, unblinking. Then, abruptly, his voice 
 sounded in a low drawl of wonder : 
 
 ''Hit's thet-thar damned man-faced dawg!" 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE castaway's gaze went to the girl kneeling 
 beside him. 
 
 "An' the furrin woman!" he muttered. 
 Florence came running with the flask, which was 
 full of brandy. 
 
 ''Quick !" Josephine urged. "He's better, but he's 
 raving crazy. Thinks I'm a foreigner." 
 
 But, as Florence could have filled the cup of the 
 flask, Zeke interposed, with more animation than 
 he had hitherto shown. 
 
 "If so be that's likker, an' ye 'lows to give hit 
 to me, if hit don't make no p'tic'lar diff'rence to 
 you-all, I'd like to drink hit right smack outen thet- 
 thar new-fangled bottle, jest as we be a-used to 
 doin' in the State o' Wilkes." 
 
 "As you wish, of course," Florence replied, sooth- 
 ingly. "It will make a new man of you." 
 
 Zeke promptly sat up and put his lips to the 
 mouth of the flask, and held them there while the 
 rhythmic movement of his adam's apple visibly 
 witnessed thirstiness. The girls regarded him with 
 astonishment, which quickly merged in dismay, for 
 
 108 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 109 
 
 they could not guess the boomer's capacity for 
 fiery drink. As a matter of fact, Zeke, while he 
 drank, lamented the insipidity of the draught, and 
 sighed for a swig of moonshine to rout the chill 
 in his veins with its fluid flames. He, in turn, 
 was presently to learn, with astonishment, that a 
 beverage so mild to the taste had all the potency 
 of his mountain dram, and more. Chilled as he 
 had been by the long hours of exposure to the 
 night air of the sea, while drifting the fifteen miles 
 from Ocracoke Inlet, and worn in body and mind 
 by the peril of his situation, Zeke found himself al- 
 most at once strengthened and cheered by the gen- 
 erous spirit. He was, in fact, another man than the 
 exhausted castaway, as the girl had promised; he 
 was himself again. He was still weak and shaken; 
 but his splendid vitality was asserting itself. The 
 gray, drawn face was colored to golden tan; the 
 clear eyes were shining with new appreciation of the 
 joy of life. He had not thought much after the 
 very first, during those long, racking hours of toss- 
 ing on the sea. His brain had become numb. His 
 fancies had run to tender memories of moments 
 spent with Plutina. Often, he had felt her pres- 
 ence there with him, in the dark spaces of the sea. 
 But the idea that most dominated his mind had 
 sprung from the lusty instinct of self-preservation; 
 he must cling to the raft. It had been the one thing 
 
no HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 that he could do toward safety. His whole will 
 had centered in the clutch of his hands on the 
 tubes. 
 
 Seeing the man thus recovered, the girls withdrew 
 toward the runabout to adjust their clothing, and 
 to find some garment for the man, since he wore 
 only shirt and trousers. But the bull-terrier, for a 
 wonder, did not follow its mistress. Instead, it 
 sat on its haunches close to the mountaineer, and 
 muzzled his hand. Zeke pulled the dog's ears gently. 
 
 *That thump I gin ye must 'a' struck plumb 
 down to yer heart, an' made a right-smart change 
 in yer affections. Ye wa'n't so dummed friendly 
 when ye tuck thet-thar hunk out o' my pants." 
 
 The dog whined an answer, and crept fawning- 
 ly into the mountaineer's lap, where it nestled con- 
 tentedly. It was thus that the girls, returning with 
 a rain-coat, found the two, and they stared in sur- 
 prise, for the bull-terrier was none too amiable with 
 strangers. 
 
 "I never knew Chubbie make friends like that 
 before," Josephine exclaimed. She looked in fresh 
 curiosity upon the wholesome face with the regular 
 features, rather stern in repose, but now softened 
 by a smile. "It must be because he helped us pull 
 you out. We couldn't have done it without him. 
 That makes you belong to him, in a way." 
 
 Zeke stared at the dog, with new respect. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE in 
 
 "The darned son of a gun!" he ejaculated, 
 gravely. "I reckon," he continued after a medita- 
 tive pause, ''the little cuss felt like he ov^ed me 
 somethin' fer sp'ilin' my jeans. That crack I gin 
 him put the fear o' God into his bosom, so to speak. 
 *The more ye beat 'em, the better they be.' " 
 
 Josephine started at his v^^ords. Without a hat, 
 the dark curls had given a look so different to the 
 face that, until now, she had not recognized the man 
 of the ferry-boat. 
 
 ''Why," she cried, "you are the one !" She turned 
 to the bewildered Florence. Her blue eyes were 
 flashing; her voice was hard. "He's the creature 
 that almost killed Chubbie. And to think we 
 troubled to save him!" 
 
 "That hell-fired pup o' your'n took a holt on me 
 first," Zeke protested wrathfully, forgetful of his 
 reconciliation with the dog. Then, a plaintive whine 
 recalled him. He smiled whimsically, as he patted 
 the bull-terrier's head, which was lifted toward him 
 fondly. The anger died out of his face, and he 
 smiled. "I've hearn these-hyar dumb critters git 
 things 'bout right by instinct, somehow. Yer 
 dawg's done fergive me. Won't you-all, mum?" 
 
 Josephine hesitated. The ingenuous appeal 
 touched her. Only pride held her from yielding. 
 
 "An', besides," Zeke went on, "ye was a-sayin* 
 as how the dawg kind o' felt I belonged to him like. 
 
112 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 bein' he he'ped pull me out o' the ocean, an' so he 
 had to like me. Thet-thar argyment goes fer you- 
 all, too, mum. So, I 'low ye gotter fergive me — 
 specially kase yer dawg begun hit." 
 
 Josephine relaxed with a ripple of laughter. The 
 mountaineer both interested and pleased her. To 
 her inevitable interest in one whom she had helped 
 to save from death, there was now added a personal 
 attraction. She perceived, with astonishment, that 
 this was by no means the hulking brute she had 
 deemed him when her pet had suffered at his hands. 
 The dog's attitude toward him impressed her 
 deeply. Moreover, she saw that he was intelligent, 
 as well as naive. She perceived that he had humor 
 and quickness of feeling. His responsiveness to 
 the dog's advances pleased her. She was greedy of 
 experience and knowledge, easily bored by familiar 
 things, likely to be vastly interested, for a brief 
 season, in the new and strange. She realized that 
 here, ready to her hand, was a type wholly novel. 
 She felt that it was her prerogative to understand 
 something of the nature of this singular being thus 
 cast at her feet by fate. Certainly, it would be ab- 
 surd to cherish any rancor. As he had said, the 
 dog's action sufficed. Besides, she must be friendly 
 if she would learn concerning this personality. 
 Every reason justified inclination. She rebelled no 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 113 
 
 longer. Her blue eyes gleamed with genuine kindli- 
 ness, as she spoke : 
 
 *1'11 take Chubbie's word for it." Her voice be- 
 came authoritative. ''Now, if you feel equal to 
 standing up, we'll have this rain-coat on you, and 
 then run you down to the yacht. We'll attend to 
 landing you somewhere after you've rested and had 
 something to eat." 
 
 Already Josephine's brain was busy, scheming to 
 her own ends, but of this she gave no hint. 
 
 Zeke pushed away the reluctant dog, and rose 
 up stiffly. The stimulation of the brandy stood him 
 in good stead. 
 
 *T 'low I'm havin' a right-smart lot of experi- 
 ence," he remarked, chuckling. "What with steam- 
 cars, an' boats, an' wrecks, an' now one o' them 
 ornery devil-wagons. I hain't a-feared none," he 
 added, musingly, "but I hain't a-pinin' neither. I 
 reckon I kin stand anythin' what gals an' a dog kin. 
 I'm plumb nervous or hungry — I don't know which. 
 Both, Hke's not!" 
 
 He rejected the offer of support, and walked firmly 
 enough to the machine, which he eyed distrustfully. 
 Florence took the rear seat, and Zeke established 
 himself beside Josephine, the dog between his feet. 
 After the first few minutes, he found himself de- 
 lighting in this smooth, silent rush over the white 
 sands. In answer to Josephine's question, he gave 
 
114 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 a bare outline of his adventures in the three days of 
 his absence from the mountains. 
 
 ''I was a-hankerin' arter experience.'' he con- 
 cluded, *'an' aimin' to make my everlastin' fortin. 
 I been doin' pretty peart, so fer." 
 
 "You've certainly had more than your share of 
 experience in the time," Josephine agreed; ''though 
 I don't know about the fortune." 
 
 "Started right-smack off at the rate of more'n 
 seventy-five thousand dollars a year," Zeke re- 
 joined, complacently. He laughed joyously at the 
 bewildered face the girl turned to him. 
 
 "I done figured hit out las' night, not havin' 
 much of anythin' to do on thet-thar raft, 'cept to 
 stick." He gave an account of the capture of the 
 negro outlaw, for which he had received a reward. 
 "I'm only a-jokin', of course," he went on with 
 new seriousness. "I hain't pinin' fer no foolishness. 
 'All I want is enough so's not to be hog-pore. An' 
 I got a chance to learn somethin', an' to make some- 
 thin', an', arter all, go right on livin' in my own 
 country. An' that's what Plutiny wants, too. An* 
 I'll have enough to buy her straighteners, if she 
 wants 'em, by cracky!" 
 
 "Oh — straighteners?" Josephine repeated, mysti- 
 fied. Vague memories of a visit to a hospital sug- 
 gested an explanation. "Then, this person ybu 
 speak of, Plutina, is deformed?" 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE iij 
 
 "Deformed!" For an instant, Zeke could only 
 repeat the word, helplessly. 
 
 "A curvature of the spine, I suppose," Josephine 
 continued, without interest. She had her eyes on the 
 ribbon of sand now, and guessed nothing as to her 
 companion's disturbance, until his voice came in a 
 burst of protest that made her jump. 
 
 'Tlutiny — deformed!" he exclaimed, harshly. 
 Then, his voice softened wonderfully, though it 
 shook with the tensity of his feeling. "Why, Plu- 
 tiny's better'n anybody else in all the world — she is, 
 an' she looks hit. Plutiny — deformed! Why, my 
 Plutiny's straight as thet-thar young pine tree a-top 
 Bull Head Mounting. An' she's as easy an' grace- 
 ful to bend an' move as the alders along Thunder 
 Branch. There hain't nary other woman in all the 
 world to ekal my Plutiny. Plutiny — deformed I 
 Why, mum, you-all talk plumb foolish." 
 
 The girl was too astonished before this outburst 
 to take offense. 
 
 "But you spoke about stralghteners for her," she 
 protested. 
 
 Zeke stared for a moment, then grinned under- 
 standingly. 
 
 "Thet's what we-uns call 'em," he said. "You- 
 all call 'em corsets." 
 
 Yet, the effect of this conversation reached be^ 
 yond the humorous. In some subtle fashion, it 
 
1 1 6 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 provoked the girl to keener interest in the young 
 man. She was perhaps, though she would have de- 
 nied the suggestion hotly, a little piqued by the exal- 
 tation with which he praised his rustic sweetheart. 
 Josephine was an exceedingly attractive young 
 woman, and she was accustomed to having men 
 show their appreciation of the fact. It was new to 
 her thus essentially to be ignored, and not quite 
 agreeable. There could be no tender interest be- 
 tween herself and this handsome barbarian. The 
 idea even of flirtation was quite inconceivable. 
 Nevertheless, it was strange that he should be so 
 imperceptive of her charms. Doubtless, his eyes 
 were blind to the refinements of beauty. They 
 should be opened. It w^ould be dreadful if the fel- 
 low should grow away from the girl who was wait- 
 ing for him. And yet — Josephine checked her 
 thoughts, and blushed a little. But a plan matured. 
 
 That plan was followed diplomatically when she 
 secured a private interview with her father, after 
 the return on board the yacht. 
 
 "Daddy, dear," she said, with a manner as casual 
 as she could contrive, "let's keep this Mister Hig- 
 gins on board. He's bound for New York, but in 
 no particular hurry. We'll get him there in about 
 ten days. 
 
 Mr. Blaise, w^ho was a plethoric, fussy/ little 
 man, adamant to all the world save his only child, 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 117 
 
 regarded her now in perplexity, his shrewd eyes a 
 bit mischievous. 
 
 *'I don't imagine it's to be the stereotyped romance, 
 just because you dragged him out of the sea," he 
 said. 'The chap has the makings of considerable of 
 a man in him, and he's good-looking enough to catch 
 a girl's fancy; but he's not your sort. So, why?" 
 
 ''Besides," Josephine retorted, smiling. "Flor- 
 ence has the same right in him as treasure trove. 
 That would make the romance too complicated." 
 , "Why?" Mr. Blaise repeated. 
 - "I've never met anyone like him," the girl ex- 
 plained, with truth, if not all the truth. "He's 
 unique. I want to study him. Such knowledge is 
 broadening — better than books." 
 
 "Bosh!" was the comment. "You mean, he's just 
 a freak to you, and you'd like to look him over a 
 little longer. There's no harm in that, if it amuses 
 you. But don't be silly about broadening yourself." 
 He regarded his daughter critically. "And leave 
 out the deserts. They're too broadening, if you like. 
 You're getting plump." 
 
 Josephine accepted this meekly, in her satisfaction 
 over having her way as to the new guest. 
 
 "I'll go and invite him, right away," she ex- 
 claimed. "He'll liven us up. 
 
 But her father wrinkled his brows in doubt. 
 
 "What about the effect on the young fellow, him- 
 
ii8 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 self?" he demanded. 'Tt can't do him any good, 
 Josie. That sort of thing's unsettHng, you know." 
 
 Josephine attempted no reply, as she went on her 
 way. Her father could not see the flush that touched 
 her cheeks. 
 
 Through such devious ways did it come to pass 
 that the mountaineer entered a world of which he 
 had never even dreamed. His own complete ig- 
 norance of social conditions prevented him from 
 appreciating the marvel wrought by fate in his be- 
 half. In the simplicity of his character, he accepted 
 the change as a perfectly natural event in the world 
 that he had set out to explore. It was this simplic- 
 ity, which kept him from undue self-consciousness, 
 that carried him safely through what must other- 
 wise have been an ordeal. He accepted what had 
 befallen thankfully, and sought to learn what he 
 best might from the novel environment. His inter- 
 est was conspicuously in others, not in himself. He 
 was greedy of information, lavish in liking. By a 
 benign miracle, there were no snobs in the yacht- 
 ing party, which included also two young men, and 
 two of the owner's age, besides Josephine's aunt. 
 This chaperon was a motherly soul, and, in sheer 
 kindliness of heart did much to make the situation 
 easy. The informality of the party, too, was a 
 tremendous advantage to the young man, though 
 he never guessed it. On the contrary, he accepted 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 119 
 
 things as they were enthusiastically, with never a 
 thought of dismay. In flannels loaned him by the 
 largest guest, which fitted too snugly, he presented 
 an appearance so excellent that Mr. Blaise was 
 moved to pinch his daughter's ear, while reminding 
 her of the stereotyped romance. 
 
 Such was the cause of Plutina's wearisome wait- 
 ing for the letter that did not come. Zeke found, to 
 his distress, too late that an interval of a week or 
 more must elapse before a letter posted in Bermuda 
 could possibly reach the mountains. But, beyond 
 that, there was nothing to disturb the girl who loved 
 him. The heart of the lad amid the luxuries of life 
 on the yacht was unchanged in its devotion. It was, 
 indeed, as if he saw all things as a frame for her. 
 He was forever thinking how Plutina would look 
 here or there, in connection with this or the other. 
 The gowns of the three women, were viewed criti- 
 cally in relation to the mountain girl. He would 
 imagine her loveliness enhanced by the sheen of silk, 
 by the films of lace, by the lusters of jewels. Jose- 
 phine thought once when she appeared in a dainty 
 evening frock, not too daring, that she had pene- 
 trated his armor of aloofness, for he blushed hotly 
 as his eyes went to her neck, and his gaze fell. She 
 was deceived. He remembered in that moment, 
 how he had once kissed the soft whiteness of Plu- 
 tina's throat, where the home-spun gown lay open. 
 
120 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Now, memory of the warm bliss of that kiss sent 
 the blood racing and tingling. 
 
 That self-deception was as near as Josephine ever 
 came to triumph. 
 
 Florence understood, to some extent, at least, the 
 mood that influenced her friend. A feminine intui- 
 tion inspired in her a like ambition to pierce this 
 young savage's reserve. Through her own feeling, 
 she readily divined that of Josephine. Thus, the two 
 became unconfessed allies in the employment of 
 their wiles against an unsuspecting victim. It was, 
 indeed, the lack of suspicion on his part that irri- 
 tated them to the point of exasperation. He was so 
 utterly innocent of their manoeuvers against his 
 peace ! Both of the girls were attractive beyond the 
 average. Josephine, a plump blonde, ingenuous of 
 manner, sophisticated, capricious, yet not spoiled, 
 egotistic, but winsome, full of electric vitality; 
 Florence, taller and darker, with an air more sedate, 
 yet doubtless capable of deeper and more enduring 
 emotions. Each possessed excellent features, and 
 the fascinations of radiant health, sufficient culture, 
 and the most exquisite refinements of personal de- 
 tail. They deserved the humble admiration of any 
 man. They expected tender adulation from most, 
 and from most they received it. At the outset a 
 certain impassivity on the part of this wild moun- 
 taineer excited their astonishment, then, quickly, 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 121 
 
 their dissatisfaction. They were moved to a caprice 
 against his calm, against this indifference that was 
 an affront. They had no wish to work him serious 
 harm, but his disregard was intolerable. Since 
 the heart of neither was engaged, there was no 
 jealously between them in the affair. Since each was 
 secretely ashamed of her motives, there was no con- 
 fidence between them. 
 
 Their failure, in the lazy days and evenings of 
 voyaging and of rambling in the Bermudan islands, 
 was undeniable. It was the more aggravating since 
 the young man patently admired them. Even, his 
 admiration was excessive, almost reverential, at 
 times. Yet, it was altogether impersonal. They 
 came eventually to know that this mountaineer re- 
 garded them with warm friendliness, with a lively 
 gratitude, with a devoted respect, with a certain 
 veneration. But that was all. No dart from their 
 quiver of charms touched to the passionate heart of 
 him — nor ever could. From whichever side the 
 shafts were thrown, always they were shattered 
 against a white shield, and fell harmless. That 
 shield was Plutina. 
 
 One night, as the yacht neared New York, Jose- 
 phine and Zeke sat together, watching the scud of 
 clouds across the moon. The mountaineer spoke 
 softly, after an interval of silence. 
 
122 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "The clouds is runnin' thar jest as I've seen 'em 
 lookin' out across the valley from Stone Mounting 
 — with Plutiny." There was a caress in his 
 voice. 
 
 Josephine checked an ejaculation of impatience. 
 The savage was incorrigible — quite! Him, and 
 his everlasting Plutina! Perverse curiosity over- 
 came discretion. Perhaps, too, after all, he only 
 needed guidance. She tried to believe, though 
 vainly, that only shyness prevented him from im- 
 proving an opportunity any other man would have 
 coveted. 
 
 *'Tell me," she said softly, with a sympathetic 
 lure in her tones, *'is Plutina so very beautiful?" 
 
 The lure was effective. Zeke turned to her with 
 the hazel eyes darkly luminous in the moonlight. 
 
 "Tiny's beautiful," he answered tenderly; and 
 there was music now in the slow drawl. "I 'low 
 she's the most beautiful woman in the world." 
 
 *T'm afraid you're prejudiced," Josephine ob- 
 jected, with a disarming laugh. *'0f course, you 
 ought to think so, but, really you know, you 
 haven't quite seen all the beautiful women in the 
 world. Now, have you?" 
 
 "All I need to," was the confident assurance. 
 "Why," he continued with an apologetic smile for 
 his boldness. "I done seen you-all. Miss Blaise, an' 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 123 
 
 I reckon you-all are about as beautiful as a woman 
 kin be — 'ceptin' Plutina." 
 
 The tribute was potent from its very unexpected- 
 ness. It eased the chagrin from which vanity had 
 suffered. Evidently, her charms were not disre- 
 garded. It was simply that this lover had given his 
 heart, and that he was loyal. The girl sighed a 
 little enviously at the realization. She knew too 
 well that many, perhaps most, in her world were not 
 loyal, even when their hearts were given. She 
 wondered if, in truth, there awaited her the boon 
 of a like faithfulness. Yet she persevered in her 
 probing. 
 
 "Out in the world," she said musingly, ''where 
 things are so different from up in your mountains, 
 you may change. It may be you won't want to go 
 back, to the hills — to Plutina." 
 
 A flush of wrath burned in Zeke's cheeks, visible 
 in the gloom. 
 
 ''Hit ain't fittin fer you-all to say no such thing, 
 Miss Blaise. But I kin fergive ye, kase ye hain't 
 seen our mountings. They hain't no other place 
 more beautiful. Mister Sutton done told me so, 
 an' he's been all over the hull world. An', besides, 
 hit's home. A man what don't love his home coun- 
 try better'n any other — why, mum, he's jest a plain 
 skunk. ... An' Plutiny, she's the best part o' 
 
.124 HEART OF. THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 home. There hain't no land so beautiful, nor no 
 woman. No, mum, I sha'n't change — never! I 
 kain't!" 
 
 And Josephine knew that it was so, and once 
 again she sighed. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 UNCLE DICK, as he was universally 
 known in the mountains, had celebrated 
 his eightieth birthday before his grand- 
 daughters, Plutina and Alvira, by leaping high in 
 the air, and knocking his heels together three times 
 before returning to the ground. There was, in fact, 
 no evidence of decrepitude anywhere about him. 
 The thatch of coal-black hair was only moderately 
 streaked with gray, and it streamed in profuse 
 ringlets to his shoulders. His black eyes were still 
 keen ; the leathery face, with its imperious features, 
 was ruddy. He carried his six-foot-three of bone 
 and muscle lightly. 
 
 As of the body, so of the heart. The springs of 
 feeling in him showed no signs of drying up. On the 
 contrary, they threatened to gush forth in a new 
 flood over the Widow Brown, on whose plump 
 prettiness, hardly dimmed by her three-score years, 
 he looked with appreciative and ardent eyes. In- 
 deed, his conduct justified the womenfolk of his 
 household in apprehensions, for witness to the ser- 
 iousness of the affair was afforded the morning 
 
 125 
 
126 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 after the raid on Dan Hodges' still. He demanded 
 of Alvira that she burn the grease from an old 
 skillet with great care. 
 
 "li they's a mite of hit, hit makes a scum, an' 
 floats off the gold on hit," he explained. 
 
 The sisters regarded each other in consternation, 
 but forebore questioning. When he had mounted 
 his mare, and ridden away, Plutina spoke with bit- 
 terness : • 
 
 'T reckon Mis' Higgins done hit the nail on the 
 haid 'bout Gran'pap an' the Widder Brown." 
 
 Alvira nodded. 
 
 "Yep. Hit means business, shore, if he's a-galla- 
 vantin' over to Pleasant Valley to pan gold. Hit 
 means he's aimin' to marry her." She waxed scorn- 
 ful, with the intolerance of her sixteen years. *'Hit's 
 plumb ridic'lous — at his age." 
 
 "Seems like he was 'most ole enough to git sense," 
 Plutina agreed. 
 
 "Mebby we're mistook 'bout his intentions," Al- 
 vira suggested, hopefully. "O' course, he git's a heap 
 of enjoyment settin' to Widder Brown. But he hain't 
 got to be plumb foolish, an' marry her. I guess as 
 how hit's fer you-all he's arter the gold kase Zeke'll 
 be comin' home by-'n'-bye." 
 
 Plutina shook her head dubiously. It was the 
 custom of the lover himself to seek, in the gold- 
 bearing sands of the tiny mountain stream to the 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 127 
 
 west, for the grains from which to fashion a ring for 
 his sweetheart. Many a wife of the neighborhood 
 wore such proudly on forefinger or thumb. The old 
 man was not fond enough of toil to undertake the 
 slow washing out of gold there unless for a selfish 
 sentimental reason. And her fears were confirmed 
 that afternoon by Zeke's mother whom she visited. 
 
 ''They hain't nary chance to save him no more/" 
 the old woman averred, lugubriously. "Hit's alius 
 been said hyarbouts as how a feller alius gits his 
 gal shore, if he pans her a ring in Pleasant Valley." 
 
 "Huh— girl!" quoth Plutina. 
 
 Yet this amorous affair was of small moment just 
 now to the granddaughter, though she voluntarily 
 occupied her thoughts with it. She hoped thus to 
 keep in the background of her mind the many fears 
 that threatened peace, by reason of her part in the 
 night's work. She knew that she could trust the 
 secrecy of Marshal Stone, but there was the pos- 
 sibility of discovery in some manner unforeseen. 
 There was even the chance that suspicion against 
 her had been aroused in Ben York. She could not 
 bear to contemplate what must follow should her 
 betrayal of the still become known. It was a relief 
 to be certain that the two men she chiefly dreaded 
 would be in jail, and unable personally to wreak 
 vengeance. It was improbable, she thought, that 
 persons so notorious and so detested could secure 
 
,128 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 bail. But, even with them out of the way, the case 
 would be disastrous on account of her grandfather's 
 hatred of the revenue officers, and more especially, 
 of those among his own people guilty of the base- 
 ness of informing. Should her deed come to his 
 knowledge, it would mean tragedy. She dreaded 
 the hour when he should hear of the raid, and was 
 glad that he had gone away, for in all likelihood he 
 would have the news before his return and the first 
 shock of it would have passed. ... So it fell out. 
 Uncle Dick rode briskly toward the little stream 
 that tumbles down the mountain west of Air Bel- 
 lows Gap, where long ago men washed for gold in 
 feverish desire of wealth. Now, none sought a 
 fortune in the branch grit, where a day's labor at 
 best could yield no more than a dollar or two in 
 gold. Only devoted swains, like himself, hied them 
 there to win wherewithal for a bauble with which to 
 speed their wooing. Uncle Dick chose a favorable 
 spot, and washed steadily until the blackened old 
 copper skillet itself shone like the flecks of gold he 
 sought. When he ceased he had a generous pinch 
 of the precious dust carefully disposed in a vial. 
 He hid the skillet to serve another day, and set out 
 on his return. Before he crossed Garden Greek, a 
 neighbor, whom he met on the trail, told him of the 
 raid. Eager for all particulars, Uncle Dick turned 
 his mount into the high road, and hurried to Joines* 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 129 
 
 store. The single-footing mare carried him quickly 
 to this place of assembly for neighborhood gossip, 
 where he found more than the usual number 
 gathered, drawn by excitement over the raid. The 
 company was in a mixed mood, in which traditional 
 enmity against the ''revenuers" warred against per- 
 sonal rejoicing over the fate fallen on Dan Hodges, 
 whom they hated and feared. From the garrulous 
 circle of his acquaintance. Uncle Dick speedily 
 learned the history of the night. The account was 
 interrupted by the coming of a clerk to the store 
 door. He waved his hand toward the group on the 
 steps to command attention. 
 
 "You, Uncle Dick!" he called. *'No'th Wilkes- 
 boro' wants ye on the telephone." 
 
 Wondering mightily at the unexpected summons, 
 the old man hurried to the instrument. 
 
 "Hello! Hello!" he roared, in a voice to be 
 heard across the miles. 
 
 "Be that you-all, Uncle Dick?" the question came 
 thinly. 
 
 "Yep. Who be you?" 
 
 "Hit's Dan Hodges. I reckon you-all done hearn 
 'bout last night." 
 
 "Yep. I shore have hearn a heap," Uncle Dick 
 acquiesced, sourly. "I tole ye to quit, the officers 
 air gittin' so a'mightly peart. They hain't no more 
 chance fer a good set o' men to make a run — to say 
 
J 30 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 nothin' of a wuthless gang like your'n. . . . \^'hat 
 ye want o' me?" 
 
 The reply was explicit enough. 
 
 *'The hearin' 's to-morrer 'fore the United States 
 Commissioner. Marshal Stone says the bail'U be 
 two thousand dollars, cash or land. They hain't 
 nobody kin put hit up, 'cept you-all, Uncle Dick. 
 An', if ye don't, Ben an' me'll have to lay in jail 
 till Fall. H ye'll he'p me, Uncle Dick, ye know 
 Dan Hodges won't never fail ye." 
 
 "That's what I'm afeared on," Uncle Dick re- 
 torted, glumly. "I 'most know 'twas you-all an' yer 
 gang kilt thet-thar heifer o' mine in cold blood. 
 Now, the ole man ye've treated dirt is yer las' 
 chance. Wall, cuss ye! I'll come down t'-morrer 
 an' bail ye out — not kase I love ye any, but kase I'm 
 again the revenuers. An' listen 'ere ! I'm some old, 
 but I'm some spry yit, ye bet! You-all stop round 
 these parts whar I kin keep an eye on ye till Fall 
 Cote. If ye don't, damn ye! — wall, my ole rifle's 
 bright an' 'iled, an' I'll git ye ! Jest remember thet, 
 Dan Hodges: I'll git ye!" And with this grim 
 warning. Uncle Dick slammed the receiver on its 
 hook, and stalked out of the store. 
 
 On the following day, he journeyed duly to North 
 Wilkesboro', where, despite the protest of his law- 
 yer, he put up his land as security for the appear- 
 ance of the two malefactors. Uncle Dick was a 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 131 
 
 consistent conservative. Had the accident of birth 
 made him an Enghsh squire, he would have been 
 a stanch Tory, would have held the King's commis- 
 sion on the bench of justices, and would have ad- 
 ministered the penalties of the law with exceeding 
 severity against poachers. Having been born in the 
 Blue Ridge Mountains, he staked his property in 
 behalf of two scoundrels, for the sake of an in- 
 herited feud against the Federal authority. 
 
 Nevertheless, his personal distrust of the men 
 he had thus relieved was made manifest when, im- 
 mediately after the commitment of the two before 
 the Commissioner, he betook himself to a hardware 
 store, where he bought a forty-one caliber Colt's 
 revolver, with a holster and a box of cartridges. 
 He had given up the habitual carrying of weapons 
 on his seventy-fifth birthday, as unseemly and un- 
 necessary for one of his patriarchal years. Now, he 
 reverted to the use as a measure of prudence. 
 
 *'The damned dawg's done me dirt, an' he hain't 
 above doin' hit ag'in," he muttered, as he strapped 
 the holster beneath his left arm. 
 
 To his womankind, Uncle Dick spoke of the 
 affair casually, concealing his apprehensions. 
 Neither of the granddaughters ventured remon- 
 strance, though Alvira's pretty face was mutinous, 
 and Plutina felt a sickening sense of calamity rush- 
 ing upon her. It seemed to her the irony of fate that 
 
132 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 her own relation should thus interfere to render 
 abortive the effect she had risked so much to secure. 
 She realized, with a shrinking misery, that the suf- 
 ferers from her act were now at liberty to inflict 
 vengeance upon her, should suspicion be born in 
 them. For the first time in her life, Plutina ex- 
 perienced a feminine cowardice, bewailing her help- 
 lessness. There was none to whom she might turn 
 for counsel ; none, even, in whom she might confide. 
 It was no mere chimera of fear that beset her. She 
 was far too sensible and too strong for hysterical 
 imaginings. But she knew that her peril was real 
 and grave. In the face of it, she felt suddenly a 
 new longing for the absent lover. Hitherto, her 
 fondness had been tender and passionate, touched 
 with the maternal protectiveness that is instinctive 
 in every woman. Now, a new desire of him leaped 
 in her. She yearned for rest on his bosom, secure 
 within the shelter of his arms, there to pour forth 
 all the story of her trouble, there to hear his voice 
 of consolation, there to be at peace. She touched 
 the fairy crystal that lay between her breasts, and 
 she smiled, very sadly, and very wistfully. 
 
 "Zeke will shorely come," she whispered, "if I 
 need him — bad enough." 
 
 There was a tremor in her voice, but it was not of 
 doubt. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 EARLY in the morning following his trip to 
 North Wilkesboro' Uncle Dick Siddon rode 
 off to Pleasant Valley, there to prosecute his 
 sentimental labors for the pleasuring of the Widow 
 Brown. Alvira fared abroad on some errand to a 
 neighboring cabin. Plutina, her usual richness of 
 coloring dimmed by a troubled night, was left 
 alone. In the mid-forenoon she was sitting on the 
 porch, busy over a pan of beans, which she was 
 stringing for dinner. As she chanced to raise her 
 eyes, she saw Dan Hodges coming up the path. At 
 sight of the evil lowering face, repulsion flared hot 
 in the girl. The instinct of flight was strong, but 
 her good sense forbade it. She felt a stirring of 
 unfamiliar terror in the presence of the man. She 
 scorned herself for the weakness, but it persisted. 
 Her very fear dictated the counsels of prudence. She 
 believed that in dissimulation lay her only possibil- 
 ity of safety. The thought of any intercourse with 
 the moonshiner was unspeakably repugnant, yet she 
 dared not risk needless offense. Nevertheless, the 
 first effect of her resolve was a self -contempt thaf 
 
 133' 
 
134 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 moved her to wrath, and made her opening speech 
 more venomous even than it had been otherwise. 
 
 "Howdy, my httle honey?" Hodges called out as 
 he shambled to a halt before her. His coarse fea- 
 tures writhed in a simper that intensified their ugli- 
 ness. His coveting of this woman was suddenly 
 magnified by sight of her loveliness, flawless in the 
 brilliant light. The blood-shot eyes darted luxuri- 
 ously over the curving graces beneath the scant 
 homespun garment. 
 
 The girl sensed the insult of the man's regard. It, 
 rather than the insolent familiarity of address, pro- 
 voked her outburst. 
 
 Shet yer mouth, Dan Hodges," she snapped. 
 I've done told ye afore, ye kain't 'honey' me. If 
 ye wants to pass the time o' day, jest don't fergit 
 as how hit's Miss Plutiny fer you-all." 
 
 Hodges gaped bewilderedly under the rebuke. 
 Then he growled defiantly. 
 
 "Wall, I'll be dogged! Quite some spit-fire, 
 hain't ye? Reckon I know what's a-bitin on ye. 
 Ye're mad kase Uncle Dick tuk the mounting land 
 ye gals look to heir to, to bail me and Ben." He 
 stared at the girl ominously, with drawn brows. His 
 voice was guttural with threatening. "So be ye 
 mout hev to eat them words o' your'n. Mebby, 
 when I've done tole ye a thing er two, ye'll be a-ask- 
 in' of me to call ye 'honey.' Mebby, ye'll want to 
 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 135 
 
 hover yer ole 'hon,' arter I let's ye know a thing 
 or two 'bout the doin's o' you-all an' thet damned 
 little runt, thet reportin' dawg sweetheart o' your'n 
 — Zeke Higgins." 
 
 The girl was stricken. She understood the out- 
 law's reference. Somehow he had gained certain 
 knowledge of Zeke's part in saving the Quaker- 
 school-teacher spy. She realized that the criminal 
 gang would not hesitate at the murder of one who 
 had thus foiled them. For the moment, she gave no 
 heed to the danger that menaced herself as well. 
 Her whole concern was for her lover. The single 
 comfort came from the fact of his absence. Much 
 as she had been longing for his coming, her prayer 
 now was that he should not return until these men 
 were imprisoned. 
 
 With a fierce effort toward bravery in the face of 
 catastrophe, Plutina stood up, and drew herself 
 proudly erect. Her dark eyes flashed wrathfully. 
 She spoke with disdain : 
 
 ''Ye wouldn't dast say that to Zeke Higgins' 
 teeth. Mebby, he hain't so thick through as you-all, 
 and he hain't so thick-headed, nuther. An' he hain't 
 no runt, as ye'd find quick 'nuf, if so he's ye dast 
 stand up to him, man to man, 'stid o' with a gun 
 from the laurel. He's a man — what you-all hain't. 
 He hain't the kind to layway from the bushes, ner 
 to be a-stealin' his neighbor's cattle an' hawgs. An* 
 
136 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 what's more Dan Hodges, ef ye say as how Zeke 
 ever reported ary still, ye're a hell-bustin' liar!" 
 
 Her jibes were powerless against the coarse- 
 fibered brute. He grinned malevolently as he jeered 
 at her. 
 
 *Thar, now! Hain't it a pity to have a sweet- 
 heart what hain't brave 'nuf to stand 'is ground, 
 an' runs off, an' leaves 'is gal to fit fer 'im." Then, 
 abruptly, the moonshiner's expression changed to 
 one meant to be ingratiating. "Wall, now. Miss 
 Plutiny, I shore likes the way ye stan's up 'fer the 
 pore cuss. But, arter all, hes' done up and left ye. 
 An' he hain't comin' back. Hit wouldn't be healthy 
 fer him to come back," he added, savagely. "An' 
 what's more, ye hain't a-gwine to jine 'im whar he's 
 at. The Hodges' crowd won't stan' fer no sech! 
 He's been writ, Zeke Higgins has, with the sign 
 o' the skull an' the cross — the hull thing. Ye know 
 what thet means, I reckon." 
 
 Plutina blenched, and seated herself again, weak- 
 ly. It was true, she knew the fantastic rigmarole, 
 which made absurd the secret dictates of these il- 
 literate desperadoes. But that absurdity meant 
 death, none the less — death for the one she loved. 
 In her misery, she listened almost apathetically as 
 Hodges went on talking in his heavy, grating 
 voice. 
 
 "Zeke Higgins knows as how the Aliens give us 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 137 
 
 the word 'bout 'is crossin' Bull Head with the spy. 
 He knows thet, if 'e shows up in this-hyar kentry 
 ag'in, the Devil's Pot'U have 'im fer a b'ilin'. An' 
 thet's 'nuf fer Zeke's case. Now, we'll jest chin a 
 mite 'bout your'n." 
 
 There was a little interval of silence, in which 
 the girl stared unseeingly toward the splendors of the 
 blossoming rhododendrons that fringed the clearing. 
 The apathy had passed now, and she listened intent- 
 ly, with self-control to mask the despair that welled 
 in her heart. It seemed to her that here was the need 
 for that dissimulation she had promised herself — 
 need of it for life's sake, however hateful it might 
 be, however revolting to her every instinct. So she 
 listened in a seeming of white calm, while the flames 
 shriveled her soul. 
 
 The man straightened his great bulk a little, and 
 regarded the girl with new earnestness. Into his 
 speech crept a rude eloquence, for he voiced a sin- 
 cere passion, though debased by his inherent 
 bestiality. 
 
 'Tlutiny Siddon, I've knowed ye, an' I've craved 
 ye, this many year. Some way, hit just seemed as 
 how I couldn't he'p hit. The more ye mistreated 
 me, the more I wanted ye. Hit shames me, but 
 hit's true as preachin'. An' hit's true yit — even 
 arter seein' yer bare futprint tracks thar on th^ 
 Branch, alongside them of a man with shoes — the 
 
138 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 damned revenuer what got us. Ye showed 'im the 
 place, Plutiny Siddon — cuss ye, fer a spy! . . . 
 An' I craves ye jest the same. . . . An' I'll have 
 ye — right soon!" 
 
 At this saying, terror mounted high in the girl. 
 The thing she so dreaded was come to pass. She 
 forgot, for a few moments, the threats against her 
 lover. Despair crushed her in the realization of 
 discovery. Her treachery was known to the man she 
 feared. The peril she had voluntarily risked was 
 fallen upon her. She was helpless, at the mercy of 
 the criminal she had betrayed — and she knew that 
 there was no mercy in him. She shrank physically, 
 as under a blow, and sat huddled a little, in a sudden 
 weakness of body under the soul's torment. Yet 
 she listened with desperate intentness, as Hodges 
 went on speaking. She cast one timid glance toward 
 him, then dropped her gaze, revolted at the gro- 
 tesque grimaces writhen by the man's emotions. 
 ^ "Harkin to me. Miss Plutiny !" he pleaded, husk- 
 ily. "Harkin to me ! I knows what I'm a-doin' of. 
 .They hain't nothin' ye kin do to stop me. Kase 
 why? Wall, if ye love yer gran-pap, ye'll hold yer 
 tongue 'bout all my talk. Yep! He's done pledged 
 his land to keep me an' Ben out o' the jail-house till 
 cote. If ye tells 'im I'm a-misusin' o' ye, he'd cancel 
 the bond, an' try to deliver me up. I knows all 
 thet. But he wouldn't cancel no bond, an' no more 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE :i39 
 
 he wouldn't do any deliverin' o' me up. Kase why? 
 Kase he'd jest nacherly die fust. Thet's why. The 
 land'd be good fer the bond jest the same till Fall. 
 Thet'd give me an' Ben a heap o' time to git ready to 
 light out o' this-hyar kentry. They hain't nary 
 pusson a-goin' to bother us none. They knows hit's 
 healthier a-mindin' their own business. I been 
 dodgin' revenuers fifteen year, an' I'll dodge ag'in, 
 an' take my savin's along, too. An' they's quite 
 some savin's, Plutiny." 
 
 Hodges paused, as if to give greater impressive- 
 ness to the conclusion of his harangue. His voice as 
 he continued held a note of savage finality. 
 
 "So, ye understand, Plutiny, I hain't afeared 
 none arter what I done told ye'U happen, if so be ye 
 talk. I knows ye love yer gran'pap, an' hain't a 
 hankerin' fer 'im to be murdered. Now, I'm gwine 
 to leave ye till t'-morrer, to git kind o' used to the 
 idee as how ye're gwine to leave this-hyar kentry 
 with me arter I pays yer gran'pap the money fer 
 the bail. If you-all is so plumb foolish as to say 
 no, hit'll jest leave yerself an' yer kin in the hands 
 o' we boys to reckon with. Do as I'm a-sayin' on, 
 an' I'll shore fergit 'bout yer reportin' the still. 
 I'll jest 'low to myself as how ye was only a gal, 
 an' used damn' poor jedgment. I hold hit were 
 powerful unkind o' you-all, seein' as how we-uns 
 hain't never wronged ye none. I suspicion ye had 
 
140 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 hit figgered out as how Zeke could come back 'ere 
 a'gin if ye had me kotched. Wall, little missy, Dan 
 Hodges air jest a mite too cunnin' fer ye." The 
 boaster gloated over his cowering victim, malice 
 sparkling in his lustful eyes. 
 
 It seemed to the girl that she was in truth hope- 
 lessly ensnared by fate. Her harried thoughts ran 
 in a circle, dizzily. She could find no loophole for 
 escape from the net. The mesh of the outlaw's dev- 
 iltry was strong; her flutterings were feeble, futile. 
 She found one ray of comfort in Zeke's absence. 
 She forgot it in distress for the danger to her 
 grandfather. Then, horror for herself beat upon 
 her spirit. But a memory of her first resolve came 
 to her. From stark necessity, she put her whole 
 reliance on an effort to temporize. She felt that 
 her only recourse in this emergency must lie in 
 deceiving the ruffian who thus beset her. Much as 
 she abhorred him, she had no choice. There was 
 none to whom she could appeal for succor. She 
 must depend absolutely upon her ability to beguile 
 him. She must hide the revulsion inspired by his 
 mere presence. She must arm herself with the 
 world-old weapons of her sex, and by wiles blind 
 him to the truth of her feeling, gain time for — 
 something, anything! At least here was room for 
 hope, uncertain, absurd even, yet hope. A little 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 141 
 
 color crept to her pallid cheeks. If she could but 
 manage the deceit to secure delay until the Fall. 
 
 She raised her eyes furtively toward the adver- 
 sary, an appraising glance, as if to judge his gulli- 
 bility. The brutish passion of the man showed in 
 the pendulous lower lip, thrust forward a little, in 
 the swinish lifting of the wide-flaring nostrils, in 
 the humid glowing of the inflamed eyes. A nausea 
 of disgust swept over her. She fought it down. 
 Then, with hypocrisy that amazed herself, she met 
 his ardent stare boldly, though with a pretense of 
 timidity. She spoke with a hesitant, remonstrant 
 voice, as if in half-hearted protest, 
 
 *'Hit's dangerous to talk hyar, Dan," she said! 
 She assumed a pose of coquetry. "If I agrees to 
 save Gran'pap an' 'is land, an' takes ye, have ye got 
 money 'nough fer us to git along among the furri- 
 ners down below ?" A pleased smile showed. "An* 
 could ye buy me purty clo's an' sech-like? Don't 
 ye dast lie to me, Dan Hodges, fer a woman wants 
 plenty o' nice fixin's. An' if ye means hit all, like 
 ye says, I'll meet ye at Holloman Gate t'-morrer at 
 twelve, an' give ye yes er no." 
 
 The moonshiner received with complacence this 
 evidence of yielding on the girl's part. He had, in- 
 deed, the vanity that usually characterizes the crimi- 
 nal. It was inconceivable to his egotism that he 
 
142 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 must be odious to any decent woman. Plutina's 
 avaricious stipulation concerning money pleased 
 him as a display of feminine shrewdness. He was 
 in nowise offended. The women of his more inti- 
 mate acquaintance did not scruple to bargain their 
 charms. From such trollops, he gained his estimate 
 of the sex. The sordid pretense by Plutina com- 
 pleted his delusion. The truckling of familiars had 
 inflated conceit. He swelled visibly. The finest 
 girl in the mountains was ready to drop into his 
 arms! Passion drove him toward her. 
 
 Plutina raised her hand in an authoritative ges- 
 ture. She could feign much, but to endure a caress 
 from the creature was impossible. Somehow, by 
 some secret force in the gesture, his advance was 
 checked, he knew not why. 
 
 *'Not now, Dan," she exclaimed, sharply. She 
 added a lie, in extenuation of the refusal : "Alviry's 
 in the house. Besides, I got to have time to think, 
 like ye said. But I'll be at the gate t'-morrer." 
 
 Hodges accepted her decree amiably enough. He 
 was still flattered by her complaisant attitude toward 
 his wooing. 
 
 "Ye're talkin' sense, Plutiny — the kind I likes to 
 hear. I'll be thar, waitin' fer ye, ye kin bet on thet." 
 Then his natural truculence showed again in a part- 
 ing admonition : ''An' don't you-all try fer to play 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 143 
 
 Dan Hodges fer a fool. If so be ye does, ye'll wish 
 to God ye hadn't.'' 
 
 With the threat, he turned and went lumbering 
 down the path, to vanish quickly within the shadows 
 of the wood. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AFTER his day of toil in Pleasant Valley, 
 Uncle Dick Siddon sprawled at ease on the 
 porch, smoking his pipe, and watching with 
 mildly sentimental eyes the rosy hues of the cloud 
 masses that crowned Stone Mountain. His mood 
 was tranquilly amorous. The vial in his pocket was 
 full of golden grains. Presently, he would fashion 
 a ring. Then, heigh-ho for the parson ! He smiled 
 contentedly over his vision of the buxom Widow 
 Brown. Her placid charms would soothe his de- 
 clining years. A tempestuous passion would be 
 unbecoming at his age. But the companionship of 
 this gentle and agreeable woman would be both fit- 
 ting and pleasant. Really, Uncle Dick mused, it 
 was time he settled down. One should be sedate at 
 eighty. But he sighed. 
 
 A horseman appeared over the brow of the hill. 
 The horse traveled slowly, as if wearied by many 
 miles. A single glance at the erect, soldierly figure 
 made known to Uncle Dick that this was a stranger, 
 and he watched intently. As the rider came nearer, 
 he hesitated, then guided his mount toward the 
 
 144 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 145 
 
 clearing. Uncle Dick perceived, of a sudden, that 
 the left sleeve of the stranger's coat, which was 
 pinned across the breast, was empty. At the sight, a 
 great sadness fell on him. He guessed the identity 
 of the horseman. His soul was filled with mourn- 
 ing over a shattered romance. He fairly winced as 
 the rider drew rein before him, with a cheery, 
 "Howdy?" 
 
 There was a curious constraint in Uncle Dick's 
 voice, as he made hospitable answer. 
 
 "Howdy, yerse'f, Stranger? 'Light, an' come 
 in." 
 
 "I hain't time to 'light," the traveler declared. 
 "Jones is my name. What mout your'n be?" 
 
 Uncle Dick descended the steps, regarding the 
 visitor intently. There was a perceptible aloofness in 
 his manner, though no lack of courtesy. 
 
 "My name passes f'er Siddon. I 'low ye hain't 
 familiar round these-hyar parts?" 
 
 "I'm right-smart strange, I reckon," was the ad- 
 mission. "But I was borned forty-mile south o' 
 here, on the Yadkin. My father owned the place 
 Daniel Boone lived when he sickened o' this-hyar 
 kentry, kase it wa'n't wild 'nough. I'm kin ter 
 Boone's woman — Bryant strain — raised 'twixt this- 
 hyar creek an' Air Bellows." 
 
 "Wall, say ye so !" Uncle Dick exclaimed, heart- 
 ily. "Why, I knowed ye when ye was a boy. You- 
 
146 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 all's pap used to buy wool, an' my pap tuk me with 
 'im to the Boone place with 'is Spring shearin'. 
 Thet makes we-uns some sort o' kin. Ye'd better 
 'light an' take a leetle breathin' spell. A drink o' 
 my ole brandy might cheer ye. An' ye know," he 
 concluded, with a quick hardening cf his tones, 
 "hit's customary to know a stranger's business up 
 in these-hyar mountings." 
 
 The horseman took no offense. 
 
 *T rid up to the balcony jest to make inquiry 'bout 
 a friend what I hain't seed in a right-smart bit, an' 
 who I learnt was a-livin' a lonely widder's life on 
 Guarding Creek. Could you-all direct me to the 
 abode o' one Widder Brown? I hev some private 
 an' pussonal business with the widder. Hit's a 
 kind what don't consarn nary human critter but 
 me an' her." 
 
 Uncle Dick sought no further for information, 
 but issued the requested direction, and moodily 
 watched the horseman out of sight. Then, with a 
 sigh that was very like a groan, he moved away 
 toward a small outbuilding, in which was a forge. 
 Here when he had set the forge glowing, he took 
 from his pocket the vial of gold dust, and emptied 
 the contents into a ladle. When the metal was 
 melted, he poured off the dross, and proceeded to 
 hammer the ingot into a broad band. Eventually, 
 he succeeded in forming a massive ring of the vir- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 147 
 
 gin gold. But, throughout the prosecution of the 
 task, there was none of that fond elation which 
 had upborne him during the hours while he gath- 
 ered the material. On the contrary, his shaggy 
 brows were drawn in a frown of disappointment. 
 He cursed below his breath from time to time, with 
 pointed references to one-armed veterans, who dast 
 come back when they hadn't orter. He was still in 
 a saddened and rebellious mood, when he returned 
 to the porch, where he found his granddaughters 
 seated at some sewing. His face lightened a little 
 at sight of them. 
 
 "Guess I got my ban's full 'nough o' women- 
 folks, anyhow," he muttered. 'Tine gals they be, 
 too!" He regarded them attentively, with a new 
 pride of possession. "I 'low I hain't a-kickin' much 
 of any. I reckon like 'nough I be settled down 
 right now, only I didn't know 'nough to know it.'* 
 He chuckled over this conceit, as he seated him- 
 self, and became uncommonly sociable, somewhat 
 to the distress of Plutina, who found it difficult to 
 conceal her anxiety. 
 
 Dusk was falling when the horseman reappeared. 
 This time there was no hesitation, as he turned from 
 the road into the clearing. Uncle Dick rose, and 
 shouted greeting, with labored facetiousness. 
 
 "Wall, Mister Jones, I 'lowed as how ye mout 
 be the tax-collector, arter the widder's mite, seein' 
 
148 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 how long ye was a-hangin' on up thar. Me an' the 
 gals'd feel a right-smart consarn to lose Fanny 
 Brown fer a neighbor, if she was pushed too hard 
 fer her debts." 
 
 "Mister Siddon, suh/' the stranger answered 
 promptly. "I opine you-all hain't half-bad at a guess. 
 I be a tax-collector, so to speak, a debt-collector. 
 Hit's a debt contracted fifty-year agone. Fanny 
 Brown done tole me as how you-all been good 
 neighbors o' her'n, so I don't mind tellin' ye she's 
 willin' fer me to collect thet-thar debt o' mine." 
 There was an expression of vast complacency on the 
 veteran's face, as he stroked the tuft of whisker on 
 his chin, and he smiled on his three auditors half- 
 triumphantly, half -shamefacedly. *T got cheated 
 o' her oncet by being too slow. I hain't goin' to 
 do no sech foolishness ag'in. T'-morrer, if the 
 clerk's office is open, I'll git the satisfaction piece 
 an' Preacher Roberts'll tie the knot good and proper 
 — amen !" 
 
 Uncle Dick sighed audibly at the announcement, 
 but his chagrin was given no further expression 
 as he invited the victorious rival to dismount and 
 partake of his hospitality. Alvira received the news 
 with bubbling delight, which showed gaily in her 
 sparkling black eyes and dimpling cheeks. Even 
 Plutina was heartened by the discovery that her 
 grandfather's folly, as she deemed it, must end, 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 149 
 
 though there could be no gladness in her by reason 
 of the fear. 
 
 It was after the supper was done, when the visi- 
 tor's horse stood at the door, that Uncle Dick took 
 a sudden resolve. 
 
 *'Alviry," he ordered, "you-all come hold this- 
 hyar hoss, a leetle minute, whilst me an' 'im has a 
 confab." 
 
 He led the puzzled veteran to a bench beneath a 
 locust, out of earshot of his granddaughters, who re- 
 garded the proceeding curiously, and not without 
 apprehension since they knew the violent temper of 
 the old man when thwarted. They were relieved to 
 perceive that his demeanor remained altogether 
 peaceable. 
 
 ''Hit's jest this-away, Seth Jones," Uncle Dick 
 began at once, after the two were seated side by 
 side on the bench. "Ye see, I knew you-all, an' yer 
 name an' yer business, soon's I sot eyes on ye. Hit 
 were thet-thar danglin' sleeve o' your'n as ye rid up 
 the path what done hit. I knowed then as how my 
 fate was sealed, s' fur's the Widder Brown's con- 
 sarned. Fanny done told me about you-all an' yer 
 disapp'intment. She allers said, arter her man died, 
 as how ye'd be a-comin' 'long, though I was hopin* 
 ye wouldn't — cuss ye! Excuse me — no offense in- 
 tended. The widder an' me has been clost friends, 
 an' I told her from the first as how I respected the 
 
,150 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 claims of this-hyar Jones galoot, if so be he turned 
 up afore we got hitched. An' now hyar ye be — 
 dang hit!" 
 
 The veteran cleared his throat apologetically. His 
 own happiness made him exaggerate the injury thus 
 wrought by his reappearance. He ventured no re- 
 mark, however. He could not say that the woman 
 in the case was hardly worth troubling over, and, 
 for the life of him, he could think of nothing else 
 in the way of consolation. He discreetly cleared 
 his throat a second time, and maintained a mas- 
 terly silence. But the garrulous old man at his 
 side needed no encouragement. He quickly re- 
 sumed his discourse, with a certain unctuous en- 
 joyment, distinctly inconsistent with his love-lorn 
 pose. 
 
 ''Seth Jones," he announced solemnly, "if you- 
 all an' me was young ag'in, an' fired by the passion 
 o' youth, thar wouldn't be no love-feast hyar jest 
 now like this un. No, sirree! Hit'd shore be war 
 a-twixt we-uns — w^ith hell a-poppin' at the end on't 
 fer one, mebby both. But my blood don't git het 
 up now the way hit use' to did. I'm thinkin' fer 
 the widder's sake hit's good ye're younger ner me, 
 an' got more years to give 'er. So, Mr. Jones, 
 when all's said an' done, I'm glad ye come to Guard- 
 ing Creek." 
 
 Then, Uncle Dick, in his turn, displayed some 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 151 
 
 slight symptoms of embarrassment, and cleared his 
 throat in a manner to shock a drawing-room. 
 
 "An' now I got jest one leetle favor to ax o' ye, 
 Seth Jones. You-all knows as how the gals in this- 
 hyar kentry air particular proud to have a weddin' 
 ring made from the gold washed out o' the soil in 
 Pleasant Valley by their swxetheart. Wall, I talked 
 a heap 'bout hit to Fanny, an', when she showed 
 signs like she'd give in to me, I went an' panned the 
 gold fer the ring. Fanny'd be right-smart dis- 
 app'inted not to have a lover-made ring, I reckon. 
 So, bein' as you-all only got one arm, I wants ye 
 to take this-hyar ring, an' wed her proper with the 
 blessin' an' best wishes o' Uncle Dick Siddon." 
 
 He offered the ring, which was gratefully ac- 
 cepted, and the two old men parted on excellent 
 terms. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the next morning. Uncle Dick 
 was sitting on the porch, when he saw a horse pass- 
 ing over the trail toward the south. In the saddle 
 was the erect, spruce figure of the one-armed vet- 
 eran, Seth Jones. And, on a blanket strapped be- 
 hind the saddle to serve as pillion, rode a woman, 
 with her arms clasped around the man's waist. It 
 was the Widow Brown, dressed all in gala white. 
 
 It was, indeed, heigh-ho for the parson ! 
 
 Uncle Dick stared fixedly until the two had van- 
 
152 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ished beyond the brow of the hill. Then, at last, 
 he stirred, and his eyes roved over his home and its 
 surroundings wistfully. He sighed heavily. But 
 he himself would have been hard put to it to tell 
 whether that sigh held more of regret, or of relief. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WHILE her grandfather was still on the 
 porch, and her sister was out of the 
 house, Plutina possessed herself of the 
 new revolver, with its holster, which, after slipping 
 down her gown from the shoulder, she attached 
 under the left arm-pit. The looseness of the ill- 
 fitting garment concealed the weapon effectually 
 enough. For ready access, the upper buttons to the 
 throat were left unfastened, in seeming relief 
 against the heat of midday. Thus equipped, the 
 girl stole out through the back way, unobserved by 
 her relations, to keep tryst with the desperado. 
 
 As she followed a blind trail that shortened the 
 distance between the Siddon cabin and the Hollo- 
 man Gate to a short two miles, Plutina was tortur- 
 ing a brain already overtaxed in the effort to devise 
 some means whereby she might wreck the projects 
 of the villain, without at the same time bringing 
 ruin on herself, or those she loved. Always, how- 
 ever, her thoughts went spinning toward the same 
 vortex of destruction. She could, indeed, contrive 
 nothing better than the policy of cajolery on which 
 
 153 
 
154 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 she had first determined, and to this course, as it 
 seemed to her, she must cHng, though her good 
 sense was well advised of its futility. She knew 
 that a scoundrel of Hodges unrestrained passions 
 could not long be held from his infamous purposes 
 by any art of hers. At the best, she might hope 
 perhaps to delay the catastrophe only by hours. In 
 her discouraged state, she admitted that it would 
 be quite impossible to restrain him until the law 
 should come to her aid. She was determined none 
 the less to employ every resource at her command, 
 in order to postpone decisive action. One thing 
 was at once her chief reliance and her chief source 
 of fear : the outlaw's passion for her. In his brutal 
 fashion, the man loved her. That fact gave her 
 power over him, even while it exposed her to the 
 worst peril at his hands. 
 
 The presence of the revolver comforted her 
 mightily. From time to time, she moved her right 
 hand stealthily across her bosom, to reassure a fail- 
 ing courage by feeling the stiff leather of the holster 
 under the gown. She was experienced in the use of 
 weapons. Her rifle had often contributed to the 
 cabin larder. Muscles that knew no tremor and a 
 just eye had given her a skill in marksmanship 
 much beyond the average, even in this region where 
 firearms were forever in the hands of the men, 
 and familiar to the women. Once, her moving fin- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 155 
 
 gers felt the little bag hanging from its leathern 
 thong about her neck, in which was the fairy crys- 
 tal. The hardness of her expression vanished on 
 the instant, and in its stead was a wonderful ten- 
 derness. A world of yearning shone in the dark 
 lustres of the eyes, and the curving lips drooped in 
 pathetic wistfulness. Her soul went out toward the 
 distant lover in a very frenzy of desire. She felt 
 the longing well in her, a craving so agonized that 
 nothing else mattered, neither life nor death. Had 
 the power been hers then, she would have sum- 
 moned him across the void. The loneliness was a 
 visible, tangible monster, beating in upon her, 
 crushing her with hideous, remorseless strength. 
 Her man must come back ! 
 
 It was the mood of a moment, no more. Even as 
 she thrilled with the anguished longing she lifted 
 her eyes, and halted, aghast at the scene before 
 her. There, close at hand to the southeast. Stone 
 Mountain upreared its huge and rugged bulk. It 
 loomed implacable, with the naked cliffs staring 
 grotesquely. It overhung her like immutable fate, 
 silent, pitiless. There was sinister significance in 
 its aspect, for just before her lay the cavernous 
 shadows of the Devil's Cauldron. The girl's gaze 
 went to the verge of the precipice far above. It 
 followed down the wild tumblings of the little 
 stream, fed from lofty springs. It descended in 
 
156 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE , 
 
 the last long leap of the waters into the churning 
 pool. And she had a vision of the man she loved, 
 bound, and helpless — dead perhaps, shot from be- 
 hind — and now thrust out from the verge into the 
 abyss, to go hurtling into the mist-wreathed 
 depths. . . . No, Zeke must not come back. 
 The hardness crept again into her face, as she went 
 forward. She held her eyes averted from that 
 gruesome cavern high in the mountain's face. 
 
 The girl came soon to the HoUoman Gate, which 
 swung across the trail near the west end of the 
 mountain. Tall poplars and spruce made an ample 
 shade, but a glance toward the sun showed it at the 
 zenith. She was prompt to the rendezvous; it was 
 the lover who was laggard. She wondered a little 
 at that, but with no lightening of her mood. She 
 was sure that he would come all too speedily. She 
 stood waiting in misery, leaning listlessly against 
 the fence, her gaze downcast. The geranium blos- 
 ^soms touched the sward richly with color; the 
 rhododendrons flaunted the loveliness of their 
 flowering round about the spot. A delicate medley 
 of birds' songs throbbed from out the thickets; a 
 tiny stream purled over its pebbled bed in the ravine 
 that entrenched the trail. Plutina gave no heed. 
 She saw and she heard, but, in this hour, she was 
 without response to any charm of sight or of sound. 
 Yet, that she was alert was proven presently, for 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 157 
 
 her ear caught the faint crackle of a twig snapping. 
 It was a little way off — somewhere along the line 
 of the brush-grown fence, on the same side of the 
 trail. She peered steadily in the direction of the 
 noise. When her eyes became accustomed to the 
 shadows, she made out the figure of a man, 
 crouched in a corner of the fence, behind the screen 
 of a bush. He was no more than three or four 
 rods from her. She was sure even that she recog- 
 nized him — Gary Hawks, one of the most vicious 
 of the Hodges gang, but notorious for cowardice. 
 She was puzzled for only a moment by the pres- 
 ence of the fellow. Then, she realized that he 
 doubtless was acting under his leader's orders. It 
 was another menace against her own safety. The 
 fingers of her hand went once again for encourage- 
 ment to the holster beneath her arm. 
 
 Plutina gave no sign that she had discovered the 
 lurking man's presence. But, after a minute, she 
 retraced her steps a little way along the trail, until 
 she came to a point where there was a clear space 
 on either side, which was out of hearing from the 
 fence line. She had scarcely reached the place, 
 when Hodges appeared, his bare feet trudging 
 sw^iftly. His head, too, was bare. In the hollow of 
 his left arm lay the long rifle. He was approach- 
 ing from the east, and halted at the gate, without 
 having observed the girl beyond it. He whistled a' 
 
158 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 soft note as a signal if she should be anywhere 
 about. 
 
 Plutina called out softly in answer. 
 
 "Hyar, Dan!" As he looked toward her, she 
 beckoned him to approach. 
 
 Hodges shook his head in dissent, and, by a ges- 
 ture, bade her come to him. But, when she showed 
 no sign of obeying, he moved forward, scowling, 
 ferociously. The girl seemed undaunted. She 
 spoke curtly in rebuke : 
 
 '' 'Pears to me, Dan Hodges, like ye hain't very 
 prompt, seein' as how I've been a-waiting hyar a 
 quarter-hour fer ye. When a man loves a gal, he 
 gen' rally gits to the place sot ahead o' her. Ye 
 hain't a-startin' right to win me, Dan, an' so I'm 
 a-telHn' ye fair." 
 
 "You-all orter have more sense than hang out 
 hyar in the sun. Come back to the gate, under the 
 shade o' the sarvis bushes." He turned away, but 
 paused as the girl made no movement to follow. 
 'What in hell's the matter on ye?" he demanded, 
 angrily. This place in the rud hain't fitten fer 
 talk, nohow." 
 
 ''Hit's fitten 'nough fer me," Plutina retorted, 
 quietly. A mellow laugh sounded. "Seems to me 
 this-hyar bright sunshine orter warm yer love up 
 some, Dan. We'll stay hyar, I reckon. I'm afeared 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 159 
 
 o' snakes an' eavesdroppers an' sech critters thar 
 in the shade." 
 
 The man was racked by many emotions. He had 
 come swiftly under the hot sun, and the haste and 
 the heat had irritated him. The sight of the girl 
 moved him to fierce passion of desire. He was 
 aflame with eagerness to take her within his arms, 
 there where were the cool shadows. Her indiffer- 
 ence to his command exasperated him ; her final 
 refusal infuriated him. In the rush of feeling he 
 lost what little judgment he might otherwise have 
 had. He had meant to placate her by a temporary 
 gentleness, to be offset by future brutalities. Now, 
 in his rage, he forgot discretion under the pricking 
 of lawless impulse. He reached out and dropped a 
 huge hand on Plutina's shoulder, and twisted her 
 about with a strength she was powerless to resist. 
 The clutch of his fingers cut cruelly into her flesh, 
 firm though it was, and she winced. He grinned 
 malevolently. 
 
 "Git back thar as I done tol' ye," he rasped; 
 *'afore ye git wuss." 
 
 With a deft twist of the body, Plutina stood free. 
 The face, which had paled, flushed darkly. The eyes 
 blazed. The head was uplifted in scorn. Her as- 
 pect awed the man, and he hesitated, gaping at her. 
 Yet her voice was very soft when she spoke. The 
 
.i6o HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 tone surprised her listener, rendered him strangely 
 uneasy, for some reason he could not understand. 
 
 "Thet ten minutes ye was late was more'n I had 
 need fer, Dan Hodges," she said. 'T promised ye 
 yer answer hyar, an' I'm a-goin' to give hit to ye 
 right now." 
 
 She lifted an arm, and pointed to where the 
 Devil's Cauldron blotched the cliffs of the moun- 
 tainside ... It was her left arm that she lifted. 
 
 ''Look, Dan! See thet-thar big hole in the wall. 
 I been a-lookin' at hit, Dan. I 'low you-all don't 
 dast look at hit. Mebby ye're afeared o' seein' the 
 bones o' them hit holds — bones o' dead men — what 
 you-all an' yer gang hev kilt an' slid into the pot, 
 to lie hid till Jedgment. Hit's thar ye're aimin 
 to put my Zeke. Why, a haar o' his head's wuth 
 more'n the hull caboodle of sech murderers as yew 
 be." 
 
 She stepped closer to the outlaw, and spoke with 
 unleashed hate. He flinched at the change. 
 
 "I was skeered o' ye back thar on the piazzy yist'- 
 day, an' I lied to ye, kase I was skeered. I wasn't 
 a-likin' the look in them pig eyes o' your'n. An' I 
 was a- feared o' Gran'pap's hearin' how I reported the 
 still. Wall, now I hain't skeered no more. I prom- 
 ised ye yer answer at the gate. We'll move over 
 thar, an' I'll keep my promise." 
 
 Before he could guess her purpose, before he 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE i6i 
 
 could shift the rifle from the hollow of his arm, the 
 fingers of Plutina's right hand had slipped within 
 the open bodice. The Colt's flashed in the sun- 
 light. The level barrel lay motionless, in deadly 
 readiness. For the girl, though not yet quite sure, 
 was almost sure that she would kill Dan Hodges. 
 
 The idea had not come to her until this meeting. 
 In all the racking hours of thought, this simple solu- 
 tion of the difficulty had never entered her mind. 
 Now, at its coming, she welcomed it with infinite 
 relief. It offered a means of escape so simple and 
 so sure — escape for herself and for those she loved. 
 It was the touch of the man that had wrought the 
 miracle of revolt. She had felt herself polluted by 
 the contact. On the instant, the hypocrisy of cajol- 
 ing was no longer possible. But there was more in 
 the efifect than that. The savagery of the outlaw 
 aroused the savagery in her. She became, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, the primitive woman. There 
 was little in the sentiment of her people to dam the 
 outburst. Her kin had followed the lex talionis. 
 They had killed their fellows for the sake of their 
 proper pride. The blood-feud was familiar to her, 
 and she knew no shame in it. Why should she not 
 slay this creature who outraged her self-respect, 
 who theatened her every hope? Her finger on the 
 trigger of the revolver tensed ever so slightly. 
 
 The man felt the vibration of her impulse and 
 
i62 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 cringed. He was in a daze before this violence of 
 attack, where he had expected only supine yield- 
 ing. In his creed, the beating of women marked 
 manliness. The drabs he had caressed crept and 
 fawned under his blows, like whipped curs. He 
 could not realize this challenge by the girl with his 
 own method of might. But he saw clearly enough 
 through the haze of fear that the blue barrel was 
 trained exactly upon him, that the slim hand held 
 it rigid, and he knew that, in this instant, he was 
 very, very close to death. The red of his face 
 changed to a mottled purple. He felt himself 
 trembling. 
 
 Plutina perceived the abject terror of the man. 
 It mitigated her wrath with scorn, and so saved 
 him for the moment. She cried out to him fiercely, 
 her voice rough with abhorrence. 
 
 "To the gate fer yer answer, ye cowardly houn'. 
 Move quick, er I'll drap ye in yer tracks, ye mur- 
 derin' wolf. Do as I say!" 
 
 She moved another step toward him. Her voice 
 rose shrill : 
 
 "Drap thet rifle-gun !" 
 
 The weapon slipped from Hodges' nerveless fin- 
 gers, and fell on the turf with a soft thud. 
 
 "Put up yer ban's !" 
 
 Cowed, the man thrust his long arms to their 
 length above his head. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 163 
 
 "Now, turn round, an' march to the gate!" 
 
 There was no faltering in the obedience. 
 
 The hulking bully knew that he was in mortal 
 peril. For his life's sake, he dared neither word 
 nor gesture of resistance to the girl's will. His 
 only hope was that the hidden ally might somehow 
 come to his aid. But the hope was feeble. He 
 knew the other's craven spirit. 
 
 Plutina, too, knew it. As she drove her captive 
 to the gate, she peered, and saw the crouching figure 
 still in the shadows behind the bush. The Colt's 
 cracked. Even as Hodges shuddered, imagining 
 the tearing of the bullet through his own flesh, there 
 came a shriek of pain from beyond him. The hid- 
 den man leaped forth, his right arm dangling 
 clumsily. He scrambled into the cover of the 
 spruces and vanished. The noises of his flight les- 
 sened, died. 
 
 'T've scotched a snake," Plutina said, malignant- 
 ly. "Hit's about time to kill the dawg, I reckon. 
 Turn round." Then, w^hen he had obeyed, she 
 went on speaking. "Now, hyar at the gate, I'll 
 tell ye somethin'. You-all 'lowed ye could git me 
 with money. If ye had all they is in the world, hit 
 wouldn't be enough. An' ye thought I tuk money 
 fer reportin' the still. Wall, I didn't. I reported 
 thet-thar still o' your'n kase I seed ye a-settin* 
 
i64 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 b'ar-traps fer humans, an' hit made me hate ye 
 even wuss 'n I done hated ye afore." 
 
 Somehow, the flame of her fury was dying. The 
 girl felt this, and bitterly resented it, yet she was 
 powerless. It seemed to her that with all the 
 strength of her nature she was desirous of killing 
 this enemy. He stood cowering before her in 
 dread. Her finger on the trigger needed only the 
 slightest flexing to speed the death he merited. And, 
 for some occult reason, the w^ill to slay failed her. 
 She was enraged against her own weakness of re- 
 solve. Nevertheless, she was lielpless. Her mood 
 had reached its climax in the impulsive wounding of 
 the other man. Now, her blood was losing its 
 fever. With the slowing pulse, the softer instincts 
 prevailed to thwart her purpose. Despite an 
 anguished eagerness, she could not kill this tremb- 
 ling wretch. She loathed her frailty, even as she 
 yielded to it. She must let him go unscathed, a foe 
 the more dangerous after this humiliation. Of no 
 use to threaten him, to extort promises. There was 
 no truth in him. He must be left free to work what 
 evil he would. Oh, if only the wrath in her had not 
 died too soon ! 
 
 *'Put yer ban's down, an' march up the trail," 
 she commanded, presently. Her voice was lifeless. 
 The man drew new hope from the quality of it. 
 He ventured no resistance to the command, but 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 165 
 
 went padding softly through the dust. Behind him, 
 Plutina followed, her bare feet padding an echo. 
 Her right hand hung at her side, but it retained the 
 revolver, ready for instant use. As she came to 
 Hodges' rifle, she picked it up, and threw it far 
 down into the ravine. At the clattering noise of 
 its fall, the outlaw started, but he did not pause in 
 his stride, or turn. The girl's whole soul was con- 
 vulsed with longing that he should make some ef- 
 fort of revolt — anything. Then, she would shoot 
 and kill — oh, so gladly!" 
 
 But the instinct to live guided the man. He 
 trudged meekly. There was no excuse against 
 him. So, they came at last near to the Siddon clear- 
 ing, where a little path ran through the wood to- 
 ward the house. Here, Plutina paused, without a 
 word. She was ashamed of herself, grievously 
 ashamed of this softness of fiber that had spared a 
 life. Without a word, she watched him pass along 
 the trail, up the slope, and out of sight beyond. Her 
 face was drawn and white, and the great eyes were 
 brooding with bitterness, when, finally, she stirred, 
 and moved forward in the path. She slipped the 
 revolver into its holster. Then, her fingers went to 
 the bag that held the fairy cross to her breast. She 
 fondled it tenderly. She was longing as never be- 
 fore for the giver of the talisman. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 PLUTINA had no sleep the night following her 
 encounter with Dan Hodges. Throughout 
 the dragging hours, she was tortured by 
 sinister imaginings. She exhausted her brain in 
 futile strivings for some means of escape from the 
 mesh of circumstance. It was not until the gray 
 twilight of dawn shone through the curtains that a 
 possibility of relief stirred in her mind. It was out 
 of desperation that the idea sprang. She felt her- 
 self so utterly forlorn and helpless in her loneliness 
 that the despair was overpowering. It w^as then, 
 at last, that the inspiration came to her: She 
 would confess everything to her grandfather! 
 
 Though she quailed before the prospect, she re- 
 joiced as well. The old man was strong and re- 
 sourceful. He would know how to meet and over- 
 come the outlaw's villainy. Moreover, now that her 
 decision had been made, Plutina w^as surprised to 
 find her alarm over such confession greatly lessened 
 from what she had supposed possible. She began to 
 realize that some intangible change in her grand- 
 father himself was responsible for this. She be- 
 
 166 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 167 
 
 came convinced that the new gentleness had had 
 its origin in the unselfish abandonment of his mari- 
 tal hopes. It was as if that renunciation had vitally 
 softened him. Perhaps, in this strange mood, he 
 would be less intolerant of her fault in turning in- 
 former. His prejudice could find no excuse for her 
 treachery, she knew, yet the peril in which she had 
 involved herself, and him, might arouse his pity. 
 Assuredly, he would be moved to instant action for 
 both their sakes. For that reason alone, if for no 
 other, she must tell him her story without a moment 
 of unnecessary delay. 
 
 In the course of the morning, Plutina took ad- 
 vantage of an opportunity, whilst her sister was 
 busy in the garden, and went to her grandfather, 
 who was taking his ease on the porch. She was 
 encouraged by the mild and benignant expression 
 on the old man's face, which had been more often 
 fierce, as she remembered it through the years. She 
 seated herself quietly, and then proceeded immedi- 
 ately to confession. There was no attempt at pallia- 
 tion of her offense, if offense it were. She gave the 
 narrative of events starkly, from the moment when 
 she had first seen Hodges descending Luffman's 
 Branch to the time of her separation from him at 
 the clearing, on the yesterday. 
 
 Throughout the account, the listener sat sprawled 
 in the big willow rocker, his slippered feet resting 
 
i68 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 on the porch rail. The huge body was crumpled in- 
 to an awkward posture, which was never changed, 
 once the history was begun. The curved wooden 
 pipe hung from his lips, black against the iron gray 
 cascade of beard, but he did not draw at it again, 
 after the opening sentences from his granddaugh- 
 ter's lips. Plutina, looking down, perceived that 
 the folded hands, lying in his lap, were clenched so 
 strongly that the knuckles showed bloodless. Yet, 
 he made no movement, nor offered any word of 
 comment or of question. When the girl had made 
 an end, and sat waiting distressedly for his verdict, 
 he still rested mute, until the silence became more 
 than she could endure, and she cried out in plead- 
 ing: 
 
 "Kain't ye fergive me, Gran'pap?" 
 
 Uncle Dick turned, and looked reproachfully at 
 the distraught girl. A great tenderness shone from 
 the black eyes, in which age had not dimmed the 
 brilHance. As she saw the emotion there, a gasp 
 of rapturous relief broke from Plutina's lips. The 
 stern restraints of her training were broken down in 
 that moment. She dropped to her knees by the old 
 man's side, and seized his hands, and kissed them, 
 and pressed them to her bosom. He released one 
 of them presently, and laid it gently on the dusk 
 masses of his s^randchild's hair in silent blessing. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 169 
 
 His voice, when at last he spoke, was softer than she 
 had heard it ever before. 
 
 ''Why, Tiny, ye mustn't be afeared o' yer ole 
 gran'pap. I thinks a heap o' my kin, an' ye're the 
 clusest. I loves ye gal — more'n anythin' er anybody 
 else in the world, though I wouldn't want Alviry to 
 hear thet. I hain't mindin' what ye done none. I'd 
 Stan' by ye. Tiny, if he had the hull cussed Gov'- 
 ment at yer back. I hain't got no likin' fer reven- 
 uers, but I got a heap less for Dan Hodges." 
 
 He paused for a moment and lifted his hand 
 from the girl's head to stroke the gray beard 
 thoughtfully, before he continued: 
 
 *T been thinkin' a right-smart lot o' things jest 
 lately. I 'low I'm a-gittin' old, mebby. An' I opine 
 as 'tween the revenuers and Dan Hodges, I hain't 
 so much agin the Gov'ment as I was." 
 
 Again, he fell silent, as if in embarrassment over 
 an admission so at variance with the tenets of a 
 lifetime. Then he spoke with sudden briskness : 
 
 "But ye'd orter a-killed the critter then an' thar, 
 Tiny!" 
 
 "I jest somehow couldn't, Gran'pap. I'm shore 
 sorry." The girl felt poignant shame for the weak- 
 ness thus rebuked. 
 
 "I 'low I hain't likely to have no sech feelin's 
 a-holdin' o' me back," Uncle Dick remarked, drily. 
 ''Hit's my foolishness bailin' 'im out got us in the 
 
I/O HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 pizen mess. I 'low Fll cancel the bond. But, fust, 
 r have to take the skunk to the jail-house, dead er 
 alive. He'll stan' some urgin', I reckon." 
 
 *'Ye'll be keerful, Gran'pap," Plutina exclaimed 
 anxiously, as she stood up. 
 
 "Now, don't ye worrit none," Unce Dick ordered, 
 tartly. His usual rather dictatorial manner in the 
 household returned to him. ''You-all run along. I 
 want to think." 
 
 The girl went obediently. The reaction from 
 despair brought joyousness. Of a sudden, she be- 
 came aware of the blending perfumes of the wild 
 flowers and the lilting of an amorous thrush in the 
 wood. Her lids narrowed to dreamy contempla- 
 tion of the green-and-gold traceries on the ground, 
 where the sunlight fell dappled through screening 
 foliage. Fear was fled from her. Her thought flew 
 to Zeke, in longing as always, but now in a longing 
 made happy with hopes. There might be a letter 
 awaiting her from New York — perhaps even with 
 a word of promise for his return. She smiled, radi- 
 ant with fond anticipations. Then, after a word 
 of explanation to Alvira, she set off at a brisk pace 
 over the trail toward Cherry Lane. 
 
 The girl went blithely on her way, day-dreaming 
 of the time when Zeke should be come home to her 
 again. She stopped at the Widow Higgins' cabin, 
 to receive felicitations over the escape of Uncle 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 171 
 
 Dick from Fanny Brown. Plutina was not minded 
 to harass the older woman with the tale of Dan 
 Hodges. The outlaw's threats against Zeke would 
 only fill the mother's heart with fears, against which 
 she could make no defense. Otherwise, however, 
 the tongues of the two ran busily concerning the 
 absent one. And then, soon, Plutina was again 
 hurrying over the trail, which the bordering wild 
 flowers made dainty as a garden walk. Once, her 
 eyes turned southward, to the gloomy grandeur of 
 Stone Mountain, looming vast and portentous. The 
 blur of shadow that marked the Devil's Cauldron 
 touched her to an instant of foreboding, but the 
 elation of mood persisted. She raised her hand, 
 and the fingers caressed the bag in which was the 
 fairy crystal, and she went gaily forward, smiling. 
 
 Uncle Dick, meantime, was busy with sterner 
 thoughts, and his task was harmonious to his mus- 
 ings, for he was cleaning and oiling his rifle with 
 punctilious care. He did not hasten over-much 
 at either the thinking or the work. The shades of 
 night were drawing down when, finally, he hung 
 the immaculate weapon on its hooks. He ate in 
 solitary silence, served by Alvira, who ventured no 
 intrusion on this mood of remoteness with which 
 she was familiar from experience. The old man 
 had determined to go forth and seize, and deliver 
 
172 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 to the custody of the law, the person of Dan 
 Hodges. At the best, he would surprise the out- 
 law, and the achievement would be simple enough; 
 at the worst, there would be a duel. Uncle Dick 
 had no fear over the outcome. He believed himself 
 quicker and surer with the rifle than this scoundrel 
 of half his years. At grips, of course he would 
 have no chance. But the affair would not come to 
 grips. He would see to that. He went to bed con- 
 tentedly, and slept the peaceful sleep of wholesome 
 age, undisturbed by any bickerings of conscience. 
 
 It was while he was dressing, next morning, that 
 a measure of prudence occurred to Uncle Dick. 
 During the period of his absence, it would be well 
 for Plutina to avoid risk by keeping in the cabin, 
 with her rifle at hand. There was no telling how 
 audacious the moonshiner might become in his rage 
 over the ignominy to which the girl had subjected 
 him. 
 
 At the breakfast-table, he spoke sharply to Alvira, 
 as she placed the plate of fried ham and eggs before 
 him. 
 
 'Tell Tiny, I'm a-wantin' her." 
 
 "Tiny hain't hyar yit," was the answer. ''Hit's 
 time she was." 
 
 "Whar's she gone!" Uncle Dick demanded, 
 grufily. He detested any interruption of his plans. 
 
 "Tiny stayed over to the Widder Higgins's las' 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 173 
 
 night," Alvira explained. ''Hit's time she come 
 back." 
 
 Uncle Dick snorted with indignation. 
 
 ''She didn't say nothin' to me 'bout stayin' over 
 thar," he said crossly. 
 
 "Nor to me, nuther," Alvira declared. "She 
 never does beforehand. When the Widder Higgins 
 kind o' hangs on. Tiny jest stays, an' comes back in 
 the mornin'. She orter been 'ere afore now." 
 
 Uncle Dick pushed away the plate of food, half- 
 eaten. Dread had fallen on him suddenly. He 
 tried to thrust it off, but the weight was too heavy 
 for his strength of will. Perforce he yielded to 
 alarm for the girl's safety. A great fear was upon 
 him lest it be too late for the warning he had meant 
 to give. He growled a curse on his own folly in 
 not guarding against immediate attack by the out- 
 law. It was with small hope of finding his appre- 
 hensions groundless that he set forth at once, rifle 
 in hand, for the cabin of the Widow Higgins. There, 
 his fears were confirmed. The old woman had 
 seen nothing of Plutina, since the short pause on 
 the way to the post-office. Uncle Dick groaned 
 aloud over the fate that might have come on the 
 girl. He told enough to give the Widow Higgins 
 some understanding of the situation, and bade her 
 go to his own house, there to remain and to comfort 
 Elvira. For himself, he would first search over the 
 
174 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Cherry Lane trail for any trace of his vanished 
 granddaughter, and thereafter raise the hue-and-cry 
 to a general hunt through the mountains for the 
 capture or killing of the villain, and the recovery 
 of the girl, dead or alive. Not for an instant did the 
 old man doubt that Hodges had done the deed. 
 
 Uncle Dick had no more than passed Luffman's 
 Branch on his way over the Cherry Lane Trail, 
 when a joyous hail caused him to lift his eyes from 
 their close scrutiny of the beaten earth. Descend- 
 ing the trail, a little way in front of him, appeared 
 the slender, erect form of the one-armed veteran. 
 The bridegroom moved with a jaunty step, and his 
 wrinkled features radiated gladness. But, as he 
 came near, his face sobered at sight of the other's 
 expression. His voice was solicitous. 
 
 *T 'low somethin* air wrong," he ventured. 
 
 Uncle Dick in his distress welcomed the note 
 of sympathy. Somehow, he felt curiously drawn 
 to this successful rival, and he was sure that his 
 feeling was returned. Between the two men there 
 was a curious mutual respect, as if each relied on 
 the entire good sense of one who had loved Fanny 
 Brown. The older man craved a confidant ; he was 
 avid for counsel and every possible assistance in 
 this emergency. He told the facts as concisely as 
 possible, while Seth Jones, wedded raptures forgot. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 175 
 
 listened in growing sorrow and dismay. At the 
 end, he spoke simply : 
 
 'T'U take a look 'long with ye, Mister Siddon. I 
 done a heap o' trackin' in my time, out West. Per- 
 haps, I kin he'p ye some." 
 
 Uncle Dick put out his hand, and the two palms 
 met in a warm clasp, witness of friendship's pact. 
 Forthwith, they gave themselves to minute exami- 
 nation of the trail for any sign of the missing girl. 
 
 For a time, their patient search went unrewarded. 
 But, about a half-mile beyond Luffman's Branch, 
 they came on an area still affected by one of the 
 small show^ers so frequent in the mountains. Here, 
 the veteran's alert eyes distinguished a footprint 
 outlined in the damp dust. 
 
 *'Yer gal was barefut, I reckon," he said. He 
 pointed to the imprint just before where he was 
 standing. 
 
 *'Yep," Uncle Dick answered. There was a little 
 mist over his eyes, as he glanced down. "Yep; hit's 
 her'n." 
 
 The veteran went forward confidently now. 
 
 "She was a-steppin' plumb brisk," he declared; 
 "feelin' pretty peart, I 'low; feet kind o' springy- 
 like." 
 
 Uncle Dick shivered at the words. He had a 
 ghastly vision of Plutina moving at this moment 
 with painfully dragging steps somewhere afar in 
 
176 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the fastnesses of the mountains. But he said nothing 
 of the worst fears to his companion. He only fol- 
 lowed on, watching closely lest something escape 
 the other's survey. Almost, he found himself hop- 
 ing they might come on the girl's dead body. Death 
 is not the worst of evils. 
 
 After a mile, or a little less, the area of the 
 shower was passed. Uncle Dick could hardly dis- 
 tinguish any sign of the footprints in the heavy dust 
 of the trail, but he accepted without question the 
 veteran's assertion that they were easily perceptible 
 to the trained sight. Suddenly, Seth Jones halted, 
 and peered intently, stooping low. Uncle Dick, too, 
 bent to look, but the faint markings in the dirt were 
 without significance to him. The veteran moved to 
 the roadside and searched on hands and knees over 
 the yard of grass between the trail and a thicket. 
 When he stood erect again, he regarded his com- 
 panion inquiringly. 
 
 "They seem to be the tracks o' some mighty-big, 
 hefty cuss, wdiat come out o' these-hyar bushes, an' 
 tuk along arter her. Kin ye make a guess who hit 
 mout be. Mister Siddon?" 
 
 Uncle Dick's face grew black with a rage that 
 was the more frightful because it had no object on 
 which to vent itself. 
 
 "Hit's him !" he mumbled thickly, choking over 
 the effort for self-control. Abruptly, he abandoned 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 177 
 
 the attempt. His big voice boomed forth in a tor- 
 rent of blasphemous imprecations. When, finally, he 
 rumbled into silence, and stood panting for breath, 
 the veteran, who had appeared to listen with great 
 interest and perhaps some pleasure, spoke sooth- 
 ingly : 
 
 ''You-all was shore some eloquent, an' I 'low the 
 ornery critter deserves every mite on hit. An', any- 
 how, I reckon ye done saved yerse'f a stroke. Ye 
 was a-lookin' hke ye'd bust, but ye let off the steam 
 a-cussin' 'im out. Now, let's see." He went back 
 to the trail, and advanced very slowly, for the 
 markings were faint even to his skilled eyes. Uncle 
 Dick, trembling a little from the violence of his 
 outburst, followed faithfully, but he could no long- 
 er detect traces of the passing of either man or 
 girl. 
 
 Thus, in slow progress, they came at last to the 
 fork of the trail. This is at the extreme easterly 
 slope of Bull Head Mountain, which rises from the 
 north side of the valley as if in sullen rivalry of 
 Stone Mountain below. In the division of the trail 
 here, one branch ascends toward Glade Creek, 
 across the mountain, while the other keeps on 
 straight to Cherry Lane. Within the fork of the 
 trails lies a fallen giant of the coves, a huge yellow 
 poplar, almost hidden along its length by the em- 
 bowering thickets. Toward this, in an advance 
 
178 HEART OF, THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 tediously slow, the veteran made his way. When, 
 finally, he was come up to the great bole, he stood 
 quietly for minutes, gazing everywhere round 
 about. Uncle Dick, emulating his companion, 
 peered earnestly, and soon he, too, perceived the evi- 
 dences that something out of the ordinary had oc- 
 curred just here. Over a considerable space next 
 the trunk there were signs of a struggle. Broken 
 branches showed on some of the bushes; leaves 
 from the poplar shoots were lying on the grass ; the 
 turf was freshly torn here and there. The veteran 
 bent over, and picked up an object from the ground, 
 which he held out. Uncle Dick gave one glance, 
 and uttered a cry of despair. He recognized it as 
 a button from the dress Plutina had been wearing 
 the day before. 
 
 The further search of the veteran achieved little. 
 He was able only to make sure that the footprints 
 led off through the forest toward the south. But, 
 now, the impressions were no longer of one fol- 
 lowing the other. Instead, it was revealed that the 
 two walked side by side. Uncle Dick groaned as 
 his companion told him of this. Plutina had been 
 attacked ; she had fought ; she had been overcome — 
 and she was still alive ! 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 W^ITH the news of the event, a flame of 
 wrath swept through the coves. Every- 
 where, the men gathered in parties, to 
 hunt, rifle in hand, for some trace of the outlaw. 
 There was none to give him favor, save the out- 
 casts numbered among his dependants. The usual 
 sympathy for the illicit distiller ceased utterly, de- 
 stroyed by hatred for the criminal's final offense. 
 For the first time in the historv of the mountains, 
 there was no voice raised to protest — nor any rifle 
 pointed in the laurel — against the Federal officers, 
 who wandered at will in the wild places. In execra- 
 tion of Dan Hodges for his sin against the peace 
 and dignity of the community, the people forgot 
 for the nonce their ancient enmity against the Gov- 
 ernment. With one accord, the folk of the moun- 
 tains joined in abhorrence of Hodges, sullenly 
 anxious to bring about his punishment, to avenge 
 his victim at least, if too late to save her. 
 
 Seth Jones turned from the joys of the belated 
 honeymoon to give every aid in his power. His 
 counsel and the comfort of his presence were boons 
 
 179 
 
i8o HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 to Uncle Dick. The veteran had learned from his 
 bride concerning the disfavor in which Zeke was 
 held, and the reason for it. It seemed to him the 
 part of wisdom, in this crisis, to feign ignorance, 
 and he blandly suggested, on the return of the two 
 from the fallen poplar, that they should ride to 
 Joines' store in the evening, there, over the telephone, 
 to dispatch a telegram to Zeke in New York. It 
 was the psychological moment for success. There 
 was not even a flicker of resentment aroused. Uncle 
 Dick remembered that the Quaker school-teacher 
 spy had been saved by Zeke from Dan Hodges. In 
 his new mood, that fact was enough to overcome 
 all rancor against the lad. Moreover, he realized 
 the tragedy of Plutina's fate to her lover, and he 
 was moved to compassion. He accepted the vet- 
 eran's suggestion without a word of remonstrance. 
 It was Seth Jones, too, who broke down the old 
 man's last prejudice by persuading him to summon 
 Marshal Stone. Uncle Dick yielded with an odd 
 mingling of emotions — shame and relief : shame 
 over such trafficking with the *'revenuers," whom he 
 had consistently fought and despised through three 
 generations ; relief that he had gained the strong 
 arm of the law to his side. He had been greatly 
 heartened when Stone answered over the wire that 
 he would set out with a posse at midnight for the 
 Siddon cabin, so that, after a conference there, the 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE i8i 
 
 active work of searching could be begun promptly 
 at dawn. 
 
 Thus, it came about that, for the first time in 
 history, Uncle Dick Siddon welcomed the sound of 
 hoof beats pounding up the trail through the dark 
 ness. Where, aforetime, he would have leaped to 
 wind a blast of warning to the moonshiners above 
 against the coming of the "revenuers," the old man 
 now hastened to the cabin door, and flung it wide, 
 and went forth on the porch to give grateful 
 greeting. 
 
 When a council had been held, three parties set 
 forth. Seth Jones was the guide for one, which went 
 to the northeast, through the Bull Head Mountain 
 region, whither, in all likelihood, the outlaw would 
 make his way, if he meant to escape out of the 
 country. The marshal, with one companion, skirted 
 Stone Mountain. Uncle Dick led two of the posse 
 to the yellow poplar where the struggle had oc- 
 curred, after which they would follow the general 
 direction of the tracks. The marshal expected to 
 make a circuit of the mountain rapidly enough to 
 effect a junction with Uncle Dick's party by noon, 
 at the Woodruff Gate. The veteran and his two 
 men, who would have by far the roughest going, 
 were not to report until sundown at the Siddon 
 cabin. 
 
 From the poplar. Uncle Dick and the deputies 
 
i82 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 were able, with great difficulty, to follow the tracks 
 of the outlaw and his prisoner toward the south 
 for a full mile. But at this point, an expanse of 
 outcropping rock baffled them completely. Search 
 as they would, there was no least sign of footsteps 
 anywhere. After an hour of futile questing, they 
 gave up in despair, and hurried to the rendezvous 
 at the Woodruff Gate. 
 
 The marshal and his men had already reached 
 the gate, and Stone had wherewith to give the dis- 
 traught grandfather new hope. 
 
 **I came on their tracks a mile below where you 
 lost them," he explained. "They still keep to the 
 south. We followed as far as the sand bar below 
 Sandy Creek Falls." 
 
 ''Come on!" Uncle Dick cried, fiercely. "Let's 
 arter 'im this-yer minute." 
 
 The marshal shook his head at the old man's 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 "We're not much better off yet," he declared. "We 
 found the place where he camped last night. 
 'Twasn't far. I reckon the girl made his going 
 as slow as she could. She naturally would." Uncle 
 Dick nodded somberlv. "But the trouble is, the trail 
 ends at the sand bar — ends absolutely." 
 
 "We'll find hit ag'in," Uncle Dick exclaimed, 
 stoutly. "We jest got to find hit. Come on!" 
 
 The marshal urged the other to rest in prepara- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 183 
 
 tion for the hard climb — down the ridge, and then 
 up the sharp slopes and ledges of the mountain- 
 side. But the old man would have none of it. So, 
 straightway, the two moved off, leaving the others, 
 less hardy, to repose, and in due time they came to 
 the bar below Sandy Creek Falls. 
 
 High among the embattled cliffs of Stone Moun- 
 tain's eastern end, Sandy Creek races in tumultuous 
 course. The limpid stream cascades in vertical 
 sheen of silver from ledge to ledge. It writhes with 
 ceaseless noisy complainings through the twisting 
 ways of bowlder-strewn gorges. Here and there, 
 in some placid pool, it seems to pause, languid, rest- 
 ing from its revels of flight. Such a pool lay at the 
 foot of the longest fall. A barrier of sand circled 
 from the cliff as the brim for this bowl of the 
 waters. To this point. Marshal Stone and Uncle 
 Dick were now come. The tracks were plainly dis- 
 cernible in the sand, along the edge of the pool. 
 There were the huge misshapen outlines of the out- 
 law's bare feet, deep-sunken from the heavy weight 
 of the man. Beside them showed the slender prints 
 made by the captive, lightly pressed. These tracks 
 followed the curving bar, along the water's edge. 
 They reached to the foot of the cliff, close to where 
 was the outer edge of the cataract. There they 
 ceased. 
 
 The marshal, already familiar with the mystery, 
 
i84 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 and baffled by it, searched again perfunctorily. 
 Uncle Dick hunted hither and yon with feverish 
 activity, at first confidently, then doubtfully, finally 
 in despair. He, in his turn, could find no further 
 clue. He gave over his efforts eventually, and stood 
 silent beside the marshal, staring bewilderedly. 
 About the amphitheatre formed by the pool, pines 
 grew in a half-circle, save where the narrow channel 
 of the stream descended. But between the barri- 
 cade of the trees and the basin of water lay the 
 smooth stretch of sand, slightly moist from out- 
 fiung spray of the falls. Upon that level surface, 
 the tracks showed forth — undeniable, inexplicable. 
 They marched without deviation straight to the 
 base of the great cliff. There, within a little space, 
 they gew confused, as from much trampling. But 
 they did not return; they did not go elsewhere. 
 There was a clear distance of a rod over the sand to 
 the rocky ground where the trees grew. On the 
 other side lay the deeps of the pool. Before them 
 reared the impassible wall of the precipice. And 
 there the tracks ended. 
 
 Uncle Dick knew the place well, and on that ac- 
 count the mystery was the greater. He could find 
 no possible explanation, however wildly improb- 
 able, of that disappearance. The broad sheet of 
 the falls fell close to the cliff's face. The rock was 
 unworn by the torrent, without recess or cavern. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 185 
 
 And that precipice, twice the pool's width, mounted 
 sheer a hundred feet, the height of the cascade. The 
 front was unbroken save by tiny rifts and narrow 
 ledges, where dwarfed ground pines clung precari- 
 ously. With a muttered curse, the old man turned 
 from his vain contemplation of the cliff, and let his 
 troubled eyes rest on the pool. Suddenly, he 
 started. He remained motionless for a moment, 
 then, with nervous haste threw off his shirt, and' 
 trousers. Marshal Stone, chancing to look that way, 
 was astonished to see his companion naked, poised 
 at the water's edge. He had time to note with ad- 
 miration the splendid figure, still supple and strong- 
 ly muscled despite the four-score years. Then Uncle 
 Dick leaped, and dived. It was long seconds before 
 he reappeared, only to dive again. He paid no 
 attention to the marshal's remonstrances. Only 
 when he was convinced of the uselessness of further 
 search in the pool's depths, did he give over the task, 
 and cast himself down on the sand to rest, panting 
 and trembling a little from fatigue. 
 
 'They hain't thar," he said, with grim conviction. 
 Then he voiced the question that hammered in his 
 brain: "Whar be they?" 
 
 But the marshal had no answer. 
 
 As they made their way drearily back toward the 
 Woodruff Gate, the officer broke a long silence: 
 
i86 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "Only a blood-hound can trail them!'* 
 
 The gloom of Uncle Dick's expression did not 
 lighten. 
 
 "They hain't nary one in the mountings," he 
 answered, heavily. 
 
 "None nearer than Suffolk, Virginia," the mar- 
 shal said. "Cyclone Brant has a couple of good 
 ones. But it would cost a lot." 
 
 The old man flared. 
 
 "Per God's sake, git thet-thar feller an' his 
 dawgs. I hain't axin' what hit '11 cost. Hit was 
 my money got thet-thar damned cuss out o' the 
 jail-house. I hain't likely to begrudge anythin' hit 
 '11 cost to git him kotched. An' Plutiny! — why, 
 money don't matter none, if I can save Plutiny!" 
 
 "Pll send for Brant to-night," the marshal prom- 
 ised, with new cheerfulness. "Let's hope he's not 
 off somewhere. They send for him all over the 
 country. If the dogs start day after to-morrow, 
 they'll still find the scent." 
 
 Uncle Dick groaned. 
 
 "An' her a-lyin' out with thet-thar wolf all thet 
 while," he mumbled, in despair. "Mebby, this very 
 minute, she's a-screamin' — callin' to her ole gran'- 
 pap to save her. My Plutiny!" He walked with 
 lagging steps; the tall form, usually so erect, was 
 bowed under the burden of tormenting fears. The 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 187 
 
 marshal, understanding, ventured no word of com- 
 fort. 
 
 It was late afternoon when the dispirited search- 
 ers reached the Siddon clearing on their return 
 from the fruitless day's work. There, they were as- 
 tonished to see the Widow Higgins come down the 
 path toward them, at a pace ordinarily forbidden by 
 her rheumatic joints. She waved a paper in her 
 hand. 
 
 *'Hit's a telegraph," she called shrilly. Her voice 
 held something of the awe with which remoter 
 regions still regard that method of communication. 
 But there was a stronger emotion still that thus sent 
 the old woman dancing in forgetfulness of her 
 chronic pains. It was explained in her next sentence, 
 cried out with a mother's exultation in the home- 
 coming of her beloved. Almost, in joy over seeing 
 her son again, she forgot the misery that was bring- 
 ing him. 
 
 "Hit's from Zekie! Zekie's comin' home!" 
 
 Uncle Dick could not share the mother's delight. 
 The lover's coming could hardly avail anything 
 toward saving the girl. Nevertheless, he took the 
 sheet of paper, which carried the message sent on 
 by telephone from North Wilkesboro' to Joines' 
 store. He read it aloud, that the marshal might 
 hear: 
 
i88 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Suffolk, Va. 
 Richard Siddon, 
 Joines' Mill, N. C, 
 
 Via Telephone from North Wilkesboro'. 
 Arrive to-night with bloodhound. 
 
 Ezekiel. 
 
 Uncle Dick's voice faltered a little in the read- 
 ing. The black eyes were glowing with new hope 
 beneath the beetling white brows, as he lifted his 
 gaze to the mountain peaks. For the first time, he 
 felt a thrill of jubilation over the young man whom 
 he had rejected, whom now he accepted^jubil- 
 ation for the fresh, virile, strength of the lad, for 
 the resourcefulness that this message so plainly de- 
 clared. The old man's lips moved in vague, mute 
 phrases, which were the clumsy expressions of 
 emotions, of gratitude to Providence for the bless- 
 ing of another's energy, on which to lean in this 
 time of trial. There had been desperate need of 
 haste in getting the hounds on the trail. Now, they 
 were coming — to-night. Zeke was bringing them. 
 Perhaps, after all, an old man's declining years 
 would know the fond tenderness of a daughter's 
 care — and a son's. Thank God that Zeke was com- 
 ing! 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ZEKE, in his new life, found little leisure for 
 loneliness, though nightly he fell asleep 
 with an ache of nostalgia in his heart, long- 
 ing for the mountains of home and the girl who 
 dwelt among them. But his days were filled with 
 various activities that held his whole attention. j 
 
 With a mind keen and apt to receive impressions, 
 and hungry for knowledge, he gave himself joyous- 
 ly to learning the details of Sutton's tree-nail manu- 
 facture. The processes were, in fact, simple, and 
 he mastered them with ease. Then, he was in- 
 structed more broadly in busines methods, with the 
 purpose of making him competent when he should 
 become a manager of the projected factory in the 
 Blue Ridge region. His time was thus so fully oc- 
 cupied that he had neither opportunity nor inclina- 
 tion for social pleasures. 
 
 He spent a week-end in his employer's Long 
 Island home, and surprised that gentleman mightily 
 by the propriety of his manners, which he had ac- 
 quired on the yacht. On this occasion, Sutton spoke 
 definitely of his plans. The railroad branch north 
 
 189 
 
190 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 from the main line was now a certainty, and the 
 construction would soon start. At that time, Zeke 
 would return to North Carolina, and set about se- 
 curing options on the best available timber. A mill 
 would be built, and the manufacture of tree-nails 
 carried on. Zeke, in addition to an adequate salary, 
 would receive a certain share of the profits. The 
 prospect was one to delight any ambitious young 
 man, and Zeke appreciated it to the full. But most 
 of all he rejoiced that his success should come to 
 him in the place he loved, where the girl waited. 
 
 Zeke had a companion, who shared with him 
 the tiny hall-room, and kept at his side in long even- 
 ing rambles through the city streets. It came about 
 in this wise: 
 
 It was one afternoon when he had been in New 
 York for a week, that a visitor entered, un- 
 announced, the office where he was listening in- 
 tently to Sutton's crisp explanations of business 
 routine. Zeke looked up at the sound of the open- 
 ing door. Then, his jaw dropped, his eyes widened. 
 Next moment, he sprang to his feet, his face radi- 
 ant with welcome. His phrases, in the excitement 
 of this meeting, were the mountaineer's idioms, 
 which new associations were beginning to modify 
 in his ordinary speech. 
 
 "Why, hit's shorely Miss Josephine!" he cried, 
 as he advanced upon her, with outstretched hand. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 191 
 
 He saw the dog, straining toward him on the leash. 
 "An' thet-thar man- faced dawg!" 
 
 There was a httle interval of confusion, while 
 greetings were exchanged amid the demonstrative 
 antics of the bull-terrier. Sutton was called away 
 presently, and then the girl explained the object of 
 her visit. 
 
 "You never noticed it," she said somewhat pet- 
 tishly; "but one time on the yacht, I came up on 
 deck with Chubbie. You were over by the rail. 
 You snapped your fingers to him. I ordered him 
 to stay with me. He wouldn't mind. He went to 
 you. Well, I decided right then what I'd do." 
 
 "Why, shucks. Miss Josephine !" Zeke exclaimed, 
 in much distress. "He jest nacherly didn't mean 
 nothin' by thet." 
 
 "He showed something by it, though," was the 
 retort. "He showed that he belonged to you, and 
 not to me. So, here he is." She held out the leash 
 to Zeke, who took it doubtfully, only half-com- 
 prehending. As he was about to speak, a gesture 
 checked him. 
 
 "I'm not really a bit generous in giving him to 
 you. My dog must like me better than anyone 
 else in the world. That's why I really don't want 
 Chubbie any longer. You're first in his heart, and 
 I'm second. And, though I'm quite selfish about 
 
192 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 it, I know I'm doing him the greatest favor in the 
 world — that is, if you're wilHng to take him." 
 
 "I'd shore be tickled to death to have him," Zeke 
 admitted. "But it don't seem right." 
 
 "Providence seems to have arranged it that way, 
 anyhow," Josephine declared, airily. "Perhaps, if 
 a surgeon operated on him for the dent you put in 
 his skull, he might cease loving you. But nothing 
 else seems likely to stop him." 
 
 The dog, thrusting its cold muzzle against Zeke*s 
 palm, whined assent. Josephine regarded her dis- 
 loyal pet a little regretfully. 
 
 "He's a good dog," she aid, softly. "He deserves 
 to be happy." 
 
 "Plutiny'U be plumb tickled to see the critter I've 
 wrote sech a heap about," Zeke remarked. His 
 eyes were suddenly grown dreamy. 
 
 "You and your Plutina!" she railed. But her 
 voice was very kindly. When she had learned of 
 the young man's prospects and the nearness of his 
 return home, she uttered a remark that puzzled 
 Zeke. 
 
 "You don't need to envy anyone." There was a 
 light almost of jealousy in the blue eyes. 
 
 "Why, I never thought o' sech a thing!" he 
 answered indignantly. "Why should I?" 
 
 "Why, indeed?" Josephine repeated, and she 
 sighed. She sighed again on taking leave, when she 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 193 
 
 observed that the bull-terrier made no movement to 
 accompany her, but stood steadfastly by Zeke's side. 
 
 Into the happy, busy routine of Zeke's life in 
 New York, Uncle Dick's telegram came with the 
 crash of catastrophe. It was merely with innocent 
 wondering that he opened the yellow envelope, 
 which a messenger delivered in Sutton's office on a 
 pleasant summer afternoon. It was the first missive 
 of the sort in Zeke's experience, yet he felt no 
 slightest chill of apprehension. His mood was too 
 firmly joyous to be easily shaken. He merely won- 
 dered, and felt no fear whatever, as he pulled out 
 the sheet of flimsy paper, and unfolded it, while 
 his employer sat looking on curiously, himself al- 
 ready suspicious of trouble. Zeke read the type- 
 written words through stupidly, under the first 
 shock uncomprehending. Then, he repeated the 
 message aloud, as if challenging its meaning. 
 
 *Tlutina been stolen," ran the summons. ''Dan 
 Hodges done it. Need help." 
 
 The name of Richard Siddon as the sender in 
 itself told how desperate must be the situation, else 
 Uncle Dick would not have summoned the suitor 
 he had rejected. Zeke stared pitifully at Sutton. His 
 eyes had the pathos of a stricken animal's. For a 
 little, he seemed dazed by the unexpectedness of 
 this evil. Then, very soon, rage mounted blackly. 
 
194 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Sutton, listening, could not repress a shudder before 
 the deadly hate in Zeke's voice. 
 
 'T'll kill Dan Hodges!" was the promise. The 
 voice was low and even, but it roared in the ears 
 of the listener. There was something terrifying in 
 the stark savagery that showed in the mountain- 
 eer's tones and in the drawn, pallid face. 
 
 But, after the one outburst, Zeke maintained an 
 appearance of hypocritical calm. Only in the tremu- 
 lousness of his voice when he thanked Sutton did 
 he betray the depth of his feeling. 
 
 In truth, he had new reason for gratitude in this 
 emergency to the man who already had so be- 
 friended him. 
 
 "You'll want to start at once, of course," Sutton 
 said. 
 
 Zeke nodded assent. 
 
 "Well, I think I'll go with you. Perhaps, I might 
 help. It'll be better for you with somebody along." 
 
 Zeke offered a protest, but it was disregarded. 
 
 "I know Plutina," Sutton said, earnestly, "and I 
 know you, Zeke. I want to help. Now, I wonder — " 
 
 He fell silent for a space, thinking deeply. When 
 he spoke again it was with curt decisiveness : 
 
 "It's hurrying things a bit, but not too much. I'll 
 have you stay down there, Zeke, and get after the 
 timber as soon as you have Plutina back." 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 195 
 
 Then, as the young man regarded him in bewil- 
 derment, he explained fully : 
 
 'T've just heard a rumor that Grearson and 
 Company are going to send a man down there. I'll 
 beat them to it. I meant to start you off in a month 
 or so. But you've learned all you need to here, 
 and it's better to hurry, so as not to run any risk 
 of my competitors getting in ahead. We'll get 
 away on the train to-night." 
 
 So it came about that the two reached Norfolk 
 late in the afternoon of the following day, after 
 what had seemed to the tortured lover an eternity 
 of listless crawling toward the mountains. Now 
 Zeke felt no longer dismay over the rapid flight 
 of the train, as in his first journeying, but only a 
 fierce longing to cover the miles more swiftly. For 
 he appreciated how great was the crisis. Plu- 
 tina had written him of her part in the raid on 
 Hodges' still, and she had expressed in some degree 
 the apprehensions she felt. Zeke was sure that, 
 somehow, Plutina's betrayal of the still had become 
 known to the outlaw, and on this account the man 
 had sought vengeance. The lover sickened at the 
 thought of the form that brutal vengeance might 
 take. Often, Sutton, covertly watchful, averted his 
 glance that he might not see the despair on the 
 mountaineer's face. 
 
 The two travelers were on their way to the ferry 
 
196 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 in Norfolk, when inspiration came to Zeke: He 
 bethought him of Cyclone Brant, and the stag- 
 hound. Jack. A few words sufficed for explanation 
 of the matter to Sutton, who welcomed the idea of 
 securing such assistance for the search. 
 
 *'I kin git 'im, if he's home," Zeke declared, eag- 
 erly. *'He lives in Suffolk, 'bout twenty miles to- 
 ward Wilkes. I'll try an' git 'im on the 'phone." 
 
 In this, he was successful, and he was greatly 
 cheered by the anxiety displayed by Brant to be of 
 assistance. But the detective was distressed over 
 the delay of twelve hours that must ensue before 
 they could get a train to North Wilkesboro'. Sut- 
 ton removed this difficulty by ordering a special, 
 which should be made up at once, and should stop 
 at Suffolk to take on Brant and his dog. So, within 
 the hour, the three men and the hound were rush- 
 ing at rocking speed along the tortuous river course 
 that led into the mountains. Instructions had been 
 sent ahead, by Brant's suggestion, to have an auto- 
 mobile and driver in readiness for the arrival of 
 the party at the North Wilkesboro' station. 
 
 The three men talked but little during the trip. 
 The tenseness of suspense held them in thrall, and, 
 for the most part, they sat in grim silence, staring 
 out of the windows at the swiftly flitting panorama 
 of moonlit landscape, wherein the fertile level areas 
 changed to narrowing valleys, and these, in turn. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 197 
 
 to wild gorges, where the river ran in bellowing riot 
 beneath lofty ramparts of stone. Sutton's thoughts 
 veered from pity for his young friend to keen calcu- 
 lation of profits to come from the locust timber of 
 the slopes. Cyclone Brant mused on his past ad- 
 venturings in these wilds. From time to time, he 
 pulled at the ears of the stag-hound, which sat on 
 its haunches in the aisle, balancing its big bulk elas- 
 tically against the erratic joltings of the car, and re- 
 garding its master with patient adoration in the 
 reddened eyes. 
 
 Zeke, too, had the single comfort of a dog's 
 faithful fondness. The bull-terrier crouched on the 
 seat beside its master. The squat-featured face was 
 thrust forward, with the heavy jaw resting on 
 Zeke's lap. Often, the dog whined, with a soft, 
 whimpering note. It was as if the creature knew 
 its master's grief, and wished to tell its sympathy. 
 There was a curious help to the young man's cour- 
 age in the eager, caressing thrusts of the cold nose 
 against his palm. And he had need of every help, 
 even the least, for, in this period of inactivity, the 
 spirit within him was near to fainting. Because he 
 knew fully the depraved nature of Hodges, he 
 could not blind himself to the frightful peril of 
 Plutina in the outlaw's power. The girl's plight was 
 one to inspire horror in any decent breast; to the 
 lover, worshiping her as something ineffably holy. 
 
198 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the possibility of her pollution by the brute who 
 had stolen her away was a thing too monstrous for 
 belief, yet not to be denied. He strove to drive the 
 hideous thought from his mind, but, ever, it crept 
 again into his consciousness. The sickness of his 
 soul found its only relief in bursts of fury against 
 the cause of this wickedness. His manhood asserted 
 itself in a primitive lust to torture and to destroy. 
 
 There were intervals of softer emotion, when he 
 lived again the sweet raptures of hours alone with 
 Plutina in the mountain solitude. But the moods of 
 retrospection were short, perforce. They weakened 
 him too greatly. The very heart seemed to flow 
 from him like water, as memories crowded. The 
 contrast of the present was too hideous for endur- 
 ance. Again, the ghastly despair — the black rage, 
 the whining of the dog, and the thrust of the cold 
 muzzle to distract for a moment. Then, once more, 
 the agonizing round. 
 
 The grinding of brakes, as the train drew to a 
 standstill at North Wilkesboro', came as a poignant 
 relief to the three travelers. Even the dogs seemed 
 to relax from strain, and a covert hostility, which 
 had marked their first meeting, vanished while they 
 sniffed at each other in inquisitive, friendly fashion. 
 
 The automobile was in waiting. Zeke jumped in 
 beside the driver. The bull-terrier was held firmly 
 between his legs. Sutton, Brant and the hound es- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 199 
 
 tablished themselves in the tonneau. Within a min- 
 ute after the stopping of the train, the car was roll- 
 ing rapidly over the highway toward Joines' mill. 
 The chauffeur made the best speed possible under 
 Zeke's urging, and the run was short. 
 
 Beyond the mill, the trail branching off the main 
 road was rough and narrow, traversed only by 
 horsemen and the clumsy vehicles of the mountain- 
 eers. No automobile had ever passed over it, and 
 the party had planned to secure mounts at the mill, 
 and to continue the journey on horseback. Zeke, 
 however, realized the advantage in continuing by 
 machine, were this possible, and he suggested it to 
 the driver. The man was doubtful, but, too, he was 
 an enthusiast in his work, and the opportunity of 
 thus climbing the mountains, where no other car 
 had been, appealed strongly to his ambition. In 
 the end, he consented, with a prudent stipulation 
 concerning possible damages. So, without pause, 
 the automobile shot forward past mill and store, and 
 went clambering along the trail toward the north- 
 ern coves. The driver ran cautiously enough, despite 
 Zeke's impatience, but, at the best, the trip was a 
 strain on the men and on the mechanism that bore 
 them, for the car lurched and bounced over the 
 uneven surface, and more than once was near to 
 being overturned. Their ultimate safety was due, 
 in great measure, to Zeke himself. Familiar with 
 
200 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 every foot of the way, he was able to advise the 
 chauffeur of the more dangerous points. Neither 
 Sutton nor Brant had uttered a word of protest 
 against undertaking the perils of this final stage, but 
 both breathed a sigh of relief, when, at last, the car 
 stopped in the clearing before the Siddon cabin, and 
 the journey was safely done. 
 
 The wooden wheels of the poplar clock in the 
 cabin were whirring for the striking of midnight, 
 when their noise was overborne by the grotesque, 
 unfamiliar honkings of an automobile horn. With 
 the second of the three blasts, the cabin's door 
 swung open, and in the light of it was silhouetted 
 the tall form of Uncle Dick. 
 
 "Zeke!" he called; and his voice was a little 
 broken. 
 
 Then, with instinctive delicacy of feeling, he 
 stepped aside, as the young man sprang up the 
 steps, and he stood silent, while mother and son 
 were folded in each other's arms, murmuring en- 
 dearments. But, when Zeke at last turned to face 
 the old man. Uncle Dick's hand went out to a power- 
 ful clasp that told how profoundly he was moved. 
 
 "I'm glad ye've come, boy," he said, simply. And 
 Zeke knew that the old distrust and suspicion were 
 gone forever, and in their stead were come affection 
 and faith. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ZEKE was astounded when he looked around 
 the living-room and recognized Marshal 
 Stone, together with the members of the 
 posse. He suddenly became aware that the change 
 in Uncle Dick was even greater than he had sup- 
 posed. There had been a radical readjustment of 
 the old man's attitude toward life, which disposed 
 him not only to acceptance of Zeke with affection 
 and confidence, but also to toleration of, and alli- 
 ance with, the ''revenuers," whom he had so con- 
 sistently hated through a long lifetime. Zeke re- 
 frained however, from any open expression of his 
 amazement, and at once joined the other men in 
 devising a plan of operations to be begun at dawn. 
 
 It was decided that Uncle Dick should accompany 
 the marshal and Brant, with the stag-hound, to the 
 tracks of Hodges and Plutina on the north face of 
 Stone Mountain, near Sandy Creek, where the dog 
 could take up the scent, in the hope of solving the 
 mystery that had baffled the human searchers. 
 
 Then Uncle Dick interposed a suggestion that 
 suited Zeke well. 
 
 201 
 
202 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 *Tf so be," he exclaimed abruptly, "as how Dan 
 Hodges is atop thet-thar mounting, an' he gits the 
 dawg nigh the precipice, he might throw the critter 
 over. He's powerful strong, Dan is, an' desprit." 
 
 "Yes, the fellow's capable of it," Stone agreed. 
 
 "I'm a-thinkin* as hit mout be well fer Zeke to 
 git atop the mounting fust off," Uncle Dick contin- 
 ued, "an' watch out fer Hodges. Hit's pretty open 
 up thar, and easy to layway a body." 
 
 "I'll go," Zeke declared, with eagerness. 
 
 The marshal directed the men of the posse to 
 scatter to various points on the railway lines. 
 
 "Hodges'll probably try to get out of the country, 
 the minute he hears the hound after him," Stone 
 explained. "All of my men have seen him, and 
 they'll be able to stop him, if he manages somehow to 
 cover his scent from the dog, and get off." 
 
 Sutton, much against his will, was forced to re- 
 main inactive at the cabin as he was not physically 
 fitted for the hard tramping over the mountains. 
 
 Zeke was the prey of emotions too deep to per- 
 mit much interest in a stranger, but he had a friend- 
 ly, if wan, smile for the veteran, whom he remem- 
 bered from their single meeting. He attempted a 
 display of attention on hearing of the marriage so 
 recently achieved, but the effort failed pitifully. 
 Seth Jones, however, took no offence, since he un- 
 derstood how great must be the young man's mis* 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 203 
 
 ery. On the contrary, his sympathies were deeply 
 stirred, and he essayed a few words meant to com- 
 fort. 
 
 "An' I reckon I'll go 'long with you-all, Zeke, in 
 the mornin'," he concluded. 
 
 But Zeke shook his head at the offer. 
 
 "I got to cross over home fer my rifle-gun," he 
 explained, vaguely. 
 
 'T clean fergot to tell ye," Uncle Dick cried. "Yer 
 rifle-gun's hyar, Zeke. I done fotched it over fer 
 
 ye." 
 
 "Thank ye, Uncle Dick," was the grave response. 
 But the young man did not rescind his refusal of 
 the veteran's company. 
 
 Uncle Dick offered a share of his bed to Brant 
 and the marshal, but it was refused by both. There 
 were blankets spread for the men on the floor of 
 the porch, where the smoke gushed from a smudge 
 kettle to keep off the mosquitoes. There, presently, 
 the company stretched themselves for the brief 
 dreamless sleep won by the day's fatigues. 
 
 Even Zeke fell into a sound slumber, with the 
 bull-terrier nestled at his breast. He had not thought 
 to sleep, only to lie quiet for a little rest, and then, 
 long before the dawn, to issue forth alone. Never- 
 theless, his repose was profound for two hours, or 
 more. Perhaps, the stirring of the dog awoke him; 
 perhaps, his own determination, subconsciously 
 
204 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 exerted. Anyhow, he straightened up suddenly, and 
 stared about him stupidly, reluctant to believe that 
 he had actually slept thus, while Plutina cried out 
 for succor. He was relieved when he perceived 
 that there was not yet even a trace of dawn in the 
 east. He realized that it was as well, for though he 
 had lost little time, he felt vitally refreshed, with 
 new vigors to battle in behalf of the girl he loved. It 
 was but the work of a minute noiselessly to possess 
 himself of his rifle, and to descend the steps. The 
 bull-terrier kept close at his heels. With the dog 
 still following, Zeke, pressed forward through the 
 darkness toward Stone Mountain. 
 
 The other sleepers were aroused by Uncle Dick 
 as the first gray light was flushing to the rose of 
 dawn over the eastern mountains. There was some 
 astonishment at finding Zeke already gone, but it 
 subsided quickly, for all understood how great must 
 be his anxiety. The men of the posse duly took 
 their departure for the railway points designated by 
 the marshal. Seth Jones set out in pursuit of Zeke. 
 Stone, with Uncle Dick and Brant, made ready for 
 the actual hunting of the outlaw. • 
 
 'T've seen Jack more than once pick up a cold 
 trail three days old," the hound's master declared, 
 with a manifest pride in the creature's prowess ; ''and 
 run down his man. Can we get hold of something 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 205 
 
 to give him the scent — an old shoe, or cap — any- 
 thing?" 
 
 ''Got jest the thing fer ye," Uncle Dick replied, 
 leading the way from the cabin toward one of the 
 out-buildings. "Hit's an ole coat. Dan left hit one 
 hot day when he stopped in at my forge, to tinker 
 the rivets to the cap o' the still. Hit was dum hot 
 thet day, an he left 'is coat. 'Twa'n't wuth comin' 
 back fer. I 'low the smell's about all thet's left 
 to hit." 
 
 Brant showed the tattered garment to the stag- 
 hound, and bade the animal smell it. The dog sniffed 
 obediently a few times, sneezed as if in disgust of 
 the odor, regarded its master understandingly, and 
 then walked away. 
 
 "That's all that's necessary," Cyclone Brant de- 
 clared. "The dog and I are ready." 
 
 Forthwith, the three men, with the hound, set 
 forth toward the southeast, to cut the track of the 
 outlaw near Sandy creek. They followed the trail 
 to a point some distance beyond the Woodruff 
 Gate, and then left it to ascend the precipitous 
 slopes near the eastern end of Stone Mountain. 
 They were not far from Sandy Creek Falls, when 
 the marshal halted, and pointed out the remains of 
 a camp-fire. 
 
 "This is where Hodges stopped to cook his sup- 
 per the first night," he explained. "I followed the 
 
2o6 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 tracks on to the creek, and up it to the falls, where 
 I lost them. Now, it's up to the dog." 
 
 A growl from the hound caused the three to look 
 up, startled. There was an exclamation from Uncle 
 Dick, and the rifle leaped to his shoulder. 
 
 "No, no — don't shoot!" Stone ordered. He, too, 
 had seen and recognized Garry Hawks, as the fel- 
 low, evidently disconcerted by their presence there, 
 slipped stealthily into the laurel. "He'll be more 
 useful to us alive presently," he explained to Uncle 
 Dick, who had obeyed protestingly. 
 
 "Thet's so, likely," the old man conceded grudg- 
 ingly. Then he chuckled harshly, for the first time 
 since Plutina's disappearance. "Got his right wing 
 slung up! Did ye see hit? Tiny done hit — pore 
 gal ! Purty peart at shootin'. Tiny is. Thet-thar — " 
 
 "There's a fresh track here made by Hodges," 
 the marshal exclaimed, interrupting. He pointed 
 to a plain imprint on the dirt covering of a flat 
 rock. 
 
 Brant brought his dog to the spot, pointed to the 
 footprint, and slipped the leash. The hound lowered 
 its head, snuffed at the ground, and gave tongue. In 
 the same second, it was off at speed, running with 
 muzzle low, with the continuous whining yelps that 
 told of a warm scent. It did not vanish into the 
 coverts as all had expected, but followed through 
 the open place that led to the northward, skirting 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 207 
 
 the wood. As the men hurried after, they caught 
 a final ghmpse of the dog two hundred yards be- 
 yond, just disappearing over a ridge. They followed 
 the sound of its baying with what haste they might, 
 yet slowly, by reason of the difficult going. The 
 dog's cries guided them, much to the surprise of 
 Uncle Dick and the marshal, straight toward Sandy 
 Creek Falls, whither the first tracks of the outlaw 
 and the girl had led, and where they had been so 
 mysteriously lost. As the three scrambled up a 
 steep ascent, scarcely a hundred yards from the 
 sand-bar, there came to their ears from the hound 
 a high, melancholy howl. 
 
 *Tt means that Jack is at fault, somehow," Brant 
 explained in answer to a grunt of inquiry from 
 Uncle Dick. "Something puzzling him for a min- 
 ute." 
 
 The two listeners looked at each other with grave 
 faces. Was it possible, they wondered, that the 
 hound would be baffled, even as they had been, there 
 at the pool? But their expression lightened the next 
 moment, for two sharp, harsh barks came from the 
 dog, which was evidently still in the neighborhood 
 of the falls, and its master interpreted : 
 
 "Jack's treed his game, sure's you're born!" 
 
 The three topped the ridge, and broke into a 
 run down the slope, their rifles at the ready. With- 
 in the minute, they leaped from the thicket into the 
 
2o8 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 open place below the falls. Then, with one accord, 
 they stopped short and stood staring bewilderedly. 
 The hound continued its deep-chested baying. 
 It stood erect on its hind legs, almost to a man's 
 height. It was supported by its fore-paws extended 
 as far up as they would reach against the wall of 
 the precipice, a little to the left of the waterfall. As 
 it barked, the dog held its muzzle pointed straight 
 upward. There could be no doubt, if the sensitive- 
 ness of the brute were to be relied on, that its quarry 
 had, in some incomprehensible fashion, contrived 
 to mount the sheer surface of the cliff. That the 
 hound was sure, was made plain by the rigidity of its 
 posture, by the fierce, challenging ululations, which 
 pealed forth incessantly. 
 
 The three men went forward presently, their gaze 
 wandering aloft from the dog, over the inaccessible 
 expanse of vertical cliffs. They came down to the 
 sand-bar, and followed it around the pool, still in 
 silence, and still with their puzzled eyes roving hither 
 and yon for some clue to understanding of this 
 thing. But, of a sudden. Uncle Dick shouted : 
 
 'T see how 'tis! I shorely kotch on. Looky 
 thar !" 
 
 The marshal and Brant followed the direction of 
 his pointing arm, but they saw nothing to make the 
 matter clear — only a tiny ledge, fifty feet above 
 them, along which grew a few bushes and clumps 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 209 
 
 of ground pine. It offered no hiding-place for a 
 child even, hardly footing for the outlaw's heavy 
 bulk. But Uncle Dick shook his head to rebuke 
 their lack of comprehension, then explained : 
 
 ''Dan's a keen un, all right," he said, with grudg- 
 ing admiration. ''But this-hyar time he's done 
 left 'is mark fer my ole eyes to see. Now, you-all 
 jest throw yer eyes o' vision up the side o' the cliff 
 ag'in. If ye looks cluss, ye kin see a streak o' 
 dampness on the rock. Hit's jet as if a mounting 
 rattler mout 'a' dove down the rock right thar. But 
 'twa'n't thet. Thet-thar streak is the mark of a 
 wet rope — er mebby a grape-vine. Thet's the way 
 them devils git up an' down. I'll bet every stick o' 
 my mounting timber them cusses got a cave up 
 thar, offen the ledge. P'rhaps Garry Hawks jest 
 got up, since we-uns seen 'im. An' the rock hain't 
 had time to dry from the rope, er vine, a-gittin' wet 
 in the falls. Dan Hodges thought he had a mighty 
 cute place to lay out in. But he's kotched jest the 
 same — damn 'im! . . . Good dawg!" The 
 change in Uncle Dick's voice as he spoke the last 
 two words was startling. 
 
 The two listeners accepted the old man's solu- 
 tion, but they did not share his enthusiasm. On the 
 contrary, they were very grave, for the task before* 
 them appeared formidable, if not impossible, of 
 achievement. As they continued silent, gazing up- 
 
210 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ward with frowning faces, Uncle Dick regarded 
 them at first in perplexity, then in rapidly-mounting 
 apprehension, 
 
 "What's a-bitin' on ye?" he demanded, at last. 
 
 The marshal replied. 
 
 "There's no way of getting them out of there. 
 They're armed and not particular about murder. 
 They can hold that fort till kingdom-come. Dan 
 could alone. There's nothing for it but to starve 
 'em out — if they're there." 
 
 And the trouble about that is," Brant added, 
 that they've got the girl for hostage. It seems to 
 me that this Dan Hodges has the whip-hand." 
 
 For a little, Uncle Dick, who had paled under the 
 tan, stood silent, looking helplessly from one to the 
 other of his companions. Then he groaned aloud. 
 But in the next instant, he straightened to his full 
 height. His face grew convulsed with rage, as he 
 faced the cliff, and his great voice volumed above 
 the clamor of the cataract : 
 
 "God A'mighty damn ye, Dan Hodges! Damn 
 ye — damn ye!" 
 
 And then again : 
 
 "Damn ye, Dan Hodges, f erever an' ferever !" 
 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PLUTINA'S treatment of Hodges had had a 
 curious effect on that lawless character. 
 The humiliation to which he had been sub- 
 jected had indeed filled him with vicious rage, but, 
 too, it had inflamed his passion for the girl. Her 
 scorn and her fierce mastery of him had made her 
 more than ever desirable. He was fascinated by the 
 strength and courage she had displayed. Brutal and 
 evil as he was, Hodges was strong physically, and, 
 in his own wicked way, strong of will. Because he 
 was stronger than his fellows, he ruled them. 
 Strength was, in fact, the one thing that he could 
 admire. The revelation of it in Plutina at once; 
 set her apart from all other women, and gave to 
 his craving for her a clumsy sort of veneration. 
 But that veneration was strangely modified by re- 
 solve to be avenged for the insult she had put upon 
 him. Thus, it had come about that he planned to 
 satisfy his varied feelings toward the girl by the 
 abduction. He swore to master her, to change her 
 insolence to fawning submission, to abject fondness. 
 Hodges wasted no time. His sluggish brain be- 
 gan its scheming the moment a turn in the trail hid 
 
 211 
 
212 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 him from view, after the ignominious march from 
 the Holloman Gate. At sunrise, next morning, he 
 was lurking on the borders of the Siddon clearing, 
 spying on the movements of the family. He even 
 witnessed Plutina's confession to her grandfather, 
 of which he guessed the purport, and at which he 
 cursed vilely beneath his breath. When Flutina 
 set forth for the Cherry Lane post-office, he fol- 
 lowed, slinking through the forest at a safe distance 
 from the trail. He was not quite certain as to 
 where or when he should attack the girl, but he 
 meant to seize the first favorable opportunity, 
 whether it came sooner or later. It came, as a 
 matter of fact, very soon, and it was given by Plu- 
 tina herself. 
 
 There at the fallen poplar, the girl found a com- 
 fortable nook on the big trunk, where her back was 
 supported by a limb. The serenity of the scene 
 soothed her over-wrought nerves. The sense of 
 relief that had come from confession to her grand- 
 father was less vivid now. In its stead was a 
 blessed peacefulness. She watched lazily the visible 
 details of forest life around about her. Her atten- 
 tion centered finally on a yellow-hammer, which 
 was industriously boring the trunk of a dead chest- 
 nut. From the nest near-by, the callow young 
 thrust naked heads, with bills gaping hungrily. 
 Then, in a twinkling, birds and forest vanished, and 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 213 
 
 she was standing on the mist-strewn steeps of Stone 
 Mountain, and Zeke's arm was about her, and her 
 hand was clasped in his. So, she slept, and smiled 
 a little in her dreams, for the touch of the breeze 
 on her cheek seemed the caress of her lover's lips. 
 From his lair in the laurel, Dan Hodges, watching, 
 knew that his opportunity was come. The outlaw 
 laid down his rifle, and drew from a pocket a stout 
 leash of cowhide, a yard long. Glancing from time 
 to time at his intended victim, to see that she still 
 slept, he hastily fashioned a slip-noose at either 
 end of the thong. This done, he began moving 
 forward with the utmost caution, taking advantage 
 of the cover, that he might remain invisible should 
 the girl awake. He held the leash in his two hands 
 ready for instant action. A slight detour brought 
 him around the stump of the poplar, just behind 
 Plutina. Advancing with even increased careful- 
 ness now, he approached until the girl was easily 
 within his reach. As she reclined on the tree-trunk, 
 her left hand hung at length on the side next to 
 him. The right arm was bent along the supporting 
 branch, and the hand pillowed her cheek. After a 
 moment of doubt, Hodges decided that he would 
 attempt to secure the free wrist in a noose of the 
 leash without awakening her. It would be easy 
 then to catch and bind the other wrist. In the con- 
 fusion of sudden rousing from sleep, she would 
 
214 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 make no effective resistance. The capture would 
 be very simple. 
 
 It was, in truth, tragically simple, yet not so 
 simple as the outlaw had anticipated. From dreams 
 of tenderness, Plutina was suddenly started to hate- 
 ful realization by the scarcely perceptible touch of 
 this being so repugnant to her every instinct. She 
 was confused, indeed, but not too confused for 
 frantic resistance. It needed no more than recog- 
 nition of the man's brutal face so close to hers to 
 inspire her. She fought him with every ounce of 
 her strength. The left hand was useless, held down 
 by his on the thong, with the noose drawn taut about 
 the wrist. But the outlaw, though he contrived to 
 get the other noose over her right hand, failed some- 
 how to tighten it at once. She was able to strike 
 at him again and again. Her blows fell on his 
 face, and they were sturdy blows. Hodges made 
 no effort to avoid them, nor struck back — only bus- 
 ied himself with the effort to tighten the noose. It 
 was evident that he disdained her attack. A cer- 
 tain virile pride forbade defense against this on- 
 slaught of a girl. Finally, he brought his left hand 
 to aid in adjusting the second noose. In the few 
 seconds of liberty, Plutina abandoned blows, and 
 resorted to savage clawing at the evil face. Her 
 ten nails streaked the coarse features with blood. But 
 still he seemed absolutely indifferent to such wounds 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 215 
 
 as she could inflict. Then, the noose slipped to 
 tightness. The girl's hands were brought close to- 
 gether behind her back, where she stood beside him. 
 He knotted the slack of the leash, and holding the 
 loop, grinned triumphantly at his captive. His 
 bloody face was a mask of malice. 
 
 "Ye damned little wildcat," he growled, yet with 
 an unmistakable note of admiration in his voice, 
 "if I sarved ye 'cordin' to yer earnin's, I'd shorely 
 tap ye over thet-thar purty haid o' your'n, an' pitch 
 ye over into the Devil's Kittle, to wait fer yer runt 
 lover to come arter ye." He twisted her about 
 viciously. Despite her strength, unusual in a 
 woman, Plutina was powerless in his grip. Hold- 
 ing her close, face to face, he contemplated the girl's 
 pitiable distress with gloating eyes in which there 
 was no faintest suggestion of pity. The prisoner 
 met the malignant gaze for an instant. Then, her 
 eyes fell, and she stood trembling. She was pant- 
 ing, partly from terror, partly from the violence 
 with which she had struggled. Hodges chuckled, 
 well content over the impression he had made. He 
 would show her how a woman should be tamed! 
 But the thing must be done in full accord with a 
 plan he had made. Now that the captive had duly 
 learned her first lesson in submissiveness, he might 
 relax a little from his severity for a time. Besides, 
 too much fright might leave her helpless on his 
 
2i6 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 hands, which would be highly inconvenient, since 
 there was a rough journey on foot before them. 
 When he next spoke, he tried, without much suc- 
 cess, to make his voice conciliatory. 
 
 *'Thar hain't no call fer ye to be so dum skeery 
 — leastways, not yit. I hain't a-hurtin' ye none — 
 not yit — only jest a-tyin' yer ban's to keep 'em out 
 o' mischief. But I reckon as how ye'll hev to eat 
 them words ye spoke to me at the gate yistiddy. I 
 'low ye done forgot the warnin' I gin ye 'bout play- 
 in' Dan Hodges fer a fool. Ye're lookin' mighty 
 sorry ye ever tried hit." He chuckled again, as he 
 meditated a humorous effort : ''Ye know thet pore 
 feller what ye winged yistiddy?" He shook his 
 head reprovingly. "You-all shore hadn't orter 
 never 'ave done no sech thing. Garry wa'n't a-bit- 
 in' on ye none. He's hurt bad, Garry is, an' he 
 needs a nuss the worst way, Garry does. An' so I 
 come an' got ye." He guffawed over his wit. *Tf 
 ye'll behave I'll let loose o' ye a mite, an' we'll 
 stroll along a matter of a few mile to whar Garry's 
 waitin' awful impatient." 
 
 Suddenly, unreasoning fear surged up in Plu- 
 tina, brimmed over in a torrent of pleading words. 
 She knew the uselessness of appeal to this callous 
 wretch. But the instinct of terror in her horrible 
 situation mastered the girl, so that she forgot pride, 
 and besought his mercy. She was ghastly pale, and 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 217 
 
 the dilated eyes were almost black, with a stricken 
 look in their clouded depths. Her voice was shak- 
 ing. 
 
 ''Lemme go Dan — lemme go. YeVe done got 
 even with me now fer yistiddy. Lemme go — I ax it 
 of ye, Dan. I done ye dirt yistiddy, 'cause I was 
 scared o' ye. An' I'm scared o' ye now, Dan. 
 Lemme go home, an' I won't never tell nobody how 
 ye kotched me." 
 
 She had raised her eyes beseechingly. Now, as 
 she saw the smug mockery on her captor's face, she 
 fell silent. The futility of any pleading was too 
 plain. Her eyes shifted to the ground again. But 
 the first wild fear was past, and she began to think 
 with some clearness. At once, it occurred to her 
 that she must guard her strength jealously. She 
 had already wasted too much in vain physical strug- 
 gling and in vainer emotional outbursts. She must 
 save her energies henceforth both of body and of 
 mind, that she might have wherewith to contrives, 
 escape and wherewith to accomplish it, or wherewith 
 to fight against a lustful brute to the very death. 
 
 Hodges spoke approval. 
 
 *'Ye're gittin' sense. Better save yer breath to 
 cool yer porrich, stid o' wastin' hit a-whinin' to 
 me. But I shore admire fer to hear ye squawk. 
 Ye hain't quite so damned uppitty as ye was yis- 
 tiddy." 
 
2i8 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "I 'low I must do what ye says," Plutina agreed, 
 listlessly. She felt very weary, now that the re- 
 action was upon her. At whatever cost, she must 
 have an interval in which to recover from this 
 weakness. 
 
 "Thet's the ticket!" Hodges exclaimed, with a 
 jovialty meant to be winning. He went behind her, 
 and loosened the knot he had last tied, so that her 
 wrists, although still fast bound, had a little play. 
 The length of the loop allowed him to move by her 
 side with it over his arm. "You-all jest mosey 
 acrost to thet-thar birch clump," he directed, point- 
 ing. 'T got a rifle-gun yender, what I kain't no- 
 ways do without." 
 
 Plutina walked obediently at his side in the di- 
 rection indicated, and stood passively while he 
 picked up the weapon. Then, in response to his 
 command, she set off with him through the tor- 
 tuous forest paths to the southward. 
 
 For the time being, Plutina's dominant emotion 
 was a vast depression. It bore down on her like a 
 physical burden, under which she had hardly the 
 power to go forward with slouching steps. It was 
 as if the end of the world were come, with the loss 
 of everything good and clean and happy. The only 
 reality was this foul creature to whom she was 
 bound, from whom there was no escape, who had 
 but to speak and she must obey, who had the author- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 219 
 
 ity to compel obedience. She was sick with horror 
 of the man's nearness. She felt defilement from the 
 avid eyes, which moved over her in wanton linger- 
 ing from head to foot, and back again. But she had 
 no resource against him. She could only endure 
 for the present, awaiting the return of strength. 
 She could see no glimmer of hope anywhere. Yet, 
 she strove numbly against this enveloping despair. 
 She told herself again and again that, somehow, 
 relief would come before the dreaded crisis. The 
 words were spiritless; they brought no conviction. 
 Nevertheless, she kept repeating them mutely to her- 
 self, as she trudged drearily beside Hodges toward 
 Stone Mountain. 
 
 *T'll git clar o' him somehow — I will, I will! 
 Gran'pap'll kill 'im! Zeke'll come! He will!" 
 
 It was incredible that her lover could come, that 
 he could even know of the evil, until too late to 
 save her. Yet, the thought of his coming subtly 
 cheered her. It persisted in defiance of all reason. 
 And the affrighted girl clung to it with desperate 
 tenacity, as a drowning man to the life line. She 
 kept repeating to herself, ''Zeke'll come ! He will, 
 he will!" as if the phrases were a spell for the 
 soothing of terror. She wished that her hands 
 were free to touch the fairy crystal in her bosom. 
 
 The outlaw, after uncouth efforts at conversation, 
 which met with no response, relapsed into sullen 
 
220 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 silence, and he mended the pace until the girl was 
 hard put to it to keep up with his stride. On the 
 first slopes of Stone Mountain, he halted, evidently 
 at a spot where he had camped on other occasions, 
 for presently he produced a skillet and coffee-pot 
 and materials for a rude meal from their conceal- 
 ment in the bushes. But his first care was to place 
 the prisoner on a log, where a sapling at her back 
 served for attaching the loop of the leash. He 
 then busied himself with making a fire and prepar- 
 ing the food, from time to time jeering at the help- 
 less girl, who watched him with smouldering hate 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Hit's you-all orter be a-doin' these-hyar chores," 
 he declared, with a grin. ''An' they's a good time 
 a-comin' when ye'U be plumb tickled to death to 
 wait on yer Danny boy. A good time comin', cuss 
 ye !" 
 
 He devoured his food ravenously, washing it 
 down with the coffee. Finally, he brought slices of 
 bread and bacon to Plutina, and laid them in her 
 lap. He loosened her right hand and so permitted 
 her to feed herself. It was her impulse to refuse 
 the offering, but she resisted the folly, knowing 
 the necessity of food, if she would have energy 
 for the ordeal before her. So, she gulped down the 
 bread and meat, and drank from the dipper full 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 221 
 
 of coffee. Then, her bonds were tightened again, 
 and the two renewed their march. 
 
 The going was harder here, up and down the 
 Tock-strewn slopes. Fatigue lay very heavy on 
 Plutina, after the strains of the two days. Only 
 her hate of the man at her side bolstered up pride, 
 so that she compelled herself to keep moving by 
 sheer force of will. It was already dusk, when, 
 at last, they issued from the wood and went for- 
 ward over the shore of the pool at Sandy Creek 
 Falls. 
 
 ''Wall, hyar we be!" Hodges cried loudly. There 
 was satisfaction in his voice. 
 
 That satisfaction aroused Plutina from the 
 apathy into which she had fallen, during the last 
 half-mile of difficult scrambling, made more toil- 
 some by the constraint of her bound wrists. Now, 
 puzzlement provoked interest in her surroundings. 
 She had expected that the outlaw would bear her 
 away to the most convenient or the most inac- 
 cessible of the various secret retreats with which 
 rumor credited him. But here was neither cave 
 nor shack — only the level space of sand, the mist- 
 wreathed pool, the rushing volume of the falls, the 
 bleak wall of the cliff which towered above them 
 where they had halted at its base. She knew this 
 place. There could be no cavern at hand. Her 
 eyes searched the space of the inclosure wonder- 
 
222 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ingly. Then, they went to the man, whom she 
 found regarding her bewilderment with a smirk 
 of gratification. 
 
 "Hyar we be, right on the door-step, so to say," 
 he bellowed. "If ye kain't see the door-step yit, 
 ye will mighty quick, unless thet pore feller ye shot 
 has gone an' died a-waitin' fer you-all to come an' 
 nuss 'im. . . . Yep, he was a-w^atchin', all right," 
 he added briskly. "Hyar hit comes!" 
 
 Plutina's eyes followed) her captor's and, far 
 above, she made out something that n dangled from 
 the slight break in the cliff. It descended slowly 
 and jerkily, with haphazard gyrations. As its end 
 drew closer, she perceived that it was a rudely 
 constructed rope-ladder, with wooden rungs. She 
 watched it fascinated, shivering with new fears. 
 
 When the flimsy means of ascent hung at its full 
 length, Hodges bade the girl climb. Unnerved as 
 she already was, the ordeal of such a progress to 
 the mysterious height above seemed too terrible. 
 She refused mutely, shaking her head, and cower- 
 ing away from the outlaw as far as the thong per- 
 mitted. But the man had no pity for her timor- 
 
 ousness 
 
 You-all kin jest nacherly crawl up thet-thar 
 ladder," he announced, "or we'll sling ye on the 
 end of a rope, an' h'ist ye. Thet '11 tumble ye 
 round an' bump ye agin the rocks quite some. But 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 223 
 
 ye're the doctor. If ye'll climb up, I'll leave yer 
 ban's loose, an' foller cluss behind ye, so ye kain't 
 fall. Hit's shore wobbly, but hit's safe. Dan 
 Hodges hain't aimin' to git his neck broke — ner 
 to let the law break it fer him!" he added, in a 
 lower tone to himself. 
 
 But Plutina caught the words. She made noth- 
 ing of them at the time; afterward, she realized 
 their significance, and thanked God for them. 
 
 In the end, the prisoner yielded to necessity and 
 ventured to mount w^ith reluctant slowness. She 
 found, to her intense relief, that the strength was 
 returning to her body. She no longer felt the 
 pervasive lassitude. The physical improvement re- 
 acted on her mind to restore confidence in her 
 powers. She realized that probably the only dan- 
 ger lay in her own faltering, and she resolved to 
 overcome her natural dread, to bend all her 
 energies to a safe performance of the task. De- 
 spite her hatred of the man, she found unspeakable 
 comfort in the sight of his great hairy hands 
 clutching the ropes on either side of her at the 
 height of her waist. But, as she mounted, the space 
 beneath grew fearsome to her, and she raised her 
 eyes and held them steadily on the distance above, 
 as she had learned to do in clambering with her 
 lover. 
 
 Somehow, now, the thought of Zeke heartened 
 
224 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Plutina. Swinging dizzily in the abyss, with the 
 arms of her jailer about her, there flowed into her 
 soul a new courage. It was without reason, an 
 absurdity, a folly, but, oh, what a solace to her 
 spirit I Under the stimulus of it, she ascended more 
 rapidly. The pinched, ugly face of Garry Hawks, 
 glowering down at her from the ledge, did not dis- 
 may her, even though the thought flashed on her 
 brain that now this man whom she had wounded 
 could hurl her to destruction by a touch. She had 
 no fear of him; only pressed upward steadily. In 
 another moment, her head passed above the level of 
 the ledge. She took the hand Garry Hawks held 
 out and climbed upon the narrow support, where 
 she shrank back against the cliff, after one glance 
 into the gulf yawning at her feet. The level space 
 was a scant yard in width here, and lessened on the 
 side away from the falls, until it ceased entirely. 
 In the other direction, it ran, broadening a very 
 little, to where a tiny cleft showed in the precipice. 
 Plutina guessed that this marked the entrance to 
 a cavern. Despite the bravery of her changed mood, 
 the eerie retreat daunted her by its desolate isola- 
 tion. Then, Hodges climbed upon the ledge, and 
 she heard his shout, coming faintly to her ears 
 above the roar of the cascade which fell just beyond 
 the cavern's mouth. 
 
 "Welcome, home, Honey!" he bawled, with his 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 225 
 
 detested jocularity. "They hain't nobody a-goin' 
 to butt in on our love-makin' up hyar." 
 
 Tittering and leering, he seized the girl by the 
 arm, and led her, unresisting, to the cranny that was 
 the door of the cave. A glance over her shoulder 
 showed Garry Hawks on his knee, hauling up the 
 ladder. She knew that with its disappearance there 
 would remain nought by which the searchers could 
 guess whither she had vanished, or how. Once 
 again, courage went out of her. In its place was 
 despair. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE cave into which Plutina now entered 
 was a small, uneven chamber, some three 
 yards in width at its highest point. It 
 extended back for a little way, but the roof sloped 
 downward so sharply that only in the central space 
 could the girl stand upright, and even there Hodges 
 had to stoop. On the far side was a hole in the 
 rocky wall. It was hardly a yard in height, but 
 the faint glow that marked it was proof that it 
 reached to the daylight outside. At the best, it 
 could serve as a passage-way only to one creeping 
 on hands and knees. So much Plutina perceived 
 in the first curious survey of her prison. The in- 
 spection was rendered possible by the murky light 
 of a tallow candle, fixed in its own grease to a frag- 
 ment of stone near the center of the cavern. 
 
 As the outlaw released his hold on her arm, the 
 girl sank down listlessly on a part of the wall that 
 projected like a bench near the entrance. She leaned 
 back against the cold stone, and her eyes closed. 
 She felt a terrifying weakness, against which she 
 battled with what strength she could summon. She 
 
 226 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 227 
 
 dared not swoon, and so leave herself wholly help- 
 less within the power of this man. She was white 
 and trembling, but by force of will she held herself 
 from falling, though her muscles seemed fluid as 
 milk, and blackness whirled before her eyes. 
 
 Nevertheless, Hodges was not minded to have a 
 fainting woman on his hands. His prisoner's ap- 
 pearance alarmed him, and he hurried to a corner 
 of the cave, whence he quickly returned with a cup 
 half-full of whiskey. This he held to Plutina's lips. 
 She accepted the service, for she could not lift a 
 hand, so great was her weakness. She swallowed 
 a part of the draught, and the strong liquor warmed 
 and strengthened her. She was so far restored 
 soon as to understand Hodges' closing sentence, for 
 he had been mumbling at her. 
 
 "Ye hain't so damned skittish as ye was yistiddy," 
 he jeered. 
 
 Plutina had no spirit to reply. She could only 
 sit in abject lassitude, content to feel the glow of the 
 stimulant creeping through her veins. For a time, 
 her thoughts were stilled by the bodily torpor. She 
 welcomed the respite, glad to rest from the horror 
 of her plight. She heard the raucous voice of the 
 outlaw booming in her ears, but she paid no heed. 
 She saw Garry Hawks come into the cavern, wad- 
 dling under the burden of the rope-ladder, which 
 he carried clumsily by reason of the wound in his 
 
228 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 arm. She observed that the outlaw said something 
 to his minion, putting his Hps close to the fellow's 
 ear, lest he be overheard. But she felt no curiosity 
 as to the purport of this secret utterance, nor did 
 she take interest when, immediately afterward, she 
 beheld the wounded man get down on all fours and 
 crawl out of sight through the hole in the opposite 
 side of the cave. 
 
 Little by little, the prisoner's forces came back to 
 her. Of a sudden, she aroused with a start, as 
 though she had been asleep, albeit without any con- 
 sciousness of having slept. She felt a new alertness 
 now through all her members, and her brain was 
 clear. Along with this well-being came again appre- 
 ciation of the dreadfulness of her case. She grew 
 rigid under the shock of dire realization, tensing 
 her muscles, without volition, as if to repel attack. 
 Her eyes went fearfully to Hodges, who sprawled 
 at ease on a heap of spruce boughs across the cavern 
 from her. The man was puffing lazily at a corn- 
 cob pipe. The rank, acrid smell of the tobacco- 
 smoke came to her nostrils, strangely home-like in 
 this weird prison cell, aloft within the crags. She 
 perceived;, with infinite relief, that for the moment 
 he appeared absorbed in his thoughts, disregard ful 
 of her presence. At least, she would have oppor- 
 tunity to fortify her spirit against the fear that 
 beset her. She must ape bravery, even though she 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 229 
 
 sickened with terror. Thus only could she hope 
 to daunt the creature that threatened her. She had 
 only moral strength with which to resist him. 
 Physically, she would be as a child in his grasp, 
 notwithstanding her quick, firm muscles. In a 
 bodily contest, there could be but the single issue, 
 her vanquishment. It would be hardly more than 
 sport to him, the utmost of her frenzied strugglings. 
 She saw the bloody marks of her fingers on his 
 face, and remembered his stolid seeming of indif- 
 ference to her fury. He had scorned her strength 
 then. So, he would continue to scorn it — with rea- 
 son, since it could by no means avail against him. 
 Nq, she must have recourse to strength of will 
 rather, to awe and intimidate him. She knew the 
 folly of such means against the brutal desire of the 
 man. But she clung to it as a meed of hope, because 
 she had naught else to which to cling. Without 
 a hope, even the falsest, she must have gone mad. 
 
 One thing seemed favoring for the time. The 
 man was evidently sober. Plutina wondered at that, 
 for Hodges was not often sober, and excess of 
 liquor was an accustomed part in all his pleasures. 
 His abstinence now puzzled her, but it relieved her, 
 too, since it promised some postponement of his 
 worst advances. Thus encouraged, she set herself 
 to review the situation in detail, in forlorn attempt 
 to come on a way of escape. But a half-hour of 
 
230 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 effort left her distraught. She could devise nothing 
 to suit her need. Only one thought remained for 
 tragical comfort in her wretchedness: In her last 
 extremity, she might cast herself from the cliff. 
 Better a thousand times clean death than defilement. 
 . . . Plutina remembered her grandfather's re- 
 gret over her having spared the outlaw. Now, with 
 her finger on the trigger, there would have been no 
 faltering, only joy and thanksgiving. 
 
 The defenseless girl watched furtively. When, 
 at last, Hodges stirred from his indolent sprawl, 
 knocked the dottle from his pipe, and looked up 
 at her, she shrank visibly. The blood rushed back 
 to her heart in a flood, leaving her pallid, and she 
 was trembling. Even in the feeble light from the 
 guttering candle, Hodges could perceive her dis- 
 turbance. It gratified him, and he laughed, in sinis- 
 ter glee over her emotion. 
 
 "I 'low ye're gittin' some tame since yistiddy," 
 he exclaimed. He got to his feet slowly, whereat 
 Plutina looked toward the entrance cleft, ready if 
 the need came, to fly from him to the more merciful 
 abyss. But Hodges moved toward the back of the 
 cave where he brought out a stone jug from its 
 niche, and returned to the bed of boughs. Seated 
 again, he filled the tin cup full of spirits, and drank 
 it down. With the pipe recharged and burning, 
 he continued to sit in silence, regarding the girl with 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 231 
 
 an unswerving intentness that tortured her. At short 
 intervals, he replenished the cup and quaffed it 
 thirstily. He was rapidly compensating for his 
 earlier abstinence. Plutina, studying him covertly, 
 noted the beginnings of drunkenness and its various 
 stages. There was gruesome fascination in her 
 scrutiny ; for she knew that her honor rested on the 
 hazard of a sot's whim. 
 
 Suddenly, the girl knew that the peril was very 
 close upon her. Hodges was staring at her from 
 his reddened eyes with a rampant lustfulness that 
 was unmistakable. Again, she measured the dis- 
 tances, to make sure that the last desperate means 
 of escape from his embraces lay open still. She 
 meant, in the final crisis, to spring to the crevice, 
 before he could approach within reach of her. 
 There, with the verge of the cliff only a step away, 
 she would make her plea, with death in the gulf as 
 the alternative of failure, the ultimate safeguard 
 of honor. 
 
 There could be no doubt concerning the im- 
 minence of the danger. The usually red face of 
 the outlaw was mottled purple, congested by the 
 stimuli of liquor and passion. The thick under- 
 lip hung slackly, quivering from time to time in 
 the convulsive tremors of desire that ran over him. 
 A high light fell on the man's neck, where the open 
 shirt left it bare. Plutina's gaze was caught by the 
 
232 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 slight rise and fall of the flesh above the artery. 
 The movement was made distinguishable across the 
 cavern by the effects of light and shade. The girl 
 found herself mechanically counting the throbs. 
 The rapidity of them amazed her. They witnessed 
 the fever raging in his blood — the fever that 
 clamored for assuagement from her. The galloping 
 pulse enthralled her with horror. It made visible 
 the vile fires raging in him. So swift the rhythm 
 grew that a hideous hope sprang up in the watcher 
 — hope that an apoplexy might stretch the man dead 
 at her feet. 
 
 Hodges reached for the jug, and poured from it 
 into the cup, and drank. The girl perceived that, 
 in the few seconds, his mood had changed utterly. 
 The purple of his face was dingy with gray. He 
 was trembling now. His eyes moved restlessly, as 
 if fearful of something to issue from the darkness. 
 Not once did they rest on her. She remembered 
 the racing pulse in his throat, and looked for it. 
 To her astonishment, it was no longer to be seen, 
 though the light fell on the place as before. She 
 knew then that the fever had died, and she marveled 
 mightily. But she recognized more, for she was 
 unharmed still. The changed mood of her enemy 
 promised immunity, for a time at least. 
 
 Yet once again, the outlaw drank. Then, with- 
 out a word to the prisoner, or so much as a look in 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 233 
 
 her direction, he got down on his hands and knees, 
 and crawled out of sight through the hole in the 
 wall. 
 
 For what seemed to her ages, Plutina waited for 
 his return, dreading a new, obscene mood. But the 
 time dragged on, and there was no sign of his 
 coming. The candle flared and smoked, went out. 
 The girl huddled in the dark, listening now, for her 
 eyes could not pierce the blackness. The roar of 
 the waterfall filled her ears. The noise dismayed 
 her, for it must inevitably cover all lesser sounds, 
 even those close at hand. Any evil might leap on 
 her without warning, out of the darkness. She felt 
 her helplessness multiplied, intolerable, thus blinded 
 and deafened. She longed to shriek, pitting shrill 
 clamor against the bass thunders of the cascade. 
 She began to fear lest madness seize her if she re- 
 mained longer thus supinely crouching amid the 
 terrors of this place. Obeying a sudden impulse, 
 she got up, and gropingly, with shuffling, cautious 
 steps, moved across the cavern. When she reached 
 the opposite wall, she got down on hands and knees, 
 and crawled until her searching fingers found the 
 emptiness of the hole through which the men had 
 passed. Then, she drew back a little, and sat with 
 alert ears, sure that none could issue into the cavern 
 now without her knowledge. 
 
 The relief afforded by the action soon waned 
 
234 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Terrors crowded on her again in the second period 
 of waiting. In desperation, she determined to ex- 
 plore the hole itself. She tried to examine the 
 project carefully and found nothing to stay her 
 purpose. Joy leaped in her at the thought that a 
 way of escape even might be ready to her hand. 
 She believed it more likely, however, that the pas- 
 sage led merely to another chamber in the cliff. 
 If such should be the case, and either or both of the 
 men were sleeping there, she could probably ascer- 
 tain the fact readily without being herself dis- 
 covered, since here the sound of the falls was muf- 
 fled. Forthwith, she crept slowly within the open- 
 ing. 
 
 The progress was snail-like. The rough rock of 
 the floor cut into her knees cruelly, but she disre- 
 garded the pain, and went forward. She tested 
 each inch of the way by feeling over the stones with 
 her hands, on either side and along the floor. The 
 narrowness of the passage, which was hardly more 
 than its height, rendered thorough examination 
 easy. She found no lateral openings, nor did the 
 space grow perceptibly larger. It suddenly occurred 
 to her, after having advanced steadily, though very 
 slowly, for five minutes, that she could not turn 
 around. To return, she must back out. The idea 
 appalled her, and she meditated retreat. Then, while 
 she was yet undecided, the hand groping in front of 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 235 
 
 her touched on stone above the floor level. A short 
 investigation proved that here the passage was 
 barred. She could feel space between the edges of 
 the tunnel and the mass of stone that closed it. 
 Since there was no other point of egress, both men 
 must have passed through. Afterward, the opening 
 had been closed by rolling a heavy rock before it. 
 She put her strength in pressure against the stone, 
 without avail. It was too heavy for her muscles. 
 She realized that by this simple means she was shut 
 within her prison. It w^as almost with relief that 
 she began to creep backward — to be astounded by 
 the shortness of the way. It was scarcely a minute 
 before she was in the chamber again. To guard 
 against surprise in the darkness, she pushed the 
 couch of boughs a little way along the wall, so that 
 it projected across the mouth of the tunnel. This 
 done, she seated herself on the branches, assured that 
 no one could enter the cavern without giving her 
 warning. Even should she sleep, the thrusting away 
 of the boughs from the orifice must surely awaken 
 her. 
 
 Nevertheless, Plutina did not expect the boon 
 of sleep, though she longed for it with aching in- 
 tensity. In spite of this temporary respite, she 
 could see no way of escape from the outlaw's 
 power, except by death. The vagaries of a 
 drunken mood had saved her to-night: they could 
 
236 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 not save her for long. And, then, even while she 
 mourned the hopelessness of her case, oblivion fell 
 on her, and she slept the reposeful, dreamless slum- 
 ber of utter exhaustion. 
 
 A violent shaking of the bed of boughs startled 
 the prisoner back to consciousness. For the frac- 
 tion of a second, her mind was chaos. Then re- 
 membrance came, and rending fear. But there was 
 one comfort — day had dawned: she could see. 
 There was no one with her in the chamber. The 
 moving branches warned that the intruder was still 
 in the tunnel. There was time for her to gain the 
 crevice, where she could forbid any approach, where 
 if her command failed, she could throw herself 
 from the cliff. She darted across the width of the 
 room, and stood in the cleft, strained back against 
 the rock, her eyes staring affrightedly toward the 
 opposite wall. All her woman's terrors were crash- 
 ing upon her now. She felt Death clawing at her 
 over the brow of the ledge, fierce to drag her into 
 the depths. One of the hands clutching at her 
 bosom touched the fairy crystal, and she seized it 
 despairingly, and clung to it, as if the secret spell 
 of it might hold her back to life. 
 
 Abruptly, a broken cry of relief fluttered from 
 her lips, for she saw the shock head of Garry 
 Hawks thrust from the tunnel's mouth. Toward 
 him, she felt no fear, only contempt. In the reac- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 237 
 
 tion, she trembled so that she could hardly stand, 
 and for a few moments her eyes closed. Only the 
 rock against which she leaned saved her from 
 crumbling to the floor. The weakness passed very 
 quickly, however, and she was again mistress of 
 herself by the time Hawks had scrambled to his 
 feet. 
 
 The fellow had little to say, answering surlily 
 the questions put to him by Plutina. He plainly cher- 
 ished animosity against the girl who had wounded 
 him, which was natural enough. As plainly, he 
 did not dare vent his spite too openly against the 
 object of his chief's fondness. He brought with 
 him a bag containing bread and a liberal allowance 
 of cooked slices of bacon, and a jug of water. His 
 information was to the effect that Hodges would 
 not return until nightfall He left in the fashion 
 of his coming, by the tunnel. Plutina immediately 
 replaced the boughs, and, when she had eaten and 
 drunk, again seated herself on the rough bed. From 
 time to time, she went to the crevice, and stared 
 out over the wild landscape longingly. But the 
 height gave her a vertigo if she stepped forth upon 
 the ledge. For that reason, she did not venture out- 
 side the crevice after a single attempt, which set 
 her brain reeling. She remained instead well with- 
 in the cleft, where she was unaffected by the height, 
 while able to behold the vast reaches of sunlit 
 
238 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 space before her. The area about the foot of the 
 precipice was, however, cut off from her vision. 
 So it came about that, though she went twice to the 
 crevice and looked out during the intervals while 
 the marshal, first with his men and afterward with 
 her grandfather, was searching about the pool, she 
 knew nothing concerning the nearness of aid. She 
 could not see the men, and the din of the falls 
 covered their voices. 
 
 Occasionally, the girl lapsed into a quietude that 
 was half-stupor and half -sleep, the while she re- 
 clined on the boughs. These were blessed periods 
 of rest for the over-strained nerves, and she strove 
 to prolong them — always in vain. For the most 
 part, she hurried about with febrile, aimless move- 
 ments. She found herself wondering often if to- 
 day were to be the last of her life. She could see 
 no other issue. The night would bring Hodges, 
 and the crisis of her fate. She could not hope for a 
 second escape through a drunken vagary. There 
 would be only the leap from the ledge to-night. As 
 she stood in the crevice, and looked out on the 
 smiling sylvan glory of the scene, as the soft sum- 
 mer breeze caressed her cheeks, and the balsamic 
 air filled her bosom with its gently penetrant vigors, 
 she realized as never before the miracle of life, its 
 goodness and sweet savors. She cried out against 
 the hideous thing that was come upon her. The 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 239 
 
 every fiber of her being flamed in revolt against 
 the idea of death. Every atom of her clamored 
 for life and love. And there were only shame and 
 death for her choice. She took out the fairy crys- 
 tal, and prayed to the sacred sign it bore, beholding 
 it dimly though scalding tears. But faith flickered 
 and went out. Her soul sickened. . . . For her, 
 there was nothing else — just shame and death. No 
 — only death. 
 
 Plutina would have tried escape by the rope- 
 ladder, but she found its weight too much for her 
 strength, so sorely over-tried by racking emotions. 
 Even had she been able to carry the burden it would 
 have availed nothing, for the dizziness attacked her 
 whenever she drew near the verge. In her despera- 
 tion, she even crept the length of the tunnel a se- 
 cond time, on the faint chance that the exit might 
 now be less secure. She found the rock barrier 
 immovable as before, though the rim of light 
 showed that here was, in very truth, the way to 
 freedom, and she pushed frantically at the obstacle 
 until utterly exhausted. 
 
 It was when evening drew down that, at last, 
 there sounded the noise of a writhing body within 
 the tunnel, and, from her point of refuge close to 
 the crevice, she saw the outlaw crawl out of the 
 passage, and stand before her like a demon of the 
 darkness, leering at her fatuously. 
 
240 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "You-all is shore makin' quite a visit," he re- 
 marked, with heavy sarcasm. 
 
 *'An' it kain't hep ye none, Dan," Plutina re- 
 torted. 'T hates ye, an' yer keepin' me hyar hain't 
 goin' to do ye no good. If ye goes fer to lay a 
 finger on me, I'll go over the cliff. I'm worse scairt 
 o' yer touchin' me than I be o' the rocks down thar, 
 Dan." Her voice was colorless, but an undertone 
 of finality ran in it. 
 
 The outlaw regarded her sharply from his in- 
 flamed eyes. It may be that her sincerity impressed 
 him. Yet, he betrayed no feeling as he answered, 
 carelessly : 
 
 "Hain't no call fer ye to be so damned ornery. 
 I hain't a goin' to tech ye — yit. We'll be together 
 quite a spell, I reckon — till I gits sick o' havin' ye 
 round. If I wanted ye I could jump ye easy from 
 hyar. I'm some spry, if I be big. But ye needn't 
 be skeered, I'm tellin' ye. I hain't a-goin' to tech ye 
 
 The final monosyllable was charged with sinister 
 import, but the man's assurance of her present 
 safety was, somehow, convincing, and she accepted 
 it with the emotional gratitude of one sentenced 
 to death who receives a reprieve. She sank down 
 on the stone bench near the crevice, and watched 
 her jailer with unwavering attention, while he pro- 
 duced a candle from his pocket, and lighted it, and * 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 241 
 
 had recourse again to the stone jug of whiskey, 
 which had remained by the bed of boughs. 
 
 To-night, the fiery drams made him garrulous, 
 and he discussed his affairs, his hopes, and plans, 
 with a freedom that showed how complete was his 
 expectation of retaining the girl in his power. 
 Thu^, Plutina learned of the search being made for 
 her, which was now the active cause in changing 
 the outlaw's purpose in the immediate disposal of 
 his prisoner. 
 
 'T was aimin' to lay low with ye right hyar," he 
 explained, after his fourth sup of the spirits. ''But 
 I reckon hit's a goin' to be a heap safer to ske- 
 daddle. I ain't a-wantin' no damned dawgs fer 
 to chaw me up. So I'm goin' to mosey over Bull 
 Head t'-morrer. You-all '11 go 'long, nice an' 
 peaceable — er ye'll be drug." He spoke with a 
 snarl now. ''Ye'll know hit, when I once git ye 
 cross the state line — cuss ye ! Ye'll find I hain't so 
 damned shy, arter all!" 
 
 Plutina cowered before the savage threat in the 
 words. There was no mistaking the expression in 
 the lustful eyes burning on her. His regard was 
 in itself contamination. It was the prophecy of 
 worse, of the final wickedness, to come. The af- 
 flicted girl thrilled with loathing before the satyr- 
 like aspect of this man, foul of flesh and soul. But, 
 along with abhorrence of the creature who held her 
 
242 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 in his keeping so ruthlessly, there was another emo- 
 tion — that recurrent wonder concerning such delay 
 in the base gratification craved by his passion. She 
 could not doubt the fierce longing that seethed in 
 his veins. It was like a visible thing flaming from 
 him; and tangible, for she felt the impact of those 
 brutal desires thronging against the white shield 
 of her own purity, powerless to penetrate, yet nau- 
 seating her by the unclean impact. What, then, 
 interposed to check him? What hidden force held 
 him back from working his will against her? She 
 could make no surmise. Certainly, here was no 
 physical restraint to stay him. As certainly, no 
 moral reason w^ould be of effect. The thing was 
 altogether mysterious. So, she marveled mightily, 
 and was curious to understand, even while she 
 thanked God for the further respite. And now, 
 too, hope began to burn again. Surely, if she were 
 to accompany him on the trails as he had said, there 
 w^ould come the opportunity for escape. He could 
 not be on guard ceaselessly. Vigilance must relax 
 on accasion. It would not be then as here in this 
 dreadful cavern, perched 'twixt earth and sky. 
 She broke off to listen, for the outlaw, hav- 
 ing filled his pipe and drained a deep draught of the 
 liquor, was become loquacious again. This time, 
 thanks to the drink, he waxed confidential, intimate 
 even. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 243 
 
 "I kin git away from hyar, an' no damned dawg 
 kain't f oiler my tracks, nuther. Er if he does, he'll 
 drap inter the Devil's Kittle. But I knows my way 
 'bout in these-hyar mountings. An' ye needn't be 
 afeared o' losin' me. Honey. I'll hang onto ye 
 good an' tight. When I git ye over the line, I'll 
 have a parson, if ye want. I hain't a-keerin' one way, 
 or t'other. But I got to have ye, willin' or not will- 
 in', parson or no parson. I'd hev ye t'-night if 
 'twan't fer jest one cussed thing. Hit's a'mighty 
 hard to hev yer blood a-b'ilin', till ye're like to bust 
 jest 'cause of a slip of a gal, what ye could smash 
 in yer two ban's — an' her so high an' mighty!" 
 The querulous voice ceased, while he had recourse 
 again to the stone jug. 
 
 When next he spoke, it was evident that his mood 
 had changed. He was no longer harshly self-assert- 
 ive, vainglorious, or brutally frank concerning the 
 passion that consumed him. He was, instead, 
 strangely reminiscent, with involuntary revelation 
 of the weakness that preyed upon him. The girl 
 was grateful for the change in him, but her be- 
 wilderment increased. 
 
 'T seen a feller hung once," Hodges said. His 
 guttural, awed tones were hushed almost to a 
 whisper. "They pulled a black cap down over 'is 
 face, so's he couldn't see nothin' 'bout what he was 
 up ag'inst. An' his ban's was tied together behind 
 
244 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 'is neck, with the knot up under his ear — 'is left 
 ear, I 'member hit was. I 'member partic'lar." 
 
 The speaker's gaze had been downcast; not once 
 had he looked at Plutina. It was as if he had for- 
 gotten the girl's presence there with him, and 
 communed aloud with his own gristly memories 
 of the death-scene he had witnessed. His huge 
 bulk seemed somehow shrunken — a physical shrivel- 
 ing in response to the craven fear in his soul. That 
 gray, mottled purpled of his face showed again. 
 Plutina wondered, if, indeed, this same memory 
 had been in his thoughts the night before. But, if 
 so, it only made the thing the more inexplicable. 
 Why should a hanging, long-past, thus haunt him? 
 He was no nervous weakling, to be tortured by 
 imaginary fears. Yet, now, he displayed unmis- 
 takable signs of terror, in his voice, his eyes, his 
 whole mien, in the shaking haste that spilled the 
 half of the drink he poured out. 
 
 'T seen 'im hung," he repeated, abjectly. "They 
 let the trap drap from under his feet — an' 'im alt 
 tied, an' thet-thar black cap pulled down over 'is 
 face to blind 'im. Hit were plumb awful fer to 
 see 'im drap. An' then the rope stopped 'im right 
 in the air. Hit were a drefful yank he got. They 
 say, hit broke 'is neck, so's he didn't feel nothin' 
 more. But I dunno. Hit looked like he felt a heap, 
 fer he kicked an' squirmed like hell. Hit weren't 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 245 
 
 purty fer to see. I've seen a big bull-frog what I've 
 speared kick an' squirm jest like 'im. No, hit 
 weren't purty. I'd shore hate fer to have my neck 
 bruk thet-thar way. Damn the law, anyhow ! They 
 hadn't orter treat no white man thet-thar way. Hit 
 must feel awful, a-standin' up thar, with thet-thar 
 cap down over ye, shuttin' out everythin' — ferever; 
 an' with thet-thar noose round yer neck, an' the 
 knot a-ticklin' yer ear — yer left ear. I 'member 
 specially. An' a-knowin' the noose is a-goin' to 
 tighten, an' cut off yer breath — fer always. An' 
 a-standin' on thet-thar trap, an' a-knowin' hit's 
 goin' to drap — a-knowin' the bottom's a-goin' to 
 drap right out o' — everythin' ! I don't never want 
 my neck bruk no sech way's thet. Hit hain't 
 right." 
 
 Plutina, staring wide-eyed, saw to her stupefac- 
 tion that tears trickled from the eyes of the maud- 
 lin man; she heard him whimpering. Once more, 
 he poured himself a drink. He mumbled unin- 
 telligibly for a little. Then, of a sudden, his voice 
 rose in a last flare of energy, before he rolled on 
 the boughs in sodden slumber. 
 
 "Damn the law in this-hyar state! Hit hain't 
 right, nohow. Jest 'cause a feller loves a gal — to 
 hang 'im! I hain't af eared o' nothin' else, s' fur's 
 I knows, but I'd hate fer to have my neck bruk like 
 his'n was. I hain't a-takin' no chancet o' thet. I'll 
 
246 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 wait till I'm over the line. But hit's hell to crave 
 a woman !" 
 
 Raucous snores told the girl that the man slept, 
 that again she had passed through the ordeal in 
 safety. And now, at last, she knew the cause of her 
 escape thus far. The mystery that had baffled her 
 was a mystery no longer. Out of the creature's 
 own mouth had come the explanation. Driven on 
 by gusty passion as he was, a yet stronger emotion 
 triumphed over lust. Of imagination he had little, 
 but he had seen a man hanged. His memory of 
 that death had been her salvation, for such is the 
 punishment meted to the violator of a woman in 
 North Carolina. In Dan Hodges, that master emo- 
 tion, lust, had met a mightier — fear. Because he was 
 a coward, he had not ventured even the least caress, 
 lest passion seize him and make him mad — forgetful 
 of how that other man died so horribly. She had 
 been spared because between him and her a scaffold 
 loomed. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE full-throated baying of a hound. Men, 
 far in the valleys below Stone Mountain, 
 looked up, and listened, wondering. But 
 those on the mountain heard and understood : Dan 
 Hodges was being run to earth. 
 
 The clew offered by the wet place on the cliff had 
 sufficed for the three men who accompanied the 
 stag-hound. They had marked the spot carefully 
 in memory by its distance from a certain stunted 
 pine growing above it and a rift in the precipice to 
 one side. Then they had ascended a furlong to 
 the north, where the ascent was gradual and broken. 
 When they had made sure that they were at the 
 proper level, they searched for an approach to the 
 desired ledge. The dog found the scent by the tun- 
 nel, but Brant did not loose the animal. Stone's 
 eyes caught traces of where a bowlder had been 
 moved. A little more searching revealed the opening 
 covered by the stone, which they rolled aside. 
 
 "But he's not there, now," Brant declared, as he 
 restrained the eager dog. "Jack is wild to be off, 
 and he wouldn't take a back track. 
 
 247 
 
248 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Uncle Dick, eager to make sure, would have at- 
 tempted the passage, but Stone interposed. 
 
 'T'U go," he declared. "It's my right— my pris- 
 oner, you know. Anyhow, it'll be a snug-enough 
 fit for me, and I'm smaller than you, Uncle Dick." 
 
 The old man grudgingly admitted the fact, and 
 made way for the marshal. In five minutes. Stone 
 was back. 
 
 "Nobody there," he announced. 
 
 "Then it's up to Jack," Brant exclaimed, and 
 slipped the leash. 
 
 The hound shot forward in full cry. The men 
 hurried after at top speed. Almost immediately, 
 the dog vanished among the thickets. There came 
 a clatter of sliding stones, as the big beast went 
 galloping up the rise toward the crest of the moun- 
 tain. The men followed as best they might, guided 
 by the baying. Uncle Dick listened with blood- 
 thirsty hopefulness for the crack of Zeke's rifle, 
 which he would recognize. 
 
 The fugitive himself heard the hound's sonorous 
 summons, and wasted breath in cursing. He cursed 
 his potations over-night, which had led him to sleep 
 beyond the sunrise. But for such drunken folly, 
 he would have had the trailer hopelessly at fault. 
 Now, at best, it would be a close race — and there 
 was the girl to hamper and hinder. She was run- 
 ning at his side, obedient to the pressure of his 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 249 
 
 hands. He had replaced the cowhide thong, with 
 her hands in front of her, and with play enough for 
 free movement. So far, she had made no resistance 
 to his commands. But the barking of the dog would 
 warn her. If she should turn balky — 
 
 What the outlaw feared, came to pass. The 
 hoarse baying sounded to Plutina's ears like sweet- 
 est music. The first note told her that friends were 
 at hand for a rescue from the monster by her side. 
 Her heart leaped in the joy of it. A new courage 
 surged in her — courage to defy this creature that 
 held her in thrall. 
 
 They were come already across the most of the 
 plain of naked rock that is the top of the mountain. 
 They had rushed without pause through the little 
 grove of dwarf pines that grows near the Devil's 
 Slide, above the Cauldron. They were come, indeed, 
 to the very edge of the Slide itself before Plutina 
 acted. After all, it was not the new courage, but a 
 newer fear, that forced her. She had one swift 
 glimpse of the valley spread a thousand feet below, 
 the giant trees like tiniest saplings, so far away — 
 that dear, adorable valley, where were home and 
 peace and love. But, between her and it, the preci- 
 pice fell ; between her and it, the Devil's Pot boiled ; 
 between her and it was this man, who drove her 
 with curses. She looked away from the beloved 
 valley into the loathsome face, and she saw the fear 
 
250 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 in his eyes — fear, and something else that terrified 
 her. She reaHzed suddenly that she was on the 
 very verge of the Slide, where none might venture 
 and live. There, just beyond, was the darkened sur- 
 face of the rock where the shallow stream went 
 slithering down into the Cauldron. An hysteria 
 of fear gripped her, as he dragged her forward, out 
 upon the sloping stone that dipped toward the abyss. 
 She believed that he meant to hurl her from the 
 height. Thus, there would be left no evidence of 
 his crime. His passion for her was nothing now — 
 only his passion for life. 
 
 ''Quick, damn ye !" Hodges rasped. "1 know the 
 way in the dark. Ye needn't be skeered none with 
 
 me." 
 
 He meant it; but the girl did not believe. She 
 thought it a ruse to get her closer to the edge. She 
 shrieked in despair, and sprang away from him. 
 His clutch on the thong checked her. He jerked her 
 back to him, hardly pausing in his stride. She 
 struck at his face furiously, but he dragged her on 
 toward the brink, mouthing at her with foul oaths. 
 She fell to her knees, and hung, screaming, a dead 
 weight. The baying of the hound sounded closer. 
 Hodges threw a glance over his shoulder, and saw 
 the dog charging from the grove. He would have 
 fired, but the girl was in the way. With a final 
 blasphemy, he dropped his rifle, and struck at her — 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 251 
 
 full in the face. She sank down limply, uncon- 
 scious. Her body slid away slowly, yet with a 
 quickening movement, toward the gulf. 
 
 Hodges gave not even a look to his victim. He 
 heard the challenge of the hound, now fairly upon 
 him. There was no time to shoot. He used cun- 
 ning instead. A mighty jump carried him over 
 the moist surface where the stream flowed. He 
 alighted on the dry rock. His bare feet clutched and 
 held on the sloping surface. . . . No instinct 
 warned the hound. Its leap brought it down in the 
 wet run-way. Its feet shot from under. The 
 force of its rush finished the work. The outlaw 
 turned just in time to see the hound disappear over 
 the cliff. 
 
 Before he had time for exultation over this vic- 
 tory, before he could look to see how fared the 
 girl whom he had struck down so ruthlessly, before 
 he guessed the new peril, another enemy was upon 
 him. 
 
 Zeke, too, had heard the baying of the hound. 
 Trembling with eagerness, where he lurked behind 
 a screen of bushes at the south of the grove, he 
 knew that the dog was hot on the trail. He went 
 racing toward the sound, with the bull-terrier at 
 his heels. He had just entered among the trees, 
 when he saw the hound careen past him. He fol- 
 lowed, and, as he issued into the open, saw the man 
 
252 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 and the girl struggling on the edge of the precipice. 
 He sickened at the spectacle, but there was no fal- 
 tering. With every atom of energy in speed, he 
 darted down the slope. He saw the blow that 
 crumpled Plutina to the rock. He saw it through 
 a veil of red. What he did not see was the low, 
 stealthy, yet quickening, slide of her body toward 
 the brim of the abyss. So, all unconscious of that 
 ' peril to the one he loved, he sprang to attack his 
 enemy. He saw the hound's fate, and understood 
 the cause of it. He, in turn, cleared the treacherous 
 wet surface by a mighty leap. That leap brought 
 him full on the outlaw's back. The two men went 
 down togethe. 
 
 The crash of Hodges' head on the rock had well 
 been enough to crack an ordinary skull. But his 
 was strong, and the unkempt thatch of hair cush- 
 ioned it, so that he got no serious hurt. A' little 
 dazed by the blow, and by the unexpectedness of the 
 onslaught — nothing more. And he had the bravery 
 of triumphant physical strength. In the instant of 
 attack, he fought back viciously, with blind thrust 
 and clutch. A long, powerful arm writhed around 
 Zeke like a band of steel, and held the assailant im- 
 movable. Lying there on his back, the outlaw 
 looked up into Zeke's face, and recognized it, and 
 cursed this unexpected foe obscenely. 
 
 Zeke wasted no energy in words. He was mad 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 253 
 
 with rage against the man he hated. His one desire 
 was to kill. He twined his fingers in the tangled 
 hair, and beat the head upon the stone floor again 
 and again. But the leverage of his arms was cut 
 down too much. He could not even stun the out- 
 law, much less kill. He could not reach his rifle, 
 which he had dropped when he sprang to the attack. 
 He could not draw his revolver by reason of the 
 encircling arms. He could only hammer his enemy's 
 head on the rock, with a cruel lust for slaughter 
 that availed nothing except to madden him by its 
 futility. His strength, great though it was, was not 
 enough against the man he fought. 
 
 Hodges proved the fact presently, for by a tre- 
 mendous effort, he turned, and pinned Zeke under- 
 neath. The force of the impact under the out- 
 law's heavy weight laid the lad unconscious. The 
 fingers unclenched from his adversary's hair; he 
 lay limp. Hodges rose to his feet, with shambling 
 haste. But, if he meant to kill, fate thwarted him. 
 One foot was placed on the treacherous dampened 
 rock. It slid from under him. He was thrown 
 from his balance, and sprawled at length. He 
 scrambled on all fours toward the other side of 
 the run-way with desperate haste. He did not at- 
 tempt to rise. A moment later, he slipped slowly 
 over the brow of the cliff. 
 
 Seth Jones, just issuing from the grove, saw the 
 
254 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 vanishing of the outlaw, but, at the distance, he 
 could not distinguish the man's identity or that of 
 the other, lying motionless on the sloping rock. For 
 the instant, however, he gave no heed to either for 
 sheer horror of something else he saw — the uncon- 
 scious girl, moving so inexorably to her doom. He 
 shouted in despair, as he raced toward her. But 
 he knew he must be too late. He was powerless to 
 stay her fall — as was the bull-terrier, which had 
 seized her skirt and still clung, only to be dragged 
 down with her into the void. Before he was come 
 to the beginning of the Slide, girl and dog had tra- 
 versed it — had shot out into the emptiness of 
 space. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE veteran gazed down at the sloping ex- 
 panse of stone that curved to the sheer 
 drop of the precipice. He was absolutely 
 helpless in the face of the catastrophe he had wit- 
 nessed. A man, a girl and a dog had gone to their 
 death in this frightful place within the minute. Al- 
 ready, the corpses were stewing in the Devil's Pot 
 half-a-thousand feet below, he reflected grimly. 
 There was nothing to be done for them now, or 
 ever. He felt a whirl of nausea within him, but 
 fought back the weakness. He shuddered, as he 
 thought of the man behind him, lying senseless on 
 the edge of the Slide. Was it Hodges whom he 
 had seen plunge into the depths, or was it — Zeke? 
 It was with fearful apprehension that he turned at 
 last to learn as to which remained. 
 
 A little cry of relief escaped him, for at a glance 
 he recognized Zeke. He sprang forward, and, in 
 a moment, had assured himself that the young man 
 was not dead, was not even seriously wounded. He 
 guessed that a fall on the rocks had merely stunned. 
 As best he could with one hand, he got out his 
 
 255 
 
256 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 pocket-flask, and finally managed to force a little 
 of the liquor between the clenched teeth. Presently, 
 it took effect. The color came back into Zeke's 
 face, and he stirred, and groaned. Then he sat up, 
 resting against the veteran's arm. 
 
 Before there was time for any interchange of 
 words between the two, a shout aroused them to 
 look toward the grove. They saw the marshal 
 dashing down the slope. Close behind him ran Cy- 
 clone Brant. Uncle Dick lagged a little, the burden 
 of years pressing too heavily at last. The three 
 came swiftly and gathered about the two on the edge 
 of the Shde. Dismay was writ large on their faces. 
 The silence of the hound, Zeke stricken and alone 
 with the veteran, aroused their suspicion of dis- 
 aster. 
 
 ^'Where's Jack?" Brant demanded. His heart 
 was in the question. The fate of the others was of 
 less concern to him than that of the animal he loved. 
 
 Zeke answered, strongly enough, for now energy 
 was flowing back into him. 
 
 "The hound went over," he said, regretfully. "I 
 saw him. He slipped an' fell, an' was gone like a 
 flash." 
 
 Brant turned away to hide his distress. 
 
 But in Zeke recollection welled. He clutched at 
 the marshal, and drew himself to his feet, where, 
 after an instant, he stood firmly. His eyes went 
 
, HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 257 
 
 searchingly over the barren surface of the SHde. 
 They dilated. Fright hned his face — then, horror. 
 He stared wildly, his gaze roving over all the moun- 
 tain-top, once and again — and again. When words 
 came, they were broken, surcharged with the horrid 
 fear that was on him. 
 
 "Whar — whar is she — Tiny?" 
 
 His look went to the four men in turn, piteously 
 pleading. Each of the three met the look and an- 
 swered it by a shake of the head. But the veteran 
 could not endure the anguish in the lover's eyes. 
 His own dropped. He did not shake his head. 
 Zeke strove for courage. 
 
 "Whar is she?" he demanded, at length. His 
 voice was more composed now, but his eyes were 
 flaming. 
 
 The veteran answered very softly, but without 
 any attempt at evasion. 
 
 *T saw her go, Zeke — over the cliff. Thet little 
 dawg o' your'n had a holt on her skirt. But he 
 hadn't the heft to keep her from goin'. The dawg 
 did the best he knew how. But 'twa'n't no use, an' 
 he went, too. I was too fur off to grab her. I 
 reckon she fainted. She didn't scream, ner move 
 none to save herself." 
 
 There was a little period of silence. These men 
 were schooled to the concealment of deepest emo- 
 tions. There was no frantic outburst from the 
 
258 HEART OE THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 bereaved lover, from the afflicted grandfather. 
 There was not even comment or further question- 
 ing. Of what avail? The thing was done. The 
 girl was lost forever, dead. But the other men 
 looked away, lest they see the agony in Zeke's 
 face. 
 
 Abruptly, the young man started walking down 
 the slope. He wore shoes, and they slipped a little 
 on the smooth stone. Straight down toward the 
 brink he strode. The curve of the dome made 
 every step more perilous. It was a natural, an irre- 
 sistible impulse to look on the precise place where 
 the loved one had perished, but it appeared as if 
 he walked to his death. Indeed, his danger was 
 grave, for he had forgotten the shoes he wore. 
 
 . . . Or, perhaps, he did not care ! Uncle Dick 
 uttered an oath, and leaped in pursuit. It was only 
 a matter of seconds to overtake the young man, 
 seize him, turn him about and march him back with 
 fierce expostulations that were a welcome vent to 
 emotion. 
 
 Zeke obeyed readily, aware of his momentary 
 folly. Then, as he rejoined the group, hate flared 
 again. Memory of the fight was confused by the 
 blow on his head. He questioned Seth Jones harsh- 
 ly, with a single word : 
 
 "Hodges r 
 
 The veteran permitted himself a faint smile. The 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 259 
 
 cruelty of the soldier, accustomed to violent deaths, 
 was in it. There was, too, a curious smugness, a se- 
 cret complacency. 
 
 "I 'low yer wits are some shook up yit, bein' as 
 how ye disremember," he remarked easily. "Ye 
 trun Hodges over the cliff, Zeke, jest as ye went 
 down. Hit were nip an' tuck atween ye, an' ye 
 bested 'im." The kindly veteran believed the He 
 would be a life-long source of satisfaction to the 
 lad, who had been so fearfully despoiled. Now, his 
 belief was justified by the fierce pleasure that showed 
 for a moment in Zeke's pain-drawn face. 
 
 "I kain't seem to remember," he said, perplexedly. 
 ''But I'm shore glad I killed him." 
 
 Then, again, silence fell. There could be no tri- 
 umph really over the death of Hodges, because it 
 had involved the destruction of Plutina as well. The 
 five men stood about awkwardly. The solemnity 
 of death lay like a pall over them. In the stress of 
 suffering, Zeke had moved on from youth to the full 
 stature of manhood. Uncle Dick had added a score 
 of years to his apparent age. Brant grieved much, 
 if less seriously. Only the veteran and the marshal 
 had escaped personal loss, though they, too, 
 mourned deeply. None ventured to suggest leaving 
 the doomed spot. It seemed as if a sinister spell 
 held them there, vaguely expectant, though wistful 
 to flee. 
 
/ ] 
 
 26o HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Rather, perhaps, it was their sadness that made 
 seem sinister a spell actually benignant. For, of a 
 sudden, while they still stood mute. Brant raised a 
 hand to command attention, and pointed toward 
 the verge of the precipice. 
 /'HsLvkr he commanded. 
 
 They listened intently. Then, all heard a faint, 
 tremulous, whimpering note, long drawn-out, queru- 
 lously appealing. Zeke started and stared in the di- 
 rection of the sound with an incredulous frown. 
 Brant shook his head sorrowfully: it was not the 
 voice of Jack. The others were merely bewildered 
 by this unexpected development. 
 
 The whining continued, grew louder. Came a 
 plaintive yelp. Out of the abyss was thrust a cling- 
 ing paw, another. The squat face of the bull-ter- 
 rier peered at them from over the top of the cliff. 
 Next instant, the dog had scrambled safely on the 
 Slide. It raced to Zeke with shrill cries of delight, 
 leaped high to its master's breast, where it was 
 caught and held closely. The slavering tongue lav- 
 ished caresses. Zeke felt a warm glow of comfort 
 in the creature's return. Yet, it did but render 
 more frightful the loss of that being so infinitely 
 more precious. He hardly heard Uncle Dick speak- 
 ing. 
 
 "Hit's dum curi's," the old man said, lowering 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 261 
 
 on Seth Jones. "I thought as how ye said the pup 
 was a-hangin' on to Tiny's dress." 
 
 *Tt was so," the veteran answered. "I 'low the 
 dawg must 'a' let loose when hit got in the air." 
 
 "'Hit's dum curi's," Uncle Dick repeated, and 
 turned to regard the bull-terrier with bent brows. 
 
 Zeke himself put a term to the mystification that 
 had gripped him as well as the others. He raised a 
 hand to the dog's throat, to restrain the too eager 
 demonstrations of affection. At the collar he felt 
 something unaccustomed. He looked, idly enough, 
 and saw that a leathern thong had been tied firmly 
 in the ring. To the thong was attached a little 
 leather bag. The things were strange to him, yet 
 they moved him profoundly. He found himself 
 trembling — why, he knew not. 
 
 He fumbled at the draw-strings of the pouch, 
 loosened them. He thrust a finger within the open- 
 ing, and touched something smooth and hard. It 
 seemed to him that he already knew what this thing 
 m.ust be. He turned the bag upside down over his 
 hand. In his palm lay a small coffee-colored piece 
 of stone. It bore in darker shade the clear tracery 
 of a cross. Zeke, looking down, saw the sacred 
 symbol subtly effulgent, a holy promise of safety 
 for her whom he loved. He lifted a radiant face 
 to the others, who had crowded about with marvel- 
 ing exclamations. 
 
262 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "Hit's the fairy cross I give Tiny," Zeke cried. 
 His voice was joyous now, though throbbing with 
 anxiety. ''She hain't dead. She's kotched some- 
 how thar on the rocks. She kain't climb up. So, 
 she sent the cross by Chubbie, to show she was 
 ahve. I'll go down fer her." 
 
 The listening group readily understood the won- 
 der that had befallen. Whatever her present peril, 
 whatever her injuries, Plutina still lived. The 
 blessed fact stirred them to joy and to orderly ac- 
 tion. 
 
 "Ye kain't he'p Tiny none by fallin' into the 
 Kittle yerself," Uncle Dick declared, with the voice 
 of authority. "Jest hold yer bosses, an' we'll he'p ye 
 git 'er up safe an' sound. They's grape-vines 
 'nough in the grove. I suspicion she hain't so fer 
 down. Mebby we could hear 'er if the wind wa'n't 
 blowin' to the no'th." 
 
 They dared not take time for descent into the 
 valley after rope. Moreover, Uncle Dick was con- 
 fident that his knots would hold securely the weight 
 of a single person. With all speed, strands of vine 
 were brought and spliced most carefully. In a sur- 
 prisingly brief time, there were some seventy-five 
 feet in readiness. More would be added, if this 
 length should not suffice. When the rope was com- 
 pleted, an end was securely fastened about Zeke's 
 body with knots that would neither tighten nor slip. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 263 
 
 The young man had removed shoes and stock- 
 ings, and now walked boldly down the sloping sur- 
 face toward the brink. Behind him went Uncle 
 Dick, who was to advance as far as his foothold 
 should be secure. On the level above the Slide, the 
 three other men held the rope, ready to pay it out, 
 or to haul it in. Uncle Dick's duty was to save it, 
 so far as might be, from being frayed on the rocks. 
 It was to be let out to its full length, or until the 
 lightened weight showed that Zeke had found sup- 
 port. It was to be pulled in, in the latter case, after 
 three tugs on it by him. Zeke went boldly, it is 
 true, but now, since he had appreciated Uncle Dick's 
 warning, he went with painstaking carefulness as 
 well. He realized that on his care might now depend 
 the life of the girl he loved. So, he moved down- 
 ward with increasing slowness, as the curve of the 
 rock grew more pronounced. At each step, he made 
 sure that his feet still clung. Then, when still two 
 yards from the edge, he found the footing too pre- 
 carious for further walking, even with the rope. 
 A glance over his shoulder showed that Uncle Dick 
 had halted a rod above. He looked closely and saw 
 that the brim of the cliff was smooth a little to the 
 right. To save the rope as much as possible, he 
 moved in this direction, Uncle Dick above making 
 the like change. Then, he seated himself on the 
 
264 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 rock and, while the men above paid out the vine, he 
 went gently sliding downward toward the abyss. 
 
 Presently, his feet reached the brow of the cliff, 
 passed beyond it, hung in space. The men watch- 
 ing from above, let the rope slide still more slowly. 
 Now his middle was at the brink. He held to the 
 rope with his right hand. With his left he fended 
 himself from the cliff. He looked down. For an 
 instant, accustomed though he was to the high 
 places among the mountain crags, his senses reeled 
 before the impression of unsubstantial vastness. Out 
 beyond him was nothingness for what seemed end- 
 less distance. Straight below was the sheer wall of 
 the precipice, with hardly a rift for five hundred 
 feet. There a ledge showed dimly. Then, again, 
 a half-thousand feet of vertical rocks to the valley. 
 
 But the vertigo passed in that single instant. His 
 vision cleared. And he saw her. He heard her, too, 
 in the same moment. Here, the cliff was not quite 
 perpendicular. She had slid, rather than fallen, to a 
 resting place. She was not seriously injured. It 
 was hardly a score of feet from the top of the cliff 
 to the tiny shelf of rock on which she lay. This 
 was less than a yard in width. A bit of pine shruH 
 jutted from it courageously, held by its roots bur- 
 rowing in secret fissures of the rock. A log, rolled 
 down by some amusement-seeker on the crest, had 
 lodged on the outer edge of the shelf. The minia- 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 265 
 
 ture pine held one end of it ; the other was wedged 
 in a crack of the precipice. The log lay like a pal- 
 ing to the narrow shelf. Within that meager shel- 
 ter, Plutina crouched. Beyond her the ledge nar- 
 rowed, and ascended to where the cliff was broken. 
 Thus the dog had mounted. 
 
 The girl's face was uplifted, pallid, with burning 
 eyes fast on the lover who descended to her. Her 
 expression showed rapture, but no surprise that 
 this rescuer should be her beloved. The fairy crys- 
 tal was competent to work any wonder. Zeke, 
 spinning slowly with the twisting vine, thus swing- 
 ing in the void between heaven and earth, felt, 
 nevertheless, the thrill of passionate adoration. She 
 was even more beautiful than he remembered her. 
 
 The shelf, though narrowing, ran toward him. 
 Soon, his feet touched it. At the relief from his 
 weight, the rope w^as no longer paid out, though held 
 taut. With its aid he traversed the ledge, and 
 reached the shelf where the girl knelt. He knelt 
 beside her, and, without a word, their lips met and 
 clung. There, amid the perils of the precipice, they 
 were in heaven. 
 
 For that matter, little speech passed between them 
 afterward. There needed none. Zeke adjusted the 
 rope about her, kissed her, and gave the signal to 
 haul away. 
 
 With his heart in his eyes, he watched the sway- 
 
266 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ing form rise, and was inexpressibly relieved when 
 he saw her clear the brim safely. There was a short 
 interval. Then the rope came dangling down, and 
 drew him back to safety. Again the lovers were in 
 each other's arms. The terror and the agony were 
 forgotten. The bliss remained. 
 
 1i 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MARSHAL Stone and Brant were to return 
 together to North Wilkesboro' where the 
 latter would take the train for home. 
 Uncle Dick had offered them horses for the ride. 
 The two men, somewhat in advance of the remain- 
 der of the party after the descent of Stone Moun- 
 tain, had come near the Higgins' cabin, when the 
 marshal spoke with a display of embarrassment: 
 
 "I've got to go a little out of our way. It's a 
 chore I oughtn't ever to have put off for a minute, 
 but I plumb forgot it." 
 
 "What is it?" Brant asked indifferently. 
 
 But his interest was aroused as the marshal hes- 
 itated before answering, and exhibited an increasing 
 confusion. 
 
 "I'm right ashamed to tell of it," Stone said, 
 finally. "There's no excuse for such carelessness. 
 Plutina got into all this mess because she was 
 afraid something dreadful might happen, and it 
 might have — on account of my forget fulness." 
 
 "What's it all about?" Brant demanded, now 
 distinctly curious. 
 
 267 
 
268 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 'Tt's bear-traps!" was the morose answer. 
 
 ''Bear-traps ?" 
 
 The marshal nodded. 
 
 'Those infernal traps Hodges set along Thunder 
 Branch — that made Plutina turn informer. . . . 
 Well, I just naturally forgot all about 'em." 
 
 Brant uttered an ejaculation of dismay. 
 
 "You mean, they're still there, and set?" 
 
 Stone nodded. 
 
 "Just that. I took Hodges and York down an- 
 other way. "I've never thought of the traps since, 
 till to-day." 
 
 "Risky, of course," Brant admitted. "But no- 
 body got caught, or they'd have been missed," he 
 added comfortingly. "Nobody in the neighbor- 
 hood's disappeared, has there?" 
 
 "Not that I've heard of," Stone replied. "^But 
 it's luck, not my deserts, if no harm's been done." 
 
 "I'll go along with you," Brant offered. "We'll 
 have that trouble off your mind in a jiffy." 
 
 So, the two men turned, and took the trail past 
 the Higgins' clearing and on until they came to 
 Thunder Branch, where Plutina had made her dis- 
 covery. They followed the course of the stream 
 upward, the marshal in the lead. As he came to the 
 bend, where the rocky cliffs began. Stone turned and 
 called over his shoulder: 
 
 "They're just beyond." Then, he went forward, 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 269 
 
 with quick, nervous strides, and disappeared be- 
 yond the bend. A moment later, a great cry 
 brought Brant running. 
 
 It was, in truth, a ghastly scene that showed 
 there, lighted brilliantly by the noontide sun. In 
 the midst of the little space of dry ground border- 
 ing the stream, where the lush grass grew thick 
 and high, the body of a man was lying. It was 
 contorted grotesquely, sprawling at length on its 
 face, in absolute stillness — the stillness of death. 
 Brant, himself horrified, looked pityingly at the 
 white, stricken face of the marshal, and turned away, 
 helplessly. He could find no words to lessen the 
 hideousness of this discovery for the man through 
 whose fault the tragedy had come. 
 
 Then, presently, as Stone seemed paralyzed by 
 the disaster. Brant went closer to examine the grue- 
 some thing. 
 
 The victim had been caught by both traps. Ev- 
 idently, he had stepped fairly into the first. Then, 
 as the great jaws snapped shut on his leg, he had 
 lurched forward and fallen. His arms were out- 
 spread wide. But his head was within the second 
 trap. The jaws of it had clamped on the neck. The 
 steel fangs were sunk deep into the flesh. Blood 
 from the wounds was caked black on the skin. 
 
 **He didn't suffer any to speak of," Brant re- 
 marked, at last. He observed, with some surprise. 
 
270 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 that his voice was very thin. He was not a squeam- 
 ish man, and he had seen many evil sights. But 
 this — 
 
 With repugnance, he set himself to the task of re- 
 leasing the trap that held the dead man's head. He 
 had the delicacy not to call on his distressed com- 
 panion for aid. The task was very difficult, and 
 very gruesome, for it required harsh handling of 
 the head, which was in the way. Finally, how- 
 ever, the thing was accomplished. The savage jaws 
 were freed from the flesh they had mangled, and 
 were locked open. Then, Brant turned the body 
 over, and gazed curiously, with strong repulsion, 
 into the ugly, distorted dead face. 
 
 "Providence picked out somebody who could be 
 spared," he mused grimly. 
 
 There came another cry from Stone. In it were 
 wonder, incredulity, relief. 
 
 Brant regarded the marshal in amazement. The 
 man was transformed. The motionless figure of 
 desolation was become one of wild, quivering excite- 
 ment. The face was suffused with blood, the eyes 
 shining fiercely. 
 
 "What the devil!" Brant demanded, aghast. 
 
 Stone looked toward his questioner gravely, and 
 nodded with great emphasis. His voice was low, 
 tense with emotion. 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 271 
 
 "It is the devil!" he answered solemnly. He 
 paused, clearing his throat, and stared again at the 
 dead man. Then, his eyes went back to Brant, as 
 he added : 
 
 "It's Hodges." 
 
 There was a little silence. Brant could not under- 
 stand, could not believe this startling assertion flung 
 in his face. 
 
 "But Hodges was thrown over the precipice," he 
 said, at last. 
 
 The marshal shook his head. There was defiance 
 now in his aspect — defiance, and a mighty joy. 
 
 "It doesn't make any difTerence about that," he 
 announced. "This is Hodges !" 
 
 Then, his exultation burst in words: 
 
 "Hodges caught in his own traps! His neck 
 broken, as it should have been broken by the rope 
 for the murders he's done ! It was my carelessness 
 did it, yes. But I don't care now, so long as it's 
 Hodges who's got caught. Hodges set those traps, 
 and — there he is! . . . I read about something 
 like that once in a story. They called it 'poetic 
 justice.' " 
 
 "He don't look like a poem," Brant remarked. 
 He turned from the gory corpse with a shudder of 
 disgust. 
 
 "Thank God, it was Hodges!" the marshal said, 
 
2^2 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 reverently. "Anybody else would have haunted me 
 for life. But Hodges! Why, I'm glad!" 
 
 The affair was easily explicable in the light of 
 what Plutina had to tell. Hodges, undoubtedy, 
 had knowedge of some secret, hazardous path down 
 the face of the precipice past the Devil's Cauldron, 
 and on to the valley. He had meant to flee by it 
 with Plutina, thus to escape the hound. By it, he 
 had fled alone. Perhaps, he had had a hiding-place 
 for money somewhere about the raided still. Or, 
 perhaps, he had merely chosen this route along 
 Thunder Branch on his way to an asylum beyond 
 Bull Head Mountain. What was certain was that 
 he had blundered into his own pitiless snares, 
 Naturally, he would have had no suspicion that the 
 traps remained. In his mad haste, he had rushed 
 heedlessly upon destruction. The remorseless en- 
 gines of his own devising had taken full toll of 
 him. By his own act, he paid with his life the penalty 
 for crime. There was propriety in the marshal's 
 reference to poetic justice. 
 
 A certain vindictiveness showed in Plutina's 
 comment concerning the death of the man at whose 
 hands she had so suffered. 
 
 "His bein' so afeared o' thet-thar thing kep' 'im 
 from hurtin' me," she said, reflectively. "He was 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 273 
 
 shorely sot ag'inst havin' 'is neck bruk, an', arter 
 all, thet's jest what he got." She smiled, con- 
 tentedly. For Plutina was a primitive woman, 
 strong in her love, and strong in her hate. 
 
 It was a day of early autumn. The timber rights 
 had been secured to the satisfaction of Sutton. The 
 tree-nail factory was being built. Zeke was be- 
 come a man of importance in the region. 
 
 The lover's wedding-day was less than a month 
 distant. To-day, Plutina had been for a visit to 
 the Widow Higgins, and now Zeke was walking 
 home with her. They paused at the place where 
 had been their meeting on the morning of the lad's 
 first adventuring into the w^orld. Memories flooded 
 them, as they looked across the valley to the bleak 
 cliffs of Stone Mountain, which rose in aged, rugged 
 grandeur, softened in this hour by the veils of haze, 
 warmed with the lambent hues of sunset. 
 
 In answer to Plutina, Zeke shook his head per- 
 plexedly. 
 
 *T kain't quite stomach thet-thar yarn o' Seth 
 Jones's," he said. ''As I remember, Dan Hodges 
 threw me — hard !" He grinned wryly at the recol- 
 lection. 'T don't see how I could have thrown him 
 off the Slide." 
 
 "But of course you did !" Plutina asserted, with 
 
/' 
 
 274 HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 great spirit. "Pooh! Ye could lick Dan Hodges 
 any day in the week. An' Seth saw ye — that settles 
 hit !" 
 
 *I suppose so," Zeke conceded. "But Dan Hodges 
 was a powerful fighter. After all, I didn't do any- 
 thing much for ye, Tiny" he added, with regret in 
 his voice. 
 
 The girl was all indignation. 
 
 "Why, Zeke !" she cried. "The idea ! Ye did hit 
 all. Ye banged the love o' ye into thet-thar dawg, 
 what hung on to me an' brung up the fairy cross 
 fer a message." Chubbie, as if understanding, 
 leaped to lick her hand. "An' ye give me the 
 cross, Zeke. Mebby, thet's what saved me, all the 
 time — thar on the precipice, an' — an' back thar — 
 in the cave — with him. An' then ye threw Dan 
 Hodges right offen the mounting. Seth Jones seen 
 ye do hit !" 
 
 It seemed to Zeke that he must perforce accept the 
 heroism thrust upon him, though a doubt still lin- 
 gered. Still, his memory of the fight was confused. 
 Perhaps, after all, he had — . 
 
 Zeke broke off, and drew the girl close. Their 
 lips met gently, tenderly, with the clinging of pas- 
 sion. What mattered the history of evil days ? They 
 were past. Before them lay the future, radiant 
 with rosy promise. In this blessed present, they 
 were together. Love thrilled exquisitely on their 
 
HEART OF THE BLUE RIDGE 275 
 
 lips ; more exquisitely in their souls. That love was, 
 and it would remain, a noble and precious thing, 
 great and very beautiful, as mighty and firm as 
 the mountain looming yonder in immutable serenity 
 and strength, as loyal, as enduring. . . . They 
 walked on together, infinitely content.