The trail of the lonesome pine

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Title:TheTrailoftheLonesomePine
Author:JohnFox,Jr.
ReleaseDate:February,2004[EBook#5122][Yes,wearemorethanoneyear
aheadofschedule][ThisfilewasfirstpostedonMay4,2002]
Edition:10
Language:English
Charactersetencoding:ASCII


***STARTOFTHEPROJECTGUTENBERGEBOOKTRAILOFTHE
LONESOMEPINE***

ProducedbyCharlesFranksandtheOnlineDistributedProofreadingTeam

THETRAILOFTHELONESOMEPINE


BY
JOHNFOX,JR.
ILLUSTRATEDBYF.C.YOHN

ToF.S.

THETRAILOFTHELONESOMEPINE


I
Shesatatthebaseofthebigtree—herlittlesunbonnetpushedback,herarms
lockedaboutherknees,herbarefeetgatheredunderhercrimsongownandher
deepeyesfixedonthesmokeinthevalleybelow.Herbreathwasstillcoming
fastbetweenherpartedlips.Thereweretinydropsalongtherootsofhershining
hair,fortheclimbhadbeensteep,andnowtheshadowofdisappointment
darkenedhereyes.Themountainsraninlimitlessbluewavestowardsthe
mountingsun—butatbirthhereyeshadopenedonthemasonthewhitemists
trailingupthesteepsbelowher.Beyondthemwasagapinthenextmountain
chainanddowninthelittlevalley,justvisiblethroughit,weretrailingbluemists
aswell,andsheknewthattheyweresmoke.Wherewasthegreatglareof
yellowlightthatthe“circuitrider”hadtoldabout—andtheleapingtonguesof
fire?Wherewastheshriekingmonsterthatranwithouthorseslikethewindand
tossedbackrollingblackplumesallstreakedwithfire?Formanydaysnowshe
hadheardstoriesofthe“furriners”whohadcomeintothosehillsandwere
doingstrangethingsdownthere,andsoatlastshehadclimbedupthroughthe

dewymorningfromthecoveontheothersidetoseethewondersforherself.
Shehadneverbeenuptherebefore.Shehadnobusinesstherenow,and,ifshe
werefoundoutwhenshegotback,shewouldgetascoldingandmaybe
somethingworsefromherstepmother—andallthattroubleandriskfornothing
butsmoke.So,shelaybackandrested—herlittlemouthtighteningfiercely.It
wasabigworld,though,thatwasspreadbeforeherandavagueaweofitseized
herstraightwayandheldhermotionlessanddreaming.Beyondthosewhitemists
trailingupthehills,beyondthebluesmokedriftinginthevalley,thoselimitless
bluewavesmustrununderthesunonandontotheendoftheworld!Herdead
sisterhadgoneintothatfarsilenceandhadbroughtbackwonderfulstoriesof
thatouterworld:andshebegantowondermorethaneverbeforewhethershe
wouldevergointoitandseeforherselfwhatwasthere.Withthethought,she
roseslowlytoherfeet,movedslowlytothecliffthatdroppedsheertenfeet
asidefromthetrail,andstoodtherelikeagreatscarletflowerinstillair.There
wasthewayatherfeet—thatpaththatcoiledunderthecliffandrandownloop
byloopthroughmajesticoakandpoplarandmassesofrhododendron.Shedrew
alongbreathandstirreduneasily—she’dbettergohomenow—butthepathhad
asnake-likecharmforherandstillshestood,followingitasfardownasshe
couldwithhereyes.Downitwent,writhingthiswayandthattoaspurthathad
beensweptbarebyforestfires.Alongthisspurittravelledstraightforawhile


and,ashereyeseagerlyfollowedittowhereitsanksharplyintoacovertof
maples,thelittlecreaturedroppedofasuddentothegroundand,likesomething
wild,layflat.
Ahumanfigurehadfilledtheleafymouththatswallowedupthetrailanditwas
comingtowardsher.Withathumpingheartshepushedslowlyforwardthrough
thebrushuntilherface,fox-likewithcunningandscreenedbyablueberrybush,
hungjustovertheedgeofthecliff,andthereshelay,likeacrouchedpanthercub,lookingdown.Foramoment,allthatwashumanseemedgonefromher
eyes,but,asshewatched,allthatwaslostcamebacktothem,andsomething

more.Shehadseenthatitwasaman,butshehaddroppedsoquicklythatshe
didnotseethebig,blackhorsethat,unled,wasfollowinghim.Nowbothman
andhorsehadstopped.Thestrangerhadtakenoffhisgrayslouchedhatandhe
waswipinghisfacewithsomethingwhite.Somethingbluewastiedloosely
abouthisthroat.Shehadneverseenamanlikethatbefore.Hisfacewassmooth
andlookeddifferent,asdidhisthroatandhishands.Hisbreechesweretightand
onhisfeetwerestrangebootsthatwerethecolourofhissaddle,whichwasdeep
inseat,highbothinfrontandbehindandhadstrangelong-hoodedstirrups.
Startingtomount,themanstoppedwithonefootinthestirrupandraisedhis
eyestowardshersosuddenlythatsheshrankbackagainwithaquicker
throbbingatherheartandpressedclosertotheearth.Still,seenornotseen,
flightwaseasyforher,soshecouldnotforbeartolookagain.Apparently,he
hadseennothing—onlythatthenextturnofthetrailwastoosteeptoride,and
sohestartedwalkingagain,andhiswalk,ashestrodealongthepath,wasnew
toher,aswastheerectwaywithwhichheheldhisheadandhisshoulders.
Inherwonderoverhim,shealmostforgotherself,forgottowonderwherehe
wasgoingandwhyhewascomingintothoselonelyhillsuntil,ashishorse
turnedabendofthetrail,shesawhangingfromtheothersideofthesaddle
somethingthatlookedlikeagun.Hewasa“raider”—thatman:so,cautiously
andswiftlythen,shepushedherselfbackfromtheedgeofthecliff,sprangtoher
feet,dashedpastthebigtreeand,wingedwithfear,speddownthemountain—
leavinginaspotofsunlightatthebaseofthepinetheprintofonebarefootin
theblackearth.


II
Hehadseenthebigpinewhenhefirstcametothosehills—onemorning,at
daybreak,whenthevalleywasaseaofmistthatthrewsoftclingingspraytothe
verymountaintops:forevenabovethemists,thatmorning,itsmightyhead
arose—solevisibleproofthattheearthstillsleptbeneath.Straightway,he

wonderedhowithadevergotthere,sofarabovethefewofitskindthathaunted
thegreendarkravinesfarbelow.Somewhirlwind,doubtless,hadsentatiny
conecirclingheavenwardanddroppeditthere.Ithadsentothers,too,nodoubt,
buthowhadthistreefacedwindandstormaloneandalonelivedtodefybothso
proudly?Somedayhewouldlearn.Thereafter,hehadseenit,atnoon—butlittle
lessmajesticamongtheoaksthatstoodaboutit;hadseenitcatchingthelast
lightatsunset,clean-cutagainsttheafter-glow,andlikeadark,silent,
mysterioussentinelguardingthemountainpassunderthemoon.Hehadseenit
givingplacewithsombredignitytothepassingburstofspring—hadseenit
greenamongdyingautumnleaves,greeninthegrayofwintertreesandstill
greeninashroudofsnow—achangelesspromisethattheearthmustwaketolife
again.TheLonesomePine,themountaineerscalledit,andtheLonesomePineit
alwayslookedtobe.Fromthebeginningithadacuriousfascinationforhim,
andstraightwaywithinhim—halfexilethathewas—theresprangupasympathy
foritasforsomethingthatwashumanandabrother.Andnowhewasonthe
trailofitatlast.Fromeverypointthatmorningithadseemedalmosttonod
downtohimasheclimbedand,whenhereachedtheledgethatgavehimsight
ofitfrombasetocrown,thewindsmurmuredamongitsneedleslikea
welcomingvoice.Atonce,hesawthesecretofitslife.Oneachsideroseacliff
thathadsheltereditfromstormsuntilitstrunkhadshotupwardssofarandso
straightandsostrongthatitsgreencrowncouldliftitselfonandonandbend—
blowwhatmight—asproudlyandsecurelyasalilyonitsstalkinamorning
breeze.Droppinghisbridlereinheputonehandagainstitasthoughonthe
shoulderofafriend.
“OldMan,”hesaid,“Youmustbeprettylonesomeuphere,andI’mgladtomeet
you.”
Forawhilehesatagainstit—resting.Hehadnoparticularpurposethatday—no
particulardestination.Hissaddlebagswereacrossthecantleofhiscow-boy
saddle.Hisfishingrodwastiedunderoneflap.Hewasyoungandhisown

master.Timewashangingheavyonhishandsthatdayandhelovedthewoods
andthenooksandcranniesofthemwherehisownkindrarelymadeitsway.
Beyond,thecovelookeddark,forbidding,mysterious,andwhatwasbeyondhe
didnotknow.Sodowntherehewouldgo.Ashebenthisheadforwardtorise,
hiseyecaughtthespotofsunlight,andheleanedoveritwithasmile.Inthe
blackearthwasahumanfootprint—toosmallandslenderforthefootofaman,
aboyorawoman.Beyond,thesameprintswerevisible—widerapart—andhe
smiledagain.Agirlhadbeenthere.Shewasthecrimsonflashthathesawashe
startedupthesteepandmistookforaflamingbushofsumach.Shehadseenhim
comingandshehadfled.Stillsmiling,herosetohisfeet.


III
Ononesidehehadlefttheearthyellowwiththecomingnoon,butitwasstill
morningashewentdownontheotherside.Thelaurelandrhododendronstill
reekedwithdewinthedeep,ever-shadedravine.Thefernsdrenchedhisstirrups,
ashebrushedthroughthem,andeachdrippingtree-topbrokethesunlightandlet
itdropintent-likebeamsthroughtheshimmeringundermist.Abirdflashedhere
andtherethroughthegreengloom,buttherewasnosoundintheairbutthe
footfallsofhishorseandtheeasycreakingofleatherunderhim,thedripofdew
overheadandtherunningofwaterbelow.Nowandthenhecouldseethesame
slenderfootprintsintherichloamandhesawtheminthesandwherethefirst
tinybrooktinkledacrossthepathfromagloomyravine.Therethelittlecreature
hadtakenaflyingleapacrossitand,beyond,hecouldseetheprintsnomore.He
littleguessedthatwhilehehaltedtolethishorsedrink,thegirllayonarock
abovehim,lookingdown.Shewasnearerhomenowandwaslessafraid;soshe
hadslippedfromthetrailandclimbedaboveittheretowatchhimpass.Ashe
wenton,sheslidfromherperchandwithcat-footedquietfollowedhim.When
hereachedtherivershesawhimpullinhishorseandeagerlybendforward,

lookingintoapooljustbelowthecrossing.Therewasabassdownthereinthe
clearwater—abigone—andthemanwhistledcheerilyanddismounted,tying
hishorsetoasassafrasbushandunbucklingatinbucketandacuriouslooking
netfromhissaddle.Withthenetinonehandandthebucketintheother,he
turnedbackupthecreekandpassedsoclosetowhereshehadslippedasideinto
thebushesthatshecamenearshrieking,buthiseyeswerefixedonapoolofthe
creekaboveand,toherwonder,hestrolledstraightintothewater,withhisboots
on,pushingthenetinfrontofhim.
Hewasa“raider”sure,shethoughtnow,andhewaslookingfora“moonshine”
still,andthewildlittlethinginthebushessmiledcunningly—therewasnostill
upthatcreek—andashehadlefthishorsebelowandhisgun,shewaitedfor
himtocomeback,whichhedid,byandby,drippingandsoakedtohisknees.
Thenshesawhimuntiethequeer“gun”onhissaddle,pullitoutofacaseand—
hereyesgotbigwithwonder—takeittopiecesandmakeitintoalonglimber
rod.Inamomenthehadcastaminnowintothepoolandwadedoutintothe
wateruptohiships.Shehadneverseensoqueerafishing-pole—soqueera
fisherman.Howcouldhegetafishoutwiththatlittleswitch,shethought
contemptuously?Byandbysomethinghummedqueerly,themangaveaslight


jerkandashiningfishfloppedtwofeetintotheair.Itwassurelyveryqueer,for
themandidn’tputhisrodoverhisshoulderandwalkashore,asdidthe
mountaineers,butstoodstill,windingsomethingwithonehand,andagainthe
fishwouldflashintotheairandthenthathummingwouldstartagainwhilethe
fishermanwouldstandquietandwaitingforawhile—andthenhewouldbegin
towindagain.Inherwonder,sheroseunconsciouslytoherfeetandastone
rolleddowntotheledgebelowher.Thefishermanturnedhisheadandshe
startedtorun,butwithoutawordheturnedagaintothefishhewasplaying.
Moreover,hewastoofaroutinthewatertocatchher,sosheadvancedslowly—
eventotheedgeofthestream,watchingthefishcuthalfcirclesabouttheman.

Ifhesawher,hegavenonotice,anditwaswellthathedidnot.Hewaspulling
thebasstoandfronowthroughthewater,tiringhimout—drowninghim—
steppingbackwardatthesametime,and,amomentlater,thefishslideasilyout
oftheedgeofthewater,gaspingalongtheedgeofalowsand-bank,andthe
fishermanreachingdownwithonehandcaughthiminthegills.Thenhelooked
upandsmiled—andshehadseennosmilelikethatbefore.
“Howdye,LittleGirl?”
Onebaretoewentburrowingsuddenlyintothesand,onefingerwenttoherred
mouth—andthatwasall.Shemerelystaredhimstraightintheeyeandhesmiled
again.
“Catgotyourtongue?”
Hereyesfellattheancientbanter,butsheliftedthemstraightwayandstared
again.
“Youlivearoundhere?”
Shestaredon.
“Where?”
Noanswer.
“What’syourname,littlegirl?”
Andstillshestared.


“Oh,well,ofcourse,youcan’ttalk,ifthecat’sgotyourtongue.”
Thesteadyeyesleapedangrily,buttherewasstillnoanswer,andhebenttotake
thefishoffhishook,putonafreshminnow,turnedhisbackandtosseditinto
thepool.
“Hithain’t!”
Helookedupagain.Shesurelywasaprettylittlething—andmore,nowthatshe
wasangry.
“Ishouldsaynot,”hesaidteasingly.“Whatdidyousayyournamewas?”
“What’sYO’name?”

Thefishermanlaughed.Hewasjustbecomingaccustomedtothemountain
etiquettethatcommandsastrangertodivulgehimselffirst.
“Myname’s—Jack.”
“An’mine’s—Jill.”Shelaughednow,anditwashistimeforsurprise—where
couldshehaveheardofJackandJill?
Hislinerangsuddenly.
“Jack,”shecried,“yougotabite!”
Hepulled,missedthestrike,andwoundin.Theminnowwasallright,sohe
tosseditbackagain.
“Thatisn’tyourname,”hesaid.
“If‘tain’t,thenthatain’tyour’n?”
“Yes‘tis,”hesaid,shakinghisheadaffirmatively.
Alongcrycamedowntheravine:
“J-u-n-e!eh—oh—J-u-n-e!”Thatwasaqueernameforthemountains,andthe
fishermanwonderedifhehadheardaright—June.


Thelittlegirlgaveashrillansweringcry,butshedidnotmove.
“Tharnow!”shesaid.
“Who’sthat—yourMammy?”
“No,‘tain’t—hit’smystep-mammy.I’magoin’toketchhellnow.”Herinnocent
eyesturnedsullenandherbabymouthtightened.
“GoodLord!”saidthefisherman,startled,andthenhestopped—thewordswere
asinnocentonherlipsasabenediction.
“Haveyougotafather?”Likeaflash,herwholefacechanged.
“IreckonIhave.”
“Whereishe?”
“Hyehheis!”drawledavoicefromthebushes,andithadatonethatmadethe
fishermanwhirlsuddenly.Agiantmountaineerstoodonthebankabovehim,
withaWinchesterinthehollowofhisarm.

“Howareyou?”Thegiant’sheavyeyesliftedquickly,buthespoketothegirl.
“Yougoonhome—whatyoudoin’hyehgassin’withfurriners!”
Thegirlshranktothebushes,butshecriedsharplyback:
“Don’tyouhurthimnow,Dad.Heain’tevengotapistol.Heain’tno—”
“Shetup!”Thelittlecreaturevanishedandthemountaineerturnedtothe
fisherman,whohadjustputonafreshminnowandtosseditintotheriver.
“Purtywell,thankyou,”hesaidshortly.“Howareyou?”
“Fine!”wasthenonchalantanswer.Foramomenttherewassilenceanda
puzzledfrowngatheredonthemountaineer’sface.
“That’sabrightlittlegirlofyours—Whatdidshemeanbytellingyounottohurt
me?”


“Youhaven’tbeenlonginthesemountains,haveye?”
“No—notinTHESEmountains—why?”Thefishermanlookedaroundandwas
almoststartledbythefiercegazeofhisquestioner.
“Stopthat,please,”hesaid,withahumouroussmile.“Youmakemenervous.”
Themountaineer’sbushybrowscametogetheracrossthebridgeofhisnoseand
hisvoicerumbledlikedistantthunder.
“What’syo’name,stranger,an’what’syo’businessoverhyeh?”
“Dearme,thereyougo!YoucanseeI’mfishing,butwhydoeseverybodyin
thesemountainswanttoknowmyname?”
“Youheerdme!”
“Yes.”Thefishermanturnedagainandsawthegiant’sruggedfacesternandpale
withopenangernow,andhe,too,grewsuddenlyserious.
“SupposeIdon’ttellyou,”hesaidgravely.“What—”
“Git!”saidthemountaineer,withamoveofonehugehairyhandupthe
mountain.“An’gitquick!”
Thefishermannevermovedandtherewastheclickofashellthrownintoplace
intheWinchesterandagutturaloathfromthemountaineer’sbeard.

“Damnye,”hesaidhoarsely,raisingtherifle.“I’llgiveye—”
“Don’t,Dad!”shriekedavoicefromthebushes.“Iknowhisname,hit’sJack—”
therestofthenamewasunintelligible.Themountaineerdroppedthebuttofhis
guntothegroundandlaughed.
“Oh,airYOUtheengineer?”
Thefishermanwasangrynow.Hehadnotmovedhandorfootandhesaid
nothing,buthismouthwassethardandhisbewilderedblueeyeshadaglintin
themthatthemountaineerdidnotatthemomentsee.Hewasleaningwithone
armonthemuzzleofhisWinchester,hisfacehadsuddenlybecomesuaveand


shrewdandnowhelaughedagain:
“Soyou’reJackHale,airye?”
Thefishermanspoke.“JOHNHale,excepttomyfriends.”Helookedhardatthe
oldman.
“Doyouknowthat’saprettydangerousjokeofyours,myfriend—Imighthave
agunmyselfsometimes.Didyouthinkyoucouldscareme?”Themountaineer
staredingenuinesurprise.
“Twusn’tnojoke,”hesaidshortly.“An’Idon’twastetimeskeeringfolks.I
reckonyoudon’tknowwhoIbe?”
“Idon’tcarewhoyouare.”Againthemountaineerstared.
“Nousegittin’mad,youngfeller,”hesaidcoolly.“Imistakenyefersomebody
elsean’Iaxeyerpardon.Whenyougitthroughfishin’comeuptothehouse
rightupthecreektharan’I’llgiveyeadram.”
“Thankyou,”saidthefishermanstiffly,andthemountaineerturnedsilently
away.Attheedgeofthebushes,helookedback;thestrangerwasstillfishing,
andtheoldmanwentonwithashakeofhishead.
“He’llcome,”hesaidtohimself.“Oh,he’llcome!”
ThatverypointHalewasdebatingwithhimselfasheunavailinglycasthis
minnowintotheswiftwaterandslowlywounditinagain.Howdidthatoldman

knowhisname?Andwouldtheoldsavagereallyhavehurthimhadhenot
foundoutwhohewas?Thelittlegirlwasawonder:evidentlyshehadmuffled
hislastnameonpurpose—notknowingitherself—anditwasaquickand
cunningruse.Heowedhersomethingforthat—whydidshetrytoprotecthim?
Wonderfuleyes,too,thelittlethinghad—deepanddark—andhowtheflamedid
dartfromthemwhenshegotangry!Hesmiled,remembering—helikedthat.
Andherhair—itwasexactlylikethegold-bronzeonthewingofawildturkey
thathehadshotthedaybefore.Well,itwasnoonnow,thefishhadstopped
bitingafterthewaywardfashionofbass,hewashungryandthirstyandhe
wouldgoupandseethelittlegirlandthegiantagainandgetthatpromised
dram.Oncemore,however,helethisminnowfloatdownintotheshadowofa
bigrock,andwhilehewaswindingin,helookeduptoseeintheroadtwo


peopleonagrayhorse,amanwithawomanbehindhim—botholdand
spectacled—allthreemotionlessonthebankandlookingathim:andhe
wonderedifallthreehadstoppedtoaskhisnameandhisbusiness.No,theyhad
justcomedowntothecreekandboththeymustknowalready.
“Ketchingany?”calledouttheoldman,cheerily.
“Onlyone,”answeredHalewithequalcheer.Theoldwomanpushedbackher
bonnetashewadedthroughthewatertowardsthemandhesawthatshewas
puffingaclaypipe.Shelookedatthefishermanandhistacklewiththenaive
wonderofachild,andthenshesaidinacommandingundertone.
“Goon,Billy.”
“Now,oleHon,Iwishye’djes’waitaminute.”Halesmiled.Helovedold
people,andtwokinderfaceshehadneverseen—twogentlervoiceshehad
neverheard.
“Ireckonyougottheonlygreenpyerchuphyeh,”saidtheoldman,chuckling,
“butthar’sasightof‘emdowntharbelowmyoldmill.”Quietlytheoldwoman
hitthehorsewithastrippedbranchofelmandtheoldgray,withaswitchofhis

tail,started.
“Waitaminute,Hon,”hesaidagain,appealingly,“won’tye?”butcalmlyshehit
thehorseagainandtheoldmancalledbackoverhisshoulder:
“Youcomeondowntothemillan’I’llshowyewharyoucanketchamess.”
“Allright,”shoutedHale,holdingbackhislaughter,andontheywent,theold
manremonstratinginthekindliestway—theoldwomansilentlypuffingherpipe
andmakingnoanswerexcepttoflaygentlytherumpofthelazyoldgray.
Hesitatinghardlyamoment,Haleunjointedhispole,lefthisminnowbucket
whereitwas,mountedhishorseandrodeupthepath.Abouthim,thebeech
leavesgavebackthegoldoftheautumnsunlight,andalittleravine,highunder
thecrestofthemottledmountain,wasonfirewiththescarletofmaple.Noteven
yethadthemorningchillleftthedenselyshadedpath.Whenhegottothebare
crestofalittlerise,hecouldseeupthecreekaspiralofbluerisingswiftlyfrom
astonechimney.Geeseandduckswerehuntingcrawfishinthelittlecreekthat
ranfromamilk-houseoflogs,halfhiddenbywillowsattheedgeoftheforest,


andaturninthepathbroughtintoviewalog-cabinwellchinkedwithstonesand
plaster,andwithawell-builtporch.Afenceranaroundtheyardandtherewasa
meathousenearalittleorchardofapple-trees,underwhichweremanyhivesof
beegums.Thismanhadthings“hungup”andwaswell-to-do.Downtheriseand
throughathickethewent,andasheapproachedthecreekthatcamedownpast
thecabintherewasashrillcryaheadofhim.
“Whoathar,Buck!Gee-haw,Itellye!”Anox-wagonevidentlywascomingon,
andtheroadwassonarrowthatheturnedhishorseintothebushestoletitpass.
“Whoa—Haw!—Gee—Gee—Buck,Gee,Itellye!I’llknockyo’foolheadoff
thefustthingyouknow!”
Stilltherewasnosoundofoxorwagonandthevoicesoundedlikeachild’s.So
hewentonatawalkinthethicksand,andwhenheturnedthebusheshepulled
upagainwithalowlaugh.Intheroadacrossthecreekwasachubby,tow-haired

boywithalongswitchinhisrighthand,andapinedaggerandastringinhis
left.Attachedtothestringandtiedbyonehindlegwasafrog.Theboywas
usingtheswitchasagoadanddrivingthefrogasanox,andhewasasearnestas
thoughbothwerereal.
“Igiveyealittlerestnow,Buck,”hesaid,shakinghisheadearnestly.“Hit’sa
purtyhardpullhyeh,butIknow,byGum,youcanmakehit—ifyouhain’ttoo
durnlazy.Now,gitup,Buck!”heyelledsuddenly,flayingthesandwithhis
switch.“Gitup—Whoa—Haw—Gee,Gee!”Thefroghoppedseveraltimes.
“Whoa,now!”saidthelittlefellow,pantinginsympathy.“Iknowedyoucould
doit.”Thenhelookedup.Foraninstantheseemedterrifiedbuthedidnotrun.
Insteadhestealthilyshiftedthepinedaggerovertohisrighthandandthestring
tohisleft.
“Here,boy,”saidthefishermanwithaffectedsternness:“Whatareyoudoing
withthatdagger?”
Theboy’sbreastheavedandhisdirtyfingersclenchedtightaroundthewhittled
stick.
“Don’tyoutalktomethat-a-way,”hesaidwithanominousshakeofhishead.
“I’llgutye!”


Thefishermanthrewbackhishead,andhispealoflaughterdidwhathis
sternnessfailedtodo.Thelittlefellowwheeledsuddenly,andhisfeetspurned
thesandaroundthebushesforhome—theastonishedfrogdraggedbumping
afterhim.“Well!”saidthefisherman.


IV
Eventhegeeseinthecreekseemedtoknowthathewasastrangerandtodistrust
him,fortheycackledand,spreadingtheirwings,fledcacklingupthestream.As
henearedthehouse,thelittlegirlranaroundthestonechimney,stoppedshort,

shadedhereyeswithonehandforamomentandranexcitedlyintothehouse.A
momentlater,thebeardedgiantslouchedout,stoopinghisheadashecame
throughthedoor.
“Hitchthat‘arposttoyo’hossandcomerightin,”hethunderedcheerily.“I’m
waitin’ferye.”
Thelittlegirlcametothedoor,pushedonebrownslenderhandthroughher
tangledhair,caughtonebarefootbehindadeer-likeankleandstoodmotionless.
Behindherwastheboy—hisdaggerstillinhand.
“Comerightin!”saidtheoldman,“wearepurtyporefolks,butyou’rewelcome
towhatwehave.”
Thefisherman,too,hadtostoopashecamein,forhe,too,wastall.Theinterior
wasdark,inspiteofthewoodfireinthebigstonefireplace.Stringsofherbsand
red-pepperpodsandtwistedtobaccohungfromtheceilinganddownthewallon
eithersideofthefire;andinonecorner,nearthetwobedsintheroom,handmadequiltsofmanycolourswerepiledseveralfeethigh.Onwoodenpegs
abovethedoorwheretenyearsbeforewouldhavebeenbuckantlersandanoldfashionedrifle,layaWinchester;oneithersideofthedoorwereaugerholes
throughthelogs(hedidnotunderstandthattheywereportholes)andanother
Winchesterstoodinthecorner.Fromthemantelthebuttofabig44-Colt’s
revolverprotrudedominously.Ononeofthebedsinthecornerhecouldseethe
outlinesofafigurelyingunderabrilliantlyfiguredquilt,andatthefootofitthe
boywiththepinedaggerhadretreatedforrefuge.Fromthemomenthestooped
atthedoorsomethingintheroomhadmadehimvaguelyuneasy,andwhenhis
eyesinswiftsurveycamebacktothefire,theypassedtheblazeswiftlyandmet
ontheedgeofthelightanotherpairofeyesburningonhim.
“Howdye!”saidHale.
“Howdye!”wasthelow,unpropitiatinganswer.


Theowneroftheeyeswasnothingbutaboy,inspiteofhislength:somuchofa
boythataslightcrackinhisvoiceshowedthatitwasjustpastthethroesof
“changing,”butthoseblackeyesburnedonwithoutswerving—exceptonce

whentheyflashedatthelittlegirlwho,withherchininherhandandonefooton
thetoprungofherchair,wasgazingatthestrangerwithequalsteadiness.She
sawtheboy’sglance,sheshiftedherkneesimpatientlyandherlittlefacegrew
sullen.Halesmiledinwardly,forhethoughthecouldalreadyseethelayofthe
land,andhewonderedthat,atsuchanage,suchfiercenesscouldbe:soevery
nowandthenhelookedattheboy,andeverytimehelooked,theblackeyes
wereonhim.Themountainyouthmusthavebeenalmostsixfeettall,youngas
hewas,andwhilehewaslankyinlimbhewaswellknit.Hisjeantrouserswere
stuffedinthetopofhisbootsandweretightoverhiskneeswhichwerewellmoulded,andthatisrarewithamountaineer.Aloopofblackhaircurvedover
hisforehead,downalmosttohislefteye.Hisnosewasstraightandalmost
delicateandhismouthwassmall,butextraordinarilyresolute.Somewherehe
hadseenthatfacebefore,andheturnedsuddenly,buthedidnotstartlethelad
withhisabruptness,normakehimturnhisgaze.
“Why,haven’tI—?”hesaid.Andthenhesuddenlyremembered.Hehadseen
thatboynotlongsinceontheothersideofthemountains,ridinghishorseata
gallopdownthecountyroadwithhisreinsinhisteeth,andshootingapistol
alternatelyatthesunandtheearthwitheitherhand.Perhapsitwasaswellnotto
recalltheincident.Heturnedtotheoldmountaineer.
“Doyoumeantotellmethatamancan’tgothroughthesemountainswithout
tellingeverybodywhoaskshimwhathisnameis?”
Theeffectofhisquestionwassingular.Theoldmanspatintothefireandputhis
handtohisbeard.Theboycrossedhislegssuddenlyandshovedhismuscular
fingersdeepintohispockets.Thefigureshiftedpositiononthebedandthe
infantatthefootofitseemedtoclenchhistoy-daggeralittlemoretightly.Only
thelittlegirlwasmotionless—shestilllookedathim,unwinking.Whatsortof
wildanimalshadhefallenamong?
“No,hecan’t—an’keephealthy.”Thegiantspokeshortly.
“Whynot?”
“Well,ifamanhain’tuptosomedevilment,whatreason’shegotfernottellin’

hisname?”
“That’shisbusiness.”
“Tain’toverhyeh.Hit’smine.Efamandon’twanttotellhisnameoverhyeh,
he’saspyoraraideroraofficerlookingfersomebodyor,”headdedcarelessly,
butwithaquickcovertlookathisvisitor—“he’sgotsomekindo’businessthat
hedon’twantnobodytoknowabout.”
“Well,Icameoverhere—justto—well,IhardlyknowwhyIdidcome.”
“Jessso,”saidtheoldmandryly.“An’ifyeain’tlookingfertrouble,you’d
bettertellyournameinthesemountains,wheneveryou’reaxed.Efenough
peopleairbackin’acustomanywharhitgoes,don’thit?”
Hislogicwasgood—andHalesaidnothing.Presentlytheoldmanrosewitha
smileonhisfacethatlookedcynical,pickedupablacklumpandthrewitinto
thefire.Itcaughtfire,crackled,blazed,almostoozedwithoil,andHaleleaned
forwardandleanedback.
“Prettygoodcoal!”
“Hain’tit,though?”Theoldmanpickedupasliverthathadflowntothehearth
andheldamatchtoit.Thepieceblazedandburnedinhishand.
“Ineverseednocoalinthesemountainslikethat—didyou?”
“Notoften—finditaroundhere?”
“Righthyehonthisfarm—aboutfivefeetthick!”
“What?”
“An’nopartin’.”
“Nopartin’”—itwasnotoftenthathefoundamountaineerwhoknewwhata
partinginacoalbedwas.
“Afriendo’mineont’otherside,”—alightdawnedfortheengineer.
“Oh,”hesaidquickly.“That’showyouknewmyname.”


“Rightyouair,stranger.Hetol’meyouwasa—expert.”

Theoldmanlaughedloudly.“An’that’swhyyoucomeoverhyeh.”
“No,itisn’t.”
“Co’senot,”—theoldfellowlaughedagain.Haleshiftedthetalk.
“Well,nowthatyouknowmyname,supposeyoutellmewhatyoursis?”
“Tolliver—JuddTolliver.”Halestarted.
“NotDevilJudd!”
“That’swhatsomeevilfolkscallsme.”Againhespokeshortly.The
mountaineersdonotliketotalkabouttheirfeuds.Haleknewthis—andthe
subjectwasdropped.Buthewatchedthehugemountaineerwithinterest.There
wasnomorefamouscharacterinallthosehillsthanthegiantbeforehim—yet
hisfacewaskindandwasgood-humoured,butthenoseandeyeswerethebeak
andeyesofsomebirdofprey.Thelittlegirlhaddisappearedforamoment.She
camebackwithablue-backedspelling-book,asecondreaderandaworncopy
of“MotherGoose,”andsheopenedfirstoneandthentheotheruntilthe
attentionofthevisitorwascaught—theblack-hairedyouthwatchingher
meanwhilewithloweringbrows.
“Wheredidyoulearntoread?”Haleasked.Theoldmananswered:
“ApreachercomebyourhouseoverontheNawthFork‘boutthreeyearago,
andaforeIknowedithemademepromisetosendhersisterSallytosome
schooluptharontheedgeofthesettlements.Andaftershecomehome,Sal
larnedthatlittlegaltoreadandspell.Saldied‘boutayearago.”
Halereachedoverandgotthespelling-book,andtheoldmangrinnedatthe
quick,unerringresponsesofthelittlegirl,andtheengineerlookedsurprised.
Sheread,too,withunusualfacility,andherpronunciationwasverypreciseand
notatalllikeherspeech.
“Yououghttosendhertothesameplace,”hesaid,buttheoldfellowshookhis
head.


“Icouldn’tgitalongwithouther.”

Thelittlegirl’seyesbegantodancesuddenly,and,withoutopening“Mother
Goose,”shebegan:
“JackandJillwentupahill,”andthenshebrokeintoalaughandHalelaughed
withher.
Abruptly,theboyoppositerosetohisgreatlength.
“IreckonIbetterbegoin’.”ThatwasallhesaidashecaughtupaWinchester,
whichstoodunseenbyhisside,andouthestalked.Therewasnotawordof
good-by,notaglanceatanybody.AfewminuteslaterHaleheardthecreakofa
barndooronwoodenhinges,acursingcommandtoahorse,andfourfeetgoing
inagallopdownthepath,andheknewtherewentanenemy.
“That’sagood-lookingboy—whoishe?”
Theoldmanspatintothefire.Itseemedthathewasnotgoingtoanswerandthe
littlegirlbrokein:
“Hit’smycousinDave—helivesoverontheNawthFork.”
ThatwastheseatoftheTolliver-Falinfeud.Ofthatfeud,too,Halehadheard,
andsonomorealongthatlineofinquiry.He,too,soonrosetogo.
“Why,ain’tyegoin’tohavesomethingtoeat?”
“Oh,no,I’vegotsomethinginmysaddlebagsandImustbegettingbacktothe
Gap.”
“Well,Ireckonyouain’t.You’rejes’goin’totakeasnackrighthere.”Hale
hesitated,butthelittlegirlwaslookingathimwithsuchunconsciouseagerness
inherdarkeyesthathesatdownagain.
“Allright,Iwill,thankyou.”Atoncesherantothekitchenandtheoldmanrose
andpulledabottleofwhiteliquidfromunderthequilts.
“IreckonIcantrustye,”hesaid.TheliquorburnedHalelikefire,andtheold
man,withalaughatthefacethestrangermade,tossedoffatumblerful.


“Gracious!”saidHale,“canyoudothatoften?”
“Aforebreakfast,dinnerandsupper,”saidtheoldman—“butIdon’t.”Halefelt

apluckingathissleeve.Itwastheboywiththedaggerathiselbow.
“Lessseeyoulaughthat-a-wayagin,”saidBubwithsuchdeadlyseriousness
thatHaleunconsciouslybrokeintothesamepeal.
“Now,”saidBub,unwinking,“Iain’tafeardo’younomore.”


V
Awaitingdinner,themountaineerandthe“furriner”satontheporchwhileBub
carvedawayatanotherpinedaggeronthestoop.AsHalepassedoutthedoor,a
querulousvoicesaid“Howdye”fromthebedinthecornerandheknewitwas
thestepmotherfromwhomthelittlegirlexpectedsomenether-world
punishmentforanoffenceofwhichhewasignorant.Hehadheardofthefeud
thathadbeengoingonbetweentheredFalinsandtheblackTolliversfora
quarterofacentury,andthiswasDevilJudd,whohadearnedhisnickname
whenhewastheleaderofhisclanbyhisterriblestrength,hismarksmanship,his
cunningandhiscourage.Someyearssincetheoldmanhadretiredfromthe
leadership,becausehewastiredoffightingorbecausehehadquarrelledwithhis
brotherDaveandhisfoster-brother,BadRufe—knownastheterrorofthe
Tollivers—orfromsomeunknownreason,andinconsequencetherehadbeen
peaceforalongtime—theFalinsfearingthatDevilJuddwouldbeledintothe
feudagain,theTolliverswaryofstartinghostilitieswithouthisaid.Afterthelast
trouble,BadRufeTolliverhadgoneWestandoldJuddhadmovedhisfamilyas
farawayaspossible.Halelookedaroundhim:this,then,wasthehomeofDevil
JuddTolliver;thelittlecreatureinsidewashisdaughterandhernamewasJune.
Allaroundthecabinthewoodedmountainstoweredexceptwhere,straight
beforehiseyes,LonesomeCreekslippedthroughthemtotheriver,andtheold
manhadcertainlypickedouttheveryheartofsilenceforhishome.Therewas
noneighbourwithintwoleagues,Juddsaid,exceptoldSquireBillyBeams,who
ranamillamiledowntheriver.NowonderthespotwascalledLonesomeCove.
“Youmustha’seedUncleBillyandoleHonpassin’,”hesaid.

“Idid.”DevilJuddlaughedandHalemadeoutthat“Hon”wasshortforHoney.
“UncleBillyusedtodrinkrightsmart.OleHonbrokehim.Shefollowedhim
downtothegroceryonedayandwalkedin.‘Comeon,boys—let’shavea
drink’;andsheset‘emupan’set‘emupuntilUncleBillymostwentcrazy.He
hadhardworkgittin’herhome,an’UncleBillyhain’ttechedadrapsince.”And
theoldmountaineerchuckledagain.
AllthetimeHalecouldhearnoisesfromthekitcheninside.Theoldstepmother
wasabed,hehadseennootherwomanaboutthehouseandhewonderedifthe


childcouldbecookingdinner.Herflushedfaceansweredwhensheopenedthe
kitchendoorandcalledthemin.Shehadnotonlycookedbutnowsheservedas
well,andwhenhethankedher,ashedideverytimeshepassedsomethingto
him,shewouldcolourfaintly.Onceortwiceherhandseemedtotremble,andhe
neverlookedatherbutherquestioningdarkeyeswerefulluponhim,and
alwaysshekeptonehandbusypushingherthickhairbackfromherforehead.
Hehadnotaskedherifitwasherfootprintshehadseencomingdownthe
mountainforfearthathemightbetrayher,butapparentlyshehadtoldon
herself,forBub,afterawhile,burstoutsuddenly:
“June,thar,thoughtyouwasaraider.”Thelittlegirlflushedandtheoldman
laughed.
“So’dyou,pap,”shesaidquietly.
“That’sright,”hesaid.“So’danybody.Ireckonyou’rethefirstmanthatever
comeoverhyehjus’togoa-fishin’,”andhelaughedagain.Thestressonthelast
wordsshowedthathebelievednomanhadyetcomejustforthatpurpose,and
Halemerelylaughedwithhim.Theoldfellowgulpedhisfood,pushedhischair
back,andwhenHalewasthrough,hewastednomoretime.
“Wanttoseethatcoal?”
“Yes,Ido,”saidHale.
“Allright,I’llbereadyinaminute.”

ThelittlegirlfollowedHaleoutontheporchandstoodwithherbackagainstthe
railing.
“Didyoucatchit?”heasked.Shenodded,unsmiling.
“I’msorry.Whatwereyoudoingupthere?”Sheshowednosurprisethathe
knewthatshehadbeenupthere,andwhilesheansweredhisquestion,hecould
seethatshewasthinkingofsomethingelse.
“I’dheerdsomuchaboutwhatyoufurrinerswasa-doin’overthar.”
“Youmusthaveheardaboutaplacefartherover—butit’scomingoverthere,
too,someday.”Andstillshelookedanunspokenquestion.