BVMtmL and 
 
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 of tte 
 
 ^nifaers^itpofiSortljCaroIina 
 
 Collection of Movtf) Caroliniana 
 
 C8I3 
 D1l6f 
 
This book must not 
 be taken from the 
 Library building. 
 
FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
'Ohj it ain't money that can buy this — it's a promise !" 
 
 she exclaimed. 
 
FLAMES OF 
 THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 BY 
 
 ETHEL AND JAMES DORRANCE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE MACAULAY COMPANY 
 
Copyright, 19 19, 
 By the MACAULAY COMPANY 
 
 Copyright, 1919, 
 By Frank A. Munsey Co. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 PAT 
 
 THIS BOOK IS FONDLY INSCRIBED. 
 
 As a third collaborator, he attended 
 upon the writing of the story with un- 
 flagging optimism and helped to light 
 the way to the end with those flames 
 of dog devotion that burn steadiest and 
 bluest in the white bull-terrier heart. 
 
 Ethel and James, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGH 
 
 I. Red II 
 
 II. Satisfaction Sought 22 
 
 III. Stranger Unwelcome 31 
 
 IV. Glory Be! 38 
 
 V. Departure Delayed 48 
 
 VI. The Conspirators ...... 56 
 
 VII. Razzle-Dazzle 63 
 
 VIII. Popper of Popskull 69 
 
 IX. Flame Flares •]"] 
 
 X. Safety First 87 
 
 XI. Teetotalers Two 98 
 
 XII. From Ambush 107 
 
 XIII. Drops of Fire 120 
 
 XIV. His Cut-back 129 
 
 XV. Varmint Fool! 142 
 
 XVI. Paid by Promise 149 
 
 XVII. Jug's Bottom 157 
 
 XVIII. Spring Is Here 168 
 
 XIX. See Yourself 175 
 
 XX. Court of Hills . . . . ^ . . , 183 
 
 XXI. Hi, Verney! 187 
 
 XXII. Slick At That 198 
 
 XXIII. Particeps Criminis 209 
 
 XXIV, Gun-Getting 220 
 
 7 
 
8 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Conqueror of Himself . . . .231 
 
 Wait and See 244 
 
 Knock-out Champion 253 
 
 Antic Colt 261 
 
 Come to Grips 271 
 
 Drilled 278 
 
 The Bluest Flame 286 
 
 Extra! 297 
 
 Short Warning 308 
 
 To-night's the Night 313 
 
 The Bald Grumbles 323 
 
 Dreams Made Real 330 
 
 True Blue 337 
 
FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
FLAMES OF THE BLUE 
 
 RIDGE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 RED 
 
 The driver had announced their approach to Dis- 
 mal Gap. The front axle had broken, the ancient 
 stage had tipped, the horses had tried to bolt. 
 
 Calvin Parker, with baggage and other miscel- 
 lany, felt the hurl of his rapid descent Into a new 
 life. There was a ditch; there was much mud, oozy 
 mud; there was somebody tugging at his collar. He 
 had a feeling of resentment; then sank into ob- 
 livion. 
 
 Later, he became convinced that he still was alive. 
 The situation was too utterly mundane to hope 
 otherwise. He seemed to be lying on a bank be- 
 side the road. That officious somebody must have 
 dragged him there. Had It been the driver? 
 
 Vaguely he began to remember certain ministra- 
 tions to his face and manipulation of his ears which 
 raised a doubt. 
 
 An Initiatory muscular test aroused in him the 
 ambition to sit up. This fulfilled, he glanced around. 
 So vociferously engaged was the jehu of the hills 
 in untangling his pair of splotch-freckled grays from 
 
 II 
 
12 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the snarled harness, so regardless was he of how 
 his quondam passenger fared that it scarcely could 
 have been he. 
 
 Parker enlarged the scope of his vision. 
 
 Nearby stood a small white mule, gazing at him 
 with ears waggling and an expression of amuse- 
 ment on his elongated face. The mule was all white 
 except his legs — they were red to a point above the 
 knees. This detail made Parker recall what he al- 
 ready had noticed, that the oozy mud of the ditch, 
 of that fast drying in the noonday heat on his clothes, 
 of that sticking to the straight-depending forelock 
 of his hair, was red, an insistent, metallic red. 
 
 The mule irritated Parker. Why should he stand 
 there grinning when his own four legs were stained 
 with the mud? And who was he to grin, anyhow, 
 bridled in servitude, cinched tight around the belly 
 from the saddle on his back? 
 
 Clutching the horn of the saddle was a brown 
 hand, with long, strong fingers. The hand it was 
 that caused Parker to hft his gaze and see, just be- 
 hind and above the mule, another amused face 
 gazing down at him — the face of a tall girl in a 
 short-skirted garment of coarse material that looked 
 to be homespun. 
 
 Irritated by a new perception, Parker clapped a 
 gloved hand over his eyes. The hair of the girl, 
 showing beneath the sweep of her felt hat, was also 
 red. 
 
 Red! Was everything still to be red? 
 
 ^'I_you— we " 
 
 He muttered the assorted pronouns by way of 
 trying his voice, his gloved hand still comforting 
 his eyelids. 
 
RED 13 
 
 **Right smart of a spill, wasn't It?" 
 
 At her voice, nicely modulated, he removed his 
 hand and looked at her again. She had come around 
 the mule, was approaching him. And, as she came, 
 he felt comforted. 
 
 On consideration, her hair shouldn't be called red. 
 No hair growing from human scalp was really red, 
 as other things were accounted red. The fellow 
 who had started the fad of calling It so must have 
 been color-blind, for the same shades. If reproduced 
 In fabric or squeezed from a tube, would be golden- 
 brown, burnt umber, sienna, mahogany, copper — 
 what not. This girl's hair was marvelous, but not 
 red. And the grin on her face, too, had toned down. 
 
 The long line of born-and-bred Parkers back of 
 him began to urge that, If possible, he achieve his 
 feet. He took a brief satisfaction In his success, 
 then added a step or two to meet her. 
 
 *'You pulled me out of the mud?" he asked In 
 a sagging voice. 
 
 She looked put to it to maintain her toned-down 
 expression, but answered as If excusing a liberty. 
 
 ''Man, you were hurting for It — ^you were plumb 
 bogged!" 
 
 After peeling off his right glove, he substantiated 
 that uneasy memory of ministrations to his counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "It was you, then, that washed my face?" 
 
 *'Hope I didn't bother you none. When we-uns 
 scour, we scour severe." 
 
 "And my ears — you dug them out?'* 
 
 "You can hear, can't you?" 
 
 Those other Parkers nudged this last of them to 
 thank her, but she either did not expect It or did 
 
14 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 not want it. She had turned the white mule, was 
 about to mount. 
 
 At the moment the stage driver, who seemed to 
 have conquered the refractoriness of both team and 
 harness — at any rate, had hitched the horses to a 
 wheel — came toward the lesser, or human element in 
 the accidental equation. 
 
 ** 'Lo, Verney! How be you-all to-day?" His 
 greeting preceded him. 
 
 ^Tolerable, Tobe Rlker.'^ 
 
 There was snap In her reply and the fact that 
 she did not spare him so much as a glance. 
 
 "And you-all's folks, how be they?" he persisted. 
 
 "Tolerable." 
 
 Her foot found the stirrup. An upward swing, 
 which disclosed a stretch of leg, white-cotton-clad 
 and of excellent outline, placed her In the saddle. 
 With a nod in the direction of the stranger whom 
 she had unbogged, but never a lift of the eyelids 
 toward the little whip, she scraped the ribs of her 
 mount with both heels. 
 
 "Hi there — ^you ain't no call to get riled!" Un- 
 dismayed, Tobe RIker went padding toward her. 
 "Tm a-wanting to ask after your pappy. Still try- 
 ing to light his mortal path with them hellish blue 
 flames of his'n, is he now?" 
 
 Displeasure brightened the tan of the girl's 
 cheeks as, for the first time, she looked squarely at 
 him. Her voice nipped the air in reply. 
 
 "If he finds them, I reckon you'd be the likeliest 
 stick hereabouts to feed them with. At any rate" 
 — she consulted the sun-clock with an upward glance 
 — ^"I've no spare time for your dry crackles to-day; 
 I've got a meetin' to keep." 
 
RED 15 
 
 She flipped the reins, again reminded the hybrid 
 in the region of his ribs, laughed mockingly, and 
 was off. Up the road twinkled the beast's red 
 shanks, glinted the sun on her hair. 
 
 "Her reg'lar meetin' for two, I 'spect!" Thus 
 the driver, with marked vindictiveness. "I hope 
 she's late. It sure would disgust Rex Currie some 
 to hear the reason why!'^ 
 
 *'And who may our good Samaritan be?" Parker 
 inquired, by way of recalling him from the state of 
 rage or enthrallment in which he stood, gazing and 
 muttering. 
 
 "Who is — who? Rex Currie? That's something 
 you-all are due to find out, stranger, if you try set- 
 ting up to Verney Metcalf. Eh? Look yer, if it's 
 onto her you be splicing that Scripture name, you're 
 offen the road bad as yon stage-coach. That girl 
 ain't no comfort to nobody, as I can see. Least- 
 wise, she acts mighty ornery." 
 
 "You seemed to make her angry." Parker spoke 
 disagreeably; he felt disagreeable. "I wanted to 
 thank her for dragging me out of the ditch; was 
 about to do so when you broke in and drove her 
 off." 
 
 " 'Twa'n't such a trick she done you. I was aim- 
 ing to yank you out myself, once I got that glib team 
 back on the road." 
 
 Parker, glancing down at his clothes, then into 
 the sea of mud from which the driver had intended 
 to extricate him, after due attention to the harness 
 and the splotch-flecked grays, was able to restrain 
 any expression of gratitude. 
 
 But Tobe Riker noticed no lack. "Can't see how 
 she has any part to be putting on with me, nohow," 
 
i6 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 he was grumbling. "I reckon It's just that she 
 imitates her dad. Oh, not in looks so much as " 
 
 "I didn't catch the young lady's name," Parker 
 interrupted. 
 
 *'Metcalf. There's a whole cantankerous family 
 of them." 
 
 *'I mean her first name." 
 
 *'Verney we-all call her from the first half of 
 the heathen handle they struck onto her, offen a 
 mountain In these parts. Vernaluska Metcalf — 
 that's the whole of what she's suffering under. Scant 
 wonder she favors a wasp mor'n she does a human- 
 being woman." 
 
 Apparently cheered by having found excuse for 
 her who had stung his pride, the driver withdrew 
 his gaze from up the road and surveyed his more 
 immediate plight. 
 
 "Sorry I spilled you, stranger, but I'll help you 
 tote your duds into town. It won't discommode 
 me none, for I got to enlist a hand to help set up 
 the coach. It ain't such a powerful distance, at 
 that." 
 
 Omitting to incriminate himself as overwhelmed 
 by this mercy, Parker selected the lighter of his 
 bags and started along the comparatively dry path 
 which paralleled the oozy road. He heard Tobe 
 Riker, more heavily laden, pad-padding behind him. 
 
 By the next conversational overture he appre- 
 ciated that the native had deciphered the inscrip- 
 tion painted on the rear end of the suit-case he 
 carried. 
 
 "C. A. P. is a right peart set of initials," chuckled 
 the whip. "Be you a cap set for the women-critters, 
 now? Or do them letters stand for night-cap?" M 
 
RED 17 
 
 On Intercepting the frown curved over-shoulder 
 at him, Tobe curbed his facetiousness, if not his 
 curiosity 
 
 *'New York, eh? You be a furriner, right enough. 
 How came you-all from such an out-of-the-way place 
 as New York to Dismal Gap?" 
 
 A bend in the road brought the two into the 
 only street of the village. Parker set down his bur- 
 den with frank relief and gazed about. His eyes, 
 keen to colors, noticed the pink of the landscape's 
 peach blossoms, its white of plum, its spring-green 
 of tree and shrub; they lifted from the red and 
 ocher earth at his feet to the cerulean panoply over- 
 head; they marked the buildings which flanked either 
 side of the street, not so much for their frame 
 structure or possible purpose as for the uniform 
 tone they had been stained, quite as if some trades- 
 man of the town had bought up a wholesale lot of 
 vermilion paint and sold it at a tempting price. 
 
 His wandering glance returned to the little whip. 
 
 "Isn't there some mistake?" he^ asked in the 
 weary way he had, as if he really didn't care whether 
 answered or not. 
 
 ^'There's mistakes a-plenty hereabouts. What 
 partic'lar one has taken your eye?" 
 
 "Are you sure this is the Gap?" 
 
 "Sure? Don't I fetch up here with the U. S. M. 
 three times per week — leastways, don't I, barring 
 accidents? This here's Dismal, right enough." 
 
 Parker stared at him for a moment, then stooped 
 to his bag with a suppressed sort of groan. 
 
 *^Dismal? Is all the world color-mad — or only 
 I?" 
 
 "What say?" 
 
i8 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The tall young man from "furrln" parts did not 
 reply, but led the way down the vermilion street, 
 past three rough-planked stores, brazen in their false 
 fronts and florid signs, past several dwellings cow- 
 ering from their comparative insignificance. 
 
 The driver, who, from the rear, had been vocif- 
 erating their itinerary, called a halt before the 
 most pretentious of these, a story-and-a-half frame, 
 with a hospitable-looking porch. 
 
 *'Now you-uns just climb onto the stoop and take 
 a good, lively whack at the door," he advised. 
 *'Aunt Hootie Plott will take powerful good care 
 of you, and I'll drop down your trunk when I bring 
 in the stage." 
 
 With Inward misgivings Parker saw and heard. 
 
 *'Aunt Hootie? Is this the hotel?" 
 
 "Best In the Gap." Tobe paused to spit with 
 vigor and at great distance before he added: "Fact 
 is, it's the only^ and full of home-comforts. If you 
 fall foul of a toothache, say. Aunt Hootie's husband 
 will dentist you. Made his own nerve-pullers, did 
 the doc, and they certain-sure can yank." 
 
 "Let's hope that I don't fall foul," observed Par- 
 ker, his right cheek crinkling in a smile. 
 
 The little whip's face was leathern, both of tex- 
 ture and hue. Not once had its surface given to 
 emotion on the journey. Now, however, looking up 
 into that winning Calvin Parker smile, a look of 
 concern, almost of pity, spilled from his eyes to his 
 mouth. 
 
 "Say, stranger, you-all be kind of keerful, will 
 you? It's Tobe Riker telling you — you be keerfiilF* 
 
 His emphasis unexplained, he turned and flat- 
 footed It off to enlist that helping hand needed to re- 
 
RED 19 
 
 store equilibrium and mobility to his official charge. 
 
 Parker's smile had quickly retired. He stood 
 frowning after his squat adviser. Why should he be 
 careful in Dismal Gap — he who knew the darkest 
 shadows as well as the brightest lights of Broadway 
 and Its tributary streets, the wickedest alleys of 
 Paris, the roughest camps of the old West? He 
 moistened his lips. Especially In view of his mis- 
 sion, why should he be careful? 
 
 A thought came of the girl Vernaluska. That 
 must be it. Obviously the stage-driver was hard hit 
 and out of favor. Preoccupation with his team had 
 not prevented his seeing her drag another out of the 
 ditch. Tobe was jealous, as proved by his spleen 
 over her appointment with that high-sounding suitor 
 — was King Currle the name? He merely had re- 
 Iterated his warning that the homespun girl w^as not 
 for "furrin" suit. 
 
 The situation was amusing, cheaply dramatic from 
 a moving-picture point of view. It would have ap- 
 pealed to Sylvia Brainard's sense of humor. 
 
 Here was he who had come to seek solitude and 
 surcease of strife, pitched from the top seat of a 
 stage, dragged from a mud bath by a "cantankerous'* 
 mountain belle, advised of unknown dangers by a 
 resentful country swain. 
 
 But Sylvia was there and he was here — sent here, 
 he must remember, by Sylvia. 
 
 The door of the hotel distinguished as *'only'* 
 was promptly opened, but not by one who possibly 
 could have claimed the title of "aunt." A man, fat 
 of figure and jovial-jowled, listened to his applica- 
 tion. 
 
 "I am Dr. Plott, and powerful glad of the honor/' 
 
20 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 was the landlord's response, accompanied by a bow 
 as deep as his well-fed condition would permit. ^'She 
 went out a spell ago, but come you right in." 
 
 No registration was required, and but scant cere- 
 mony to arrange for an Indefinite tenancy of the 
 "best" room, which, according to the verbose tooth- 
 jumper, would be "tidied up" the minute "she" re- 
 turned from the errand of mercy which had taken 
 her from her "home and domicile." 
 
 In justice to Calvin Parker, any description of his 
 appearance has been postponed to the moment when 
 he emerged from the vermilion-painted hotel. His 
 clothes had come to be the best part of him, and 
 the condition of those just doffed would have put 
 him at a disadvantage. 
 
 Now, he must have been conspicuous in any so- 
 ciety mountain resort for the tailoring of his Norfolk 
 and the "latest" check of his knickerbockers. In 
 lieu of the muddled cap of a few moments since, 
 he wore Fifth Avenue's newest in velour head- 
 gear. His shoes and puttees, the kerchief In his 
 breast-pocket, the lock of hair that would defy life- 
 long discipline to point downward toward his left 
 eye — everything about him was Immaculate. 
 
 As for what there was left of himself, he would 
 have stood fully six feet had he straightened for 
 measurement; his frame was large, if lank, his fresh- 
 shaven face pale as its brunette nature would allow, 
 his hair and eyes dark. 
 
 Despite the promptness and care of his change, 
 his movements were listless, as though he had no 
 definite objective. On the top step of the porch 
 he paused for further consideration of the April 
 tints of the landscape. 
 
RED 21 
 
 In vain did he seek some shade of that color 
 which he felt he had reason to expect in the Blue 
 Ridge country. A shudder went through him as 
 again he was struck by the significance in Dismal 
 Gap's red motif. The single street was a wide streak 
 of it; building foundations were splashed with it; 
 upon the hillsides bare patches showed the soil fer- 
 vid with it. Was it a sign? Was there danger in 
 it for him? 
 
 Colors had been the nearest to religion in his 
 Ill-spent life and red was the color he was fleeing. 
 He had come to the mountains hoping to see blue. 
 And red — red was everywhere ! 
 
 He swallowed to moisten his throat; he licked 
 both parched lips; then at once his tongue returned 
 to comfort the dry roof of his mouth. With a sud- 
 den access of energy, as if moved by a call, he de- 
 scended the steps and started up the street. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 SATISFACTION SOUGHT 
 
 The first of the false-fronted store buildings 
 showed to be empty. Upon its steps a negro lay 
 sunning himself, mouth agape, eyelids tight-shut in 
 a doze. As a source of information he had value 
 chiefly In being the one human visible along the 
 stretch of street. Calvin Parker turned in and prod- 
 ded him considerately with the toe of his shoe. 
 
 "Sorry to disturb you, Mose, but " 
 
 *'Howdy, cap'n!" was the return, not spoken until 
 the black had achieved his feet. "I 'spect you're 
 suffering from mistook identification. My name ain't 
 never been Mose, noway." 
 
 "Not Mose? That is singular. What then?" 
 
 "I'm a Lee nigger, cap'n. Cotton Eye in the 
 course of personification." 
 
 As if to verify the claim, he pointed a stubbed 
 forefinger to the corner of one eye, the iris of which 
 showed white, at once giving him a most sinister 
 look and explaining his sobriquet. The other eye 
 was unflecked, round, small, dull as soot. 
 
 "Cotton Eye Lee" — Parker took a fresh start — 
 "Fm a stranger In a strange land and very much in 
 need of advice which you can give." 
 
 Leaning, he murmured a question close to one of 
 the assertive black ears. 
 
 22 
 
SATISFACTION SOUGHT 23 
 
 A time or two the negro batted his flecked eye, 
 over what proved to be the form of the question 
 rather than its substance. 
 
 ^Trodigious — prodigious," he repeated, evidently 
 intent on adding to his vocabulary. "That is easy, 
 cap'n," he replied at last. "I prodigious that you- 
 all can quench it at the spring which is transfixed 
 behind the post-office up yon." 
 
 Impatience controlled Parker's expression. His 
 heavy lids drooped over the searching look of his 
 eyes. Simultaneously his right hand slunk Into a 
 pocket of his knickers. 
 
 "Water is very well in a tub," he said. "What 
 I am asking you, as man to man, is where to get a 
 drink/' 
 
 A dollar bill was drawn from the checked depths, 
 to be smoothed out between the interlocutor's 
 palms. 
 
 "I reckon you ben't referencing to bust-head, now, 
 be you, cap'n?" asked the negro In an unctuous 
 voice. 
 
 "We'll christen It what you like, if you'll lead me 
 
 to It." 
 
 The mismated eyes remained on the green-back, 
 the thick lips pouched well over their ivories, the 
 black brow puckered in a cartoon of despair as Cot- 
 ton Eye replied: "In consideration of all the cir- 
 cumstantials, I 'spect we can't have the christening, 
 noway." 
 
 "What circumstances? Why can't we?" 
 
 "Cap'n, don't you-uns know that Nor' Carolina 
 is dry as the dust of a shank-bone?" 
 
 To Parker the reluctant admission was the whine 
 of his destiny, the wail of doom. It was true, then. 
 
24 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 even as Spencer Pope had declared? The prescrip- 
 tion for his own case, which he himself had sug- 
 gested that Spence and Sylvia dictate, had been 
 correctly filled. He would have to gulp down the 
 dose. 
 
 In that moment he realized that all along he had 
 been expecting to find some oasis in the Southern 
 Sahara to which he had been exiled. Yet he might 
 have known that Spencer, through his long service 
 in the Internal Revenue Department, with a best 
 friend's interests at heart, would make no error in 
 the geography of drought. 
 
 "Land sakes," insisted the little black, "them tar- 
 nal drys has done closed up even the 'spensary! 
 Leastwise '* 
 
 Something in the suspension of the last word, in 
 the cling of the batting eyes to his hand, in the lis- 
 tening turn of the outstanding ears gave Parker 
 hope. Deliberately he crumpled the dollar bill and 
 made a movement toward its retirement. 
 
 The stubbed hand twitched after it. 
 
 "I was about to say, cap'n, that if you meander 
 yourself, just casual-like, up to the post-office and 
 make known your hankerings to General Asa Simms, 
 him being mogul of the wets yerabouts, he might — 
 although yet again he mightn't — like the looks of 
 you-uns' personal appearance enough to '' 
 
 "He's got the red-eye on tap?" 
 
 The informant, having deposited the bill where 
 It might not easily be dislodged, leered humor- 
 ously. 
 
 "Now youVe sayed it! He's sure enough got the 
 red-eye." ^ ' 
 
 The post-office proved to be combined with a 
 
SATISFACTION SOUGHT 25 
 
 general store. On entering, Parker was annoyed 
 to see the girl who, In a way, had ushered him Into 
 Dismal Gap. Probably she had missed the "meet- 
 in' " she was to have kept — and on account of wash- 
 ing out his ears. In view of the urgency of his er- 
 rand and his Increased sense of obligation toward 
 her, her presence was most unfortunate. 
 
 She was seated on a stationary stool before the 
 counter, fingering a cluttered array of dry-goods. 
 The tall, gaunt-featured Individual leaning toward 
 her from behind the counter he assumed to be 
 "General" SImms, the master mogul who just might, 
 and yet again, might not embrace him in brotherly 
 love. 
 
 Neither looked up as he started across the floor, 
 a fact which seemed studied, if not more unpleas- 
 antly significant. Assuming what he hoped would 
 look an easy, waiting posture against the shelf be- 
 fore the mall wicket, he framed In his Intentions per- 
 functory words calculated to express gratitude to 
 her who had unbogged him. His debt to her must 
 be canceled. 
 
 While leaning and waiting, he began to notice 
 other things than the hair of her so Inappropriately 
 named for a mountain. Next to color, lines — so 
 read his litany. 
 
 And she had lines, other than those excellent ones 
 of white-stockinged leg. Her body, while slender to 
 thinness and crudely clad, showed not an offensive 
 angle. It had, rather, the sinuous yield of youth. 
 Her profile, as outlined against the gloom of the 
 store's Interior, was cut like a cameo — forehead 
 massed low with that marvelous hair, nose quite 
 straight and well sized, mouth short-lipped and gen- 
 
26 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 erous, chin strong, yet saved by the gracious, long 
 sweep of her throat. 
 
 Truly, even though in her "ornery'* nature she 
 might emulate the austerity of Mt. Vernaluska, the 
 namesake was pleasant enough to see ! Despite the 
 resentment of his inner man at her delay of his pres- 
 ent plans, he acknowledged that, as a creditor, she 
 might have been worse. 
 
 Although beyond the range of their lowered 
 voices, he could not help suspecting from the store- 
 keeper's indirect glances toward the door that him- 
 self and not the bolts of print-goods had become 
 the subject under discussion. This impression was 
 strengthened when the girl, without waiting to com- 
 plete any purchase, arose and started toward the 
 rear of the store, where an open door promised 
 egress. 
 
 Parker started after her. 
 
 "I beg pardon. Miss — Miss " he began. 
 
 She turned with an expression so surprised that 
 he could not be sure whether it was real or as- 
 sumed. 
 
 "You seem always to be going away" — when 
 he had bridged the space between them. "Down 
 the road you didn't give me time to ex- 
 press " 
 
 "What goes without expressing." Her interrup- 
 tion was put in that same modulated voice he had 
 appreciated even in his confused, earlier state. 
 "Don't you-all feel in my debt; the look of you had 
 done paid me in advance." 
 
 The look of him — had he, then, looked so ridi-' 
 culous before she had cleaned him up? Even so, 
 she needn't have reminded him. Why was she mak- 
 
SATISFACTION SOUGHT 27 
 
 ing it so uncommonly hard to thank her? They 
 usually wanted to be thanked, women. 
 
 ''Nevertheless, as an entire stranger and one not 
 addicted to mud baths so much as " 
 
 *'As you seem to be afflicted with loss of words,'* 
 she again made breezy interruption. "I know it 
 ain't good manners to mention such things, but I've 
 missed one meetin' on your account, and there'll be 
 a second if I don't shuffle along." 
 
 "So Tobe Riker steam.ed over a drop of truth for 
 once!" 
 
 Both turned at the entrance of a nev/ voice into 
 the parley. Just outside the door stood a young 
 man splendidly built and of more sophisticated ap- 
 pearance than any Parker had so far met in the re- 
 gion. 
 
 The exclamation itself was enough to identify 
 him. Evidently the stage-driver had met up with 
 the formidable Currie, about whom any stranger 
 was due to find out who tried "setting" up to his 
 lady of scorn. To judge by his looks, the man in 
 the door had heard the reason why Miss Metcalf 
 had failed to keep her appointment with him, and 
 felt "disgusted some." 
 
 At once the girl seemed to forget the beneficiary 
 of her accidental lapse, in obligation to him who had 
 lost thereby. 
 
 "Why didn't you wait. Rex? I wasn't such an 
 awful stretch late. Your temper's too quick. I 
 might have delayed leaving home; Solomon might 
 have taken a lay-me-down streak; a dozen things 
 might have been to blame." 
 
 The newcomer had removed his hat from a care- 
 fully-brushed shock of dark brown hair and stepped 
 
28 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 into the room. Parker noticed that he wore his 
 *'store" clothes well, that his cheerful-hued tie was 
 not of the ready-knotted variety, that his short mus- 
 tache was properly trimmed. He was, on the whole, 
 rather exceptionally handsome, with bold, but well- 
 cut features, gray eyes of a fiery, restless expression 
 and sensitive mouth. Amusing that the leathern- 
 skinned little whip should hope for a chance against 
 this young Adonis ! 
 
 "A dozen regular things might have been to blame 
 for sure, Verney, only they weren't," he was saying. 
 *'rm a right fair waiter where you're concerned, 
 but I've got my limits." 
 
 "Sorry to have been the cause of deranging the 
 plans of you good folks," Parker spoke up pleas- 
 antly. "Quite — quite inadvertant, I assure you." 
 
 Currle met this overture in good part. "No par- 
 ticular harm has been done — "jet!^ 
 
 In the pause which doubly emphasized the three- 
 lettered suggestion, his glance returned to the girl, 
 whose face now showed a faint flush, perhaps in 
 resentment of what he had implied, rather than said. 
 The smile with which she favored Parker took his 
 breath. 
 
 "I trust you don't suffer none — not even headache 
 — from your spill?" 
 
 The eyes of the camouflaged hillbilly, which had 
 moved from one to the other, seemed to take fire, 
 although he still maintained his tolerant manner. 
 
 "And now, hon, if you've said enough pretties to 
 the stranger, let's be moving if I'm to ride home 
 with you. Glad to have met you, stranger, and 
 good-by." 
 
 "Whysaygood-by?" 
 
SATISFACTION SOUGHT 29 
 
 Parker's question went unanswered and not be- 
 cause put in such banal form. He saw that some 
 other question was at issue, one in which he had 
 no voice. Currie had laid a persuasive hand upon 
 the girl's arm, only to have it vigorously shaken off. 
 
 "Hon?" she repeated, her voice whittled to the 
 edge with which she had nipped Tobe Riker. "Since 
 when " 
 
 But she seemed to think better of a public re- 
 buke. With a shrug, she continued her interrupted 
 progress toward the rear door. On the sill she 
 paused, turned and, in very face of her splendid 
 looking suitor's resentment, sent Parker another 
 of those pulse-stirring smiles. 
 
 Not until after she had passed into the yard, after 
 he had nodded automatically to Currie and seen 
 the last of the powerful back disappearing in her 
 wake, did Parker move. He was absorbed in 
 thoughts about that smile of hers, in conjecture over 
 just what combinations of form and color made it 
 so radiant, in deliberate effort to store the first im- 
 pression of it in a brain-cell from which it might be 
 taken out later at will. Such life, youth, tenderness 
 was in it — could it be reproduced in oils? 
 
 His appreciation was in no way spoiled by know- 
 ing that it had not been meant for him, really. Al- 
 though focused directly upon him, her eyes had 
 been as elusive as seemed her disposition, their ex- 
 pression as impersonal as might have been those of 
 a model posing for that especial effect. She had 
 smiled on him, he knew, to punish her admirer for 
 assumption of an authority over her which evidently 
 she had not given him — yet. 
 
 And it was a good thing she had not meant It for 
 
30 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 him — ^that would have Increased his obligation. But 
 what if he hadn't deposited it safe in that memory 
 cell? 
 
 Already the vitality of It was slipping from him, 
 
 now that she had gone. Just possibly Well, 
 
 he might need to see that smile again. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 STRANGER UNWELCOME 
 
 *Tes, sir?" 
 
 The succinct question startled Parker from his 
 thoughts — returned them with a swallow to his mo- 
 mentarily forgotten quest. He found that the lank 
 proprietor, who had been occupied during the back- 
 door colloquy rewinding print-bolts and restoring 
 them to the shelves, now stood In the aisle behind 
 him. In the voice was no trace of the mountain 
 drawl which he was coming to take for granted; 
 rather, it had a pronounced Yankee twang. A pair 
 of pale-gray eyes were fixed upon him in an intense 
 look. 
 
 "I assume," Parker began, "that you are Post- 
 master SImms?" 
 
 *'You assume correctly, both as to my name and 
 office. If you are expecting mail, there's none for 
 you." 
 
 At this curt reply to a query unasked Parker 
 forced an increase of friendliness into his manner. 
 
 *'But how can you be sure when you don't know 
 my name?" he suggested engagingly. 
 
 Simm's attitude did not change. *'This office 
 pigeon-holes no mail to-day addressed to persons not 
 known to me. Any other business?'* 
 
 He who had such urgent ''other business" tried 
 
 31 
 
32 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 to silence the demands of the comptroller within 
 himself, tried for finesse. It was evident that Simms 
 did not take to him at first glance, was not going 
 to embrace him fraternally. He was accustomed to 
 having people like him; he must explain his pres- 
 ence, ingratiate himself. 
 
 "I'm a stranger in your village, Mr. Simms — Cal- 
 vin A. Parker, a well-meaning painter of pictures 
 who " 
 
 *'Who wouldn't have to be very good to be bet- 
 ter than those who have come to these parts before. 
 Artist? Well, you look it!" 
 
 The comptroller reminded Parker that everything 
 depended on his seeming good nature. "I had some- 
 thing of a shake-up just outside the village; got 
 chucked into the ditch from " 
 
 "Verney Metcalf told me all about that. I find 
 myself right busy this afternoon." 
 
 Again the mogul of the wets had cut him off. 
 
 "I hoped you might be able to tell me of some 
 cabin not too far back in the Blue Ridge which I 
 could rent for the summer." 
 
 "And what do you want a cabin for?" 
 
 Into this doubtful conversational overture Parker 
 plunged. "I'm keen about hunting, for one thing.'* 
 
 "This section's all hunted out, sir. There ain't 
 enough game left for folks that live here and have 
 a right to it. You'd find better hunting elsewhere^ 
 say, down In the Tusqulte or the Nantahala coun- 
 try." 
 
 "But killing is not my chief vice. What I came 
 for is to get some of your Blue Ridge colors on can- 
 vas." 
 
 Slmms's head threw back and his unpleasantly 
 
STRANGER UNWELCOME 33 
 
 long nose Inflated. *'WeVe had artists here before, 
 I tell you, and they were none too popular.'* 
 
 "Was their work so bad?" 
 
 The self-declared member of the profession was 
 determined to bear up to the last. 
 
 *Tt wasn't their work so much, young fellow. It's 
 just that painting In general ain't good hereabouts. 
 I don't mind at all telling you this gratis." 
 
 Parker bowed his acknowledgments. 
 
 "Aside from the reasons mentioned, Mr. SImms, 
 I think a few months In your mountains will bene- 
 fit my health. I hoped you might happen to know 
 of " 
 
 The postmaster, In his next interruption, assumed 
 the gravity of a physician when he advises a patient 
 to make his will. 
 
 "Health? Don't you ever believe it. Whoever 
 told you that must have had evil designs on you. 
 This Is a most unhealthy country for strangers. 
 After I moved here from Vermont, I was five years 
 getting acclimated. Besides which, there ain't any 
 cabin vacant. Since the State went dry we've been 
 shaking hands with prosperity, and every hut is 
 chock-a-block, for a fact." 
 
 The Pharisaical expression and devout delivery 
 of this last discouragement might have overcome 
 Parker's doubts had not his nostrils collected certain 
 whiffs of adverse testimony. The postmaster's 
 breath was unmistakable — a complete vindication of 
 Cotton Eye's tribute, "mogul of the wets." 
 
 "Almost do you make me believe," he said more 
 cheerfully, "that strangers are unwelcome in Dismal 
 Gap." 
 
 "Almost do you get me right." For the moment 
 
34 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Simms's manner approached graciousness. "Mildly 
 speaking, strangers are unwelcome. You wouldn't 
 be likely to enjoy a visit here — certainly not in those 
 clothes — hunting either pictures or health." 
 
 ^'Somehow, I'm not so sure — even In thes^ 
 clothes." The young man smoothed his left sleevfe 
 with his right hand respectingly. 
 
 "Anyway, there's no empty cabin for you," 
 snapped the postmaster. 
 
 All through the interview those other Parkers 
 had been advising their descendant. Now they 
 nudged him, warned him not to lose his temper. His 
 manner did them proud. 
 
 "At least there is no necessity for me to leave 
 Mrs. Plott's before I can have a tent sent over from 
 the city. Thanks for your cordial reception, Mr. 
 Simms." 
 
 His real "business" unbroached, he left the store. 
 Fractious as were certain of his sensibilities over the 
 failure of his errand, others were diverted. Did 
 they think him a yeggman, a jail-bird, or what? 
 Had Tobe Riker preceded his passenger to the vil- 
 lage court of appeals to protect his own heart in- 
 terest? Or could it be that Vernaluska Metcalf 
 herself had turned down those long, strong thumbs 
 of hers at the calico counter before King Currie had 
 appeared to "rile" her Into that wonderful smile? 
 
 He was about to repass the dried-up dispensary 
 where, a short while before, he had awakened Cot- 
 ton Eye Lee and a breastful of hope, when the light 
 burst upon him with radium strength. He stopped 
 short, began to grin, lifted his eyes. From out the 
 clear he saw why he was stranger unwelcome in 
 Dismal Gap. 
 
STR.\NGER UNWELCOME 35 
 
 His whole past life seemed to have been but pref- 
 ace to the present moment — this culminative, thrill- 
 ing, delicious moment. He had been reading a 
 book, at it were, whose elaborate preparation had 
 educated him up to full enjoyment of an incompara- 
 bly humorous denouement. Moved by a desire to 
 luxuriate in it, he strode to the stoop, worn down by 
 the boots of thirsty hillbillies in the wet, wet days 
 gone, never to return. There he settled, before 
 yielding to the emotion already agitating him. 
 
 Chuckles began to escape him, interspersed with 
 ejaculations, although there was none to hear along 
 the empty street. 
 
 "I declare! I do declare! So that's it? I get 
 the whole thing now — such an utterly funny thing. 
 Me to be taken for — for that! Shades of Sylvia 
 and Spence — zihat would they say?" 
 
 In the very onrush of his paroxysms of mirth he 
 strangled them in order the more calmly to realize 
 their cause. 
 
 He, Calvin A. Parker, had been sent into the 
 mountains of North Carolina to get beyond tempta- 
 tion. Spencer Pope, collector of internal revenue, 
 supposed to know the region, had selected it. But 
 Spencer, blinded by confidence In the enforcement 
 of the excise laws, had overlooked a thing or two 
 or three. In the choice of an alleged bone-dry ter- 
 ritory as the stage of a fight for abstinence, he had 
 failed to consider the possibility of an illicit liquor 
 traffic. 
 
 And here were the woods so full of moonshine 
 that he — subject of the experiment — had at once 
 come under the suspicion which had wronged so 
 many strangers before him, none of whom could 
 
36 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 possibly have been as Innocent of hostile intent, as 
 kindly disposed toward the regional industry as he. 
 He — "poor Cal Parker" — to be taken for a revenue 
 sleuth I 
 
 But anyhow, anyhow No diagram of his dis- 
 covery, no tracing of its side-issues could expand 
 the delicious irony of that first perception. There 
 was he, wreck of a great name, ruin of a career, sent 
 into the hills to forget "the curse"; and here had 
 he walked, straight as though following a call, into 
 its birth-place, where it best might be remembered. 
 His dear, delightful curse 1 
 
 What a joke — what a joke — on Sylvia and Spen- 
 cer back in old New York; on Tobe Riker and Asa 
 Simms and Rex Currie ; on all the Red-Blue Ridgers 
 here at hand. 
 
 And what a game had been given him to play I 
 The dire suspicion that he was an official fighter 
 of the demon he had blindly served — he must not 
 disturb that, since its hazard was the quip. Would 
 he play? Well, now! Even without his desire to 
 perpetuate on canvas a really vital smile, the pros- 
 pect captivated him. 
 
 His chuckles developed until he held both sides 
 with his hands In an effort to control them. Next 
 breath, giving up to the irresistible, he began to 
 rock back and forth. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" escaped him In mezzo voce; then: 
 *'Ho, ho!" In bass. 
 
 He laughed and laughed — ^until he held on to the 
 floor. More and more regardless rose his voice, 
 quite as though he were alone in the village. 
 
 "Well, stranger, you seem to be enjoying your- 
 self!" 
 
STRANGER UNWELCOME 37 
 
 It was a voice he had heard somewhere before, 
 a strong, humorous, yet caustic voice, that put the 
 silencer upon Parker's risibihties. Opening his eyes 
 he perceived a long shadow before him; lifting them, 
 he saw Rex Currie standing in the road, interestedly 
 regarding him. 
 
 *'Oh, how do you do? I — I am." Parker 
 smoothed out his features, struggled for coherence. 
 *'You — you know, I can see a joke when it's poked 
 right at me." 
 
 *'So can I," offered Currie, still eying him. 
 
 *'I thought you were in such a hurry to go home 
 with the girl of the — with Miss Metcalf." 
 
 *'I was, but I sighted some unfinished business 
 that's delayed me a spell. Don't let me cork your 
 enjoyment." The handsome suitor of the girl of 
 the smile positively scowled as he added: "I reckon 
 you're entitled to enjoy yourself — ivhile yoii can!" 
 
 After which Impressive observance he nodded, 
 started up the street, disappeared within the em- 
 porium of Asa Simms. 
 
 ^'While you canF^ The echo jeered In the mind 
 of Calvin Parker, again headed toward the Hotel 
 Plott. 
 
 ^^YetT* The same emphasis had been given one 
 word back In the store. 
 
 There had been reason enough for him to *'cork" 
 his enjoyment In that he seldom felt like doing things 
 he was told to do. Currie had advised him to laugh 
 on, hence he had ceased. 
 
 But why should the grim note In a strange coun- 
 tryman's voice blunt the point of the joke — his In- 
 comparable joke? 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 GLORY be! 
 
 At the house of Plott, down the street, ''she*' had 
 returned from her mission, as Parker was appraised 
 before he had opportunity to turn the knob of the 
 front door. Scarcely, indeed, had his foot lifted to 
 the porch level when the portal threw open and a 
 wisp-woman in black and white — homespun black of 
 dress, starched white of collar and cuffs — rushed at 
 him. 
 
 Of her Identity there could be no doubt. Her cor- 
 dial, outstretched hands, the lack of reservation in 
 her smile, the beam of her brown eyes behind sil- 
 ver-rimmed spectacles — all would have proclaimed 
 her one of the ''aunts" of the world. And when 
 she spoke, the name "Hootie" fitted, no matter what 
 its derivation or acquired meaning. 
 
 "Welcome, friend Parker!" she exclaimed. 
 
 Her voice was peculiar — Southern-soft, yet high- 
 pitched — a sort of muffled staccato. 
 
 "After looking forward to your arrival so anx- 
 iously," she continued, "it seems too bad that I could 
 not have been here to greet you. Many as are 
 Hezekiah's virtues, he sometimes fails in cordiality. 
 Of course, poor man, it's only natural that his pro- 
 fession should harden him to the finer feelings of 
 others. But, whatever comes, we're both on your 
 side, which is the right side, glory be !'* 
 
GLORY BE! 39 
 
 On the printed page, these remarks are punctuated 
 according to custom; as Mrs. Plott delivered them, 
 they were hooted without a pause. 
 
 Parker could have found no place to interrupt, 
 even had he wished to do so. In truth, his mind was 
 fully engaged with the jig-saw puzzle her words pre- 
 sented — the "friend Parker" of her opening, the dec- 
 laration that she had been expecting him, the refer- 
 ence to their companionable stand on the side of 
 ''right." Glory be — that expressed it. 
 
 "I — I fear there has been some mistake," he in- 
 terpolated when able. 
 
 Reproach entered, but did not mar the gracious- 
 ness of her expression. 
 
 *'I reckon it is short notice to expect you to trust 
 me, but you don't look like a person slow at learning. 
 Time is all-important and " 
 
 *'But I could not have been expected," he was so 
 successful as to interrupt, "and I never take sides 
 when any one but myself is concerned. Certainly I 
 can't lay claim to virtues which " 
 
 "Oh, you jewel — you jewel! He wouldn't for 
 anything let his right hand know, would he, now?" 
 
 Her manner was nothing short of rapturous. 
 Clamping his arm with a grip that was violence as 
 contrasted with her bird claw of a hand, she propel- 
 led him across the porch and through the doorway 
 into the hall. 
 
 "Let my right know?'* he muttered, rather stu- 
 pidly, en route, 
 
 "Oh, you jewel!" she hooted. "Now don't you 
 say another word ! Pve got a-plenty more than five 
 senses, and I understand — understand to the fullest 
 degree. You're just what I prayed you'd be. You're 
 
40 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 deep, but I see down Into you. I see victory ahead 
 if only you won't be too drastic at the start. You've 
 got to promise your Aunt Hootle right here and now 
 that you'll be mighty careful." 
 
 That warning again! 
 
 *'Madam," he began in as sane and commonplace 
 a manner as he could command, "your advice is the 
 third such I have received since my arrival in Dis- 
 mal Gap a couple of hours ago; may I so far tres- 
 pass upon your kindness as to inquire why and of 
 just what I should be careful?" 
 
 "Superb ! You sure enough will fill the bill. The 
 set of your jaw foretells the end. You'll win your 
 fight." 
 
 These ejaculations were backward-flung, as the 
 little lady tripped along the hall toward that "best 
 room" door. 
 
 Parker followed, but not until he had directed 
 the inquiring look of one man just meeting another 
 into his reflection in the small hat-rack mirror. 
 
 Back in the room that was temporarily his own 
 by right of rental, he listened to her from the perch 
 she had selected on the edge of the bed with the 
 growing conviction that the face he had seen in the 
 mirror was a strange one. 
 
 "I've tidied things up as best I might. As I said 
 to Hezekiah, we can't do too much for a young man 
 who is taking his very life in his hands. At least 
 you will have the bulwark of our prayers and all 
 the encouragement of our loyal hearts, which may 
 help a little, even though a fight in behalf of right 
 is always its own best reward." 
 
 Parker slumped into a rocking-chair. Stretching 
 open his large palms, he examined their emptiness 
 
GLORY BE! 41 
 
 curiously. Just what they had told him at home — 
 his hfe, his future he must take into his own hands. 
 Just what Sylvia had told him at the last meeting, 
 although couched In different words — that the most 
 earnest well-wishes of her heart would go with him, 
 but that his victory must needs be his reward, since 
 he had proved to their world that she was not 
 enough. He must fight out his fight in new scenes, 
 alone; that was what they all had agreed. 
 
 Yet what could this wisp-woman know about It? 
 Never, except that last awful once, had he brooked 
 discussion of his — well, his peculiarity. 
 
 He straightened in his seat, gazed across at 
 her. 
 
 **I fear you're suffering some misapprehension as 
 to my Identity, Mrs. Plott. I'm just a more-or-less 
 Inoffensive citizen, visiting the Blue Ridge for the 
 first time in my life on business which concerns none 
 but myself. Dismal Gap happened to be recom- 
 mended to me by a friend named Pope, because 
 he " 
 
 "Pope — Spencer Pope? I hoped It — I knew It!" 
 
 Her state of ecstasy seemed to have reached a 
 superlative degree. She clasped thin arms across 
 a thin chest and hugged herself, her brown eyes held 
 dotingly on him the while. 
 
 Parker's small accession of dignity deserted, leav- 
 ing him with a helpless feeling. "You — you know 
 Spencer?" 
 
 ^^Knozv him? Didn't he board with us for months 
 over at Killpeter Cove, when Hezekiah and I first 
 came down from Virginia, looking for a cavity — a 
 dental opening?" 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me," queried Parker In 
 
42 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 turn, *'that Pope has written you — told you that 
 I was coming, and w^hy?" 
 
 The brown-gray head wagged slyly. "It Is enough 
 to know that he sent you — enough for any of us 
 stalwart drys !" 
 
 She favored him with a confidential smile. Addi- 
 tionally, one of her eyelids fluttered downward in 
 what looked very like a wink of reassurance. 
 
 To Parker there came a new conviction. She, too, 
 believed him a revenue sleuth! 
 
 *'DId you," she asked, with Intentional Irrelevance, 
 "take to Hezeklah? There is a man for you! 
 ^Strength of the Lord' is what his name means, and 
 never in all our married years has he been daunted 
 by the stubbornest root set In human gums, no more 
 than he has so far capitulated to the Demon Rum 
 as to let a drop of intoxicating liquor pass his 
 lips." 
 
 "How unfortunate that all men have not Hez- 
 eklah's advantages!" Reduced to flattery in the 
 emergency, Parker focused upon her his peculiarly 
 winning smile. "A woman of your sort must — must 
 change a man vastly." 
 
 "In your case," she added, "I appreciate a differ- 
 ence. Hezeklah needs nerve, to be sure, jerking 
 teeth; but you need nerve of a different sort, bat- 
 tling for the right with these blockaders. What 
 with all that's ahead of you, with the necessity of 
 absolute self-control, with one emergency close after 
 the one that's gone before — well, I believe you ought 
 to be allowed anything that helps you. In you I 
 could even excuse the occasional use of a drop or 
 two of alcoholic spirits — of course, for medicinal 
 purposes only — to strengthen those poor nerves of 
 
GLORY BE! 43 
 
 yours, which must be frazzled at times, the life you 
 lead." 
 
 No matter how much the little woman was mis- 
 taken in him, she spoke truly. His nerves were 
 frazzled — and from the life he had led! Could he 
 convince her of this? Dared he put her broad- 
 mindedness to an immediate test? 
 
 *'If it weren't for our nerves, life would be a 
 different sort of thing, wouldn't it?" he began, al- 
 lowing his smile to deepen, to quiver, as if strug- 
 gling to survive against odds. He grasped the sup- 
 port of the rocker arms. "You may have heard how 
 I was dumped off the stage to-day. I'm ashamed of 
 the way I feel, but I'm not overly strong and I — 1 
 have had a most trying " 
 
 His voice dwindled; his eyes closed; he looked 
 overcome. 
 
 Aunt Hootie sped to him, seized and began to 
 chafe his hands, demonstrated anew the appropriate- 
 ness of her title. 
 
 "You poor boy — you poor, brave boy!" she ex- 
 claimed. "You must lie flat and get rested up. And 
 you need something to brace you. Would you now 
 — do you think a little sip of spirits — just a thim- 
 bleful — y/ould strengthen you?" 
 
 Parker shrank back, as if to ward off a re- 
 pugnant suggestion. Then : "It — it might," he ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 She hastened away. He kept his eyes closed until 
 he heard her in the hall, opened them to gaze around 
 him dazedly. 
 
 Was he dreaming some bright dream? Or was 
 it true that the despairing demands of the comp- 
 troller within were about to be supplied from the 
 
44 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 very least likely source? He moistened his parched 
 lips in anticipation. 
 
 Canceled were the obligations he had acknowl- 
 edged to Sylvia, the vows he had made to her and 
 Spencer Pope after that last, humiliating night In 
 New York. What was a fellow's obligation toward 
 others, compared with that toward himself? 
 
 Exorcised was the spirit that had incited him 
 to fling from a Pullman window the half-emptied 
 flask which Spencer mercifully had slipped him at 
 the last. What was any new resolve compared to 
 the screaming need of all past years? 
 
 Total abstinence was not a man's vow, ran his 
 mental argument. It was an acknowledgment of 
 weakness rather than of strength. He would work 
 out his own salvation, yes; but work it out according 
 to deep-deduced theories of his own. Wine was 
 good and meant for the use of mankind, just as 
 were other fruits of the earth. He would learn its 
 proper usage, would learn control. He would parse 
 for Spencer and Sylvia the meaning of the word 
 temperance. What was there In life If one might 
 not have his cake and nibble at It, too? 
 
 She was returning, Aunt Hootle. Her light, 
 decisive footsteps were loudening toward him from 
 the hall. His spirits chirked up at the sound; a great 
 affection for her was prematurely born. Dear, 
 quaint, kind Aunt Hootle — to think that she of all 
 the world should be the self-elected pharmacist to 
 revise the prescription especially written for him! 
 
 His eyes were again closed as she hurried to him, 
 but closed over exultation. In one glance he had 
 seen and measured the bottle she carried — a pint 
 container, or he never had emptied one — nearly full 
 
GLORY BE I 45 
 
 of red-brown liquid. His hands wavered toward 
 her, in one the wash-stand tumbler, of which he had 
 possessed himself. But i 
 
 "Better let me pour it, friend Parker. How many 
 drops?" 
 
 Horrified, he heard her question. His lids flashed 
 up over eyes swimming in the moisture of unfeigned 
 agony. He saw that she held in her other hand an 
 eye-cup half full of water and a medicine dropper. 
 He groaned aloud as he sank, limp and despairing, 
 back into the chair. The tumbler fell w^ith a small 
 crash to the floor. 
 
 Although far from a ruse on his part, this dem- 
 onstration had a magical effect upon the nurse of 
 medicinal intent. She proved herself an advocate 
 of heroic treatment. Flitting to the wash-stand, 
 she laid down the dropper, emptied into the pitcher 
 the water from the eye-cup, poured it full of un- 
 diluted whisky,, forced It to the lips of him In so 
 pitiful a state of collapse. 
 
 "Poor, brave boy — you sure do need the medi- 
 cine!" ; 
 
 Parker drained the draft, waited a few seconds, 
 glanced up at her with gratitude too vital for w^ords. 
 
 No matter what called — "medicine," "drops," 
 "curse" — the liquor she had supplied was beyond 
 criticism, even from him. It was mellow, dynamic, 
 smooth. It aroused the necessity for more. 
 
 "I — I seem to be coming 'round," he faltered. 
 "You are very good to me. So sorry to worry you. 
 That spilx from the stage must have jolted me worse 
 than I realized. Perhaps if I forced down another, 
 I— I " 
 
 An Imperative knocK on the front door sounded. 
 
46 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 In the act of measuring him a second dose, Aunt 
 Hootie paused. She glanced at him anxiously, 
 handed him both cup and bottle, hurried into the 
 hall. 
 
 On her return she must have seen that he had 
 not suffered from her enforced neglect. Relief, per- 
 haps, blinded her to the fact that the liquid for 
 medicinal purposes only, whose bottle now stood 
 upon the wash-hand-stand, had lost the red-brown 
 richness of its color. Rather, it was a pale, trans- 
 lucent amber. 
 
 "If you feel well enough *' She hesitated, 
 
 one hand held behind her. *'It seems very strange 
 that we heard the knock, but not any steps on the 
 stoop. Not a soul was there when I opened. I 
 found this tucked under the sill — a letter addressed 
 to you.'* 
 
 The incident did seem strange, even before he 
 tore open the flap. *'Mr. C. A. Parker, Care of His 
 Friends,'* was scrawled across the envelope. After 
 he had read the contents once to himself, he reread 
 them aloud: 
 
 "C. A. Parker, New York. 
 
 "Sir: We know you. The stage leaves for the railroad 
 at 3 P.M. A word is supposed to be sufficient to the wise. 
 You ain't wise, so we write you several. Unless you hanker 
 to ride out in a box, youll heed them. 
 
 "Folks That Say What They Mean 
 AND Mean What They Say." 
 
 When Parker glanced up, he saw tha' a look of 
 positive terror was distorting Mrs. Plott's face. 
 Both hands were clawed into the neat white collar 
 at her throat. 
 
GLORY BE! 47 
 
 *'A11, all is lost!" she cried. "They have recog- 
 nized you." 
 
 "Everybody seems to have recognized me except 
 myself." 
 
 He achieved his feet and gazed around uncertain- 
 ly, as if returned by the note to his "frazzled" state. 
 
 "Undoubtedly they are aware of your mission." 
 
 "In that, too, they have the advantage over me." 
 
 She began to hurry about the room. 
 
 "A terrible advantage — that is certainly so !" she 
 exclaimed, ignoring what evidently she regarded as 
 camouflage. "They mean to do you up unless you 
 go at once. Far be it from us to add another victim 
 to the score ! That clock is right — I set it this A.M. 
 It is ten of three now. Here, I'll help you pack! 
 It will be all you can do to make the stage." 
 
 Parker seemed to be estimating the value of lug- 
 gage against that of life. 
 
 "All I can do, // I pack. But why take unneces- 
 sary risks? Three, you say? I — I guess I won^t 
 wait!" 
 
 Suddenly bereft of audience, the little lady stood 
 gaping in the direction of his sudden disappearance, 
 hooting mentally and regretfully. 
 
 What a shame it was — and he had looked such 
 a jewel! Yet she couldn't blame any one fleeing 
 those liquor-maddened fiends of hell. Would the 
 drys never be able to stifle the deadly fumes? Poor 
 boy, he sure was a wreck from the life he had led! 
 She had best be packing up his traps ; he would likely 
 mail her an address. What a narrow escape ! 
 
CHAPTER Y 
 
 DEPARTURE DELAYED 
 
 'Repairs to the faulty axle of the Concord relic 
 had been rushed by the village smith; so that, on the 
 stroke of three, the stage driver pulled up with a 
 flourish before the post-office and general store. 
 The lean mail-bag tossed him by Asa Simms he 
 stowed beneath the box and reached for the whip, 
 in preparation for a dashing start on his return 
 trip. 
 
 *'Hold your bosses, Tobe !" The advice came 
 from Rex Currie who stood, magnificently indolent, 
 leaning against a post of the high porch. "I've got 
 an idea you needn't be lonesome on the back-drive.*' 
 
 The little whip showed both surprise and impa- 
 tience. After the super-effort of himself and the 
 smithy, it seemed a shame to be delayed. But he 
 wound the reins around the whip-stock, flopped his 
 legs over the end of the seat, severed a generous quid 
 from a black square of plug. 
 
 "You-uns don't be meaning the same dude I brung 
 out?" he asked, his "chaw" well under way. 
 
 Currie nodded. 
 
 "The identical dude. Cotton Eye ought to be 
 back any minute now from delivering him an invite 
 to repair at once to a party at Anywheres-Else. Un- 
 less I miss a guess, we-all will be favored before 
 long by the sight of him making going-away-from- 
 
 48 
 
DEPARTURE DELAYED 49 
 
 here signals. Asa and the rest of us won't be dis- 
 gusted none If you spread thick your remarks to him 
 about what a plumb desperate population lives 
 around the Gap." 
 
 *'You-all can count on me, I reckon." 
 
 Riker's assurance was what had been expected 
 of him. In his general utility vocation, he had tried 
 to assume neutrality between the factions which had 
 long been reaching for each other's throats; but at 
 heart, both from inclination and practice, he was 
 known by the wets to be one of them. 
 
 Provided with his orders and his audience of 
 one, he might be relied upon, unhampered by con- 
 scientious scruples, to depict the fate of a prying 
 foreigner as desperate Indeed. Since the drys, sing- 
 ing hymns of victory, had swept the State with their 
 official ban against intoxicants In any form, the dis- 
 tillers and distributers of contrabrand had been hard 
 put — that Tobe knew as well as they. Before the 
 "bone," their traffic had been IlHcit only against the 
 Federal law. Now they were criminals in the eyes 
 also of the State, forced to *Vatch both ways to 
 onct," as old Tom Metcalf put it when railing 
 against the signs of the time. 
 
 Prohibitlonal progress, however, was not without 
 Its advantages, even to the wets. ^'Outside liquor," 
 in which the Federal government had lost Interest 
 on payment of the revenue tax, was now a common- 
 wealth "outlaw," expensive when it could be had at 
 all. Inside, or "domestic dew," therefore, was in 
 greater demand than before and, by natural law, its 
 under-cover market price higher. Blockading prom- 
 ised increasingly lucrative returns, could the Indus^ 
 try but survive the double hazard. 
 
so FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 That It should survive was exactly what the drys 
 of Dismal Gap, backed by their State and National 
 societies, were determined against. Local bitterness 
 had festered Into a sore. Long since, members of 
 the two sides had ceased to be on speaking terms, 
 except to bandy threats. Any moment might break 
 out a contagion of violence. 
 
 To the arguments of Rex Currle and SImms, Tobe 
 bowed perforce. Hadn't certain sisters of the dry 
 battalion unwisely divulged that a revenuer was ex- 
 pected soon? Hadn't the day's arrival gone straight 
 to the house of Plott — ^the fact made none the less 
 significant by Tobe's recommendation of that "only" 
 hotel? Hadn't his first move on reappearing on 
 Trade Street been to quiz a negro as to where he 
 might buy liquor? Hadn't his answers to Asa SImms 
 been downright unsubstantial? As for the laughing 
 fit which Rex had Interrupted, how else could that 
 be Interpreted than as exultation over anticipated 
 victory? 
 
 The case seemed conclusive. Undoubtedly the 
 "dude" was the oflicer expected, even though his 
 cock-sure ways and antiquated subterfuge of a mis- 
 sion in the name of "art" were not exactly compli- 
 mentary either to his Intelligence or theirs. He de- 
 served the "Invite" to leave for "Anywheres-Else" 
 which Rex Currle, his natural animosity fired by a 
 certain Titian flare, had written so immediately and 
 so well. 
 
 From within the store Cotton Eye Lee now shuf- 
 fled. 
 
 "I've done earned that swiggle according to in- 
 structificatlons, boss," he announced. "I slips the 
 communicant under the door, knocks good and loud, 
 
DEPARTURE DELAYED 51 
 
 then ducks under the porch for a hide-out." 
 
 "Are you sure they heard you?" rasped Slmms. 
 
 *'Sure, gen'l. By identification of both eyes, don't 
 I see Mis' Plott herself take in the doo-billy? And 
 don't I come back-way to this here oasis with my 
 
 tongue rusty-eating for that there Oh, Lord! 
 
 Oh, oh. Lord!" 
 
 Up the road and coming toward them, his mis- 
 mated eyes had sighted the ponderous figure of Colo- 
 nel "Dry" Dryden, acknowledged leader of the Pro- 
 hibs and present employer of his next-to-worthless 
 self. One bound gained him the cover of the store- 
 room, whose back door provided a short-cut to the 
 Dryden place on the hill and the field in which he 
 was supposed to be at work. 
 
 The unceremonious departure of their black emis- 
 sary in nowise disturbed the three before the Simms 
 emporium, but the near approach of their most pow- 
 erful opponent did. 
 
 Rex Currie's habit of leadership it was that met 
 the emergency. 
 
 "Old Dry's headed for Plott's, and he'll stop the 
 slick going out," he declared. "He mustn't get that 
 far. The only neutral here assembled is you, Tobe; 
 see you turn him back!" 
 
 The wit of the small driver proved large. 
 
 "Howdy, colonel! Howdy!" called he. "I just 
 rid in a passenger what was a-looking for you-all. 
 Sent him up yon way, without an idee you'd be 
 coming down this here one. Hope he ain't got lost. 
 Mighty sorry. Colonel." 
 
 "I'm obliged to you, suh, just the same," returned 
 Dryden, a pronouncedly Southern personage, from 
 well-shod feet to grizzled goatee. "I was expecting 
 
52 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 a visitor, but thought he must be delayed. I'll 
 take the trail home; likely I'll find him already 
 there." 
 
 Without deigning a glance toward the two be- 
 nighted wets on the porch, although proved the 
 keener to their presence on that account, the leader 
 of the drys started on the back road. 
 
 "Right neat, Tobe. I'm obliged to you, suh,'* 
 mimicked Currie, adding, after a glance down the 
 street: "And In the last tick of time you were. 
 Look!" 
 
 Parker was hurrying toward them, as If afraid 
 he might be too late. Sighting the stage, his pace 
 slowed. 
 
 "I'm a-walting for you-uns; climb right up !" The 
 driver's greeting was embellished by a leathery leer. 
 "I sure admire to have company, and swear not to 
 chuck you Into a nary ditch this time." 
 
 Well it was that Currie and Simms wore their 
 "poker faces" ; they needed the protection on hearing 
 the "slick's" reply. 
 
 "Decent of you to wait, Riker, but I'm not leav- 
 ing to-day." 
 
 "What — ^you going to leave me to the company of 
 just boss flies?" complained the wily whip. 
 
 "Sorry to deprive you — or any one who wants It — 
 of my company; but I've sighted some unfinished 
 business." 
 
 Although Parker did not glance at the originator 
 of his phrase, the hillbilly eased himself ofi the stoop 
 and picked up a short length of rope which lay upon 
 the ground, as though moved to some sort of action 
 by embarrassment. 
 
 "Ain't you forgetting, Asa," he reminded the 
 
DEPARTURE DELAYED 53 
 
 emporium's owner, *'that blanket you promised to 
 send down to the Corners by Tobe?" 
 
 SImms, still on the high stoop, looked his per- 
 plexity for a moment; the next his cadaverous face 
 lighted. 
 
 "Holy hemlock, I'd forgotten entire !" he; ex- 
 claimed with unwonted animation. "Wait a half- 
 second longer, Tobe." 
 
 He sHthered into the store. 
 
 Parker, meantime, had recognized the hillbilly's 
 presence with a friendly nod. "Since Riker is good 
 enough to say my not going Is a loss, may I hope 
 that you consider my staying a gain? We have so 
 much in common, you and I, we ought to get along 
 splendidly." 
 
 "In common?" 
 
 Currle flashed him a revealing look. His instant 
 thought of the mountain girl — his suspicion that she 
 was being referred to — showed in the color that 
 spread forward from his stiff-set neck. 
 
 "Why, yes," Parker explained. "Although so 
 lately Introduced, we have seen that we both appre- 
 ciate an amusing situation, haven't we? And we 
 both have found unfinished business in Dismal Gap." 
 
 "It ain't any dusting of salt to me, stranger, what 
 that business of yours Is or Isn't, so I can't see that 
 It's a comman interest." Currle stepped negligently 
 forward as he spoke, the while winding the rope in 
 a loose coil in the abstracted way of one given to 
 neatness. "Howsomever, leaving me out of it, you 
 had best not count on being pestered to a frazzle 
 with the glad mit hereabouts." 
 
 "And you're worried about me?'* Parker asked, 
 backing toward the stoop, the fingers of one hand 
 
54 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 entering his side knicker-pocket in search of the 
 clasp-knife usually carried there. "I must say that's 
 good of you, old fellow, but it is quite unnecessary. 
 I've had some experience being unwelcome, as it 
 happens, even before " 
 
 Parker never finished his remark. 
 
 At the moment something soft, thick, outspread, 
 dropped over his head from the stoop. With a lit- 
 erally smothered curse for his stupidity, he realized 
 that, although on guard against the rope, he had 
 overlooked as a menace that blanket to be sent to 
 the Corners. Asa Simms must have cat-footed it 
 back from his draft upon the emporium shelves. 
 Parker had become a six-foot center pole for an 
 improvised tent. 
 
 Before he could shake off the cloying folds, both 
 Simms and Currie were on him. In a flash the rope 
 wrapped his arms so tight against his sides that the 
 pocket knife in his fingers was useless. Although he 
 struggled like a trapped animal, the twain were too 
 much for his body, if not for his mind. Thought, 
 Instinct, inspiration caused him to expand his 
 chest and abdomen against the tightening of his 
 bonds. 
 
 It was characteristic of Cal Parker that he did 
 not waste himself crying for help which was un- 
 likely to be forthcoming; never had he taken the 
 vicissitudes of life that way. And always he held 
 himself receptive of new sensations. He did not, 
 therefore, miscount when four hands seized him, nor 
 miss the fact that the strength of two men was united 
 in one cause to hurl him violently Into the body of 
 the ancient vehicle. 
 
 He heard the door slam and a shout from Currie: 
 
DEPARTURE DELAYED 55 
 
 "An extra bundle needn't delay you none, Tobe. 
 Dump it at the railroad. On your way!'* 
 
 The whip cracked, the grays sprang into a gallop, 
 the coach began to race through the Gap's one street. 
 To an outside observer, it would have looked indeed 
 as though Mr. C. A. Parker, so lately from New 
 York, were somewhat hurriedly quitting the Blue 
 Ridge. 
 
 But Parker's chest expansion was considerable. 
 On exhaling his precautionary intake of breath, he 
 was able to work his hand upward and locate the 
 catch of the door. 
 
 Except for the hoof clatter and rattle of wheels, 
 Tobe Riker, on the box, must have heard the thud 
 of something heavy on the road. As it was, how- 
 ever, not until he reached his destination did he 
 realize that the "bundle" entrusted to his care had 
 delivered itself. His chagrin was increased next 
 day when he learned the immediateness with which 
 Initiative had animated It. 
 
 Directly before the Hotel Plott a blanket-covered 
 ball lay in the road. On recovery from the back- 
 to-dust impact. It began to unwrap, straightened into 
 he-man length, developed feet and the apparent de- 
 sire to make them Its base. 
 
 By the time Aunt Hootle, having lifted her eyes 
 from her packing at the noise, rushed out on In- 
 vestigation bent, a knife-blade from within had 
 slashed upward through the blanket. When there 
 appeared a perturbed-looking fedora, still atop the 
 surprisingly unperturbed face of "the poor, brave 
 boy" whom she had been mourning as lost to the 
 cause 
 
 "Glory be !" she exclaimed fervently. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE CONSPIRATORS 
 
 It was a good thing, as the evening turned out, 
 that the Dust Dry League, In secret session assem- 
 bled within the cave sacred to their councils, had 
 voted unanimously to table all regular business and 
 give whole-hearted attention to the affairs of the 
 stranger who, In their midst at least, seemed not un- 
 welcome. 
 
 Mysteriously enough, Calvin Parker had been in- 
 vited to attend. "Sociable," "meeting," "gather- 
 ing" — various terms which covered, rather than ex- 
 plained the nature of the event had been appHed by 
 the Plotts. And never, in the whole course of his 
 highly social and variegated past, had he been intro- 
 duced so ambitiously as by Aunt Hootle to the half- 
 dozen faithful. 
 
 "Heaven-sent I" The irony of the thing demand- 
 ed instant control of his voice and the most benign 
 expression In his facial repertoire. 
 
 Straightway he had found himself shaking hands 
 with one Colonel Aloyslus Dryden, through right of 
 leadership an undisputed first, although crowded by 
 a spinster of height, angularity and importance, the 
 secretary of the league. 
 
 The Gap's one minister contributed a flabby grip, 
 but firm assurance of his "blessing." A somewhat 
 melancholy looking farmer, his overly cheerful and 
 
 .s6 
 
THE CONSPIRATORS 57 
 
 bounteous good-wife and a moral of a man referred 
 to affectionately as *'a brand plucked from the burn- 
 ing of rum," completed the gatherhig. 
 
 With surprise Parker stared about the natural 
 rendezvous for sessions dark and deep, to which 
 he had been conducted across lots and up a twisted 
 *'run" by the Plotts, their every step histful. The 
 tunnel-like entrance of some dozen feet had bent 
 him double, but he now stood In a sizable chamber, 
 lighted by a single kerosene lamp upon a deal table, 
 and furnished, through virtue of several benches and 
 boxes, with a seating capacity of three times their 
 number. 
 
 "A right neat hide-out, don't you think?" hooted 
 his particular hostess. "To think that ages and 
 eons agone He should have created this refuge for 
 us harassed Gappers !" 
 
 "And who harasses you?" 
 
 The little worthy-worker upcurved a glance of 
 reproach for the superfluity of his question. 
 
 "Who harassed you Into a blanket and Into the 
 stage and into the dust of Trade Street this very 
 afternoon? We've tried the schoolhouse, the church 
 and our own hearth-stones In turn, only to have our 
 meetings broke up, our secrets leak out, and our best- 
 laid plans nolle prossed Into the worst. Then the 
 colonel tricked out this cave that's on his own land. 
 As I say, it serves right neatly except In wet weather, 
 when It's sort of drippy for those as " 
 
 "For dry dusters," he obliged. 
 
 Not at all oppressed was Parker by the obliga- 
 tion thrust upon him. Although obvious from the 
 first, the mistake In his Identity made by both wets 
 and drys had been proclaimed only tacitly. To both 
 
58 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 factions had he asserted the truth about himself 
 and his mission, In so far as this concerned outsiders. 
 Since they persisted in believing him a secretively 
 disposed revenue officer, there to advance the cause 
 of the United States against illicit distillation, surely 
 the joke was more on them than on him. 
 
 Possible risks of the false situation he had been 
 given cause already to consider, as at the moment 
 attested by the pain of a scraped knee-cap and 
 wrenched shoulders. But always had he rather liked 
 risks. The efforts of those certain four hands to 
 run him out of Dismal Gap on the very day of his 
 entrance had enlivened a period of disappointment. 
 Further "harassment" might prove equally divert- 
 ing. 
 
 Only one real interest had he in forcing upon in- 
 credulous minds the truth about himself — and that 
 an interest at variance with the ultimate object of his 
 exile. As a suspected revenuer, he need hope for no 
 moonshine beams. No boot-legger would exchange 
 the "poison" he craved for his hands full of jingling 
 coin. The neediest blockader would scorn him en- 
 tirely as a customer. 
 
 But philosophy of a reluctant sort approved the 
 very difficulties of acquisition. The less he got, the 
 better for him. The harder earned the drink, the 
 finer its flavor. The more difficult the task, the 
 greater his strength. And how would he prove his 
 own "orneriness" if triumph came easily over those 
 who had attempted to ship him off in the stage with- 
 out consignee? 
 
 His determination to find some sort of a refuge 
 for himself well back in the mountains had been only 
 reenforced by Asa Simm's denial of any vacancy, 
 
THE CONSPIRATORS 59 
 
 and was directly responsible for his presence at to- 
 night's secret meeting of the league. The Plotts 
 had met his inquiry with the hope that some of the 
 faithful might be able to suggest. Besides, they 
 wished him to make acquaintance with the stalwarts 
 who stood back of the "cause" without delay. 
 
 "Shall we come to order?" Colonel Dryden was 
 Inquiring, having taken a stand behind the deal table. 
 
 Compliance with this request seemed to consist In 
 a general selection of box or bench and a collapse 
 thereon. Additionally, the minister fumbled In the 
 pocket of his rusty frock coat, produced a rolled 
 manuscript, started to prepare his voice by guarded 
 hawking. 
 
 Suspicious of the boxes, Parker lowered his long 
 frame upon a bench from which he had seen the 
 goodly farmeress arise on his entrance. 
 
 It was when the preacher arose and rustled open 
 his roll, his face stern with the determination to do 
 his oratorical best, that the chairman proposed the 
 postponement of the evening's paper on "Their 
 Curse; Our Cause" in favor of the business of their 
 guest of honor. Without bothering to put his sug- 
 gestion to vote, the colonel, who retained other traces 
 than his title of participation in the Civil War, 
 launched into an address of welcome to their "be- 
 sotted" neighborhood, In which he declared himself 
 to be voicing the sentiments of all there present. 
 
 "Mr. Parker, suh," he insisted, might rely upon 
 the full support of the league in any emergency. Let 
 him remember that — in any emergency. 
 
 Into the opportunity of his pause for breath Aunt 
 flootie thrust herself with the statement of the need 
 of their heaven-sent for an earthly habitat, where he 
 
6o FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 might live and have his being, whilst plying the arts 
 that were to permit the glorious undertaking of ''his 
 real work" in their midst. 
 
 Parker was about to disown publicly the mission 
 already denied In private, when regard for his own 
 Interests bade him w^ait. Dryden was making good 
 his promises of help by mention of a shack which he 
 owned on Fallaway Rim. It was at Mr. Parker's 
 disposal from that very minute, suh. Of course it 
 would seem a most unworthy habitation for one ac- 
 customed to the modern conveniences of a great met- 
 ropolis; but at least It was advantageously located 
 for the pursuit of his "private operations on the pub- 
 lic behalf." 
 
 Before the offer was half put, Parker had decided 
 the moment unpropltlous for further betrayal of his 
 object in coming to the Blue Ridge country. Truly, 
 those who knew his past in the great metropolis 
 might consider him engaged in orlvate operations on 
 the public's behalf! 
 
 With as fulsome a manner as he could command 
 In the emergency, he professed himself glad to ac- 
 cept the cabin, sight unseen, in exchange for a proper 
 rental. He was not particular as to modern con- 
 veniences, he protested, and, as Colonel Dryden had 
 said, the location was everything. His thought 
 that this might include the gleam of that copper hair 
 whose rare shade he wished to reproduce on canvas, 
 as well as the wherewithal to celebrate his achieve- 
 ment, once accomphshed, he did not feel morally 
 bound to express. 
 
 To Dryden's rather dubious query as to whether 
 he was, by chance, superstitious, he laughed reassur- 
 ance. Always had he considered thirteen his lucky 
 
THE CONSPIRATORS 611 
 
 number; he had been born on a Friday, had grown 
 some prize rubber plants, invariably walked beneath 
 any handy ladder, never had stooped to pick up a 
 horseshoe or even a pin pointed his way; was wear- 
 ing, as a matter of fact, a cat's-eye scarf holder at 
 that very moment. No, he wouldn't call himself 
 superstitious. 
 
 The colonel expressed relief. Mr. Parker would 
 not, then, object to the Rim shack's chief peculiarity, 
 its provision with two doors, back and front, but no 
 windows. The builder, too, had flouted supersti- 
 tions, especially the one that to enter by one door and 
 exit by another was likely to bring undesirable visi- 
 tors. 
 
 To the secretary's suggestion that the eccentric 
 architect might not have heard of the adage, he di- 
 vulged regretfully that the former owner had lived 
 In daily expectation of such advent, having been an 
 ilHcit trafficker. The back door had been provided 
 as an antidote to the front. But at that, both were 
 needed for light and ventilation. In other respects 
 the cabin would prove satisfactory. It was well 
 chinked, with not a sawed board showing that he 
 could remember, and boasted a puncheon floor and 
 a stone fireplace that really "drew." 
 
 These details Parker waved aside with the as- 
 surance that the cabin sounded to be, on the whole, 
 what he wanted. He gracefully accepted the colo- 
 nel's offer to send his "nigger" to the Hotel Plott 
 directly after breakfast next morning to act as guide 
 and manage a pack-mule for his baggage. 
 
 The Southerner had launched into apology for 
 the laziness of the black, with which Parker would 
 have to contend, when there came startling Interrup- 
 
62 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 tion to this supposedly secret meeting of the Dust 
 Dry League. 
 
 ^Tlumb worthless^ — that nigger Cotton Eye," he 
 had complained. *'I sent him here to-night to open 
 up our meetin' place and fill and light the lamp, 
 natu'ly expecting he'd stay around to see what else 
 a black man could do for us whites. But what do 
 you reckon he does, suh? Sneaks off home to com- 
 mune with Morpheus. If this only was before the 
 war, suh '* 
 
 It was at this point that the interruption came. 
 
 The lamp chimney fell apart with a clatter; the 
 light went out; some missile thudded against the wall 
 behind the speaker's chair. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 RAZZLE-DAZZLE 
 
 There followed a development so weird as to 
 suppress even the Incipient shrieks of the lady- 
 leaguers. In irregular letters of fire across the rock 
 wall appeared this erratically printed screed: 
 
 BeWarE ! ! 
 D. RUM 
 
 wiLl 
 
 HaVE 
 
 his 
 
 WaY. 
 DuSt drY 
 
 yoU-alL 
 
 Will BE 
 
 WhEn 
 GaBrleL 
 fiNds 
 yoU 
 HeRe. 
 
 "The handwriting on the wall !'* murmured Aunt 
 Hootle In an unwontedly smooth, awed voice. 
 
 *^Mene, mene, tekel, iipharsinJ' The sonorous 
 quotation could come only from him who had a 
 ministerial right to such. "Weighed in the bal- 
 
 ance 3" 
 
 63 
 
154 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 *'But we-all can't have been found wanting." The 
 protest against further translation came out of the 
 darkness In the wheeze of Hezeklah Plott. 
 
 "Weighed nothing — not this hefty crowd!" 
 
 The evening's guest got to his feet, struck a match 
 and applied It to the wick of the globeless lamp. 
 Holding that as a torch, he advanced to examine the 
 supernatural sign. 
 
 *'Just as I thought!" he exclaimed. "The wets 
 around here seem to have soaked their humor In 
 grog. They're just playing a trick on you with the 
 aid of some luminous paint — a pigment of calcium 
 sulphite mixed, I should say, with mastic varnish. 
 At any rate, that combination absorbs light when 
 exposed thereto, and emits It In darkness." 
 
 In support of this theory, the lamp wick flick- 
 ered smoklly, then steadied. As Its light Increased, 
 the phosphorescent warning dimmed. 
 
 Aunt Hootle also brightened under the logical ex- 
 planation, which swept away her heart-stopping 
 fear that the futility of the league's past efforts 
 had brought upon them the displeasure of the Al- 
 mighty. 
 
 "You say, colonel, that you sent Cotton Eye here 
 to open up," she suggested. "Could he have per- 
 petrated this shameful thing?" 
 
 "No, ma'am — reading and writing are beyond 
 that black," said Dryden. "To-night's demonstra- 
 tion means chiefly that those pestiferous wets have 
 discovered our meeting-place. Some one must have 
 paid an early visit here and daubed yonder wall with 
 the paint which Mr. Parker, suh, describes. It meant 
 nothing to the nigger when he saw It In the dark and, 
 as the light was burning when we gathered, we did 
 
RAZZLE-DAZZLE 65 
 
 not notice it. What put out the lamp puzzles me; 
 we heard nothing that '* 
 
 A roar from outside silenced all lesser voices. 
 There came a rush of air from the tunnel-like pas- 
 sage. The flicker of the unprotected wick was again 
 extinguished. There followed the sound of falling 
 rock. 
 
 *'It Is the end — dust dry to dry dust!" 
 
 A woman's wall filled Cal Parker's ears, even as 
 a quantity of agitated femininity was thrust into his 
 arms. Considering the fact that he had moved only 
 the moment before to set down the lamp on the 
 table, the one unprotected female present, fair In 
 sex if not in tout ensemble, had executed a well- 
 calculated leap in the dark. Truly the new role 
 thrust upon him had responsIblHtles ! 
 
 "The demons of rum have entombed us; let us 
 pray!" proposed the parson. 
 
 *'Isn't there something written about prayer being 
 more effective with an admixture of work?" Parker 
 made objection. 
 
 Still obliging with one arm the spinster who, if she 
 had not really swooned, was a limp enough char- 
 acterization of one who had, he groped forward 
 until he located a bench. Upon it he deposited her. 
 Another match relighted the wick and again dimmed 
 the wall-letters of fire. With the lamp held before 
 him, he entered the passage to investigate. 
 
 As he stooped for the short tunnel, his foot caught 
 in something upon the floor and he narrowly escaped 
 a fall. On examination, he found the stumbling 
 block to be the end of a two-inch iron pipe. Its 
 suggestion cheered him greatly. The wets did not 
 intend, then, to go the whole route with this, their 
 
66 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 latest grog-soaked trick, else they scarcely would 
 have taken the precaution to assure a supply of air 
 to those entombed by the powder explosion. 
 
 Doubtless, they meant thoroughly to frighten the 
 members of the league from further efforts against 
 their traffic In the quenching of the human thirst. 
 Perhaps they Intended to claim credit for digging 
 out the victims after the warning on the wall had 
 been blotted Indelibly on their hearts. 
 
 But this discovery he could not share with those 
 behind, since the air w^as over-burdened with min- 
 isterial supplications, well under way. 
 
 Within the tunnel, he found that, although the 
 exit had been sealed by the recent blast, the litter of 
 rocks and shale extended only a few feet. The ex- 
 plosive must have been placed inexpertly, its force 
 thrown outward. Unless removal of the obstruc- 
 tion should cause a fresh slide, it looked possible to 
 claw out a passage. 
 
 "If one of you worthies will get a leave of absence 
 from the Lord — will wriggle in here and hold the 
 light for me," he shouted back into the chamber, 
 ^Tve an idea you won't need to pray." 
 
 There came response from the farmer of increas- 
 ingly melancholy look. Parker drew on a pair of 
 gloves for the protection of his uncalloused hands, 
 before attacking the barrier. He moved the larger 
 rocks and passed them behind him, the while scoop- 
 ing back the shattered shale. Soon he was able to 
 execute a hole large enough for the passage of his 
 lank frame. 
 
 *'Out again!" he congratulated himself as he 
 straightened up in the open gully, much as he had 
 done after his recent wriggle from the stage. 
 
K\ZZLE-DAZZLE 67 
 
 The passage would have to be enlarged for the 
 rescue of Dr. Hezekiah, the colonel, and the 
 farmer's wife; the others could crawl through at 
 once. Some one acquainted with the neighborhood 
 could then go for tools stronger than gloves in rib- 
 bons and fingers blood-stained. Through the open- 
 ing he wirelessed this order of procedure to his vol- 
 unteer, who in turn transmitted it to those in the 
 chamber. 
 
 Aunt Hootie came first, bewailing the fact that she 
 had not been handicapped with embonpoint instead 
 of the spouse whose services to the mortal mouths of 
 men she valued even higher than her own to their 
 eternal souls. The secretary had been jolted into 
 recovery from her swoon by discovery of the damage 
 done her best "meeting dress." The Brand scorched 
 through on the heels of her indignant exclamations. 
 Then came the parson with the news that the farmer 
 would not leave his farmeress. With even more 
 vigor than he had put into the plea for Divine help, 
 he departed on the run toward the Dryden home- 
 stead for pick, shovel and possible assistance. 
 
 In half an hour after the good man's return with 
 Cotton Eye Lee, for once available when needed, 
 the opening was large enough to emit the heaviest 
 of the "stalwarts." Colonel Dryden, as befitted 
 so substantial a leader, was last to materialize 
 and with him brought the query interrupted by the 
 blast. 
 
 "I want to ask you eye-witnesses of this razzle- 
 dazzle, what put out that lamp? If there had been 
 any report of gun-fire, now, or if " 
 
 "I distinctly heard the thud of a bullet against the 
 wall," interrupted Dr. Hezekiah. 
 
68 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Again Cal Parker essayed practical explanation 
 of the seemingly miraculous. 
 
 "There's a chap up New York way named Maxim 
 who makes a silencer for rifles and revolvers. Do 
 you folks happen to know whether any of the Dismal 
 wets has invested in one?'* 
 
 All chins wagged in the negative; then soon the 
 farmer's dropped to his chest and a standstill. 
 
 "There's one fellow loafering hereabouts," ad- 
 mitted he in deepening melancholia, "who has done 
 boasted how he's got his repeater 'charmed' for 
 slicks and like pests. A silencer — do you-all reckon 
 that could be what's charmed Rex Currie's gun?" 
 
 So, Parker commented in thought. The hand- 
 some hillbilly again! Being somewhat contentious 
 himself, he must watch for a way more forceful 
 than self-protection to retaliate. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 POPPER OF POPSKULL 
 
 Rather early for him next morning, Parker was 
 tramping the declivities and twists of a rutted, ocher 
 road that led into the mountains. Ahead, urged 
 by intermittent prods from a stick manipulated by 
 his black guide, plodded an equally black mule, laden 
 to pack-a-back capacity with luggage and a supply of 
 provisions sufficient to last several weeks. The 
 Gap, seething to its village limits from the excite- 
 >ment of the evening before, lay a few miles behind; 
 their destination, an unoccupied hill cabin, several 
 ahead. 
 
 The newest perplexity of the many that had com- 
 plicated his reception at Dismal was the morning's 
 inexplicable change in the demeanor of Cotton Eye 
 Lee. From their first step out of the village, the 
 negro had made plain his aversion to entering upon 
 the expedition. His manner bore not a distant- 
 cousinly relationship to that of the day before. He 
 was silent to taciturnity, his ill-assorted eyes shifting 
 uneasily from road to brush, from survey of the 
 back-track to an even closer scrutiny of the green 
 velour shadows along the road ahead. No tinkle 
 of coin in the pocket, no bait of improvised verbal 
 monstrosities that must have been strange to his ears, 
 humanized his mood. 
 
 69 
 
70 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "What do you suspect Is after us, Cotton?" Parker 
 once demanded. 
 
 "It ain't that I'm scared none, cap'n, but I can't 
 seem to help a omnltlous feeling that this here ain't 
 no expedition for a thirsty nigger." 
 
 The panorama slowly unwinding diverted the 
 color-convert. Indeed, Spring was holding a camp- 
 meeting In the Blue Ridge ! New green was the 
 text, majestically read from the roofs of pines and 
 chestnut-oaks, from the walls of ferns, from the 
 anterooms of the stream which showed dimly now 
 and then. The hymns were announced and sung In 
 sudden bursts of clustering pink azalea, In whole 
 gardens of white-centered iris. In the sun-touched, 
 ghost-w^hlte flowers of the sour-wood tree. In the flash 
 of a pair of cardinal birds that streaked like the 
 spirit's cry from tree to tree — In the chats, finches, 
 and tanagers that fluttered their throats in one uni- 
 versal psan. Prayer — staying, serious, the ground- 
 work of the service — was the red clay underfoot. 
 
 Truly a soul-reaching evangelist this to whom 
 Spencer Pope had sent him! Yesterday the hue of 
 the ground had filled the sinner with Irritation; to- 
 day, modulated by the aromatic dimness of the 
 woods. It soothed him, seemed symbolic. He would 
 pursue the red path, yes; but a dull red path, toned 
 down to comparative sobriety by the temperate col- 
 ors In the heart of the hills. As soon as he could 
 locate the proper fountain he would store his cabin 
 on the mountain rim with the liquor which hitherto 
 had been his enemy, there to make It his friend. 
 
 Such pleasing thoughts were interrupted by the 
 necessity of hurrying after his guide from where he 
 had loitered at the crossing of the watercourse. 
 
POPPER OF POPSKULL 71 
 
 The negro stood as a bizarre forefront figure 
 against a Japanesque background of sllmsy pines, 
 festooned with cones. Patently, he was unconscious 
 of the picture he made, uncaring as to the back- 
 ground. He was staring down at a green, fresh- 
 cut branch lying In the exact center of the road. 
 
 The Intensity of his expression, his manner of 
 rolling his eyes, the saliva that trickled, unheeded, 
 from the corners of his mouth — all aroused curi- 
 osity. 
 
 ''Never see laurel before?" asked Parker. 
 ^'What's so startling about this specimen?" 
 
 The acqulsltory gleam of the day before showed 
 in the black face. 
 
 "Specimen — specimen," he muttered. 
 
 A certain relief came to Parker that he could still 
 tempt the guide v/Ith tidbits from his vocabulary. 
 
 "Yes," he urged. "What Is so confounding about 
 this tenuous offshoot of the Rhododendron viaxi- 
 mumf 
 
 "Cap'n, this here ain't no specimen, no more than 
 Its a maximum offshoot." Cotton Eye's voice was 
 husky. "This here. If you-all Insist on amplification 
 — this here Is a sign!" 
 
 "A sign — sign of what?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, plain as chalk letters on a school-board. 
 It's a kind of prognostication that" — up and down 
 the road he glanced before finishing In a rasped 
 whisper — "that soothing sirup be located In the 
 near-by, close-up proximity." 
 
 As the stranger showed only continued Inquiry, the 
 negro Insisted. 
 
 "Soothing sirup — can't you'uns get me, noway? 
 The sign works like this; you trapse Into the brush 
 

 72 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the direction she points; then maybe you come upon 
 another slip of laurel and trapse the direction she 
 points; then maybe another and another. By and 
 by you meets a man that's got something you-uns 
 wants and you — 
 
 "You mean — 
 
 "Popskull!" 
 
 In Parker's Interruption had been gasped more 
 of hope and fear than the ebony informant could 
 have been expected to understand. The single word 
 of whispered reassurance, therefore, called forth a 
 spasm of joy like that which Rex Currie had In- 
 terrupted the day before. Higher and higher 
 chortled his voice, startling the birds, seeming to 
 breeze the trees. Dimly conscious of his guide's 
 word-laden protests, he paid no heed. 
 
 "I specimen you-all had best shut up. 'Twon't get 
 you nothing, telling the whole world your pleasure- 
 ables. Land sakes, cap'n. If you-uns don't quiet 
 down, we'd best be throwing mud outen here! It 
 ain't safe, I tell you, for a stranger to be projecting 
 around a sign." 
 
 Cotton Eye glanced apprehensively up the moun- 
 tain road, then: *'LInky day, now we're done for! 
 If It ben't Old Tom Metcalf himself, and looking 
 pizener than a snake ! He's done hearn you — he's 
 seen us at the sign!" 
 
 Three of the warning words, rather than the 
 urgency of their tone, silenced Parker. Already 
 he was Interested In Old Tom Metcalf. 
 
 *'Howdy. Might I ask where be you-all head- 
 ing?" Their discoverer put the deep-voiced ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "You might." 
 
POPPER OF POPSKULL 73 
 
 Young to old, the humor, the succinctness, the 
 curiosity were returned. 
 
 This man, Parker reminded himself, was the im- 
 mediate forbear of the girl named for a mountain. 
 He saw a supertype of mountaineer, of height and 
 weight that spoke for great strength. Although 
 looking the redoubtable Metcalf of his reputation, 
 he was unpretentiously garbed in the denim overalls 
 of the region, suspended by a single gallus; a calico 
 shirt lay open over his hairy chest; his black slouch 
 hat was pulled down to the line of his bushy white 
 brows. 
 
 Across the hollow of his left arm a repeating rifle 
 rested with a suggestion of readiness. The hand 
 that gripped its butt was brown, knotted, power- 
 ful. 
 
 One glance at his face — tufted around the ears 
 with thick, tawny hair — and the rest of him was taken 
 for granted. Unusual in that it was shaved of 
 beard or mustache, its characteristics showed boldly 
 — ^blue, quizzical eyes; a straight, clear-cut nose; 
 jaws square in their set; mouth wide and flexible, at 
 the moment twisted in a smile somewhat grim. 
 
 "I have rented a cabin for the summer on what 
 they call Fallaway Rim," Parker was saying. He 
 gestured toward the perturbed black, who had re- 
 treated to the side of the grass-cropping mule, as 
 if to a haven. "Cotton Eye Lee, here, is my guard 
 of honor." 
 
 "Mighty dry company youVe picked, and not 
 overburdened with honor, yon nigger. I know him 
 — he pretended once to work on my place." 
 
 "He was picked for me," continued Parker, with 
 a grin for the fullness of his meaning. "But he 
 
,74 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 returns to the Gap as soon as he has honored and 
 jguarded me to my destination." 
 
 "And you, stranger, what did you say your name 
 was?" 
 
 Parker had not said and knew it, so he supplied 
 the Information. 
 
 *Trom out North, be you?" 
 
 "Direct from Manhattan Island. I came to hunt 
 — well, several things." 
 
 The mountaineer completed his survey of the 
 other's person, then turned with an estimating ex- 
 pression toward the pack carried by the mule. 
 
 "I reckon," he returned. Pausing, he lifted his 
 eyes to sweep the mountain range of balds and 
 domes, knobs, and ridges. "You'll likely find hunt- 
 ing dangerous, unless you've done learned our game 
 laws. I'm a hunter my own self, but no poacher." ■ 
 
 Parker took a forward step and spoke directly: 
 "I've never been called a poacher, either, and so far 
 I've kept out of jail. My hunting will be confined 
 to things I'm entitled to." 
 
 "It's better that way, Mr. Man. See to it you 
 ain't prejudiced none In your own favor." 
 
 "I'd have to be some prejudiced," laughed Parker, 
 "to withstand a certain local frankness which has 
 jolted me repeatedly ever since the stage dumped 
 me into a muddy ditch. It was your daughter, by 
 the way^ who graciously dragged me out." 
 
 "Verney? She didn't mention it to home." 
 
 The curt return was accompanied by a truth-prob- 
 ing look from under the frowning brows. 
 
 "Our meeting was rather unconventional. Pos- 
 sibly she does not consider me a legitimate acquaint- 
 ance, but I continue to feel very much In her debt. 
 
POPPER OF POPSKULL 75 
 
 You are to be congratulated, Mr. Metcalf, on hav- 
 ing such a humane and handsome daughter." 
 
 Although Parker's speech was advised by previous 
 experience with proud parents and spoken sincerely 
 enough, it seemed to be unfortunate. The old man's 
 scowl deepened and he was about to depart in dis- 
 pleasure. Almost did he tread upon the laurel 
 *'sign." But in time he turned. 
 
 ^'Verney is Verney yerabouts," he said, "and ain't 
 pleased by common praise from strangers. You-all 
 had best be right careful that the game you hunt 
 wears fur, fin, or feathers. Else, you won't be safe 
 nohow or even comfortable!" 
 
 With no ceremony of farewell, not even a back- 
 ward glance, Tom Metcalf strode by the trail whence 
 he had appeared back into the woods. 
 
 The man from "out North" felt that his number 
 had been taken. He stood staring after the Ridger, 
 pondering new words of warning. 
 
 Only fur, fin, and feathers was he permitted to 
 hunt by the unwritten law of the region; otherwise 
 he'd be penalized for poaching! 
 
 His mind was seeing the tint of copper tresses, the 
 pure lines of a profile cameoed against plush 
 shadows. Yonder lay the twig upon the road, a 
 character of a sign-language. It recalled certain 
 gypsy patterans which he had encountered on a long- 
 ago walking trip through Brittany. It pointed away 
 from yesterday and the anti fervor of Aunt Hootie, 
 with her medicine dropper and eye-cup. 
 
 His glance was drawn from it at the suggestion of 
 Cotton Eye Lee, who had approached in apolegtic 
 manner, now that the cause of his retreat had re- 
 treated. 
 
76 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 *'He's done warned us-uns — Old Tom himself, the 
 most prodigious popper of popskull in the whole of 
 both the Carolinas!" 
 
 But in the very moment of tacit submission, a cer- 
 tain Bacchanalian protested; so did an artist re- 
 ligious. Both bore the same name — Calvin Parker. 
 
 Still regarding the twig, in fancy selecting the 
 tubes he would squeeze for that truly wondrous 
 shade of Titian hair, the "furriner" finished his In- 
 terrupted laugh. 
 
 "Glory be!" He borrowed expression from her 
 of the dropper. "I've just discovered something 
 about myself, Cotton; I'm a poacher at heart.'* 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 FLAME-FLARES 
 
 If, in view of his reception by *'the Cappers" or 
 the attitude toward him of that active member of 
 the wets met on the road, Calvin Parker wondered 
 that he was allowed to settle unmolested in the shack 
 on Fallaway Rim, he would have been enlightened 
 by occurrences in the home of the Metcalf 's the night 
 of his arrival. 
 
 Their dwelling was called a *'house,'* in distinc- 
 tion from regional cabins, because of its size and 
 the luxury of separated rooms. It stood for the 
 "quality" of former generations of Metcalfs. Back 
 a safe hillside distance from Roaring Fork, a stream 
 which occasionally lived up to its name, it had an 
 impregnable look. A wide "stoop," furnished with 
 flower boxes, a hammock, and several chairs of home 
 construction, lent It an air of modernity that ob- 
 scured Its hewn-log, mud-plastered construction. 
 
 The road of approach was flanked proudly by 
 ancient oaks. From the back yard, on the far side 
 of the stream, rose imposingly the Vernaluska 
 Mountain, after which the only daughter of the pres- 
 ent line had been baptized, better known locally as 
 "Crumbly Bald," because of certain Internal rum- 
 blings which, at epochal intervals, had scolded from 
 the crevasses and fissures that marked its top like 
 the lines on an aged face. 
 
 77 
 
78 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The reluctant dusk of the Blue Ridge had fallen. 
 Vernaluska Metcalf had lit the kindlings of the "par- 
 lor" fire which usually cheered the social hour of 
 their day, and now sat in a low rocking chair to 
 *'tend" the sparks. Upon the upper of her crossed 
 knees rested a mountain-made dulcimer; in her 
 fingers was a goose quill, with which she began to 
 pick an African melody from the strings, humming 
 softly as she played. 
 
 The tune gained in erraticism from her mood, for 
 her mind was not upon it. She did not consciously 
 hear the noise of steel against thick china which 
 told her that her father was finishing a belated sup- 
 per in the kitchen. Neither did she feel interrup- 
 tion in the rattle of dishes and pans that bespoke 
 the "redding up" passion of the household autocrat, 
 *'Miss Emmy" Worth, her dead mother's sister. 
 
 More eccentric grew Vernaluska's tune through 
 the necessity of stamping out the sparks coughed 
 from the fire across the wide hearth; more luminous 
 glowed her hair, as if borrowing light from the blaze. 
 But her face did not lighten. 
 
 It was set from weariness and worry. All day, 
 through the arduous tasks which fell to her share — 
 from the early morning churning, the weekly "once 
 over" of the house, the preparation of the noontime, 
 principal meal, the milking of the cow — she had 
 been debating a point of policy. To-night she must 
 argue it to a successful conclusion before the domes- 
 tic circle. 
 
 Grave doubt teased her mind whether the silence 
 of last evening regarding the new arrival at Dismal 
 Gap had been advisable. Should she not have put 
 her men folk on guard by reciting full details of the, 
 
FLAME-FLARES 79 
 
 overturned coach and later appearance of the 
 stranger at the post-office? Might not her reti- 
 cence precipate any possible overt act of result, 
 rather than curb it? 
 
 The recent confirmation of the authority of the 
 drys by the ballot she realized to have made tvvo 
 distinct, opposing cliques within the family. One 
 was a triumvirate, composed of her father, who was 
 intolerant of any opposition to his without-the-law 
 traffic; of Sandyred, her equally dynamic younger 
 brother, and of Rex Currie, in himself not the least 
 of her problems. JVIiss Emmy didn't count; she 
 just "suffered along" in life, leaning the way of the 
 strong. So that the other clique was herself — a 
 self rapidly hardening in resolve to conquer the 
 three, her unwitting enemies. 
 
 "Your pappy will be the death of me yet; he 
 don't never do a sensible thing if he can holpen it." 
 This plaint from the door recalled her to the 
 moment. 
 
 "What's he done now, Miss Emmy, beyond be- 
 ing late to supper?" 
 
 "And what's likely more important to him, he'll 
 be the death of himself," the good woman continued. 
 "He's sopping — been in the Fork again, I suspect. 
 He won't change for me." 
 
 "Well, he will for me.'' 
 
 Rising, Vernaluska laid the dulcimer on the man- 
 tel and started for the kitchen. There, she spoke to 
 her redoubtable forebear after a way of her own, as 
 if he were a bad boy subject to her control. 
 
 "Thomas, why can't you keep out of the Fork? 
 'Pears to me you get worse behaved every day. 
 Don't you know that rheumatism is one powerful 
 
8o FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 affliction? Get on your Sundays at once and come 
 sit up to the fire I" 
 
 "The idee of wasting fuel In the hearth, with spit- 
 fire Verney around!" chuckled the old man. "But 
 don't worry. I'll be with you directly." 
 
 The girl returned and lit the oil-lamp on the 
 center-table. By this illumination she glanced ap- 
 preciatively around the room, whose adornments at- 
 tested resource and labor which she of their accom- 
 plishment alone knew. 
 
 The walls were papered, yes; certainly a distinc- 
 tion, If only In such newspapers as had come within 
 her reach. Forming a frieze just below the ceiling 
 were press Illustrations cut out and pasted with In- 
 finite care. Here and there were well-balanced 
 groups of pictures — the head of a handsome woman 
 who, for reasons better known to the outside world 
 than to Vernaluska, had achieved notoriety; a scene 
 of a city street during the "rush" hour, a wrecked 
 ship, a burning building — what not. 
 
 Softening the outline of the windows was draped 
 a meshlike fabric of tiny pine-cones, strung and 
 knotted together In a unique, hand-made design. 
 Cushions, fat from goose feathers or pungent balsam 
 and covered with a regard for the association of 
 colors that deserved better material, lent ease to 
 chairs and benches. 
 
 On one end of the table, beside a closed violin- 
 case, squatted a brown earthenware bowl full of 
 pussy-willows. Conspicuous upon the mantel, 
 through its graceful shape, stood a tall jug of the 
 same crude material. 
 
 To this the girl's eyes swerved, upon It lingered 
 with an expression of critical admiration. Taking a 
 
FLAME-FLARES 81 
 
 ruler from the table drawer, she stood off, squinted 
 her eyes for perspective, began measuring the up- 
 turned handles of the jug, as painters do drawings 
 on canvas. 
 
 Soon her father emerged from the chamber which 
 he occupied with the boys, duly attired in "store" 
 pants and slippers. 
 
 "Sandy's slow-moving to-night. Not through his 
 barn chores yet?" 
 
 "I reckon not, Tom." 
 
 "And Rex?" 
 
 To this Miss Emmy supplied answer with mani- 
 fest resentment: "Rex must have found business 
 good in Dismal Gap to miss two whole days' 
 victuals." 
 
 For a moment the patriarch stood blinking back 
 at the fire of hickory logs. His tuftlike brows drew 
 together in a frown. Evidently the slow blaze of it 
 did not please him, for he strode over to the fuel 
 box, rummaged among its contents, selected several 
 lengths of wood more to his liking. After placing 
 these upon the burning hickory, he drew up the huge, 
 sway-back chair of home construction sacred to his 
 occupancy. 
 
 With a look of expectation. He awaited the effect 
 upon the fire of his addition. Soon a sputter of 
 sparks shot out, to be gulped in the colorful flames 
 for which linwood is remarked. 
 
 The old man leaned forward, dropped his leonine 
 head into his two huge paws, again emitted his odd, 
 deep-throated expression of approval. He seemed 
 not to hear the porch door open and shut, so diverted 
 was he. 
 
 "Oh, you beauties of blue flames!" he muttered. 
 
82 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 *'You-all have the color for me, the life, the light!" 
 
 Irritated, Miss Emmy seized the hearth-broom — 
 a bundle of wild sedge wrapped with wire to the 
 end of a stick — and began to ply it against the sparks. 
 
 "You do make a power of work, Tom Metcalf, 
 just when Verney's got the house broomed up ! 
 Why you can't do with a hickory burning is what I 
 don't never see." 
 
 The recalcitrant made no defense. He stretched 
 his hands clutchingly toward the lively light; con- 
 tinued to chuckle and to mutter. 
 
 *'Once I could get you-all fast in my grip — once 
 I could feel the burn of you on my palms ! Why 
 run you-all so fast up the chimney, blue flames?" 
 
 Sandyred, who had entered, flung his hat over a 
 wooden peg and crossed to the group. He stopped 
 behind his parent's chair; listened, waggled his head 
 in the midst of a deep-drawn sigh. His glance 
 swerved, as if at a word, to meet that of his sister. 
 Her face, also, was drawn with anxiety; but soon 
 pride in her handsome brother won him a smile. 
 
 At nineteen, Thomas Metcalf, Jr. — known best 
 along the ridge by his descriptive nickname — had the 
 fully developed figure of a man grown and a height 
 of six feet one. His coloring, like the girl's own, 
 hair as well as skin and eyes, was a direct Inherit- 
 ance from "Old Tom" who, In turn, had Inherited it 
 from former Old Toms of the Metcalf line. The 
 chief present difference was due to the fact that the 
 erstwhile auburn of the parent's hair and brows had 
 become so admixed with the white of advancing 
 years that it was lightened almost to the color of 
 hemp. 
 
 Already the son's face was showing lines around 
 
FLAME-FLARES 83 
 
 eyes and mouth — hard lines that bespoke the strain 
 of the vocation into which he had been pressed. A 
 certain alertness of glance and movement that could 
 scarcely have come from nerves in one of such su- 
 perb physical condition suggested long acquaintance 
 with danger, a consequent habit of the defensive. 
 
 The old man looked up. "Throw on some more 
 linwood, Sandy. It's warming to the heart — lights 
 up the hope of them that gather round." 
 
 The younger added several of the sw^ift-burning 
 sticks and stood watching the reflected animation on 
 his father's face, rather than the conflagration itself. 
 
 "Ho, there, you flames, one day you-all will be 
 mine — mine! I'll find you yet, for certain sure." 
 
 Again brother and sister exchanged troubled 
 glances. This prediliction for the linwood flare, 
 these more or less incoherent comments w^ere no new 
 thing. But of late they appeared to be obsessing 
 the mountaineer, so mentally solid on other subjects. 
 For long the two had united in a campaign of coun- 
 teraction, a policy of pointing the prosaic, as it were. 
 
 Miss Emmy, however, had not their patience. 
 Nearly the same age as Old Tom, eminently sane, 
 she frequently vented her irritation, as now. 
 
 "Ain't it time you trapped that field-mouse what's 
 using in your head, Tom Metcalf?" she snapped. 
 " 'Pears to me it's gnawing your brains worse each 
 and every day. If you can explain this blue-flame 
 jabber, don't it stand to reason you'd best do it and 
 ease off your mind? Maybe so we'd help you find 
 them. What are they, anyhow, that you want to 
 burn your hands? Why do you hope to grip them? 
 What will it profit you if you do? If you can't 
 explain " 
 
84 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 **How be you feeling this evening, Missy Em?*' 
 Interrupted Sandyred. 
 
 'Torely, thank God!" Despite her devout ex- 
 pression, the spinster frowned rebelhously into her 
 nephew's warning glance. Sandyred was her espe- 
 cial joy in life, even as was Vernaluska Old Tom's, 
 although the expression of her worshipful attitude 
 toward him was guarded and ofttimes deceptive. 
 
 It was accepted as a family fact, however, that 
 he alone could curb her mania for reforming the 
 persons, as well as the properties, of the household, 
 could file down the saw-toothing of her corrections. 
 Now she jerked a vehement up and down of the 
 chin to his silent hint. 
 
 Old Tom turned restlessly in his chair. *'Do us," 
 he suggested, "one of your mimics — the revivalist." 
 
 The youth, always glad to entertain with the chief 
 of his talents, was more than ready to-night. To 
 coax his father's thoughts back to the normal con- 
 cerns of life, to make him laugh and forget — this 
 effort he long had shared with his sister in their 
 home life. 
 
 Springing around the table, that he might use it 
 as a pulpit, he struck an attitude, rounded his eyes, 
 puffed his cheeks piously; then, after the florid man- 
 ner of negro camp-meeting artists, began to exhort. 
 
 His ability at Impersonation had been ''born In 
 him." When yet a toddler he had begun ''taking 
 off" the cock-sure turkey gobbler, the lost calf, the 
 Jane mule disporting herself in the face of discipline. 
 Later, his interests had enlarged beyomd the barn- 
 yard, and he flattered the wild creatures of the 
 woods with his emulation. His first teacher at dis- 
 trict school, the circuit rider, his own father — none 
 
FLAME-FLARES 85 
 
 escaped his genius as he grew older and contem- 
 plated human possibiliticj. 
 
 Independent of make-up or costume, with inimit- 
 able realism of fervor and dialect, he now invited 
 their attention to the horrors of hell and the prefer- 
 ence of paradise. He asked for confession of guilt 
 from each in sepulchral tones; he pounced upon in- 
 accuracies in their supposed defense with especial 
 applications and startling violence; he convicted 
 them seperately and collectively; at last doomed 
 them to eternity's taxing torments in the bottomless 
 pit. 
 
 The severity of Miss Emmy*s feelings had relaxed 
 considerably by the denouement. Old Tom was 
 laughing like a boy. 
 
 "Be I black or white?*' she demanded. 
 
 "Lead me to the mourner's bench," he implored. 
 
 Sandyred mopped the pleased look on his face as 
 he sank back into a chair. When well in command 
 of the superiority to praise which was an affectation 
 of his nineteen years plus, he shifted the onus of 
 entertainment to his sister. 
 
 "And now, Verney, leave us-all hear the rest of 
 that story — ^you left off at the bottom of the column 
 yon side the door." 
 
 The girl took the lamp and walked over to the 
 indicated section of the wall. She mounted the chair 
 which Sandy placed for her, found the place in 
 the newspaper fiction. She and her brother selected 
 their improvised wall-covering advisedly, its chief 
 qualification being that no page of a tale need be 
 turned — perforce an impossibility — to reach its 
 climax and end. 
 
 This particular yarn, a syndicated thriller of the 
 
86 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 West, had held them for several nights. In their 
 honor code, Improvised for the continuance of gen- 
 eral Interest, had been Incorporated the rule that 
 none might read for himself. Last night, as always, 
 Vernaluska had cut off at a tense paragraph. Glanc- 
 ing down at the three expectant faces lifted In the 
 fireglow, she saw that no reminder was necessary. 
 She turned, focused the light, and began : 
 
 ^'Facing the leveled rifles of the rustlers, Tex Masters 
 began to fear that the clutch of circumstance was at last to 
 prove too much for him. He dared move neither hand to 
 his holsters, for the dear sake of the girl astride the horse 
 behind him. 
 
 "The hot, prairie wind blew her silken tresses against his 
 cheeks and twined them, like loosened strands of the lariat 
 of Fate, around his muscular neck. In that vital moment, 
 on the threshold of death, he knew he would not have un- 
 twined them to save his life. 
 
 " 'I love you. Heart of Heaven,' he murmured hoarsely. 
 ^Whatever comes, remember only that I love you!' 
 
 "A shot battered the brazen air. Hearing It, Tex cal- 
 culated swiftly, then leaned instantly to the left. A grim 
 smile twisted his sun-bronzed face, as a drop of blood 
 splashed from the tip of his right ear upon his cheek. 
 
 "Amaze held his dare-devil spirit enchained, as he felt a 
 swift movement at one elbow, then at the other. In the 
 same split-second two steel points projected from under his 
 armpits, clutched by two white hands. Two simultaneous, 
 well-aimed shots barely anticipated the first forward plunge 
 of their mount; then " 
 
 At this point of Interest the reading suddenly 
 ceased. Vernaluska's light had blown out. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 SAFETY FIRST 
 
 The cause of the interruption was a gust from the 
 opened door. Rex Currie strode into the room, to 
 meet various ejaculations of resentment. 
 
 ''You-all raised in a barn, Rex?" the old man 
 roared. 
 
 *'Such slush!" Thus Miss Emmy, but with a 
 glance of exasperation at the disturber. 
 
 Sandyred contributed fromi the door, which he had 
 closed: 
 
 "Even Verney never can learn you when you ain^t 
 wanted." 
 • The hillbilly reflected their Impatience. 
 
 *'You-all needn't be so uncivil," he said, "when 
 I'm bringing you news." 
 
 "Which ain't much good, I reckon, if it won't keep 
 a spell," objected Tom. "The world wa'n't made 
 in a day. If you don't slow down some, young 
 feller, you'll project yourelf clean outen it. Light 
 the lamp and read some more, Verney. I want to 
 know if that there two-gun girl fetches her targets.'* 
 
 "You'll be hunting a target of your own when 
 you've heard my news," the young man Insisted^ 
 and produced a folded sheet of letter-paper from 
 his pocket. "Let me help you down, honey. 
 That's right — give me the lamp. Sit here by the 
 fire and rest up." 
 
 87 
 
88 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The attentions to which Vernaluska submitted 
 were not exactly usual In the Blue Ridge, but to be 
 expected from Rex Currle. Although born and 
 reared on the shank of Crumbly Bald, which lay 
 just across the creek, he had "traveled" enough to 
 wear off rough edges and take on a veneer of gal- 
 lantry which went well with his sophisticated ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 With an Impatient fling, he tossed the paper to 
 the disgruntled patriarch. 
 
 "I know there ain't no crowding you, Tom, when 
 you're not In a hurry; but you'd best put this letter 
 next on the entertainment bill." 
 
 Impressed, Old Tom opened the note deliberately, 
 jerked his chair around so that the light of the re- 
 placed lamp fell directly upon it, cleared his throat. 
 But no sound crossed his lips, no shade his expres- 
 sion, to the end. 
 
 When he had finished, he turned, not upon the 
 messenger waiting with ill-repressed excitement, as 
 though for an explosion, but upon his own daughter. 
 
 "Verney," he Inquired in a tone unusually mild 
 for him, even when addressing her, "be there any- 
 thing you-all have done gone and forgot to tell your 
 pappy about your visit to the Gap yesterday?" 
 
 Vernaluska realized that the Issue for which she 
 had tried to prepare was at hand; also that, despite 
 her effort at control, her face was coloring. But 
 she replied straightaway: 
 
 "Maybe you're harking to the stranger I yanked 
 out from under the stage?" 
 
 "Maybe I be. H-m! Why the tight lip on 
 him?" 
 
 Currle's eyes flashed. "I susplcloned yesterday 
 
SAFETY FIRST 89 
 
 she favored the dude; now I know It by the guilty- 
 look of her. He's the kind that even a woman can 
 keep a tight lip about." 
 
 ^'Jealous again, Rex?" was Sandyred's boisterous 
 demand. "You're better at fiddling than hiding 
 your feelings. What's In the letter, pap?" 
 
 The girl paid no attention. Her father's search- 
 ing eyes still held hers, and she answered his stand- 
 ing question quietly. 
 
 'T calculated It wouldn't do any good to tell." 
 
 Again the old man cleared his throat, this time 
 to read aloud with a regard to detail that Included 
 the rubber-stamped heading of the sheet: 
 
 "Dismal Gap Post-Office and Emporium. 
 "Asa Simms, Prop. 
 
 "Dismal Gap, North Carolina. 
 "Dear Tom : 
 
 "This will inform you that the spy the drys sent Up North 
 for is arrived and on the job. Come in on the stage yester- 
 day, and made a bee-line for Plotts's. According to the 
 prattle of Aunt Hootle, he was selected by Spencer Pope, 
 who, in my humble opinion, is the slickest revenuer we ever 
 drove out of the Carolinas. I spotted this new one quick as 
 a flea, and served notice on him to leave. When he didn't 
 scare, Rex and me had a lively idea of sending him out as a 
 bundle, but don't ask how that worked out. Rexey gets all 
 heated up when the fizzle is mentioned. 
 
 "They held a session over the champeen detector last night 
 — Dryden, the Plotts, and others of the pestiferous. Some- 
 body interrupted the party with a practical demonstration of 
 how it feels to be hurried alive; but even that did not give 
 their star guest the going-away-from-here hunch. This 
 morning he headed out into the hills with the nigger that 
 used to fetch for you. Claims to be an artist, here for his 
 health, and a sickly looking object he is. I don't need to 
 
90 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 remind you that it ain't healthy out jour way. Short shrift 
 is the advice of, "Yours fraternally, 
 
 "A. SiMMS. 
 
 "P. S. — As your Verney had first sight of the dressed-up 
 t\vo-yards-of-impudence, she can tell you, even if Rex won't 
 just w^hat he looks like. — ^A. S." 
 
 Before the last word of the postscript all eyes 
 had swerved to the daughter of the house. 
 
 '' 'Pears to me you'd oughter have mentioned it 
 some last night," said her brother. "What's the 
 spy-critter like?" 
 
 "She w^as looking sugar at him when I happened 
 on them," Currie interpolated. "Likely she's set- 
 ting up to " 
 
 "Likelier she aint!" The old man's eyes glared 
 bluer than the blue burn from the hearth. "You 
 boys leave off pestering Verney to remember things 
 she's seen fitten to forget. This ain't no business 
 for the w^omen folks nohow. Anything you-ali want 
 to know about the scum — ask me." 
 
 "You, Tom? Have you seen him? When? 
 Where?" 
 
 Vernaluska put the queries to her sly-smiling 
 forebear with such eagerness that a shadow off Rex 
 Currie's frown settled on Sandyred's face. 
 
 The old man's glance warned the younger pair. 
 
 "I met up with him this morning, headed for 
 Dry Dryden's shack on Fallaway, like Asa's letter 
 says. He was dressed up sure enough, and ap- 
 peared to be in a right smart humor with himself. 
 He's got quite a content of nerve, considering; but 
 we-all ought to make short work of him." 
 
 Sandy's face cleared. "Tol'able short, by grace!" 
 
SAFETY FIRST 91 
 
 he laughed. "We'll trail him like his own soul and 
 singe his nerve whenever he edges close up." 
 
 "Bump him off and be done with it, say I," con- 
 tended Currie. 
 
 "First thing," Old Tom planned, with suppressed 
 excitement, "is to get a holt on that no-good nigger, 
 Cotton Eye. Never allowed I'd take him back, 
 but we can't afford to have him running loose, with 
 all he knows. You, Rex, ride down to Dismal early 
 to-morrow morning and fetch him. He's afeared 
 of you, so gaff him. He can do the chores around 
 the place, freeing Sandy's time to " 
 
 "Why not let me trail the spy?" interrupted Cur- 
 rie. "I'm considerable older than Sandy." 
 
 "Older, hut!'^ Tom snorted, with frank deprecia- 
 tion. " 'Pears you've had two chances and failed, 
 so likely you'll keep cooler tending to business as I 
 point it for you. I'll manage along without the 
 boy, one way or t'other." 
 
 "And what of me. Pappy Tom? Why leave me 
 plumb out of it?" 
 
 There was a general straightening as Vernaluska 
 arose, crossed to the family law-giver, and put her 
 demand. 
 
 Severally, from him, Sandy, Rex, even from prim 
 Miss Emmy, voices lifted. 
 
 "You, my gal?" 
 
 "You're going to be left outen it, sis, If I've got 
 any say." 
 
 "All Dismal's talking already about your mix-up 
 with this dude." 
 
 "Have you-uns forgot how to be a lady, Verney 
 Metcalf? Your mother would be turning in her 
 grave, knew she your goings-on." 
 
92 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 But the girl looked only at the patriarch. 
 
 "Ain't I part and passel of this firm, Tom? Ain't 
 I got ability above milking cow-brutes? Can't I 
 ride, see, shoot? Don't I know every blackberry- 
 vine and 'dendron-bush from here to Fallaway? As 
 for you, don't you need Sandy desperate to stand 
 guard and spell you, stirring the mash over at the 
 still?" 
 
 "What you aiming at, Verney?" 
 
 "Just this — let me trail the stranger." 
 
 Springing to his feet in a flare of protest, Currie 
 seized her by the arm, forcefully tried to usurp her 
 place before the old man. 
 
 But Vernaluska was not through, and held her 
 ground. 
 
 "I'm the only one of us all that has time to find 
 out if he really is the slick you suspect," she con- 
 tinued. "I'm not at all sure that he ain't what he 
 says he is — a painter man, seeking health. He 
 looked right peaked to me. Now that they've 
 clapped the double-outlaw brand on our business we 
 can't afford to be making unnecessary mistakes." 
 
 "I say no!" insisted Currie, as if prodded beyond 
 endurance. "If we three men can't short-shrift one 
 stray revenuer without calling on women folks, we're 
 no good noway. I won't consent to Verney's mix- 
 ing in on this." 
 
 She had a scornful look for his chivalry. 
 
 "Who asked leave of you?" she demanded. 
 
 "I tell you-all the girl's lightning-struck on the 
 slick. Pulled him out of the mudhole single-handed, 
 Tobe Riker says; washed his face and whisked the 
 dirt off his fancy clothes. And in the store she led 
 him on something indecent. It ain't to clear up 
 
SAFETY FIRST 93 
 
 Sandy's time that she's offering; It's to see personal 
 that he don't get punctured before she has a chance 
 to enjoy some more of his fine manners. It's just 
 that or Rex Currie never guessed the buried card." 
 
 "You've done guessed this one wrong — that's cer- 
 tain sure!" 
 
 Old Tom also got to his feet and wrenched off 
 the grip of the boot-legger from his daughter's arm. 
 Shaking from a dislike of Currie which had been 
 noticeable frequently of late, he faced him. 
 
 "What right you got to any say-so about Verney?" 
 he demanded. "Talk about this stranger's impu- 
 dence — there's only one excuse for you. You're 
 plumb liquored up doting on the girl." 
 
 Sandyred, with Miss Emmy's chirping caution at 
 his elbow, had closed In on the group. 
 
 "That don't leave him outen apologizing all 
 around for saying she favors a revenue spy," he de- 
 clared with youthful bluster, his likeness to the old 
 man more conspicuous than at any moment hitherto. 
 
 Vernaluska glanced from one angry face to an- 
 other, then startled all by lifting her voice In 
 laughter. 
 
 "So It's three bears we have In this house?" she 
 commented. "You two leave off grov/ling at the 
 third. You're too hard on Rex. He'll apologize, I 
 reckon, when I get time to listen. As for me, sup- 
 pose you-all treat yourselves to a good long look 
 at me" 
 
 She paused, threw back her head for the Invited 
 Inspection. Her next demand was centered upon 
 her father. 
 
 "Do I look like a Metcalf on the outside — or 
 don't I? Do you calculate I'm soft-soap within?" 
 
94 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "YouVe always been smart-headed," he admitted, 
 without grudge. 
 
 ''Of course it ain't any credit to me If I am." 
 She hastened to depreciate the compHment she had 
 forced. "What for did you scrimp to send me two 
 years across the mountain to school, if not to smarten 
 up my head? You've got a better mind your own 
 self, Tom Metcalf, and all I ask is for you to look 
 at the case of this outsider. Whatever he be, dare 
 we-all shoo him off the Ridge the rough way that, 
 according to Asa's letter, has been tried twice and 
 failed ? How long do you reckon it would be before 
 the law would crimp us? It's tightening these days 
 — the law. What kind of success have the old 
 methods had against it?" 
 
 It was just as well that she did not pause for 
 answers to her questions. None seemed ready with 
 return. 
 
 '' 'Pears to me you'd ought to take command, 
 Tom. And you need a cool-calculating person to 
 help you decide whether this young man really be 
 revenuer or painter — a person more like me than 
 Sandy or Rex. If you say after due investigation 
 that he Is a slick, then you and I will find some 
 smarter-headed way of driving him out than by driv- 
 ing ourselves In against the wall. Come across, 
 Tom; do I sound reasonable or not?" 
 
 "Dum reasonable." 
 
 His eyes alight with the gleam of admiration for 
 his girl-child with which he had been listening and 
 looking, the old fellow turned to the others of the 
 group. 
 
 "Verney Is right. I've done gllmmed this for- 
 eigner over myself, and, like she says, he sure looks 
 
SAFETY FIRST 95 
 
 the part he claims. There's no way to make cer- 
 tain sure he's the officer expected without waiting for 
 another one to show up or for him to commit him- 
 self." 
 
 *'But he's committed himself already," Currie 
 interposed. "Didn't he head straight for the 
 Plotts?" 
 
 "And didn't you tell me yourself Tobe Riker had 
 recommended him there?" the girl asked crisply. 
 
 "But what of his bribing Cotton Eye first-off for 
 information about where to get a drink, and his 
 mulishness about staying where he ain't wanted and 
 his being among them present last night at Dryden's 
 cave : 
 
 These exasperated demands Tom himself parried. 
 
 "Don't a'most everybody bribe somebody for a 
 drink? As for mulishness, that's the best sign he's 
 shown. And like as not It will turn out soon why 
 and wherefore he attended that meetin'." 
 
 "Turn out?" Currie mocked the patriarch's mild 
 tone. "When did you get into the doddering, turn- 
 out class, Tom Metcalf? Like as not you'll get 
 down to depending on Providence before long. You 
 let us handle this spy the way we've started and it 
 won't be a jiffy until " 
 
 "Well, it will be a jiffy, say I!" Old Tom 
 thumped the table to accentuate his roar. "Who 
 gave you-uns leave to start, anyhow? Who's the 
 leader of the wets yereabouts — me or Asa Simms? 
 Who's got the most to lose? When you start off 
 with another load of bumblings to-morrow. Rex, 
 pass out the word that Fm watching this foreign- 
 er, and that I won't stand no outside Interfer- 
 ence." 
 
96 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The hillbilly's face crimsoned. 
 
 "You may be the real leader of the wets," he ad- 
 mitted, "and you sure have got the most to lose; 
 but that don't entitle you to give me orders, as I 
 can see." 
 
 "Maybe that don't, but youVe entitled me your 
 own self. Why have you hired out as my bootlegger 
 if you ain't willing to take orders from me? It 
 ain't likely, is it, now, that you could be nursing 
 some other reason?" 
 
 "What other reason could I " 
 
 "Then you pass out that word I" Tom threatened. 
 "If I iind that you hang around Dismal, you are 
 chucked from this job, and out you go. We-all 
 can't afford to have your trip postponed." 
 
 Rex Currie had taken himself in hand, and now 
 shrugged his shoulders with the outward show of 
 good nature that had made him so successful a re- 
 tailer of blockade, quite as though he had not been 
 surprised out of his very Intention. 
 
 "Of course, Tom, If you say so " 
 
 "And Is It also settled," inserted the girl, "that 
 I'm to trail the stranger until he proves himself one 
 way or tother?" 
 
 "It Is that — plumb settled!" Tom's tone was 
 final, and he spared Currie a last antagonistic glare 
 that closed further argument. 
 
 With appreciably less effort than she had ex- 
 pected, Vernaluska had won an important point In 
 her campaign of safety first. She had persuaded 
 her parent, the most rapacious wolf of the ridge 
 where revenue suspects were concerned, to a most 
 unusual course. Her suitor, under manipulation, 
 not only had defeated his own ends, but actually had 
 
SAFETY FIRST 97 
 
 helped hers by accusing her of an ulterior interest 
 in the foreigner — let her thanks excuse him. 
 
 Yet now, as at other times, she suspected more in 
 Rex Currie than appeared on the surface. She had 
 seen him color, then turn pale. She knew his tem- 
 per — consequently approved when he showed the 
 ability to master it. But before to-night she had 
 known him to appear pliant when his will was taut. 
 
 So it came about that Calvin Parker, of the 
 Parkers, was granted regional reprieve by the moun- 
 tain girl. So, also, it came about that Vernaluska 
 Metcalf decided she might advisedly watch other 
 than the stranger to justify her stand. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 TEETOTALERS TWO 
 
 Several adventures, fruitless so far as concerned 
 his principal appetite, but bearing other consequences 
 of moment, came heel-treading after Parker. 
 
 Aroused the first morning of his stay in the cabin 
 by sunrays pouring through the open east door, he 
 arose betimes and managed to feed himself through 
 certain expedients of trail cookery almost forgot. 
 Invigorated by a sleep such as he had not known in 
 months, he found himself impatient to explore the 
 vicinity of his new habitat. 
 
 Along a path that led into the "sticks" from be- 
 hind the cabin, he swung with a certain pleasure in 
 mere activity that left no room for offense at the 
 slap of an occasional laurel. From the hard-pack 
 of the trail, he decided that it must lead somewhere, 
 although the overgrowth of blackberry vines, whose 
 green runners clung to his boots, scratched his put- 
 tees, and twice tripped him almost to a fall, augered 
 that it had not recently been traveled. 
 
 But "somewhere" was a definite enough place for 
 the Calvin Parker of this morning. Somewhere, 
 somehow, somebody — such indiscriminate expres- 
 sions might have been used to describe his mood. 
 
 Determination to win against his enemy of cir- 
 cumstances had climbed into the saddle of his inten- 
 tion. Elbows spurred sides since there was no cup 
 
 98 
 
TEETOTALERS TWO 99 
 
 of realization toward which to stretch his hands; 
 parched tongue scourged palate as a quirt; tighter 
 grew the cinch of his belt against the inner yearning 
 for fiery draught. 
 
 After crossing the creek by way of a toppled tree 
 foot-bridge, he struck into a mountain road on the 
 other side, which seemed to point the way to some 
 human habitation. As he plunged along through 
 the mud, there came to him a new grasp of the 
 Ancient Mariner's classic plaint: 
 
 Water, water everj-where, 
 
 And all the boards did shrink; 
 
 Water, water everj^vhere, 
 Nor any drop to drink. 
 
 But color, fire, and a horse-power "kick" must 
 be the components of the water he craved. No 
 twinge over good resolutions forsworn delayed him. 
 He would make new ones afterward, he assured 
 himself In an uDsurge of amusement at his own 
 expense — make many others, both new and good, 
 and likely break them later, every one. 
 
 It wasn't himself, anyhow, who had proposed that 
 he become a total abstainer; not he who had been 
 most ashamed of that last ghastly night in New 
 York. He had a chance now to prove that he was 
 no weakling; that he could be the sort of man he 
 liked to picture himself. No combination of friends 
 against him — no, not even little Sylvia and Spencer 
 Pope, motive powers of his exile — might settle his 
 fate without his own decisive vote. 
 
 Come to look at the situation In this clear, strong 
 light of the Carolinas, he owed It to himself and 
 the Parkers of the past so to do. He would defy 
 
loo FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 all those gratuitous warnings; would wrest from 
 the mountains the secret location of the spirituous 
 enemy he was at last to make his friend; would pur- 
 sue his self-respecting mission along a path of ad- 
 venture. 
 
 In a forty-acre corn-field, he shortly came upon 
 the humans promised by the road. Behind a bull- 
 tongued plow, hitched to a wraith of a horse, a be- 
 whlskered man was at work. His feet were encased 
 In shapeless chunks of mud, his legs In jeans attached 
 precariously to one suspender, his upper body in a 
 hickory shirt. 
 
 Upon Parker's hail the native drew on the single 
 rein of the wither-wrung beast for immediate inac- 
 tivity. Evidently both welcomed any excuse for 
 stopping work; at any rate, both gazed at the ap- 
 proaching interruption with vacuous eyes. They 
 looked a good deal alike — weather-beaten, slab- 
 sided, listless, hungry. 
 
 As the worker of the perpendicular farm seemed 
 uninspired by any courtesy of meeting a stranger 
 half-way, Parker advanced toward him over the un- 
 even going and went through the form of scraping 
 acquaintance with what heartiness he could com- 
 mand. But the man showed no joy in the fact that 
 they were related in the sacred bonds of near-neigh- 
 borship; the expensive Havana, proffered as an in- 
 centive to friendliness, he crumpled between both 
 palms and used to replace a cud already in his mouth. 
 
 "Perhaps you can direct me to the best place for 
 a chap with a full-grown thirst to stock his wine- 
 cellar?" Parker approached the subject of his quest. 
 "Now that the State's gone dry, they tell me I must 
 apply directly to the mills of the gods. I've been 
 
TEETOTALERS TWO loi 
 
 told, also, that several such are located nearby." 
 
 For a moment a gleam lit the countryman's dull 
 expression, vitality sounded In his voice. 
 
 "So that's it? If you-uns be asking me personal 
 where I gets mine — I does without. My woman 
 don't cotton to no law-breaking on this here farm." 
 
 He jerked a thumb up the hill, over the knob of 
 which an apparition in skirts had appeared. 
 
 '*But if you-uns be set on liquor to drink," the 
 plowman continued, "Bide Shortoff cal'lates you'd 
 best follow that crossroad you came along so far as 
 Roaring Fork — a likely two mile. You just might 
 run acrost one or tother of them Metcalfs afore you 
 reached their hangout." 
 
 With elation Parker grasped that the Metcalf 
 place, at once the source of possible supply and the 
 home of the girl with the remarkable shade of hair, 
 was within walking distance. He delivered himself 
 of hearty acknowledgement and recrossed the fur- 
 rows to the road. 
 
 As he swung around the base of the hill, however, 
 having literally accepted the advice to head for 
 Roaring Fork, he found himself intercepted. Bide 
 Shortoff's "woman" had slipslopped hurriedly across 
 the side of the up-and-down corn-patch and now 
 faced him, arms akimbo. 
 
 Parker doffed his fedora and waited for her to 
 speak. Mentally he commented on what a fine ex- 
 ample she looked of how much a married couple may 
 grow in likeness from association — perhaps, rather, 
 from the food and the work. She, too, was flat- 
 sided, round-shouldered, weather-burned to a degree 
 of monotone which included her hair, her lips, and 
 the one-piece calico slip that garbed her. 
 
102 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "Where be your woman, young man?" 
 
 The query startled Parker, not only of Itself, but 
 also because of the musical, minor-key voice in which 
 It was pitched. 
 
 "Madam " During his hesitant reply the 
 
 bucolic scene was obscured by a flash of Sylvia Brain- 
 ard as he last had seen her, exquisite, reproachful, 
 solicitous — "I hold no legal title to any one of the 
 fair. Why do you ask?" 
 
 "Every he-critter had ought to have one looking 
 after him. Stranger, you was asking Abide-with-me 
 Shortoff where to find bumblings yerabouts?" 
 
 Again Parker was startled — startled and diverted. 
 That "Abide-with-me" should be the "given" name 
 of any benedick seemed at the moment worth his 
 whole trip to the Blue Ridge. But there was distinct 
 threat back of her mellifluous demand. Under spur 
 of the moment, he decided upon dissimulation. 
 
 "As it happens, my chat with your husband carried 
 no mention of bumblings, although I judge you're 
 not often mistaken, Mrs. Shortoff." 
 
 "Whatsoever had it to do with — would you-all 
 just as leave tell me?" 
 
 Parker glanced around for Inspiration, saw a 
 sleek-looking horse grazing In a green-splotched 
 pasture lot. 
 
 "I am looking," he admitted, this time with the 
 impressment of truth, "for a saddle-horse." 
 
 "And Bide sent you away?" The suspicion In 
 her question was for him, not her husband. 
 
 "I suppose, madam, that he did not wish to part 
 with any of the family horses. One becomes so 
 attached to beasts about the home." 
 
 "You suppose ? Well, / don't !" 
 
TEETOTALERS TWO 103 
 
 That so much contemptuous derision could be ex- 
 pressed in her golden drawl seemed incredible. For 
 a moment her gaze traveled with consideration from 
 him to the green-splotched field. 
 
 "The only horse-brute on this farm that can be 
 rid belongs to me," she said. "What you-all got 
 to swap?" 
 
 "Nothing to swap," Parker apologized; "that is, 
 nothing except cash." 
 
 "Nothing except cash? And you-all want a 
 horse?" 
 
 From her hard expression he feared that she was 
 going to refuse any consideration of his proposal, 
 but she soon relieved him. Gripping his arm with 
 a hand that trembled, she started him, with herself, 
 across the uptllted corn-field toward the pasture lot. 
 
 "Come with me. Yan he stands, as fine a painted 
 horse as ever seen the Blue Ridge." 
 
 Along the way she returned to her interrupted 
 advice. 
 
 "Stranger, no matter where Abide-with-me Short- 
 off told you to go for them bumblings, you-all light 
 tother way. He's the most practised tempter in 
 the sticks, if I do say it about my old man, as 
 shouldn't. If so be it he's done directed you to Met- 
 calf's, it's only to make trouble for all concerned. 
 Old Tom's as contentious as a gun. He'll maybe 
 plug you through for spying, and Bide for turning 
 your nose toward Roaring Fork." 
 
 Despite the strength of her assertions, she re- 
 vealed weakness In her closing threat. "And leave 
 me tell you additional, young man, don't you never 
 come back this way with no jug of bumblings to 
 divvy with Bide, unless you want me to plug what's 
 
104 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 left of you. When this here Carolina went dry, one 
 pore sister made up her mind that one husband at 
 least was going to cotton to the law. Fair warning, 
 stranger!" 
 
 They had reached the horse, which looked a per- 
 sonable animal as he gave over grazing to contem- 
 plate them, his head held a little to one side. Well 
 shaped and fed he was, and of distinctive markings: 
 At once Mrs. Shortoff switched to the subject of his 
 excellencies. 
 
 ^'Attend how lavish he is with white and red 
 spots I And he's better than he looks, sound all 
 through and well-mannered — as good a stob as you 
 could find In a handful of miles." 
 
 ''Suppose," suggested Parker, "that you talk it 
 over with Mr. Shortoff and let me know by to- 
 morrow what you will take for your horse." 
 
 Uneasiness showed in her manner. "Suppose I 
 don't. Suppose you-all make up your mind here and 
 now. Likely, once I got to cogitating on how much 
 I think of this horse-brute, I'd plumb refuse to swap 
 him for any of that cash you say youVe got." 
 
 "In blunt terms, then, how much is he worth to 
 you?'^ 
 
 The woman hesitated, looked distrustful of so 
 ready an agreement. 
 
 "It ain't a matter of what he's worth to me. I 
 'spect you nor nobody would be agreeable to pay 
 that. But if you haul me down to cash, I'm in need 
 of fifty-nine dollars and fifty cents." 
 
 It was Parker's turn to be suspicious. Although 
 he was not a practised horseman, the price seemed 
 absurd — too low even for the sticks. What was 
 wrong with the animal? He asked himself. 
 
TEETOTALERS TWO 105 
 
 Walking over, he made a more thorough exam- 
 ination. There was no doubt that the beast was 
 ''plumb gentled," as the farm woman had assured 
 him. Inspection of his hoofs showed no hint of 
 split; his hocks were clean; there were none of the 
 signs of glanders, in so far as Parker knew them. 
 A sharp rap upon his rump sent him across the 
 pasture at an easy, pain-free lope, testifying to no 
 stiffness of joints. There seemed no reason to 
 change first impressions. 
 
 The owner was close behind, deepening music 
 in her drawl. 
 
 "Being as you-all are a furriner and just naturally 
 afeared of getting burned, Til make it an even iifty- 
 nme. 
 
 Engaged in watching the movement of his pro- 
 spective purchase, Parker made no reply. 
 
 "Bide's saddle and bridle ain't in no bad way," 
 she added, "but the brute's done got kind of used to 
 them, so Til throw them in." 
 
 "He has a name, I suppose?" Parker asked, after 
 paying her the cash. 
 
 "I suppose he has! You couldn't make him an- 
 swer to no other if you tried a month o' Sundays. 
 It is" — she paused from what soon proved to be 
 inherent dramatic appreciation — "It Is Teetota- 
 ler!" 
 
 Not until returning from a fruitless search along 
 Roaring Fork did Parker Indulge his sense of the 
 ludicrous. In the midst of a laugh, however, he 
 stopped because he was annoyed. Then, appre- 
 ciating why he felt so, he resumed the laugh. 
 
 He, who had set forth so determinedly that mom- 
 mg to possess himself of a goodly supply of the 
 
io6 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 region's Illicit brew, was hitting the back trail with- 
 out it, astride an animal named Teetotaler! 
 
 For comfort he turned to congratulate himself on 
 having out-hoss-swapped a Carolinian, when the re- 
 turn of the "critter's" stubborn propensity to veer 
 toward the upside of the road interested him. 
 
 Soon suspicion replaced Interest. Dismounting, 
 he went to the horse's head, removed his hat, held 
 It first before the right eye, then the left. The up- 
 hill one blinked, the other did not. 
 
 The sudden rage of the man who first realizes 
 himself outwitted rushed through him who had re- 
 ceived the benefits due a "furriner." So that was 
 why Mrs. Shortoff needed only fifty-nine dollars and 
 fifty cents — reason enough to cut off the centimes and 
 throw In the worn equipment! That was why her 
 horse grazed, while Bides' toiled before the plow! 
 The mare, although a scarecrow for looks, at least 
 could keep to the furrows! 
 
 As he rode farther, however, and found that 
 bridle vigilance enabled the animal to hold almost 
 in the center of the road, amusement dispersed rage. 
 He must not blame the horse — none would prefer 
 the misfortune. The whole circumstance was 
 divertingly ironic. His new mount's name was Tee- 
 totaler, yes. But he was blind in one eye. He 
 could not go straight ! 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 FROM AMBUSH 
 
 The sensations of a sunrise awakening were new 
 to Calvin Parker. He felt like a pioneer In some 
 unexplored world as he strode to the front door and 
 gazed at the nature study spread before him, bright- 
 colored and moist, as from wet paint. 
 
 That his pinto and the squirrels were already astir 
 filled him with a sort of indignation. Yet why 
 shouldn't they be? Their precedent had dictated 
 the hour of his retirement after supper last night 
 when, tired by the carpenter's job of making horse- 
 habitable the shed at the rear of the cabin, he had 
 found that he could not read, could not even smoke. 
 
 But, this early morning, vigor swept through his 
 veins, while thoughts to match breezed In his brain. 
 He would demonstrate that his quest, which had 
 seemed all-important the day before, could be forced 
 Into secondary place to-day. He would stay at 
 home and paint during the morning, postponing his 
 excursion Into the Metcalf stronghold until after- 
 noon. 
 
 A man should attend his work before seeking 
 pleasure. Liquor, which he had allowed in the 
 past to get the better of him. In the future should be 
 a mere incident In his pleasure. "The mead that 
 cheered" — cheer was its of&ce rather than corrup- 
 tion. 
 
 107 
 
io8 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 He congratulated himself that moral strength was 
 coming to him as rapidly as physical In this vital 
 mountain air. He realized and pardoned as entirely 
 justifiable a great pride in his self-control. It was 
 only that which he had lacked all along. 
 
 After toasting these commendable sentiments in 
 strong coffee, he planted Teetotaler's picket-pin in 
 a plot of tall grass near by, then assorted the para- 
 phernalia of his art. A goodly piece of canvas he 
 cut from his roll and stretched upon a frame 
 with four thumb-tacks. His easel was soon put to- 
 gether. 
 
 An hour after rising found him astride a folding- 
 chair on the edge of Falloway Rim just to the left of 
 the cabin. Without the restriction of a drawing, he 
 was transferring the oils from palette to canvas in 
 an impressionistic reproduction of the colorful scene. 
 In it had become pictured his strong thoughts about 
 himself; the dews, still dripping, baptized it "Early 
 to Rise." 
 
 From the branches of the huge armored pine 
 which helped form the frame of the cabin, a pair of 
 squirrels with progeny still nested, whom on earlier 
 acquaintance he had addressed as Mr. and Mrs. 
 Boomer, defied the laws of gravity in descent. Per- 
 haps in appreciation of the hand-cooked breakfasts he 
 had shared with them, perhaps because they expected 
 further provender from the appetizing piles on the 
 palette, they perked their tufted heads this way and 
 that, chattering as though in favorable comment, 
 for all the world like the human pretenders so in- 
 evitable in city galleries. Out of all proportion to 
 their size, they subtracted from the solitude. 
 
 For a couple of hours Parker painted, pleased that 
 
FROM AMBUSH 109 
 
 he should be at work again, Inspired to excel. But 
 there was a green that he tried for in vain from the 
 tubes of his assortment — the pale yet potential green 
 of sunlight on laurel, shafted through the deepest 
 shadow. He arose and stepped back to study his 
 latest experiment with dissatisfied eyes. 
 
 Suddenly he leaped aside. The report of a gun- 
 shot had shattered the quiet. A black spot near 
 the upper left-hand thumbtack told that a bullet had 
 pierced the frame of his stretcher. As he edged 
 toward the more substantial cover of the armored 
 pine, he realized that only his attempt at the elusive 
 green had removed him in time. 
 
 Scarcely had he gained such shelter as the tree 
 afforded, feeling painfully large and conspicuous, 
 when a second shot spat from the unseen gun, a third, 
 an instant fourth. 
 
 In the anxious silence that ensued, his vital con- 
 cern over the integrity of his owm hide was somewhat 
 alloyed by the observation that, in these last shots 
 at least, his work had been aimed at, rather than 
 himself. The edge of the upper right-hand tack 
 had been dinted; the left-hand one had been missed 
 entirely, as testified by a black pt)lka-dot a half-inch 
 below it; the fourth had been hit so squarely that 
 the canvas v/as cut from the board and curled 
 inward. 
 
 With an imprecation, Parker turned and peered 
 about. If his mortal career was to end, it would be 
 now, since he could not achieve Invisibility. But in 
 the laurel bushes that entirely screened the cabin and 
 shed, nothing was seen to move, save the general, 
 gentle flutter of the foliage. Not the faintest trace 
 of smoke could he discern and no guidance could be 
 
no FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 hoped from the squirrels. They had wisely disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Substantiated In the theory that the immediate 
 exaction of his life was not the object of the interrup- 
 tion, he spent the next half-hour systematically flay- 
 ing the brush and searching for tracks. He was 
 urged by a review of the several warnings he had 
 received since his somewhat precipitate arrival in 
 Dismal Gap. Was this last a warning, too, he asked 
 himself? 
 
 Flouted in the discovery of any trace which he 
 could assume to have been made by a prowler, he 
 decided on artifice. Returning to the easel, he gath- 
 ered up the canvas, folded easel and camp-chair, re- 
 turned to the cabin, entered by the front door. The 
 rear one stood open. With scarcely a pause to de- 
 posit his paraphernalia upon the cot, he seized his 
 rifle and hurried out the back in time to see a dis- 
 turbance of the underbrush, as of some one ap- 
 proaching to settle in ambush. 
 
 Without waiting to count the cost, he rushed the 
 laurel and threw himself flat on the ground. The 
 crash of a precipitate retreat rewarded him, 
 although he could see nothing ahead but green. 
 Pressing closely after the crackling of brush and 
 thud of footfalls upon log or hard-pan, he plunged 
 In reckless pursuit. But not for long. 
 
 A sudden cessation of noise ahead brought him 
 to a standstill. His quarry must have side-stepped, 
 perhaps had swung beyond pursuit of his ears Into ; 
 the low-hanging boughs. 
 
 Exasperated, he began to beat the bush, this way ' 
 and that, back and forth, determined to flush the 
 disturber of his morning's work. He would not be : 
 
FROM AMBUSH in 
 
 ridiculed that way, he assured himself, with the ve- 
 hemence of his unwonted bodily energy. Whoever 
 had aimed those impertinent bullets into the four 
 corners of his canvas was going to account to him. 
 
 He had need of persistence. Nothing whatever 
 came of the bush-beating, not the faintest sound of 
 any retreat, although several times he stopped short 
 and held his breath for intensive listening. 
 
 Perspiring from mental as well as physical tem- 
 perature, he dropped off a cut-bank to rest and think. 
 There he found himself face to face with a humor- 
 ous-eyed white mule — a white mule with red legs, 
 tied to the rhododendron copse. 
 
 *'Say, you didn't fire those shots?" he asked aloud, 
 returning the look. 
 
 The beast continued to stare at him, his elongated 
 features solemn, absolutely non-committal. By not 
 so much as a twitch of lip or ear did he acknowledge 
 the demand. 
 
 A rush of light came to Parker. Association of 
 ideas led him to conclusion. White mule with red 
 legs — girl of wondrous hair — Metcalf place near- 
 
 by-- 
 
 A queer way to greet an Inoffensive tourist whom 
 once she had befriended, unto whom she had min- 
 istered by washing his face and ears I Why should 
 she wish to demonstrate her marksmanship by punc- 
 turing the tacks of the canvas upon which he was 
 at work — ^upon which he was painting what bade 
 fair to be a masterpiece? 
 
 He had this and a few other questions to ask Miss 
 Vernaluska Metcalf and he intended to ask them, 
 even if she had evaded him in the woods by super- 
 craft, he assured himself. She would answer, he 
 
(112 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 guessed — that is, unless she preferred to walk home ! 
 
 "Put them up, stranger I" 
 
 This pithy interruption rewarded a tedious cam- 
 paign of waiting on the part of the man — Mr. 
 Hybrid hadn't seemed to mind. 
 
 The voice was that of the girl who had put Tobe 
 Riker in his place — there could be no doubt of it, 
 although no one substantiated the conclusion in 
 person. 
 
 Her command had been specific enough. Even 
 Parker, unused to such, had no doubt what was 
 meant by "them." He did drop his weapon and 
 raise one hand, but only to lift his velour fedora, 
 wave it toward the bush in general, then lay it on 
 the bank beside him. 
 
 "Howdy-do, Miss Metcalf? Been there all 
 along? Come on out." 
 
 When she appeared from the thickest of the rho- 
 dodendron clumps, he understood better how she 
 had eluded him. Her dress was green; in fact, 
 almost that pale, potential shade for which he 
 had been trying when the first shot had inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 The perception impressed him. Above the ging- 
 iham, her hair, from which she had removed her 
 hat, flushed in the sunlight with something the effect 
 of the early rhododendron flowers atop the green 
 plants. 
 
 "You appear to enjoy Solomon's company," she 
 said. ^Tm hungry." 
 
 Parker's resentful expression eased at the sight of 
 hers. 
 
 "Oh, Solomon and I get along all right. You 
 see, Pm sort of wise myself in my day and degenera- 
 
FROM AMBUSH 113 
 
 tion. Now that you mention It, I'm sort of hungry, 
 too." 
 
 ^'Leastwise, not so you can't control it," she 
 snapped. "Why have you been sitting guard on 
 my mule?" 
 
 ^'Curiosity, my dear young woman — curiosity 
 given endurance by an even stronger thing or two." 
 Parker had arisen at her emergence from cover. "It 
 may seem a small matter to you, but self-respect 
 compels me to ask why you shot holes into all four 
 corners of my picture." 
 
 "I didn't hurt it none." 
 
 "You didn't exactly ruin it, no. But do you think 
 it was very nice to interrupt a harmless artist at 
 work in that — er — emphatic way?" 
 
 A suggestion of a dimple wavered into her cheek 
 as she proposed: "Any audience has got a right to 
 express itself, ain't it? I was — was hissing you." 
 
 "Hissing? But why?" 
 
 "Because I don't like your picture nohow, that's 
 why! Now that your self-respect is attended, I'll 
 be wishing you good morning." 
 
 With this vixenish addendum, she started toward 
 the mule. But Parker claimed her consideration 
 with several more demands. 
 
 "My self-respect isn't properly attended. Hav- 
 ing said that much, you owe it both to yourself and 
 me to say more. You shot up my picture be- 
 cause you didn't like It? Why don't you like 
 it?" 
 
 "It is a picture of nature that ain't natural." 
 
 "How could you know — that Is, how could you see 
 its detail at such a distance?" 
 
 She sniffed, probably incensed anew by his cor- 
 
114 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 rected Insinuation that she was no fit critic of his 
 work. 
 
 "Oh, I slipped up plenty close enough to see that 
 picture. I could have seen It a quarter-mile, likely, 
 the way you were wasting good paint. Why didn't 
 you fling it on with a palette-knife?" 
 
 The question caught his attention even above his 
 resentment. He took a more persuasive start: 
 
 ^'Perhaps you don't know. Miss Metcalf, that my 
 method with that landscape Is one highly approved 
 by an ultra-modern school. They hope to make the 
 present-day age of art distinctive for its specializa- 
 tion. One thing in every picture, they think, is 
 enough to emphasize. As a quick means to a super- 
 brilliant end, It Is " 
 
 ^'Perhaps," she mimicked, putting full weight on 
 his didactic tone, "I understand what you mean with- 
 out your putting yourself out further." 
 
 ^Tm sure you'd have liked my effort better," he 
 continued, "had you known the name to which I was 
 painting it — 'Early to Rise.' " 
 
 *' 'Early to Rise," was it? Say, you-all had best 
 get up earlier next time!" 
 
 She had the additional unklndness to vent a small, 
 lilting laugh. 
 
 "Well, of all the unmitigated " The Indig- 
 nation of the artist from the world outside started 
 to boil over; then, because In his work he was always 
 ready to learn, he turned off the fire. "I wish you 
 would tell me," he said, "why my picture offended 
 you Into shooting bullets at it. / thought it rather 
 good." 
 
 She showed herself reached by his good-natured 
 appeal. 
 
FROM AMBUSH 115 
 
 *'I don't mind If you don't," she smiled. "As a 
 student of these mountains, I felt It my plumb duty 
 to stop you. You could shovel on the paint to copy 
 SImms's calico counter, or anything m^ade by man, 
 or even folks — who generally look a heap like what 
 they-all make of themselves — and I wouldn't have 
 a nary word to say. But when you set about making 
 a freak out of Nature " 
 
 She paused a moment, studying him speculatively, 
 as If to determine whether there could be any good 
 In him, then went on : 
 
 "Do you know. It always appears to me like God- 
 a-mlghty must have taken particular pains tinting 
 the Blue Ridge, knowing He'd use It for a place to 
 rest His spirit In. Can't you see how everything 
 IS blended proper, with a nary splotch around? 
 Sometimes I lie down on the moss and shut my eyes. 
 Then I forget sight, feel only sound. The whole 
 range kind of sings songs to me, sometimes sad and 
 sometimes chlrky, according to the w^eather, but 
 never loud. Every rock and every flower and every 
 leaf is singing, singing along; but no voice ever 
 raises loud or discordant above the rest. It's just 
 grand and smooth — like religion! Of course you 
 can't ever touch It In paint, but why don't you try, 
 painter man — why don't you tryT'' 
 
 The girl had lost all diffidence In the course of her 
 speech; her eyes held steadily on his; her face was 
 aglow. In her dress of Indeterminate green, backed 
 by the deeper-hued bushes, her hair an aureole of 
 spun copper, she made an Impression upon the color 
 convert to which he perforce bent the knee. She was 
 a strange creature and really beautiful, he told him- 
 self. She had not a bad feature. Probably her 
 
ii6 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 skin, beneath the freckles and tan, was the thin 
 porcelain that went with her hair. 
 
 The truth In her criticism of what now looked 
 plainly a faddish, tawdry effort humbled him, awoke 
 a sort of gratitude In him for her Interruption, 
 to replace the pique he had shown. He had seen 
 red so long — nothing but red, red, red — perhaps he 
 had grown dense to subtler effects. 
 
 But before he could express himself, her mood 
 changed. A hostile look conquered that of exulta- 
 tion as she remembered. 
 
 "If you-all don't mind, IVe got an engagement now 
 — a pressing engagement to meet a square meal." 
 
 "Won't you take lunch with me?" Parker ex- 
 claimed eagerly. "My larder Is well stocked with 
 things warranted by the labels to cook In a jifty." 
 
 "Thank you," she refused curtly, "but I've 
 brought my own chunk." 
 
 Forthwith she began untying a small parcel from 
 the saddle of Solomon. This she opened; from It 
 produced a tin cup, a pair of sandwiches, a thick 
 slice of cake with nut-studded frosting, and two red- 
 cheeked, comely apples. 
 
 She started toward the creek with the cup, but 
 Parker Intercepted her. 
 
 "You will allow me," he Insisted over her protest. 
 
 When he returned with It dripping, he found her 
 seated, energetically undertaking one of the sand- 
 wiches. As she accepted the cup, with an embar- 
 rassed nod for his courtesy, she said: 
 
 "I *spect you-all think It would be turn-about for 
 me to ask you to share my grub.'* 
 
 "There looks to be plenty," he encouraged. 
 
 "There Is a-plenty, but " 
 
FROM AMBUSH 117 
 
 "I should be delighted." Parker accepted with 
 his best manner and started to seat himself on the 
 bank. He straightened, however, on her exclama- 
 tion: 
 
 *'Don'tyou sit down beside me — I ain't asked you 
 yet!" 
 
 *'But you're going to, aren't you?" 
 
 "That's the point; I'm not." She returned 
 viciously to the sandwich. 
 
 *'I couldn't let even a dog stand around as hungry 
 as I am, and not offer him a crust. I don't eat so 
 much as most men — could do with very little." 
 
 *'Folks had ought to be friendly before they 
 break bread together." 
 
 "iVnd aren't we that — friendly?" 
 
 Parker tried for a very hungry expression as he 
 glanced from the food to her, from her back to the 
 food. He realized as he had not done before that 
 he was starved for companionship. 
 
 *'Surely not." The auburn lashes lifted from a nice 
 selection of the best biting-place in an apple cheek. 
 They revealed a sneer in the fawn-colored eyes. 
 **rm right glad that my manners didn't get the best 
 of me and make me ask you to lunch. There ain't 
 any particular reason why I should eat with a slick/* 
 
 Her culminative vehemence made Parker gasp; 
 then chuckles began to agitate him. 
 
 "Fve enjoyed that joke before," he murmured be- 
 tween laughs, *'but it never grows tiresome. You'll 
 have to pardon me, but — but " 
 
 The girl made no remark. She sat and watched 
 him, eating energetically the while, as though in de- 
 vouring the last crumb of the luncehon which he had 
 elected to divide she could most teUingly express her 
 
ii8 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 disapproval of him and his unseemly levity over 
 a subject so serious to her. 
 
 She had swallowed the last bite, had mounted, and 
 was heading out of the copse, when he first seemed 
 to realize that she was going. 
 
 *'0h, I say, Miss Metcalf, wait a minute!" he 
 cried, springing up and following her. "If you'll 
 let me explain how ridiculous it Is '* 
 
 "I reckon my funny-bone ain't so sharp as yours, 
 stranger.'* 
 
 He caught the bridle and tried to stop the mule, 
 but was forced to deliver his further remarks on the 
 move. Solomon proceeded to demonstrate that he 
 was w^Ise enough to recognize but one master. 
 
 Parker, his arm around the mule's neck, stumbled 
 backward, facing the girl with the one-sided, winning 
 smile that had gained the day for him with so many 
 women of his past. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't call me stranger. I've met 
 you twice before, and your father once, to say 
 nothing of knowing many of your acquaintances — 
 Asa SImms, the Plotts, and others In the village." 
 
 " 'Pears to me you have met too many already." 
 
 "But why not, when I have come to your moun- 
 tains entirely on my own initiative, just to have a 
 nice, peaceable time? Naturally I expected folks 
 to treat me in a nice, peaceable way. I am used 
 even to being liked, Miss Metcalf, and I had hoped 
 that you " 
 
 "Ain't that why they sent you, maybe?" she sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Nobody sent me, except Do stop this stiff- 
 necked, forty-horse-power whippet, and let me get 
 breath enough to explain!" 
 
FROM AMBUSH 119 
 
 *'I 'spect you haven't noticed," she said cuttingly, 
 *'that I am in something of a hurry? Git ep, Solo- 
 mon!" 
 
 At the aversion In her voice and face, Parker re- 
 leased his hold of her mount and stopped. From 
 the middle of the stream, where he found himself, 
 soaked to the knees, he stood looking after her. 
 
 ^Tm coming over to make a call on you at 
 Roaring Fork," he threatened in lifted voice. 
 
 *'Don't you dare ! Haven't you-all got any man- 
 ners, to call on a lady when you ain't asked?" 
 
 *'But I'm coming to call on your father. I feel 
 sure he'll be fair enough to listen to me. I shall 
 hope, however, to have the pleasure " 
 
 ''Don't you hope for any such unlikely thing!" At 
 last she had turned, a vehement note in her tones. 
 "You won't find your kind of pleasure on Roaring 
 Fork, Mr. Parker of New York, and you will find 
 what's worse. Don't you come — I warn you!" 
 
 She heel-urged Solomon Into a sudden sprint of 
 speed. LIckety-split, they were gone. 
 
 Parker stood for several seconds longer In the 
 stream, contemplating the agitation of the branches 
 through which she had disappeared. His ears felt 
 hot, his breath was coming hard. He realized that 
 he was very angry. What an overbearing, regard- 
 less disposition she had, the green-clad quarry whom 
 he had thought fairly trapped! Never had he vatt 
 such insolence from a woman, even when he was at 
 fault, as he certainly was not In this Instance. 
 
 Very well, he would not call on her, since she had 
 forbidden It. He would leave her to wonder and wait 
 in vain. But, even though not the revenuer she had 
 Insisted him, he would find a way to the Metcalf still. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 DROPS OF FIRE 
 
 By the time Cal Parker's next morning stint with 
 the brush had been executed, a new resolve was 
 added to those lately made. Not only must he 
 prove himself to himself; also he must convince the 
 blockaders that he was a wet customer, rather than 
 the dry avenger they thought him. In so doing, he 
 would make the popskull popper's daughter forget 
 her ornery attitude toward himself and his work. 
 
 There wasn't a doubt that he could get and give 
 "references." There were certain bar clerks, wine 
 agents, and hotel managers of the "biggest" town 
 who doubtless would vouch for him as a customer. 
 Why, he might even add a psychopathist or tv/o for 
 good measure, and the recommendation of a six 
 week's sojourn at Professor William Huntoon's 
 **health farm." Since it was for money that block- 
 ade was distilled and the double-outlaw risk run, with 
 money he ought to be able to buy up any resentment 
 over his victory. 
 
 As a plan of Immediate action, he would follow 
 the road in the westerly direction of Abide-with-me 
 Shortoff's tip. He would begin a thorough search 
 of the entire region about the Metcalf lair. 
 
 In good spirit with his problem and himself, Calvin 
 Parker set forth. No fear that his mount would lead 
 back to the Shortoff place tightened his hold on the 
 
 120 
 
DROPS OF FIRE 121 
 
 rein. He had become convinced on that first ride 
 home that Teetotaler's bias gate would never fulfill 
 any definite intention of the horse-mind. Indeed, 
 so certain was he of this that he spoke in out-loud 
 companionship: 
 
 "There are things about you, old boss, that might 
 Interfere with a rider of a less philosophic trend 
 than I. But me it gratifies to ponder that, no matter 
 how progressive may be your ideas, you'd only run 
 in circles if given your head. You're hopelessly lop- 
 sided, Tee. To get anywhere you need the guidance 
 Oi two-eyed intelligence. That's me, you must 
 understand — Cal Parker, at last seeing things with 
 both lamps wide!" 
 
 The roads were few, but the trails devious. For 
 two hours and more the mud-heavy hoofs carried 
 mount and man through a dripping wilderness. The 
 break In the monotony was a relief when Teetotaler 
 stopped short, threw up his head, evidenced that he 
 at least had full use of both ears. 
 
 The sound which had startled the horse loudened 
 In approach — a husky human voice chanting a weird 
 melody. Parker drew rein and waited where the 
 mud-trail made a sharp turn around a clump of 
 alders. Greatly to his surprise, as well as to his 
 interest, the singer proved to be his first adviser in 
 Dismal Gap, Cotton Eye Lee. 
 
 At recognition, the black seemed moved chiefly by 
 fright. 
 
 "Get you behind me, cap'n!" he exclaimed, both 
 hands upraised, as If In defense. 
 
 On finding his path effectively blocked by a side- 
 wise presentation of the pinto, he turned and began 
 scuttling along the backward trail. 
 
122 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 *'Hold up, Cotton I There's somewhat I wish to 
 say to you ! You were friendly enough on starting 
 back to Dismal the other day. Did you decide 
 afterward that the recompense wasn't sufficient?" 
 
 *'Laws, no I But I'm a changed nigger since." 
 
 *Tou don't look It." 
 
 The white-flecked eyeball rolled, as also the soot- 
 dark one. ^'Changed In my heart, cap'n. I was 
 dry as a hunk of charcoal then; now It's as much as 
 my life's worth to mention sap to you, not speaking 
 of my job." 
 
 Parker was doubly Interested. Out of considera- 
 tion for the nerves of his quondam black guide, he 
 rode nearer and lowered his voice. 
 
 *'What Is this job, and who started the irrigation 
 of your arid veins?" 
 
 ^'Irrigation?" murmured Cotton Eye, fascinated, 
 despite his fear. "Old Tom Metcalf finds he can't 
 get along without my Irrigation, so he sends Rex 
 Currie to pry me off'n Colonel Dry Dryden. When 
 that sure-enough devil sets himself to pry anybody 
 
 off'n anything But, say, cap'n, I got to be 
 
 shanking It along!" 
 
 The New Yorker was of another mind. With 
 some ostentation and just In time to catch the tall 
 of the negro's glance, he produced a bill-fold from 
 his pocket, selected from Its thick contents a crisp 
 five-dollar note. 
 
 "Your Inherent discernment should have told you 
 that there is no harm In me," he began grandiosely. 
 "This token in my hand as well as others in my 
 pocket ought to convince you that there's a whole lot 
 of good. If they have told you to beware of me as 
 a revenuer. Cotton Eye, they have basely imposed 
 
DROPS OF FIRE 123 
 
 upon the credulity which in you is so — so — I might 
 say, so circumambient." 
 
 "You-all might — that's plumb right, cap'n. My 
 own mother couldn't never deny but what I'm mighty 
 circumambient," Interjected the black, both fingers 
 and ears twitching from cupidity. 
 
 **What I'd like to exchange this token for Is what 
 I wanted that first day down in Dismal Gap and 
 failed to get from Postmaster SImms — a quart of 
 bottled kick for my stomach's sake." 
 
 The mental struggle of the negro was obvious. 
 He blinked vigorously In his regard of the bank-note. 
 He took a step forward. His hands clutched the 
 air. Then an Imagined sound In the woods broke 
 temptation's spell. Whirling about In the mud, he 
 began a precipitate retreat, sputtering protestations 
 as he went. 
 
 To Parker his words came back disjointedly. 
 
 "Get behind me, cap'n. See you-all negotiate 
 yourself on yon side of the creek. I ain't taking 
 anything away from you, and I ain't bringing any- 
 thing back." 
 
 With shuffling gait he was gone — gulped by the 
 brush. 
 
 Astride Teetotaler, pursuit looked unfeasible 
 to Parker. He seriously doubted, furthermore, 
 whether the entire collection of bills in his wallet 
 would overcome the black's primal craving. He 
 must use his persuasions upon some one higher in 
 the protectorate of the illicit traffic before he could 
 hope to obtain the wherewithal for the test of his 
 reform. 
 
 Judging it to be a full hour before dark, he de- 
 cided to continue "projecting." The more of neigh- 
 
124 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 boring area he covered, the less there would remain 
 for to-morrow. 
 
 Perhaps half an hour later, the piebald's unshod 
 feet, padding soundlessly In the heavy trail, brought 
 out upon a creek which Parker assumed to be Roar- 
 ing Fork. As he was debating whether to cross 
 from this, the "yon" side, to the other, he saw the 
 back of a man who was trudging away from him 
 up a feeder of the main stream. Even In the dusk, 
 and at the distance, the native showed to be excep- | 
 tlonally tall and broad of shoulder. His leisurely 
 stride and omission of backward glances augured 
 that he did not suspect any surveillance. A sack or 
 pouch of some sort was slung over his one shoulder. 
 
 This pack It was that held suggestlveness for Par- 
 ker — the possibility that it might hold corn or rye 
 on Its way to some blockade process. He decided to 
 follow afoot. Joining the two ends of Teetotaler's 
 reins in a hard knot, he threw them over a sapling; 
 then, with what stealth he could command, started 
 after the disappearing man. 
 
 The "branch" had a sharp fall, as he discovered, 
 once he began following it through the shrubbery. 
 ■It seemed to be fleeing in noisy trepidation from 
 the frown of the largest mountain, which Parker de- 
 cided must be the Vernaluska of regional fame for 
 which the daughter of the Metcalfs had been 
 named. 
 
 In the looming shadows and tangle of under- 
 growth he presently lost sight of the pursued; but 
 only for a moment. On straining his eyes upward, 
 he was rewarded by a glimpse of the tall figure dis- 
 appearing Into a rough-board shack which stood on 
 a ledge of rock several yards to the right. 
 
DROPS OF FIRE 125 
 
 Excitement caught Parker as he crouched behind 
 a storm-flung boulder, needlessly, perhaps, in the 
 thickening gloom. Had he at last come upon a 
 still? Another moment, light from within outlined 
 the door and window of the structure. 
 
 With a stealth of tread which he felt any Indian 
 might have envied, he circuitously approached the 
 smaller of these apertures, which showed to be Inno- 
 cent of glass or sash. The going was precarious 
 and the window on the down-hill slant. He crouched 
 low when close enough to see Inside. 
 
 The scene was not what he had hoped or ex- 
 pected. None of the equipment for the manufac- 
 ture of "bumxblings" showed In the hght of the rosin 
 torch, made dim and uncertain by frequent sput- 
 tering. Of such furnishings as were, there stood 
 out In best detail a stone fireplace directly beneath 
 the flare. In the ashes of the hearth knelt the man 
 with the sack. His great shoulders were bent for- 
 ward to aid the groping of his hands along the 
 sooty stones of the chimney back. His hat had 
 been discarded, revealing a leonine mass of tawny 
 hair. A rifle lay upon the floor beside one bent 
 knee. 
 
 Old Tom Metcalf himself It was. 
 
 The Northerner recognized him with an admix- 
 ture of triumph and shock. He felt his way farther 
 forward among the loose rocks which littered the 
 slant of the ledge. He was in time to witness the 
 removal of a stone from the chimney and Its place- 
 ment upon the hearth. When the groping hands 
 again emerged they held one of the tin lard-pails 
 so Innumerable In a region where fats are the pre- 
 vailing condiment of most things culinary. 
 
126 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The patriarch turned on the hearth, placed the 
 pail In the fullest light of the flare, into it dipped 
 both huge hands. They reappeared with something 
 falling through their fingers that looked like drops 
 of liquid fire. 
 
 Over and over again the bluish tongues lapped the 
 soot-blacked palms, ran down the fingers, with a 
 tinkling sound dripped back Into the pail. Yet they 
 showed not to burn, for the old man's expression 
 was entranced as he bent low over them. His lips 
 began to move and mumble In a sort of doggerel, | 
 several connected utterances of which reached the 
 ears outside. 
 
 "Blue flames, you-all are mine — ^youVe got to be 
 mine. Leave them sneer, leave them tap their skulls. 
 We'll singe their sneers one day. You've got the 
 power I crave. You can open the gates of the world 
 to my gal. Won't you do it for Verney, If not for 
 me? She's young and she's got power like you. 
 Why hide you-all from Tom, when he's going to git 
 you whether or no? Why scorch his peace of mind 
 when he " 
 
 Whimpering choked his words. He sank his face 
 Into double handfuls of the irrldescent, tinkling, 
 trickling fire; continued to mutter and sob. His 
 shoulders shook, as If from man-sized emotion. His 
 voice reduced into a wheedling, unintelligible, senile 
 whine. 
 
 Parker, pressing closer, In the hope of distinguish- 
 ing more of these garbled mutterlngs, unfortunately 
 put his weight upon a rounded stone and lurched 
 forward, straight Into the window frame. In his 
 effort to stay the fall, both hands shot out, so that, 
 when his forward movement ceased, both arm-pits 
 
 I 
 
DROPS OF FIRE 127 
 
 were as firmly, cruelly wedged as though forced Into 
 a straight-jacket. 
 
 On raising his head he found his predicament 
 pointed by the round mouth of a rifle barrel. De- 
 spite the undoubted surprise of his appearance on 
 the scene, the hands which held the weapon were 
 steady. In the shifty torch-light Old Tom's face 
 showed to be twisting with fury. 
 
 ^'Hell's banjer — the slick!" he cried. ''Stop 
 wrenching — you can't heft loose. What be you-uns 
 hunting this p.m.? Do you call me bird, beast or 
 fish? You hear me asking of you. Best be think- 
 ing quick or I " The tightening of rifle-alm 
 
 completed his suggestion. 
 
 Parker ceased his struggles to be free from the 
 vise Into which his awkwardness had flung him, ad- 
 vised by the point of the gun. 
 
 ''Let me explain my position, Mr. Metcalf." 
 
 " 'Pears to me that don't need no explaining." 
 
 "But It does, sir; rather, the Incentive that got 
 me Into this somewhat tight place. You folks around 
 here have a mistaken Idea of me. I am seeking 
 liquor, yes; but for my own use. I am able and 
 willing to pay well for " 
 
 "You'll pay, by cripes!" 
 
 The blond patriarch's Interruption was an angry 
 roar. 
 
 "I'd ought to make you pay this minute, by right, 
 
 for spying on — on " He glanced back at the 
 
 hearth, Innocent of lard pail, of mysterious flames, 
 of the cobblestone taken from the chimney-back. 
 Marvelously swift had been his restoration at first 
 hint of alarm. His expression was less fierce as he 
 returned to the window's prisoner. "But there's 
 
128 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 smarter than what I am on your trail. You'll get 
 yourself run outen these parts, I reckon, without 
 my man-killing you." 
 
 "I reckon I won't, If you have any justice In your 
 system. This mountainside Isn't your property, any- 
 how, Is it?" Parker protested, the while guardedly 
 working one shoulder upward. 
 
 The effect of the question upon the old man was 
 unnerving. The rifle again raised and a steady eye 
 squinted along its barrel. 
 
 *' What's it you say?" he bellowed. *'I ain't never 
 been no man-killer, but I'll start with you, if you 
 pester me with another question. 'Tain't a matter 
 of whose land this is — ^you got no right prowling 
 over It. If you wriggle your right side down In- 
 stead of up you can heft loose. The winder's 
 warped atop — has been plumb squaw-wlfted ever 
 since the Bald's last conniption fit." 
 
 Parker found these instructions practical. 
 Loosened from the grip of the slanted frame, he 
 turned to urge his contested explanations upon the 
 mountaineer. 
 
 But In the same split-minute two disconcerting 
 things occurred. The flare went out and a bullet 
 tore through the soft crown of his fedora — he felt 
 the press of it lift his hair. 
 
 "That means you git and stay git!'* amphfied a 
 ravening voice from the pitch-black Inside. 
 
 Under all circumstances this appealed to Calvin 
 Parker as sensible advice. He got. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 HIS CUT-BACK 
 
 The man from "out North" was unprepared for 
 the advent of the annual blackberrv^-blossom storm. 
 Some time during the night the winds had marshaled 
 their heaviest storm-clouds in the sky; by daybreak 
 were driving a slantwise deluge that made the trees 
 writhe, and beat down completely fern and bush. 
 Already the creek could be heard lashing about in 
 attempts to escape punishment. From the makeshift 
 shelter behind, Teetotaler sounded an occasional 
 snorted protest. 
 
 Smoking a pipe just inside the open front door- 
 way, the shut-in watched the spectacle with equivocal 
 interest and dismay. In time, however, the fantastic 
 shapes of the cloud battalion, the kaleidoscopic tints 
 in the shrapnel of rain, the poor spirit — or was it 
 wisdom — of the growing things that offered no re- 
 sistance grew monotonous. He closed both doors 
 and lit the candles. 
 
 When the fire cheered up, he set himself, with 
 what skill he could summon, to the manufacture of 
 an omelette which, in view of the energy expended 
 in fluffing and flapping it, ought to have tempted his 
 appetite. But it was sad as the day. It oozed futile 
 tears. He grew disgusted with it as he partook 
 of it. 
 
 At last he plumped both elbows upon the table and 
 
 129 
 
130 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 permitted himself to brood. The fact that his 
 eyes were gazing straight at Sylvia's latest, framed 
 in a purple leather stand, gave license for this lapse 
 from cheer. 
 
 Cause enough for a man to brood — looking at 
 Sylvia's picture — the man who was away! Why had 
 he not appreciated her rarity in time to save himself 
 this torture-cure? The only possible excuse he could 
 think of was that from childhood he had grown 
 used to Sylvia. When had he not been leashed by 
 a preference for her, from the little-boyhood days 
 when her fairy-princess fluff of silver hair had al- 
 ways been waving like the banner of a knight just 
 ahead of him; through the college vacations, when 
 he had found her a debutante, with sentiment begin- 
 ning to make mystery in her violet eyes; after his re- 
 turn from the dissipations and art struggles under 
 the tutelage of French masters, when her fragile 
 loveliness and reserve of manner had roused him to 
 a protectorate not felt in any of his crasser, Latin 
 Quarter affairs? 
 
 On that culminative * Varnishing day" at the Acad- 
 emy, when he was paid tribute as "perhaps the most 
 promising of our younger American artists," it had 
 seemed fitting that his triumph should be a portrait 
 of Sylvia as the one whitest lily-of-the-valley, gleam- 
 ing from a vague, fanciful background of many of 
 the same — not one so elusive, so exotically sweet as 
 she. 
 
 His technique had been mentioned as "inspired" — 
 but inspired, as he had acknowledged both to him- 
 self and to Sylvia, by his lifetime of looking at her. 
 Their engagement had been the most natural de- 
 velopment in the world, approved by the two fami- 
 
HIS CUT-BACK 131 
 
 lies and society. That it had developed into a long 
 one had been tacitly understood by every one to be 
 a punishment for his growing self-indulgence with 
 the cup. 
 
 Once, in the reaction after a conspicuous social 
 contretemps, he had pointed that marriage might 
 "brace him up." For the first time she had men- 
 tioned her jealousy of his habit. Wine was her 
 rival, she acknowledged prettily. Until he had worn 
 out the other love, she dared not trust herself to 
 him. She was content to wait. Time enough to set- 
 tle down, she had declared, after both had had their 
 fling. So the days and months, even years, had piled 
 upon each other until 
 
 Parker's elbows straightened along the deal table; 
 his chin continued heavy in his hands; his cheek flat- 
 tened against the boards in the prostration of his 
 memories. 
 
 The shack was stuffy from the fire, thick with to- 
 bacco smoke, unpleasantly odorous from spent can- 
 dles and cookery. One after another the lights 
 went out. The wet logs on the hearth succeeded 
 at last in spitting out the fire. With darkness Cal- 
 vin Parker fell into an unhappy dose. 
 
 Some one laid violent hands upon his shoulders, 
 shook him to an unsteady stand. He muttered re- 
 sentfully and stared about. He was in his own 
 studio, where he had been the last he remembered. 
 The old-gold walls with their frames of brown-and- 
 bronze, the pet Persian rugs, the costly this and that 
 fancied in his travels — all were recognizable. 
 
 Then, too, it was Spencer Pope, his closest friend, 
 who had acted as alarm-clock. He mumbled a rec- 
 
132 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ognitlon of this fact as he shambled to one of 
 the windows that overlooked the park and threw it 
 up for air. When he faced again toward the huge, 
 beautiful room, he pressed both hands against his 
 temples, which were throbbing. 
 
 "What a head!" he murmured, not complaining- 
 ly, but as one states the infliction of an undeserved 
 ill. "Last night must have been some night — some 
 night!" 
 
 Disapproval, dark upon Pope's face, gave color 
 to his tone. 
 
 "Why, on the eve of the most Important day in 
 your career, couldn't you have let the trouble-stuff 
 alone? You're in fine fettle, aren't you, to show 
 your winter's work to the world this afternoon? Of 
 course your personal appearance and habits won't 
 influence the experts and critics, but it will the fash- 
 ionables, from whom your future commissions must 
 come. You look like a poster of 'A Night Out.' 
 For Sylvia's sake, you might have held in until your 
 exhibition tea was over." 
 
 Parker tried a jaunty air, only to realize Its 
 failure. 
 
 "Had every intention of doing so," he defended. 
 "Forgot my lunch in the varnishing of those two 
 last portraits until too late to get It served here. 
 Taxied down to the Van Vliet for a bite. Only 
 had two or three to rest up on and a lone little bot- 
 tle with my smelts and tartar. Pd hav§ been all 
 right if a bunch of those velvet-coats and cropped- 
 hair 'partners' hadn't dropped in. They're always 
 so overpoweringly cordial with a chap who has cash 
 enough in pocket to pay the checks. I was billed 
 to take Sylvia to the opera and had to dress, so I 
 
HIS CUT-BACK 133 
 
 guess I must have been pretty late getting back up- 
 town.'* 
 
 "You were." Pope nodded with grim effect. *^At 
 nine o'clock last night she telephoned for me.** 
 
 *'For you — why for you, Spence?" 
 
 "A queen wants some courtier dangling around 
 the throne steps. Sylvia asked me to fill in — to take 
 your place, as It were.** ) 
 
 A smile was on the deputy collector's good-look- 
 ing face, a rather strange smile, partly of self-depre- 
 ciation and partly of — could it be triumph? Parker 
 noticed it and paused a moment to ponder, then 
 promptly gave it up. Let good old Spence smile, if 
 he could; how did It matter just what he was smiling 
 at? 
 
 "Went alone to the Winter Palace and afterward 
 to supper at Fred's. Don't remember much after 
 that. Since the morning-after face of that clock 
 says It's noon, I must have got home somewhere in 
 the late earlies.'* 
 
 Pope continued to smile that strange smile of 
 his. 
 
 "And by the early lates — to be exact, by three 
 o'clock this afternoon," he said, "you have to be in 
 form to receive the super-ultras of the art set and 
 their self-tagged devotees I" 
 
 At this Parker managed mirth-sounds of some 
 buoyancy. 
 
 "Don't look so sour about It, friend mentor. The 
 four portraits are varnished, I tell you — finished to 
 the last hair of the last eyebrow." 
 
 "But, Gal, if you could see yourself! You look 
 like " 
 
 Parker waved a soothing hand. "My boy, do 
 
134 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 you think Mrs. Mllllonbucks Pembroke Is going to 
 hold my looks against me when she sees herself In 
 oils of my spreading, admired by all her crowd? 
 Or Captain Mayflower Hannah, or old Mortgage- 
 on-the-World Flint, or my own lUy-of-the-valley 
 lady?" 
 
 ''Don't class Sylvia with your other sitters," Pope 
 objected. "Sometimes, Cal, you seem positively 
 odious in your cast-Iron assurance that nothing you 
 do can affect her good opinion." 
 
 "Of course I'm no fit object for a fiancee's eyes 
 just now, Spence, but by that third early-late I'll be 
 — well, an expurgated edition. Just ten minutes 
 under the shower, a once-over shave, a jolt of rye, 
 
 my breakfast, and a pipe While I set about 
 
 working the miracle, won't you give down-stairs a 
 ring for a grape-fruit, sans sugar; a pot of black 
 coffee; three two-minute eggs and a flock of unbut- 
 tered toast? That's a good fellow." 
 
 Parker started for the annex to the studio proper 
 that held his living quarters. At the door he paused 
 and interrupted his friend's grudging manipulation 
 of the telephone. 
 
 "Strange," he remarked, "that I should be wear- 
 ing this smock! I've often got up fully dressed, but 
 never before in a smock. Wonder why In Sam 
 Hill " 
 
 "That's all — and hurry It, please." 
 
 He heard the finish of Pope's order before turn- 
 ing on the water. On turning it off he heard the 
 finish of what evidently had been a second call upon 
 the wire. 
 
 "The sooner the better for both him and you. 
 But I want you to see him at his worst — you ought 
 
HIS CUT-BACK 135 
 
 to know why. Yes, I'll wait. Until seeing you, 
 then.'* 
 
 He did not understand until later. Even then 
 he did not quite see why Spencer, his friend, had 
 taken the initiative and should wish his fiancee to see 
 him *'at his worst." 
 
 When he presently emerged into the studio he 
 felt somewhat better, and the critical deputy ex- 
 pressed himself as amazed by the transformation. 
 Then, too, Sylvia looked exceptionally beautiful as 
 she swept in, earlier than he could have hoped, but 
 dressed for the exhibition tea. Small, fragile of 
 figure, yet aglow with health, dainty as dawn in her 
 blush-rose crepe, she divided her greetings, her in- 
 quiries, her wavery smiles between the two men. 
 
 Humility overtook Parker that he should be al- 
 lowed to look at anything so fresh and fragrant 
 after the chaotic depths of last night. Sylvia al- 
 ways seemed the more desirable after a debauch 
 with his "other love." He longed to kiss the lips 
 that were so tolerant of his fault, but, with Pope 
 present, touched only her finger-tips. That, he felt, 
 was much more than he deserved. 
 
 Sylvia was seldom demonstrative, having been 
 reared to the Idea that it was enough for her to 
 be\ but an exclamation of relief escaped her at his 
 appearance. 
 
 "You don't look half as bad as Spence — ^that is, 
 as I expected — not halfF^ 
 
 Her reproachful glance at their "mutual friend" 
 renewed Parker's uneasiness over the telephonic 
 fragment he had overheard. 
 
 "He's braced up wonderfully In the last hour, as 
 you would appreciate had you arrived when I did," 
 
136 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Pope declared. *'If you and I are up to police duty, 
 I guess the tea can be pulled off. I've just called up 
 the florist, the caterer, and the musicians — it seems 
 that Cal neglected none of the preliminaries. Every- 
 thing and body Is on the way." 
 
 ^Tm so relieved! You gave me something of a 
 shock, Spence, and I do dislike to hurry." She set- 
 tled in a wing-chair at one side the fireplace, her face 
 lighting exquisitely beneath the large black velvet 
 hat she wore. She lifted her purplish eyes to Par- 
 ker's. 
 
 *'Cal," she said quietly, "you know I never have 
 wished to Interfere with what should be your own 
 affair, but Spencer thinks you are getting more or less 
 hopeless on the liquor question. You kept me wait- 
 ing last night without a word of explanation, and 
 all the telephone booths in New York at your serv- 
 ice. If It hadn't been for Spence, I'd have '* 
 
 "I'm sorry, dear — I'll find some way to make it 
 up to you," Parker interrupted. "But even Spencer 
 Pope hasn't any right to call a man hopeless who 
 does his work before he plays. When you see the 
 way I glorified the Pembroke battle-ax yesterday, 
 you'll understand that I was working at high ten- 
 sion — that in a way I had earned a reaction. And 
 an effect of transparency which I got Into the lily 
 leaves came from last-minute inspiration. You can't 
 work like that and plod like a dray-horse after- 
 ward. Don't scold me for falling until you have 
 seen the height from which I fell. Suppose we have 
 a preview of the portraits before the rest arrive?" 
 
 She glanced from lover to friend, her unwonted 
 effort at severity already weakened. 
 
 Pope, seeing this, arose impatiently and strode 
 
HIS CUT-BACK 137 
 
 to the window. From a stand there he turned, 
 frowning, to Inspect the "defence.'* 
 
 Assuming a briskness which physically, at least, 
 he did not feel, Parker sauntered over to the cord 
 which controlled the purple silk sheet before "The 
 Lady of Lilies," already famed as his masterpiece. 
 He drew upon It tenderly, yet with confidence, for, 
 best of anything he had done, he loved this con- 
 ception of the woman he loved. He did not look 
 at the canvas In Its wide, flat frame of green gold- 
 leaf. His eyes glanced hopefully at Pope's stern 
 face, then settled upon Sylvia's to await the reward 
 of her appreciation of what he hoped was a mas- 
 ter-touch. 
 
 As the curtain clumped on one side the frame 
 he heard his friends' commingled stutter of amaze, 
 saw the girl's jewel-glittering hand clutch the arm 
 of the wing-chair, lift her to her feet, give her a for- 
 ward Impulse. He had expected her to be surprised 
 and pleased, but this emotion- — her gasp of astonish- 
 ment, the sudden flush that stained her pure coloring, 
 her trembling, as if she were about to swoon 
 
 She stopped half-way across the floor space, a 
 look of horror stiffening her face. One hand 
 wavered upward and covered her features, the other 
 pointed forward. Half the sob of a child, half the 
 wail of a woman, her accusation lifted. 
 
 "What — what have you done?'* 
 
 "What have I done?" 
 
 "You've done it, all right!" Was it triumph that 
 sounded In Pope's voice as he hurried to the girl 
 and half-carried her back to her chair? 
 
 Her face sank Into both hands. She began to 
 sob. 
 
138 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Fear, unidentified but cruel, clutched at Parker's 
 heart. He strode into the center of the room and 
 turned to face his masterpiece. One glance sent 
 him reeling backward, as he never had reeled when 
 in his cups. 
 
 Whence had come this bhght upon his gentle 
 fantasy? 
 
 Each leaf and lily of the background, which had 
 been but shadows of suggestion, stood forth in of- 
 fensive detail, wilted and partially decayed. Each 
 feature of the central flower-face had been mutilated 
 until all sweetness of expression was gone — forehead 
 and nose lengthened, eyes bleared with a look of 
 craft, lips curled with superciliousness, chin weak- 
 ened. The silver hair, that had shimmered like pale 
 sunlight, now suggested iibrilated ice. Frost had 
 browned and shrunk the sheaf of green-leaf satin 
 from which her shoulders rose. The virgin busts, 
 Into which such a feeling of reverence had been 
 painted, were flattened into an unlovely thinness. 
 Through the illusion gathered modestly over the 
 heart, a jagged, ugly spot could be discerned, in its 
 center a gnawing worm. 
 
 The picture remained a portrait, but one ravished 
 by brutal brushes into a powerful caricature. 
 
 From the chair into which he had collapsed, Par- 
 ker studied the details of this travesty on the most 
 exquisite woman he knew. When able, he glanced 
 around at Sylvia and Pope. 
 
 The girl lifted her face and returned his look, 
 her lips opening, as If to speak, but uttering no 
 sound. The man looked disgusted, yet alert — 
 looked to be thinking hard. 
 
 *'As you know, I was out all last night," said Par- 
 
HIS CUT-BACK 139 
 
 ker In a lagging voice. "Some one must have broken 
 
 m. 
 
 "You have an enemy — ^perhaps a rival artist?" 
 faltered Sylvia. 
 
 Parker did not answer. A new perception stopped 
 him. His eyes had followed the deputy's to where 
 the smock which he had awakened wearing lay 
 huddled on the floor of his dressing-room. Upon a 
 tabourette In a far corner his palette lay. He re- 
 membered having cleaned it yesterday afternoon. 
 He sprang across the room to examine it. It was 
 covered with paint, in daubs and small coils. The 
 tubes nearby showed to have been emptied with a 
 twist that was peculiarly his own. 
 
 With hands shaking from what might have been 
 either memory or prescience, he exposed the re- 
 maining three portraits of the collection selected for 
 private exhibit that afternoon. All had been mal- 
 treated by the brutal brush. That of the wealthy 
 Mrs. Pembroke, who had wished posterity to re- 
 member her comparative slenderness of fifteen years 
 agone, now showed the triple chins of to-day, had 
 lost all figure-lines in balloonlike inflations. Horns 
 distinguished the brow of Captain Hannah, and lust 
 drew back his lips, both indelicate tributes to his 
 wide-known reversion from the Puritanism of the 
 ancestors he boasted. Flint, Wall Street magnate, 
 had been remade by a few strokes into a specimen 
 of the chosen, whose blood he denied the more in- 
 dignantly because it really flowed in his veins. 
 
 Diabolically was exaggerated every weak point 
 of those who had paid so high a price that the bene- 
 fit of all doubts of them might be perpetuated in 
 oils! 
 
140 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The artist reached his own verdict, stupefying, 
 but positive. He spoke the culminative catastrophe. 
 
 *'I must — have done it — myself.'' 
 
 With the quiet of desperation he faced the two 
 he considered his closest and dearest friends. He 
 forced himself to draw up words from the well of 
 bitterness within him. 
 
 *T don't remember anything about it, so I must 
 have been very drunk. To you, Sylvia, I don't 
 know what to say, except that it was my other self 
 that has sinned against you in ruining the portrait 
 you sat for so patiently. I am sorry and ashamed 
 to the last fiber of my worthless self. I will pay 
 the price as best I can — will do whatever you say." 
 
 She answered his despair with despair of her 
 own. 
 
 *'But nothing you can ever pay will save my love- 
 ly picture — save you and me to-day!'^ 
 
 *T didn't know," remarked Pope, *'that cartooning 
 was In your line." 
 
 "Only when drunk," acknowledged the recreant 
 gloomily. *Tt was my first offering to art — got me 
 expelled from Yale. The Jester printed some 
 sketches of the faculty which I had made when on a 
 spree. Caution has managed my subconsciousness 
 since, until to-day " 
 
 *'Yes, to-day," Pope Interrupted, taking out his 
 watch. 
 
 *'What can we do about to-day?" mourned Sylvia. 
 
 Parker heard the tones of subdued discussion with 
 which the deputy talked to his fiancee from the con- 
 sultation Into which he had drawn her; heard frag- 
 ments of their plan to declare him suddenly 111, to 
 *'call off'* the tea as best they might; heard Sylvia- 
 
HIS CUT-BACK 141 
 
 pleading against something which Spence had urged. 
 He did not wish to know until they were ready to 
 tell him. He did not care much what they decided. 
 He had promised to abide by their decision, what- 
 ever it was, no matter which of them had originated 
 it, and he would. 
 
 ''And this was It!" 
 
 The exile in the cabin on Fallaway Rim spoke 
 aloud for company. Lifting the shoulders that re- 
 mained broad-built despite misuse of himself, he 
 peered through the gloom. He fancied, rather than 
 saw the photographic eyes of Sylvia Brainard bent 
 with pitying encouragement upon him. 
 
 *'God help me!" he groaned. 
 
 And, for the rest of that day, he thirsted no 
 more. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 VARMINT fool! 
 
 The blackberry storm seems designed by the 
 weather-gods not to destroy the mountainscape. Just 
 In time it always relents. Early on the fourth day 
 Sol took a squint over the prospect, gave his clouds 
 a final wringing, then fluttered them out to dry. 
 The wind shook up the growing things. The ground 
 drained the drippings. All nature cheered that the 
 huge wash-day was over. In an hour the sun was 
 beaming steadily from a sky whose azure seemed 
 only deepened by the wrung-out clouds flapping be- 
 low. 
 
 From the door of the shack Parker looked down 
 into the valley, pleased as a house-wife might have 
 been at finding everything cleaned up. Straight 
 across, the formerly smudged mountains looked 
 scoured and varnished, as also the blues and grays 
 of the distances, the greens and occasional floral 
 flares of the foreground. 
 
 Another thing was clear to him as the day: he 
 had been a week without a drink! Yet where was 
 the virtue of riding "the wagon" If strapped Into 
 it? To enjoy his new-found strength he must prove 
 It. Anticipation brightened his face as he stood in 
 the doorway; a gleam lit his eyes, as If reflected 
 from the anticipatory world without. He would 
 change his mind about letting that Inhospitable 
 
 142 
 
VARMINT FOOL! 143 
 
 mountain girl interfere. There must be no more 
 beating about the bush; he would appeal directly, 
 as man to man, to Old Tom Metcalf, according to 
 his original intention. Truly, faint heart never won 
 anything for anybody — either friends or drinks! 
 
 A pair of hounds announced his approach, even 
 before he emerged into the considerable clearing that 
 surrounded the double file of oaks and the preten- 
 tious — for the region — Metcalf house. He had left 
 Teetotaler at the ford, that he might seem the more 
 defenseless in this morning call. 
 
 He was pleased that the hounds returned his 
 greeting in kind. Always had he been said to have 
 ''a way" with dogs. Now, having rushed at him 
 savagely, with bristles upraised, they subsided Into 
 a tail-waving, sniff-approving escort. 
 
 From a chair on the porch a man descended the 
 steps and stood staring at him from under hand- 
 shaded eyes. Even at the distance Parker recog- 
 nized the giant figure and leonine head of redoubt- 
 able Tom. 
 
 Remembrance of the old man's parting advices 
 on their two previous encounters lent interest to this 
 defiance of thern. ^'See to it that you hunt only 
 fur, fin, and feathers," he had said on the road. 
 *'Now you git and stay git!" had been the command 
 closing the incident at the cabin. The echoed 
 threat of them in Parker's mind gave his greeting 
 suavity. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Metcalf. I know it's eti- 
 quette for a newcomer to wait until the old settlers 
 call on him, but I've been feeling a bit lonely, so 
 here I am." 
 
144 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 **Here you '' For a moment the patriarch 
 
 continued to stare, his chin thrown up from a chest 
 haired over with red w^here the flannel shirt was 
 unbuttoned. Then he finished sincerely: "Here you 
 be, sure enough; and here I be, plumb gol-dinged!'* 
 
 *'In fact," added Parker, "I'd have been over sev- 
 eral days ago, except for the weather." 
 
 *'Git you out, he-brute !" 
 
 Tom's command was startling until understood as 
 addressed to the more importunate of the dogs. His 
 roar at once softened into a conversational tone. 
 
 "Come along up the stoop, stranger, and set you 
 a chair." 
 
 Parker accepted the Invitation with his wonted 
 lazy movements, but his thoughts made up in action. 
 So immediate a concession to "the Parker charm" 
 might be more suspicious than auspicious. "Come 
 along up," had said this lawbreaker who believed 
 him a revenue spy; yet the way he fell In behind 
 would seem to amplify: "I want you ahead of me, 
 so I can watch you." 
 
 There was, however, a declaration of square- 
 dealing in the way the mountaineer strode across the 
 porch to the open door, removed the revolver from 
 his hip, hung It upon a nail In the frame — a nail 
 made significant by the company of other nails. 
 
 "I'm not after fur or feathers this morning — 
 rd have to fling rocks if I were." Such was Par- 
 ker's contribution to this sign of truce. 
 
 "I seen that," was the reply. 
 
 The "out-Norther" took the sway-back chair In- 
 dicated, facing the door of what evidently was 
 the living-room. The host straddled a straight- 
 backed one against the wall of logs, thereby helping 
 
VARMINT FOOL! 145 
 
 himself to a comprehensive view of the approaches 
 to his habitation. His feral eyes settled upon the 
 lax-Iounglng younger man. 
 
 *'QuIte a winding and raining we-all have been 
 suffering/' 
 
 **Quite is right.'* Parker returned this overture 
 with a plunge into the object of his call. "I'd be 
 willing never to meet another blackberry to escape 
 another such storm. There I was, shut up for three 
 days and nights in that windowless shack I've rented, 
 without so much as a drop of liquor to light my 
 thoughts. Honestly, Mr. Metcalf, I'd have given 
 half my year's Income for one small bottle of the 
 worst whisky ever bumbled." 
 
 The blockader's expression was a triumph. If 
 judged by histrionic standards, Its amusement deep- 
 ening into polite reproof. 
 
 *'I disgust bad liquor myself." 
 
 "Good or bad doesn't matter so much when your 
 tongue Is drier than a suction-pump with the feed- 
 pipe out of the well." Parker paused to enjoy his 
 simile. "To tell the end of my sad story first, I'm 
 about desperate for some whisky." 
 
 "So we-all have hearn — so we've hearn," chuckled 
 Metcalf. 
 
 "You have heard? From whom?" 
 
 "My nigger, Cotton Eye, Is tolerable talkative. 
 He's told us-uns how the Plotts and Dry Dryden 
 allowed you could happen on some bumblings In the 
 mountains. Wa'n't it Cotton Eye, now, who sent 
 you hoping to Asa SImms? And Sal Shortoff, she 
 gets so boiled up working for the cause that she 
 spills." 
 
 "Mrs. Shortoff chose to regard me as a pernicious 
 
146 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Influence." Secretly somewhat disconcerted by this 
 array of evidence against him, Parker pursued his 
 course of easy frankness. ^'Possibly it was to divert 
 my search that she sold me Teetotaler." 
 
 Tom Metcalf agreed with a grin. *'I wouldn^t 
 put it past her." 
 
 *'The good dame, I also suspect, feared I might 
 share my find with her parched worser half. She 
 seems prohibition-bent." 
 
 *'Sal sure Is. She gives In to Bide about as quick 
 as 'lasses runs." His weathered face straightened, 
 his eyes grew serious as they sw^ept the clearing. 
 "No' Carolina, in this day, stranger, ain't the State 
 for a thirsty man. Time was when I had my dram 
 regular, but Pve learned to do without." 
 
 "You consummate old liar!" That was what 
 Parker thought, wondering just how many stone- 
 throws away was the Metcalf distillery. Aloud he 
 tried a new approach. 
 
 "From all I hear, there are many In the Caro- 
 linas who don't obey the law to the letter. Along 
 the roads you are likely to happen upon twigs of 
 laurel which point the way to native bar-rooms." 
 
 "So?" 
 
 The mountaineer met his visitor's gaze with a 
 look that held no personal interest. It was politely 
 vacuous. In the next breath he changed the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 "I'm right sorry you hit on to-day for calling on 
 us-uns, stranger, being as I'm the only one seeable. 
 Miss Emmy, my sister-in-law, who's run the house 
 since my own good woman passed alon^, drove down 
 to Dismal to buy some store stuff. My gal, Ve/ney, 
 is suffering this morning from the all-overs." 
 
VARMINT FOOL! 147 
 
 "The all-overs?" 
 
 "I reckon you-all would call what she's got a case 
 of nerves. Verney don't have them soon, but when 
 she does she ain't fitten to talk to none, especially 
 a furrlner. Sandyred's out with the nigger, plant- 
 ing. Sandy's my man-child. Another day I'd admire 
 to meet him to you. It was powerful common of 
 you-all to make us a call. Likely you'll come again?" 
 
 The suggested dismissal of the old man's words 
 and manner Parker chose to disregard. 
 
 "To be frank, the object of my visit Is a double 
 one," he said. "The social half of It I'll Improve, 
 thanks to your kind invitation, when I may meet the 
 rest of your household. As for the other half " 
 
 He lifted his attention from patting one of the 
 dogs so quickly as to surprise a frown on the face 
 recently masked In dissimulation. 
 
 "Mr. Metcalf," he demanded In a voice that 
 snapped, "will you or will you not sell me some 
 whisky?" 
 
 With a bang the uptllted forelegs of the patri- 
 arch's chair met the floor. 
 
 "By cripes, you have got the nerve of Be you 
 
 a varmint fool to come here after I'll show you 
 
 what I meant when I " 
 
 Each unfinished, these ejaculations spat through 
 his lips. 
 
 A sound and sight within the house caught Par- 
 ker's attention. 
 
 From just Inside the door, around that side of 
 the frame where sat his host, he saw a long, strong- 
 handed arm extend. A checked lavender gingham 
 skirt fluttered a trifle. The next moment a face ap- 
 peared — one surrounded by fire-glinting hair. 
 
148 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 His eyes met the forbidding, fawn-green ones of 
 Vernaluska Metcalf. 
 
 Any impulse to get to his feet, to greet her, was 
 subdued in time by the vehement shake of her head 
 and her significant finger-to-lips. In the seconds he 
 could afford for consideration he saw her possess 
 herself of the revolver which her parent had hung 
 upon the nail as a sign of hospitality. There was 
 no suggestion of "all-overs" in her rapid movements. 
 
 A spell of amazement held Parker. What did 
 she want with the weapon? Would he find it trained 
 upon him from the shadows? 
 
 Did she mean, with her own "ornery" hand, to 
 make good the warning that he would not find any- 
 thing "pleasurable" on Roaring Fork? 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 PAID BY PROMISE 
 
 With return of his outer attention to Old Tom, 
 Parker saw that any immediate outburst from that 
 source was averted. The sudden fury was smoothing 
 away, the color receding from his face, the angry 
 lips straightening into lines of guile. 
 
 "Likely you-all didn't intend to rile me," said 
 the mountaineer, "but you'd best not ask for bum- 
 blings again. Naturally I ain't got nary none, ac- 
 count of the law." 
 
 A glance within showed Parker an anxious, ad- 
 monitory face. Yet he persisted toward his goal. 
 
 "Far from wishing to rile you, sir, Pd like to con- 
 fide in you as I would in a friend. There seems to 
 be a report circulating through the region that Pm 
 a revenue officer sent by the government to make 
 trouble for blockaders." 
 
 Old Tom's nod was nothing more than admission 
 that he had heard the report. 
 
 "This you will realize," he from the North con- 
 tinued, "to be even more cruel than absurd when 
 you know that I am a man of independent income 
 whose chief fault lies in having partaken too freely 
 of the mead that cheers. I have come to the Blue 
 Ridge to get a grip on my thirst. My presence here 
 this morning, unarmed and unattended, when Pve 
 
 149 
 
ISO FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 been warned of your suspicions of me, ought to 
 argue for the truth of what I claim." 
 
 ''It might — and then again it mightn't." The 
 patriarch showed that he was not to be Impressed 
 by talk alone. 
 
 "Here is my membership in the Satyrs — a fa- 
 mous New York club to which no revenuer could 
 belong. Will you oblige me by looking It 
 over?" 
 
 After the mountaineer had scrutinized the cre- 
 dential protected by isinglass on the Inside of the 
 card-case extended and had returned It with only 
 a grunt by way of comment, Parker proceeded more 
 boldly. 
 
 "You are generally believed throughout the coun- 
 tryside, Friend Metcalf, to distil a grade of com 
 whisky which loses nothing of strength or flavor 
 from the fact that it pays no tax to the Federal gov- 
 ernment. Wait just a minute before you flare up 
 again — hear me through!" 
 
 The last exclamation had been drawn out by the 
 glower which the mountaineer had focused upon 
 him. 
 
 "Get a lavish with your explanatloning, then!" 
 
 Parker proceeded to do so, but not before risking 
 a glance into the living-room. The sight within 
 stirred his heart and voice. 
 
 The girl still stood just beyond her father's range 
 of vision with the revolver broken, the cartridges 
 extracted and In her hand. This she showed him 
 as, with significant gesture, she dropped the shells 
 into the pocket of her dress, snapped to the gun, 
 and returned It, harmless, to Its nail upon the door 
 frame. Again he noticed that In none of her move- 
 
PAID BY PROMISE 151 
 
 ments was there sign of that state of nerves under 
 which she was supposed to be suffering. 
 
 With a thrill he realized that Vernaluska was not 
 allied against him, rather was acting for him, was 
 safeguarding him against possible untoward Impulses 
 of her Irascible parent. What a girl she was, he 
 saluted her in thought — ^what a resourceful, pally 
 sort of girl ! 
 
 Metcalf was widely said to be a man of discrimi- 
 nation and fair play, he was meanwhile suavely 
 urging. That was why he had risked the morning 
 visit to his home In the teeth of their past unpleas- 
 antness. Was he likely to have come were he really 
 a revenuer? Would he not have tried slinking meth- 
 ods out of regard for his personal safety? 
 
 ^'There's no safe concluding about revenue slicks, 
 whether or no," the old man drawled, now quite 
 dispassionately. "Some of the cuckolds are right 
 pert of tongue, while others are just fool-cussed." 
 
 "Well, sir, I'm neither pert nor fool-cussed, 
 as you'll realize when you know me better," Parker 
 insisted. "The government doesn't know me ex- 
 cept for a bit of Income tax, and I'll never be a col- 
 lector. I come to you as a private customer, ready 
 to pay your price. The delivery can take any form 
 you select for your safety until after I've established 
 your confidence. What do you say, sir?" 
 
 The mountaineer arose suddenly from the seat 
 which he had been straddling. Parker straightened 
 In his, nerved himself for a possible attack. He 
 glanced toward the nail in the door-frame. Upon It 
 the revolver hung, looking no more innocuous than 
 before It had been robbed. The girl had disap- 
 peared. 
 
152 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ' . . 
 
 Enjoyment of the situation surged up In Parker. 
 
 He hoped that the wily old law-breaker would make 
 a lunge for the gim, level it upon him, pull the ham- 
 mer down upon an empty cylinder. 
 
 But the attack for which Metcalf had arisen 
 proved not to be one of physical force. After 
 rounding his chair to the porch edge, he flicked 
 a caterpillar off a cluster of geranium-blooms, then 
 turned the chair around, sat down upon it and very 
 deliberately crossed his legs. 
 
 "You-all have got a plumb convincing way of 
 putting things," he remarked. "If what you do was 
 as convincing as what you say " 
 
 A loudening, singing tenor voice Interrupted. 
 From around the house the words of the song be- 
 came distinguishable: 
 
 "Feed the furnace and stir the mash; 
 Play the ace ; you get the hash." 
 
 An expectant lOok soothed the severity of Met- 
 calf's face. "It's Sandyred. Makes them up him- 1 
 self, them songs." 
 
 Into view strode the son of the "cantankerous" 
 clan — a replica of what Old Tom must have been as 
 a youth. 
 
 "Sandy, this here's Parker from out North," 
 said the old man by way of Introduction. "Glad 
 you happened along, for he's in a powerful hurryi 
 to be moving toward home, and you can show hlmj 
 the short cut to the ford." 
 
 "I can that," agreed the youth, with uncompli- 
 mentary alacrity. 
 
 "What do you think, son?'* asked Tom, with a 
 
PAID BY PROMISE 153 
 
 chuckle. "He came up here hoping to buy popskull 
 — ^heard that we Metcalfs made It ag'In' the law." 
 
 "Hell's fire, dad!" The younger actor took an 
 aggressive forward step. "i\nd you're a-standing 
 for a charge like that? Let the cuss so much as hint 
 such " 
 
 "Easy, son. He ain't charging nothing; just 
 hankering to feed a thirst, so he says." The parent's 
 voice hardened. "But I'm just telling you, Mr. Par-^ 
 ker, we-all know enough about them polite customs 
 you w^as mentioning not to look forward to another 
 call from you until after we've returned this one of 
 yourn." 
 
 After expressing the hope that his social over- 
 ture might soon be met in kind, Parker started 
 down the road with Sandyred. He did not feel alto- 
 gether cheated of the result of his visit. No matter 
 how rude the mountain girl had been to him, there 
 would be an argument in her favor every time he 
 remembered the appearance of that brow^n hand and 
 the removal of the bullets. 
 
 They stopped short in the road. A woman's 
 cry of distress from somewhere in the woods to 
 their right had cut the placid air. 
 
 "You'll have to project your own way, stranger. 
 I've got to go !" 
 
 With the next breath the youth sprang into the 
 underbrush. 
 
 The noise of his departure crackled back to Par- 
 ker, who hesitated, tempted to follow. But sec- 
 ond thought started him again toward the ford. 
 He had "projected" enough for one day. Whatever 
 the cause of alarm, it could be no affair of his. He 
 was contemplating the next move of the liquor quest, 
 
154 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 some dozen rods down the road, when the thicket 
 parted and Vernaluska Metcalf stumbled down the 
 bank. Her face was flushed, eyes dilated, hair 
 gloriously streaming. Her left hand was pressed 
 against her heart, her right was held behind. 
 
 "Miss Metcalf!" cried Parker. "I hope nothing 
 has happened. We heard a scream, and your brother 
 departed like a shot." 
 
 "It was mine, that scream — a signal. I've got 
 to make a hustle back," she panted, "and explain 
 that I had an extra bad attack of the all-overs." 
 
 "But why the ruse?" 
 
 "I wanted to give you-all something unbeknownst 
 to the folks. See what I managed to lug here on 
 the run, dodging Sandyred!" 
 
 At sight of that which she produced from behind 
 her back he took several hurried steps toward her. 
 
 "A jug!" he exclaimed. "For me?" 
 
 She nodded. "A gallon jug and full of corn juice. 
 I'd go slow on it if I was a paleface like you-uns. 
 It's a sight more powerful than what you've been 
 used to out North." 
 
 The surprise of it, the joy of it, the almost di- 
 vine relief of it, made Parker well-nigh Inarticulate. 
 
 "Why, you blessed girl!" he finally managed. 
 "To think that you — How can I ever thank you? 
 Let me relieve you of " 
 
 She stepped back, frowning, the jug again be- 
 hind her. 
 
 "You can't relieve me until you pay — leastwise 
 you can't unless you're the scum that'd try taking 
 it from me by force. I'd give you a right smart 
 tussle for it, at that." 
 
 Parker's advance stopped, his surge of warmth 
 
PAID BY PROMISE 155 
 
 toward her checked by her evident mercenary ten- 
 dency. His hand sought his ever-ready wallet. 
 
 'Til pay anything the stuff's worth to you," he 
 said. 
 
 ''Oh, it ain't money that can buy this, so put back 
 your container. It's a promise I want you to pay." 
 
 "A promise, Miss Metcalf ?'* 
 
 *'Yes, out-Norther, the sort of word-o;f-honor 
 promise that gents keep or don't make. It is that 
 you take yourself out of this region without delay." 
 
 "Take myself out? Would you mind telling me 
 why?" 
 
 Vernaluska's eyes flashed. "You must have sight 
 worse than Teetotaler not to see that you're in dan- 
 ger every minute you stay." 
 
 "From your father?" 
 
 She shook her head. "My father fights fair, but 
 there are them that don't. Rex Currie has reasons 
 of his own for hating you, and he's an enemy to 
 worry any man. I know Rex. He won't give you 
 a chance to fight back. Promise you'll take yourself 
 off, and the jug's yours.'* 
 
 "Guess I'll have to do without my bumblings to- 
 day," said he wearily. "I can't seem to get worried 
 over Rex Currie's dislike, and I may make my own 
 chance to fight back when his attack comes." 
 
 "Then" — she hesitated, studying the stubborn- 
 ness of him — "I'll swap that promise for another. 
 I'll give over the jug if you'll agree never to come 
 to our place again." 
 
 "Never come again?" He paused to look Into 
 the insistent eyes of her. 
 
 More than anything else in the world he wanted 
 that jug. He had not realized the dynamic power 
 
156 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 of the desire for what it held that had grown 
 In Its absence until It was so nearly within his grasp. 
 
 There came momentary diversion. Up the road 
 sidled Teetotaler, a broken rein explaining his es- 
 cape from the bush to which he had been tied. By 
 the time Parker had retrieved his straying mount 
 his decision was made. 
 
 *'ril give you my word of honor not to come to 
 see you," he said, "subject to your release of the 
 jug. If you win promise to come to see me at the 
 Fallaway cabin." 
 
 The look she returned to his was searching, al- 
 most mandatory In Its effort to learn his trustworthi- 
 ness. Then, all unexpectedly, an Impish smile dim- 
 pled her face, her lilting laugh sounded. 
 
 "Don't you worry none; I'll be seeing you — more 
 than you hke, maybe." 
 
 "You mean that you promise?" 
 
 "Why, man alive, I've sworn that to others than 
 you!" 
 
 Before he could question the cause of her sud- 
 den levity, she had set the jug In the road before 
 him and disappeared, as swiftly as her brother had 
 lately done, up the bank and into the thicket. 
 
 Exasperated by this last of her gazelle-like flee- 
 ings, he started to follow her, but was halted by a 
 sudden doubt. In the roadway Teetotaler was sniff- 
 ing at the cork of the jug. Parker joined him. 
 
 Had the girl been honest In her exchange of 
 promises or was she playing a joke whose brutality 
 she could not know? Was the test of his new-found 
 continence at last in his possession? 
 
 His heart beating as It rarely had beat for woman, 
 he removed the cork. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 jug's bottom 
 
 Never, felt Calvin Parker, had he painted with 
 such power; certainly never with more speed. All 
 afternoon he had been hard at it, working in an 
 ecstasy of eagerness and strength. Now, In the 
 good-night beams of the sun, he placed his easel 
 where the hght might reach it best and backed off 
 to study the new picture with emotional, almost wor- 
 shipful, gaze. 
 
 For the sake of perspective, he had pushed the 
 deal table to one side with Its litter of color tubes, 
 brushes and bottles of oil. Also upon Its cover of 
 checked oilcloth stood the brown, gallon jug of his 
 morning's compromise. 
 
 His gratitude on finding It full and the mountain 
 girl as good as her word had rehabilitated his pledge 
 to himself of temperance. Only through his nostrils 
 had he drunk of It along the way, a scant two fin- 
 gers of It had he poured to his first toast of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 "For medicinal purposes only!" 
 
 The mild, crushed-flower aroma of the liquid, its 
 clear-as-crystal color. Its thinness, as of the pure 
 spring water It resembled, made Vernaluska's warn- 
 ing seem a boast. But with the sear of unripened 
 liquor through his mouth and throat he knew that 
 the Metcalf distillation was not weak. 
 
 157 
 
158 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 **And Old Tom disgusts bad liquor," he made com- 
 ment aloud to Boomer and his mate who, according 
 to custom, had dropped in to lunch. "Up to date, 
 this popskull is the only thing I've met in the Blue 
 Ridge that's short on time — time to get mellow. 
 Yet maybe it's only the first drink that burns." He 
 turned to the jug. "Wonder how many of those 
 temperance two-fingers are in you?" 
 
 Dipping the handle of a paint brush into its small 
 neck, he tested its wet capacity, indicating the height 
 thereof with a circle upon the brown outside. 
 
 His after-luncheon, clock-timed cultivation of the 
 enemy whom he had sworn to make his friend some- 
 how brought him loneliness, rather than companion- 
 ship. 
 
 Why had he traded in that promise to give up 
 what he had set himself to achieve — the location of 
 the Metcalf still? With a little dickering, he might 
 have saved himself that diversion and also the 
 whisky. He had sold out too cheap. A single gal- 
 lon was no price at all for his word of honor to 
 stay on his side of Roaring Fork until the girl of 
 the hills gave her permission that he cross. 
 
 He wished he could see her at once. If she had 
 not been inclined to believe in him, to like him, de- 
 spite her manner, why had she acted as she had 
 done? 
 
 There had been amusement behind her return 
 promise that she would seek him out; was this at his 
 expense ? Would she ever seek him ? 
 
 The eyes of Sylvia's photograph peered mildly 
 down from the mantel through the smoke, as if ask- 
 ing why he should feel alone, with her in his memory. 
 A surge of loyalty caused him to pour a draft, gen- 
 
JUG^S BOTTOM 159 
 
 erous as his feeling of apology, and throw it off at 
 a gulp. 
 
 "So small, so vaguely sweet, so frail — ^yet the 
 great reward of victory," he toasted her. 
 
 But the response of a photograph was necessarily 
 limited. Parker's sense of loneliness increased when 
 the Boomers, having feasted to repletion on the 
 guests' share of his lunch, began long absences of 
 carrying tidbits to the kiddies in the armored pine. 
 
 For the first time he tried to catch them. He 
 wanted to pet them, to show them his affection. 
 Each time he lunged after them, however, they 
 barked squeakily, as with terror, and eluded his open 
 hands. Finally they scampered over the sill, not to 
 reappear. 
 
 "Why does Vernaluska — you — everybody run 
 away from me?" 
 
 From the checkered oilcloth, the mouth of the jug 
 grinned in derisive reproach. 
 
 "That's so; there's you left, friend jug. Beg 
 your pardon." He bov/ed humbly and allowed him- 
 self to sip from its good cheer. 
 
 Before many more such sips inspiration came, 
 took charge of a lagging afternoon. An attractive 
 idea came to him, grew in appeal, finally controlled 
 both hands and mind. 
 
 Why need he ever be alone, Calvin Parker, who 
 was said by the critics to possess the ability to create 
 personalities from tubes, brushes, oils? This ever- 
 fleeing mountain girl — he would catch her on canvas 
 and make her stay. From first glimpse he had in- 
 tended to paint her, to attempt combining that mar- 
 velous softness and brilliancy of her hair. 
 
 What was it which the look of her, the spirit of 
 
i6o FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 her, the name of her had suggested all along? 
 
 In her was combined delicacy with force, hope 
 built on fear, life that was young, alluring, colorful 
 — hfe that sprang from what? Why was she like 
 the rhododendron flower that lifted its face straight 
 to the sun from a bank of the winter's dead leaves? 
 
 Ah, he had It at last! 
 
 She was Spring. That w^as why she was so elu- 
 sive, yet so strong. That was why her smiles sug- 
 gested tears shed. Her very life meant past death. 
 She was Spring. To him she was not Vernaluska, 
 not "Verney," but V erne. 
 
 His rapid sketch was reminiscent of her unex- 
 pected appearance that morning from the roadside 
 thicket — reminiscent, yet far from literal. No laven- 
 der gingham clothed her form, no country shoes her 
 feet. As the painter stood now at eventide, survey- 
 ing his work, a frenzy of gratitude possessed him for 
 the license allowed to art. 
 
 From a background of brush, w^ith only here and 
 there a sprouting thing to suggest the season, t'le 
 girl fleeted toward him on bare feet, her dazzling 
 body revealed through a fluttering drapery of young 
 green, her hands outstretched, eyes side-glancing with 
 a look of anxiety lest she be outsped, lips curved with 
 a tremulous, promising smile. Like a veil of spun 
 copper from about and above her floated backward 
 her hair. Boldly beneath, Parker had painted his 
 title : 
 
 SPRING IS HERE 
 
 "And here to stay, you darling, you beauty; here 
 to stay!" he exulted, addressing her aloud, adoring 
 her closer and closer in the waning glow from the 
 
JUG'S BOTTOM 161 
 
 west door. *'It's time to light the night-lIghts, but 
 you cannot run away. It's time for supper — ^to- 
 night you'll have to watch me while I eat. You can- 
 not mock me any more, you cannot deny me. For 
 you're Spring-time, and you can't help being as sweet 
 to me as to any other man." 
 
 A moment he spared from her In which to be 
 pleased with himself. He lurched about the shack, 
 found and lit the candles. Steadying himself against 
 the mantel-shelf, he surprised more than mild in- 
 terest in Sylvia's flower eyes. The approval which 
 she would have felt could she have watched him this 
 afternoon beamed on him from the steel print. After 
 she had toasted him, he toasted her. Then, having 
 made his peace with her, he drank once more to 
 Verne. Pulling his camp-stool close and seating 
 himself, that he might look up under the lashes of 
 her timorous eyes, he sipped a wee drop while he 
 talked with her. 
 
 He had her at last, tricky jade, he told her. He 
 would not be lonely any more. Let the father and 
 mother shadow-tails desert him for their squirrel- 
 ettes In the pine; he need not care. She could not 
 leave him night or day. The white fire from her 
 father's jug had thrown a flashlight on her, had re- 
 vealed her to him as she was. Her occasional In- 
 tolerance was her protest against the prick of thorns 
 In the brush from which she came, the hurt of stones 
 along her life-path. Now that he understood her, 
 now that he had caught and could hold the spirit of 
 her, she would learn to like to stay. 
 
 *'You are here, you are mine — youth, power, sen- 
 tience," he whispered to her and to himself, tears 
 stumbling down his exalted face, even as the liquor 
 
i62 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 drizzled to the floor from the glass In his shaking 
 hand. "Do you mind, Verne? Sweet, I hope you 
 do not mind." 
 
 Next moment, remembrance mixed his metaphori- 
 cal intensity. He chuckled in reassurance, tipped the 
 glass to his lips, let the overflow of his hurry mix 
 with the salt-drops on his chin. 
 
 Had she not been predisposed toward him from 
 first sight? If not, why the exertion to drag him 
 from the mud, to wipe his face, dig out his ears? 
 Why that memorable smile at the post-ofiice, the visit 
 to his cabin, the silent protectorate of him against 
 her father's possible outbreak, her culmlnative pres- 
 entation of the jug? She was a woman; he must 
 make allowances for that; a woman with probably 
 more than the average woman's contradictory 
 ways. All mere man could do was to fasten his eyes 
 on fact. And each fact, despite her words, her 
 every act, had favored him. 
 
 Supper seemed a prosaic thing by contrast with 
 the successive toasts he drank to Verne and himself, 
 so he put it off. Again curiosity keen as anxiety 
 cause him to dip the paint-brush handle into the 
 mouth of the "bust-head" jug. At first he felt some- 
 what disconcerted to note that it was almost half- 
 empty. Next moment he decided that he might as 
 well drink an even half of the "bumbllngs" before 
 he ate — let them sting him Into a first-class appetite 
 if they could! Another circle of measurement he 
 painted around the brown jug. 
 
 Gyrating once toward Sylvia, he anticipated a pos- 
 sible reproach. It was a long, long way to the bot- 
 tom of the jug, he told her, when a man could paint 
 under its influence as he had done that p.m. And 
 
JUG'S BOTTOM 163 
 
 he wanted her clearly to understand that it was from 
 no Interest in the concrete of his subject that he had 
 been inspired to such results. Vernaluska Metcalf 
 was a beautiful girl, truly, and a girl with lure, 
 doubtless, for certain men of the wild; but it was 
 the spirit behind her personality that he had put 
 upon canvas, a conception which her looks merely 
 aided to express. 
 
 ^'Y'understand, dear? But of course you do!'^ 
 he apostrophized as glibly as his thickened lips would 
 permit. "To v/omen I am all artist; to you only, 
 the one woman, am I man. We Parkers love well 
 and once." 
 
 To entertain his receptive audience became his 
 concern. For them he recited "The Rubric of 
 Rum," a composition of his own, relic of college 
 days when people laughed at the tendency which 
 later they deplored. In this metered effort were 
 consigned to verse the various excuses offered by 
 various mortals for their libations. They drank to 
 warm up in cold v/eather, they drank to cool down In 
 hot. Good fortune deserved a celebration, bad luck 
 a beaker to console. At birth was uncorked spark- 
 ling wine for the christening, at death sustaining 
 brandy for the wake. Friendship tipped the loving- 
 cup, enmity the poison-draft of hate. It mattered 
 not, through the vicissitudes of life — Thirst supplied 
 his own glib excuse. 
 
 Parker, declaiming such fragments of his literary 
 achievement as came to mind, gesticulated and bowed 
 with animation, if not dramatic effect, first to one, 
 then the other of his audience. His eyes were fer- 
 vid; his grin sardonic. By way of realism, he tossed 
 off a drink with each metered citation. 
 
i64 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 What if he did get a bit tipsy reciting his "Rubric 
 of Rum," he once lapsed into prose to argue? Thirst 
 had inspired it — let Thirst then pay the piper I 
 
 The brilliance with which his intemperance always 
 had been associated called for more lights. In his 
 larder he found an unopened candle-box. Dripping 
 grease for sockets in half a dozen available places, 
 he proceeded worthily to illuminate the occasion. 
 Although the effect in the rough-boarded shack was 
 not exactly garish, he was pleased. Whole-hearted- 
 ly, he drank to the general good-cheer. 
 
 "Electric-lighted N'York's got nothing on Fall- 
 away — while the candles last. Here's to Spring, 
 who's brought us life!" 
 
 Before each of his fair, lip-tight guests he held 
 a potion; then, in response to their gentle sugges- 
 tions, obliged by the consumption thereof himself. 
 Tacking against the headwind of intoxication, he 
 introduced and explained one to the other. 
 
 Who had sent him to the Blue Ridge for his own 
 best good, in quest of the "grip" which he had got? 
 His valley lily of the conservatory, 'his Sylvia. 
 
 Who had angered him with her criticism? Who 
 but the rhododendron girl. Who had helped him 
 with her ridicule, had appealed with her very aloof- 
 ness, had diverted his search for the regional illicit 
 brew, then had set at his feet the fiery draft for 
 devils or gods? None but Vernaluska, fitly named 
 for a mountain in her mystery and uncompromising 
 power, yet wafted over by a spirit as delicious, as 
 balmy, as virile as the winds of early May. 
 
 "And you'll stay, Verne; you'll stay, won't you, 
 Verne?" he cried in a recurrence of maudlin en- 
 treaty. 
 
JUG'S BOTTOM 165 
 
 Emotion wobbled his knees. He lurched side- 
 wise into a chair beside the table, stretched botE 
 arms across its checkered oilcloth toward the radiant 
 being stepping so daintily, fearsomely, shyly toward 
 him. 
 
 "You've brought me life — you'll not take it 
 away?" he sobbed. "You'll stay with me and like 
 me and let me like you? Couldn't you promise me 
 never, never to go?" 
 
 His face fell into his clutching hands. The shoul- 
 ders built for such strength shuddered weakly, then 
 held still. Only a waggle of the dark, attractive 
 head resented a sudden crash that sounded from the 
 puncheon floor. 
 
 The gallon container had been knocked over on its 
 side, had rolled to the edge of the table and over. 
 But not a drop of liquid wasted from its derisive 
 little m.outh. 
 
 As It chanced, Calvin Parker had reached the 
 bottom of his jug. 
 
 Screaming pain awakened his other mind. Or- 
 dered by that greater voice, so often raised In the 
 cause of drunkards, his body staggered up; the phys- 
 ical of his eyes stared about him, crazed from suf- 
 fering. The candles on the table had burned to 
 stubs; one sleeve of his coat was smoldering over 
 seared flesh. 
 
 Ordered again, he lunged across the room to the 
 water-pail, uttered a gasping cry as he sizzled his 
 arm Into It, turned and searched the gloom In a half- 
 conscious fear lest Verne also be endangered by 
 flame. 
 
 He located her, peering at him from the drawing- 
 
i66 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 stand, shy, sweet, reassuring. He started toward 
 her, meaning to clutch one of the outstretched hands 
 and lay it upon his wound in the conviction that 
 such strong, long fingers must have curative power. 
 But at a hostile sound he stopped and glanced be- 
 hind. 
 
 The back door had blown open; wind was level- 
 ing the flame of such candles as still stood. Some- 
 thing had rushed in beside the wind — something 
 black, darting, winged. It batted the walls, struck 
 the puncheon of the floor, rose in swift, astonishing 
 spirals. 
 
 It was not Parker's subconsciousness that appre- 
 hended the nature of the disturbance which was shak- 
 ing him with fear more hideous than the pain of his 
 arm. The small, awakening fraction of his con- 
 scious mind, rather, bade him leap after it in urgent 
 terror — terror not so much for himself as for Verne, 
 who had come to stay. 
 
 The thing which had entered was an enemy air- 
 plane, the purpose of the demon at the controls to 
 seize and bear away his spirit of Spring. Deviously, 
 to confuse him, it was darting hither and yon, but its 
 objective could not be in doubt. So; he would meet 
 artifice with superior artifice ! 
 
 Don Quixote had fought windmills — a small issue 
 compared with the tilt in prospect. One aviator 
 would wish he never had quit his airdrome. With 
 a bestial snarl of challenge, Parker crouched low 
 near the canvas. Just let this winged intruder make 
 the attempt — let him swoop nearer if he dared! 
 Crushed fuselage, twisted tail and broken wings — 
 into what a wreck would the machine be twisted! 
 The shock-absorber or stabilizer was not built that 
 
JUG'S BOTTOM 167 
 
 could withstand that superman, Cal Parker, under 
 threat of the unspeakable deprivation. 
 
 The thing approached, evidently banking for an 
 easy turn. The moment for counter-attack was 
 about to come — had come. 
 
 With all the power of his vitriol-fed limbs, Par- 
 ker shot into the air. He reached, he clutched the 
 outspread wings of the enemy plane. He brought 
 it down. With giant-strong fingers, he crushed and 
 tore it as together they fell. Only when sure that 
 it would never move again, did he collapse, in a 
 deathlike sprawl, upon the floor. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SPRING IS HERE 
 
 The day was new-born, fragrant of breath, dewy- 
 eyed. From the Metcalf clearing rode a colorful 
 maid upon a white, red-legged steed — Vernaluska 
 and Solomon, starting betimes to a full day's work. 
 
 They did not, however, turn into a certain well- 
 worn path on the homestead side of Roaring Fork. 
 Tucking up her green "habit" around her lifted 
 feet, the rider put the little beast to the stream. 
 With only a waggle of the longest ears in cap- 
 tivity did Solomon protest her guidance. Then he 
 dipped his slim legs into the flood, felt with care 
 for loose or slippery stones, gallantly convoyed 
 across the mistress who could decide no wrong. 
 Into the woodsy trail on the other side he padded 
 with a noiseless, swinging gait. 
 
 From the first Vernaluska had fulfilled with sys- 
 tem and good-cheer the duties of the office which she 
 had won against such odds. Any inherent repug- 
 nance for the act of spying had been promptly al- 
 layed by a thought of still more repugnant possibili- 
 ties, had not the mercurial Sandyred, Rex Currie 
 and her father been overcome in discussion. So now 
 she leaned forward to tickle Solomon's forehead in 
 the spot of keenest mule delight, and adjured him to 
 enjoy, as she tried to do, their service to the family. 
 
 I68 
 
SPRING IS HERE 169 
 
 "Pretend like we're taking a pleasure voyage. 
 The woods are an ocean of perfume. You-uns, Sol, 
 are my boat." 
 
 She breathed deeply the salt, crisp tonic of green 
 in the shrubbery that already surged over the ridge- 
 side — the dogwood blossoms that gleamed like phos- 
 phorescence on southern seas; the vari-tinted azaleas 
 that flamed atop, wave after wave, as of burning oil 
 on the surface of gently swelling billows. 
 
 Making a considerable detour into a sunlit 
 meadow, where thrived a patch of tall, black-hearted 
 yellow flowers, she consulted the popular necrom- 
 ancer known as "Susan" on love. After reaching 
 down for a flower, she began to tear ofl its yellow 
 rays. 
 
 "Does — don't. Me — another. Does — don't. Me 
 another. Does — don't." Thus she chanted as she 
 pulled. 
 
 The destruction of the daisy, excusable for sake 
 of its purpose, continued until but one ray clung 
 to the black heart of wizardry. This she withdrew 
 tenderly and pressed to her lips. 
 
 "He loves me !" she cried in so triumphant a voice 
 that a near-by pine warbler performed a spiral, and 
 the beast under obligation of his name to be so wise 
 cut quite a caper. 
 
 When Solomon was hidden at the mouth of Scape- 
 cat Run, Vernaluska approached the cabin on the 
 Rim with the usual caution of her matutinal w^atch. 
 She found a lapsing silence that had not been the rule 
 of other mornings. Fear clutched her — a fear which 
 the presence of the pinto stamping in his shed could 
 not reassure. 
 
 Had the out-Norther for once slipped away be- 
 
170 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 fore her arrival? Had he suspected that other rea- 
 son behind her presentation of the jug? Under con- 
 donation of his official duty, had he broken his word 
 to her by starting at dawn to run down the family 
 still? She stepped into the open, crossed the small 
 clearing, entered the cabin's back door. 
 
 After the brilliant sunlight without, the window- 
 less interior seemed dark. The girl peered along the 
 side of the room which came first into focus. The 
 bunk was included in her glance — an empty bunk. 
 Her face showed self-reproach over her dllatori- 
 ness. What sort of a one-man guard was she who 
 risked so much on an assumption, even though since 
 yesterday it had strengthened into hope? 
 
 Was he, after all, what they said he was? If so, 
 of course he wouldn't wait around for her to outslick 
 him! 
 
 Taking a forward step, she noted the long-cold 
 ashes of the hearth and the table in the center of the 
 room, untidy with glasses and greased over by 
 small hillocks of burned candles. Gingerly she 
 stepped among the chairs which surrounded the 
 table, one still on all fours, two on their sides. Per- 
 plexity caught her that a man so immaculate should 
 live in such disorder. 
 
 Then something really disturbing caught her eye. 
 From the far side of the room a girl creature in 
 none too many clothes seemed speeding directly to- 
 ward her. "Spring is here," she read In golden let- 
 ters at the elfin creature's feet. In a flash she 
 grasped the vitality of the conception, stepped closer 
 to admire. The flesh-tones gleaming through the 
 veil of green; the long, yet rounded limb-lines; the 
 young busts; the outstretched hands — all held her 
 
SPRING IS HERE 171 
 
 in a breathless sensation of something precious to 
 her and familiar. 
 
 The face — It was hers ! Idealized, strange from 
 Its look of commingled fear and promise, whitened 
 to a dazzling purity — yet hers beyond a doubt. And 
 the hair — none could mistake her hair ! 
 
 Vernaluska's admiration died In a flare of resent- 
 ment. How dared he paint her In this shameless 
 garb, the out-North spy? What had she said, what 
 done to give his Imagination license? Well was it 
 that she had come to his empty shack to discover this 
 desecration of her modesty! 
 
 On the floor just below the canvas lay a palette, 
 still thick with paint. Upon the table were brushes. 
 Stooping, she gathered them up. No artist In oils 
 was she, yet she must fashion a dress to cover the 
 lovely body. She would leave a sign of her visit 
 calculated to show this man from lewd civilization 
 the decency to be learned In the hills ! 
 
 Her brush was dipped, her arm forward stretched, 
 describing the line with which to begin her recon- 
 struction, when a sound startled her. Turning, she 
 saw what she had not seen before in the far corner 
 of the room. 
 
 A gasp escaped her lips. The palette and brush 
 she dropped to stifle other outcry with her hands. 
 She sprang back, tlien turned to face the Thing upon 
 the floor. 
 
 He looked to have been suddenly stricken, his 
 arms outflung, his fists clenched as though for mor- 
 tal combat. The sound which had startled her must 
 have been the boomers scampering over him. 
 
 Terror palsied the girl's limbs, but not her mind 
 — ^terror sprung from a grim suspicion which con- 
 
172 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 cerned not him, not herself, but those closest to her. 
 Had they regretted entrusting the spying to her, and 
 decided to settle the stranger's fate in a quicker way? 
 Had one of them shot him down — her father, Sandy- 
 red, Rex? Or had the Dismal Gap wets thus fla- 
 grantly defied her father's orders? 
 
 There must have been a struggle, to judge by 
 the disorder of the room. And those broken pieces 
 of crockery scattered on the floor? They were, yes, 
 the remains of her earthen jug. The shot must have 
 been in the back, since no wound or stain showed on 
 the trespasser's wan, upturned face or garments. 
 Stepping closer, she leaned over him. What was 
 that grasped in one of his hands? 
 
 The first doubt of her fears came with the dis- 
 covery that his fingers w^ould not loosen, rather 
 gripped the harder on what they held — the body 
 of a flying squirrel, one of the sad little rascals which 
 waft their way into Blue Ridge cabins at night to 
 gnaw everything except food that attracts them. 
 This specimen had been viciously crushed. 
 
 Contemplation of the broken jug electrified her 
 with hope. Gripping those extra-broad shoulders, 
 she upraised the young man far enough to see that 
 no wound showed in his back. Before returning 
 him to the floor, she shook him with all her might. 
 He shuddered, then slumped from her grasp and 
 subsided into observable breathing. 
 
 She now saw that his face was an unlov^ely sight; 
 that his lips were thick, his closed eyelids red and 
 pouched beneath; that a considerable bump marred 
 his forehead. Kneeling on the puncheon, she fav- 
 vored Parker dead-to-the-world with a kinder look 
 than ever she had bent upon him quick. 
 
SPRING IS HERE 173 
 
 "Drunk!" she sighed, her hands clasped prayer- 
 fully. ''God dear, I thank Thee. Thou and I have 
 done got him dead drunk!" 
 
 A goodly piece of the jug she seized and lifted to 
 her lips. 
 
 "I have cussed you a-plenty, popskull," was the 
 thought she beamed upon it, "but to-day I could al- 
 most take a sip of you. You've given me a right 
 smart sign of what I want to know. Is it likely, now, 
 that any revenuer of the slick sort Cal Parker would 
 be If he was one — Is it likely, I ask you, that he'd 
 put himself at our-all's mercy like this?" 
 
 She tried to make his position easier and, in the 
 gentle turning of him, discovered a hole burned 
 through the sleeves of both coat and shirt to an 
 angry-looking wound in his flesh. Gratitude over his 
 condition moved her to save him what pain she could 
 after sleep had quenched the liquid fire which was 
 scorching his consciousness. 
 
 With his knife she ripped the armhole seams of 
 his clothing and removed the sleeves. In the larder 
 she searched for the box of baking soda which should 
 have been there, but was not. Denied this likeliest 
 first-aid, she looked about for a substitute. 
 
 Although Vernaluska knew nothing of Leech's 
 ambrine treatment, that most modern method of 
 dressing burns, she had glassed jelly. Inspiration 
 came to her from the profusion of candle stubs. Ex- 
 amination proved them made of paraflEn. If a wax 
 coating could keep germs from spoiling her fruit pre- 
 serves, she argued. It should serve as effectively to 
 shut out the air from a flesh-burn. 
 
 Several of the stubs she shredded Into a skillet, 
 eliminating such bits of wick as remained in them. 
 
174 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 After firing some kindling on the hearth, she melted 
 them. While still hot, but not hot enough to cause 
 further irritation, she poured the liquid over the 
 wound, an air-tight covering. 
 
 To complete this rude surgery, she ripped a white 
 towel into strips and bound the member with some 
 skill. The placement of one of the bunk pillows 
 beneath her patient's head, the smoothing back- 
 ward of his disheveled, silky hair, the shaking of a 
 reproachful forefinger before his face, completed 
 her ministrations. 
 
 His unresponsiveness was broken by a deeper, 
 shuddering breath, by an inarticulate murmur as of 
 gratitude. Then suddenly, before she could rise 
 from her solicitous position, his lids flashed up, his 
 dark eyes peered, as if from far away, into hers. 
 
 "Verne," he murmured in a revealing voice, "you 
 are here?" 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 SEE YOURSELF 
 
 At sound of Parker's familiar tones, Boomer and 
 Mrs. Boomer barked joyously. 
 
 "Delighted to have you again In our midst — dee- 
 lighted!" they seemed to say. 
 
 Vernaluska sprang to her feet and backed away. 
 She watched the young man curiously as he sat up 
 on the floor, cast a confused glance around, started 
 to lift his right hand, then substituted the left with 
 which to clasp his forehead. 
 
 "Win you give me a drink, please?" 
 
 A broken bit of the erstwhile container she pushed 
 toward him with one toe of her clumsy, country 
 shoes. 
 
 "YouVe done given yourself all the drinks that 
 were." 
 
 "I mean water — a drink of cold water." 
 
 At the suffering note of this specification, she took 
 a tin cup to the bucket outside and brought It to 
 him brimming. Again he started to use his right 
 hand, again substituted the left. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, both before and after 
 draining the cup. Then: "Would you mind get- 
 ting me another?" 
 
 This he accepted with the same confusion of im- 
 pulse — thanked her, drained It, thanked her again. 
 Later he lifted and examined his right hand and 
 
 175 
 
176 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 arm. The blanched, twisted look of his face showed 
 that he was beginning to realize the pain of it. His 
 next words showed, too, that he appreciated the na- 
 ture of the dressing. 
 
 *'Who was it told me," he puzzled, '^that you 
 have the healingest hands In the world?" 
 
 The girl made no reply, but that he did not seem 
 to miss. 
 
 He was holding his forehead tightly with his left, 
 his eyes staring from under at the mangled remains 
 of a little, red, furry body nearby. 
 
 *'Only a wretched squirrel, torn limb from limb," 
 he said. "And I thought " 
 
 An urgent look came into his face. His left hand, 
 lifted to the table top, helped him to his feet. He 
 crossed the room to his easel. 
 
 *'Thank God for His miracles!" he exclaimed on 
 seeing the painting unharmed. Into a chair just be- 
 hind he sat down suddenly. "Tell me, what do you 
 think of It?" he asked the girl. 
 
 "What do /think?" 
 
 The fierce repetition shot like a bullet Into his 
 dulled sensibilities. He turned to look at his pic- 
 ture's original. She had retreated to the fireplace. 
 When his glance met hers, she covered her face 
 with both hands. 
 
 "Do you reckon any nice girl would admire to 
 be Insulted thataway?" she demanded in turn. "Did 
 you count on my not recognizing It? You get a like- 
 ness too good for that — better than the last revenue 
 sneak — than any of them." 
 
 The young man arose and approached her, his 
 effort to get above the miseries of his mind and body 
 apparent. The fact that she deliberately turned 
 
SEE YOURSELF 177 
 
 her back upon him brought increased force to his 
 halting plea. 
 
 *'Verne, you still think that of me? If I were not 
 what I say I am, you might accuse me of insulting 
 you, but think a minute. Lord knows I have no 
 reason to be vain about myself, but does my work 
 look like that of a pretender? I am a good many 
 things I ought not to be, but I am not a revenuer. 
 The best of me — the artist of me — painted you, not 
 the man. I am happy — almost prayerful in my 
 happiness that you see yourself in it. If my mother 
 were living, Verne, I should want her to know you 
 — to see the fine creature whom I — I " 
 
 He paused, confused over the delicate task of 
 overcoming the outraged modesty of this girl so 
 close, yet not close enough, to Nature. 
 
 She seemed not to have heard him. Her eyes 
 were on the mantel shelf. He noted with her the 
 hardened puddles of wax from last night's illu- 
 mination. At one end stood the photograph of 
 Sylvia in its purple leather frame. 
 
 Her attention settled upon the alluring, pictured 
 face. She gazed upon the flower eyes, the gentle* 
 lips, the cloud of ash-blond hair lighted by a master 
 photographer into a haloesque effect, the depths of 
 the decolletage which revealed more than It con- 
 cealed the attraction of girlish curves. 
 
 To Parker the moment seemed long before Ver- 
 1 naluska turned and, for the first time since his stu- 
 por, really looked at her inebriate. The red of 
 her outspoken resentment still mottled her cheeks, 
 but her eyes held a question. Her lips opened, as 
 If about to voice it, then closed in a stiff line. 
 
 "That," Parker answered, **is a picture of the 
 
178 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 woman I always have respected most in the world 
 — that Is, most until I met you." 
 
 "Is she, then, a woman grown?" Vernaluska's sur- 
 prise seemed genuine. "I calculated she was just a 
 child." 
 
 He nodded. "Looking at it, I never notice that 
 the subject isn't completely dressed. We think a 
 whole lot more of the beauty in which God Him- 
 self clothes a woman — we artists — than of what her 
 dressmaker supplies. You have artistic apprecia- 
 tion, too, Verne. Don't you agree with me?" 
 
 "I reckon a collar of any goods, even a flower, 
 would spoil her," the girl of the mountains admit- 
 ted. 
 
 Her glance swerved, from a guilty remembrance 
 of the correction of his painting which she had been 
 about to make when the first move of his return to 
 consciousness had interrupted. 
 
 "Likely you don't mean any harm using my face 
 and my" — she hesitated, then finished bravely 
 enough — "my hair in your picture. Likely I'm too 
 particular about myself. You see, I've never worn 
 what you city folk would call a party dress. I had 
 a graduation one, though — white organdy with a 
 lavender sash. It cost several jugs of bumblings. The 
 girls at the school over across the mountains said 
 it was beautiful, but, at that, it wasn't what your 
 kind would call a party dress." 
 
 "You child — you real girl!" Above his pity for 
 himself, pity for her arose in Parker that she had 
 missed the thousand-and-one soft perquisites of girl- 
 hood which her loveliness of looks and thoughts de- 
 served. Returning to the table, he gazed across 
 at her wistfully. "I am glad you believe that I feel 
 
SEE YOURSELF 179 
 
 no disrespect in painting you as Spring. There is 
 nothing now, is there, to prevent our being friends? 
 
 'Triends?" 
 
 *Tes." 
 
 'Triendsr 
 
 At her caustic repetition, he felt disturbed anew. 
 
 *'Why not? You have shown yourself friendly 
 in acts, if not in words. You must like me a little, 
 or you wouldn't have been so kind to me ever since 
 that first day." 
 
 "Like you? I despise you!" 
 
 Parker eased his right arm as best he could on 
 the table-top and looked up at her, deeply distressed. 
 "I don't wish to seem over-Insistent, but if you 
 despise me, why did you come to see me to-day — 
 why that other day when " 
 
 "Hasn't somebody got to keep watch over a rev- 
 enue slick?" she snapped. "I persuaded my folks 
 to appoint me for this particular job." 
 
 "But you took the cartridges out of the gun yes- 
 terday to save me." 
 
 "To save youl There's a nary thought in any- 
 thing I've done except to save my pappy and my 
 brother from the consequences of their foollshment. 
 I want to get them out of danger from the law be- 
 fore the law gets them in. So you calculated I was 
 keen about you — I, Verney Metcalf — because I'd 
 taken notice of your existence, because I had my own 
 reasons for toting you that jug of bumbllngs?" 
 
 "I promised — haven't I kept my promise?'* 
 
 "For a day, yes. But you've done more than 
 keep your promise. Whether you are a revenuer or 
 not, you're a right poor excuse of a man. Look 
 around at the cabin, at the floor, at yourself. Then 
 
i8o FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 look at that picture and think what you ought to be." 
 
 "You think my picture good?" 
 
 *'Good? It is wonderful/ It is so wonderful that 
 it, not you, has done wheedled me into forgiving 
 you for imagining what no mortal man has ever seen 
 of me. It is so wonderful that when I look at it, 
 when I think " 
 
 Her voice faltered in a sob. 
 
 Surprised, the artist concentrated in his regard of 
 her. 
 
 She was standing before the easel, her hands 
 clasped against the rounded busts which he had 
 dared to portray. Something sparkled down the 
 crimson of her cheeks. 
 
 Peering more closely, he saw, to his joy and dis- 
 may, that two tears had stumbled from her eyes. 
 
 "Verne," he whispered over the wall which she 
 was raising between them. ^'Verne.'^ 
 
 "Oh, it ain't the looks of It that gets me — I don't 
 admire myself enough for that. It's the — the " 
 
 Again she fumbled for expression. 
 
 "Inspiration — the promise of creation fulfilled — 
 Spring," he supplied. "My picture must be good!" 
 
 She turned on him as if to slay him for his ex- 
 ultation. 
 
 "I reckon I can pity a good-for-nothing unfortu- 
 nate as much as anybody, but you " 
 
 "Don't say that you despise me again, Verne. 
 Don't be too hard on me." 
 
 "Too hard on you, when youVe been given every- 
 thing — a body that ought to be strong, a mind that 
 ought to be clean, education, talent, training? What 
 right have you got to be bound up in yourself and 
 your appetite?" 
 
SEE YOURSELF i8i 
 
 "Just what the Parker fossils have always ar- 
 gued I" 
 
 At her stare, he amplified: *'My progenitors, 
 you know. They were a pretty decent lot, I guess. 
 One thing Is sure, they are more persevering dead 
 than most people living. They never let up on me 
 when I'm sober. That's one reason I drink — to 
 get away from them. I won't let them or anybody 
 else make up my mind for me." 
 
 *^You mean you swiggle this way just from mule 
 ornerlness?" 
 
 "That was it originally — from perversity. But 
 now I've come to depend on It for excitement. You 
 see, I've been sort of a sensational drinker." 
 
 "And proud of It?'^ 
 
 "Not any more. What you don't see is that I 
 intended never to be this way again. Being a Par- 
 ker, I always keep my word to other people, and I 
 thought I could keep this word to myself. I didn't 
 dream I had degenerated into such a puny thing. 
 I am disappointed and — and ashamed. I want to 
 grow strong. I must get back my self-respect and 
 yours. I — I seem to need help, don't I?" 
 
 She glanced toward the photograph on the mantel. 
 "I reckon nothing outside a man's self can help him 
 much. If he don't pleasure in cleanness." 
 
 "But I do — from my heart I do." Parker's face 
 showed emotion. Haltingly, he uplifted a sort of 
 prayer: "You are so strong, Verne; won't you help 
 me to grow strong? Last night, before I lost my- 
 self, you seemed to be bringing life. That's how I 
 came to paint your picture. If you have trust 
 enough, mercy enough, won't you befriend me? 
 Won't you — can't you even pity me?" 
 
i82 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Her eyes were now full on his, consideringly. 
 
 *'I can pity, yes," she admitted, *'and I, too, can 
 keep my word to another — to you, if I give it I" 
 
 "Then, Verne, inspire me and give me your word! 
 Yours is the spirit of the picture — Spring, that can 
 make things grow up from the dead. You find me 
 beaten to earth from my long winter of gluttony; 
 won't you help me to lift myself, help me to grow?" 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 COURT OF HILLS 
 
 To an open place on the Fallaway's edge, Ver- 
 naluska led the way. From below, the valley smiled 
 up at them with a million flower eyes, a million lips 
 of green. On the other side loomed a semicircle of 
 rugged peaks and tree-clad domes. 
 
 "Yonder is my court of hills," she introduced, 
 before seating herself on the ground to face them. 
 
 Parker disposed himself beside her. His arm was 
 relieved by a sling of her devisement, his inner man 
 fortified by the coffee she had made and shared. 
 
 So far, her response to his plea had taken the 
 language of action, except for one verbal comment 
 that had carried hope. 
 
 "You say you-all's mother is long dead; likely 
 you do need some homely advice." 
 
 Now, from the woods behind came the moaning 
 call of a dove — a coo drawn out with many o's. 
 Parker shivered. It sounded helpless, despairing, 
 ineffectual, a good deal as he felt. He glanced up 
 at the girl. She was looking into the view, evidently 
 thinking. After a while, she began to speak slowly, 
 as if picking her words with care. 
 
 "When I was a little girl, my pappy took me to 
 a trial down at the county-seat. Ever since I've 
 thought of the Blue Ridge as my court-house, yon 
 
 183 
 
184 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 peaks as judge and jury. Turn to the left, stranger, 
 and face His Honor, Crumbly Bald." 
 
 Obeying her free gesture, Parker again viewed 
 the bare-topped dome that towered highest of the 
 range. 
 
 "He's got a pesky temper, has Judge Bald," she 
 continued. "Folks hereabouts allow that what's 
 wrong with him is my being given one of his family 
 names, but I say it's because dad's enemy, Dode 
 Currie, owned him before he died and passed him 
 down to Rex." 
 
 She identified Thunderhead and Keerless Knob, 
 whose shiny cliffs, too, had lost their "hair"; 
 Hickory Nut Mountain, down in the front row and 
 hard to convince; Stretch Neck, tall and leaning, the 
 curiosity-obsessed of the panel; the several suffrage 
 members — DIsputana, New Wife, Barren She, and 
 Chunky Gal — these glowered upon by Big Butte, 
 Whoop-for-Sam, and Standing Stone. 
 
 She approved them to her client. 
 
 "These twelve good mountains and true always 
 render just verdicts because they share the highest 
 ideals. Guilty or not guilty, what do you plead, 
 prisoner at the bar?" 
 
 "Guilty!" he murmured. 
 
 But perplexity still was written plain upon his 
 face. 
 
 "Don't you see what I mean?" she urged. "Na- 
 ture is the fairest judge and jury. The closer we- 
 all get to her, the more we show what we actually 
 are. In the cities where you come from there are 
 high walls that shut out the sky and there are so 
 many folks around you, watching you, judging you 
 by their own standards, that you're plumb forced 
 
COURT OF HILLS 185 
 
 to pretend. But now that you're alone in the hills 
 there's no use to pretend. Nature demands hon- 
 esty and, sooner or later, you'll be shown up for 
 just what you really are." 
 
 *'I shudder at the thought," Parker exclaimed, 
 his dark eyes for once avoiding the fawn-green 
 ones. 
 
 *'If you intend well in the future, no matter what 
 you have done in the past, they-all will temper the 
 sentence. If you mean what you said in the shack 
 yonder, we'll proceed with the trial." 
 
 "I mean it." 
 
 His tone was low, hut one she could not doubt. 
 
 *'And you-all will give honest testimony, regard- 
 less of how they press you?" 
 
 **Sohelpme!" 
 
 He arose and faced the twelve as he took the 
 oath. 
 
 After a moment he spoke to the girl. "I never 
 really made up my mind before; other folks always 
 had it ready-made for me. Never have I thought 
 of quitting for my own sake; it was always to please 
 some one else." 
 
 ''You'll chuck out the lawyer you've been retain- 
 ing?" 
 
 The ghost of the Cal Parker fascination limped in 
 on his smile. 
 
 "Yes." He nodded emphatically. ''His name is 
 Compromise — the most famous of drink-control 
 shysters. From this moment I place myself at the 
 mercy of your court of hills." 
 
 His concentration on the metaphor was proved 
 by the fact that he forgot his sling in reaching to 
 help his new counsel to her feet. For the first time 
 
 I 
 
i86 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the hands of the *'out-Norther" and the mountain 
 girl clasped — but guardedly. 
 
 Although he in his fervor had forgotten, she had 
 not, his burn from past debauch. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 *'hi, verneyT* 
 
 The bray of an ass was the third sign. 
 
 The first had been a note found by Parker tucked 
 under the back door of the Rim shack on his return 
 the evening before from an exercise ride upon Tee- 
 totaler. 
 
 This had read: 
 
 Heaven Sent: 
 
 We take this Surreptitious means of communicating with 
 you, realizing full well the danger of your seeking Com- 
 munication with us. Not that we are impatient with your 
 Progress, but we wish to help you, in so far as Strength is 
 given us, to Victory. To ease your mind, we report that 
 none of the Stalwarts has suffered ill-effects from that onto- 
 ward Razzle Dazzle, from the entombing of which your 
 bravery extricated us. 
 
 What with the Carnival coming on in less than a fort- 
 night, we Pray that you will be able to put out the Arch- 
 Enemy's light-house before that Event, so that all may enjoy 
 a nice, dry time in honor of North Carolina's stand for 
 sobriety. Naturally, said enemy is stilling hard in order 
 that the Carnival may be made a Riot of Wanton Wine. 
 
 We are credibly informed as to the location of a new 
 Branch of this Pernicious Operandum. Directions will be 
 \ furnished on application, by Sister Sally Shortoff, who mis- 
 understood your Motives cruelly on first acquaintance. Do 
 be Careful. And remember that each night our Prayers for 
 your Safety ascend to Heaven Above. 
 
 Yours in the Fight for Right, 
 
 Glory Be! 
 
 187 
 
i88 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Guided by this capriciously capitalized, tlny- 
 scrlpted, code-signed missive, whose authorship 
 could only be that of Aunt Hootie Plott, he had 
 sought and found the second sign that morning. 
 The turn-coat manner and prolific Instruction of 
 Mistress Sally, at work in the corn field, were se- 
 quential. 
 
 She had not quite got his *'color" that other day, 
 she admitted, although she practically had given 
 him the finest nag In the Blue Ridge, a transaction 
 which she had ceased to regret only on learning 
 that Teetotaler was thereby elected to an important 
 ofl^ce in the *'cause." That he "take them blockade 
 varmints In the act" was her advice. Strange doings 
 had been observed through the brush by Bide and 
 herself when out retrieving their "jump-devir' 
 heifers a couple of days before. 
 
 Fearful of discovery by Old Tom Metcalf, who. 
 of course was the "arch-enemy" referred to in the 
 note, Sally had stayed only long enough to locate 
 what she confidently believed to be a newly planted 
 lair of the enemy. Aunt Hootie had advised trusting 
 all to him. So be it. To Parker, then, the honor 
 of uncovering the secrets housed within a padlocked 
 lean-to built against the bank of Rattlesnake Run I 
 
 Now the braying of an ass, sign No. 3, rewarded 
 his ride over the trail mapped out for him by the 
 hill-country zealot. The refreshing sound of a small 
 water-fall further assured him that he had come 
 aright. He urged the piebald into a criss-cross ford- 
 ing of Roaring Fork. 
 
 On "yan" side the oft-branching waters he dis- 
 mounted, looped the reins over a bush, and started 
 
"HI, VERNE Y I" 189 
 
 afoot along the Indistinct trail beside the tributary. 
 His going was the more eager in that the third sign, 
 said to be the charm, had been that peculiarly tune- 
 less, sea-saw bray. 
 
 His first triumph awaited around a bend in the 
 branch — the sight of red-legged Solomon engaged 
 In a strange occupation. Traced to the end of a 
 long, curved beam, which turned an upright shaft 
 planted in a box, the mule was walking, slow-footed, 
 In a circle. Parker halted a moment to survey this 
 motion-picture and the clay bank which effectively 
 formed its background. 
 
 Where had he heard about the stirring of the 
 mash, the mixing of sweet corn and malt, he won- 
 dered? That was what Vernaluska's noble steed 
 must be doing — taking the first steps in the making 
 of spirits from corn. 
 
 With the probability that at last he had discovered 
 the still-house of the Metcalfs; that now he could 
 prove himself without design against the "cantanker- 
 ous" by faithfully sharing the family secret, exulta- 
 tion started him precipitately forward. 
 
 Beside the grinding box, however, he saw at once 
 
 that the mass being combed by the wooden teeth 
 
 at the end of the upright shaft could not be any 
 
 compound of grain; was. Instead, a slate-colored 
 
 substance which looked more like clay. As he leaned 
 
 to examine It, Solomon stopped, blinked, drew back 
 
 his lip — surveyed him, altogether, with an expres- 
 
 „ slon of Intolerable levity. 
 
 \ "Be about It, Sol! Quit your loaferlng!" 
 
 j The admonition came from the other side of the 
 
 bank from which, probably, the clay under process 
 
 
igo FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 had been dug. It was voiced In the resonant con- 
 tralto of the mountain girl. Solomon, with a grunt 
 that might have meant either protest or indifference, 
 resumed his plodding. 
 
 "What the Sam Hill is the idea?" 
 
 The mental query speeded Parker around the jut- 
 ting bank. There he was halted by another puzzle. 
 
 The Metcalf girl was seated upon a low stool 
 before a wheel which she turned with a foot-treadle; 
 evidently she neither had seen nor heard his ap- 
 proach. Her splendid hair was uncovered and 
 loosely coiled on the nape of her neck, which showed 
 where the collar opened to be white as the flowers 
 of a white rhododendron-bush just beyond her. Her 
 print sleeves, rolled up, revealed upper arms of the 
 same satiny, pure texture. 
 
 Very brown, by contrast, looked the long, strong 
 hands which were shaping a loaf of clay into what 
 resembled a gallon jug. She was sheltered from the 
 sun by an overhang of boughs that extended from 
 a small log structure built against the bank, evi- 
 dently the lean-to of Mistress Sally's suspicion. 
 Further, toward the creek, stretched a low vault, 
 built of clay-chinked rocks whose chimney suggested 
 an oven for the baking of her product. M 
 
 Both disappointment and Interest held Parker, 
 that he should have found, in this supposed lair 
 of the "arch-enemy,'^ the sylvan setting of so inno- 
 cent an Industry. He stepped from the shadow of 
 the bank, doffed his cap, bowed with that charm of 
 manner handed direct to him from all the other 
 Parkers. 
 
 "Good morning. Miss Potter, near your modest 
 
 I 
 
"HI, VERNE Y!'' 191 
 
 cot, shaping many an urn and pot," he hailed her, 
 with unvoiced apologies to Khayyam. 
 
 The girl sprang to her feet, glanced nervously 
 back at the lean-to, then at him. 
 
 *'Why are you-all trailing me this very first morn- 
 ing after I thought I had you settled to better ways?" 
 
 With a flourish of his cap toward her work, he 
 continued his transposition: 
 
 "To see how you take clay 'from earthen things, 
 from beggars' feet, and the head of kings.' " 
 
 Perplexity tempered her displeasure, then the 
 twitch of a smile: "Do you-uns come as beggar or 
 as king?" 
 
 "As both. I beg you and command you to tell 
 me what the dickens you and friend Solomon are 
 doing?" 
 
 "And I beg and command you to get about your 
 own business." She turned her back, then added 
 significantly over one shoulder: "Look out you 
 don't get snake-bit going down the run." 
 
 He answered in metaphor: "I've heard a few 
 rattlers since coming to the Blue Ridge, but I'm 
 not afraid of gentlemanly snakes. It's hard to as- 
 sociate you with anything so wriggly and ugly as a 
 snake, IvIIss Metcalf, and certainly you said noth- 
 ing yesterday on Fallaway to forbid my visiting you 
 in your workshop." 
 
 "I ain't receiving visitors to-day and what I see 
 fitten to work at is my own secret." 
 
 "A secret may remain safe between two," he 
 suggested, sauntering around so that she had to 
 face him, focusing the sunlight of his smile upon 
 the storm signs of her resentment. "Anyhow, your 
 
192 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 mule Invited my horse, so you have the wisdom of 
 Solomon to blame. If you really do want to keep 
 the location of your factory a secret, you should ac- 
 quire a silencer — the sort your friend Currle has 
 for his 'charmed' gun — for that bray-muzzle. Since 
 Fm here, won't you Invite me to have a chair, fair 
 mentor?" 
 
 *'I certainly won't — leastwise I can't." 
 The recalcitrant dimple of twice before suggested 
 Its continued existence as she plumped herself down 
 upon the only stool. 
 
 j *'Thank you so much — a seat Is what I meant." 
 Parker hunched himself down on the ground before 
 her, both arms affectionately clasping his knees. *T 
 think It Is very clever of you to do your share of 
 the family work. I wouldn't for anything have 
 missed this revelation of you making the demijohns 
 
 for " 
 
 ! "You think I make the jugs for dad's bumbllngs?'* 
 <With the interruption, she sprang back so suddenly 
 that the large pottery piece which she had been fash- 
 ioning, as if to second her denial, fell off the wheel 
 into a shapeless mass on the ground. *'You actually 
 
 believe that I <' 
 
 i "There's nothing criminal in your participation, 
 except telling your client fibs about It," he Insisted. 
 j"The law might consider you in the light of acces- 
 sory to illicit output, but not I." 
 
 "Say, stranger, you-all come along with me." 
 
 She started toward the log structure. From the 
 
 3oorway she beckoned impatiently for him to hurry. 
 
 i Further arguments for the case in hand had 
 
 been forming in Parker's mind, but when he lined 
 
''HI, VERNEYI" 193 
 
 up beside her just within the sill, he became speech- 
 less with amazement. , 
 
 The hut was a storehouse, with shelves running 
 around the walls, and without furniture except for 
 two tables. Upon these were displayed earthenware 
 of many shapes, colors and sizes, with not one among 
 them that looked a suitable container for corn-juice. 
 Jugs, urns, vases there v/ere of brown, of vermlllion, 
 of green, blue, and gray. 1 
 
 With a murmured plea for permission, he ad- 
 vanced Into the room and lifted one of the nearest 
 Into the sunlight shafting through the open door. 
 An exclamation of surprise escaped him, for It was 
 a vase unique and quite effective In design — its base 
 the colled tail of a copper-head snake. Its body the 
 Inflated middle, its neck the wide-flung, V-shaped 
 mouth. In It, both viciousness and grace were pre- 
 sented; the mottled coloring was faithfully repro- 
 duced. 
 
 Replacing the vase, Parker glanced wonderlngly 
 at the girl. She stood In the doorway watching him, 
 answering his look by neither smile nor frown. He 
 got an idea of her at that moment which he never 
 lost — that she was proud to arrogance, yet humble 
 almost to shame. So Intense he felt her to be that 
 he restrained any light expression and returned to 
 her pottery. 
 
 He discovered a jug of the shape she had been 
 turning on the wheel. Finished, it ceased to sug- 
 gest itself as a mere container, appeared rather an 
 object of crude art. Its slender neck decorated by a 
 design of leaves In bas-relief. 
 
 This he relinquished on espying one of a particu- 
 larly appealing subject — a red chlckeree with arched 
 
194 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 back, upholding In Its forepaws a pine cone, among 
 the prickly leaves of which its sharp nose was search- 
 ing for piiions. 
 
 "Wherever did you learn to put this life-touch 
 into clay?" he asked. 
 
 "You think they have a life-touch?" 
 
 She spoke diffidently, but her eyes demanded the 
 truth. 
 
 "They are rather exceptional, I should say. Of 
 course, such ability to suggest motion, to copy colors, 
 to effect differences of texture must be inherent, but 
 who taught you modeling?" 
 
 "That came as natural to my fingers, I reckon, 
 as teeth to my gums. Uncle Steve — he taught me 
 all he knew." 
 
 She had made jugs, she further explained, since 
 she had been old enough to play In mud, the word 
 being generic for all forms of her work. The rela- 
 tive referred to, long since departed, had been an 
 assiduous "jugger" In his day. Not until she had 
 gone over the mountains to school, however^ had 
 she set any particular store by her talent. 
 
 "You wish to make a career of it?" he asked. 
 "You can, I believe." 
 
 She nodded, then qualified her agreement: 'T 
 wish to make money out of It." 
 
 "You mean that these things are for sale? This 
 Mr. Squirrel with the pine cone" — he lifted the con- 
 ceit — "may I obtain It by right of purchase? It 
 reminds me of — ^well, of some personal friends. 
 How much will you take for it?" 
 
 "How much will you give?" 
 
 She took an eager step toward him, a flush of 
 excitement staining her cheek. 
 
"HI, VERNEY!" 195 
 
 ^'Whatever you think it worth — ten, twenty " 
 
 *'You-aIl talking cents or dollars?" 
 
 "Dollars, of course. What do you say?" 
 
 *'I say " She hesitated, in an apparent con- 
 flict of avidity and self-depreciation. "It appears 
 like ten dollars is a sight more than it's worth, but 
 I'd be right glad of the money." 
 
 Parker wondered at the trembling of her hands 
 as she accepted the crisp bill he extended and pinned 
 it carefully inside the pocket of her gingham dress. 
 
 "I understand," he said aloud, as a sort of apol- 
 ogy for her lust for lucre. "The bank-note is sym- 
 bolic, as it were, of the value of your art." 
 
 "No, sir, it ain't any symbol to me. It's money. 
 That's what I want, and what I'm going to have. 
 There are faults in my work same as in my school- 
 ing. When it's good, it's only a happen-so. But 
 I'm set on improving my jugs just as I am on learn- 
 ing to speak fine, like you outside folks. At school 
 I got a kind of understanding of English, and I 
 downright enjoy reading. But somehow I get plumb 
 — ^that is, very discouraged." 
 
 "All you need is a little application and practice, 
 Verne. And, say, why can't you practice on me? 
 Look at it as your rightful fee for representing me 
 before the court of hills. Won't you let me be a 
 pal, let me help you — that is, if you think I can?" 
 
 "You-all could help me a lot," she began, with 
 an air of consideration, "if " 
 
 "Hi, Verneyl Where be you?" 
 
 The interrupting call, although from some dis- 
 tance, sounded raucous, impatient. 
 
 The girl made no attempt to continue. She stood, 
 
196 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 a look of apprehension on her face, her body at 
 tension. 
 
 She took a quick step toward Parker, then 
 stopped, threw up her head, seemed strengthened 
 by sudden decision. Turning, she hurried to the 
 door and answered: 
 
 *'H1, Rexle! Where be youT' 
 
 From the path that shelved toward the water- 
 fall strode a suitor who might have quickened the 
 pulse of any girl — the personable hillbilly at his 
 best. Carefully dressed In a new suit and hat, 
 splendidly fit, his face alight from more than eager- 
 ness, he hurried to meet her, caught both her hands 
 in his, leaned to see how It fared with her by a close 
 look Into her eyes. 
 
 *'How come you back so soon. Rex? Tom ain't 
 expecting you for a couple of days yet.'* 
 ' Currle did not at once answer. In fact, his lips 
 looked too stiff to speak. A change had come into 
 his expression, not so much from the doubtful gra- 
 clousness of her greeting, probably, as from what 
 he had seen within the hut when leaning forward 
 to peer into her eyes. His clutch relaxed; he dropped 
 her hands. All that light of something more than 
 eagerness was snuffed out of his face. 
 
 *'And you, Verney," he said at last In a low, dan- 
 gerous voice, *'I see you weren't expecting me, 
 either." 
 
 Parker, appreciating that once again his pres- 
 ence was unwelcome, sauntered forward as he might 
 have done to greet an enemy accidentally encoun- 
 tered at some pink-shaded tea-table of a mutual 
 friend. 
 
*'HI, VERNEY!" 197 
 
 **How are you, Currle?" he said, and, from force 
 of habit, extended the hand of the burned right 
 arm. 
 
 But the hillbilly seemed not to see. He stood 
 tense as a masterpiece done in stone, the ruddiness 
 gone from his face, his lips twisted, his unwilling 
 right clenched into a knobbed mallet. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 SLICK AT THAT 
 
 From his talent for details Parker made a note 
 of the fact that Currle had refused to shake his 
 hand. It armed him additionally for the interview. 
 
 "I'm about as glad to see you," he added pleas- 
 antly, "as you to see me." 
 
 He held himself ready for any manner of retort, 
 whether of speech or action. But Currie's reproach 
 centered first upon the girl. 
 
 "It's the government spy you're so wrapped up 
 in that you didn't hear me the first time I called, is 
 it? Coming up, I heard the champing of a horse, 
 but I wouldn't have believed, without I'd caught you 
 breathing inside air with such as — as yon — that it 
 was the one-eyed nag I heard Sal Shortoli stung him 
 a-plenty for. I nigh sprained a good team to get 
 back and help your pappy handle him, and here I 
 find you — in this of all places " 
 
 "And here you find me 'tending strictly to what's 
 my own business and my pappy's, not yours," inter- 
 rupted Vernaluska, in a voice, with a look, that 
 warned him. "If you-all have got any manners, ot 
 even any respect for orders " 
 
 She paused, her eyes held on the mallet of his 
 fist. 
 
 It relaxed, fingers straightening, and hung more 
 like a hand at his side. 
 
 198 
 
SLICK AT THAT 199 
 
 ''I may not be strong on manncFS," he admitted, 
 *'but you have taught me how to wait." 
 
 "To wait for what?" she demanded sharply. 
 
 His irides expanded as from some bold, precon- 
 ceiyed scheme. "For two things, Verney. One is 
 you. The other is Mr. Slick Parker, if he's still 
 around when I get ready to attend to him." 
 
 "Mr. Parker has been telling me" — she chose to 
 disregard the menace of his words and look — "that 
 we-all are mistaken in his calling. He says it is 
 only his private and particular business that is hold- 
 ing him in the Blue Ridge." 
 
 "It looks like that — mighty private, and damn 
 particular," said the hillbilly, scowling. 
 
 "Ease off on him a mite. Rex," she said In a 
 changed, coaxing way. "He's trying to be friendly 
 — has done opened the way for me to make you a 
 better offer for your mountain." 
 
 "His mountain?" queried Parker. 
 
 She nodded. "Crumbly Bald, that I'm christened 
 after. I was telling you yesterday about how it 
 came down to Rex through his father, who never 
 would let my dad buy it because of an old spite be- 
 tween them. I'm asking Rex, as a personal favor, 
 to sell to us what ain't — isn't any use on earth to 
 him." 
 
 In the Interest of his opposition, Currle chose to 
 disregard the presence of the outsider. 
 
 *'And I'm doing you a personal favor to flat re- 
 fuse," he declared. "Your pap's a mite off or he 
 wouldn't want to buy the worthless stone-pile, and 
 you know it. I've got an idea that his hope of tak- 
 ing over my title is all he lets me stick around here 
 for. You don't know a real friend when you've 
 
200 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 got one, Verney Metcalf. Hell's fire, don't you 
 reckon I'd be glad enough to sell It for money if It 
 was robbing any one but you, Hon?" 
 
 But Vernaluska insisted, and brought to bear 
 the battery of her smiles as she stepped closed to 
 the obstinate owner. 
 
 "Dad may be a mite off in wanting it," she said, 
 her voice sweetening, "but since he does want it 
 so much that he's sworn to me he'll quit stilling 
 after he gets it — Listen, Rexey, I offer you five hun- 
 dred dollars for Grumbly Bald, and here's some- 
 thing to bind the bargain." 
 
 Currie's eyes widened as she produced from the 
 pocket of her dress a bank-note and fluttered it 
 temptingly. 
 
 "Do you mean to say you took that from " 
 
 "I've sold the first of what you've always said 
 were no-account jugs — sold it for sure-enough 
 money," she interrupted, with a triumphant look. 
 "If I can sell one, don't you reckon I can sell many? 
 There are rich folks over AshevIUe and Blltmore 
 ways, folks that buy what they fancy and don't care 
 particular about the price. I'm going over there 
 soon with all Solomon can pack, and do some thrifty 
 peddling. I'll have you paid off in such a jiffy you 
 won't know what's been happening." 
 
 "You'll jiffy yourself Into jail — that's what'll 
 happen!" 
 
 There was no doubting Currie's antagonism to- 
 ward her offer, although his eyes lit strangely as 
 her face lifted to his and the hand fondling the 
 watch-chain that spanned his vest-front grew addi- 
 tionally nervous. Lie reached out, caught the flut- 
 tering sleeve of her waist between his powerful 
 
SLICK AT THAT 201 
 
 thumb and forefinger, pinched the cloth until his 
 knuckles showed white. 
 
 "Verney-girl, what you ask ain't good for you to 
 have," he continued his appeal in a lowered, husky 
 voice. *'When my one idea is to get you out of 
 here, you want to go and dog-chain yourself to a 
 mountain ! Don't you know that when the blow- 
 off comes, you'll be grabbed by the law same as your 
 men folks?" 
 
 "Why won't you see what I'm getting at, Rex?" 
 she insisted. *'Nary one of us will be grabbed if 
 you sell us the Bald. Dad w^ants to raise goats on 
 it, and he's sworn himself to me, I keep telling you, 
 to quit stilling forever as soon as " 
 
 **You don't think he actually would? How 
 soon?" 
 
 An arrested, uneasy look for a moment blotted 
 the ardor of his face. But before she, surprised, 
 could frame a reply, he was expanding the reason 
 for his refusal to sell to her. 
 
 "Tom's idea of goats is plumb foolish. Not 
 enough brush grows on the Bald to feed a dozen 
 woolly grubbers. He wants it in the hope of get- 
 ting shut of me, him thinking I ain't good enough 
 to travel hitched with you. He's a mite silly, Ver- 
 ney, and you might as well face it. No ma'am — 
 the answer is no! My own pappy wouldn't sell the 
 old growling pile of stones to yours. He asked me 
 to keep a hold on it, and I reckon I'll be bounden 
 to oblige him, unless " 
 
 "Unless some acceptable outside purchaser comes 
 along? Say, Currie, will you sell me that mountain 
 for five hundred cash?" 
 
 Parker spoke from inspiration. Possession of 
 
202 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Mount Vernaluska had, all In a flash of thought, be- 
 come his dominant desire. 
 
 In the others the proposition aroused apparent 
 astonishment. Currie dropped the girl's sleeve. 
 The two sprang apart and faced him. 
 
 "You don't mean " she began. 
 
 *'What the hell do you-uns want of it?" demanded 
 the hillbilly. 
 
 "I want to own It." Parker spoke convincingly, 
 despite his quiet voice and tired smile. "Five hun- 
 dred — on the spot." 
 
 Antagonistically the countryman stared at the 
 New Yorker a moment; considered cravingly the 
 girl whom he had elected "to save"; nodded with 
 sudden decision. 
 
 "You're on," he said. 
 
 "But, Rex, you wouldn't sell It out of my hands?" 
 Vernaluska's voice was a wail, her clutch on his arm 
 that of despair. "If you do, you've no leave ever to 
 think of me again." 
 
 Currie laughed in a hard way. "I'll be thinking 
 all the same. I'm set on getting you away from 
 here, and I generally get what I'm set on. If the 
 slick's got the cash the Bald is his." 
 
 Pride seemed to outrun her protest. She with- 
 drew to her work-bench; from a seat there watched 
 the transaction. 
 
 With his left hand Parker drew a checkbook 
 from one pocket and a fountain pen from another; 
 painstakingly, with his right, began to write a check 
 on his New York bank. 
 
 But Currie made objection. "A bit of paper 
 hand-writ by yourself — do you reckon I'd take that? 
 You said cash." 
 
SLICK AT THAT 203 
 
 *'North Carolina would take care of any man 
 who gave you a bad check," said Parker, "but — 
 Well, here's a New York draft which you'll have no 
 trouble changing Into gold." 
 
 From his wallet he selected one of the drafts 
 which he carried against emergency, and endorsed 
 it to Currle. On the back of a blank check he pen- 
 ned a comprehensive receipt which would protect his 
 new interest until a formal deed might be handed 
 over. Both of these and the pen he handed the hill- 
 billy. He realized a return of his cordial dislike 
 when Currle, after pocketing the draft and signing 
 the receipt, returned it and the pen with a frank 
 sneer. 
 
 "So-ho, there's graft enough in revenulng," he 
 said, "that you can deal out a five-century chunk 
 without missing it — and for a pile of rocks that ain't 
 worth one crumble of salt! Looks plain he's mean- 
 ing to settle hereabouts, Verney, until he finds the 
 Metcalf still. Likely now you'll mark what I've 
 told you '* 
 
 "I'll mark a nary thing you've ever told me, Rex 
 Currle," flashed the girl, rising and stepping up to 
 him. "You didn't mark what I told you, that my 
 hope of the Bald was all I've been working toward. 
 You needn't ever think of me again. Take your 
 five hundred and " 
 
 *'And you, honey — I'll take you, too, never fear. 
 You know I wouldn't ever go without you. You're 
 a mite riled up now because " 
 
 "Which or whether, get out of my sight!" 
 
 At her vehemence all his suavity seemed to desert 
 him. 
 
 "You — ^you order me out before " He stam- 
 
204 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 mered, his face flared, his breath came hard. "You 
 want to be alone with him — to hear more of his 
 soft-soap — to tell him, maybe '* 
 
 The girl watched him, at first apprehensive lest 
 he was about to end In a physical attack the contest 
 with the stranger who, from the day of arrival, had 
 outwitted him. She knew that he was still hurting 
 with chagrin over his failure to ship Parker back 
 to the railroad, the tale of which, spread among 
 the wets at the Gap, had made him the subject of 
 none too subtle jests. From that she could esti- 
 mate how her benefit of doubt toward his enemy 
 must enrage him. But this apprehension vanished in 
 a greater one. She saw the look of crafty consider- 
 ation in his face, saw that some new resolve had 
 brought him self-control. 
 
 "All right," he snapped. "Since I ain't wanted 
 ni go." 
 
 With which he turned on his heel and started 
 down the sheer trail that led to the falls. 
 
 Vernaluska crossed to the bank, peered over It, 
 listened to make sure that he really had forded the 
 stream, mounted his horse and started at a hard 
 pace through the woods on the far side. 
 
 Parker stood watching her. Despite the manner 
 of the hillbilly's departure, he felt that he had won. 
 
 "I'm some slick at that!" v/as his self-congratula- 
 tion. 
 
 Tiring of the wait, he followed the girl and 
 noticed a high, suspicious look to the back of her 
 shoulders. He spoke her name; then, as she did not 
 turn, caught her hand. 
 
 She, snatching her fingers away as though a dog 
 had bitten them, faced him. The strength she had 
 
SLICK AT THAT 205 
 
 shown before Currie was gone. Her lips were quiv- 
 ering, her eyes wet. 
 
 "I could have wheedled him In time," she accused 
 in a broken voice. *'I can do anything with Rex, 
 and I hadn't hardly started on him. Why did you 
 go and spoil my last chance of getting dad and 
 Sandy within the law?" 
 
 He met her attack with a smile, a hopeful, re- 
 mindful smile. 
 
 "I did it," said he, *'to buy the judge." 
 
 Something In the look of him changed her con- 
 fusion into hope. 
 
 *'You bought it from Rex," she asked in the faint 
 voice of one afraid to believe, **so that I — that 
 we 
 
 *'So that you can buy it from me. I prefer my- 
 self to Currle as your landlord. I hope that you'll 
 come to prefer me, too." 
 
 "Will you clinch what you say, stranger? Will 
 you take this down on the bargain and give me one 
 of them — one of those receipts?" 
 
 Again she drew out the greenback which Parker 
 had paid her only a few minutes before. She eyed 
 him as intently as he eyed it; a return of sickening 
 doubt shov/ed in her face as she noted his dislike 
 for it. For what seemed a long time, he con- 
 sidered. 
 
 *'I will take it if you'll never call me ^stranger' 
 again," he stipulated at last. "I won't feel at home 
 in your mountains until somebody calls me 'Cal.' " 
 
 *'It seems like the new landlord of Grumbly Bald 
 ought to be made to feel at home, don't it, Cal?" 
 
 He marked the flush which accompanied her naYve 
 acquiescence, just before she hurried back to her 
 
2o6 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 jug-house. To its former resting-place in his bill- 
 fold he returned the note which she had thrust into 
 his hand; wrote a second receipt on a check-back, 
 followed her, gravely handed it over. 
 
 *'0h, to think — to think that what IVe worked 
 for so long is going to be !" 
 
 The last of an ultra-sophisticated race felt a vica- 
 rious thrill from her joy lilt. 
 
 *'It's a little out of my past line, this helping in 
 the regeneration of two thirst-quenchers — namely, 
 your brother and dad," he made comment. **But 
 one's idea of what is and what isn't a worthy cause 
 may change. I'm with you in this. To it I pledge 
 my heart, my hand — my mountain." 
 
 He noticed that she had unpinned a small brooch 
 from her dress, a purple stone framed by a flat, 
 gold band; that the red-bronze head drooped with 
 abashment as she held it out to him and said: 
 
 "Would you-uns be too proud to wear this in your 
 tie? It would look like a stickpin, once it's in. I — 
 I'm aiming to do you a favor when I ask." 
 
 *'Proud?" Parker murmured. "It will make me 
 almost too proud to wear it." 
 
 Himself as embarrassed as a schoolboy permit- 
 ted to wear his first sweetheart's "friendship" ring, 
 he took the pin and examined it. 
 
 "My pappy had it set over at the county-seat for 
 my last birthday. Amethysts are my birth-stones, 
 you know. What's more, they used to be considered 
 a remedy for — for your kind of trouble." 
 
 "That's so. I've heard it or read about it some- 
 where before," Parker encouraged her. "The noun 
 amethyst is of Greek extraction, made up of words 
 meaning *not' and *to intoxicate.' The ancien<ts 
 
SLICK AT THAT 207 
 
 held that wine drunk from an amethystine cup could 
 not make the drinker drunken." 
 
 **I wouldn't trust It against our popskull/' warned 
 the girl. "But I've been thinking it might help you. 
 Leastwise, it can do no harm for you to wear my 
 pm. 
 
 *'You've been thinking of ways to help me?" 
 
 With an almost reverent touch, Calvin Parker 
 pinned the country-craft brooch in his cravat. 
 
 "I want you to go now," she was saying In a 
 more apologetic tone than he as yet had heard from 
 her. "I — I'm kind of scared to have you stayV 
 
 "Scared, Verne?" 
 
 In a rush of words she sought to excuse and Im- 
 press upon him her nervousness. "It's smart-headed 
 to be scared — sometimes. You've got to look out 
 for Rex Currie. He hates you, I keep telling you. 
 His mind Is plumb set on getting me, but he's wait-* 
 Ing for something — I don't know what. If I'm 
 scared of his love, you-all had best be scared of his 
 hate." 
 
 "You're not very complimentary to me," Parker 
 objected. "I consider myself as good a man as 
 Currie any day." 
 
 For just a minute she touched the hand that had 
 seemed so repulsive a short while back. "YouVe 
 as good, yes. But not as bad." 
 
 "x\s good, but not as bad." The reminder of 
 the mountain girl's words some thirty minutes later 
 was emphatic, to say the least. 
 
 Parker had turned from the main road Into the 
 narrow trail that led toward his cabin on the rim. 
 His thoughts on the symbolic pin, he had dropped 
 
2o8 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the rein upon which his one-eyed mount was so de- 
 pendent and lifted his hands to make sure it was 
 fastened securely. 
 
 "Weak indeed will be your power, little talis- 
 man," he addressed it in thought, "if again I fall!" 
 
 An explosion as of a small cannon's discharge 
 almost deafened him. Past his left shoulder zipped 
 a hall of shot. Teetotaler sprang further Into the 
 trallslde underbrush, toward which he had quar- 
 tered from mid-road. 
 
 When Parker had righted the terrorized beast, 
 he found himself staring Into the double barrels of 
 a shotgun, evidently the source of the cannonade. 
 But the attack was not repeated, since the holder of 
 the weapon, much In evidence, proved to be inani- 
 mate — the hardwood fork of a hickory that marked 
 a trail turn. 
 
 "It's hard to enjoy nature, ain't it, old boss, when 
 ^ven the trees want our lives?" Parker deplored 
 somewhat grimly. 
 
 Dismounting, he investigated the mantrap — shot- 
 gun fixed to cover trail, hair triggers, improvised 
 lanyard of cord so strung that advance of man and 
 beast must fire the double charge. Except for the 
 lapse of discipline which had allowed Teetotaler to 
 sidle from the road's center, Parker's head or chest 
 In all probability would have received the hall of 
 slugs. And except for the amethystine brooch that 
 discipline would have been maintained. 
 
 So, Parker commented to himself, it had been 
 this rather elaborate conception, rather than Verne's 
 dismissal, which had removed the hillbilly's presence 
 from their midst 1 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 PARTICEPS CRIMINIS 
 
 This time the hounds recognized him. Instead 
 of the bristles and growls with which they had tried 
 to discourage his previous visit to the Metcalf home, 
 they greeted him with yaps and whines of canine 
 hospitality, then formed themselves Into an ad- 
 vance guard of honor up the avenue of oaks. They 
 and the heartsome good-night glance of the sun 
 strengthened Parker's hope that the resentment of 
 her who had forbidden him to come a second time 
 might be diverted by the urgent nature of his mis- 
 sion. 
 
 His trip that day to Dismal Gap had been suc- 
 cessful in the obtainment, from the hamlet's only 
 member of the bar, tw^o documents which, when 
 signed and witnessed, would have a decidedly legal 
 look. There had occurred also an unsought inter- 
 view wath that fluttering tidbit of humanity. Aunt 
 Hootie Plott, which had filled him with apprehen- 
 sion for those he was trying to befriend. 
 
 It was after she had secured his promise to be 
 present at the forthcoming annual carnival, which 
 the drys meant should be a consecration service 
 honoring the all-w^ise vote of the State, that she had 
 put a second and more difficult request. Her words 
 hooted in his mind: 
 
 "You must make a friend of Rex Currle. I hope 
 
 200 
 
210 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 — I think he will soon become a declared convert of 
 the drys. To be sure, he has been bootlegging for 
 Old Tom, but not for love of the pernicious calling 
 Itself. Although he's been setting up to Verney 
 Metcalf for years, he admitted to me the other 
 night that he was about ready to give up all, even 
 her. Verney's a likely favored girl, as I told him, 
 but no female is worth going against your con- 
 science for. Rex has sold out his property and 
 is about to move away. But before he goes — well, 
 he knows the exact location of Old Tom's light- 
 house, so m.ake friends with him at any cost to your 
 feelings. Oh, I know it will come hard for you to 
 forgive his trying to bundle you out of Dismal that 
 first day, but with grace you can do it!" 
 
 All the way home he had mulled over this evi- 
 dence that the safety of the ''cantankerous" was 
 threatened from within and clear had become his 
 obligation to Inform them. Behind the Indolent 
 manner which had come of his excesses was hidden 
 — and In no wise Injured — the dynamo with which he 
 had been equipped at birth. The mechanics of this, 
 set going, had started him at once. 
 
 The main door of the Metcalf house stood open. 
 Smoke spiraled skyward from the second of the 
 stone chimneys, which Parker assumed to be lo- 
 cated In the culinary regions. Scarcely had he lift- 
 ed his foot to the first step when Old Tom and 
 Sandyred appeared In the doorway, both In shirt- 
 sleeves. During the brief exchange of conventional 
 greetings a large question mark formed around the 
 two. 
 
 '*Mr. Metcalf" — Parker crossed the porch and 
 faced them squarely — "your daughter asked me not 
 
PARTICEPS CRIMINIS 211 
 
 to repeat my call of the other day. I promised her 
 I would not and intended to oblige her. I hope, 
 however, that she and you will excuse the breach 
 when you know why I have come." 
 
 From his breast-pocket he produced the two legal- 
 looking documents procured in Dismal. The ap- 
 pearance of Vernaluska In the lighted doorway that 
 gave from one side of the living-room had caused 
 him to make his words deliberate, distinct. 
 
 She looked startled and very lovely, her sleeves 
 rolled to the elbows, the flush on her face prob- 
 ably from the kitchen fire. 
 
 He returned In kind the grave nod she gave him 
 through the shielding shoulders of her men-folk. 
 He could not decide whether she was frightened 
 or angry. 
 
 *'While in Dismal Gap this morning I had the 
 local lawyer draw up certain papers transferring 
 the mountain known as Grumbly Bald from Rex 
 Currie to me and from me to you. Not until these 
 are signed before witnesses will the transaction be 
 legally binding." 
 
 *'It won't eh?" Tom's gnarled hands outstretched, 
 shook as they seized and unfolded the blank deeds. 
 
 The attention of the three was diverted from 
 the caller; the old man's to a mumbling perusal, 
 his children's to an anxious regard of him. 
 
 *'Once I could get right and title," he muttered 
 between phrases. "H-m, that sounds business-like 
 — *to have and to hold.' ... If I actually owned 
 the Bald I needn't never fear the law no more — 
 never no more.'* 
 
 The girl and Sandyred glanced at each other. 
 Both copper-colored heads wagged w^ith the obser-. 
 
212 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 vatlon — unspoken — that their father was forgetting 
 to protect the liquid flames of his illicit calling in 
 babble over the imaginary ones that seemed to be 
 consuming his sanity. 
 
 "There's no hindrance now to your owning the 
 mountain, sir, except Currie's signature to the first 
 of those papers — which he Is under contract to give 
 me." Parker's interruption was in as brisk a tone 
 as he could command. 
 
 "So Verney's done told us. She allows you ain't 
 what folks think you." 
 
 "Nor am L Is he around — Currie?" 
 
 "Rex'U be nagging In presently — he don't ex- 
 actly like to miss a meal." Still clutching the un- 
 signed deeds, the old fellow peered a moment 
 straight Into the dark eyes of the younger man. 
 "Stranger," he said, after an Interval that was tax- 
 ing to all concerned, "we-all be just sitting down to 
 table. Likely you'd best break biscuits with us." 
 
 "I should be glad to do so for several reasons," 
 Parker accepted, "one, that It will give me oppor- 
 tunity to share some Information with you which I 
 think you will consider Important." 
 
 "Nowise as Important as getting these here pa- 
 pers signed. Biscuits first, then Rex, then your | 
 information — that's my program." 
 
 "Whenever you're ready to listen, sir.'* 
 
 At the amicable trend of affairs, the girl rer 
 tumed through the lighted doorway. Her brother, 
 with a non-committal nod, followed her. Parker 
 was about to step for the first time over the Metcalf 
 door-sill, when the patriarch stopped him. 
 
 "Best outen your coat; you might as well be com- 
 fortable." 
 
PARTICEPS CRIMINIS 213 
 
 Instantly the scion of born-and-bred Parkers 
 was about to refuse the suggestion, when he inter- 
 cepted a glance toward his hip. Of course, he 
 advised himself, the removal of his coat would show 
 whether or not he had anything "on him" to hang 
 upon one of those neutrality nails that decorated the 
 door-frame. Amused by the old fellow's protector- 
 ate over his hospitality, he slipped the much criti- 
 cized Norfolk off his silk shirt and hung it upon 
 the nail which he might have appropriated had he 
 been "wearing" a gun. 
 
 In the dining-room a table was placed so near 
 the wall that a bench served for all except Tom, 
 who had a chair at one end, and Vernaluska, who 
 "fetched and carried." Opposite, a cheerful fire 
 crackled in the grate. 
 
 Here Parker was presented to Miss Emmy, whose 
 buxom figure and pink-cheeked face Impressed him 
 as in grateful contrast to the pallor and gangliness 
 of such middle-aged women as he had met in the 
 "sticks." 
 
 They settled in place, with the exception of Ver- 
 naluska, who could be heard in the kitchen. When 
 she reappeared her sleeves were rolled down. She 
 placed a spitted roast before the head of the clan. 
 While he carved with able strokes, she added a dish 
 of beans boiled In their pods, which they called 
 "leather breeches," a pyramid of meal bread grit- 
 ted and dried Into pones, and some crisp slices of 
 bacon. A plate of fresh-churned butter and Indi- 
 vidual dishes of berries, which Miss Emmy deplored 
 as being home-canned with "drug-store powders," 
 because of the late sugar shortage, completed the 
 menu, except for coffee. 
 
214 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The beef conquered In combat, old Tom helped 
 himself, then pushed the platter toward Parker, 
 next In line. 
 
 "Light Into things," he advised. *'HIm with the 
 longest reach Is always the best fed." 
 
 *'Tom," Vernaluska broached when the meal was 
 under way, *'Sandy and I are agreed that It's right 
 pretty of Mr. Parker to buy the title to Crumbly 
 Bald from Rex, just to sell It over to us-all. Ain't 
 we, Sandy?" 
 
 "We sure are." The younger Metcalf nodded, 
 although there was qualification In his grudging 
 tone. "What I can't see Is why he's done gone and 
 done It." 
 
 No opportunity was allowed Parker to explain. 
 
 "He had two reasons, as I see It," the girl con- 
 tinued In the manner of one making a foreplanned 
 speech. "One w^as to give us practical proof that 
 he ain't — isn^t the revenuer he's considered here- 
 abouts. The other " She paused, drew a deep 
 
 breath, then plunged. "Mr. Parker and I are good 
 enough friends that I told him you had promised 
 to quit stilling once you owned the Bald. Tommie, 
 are you going to quit? Are you meaning to keep 
 that promise?" 
 
 Emphatically the leonine head nodded. 
 
 "Once I get this signing done good and proper, 
 once I have the cash In hand for what's stilling now, 
 I'll never make no more. You know, Verney, that 
 my word's bed-rock." 
 
 "Oh, Tommie — oh, Tom!" There was a clutch 
 In her voice, but her eyes gleamed In the lamp-light 
 like topaz. "How long will It take with all of us 
 working?" 
 
PARTICEPS CRIMINIS 215 
 
 Her question brought Parker an Idea — one that 
 appealed at the moment as the superlative idea of 
 his life. 
 
 ^'Wouldn't an extra hand facilitate things?" he 
 asked generally, then faced the old man in par- 
 ticular. "Mr. Metcalf, what would you think of 
 hiring me?" 
 
 "You?" Sandy snorted. 
 
 "Hiring yoiif Tom echoed his 2iVCL2iiLt. 
 
 The question was italicized in the look of the 
 girl, which shifted to meet his. 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" Parker answered all of them. 
 His hand lifted to the little brooch of amethyst 
 which was fastened In his tie and remained there 
 as he continued: "Oh, you mustn't think I want to 
 get my hands on the stuff; drinking Pve given up, 
 once and for all. For me to help you with your 
 last output would serve three purposes. It would 
 train me Into the habit of resistance and give 
 me the best possible start. It would show 
 you absolutely that I am not a revenuer, and 
 that " 
 
 "Might show that you are," Sandy interrupted. 
 
 "It couldn't do that, because I'm not. Anyhow, 
 you can see at a glance that if you employ me to 
 help get out this last batch of bumbllngs " 
 
 "Best wag your tongue tothcr way!" Again the 
 son attempted his rather futile denial. "We don^t 
 get out nothing up here that we're scared of, I tell 
 you." 
 
 "You would make me," Parker continued, re- 
 gardless, ^^particeps criminis — an accessory to the 
 fact. Don't bother contradicting me, Sandy, for 
 everybody knows. If you people would take me in, 
 
2i6 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the same jail sentence would await me as the rest 
 of you In case of trouble." 
 
 *'Heirs banjerl" Tom was staring fixedly at his 
 emptied plate. 
 
 Miss Emmy's pink cheeks were cupped in her 
 hands as she watched for signs in the faces of her 
 own. Vernaluska had crossed to the fire, a glow, 
 as from its heart of coals, in her face. Noisily, 
 Sandy began to pile the dishes he had used. 
 
 "Why do you make such a soon stack, boy?" the 
 older blockader objected. 
 
 *T'm nagging it down to the Gap. Want to 
 wrastle with the carnival committee about getting 
 a good place for my refreshment tent." 
 
 "First, leave us argue out this particeps business. 
 Like Verney's done said, we're obliged to trust 
 somebody, and her selection might be just as good 
 
 as ourn." 
 
 "That's sensible," Parker urged. "There's noth- 
 ing gained by denying facts which I know as well 
 as you. The Federal law says, Mr. Metcalf, that 
 you cannot distil liquor without paying certain rev- 
 enue taxes. The new State law forbids you making 
 it or selling it. You, believing these laws unjust, 
 proceed to violate them, matching your cunning with 
 that of the authorities. So far you have succeeded, 
 but if you delay too long, you are due for a stumble. 
 The law's penalty wouldn't hurt you men so much 
 as these women of your family whom you undoubt- 
 edly love and should save from disgrace. It was 
 in the hope of relieving the strain upon Miss Ver- 
 naluska at once that I bought that mountain. Ac- 
 cording to her, it will give you a chance at another 
 sort of living — a safer one — and you have prom- 
 
PARTICEPS CRIMINIS 217 
 
 ised to take it. Why refuse an offer of help that 
 may hurry things?'* 
 
 Old Tom had straightened from his lounging po- 
 sition. He was leaning over, peering at the unex- 
 pected supper guest as if dumbfounded by his temer- 
 ity. 
 
 A laugh from the youngest Metcalf proclaimed 
 him proof against such appeal. 
 
 *'Slick as they come !'* he pointed the counter ar- 
 gument. "Revenuer or no, Parker, you've got a 
 prancy chance to catch us-all thataway. We're 
 within every law that we cotton to and our women 
 folk don't look as if they were suffering none." 
 
 But Parker persisted: 
 
 "I carry no preachment for reform, any more 
 than I am personally interested in the collection of 
 revenue. I do not assail the traffic because I am no 
 longer a customer. My only interest is to see you 
 folks out of it before things happen which I know 
 are going to happen." 
 
 "You know, eh?" jeered Sandy. "And how do 
 you know?" 
 
 "That is partly what I came to-night to tell you. 
 You are in imminent danger from a source " 
 
 "We Metcalfs are bred to danger, so best have 
 done with this child's-talk!" The old man broke in 
 impatiently. "Allowing you-all are playing square, 
 Parker-man, we're obliged to you and beholden 
 for the advance on the Bald. But we won't owe 
 It for long. I got a hundred dollars ready, besides 
 Verney's ten, and I calculate on adding a consider- 
 able sum after — leastwise, right soon. Once I get 
 Grumbly Bald bought and paid for " 
 
 He clutched the cloth and peered around the 
 
2i8 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 group, a doting smile softening his rugged face. 
 His voice thrilled with the tenderness of a young 
 man for his love as he lapsed into what seemed 
 his one aberration. 
 
 *'Blue flames Is what we-all are going to live and 
 wax fat on, not goats, not wheat, not corn; blue 
 flames that are burning the heart of the Bald. 
 I ain't been chasing 'em my lifetime for naught. 
 Come a day, and they'll blaze up at my feet. Come 
 a day, I'm telling you-all, and folks will know why 
 Tom Metcalf has done stuck around Roaring 
 Fork. So long I've hunted and hoped — so tarnal 
 long I" 
 
 The finish of his intense digression was stifled 
 in a groan. His face fell into his hands. Through 
 his whole powerful body he shuddered, as from re- 
 pressed desire. 
 
 Miss Emmy dabbed at a tear that had started, 
 staggering, down her cheek. Sandyred shifted po- 
 sition, his young face glooming. The girl Ver- 
 naluska it was who broke the uncomfortable pause. 
 
 "You can't blame us-all for wondering why you'd 
 ask Tom for a job of helping." For the first time 
 during the meal, she turned directly to the outsider. 
 "Why should a man with the money you claim to 
 have hire out to us? You allowed a while back 
 you had three reasons, and you've named us two.'* 
 
 "My third reason, or, rather, the third purpose 
 you'd serve by taking me on," Parker stated, "is 
 what I'm trying to tell you — the chief cause of my 
 presence here this evening." 
 
 All eyes, even those of the patriarch, focused 
 upon him, compelled by his gravity. The yapping 
 of the hounds without and the loudening, then dim- 
 
PARTICEPS CRIMINIS 219 
 
 Inlshing pound of horses* hoofs further urged him. 
 
 **By hiring me, Metcalf, you would be able to 
 dispense with the services of Rex Currie who, I 
 have excellent reason to believe, is no friend of 
 you or yours. To-day in Dismal Gap, I was au- 
 thoritatively informed that he was ingratiating him- 
 self with the drys. He wants to clear himself of 
 the charge of bootlegging for you and has planned 
 his getaway. Just what he is lingering for, I don't 
 know; but I expect trouble from him and so may 
 you." 
 
 A scornful laugh from the doorway sounded start- 
 lingly. 
 
 Rex Currie stood just outside, the look of him 
 suggesting that he had slipped through the living- 
 room in time to overhear the denunciation of him- 
 self. 
 
 "So-ho, you expect trouble from me?" he de- 
 manded of Parker. "Well, for once you're right, 
 you revenue sneak! Looks like I've come in good 
 time to start it here and now." 
 
 With every appearance of preparedness, he strode 
 into the room. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 GUN-GETTING 
 
 From a stand before the fireplace, Currie ad- 
 dressed the group collectively and individually. 
 
 *'You-all are fools — dumb fools — to sit here look- 
 ing like charmed snakes at this government hawk. 
 Sandy Is too flighty to expect much of, and you, 
 Tom, you act lately as if you'd Inherited his wob- 
 bllness of mind. Miss Emmy, I'd have hoped bet- 
 ter sense from you than breaking bread with one 
 who has only the family ruin In mind. As for you, 
 Verney " 
 
 His voice bespoke a vital hurt as he turned upon 
 the girl. 
 
 Parker slid out from between table and bench, 
 crossed the room. His one chief realization was 
 that he hated the hillbilly, had hated him from their 
 first meeting, as never In his past had he hated 
 any one. He was very angry, he warned himself; 
 he must be careful. m 
 
 "Odd, Isn't It, Currie, that you are calling me 
 the same names I was just calling you?" he com- 
 mented, meeting the other's scowl with a sugges- 
 tion of his lop-sided smile. ^^You have the ruin of 
 this family In mind — that's what I was telling them. 
 I have collected a few facts to support the charge. 
 You can have nothing but unfounded suspicion to 
 show against me." 
 
 220 
 
GUN-GETTING 221 
 
 A sneer first answered him. Then: "Good-la, 
 you dare me open? I take that dare. What, Mr. 
 Family-Friend, have you-uns got to say about this?" 
 
 From the inner pocket of his coat, Currie took 
 out a letter, stepped toward the lamp, leaned to 
 read the superscription. 
 
 "This billy-doo came in on to-day's stage and 
 looked important enough that Asa Simms allowed 
 Fd best fetch it special. Finding the party it's 
 addressed to here saves me a ride after supper that 
 like as not I wouldn't have got a thank-you for. 
 Listen, you Metcalf simps, to the reading on the 
 envelope: 'Mr. Calvin A. Parker, care Mrs. Hootie 
 Plott, Dismal Gap, N. C " 
 
 Parker stepped forward, his hand outstretched. 
 "If the letter is mine, give it to me. I never heard 
 of such impertinence as examining a man's mail with 
 him standing right in the room !" 
 
 "You didn't? Well, it's small fry compared with 
 your impertinence being In the room. I'll hand over 
 your mail when I'm through with the outside of it. 
 That'll be enough to show the Metcalfs — you're 
 welcome to what's inside. Look, you-all, at what 
 is on the upper left-hand corner — printed there." 
 
 He showed them : 
 
 If not delivered in five days 
 
 Return to 
 
 Deputy Collector, 
 
 UNITED STATES INTERNAL REVENUE, 
 
 Federal Building, New York City. 
 
 His confidence rose as he noted the reflex on the 
 staring group. "But that's not all. On the other 
 corner — see !" 
 
222 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The Metcalfs peered to read: 
 
 For Official Business Only 
 Penalty for Private Use 
 
 In Evading Postage 
 Three Hundred Dollars. 
 
 Currle laughed again. *'It ain't likely — not with 
 that line — that anybody would send our family 
 friend a society note inside this envelope. Now, are 
 you-all ready to see the slick for what he is?" 
 
 Old Tom, whose sight was none too keen, reached 
 out for the missive and re-read the printed matter 
 on the face of It, holding it close under the lamp. 
 
 A moment later the out-Norther found five hos- 
 tile faces turned his way Instead of one. 
 
 *'The letter Is easily explained," he declared. *'It 
 is undoubtedly from the man who sent me to the 
 Blue Ridge." 4 
 
 *'You don't deny, then, that you were sent?" Cur- 
 rle demanded. 
 
 "At Magpie Plott's request?" added Sandyred. 
 
 Old Tom worded his glare. "Do you 'spect we- 
 all didn't know that the drys had begged for a slick' 
 to come down and clean us out?" 
 
 Still Vernaluska did not speak. 
 
 But Parker knew that she was remembering. 
 Acute to what must be flashing through her mind 
 as treachery In him, he reached out and seized the 
 envelope. 
 
 "This letter, I know before opening. Is of a strict- 
 ly personal nature. That Is foretold by the postage 
 being paid on It. Don't you see the canceled stamp? 
 It Is from a friend of mine who works for the In- 
 ternal Revenue Service, Spencer Pope, by name.'* 
 
GUN-GETTING 223 
 
 ''Spencer Pope!" With a subdued bellow Old 
 Tom pounced upon the name. "And you admit he 
 sent you to the sticks?" 
 
 "Why shouldn't I admit it? He is, however, only 
 a personal friend. That I can demonstrate best by 
 reading his letter aloud. I won't even glance it 
 through first, which ought to show that I have no 
 fear of its contents." 
 
 He promised the girl with a glance, then ripped 
 open the envelope and unfolded the sheets within. 
 
 'Tt is from Spence, as I knew it would be. Lis- 
 ten: 
 
 Dear Cal: 
 
 We're leaving to-night for Ashville — Mrs. Brainard, Syl- 
 via, and myself. It's out of season, of course; but Airs. B. 
 Is interested in a place for sale near there, and insists on my 
 advice as an original Tar-heel. So we'll all drop in to see 
 you. It seems a way of killing several birds with the rock 
 of one railroad fare. We're naturally interested in how 
 many birds you've killed while there. Why your super- 
 caution in not reporting through the mails? Are you over- 
 coming the devils? 
 
 I hear they're pulling ofF the annual carnival on Friday 
 next. So we'll take the stage over from the railroad that 
 day, arriving, I believe, about noon. Sylvia says that in case 
 you are trying to hide your real identity, as well as j^our mis- 
 sion in the Blue Ridge, under the disguise of a beard, you'd 
 better shave for the occasion. 
 
 Hoping for a great report, 
 
 Spencer. 
 
 Although the news in this characteristic effusion 
 was a surprise to Parker and the way it was 
 put most unfortunate, he now looked up with what 
 confidence he could muster. 
 
224 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ^'There's nothing official in that letter, as I pre- 
 dicted. Here, pass it around and see for your- 
 selves/* 
 
 An angry laugh sounded from the living-room 
 door, where Sandy had planted himself. "We-all 
 don't need to pass it. We see a-plenty. Rex, you 
 line up again' the kitchen door — lucky you're wear- 
 ing your gun. I got one on the stoop, stranger, so 
 don't try to escape that way!" 
 
 'TU not try to escape," Parker retorted. "All I 
 want to do is to explain; let me convince you that 
 I " 
 
 ''You've done convinced us a-plenty." Old Tom 
 put the verdict, but without the hostility of his son. 
 
 He sidled toward the seat he had vacated at table 
 and laid his huge hands upon the blank deeds left 
 there. 
 
 'Tm going to give you a chance, Parker, to make 
 your getaway," he continued. *'ril call these boys 
 offen you and see that a nary shot stops you on 
 
 the road if " He hesitated; shifted his gaze; 
 
 seemed to be thinking earnestly. 
 
 Parker understood. He returned a significant, 
 warning look. 
 
 "I'm obliged for the reminder." He nodded to' 
 Metcalf; then turned to the hillbilly. "The object 
 of my present visit, Currie, Is to get your signature 
 to the deed transferring that mountain farm from 
 you to me. You have cashed the New York draft?" 
 
 "I sure have — trusting you none!" 
 
 "Nor I you, so you're to sign up to-night." 
 
 "Ain't objecting, am I?" 
 
 "If you'll provide pen and Ink, Mr. Metcalf," 
 Parker suggested, "we'll legalize the transfer." 
 
 ^ 
 
GUN-GETTING 225 
 
 With a doubtful sort of glare, Currle turned on 
 the old man. "Vv^hat affair is it of yours, Tom, if 
 I decide to sell what my pappy left me free and 
 clear? Let me see this deed." 
 
 As her father's nervousness increased, Vema- 
 luska intervened. Coming up behind him she took 
 one of the documents and passed it to Currie. 
 
 *'Best trust the stranger, Tommie," she advised. 
 "It's all there is left to do." 
 
 He acted on her advice. "Pen and ink, Emmy," 
 he ordered. "You, Sandy, hike to the barn and 
 fetch Cotton Eye — we'd best have his signature for 
 an outside witness." 
 
 The girl urged her brother on his errand. "Go 
 on, Sandy, while Rex is in the mind. Go on." 
 
 " 'Pears to me you've changed your tune, Ver- 
 ney, since the other day," Currie made comment 
 on her eagerness. "What's come over you that 
 you want me now to sell the Bald to some one 
 else?" 
 
 "Oh, it's because " She shivered, then lifted 
 
 a warming smile to him. "You know I hate to say 
 I'm wrong, Rexey. But I see It from your view-point 
 now. Likely the money, cash In hand, is worth more 
 to you than the mountain." 
 
 He corrected In a fervent aside: "To me and to 
 you, hon." 
 
 Despite her effort at duplicity, she showed even 
 more nervousness than did the patriarch during the 
 examination of the paper which ensued. Currie 
 read It as though looking for "jokers." Cotton Eye 
 blinked at It like an ebony owl, regardless of the fact 
 that he held it upside down. But at last came the 
 signatures, the negro's In the form of an "X" 
 
226 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 marked after the "Cotton Eye Lee'' which Verna- 
 luska had written in for him. 
 
 Parker blotted the ink with the lamp's heat, and 
 pocketed the document. 4 
 
 "Now," he said, "we can get to the signing of 
 the second deed." fl 
 
 "The second deed?" Currie demanded. ^ 
 
 "Yes. I had it drawn up at the same time, but 
 it wasn't worth much until after you had honored 
 the first." 
 
 He and Old Tom duly inscribed their names; Cot- 
 ton Eye affixed another X in the witness line. Ad- 
 ditionally, there were notes signed and their accom- 
 panying mortgage, then a receipt was given by the 
 out-Norther for the hoarded hundred. Only when 
 Rex Currie saw the bills handed over did he seem 
 to grasp the significance of the transaction. 
 
 "So-ho, you've tricked me — the whole passel of 
 you?" he asked In the quiet voice of fury just be- 
 fore it explodes. "You've gone and got hold of 
 that mountain in spite of me, Tom Metcalf ! You 
 really mean, then, to quit stillin' — to settle down 
 Inside the law? As for you, you Interfering revenue 
 reptile " 
 
 He turned on Parker. 
 
 "As for him" — Old Tom had folded his deed 
 and placed It within the pocket of his shirt — "rev- 
 enuer or no, he's kept his part of the bargain, and 
 ril keep mine." He also turned to Parker. "You 
 can go safe of lead, young feller. If you take the 
 straight road home. 
 
 But Parker's attention was centered upon her 
 with whom he had exchanged vows of mutual aid 
 and trust. Her expression was hard to read, prob- 
 
GUN-GETTING 227 
 
 ably through remembering what had been and what 
 was. There was no doubting the cut of her voice, 
 however, when she answered his eyes. 
 
 *'We-all are powerful obliged to you for turning 
 over the Bald to us. We'll make the payments and 
 interest regular. But after that letter to-night, you 
 can't expect us to be friendly. It ain't — isn't man- 
 ners, Is it, for a gent to stay after he's been asked 
 to go?" 
 
 For a moment longer Parker looked at her, more 
 hurt than seemed reasonable. In view of the fact 
 that he could not blame her. When he spoke it 
 was to the old man. 
 
 *^^lthough I've always been dead set against 
 doing things just because people told me to, in this 
 case, I'll go and go straight if you'll entrust me 
 with Currie's gun — I'm not afraid of yours and your 
 son's." 
 
 The hillbilly started toward him. 
 
 "A gad-a-mighty chance you've got to strip me of 
 my gun — you nor all the tricky Old Toms in the 
 sticks ! I'll show you what that insult calls for." 
 
 "Up, Rexey — I got you covered!" With the 
 flash of a small weapon which she had slipped from 
 her waist, Vernaluska stopped Currie's hand half- 
 way to his hip. "You leave dad lift your gun. If 
 you make one false move I'll plug you." 
 
 For a moment he stopped to gape at her. None 
 could have doubted she would make good her threat. 
 But admiration for her and craving for her seemed 
 only to infuriate him the more. 
 
 "You'd plug me just to save him? I believe you 
 would. Lucky I don't need a gun." 
 
 He turned so that Old Tom could take the Colt 
 
228 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 from his hip; then, before any of them realized his 
 intention, sprang upon Parker and bore him to the 
 wall. 
 
 *'You'll pay me — for everything — ^you've done-— 
 and made them do," he panted as he withstood the 
 shock of violent resistance. "I'll get the girl in spite 
 of you — in spite of Old Tom and all the other — 
 flames of hell. My game's been quiet long enough." 
 
 *'You mean — your man-trap — noisy enough," 
 countered Parker, with the gasps of one who has 
 just wrenched a strangle clutch from his throat. 
 
 *'Now I'm ready to fight — to win,^^ the hillbilly 
 contributed to the rough-and-tumble. "If there's 
 anything left of you — after I " 
 
 But there was considerable left. Parker was 
 proving himself wilhng and adept at in-fighting, 
 with rapid-fire hooks and jabs which left his oppo- 
 nent little time for comment, when Sandyred threw 
 his decisive muscular vote into the issue. Soon 
 Currie was backed into a corner and held there under 
 competent guard of the younger Metcalf pair. 
 
 After Parker had readjusted a loosened cuff-link 
 and set his belt, he reached out for the gun which 
 he had stipulated must be entrusted temporarily to 
 him. 
 
 The deprived owner again offered objection. 
 "Don't you go that far with your insults, Tom!" 
 
 When the old man had gone the whole way, he 
 threatened Parker directly: "Gun or no gun, slick, 
 you have a care for the next time we meet !'* 
 
 With the commandeered weapon in hand, the 
 out-Norther paused at the door. "The reason I 
 wanted this gun, good folks," he said, "was merely 
 to show you that I'm not leaving thus early be" 
 
GUN-GETTING 229 
 
 cause I came unarmed. Good night, all. Friday, 
 at the carnival, I'll have Spencer Pope explain a 
 little better than I've been able to do just who I am 
 and why I'm in the Blue Ridge. Thank you so 
 much for a diverting evening." 
 
 Turning, he walked into and across the living- 
 room. At the door which gave upon the gallery he 
 paused to don his coat. In the brief wait he heard 
 the start of Old Tom's next attack. 
 
 "This here's sure a diverting — a great evening. 
 Rex Currie, for its the one you pack up your fiddle 
 and duds." 
 
 "Me pack up, Tom?" 
 
 "You heard me. High time you left off pre- 
 tending to be one of us ! I know dum well why 
 you've stuck around, even though you don't know 
 why I let you — you that's lifted your reviling eyes to 
 my gal." 
 
 "Man alive, my eyes ain't ever been reviling 1 
 I'm wanting to marry Verney. I've asked her time 
 and again." 
 
 "Natu'ly you want to marry her. Who 
 wouldn't? But it's only a man that sizes up right 
 before me that's a-going to succeed. You — a mur- 
 dering Currie? I never did have no use for you, 
 nohow^ nor your pappy before you, with his con- 
 cealing ways. The only thing I ever wanted of 
 the span of you, I've got to-night. Fve got Grum- 
 hly Bald! I'm going to be able to give Verney the 
 chance she deserves in life and Sandy an educa- 
 tion — if he'll take to It — and Emmy some old-age 
 ease. As for you, I give you the go-by. An hour's 
 good allowance for Parker — then you git and stay 
 git I' 
 
 I" 
 
230 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Cal Parker did not linger. What he had over- 
 heard, however, awoke in him the generosity of 
 the victor. Before crossing the porch, he hung the 
 weapon he had demanded upon the nail in the door- 
 frame from which he had taken his coat. In the 
 cabin on Fallaway awaited his own, which would 
 best be his companion for the near future. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 CONQUEROR OF HIMSELF 
 
 By Friday, the first morning of the two-day car- 
 nival which every year takes place between plant- 
 ing and harvest in this section of the Blue Ridge, 
 Calvin Parker found himself in a stressful state of 
 mind. AYhen, about nine-thirty, he halted Teeto- 
 taler at Crossways, a point commanding the road 
 to the Metcalf place, he realized the full discom- 
 fort of hope and fear. 
 
 And this was the day when he was to be pre- 
 sented to Sylvia, his promised w^ife, as the con- 
 queror of himself ! 
 
 The ironical smile with which he saluted the 
 thought lost its irony in wistfulness as he realized 
 why he could not rejoice. Yet it was well that 
 he should see Sylvia and try to explain ; doubly well 
 that he should see Spencer, since only Spencer could 
 win for him reprieve from the self-elected family 
 jury which had sentenced him to the misery of the 
 past several days. 
 
 Parker was waiting at Crossways because his 
 whole future happiness seemed to depend upon win- 
 ning back Verne's faith In him before he advanced 
 proof of his good faith toward her. Yesterday 
 he had sent her a note — but that was as a climax 
 to much which had preceded and necessitated it. 
 
 231 
 
232 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 After that evening when he had broken bis- 
 cuits in vain with the Metcalfs, the truth had come 
 of its own dynamic force. It had struck off all the 
 armor of the Parker class distinction and left the 
 last of that line unprotected from a man-power 
 craving to which his past craving for liquor was 
 but a puerile fancy. 
 
 Sylvia I Who, indeed, was Sylvia — what his feel- 
 ing for her? Although he had thought he truly 
 loved her, he had mistaken affection for love. His 
 calm preference from boyhood for her companion- 
 ship showed only negative value as compared with 
 what had growm in him for this ever-fleeing girl of 
 the hills, the ghastly doubt, the glowing hope, the 
 desperate demand — the constant, unutterable long- 
 ing to have and to hold her, to receive from her 
 truth-speaking lips the benediction that she also 
 loved him. 
 
 Often during those several days and their sev- 
 eral nights, had he uncovered his portrait of her 
 and sat before it, asking himself whether it w^as 
 the looks of her which had enslaved his beautj^-lov- 
 ing soul. And each time when he had turned his 
 eyes from the sight of color and lines, his heart 
 had sw^elled to bursting In appreciation of what 
 made her loveliness so surpassing. 
 
 A rare creature she was. Were she plain, the 
 spirit of her must have compelled his homage. De- 
 spite her lack of what his world called "culture,'' 
 she had a mind of power; she had loyalty for the 
 man who deserved it, measured best by the con- 
 tempt she had shown for him who, as she thought, 
 did not. She had tenderness as well as genius in 
 those strong, long hands of hers. She had, above 
 
CONQUEROR OF HIMSELF 233 
 
 all the pampered women of his world, the power 
 to reward him. 
 
 And he would have It — his reward. He would 
 deserve It first; then he would have it. This he 
 told his clamoring heart again and again. 
 
 He loved the mountain girl with all the good 
 there was in him; he must win her love in return. 
 He had made and re-made plans for their future, 
 subject, all, to her gracious approval. Firm was 
 his Intention that her pride should never be wounded 
 from her past lack of opportunity. Never should 
 she be put at disadvantage before his world. She 
 should have what was her due, no matter what it 
 cost him in self-suppression to give it her. He had 
 been reared to selfishness; he would rear himself 
 again to unselfishness. To whatsoever she decided, 
 he would submit. 
 
 It was not to tell Verne all this that he had halt- 
 ed by the roadside. At mere thought of the dear 
 temptation, all those dead and gone Parkers and 
 Calvins rose up and reprimanded him. 
 
 None of either line had been engaged to marry 
 two women at the same time, they insisted. They 
 hoped that he would not be the first to smirch the 
 family honor. 
 
 Before confessing the state of his heart to Verne 
 he must confess to Sylvia, must Implore her pardon 
 and mercy. Sylvia must see that he would be wrong- 
 ing her as well as himself by further pretense of a 
 sentiment which he now knew never to have ex- 
 isted. Theirs never had been more than a cor- 
 dial affection. As he understood love now, she 
 could not otherwise have endured his long absence 
 without a word or sign. 
 
234 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 It would all come right, once he had talked with 
 Sylvia; once he had explained to Spence the pre- 
 dicament into which that official envelope and joker 
 of a letter had thrust him. 
 
 The pull had been strong to revisit the Metcalf 
 place, but a stubborn determination to show that 
 he also had pride had held him back. Contempla- 
 tion, however, had approved the construction of two 
 notes, and their delivery had been assured by the 
 way-laying of Cotton Eye Lee. 
 
 The one to Verne had read: 
 
 Should the attorney for the defense desert the prisoner at 
 the bar in his greatest extremity and without a private hear- 
 ing? 
 
 He has sought you at 3^our claybank studio, but you do 
 not come. He'll wait until half after ten at Crossways, 
 Friday morning, hoping for a word with you as you pass to 
 the fair. All he wants from the court of the hills is justice. 
 Won't 5'ou help him get it? 
 
 The second had been to Old Tom, and was the 
 outcome of an argument with himself to the effect 
 that, since warnings were the way of the mountain 
 world, it was high time he sent one himself. He 
 had been troubled over the manner of address, but, 
 as finally despatched, the second missive had read: 
 
 To THE Wise: 
 
 The location of the Metcalf still is known to enemies. 
 Whether this Vv^ord be considered as from friend or foe, no 
 harm can be done by heeding it. 
 
 '*A well-wisher" was the least offensive signature 
 which had occurred to him. 
 
 Pulling out his watch, Parker noted the time. 
 
CONQUEROR OF HIMSELF 235 
 
 Ten-thirty already — and before twelve, probably, 
 his friends from the North would arrive. He must 
 be in Dismal to meet them; must welcome them as 
 befitted saviors, since his saviors they were to be. 
 He must be riding on. And yet — and yet • 
 
 Could he look for only one moment into those 
 equivocally timid, fearless eyes whose last glance 
 of reproach obsessed him; could he, without speak- 
 ing an unworthy word, suggest something of what 
 he felt for her, which must show in his expression, 
 now that he knew; could he, by the very force of the 
 truth in him, compel a retraction of dismissal from 
 her — oh, it would be something to treasure through 
 all future years that Verne's instinctive faith in him 
 had voted down what seemed conclusive evidence ! 
 
 So long had been his wait, so introspective his 
 very expectancy, that the sound of hoof-beats on 
 the ocher road was startling. Relief surged through 
 him, following the first refreshing wave of joy. She 
 was coming — of course she would come ! His case 
 was won, the final verdict as good as spoken; for, 
 since she cared enough to come, she would care 
 more and more, enough to last a lifetime. 
 
 He swung back the leg which had been resting 
 negligently over the pommel, replaced his Panama, 
 whirled his grazing mount to face the up-road. 
 Straight and strong in his riding-garb as he never 
 had looked on Central Park bridle-paths, he started 
 eagerly into the Blue Ridge depths to meet 
 
 He had hoped that chance was to favor him that 
 day; but chance evidently had not gone on duty. 
 There was no small white mule in approach; Instead, 
 a full-sized, black horse and upon it a man. 
 
 Parker's recognition of Sandyred Metcalf caused 
 
 X 
 
236 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 him to turn and start along his way, when a hail 
 from the rear stopped him. 
 
 *'Hi, there, stranger! Got something for you!" 
 
 With a flourish the youth drew alongside and 
 passed Parker a sealed envelope. *'I was asked to 
 drop this here in the box at Dismal, but it won't 
 Impoverish me none to save the stamp that Skinflint 
 Simms would probably ask for passing it on to 
 you." 
 
 ''Your sister," Parker asked, ''how soon will she 
 be riding to the village?" 
 
 Desperation had Impelled the question, for a 
 glance had shown him that the letter was his own 
 returned. Her name on the envelope had been 
 scratched out and above it was boldly written: 
 
 Unopened. 
 
 To Mr. Partlceps Crimlnis Parker. 
 
 "My sister says she don't feel like celebrating 
 to-day," Sandyred returned. "She and Miss Emmy 
 have started to clean house and that's some job. 
 Dad — well, he's right busy, too. Pm late myself; 
 ought to had my tent open by now. So long, stran- 
 ger. See you at the carnival." 
 
 To Parker, starting more sedately than had 
 Sandyred in the general direction, there seemed sig- 
 nificance in the friendliness of this explanation. The 
 finish, in particular, had sounded like an overture. 
 Had the signing of the deeds, the discovery, after 
 he had gone, of Currie's weapon on the door-nail 
 and the obvious authorship of the note of warning 
 made a favorable impression upon the youngest of 
 the clan? 
 
 But It did not matter. Nothing mattered, except 
 
CONQUEROR OF HIMSELF 237 
 
 that Verne had not opened his letter — had not come. 
 Of course they all would believe In him after Spen- 
 cer Pope had vouched for him as one In no way 
 connected with the government. Since no other mem- 
 ber of the family was to be present, the explanation 
 must be put to young Metcalf. All that, however, 
 would be as It would be. The prospect was spoiled 
 by the fact that Verne did not care. That must be 
 a fact. Had she cared at all, wouldn't she have 
 opened and read his note? After she had read, 
 wouldn't she have come? 
 
 Because his start was late^ his heraically de- 
 veloped shoulder and arm muscles held Teetotaler 
 to a particularly straight road and his spur pro- 
 vided accelerating suggestions. As it fell out, he 
 pounded into Trade Street just behind the steaming 
 black of Sandyred and in plenty of time to meet 
 the stage which was bringing his friends to the* 
 vermilion village. He formed himself into a mount- 
 ed escort of one to the porch of the Hotel Plott. 
 
 With what llght-heartedness he could assume, 
 he returned their enthusiastic greetings. Sylvia 
 looked a vision, he declared; as, indeed, she did in 
 her French-gray cloak and chiffon veil tied in a 
 piquant bow under her cleft little chin, the violet 
 of her eyes and Dresden flush on her cheeks bright- 
 ening the monotone of her costume and silvery fluff 
 of hair. 
 
 Mrs. Brainard never had seemed so superb to him 
 as here in the wilds, he assured that matron with his 
 hand-shake. As for Spencer — twice he leaned from 
 his mount to slap that "best friend" upon the shoul- 
 ders. Spencer was a treat, indeed, for an exile's 
 eyes. 
 
238 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "And who says Vm not a wizard at prescribing 
 cures ?'^ Pope addressed them collectively. "Look 
 him over, Sylvia and Madam — does my patient ap- 
 pear the worse for his absent treatment?" 
 
 Parker straightened for their inspection, like a 
 trooper at "attention." The mother raised the out- 
 ermost of her protective veils and applied a lorg- 
 nette to her faded gaze Interestedly. Sylvia sent 
 him her sweet, flower-like smile. 
 
 "I believe, Cal," she approved, "you could get a 
 job in the movies now. You do look fit, and as 
 handsome as Spencer — that is, almost."' 
 
 "Now you are rewarded!" laughed the deputy 
 collector, himself complimented by the form of her 
 com.pliment to another. 
 
 Scarcely had the diminutive driver of the stage 
 pulled up before the "only" hotel, when Aunt Hootie 
 was bidding them welcome. 
 
 "If It Isn't Spencer at last — Spencer Pope from 
 down at The Corners!" she hooted aw^ay. "You 
 are changed, my dear boy, but changed for the bet- 
 ter, I must remark. Still, I'd have known you any- 
 where. Was more than delighted to receive your 
 letter. So you've come all this way to cheer 
 our brave friend Parker In to-day's stand for so- 
 briety?" 
 
 Pope managed to get In a nod or two, but noth- 
 ing more. 
 
 "The ladies are welcome, I assure you, as would 
 be any friends of yours or Mr. Parker's. Hezekiah 
 will be delighted to entertain some one more our 
 class. Hezekiah is my husband, Mrs. Brainard 
 and Miss Brainard, and a genius. If I do say it as 
 shouldn't, at jumping teeth. Come right In, all of 
 
CONQUEROR OF HIMSELF 239 
 
 you. Dinner will be ready as soon as you are washed 
 up. 
 
 Afterward Parker realized that certain more or 
 less surreptitious signals of Tobe Riker were ad- 
 dressed to himself. At the time, however, he no- 
 ticed them only as peculiarities in the conduct of 
 the little whip, and followed his party into the house 
 without response. 
 
 At the overladen table was presented the doctor, 
 who received the encomiums of his small mate over 
 his varied abilities as fulsomely as he returned com- 
 pliments to her and all their guests. 
 
 The undercurrent of amusement through that 
 never-ending feast was appreciated by all but the 
 Plotts themselves. A toe-prod under the cloth from 
 Spencer Pope urged Parker's silence and a question 
 or two from the same source started the hostess on 
 phillipics of her hero of the day. 
 
 "Naturally," observed the deputy in his most 
 official voice, "we are Interested In the progress Cal 
 Parker has made down here. Fact is, we're here for 
 inspection. He has been fortunate, indeed, Mrs. 
 Plott, in having the sustaining aid of a woman like 
 yourself in the task cut out for him." 
 
 "Friend Parker is the slickest officer ever sent 
 to uphold the cause, barring not even yourself," in- 
 terpolated Dr. Hezeklah with Impressment. 
 
 Parker frowned at the subject broached, despite 
 Spencer's shake of head and Sylvia's Incipient laugh 
 — made to resemble a sneeze In her napkin. 
 
 "But I am not a revenue officer," he protested. 
 "This nonsense has got me Into a lot of trouble, and 
 it Is high time " 
 
 "There he goes — won't let his left have the least 
 
240 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 mite of suspicion !" Aunt Hootie's interruption was 
 intoned rapturously. *'Some of our brother and 
 sister drys have feared that he was not moving fast 
 enough, but I always remind them that he's play- 
 ing a game against the most wily blockading fox 
 never caught." 
 
 She paused to beam at Parker, but before he 
 could check her, sped on: "Old Tom Metcalf has 
 got a double reason for foiling the law, now that 
 brush whisky brings double price by the gallon. It 
 may sound easy enough to an outsider to catch him 
 actually stilling the pernicious stuff, but it ain't turned 
 out that way. Everybody who knows Tom fears his 
 lead. I'd be sorry for his daughter if it wa'n't for 
 the cause." 
 
 "So Old Tom has a daughter?" The deputy col- 
 lector glanced quizzically from the little lady to 
 Parker; then, with a nod of punctuation, to Mrs. 
 Brainard. 
 
 Regretfully, Mrs. Plott gazed into the plate of 
 steaming corn-bread with which she had been im- 
 portuning each guest in turn. "Verney Metcalf is 
 the likeliest looking girl the sticks ever grew, and 
 a sweet girl, too, although the rough life she's been 
 brought up to has kind of sharpened her tongue. 
 I'd be all wrought up over the way the cause is using 
 her if it wasn't that she countenances her pappy's 
 crime. Verney will have to take her bitter dose 
 along with her men folks, I reckon, since the wages 
 of sin — you know. That is, unless Rex Currie can 
 save her." 
 
 Pope's interest heightened. "You mean Rex, son 
 of Dode Currie, who used to trade over at Horse- 
 pasture Cove?'* 
 
CONQUEROR OF HIMSELF 241. 
 
 She nodded. "And a choice rascal Dode was 
 said to be. It looked as if Rex, a right favored lad, 
 was following in his footsteps, for he's been Old 
 Tom's bootlegger for years, but I begin to see now 
 that he's only been hanging around account of Ver- 
 ney. He's as good as told me he'll soon be on our 
 reform list. We hope" — this last she sibilated — 
 "that Friend Parker here can get Rex to show the 
 way to Old Tom's still." 
 
 Although Parker had writhed inwardly at the 
 discussion of the mountain girl, he realized that his 
 position was one of great disadvantage. Seeing no 
 way of bettering it, he kept silence, a smile of simu- 
 lated amusement at the whole subject upon his face. 
 
 "I begin to see." Spencer was speaking, evidently 
 in the abstraction of deep thought, under the spell 
 of which he withdrew an opened letter from his 
 coat pocket, studied its superscripture, then replaced 
 it. "Rex Currie resents the prospect of Miss Met- 
 calf's being used by the cause, eh? H-m! I do 
 begin to see. And have you, Cal, Ingratiated your- 
 self sufficiently with these outlaws of the sticks that 
 you drink with them for the sake of the cause, dis- 
 tasteful as that would be to one of your high prin- 
 ciples?" 
 
 Aunt Hootie forestalled her hero's reply. "Not 
 he! I've an idea he'll push on to victory without 
 once smirching his lips with the vile stuff." 
 
 "Do you mean to say," interposed Mrs. Bralnard, 
 "that there is whisky in these Blue Ridges and Cal 
 Parker hasn't drunk any of It?" 
 
 "Not to my best belief and knowledge, high 
 Heaven be praised, except a drop or two I gave him 
 myself for medicinal purposes only I Set as I am 
 
242 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 against the poison, I hold that a revenuer Is entitled 
 to enough to steady his nerves." 
 
 "Oh, Cal, that is fine — wonderftiir' exclaimed 
 Sylvia. 
 
 Pope gave up to a small attack of coughing. 
 
 *'A drop or two — for medicinal purposes onlyr* 
 he commented when able. "I reckon that won't do 
 the cause or Cal any harm." 
 
 He thus lauded and surreptitiously attacked, ab- 
 ruptly changed the subject to the local fair. His 
 guests had arrived just in time, he said. There 
 was billed for the afternoon and evening a barbe- 
 cue and dance which would draw an outpouring of 
 queer types and hand-loomed costumes from the hills 
 that could scarcely fail to amuse them. 
 
 ''There's going to be two entire beeves," added 
 Dr. Hezekiah. ''If you've never tasted Nor' Caro- 
 lina barbecued meat, you have a treat in store. And 
 you need fear neither ruction nor cuss-fight, since, 
 for the first time In the history of these festivities, 
 we drys hope for absolute sobriety." 
 
 Sylvia at once expressed enthusiasm for the frolic, 
 but her mother Insisted on an hour's Interval for 
 rest after their jolting ride from the station. In 
 this Parker saw opportunity. He proposed that 
 Spencer explore the village under his guidance and 
 return for the women at the end of the hour. Sixty 
 minutes, he told himself, would be long enough 
 for him to explain to Spencer the serious side of 
 a situation which at first glance looked only ridicu- 
 lous; would allow him to engage Spencer's authorita- 
 tive aid In the statement which must be made to 
 young Metcalf as soon as occasion offered. 
 
 Sometime before the festivities ended, probably 
 
CONQUEROR OF HIMSELF 243 
 
 best during the dance that evening, he would sepa- 
 rate Sylvia from the others long enough to accom- 
 plish his difficult explanation and plea. No mat- 
 ter how hostile Verne's attitude toward him might 
 be, he felt that this explanation was due everybody 
 concerned. The past Parkers, he knew, would ap- 
 prove. One of their line could not place himself 
 under a lifelong obligation to make happy one of 
 the dearest girls In the world when his entire self — 
 mind, heart, body — was aching for the denied fa- 
 vors of another. 
 
 The prospect was not lightened by Sylvia's im- 
 pulsive leave-taking of him in the hall, with her two 
 protectors looking on. She suddenly raised herself 
 on tiptoe, lifted her arms around his neck, bestowed 
 the clinging, fragrant kiss of their childhood games 
 upon his lips. 
 
 "You are splendid, Cal, to have been so good. 
 I'd rather you'd be good than — anything. You'll 
 tell me all about the struggle later on?" 
 
 The deep flush which mounted to his face was 
 from embarrassment, but was misunderstood by the 
 observers three. Yes, he assured her, he would 
 tell her about it — slater on. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 WAIT AND SEE 
 
 Excerpts from several brief Interviews which 
 took place all within that siesta hour stipulated by 
 Mrs. Bralnard's guardianship of her daughter's 
 chief asset — her looks — will help to explain and 
 condone much that follows. 
 
 Calvin Parker's statement to his *'best friend" 
 need not be detailed. While making their way up 
 the middle of Trade Street, dodging the gathering 
 holiday crowd, he had put It — and with strength. 
 The joke which so diverted those who knew him 
 best, he declared, had come to be too greatly at his 
 expense. As he wished to gain the confidence of 
 certain mountain neighbors, he hoped that Spencer 
 would clear him of the charge of being In the gov- 
 ernment service before Sandyred Metcalf, whom he 
 would Introduce during the afternoon. 
 
 The deputy collector, although candidly regret- 
 ting the serious finis to an amusing situation, had 
 agreed to do his official best. He had expressed a 
 wish to stop at SImms's Emporium to look for some 
 souvenir cards for Sylvia. They were undertaking 
 the steps when Tobe RIker, having changed to gala 
 attire that did not at all match the portentous ex- 
 pression of his wind-weathered visage, recalled his 
 mysterious signals of the morning by asking a pri- 
 vate word with Parker. Spencer obhglngly dlsap- 
 
 244 
 
WAIT AND SEE 245 
 
 peared Into the general store, while the artist fol- 
 lowed the little whip to one end of the uncovered 
 porch. 
 
 *'I hope," began Riker, "you-all ain't holding no 
 rancor again me for dumping you into the mud that 
 first day?" 
 
 "Not at all. I was obliged, on the contrary, for 
 the timely reminder of dust-to-dust, even though the 
 road was a bit oozy for the application." 
 
 "Leastwise, you wasn't wet." The little man 
 paused for the significance of this suggestion to 
 sink In. After an upcast wink of solemn sort, he 
 drew the "foreigner" further away from the win- 
 dow and continued. "I've been wizened since that 
 the gover'ment sent you to snuff the liquor lights 
 hereabouts." 
 
 Parker denied the reiterated charge Impatiently. 
 "Well, you've been wizened, unwisely, Riker I The 
 government did not send me, and I'm snuffing no 
 liquor lights except my own." \ 
 
 Again and even more solemnly, Tobe winked. 
 "Which or whether, what's going to be can't be 
 stopped, nohow. I ain't taking no stand, mind, wet 
 or dry, and If you look for'ard to being staged out 
 of here safely, you'd best not tell who told you-all." 
 
 "Told me what?" 
 
 "What I'm meaning to." The whip's forbidding 
 glare eased as he glanced around. Inviting the 
 closer attention of the artist's ear by an arm-tug, 
 he continued In guarded tones: "There's a party 
 not so far from here what plans to make a safe get- 
 away when the law snitches off them he's been work- 
 ing for. I ain't saying which one it Is, except that it 
 ain't old Tom nor Sandy, and naturally it ain't Miss 
 
246 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Emmy. Twenty-five dollars cash has been offered 
 me for driving said party with bag and bag- 
 gage outen here whatever night the fracas 
 chances." 
 
 "You mean Currie — that he's hired you to drive 
 him out if the Metcalfs get into trouble?'* 
 
 "I ain't saying what nor who nor near all that 
 I might if I'd a mind to. I ain't wet nor I ain't 
 dry, I tell you, and I could do with the twenty-five. 
 But I have a kind of slight at suspicioning folks 
 I don't like. Ask yourself why this party can't set 
 a date for going if he's going honest and has the 
 price. Somebody's inside Simms's store, what I 
 wouldn't want to see me confabbing with you, so I'd 
 best be skiting. But you just keep an eye on my 
 passenger and, especial, on the baggage he takes the 
 night when the law grabs that ornery Metcalf 
 bunch." 
 
 Parker felt real concern over this guardedly meted 
 information, although he had been in some measure 
 prepared for it by Aunt Hootie's exultation over 
 the "reform" of Currie. The pointed questions 
 which he put, however, were all blunted by mys- 
 terious replies. 
 
 For some minutes after the driver had disappear- 
 ed, he stood trying to puzzle it out. Riker's in- 
 centive was patent — he wished to foil some plan of 
 a man he hated on account of the lady whom, though 
 ."ornery," he still loved. At the same time, he wished 
 to take no chances with that twenty-five. 
 
 But If Currie foresaw the necessity of a sudden 
 disappearance, why go by the coach, instead of on 
 horseback? And why did he linger for trouble? 
 His attempt to sell the mountain farm away from 
 
WAIT AND SEE 247 
 
 the Metcalfs, his rage at being tricked for their 
 benefit, his attack on Parker's life, his over- 
 tures toward the dry faction, his attempted intimi- 
 dation of Vernaluska that day at the clay-bank — 
 all these facts borrowed significance from Tobe 
 Riker's tip. 
 
 The only sure conclusion was that Currie had rea- 
 son to stay in the region until after the Metcalf 
 downfall. He seemed, more than hitherto, "a 
 party" to be watched. 
 
 Meanwhile, a reunion of two had taken place 
 inside the store, where Rex Currie was "tending'* 
 In the temporary absence of his friend, the Yankee 
 proprietor. After a first glance of elaborate sur- 
 prise, the hillbilly leaned over the counter to extend 
 a welcome hand. This, Spencer Pope seized in a 
 warm grasp. 
 
 "Glad to see you, Spence," said Currie. "Hoped 
 my answer to your letter would bring you." 
 
 "It hurried my arrival. So Parker really isn't 
 drinking, after all my trouble to locate him in the 
 land where the corn-juice flows? I suppose his re- 
 form IS to please this mountain girl I hear he's fas- 
 cinated with?" 
 
 Pope watched the hillbilly's face while putting 
 the question. He was rewarded. 
 
 Currie's jaw set, his face flushed. 
 
 "What's that got to do with it?" 
 
 "A whole lot. Rex. You're Interested In this girl 
 yourself; I'm interested in another — a case of girl 
 all around. Parker has been boasting about his re- 
 form and I want to trip him up. Understand me? 
 If you'll get him drunk at the fair this afternoon, I'll 
 make It well worth your while." 
 
248 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Curriers smile of slow comprehension broadened 
 into a grin. "I thought you claimed to be a friend 
 of his?" 
 
 *'He thinks I do, too. I was, until he got in my 
 way. All's fair in love — you know that. What I 
 ask is that you start him drinking." 
 
 "Start him drinking? You, if any one, ought 
 to know, Spence, that North Carolina is dry as 
 — as the morning after." 
 
 Pope drew down one eyelid. *'And the cure for 
 the morning after used to be some of the hair of 
 the dog that did the biting, didn't it?" 
 
 *'But it won't help my game to set him off." Cur- 
 rie scowled. "That would go to prove he ain't no 
 revenuer, after all, and likely get him back into 
 favor where I've just got him out." 
 
 The "best friend" laughed. "You needn't have 
 any fear on that score. The smash-up mentioned 
 in your letter can come as quickly as you like after 
 this show-up, which, between ourselves, is the sole 
 object of my visit. A revenuer might be drinking 
 to get evidence, mightn't he?" 
 
 "But Parker wouldn't take a drink from me — we 
 hate each other like snakes!" 
 
 "Why not get him through this young Metcalf 
 then, whom he's so anxious to make up with on ac- 
 count of the girl?" 
 
 At this adroit suggestion, Currle flared. "So-ho, 
 he's aiming to set up to Sandy?" 
 
 "He sure is. Asked my aid to convince^ the 
 brother that he had no designs on the family still. 
 Come, Rex, you've nothing to lose by doing this, 
 and a whole lot to gain if Miss Metcalf is as good- 
 looking as she's said to be. Besides, Cal Parker 
 
WAIT AND SEE 249 
 
 running on high is a spectacle that Is Its own reward. 
 Here, stick this in your pocket and go to it !" 
 
 Pope handed over a bank note of generous size. 
 After a brief pause at the post-card rack for a ran- 
 dom selection of souvenirs, he sauntered out of 
 the store. To his further gratification, he found 
 Parker on the steps outside, apparently absorbed 
 in meditation and quite unsuspicious of the low- 
 voiced indoor exchange. 
 
 Currie, starting some minutes later In the gen- 
 eral direction of the pasture-lot, which held the scat- 
 tered booths, refreshment tents, and rough-board 
 barbecue tables of the ''fair," received a disappoint- 
 ing report, as well as some startling information, 
 from a tool of his ow^n. He had fallen Into the 
 shambling step of Abide-with-me Shortoff, who, as 
 It chanced, had been dismissed by the liege-lady of 
 the family purse while she visited the "Emporium" 
 to price petticoatlng. 
 
 "How you coming on, Bide, with that scheme of 
 ours r 
 
 Dismally sagged the hen-pecked chin, droned the 
 voice. "How can I be coming along with It when 
 Old Tom's bumbling still ain't where you said It'd 
 be?" 
 
 "Ain't where I said?" demanded Currie. "If It 
 ain't there, where Is It?" 
 
 "I dunno ! Tom must a-moved along. Likely 
 he's livened up by now and will be extra careless 
 with the lead. 'Twa'n't no use, nohow, offering to 
 guide the slick to It if I'd lost track of w^here It was. 
 This here State has done come to be a right oncer- 
 tain place, If you'd ask me." 
 
250 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "And going to be more uncertain for some folks," 
 the bootlegger glowered, "once we find where that 
 hell-fox has moved to. You come along with me, 
 Bide. Reckon I can find a drop or two to wet your 
 whistle before Sally catches up with you. I'd 
 worked It out that for you to lead along Parker 
 was a neat way of doing for him with both 
 drys and wets, leaving me out of It. Now we'll 
 be obhged to hold back until we £nd that 
 still!" 
 
 In Aunt Hootie's best room, the havoc of road 
 travel had been somewhat effaced from the faces 
 of the fair guests. In so far as concerns Sylvia's 
 parent, the process had consisted of a smudging 
 on and wiping off of safe-and-sane sanitary creams. 
 The girl had pinned back the cloud of hair whose 
 ash-gray was the glory of youth, rather than, as In 
 her mother's case, the doom of middle age. She 
 had dipped her face fearlessly Into the water of the 
 hand wash-basin. 
 
 "He looks as If he really had quit — Cal," she ob- 
 served. "I hope — oh, I hope he has!" 
 
 Mrs. Bralnard noted the access of sentiment dis- 
 approvingly. 
 
 "Maybe he has while here, childie. It seems 
 strange that Spencer should have selected this par- 
 ticular place for him, doesn't It, when he must have 
 known there was whisky In the mountains? I 
 thought the whole Idea was based on the fact that 
 North Carolina Is dry. Cal Parker's real test will 
 come when he gets back to the convivial temptations 
 of New York. I've a notion to ask him to return 
 with us and have it over." 
 
WAIT AND SEE 251 
 
 "Let's do It, momsy! I feel sure he's quite re- 
 constructed." 
 
 **What I don't see, dear, is why you consider a 
 reconstructed man when you could take your choice 
 of so many strong since birth." 
 
 The lightish color of the matron's eyes deepened 
 as she contemplated her lovely offspring, even as the 
 line of the lips she had just rouged thickened with 
 determination. 
 
 ^'You're not going to marry a mistake, Sylvia — 
 not If I can help it. The best man alive is none 
 too good for my darling, and all the Parker money 
 would never make up to your mother for Cal as he 
 was." 
 
 "I don't want Cal as he was." Sylvia made a 
 shy, delightful moue. "But he looks so different 
 and he is so attractive. I'm sure he's going to fulfill 
 all my hopes of him. You want your darling to 
 marry the man she likes the best, don't you?" 
 
 Mrs. Bralnard was quick to acknowledge this wish 
 as her very own. 
 
 "I'vq been thinking," continued the daughter, 
 "that a reconstructed man just might be safer than 
 one, as you put It, strong since birth. Spencer, for 
 instance. Is so strong that sometimes I — I hate him. 
 And I don't think It's honorable of him to have been 
 making love to me all along, right under Cal's 
 nose." 
 
 "You shouldn't blame him for that, wheji he 
 adores you." 
 
 "I know — as a master flier adores the machine 
 under his control. I wonder whether an airplane 
 doesn't ever want to fly the other way, to go up when 
 the steering hand says down?" 
 
252 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 With unwonted spirit, the girl crossed to where 
 her mother was resting on the bed. 
 
 *^It's against your convictions for me to marry 
 Cal Parker. Yet when I think of marrying Spencer, 
 my chief conviction is that the domination of the 
 bird-man w^ould arouse in the little human bird a 
 will of her own. All I can say is, he'd start a whole 
 lot of trouble for himself. However, keep that fair 
 mind of yours open; we'll watch Cal and see." 
 
 They settled it that way. They would watch Cal ; 
 would see. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 KNOCK-OUT CHAMPION 
 
 Before a pair of tents near the entrance to "Car- 
 nival Pasture," Cotton Eye; Lee was beseeching all 
 wayfarers to step up and regale themselves on soft 
 drink and sandwiches at a price per "regale" which 
 he quoted temptingly. But Rex Currie and the slab- 
 sided son of gloom who accompanied him did not 
 pay the black the courtesy of a moment's hesitation. 
 They strode under a canvas flap into the rear tent, 
 where they found Sandyred Metcalf, proprietor. 
 After certain assurances had been made by the hill- 
 billy, Bide Shortoff got his drink and was sent his 
 way to find Sally — lest Sally find him. 
 
 Currie then broached the subject which had 
 brought him to the tent. He laid before the young 
 Impressionable the arguments which, in view of 
 Old Tom's drastic dismissal of himself a few nights 
 before, he had felt would be necessary and had 
 prepared. 
 
 Why couldn't they, who had been friends so many 
 years, remain friends, no matter what the "old 
 man" thought? If Sandy knew what was good for 
 him and safe for the family, he would find out who 
 were for them and who against. For instance, there 
 was that foreigner who was setting up to Verna- 
 luska — he, Rex had cooled down somewhat since 
 the other night, but was Sandy going to take a chance 
 
 253 
 
254 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 unless he knew whether or not the fellow was a 
 revenuer? 
 
 Why not put the dude In puttees to the acid test 
 of daring hhn to take a drink? If he up and swal- 
 lowed like a man, they both would be satisfied, Rex 
 would apologize, and all would be well. If he 
 wouldn't drink there was still time to get right busy. 
 Rex would place the stuff handy just inside. All he 
 wanted. Heaven knew, was that the truth be brought 
 out for the sake of the girl who had been denied 
 him, but whose welfare he always would have at 
 heart. That Sandyred was open to conviction, he 
 proved by finally being convinced. He did not in- 
 tend to fall short In his relationship to Verney. 
 
 The properties of the test were ready when, a 
 few moments later, Parker, at Pope's suggestion, 
 turned into the pasture lot for a preview of the 
 scene of festivities. 
 
 The youngest of the Metcalfs, his mood of the 
 morning rather emphasized than otherwise, returned 
 the Northerner's greeting outside his refreshment 
 booth and showed no disinclination toward the In- 
 troduction to Pope. 
 
 "Be you the Spencer Pope that's deputy to the 
 gover'ment?" drawled the young outlaw, with 
 bravado. 
 
 *'Yes, he Is," Parker answered, "and I've Intend- 
 ed he should meet you In a semi-official capacity. He 
 is going to oblige me with a statement regarding 
 myself. Will you tell Metcalf, Spence, exactly 
 who and what I am?" 
 
 Pope obliged, according to his part of continuing 
 to appear "best friend." "Calvin Parker Is an ar- 
 tist by profession and In no way connected with the 
 
KNOCK-OUT CHAMPION 255 
 
 revenue service. He came to North Carolina at my 
 suggestion because I knew the State to be dry. His 
 sole object was to get control of his thirst." 
 
 "So we-all have hearn tell." There was a jibe 
 in Sandy's agreement. 
 
 "I give you my word, Metcalf, that the name of 
 Parker has nev^er been on our pay-rolls. The rec- 
 ords will show It." 
 
 "Them records — they ain't here, are they? As 
 for words, why shoot any more at us-all? Mr. 
 Parker is right free with them himself." Sandy 
 waved a calming hand. "For sure. It don't concern 
 me none whether he's looking for bootleggers up 
 yon In the hills or not, we-all being plain farmers, 
 grubbing for enough to do on. But here it Is, just 
 on general principles — he Is an officer or he ain't. 
 Something more than words would be needed to 
 hit the bull's-eye." 
 
 "What, for Instance?" asked Parker. "Pope, here, 
 and Mrs. Brainard, who came with him will both 
 vouch that the letter which read so strangely to 
 you up on the Fork was a strictly personal mat- 
 
 ter." 
 
 Sandyred's credulity seemed to be growing less 
 and less. "Another passel of words — written 
 words. Now looky here, out-Norther; Pm rea- 
 sonable, and there's been things occurred since the 
 other night that point my grudge away from you. 
 You say you're a hard-hitter that's come down here 
 to cure your thirst. Suppose " 
 
 He paused and turned. At the moment the en- 
 trance to the tent had become occupied. Pope 
 gripped Parker's arm. 
 
 "Isn't that the Rex Currie we were speaking of 
 
256 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 at lunch?" His voice was a low aside, his manner 
 that of half-recognition after years. 
 
 **Spencer Pope, by grace 1'* The bootlegger 
 strode forward. 
 
 "Delighted and surprised, Currlel Have you 
 met my friend Parker?" 
 
 In view of the issue, the artist thought best tem- 
 porarily to retire his standing quarrel with the new 
 entrant. Standing off and prepared for "tricks," 
 he acknowledged acquaintance with a nod. 
 
 "Sure weVe met, and there ain't no love lost be- 
 tween us, but if he's a friend of yours, Pope, that's 
 different," said Currle with a large manner. 
 
 "Did you hear what we-all were chinning over?" 
 Sandy cut in. "I've just been thinking, now, that 
 It might back up Parker's argument if he'd take a 
 swallow or two of good liquor with us-all. If he's 
 a revenuer, he won't drink; if he ain't, he likely 
 will. I've got a few bumbllngs stowed Inside for a 
 little cheer-you-up between festivities. If this strikes 
 you as more fair than foul, Parker, step inside. I'll 
 pass a free wetness." 
 
 Currie sent a suspicious look toward the visiting 
 deputy. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't be afraid of me, Rex," that of- 
 ficial reassured him. "I'm on vacation to-day." 
 
 Still addressing Parker directly, young Metcalf 
 further urged: "You made a fine-sounding proposi- 
 tion the other night of becoming our particeps 
 criminis. This here's a short-cut to the same 
 end. Leave us hear you clink to it before your 
 friend." 
 
 All eyes turned upon the artist. Pope proclaimed 
 Ills approval with a shoulder slap and the sugges- 
 
KNOCK-OUT CHAMPION 257 
 
 tion that if he really wished to be convincing an 
 agreeable means offered. 
 
 The suspect seemed to have made up his mind. 
 Without any of the words which young Metcalf de- 
 preciated, he preceded the three men into the back 
 tent. It was Rex Currie who, while Sandyred was 
 letting down the flap to shut off the small ceremony 
 from public view, assorted the flasks found, ready 
 filled, upon the table. The liquid within three was 
 colorless — the pure corn whisky of regional disre- 
 pute. Only one of the quartette noted with satis- 
 faction that Parker's had an amber cast, knew that 
 Its alive look was given by mixture with buckeye 
 juice, that well-known, knock-out champion. 
 
 Parker's mind was distracted by regret over the 
 form of this means to an end upon which he had 
 determined. Before uncorking his flask, he un- 
 pinned and slipped into his waist-coat pocket a small 
 amethyst brooch which had adorned his cravat. 
 
 *'To Mr. Particeps Criminis!'* 
 
 Sandyred named the toast. All lifted their indi- 
 vidual containers and tossed off in good form. Real- 
 izing that he was under Inspection, Parker drank 
 deep, then shuddered as the fiery draft lapped down- 
 ward. There was a peculiar taste to it — one that 
 he had not noticed in the brush whisky he had drunk 
 before. 
 
 Strangely enough, he felt cheered mentally by 
 his physical distaste. It gave the test which the 
 young mountaineer had proposed a grateful side- 
 issue In proving that his newly stimulated ideals had 
 conquered his gluttony. There was no attraction 
 In the bottle itself — that he realized with unspeaka- 
 ble relief. Even while sniffing Its fumes he knew 
 
258 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 that he never would return to liquor. Whether 
 Verne cared or whether she did not, he had come 
 to care too much for his own self-respect to out- 
 rage it. 
 
 "A revenue slick might take one swiggle and not 
 prove anything," he heard Currie offer, then the 
 toast which, from him, was a reinforced challenge: 
 ^'Here's to what we want and are going to have I'* 
 
 A few swallows more or less did not matter to 
 Parker, since he had found that they must be forced. 
 The toast was one he could honor with a will. His 
 eyes flared back into the hillbilly's, while the four 
 flasks were again upraised. He knew that Currie 
 was pledging the same hope as he — the hope of 
 Verne. 
 
 *'ril be off, Cal, and stop here for you on my way 
 back. I'm late now. Guess you can win this liquid 
 debate as to your identity without any further help 
 from me." 
 
 Parker nodded toward the man he believed his 
 friend who was stooping to exit under the tent- 
 flap. He was preoccupied with a question born of 
 the exultation surging through him. What was it 
 the gas-man had said when sent for to fix the logs 
 In his studio fire-place last winter? The best re- 
 sults came from a blue flame, not red. He must not 
 turn the gas on full force; he must regulate it. Real 
 heat, good cheer, great power came, then, through 
 control. He had found control of the red flames 
 that were wasting him. His love for Verne — that 
 was a blue flame burning steadily, cheerily, heart- 
 warmingly within him. The true love of Verne was 
 what he wanted — what, please God, he was going 
 to have. 
 
 I 
 
KNOCK-OUT CHAMPION 259 
 
 Automatically he made replies to the waxing 
 joviality of Currie and young Metcalf. A third, 
 a fourth — even a fifth of the toasts proposed he 
 afterward remembered responding to in good part. 
 
 His attention was once recalled by a jocular ques- 
 tion of Currle's anent the new location of the still. 
 Anxiety held him lest Sandyred should be won suffi- 
 ciently by Currle's protests of friendship to reveal 
 the new hiding-place, but held him only momen- 
 tarily. His own thoughts were more absorbing. 
 
 Odd that he should be making this application 
 about blue flames when they were the subject upon 
 which Tom Metcalf was considered to be obsessed! 
 The old fox was not half as mad as he wished to 
 appear — Parker had thought that ever since he had 
 been held prisoner in the jarred window frame of 
 the shack upon the ledge. Wasn't the justifica- 
 tion of this instinctive theory part of the reason 
 he had bought the mountain? . . . Clear, strong 
 flames were all about — mountain daylight — a man's 
 self-respect — his heart's deep love for Verne. . . . 
 Strange place to imprison them, In a lard-pail behind 
 the chimney of a mountain shack! One should be 
 careful running them through the fingers not to lose 
 them — the blue flames of self-control and love and 
 loyalty. . . . That pail — he ought to find it. He 
 ought to make sure the lid was tight. 
 
 Yet It didn't belong to him. Probably old Tom 
 had removed It immediately after his, Cal's, dis- 
 covery. . . . Even If It still were there, a Parker 
 would not dig up another man's secret, like an ordi- 
 nary pry or a night thief. He had flames of his 
 own to attend, lest his soul be seared to ash by 
 the fires of fawn-green eyes and copper hair. . . . 
 
26o FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 They had burned away the dross of his one-time 
 appetite. . . . His heart was now ablaze, but with 
 the controlled flames of the gas logs at home, steady, 
 intense — and blue! 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 ANTIC COLT 
 
 Parker's awakening was accompanied by a series 
 of discoveries, the initial one being that he still 
 lived. The second was the heat, stifling to suffoca- 
 tion, perhaps from the fact that the roof lowered 
 close over him. 
 
 Through a paneless window could be seen a hill- 
 side whose occasional bare patches showed soil of 
 fervid color. Above, the sky was covered with 
 thin clouds, like asbestos, that hung quite still and 
 radiated the heat of the quarter-high sun behind. 
 
 It seemed to be the first really torrid day of the 
 summer. 
 
 He realized that he was in great physical 
 discomfort, his limbs cramped, his body oozing 
 sweat. Although he yearned to go to sleep again, 
 his brain forbade. Even while the thumping with- 
 in his temples accented a conviction that he would 
 have been more comfortable dead, curiosity as to 
 the cause of his unhappy state urged him. 
 
 In trying to move, to sit up, he found that he 
 was tied hand and foot. Collapsing again upon his 
 springy resting-place, he tried to think. Why was 
 he lying on a hay-loft, close under cobwebby rafters 
 and tied with ropes? He was Cal Parker — of that 
 he felt sure. The circumstance was most unusual. 
 But never mind. It did not matter particularly at 
 
 261 
 
262 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the moment. The chief thing was to forget his 
 misery, to go back to sleep. 
 
 The second time he roused, it seemed hotter, 
 must have been a good deal later. There were 
 things he should be doing, he remembered with a 
 start. There was that lard pall of flames — blue 
 flames — which he ought to find. And the Metcalf 
 still — Currle must not be allowed to worm Its new 
 location out of Sandyred. Currle planned — Just 
 what was It the bootlegger planned? Tobe RIker 
 had told him. It was something that struck a chord 
 of vibrant uneasiness In his mind. 
 
 He jerked himself Into a sitting posture and be- 
 gan to Investigate his state of bondage. The knots 
 in the rope proved to be of the "slip" variety and 
 yielded to his nervous manipulation. Shortly, he 
 found himself free. His hand brushed against 
 something hard and cool which, on examination, 
 showed to be a flask two-thirds full of amber-col- 
 ored whisky. Empty flasks were weighting both 
 side pockets of his coat. They started him remem- 
 bering other things. 
 
 Why had Currle assorted the liquor for the young 
 blockader's dare? Why was his amber, rather 
 than the Inocuous-looking white of pure corn whisky? 
 That peculiar, bitter taste to It — why hadn't he 
 recognized It In time? Of course the stuff had been 
 doped, else those few drinks never would have 
 knocked him out. Why had they doped It? 
 
 A sense of loss caught him as his hand lifted to 
 his cravat. His pin, the small amethyst brooch 
 which Verne had hoped would protect him from 
 just such temptation, what had become of It? Oh, 
 yes, he knew now. He had been unable to take 
 
ANTIC COLT 263 
 
 that first drink until he removed it. Hurriedly 
 he searched through his pockets and drew a deep 
 inhalation of relief when he found it. Carefully 
 he refastened it in the brocade folds of his scarf. 
 He would never trust himself with it off again. 
 
 In his descent of the ladder that led to the ground- 
 floor of the barn In which he found himself, Parker 
 was steadied by a rage, primarily against himself 
 and growingly against those who so successfully had 
 accomplished his downfall. He had been gullible — . 
 made a fool by his desire to convince the brother of 
 Verne. But there should be — there would be a pen- 
 alty for the crime of drugging his drinks I Rung 
 by rung, each a stand of justification for the resent- 
 ment which was conquering his exquisite physical 
 misery, he descended. 
 
 Like the "good-morning'* of some tolerant room- 
 mate, a familiar whinny from a near-by stall greeted 
 him. Teetotaler here? In whose barn was he, 
 then, sequestered? 
 
 From the door, he looked out over the kitchen 
 garden that distinguished the Hotel Plott. So — 
 his horse had been untied from the hitching-rack 
 and stabled suggestively with him. To judge by 
 the sun, it must be about lunch-time. Probably 
 Sylvia and her mother were Inside the house. Prob- 
 ably they had a very poor opinion of him. But that 
 didn't matter much; in fact. It might help In the 
 difficult favor he had Intended to ask of Sylvia 
 last night and would make occasion to ask now. 
 
 Sandy But he was Verne's brother. Currie 
 
 he would reckon with first. Perhaps some excuse 
 would show up for Sandyred. 
 
 He turned back to his horse. 
 
264 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "Tee," he remarked, *'you see me for the first 
 time mad — fighting mad." 
 
 The piebald looked him over — ^but with his blind 
 eye. 
 
 As rapidly as possible, Parker saddled, then rode 
 toward the kitchen door. A pan of dishwater, 
 soused to the ground, heralded the appearance of 
 Mrs. Plott. 
 
 'Tou have come to?" she inquired superfluously. 
 "Spencer Pope said to leave you where you were, 
 that the haymow was as good a resting place as any. 
 'Light and come in. I'll warm over the coffee for 
 you." 
 
 At her suggestion, Parker realized anew his con- 
 dition. 
 
 "Thank you, but I don't feel like breakfast." 
 
 "I reckon you don't." The hoot was all out of 
 her voice. It trailed dismally as she added: 
 " 'T wouldn't have been my way to put the wets off 
 guard — it wasn't exactly what we hoped from you." 
 
 "Was I," he asked, "pretty bad?" 
 
 '^Badf^ She cheered visibly under remembered 
 horrors. "Friend Parker, you'll never be forgot 
 hereabouts. You was what the natives call an *antic 
 colt.' Nobody sees as how you could be an officer 
 now, what with your right hand aiding your left in 
 dashing out the jewel of consistency." 
 
 "Nor I, Mrs. Plott. Now, what I want worse 
 than my breakfast is a talk with my friends." 
 
 "Your friends?"— blankly. 
 
 "Yes. Spencer and the Brainards. Are they 
 in?" 
 
 Another rush of words delayed the truth. "Oh, 
 you poor, misused boy! To think that she would 
 
ANTIC COLT 265 
 
 leave them drag her away from you — and she your 
 affianced bride ! Land knows, I did my best with 
 Mrs. Bralnard to explain that a strong spiritual 
 purpose lurked behind your weakness of the flesh. 
 But I couldn't sway their purpose, although Miss 
 Bralnard cried her pretty eyes most out when I 
 told her how disappointed you'd be when you came 
 to over her desertion.'* 
 
 *'You mean that they '* It was Parker's turn 
 
 to look blank. 
 
 "Have gone, bag and baggage. I could cry, too, 
 every time I recollect the look of that sweet Miss 
 Sylvia. When I asked her just at the last, should 
 I give you any message, *Tell him, good-by,' says 
 she. Then she shivered, hot as It was already, and 
 covered her little white face with her veil. Spencer 
 promised to send down two officers to your aid with- 
 out delay. By the time they arrive, you'll likely be 
 all ready to lead the raid, although why you felt 
 called upon to — well, to do what you did " 
 
 She stopped In her consolatory outpouring for 
 want of an object. The tail of the horse was swish- 
 ing around the corner of the house. Automatically, 
 he had lifted his hat, his face twisting Into a stiff 
 Imitation of the Gal Parker smile that belonged with 
 the act. 
 
 In truth, he was reduced to automatism by 
 the blow. They had gone and he had not made 
 that statement, dictated by past Parkers, to Sylvia ! 
 Why had she cried on leaving If not because 
 she still cared enough for him to feel personal shame 
 in his disgrace? The fact that she had cried, she 
 whose life had all been laughter, hurt and obligated 
 him. 
 
266 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 He must follow them to New York and settle 
 the questions once and for all. He must not yield 
 to the temptation of speaking first to Verne. He 
 could not afford to have the jeers of the fossils 
 hurled at him for the rest of his life because he 
 had slumped from the high standard set by them. 
 He had endured their stinging rebukes so long over 
 his Intemperance, he did not Intend to furnish them 
 with another cause of complaint. 
 
 And yet He frowned at the mental adden- 
 dum. He could not leave the Blue Ridge just now, 
 even briefly. There was Currie to be dealt with and 
 advisedly. There was the arrival of those prom- 
 ised officers to be anticipated. After the last bum- 
 bllngs were disposed of and Verne and her people 
 were safe — then It would be time enough to follow 
 Sylvia and ask release. 
 
 Evidently Teetotaler missed his rider's wonted 
 bridle control, for several times he shifted course 
 through trying to discover by backward glances the 
 cause of the laxity. By the time the master had 
 come to a decision on his personal difficulties, the 
 mount had made his way inside the fair grounds and 
 stood waiting to be hitched. 
 
 Parker accommodated him. His interest aroused 
 by the crowd around Sandyred's refreshment booth, 
 he strode that way. The text of a sort of chant 
 raised In the African tones of Cotton Eye Lee 
 reached his ears. 
 
 "Step right up, ladles and genulmen. Buy a 
 sandwich and see the only antic colt In captivity. 
 The greatest show on earth, begun at the dance last 
 night, Is being circumscribed within the walls of this 
 here tent. Land sakes alive, fellow citizens, are 
 
ANTIC COLT 267 
 
 you-all going to hang back when the show costs noth- 
 ing extraditional? This here's a real, gov'ment- 
 broke colt, anticking around with the blood of " 
 
 He stopped, but not from shortage of wind or 
 enthusiasm in his delirium of words. For a mo- 
 ment he returned his variegated stare into that of 
 the man offering him a dime. Unintelligibly he 
 mumbled, while lifting a hand to tweak his own 
 ebony ear, as if to make sure that he was awake 
 and not seeing a "ghost." Recovering, he took 
 the coin, handed over a sandwich and resumed his 
 barking with what sang-froid he could assume. 
 
 Although Parker pulled his hat well over his 
 eyes, his garb was too distinctive for others not to 
 recognize him. The soft pedal was put upon the 
 crescendo of laughter around him and his way was 
 made easy to a vantage-view through the tent en- 
 trance. 
 
 Within, an orchestra-stand had been impro- 
 vised of an overturned box and a keg. Upon the 
 latter squatted Abide-with-me Shortoff, engaged In 
 *'beating straws" — a local device for aiding the fid- 
 dler In marking time, wherein a stout broom-straw is 
 whanged upon a string of the violin. On the box 
 sat the musician, his heels seconding the work of his 
 hands by timely and effective kicks against the sides, 
 as the tune merged from "Sourdough Mountain" 
 to a jerky conception of "Old Black Joe." The fact 
 that this wielder of the bow was Rex Currle proved 
 to be Parker's one gratifying observation. 
 
 His gaze settled upon the artist being advertised 
 afresh by the word-obsessed barker as a "reg'lar 
 stem-twister of mimicry — the plumb liveliest colt 
 what ever took off the antics of a foreigner from 
 
268 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 New York town.'* His physical sufferings gave way 
 to mental ones as he watched. 
 
 His wildest impulse — that primal one of self- 
 protection — was to rush the tent and with the brute 
 force of his rage put a stop to this amusement of 
 the public at his expense; his tamest was to slink 
 away and spare himself the humiliating spectacle. 
 He mastered both. Sternly put was the reminder 
 that no fair-minded man refuses to see himself as 
 others see him. 
 
 Through the performance he came to appreciate 
 why Sylvia could contribute only tears to the tragedy 
 of his "reform." Long before the end of the act 
 he had the knowledge, not the mere hope, that he 
 would never again risk a first drink, no matter how 
 excused by Its "object." The self-respect exhorted 
 by his dear defense before her court of hills hence- 
 forth should be held above all else. 
 
 His subconsciousness roused to a recognition of 
 himself when drunk beyond the mercy of a doubt. 
 *^Mea culpa ^ me a culpa T* pled the conscious mind 
 which, for the first time, really understood. The 
 forehead of his pride beat the dust. 
 
 In pantomime, that language which the least- 
 lettered can understand, Sandyred Metcalf, the In- 
 imitable, revived the scene of the out-Norther's yes- 
 terday. He greeted his city guests with drink-ef- 
 fusive gallantry and undertook to escort them 
 through the ways and byways of the carnival. With 
 a flask In either pocket and frequent stops to accept 
 the Invitation of their open mouths, he conducted 
 early events with the exaggerated Importance of the 
 Inebriate. Imaginary acquaintances along the way 
 he greeted and recontaended by introduction to his 
 
ANTIC COLT 269 
 
 friends. A mythical flight of stairs he undertook, 
 only to stumble and sprawl on the ground. 
 
 Rising, he reproached the two bottles with winks 
 and varied facial contortions, denoting that his sense 
 of humor had not been jostled in the fall. He ad- 
 dressed a street audience on prohibition, with sig- 
 nificant if somewhat uncertain gestures toward re- 
 ward in the ether above and doom in the earth below. 
 As a quip to the supposedly riotous applause over 
 this farce, he passed his two flasks before beginning 
 the bows of acknowledgment which eventually dis- 
 turbed his equilibrium to the extent of another 
 sprawl. 
 
 He came to evening and the dance. Evidently 
 he had passed from the early, weakling stages of 
 a Gal Parker spree into that condition of strength 
 and Initiative which would carry him through hours 
 of activity, for not one minute of which he could 
 account after he had slept off the effects. Wound 
 up now by the grip of the drug Into a thing of ex- 
 travagant Impulse and machinelike prowess, he Im- 
 provised a dance that combined Oriental suggestive- 
 ness with a down-South clog. 
 
 Sipping anon from the pocket fonts, his good- 
 humor became drowned In an oncoming wave of 
 irascibility. Presumably challenged by some swain, 
 he forsook "art" for a brawl and battled drunkenly 
 until, overcome by superior numbers, he was thrown 
 and roped. 
 
 There he lay, spitting the dust, blubbering in vain 
 appeal for some one to convoy the bottle within his 
 captive hand to his lips. His tongue lolled, his eye- 
 lids grew heavy over rolling eyeballs. It became 
 evident, as licensed by the speed of the "act," that,' 
 
270 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 sans fuel, the fires within him were burning down 
 to the ash of exhaustion. Soon, with features un- 
 pleasantly snarled, he slept. 
 
 The performance thrown in with a sandwich 
 was over; most of the spectators, rousing above the 
 restraining presence of the man In the doorway, 
 uproariously applauded the young genius who had 
 impersonated him. 
 
 A few glanced around hopefully to see how the 
 original antic colt was going to take it. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 COME TO GRIPS 
 
 But Parker did not reward the curious. He be- 
 took himself from the scene as unobtrusively as he 
 had come. 
 
 The small gratification drawn from the presence 
 of Currie in Sandyred's side-show was due to an 
 obvious deduction. Since the hillbilly was there he. 
 could not be "projecting" elsewhere for the removed 
 still and the girl over whose possession he seemed 
 to have some definite scheme. It was enough that 
 his presence in Dismal gave Parker time to clear his 
 head and body from the poison he had drunk, be- 
 fore demanding the payment It was now his turn to 
 collect. 
 
 With evening, from Fallaway Rim, he lifted de- 
 vout eyes to the juror hills and, his right hand up- 
 raised, again took the oath: 
 
 *'0h, nature's jury, hear one more mortal plea! 
 If again I blunder In my testimony, may you fall 
 upon me with your might, may you crush me with 
 your weight of ages, forever and ever. Amen." 
 
 The peace of their absolute justice came over him 
 and soothed him into heavy sleep. The first tiptoe 
 of dawn did not surprise him. Already he was 
 awake, his mind settled over what first to do. The 
 most direct course to aid the Metcalfs seemed to 
 be in a renewal of his effort at an alliance with them. 
 
 271 
 
272 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 In view of his spectacular acceptance of young 
 Sandy's challenge, he had new argument to- ad- 
 vance. He would Insist himself Into "terms" with 
 the household. That It was the third time ought to 
 help. He would offer anew to lend them manpower 
 in the disposal of that last "batch." Working with 
 them, he could watch over Verne — could warn them 
 with personal force against trusting Rex Currle, 
 should the Impressionable Sandyred try to reinstate 
 his hillbilly friend In the good graces of the old 
 man. Speed In getting the lawbreakers beyond dan- 
 ger of arrest should be his first concern. Afterward, 
 he would demand recompense, with compound In- 
 terest, for the personal Indignities he had suf- 
 fered. 
 
 The hour that found him In the saddle was one 
 which often had served as an end to days of his past 
 — never as a beginning. Riding at a good pace 
 along the road to the Metcalf place, he felt signifi- 
 cance In the fact that Summer, In mature beauty, had 
 redeemed the profuse suggestion of Spring. 
 
 He was nearing trall's-end In the out-curving turn 
 of the main road, where the mountain girl had sur- 
 prised him that day of the presentation of the jug, 
 when the sound of hoof-beats on either side caused 
 him to dismount and draw his horse Into conceal- 
 ment. 
 
 The first sight from his cover brought temptation. 
 It was of Verne, riding her mule, her expression 
 fresher, more vigorous than the early morn. He 
 wanted desperately to hurry forward in greeting 
 after the long deprivation, to ask her about the re- 
 turn of his note unread — perhaps to let her guess 
 from his face, although she was not yet to hear, the 
 
COME TO GRIPS 273 
 
 hammering of his heart at the sudden, vivid, desira- 
 ble sight of her. 
 
 His second glance in the other direction brought 
 restraint. A horseman had been about to round 
 the curve, but now turned into the woods, evidently 
 to let her pass, himself unseen. 
 
 So it came about that a small procession of three 
 riders was formed and headed, through devious 
 ways and byways, toward that mountain known as 
 Grumbly Bald. On account of the exact distances 
 maintained, the last of them had the advantage of 
 knowledge. 
 
 Because Rex Currie saw fit thus surreptitiously 
 to trail the girl of his choice, the out-Norther saw 
 fit to follow both. Half an hour later, a fourth 
 rider found cause for uneasiness in the manifold 
 hoof-prints, as he followed closely the path of the 
 three. 
 
 Vernaluska Metcalf had started ahead of her 
 men-folk because of her anxiety to delay not an hour 
 longer than necessary the completion of their last 
 illicit distillation. The sooner it was attended the 
 better. Then, too, the new site of the still made 
 unconventional hours the safest. 
 
 Sandyred had returned from the carnival some- 
 what after midnight in such high spirits that he had 
 awakened the family to tell of the alleged slick's fall 
 from responsibility, his own side-show of the antic 
 colt, and the substantial sum accrued from the mer- 
 chandising of his talent. Although realizing that 
 the boy would wish to lie late abed, she had 
 prepared his breakfast with her own and finally 
 succeeded in arousing him to her need of his help 
 
274 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 at the still. After the bead had been drawn, she 
 promised, he might sleep away the rest of the 
 day. 
 
 Her father's caprice had ruled In the selection of 
 the new danger-spot — a move made advisable by 
 his open break with Currle and pointed by the ra- 
 tional note from one so strangely persistent in try- 
 ing to blind them if, indeed, he was their foe. Early 
 on the morning following the receipt of Parker's 
 warning, the natural cave beneath the girl's pottery 
 storehouse had been stripped of all distilling ap- 
 paratus, and the hole in the rocks, which had carried 
 the smoke of so many illicit fires up through the 
 chimney of her oven, had been filled with clay. With 
 Vernaluska scouting the road ahead and Sandy rid- 
 ing guard behind, Old Tom had accomplished re- 
 moval to the hastily built structure that was wait- 
 ing on the Grumbly Bald property, to be his when 
 the additional payments had been made. 
 
 After finding a sheltered place for Solomon and 
 tying him to a tree, the girl removed her shoes and 
 stockings and made her way up the bed of the 
 stream which left no tracks for prying eyes. Just 
 before reaching the windowless shack on the ledge 
 she turned into the rhododendron thicket along the 
 opposite side, which had been selected as the likeliest 
 hiding-place. 
 
 A hee-haw from Solomon caused her to pause and 
 strain her ears for sounds foreign to the purl of 
 the brook or the whispering of trees. Hearing 
 nothing, she reassured herself that the mule's salute 
 was no respecter of persons and that the disturb- 
 er, if human, was doubtless her sleepy-head 
 brother. She proceeded to the task which she had 
 
COME TO GRIPS 275 
 
 taken upon herself to allow the old man a rest. 
 
 The still-house itself was a mere enclosure of 
 freshly cut logs, roofed with bark. It held the still 
 — a vessel with a closed head, connected with a 
 spiral tube called a "worm" and surrounded by a 
 jacket through which cold water was constantly 
 piped; also the furnace, roughly constructed of 
 boulders. 
 
 The purpose of the "house" was more to con- 
 ceal the glare when a wood fire was burning than 
 for the protection of the blockaders from the 
 weather. Further back lay the "lair," a thatch of 
 browse, where the operators rested when there was 
 nothing to do except wait upon the "cooking." 
 
 Several precautions against discovery had been 
 taken by the outlaw patriarch, alive to all the wiles 
 of his kind. Two great hemlock-trees had been 
 felled in such a way that their tops served to aid 
 the brush in the masking, a service which they would 
 perform as long as their tops remained green. 
 
 Around the whole was a dead-line of peculiar 
 Blue Ridge construction — a veritable cheveaux de 
 frise, although to the Metcalfs known as the "stop- 
 'em-short" — contrived of laurel cut into spikes, en- 
 tangled, with the points slanting outward, in brush 
 bound together by cables of wild grape and vining 
 shrubs. 
 
 In the making of this batch, sworn to be Old 
 Tom's last, the corn had been sprouted by a warm- 
 water, percolating process, ground into sweet meal 
 at their own tub-mill, turned into "beer" after due 
 fermentation, and sent through the still, to come out 
 as "singlings." This was now being redistilled, or 
 "doubled," into marketable liquor. 
 
276 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The fact that the doubling process required more 
 skill than any of the several connected with the 
 making of blockade accounted for the girl's anxiety. 
 Too much distillation would result in pure alcohol, 
 while too little meant rank liquor that would lack the 
 strength necessary to quench regional thirsts. Al- 
 ways had Old Tom Metcalf scorned to resort to a 
 *'thumplng-chest," by which singllngs may be made 
 drinkable. He despised that trick of his Illicit trade 
 as much as he did the sort of liquor thus produced. 
 With a small vial as Instrument, the "bead" must 
 now be taken at Intervals — the test depending on the 
 irrldescent bubbles that would rise when the vial 
 was tilted. 
 
 Vernaluska felt quite equal to the delicate task, 
 but needed some one to feed the furnace; therefore 
 her awakening of last night's celebrant. The Met- 
 calf store of "bumbllngs" had been quite exhausted 
 in the draft upon it caused by the general cessation 
 of the industry after enforcement of the new State 
 laws. Knowing the contracts which the old man had 
 undertaken to fill and the iron of his determination, 
 she realized that his illegal career would not cease 
 until the present distillation was run off to his fancy. 
 
 She set to work. Although it was said of her 
 redoubtable parent that he could make the best bush 
 whisky in all the Carolinas with his eyes shut, her 
 double task of taking the bead and feeding the fur- 
 nace would give her plenty to do. She had stooped 
 to tuck the ends of a bundle of dry saplings over 
 the coals in the fire-box, when the sound of voices 
 not far away caused her to return them to the floor 
 and straighten Into a tense, listening attitude. 
 
 "What new cuss work are you up to, Currie?'* 
 
COME TO GRIPS 277 
 
 **A brand that's going to get cusseder if you 
 don't stop in your tracks and have it out with me.'^ 
 
 She heard the two sentences complete in two 
 voices she knew. Her heart hammering uncomfort- 
 ably, she stole on soundless bare feet out of the 
 still-house and began wriggling through the brush 
 toward the branch, whence had sounded the demand 
 and retort. Her anxiety lest the still had been dis- 
 covered was assuaged on seeing that those who had 
 been following her, whether knowingly or on affairs 
 of their own, had passed the rhododendron copse 
 without suspicion and climbed the stream to the 
 ledge on which stood the deserted Currie shack. 
 Well under cover, she picked her way to a point 
 from which she could both see and hear. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 DRILLED 
 
 Vernaluska's handsome suitor had turned to 
 face Calvin Parker, standing with dripping puttees 
 at the streamside. The Northerner was breathing 
 hard, his cap stuffed into a pocket of his Norfolk, 
 his black hair disordered by the wind. His right 
 hand was guarding his hip; his left carried a heavily 
 leaved, forked branch which evidently he had used 
 as a cane In the climb. He looked angry — more 
 forceful than the girl ever had seen him. 
 
 "Why are you following me — don't you realize 
 yet Tve got it In for you?" The sneering demand 
 came from Currle. 
 
 "And hasn't It occurred to you yet that Fve got it 
 in for yoii? I'd advise you to about-face and make 
 yourself scarce!" 
 
 "Gad a'mighty, you've got a nerve! Me make 
 myself scarce at your say-so ?" 
 
 "My say-so is good on this property. I hold a 
 mortgage that's going to prevent you bothering oth- 
 ers on it. Get off hopping quick or I may ask you to 
 pay what you owe me." 
 
 "Owe you? I don't owe you anything, ex- 
 cept " 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do — a wring of your neck for every 
 pellet of shot in that man-trap you set and every drop 
 
 278 
 
DRILLED 279 
 
 of dope you put Into my drinks at the Dismal Gap 
 Fair." 
 
 Currle, his eye on the Northerner's right, guff- 
 awed his derision. "Me pay — to a goop what don't 
 nose-whiff his demljack before he swiggles It! Be- 
 sides, I gave you fair warning — told you to look 
 out for me, didn't I? You didn't come up here trail- 
 ing me so much as — well, somebody that don't fa- 
 vor the foolest revenue slick that ever fell for bum- 
 bli: igs and buckeye." 
 ^•'So you admit the buckeye?" 
 
 'Tm admitting nothing except that you'd best 
 kit-caboodle It out of here yourself, Mr. Calvin A. 
 Parker, of New York, before I get you packed. 
 I'll give you two minutes to " 
 
 ^'You'll give me — all the time I want — or else I've 
 made — a wash-foot Baptist of myself for — for noth- 
 
 ing. 
 
 Parker's rasped remarks, his forward spring, just 
 as the hiilbllly, with a lightning movement, drew 
 from his hip, the lashing sound of the impro- 
 vised cane — all were incidents of the next second or 
 so. 
 
 The watcher's stifled outcry went unheard In the 
 report of a gun. She collapsed to her knees, weak 
 from terror and almost Instant relief, on seeing 
 Currie's revolver flung by that forked branch, thick 
 with leaves, Into the stream. Parker was laughing 
 into the face of the man he had confused and dis- 
 armed by his unexpected onslaught. 
 
 "Never shoot, myself, unless It's necessary, being 
 no killer at heart. And I'm hard to hit, even for a 
 real gunman. You ready to settle with me now? 
 See, I'll give you an even chance !" 
 
28o FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 With which Parker tossed his own automatic after 
 Currie's Into the creek. 
 
 In the very second of this voluntary disarmament, 
 Currle sprang at him, vociferating In fury: "You've 
 gone and done It now, you varmint, taking my gun 
 a second time. I came up here this morning for two 
 things. You're one of them. You're going to 
 pay " 
 
 "Always glad to pay — my debts. Nobody has to 
 dun me — twice." 
 
 In contrast with the mountaineer's fury, the 
 Northerner sprang Into the fray with cheer. As If 
 from some previous incarnation, the fighting tactics 
 In which the Parker of college days had excelled 
 revived in this comparative wreck of later years. 
 The vitality he had breathed In from the hills rushed 
 to his aid. The moral punch of a just cause en- 
 thused him. Compound Interest on the several at- 
 tacks of the hillbilly bought up his long-maintained 
 repression. 
 
 More than safe-guarding the still made the girl 
 under cover of the brush linger In her part of au- 
 dience. Now that their weapons were In the 
 creek they had. Indeed, an equal chance, she told 
 herself. 
 
 Although Currle had great strength, the city man 
 had shown before that he knew what he was about. 
 He had said he Vv^as as good a man as Currle, whom 
 she had come to dislike and fear of late. As a sort 
 of justification for her many defenses of him, she 
 hoped, with all the primordial savagery of her 
 mountain-bred ancestresses, that he might prove, 
 not merely as good, but the better man. After 
 Sandy's lurid account of his weakness at the carnival, 
 
DRILLED 281 
 
 she wished fiercely that he should now show 
 strength. 
 
 Parker, thrown off by sheer man-weight, tight- 
 ened his muscles for a new offensive. Currie lunged 
 to meet it. Again they closed, the artist feathering 
 into the bootlegger with tempered fury, aided by 
 admirable foot-work. Currie, solid In his resist- 
 ance as the mountain Itself, showed inartistic but 
 effective tendencies. In a second-long interval of 
 recovery, he seized the New Yorker in a bearlike 
 clutch, threw him heavily, battered his head upon 
 the ground until there came a stain of blood. 
 
 *'Now, maybe you'll trail up here after my doney- 
 gal — maybe you'll snatch my gun!" 
 
 In the moment's respite, Vernaluska started for- 
 ward to prevent further brutality, but paused, shaken 
 between hope and fear. She saw Parker spring 
 from his feint at exhaustion and go at the moun- 
 taineer as thought the combat had only begun. With 
 jabs and swings, systematic, well-directed, and so 
 diverse as to confuse the man of muscle sans science, 
 he Invited and then fought off ponderous rushes. 
 Dodging skilfully, his effort was plain — to wear 
 down the other and becloud his judgment. 
 
 Evidently encouraged by the honor of first blood, 
 now streaming from a cut over the artist's left eye, 
 Currie continued his bull tactics and stood up well 
 under punishment. Despite his natural tenacity, 
 however, he In time found himself giving way — 
 backing toward the far side of the ledge, where there 
 was a sheer drop. That he had reached the limit 
 'of safety he was told from an unexpected source. 
 
 "The edge^ — have a care for the edge!" 
 
 Vernaluska's cry startled both, but the advantage 
 
282 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 went to Parker, the quicker of mind. As his adver- 
 sary lunged forward, he planted himself for a swing. 
 Currie, in trying to slip under this and at the same 
 time escape the menace of the edge, lost his footing 
 and sprawled. 
 
 Full weight Parker dropped upon him and strove 
 for a wrestling hold which would bring him to 
 terms. Currie, in the violence of his attempts to 
 squirm from under, seemed to lose his sense of direc- 
 tion. Before he recovered, he was going over the 
 bank; in panic released his hold on his opponent for 
 the flimsier one of rocks that gave way at his weight. 
 With an upward glare at Parker safe on the bank, 
 he started down and down. 
 
 Hurrying back toward the creek, with the Idea of 
 locating the source of that warning cry, Parker 
 stopped to wash the cut over his eye and the blood 
 from his face. Imagining that he had seen a flut- 
 ter of alien green disappearing In the brush, he 
 splashed down-stream eagerly. 
 
 *'HI — If you turn in there I'll drill you!" 
 
 This threat In a man's voice, brought Parker up 
 short on the bank. For several seconds he stood 
 rigid, wondering whether It really had come from 
 below him, assorting each noise of brook and 
 breeze. Concluding that his ears must have deceived 
 him as to direction and that the unarmed hillbilly, 
 having climbed back to the ledge, was attempting 
 a ruse, he laughed tauntingly and started Into the 
 brush. 
 
 But something stinging hot stopped him. While 
 falling, he realized several things. His ears had 
 been right; the gun report had come from below. 
 From out the bush, a woman's scream wavered, to 
 
DRILLED 283 
 
 the sound of running feet; Sandyred Metcalf 
 splashed up the branch, a smoking revolver in hand, 
 a delirium of exultation twisting his face. 
 
 "So you're the damn spy everybody said, after 
 all? Well, you can't say I didn't warn you — you've 
 got none to blame but yourself!" 
 
 The fierce words scourged the ears of the fallen 
 man. Verne's face lowered close to his. 
 
 "You, Sandy — you aimed to drill him?" he heard 
 her ask. 
 
 "Did I aim to? Do you s'pect I was popping at 
 a boomer?" 
 
 Her moan lifted over the lighter nature plaints. 
 "Sandy, you've gone and killed him. He was mean- 
 ing to be friendly, and now you're gone and killed 
 him!" 
 
 For the life of him, Parker could not reassure 
 her. He felt a rush of gratitude for the grief she 
 was showing. Then he gave up to whatever It was 
 soothing his sensibilities. 
 
 Vernaluska set herself to do what was possible, 
 demanding the cooperation of her brother. 
 
 "I only aimed to nip him," that young hot-head 
 about-faced. "He was heading straight for the still- 
 house, wa'n't he? It's only what pap would have 
 done. Shucks, sis, he ain't dead — I had no Inten- 
 tion such. He can't be dead!" 
 
 i The girl's lips, as well as her face, had turned to 
 a pale saffron and worked stiffly. 
 
 "Give me your knife; I'll cut away his shirt. Go 
 to the still-house and fetch a pail." 
 
 It was when she stood mid-stream, scooping up 
 the clearest water, that she fancied she heard re- 
 treating steps In the bush of the opposite side. 
 
284 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 *'Rex — Rexey!" she called. 
 
 "For a moment she waited, shaking as if she were 
 some tar-heel dame from the lowlands suddenly "ail- 
 ing" with chills and fever. 
 
 Catching the contagion of her fear, Sandyred 
 rushed to the stream-side. "Rex — hi, Rex, be that 
 you?" 
 
 The only answer either of them got came later, 
 after they had "toted" the deadweight of Parker 
 to the mountain's base. This lay in the absence of 
 Currie's horse. 
 
 "You make a dash for home, Sandy," was her 
 decisive command. "Send along Tom with the buck- 
 board. The sooner you go on the dodge the better. 
 Rex is no friend of any of us — he's gone to squeal 
 on you." 
 
 She stood staring in the direction her brother 
 had disappeared until long after the hoof-beats of his 
 horse were silenced by distance. Then she turned and 
 knelt beside the silent Thing on the ground — ^the pro- 
 fessed friend whom the bite of Sandy's gun had 
 made so unresponsive. She lifted and smoothed 
 back the black hair. With trembling finger-tips she 
 pressed downward the white lids over eyes which 
 looked too dark and brilliant. Her gaze settled, 
 as if hoping, on the tight-pressed lips. 
 
 "Sending Sandy on the dodge don't mean that I'm 
 going to give you up yet a while, not until I have 
 to," she addressed him in a hovering murmur. "I've 
 been too tarnal hard on you. I didn't know until 
 to-day how hard and I hanker to tell you so. Don't 
 you want to hear me tell you, Parkerman?" 
 
 She slipped her hand inside his slashed silk shirt 
 to a place well below the small red splotch she had 
 
DRILLED 285 
 
 found beneath his shoulder. She waited a moment, 
 then forced a seductive smile. 
 
 *'You-uns said I was strong to help you. You 
 painted me as Spring. Are you going back on that 
 now? Ain't you ever going to call me Verne again? 
 Ain't you ever going to smile at me in your different 
 way, like as if you were too tired, almost, to smile 
 at all? I don't mind telling you its more than fear 
 for Sandy makes me want you to rouse up. I'm 
 Spring and I'm still here. Won't you come back, 
 Cal?" _ 
 
 Her pseudo-smile faded from not being seen; her 
 coaxing voice broke from going unheard — sobbed 
 down into the wordless whisper of a wail. Then, as 
 if terrorized by her own despair, she urged him 
 anew: 
 
 ''Come, come, won't you rouse up just long 
 enough to hear me? I want you to hear me so — 
 can't you rouse up for Verne?" 
 
 She pressed her hand gently upon his heart to 
 warm it; leaned so close that her lips touched his and 
 her breath did for two. It seemed to her, as she 
 waited, that the trees stopped their whispers and the 
 birds their chatter — that even the stream was 
 breathing deep and rythmically with her. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE BLUEST FLAME 
 
 The "spare-room'' bed of state, built of home- 
 felled timber, boasted both headboard and foot- 
 board, as well as four hand-carved posts. Beside it, 
 In a low rocking-chair, sat Vernaluska Metcalf, as 
 she had sat the greater number of hours since Calvin 
 Parker had been "toted in" the day before. 
 
 It was nearly noon and he still lay in the trance- 
 like sleep which mercifully had claimed him before 
 and since he had undergone Miss Emmy's ministra- 
 tions. That good spinster, stoic from adopted moth- 
 erhood's experience with splinter-lifting, bruise-heal- 
 ing and bone-setting, had found and extracted the 
 bullet from his shoulder; had cleansed and skillfully 
 bound the wound; had declared that her patient had 
 "a chance." 
 
 The girl, almost prostrated with relief when the 
 fluttering at his heart had answered her desperate 
 recall, had been glad to let the older woman take 
 charge of the case; but no nurse ever had followed 
 orders more carefully than she. With clock-tick 
 regularity the prescribed stimulant had been ad- 
 ministered and the cold packs changed. 
 
 Now hope, strong in her heart, was expressed 
 In the murmured tune she was picking from her 
 duclimer. Soft almost as thought, the music seemed 
 to soothe him, rather than disturb. The rested look 
 
 286 
 
THE BLUEST FLAME 287 
 
 had deepened on his face, and he breathed easily. 
 Soon she dropped the instrument Into her lap and 
 leaned forward to throw back the "company" cover- 
 let. Beneath it, almost lost In the sea of white 
 clothing, the artist's long body stretched quite still; 
 his face looked white as the linen by contrast with 
 his black hair. Fearing an Increase in his tempera- 
 ture from the noon heat, she crossed to the window 
 and pinned the centers of the blue-print side curtains 
 over the dimity ones. 
 
 "What was the name of that piece?" 
 
 She turned, startled as though the weak voice 
 had sounded from another w^orld. Her heart stood 
 still. The moment was almost too much to endure. 
 Swiftly she recrossed to the bedside. The lids which 
 she had touched so despairingly at the mountain 
 base had lifted, his intense eyes looked sentiently 
 into hers. 
 
 "Why — why," she stammered, "it is called 'Pull 
 the Mule.' " 
 
 "Dedicated to Solomon, I suppose?" 
 
 Joy over his small attempt at levity limbered her 
 tongue. "My mule don't need pulling," she flashed. 
 
 She sat down, leaned toward him. After all they 
 had been through, he physically, she mentally, it 
 seemed strange to be speaking commonplaces. 
 Could it be possible, she wondered, that he did not 
 realize who had shot him? 
 
 "I'm right glad," she said softly, "that you-all 
 are better. You can never know how glad. But 
 that's enough for now. You mustn't talk or even 
 think, and you'd best mind me. I'll play a rocking 
 song; you-uns just listen and maybe you'll fall off 
 to sleep again." 
 
288 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 '*But I don't want to fall off again. A fellow 
 asleep is at an awful disadvantage. I'm afraid I've 
 missed a lot already. That banjo-harp-guitar effect 
 you've been playing " 
 
 He started to stretch his hand toward the dulci- 
 mer, but winced from the sudden pain of movement. 
 When he spoke again: 
 
 "Sandy — where is he? I want to ask him why 
 he did it." 
 
 He put the question with his eyes shut, so did 
 not see the instant tension of her face at this proof 
 that he did remember. 
 
 "Sandyred — oh, he's around, I reckon," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 For a while he lay in silence. She slowed down 
 the lullaby until it was scarcely audible, hoping he 
 had been forced by weakness to take her suggestion 
 of falling asleep. 
 
 His next words, however, showed that he had 
 been thinking: "I fixed it up before your court of 
 the hills; convinced even the judge. I want to kncT, 
 does my counsel believe in me yet?" 
 
 The noise of a horse arriving in the yard diverted 
 her answer. Startled, she arose, laid the dulcimer 
 on the bed and, with her lithe, boyish swing of the 
 open, hurried from the room. The door she closed 
 behind her. 
 
 At the front step, her father was greeting 
 Asa Simms. The transplanted Yankee noted the 
 girl's appearance with but a nod, his manner 
 excited. 
 
 "I've nearly winded a good horse riding ahead 
 to warn you. That traitor, Currie, has tipped off 
 the sheriff, and there's a posse headed this way — ' 
 
 i 
 
THE BLUEST FLAME 289 
 
 Dry Dryden and a bunch of his Ilk, along with Dr. 
 Prosch." 
 
 "What for, do you reckon?" The old red lion of 
 the Metcalf clan drew up bristling. 
 
 "What for? Well, only just to clap a pair of 
 wrist-irons on Sandyred — that's all! Crime, mur- 
 der. Victim, a revenue officer." 
 
 Old Tom reached for and began to examine the 
 repeating rifle that had been leaning against the door 
 jamb. "Irons on my Sandy — hell's banjer!" 
 
 "Lay off the gun, Tom." Vernaluska placed an 
 urgent hand upon her parent's arm. "There's noth- 
 ing to arrest Sandy for. If they're thinking to 
 charge that he committed the — the accident. It won't 
 hold. Parker's going to get well." 
 
 The postmaster looked surprised. "Glad to hear 
 that for your sakes If not for the slick's. Rex report- 
 ed him dead as a doornail. But this posse can grab 
 the fellow that plugged him and hold him for as- 
 sault with Intent to kill. All they need Is the rev- 
 enuer's accusation. If It happens he knows who " 
 
 The girl didn't wait to hear the old man's angry 
 denial that his son had been anywhere In the vicinity 
 at the time of the shooting. She made a brief visit 
 to the room shared by father and son, after asking 
 Miss Emmy to "do up a quick poke of grub.'* With 
 her two parcels, she hurried to the barn, saddled 
 Sandy's mount, and rode to the patch where she 
 knew him to be hoeing corn. She did not consult or 
 advise; rather, she commanded him. 
 
 "He's come to, Sandy — he knows who potted him. 
 See to it you keep on the dodge until I give you leave 
 to show. No Metcalf has ever worn wristlets, and 
 it ain't fitten this generation should set the style.'^ 
 
290 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Scarcely had she turned from the sight of his 
 disappearance within the brush that led Into the fast- 
 ness of Crumbly Bald, every hollow and by-path 
 of which he knew, when she heard the approach of 
 what sounded a goodly cavalcade entering the clear- 
 ing from the other side. 
 
 Unseen, she returned to the house through the 
 cook-shack door and loitered out on the front stoop 
 just as the posse, headed by "Gettum" Stannard, the 
 wiry, black-browed sheriff, drew rein. A detach- 
 ment composed of Dry Dryden and that con- 
 queror of the deepest root and most fractious nerve, 
 Dr. Hezeklah Plott, proceeded at a sign from their 
 leader to the back yard, evidently to guard against 
 escape. 
 
 "Well, Asa," drawled the county's small but re- 
 doubtable chief peace officer, "be you delivering the 
 United States mail in person these days?" 
 
 Without awaiting a reply, he turned his celebrated 
 official smile upon Old Tom. "We-all have come to 
 invite your boy Sandy to a little visit down to the 
 jail at the county-seat." 
 
 The patriarch's gaze veered from the reassuring, 
 fawn-green eyes of his daughter to meet that of the 
 official. 
 
 "That's mighty polite of you, Gettum, but our-all 
 corn needs Sandy for the hilling. What's the spe- 
 cial occasion?" 
 
 "The special occasion" — Stannard spat deliber- 
 ately and far before finishing — "is murder in the 
 first degree. It ain't the charge I'd cal'calated on 
 taking one of yourn on, Tom, but I reckon it will hold 
 as good as any. We'll try to give the boy as com- 
 fortable a time as can be " 
 
THE BLUEST FLAME 291 
 
 "Mighty polite of you," Tom repeated, with no 
 particular change of expression. "Won't you-all 
 light and come in?" 
 
 "You bet we will, since Dr. Prosch intends to take 
 back the body as well as him what laid it low. The 
 first and likeHest place to search, we're agreed, is 
 this house." 
 
 The hint of a twinkle flashed in Tom's eyes. 
 "You're welcome. We-all are right proud of our 
 house. Doubt if you'll find what you're looking for, 
 although there is a particeps criminis critter inside 
 that may do as well." 
 
 Cordially he gestured the two into the living- 
 room and invited their attention to its objects of 
 interest — the decorative frieze of the newspaper 
 wall-covering, the solidity of a table now serving 
 the fourth generation, the inherited Metcalf leaning 
 toward art as represented by Vernaluska's jugs. 
 
 The girl, sensing his idea in this game of delay, 
 played a hand of her own. She brightened; chatted 
 first with one and then the other; conducted them, as 
 if on a pleasure tour, through the dining-room, 
 kitchen, and family chambers. A tuneless twanging 
 it was that focused the visitors' suspicion upon the 
 one closed door. 
 
 "Sandyred!" m.uttered Stannard, clamping a mas- 
 terful hand on the knob. Stealthily he opened the 
 door and crossed the sill. 
 
 Dr. Prosch followed, his dimpled fists doubled to 
 aid in any emergency. 
 
 After them came Vernaluska, her heart hurting 
 with anxieties, both for the man who was within 
 and him who was not. Miss Emmy, Asa Simms 
 and Old Tom brought up in the rear. 
 
292 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Just within, they all stopped short from varied 
 causes. 
 
 The eyes of the man on the bed dilated, glanced 
 among them. 
 
 "Parker — alive?'* Sheriff Stannard rasped. 
 
 *'Why, yes, I think so." That Cal Parker smile 
 which yesterday Vernaluska had invoked in vain, 
 wavered around one corner of his mouth. 
 
 "But with a near-fatal wound on him somewhere, 
 which it is my professional duty to examine." The 
 pudgy practitioner recovered from the situation's 
 crux and strutted toward the patient. 
 
 "Thank you, but I have a doctor and a nurse. I 
 am satisfied — don't wish to change." 
 
 The sheriff had hectored away his surprise by a 
 noisy clearing of his throat. He now showed him- 
 self prepared for anything. 
 
 "I feared worse results from this attempt on your 
 life, Mr. Parker. 
 
 "Attempt on my life?" 
 
 "You need not fear, brother officer of the law, 
 that the guilty can escape the justice of Gettum Stan- 
 nard, at your service, any more than if you'd ac- 
 tually been finished. All you've got to do is to ac- 
 cuse; / do the rest. I await your word, sir, to do 
 my duty." 
 
 The little official drew himself up and scowled 
 effectively. 
 
 "But what duty?" Parker spoke somewhat irrita- 
 bly. 
 
 "To arrest the ruffian that drilled you, likewise 
 all that aided and abetted. I get 'em, try 'em, pun- 
 ish 'em — according to Hoyle and Blackstone. Don't 
 you fear that we're outnumbered, for my posse 
 
THE BLUEST FLAME 293 
 
 awaits without — the house is completely surrounded. 
 In view of your daring service to the community and 
 State, this here attack on you had ought to be made 
 a horrible example of. We have the word of a com- 
 petent eye-witness, but we want your declaration." 
 
 In the pause, silence tortured the seconds. Miss 
 Emmy, despite her nerve-control at the recent opera- 
 tion, was trembling. Simms's eyes, seeing In imagi- 
 nation the last demijohn of his most profitable "in- 
 side goods" turned upside down, shifted from face 
 to face. The grin had deserted Old Tom's weath- 
 ered countenance, the chuckles his throat. And Ver- 
 naluska 
 
 She felt she could not endure to look at him whose 
 life they had saved for this debacle, yet she could 
 not look away. When she saw his lips begin to 
 move, It seemed she must scream to silence his 
 words, but she listened with dread Intensity. She 
 must not resent his statement of facts, slhe re- 
 minded herself; she must be fair. He owed them 
 nothing, not even their care of him, since a life dear 
 to them must be paid for his life. He had reason to 
 hate her brother besides that of the mountain attack, 
 if all Sandy had told of the carnival was true. She 
 had witnessed his resentment against Currie for the 
 *'doctoring" of the liquor he had drunk — how much 
 more ruthless it must be against Sandy who, as she 
 understood, had pressed It upon him! 
 
 Yesterday she had called him back from the bor- 
 derland with the cry of her heart. Through his 
 flaccid lips she had poured her own life-breath, with 
 no thought but for the unutterable loss of him. Had 
 she let him cross over, had she remembered In time 
 her Influence over Currie, another explanation of 
 
294 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the accident might have been invented and estab- 
 lished — Sandy might the more easily have been 
 saved. And yet, she could not regret. And yet 
 
 Prosch had limbered his throaty tones: 
 
 *'Don't hesitate, Parker of the Revenue, don't 
 you ever hesitate ! You will be amply protected, 
 wounded though you be. I myself will stay here 
 with you until you are strong enough to move, pro- 
 vided the sheriff will leave a special guard. Name 
 the name of the man that shot you down." 
 
 "Tom Metcalf " 
 
 Parker raised his head slightly as he spoke; start- 
 ed to turn toward the door; at once collapsed from 
 the pain of the attempt. 
 
 A low moan escaped Vernaluska, as she crossed 
 to the bedside. 
 
 "Not my pappy! No, no, Cal, you don't dast 
 name my pappy!" 
 
 "The old stiller himself, eh? Thank God — at 
 last!" 
 
 "Thank me!" 
 
 The last two exclamations punctuated a scuffle at 
 the door. Instigated by Prosch and the official of sig- 
 nificant sobriquet. 
 
 "That's right, bring him closer," said Parker 
 weakly. Trying somewhat ineffectually to smile up 
 at the girl, he added: "I just wanted to make sure 
 he was among those present." 
 
 Elation, as well as his black mustache, decorated 
 the sheriff's face when, with revolver drawn, he pro- 
 duced and started to manipulate a pair of handcuffs. 
 
 "Suffering possums, what's this all about?" de- 
 manded the trapped lion in a bellow. 
 
 "Just a minute, I'll explain." Obviously the 
 
THE BLUEST FLAME 295 
 
 wounded man was making an effort to rise above his 
 condition, to command his voice. "Nobody is to be 
 arrested. You have been given a false report, sher- 
 iff. I know who made it. It was a scoundrel who, 
 for reasons of his own, would like to get the Met- 
 calfs into trouble. I guess you can take my word 
 against that of a bootlegger, can't you?" 
 
 "But what is your word? Don't fear to tell the 
 truth. Somebody must have shot." Stannard flour- 
 ished his gun by way of reassurance, the bracelets 
 dangling disappointedly in his other hand. 
 
 "Fear? I should say not! The accident came 
 from a quarrel of my own with Rex Currie. I tried 
 to take his pistol away from him and It went off In 
 the scrap. The Metcalfs really saved my life. They 
 are my friends. I feel sort of played out. Would 
 you mind excusing me now? Thank you for coming, 
 sheriff. Glad to have met you. Dr. Prosch." 
 
 When, a moment or so later, the dismissed aven- 
 gers were filing out the door, the weary voice trailed 
 after them. z 
 
 "And, say, for the love of peace and quiet, for- 
 get this revenue stuff ! As I said from the first, Fm 
 not an officer — have no connection with the gov- 
 ernment. I am — just Cal Parker — private citizen 
 — minding his own " 
 
 The brilliant eyes had drooped from utter exhaus- 
 tion when Vernaluska sank to her knees at the side 
 of the bed. A question asked awhile back demanded 
 answer. 
 
 "I — we-all believe at last," she murmured. "We 
 do believe." 
 
 Old Tom leaned toward the two from the foot- 
 piece of the bed. His voice had gentled unbeliev- 
 
296 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 ably as he said: "I just want to say, Parkenman, 
 that Sandy didn't know your drinks were buckeyed 
 tother day. He told me so. The boy may get 
 flighty, but he ain't that sort of a skunk." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear that — glad he didn't know." 
 The assurance was scarcely more than a whisper. 
 
 Miss Emmy's tribute was sobbed into her apron 
 as she followed her brother and Asa Simms out of 
 the room. 
 
 The girl Vernaluska maintained her lowly pos^ 
 ture beside the bed, hoping that her patient had 
 passed into that sleep he so sadly needed, fearing to 
 disturb him. A sudden question undeceived her. 
 
 *'Verne, you are there?" 
 
 *Tes, Cal, right here.'* 
 
 From the remembrance awakened by the inter- 
 change, he smiled a moment into her eyes, then again 
 the heavy lids dropped. Despite the pain of any 
 movement his hand stole out and touched her head, 
 smoothed It, settled on it. A quavering sigh sug- 
 gested the reward he had found In the effort, told 
 without words how, ever since that first day, he had 
 wished to touch her hair, to realize Its beauty through 
 his sensitive artist fingers, as well as by sight. 
 
 All at once his eyes opened again and blazed with 
 a look she never had seen In them before. His lips 
 moved. She leaned toward him to catch their mes- 
 sage. 
 
 "They can't put out — the bluest flame — that bums 
 — for you!" 
 
 She watched him anxiously, hoping, praying that 
 the Interview In which he had exculpated her brother 
 had not taxed him Into delirium. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 EXTRA I 
 
 Calvin Parker had become sufficiently of the 
 family to be trusted with the secret of the spring- 
 wagon bed. Otherwise he would have been puzzled 
 by the super-nervousness of Miss Emmy as she bade 
 Godspeed to her brother, to Vernaluska, and to 
 Sandyred one torrid morning two weeks after the 
 futile visit of the Dismal Gap law-bringers. 
 
 On the face of it there was nothing about a jaunt 
 over the mountains to the nearest county town in 
 Tennessee to awaken such apprehension. The roads 
 were said to be rough, It is true, but a broken axle 
 or wheel could be mended at the roadside with no 
 other price than delay. Since the little party of 
 three intended to keep to the highroad, there was 
 no danger of getting lost, even had they not made 
 the journey many times before. And, by way of a 
 "swapping" medium for the household necessities 
 which they meant to bring back, what could have 
 been more innocent than the sacks of ginseng root 
 dug by the black hand of Cotton Eye Lee? 
 
 "What you want us to tote back for you, Emmy?'' 
 
 Parker heard Old Tom put the question cheer- 
 fully, after wedging himself into the seat between 
 Vernaluska and his son, who was to handle the 
 grays. \ 
 
 "Your own selves, Tom — just tote your own 
 
 297 
 
298 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 selves back to me,'* came the good soul's reply in a 
 subdued sort of wail, her omnipresent apron held 
 in readiness to cooperate with her emotions. 
 
 The next call was aimed at the window of the room 
 which had served Parker through convalescence. 
 *'You'd calculate that we-all was going funeralin\ 
 eh, Cal? You-uns will look out for everything and 
 keep her mind offen us? Miss Emmy can worry a 
 power once she gets started. Seeing all goes well, 
 we'll be back as long as to-morrow-day noon." 
 
 In the light of Parker's understanding, he ac- 
 cepted this commission. When, however, he real- 
 ized later from her rejoinders that he could not keep 
 her mind "offen" the secret of their vehicle, he in- 
 vited her attention "onto" it. 
 
 What could be more clever than that false bot- 
 tom built into the spring-wagon, he argued; what 
 more deceptive than the green paint which, with his 
 facility at colors, he had helped Sandyred mix to 
 match the original bed, lately rebuilt? Were not the 
 seams of the Inner vat so carefully calked with yarn 
 that not a telltale drop of the many gallons of 
 "blockade" being escorted to market could trickle 
 through? 
 
 &ut Miss Emmy's mood continued morose. She 
 "suffered under powerful intuitions" that day, she 
 told him. 
 
 That the three had gone armed augured a fear of 
 trouble along the way. That Tom had pressed a 
 revolver upon Parker, by way of home defense, 
 suggested unnamed possibHitles. Rex Currie's de- 
 fection in the report of the shooting continued to 
 oppress her mind — Rex, whom she had "handed 
 victuals" for so many years. His Immediate knowl- 
 
EXTRA! . 299 
 
 edge of the workings of the still and the probable 
 date of completion of this last batch hung like a 
 pall over her. 
 
 Vainly did the out-Norther assume for her bene- 
 fit a confidence which he did not feel. Vainly did 
 he point that the process had been rushed to com- 
 pletion hours ahead of time. The intense humidity, 
 presaging a downpour which threatened the comfort 
 of her loved ones, he called a good omen. Was it not 
 to outspeed the storm and avoid the later delay of 
 muddy roads that the expedition had started two 
 whole days earlier than at first considered possible? 
 
 The work of clearing away all traces of recent 
 activity at the mountain still might safely be en- 
 trusted to Cotton Eye. She must not suspect that 
 everyone was a traitor just because Currie had been. 
 The black man, he assured her, was partisan to the 
 last volt of the quart of "electricity," which was to 
 be his bonus for a faithful discharge of the commis- 
 sion. 
 
 Not a sound or hoof-track of surveillance had 
 been detected through the active past week, he re- 
 minded her, either by Sandy or Verne, who had rid- 
 den guard over the finishing process. The sacks 
 of roots should satisfy the curiosity of any one 
 met on the road as to the object of the trip. Once 
 across the State line, adequate protection would be 
 supplied by the *'blind pigs" whose store was to be 
 replenished. This wholesale, wagon-bed traffic into 
 Tennessee, rather than the retail bootlegging of the 
 past, was assuredly a master policy. The wagon 
 itself was a triumph, the departure from precedent a 
 stroke to upset any preparedness of the Dismal Gap 
 drys. 
 
300 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Miss Emmy tried — he could see that — ^but she 
 did not cheer. Through the open door in the living- 
 room, he could hear her muttering fragments remi- 
 niscent of the hymnal and prayer-book as she under- 
 took the task upon whose completion she had set 
 her faithful heart by way of surprising the family 
 on their home return. 
 
 The finishing touch to their great annual clean- 
 ing, perhaps the most terrible joy of mountain house- 
 wives, had been postponed in favor of the greater 
 issue. Half re-papered, the living-room had been 
 left In a state of negligee by the younger pair, to 
 whom was usually entrusted the fine art of its deco- 
 ration. The spinster's devout utterances were now 
 and then profaned by the vocal perusal of head- 
 lines from this or that newspaper or pictorial, a 
 supply of which Sandy had procured for the 
 wall-covering process on his last visit to the 
 Gap. 
 
 Evidently feeling the responsibility of supervision 
 over the night-readings of those advanced youthful 
 minds, she puttered about among stacks of *'lltera- 
 ture"; created, at last, a selected pile; clipped and 
 muttered, muttered and clipped this into convenient 
 strips. In the kitchen she prepared a "wash-hand 
 bovv^l" of flour paste, sopped into it with the hearth 
 brush of wild sedge; puffed from floor to bench and 
 back again in her neat applications. 
 
 The convalescent found relief rather than of- 
 fense In her preference for being alone with her anx- 
 ieties, her prayers and her work. It gave him a 
 chance to think out certain personal issues which 
 had been pushed aside by the one great question of 
 the week. 
 
EXTRA! 301 
 
 In the first place, why had Verne driven with her 
 menfolk over the line that day? 
 
 He knew she had not intended to go, also that 
 her company was not desired by them for reasons 
 of her own comfort and safety. Several times he 
 had heard them planning the rest she should have, 
 once the "bumblings" were started on their way. 
 
 Parker had noted her exhaustion from the phys- 
 ical and mental overstrain when she had ridden in 
 from a long-hour day of scouting in the saddle. 
 Vigorously he had cursed the contretemps which in- 
 capacitated him from shouldering her task himself. 
 He had begrudged every hour to the time when she 
 might relax, had anticipated the departure of the 
 two men as creating opportunity for a semi-explana- 
 tion which had come to seem the most important 
 event on his calendar. 
 
 And last night, during the brief general gathering 
 In his room, which had come to be habitual, the end 
 of his near-Arcadia had come so suddenly that he 
 could scarce realize he was now without the gates. 
 
 Verne had announced and defended her intention 
 to go along. She needed things, she declared — a 
 dress, hat, some books — what not. Did they think 
 a girl was satisfied to stay shut-in forever? She 
 wanted her share of the fun as well as the work. 
 She had made up her mind to go; they ought to 
 know what that meant. She was going to go. 
 
 This, as a climax, had followed an announce- 
 ment of his own, dropped like a bomb Into Sandy's 
 repinings that they were so soon to be changed 
 from afiluent outlaws into impecunious tar-heels — 
 these varied by Old Tom's sly Insistence that they 
 wouldn't "tar-heel It long" after he got his flames 
 
302 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 a-burning. Once the matter of that last distillation 
 had been brought to a satisfactory close, Parker 
 had said, he must leave them for a trip of his own 
 — a trip to New York. At the protest of his most 
 devoted admirer, the recalled Sandyred, he had as- 
 sured them that they were far from seeing the last 
 of him. He would be back, and that shortly. 
 
 From the perspective of to-day he could see the 
 cause back of Verne's sudden determination. Her 
 suppression of any comment, her avoidance of his 
 eyes, the slow flush that had shown through her 
 tan, then as slowly receded, her refusal to enter his 
 room alone when, early this morning, he had called 
 her — all filled him with pain only endurable from the 
 joy that throbbed through it. He had so hoped that 
 her fleeings had ceased. And this morning, dressed 
 in the organdie frock with lavender sash which she 
 once had boasted, its splendors protected by a de- 
 mure gray cape, she had run away — from him! 
 
 There could be no doubt about it. Not one good- 
 by smile had she directed through the window from 
 under the wide straw hat, trimmed with roses^ which 
 had made her look so unusually lovely. 
 
 Verne distrusted him again — and this time on a 
 subject which she would not discuss. Whether she 
 realized or not, she must care something for him, 
 else why that pumping upward of her heart's blood 
 at mention of his plan to go away? 
 
 Doubtless she had heard gossip from Dismal Gap 
 anent his engagement to the recent fair visitor — a 
 tidbit of news circulated by that medium more com- 
 prehensive than the press. Mistress Hootie Plott. 
 She would connect this with her memory of Sylvia's 
 photograph and with his assurance that she of the 
 
EXTRA! 303 
 
 childlike expression was a ''woman grown," that her 
 he respected above all women, except for what she 
 would consider the sake of his "manners" — her- 
 self. 
 
 He could see it all now. In those first few hours 
 of his recovery, before Miss Emmy had been pressed 
 into the post of substitute nurse and Verne freed 
 for more taxing duties outside, she probably had 
 noticed the words in his eyes, In the touch of his hand 
 — the words he did not speak. She had waited until 
 last night, in the supposition that something real, 
 something definite was to come of his suppressed 
 feeling for her. But since his statement that he was 
 about to leave the region, she had concluded herself 
 the victim of illusion, him a predatory male. 
 
 If Verne had her way, he told himself, he prob» 
 ably would not have one private word with her bee 
 fore he left. Well, he would not go without it—* 
 that was all I There was not much he could say 
 without getting the whole host of dead-and-gone 
 Parkers and Calvins down on him. But just one 
 little reassuring word, one last plea for the benefit 
 of doubt which before she had granted, one look 
 from his craving soul when they were quite alone — 
 these he would have, even though he broke the let- 
 ter of the inherited law. It crucified him to have 
 Verne doubt him again. 
 
 Fortunate, he thought, that he had formed the 
 habit early in life of having his own way ! He grinned 
 every time he remembered how he had started out in 
 the early morn of that last eventful day abroad, 
 driven by the determination to "insist" himself into 
 the Metcalf household. Well, he had done it, hadn't 
 he? 
 
304 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 He must get things settled, he now adjured himself 
 impatiently; must get Verne and himself started on 
 the long, radiant together-path, he to help her, she 
 him. There need be no delay about going to Fall- 
 away Rim to pack, since, several days before, in 
 pretended anxiety lest his friends, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Boomer, need food, and in real anxiety over his 
 masterpiece portrait of Verne, he had sent Cotton 
 Eye Lee on a carting expedition. Best of all, he was 
 jbeginning to feel fit physically, although that "drill'' 
 of Sandyred's had come mighty close to the heart. 
 His convalescence had been rapid beyond all cal- 
 culation. He took satisfaction In his rallying capac- 
 ity, made possible by his natural endowment of 
 strength and stamina, to a large measure restored 
 by his comparatively abstemious weeks at the cabin. 
 Then, too, a man with hope In every pulse-beat had 
 every recuperative chance In his favor. 
 
 The wound had proved to be a clean one, al- 
 though the variation of a fraction of an inch In 
 Its placement would have closed his life account 
 wath the entry ^'instantly killed." Once the shock 
 of It and of the subsequent probing operation was 
 over, once his fever was spent, there had been noth- 
 ing to Interfere with Its speedy closing. Now he 
 resolved to call upon the reserve battalions of his 
 will to hurry him toward recovery. 
 
 "Miss Emmy!'' 
 
 Several minutes later, the summons brought the 
 spinster to the spare-room door and something of 
 a shock. Her charge, no longer bath-robe garbed, 
 but fully dressed, was trying his strength back and 
 forth across the room. 
 
 "After our-all care over you, that's no way to 
 
EXTRA! 305 
 
 be doing," she protested, advancing toward him, a 
 goodly bulk of Indignation. "Now, you'd best lie 
 down in bed awhile and rest up after '* 
 
 "Never not!" 
 
 He grinned down at her, always diverted over 
 helping himself to the dialect which had come to 
 sing all the music of the spheres to him. 
 
 "I'm through," he continued, "with all unseason- 
 able use of beds and bedding — they weren't intend- 
 ed for daytime. The air's stifling in here around 
 noon. I'm going to sit a while In the living-room.'* 
 
 "Tom allowed you-uns were a right tame person," 
 she deplored, "else he'd never have left you in the 
 hands of one weak woman." 
 
 "But a woman who is sensible and Is going to 
 help me get well in the quickest way. I don't want 
 to take any unfair advantage of you, dear Miss 
 Emmy, but you mustn't take advantage of me, and 
 It Is doing just that to make me stay In here playing 
 invalid. Come, I'll enjoy my trip from this room 
 into that so much more if you'll agree with me ! 
 Don't you think It will do me good to have a not- 
 too-decided change of climate If I'm quiet and blatty 
 and lamblike?" 
 
 "Will you Bible-oath It?" 
 
 "Cross my heart and hope to " 
 
 "Sh! Best not hope that when we-all have just 
 done raised you." 
 
 "Hope to live, I was about to say." 
 
 The Parker persuasiveness proved too much for 
 a lady who had spent the greater part of her life 
 accommodating herself to the superior will of two 
 young Insurgents of her own. 
 
 "You-uns have got such common ways!" she ex- 
 
3o6 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 claimed, as she bustled about the living-room, to 
 miss none of the balsam and goose-feather cushions 
 in her collection. 
 
 Parker took no offense at her expression; he rec- 
 ognized it as a compliment — her way of declaring 
 him one of them. 
 
 Tom's huge chair she tugged to a place beside 
 the window. The cushions she prodded around her 
 charge as he settled into it. She stood off to re- 
 gard him, by some mental process seeming to have 
 mixed the origination of the moving idea. 
 
 *'So la, you do look a whole heap better already, 
 just like I claimed you would! Sit your hunkers 
 there and talk to me while I finish up this pasting job. 
 I must say it's as sticky and slow as molass' in the 
 winter-time, but it will be right smart of a surprise 
 to Verney to find it finished." 
 
 With pride and anxiety struggling for precedence 
 on her comely face, she gestured over the wall lately 
 decorated. 
 
 *'A11 of it I got right end up," she continued, 
 ^'leaving out the picture of yon lady with the out- 
 landish hat. She has got a right upset look. The 
 fine reading that was printed around her, I pasted 
 nigh against the window. You-uns can read it easy 
 there, the light comes in so strong." 
 
 She paused, noting that her audience of one 
 seemed to be distracted. After giving that "upset'* 
 picture a glance, he had leaned to read the fine print 
 indicated as "nigh against" the window before which 
 he sat. 
 
 "Likely you would enjoy the news, being an out- 
 sider!" she apologized for his inattention, more as 
 if to herself than him. "One thing, it ain't never 
 
EXTRA ! 307 
 
 stale, seeing as we-all house-clean twice a year. San- 
 dy In partic'lar ain't got no patience reading last 
 year's papers when we might just as well " 
 
 Snatching the very word with which she stopped, 
 Parker reentered the conversation. 
 
 ''Well, I'm damned!" 
 
 Her righteous stare rebuked him. 
 
 *'I mean I— I'm blest!" 
 
 His succeeding utterances were intense as, with 
 hands reached out to push aside the curtains of pine- 
 cones, he leaned down to read toward the base- 
 board. 
 
 "It's from the Herald. No doubt it's true. Say, 
 Miss Emmy, that intuition you were suffering from 
 is right — something is going to happen! Can't you 
 stop them?" 
 
 He got to his feet and strode toward her ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 "Stop them? Stop who?" 
 
 "Verne, Sandy — your brother! But of course 
 you can't. There Isn't a telephone or — or anything. 
 I suppose there's nothing to do but wait. My God, 
 I shall stifle from this combination of heat and In- 
 activity!" 
 
 Although not exactly relieved, he was diverted 
 by the sound of footsteps shuffling across the porch. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 SHORT WARNING 
 
 Abide-With-Me Shortoff was standing on the 
 door-sill, peering in, the manner and look of him 
 furtive. 
 
 "You, Bide?" Miss Emmy's superfluous remark 
 was none too cordial. 
 
 '*Hello, Shortoff," said Parker. 'Tou surprised 
 us. How's the corn doing?" 
 
 The mountain farmer crossed the room to a stand 
 before his one-time neighbor. There was obvious 
 excitement behind his somewhat irrelated remarks. 
 
 'Tm watching it grow. Admire to see you-uns 
 up again. I left Sally hoeing over the hilltop, but 
 she'll soon miss me and like as not follow. It's 
 right hard having to work with a woman, eat with 
 her, sleep with her — never get away. She's a dinged 
 sight worse than the conscience she allows I've done 
 got along so far without. But I'd best be wagging 
 my tongue. I be ready, Parker, to talk business. 
 Have you got some on your hip — some to sell?" 
 
 "Some what, my friend?" 
 
 Parker reseated himself and indicated a chair for 
 the visitor. But Bide seemed in no mood for rest. 
 He shuffled after the younger man and leaned over 
 him, his fingers twisting and untwisting. 
 
 "You-uns ain't got no call to be afeard of me. 
 IVe come here to pay you a favor if you'll pay me 
 
 308 
 
SHORT WARNING 309 
 
 one back. I got the wherewithal at last to buy a 
 jug of the juice. Made it beating straws for Rex 
 Currie down to the carnival. Hid it in a holler tree 
 afore I came home, so Sal ain't wise. Tom knows 
 I ben't no dry at heart. As for you-uns, I was cer- 
 tain sure from first sight that you wa'n't no reve- 
 nuer." 
 
 He slunk one hand into a side pocket of his baggy 
 jeans and suggestively jangled a small collection of 
 coin. 
 
 "There ain't no time to lose." He cast an uneasy 
 glance toward the door. *'She's likely trailing me, 
 I tell you. If you-uns got any handy, leave me have 
 It, so's I can slip outen the back." 
 
 "And what's this favor you've got to swap?" 
 
 "The drys are plumb onto you. The real revenue 
 slicks have done arrived." 
 
 Bide evidently thought direct thrust the speediest 
 course toward the end he so devoutly desired. 
 
 With a chirp as of a menaced mother-bird, Miss 
 Emmy sought a chair. "There's been premonitions 
 using in my head for days. Before come the light 
 of this morning I woke up with a feeling that " 
 
 Its exact nature was bagged in her apron. 
 
 "Real slicks?" Parker started to laugh, then, 
 from certain crowding fears of his own, as well as 
 from respect for those of the anxious relative, con- 
 trolled himself. "How do you know. Bide? What 
 are they going to do?" 
 
 "I squeezed it easy-like outen Sal. With a peart 
 wife a married man's got to lead a kind of tricky 
 life — leastways he's obliged to if ever he hopes to 
 get a few swigs on the quiet. Them new foreign- 
 ers carry papers from the gover'ment and badges 
 
310 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 and a right smart say-so. There's going to be a 
 soon raid, and they've done offered a reward to the 
 guide as can show them a short-cut. This here warn- 
 ing shows I'm wet all through, don't it? My hide 
 wouldn't be worth tanning nohow if Sal caught me 
 giving it. Considering as how to-morrow's going 
 to be too late, will you sell me that jug or " 
 
 *'Your hide's worse than tanned a-ready!" 
 
 The interruption announced a calico streak that 
 had slithered through the door into their midst. 
 Sally Shortoff, woodswoman and militant wife, de- 
 scended upon her refractory mate. 
 
 With a shrill cry he so inappropriately named 
 leaped for the nearest of the several rear doors. 
 But he was stopped short In the accomplishment of 
 retreat. 
 
 "Best wait a minute, Bide — I'm gunned, and a 
 powerful good husband-hitter at that." 
 
 In view of the shotgun bearing upon him, Bide 
 turned body and mind to escape other than by way 
 of his legs. 
 
 *'Nobody's earned a better right to shoot down 
 a man-hound than his own wife," she commented in 
 tempered approval. *'Now you step lively along 
 of me and make some fire-wood. I'll see to it you 
 do chores close to the cabin until after — leastways 
 until I say. Reckon you won't need a dose of the 
 county jail along with the rest of the law-breakers 
 and liars — not after I get through with you." 
 
 Judging himself referred to, Parker responded 
 with a pleasantry. *'And how does our fair man- 
 tamer find herself this afternoon?" 
 
 The outraged expression on her soda-blscult face, 
 belied any generic weakness for flattery. 
 
SHORT WARNING 311 
 
 "Able to struggle along under the cross of he- 
 traitors, praise God!" she replied, her rich drawl 
 crisped. *'May He lam you like you deserve — He 
 knows I've got my hands full with Bide. If I keep 
 my own man dry — and I'm aiming to or kill the no- 
 'count critter what I took for better instead of 
 worse — I'll be entitled to my crown o' glory. All 
 I got to say to you-uns Is you'd best break away from 
 that Jezebel Verney what's done sirened you while 
 yet there is time." 
 
 *'But my dear lady " 
 
 Evidently she was in no mood for the Parker 
 manners. 
 
 "La, you needn't waste breath denying it! Just 
 have a care, say I. This here ain't no country to be 
 trifling with females, nohow. Such as ain't able to 
 look after their own rights, gets 'em looked after 
 by others, and Tom Metcalf, if he keeps out of jail 
 long enough, will have you nagging with that she- 
 kin of his'n along to a minister of the Gospel before 
 you can save your " 
 
 "Sally Shortoff, you git up and outen here!'* 
 
 Something more threatening than the shot- 
 gun faced the lady of advices — a fair, fat 
 and forty tigress in defense of her own. 
 "Don't you dast bandy the name of our Verney, 
 or I'll " 
 
 "Scant need of my bandying.'* The gangly 
 woman folded her arms against her barren breasts 
 as she outstared the buxom one. "All the Gappers 
 know, and likely all their cousins and their second 
 cousins know what's been going on up here. None 
 blames Rex Currie for leaving the pretty jade in 
 the lurch. There's maybe more to Verney's smiles 
 
312 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 than you see. I got a right to say my say, for none 
 can claim / ain't filling my virtue vows." 
 
 To a glance of Infinite love toward him she had 
 just assailed, she added a command: "Slope along, 
 now, you critter, what I'm going to learn, sure 
 enough, to abide with me!'* 
 
 Bide "sloped." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 to-night's the night 
 
 Cal Parker helped Miss Emmy get supper that 
 evening, as was fitting, in view of the fact that he 
 consumed so much of it. To get square on his feet 
 — that was now his greatest concern. The invalid 
 role should hold him not another day or night. 
 
 With pity he observed that the devoted soul 
 struggled for what cheer she showed, so heavy was 
 the weight of w^orry on her shoulders. At every 
 sound she started with dread for what might be 
 about to be, shivered from relief over what was 
 not. So often did her apprehensive eyes con- 
 sult the clock during the long-drawn-out hours, 
 that many stitches were dropped in the hug-me-tight, 
 she was knitting to fit the manly proportions of San- 
 dyred. Her devoutly moving lips showed that her 
 attention was more upon prayer for the safety of the 
 absentees than the conversation of her patient- 
 guest. 
 
 From Miss Emmy, Parker got a better Idea of 
 what Verne must have suffered through her recent 
 years of effort to get the family within the law 
 than from anything the girl herself had said or 
 done. In vain he assured her that the heat was 
 oppressing her more than any likelihood of catas- 
 trophe, that the excursionists into Tennessee would 
 return betimes, with money jingling as gaily as Old 
 
 313 
 
314 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Tom's reiterated assurance that the newer, safer 
 life should start on that day. 
 
 It was her nature to rejoice over small mercies, 
 she declared; yet she "Intuited" that something had 
 gone amiss. The fact that Cotton Eye Lee, sent 
 early In the day to clear out all traces of the tem- 
 porary still, had not returned by bedtime did noth- 
 ing toward dispelling these forebodings. Neither 
 was she cheered by Parker's request that she dress 
 his shoulder with bandages which she pronounced 
 unnecessarily taut and heavy. 
 
 Wontedly the earliest riser In the house, she found 
 only a note to greet her when, shortly after day- 
 break, she roused from a troubled sleep. 
 
 Gone with Cotton to the clearing house. Hope to beat 
 your intuitions back. 
 
 Calvin Parker. 
 
 One word of this message was fiction. Parker 
 had not gone with Cotton, but after him. When 
 his early investigation of the barn had showed the 
 presence of neither the black man nor the white 
 mule, he had rewarded the greetings of Teetotaler 
 with a one-armed saddle-and-brldle throw. 
 
 Later, a vehement hee-haw from Solomon pre- 
 ceded the sight of the little hybrid tied to a tree at 
 the base of Grumbly Bald. The mule snorted and 
 jerked at his rope with unusual irritation, evidently 
 having suffered there all night. With nostrils 
 a-qulver, he seemed to be trying to impart some com- 
 plaint. 
 
 "What's the matter, old chap?" Teetotaler's 
 whinnies asked In equine parlance. "Are you just 
 
TO-NIGHT'S THE NIGHT 315 
 
 upset with all-overs after a bad night, or are you, 
 Solomon, really wise to something gone wrong?" 
 
 At least, thus Parker chose to interpret the ex- 
 change. He gave the mule water from the near-by 
 branch, then took both animals in lead. Turning 
 into the rhododendron thicket at the spot where he 
 had been so unexpectedly and so near-fatally halt- 
 ed on the occasion of his last visit, he had small diffi- 
 culty in locating the improvised manufactory of con- 
 traband, as he had since been entrusted with full 
 details of the wood-craft that covered it. 
 
 After tying the animals outside, he stooped and 
 peered through what served as doorway. Beside 
 the temporary, rock-built furnace, lay the object 
 of his search — Cotton Eye Lee, with arms out- 
 stretched, head thrown back, mouth agape. 
 
 Parker reached the prone figure at one bound, 
 and dropped to his knees for an examination — a 
 certain experience of his own having fore-place In 
 his mind. At once he congratulated himself that 
 his right arm, grown incredibly strong from guid- 
 ance of his wall-eyed steed, had not been the one 
 disabled by Sandy's bit of lead. He gripped the 
 negro's jumper and began a jouncing calculated to 
 recall to sensibility any one not actually dead. Ef- 
 fect of this muscular alarm was slow; but eventually 
 Cotton Eye groaned, batted his lids, forced them 
 sufficiently open for recognition. 
 
 "Leave me be, you Infernal revenuer!" he pro- 
 tested. "You ain't no call to be grappling me. 
 You're sick abed!" 
 
 Naturally Parker omitted to obey. "YouVe the 
 one that's abed. Get up ! You haven't started the 
 work you were sent to do. What do you mean — 
 
3i6 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 lying around in this condition when time is so im- 
 portant?" 
 
 Cotton Eye sat up, a species of indignation com- 
 ing to the fore of his lethargy. "Ain't every in- 
 ebriated genuFman got the natural-born right to 
 sleep it off?" 
 
 There was no apology In this admission of the 
 sad truth. There were, rather, signs of pride as 
 well as debauch in the look of him. 
 
 *'Where did you get the makings of a jag?" 
 
 Parker put the question in sincere perplexity. 
 Tom had promised his dusky aide a quart of bum- 
 blings, but as a reward after the task of "busting 
 up" had been accomplished, and had taken care that 
 every drop of the last distillation had been removed 
 beyond his reach. 
 
 The answer in words was succinct, but expanded 
 by a proudful grin. 
 
 "Sniffin's!" 
 
 "Sniffings ? You mean to say that you " 
 
 "That no man needs drink, nohow, w^hen he can 
 sniff. Prognosticate your head inside yon covered 
 tub, cap'n; yank the top clost around; pull your 
 coat up to stuff the cracks; then keep a-sniffin\ deep 
 and long. There ain't no need, as I can observate, 
 for the fumes to travel down the throat and then up 
 again to the head when by sniffin' them strong, they'll 
 go straight up." 
 
 Parker stared at the brazen propounder of this 
 discovery, then did sniff at the quandom container. 
 The strong reek of uncured liquor which assailed 
 his nostrils supported the claim of the black. With 
 a stem front, he turned upon tlie delinquent, still 
 sitting his haunches with the receptive attitude of 
 
TO-NIGHT'S THE NIGHT 317 
 
 one awaiting congratulations due after the accom- 
 plishment of something worth while against great 
 odds. 
 
 "I'd hate to be in your shoes when Old Tom hears 
 how you've betrayed your trust." 
 
 ''But you-uns can't tell him I've drunk anything. 
 I ain't had a nary drop — only sniffin's. Ain't every 
 living man judmatically entitled to sniffin's, 
 cap'n?" 
 
 Impatiently Parker interrupted the defensive 
 whine. "Get your worthless body right side up, 
 according to the law of gravity; douse your befud- 
 dled head Into -" 
 
 The irrepressible just naturally had to interrupt 
 because of two words he never had heard before. 
 
 "Gravity — gravity," he mumbled. "Befuddled 
 —defud " 
 
 Parker was not to be stopped. "You'll dip it 
 into the pail of water I bring from the creek and 
 get yourself ready to help me wipe this blockade 
 factory off the face of the map before It's too 
 late." 
 
 His energetic start was stopped at the door by 
 a raucous laugh. From the bush outside, Rex Cur- 
 rie straightened his considerable self, the look of 
 the laugh on his face. 
 
 "It's too late already for you, but not for me," 
 he taunted. 
 
 Parker's free hand flashed to his hip; he pulled 
 up, ready for the finish of the iight. To his amaze- 
 ment, however, Currie made no hostile move, his 
 eyes busy with the details of the still house. All 
 of a sudden the hillbilly's whole scheme flashed 
 through Parker's brain, made him see redder than 
 
3i8 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 the buckeye juice which had reduced him to impulse 
 at the carnival. He forgot his wound — everything 
 except the lust to grapple with and destroy this moun- 
 tain enemy who was always In the way, whose am- 
 bition was, through treachery, to gain the reward of 
 the world. 
 
 *'Too latej, Currie? Your watch Is fast — ^It's 
 never too late by mine !" he challenged, and sprang 
 into attack. 
 
 The hillbilly, despite the advantage In his favor, 
 did not meet the issue. Mayhap he had learned 
 discretion of valor in that other combat on the cabin 
 ledge. More likely he had attained his object in 
 the definite location of the removed Metcalf still 
 with the presence of Parker In the role of destroyer. 
 Assuredly, If they ever got Cotton Eye to court, 
 they could cpunt on him as witness, black weather- 
 vane that he was. Howbelt, In a flash, Currie dis- 
 appeared Into the brush. 
 
 Parker, not wishing to shoot unless necessary, 
 followed close until he saw his quarry's horse wait- 
 ing with dropped bridle on the semi-trail that led to 
 the cabin. Realizing that, unmounted, he would 
 lose the race at its start, he turned back and put 
 himself to reach Teetotaler In the shortest possible 
 time. 
 
 The chances were against him, as he realized. 
 Before he was In the saddle, Currie must have 
 reached the highway. The speed of his one-eyed 
 mount was never that of a pace-setter, and now 
 seemed fated to be retarded. 
 
 At each low growl of the thunder which was In- 
 termittently uttering promises of relief from the 
 heat, Tee would balk, shudder, and essay a bolt 
 
TO-NIGHT'S THE NIGHT 319 
 
 toward the Metcalf barn. It took vigilance and 
 a grip of steel to hold him reasonably straight. 
 
 Certain that Currie was on his way to the au- 
 thorities to ''turncoat" on the Metcalfs, Parker's 
 mind was intolerant of the chances against him. He 
 wanted Currie, and drove his beast as never be- 
 fore. 
 
 Just once, as he thundered around a curve In the 
 forest-fringed road, did he sight the family enemy 
 ahead. Instantly he was reminded of the revolver 
 which Old Tom, on leaving for the trip across the 
 mountains, had pressed upon him. Averse as he 
 was to gun-play, he dropped rein long enough to 
 send several warnings ahead. Although, as he had 
 noticed, Currie was armed, no reply barked back. 
 
 Teetotaler was uncommonly sound of wind, and 
 put the next two miles behind him at satisfactory 
 speed. This brought them to the valley where the 
 road straightened out to a considerable view. 
 
 Yet there was no sign of the pursued; nothing 
 animated except a light-colored team which ap- 
 proached at leisurely gait along the road that turned 
 Into the highway for a final dip into Dismal Gap. 
 To Parker It seemed Impossible that Currie could 
 have outdistanced him so greatly. The driver of 
 the team was a possible source of Information, and 
 he spurred ahead to cut short the time of waiting. 
 On drawing nearer, he recognized the railroad 
 stage, with Tobe Riker on the box. Early as It 
 seemed for the mail, he wasted no questions. 
 
 *'Did you see Rex Currie cut past toward Dis- 
 mal?" he demanded as he pulled up. 
 
 *'Nope — hair nor hide of nobody. Leastwise, 
 not yet." 
 
320 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 "Not yet? Did you expect to see him?" 
 
 ^'Wouldn't have surprised me none.'* 
 
 "Nor me. IVe been hot after him for half an 
 hour. He can't have headed me far." 
 
 "What you chasing Rex for?" 
 
 Something akin to guilt — at least of self-con- 
 sciousness — behind this question made Parker give 
 the noncommittal driver a sharp glance. 
 
 "Come across, yourself, Rikerl Why did you 
 say seeing him wouldn't have surprised you any? 
 Why have you lashed your horses into foam and 
 then slowed them near this crossing?" 
 
 The little whip scanned the horizon, watched 
 a hawk in its volplaning, then delivered himself of 
 another enigmatic reply. 
 
 " 'Pears like it's worth my while to believe In 
 signs — I'm chasing them." 
 
 Parker left off considering him In favor of the 
 situation. If Riker was telling theXnith — and from 
 his carnival overture there seemed no reason why 
 he should not — the hillbilly must be lurking some- 
 where behind him. Should he ride further toward 
 Dismal and lie In wait or carry his search back- 
 ward? 
 
 "I got a small passel of news this morning that'll 
 likely make you-uns set up," the driver volunteered. 
 "There come a pair of sure-enough revenue shcks 
 to the Gap yesterday." 
 
 "That's stale news," Parker snapped. "I sup- 
 pose that they, too, have slowed down, also being 
 believers In signs?" 
 
 The driver threw a frightened glance around. 
 "Can't say as I get you." 
 
 "I mean, Riker, that they, as well as you, are 
 
TO-NIGHT'S THE NIGHT 321 
 
 waiting for Currie to locate the Metcalf still, when 
 they intend to swoop up and arrest Old Tom and 
 Sandy and me, an accessory, if they can get their 
 hands on us. I mean that you are a more miserable 
 turncoat than Currie ever dreamed of being. To 
 think that any man, for the sake of twenty-five dol- 
 lars " 
 
 ''Don't you call me cuss-names! I won't leave 
 smy man insult me to my face, even if " 
 
 *'Even if," Parker insisted, determined to sub- 
 stantiate the conclusions which had come to him, 
 ■"you are hired to wait around and help him help 
 himself to Miss Metcalf." 
 
 "Who — who told you that?" 
 
 *'You did, in spite of your care not to! 
 He's been insinuating into her mind all along that 
 she, too, is likely to be arrested. He hopes to 
 stampede her, through fear, into an escape with 
 him. I thought that you admired her your- 
 self?" 
 
 The swain nodded. ^'That's why I gave you a 
 chance to take a hand to save her." 
 
 "And if I didn't take a hand, you'd see Currie 
 through his contemptible scheme?" 
 
 "When you've clean run outen hope of getting 
 a girl," the driver offered in mournful excuse, "it 
 don't matter much which other man gets her. I'd 
 rather it wouldn't be Rex; but I could do with the 
 twenty-five. Of course Rex allows Verney will 
 splice up with him to get her good name back, onct 
 it's gone by his taking her to Tennessee. He's a 
 double-dealing dog, sure enough. I'd kinda hoped 
 that you-uns, as she seemed to take a shine to at 
 first sight " 
 
322 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The flow of RIker's speech was arrested by Par- 
 ker's expression. 
 
 The latter stood in his stirrups, peering toward 
 the high-line of the horizon. There a pillar of 
 smoke lifted Into the low-hanging sky. 
 
 "Looks to be on Fallaway Rim!" he exclaimed. 
 ^'There's nothing around there to burn except — 
 My cabin must be afire !'* 
 
 Riker turned on the box, peered, straightway 
 yielded to excitements of his own. 
 
 *'It's the signal, by gum ! Dry Dryden gave 'em 
 leave to burn her as a contribution to the cause and 
 a judgment on you for foohng them so long. Cur- 
 rle's done found the still, and the posse will soon 
 be on the way. I'd best be skitting along, stranger.'* 
 
 Having gathered up his reins, he paused, then 
 lowered a cautious word, as if fearful that his 
 splotch-freckled grays might hear. 
 
 "To-night's the night I was telling you about. 
 By dark I'm to be waiting at the mouth of Roaring 
 Fork. If the man what hires me loses a piece of 
 baggage along the way, that hadn't ought to cut 
 the driver's price none, had it? I'm counting on 
 you to act, Mr. C. A. Parker, of New York!" 
 
 Act he must, and at once. Parker did not need 
 to be told that. He fully realized it. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE BALD GRUMBLES 
 
 As the lumbersome vehicle, which once before 
 had upset him and his calculations, went spinning 
 down the road, Parker readjusted his plan. No 
 need now to intercept Currie on his way to Dismal 
 Gap, since the news of his discovery already had 
 been waved to them on a sky-high banner of smoke. 
 No time was there to waste, searching for a hillbilly 
 in the woods he knew so well, nor strength to spare 
 over the personal indulgence of conquering him 
 single-handed. 
 
 The revenue officers who were to inspect the evi- 
 dence of the Metcalf guilt would soon start on their 
 way. For the time being, Verne was safe with her 
 father and brother, probably driving back with them 
 somewhere along the mountain road from Tennes- 
 see. There was one chief thing left for him to 
 attempt. Turning Teetotaler, he struck into the 
 back-track. 
 
 ^'If you and I are up to it," he urged the horse, 
 "those 'infernals' won't find any evidence or take 
 any prisoners, and Lochinvar Currie will elope by 
 himself — if able to go at all!" 
 
 Everything in nature showed offense at his deci- 
 sion. It would seem that Old Tom, who had ad- 
 vanced his last blockade trip because of a coming 
 "stem-twister," was about to be proved a prophet 
 
 323 
 
324 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 with honor In his own land. The foregoing oppres- 
 sively sultry night had been followed by a day of 
 unwonted heat. Although no breath of wind re- 
 lieved the drooping green things along the woodsy 
 road, more frequent rumbles shuddered the altitudes. 
 Ink-dark clouds formed low, only to scatter down- 
 ward In making way for darker ones above. Not a 
 squirrel or rabbit was abroad, It seemed; nor could 
 chirp of feathered thing be heard. In the portent, 
 all-pervasive hush, the thud of the piebald's hoofs 
 sounded like defiance to high command. 
 
 Parker held his left shoulder stiffly and high 
 against the jolt of his going, mindful that he must 
 not undo the work of those who had cared for him. 
 The prospect of a rain-storm exhilarated him. No 
 drenching, he felt, could chill blood at boiling heat, 
 as was his. To-day's realization of the whole pains- 
 taking scheme to seize that night what to Parker 
 was the most precious thing on earth 
 
 At mere thought of Currle's intention his mood 
 made that of nature seem a childish pet. 
 
 His attempt to turn in at the branch brought 
 vigorous protest from Teetotaler, who had stretched 
 himself willingly to that point. Obviously the pro- 
 test came from fear of the oncoming storm and hope 
 of stable shelter. The turn was made, however, and 
 soon the sight of Solomon, tugging at the rope which 
 held him prisoner among the rhododendrons, re- 
 warded him. 
 
 On re-entering the still-house, Parker's disappoint- 
 ment was keen. The black had done nothing observ- 
 able, except adjust himself to a sitting posture, his 
 back planted against the stone furnace. 
 
 "Get up and fall to, you sloth I" 
 
THE BALD GRUMBLES 325 
 
 Parker put an exclamation point to this command 
 with the toe of his boot. 
 
 "Slorh — sloth," repeated the word-collector inter- 
 estedly. "If you-uns had a sloth like mine, cap'n, 
 you wouldn't get up for a week." 
 
 "Well, you're through slothing for the immediate 
 present — that is, unless you want to continue your 
 star act in jail. We've got less than an hour to turn 
 the concrete of this blockade junk into abstract — into 
 mere heresay — a false alarm, as it were. Here, lend 
 a hand with this tub of mash ! We're going to dump 
 it into the creek." 
 
 Cotton batted his mismated eyes, then achieved 
 an unsteady stand, but only to offer further objec- 
 tion. 
 
 "What's the abstract hurry, boss? They-all can 
 never find this hide-out — not them hearsay officers." 
 
 "They don't need to find it. They know already 
 where it is, and are on their way this minute. The 
 first they'll handcuff is you!" 
 
 This information was ill-advised, as Parker rea- 
 lized from the ague of terror which instantly weak- 
 ened the negro's none too reliable assistance. 
 
 "Lordy — oh, Lord!" he wailed, his eyes rolling 
 upward until only their whites showed. "If them 
 infernals are on their way, it's time for a concrete 
 nigger to scoot. Nobody can't say I ain't a believer 
 in Thee, O Lord, but it ain't religion to stay here 
 and be cuffed like a infidel what never " 
 
 "Likely this will give you more faith!" 
 
 Parker poked his steel persuader into the palpi- 
 tating ribs. Its eloquence was at once manifest. 
 
 After the refuse had been consigned to the lively 
 waters of the branch, and the containers thrown into 
 
326 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 separated gullies, Parker directed his quaking *'hand'* 
 to attack the lair of browse behind the log shack 
 that held the still proper, to fell the supports and 
 scatter the bush covering into the surrounding brush. 
 
 Alone, he undertook to wreck the distillery Itself. 
 First, he withdrew the worm, as the most tell-tale 
 bit of evidence. This — Old Tom's treasured piece 
 of "copper" — was quickly sunk In the creek. One- 
 handed, and forced to vigilance lest his unwilling 
 aide should desert, he disposed of other criminating 
 articles until only the furnace and the structure Itself 
 remained. In tearing down the last, he decided 
 to use Solomon and a rope — this after he had tried 
 and failed to fire the fresh-cut timbers. 
 
 The hybrid understudy of Samson, when duly 
 hitched to the end of a rope, was more successful. 
 Eventually Parker saw the Metcalf "temple of hell" 
 reduced to debris. There remained only the destruc- 
 tion of the stone furnace. Seeing no way of utilizing 
 mule-muscle upon that, he attacked It with a 
 pick. As his second blow struck there came from 
 out the sky a clap like that of Impending doom. 
 Shuddering thunders smothered It, but not the shriek 
 of near-by living things. The mule, the horse, and 
 the negro were lifting pleas for mercy. 
 
 Although no rain had fallen, Old Tom's pre- 
 dicted "stem-twister" evidently had started to un- 
 :^Ind. Suddenly the darkness had become sinister, 
 the heat well-nigh stifling. Hearing Sol's frantic ef- 
 forts to break loose, Parker hurried toward him, but 
 just in time to see the little animal streaking down 
 the creek toward home. Before he could reach 
 Teetotaler, the horse, too, had broken his halter 
 and taken the course of least resistance, evidencing 
 
THE BALD GRUMBLES 327 
 
 that he, at least, entertained no doubt that Solomon 
 was really wise. 
 
 Through the unwonted daytime gloom, Parker 
 stumbled back to the unsolved problem of the fur- 
 nace and tried In vain to prod it apart. As if some 
 super-lion were resisting his attack, renewed roars 
 deafened him, the ground beneath him rocked. 
 
 He sprang back just in time. At his very feet a 
 mouth of rocky earth opened In a grin, a growl, or, 
 mayhap, a gape of weariness, and gulped the stub- 
 born object of his assault — rocks, cement, all. He 
 stared down, dazed at the sudden disappearance. 
 The fissure-mouth did not widen, but continued to 
 grin up at him, as if in derision at the puny attempts 
 of mankind. 
 
 Springing across, Parker followed the whelplike 
 wails of the negro. Cotton Eye lay groveling, face 
 downward, on the ground, his hope of placating the 
 storm gods seeming to rest upon his reiterated oath 
 never, providing he was spared, to sniff "sniffins'* 
 again. His would-be rescuer might as well have ex- 
 pected assistance from a jelly-fish. In the Imminent 
 hour. Cotton was shaken by religion. Even the re- 
 volver prod proved to have lost its effective- 
 ness. 
 
 When a lightning bolt shattered a nearby hem- 
 lock and brought it crashing to the ground, the pen- 
 itent flattened, then lay still, evidently thinking him- 
 self hit and beyond the power of the last resort of 
 prayer. 
 
 "Get up or I'll leave you alone with your Godl" 
 
 Parker added a pedal argument. 
 
 Only a hopeless plaint replied. *'It's done come 
 ahead of schedulum — the end of the world! I 
 
328 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 wasn't expecting the judgment day so soon. I ain't 
 prepared — I'm bounden for hell-fire!" 
 
 In amen there burst a roar from the convulsed 
 ground. Compared to the sky thunders — the crash- 
 ing explosions of atmospheric voids high above — 
 this was as the all-great blast of omnipotence to a 
 whiff of wind. Repeatedly its rage was voiced, with 
 cumulative virulence. 
 
 A terror more definite than that over his brim- 
 stone deserts brought the negro to his feet. 
 
 "Grumbly Bald — that there was the voice of the 
 Bald!" he shrilled above the weather wails. "If he's 
 going on one of his rampages, cap'n, there ain't no 
 use to pray; we're worse than dead a'ready.'* 
 
 Cotton's despair reminded Parker of local reports 
 about the mountain — of the volcano in its heart that 
 had slumbered of recent years, but in the past had 
 erupted in landslides which had cleft its sides and 
 worn great wrinkles in its bare dome. When, in his 
 pause for consideration, a fragment of rock from 
 some shelf above leaped out at mysterious command 
 and crashed downward, splintering all that resisted 
 its course, he accepted the negro's conclusion. 
 
 A second descending missile, accompanied by the 
 noise of cut-off trees and gritting boulders, made him 
 realize the full urgency of the situation. One might 
 lie prostrate in prayer to storm gods that spoke from 
 the heavens, but to escape the spleen of fiends break- 
 ing loose from the earth beneath one took to flight. 
 
 Grasping the black by the collar, Parker half led, 
 half dragged him into the creek. There the descent 
 was more certain in footing, despite the splash of 
 waters. To the utmost of his one-handed capacity, 
 he strove to keep the fear-riven parcel of humanity 
 
THE BALD GRUMBLES 329 
 
 upright while struggling down the uncertain course; 
 repeatedly dodged the following rush of dislodged 
 rocks; avoided, as best he might, the face-lashing of 
 back-flung branches that overhung the stream. 
 
 There came a moment when all sound ceased. It 
 seemed as if the universe was drawing breath. The 
 scowl of darkness deepened. The heat of super- 
 natural wrath exuded from all pores in a pressure 
 of humidity almost overpowering. Then, from out 
 a thousand eyes, shot lightnings. Head, shoulders, 
 body — the mountain seemed to rise and shake off its 
 overcoat of earth. All the thunders from above and 
 below united in one tremendous clap. 
 
 With a whimper of surrender, Cotton Eye Lee 
 flopped In the creek. In vain Parker tugged at 
 him, dipped his head into the rushing water, im- 
 plored him to rise up and help save his own life. 
 They would be overtaken, probably buried in the 
 muck of the mountain if they paused — that he real- 
 ized from the increasing bombardment above. There 
 was possibly time to save himself, yet he could not 
 leave a fear-palsied fellow to his fate. 
 
 Over and over, down the shallow branch, he man- 
 aged to turn the hulk of the black, who clutched at 
 root and rock to hinder his own salvation. Parker's 
 strength, even his hope, was fast deserting him. He, 
 too, had begun to stumble, frequently to fall. He 
 had crouched with his self-imposed charge by the 
 stream-side, had consigned their two lives to the 
 mountain's mercy, when — "Cal! Oh, Cal! CalF* 
 
 Like a summons from another world, the woman's 
 call waved upward. Parker sprang again to hi^ 
 unequal task, made a thing of steel by a fear new 
 and more vitalizing than his fear for himself. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 DREAMS MADE REAL 
 
 From the other side of Roaring Fork there 
 splashed to help him Old Tom and Sandyred, with 
 Vernaluska in the lead. The team and spring- 
 wagon, standing on the bank, told of their safe 
 return and immediate departure in search of him. 
 
 The girl was almost inarticulate in her relief, even 
 after all had reached the comparative safety of a 
 hemlock-sheltered knoll across the main stream. 
 
 "When Miss Emmy told us-all where you had 
 
 gone, with this storm coming on Afterward, 
 
 when Sol and your horse tore past us on the 
 
 road Well, Parkerman, empty saddles ain't 
 
 cheering sights ! I was afraid that you — that our 
 judge of the hills " 
 
 A deafening rumble silenced her. 
 
 Strong, triumphant, rang Old Tom's voice. *'It's 
 done come at last — at lastT^ 
 
 "Into the wagon, all of you," shouted Sandyred. 
 
 "We'd best make a dash for the clearing." 
 
 The old man refused to comply. The others 
 must go, but without him. 
 
 "The end — I've waited all my life for this here 
 end!" he exulted above crash and crumble. 
 
 Parker drew the mountain girl aside. Above hi? 
 weariness, greater than the pain from his overtaxed 
 
 330 
 
DREAMS MADE REAL 331 
 
 shoulder, more impelling than the mood of the ele- 
 ments, was his desire to be alone with her. In the 
 noise of mere cataclysmic eruptions, mere destruc- 
 tion of forests and streams — loud above any struggle 
 of life or death, was the whisper in his heart that 
 must reach her ears. 
 
 **Verne," he said quietly, "I love you.'* 
 
 He had thought her pale before. Now, with the 
 wide brim of her flower hat lifted by the wind that 
 was beginning to move the hemlocks, he saw all 
 color leave her lips and cheeks. She tore her eyes 
 away from his, but not before he had seen that they 
 were startled, resentful. 
 
 The demand which had held him by the roadside 
 that carnival morn caught up with to-day. 
 
 *'Do you love me, Verne?" he asked, then waited 
 a moment in vain. 
 
 Although she had seized the hat brim and was 
 holding it over her upper face, it failed to hide the 
 fact that her lips were stiffly set. 
 
 ^'Because if you do love me" — he leaned toward 
 her, that she might be sure to hear, but did not 
 touch her — "if you do, I want you to tell me so. You 
 do not trust me — I want you to conquer your dis- 
 trust. Can't you tell me — can't you trust me, no 
 matter what you think? You have entrusted all 
 your material secrets to me, and I have not proved 
 unworthy of you and yours, have I? This would 
 mean so much to me, Verne. If you could trust me 
 with this greater secret — could tell me what I want 
 to know, you would make me very happy for all my 
 life." 
 
 She turned back to him, whether moved by his 
 voice or the wilder winds. All the resentful lines 
 
332 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 had smoothed from her face. She had yielded, he 
 could see, to the fearless generosity that had made 
 her supreme among women to him. Although her 
 lips parted, she did not speak. Yet her face told 
 that she had forgotten the storm. She lifted her 
 arms to his neck and her face to his, not to invite, 
 but to give their first kiss. She just gave him the 
 kiss of her heart from modest lips that never had 
 kissed for dear love's sake before. 
 
 So did Cal Parker's fondest dream come true. 
 
 This had been his hope of what she might one 
 day do. He never forgot the moment. Amid na- 
 ture's uproar, he stood absolutely still, realizing it. 
 By not so much as a movement toward her of his 
 hand did he spoil the divine voluntariness of it — that 
 moment in which his world was won. 
 
 Only when she shrank away from him with a low, 
 hurt cry did he understand that she doubted his 
 appreciation; only then did he clutch her to him 
 as if never to let her go, did he murmur the relief 
 that was almost too poignant to endure. 
 
 "Verne. . . . My Springtime. . . . All my life." 
 
 About then it was that the bullying storm gods, 
 as if aggravated to tears that two mortals should 
 rise superior to fear, began to pelt the tortured, 
 quaking earth with torrents of rain. 
 
 A cry from Sandyred rang startlingly. "Don't 
 go yet, dad — it ain't safe yet !" 
 
 But Old Tom Metcalf paid no heed. Down from 
 the sheltered knoll, across the creek and up the 
 opposite mountainside he started, as regardless of 
 the lashing waters and bad going underfoot as of the 
 deluge from above. In his wake, after an order 
 
DREAMS MADE REAL 333 
 
 to the negro to mind the team, hurried his son. 
 Sandy, In turn, was followed by the lovers. 
 
 With the shrapnel of hail, the cannonading of 
 the mountain ceased; the landslides gradually slowed, 
 then stopped altogether. When the boulders on the 
 way had followed their vanguard Into Roaring Fork, 
 the down-rush was at an end. The comparative 
 quiet, the relief from atmospheric pressure, the re- 
 freshment of the rain awoke a sense of exhilaration. 
 
 Urgently as the three young people called for a 
 halt of the doughty explorer ahead, hard after as 
 they pressed, they were unable to overtake him. 
 The climb was made more difficult in that all trace of 
 the branch — their former trackless path — was gone. 
 Doubtless It was itself struggling here and yon, un- 
 der the dead weight of the volcano's spume, to force 
 a way to the mother stream below. Vanished was 
 the rhododendron thicket, the forest of hemlocks, 
 the chevaiix-de-frise of laurel spikes. Completely 
 covered was the site of the still-house which Parker 
 had demolished in the emergency. 
 
 But the patriarch did not pause to note these 
 miracles. Up and up he clambered, past the location 
 of his quondam Industry, to what once had been a 
 shelving ledge, now upturned — as it were. Inside out. 
 The cabin, whose window frames had been read- 
 justed by a previous disturbance, still stood, although 
 tilted at a rakish angle. Heaps of debris lay all 
 about it, and just above an open wound was slashed 
 across the mountain's face. 
 
 Was it that mysterious lard-pail treasure-trove 
 which the old man sought, Parker wondered? 
 
 A cry escaped Vernaluska when she saw her par- 
 ent hurl himself headlong into the cut. Running, 
 
334 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 held from stumbling by the two men, she reached 
 the edge, to find him on his knees upon the easy slope 
 within. He was clawing through the shattered rock, 
 was chortling and exclaiming in a demented way. 
 
 ^'Hell's banjer! Richer than I'd ever hoped! No 
 more stilling for Tom, sure enough ! Blue flames — 
 mine — all mine !'* 
 
 *'Tommie — hi, Tom!" cried the girl, scrambling 
 after him, her voice apprehensive lest the volcano 
 had disturbed his reason, as well as the mountain- 
 scape. 
 
 But the smile with which he rose anH turned upon 
 her had calmness In It and reassurance as well as the 
 elation of a life-quest fulfilled. 
 
 "You-all don't need to worry over your pappy 
 no more, my girl-child — you nor Sandyred," he said, 
 taking off his battered hat and brushing back his 
 leonine shock of tawny hair. "The Bald, I always 
 calculated, would justify balmy Tom some day. Now 
 she's done gone and done it. Look you-all at this — 
 and this — and this!" 
 
 He handed a bit of rock to each. Parker examined 
 his with amazement, rubbed It against his coat, took 
 out the small brooch from his cravat with which 
 to compare it. 
 
 "An amethyst of the finer grade," he exclaimed, 
 "bluish-violet, rich in manganese, large — ^just wait- 
 ing for the polisher to make it a precious gem!" 
 
 "Do you mean, Tom — can you mean that ame- 
 thysts are the flames you've been searching for all 
 these years? Why didn't you tell us-all?" The 
 questions rushed from Vernaluska. 
 
 The rain began to slacken and, drenched though 
 they were, the three listened entranced to Old Tom's 
 
DREAMS MADE REAL 335 
 
 account of the long search for the secret hid in 
 the mountain's heart. 
 
 A dispute over the first gem found upon a bar of 
 Roaring Fork it was that had led to a lasting enmity 
 between the elder Metcalf and Dode Currie. Old 
 Tom had picked it up, and Rex's father had claimed 
 it because the bar of its lodgment had been on his 
 side of the creek. Afterward the elder Currie had 
 spent much time searching the Bald for the "mother 
 lode," and had refused all offers Metcalf could make 
 by way of purchase. He had died, however, without 
 reward for his scratching. 
 
 "I kept on sifting the creek bars," continued Old 
 Tom, ''and found one time and again. At last I 
 came upon a beauty and toted It to a jeweler in 
 Asheville. He got so plumb excited in his offer for 
 it that he obliged me with an Idea of what a lode 
 of them might be worth. From him I got a notion 
 of going down into Sapphire County and studying 
 formations there, where gems have been mined for 
 years. But nature didn't give me no helping hand 
 — that not being an amethyst country. After that 
 come times when I nigh lost hope, just as I give 
 up ever buying the Bald offen Rex." 
 
 "Queer it should be a mine of amethysts that I 
 have helped the family to recover," Parker com- 
 mented, "I who need them in my cup more than 
 ever ancient did!" 
 
 "But that beauty you found, dad?" reminded San- 
 dyred. 
 
 "I never sold it, but give it to Verney. My no- 
 tion was to preserve her again ever hitching with 
 a drinking man. Then she give it over, so she 
 told me, to preserve one of them ag'in' himself." 
 
336 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 The patriarch's eyes twinkled as he noticed Parker 
 replacing the talisman. Exultation threatened his 
 coherency as he bent again over the vein of crystal- 
 line quartz uncovered by the split. 
 
 *'Gad a'mlghty, just to think I Scant wonder I 
 couldn't never dig up any of you beauties when 
 you lay abed in solid rock. Once I owned the Bald 
 for good, I was minding to blast out this whole 
 ledge, but I didn't dast leave any one know — not 
 even my boy or gal. Sandy ain't got his tongue 
 under halter, and Verney — well, I couldn't be cer- 
 tain sure, up to late days, that she wa'n't going to 
 graft her secrets onto Rex. If he'd even got an 
 idea — ^the low-down aspiring hound — he'd never 
 a'sold over the mountain to me, nor Parker, nor 
 none." 
 
 His look turned anxious. 
 
 "Say, out-Norther, you-all ben't going back on 
 selling us Crumbly Bald now that you know, be 
 you? You wouldn't never have susplcloned the 
 facts but for me." 
 
 As Parker assured them that with him a bargain 
 held, the sounds of hard riding came from below, 
 of shouting, of a distinct laugh which all recognized. 
 He broke off to name the disturbance. 
 
 "The revenue posse!" 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 TRUE BLUE 
 
 Sandy Metcalf confirmed it. "They sure are 
 the law-brlngers, with Varmint Currie in the lead! 
 We've got to head 'em away from the still-house 
 until " 
 
 "By God," the old man interrupted, starting after 
 his son, "we-all can't lose out now that we've won! 
 I'll shoot the whole kit-caboodle before I let the 
 spies get evidence on me." 
 
 "Wait!" Parker's call halted] the down-rush- 
 ing blockaders. "No need to shoot anybody this 
 afternoon. Let them look for the still-house. They 
 won't find it or the worm either." 
 
 "You mean to say, Parkerman, that you " 
 
 Vernaluska seized him by the arm In an agony 
 of hope. 
 
 "I mean that you have nothing to fear. Just at 
 the last, after I had done all I could. Judge Crumbly 
 Bald sent out an edict destroying the last bit of 
 evidence." 
 
 Her face lifted to his in the rain, now become a 
 drizzle. It seemed to reflect the waxing light from 
 above as she queried, almost afraid to believe: 
 
 "The judge — our judge — has acquitted us-all 
 through his court of hills?" 
 
 Perhaps she noticed, certainly Parker did, that 
 the sun broke through the clouds in the direction of 
 
 337 
 
338 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 Fallaway Rim as they descended to meet the posse. 
 
 Rex Currie indeed headed the cavalcade. The 
 two strangers behind him evidently were the "real'' 
 revenuers. Riding just back of them was the dough- 
 ty sheriff warranted to "get 'em." With the rear 
 guard rode Colonel Dryden, Dr. Prosch, and one 
 who was visibly suffering from the rigors of un- 
 wonted equestrianism — that champion "jumper" of 
 molars, Strength-of-the-Lord Plott. 
 
 Tugging viciously at his short mustache, Currie 
 stared about him at the havoc which the mountain 
 had wrought upon itself. When the officers looked to 
 him with Impatience, he only shook his head. Per- 
 force they set about their own search, but with dl- 
 minlshing ferocity. After the ground had been gone 
 over thoroughly and nothing discovered, there 
 seemed not much for them to say — nothing they 
 could do in the name of the law. 
 
 One began to discuss the recent eruption quite 
 pleasantly with him who had been reported as the 
 most reprehensible blockader of both the Carolinas. 
 In preparation for an ignominious retreat, he ex- 
 panded to an explanation of where he and the rest 
 of the gentlemen out "pleasure riding" had weath- 
 ered the recent storm. 
 
 Bidding Vernaluska stay close to her father and 
 Sandyred, Parker strode across to where Currie 
 stood scowling beside his horse. At his approach, the 
 hillbilly made a movement toward his hip. 
 
 "Don't try to draw." The counter-command came 
 bitlngly. "I've had you covered these fifteen min- 
 utes." 
 
 Perhaps then It was that the turncoat noticed 
 where Parker carried the hand of his well arm — in 
 
TRUE BLUE 339 
 
 his right coat-pocket. At any rate, he did not finish 
 his movement toward self-defense. 
 
 Although the audience was attentive, none heard 
 the brief exchange. 
 
 "I haven't told the Metcalf men the real object 
 behind your plan, Currle, because I don't want them 
 to redden their hands with your blood." 
 
 *'Don't see as my object Is any concern of " 
 
 *'But It Is. If I hadn't something to live for too 
 worth-while to miss, I'd have It out with you right 
 here. As It is, I'm going to give you one chance 
 at a getaway. Tobe RIker will be waiting for you 
 at the mouth of Roaring Fork at dark to-night. 
 Are you going to keep your appointment with him?" 
 
 ^'Whlch nor whether, I ain't going to be dictated 
 to by " 
 
 "Oh, yes, you are — by me. Safety first demands 
 that you don't disappoint Tobe In the matter of the 
 twenty-five dollars and one passenger at least. After 
 dark. If you're not gone, have an eye for a smaller 
 posse than the one you led here to-day. It will be 
 after you. Good-by and better luck In the next elope- 
 ment you plan. No tricks, now ! I'll keep your back 
 covered, and, really, I'm not a bad shot at some one 
 I dislike, once I make up my mind to shoot." 
 
 The hillbilly's curse was the only fragment the 
 onlookers caught as he began picking his way over 
 the slide. He was followed shortly by as dejected 
 a revenue posse as ever started on a back trip sans 
 copper worm or prisoners. 
 
 On the short, jolting wagon-ride home, Parker 
 noticed through his utter weariness that a shadow 
 lay on the face of Verne. That through all the 
 
340 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 exultation a shadow should rest on her face, other 
 than that cast by the drooping hat of ruined roses, 
 spoiled his joy. Then, all at once, he remembered 
 ' — he understood. 
 
 They had been interrupted by old Tom's start up 
 the mountain in that sweet, vital moment when she 
 had given him her lips. Of course he had been 
 unthinking of her, selfish in his own relief, really 
 unforgivable. The shadow was from those words 
 he still had not said. 
 
 He could make no chance to speak until after 
 they had entered the living-room, until Miss Emmy 
 had evolved one conclusion from the garbled tales 
 poured into her ears — to get her recalcitrant invalid 
 back under control without further delay. 
 
 But he caught Vernaluska's hand and drew her 
 aside. With pain for what was hurting her deeper 
 than that from his shoulder, he noted her reluc- 
 tance. 
 
 *T know It is no time to stop you — ^to discuss 
 future plans. We're all soaked to the skin and — 
 and about worn' out, I guess." He spoke through 
 white lips and laid a hand on the window frame for 
 support. "But I just can't wait to know. Verne" 
 — he forced himself to speak more briskly — "would 
 you prefer to marry me at once or wait until after 
 I " 
 
 "Why — why " she stammered, the color that 
 
 had been so conspicuously absent rushing back to 
 her face. 
 
 "Of course no client should try to Interpose his 
 own for the judgment of his counsel," he pled, 
 with a wraithlike reminiscence of the Cal Parker 
 smile, "but If you would decide to marry me right 
 
TRUE BLUE 341 
 
 away, dear — if you could take just one more step in 
 your proof of faith In me " 
 
 "Your return to New York? The child woman 
 — ^what about her?" 
 
 "My return is postponed until you go with me. 
 Sylvia — she's an angel. And the man I persisted 
 in thinking my friend is just a yellow cur. Only wait 
 until I show you the engagement gift they have sent 
 us!" 
 
 He pointed to an upside-down picture of a lady 
 in a Gainsborough hat which newly adorned the wall 
 — ^the only clipping, he explained, upon which Miss 
 Emmy's hand had "slipped." Aloud he read from 
 the "gentled-down" text that had come with it, 
 pasted beneath the sill. 
 
 The marriage of Miss Sylvia Bralnard to Mr. Spencer 
 Pope, deputy collector of United States Internal Revenue, 
 was solemnized at high noon yesterday at the home of the 
 bride's parents. The ceremony was a surprise, even to im- 
 mediate friends, as it was hastened by an illness which Mrs. 
 Brainard, mother of the bride, had contracted on a recent 
 trip South. The latter was able, however, to appear at the 
 ceremony, and her speedy recovery is predicted as one of the 
 happy results of the alliauce. 
 
 Parker straightened from his reading of this news. 
 Something in the look of the fawn-green eyes made 
 him fear that Verne was about to flee again. He 
 caught her hand. 
 
 "This was why I couldn't speak — not until I was 
 free," he said quickly. "Of course, if you'd rather 
 wait until I've shown myself a safe bet as a mar- 
 riage proposition " 
 
 "You? I reckon you've done proved yourself 
 
342 FLAMES OF THE BLUE RIDGE 
 
 a-plenty." Words came to her in defense of him 
 against himself. "When the judge roars 'Not guilty!* 
 so that all our world can hear, should your counsel 
 object? Sure enough, Cal, you have been tried 
 by fire." 
 
 *'The dross is all burnt away," he assured her 
 when he held her close, *'by the flame of what I feel 
 for you." 
 
 That particular flame of the many In their after- 
 lives proved to be strong, controlled, steady. 
 
 And it was blue — ^true blue. 
 
 THE END