Charles Neville Buck
 
 THE BATTLE CRY
 
 The mountaineer's steady appraising gaze was still fixed on her face, 
 seeming to penetrate her thoughts.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 By 
 CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK 
 
 Author of 
 The Call of the Cumber lands," etc. 
 
 Illustrations by 
 DOUGLAS DUER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELES
 
 COPYRIGHT 1914 BY 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 Other novels by 
 Charles Neville Buck 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS 
 THE KEY TO YESTERDAY 
 THE LIGHTED MATCH 
 THE PORTAL OF DREAMS
 
 TO 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 WHOSE HIGH NOBILITY AND GRACIOUS 
 
 SWEETNESS HAVE BEEN MY LIFELONG 
 
 INSPIRATION AND REWARD, THIS 
 
 BOOK IS LOVINGLY 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 2126072
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AT that particular moment Juanita Holland could 
 feel nothing but pride and love for the young 
 man whose figure mingled with the other seven 
 in a picture of spirited color. Against the verdant back- 
 ground of the polo field there were eight, but all save 
 one seemed negligible. 
 
 The afternoon sun was sloping in amber drifts across 
 the space where the ponies kicked up the turf and the 
 silks of the team colors snapped like pennants about the 
 straining shoulders of the players. It caught and 
 edged the new springtime greenery with a margin of 
 soft yellow. It flashed brightly upon pongee helmets 
 and blue silk caps and splashed against the reeking 
 flanks of the ponies. Of the hats and gowns along 
 the white flagstoned terrace of the Bryn Mawr club- 
 house, it made a great bouquet of nodding flowers, a 
 bouquet which it caressed. 
 
 Juanita Holland sat near the front and as some of 
 the other girls smiled knowingly at her parted lips and 
 fixed eyes, their glances traveled to an engagement 
 ring and the fashion in which the slender hand it 
 adorned clenched itself in the tensity of her interest. 
 
 The board announced a score of four to three and a 
 
 1
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 quarter in favor of the Reds and the man whom her eyes 
 followed played Number Two for the Blues. In the 
 fraction of another minute the referee's whistle would 
 end the last period and the game would be over. So 
 when, from a tangled scrimmage and a stamping con- 
 fusion in midfield, the girl saw the comet-like outshoot 
 of a willow ball followed, close as a shadow follows, by 
 the shapes of a pony and a man she knew, it is not won- 
 derful that her blue eyes flashed into sparkle and the 
 tender curves of her lips tightened, then parted. 
 
 There was now a chance; a small, remote embryo of 
 a chance for turning defeat into victory just on the 
 fringe of the combat with a truly driven goal. 
 
 Juanita Holland herself knew the feel of a polo mal- 
 let and the intricacies of the game, and she knew that 
 such a reversal of the issue could come only from a 
 jockey's judgment of pace and a blacksmith's power of 
 hitting. 
 
 The blossoming hats nodded like an old-fashioned 
 garden stirred in a sudden breeze. The men broke off 
 talk with words half finished. The white ball had risen 
 and soared like a wingless bird and had come to earth 
 rolling onward in a true line toward the goal posts. 
 Seven ponies wheeled, scampering, and dashed with 
 eight mallets held forward and upstretched above their 
 necks, but a few yards in their lead raced a blood-bay 
 mare with her forelegs tucked under her safe from the 
 mallet's play. Across the field one could make out 
 the red spot of an eagerly distended nostril and the 
 strain of satin-coated muscles. Bending forward from 
 her saddle with his eye fixed on the traveling ball, rode 
 Roger Malcolm, menaced a length behind by the Red
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 8 
 
 Number Three, who was driving his mount to its last 
 ounce of stamina. There, too, cutting out at an angle 
 to meet them, came the Red goal guardian making a 
 heroic effort to get up and slash the ball back out of 
 peril. It was one of those tense, hard-breathing, 
 leather-creaking moments when the issue hangs on a 
 split-hair balance of steady nerve and lightning speed. 
 Then as the Red Number Three brought his pony's 
 muzzle to the blood bay's rump, the Red goal guardian 
 slashed viciously at the willow sphere and passed by 
 with a misjudged stroke. A cry went up from the 
 gallery and again the sharp, clear impact of mallet on 
 ball snapped across the field like the crack of a mule- 
 whip and again the ball rose and soared this time 
 cleanly between the goal posts. As the man who had 
 saved the day for the Blues wheeled his pony and 
 started to canter back to the center of the field, the 
 final whistle shrilled the finish. 
 
 " One of Roger Malcolm's miracles," commented a 
 Red sympathizer with a shrug. " Four and a quarter, 
 to four ; but I'm bound to say they won it neatly. The 
 man's a wiz." 
 
 Leisurely the crowd began drifting from its center 
 toward club-house and parked vehicles, but as Juanita 
 Holland's glance fell on the diamond she wore her eyes 
 abruptly lost their trance-like eagerness and deepened 
 into involuntary betrayal of pain, as of one who is 
 awakened from a pleasant dream to unwelcome reality. 
 
 " He was at his best then," she said to herself with- 
 out words. " He is always at his best when he 
 plays." 
 
 She stood idly waiting for him while the crowd
 
 4 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 thinned, and her face still wore a troubled abstraction. 
 She saw him dismount and turn his pony over to a 
 groom. She watched him shouldering his way toward 
 her, impatient even of the delays caused by those who 
 insisted on handshakes of congratulation. Though she 
 was much younger than he, the curve of her lips shaped 
 a faint smile of indulgence, such as one may wear for an 
 eager child, as she read the boyish glow of his eyes and 
 realized how much all this meant to him. 
 
 He was a clean, fine type if all a man need be is 
 honest, courteous and accomplished. He was strong 
 and played his games with reckless abandon, if the 
 strength of courage can exist in a soul that demands 
 nothing more than the playing of games. He had al- 
 ways been deferentially anxious to do whatever she 
 had asked of him except to grow up. Of these things 
 she thought as he made his way to her side. 
 
 " Dearest," he whispered, " will you wait for me 
 while I change and let me drive you home ? " 
 
 She shook her head, and realizing that she alone had 
 not congratulated him, forced a radiant graciousness 
 into her smile. 
 
 " It was splendid, Roger," she declared with an echo 
 of transitory enthusiasm in her eyes, which lighted 
 them like violets in the sun. " I don't believe any one 
 else could have done it." 
 
 The young man's face glowed though he responded 
 with self-deprecation. 
 
 " We all have our lucky moments. It was pretty 
 much of an accident." 
 
 " In polo " the thrill for a moment died in the girl's
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 5 
 
 voice " one mus/t make the lucky moment. You do it 
 uncommonly well in polo." 
 
 He caught the separate emphasis of her last two 
 words and his brows contracted in an expression of 
 sudden pain. " Meaning," he inquired quietly, 
 " that I do only the trivial things well? I cite you 
 the Biblical injunction, dear. ' What thy hand 
 findeth to do'" 
 
 " One's hand might hunt for things to do, but I'm 
 not going to lecture you now. I'm saving that for 
 this evening." 
 
 " Meanwhile may I drive you home? " 
 
 " Not to-day, Roger. I want to think and so I'm 
 going to walk, but you can come over to dinner. There 
 won't be any one else, the evening will be devoted to " 
 she paused, then added " to your lecture." 
 
 The man smiled and made an impulsive movement to 
 reach for her hand, then realizing that the terrace was 
 not yet quite deserted, he restrained the impulse and 
 laughed. 
 
 " Is it so serious as all that? " 
 
 The girl met his laughter with wide and very seri- 
 ous eyes. It even seemed to Malcolm that there was a 
 little catch in her voice. 
 
 " It is to me," she said quietly. " I shall look for 
 you at seven." 
 
 Juanita nodded and started toward the gates, and 
 after a moment the man also turned and made his way 
 to the showers. 
 
 As she followed the gravel walks roses were massed 
 along her way and hedges sparkled with a delicacy
 
 6 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 which the sun had not yet burned. The last of the 
 polo ponies went by, blanketed and led by grooms. As 
 they paraded to the stables they picked up their feet 
 gingerly and pranced in dainty scorn of fatigue. In 
 them as in their riders there seemed to dwell the para- 
 mount instinct of sportsmanship. 
 
 It was all very pleasant and full of charm : the charm 
 of glad young summer and trimmed lawns and lengthen- 
 ing velvety shadows : of opulence and ease. 
 
 At the stone gateposts of her own grounds where 
 honeysuckle clambered and where a little stream 
 trickled down through the trimmed box-rows, her great 
 Dane stood waiting to meet her, wriggling his tawny 
 body as he waved his tail in greeting. 
 
 He lumbered about her and thrust up his huge muz- 
 zle to her cool fingers while his eyes glowed with an 
 affection that gave a ludicrous lie to the ferocity of 
 their reddened haws. When she handed him a glove 
 to carry he set it gingerly between his leonine fangs 
 and strutted at her side with the exaggerated pomp of 
 a canine cake-walker. 
 
 " Danny Holland ! " she suddenly exclaimed, and a 
 choke came into her voice. " Roger gave you to me 
 the same day he gave me my ring. That was a year 
 ago and I was very happy. I'm not happy any more, 
 Danny-dog, and you are the first person I've told about 
 it. In that year you've grown up from a puppy, but in 
 many years lie hasn't grown at all." 
 
 She glanced about her, but she and the dog were 
 between the shrubberies of the lawn and cut off from 
 the turnpike by the tall box hedge. They were quite 
 alone. Suddenly the girl dropped to her knees and
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 7 
 
 seized her great, clumsy confidant about his mastiff 
 neck. 
 
 " Pm afraid I'm terribly, sickeningly afraid, 
 Danny Holland, he never will grow up and so I'm 
 going away to leave you both." 
 
 If the dog realized the true enormity of that threat, 
 he masked his grief as a chivalric dog should mask his 
 deeper emotions. He waved his tail with grave, un- 
 hurried dignity and thrust his head around to gaze 
 sympathetically into his mistress's face. If for the 
 moment he forgot his low caste and the high estate of 
 the beautiful lady and allowed himself to caress her 
 bowed chin with his big tongue, the impertinence may 
 have been pardonable. 
 
 At all events she did not rebuke him. She only 
 picked up the glove he had dropped and gave it back 
 into his keeping. She dashed her hand self-con- 
 temptuously across her eyes and when she went into 
 the door to dress for dinner no one could have guessed 
 that a few minutes before she had been on the verge of 
 tears. 
 
 The moon was near her fullest argency that evening 
 and the clambering roses nodded in her light in Juanita 
 Holland's garden. Shadows laid black velvet patches 
 across a stretch of silver gray. 
 
 From the nearest house, separated by grounds that 
 were in reality small parks, came a happy chorus of 
 young voices, and the songs that they sung were suited 
 to the night; a night when spring fancies itself sum- 
 mer. 
 
 In the soft luminance and the dusky shadow-smudges
 
 8 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the girl and the man came out to a stone bench, and 
 as Juanita Holland took her seat she fell for a mo- 
 ment into an attitude of drooping misery. Then im- 
 mediately the shoulders that showed above her dark 
 evening gown came back with a military stanchness and 
 she held them so ; as firm and white as ivory, and raised 
 her chin resolutely. Malcolm, a wraith-like shape in 
 his flannels, drew out a cigar and lighted it, and as the 
 match died it caught a whimsical smile on his lips. 
 With one foot on the stone bench and an elbow resting 
 on his knee he began banteringly. 
 
 " So now it's the lecture, dearest, is it? Proceed. 
 * I've a heart for any fate.' 5: 
 
 " Have you ? " She put the query quietly, almost 
 listlessly, and after that she was silent for a moment. 
 Then she drew the engagement ring from her finger and 
 held it out to him. A little splinter of light was tossed 
 from one of the facets. 
 
 " That's the first thing, Roger," she went on. " It 
 isn't an easy thing either, but I've got to do it." 
 
 Her companion did not extend his hand. His face 
 in the white light was suddenly rigid and stunned. At 
 last he asked, pronouncing each word very carefully 
 and distinctly, " Have you stopped loving me? " 
 
 The girl shook her head with the weariness of a long 
 fought uncertainty. 
 
 " I wish I knew. But it isn't just a question of lov- 
 ing you, Roger. It's a question of marrying, too, and 
 I can't marry you." 
 
 She could not help watching with an impersonal in.- 
 tentness how the fingers of the hand that drooped across 
 his knee stiffened and opened and stiffened again and
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 9 
 
 how he studied them as if they were the fingers of an- 
 other man. 
 
 " You have promised and you promised of your own 
 free will." 
 
 She nodded. He had spoken, not argumentatively, 
 but as one gently reminding her of something which 
 she had seemed to forget. 
 
 " I promised because I wanted to. If I refuse now 
 it's not exactly because I want to." 
 
 "Then what is it?" 
 
 "It's a very hard thing to tell you. If it hurts 
 you, it has hurt me, too, and hurt me rather 
 terribly . . . the reason, Roger, is yourself." 
 
 " I suppose," he said with an effort, his voice still 
 rather dazed and stunned, " there are a good many 
 things the matter with me, but what particular fault 
 do you find fatal ? Of course you know " his utter- 
 ance suddenly grew fervent " that if it's humanly pos- 
 sible I'll change it." 
 
 Again the shake of her head denoted the hopeless- 
 ness of argument. " It's nothing that you can change. 
 Perhaps the fault is altogether mine . . . perhaps I'm 
 just the sort of girl that sees things wrong. ... I 
 was proud of you this afternoon on the polo field . . . 
 but life isn't just a polo field." She leaned forward and 
 her hands went out in a somewhat pathetic gesture. 
 " You mustn't think it's easy for me. Maybe if I 
 loved you it wouldn't matter what you were or what 
 you weren't. Maybe I'm not capable of real love 
 but I've always thought I loved you. I have never 
 loved any one else. I wonder if we've both been mis- 
 taken about it all the while."
 
 10 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " I haven't been mistaken," he denied indignantly. 
 " There is no question about my love for you." 
 
 In the moon he saw that her lashes were wet. 
 
 " Of course," he very gravely went on, " I couldn't 
 hold you to any promise that your heart repudiates. 
 Of course there's no question of that, but can't you 
 make it just a little clearer? Precisely how do I fall 
 short?" 
 
 Juanita sat silently studying his pallid face and 
 set jaw. Some men would have been reproachful. In 
 his generous attitude he appeared almost at his best, 
 and it was very hard to let him go. 
 
 She was already hurting him enough. How could 
 she tell him what was in her mind ? " You are the 
 gentleman, polished and letter-perfect, yet you are not 
 after all quite a man." 
 
 She turned and gazed off at the sky which the stars 
 would have made effervescent with their bubbles of 
 splintered light had the moon not dimmed them. Her 
 intertwined fingers were tightly locked and her words 
 came slowly and with difficulty. They came not in 
 her own phrases, but in quotation: 
 
 " ' That self-same instant, underneath, 
 The Duke rode past in his idle way, 
 Empty and fine like a swordless sheath.' " 
 
 There was a pause and her voice was very faint when 
 she added: 
 
 " I want my husband not to be a swordless 
 sheath." 
 
 The man nodded miserably and he asked, " Must I 
 only ride past then, dear? Don't you remember other
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 11 
 
 lines a little further on? The Duke saw a woman 
 and loved her 
 
 " * And lo, a blade for a knight's emprise 
 Filled the fine empty sheath of a man, 
 The Duke grew straightway brave and wise."* 
 
 " The poet said so and yet " she shook her head 
 resolutely as if to shake away webs of clouding inde- 
 cision " and yet at the end of the poem he had done 
 nothing." 
 
 Roger Malcolm moved a step toward her, then halted. 
 
 " Will you wait here a few minutes ? " he begged. 
 " It has all come so suddenly I must try to think." 
 She nodded and while from the bench she looked back, 
 as she believed, on the ruins of all her life's air castles, 
 she saw him pacing measuredly back and forth across 
 the moonlit lawn. His hands were tight-held at his 
 back and as he walked the great Dane shambled, with a 
 sort of hulking stateliness, at his heels. 
 
 "It seems," he said, when he rejoined her, "that I 
 have been weighed and found wanting. If it's a light 
 matter to you if it costs you nothing to exile me 
 from your life, I suppose I should accept my sentence 
 without whimpering. But how about you? You 
 aren't the sort of woman who fancies herself in love 
 only to forget it in an instant. What does it mean to 
 you ? " 
 
 The girl's lips parted, but for a moment no sound 
 came from them except a little gasp. She covered her 
 face with her hands and her response came faintly 
 from behind her fingers. " I think that when this ends, 
 my life ends. Afterwards it will be only existence."
 
 13 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 At once he was kneeling by her side and had caught 
 both her hands in his own, wresting them away from 
 her face. His voice was now a-thrill once more with 
 fervor. " Then you still love me ! You love me whether 
 you know it or not, and I'll not release you. ... I 
 know I've been weak in a hundred ways. I've never 
 been hypocrite enough to deny that. ... I know I'm 
 self-indulgent and given to following the easiest 
 course. . . . I've never had to fight to keep my head 
 above water, but I'll change it all everything. Give 
 me the chance, dearest! Look at it fairly. Analyze 
 yourself as well as me." 
 
 She smiled wistfully down into his eager face. 
 
 " You analyze me," she suggested. 
 
 " In your veins run two strains of blood," he be- 
 gan vehemently. " Your people have been soldiers and 
 scholars. The soldiers have given you an exaggerated 
 admiration for sheer untempered and unreasoning cour- 
 age ; the scholars have bequeathed you an over-bal- 
 anced seriousness of thought. You grew up in a 
 womanless family. You were mistress of your house 
 when you were practically a baby. Since you were a 
 little girl you were always with your grandfather, and 
 your grandfather lived with abstractions for playmates 
 to the day of his death." 
 
 " At least they were noble abstractions," she an- 
 swered proudly. 
 
 " They were noble enough, but none the less ab- 
 stractions. For example, a school in the far away 
 Appalachian Mountains appeared a nearer concern to 
 him than an honest city government here in Phila- 
 delphia. He educated you as he might have educated
 
 13 
 
 a trained nurse or a medical missionary, stuffing your 
 little head, too, with abstract things ; you who had 
 never dressed or undressed yourself without a maid! 
 I believe in my heart the old gentleman had an idea 
 that you could go down there single-handed into that 
 God-forgotten wilderness and teach the bare-footed lit- 
 tle feudists to read and write ! " 
 
 " They need schools badly down there," she said 
 thoughtfully. " I know that he wanted me to devote 
 a good part of his fortune to giving their starved 
 minds and souls a chance. I know that I am expected 
 to be his stewardess in carrying on his work. I'm very 
 proud of that." 
 
 " That's all right," argued the man stoutly. " It's 
 splendid, but just the same it shows that your judg- 
 ment may be a little warped, dearest, with a life spent 
 so close to ideals that it's far away from facts. Per- 
 haps it may make you a trifle unjust to the ordinary, 
 every-day sort of man that just lives normally and 
 tries to be fairly decent about it. We can't all be 
 Cffiur de Lions, you know." 
 
 " Do you know why my grandfather was so inter- 
 ested in those mountaineers?" she loyally defended. 
 " Do you realize that for two hundred years the clear- 
 est strain of Anglo-Saxon blood in America has been 
 cut off, isolated, and left to rot in those hills ? " 
 
 *' I'm arguing now," he reminded her, " for what is, 
 to me, the most vital issue in life, and these men and 
 women have nothing to do with that. Please, dear, 
 let me at least have my day in court." 
 
 From across the way came the gay chorus of the 
 young people's song, contralto and bass and tenor, but
 
 14 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 by the stone bench there was silence. Malcolm had 
 risen and stood waiting, and finally Juanita spoke 
 again low and seriously. 
 
 " Those men and women have something to do with 
 you, Roger. . . . This isn't a sudden decision. . . . 
 I've fought it all out in my own mind and the verdict 
 has been hard to reach, but it's reached now and it's 
 final. All you say may be true. I may have taken 
 too serious a view, but it's my view. Yet I've danced 
 and ridden and played tennis and polo as much as any 
 other girl. I've laughed as often, and as light- 
 heartedly as any of them and I haven't been altogether 
 without a sense of humor." 
 
 " You're the best sportswoman in the world ; you 
 have the keenest sense of humor in the world and you're 
 altogether the most delectable girl in the world but 
 you aren't precisely infallible. Perhaps even your 
 judgment of me is not infallible." 
 
 " I'm very fallible, but for six months I've been pon- 
 dering this question. We're not meant for each other, 
 Roger. There's no escaping it. If there had been 
 I'd have escaped. I've been running here and there, 
 looking wildly for a loop-hole . . . but now I know 
 there is none. You asked me what giving you up 
 means to me. I'll tell you. If I'd lived some centuries 
 ago I'd have betaken me to a nunnery. I can't go on 
 living in our world without you. I admit that freely, 
 dear." 
 
 " Thank God you didn't live several centuries ago," 
 came his fervent exclamation. " And you don't have 
 to live without me." 
 
 Juanita shook her head again, the wistful smile
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 15 
 
 deepened her eyes and twisted one corner of her 
 lips. 
 
 " And. so," she added suddenly, " I'm going to be- 
 take me to a more useful sort of nunnery, Roger, dear. 
 I'm going to betake me to the Cumberland Mountains, 
 to teach the * bare-footed little feudists ' how to read 
 and write and wash their faces and comb their hair. 
 I'm going to try to teach them to forget some things 
 they already know; principally assassination from 
 ambush."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 FOR just an instant Roger Malcolm stood trans- 
 fixed with amazement. When his voice came 
 it was as charged with dumfounded incredulity 
 as his attitude. 
 
 " The Cumberland Mountains ? You ? " he ques- 
 tioned dully. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 With the passionate vehemence of one struggling to 
 break a paralyzing spell he was at her side and had 
 swept her into his arms. His excitement tensed his 
 muscles so fiercely that as the girl fluttered vainly in 
 his grasp she gave a low exclamation of pain. The 
 mastiff, deeply puzzled and torn between two alle- 
 giances, growled deep in his throat and took a stiff- 
 legged step forward while the bristles rose along his 
 quarters. 
 
 " By God, you shall do nothing of the sort ! " Mal- 
 colm spoke in a hoarse whisper. " It's too damnably 
 absurd. You are not going. Do you hear me? You 
 are not going ! " 
 
 " Please let me go, you are hurting me," she said 
 quietly and he found himself standing back and sud- 
 denly trembling, for as her face had almost brushed his, 
 he had read her eyes and knew that in the end all ar- 
 gument would fail. 
 
 " My mind is finally made up," she reiterated gently. 
 
 15
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 17 
 
 " That, too, is a thing I've been weighing and ponder- 
 ing these last six months." 
 
 " And mine is made up, too." He leaned forward 
 and for just a moment thrilled her with a new com- 
 mand of pose and voice. " As God lives I sha'n't let 
 you go. You're throwing my life away as well as 
 your own, and I don't mean to let you do it." 
 
 " Don't you ? " The girl stood leaning against a 
 stone coping and just a hint of hope that she had un- 
 derestimated him stole flickeringly into her pupils. 
 " If you can stop me, do it. That will prove that the 
 sheath is really filled with * a blade for a knight's em- 
 prise.' " 
 
 But even as he stood there in the moonlight with 
 her eyes fixed on him the set of his jaw and resolute 
 dominance of his eye melted into suffering of hope- 
 lessness which she ached to comfort. On the heels of 
 fierce command followed expostulation and pleading. 
 
 " Juanita, your grandfather never meant that you 
 should go into that lawless hell. He meant you to be 
 the directing mind, not the laborer in the field. It's 
 a life of squalor and dreariness. It would kill you." 
 
 He paused, then rushed on in headlong dissuasion. 
 " Your life has been the normal life of your sort ; of 
 ease and play and of a deliciously rhythmic personal- 
 ity. This idea is absurdly incongruous. It is mad- 
 ness." 
 
 " Is that the way you are going to stop me ? " she 
 queried a little scornfully. " You say I have the blood 
 of soldiers and scholars. The combination ought to 
 give a touch of the crusader, don't you think ? " 
 
 " For a hundred years, dearest, courts and juries
 
 18 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 and the bayonets of militiamen have struggled to tame 
 and civilize those barbaric people, and for a hundred 
 years they have utterly failed. There is one god down 
 there and his name is Implacable Hatred." 
 
 " Don't you think it's almost time they had another 
 God? I sha'n't go with juries or bayonets." 
 
 " You would have to go without knowing them, 
 with no knowledge of their ways, their point of view." 
 " I don't know them now, but I will know them." 
 " You haven't even a letter of introduction." 
 " I never heard," her voice rang with a note against 
 which he knew the futility of argument, " that the 
 Saviour needed letters of introduction." 
 
 She had moved out of the shadow now and the moon- 
 light fell on her white shoulders and the slender neck 
 that held her little head so fearlessly poised. From 
 the hair that the soft light kissed to the tips of her 
 satin slippers she was delicate, exquisite and flower- 
 like. The pearls on her throat rose and fell with the 
 agitation of her breathing, but her eyes were as steady 
 in their straight-gazing resolve as were ever the eyes 
 of Jeanne d'Arc. The man whose blood was scalding 
 his temples knew that he had lost and that she would 
 
 g- 
 
 " You are carried away with the hallucination of 
 
 an exalted mission," he protested. " They are not 
 worth it. Only yesterday I was reading in a paper the 
 biography of one of their feud leaders, a man named 
 * Bad Anse ' Havey. He has not even the excuse of 
 illiteracy. He has served in the State Assembly and 
 he holds his minions in the hollow of his blood-stained 
 hand. He lives like a murder lord, dealing out sen-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 19 
 
 tences of death at will, while all the power of the State 
 
 seems helpless to curb him." 
 
 " I read about him, too," she said, " and the fact 
 
 that such a man can wield power like that is only the 
 
 greater reason for carrying to them a better code." 
 " You shaVt go," he reiterated. " You shaVt ! " 
 " Stop me then, Roger dear," she said slowly. 
 
 " At all events I'm not going to-night. It's getting 
 
 chilly out here. Let's go indoors." 
 
 The leaves of poplar and oak hung still and limp, 
 for no ghost of breeze found its way down there to stir 
 them into movement or whisper. Banks of rhododen- 
 dron breaking into a foam of bloom gave the seeming 
 of green and whitecaped waves arrested and solidified 
 by some sudden paralysis of nature. Sound itself ap- 
 peared dead, save for hushed minors that only accen- 
 tuated the stillness of the Cumberland forest. 
 
 There was the low buzz of a bumble bee hanging near 
 the chalice of the catalpa's blossom and a drowsy ca- 
 dence drifting from the green-blanketed slopes of the 
 mountains; the plaintive call of the nesting dove. 
 
 Even the little waters that slipped and shimmered 
 over a shaly creek bed, crept noiselessly down to their 
 destiny of feeding rivers as though their mission was 
 surreptitious. 
 
 Now as evening sent her warning with gathering 
 shadows that began to lurk in the valleys, two mounted 
 figures, traveling that way, made no sound either save 
 when a hoof splashed on a slippery surface or saddle 
 leather creaked under the patient scrambling of their 
 animals.
 
 30 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 In front rode a battered mountaineer astride a rusty- 
 brown mule. He himself was as rusty and brown as 
 his beast, and to casual sight as spiritless. Lean shoul- 
 ders sagged and a thin, weary-eyed face was thrust 
 forward on a long, collarless neck with something sug- 
 gestive of a turtle's head in its aquiline contour. His 
 clothing, from shapeless hat to unlaced brogans, was 
 sun-gnawed and wind-bitten into absolute neutrality of 
 color. His uncertain age might have been anything 
 except young for he had crossed the boundary where 
 a mountaineer bids an early farewell to youth and goes 
 under the aging yoke of hardship and drudgery. 
 
 The second figure came some yards behind, care- 
 fully following in his wake on a mule which limped and 
 drooped its head because it had cast its shoe in the 
 morning and toiled over mountains all day through a 
 smithless territory. 
 
 But it was the figure itself which would have arrested 
 observation with its seeming contradiction to the en- 
 vironment. It had startled into quaint exclamation 
 those men and women in jeans and linsey-woolsey who 
 had appeared now and then in tilting cornfields along 
 the mountain-sides. They had " rested their hoes " 
 and stood at gaze, for the second mule bore a woman, 
 riding astride. She was a young woman, and if just 
 BOW her slender shoulders also drooped a little, still 
 ven in their droop they hinted at a gallant grace of 
 carriage. 
 
 The girl was very slender and though convoyed by 
 the drab missionary, " Good Anse " Talbott, though 
 astride a lame mule and accoutered with saddle-bags 
 and blanket roll, her clothes were not of mountain
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 21 
 
 calico, but of good fabric, and skillfully tailored, and 
 she carried her head differently. There was uncon- 
 scious pride of race and purpose in the uptilt of that 
 girl's chin, and though now she was very tired and her 
 delicately curving lips fell into a somewhat pathetic 
 droop ; though her eyes wore a hint of furrow be- 
 tween their brows, still the lips were subtly and sweetly 
 carved by their Creator and the eyes were worthy mir- 
 rors for the sky high above the topmost crest of the 
 ridges. 
 
 Indubitably this was a " furriner," one of those 
 women from the other world of Down-below; the world 
 that lay beyond the ridges to the east and west, of 
 which the hill people had only a vague conception. She 
 was an outlander to be, at first glance, viewed with 
 the suspicion that resents the coming of innovation to 
 a land which has long stood unaltered and unalterable. 
 But who was she and why had she come? 
 
 Yet, had she known it, word had gone ahead of her 
 and been duly reported to the one man who knew things 
 hereabouts; who made it a point to know things, and 
 whose name stood as a challenge to innovation in the 
 mountains. When at morning she had started out 
 from the shack town at the end of the rails " Bad Anse " 
 Havey's informers had ridden not far behind her. 
 Later they had pushed ahead and relayed their mes- 
 sage to their chief. 
 
 Like one of the untamable eagles that circled th 
 windy cres'ts of his mountains, Anse Havey watched, 
 with eyes that could gaze unblinking into the sun, all 
 men who came and went through the highlands where 
 his eyrie perched. Those whom he hated, unless they,
 
 32 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 too, were of the eagle breed, fierce and resourceful and 
 strong of talon, could not remain there. And with 
 strong wings as well as strong talons he and his sort 
 laughed at all law which they did not themselves make 
 and fancied themselves above it creatures of the 
 heights. 
 
 This slender young woman, astride a mule, was 
 coming as the avowed outrider of a new order. She 
 meant to wage war on the whole fabric of illiteracy 
 and squalid ignorance which lay entrenched here. 
 Consequently her arrival would interest Bad Anse 
 Havey. 
 
 Once that day when they had stopped at a wayside 
 mill to let their mules pant at the water-trough, she 
 had caught a scrap of conversation that was not meant 
 for her ears; a scrap laughingly tossed from bearded 
 lip to bearded lip among the hickory-shirted loiterers 
 at the mill door. 
 
 " Reckon thet thar's the fotched-on woman what 
 aims ter start a school over on the head of Tribulation,'* 
 drawled one native ; " I heered tell of her t'other day." 
 
 With a somewhat derisive laugh another had con- 
 tributed, 
 
 " Mebby she hain't talked thet projeck over with 
 Bad Anse yit. Reckon he don't 'low ter tolerate no 
 sich foolery es thet." 
 
 As she had stiffened in her saddle with resentment 
 and fighting spirit a third voice had pensively volun- 
 teered the suggestion : " Hit mout be a right-good idee 
 fer thet gal ter go on back down below, whar she 
 b'longs at." 
 
 The girl was thinking of all that now as she rode in
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 23 
 
 the wake of her silent escort. Muscles which had never 
 before proclaimed themselves were waking into a rack 
 of pain in her back and neck and limbs and it is diffi- 
 cult to be gallant and resolute when one is tired. Sud- 
 denly it seemed to her that she bore on the shoulders of 
 a girl fresh from college, and reared to ease, a burden 
 which Atlas should be hefting. 
 
 They came ploddingly to a higher strip of road, and 
 she clutched at her pommel and swayed a little in her 
 saddle under a dizzying wave of physical exhaustion. 
 Now the mountains opened from their choking close- 
 ness and ahead lay a broad vista. 
 
 Even the sprays of elder and the flare of the trumpet 
 flower carried a color note of weed-like lawlessness. 
 That such lawlessness as held these hills locked in its 
 grip could exist in her century had always seemed to 
 her incredible. Now the sun was sinking into a bank 
 of somber clouds through a rift in the ridges, and the 
 clouds were crimsoned at their marges as though with 
 the blood of this people's ferocity. Why had the po- 
 tent wave of civilization always broken here in shat- 
 tered foam? This morning she had asked herself that 
 question. This afternoon, she looked at the mountains 
 and the mountains were the answer. There they stood 
 before her rock-ribbed and titanic. They were beau- 
 tiful beyond words, but unshakably sullen and inex- 
 pressibly grim. These were the hills she had come to 
 change; hills fixed and invincible; hills that had halted 
 and deflected the restless flow of civilization as armor 
 plate might turn a rocket's fire. 
 
 They had nourished medievalism unaltered through 
 two centuries; they had been ancient when the Alps
 
 ft* 
 
 and Himalayas yet slept in the womb of the sea; old 
 before the Andes were conceived! And as she rode her 
 hobbling mule into their depths with wilting confidence, 
 it seemed to her that the human incarnation of this 
 great lawlessness stood mocking her in the fierce, con- 
 temptuous visage which her imagination had painted 
 as that of Bad Anse Havey. Here was a desperado, 
 defying all law whom a sovereign commonwealth could 
 not or would not rise and crush. 
 
 In a moment of almost cringing despair she wished 
 indeed that she were " back thar down below whar she 
 blonged at." 
 
 Then almost fiercely drawing back her aching shoul- 
 ders, she cast her eyes about on the darkening coves 
 and the creeping shadows of the broad panorama from 
 which came no thread of smoke, no sign of human 
 habitation and raised her voice in anxious inquiry. 
 " How much further do we have to go ? " 
 
 The man riding ahead did not turn his face, but 
 flung his answer apathetically backward over his shoul- 
 der. " We got to keep right on twell we comes ter a 
 dwellin'-house. I'm aimin' fer old man Fletch Mc- 
 Nash's cabin a leetle ther rise of a mile frum hyar. 
 I 'low mebby he mout shelter us twell mornin V 
 
 "And if he doesn't?" demanded the girl. 
 
 ** Ef he doesn't we've got ter ride on a spell fur- 
 ther." 
 
 The girl closed her eyes for a moment and pressed 
 her lip between her teeth. 
 
 At last a sudden turn in the road brought to view a 
 wretched patch of bare clay circled by a dilapidated 
 paling fence within which gloomed a squalid and un-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 25 
 
 lighted cabin of logs. At sight of its desolation, the 
 girl's heart sank. No note of cheery light gave com- 
 fort to her weariness. A square hovel, windowless and 
 obviously, of one room, held up a wretched lean-to that 
 sagged drunkenly against its end. The open door 
 was merely a patch of greater darkness in the gray 
 picture. Behind it loomed the mountain like a crouch- 
 ing Colossus. 
 
 At first she thought it an abandoned shack, but as 
 they drew rein near the stile which one must cross into 
 the yard and which a gnarled sycamore shaded, a dark 
 object lazily rose, resolving itself into a small boy of 
 perhaps eleven, who had been sitting hunched up there 
 at gaze with his hands clasped around his thin knees. 
 
 As he came to his feet, he revealed a thin stature 
 swallowed up in a hickory shirt and an over-ample pair 
 of butternut trousers that had evidently come down 
 in honorable heritage from elder brethren. His small 
 face wore a sharp, prematurely old expression, as he 
 stood staring up at the new arrivals and hitching at 
 the single " gallus " which supported the family 
 breeches. 
 
 " Airy one o' ye folks got a chaw o' terbaccy ? " he 
 demanded tersely, then added in plaintive after-note, 
 " I hain't had a chaw ter-day." 
 
 " Sonny," announced the colorless mountaineer with 
 equal succinctness, " we want ter be took in. We're 
 benighted." 
 
 " Ye mout axe Fletch," was the stolid reply, " only 
 he hain't hyar. . . . Hes airy one o* ye folks got a 
 chaw o' terbaccy ? " 
 
 " I don't chaw, ner drink, ner smoke," answered the
 
 26 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 horseman quietly, with the manner of one who teaches 
 by precept. " I'm a preacher of ther Gawspel. Air 
 ye Fletch's boy?" 
 
 " Huh-huh. Hain't thet woman got no terbaccy 
 nuther? " 
 
 Evidently whatever other characteristics went into 
 this youth's nature he was admirably gifted with 
 tenacity and singleness of purpose. Juanita Holland 
 smiled, as she shook her head and replied, " I'm a 
 woman and I don't use tobacco." 
 
 " The hell ye don't ! " The boy paused, then added 
 scornfully, " My mammy chaws and smokes, too but 
 she don't straddle no hoss." After that administra- 
 tion of rebuke he deigned once more to recognize the 
 missionary's insistent queries, though with the laconic 
 impatience of extreme ennui. 
 
 " I tell ye Fletch hain't hyar." The boy started dis- 
 gustedly away, but paused in passing to jerk his head 
 toward the house and added, " Ye mout axe thet woman 
 ef ye've a mind ter." 
 
 The travelers raised their eyes and saw a second 
 figure standing with hands on hips staring at them 
 from the distance. It was the slovenly figure of a 
 woman, clad in a colorless and shapeless skirt and an 
 equally shapeless jacket which hung unbelted about 
 her thick waist. As she came slowly forward the girl 
 began to take in other details. The woman was bare- 
 footed and walked with a shambling gait which made 
 Juanita think of bears pacing their barred enclosures 
 in a zoo. Her face was hard and unsmiling, and the 
 wrinkles about her eyes were those of anxious and 
 lean years, but the eyes themselves were not unkind.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 27 
 
 Her lips were tight clamped on the stem of a clay 
 pipe. 
 
 " Evenin', ma'am," began the mountaineer. " I'm 
 Good Anse Talbott. I reckon mebby ye've heered tell 
 of me. This lady is Miss Holland from down below. 
 I 'lowed Flech mout let us tarry hyar till sun-up." 
 
 " I reckon he mout ef he war hyar, though we 
 don't foller takin' in strangers," was the dubious re- 
 ply ; " but he hain't hyar." 
 
 "Where air he at?" 
 
 " Don't know. Didn't ye see him down the road as 
 ye rid along? " 
 
 " Wall, now " drawled the missionary, " I hain't 
 skeercely as well acquainted hyarabouts as further up 
 Tribulation. What manner o' lookin' man air he? " 
 
 " He don't look like nothin' much," replied his wife 
 morosely. " He's jest an ornery-lookin' old man." 
 
 " Whither did he sot out ter go when he left hyar? " 
 
 The woman shook her head, then a grim flash of 
 latent wrath broke in her eyes. 
 
 " I'll jest let ye hev the truth, stranger. Some triflin* 
 fellers done sa'ntered past hyar with a jug of licker, 
 an' thet fool Fletch hes jest done follered 'em off. 
 Thet's all thar is to hit an' he hain't got no license 
 ter ack thetaway nuther. I reckon by now he's a-layin* 
 drunk somewhars." 
 
 For a moment there was silence through which 
 drifted the distant tinkle of cowbells down the creek. 
 Beyond the crests lingered only a lemon afterglow as 
 relict of the dead day. The brown, colorless man 
 astride his mule sat stupidly looking down at the brown 
 colorless woman across the stile. The waiting girl
 
 28 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 heard the preacher surmising that " mebby he'd better 
 sot out in s'arch of Fletch." The words seemed to come 
 from a great distance and her head swam giddily. 
 Then overcome with disgust and weariness, Juanita 
 Holland saw the afterglow turn slowly to pale gray 
 and then to black shot through with orange spots. 
 She grew suddenly indifferent to the situation. She 
 swayed in her saddle and slipped limply to the ground. 
 The young woman who had come to conquer the moun- 
 tains and carry a torch of enlightenment to their 
 illiteracy, had fainted from heartsickness and weari- 
 ness at the threshold of her invasion.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE weariness which caused the fainting spell 
 must hate lengthened its duration, for when 
 Juanita's lashes flickered upward again and her 
 brain came gropingly back to consciousness she was 
 no longer out by the stile. Yet there could not have 
 been a great interval either for now as the girl looked 
 up the parallelogram of a door frame showed that 
 though the twilight was dying the twilight's ghost 
 still lingered. At the top of the opening was yet a 
 streak of afterglow, paling and graying, and over it 
 hung a single, diamond-clear star. 
 
 She noticed that detail before she became aware of 
 nearer things. Gradually consciousness ceased to be 
 fragmentary. She was lying in the smothering soft- 
 ness of a feather bed. On her palate and tongue lin- 
 gered an unfamiliar, sweetish taste, while through her 
 veins she felt the coursing of a warm glow. Over her 
 stood the woman who had been across the stile when 
 she fainted. Her attitude was anxiously watchful. 
 In one hand she held a stone jug, and in the other a 
 gourd dipper. So that accounted for the taste and the 
 glow, and as Juanita took in the circumstance she 
 heard the high nasal voice, pitched none the less in a 
 tone of kindly reassurance. 
 
 " Ye'll be spry as a squirrel in a leetle spell, honey. 
 
 Don't fret yoreself none. Ye war jest plumb tuckered 
 
 90
 
 80 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 out an' ye swooned. I've been a rubbin' yore hands 
 an' a pourin' a little white licker down yore throat. 
 Don't worrit yoreself none. We're pore folks an' we 
 hain't got much, but I reckon we kin mek out ter en- 
 joy ye somehow." 
 
 The four walls of the cabin might have been the 
 rocky confines of a mountain cavern, so completely did 
 they merge into the impalpable and sooty murk that 
 hung between them, obliterating all remoter outline. 
 Only things in a narrow circle grew visible and at the 
 center of this lighted area was the slender figure of a 
 girl, holding up a lard taper, whose radius of light was 
 yellow and flickering. 
 
 The girl on the bed smiled and murmured her thanks, 
 and as the other girl, younger and unspeakably shy, 
 felt the eyes of the strange woman from the great un- 
 known world upon her, her own dark lashes fell timidly 
 and the hand that held the taper trembled, while into 
 her cheeks crept a carmine self-consciousness. She was 
 looking at the most beautiful creature she had ever 
 seen, and the diffidence with which her isolated little 
 life had been always fettered grew as poignant as 
 though she were in the presence of some rare and su- 
 perior being. And Juanita, for her part, felt in her 
 veins a new and subtler glow than that which the moon- 
 shine whiskey had quickened. The men and women 
 of the hills had made her heart-sick with their stolid 
 and animal-like coarseness. Now she saw a slender 
 figure in which the lines were yet transitory between 
 the straightness of childhood and the budding curves 
 of womanhood. She saw a well-borne head surmounted 
 by a mass of tangled hair which the taper lighted into
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 81 
 
 an aureole about a face delicately beautiful. The lips 
 were poppy-red and the eyes were as blue as her own, 
 while below the ragged hem of the short calico skirt 
 bare and slender feet twisted with the restless shyness 
 of a fawn's. 
 
 It was to such children of the hills as this that 
 Juanita Holland was to bring the new teachings. But 
 even as she smiled, the child, for she seemed to be only 
 fifteen or sixteen, surrendered to her shyness and 
 thrusting the taper into her mother's hand, shrunk out 
 of sight in some shadowed corner of the place. 
 
 Then Juanita's eyes occupied themselves with what 
 fragmentary details the faint light revealed. There 
 was something like a rough stone grotto which she 
 knew to be the fireplace. The barrel of a rifle caught 
 the weak flare and glittered. The uncarpeted floor of 
 rude puncheon slabs was a thing of gaping cracks, and 
 overhead there was a vague feeling of low rafters from 
 which hung strings of ancient and shriveled peppers 
 and a few crinkled " hands " of " natural leaf." But 
 as her senses wakened she was most conscious of a 
 reek such as that which clings about a shed where hams 
 are cured; the reek of a windowless house in which 
 the chimney has smoked until the timbers are dark- 
 ened. 
 
 " Dawn," commanded the woman, " take yore foot 
 in yore hand an' light out ter ther barn an' see ef ye 
 kin find some aigs." Then as Juanita watched the 
 door she caught a glimpse of a slight figure that van- 
 ished with the same quick noiselessness as that with 
 which a beaver slips into water. 
 
 " I reckon ye kin jest lay thar a spell," apologized
 
 33 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the woman, " whilst I goes out an' see what victuals I 
 kin skeer up." 
 
 Left alone, the girl from Philadelphia ran over the 
 events of the day and seemed to smother under a weight 
 of squalor and foreboding. The taper had gone with 
 the hostess and even the door darkened with the thick- 
 ening of twilight. Once or twice she heard the sur- 
 reptitious fall of a cautious bare foot, and though at 
 first she could see nothing she knew that one of the 
 children of the household had crept in to lie fascinatedly 
 gazing toward her from one of the other beds. As her 
 eyes slowly accustomed themselves to the darkness un- 
 til their widening pupils could recognize degrees of 
 pitchiness separating comparative from superla- 
 tive she could make them out, in strange immovable 
 little shapes of black. Even in their idle curiosity 
 there was that note which had all day been growing to 
 an obsession with her; the note which strikes the 
 stranger in the hills, of never ending and grim sus- 
 pense; of being constantly watched and followed by 
 unseen eyes. 
 
 At length from the road came loud shouts of drunken 
 laughter broken by the evident remonstrances of a com- 
 panion who sought to enjoin quiet, and by these tokens 
 the " furrin " woman knew that the lord of the squalid 
 manor was returning, and that he was coming under 
 convoy. She shrunk from an immediate meeting with 
 Fletch McNash whose ribald laughter proclaimed his 
 condition, but if she went out by the only door she 
 knew, she would have to confront him, so she lay still, 
 shrinking with distaste as she heard her hostess berat- 
 ing the delinquent consort, and heard also the inter jec-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 88 
 
 tions of another voice whose words she could not catch, 
 so low pitched and quiet was the manner of their utter- 
 ance. 
 
 Fletch had been deposited in one of the split-bottom 
 chairs about the broken mill-stone which served in lieu 
 of a doorstep, and palpably his drink had left him 
 mellow and genial, beyond vulnerability to badgering. 
 
 " I jest went over thar ter borry a hoe," he excul- 
 pated. " An' I met up with some fellers thet wouldn't 
 hardly leave me go. Thar was all manner of free 
 licker. They had white licker an' bottled-in-bond 
 licker an' none of hit didn't cost nothin'. Them fellers 
 jest wouldn't hardly suffer me ter come away." 
 
 " An' whilest ye war a-soakin' up thet thar free 
 licker them potater sets was a-dryin' up, waitin' ter be 
 sot out," came the ironical wifely reminder. 
 
 " I knows thet. I hadn't hardly ought ter of did 
 hit but them fellers they j est wouldn't hardly suffer 
 me ter leave thar." 
 
 " Well," the woman's voice was contemptuous, " I 
 jest took them pertater sets an' flung 'em in ther crick. 
 Next time mebby ye'll know better." 
 
 61 Aw, pshaw ! ole woman," Fletch's voice was un- 
 ruffled, " ye didn't do no sich of a fool thing. Ye're 
 jest a-lyin'." 
 
 Between the strident voices, came every now and 
 then the softly modulated tones of the stranger whose 
 words Juanita lost. Yet somehow whenever she heard 
 their cadence, she felt soothed, and after each of these 
 utterances the woman outside also spoke in softer 
 tones. 
 
 Whoever the stranger was, he carried in his voice
 
 34 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 a reassuring quality, so that without having seen him 
 the girl felt that in his presence there was an element 
 of strength and safeguarding. 
 
 At last from one of the beds she heard a scuffling 
 sound and a moment later a childish form opened a 
 door at the back of the cabin and slipped out into the 
 darkness. 
 
 That revealed an avenue of escape. Juanita had 
 not known that these windowless cabins are usually sup- 
 plied with two doors and that the one into which the 
 wind does not drive stands open for light on winter 
 days. Now she, too, rose noiselessly and went out of 
 the close and musty room. It was quite dark out 
 there and she could feel, rather than see the densely 
 foliaged side of the mountain that loomed upward at 
 her back. 
 
 Off to one side she could make out, by virtue of lan- 
 tern-glow between its cracks, the barn, where some one 
 was still busy with the stock. 
 
 All about her was impenetrable murk and she sank 
 down on a large rock which she found in her path. 
 She was wrapped in the depressing contemplation of 
 the task which lay ahead of her, and its stark contrast 
 with all which lay behind her, so that, in her brooding, 
 she lost account of time. The voices at the front 
 seemed now to have died into the same universal si- 
 lence which held the mountains throttled, and the night 
 chorus had not yet opened. Evidently no one had 
 missed her from the cabin. At last she heard a voice 
 sing out from the stile. 
 
 " I'm Jim White, an' I'm a-comin' in." 
 
 A thick welcome from Fletch McNash followed and
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 35 
 
 then again silence settled except for the weird strain 
 of a banjo which one of the children was thrumming 
 inside. The banjo carried to the Eastern girl's heart 
 a sense of lost soul isolation and eerie loneliness, for 
 the fingers that nursed its strings were slowly picking 
 out one of those mournful ballads which have filtered 
 down from the Scotland of Mary Stuart, and which 
 have survived nowhere else than in this desolate strong- 
 hold of the dead ages. 
 
 After a while as she sat there on her rock, with her 
 chin disconsolately in her hand, and her elbows on her 
 knees, Juanita became conscious of footsteps and knew 
 that some one was coming toward her. Whoever the 
 person or persons were the approach was very quiet 
 and at first she heard only the light crackle of chips 
 and twigs as they passed the chopping block in the 
 woodpile, but in another moment she caught the calm 
 voice which had already impressed her; the voice of 
 the stranger who had brought home the half-helpless 
 house-holder. 
 
 " I reckon we're out of earshot now. I reckon we 
 kin hev speech here, but heed your voice an' talk low." 
 
 In the face of such a preface the girl shrank back 
 with fresh panic. She had no wish to overhear private 
 conversation. She could think of nothing she dreaded 
 more than to be the recipient of any of the dark secrets 
 with which these hills seemed to be honey-combed. If 
 either one of the two men who were only shadows 
 bulked a little blacker than the general darkness, 
 should light a pipe, she would stand forth revealed with 
 all the guilty seeming of an eavesdropper. 
 
 She huddled back against the rock and cast an anx-
 
 36 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 ious glance about her for a way to escape. Behind lay 
 the mountain wall with its jungle-like growth, where 
 her feet would sound an alarm of rustling branches 
 and disturbed deadwood. But the men were strolling 
 near her and to try to reach the house would require 
 crossing their path. 
 
 Then the second shadow spoke and its voice carried, 
 beside the nasal shrillness so common to the hills, the 
 tenseness of suppressed excitement. 
 
 "Thar's liable ter be hell ter-night." 
 
 The girl thought that the quiet stranger laughed, 
 though of that she could not be certain. 
 
 " I reckon ye mean concernin' Cal Douglas ? " 
 
 " Thet's hit, whin I rid outen Peril this a'ternoon 
 ther Jury hed done took ther case an' everybody 'lowed 
 they'd find a verdict afore sundown." 
 
 " I reckon," the taller of the two men answered 
 slowly, and into his softly modulated voice crept some- 
 thing of flinty finality. " I reckon I can tell ye what 
 that verdict's goin' to be. Cal will come clear." 
 
 " Thet hain't ther p'int," urged the messenger ex- 
 citedly. " Thet hain't why I've rid over hyar like a 
 bat outen hell ter cotch up with ye. I was aimin' ter 
 fetch word over ter ther dance, but es I come by hyar, 
 I seen yore boss hitched out thar in ther road so I lit 
 an' come in. ... I reckon ye knows thet Co'te an' 
 thet Jury. Thet's yore business, but thet hain't all." 
 
 "Well, what's the balance of it? Talk out. What 
 are ye aimin' to tell me ? " 
 
 " I met up with a feller in Job Heath's blind tiger 
 jest outside Peril. He'd drunk a lot of licker an' he 
 got ter talking mighty loose-tongued an' free." The
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 87 
 
 girl sickened a little as she felt that her fears were 
 being realized, and one hand went involuntarily up to 
 her breast and stayed there. The young man with 
 the shrill voice talked on impetuously. 
 
 " Ever sence the trial of Cal Douglas started good, 
 old Milt McBriar hain't been actin' like his-self. Him 
 an' Breck Havey's been stoppin' at ther same hotel 
 in Peril an' yit Milt hain't 'peared ter be a-bearin' no 
 grudge whatsoever. When ther Jury was med up, Milt 
 didn't seek ter challenge fellers thet everybody knowed 
 was friends of Cal's. Milt didn't even seek ter raise 
 no hell when ther Jedge ruled favorable ter Cal right 
 along. This feller what I talked ter, 'lowed thet Milt 
 didn't Teeer ef Cal came cl'ar." 
 
 The listening man once more answered with a quiet 
 laugh. " Do ye 'low that that old rattlesnake, Milt 
 McBriar, aims to stand by an' not try ter hang or peni- 
 tentiary kin of mine for killin' kin of his ? " he inquired 
 almost softly. 
 
 " Thet's just hit," the answer came quickly and ex- 
 citedly. " This feller 'lowed thet old Milt aimed ter 
 show ther world thet he couldn't git no jestice in a Co'te 
 thet b'longed ter Anse Havey, an' then he aimed ter 
 'tend ter his own jestice fer hisself. He 'lows ter her 
 hit home-made."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 * * T_T W is he aimin' to fix it ? " The question was 
 
 XT A a bit contemptuous. 
 
 " They figger thet when Cal comes cl'ar, 
 he'll ride lickety-split, with a bunch of Havey boys over 
 hyar ter this dance what's a-goin' forward at ther p'int. 
 Some of Milt's fellers aims ter slip over thar, too, an* 
 while Cal's celebratin' they aims ter git him ter- 
 night." 
 
 " Do they? " The taller man's voice was velvety. 
 " Well, go on. What else? " 
 
 " They aims ter tell ther world thet they let thel 
 law take hit's co'se fust, but thet Bad Anse Havey 
 makes a mockery of ther law. This feller I talked with 
 was j est a boy an' ther licker hed made him brag mighty 
 heedless. I let on like I was State's evidence, same es 
 him an' he told me everything he knew. He 'lowed 
 thet the Haveys were aimin' ter make this dance a big 
 celebration an 5 thet Old Milt aimed ter give 'em 
 somethin' ter celebrate right an' proper." 
 
 For a moment there was silence, and then the quiet 
 voice commented ironically : " My God, them fellers 
 lay a heap of deviltry up against Bad Anse, don't 
 they?" 
 
 After a moment of silence, through which Juanita 
 Holland was painfully conscious of the quick beat of 
 
 her own heart, she heard again the unexcited voice of 
 
 38
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 39 
 
 the tall stranger. Now it was the capable voice of a 
 general officer giving commands. 
 
 " Did ye give warnin' in Peril ? " 
 
 " No I couldn't get ter speak with Cal. He was 
 in co'te and seein' as how they didn't figger on raisin' 
 no hell twell they git over hyar I didn't turn back- 
 wards. I come straight through. I 'lowed this was 
 ther place ter fix things up." 
 
 " You ride over to the dancin' party. Get the older 
 fellers together. . . . Keep the boys quiet an 5 sober 
 . . . cold sober. Watch thet old fool, Bob McGreeger. 
 Don't spread these tidings till I get there. ... If Cal 
 comes over there tell him to keep outen sight. Nothin' 
 won't break loose before midnight. . . . That's my or- 
 ders. By God Almighty, I aim to have peace here- 
 about just now." The speaker's voice broke off and 
 the two men passed out of sight around the corner of 
 the house. 
 
 The girl rose and made her way unsteadily to the 
 back door and let herself in. She threw herself on the 
 bed and lay there rapidly thinking. It was obvious 
 that her absence had not been commented upon. A few 
 minutes later she heard the voice of Mrs. McNash sing- 
 ing out, " You folks kin all come in an' eat," and found 
 herself, outwardly calm, making her way around to the 
 shed addition which served jointly as kitchen and din- 
 ing-room. 
 
 When she entered the place Fletch McNash was al- 
 ready seated and sagged over his plate with the stupid 
 inertia of dulled senses. Gone now was his hilarity 
 and in its place was come the sleepy heaviness of re- 
 action. Even the sight of the " fotched-on woman "
 
 40 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 elicited from him only a thickly muttered and incoher- 
 ent 'comment. 
 
 At the center of the miserable lean-to stood a home- 
 made table covered with red oil-cloth and nondescript 
 crockery. Light came from the roaring blaze of the 
 open hearth over which with pioneer make-shift the 
 cookery had gone forward. In the yellow and ver- 
 milion flare of the logs, the walls appeared to advance 
 and recede in tune to the upleapings of flame. Hud- 
 dling as far into the shadow of a corner as possible sat 
 the girl, Dawn, like a pink laurel-blossom in a sooty 
 place. Above her head hung several " sides of meat," 
 and at her feet was a pile of potatoes and onions. 
 
 But Juanita dismissed with a quick view those figures 
 she had seen before. To Fletch McNash she accorded 
 a glance of veiled disgust. She found herself unac- 
 countably eager to see the tall stranger whose voice 
 had reassured her ; who had appeared first as the Samar- 
 itan bringing home the helpless ; then as the man whose 
 words gained prompt obedience and finally as the 
 self-declared advocate of peace. 
 
 He was standing, as she entered, a little back from 
 the hearth, with the detached air of one who drops into 
 the background or comes to the fore with equal readi- 
 ness. She found that in appearance as in voice he 
 bore a rough sort of impressiveness about him. In the 
 brighter light stood the messenger, a gaunt youth in 
 whose wild, sharp features lurked cunning, cruelty and 
 endurance. But the other man, who stood a head 
 taller, fell into a pose of indolent ease which might wake 
 instantly into power. 
 
 On his clear-cut, rather lean face was a calm which
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 41 
 
 seemed remote from even the memory of excitement. 
 From a breadth of shoulder he tapered wedge-like to the 
 waist and was knit with none of the shambling loose- 
 ness that Juanita had come to associate with the Cum- 
 berland type. In clothing he was much like the rest, 
 except that in a rather indefinable way he escaped their 
 seeming of slouchiness. She wondered where she had 
 seen some portrait that wore as his face did roughness 
 combined with dignity: crudeness with gentleness. 
 
 It was a face strongly and ruggedly chiseled, but 
 so dominated by unfaltering, gray eyes that one was 
 apt to forget all else, and carry away only a memory 
 of dark hair and those eyes. Now as the girl met 
 their steady gaze, her own fell before it, yet she had 
 caught a feeling that although she had never looked 
 into such cool pupils there lay back of them a strong 
 impression of banked and sleeping fires. 
 
 " No I kain't hardly tarry," she heard the messenger 
 declaring in his nasal, high-pitched voice. " I reckon 
 I've got ter be gone." 
 
 As Juanita made her way to a chair at the rough 
 table the woman was saying in that old idiom of the 
 hills, which springs from days when matches were un- 
 known and dead fires must needs be rekindled from a 
 neighbor's hearth, " What's yore tormentin' haste, Jim ? 
 Ye acts like ye'd done come ter borry fire." 
 
 " I'm a leetle-bit oneasy," interposed the tall man 
 quietly, " lest those boys over at the dance might git 
 quarrelsome with licker, and I want Jim to ride over 
 an' keep an' eye on 'em till I git there. A dancin' party 
 ought rightly to be peaceable." 
 
 Then as they sat at table and the girl struggled
 
 42 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 with her discomfiture over each unclean detail of the 
 food, she raised her eyes from time to time, always to 
 encounter upon her the steady, appraising gaze of the 
 dark stranger. In the desultory conversation of the 
 table he took no part, but sat as taciturn and as 
 wrapped about with his own thoughts as some warrior 
 of the Indians from whom his forefathers had wrested 
 these hills and from whom they had, to their shame, 
 learned their ethics of warfare. 
 
 When they had finished, the stranger drew Fletch, 
 now somewhat sobered by his meal, aside and the other 
 men retired to the chairs in the door-yard. Then the 
 girl from the East again slipped away and took up her 
 solitary place on the top of the stile, where she sat 
 thinking. The group about the door seemed a long 
 way off as their droning voices drifted to her in the 
 dark. 
 
 Slowly the smothering blackness of the barriers be- 
 gan to lighten. Beyond the eastern crests showed 
 the pale mistiness of silver which was precursor to the 
 'moon. Stars that gleamed between the peaks like 
 diamond splinters grew less intensely clear. Then the 
 flat and pitchy curtain of night took faint form. The 
 edge of the moon peeped stealthily over the ridge and 
 after that the moon itself began to soar and work magic 
 changes. The black void out in front became a silvery 
 little valley through which the soft mirroring ribbon 
 of Tribulation caught and turned top-down the lacelike 
 fringe of the timber. Great shapeless masses modeled 
 themselves into clear-cut monuments of cobalt. Giant 
 plumes of pines and patterns of oak swam into sight 
 and the hollows were dream-wrapped pools of softened
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 4 
 
 moon-mist. Then as though in answer to the miracle 
 that had transformed the hopeless death of the night 
 into the tender nocturne of grays and silvers and dream- 
 blues, there boomed from the edges of the creek the 
 chorus of the full-throated frogs and from behind in 
 wooded slopes floated that plaintive note which, once 
 known, leaves the ache of an unfulfilled desire over all 
 countries where it does not sound; the call of the whip- 
 poorwill. 
 
 Under these influences Juanita Holland was feeling 
 unspeakably soothed. The sick squalor and lawless- 
 ness of the hills seemed, for the moment, less important 
 than their serene beauty. After all where Nature 
 smiled like this, where from heavens and forests came 
 such a caress and benediction as moon-mist and star- 
 light were pouring over her, things could not be irre- 
 trievably bad. 
 
 There were blossom girls like little Dawn to be won 
 away from weed-wildness and taught. There were 
 young men like the eagle-eyed stranger who raised their 
 voices to declare as she had heard him declare, " I aim 
 to have peace hyarabouts." Somehow she felt that 
 what that voice announced, that man would do. 
 
 At last she was conscious of a presence besides her 
 own, as of some one standing silently at her back. 
 
 Rather nervously she turned her head and there with 
 one foot on the lower step of the stile stood the young 
 stranger himself. Once more their eyes met and with 
 a little start she dropped her own. She was not one 
 who ordinarily failed to sustain any glance, however 
 direct, and a sense of challenge usually brought to her 
 chin that upward tilt and to her pupils that faint flash
 
 44 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 under which the other eyes fell away. Yet somehow 
 now, though she felt a half-mocking challenge and a 
 premonition of personal duel in his gaze, it was she who 
 surrendered. 
 
 She saw his horse, hitched outside, raise its head and 
 whinny as though in welcome to its master, and then 
 she looked back, and the mountaineer's steady apprais- 
 ing gaze was still fixed on her face, seeming to penetrate 
 her thoughts. 
 
 " I kinder hate to bother ye, ma'am," said the even 
 voice, " but I can't hardly get acrost thet stile whilst 
 ye're settin' on it." 
 
 There was no note of badinage or levity in his voice 
 and his clear-drawn features under the moonlight were 
 entirely serious. 
 
 Juanita rose. " I beg your pardon," she said hastily 
 as she went down the stile on the far side. 
 
 " Thet's all right, ma'am," replied the man easily, 
 still with a serious dignity as he, too, crossed to the 
 road. 
 
 While he was untying the knot in his bridle rein the 
 girl stood watching him. In the easy indolence of his 
 movements was the rippling quality that suggested the 
 leopard's frictionless strength. Inside, when she had 
 seen him standing by the hearth, she had been impressed, 
 but his eyes had so fascinated her that the rest of her 
 scrutiny had been insufficient and unsatisfactory. Now 
 in the moonlight and the breeze she felt cooler, steadier, 
 more analytical. 
 
 Even the raw-looking messenger had in an inferior 
 way struck her with a note of the individual, and she 
 had satisfied herself with the reflection that both these
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 45 
 
 men differed from all the men of her own world because 
 her acquaintances had gone under the leveling and soft- 
 ening influences of the conventional. They were 
 smoother and more alike while these more primitive 
 men were types, each standing forth with something of 
 the sternness of their native crags. 
 
 The very quality that gave this young stranger 
 his picturesqueness and stamped him as vital and dy- 
 namic in his manhood, sprang from that wild rough- 
 ness which he shared with his eagles and Dawn shared 
 with her weedlike flowers. And yet it was somehow 
 as though the man, whose voice was so calm, whose 
 movements so quiet, whose gaze so un-arrogant, were 
 crying out in a clarion challenge with every breath, " I 
 am a man ! " 
 
 It was as unnecessary for him to breathe a syllable 
 or strike an attitude to drive that declaration home as 
 it would be for a dreadnought to fire a broadside in an- 
 nouncement of the purpose for which it had been 
 launched. 
 
 The stranger's square-blocked face was smooth-shaven 
 and his clothes, in their careless roughness, seemed less 
 garments than an emphasis for the power and swiftness 
 of the muscles beneath them. She thought of them less 
 as clothes than as plumage an eagle's plumage. 
 
 Instead of brogans tan boots were laced half way to 
 the knee and above them the trousers bulged squarely 
 like the feathers that break off close above an eagle's 
 talons. His throat and hands were of the clear smooth- 
 ness and clean hardness of bronze. 
 
 Yet brow and lips and nostrils seemed rather chiseled 
 than molded, with the little edges and angles left, so
 
 46 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 that the contour suggested granite while the texture 
 seemed metal. 
 
 Dominating all the rest, the eyes, cool, but sentient 
 with latent passion and power, lighted from within 
 rather than from without, were always the first and last 
 things that one saw. 
 
 Suddenly she wondered if in him she might not find 
 an ally. She felt very lonely. To have counsel with 
 some one in these hills less stupidly phlegmatic than 
 Good Anse Talbott would bring comfort and reassur- 
 ance to her heart. She must cope with the powerful 
 chicane and resourcefulness of Bad Anse Havey, him 
 of the untamed ferocity and cold cruelty and subtle 
 intelligence. If some native son could share even a 
 little of her view N -point she would find in him a tower 
 of strength. 
 
 She would have liked to tell him how her loneliness 
 called out for comprehension and friendship, yet she 
 did not know how to start. Then while she stood there 
 still hesitant, still very beautiful and slim and wraith- 
 like under the moon, he spoke in his reassuring steadi- 
 ness of voice. 
 
 Perhaps he had yielded to the unspoken appeal of 
 the deep rangeful eyes that were always blue, yet never 
 twice the same blue, and the sweetly sensitive lips so 
 tantalizingly charming, because they were fashioned for 
 smiles and were now drooping instead. Perhaps the 
 wild masculine in him responded to the pliant curves 
 that spoke of strength and stamina in a figure so lithely 
 lender. 
 
 " I reckon," he said, " you find it right different from 
 down below, don't you? "
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 47 
 
 She nodded. " But it's very beautiful," she added as 
 she swept her hand about in a gesture of admiration. 
 
 It was he who nodded at that, very gravely, and al- 
 most reverently, though at the next moment his laugh 
 was short and almost ironical. 
 
 " I reckon God never fashioned anything better 
 nor worse," he told her. " When you've breathed it an' 
 seen it an' lived it, no other place is fit to dwell in, an' 
 yet sometimes I 'low that God didn't mean it to be the 
 habitation of men an' women. It's cut out for eagles 
 an' hawks an' wild things. It belongs to the winds an' 
 storms. It puts fire into veins meant for blood, an' the 
 only crop it raises much is hell." 
 
 " You you've been out in the other world down 
 below ? " she questioned. 
 
 " Yes, but I couldn't stay down there. I couldn't 
 breathe hardly. I sultered an' sickened an' I came 
 back." 
 
 She turned to him impulsively. 
 
 " I don't know who you are," she began hurriedly, 
 " but I know that you brought this man home when 
 he was not in a condition to come alone. I know that 
 you sent a man ahead of you to keep peace at the dance. 
 I know you have a heart, and it means something, 
 means a great deal to feel that some one in these 
 hills feels about it as I feel." 
 
 She broke off abruptly, realizing that she was allowing 
 too much appeal to creep into her voice; that she had 
 come to fight, not to sue for favor. He was standing, 
 making no offer to interrupt or answer until he was 
 quite sure she was through, but his attitude was that 
 of dignified, almost deferential attention.
 
 48 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 "I I thought maybe you would help me," she fin- 
 ished a little f alteringly. " Would you mind telling 
 me your name? " 
 
 He had unhitched his horse and stood with the reins 
 hanging from one hand. 
 
 " It's Havey," he said slowly, " but hereabouts I've 
 got another name that's better known." He paused, 
 then added with a hardened timber of voice as though 
 bent on making defiant what would otherwise sound like 
 confession : " It's Bad Anse." 
 
 The girl recoiled as though under a physical shock. 
 It seemed to her that every way she turned she was to 
 meet staggering disappointments. She had spoken 
 almost pleadingly to the man with whom she could make 
 no terms ; the man whose arrogant power and lawless in- 
 fluence she must break and paralyze before her own 
 regime could find standing room in these hills. 
 
 Yet as she looked at him standing there, and stiffened 
 resolutely, she could say nothing except, " Oh ! " 
 
 Into the monosyllable crept many things: repulsion, 
 defiance and chagrin for her mistake, and in recognition 
 of them all the bronzed features of the man hardened 
 a little and into the cool eyes snapped a sparkle of the 
 sleeping fires she had divined. 
 
 " I made my suggestion to the wrong man," she said 
 steadily. " I misunderstood you. I thought you said 
 you wanted peace." 
 
 He swung himself to the saddle, then as he gathered 
 up his reins he turned and in his utterance was immov- 
 able steadiness and glacial coldness, together with a 
 ring of contempt and restrained anger. 
 
 " I did say that and by God Almighty, I meant just
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 49 
 
 what I said. I do want peace in these mountains but 
 I ain't never found no way yet ter get peace without 
 fightin' for it." 
 
 She saw him ride away into the moonlight, with his 
 shoulders very straight and the battered felt hat very 
 high, and he looked neither to right nor left as he went 
 until the mists had swallowed him.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 FOR the rest of her life Juanita looked back npom 
 the remainder of that night as upon some lurid de- 
 lirium shot across with many hideous apparitions. 
 
 For a long while she sat there on the stile gazing 
 across the steep banks between which the waters of 
 Tribulation slipped along in a tide of tarnished quick- 
 silver, and beyond which rose the near ridges of blue 
 and the far dim ridges of gray. At her back she knew 
 that the family and the missionary were sitting in talk. 
 Their nasal, high-pitched voices drifted vaguely to her 
 and jarred upon her nerves. Jeb, the oldest boy, had 
 left after supper to go back to the dance for in these 
 lonely back waters of the world any sort of entertain- 
 ment is too rare to be wasted. Down by the water the 
 frogs whose voices had a little while ago seemed mellow 
 were croaking dismally now, and when some soft-winged 
 and noiseless creature fluttered by near her face and 
 from the sycamore overhead quavered the long wistful 
 call of a " grave-yard owl " she shivered a little. Even 
 the message of the whippoorwill was changed. In- 
 stead of " Whippoorwill " the birds seemed to voice in 
 dirge-like monotony, " These poor hills ! , These poor 
 hills!" 
 
 She sat there with her hands clasped about her up- 
 drawn knees as she used to sit when some childhood 
 
 grief had weighed upon her. The moonlight caught 
 

 
 THE BATTLE CRY 51 
 
 and sparkled on wet lashes and something suspiciously 
 like tears in her eyes, but there was no one to see except 
 the downy owl that blinked back from the bone-white 
 branch of the gnarled sycamore. 
 
 She could not shake out of her mind the humiliation 
 of having shown her weakest side to Bad Anse Havey. 
 It was some satisfaction to remember the offended stif- 
 fening of his shoulders and the dark fire in his eyes. 
 She had heard much of the easily hurt pride of these 
 mountain men ; a pride which made them walk in strange 
 surroundings with upright heads and eyes challenging 
 criticism of their uncouthness, their wildness. She had 
 first appealed to this man, but at least she had also 
 stung him with her scorn. Now they would be open 
 enemies. 
 
 And with thought of him, the whole situation grew 
 strangely complex. She could no longer think of him 
 as she had before thought of him, nor of his people as 
 she had before thought of them. 
 
 She knew that this young man in a country where 
 every man was poor and no man a pauper, owned great 
 tracts of land that yielded only sparse crops, with the 
 most arduous coaxing. She knew that under his rocky 
 acres slept a great wealth of coal and that above them 
 grew noble and virgin forests of hard wood. The com- 
 ing of railroads and development would make him a 
 rich man. Yet he stood there, seemingly prizing above 
 all those magnificent certainties the empty boast of 
 feudal chieftainship. He stood like an eagle on a tree- 
 top, jealously guarding the wild fastnesses of the crags 
 around him. Why? She asked herself and found no 
 answer. At all events he was a man. With that
 
 52 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 thought came an unwelcome comparison and a catch in 
 her throat. The moon was full and when last it had 
 been full it had shone on a leave-taking between trimmed 
 hedges. 
 
 She drew herself up straight as she sat on the stile 
 and impatiently dashed away the moisture from her 
 eyes. If that other man had only had in him the iron 
 wasted on this desperado, Anse Havey! 
 
 The gods blend badly the elements in life's crucible, 
 she pondered. A mongrel dog strolled over to the stile 
 and sniffed at her ankles. She had heard Mrs. McNash 
 call the brute's name, and now she put out a friendly 
 hand and laid it on the upstretched muzzle. " It's 
 a pretty funny old world, Beardog, isn't it? " she 
 sighed and the mongrel wagged its stump tail in ready 
 affirmation. Then she rose and went unwillingly back 
 to the cabin. 
 
 She did not know that in drawing off to herself and 
 denying her isolated entertainers the novelty of hen 
 society she had been guilty of a grave discourtesy. 
 And they did not intimate to her that their pride was 
 wounded for in the Cumberlands a law which is above 
 other laws guarantees to the guest under one's roof-tree 
 all that the meager possibilities afford, and returns even 
 for slighting appreciation a homely dignity of welcome. 
 
 From the lean-to kitchen Mrs. McNash had brought 
 a pan of live coals and the cavernous recesses of the 
 smoke-blackened chimney roared with a great fire. The 
 air had taken on the night chill of the high places al- 
 though it was June, and now in the illumination from 
 the hearth Juanita saw for the first time the ugly pic- 
 ture of the single room.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 53 
 
 The floor was grimy and in each corner stood a huge 
 four-post bed so that only about the hearth was a cir- 
 cumscribed space for the crowded chairs. Close to the 
 door leaned an ancient spinning wheel and everywhere 
 was the dust and soot of an unlighted place where a 
 gust of downward wind drives the smoke inward. One 
 note only was modern. Propped against the wall near 
 the head of one bed, evidently that of Fletch and his 
 wife, was a rifle, ready to hand, and as the fire burned 
 high and the corners of the room came into sight, the 
 light played and flickered on its barrel and stock and 
 caught the blue metal of a heavy revolver which hung 
 in belt and holster from the bed-post. 
 
 The host sat barefooted before the blaze and talked 
 with the missionary. The girl heard their conversa- 
 tion through the dullness of fatigue, wondering how 
 she was to sleep in this pigsty, yet restrained from 
 asking permission to retire only by her embarrassment 
 and unfamiliarity with the native code. 
 
 " I'm plumb pleased ter know ye, Brother Talbott," 
 Fletch McNash, now apparently recovered from his 
 day's carousal, was gravely assuring the missionary. 
 " I've heerd tell about ye fer years. Hit seems qu'ar 
 I hain't never met up with ye afore now. Folks says, 
 that afore ye repented an' foun' grace they used ter 
 call ye Hell-cat Talbott, an' thet in the old Talbott- 
 Hawkins war ye war a mighty vi'lent man." 
 
 The missionary sighed. " Thet war afore the speret 
 Ascended on me. Nowadays folks calls me * Good 
 Anse.' I hopes I be." 
 
 At last Juanita heard Brother Talbott suggest, 
 " Hit's gittin' on ter be late an' we've got a tol'able long
 
 54 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 way ter journey ter-morrer. I reckon we'd better lay 
 down." 
 
 Juanita began nervously counting heads. There 
 were eight in the room and the boy Jeb yet to return 
 from the dance, and while she was still trying to work 
 out the problem the woman pointed to a corner bed and 
 suggested, " I reckon you'd better bundle in with Dawn." 
 
 She saw the girl crawl into the four-poster just as 
 she was and the missionary kick off his brogans and shed 
 his coat, so taking off her own boots and jacket she 
 slipped between the faded " coverlets " of the sheetless 
 bed and tried to banish hateful comparisons. 
 
 In five minutes the taper was out and the place was 
 silent save for the crackle and sputter of the logs. The 
 little girl at her side lay quiet and her regular breath- 
 ing proclaimed her already asleep. In another five 
 minutes Juanita with closed eyes and burning lids, and 
 aching muscles, heard the nasal chorus of snoring sleep- 
 ers. She alone was awake in the house. 
 
 She opened her eyes and gazed up at the discolored 
 rafters. She watched the light sparkle and flash on 
 barrel of rifle and lock of pistol. The heat of the place 
 became a swelter; the mingled odors of charred wood, 
 tobacco smoke and the fumes of liquor nauseated her. 
 
 Her mind went back to the view across the lawns of 
 the Country Club at home. She saw the ivied walls 
 of the college where she had been educated for this. 
 Then she saw in memory the delicately dancing string 
 of polo ponies going over to the grounds for the afternoon 
 game; saw herself sitting with other daintily gowned 
 women on the white flagstoned terrace of the club-house. 
 Outside the door " Beardog," the mongrel, whined
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 55 
 
 vainly for admittance and she grew homesick for even a 
 glimpse of her great Dane. 
 
 And as she thought of these things the soul in her 
 grew small and weak and very sick, and the heart in her 
 told her that it stood on the verge of breaking.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 IT is related in the history of the Hatfield-McCoy 
 feud, which burst out between neighbors over a 
 stray pig, and claimed its toll of lives through a 
 half century, that one of the Hatfield girls wrote on a 
 white pillar at the front of her often bereaved house, 
 " There is no place like home." The sequel tells that 
 a cynical traveler passing that way, reflected on the 
 annals of that house and added in postscript, " Least- 
 ways not this side of hell." 
 
 The story of the Hatfield-McCoy feud is in many 
 ways that of other " wars " which have made of the 
 roof-tree of the eastern divide a land beleaguered and 
 unique. 
 
 To the crags and coves where he was born the moun- 
 tain man adheres, and if by chance he is led to wander, 
 even if he leaves his country for his country's good, the 
 call of the highlands will inevitably draw him back to 
 face the shot from the laurel and the vengeance of the 
 enemy who has " bided his time." 
 
 Two hundred years ago a handful of Anglo-Saxons 
 were stranded there where nature's defiance proved 
 strong enough to halt their westward march. 
 
 It was not granted them, as it was their more favored 
 brethren to colonize the rich land of promise beyond 
 and upon them settled the bitter heritage of the dere- 
 lict. Their great-grandchildren remain to-day pio- 
 
 46
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 57 
 
 neers in bondage to the hills. They sing the songs once 
 sung along the wild Scottish border and jealously hold 
 to outgrown ideals. They fight to the death and turn 
 away no shelterless stranger and forgive no enemy. 
 
 From such blood came Lincoln and from it will come 
 other Lincolns. 
 
 To these men the ordered civilization of " Down be- 
 low " means a foreign power which autocratically 
 crushes. It means Courts whose processes become a 
 power in the hands of feudal enemies, used to smite and 
 persecute. 
 
 In the war between the Haveys and the McBriars 
 there was more than the forgotten episode of a stray 
 razor-back, which was not surrendered to its lawful 
 owners. They had for decades hated and killed each 
 other with a fidelity of bitterness that made all their 
 truces and intermarriages fail of permanent peace. 
 
 Between the territories where they had originally 
 settled, stretched a barrier of hills broken by only one 
 passable gap. The McBriars had made their first hab- 
 itations east of that ridge and gap where the waters 
 run toward the sea. The Haveys had set up their 
 power to the west where the springs feed the rivers that 
 go down to the Bluegrass and to Tennessee. Had the 
 two clans been content to remain respectively on the 
 sunrise and sunset slopes of the backbone, they might 
 never have clashed, but there were bright-eyed women 
 to the west and east. Feminine Havey eyes lured Mc- 
 Briar suitors and McBriar girls seemed to the Havey 
 men worth any dare that Fate might set for their ven- 
 turing. So it has been since young Montagus and 
 Capulets ignored dead lines and long before. Smoke
 
 58 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 went up from cabins on both sides that housed men and 
 women of both clans. Hatred scattered and set up 
 new points of infection all along Tribulation and be- 
 yond its headwaters. 
 
 The war of the States had rent them farther apart 
 when McBriars fought for and Haveys against the Un- 
 ion. Since then each clan had wielded strong political 
 power, and wielded it against each other, but far be- 
 low flag and party went down the tap root of poisonous 
 and personal hatred. 
 
 It was an unfortunate thing that Cal Douglas 
 should, on a February afternoon, have shot to death 
 his brother-in-law, Noah McKay, even if as Cal ear- 
 nestly assured the Jury " he was jest obleeged an' be- 
 holden ter do hit." All the circumstances of the affair 
 were inopportune for his kinsmen and the kinsmen of 
 the man who died with a bullet through his vitals. 
 
 Cal bore a name for surly character and even in a 
 land where grudge-bearing is a religion, he was deemed 
 ultra fanatical in fanning the flame of hatred. Noah 
 McKay, himself, was little loved by either the Haveys, 
 into whose family he had married, or the McBriars from 
 whom he sprang. Neighbors told of frequent and vio- 
 lent bickerings between the man and his shrewish wife 
 who was the twin sister of Cal Douglas. 
 
 " Cal Douglas an' Noey McKay's woman air es much 
 alike es two peas in a pod," went neighborhood pro- 
 nouncement. " They air both soured on mankind an' 
 they glories in human misery." 
 
 Had the fight on that winter evening ended in the 
 death of both participants, McBriars and Haveys would 
 alike have called it a gentle riddance and dropped the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 59 
 
 matter where it stood. But since a Havey had slain 
 a McBriar, and the Havey still lived it could not, in 
 honor, be so dropped. It left an uneven score. 
 
 So the McBriars called that killing a murder while 
 the Haveys styled it self-defense, and a new peg was 
 driven upon which to hang clan bitterness. 
 
 Since the mountaineer has little to do in the winter 
 and spring save gossip, the affair grew in importance 
 with rehearsing and to each telling was added new fea- 
 tures. It was assumed east of the ridge that Noah had 
 incurred the displeasure of Bad Anse Havey by the 
 suspicion of tale-bearing to old Milt McBriar. It was 
 argued that that particular wife-beating might have 
 passed as uneventfully as several similar episodes here- 
 tofore, had not the heads of the Haveys made it a pre- 
 text for eliminating a McBriar who dwelt in their midst 
 and carried news across the ridge to his own people. 
 
 For several years the feud had slept, not the com- 
 plete sleep of death, but the fitful, simmering sleep of 
 precarious animosity. Slowly the bitterness had be- 
 come a fevered sore, so tense and strained that it needed 
 only a spark to fire it into actual war. But neither 
 clan felt so overwhelmingly strong as to court an issue 
 just yet and realizing the desperate quality of any out- 
 break, both Milt McBriar " over yon " and Anse Havey 
 over here had guarded the more belligerent kinsmen 
 with jealous eye. They had until now held them 
 checked and leashed, though growling. 
 
 For these reasons the trial had been awaited with a 
 sense of crisis in the town of Peril where it might mean 
 a pitched battle. So it had been awaited, too, up and 
 down the creeks and branches that crept from the
 
 60 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 ragged hills, where men were leading morbid lives of 
 isolation and nursing grudges. 
 
 Yet nothing had happened, and though the streets 
 were empty of peaceful folk and doors were barred, 
 when the bell in the rickety cupola called men to attend 
 " High-Court," the case had proceeded with a surpris- 
 ing apathy. 
 
 During the three days that the suspense of the trial 
 continued, each recess of Court found the long-limbed 
 frame of Milt McBriar tilted back in a split-bottomed 
 chair on the flagstones at the front of the hotel. His 
 dark face and piercing eyes gazed always thoughtfully, 
 and very calmly off across the dusty town to the re- 
 poseful languor of the piled-up, purple skyline. Like- 
 wise each recess found seated at the other end of the 
 same house-front the shorter, heavier figure of a fair- 
 haired man with ruddy face and sandy mustache. 
 Never did he appear there without two companions, who 
 like his Lartius and Herminius remained at his right 
 and left. Never did the dark giant speak to the florid 
 man, yet never did either fail to keep a glance directed 
 toward the other. 
 
 The man of the sandy hair was Breck Havey, next 
 to Bad Anse, the most influential leader of the clan. 
 His influence here in Peril made or unmade the officers 
 of the law. 
 
 When these two men came together, as opposing wit- 
 nesses in a homicide case, the air was fraught with ele- 
 ments of storm. " Thar's war a-brewin'," commented 
 a native, glancing at the quietly seated figures one noon, 
 " an' them fellers air in ther b'ilin'."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 PHYSICAL exhaustion will finally tell, even over 
 such handicaps as a mountain feather-bed and the 
 fumes of a backwoods cabin. 
 
 If Juanita Holland did not at last actually fall 
 asleep she drifted into a sort of coma and uneasily 
 dreamed that she was watching a polo game at Bryn 
 Mawr. The man whom she had sent away was dash- 
 ing, with lifted mallet, after the willow ball and she 
 was bending forward with parted lips. 
 
 Behind the white goal posts was a ragged mountain 
 thick with tangles of laurel and rhododendron, for such 
 is the chaotic topography of dreams. Just at the mo- 
 ment when the man, whom she had sent away, raised 
 his mallet for the stroke which should score a goal, she 
 saw Bad Anse Havey step from the thicket and throw 
 to his shoulder a rifle which barked before she could 
 scream a warning. The other man fell from his pony 
 with a red smear on his silk shirt and as he fell he said 
 calmly, but bitterly, to her across the field, while their 
 eyes met, " This is your doing, Juanita." 
 
 She wondered if she had really screamed aloud as 
 her eyes opened and stared at the rafters, but little 
 Dawn's sleeping breath rose and fell undisturbed at 
 her side, and the snores about her went on unbroken. 
 She raised her hand and wiped the perspiration from 
 her eyes. She even ventured to look cautiously about. 
 
 61
 
 62 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 After all she must have slept heavily for now besides 
 the four beds there was a pallet on the floor and at its 
 top the fire-light, which was lower now, but still strong, 
 showed a towsled head, and at its bottom two bare feet. 
 Jeb had come home from the dance. 
 
 Again she shut her eyes, but their lids were hot and 
 feverish. The whole procession of the day's wretched 
 occurrences paraded before her and she wondered if 
 these creatures were worth the effort she was making 
 in their behalf. Here they slept about her the sodden 
 sleep of beasts, herded together in dirty congestion. 
 How, into such a life, could she hope to introduce clean 
 ideals or ambitions? 
 
 From present disgust and discouragement the trend 
 of her reflections swept forward into premonitions and 
 sorry prophecies for the future. If to-night was bad 
 what might to-morrow be? 
 
 The messenger who had talked low out there in the 
 dark, when the tall stranger had still been to her cnly 
 a soothing voice, was a native. He looked as if he had 
 been trained to face even the uncertainties of such a 
 life as this. And yet his utterance, too, had been shrill 
 with excitement. " Thar's liable ter be hell ter-night ! " 
 What might even now be happening over there, where 
 Milt McBriar designed to give the Haveys " somethin' 
 ter celebrate proper " ? 
 
 What monstrous things might she have to face at the 
 very inception of her mission? Could it be that the 
 sleeping volcano of violence would select her coming 
 as a cue for eruption, and that she, who had seen only 
 the better things of life until to-day, must begin her 
 work by looking on at iuch a revolting drama!'
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 63 
 
 She had come here only to try to aid and assist, and 
 in welcome the very crags and everything within their 
 sandstone gates were showing her a snarl of bared fangs 
 and evil, burning eyes. 
 
 For a seeming of centuries she lay there aching in 
 heart and mind and body. She kept her eyes tight 
 shut and tried to count sheep jumping over a fence. 
 She tried to think of pleasant, inconsequential things 
 and of dances and house parties where she had had a 
 good time. 
 
 And finally she fell again into that half sleep which 
 dreams of wakefulness. It may have lasted minutes or 
 hours, but suddenly she roused again with a start from 
 a new nightmare and lay trembling under the oppres- 
 sion of a poignant foreboding. What was it that she 
 had subconsciously heard or imagined? She was pain- 
 fully wide awake in the slumbering cabin. At last she 
 was sure of a sound, low, but instinct with warning. 
 
 Beardog was growling just outside the door. 
 
 Then violently and without the preface of gradual 
 approach precisely as though horsemen had sprung 
 from the earth there clattered and beat past the 
 front of the cabin a staccato thunder of wildly gallop- 
 ing hoofs and a rattle of scattered rocks. She felt an 
 uncanny freezing of her marrow. Horses travel peril- 
 ous and broken roads in that fashion only when their 
 riders are in wild haste. 
 
 As abruptly as the drum-beat had come it died again 
 into silence and there was no diminuendo of hoof-beats 
 receding into the distance. The thing was weird and 
 ghostly. She had not noticed in the weariness of ar- 
 rival at the cabin that the road ran deep in sand to the
 
 64 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 corner of the fence and that after fifty yards of rough 
 and broken rock it fell away again into another sound- 
 muffling stretch. She knew only that she was thor- 
 oughly frightened and that whatever the noise was, it 
 bore with it the proclaiming of hot and desperate haste. 
 
 Yet even in her terror she had moved only to turn her 
 head, and had opened her eyes cautiously and narrowly. 
 
 There was no sound in the cabin now; not even the 
 stertorous breath of a snore. The fire flickered faintly 
 and occasionally sent up from its white bed of ashes a 
 dying spurt, before which the darkness fell back a little, 
 for the moment. She could see that Fletch McNash 
 had half risen in his bed. His head was partly turned 
 in an attitude of intent listening and his pose was as 
 rigid as that of a bird dog frozen on a point. It had 
 all been momentary and as Juanita gazed, she saw other 
 figures stir uneasily, though no one spoke. The boy 
 on the floor had not moved. The missionary lay still, 
 but the woman's figure stirred uneasily beneath the 
 heaped-up quilt. 
 
 So for a few moments the strange and tense tableau 
 held, and the girl, watching the house-holder's alert and 
 motionless pose, remembered him as he had hunched 
 drunkenly over his plate a few hours ago. The two 
 pictures were hard to reconcile. 
 
 Then at some warning which her less acute ears failed 
 to register, she saw Fletch McNash's right hand sweep 
 outward toward the wall and come up gripping the 
 rifle. 
 
 Still there was no word, though the eldest boy's head 
 had risen from the pallet. 
 
 Keyed now to concert pitch, the girl held her body
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 65 
 
 rigid and through half-closed lids, looked across the 
 dim room. While she was so staring, and pretending 
 to sleep there drifted from a long way off an insistent, 
 animal-like jell with a peculiar quaver in its final note. 
 She did not know that it was the famous McBriar rally- 
 ing cry, and that trouble inevitably followed fast in 
 the wake of its sounding. She knew only that it fitted 
 in with her childhood's terrified conception of the In- 
 dian's war-whoop. But she did know that in an instant 
 after it had been borne along the wind she had seen a 
 thing happen which she would have disbelieved had 
 she heard it from the lips of a narrator; a thing un- 
 realizable in its swift silence ; a thing belonging to the 
 stern legerdemain of self-defense. 
 
 She saw, in one breathing space, the half-risen figure 
 of Fletch McNash under the covers of his bed; and 
 that of young Jeb under the quilts of his pallet. She 
 saw in the next breathing space, with no realization of 
 how it had happened, both of them crouched low at the 
 center of the floor; the father's eyes glued to the front 
 door, the son's to the back. And as they crouched there 
 in the fitful firelight, their long shadows wavered off 
 from them rising and falling in inky patches. The 
 elder man bent low like a runner on his mark waiting 
 the starting signal. His right hand held the rifle at his 
 front, his left lightly touched the floor with fingers 
 spread to brace his posture, and his face was tensely 
 upturned. So while she counted ten father and son 
 crouched in precisely similar poses, one covering the 
 barred door at the front with a repeating rifle, the other 
 seeming to stare through the massive timbers of that 
 at the back with leveled pistol. No one spoke. No
 
 66 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 one moved, but the regular swelling breath of sleep 
 had died for every pair of lips in the place was holding 
 its breath bated. Then came a fresh pounding of 
 hooves and scattering of gravel, and a chorus of angry 
 incoherent voices sounded above the noise of flight or 
 was it pursuit? Whatever words were being shouted 
 out there in the night were swallowed in the medley, 
 except a wake of oaths that seemed to float behind. 
 
 The noise, like the other which had preceded it, died 
 swiftly, but in the instant that it lasted Fletch McNash 
 lifted his left hand and brought his rifle to the " ready " 
 and his son had instinctively thrust forward his cocked 
 revolver. 
 
 For a full minute, perhaps, the girl in the bed had 
 the picture of two figures bent low like bronze emblems 
 of motionless preparedness, yet not a syllable had been 
 spoken and when from quite a distance beyond there 
 came the snap of a single shot, followed by the retort 
 of a volley, they still neither spoke nor moved. But 
 at last as if by one impulse they rose and turned to face 
 each other. 
 
 Then and then only was there utterance of any sort 
 inside the house. In a voice, so low that Juanita would 
 not have heard it had not every sense been acutely and 
 painfully alert, Fletch spoke to his son, " I reckon 
 ther war's on ag'in." 
 
 The boy nodded sullenly and the father commanded 
 in an almost inaudible undertone, 
 
 " Lay down." 
 
 The boy went back to his pallet and the father to 
 his bed. For a long time there was dead silence and 
 then one by one they took up again their chorus of
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 67 
 
 snores. To-morrow might bring chaos, but to-night 
 offered sleep. Still the girl lay gazing helplessly up 
 at the rafters and wondering what things had tran- 
 spired out there between the grim uncommunicative si- 
 lences of the slopes. 
 
 A little while ago she had been dreading what might 
 come. Now in an access of terror she thought of what 
 must come. " Ther war's on " ; that was enough. Evi- 
 dently there had been " hell " over there at the dance. 
 She had reached the country just in time to see a new 
 and sanguinary chapter open. Her view of the life had 
 so far consisted only of thumb-nail sketches, but they 
 had been terrible little keyhole pictures, and she trem- 
 bled as she lay there contemplating what was before her 
 when the door should be fully opened. 
 
 She would in all probability see people she actually 
 knew, with whom she had spoken and whose hands she 
 had taken, the victims of this brutal blood-lust. She 
 would have to live day in and day out with murderers 
 and accustom herself to their atrocities. Every delicate 
 fiber in her nature throbbed with repulsion and panic. 
 
 The horror of the whole system danced a grisly rig- 
 adoon of death across her throbbing eyeballs. 
 
 Through her head ran hideously lines of verse: 
 
 ". . . But never came the day; 
 And crooked shapes of terror crouched, 
 
 In the corners where we lay: 
 And each evil sprite that walks by night 
 
 Before us seemed to play." 
 
 And in the face of such things these human beasts 
 could sleep! 
 
 But one was not sleeping, and after a while among
 
 68 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the snoring slumberers Good Anse Talbott rose and 
 fell upon his knees before the hearth. There were still 
 a few glowing embers there and as he bent and at last 
 took the knotted hands away from his seamed face, 
 a feeble light fell upon his features and upon the bare 
 feet that twisted convulsively as he prayed. 
 
 It was a tortured face, and as the girl watched him 
 she realized for the first time the significance of the 
 words " to wrestle in prayer." It suddenly came to 
 her that she had never before seen a man really pray, 
 and for an hour the backwoods missionary knelt there 
 pleading with his God for his unrepentant people. 
 
 Often his voice was only a groaning murmur out of 
 which came no coherence, unless as it might be, that 
 God could understand. But now and then slie caught 
 words and her own hands lying on the quilt folded them- 
 selves reverently. 
 
 ". . . Oh, Lord I hev sought ter carry Thy gawspel 
 ter these folk, but I reckon I hain't hardly no worthy 
 vessel . . . my own hands hev been red with blood, but, 
 Lord, I've done sought ter wash 'em clean an' dedicate 
 them ter Thy sarvice . . . Lord Gawd, look down an' 
 command me. . . . Show me . . . ther way ter teach 
 'em an' ter lead 'em up outen these shadders. . . . Lord 
 Gawd, show me ther way ! " 
 
 Outside a single whippoorwill wailed plaintively : 
 " These poor hills ! These poor hills ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN the lowlands morning announces itself with the 
 rosy glow of dawn and upflung shafts of light, 
 but here in the hills of Appalachia even the sun 
 comes stealing with surreptitious caution and veiled face 
 as if fearful of ambuscade. 
 
 When Juanita opened her eyes, to find the tumbled 
 beds empty save for herself, she thought with a dismal 
 heart that a day of rain and sodden skies lay ahead 
 of her. 
 
 The dim room reeked with wet mists and an inquisi- 
 tive young rooster stalked jauntily over the puncheon 
 floor, where his footfalls sounded in tiny clicks. It 
 was a few minutes after five o'clock and Juanita shiv- 
 ered a little with the clammy chill as she went over to 
 the door and looked out. 
 
 The mountains were vague apparitions, though the 
 sun should have risen an hour ago. The whole land- 
 scape was a dreary monotone, shrouded in wet stream- 
 ers of mist that cut off the view and left only a gray 
 void as if the world had dissolved over night. 
 
 Among piled up bowlders where the thicket came down 
 to the yard's edge stood a single tulip poplar. Its 
 gnarled roots broke from the earth in smooth-worn el- 
 bows, and between them gushed the clear tongue of a 
 mountain spring, breaking from underground and 
 spilling into a basin of rock. 
 
 69
 
 70 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Bending over it in the unconscious grace of perfect 
 naturalness, with her sleeves rolled back and her dark 
 hair tumbling, knelt the girl, Dawn. 
 
 Juanita crossed the yard and as she came near, the 
 younger girl raised a face still glistening with the cold 
 water into which it had been plunged and glowing with 
 shyness. 
 
 The older woman nodded with a smile as she, too, knelt 
 to thrust her face into the sparkle of the natural foun- 
 tain. " Good-morning," she said. " I think you and 
 I are going to be great friends. I know we are if you 
 will try to like me as much as I do you." 
 
 The wild, Dryad-like little creature stood with the 
 bare toes of one foot twisting in the wet earth and the 
 fingers of both hands nervously clutching at the calico 
 of her skirt. She was gazing with artless worship on 
 the fuller beauty of the " furrin " visitor who was, save 
 for the swelling of more womanly curves, as slender as 
 herself. 
 
 " What makes ye like me ? " she suddenly demanded 
 in a half-challenging voice, while her eyes held the di- 
 rect questioning of one who will establish no friendship 
 on a basis of denied frankness. 
 
 " You make me like you," laughed Juanita, as she 
 raised a dripping countenance. 
 
 The mountain girl held her eyes still in the unwav- 
 ering steadiness of her race, then she said in a voice 
 that carried an undernote of defiance. 
 
 " Ye hain't nuver seed me afore an' " she broke 
 off, then added doggedly " an' besides I don't know 
 nuthin'."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 71 
 
 " I mean to see you often, after this," announced the 
 woman from Down-below, " and the things you don't 
 know can all be learned." 
 
 A swift eagerness flashed into the younger face and 
 a sudden torrent of questioning seemed to hover on 
 her lips, but it did not find utterance. She only turned 
 and led the way silently back toward the house. When 
 they were almost at the door Dawn hesitated and Juan- 
 ita encouraged her with a smile. It was clear that the 
 mountain girl found whatever she meant to say diffi- 
 cult for she stood indecisive and her cheeks were hotly 
 suffused with color, so that at last Juanita prompted, 
 "What is it, dear?" 
 
 " Ye said " began Dawn hastily and awkwardly, 
 " ye said suthin' 'bout me a-tryin' ter like ye. I I 
 don't hafter try I does hit." Then having made a 
 confession as difficult to her shy taciturnity as a cal- 
 low boy's first declaration of love, she fled abruptly 
 around the corner of the house. 
 
 Juanita stood looking after her with a puzzled brow. 
 This hard mountain reserve which is so strong that 
 friends rarely shake hands ; that fathers seldom em- 
 brace their children, and that the kiss is known only to 
 courtship, was new to her: and strange. 
 
 At breakfast she did not see Dawn. 
 
 Last night, until heaviness overtook him, Fletch 
 McNash had been voluble and full of loud jest. This 
 morning his face with its high cheekbones and bushy 
 beard, was unreadable and mute. No allusion was made 
 to the happenings of last night. 
 
 But the girl noticed that inside the door leaned the
 
 72 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 house-holder's " rifle-gun " and under Young Jeb's left 
 arm-pit bulged the partly masked shape of a pistol 
 butt. 
 
 Young Jeb's face yesterday had been that of a boy, 
 this morning it was the sullen face of a man confront- 
 ing grim realities. Had Juanita been more familiar 
 with the contemporary affairs of the community she 
 might have known that many visages along Tribulation 
 that morning brooded with the same scowl from the 
 same cause. The McBriar yell had been raised last 
 night in the heart of the Havey country, and this morn- 
 ing brought the shame of a land invaded and dishon- 
 ored. 
 
 Dawn did not reappear until Juanita had mounted 
 and turned her mule's head forward. Then as she was 
 passing the dilapidated barn the slim calico-clad figure 
 slipped from its door and intercepted her in the road, 
 holding up a handful of queer-shaped roots. 
 
 " I 'lowed ye mout need these hyar," she whispered 
 still diffidently. 
 
 Juanita smiled as she bent in her saddle to take the 
 gift. 
 
 " Thank you, dear. What are they ? " 
 
 " Hit's ginsang," Dawn assured her. " Hit grows 
 back thar in ther woods an' hits got a powerful heap of 
 virtue. Hit frisks ther speret an' drives away torment. 
 Ef ye starts ter swoon argin, jest chaw hit." 
 
 Juanita repressed her amusement. 
 
 " You see, dear," she declared. " There's one very 
 wonderful thing you know, that I didn't know. And 
 don't forget when we meet again we are old friends." 
 
 Then, looking back over her shoulder as she rode
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 73 
 
 on, Juanita saw the figures of both Fletch and Jeb cross 
 the fence at the far side of the yard, and turn into the 
 mountain thicket. Each carried a rifle cradled in his 
 bent elbow. 
 
 * 
 
 When just before sunset yesterday afternoon a ver- 
 dict of acquittal for Cal Douglas had come from the 
 jury room, the town of Peril had once more held its 
 breath and doors had closed and the streets had cleared 
 of such as wished to remain non-combatants. But with 
 no comment or criticism, Milt McBriar mounted his 
 horse and rode out of town, shaping his course over the 
 hills toward his own house. Following his example 
 with equal quiet, his kinsmen mounted, too, and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 As for Cal Douglas, he reserved any enthusiasm his 
 vindication may have brought to his heart until he was 
 back again in the depths of the hills. He and his kins- 
 men turned their horses by a shorter and steeper trail 
 to the house where the dance was going forward with 
 shuffling and fiddling and passing of the jug. 
 
 When Milt McBriar and his fellows started home an 
 informer or two from the Havey ranks kept them in 
 view, themselves unseen, until they passed through the 
 gap and started down the other side of the ridge into 
 their own domain. 
 
 That they were being so watched was either known to 
 the McBriars or assumed by them. But a picked squad 
 on fresh mounts was waiting over there in a place where 
 the road ran deep through forest and laurel, and this 
 squad was equipped with repeating rifles. Milt Mc- 
 Briar himself did not go back with them. He had
 
 74 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 made all his arrangements in advance, and it was not 
 seemly that the chief himself should take a personal 
 part in an execution which he had decreed. 
 
 " Let me hear the news, boys," he had said with a 
 wave of his hand, and then he had ridden on, still re- 
 flective and calm of mien toward his own house from 
 which the smoke rose in the distance. 
 
 The house where the dance was being held stood be- 
 between the knees of two hills and before the pocket in 
 "which it had been built ran the road, following the 
 twistings of Tribulation. It was a larger house than 
 most, hereabouts, and had in the same enclosure an- 
 other building which had beforetimes been a wayside 
 store. It was in this store that the floor had been 
 cleared for dancing. It was there that the fiddles sang 
 and the broganed feet shuffled to the ancient hoe-down 
 and jig of the hills, which have never known a round 
 dance. 
 
 In the three rooms of the house proper and about its 
 tight-trodden yard stood such as had wearied of danc- 
 ing, and here the jug was passed. 
 
 Near midnight a half-dozen men, who had not been 
 invited, rode carefully over an almost obliterated trail 
 which wound blindly through the hills at the back of 
 the place and hitched their horses in a rock-surrounded 
 hollow a half mile from the house. Other horses and 
 mules were hitched all along the county road, but these 
 belonged to the legitimate guests. 
 
 As the half-dozen men whose arrival had been so 
 cautiously accomplished began slipping down, each 
 holding his own course in the cover of the laurel, there 
 was nothing to indicate that any warning had gone
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 76 
 
 ahead of them. The shadows fell deep and impenetrable 
 in patches of cobalt. The ridges stood up boldly 
 against a sky in which innummerable stars and the band 
 of the Milky Way were pallid ghosts of light undone by 
 the moon's magnificence. 
 
 From the houses with their yellow windows and their 
 open doors came no note of apprehension no inti- 
 mation of suspicion. A medley of voices, a din of scrap- 
 ing feet and the whine and boom of fiddles gave out a 
 careless chorus to the night. 
 
 Slowly with an adept craft that hardly broke a twig 
 underfoot, three of the new arrivals hitched their way 
 forward to a point of vantage down near the road. 
 
 They went crouched low, holding to the shadows with 
 rifles thrust out ahead, and faces almost smiling in 
 their grim foretaste of sure success. In a few mo- 
 ments they would have before them the doors and win- 
 dows as lighted targets. Then whoever saw Cal Doug- 
 las in his front would crook forefinger on trigger and 
 the error of the Jury would be rectified. The others 
 would send a volley at random for good measure. 
 
 It was almost too easy. It seemed a shame to snatch 
 a full and red revenge with such scant effort. To be 
 sure a moment later there would be a wrathful flood of 
 men rushing out of the pandemonium to rake and search 
 the hillsides, but there would first come the panic-ridden 
 instant of utter surprise and that would be enough. 
 
 Then as the foremost figure, crouching in easy range 
 of a window, braced himself on one knee and peered for- 
 ward under his upturned hat brim, there came the re- 
 ports of several rifles but they were not the rifles 
 of the McBriar squad, and they came not from the hills
 
 76 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 in front, but from the laurel at the back. They broke 
 from directly between the carefully picked squad and 
 its horses. 
 
 The man who had braced his knee and cocked his 
 rifle gave a brief gurgling sound as an oath was stifled 
 off in a hemorrhage of the throat, and pitched forward 
 on his face. After that the figure lay without stirring, 
 its own blood blackening the rifle whose trigger guard 
 pressed against its forehead. 
 
 The doors vomited men. There was a trailing and 
 ragged outburst of firearms and many dark figures 
 plunged here and there across the silvered spaces where 
 the shadows did not fall.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE scheme that had germinated back of the con- 
 templative and seemingly resigned eyes of Milt 
 McBriar had borne its fruit of surprise and death 
 but so far as the tally showed the surprise and death 
 had recoiled entirely upon the would-be avengers. 
 
 Of the six men who had crept down three had lain 
 within one hundred yards of the house when the shots 
 came from their rear. The other three were off to the 
 side ready to bring up the horses as close as might prove 
 safe when the moment came for flight. But now they, 
 too, found themselves cut off. Had the man who fired 
 on the man who was about to fire, waited an instant 
 longer there would have been more deaths than one. 
 His colleagues would then have been, like himself, cov- 
 ering their respective victims, victims who confidently 
 thought themselves executioners. But as it was they 
 had not quite yet worked themselves into positions un- 
 trammeled by intervening rock and timber. The man 
 who fired first, knew that for he had not heard the per- 
 fectly imitated quaver of " scritch-owls " which was to 
 signify a common readiness. But as he eyed his 
 crouching victim across his rifle sights he had also been 
 able to look beyond him, and had seen the figure of Cal 
 Douglas pause at the lighted window. He knew that 
 to wait a moment would be to wait too long. So the 
 
 others had to fire blindly through black undergrowth 
 
 77
 
 78 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 at speeding shadows and they missed. The fleeing 
 murder squad melted back into the black timber and 
 some of them, signaling with the call of frog and owl, 
 came together in temporary safety. They dared not 
 go to their own horses, since they might be discovered 
 in the effort. The road that led into McBriar country 
 would be watched. If they were to carry away unpunc- 
 tured skins they must flee the other way into the 
 Havey territory and astride stolen Havey horses. It 
 was every man for himself, and they had not paused to 
 count noses. They hurriedly swung themselves into 
 saddles at the remote end of the line of hitched mounts 
 and galloped pell-mell down the road toward the cabin 
 of Fletch McNash. 
 
 When the theft of the horses was discovered, Anse 
 Havey sent pursuing parties to ride the roads in both 
 directions. 
 
 It had seemed to Havey wiser to withhold his warning 
 from all save those whom he needed to use. To all the 
 rest the affair had come without warning, and the hue 
 and cry which followed the rifle shots was genuine in 
 its excitement. 
 
 But in a very few minutes the pandemonium fell away 
 to quiet, and sullenness supplanted the shouting. The 
 mountains behind, where several men were stealthily 
 seeking escape and many others were stalking them, lay 
 silent in the moonlight. Here and there an owl quav- 
 ered and a frog boomed, and some were not owls and 
 frogs, but men, calling as lost quail call at twilight when 
 the covey has been scattered under fire. 
 
 A hundred yards beyond the window a small and in- 
 quisitive knot of men gathered around a figure that had
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 79 
 
 hunched forward, sprawling on a cocked rifle. Some 
 one turned the figure up and straightened its limbs so 
 that they should not stiffen in such grotesquerie of at- 
 titude. The face with the yellow lantern light shining 
 down on it was the face of a boy of twenty. Its thin lips 
 were set in a grim smile of satisfaction, for Death had 
 overtaken him without a suspicion of its coming. 
 
 Perhaps had a photograph of his retina been taken 
 it would have disclosed the portrait of Cal Douglas 
 pausing at the open window. 
 
 " Hit's Little Nash McKay," exclaimed a surprised 
 voice, using the diminutive which in the mountains takes 
 the place of Junior and stays with a man well on in life. 
 The victim who had been designated to avenge the death 
 of Noah McKay had been, Noah McKay's younger 
 brother. 
 
 Meanwhile the pursuing horsemen were gaining 
 slowly on those that fled. The murder squad had failed 
 and must bear back to Milt McBriar, if they ever got 
 back, a narrative of frustrated effort. They were 
 bitterly angry and proportionately desperate. So as 
 they clattered along the empty road, meeting no enemy 
 whom they could shoot down in appeasement of their 
 wrath and chagrin, they satisfied themselves with rais- 
 ing their war cry for the benefit of the sleeping cabins. 
 
 A little distance beyond Fletch McNash's place lay 
 a cross-trail by which they might find a circuitous way 
 back over the ridge, but it was too steep and broken to 
 ride. They could make better time on foot over the 
 " roughs," so there they abandoned their mounts, and 
 plunged into the timber. When the pursuers came up 
 with the discarded horses they realized that further
 
 80 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 effort " in the night-time " would be bootless. Yet 
 since the heaving flanks and panting nostrils of the 
 horses testified that they had been only a few minutes 
 late, they took a last chance and plunged into the 
 thicket. 
 
 There a single defiant shot, sent from a long way 
 up the slope, was their only challenge, and their vol- 
 ley of reply, fired at the flash, was merely a retort of 
 hatred. But even in the isolation of the hills certain 
 news travels on wings, and the morning would find 
 every cabin dweller wearing a face of grim and sullen 
 realization. The phrase which Fletch McNash had 
 whispered to his boy would travel to the headwaters 
 of every fork, and the faces of the women would once 
 more wear the drawn misery of anxiety for their men. 
 
 It was into this newly charged atmosphere that 
 Juanita Holland and her missionary guide rode in the 
 morning mists. The face of the preacher still bore 
 something of last night's torture and despair, for 
 his eyes were looking ahead and foresaw the undoing, 
 in a few fierce moments of passion, of what he had so 
 uncouthly, but sincerely, labored through years to ac- 
 complish. 
 
 He had planned to take the girl to the gap in the 
 ridge, because it was remote from a railroad and no 
 section stood in greater need of schooling. If she 
 meant to set up a serviceable school in this territory, 
 unless it were to be limited to one faction of the 
 feud its doors must stand open at the border, alike 
 to the children of east and west. But now the ridge 
 would be an armed frontier.
 
 81 
 
 Good Anse Talbott was in many ways as inade- 
 quate an ally as he had at first seemed to Juanita. He 
 was both narrow and illiterate, but he was earnest. 
 He knew the life and people and 
 
 " As a Pictish shepherd dog among his Pictish sheep, 
 
 So went he in and out of them where they stood breathing 
 
 deep, 
 
 Half frightened and half loving, 
 He could make them laugh or weep, 
 Whose lives and deaths were his to him, whose vigil and whose 
 
 sleep." 
 
 In his ignorant zeal, he had thought out many things 
 which she could not realize until she had crossed the 
 first great barrier of prejudice and learned many les- 
 sons of sympathy. So she had trusted herself to his 
 guidance, and as they plodded on and he rode in si- 
 lence, she was puzzled and a little hurt by his uncom- 
 municativeness. 
 
 The way at first followed the creek bank, but soon 
 they were climbing steeply upward and the mists went 
 with them; lifting and giving way to the clarity of 
 day. The sun, had appeared above the dim summits 
 now, not yet in the golden triumph of full victory, but 
 like a polished disc of platinum, that slowly passed 
 through pallor to rosiness and through rosiness to 
 flame. A dozen miracles of exquisite and ephemeral 
 beauty hung between sunlight and mist like dreams at 
 the pale heart of rfft opal. A scrap of bird's-egg blue 
 flashed in the gray sky and a tilting cornfield, far up 
 the mountain, gave back a response of spirit emerald. 
 Upon the foliage of pine and oak and poplar were 
 breathed transitory and gossamer hues that were like
 
 82 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the fugitive souls of colors. At last the veil was rent 
 and the vapors went floating away in tattered wisps and 
 streamers of defeat. Through rifts in the nearer hills 
 rose other hills where the green turned blue with dis- 
 tance to the last line of smoky purple that merged and 
 wedded with the sky. 
 
 It was all very beautiful, but she had not come here 
 only to listen to the song of June. So at last the girl 
 rode resolutely up to her escort's saddle-skirts and 
 asked, " Brother Talbott, hadn't you better tell me 
 what it all means ? " 
 
 The missionary lifted a face that was almost hag- 
 gard. 
 
 " Hit means," he said with no idea of irreverence, 
 " thet Satan's got both under-holts an' God help 
 this country." 
 
 She listened with a sickening heart while he told her 
 many things she needed to know until he changed the 
 subject and assured her that the Widow Everson, with 
 whom she was to stop, had a sizable house where she 
 would be comfortable. 
 
 " Are all the houses in this country like the one 
 where we stopped last night? " she inquired. 
 
 " No, ma'am," he promptly informed her with a 
 solemnity which belied any spirit of the humorous. 
 " Back a piece in ther hills amongst ther branch-water 
 folks thar's lots of houses whar, es ther sayin' goes, ye 
 hain't hardly got room ter cuss a dawg 'thout gittin' 
 yore teeth full of ha'r. But es fur es thet's con- 
 sarned," he apologetically added, " a man hain't 
 rightly got no call ter cuss a dawg nohow." 
 
 As the day advanced they passed a cabin that stood
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 83 
 
 barred of door and smokeless of chimney ; deserted since 
 yesterday. " Thet house," he told her, " b'longs ter 
 Bud McBriar. He married a Havey an* I reckon 
 they've done moved acrost ther ridge this morninV 
 
 Juanita looked at the abandoned place and shud- 
 dered at the thought of the conditions that had urged 
 such flight. 
 
 Yet as they rode through cloistered hollows where 
 the greens were deep and the air moist, and the sun 
 sent only vagrant flakes of gold filtering through the 
 branches it all seemed incredible. The melody of peace 
 and joy poured from the swelling throats of cardinal 
 and thrush down there and tiny shoals of minnows 
 darted about the splashing feet of their mules in creek- 
 bed pools. 
 
 The hills grew with their progress until those behind 
 them were only the little brothers of those ahead, for 
 they were steadily plodding toward the ridge of the 
 divide. At last, the girl saw, still a long way off, a 
 fertile little valley where the corn seemed taller and 
 richer than in the scattered " coves " and where across a 
 table-land she could make out a silver thread of water 
 flowing east. There, like a tiny match-box, on a high 
 level near the point where the wall of mountain broke 
 into a broad gateway she could make out a house. It 
 was not of logs, but of brick, and stood in an enclosure 
 that looked more like the Blue Grass than the moun- 
 tains. From its chimney went up a thread of smoke 
 blue and straight until it lost itself overhead. Then 
 the missionary drew his mule to a standstill and raised 
 one talon-like hand, pointing across the vista. The girl 
 followed the direction over miles of forest tops and
 
 84 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 broken hills ; over two narrow and converging valleys ; 
 over shadows that were thrown by western peaks and 
 that crept well up the eastern slopes beyond. She 
 nodded her head and caught her breath in a quick, al- 
 most gasping intake of sheer admiration. 
 
 " Does ye see ther brick house over thar, nigh ther 
 gap ? Thet's Bad Anse's place, an' over thar acrost 
 ther ridge, three mile away by crow-flight an' a half 
 day's ride by ther roads is whar Milt McBriar dwells. 
 Ye kain't see hit from hyar." 
 
 Juanita followed his words and his brown index 
 finger and in her heart beat something like the emotions 
 which must have stirred the crusaders when their eyes 
 first looked on the walls of the Jerusalem they had come 
 to take from the Saracen. 
 
 It was almost sundown when they reached the house 
 of the Widow Everson, and at sight of the woman stand- 
 ing at the fence to meet them her heart took strength. 
 This house was not of logs, but of undressed boards, 
 with gayly painted window and door frames of red, 
 and though two days ago she would have called it mean, 
 she had revised her views enough to regard it, now, as 
 almost magnificent. 
 
 The widow dwelt here with her two sons, and the 
 trio, by virtue of great diplomacy, had succeeded in 
 maintaining a neutrality throughout the strife that 
 went on about them. 
 
 The comforts of the place were such as must give 
 contentment where teaming is arduous and the mail 
 carrier comes, twice a week, but cleanliness dwelt there, 
 and homely cheer of a sort. 
 
 Before they had yet entered the house the girl saw
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 85 
 
 a horseman approaching, with an escort of several 
 men who carried rifles balanced across their pommels. 
 They came from the east, and though the girl did not 
 know who they were, she recognized that the central 
 figure, himself unarmed, was a person of consequence. 
 
 He was tall and under his faded coat his rather lean 
 figure fell into an attitude of well-muscled strength 
 despite his fulness of years. His face though calm, 
 even thoughtful, was more in cut of feature than in 
 expression the face of a man of tense emotions and 
 warlike readiness in quarrel. Indeed, features molded 
 for antagonism and expression of reflective composure 
 seemed paradoxically at variance. 
 
 Instinctively her mind flashed back to a bit of re- 
 membered description with which five hundred years 
 before a French writer had quaintly depicted another 
 tribal chief whom the laws could not curb, the portrait 
 of the Irish King MacMurrough. ..." He was tall 
 of stature, well-composed, strong and active ; his coun- 
 tenance fell and ferocious to the eye a man of deed." 
 
 Then she heard the man's voice, bland and ingratiat- 
 ing. " 'Evenin', ma'am. No, I hain't a-goin' ter light, 
 I jest heered thet Brother Talbott war a-comin' over 
 hyar an' I wanted speech with him." 
 
 The missionary nodded. " All right, Milt," he said ; 
 and the girl knew, as she had already suspected, that she 
 had before her the second of her chief enemies. 
 
 " I reckon ye all knows what happened last night," 
 she heard him saying slowly. " Hit war a pity, an' 
 I hears thet ther Haveys are a-chargin' hit up ergin 
 me. Thet's nat'ral enough, I reckon. They 'lows thet 
 I'd walk plumb acrost hell on a rotten plank ter do 'em
 
 86 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 injury. Ef they stopped ter reason hit out a spell 
 they'd recollect thet I went over thar ter Peril an' let 
 a Jedge thet didn't own his own soul an* a Jury they hed 
 done packed, clar one of their kin folks fer killin' a 
 cousin of mine . . . an' thet I never raised a hand. I 
 reckon they didn't hardly hev no call ter figger thet I 
 was sheered of them. I done what I done because I 
 wanted peace. I was fer lettin' ther law take hit's 
 co'se, even when I knowed the Co'te war crooked es a 
 drunkard's elbow." 
 
 He paused and no one spoke, so at last he went on 
 again. 
 
 " But Little Nash McKay war young an' hot- 
 hearted. He couldn't hardly see hit in ther light of 
 wisdom and he didn't come ter me fer counsel. So he 
 jest went hell-splittin' over thar with some other boys 
 thet he'd done over-persuaded an* he didn't come 
 back. . . . I'm sorry. ... I was right fond of Little 
 Nash, but I hain't complainin' none. He started trou- 
 ble an' he got hit." Again the dark giant paused ; then 
 he came to his point. His voice was regretful, almost 
 sad, but tinged with resignation. 
 
 " So Little Nash is a-layin' dead down thar, an' no 
 McBriar durstn't venture down ter fotch his body 
 home." He waved a hand toward the west, and the 
 faces of his escort lowered. They seemed the faces 
 of men who " durst " go anywhere, but their chief went 
 on. " I knowed, Brother Talbott, thet ye sarves Al- 
 mighty God, an' thet thar hain't no word ye carries 
 but what all men will listen ter ye, so I've done come 
 ter ye, in behalf of Little Nash's maw an' his women 
 folks. I 'lowed I'd ask ye ef ye'd ride down thar and
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 87 
 
 fotch home ther body?" The missionary nodded and 
 though he was travel-stained and very tired, he re- 
 sponded, " I'll start right now." Then Milt McBriar 
 continued, " An' ef ye sees fit, ye kin tell Anse Havey, 
 thet I hain't a sum' fer peace, but thet I hain't a 
 blamin' him nuther, an' thet ef he wants ther truce ter 
 go on I'm a-willin' ter hev hit thetaway. I hain't 
 holdin* no grudge on account of last night."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 JUANITA'S eyes grew a little misty as she thought 
 of that desolated cabin where a mother and sis- 
 ters were grieving for the boy who had been " hot- 
 hearted." Even the sight of his older kinsman who 
 sat his horse with such composure while his eyes wan- 
 dered off to the purple haze of the far mountains, stirred 
 in her an emotion of sympathy. Of course she knew 
 nothing of the ten acres of " bottom land " which were 
 to be little Nash's when Cal Douglas should have ceased 
 to breathe, nor how it was covetousness and cold thrift 
 
 rather than a hot heart that had sent him out with his 
 
 \-j^ 
 
 *me in the night. She did not know that Milt McBriar 
 
 had torn up several unsigned deeds when the murder 
 squad had failed to earn their contingent fees. She 
 only heard the McBriar say, " I'm much obleeged," 
 and saw him turn his cavalcade east. The tired mis- 
 sionary started his mule west again, and she herself 
 followed the Widow Everson into the house which was 
 for the time to be her home. She went into the tiny, 
 but scrupulously clean room where an ancient bed was 
 gayly spread with a gaudy home-made quilt and where 
 a cracked pitcher and bowl and a broken mirror 
 adorned a home-made washstand, and then as the 
 widow left her, she rummaged in her saddle-bags 
 and drew out a small leather case. She sat for a long 
 
 while silent, in her shuck-bottomed rocking chair, gaz- 
 
 88
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 89 
 
 ing wearily out at the west where sunset fires were be- 
 ginning to kindle, and where an old-rose haze was 
 drowsing over the valley and glowing more brightly in 
 the twisting ribbon of a far-away stream. But her eyes 
 came often back from the panorama out there to dwell 
 a little wistfully on a photograph in the leather frame, 
 and it was the picture of the man whom she had sent 
 away. She was an appealing little figure of loveliness, 
 too frail and flower-like it seemed for hard places, and 
 the present wistfulness of clouded eyes and drooping 
 lips only made her the more appealing, like a bruised 
 blossom whose petals are dust-blown, which needs 
 to be lifted again to the sun and dew. Had the man 
 of the photograph been there just then, when her cour- 
 age and determination were at ebb tide, and had he 
 stretched out his arms, perhaps she would have shaken 
 her head wearily on abstract resolves and come into i- 
 their embrace. But he was not there. 
 
 In the quaint conversation of the Widow Everson 
 and her sons, Juanita found so much of the amusing 
 that she had to school herself against too great an 
 appreciation of their utterly unintentional humor. 
 Though she was a " fotched-on woman " to be taken 
 on probation it was only a matter of hours before the 
 family capitulated, as people in general had a fashion 
 of doing, under the spell of her graciousness and un- 
 self-conscious charm. Jerry Everson, whom men ac- 
 counted surly, for the first time in years brushed his 
 shapeless hat, and remembered not to " hang it on the 
 floor " and Sim Everson hied him into the misty woods 
 at dawn and brought home squirrels for her first break- 
 fast in his house.
 
 90 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 When from the front porch, where the morning-glory 
 vines had been carefully cut away in accordance with 
 the country's distaste for " weeds a trailin' all over the 
 God's blessed face of a dwellin'-house," she saw the 
 mists of the next morning dissipate, she already felt 
 at home. She soon came to recognize that instead of 
 going back east after a cursory inspection to draw 
 plans for school-houses, she must stay here, and, as a 
 condition precedent, win her way naturally into the 
 confidence of those whom she sought to influence. As 
 the widow looked out under her sunbonnet, and the 
 two boys nursed their knees on the edge of the porch, 
 staring at her until she grew painfully conscious of her 
 silk stockinged ankles and short gingham skirt, she 
 knew that even if she could remove all the ivied and 
 towered walls of her own university and set them down 
 as " fur from here as a man kin fling a cow by hit's 
 tail " she still would be no nearer success than she was 
 at this moment. First she must be trusted by a race 
 distrustful of strangers. 
 
 In the forenoon of her first day she left the house 
 and, crossing the tiny garden where the weeds were 
 already growing tall and rank enough to hint of future 
 ragged victory, she made her way by a narrow trail 
 that led to the crest of the ridge. The Everson boys 
 watched her go up the steep path and nodded their 
 heads with grins of approval. " Thet gal hain't string- 
 halted none," observed Jerry, and Sim replied hotly, 
 " Stringhalted, hell ! Thet gal's plumb supple." 
 
 Juanita was steering her course for a patriarchal 
 poplar that sent a straight shaft heavenward at the 
 rim of the crest, opening its verdure like a great flag
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 91 
 
 unfurled on a mighty parapet. She knew that up 
 there she could look two ways across the divide and 
 that her battle ground would be spread before her. 
 
 But when she reached the place her breath came 
 fast with delight for she found there a natural observa- 
 tory where save for the single poplar, and a few crest 
 plumes rising from the slopes, she had the timber tops 
 all beneath her. There was only open sky above with 
 the world spread out in mosaic below. It was such a 
 place as made one resentful of the lack of wings, and 
 eager to leap upward into the unbroken blue to soar 
 with the hawks and eagles. So at least it seemed to 
 Juanita, but Juanita was imaginative. She had clung 
 to her faith in fairies past the ordinary years of such 
 belief and she still found a fairy-like companionship 
 in the spirit of flowers and trees. 
 
 She looked to the east and line after line of hills 
 went over and melted into the sky. She looked to the 
 west and there, too, they rose phalanx on phalanx to 
 dissolve in a smoky haze that effaced the horizon. It 
 looked as if in a majesty of relentlessness they reached 
 from sunrise to sunset, and so, as far as the locked-in- 
 life of their people went, they might. 
 
 With precipice and torrent they shut out the world, 
 sweeping away roads and all the changes that roads 
 bring. 
 
 They offered sanctuary to the refugee, and safety to 
 their sons in crime and secure eyries to their eagles. 
 
 In them all, so far as she knew, was one person, and 
 that person her weak self, who stood for altering them. 
 As she gazed down to the west, she saw the thread of 
 smoke that went up like a contemptuous challenge from
 
 92 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the house of Bad Anse Havey and the square brick 
 walls of his fortress-like abode. Then she looked east 
 and down there, where a creek bed caught the sky like a 
 splinter of blue glass, lay another building with open 
 space about it and cornfields stretching farther away. 
 It was a squat building of logs, and she knew from its 
 size and its block-house stanchness that its thread of 
 smoke went up from the hearth of the McBriar. 
 
 Resolutely, she threw back her slender shoulders and 
 quoted some favorite verses. 
 
 " It was morning on hill and stream and tree, 
 And morning in the young knight's heart; 
 
 Only the castle moodily 
 
 Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free 
 And gloomed by itself apart; 
 
 The season brimmed all other things up 
 
 Full as the rain fills the pitcher plant's cup." 
 
 She nodded her head and looked down again. " And 
 the castle," she declared to herself, "sha'n't go on 
 rebuffing. Neither castle. That's what I'm here for." 
 She knew that it was only two hundred miles east 
 from where she stood to the blue line of the Atlantic 
 coast and that between lay the culture of Virginia, 
 Mother of States. Less than two hundred miles west 
 stretched the rich smoothness of the Blue Grass where 
 the brethren of these same people had won through and 
 founded the " sittlements of Old Kaintuck." But 
 nearer at hand on either side, and infinitely more po- 
 tential stood the brick house where a long-dead Havey 
 had owned negro slaves, and the log house where a 
 McBriar of other years had cried for abolition, and 
 between them the war was not yet ended.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 93 
 
 She stood there a long while and finally she saw 
 where for a little space the road ran near the brick 
 house, unshielded by the woods, a straggling little 
 cortege. At its front rode a stoop-shouldered man in 
 whom even at that far distance she thought she recog- 
 nized the missionary. Behind him came a few horse- 
 men riding in two squads and between the squads 
 crawled a " jolt-wagon " drawn by mules. She knew 
 that the Haveys were bringing back to the frontier 
 the enemy's dead, and she shuddered at the cold reality. 
 It may have been three hours later that Good Anse 
 Talbott rode up to the Widow Everson's. When the 
 girl, who had returned long ago from the crest, came 
 out to meet him at the door she found him talking there 
 with Milt McBriar who also had ridden up, but from 
 the other direction. 
 
 " Anse Havey 'lows," the preacher was saying, 
 " thet he hes done fetched home ther body of Little 
 Nash McKay, an thet ther boy was shot ter death 
 a-layin' in tlier la'rel a hundred paces from the winder 
 whar Cal Douglas was a-standin'." 
 
 " I've done already acknowledged thet," declared 
 Milt, in a voice into which crept a trace of truculent 
 sullenness. 
 
 The missionary nodded. " I hain't quite through 
 yit, Milt," he went on evenly, and the girl who stood 
 leaning against the door frame caught for an in- 
 stant a sparkle of zealous earnestness in his weary 
 eyes. 
 
 " Anse is willin' ter take yore hand on this truce. 
 He's willin' ter stand pledge thet ther Haveys keeps 
 faith. But I'm a preacher of the gawspel of God, Milt,
 
 94 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 and I don't 'low ter be no go-between without both of 
 you men does keep faith." 
 
 Milt McBriar stiffened resentfully and his brows con- 
 tracted blackly under his hat brim. 
 
 " Does ye doubt thet I'll do what I says ? " he in- 
 quired in a voice too soft for sincerity. The mission- 
 ary did not drop his steady and compelling eyes from 
 the gaze direct. It was as if he were reading through 
 the pupils of his protagonist, and searching the dark 
 heart. 
 
 " I aims ter see thet ye both starts out fair, Milt," 
 he declared still quietly. " An' ter thet end I aims ter 
 admonish ye both on ther terms of this hyar meetin' 
 atween ye." 
 
 For an instant Milt McBriar's semblance of calm 
 reflectiveness slipped from him, and his voice rose rasp- 
 ingly. " Did Anse Havey lam ye thet speech ? " 
 
 Good Anse Talbott shook his head patiently. " No. 
 I told Anse ther same thing I'm a-tellin' you. Neither 
 Anse ner ther four men that fetches ther body will 
 hev any sort of weepon about 'em when they comes 
 acrost thet stile. Ye've got ter give me yore hand, 
 thet none of yore men hain't a-goin' ter be armed. 
 I'm a servant of ther Most High God." For an in- 
 stant fire blazed in the preacher's eyes and his voice 
 mounted with fervor. " Fer years I've done sought ter 
 teach His grace an' His hatred of murder ter ther 
 people of these hyar hills. . . . When you two men 
 shakes hands on this hyar truce I aims ter be standin' 
 by with a rifle-gun in my hands an' ef I sees anything 
 crooked, I'm goin' ter use hit." 
 
 The dark giant stood for a time silent, then he gravely
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 95 
 
 nodded his head. " Them terms suits me," he said 
 briefly. 
 
 The two men walked down to the fence and separated 
 there, going in opposite directions. 
 
 A few minutes later Juanita, still standing fas- 
 cinatedly in the doorway was looking out across the 
 shoulder of the missionary. He presided at the 
 threshold with grave eyes, and, even after these peace- 
 ful years with something of familiar caress in the way 
 his brown hand lay on his rifle lock. Then the girl 
 saw a strange and primitive ratification of treaty. 
 
 On either side of the little porch was gathered a group 
 of solemn men, mostly bearded, mostly coatless and all 
 unarmed. In front of those, at the right, stood Anse 
 Havey, his eyes still the dominant feature of the pic- 
 ture. 
 
 Over across from him was the taller and older chief- 
 tain of the other clan. They held the picture gravely, 
 with a courtesy that cloaked their hatred. Out in the 
 road was the " j olt-wagon " and in its deep bed the 
 girl could see the canvas that covered its burden. As 
 Bad Anse took his place at the front of his escort, his 
 gaze met that of Juanita. He did not speak, but for 
 an instant she saw his face harden and his eyes narrow 
 and his lips set themselves. It was the glance of one 
 who has been lashed across the face and who cannot 
 strike back, but who will not soon forget. 
 
 This time the girl's eyes did not drop and certainly 
 they held no hint of relenting or plea for forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 The head of the Haveys turned from her and began 
 speaking. " I got your message, Milt," he said
 
 96 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 casually, " an' I reckon you got my answer. I've 
 brought back Little Nash." 
 
 " I'm obleeged ter ye." The McBriar paused, then 
 volunteered : " Ef ther boy had took counsel of me 
 this thing wouldn't never hev happened." 
 
 For some moments Bad Anse Havey looked deep into 
 his enemy's eyes, then he nodded. 
 
 " Milt," he carelessly announced, while the ghost of 
 an ironical smile played in his eyes though it left his 
 lips grave, " I've got several hosses an' mules down 
 thar in my barn that we found hitched out in ther tim- 
 ber when Nash an' his friends took to the la'rel." 
 Again he paused and studied the faces of the McBriar 
 men before he went on. " One of 'em is your own roan 
 mare, Milt. One of 'em b'longs ter Sam thar and one 
 of 'em is Bob's thar." He pointed out each man as he 
 spoke. " Ye can get 'em any time ye send down thar 
 for 'em." 
 
 The girl caught her breath, and despite her dislike 
 acknowledged the cool insolence with which Anse had 
 parried Milt's disclaimer of any foreknowledge of a 
 plot. The McBriar replied only with a scowl ; so Anse 
 contemplatively continued, as though to himself, 
 
 " It's right smart of a pity for a feller thet goes 
 out shootin' in the night-time to take a kinsman's 
 horse without askin' his counsel. It might lead to 
 some misunderstandin'." 
 
 A baleful glare flashed deep in the eyes of the taller 
 man, and from the henchmen at his back came an un- 
 easy shuffle of brogans. 
 
 But the voice of Good Anse Talbott interrupted and 
 relieved the tension. " Stiddy thar, men," he quietly
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 97 
 
 admonished, " you-all didn't hardly meet hyar ter talk 
 'bout hosses nohow. I'll lead them nags back myself, 
 Milt." 
 
 Anse Havey stepped forward and extended his hand. 
 
 " I gives ye my hand, Milt McBriar," he said, 
 " thet there truce goes on." 
 
 "An' I gives ye mine," rejoined the other. 
 
 After a perfunctory shake the two turned together 
 and went down the steps. The girl saw both squads 
 lifting the covered burden from the wagon and carry- 
 ing it around the turn of the road where a second 
 wagon waited. She believed that the feud was ended, 
 but it is doubtful if either of the principals whose hands 
 had joined, parted with great trust in the integrity 
 of the other's intentions. It is certain that one of 
 them at least was already making plans for the future, 
 not at all in accordance with that compact of peace.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AS days grew into weeks Bad Anse Havey heard 
 nothing of the establishing of a school at the 
 head of Tribulation, though all the gossip of the 
 countryside which might interest a dictator filtered 
 through the valleys and gorges to his house. 
 
 He smiled a little over the copy of Plutarch's 
 "Lives," which was the companion of his leisure mo- 
 ments, and held his counsel. While he thought of 
 Juanita herself with a resentment which sprang from 
 hurt pride, he felt for her, as a menace to his power, 
 only contempt. But Juanita's resolve had in no wise 
 weakened. She had seen that her original ideas had 
 all been chaotic and born of ignorance, and she was, like 
 a good and patient general, pulling all the pins out of 
 her little war map and drafting a completely new 
 plan of campaign. 
 
 There was no weakening of resolve. Each day she 
 went up to the tall poplar that commanded the valleys, 
 east and west, and each morning with the glint of bat- 
 tle in her violet eyes she repeated to herself in anathema 
 on both houses " Carthago delenda est." 
 
 She meant to spend as much time as was necessary 
 in simply learning to know these people and making 
 them feel her sympathy. With Good Anse Talbott, 
 she rode up dwindling water courses to the hovels of 
 
 the " branch-water folks " and accompanied him where- 
 
 08
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 99 
 
 soever the cry of sickness or distress sent up its call, 
 and since his introduction was an open sesame, she 
 found welcomes where she went. 
 
 Dust-covered in the station at Peril, were trunks 
 which she had not been able to bring across the creek- 
 beds and quicksands, and she smiled as she thought of a 
 still more insane piece of foolishness of which she had 
 been guilty in her dense initial ignorance. Besides the 
 trunks there stood there in the little baggage-room a 
 crated piano ! Whenever she saw a patient teamster 
 struggling and maneuvering for ten minutes over one 
 twisting series of broken ledges or " man-powering " 
 out of the way fallen wreckage of last night's storm she 
 thought of that piano and laughed. 
 
 But even the small wardrobe of her saddle-bags was 
 beyond her needs now. To be too obviously a " fur- 
 riner " meant to appear, in native eyes, " stuck-up " 
 and to lose influence. So she adopted plain calicos and 
 sunbonnets like those worn by the women about her, 
 though even native severity of line and material could 
 not take from her figure its trim distinction of grace 
 and beauty. Just as she amended her dress so she 
 also amended her speech to simplified and homely 
 words. 
 
 It was all a very sincere effort to adapt herself, a 
 passionate determination. . . . 
 
 " In patience to abide, 
 To veil the threat of terror 
 
 And check the show of pride; 
 By open speech and simple, 
 
 An hundred times made plain* 
 To seek another's profit, 
 
 And work another's gain."
 
 100 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 And soon the slight figure, that walked with an al- 
 most lyric grace, yet with a boyish strength and lithe- 
 ness, became familiar along the roads and trails. 
 
 Instead of asking, "Who mout thet be?" moun- 
 taineers nodded and said, " Thet's her; " and some 
 women added, " God bless thet child." 
 
 She had been into many gloomy cabins that repelled 
 the brightness of the summer sun, and she had been 
 more like sunlight than anything that had ever come 
 through their narrow doors before. The children loved 
 her and she loved them. And she marveled at their 
 numbers. It was June and it seemed to her that in 
 almost every family a new baby was struggling through 
 its first months of unsanitary gloom and squalor. She 
 looked at their mothers, prematurely old by the pain of 
 their frequent coming, then at their gaunt, sullen fathers 
 and she prayerfully resolved that these newcomers 
 should know the wholesomeness of life; should be lib- 
 erated from their heritage of drudgery and hate. 
 
 One wild afternoon Good Anse stopped by the gate 
 and called to her. Clouds were piling and tumbling 
 along the ridges in angry ramparts of raw and leaden 
 heaviness. Now and then a cannonading of thunder 
 rumbled with its echoes through the mountains. Al- 
 ready great drops were falling and the missionary's 
 slicker shone like black armor. 
 
 " Thar's a-goin' ter be a bornin' at ther Galloway 
 house, I reckon," he said simply. " Thar hain't no 
 doctor nigher than Peril an* ther woman's mighty puny. 
 I reckon ye durstn't hardly ride over thar, would ye? " 
 Then he added, " Hit's ten mile by crow-flight an' hit's 
 a-comin' on ter storm."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 101 
 
 The preacher, who from the spur of necessity was 
 something of a doctor, too, scowled on her, as he al- 
 ways scowled when something was tearing his breast 
 which he wished to hide, but the scowl softened when 
 ten minutes later she was riding beside him. The rain 
 had already become a lashing downpour, and the twi- 
 light was rent by garish sheets of lightning. At last 
 Good Anse said slowly : " I don't hardly feel fitten 
 ter try ter do nuthin'. Ye see " He broke off and 
 when he looked round at her again the face under his 
 dripping hat brim was whiter even than the lightning 
 should have limned it, as his voice rose in contention 
 with the thunder. " Galloway's wife hain't much ter 
 look at now. She's plumb broke, but wunst she war 
 ther purtiest gal on Meetin' House Fork. In them 
 days they called me Hell-cat Talbott an' hit war 
 God's will thet she wouldn't marry me." 
 
 The girl never forgot that night of thunder and 
 squalor and suspense. The night long she watched be- 
 side the wretched, pain-racked woman and fought for 
 two lives by the light of a fire into which the rain sput- 
 tered down the low, wide chimney. At the hearth sat 
 two men. One clutched his face and combed nervously 
 at his unkempt beard with talon-like fingers. He 
 rocked from side to side and groaned, brokenly, deep 
 in his throat. The other sat unmoving and stared, 
 wide-eyed, at the smoke-blackened stones of the fire- 
 place. Often, too, he knelt and the fire shone on 
 spasmodic lips moving in prayer. So they waited; the 
 husband and the discarded lover. 
 
 The rain drove and rattled like shot against the slab 
 roof, and some of it dripped through. The storm went
 
 102 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 shrieking and volleying through the hills where the 
 timber bent to its savage buffeting. Over it all rolled 
 the artillery of the thunder and now and again came 
 the death crash of some forest patriarch that had given 
 way after centuries. 
 
 Juanita kept vigil and thanked God for her little 
 knowledge of medicine and the use of chloroform. 
 
 When day came at last and a tiny bundle of hu- 
 manity lay beside its wasted, but faintly smiling mother, 
 she carried away, in reward for the night-long watch 
 an incoherent " God bless ye," from bearded lips. 
 
 She sometimes rode over to the cabin of Fletch Mc- 
 Nash and brought little Dawn back with her to spend 
 a day or two. Then foreign girl and mountain girl 
 wandered together in the woods, and Dawn's diffidence 
 gave way and her adoration grew. Twice Juanita 
 found another visitor at the McNash cabin Bad 
 Anse Havey. He recognized her only with a haughty 
 nod like that of an Indian chief and she gave him in 
 return a slight inclination of her head, accompanied by 
 a glance of starry contempt from her violet eyes. Yet 
 in the attitude of the mountaineers toward the man, 
 she saw such hero-worship as might have been accorded 
 to some democratic young monarch walking freely 
 among his subjects. 
 
 As he talked they hung on his words. Jeb listened 
 as to a prophet and even Dawn sat with her chin in 
 her hands and her gaze fixed upon his deep gray eyes. 
 
 Sometime Juanita felt the gray pupils focused on 
 her and under their scrutiny, back of which gleamed 
 mingled anger and a sort of amused scorn that galled 
 her, she grew strangely uneasy.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 103 
 
 Once Fletch said, " Ma'am, how's yore school a-comin' 
 on ? Air ye gittin' things started ter suit ye ? " 
 
 Juanita flushed. " Not yet," she answered. " I'm 
 trying to get acquainted first. When I do start I 
 hope to make up for lost time." 
 
 *' I reckon that school will be a right-good thing 
 over thar, don't ye 'low so, Anse ? " inquired Fletch, 
 whose good-natured density had not sensed the tacit 
 hostility between his two guests. 
 
 Anse laughed quietly. " I reckon," he non-commit- 
 tally replied, " so long as the lady just keeps on sayin* 
 ' not yet ' thar won't be no harm done." 
 
 The lady flushed and a hot retort rose to her lips, 
 but she only turned to Fletch and smiled. 
 
 " I'm biding my time, Fletch," she assured him. 
 " My dream will come true." 
 
 As the days went by she charged up to Anse Havey's 
 heavy scroll of offense something more concrete. 
 Juanita Holland was building a structure of dreams ; 
 and as she sat alone in the woods or looked out of the 
 single window of her room she liked to imagine its ful- 
 filment out there between the bases of the hills. For 
 her dream's fulfilment she must have land. Her site 
 must be large enough not only for the first log school- 
 house or two, but for the larger institution, into which 
 it was to grow. There must be dormitories for boys 
 and girls and playgrounds where muscles and brains 
 grown slow from heavy-harness could be quickened. 
 She fancied herself listening to the laughter of chil- 
 dren who had not before learned to laugh. 
 
 That should be the first thing taught, but even 
 above that rost another dream. On some green hill-
 
 104 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 side should stand her tiny, but model hospital, with a 
 " fotched-on " trained nurse in attendance and white 
 cots ranged in clean rows to which the sick might come. 
 From comfortless beds in musty cabins women might be 
 brought to have God's sun and air and cleanliness at- 
 tend upon the birth of their children. As she made 
 inquiries of land-holders whom a price might tempt to 
 sell, she was met everywhere with a reserve which puz- 
 zled her until a bare-footed and slouching farmer gave 
 her a hint. 
 
 This man rubbed his brown toe in the dust and spoke 
 in a lowered voice. 
 
 '* I don't mind a-tellin' ye thet I'd be plumb willin' 
 ter sell out an' move " his eyes shone greedily as he 
 added, " fer a fair figger, but I moutn't live ter move 
 ef I sold out." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked, much puzzled. 
 
 " Wall, I wouldn't hardly like ter hev this travel 
 back ter Bad Anse, but I've done been admonished not 
 ter make no trades with strangers." 
 
 " Oh ! " she exclaimed, in a low voice as her face 
 flushed wrathfully. " Whom does your land belong 
 to? " she demanded after a moment's indignant silence. 
 " Are you a bondman to Bad Anse Havey ? Isn't your 
 property your own ? " 
 
 He looked away and rummaged in his pockets for 
 a few crumbs of leaf tobacco, then he commented with 
 the dreary philosophy of hopelessness, " Hit's a God's 
 blessed truth thet a feller hyarabouts is plumb lucky es 
 long as his life's his own." 
 
 So, she told herself, Bad Anse had begun his war 
 with boycott! She could not even buy a foothold on
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 105 
 
 which to begin her fight. Back there in the Philadel- 
 phia banks lay enough money, she bitterly reflected, to 
 buy the County at an inflated price ; to bribe its Courts ; 
 to hire assassins and snuff out human lives, yet, since 
 the edict of one man carried the force of terror, she 
 could not buy a few acres to teach little children and 
 care for the sick. At least it was a confession that, 
 for all his fine pretense of scorn, the man recognized 
 and feared the potentiality of her efforts.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AS the bright greens of June were scorched into 
 dustier hues of July and the little spears of corn 
 grew taller, she began to feel conscious of a cer- 
 tain drawing back, even of those who had been her warm 
 admirers and to notice scowls on strange faces as they 
 eyed her. 
 
 Somewhere a poison squad was at work. Of that she 
 felt sure, and her eyes flashed militant anger as she 
 thought of its authorship. Each day brought her 
 new warnings, offered under the semblance of kindness 
 and friendship. 
 
 " Folks hereabouts liked her powerful well, but hit 
 warn't hardly likely thet Bad Anse, ner Milt McBriar 
 would suffer her ter go forward with her projecks. 
 They'd done been holdin* off 'cause she war a woman, 
 an' she'd better quit of her own behest." So they were 
 willing to let her surrender with the honors of war! 
 Her lips tightened. 
 
 In answer to detailed questioning her informant 
 would invariably shake his head vaguely and suspect 
 that " hit warn't rightly none of his business nohow, 
 he just 'lowed hit war a kindly act ter give her timely 
 warnin'." 
 
 Old Bob McGreeger had a water mill a half mile 
 from the Widow Everson's house, and had there been 
 
 competition in his neighborhood, his trade would have 
 
 106
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 107 
 
 died, for the tongue in old Bob's head was a member 
 given to truculent bitterness, and his temper was the 
 channel through which the dyspepsia that racked him, 
 found torrential outlet. It was intimated that the 
 spring which crept down through the laurel thickets 
 above his house, often brought on its surface floating 
 grains of yellow corn. As to the significance of these 
 kernels, mountain etiquette remained silent. Yet the 
 floating particles were prima facie evidence of the 
 proximity of a moonshine still and distilling under such 
 circumstances engenders a steadfast distaste for in- 
 novations hinting at a change of order. 
 
 Be that as it may, Old Bob was, in word of mouth, 
 the most violent man in the hills. In his code of honor 
 the one unforgivable sin was forgiveness, and peace 
 was the one contemptible weakness. His body was 
 knife-slashed, bullet-pitted and marked of fist and hu- 
 man tooth and out of no battle had he ever emerged 
 victorious. 
 
 " Nobody kain't nuver 1'arn oP Bob nuthin'," Jerry 
 Everson told Juanita one day. " Some fellers fights 
 'cause they kin fight, an' some fellers gets persuaded 
 by-and-by that they kain't fight an' quits tryin', but 
 OP Bob kain't fight an' kain't quit. He's in ther hell 
 of a sorry fix, Ol' Bob is." 
 
 And so despite his troublesome proclivities, the moun- 
 tain folk regarded him rather humorously and made al- 
 lowances for his idiosyncrasies. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon the girl was standing at the 
 stile of the Widow's house with Jerry at her elbow when 
 Old Bob came " j est broguein' down the road." He 
 was a strange sight in his bare feet, his ragged trousers
 
 108 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 and the faded Prince Albert coat, which had drifted 
 into his ownership a quarter of a century ago and been 
 donned every Sabbath since. He completed his 
 anomalous costume with a battered straw hat and a 
 much spotted red necktie at his collarless throat. He 
 rapped the road as he came with a long hickory staff, 
 and his face, masked in ragged iron-gray whiskers, 
 worked like a rabbit's with his mutterings. 
 
 But he paused at the gate and stood there scowling 
 villainously at the girl. 
 
 " Is thet her? " he exploded at the end of 
 his scrutiny. 
 
 " Thet," said Jerry, who was now the girl's dumb 
 admirer, " is Miss Holland : Miss Juanita Holland." 
 
 " Hit's ther hell of a name fer any gal," observed 
 the old man, still boring into her face with hostile eyes. 
 " How much longer do she 'low ter tarry in these 
 parts?" 
 
 The girl flushed scarlet, and then telling herself 
 that this was one of the deficients whom the hill peo- 
 ple call "fitty," she turned away and looked down the 
 road. 
 
 " Folks round hyar," said Jerry slowly and in an 
 ominously quiet voice, " hopes thet she stays a long 
 spell." 
 
 " Like hell they does ! " ripped out the gray-bearded 
 moonshiner fiercely. " Ther only folks thet wishes thet 
 air them thet eats with the McBriars an' drinks with 
 ther Haveys an' tells lies ter both on 'em. Shore- 
 'nough folks hain't honin' ter hev no fotched-on women 
 spreadin' new-fangled notions of corruption through 
 ther country. What's more they hain't a-goin' ter
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 109 
 
 suffer hit much longer. Bad Anse is gittin' damn 
 tired of puttin' up with sich, jest because hits a 
 woman." 
 
 Juanita Holland wheeled, stung into speech at last. 
 
 " I reckon," she said quietly, falling unconsciously 
 into the idiom, while her cheeks blazed, " there isn't 
 much danger." 
 
 " No, by God," flared the man, " hit hain't danger, 
 hit's a plumb sartainty." 
 
 Then Jerry Everson crossed the stile. 
 
 " Uncle Bob," he said slowly, " I reckon ye've done 
 talked plenty. Begone now whilst ye've got a chanst." 
 
 Bob McGreeger broke into a volley of fiery oaths, 
 but the young mountaineer silenced him with a vice- 
 like grip on his shoulder. 
 
 " Folks," he said, " hev been makin' hit a practise 
 ter take a heap offen ye, because ye've got gray ha'r 
 an' a weak mind. In p'int of fact one more lickin' 
 wouldn't harm ye none, an' ef ye hain't plumb heedful 
 ye're a goin' ter git hit right now." 
 
 The girl, genuinely anxious for the old man, started 
 across the stile to intercede, but with a sudden change 
 of mood her heckler turned and started ambling up the 
 road, rumbling as he went. Jerry, whose anger had 
 died as suddenly as it had flared, sung after him taunt- 
 ingly. " Uncle Bob, ye hadn't oughter go round 
 seekin' fights. Some day ye're liable ter meet up with 
 a right-puny feller thet ye kin lick, an' then yore 
 rep'tation'll be plumb eternally gone ter hell." 
 
 But the girl that night thought long and gloomily 
 over the outbreak of the drunken miller. 
 
 During those weeks of June and the first half of
 
 110 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 July the mountains seemed to breathe freer, because of 
 the truce pledged by the two leaders, and the men of 
 both clans walked in seeming security, through the 
 enemy's territory. None the less, secret and silent in- 
 vestigations were going forward, and when the answer 
 to them came the seeming of peace would burst like a 
 pricked bubble. The grievance that had been rankling 
 in McBriar breasts since the night of the dance had 
 lost none of its soreness. .Who killed Nash McKay? 
 Bad Anse Havey knew that the plighted assurances of 
 his enemy would not long outlast the answering of that 
 question and he was not resting idle. 
 
 Juanita Holland had bought a small piece of ground 
 from the Widow Everson, near her own house, and upon 
 it a cabin was being reared. 
 
 * ** 
 
 One afternoon, while old Milt McBriar was sitting 
 on the porch of his house, a horseman rode up and 
 " lighted." The horseman was not a pleasant person 
 of visage or expression, but he knew his mission and 
 was sure of his welcome. 
 
 " Evenin', Luke," welcomed the McBriar chief. 
 
 As the visitor sank into a chair with a nod he la- 
 conically announced: 
 
 " I've done found out who kilt Nash McKay." 
 
 Old Milt never showed surprise. It was his pride 
 that his features had banished all register of emotion. 
 Now he merely leaned over and knocked the ash from 
 his pipe against the railing. " Wall," he commanded 
 curtly, " let's hev yore tale." 
 
 " Them Haveys picked out a man thet hain't been 
 mixed up in no feud fightin' heretofore," pursued the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 111 
 
 other with unruffled calmness. " He's a feller thet no- 
 body wouldn't hardly suspect; him bein' peaceable an' 
 mostly sober. But he shoots his squirrels through the 
 head every time he throws up his rifle-gun. Thet war 
 ther kind of man they wanted." 
 
 Milt McBriar shifted his position a little. He 
 seemed bored. 
 
 " Who war this feller? " 
 
 The bearer of tidings was reserving his climax and 
 refused to be hurried. 
 
 " I reckon ye'll be right-smart astonished when I 
 names his name, but thar hain't no chanst of bein' mis- 
 took. I've done run ther thing down." 
 
 " I hain't nuver astonished," retorted McBriar. 
 "Who war he?" 
 
 Very cautiously the second man looked around and 
 then bent over and whispered a name. If Milt McBriar 
 did not show surprise at its mention it was because he 
 made a conscious effort. At last he laughed unpleas- 
 antly and commented, " Thet war like Anse Havey. 
 He's kind of fond of doin' things thet ye wouldn't 
 hardly 'low he would do." After a short pause the 
 chief added, " Wall, I reckon I don't need ter tell yer 
 what ter do now? " 
 
 " I reckon I knows," confessed Luke with a some- 
 what surly expression. " Why don't ye foller Anse's 
 lead an' use a new man oncet in a while? " 
 
 " Oh, I reckon ye'll do, Luke, an' atter ye does hit, 
 ye'd better leave ther mountings fer a spell." 
 
 The surliness deepened. " Hell ! " muttered the 
 henchman. But Milt McBriar was paying no atten- 
 tion. His face was darkening. " I wish I could af-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 ford ter git ther real man," he exclaimed abruptly, 
 " I wish I durst hev Anse Havey kilt." 
 
 " Wall " this time it was the underling who spoke 
 casually " I reckon I mout as well die fer a sheep as a 
 lamb. Shell I kill Anse Havey fer ye?" 
 
 The chieftain looked at him during a long pause, 
 then slowly shook his head. 
 
 " No, Luke," he said quietly, " I hain't quite ready' 
 ter die myself yit. I reckon if I hed ye ter kill Ead 
 Anse thet's 'bout what'd happen. Jest git ther lamb 
 this trip an' let ther old ram live a spell." 
 
 So one unspeakably sultry morning a few days after 
 that informal session, Good Anse Talbott appeared at 
 the door of the Widow Everson's house. As Juanita 
 Holland appeared in the door to greet him he came to 
 the point without persiflage. 
 
 " Fletch McNash hes done been kilt," he said. 
 " 'Bout twilight last night es he war a-comin' in from 
 ther barn somebody shot one shoot from ther la'rel. 
 I reckon hit'd be right-smart comfort ter his woman 
 an' little Dawn ef ye could ride over thar an' help 
 'tend ter ther buryin'. Kin ye start now?"
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 GO! Juanita would go if it were necessary to run 
 a gantlet of all the combined forces of the Haveys 
 and McBriars. Her heart ached for the widow 
 and the boys, but for Dawn the ache was as deeply poig- 
 nant as it could have been for a little sister of her own. 
 The child had brought to her her one truly personal 
 association in the mountains. Their intimacy had been 
 to Juanita a solace and a substitute for all the things 
 she had put behind, things thairleft emptiness and ache 
 in her heart. To-day her little protegee was a child. 
 To-morrow she would be a woman and the day after 
 the girl shuddered as she reflected on the Galloway 
 woman who had a few years ago been the " purtiest 
 gal on Meetin' House Fork." Dawn and girls like 
 her were the stake for which she had come here to fight. 
 It was such lives she meant to redeem. Now across 
 the lot of this joyous little creature had fallen the 
 shadow of the seemingly inevitable of the grim, 
 sullen home-breaking thing that brooded here, feeding 
 on human life. So it was with set face and hot in- 
 dignation of heart that she mounted for the journey. 
 Yet in the rancor of her unreasoning anger it was 
 not upon the actual assassin that her censure chiefly 
 burned. She chose rather to go back of all that and 
 think of Anse Havey as the human incarnation; the 
 
 head and front of the whole wretched, blood-drenched 
 
 113
 
 114 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 regime. He seemed even more responsible than Milt 
 McBriar because his lawless fame had gone more pic- 
 turesquely abroad. 
 
 As they rode the hills were full of midsummer lan- 
 guor. The trees were unstirring in the hushed heat. 
 Only the minnows in the little pools and the geese that 
 waddled down to the cool waters seemed free of tor- 
 pidness and lethargy. The locusts and grasshoppers 
 sang from dry roadside stalks and flew rattling away 
 from the ironweeds and thistles as they passed. 
 
 The horses kicked up clouds of choking dust and 
 along the edges of the shrunken streams little clusters 
 of white and pale-yellow butterflies fluttered wearily. 
 
 The houses, where a roof broke through the timber, 
 were sullen, too, and closed of door, despite the heat, but 
 Juanita no longer thought of them as hovels where 
 men and women closely akin to the dumb beasts lived 
 as in dens. Love and hate and hope and despair, she 
 had learned, burn as fiercely there as elsewhere and 
 though more nakedly, perhaps more honestly. The pov- 
 erty which it had, at first, seemed must strangle to 
 death everything but animal instinct, was robbed of its 
 abjectness. Its self-denial was a compromise only with 
 necessity, never with self-respect. The same Spartan 
 spirit had animated Kenton and Boone when they dis- 
 carded every non-essential from their pioneer packs. 
 She herself was in effect as poor as they, because her 
 possessions lay beyond ramparts of granite and sand- 
 stone. So much had the girl Juanita grown under 
 the teachings of those she had come to teach. 
 
 At last they reached the McNash cabin and found 
 gathered about it a score of figures with sullen and
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 115 
 
 scowling faces. As she crossed the yard the crowd 
 opened for her and gazed after her respectfully. Even 
 the missionary did not cross the threshold with her, 
 but let her enter alone on her errand of comforting the 
 " women folks " who were in there with their dead. 
 From the barn came the screech of saw and rat-tat 
 of hammer, where those whose knack ran to carpentry 
 were fashioning the box which was to serve in lieu of 
 a casket. 
 
 There was no fire now and the cabin was very dark. 
 In a deeply shadowed corner lay Fletch McNash, made 
 visible by the white sheet that covered him. That 
 sheet had been borrowed from a neighbor who " made 
 it a p'int ter hev things handy fer buryin's." It had 
 served the same purpose before and would again. 
 
 Juanita had come in silently and for a moment 
 thought that no one else was there, and that she was 
 alone with death. The younger children had been 
 sent away and the neighbors remained outside with 
 rough sense of consideration. Among them was no ex- 
 citement ; they smoked stoically and talked of indifferent 
 topics. Death was a neighbor near whom they had al- 
 ways lived, and this case was like many others. 
 
 Then as Juanita stood just inside the Hotel, she 
 heard a low moan and crossed the room. 
 
 There in a squat chair near the dead hearth sat Mrs. 
 McNash, with her back turned to the room. She was 
 leaning forward and gazing ahead with unseeing eyes. 
 Dawn was kneeling at her side with both arms about 
 her mother's drooping shoulders. It was from Dawn, 
 whose tear-stained face was wan and white, that the 
 groan had come. The elder woman had uttered no
 
 116 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 sound. For hours she had been sitting there in just 
 that attitude, tearless and mute, with a face that was as 
 drawn and taut as though parchment instead of skin 
 was stretched across the bones of her skull. Some- 
 times a spasm of shaking ran through her body like a 
 chill, but except for that she neither moved nor spoke. 
 It was the still grief of the mountain woman which 
 finds no outlet and instills into her offspring a 
 wormwood and thirst for vengeance with their suck- 
 ling. 
 
 Juanita bent and impulsively kissed the withered 
 face, but the woman only stirred a little like a half- 
 awakened sleeper and looked stolidly up. After a 
 while she spoke in the lifeless, far-away tone of utter 
 lethargy. 
 
 " Ef ye'd like ter see him, jest lift up ther sheet. . . . 
 He's a-layin' thar." Then once more she sank back 
 into the coma of her staring at the hearth with its dead 
 ashes. But Dawn had not looked tragedy in the face 
 so long that it had made her the stoic. She was wild 
 only as the song bird is wild and not as the hunted 
 animal. She rose and stood shaken with deep sobs, 
 and putting both hands out before her, came gropingly 
 and blind with tears into the outstretched arms of 
 Juanita Holland. 
 
 Then the door opened, letting in two men, and in 
 them Juanita recognized Jeb McNash and Bad Anse 
 Havey. 
 
 At their coming Dawn looked up, and drawing away 
 from the embrace of the older girl, retreated silently to a 
 corner as though ashamed of having been discovered 
 in tears. For a few moments there was silence in the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 117 
 
 room, complete except for the rap of Jeb's pipe when 
 he knocked out its ashes against the chimney. 
 
 Bad Anse stood with folded arms in the dim light 
 and gave no sign that he had recognized the presence 
 of the foreign woman. 
 
 The boy jerked his head toward the hearth and said 
 in a strained, hard voice, " Set ye a cheer, Anse," and 
 after that no one spoke. Jeb's thin, but muscular chest 
 rose and fell to the swell of heavy breathing, and his 
 face was wrapped black in a scowl that made his eyes 
 smolder and his lips snarl. Juanita had dropped back 
 to one of the beds where she sat with Dawn's face 
 buried in her lap. She studied the faces which were 
 all shadow faces in the dimness, but which grew in dis- 
 tinctness when her eyes became accustomed to the dark, 
 standing out more clearly just as features painted on 
 an old, discolored canvas come out under an intent 
 gaze. 
 
 But even in the murk Anse Havey's eyes shone clear 
 and insistent, and held her gaze with an almost un- 
 canny fascination. It was difficult to remember all the 
 villainies of which she believed him guilty when she 
 could actually see him, for the face was that of a strong 
 fighting philosopher, who acts swiftly and surely, but 
 who thinks even more swiftly and surely. As she 
 looked at him she told herself that she hated him the 
 more for his hypnotic eyes they gave him much of 
 his evil power over men. 
 
 Then as if rousing from a long dream Mrs. McNash 
 lifted her gaze and for the first time appeared to realize 
 that her son and his companion had entered the place. 
 
 The dead blankness left her pupils and into them
 
 118 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 leaped a hateful fire. Her voice came in shrill and 
 high-pitched questioning: " Wall, Jeb, hev ye got him 
 
 yit?" 
 
 The boy only shook his head and glowered at the 
 wall while his mother's voice rose almost to a scream. 
 
 " Hain't ye a-goin' ter do nothin' ? Thar lays yore 
 pap what nuver harmed no man, shot down cold- 
 blooded. Don't ye hear him a-callin' on yer ter settle 
 his blood-score? Air ye skeered? Ther sperit of him 
 thet fathered ye air a-pleadin* with ye from his 
 shroud an' ye sets still in yore cheer an' twiddles 
 yore thumbs ! " 
 
 Juanita felt the slender figure in her embrace shud- 
 der at the lashing invective that fell from the mother's 
 crazed lips. She saw the boy's face whiten ; saw him 
 rise and turn to Bad Anse Havey, half in ferocity, half 
 in pleading. 
 
 " Maw's right, Anse," he doggedly declared. " I 
 kain't tarry hyar no longer. He b'longs ter me. . . . 
 I've got ter go out an' kill him. Thar hain't but one 
 thing a-stoppin' me now," he added helplessly. " I 
 don't know who did hit. I hain't got no notion." 
 
 He stood before the clan chief and the clan chief 
 rose and laid one hand on the shoulder which had be- 
 gun to tremble. Man and boy looked at each other, 
 eye to eye, then the elder of the two began to speak. 
 
 " Jeb, I don't want ye to think I don't feel for ye, 
 but ye don't know who the feller is, an' ye can't hardly 
 go shootin* permiscuous. Ye've got to bide your 
 time." 
 
 " But," interrupted the boy tensely, " you knows. 
 You knows everything hyarabouts. In God's name,
 
 "Maw's right, Anse," he doggedly declared. "T kain't tarry hyar no longer. 
 He b'longs ter me."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 119 
 
 Anse, I hain't askin' nothin' out of ye but jest one 
 word. Jest speak one name, thet's all I needs." 
 
 The mother had dropped back into her stupor again 
 and her son stood there, his broganed feet wide apart 
 and his whole body rigid and taut with passion. 
 
 Anse Havey once more shook his head. 
 
 * 4 No, Jeb," he said quietly, " I don't know neither 
 not yet. The McBriars acted on suspicion an' they 
 killed the wrong man. Ye ain't seekin' to do likewise, 
 be ye? Ye ain't quite twenty-one, Jeb, an' I'm the 
 head of the family. I reckon ye'd better take counsel 
 of me, boy. I ain't bent on deludin' ye an' ye can trust 
 me. Ye've got to give me your hand, Jeb, that until 
 we're plumb, everlastin'ly sartain who got your pa, ye 
 won't raise your gun against any man. I want ye 
 to give me your solemn pledge on that." 
 
 The boy sank down into his chair and bowed his 
 head in his hands while his finger nails bit into his tem- 
 ples. Even Juanita Holland had felt the effect of 
 Havey's wonderfully quieting voice and personality. 
 Finally Jeb McNash raised his face. 
 
 " An' will ye give me yore hand, Anse Havey, thet if 
 ye finds hit out afore I do, ye'll tell me thet man's 
 name? " 
 
 " I ain't never turned my back on a kinsman yet, 
 Jeb," Anse gravely reminded him. 
 
 The boy nodded his acquiescence and hurriedly left 
 the room. Juanita gently lifted Dawn's head from her 
 lap and went forward to the hearth. 
 
 She had listened in silence, outraged at this callous 
 talk and this private usurpation of powers of life and 
 death. Now it seemed to her that to remain longer si-
 
 120 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 lent would be almost to become an accomplice. Some- 
 thing in her grew rigid. She saw the bent and 
 lethargic figure of the bereaved wife and the stark, 
 sheeted body of the feud's last victim. Before her 
 stood the man more than any one else responsible for 
 such conditions. 
 
 " Mr. Havey," she said as her voice grew coldly pur- 
 poseful, with the ring of challenge, " I have been told 
 that you did not mean to let me stay here; that you 
 did not intend to give these poor children the chance to 
 grow straight and decent." She paused because so 
 much was struggling indignantly for utterance that she 
 found the ordering of her words very difficult. And 
 as she paused she heard him inquire in an ironically 
 quiet voice, " Who told ye that? " 
 
 " Never mind who told me. I haven't come here to 
 answer your questions. I came to these feud-cursed 
 hills to fight conditions for which you stand as sponsor 
 and patron saint. I came here to try to give the chil- 
 dren release from ignorance because ignorance 
 makes them easy tools and dupes for murder lords 
 like you." 
 
 Again her tumult of spirit halted her and she heard 
 Dawn sobbing with grief and fright on the bed. 
 
 " Are ye through ? " inquired Anse Havey. His 
 voice had the flinty quiet of cruelly repressed passion, 
 and his face had whitened, but he had not moved. 
 
 " No, I'm not through," she went on with ris- 
 ing vehemence. " I came here seeking to interfere 
 with no man's affairs . . . wishing only to give your 
 people, without price, what they are entitled to ... 
 the light that all the rest of the world enjoys. I found
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the community bound hand and foot in slavery to two 
 men of a like stripe. I found their hirelings murdering 
 each other from ambush. I'm only a woman, but I 
 carry the credentials of decency and civilization. You 
 two have everything else everything except decency 
 and civilization. . . . You and Milt McBriar ! " 
 
 He had listened while the muscles of his jaws stood 
 out in cramped tensity and the veins began to cord 
 themselves on his temples. Now he said in a low voice 
 between his teeth : " By God, don't liken me to Milt 
 McBriar." 
 
 The girl laughed, a little hysterically and wildly, then 
 swept on. 
 
 " I do liken you to Milt McBriar. What in God's 
 name is the difference between you? He kills your 
 vassals and you kill his. Both of you do it by the 
 proxy of hirelings and from ambuscade. In this house 
 a man lies dead dead for no quarrel of his own, but 
 because of your quarrel with Milt McBriar. But it 
 seems that's not enough. You must enlist the son of 
 the dead man into a life that will have the same end for 
 him. . . . You bind him apprentice to your merciless 
 code of murder." Her hands were clenched and her 
 eyes burning with her tempest of rage. When she 
 stopped speaking the man inquired once again : " Are 
 ye through now? " But Juanita swept both hands out 
 and added : 
 
 " You have taken the boy very well. I mean to 
 take the girl. I shall try to undo in her and in her 
 children the evil you will do her brother. I shall try 
 to give the family one unblighted branch. Unless you 
 kill me I shall stay here and fight. I'll fight you and
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 your enemy, McBriar, alike because you are only two 
 sides of the same coin. . . . I'll try to take the ground 
 out from under your feet and leave you no standing 
 room outside a State's prison. . . . Dawn shall learn 
 the things that will, some day, set this country free." 
 
 Mrs. McNash was looking up vaguely, but her 
 thoughts were still far away, and this outpouring of 
 speech near at hand meant little to her. 
 
 Juanita as she finished her wild peroration fell sud- 
 denly to trembling. Her strength seemed to have gone 
 out with her words. Her knees, now that the effort 
 was made, seemed too weak to support her, and for 
 the first time in her life, as she looked into the face 
 of Anse Havey, a face ominously blanched with rage, 
 hurt pride and bitterness, she was physically afraid of 
 a man. 
 
 His eyes seemed to pierce her with the stabs of 
 rapiers and in his quiet self-repression was something 
 very ominous. For a moment he did not permit him- 
 self to speak, then he thrust a chair forward and said 
 in a level and toneless sort of voice : " If ye're all 
 through now, mebby ye'd better sit down. Such elo- 
 quence as that's liable ter tire ye out right smartly." 
 
 The girl made no move to take the chair, and Anse 
 Havey came one step forward and pointed to it. This 
 time his voice came quick and sharp like the crack of 
 a mule whip. "Sit down I tell ye! I've got just a 
 few words ter say my own self."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 DAWN drew back on the quilted feather bed, her 
 fingers twisting about one another in an excess 
 of nervous disquiet. Never before had she 
 heard any one, man or woman, venture a word of re- 
 bellion or defiance to Bad Anse Havey. It had not 
 occurred to her that there was in the world a person 
 bold enough to do so. The mountain child felt al- 
 most as if she were a prize being fought for; fought 
 for bitterly by two people whom she held in that high 
 awe accorded to deities. 
 
 For a few moments Bad Anse Havey said nothing 
 more and the Eastern girl dropped almost limply into 
 the chair which he had pushed forward, while he, him- 
 self, paced the narrow length of the room, pausing once 
 to gaze down at the rigid body of the dead man. At 
 last he came and took his place squarely before her by 
 the hearth with both hands thrust deep into his coat 
 pockets. A long black lock fell over his forehead and 
 he impatiently shook it back. 
 
 " Dawn," he said finally, " I wish ye'd go to the door 
 an' tell one of them fellers out there not ter let no one 
 come in till I'm through." 
 
 " So you mean to keep me prisoner here while you 
 attempt to intimidate me? " inquired the elder girl a 
 little scornfully. " I suppose I might have expected 
 
 that. It doesn't frighten me, however." 
 
 123
 
 124 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " Wait a minute, Dawn ! " countermanded Havey, 
 still speaking in a low and unexcited voice. " Is there 
 any person out thar, ma'am, ye'd like to have come in? 
 I 'lowed that in here, whar we both come to try ter 
 help friends in affliction, ye'd know nothin' couldn't 
 harm ye." 
 
 Juanita's cheeks betrayed her annoyance with a deep 
 flush. She had meant to be bitterly ironical; and this 
 barbarian had parried her thrust with a dignity greater 
 than her own. " Please go on," she said. " I've al- 
 ready told you that I'm not yet terrorized." 
 
 " In the first place," he began in his deliberate voice, 
 " ye've said some things thet I doubt not ye believe 
 to be true, but they're 'most all of 'em lies." He flung 
 back his head and looked squarely down at her, his 
 eyes narrow and snapping, but with his voice pitched 
 to a low cadence. 
 
 " Ye've said things that, since ye're a woman, I ain't 
 got any way of answerin'. I listened to all them things 
 an' I didn't interrupt ye. The only thing I asks of 
 ye, is thet now ye hearken to what 7 want to say." 
 
 " Go on. I'm listening with humble attention." 
 
 " Ye've called me a murderer an' a hirer of murderers. 
 That's a lie. I've never killed no man that didn't have 
 his face fords me, nor one that wasn't armed. I've 
 nerer hired any man killed. 
 
 " Ye ? ve likened me to Milt McBriar. . . . Thet was 
 a lie, too. Ye've said some right-bitter things, an' I 
 can't answer ye. If ye was a man I could." 
 
 " And if I were a man, what would you say to me? " 
 she inquired. 
 
 " I reckon " his words came with an icv cold-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 125 
 
 ness " I'd be pretty liable to tell ye to eternally go to 
 hell." 
 
 " And if I were a man," she promptly retorted, " I'd 
 endeavor with every ounce of manhood I had in me 
 to see that you, and the others like you, did go there. 
 I'd try to see that you went the appropriate way, 
 through the trap of the gallows." 
 
 She saw his attitude stiffen and his face flush brick- 
 red to the cheek-bones. But after a few seconds she 
 heard him speak with a fair counterfeit of amusement. 
 
 " Wall, it 'pears like we've both got to be right- 
 smart disappointed on account of your bein' a 
 woman." 
 
 And that time it was she who flushed. 
 
 " I don't hardly know why I'm takin' the trouble 
 to make any statement to ye," mused Anse Havey. 
 " It ain't hardly worth while. Ye came up here with 
 your mind fixed. Ye've read a lot of hearsay stuff in 
 newspapers, an' facts ain't hardly apt to count for 
 much. ... I reckon afore ye decides to hang me ye'll 
 let me have my day in Court, won't ye? " 
 
 " Before your own Judge and your own Jury? " 
 she naively asked him. " That's the way you usually 
 have your day in Court, isn't it, Mr. Havey ? " 
 
 " It's you that's settin' as the Court just now," he 
 disconcertingly reminded her. " I reckon ye can judge 
 for yeself how much I owns ye." 
 
 In spite of herself she smiled. " I rather think I 
 can," she admitted. " Approximately at least." 
 
 " I think I understand ye, better than ye do me," he 
 went on very slowly. " I think ye're plumb honest in 
 all the notions ye fetched up here despite the fact that
 
 126 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 most of 'em are wrong. Ye've done come with a heap 
 of money, to teach folks what you 'low they'd ought to 
 know. Ye didn't know that they'd ruther have ig- 
 norance than charity. Ye think that you an' Al- 
 mighty God have gone in partners fer the regeneration 
 of these mountains, where no woman has ever been in- 
 sulted an' no man has to bar his door against thievery : 
 where all we asks is to be left alone. I reckon every 
 day ye're wonderin', 'Is my halo on straight?' It's 
 nat'ral enough that ye should be right scornful of a 
 man that some newspaper reporter has called a mur- 
 derer." 
 
 His voice fell away and Juanita heard again the beat- 
 ing of the hammers out in the barn. 
 
 " Is that all? " she asked. But the man shook his head 
 and stood looking down on her until under the spell of 
 his unusual eyes, she felt like screaming out, " Talk if 
 you want to, but for heaven's sake don't hypnotize 
 me. It isn't fair ! " 
 
 " Mebby ef ye'd stopped to think about things a lit- 
 tle more deliberate," he thoughtfully resumed, " ye'd 
 have seen that I didn't have no quarrel with your plans. 
 Mebby I might even have been able to help ye. I could 
 have told ye for one thing that whether the ways here 
 be right or wrong, they've done stood fer two hundred 
 years. Ye've got to go slow changin' 'em. Ye can't 
 hardly pull up a poplar saplin' with one jerk. Thar's 
 a tap root underneath it that runs down half way to 
 hell. 
 
 " If people hyarbouts is distrustful of foreign 
 teachers an' ways, it's because of the samples they've 
 had. A feller came here once from the settlements to
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 127 
 
 teach school. He was a smart upstandin' feller an' 
 well liked. A man by the name of Trevor. 
 
 " When folks found out that he was locatin' coal an' 
 buyin' their land fer next to nothin' robbin' them of 
 their birthright it looked right smart like some- 
 body might kill him. I warned him away to save his 
 life. Ye've got to make folks forget Trevor afore ye 
 makes 'em trust you" 
 
 "Thank you," said Juanita coldly. "I'll try to 
 show them that I'm not another Trevor. Are you 
 warning me away to save my life, too? " 
 
 ** I'm tol'able ignorant," went on the man, " but 
 I've read a few books an' one of 'em told the story of 
 the Trojan hoss. I wanted ter see what kind of a 
 critter you was a-ridin' into these hills. I come to this 
 cabin the night ye got here to find out." 
 
 " I thought so," she quietly answered. " I was to 
 be inspected like an immigrant, and the Lord of the 
 Land was to decide whether or not I should be sent 
 back." 
 
 " Put it that way if ye've a mind to," he imperturb- 
 ably answered. " Ye was comin' to be a school-teacher 
 here. Well I'd done been a school-teacher here ... I 
 see your smile . . . ye're wonderin' what I could teach. 
 Maybe after all it's a right good idea to teach A. B. C.'s, 
 before ye starts in with algebra an' rhetoric. Ye 
 wouldn't have me as a friend an' I reckon that won't 
 break my heart." 
 
 " Then," said the girl, looking up and meeting his 
 eyes with a flash of challenge, " I shall endeavor to get 
 along without your favor. We could hardly have met 
 on common ground, at best. I shall teach the Ten
 
 128 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Commandments, including : * Thou shalt not kill.' I 
 shall teach that to lie hidden behind a bush and shoot 
 an unsuspecting enemy is cowardly and despicable. I 
 would not be willing to tell them that they must live 
 and die vassals to feudal tyranny." 
 
 " No," he agreed, " ye couldn't hardly outrage your 
 holy conscience by tryin' to teach 'em things in a way 
 they could understand, could ye? If Little Jeb had 
 a-come to ye, like he came to me, askin' the name of the 
 man he sought to kill, ye would have said ter him, ' It 
 was So-an'-so, but ye mustn't harm him, because some- 
 body writ in a book two thousand years ago that killin' 
 is a sin.' An' the hell of it is ye'd 'low such talk would 
 satisfy Mm. Ye couldn't do no such wicked thing as 
 to stop an' reflect that he's a mountain boy, an' that 
 for two hundred years the blood in his veins hes been 
 a-comin' down to him full of grudge-mi r sin' an' hate. 
 Ye couldn't make allowances for the fact that he wasn't 
 hatched in a barn-yard to peck at corn-cobs an' berries, 
 but in an eagle's nest that he's a bird of prey. Ye 
 couldn't consider the fact that the killin' instinct runs 
 in the current of his blood, an* was drunk in at his 
 mother's breast. Ye'd just teach barn-yard lessons to 
 young eagles an' that's why ye might as well go home." 
 
 " I'm grateful for this teacher's course," retorted 
 Juanita hotly, " and I'm not going home." 
 
 Then Anse Havey went on. " But I know that boy. 
 I know that if I'd talked that-a-way he'd just about 
 have gone out in the la'rel an' got somebody. It might 
 not 'a' been the right feller, and he might have found 
 that out later when he couldn't undo his deed. I 
 reckon ye never had a father murdered, did ye ? "
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 129 
 
 *' Hardly," answered the girl with a scornful toss of 
 her head. " You see I wasn't reared among gmv fight- 
 ers." 
 
 " Well, I have," responded the man with imperious 
 steadiness. " I was in the Legislature down at Frank- 
 fort when it happened, a-helpin' to make the laws that 
 govern this State. I was fer them laws in theory 
 but when that word came, I paired off with a Republican 
 so's not to lose my vote on the floor of the House, an' I 
 come back here to these hills an' got that feller. I 
 reckon I ought to be ashamed to tell ye that, but I'm so 
 plumb ign'rant that I can't feel it. I knew how Jeb 
 felt, an' so I held him off with a promise to wait. Of 
 course ye couldn't accept the help of a man like 
 that . . ." 
 
 He turned and withdrew his hands from his pockets. 
 
 " I'm through," he added, " an' I'm obleeged to ye 
 fer harkenin' to me." 
 
 Juanita rose and stood before him, and despite his 
 bitter resentment of her scorn, he recognized in her a 
 sort of courage he had never before seen in a woman ; 
 a courage of conviction and the crusader's deep pur- 
 pose. And she was very beautiful and gallant as she 
 stood there and shook her head. 
 
 " There is something in your point of view, Mr. 
 Havey," she reluctantly acknowledged. " But it is all 
 based on twisted and distorted principle. 
 
 " I don't think myself a saint. I guess I'm pretty 
 weak. My first appeal to you was pure weakness. 
 But I stand for ideas that the experience of the world 
 has vindicated and for that reason I am going to win. 
 That is why, although I'm a girl with none of your
 
 130 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 physical power, and no gun-fighters at my back, you 
 are secretly afraid of me. That is why you are mak- 
 ing unfair war on me. I stand for the implacable force 
 of civilization that must sooner or later sweep you away 
 and utterly destroy your dominance." 
 
 For the first time Bad Anse Havey's face lost its im- 
 passiveness. His eyes clouded and became puzzled, sur- 
 prised. " I reckon I don't hardly follow ye," he said. 
 " If ye wants it to be enemies, all right, but I ain't never 
 made no war on ye. I don't make war on women-folks, 
 an' besides I wouldn't make a needless war nohow. All 
 I've got to do is to give ye enough rope an' watch ye 
 hang yourself." 
 
 " If you think that," she demanded with a quick up- 
 leaping of anger in her pupils, " why did you feel it 
 necessary to prevent my buying land? Why do you 
 coerce your vassals, under fear of death, to refuse my 
 offers? Why, if my school means no menace, do you 
 refuse it standing room to start its fight? " 
 
 The man's pose stiffened. 
 
 " Who told ye I'd hindered anybody from sellin' ye 
 land?" 
 
 " Wherever I inquire it is the same thing. They 
 must ask permission of Bad Anse Havey before they 
 can do as they wish with their own." 
 
 " By God, that's another lie," he said shortly. " But 
 I reckon ye believe that, too. I did advise folks here- 
 abouts against sellin' to strangers, but that was afore 
 ye come." He paced the length of the room a while 
 then halted before her. 
 
 " Some of that property," he went on, and this time 
 his voice was passionate in its earnestness, " has enough
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 131 
 
 coal an' timber on it to make its owners rich some day. 
 Have ye seen any of the coal-minin' sections of these 
 hills? Well, go an' have a look. Ye won't find any 
 mountaineer richer fer the development. Ye'll find 'em 
 plundered, an' cheated an' robbed of their homes by 
 your civilized furriner. I've done aimed ter pertect 
 my folks against bein' looted. I aims to go on per- 
 tectin' 'em." 
 
 " Ignorance won't protect them," she insisted. 
 
 Suddenly he demanded without preface. " How old 
 are you? " 
 
 Her glance questioned his face and his direct eyes 
 told her that there was no impertinence in the interro- 
 gation. 
 
 " I am twenty-two," she curtly replied. 
 
 * Twenty-two ! " he repeated after her, she thought 
 a little scornfully. " I'm just five years more than that, 
 but I'm thirty years older than you in everything but 
 years. I've seen enough of all this thing down here 
 not to get wrought up about it. I've got enough lead 
 right here in my own body now," he clapped one hand 
 to his chest and went on with the same fixed expression 
 and the same calculatedly calm voice, " to kill all the 
 leaders of the McBriar crowd, if it were run back into 
 bullet molds again. Every day's liable to be my last 
 day. I've shook the hands of men thet was warm in 
 the mornin' an' gripped mine in friendship, an' thet was 
 cold an' lifeless at sun-down like his'n." He jerked 
 his head toward the bed and the sheeted form upon it. 
 " Yes, an' I've tried to keep the scores tol'able even. 
 I'm in a fix to lay by theories an' look facts in the face, 
 I reckon. I don't hold out peace offerin's to men that
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 are seekin' to knife me. I fight the devil with fire an' 
 I tries to make it hot." 
 
 " It hadn't occurred to me to doubt that," she com- 
 mented as he paused. 
 
 " I told ye we was distrustful of foreigners," said 
 Anse Havey. " Some day thar'll be a bigger war here 
 than the Havey-McBriar war. Ye've seen somethin' 
 of that. That other war will be with your people an' 
 when it comes there won't be any McBriars or Haveys. 
 We'll all be mountaineers standin' together an' holdin' 
 what God gave us against them that seeks to plunder 
 us. God knows I hate Milt McBriar an' his tribe 
 hate 'em with all the power of hatin' that's in me 
 an' I'm a mountain man. But Milt's people an' my 
 people have one thing in common. We're mountain men 
 an' these hills are our'n. We have the same killin' in- 
 stinct when men seek to rob us. We want to be let 
 alone, an' if we fight amongst ourselves it ain't nothin' 
 to the way we'll fight, shoulder to shoulder an' back to 
 back, against the robbers from Down-below." 
 
 The man paused again and as Juanita looked into his 
 blazing eyes she shuddered for it seemed that the killing 
 instinct of which he spoke was burning there. She 
 thought of nothing to say and he went on. 
 
 " It's war between families now but when your 
 people come come to buy for nothin' and fatten on 
 our starvation we men of the mountains will forget that 
 an* I reckon we'll fight together like all damnation 
 against the rest. Thet's why I'm counselin' folks not 
 to sell heedless." 
 
 " Then you did not forbid your people to sell to me? " 
 inquired the girl.
 
 " Why in hell should I make war on ye ? " he sud- 
 denly inquired. " Does a man fight children? We 
 don't fight the helpless up here in the hills." 
 
 " Possibly," she suggested with a trace of irony, 
 " when you learn that I'm not so helpless you won't be 
 so merciful." 
 
 " We'll wait till that time comes," said the man 
 shortly. " Helpless ! Why, the good Lord knows, 
 ma'am, I pity ye. Can't ye see what odds ye're con- 
 tendin' against? Can't ye see that ye're fightin' God's 
 hills and sandstone an' winds an' thunder? Can't ye 
 see ye're tryin' ter take out of men's veins the fire in 
 their blood; the fire that's been burnin' there for two 
 centuries? Ye're like a little child tryin' ter pull down 
 a jail-house. Ye're singin' lullaby songs to the thun- 
 der. Yes, I feel right sorry fer ye, but I ain't a-fightin' 
 ye." 
 
 " I'm doing none of those things," she protested with 
 a defiant blaze in her eyes ; " I'm only trying to show 
 these people that their ignorance is not necessary, that 
 it's only part of a scheme to keep them vassals. You 
 talk about the wild, free spirit of the mountain men. 
 I think that free men will listen to that argument." 
 
 Anse Havey laughed. 
 
 " Change 'em ! " he repeated, disregarding the slur 
 of her last speech. " Why, if ye don't give it up and 
 go back to your birds that pick at berries, do you know 
 what will happen to ye? I'll tell ye. Thar will be a 
 change, but it won't be in us. It'll be in you. You'll 
 be mountainized." 
 
 She stood and looked at him and her violet eyes were 
 brimming with starry contempt. Her delicate chin
 
 134 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 tilted disdainfully and her lips curled a little. It was 
 such a look as some Cassar's daughter, borne on the 
 necks of slaves, might have cast down on a barbarian 
 slave chained to his sweep in the galleys. So she re- 
 garded him for the galley slaves, too, had been crim- 
 inals. 
 
 " Who will change me ? " she inquired with a sting- 
 ing scorn of voice. " You and men like you ? " 
 
 The clansman felt the lash of her disdain with all the 
 sensitiveness of mountain pride, but he betrayed no 
 recognition. 
 
 " Mebby it won't be me, nor yet men like me. But 
 the air ye breathe ; the life ye live ; the water ye drink, 
 all the things that God Almighty forges in places that's 
 clost to his free sky ; them things will do it. 
 
 " Ye can't live where the storms come from an' where 
 the rivers are born an' not have their spirit get into 
 your blood. Ye may think ye're in partners with God, 
 but I reckon ye'll find the hills are bigger than you be. 
 How much land do ye need? " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because, by God, I aim to see that ye get it. Ye 
 say I'm scaired of ye. I aim to show ye how much 
 I'm scaired. I aim to let ye go your own fool way, an* 
 flounder in your own quicksand. An' if nobody won't 
 sell ye what ye want, let me know an', by Almighty God, 
 I'll make ye a free gift of a farm, an' I'll build your 
 school myself. Thet's how much I'm scaired of ye. 
 I've tried to be friends with ye an' ye won't have it. 
 Now just go as fur as ye feel inclined an' see how much 
 I mind ye." He turned abruptly on his heel and went 
 out, closing the door behind him.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THAT summer Juanita's cabin had risen on the small 
 patch of ground bought from the Widow Everson, 
 for in these hills the raising of a house is a simple 
 thing which goes forward subject to no delays of strik- 
 ing workmen or balking contractors. The usual type 
 with its single room may be reared in a few days by 
 volunteers who turn their labor into a frolic. Neigh- 
 bors lend a hand, and there are no bosses and no under- 
 lings, but each man is a monarch contributing his labor 
 as an equal, and the smell of freshly sawed lumber goes 
 up like incense in the air, while the simple craftsmen 
 strive mightily in a good-humored rivalry of skill and 
 brawn. 
 
 To Juanita's ears the sound of the hammers and the 
 scream of the little portable saw-mill down in the valley 
 had been a music in keeping with the languorous haze 
 of the horizon and the spicy fragrance of the cider 
 presses. She had owed much to Jerry Everson and 
 to Good Anse Talbott, for, had her building force been 
 solidly of Havey or McBriar complexion, the school 
 would henceforth have stood branded, in native eyes, a 
 feud institution. 
 
 But Good Anse and Jerry, who were tolerated by 
 both factions, and were gifted with a rough-hewn dip- 
 lomacy, had known upon whom to call, even while they 
 
 had seemed to select at random. So a stanch little 
 
 13*
 
 136 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 house of squared logs had gone up in a place just above 
 and to the right of the widow's, where the girl could 
 see from her window the tall poplar on the crest. It had 
 three rooms, and she had been gayer and blither while 
 she supervised her volunteer helpers than at any other 
 time since she had come to these hills. 
 
 Something of herself had gone into the fashioning 
 which gave the place, in spite of the meager limita- 
 tions of remoteness and isolation, a touch of art and 
 character. She had designed and helped build a hearth 
 of rough stone, which would not only warm, but decorate 
 as well. She had seen to the thoroughness of the chink- 
 ing, too, until one man who dwelt in a wind-riddled house 
 of his own gravely shook his head and expressed fear 
 that, " She war liable ter suiter an' sicken fer lack of 
 fresh air." The windows he regarded with even 
 greater suspicion as making a needless concession to 
 one's enemies. 
 
 Juanita Holland had grown up largely with boys. 
 Of late, since she had fancied herself disappointed be- 
 yond retrieving of heart, she had been asking herself 
 often the question, " Why are boys so much manlier 
 than men ? " But these big, loosely -knit, leathern- 
 sinewed creatures, bearded like prophets, were more 
 boys than men after all and for them she felt a quick 
 comradeship. 
 
 The cabin had been finished just before the news 
 came of the death of Fletch McNash, and Jerry Ever- 
 son had gone over with her to survey and admire it. 
 
 As he stood under the newly laid roof, sniffing the 
 fresh woody fragrance of the green timbers he pro- 
 duced from under his coat what looked like a giant pow-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 137 
 
 der horn. He had scraped and polished it until it 
 shone like varnish and he hung it bj its leather thong 
 above the hearth. 
 
 " What is it for, Jerry ? " demanded the girl ; and he 
 took it down again and set it to his lips and blew. A 
 mellow sound, not loud, but far-carrying like the fox 
 hunter's tallyho floated over the valley. " Our house 
 hain't more'n a whoop an' a holler away," he said 
 awkwardly, " but when ye're livin' over hyar by yore- 
 self ef ye ever wants anything in ther night time jest 
 blow thet horn." After she had almost burst her cheeks 
 in her effort he added with a grin, " Don't never blow 
 this signal onlesson ye wants ter raise merry hell." He 
 imitated very low through pursed lips three long blasts 
 and three short ones. 
 
 " What does that signify ? " she demanded. 
 
 " Ye've done already heered ther McBriar yell," he 
 reminded her. " Well them three longs an' three shorts 
 is ther Havey rallyin' call. When thet goes out every 
 Havey thet kin tote a gun's got ter git up an' come. 
 Hit means war." 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Juanita. Then she laughed and 
 quoted low to herself, 
 
 " Shame on the false Etruscan who lingers at his home, 
 When Lars Porsena of Clusium is on the march for Rome." 
 
 In a minute she added, " Thank you, Jerry. I won't 
 call the Haveys to battle." 
 
 The night after she had flung her challenge down to 
 Bad Anse Havey, Juanita stayed at the McNash cabin, 
 to be with Dawn and the widow. The next day she went 
 with them to the mountain-side " buryin' ground "
 
 138 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 where Good Anse performed the last rites for the dead. 
 
 The "jolt-wagon " which carried the unpainted box 
 was drawn ploddingly by oxen, for the " buryin' 
 ground " lay up a steep trail, and the funeral pro- 
 cession made its way in a laborious and straggling line. 
 It was a strange cortege and mournful despite the 
 bright calico of the women's dresses. As they rode, 
 mountain-fashion, facing to the side and shaking their 
 arms like wings, they would have made a picture gro- 
 tesquely funny had it not been so grotesquely wretched 
 and somber. The dusty purple of the iron-weed tops 
 seemed to be waving plumes of ragged mourning, and 
 in a patch of briars they came to the freshly dug grave, 
 where the sun glinted on the men's rifle-barrels. 
 
 Juanita, looking around the circle, saw the still, 
 apathetic face of the wife, and the tearful one of Little 
 Dawn, and she wondered if her own features were as 
 stolid as those others about her. Here where the 
 ridges piled up with such a power of accumulated sul- 
 lenness, all outward display of emotion seemed out of 
 place. She watched the grim-set lips and tightly 
 clenched hands of Jeb and Little Jesse as their eyes 
 with one accord traveled toward the eastern ridges, 
 where dwelt the authors of this death, and she shud- 
 deringly felt that this burial marked not an end, but a 
 beginning. So she looked away from those faces, sick- 
 ened by forebodings, though deeply in sympathy, too, 
 and her eyes met, across the open grave, those of Bad 
 Anse Havey. 
 
 It seemed to her that he must read their message. 
 " For all this I challenge you," but his eyes did not 
 shift nor alter.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 139 
 
 Through it all; through the sing-song drone of 
 Brother Talbott's " discourse " ; through the whining 
 falsetto of their hymn-singing, even through the thud of 
 clod on casket, one impression seemed printing itself in- 
 effaceably on her brain. It was an impression of guns. 
 
 With the scorched green behind them, with the red 
 and blue calico and the hodden gray of their clothing, 
 there was color enough, yet the most insistent note of 
 the picture was the dull gleam of their rifles. The one 
 scrupulously clean and modern note, too, was in the con- 
 dition and pattern of their weapons. 
 
 Men might go unshaven and unwashed, but their 
 arms were greased and polished and they came to the 
 funeral under arms for the history of to-day might 
 repeat the history of yesterday. 
 
 After that was over, and after it had been decided 
 that the widow was to take the younger children up 
 Meeting House Fork to dwell with a brother, the mis- 
 sionary and the teacher started back. Jeb was to stay 
 here alone to run the farm, and when Juanita returned 
 to the ridge Dawn went with her. 
 
 Juanita had insisted on this. She could not bear 
 to think of her little protegee losing herself in the un- 
 couth environment of the " branch-water folks " ; and 
 she could not bear to think of losing the influence she 
 had won over the child just at the transitory period 
 of life where influences were so vital. 
 
 So when they turned back Dawn sat perched on a 
 pillion behind Good Anse Talbott, and Jeb, watching his 
 family separate in two directions, leaned a solitary 
 figure on the stile and twisted his bare toes in the hot 
 dust. He gazed staringly at the blistered woods,
 
 140 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 and on his face sat murder in the making. The reflec- 
 tions that were to be his companions in solitude, were 
 thoughts that would rankle and spur him to his sorry 
 destiny. 
 
 Perhaps it was the misery in Juanita Holland's eyes 
 that elicited from the missionary, after a long and 
 silent ride, an abrupt question. 
 
 " Wall, ma'am, hev ye done got enough ? Does ye 
 still aim ter tarry in these parts? " 
 
 She looked up and besides the bewilderment and pain 
 in her clouded pupils there was also the hurt as if of 
 xn accusation of cowardice. " Tarry ! " she exclaimed, 
 " of course. Why shouldn't I stay ? " 
 
 " Wall," his weary eyes went gazing off up the 
 slopes, " I reckon ye hain't hardly had a good time 
 up hyar, an' hit's mighty liable ter git wuss. Ye see, 
 ye've done made Anse Havey mad, an' hit looks right 
 smart like ye're takin' a heap of pains fer nothin'." 
 
 " For nothing ! " She wondered if it were for noth- 
 ing. Others might " warn " her for purposes of in- 
 timidation; their gloomy prophecies might be inspired, 
 but from the sad, world-weary lips of Brother Anse and 
 the tired soul in his tired body would come no false 
 message. " Do you believe it's for nothing, Brother 
 Anse? Haven't you given your life to it? Has it 
 all been vain ? Do you regret it r " 
 
 Very slowly and wearily he shook his head. " No, 
 but I was born amongst 'em an' God laid this work on 
 me ter chasten me an' give me a chanst ter live down 
 my iniquities. I didn't hev no choice an' yit some- 
 times ' He paused and added in a dead voice, 
 " Sometimes hit seems mightily like I hain't accom-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 141 
 
 plished nothin'. They listens ter me, but they goes 
 right back an' sheds blood ergin. Hit's born in 'em 
 an' when they dies they passes hit down ter their chil- 
 dren." 
 
 " I hoped," she told him with gentle reproach, " that 
 you at least could see some value in my efforts ; that you 
 sympathized with them." 
 
 The missionary looked into her face and his eyes 
 burned with the fierce fire of prophecy. 
 
 " Little gal," he said vehemently, " hit looks ter 
 me like ye're a plumb saint sent by Almighty God, but 
 I kain't b'ar ter see yore heart broke. Hit's a young 
 heart an' these mountings will shorely break hit. 
 They're too big an' men like Anse an' Milt will stop 
 ye. God knows I wants ter see ye stay, but God 
 knows I counsels ye ter go." 
 
 " I'll stay," she said simply. 
 
 After that they rode in silence until Dawn from her 
 pillion spoke for the first time. They were passing 
 a tumbling waterfall, shrunken now to a trickling rill. 
 On each side loomed huge sentinels of moss-covered 
 rock. 
 
 " Onct when I war a leetle gal," she said, " Unc' 
 Perry war a-hidin' out up thet branch from ther reve- 
 nuers. I used ter fetch his victuals up thar ter him." 
 
 Juanita turned suddenly with a shocked expression. 
 It was as if her little song-bird friend had suddenly 
 and violently reverted; as if the flower had turned to 
 poison weed. And as Juanita looked, Dawn's eyes were 
 blazing and Dawn's face was as dark as her black hair ; 
 dark with the same expression which brooded on her 
 brother's brow,
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " What is it, dear ? " Juanita asked ; and in a tense 
 and fiery voice the younger girl exclaimed: 
 
 " I wishes I war a man. I wouldn't wait and set still 
 like Jeb's doin'. By God, I'd git thet murderer. I'd 
 cut his heart outen his body." 
 
 " I tole ye," quietly mused Brother Anse, " thet ther 
 instinct's in ther blood. Anse Havey went down ter 
 Frankfort an' set in ther Legislater but he come back 
 ther same man thet went down. Somethin' called him. 
 Somethin' calls ter every mountain man thet goes away, 
 an' he hearkens ter ther call." 
 
 " Anse come back," repeated Dawn triumphantly. 
 " An' Anse is hyar. Ef Jeb sets thar an' don't do 
 nothin' I reckon Anse Havey won't hardly pass hit by 
 without doin' nothin'. Thank God thar's some men 
 left in ther hills like Anse Havey . . . but ef Jeb don't 
 do nothin' and Anse don't do nothin' I'll do hit myself." 
 
 Again Juanita shuddered, but it was not the time for 
 argument and so she went on, bitterly accusing Anse 
 Havey in her heart for his wizard hold on these people ; 
 a hold which incited them to bloodshed as the fanatical 
 priests of the desert urge on their wild tribesmen. 
 
 She did not know that Bad Anse Havey went every 
 few days over to the desolated cabin and often per- 
 suaded the boy to ride home with him and spend a 
 part of the time in his larger brick house. She did 
 not know that Bad Anse was coming nearer to lying 
 than he had ever before come, in withholding his strong 
 suspicions from the boy because of his unwillingness to 
 incite another tragedy. So when one day a McBriar 
 henchman by the name of Luke Thixton had left the 
 mountains and gone West, Anse hoped that this man
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 143 
 
 would stay away for a long while, and he refrained 
 from mentioning to Jeb that now, when the bird had 
 flown he knew definitely of his guilt. Proof positive 
 had confirmed his deeply grounded suspicions too late 
 and he had made no effort to intercept the refugee. 
 Now he set himself methodically about the task of 
 guarding the boy lest his suspicions should go baying 
 on a false trail. 
 
 While Dawn, under the guidance of her preceptress, 
 was making the acquaintance of a new and sweeter life 
 whose influences fed her imagination and fired her quick 
 ambition, her brother was more solemnly being molded 
 by the Havey chief. He was drinking in, as Anse 
 Havey read, the lives of the men of whom Plutarch 
 wrote and of the laws of his own State which should 
 arm him to safeguard his timber and coal against the 
 depredations of the foreigner. Each teacher thought 
 of the other as an irreconcilable foe, and each had at 
 heart, without realizing it, the same object. Each was 
 striving in honesty and earnestness, to protect and 
 strengthen the same people. 
 
 The water-mill of old Bob McGreeger was the near- 
 est spot to the dwelling of Bad Anse Havey where grist 
 could be ground to meal and sometimes when Jeb came 
 over to the brick house he would volunteer to throw 
 upon his shoulders the sack of corn and plod with it up 
 across the ridges. He would sit there in the dusty old 
 mill while the slow wheel groaned and creaked and the 
 cumbersome mill-stones did their slow stint of work. 
 
 So one day toward the end of August, Juanita, who 
 had climbed up the path to the poplar to look over
 
 144 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 her battle-field and renew her vows, saw Jeb sturdily 
 plodding his way in long resolute strides through the 
 woods toward the mill, with a heavy sack upon his shoul- 
 ders, and a rifle swinging at his side. His face was 
 sullen as usual, with downcast eyes, but he did not see 
 her, and she did not call to him as he passed on and out 
 of sight in the sun-burned woods. That day chance 
 had it that no one else had come to mill and Bob Mc- 
 Greeger had persuaded the boy to drink from the 
 " leetle blue kag " until his mind was ripe for mischief. 
 While the mill-stones slowly crushed out his meal Jeb 
 McNash sat on a pile of rubbish in the gloomy shack, 
 nursing his knees in interlocked fingers. Old Bob 
 drank and stormed, and cursed the inertia of the pres- 
 ent generation. The lad's lean fingers tautened and 
 gripped themselves more tensely and his eyes began to 
 smolder and blaze with a wicked light as he listened. 
 
 " Ye looks like a right stand-up sort of a boy, Jeb," 
 growled the old fire-eater, who had set more than a few 
 couples at each other's throats. " An' I reckon hit's 
 all right, too, fer a feller ter 'bide his time, but hit 'pears 
 ter me like ther men of these days don't do nothin' but 
 bide thar time." 
 
 " I won't bide mine no longer then what I has ter," 
 snapped the boy. " Anse 'lows ter tell me when he 
 finds out who hit war thet got my pap. Thet's all I 
 needs ter know." 
 
 Old Bob McGreeger shook his head knowingly and 
 laughed in his tangled beard. " I reckon Anse Havey'll 
 take his leisure. He's got other fish ter fry. He's 
 a thinkin' 'bout bigger things than yore grievance, 
 son."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 145 
 
 The boy rose and his voice came very quietly and 
 ominously from suddenly whitened lips. " What does 
 ye mean by thet, Uncle Bob? " 
 
 " Mebby I don't mean nothin' much. Then ergin 
 mebby I could give ye a pretty-good idee who kilt yore 
 pap. Mebby I could tell ye 'bout a feller a feller 
 thet hain't fur removed from Old Milt hisself thet 
 went 'snoopin' acrost ther ridge ther same day yore 
 pap died, with a rifle-gun crost his elbow, an' his 
 pockets strutty with ca'tridges." 
 
 It was as if each word were a hot needle galling and 
 irritating the obsession about which the lad's thoughts 
 had been pivoting and pirouetting for weeks with night- 
 mare grotesquerie. 
 
 The finger nails of his two hands bit into their palms 
 and his brows drew themselves into a wrinkled mask of 
 malevolence. 
 
 "Who war he?" came the tense demand with the 
 sudden snap of rifle-fire. " Who war thet feller? " 
 
 Old Bob filled and lighted his pipe with fingers that 
 had grown unsteady from the ministration of the 
 " leetle blue kag." He laughed again in a satirical, 
 drunken fashion. 
 
 " Ef Bad Anse Havey don't 'low ter tell ye, son," he 
 artfully demurred, " I reckon hit wouldn't hardly be 
 becomin' fer me ter name his name." 
 
 The boy picked up his battered hat. " Give me my 
 grist," he said shortly. He stood by breathing 
 heavily, but silently while the sack was being tied, then 
 putting it down by the door, he wheeled and faced the 
 older man. 
 
 " Now ye're a-goin' ter tell me what I needs ter
 
 146 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 know," he said quietly, " or I'm a-goin' ter kill ye whar 
 ye stands." 
 
 Uncle Bob laughed. He had meant all the while to 
 impart that succulent bit of information, which was no 
 information at all, but mischief-making suspicion. He 
 had held off only to infuriate and envenom the boy 
 with the cumulative force of climax. 
 
 " Hit warn't nobody but " after a pause he went 
 on " but Old Milt McBriar's own son, young Milt." 
 
 "Thet's all," said Jeb soberly; "I'm obleeged ter 
 
 ye." 
 
 He went out with the sack on his shoulder and the 
 rifle under his arm, but when he had reached a place 
 in the woods where a blind trail struck back, he de- 
 posited his sack carefully under a ledge of overhanging 
 rock. The clouds were mounting and banking now in 
 a threat of rain and since it was not his own meal he 
 carried he must be doubly careful of its safety. 
 
 Then he crossed the ridge until he came to a point 
 where the thicket grew down close and tangled to the 
 road. He had seen young Milt going west along that 
 road this morning and by nightfall he would be riding 
 back. The gods of Chance were playing into his 
 hands. 
 
 So he lay down, closely hugging the earth, and cocked 
 his rifle. For hours he crouched there with unspeak- 
 able patience, while his muscles cramped and his feet 
 and hands grew cold under the pelting of a rain which 
 was strangely raw and chilling for the season. The 
 sun sank in an angry bank of thunder heads and the 
 west grew lurid. The drenching downpour blinded 
 him and trickled down his spine under his clothes, but at
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 147 
 
 last he saw the figure he had expected, riding a horse 
 which he knew. It was the same roan mare that Bad 
 Anse had restored to Milt McBriar after that other 
 day. 
 
 When young Milt rode slowly by, fifty yards away 
 with his mount at a walk and his reins hanging he was 
 untroubled by any anxiety because he was in his own 
 territory and was at heart fearless. The older boy 
 from Tribulation felt his temples throb and the rifle 
 came slowly up, and the one eye which was not closed 
 looked point-blank across immovable sights and along 
 a steady barrel into the placid face of his intended vic- 
 tim. He could see the white of Milt's eye and the 
 ragged lock of hair under the hat-brim which looked 
 like a smudge of soot across his brow. Then slowly 
 Jeb McNash shook his head. A spasm of battle went 
 through him and shook him like a convulsion to the 
 soles of his feet. He had but to crook his finger to 
 appease his blood-lust and break his pledge. 
 
 " I've done give Anse my hand ter bide my time 
 'twell I war dead sartain," he told himself. " I hain't 
 quite dead sartain yit. I reckon I've got ter wait a 
 spell." 
 
 He uncocked the rifle and the other boy rode on, but 
 young Jeb folded his arms on the wet earth and buried 
 his face in them and sobbed, and it was an hour later 
 that he stumbled to his feet and went groggily back, 
 drunk with bitterness and emotion toward the house of 
 Anse Havey. Yet when he arrived after nightfall his 
 tongue told nothing and his features revealed less.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 JTJANITA, living in the cabin she had built, with 
 the girl who had become her companion and 
 satellite; making frequent hard journeys to some 
 house which the shadow of illness had invaded, found 
 it hard to believe that this life had been hers only a few 
 months. Suspense seemed to stretch weeks to years 
 and she awoke each new day braced to hear the news of 
 some fresh outbreak, and wondered why she did not 
 hear it. A few neighborhood children were already 
 learning their rudiments, and plans for more building 
 were going forward. 
 
 Sometimes Jeb came over from the brick house to see 
 his sister and on the boy's face was always a dark 
 cloud of settled resolve. If Juanita never questioned 
 him on the topic that she knew was nearest his heart 
 it was because she realized that to do so would be the 
 surest way to estrange his friendship and confidence. 
 
 In one thing she had gained a point. She had 
 bought as much property as she would need, probably 
 much more than she would need unless her dreams were 
 fulfilled to a degree that lay beyond the probabilities. 
 
 Back somewhere behind the veil of mysteries Anse 
 Havey had pressed a button or spoken a word and all 
 the hindrance that had lain across her path straight- 
 way evaporated. Men had come to her, with no fur- 
 ther solicitation on her part, and now it seemed that 
 
 J48
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 149 
 
 many were animated by a desire to turn an honest 
 penny by the sale of land. In every conveyance that 
 was drawn deeds of ninety-nine-year lease instead 
 of sale she read a thrifty and careful knowledge of 
 land laws, and reservation of mineral and timber rights, 
 which she traced to the head of the clan. 
 
 Anse Havey had seemed ready to abide by his pro- 
 posal, for when she met him on the road one day, in- 
 stead of riding by her with a curt, high-headed nod he 
 drew rein and asked brusquely, " Got all the land ye 
 need? " 
 
 She looked at him, statuesquely sitting his horse and 
 raised her brows inquiringly. " Why ? " she asked 
 coolly. 
 
 " Because if ye ain't I stands ready to supply the 
 balance." 
 
 " Thank you," she told him, partly because it gave 
 her a feminine pleasure to bring that glitter of cold 
 wrath to his eyes. " I only ask you to be just. I 
 sha'n't tax your generosity." 
 
 " Suit yourself," was his short reply. " I'm ready 
 to keep my word. It looks like a pity fer ye to sink 
 so much money on a plant ye won't never have no call 1 
 to use, but that's your business." 
 
 Her eyes flashed anger. " Is that a threat ? " she 
 inquired. " It doesn't frighten me. I shall use it 
 enough to bring your system to ruins." 
 
 He laughed. " Go ahead," he said. " An' any 
 time ye needs more rope call on me." 
 
 As summer spent itself there was opportunity for 
 felling timber and the little saw-mill down in the valley 
 sent up its drone and whine in proclamation that her
 
 150 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 trees were being turned into squared timbers for her 
 buildings. Often she would go down there and watch 
 the pile grow and every log that went groaning against 
 the teeth of the ripping disc, was, to her, a new block 
 for her house of dreams. 
 
 When one or two solid buildings should stand there 
 it would all seem more tangible. Now, because of the 
 murmurs of warning which continued to come to her, 
 she could not shake off the sense that she might on any 
 morning awake to find her whole scheme a shattered 
 vision. It concerned no man, whispered the vague, dis- 
 quieting little voices of rumor, to prevent her building 
 a plant if she chose to do so in the face of warning, 
 but hands might fall blightingly and arrestingly on that 
 plant when its operation was attempted. 
 
 Once when Milt McBriar rode up to the saw-mill he 
 found the girl sitting there, her hands clasped on her 
 knees, gazing dreamily across the sawdust and con- 
 fusion of the place. 
 
 "Ye're right-smart interested in thet thar wood- 
 pile, hain't ye, ma'am? " he inquired with a slow 
 benevolent smile. His kindliness of guise invited con- 
 fidence and there was no one else within earshot, so the 
 girl looked up with her eyes a little misty and her voice 
 impulsive. 
 
 " Mr. McBriar," she said, " every one of those tim- 
 bers means part of a dream to me, and with every one 
 of them that is set in place will go a hope and a prayer." 
 
 He nodded sympathetically. " I reckon," he said, 
 *' ye kin do right-smart good, too." 
 
 " Mr. McBriar," she flashed at him in point-blank 
 questioning, " since I came here I have tried to be of
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 151 
 
 use in a very simple and ineffective fashion. I have 
 done what little I could for the sick and distressed, yet 
 I am constantly being warned that I'm not to be al- 
 lowed to carry on my work. Do you know of any 
 reason why I shouldn't go ahead? " 
 
 He gazed at her for a moment quizzically, then shook 
 his head. 
 
 " Oh, pshaw ! " he exclaimed, " I wouldn't let no sich 
 talk es thet fret me none. Folks hyarabouts hain't 
 got much ter do except ter gossip round. Nobody 
 hain't a-goin' ter hinder ye. We hain't such bad peo- 
 ple, after all." After that she felt that from the Mc- 
 Briars she had gained official sanction, and her re- 
 sentment against Anse Havey grew, because of his 
 scornful ungraciousness. 
 
 The last weeks of that summer were weeks of drought 
 and plague. Ordinarily in the hills storms brew swiftly 
 and frequently and spend themselves in violent out- 
 pourings and cannonading of thunder, but that year the 
 clouds seemed to have dried up, and down in the table- 
 lands of the Bluegrass the crops were burned to worth- 
 less stalk and shrunken ear. Even up here in the birth- 
 place of waters, the corn was brown and sapless so that 
 when a breeze strayed over the hillside fields they sent 
 up a thirsty, dying rasp of rattling whisper. 
 
 But it was not only in the famished forests and 
 seared fields that the hot breath of the Plague breathed, 
 carrying death in its fetid nostrils. Back in the cabins 
 of the " branch-water folks " where little springs di- 
 minished and became polluted, all those who were not 
 strong enough to throw off the touch of the specter's 
 finger, sickened and died, and typhoid went impartially
 
 152 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 in and out of Havey shack and McBriar cabin, whis- 
 pering, " A pest on both your houses ! " 
 
 The Widow McNash had not been herself since the 
 death of Fletch. She, who had once been so strong 
 over her drudgery, now sat day long on the doorstep 
 of her brother's hovel and in the language of her peo- 
 ple, "jest sickened an' pined away." 
 
 So, as Juanita Holland and Good Anse Talbott rode 
 sweating mules about the hills, receiving calls for help 
 faster than they could answer them, they were not 
 astonished to hear that the widow was among the 
 stricken. Though they fought for her life she re- 
 fused to fight herself, and once again the Eastern girl 
 stood with Dawn in the briar-choked " buryin' ground " 
 and once more across an open grave she met the eyes of 
 the men who stood for the old order. But now she had 
 learned to set a lock on her lips and hold her counsel. 
 So, when she met Anse and Jeb afterward, she asked 
 without rancor, " May I take little Jesse back with me, 
 too? He's too young," she added with just a heart- 
 sick trace of her old defiance, " to be useful to you, Mr. 
 Havey, and I'd like to teach him what I can." 
 
 Anse and Jeb conferred and the elder man came 
 back and nodded his head. 
 
 " Jesse can go back with ye," he said. " I'm still 
 aimin 5 to give ye all the rope ye wants. When ye've 
 had enough an' quits, let me know, an' I'll take care of 
 Fletch's children." 
 
 Strangely enough the death of her mother did not 
 seem to bring as much torture to the soul of the moun- 
 tain girl as had that of her father. Often, indeed, she 
 sat with a wide stare in her deep eyes and an agonized
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 153 
 
 twist on her petal-like lips, in the mute suffering of a 
 stoic race. But Juanita saw that this hard form of 
 sorrow was yielding, and that even in a few weeks the 
 new and, to Dawn, wonderful phases of life here at the 
 Holland cabin would rouse her out of herself. All un- 
 consciously her silvery peals of laughter would ring out 
 at each fresh challenge to her sense of humor and merri- 
 ment. She spoke no more of vengeful thoughts and 
 Juanita believed that she was once more the light- 
 hearted song-bird, the depths of whose nature had not 
 yet been truly stirred ; a creature meant rather to smile 
 to the sunshine than to moan to the storm winds. 
 
 And on her farm, as folks called Juanita's place, 
 that September saw many changes. Near the original 
 cabin was springing up a new structure, larger than 
 any other house in that neighborhood, except possibly 
 the strongholds of the chiefs, and as it grew and began 
 to take form it loaned an air of ordered trimness to the 
 countryside about it. It was fashioned in such style 
 as should be in keeping with its surroundings and not 
 give too emphatic a note of alien strangeness. 
 
 Because that was an easier form of building and the 
 only form understood by these workmen, it was as 
 square as a block-house erected in days of Indian war- 
 fare, and it was as solid. In the words of one of its 
 builders, " it would stand thar j est like thet, barrin' 
 fire an' ther wrath of God 5 'twell Kingdom come." 
 But it was a house of many windows and if its doors 
 and shutters were as heavy as if they, too, had been built 
 with a thought of standing a siege, that was because the 
 frailer woodwork of the outer world could not be had. 
 But the logs were solidly laid and their squared faces
 
 154 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 were smooth inside and out. A broad, high veranda 
 went around the house, and Juanita could look at the 
 structure which was growing day by day to be less of a 
 skeleton, and see in her mind's eye exactly what its 
 finished appearance would be. She would picture the 
 whole place, as the future was to know it, with the little 
 hospital perched on the hill slope, and dormitories and 
 workshops lying in an ordered hamlet about a trim 
 campus. Dawn, to whom the growing of such unprec- 
 edented splendor was a world's wonder, shared her en- 
 thusiasm, and in her anticipation was a sparkle like 
 wine. She used to walk around the sharp curve of the 
 road which hid the place until you were almost upon it 
 and " make-believe " that she was a stranger who had 
 never traveled that road before. She would pretend 
 to be amazed at the sight of a trim hillside with lines 
 of colorful flowers, rows of hollyhock waving a wel- 
 come, and as the season advanced, brave lines of nod- 
 ding marigolds and zinnias like soldiers of peace flaunt- 
 ing banners of welcome. 
 
 She and Juanita would stop and expatiate on the 
 scene, which as yet had existence only in their imagina- 
 tions. 
 
 " Wall, livin' land o' Mercy ! " Dawn would exclaim 
 with simulated astonishment. " Whoever seed the like 
 of thet before in these hyar mountings! I've heered 
 tell of flower gyardens down in the settlemints of old 
 Kaintuck, but I nuver 'lowed ter see one hyarabouts." 
 Then she would point to where there were to be but- 
 tresses of rough stone running here and there along the 
 slopes green with transplanted ferns. These abut- 
 ments were planned to give to tillers of the mountain-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 155 
 
 sides an object lesson in the preservative value of ter- 
 racing with which the gardeners of Switzerland and 
 Madeira make fugitive garden spots and vineyards 
 stand steadfast. 
 
 "An' would ye just take a peek at them thar rock 
 fandangles," the mountain girl would go on with a 
 twinkle in her blue eyes, mimicking the drawl which she 
 herself was rapidly outgrowing. " I reckon ther feller 
 thet built them thar things, aims ter make his durned 
 farm stand hitched. Many's ther field thet's run off, 
 from me, in a tide. Many's ther time I've hed ter prop 
 up a hill of corn with a bowlder ter keep hit from a-sled- 
 din' plumb down inter ther valley." 
 
 Juanita wished that her cabin could house more oc- 
 cupants, for the plague had left many motherless fami- 
 lies and had there been accommodations, many chil- 
 dren might have come into her fold. As it was she had 
 several besides the McNashes as her nucleus and while 
 the weather held good she was rushing her work of tim- 
 ber-felling and building which the winter would halt. 
 Young Jesse at first retained his sullenness of mien, 
 standing on his dignity in this woman-ruled place and 
 refusing to participate in any work which he regarded 
 as incompatible with his man's dignity. 
 
 He scowled wih infinite contempt over their plans 
 for what he called the " weed gyarden," but as the 
 weeks went on he, too, became enthused and toiled 
 sturdily and uncomplainingly. Jeb, on his visits, was 
 slow of censure or praise, but his face did not lighten 
 and the sparkle of coming autumn found no reflection 
 in the moody eyes, wherein smoldered a growing blood- 
 lust. The girl guessed that he reported progress to
 
 156 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Bad Anse Havey, and though she had never invited him 
 and had lost no opportunity to affront him, she began 
 to feel indignant at the clan chief's cool ignoring of 
 her work. Heretofore men had come to her on her 
 own terms. Here was one who could dismiss her from 
 his scheme of things with no care or thought beyond 
 a frank contempt and her woman's latent vanity was 
 piqued. 
 
 
 
 One day in early October young Milt McBriar hap- 
 pened upon Dawn and Juanita walking in the woods. 
 
 The gallant colors and the smoky mists of autumn 
 wrapped the forests and brooded in the sky. An elixir 
 went into the blood with each deep-drawn breath and set 
 to stirring forgotten or hitherto unawakened emotions. 
 Effervescence tingled in the air and glory reigned over 
 the woods, where every tree became a torch and every 
 night an artist painting in the dark from a palette of 
 increasing gorgeousness. 
 
 There was the fulness and gayety of a great festival 
 between the horizons, which seemed to communicate it- 
 self even to the geese as they waddled pompously up 
 from the creek to banquet at leaky corn-cribs. On the 
 slopes where the first frost had brought down showers 
 of persimmons and walnuts and hickory nuts lay spread, 
 was all the tapestried wonder of a carnival. The 
 sugar trees flamed in scarlet. The oaks and hickories 
 and poplars were garbed in russet and burgundy and 
 yellow. Only the pines did not go mad with the 
 festival spirit, but remained stoically somber. And in 
 this heady atmosphere of quickened pulses, the Mc- 
 Briar boy halted and gazed at the Havey girl.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 157 
 
 Juanita saw the mountain boy's eyes flash with an 
 awakened spirit. She saw a look in his face which she 
 was woman enough to interpret even before he himself 
 dreamed what its meaning might be. The silent gaze 
 of the youth who would some day be chief over the 
 McBriars followed the lissome movements of the girl 
 whose father the McBriars had done to death ; followed 
 them mutely and steadfastly, and into his pupils came 
 something softer than any light that had burned there 
 before; softer and hungrier. 
 
 Dawn was standing with her head up and her lids 
 half-closed, looking across the valley to the Indian 
 summer haze that slept in smoky purple on the ridges. 
 She wore a dress of red calico and she had thrust in her 
 belt a few crimson leaves from a gum tree and a few 
 yellow ones from a poplar. In her black hair were 
 more of them from a scarlet sugar tree and as 
 she felt the eyes of the boy on her face, and realized how 
 she was bedecked, her cheeks, too, kindled into a carmine 
 flush so that she stood there a tremendously vivid little 
 incarnation of barbaric beauty. Juanita Holland did 
 not marvel at the fascinated, almost rapt look that 
 came into young Milt's eyes, and Young Milt, too, as 
 he stood there in the autumn woods was himself no 
 mean figure. His lean body was quick of movement 
 and strong, and his bronzed face bore the straight- 
 looking eyes that carried an assurance of fearless 
 honesty. Juanita remembered that his father's eyes 
 also wore that seeming and that behind them lay a 
 world of chicane and evil. But the boy had at least 
 all the outward guise of a cleaner and better replica 
 of his sire. He had been away to Lexington to college
 
 158 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 and was going back. The keen intelligence of his face 
 was marred by no note of meanness, and now as he 
 looked at the girl of the enemy, his shoulders came un- 
 consciously back with something of the pride that shows 
 in men of wild blood, when they feel in their veins the 
 strain of chieftains. 
 
 But Dawn after her first blush dropped her lids a 
 little and tilted her chin, and without a word snubbed 
 him with the air of a Havey looking down on a Mc- 
 Briar. 
 
 Milt met that gaze with a steady one of his own and 
 banteringly said, " Dawn, kinder 'pears like ye mout V 
 got tangled up with a rainbow." 
 
 Her voice was cool as she retorted, " I reckon that's 
 better then gittin' mixed up with some other things." 
 
 " I was jest a-thinkin' es I looked at ye," went on the 
 boy gravely, " thet hit's better than gittin' mixed up 
 with any other thing." 
 
 Dawn turned away and went stalking along the wood- 
 land path without a backward glance and Milt fol- 
 lowed at her heels, with Juanita, much amused, bring- 
 ing up the rear. Juanita thought that these two 
 young folk made a splendid pair, specimens of the best 
 of the mountains, as yet unbroken by heavy harness. 
 Then as the younger girl passed under a swinging rope 
 of wild grape vine, stooping low, a tendril caught in 
 her hair and became tangled there. 
 
 Without a word young Milt bent forward and was 
 freeing it, tingling through all his pulses as his fingers 
 touched the heavy black mass, but as soon as she was 
 free the girl sprang away and wheeled with her eyes 
 blazing.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 159 
 
 " How dast ye tech me ? " she demanded, panting with 
 wrath. "How dast ye?'* 
 
 The boy laughed easily. " I dast do anything I 
 wants," he told her. For a moment they stood look- 
 ing at each other, then the girl dropped her eyes, but 
 the anger had died out of them and Juanita saw that 
 despite her condescending air, she was not displeased. 
 
 Juanita of course knew nothing of the suspicion 
 which had led Jeb into the laurel on that summer after- 
 noon, but even without that information when young 
 Milt met them, more often than could be attributed to 
 chance, on their walks and fell into the habit of strolling 
 back with them, strong forebodings began to trouble 
 her. 
 
 And one morning these forebodings were verified in 
 crisis, for, while the youthful McBriar lounged near the 
 porch of Juanita's cabin talking with Dawn, another 
 shadow fell across the sunlight; the shadow of Jeb Mc- 
 Nash. He had come silently and it was only as young 
 Milt, whose back had been turned, shifted his position 
 that the two boys recognized each other. 
 
 Juanita saw the start with which Jeb's figure 
 stiffened and grew taut. She saw his hands clench 
 themselves and his face turn as white as chalk; saw 
 his chest rise and fall under heavy breathing that hissed 
 through clenched teeth, and her own heart pounded 
 with wild anxiety. But Milt McB mar's face showed 
 nothing. His father's mask-like calmness of feature 
 had come down to him, and as he read the meaning of 
 the other boy's attitude, he merely nodded and said 
 casually, " Howdy, Jeb." 
 
 Jeb did not answer. He could not answer. He was
 
 160 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 straining and punishing every nerve fiber cruelly, simply 
 in standing where he was and keeping his hands at his 
 sides. For a time he remained stiff and white, breath- 
 ing spasmodically, then without a word he turned and 
 stalked away. 
 
 That noon a horseman brought a note across the 
 ridge and as Juanita Holland read it she felt that all 
 her dreams were crumbling and that the soul of them 
 was paralyzed. 
 
 It was a brief note written in a copy-book hand. 
 
 " I'll have to ask you," it ran, " to send the McNash 
 children over to my house. Jeb doesn't want them to 
 be consorting with the McBriars, and I can't blame 
 him. He is the head of his family. 
 
 " Respectfully, 
 
 " Anse Havey."
 
 CHAPTER XVH 
 
 A STRONGER thing to Juanita Holland than the 
 personal disappointment which had driven her 
 to this work was now her eager, fiery interest in 
 the undertaking itself. In these months she had dis- 
 abused herself of many prejudices that had at first 
 blinded her. There remained that lingering one 
 against the man with whom she had not made friends. 
 
 The thing she had set out to do was an hundred- 
 fold more vital now than it had been when it stood for 
 carrying out a dead grandfather's wish. She had been 
 with these people in childbirth and death, in sickness 
 and want ; she had seen summer go from its tender be- 
 ginnings to a vagabond end with its tattered banners 
 of ripened corn. Autumn had blazed and flared into 
 high carnival. 
 
 Close to the heart of this woman lay a worship of 
 the chivalric, not in its forms and panoplies, but in its 
 essence in its scorn of the mean and untruthful ; its 
 passion of simple service ; in its consecration to fighting 
 for the weak. 
 
 All those deep qualities were intimately wound up and 
 tangled with the life and work she had undertaken. 
 The laurel had clasped its root tendrils about her be- 
 ing, and to fail would surely break her heart. 
 
 She must conquer, she told herself, and unconsciously 
 her thought even fell into the simple tensity of the
 
 162 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 people about her and she stood murmuring to herself, 
 " Oh, God, I've just got to win I've just got to 
 win!" 
 
 But as young Jeb had turned on his heel and stalked 
 away, even before the coming of the note she knew 
 what would happen, and what would happen not only 
 in this instance, but in others like it. This would not 
 be just losing Dawn, bad as that was. It would be 
 paralysis and death to the school; it would mean the 
 losing for all time of every Havey boy and girl. 
 
 So she stood there and afterward said quietly, " Milt, 
 I guess you'd better go," and Milt had gone gravely 
 and unquestioningly, but with that in his eye which 
 did not argue brightly for restoration of peace be- 
 tween his house and that of his enemy. 
 
 When the two girls had gone together into the cabin 
 Dawn stood with a face that blanched as she began to 
 realize what it all meant, then slowly she stiffened and 
 her hands, too, clenched and her eyes kindled. 
 
 For a while neither of them spoke. Until Jeb's 
 appearance young Milt had simply been himself to 
 Dawn, now as she looked back it was as if she reviewed 
 the situation with her brother's eyes. She had been 
 permitting a McBriar to walk in the woods with her and 
 she had even smiled on him. Not only was it a Mc- 
 Briar, but with one exception the most responsible and 
 typical of all the McBriars. Into her heart crept 
 something of deep shame. She felt like a nun who has 
 been recreant to all her vows and traditions. It seemed 
 to her that her dead father's spirit was rebuking her 
 and her dead mother scorning her. She would not let 
 Milt speak to her again. She would not wipe her feet
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 163 
 
 on young Milt should he throw himself on the earth be- 
 fore her. 
 
 But deep and uncompromising as the clan loyalty 
 was in her blood, another loyalty now stood above it. 
 She was a Havey, but not even Haveys should tear her 
 away from Juanita Holland, the woman she loved and 
 deified. 
 
 She came across to the chair into which the older 
 girl had dropped listlessly and, falling to her knees, 
 seized both Juanita's hands. She seized them tightly 
 and fiercely and her eyes were blazing and her voice 
 broke from her lips in turgid vehemence. For them 
 both the cheery note died out of the din of hammer and 
 saw and the loud voices of the " house-raisers." 
 
 The triumph departed from the enspiriting sight of 
 ox-teams snaking logs down the mountain-side. The 
 whole dream picture faded. Like some mighty walking 
 delegate, Anse Havey would speak the word and that 
 activity would become useless. He would call a strike 
 and those buildings would stand doomed to perpetual 
 emptiness. After all, Juanita reflected, she was 
 totally helpless. 
 
 " I hain't a-goin' ter leave ye," cried Dawn. " I 
 hain't a-goin' ter do it." No word had been spoken 
 of her leaving, but in this life they both knew that cer- 
 tain things bring certain results, and they were expect- 
 ing a note from Bad Anse. " I hope not, dear," mur- 
 mured Juanita without conviction. 
 
 Then the mountain girl sprang up and became trans- 
 formed. With her rigid figure and blazing eyes she 
 seemed a torch burning with all the pnt-up heritage 
 of her past.
 
 164 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " I tells ye I hain't a-goin' ter leave ye ! " she pro- 
 tested, and her utterance swelled to fiery determination. 
 *' Es fer Milt McBriar I wouldn't spit on him. ... I 
 hates him. I hates his murderin' breed. ... I hates 
 'em like " she paused a moment then finished tu- 
 multuously " like all hell. I reckon I'm es good a 
 Havey as Jeb. I hain't seen Jeb do nothin' yit." 
 
 Again she paused, panting with passionate rage. 
 Then swept on while Juanita looked at her sudden 
 metamorphosis into a Fury and shuddered. 
 
 " When I wasn't nothin' but a baby I fetched victuals 
 ter my kinfolks a-hidin' out from revenuers. I passed 
 right through men thet war a-trailin' 'em. I've done 
 served my kinfolks afore an' I'd do hit ergin, but I 
 reckon I hain't a-goin' ter let 'em take me away from 
 ye." 
 
 But Juanita was thinking through her daze of grief 
 and fear for the future, that in more ways than one 
 she had failed. This child who had seemed so different 
 from the blood-thirsty people about her was after all 
 cut to the same ungoverned pattern. 
 
 She was as wild as the wildest of them. At the first 
 note of provocation every vestige of the applied civiliza- 
 tion had dropped from her like a discarded cloak. And 
 now the young girl was standing there teaching the 
 older girl the immutability of the hills. 
 
 " Ye're a-goin' ter have trouble es long es ye stays 
 hyar," Dawn said vehemently. " Thar hain't nothin' 
 but trouble hyarabouts. I've seed it since I was born. 
 Anse Havey went down below ter ther settlemints an' 
 trouble called him home. Ye seed what happened the 
 night ye come. Ye knows what's happened since. Hit
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 165 
 
 won't niver end twell ther last McBriar's done been 
 kilt. . . . But ef ye stays hyar I 'lows ter stay with 
 ye." 
 
 She halted in her tirade and Juanita's voice came 
 very low with a question. 
 
 "And if Anse Havey sends for you, dear: what 
 then?" 
 
 The girl stood trembling and white for a moment 
 and then her rage turned into a torrent of tears. She 
 flung herself down on her knees again and buried her 
 face in the other girl's lap ; her defiance all converted 
 to pleading. That question was like asking a sub- 
 ject whether he would defy an Emperor's edict. 
 
 " Don't let 'em take me," moaned the girl. " Don't 
 let 'em. Hit's ther first time I've ever been happy. 
 Don't let 'em." 
 
 Juanita could think of only one step to take, so she 
 sent Jerry Everson for Brother Talbott, whom she 
 had seen riding toward the shack hamlet in the valley. 
 
 " Thar hain't but one thing thet ye kin do," said 
 Good Anse slowly when he and Juanita sat alone over 
 the problem with the note of Havey command lying 
 between them. " An' I hain't noways sartain thet hit'll 
 come ter nothin'. Ye've got ter go over thar an' have 
 speech with Anse Havey." 
 
 She drew back with a start of distaste and repulsion. 
 Yet she had known that all along. She knew that to 
 let the children who had come to her go back to the old 
 life for which she had unfitted them, with their ambitions 
 aroused to unsatisfied hunger would kill her. More- 
 over it would break their hearts. It would be the end 
 of everything. FOF them she would even humble her-
 
 166 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 self before Bad Anse Havey, but it is doubtful if Judith 
 consented more reluctantly to go to the tent of Holo- 
 fernes than she to go to the brick house against which 
 she had launched so many anathemas. 
 
 " Ye see," she heard the missionary saying, " thar's 
 jest one way Anse kin handle Jeb an' nobody else kain't 
 handle him at all; not thet I blames ther boy much. 
 He thinks he's right. I reckon ef ye kin persuade Anse 
 ter reason with him ye'll hev ter promise that young 
 Milt hain't a-goin' ter hang round hyar." 
 
 " I'd promise that," she said eagerly, " I'd promise 
 almost anything. I can't give them up I can't 
 I can't." 
 
 " Ef Anse didn't pertect little Dawn from ther Mc- 
 Briars, Jeb would ter a God's sartainty kill young 
 Milt," went on the preacher, and the girl nodded miser- 
 ably. 
 
 " I don't 'low ter blame ye none," he said slowly, al- 
 most apologetically, " but I've got ter say hit. Hit's 
 a pity ye've seen fit ter say so many bitter things ter 
 Anse. Mountain folks air mighty easy hurt in their 
 pride an' no one hain't nuver dared ter cross him afore." 
 
 " No," she exclaimed bitterly, " he will welcome the 
 chance to humiliate and to refuse me. He has been 
 waiting for this ; to see me come to him a suppliant on 
 bended knee, and then to laugh at me and turn me 
 away." She paused and added brokenly, " And yet 
 I've got to go to him in surrender and pleading to be 
 refused but I'll go." 
 
 "Listen," said the preacher, and his words carried 
 that soft quality of pacification which she had once or 
 twice heard before. " Thar's a-heap-worse fellers than
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 167 
 
 Bad Anse Havey. Ef ye could jest hev seed yore way 
 ter treat him a leetle diff'rent " 
 
 "How could I?" demanded Juanita hotly. "How 
 could I be friends with a murderer and keep my self- 
 respect? " 
 
 The brown-faced man looked up at her and spoke 
 simply. " I've done kept mine," he said. 
 
 The girl rose. 
 
 " Will you go with me ? " she asked a little weakly. 
 * I don't feel quite strong enough to go over there 
 alone. While they are humbling me I would like to 
 have a friend at hand. I think it would help a little." 
 
 " I'm ready right now," said the missionary and so 
 with the man who had guided her on other missions, she 
 set out to make what terms she could with the enemy 
 she had so stubbornly defied. 
 
 It seemed an interminable journey, though they took 
 the short cut of the foot trail over the hills. It was a 
 brilliant afternoon, full of music and sparkle and color, 
 but for her the life had gone out of Nature's pagean- 
 try. 
 
 Under the poplar, where she had so often stood to 
 look down defiantly on the brick house far below, 
 Juanita paused, and grew a little faint. She put out 
 one hand and steadied herself against the cool bark of 
 its giant bole. In a faint self-contemptuous voice 
 she quoted once more, but in an altered and shaken 
 spirit. 
 
 " The very leaves seemed to sing on the trees ; 
 The castle alone in the landscape lay 
 Like an outpost of winter dull and gray;"
 
 168 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 The house that had come down to Anse Havey had 
 been built almost a century before. It was originally 
 placed in a tract so large that elsewhere it would have 
 been a domain, a tract held under the original Virginia 
 grant. Since those days much of it had been parceled 
 out as marriage portions to younger generations. The 
 first Havey had been a gentleman, whose fathers had 
 been associates of Lord Baltimore, and who had fought 
 with Washington for independence. It had taken the 
 stalwart strain several generations to relapse into the 
 ruck of semi-illiteracy. 
 
 The house itself was a relic of days before the richer 
 traditions of Virginia had faded. It had been put there 
 when such places were wilderness outposts of the cul- 
 ture left behind. In the attic still stood a dust-cov- 
 ered raw-hide trunk that had lumbered west with the 
 early wagon trains of pioneer venturing, and in that 
 trunk moldered such needless things as bits of colonial 
 silver and brocaded petticoats and breeches with silver 
 knee buckles. Then gradually, as the uprooted tree 
 falls into dry rot, the gallant and scholarly stock had 
 sunk and on it fed the slow waste of decay; just as the 
 moth and the mildew fed on the brocades and satins. 
 
 The bricks for these walls had been baked in a home- 
 made kiln, and ^the walls themselves had been reared like 
 those of a fortress. There was a porch at the front 
 and two floors, but the narrow windows were shuttered 
 as heavily as those of a frontier prison and when its 
 doors were barred the enemy who sought to enter must 
 knock with a battering ram, and sustain a welcome from 
 loop-holes. 
 
 Cabins that had once housed slaves, barns, a smoke-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 169 
 
 house, an ice-house and a small hamlet of dependent 
 shacks, clustered about a clearing which had been put 
 there rather to avoid surprise than to give space for 
 gardening. The Havey of two generations ago had 
 been something of a hermit scholar and in his son had 
 lurked a diminishing passion for books and an increas- 
 ing passion for leadership. 
 
 The feud had blazed to its fiercest heat in his day, 
 and the father of Bad Anse Havey had been the first 
 Bad Anse. His son had succeeded to the title as a 
 right of heritage, and had been trained to wear it like 
 a fighting man. Though he might be a whelp of the 
 wolf breed, the boy was a strong whelp and one in 
 whom slept latent possibilities and anomalous qualities, 
 for in him broke out afresh the love of books. It might 
 have surprised his newspaper biographers to know how 
 deeply he had conned the few volumes on the rotting 
 shelves of the brick house, or how deeply he had 
 thought along some lines. It might have amazed them 
 had they heard the fire and resonance with which he 
 quoted the wise counsel of the foolish Polonius. " Be- 
 ware of entering a quarrel, but being in, so bear thee 
 that the opposed may beware of thee." As to enter- 
 ing a quarrel it sufficed his logic that he had been born 
 into it, that he had " heired " his hatreds. 
 
 And because in these parts his father had held al- 
 most dictatorial powers, it had pleased him to send his 
 son, just come to his majority, down to the State Capi- 
 tal as a member of the Legislature, and the son had 
 gone to sit for a while among law-makers.
 
 CHAPTER XVIH 
 
 IN other years Bad Anse Havey remembered days 
 in that house when the voices of women and chil- 
 dren had been raised in song and laughter. Then 
 the family had gathered in the long winter evenings 
 before the roaring back logs, and spinning wheel and 
 quilting frame had not yet gone to the cobwebs of the 
 cock-loft. But that was long ago. 
 
 The quarter century over which his memory traveled 
 had brought changes even to the hills. The impalpable 
 ghost of decay moves slowly with no sound save the oc- 
 casional click of a sagging door here and the snap of a 
 cord there, but in twenty-five years it moves and an 
 inbred generation comes to impaired manhood. Since 
 Bad Anse himself had returned from Frankfort his 
 house had been tenanted only by men and an atmos- 
 phere of grimness hung in its shadows. A half-dozen 
 unkempt and loutish kinsmen dwelt there with him, 
 tilling the ground and ready to bear arms. More than 
 once they had been needed. It was to this place that 
 Juanita Holland and the preacher were making their 
 way on that October afternoon. Through the trees 
 and undergrowth as they came nearer the girl could 
 see that the faded grass had grown ragged and weed- 
 choked in the yard, and that the fruit trees about it 
 were gnarled and neglected, and the bee-gums leaned 
 
 askew. All softening touches of comfort and ease had 
 
 170
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 171 
 
 gone to wrack, and the impression was that of a place 
 where war sat enthroned above the ruins of thrift. 
 
 At a point where they should go down to the road 
 and make their way around to the front the girl halted 
 and stood resting, a little palpitant with the prospect of 
 eating humble pie and more than a little frightened at 
 the probability of failure. The missionary shook his 
 head as he rested on a fallen log and contemplated her 
 expression. There was beauty and pride and gallantry 
 in her pose ; lissom grace to ensnare a lover ; charm to 
 captivate an observer, but little of that humility which 
 befitted one who came, stripped of power, to sue for 
 terms. Defiance still shone too rebelliously from her 
 eyes. 
 
 At the gate they encountered a solitary figure gaz- 
 ing stolidly out to the front and when their coming 
 roused it out of its gloomy revery it turned and pre- 
 sented the scowling face of Jeb McNash. 
 
 " Where air they ? " he demanded wrathf ully, wheel- 
 ing upon the two arrivals, and then he repeated 
 violently, " By God, where air they ? Why hain't ye 
 done fetched Dawn an' Jesse? " 
 
 " Jeb," said the missionary quietly, " we done come 
 over hyar fust ter hev speech with Anse Havey. 
 Whar's he at? " 
 
 " I reckon he's in his house, but ye hain't answered 
 my question. I'm ther one for ye ter talk ter fust. 
 Hit's my sister ye've done been sufferin' ter consort 
 with murderers, an' hit's me ye've got ter reckon 
 with." 
 
 Brother Talbott only nodded. " Son," he gently re- 
 assured, " we aims ter talk with you, too, but I reckon
 
 172 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 ye hain't got no call ter hinder us from havin' speech 
 with Anse fust." 
 
 For a moment Jeb stood dubious, then he jerked his 
 head toward the house. " Go on in thar, ef ye sees 
 fit. I hain't got no license ter stop ye," he said curtly, 
 "but I don't aim ter let ye leave 'thout seem' me, 
 too." 
 
 Several shaggy retainers were lounging on the front 
 porch, but as Good Anse Talbott and Juanita turned 
 in at the gate, these henchmen disappeared inside. 
 They would all be there to witness her humbling, 
 thought the girl. It would please him to receive her 
 with his jackal pack yelping their sycophant derision 
 about him. Then she saw another figure emerge from 
 the dark door to stand at the threshold and the flush in 
 her cheeks grew deeper. Bad Anse Havey stood and 
 waited and when they reached the steps of the porch 
 he came slowly forward and said gravely, " Come in- 
 side." He led the way and they followed in silence. 
 
 Juanita found herself in the largest room she had 
 yet seen in the mountains ; a room which was dark at 
 its corners despite a shaft of sun that slanted through 
 a window, falling on a heavy table in a single band of 
 light. On the table lay a litter of pipes, loose tobacco, 
 cartridges and several books. Down the stripe of sun- 
 light the dust motes floated in pulverized gold and the 
 radiance fell upon a volume which lay open, throwing 
 it into relief, so that as the girl stood uncertainly near 
 the table she read at the top of a page the caption, 
 " Plutarch's Lives." 
 
 But she caught her breath in relief for the retainers 
 had disappeared.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 178 
 
 Her first impression was that of a place massively 
 and crudely timbered, where even the sun attacked the 
 murk feebly. She had always thought of this house 
 as the castle of the enemy and now that she had entered 
 it the impression seemed rather strengthened than les- 
 sened, but it was a mediaeval castle, crude and smoke- 
 stained. It was the home of intrenched darkness. 
 
 Many of the details of the room bore the atmosphere 
 of other days. The stag horns over the mantle shelf 
 were trophies of long ago, and the long-barreled per- 
 cussion-cap gun which hung across their prongs with 
 its powder-horn and shot-pouch belonged to a past 
 eja. The aged hound that rose stiffly from the floor to 
 growl and lie down again with much awkward circling 
 looked as though he had been dreaming of trails 
 through other decades. 
 
 Bad Anse Havey stood just at the edge of the sun 
 shaft, with one side of his face lighted and the other 
 dark. 
 
 But, if to the girl the whole picture was one of somber 
 composition and color, it presented a different aspect 
 to Bad Anse himself, as the young mountaineer stood 
 facing the door. Juanita Holland was also at the 
 edge of the sun shaft and the golden motes danced 
 around the escaping curls of her brown hair and seemed 
 to caress the delicate color of her flushed cheeks, kiss- 
 ing her lips into carmine, and intensifying the violet of 
 her eyes. Her slender figure stood very straight in 
 the blue gingham gown, and her sunbonnet had fallen 
 back and hung by its loosely knotted strings. 
 
 And at her side stood the bent figure of the mission- 
 ary, neutral and drab as though painted into the pic-
 
 174 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 ture with a few strong strokes of a brush that had been 
 dipped in only one color and that color dust brown. 
 When he spoke his voice, by some fusing of elements, 
 seemed in keeping with the rest of him: colorless. 
 
 " We've done come ter hev speech with ye, Anse," 
 he began. " I reckon ye know what hit's erbout." 
 
 The Havey leader only nodded and his steady eyes 
 and straight mouth line did not alter their sternness 
 of expression. 
 
 He saw the stifled little gasp with which the girl read 
 the ultimatum of his set face and the sudden mist of 
 tears which in spite of herself blurred her eyes. He 
 pushed forward a chair and gravely inquired: 
 " Hadn't ye better set down, ma'am? " 
 
 She shook her head and raised one hand, which trem- 
 bled a little, to brush the hair out of her eyes. 
 
 Palpably she was trying to speak, and could not for 
 the moment command her voice. But at last she got 
 herself under command and her words came slowly and 
 carefully. 
 
 " Mr. Havey, I have very little reason to expect 
 consideration from you. Even now if it were a ques- 
 tion of pleading for myself I would die first, but it 
 isn't that." She paused and shook her head. " You 
 told me that I must fail unless I came to you. . . . 
 Well, I've come I've come to humiliate myself. I 
 guess I've come to surrender." 
 
 His face did not change and he did not answer. Evi- 
 dently, thought the girl bitterly, she had not suffi- 
 ciently abased herself. After a moment she went on 
 in a very tired, yet a very eager voice. 
 
 " You are a man of action, Mr. Havey. I make my
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 175 
 
 appeal to your manhood. I suppose you've never had 
 a dream that has come to mean anything to you . . . 
 but that's the sort of dream I've had. That little girl, 
 Dawn, wants a chance. Her little brother wants a 
 chance. I've humbled myself to come and plead for 
 them. If you take them away from me now you will 
 smash my school. I don't underestimate your power 
 now. Children are just beginning to come to me and 
 if you order these to leave the others will leave, too, 
 and they won't come back. It will kill my school. If 
 that's your purpose I guess it's no use even to plead. 
 I know you can do it and yet you told me you weren't 
 making war on me." 
 
 " I reckon," interrupted Brother Talbott slowly, 
 " ye needn't have no fear of that, ma'am. Anse 
 wouldn't do thet." 
 
 " But if you aren't doing that," went on Juanita, 
 " I want to make my plea just for the sakes of these 
 children of your own people. I'm ready to accept your 
 terms. . . . I'm ready to abase and humble my own 
 pride, only for God's sake give them a chance to grow 
 clean and straight and break the shackles of illiteracy 
 and savagery." 
 
 She waited for the man to speak, but he neither spoke 
 nor changed expression, so with an effort she went on, 
 unconsciously bending a little forward in her eager- 
 ness. 
 
 " If you could see the way Dawn has unfolded like 
 a flower, the thirsty intelligence with which she has 
 drunk up what I have taught her ; the way it has opened 
 new worlds to her, I don't think you could be willing 
 to plunge her back into drudgery and ignorance. She
 
 176 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 13 a woman, or soon will be, Mr. Havey. You don't need 
 women in your feuds." 
 
 Again came the cautioning voice of the preacher in 
 his effort to keep her away from antagonizing lines. 
 
 " They hain't been called away fer HO reason like 
 thet, ma'am." But Juanita continued, ignoring the 
 warning. 
 
 " The other boy is too young for you to use yet. 
 Let him at least choose for himself. Let him reach the 
 age when he shall have enough knowledge of both sides 
 to take his own course fairly. I'm not asking odds. 
 You have Jeb and he wears your trademark in his face. 
 The bitterness that lurks there shows that he is wholly 
 your vassal; yours and the feud's. Doesn't that 
 satisfy you? .Won't you let the others stay with me? " 
 
 She broke off and her voice carried something like a 
 gasp. Anse Havey's face stiffened. 
 
 Even now he did not speak to her, but turned toward 
 the missionary. 
 
 " Brother Talbott," he said slowly, " would ye mind 
 waitin' out there on the porch a little spell? I'd like 
 to talk with this lady by myself." 
 
 As the missionary turned with his heavy tread it 
 seemed to the girl that her last ally was leaving her 
 and that she was being abandoned to the quiet and cruel 
 will of her stronger enemy. She wheeled and clutched 
 at the frayed, drab cloth of the preacher's coat-sleeve. 
 
 " No ! No ! " she exclaimed nervously. " Don't 
 leave me. Let me have one friend." 
 
 The brown man took both her hands in his and looked 
 reassuringly into her eyes. 
 
 " Ef I thought thet thar was any danger of ye havin'
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 177 
 
 ter listen at anything ye wouldn't want ter hear, little 
 gal," he said quietly, " I reckon nuther Anse Havey 
 ner all his people could make me leave this room. But 
 hit's all right. I knows Anse Havey an' hit's better 
 thet jest ther two of ye talks this thing over." Then 
 as she dropped her hands at her sides, bitterly ashamed 
 of her moment of weakness, he went out and closed the 
 door behind him. When he was gone there was a short 
 silence which Havey finally broke with a question. 
 
 " Why didn't ye say all these things to Jeb ? I sent 
 the letter on his say-so." 
 
 " But you sent it and all the Havey power is in 
 your hands. Jeb wouldn't understand such a plea. I 
 come to the fountain head. My school is not a Havey 
 school nor a McBriar school. It is meant to open its 
 doors to both sides of the ridge, regardless of factions." 
 
 "Did young Milt come there ter git eddication? I 
 thought he went to college down below." The ques- 
 tion carried an undernote of irony. 
 
 Juanita shook her head. 
 
 " No," she answered. " He came there as any other 
 passer-by might have come and he hasn't come often. 
 Let me keep the children and he sha'n't come again." 
 
 For a time he stood there, regarding her with a steady 
 and piercing gaze, while his brows drew together in a 
 frown rather of deep thoughtfulness than of displeas- 
 ure. She sank into a chair and her eyes turned from 
 his disconcerting gaze and wandered about the room. 
 
 She had been in many mountain houses now and had 
 become accustomed to the half light within their walls. 
 She knew that these interiors were at first vague and 
 grew in detail as the eyes fitted themselves, this thing
 
 178 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 and that stealing slowly and, as it seemed, covertly, out 
 of the shadows. Now her eyes fell upon something that 
 seemed strangely out of place here and her gaze rested 
 on it with a strange fascination. 
 
 It was an ancient portrait in a broken frame. 
 Through its darkened and cracked paint there stood 
 out the figure and face of a man of magnificent bearing, 
 dressed in the blue and buff uniform of a Continental 
 officer. There was nobility of brow and heroic reso- 
 luteness of eye, but around the lips lurked the gentle 
 spirit of the chivalrous gentleman. Whoever had 
 posed for that picture might have been a worthy type 
 of the men who built the republic, and the hand that 
 rested on the sword hilt was the slender hand of an 
 aristocrat. 
 
 Her eyes traveled back to the other man, the feud 
 leader of the mountains, and it was as if she were see- 
 ing new things in his face, too. Its features were cast 
 in the same mold as those that looked out from the 
 frame. There was the same brow and chin and car- 
 riage of the head; but the mouth was more set and 
 stern. The gentle pride had turned to arrogance. 
 Still, thought the girl, the same blood must flow in the 
 veins of Bad Anse Havey as had flowed in those of the 
 gentleman whose likeness the artist had set on canvas. 
 He was after all only changed by the generations that 
 had fought a bitterer battle for life. Could she ap- 
 peal to the latent chivalry that must sleep somewhere in 
 his heart? 
 
 Good God! thought Juanita Holland, suppose this 
 man's blood had been going up instead of down from 
 that start. Suppose that instead of relapse his lot had
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 179 
 
 been to march with the vanguard ! What a splendid 
 creature he might have been! 
 
 So fascinatedly did the canvas hold her attention 
 that she heard his words as though coming from some- 
 where outside. 
 
 " I asked Brother Talbott to go out. . . ." he was 
 saying, " because I didn't hardly want to hurt your 
 feelin's by say in' before him that your school can't 
 last. You're goin' about it all the wrong way, an' 
 it's worse to go about a good thing the wrong way than 
 to go about a bad thing the right way. I told ye once 
 that ye couldn't change the hills, an' that ye'd change 
 first yourself. I say that again. Ye can't take fire 
 out of blood with books. But if ye've done persuaded 
 Brother Anse that you're doin' good, I didn't want him 
 to hear me belittle ye." 
 
 The girl did not answer and the man followed her 
 eyes to the portrait. 
 
 " Ye ain't hearkenin' to nothin' I says," he told her. 
 " Shall I begin over an' say it again ? " 
 
 " No," she stammered, " I heard you only that pic- 
 ture is rather wonderful. I was looking at it." 
 
 He laughed shortly. 
 
 " That's the Revolutionary Havey," he enlightened. 
 " I reckon we've run right smart to seed since his time. 
 That old man died in his bed with his family round him. 
 I reckon he didn't hardly have an enemy in the world. 
 His name was Anse, too, but it wasn't Bad Anse. It was 
 after that that the Haveys quit dyin' peaceful. There 
 ain't been many lately that's done it. His grandson 
 started the feud an' he passed it down to the rest of us. 
 We grows to manhood an' gets our legacy of war.
 
 180 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 That's the thing ye aims to change in a few weeks. It 
 seems to me ye've bit off more than ye can chew." 
 
 Anse Havey went to the window where he drank 
 deeply of the spiced air. Then he began to speak and 
 this time it was in a voice the girl had never before 
 heard, a voice that held the fire of the natural orator 
 and that was colorful with emotion. 
 
 " The first time ye saw me, ye made up your mind 
 what character of man I was. Ye made it up from 
 hearsay evidence, and ye ain't never give me no chance 
 to show ye whether ye was right or wrong. Ye say 
 I've never dreamed a dream. Good God, ma'am, I've 
 never had no true companionship except my dreams. 
 When I was a little barefoot shaver I used ter sit there 
 by that chimley an' dream dreams an' one of 'em's the 
 biggest thing in my life to-day. There were men 
 around Frankfort when I was in the Legislature that 
 'lowed I might go to Congress if I wanted to. I didn't 
 try. My dream meant more to me than Congress 
 an' my dream was my own people: to stay here and 
 help 'em." 
 
 He stepped over to the table and, with a swift and 
 passionate gesture, caught up two books. " These are 
 my best friends," he said and she read on the covers, 
 " Plutarch's Lives," and " Tragedies of William 
 Shakespeare." The girl looked up with amazement in 
 her eyes, but she met in his own pupils a fire and eager- 
 ness which silenced her. She could not tell whether 
 she was being wrought upon by the strange fire that 
 dwelt in his eyes or the colorfulness of his voice, or the 
 influence of something beyond himself, as though the 
 ripe old portrait were talking. But as she listened
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 181 
 
 and looked at the magnificent physique of his wedge- 
 like torso, tapering from broad shoulders to slender 
 waist, she was conscious only of the compelling mas- 
 culine that seemed to vibrate about him. 
 
 Here was a man with all the primal vigor of man- 
 hood. Were he living in days when women sought 
 strong mates, Anse Havey would have had his choice 
 of wives. She thought of the gentleman whom she had 
 almost married and who lacked all this. Anse Havey 
 was an outlaw and at home would seem a crude bar- 
 barian, but he was the sort of barbarian whose brain 
 and body could lay a spell on those about him. A wild 
 thrill of admiration tingled through her being, not such 
 as any other man had ever caused, but such as she had 
 felt when she watched the elemental play of lightning 
 and thunder and wind along the mountain tops.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 "TT'S only lonesome people," Anse Havey went on, 
 
 I 
 
 up there on the ridge with Julius Caesar and Alex- 
 ander the Great, an' it seemed to me like I could see 
 'em, as plain as I see you now. I could see the sun 
 shinin' on the eagles of the legions an' the solid shields 
 of the phalanx. I'm rich enough, I reckon, to live 
 amongst other men that read books, too, but a dream 
 keeps me spendin' my days here. The dream is that 
 some day these-here mountains shall come into their 
 own. These people have got it in 'em ter be a great 
 people, an' I've staid on here because I aimed to try an' 
 help 'em." 
 
 " But," she faintly expostulated, " you seem to stand 
 for the very things that hold them back. You speak 
 almost reverently of their killing instinct and you op- 
 pose schools." 
 
 The man shook his head gravely and continued, " I'm 
 a feudist because my people are feudists an' because I 
 can lead 'em only so long as I'm a fightin* Havey. 
 God knows if I could wipe out this blood-spillin' I'd 
 gladly go out an' offer myself as a sacrifice to bring it 
 about. You call me an' outlaw well, I've done made 
 laws an' I've done broke them an' I've seen just about 
 as much crookedness an' lawlessness at one end of the 
 game as at the other." 
 
 182
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 183 
 
 " But schools ? " inquired Juanita. " Why wouldn't 
 they help your dream toward fulfilment ? " 
 
 " I ain't against no school that can begin at the right 
 end. I'm against every school that can only onsettle 
 an' teach dissatisfaction with humble livin' where folks 
 has got to live humble." 
 
 He paused and paced the room. This man was no 
 longer the man who had seemed the immovable stoic. 
 His eyes were far away, looking beyond the horizons, 
 into the future. 
 
 " It's took your people two centuries to get where 
 they're standin 5 to-day," he broke out abruptly, " an' 
 fer them two hundred years we've been standin' still or 
 goin' back. Now ye come down here an' seeks to jerk 
 my people up to where ye stands in the blinkin' of an 
 eye. Ye comes lookin' down on 'em an' pityin' 'em 
 because they won't eat outen your hand. They'd rather 
 be eagles, than song-birds in a cage, even if eagles are 
 wild an' lawless. Ye comes here an' straightway tells 
 'em that their leaders are infamous. Do ye offer 'em 
 better leaders? Ye refuses the aid of men that know 
 'em men of their blood an' go your own ignorant 
 way. Do ye see any reason why I should countenance 
 ye? Don't ye see ye're just a-scatterin' my sheep be- 
 fore they knows how to herd themselves ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid," said the girl very slowly and humbly, 
 " that I've been a fool." 
 
 " Ye says the boy, Jeb, wear's my trademark in the 
 hate that's on his face," continued Anse Havey passion- 
 ately. " He's been here with me, consortin' with them 
 fellers in Plutarch an' Shakespeare. If I can curb 
 him an' keep him out of mischief he's goin' down to
 
 184 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Frankfort some day an* learn his lessons in the Legisla- 
 ture. He ain't goin' to no college because I aims to fit 
 him for his work right here. I seek to have fellers like 
 him guide these folks forward. I don't aim to have them 
 civilized by bein' wiped out an' trod to death." 
 
 He paused while Juanita Holland repeated helplessly 
 and half aloud, " I've been a fool ! " 
 
 " I reckon ye don't know that young Jeb McNash 
 thinks little Milt kilt Fletch, an' that one day he laid 
 out in the la'rel to kill little Milt. Ye don't know that 
 the only reason he stayed his hand was that I'd got his 
 promise ter bide his time. But I reckon ye do know 
 that if Milt was killed by a Havey all that's transpired 
 in ten years wouldn't make a patch on the hell-raisin' 
 that'd go on hereabouts in a week. Do ye think it's 
 strange thet Jeb don't want his sister consortin' with 
 the boy that he thinks murdered his father? " 
 
 Juanita rose from her chair, feeling like a pert and 
 cocksure interloper who had been disdainfully looking 
 down on one with a vision immeasurably wider and surer 
 than her own. At last she found herself asking, " But 
 surely young Milt didn't kill Fletch. Surely you don't 
 believe that? " 
 
 " No, I know he didn't, but there's just one way I 
 can persuade young Jeb to believe it an' that's to 
 tell him who did." 
 
 His eyes met hers and for a moment lighted with 
 irony. " If I did that I reckon Jeb would be willin' 
 to let ye keep Dawn an' Jesse an' of course he'd kill 
 the other man. Do ye want me to do it ? Just say the 
 word, ma'am, an* I'll call him in. It may not cost but 
 one life ter let ye have your way. Life's right cheap
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 185 
 
 hereabouts. One or two more oughtn't hardly to stand 
 between a lady an' her sacred mission." He moved to 
 the closed door and paused with his hand on the knob. 
 
 " No, stop ! " she almost screamed. " It would mean 
 murder. Merciful God, it's so hard to decide some 
 things ! " Anse Havey turned back to the room. " I 
 just thought I'd let ye see that for yourself," he said 
 quietly ; " ye ain't hardly been able ter see why it's 
 hard for us people to decide 'em." 
 
 Suddenly a new thought struck her and it brought 
 from her a sudden question. " But you know who the 
 murderer is and you have spared him? " 
 
 The man laughed. " Don't fret yourself, ma'am. 
 The man that killed Fletch has left the mountains an' 
 right now he's out of reach. But he'll be back some 
 day an' when he comes I reckon the first news ye'll hear 
 of him will be that he's dead." Once more it was the 
 implacable avenger who spoke by his gospel of a life 
 for a life. The girl could only murmur in perplexity, 
 " Yet you have kept Jeb in ignorance. I don't under- 
 stand. It all seems so complicated." 
 
 " I've got other plans for Jeb," said Bad Anse 
 Havey. " I don't 'low to let him be a feud killer. 
 There's others that can attend to that." He flung the 
 door open and called Jeb ; and a moment later the boy, 
 black of countenance, came in and stood glaring about 
 with the sullen defiance of a young bull just turned into 
 the ring where he is to face the matador. " Jeb," sug- 
 gested the chief gravely, " I reckon if Dawn don't see 
 young Milt again ye ain't goin' to object to her havin' 
 an education, are ye?" 
 
 The boy stiffened and his reply was surly.
 
 186 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " I don't 'low ter hev my folks a-consortin' with no 
 McBriars." 
 
 Anse Havey spoke again very quietly, " Milt didn't 
 know no more about that killin' than I did, Jeb." 
 
 " How does ye know thet? " The question burst 
 out fiercely and swiftly. The boy bent forward with 
 his eyes eagerly burning above his high cheek-bones and 
 his mouth stiff in a snarl of suspense. " How does ye 
 know? " 
 
 " Because I know who did." 
 
 " Tell me his name ! " The shrill demand was almost 
 a shriek. Again Jeb's face had become ashen and his 
 muscles were twitching. Anse laid a hand on his shoul- 
 der, but the boy jerked away and again confronted his 
 elder while his voice broke from his lips in an excess of 
 passion. " Tell me his name. By God, he b'longs ter 
 me." 
 
 " No, I ain't goin' to tell ye his name just yet, Jeb," 
 Anse calmly announced. " He ain't in these parts now. 
 He's left the mountains an' it wouldn't do ye much good 
 to know his name yet. Two days after he comes 
 back I'll tell ye all ye wants to know an' I won't try 
 ter hinder ye, but ye must let the children stay over 
 there at the school. Dawn's heart's set on it, an' it 
 wouldn't be fair to break her heart." 
 
 The boy stood trembling in wrath and indecision. 
 Finally his voice came dubiously. " Ye done give me 
 yore hand once before thet es soon as ye knowed ye'd 
 tell me an' ye lied ter me." 
 
 Anse Havey shook his head with unruffled patience. 
 
 " No, I didn't lie to ye, son. I wasn't sure till after 
 he left. I ain't never lied to no man."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 187 
 
 A long silence fell on the room. Through the open 
 window came the silvery call of a quail in some distant 
 thicket. Jeb was remembering the tried friendship and 
 unquestioned loyalty of this chief of clan, and the com- 
 radeship of the books, and the debts he owed to Anse 
 Havey. After a while he raised his head and nodded 
 in his compact. " I'll give ye my hand," he said, " an' 
 I asks yore pardon fer callin' ye a liar. I wouldn't suf- 
 fer no other man ter do hit in my hearin'." 
 
 When he left the room the girl rose from her chair. 
 
 " There is no way to thank you, Mr. Havey," she said 
 with a touch of diffidence. " I don't believe that two 
 wrongs ever yet made a right. I don't believe that you 
 can win out to law by lawlessness. But I do believe 
 you are sincere and I know that you're a man." 
 
 " And as for me," he said slowly, " I think ye're just 
 tryin' to grow an oak tree in a flower pot, an' it can't 
 be done. I think that all ye can do is to breed discon- 
 tent an' in these hills discontent is dangerous. But 
 I ain't hinderin' your school an' I don't 'low to. Ye'll 
 find out for yourself that it's a failure an' quit at your 
 own behest." 
 
 " I sha'n't quit," she assured him, but this time she 
 smiled as she said it. " I am going ahead and in the 
 end I am going to undermine the regime of feud and 
 illiteracy ; that is, I and others like me. But can't we 
 fight the thing out as if it were a clean game? Can't 
 we be friendly adversaries? You've been very generous 
 and I've been a bigoted little fool, but can't you forgive 
 me and be friends ? " 
 
 He straightened while his face hardened again. 
 Slowly he shook his head. His voice was very grave
 
 188 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 and uncompromising though without discourtesy. 
 " I'm afraid it's a little too late for that." 
 
 Juanita slowly drew back the hand she had extended 
 and her cheeks flushed crimson. It was the first time 
 in her life that she had made an unsolicited proffer of 
 friendship and she had been rebuffed. 
 
 " Oh ! " she murmured in a dazed, hurt voice, in which 
 was no anger. Then she smiled and said, " Then there's 
 nothing else to say, except to thank you a thousand 
 times." 
 
 " Ye needn't have no uneasiness about my tryin' to 
 hinder ye," he repeated slowly. " I ain't your enemy 
 an' I ain't your friend. I'm just lookin' on an' I don't 
 have no faith in your success." 
 
 " Don't you feel that changes must come? " she ques- 
 tioned a little timidly. " They have come everywhere 
 else." 
 
 " They will come," his voice again rose vehemently. 
 " But they'll be made my way our way, not yours. 
 These hills sha'n't always be a reproach to the State of 
 Kentucky. They're goin' to be her pride some day." 
 
 " That's all," exclaimed the girl, flinging at him a 
 glance of absolute admiration. " I don't care who does 
 it, so long as it's done right. You've got to see sooner 
 or later that we're working to the same end. You may 
 not be my friend, but I'm going to be yours." 
 
 " I'm obleeged to ye," he said gravely, and, turning 
 on his heel, left the room through the back door. For a 
 while she waited for him to return and then, realizing 
 that the interview was ended, she, too, turned and went 
 out to the porch. It seemed to Juanita Holland as 
 she climbed the ridge again, that a decade had passed
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 189 
 
 since the shadow of Jeb McNash had fallen across the 
 flower bed. With that note from Anse Havey had 
 come a crushing sense of her helplessness and a full 
 realization that no wheel could turn when one of the 
 dictators raised a forbidding hand. So she had gone, 
 expecting to face vindictiveness, and had for the first 
 time caught a glimpse of the soul that lay shuttered 
 behind the mask of Anse Havey's veiled eyes. It had 
 only been a glimpse and it made her want to see more. 
 So she came back, thinking of a half-barbaric man of 
 strong limbs and fearless heart, who walked under the 
 constant menace of death, and who combined in his au- 
 dacious make-up a dash of the magnificent. His was 
 a thankless mission at best ; a lonely vigil through a 
 long night. Not only did he face the constant threat 
 of McBriar hate, but to the outside world he was Bad 
 Anse Havey, whose name was held in disrepute. Then 
 the girl smiled, for the October air was still full of 
 champagne sparkle and she was young enough to be 
 stirred by the sterling mark of romance. At all events 
 she had met a man. Here was no swordless sheath. 
 
 So when she reached the ridge and stood again under 
 the poplar tree she looked first to the east where she 
 could see the ox-teams still snaking logs down to the 
 mill and others bringing up squared timbers for her 
 buildings, and a happy smile lifted the corners of her 
 subtly curved lips. She patted the bark of the big 
 tree and, gazing affectionately at it as at an old and 
 confidential friend, she murmured, " I'm back again, 
 and it's all right." Then with another glance at the 
 somber pile of brick she murmured, " Feud leader, law- 
 maker, law-breaker and student of Shakespeare! Of
 
 190 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 course you're not at all typical, but you're a very in- 
 teresting somebody, Honorable Bad Anse Havey." 
 
 But the smile faded as she turned and a patch of 
 roof down the other way caught her eye and reminded 
 her of something. She had yet the very delicate and 
 unpleasant duty of telling young Milt McBriar that, to 
 him, the school was closed and its hospitality withdrawn. 
 She was glad he was still a boy for that would mean that 
 in him remained a touch of chivalry and generosity. 
 Soon young Milt would be going back to Lexington 
 again to college, for he was one of the few boys of the 
 hill aristocracy who were being given educations. 
 
 The girl had often wondered why it had not changed 
 him more. He was almost as typical a mountaineer as 
 those who stayed at home and in him she found a dis- 
 couraging exponent of the immutability of heredity. 
 As chance would have it young Milt rode by her place 
 the next day. She knew he would come back the same 
 way and that afternoon as he was returning she in- 
 tercepted him beyond the turn of the road. With the 
 foreign courtesy learned abroad he lifted his hat and 
 dismounted. Juanita had always rather liked young 
 Milt. The clear fearlessness of his eyes gave him a 
 certain attractiveness, and his face had so far escaped 
 the clouding veil of sullenness which she so often en- 
 countered. 
 
 At first she was a little confused as to how to ap- 
 proach the subject and the boy rolled a cigarette as 
 he stood respectfully waiting. 
 
 " Milt," she said at last, " please don't misunderstand 
 me. It's not because I want to, but I've got to ask you 
 to give me a promise. You see I need your help."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 191 
 
 At that the half smile left the boy's lips and a half 
 frown came to his eyes. 
 
 " I reckon I know what ye mean," he said ; " young 
 Jeb, he's asked ye ter warn me off. Why don't Jeb 
 carry his own messages ? " 
 
 " Milt," she gravely reminded him, resting her hand 
 for a moment on his coat-sleeve, " it's more serious 
 than that. Jeb ordered me to send his sister back to 
 the cabin. You are having an education. I want her 
 to have one. She has the right to it. I love her very 
 dearly, Milt, and if you are a friend you won't rob 
 her of her chance." 
 
 The boy's eyes flashed. " Air ye goin' ter send her 
 back thar, ter dwell amongst them razor-back hawgs an' 
 houn'-dawgs an' fleas?" he demanded. 
 
 " That depends on you. Jeb is the head of his fam- 
 ily. I can't keep her without his consent. I had to 
 promise him that you shouldn't visit her." 
 
 For a moment the heir to McBriar leadership stood 
 twisting the toe of his heavy boot in the dust and ap- 
 parently studying the little circles it stamped out. 
 Then he raised his eyes and contemplatively studied 
 the mist-wreathed crests of the ridges. 
 
 At last he inquired, " What hes Dawn got ter say ? " 
 
 " Dawn hasn't said much," she faltered, remember- 
 ing the girl's tirade. Then she confessed : " You see, 
 Milt, just now Dawn is thinking of herself as a Havey 
 and of you as a McBriar. All I ask is that you won't 
 try to see her while she's here at the school not at all 
 events until things are different." 
 
 The boy was wrestling with youth's unwillingness to 
 be coerced.
 
 192 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 "An' let Dawn think that her brother skeered me 
 off? " he questioned at last with a note of rising de- 
 fiance. 
 
 " Dawn sha'n't think that. She shall know that you 
 have acted with a gentleman's generosity, Milt and 
 because I've asked you to do it." 
 
 " Hain't I good enough ter keep company with Fletch 
 McNash's gal? " The lad was already persuaded, but 
 his stubbornness fired this parting shot. 
 
 " It's not a question of that, Milt, and you know it," 
 declared Juanita. " It's just that one of your people 
 killed one of his. Put yourself in Jeb's place." Still 
 for a while the boy stood there, scowling down at the 
 ground, but at last he raised his face and nodded. 
 
 " It's a bargain, ma'am, but mind I only says I won't 
 see her hyar some day I'll make Jeb pay f er it." 
 He mounted and rode away while the lazy, hazy sweet- 
 ness of the smoky mists hung splendidly to the ridges 
 and the sunset flamed at his back. 
 
 Juanita never knew what details of the incident came 
 to Old Milt's ears, but when next the head of the house 
 passed her on the road he spoke with a diminished 
 cordiality, and when she stopped him he commented a 
 little bitterly, " I hear ye're a runnin' a Havey school 
 over thar now. Little Milt tells me ye warned him offen 
 yore place." She tried to explain and though he pre- 
 tended to accept all she said in good humor, she knew 
 in her heart she had made a powerful and bitter enemy. 
 
 Even now when the desolate fall rains must soon wash 
 all the color from the hills and leave them reeking and 
 gray, the drought hung on. It had been unprecedented
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 193 
 
 and sometimes the smoke of the ridges mingled with 
 the real smoke of forest fires. In places as one rode 
 the hills one came upon great blackened stretches where 
 charred and blistered shafts alone remained in memory 
 of the magnificent forestry of yesterday. 
 
 One afternoon Anse Havey, wandering through the 
 timber on his own side of the ridge, came upon a lone 
 hunter and when he drew near it proved to be young 
 Milt McBriar. 
 
 " Mornin', Milt," said the Havey, " I didn't know ye 
 ever went huntin' over here." 
 
 The boy, who in feud etiquette was a trespasser, met 
 the scrutiny with a level glance. 
 
 " I was a-gunnin' fer boomers," he said, using the local 
 phrase for the red squirrels of the hills ; " I reckon I 
 hain't hardly got no license ter go gunnin' on yore 
 land." 
 
 Anse Havey sat down on a log and looked up at the 
 boy steadily. At last he said gravely: 
 
 " Hunt as much as ye like, Milt, only be heedful not 
 to start no fires." Milt nodded and turned to go, but 
 the older man called him back. " I want to have a 
 word with ye, Milt," he said soberly. " I ain't never 
 heard that neither the McBriars nor the Havey s coun- 
 tenanced settin' fire to dwellin' houses, have you? " 
 
 " I don't know what ye means," responded the boy, 
 dnd the gaze that passed between them was that of two 
 men who can look direct into any eyes. 
 
 " I 'lowed it would astonish ye," went on the older 
 man. " Back of the new school-house, that's still full 
 of shavin's an' loose timber there's a little stretch of 
 dry woods that comes right down to the back door.
 
 194 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Somebody has done laid a trail of shavin's an* leaves 
 in the brush there, an' soaked 'em with coal-oil. Some 
 feller aims to burn down that school-house to-night." 
 
 "Did ye tell Miss Holland?" demanded Milt, in a 
 voice of deep anxiety. 
 
 " No, I ain't named it to her." Bad Anse sat with 
 a seeming of indifference in his face, at which the lad's 
 blood boiled. 
 
 " Does ye aim ter set hyar an' let her place git burnt 
 up? " he snapped out wrathfully. " Because if ye does, 
 I don't." 
 
 Anse Havey laughed. " Well, no," he replied, " I 
 didn't aim to do that." Suddenly he rose. " What I 
 did aim to do, Milt, was this: I aimed to go down 
 there to-night with enough fellers to handle either the 
 fire or whoever starts it. I aimed to see who was doin' 
 a trick like that. Will you go with me? " 
 
 " Me ? " echoed Milt in astonishment. This idea of 
 the two factions acting in concert was a decided in- 
 novation. It might be loaded. It might be a trap. 
 Suddenly the boy demanded, " Why don't ye ask pap ? " 
 
 " I don't ask your pap nothing." In Havey's reply 
 was a quick and truculent snap that rarely came to his 
 voice. " I'm askin' you, an' you can take my propo- 
 sition or leave it. That house-burner is goin' to die. 
 If he's one of my people I want to know it. If he's one 
 of your people you ought to feel the same way. Will 
 you go with me? " 
 
 The boy considered the proposal for a time in silence. 
 Dawn would be in danger! At last he said gravely: 
 " Hit sounds like a fa'r proposition. I'll go along with 
 ye an' meantime I'll keep my own counsel."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ANSE HAVEY had been looking ahead. When 
 Old Milt McBriar had said, " Them Haveys 'lows 
 thet I'd cross hell on a rotten plank ter do 'em 
 injury," he had shot close to the mark. Bad Anse 
 knew that the quiet-visaged old murder-lord could no 
 more free himself from guile and deceit than the rattler 
 can separate himself from the poison which impregnates 
 its fangs and nature. 
 
 When he had taken Milt's hand, sealing the truce, he 
 had not been beguiled, but realized that the compact 
 was only strategy and was totally insincere. Yet in 
 young Milt he saw possibilities. He was accustomed 
 to rely on his own judgment and he recognized a clean 
 and sterling strain in the younger McBriar. He hated 
 the breed with a hatred that was flesh of his flesh and 
 bone of his bone, but with an eye of prophecy he foresaw 
 the day when a disrupted mountain community must 
 fall asunder unless native sons could unite against the 
 conquest of lowland greed. He could never trust Old 
 Milt, but he hoped that he and young Milt, who would 
 some day succeed to his father's authority, might stand 
 together in that inevitable crisis. 
 
 This idea had for a long time been vaguely taking 
 shape in his mind, and when he met young Milt in the 
 woods and proposed uniting to save Juanita's school he 
 
 was laying a corner-stone for that future alliance. 
 
 195
 
 196 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 At sunset young Milt came and he came without 
 having spoken of his purpose at his own house. The 
 night was sharp and moonless with no light save that 
 which came from the coldly glittering stars and Anse 
 and young Milt crouched for hours, knee to knee in 
 the dead thickets, keeping watch. 
 
 At last they both saw a creeping figure which was 
 only a vague shadow moving among shadows and they 
 peered with straining eyes and raised rifles. But the 
 shadow fell very still and since it was only by its move- 
 ment that they could detect it they waited in vain. 
 What hint of being watched was given out no one could 
 say. The woods were still and the two kneeling figures 
 in the laurel made no sound. The other men, waiting 
 at their separated posts, were equally invisible and 
 noiseless, but some intangible premonition had come 
 to the shadow which lost itself in the impenetrable black- 
 ness and began its retreat with its object unaccom- 
 plished. 
 
 Young Milt went back to his house in the cold mists 
 of dawn. No shot had been fired, no face recognized, 
 but the Havey and the McBriar both knew that the 
 school had been saved by their joint vigilance. 
 
 Some days later the news of that night-watch leaked 
 through to Jerry Everson who bore the tidings to 
 Juanita, and she wrote a note to Anse Havey, asking 
 him to come over and let her express her thanks in per- 
 son. 
 
 The mail rider brought her a brief reply, penned in 
 a hand of copy-book care. 
 
 "I don't take any credit," [said the writer]. "I only did 
 what any other man would do and young Milt McBriar did as
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 197 
 
 much as I did. Thank him if you want to. H would only be awk- 
 ward for me to come over there. Respectfully, ANSE HAVEY." 
 
 The girl laid the letter down with a sense of disap- 
 pointment and chagrin. She had been accustomed to 
 having men come to her when she summoned them, and 
 come willingly. For a time she was deeply apprehen- 
 sive, too, lest the effort which had failed at first might 
 be more successfully repeated, but that week brought 
 the long-delayed rains. They stripped the hills of glory 
 and left them gray and stark and dripping. The hori- 
 zon reeked with raw fogs and utter desolation settled 
 on the mountains. 
 
 Trickling streams were torrents again and the dan- 
 ger of fires was over. Old Milt McBriar heard of his 
 son's part in the watching of the school, and brooded 
 blackly as he gnawed at the stem of his pipe, but he 
 said nothing. The boy had been sent away to college 
 and had been given every advantage. Now he had un- 
 wittingly, but none the less surely, turned his rifle on 
 one of his father's hirelings bent on his father's work, 
 for the oil-soaked kindling had been laid at Old Milt's 
 command. The thing did not tend to make the leader 
 of the McBriars partial to the innovations from Down- 
 below. 
 
 One day when Juanita went down to the post-office 
 which nestled unobtrusively behind the single counter 
 of the shack store at the gap, she found a letter di- 
 rected in a hand which set her heart beating and re- 
 vived many old memories. 
 
 The sun had come out after those first rains and a 
 little of the Indian summer languor still slept along the 
 skyline, but the woods were for the most part bare and
 
 198 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the air was piercing. In a formless mass of wet mold, 
 that no longer rattled crisply underfoot, lay all the 
 leaves that had a few days ago been stitches in the 
 tapestried and embroidered mantle of the hills ; all ex- 
 cept a few tenaciously clinging survivors and the russet 
 of the scrub oaks. The pines that had been sober greens 
 through the season of flaming color were still sober 
 greens when all else had turned to cinnamon and slate. 
 But in spite of the cold Juanita wished to carry that 
 letter up to the crest and read it there under the poplar 
 tree. As she climbed she heard the whistle of quail off 
 in a cornfield and two or three rabbits jumped up and 
 loped into the cover, flaunting their cotton tails. So 
 she tore the end from her envelope and began to read 
 the letter, from the man she had sent away. He said 
 that he had made a sincere effort to reconcile himself 
 to her decision; the decision which exiled him. The 
 effort had failed. He had been to the Mediterranean 
 and the East. 
 
 " Do you remember the terrace at Shepherd's, when 
 you and I sat there together ? " he asked, and the girl 
 who knew him so well could fancy the lonely longing 
 in his face as he had written it. 
 
 " Can you close your dear eyes and see again the 
 motors purring by and the donkeys and camels and 
 street fakirs with cobras in flat baskets and apes on 
 chains? Can you hear the laughter of the tea-drinkers 
 under the awnings and the Fellaheen chatter and Vien- 
 nese orchestras contending with the tom-toms of re- 
 turning pilgrims? Dearest, can you see the blue tri- 
 angles of shadow that the pyramids throw down in the 
 moonlight on the yellow sands of the desert? The des-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 199 
 
 ert has no loneliness greater than mine." She let the 
 letter drop for a moment. Loneliness? Suddenly she 
 felt that she herself was the loneliest person in the uni- 
 verse. Then she read again. 
 
 " Can you see the Jaffa Gate and the Tower of David 
 in Jerusalem? I have been there alone this time. 
 Do you remember how you were touched by the fanatical 
 devotion that lighted the heavy faces of the Russian 
 peasants who had journeyed so far in their pilgrim- 
 ages to the shrines of the Holy City? Can you see 
 them again in their sheepskin jackets and felt boots 
 and ragged beards creeping on hands and knees through 
 the temple of the Sepulchre and kissing the stones? 
 
 " I, too, was a pilgrim seeking peace, but I did not 
 find it. Can you not find it in your heart to be touched 
 by my devotion? Not only happiness, but peace dwells 
 where you are, and I am coming to you. 
 
 " Do not forbid me, for I am coming anyway. I am 
 coming because I must ; because I love you." 
 
 Yes, she remembered all the things of which he spoke 
 and many others. All the old life which she had re- 
 nounced rose before her, slugging her senses with home- 
 sickness. Around her lay the escarpments of the iso- 
 lated hills which would soon sink down to the sodden 
 wretchedness of a shut-in winter. 
 
 She could see ahead, at that moment, only failure, 
 and hear only the echoes of many warnings. Yet here 
 she must stay because she had cast her lot among the 
 sons and daughters of Martha, who 
 
 ". . . do not preach that their God will rouse them a little be- 
 lore the nuts work loose;
 
 200 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 They do not preach that His Pity allows them to leave their work 
 
 whenever they choose. 
 As in the thronged and the lighted ways so in the dark and the 
 
 desert they stand, 
 Wary and watchful all their days, that their brethren's days may 
 
 be long in the land. . . ." 
 
 She sat for a long time gazing off at the distances, 
 and shivered a little in the bite of the raw air. Then 
 she looked up and saw a figure at her side. It was 
 Bad Anse Havey. 
 
 He bowed and stripped off his coat, which, without 
 asking permission he threw around her shivering shoul- 
 ders. " I didn't aim to intrude on ye," he said slowly. 
 " I didn't know ye was up here. Do ye come often ? " 
 
 " Very often," she answered, folding the letter and 
 putting it back into its envelope. " When I first came 
 to the Widow Everson's I discovered this tree and it 
 seemed to beckon to me to come up. Look ! " She 
 rose and pointed off with a gauntleted hand. " I can 
 stand here and see the fortifications of my two enemies. 
 There is your place and there is Milt McBriar's." She 
 smiled with unconscious archness. " But I'm not go- 
 ing to let you be my enemy any more. I've decided 
 that you have got to be my friend, whether you want 
 to be or not and what I decide upon, must be." 
 
 Bad Anse Havey stood looking into her eyes with 
 the disconcerting steadiness of gaze that she always 
 found it difficult to sustain, but his only response was a 
 sober, " I'm obleeged to ye." 
 
 Perhaps that letter with its old reminders had brought 
 back a little of the old self and the old self's innocent 
 coquetry. She stood with her gauntleted hands in the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 201 
 
 deep pockets of her sweater jacket, and his coat hang- 
 ing from her shoulders. About her deep violet eyes 
 and sensitive lips lurked a subtle appeal for friendship 
 perhaps, though she did not know it, for love. 
 
 " I have behaved abominably to you, Mr. Havey," 
 she confessed. 
 
 " It's natural that you should refuse me forgive- 
 ness." For a moment her eyes danced and she looked 
 up challengingly, into his face. " But it's natural, too, 
 that I should refuse to let you refuse. We are going to 
 be friends. I am going to smash your old feud to 
 splinters and I'm going to beat you, and just the same 
 we are going to be friends." Again his reply was brief. 
 
 " I'm obleeged to ye." 
 
 Against the girl who had scorned him and denounced 
 him, Anse Havey's wounded pride had reared a fortress 
 of reserve, and yet already he felt its walls tumbling. 
 The smile in her eyes was carrying it by assault. It had 
 no defense against the sweetness of her voice. He had 
 for the most part known only the women who live to 
 work and raise large families ; who servilely obey the 
 lordly sex and soon wither. He had in him much of 
 the woman-hater, and he did not realize that it was be- 
 cause he had never before known a woman who was at 
 once as brave and intelligent as himself and as exquisite 
 in charm as the wildflowers on his hillsides. This girl 
 who smiled at him was not the same woman he had re- 
 solved to hate, whose friend he had declined to be. 
 She was a new and fragrant being in whose presence he 
 suddenly felt himself unspeakably crude. 
 
 " You have been very good to me," she went on and
 
 202 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the note of banter left her voice, " and you refused to 
 let me thank you." 
 
 For a moment he was silent then he said, awkwardly, 
 " I reckon it's pretty easy to be good to you." After 
 that she heard him saying in a very soft voice. 
 
 ". . . One of the first things I remembers is being 
 fetched up here by my mammy when I was a spindlin* 
 little chap. She used to bring me up here and tell me 
 Indian stories. Some times my pappy came with us, 
 but mostly it was just my mammy an' me." 
 
 " Your father was a soldier, wasn't he ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes. He was a captain in Morgan's command. 
 When the war ended he come on back here an' relapsed. 
 I reckon I'd oughter be right-smart ashamed of that, bi-L 
 somehow I'm tol'able proud of it. He 'lowed that what 
 was good enough for his folks was good enough for 
 him " He broke off suddenly and a smile came to 
 his face ; a remarkably nai've and winning smile, the girl 
 thought. Striking an attitude, he added, in a tone of 
 mock seriousness, and perfect lowland English, marred 
 by no trace of dialect. " I beg your pardon, Miss Hol- 
 land. I mean that what was sufficiently good for his 
 environment appeared adequate to him." 
 
 The girl's laughter pealed out in the cool air and she 
 said with an after-note of surprise, " Why, Mr. Havey, 
 you didn't speak like a mountain man then. I thought 
 I was listening to a ' furriner.' ' 
 
 He nodded his head and the smile died from his lips. 
 Into his eyes came the look of steady resolve which was 
 willing to fight for an idea. 
 
 " I just did that to show ye that I could. If I wanted
 
 203 
 
 to I reckon I could talk as good English as you. I 
 reckon ye won't hardly hear me do it no more." 
 
 " But why ? " she inquired in perplexity. 
 
 " I reckon it sounds kinder rough an' ign'rant to ye ; 
 this mountain speech. Well, to me it's music. It's the 
 language of my own people an' my own hills. I loves 
 it. It don't make no diff'rance to me that it's bad gram- 
 mar. Birds don't sing so sweet when ye teaches 'em 
 new tunes. To my ears the talk of Down-below is hard 
 an' unnatural. I don't like the ways nor the speech 
 of the flat countries. An' as for me I'll have none of 
 it. Besides I belongs here an' if I didn't talk like they 
 do, my people wouldn't trust me." He paused a mo- 
 ment, then added, " I'd hate to have my people not 
 trust me. So if ye don't mind I reckon I'll go on talkin' 
 as I learnt to talk." 
 
 She nodded her head. " I see," she said quietly. 
 
 " What do ye aim to call this school ? " asked the 
 man suddenly. 
 
 " Why, I thought I'd call it the Holland School," she 
 answered; and when he shook his head and said per- 
 emptorily, " Don't do it," she colored. 
 
 " I didn't mean to name it for myself, of course," she 
 explained. " I wanted to call it after my grandfather. 
 He always wanted to do something for education here 
 in the Kentucky hills." 
 
 " I didn't mean to find no fault with the name of 
 Holland," he assured her gravely. " That's as good a 
 name as any. But don't call it a school. Call it a 
 college." 
 
 " But," she demurred, " it's not going to be a col- 
 lege. It's just a school."
 
 204 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Again the boyish smile came to his face and seemed 
 to erase ten years from his seeming of age. His man- 
 ner of speech made her feel that they were sharing a 
 secret. 
 
 " That don't make any difference," he announced. 
 " Mountain folks are almighty proud an' touchy. I 
 shouldn't be astonished if some gray-haired folks came 
 to study the primer. They'll come to college all right, 
 but it wouldn't hardly be dignified to go to school. If 
 you want to get 'em ye must needs call it a college." 
 
 The girl looked at him again and said in a soft voice : 
 " You are always teaching me things I ought to know. 
 Thank you."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SHE stood as he left and watched him striding down 
 the slope ; and he went back to his house and found 
 it suddenly dark and cheerless and unsatisfying. 
 His retainers noted that he was silent and abstracted, 
 and often when the fingers of the cold rains were drum- 
 ming at midnight on the roof, they heard, too, his restive 
 feet, tramping his room. For into the soul of Bad Anse 
 Havey had come a new element, and the prophet which 
 was in him could descry in the future a new menace; a 
 necessity for curbing the grip of this new dream which 
 might easily outgrow all his other dreams and bring 
 torture to his heart. Here was a woman of fine fiber 
 and delicate culture in whose eyes he might at best be 
 an interesting barbarian. Between them lay all the 
 impassable barriers that quarantined the tangled coves 
 of the mountains from the valleys of the rich lowlands. 
 Between their lives and view-points lay the same irrec- 
 oncilable differences. 
 
 And yet her image was haunting him as he went his 
 way, and in his heart was awakening an ache and a 
 rapture. He told himself that it would be wiser to stay 
 away. He could no longer think of her as a school- 
 teacher. Her school was nothing to him, but she her- 
 self had come and awakened him, and he dreaded what 
 might follow. 
 
 On several of her buildings now the hammers were 
 M
 
 206 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 busy shingling the roofs. Her influence grew and 
 spread among the simple folk to whom she was unosten- 
 tatiously ministering; an influence with which the old 
 order must some day reckon. It was a quiet and in- 
 tangible sort of thing, but it was gradually melting the 
 hardness of life as spring sun and showers melt the aus- 
 terity of winter. 
 
 Anse Havey set his face against crossing her thresh- 
 old with much the same resolution that Ulysses stuffed 
 his ears against the siren song and yet with remark- 
 able frequency they climbed at the same time from op- 
 posite directions and met by the poplar tree on the 
 ridge. 
 
 " It's the wrong notion," he told her obstinately 
 when her enthusiasm broke from her in new plans and 
 prophecies. " It's teachin' things that's goin' ter 
 make the children ashamed of their cabins an' their 
 folks. It's goin' ter make 'em want things ye can't 
 hardly give 'em. 
 
 " Go to any cabin in these hills an' ye'll find the pinch 
 of poverty, but ye won't find shame for that poverty in 
 none of 'em. We ain't got so many virtues here maybe, 
 but we've got a few. We can wear our privations like 
 a uniform that we ain't ashamed of ... yes, an' make 
 a kind of merit out of it." 
 
 " I'm not out of sympathy with that," she argued, " I 
 think it's splendid." 
 
 " All right," he answered, " but after ye've taught 
 'em a few things they won't think it's splendid. Ye'll 
 breed discontent an' then ye'll go away, an' all ye'll 
 have done will be to have knocked their one simple vir- 
 tue down round their ears."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 207 
 
 " How many times do I have to tell you I'm not going 
 away? " demanded the girl a little hotly. " Just watch 
 me." 
 
 Again he shook his head and into his eyes came a 
 look of sudden pain. " I reckon ye'll go," he said. 
 " All good things go. The birds go when winter comes 
 an' the flowers go." 
 
 So in an impersonal way they kept up their semblance 
 of a duel and mocked each other. 
 
 " When the crusaders went to Jerusalem," she told 
 him smilingly, " and Richard, the Lion-hearted, met 
 the Saracen, he admitted that he had come to know a 
 gallant enemy but a heathen none the less, and war 
 went on." She paused and her challenge was a thing 
 that danced in her eyes and at her lips, all tangled up 
 with the banter of cordial friendliness, " Now, Mr. 
 Havey, I admit that you are a brave enemy, but you 
 stand for the heathen order and I'm going to wipe out 
 that order. You'd better surrender to me while 
 you still have a chance to do it with the honors of 
 war." 
 
 The naive smile came to his lips again for a moment 
 and made him seem a boy. 
 
 " I'm much obleeged, ma'am," he acknowledged. 
 " It's right well-favored of ye to offer me so much mercy, 
 but if I remembers rightly, them crusaders didn't take 
 Jerusalem away with 'em, did they? " 
 
 He looked down at her and indolently stretched the 
 long arms in which the sinews were like raw-hide thongs, 
 and the ripple of muscles like those of a race-horse on 
 the very edge of his training. 
 
 " I may be foolish," he said slowly, " but I could
 
 208 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 pick ye up like a doll. Somehow hit's right hard fer 
 me ter realize thet ye're a-goin' ter smash me." 
 
 " * Thrice armed is he who hath his quarrel just,' * 
 she flashed at him. 
 
 " Yes'm, a poet said that." She was now quoting 
 from one of the few writers he knew as well as she did 
 herself. " But a soldier once said, ' God's on the side 
 of ther heaviest battalions.' When the battle's all over 
 the poet comes in handy, but whilst it's still goin' on, 
 I'd ruther take the evidence of the soldier." It was 
 very easy for him to think of her as supreme in the con- 
 quest of love, but very difficult to take her seriously as 
 a force for altering the conditions that had stood so 
 long. 
 
 " Before the march of civilization the wild order 
 always goes down," she informed him with confidence. 
 " It's history's lesson." 
 
 "Well, now, I'm not so sure ye ain't kinder doin' 
 hist'ry an injustice," he contended. " The lesson I 
 reads is that whenever civilization gets drawn too fine, 
 an' weakens, it's a barbarian race that overruns it. 
 It's the strong blood. Some day soon there won't be 
 no pure American blood in America, except right here 
 in these mountains. Thar's still a few of us left 
 here." 
 
 Bad Anse Havey was raw material. He treasured on 
 his book shelf a half-dozen volumes. These he knew as 
 a wise man knows his own soul. Through them he had 
 had the companionship of a few great minds, and beside 
 them he had scant erudition. There lay in his life the 
 materials for a human edifice of imposing lines and pro- 
 portions and the question was whether Life, the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 209 
 
 builder, would rear them or leave them lying in unformed 
 piles of possibility. 
 
 Once Judge Sidering rode over from Peril to visit 
 the school and express his gratification at its building. 
 Judge Sidering presided over the " High Court " of the 
 circuit, and with him came Anse Havey. Juanita 
 knew that His Honor had gone down to the State's 
 metropolis and had sat as chairman in a convention to 
 name a Governor. She knew that he had proven him- 
 self the most astute, the most audacious and the most 
 successful of politicians. He had written a chapter 
 into State history, not admirable, perhaps, but admir- 
 ably bold. Such a man must have iron in his make-up, 
 and yet when he was in the presence of Bad Anse Havey 
 his attitude was that of vassal to over-lord, and she 
 knew that he wore his judicial ermine at the behest and 
 will of Anse Havey, and that he performed his duties 
 subject to Anse Havey 's orders. 
 
 In an office which overlooks the gray stone Court- 
 house in Louisville, sat a youngish, broad-shouldered 
 man of somewhat engaging countenance. In the small 
 ante-room of his sanctum was a young woman who ham- 
 mered industriously on a typewriter and told most of 
 the visitors who called that Mr. Trevor was out. That 
 was because most of those who came bore about them 
 the unmistakable hall-mark of creditors. Mr. Trevor's 
 list of creditors would have made as long a scroll as his 
 list of business activities. Yet for all these cares Mr. 
 Trevor was just now sitting with his tan shoes propped 
 on his broad desk and his face was untroubled. He was
 
 210 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 one of those interesting gentlemen who give a touch of 
 color to the monotony of humdrum life. Mr. Trevor 
 was a soldier of fortune who sold not his sword, but the 
 very keen and flexible blade of his resourceful brain. 
 
 Roger Malcolm of Philadelphia knew him only as 
 the pleasant and chance acquaintance of an evening 
 spent in a New York club. 
 
 He had impressed the Easterner as a most fascinat- 
 ing fellow who seemed to have engaged in large enter- 
 prises here and there over the face of the globe. So 
 when Mr. Malcolm presented his card in the office ante- 
 room the young woman at the machine gave him one fa- 
 voring glance and did not say that Mr. Trevor was out. 
 
 " So you are going to penetrate the wilds of the 
 Cumberlands, are you?" inquired Mr. Trevor in his 
 pleasing voice, as he grasped his visitor's hand. " Tell 
 me just where you mean to go and I'll tell you how to 
 do it with the least difficulty. The least difficulty down 
 there is plenty." 
 
 " My obj ective," replied Mr. Malcolm, " is a place 
 at the headwaters of a creek called Tribulation, some 
 thirty miles from a town called Peril." 
 
 " I know the places and their names fit them. I'd 
 offer to go with you, but I'm afraid I wouldn't prove a 
 benefit to you. I'm non grata with Bad Anse Havey, 
 Esquire, and Mr. Milton McBriar, who are the local 
 dictators." 
 
 Mr. Malcolm laughed. " In passing," he said, " I 
 dropped in to talk over the coal-development proposi- 
 tion which you said would interest me." 
 
 Mr. Trevor reached into his desk and brought out 
 several maps.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " The tentacles of the railroads are reaching in here 
 and there," he began with the promoter's suave ease 
 of manner. " It is a region which enterprise can 
 no longer afford to neglect and the best field of all is 
 as yet virgin and untouched." 
 
 " Why did you drop the enterprise yourself ? " in- 
 quired his visitor. 
 
 " I didn't have the capital to swing it. Of course if 
 it interests you and your associates it can be put 
 through." 
 
 Malcolm nodded. " I am going primarily by way of 
 making a visit," he said. " I meant to go before you 
 roused my interest in your proposition and it occurred 
 to me that I might possibly be able to combine business 
 with pleasure." 
 
 The promoter looked up with a shade of surprise. 
 
 "You have friends out there in that God-forsaken 
 tangle ? " he inquired. " God help them ! " 
 
 " A lady whom I have known for a long while is es- 
 tablishing a school there." 
 
 With the mention of the lady, Malcolm's voice took 
 on an uncommunicative note and Mr. Trevor at once 
 changed the topic to coal and timber.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE girl from Philadelphia had for some days been 
 watching the road which led in tortuous twists 
 from Peril to the gap. She herself hardly rea- 
 lized how expectantly she had watched it. Her lips fell 
 into a wistful droop and the little line between her eyes 
 bespoke such a poignancy of pain that she seemed to 
 be all alone in the world. She was thinking of the man 
 she had sent away and wondering what their meeting 
 would be like. And the girl of the hills, sitting near by, 
 would look, with her fingers gripping themselves tightly 
 together and an ache in her own heart. Deep in Dawn's 
 nature, which had been coming of late into a sweetly 
 fragrant bloom, crept the rancor of a fierce jealousy 
 for the man from Down-below whom she had never 
 seen, but whose letter could make Juanita forget pres- 
 ent things and drift away into a world of other days, 
 and other scenes; a world in which Dawn herself had 
 no part. 
 
 Juanita was wondering if after all she had not mis- 
 judged Roger Malcolm. She wanted to think she had, 
 because her heart was hungry for love. She had writ- 
 ten to him sternly forbidding his coming and if he 
 obeyed that mandate he would of course prove himself 
 still weak and lacking in initiative. So she was wait- 
 ing with a fluttering heart. 
 
 But on the day that he came she was not watching. 
 
 212
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 213 
 
 He had pushed on at a rate of speed which mountain 
 patience would not have countenanced and had arrived 
 in two hours less than the journey should logically 
 have required. The heaving sides of his hired horse 
 told almost as much of the eagerness that had driven 
 him as did the frank worship of his face. 
 
 At the front fence he hitched his mount and walked 
 noiselessly up to the larger house. Two feminine 
 figures sat sewing in the hall as he silently opened the 
 unlatched door and let himself in. One of them was a 
 figure he knew even with its back turned ; a figure which, 
 because of something distinctively subtle and wondrous, 
 could belong to no one else. The other was a moun- 
 tain girl of undeniable beauty, but, to him, of no in- 
 terest. 
 
 It was Dawn who saw him first and, with a glance 
 that brought a resentful flash to her eyes, she rose si- 
 lently and slipped out through a side door. Then as 
 Juanita came to her feet with a little gasp and held out 
 both hands the man's heart began to hammer wildly, 
 and he knew that the fingers he held were trembling. 
 
 He would have taken her at once in his arms, but 
 she held him off and shook her head. 
 
 " I told you not to come," she rebuked in a voice 
 that lacked conviction. 
 
 " And I flagrantly disobeyed you," he told her, 
 " as I mean henceforth to disobey you. Once I lost you 
 because I played a weak game. You want a conqueror 
 and I have always been a suppliant. Now I have 
 changed my method." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Juanita faintly. For just an instant she 
 felt a leap at her heart. Perhaps after all he had
 
 214- THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 grown to her standard. That was how she must be 
 won, if ever won, and she wanted to be won. 
 
 She saw him draw out of his pocket a small box and 
 take from it a ring which she had once worn, but again 
 she shook her head. 
 
 " Not yet, dear," she said very softly, " you haven't 
 proven yourself a conqueror yet, you know. You've 
 just called yourself one." 
 
 Then her heart misgave her, for after gazing into 
 her eyes with a hurt look, the man masked his disap- 
 pointment behind a smile of deference and said, " Very 
 well, I can wait, but that's how it must be in the end." 
 
 In the end ! Juanita knew that after all he had not 
 changed. 
 
 He was still the man of brave intents and words 
 still the man who stood hesitant at the moment for a 
 blow. 
 
 It was while Malcolm was Juanita's guest that Anse 
 Havey broke his resolve and, for the first time, came 
 through the gate of the school. She saw him come with 
 a pleased little sense of having broken down his reserve, 
 and a mild triumph of feminine victory. 
 
 It was a brilliant night in early November with a 
 moon that had lured the girl and her guest out on the 
 cold porch. The hills stood up like everlasting thrones 
 through the glitter of moon and stars and frost and 
 both of them were silent, both steeped in the wizardry 
 of the night and the sense of mountain mystery. Sud- 
 denly the girl heard a familiar voice calling from the 
 road. 
 
 " Can I come in ? It's Anse Havey." 
 
 A moment later the mountaineer was standing on the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 215 
 
 steps and shaking hands with Roger Malcolm, whom 
 he greeted briefly and with mountain reserve. 
 
 " I've heard of you, Mr. Havey," said the man from 
 Philadelphia, and the man of the hills only met the 
 other's gaze and turned to Juanita. 
 
 " I was down at Peril with a couple of teams," he 
 said, " an' I found a lot of boxes at the station for ye. 
 I 'lowed ye didn't hardly have any teams handy, so I 
 fotched 'em back to my house. I'll send them over in 
 the mornin', but I thought I'd ride over to-night an' 
 tell ye." 
 
 She had been wondering how, at a time of mired 
 roads, she was to have those books, which she would 
 soon need, brought across the ridge. Now he had 
 solved the problem for her. Anse Havey stood leaning 
 against a porch post, with his broad shoulders and 
 clear-cut profile etched against the moonlight as he 
 studied the Philadelphian. Suddenly he asked ab- 
 ruptly : 
 
 " Have ye found anything that interests ye in the 
 coal an* timber line ? " 
 
 Roger Malcolm glanced up and knocked the ash from 
 his pipe against the rail of the porch. He had not 
 suspected that his rambles about the hills with a set of 
 maps and a geologist's hammer had been noted. He 
 had not even mentioned it yet to Juanita because he 
 hoped to surprise her with the record of his activities 
 when he had accomplished more. 
 
 But he showed no surprise as he answered and an- 
 swered with perfect frankness, " Yes and no. I came 
 primarily to see how Miss Holland was progressing 
 with her work. It's true I have thought something of
 
 216 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 investing in mountain resources, but that lies in the 
 future." 
 
 Havey nodded, and said quietly, " I hope ye decides 
 to invest elsewhere." 
 
 " So far as a casual inspection shows, this country 
 looks pretty good to me," said Malcolm easily. " I 
 may buy here provided, of course, the price is right." 
 
 " This country's mighty pore," said the head of the 
 Haveys slowly. " About all it can raise is a little corn 
 an' a heap of hell, but down underneath the rocks 
 there's wealth." 
 
 " Then the man who can unlock the hills and get out 
 that wealth and make it available, ought to be welcomed 
 as a benefactor, ought he not? " inquired the Easterner 
 with a smile. 
 
 " He won't be," was the short response. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " The men from outside always aim to get the bene- 
 fit of that wealth an' then to move us off our mountains 
 an' there ain't nowheres else on earth a mountain man 
 can live. Developin' seems pretty much like plunderm' 
 to us. We gen'rally asks benefactors like that to go 
 away." 
 
 " And do they usually go ? " 
 
 " No, not usually. They always goes." 
 
 " Do you expect me to believe that, Mr. Havey ? " 
 queried Malcolm, still smiling. 
 
 " I don't neither ask ye to believe it nor to disbelieve 
 it," was the cool rejoinder. " I'm just tellin' it to ye, 
 that's all." 
 
 Malcolm refilled his pipe and offered the tobacco
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 pouch to Havey. Anse shook his head with a curt 
 " Much obleeged," and the visitor commented casually, 
 " Well, we needn't have any argument on that score 
 yet, Mr. Havey. My activities, if they eventuate, be- 
 long to the future and when that time comes perhaps we 
 shall be able to agree after all." 
 
 " I reckon we won't hardly agree on no proposition 
 for despoilin' my people, Mr. Malcolm." 
 
 " Then we can disagree, when the time comes," re- 
 marked the other man with a trace of tartness in his 
 voice. " There is no need of it as yet." 
 
 " Then ye don't aim to develop us just now? " 
 
 Malcolm shook his head, the glow of his pipe bowl 
 for a moment lighting up a face upon which lingered 
 an amused smile. " Not this time. Another time per- 
 haps." 
 
 " All right, then." Havey's voice carried a very 
 masked and courteous, but very unmistakable warn- 
 ing. " Whenever ye get good an' ready we'll argue 
 that." He bowed to the girl and turned into the path 
 which led down to the gate. 
 
 
 
 It was one of those nights under whose brooding 
 wings vague influences are astir and in the making. 
 Dawn had gone back for a few days to her brother's 
 lonely cabin on Tribulation to set his house in order 
 and look after his simple mending. Perhaps in her 
 own heart there was another reason, an unconfessed un- 
 willingness to stay at the bungalow while she must feel 
 so far away from Juanita, and see Roger Malcolm seem- 
 ing so near. In her heart vague things were stirring,
 
 218 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 too, and in another heart. The fact that she had not 
 been allowed to see young Milt McBriar had given him 
 an augmented importance which had kept the boy 
 prominently in her thoughts despite her denunciations. 
 Once she had met him on the road and he had stopped 
 her to say, " Dawn, do ye know why I don't come over 
 thar no more ? " 
 
 The girl had only nodded, and the boy went on : 
 
 " Well, some day when ye're at Jeb's cabin, I'm 
 a-comin' thar. I hain't a-goin' ter come slippin', but 
 I'm comin' open an' upstandin' an' Jeb an' me are goin' 
 ter talk about this business." 
 
 " No ! No ! " she had exclaimed, genuinely fright- 
 ened and in a voice full of quick dissent. " Ye mustn't 
 do it, Milt, ye mustn't. Ef ye does I won't see ye." 
 
 " We'll settle that when I gits thar. I j est 'lowed 
 I'd tell ye," said the boy stubbornly. " I reckon I 
 mustn't talk ter ye now I'm pledged," and without 
 another word he shook up the reins on his horse's neck 
 and rode away. 
 
 So to-night while the moon was weaving its spell over 
 several hearts, the son of the McBriar leader was riding 
 with a set face over into the heart of the Havey coun- 
 try, to openly visit the daughter of Fletch McNash. 
 
 Jeb was sitting before the fire in his cabin with a pipe 
 between his teeth, and Dawn was idly plunking on a 
 banjo not the old folk-lore tune that had once been 
 her repertoire, but a newer and sweeter thing that she 
 had learned from Juanita Holland. 
 
 Then as a confident voice sang out, from the dark- 
 ness, " I'm Milt McBriar an' I'm a-comin' in," the 
 banjo fell from the girl's hands and her fingers clutched
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 219 
 
 in panic at her breast. She saw her brother rise in 
 angry astonishment from his chair, and heard his voice 
 demand truculently, " What ther hell does you want 
 hyar?"
 
 CHAPTER XXHI 
 
 THOUGH Anse Havey strode up the steep trail to 
 the crest that night with long elastic strides, 
 seeking to burn up the restlessness which ob- 
 sessed him, he found himself at the top with no wish 
 for sleep, and no patience with the idea of confining his 
 thoughts between walls. It was better out here un- 
 der the setting moon and the twinkling stars, even 
 though he wore no overcoat and rims of ice were form- 
 ing along the edges of the water courses. 
 
 His mind traveled back in review over the past 
 a past that had never been lighted with cheer or happi- 
 ness. His whole life heretofore had sought satisfac- 
 tion in a fierce devotion to one passionate ideal his 
 people. It had been a sum of stern days and not since 
 his mother had told him Indian stories under this same 
 tree did he remember a single clear note of tenderness 
 or sweetness in its tune or tenor. 
 
 Down in Frankfort he had walked silently with his 
 chin in the air and a challenge in his eye. About him 
 had been the suave and tricky politicians of the cities 
 and the high-headed, aristocratic sons of the Bluegrass, 
 and there among them, but not of them, he had felt like 
 a poor boy at a frolic. His assumption of arrogant 
 aggressiveness had really been only a mask for a pain- 
 ful diffidence, so that if any lip felt an inclination to
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 221 
 
 curl at this tall saturnine law-maker from the far hills, 
 no lip gave expression to the impulse. 
 
 He had stood apart at the Inaugural Ball, looking out 
 on the flash and color of the evening dress and the uni- 
 formed staff with a feeling of contempt. A beautiful 
 woman with pearls sparkling softly on her neck had 
 whispered to her escort as they passed him, " What 
 a splendid savage ! He looks like a wild chief at a dur- 
 bar." 
 
 But to-night Anse Havey felt that something was 
 missing from his life; something of the barbarian or- 
 der had become suddenly hateful to him. Into the gray 
 eyes crept a dumb suffering and the brows came to- 
 gether in helpless perplexity. 
 
 Juanita was a woman of an exotic race who chose to 
 think that life comes to perfection only under glass. 
 He was a leader of a briar-tangled and shaggy clan ; 
 men who were akin to the eagles. No menace or threat 
 of death had ever made him deviate from his loyalty to 
 that people. But now a foreign woman had come and 
 he was comparing himself with the well-dressed, soft- 
 voiced man who was her visitor, and feeling himself a 
 creature of repellant uncouthness. He found himself 
 wishing that he, too, was smoother. Then he flung the 
 thought from him with bitter self-contempt and a low 
 oath broke from his lips. Was he growing ashamed of 
 his life? Was he wishing that his eagle's talons might 
 be manicured and his pinions combed? " If ye've done 
 come down to that, Anse Havey," he said aloud, " it's 
 about time ye kilt yourself." 
 
 No, he protested to his soul, he had disliked Roger 
 Malcolm because Roger Malcolm had spoken of a proj-
 
 222 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 ect of plunder, and stood for his enemies of the future, 
 but his soul answered that he thought little of that, and 
 that it was because of the obvious understanding be- 
 tween the man and Juanita Holland that a new hatred 
 had been born in his heart. 
 
 After Anse had gone Malcolm and the girl turned 
 back to the fire-lit hall and sat a while in silence. When 
 from her lips came something very like a sigh, Roger 
 took the pipe from his mouth with a quick instinctive 
 movement. 
 
 " What is it, dear ? " he whispered, as he bent for- 
 ward closer to her, longing to take her in his arms. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me? " she inquired with a note 
 of reproach, " that aside from seeing me, you had an- 
 other mission here? " 
 
 " The other mission was nothing," he declared. " I 
 came to see you. I didn't tell you that I was also rep- 
 resenting an Eastern Syndicate because I wanted first 
 to form a more definite opinion. I thought you'd be 
 pleased. You came down here, against all my protesta- 
 tions, with one idea in your dear head. You were bent 
 on development in a country that has stood still for 
 two centuries. You are spending the best of your 
 youth and enthusiasm and vitality in that effort." 
 
 He broke off and his eyes told her how he wanted to 
 see her spend her youth and enthusiasm and vitality, 
 but she met his gaze with troubled eyes and said only: 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, I wanted to work to the same end ; to be, in 
 a fashion, your partner in endeavor. Don't you know 
 that before civilization can go into any place where it 
 has not been, it must have roads over which to go?
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 223 
 
 Civilization has only one great agency highways. 
 The Roman ditch and wall have long ago crumbled, 
 but the Roman roads are still her monuments. That 
 was my ambition. I should be a road-builder doing a 
 man's work and doing it at your side." 
 
 " It seems," she said a little wearily, " that we can't 
 even understand each other without explanations. I 
 have no right of course to argue with you against the 
 profitable investment of your money, but don't let's 
 call it by glittering and misleading names." 
 
 Roger Malcolm stiffened and his voice was aggrieved. 
 
 " I'm afraid," he said, " that I don't quite under- 
 stand you, either. I spoke sincerely." 
 
 " I don't mean to be nasty-tempered and unsym- 
 pathetic " she assured him in a softer voice. " I 
 had the same ideas a year ago. I believed in civilizing 
 people by force, too then. But I don't now. I 
 know that out of all this the native men and women will 
 reap no benefit that they will be nothing better than 
 evicted creatures. And you see, Roger " her voice 
 became tender " it's not just the rocks and fagots of 
 the eagle's eyrie that I'm interested in; it's the old 
 eagles and the little fledgling eagles themselves." 
 
 " My plan looks to the building a nobler and more 
 symmetrical structure on the site of that pile of fagots," 
 he argued ; " a structure that shall endure." 
 
 " I know," she said, nodding her head. " Some cen- 
 turies hence the world will see only that, and praise 
 you. But I'm thinking of this century, Roger dear. 
 Your structure must rise on ruins and the ashes of con- 
 quest. Your march of civilization must be predatory, 
 as such marches always have been. It will mean driv-
 
 224 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 ing people who can only be led. What manner of men 
 will come at your front ? " 
 
 " Decent young chaps with transit and chain," he 
 assured her. " The sort of fellows who are always at 
 the front of marching progress ; the sort of men who 
 do the world's work." 
 
 " You forget the men that go ahead of them ; the 
 real vanguard," she retorted. " They are purchasable 
 natives ; hangers-on at the dirty fringe of things ; the 
 native shyster will be fighting your battles in Court ; 
 the native assassin who does not kill from distorted 
 sense of honor, but for the foreign dollar, will be dis- 
 posing of enemies whom your shysters can't handle.'* 
 
 " Surely," said the man, " you don't think I'd coun- 
 tenance such damnable methods as that ? " 
 
 " No," she spoke in a low voice, " you'll just light a 
 fire that you can't control, that's all." 
 
 " If you feel that way, I'll draw out of it," he has- 
 tened to assure her. 
 
 " I'm afraid," she answered, " it's too late. You 
 must report back to your colleagues. Perhaps you'd 
 better stay in, and try to control them." 
 
 At the scant welcome of his greeting, young Milt 
 McBriar stiffened a little from head to foot, though he 
 had not anticipated any great degree of cordiality. 
 
 He climbed the stile and walked across the moonlit 
 patch of trampled clay to where the girl stood, weak- 
 kneed with fright in the lighted frame of the door. 
 
 " Jeb," he said slowly, to the boy who ,had stepped 
 down into the yard, "how air ye?" Then turning
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 225 
 
 to Dawn, with his hat in his hand, he greeted her 
 gravely. 
 
 But the son of the murdered man stood very still and 
 rigid and repeated in a hard voice, " What ther hell 
 does ye want hyar? " 
 
 " I come over hyar ter see Dawn," was the calm re- 
 sponse and then as the girl leaned for support against 
 the dirty frame, convulsively moistening her dry lips 
 with her tongue, she saw her brother's hand sweep un- 
 der his coat and come out gripping a heavy revolver. 
 Jeb had never gone armed before that night when 
 Fletch fell. Now he was never unarmed. 
 
 " Don't, Jeb ! " she screamed in a transport of alarm, 
 as she braced herself and summoned strength to seize 
 the hand that held the weapon. Jeb shook her roughly 
 off and wheeled again to face the visitor, with the pre- 
 caution of a sidewise leap. He had expected that the 
 other boy would have used that moment of interference 
 to draw a weapon, but the young McBriar was stand- 
 ing in the same attitude, holding his hat in one hand 
 while he reassured the girl. " Don't fret, Dawn ; thar 
 hain't nothin' ter worry about," he said calmly. Then, 
 facing the brother, he went on in a voice of cold and al- 
 most scornful composure. 
 
 " Thet hain't ther first time ye've seed me acrost the 
 sights of a gun, is it, Jeb? " 
 
 " What does ye mean by thet ? " The other boy's 
 face went brick red, and he lowered his muzzle with a 
 sense of sudden shame. 
 
 " Oh, I heered about how old Bob McGreeger told ye a 
 passel of lies about me, an' how ye come acrost ther 
 ridge one day. I reckon I kin guess the rest."
 
 226 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " Well, what of hit? " Jeb stood with his pistol no\r 
 hanging at his side, but in his eyes still glowed the fire 
 of hatred. 
 
 " Jest this," young McBriar went on. " I ain't got no 
 gun on me. I ain't even got a jack-knife. I 'lowed 
 that ye mout be right-smart incensed at my comin' hyar 
 an* I come without no weapon on purpose. Ef ye 
 hain't skeered of me when I'm unarmed, I reckon ye kin 
 put yore own gun back in ther holster." 
 
 Jeb McNash slowly followed the suggestion, and then, 
 coming forward until the two boys stood eye to eye, he 
 said in deliberate accents, " I reckon ye don't 'low I'm 
 skeered of ye." 
 
 " I reckon not." Young Milt's tone was almost 
 cheerful. " I reckon ye air j est about as much skeered 
 of me es I am of you an' that ain't none." 
 
 "What does ye want hyar?" persisted Jeb. 
 
 " I wants first to tell ye an' I hain't never lied ter 
 no feller yit thet I don't know nothin' more about 
 who kilt Fletch then you does. If I did, so help me 
 God Almighty, I'd tell ye. I hain't tryin' ter shield 
 no murderers." There was a ring of sincerity in the 
 lad's voice that carried weight even into the bitter scep- 
 ticism of Jeb's heart, a scepticism which had refused 
 to believe that honor or truth dwelt east of the ridge. 
 
 " I reckon, ef that's true," sneered the older boy, 
 " thar's them in yore house thet does know." 
 
 At that insult it was young Milt whose face went 
 first brick red, and then very white. 
 
 " Thet slur calls fer a fight, Jeb," he said, with forced 
 calm. " I can't hearken ter things like thet about my 
 folks. But first I wants ter say this : I come over
 
 "Don't fret Dawn; thar hain't nothin' ter worry about," he said calmly.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 227 
 
 hyar ter tell ye thet I knowed how ye felt, an' thet I 
 didn't see no reason why you an' me hed ter quarrel. I 
 come over hyar ter see Dawn, because I promised I 
 wouldn't try ter see her whilst she stayed down thar at 
 the school an' because I wants ter see her an' I 
 'lows ter do hit. Will ye lay aside yore gun an' go 
 out thar in ther road whar hit hain't on yore own 
 ground, an' let me tell ye thet ye lied, when ye slurred 
 my folks ? " 
 
 The two boys stripped off their coats, in guarantee 
 that neither had hidden a weapon. Then while the girl 
 who was really no longer a girl, turned back into the 
 fire-lit cabin and threw herself face downward on her 
 feather bed they silently crossed the stile into the road, 
 and Milt turned to repeat, " Jeb, thet war a lie ye 
 spoke, an' I wants ye ter fight me fa'r, fist an' skull, 
 an' when we gits through ef ye feels like hit we'll shake 
 hands. You an' me ain't got no cause ter quarrel 
 barrin' what ye jest said an' we're goin' ter settle thet 
 right now." 
 
 And so the boy in each of them which was the manlier 
 part of each, came to the surface, and through a bitter 
 and long-fought battle of fists and wrestling, in which 
 both of them rolled in the dust, and each of them ob- 
 stinately refused to say " enough," they submitted their 
 long-fostered hostility to one fierce debate. At last as 
 the two of them sat panting and bloodied there in the 
 road it was Jeb who rose and held out his hand. 
 
 " So fur es the two of us goes, Milt," he said, " un- 
 less ther war busts loose argin I reckon we kin be 
 friendly." 
 
 Together they rose and recrossed the stile and washed
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 their grimed faces in the same tin pan by the door. 
 Dawn looked from one to the other, and Jeb said in his 
 capacity as host, " Milt, set yoreself a cheer. I reckon 
 ye'd better stay all night. Hit's most too fur ter ride 
 back ter yore own house." 
 
 And so, though they did not realize it, the two youths 
 who were to stand some day near the heads of the two 
 factions, had set a new precedent and had fought with- 
 out guns, as men had fought before the feud began. 
 
 Jeb kicked off his shoes and " lay down " and before 
 the flaming logs sat the Havey girl and the McBriar 
 boy, talking low-voiced and long into the night.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 WHEN winter has come and settled down for its 
 long siege in the Cumberlands, human life 
 shrinks and shrivels into a shivering wretched- 
 ness and a spirit of dreariness steals into the human 
 heart. 
 
 The gaunt, gray hills reek and loom, sticky and de- 
 formed, between the snows and thaws. Roads become 
 impassable mires and the total quarantine has begun. 
 In dark cabins hearts given to brooding do little else 
 but brood and Nature herself has no clarion of outer 
 cheer with which to break the dangerous soul-cramping 
 monotony. 
 
 The house of Old Milt McBriar was not so dark and 
 cheerless a hovel as the houses of his lesser neighbors, 
 but as that winter closed in, his heart was very bitter 
 and his thoughts very black. In a round-about way he 
 had learned of Young Milt's visit to the McNash cabin. 
 His son was the apple of his eye and now he was see- 
 ing him form embryonic affiliations with the people of 
 his enemy. Young Milt had visited Dawn ; he had 
 watched with Anse Havey. The father had always 
 taken a natural pride in the honesty that gleamed from 
 his son's alert eyes, and the one person from whom he 
 had concealed his own ways of guile and deceit most stu- 
 diously was the lad who would some day be leader in 
 
 his stead. There were few things that this old in- 
 
 229
 
 230 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 triguer feared, but one there was, and now it was trac- 
 ing lines of care and anxiety in the visage that had 
 always been so mask-like and imperturbable. If his 
 son should ever look past his outward self and catch a 
 glimpse of the inner man, the father knew that he would 
 not be able to sustain the scorn of those younger eyes. 
 So while the lad, who had gone back to college in Lex- 
 ington, conned his books, his father sat before the blaze 
 of his hearth, with his pipe tight-clamped between his 
 teeth and his heart festering in his breast and his mind 
 dangerously active. 
 
 The beginnings of all the things which he deplored, 
 and meant to punish, went back to the establishment of 
 a school with a " fotched-on " teacher. Had Dawn 
 McNash not come there his boy's feet would not have 
 gone wandering westward over the ridge, straying out 
 of partisan paths. The slimness of her body, the lure 
 of her violet eyes and the dusky meshes of her dark hair 
 had led his own son to guard the roof that sheltered her 
 against the hand of arson that the father had hired. 
 
 But most of all Anse Havey was responsible Anse 
 Havey who had persuaded his son to make common 
 cause with his enemy. For that Anse Havey must die. 
 
 Heretofore Old Milt had struck only at lesser men, 
 fearing the retribution of too audacious a crime, but 
 now his venom was acute and even such grave consid- 
 erations as the danger of a holocaust must not halt its 
 appeasement. 
 
 Still the mind of Milt McBriar, the elder, had worked 
 long in intrigue and even now it could not follow a direct 
 line. Bad Anse must not be shot down in the road. 
 His taking-off must be accomplished by a shrewder
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 231 
 
 method and one not directly traceable to so palpable a 
 motive as his own hatred. Such a plan his brain was 
 working out, but for its execution he needed a hand of 
 craft and force such a hand as only Luke Thixton 
 could supply and Luke was out West. 
 
 It was not his intention to rush hastily into action. 
 Some day he would go down to Lexington and Luke 
 should come East to meet him. There, a hundred and 
 thirty miles from the hills, the two of them would ar- 
 range matters to his own satisfaction. 
 
 Roger Malcolm had gone back East and he had not 
 after all gone back with a conqueror's triumph. He 
 was now discussing in directors' meetings plans look- 
 ing to a titanic grouping of interests which were to 
 focalize on these hills and later to bring developments. 
 The girl's school was gradually making itself felt and 
 each day saw small classes at the desk and blackboards ; 
 small classes that were growing larger. 
 
 Now that Milt had laid the ground work of his plans 
 he was making the field fallow by a seeming of general 
 beneficence. His word had gone out along the creeks 
 and branches and into the remote coves of his territory 
 that it " wouldn't hurt folks none ter give their children 
 a little 1'arnin'." 
 
 In response to that hint they trooped in from the 
 east wherever the roads could be traveled. Among 
 those who " hitched an' lighted " at the fence were not 
 only parents who brought their children, but those who 
 came impelled by that curiosity which lurks in lonely 
 lives. There were men in jeans and hickory shirts; 
 women in gay shawls and linsey woolsey and calico; 
 people from " back of beyond," and the girl felt her
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 heart beat faster, with the hope of ultimate and worthy 
 success. 
 
 " I hear ye've got a right-plentiful gatherin' of 
 young barbarians over there at the college these days," 
 said Anse Havey one afternoon when they met up on 
 the ridge. Her chin came up pridefully and her eyes 
 sparkled. 
 
 " It has been wonderful," she told him. " Only one 
 thing has marred it." 
 
 "What's that?" he asked. 
 
 " Your aloofness. Just because I'm going to smash 
 your wicked regime," she laughed, " is no reason why 
 you should remain peeved about it and sulk in your 
 tent." 
 
 He shook his head and gazed away. Into his eyes 
 oame that troubled look which nowadays they sometimes 
 wore. 
 
 " I reckon it wouldn't hardly be honest for me 
 to come. I've told ye, I don't think the thing will do 
 no good." He was looking at her and his hands slowly 
 clenched. Her beauty, with the enthusiasm lighting 
 her eyes, made him feel like a man whose thirst was 
 killing him, and who gazed at a clear spring beyond 
 his reach or like the caravan driver whose sight is 
 tortured by a mirage. He drew a long breath, then 
 added, " I've got another reason an' a stronger one for 
 not comin' over there very often. Any time ye wants 
 me for anything I reckon ye knows ye can call on me." 
 
 " What is your reason? " she demanded. 
 
 " I ain't never been much interested in any woman." 
 He held her eyes so directly that she felt a warm color 
 suddenly flooding her cheeks, then he went on with
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 255 
 
 naked honesty and an unconcealed bitterness of heart. 
 " When I puts myself in the way of havin' to love one 
 I'll pick a woman that won't have to be ashamed of 
 me some mountain woman." 
 
 For an instant she stared at him in astonishment, 
 then she exclaimed, " Ashamed of you ! I don't think 
 any woman would be ashamed of you, Mr. Havey." 
 But, recognizing that her voice had been over-serious, 
 she laughed and once more her eyes danced with gay 
 mischief. 
 
 " Don't be afraid of me. I'll promise not to make 
 love to you." 
 
 " I'm obleeged," he said slowly. " That ain't what 
 I'm skeered of. I'm afraid ye couldn't hardly hinder 
 me from makin' love to you" 
 
 He paused and the badinage left her eyes. 
 
 " Mr. Havey," she said with great seriousness, 
 " I'm glad you said that. It gives us a chance to start 
 honestly as all true friendship should start. In some 
 things any woman is wiser than any man. You won't 
 fall in love with me. You thought you were going to 
 hate me, but you don't." 
 
 " God knows I don't ! " he fiercely interrupted her. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " Neither will you fall in love with me. You told 
 me once of your superior age and wisdom, but in some 
 things you are still a boy. You are a very lonely boy, 
 too, a boy with a heart hungry for companionship. 
 You have had friends only in books comradeship 
 only in dreams. You have lived down there in that old 
 prison of a house with a sword of Damocles hanging 
 always over your head. Because we have been in a way
 
 234 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 congenial you are mistaking our friendship for danger 
 of love." 
 
 Danger of love! He knew that it had gone past a 
 mere danger and his eyes for a moment must have shown 
 that he realized its hopelessness, but Juanita shook 
 her head and went on. 
 
 " Don't do it. It would be a pity. I'm rather 
 hungry, too, for a friend. I don't mean for a friend in 
 my work, but a friend in my life. Can't we be friends 
 like that?" 
 
 She stood looking into his eyes and slowly the drawn 
 look of gravity left his face. 
 
 He had always thought quickly and dared to face 
 realities. He was now facing his hardest reality. He 
 loved her with utter hopelessness. Her eyes told him 
 that it must always be just that way and yet she had 
 appealed to him ; she had said she needed his friendship. 
 To call it love would make it necessary for her to de- 
 cline it. Henceforth life for Anse Havey was to mean 
 a heart-ache, but if she wanted his allegiance she might 
 call it by what name she would. It was hers. 
 
 Swiftly he vowed in his heart to set a seal on his lips 
 and play the part she had assigned to him. He would 
 not even let her know how near he had been to sweeping 
 aside falsehood and telling her that for him to come to 
 her except as a lover would be to come under false pre- 
 tenses. Instead he slowly forced a smile, a boyish smile 
 as though all his fears had been wiped away, and the 
 old general in blue and buff could not have lied more 
 with the gallantry of a gentleman. 
 
 " I'm right glad that ye said that," he assured her. 
 " I reckon ye're right. I reckon we can go on fightin*
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 235 
 
 and bein* friends. Ye see, as I said, I didn't know much 
 about women folks an' because I liked ye I was worried." 
 
 She nodded understandingly. 
 
 Suddenly he bent forward and his words broke im- 
 petuously from his lips. " Do ye 'low to marry that 
 man, Malcolm?" He came a step toward her, then 
 raising his hand swiftly, before she could respond, 
 he exclaimed, " No don't answer that question ! 
 That's your business. I didn't have no license to ask. 
 Besides I don't want ye to answer it." 
 
 " It's a bargain, isn't it ? " she smiled. " Whenever 
 you grow lonely over there by yourself and find that 
 Hamlet isn't as lively a companion as you crave, or that 
 Alexander the Great is a little too fond of himself, or 
 Napoleon is too moody, come over to my house and 
 we'll try to cheer each other up." 
 
 " I reckon," he said with an answering smile, " I'm 
 right liable to feel that way to-night, but I ain't 
 a-comin' to learn civilization. I'm just comin' to see 
 you." 
 
 On a ranch out West Luke Thixton was riding range. 
 While his pony drifted at night with the herds under 
 the starry sky, he fretted bitterly for the crags and 
 heights of his home and cursed the eternal flatness of 
 the plains. To ride all day on an unbroken level irked 
 his soul until it grew bitter within him, and he waited 
 with feverish impatience for the letter from Milt Mc- 
 Briar which should end his exile. 
 
 Anse Havey knew nothing of the McBriar plans, but 
 he surmised that Milt was planning a coup. He needed 
 no revelation to divine the bitterness rising 1 out of
 
 236 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 young Milt's fondness for Dawn. That was a thing 
 that was in embryo now, but some day it would inev- 
 itably grow to the proportions of a feud problem. 
 Against that day of crisis, which might come in years 
 or might come to-morrow, it behooved him to pre- 
 pare . . . and he was preparing.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ONCE when Anse Havey had been tramping all 
 afternoon through the wintry woods with 
 Juanita, he had pointed out a squirrel that sat 
 erect on a branch high above them with its tail curled 
 up behind it. He had stopped her with a touch on the 
 arm and pointed, then with a smile of amusement he 
 handed her his rifle. He handed it to her with much 
 the same manner that she might have handed him a 
 novel in Russian, and his eyes said bantesingly, " See 
 what you can do with that" 
 
 But to his surprise she took the gun from his hands 
 and leveled it as one accustomed to its use. Bad Anse 
 Havey forgot the squirrel and saw only the slim figure 
 in its loose sweater, only the stray wisps of curling hair 
 and the softness of the cheek that snuggled against the 
 rifle stock. Then came the report and the squirrel 
 dropped. 
 
 She turned with a matter-of-fact nod and handed 
 back the gun. " I'm rather sorry I killed it," she said, 
 " but you looked so full of scorn that I had to show 
 you. You know they do have a few rifles outside the 
 Cumberland mountains." 
 
 " Where did you learn to shoot? " he demanded; and 
 she answered, casually, 
 
 " I used to shoot a rifle and pistol, too, quite a good 
 
 bit." 
 
 SST
 
 238 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 He took the gun back and unconsciously his hand 
 caressed the spot where her cheek had lain against its 
 lock. He had fallen into revery out of which her voice 
 called him. They had crossed the ridge itself and were 
 overlooking his house. " Why are they clearing that 
 space behind your house? Are you going to put it in 
 corn?" 
 
 " Nq," he laughed shortly. " Corn would be just 
 about as bad as laurel." 
 
 He was instantly sorry he had said that. He had 
 not meant to tell her of the plans he was making ; plans 
 of defense and, if need be, of offense. He had not in- 
 tended to mention his precautions to prevent assassina- 
 tion at his own door or window. 
 
 But the girl understood and her voice was heavy with 
 anxiety as she demanded, " Do you think you're in dan- 
 ger, Anse ? " 
 
 " There's never a day I'm not in danger," he re- 
 plied in a matter-of-fact tone. " I've gotten pretty 
 well used to it." 
 
 " But some day," she broke out, " they'll get you." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " Maybe," he said. 
 
 " Oh, don't you- see the horrible futility of all this ? " 
 she protested, her cheeks flushing with her vehemence. 
 " Don't you see that it all ends in nothing but an end- 
 less chain of bloodshed the sacrifice of useful lives ? " 
 
 " I've seen that all along." His voice was grave. 
 " What I don't see is how to help it." 
 
 They turned and walked for a time in silence, then 
 she heard him talking and his fashion of speech was 
 that of pleading from a bruised heart. 
 
 " What do ye reckon I'm gainin' by it all ? Do ye
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 39 
 
 'low that I like bein' a man the world belittles as a 
 blood-spiller? Don't ye suppose I'd like to be able to 
 raise my eyes to a woman like you without lookin' 
 acrost a space I can't never come over? My God, do 
 ye reckon that's pleasin'? Every time I starts acrost 
 there to see ye in the night-time I knows that maybe 
 I won't get there, because of the enemies that's plannin' 
 in the blind dark. Do ye suppose I like that ? I 
 like it like hell." At the oath which had come quite 
 unconsciously from his lips he saw Juanita draw away 
 from his side with a little gesture of repulsion, and his 
 own features stiffened. " I asks your pardon," he 
 said. " We mountain men are just barbarians, ye know. 
 Ye can't hardly expect much of us. Nobody didn't 
 ever teach me that cussin' was impolite. Ye see I 
 ain't learned manners." 
 
 " It isn't because it's bad manners," she said quietly, 
 " but because there isn't any sense in your making a 
 virtue of mountain faults. You aren't as little as 
 that." 
 
 " I asks your pardon," he repeated humbly. " If ye 
 don't like it, that's reason enough for me, I reckon." 
 
 "What were you saying?" she prompted; and he 
 went on. 
 
 " Much as I hates the McBriars I know that a day's 
 comin' when them and us have got to stand together 
 against another enemy." 
 
 "What enemy?" she asked. 
 
 " I don't know ; I only know he's comin'. Maybe it'll 
 be your friend, Malcolm, maybe somebody else. But 
 whoever it is I want to be here to fight him. I'm hopin' 
 to last that long."
 
 240 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 As her influence grew with Bad Anse Havey, so it 
 was growing at the school. She had to turn away 
 pupils who had come across the mountains on wearisome 
 journeys because as yet she had only limited room and 
 no teachers save herself and Dawn to help her with 
 the youngest. 
 
 At the front of the hall which led into the main 
 school building was a rack with notches for rifles and 
 pegs for pistols. She told all who entered that she 
 made only one stipulation and that was that whoever 
 crossed the threshold must leave his armament at the 
 door. At first some men turned away again, taking 
 their children with them, but as time went on they 
 grudgingly acquiesced and at last with a sense of great 
 victory she persuaded three shaggy fathers, who were 
 coming regularly with their children, to ride back home 
 unarmed. 
 
 Disarmament was her idea for the great solution and 
 when Bad Anse came over, as he came every night now, 
 she led him with almost breathless eagerness to the rack, 
 and showed him two modern rifles and one antiquated 
 squirrel gun. 
 
 " What's the idea ? " he asked with his sceptical 
 smile. 
 
 He found it very difficult to listen always to talk 
 about the school in which he felt no interest and to regard 
 his vow of silence as to her herself whom he dumbly 
 worshiped. 
 
 " Look around you, Anse," she commanded. " Do you 
 see any dirt or dust anywhere? No, we are teaching 
 cleanliness and sanitation, but there is just one place 
 here where the spiders are welcome to come and spin
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 their webs unmolested. It's that rack of guns. Did 
 you ever hear of the shrine at Lourdes ? " 
 
 " I reckon not," he confessed uneasily. Of late he 
 had become a little ashamed of the things he did not 
 know. 
 
 " Well, this is going to be like it, Anse. It is told 
 that when the lame and halt and blind came to Lourdes 
 to pray, they went away straight and strong and clear 
 of vision. There hang at the shrine there numberless 
 crutches and canes and bandages, discarded because 
 the men who limped in or were carried there, went away 
 needing them no more. Some day your old order of 
 crippled things here in the mountains is going straight 
 and strong, and these guns will be the discarded 
 crutches." 
 
 He looked at her and if no response was stirred for 
 her prophecy, at least he could not contemplate, with- 
 out a stirring of enthusiasm, the flushed face and glow- 
 ing eye with which she spoke. It was all worth while if 
 it could bring that sparkle of delight to her countenance. 
 
 " It's right pretty, but it won't hardly work," he 
 said. " These men will leave them guns just so long as 
 they don't need 'em. I'm glad to see ye pleased but 
 I don't want to see ye disappointed." 
 
 " We'll see." 
 
 " It's the same old mistake, ye're makin'," he told 
 her as they sat before the blaze of her fire. " Ye're 
 seekin' to grow a poplar in a flower pot. You're over- 
 lookin' the fact that these people are human." 
 
 " No, I'm insisting that they're human. I'm trying 
 to give them human privileges. Sanitation and soap 
 are more powerful than guns."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Dawn passed the door at the side, pausing to nod to 
 Anse Havey. She was very straight with her head 
 raised and her delicate features thrown into relief in the 
 firelight. Her carriage was as free and graceful as 
 some wild thing's which is young and instinct with the 
 joy of living. 
 
 " Look there," whispered the man, leaning forward. 
 " Have you got girls back there in the cities straighter 
 or sweeter than her? She's one of my people. Is 
 anything the matter with her? Is that a weed or a 
 flower? " 
 
 " She's a flower. So was her mother once. Do you 
 remember the old woman old at forty inciting her 
 son to go out and do murder? Shall Dawn come to 
 that, too? All flowers were once weeds, and without 
 cultivation all flowers will be weeds again." 
 
 He sat silent and the girl went on. 
 
 " Look at yourself. What is to become of your 
 splendid heritage of body and brain and manhood? 
 What will you be in twenty years, if they let you live 
 that long? You will have left nothing but courage. 
 
 " You stand for the law of the wolf pack, and the 
 law of the wolf pack is that when a younger and 
 stronger rises, you must go down. Why should you be 
 the camp-follower of a worn out idea? Why shouldn't 
 you be captain of your own soul? " 
 
 He rose and looked down on her with a face suddenly 
 drawn. 
 
 " Ye're upsettin' everything," he said almost harshly. 
 " Ye're upsettin' me as well as the rest." 
 
 " That," she declared with a note of triumph in her 
 voice, " is what I came for. Unrest is divine,"
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 243 
 
 Her face was alight with the pleasure of her fancied 
 triumph. She was smiling up at him and fondly im- 
 agining that she was changing him, too, bringing out 
 what was finest in him, and her woman nature was very 
 happy. He said nothing as his hands were clamped 
 behind his back and his lips set against the flood of 
 words which surged to them and clamored for outlet. 
 He wanted to tell her of the wild unrest that had come 
 into his soul, which had carried away in its swirling 
 torrent the wreckage of all that had before been fixed 
 and constant. He wanted to tell her that if she asked 
 it, he would lay at her feet the ruins of his own deep 
 loyalty to his people, and that for that weakness he 
 hated himself bitterly. He wanted to tell her that his 
 life would never again know the quiet of satisfaction be- 
 cause he loved a woman hopelessly, and since she chose 
 to take him as a concrete example in her arguments he 
 stood for a man as dissatisfied and wretched as any man 
 could be ; a man whose soul was crying for what it could 
 never have. 
 
 But she chose to let him be her friend and noth- 
 ing more so he must bite back those words, and 
 finally when he was able to speak again he only re- 
 peated after her in a low voice, " Captain of my own 
 soul!" 
 
 A little before Christmas old Milt McBriar went to 
 Lexington, and there he met a heavily bearded man in 
 rough clothes who had arrived that morning from the 
 West. They conferred in a cheap eating house which 
 bears a ragged and unwholesome appearance, and which 
 is kept by an exile from the mountains.
 
 244 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " Now, tell me, Milt," suggested Luke Thixton 
 briefly, " what air this thing ye wants me ter do. I'm 
 done with these hyar old flat lands thet they talks so 
 much erbout." 
 
 But Milt McBriar*s eyes had been vacantly watching 
 the door. It was a glass door with its lower portion 
 painted red and bearing in black letters the name of 
 the proprietor. 
 
 " Damn ! " he exclaimed violently, but under his 
 breath. 
 
 "What's bitin' ye?" asked his companion as he 
 bolted his food. 
 
 " I jest seed Breck Havey pass by that door," en- 
 lightened the chief. " But I reckon he couldn't hardly 
 recognize you this fur back. I don't want no word of 
 yore comin' ter go ahead of ye." 
 
 " What is it I'm a goin' back ter do ? " insisted the 
 exile doggedly. 
 
 " Oh," commented Milt McBriar, " we've got ter talk 
 thet over at some length. Ye're a-goin' back ter git 
 Anse Havey, but ye hain't a-goin' jest yit."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 NATURE is a profound old trickster, versed in 
 every nuance of deceit with her children. Say 
 to a woman, "Would you marry this man?" 
 and straightway she would wither you with her scorn 
 for the question. 
 
 Yet so long as the man understands that she is en- 
 throned and pedestaled and that he looks up at her 
 from the sweating hurly-burly of the ground level, she 
 will consent to drift into dependence on his companion- 
 ship and to take a place in his life which must always be 
 a void without her. 
 
 As regularly as the sun went down in a wintry flare 
 of sullen color and the stars came out, so regularly did 
 Anse Havey set his face across the ridge at nightfall 
 to sit there before Juanita's hearth and watch the car- 
 mine and lake and orange flecks that played on her 
 cheek in the leaping of the blaze. She thought he was 
 interested in her talk and arguments, but the man was 
 really hardly conscious of them. He listened to her 
 theories, hearing only the music of her voice and fought 
 with her over abstract philosophies only to keep her 
 interested so that he might watch her face and devour 
 her with his eyes. Had he been the mastiff, Danny, ly- 
 ing on the hearth-rug and gazing up at her, he might 
 have been equally absorbed in her mission. He would 
 
 have loved her perhaps in something of the same way, 
 
 245
 
 246 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 except that the dog might have let his honest eyes speak 
 for him, and Anse was under the necessity of keeping a 
 screen between his heart and his pupils. He, too, was a 
 great, sinewy creature at whose growl others trembled, 
 but who was willing for this woman to fetch and carry 
 and remain mute. The arrogance he wielded as his 
 right became humbleness with her, because she held over 
 him love's tyranny of weakness over strength. Some 
 day, he told himself, the control he had set on himself 
 would slip and she would know how he felt and then 
 she would send him away. But as yet her serene eyes 
 looked at him across the hearth where she had grown 
 accustomed to seeing him, with no suspicion that he 
 was a man with a tortured and aching heart. He was 
 a welcome fixture there and the affection in her own eyes 
 was as little like the passion of mating love as it might 
 have been for the mastiff. It never occurred to her 
 that she was putting an irremediable crimp into the 
 soul of a man. To her it was a splendid and depend- 
 able comradeship and only that. 
 
 Sometimes she was the girl again and he the boy, 
 and they laughed and were drawn closer by nonsensical 
 things, such nonsensical things as make life tolerable 
 when graver matters grow burdensome. But always 
 when a new gun came to her rack she led him proudly 
 to see it, and demanded obeisance from him as a conquer- 
 ing princess might have done. With the mock humility of 
 a captive in the arena, the man would bend low and 
 say, " We who are about to die salute thee ! " But 
 his mocking eyes showed no apprehension. He did not 
 regret her success could not regret it because it 
 was hers.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 247 
 
 But little Dawn, who at first had been accustomed to 
 staying in the room when Anse Havey visited it, knew 
 in her unfolding woman's heart what Juanita herself 
 did not know, and she no longer remained to turn 
 " company " into a " crowd." 
 
 Soon after his arrival she would rise and slip quietly 
 out, though she went with no trace of the sullen jealousy 
 she had felt for the Eastern man. 
 
 " Dawn," Juanita asked one day, " why don't you 
 sit with us any more in the evenings? Don't you like 
 Mr. Havey?" 
 
 The girl looked up and for a long time studied the 
 face of her deity, then her eyes danced and her face 
 broke into a smile. 
 
 " When two fellers comes to a cabin sparkin' the 
 same gal on the same night," she said with unvarnished 
 directness, " hit's the rule hyarabouts fer 'em to make 
 her say which one she wants to stay an' the other one 
 goes home. I reckon it's the same thing with gals as 
 with men. I reckon if we asked Anse Havey which 
 one of us must go away it wouldn't take him long to 
 make up his mind." 
 
 " Dawn ! " exclaimed Juanita. " That's absurd. 
 Anse Havey doesn't come here ' sparking,' as you call 
 it. He simply comes as a friend. Why, I don't think 
 of him in that other light any more than I do any other 
 mountain man." 
 
 Between these two girls there had never been a note 
 of friction or any lack of harmony, yet now the na- 
 tive-born flushed and her voice held a hint of hard- 
 ness. 
 
 " What's the matter with Anse Havey ? What's the
 
 248 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 matter with mountain men ? " she demanded quickly. 
 " Ain't they good enough ? " 
 
 "Good enough?" echoed Juanita. "Why, dear, if 
 I didn't think he was good enough I wouldn't let him 
 come here. But friendship is one thing and well, 
 the other is quite different. With us it's just friend- 
 ship, and nothing can be better than true friendship." 
 
 Dawn laughed with a silvery peal that carried a trace 
 of mockery and a wisdom that belied her seeming child- 
 ishness. 
 
 " Sometimes a man or a woman is the only person 
 that don't know what's in their own hearts," was her 
 cryptic response. 
 
 But after having guarded himself all evening, and 
 sometimss after having forgotten, in the pure delight 
 of tho present, that the future held only a blind alley 
 for his life, Anse would tramp back to the brick house 
 and on these long walks he would taste the dregs of 
 the wine he had been drinking. Then he would realize 
 starkly what a hopeless love means and would think of 
 the days when she should be gone until he sickened at 
 the desolation of the picture. It takes the plummet of 
 a deep pain to reveal the depths of one's soul, and on 
 these homeward journeys Bad Anse Havey was sound- 
 ing his own. 
 
 Sometimes in sheer self-defense against the misery 
 of such thoughts he would permit himself wild dreams 
 as the logs died to embers on his own hearth, but always 
 when he rose at dawn and looked out on the cold mists 
 of the gaunt ridges he shook his head and set his teeth. 
 
 "I reckon I ain't hardly good enough," he would 
 tell himself and as he would turn back to the dark room
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 24-9 
 
 with an almost despairing groan in his throat, his out- 
 stretched hands would seek the battered copy of 
 Plutarch's Lives or Shakespeare's Tragedies. In a 
 low voice he would confess brokenly, " I reckon, old 
 friends, we'll have to get along together somehow. I 
 reckon a man's just got ter be glad when he can, an' 
 sad when he must." 
 
 For her part, when he had gone, Juanita would sit 
 alone, studying the fire with her brow drawn in deep 
 perplexity. She was reflecting on what Dawn had said. 
 
 " If I thought he misunderstood," she would tell her- 
 self, " I wouldn't let him come. It wouldn't be fair to 
 him. That sort of thing between us would be 
 ridiculous ; it would spoil everything." 
 
 Then she would rise and shake her head and laugh. 
 
 " But of course he understands," she assured her- 
 self. " He said so himself. Dawn is only an ignorant 
 child." 
 
 Always as she lay down in her bed after such musings 
 this illogical postcript would steal into her thoughts. 
 
 " Besides, I can't send him away. I can't spare him : 
 the loneliness would kill me." 
 
 One morning, as Anse sat over his breakfast at the 
 kitchen table, his cousin, Breck Havey, rode up in hot 
 haste to rouse him out of apathy and remind him that 
 he must not shirk his role as leader of the clan. 
 
 The Havey from Peril came quickly to the point 
 while the Havey of the backwoods listened. " I was 
 down ter Lexin'ton yesterday an' as I was passin' Jim 
 Freeman's dead-fall I happened ter look in. Thar war 
 old Milt McBriar an' Luke Thixton with thar heads 
 as clos't tergether as a pair of thieves. Luke hes done
 
 250 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 come back from the West, an' I reckon ye kin figger out 
 what thet means." 
 
 Anse grew suddenly rigid and his face blackened. 
 So his destiny was crowding him. 
 
 "What air ye goin' ter do?" demanded Breck with 
 a tone of anxious and impotent pleading, and Anse 
 Havey shook his head. 
 
 " I don't know quite yet," he said. " Let's see, 
 is the High Co'te in session? " 
 
 Breck Havey nodded his head in perplexed assent. 
 He wondered what the Court had to do with this exi- 
 gency. 
 
 " All right. Tell Sidering to have the Grand Jury 
 indict Luke for the McNash murder, an' Milt McBriar 
 as accessory " 
 
 " Good God, Anse ! " burst out the other Havey. 
 " Does ye realize what hell ye turns loose when ye tries 
 ter drag Old Milt ter Co'te in Peril? " 
 
 " Yes, I know that. I'm not overlookin' nothin'." 
 The answer was calm. " I'll give ye a list of witnesses. 
 Tell Sidering to keep these true bills secret. I'll ride 
 over an' testify myself, an' I'll 'tend to keepin' the wit- 
 nesses quiet. I don't know whether we'll ever try these 
 cases, but it's just as well to be ready along every line 
 and, Breck, don't let these tidings get to young Jeb 
 until I tell him myself." 
 
 Breck Havey stood gazing down at the hearth with 
 a troubled face. At last he hazarded remonstrance. 
 
 " Anse," he said, " I hain't never questioned ye. I've 
 always took yore counsel. Ye're the head of the 
 Haveys, but next to you I'm the man they harkens to
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 251 
 
 most. If any man has got ter dispute yer, I reckon 
 ye'd take it most willin'ly from me." 
 
 "What is it, Breck? I'm plumb willin' to listen to 
 your counsel." 
 
 " Then I'll talk outspoken. Ter try ter convict these 
 men in Co'te means to take a desperate chance. Ye 
 can't hardly succeed, an' if ye fails ye've lost yore 
 hold on the Haveys ye're plumb, eternally done for." 
 
 " I don't aim to fail." 
 
 " No ; but ye mought. Anse, no man hain't never 
 questioned yore loyalty till now. I mought as well tell 
 ye straight what talkin's goin' round." 
 
 Anse stiffened. "What is it?" he demanded. 
 
 " Some folks 'low that ther Haveys don't mean as 
 much ter ye now as ther furrin' school-teacher does. 
 Them folks'll be pretty apt ter think ye ain't tryin' 
 ter please them so much as her if ye attempts this." 
 
 Anse stood for a long minute silent, and his bronzed 
 features grew taut. At last he inquired coolly: 
 
 "What do you think, Breck?" 
 
 " I'd trust ye till hell froze." 
 
 "All right. Then do as I tells ye, an' if I fails I 
 reckons you'll be head of the Haveys in my place." 
 
 Down at the school there was going to be a Christ- 
 mas tree that year. Never before had the children 
 of the branch-water folk heard of a Christmas tree. 
 The season of Christ's birth had always been celebrated 
 with moonshine jug and revolver. It was dreaded in 
 advance and oftentimes mourned over in retrospect. 
 
 Now in many childish hearts large dreams were
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Krewing. Eager anticipations awaited the marvel. 
 The honored young fir tree which was to bear a fruit- 
 age of gifts and lights had been singled out and marked 
 to the axe. Anse Havey and Juanita had explored 
 the woods together, bent on its selection. Perhaps 
 Juanita and Dawn were as much excited as the children, 
 but to Dawn it meant more than to anyone else. She 
 was to accompany Juanita to Lexington to buy gifts 
 and decorations, and would have her first wondrous 
 glimpse of the lights and crowds of a city. 
 
 Milt was there at college and would be returning 
 about the same time, so the mountain girl secretly wrote 
 him of her coming. Now even facing so grave a crisis, 
 Anse Havey thought of that tree and hoped that Luke 
 would not come back before Christmas. 
 
 That night while he was sitting with Juanita and the 
 fire was flashing on her cheeks from the logs he said 
 moodily, " I'm afraid ye'll have to start despisin' me 
 all over again." 
 
 She looked up in astonishment. 
 
 "Why?" she asked. 
 
 " I've got to kill a man," he announced briefly. 
 
 She rose from her chair and her face became pallid. 
 
 " Kill a man," she echoed. 
 
 " God knows I hate to do it." He, too, rose and 
 stood before the hearth. " But, I reckon it had better 
 be me than Jeb." 
 
 " Do you mean " she broke off and finished 
 brokenly " that Fletch's murderer is back ? " 
 
 " He's comin*. He's comin' to kill somebody 
 else. . . . Most likely me. It's the question of 
 choosin' between the life of a murderer that kilt Fletch
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 253 
 
 for a ticket West and a hundred dollars ... or lettin' 
 young Jeb McNash go crazy an' startin' the feud all 
 over again. I reckon ye sees that I ain't got no choice." 
 
 She came nearer and stood confronting him so close 
 that her low, tense voice came to his ears from a dis- 
 tance of only a few inches : " Suppose he kills you ? " 
 
 " He'll have his chance," said Anse Havey shortly, 
 " I ain't 'lowin' to shoot him down from ambush." 
 
 The girl leaned forward and clutched his hands in 
 both her own. Under the tight pressure of her fingers 
 he felt every nerve in his body tingle and leap into a hot 
 ecstasy of emotion while his face became white and 
 drawn. 
 
 " Don't risk your life, Anse," sJie pleaded. " Your 
 people can't spare you, I can't spare you. Not now, 
 Anse, I need you too much." 
 
 The man's response came in a hoarse whisper of 
 eager questioning. 
 
 " Ye needs me? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she swept on, and for an instant he was 
 on the verge of withdrawing his hands and crushing her 
 to him, but something in his face had warned her. . . . 
 She dropped the hands she had been holding and said 
 in an altered tone, " It's not just me, it's bigger than 
 that. It's my work. We've come to be such good 
 friends that I couldn't go on without you. My work 
 would fail." 
 
 For a while he was silent; then he said very slowly 
 and very bitterly, " Oh, it's just your work that needs 
 me?" 
 
 " But, Anse," she argued, " my work is all that's 
 biggest and best in me. You understand, don't you? "
 
 254 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 He shook his head. " I don't hardly know whether 
 I understands ye or not," he said, " but I'm kinder 
 afraid I do." 
 
 He had been so close to the brink; had fancied for 
 an intoxicated moment that he saw such gates of Mira- 
 cle opening, that now he felt too dead to argue. He 
 turned away, fearing that she would read his face. 
 
 " I reckon," he said dully, " Luke won't hardly kill 
 me." 
 
 Suddenly an idea leaped into the girl's brain and she 
 demanded, " Anse, you can prove this man's guilt, can't 
 you? He ought to die. Civilization would be as in- 
 flexible about that as feud vengeance. Why not give 
 him a legal trial ? You could convict him." 
 
 Bad Anse Havey smiled, but with mirthless irony. 
 
 " I can prove it, I reckon, to the satisfaction of a 
 Jury drawn from my own country," he said, " takin' 
 its orders from me." 
 
 " Then," swept on the girl, " why not do that? In- 
 stead of murder that would be justice. Instead of 
 breaking the law it would be setting a precedent for 
 law." 
 
 " As to it's bein' murder," he commented drily, " I 
 don't see much difference whether I shoot him down 
 and end it, or whether I go through the form of havin' 
 twelve men sit and pretend to listen to evidence an' then 
 hang him." 
 
 " Try it," she pleaded. " Try it because I ask you. 
 You've said that if you could accomplish the same ends 
 lawfully, you would rather do it. Now prove it to 
 me." 
 
 Anse Havey made no immediate reply. He went to
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 255 
 
 the door and opened it to let the cold air blow for a 
 time on his face. When he came back and stood be- 
 fore her his features were all set and mask-like and he 
 spoke with a voice that he held to a dead level. 
 
 " I'm goin' to do what ye asks. I've done took steps 
 to that end already, because I knew ye would ask it," 
 he said. " But I ain't goin' to lie about it. I ain't 
 doin* it from no motive of civilization. It's just hy- 
 pocrisy to use a Court of law like you'd use a gun. 
 If ye can delude yourself into thinkin' that forms of 
 right an' wrong make right an' wrong I can't. I'm 
 doin' it just because ye asks it. I ain't doin' it in the 
 interest of your work neither." For a moment the 
 voice got away from him and rose fiercely. 
 
 " I don't give a damn for your work ! " he blazed 
 out. " It's you I'm interested in. That's the sort of 
 friend I am." 
 
 She looked up at his blazing eyes, a little amazed, and 
 he went on, quietly enough now. 
 
 " If I fails to hang Luke Thixton, I'll be right now 
 what ye prophesied for me twenty years hence; the 
 leader of the wolf pack that goes down an' gets trampled 
 on an' torn to pieces. I ain't never put no such strain 
 on my influence as this is goin' to be. I've got to hold 
 back the Haveys an' the McBriars whilst this Court 
 foolishness dawdles along, an' if I falls down, Jeb is 
 goin' to kill Luke anyway. I'm doin' this because ye 
 asks it an' fer that reason only, an' now I'll say good- 
 night to ye." 
 
 Juanita Holland stood looking at the door he had 
 closed behind him, a wild sense of tumult and uneasiness 
 in her heart.
 
 256 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " ' That's the sort of friend I am,' " she repeated to 
 herself. 
 
 What did he mean ? For a moment she wanted to 
 rush out and call him back. Was Dawn right, after 
 all, and had he trodden underfoot the one possible 
 basis of safe friendship to which he had pledged him- 
 self? 
 
 No, she argued with the sophistry of refusing to be- 
 lieve what she did not wish to believe, it was simply the 
 old clash of view-point and will the old duel of per- 
 sonalities, and lay quite apart from any question of 
 their personal relations.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THERE still remained the task of winning young 
 Jeb's assent to this plan, and Anse Havey fore- 
 saw a stubborn battle there. Jeb had been read- 
 ing law that winter by the light of a log fire through 
 long and lonely evenings in a smoke-darkened cabin. 
 
 When Anse Havey called from the stile one night, 
 the boy laid a battered Blackstone on his thin knee and 
 called out, " Come in, Anse, and pull up a cheer." 
 Anse had been rehearsing his arguments as he rode 
 through the sleet-lashed hills and he was deeply trou- 
 bled. In the hill parlance, " Thar was big trouble 
 brewin'," and very vitally was young Jeb " in the 
 b'ilin'." 
 
 The man and the boy sat on either side of the fire- 
 place as the sleet pelted endlessly and monotonously 
 on the slabs of the roof. Penetrating gusts swept in 
 at the broken chinking and up through the warped 
 floor until old Bear-dog, lying at their feet, shivered 
 as he slept with his forepaws stretched on the hearth 
 and the two men hitched their chairs nearer to the blaze. 
 By the bed still stood the rifle that had been Fletch's ; 
 the rifle upon which the boy's eyes always fell and 
 which to him was the symbol of his duty. 
 
 As Bad Anse Havey talked of the future with all 
 the instinctive forcefulness that he could command, 
 
 the boy's set face relaxed and into his eyes came a glint 
 
 257
 
 258 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 of eagerness, because he himself was to play no mean 
 part in these affairs. 
 
 Into his heart crept the first burning of ambition, the 
 first reaching out after a career. He saw a future 
 opening before him and his grave eyes were drinking 
 in pictures which he alone saw in the live embers. 
 
 Then when ambition had been kindled and fanned into 
 blaze the elder man broached the topic which was the 
 crux of his plea. 
 
 " The man that can do things for the mountains 
 must be willin' to make a heap of sacrifices, Jeb," he 
 began. 
 
 Jeb laughed, looking about the bare room of his 
 cabin. " Mek sacrifices?" he said. "I hain't never 
 knowed nothin' else but thet. I reckon I hain't skeered 
 of sacrifices ! " 
 
 " I didn't mean that way, Jeb." Anse spoke slowly, 
 holding the boy with his eyes, and some premonition of 
 his meaning struck in so that the lad's lean face again 
 hardened. The lines that had come around his mouth 
 in these last months traced themselves stiffly like paren- 
 theses about his lips. His eyes turned to the gun and 
 he shook his head. 
 
 " Nothin' kaint stand betwixt me an' what I've got ter 
 do, Anse," he said slowly. He did not speak now with 
 wild passion, but calm finality. " I've done took ther 
 oath." 
 
 For a while Anse Havey did not speak. At last he 
 said quietly, " I reckon ye've got rid of the idea that I 
 was aimin' to deceive ye, Jeb. I told ye that when 
 Fletch's assassin came back to the mountains, I'd let 
 ye know. I'm goin' to keep my word."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 259 
 
 Jeb rose suddenly from his chair and stood with the 
 fire lighting up his ragged trousers and the frayed 
 sleeves of his coat. 
 
 " Air he back now ? " he inquired. 
 
 Anse shook his head. 
 
 " Not yet, Jeb, but he's coming." He saw the twitch 
 that came and went across the tight-closed lips which 
 made no comment. 
 
 " Jeb," he continued, " I want ye to help me. I want 
 ye to be big enough to put by things that it's hard to 
 put by." 
 
 The boy once more shook his head. " Anse," he re- 
 plied slowly, " ask me ter do anything else in God Al- 
 mighty's world, but don't ask me thet, cause ef ye does 
 I've got ter deny ye." 
 
 " I ain't askin' ye to let the man go unpunished. 
 I'm only askin' you to let me punish him with the 
 law." 
 
 Astonishment was writ large in every feature of Jeb's 
 face. He stood in the wavering circle of light while 
 the shadows danced and swallowed the corners of the 
 cabin, and wondered if he had heard rightly. At last 
 his voice carried a note of deep disappointment and 
 he spoke as though unwilling to utter such treasonable 
 words. 
 
 " I reckon, Anse," he suggested, " ye wouldn't hardly 
 hev asked a thing like thet afore " there was a hesi- 
 tating halt before he went on " afore a furrin woman 
 changed yore fashion of lookin' at things." 
 
 Anse Havey felt his face redden and an angry retort 
 rose to his lips. But the charge was true and he sud- 
 denly wondered how many others of his people through
 
 260 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the hills were saying the same thing about him : whether 
 his power was weakening. 
 
 He went on as though Jeb had not spoken. 
 
 " All I ask is that when that man comes ye'll hold your 
 hand until the Court has acted." 
 
 " Does ye reckon Milt McBriar aims ter let Sidering 
 try kin of his'n atter what happened afore? " was the 
 next incredulous question. 
 
 Anse Havey's voice broke out of quiet and Anse 
 Havey's eyes woke to a fire that was convincing. 
 
 " By God, / aims ter have him do it ! I ain't askin' 
 leave of Milt McBriar." Then he added, " I aims to 
 hang the man that kilt your daddy in the jail-house yard 
 at Peril, an' if the McBriars get him they've got to 
 kill me first. Will you hold your hand till I'm 
 through? " 
 
 The boy stood there, his hands slowly twitching and 
 opening. Finally he said, " Hit ain't a-goin' ter satisfy 
 me ter penitentiary thet feller. He's got ter die." 
 
 " He's goin' to die. If I fail, then " the clansman 
 raised his hands in a gesture of concession " then he's 
 yours. Will you wait? " 
 
 " I don't hardly believe," said Jeb McNash with 
 conviction, " any man livin' kin keep Milt's hired assas- 
 sin in no jail-house long enough ter try him an' hang 
 him. But I'm willing ter see. I'll hold my hand thet 
 long, Anse, but " Once more a spasmodic tauten- 
 ing of muscles convulsed the boy's frame, and his voice 
 took on its excited note of shrillness. " But I warns 
 ye, I'm goin' ter be settin' thar in ther High Co'te. I 
 hain't never a-goin' ter leave hit, an' ef thet Jury clars 
 him or ef they jest penitentiaries him, I'm going ter
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 261 
 
 kill him as he sets thar in his cheer so help me 
 God!" 
 
 Loyal in their stubborn adherence to feud leadership, 
 the Judge and Grand Jury secretly returned two in- 
 dictments bearing the names of Luke Thixton as prin- 
 cipal and Milton McBriar, Sr., as accessory to the crime 
 of murder " against the peace and dignity of the Com- 
 monwealth of Kentucky and contrary to the statute in 
 such case made and provided." Also they withheld 
 their action from public announcement. 
 
 Surreptitiously and guardedly a message traveled 
 up the water courses to the remotest Havey cabin. 
 Bad Anse bade his men be ready to rise in instant re- 
 sponse to his call, and they made ready to obey. 
 
 One day Juanita Holland and Dawn set out for Lex- 
 ington to do their Christmas shopping. 
 
 Anse Havey rode with them across to Peril and waved 
 his hat in farewell as they stood on the vestibule of the 
 rickety passenger coach. It was a very shabby car 
 of worn and faded plush, but to Dawn it was a fairy 
 chariot. 
 
 As she sat by the window and looked out, saying little 
 and repressing with mountain reserve all the gasps of 
 delight and astonishment that came bubbling up from 
 her heart, Juanita smiled with a glow in her own veins. 
 The parted lips and sparkling eyes of her first and most 
 beloved protegee, were lips and eyes joyously drinking 
 in a panorama of wonder, seeing the great world of which 
 she had only dreamed. At last the foot-hills fell behind 
 and a country spread out where the trees grew far 
 apart in smooth lawns, and now she was in the promised
 
 262 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 land that her ancestors had missed ; In the rich culture 
 of the Bluegrass. 
 
 'About her were the marvels of mansions and metaled 
 roads; white instead of clay-red. But while her heart 
 thumped with the wonder of it all she bore herself, be- 
 cause of her mountain blood, with no outward show of 
 surprise and looked at each new thing as though she had 
 known it from her birth. 
 
 As they entered the lobby of the Phoenix Hotel in 
 Lexington a tall youth rose from a chair and came 
 forward. If the boy was cruder and darker and less 
 trim in appearance than his Bluegrass brethren, at 
 least he bore his head as high and walked as inde- 
 pendently. He came forward with his hat in his hand 
 and his voice was enthusiastic, " I'm mighty glad ter 
 see ye, Dawn." 
 
 The girl looked about the place and breathed rather 
 than said, " Isn't the world wonderful, Milt ? " 
 
 Two days followed through which Dawn passed in 
 transports of delight. There were the undreamed 
 sights of shop windows decked for the holiday season 
 and the crowds on the streets, and the gayety and mer- 
 riment of Christmas everywhere. She had never heard 
 so much laughter before and she found it infectious 
 and laughed, too. 
 
 Young Milt way-laid her in a dozen shops and the 
 sight of him coaxed a brighter color into her cheeks 
 despite her gay dismissals. " Go on away, boy," she 
 would tell him. " Don't you see I'm too busy to be 
 bothered with you ? " 
 
 Once he whispered, as he stood at her elbow in the 
 crush of a toy store, " I hain't a-goin' ter be much as-
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 263 
 
 tonished ef old Santa Claus puts somethin' on thet tree 
 fer you, Dawn. I met up with him just now an* he 
 named hit ter me." 
 
 At last she found herself again in a faded plush car 
 beside Juanita with young Milt sitting opposite. In 
 the racks overhead and piled about them was a mys- 
 terious litter of gayly tied packages. 
 
 Of course they had much more than their two pairs 
 of saddle-bags could carry, but young Milt would help 
 them and Anse Havey would be at the train to meet 
 them. Old Milt, too, was on that train, but he paused 
 only to nod before disappearing into the shabbier smok- 
 ing compartment where he had business to discuss. A 
 man was waiting for him in there whom old acquaint- 
 ances might have passed by without recognition. It 
 was the devout hope of Milt McBriar that when they 
 left the train at Peril, any acquaintances who might 
 be lounging about would so fail to recognize him. 
 
 Luke Thixton bore an altered appearance. Always 
 he had been ragged and unkempt of person. His black 
 beard had ambushed his features until save for cheek- 
 bones and nose and eyes, men had forgotten what the 
 face itself was like. His hair had always fallen long and 
 straggly under the brim of his hat. 
 
 But now he had been shaved and his hair was closely 
 cropped. He wore a suit of new clothes that came near 
 to fitting him. A disguise of cleanliness enveloped him. 
 
 While the Christmas shoppers laughed in the day 
 coach, Luke received final instructions in the empty 
 smoker. 
 
 He was to pass as swiftly and unobtrusively as pos- 
 sible through Peril and go direct across the ridge.
 
 264 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 He and Milt would leave the train without conversa- 
 tion or anything to mark them as companions. After 
 that Luke knew what he was to do, and no further con- 
 ference would be necessary until he came to report suc- 
 cess and collect his wage.
 
 IT was noon when the train rumbled again over the 
 trestle near the town and all morning a steady, 
 feathery snow had been falling, veiling the sights 
 from the car windows and wrapping the mountains in a 
 cloak of swan's-down. 
 
 At last the trucks screamed, the old engine came puff- 
 ing and wheezing to a tired halt and the two girls with 
 young Milt at their heels made their way out, burdened 
 with parcels. 
 
 On the cinder platform Juanita looked about for 
 Anse Havey and she saw him standing in a group with 
 Jeb and several other men whom she did not know 
 but Anse's face was not turned toward her, and it did 
 not wear the look of expectancy that the thought of her 
 usually brought there. Jeb's countenance, too, was 
 white and very set, and a breathless tensity seemed to 
 hold the whole picture in fixed tautness. 
 
 There were several clumps of men standing about, all 
 armed, and every face wore the same expression of wait- 
 ing sternness. 
 
 A gasp of premonition rose to Juanita's lips as she 
 caught the sinister note of suspense with which the at- 
 mosphere was freighted. Then Milt McBriar stepped 
 down from the smoker vestibule, followed by another 
 man. 
 
 As the two of them turned in opposite directions on 
 265
 
 266 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the trampled snow of the platform, a man who had been 
 standing with Bad Anse Havey laid his hand heavily 
 on the shoulder of the clean-shaven arrival, and said 
 in a clear voice, "Luke Thixton, I want ye fer ther 
 murder of Fletch McNash." So that was what it all 
 meant ! 
 
 Old Milt McBriar, for once startled out of his case- 
 hardened self-control, wheeled to demand angrily, 
 " What hell's trick is this ? " His eyes were blazing and 
 his face worked with passionate fury. 
 
 A second Deputy answered him. " An' Milt McBriar 
 I wants you,, too, on an indictment for accessory ter 
 murder." 
 
 Juanita felt Dawn's spasmodic fingers clutching her 
 arm and felt her own knees grow suddenly weak. She 
 heard a soft clatter of parcels on the snow-wrapped 
 cinders as young Milt dropped them and leaped for- 
 ward, his own eyes kindling, and his right hand fran- 
 tically clawing at the buttons of his coat. But before 
 young Milt could draw his weapon from its arm-pit 
 holster, Jeb McNash had wheeled to face him, bending 
 forward to a half crouch. The younger McBriar halted 
 and bent back under the glint of the revolver which 
 Jeb was thrusting into his face. 
 
 Haveys, armed and grim of visage, began drawing 
 close about the captives in a menacing cordon. 
 
 Dawn clung with bloodless lips and white cheeks to 
 the elder girl as she watched her brother holding his 
 weapon in the face of the boy whom she suddenly real- 
 ized she loved more than her brother. 
 
 Then the Sheriff spoke again. " Thar hain't no use 
 in makin' no trouble, Milt. Ther Grand Jury hes done
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 267 
 
 acted an' I reckon ye'd better let ther law take its 
 course." 
 
 " Why don't ye take me, too ? " demanded the heir 
 to clan leadership in a tense, passionate voice. " I'm a 
 McBriar. That's all ye've got against any of these 
 men." 
 
 " Ther Grand Jury didn't indict ye, son," responded 
 the Sheriff calmly. 
 
 Then the older McBriar became suddenly quiet again 
 and self-possessed. He turned to his boy. 
 
 " Milt," he said sternly, " you keep outen this. 
 Thar's other work for ye. You ride over home an' tell 
 every man that calls hisself a McBriar " his voice 
 suddenly rose in the defiant crescendo of a trapped 
 lion " tell every man that calls hisself a McBriar, 
 thet ther Haveys hev got me in their damned jail-house 
 an' ask 'em how long they aims ter let me lay thar." 
 
 Young Milt turned and went at a run toward the 
 livery stable. Over his shoulder as he went he flung 
 back at Jeb, who stood looking after him with lowered 
 pistol, " I'm goin' now, but I'll be back ter hev a reck- 
 onin' with ye ! " 
 
 And Jeb shouted, too : " Ye kain't come back none 
 too soon, Milt. I'll be hyar when ye comes." 
 
 Then the group started on its tramp toward the 
 Court-house and the little jail that lay at its side. 
 
 Juanita suddenly realized that she and Dawn were 
 standing as if rooted there. The older girl heard an 
 inarticulate moan break from the lips of the younger, 
 and then as though waking out of sleep she looked ab- 
 sently down at a litter of beribboned parcels which lay 
 about her feet. That message which Old Milt had flung
 
 268 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 back to his people on the lips of his son, would send 
 tumbling to arms every man who could carry a rifle. 
 
 And the Haveys were grimly waiting for them. The 
 Haveys were already here. The two girls could not 
 ride across the ridge now. They could only sit in their 
 room at the wretched hotel and wait. 
 
 Juanita was glad that little Dawn could cry. She 
 couldn't. She could only look ahead and see a pro- 
 cession of hideous possibilities. 
 
 It had been a few minutes after noon when Young 
 Milt had rushed into the livery stable and ordered his 
 horse. In that one instant all his college influences had 
 dropped away from him, and he was following the fierce 
 single star of clan loyalty. His father who had never 
 been any man's captive was back there in the vermin-in- 
 fested little "jail-house." And when Young Milt came 
 back, the one Havey clansman he had marked for his 
 own would be the boy under whose pistol muzzle he had 
 been forced to give back young Jeb McNash. 
 
 The stroke had taken the McBriars completely by 
 surprise. The boy must reach his own territory and 
 rally them to their fullest numbers even from the re- 
 motest coves. This battle was to be fought in the 
 enemy's own stronghold and against a force which was 
 ready to the last note of preparedness. 
 
 So nothing could happen until to-morrow. Nothing 
 would happen in all likelihood until the day after that, 
 and meanwhile the two girls in the hotel must sit there 
 thinking. 
 
 The little town itself lay dismal and helpless with 
 its shacks scattered over its broken and uneven levels.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 269 
 
 Here and there a shaggy-coated horse shivered at a 
 hitching rack; here and there men, in twos and threes, 
 stood scowling. On the chocolate-colored mountains 
 the snow was still spitting. 
 
 Dawn perhaps found it hardest, for in this one day 
 Dawn had grown up, and to-morrow would bring the 
 boy whom she now confessed loving, though she confessed 
 it with self-contempt, leading a force to meet that of 
 her own people, and at the front of her own people was 
 her brother, fighting to avenge her father. Juanita, 
 whose eyes could not escape ironical reminders when 
 she glanced down at the Christmas packages, seemed to 
 hear over and over the voice of Anse Havey saying, 
 " I'm doin' it because ye asks it." 
 
 She had sought to avert an assassination and it seemed 
 that the effort would precipitate a holocaust. 
 
 Anse was very busy, but he found time to come to 
 her that afternoon. In the bare little hotel lobby the 
 firelight glinted on a number of rifles as their owners 
 lounged about the fire. 
 
 And in Anse she saw once more the stern side. His 
 face was unsmiling and in his eyes was that expression 
 which made her realize how inflexibly he would set 
 about the accomplishment of the thing he had under- 
 taken, but as he spoke to her a sudden softness came 
 into his pupils. 
 
 " God knows I'm sorry," he said, " that this thing 
 broke just now. I didn't aim that ye should be no 
 eye-witness." 
 
 Juanita smiled rather wanly. Old Milt, he told her, 
 would soon be released. " We ain't even goin' to keep
 
 270 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 him in the jail-house no longer than mornin'. We 
 couldn't convict him an' it would only bring on more 
 trouble." 
 
 " Why was he arrested, then? " she asked blankly. 
 
 " Just to keep him out of mischief over night," he 
 smiled. " Even the law can be used for strategy." 
 
 " What will happen when the McBriars come back? " 
 she demanded in a shaken voice. 
 
 He shook his head. " I can't hardly tell ye that. 
 I'd like right well to know myself." 
 
 But the next morning, Anse Havey came again and 
 cautioned the two women not to leave their rooms and 
 not to keep their shutters open. All that day the town 
 lay like a turtle tight drawn into its shell. Streets be- 
 came empty. Doors were locked and shutters barred. 
 But toward evening, to the girl's bewilderment, she saw 
 Haveys riding out of town instead of into it. Soon 
 there were no more horses at the racks. By night the 
 place which was to be assaulted to-morrow seemed to 
 have been abandoned by its defenders. 
 
 Old Milt McBriar had been liberated and had ridden 
 out in the morning, boiling with wrath, to meet the 
 horsemen who were hurrying in. The figure of Bad 
 Anse Havey she saw often from her window when, in 
 disobedience to her orders, she looked out, but for the 
 most part the force of his clansmen had evaporated. 
 
 Then came another wretched night and with the sec- 
 ond forenoon the snow-wrapped town settled down to 
 the empty silence of a cemetery, but with early after- 
 noon the new procession began to arrive. A long and 
 continuous stream of McBriar horsemen, each armed to 
 the teeth, rode past the hotel and went straight to the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 271 
 
 Court-house. The girl had seen Anse Havey alone, 
 and seemingly unarmed, going that same way an hour 
 before. 
 
 A wild alarm seized her. Where were all the Havey 
 forces now? Was Anse trying to hold his prisoner alone 
 against his enemies? Had all his clan deserted him? 
 Was he already the discarded leader of his wolf-pack? 
 The girl sat down to wait. She was very faint and it 
 seemed to her that she sat there for eternity and all she 
 saw was a spot on the wall where the flaking and dirty 
 paper had been patched. 
 
 Slowly a shaft of pale light came through the win- 
 dow at a low angle. The sun was sinking through the 
 yellow ghost of a glow. Then she heard again the 
 sound which she had heard on her first night in the moun- 
 tains, only now it came from a hundred throats. 
 
 It was the McBriar yell and after it came a scattering 
 sequence of rifle and pistol shots. The clan was going 
 away again, and shooting up the town as they went, 
 but what had happened down there at the jail and 
 Court-house? The girl rose to her feet and clasped her 
 hands to her lips to stifle a scream.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 ATER she heard the story. The McBriars had 
 come expecting battle. They had found every 
 road open, and the town delivered over to their 
 mercy! For a time they had gone about looking for 
 trouble, and finding no one to oppose them. Then 
 Old Milt and his son had ridden to the Court-house to 
 demand the keys of the jail. They discovered Judge 
 Sidering sitting in the little office which adjoined his 
 court-room, and with him, entirely unarmed and without 
 escort, sat Bad Anse Havey. When the two McBriars, 
 backed by a score of armed men, broke fiercely into the 
 room, others massed at their backs, crowding doorway 
 and hall. 
 
 Judge Sidering greeted his visitors as though no in- 
 timation had ever reached him that they were coming 
 with a grievance. 
 
 " Come in, Milt, and have a chair," he invited. 
 
 "Cheer, hell!" shouted Milt McBriar. "Give me 
 the keys ter thet jail-house an* give 'em ter me quick." 
 
 Opening the drawer of his desk as if he had been 
 asked for a match, Judge Sidering took out the big 
 iron key to the outer door and the smaller brass key 
 to the little row of cells. He tossed the two across to 
 Milt in a matter-of-fact fashion. 
 
 Five minutes later the McBriar chief was back, trem- 
 bling with rage. He had found the jail empty. 
 
 272
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 273 
 
 " If you're lookin' for Luke Thixton, Milt," enlight- 
 ened the Judge calmly, " the High Sheriff took him to 
 Louisville yesterday for safe-keepin'." 
 
 The answer was a bellow of rage. Old Milt McBriar 
 threw forward his rifle. 
 
 Then Anse looked up and spoke slowly, " I reckon 
 it wouldn't profit ye much to harm us, Milt. We ain't 
 armed an' it would bring on a heap of trouble." 
 
 Outside rose an angry chorus of voices. The news 
 that the jail was empty was going through the crowd. 
 
 For a time the McBriar stood there, debating his next 
 step. The town seemed at his mercy. Seemed! That 
 word gave him pause. The way home lay through 
 Havey territory which might mean twenty ragged 
 miles of solid ambush. Anse Havey sat too quietly for 
 Milt's ease of mind. Was he baiting some fresh trap? 
 It was not like Anse Havey to place himself in an ene- 
 my's hands with no recourse planned for the next step. 
 
 The old intriguer felt baffled and at sea. He had 
 grown accustomed to weighing and calculating with 
 guileful deliberation. He balked at swift and instinc- 
 tive action. Moreover, if he debated long, he might not 
 be able to control his men. He inquiringly looked up 
 to Little Milt, who was fighting back the crowd at 
 the door and locking them outside. Beyond the panels 
 could be heard loud swearing and the impatient shuffling 
 of many feet. 
 
 " What shall we do, son ? " inquired the older man 
 of the younger. His voice held a note of appeal and 
 breaking power. 
 
 When young Milt had ridden out of Peril no feudist 
 in the hills had borne a heart fuller of hatred and hunger
 
 274 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 for vengeance, but that was because of his father. Now 
 his father was free. For Luke Thixton he had a pro- 
 found contempt. He saw in the situation only a game 
 of wits in which Anse Havey was winner. 
 
 " Well," he said, with a grin which he could not re- 
 press, " hit looks right smart ter me like thar hain't 
 nothin' to do but ride on back home an* try again next 
 time." 
 
 "Ride home an' leave things standin'?" demurred 
 the father blankly. Already he was reaching the period 
 of his stormy life where he was very weary of having 
 to settle every question for himself. He wanted to be 
 able to lean a little on the judgment of someone else. 
 
 Young Milt seemed quite philosophical : " I don't 
 hardly reckon we kin take him outen ther Looeyville 
 jail-house, kin we? I reckon they've got ter fotch him 
 back hyar sometime. Let's just bide our time." And 
 in the end the counsel of the younger generation pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 Outside there had been a short, sharp struggle with 
 a mutinous spirit. These men had come for action and 
 they did not want to ride back foiled, but the word of 
 Old Milt had stood unchallenged too long to collapse 
 suddenly. Yet he led back a grumbling following and 
 bore a discounted power. They could not forget that 
 a Havey had worsted him. 
 
 So the spirit of the men who had come to fight vented 
 itself in yells and random volleys to which there was no 
 reply, and again a train of horsemen were on their way 
 into the hills. When it was all over and Juanita sat 
 there in her empty school she was realizing that after 
 all the desperate moment had only been deferred and
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 275 
 
 must come again with absolute certainty. Christmas 
 was only two days off and her gun-rack was empty. 
 When she had come home there had not been a single 
 weapon there. 
 
 There would be no Christmas tree now! The be- 
 ribboned packages lay in a useless pile. Had school 
 been ostensibly in session, she knew that the desks 
 would have been as empty as the gun-rack. The whole 
 turtle-like life had drawn in its head and the country- 
 side lay as though besieged. 
 
 On Anse Havey's book-shelves were a few new vol- 
 umes, for Juanita was feeding his scant supply of lit- 
 erature, and a softer type of poetry was being added to 
 his frugal and stern repertoire. A number of men left 
 the mountains and went into exile elsewhere. These 
 were the witnesses who must testify against Luke Thix- 
 ton and whose lives would not have been worth counter- 
 feit money had they remained at home. 
 
 Then came Christmas Day itself, black and soggy 
 with the thaw that had set in and a moody dreariness in 
 the sky. The sun seemed to have despaired and made 
 his course spiritlessly from dawn to twilight, crawling 
 dimly across his daily arc. 
 
 Brother Anse Talbott came over to the school and 
 found both women sitting apathetically by an un- 
 trimmed fir tree, amid a litter of forgotten packages. 
 The children of Tribulation were having the sort of 
 Christmas they had always had a day of terror and 
 empty cheerlessness. 
 
 " Hit seems like a right-smart pity fer them little 
 shavers ter be plumb teetotally disapp'inted," mused the 
 old preacher reflectively. " 'Spose now ye put names
 
 376 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 on them gew-gaws an' let me jest sorter ride round an' 
 scatter 'em." 
 
 " You dear old Saint ! " cried Juanita, suddenly 
 roused out of her apathy. " But you'll freeze to death 
 or get drowned in some ford." 
 
 " Thet's all right," he answered briefly. " I reckon 
 I kin go ther route." 
 
 It took Good Anse Talbott three days of battle with 
 quicksand and mire to finish that mission. But for 
 three days he grimly rode torrent-flushed trails, the 
 one man who could go unchallenged alike to the houses 
 of McBriars and Haveys. Impartially the ragged 
 and drab-colored Christmas Saint crossed and recrossed 
 the line which was now a dead-line, pausing to leave 
 cheering trinkets under many dark roofs, and smiling 
 in his bushy beard as he carried away the remembrance 
 of childish smiles. And because at each house he told 
 them that Juanita Holland had sent him, the girl was 
 canonized afresh in hearts, old and young, back in 
 roadless coves and on bleak hillsides. 
 
 Once on Christmas Day, Juanita spoke of young 
 Milt and she saw Dawn's face change, from tear-stained 
 distress to hard bitterness. 
 
 " I wonder when he's going back to Lexington ? " 
 suggested the older girl, and the younger, unconsciously 
 lapsing into dialect, flashed quickly at her. " Don't 
 never name him ter me. I hates him! He's a Mc- 
 Briar!" 
 
 Later in the day as they stood in the sodden air by 
 the fence young Milt himself rode by and started to 
 draw rein. He slipped one hand into a pocket which
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 277 
 
 was bulging with some sort of package, but Dawn, 
 though her eyes met his in direct gaze, raised her chin 
 and looked through him as though he had no exist- 
 ence. 
 
 For an instant the boy's lips moved as if to speak, 
 then they tightened and without a word he rode on, his 
 shoulders stiff and his own head as high as the girl's 
 had been. 
 
 That night, though, when the lad sat moodily in his 
 own room, his hand slipped once more into his pocket. 
 Slowly it came out, bearing a small box. Inside was 
 a gold locket that he had bought in Lexington and a 
 slender gold chain to support it. He turned the thing 
 over in his hand and looked at it, then he rose and went 
 out of the house and down to the slowly freezing creek 
 and tossed the thing into the inky water. 
 
 Every evening found Anse Havey seated before Jua- 
 nita's hearth, studying the flicker of the firelight on her 
 face. Every detail of her expression, became to him as 
 something he had always known and worshiped the 
 little troubled furrow between her brows, the change- 
 fulness of her eyes through a varied scale of blue 
 each of them to his thinking more beautiful than the 
 others the exquisite chiseling of her lips and the 
 crisp tendril-like curl of the hair on her forehead and 
 neck ; these were all things that he saw again when he was 
 alone. 
 
 Some day Malcolm would come back and marry her 
 and then at that point Bad Anse Havey refused to 
 follow his trend of thought further. He only ground
 
 278 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 his teeth. " Ye damn fool," he told himself, " that ain't 
 no reason why ye shouldn't make the most of to-day. 
 She's right here now, an' she's sun an' moon an' star- 
 shine an' music an' sweetness." 
 
 She did not know, and he gave her no hint, that in 
 these times, with plots and counter-plots hatching on 
 both sides of the ridge he never made that journey in 
 the night without inviting death. He was walking miles 
 through black woodland trails each evening to relieve 
 for an hour or two her loneliness, and to worship with 
 sealed lips and a rebellious heart. 
 
 She accepted his tribute as a thing taken for granted, 
 never looking deep enough into his eyes to read the 
 depth of pain which they mirrored. It was a comfort 
 to have him there, even if for an hour at a time she 
 would seem to forget his presence and gaze at the embers 
 with eyes that told of thoughts wandering far away; 
 and since that was all he could have he accounted it well 
 worth its cost in risk and weariness and made no com- 
 plaint. 
 
 One night as he turned from the hill trail into the road 
 a rifle shot rang out and he heard the zip of a bullet in 
 the naked brush at his back. With ingrained caution 
 he sank out of sight and crouched listening, but his lips 
 broke into a contemptuous smile as the wild shout from 
 the darkness told him that it was only a drunken rider 
 in the night. That, too, he did not mention. 
 
 On the night before he was to go to Peril to attend 
 the trial of Luke Thixton, he came with a very full and 
 heavy heart. He knew that it might be a farewell. 
 To-morrow he must put to the touch all his hold on 
 his people and all his audacity of resolution. He stood
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 279 
 
 at the verge of an Austerlitz or a Waterloo, and he 
 had undertaken the thing for no reason except that it 
 had pleased her to command it. 
 
 He knew that among his own followers there were 
 smiles for the power with which a foreign woman had 
 enmeshed his independence, and if one failure marred 
 his plans those smiles would become derisive. It was 
 weakness to go on as he was going, gazing dumbly at 
 her with boundless adoration that he dared not voice. 
 To-night he would bluntly tell her that he was doing 
 these things because he loved her; that while he was 
 glad to do them, he could not let her go on blindly mis- 
 understanding his motives. He feared, and the thought 
 galled him with self-contempt, that to please her he 
 would throw down his whole regime in ruins before her 
 and let her walk over his own body lying across it. But 
 she must know, too, that that disloyalty to his people 
 and mission had cost him his self-respect. So he would 
 tell her that he loved her hopelessly and would not see 
 her again. 
 
 But when he reached the school she rose to receive 
 him and he could see only the slimness of her graceful 
 figure and the smile of welcome on her lips, and the man 
 who had never been recreant before tp the mandate of 
 resolution became tongue-tied. 
 
 She held out a hand which he took with more in his 
 grip than the clasp of friendship, but that she did not, 
 or would not, notice. 
 
 *' Anse," she laughed, " I've had a letter from home 
 to-day, urging me to give it all up and come back. They 
 don't realize how splendidly I am going to succeed, 
 thanks to your help. I want you to go with me soon
 
 280 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 and mark some more trees for felling. It won't be long 
 now before they can begin building again." 
 
 " I wonder," he said, looking at her with brows that 
 were deeply drawn and eyes full of suffering, " if ye'll 
 ever have time to stop talkin' about the school for a 
 little spell an' remember that I'm a human bein'." 
 
 " Remember that you're a human being? " she ques- 
 tioned in perplexity. 
 
 She stood there with one hand on the back of her 
 chair and her face puzzled. He decided at once that 
 that expression was the most beautiful she had ever 
 worn, and he sturdily held that conviction until her 
 eyes changed to laughter, when he foreswore his al- 
 legiance to the first fascination for the second. 
 
 "Are you sure you are a human being? " she teased. 
 " When you wear that sulky face you are only half hu- 
 man. I ought to make you stand in the corner until 
 you can be cheerful." 
 
 " I reckon," he said a little bitterly, " if ye ordered 
 me to stand in the corner I'd just about do it. I reckon 
 that's about how much manhood I've got left." 
 
 But he, too, laughed in the next moment. It pleased 
 her Majesty this evening to be a capricious child and 
 how can a man talk sternly with a beautiful child? He, 
 who was to-morrow to imperil his whole future in obe- 
 dience to her wish, sat silent, gazing at her and totally 
 unable to say the things he had meant to say. 
 
 After a while she picked up a sewing basket and drew 
 from it some filmy and gossamer thing, Anse Havey did 
 not know what. He felt vaguely that it was some detail 
 of woman's gear, belonging to the world of dainty things 
 with which he had no familiarity.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 281 
 
 For a long while she plied her needle, her slender 
 fingers moving in quick, graceful little gestures and her 
 brow bent over her work. She was an exquisite picture. 
 Her profile; the neck that rose so splendidly from her 
 straight shoulders, the fingers that flashed back and 
 forth and the slender foot that rested on the hearth ; all 
 these proclaimed her almost exotic refinement and aris- 
 tocracy. 
 
 Anse Havey cast a glance down at his own mud- 
 splashed boots and coarse clothing he the leader of 
 the wolf-pack! A great pain of contrast and remote- 
 ness seized him, and a passionate hunger gnawed at his 
 heart. The far-away look came again to her eyes and 
 he knew that he was for the moment forgotten; that 
 between them lay measureless distances, and that she 
 was living in a world to which he was a stranger. At 
 last he rose. 
 
 " I reckon I'll be goin'," he said bluntly ; " I've got 
 to start for Peril at sun-up." 
 
 " What's going on at Peril ? " she absently inquired. 
 
 " They're goin' to try Luke Thixton." 
 
 At that the far-away look left her face and for an 
 instant again the man saw that panic in her eyes, which 
 made him hope that she did care something. 
 
 " Anse," she pleaded, " take care of yourself . . . 
 I shall be so horribly anxious . . ." 
 
 He found himself taking a quick step forward. Now 
 he would tell her. He would break his silence and 
 make a clean breast of it. 
 
 " Why will ye be anxious ? " he demanded harshly. 
 " What difference would it make ? " 
 
 " You are my very best friend, and I can't spare
 
 282 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 you," she said innocently. " Wouldn't it make a dif- 
 ference to you if I were in danger? " 
 
 What could a man say to such artless ignorance and 
 blindness of true conditions? He brought his teeth to- 
 gether with a grating clamp. Once more she had made 
 him helpless by a note of appeal, and once more he was 
 silent. 
 
 " I reckon I won't be in much danger to-morrow," he 
 said, " but it would be a God's blessin' if I was dead." 
 
 These swift changes of mood were part of his moun- 
 tain nature, she told herself, where storms come quickly 
 and go quickly. Such outbursts she ignored. 
 
 The morning of the trial dawned on a town prepared 
 to face a bloody day. Long before train-time crowds 
 had drifted down to the station. 
 
 As though by common consent the McBriars stood on 
 one side of the track and the Haveys on the other. 
 
 For an hour they massed there, lowering of face, yet 
 quietly waiting. The time had not yet come to grapple. 
 Then the whistle shrieked across the river and each crowd 
 came a little forward, with hands tightened on rifles, 
 awaiting the supreme moment. The Deputy Sheriffs 
 came out of the depot and stood waiting between the 
 two crowds with a strained assumption of unconcern. 
 But when the train arrived it carried an extra coach and 
 at sight of it the McBriars groaned and knew once more 
 they were defeated. 
 
 They had come to wrest a prisoner from a Sheriff's 
 posse and encountered trained soldiery. Behind the 
 opened sashes of the coach they saw a solid mass of 
 blue overcoats and brown service hats. Every window
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 283 
 
 bristled with rifle barrels and fixed bayonets. Then 
 while the train was held beyond its usual brief stop, and 
 while those rifle barrels were trained impartially on 
 Haveys and McBriars, a line of soldiers began pouring 
 out into the road-bed and forming cordons along each 
 side of the track. Both lines moved slowly, but un- 
 waveringly forward, pressing back the crowds before 
 their urgent bayonets. 
 
 Two wicked-looking Gatling guns were unloaded from 
 the baggage car, and, tending them as men might handle 
 beloved pets, came squads whose capes were faced with 
 artillery red. 
 
 Shortly a compact little procession in column of fours 
 with the Gatling guns at its front and a hollow square 
 at its center was marching briskly to the Court-house. 
 In the hollow square went the defendant, handcuffed to 
 the Sheriff. Without delay or confusion the Gatling 
 guns were put in place, one commanding the Court- 
 house Square and one casting its many-eyed glance up 
 the hillside at the back. 
 
 Then with the bayonets of sentries crossed at the 
 doors the bell in the cupola rang while Judge Sidering 
 walked calmly into the building and instructed the 
 Sheriff to open Court. 
 
 His Honor had directed that, save officials, every man 
 who sought admission, should be disarmed at the door. 
 
 Luke Thixton bent forward in his chair and growled 
 into the ear of Old Milt McBriar who sat at his left: 
 
 " I've got as much chanst hyar as a fish on a hill 
 top. Hain't ye go in' ter do nothin' f er me ? " And 
 Milt looked about helplessly and swore under his breath. 
 
 One on-looker there had not been searched. Young
 
 284 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Jeb McNash bore the credentials of a special Deputy 
 Sheriff and under his coat was a holster with its flap 
 unbuttoned. While the panel was being selected; while 
 lawyers wrangled and witnesses testified ; while the Court 
 gazed off with half-closed eyes, rousing out of seeming 
 drowsiness only to overrule or sustain a motion, young 
 Jeb sat with his arms on the table, and never did his 
 eyes leave the face of the accused.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 IT was a very expeditious trial. 
 Judge Sidering glanced at the faces of Old Milt 
 and young Jeb and had no desire to prolong the 
 agony of those hours. The defense half-heartedly relied 
 upon the old device of a false alibi which the State 
 promptly punctured and riddled. Even the lawyers 
 seemed in haste to be through and set a voluntary limit 
 on their arguments. 
 
 At the end His Honor read brief instructions and 
 the panel was locked in its room. 
 
 Then the McBriars drew a little closer around the 
 chair where Old Milt waited and the militia captain 
 strengthened his guard outside and began unostenta- 
 tiously sprinkling uniformed men through the dingy 
 court-room until the hodden-gray throng was flecked 
 with blue. 
 
 The lawyers rose and stretched their arms and stood 
 chatting and chewing tobacco about the rusty stove. 
 Milt McBriar and the accused whispered together, wear- 
 ing faces devoid of expression, but through and over 
 this affectation of the casual, brooded the spirit of the 
 portentous. 
 
 The militia officers who stood charged with the duty 
 of curbing these dangerous potentialities made no at- 
 tempt to conceal their anxious earnestness, and Jeb Mc- 
 
 MC
 
 286 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Nash in whose eyes dwelt the fierce intentness of a cat 
 at a mouse-hole was not dissembling either. 
 
 At length there came a rap on the door of the jury- 
 room and instantly the low drone of voices fell to a hush. 
 His Honor poured a glass of water from the chipped 
 pitcher at his elbow while Luke Thixton and Milt Mc- 
 Briar, for all their forced immobility of feature, stiffly 
 braced themselves. Like some restless animal of many 
 legs the rough throng along the court-room benches 
 scraped its feet on the floor. 
 
 Young Jeb shifted his chair a few inches so that the 
 figure of the defendant might be in an uninterrupted 
 line of vision. He leaned far forward with his eyes 
 riveted on the face of the man he hated. His right hand 
 quietly slipped under his coat, and his fingers loosened 
 a weapon in its holster and nursed the trigger. 
 
 Then with a dragging of shoe leather the twelve 
 " good men and true " shambled to a semi-circle before 
 the bench, gazing stolidly and blankly at the rows of 
 battered law-books which served his Honor as a back- 
 ground. 
 
 There they stood awkwardly in the gaze of all eyes. 
 Judge Sidering glanced into the beetling countenance of 
 their foreman and inquired in that bored voice which 
 seems a judicial affectation even in questions of life 
 and death, " Gentlemen, have you agreed upon a ver- 
 dict? " 
 
 The foreman nodded. The sheet of paper, which 
 he passed to the Clerk, had been signed by more than 
 one juror with a cross-mark because he could not 
 write. 
 
 " We, the jury," read the Clerk in a clear voice,
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 287 
 
 " find the defendant Luke Thixton guilty as charged 
 in the indictment." 
 
 There although he had not yet reached the end he 
 indulged in a dramatic pause, then read on the more 
 important clause in the terms of the Kentucky law 
 which leaves the placing of the penalty in the hands of 
 the jurors " and fix his punishment at death." 
 
 As though relieved from a great pressure young Jeb 
 McNash withdrew his hand from his holster and settled 
 back in his chair with flexed muscles. Judge Sidering's 
 formal question broke on dead quiet, " So say you all, 
 gentlemen ? " and twelve shaggy heads nodded wordless 
 affirmation. 
 
 Soldiers filed in from the rear. In less than thirty 
 seconds the prisoner had disappeared. Outside the 
 Gatling guns remained in place, and the troops patroled 
 the streets. 
 
 For two days the McBriars remained in town, but the 
 troops stayed many days, and in that time Luke had 
 again been taken back to Louisville. Neither of the 
 clans would have been foolhardy enough to have defied 
 the warning scowl of Gatling guns that could rake hills 
 and puncture walls as fast as a man could turn a crank. 
 
 Once more Old Milt led back a disgruntled faction 
 with no more spirited a programme than to go home and 
 bide their time again. When they brought Luke back 
 to hang him, they would have one final opportunity. 
 
 A seeming of quiet under which hot wrath smoldered 
 settled over hill and cove, but a new note began to run 
 through the cabins of the McBriar dependents. It was 
 a note of waning faith and shaken loyalty for their 
 chief.
 
 288 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 From every recent clash of brains and efficiency, the 
 younger man west of the ridge had emerged the victor. 
 Old Milt had been a lion once, but now men said, " It 
 sorter seemed like he'd done lost his gumption." So 
 the lesser McBriars with cooling military ardor began 
 sending their children back to school. 
 
 Twice Milt had called his clan out to battle and twice 
 they had responded with no faltering or hesitation. 
 Twice he had ordered them home again with nothing 
 done. When next he called there would be men among 
 them who would not stir from their hearths at his bid- 
 ding. Meantime their children might as well be learn- 
 ing their rudiments, for in spite of all the quick rever- 
 sion to type at the call of battle, that spirit which 
 Juanita Holland had planted was growing, and in each 
 interval of peace it became more apparent. Many old 
 and acknowledged ideas were being subtly undermined. 
 
 Juanita's spirit began to revive again. Her chil- 
 dren were coming back to her and elders came with 
 the children. There were guns again in her rack 
 now, and some of them were guns on which the pale 
 wintry light had glinted that day just before Christmas 
 when the McBriars had made their primitive attack on 
 the bastille. 
 
 Old Milt read the signs and felt that his dominion was 
 now a thing upon which decay had set its seal, and un- 
 der his grave face he was masking a breaking heart. 
 His star was setting, and since he was no longer young 
 and was utterly incapable of bending, he sickened slowly 
 through the wet winter, and men spoke of him as an 
 invalid. 
 
 With Milt " ailin' " there was no one to take up the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 289 
 
 reins of clan government and those elements that had 
 been held together only by his iron dominance began 
 drifting asunder and weakening. 
 
 One mill day when a group of McBriars met with their 
 sacks of grist at a water-mill someone put the question, 
 " Whose a-goin' ter go down thar an' take Luke Thixton 
 away from ther Haveys now thet Old Milt's about 
 petered out ? " 
 
 There was a long silence and at last a voice drawled, 
 " Hit hain't a-goin' ter be me. What's Luke Thixton 
 ter me anyhow? He didn't nuver lend me no money." 
 
 " I reckon thar's a heap o' sense in thet," answered 
 another ; " 'pears like, when I come ter recollect, mos' 
 of ther fightin' an' fursin' I've done in my time hain't 
 been in my own quarrels nohow." And slowly that 
 spirit spread and gained recruits for peace. 
 
 When Anse Havey went over to the school one day 
 about that time Juanita took him again to the rifle-rack, 
 now once more well filled. " Have a look, my Lord 
 Barbarian," she laughed. " Mars is paying me trib- 
 ute. So ever shall it be with tyranny." 
 
 Slowly and one by one Anse Havey took up the pieces 
 and examined them. " It ain't only Mars that's payin' 
 ye tribute," he thought, but he only said : " That's 
 all right. I seem to see more McBriar guns there than 
 Havey guns. It would suit me all right if ye got the 
 last one of 'em." 
 
 " Mightn't you as well hang yours there, too ? " she 
 challenged. " I'm still willing to give you the honors of 
 war." But he only smiled. " I'll hang mine up last 
 of all, I reckon. Luke Thixton ain't hung yet, and 
 there's other clouds a-brewin' besides that."
 
 290 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " What clouds ? " she asked. " Are you still ex- 
 pecting a foreign invasion?" 
 
 " There was a bunch of surveyors through here 
 lately," he said slowly. " They just sort of looked 
 round and went away. Some day they'll come back." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 Anse Havey shrugged his shoulders. " I may need 
 my gun," he said. 
 
 Not until it became certain that he must die did Old 
 Milt send for his son, or even permit him to be told of 
 his illness. But just as the winter's siege was ending 
 Young Milt came home and two days later the mountains 
 heard that the old feudist was dead. When that news 
 reached Luke Thixton in the j ail at Louisville he turned 
 his face to the wall of his cell for he knew that his last 
 chance had died with the old McBfiar. Now without 
 doubt he must hang. 
 
 The father could not force himself as he lay dying 
 in his great four-post bed to make a full confession to 
 his son. Soon he must face a Court where he could 
 no longer dissemble, but he must die without forfeiting 
 Young Milt's respect. 
 
 Brother Anse Talbott and Juanita and a doctor who 
 had come from Lexington were witnesses to that leave- 
 taking. They saw the old man beckon feebly to the 
 boy. Young Milt came and sat on the edge of the bed, 
 schooling his features as he awaited the final injunctions 
 which, by his code, would be mandatory for life. 
 
 They all waited to hear the old lion break out in a 
 final burst of vindictiveness ; to see him lay upon his 
 boy's young shoulders the unfinished ordeals of his 
 hatreds. But it was the eyes of the father, not the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 291 
 
 feudist, that gazed up from the pillow. His wasted 
 fingers lay affectionately on his son's knee and his voice 
 was gentle. 
 
 " Son," said the old man, " I'd love ter hev ye live at 
 peace ef ye kin. . . . I've done tried ther other way 
 an' hit's kilt me ... I'd ruther ye'd let my fights be 
 buried along with my body. . . . Anse Havey's goin' 
 ter run things in these mountings. . . . He's a smarter 
 man than me. I couldn't never make no peace with 
 Anse Havey, but the things that's always stood be- 
 twixt us lays a long way back. . . . Mebby you an' 
 him mout pull tergether an' end ther feud. ... I 
 leaves thet with you, but hit took death ter make me see 
 hit. . . ." Here he broke off exhaustedly and for a 
 time seemed fighting for breath. At last he added, 
 " I've knowed all along thet Luke killed Fletch Mc- 
 Nash. I thought I'd ought ter tell ye." 
 
 A week after the death of the old leader Young Milt 
 rode over to the house of Anse Havey, and there he 
 found Jeb McNash. The two young men looked at 
 each other without expression. Just after the death 
 of the elder McBriar, Jeb would not have willingly re- 
 newed their quarrel, and as for Young Milt he no 
 longer felt resentment. 
 
 " Anse," said the heir to McBriar leadership, " I 
 rid over here ter offer ye my hand. I've done found out 
 that Luke is es guilty es hell. I didn't believe hit 
 afore. So fur es I'm concerned he kin hang an' I'm 
 goin' ter tell every McBriar man that will hearken ter 
 me ther same thing. So fur as I'm concerned," went 
 on the lad, " I'm against the shootin' of any man from 
 the la'rel."
 
 293 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Just as the earliest flowers began to peep out with 
 shy faces in the woods, and the first softness came to 
 the air, men began rearing a scaffold in the Court-house 
 yard, at Peril. 
 
 One day a train brought Luke Thixton back to the 
 hills, but this time only a few soldiers came with him, 
 and they were not needed. Juanita tried to forget the 
 significance of that Friday, but she could not for all 
 the larger boys were absent from school, and all day 
 Thursday the road had been sprinkled with horses 
 and wagons. She knew with a shudder that they were 
 going to town to see the hanging. A gruesome fascina- 
 tion of interest attached to so unheard-of an event as 
 a McBriar clansman dying on a Havey scaffold, with 
 his people standing by idle. 
 
 But Luke Thixton, going to his death there among 
 enemies, went without flinching and his snarling lips 
 even twisted a bit derisively when he mounted the 
 scaffold, as they had twisted when he declined Good 
 Anse Talbott's ministrations in the jail. 
 
 Now he gazed for the last time about the jumbled 
 levels of the town. Off among the mountains there was 
 just a suggestion of coming green. The sky was full 
 of the amber light that tells of spring. A week later 
 there would be vividly tender little leaves where now 
 there were only buds, but for him of course that would 
 be too late. 
 
 Nearer at hand about the square, and further away, 
 even on the roofs of houses, stood and perched and 
 sat his audience. There were women in gay shawls and 
 men on whose faces was only the curiosity of beholding 
 an unusual spectacle. It was different from the type
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 293 
 
 and temper of the crowd which he would have wished 
 to see there. Now there were no grim faces and glint- 
 ing rifle barrels, no implacable resolve to save him. 
 Since he must die among enemies he would give them no 
 weakness over which to gloat in memory. 
 
 He raised his head and his snarl turned slowly and 
 unpleasantly into a grin of contempt, and his last words 
 were a picturesque curse called down alike on the heads 
 of the foes who put him to death and the false friends 
 who had failed him. 
 
 Afterward Young Milt and Bad Anse shook hands, 
 and the younger man said to the older: 
 
 " Now that I've proved to ye that I meant what I 
 said, I reckon we can make a peace that'll endure a 
 spell, can't we ? " And Anse answered, " Milt, I've 
 been hopin' we could ever since the day we watched 
 for the feller that aimed to burn down the school."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THAT spring new buildings went up at the school, 
 and brave rows of flowers appeared in the gar- 
 den. 
 
 At first her college had been a kindergarten in 
 effect, but now as Juanita stood on the porch at recess 
 she wondered if any other school-mistress had ever 
 drawn about her such a strange assortment of pupils. 
 There were little tots in bright calico, glorying in big 
 bows of cotton hair-ribbon but submitting grudg- 
 ingly to the combing of the hair they sought to adorn. 
 There were larger boys and girls, too, and even a half- 
 dozen men who were just now pitching horse-shoes and 
 smoking pipes and they also were learning to read 
 and write. 
 
 Off to himself, as morose as though he would brook 
 no kindliness or companionship, was a bony lad of 
 seventeen with a hermit visage, forbidding and sour. 
 He had come to the school almost slinking, from some 
 " spring-branch " back in the hills where his people 
 lived like cattle. He walked with a scowl on his face 
 and a chip on his shoulder and sat apart in the school- 
 room, but he studied passionately with a grim tenacity 
 of purpose and his mind drank up what came to it like 
 a sponge. 
 
 In the afternoons women rode in on mules and horses 
 
 or came on foot and Juanita taught them not only let- 
 
 294,
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 295 
 
 ters and figures, but lessons looking to cleaner and more 
 healthful cabins. 
 
 May came with smiles and songs in the sky from 
 sunrise to sunset and in the woods, where the moisture 
 rose and tender greens were sending out their hopeful 
 shoots, the wildflowers unfolded themselves. Then 
 Juanita Holland and Anse Havey would go together 
 up to the ridge and watch the great awakening across 
 the brown and gray humps of the hills, and under their 
 feet was a carpet of delicate petals. 
 
 Blue clusters of wild flox were everywhere in little 
 patches of cerulean and those demurest of blossoms, the 
 *' quaker ladies," lifted timid, dew-drenched faces to 
 the sun. 
 
 They would stroll, too, down into the hollows where 
 the earth was damp and the wind-flowers came to snow- 
 flake blossoms and the violets were little fallen stars 
 and the wild columbine sprang from the angles of the 
 rocks. The white cups of the May-apple hid there un- 
 der their umbrella-like leaves. The dogwood soon came 
 to dash the greening woods with white spray and take 
 the place of the pioneer redbud and the frail snow of 
 the wild plum. The leafage was all delicate and young 
 and very bright. 
 
 Overhead were tuneful skies and gallantly riding 
 clouds. In the bottom lands the lark sent out his 
 single-noted call and his silvery trill and the black bird 
 and his brilliant cousin, the yellow-winged starling, were 
 flitting everywhere. 
 
 Even the ache in Anse Havey's heart, the ache of 
 premonition, gave way to the spirit of spring. 
 These blossoms and sap-fed trees must know that the
 
 296 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 future held for them the coming of winter and sleet and 
 snow and death, yet they were joyous now with the 
 fulness and richness of the present. He would make 
 their bright philosophy his own. He was walking 
 these woods with her, and in their silences together she 
 smiled on him, even if she smiled with unawakened eyes. 
 
 Was there any woman born here, who could leap as 
 lightly over rocky trails or dip as lithely under hanging 
 ropes of vine or whose voice was more akin to that of 
 the wood thrush, pouring out his soul in happiness and 
 music back there in the timber? 
 
 Anse Havey had never had such a companionship and 
 hidden things began to wake in him. He had been, 
 in the stress of life, oak and rock. Now he began to 
 realize the better part, for " in its sunshine he was 
 vine and flower." 
 
 So when she stood there, with the spring breeze 
 caressing the curling tendrils at her temples, and blow- 
 ing her gingham skirt about her slim ankles, and pointed 
 off, smiling, to his house, he dropped his head in mock 
 shame. 
 
 " ' Only the castle moodily, gloomed by itself 
 apart,' " she quoted in accusation and the man laughed 
 boyishly. 
 
 " I reckon ye haven't seen the castle lately," he said. 
 " Ye wouldn't hardly know it. It's gettin' all cleaned 
 up an' made civilized. The eagle's nest is turnin' into 
 a sure-'nough bird-cage." 
 
 "Who's changing now?" she bantered. "Am I 
 civilizing you or " her eyes danced with badinage 
 " are you preparing to get married? " 
 
 His face flushed and then became almost surly.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 297 
 
 " Who'd marry me ? " he savagely demanded. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," she teased. " Whom have 
 you asked? " 
 
 He bent a little forward, and said slowly : 
 
 " Once ye told me I was wastin' my youth. Ye 
 'lowed I ought to be captain of my soul. If I found 
 a woman that I wanted and she wouldn't have me 
 what ought I to do about it? " 
 
 " There are two courses prescribed in all the cor- 
 respondence schools, and both are perfectly simple," 
 she announced with mock gravity. " One is to simply 
 take the lady first and ask her afterward. The other 
 is even easier: get another girl." 
 
 " Oh ! " he said. He was hurt because she had either 
 not seen, or had pretended not to see, his meaning. She 
 had not grasped the presumptuous dream and ef- 
 frontery of his heart. 
 
 His voice for a moment became enigmatical as he 
 said, " Sometimes I think ye've played hell in these 
 mountains." 
 
 Usually on their rambles she carried a small book, 
 and now it pleased her to ignore his surly comment and 
 to perch herself on a high and mossy rock and open her 
 little volume. He stood down below with his elbows 
 propped on the top of the bowlder, wearing such a face 
 as Pygmalion may have worn before his marble Galatea 
 turned to rosy flesh and stepped down from her cold 
 pedestal. 
 
 " Now listen and I'll tell you what Mr. Browning 
 once had to say on the subject," she ordered and 
 opening the book, she began to read from " The Statue 
 and the Bust."
 
 298 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Slowly, the man, at first impatient of so impersonal 
 a thing as a poet's abstractions, found his interest 
 chained and a fire began to burn in his eyes. Was she 
 reading him that old romance as any woman to any man 
 or as one woman giving a soul-deep hint to one man? 
 As she came to the moral of the story of the Duke who 
 delayed too long in taking what he wished, the man's 
 breath was coming fast and his fingers were clenched. 
 
 " ' Be sure that each renewed the vow, 
 No to-morrow's sun should arise and set 
 And leave them then as it left them now.' " 
 
 She let the book drop for a moment and her eyes 
 strayed. The man felt his body stiffen, and after a 
 while she took up the little volume and began to read, 
 once more he fancied with a little sigh. 
 
 " ' But the next day passed and the next day yet, 
 With still fresh cause to wait one day more 
 Ere each leaped over the parapet.' " 
 
 He was sure this time that from her half-parted lips 
 a sigh had broken, and that there was personal wist- 
 fulness in the little line between her brows. He bent 
 closer and prompted in a voice which he knew came 
 hoarsely, " Go on." 
 
 "*So. While these wait the trump of doom 
 How do their spirits pass, I wonder, 
 Nights and days in the narrow room. 
 
 " ' I hear you reproach, " But delay was best 
 
 Since, their end was a crime." " Oh, a crime will do 
 
 As well," I reply, "to serve for a test 
 
 As a golden virtue through and through . . . 
 And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost, 
 Is the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin. . . ." '"
 
 299 
 
 She shook her head as one who would shake off a 
 thought which carries a deep hurt, and then, looking up 
 at Anse Havey, she gave a little start and forced a 
 smile. 
 
 Suddenly it had come to the man that perhaps after 
 all he, too, had repeated the Duke's mistake. He, too, 
 had one youth which was passing and could not be re- 
 newed. He could not even set up a statue in the square 
 in memory of its love. Slowly the veins of his temples 
 swelled into cords. His eyes caressed and devoured 
 the face of the girl perched there above him on the 
 rock. One of her hands rested on the moss and to- 
 ward it his own hand crept. Then it was that she 
 looked at him with a start and smiled. The man's 
 hand came back and in his chest rose a groan which 
 did not reach his lips. Though she had been reading 
 at him she had not been reading to him. She had been 
 thinking all the while of another of Roger Mal- 
 colm, he supposed and when she had looked up and 
 realized after her revery that he was there, it had been 
 almost as if he had come suddenly and had surprised 
 her. From such thoughts as those he was an exile. 
 
 " So you see," she said blithely enough, " Mr. 
 Browning seems to favor the first course recommended 
 by the correspondence schools, rather than the second," 
 
 " The case ain't just the same sort, I reckon," he 
 said with an effort. " The lady loved him, too, ye 
 see . . . and besides he was a king ... or pretty nigh 
 a king." 
 
 " Every man can be a king if he will," she declared 
 and the furrow came back. " I knew a man once who 
 was like the Duke. He waited."
 
 300 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Anse Havey gripped his teeth together. 
 
 " I'm obleeged to ye for the advice," he said. " Will 
 ye lend me that book? I reckon I'll read that thing 
 over again sometime." 
 
 That spring silent forces were at work in the hills; 
 as silent and less beneficent than the stirring sap and 
 the brewing of showers. 
 
 Three men in the mountains were now fully con- 
 vinced that what the world needs the world will have, 
 and they were trying to find a solution to the question 
 which might make their own people sharers in the gain, 
 instead of victims. These three were Anse and Milt 
 and Jeb, and their first step was the effort to hold 
 land-owners in check, and make them slow to sell and 
 guarded in their bargaining. 
 
 Jim Fletcher, a mountain man who had for years 
 drifted between Tribulation and Winchester, trading in 
 cattle and timber, made a journey through the hills that 
 spring, and was everywhere received as " home-folks." 
 For him there were no bars of distrust and he was able 
 for that reason to buy land right and left. Though 
 he had paid for it at a price above the average it was 
 a price far below the value of the coal and timber it 
 contained and Jim had picked his land. 
 
 Anse Havey and his associates knew that Jim 
 Fletcher had been subsidized; that the money he spent 
 so lavishly was not his own money ; and that he came 
 as a stalking horse, but they did not know that he had 
 been to Louisville and had conferred there with Mr. 
 Trevor. Neither did they know at once that he had 
 visited the cabins of every malcontent among both 
 the former factions and that he was a mischief-maker
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 301 
 
 adroitly laying here in the hills the foundation for a 
 new feud. 
 
 Jim had a bland tongue and a persuasive manner 
 and he talked to the mountain men in their own speech, 
 but he was none the less the advance agent of the new 
 enemy from down below: the personal fulfilment of 
 Juanita's prophecy to Roger Malcolm. 
 
 At the school things were going on actively and hope- 
 fully, with now and then a marring note of discourage- 
 ment. 
 
 One Friday afternoon the sullen boy came in. His 
 face was flushed and his appearance hinted of drink- 
 ing. He said no word, made no apology, but with his 
 manner of defiance for any question, went to the rack 
 and took out his rifle and his revolver. 
 
 The next day was Saturday and that afternoon Bad 
 Anse Havey was walking with Juanita. 
 
 The girl had anxiously told him about the coming of 
 the sullen boy to withdraw his rifle from her shrine. 
 " What does it mean, Anse ? " she demanded. He had 
 laughed. 
 
 " I reckon," he retorted, " it means that ye can't 
 change nature in a day nor grow a poplar tree in a 
 flower pot." 
 
 Then while they still talked there was a yell from the 
 road and a clatter of hooves. They looked out to see 
 one of those old mountain demonstrations that used to 
 punctuate Saturday afternoons. 
 
 A party of drunken horsemen were galloping with 
 their bridle reins in their teeth and firing off rifles and 
 pistols in the air with both hands. They were " ridin' 
 about, huntin' trouble." They were attacking no one,
 
 302 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 unless some one should venture to smile or frown at 
 them. They were showing themselves free-born 
 citizens and a law to themselves and they were all full 
 of whiskey and quarrel. 
 
 They passed the school and their shots and shouts 
 went around the turn of the road. At their head rode 
 the sullen boy who studied with passionate ardor and 
 zest. 
 
 Juanita sighed, but Bad Anse only smiled. 
 
 "Let 'em be," he said philosophically. "They'll 
 sober up after while. Just be right glad at the prog- 
 ress ye've made " 
 
 " Anse," she suddenly exclaimed, " you must coun- 
 sel your people not to take their guns away." 
 
 " Me ! " he exclaimed. " Ain't ye pushing our con- 
 tract right far? When did I ever stand for clippin' 
 an eagle's claws ? " 
 
 And yet the feud-leader did cause a word to go from 
 cabin to cabin, to the effect that the public bearing of 
 arms was now unnecessary, and showed a lack of con- 
 fidence in Young Milt McBriar, who was no longer an 
 enemy, but a friend. 
 
 " Take your rifles and hang 'em up at the school, 
 boys," he suggested to a group one day on the road- 
 side. " As long as they're there they'll be out of mis- 
 chief." 
 
 After he had spoken and ridden on several heads 
 shook dubiously. 
 
 " Looks like Anse is changin' right smart," said one. 
 " It beats me how some fellers let a woman lead 'em 
 'round." 
 
 "Ei a woman's leadin' him round," retorted a more
 
 303 
 
 loyal defender, " no one else don't. I reckon hit hain't 
 hardly becomin' fer none of ye folks ter criticise Anse 
 Havey. As fer me I hangs my old rifle-gun up on the 
 peg this same day, an' ef anybody's got any remarks 
 ter make about hit, I'm ready ter listen." 
 
 In a few days the boy came back. He never al- 
 luded to his outbreak or breathed a word of apology, 
 but he put the gun back in its place and once more at- 
 tacked his books. 
 
 Sometimes a lad or older man, going out, would pause 
 irresolute at the rack and eye his weapon covetously, 
 but in the end he hearkened to counsel and left it there. 
 
 " What are you doing, Bruce? " inquired Juanita one 
 day as she found a tow-headed lad of twenty standing 
 before her shrine with a look of longing in his face. 
 
 " I was jest feelin' kinder lonesome withouten my 
 rifle-gun," was the reply. " Hit used ter be my dad's 
 an' hit's done some good work in hits day." 
 
 Juanita nodded and it was her smile rather than her 
 words which proved disarming. 
 
 " Yes, I know," she sympathized, " but those days are 
 over. These are days of peace." 
 
 The girl did not realize how much she was leaning 
 on the strength of Anse Havey, how she depended on 
 him for counsel and encouragement, which he gave not 
 in behalf of the school, but because he was the school- 
 teacher's slave. She saw the little hospital rise on the 
 hill and thought of what it would do, and she believed 
 that Anse Havey must be, in his heart, converted, even 
 though his mountain obstinacy withheld the admission. 
 
 Then while the roads and hillsides were joyous with 
 spring came a squad of lads bearing transit and chain,
 
 304 
 
 who begun running a tentative line through the land 
 that Jim Fletcher had bought. Anse Havey watched 
 them grimly with arms folded, but said no word until 
 they came to the boundary of his own place. There 
 he met them at the border. " Boys," he said, " ye 
 mustn't cross that fence. This is my land an* I forbids 
 ye." 
 
 Their foreman argued. 
 
 " We only want to take the measurements necessary 
 to complete our line, Mr. Havey, we won't work any in- 
 jury." 
 
 Anse shook his head. 
 
 " Come in, boys, an' eat with me an' make yourselves 
 at home," he told them, " but leave your tools outside." 
 
 Men from the brick house patroled the fence line 
 with rifles and the young men were forced to turn 
 back. 
 
 But later they drew near the house of old Bob Me* 
 Greeger, and he, stealing down to a place in the thicket 
 of rhododendron, saw them perilously near the trickling 
 stream which even then bore on its surface little kernels 
 of yellow corn. Deeply and violently Old Bob swore 
 as he drank, from his little blue keg, and when next day 
 he saw them again he asked counsel of no man. He 
 went down and crept close through the laurel, and as 
 his old rifle spoke a school-boy from the Bluegrass fell 
 dead in the creek bed.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 AFTER that death, the first murder of an innocent 
 outsider the war which Anse Havey had so long 
 foreseen broke furiously and brought the or- 
 ders of upland and lowland to the grip of bitter ani- 
 mosity. 
 
 Old McGreeger's victim had been young Roy Cal- 
 vin, the son of Judge Calvin of Lexington and the 
 name of Calvin in central Kentucky was one associated 
 with the State's best traditions. 
 
 It had run, in a strong bright thread through the 
 pattern of Kentucky's achievements and when news 
 of the wanton assassination came home, the State awoke 
 to a shock of horror. The infamy of the hills was 
 screamed in echo to the mourning and the name of Bad 
 Anse Havey was once more printed in large type. 
 
 Editorial and news column alluded to him as the pa- 
 tron saint of the lawless order, which made such out- 
 rages possible. Though Anse held his peace, Juanita 
 saw lines of stoical sternness settling around the cor- 
 ners of his lips, and knew that he was silently burning 
 with the injustice of reports which he pretended not 
 to hear. 
 
 The men whose capital sought to wrest profit from 
 the hills and whose employe had been slain, were quick 
 
 to utilize this hue and cry of calumny. 
 
 305
 
 306 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 They hurled themselves into their fight, for gaining 
 possession of coveted land, and were not particular as 
 to methods. 
 
 Jim Fletcher came and went constantly between the 
 lowlands and highlands. He was all things to all men 
 and in the hills he cursed the lowlander, but in the low- 
 lands cursed the hills. Milt and Jeb and Anse rode 
 constantly from cabin to cabin in their efforts to cir- 
 cumvent the adroit schemes of the mountain Judas 
 who had sold his soul to the foreign syndicate. 
 
 Fletcher sought a foot-hold for capital to pierce 
 fields acquired at the price of undeveloped land and 
 then to take the profit of development. Anse sought 
 to hold title until the sales could be on a fairer basis 
 and so the issue was made up. 
 
 Capitalists like Malcolm who sat in directors' rooms 
 launching a legitimate enterprise had no actual knowl- 
 edge of the instrumentalities being employed on the 
 real battle-field. Lawyers tried condemnation suits 
 with indifferent success and then reached out their 
 hands for a new weapon. 
 
 Back in the old days when Kentucky was not a State, 
 but a County, land-patents had been granted by Vir- 
 ginia to men who had never claimed their property. 
 For two hundred years other men who settled as 
 pioneers had held undisturbed possession: they and 
 their children's children. Now into the Courts piled 
 multitudinous suits of eviction in the names of plain- 
 tiffs whose eyes had never seen the broken skyline of 
 the Cumberlands. The purpose was deceit since it 
 sought to drag through long and costly litigation 
 pauper land-holders and to impose upon their poverty
 
 307 
 
 such a galling burden as should drive them to ultimate 
 terms of surrender. 
 
 Men and women who owned, or thought they owned, 
 a log shack and a tilting cornfield found themselves 
 facing a new and bewildering crisis. Their untaught 
 minds brooded and they talked violently of holding by 
 title of rifle what their fathers had wrested from Na- 
 ture ; what they had tended with sweat and endless toil. 
 
 But Anse Havey and Milt McBriar knew that the 
 day was at hand when the rifle would no longer serve. 
 They employed lawyers fitted to meet those other lawyers 
 and give them battle in the Courts and these lawyers 
 were paid by Anse Havey and Milt McBriar. 
 
 The two stood stanchly together as a buffer be- 
 tween their almost helpless people and the encroaching 
 tentacles of the new octopus, while Juanita, looking on 
 at the forming of the battle-lines, was torn with 
 anxiety. 
 
 Once she said, " Anse, Roger Malcolm speaks of com- 
 ing here." 
 
 " Ye'd better warn him not to come," said Anse 
 grimly. Then he added : " Oh, he wouldn't have no call 
 to fear nothin' from me. There's a reason why I ain't 
 licensed to harm him. But there's a spirit in the hills 
 I won't answer for. If he comes he mightn't get back." 
 
 He paused, then added : " But maybe ye wants to 
 see him? " 
 
 She shook her head, a little mournfully, but with 
 decision. 
 
 " No," she said slowly. " Once I wished for him all 
 the time but that's over now." 
 
 In one way, of course, that statement meant noth-
 
 308 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 ing. It did not narrow by an inch the breadth of the 
 chasm between them a chasm of caste and kind. 
 Yet so hungrily does a heart which loves grasp after 
 straws of encouragement that Anse Havey carried 
 home a lighter heart and hopes wildly clamoring for 
 recognition. 
 
 In Bad Anse Havey the combination of interests 
 recognized its really formidable foe. In the mountain 
 phrase he must be " man-powered outen ther way." 
 And there were still men in the hills, who if other means 
 failed would sell the service of their " rifle-guns " for 
 money. With such as these, it became the care of cer- 
 tain supernumeraries to establish an understanding. 
 In the last election a thing had happened which had 
 not for many years before happened in Kentucky; a 
 change of parties had swept from power in Frankfort 
 the administration which owed loyalty to Havey influ- 
 ences. 
 
 It was only at Juanita's school that any seeming of 
 tranquillity remained. There while the elements were 
 battling all about, the pupils were learning and the 
 sick were being tended. 
 
 The girl did not know that Anse Havey carried in 
 his pocket through these troubled times a small copy 
 of Browning, and that often he read again, or repeated 
 to himself: 
 
 " The sin I impute to each frustrate ghost ; 
 Is the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin " 
 
 or that in his head and heart was going on a debate 
 more vital even than squatters' rights versus Virginia 
 patents.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 309 
 
 A new law had recently been written into the criminal 
 jurisprudence of the State, providing that a change of 
 venue might be granted in cases of felony on the mo- 
 tion of the Commonwealth as well as that of the de- 
 fense. It was a good law, making it possible to take a 
 criminal out of a district where the hands of justice 
 were bound by local prejudice or local fear. Now the 
 learned counsel for the syndicate bethought themselves 
 of its possibilities and smiled. 
 
 Bad Anse Havey was indicted as an accessory to the 
 murder of young Calvin and he would be tried not in 
 Peril, but in the Bluegrass. The prosecution would be 
 able to show that he had warned the surveyors off his 
 own place and had picketed his fence line with rifle-men. 
 They would be able to show that he was the forefront 
 of the fight against innovation and that lesser moun- 
 tain men followed his counsel and regarded his word 
 as law. But more than that the Jurors who passed on 
 his question of life and death would be drawn from a 
 community which knew him only by his newspaper- 
 made reputation. 
 
 So it was not long before Anse Havey lay in a cell 
 in the Winchester jail. He had been denied bond, 
 and fronted a dreary prospect as he quoted to him- 
 self: 
 
 "The sin I impute to each frustrate ghost; 
 Is the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin " 
 
 Deep in the heart of the Bluegrass Kentuckian lies 
 implanted a spirit of justice and fair play, but his na- 
 ture is passionate. He flashes up hotly to battle and 
 sometimes sees through eyes blind with prejudice.
 
 310 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 When the trial of Anse Havey began there was one 
 spirit in the land. Here was an exponent of the un- 
 justifiable system of murder from ambush. In the 
 cemetery at Lexington where sleep the founders of the 
 Western empire, lay a boy whose life had just begun in 
 all the blossom and sunshine of promise and who 
 had done no wrong. 
 
 Over that same city of the dead, dominating it from 
 a tall shaft, rose Joel Hart's great figure of Henry 
 Clay. 
 
 It stood as the Great Commoner had often stood in 
 life, with one hand outstretched in earnest plea and 
 head raised in devoted eloquence, protesting against the 
 shedding of fraternal blood. It was the high privilege 
 of the men drawn from that jury panel to make of the 
 accused such an example as should awe his fellow mur- 
 derers. 
 
 The special term of the Court had brought to Win- 
 chester a throng of farmer folk and on-lookers. Their 
 horses stood hitched at the racks about the square 
 when the Sheriff led Anse Havey from the jail to the 
 old building where he was to face his accusers and the 
 Judges, who sat on the bench and in the jury-box. 
 
 White ribbons of smooth turnpike rattled in the 
 summer drowsiness to the hooves of trotting horses as 
 the friends of the murdered boy trooped in from man- 
 sions and cottages set in woodlands where the bluegrass 
 waved knee-deep. They came to see justice meted 
 out to this arch-fiend of the wild mountains. Negroes 
 nudged each other and pointed to him with loud guffaws 
 of derision as he walked, passive of mien and erect of 
 shoulder, from his cell to the columned front of the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 311 
 
 Clark County Court-house. It was not his world, but 
 the richer, prouder world of his enemies. 
 
 Back in the tiers of benches was no hodden gray 
 mass of men in butternut and women in calico, but 
 farmers whose acres were rich and young men in clean 
 linen and girls in gayly flapping, flower-trimmed hats 
 and shimmery summer gowns. 
 
 He had once before walked among such people as a 
 law-maker in the State Capital. Now they sought to 
 send him back to Frankfort as a convict unless they 
 could do better and hang him. He took his seat with 
 his counsel at his elbow and listened to the preliminary 
 formalities of impaneling a Jury. His face told noth- 
 ing, but as man after man was excused because he had 
 formed an opinion, he read little that was hopeful in 
 the outlook. One old farmer rose belligerently when 
 his name was reached and glared vengefully at the 
 prisoner. 
 
 " Have you any bias or prejudice which would pre- 
 vent you from giving this defendant a fair and impar- 
 tial trial under the law and the evidence? " came the 
 monotonous question, and almost before it had ended 
 the venire-man blazed back, " I've got a prejudice 
 against any man that assassinates his neighbor." 
 
 He had voiced the sentiment of his County. He was 
 a little more outspoken than his fellows, but that was 
 the sole difference. Anse Havey's face remained mask- 
 like and no expression of anxiety showed in his eyes. 
 He was very tired and sat through the taking of evi- 
 dence and through the vitriolic denunciation of the 
 Commonwealth's statement with none of the desperado's 
 bravado and none of the coward's fear.
 
 31S THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 He calmly heard perjured witnesses from his own 
 country testify that he had approached them, offering 
 bribes for the killing of young Calvin which they had 
 righteously refused. He knew that these men had been 
 bought by Jim Fletcher and that they swore away his 
 life for the hire of syndicate money, but he only waited 
 patiently for the defense to open. He saw the scowl 
 on the faces in the jury-box deepen into conviction as 
 witness after witness took the stand against him, and 
 he saw the faces of on-lookers mirror that scowl. He 
 felt rather than saw the wilting confidence of his own 
 counsel and when, at the Court recesses he was led back 
 to his jail lodgings like a bear on an organ grinder's 
 chain, negroes and children followed him in little, ex- 
 cited crowds. 
 
 Then the prosecution rested and as a few of its 
 perjuries were punctured, the faces in the box lightened 
 their scowl a little but very little. The tide had 
 set against him, and he knew it. Unless one of those 
 strangely psychological things should occur which 
 sweep Juries suddenly from their moorings of fixed 
 opinion, he must be the sacrifice to Bluegrass wrath, 
 and on the list of witnesses under the hand of his at- 
 torney there were only a few names left pitifully 
 few. 
 
 Then Anse Havey saw his chief counsel set his jaw 
 as he had a trick of setting it when he faced a forlorn 
 hope, and throw the list of names aside as something 
 worthless. As the lawyer spoke Anse Havey's face 
 for the first time lost its immobility and showed amaze- 
 ment. He bent forward, wondering if his ears had not
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 313 
 
 tricked him. His attorneys had not consulted him as 
 to this step. 
 
 " Mr. Sheriff," commanded the lawyer for the de- 
 fense, " call Miss Juanita Holland to the stand."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 IF in the mountains there was one person of whom 
 the Bluegrass knew with favor, it was Juanita Hol- 
 land. She had worked quietly and without any 
 blare of trumpets. Her efforts had never been ad- 
 vertised, but the thing she was trying to do was too 
 unusual a thing to have escaped public notice and pub- 
 lic laudation. That she was spending her life and her 
 own large fortune, in a manner of self-sacrifice and 
 hardship, was a thing of which the State had been duly 
 apprised. 
 
 She at least would stand acquitted of feudal passion. 
 She stood as a lone fighter for the spirit of all that was 
 best and most unselfish in Kentucky ideals and the 
 ideals of civilization. 
 
 If she chose to come now as a character witness for 
 Anse Havey, she should have respectful hearing. The 
 prisoner bent forward and fixed eyes, blazing with ex- 
 citement, on the door of the witness-room. He saw 
 it open and saw her pause there, rather pale and per- 
 plexed, then she came steadily to the witness stand and 
 asked: " Do I sit here ?" 
 
 The man had known her always in the calico and 
 gingham of the mountains. This seemed a different 
 woman, as she took her seat and raised her hand to be 
 sworn. She was infinitely more beautiful, he thought, 
 
 in the habiliments of her own world. She seemed a 
 
 314
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 315 
 
 queen who had waived her regal prerogatives and come 
 into this mean court-room in his behalf. His heart 
 leaped into tumult. He would not have asked her to 
 come; would not have permitted her to submit to the 
 heckling of the prosecutor whose face was already 
 drawing into a vindictive frown, had he known. She 
 had come anyway perhaps after all she cared ! If 
 so it was a revelation worth hanging for. 
 
 Then he heard her voice, low and quietly pitched, in 
 answer to questions. 
 
 " I have known Mr. Havey," she said evenly, " ever 
 since I went to the mountains. He has helped me in 
 my work and has been an advocate of peace, wherever 
 peace could be had with honor." 
 
 At the end of each answer the Commonwealth's at- 
 torney was on his feet with quickly snapped objec- 
 tions. Anse Havey's heart sank. He knew this man's 
 brutal capacity for bullying witnesses and he had never 
 seen a woman who had come through the ordeal un- 
 shaken. Yet slowly the anxiety on his face gave way 
 to a smile of infinite admiration. Juanita Holland's 
 quiet dignity made the testy wrath of the State's lawyer 
 seem futile and peevish. 
 
 The defendant saw a subtle change of expression 
 dawning on the faces of the Jury. He saw them shift- 
 ing their sympathy from the lawyer to the woman and 
 the lawyer saw it, too. They kept her there, grilling 
 her by all the tactics known to artful lawyers for an 
 unconscionable length of time, but to each brow-beat- 
 ing question she returned a calm and unshaken re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " By God ! " exclaimed Anse Havey to himself as
 
 316 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 he leaned forward, " she's makin' fools of 'em all 
 an' she's doin' it for me 1 " 
 
 Even the Judge whose face had been sternly set 
 against the defense shifted in his chair and his expres- 
 sion softened. The Commonwealth's attorney rose and 
 walked forward, and Anse Havey clenched his hands 
 under the table while his fingers itched to seize the tor- 
 mentor's throat. 
 
 " You don't know that Anse Havey didn't incite this 
 murder. You only choose to think so. Isn't that a 
 fact? " stormed the prosecutor. 
 
 " I know that Anse Havey is incapable of it," was 
 the tranquil retort. 
 
 " How do you know that ? " 
 
 " I know him." 
 
 "Who procured your presence in this court-room 
 as a witness for the defense? " Each interrogation 
 came with rising spleen and slurring accusation of tone. 
 
 " I asked to be allowed to come." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I know that back of this prosecution lies 
 the trickery which seeks to dispose of Anse Havey so 
 that it may plunder his people." 
 
 The lawyer wheeled on the Judge. 
 
 " I must insist that your Honor admonish this wit- 
 ness against such false and improper charges or punish 
 her for contempt," he blazed furiously. 
 
 But the Judge spoke without great severity as he 
 cautioned, " Yes the witness must not seek to at- 
 tribute motives to the Commonwealth." 
 
 If Juanita, however, was sustaining with no outward 
 show of discomfort the savage onslaughts of a man
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 317 
 
 trained in the art of confounding those who sat in the 
 pillory of the witness-chair, she was inwardly feeling 
 need of holding her emotions masked and in check. As 
 the questions became more and more personal, and she 
 recognized in their trend the purpose of making her 
 appear biased, she first flushed a little, then paled a lit- 
 tle, but her voice betrayed no hint of annoyance. 
 
 The attorney took another step forward with a ma- 
 licious smile. He paused that the next question and 
 its answer might fall on the emphasis of a momentary 
 silence. He pointed a finger toward the girl and de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Is there any sentimental attachment between you 
 and this defendant, Anse Havey ? " 
 
 There was a moment's dead silence in the court-room, 
 and Anse saw Juanita's face go white. Then he saw 
 her finger nails whiten as they lay in her lap and a sud- 
 den flush spread to her face. 
 
 She looked toward the Judge, and at once the lawyer 
 for the defense was on his feet with the old objection: 
 " The question is irrelevant." 
 
 Then, while counsel tilted with each other, the girl 
 drew a long breath, and the man whose life was in the 
 balance turned pale, too, not because of this, but be- 
 cause the woman he loved had been asked the question 
 which was more to him than life and death a ques- 
 tion he had never dared to ask himself. 
 
 " I think," ruled the Court, " the question is relevant 
 as tending to affect the credibility of the witness." 
 
 So she must answer. 
 
 The prisoner's finger nails bit into his palms and he 
 smothered a low oath between his clenched teeth, but
 
 818 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Juanita Holland only looked at the cross-examiner with 
 a clear-eyed and serene glance of scorn under which he 
 seemed to shrivel. She replied with the dignity of a 
 young queen who can afford to ignore insults from the 
 gutter. 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 The defendant sat back in his chair and the smile 
 left his lips like writing effaced from a slate with a wet 
 sponge. He knew that his case was won, and yet as 
 he saw her leave the witness-stand and the court-room, 
 he felt sicker at heart than he had felt since he could 
 remember. He would have preferred condemnation 
 with the hope against hope left somewhere deep in his 
 heart, that there slept in hers an echo to his unuttered 
 love. 
 
 The question he had never dared to ask, she had an- 
 swered; answered under oath and liberty seemed now a 
 very barren gift. 
 
 When he had been acquitted and was going out he 
 saw a figure in consultation with the prosecutor; a 
 figure which had not been inside the doors during the 
 trial. It was Mr. Trevor, of Louisville, and he was 
 testily saying, " Oh, well, there are more ways of 
 killing a cat than by choking it with butter." 
 
 Anse Havey did not require the interpretation of an 
 oracle for that cryptic comment. He knew that the 
 effort to dispose of him would not end with his ac- 
 quittal. 
 
 Juanita was going away to enlist her staff of 
 teachers and arrange for the equipment of the little 
 hospital and the man did not tell her of his insecurity. 
 
 " You'll promise to be very careful while I'm away,
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 319 
 
 won't you? " she demanded as they sat together the 
 night before she left. 
 
 " I'll try to last till you get back," he smiled. He 
 was sitting with a pipe in his hand which had gone out 
 and been forgotten. 
 
 In the darkness of the porch everything was vague, 
 but herself. She seemed to him to be luminous by 
 some light of her own. She was a very wonderful and 
 desirable star, shining far out of reach of his world. 
 
 Suddenly she laughed, and he asked: 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I was just thinking what a fool I was when I came 
 here," she answered. " Did you know that I brought 
 a piano with me as far as Peril? It's been there over 
 a year." 
 
 " A piano ! " he echoed, then they both laughed. 
 
 " I might as well have tried to bring along the 
 Philadelphia City Hall," she admitted. " Just the same 
 there have been times when it would have meant a lot 
 to me, an awful lot, if I could have had that piano. I 
 don't know whether music means so much to you, but 
 to me " 
 
 " I know," he broke in. " I sometimes 'low that life 
 ain't much else except the summin' up of the things a 
 feller dreams. Music is like dreams it makes 
 dreams. Yes, I know somethin' about that." 
 
 She went away and though she was not long gone, 
 her absence seemed interminable to Anse Havey. On 
 her return, he met her at the train, with a starved 
 idolatry in his eyes and together they rode back across 
 the ridge. 
 
 But when she entered the building, which had been
 
 320 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 the first school-house, the man drew back a step or two 
 to the rear and watched as surreptitiously as a boy 
 who has in due secrecy planned a surprise. 
 
 She went in and then suddenly halted and stood 
 near the threshold in amazement. Her eyes began to 
 dance and she gave a little gasp of delight. There 
 against one wall stood her piano. 
 
 She turned to find Anse Havey waiting in the door 
 as awkwardly as a green boy. Just how difficult a 
 task it had been to bring that great weight across those 
 roads unharmed, she could only guess. He must in 
 effect have built the roads before him as Napoleon built 
 them for his armies. 
 
 She turned to him, deeply moved, and after the first 
 flush of delight, her eyes were misty. 
 
 " I wonder how I am ever going to thank you, for 
 everything," she said softly. 
 
 But Bad Anse Havey only answered in an embar- 
 rassed voice, " I reckoned it might be a little jingly, 
 so I had a feller come up from Lexington, and tune it 
 up." 
 
 She went over and struck a chord, then she came 
 back and laid a hand on his coat-sleeve. 
 
 " I'm not going to try to thank you at all now," 
 she said. " But you go home and come back this even- 
 ing, and we'll have a little party, just you and I ... 
 with music." 
 
 " Good-by," he said. " I reckon ye haven't 
 noticed it but my rifle's standin' there in your rack." 
 
 It was a night of starlight with just a sickle moon 
 overhead, and the music of the whippoorwills in the air 
 when Anse presented himself again at the school. He
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 321 
 
 knew that he must break off these visits because while 
 she had been away he had taken due accounting of him- 
 self and recognized that the poignant pain of locked 
 lips would drive him beyond control. He could no 
 longer endure " the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin." 
 Now the sight of her set him into a palpitating fever 
 and a burning madness. He would invent some excuse 
 to-night and go away. 
 
 Then he came to the open door and stood on the 
 threshold, transfixed by the sight which greeted his 
 eyes. His hat dropped to the floor and lay there. 
 
 He thought he knew Juanita. Now he suddenly 
 realized that the real Juanita he had never seen before, 
 and as he looked at her he felt infinitely far away from 
 her. He was a very dim, faint star in apogee. 
 
 She sat with her back turned and her fingers stray- 
 ing over the keys of the piano and she was in even- 
 ing dress! The shaded lamp shone softly on ivory 
 shoulders and a string of pearls glistened at her throat. 
 Around her slim figure, the soft folds of her gown fell 
 like gossamer draperies and she was flawlessly beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 She had followed a whim that night and " dressed 
 up " to surprise him. She had promised him a party 
 and meant to receive him with as much preparation as 
 she would have made for royalty. But to him it was 
 only a declaration of the difference between them, em- 
 phasizing how unattainable she was ; how unthinkably 
 remote from his own rough world. 
 
 Then as she heard his steps and rose, she was dis- 
 appointed because in his face instead of pleasure she 
 read only a tumult whose dominant note was distress.
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 " Don't you like me ? " she asked as she gave him 
 her hand and smiled up at him. 
 
 '* Like you ! " he burst out, then he caught himself 
 with something like a gasp. " Yes," he said dully, " I 
 like you." 
 
 For a while she played and sang and then they went 
 out to the porch where she sank down in the barrel-stave 
 hammock which hung there and he sat in a split-bot- 
 tomed chair by her side. 
 
 He sat very moody and silent with his hands rest- 
 ing on his knees, trying to repress what he could not 
 long hope to repress. 
 
 She seemed oblivious to his deep abstraction for she 
 was humming some air low, almost under her breath. 
 
 But at last she sat up and laughed a silvery and 
 subdued, yet a happy little laugh. She stretched her 
 arms up above her head. " It's good to be back, 
 Anse," she said softly. " I've missed you lots." 
 
 He dared not tell her how he had missed her and he 
 did not recognize the new note in her voice the heart 
 note. There was a strange silence between them and as 
 they sat, so close that each could almost feel the other's 
 breath, their eyes met and held in a locked gaze. 
 
 Slowly as though drawn by some occult power over 
 which he held no control the man bent a little nearer, 
 a little nearer. Slowly the girl's eyes dilated, and 
 then with no word she suddenly gave a low exclamation, 
 half gasp, half appeal, all inarticulate, and both hands 
 went groping out toward him. 
 
 With something almost like a cry, Anse Havey was 
 on his knees by the hammock, and both his arms were 
 around her and her head was on his shoulder. Then
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 323 
 
 he was kissing her cheeks and lips, and into his soul 
 was coming a sudden discovery with the softness and 
 coolness of the flesh his lips touched. 
 
 It lasted only a moment, then she pushed him back 
 gently and rose while one bare arm went gropingly 
 across her face, and the other hand went out to the 
 porch post for support. 
 
 In a voice low and broken she said, " You must go." 
 
 " No," he exclaimed, and took a step toward her. 
 But she retreated a little and shook her head. 
 
 " Yes, dear please," she almost whispered, and the 
 man bowed in acquiescence. 
 
 " Good-night," he said gravely, and, picking up his 
 hat, he started across the ridge. But now there were 
 no ghosts in his life for all the way over that rough 
 trail he was looking up at the stars and incredulously 
 telling them over and over again, " She loves me ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 IN a small room over the post-office in Peril an at- 
 torney, whose professional success had always 
 been precarious, received those few clients who 
 came to him for consultation. The lawyer's name was 
 Walter Hackley, but he was better known as Clay-heel 
 Hackley because he never wore socks and his bare 
 ankles were tanned to the hue of river-bank mud. His 
 features were wizened and his eyes shifty. He was a 
 coward, an intriguer by nature and inclination. It 
 was logical enough that when the verdict of the direc- 
 tors' table that Bad Anse Havey was a nuisance fil- 
 tered down the line, the persons seeking native methods 
 for abating the nuisance should come to Clay-heel 
 Hackley. 
 
 One day in August this attorney-at-law, Jim Fletcher 
 and a tricky youth, who enjoyed the distinction of hold- 
 ing office as telegraph operator at the Peril Station, 
 caucused together in Hackley's dingy room. 
 
 In the death of Bad Anse Havey this trio saw a j oint 
 advantage since the abating of such a nuisance would 
 not go unrewarded. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the attorney, his wizened face 
 working nervously, " this business has need to be ex- 
 peditious. Gentlemen, it requires, in its nature, to be 
 expeditious. A few more failures and we are 
 for." 
 
 M
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 325 
 
 " Well, tell us how ye aims ter do hit," growled the 
 telegraph operator. 
 
 " Jim Fletcher has the idea," replied the lawyer im- 
 pressively. " Quite the right idea. How many men 
 can you trust on a job, like this, Jim? " 
 
 " As many as ye needs," was the confident response. 
 " A dozen or a score if they're wanted." 
 
 " Enough to make it sure, but not too many," urged 
 Hackley. " We should set a day, precisely as the 
 Court would set a day for er an execution. The 
 force you send out should simply stay on the job until 
 it's done. If Anse Havey can be gotten alone, so much 
 the better. But above all " the lawyer paused and 
 spoke with his most forceful emphasis "don't just 
 wound this man. See that the thing is finally and 
 definitely settled." 
 
 " I'll be there myself," Jim. Fletcher assured him. 
 "Now, when is this day goin' ter be?" 
 
 " This is Monday," reflected the attorney. 
 " There's no advantage in delay. It will take a day 
 or two to get ready. Let the case be docketed, as I 
 might say for Thursday." 
 
 After the evening when Anse Havey had taken 
 Juanita in his arms he had not come again to the school. 
 
 Juanita had not understood this strange absence at 
 such a time, but in a fashion she welcomed it. The oc- 
 currences of that night were still unaccountable to her, 
 and she wanted time to think the thing all out and to 
 take an inventory of her life. When she had sworn 
 that there was no sentiment between Anse and herself, 
 she had believed it. While she had been away in the
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 East she had found herself looking about always for a 
 face that she missed, the face of Bad Anse Havey. 
 But she had not yet diagnosed that as love. That 
 night had been one of unaccountable hypnotism and 
 moon-madness. Of that she felt sure and she would 
 tell him that it must all be forgotten. 
 
 If it were a real awakening to love it was still too 
 sudden to be trusted and must be tested by time. Yet 
 even now at the thought of his compelling eyes some- 
 thing new and powerful stirred her. 
 
 Anse Havey had gone to Lexington. Never again 
 did he mean to hold against himself the accusation of 
 " the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin." He knew that 
 she loved him. He knew that there was something out 
 of which resistance would come, because in her voice 
 after that moment in his arms, there had been a pain 
 and a wistfulness. She had asked him to go and he 
 had gone, feeling that it would have been unkind to ques- 
 tion her. But in his mind had been only one question 
 and now that was answered. She loved him. 
 
 Any other difficulty that the world held he would 
 sweep aside. When next he went back he would not 
 ask her to marry him, he would announce to her that 
 she was going to marry him. 
 
 In Lexington he had bought a ring and at Peril he 
 had gotten a marriage-license. His camp-following 
 days were over. He had one youth and he knew that 
 if his enemies succeeded in their designs, this might at 
 any day be snapped short with sudden death. It did 
 not seem to him that one of its golden hours should be 
 wasted. 
 
 As he came out of the Court-house with the invaluable
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 387 
 
 piece of paper in his pocket, two men, seemingly un- 
 armed, rose from the doorway of the store across the 
 street and drifted toward their hitched horses. 
 
 Young Milt McBriar had ridden over to Peril that 
 day, with several companions, and Anse Havey went 
 back with them. So it happened that quite acciden- 
 tally he made that journey under escort. The men 
 who rode a little way in his rear cursed their luck * 
 and waited. And though they lurked in hiding all that 
 afternoon near Anse Havey's house they saw nothing 
 more of their intended victim. 
 
 Anse was keenly alive to each day's impending 
 threat and when he had recognized the face of Jim 
 Fletcher, in Peril, as he came through the town he had 
 read mischief in the eyes, and recognized that the 
 menace had drawn closer. 
 
 So when he was ready to cross the ridge to the school 
 he obeyed an old sense of caution and left his horse 
 saddled at the front fence that it might seem as if he 
 were going out but had not yet gone. 
 
 He had sent by messenger a summons for Good Anse 
 Talbott and the preacher arrived while he was at his 
 supper table. 
 
 " Brother Anse," he announced, " I'm goin' to need 
 ye some time betwixt now and midnight. I want ye to 
 tarry here till I come back." 
 
 " What's the nature of business ye needs me fer, 
 Anse ? " demanded the missionary. " I hadn't hardly 
 ought ter tarry. Thar's a child ailin' up the top fork 
 of little branch of Turkey-Foot Creek." 
 
 But Bad Anse only shook his head. " It's the best 
 business ye ever did," he confidently assured the
 
 328 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 preacher, " but I can't tell ye yet. Is the child in 
 any danger? " 
 
 '* I reckon not, hit's jest ailin', but " 
 
 The brown-faced man sat dubiously shaking his head, 
 and Anse's features suddenly set and hardened. 
 
 "I needs ye," he said. "Ain't that enough? I'm 
 goin' to need ye bad." 
 
 " That's a right-strong reason, Anse, but " 
 
 For an instant the old dominating will which had 
 not yet learned to brook mutiny, leaped into Anse 
 Havey's eyes. His words came in a harsher voice. 
 
 " Will you stay of your own free will because I'm 
 goin' to need ye, Brother Anse? " he demanded. " Be- 
 cause, by God, ye're goin' to stay one way or an- 
 other." " 
 
 " Does ye mean ye aims ter hold me hyar by force ? " 
 
 " Not unless ye make me. I wouldn't hardly like to 
 do that." 
 
 For a moment the missionary debated. He did not 
 resent the threat of coercion. He believed in Anse 
 Havey and the form of request convinced him of its 
 urgency. 
 
 So he nodded his head. " I'll be hyar when ye 
 comes," he said. 
 
 Anse left his house that night neither by front nor 
 back, but in the dark shadows at one side, and his talis- 
 man of luck led his noiseless feet safely between the 
 scattered sentinels who were watching his dwelling to 
 kill him. 
 
 It was a brilliant night and the hollows were full of 
 moon mist, but where the shadows fell they fell blackly. 
 
 The chorus of whippoorwills and night music sang
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 329 
 
 to him, because his heart was very full of joy. The 
 air breathed soft passion and the breeze whispered of 
 love as it harped drowsily in the jet plumes of the tree 
 tops. 
 
 A spirit of languorous, yet powerful appeal rode 
 with the mother-of-pearl shimmer of the clouds. The 
 silvery luminance of the moonlight seemed as miraculous 
 as the essence of dreams, but the iron-gray ridges, pal- 
 ing in the distance to misty platinum, were immemorial 
 pledges of permanence. 
 
 Juanita Holland was there and he was going to her 
 and after to-night she should be Juanita Havey! 
 
 "No to-morrow's sun should arise and set 
 And leave them then as it left them now." 
 
 He noticed as he passed the Widow Everson's cabin, 
 that it was dark and closed, and he remembered that 
 she and her family had gone away to visit friends in 
 town. The McNash children, even, were down at Jeb's 
 cabin, so Juanita was quite alone. 
 
 The school-buildings slept in silent shadows, except 
 that from the open door of the room where her piano 
 stood, there came a soft flooding of lamplight; a single 
 dash of orange in the nocturne of silver and gray. He 
 went up very quietly, pausing to drink deep of the 
 fragrance of the honeysuckle, and there drifted out to 
 him the music of the piano and the better music of her 
 voice. 
 
 She was singing a love-song. 
 
 Though he had sent no word of his coming, she was 
 once more in evening dress ; all black, save for a crim- 
 son flower at her breast and a crimson flower in her
 
 330 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 hair. But this time the sight of her in the costume so 
 foreign to the hills did not distress him; it was a night 
 that called for wonders. 
 
 She rose as the man's footstep sounded on the floor 
 and then, at memory of their last meeting, the color 
 mounted richly to her cheeks and he took her again in 
 his arms. 
 
 She raised her hands to his shoulders and tried to 
 push him back, but he held her firmly and while she 
 sought to tell him that they must find their way back 
 to the colorless level of friendship, he could feel the wild 
 flutter of her heart. 
 
 " Listen," she protested. " You must listen." But 
 Bad Anse Havey laughed. 
 
 " Ever since the first time I saw ye," he declared, 
 " I've been listenin*. It's been a duel always between 
 you and me. But the duel's over now an' this time I 
 win." 
 
 She looked up and her pupils began to widen with 
 that intense expression which is the drawing aside of 
 the curtains from a woman's soul, and as though she 
 realized that she could not trust herself to his eyes she 
 turned her face away. Only in its profile could he 
 read the struggle between mind and heart and what he 
 read filled him with elation. 
 
 " Anse," she said in a very low voice, " give me a 
 truce. For one hour let me think ; it involves both our 
 lives for always; let me at least have the chance to be 
 sane. Give me an hour." 
 
 The man stepped back and released her, and she 
 turned and led the way out to the porch where she sank 
 down in the hammock with her face buried in both
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 331 
 
 hands. When she looked up she was smiling rather 
 wanly. 
 
 " It can't be, dear," she said. But while she argued 
 with words and ostensible reasons the night was argu- 
 ing, too, arguing for him with all its sense-steeping fra- 
 grances and cadences and appeals that stirred sleeping 
 fires in their hearts ! 
 
 And while she talked he made no response, but sat 
 there silently attentive. At last he looked at his watch 
 and put it back in his pocket. He rose and said quietly, 
 but with a tone of perfect finality : 
 
 " Your truce is over." 
 
 " But don't you see ? You haven't answered one of 
 my arguments." 
 
 Anse Havey laughed once more. " I didn't come to 
 
 argue," he said, " I came to act." He drew from his 
 
 pocket the license and ring. " Brother Anse Talbott 
 
 is waitin' over at my house," he said. " Will you go 
 
 over there or shall I go back an' fetch him here ? "
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 JUANITA rose from the hammock, and stood un- 
 steadily in the blue moonlight; an image of ivory 
 and ebony. The man clamped both hands be- 
 hind his back and gripped them there waiting. But 
 despite his seeming of confidence and calm his brain 
 reeled gloriously with an intoxication of the soul. He 
 saw her standing there, straight and lithe and slen- 
 der, with the moon-washed sky at her back and the inky 
 shadows of the porch throwing the picture into a vivid 
 relief. 
 
 He saw the flower on her breast rise and fall under 
 the quick tumult of her emotion. He saw the lips he 
 had loved so long half parted, and he knew that she 
 must yield to her heart's ultimatum. He saw every- 
 thing with the steady eagle eyes that held and fas- 
 cinated her, and that kindled, as she gazed into them, 
 with a flame which burned invincibly up from his heart. 
 He saw the shadow lace of the vines and a tracery of 
 trembling leaves on a drooping maple bough beyond; 
 he saw, in the distance, mountain shoulders melting 
 away into liquid skies, but he saw all these things only 
 as brush-strokes in the background, for she herself was 
 the picture that his soul drank through his eyes. Soon 
 he must crush her to his breast, and let her heart beat 
 there against his own, where it belonged. 
 
 But while he saw so much she could see only two 
 332
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 333 
 
 eyes that were fascinating, hypnotizing her, until all 
 else faded and they seemed twin stars drawing her to 
 them irresistibly out of space and across the universe, 
 swinging her will as the moon swings the tides. 
 
 She took an involuntary step toward him with lifted 
 arms, and then with a strong effort as if struggling 
 against a spell, she drew back again, and her voice 
 came very low and broken. 
 
 " I can't I can't ! " she pleaded. " But I wish to 
 God I could." 
 
 Then Anse Havey began to speak. 
 
 " Ye've talked an' I've listened to ye. Ye've taken 
 my life away from me an' made it a little scrap of 
 your own life. . . . Ye've let us both come to needin' 
 each other more than food an' drink an' breath. . . . 
 For me there's no life without ye. In all the earth, 
 there's just you you you! For every true 
 woman in the world a day comes when there's just one 
 man, an' for every man there's just one woman. . . . 
 When that day comes nothin' else counts. That's why 
 all them reasons of yours don't mean anything." 
 
 His voice had the ring of triumph. " You're goin' to 
 marry me to-night. Come ! " 
 
 He raised both arms and held them out, and though 
 for a moment she hung back her eyes were still irre- 
 sistibly held by his and the magnetism that dwelt in 
 them. With a gasping exclamation that was half sur- 
 render and half echo of his own triumph, she swept into 
 his embrace. 
 
 About them the world swam and danced to the harp- 
 ing of the stars. She knew only that she had come 
 home and that, resting here with those arms about her
 
 334 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 against that strong breast, she felt safe and deliriously 
 happy. He felt her throbbing heart-beat; felt the 
 warmth of her fluttering breath on his cheek; felt the 
 softness of her arms about his neck, and the miraculous 
 touch of her answering lips on his own. 
 
 A stray lock fell over her brow and its strands en- 
 meshed his kisses against her face. How could she 
 who was so frail and yielding in his tight-locked arms 
 have been so powerful? How could a creature whose 
 touch was as cool and soft as sentient velvet have re- 
 duced him to this slavery which made him a king? 
 Then proudly he answered himself. It was because 
 she was the one woman ; because her delicately fibered 
 being had a strength beyond his brawn ; because she 
 was the stronger for being weaker. 
 
 But after a time, she drew back a little so that she 
 could look up again into his face, and with his arms 
 about her and her arms about his neck, she smiled out 
 of eyes that swam as mistily as the moon and as 
 brightly, and lips that no longer held a hint of droop- 
 ing. 
 
 As she locked her fingers caressingly behind his dark 
 head, she wished for words fine and splendid beyond the 
 ordinary to tell him of her love. But no phrases of 
 eloquence came. So she found herself murmuring 
 those ancient words of willing surrender, that have be- 
 come trite because they have not been improved 
 upon " Thy people shall be my people and thy ways, 
 my ways." 
 
 Then she felt his arms grow abruptly rigid and he 
 was pressing her from him with a gentle insistence 
 while his face turned to peer out into the moonlight
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 335 
 
 with the tensity of one who is listening not only with 
 his ears, but every sensory nerve of his being. 
 
 Slowly he drew back, still tense and alert, and from 
 his eyes the tender glow died until they narrowed and 
 hardened and the jaw angle stiffened and the lips drew 
 themselves into their old line of warlike sternness. She 
 was looking again into the face of the mountaineer; 
 the feudist; of the wild creature turning to stand at 
 bay. 
 
 For a moment they remained motionless, and her 
 fingers resting on his arms felt the strain of his taut- 
 ened biceps. 
 
 " God ! " he muttered almost inaudibly. 
 
 " What is it ? " she whispered, but he replied only 
 with a warning shake of the head. 
 
 Once more he stood listening, then gently turned her 
 so that his body was between her and the outside. He 
 thrust her back into the open door and followed her 
 inside. 
 
 His words came slowly and though they were calm 
 they carried a very bitter note. 
 
 " I must go. ... I hoped they'd let me live long 
 enough to marry ye, but I reckon they're weary of 
 bidin' their time." 
 
 He had closed the door and stood looking down at 
 her with a deep hunger in his face. 
 
 " What is it, Anse? What did you hear out there? " 
 Her face had gone pallid and she clung to his arms with 
 a grip that indicated no intention of release. 
 
 " Nothin' much. Just the crackin' of a twig or 
 two; just some steps in the brush that was too 
 cautious to sound honest; little noises that wouldn't
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 mean much if I didn't know what they do mean. They 
 weren't friendly sounds. They're after me." 
 
 "Who? What do you mean?" 
 
 Her voice came in a low panic of whispering, and 
 even as she spoke the man was listening with his head 
 bent toward the closed door. 
 
 He laughed mirthlessly under his breath. " I don't 
 know who they've picked out to get me. It don't mat- 
 ter much, does it ? But I know they've picked to-night. 
 I've been lookin' for it, but it seems like they might have 
 let me have to-night " His lips smiled and for an 
 instant his eyes softened again to tenderness. " This 
 was my night; our night." 
 
 " If they are out there, Anse," her eyes flashed sud- 
 denly and her grip tightened, " you sha'n't go. I won't 
 let you go. In this house you are behind walls at least. 
 I can't let you go." 
 
 " It's the only way," he told her ; and again she read 
 unshakable resolve written in his face. " My best 
 chance is out there. Them mountains'll take better 
 care of me than any walls if I can once get to cover." 
 Suddenly he wheeled and caught her fiercely in his 
 arms, holding her very close, and now her heart was 
 beating more wildly than before ; beating with a sud- 
 den and sickening terror. 
 
 He bent low and covered her temples and cheeks and 
 lips and eyes with kisses. " God knows, when I came 
 here, to-night," he declared, talking fast and pas- 
 sionately, " I didn't aim to ever go away again without 
 ye. Now I've got to, but if I come through an' there's 
 a breath or a drop of blood left in me, I'll be back. 
 I'm a-comin' back, dearest, if I live."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 337 
 
 Her answer was a low moan. 
 
 He released her at last and went over to the gun- 
 rack. 
 
 Standing before her shrine of guns, in her temple of 
 disarmament, he said slowly, " Dearest, I was about 
 the last man to leave my rifle here, an' I reckon I've 
 got to be the first to take it out again. I'm sorry. 
 Will you give it to me or must I take it without per- 
 mission ? " 
 
 She came slowly over, conscious that her knees were 
 trembling, and that ice-water seemed to have taken the 
 place of hot blood in her veins. 
 
 " If you need it," she faltered, " take it, dear noth- 
 ing else matters. Which one shall I give you ? " 
 
 " My own ! " His voice was for the instant im- 
 perious. It was almost as if someone had asked 
 Ulysses what bow he would draw in battle. " I reckon 
 my own gun's good enough fer me. It has been till 
 to-day." 
 
 She withdrew the rifle from the rack herself, and he 
 took it from her trembling hands, but when he had ac- 
 cepted it she threw her arms about him again and 
 wildly clung to him, her eyes wide with silent suffering 
 and dread. 
 
 The crushing grasp of his arms hurt her and she 
 felt a wild joy in the pain. Then she resolutely whis- 
 pered, " Go, dearest, go ! Time is precious now, and 
 God keep you ! " 
 
 " Juanita," he said slowly, " I have refused to talk 
 to you in good speech. I have clung to the rough 
 phrases and the uncouth manners of the hills, but I 
 want you to know always, most dear, that I have lovecl
 
 338 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 you not only fiercely, but gently, too. No tenderer wor- 
 ship lives in your own world. If I don't come back 
 think of that. God knows I love you." 
 
 " Don't, Anse ! " she cried with a smothered sob. 
 " Don't talk like a soft-muscled lowlander ! Talk to 
 me in your own speech. It rings of strength and God 
 knows " her voice broke and she added with fierce 
 tenderness " God knows, dear eagle-heart, you need 
 all the strength of wing and talon to-night." 
 
 Then she opened the back door very cautiously where 
 the shadows slept in inky blackness and saw him slip 
 away and melt instantly into the murk.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 OUT there the moon was setting. Soon, thank 
 God, it would be dark everywhere. The man she 
 loved needed all the chance that the thickening 
 murk could give him. It was terribly quiet now, ex- 
 cept for an occasional whippoorwill call, and the 
 quietness seemed to lie upon her with the oppression 
 of something unspeakably terrifying. The breath of 
 hillside and sky was bated. 
 
 At last there came to her ears the sound of heavy 
 feet crashing through the brush, but he had been gone 
 ten minutes then. Perhaps they had just awakened to 
 his escape and were casting aside stealth for the fury 
 of open pursuit. She even thought she heard an oath 
 once, and then it was all quiet again ; quiet for a while 
 and at the end of the silence, like the punctuation of 
 an exclamation mark, came the far-away snap of a 
 rifle. 
 
 She had dropped to a chair and sat there tensely 
 leaning forward, her lips parted and her ears straining. 
 Had she heard one shot and its echoes or had there 
 been several? Her imagination and fears were playing 
 her tricks now and she could hardly be certain of her 
 senses. 
 
 Once she started violently with the sense that she 
 had heard his voice exclaim, '* God ! " as he had mut- 
 tered it out there on the porch, but of course that was 
 
 839
 
 840 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 only a reaction of memory. She closed her eyes, but 
 that made the agonized suspense of her waiting worse 
 a hundred-fold, for when the familiar things of the hall 
 were shut out other things came. In her fancy she 
 saw him lying among the rocks and tangled branches, 
 wounded desperately and seeking to hold back swarms 
 of enemies who drew closer and closer about him with 
 their cordon of blazing rifles. She could see the grim 
 doggedness with which he was dying and the grim dog- 
 gedness with which they were killing him. But he 
 would not die alone! He would take his own toll first. 
 
 Then she pulled herself together. She must hold on 
 to her faculties. In the way of such imaginings lay 
 madness! Come what might he was the strongest of 
 them all and the most consummate woodsman. He 
 would elude them. They were like crows badgering 
 and hectoring a great hawk in flight, and only succeed- 
 ing in annoying him. The hawk had only to alight and 
 face them and they would fly wildly away. 
 
 And yet an insistent little advocate of despair kept 
 whispering to her heart; suppose there were so many 
 crows, that the hawk could not alight! It would not 
 do to follow that train of thought either. She and 
 Anse had once stood together on the crest, watching the 
 darting attack of several of the black pests as they 
 hovered about the spread pinions of an eagle, until the 
 eagle fled high into the sky. 
 
 " Why doesn't he kill one or two ? " she had irritably 
 demanded and the man only laughed. 
 
 " Have the mountains got into your blood ? Have 
 ye got the killin' instinct, too?" 
 
 She had been indignant at the question, Yet now
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 341 
 
 she was praying that he, her mate of the windy crests, 
 should kill and conquer. If anyone had fallen un- 
 der that shot she heard, God grant that it might be one 
 of his assailants. Yes, for the first time she knew now 
 that in her heart, too, had wakened a germ of that killing 
 instinct that heights and desolation breed and breathe 
 into the human breath. Mixed and tangled with her 
 fear and grief was something of the ecstasy of war, 
 prophetess of peace and disarmament though she was. 
 
 The passage of time was a thing of which she had 
 lost count. Each moment was a century. Her eyes 
 wandered absently over the room and fell upon the 
 piano. He had brought it for her from Peril. She 
 turned her glance away from that reminder only to 
 have it fall on the spread eagle wings above the mantel. 
 He had told her how many years that bird had preyed 
 and pillaged and how long he had hunted it before it 
 fell at last under his rifle. Now he, too, was out there, 
 being hunted. She groaned horribly and fell to trem- 
 bling. 
 
 She knew that she hungered for this man. Why had 
 she waited too long? Why had she been so tardy in 
 discovering her own heart? At least she might have 
 had memories. 
 
 Her thoughts ran into pictures of what life together 
 might mean for them, their companionship in the high, 
 wild places, where each had work to do. She wanted 
 her " hunter home from the hill." 
 
 A great oak table, fashioned in keeping with the 
 massiveness of the house, stood before her. On its top 
 was a littered array of papers and heavy volumes, dic- 
 tionaries, encyclopaedias and a copy of Fox's " Book of
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 Martyrs." These things all seemed to be an accusation 
 now. They were as much the symbols of what she had 
 done in the mountains, as the rood over a steeple is the 
 symbol of a church. And what had it all come to? 
 The last act of the drama she had staged was being 
 brought to climax out in the dark woods where the 
 man she loved was trailed by human blood-hounds, set 
 on the chase by captains of progress. 
 
 Then with a violent start she sat up. Now she knew 
 she heard a sound; there could be no doubt this time. 
 It came from out beyond the front door, and she bent 
 forward, listening. 
 
 It was a strange sort of sound which she could not 
 make out, but in some subtle way it was more terrifying 
 than the clatter of rifles. It was as if some heavy, soft 
 thing were being dragged up the steps, and rolling 
 back. She rose and took a step to the door, but halted 
 in doubt. The sound died and then came again, always 
 with halting intervals of silence between, as though 
 whoever were dragging the burden had to pause on 
 each step to rest. Then there was a scraping as of 
 boot leather on the boards and a labored breath out- 
 side, a breath that seemed to be agonized. She bent 
 forward with one hand outstretched toward the latch 
 and heard a faint rapping. It was seemingly the rap 
 of very feeble fingers, but that might all be part of a 
 ruse. Was it a friend or an enemy out there just be- 
 yond the thickness of the heavy panels? At all events 
 she must see. 
 
 She braced herself and threw the door open. A 
 figure which had been leaning against it lurched for- 
 ward, stumbled over the threshold and fell in a heap
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 343 
 
 half in and half out. It was the figure of Anse 
 Havey. 
 
 How far he had hitched himself along foot by foot 
 like a mortally wounded animal crawling home to die, 
 she could not tell, but for one horrified instant she 
 stood gazing down on him in stupefaction. He had 
 gone out a splendid vital creature of resilient strength 
 and power. He had come back the torn and bleeding 
 wreck of a man, literally shot to pieces as a quail is 
 shattered when it rises close to a quick-shooting gun. 
 
 In the next moment she was stooping with her arms 
 around his body, striving to lift his weight and bring 
 him in. She was strong beyond all seeming of her 
 slenderness, but the man was heavy and as she raised 
 his head and shoulders a sound of bitten-off and stifled 
 agony escaped his white lips and she knew that her ef- 
 forts were torturing him. 
 
 It was an almost lifeless tongue that whispered, " I 
 was skeered . . . that I ... wouldn't get here." 
 
 Then as she staggered under his inert bulk he tried to 
 speak again. " Jest help . . . drag me." 
 
 The few yards into the hall were a long and terrible 
 journey, and how she got him in, half hanging to her, 
 half crawling, stopping at every step, she never knew. 
 Still it was done at last and she was kneeling on the 
 floor with his head on her breast. 
 
 No wonder they had left him for dead and gone away 
 content, He looked up and a faint smile came to his 
 almost unrecognizable face. The blood which had al- 
 ready dried and caked with the dust through which he 
 had crawled was being fed by a fresher out-pouring, 
 and, as she held him close to her, her own bosom and
 
 344 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 arms became red, too, with the spilling life current, as 
 red as the flower pinned in her hair. 
 
 She must stanch his wounds and pour whisky down 
 his throat, before the flickering wisp of life-flame 
 burned out. 
 
 " Wait, dearest," she said in a broken voice. " I 
 must get things you need." 
 
 " It ain't " he paused a moment for the breath 
 which came very difficultly " hardly . . . worth 
 while . . . I'm done." 
 
 But she flew to the cupboard where there was brandy. 
 She tore linen from her petticoart and brought water 
 from the drinking bucket that stood with its gourd 
 dipper on the porch. 
 
 But when she pressed the flask to his lips he closed 
 them and shook his head a little. 
 
 " I ain't never touched a drop in my life," he said, 
 " an' I reckon ... I might's well . . . finish 
 out. . . . 'Twon't be long." For a while he lay gasp- 
 ing, then spoke again weakly. 
 
 " Just kiss me ... dearest . . . thet's what I come 
 for." 
 
 She went on bathing and stanching his wounds as 
 best she could, but a spirit of despair settled on her. 
 There were so many of them and they were so deep and 
 ragged ! 
 
 " I didn't . . . come for help," he told her and 
 through the grime and blood flashed a ghost of his rare 
 and boyish smile. " I'm past mendin' now ... I came 
 because . . . I'm dyin' . . . -an' I wanted thet your 
 arms . . . should be around me ... once more."
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 345 
 
 " You sha'n't die," she breathed fiercely between her 
 teeth. " My arms shall always be around you." 
 
 But he shook his head and his figure sagged a little 
 against her knees. 
 
 " I know . . . when I'm done . . ." he said slowly. 
 " It's all right now. . . . I've done got here. That's 
 enough ... I loves ye." 
 
 For a time she wondered whether he had lost con- 
 sciousness, and she laid him down slowly and brought 
 cushions with which to soften his position. It was al- 
 most daybreak now. 
 
 She sat there beside him and as her heart beat close 
 to his he seemed to draw from it some of its abundant 
 vitality, for he revived a little, and though his eyes 
 were closed and she had to bend down to catch his 
 words his voice grew somewhat stronger. 
 
 " I ain't never felt lonesome . . . before . . . but 
 out there . . . dyin' by myself . . . the last of my 
 family ... I was ... I had to come. . . . Dyin' 
 ain't like livin'. ... I had to see ye once more." 
 
 " You aren't dying," she argued desperately, " you 
 sha'n't die." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I'm dyin' ... an' now the sooner 
 . . . the better ... I reckon." 
 
 She bent lower and held him very gently close to her 
 heart. " You are suffering horribly, dearest," she 
 groaned. 
 
 " It ain't that. . . ." His breath came with great 
 difficulty. " They'll come back here. They'll get me 
 yet ... an' I'd ruther die first." 
 
 She laid his head very gently on the pillows and rose
 
 346 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 to her feet. In the instant she stood transfigured. 
 Deep in her violet eyes blazed such a blue fire as that 
 which burns at the hot heart of a flame. Around her 
 lips came the grim set of fight and blood-lust. 
 
 The crushed flower on her bosom rose and fell under 
 a quick tempest of passion. The skirt of her evening 
 gown had been torn in her effort to carry him. Some- 
 how one silk stocking had sagged above her slipper. 
 His blood reddened her white arms and bosom. She 
 drew a deep breath and clenched her hands. The dis- 
 ciple of Peace was gone and there stood now in its 
 stead the hot-breathed incarnation of some Valkyrie 
 hovering over the din of battle and urging on the fight. 
 
 Yet her voice was colder and steadier than he had 
 ever heard it. She pointed to the door. 
 
 " Get you ! " she exclaimed scornfully. " No man 
 but a Havey crosses that threshold while I live. I'm 
 a Havey now and we both live or we both die together. 
 Get you ! " Her voice broke with a wild laugh. " Let 
 them come ! " 
 
 No bitterly bred daughter of the hills was ever so 
 completely the mountain woman as this transformed 
 and re-born girl of the cultured East. She moved about 
 the place with a steady, indomitable energy. With 
 strength borrowed of the need she upset the great oaken 
 table and barricaded the door, laughing as she heard 
 the clatter of pedagogic volumes on the floor. Fox's 
 " Book of Martyrs " fell at her feet and she kicked it 
 to the side. 
 
 She went and stood before her rack of guns and he* 
 lips curled as she caught one up with all the fierce desire 
 of a drunkard for his drink. She stood there, loading
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 847 
 
 rifles and setting them in an orderly line against the 
 wall. She devastated her altar of peace with the un- 
 tamed joy of a barbarian sacking a temple. 
 
 Then she turned and saw in the man's eyes a wild 
 glow of admiration that burned hotly above his fever, 
 and she said to him, once more, " Now let 'em come." 
 
 He shook his head, but strangely enough her love 
 and awakened ferocity had strengthened him like brandy, 
 and he pleaded, " Drag me over where I can get just 
 one shot." 
 
 Then Juanita blew out the lamp and stood silent in 
 the hush that comes before dawn. She did not have to 
 wait long, for soon she heard hoof-beats in the road, and 
 they stopped just at the turn. 
 
 " Hello, stranger ! " she shouted, and it took all her 
 strength to command her voice. " Halt where you 
 are." 
 
 There was an instant's silence in the first misty gray 
 that was bringing the veiled sunrise. 
 
 A stifled murmur of voices came from the road, and 
 she caught the words, " He's in thar all right." A mo- 
 ment later someone called out sullenly from the shadows. 
 
 " We gives ye three minutes ter leave thet house. 
 We're a-comin' in an' we'd rather not ter harm ye. 
 Git out quick."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 can't save me, dearest ; it's too late for that. 
 For God's sake go out," pleaded Anse Havey 
 tensely. 
 
 Her answer was to cry out into the dawn in a voice 
 that could not be misunderstood, " Anse Havey's in 
 here. Come and get him. Damn you!" and for 
 added emphasis, she crouched behind the overturned 
 table and fired a random shot out toward the voice that 
 had offered her amnesty. 
 
 From the earlier chapters of the evening the men 
 out there knew that the school property was empty 
 save for the man and the girl, and they knew that the 
 man was wounded. 
 
 Their peering eyes, in the dim gray of dawn, could 
 just make out an empty door. Back of it was one 
 woman, and they were five men. Ordinarily they would 
 have moved slowly and cautiously, coming up from sev- 
 eral sides, but now every minute was worth an hour at 
 another time. It behooved them, when full daylight 
 came, to be well away on their flight from sure venge- 
 ance. The obvious demand of the exigency was to rush 
 the place. 
 
 Killing women was, even to them, distasteful, but they 
 had offered her immunity and she had declined. 
 
 At a whispered word they started forward. 
 
 They had only fifty yards of clearing to cross and 
 
 348
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 349 
 
 the girl crouching behind the overturned table did not 
 know how strong they might be in numbers. She knew 
 only that in every artery ran a white fire of passion 
 and a longing to avenge. She meant to make her Shrine 
 of Disarmament a crater of death under whose lava no 
 human creature could live. She remembered the cau- 
 tion of a man with whom she had once shot quail. 
 " Take your time when they rise and pick your birds." 
 Now Juanita Holland meant to pick her birds. 
 
 She saw figures climbing the fence in shadowy, al- 
 most impalpable shapes, and as the first dropped inside 
 and started on at a crouching trot, she aimed quickly, 
 but steadily, and fired. 
 
 A little cry of primitive and savage joy leaped from 
 her lips as she saw the man plunge forward in the half 
 light and lie there thrashing about on the ground. 
 Once an English army officer had told her, in a draw- 
 ing-room, that a soldier feels no sense of compunction 
 when an enemy goes down under his hand in battle. 
 She had raised her chin a little and turned coolly away, 
 feeling for such a man only distaste. Now she under- 
 stood. 
 
 But at that warning the others leaped down and came 
 on at a run. The tempo quickened and became confusing. 
 They were firing as they ran and their answering bullets 
 pelted against her barrier and over her head on the 
 walls. She heard window panes shivering and glass 
 falling, and yet her elation grew two more advanc- 
 ing figures had crumpled into inert masses. Unless 
 there were reinforcements she would stem their on-com- 
 ing tide. Even a mountain marksman cannot target his 
 shots well while he is running and under fire. It takes
 
 350 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 championship sprinting to do fifty yards in five seconds 
 on the smoothness of a cinder path. 
 
 Up hill in a constant spit of fire and lead it requires 
 a little longer. 
 
 There were only two assailants left now and one of 
 them suddenly veered and made for the cover of a 
 hickory trunk off to one side he was in full flight. 
 But the other came on, throwing the rifle away and 
 shifting his heavy magazine pistol to his right hand. 
 
 It was easy now, thought the girl she could take 
 her time and be very sure. 
 
 Yet she shot and missed, and the man came on with 
 the confidence of one who wears a talisman and fears 
 no harm. Now he was almost at the steps and his 
 pistol was barking viciously then suddenly something 
 in the mechanism of Juanita's rifle jammed and it lay 
 useless and dead in her hands. She struggled with it, 
 frantically jerking the lever, but before she had con- 
 quered its balking obstinacy she saw the on-coming figure 
 leap up the steps at one stride and thrust his weapon 
 forward over the table. She even caught the glitter 
 of his teeth as a snarling smile parted his lips. 
 
 Then a rifle spoke behind her, a rifle in the hands of 
 the man who had dragged himself to the firing line, and 
 with his foot on the threshold Jim Fletcher reeled back- 
 ward and rolled lumberingly down the steps to the 
 ground. 
 
 " You got him ! " she screamed, " you got him, 
 Anse!" 
 
 It had been perhaps five minutes since she had called 
 out to the men in the road, but it seemed that she had 
 sustained a long siege. She saw the one man who had
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 351 
 
 fled, crossing the fence and disappearing. Then very 
 slowly she rose and turned to the room again. 
 
 Anse Havey was lying on his face and the gun with 
 which he had killed Jim Fletcher lay by his side, but 
 his posture was so rigid and his limbs so motionless 
 that the girl caught at her breast and reeled backward. 
 She would have fallen had she not been supported by 
 the table. Had the fight been lost after all? 
 
 Slowly and in a daze of reaction and fright, she moved 
 forward and turned his body over, and laid her ear to 
 his heart. 
 
 It was still beating. The rifle had only jolted his 
 weak and pain-racked body into unconsciousness, and 
 as she held his head to her breast, her eyes went roving 
 about the room into which the pallid dawn had begun 
 stealing. Then, hanging by the mantel, she saw the 
 horn that Jerry Everson had given her, faintly catch- 
 ing and reflecting the first of the light. 
 
 Why had she not thought of that before? she asked 
 herself accusingly. Why had she not sent its call for 
 help out across the hills long ago? Then there came 
 back to her memory the words of the mountain donor 
 when he had brought it over and had imitated the 
 Havey battle call. 
 
 " Don't never blow them three longs an' three shorts 
 unlessen ye wants ter start hell. When thet call goes 
 out acrost the mountains every Havey thet kin tote a 
 gun's got ter git up an' come." 
 
 If ever there had been a time when every Havey should 
 come it was this time. She laid Anse's head once more 
 on the cushions and went to the mantel. Then stand- 
 ing in the door, she drew a long breath.
 
 352 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 The ridges were vague apparitions now along whose 
 slopes trailed shreds of mist. A gray world of ghost- 
 like dawn spread out with shapes that lost themselves 
 in shapelessness and a chill hung in the air. 
 
 So she set the horn to her lips and blew. Out across 
 the melting vagueness of the dim world floated the three 
 long blasts and the three short blasts. She waited a 
 little while and blew again. That signal could not reach 
 Anse Havey's own house, because the ridge would send 
 it echoing back in a shattered wave of sound. It would 
 be better heard to the east, and after a time there cam* 
 back to her waiting ears, very low and distant, yet very 
 clear, an answer. 
 
 It came from the house of Milt McBriar and Jua- 
 nita's heart, torn and anxious as it was, leaped, for she 
 knew that for the first time in the memory of man the 
 Havey call to arms had been heard and was being an- 
 swered by a chief of the McBriars, and that as fast 
 as horses could carry them he and his men would bring 
 succor. 
 
 An hour later, when the mountain slopes were unveil- 
 ing in miracles of iridescence and tender color, Young 
 Milt McBriar and his escort came upon them. 
 
 The girl was weeping incoherently over an insen- 
 sible figure and crooning to him as a mother sings to 
 quiet a fretful child, and on the floor at her side lay a 
 piece of paper rumpled and reddened with blood a 
 marriage license. 
 
 " Milt," she wildly cried out, " get Brother Anse, 
 get him quick ! " And she waved the piece of smeared 
 paper in the boy's face. 
 
 Kneeling with her on the floor, Milt took the license
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 353 
 
 from her hand and when he saw what it was he very 
 dubiously shook his head. 
 
 " I'm afraid," he told her gravely, " I'm afraid hit's 
 too late, ma'am. He kain't hardly live thet long." 
 
 " Get Brother Anse," she insisted fiercely ; " get him 
 quick. I'm going to be his wife." Her voice broke into 
 a wild sob as she added, " If I can't be anything else, 
 I'm going to be the Widow Havey." 
 
 And when Good Anse came, he found Bad Anse still 
 alive, smiling faintly up into the face of the woman who 
 sat with his head in her lap, and they were both wait- 
 ing. 
 
 " I'm right sorry," said the missionary simply when 
 the words were spoken, " thet ye didn't hev a preacher 
 thet could 'a' married ye with due ceremonies, but I 
 reckon I hain't never been gladder ter do nothin' in my 
 life ef only he kin git well." 
 
 " Brother Anse," Juanita Havey told him, as she put 
 a hand on each rough shoulder, " I had rather it had 
 been you than the Archbishop of Canterbury." 
 
 People in the mountains still talk of how, while Anse 
 Havey lay on a white cot in the little hospital, young 
 Milt McBriar set out toward Peril. He stopped for 
 a moment at the house of Bad Anse Havey and within 
 twenty minutes the hills were being raked. Young Milt 
 killed a horse getting to Jeb McNash's cabin on Tribu- 
 lation and Jeb killed another getting to Peril. Then 
 from Lexington came two surgeons as fast as a special 
 train could bring them, and thanks to a dogged life 
 spark they found Anse Havey still lingering on the 
 margin of life.
 
 554 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 When they removed him from the operating table 
 back to his cot, and he opened his eyes in consciousness, 
 the sun was coming through the shaded window, but 
 even before he realized that, he saw her face bending 
 over him, and felt cool fingers on his forehead. 
 
 As his eyes opened her smile greeted him, and she 
 brushed his lips with her own. Then in a tone of com- 
 mand she said, " You mustn't talk. The doctors say 
 you may get well, if you obey orders and fight hard. 
 It's partly up to you, Anse." 
 
 Once more there hovered around the man's lips their 
 occasional boyish smile. 
 
 " I reckon," he said slowly, " they'll have the hell of 
 a time killin' me now! " Then he added in a tone of 
 more grimness, " Besides, there's a score or two to set- 
 tle." 
 
 The girl shook her head and smiled. Her fingers 
 rested caressingly on the dark hair that fell over his 
 forehead. 
 
 " No, Anse," she told him. " I settled most of them 
 myself." 
 
 
 
 Even the detachment of the murder squad that had 
 played its part in the woods and started for Peril be- 
 fore the five turned back, did not reach the town, but 
 scattered into the hillsides. When morning brought 
 the news of their attempt they tried to make their 
 escape across the mountains to Virginia. 
 
 But there was a grim and relentless system about the 
 movement of two posses that set out to comb the timber. 
 Daring approach no house for food, the fugitives took 
 up their stand at last in a stanch log cabin which had
 
 THE BATTLE CRY 355 
 
 been deserted and died there, grimly declining to sur- 
 render. 
 
 Of course the railroad came up Tribulation and 
 crossed through the notch in the mountains at the gap, 
 but the railroad came on terms quite different from 
 those which Mr. Trevor and his ilk had planned. 
 
 One day there rode away from Holland College a 
 gay little procession, on its way to the house of Milt 
 McBriar. At its head rode young Milt himself and on 
 a pillion behind him, as mountain brides have always 
 ridden to their own houses, was Dawn McBriar. 
 
 That was some years ago and at the big log house 
 there is a toddling, tow-headed young person now whose 
 name is Anse Havey McBriar, though his father insists 
 he is to be ultimately known as " Bad Anse " McBriar. 
 So far the name has not been given general recognition, 
 though his mother affectionately calls him " Badness." 
 
 One autumn day when the air was as full of sparkle 
 as champagne and the big " sugar tree " just outside 
 the hospital window was flaming in an ecstasy of color, 
 when even the geese by the creek waddled with the fat 
 comfort of burghers at a festival, Miss Dawn Havey 
 opened her eyes on the world and found it acceptable. 
 
 Jeb McNash was riding through the country that 
 October, seeking election to the Legislature. 
 
 He drew his horse down by the fence and raised his 
 eyes to the little building up the hillside where the mys- 
 tery of a new life was sheltered. Then a slow grin 
 came to his lips. 
 
 " Anse," he said in his slow drawl, " it's right smart 
 of a pity she's a gal now, hain't it? " 
 
 Anse shook his head. " I reckon," he said, " she's
 
 $56 THE BATTLE CRY 
 
 got more chance to be like her mother. Her mother 
 made these hills better for being here and besides " 
 
 He looked cautiously about and dropped his voice as 
 if speaking of a forbidden subject, yet into it crept an 
 unconcealable pride: 
 
 " Besides, young feller, have you got any more 
 Botches on the stock of your gun than she has ? "