CHRISTMAS 
 
 EVE ON 
 LONESOME 
 
 JOHN FOX JR 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS A 
 

 r 
 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE 
 ON LONESOME 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
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CHRISTMAS EVE 
 ON LONESOME 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN FOX, JR. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 NEW YORK:: 1904 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
Copyright, 1904, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published, September, 1904 
 
TO 
 
 THOMAS NELSON PAGE 
 
C O NTENTS 
 
 Christmas Eve on Lonesome I 
 
 The Army of the Callahan 15 
 
 The Last Stetson 75 
 
 The Pardon of Becky Day 149 
 
 A Crisis for the Guard 169 
 
 Christmas Night with Satan 2OI 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Buck saw the shadowed gesture of an arm, 
 
 and cocked his pistol Frontispiece 
 
 Facing 
 
 Captain Wells descended with no little P * gC 
 majesty and u biffed " him 34 
 
 " Speak up, nigger ! " 64 
 
 " Pray fer yer enemies, Eli" I2O 
 
 IC Listen ! Do you want a dying woman 1 s 
 
 curse?" 1 60 
 
 The sergeant, dragging Sturgeon, looked up 
 into the blazing eyes of a girl on the 
 sidewalk 192 
 
 Satan would drop the coin and get a ball 
 
 for himself 206 
 
 " Papa, I carft shoot that dog " 230 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 IT was Christmas Eve on Lonesome. 
 But nobody on Lonesome knew that 
 it was Christmas Eve, although a child of 
 the outer world could have guessed it, even 
 out in those wilds where Lonesome slipped 
 from one lone log-cabin high up the steeps, 
 down through a stretch of jungled dark 
 ness to another lone cabin at the mouth of 
 the stream. 
 
 There was the holy hush in the gray 
 twilight that comes only on Christmas Eve. 
 There were the big flakes of snow that fell 
 as they never fall except on Christmas Eve. 
 There was a snowy man on horseback in 
 a big coat, and with saddle-pockets that 
 
 [3] 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 might have been bursting with toys for 
 children in the little cabin at the head of 
 the stream. 
 
 But not even he knew that it was Christ 
 mas Eve. He was thinking of Christmas 
 Eve, but it was of Christmas Eve of the 
 year before, when he sat in prison with a 
 hundred other men in stripes, and listened 
 to the chaplain talk of peace and good-will 
 to all men upon earth, when he had for 
 gotten all men upon earth but one, and had 
 only hatred in his heart for him. 
 
 "Vengeance is mine!" saith the Lord. 
 
 That was what the chaplain had thun 
 dered at him. And then, as now, he 
 thought of the enemy who had betrayed 
 him to the law, and had sworn away his 
 liberty, and had robbed him of everything 
 in life except a fierce longing for the day 
 when he could strike back and strike to kill. 
 [4] 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 And then, while he looked back hard into 
 the chaplain's eyes, and now, while he 
 splashed through the yellow mud thinking 
 of that Christmas Eve, Buck shook his 
 head; and then, as now, his sullen heart 
 answered : 
 
 "Mine!" 
 
 The big flakes drifted to crotch and twig 
 and limb. They gathered on the brim of 
 Buck's slouch hat, filled out the wrinkles 
 in his big coat, whitened his hair and his 
 long mustache, and sifted into the yellow, 
 twisting path that guided his horse's feet. 
 
 High above he could see through the 
 whirling snow now and then the gleam of 
 a red star. He knew it was the light from 
 his enemy's window; but somehow the 
 chaplain's voice kept ringing in his ears, 
 and every time he saw the light he couldn't 
 help thinking of the story of the Star that 
 
 [5] 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 the chaplain told that Christmas Eve, and 
 he dropped his eyes by and by, so as not to 
 see it again, and rode on until the light 
 shone in his face. 
 
 Then he led his horse up a little ravine 
 and hitched it among the snowy holly and 
 rhododendrons, and slipped toward the 
 light. There was a dog somewhere, of 
 course ; and like a thief he climbed over the 
 low rail-fence and stole through the tall 
 snow-wet grass until he leaned against an 
 apple-tree with the sill of the window two 
 feet above the level of his eyes. 
 
 Reaching above him, he caught a stout 
 limb and dragged himself up to a crotch 
 of the tree. A mass of snow slipped softly 
 to the earth. The branch creaked above 
 the light wind; around the corner of the 
 house a dog growled and he sat still. 
 
 He had waited three long years and he 
 [6] 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 had ridden two hard nights and lain out 
 two cold days in the woods for this. 
 
 And presently he reached out very care 
 fully, and noiselessly broke leaf and branch 
 and twig until a passage was cleared for his 
 eye and for the point of the pistol that was 
 gripped in his right hand. 
 
 A woman was just disappearing through 
 the kitchen door, and he peered cautiously 
 and saw nothing but darting shadows. 
 From one corner a shadow loomed sud 
 denly out in human shape. Buck saw the 
 shadowed gesture of an arm, and he 
 cocked his pistol. That shadow was his 
 man, and in a moment he would be in a 
 chair in the chimney-corner to smoke his 
 pipe, maybe his last pipe. 
 
 Buck smiled pure hatred made him 
 smile but it was mean, a mean and sorry 
 thing to shoot this man in the back, dog 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 though he was; and now that the moment 
 had come a wave of sickening shame ran 
 through Buck. No one of his name had 
 ever done that before ; but this man and his 
 people had, and with their own lips they 
 had framed palliation for him. What was 
 fair for one was fair for the other, they 
 always said. A poor man couldn't fight 
 money in the courts; and so they had shot 
 from the brush, and that was why they 
 were rich now and Buck was poor why 
 his enemy was safe at home, and he was 
 out here, homeless, in the apple-tree. 
 
 Buck thought of all this, but it was no 
 use. The shadow slouched suddenly and 
 disappeared; and Buck was glad. With a 
 gritting oath between his chattering teeth 
 he pulled his pistol in and thrust one leg 
 down to swing from the tree he would 
 meet him face to face next day and kill him 
 
 [8] 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 like a man and there he hung as rigid as 
 though the cold had suddenly turned him, 
 blood, bones, and marrow, into ice. 
 
 The door had opened, and full in the 
 firelight stood the girl who he had heard 
 was dead. He knew now how and why 
 that word was sent him. And now she 
 who had been his sweetheart stood before 
 him the wife of the man he meant to 
 kill. 
 
 Her lips moved he thought he could 
 tell what she said: u Git up, Jim, git up!" 
 Then she went back. 
 
 A flame flared up within him now that 
 must have come straight from the devil's 
 forge. Again the shadows played over the 
 ceiling. His teeth grated as he cocked his 
 pistol, and pointed it down the beam of 
 light that shot into the heart of the apple- 
 tree, and waited. 
 
 [9] 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 The shadow of a head shot along the 
 rafters and over the fireplace. It was a 
 madman clutching the butt of the pistol 
 now, and as his eye caught the glinting 
 sight and his heart thumped, there stepped 
 into the square light of the window a 
 child! 
 
 It was a boy with yellow tumbled hair, 
 and he had a puppy in his arms. In front 
 of the fire the little fellow dropped the dog, 
 and they began to play. 
 
 "Yap! yap! yap!" 
 
 Buck could hear the shrill barking of the 
 fat little dog, and the joyous shrieks of the 
 child as he made his playfellow chase his 
 tail round and round or tumbled him head 
 over heels on the floor. It was the first 
 child Buck had seen for three years ; it was 
 his child and hers; and, in the apple-tree, 
 Buck watched fixedly. 
 
 [10] 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 They were down on the floor now, roll 
 ing over and over together; and he watched 
 them until the child grew tired and turned 
 his face to the fire and lay still looking 
 into it. Buck could see his eyes close pres 
 ently, and then the puppy crept closer, put 
 his head on his playmate's chest, and the 
 two lay thus asleep. 
 
 And still Buck looked his clasp loosen 
 ing on his pistol and his lips loosening 
 under his stiff mustache and kept looking 
 until the door opened again and the woman 
 crossed the floor. A flood of light flashed 
 suddenly on the snow, barely touching the 
 snow-hung tips of the apple-tree, and he 
 saw her in the doorway saw her look 
 anxiously into the darkness look and 
 listen a long while. 
 
 Buck dropped noiselessly to the snow 
 when she closed the door. He wondered 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 what they would think when they saw his 
 tracks in the snow next morning; and then 
 he realized that they would be covered be 
 fore morning. 
 
 As he started up the ravine where his 
 horse was he heard the clink of metal down 
 the road and the splash of a horse's hoofs 
 in the soft mud, and he sank down behind 
 a holly-bush. 
 
 Again the light from the cabin flashed 
 out on the snow. 
 
 'That you, Jim?" 
 
 "Yep!" 
 
 And then the child's voice: "Has oo dot 
 thum tandy?" 
 
 "Yep!" 
 
 The cheery answer rang out almost at 
 Buck's ear, and Jim passed death waiting 
 for him behind the bush which his left foot 
 brushed, shaking the snow from the red 
 
 [12] 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE ON LONESOME 
 
 berries down on the crouching figure be 
 neath. 
 
 Once only, far down the dark jungled 
 way, with the underlying streak of yellow 
 that was leading him whither, God only 
 knew once only Buck looked back. There 
 was the red light gleaming faintly through 
 the moonlit flakes of snow. Once more he 
 thought of the Star, and once more the 
 chaplain's voice came back to him. 
 
 "Mine!" saith the Lord. 
 
 Just how, Buck could not see with him 
 self in the snow and him back there for life 
 with her and the child, but some strange 
 impulse made him bare his head. 
 
 "Yourn," said Buck grimly. 
 
 But nobody on Lonesome not even 
 Buck knew that it was Christmas Eve. 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 I 
 
 THE dreaded message had come. The 
 lank messenger, who had brought 
 it from over Black Mountain, dropped into 
 a chair by the stove and sank his teeth into 
 a great hunk of yellow cheese. "Flitter 
 Bill" Richmond waddled from behind his 
 counter, and out on the little platform in 
 front of his cross-roads store. Out there 
 was a group of earth-stained countrymen, 
 lounging against the rickety fence or swing 
 ing on it, their heels clear of the ground, 
 all whittling, chewing, and talking the mat 
 ter over. All looked up at Bill, and he 
 looked down at them, running his eye 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 keenly from one to another until he came 
 to one powerful young fellow loosely bent 
 over a wagon-tongue. Even on him, Bill's 
 eyes stayed but a moment, and then were 
 lifted higher in anxious thought. 
 
 The message had come at last, and the 
 man who brought it had heard it fall from 
 Black Tom's own lips. The "wild Jay- 
 Hawkers of Kaintuck" were coming over 
 into Virginia to get Flitter Bill's store, for 
 they were mountain Unionists and Bill was 
 a valley rebel and lawful prey. It was 
 past belief. So long had he prospered, 
 and so well, that Bill had come to feel that 
 he sat safe in the hollow of God's hand. 
 But he now must have protection and at 
 once from the hand of man. 
 
 Roaring Fork sang lustily through the 
 rhododendrons. To the north yawned 
 "the Gap" through the Cumberland 
 [18] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 Mountains. "Callahan's Nose," a huge 
 gray rock, showed plain in the clear air, 
 high above the young foliage, and under 
 it, and on up the rocky chasm, flashed 
 Flitter Bill's keen mind, reaching out for 
 help. 
 
 Now, from Virginia to Alabama the 
 Southern mountaineer was a Yankee, be 
 cause the national spirit of 1776, getting 
 fresh impetus in 1812 and new life from 
 the Mexican War, had never died out in 
 the hills. Most likely it would never have 
 died out, anyway; for, the world over, 
 any seed of character, individual or na 
 tional, that is once dropped between lofty 
 summits brings forth its kind, with death 
 less tenacity, year after year. Only, in 
 the Kentucky mountains, there were more 
 slaveholders than elsewhere in the moun 
 tains of the South. These, naturally, 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 fought for their slaves, and the division 
 thus made the war personal and terrible 
 between the slaveholders who dared to 
 stay at home, and the Union "Home 
 Guards" who organized to drive them 
 away. In Bill's little Virginia valley, of 
 course, most of the sturdy farmers had 
 shouldered Confederate muskets and gone 
 to the war. Those who had stayed at home 
 were, like Bill, Confederate in sympathy, 
 but they lived in safety down the valley, 
 while Bill traded and fattened just oppo 
 site the Gap, through which a wild road 
 ran over into the wild Kentucky hills. 
 Therein Bill's danger lay; for, just at 
 this time, the Harlan Home Guard under 
 Black Tom, having cleared those hills, 
 were making ready, like the Pict and Scot 
 of olden days, to descend on the Virginia 
 valley and smite the lowland rebels at 
 
 [20] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 the mouth of the Gap. Of the "stay-at- 
 homes," and the deserters roundabout, 
 there were many, very many, who would 
 "stand in" with any man who would keep 
 their bellies full, but they were well-nigh 
 worthless even with a leader, and, without 
 a leader, of no good at all. Flitter Bill 
 must find a leader for them, and any 
 where than in his own fat self, for a leader 
 of men Bill was not born to be, nor could 
 he see a leader among the men before 
 him. And so, standing there one early 
 morning in the spring of 1865, with up 
 lifted gaze, it was no surprise to him the 
 coincidence, indeed, became at once one 
 of the articles of perfect faith in his own 
 star that he should see afar off, a black 
 slouch hat and a jogging gray horse rise 
 above a little knoll that was in line with 
 the mouth of the Gap. At once he 
 
 [21] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 crossed his hands over his chubby stom 
 ach with a pious sigh, and at once a plan 
 of action began to whirl in his little round 
 head. Before man and beast were in full 
 view the work was done, the hands were 
 unclasped, and Flitter Bill, with a chuckle, 
 had slowly risen, and was waddling back 
 to his desk in the store. 
 
 It was a pompous old buck who was 
 bearing down on the old gray horse, and 
 under the slouch hat with its flapping 
 brim one Mayhall Wells, by name. 
 There were but few strands of gray in his 
 thick blue-black hair, though his years 
 were rounding half a century, and he sat 
 the old nag with erect dignity and perfect 
 ease. His bearded mouth showed vanity 
 immeasurable, and suggested a strength 
 of will that his eyes the real seat of 
 power denied, for, while shrewd and 
 
 [22] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 keen, they were unsteady. In reality, he 
 was a great coward, though strong as an 
 ox, and whipping with ease every man 
 who could force him into a fight. So that, 
 in the whole man, a sensitive observer 
 would have felt a peculiar pathos, as 
 though nature had given him a desire to 
 be, and no power to become, and had then 
 sent him on his zigzag way, never to dream 
 wherein his trouble lay. 
 
 "Mornin', gentlemen !" 
 
 "Mornin', Mayhall!" 
 
 All nodded and spoke except Hence 
 Sturgill on the wagon-tongue, who stopped 
 whittling, and merely looked at the big 
 man with narrowing eyes. 
 
 Tallow Dick, a yellow slave, appeared 
 at the corner of the store, and the old buck 
 beckoned him to come and hitch his horse. 
 Flitter Bill had reappeared on the stoop 
 
 [23] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 with a piece of white paper in his hand. 
 The lank messenger sagged in the door 
 way behind him, ready to start for home. 
 
 "Mornin', Captain Wells," said Bill, 
 with great respect. Every man heard the 
 title, stopped his tongue and his knife- 
 blade, and raised his eyes; a few smiled 
 Hence Sturgill grinned. Mayhall stared, 
 and Bill's left eye closed and opened with 
 lightning quickness in a most portentous 
 wink. Mayhall straightened his shoulders 
 seeing the game, as did the crowd at 
 once: Flitter Bill was impressing that 
 messenger in case he had some dangerous 
 card up his sleeve. 
 
 ''Captain Wells," Bill repeated signifi 
 cantly, "I'm sorry to say yo' new uniform 
 has not arrived yet. I am expecting it 
 to-morrow." Mayhall toed the line with 
 soldierly promptness. 
 
 [24] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, suh 
 sorry to hear it, suh," he said, with slow, 
 measured speech. "My men are comin' 
 in fast, and you can hardly realize er er 
 what it means to an old soldier er er not 
 to have er " And Mayhall's answer 
 ing wink was portentous. 
 
 "My friend here is from over in Kain- 
 tucky, and the Harlan Home Gyard over 
 there, he says, is a-making some threats." 
 
 Mayhall laughed. 
 
 "So I have heerd so I have heerd." 
 He turned to the messenger. "We shall 
 be ready fer 'em, suh, ready fer 'em with 
 a thousand men one thousand men, suh, 
 right hyeh in the Gap right hyeh in the 
 Gap. Let 'em come on let 'em come 
 on!" Mayhall began to rub his hands 
 together as though the conflict were close 
 at hand, and the mountaineer slapped one 
 
 [25] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 thigh heartily. "Good for you! Give 
 'em hell!" He was about to slap May- 
 hall on the shoulder and call him "pard- 
 ner," when Flitter Bill coughed, and May- 
 hall lifted his chin. 
 
 "Captain Wells?" said Bill. 
 
 "Captain Wells," repeated Mayhall 
 with a stiff salutation, and the messenger 
 from over Black Mountain fell back with 
 an apologetic laugh. A few minutes later 
 both Mayhall and Flitter Bill saw him 
 shaking his head, as he started homeward 
 toward the Gap. Bill laughed silently, 
 but Mayhall had grown grave. The fun 
 was over and he beckoned Bill inside the 
 store. 
 
 "Misto Richmond," he said, with hesi 
 tancy and an entire change of tone and 
 manner, "I am afeerd I ain't goin' to 
 be able to pay you that little amount I 
 
 [26] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 owe you, but if you can give me a little 
 mo' time " 
 
 "Captain Wells," interrupted Bill slow 
 ly, and again Mayhall stared hard at him, 
 "as betwixt friends, as have been pus- 
 sonal friends fer nigh onto twenty year, 
 I hope you won't mention that little 
 matter to me ag'in until I mentions it to 
 you." 
 
 "But, Misto Richmond, Hence Sturgill 
 out thar says as how he heerd you say 
 that if I didn't pay " 
 
 "Captain Wells," interrupted Bill again 
 and again Mayhall stared hard it was 
 strange that Bill could have formed the 
 habit of calling him "Captain" in so short 
 a time "yestiddy is not to-day, is it? 
 And to-day is not to-morrow? I axe you 
 have I said one word about that little 
 matter to-day? Well, borrow not from 
 
 [27] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 yestiddy nor to-morrow, to make trouble 
 fer to-day. There is other things fer to 
 day, Captain Wells." 
 
 Mayhall turned here. 
 
 "Misto Richmond," he said, with great 
 earnestness, "you may not know it, but 
 three times since thet long-legged jay- 
 hawker's been gone you hev plainly and 
 if my ears do not deceive me, an' they 
 never hev you have plainly called me 
 'Captain Wells/ I knowed yo' little trick 
 whilst he was hyeh, fer I knowed whut 
 the feller had come to tell ye; but since he's 
 been gone, three times, Misto Rich 
 mond " 
 
 "Yes," drawled Bill, with an unction 
 that was strangely sweet to Mayhall's 
 wondering ears, a an' I do it ag'in, Captain 
 Wells." 
 
 "An' may I axe you," said Mayhall, 
 
 [28] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 ruffling a little, "may I axe you why 
 you " 
 
 "Certainly," said Bill, and he handed 
 over the paper that he held in his hand. 
 
 Mayhall took the paper and looked it 
 up and down helplessly Flitter Bill slyly 
 watching him. 
 
 Mayhall handed it back. "If you 
 please, Misto Richmond I left my specs 
 at home." Without a smile, Bill began. 
 It was an order from the commandant at 
 Cumberland Gap, sixty miles farther down 
 Powell's Valley, authorizing Mayhall 
 Wells to form a company to guard the 
 Gap and to protect the property of Con 
 federate citizens in the valley; and a com 
 mission of captaincy in the said company 
 for the said Mayhall Wells. Mayhall's 
 mouth widened to the full stretch of his 
 lean jaws, and, when Bill was through 
 
 [29] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 reading, he silently reached for the paper 
 and looked it up and down and over and 
 over, muttering: 
 
 "Well well well!" And then he 
 pointed silently to the name that was at the 
 bottom of the paper. 
 
 Bill spelled out the name: 
 
 "Jefferson Davis/' and Mayhall's big 
 fingers trembled as he pulled them away, 
 as though to avoid further desecration of 
 that sacred name. Then he rose, and a 
 magical transformation began that can 
 be likened I speak with reverence to 
 the turning of water into wine. Captain 
 Mayhall Wells raised his head, set his chin 
 well in, and kept it there. He straight 
 ened his shoulders, and kept them straight. 
 He paced the floor with a tread that was 
 martial, and once he stopped before the 
 door with his right hand thrust under his 
 
 [30] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 breast-pocket, and with wrinkling brow 
 studied the hills. It was a new man 
 with the water in his blood changed to 
 wine who turned suddenly on Flitter Bill 
 Richmond : 
 
 "I can collect a vehy large force in a 
 vehy few days." Flitter Bill knew that 
 that he could get together every loafer 
 between the county-seat of Wise and the 
 county-seat of Lee but he only said en 
 couragingly : 
 
 "Good!" 
 
 "An' we air to pertect the property 
 7 am to pertect the property of the Con 
 federate citizens of the valley that means 
 you, Misto Richmond, and this store" 
 
 Bill nodded. 
 
 Mayhall coughed slightly. "There is 
 one thing in the way, I opine. Whar I 
 axe you air we to git somethin' to eat 
 
 [31] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 fer my command?" Bill had anticipated 
 this. 
 
 "I'll take keer o' that." 
 
 Captain Wells rubbed his hands. 
 
 "Of co'se, of co'se you are a soldier 
 and a patriot you can afford to feed 'em 
 as a slight return fer the pertection I shall 
 give you and yourn." 
 
 "Certainly," agreed Bill dryly, and with 
 a prophetic stir of uneasiness. 
 
 "Vehy vehy well. I shall begin now, 
 Misto Richmond." And, to Flitter Bill's 
 wonder, the captain stalked out to the 
 stoop, announced his purpose with the 
 voice of an auctioneer, and called for 
 volunteers then and there. There was 
 dead silence for a moment. Then there 
 was a smile here, a chuckle there, an 
 incredulous laugh, and Hence Sturgill, 
 "bully of the Pocket," rose from the 
 [32] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 wagon-tongue, closed his knife, came 
 slowly forward, and cackled his scorn 
 straight up into the teeth of Captain May- 
 hall Wells. The captain looked down 
 and began to shed his coat. 
 
 "I take it, Hence Sturgill, that you air 
 laughin' at me?" 
 
 "I am a-laughin' at you, Mayhall 
 Wells," he said, contemptuously, but he 
 was surprised at the look on the good- 
 natured giant's face. 
 
 "Captain Mayhall Wells, ef you 
 please." 
 
 "Plain ole Mayhall Wells," said Hence, 
 and Captain Wells descended with no little 
 majesty and "biffed" him. 
 
 The delighted crowd rose to its feet 
 and gathered around. Tallow Dick came 
 running from the barn. It was biff biff, 
 and biff again, but not nip and tuck for 
 
 [33] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 long. Captain Mayhall closed in. Hence 
 Sturgill struck the earth like a Homeric 
 pine, and the captain's mighty arm played 
 above him and fell, resounding. In three 
 minutes Hence, to the amazement of the 
 crowd, roared: 
 
 '"Nough!" 
 
 But Mayhall breathed hard and said 
 quietly : 
 
 "Captain Wells!" Hence shouted. 
 
 "Plain ole " But the captain's huge 
 fist was poised in the air over his face. 
 
 "Capt'n Wells," he growled, and the 
 captain rose and calmly put on his coat, 
 while the crowd looked respectful, and 
 Hence Sturgill staggered to one side, as 
 though beaten in spirit, strength, and wits 
 as well. The captain beckoned Flitter Bill 
 inside the store. His manner had a dis 
 tinct savor of patronage. 
 
 [34] 
 
Captain Wells descended with no little majesty and "biffed" him. 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 "Misto Richmond," he said, "I make 
 you I appoint you, by the authority of 
 Jefferson Davis and the Confederate States 
 of Ameriky, as commissary-gineral of 
 the Army of the Callahan." 
 
 "As what?" Bill's eyes blinked at the 
 astounding dignity of his commission. 
 
 "Gineral Richmond, I shall not repeat 
 them words." And he didn't, but rose and 
 made his way toward his old gray mare. 
 Tallow Dick held his bridle. 
 
 "Dick," he said, jocosely, "goin* to run 
 away ag'in?" The negro almost paled, 
 and then, with a look at a blacksnake whip 
 that hung on the barn door, grinned. 
 
 u No, suh no, suh 'deed I ain't, suh 
 
 -no mo'." 
 
 Mounted, the captain dropped a three- 
 cent silver piece in the negro's startled 
 hand. Then he vouchsafed the wonder- 
 
 [35] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 ing Flitter Bill and the gaping crowd a 
 military salute and started for the yawning 
 mouth of the Gap riding with shoulders 
 squared and chin well in riding as should 
 ride the commander of the Army of the 
 Callahan. 
 
 Flitter Bill dropped his blinking eyes to 
 the paper in his hand that bore the com 
 mission of Jefferson Davis and the Con 
 federate States of America to Mayhall 
 Wells of Callahan, and went back into 
 his store. He looked at it a long time 
 and then he laughed, but without much 
 mirth. 
 
 [36] 
 
II 
 
 GRASS had little chance to grow for 
 three weeks thereafter under the cowhide 
 boots of Captain Mayhall Wells. When 
 the twentieth morning came over the hills, 
 the mists parted over the Stars and Bars 
 floating from the top of a tall poplar up 
 through the Gap and flaunting brave de 
 fiance to Black Tom, his Harlan Home 
 Guard, and all other jay-hawking Union 
 ists of the Kentucky hills. It parted over 
 the Army of the Callahan asleep on its 
 arms in the mouth of the chasm, over Flit 
 ter Bill sitting, sullen and dejected, on the 
 stoop of his store; and over Tallow Dick 
 stealing corn-bread from the kitchen to 
 make ready for flight that night through 
 
 [37] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 the Gap, the mountains, and to the yellow 
 river that was the Mecca of the runaway 
 slave. 
 
 At the mouth of the Gap a ragged pri 
 vate stood before a ragged tent, raised a 
 long dinner-horn to his lips, and a mighty 
 blast rang through the hills, reveille ! And 
 out poured the Army of the Callahan from 
 shack, rock-cave, and coverts of sticks and 
 leaves, with squirrel rifles, Revolutionary 
 muskets, shot-guns, clasp-knives, and horse- 
 pistols for the duties of the day under Lieu 
 tenant Skaggs, tactician, and Lieutenant 
 Boggs, quondam terror of Roaring Fork. 
 
 That blast rang down the valley into 
 Flitter Bill's ears and startled him into ac 
 tion. It brought Tallow Dick's head out 
 of the barn door and made him grin. 
 
 "Dick!" Flitter Bill's call was sharp 
 and angry. 
 
 [38] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 "Yes, suh!" 
 
 "Go tell ole Mayhall Wells that I ain't 
 goin' to send him nary another pound o' 
 bacon an' nary another tin-cup o' meal 
 no, by , I ain't." 
 
 Half an hour later the negro stood be 
 fore the ragged tent of the commander of 
 the Army of the Callahan. 
 
 "Marse Bill say he ain't gwine to sen' 
 you no mo' rations no mo'." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 Tallow Dick repeated his message and 
 the captain scowled mutiny! 
 
 "Fetch my hoss!" he thundered. 
 
 Very naturally and very swiftly had the 
 trouble come, for straightway after the 
 captain's fight with Hence Sturgill there 
 had been a mighty rally to the standard 
 of Mayhall Wells. From Pigeon's Creek 
 the loafers came from Roaring Fork, 
 
 [39] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 Cracker's Neck, from the Pocket down the 
 valley, and from Turkey Cove. Recruits 
 came so fast, and to such proportions grew 
 the Army of the Callahan, that Flitter Bill 
 shrewdly suggested at once that Captain 
 Wells divide it into three companies and 
 put one up Pigeon's Creek under Lieu 
 tenant Jim Skaggs and one on Callahan 
 under Lieutenant Tom Boggs, while the 
 captain, with a third, should guard the 
 mouth of the Gap. Bill's idea was to share 
 with those districts the honor of his com 
 missary-generalship ; but Captain Wells 
 crushed the plan like a dried puff-ball. 
 
 "Yes," he said, with fine sarcasm. 
 "What will them Kanetuckians do then? 
 Don't you know, Gineral Richmond? 
 Why, I'll tell you what they'll do. They'll 
 jest swoop down on Lieutenant Boggs and 
 gobble him up. Then they'll swoop down 
 
 [40] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 on Lieutenant Skaggs on Pigeon and gob 
 ble him up. Then they'll swoop down on 
 me and gobble me up. No, they won't 
 gobble me up, but they'll come damn nigh 
 it. An' what kind of a report will I make 
 to Jeff Davis, Gineral Richmond? Cap 
 tured in detail, suh? No, suh. I'll jest 
 keep Lieutenant Boggs and Lieutenant 
 Skaggs close by me, and we'll pitch our 
 camp right here in the Gap whar we can 
 pertect the property of Confederate citi 
 zens and be close to our base o' supplies, 
 suh. That's what /'// do!" 
 
 u Gineral" Richmond groaned, and 
 when in the next breath the mighty cap 
 tain casually inquired if that uniform of 
 his had come yet, Flitter Bill's fat body 
 nearly rolled off his chair. 
 
 "You will please have it here next Mon 
 day," said the captain, with great firmness. 
 
 [41] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 "It is necessary to the proper discipline of 
 my troops." And it was there the follow 
 ing Monday a regimental coat, gray 
 jeans trousers, and a forage cap that Bill 
 purchased from a passing Morgan raider. 
 Daily, orders would come from Captain 
 Wells to General Flitter Bill Richmond to 
 send up more rations, and Bill groaned 
 afresh when a man from Callahan told 
 how the captain's family was sprucing up 
 on meal and flour and bacon from the 
 captain's camp. Humiliation followed. 
 It had never occurred to Captain Wells 
 that being a captain made it incongruous 
 for him to have a "general" under him, 
 until Lieutenant Skaggs, who had picked 
 up a manual of tactics somewhere, cau 
 tiously communicated his discovery. Cap 
 tain Wells saw the point at once. There 
 was but one thing to do to reduce Gen- 
 
 [42] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 eral Richmond to the ranks and it was 
 done. Technically, thereafter, the general 
 was purveyor for the Army of the Calla- 
 han, but to the captain himself he was 
 gallingly to the purveyor simple Flitter 
 Bill. 
 
 The strange thing was that, contrary to 
 his usual shrewdness, it should have taken 
 Flitter Bill so long to see that the difference 
 between having his store robbed by the 
 Kentucky jay-hawkers and looted by Cap 
 tain Wells was the difference between 
 tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, but, when 
 he did see, he forged a plan of relief at 
 once. When the captain sent down Lieu 
 tenant Boggs for a supply of rations, Bill 
 sent the saltiest, rankest bacon he could 
 find, with a message that he wanted to see 
 the great man. As before, when Captain 
 Wells rode down to the store, Bill handed 
 
 [43] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 out a piece of paper, and, as before, the 
 captain had left his "specs" at home. The 
 paper was an order that, whereas the dis 
 tinguished services of Captain Wells to 
 the Confederacy were appreciated by Jef 
 ferson Davis, the said Captain Wells was, 
 and is, hereby empowered to duly, and in 
 accordance with the tactics of war, impress 
 what live-stock he shall see fit and deter 
 mine fit for the good of his command. The 
 news was joy to the Army of the Callahan. 
 Before it had gone the rounds of the camp 
 Lieutenant Boggs had spied a fat heifer 
 browsing on the edge of the woods and 
 ordered her surrounded and driven down. 
 Without another word, when she was close 
 enough, he raised his gun and would have 
 shot her dead in her tracks had he not been 
 arrested by a yell of command and horror 
 from his superior. 
 
 [44] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 "Air you a-goin' to have me cashiered 
 and shot, Lieutenant Boggs, fer violatin* 
 the ticktacks of war?" roared the cap 
 tain, indignantly. "Don't you know that 
 IVe got to impress that heifer accordin' 
 to the rules an' regulations? Git roun' 
 that heifer." The men surrounded her. 
 "Take her by the horns. Now! In the 
 name of Jefferson Davis and the Confed 
 erate States of Ameriky, I hereby and here- 
 on do duly impress this heifer for the pur 
 poses and use of the Army of the Callahan, 
 so help me God! Shoot her down, Bill 
 Boggs, shoot her down !" 
 
 Now, naturally, the soldiers preferred 
 fresh meat, and they got it impressing 
 cattle, sheep, and hogs, geese, chickens, 
 and ducks, vegetables nothing escaped 
 the capacious maw of the Army of the 
 Callahan. It was a beautiful idea, and 
 
 [45] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 the success of it pleased Flitter Bill might 
 ily, but the relief did not last long. An 
 indignant murmur rose up and down val 
 ley and creek bottom against the outrages, 
 and one angry old farmer took a pot-shot 
 at Captain Wells with a squirrel rifle, 
 clipping the visor of his forage cap; and 
 from that day the captain began to call 
 with immutable regularity again on Flitter 
 Bill for bacon and meal. That morning 
 the last straw fell in a demand for a wagon- 
 load of rations to be delivered before 
 noon, and, worn to the edge of his patience, 
 Bill had sent a reckless refusal. And now 
 he was waiting on the stoop of his store, 
 looking at the mouth of the Gap and wait 
 ing for it to give out into the valley Cap 
 tain Wells and his old gray mare. And 
 at last, late in the afternoon, there was the 
 captain coming coming at a swift gallop 
 
 [46] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 and Bill steeled himself for the on 
 slaught like a knight in a joust against a 
 charging antagonist. The captain saluted 
 stiffly pulling up sharply and making no 
 move to dismount. 
 
 "Purveyor," he said, "Black Tom has 
 just sent word that he's a-comin' over 
 hyeh this week have you heerd that, 
 purveyor?" Bill was silent. 
 
 "Black Tom says you air responsible 
 for the Army of the Callahan. Have you 
 heerd that, purveyor?" Still was there 
 silence. 
 
 "He says he's a-goin' to hang me to 
 that poplar whar floats them Stars and 
 Bars" Captain Mayhall Wells chuckled 
 "an' he says he's a-goin' to hang you 
 thar fust, though; have you heerd that, 
 purveyor?" 
 
 The captain dropped the titular address 
 
 [47] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 now, and threw one leg over the pommel 
 of his saddle. 
 
 "Flitter Bill Richmond," he said, with 
 great nonchalance, "I axe you do you pre 
 fer that I should disband the Army of the 
 Callahan, or do you not?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The captain was silent a full minute, and 
 his face grew stern. "Flitter Bill Rich 
 mond, I had no idee o' disbandin' the 
 Army of the Callahan, but do you know 
 what I did aim to do?" Again Bill was 
 silent. 
 
 "Well, suh, I'll tell you whut I aim to 
 do. If you don't send them rations I'll 
 have you cashiered for mutiny, an' if 
 Black Tom don't hang you to that air pop 
 lar, I'll hang you thar myself, suh ; yes, by 
 
 , I will. Dick!" he called sharply to 
 
 the slave. "Hitch up that air wagon, 
 
 [48] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 fill hit full o' bacon and meal, and drive 
 it up thar to my tent. An' be mighty 
 damn quick about it, or I'll hang you, 
 too." 
 
 The negro gave a swift glance to his 
 master, and Flitter Bill feebly waved ac 
 quiescence. 
 
 "Purveyor, I wish you good-day." 
 Bill gazed after the great captain in 
 dazed wonder (was this the man who had 
 come cringing to him only a few short 
 weeks ago?) and groaned aloud. 
 
 But for lucky or unlucky coincidence, 
 how could the prophet ever have gained 
 name and fame on earth? 
 
 Captain Wells rode back to camp 
 chuckling chuckling with satisfaction 
 and pride; but the chuckle passed when 
 he caught sight of his tent. In front of 
 
 [49] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 it were his lieutenants and some half a 
 dozen privates, all plainly in great agita 
 tion, and in the midst of them stood the 
 lank messenger who had brought the first 
 message from Black Tom, delivering an 
 other from the same source. Black Tom 
 was coming, coming sure, and unless that 
 flag, that "Rebel Rag," were hauled down 
 under twenty-four hours, Black Tom would 
 come over and pull it down, and to that 
 same poplar hang "Captain Mayhall an* 
 his whole damn army." Black Tom might 
 do it anyhow just for fun. 
 
 While the privates listened the captain 
 strutted and swore ; then he rested his hand 
 on his hip and smiled with silent sarcasm, 
 and then swore again while the respect 
 ful lieutenants and the awed soldiery of 
 the Callahan looked on. Finally he 
 spoke. 
 
 [50] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 "Ah when did Black Tom say that?" 
 he inquired casually. 
 
 "Yestiddy mornin'. He said he was 
 gbin' to start over hyeh early this mornin'." 
 The captain whirled. 
 
 "What? Then why didn't you git over 
 hyeh this mornin'?" 
 
 "Couldn't git across the river last 
 night." 
 
 "Then he's a-comin' to-day?" 
 
 "I reckon Black Tom'll be hyeh in 
 about two hours mebbe he ain't fer away 
 now." The captain was startled. 
 
 Lieutenant Skaggs," he called, sharply, 
 "git yo' men out thar an' draw 'em up in 
 two rows!" 
 
 The face of the student of military tac 
 tics looked horrified. The captain in his 
 excitement had relaxed into language that 
 was distinctly agricultural, and, catching 
 
 [51] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 the look on his subordinate's face, and at 
 the same time the reason for it, he roared, 
 indignantly : 
 
 "Air you afeer'd, sir? Git yo' men out, 
 I said, an' march 'em up thar in front of 
 the Gap. Lieutenant Boggs, take ten men 
 an' march at double quick through the 
 Gap, an' defend that poplar with yo' life's 
 blood. If you air overwhelmed by supe 
 rior numbers, fall back, suh, step by step 
 until you air re-enforced by Lieutenant 
 Skaggs. If you two air not able to hold 
 the enemy in check, you may count on me 
 an' the Army of the Callahan to grind 
 him " (How the captain, now thorough 
 ly aroused to all the fine terms of war, did 
 roll that technical u him" under his tongue) 
 "to grind him to pieces ag'in them tow- 
 erin' rocks, and plunge him in the bilin' 
 waters of Roarin' Fawk. Forward, suh 
 
 [52] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 double quick." Lieutenant Skaggs touched 
 his cap. Lieutenant Boggs looked embar 
 rassed and strode nearer. 
 
 "Captain, whar am I goin' to git ten 
 men to face them Kanetuckians?" 
 
 u Whar air they goin' to git a off'cer to 
 lead 'em, you'd better say," said the cap 
 tain, severely, fearing that some of the sol 
 diers had heard the question. "If you air 
 afeer'd, suh" and then he saw that no 
 one had heard, and he winked winked 
 with most unmilitary familiarity. 
 
 "Air you a good climber, Lieutenant 
 Boggs?" Lieutenant Boggs looked mys 
 tified, but he said he was. 
 
 "Lieutenant Boggs, I now give you the 
 opportunity to show yo' profound knowl 
 edge of the ticktacks of war. You may 
 now be guilty of disobedience of ordahs, 
 and I will not have you court-martialled for 
 
 [53] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 the same. In other words, if, after a sur 
 vey of the situation, you think best why," 
 the captain's voice dropped to a hoarse 
 whisper, "pull that flag down, Lieutenant 
 Boggs, pull her down. 5 ' 
 
 [54] 
 
Ill 
 
 IT was an hour by sun now. Lieutenant 
 Boggs and his devoted band of ten were 
 making their way slowly and watchfully 
 up the mighty chasm the lieutenant with 
 his hand on his sword and his head bare, 
 and bowed in thought. The Kentuckians 
 were on their way at that moment they 
 might be riding full speed toward the 
 mouth of Pigeon, where floated the flag. 
 They might gobble him and his command 
 up when they emerged from the Gap. Sup 
 pose they caught him up that tree. His 
 command might escape, but he would be 
 up there, saving them the trouble of string- 
 
 [55] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 ing him up. All they would have to do 
 would be to send up after him a man with 
 a rope, and let him drop. That was 
 enough. Lieutenant Boggs called a halt 
 and explained the real purpose of the ex 
 pedition. 
 
 "We will wait here till dark," he said, 
 u so them Kanetuckians can't ketch us, 
 whilst we are climbing that tree/' 
 
 And so they waited opposite Bee Rock, 
 which was making ready to blossom with 
 purple rhododendron. And the reserve 
 back in the Gap, under Lieutenant Skaggs, 
 waited. Waited, too, the Army of the 
 Callahan at the mouth of the Gap, and 
 waited restlessly Captain Wells at the door 
 of his tent, and Flitter Bill on the stoop 
 of his store waited everybody but Tallow 
 Dick, who, in the general confusion, was 
 slipping through the rhododendrons along 
 
 [56] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 the bank of Roaring Fork, until he could 
 climb the mountain-side and slip through 
 the Gap high over the army's head. 
 
 What could have happened? 
 
 When dusk was falling, Captain Wells 
 dispatched a messenger to Lieutenant 
 Skaggs and his reserve, and got an answer ; 
 Lieutenant Skaggs feared that Boggs had 
 been captured without the firing of a single 
 shot but the flag was floating still. An 
 hour later, Lieutenant Skaggs sent another 
 message he could not see the flag. Cap 
 tain Wells answered, stoutly: 
 ' "Hold yo' own." 
 
 And so, as darkness fell, the Army of 
 the Callahan waited in the strain of mortal 
 expectancy as one man; and Flitter Bill 
 waited, with his horse standing saddled in 
 the barn, ready for swift flight. And, as 
 darkness fell, Tallow Dick was cautiously 
 
 [57] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 picking his way alongside the steep wall 
 of the Gap toward freedom, and picking 
 it with stealthy caution, foot by foot; for 
 up there, to this day, big loose rocks mount 
 half way to the jagged points of the black 
 cliffs, and a careless step would have de 
 tached one and sent an avalanche of rum 
 bling stones down to betray him. A single 
 shot rang suddenly out far up through the 
 Gap, and the startled negro sprang for 
 ward, slipped, and, with a low, frightened 
 oath, lay still. Another shot followed, 
 and another. Then a hoarse murmur rose, 
 loudened into thunder, and ended in a 
 frightful boom ! One yell rang from the 
 army's throat: 
 
 "The Kentuckians! The Kentuckians! 
 The wild, long-haired, terrible Kentuck 
 ians!" 
 
 Captain Wells sprang into the air. 
 
 [58] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 u My God, they've got a cannon!" 
 
 Then there was a martial chorus the 
 crack of rifle, the hoarse cough of horse- 
 pistol, the roar of old muskets. 
 
 "Bing! Bang! Boom! Bing bing! 
 Bang bang ! Boom boom ! Bing 
 bang boom I" 
 
 Lieutenant Skaggs and his reserves 
 heard the beat of running feet down the 
 Gap. 
 
 "They've gobbled Boggs," he said, and 
 the reserve rushed after him as he fled. 
 The army heard the beat of their coming 
 feet. 
 
 "They've gobbled Skaggs," the army 
 said. 
 
 Then was there bedlam as the army fled 
 a crashing through bushes a splashing 
 into the river, the rumble of mule-wagons, 
 yells of terror, swift flying shapes through 
 
 [59] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 the pale moonlight. Flitter Bill heard the 
 din as he stood by his barn door. 
 
 "They've gobbled the army," said Flit 
 ter Bill, and he, too, fled like a shadow 
 down the valley. 
 
 Nature never explodes such wild and 
 senseless energy as when she lets loose a 
 mob in a panic. With the army, it was 
 each man for himself and devil take the 
 hindmost; and the flight of the army was 
 like a flight from the very devil himself. 
 Lieutenant Boggs, whose feet were the 
 swiftest in the hills, outstripped his devoted 
 band. Lieutenant Skaggs, being fat and 
 slow, fell far behind his reserve, and 
 dropped exhausted on a rock for a moment 
 to get his breath. As he rose, panting, to 
 resume flight, a figure bounded out of the 
 darkness behind him, and he gathered it 
 in silently and went with it to the ground, 
 
 [60] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 where both fought silently in the dust until 
 they rolled into the moonlight and each 
 looked the other in the face. 
 
 "That you, Jim Skaggs?" 
 
 "That you, Tom Boggs?" 
 
 Then the two lieutenants rose swiftly, 
 but a third shape bounded into the road 
 a gigantic figure Black Tom! With a 
 startled yell they gathered him in one 
 by the waist, the other about the neck, 
 and, for a moment, the terrible Kentuckian 
 it could be none other swung the two 
 clear of the ground, but the doughty lieu 
 tenants hung to him. Boggs trying to get 
 his knife and Skaggs his pistol, and all went 
 down in a heap. 
 
 "I surrender I surrender I" It was the 
 giant who spoke, and at the sound of his 
 voice both men ceased the struggle, and, 
 strange to say, no one of the three laughed. 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 "Lieutenant Boggs," said Captain 
 Wells, thickly, "take yo' thumb out o' my 
 mouth. Lieutenant Skaggs, leggo my leg 
 an' stop bitin' me." 
 
 Sh sh sh " said all three. 
 
 The faint swish of bushes as Lieutenant 
 Boggs's ten men scuttled into the brush 
 behind them the distant beat of the 
 army's feet getting fainter ahead of them, 
 and then silence dead, dead silence. 
 
 "Sh sh sh!" 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 "With the red streaks of dawn Captain 
 Mayhall Wells was pacing up and down 
 in front of Flitter Bill's store, a gaping 
 crowd about him, and the shattered rem 
 nants of the army drawn up along Roar 
 ing Fork in the rear. An hour later Flitter 
 Bill rode calmly in. 
 
 "I stayed all night down the valley," 
 
 [62] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 said Flitter Bill. "Uncle Jim Richmond 
 was sick. I hear you had some trouble 
 last night, Captain Wells." The captain 
 expanded his chest. 
 
 "Trouble!" he repeated, sarcastically. 
 And then he told how a charging horde 
 of dare-devils had driven him from camp 
 with overwhelming numbers and one piece 
 of artillery; how he had rallied the army 
 and fought them back, foot by foot, and 
 put them to fearful rout; how the army 
 had fallen back again just when the Ken- 
 tuckians were running like sheep, and how 
 he himself had stayed in the rear with Lieu 
 tenant Boggs and Lieutenant Skaggs, "to 
 cover their retreat, suh," and how the pur 
 veyor, if he would just go up through the 
 Gap, would doubtless find the cannon that 
 the enemy had left behind in their flight. 
 It was just while he was thus telling the 
 
 [63] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 tale for the twentieth time that two figures 
 appeared over the brow of the hill and 
 drew near Hence Sturgill on horseback 
 and Tallow Dick on foot. 
 
 "I ketched this nigger in my corn-fiel' 
 this mornin'," said Hence, simply, and 
 Flitter Bill glared, and without a word 
 went for the blacksnake ox-whip that hung 
 by the barn door. 
 
 For the twenty-first time Captain Wells 
 started his tale again, and with every pause 
 that he made for breath Hence cackled 
 scorn. 
 
 "An', Hence Sturgill, ef you will jus' go 
 up in the Gap you'll find a cannon, cap 
 tured, suh, by me an' the Army of the Calla- 
 han, an' " 
 
 "Cannon !" Hence broke in. "Speak up, 
 nigger!" And Tallow Dick spoke up 
 grinning : 
 
 [64] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 "I done it!" 
 
 "What!" shouted Flitter Bill. 
 
 "I kicked a rock loose climbin* over 
 Callahan's nose." 
 
 Bill dropped his whip with a chuckle of 
 pure ecstasy. Mayhall paled and stared. 
 The crowd roared, the Army of the Calla- 
 han grinned, and Hence climbed back on 
 his horse. 
 
 "Mayhall Wells," he said, "plain ole 
 Mayhall Wells, I'll see you on Couht Day. 
 I ain't got time now." 
 
 And he rode away. 
 
 [65] 
 
IV 
 
 THAT day Captain Mayhall Wells and 
 the Army of the Callahan were in disre 
 pute. Next day the awful news of Lee's 
 surrender came. Captain Wells refused to 
 believe it, and still made heroic effort to 
 keep his shattered command together. 
 Looking for recruits on Court Day, he 
 was twitted about the rout of the army by 
 Hence Sturgill, whose long-coveted chance 
 to redeem himself had come. Again, as 
 several times before, the captain declined 
 to fight his health was essential to the 
 general well-being but Hence laughed in 
 his face, and the captain had to face the 
 music, though the heart of him was gone. 
 
 He fought well, for he was fighting for 
 [66] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 his all, and he knew it. He could have 
 whipped with ease, and he did whip, but 
 the spirit of the thoroughbred was not in 
 Captain Mayhall Wells. He had Sturgill 
 down, but Hence sank his teeth into May- 
 hall's thigh while MayhalFs hands grasped 
 his opponent's throat. The captain had 
 only to squeeze, as every rough-and-tumble 
 fighter knew, and endure his pain until 
 Hence would have to give in. But May- 
 hall was not built to endure. He roared 
 like a bull as soon as the teeth met in 
 his flesh, his fingers relaxed, and to the 
 disgusted surprise of everybody he be 
 gan to roar with great distinctness and 
 agony : 
 
 "'Nough! 'Nough!" 
 
 The end was come, and nobody knew 
 it better than Mayhall Wells. He rode 
 home that night with hands folded on the 
 
 [67] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 pommel of his saddle and his beard 
 crushed by his chin against his breast. 
 For the last time, next morning he rode 
 down to Flitter Bill's store. On the way 
 he met Parson Kilburn and for the last 
 time Mayhall Wells straightened his shoul 
 ders and for one moment more resumed 
 his part: perhaps the parson had not 
 heard of his fall. 
 
 "Good-mornin', parsing," he said, pleas 
 antly. "Ah where have you been?" The 
 parson was returning from Cumberland 
 Gap, whither he had gone to take the oath 
 of allegiance. 
 
 "By the way, I have something here for 
 you which Flitter Bill asked me to give 
 you. He said it was from the commandant 
 at Cumberland Gap." 
 
 "Fer me?" asked the captain hope 
 springing anew in his heart. The parson 
 [68] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 handed him a letter. Mayhall looked at 
 it upside down. 
 
 "If you please, parsing," he said, hand 
 ing it back, "I hev left my specs at 
 home." 
 
 The parson read that, whereas Captain 
 Wells had been guilty of grave misde 
 meanors while in command of the Army 
 of the Callahan, he should be arrested and 
 court-martialled for the same, or be given 
 the privilege of leaving the county in 
 twenty-four hours. MayhalFs face paled 
 a little and he stroked his beard. 
 
 "Ah does anybody but you know about 
 this ordah, parsing?" 
 
 "Nobody." 
 
 "Well, if you will do me the great favor, 
 parsing, of not mentioning it to nary a 
 living soul as fer me and my ole gray 
 hoss and my household furniture we'll be 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 in Kanetuck afore daybreak to-morrow 
 mornin' !" And he was. 
 
 But he rode on just then and presented 
 himself for the last time at the store of 
 Flitter Bill. Bill was sitting on the stoop 
 in his favorite posture. And in a moment 
 there stood before him plain Mayhall 
 Wells holding out the order Bill had 
 given the parson that day. 
 
 u Misto Richmond," he said, "I have 
 come to tell you good-by." 
 
 Now just above the selfish layers of fat 
 under Flitter Bill's chubby hands was a 
 very kind heart. When he saw Mayhall's 
 old manner and heard the old respectful 
 way of address, and felt the dazed help 
 lessness of the big beaten man, the heart 
 thumped. 
 
 "I am sorry about that little amount I 
 owe you; I think I'll be able shortly " 
 
 [70] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 But Bill cut him short. Mayhall Wells, 
 beaten, disgraced, driven from home on 
 charge of petty crimes, of which he was 
 undoubtedly guilty, but for which Bill 
 knew he himself was responsible May- 
 hall on his way into exile and still persuad 
 ing himself and, at that moment, almost 
 persuading him that he meant to pay that 
 little debt of long ago was too much for 
 Flitter Bill, and he proceeded to lie lying 
 with deliberation and pleasure. 
 
 "Captain Wells," he said and the em 
 phasis on the title was balm to Mayhall's 
 soul u you have protected me in time of 
 war, an' you air welcome to yo' uniform 
 an' you air welcome to that little debt. 
 Yes," he went on, reaching down into his 
 pocket and pulling out a roll of bills, "I 
 tender you in payment for that same pro 
 tection the regular pay of a officer in the 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 Confederate service" and he handed out 
 the army pay for three months in Confed 
 erate greenbacks "an' five dollars in 
 money of the United States, of which I 
 an', doubtless, you, suh, air true and loyal 
 citizens. Captain Wells, I bid you good- 
 by an' I wish ye well I wish ye well." 
 
 From the stoop of his store Bill watched 
 the captain ride away, drooping at the 
 shoulders, and with his hands folded on 
 the pommel of his saddle his dim blue 
 eyes misty, the jaunty forage cap a mock 
 ery of his iron-gray hair, and the flaps of 
 his coat fanning either side like mournful 
 wings. 
 
 And Flitter Bill muttered to himself: 
 "Atter he's gone long enough fer these 
 things to blow over, I'm going to bring him 
 back and give him another chance yes, 
 damme if I don't git him back." 
 
 [72] 
 
THE ARMY OF THE CALLAHAN 
 
 And Bill dropped his remorseful eye to 
 the order in his hand. Like the hand 
 writing of the order that lifted Mayhall 
 like magic into power, the handwriting of 
 this order, that dropped him like a stone 
 was Flitter Bill's own. 
 
 [73] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 A MIDSUMMER freshet was run 
 ning over old Gabe Bunch's water- 
 wheel into the Cumberland. Inside the 
 mill Steve Marcum lay in one dark corner 
 with a slouched hat over his face. The 
 boy Isom was emptying a sack of corn into 
 the hopper. Old Gabe was speaking his 
 mind. 
 
 Always the miller had been a man of 
 peace; and there was one time when he 
 thought the old Stetson-Lewallen feud was 
 done. That was when Rome Stetson, the 
 last but one of his name, and Jasper Lewal- 
 len, the last but one of his, put their guns 
 down and fought with bare fists on a high 
 [77] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 ledge above old Gabe's mill one morning 
 at daybreak. The man who was beaten 
 was to leave the mountains ; the other was 
 to stay at home and have peace. Steve 
 Marcum, a Stetson, heard the sworn terms 
 and saw the fight. Jasper was fairly 
 whipped; and when Rome let him up he 
 proved treacherous and ran for his gun. 
 Rome ran too, but stumbled and fell. 
 Jasper whirled with his Winchester and 
 was about to kill Rome where he lay, when 
 a bullet came from somewhere and dropped 
 him back to the ledge again. Both Steve 
 Marcum and Rome Stetson said they had 
 not fired the shot; neither would say who 
 had. Some thought one man was lying, 
 some thought the other was, and Jasper's 
 death lay between the two. State troops 
 came then, under the Governor's order, 
 from the Blue Grass, and Rome had to 
 
 [78] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 drift down the river one night in old Gabe's 
 canoe and on out of the mountains for 
 good. Martha Lewallen, who, though 
 Jasper's sister, and the last of the name, 
 loved and believed Rome, went with him. 
 Marcums and Braytons who had taken 
 sides in the fight hid in the bushes around 
 Hazlan, or climbed over into Virginia. A 
 railroad started up the Cumberland. 
 "Furriners" came in to buy wild lands and 
 get out timber. Civilization began to press 
 over the mountains and down on Hazlan, 
 as it had pressed in on Breathitt, the seat 
 of another feud, in another county. In 
 Breathitt the feud was long past, and with 
 good reason old Gabe thought that it was 
 done in Hazlan. 
 
 But that autumn a panic started over 
 from England. It stopped the railroad far 
 down the Cumberland; it sent the u furri- 
 
 [79] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 ners" home, and drove civilization back. 
 Marcums and Braytons came in from hid 
 ing, and drifted one by one to the old fight 
 ing-ground. In time they took up the old 
 quarrel, and with Steve Marcum and Steve 
 Brayton as leaders, the old Stetson-Lewal- 
 len feud went on, though but one soul was 
 left in the mountains of either name. 
 That was Isom, a pale little fellow whom 
 Rome had left in old Gabe's care ; and he, 
 though a Stetson and a half-brother to 
 Rome, was not counted, because he was 
 only a boy and a foundling, and because 
 his ways were queer. 
 
 There was no open rupture, no organized 
 division that might happen no more. 
 The mischief was individual now, and am 
 bushing was more common. Certain men 
 were looking for each other, and it was a 
 question of "drawin' quick V shootin' 
 
 [so] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 quick" when the two met by accident, or 
 of getting the advantage "from the bresh." 
 
 In time Steve Marcum had come face to 
 face with old Steve Brayton in Hazlan, 
 and the two Steves, as they were known, 
 drew promptly. Marcum was in the dust 
 when the smoke cleared away; and now, 
 after three months in bed, he was just out 
 again. He had come down to the mill to 
 see Isom. This was the miller's first chance 
 for remonstrance, and, as usual, he began 
 to lay it down that every man who had 
 taken a human life must sooner or later 
 pay for it with his own. It was an old 
 story to Isom, and, with a shake of impa 
 tience, he turned out the door of the mill, 
 and left old Gabe droning on under his 
 dusty hat to Steve, who, being heavy with 
 moonshine, dropped asleep. 
 
 Outside the sun was warm, the flood was 
 [81] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 calling from the dam, and the boy's petu 
 lance was gone at once. For a moment he 
 stood on the rude platform watching the 
 tide; then he let one bare foot into the 
 water, and, with a shiver of delight, 
 dropped from the boards. In a moment 
 his clothes were on the ground behind a 
 laurel thicket, and his slim white body was 
 flashing like a faun through the reeds and 
 bushes up stream. A hundred yards away 
 the creek made a great loop about a wet 
 thicket of pine and rhododendron, and he 
 turned across the bushy neck. Creeping 
 through the gnarled bodies of rhododen 
 dron, he dropped suddenly behind the pine, 
 and lay flat in the black earth. Ten yards 
 through the dusk before him was the half- 
 bent figure of a man letting an old army 
 haversack slip from one shoulder; and 
 Isom watched him hide it with a rifle under 
 
 [82] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 a bush, and go noiselessly on towards the 
 road. It was Crump, Eli Crump, who had 
 been a spy for the Lewallens in the old feud 
 and who was spying now for old Steve 
 Brayton. It was the second time Isom had 
 seen him lurking about, and the boy's im 
 pulse was to hurry back to the mill. But 
 it was still peace, and without his gun 
 Crump was not dangerous; so Isom rose 
 and ran on, and, splashing into the angry 
 little stream, shot away like a roll of birch 
 bark through the tawny crest of a big wave. 
 He had done the feat a hundred times ; he 
 knew every rock and eddy in flood-time, 
 and he floated through them and slipped 
 like an eel into the mill-pond. Old Gabe 
 was waiting for him. 
 
 "Whut ye mean, boy," he said, sharply, 
 "reskin* the fever an' ager this way? No 
 wonder folks thinks ye air half crazy. Git 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 inter them clothes now 'n come in hyeh. 
 You'll ketch yer death o' cold swimmin* 
 this way atter a fresh." 
 
 The boy was shivering when he took his 
 seat at the funnel, but he did not mind that; 
 some day he meant to swim over that dam. 
 Steve still lay motionless in the corner near 
 him, and Isom lifted the slouched hat and 
 began tickling his lips with a straw. Steve 
 was beyond the point of tickling, and Isom 
 dropped the hat back and turned to tell the 
 miller what he had seen in the thicket. The 
 dim interior darkened just then, and Crump 
 stood in the door. Old Gabe stared hard 
 at him without a word of welcome, but 
 Crump shuffled to a chair unasked, and sat 
 like a toad astride it, with his knees close 
 up under his arms, and his wizened face in 
 his hands. Meeting Isom's angry glance, 
 he shifted his own uneasily. 
 
 [84] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "Seed the new preacher comin' 'long to 
 day?" he asked. Drawing one dirty finger 
 across his forehead, "Got a long scar 'cross 
 hyeh." 
 
 The miller shook his head. 
 
 "Well, he's a-comin'. I've been waitin' 
 fer him up the road, but I reckon I got to 
 git 'cross the river purty soon now." 
 
 Crump had been living over in Breathitt 
 since the old feud. He had been "convict 
 ed" over there by Sherd Raines, a preacher 
 from the Jellico Hills, and he had grown 
 pious. Indeed, he had been trailing after 
 Raines from place to place, and he was fol 
 lowing the circuit-rider now to the scene 
 of his own deviltry Hazlan. 
 
 "Reckon you folks don't know I got the 
 cirkit-rider to come over hyeh, do ye?" he 
 went on. "Ef he can't preach ! Well, I'd 
 tell a man! He kin jus' draw the heart 
 
 [85] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 out'n a holler log ! He 'convicted' me fust 
 night, over thar in Breathitt. He come 
 up thar, ye know, to stop the feud, he said; 
 'n' thar was laughin' from one eend o' 
 Breathitt to t'other ; but thar was the whop- 
 pinest crowd thar I ever see when he did 
 come. The meetin'-house wasn't big 
 enough to hold 'em, so he goes out on the 
 aidge o' town, 'n' climbs on to a stump. 
 He hed a woman with him from the settle- 
 mints she's a-waitin' at Hazlan fer him 
 now 'n' she had a cur'us little box, 'n' he 
 put her 'n' the box on a big rock, 'n' started 
 in a callin' 'em his bretherin' 'n' sisteren, 
 'n 1 folks seed mighty soon thet he meant 
 it, too. He's always mighty easylike, tell 
 he gits to the blood-penalty." 
 
 At the word, Crump's listeners paid sud 
 den heed. Old Gabe's knife stopped short 
 in the heart of the stick he was whittling; 
 [86] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 the boy looked sharply up from the run 
 ning meal into Crump's face and sat 
 still. 
 
 "Well, he jes prayed to the Almighty as 
 though he was a-talkin' to him face to face, 
 V then the woman put her hands on that 
 box, 'n' the sweetes' sound anybody thar 
 ever heerd come outen it. Then she got 
 to singin'. Hit wusn't nuthin' anybody 
 thar'd ever heerd; but some o' the women 
 folks was a snifflin' 'fore she got through. 
 He pitched right into the feud, as he calls 
 hit, V the sin o' sheddin' human blood, I 
 tell ye; V 'twixt him and the soldiers I 
 reckon thar won't be no more fightin' in 
 Breathitt. He says, V he always says it 
 mighty loud" Crump raised his own 
 voice u thet the man as kills his feller- 
 critter hev some day got ter give up his 
 own blood, sartin V shore" 
 [87] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 It was old Gabe's pet theory, and he was 
 nodding approval. The boy's parted lips 
 shook with a spasm of fear, and were as 
 quickly shut tight with suspicion. Steve 
 raised his head as though he too had heard 
 the voice, and looked stupidly about him. 
 
 "I.toF him," Crump went on, u thet 
 things was already a-gettin' kind o' frolic 
 some round hyeh agin; thet the Marcums 
 1 n' Braytons was a-takin' up the ole war, 
 V would be a-plunkin' one 'nother every 
 time they got together, V a-gittin' the 
 whole country in fear 'n' tremblin' now 
 thet Steve Marcum had come back." 
 
 Steve began to scowl and a vixenish smile 
 hovered at Isom's lips. 
 
 "He knows mighty well fer I tol' him 
 
 thet thar hain't a wuss man in all these 
 
 mountains than thet very Steve " The 
 
 name ended in a gasp, and the wizened 
 
 [88] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 gossip was caught by the throat and tossed, 
 chair and all, into a corner of the mill. 
 
 "None o' that, Steve!" called the miller, 
 sternly. "Not hyeh. Don't hurt him 
 
 Crump's face stiffened with such terror 
 that Steve broke into a laugh. 
 
 "Well, ye air a skeery critter!" he said, 
 contemptuously. "I hain't goin' to hurt 
 him, UncP Gabe, but he must be a plumb 
 idgit, a-talkin' 'bout folks to thar face, 'n' 
 him so puny an' spindlin'I You git!" 
 
 Crump picked himself up trembling 
 "Don't ye ever let me see ye on this side o' 
 the river agin, now" and shuffled out, 
 giving Marcum one look of fear and un 
 earthly hate. 
 
 "Convicted!" snorted Steve. "I heerd 
 old Steve Brayton had hired him to layway 
 me, 'n' I swar I believe hit's so." 
 
 [89] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "Well, he won't hev to give him more'n 
 a chaw o' tobaccer now/' said Gabe. 
 "He'll come purty near doin' hit hisself, I 
 reckon, ef he gits the chance." 
 
 "Well, he kin git the chance ef I gits 
 my leetle account settled with ole Steve 
 Brayton fust. Tears like that old hog 
 ain't satisfied shootin' me hisself." Stretch 
 ing his arms with a yawn, Steve winked at 
 Isom and moved to the door. The boy fol 
 lowed him outside. 
 
 "We're goin' fer ole Brayton about the 
 dark o' the next moon, boy," he said. 
 "He's sort o' s'picious now, 'n' we'll give 
 him a leetle time to git tame. I'll have a 
 bran'-new Winchester fer ye, Isom. Hit 
 ull be like ole times agin, when Rome was 
 hyeh. Whut's the matter, boy?" he asked, 
 suddenly. Isom looked unresponsive, list 
 less. 
 
 [90] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "Air ye gittin' sick agin?" 
 
 "Well, I hain't feelin' much peert, 
 Steve." 
 
 "Take keer o' yourself, boy. Don't git 
 sick now. We'll have to watch Eli Crump 
 purty close. I don't know why I hain't 
 killed thet spyin' skunk long ago, 'ceptin' 
 I never had a shore an' sartin reason fer 
 doin' it." 
 
 Isom started to speak then and stopped. 
 He would learn more first ; and he let Steve 
 go on home unwarned. 
 
 The two kept silence after Marcum had 
 gone. Isom turned away from old Gabe, 
 and stretched himself out on the platform. 
 He looked troubled. The miller, too, was 
 worried. 
 
 "Jus' a hole in the groun'," he said, half 
 to himself; "that's whut we're all comin' 
 to ! 'Pears like we mought help one 'nother 
 
 [91] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 to keep out'n hit, 'stid o' holpin' 'em 
 
 in." 
 
 Brown shadows were interlacing out in 
 the mill-pond, where old Gabe's eyes were 
 intent. A current of cool air had started 
 down the creek to the river. A katydid 
 began to chant. Twilight was coming, and 
 the miller rose. 
 
 "Hit's a comfort to know you won't be 
 mixed up in all this devilment," he said; 
 and then, as though he had found more 
 light in the gloom: "Hit's a comfort to 
 know the new rider air shorely a-preachin y 
 the right doctrine, 'n' I want ye to go hear 
 him. Blood fer blood life fer a life ! 
 Your grandad shot ole Tom Lewallen in 
 Hazlan. Ole Jack Lewallen shot him 
 from the bresh. Tom Stetson killed ole 
 Jack; ole Jass killed Tom, V so hit comes 
 down, fer back as I can ricollect. I hev 
 
 [92] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 nuver knowed hit to fail." The lad had 
 risen on one elbow. His face was pale and 
 uneasy, and he averted it when the miller 
 turned in the door. 
 
 "You'd better stay hyeh, son, V finish 
 up the grist. Hit won't take long. Hev 
 ye got victuals fer yer supper?" 
 
 Isom nodded, without looking around, 
 and when old Gabe was gone he rose 
 nervously and dropped helplessly back to 
 the floor. 
 
 " 'Pears like old Gabe knows I killed 
 Jass," he breathed, sullenly. Tears like 
 all of 'em knows hit, J n' air jus' a-torment- 
 in' me." 
 
 Nobody dreamed that the boy and his 
 old gun had ended that fight on the cliff; 
 and without knowing it, old Gabe kept the 
 lad in constant torture with his talk of the 
 blood-penalty. But Isom got used to it in 
 
 [93] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 time, for he had shot to save his brother's 
 life. Steve Marcum treated him there 
 after as an equal. Steve's friends, too, 
 changed in manner towards him because 
 Steve had. And now, just when he had 
 reached the point of wondering whether, 
 after all, there might not be one thing that 
 old Gabe did not know, Crump had come 
 along with the miller's story, which he had 
 got from still another, a circuit-rider, who 
 must know the truth. The fact gave him 
 trouble. 
 
 "Mebbe hit's goin' to happen when I 
 goes with Steve atter ole Brayton," he 
 mumbled, and he sat thinking the matter 
 over, until a rattle and a whir inside the 
 mill told him that the hopper was empty. 
 He arose to fill it, and coming out again, 
 he heard hoof-beats on the dirt road. A 
 stranger rode around the rhododendrons 
 
 [94] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 and shouted to him, asking the distance to 
 Hazlan. He took off his hat when Isom 
 answered, to wipe the dust and perspira 
 tion from his face, and the boy saw a white 
 scar across his forehead. A little awe- 
 stricken, the lad walked towards him. 
 
 u Air you the new rider whut's goin' to 
 preach up to Hazlan?" he asked. 
 
 Raines smiled at the solemnity of the 
 little fellow. "Yes," he said, kindly. 
 "Won't you come up and hear me?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," he said, and his lips parted 
 as though he wanted to say something else, 
 but Raines did not notice. 
 
 "I wished I had axed him," he said, 
 watching the preacher ride away. "Uncle 
 Gabe knows might' nigh everything, 'n' he 
 says so. Crump said the rider said so; 
 but Crump might 'a' been lyin'. He 'most 
 al'ays is. I wished I had axed him" 
 
 [95] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 Mechanically the lad walked along the 
 mill-race, which was made of hewn boards 
 and hollow logs. In every crevice grass 
 hung in thick bunches to the ground or 
 tipped wiry blades over the running water. 
 Tightening a prop where some silvery jet 
 was getting too large, he lifted the tail 
 gate a trifle and lay down again on the 
 platform near the old wheel. Out in the 
 mill-pond the water would break now and 
 then into ripples about some unwary moth, 
 and the white belly of a fish would flash 
 from the surface. It was the only sharp ac 
 cent on the air. The chant of the katydids 
 had become a chorus, and the hush of dark 
 ness was settling over the steady flow of 
 water and the low drone of the millstones. 
 
 "I hain't afeerd," he kept saying to him 
 self. "I hain't afeerd o' nothin' nor no- 
 body ;" but he lay brooding until his head 
 
 [96] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 throbbed, until darkness filled the narrow 
 gorge, and the strip of dark blue up 
 through the trees was pointed with faint 
 stars. He was troubled when he rose, and 
 climbed on Rome's horse and rode home 
 ward so troubled that he turned finally 
 and started back in a gallop for Hazlan. 
 
 It was almost as Crump had said. There 
 was no church in Hazlan, and, as in Breath- 
 itt, the people had to follow Raines outside 
 the town, and he preached from the road 
 side. The rider's Master never had a 
 tabernacle more simple : overhead the stars 
 and a low moon ; close about, the trees still 
 and heavy with summer ; a pine torch over 
 his head like a yellow plume; two tallow 
 dips hung to a beech on one side, and flick 
 ing to the other the shadows of the people 
 who sat under them. A few Marcums and 
 Braytons were there, one faction shadowed 
 
 [97] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 on Raines's right, one on his left. Between 
 them the rider stood straight, and prayed 
 as though talking with some one among 
 the stars. Behind him the voice of the 
 woman at her tiny organ rose among the 
 leaves. And then he spoke as he had 
 prayed ; and from the first they listened like 
 children, while in their own homely speech 
 he went on to tell them, just as he would 
 have told children, a story that some of 
 them had never heard before. "Forgive 
 your enemies as He had forgiven his," 
 that was his plea. Marcums and Braytons 
 began to press in from the darkness on each 
 side, forgetting each other as the rest of 
 the people forgot them. And when the 
 story was quite done, Raines stood a full 
 minute without a word. No one was pre 
 pared for what followed. Abruptly his 
 voice rose sternly "Thou shalt not kill"; 
 
 [98] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 and then Satan took shape under the torch. 
 The man was transformed, swaying half 
 crouched before them. The long black 
 hair fell across the white scar, and picture 
 after picture leaped from his tongue with 
 such vividness that a low wail started 
 through the audience, and women sobbed 
 in their bonnets. It was penalty for blood 
 shed not in this world : penalty eternal in 
 the next; and one slight figure under the 
 dips staggered suddenly aside into the dark 
 ness. 
 
 It was Isom; and no soul possessed of 
 devils was ever more torn than his, when 
 he splashed through Troubled Fork and 
 rode away that night. Half a mile on he 
 tried to keep his eyes on his horse's neck, 
 anywhere except on one high gray rock to 
 which they were raised against his will 
 the peak under which he had killed young 
 
 [99] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 Jasper. There it was staring into the 
 moon, but watching him as he fled through 
 the woods, shuddering at shadows, dodging 
 branches that caught at him as he passed, 
 and on in a run, until he drew rein and 
 slipped from his saddle at the friendly old 
 mill. There was no terror for him there. 
 There every bush was a friend ; every beech 
 trunk a sentinel on guard for him in shining 
 armor. 
 
 It was the old struggle that he was start 
 ing through that night the old fight of 
 humanity from savage to Christian; and 
 the lad fought it until, with the birth of his 
 wavering soul, the premonitions of the first 
 dawn came on. The patches of moonlight 
 shifted, paling. The beech columns mot 
 tled slowly with gray and brown. A ruddy 
 streak was cleaving the east like a slow 
 sword of fire. The chill air began to pulse 
 [ 100] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 and the mists to stir. Moisture had gath 
 ered on the boy's sleeve. His horse was 
 stamping uneasily, and the lad rose stiffly, 
 his face gray but calm, and started home. 
 At old Gabe's gate he turned in his saddle 
 to look where, under the last sinking star, 
 was once the home of his old enemies. 
 Farther down, under the crest, was old 
 Steve Brayton, alive, and at that moment 
 perhaps asleep. 
 
 "Forgive your enemies;" that was the 
 rider's plea. Forgive old Steve, who had 
 mocked him, and had driven Rome from 
 the mountains; who had threatened old 
 Gabe's life, and had shot Steve Marcum 
 almost to death! The lad drew breath 
 quickly, and standing in his stirrups, 
 stretched out his fist, and let it drop, slowly. 
 
 [101] 
 
II 
 
 OLD Gabe was just starting out when 
 Isom reached the cabin, and the old man 
 thought the boy had been at the mill all 
 night. Isom slept through the day, and 
 spoke hardly a word when the miller came 
 home, though the latter had much to say 
 of Raines, the two Steves, and of the 
 trouble possible. He gave some excuse for 
 not going with old Gabe the next day, and 
 instead went into the woods alone. 
 
 Late in the middle of the afternoon he 
 reached the mill. Old Gabe sat smoking 
 outside the door, and Isom stretched him 
 self out on the platform close to the water, 
 shading his eyes from the rich sunlight with 
 one ragged sleeve. 
 
 [ 102] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "UncF Gabe," he said, suddenly, 
 "s'posirT Steve Brayton was to step out'n 
 the bushes thar some mawnin' V pull down 
 his Winchester on ye, would ye say, 'Lawd, 
 fergive him, fer he don't know whut he 
 do'?" 
 
 Old Gabe had told him once about a 
 Stetson and a Lewallen who were heard 
 half a mile away praying while they fought 
 each other to death with Winchesters. 
 There was no use "prayin' an' shootin'," 
 the miller declared. There was but one 
 way for them to escape damnation; that 
 was to throw down their guns and make 
 friends. But the miller had forgotten, and 
 his mood that morning was whimsical. 
 
 "Well, I mought, Isom," he said, "ef I 
 didn't happen to have a gun handy." 
 
 The humor was lost on Isom. His chin 
 was moving up and down, and his face was 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 serious. That was just it. He could for 
 give Jass Jass was dead; he could for 
 give Crump, if he caught him in no devil 
 ment; old Brayton even after Steve's re 
 venge was done. But now The boy 
 rose, shaking his head. 
 
 "Uncl' Gabe," he said with sudden pas 
 sion, "whut ye reckon Rome's a-doin'?" 
 
 The miller looked a little petulant. 
 "Don't ye git tired axin' me thet question, 
 Isom? Rome's a-scratchin' right peert fer 
 a livin', I reckon, fer hisself 'n' Marthy. 
 Yes, 'n' mebbe fer a young 'un too by this 
 time. Ef ye air honin' fer Rome, why 
 don't ye rack out 'n' go to him? Lawd 
 knows I'd hate ter see ye go, but I toP 
 Rome I'd let ye whenever ye got ready, J n' 
 so I will." 
 
 Isom had no answer, and old Gabe was 
 puzzled. It was always this way. The 
 [ 104] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 boy longed for Rome, the miller could see. 
 He spoke of him sometimes with tears, 
 and sometimes he seemed to be on the point 
 of going to him, but he shrank inexplicably 
 when the time for leaving came. 
 
 Isom started into the mill now with 
 out a word, as usual. Old Gabe noticed 
 that his feet were unsteady, and with quick 
 remorse began to question him. 
 "Kinder puny, hain't ye, Isom?" 
 "Well, I hain't feelin' much peert." 
 "Hit was mighty keerless," old Gabe 
 said, with kindly reproach, "swimmin' the 
 crick atter a fresh." 
 
 "Hit wasn't the swimmin'," he protest 
 ed, dropping weakly at the threshold. 
 "Hit was settin' out *n the woods. I was 
 in Hazlan t'other night, Uncl' Gabe, to 
 hear the new rider." 
 
 The miller looked around with quick in- 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 terest. "I've been skeered afore by riders 
 a-tellin' 'bout the torments o' hell, but I 
 never heerd nothin' like his tellin' 'bout the 
 Lord. He said the Lord was jes as pore 
 as anybody thar, and lived jes as rough; 
 thet He made fences and barns V ox-yokes 
 V sech like, an' He couldn't write His own 
 name when He started out to save the 
 worl' ; an' when he come to the p'int whar 
 His enemies tuk hoi' of Him, the rider jes 
 crossed his fingers up over his head 'n' axed 
 us if we didn't know how it hurt to run a 
 splinter into a feller's hand when he's log- 
 gin', or a thorn into yer foot when ye're 
 goin' barefooted. 
 
 "Hit jes made me sick, Uncl' Gabe, 
 hearin' him tell how they stretched Him 
 out on a cross o' wood, when He'd come 
 down fer nothin' but to save 'em, 'n' stuck 
 a spear big as a co'n-knife into His side, 'n' 
 [106] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 give Him vinegar, 'n' let Him hang thar 
 'n' die, with His own mammy a-standin' 
 down on the groun' a-cryin' 'n' watchin' 
 Him. Some folks thar never heerd sech 
 afore. The women was a-rockin', 'n' ole 
 Granny Day axed right out ef thet tuk 
 place a long time ago; 'n' the rider said, 
 'Yes, a long time ago, mos' two thousand 
 years.' Granny was a-cryin', Uriel' Gabe, 
 'n 1 she said, sorter soft, 'Stranger, let's hope 
 that hit hain't so'; 'n' the rider says, 'But 
 hit air so; 'n' He fergive 'em while they 
 was doin* it! Thet's whut got me, UncP 
 Gabe, 'n' when the woman got to singin', 
 somethin' kinder broke loose hyeh" Isom 
 passed his hand over his thin chest " 'n' I 
 couldn't git breath. I was mos' afeerd to 
 ride home. I jes layed at the mill studyin', 
 till I thought my head would bust. I reck 
 on hit was the Sperit a-workin' me. Looks 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 like I was mos' convicted, Uncl' Gabe." 
 His voice trembled and he stopped. 
 "Crump was a-lyin'," he cried, suddenly. 
 "But hit's wuss, Uncl' Gabe; hit's wuss! 
 You say a life f er a life in this worP ; the 
 rider says hit's in the next, 'n' I'm mis'ble, 
 Uncl' Gabe. Ef Rome I wish Rome was 
 hyeh," he cried, helplessly. "I don't know 
 whut to do." 
 
 The miller rose and limped within the 
 mill, and ran one hand through the shifting 
 corn. He stood in the doorway, looking 
 long and perplexedly towards Hazlan; he 
 finally saw, he thought, just what the lad's 
 trouble was. He could give him some com 
 fort, and he got his chair and dragged it 
 out to the door across the platform, and sat 
 down in silence. 
 
 "fsom," he said at last, "the Sperit air 
 shorely a-workin' ye, 'n' I'm glad of it. 
 [1083 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 But ye mus'n't worry about the penalty 
 a-fallin' on Rome. Steve Marcum killed 
 Jass he can't fool me 'n' I've told Steve 
 he's got thet penalty to pay ef he gits up 
 this trouble. I'm glad the Sperit's a-work- 
 in' ye, but ye mus'n't worry 'bout Rome:" 
 
 Isom rose suddenly on one elbow, and 
 with a moan lay back and crossed his arms 
 over his face. 
 
 Old Gabe turned and left him. 
 
 u Git up, Isom." It was the miller's 
 voice again, an hour later. "You better go 
 home now. Ride the hoss, boy," he added, 
 kindly. 
 
 Isom rose, and old Gabe helped him 
 mount, and stood at the door. The horse 
 started, but the boy pulled him to a stand 
 still again. 
 
 "I want to ax ye jes one thing more, 
 [109] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 Uncl' Gabe," he said, slowly. "S'posin' 
 Steve had a-killed Jass to keep him from 
 killin' Rome, hev he got to be damned f er 
 it jes the same? Hev he got to give up 
 eternal life anyways? Hain't thar no way 
 out'n it no way?" 
 
 There was need for close distinction now 
 and the miller was deliberate. 
 
 "Ef Steve shot Jass," he said, "jes to 
 save Rome's life he had the right to shoot 
 him. Thar hain't no doubt 'bout that. The 
 law says so. But" there was a judicial 
 pause "I've heerd Steve say that he hated 
 Jass wuss 'n anybody on earth, 'cept old 
 Brayton; 'n' ef he wus glad o' the chance 
 o' killin' him, why the Lord air merciful, 
 Isom ; the Bible air true, 'n' hit says an 'eye 
 fer an eye 'n' a tooth fer a tooth,' 'n' I 
 never knowed hit to fail but the Lord air 
 merciful. Ef Steve would only jes repent, 
 [no] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 'n' ef, 'stid o' fightin' the Lord by takin' 
 human life, he'd fight fer Him by savin' 
 it, I reckon the Lord would fergive him. 
 Fer ef ye lose yer life fer Him, He do say 
 you'll find it agin somewhar sometime." 
 
 Old Gabe did not see the sullen despair 
 that came into the boy's tense face. The 
 subtlety of the answer had taken the old 
 man back to the days when he was magis 
 trate, and his eyes were half closed. Isom 
 rode away without a word. From the dark 
 of the mill old Gabe turned to look after 
 him again. 
 
 "I'm afeerd he's a-gittin' feverish agin. 
 Hit looks like he's convicted; but" he 
 knew the wavering nature of the boy "I 
 don't know I don't know." 
 
 Going home an hour later, the old man 
 saw several mountaineers climbing the path 
 towards Steve Marcum's cabin; it meant 
 [in] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 the brewing of mischief; and when he 
 stopped at his own gate, he saw at the bend 
 of the road a figure creep from the bushes 
 on one side into the bushes on the other. 
 It looked like Crump. 
 
 [112] 
 
Ill 
 
 IT was Crump, and fifty yards behind 
 him was Isom, slipping through the brush 
 after him Isom's evil spirit old Gabe, 
 Raines, "conviction," blood-penalty, for 
 gotten, all lost in the passion of a chase 
 which has no parallel when the game is 
 man. 
 
 Straight up the ravine Crump went along 
 a path which led to Steve Marcum's cabin. 
 There was a clump of rhododendron at the 
 head of the ravine, and near Steve's cabin. 
 About this hour Marcum would be chop 
 ping wood for supper, or sitting out in his 
 porch in easy range from the thicket. 
 Crump's plan was plain: he was about his 
 revenge early, and Isom was exultant. 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "Oh, no, Eli, you won't git Steve this 
 time. Oh, naw!" 
 
 The bushes were soon so thick that he 
 could no longer follow Crump by sight, 
 and every few yards he had to stop to listen, 
 and then steal on like a mountain-cat 
 towards the leaves rustling ahead of him. 
 Half-way up the ravine Crump turned to 
 the right and stopped. Puzzled, Isom 
 pushed so close that the spy, standing ir 
 resolute on the edge of the path, whirled 
 around. The boy sank to his face, and in 
 a moment footsteps started and grew faint ; 
 Crump had darted across the path, and was 
 running through the undergrowth up the 
 spur. Isom rose and hurried after him; 
 and when, panting hard, he reached the 
 top, the spy's skulking figure was sliding 
 from Steve's house and towards the Breath- 
 itt road; and with a hot, puzzled face, the 
 boy went down after it. 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 On a little knob just over a sudden turn 
 in the road Crump stopped, and looking 
 sharply about him, laid his gun down. Just 
 in front of him were two rocks, waist-high, 
 with a crevice between them. Drawing a 
 long knife from his pocket, he climbed upon 
 them, and began to cut carefully away the 
 spreading top of a bush that grew on the 
 other side. Isom crawled down towards 
 him like a lizard, from tree to tree. A 
 moment later the spy was filling up the 
 crevice with stones, and Isom knew what 
 he was about; he was making a "blind" 
 to waylay Steve, who, the boy knew, was 
 going to Breathitt by that road the next 
 Sunday. How did Crump know that 
 how did he know everything? The crevice 
 filled, Crump cut branches and stuck them 
 between the rocks. Then he pushed his 
 rifle through the twigs, and taking aim 
 several times, withdrew it. When he 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 turned away at last and started down to the 
 road, he looked back once more, and Isom 
 saw him grinning. Almost chuckling in 
 answer, the lad slipped around the knob 
 to the road the other way, and Crump 
 threw up his gun with a gasp of fright 
 when a figure rose out of the dusk before 
 him. 
 
 "HoF on, Eli!" said Isom, easily. 
 "Don't git skeered ! Hit's nobody but me. 
 Whar ye been?" 
 
 Crump laughed, so quick was he dis 
 armed of suspicion. "Jes up the river a 
 piece to see Aunt Sally Day. She's a fust 
 cousin o' mine by marriage." 
 
 Isom's right hand was slipping back as 
 if to rest on his hip. "D'you say you'd 
 been 'convicted,' Eli?" 
 
 Crump's answer was chantlike. "Yes, 
 Lawd, reckon I have." 
 [116] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "Coin' to stop all o' yer lyin', air ye," 
 Isom went on, in the same tone, and Crump 
 twitched as though struck suddenly from 
 behind, "an' stealin' V lay-wayin'f" 
 
 "Look a-hyeh, boy " he began, rough 
 ly, and mumbling a threat, started on. 
 
 "Uh, Eli!" Even then the easy voice 
 fooled him again, and he turned. Isom 
 had a big revolver on a line with his breast. 
 "Drap yer gun!" he said, tremulously. 
 
 Crump tried to laugh, but his guilty face 
 turned gray. "Take keer, boy," he gasped; 
 "yer gun's cocked. Take keer, I tell ye!" 
 
 "Drap it, damn ye!" Isom called in sud 
 den fury, " V git clean away from it!" 
 Crump backed, and Isom came forward 
 and stood with one foot on the fallen Win 
 chester. 
 
 "I seed ye, Eli. Been makin' a blind fer 
 Steve, hev ye? Coin' to shoot him in the 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 back, too, air ye? You're ketched at last, 
 Eli. YouVe done a heap o' devilment. 
 You're gittin' wuss all the time. You 
 oughter be dead, V now " 
 
 Crump found voice in a cry of terror 
 and a whine for mercy. The boy looked 
 at him, unable to speak his contempt. 
 
 "Git down thar!" he said, finally; and 
 Crump, knowing what was wanted, 
 stretched himself in the road. Isom sat 
 down on a stone, the big pistol across one 
 knee. 
 
 "Roll over!" Crump rolled at full 
 length. 
 
 "Git up!" Isom laughed wickedly. 
 "Ye don't look purty, Eli." He lifted the 
 pistol and nipped a cake of dirt from the 
 road between Crump's feet. With another 
 cry of fear, the spy began a vigorous dance. 
 
 "Hoi' on, Eli; I don't want ye to dance. 
 [118] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 Ye belong to the chu'ch now, 'n' I wouldn't 
 have ye go agin yer religion fer nothin'. 
 Stan' still!" Another bullet and another 
 cut between Crump's feet. " Tears like 
 ye don't think I kin shoot straight. Eli," 
 he went on, reloading the empty chambers, 
 "some folks think I'm a idgit, 'n' I know 
 'em. Do you think I'm a idgit, Eli?" 
 
 "Actin' mighty nateral now." Isom was 
 raising the pistol again. "Oh, Lawdy! 
 Don't shoot, boy don't shoot!" 
 
 "Git down on yer knees! Now I want 
 ye to beg fer mercy thet ye never showed 
 thet ye wouldn't 'a' showed Steve. . . . 
 Purty good," he said, encouragingly. 
 
 "Mebbe ye kin pray a leetle, seein' ez 
 ye air a chu'ch member. Pray fer yer ene 
 mies, Eli ; Uncl' Gabe says ye must love yer 
 enemies. I know how ye loves me, 'n' I 
 want yer to pray fer me. The Lawd mus' 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 sot a powerful store by a good citizen like 
 you. Ax him to fergive me fer killin' ye." 
 
 "Have mercy, O Lawd," prayed Crump, 
 to command and the prayer was subtle 
 "on the murderer of this thy servant. A 
 life fer a life, thou hev said, O Lawd. Fer 
 killin' me he will foller me, V ef ye hev 
 not mussy he is boun' fer the lowes' pit o j 
 hell, O Lawd " 
 
 It was Isom's time to wince now, and 
 Crump's pious groan was cut short. 
 
 "Shet up!" cried the boy, sharply, and 
 he sat a moment silent. "You've been 
 a-spyin' on us sence I was horned, Eli," he 
 said, reflectively. "I believe ye lay-wayed 
 dad. Y'u spied on Rome. Y'u told the 
 soldiers whar he was a-hidin'. Y'u tried 
 to shoot him from the bresh. Y'u found 
 out Steve was goin' to Breathitt on Sunday, 
 'n' you've jes made a blind to shoot him in 
 [ 120] 
 
Pray fer yer enemies, Eli." 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 the back. I reckon thar's no meanness ye 
 hain't done. Dad al'ays said ye sot a snare 
 fer a woman once a woman ! Y'u loaded 
 a musket with slugs, V tied a string to the 
 trigger, V stretched hit 'cross the path, 'n' 
 y'u got up on a cliff 'n' whistled to make 
 her slow up jes when she struck the string. 
 I reckon thet's yer wust but I don't 
 know." 
 
 Several times Crump raised his hands in 
 protest while his arraignment was going 
 on; several times he tried to speak, but his 
 lips refused utterance. The boy's voice 
 was getting thicker and thicker, and he was 
 nervously working the cock of the big pistol 
 up and down. 
 
 "Git up," he said; and Crump rose with 
 a spring. The lad's tone meant release. 
 
 "You hain't wuth the risk. I hain't 
 goin' ter kill ye. I jus' wanted ter banter 
 
 [121] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 ye 'n' make ye beg. You're a good beggar, 
 Eli, V a powerful prayer. You'll be a 
 shinin' light in the chu'ch, ef ye gits a 
 chance ter shine long. Fer lemme tell ye, 
 nobody ever ketched ye afore. But you're 
 ketched now, an' I'm goin' to tell Steve. 
 He'll be a-watchin' fer ye, V so '11 I. I 
 tell ye in time, ef ye ever come over hyeh 
 agin as long as you live, you'll never git 
 back alive. Turn roun' ! Hev ye got any 
 balls?" he asked, feeling in Crump's pock 
 ets for cartridges. "No; well" he picked 
 up the Winchester and pumped the maga 
 zine empty "I'll keep these," he said, 
 handing Crump the empty rifle. "Now git 
 away an' git away quick!" 
 
 Crump's slouching footsteps went out of 
 hearing, and Isom sat where he was. His 
 elbows dropped to his knees. His face 
 dropped slowly into his hands, and the 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 nettles of remorse began to sting. He took 
 the back of one tremulous hand presently 
 to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, 
 and he found it burning. A sharp pain 
 shot through his eyes. He knew what that 
 meant, and feeling dizzy, he rose and 
 started a little blindly towards home. 
 
 Old Gabe was waiting for him. He did 
 not answer the old man's querulous inquiry, 
 but stumbled towards a bed. An hour 
 later, when the miller was rubbing his fore 
 head, he opened his eyes, shut them, and 
 began to talk. 
 
 "I reckon I hain't much better 'n Eli, 
 Uncl' Gabe," he said, plaintively. "I've 
 been abusin' him down thar in the woods. 
 I come might' nigh killin' him onct." The 
 old man stroked on, scarcely heeding the 
 boy's words, so much nonsense would he 
 talk when ill. 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "I've been lyin' to ye, UncP Gabe, V 
 a-deceivin' of ye right along. Steve's 
 a-goin' atter ole Brayton I'm goin' too 
 Steve didn't kill Jass hit wusn't Steve 
 hit wusn't Rome hit was " The last 
 word stopped behind his shaking lips; he 
 rose suddenly in bed, looked wildly into the 
 miller's startled face, and dropping with a 
 sob to the bed, went sobbing to sleep. 
 
 Old Gabe went back to his pipe, and 
 while he smoked, his figure shrank slowly in 
 his chair. He went to bed finally, but sleep 
 would not come, and he rose again and 
 built up the fire and sat by it, waiting for 
 day. His own doctrine, sternly taught for 
 many a year, had come home to him; and 
 the miller's face when he opened his door 
 was gray as the breaking light. 
 
IV 
 
 THERE was little peace for old Gabe 
 that day at the mill. And when he went 
 home at night he found cause for the thou 
 sand premonitions that had haunted him. 
 The lad was gone. 
 
 A faint light in the east was heralding 
 the moon when Isom reached Steve Mar- 
 cum's gate. There were several horses 
 hitched to the fence, several dim forms 
 seated in the porch, and the lad hallooed 
 for Steve, whose shadow shot instantly 
 from the door and came towards him. 
 
 "Glad ter see ye, Isom," he called, jubi 
 lantly. "I was jus' about to sen' fer ye. 
 How'd ye happen to come up?" 
 
 Isom answered in a low voice with the 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 news of Crump's "blind," and Steve 
 laughed and swore in the same breath. 
 
 "Come hyeh!" he said, leading the way 
 back; and at the porch he had Isom tell 
 the story again. 
 
 "Whut d' I tell ye, boys?" he asked, 
 triumphantly. "Don't believe ye more 'n 
 half believed me." 
 
 Three more horsemen rode up to the gate 
 and came into the light. Every man was 
 armed, and at Isom's puzzled look, Steve 
 caught the lad by the arm and led him 
 around the chimney-corner. He was in 
 high spirits. 
 
 " 'Pears like ole times, Isom. I'm 
 a-goin' fer thet cussed ole Steve Brayton 
 this very night. He's behind Crump. I 
 s'picioned it afore; now I know it for sar- 
 tain. He's a-goin' to give Eli a mule V 
 a Winchester fer killin' me. We're goin' 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 to s'prise him to-night. He won't be look- 
 in' fer us I've fixed that. I wus jus' 
 about to sen' fer ye. I hain't fergot how 
 ye kin handle a gun." Steve laughed sig 
 nificantly. "Ye're a good frien' o' mine, 
 'n' I'm goin' to show ye thet I'm a frien' 
 o' yourn." 
 
 Isom's paleness was unnoticed in the 
 dark. The old throbbing began to beat 
 again at his temple; the old haze started 
 from his eyes. 
 
 "Hyeh's yer gun, Isom," he heard Steve 
 saying next. The fire was blazing into his 
 face. At the chimney-corner was the bent 
 figure of old Daddy Marcum, and across 
 his lap shone a Winchester. Steve was 
 pointing at it, his grim face radiant; the 
 old man's toothless mouth was grinning, 
 and his sharp black eyes were snapping up 
 at him. 
 
 [ 127] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "Hit's yourn, I tell ye," said Steve 
 again. "I aimed jes to lend it to ye, but 
 ye've saved me frum gittin' killed, mebbe, 
 V hit's yourn now yourn, boy, fer 
 keeps." 
 
 Steve was holding the gun out to him 
 now. The smooth cold touch of the pol 
 ished barrel thrilled him. It made every 
 thing for an instant clear again, and feel 
 ing weak, Isom sat down on the bed, grip 
 ping the treasure in both trembling hands. 
 On one side of him some one was repeat 
 ing Steve's plan of attack. Old Brayton's 
 cabin was nearly opposite, but they would 
 go up the river, cross above the mill, and 
 ride back. The night was cloudy, but they 
 would have the moonlight now and then 
 for the climb up the mountain. They 
 would creep close, and when the moon was 
 hid they would run in and get old Brayton 
 
 [128] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 alive, if possible. Then the rest was 
 with Steve. 
 
 Across the room he could hear Steve 
 telling the three new-comers, with an occa 
 sional curse, about Crump's blind, and how 
 he knew that old Brayton was hiring 
 Crump. 
 
 "Old Steve's meaner 'n Eli," he said to 
 himself, and a flame of the old hate surged 
 up from the fire of temptation in his heart. 
 Steve Marcum was his best friend; Steve 
 had shielded him. The boy had promised 
 to join him against old Brayton, and here 
 was the Winchester, brand-new, to bind 
 his word. 
 
 "Git ready, boys; git ready." 
 
 It was Steve's voice, and in Isom's ears 
 
 the preacher's voice rang after it. Again 
 
 that blinding mist before his eyes, and the 
 
 boy brushed at it irritably. He could see 
 
 [ 129] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 the men buckling cartridge-belts, but he 
 sat still. Two or three men were going 
 out. Daddy Marcum was leaning on a 
 chair at the door, looking eagerly at each 
 man as he passed. 
 
 "Hain't ye goin', Isom?" 
 
 Somebody was standing before him 
 twirling a rifle on its butt, a boy near 
 Isom's age. The whirling gun made him 
 dizzy. 
 
 "Stop it!" he cried, angrily. Old Dad 
 dy Marcum was answering the boy's ques 
 tion from the door. 
 
 "Isom goin'?" he piped, proudly. "I 
 reckon he air. Whar's yer belt, boy ? Git 
 ready. Git ready." 
 
 Isom rose then he could not answer 
 sitting down and caught at a bedpost 
 with one hand, while he fumbled at his 
 throat with the other. 
 
 [ 130] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 "I hain't goin'." 
 
 Steve heard at the door, and whirled 
 around. Daddy Marcum was tottering 
 across the floor, with one bony hand up 
 lifted. 
 
 "You're a coward!" The name stilled 
 every sound. Isom, with eyes afire, sprang 
 at the old man to strike, but somebody 
 caught his arm and forced him back to the 
 bed. 
 
 "Shet up, dad," said Steve, angrily, 
 looking sharply into Isom's face. "Don't 
 ye see the boy's sick? He needn't go ef 
 he don't want to. Time to start, boys." 
 
 The tramp of heavy boots started across 
 the puncheon floor and porch again. Isom 
 could hear Steve's orders outside; the 
 laughs and jeers and curses of the men as 
 they mounted their horses; he heard the 
 cavalcade pass through the gate, the old 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 man's cackling good-by; then the horses' 
 hoofs going down the mountain, and Dad 
 dy Marcum's hobbling step on the porch 
 again. He was standing in the middle of 
 the floor, full in the firelight, when the 
 old man reached the threshold standing 
 in a trance, with a cartridge-belt in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Good fer you, Isom !" 
 
 The cry was apologetic, and stopped 
 short. 
 
 "The critter's fersaken," he quavered, 
 and cowed by the boy's strange look, the 
 old man shrank away from him along the 
 wall. But Isom seemed neither to see nor 
 hear. He caught up his rifle, and waver 
 ing an instant, tossed it with the belt on the 
 bed and ran out the door. The old man 
 followed, dumb with amazement. 
 
 "Isom!" he called, getting his wits and 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 his tongue at last. "Hyeh's yer gun! 
 Come back, I tell ye ! You've fergot yer 
 gun ! Isom ! Isom 1" 
 
 The voice piped shrilly out into the 
 darkness, and piped back without answer. 
 
 A steep path, dangerous even by day, 
 ran snakelike from the cabin down to the 
 water's edge. It was called Isom's path 
 after that tragic night. No mountaineer 
 went down it thereafter without a firm 
 faith that only by the direct help of 
 Heaven could the boy, in his flight down 
 through the dark, have reached the river 
 and the other side alive. The path 
 dropped from ledge to ledge, and ran the 
 brink of precipices and chasms. In a 
 dozen places the boy crashed through the 
 undergrowth from one slippery fold to 
 the next below, catching at roots and 
 stones, slipping past death a score of times, 
 
 [ 133] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 and dropping on till a flood of yellow light 
 lashed the gloom before him. Just there 
 the river was most narrow; the nose of 
 a cliff swerved the current sharply across, 
 and on the other side an eddy ran from 
 it up stream. These earthly helps he had, 
 and he needed them. 
 
 There had been a rain-storm, and the 
 waves swept him away like thistle-down, 
 and beat back at him as he fought through 
 them and stood choked and panting on 
 the other shore. He did not dare stop 
 to rest. The Marcums, too, had crossed 
 the river up at the ford by this time, and 
 were galloping towards him; and Isom 
 started on and up. When he reached the 
 first bench of the spur the moon was swing 
 ing over Thunderstruck Knob. The 
 clouds broke as he climbed; strips of radi 
 ant sky showed between the rolling masses, 
 
 [134] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 and the mountain above was light and dark 
 in quick succession. He had no breath 
 when he reached the ledge that ran above 
 old Steve's cabin, and flinging one arm 
 above it, he fell through sheer exhaustion. 
 The cabin was dark as the clump of firs 
 behind it; the inmates were unsuspecting; 
 and Steve Marcum and his men were not 
 far below. A rumbling started under him, 
 while he lay there and grew faint the 
 rumble of a stone knocked from the path 
 by a horse's hoof. Isom tried to halloo, 
 but his voice stopped in a whisper, and he 
 painfully drew himself upon the rock, up 
 right under the bright moon. A quick 
 oath of warning came then it was 
 Crump's shrill voice in the Brayton cabin 
 and Isom stumbled forward with both 
 hands thrown up and a gasping cry at his 
 lips. One flash came through a port-hole 
 
 [1351 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 of the cabin. A yell broke on the night 
 Crump's cry again and the boy swayed 
 across the rock, and falling at the brink, 
 dropped with a limp struggle out of sight. 
 
THE news of Isom's fate reached the 
 miller by way of Hazlan before the 
 next noon. Several men in the Brayton 
 cabin had recognized the boy in the moon 
 light. At daybreak they found blood 
 stains on the ledge and on a narrow shelf 
 a few feet farther down. Isom had 
 slipped from one to the other, they said, 
 and in his last struggle had rolled over 
 into Dead Creek, and had been swept into 
 the Cumberland. 
 
 It was Crump who had warned the 
 Braytons. Nobody ever knew how he had 
 learned Steve Marcum's purpose. And 
 old Brayton on his guard and in his own 
 cabin was impregnable. So the Marcums, 
 
 [137] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 after a harmless fusillade, had turned back 
 cursing. Mocking shouts followed after 
 them, pistol-shots, even the scraping of a 
 fiddle and shuffling on the ledge. But 
 they kept on, cursing across the river and 
 back to Daddy Marcum, who was stand 
 ing in the porch, peering for them 
 through the dawn, with a story to tell 
 about Isom. 
 
 u The critter was teched in the head," 
 the old man said, and this was what the 
 Braytons too believed. But Steve Mar 
 cum, going to search for Isom's body next 
 day, gave old Gabe another theory. He 
 told the miller how Daddy Marcum had 
 called Isom a coward, and Steve said the 
 boy had gone ahead to prove he was no 
 coward. 
 
 u He had mighty leetle call to prove it 
 to me. Think o' his takin' ole Brayton all 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 by hisself!" he said, with a look at the 
 yellow heaving Cumberland. " 'N', Lord ! 
 think o' his swimmin' that river in the 
 dark!" 
 
 Old Gabe asked a question fiercely then 
 and demanded the truth, and Steve told 
 him about the hand-to-hand fight on the 
 mountain-side, about young Jasper's 
 treachery, and how the boy, who was 
 watching the fight, fired just in time to save 
 Rome. It made all plain at last Rome's 
 and Steve's denials, Isom's dinning on that 
 one theme, and why the boy could not go 
 to Rome and face Martha, with her own 
 blood on his hands. Isom's true motive, 
 too, was plain, and the miller told it 
 brokenly to Steve, who rode away with a 
 low whistle to tell it broadcast, and left 
 the old man rocking his body like a 
 woman. 
 
 [ 139] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 An hour later he rode back at a gallop 
 to tell old Gabe to search the river bank 
 below the mill. He did not believe Isom 
 dead. It was just his "feelin'," he said, 
 and one fact, that nobody else thought im 
 portant the Brayton canoe was gone. 
 
 U E he was jus' scamped by a ball,'* 
 said Steve, u you kin bet he tuk the boat, 
 'n' he's down thar in the bushes somewhar 
 now waitin' fer dark." 
 
 And about dusk, sure enough, old Gabe, 
 wandering hopefully through the thicket 
 below the mill, stumbled over the canoe 
 stranded in the bushes. In the new mud 
 were the tracks of a boy's bare feet lead 
 ing into the thicket, and the miller made 
 straight for home. When he opened his 
 door he began to shake as if with palsy. 
 A figure was seated on the hearth against 
 the chimney, and the firelight was playing 
 [ 140] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 over the face and hair. The lips were 
 parted, and the head hung limply to the 
 breast. The clothes were torn to rags, 
 and one shoulder was bare. Through the 
 upper flesh of it and close to the neck was 
 an ugly burrow clotted with blood. The 
 boy was asleep. 
 
 Three nights later, in Hazlan, Sherd 
 Raines told the people of Isom's flight 
 down the mountain, across the river, and 
 up the steep to save his life by losing it. 
 Before he was done, one gray-headed figure 
 pressed from the darkness on one side and 
 stood trembling under the dips. It was 
 old Steve Brayton, who had fired from 
 the cabin at Isom, and dropping his Win 
 chester, he stumbled forward with the butt 
 of his pistol held out to Raines. A Mar- 
 cum appeared on the other side with the 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 more'n a year ago, when Rome Stetson 
 V Marthy Lewallen went a-gallivantin' 
 out'n the mountains together. Hyeh's an 
 other flood, 'n' old Gabe's dugout gone 
 agin." The miller raised a covert glance 
 of suspicion from under his hat, but the 
 Marcum was laughing. u Ye oughter put 
 a trace-chain on this 'un," he added. "A 
 rope gits rotten in the water, 'n' a tide is 
 mighty apt to break it." 
 
 Old Gabe said that "mebbe that wus 
 so," but he had no chain to waste; he 
 reckoned a rope was strong enough, and 
 he started home. 
 
 "Old Gabe don't seem to keer much now 
 'bout Isom," said the Brayton. "Folks 
 say he tuk on so awful at fust that hit 
 looked like he wus goin' crazy. He's git- 
 tin' downright peert again. Hello !" 
 
 Bud Vickers was carrying a piece of 
 [ J 44] 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 news down to Hazlan, and he pulled up 
 his horse to deliver it. Aunt Sally Day's 
 dog had been seen playing in the Breathitt 
 road with the frame of a human foot. 
 Some boys had found not far away, behind 
 a withered "blind," a heap of rags and 
 bones. Eli Crump had not been seen in 
 Hazlan since the night of the Brayton 
 raid. 
 
 "Well, ef hit was Eli," said the Bray- 
 ton, waggishly, "we're all goin' to be 
 saved. Eli's case '11 come fust, an' ef 
 thar's only one Jedgment day, the Lord '11 
 nuver git to us." 
 
 The three chuckled, while old Gabe sat 
 dreaming at his gate. The boy had lain 
 quiet during the weeks of his getting well, 
 absorbed in one aim to keep hidden until 
 he was strong enough to get to Rome. On 
 the last night the miller had raised one of 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 the old hearth-stones and had given him 
 the hire of many years. At daybreak the 
 lad drifted away. Now old Gabe was fol 
 lowing him down the river and on to the 
 dim mountain line, where the boy's figure 
 was plain for a moment against the sky, 
 and then was lost. 
 
 The clouds in the west had turned gray 
 and the crescent had broken the gloom of 
 the woods into shadows when the miller 
 rose. One star was coming over Black 
 Mountain from the east. It was the Star 
 of Bethlehem to old Gabe; and, star-like 
 on both sides of the Cumberland, answer 
 ing fires from cabin hearths were giving 
 back its message at last. 
 
 "Thar hain't nothin' to hender Rome 
 'n' Marthy now. I nuver knowed any 
 body to stay 'way from these mount'ins ef 
 he could git back; 'n' Isom said he'd fetch 
 
THE LAST STETSON 
 
 'em. Thar hain't nothin' to hender 
 nothin' now." 
 
 On the stoop of the cabin the miller 
 turned to look again, and then on the last 
 Stetson the door was closed. 
 
 [147] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 THE missionary was young and she 
 was from the North. Her brows 
 were straight, her nose was rather high, 
 and her eyes were clear and gray. The 
 upper lip of her little mouth was so short 
 that the teeth just under it were never quite 
 concealed. It was the mouth of a child 
 and it gave the face, with all its strength 
 and high purpose, a peculiar pathos that 
 no soul in that little mountain town had 
 the power to see or feel. A yellow mule 
 was hitched to the rickety fence in front 
 of her and she stood on the stoop of a little 
 white frame-house with an elm switch be 
 tween her teeth arid gloves on her hands, 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 which were white and looked strong. The 
 mule wore a man's saddle, but no matter 
 the streets were full of yellow pools, the 
 mud was ankle-deep, and she was on her 
 way to the sick-bed of Becky Day. 
 
 There was a flood that morning. All 
 the preceding day the rains had drenched 
 the high slopes unceasingly. That night, 
 the rain-clear forks of the Kentucky got 
 yellow and rose high, and now they 
 crashed together around the town and, 
 after a heaving conflict, started the river 
 on one quivering, majestic sweep to the 
 sea. 
 
 Nobody gave heed that the girl rode a 
 mule or that the saddle was not her own, 
 and both facts she herself quickly forgot. 
 This half log, half frame house on a cor 
 ner had stood a siege once. She could yet 
 see bullet holes about the door. Through 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 this window, a revenue officer from the 
 Blue Grass had got a bullet in the shoul 
 der from a garden in the rear. Standing 
 in the post-office door only just one month 
 before, she herself had seen children scur 
 rying like rabbits through the back-yard 
 fences, men running silently here and there, 
 men dodging into doorways, fire flashing 
 in the street and from every house 
 and not a sound but the crack of pistol and 
 Winchester; for the mountain men deal 
 death in all the terrible silence of death. 
 And now a preacher with a long scar 
 across his forehead had come to the one 
 little church in the place and the fervor of 
 religion was struggling with feudal hate 
 for possession of the town. To the girl, 
 who saw a symbol in every mood of the 
 earth, the passions of these primitive people 
 were like the treacherous streams of the 
 
 [153] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 uplands now quiet as sunny skies and 
 now clashing together with but little less 
 fury and with much more noise. And the 
 roar of the flood above the wind that late 
 afternoon was the wrath of the Father, 
 that with the peace of the Son so long on 
 earth, such things still could be. Once 
 more trouble was threatening and that day 
 even she knew that trouble might come, 
 but she rode without fear, for she went 
 when and where she pleased as any woman 
 can, throughout the Cumberland, without 
 insult or harm. 
 
 At the end of the street were two houses 
 that seemed to front each other with un 
 mistakable enmity. In them were two men 
 who had wounded each other only the day 
 before, and who that day would lead the 
 factions, if the old feud broke loose again. 
 One house was close to the frothing hem 
 
 [154] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 of the flood a log-hut with a shed of 
 rough boards for a kitchen the home of 
 Becky Day. 
 
 The other was across the way and was 
 framed and smartly painted. On the steps 
 sat a woman with her head bare and her 
 hands under her apron widow of the 
 Marcum whose death from a bullet one 
 month before had broken the long truce 
 of the feud. A groaning curse was 
 growled from the window as the girl drew 
 near, and she knew it came from a wound 
 ed Marcum who had lately come back 
 from the West to avenge his brother's 
 death. 
 
 "Why don't you go over to see your 
 neighbor?" The girl's clear eyes gave no 
 hint that she knew as she well did the 
 trouble between the houses, and the widow 
 stared in sheer amazement, for mountain- 
 
 [155] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 eers do not talk with strangers of the quar 
 rels between them. 
 
 "I have nothin' to do with such as her," 
 she said, sullenly; "she ain't the kind " 
 
 "Don't!" said the girl, with a flush, 
 "she's dying." 
 
 "Dyin't" 
 
 "Yes." With the word the girl sprang 
 from the mule and threw the reins over 
 the pale of the fence in front of the log- 
 hut across the way. In the doorway she 
 turned as though she would speak to the 
 woman on the steps again, but a tall man 
 with a black beard appeared in the low 
 door of the kitchen-shed. 
 
 "How is your how is Mrs. Day?" 
 
 "Mighty puny this mornin' Becky is." 
 
 The girl slipped into the dark room. 
 On a disordered, pillowless bed lay a white 
 face with eyes closed and mouth slightly 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 open. Near the bed was a low wood fire. 
 On the hearth were several thick cups filled 
 with herbs and heavy fluids and covered 
 with tarpaulin, for Becky's "man" was a 
 teamster. With a few touches of the girl's 
 quick hands, the covers of the bed were 
 smooth, and the woman's eyes rested on 
 the girl's own cloak. With her own hand 
 kerchief she brushed the death-damp from 
 the forehead that already seemed growing 
 cold. At her first touch, the woman's eye 
 lids opened and dropped together again. 
 Her lips moved, but no sound came from 
 them. 
 
 In a moment the ashes disappeared, the 
 hearth was clean and the fire was blazing. 
 Every time the girl passed the window she 
 saw the widow across the way staring hard 
 at the hut. When she took the ashes into 
 the street, the woman spoke to her. 
 
 [is?] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 'I can't go to see Becky she hates 
 
 me." 
 
 "With good reason." 
 
 The answer came with a clear sharpness 
 that made the widow start and redden 
 angrily; but the girl walked straight to 
 the gate, her eyes ablaze with all the cour 
 age that the mountain woman knew and 
 yet with another courage to which the 
 primitive creature was a stranger a 
 courage that made the widow lower her 
 own eyes and twist her hands under her 
 apron. 
 
 "I want you to come and ask Becky to 
 forgive you." 
 
 The woman stared and laughed. 
 
 "Forgive me? Becky forgive me? She 
 wouldn't an' I don't want her " She 
 could not look up into the girl's eyes; but 
 she pulled a pipe from under the apron, 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 laid it down with a trembling hand and 
 began to rock slightly. 
 
 The girl leaned across the gate. 
 
 "Look at me!" she said, sharply. The 
 woman raised her eyes, swerved them once, 
 and then in spite of herself, held them 
 steady. 
 
 "Listen! Do you want a dying wom 
 an's curse?" 
 
 It was a straight thrust to the core of 
 a superstitious heart and a spasm of terror 
 crossed the woman's face. She began to 
 wring her hands. 
 
 "Come on!" said the girl, sternly, and 
 turned, without looking back, until she 
 reached the door of the hut, where she 
 beckoned and stood waiting, while the 
 woman started slowly and helplessly from 
 the steps, still wringing her hands. Inside, 
 behind her, the wounded Marcum, who 
 [159] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 had been listening, raised himself on one 
 elbow and looked after her through the 
 window. 
 
 "She can't come in not while I'm in 
 here." 
 
 The girl turned quickly. It was Dave 
 Day, the teamster, in the kitchen door, 
 and his face looked blacker than his beard. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, simply, as though hurt, 
 and then with a dignity that surprised her, 
 the teamster turned and strode towards the 
 back door. 
 
 "But I can git out, I reckon," he said, 
 and he never looked at the widow who had 
 stopped, frightened, at the gate. 
 
 "Oh, I can't I can't!" she said, and 
 her voice broke ; but the girl gently pushed 
 her to the door, where she stopped again, 
 leaning against the lintel. Across the way, 
 the wounded Marcum, with a scowl of 
 [160] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 wonder, crawled out of his bed and started 
 painfully to the door. The girl saw him 
 and her heart beat fast. 
 
 Inside, Becky lay with closed eyes. She 
 stirred uneasily, as though she felt some 
 hated presence, but her eyes stayed fast, 
 for the presence of Death in the room was 
 stronger still. 
 
 "Becky I" At the broken cry, Becky's 
 eyes flashed wide and fire broke through 
 the haze that had gathered in them. 
 
 "I want ye ter fergive me, Becky. 1 ' 
 
 The eyes burned steadily for a long 
 time. For two days she had not spoken, 
 but her voice came now, as though from 
 the grave. 
 
 "You I" she said, and, again, with tor 
 turing scorn, "You!" And then she 
 smiled, for she knew why her enemy was 
 there, and her hour of triumph was come. 
 [161] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 The girl moved swiftly to the window 
 she could see the wounded Marcum slowly 
 crossing the street, pistol in hand. 
 
 "What'dleverdotoyou?" 
 
 "Nothin', Becky, nothin'." 
 
 Becky laughed harshly. u You can tell 
 the truth can't ye to a dyin' woman?" 
 
 "Fergive me, Becky!" 
 
 A scowling face, tortured with pain, was 
 thrust into the window. 
 
 "Sh-h!" whispered the girl, imperiously, 
 and the man lifted his heavy eyes, dropped 
 one elbow on the window-sill and waited. 
 
 "You tuk Jim from me!" 
 
 The widow covered her face with her 
 hands, and the Marcum at the window 
 brother to Jim, who was dead lowered 
 at her, listening keenly. 
 
 "An' you got him by lyin' 'bout me. 
 You tuk him by lyin' 'bout me didn't 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 ye? Didn't ye?" she repeated, fiercely, 
 and her voice would have wrung the truth 
 from a stone. 
 
 "Yes Becky yes!" 
 
 "You hear?" cried Becky, turning her 
 eyes to the girl. 
 
 "You made him believe an' made 
 ever'body, you could, believe that I was 
 was bad." Her breath got short but 
 the terrible arraignment went on. 
 
 "You started this war. My brother 
 wouldn't 'a' shot Jim Marcum if it hadn't 
 been fer you. You killed Jim your own 
 husband an' you killed me. An' now 
 you want me to fergive you you!" She 
 raised her right hand as though with it she 
 would hurl the curse behind her lips, and 
 the widow, with a cry, sprang for the bony 
 fingers, catching them in her own hand and 
 falling over on her knees at the bedside. 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 "Don't, Becky, don't don't don't!" 
 
 There was a slight rustle at the back 
 window. At the other, a pistol flashed 
 into sight and dropped again below the 
 sill. Turning, the girl saw Dave's bushy 
 black head he, too, with one elbow on 
 the sill and the other hand out of sight. 
 
 "Shame I" she said, looking from one 
 to the other of the two men, who had 
 learned, at last, the bottom truth of the 
 feud; and then she caught the sick wom 
 an's other hand and spoke quickly: 
 
 "Hush, Becky," she said; and at the 
 touch of her hand and the sound of her 
 voice, Becky looked confusedly at her and 
 let her upraised hand sink back to the bed. 
 The widow stared swiftly from Jim's 
 brother, at one window, to Dave Day at 
 the other, and hid her face on her arms. 
 
 "Remember, Becky how can you ex- 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 pect forgiveness in another world, unless 
 you forgive in this?" 
 
 The woman's brow knitted and she lay 
 quiet. Like the widow who held her hand, 
 the dying woman believed, with never the 
 shadow of a doubt, that somewhere above 
 the stars, a living God reigned in a heaven 
 of never-ending happiness ; that somewhere 
 beneath the earth a personal devil gloated 
 over souls in eternal torture; that whether 
 she went above, or below, hung solely on 
 her last hour of contrition; and that in 
 heaven or hell she would know those whom 
 she might meet as surely as she had 
 known them on earth. By and by her 
 face softened and she drew a long breath. 
 
 "Jim was a good man," she said. And 
 then after a moment: 
 
 "An' I was a good woman" she turned 
 her eyes towards the girl "until Jim 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 married her. I didn't keer after that." 
 Then she got calm, and while she spoke 
 to the widow, she looked at the girl. 
 
 u Will you git up in church an 7 say be 
 fore everybody that you knew I was good 
 when you said I was bad that you lied 
 about me?" 
 
 "Yes yes." Still Becky looked at the 
 girl, who stooped again. 
 
 "She wrll, Becky, I know she will. 
 Won't you forgive her and leave peace be 
 hind you? Dave and Jim's brother are 
 here make them shake hands. Won't 
 you won't you?" she asked, turning from 
 one to the other. 
 
 Both men were silent. 
 
 "Won't you?" she repeated, looking at 
 Jim's brother. 
 
 "I've got nothin' ag\i Dave. I always 
 thought that she" he did not call his 
 [166] 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 brother's wife by name "caused all this 
 trouble. I've nothin' agin Dave." 
 
 The girl turned. "Won't you, Dave?" 
 "I'm waitin' to hear whut Becky says." 
 Becky was listening, though her eyes 
 were closed. Her brows knitted painfully. 
 It was a hard compromise that she was 
 asked to make between mortal hate and 
 a love that was more than mortal, but the 
 Plea that has stood between them for 
 nearly twenty centuries prevailed, and the 
 girl knew that the end of the feud was 
 nigh. 
 
 Becky nodded. 
 
 "Yes, I fergive her, an' I want 'em to 
 shake hands." 
 
 But not once did she turn her eyes to 
 the woman whom she forgave, and the 
 hand that the widow held gave back no 
 answering pressure. The faces at the win- 
 
THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY 
 
 dows disappeared, and she motioned for 
 the girl to take her weeping enemy away. 
 
 She did not open her eyes when the girl 
 came back, but her lips moved and the 
 girl bent above her. 
 
 "I know whar Jim is." 
 
 From somewhere outside came Dave's 
 cough, and the dying woman turned her 
 head as though she were reminded of 
 something she had quite forgotten. Then, 
 straightway, she forgot again. 
 
 The voice of the flood had deepened. 
 A smile came to Becky's lips a faint, ter 
 rible smile of triumph. The girl bent low 
 and, with a startled face, shrank back. 
 
 An' I'll git thar first." 
 
 With that whisper went Becky's last 
 breath, but the smile was there, even when 
 her lips were cold. 
 
 [168] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 THE tutor was from New England, 
 and he was precisely what passes, 
 with Southerners, as typical. He was thin, 
 he wore spectacles, he talked dreamy ab 
 stractions, and he looked clerical. Indeed, 
 his ancestors had been clergymen for gen 
 erations, and, by nature and principle, he 
 was an apostle of peace and a non-com 
 batant. He had just come to the Gap 
 a cleft in the Cumberland Mountains 
 to prepare two young Blue Grass Ken- 
 tuckians for Harvard. The railroad was 
 still thirty miles away, and he had travelled 
 mule-back through mudholes, on which, as 
 the joke ran, a traveller was supposed to 
 leave his card before he entered and dis 
 appeared that his successor might not un- 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 knowingly press him too hard. I do know 
 that, in those mudholes, mules were some 
 times drowned. The tutor's gray mule fell 
 over a bank with him, and he would have 
 gone back had he not feared what was be 
 hind more than anything that was possible 
 ahead. He was mud-bespattered, sore, 
 tired and dispirited when he reached the 
 Gap, but still plucky and full of business. 
 He wanted to see his pupils at once and 
 arrange his schedule. They came in after 
 supper, and I had to laugh when I saw his 
 mild eyes open. The boys were only fif 
 teen and seventeen, but each had around 
 him a huge revolver and a belt of cart 
 ridges, which he unbuckled and laid on the 
 table after shaking hands. The tutor's 
 shining glasses were raised to me for light. 
 I gave it: my brothers had just come in 
 from a little police duty, I explained. 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 Everybody was a policeman at the Gap, 
 I added; and, naturally, he still looked 
 puzzled; but he began at once to question 
 the boys about their studies, and, in an 
 hour, he had his daily schedule mapped 
 out and submitted to me. I had to cover 
 my mouth with my hand when I came to 
 one item "Exercise: a walk of half an 
 hour every Wednesday afternoon between 
 five and six" for the younger, known 
 since at Harvard as the colonel, and known 
 then at the Gap as the Infant of the Guard, 
 winked most irreverently. As he had just 
 come back from a ten-mile chase down the 
 valley on horseback after a bad butcher, 
 and as either was apt to have a like experi 
 ence any and every day, I was not afraid 
 they would fail to get exercise enough; so 
 I let that item of the tutor pass. 
 
 The tutor slept in my room that night, 
 
 [173] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 and my four brothers, the eldest of whom 
 was a lieutenant on the police guard, in a 
 room across the hallway. I explained to 
 the tutor that there was much lawlessness 
 in the region; that we "foreigners" were 
 trying to build a town, and that, to ensure 
 law and order, we had all become volun 
 teer policemen. He seemed to think it was 
 most interesting. 
 
 About three o'clock in the morning a 
 shrill whistle blew, and, from habit, I 
 sprang out of bed. I had hardly struck 
 the floor when four pairs of heavy boots 
 thundered down the stairs just outside the 
 door, and I heard a gasp from the startled 
 tutor. He was bolt upright in bed, and 
 his face in the moonlight was white with 
 fear. 
 
 u Wha wha what's that?" 
 I told him that it was a police whistle and 
 
 [174] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 that the boys were answering it. Every 
 body jumped when he heard a whistle, I 
 explained; for nobody in town was permit 
 ted to blow one except a policeman. I 
 guessed there would be enough men an 
 swering that whistle without me, however, 
 and I slipped back into bed. 
 
 "Well," he said; and when the boys 
 lumbered upstairs again and one shouted 
 through the door, "All right!" the tutor 
 said again with emphasis: "Well!" 
 
 Next day there was to be a political 
 gathering at the Gap. A Senator was try 
 ing to lift himself by his own boot-straps 
 into the Governor's chair. He was going to 
 make a speech, there would be a big and 
 unruly crowd, and it would be a crucial 
 day for the Guard. So, next morning, I 
 suggested to the tutor that it would be 
 unwise for him to begin work with his 
 
 [175] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 pupils that day, for the reason that he was 
 likely to be greatly interrupted and often. 
 He thought, however, he would like to 
 begin. He did begin, and within half an 
 hour Gordon, the town sergeant, thrust his 
 head inside the door and called the colonel 
 by name. 
 
 "Come on," he said; "they're going to 
 try that d n butcher." And seeing from 
 the tutor's face that he had done something 
 dreadful, he slammed the door in apolo 
 getic confusion. The tutor was law-abid 
 ing, and it was the law that called the 
 colonel, and so the tutor let him go nay, 
 went with him and heard the case. The 
 butcher had gone off on another man's 
 horse the man owed him money, he said, 
 and the only way he could get his money 
 was to take the horse as security. But the 
 sergeant did not know this, and he and the 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 colonel rode after him, and the colonel, 
 having the swifter horse, but not having 
 had time to get his own pistol, took the 
 sergeant's and went ahead. He fired quite 
 close to the running butcher twice, and the 
 butcher thought it wise to halt. When he 
 saw the child who had captured him he 
 was speechless, and he got off his horse 
 and cut a big switch to give the colonel a 
 whipping, but the doughty Infant drew 
 down on him again and made him ride, 
 foaming with rage, back to town. The 
 butcher was good-natured at the trial, 
 however, and the tutor heard him say, 
 with a great guffaw: 
 
 "An' I do believe the d n little fool 
 would 'a' shot me." 
 
 Once more the tutor looked at the pupil 
 whom he was to lead into the classic halls 
 of Harvard, and once more he said: 
 
 [177] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 People were streaming into town now, 
 and I persuaded the tutor that there was 
 no use for him to begin his studies again. 
 He said he would go fishing down the river 
 and take a swim. He would get back in 
 time to hear the speaking in the afternoon. 
 So I got him a horse, and he came out 
 with a long cane fishing-pole and a pair of 
 saddle-bags. I told him that he must 
 watch the old nag or she would run away 
 with him, particularly when he started 
 homeward. The tutor was not much of a 
 centaur. The horse started as he was 
 throwing the wrong leg over his sad 
 dle, and the tutor clamped his rod 
 under one arm, clutching for the reins with 
 both hands and kicking for his stirrups 
 with both feet. The tip of the limber pole 
 beat the horse's flank gently as she struck 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 a trot, and smartly as she struck into a 
 lope, and so with arms, feet, saddle- 
 pockets, and fishing-rod flapping towards 
 different points of the compass, the tutor 
 passed out of sight over Poplar Hill on 
 a dead run. 
 
 As soon as he could get over a fit of 
 laughter and catch his breath, the colonel 
 asked : 
 
 "Do you know what he had in those 
 saddle-pockets ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A bathing suit," he shouted; and he 
 went off again. 
 
 Not even in a primeval forest, it seemed, 
 would the modest Puritan bare his body 
 to the mirror of limpid water and the 
 caress of mountain air. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The trouble had begun early that 
 [ 179] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 morning, when Gordon, the town sergeant, 
 stepped from his door and started down the 
 street with no little self-satisfaction. He 
 had been arraying himself for a full hour, 
 and after a tub-bath and a shave he 
 stepped, spic and span, into the street with 
 his head steadily held high, except when 
 he bent it to look at the shine of his boots, 
 which was the work of his own hands, and 
 of which he was proud. As a matter of 
 fact, the sergeant felt that he looked just 
 as he particularly wanted to look on that 
 day his best. Gordon was a native of 
 Wise, but that day a girl was coming from 
 Lee, and he was ready for her. 
 
 Opposite the Intermont, a pistol-shot 
 cracked from Cherokee Avenue, and from 
 habit he started that way. Logan, the 
 captain of the Guard the leading lawyer 
 in that part of the State was ahead of 
 [180] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 him, however, and he called to Gordon to 
 follow. Gordon ran in the grass along 
 the road to keep those boots out of the 
 dust. Somebody had fired off his pistol 
 for fun and was making tracks for the 
 river. As they pushed the miscreant close, 
 he dashed into the river to wade across. 
 It was a very cold morning, and Gordon 
 prayed that the captain was not going to 
 be such a fool as to follow the fellow 
 across the river. He should have known 
 better. 
 
 "In with you," said the captain quietly, 
 and the mirror of the shining boots was 
 dimmed, and the icy water chilled the ser 
 geant to the knees and made him so mad 
 that he flashed his pistol and told the run 
 away to halt, which he did in the middle 
 of the stream. It was Richards, the tough 
 from "the Pocket," and, as he paid his 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 fine promptly, they had to let him go. 
 Gordon went back, put on his everyday 
 clothes and got his billy and his whistle 
 and prepared to see the maid from Lee 
 when his duty should let him. As a mat 
 ter of fact, he saw her but once, and then 
 he was not made happy. 
 
 The people had come in rapidly giants 
 from the Crab Orchard, mountaineers 
 from through the Gap, and from Crack 
 er's Neck and Thunderstruck Knob; Val 
 ley people from Little Stone Gap, from 
 the furnace site and Bum Hollow and 
 Wildcat, and people from Lee, from Tur 
 key Cove, and from the Pocket the 
 much-dreaded Pocket far down in the 
 river hills. 
 
 They came on foot and on horseback, 
 and left their horses in the bushes and 
 crowded the streets and filled the saloon 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 of one Jack Woods who had the cackling 
 laugh of Satan and did not like the Guard, 
 for good reasons, and whose particular 
 pleasure was to persuade some customer to 
 stir up a hornet's nest of trouble. From 
 the saloon the crowd moved up towards 
 the big spring at the foot of Imboden 
 Hill, where, under beautiful trunk-mottled 
 beeches, was built the speakers' platform. 
 
 Precisely at three o'clock the local ora 
 tor, much flurried, rose, ran his hand 
 through his long hair and looked in silence 
 over the crowd. 
 
 "Fellow citizens ! There's beauty in the 
 stars of night and in the glowin' orb of 
 day. There's beauty in the rollin' meadow 
 and in the quiet stream. There's beauty 
 in the smilin' valley and in the everlastin' 
 hills. Therefore, fellow citizens THERE 
 FORE, fellow citizens, allow me to intro- 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 duce to you the future Governor of these 
 United States Senator William Bay- 
 hone." And he sat down with such a 
 beatific smile of self-satisfaction that a 
 fiend would not have had the heart to say 
 he had not won. 
 
 Now, there are wandering minstrels yet 
 in the Cumberland Hills. They play 
 fiddles and go about making up "ballets" 
 that involve local history. Sometimes they 
 make a pretty good verse this, for in 
 stance, about a feud: 
 
 The death of these two men 
 
 Caused great trouble in our land. 
 Caused men to leave their families 
 
 And take the parting hand. 
 Retaliation, still at war, 
 
 May never, never cease. 
 I would that I could only see 
 
 Our land once more at peace. 
 
 [i8 4 ] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 There was a minstrel out in the crowd, 
 and pretty soon he struck up his fiddle and 
 his lay, and he did not exactly sing the 
 virtues of Billy Bayhone. Evidently some 
 partisan thought he ought, for he smote 
 him on the thigh with the toe of his boot 
 and raised such a stir as a rude stranger 
 might had he smitten a troubadour in 
 Arthur's Court. The crowd thickened and 
 surged, and four of the Guard emerged 
 with the fiddler and his assailant under 
 arrest. It was as though the Valley were 
 a sheet of water straightway and the fid 
 dler the dropping of a stone, for the ripple 
 of mischief started in every direction. It 
 caught two mountaineers on the edge of 
 the crowd, who for no particular reason 
 thumped each other with their huge fists, 
 and were swiftly led away by that silent 
 Guard. The operation of a mysterious 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 force was in the air and it puzzled the 
 crowd. Somewhere a whistle would blow, 
 and, from this point and that, a quiet, well- 
 dressed young man would start swiftly 
 toward it. The crowd got restless and 
 uneasy, and, by and by, experimental and 
 defiant. For in that crowd was the spirit 
 of Bunker Hill and King's Mountain. It 
 couldn't fiddle and sing; it couldn't settle 
 its little troubles after the good old fash 
 ion of fist and skull; it couldn't charge up 
 and down the streets on horseback if it 
 pleased; it couldn't ride over those punch 
 eon sidewalks; it could't drink openly and 
 without shame ; and, Shades of the Ameri 
 can Eagle and the Stars and Stripes, it 
 couldn't even yell! No wonder, like the 
 heathen, it raged. What did these blanked 
 "furriners" have against them anyhow? 
 They couldn't run their country not 
 
 much - [i 86] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 Pretty soon there came a shrill whistle 
 far down-town then another and another. 
 It sounded ominous, indeed, and it was, 
 being a signal of distress from the Infant 
 of the Guard, who stood before the door 
 of Jack Woods's saloon with his pistol 
 levelled on Richards, the tough from the 
 Pocket the Infant, standing there with 
 blazing eyes, alone and in the heart of a 
 gathering storm. 
 
 Now the chain of lawlessness that had 
 tightened was curious and significant. 
 There was the tough and his kind law 
 less, irresponsible and possible in any com 
 munity. There was the farm-hand who 
 had come to town with the wild son of his 
 employer an honest, law-abiding farmer. 
 Came, too, a friend of the farmer who 
 had not yet reaped the crop of wild oats 
 sown in his youth. Whiskey ran all into 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 one mould. The farm-hand drank with 
 the tough, the wild son with the farm 
 hand, and the three drank together, and 
 got the farmer's unregenerate friend to 
 drink with them ; and he and the law-abid 
 ing farmer himself, by and by, took a drink 
 for old time's sake. Now the cardinal 
 command of rural and municipal districts 
 all through the South is, "Forsake not your 
 friend" : and it does not take whiskey long 
 to make friends. Jack Woods had given 
 the tough from the Pocket a whistle. 
 
 "You dassen't blow it," said he. 
 
 Richards asked why, and Jack told him. 
 Straightway the tough blew the whistle, 
 and when the little colonel ran down to ar 
 rest him he laughed and resisted, and the 
 wild son and the farm-hand and Jack 
 Woods showed an inclination to take his 
 part. So, holding his "drop" on the 
 [188] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 tough with one hand, the Infant blew vig 
 orously for help with the other. 
 
 Logan, the captain, arrived first he 
 usually arrived first and Gordon, the ser 
 geant, was by his side Gordon was al 
 ways by his side. He would have stormed 
 a battery if the captain had led him, and 
 the captain would have led him alone 
 if he thought it was his duty. Logan was 
 as calm as a stage hero at the crisis of a 
 play. The crowd had pressed close. 
 
 "Take that man," he said sharply, 
 pointing to the tough whom the colonel 
 held covered, and two men seized him 
 from behind. 
 
 The farm-hand drew his gun. 
 
 u No, you don't!" he shouted. 
 
 "Take him" said the captain quietly; 
 and he was seized by two more and dis 
 armed. 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 It was then that Sturgeon, the wild son, 
 ran up. 
 
 "You can't take that man to jail," he 
 shouted with an oath, pointing at the farm 
 hand. 
 
 The captain waved his hand. "And 
 him!" 
 
 As two of the Guard approached, Stur 
 geon started for his gun. Now, Sturgeon 
 was Gordon's blood cousin, but Gordon 
 levelled his own pistol. Sturgeon's 
 weapon caught in his pocket, and he tried 
 to pull it loose. The moment he succeeded 
 Gordon stood ready to fire. Twice the 
 hammer of the sergeant's pistol went back 
 almost to the turning-point, and then, as 
 he pulled the trigger again, Macfarlan, 
 first lieutenant, who once played lacrosse 
 at Yale, rushed, parting the crowd right 
 and left, and dropped his billy lightly 
 [ 190] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 three times right, left and right on 
 Sturgeon's head. The blood spurted, the 
 head fell back between the bully's shoul 
 ders, his grasp on his pistol loosened, and 
 he sank to his knees. For a moment the 
 crowd was stunned by the lightning quick 
 ness of it all. It was the first blow ever 
 struck in that country with a piece of wood 
 in the name of the law. 
 
 "Take 'em on, boys," called the captain, 
 whose face had paled a little, though he 
 seemed as cool as ever. 
 
 And the boys started, dragging the 
 three struggling prisoners, and the crowd, 
 growing angrier and angrier, pressed close 
 behind, a hundred of them, led by the 
 farmer himself, a giant in size, and beside 
 himself with rage and humiliation. Once 
 he broke through the guard line and was 
 pushed back. Knives and pistols began to 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 flash now everywhere, and loud threats and 
 curses rose on all sides the men should 
 not be taken to jail. The sergeant, drag 
 ging Sturgeon, looked up into the blazing 
 eyes of a girl on the sidewalk, Sturgeon's 
 sister the maid from Lee. The sergeant 
 groaned. Logan gave some order just 
 then to the Infant, who ran ahead, and by 
 the time the Guard with the prisoners had 
 backed to a corner there were two lines of 
 Guards drawn across the street. The first 
 line let the prisoners and their captors 
 through, closed up behind, and backed 
 slowly towards the corner, where it meant 
 to stand. 
 
 It was very exciting there. Winchesters 
 and shotguns protruded from the line 
 threateningly, but the mob came on as 
 though it were going to press through, 
 and determined faces blenched with ex- 
 
The sergeant, dragging Sturgeon, looked up into the blazing eyes of a girl on 
 the sidewalk. 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 citement, but not with fear. A moment 
 later, the little colonel and the Guards on 
 either side of him were jabbing at men 
 with cocked Winchesters. At that mo 
 ment it would have needed but one shot 
 to ring out to have started an awful car 
 nage; but not yet was there a man in the 
 mob and that is the trouble with mobs 
 who seemed willing to make a sacrifice of 
 himself that the others might gain their 
 end. For one moment they halted, cursing 
 and waving their pistols, preparing for a 
 charge; and in that crucial moment the 
 tutor from New England came like a 
 thunderbolt to the rescue. Shrieks of ter 
 ror from children, shrieks of outraged 
 modesty from women, rent the air down the 
 street where the huddled crowd was rush 
 ing right and left in wild confusion, and, 
 through the parting crowd, the tutor flew 
 
 [193] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 into sight on horseback, bareheaded, bare 
 footed, clad in a gaudily striped bathing 
 suit, with his saddle-pockets flapping be 
 hind him like wings. Some mischievous 
 mountaineers, seeing him in his bathing 
 suit on the point of a rock up the river, 
 had joyously taken a pot-shot or two at 
 him, and the tutor had mounted his horse 
 and fled. But he came as welcome and as 
 effective as an emissary straight from the 
 God of Battles, though he came against his 
 will, for his old nag was frantic and was 
 running away. Men, women and children 
 parted before him, and gaping mouths 
 widened as he passed. The impulse of the 
 crowd ran faster than his horse, and even 
 the enraged mountaineers in amazed won 
 der sprang out of his way, and, far in the 
 rear, a few privileged ones saw the frantic 
 horse plunge towards his stable, stop sud- 
 [ 194] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 denly, and pitch his mottled rider through 
 the door and mercifully out of sight. Hu 
 man purpose must give way when a pure 
 miracle comes to earth to baffle it. It gave 
 way now long enough to let the oaken 
 doors of the calaboose close behind tough, 
 farm-hand, and the farmer's wild son. 
 The line of Winchesters at the corner 
 quietly gave way. The power of the 
 Guard was established, the backbone of 
 the opposition broken; henceforth, the 
 work for law and order was to be easy 
 compared with what it had been. Up at 
 the big spring under the beeches sat the 
 disgusted orator of the day and the dis 
 gusted Senator, who, seriously, was quite 
 sure that the Guard, being composed of 
 Democrats, had taken this way to shatter 
 his campaign. 
 
 ***** 
 
 [195] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 Next morning, in court, the members 
 of the Guard acted as witnesses against 
 the culprits. Macfarlan stated that he had 
 struck Sturgeon over the head to save his 
 life, and Sturgeon, after he had paid his 
 fine, said he would prefer being shot to 
 being clubbed to death, and he bore dan 
 gerous malice for a long time, until he 
 learned what everybody else knew, that 
 Macfarlan always did what he thought he 
 ought, and never spoke anything but the 
 literal truth, whether it hurt friend, foe or 
 himself. 
 
 After court, Richards, the tough, met 
 Gordon, the sergeant, in the road. "Gor 
 don," he said, "you swore to a lie 
 
 about me a while ago." 
 
 "How do you want to fight?" asked 
 Gordon. 
 
 "Fair!" 
 
 [196] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 "Come on;" and Gordon started for the 
 town limits across the river, Richards fol 
 lowing on horseback. At a store, Gordon 
 unbuckled his belt and tossed his pistol and 
 his police badge inside. Jack Woods, see 
 ing this, followed, and the Infant, seeing 
 Woods, followed too. The law was law, 
 but this affair was personal, and would be 
 settled without the limits of law and local 
 obligation. Richards tried to talk to Gor 
 don, but the sergeant walked with his head 
 down, as though he could not hear he 
 was too enraged to talk. 
 
 While Richards was hitching his horse 
 in the bushes the sergeant stood on the 
 bank of the river with his arms folded and 
 his chin swinging from side to side. When 
 he saw Richards in the open he rushed for 
 him like a young bull that feels the first 
 swelling of his horns. It was not a fair, 
 
 [ 197] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 stand-up, knock-down English fight, but a 
 Scotch tussle, in which either could strike, 
 kick, bite or gouge. After a few blows 
 they clinched and whirled and fell, Gordon 
 on top with which advantage he began 
 to pound the tough from the Pocket sav 
 agely. Woods made as if to pull him off, 
 but the Infant drew his pistol. "Keep 
 off!" 
 
 "He's killing him!" shouted Woods, 
 halting. 
 
 "Let him holler 'Enough,' then," said 
 the Infant. 
 
 "He's killing him !" shouted Woods. 
 
 "Let Gordon's friends take him off, 
 then," said the Infant. "Don't you touch 
 him." 
 
 And it was done. Richards was sense 
 less and speechless he really couldn't 
 shout "Enough." But he was content, and 
 the day left a very satisfactory impression 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 on him and on his friends. If they mis 
 behaved in town they would be arrested: 
 that was plain. But it was also plain that 
 if anybody had a personal grievance 
 against one of the Guard he could call him 
 out of the town limits and get satisfaction, 
 after the way of his fathers. There was 
 nothing personal at all in the attitude of 
 the Guard towards the outsiders; which 
 recognition was a great stride toward 
 mutual understanding and final high re 
 gard. 
 
 All that day I saw that something was 
 troubling the tutor from New England. 
 It was the Moral Sense of the Puritan at 
 work, I supposed, and, that night, when 
 I came in with a new supply of "billies" 
 and gave one to each of my brothers, the 
 tutor looked up over his glasses and 
 cleared his throat. 
 
 "Now," said I to myself, "we shall 
 [ 199] 
 
A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD 
 
 catch it hot on the savagery of the South 
 and the barbarous Method of keeping it 
 down;" but before he had said three words 
 the colonel looked as though he were going 
 to get up and slap the little dignitary on 
 the back which would have created a 
 sensation indeed. 
 
 1 'Have you an extra one of those 
 those " 
 
 "Billies?" I said, wonderingly. 
 
 "Yes. I I believe I shall join the 
 Guard myself," said the tutor from New 
 England. 
 
 [ 200 ] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH 
 SATAN 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH 
 SATAN 
 
 NO night was this in Hades with 
 solemn-eyed Dante, for Satan was 
 only a woolly little black dog, and surely 
 no dog was ever more absurdly misnamed. 
 When Uncle Carey first heard that name, 
 he asked gravely: 
 
 "Why, Dinnie, where in h ," Uncle 
 
 Carey gulped slightly, "did you get him?" 
 And Dinnie laughed merrily, for she saw 
 the fun of the question, and shook her 
 black curls. 
 
 "He didn't come f'um that place" 
 Distinctly Satan had not come from 
 that place. On the contrary, he might by 
 [203 ] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 a miracle have dropped straight from 
 some Happy Hunting-Ground, for all the 
 signs he gave of having touched pitch in 
 this or another sphere. Nothing human 
 was ever born that was gentler, merrier, 
 more trusting or more lovable than Satan. 
 That was why Uncle Carey said again 
 gravely that he could hardly tell Satan 
 and his little mistress apart. He rarely 
 saw them apart, and as both had black 
 tangled hair and bright black eyes; as one 
 awoke every morning with a happy smile 
 and the other with a jolly bark; as they 
 played all day like wind-shaken shadows 
 and each won every heart at first sight 
 the likeness was really rather curious. I 
 have always believed that Satan made the 
 spirit of Dinnie's house, orthodox and 
 severe though it was, almost kindly toward 
 his great namesake. I know I have never 
 [204] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 been able, since I knew little Satan, to 
 think old Satan as bad as I once painted 
 him, though I am sure the little dog had 
 many pretty tricks that the "old boy" 
 doubtless has never used in order to amuse 
 his friends. 
 
 "Shut the door, Saty, please," Dinnie 
 would say, precisely as she would say it 
 to Uncle Billy, the butler, and straight 
 way Satan would launch himself at it 
 bang! He never would learn to close it 
 softly, for Satan liked that bang! 
 
 If you kept tossing a coin or marble in 
 the air, Satan would keep catching it and 
 putting it back in your hand for another 
 throw, till you got tired. Then he would 
 drop it on a piece of rag carpet, snatch 
 the carpet with his teeth, throw the coin 
 across the room and rush for it like mad, 
 until he got tired. If you put a penny on 
 [205] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 his nose, he would wait until you counted, 
 one two three! Then he would toss it 
 up himself and catch it. Thus, perhaps, 
 Satan grew to love Mammon right well, 
 but for another and better reason than 
 that he liked simply to throw it around 
 as shall now be made plain. 
 
 A rubber ball with a hole in it was his 
 favorite plaything, and he would take it 
 in his mouth and rush around the house 
 like a child, squeezing it to make it whistle. 
 When he got a new ball, he would hide his 
 old one away until the new one was the 
 worse worn of the two, and then he would 
 bring out the old one again. If Dinnie 
 gave him a nickel or a dime, when they 
 went down-town, Satan would rush into a 
 store, rear up on the counter where the rub 
 ber balls we.e kept, drop the coin, and get 
 a ball for himself. Thus, Satan learned 
 
 [206] 
 
Satan would drop the coin and get a ball for himself. 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 finance. He began to hoard his pennies, 
 and one day Uncle Carey found a pile of 
 seventeen under a corner of the carpet. 
 Usually he carried to Dinnie all coins that 
 he found in the street, but he showed one 
 day that he was going into the ball-busi 
 ness for himself. Uncle Carey had given 
 Dinnie a nickel for some candy, and, as 
 usual, Satan trotted down the street behind 
 her. As usual, Satan stopped before the 
 knick-knack shop. 
 
 "Turn on, Saty," said Dinnie. Satan 
 reared against the door as he always did, 
 and Dinnie said again: 
 
 "Turn on, Saty." As usual, Satan 
 dropped to his haunches, but what was 
 unusual, he failed to bark. Now Dinnie 
 had got a new ball for Satan only that 
 morning, so Dinnie stamped her foot. 
 
 "I tell you to turn on, Saty." Satan 
 [207] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 never moved. He looked at Dinnie as 
 much as to say: 
 
 "I have never disobeyed you before, 
 little mistress, but this time I have an ex 
 cellent reason for what must seem to you 
 very bad manners " and being a gentle 
 man withal, Satan rose on his haunches 
 and begged. 
 
 "You're des a pig, Saty," said Dinnie, 
 but with a sigh for the candy that was not 
 to be, Dinnie opened the door, and Satan, 
 to her wonder, rushed to the counter, put 
 his forepaws on it, and dropped from his 
 mouth a dime. Satan had found that coin 
 on the street. He didn't bark for change, 
 nor beg for two balls, but he had got it 
 in his woolly little head, somehow, that 
 in that store a coin meant a ball, though 
 never before nor afterward did he try to 
 get a ball for a penny. 
 
 [208] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 Satan slept in Uncle Carey's room, for 
 of all people, after Dinnie, Satan loved 
 Uncle Carey best. Every day at noon he 
 would go to an upstairs window and watch 
 the cars come around the corner, until a 
 very tall, square-shouldered young man 
 swung to the ground, and down Satan 
 would scamper yelping to meet him at 
 the gate. If Uncle Carey, after supper 
 and when Dinnie was in bed, started out 
 of the house, still in his business clothes, 
 Satan would leap out before him, knowing 
 that he too might be allowed to go; but 
 if Uncle Carey had put on black clothes 
 that showed a big, dazzling shirt-front, 
 and picked up his high hat, Satan would 
 sit perfectly still and look disconsolate; 
 for as there were no parties or theatres 
 for Dinnie, so there were none for him. 
 But no matter how late it was when Uncle 
 [209] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 Carey came home, he always saw Satan's 
 little black nose against the window-pane 
 and heard his bark of welcome. 
 
 After intelligence, Satan's chief trait 
 was lovableness nobody ever knew him 
 to fight, to snap at anything, or to get 
 angry; after lovableness, it was politeness. 
 If he wanted something to eat, if he 
 wanted Dinnie to go to bed, if he wanted 
 to get out of the door, he would beg 
 beg prettily on his haunches, his little red 
 tongue out and his funny little paws hang 
 ing loosely. Indeed, it was just because 
 Satan was so little less than human, I sup 
 pose, that old Satan began to be afraid he 
 might have a soul. So the wicked old 
 namesake with the Hoofs and Horns laid 
 a trap for little Satan, and, as he is apt to 
 do, he began laying it early long, indeed, 
 before Christmas. 
 
 [210] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 When Dinnie started to kindergarten 
 that autumn, Satan found that there was 
 one place where he could never go. Like 
 the lamb, he could not go to school; so 
 while Dinnie was away, Satan began to 
 make friends. He would bark, "Howdy- 
 do?" to every dog that passed his gate. 
 Many stopped to rub noses with him 
 through the fence even Hugo the mas 
 tiff, and nearly all, indeed, except one 
 strange-looking dog that appeared every 
 morning at precisely nine o'clock and took 
 his stand on the corner. There he would 
 lie patiently until a funeral came along, 
 and then Satan would see him take his 
 place at the head of the procession; and 
 thus he would march out to the cemetery 
 and back again. Nobody knew where he 
 came from nor where he went, and Uncle 
 Carey called him the "funeral dog" and 
 
 [211] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 said he was doubtless looking for his dead 
 master. Satan even made friends with a 
 scrawny little yellow dog that followed an 
 old drunkard around a dog that, when 
 his master fell in the gutter, would go and 
 catch a policeman by the coat-tail, lead the 
 officer to his helpless master, and spend 
 the night with him in jail. 
 
 By and by Satan began to slip out of 
 the house at night, and Uncle Billy said 
 he reckoned Satan had u jined de club"; 
 and late one night, when he had not come 
 in, Uncle Billy told Uncle Carey that it 
 was "powerful slippery and he reckoned 
 they'd better send de kerridge after him" 
 an innocent remark that made Uncle 
 Carey send a boot after the old butler, 
 who fled chuckling down the stairs, and 
 left Uncle Carey chuckling in his room. 
 
 Satan had u jined de club" the big club 
 
 2I2 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 and no dog was too lowly in Satan's 
 eyes for admission; for no priest ever 
 preached the brotherhood of man better 
 than Satan lived it both with man and 
 dog. And thus he lived it that Christmas 
 night to his sorrow. 
 
 Christmas Eve had been gloomy the 
 gloomiest of Satan's life. Uncle Carey had 
 gone to a neighboring town at noon. Sa 
 tan had followed him down to the station, 
 and when the train started, Uncle Carey 
 had ordered him to go home. Satan took 
 his time about going home, not knowing 
 it was Christmas Eve. He found strange 
 things happening to dogs that day. The 
 truth was, that policemen were shooting 
 all dogs found that were without a collar 
 and a license, and every now and then a 
 bang and a howl somewhere would stop 
 Satan in his tracks. At a little yellow house 
 [213] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 on the edge of town he saw half a dozen 
 strange dogs in a kennel, and every now 
 and then a negro would lead a new one up 
 to the house and deliver him to a big man 
 at the door, who, in return, would drop 
 something into the negro's hand. While 
 Satan waited, the old drunkard came along 
 with his little dog at his heels, paused be 
 fore the door, looked a moment at his 
 faithful follower, and went slowly on. Sa 
 tan little knew the old drunkard's tempta 
 tion, for in that yellow house kind-hearted 
 people had offered fifteen cents for each 
 dog brought to them, without a license, 
 that they might mercifully put it to death, 
 and fifteen cents was the precise price for 
 a drink of good whiskey. Just then there 
 was another bang and another howl some 
 where, and Satan trotted home to meet a 
 calamity. Dinnie was gone. Her mother 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 had taken her out in the country to Grand 
 mother Dean's to spend Christmas, as was 
 the family custom, and Mrs. Dean would 
 not wait any longer for Satan; so she 
 told Uncle Billy to bring him out after 
 supper. 
 
 "Ain't you 'shamed o' yo'self suh ?" 
 said the old butler, "keepin' me from 
 ketchin' Christmas gifts dis day?" 
 
 Uncle Billy was indignant, for the ne 
 groes begin at four o'clock in the afternoon 
 of Christmas Eve to slip around corners 
 and jump from hiding places to shout 
 "Christmas Gif Christmas Gif"; and 
 the one who shouts first gets a gift. No 
 wonder it was gloomy for Satan Uncle 
 Carey, Dinnie, and all gone, and not a 
 soul but Uncle Billy in the big house. 
 Every few minutes he would trot on his 
 little black legs upstairs and downstairs, 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 looking for his mistress. As dusk came on, 
 he would every now and then howl plain 
 tively. After begging his supper, and while 
 Uncle Billy was hitching up a horse in the 
 stable, Satan went out in the yard and lay 
 with his nose between the close panels of 
 the fence quite heart-broken. When he 
 saw his old friend, Hugo the mastiff, trot 
 ting into the gaslight, he began to bark 
 his delight frantically. The big mastiff 
 stopped and nosed his sympathy through 
 the fence for a moment and walked slowly 
 on, Satan frisking and barking along in 
 side. At the gate Hugo stopped, and rais 
 ing one huge paw, playfully struck it. The 
 gate flew open, and with a happy yelp 
 Satan leaped into the street. The noble 
 mastiff hesitated as though this were not 
 quite regular. He did not belong to the 
 club, and he didn't know that Satan had 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 ever been away from home after dark 
 in his life. For a moment he seemed to 
 wait for Dinnie to call him back as she 
 always did, but this time there was no 
 sound, and Hugo walked majestically on, 
 with absurd little Satan running in a circle 
 about him. On the way they met the 
 u funeral dog," who glanced inquiringly 
 at Satan, shied from the mastiff, and trot 
 ted on. On the next block the old drunk 
 ard's yellow cur ran across the street, and 
 after interchanging the compliments of 
 the season, ran back after his staggering 
 master. As they approached the railroad 
 track a strange dog joined them, to whom 
 Hugo paid no attention. At the crossing 
 another new acquaintance bounded toward 
 them. This one a half-breed shepherd 
 was quite friendly, and he received Sa 
 tan's advances with affable condescension. 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 Then another came and another, and little 
 Satan's head got quite confused. They 
 were a queer-looking lot of curs and half- 
 breeds from the negro settlement at the 
 edge of the woods, and though Satan had 
 little experience, his instincts told him that 
 all was not as it should be, and had he 
 been human he would have wondered very 
 much how they had escaped the carnage 
 that day. Uneasy, he looked around for 
 Hugo; but Hugo had disappeared. Once 
 or twice Hugo had looked around for Sa 
 tan, and Satan paying no attention, the 
 mastiff trotted on home in disgust. Just 
 then a powerful yellow cur sprang out of 
 the darkness over the railroad track, and 
 Satan sprang to meet him, and so nearly 
 had the life scared out of him by the snarl 
 and flashing fangs of the new-comer that 
 he hardly had the strength to shrink back 
 
 [218] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 behind his new friend, the half-breed shep 
 herd. 
 
 A strange thing then happened. The 
 other dogs became suddenly quiet, and 
 every eye was on the yellow cur. He 
 sniffed the air once or twice, gave two or 
 three peculiar low growls, and all those 
 dogs except Satan lost the civilization of 
 centuries and went back suddenly to the 
 time when they were wolves and were look 
 ing for a leader. The cur was Lobo for 
 that little pack, and after a short parley, 
 he lifted his nose high and started away 
 without looking back, while the other dogs 
 silently trotted after him. With a mysti 
 fied yelp, Satan ran after them. The cur 
 did not take the turnpike, but jumped the 
 fence into a field, making his way by the 
 rear of houses, from which now and then 
 another dog would slink out and silently 
 [219] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 join the band. Every one of them Satan 
 nosed most friendlily, and to his great joy 
 the funeral dog, on the edge of town, 
 leaped into their midst. Ten minutes later 
 the cur stopped in the midst of some 
 woods, as though he would inspect his fol 
 lowers. Plainly, he disapproved of Satan, 
 and Satan kept out of his way. Then he 
 sprang into the turnpike and the band 
 trotted down it, under flying black clouds 
 and shifting bands of brilliant moonlight. 
 Once, a buggy swept past them. A famil 
 iar odor struck Satan's nose, and he stopped 
 for a moment to smell the horse's tracks; 
 and right he was,, too, for out at her grand 
 mother's Dinnie refused to be comforted, 
 and in that buggy was Uncle Billy going 
 back to town after him. 
 
 Snow was falling. It was a great lark 
 for Satan. Once or twice, as he trotted 
 [ 220 ] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 along, he had to bark his joy aloud, and 
 each time the big cur gave him such a 
 fierce growl that he feared thereafter to 
 open his jaws. But he was happy for all 
 that, to be running out into the night with 
 such a lot of funny friends and not to know 
 or care where he was going. He got pretty 
 tired presently, for over hill and down 
 hill they went, at that unceasing trot, 
 trot, trot! Satan's tongue began to hang 
 out. Once he stopped to rest, but the lone 
 liness frightened him and he ran on after 
 them with his heart almost bursting. He 
 was about to lie right down and die, when 
 the cur stopped, sniffed the air once or 
 twice, and with those same low growls, 
 led the marauders through a rail fence 
 into the woods, and lay quietly down. How 
 Satan loved that soft, thick grass, all 
 snowy that it was ! It was almost as good 
 [221 ] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 as his own bed at home. And there they 
 lay how long, Satan never knew, for he 
 went to sleep and dreamed that he was 
 after a rat in the barn at home; and he 
 yelped in his sleep, which made the cur 
 lift his big yellow head and show his fangs. 
 The moving of the half-breed shepherd 
 and the funeral dog waked him at last, and 
 Satan got up. Half crouching, the cur 
 was leading the way toward the dark, still 
 woods on top of the hill, over which the 
 Star of Bethlehem was lowly sinking, and 
 under which lay a flock of the gentle crea 
 tures that seemed to have been almost 
 sacred to the Lord of that Star. They 
 were in sore need of a watchful shepherd 
 now. Satan was stiff and chilled, but he 
 was rested and had had his sleep, and he 
 was just as ready for fun as he always was. 
 He didn't understand that sneaking. Why 
 
 [222] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 they didn't all jump and race and bark as 
 he wanted to, he couldn't see; but he was 
 too polite to do otherwise than as they 
 did, and so he sneaked after them; and 
 one would have thought he knew, as well 
 as the rest, the hellish mission on which 
 they were bent. 
 
 Out of the woods they went, across a 
 little branch, and there the big cur lay flat 
 again in the grass. A faint bleat came 
 from the hill-side beyond, where Satan 
 could see another woods and then an 
 other bleat, and another. And the cur be 
 gan to creep again, like a snake in the 
 grass; and the others crept too, and little 
 Satan crept, though it was all a sad mys 
 tery to him. Again the cur lay still, but 
 only long enough for Satan to see curious, 
 fat, white shapes above him and then, 
 with a blood-curdling growl, the big brute 
 
 ["31 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 dashed forward. Oh, there was fun in 
 them after all! Satan barked joyfully. 
 Those were some new playmates those 
 fat, white, hairy things up there ; and Satan 
 was amazed when, with frightened snorts, 
 they fled in every direction. But this was 
 a new game, perhaps, of which he knew 
 nothing, and as did the rest, so did Satan. 
 He picked out one of the white things and 
 fled barking after it. It was a little fellow 
 that he was after, but little as he was, 
 Satan might never have caught up, had not 
 the sheep got tangled in some brush. Satan 
 danced about him in mad glee, giving him 
 a playful nip at his wool and springing 
 back to give him another nip, and then 
 away again. Plainly, he was not going 
 to bite back, and when the sheep struggled 
 itself tired and sank down in a heap, Satan 
 came close and licked him, and as he was 
 [224] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 very warm and woolly, he lay down and 
 snuggled up against him for awhile, listen 
 ing to the turmoil that was going on around 
 him. And as he listened, he got fright 
 ened. 
 
 If this was a new game it was certainly 
 a very peculiar one the wild rush, the 
 bleats of terror, gasps of agony, and the 
 fiendish growls of attack and the sounds 
 of ravenous gluttony. With every hair 
 bristling, Satan rose and sprang from the 
 woods and stopped with a fierce tingling 
 of the nerves that brought him horror and 
 fascination. One of the white shapes lay 
 still before him. There was a great steam 
 ing red splotch on the snow, and a strange 
 odor in the air that made him dizzy; but 
 only for a moment. Another white shape 
 rushed by. A tawny streak followed, and 
 then, in a patch of moonlight, Satan saw 
 [225] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 the yellow cur with his teeth fastened in 
 the throat of his moaning playmate. Like 
 lightning Satan sprang at the cur, who 
 tossed him ten feet away and went back 
 to his awful work. Again Satan leaped, 
 but just then a shout rose behind him, and 
 the cur leaped too as though a bolt of 
 lightning had crashed over him, and, no 
 longer noticing Satan or sheep, began to 
 quiver with fright and slink away. An 
 other shout rose from another direction 
 another from another. 
 
 "Drive 'em into the barn-yard!" was 
 the cry. 
 
 Now and then there was a fearful bang 
 and a howl of death-agony, as some dog 
 tried to break through the encircling men, 
 who yelled and cursed as they closed in on 
 the trembling brutes that slunk together 
 and crept on; for it is said, every sheep- 
 
 [226] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 killing dog knows his fate if caught, and 
 will make little effort to escape. With 
 them went Satan, through the barn-yard 
 gate, where they huddled in a corner a 
 shamed and terrified group. A tall over 
 seer stood at the gate. 
 
 "Ten of 'em!" he said grimly. 
 
 He had been on the lookout for just 
 such a tragedy, for there had recently been 
 a sheep-killing raid on several farms in 
 that neighborhood, and for several nights 
 he had had a lantern hung out on the edge 
 of the woods to scare the dogs away; but 
 a drunken farm-hand had neglected his 
 duty that Christmas Eve. 
 
 "Yassuh, an' dey's jus' sebenteen dead 
 sheep out dar," said a negro. 
 
 "Look at the little one," said a tall boy 
 who looked like the overseer; and Satan 
 knew that he spoke of him. 
 [227] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 "Go back to the house, son," said the 
 overseer, a and tell your mother to give you 
 a Christmas present I got for you yester 
 day." With a glad whoop the boy dashed 
 away, and in a moment dashed back with 
 a brand-new .32 Winchester in his hand. 
 
 The dark hour before dawn was just 
 breaking on Christmas Day. It was the 
 hour when Satan usually rushed upstairs 
 to see if his little mistress was asleep. If 
 he were only at home now, and if he only 
 had known how his little mistress was 
 weeping for him amid her playthings and 
 his two new balls and a brass-studded 
 collar with a silver plate on which was his 
 name, Satan Dean; and if Dinnie could 
 have seen him now, her heart would have 
 broken; for the tall boy raised his gun. 
 There was a jet of smoke, a sharp, clean 
 crack, and the funeral dog started on the 
 
 [228] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 right way at last toward his dead master. 
 Another crack, and the yellow cur leaped 
 from the ground and fell kicking. An 
 other crack and another, and with each 
 crack a dog tumbled, until little Satan sat 
 on his haunches amid the writhing pack, 
 alone. His time was now come. As the 
 rifle was raised, he heard up at the big 
 house the cries of children; the popping 
 of fire-crackers ; tooting of horns and whis 
 tles and loud shouts of " Christmas Gif, 
 Christmas Gif!" His little heart beat 
 furiously. Perhaps he knew just what he 
 was doing; perhaps it was the accident of 
 habit; most likely Satan simply wanted to 
 go home but when that gun rose, Satan 
 rose too, on his haunches, his tongue out, 
 his black eyes steady and his funny little 
 paws hanging loosely and begged ! The 
 boy lowered the gun. 
 
 [229] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 "Down, sir!" Satan dropped obedient 
 ly, but when the gun was lifted again, 
 Satan rose again, and again he begged. 
 
 "Down, I tell you!" This time Satan 
 would not down, but sat begging for his 
 life. The boy turned. 
 
 "Papa, I can't shoot that dog." Per 
 haps Satan had reached the stern old over 
 seer's heart. Perhaps he remembered sud 
 denly that it was Christmas. At any rate, 
 he said gruffly: 
 
 "Well, let him go." 
 
 "Come here, sir!" Satan bounded 
 toward the tall boy, frisking and trustful 
 and begged again. 
 
 "Go home, sir!" 
 
 Satan needed no second command. 
 
 Without a sound he fled out the barn-yard, 
 
 and, as he swept under the front gate, a 
 
 little girl ran out of the front door of the 
 
 [230] 
 
Papa, I can't shoot that dog. 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 big house and dashed down the steps, 
 shrieking : 
 
 "Saty! Saty! Oh, Saty!" But Satan 
 never heard. On he fled, across the crisp 
 fields, leaped the fence and struck the 
 road, lickety-split ! for home, while Dinnie 
 dropped sobbing in the snow. 
 
 "Hitch up a horse, quick," said Uncle 
 Carey, rushing after Dinnie and taking 
 her up in his arms. Ten minutes later, 
 Uncle Carey and Dinnie, both warmly 
 bundled up, were after flying Satan. They 
 never caught him until they reached the 
 hill on the outskirts of town, where was 
 the kennel of the kind-hearted people who 
 were giving painless death to Satan's four- 
 footed kind, and where they saw him stop 
 and turn from the road. There was di 
 vine providence in Satan's flight for one 
 little dog that Christmas morning; for 
 [231 ] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 Uncle Carey saw the old drunkard stag 
 gering down the road without his little 
 companion, and a moment later, both he 
 and Dinnie saw Satan nosing a little yel 
 low cur between the palings. Uncle Carey 
 knew the little cur, and while Dinnie was 
 shrieking for Satan, he was saying under 
 his breath: 
 
 "Well, I swear! I swear! I swear!" 
 And while the big man who came to the 
 door was putting Satan into Dinnie's arms, 
 he said sharply: 
 
 "Who brought that yellow dog here?" 
 The man pointed to the old drunkard's 
 figure turning a corner at the foot of the 
 hill. 
 
 "I thought so; I thought so. He sold 
 him to you for for a drink of whiskey." 
 
 The man whistled. 
 
 "Bring him out. I'll pay his license." 
 [232] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 So back went Satan and the little cur to 
 Grandmother Dean's and Dinnie cried 
 when Uncle Carey told her why he was 
 taking the little cur along. With her own 
 hands she put Satan's old collar on the 
 little brute, took him to the kitchen, and 
 fed him first of all. Then she went into 
 the breakfast-room. 
 
 "Uncle Billy," she said severely, "didn't 
 I tell you not to let Saty out?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Dinnie," said the old butler. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you I was goin' to whoop 
 you if you let Saty out?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Dinnie." 
 
 Miss Dinnie pulled forth from her 
 Christmas treasures a toy riding-whip and 
 the old darky's eyes began to roll in mock 
 terror. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Uncle Billy, but I des got 
 to whoop you a little." 
 [233] 
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN 
 
 "Let Uncle Billy off, Dinnie," said Un 
 cle Carey, "this is Christmas." 
 
 "All wite," said Dinnie, and she turned 
 to Satan. 
 
 In his shining new collar and innocent 
 as a cherub, Satan sat on the hearth beg 
 ging for his breakfast. 
 
 [234] 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
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 RECALL 
 
 LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS 
 
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N? 811794 
 
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 Fox, J. C5 
 
 Christmas eve on 
 Lonesome. 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS