The Law of Hemlock Mountain

by Hugh Lundsford

  CHAPTER XVI

  When he came back for a short stay in the hills between periods ofquiet but strenuous affairs in Louisville, he brought gifts thatdelighted Glory and a devotion that made her forget her misgivings.She had him back, and he found the house expressing in many small waysa taste and discrimination which brought to him a flush of pleasurablesurprise. Glory knew the menace that hung over Spurrier. She knew ofthe malevolent and elusive enmities to which her own life had sonearly become forfeit, and the old terror of the mountain woman forher man became the cross that she must carry with her. Because of hermilitant father's antagonisms she had been inured from childhood tothe taut moment of suspense that came with every voice raised at thegate and every knock sounding on the door.

  There was an element of possible threat in each arrival. She hadbecome, as one has need to be, under such circumstances, somewhatfatalistic as to the old dangers. Now that the fear embraced herhusband as well as her father, the philosophy which she had cultivatedfailed her. Yet their happiness was so strong that it threw off thesethings and drew upon the treasury of the present.

  Spurrier, who talked little of his own dangers, was far fromforgetting. His suspicion of Colby strengthened, and he looked forwardto the day as inevitable when there must be a reckoning between them,which would not be a final reckoning unless one of them died, and forthat encounter he went grimly prepared.

  One thing puzzled him. Of Sim Colby he had thought as a somewhatsolitary character, whose relations with his neighbors, thoughamicable, were yet rather detached. He had seemed to have fewintimates, yet if he had led this attack, he was palpably able tomuster at his back a considerable force of men for a desperateproject. That meant that the infection of hatred against himself hadspread from a single enmity to the number, at least, of the men whohad joined in the battle, and it had been a battle in which more thanone had fallen. Before, he had recognized a single enemy. Henceforthhe must acknowledge plural enmities.

  And along that line of reasoning the next step followed logically.

  Who would suggest himself as so natural a leader for a murderenterprise as Sam Mosebury, whose record was established in suchmatters? Certainly if this suspicion were well-founded it would besafest to know.

  Spurrier, despite all he had heard of Sam Mosebury, was reluctant toentertain the thought. The man might be, as Cappeze painted him, thehead and front of an infamously vicious system, yet there wassomething engaging and likable about him, which made it hard tobelieve that for hire or any motive not nearly personal he would haveconspired to do murder.

  So among the many claims upon Spurrier's attention was the effort tofind out where Sam Mosebury stood, and it was while he was thinkingof that problem that he encountered the object of his thoughts inperson. The spot was one distant from his own house. Indeed it wasnear Colby's cabin--still apparently empty--that the meeting tookplace.

  The opportunity hound had made several trips over there of late,because he required to know something of Colby's activities, and, ofcourse, when he came he observed a surreptitious caution which soughtto guard against any hint leaking through to Colby of his ownsurveillance. He firmly believed that Sim was "hiding out," and thatdespite the seeming emptiness of his habitation he was not far away.

  So it was Spurrier, the law-abiding man, who was skulking in thelaurel while the notorious Mosebury walked the highway "upstanding"and openly--and the man in the thicket stooped low to escapediscovery. But his foot slipped in the tangle and a rotting branchcracked under it, giving out a sound which brought Mosebury to anabrupt halt with his head warily raised and his rifle poised. He, too,had enemies and must walk in caution.

  There had been times when Sam's life had hinged on just such trivialthings as the snapping of a twig, and now, peering through thethickets Spurrier saw a flinty hardness come into his eyes.

  Sam stepped quietly but swiftly to the roadside and sheltered himselfbehind a rock. He said no word, but he waited, and Spurrier could feelthat his eyes were boring into his own place of concealment with ascrutiny that went over it studiously and keenly, foot by foot.

  He hurriedly considered what plan to pursue. If Mosebury was inleague with Colby, to show himself would be almost as undesirable athing as to show himself to Colby direct. Yet if he stayed there withthe guilty seeming of one in hiding, Mosebury would end by locatinghim--and might assume that the hiding was itself a proof of enmity. Hedecided to declare himself so he shouted boldly: "It's John Spurrier,"and rose a moment later into view.

  Then he came forward, thinking fast, and when the two met in the road,mendaciously said:

  "I guess it looks queer for a man with a clear conscience to take tothe timber that way, Mr. Mosebury--but you may remember that I wasrecently attacked, and I don't know who did it."

  Mosebury nodded. "I'd be ther last man ter fault ye fer thet," heconcurred. "I was doin' nigh erbout ther same thing myself, but Ididn't know ye often fared over this way, Mr. Spurrier."

  "No, it's off my beat." Spurrier was now lying fluently in what hefancied was to be a game of wits with a man who might have led thesiege upon his house. "I was just going over to Stamp Carter's place.He wanted me to advise him about a property deal."

  For a space Sam stood gravely thoughtful, and when he spoke his wordsastonished the other.

  "Seein' we _hev_ met up, accidental-like, I've got hit in head tertell ye somethin' deespite hit ain't rightly none of my business."Again he paused, and it was plain that he was laboring underembarrassment, so Spurrier inquired:

  "What is it?"

  "Of course, I've done heered ther talk erbout yore bein' attacked.Don't ye really suspicion no special man?"

  "Suspicion is one thing, Mr. Mosebury, and knowledge is another."

  "Yes, thet's Bible truth, an' yit I wouldn't marvel none yoresuspicions went over thet-away--an' came up not fur off from hyar." Henodded his head toward Sim Colby's house, and Spurrier, who wassteeled to fence, gave no indication of astonishment. He onlyinquired:

  "Why should Mr. Colby hold a grudge against me?"

  "I ain't got no power of knowin' thet." Mosebury spoke dryly. "An' esI said afore, hit ain't none of my business nohow--still I does knowthet ye've been over hyar some sev'ral times, an' every time ye came,ye came quietlike es ef ye sought ter see Sim afore Sim seed _you_."

  "You think I've been here before?"

  "No, sir, I don't think hit. I knows hit. I seed ye."

  "Saw me!"

  "Yes, sir, seed ye. Hit's my business to keep a peeled eye in myface."

  So Spurrier's careful secrecy had been transparent after all, and ifthis man was an ally of Colby's, Colby already shared his knowledge.More than ever Spurrier felt sure that his suspicions of the man whoseeyes had changed color, were grounded in truth.

  "Howsomever," went on Mosebury quietly, "I ain't nuver drapped no hintter Sim erbout hit. I ain't, gin'rally speakin', no meddler, but ef sobe I kin forewarn ye ergainst harm, hit would pleasure me ter dohit."

  There was a cordial ring of sincerity in the manner and voice, whichit was hard to doubt, so the other said gravely:

  "Thank you. I did suspect Colby, but I have no proof."

  "I don't know whether Sim grudges ye or not," continued Mosebury. "Heain't nuver named ther matter ter me nowise, guise, ner fashion--butSim _wasn't with ther crowd thet went atter ye_. He didn't even knownothin' erbout hit. Sometimes a man comes to grief by barkin' up therwrong tree."

  Again suspicion came to the front. This savored strongly of an attemptto alibi a confederate, and Spurrier inquired bluntly:

  "Since you broached this subject, I think it's fair to ask you anotherquestion. You tell me who _didn't_ come. Do you know who _did_?"

  For a moment Mosebury's face remained blank, then he spoke stiffly.

  "I said I'd be glad ter warn ye--but I didn't say I war willin' tername no names. Thet would be mighty nigh ther same thing es takin'yore quarrel onto myself."

  "Then that's all you can tell me--that it wasn'
t Colby?"

  "Mr. Spurrier," rejoined the mountaineer seriously, "ye _knows_jedgmatically an' p'intedly thet ye've got enemies that meansbusiness. I ain't nuver seed a man yet in these hills what belittled aperil sich as yourn thet didn't pay fer hit--with his life."

  "I don't belittle it, but what can I do?"

  Sam Mosebury stood with a gaze that wandered off over the broken skyline. So grave was his demeanor that when his words came they carriedthe shock of inconsistent absurdity.

  "Thar's a witch woman, thet dwells nigh hyar. Ef I war in youre stid,I'd git her ter read ther signs fer me an' tell me what I had needguard ergainst most."

  "I'm afraid," answered Spurrier, repressing his contempt withdifficulty, "I'm too skeptical to pin my faith to signs and omens."

  Again the mountain man was looking gravely across the hills, but for amoment the eyes had flashed humorously.

  "I reckon we don't need ter cavil over thet, Mr. Spurrier. I don't sotno master store by witchcraft foolery my ownself. Mebby ye recallsthet oncet I told ye a leetle story erbout my cat an' my mockin'bird."

  "Yes," Spurrier began to understand now. "You sometimes speak inallegory. But this time I don't get the meaning."

  "Waal, hit's this fashion. I _don't_ know who ther men war thet triedter kill ye. Thet's God's truth, but I've got my own notions an' mebbythey ain't fur wrong. I ain't goin' ter name no names--but ef so be yewants ter talk ter ther witch woman, _I'll_ hev speech with her fust.What comes outen magic kain't hardly make me no enemies--but mebby hit_mout_ enable ye ter discern somethin' thet would profit ye to amaster degree."

  Spurrier stood looking into the face of the other and then impulsivelyhe thrust out his hand.

  "Mr. Mosebury," he said, "I'll be honest with you. I half suspectedyou--because I'd met you at Colby's and I knew you hated Cappeze. Iowe you an apology, and I'm glad to know I was wrong."

  "Mr. Spurrier," replied the other, "ef I _hed_ attempted yore life Iwouldn't hev failed, an', moreover, I don't hate old Cappeze. Ther manthet wins out don't hev no need ter harbor hatreds. He hates mebecause he sought ter penitentiary me--an' failed."

  "When shall we go to consult the oracle?" asked Spurrier, and Moseburyshook his head.

  "I reckon mebby I mout seem over cautious--even timorouslike ter ye,in bein' so heedful erbout keepin' outen sight in this matter," hesaid. "But them thet knows my record, knows I _ain't_, jest ter sayeasy skeered. You go home an' wait an' afore long I'll write ye aletter, tellin' ye when ter go an' how ter go. Then ye kin make therjourney by yoreself."

  "That looks like common sense to me," declared the other, and he wenthome, forgetting the witch woman on the way, because of the other andlovelier witchcraft that he knew awaited him in his own house.

  Spurrier, despite his dangers, responsibilities, and conflict ofpurposes, was happy. He was happy in a simpler and less complicatedway than he had ever been before, because his heart was in theascendancy, and Glory, he thought, was "livin' up to her name."

  If he could have thrust some other things into the same dark cupboardof half-contemptuous philosophy to which he relegated his own dangers,he might have been even happier. But a mentor who had rarely troubledhim in past years became insistent and audible through thesilences--speaking with the voice of conscience.

  He remembered telling Vivian Harrison, over the consomme, that pearlsdid not make oysters happy and that these illiterates of the hillsmight have hidden wealth in the shells of their isolation and gainnothing more than the oyster. Indeed, he had thought of them no morethan the pearl fisherman thinks of the low form of life whose diseasedstate gives birth to treasure. They inhabited a terrain over which heand the forces of American Oil and Gas were to do battle, and likebirds nesting on a battlefield, they must take their chances.

  It was no longer possible to maintain that callous indifference. Thesemen, to whom he could not, without disclosing his strategy anddefeating his purpose, tell the truth, had befriended him.

  They were human and in many ways lovable. If he succeeded, they would,upon his own advice, have sold their birthrights.

  However, he gave an anodyne to his conscience with the thought that ifvictory came to him there would be wealth enough for all to share.Having won his conquest, he could be generous, rendering back as agift a part of what should have been theirs by right. The means ofdoing this he had worked out but he could confide to no one. He hadembarked as cold bloodedly as Martin Harrison had ever started on anyof the enterprises that had made him a money baron. Indeed it had beenSpurrier who had fired the chief with interest in the scheme, and ifthe thing were culpable the culpability had been his own. Then he hadcome to realize that in the human equation was a factor that he hadignored: the rights of the ignorant native. He had fought down thatrecognition as the voice of sentimentality until at last he had nolonger been able to fight it down. Between those two states of mindhad been a war of mental agony and conflict, of doubt, of vacillation.The conclusion had not been easily reached. Now he meant to carry onthe war he had undertaken unaltered as to its objective of winning avictory for Harrison over Trabue and the myrmidons of A. O. and G.,but he meant to bring in that victory in such a guise that the nativewould share in the division of the spoils. He knew that Harrison, ifhe had an intimation of such an amendment of plan, would sharply vetoit, but when the thing was done it would be too late to object--andmeanwhile Spurrier regarded himself no less the trustee of themountain-land holder than the servant of Martin Harrison. He waswilling to shoulder, out of his own stipulated profits, the chiefburden of this division, and in the end he would have driven a betterbargain for his simple friends than they could have hoped to attainfor themselves.

  Yet in him was being reborn an element of character, which had longbeen repressed.

  And there in the other section of the State where politicalconnections had to be established and the skids of intrigue greased,much stood waiting to be done. Already most of what could beaccomplished here on the ground had progressed to a point from whichthe end could be seen.

  John Spurrier, the seeming idler, could control almost all theterritory needful for his right of way--all except a tract belongingto Brother Bud Hawkins, cautiously left for the last because hewished to handle that himself and did not yet wish to appear in thenegotiations.

  In the intricate workings of such a project by a campaign of secrecy,the matter was not only one of acquiring a certain expanse of adefinite sort of property in a given region, but of acquiring holdingsthat commanded the only practicable route through passable gaps. Thisspecial lie and trend of ground he thought of and spoke of, in hisbusiness correspondence, as "the neck of the bottle." When he held it,it mattered little who else had liquid in the bottle. It could comeout only through his neck and, therefore, under his terms. Yet evenwhen that was achieved, there remained the need of the corkscrewwithout which he himself could make no use of his range-wide jug ofcrude petroleum. That corkscrew was the charter to be had from alegislature where American Oil and Gas was supposed to have sentinelsat the door.

  He could not take Glory with him on these trips, because Glory was ofthe hills, and loyal to the hills--and he could not yet take thenatives into his confidence. For the same reason he could give heronly business reasons of the most general and evasive character forleaving her behind.

  But the work that Spurrier had done so far was only the primarysection of a broader design. What he had accomplished affected the oilfield on the remote side of Hemlock Mountain, the part of the fieldthat the earlier boom had never touched, and his entire project lookedto a totality embracing also the "nigh" side, where his operationsstill existed only in projection.

  It was while this situation stood that there came to him one day twoletters calling upon him for two irreconcilable courses of action. Onewas from Louisville, urging him to return there at once to busyhimself with political plannings; the other was a rude scrawl from SamMosebury setting an appointment with the "witch woman."

  Spurrier was reluctant
to go to Louisville. It meant laying aside thelittle paradise of the present for the putting on of heavy harness. Itnecessitated another excuse to Glory, and more than that, being awayfrom Glory. Yet that was the bugle call of his mission, and he fanciedthat whatever threatened him here in the hills was a menace of localeffect. If that were true he would not need the warning which theunaccountable desperado, Sam Mosebury, meant to relay to him throughchannels of alleged magic, until he came back.

  Therefore, the witch could wait. But in that detail Spurrier erred,and when he answered the summons that called him to town without hisoccult consultation, he unwittingly discarded a warning which heneeded there no less than in the hills.

  He was called upon to choose a turning without pause, and he followedhis business instincts. It happened that instinct misled him.