The Trail of the Lonesome Pine

by John Fox

  XIII

  Hale rode that night under a brilliant moon to the worm of a railroadthat had been creeping for many years toward the Gap. The head of it wasjust protruding from the Natural Tunnel twenty miles away. There hesent his horse back, slept in a shanty till morning, and then the traincrawled through a towering bench of rock. The mouth of it on the otherside opened into a mighty amphitheatre with solid rock walls shootingvertically hundreds of feet upward. Vertically, he thought--with theback of his head between his shoulders as he looked up--they were morethan vertical--they were actually concave. The Almighty had not onlystored riches immeasurable in the hills behind him--He had driven thispassage Himself to help puny man to reach them, and yet the wretchedroad was going toward them like a snail. On the fifth night, thereafterhe was back there at the tunnel again from New York--with a grim mouthand a happy eye. He had brought success with him this time and there wasno sleep for him that night. He had been delayed by a wreck, it was twoo'clock in the morning, and not a horse was available; so he startedthose twenty miles afoot, and day was breaking when he looked down onthe little valley shrouded in mist and just wakening from sleep.

  Things had been moving while he was away, as he quickly learned.The English were buying lands right and left at the gap sixty milessouthwest. Two companies had purchased most of the town-site where hewas--HIS town-site--and were going to pool their holdings and form animprovement company. But a good deal was left, and straightway Hale gota map from his office and with it in his hand walked down the curve ofthe river and over Poplar Hill and beyond. Early breakfast was readywhen he got back to the hotel. He swallowed a cup of coffee so hastilythat it burned him, and June, when she passed his window on her way toschool, saw him busy over his desk. She started to shout to him, buthe looked so haggard and grim that she was afraid, and went on, vaguelyhurt by a preoccupation that seemed quite to have excluded her. For twohours then, Hale haggled and bargained, and at ten o'clock he went tothe telegraph office. The operator who was speculating in a small wayhimself smiled when he read the telegram.

  "A thousand an acre?" he repeated with a whistle. "You could have gotthat at twenty-five per--three months ago."

  "I know," said Hale, "there's time enough yet." Then he went to hisroom, pulled the blinds down and went to sleep, while rumour played withhis name through the town.

  It was nearly the closing hour of school when, dressed and freshlyshaven, he stepped out into the pale afternoon and walked up toward theschoolhouse. The children were pouring out of the doors. At the gatethere was a sudden commotion, he saw a crimson figure flash into thegroup that had stopped there, and flash out, and then June came swiftlytoward him followed closely by a tall boy with a cap on his head. Thatfar away he could see that she was angry and he hurried toward her. Herface was white with rage, her mouth was tight and her dark eyes wereaflame. Then from the group another tall boy darted out and behindhim ran a smaller one, bellowing. Hale heard the boy with the cap callkindly:

  "Hold on, little girl! I won't let 'em touch you." June stopped with himand Hale ran to them.

  "Here," he called, "what's the matter?"

  June burst into crying when she saw him and leaned over the fencesobbing. The tall lad with the cap had his back to Hale, and he waitedtill the other two boys came up. Then he pointed to the smaller one andspoke to Hale without looking around.

  "Why, that little skate there was teasing this little girl and--"

  "She slapped him," said Hale grimly. The lad with the cap turned. Hiseyes were dancing and the shock of curly hair that stuck from his absurdlittle cap shook with his laughter.

  "Slapped him! She knocked him as flat as a pancake."

  "Yes, an' you said you'd stand fer her," said the other tall boy who wasplainly a mountain lad. He was near bursting with rage.

  "You bet I will," said the boy with the cap heartily, "right now!" andhe dropped his books to the ground.

  "Hold on!" said Hale, jumping between them. "You ought to be ashamed ofyourself," he said to the mountain boy.

  "I wasn't atter the gal," he said indignantly. "I was comin' fer him."

  The boy with the cap tried to get away from Hale's grasp.

  "No use, sir," he said coolly. "You'd better let us settle it now. We'llhave to do it some time. I know the breed. He'll fight all right andthere's no use puttin' it off. It's got to come."

  "You bet it's got to come," said the mountain lad. "You can't call mybrother names."

  "Well, he IS a skate," said the boy with the cap, with no heat at all inspite of his indignation, and Hale wondered at his aged calm.

  "Every one of you little tads," he went on coolly, waving his hand atthe gathered group, "is a skate who teases this little girl. And youolder boys are skates for letting the little ones do it, the whole packof you--and I'm going to spank any little tadpole who does it hereafter,and I'm going to punch the head off any big one who allows it. It's gotto stop NOW!" And as Hale dragged him off he added to the mountain boy,"and I'm going to begin with you whenever you say the word." Hale waslaughing now.

  "You don't seem to understand," he said, "this is my affair."

  "I beg your pardon, sir, I don't understand."

  "Why, I'm taking care of this little girl."

  "Oh, well, you see I didn't know that. I've only been here two days.But"--his frank, generous face broke into a winning smile--"you don't goto school. You'll let me watch out for her there?"

  "Sure! I'll be very grateful."

  "Not at all, sir--not at all. It was a great pleasure and I think I'llhave lots of fun." He looked at June, whose grateful eyes had hardlyleft his face.

  "So don't you soil your little fist any more with any of 'em, but justtell me--er--er--"

  "June," she said, and a shy smile came through her tears.

  "June," he finished with a boyish laugh. "Good-by sir."

  "You haven't told me your name."

  "I suppose you know my brothers, sir, the Berkleys."

  "I should say so," and Hale held out his hand. "You're Bob?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I knew you were coming, and I'm mighty glad to see you. I hope you andJune will be good friends and I'll be very glad to have you watch overher when I'm away."

  "I'd like nothing better, sir," he said cheerfully, and quiteimpersonally as far as June was concerned. Then his eyes lighted up.

  "My brothers don't seem to want me to join the Police Guard. Won't yousay a word for me?"

  "I certainly will."

  "Thank you, sir."

  That "sir" no longer bothered Hale. At first he had thought it a markof respect to his superior age, and he was not particularly pleased, butwhen he knew now that the lad was another son of the old gentleman whomhe saw riding up the valley every morning on a gray horse, withseveral dogs trailing after him--he knew the word was merely a familycharacteristic of old-fashioned courtesy.

  "Isn't he nice, June?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "Have you missed me, June?"

  June slid her hand into his. "I'm so glad you come back." They wereapproaching the gate now.

  "June, you said you weren't going to cry any more." June's head drooped.

  "I know, but I jes' can't help it when I git mad," she said seriously."I'd bust if I didn't."

  "All right," said Hale kindly.

  "I've cried twice," she said.

  "What were you mad about the other time?"

  "I wasn't mad."

  "Then why did you cry, June?"

  Her dark eyes looked full at him a moment and then her long lashes hidthem.

  "Cause you was so good to me."

  Hale choked suddenly and patted her on the shoulder.

  "Go in, now, little girl, and study. Then you must take a walk. I've gotsome work to do. I'll see you at supper time."

  "All right," said June. She turned at the gate to watch Hale enter thehotel, and as she started indoors, she heard a horse coming at a gallopand she turned again to see her cousin, Dave
Tolliver, pull up in frontof the house. She ran back to the gate and then she saw that he wasswaying in his saddle.

  "Hello, June!" he called thickly.

  Her face grew hard and she made no answer.

  "I've come over to take ye back home."

  She only stared at him rebukingly, and he straightened in his saddlewith an effort at self-control--but his eyes got darker and he lookedugly.

  "D'you hear me? I've come over to take ye home."

  "You oughter be ashamed o' yourself," she said hotly, and she turned togo back into the house.

  "Oh, you ain't ready now. Well, git ready an' we'll start in themornin'. I'll be aroun' fer ye 'bout the break o' day."

  He whirled his horse with an oath--June was gone. She saw him rideswaying down the street and she ran across to the hotel and found Halesitting in the office with another man. Hale saw her entering the doorswiftly, he knew something was wrong and he rose to meet her.

  "Dave's here," she whispered hurriedly, "an' he says he's come to takeme home."

  "Well," said Hale, "he won't do it, will he?" June shook her head andthen she said significantly:

  "Dave's drinkin'."

  Hale's brow clouded. Straightway he foresaw trouble--but he saidcheerily:

  "All right. You go back and keep in the house and I'll be over by andby and we'll talk it over." And, without another word, she went. She hadmeant to put on her new dress and her new shoes and stockings that nightthat Hale might see her--but she was in doubt about doing it when shegot to her room. She tried to study her lessons for the next day, butshe couldn't fix her mind on them. She wondered if Dave might not getinto a fight or, perhaps, he would get so drunk that he would goto sleep somewhere--she knew that men did that after drinking verymuch--and, anyhow, he would not bother her until next morning, and thenhe would be sober and would go quietly back home. She was so comfortedthat she got to thinking about the hair of the girl who sat in front ofher at school. It was plaited and she had studied just how it was doneand she began to wonder whether she could fix her own that way. Soshe got in front of the mirror and loosened hers in a mass about hershoulders--the mass that was to Hale like the golden bronze of a wildturkey's wing. The other girl's plaits were the same size, so that thehair had to be equally divided--thus she argued to herself--but how didthat girl manage to plait it behind her back? She did it in front, ofcourse, so June divided the bronze heap behind her and pulled one halfof it in front of her and then for a moment she was helpless. Thenshe laughed--it must be done like the grass-blades and strings she hadplaited for Bub, of course, so, dividing that half into three parts, shedid the plaiting swiftly and easily. When it was finished she looked atthe braid, much pleased--for it hung below her waist and was much longerthan any of the other girls' at school. The transition was easy now, sointerested had she become. She got out her tan shoes and stockingsand the pretty white dress and put them on. The millpond was dark withshadows now, and she went down the stairs and out to the gate just asDave again pulled up in front of it. He stared at the vision wonderinglyand long, and then he began to laugh with the scorn of soberness and thesilliness of drink.

  "YOU ain't June, air ye?" The girl never moved. As if by a preconcertedsignal three men moved toward the boy, and one of them said sternly:

  "Drop that pistol. You are under arrest.' The boy glared like a wildthing trapped, from one to another of the three--a pistol gleamed in thehand of each--and slowly thrust his own weapon into his pocket.

  "Get off that horse," added the stern voice. Just then Hale rushedacross the street and the mountain youth saw him.

  "Ketch his pistol," cried June, in terror for Hale--for she knew whatwas coming, and one of the men caught with both hands the wrist ofDave's arm as it shot behind him.

  "Take him to the calaboose!"

  At that June opened the gate--that disgrace she could never stand--butHale spoke.

  "I know him, boys. He doesn't mean any harm. He doesn't know theregulations yet. Suppose we let him go home."

  "All right," said Logan. "The calaboose or home. Will you go home?"

  In the moment, the mountain boy had apparently forgotten his captors--hewas staring at June with wonder, amazement, incredulity strugglingthrough the fumes in his brain to his flushed face. She--a Tolliver--hadwarned a stranger against her own blood-cousin.

  "Will you go home?" repeated Logan sternly.

  The boy looked around at the words, as though he were half dazed, andhis baffled face turned sick and white.

  "Lemme loose!" he said sullenly. "I'll go home." And he rode silentlyaway, after giving Hale a vindictive look that told him plainer thanwords that more was yet to come. Hale had heard June's warning cry, butnow when he looked for her she was gone. He went in to supper and satdown at the table and still she did not come.

  "She's got a surprise for you," said Mrs. Crane, smiling mysteriously."She's been fixing for you for an hour. My! but she's pretty in them newclothes--why, June!"

  June was coming in--she wore her homespun, her scarlet homespun and thePsyche knot. She did not seem to have heard Mrs. Crane's note of wonder,and she sat quietly down in her seat. Her face was pale and she did notlook at Hale. Nothing was said of Dave--in fact, June said nothing atall, and Hale, too, vaguely understanding, kept quiet. Only when he wentout, Hale called her to the gate and put one hand on her head.

  "I'm sorry, little girl."

  The girl lifted her great troubled eyes to him, but no word passed herlips, and Hale helplessly left her.

  June did not cry that night. She sat by the window--wretched andtearless. She had taken sides with "furriners" against her own people.That was why, instinctively, she had put on her old homespun with avague purpose of reparation to them. She knew the story Dave would takeback home--the bitter anger that his people and hers would feel atthe outrage done him--anger against the town, the Guard, against Halebecause he was a part of both and even against her. Dave was merelydrunk, he had simply shot off his pistol--that was no harm in thehills. And yet everybody had dashed toward him as though he had stolensomething--even Hale. Yes, even that boy with the cap who had stood upfor her at school that afternoon--he had rushed up, his face aflame withexcitement, eager to take part should Dave resist. She had cried outimpulsively to save Hale, but Dave would not understand. No, in his eyesshe had been false to family and friends--to the clan--she had sidedwith "furriners." What would her father say? Perhaps she'd better gohome next day--perhaps for good--for there was a deep unrest within herthat she could not fathom, a premonition that she was at the parting ofthe ways, a vague fear of the shadows that hung about the strange newpath on which her feet were set. The old mill creaked in the moonlightbelow her. Sometimes, when the wind blew up Lonesome Cove, she couldhear Uncle Billy's wheel creaking just that way. A sudden pang ofhomesickness choked her, but she did not cry. Yes, she would go homenext day. She blew out the light and undressed in the dark as she didat home and went to bed. And that night the little night-gown lay apartfrom her in the drawer--unfolded and untouched.