DAY was whitening on the Stetson shore.Across the river the air was still sharp with the chill of dawn,and the mists lay like flocks of sheep under shelter of rock and crag.A peculiar cry radiated from the Lewallen cabin with singular resonance on the crisp air-the mountain cry for straying cattle.A soft low came from a distant patch of laurel,and old Jasper's girl,Martha,folded.her hands like a conch at her mouth,and the shrill cry again startled the air.
Ye better come,ye pieded cow-brute."Picking up a cedar piggin,she stepped from the porch toward the meek voice that had answered her.Temper and exertion had brought the quick blood to her face.Her head was bare,her thick hair was loosely coiled,and her brown arms were naked almost to the shoulder.At the stable a young mountaineer was overhauling his riding-gear.
Air you goin'to ride the hoss to-day,Jas?"she asked,querulously.
"That's jes whut I was aimin'to do.I'm a-goin'to town."Well,I 'lowed I was goin'to mill to-day.The co'n is 'mos'gone.""Well,y'u 'lowed wrong,"he answered,imperturbably.
Y'u're mean,Jas Lewallen,"she cried,hotly;"that's whut ye air,mean-dog-mean!
The young mountaineer looked up,whistled softly,and laughed.
But when he brought his horse to the door an hour later there was a bag of corn across the saddle.
"As ye air so powerful sot on goin'to mill,whether or no,I'll leave this hyeh sack at the bend O'the road,'n'ye kin git it thar.I'll bring the meal back ef ye puts it in the same place.I hates to see women-folks a-ridin'this horse.Hit spiles him."The horse was a dapple-gray of unusual beauty,and as the girl reached out her hand to stroke his throat,he turned to nibble at her arm.
"I reckon he'd jes as lieve have me ride him as you,Jas,"she said.
"Me 'n'him have got to be great friends.Ye orter n't to be so stingy."Well,he ain't no hoss to be left out'n the bresh now,'n'I hain't goin'to 'low it."
Old Jasper had lounged out of the kitchen door,and stood with his huge bulk against a shrinking pillar of the porch.The two men were much alike.Both had the same black,threatening brows meeting over the bridge of the nose.A kind of grim humor lurked about the old man's mouth,which time might trace about young Jasper's.The girl's face had no humor;the same square brows,apart and clearly marked,gave it a strong,serious cast,and while she had the Lewallen fire,she favored her mother enough,so the neighbors said,"to have a mighty mild,takin'way about her ef she wanted."You're right,Jas,"the old mountaineer said;"the hoss air a sin 'n'temptation.Hit do me good ever'time I look at him.Thar air no sech hoss,I tell ye,this side o'the settlements."The boy started away,and the old man followed,and halted him out of the girl's hearing.
"Tell Eli Crump 'n'Jim Stover to watch the Breathitt road close now,"he said,in a low voice."See all them citizens I tol'ye,'n'tell 'em to be ready when I says the word.Thar's no tellin'whut's goin'to happen."Young Jasper nodded his head,and struck his horse into a gallop.
The old man lighted his pipe,and turned back to the house.The girl,bonnet in hand,was starting for the valley.
"Thar ain't no use goin'to Gabe Bunch's fer yer grist,"he said."The mill on Dead Crick's a-runnin'ag'in,'n'I don't want ye over thar axin favors,specially jes now.""I lef'somethin'fer ye to eat,dad,"she replied,"ef ye gits hungry before I git back."You heerd me?"he called after her,knitting his brows.
Yes,dad;I heerd ye,"she answered,adding to herself,"But I don't heed ye."In truth,the girl heeded nobody.It was not her way to ask consent,even her own,nor to follow advice.At the bend of the road she found the bag,and for an instant she stood wavering.An impulse turned her to the river,and she loosed the boat,and headed it across the swift,shallow water from the ford and straight toward the mill.At every stroke of her paddle the water rose above the prow of the boat,and,blown into spray,flew back and drenched her;the wind loosed her hair,and,tugging at her skirts,draped her like a statue;and she fought them,wind and water,with mouth set and a smile in her eyes.One sharp struggle still,where the creek leaped into freedom;the mouth grew a little firmer,the eyes laughed more,the keel grated on pebbles,and the boat ran its nose into the withered sedge on the Stetson shore.
A tall gray figure was pouring grain into the hopper when she reached the door of the mill.She stopped abruptly,Rome Stetson turned,and again the two were face to face.No greeting passed.
The girl lifted her head with a little toss that deepened the set look about the mountaineer's mouth;her lax figure grew tense as though strung suddenly against some coming harm,and her eyes searched the shadows without once resting on him.
Whar's Uncle Gabe?"She spoke shortly,and as to a stranger.
Gone to town,"said Rome,composedly.He had schooled himself for this meeting.
When's he comm'back?
Not 'fore night,I reckon."
Whar's Isom?
Isom's sick."
Well,who's tendin'this mill?
For answer he tossed the empty bag into the corner and,without looking at her,picked up another bag.
"I reckon ye see me,don't ye?"he asked,coolly."Hev a cheer,and rest a spell.Hit's a purty long climb whar you come from."The girl was confused.She stayed in the doorway,a little helpless and suspicious.What was Rome Stetson doing here?His mastery of the situation,his easy confidence,puzzled and irritated her.
Should she leave?The mountaineer was a Stetson,a worm to tread on if it crawled across the path.It would be like backing down before an enemy.He might laugh at her after she was gone,and,at that thought,she sat down in the chair with composed face,looking through the door at the tumbling water,which broke with a thousand tints under the sun,but able still to see Rome,sidewise,as he moved about the hopper,whistling softly.
Once she looked around,fancying she saw a smile on his sober face.Their eyes came near meeting,and she turned quite away.
