Part 8

He did not go towards the house and out at the gate, but took a nearer way through the orchard, reaching the rail-fence a hundred yards below Porter's house. He had just climbed over and was detaching himself from the detaining clutch of numerous blackberry briers, when he saw a head and pair of shoulders rise from a near-by fence-corner.

It was Pole Baker who advanced to him in astonishment.

“By gum!” Pole ejaculated. “I come as nigh as pease lettin' a pistol-shot fly at you. I was passin' an' heard some'n' in the orchard an' 'lowed it mought be somebody try in' to rob Porter's sweet-potato bed, an', by the holy Moses, it was you!”

“Yes, it was me, Pole.”

The farmer's slow glance left Floyd's face and swept critically along the fence to the white-posted gate in the distance.

“Huh!” he said, and was silent, his eyes roving on to the orchard, where his glance hovered in troubled perplexity.

“Yes, I went to see Miss Cynthia,” Floyd explained, after a pause.

“Huh, you say you did! Well, I didn't see no light in the parlor when I passed jest now'. I was particular to look, fer I've been everywhar to find you, an' Porter's was the last place. By gum! I didn't think a chap that had been kick'n' the clods o' the grave off'n 'im all day fer a woman scrape 'ud run straight to another gal before he knowed whether his hide was liable to remain solid or not.”

“I wanted to see Miss Cynthia,” Floyd said, “to ask her to go to bush-arbor meeting with me Sunday, and I didn't intend to let my affair with Jeff Wade interfere with it.”

“Huh, that was it! an' that's why you are a-comin' out o' Nathan Porter's orchard at eleven o'clock at night, is it?”

Floyd gazed at his rough friend for an instant, just a touch of irritability in his manner as he made answer:

“Miss Cynthia and I were sitting in the grape arbor, behind the house. She only stayed a minute or two. I sat there a long time after she went in. I was smoking and was beastly tired.”

“I see, I see!” Pole was slightly mollified, but was still to be heard from.

“Now, let me tell you some'n', Nelson,” he pursued. “Thar hain't no flower that ever bloomed an' throwed out sweet smells that's as nice an' purty as a pure young gal that's got good, honorable parents, an' the reputation of a creature like that is more valuable in my sight than all the gold an' diamonds on earth.”

“You certainly are right about that,” Floyd agreed, coldly, for he was secretly resenting Pole's implied warning.

“Well, then,” Baker said, even more sternly, “don't you climb out'n Nathan Porter's orchard at this time o' night ag'in, when thar's a gate with a latch an' hinges to it right before yore eyes. What ef you'd 'a' been seed by some tattlin' busybody? You hain't got no more right to run the risk--_the bare risk_, I say--o' castin' a stain on that little gal's name than I have to set fire to yore store an' burn it to the ground. The shack could be built up ag'in, but that fair name 'ud never be the same ag'in.”

“You are thoroughly right, Pole,” Floyd said, regretfully. “I can see it now. But I'm rather sorry to see you throw it at a feller quite so hard.”

“I reckon I'm sorter upset,” the farmer said, half apologetically, as they walked on. “I reckon it was my talk with Jeff Wade about his sister that got me started. That's mighty nigh broke him all to pieces, Nelson.”

“So you met Wade!” Floyd said, quickly. “I thought perhaps you stopped him.”

“You thought I did? What made you think I did?”

“Why, when I'd waited till about one o'clock,” Floyd replied, “I started out to Wade's, and--”

“You say you started out thar?”

“Yes, I knew he meant business, and I wanted it settled, one way or the other, so that I could go back to work, or--”

“Or turn yore toes to the sky, you fool!”

“I started to say,” Floyd went on, “that I knew something had interfered with his coming, and--”

“He'd 'a' shot seventeen holes in you or 'a' put seventeen balls in one!” Pole cried, in high disgust. “I finally fixed him all right, but he wasn't in no frame o' mind to have you come to his house an' rub it in on 'im. However, you hain't told me what made you think I stopped 'im.”

“Why,” said Floyd, “just as I was starting away from the spring, Mel Jones came running down the hill. He'd been hiding behind a big rock up there to see the affair, and was awfully disappointed. He begged me to wait a little longer, and said he was sure Jeff would come on. Then he told me he saw you in the road near Wade's house, and I understood the whole thing. I guess I owe my life to you, Pole. It isn't worth much, but I'm glad to have it, and I'd rather owe you for it than any one I know. What did you say to Wade?”

“Oh, I told 'im all I knowed about that little frisky piece, and opened his eyes generally. It's all off, Nelson. He'll let you alone in the future. He's badly broke up, but it's mostly over findin' out what the gal was.”

They had reached the point where their ways separated, when they heard several pistol-shots on the mountain road not far away, and prolonged shouting.

“White Caps,” said Pole, succinctly. “They're out on another rampage. Old Mrs. Snodgrass, by some hook or crook, generally gits on to the'r plans an' comes over an' reports it to Sally. They are on the'r way now to whip Sandy McHugh. They've got reliable proof that he stole Widow Henry's pigs, an' they are goin' to make 'im a proposition. They are a-goin' to give 'im his choice betwixt a sound whippin' an' reportin' the matter to the grand jury. They want him to take the lickin' so he kin stay on an' work fer his wife and childem. I reckon that's what he'll decide to do. Sandy ain't in no shape to go to the penitentiary.”

“I guess he deserves punishment of some sort,” said Floyd, abstractedly, “though it's a pity to have our society regulated by a band of mountain outlaws.”

“They certainly set matters straight over at Darley,” Pole said. “They broke up them nigger dives, an' made it safe fer white women to go to prayer-meetin' at night. Say, Nelson, I'm sorter sorry I spoke so hard back thar about that little gal's reputation, but the very thought o' the slightest harm ever comin' to her runs me wild. I never have spoke to you about it, but I tuck a deliberate oath once to protect 'er with my life, ef necessary. You see, she's been more than a friend to me. Last winter, while I was off on one o' my benders, little Billy got sick. He had the croup an' come as nigh as pease dyin'; he could hardly breathe. It was a awful night, rainin', snowin', sleetin', an' blowin'. Sally left him long enough to run over to Porter's to beg somebody to run fer Dr. Stone, an' Cynthia come to the door an' promised it ud be done. She tried to git old Nathan up an' dressed, but he was so slow about it--grumblin' all the time about women bein' scared at nothin'--that Cynthia plunged out in the storm an' went them two miles herself, an' fetched the doctor jest in the nick o' time. Then she stayed thar the rest o' that night in 'er wet clothes, doin' ever'thing she could to help, holdin' Billy in her arms, an' rockin' 'im back an' forth, while I was--by God, Nelson Floyd, I was lyin' under the table in Asque's bar so drunk I didn't know my hat from a hole in the ground. An' when I heard all about it afterwards, I tuck my oath. I was in the stable feedin' my hoss; he heard all I said, Nelson, an' I'll be demed ef I don't believe he understood it. I'm here to say that ef anybody don't believe I'll put a ball in the man that dares to say one word agin that little angel, all he's got to do is to try it! This is a hell of a community fer idle talk, anyway, as you know from yore own experience, an' ef any of it ever touches that gal's fair name I'll kill tatlers as fast as they open the'r dirty mouths.”

“That's the way to look at it, Pole,” Nelson Floyd said, as he turned to go; “but you'll never have anything to fear in that direction. Good-night.”

“Good-night, Nelson. I'll see you in the mornin'. I ought to 'a' been in bed two hours ago.”

XII

WELL I hear that Sandy McHugh tuck his whippin' like a little man last night,” Pole remarked to Captain Duncan and Floyd the next morning at the store. “They say he made strong promises to reform, an', gentlemen, I'm here to tell you that I believe them White Caps are doin' a purty good work. The lickin' Sandy got last night from his neighbors an' well-wishers towards him an' his family is a-goin' to work a bigger change in him than a long trial at court at the state's expense.”

“Well, they say he confessed to the stealing,” said the planter. “And a thing like that certainly ought to be punished in some way.”

“I never stold but once in my life,” Baker laughed, reminiscently, “an' I was sorter drawed into that. I was goin' with a Tennessee drover down to Atlanta with a car o' hosses. Old Uncle Abner Daniel was along, an' me'n him always was sorter thick. We come to Big Shanty, whar the conductor told us we'd barely have time to run out to the side o' the road an' buy a snack to eat, an' me'n Uncle Ab made a dash fer the lunch-counter, run by a bald-headed Dutchman with a bay-window on 'im. Thar was a pile o' sandwiches on the counter marked ten cents apiece, an' we bought two. I noticed Uncle Ab sorter twist his face around when he looked in his'n, an' then I seed that the ham inside of 'em both wasn't any thicker'n a piece o' paper.

“'Look here, Pole' said Uncle Ab, 'I bought a _sandwich_; I didn't agree to pay that fat thief ten cents o' my hard money fer two pieces o' bread that don't even smell o' meat.'

“'Well, what you goin' to do about it?' says I.

“'Do about it?' says he, an' then he sorter winked, an' as the Dutchman had turned to his stove whar he was fryin' some eggs, Uncle Ab stuck out his long fingers an slid a slice o' ham out o' the top sandwich in the stack an' slyly laid it betwixt his bread. I deprived the one under it of all the substance it held, an' me'n Uncle Ab was munchin' away when two passengers, a big man an' a little, sawed-off one, run up jest as the whistle blowed. They throwed down the'r dimes an' grabbed the two top sandwiches, an' we all made a break fer the train an' got in together. The fellers set right behind me'n Uncle Ab, an' when they begun to eat you never heard sech cussin'. 'Damn it, thar hain't a bit o' ham in mine!' the big feller said; an' then the little 'un ripped out an oath, an' reached up an' tried to git at the bell-cord. 'The damn pot-gutted thief didn't even _grease_ mine,' he said, an' they both raised windows an' looked back an' shook the'r fists an' swore they'd kill that Dutchman the next time they seed 'im.

“I thought I'd actually die laughin'. Uncle Ab set thar with the straightest face you ever looked at, but his eyes was twinklin' like stars peepin' through wet clouds.

“Finally he said, 'Pole,' said he, 'this experience ort to teach us a lesson. You cayn't down wrong with wrong. We started in to beat that swindler at his game, an' ended up by robbin' two hungry an' honest wayfarers.'”

Floyd and Captain Duncan laughed. It seemed that there was a disposition on the part of both Pole and the planter not to allude to the unpleasant affair of the preceding day, though Floyd, in his sensitive attitude in regard to it, more than once fancied it was in their minds.

“There is a personal matter, Floyd,” said Duncan, after a silence of several minutes, “that I have been wanting to speak to you about. It is in regard to your parentage. I've heard that you are greatly interested in it and would like to have it cleared up.”

“I confess it, captain,” Floyd said. “I suppose that is a feeling that would be natural to any one placed as I am.”

“Most decidedly,” Duncan agreed. “And it is my opinion that when you do discover what you are looking for, it will all seem so simple and plain that you will wonder how you could have missed it so long. I don't think it is possible for a thing like that to remain hidden always.”

“It certainly has foiled me, captain,” Floyd replied. “I have spent more money and made more effort than you would dream of, but met with disappointment on every hand.”

“Perhaps you didn't look close enough at home,” said Duncan. “I confess the thing has interested me a good deal, and the more I see of you, and observe your pluck and courage, the more I would like to see you discover what you want.”

“Thank you, captain,” Floyd said, earnestly.

“I'm going to confess something else, too,” the planter went on, “now that I see you don't resent my interest. The truth is, I had a talk with Colonel Price about it. You know he understands more about genealogy and family histories than any man in the county. I asked him if he didn't think that your given name, 'Nelson,' might not tend to show that you were, in some way, related to a family by that name. Price agreed with me that it was likely, and then it flashed on me that I knew a man down in Atlanta by the name of Floyd--Henry A. Floyd--whose mother was one of the South Carolina Nelsons.”

“Is it possible?” the young merchant asked, leaning forward in almost breathless interest.

“Yes, and he is a man of good standing, but very unsuccessful financially--a man who was educated for the law, and failed at it, and now, I believe, lives only on the income from a big farm in Bartow County. I knew him quite well when we were both young men; but he never married, and of late years he seems soured against everybody. I met him at the Capitol in Atlanta only last week, and tried to get him interested in your family matter. At first, from his evident surprise that there could be any one bearing both those names up here, I thought he was going to reveal something that would aid you. But after asking me three or four questions about you, he closed up, and that was the end of it. He said he knew nothing of your parentage, but that he was sure you were no kin of his.”

“Say, captain”--Pole Baker broke into the conversation--“would you mind tellin' me right here what you told 'im about Nelson? I've seed the old cuss; I've been on his farm; I once thought about rentin' land from 'im. Did you tell 'im Nelson was a man of high standing here--that he was about the richest young chap in the county an' got more grit than a car-load o' sand-paper?”

“No,” Duncan laughed. “He didn't let me get that far, Baker. In hopes of rousing his sympathy, I reckon I laid a good deal of stress on Floyd's early misfortune. Of course, I was going to tell him all about you, Floyd, but, as I say, he didn't give me a good chance.”

“You were quite right, captain,” Floyd returned. “Pole would have made me appear ridiculous.”

“Huh! I'd a got more out o' the old fossil than Captain Duncan did,” Pole declared, positively, “You knowed how to manage men in the war, captain, an' you are purty good at bossin' an overseer when you are at a hotel in Florida an' he's fillin' a sack in yore corn-crib at home, but I'll bet my hat you didn't tackle that feller right. Knowing that he was down in the mouth, unlucky, an' generally soured agin the world, I'd never a-tried to git 'im interested in pore kin he'd never seed. I'll bet a quart o' rye to two fingers o' spilt cider that he'd 'a' talked out o' t'other side o' his mouth ef I'd a been thar to sorter show 'im the kind o' kin that he mought scrape up ef he turned his hand to it. You let me run agin that old skunk, an' I'll have him settin' up the drinks an' axin' me more questions than a Dutchman l'arnin' to talk our language. Shucks! I'm jest a mountain-scrub, but I know human natur'. Thar comes old Mayhew. He'll order us out--it's treat, trade, or travel with that old skunk.”

XIII

HILLHOUSE had gone over to Porter's early that morning. He found Nathan seated on the porch in his shirt-sleeves, his heavy shoes unlaced for comfort and a hand-made cob-pipe in his mouth. “I want to see Miss Cynthia a moment,” the preacher said, with a touch of embarrassment as he came in at the gate, his hat in hand.

Old Porter rose with evident reluctance. “All right,” he said. “I'll see ef I kin find 'er--ef I do it will be the fust time I ever run across her, or any other woman, when she was needed.”

He returned in a moment “She'll be out in a few minutes,” he said. “She told me to tell you to set down here on the porch.”

Hillhouse took a vacant seat, holding his hat daintily on his sharp knees, and Porter resumed his chair, tilting it backward as he talked.

“Ef you are ever unlucky enough to git married, parson,” he said, “you'll know more about women than you do now, an' at the same time you'll swear you know less. They say the Maker of us all has unlimited knowledge, but I'll be blamed ef I believe He could understand women--even ef he _did_ create 'em. I'm done with the whole lot!” Porter waved his hand, as if brushing aside something of an objectionable nature. “They never do a thing that has common-sense in it. I believe they are plumb crazy when it comes to tacklin' anything reasonable. I'll give you a sample. Fer the last ten years I have noticed round about here, that whenever a man died the women folks he left sent straight to town an' bought a high-priced coffin to lay 'im away in. No matter whether the skunk had left a dollar to his name or not, that Jew undertaker over thar at Darley, to satisfy family pride, sent out a coffin an' trimmin's to the amount of an even hundred dollars. I've knowed widows an' orphans to stint an' starve an' go half naked fer ten years to pay off a debt like that. Now, as I'm financially shaped, I won't leave but powerful little, an' that one thing worried me considerable. Now an' then I'd sorter spring the subject on my women, an' I found out that they thought a big splurge like that was the only decent way to act over a man's remains. Think o' the plumb foolishness, parson, o' layin' a man away on a silk-plush cushion after he's dead, when he's slept all his life on a common tick stuffed with corn-shucks with the stubs on 'em. But that's _women!_ Well, I set to work to try to beat 'em at the game, as fur as _I_ was concerned. I 'lowed ef I made my preparations myself ahead o' time, with the clear understandin' that I wanted it that away, why, that no reasonable person would, or could, raise objections.”

“Oh, I see!” Hillhouse said, his mind evidently on something else.

“Well, you may see--an' any other reasonable _man_ could--but you don't see what them women done.

“Well, to go on. I went down to Swinton's new mill, whar he was sawin' out pine planks, an' set around all mornin', an' whenever I seed a solid heart-plank run out, I'd nab it an' lay it aside. Then, when I'd got enough to make me a good, roomy box, I axed 'im what the pile was wuth an' got the lot at a bargain, beca'se times was dull an' I was on the spot. Well, I hauled the planks home on my wagon an' unloaded at the barn. The women, all three, come out like a lot o' hens peckin' around an' begun to ax questions. They 'lowed I was goin' to make some shelves fer the smoke-house, to lay hams an' shoulders on, an' they was powerful tickled. I didn't let 'em know right then. But the next day when Jim Long come with his hammer an' nails an' saw an' plane, an' stood me up agin the wall in the woodshed, an' started to measure me up an' down an' sideways, they begun to scream an' take on at a desperate rate. It was the fust time I ever heard mournin' at my own funeral, an' it sorter upset me; but I told Jim to go ahead, an' he did start, but, la me! The whole lay-out run to 'im an' got around 'im an' threatened, an' went on at sech a rate that he throwed up the job an' went home. I got mad an' went off fishin', an' when I come back I found all o' them fine, new planks split up into kindlin' fer the stove, an' it wasn't a week 'fore my burial outfit was turned into ashes. I kin see now that when my time comes my folks will rake an' scrape to git up money to put me in a box so thin that a dead man could kick a hole in it.”

“They have their way of looking at such matters,” the preacher ventured, awkwardly. “Death is a serious thing, brother Porter, and it affects most people deeply.”

“It hain't so serious on a cash basis as it is on a credit,” Nathan declared. “But thar Cynthia comes now.”

“I'm an early bird, Miss Cynthia.” Hillhouse was actually flushed. “That is, I don't mean to hint that you are a worm, you know; but the truth is, I was afraid if I didn't come quick some hawk of a fellow would bear you away to bush-arbor meeting next Sunday afternoon. Will you let me take you?”

Cynthia's face clouded over. “I'm very sorry,” she said, “but I have already promised some one else.”

“Oh, is that so?” Hillhouse could not disguise his disappointment. “Are you going with--with--”

“Mr. Floyd asked me,” the girl answered, “and I told him I'd go. I'm very sorry to disappoint you.”

“Why, Cynthia”--Mrs. Porter had approached and stood in the door-way, staring perplexedly at her daughter--“you told me last night just before you went to bed that you had no engagement for Sunday. Have you had a note already this morning?”

Cynthia, in some confusion, avoided her mother's sharp, probing look.

“It doesn't matter,” she said, lamely. “I've promised to go with Mr. Floyd, and that is sufficient.”

“Oh yes, that is sufficient, of course,” Hillhouse said, still under his cloud of disappointment, “and I hope you will have a pleasant time. The truth is, Floyd is hard to beat at anything. He has a way about him that wins the--perhaps I may say--the sympathy of nearly all ladies.”

A reply of some sort was struggling for an outlet in Cynthia's rapidly rising and falling bosom, but her mother forestalled her with tight lips and eyes that were flashing ominously.

“Brother Hillhouse,” she said, “a man of that stamp has more influence over girls of the present generation than any other kind. Let a man be moral, religious, and sober, and thoughtful of the reputations of women, and he is shoved aside for the sort of men who fight duels and break hearts and ruin happy homes for their own idle gratification.”

“Oh, Mrs. Porter, I didn't mean to raise such a--a point as that,” Hillhouse stammered. “I'm sure Miss Cynthia appreciates all that is good in humanity; in fact, I think she leans decidedly that way. I couldn't expect her to let a little public gossip turn her against a friend whom she believes in.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hillhouse,” Cynthia said, drawing herself up to her full height and turning to go in. “I appreciate the way you look at it.”

She went into the house, walking very straight and not looking back.

Porter stood up and knocked the ashes from his pipe in his hard, broad hand. “Do you see that thar gate, parson?” he laughed. “Well, you take a fool's advice an' go home, an' come back some other time. Neither one o' them women know what they are a-talkin' about, an' they'll have you as crazy as they are in ten minutes ef you try to follow 'em.”

When Hillhouse had gone, Mrs. Porter went back into the sitting-room and stood over Cynthia as the girl sat sewing at a window.

“You may _think_ you've got my eyes closed,” the old woman said, “but you haven't. You didn't have any engagement with Nelson Floyd last night at supper, and you either saw him after we went to bed or you have had a secret note from him this morning.”

“Have it your own way,” Cynthia said, indifferently, and hot with vexation she bent her head over her work.

“I was watching your face this morning, too,” Mrs. Porter went on, “when your pa came in and said that Wade did not meet Floyd at the spring, and I noticed that you did not seem at all surprised. I'll get at the bottom of this, now you see if I don't!” And white with suppressed anger, Mrs. Porter turned away.

As she went out Mrs. Radcliffe, with a tottering step, came into the room and drew near to Cynthia.