Part 9

“I am worried about your mother,” she said, standing with her thin hand resting on the window-frame. “She troubles so much over small things. I shudder when I think about it, Cynthia; but I'm afraid she'll go like your aunt did. It seems to be inherited from your grandfather's side of the family.”

“Are you really afraid of that, granny?” The girl looked up, a serious expression dawning in her eyes.

“Well, I don't know as I think she'd actually kill herself, as Martha did, but if this goes on her mind certainly will give way. It's not natural--it's too great a strain for one human brain to stand. She didn't sleep a wink last night I know that, for I woke up several times and heard her moving about and sighing.”

“Poor mamma!” Cynthia said, regretfully, to herself, as her grandmother moved slowly from the room. “And I spoke disrespectfully to her just now. Besides, perhaps I have given her cause to worry, from her stand-point. God forgive me, I really _did_ go out to meet him that way, and if she thinks it would be so bad, what must he think? Is it possible for him to class me with--to think of me as--as he does of--Oh!” and with a hot flush burning her face, Cynthia rose hastily and put her work away.

XIV

AT one o'clock the following Sunday afternoon Nelson Floyd drove up to Porter's gate in his new buggy, behind his spirited Kentucky thorough-bred. Nathan Porter in his stockinged feet, for the day was warm, stood on the porch, and as Floyd reined in, he walked down the steps and out to the gate, leaning over it lazily, his slow, pleased glance critically sweeping the horse from head to foot.

“You've got you a dandy at last,” was his observation. “I used to be some'n' of a judge. Them's the slimmest legs fer sech a good stout body I ever seed. He totes his head high without a check-rein, too, an' that's purty. I reckon you come after Cynthia. She'll be out here in a minute. She knows you've come; she kin see the road from the window o' her room. An' I never knowed a woman that could keep from peepin' out.”

“Oh, I'm in no hurry at all,” Floyd assured him. “It's only ten miles, and we can easily make it by the three o'clock service.”

“Oh, well, I reckon it don't make no odds to you whether you hold _yore_ meetin' in that hug-me-tight or under the arbor. I know my choice 'ud 'a' been jest one way when I was on the turf. Camp-meetin's an' bush-arbor revivals used to be our hay-time. Us boys an' gals used to have a great way o' settin' in our buggies, jest outside, whar we could chat all we wanted to, jine in the tunes, an' at the same time git credit fer properly observin' the day.”

“That's about the way the young people look at it now,” Floyd said, with a smile.

“I reckon this is a sort o' picnic to you in more ways than one,” Porter remarked, without a trace of humor in his tone, as he spat over the gate and wiped his chin on his bare hand. “You ort to enjoy a day o' freedom, after waitin' two hours at that spring fer Jeff Wade. Gee whiz! half o' Springtown was behind barracks, sayin' prayers an' beggin' the Lord to spare the town from flames. I didn't stay myself. I don't object to watchin' a fisticuff match once in a while, but fellers in a powder-and-ball battle like that seem to try to mow down spectators as hard as they do the'r man. Then I don't like to be questioned in court. A feller has to forgit so dern much, ef he stands to his friends.”

“No, we avoided trouble,” said Floyd, in evident aversion to a topic so keenly personal. “So you like my horse! He is really the best I could get at Louisville.”

“I reckon.” Porter spat again. “Well, as you say, Wade _will_ shoot an' he kin, too. When he was in the war, they tell me his colonel wanted some sharpshooters an' selected 'im to--but thar's that gal now. Gee whiz! don't she look fluffy?”

For the most part, the drive was through the mountains, along steep roads, past yawning gorges, and across rapid, turbulent streams. It was an ideal afternoon for such an outing, and Cynthia had never looked so well, though she was evidently fatigued. Floyd remarked upon this, and she said: “I don't know why it was, but I waked at three o'clock this morning, and could not get back to sleep before father called me at six. Since then I have been hard at work. I'm afraid I shall feel very tired before we get back.”

“You must try not to think of fatigue.” Floyd was admiring her color, her hair, her eyes. “Then you ought to relax yourself. There is no use sitting so erect; if you sit that way the jolting over this rough road will break you all to pieces. Don't lean so far from me. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm glad I beat Hillhouse to you. I saw him going to your house the next morning. I know he asked you.”

“Yes, he asked me,” Cynthia said, “and I was sorry to disappoint him.”

Floyd laughed. “Well, the good and the bad are fighting over you, little girl. One man who, in the eyes of the community, stands for reckless badness, has singled you out, and thrown down the gauntlet to a man who represents the Church, God, and morality--both are grimly fighting for the prettiest human flower that ever grew on a mountain-side.”

“I don't like to hear you talk that way.” Cynthia looked him steadily in the eyes. “It sounds insincere; it doesn't come from your heart. I don't like your compliments--your open flattery. You say the same things to other girls.”

“Oh no; I beg your pardon, but I don't. I couldn't. They don't inspire them as you do. You--you tantalize me, Cynthia; you drive me crazy with your maddening reserve--the way you have of thinking things no man could read in your face, and above it all, through it all, your wonderful beauty absolutely startles me--makes me at times unable to speak, clogs my utterance, and fires my brain. I don't know--I can't understand it, but you are in my mind all day long, and at night, after my work is over, I want to wander about your house--not with the hope of having you actually come out, you know, but to enjoy the mere fancy that you have joined me.”

A reply was on her hesitating lips, but his ardor and impetuosity swept it away, and she sat with lowered lashes looking into her lap. The horse had paused to drink at a clear brook running across the road. All about grew graceful, drooping willows. It was a lonely spot, and it seemed that they were quite out of the view of all save themselves. Cynthia's pink hand lay like a shell in her lap, and he took it into his. For an instant it thrilled as if the spirit of resistance had suddenly waked in it, and then it lay passive. Floyd raised it to his lips and kissed it, once, twice, several times. He held it ecstatically in both his own, and fondled it. Then suddenly an exclamation of surprise escaped Cynthia's lips, and with her eyes glued on some object ahead, she snatched her hand away, her face hot with blushes. Following her glance, Floyd saw a man with his coat on his arm rising from the ground where he had been resting on the moss. It was Pole Baker, and with his shaggy head down, his heavy brows drawn together, he came towards them.

“I was jest waitin' fer somebody to pass an' give me a match,” he said to Floyd, almost coldly, without a glance at Cynthia. “I'm dyin' to smoke this cigar.”

“What are you doing out afoot?” Floyd asked, as he gave him several matches.

“Oh, I'm goin' to meetin', too. I know a short foot-path through the mountains. Sally an' the chil-dem didn't want to come, an' I'd a heap ruther walk five miles than to ride ten over a road like this 'un. I'd sorter be afeard of a mettlesome hoss like that'un. Ef he was to git scared an' break an' run, neither one o' you'd escape among these cliffs an' gullies.”

“Oh, I can hold him in,” Floyd said. “Well, we'd better drive on. Do you think you can get there as soon as we do, Pole?”

“I won't miss it much,” said the farmer, and they saw him disappear in a shaded path leading down the mountain-side.

“He puzzles me,” Floyd said, awkwardly. “For a minute I imagined he was offended at something.”

“He saw you--holding my hand.” Cynthia would not say _kissing_. The word had risen to her tongue, but she instinctively discarded it. “He's been almost like a brother to me He has a strong character, and I admire him very much. I always forget his chief weakness; he never seems to me to be a drunkard. He has the highest respect for women of any man I ever knew. I'm sorry--just now--”

“Oh, never mind Pole,” Floyd broke in, consolingly. “He's been a young man himself, and he knows how young people are. Now, if you begin to worry over that little thing, I shall be miserable. I set out to make you have a pleasant drive.”

XV

AN hour later they arrived at the bush-arbor, a rough shed upon which rested a roof of freshly cut boughs of trees and on which there were benches without backs. The ground was strewn with straw, and at the far end was a crude platform and table where several ministers sat.

Leaving his companion near the main entrance, Floyd led his horse some distance away before he could find a suitable place to hitch him. Returning, he found a seat for himself and Cynthia near the rear. They had not been there long before Pole Baker slouched in, warm and flushed from his walk, and sat directly across the aisle from them. Floyd smiled and called Cynthia's attention to him, but Pole stared straight at the pulpit and neither looked to the right nor left. Floyd noticed a farmer bend over and speak to him, and was surprised to see that Pole made no response whatever. With a puzzled expression on his face, the farmer sank back into his seat.

The meeting was opened with prayer and a hymn. Then Hillhouse, who had arrived a little late, came in, a Bible and hymn-book in hand, and went forward and sat with the other ministers. Floyd noted the shifting look of dissatisfaction on his thin face, and his absent-minded manner, as he exchanged perfunctory greetings with those around him.

“Poor fellow!” Floyd said to himself, “he's hard hit, and no wonder.” He glanced at the fair face at his elbow and thrilled from head to foot. She was certainly all that a woman could possibly be.

Then there was a rousing sermon from the Rev. Edward Richardson, an eloquent mountain evangelist. His pleadings bore immediate fruit. Women began to shed tears, and sob, and utter prayers aloud. This was followed by tumultuous shouting, and the triumphant evangelist closed his talk by asking all who felt like it to kneel where they were and receive prayers for their benefit. Half of the congregation fell on their knees. “Did you see that?” Floyd whispered to Cynthia, and he directed her attention to Pole Baker, who was kneeling on the ground, his great, heavily shod feet under the seat in front of him, his elbows on his own bench, and his big, splaying hands pressed over his eyes.

“Poor fellow!” she whispered back, “he is making fresh resolutions to quit drinking, I suppose. I'm so sorry for him. He tries harder to reform for the sake of his wife and children than any man I know. Sometimes I am afraid he never will succeed.”

“Perhaps not,” said Floyd. “You see, I know what it is, Cynthia.”

“You?”

“Why, of course, it almost got me down once. There was a point in my life when I could have been blown one way or the other as easily as a feather. I don't want to pose as being better than I am, and I confess that I am actually afraid at times that it may again get the best of me. God only knows how a man has to fight a thing like that after it has once become a habit. As long as matters are like they are now, I can hold my own, I am sure; but I actually believe if I had to meet some absolutely crushing blow to all my hopes and aspirations, I'd--I'd really be as weak as Pole is.”

“I don't believe it,” said Cynthia, raising her frank eyes to his. “I don't believe a word of it,” she repeated, firmly.

“You don't? Well, perhaps your faith will save me.”

The prayer over, the preacher next called on all who felt that they needed special spiritual help in any particular trial, affliction, or trouble to come forward and give him their hands. Several men and women responded, and among them, to Floyd's growing astonishment, was Pole Baker. He stood erect at his seat for an instant, and then, with his long arms swinging at his sides, he walked up and shook hands stiffly with the minister.

“You were right about it,” Floyd said to Cynthia. “I reckon he's making new resolutions. But where is the fellow going?”

They saw Pole, after releasing the preacher's hand, turn out at the side of the arbor, and slowly stalk away towards the spot where Floyd had hitched his horse.

“Perhaps he's going to start back home,” Cynthia said. “It's getting late and cloudy, and he has a long walk before him.”

“That's it,” said Floyd. “And footing it through the woods as dark as it is even now is no simple matter; though Pole really has the instincts of a red Indian. But I don't understand it, for he is not headed towards home.”

There was another earnest talk from another preacher, and then Hillhouse closed the meeting with a prayer.

Leaving Cynthia at the arbor, Floyd went down for his horse. He was not far from the buggy when he saw Pole Baker rise from a flat stone upon which he had been seated. Without looking at him, Pole went to the hitch-rein and unfastened it, and led the restive animal around in the direction he was to go.

“Much obliged to you, old man,” Floyd said, deeply touched by the action. “I could have done that myself.”

“I know it, Nelson,” Pole responded; “but I've got some'n' to say to you, an' as it is late an' may take a minute or two, I thought I'd save all the time I could an' not keep yore little partner waitin'.”

“Oh, you want to see me, do you?”

Pole hesitated, his glance on the ground; the sockets of his big eyes were full-looking, and the muscles of his face and great neck were twitching. Presently he stared Floyd steadily in the eyes and began:

“Nelson, you've knowed me a good many years in the way one man knows a friend an' neighbor, or even a brother, but you don't plumb understand me yit. The Lord God Almighty's made men side by side in life as different as two kinds o' plants, or two sorts o' minerals. Me'n' you is friends, an' I'm a-goin' to say at the start that I love you as a brother, but we see things different--me'n' you do--we act different about some things. That's what I want to see you about.”

“Oh, I see!” Floyd had never been more perplexed in his life, but he waited for Pole's explanation.

“I hain't here to reflect on the character of women in general, nuther,” said Baker, “though what I say mought sound like it to the shallow-minded. I'm here to tell you that the Lord God has made some o' the sweetest an' best an' purest women that ever lived unable to resist the fire the devil kindles in some men's eyes. Jest as the Almighty allowed Old Nick to play smash right among the elected angels o' heaven tell he was kicked out, so does he let 'im play hell an' damnation with the best an' purest here on earth, usin' as his devilish instrument men who excuse the'rselves on the plea that it's human natur'. A good woman will sometimes be as helpless under a hot-blooded man's eye and voice as a dove is when it flutters an' stands wonderin' before a rattlesnake that means to devour it soul and body.”

“Pole, what's all this mean?” Floyd asked, slightly irritated.

“You wait an' see, dern yore hide!” said Pole. “Ef I kin afford to talk to you when I'm due at my home an' fireside, you kin afford to listen, fer ef it don't do you some good, it will be the beginnin' o' more harm than you ever had to tackle in yore short life. I want to tell you, Nelson, that that little woman you drove out here has been as true a friend to me as _you_ have, an' if I have to side with one or the other, it will be with the weakest one.”

“She's made sacrifices fer me. She saved little Billy's life, an' one day while I was lyin' too drunk to hold my head up in the swamp betwixt her daddy's house an' mine, she found me thar an' run an' fetched fresh water in my hat, an' bathed my nasty, bloated face with her wet handkerchief, an' kept tellin' me to brace up an' not go home that away an' make my wife feel bad. She done that, Nelson Floyd, _an', by the holy God_, ef you think I'm a-goin' to set idle an' even _think_ thar's _a bare resk_ o' her bein' made unhappy by a big, strappin' thing in pants, an' a vest, an' coat, an' a blue neck tie, you've got little enough sense to need a guardeen to look after yore effects. I don't say thar _is_ danger nor thar hain't, but I seed you doin' a thing back thar on the road that didn't strike me as bein' plumb right, coupled with what I seed when you climbed over the fence o' Nathan Porter's orchard nigh midnight not long back. I've already told you I love you like a brother, but while meetin' was goin' on I made up my mind to say this to you. I got down at the preacher's invite an' prayed on it, an' I went forward an' give 'im my hand on it, axin' the sanction o' the Lord on it, an' I'm here to tell you to yore teeth, Nelson, that ef a hair o' that bonny head is harmed _through you_ I will kill you as I would a p'ison snake! Now, I've said it. I'd 'a' had to say it ef you had been my twin brother, an' I'm not a-goin' to be sorry fer it, nuther. Yore a good, well-meanin' young man, but you ain't yorese'f when you give way to hot blood.”

Floyd was standing behind the neck of his horse, and for an instant Pole could not see his face. There was silence for a moment. Then Floyd came round the horse and stood facing the mountaineer. He was pale, his lower lip was twitching; there was a look in his eyes Baker had never seen there before.

“Pole,” he said, “I'd shoot any other man on God's earth for talking to me as you have.

“You mean you'd _try_, Nelson.”

“Yes, I mean I'd try; but I can't be mad at you. We've been too close for that, Pole. I admire you more than any man alive. With all your faults, you have done more, in the long run, to lift me up than any other influence. I don't know what to say to you. I--I feel your words keenly, but you understand that I cannot, after what you have said, and the way you've said it, make promises. That would really be--be an insult to--to the lady in question, and an acknowledgment that no brave man could make to another.”

“I understand that, Nelson.” And Pole, with a softened face, held out his big, warm hand. “Shake, old boy. Let it all pass. Now that you understand me, I'm goin' to trust you like a friend. No good man will harm the sister of a friend, noway, an' that's what she is to me. She's my little sister, Nelson. Now, you go take 'er home. I don't like the looks o' that cloud in the west,' an' I don't like the way that hoss o' your'n keeps layin' back his ears an' snortin' at ever' leaf that blows by.”

XVI

FLOYD drove on to the bush-arbor and helped Cynthia into the buggy.

“Was that Pole Baker talking to you?” she questioned.

“Yes, he wanted to speak to me,” said Floyd, seriously. “He unhitched my horse and turned him around.”

“I suppose he is making resolutions to reform?”

Floyd shrugged his shoulders unconsciously. “Yes, he's always doing that sort of thing. He's afraid there may be a storm, too. He's the best weather prophet I know. If the cloud were behind us I shouldn't be concerned at all, for Jack could outrun it.”

They were driving into a lonely, shaded part of the road, and there they noticed more plainly the darkness that had rapidly fallen over the landscape. Cynthia shivered, and Floyd tried to see the expression of her face, but she was looking down and he was unable to do so.

“Are you really afraid?” he asked.

“I was thinking about how narrow the road is,” she made answer, “and of the awful cliffs along beside it. Then Jack seems restless and excited. If the lightning were to begin to flash, or should strike near us, he might--”

“Don't worry,” Floyd broke in, calmly. “It is this long, dark road that makes you nervous. We'll get out of it in a few minutes.”

But they were delayed. Jack, frightened at some imaginary object ahead, paused, and with his fore-feet firmly planted in front of him, he stood snorting, his ears thrown back. His master gently urged him to go on, but he refused to move. Then Floyd touched his flanks with the lash of the whip, but this only caused the animal to rear up in a dangerous manner and start to turn round. The road was too narrow for this, however, and throwing the reins into Cynthia's lap, Floyd got out and went to the horse's head, and holding to the bridle, he gently stroked the face and neck of the animal. But although Floyd tried, Jack would not be led forward. The situation was really grave, for the time was passing and night was already upon them. From his position at the animal's head, Floyd could barely see Cynthia in her white shawl and dress. Along the black horizon the lightning was playing, and the rising wind bore to their faces fine drops of rain. It was a sudden crash of thunder behind them that made the horse start forward, and it was with some difficulty that Floyd got into the buggy from behind. Then they dashed forward at a perilous speed. On they went, over the rough road. Even out in the open it was now dark, and in the distance they heard the ominous roar and crash of the approaching storm. The situation was indeed critical. Once more they ran into a road so dark that they could scarcely see Jack's head. Suddenly Floyd drew rein, stopped the quivering horse, and looked closely at the ground. Cynthia heard an exclamation of dismay escape his lips.

“What is it?” she asked. He made no answer till she had repeated her question.

“This is the same road we passed over half an hour ago,” he said. “We have gone the wrong way. We are lost, little girl!”

Even at that grave moment he felt a thrill of admiration at her coolness.

“Well,” she said, “we must make the best of it and not get excited. If we lose our heads there is no telling what may happen.”

“What a brave little woman you are!” he said. “Do you remember? The road forks about a quarter of a mile ahead; when we went by just now, we took either the right or the left, but I've forgotten which.”

“We took the right,” she said. “I remember that distinctly.”

“Then we must take the left this time--that is, if you are sure.”

“I'm very sure.”

“Good; then we must drive on as fast as we can.”

“You'd better go slowly,” Cynthia cautioned him. “The road is very, very dangerous, and if Jack should become frightened as we are passing a cliff there is no telling what--”

She did not finish, for there was a bright flash of lightning in their faces, followed by a deafening clap of thunder on the mountain-side above them. With a terrified snort, Jack plunged onward. They reached the point where the roads divided, and Floyd managed to pull the animal into the right one. For half an hour they sped onward. Every effort Floyd made to check the horse was foiled; the spirited animal seemed to have taken the bit between his teeth. Then the storm broke upon them in alarming fury, and they suddenly found themselves before a high, isolated building. The horse, as with almost human instinct, had paused.

“It's Long's mill,” Floyd told Cynthia. “It's not in use. Pole and I stopped here to rest when we were out hunting last month. The door is not locked. There is a shed and stable behind for horses. We must get in out of danger.”

Cynthia hesitated. “Is it the only thing?” she asked.

“Yes, it might cost us our lives to drive on, and it is two miles to the nearest house.”

“All right, then.” He was already on the ground, and she put her hands on his shoulders and sprang down.

“Now, run up the steps,” he said. “The door opens easily. I'll lead Jack around to the shed and be back in a minute.”