The Young Mountaineers

C >> Charles Egbert Craddock >> The Young Mountaineers

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

He hardly liked to give up the expedition, but he was afraid to continue
on his way in the teeth of the mountain wind, cold and strong in the
October afternoon. If only he had his heavy jeans coat with him!

"Barney!" he called out, intending to ask his friend to throw it over to
him.

There was no answer.

"That thar Barney hev drapped off ter sleep a'ready!" he exclaimed
indignantly.

He chanced to glance upward as he was about to call again. There he saw
a coat lying on the edge of the cliff, the dangling sleeve fluttering
just within his reach. When he dragged it down and discovered that it
was Barney's instead of his own, he was slightly vexed, but it
certainly did not seem a matter of great importance.

"That boy hev got _my_ coat, an' this is his'n. But law! I'd ruther
squeeze myself small enough ter git inter his'n, than ter hev ter yell
like a catamount fur an hour an' better ter wake him up, an' make him
gimme mine."

He seated himself on a narrow projection of the crag, and began to
cautiously put on his friend's coat. He had need to be careful, for a
precarious perch like this, with an unmeasured abyss beneath, the far
blue sky above, the almost inaccessible face of a cliff on one side, and
on the other a distant stretch of mountains, is not exactly the kind of
place in which one would prefer to make a toilet. Besides the dangers of
his position, he was anxious to do no damage to the coat, which although
loose and baggy on Barney, was rather a close fit for Nick.

"I ain't used ter climbin' with a coat on, nohow, an' I mus' be mighty
keerful not ter bust Barney's, 'kase it air all the one he hev got," he
said to himself as he clambered nimbly down to the ledge.

Then he walked deftly along the narrow shelf, and as he turned abruptly
into the immense niche in the cliff called the Conscripts' Hollow, he
started back in sudden bewilderment. His heart gave a bound, and then it
seemed to stand still.

He hardly recognized the familiar place. There, to be sure, were the
walls and the dome-like roof, but upon the dusty sandstone floor were
scattered quantities of household articles, such as pots and pails and
pans and kettles. There was a great array of brogans, too, and piles of
blankets, and bolts of coarse unbleached cotton and jeans cloth.

"Waal, sir!" he exclaimed, as he gazed at them with wild,
uncomprehending eyes.

Then the truth flashed upon him. A story had reached Goliath Mountain
some weeks before, to the effect that a cross-roads store, some miles
down the valley, had been robbed. The thieves had escaped with the
stolen goods, leaving no clue by which they might be identified and
brought to justice.

Nick saw that he had made a discovery. Here it was that the robbers had
contrived to conceal their plunder, doubtless intending to wait until
suspicion lulled, when they could carry it to some distant place, where
it could safely be sold.

Suddenly a thought struck him that sent a shiver through every fibre of
his body. This store was robbed in a singular manner. No bolt was
broken,--no door burst open. There was a window, however, that lacked
one pane of glass. The aperture would not admit a man's body. It was
believed that the burglars had passed a boy through it, who had handed
out the stolen goods.

And now, Nick foolishly argued, if any one should discover that _he_
knew where the plunder was hidden, they would believe that _he_ was that
boy who had robbed the store!

He began to resolve that he would say nothing about what he had
seen,--not even to Barney. He thought his safety lay in his silence.
Still, he did not want his silence to be to the advantage of wicked men,
so he tried to persuade himself that the burglars would soon be traced
and captured without the information which he knew it was his duty to
give. "Ter be sartain, the officers will kem on this place arter a
while," he said meditatively.

Then he shook his head doubtfully. The crag was far from any house, and
except the dwellers on Goliath Mountain, few people knew of this great
niche in it. "They war sly foxes what stowed away thar plunder hyar!" he
exclaimed in despair.

Often, when Nick had before stood in the Conscripts' Hollow, he had
imagined that he would make a good soldier. But his idea of a soldier
was a fine uniform, and the ra-ta-ta of martial music. He had no
conception of that high sense of duty which nerves a man to face danger;
even now he did not know that he was a coward as he faltered and feared
in the cause of right to encounter suspicion.

Courage!--Nick thought that meant to crack away at a bear, if you were
lucky enough to have the chance; or to kill a rattlesnake, if you had a
big heavy stone close at hand; or to scramble about among crags and
precipices, if you felt certain of the steadiness of your head and the
strength of your muscles. But he did not realize that "courage" could
mean the nerve to speak one little word for duty's sake.

He would not speak the word,--he had determined on that,--for might they
not think that _he_ was the boy who had robbed the store?

He was quivering with excitement when he turned and began to walk along
the ledge toward those roughly hewn natural steps by which he had
descended. He knew that his agitation rendered his footing insecure. He
was afraid of falling into the depths beneath, and he pressed close
against the cliff.

On the narrow ledge, hardly two yards distant from the Conscripts'
Hollow, a clump of blackberry bushes was growing from a crevice in the
rock. They had never before given him trouble; but now, as he brushed
hastily past, they seemed to clutch at him with their thorny branches.

As he tore away from them roughly, he did not observe that he had left a
fragment of his brown jeans clothing hanging upon the thorns, as a
witness to his presence here close to the Conscripts' Hollow, where the
stolen goods lay hidden. There was a coarse, dark-colored horn button
attached to the bit of brown jeans, which was a three-cornered scrap of
his coat. No! of _Barney's_ coat. And was it to be a witness against
poor Barney, who had not gone near the Conscripts' Hollow, but was lying
asleep on the summit of the crag, supposing he had his own coat under
his own head?

He did not discover his mistake until some time afterward, for when Nick
had slowly and laboriously climbed up the steep face of the cliff, he
stripped off his friend's torn coat before he roused him. Barney was
awakened by having his pillow dragged rudely from under his head, and
when at last he reluctantly opened his eyes on the hazy yellow
sunlight, and saw Nick standing near on the great gray crag, he had no
idea that this moment was an important crisis in his life.

The wind was coming up the gorge fresh and free; the autumnal foliage,
swaying in it, was like the flaunting splendors of red and gold banners;
the western ranges had changed from blue to purple, for the sun was
sinking.

"It's gittin' toler'ble late, Barney," said Nick. "Let's go." He had on
his own coat now, and he was impatient to be off.

"Did ye find the tur-r-key's nest in the Conscripts' Hollow?" asked
Barney, with a lazy yawn, and still flat on his back.

"No," said Nick curtly.

Then it occurred to him that it would be safer if his friend should
think he had not been in the Hollow. "No," he reiterated, after a pause,
"I didn't go down ter the ledge arter all."

He had begun to lie,--where would it end?

"Whyn't you-uns go?" demanded Barney, surprised.

"The wind war blowin' so powerful brief," Nick replied without a qualm.
"So I jes' s'arched fur a while in the woods back thar a piece."

In a moment more, Barney rose to his feet, picked up his coat, and put
it on. He did not notice the torn place, for the garment was old and
worn, and had many ragged edges. It lacked, however, but one button, and
that missing button was attached to the triangular bit of brown jeans
that fluttered on the thorny bush close to the Conscripts' Hollow.

All unconscious of his loss, he went away in the rich autumnal sunset,
leaving it there as a witness against him.

CHAPTER II

After this, Nicholas Gregory was very steady at his work for a while. He
kept out of the woods as much as possible, and felt that he knew more
already than was good for him. Above all, he avoided that big sandstone
cliff and the Conscripts' Hollow, where the goods lay hidden.

He heard no more of the search that had been made for the burglars and
their booty, and he congratulated himself on his caution in keeping
silent about what he had found.

"Now, ef it hed been that thar wide-mouthed Barney, stid o' me, he'd hev
blabbed fust thing, an' they'd all hev thunk ez he war the boy what them
scoundrels put through the winder ter steal the folkses' truck. They'd
hev jailed him, I reckon."

He had begun to forget his own part in the wrong-doing,--that his
silence was helping to screen "them scoundrels" from the law.

This state of mind continued for a week, perhaps. Then he fell to
speculating about the stolen goods. He wondered whether they were all
there yet, or whether the burglars had managed to carry them away. His
curiosity grew so great that several times he was almost at the point of
going to see for himself; but one morning, early, when an opportunity
to do so was suddenly presented, his courage failed him.

His mother had just come into the log cabin from the hen-house with a
woe-begone face.

"I do declar'!" she exclaimed solemnly, "that I'm surely the
afflictedest 'oman on G'liath Mounting! An' them young fall tur-r-keys
air so spindlin' an' delikit they'll be the death o' me yit!"

They were so spindling and delicate that they were the death of
themselves. She had just buried three, and her heart and her larder were
alike an aching void.

"Three died ter-day, an' two las' Wednesday!" As she counted them on her
fingers she honored each with a shake of the head, so mournful that it
might be accounted an obituary in dumb show. "I hev had no sort'n luck
with this tur-r-key's brood, an' the t'other hev stole her nest away,
an' I hev got sech a mean no-'count set o' chillen they can't find her.
Waal! waal! waal! this comin' winter the Lord'll be _obleeged_ ter
pervide."

This was washing-day, and as she began to scrub away on the noisy
washboard, a sudden thought struck her. "Ye told me two weeks ago an'
better, Nick, that ye hed laid off ter sarch the Conscripts' Hollow; ye
'lowed ye hed been everywhar else. Did ye go thar fur the tur-r-key?"

She faced him with her dripping arms akimbo.

Nick's face turned red as he answered, "That thar tur-r-key ain't a-nigh
thar."

"What ails ye, Nick? thar's su'thin' wrong. I kin tell it by yer looks.
Ye never hed the grit ter sarch thar, I'll be bound; did ye, now?"

Nick could not bring himself to admit having been near the place.

"No," he faltered, "I never sarched thar."

"Ye'll do it now, though!" his mother declared triumphantly. "I'm afeard
ter send Jacob on sech a yerrand down the bluffs, kase he air so little
he mought fall; but he air big enough ter go 'long an' watch ye go down
ter the Hollow--else ye'll kem back an' say ye hev sarched thar, when
ye ain't been a-nigh the bluff."

There seemed for a moment no escape for Nick. His mother was looking
resolutely at him, and Jacob had gotten up briskly from his seat in the
chimney-corner. He was a small tow-headed boy with big owlish eyes, and
Nick knew from experience that they were very likely to see anything he
did _not_ do. He must go; and then if at any time the stolen goods
should be discovered, Jacob and his mother, and who could say how many
besides, would know that he had been to the Conscripts' Hollow, and must
have seen what was hidden there.

In that case his silence on the subject would be very suspicious. It
would seem as if he had some connection with the burglars, and for that
reason tried to conceal the plunder.

He was saying to himself that he would not go--and he must! How could he
avoid it? As he glanced uneasily around the room, his eyes chanced to
fall on a little object lying on the edge of the shelf just above the
washtub. He made the most of the opportunity. As he slung his hat upon
his head with an impatient gesture, he managed to brush the shelf with
it and knock the small object into the foaming suds below.

His mother sank into a chair with uplifted hands and eyes.

"The las' cake o' hop yeast!" she cried. "An' how air the bread ter be
raised?"

To witness her despair, one would think only jack-screws could do it.

"Surely I _am_ the afflictedest 'oman on G'liath Mounting! An'
ter-morrer Brother Pete's wife an' his gals air a-comin', and I hed laid
off ter hev raised bread."

For "raised bread" is a great rarity and luxury in these parts, the
nimble "dodgers" being the staff of life.

"I never went ter do it," muttered Nick.

"Waal, ye kin jes' kerry yer bones down the mounting ter Sister
Mirandy's house, an' ax her ter fotch me a cake o' her yeast when she
kems up hyar ter-day ter holp me sizin' yarn. Arter that I don't keer
what ye does with yerself. Ef ye stays hyar along o' we-uns, ye'll haul
the roof down nex', I reckon. 'Pears like ter me ez boys an' men-folks
air powerful awk'ard, useless critters ter keep in a house; they oughter
hev pens outside, I'm a-thinkin'."

She had forgotten about the turkey, and Nick was glad enough to escape
on these terms.

It was not until after he had finished his errand at Aunt Mirandy's
house that he chanced to think again of the Conscripts' Hollow. As he
was slowly lounging back up the mountain, he paused occasionally on the
steep slope and looked up at the crags high on the summit, which he
could see, now and then, diagonally across a deep cove.

When he came in sight of the one which he had such good reason to
remember, he stopped and stood gazing fixedly at it for a long time,
wondering again whether the robbers had yet carried off their plunder
from its hiding-place.

He was not too distant to distinguish the Conscripts' Hollow, but from
his standpoint, he could not at first determine where was the ledge. He
thought he recognized it presently in a black line that seemed drawn
across the massive cliff.

But what was that upon it? A moving figure! He gazed at it spell-bound
for a moment, as it slowly made its way along toward the Hollow. Then he
wanted to see no more; he wanted to know no more. He turned and fled at
full speed along the narrow cow-path among the bushes.

Suddenly there was a rustle among them. Something had sprung out into
the path with a light bound, and as he ran, he heard a swift step behind
him. It seemed a pursuing step, for, as he quickened his pace, it came
faster too. It was a longer stride than his; it was gaining upon him. A
hand with a grip like a vise fell upon his shoulder, and as he was
whirled around and brought face to face with his pursuer, he glanced up
and recognized the constable of the district.

This was a tall, muscular man, dressed in brown jeans, and with a bushy
red beard. He knew Nick well, for he, too, was a mountaineer.

"Ye war a-dustin' along toler'ble fast, Nicholas Gregory," he exclaimed;
"but nothin' on G'liath Mounting kin beat me a-runnin' 'thout it air a
deer. Ye'll kem along with me now, and stir yer stumps powerful lively,
too, kase I hain't got no time ter lose."

"What am I tuk up fur?" gasped Nick.

"S'picious conduc'," replied the man curtly.

Nick knew no more now than he did before. The officer's next words made
matters plainer. "Things look mightily like ye war set hyar ter watch
that thar ledge. Ez soon ez ye seen our men a-goin' ter the Conscripts'
Hollow ter sarch fur that thar stole truck, ye war a-goin' ter scuttle
off an' gin the alarm ter them rascally no-'count burglars. I saw ye and
yer looks, and I suspicioned some sech game. Ye don't cheat the law in
_this_ deestrick--not often! Ye air the very boy, I reckon, what
holped ter rob Blenkins's store. Whar's the other burglars? Ye'd better
tell!"

"I dunno!" cried Nick tremulously. "I never had nothin' ter do with
'em."

"Ye hev told on yerself," the man retorted. "Why did ye stand a-gapin'
at the Conscripts' Hollow, ef ye didn't know thar was suthin special
thar?"

Nick, in his confusion, could invent no reply, and he was afraid to tell
the truth. He looked mutely at the officer, who held his arm and looked
down sternly at him.

"Ye air a bad egg,--that's plain. I'll take ye along whether I ketches
the other burglars or no."

They toiled up the steep ascent in silence, and before very long were on
the summit of the mountain, and within view of the crag.

There on the great gray cliff, in the midst of the lonely woods, were
several men whom Nick had never before seen. Their busy figures were
darkly defined against the hazy azure of the distant ranges, and as they
moved about, their shadows on the ground seemed very busy too, and
blotted continually the golden sunshine that everywhere penetrated the
thinning masses of red and bronze autumn foliage.

A wagon, close at hand, was already half full of the stolen goods, and a
number of men were going cautiously up and down the face of the cliff,
bringing articles, or passing them from one to another.

"Well, this _is_ a tedious job!" exclaimed the sheriff, John Stebbins by
name. He was a quick-witted, good-natured man, but being active in
temperament, he was exceedingly impatient of delay. "How long did it
take 'em to get all those heavy things down into the Conscripts'
Hollow,--hey, bub?" he added, appealing to Nick, who had been brought to
his notice by the constable. It was terrible to Nick that they should
all speak to him as if he were one of the criminals. He broke out with
wild protestations of his innocence, denying, too, that he had had any
knowledge of what was hidden in the Conscripts' Hollow.

"Then what made ye run, yander on the slope, when ye seen thar war
somebody on the ledge?" demanded the constable.

Nick had a sudden inspiration. "Waal," he faltered, with an explanatory
sob, which was at once ludicrous and pathetic, "I war too fur off ter
make out fur sure what 'twar on the ledge. 'Twar black-lookin', an' I
'lowed 'twar a b'ar."

All the men laughed at this.

"I sot out ter run ter Aunt Mirandy's house ter borry Job's gun ter kem
up hyar, an' mebbe git a crack at him," continued Nick.

"That doesn't seem unnatural," said the sheriff. Then he turned to the
constable. "This ain't enough to justify us in holding on to the boy,
Jim, unless we can fix that scrap with the button on him. Where is it?"

"D'ye know whose coat this kem off'n?" asked the constable, producing a
bit of brown jeans, with a dark-colored horn button attached to it.
"How'd it happen ter be stickin' ter them blackberry-bushes on the
ledge?"

Nick recognized it in an instant. It was Barney Pratt's button, and a
bit of Barney Pratt's coat. But he knew well enough that he himself must
have torn it when he wore it down to the Conscripts' Hollow.

He realized that he should have at once told the whole truth of what he
knew about the stolen goods. He was well aware that he ought not to
suffer the suspicion which had unjustly fallen upon him to be unjustly
transferred to Barney, who he knew was innocent.

But he was terribly frightened, and foolishly cautious, and he did not
care for justice, nor truth, nor friendship, now. His only anxiety was
to save himself.

"That thar piece o' brown jeans an' that button kem off'n Barney Pratt's
coat. I'd know 'em anywhar," he answered, more firmly than before. He
noted the fact that the searching eyes of both officers were fixed upon
his own coat, which was good and whole, and lacked no buttons. He had
not even a twinge of conscience just now. In his meanness and cowardice
his heart exulted, as he saw that suspicion was gradually lifting its
dark shadow from him. He cared not where it might fall next.

"We'll have to let you slide, I reckon," said the sheriff. "But what
size is this Barney Pratt?"

"He air a lean, stringy little chap," said Nick.

"Is that so?" said the sheriff. "Well, this is a bit of his coat and his
button; and they were found on the ledge, close to the Conscripts'
Hollow where the plunder was hid; and he's a small fellow, that maybe
could slip through a window-pane. That makes a pretty strong showing
against him. We'll go for Barney Pratt!"

CHAPTER III

Barney Pratt expected this day to be a holiday. Very early in the
morning his father and mother had jolted off in the wagon to attend the
wedding of a cousin, who lived ten miles distant on a neighboring
mountain, and they had left him no harder task than to keep the
children far enough from the fire, and his paralytic grandmother close
enough to it.

This old woman was of benevolent intentions, although she had a stick
with which she usually made her wants known by pointing, and in her
convulsive clutch the stick often whirled around and around like the
sails of a windmill, so that if Barney chanced to come within the circle
it described, he got as hard knocks from her feeble arm as he could have
had in a tussle with big Nick Gregory.

He was used to dodging it, and so were the smaller children. Without any
fear of it they were all sitting on the hearth at the old woman's
feet,--Ben and Melissa popping corn in the ashes, and Tom and Andy
watching Barney's deft fingers as he made a cornstalk fiddle for them.

Suddenly Barney glanced up and saw his grandmother's stick whirling over
his head. Her eyes were fastened eagerly upon the window, and her lips
trembled as she strove to speak.

"What d'ye want, granny?" he asked.

Then at last it came out, quick and sharp, and in a convulsive
gasp,--"Who air all that gang o'folks a-comin' yander down the road?"

Barney jumped up, threw down the fiddle, and ran to the door with the
children at his heels. There was a quiver of curiosity among them, for
it was a strange thing that a "gang o'folks" should be coming down this
lonely mountain road.

They went outside of the log cabin and stood among the red sumach bushes
that clustered about the door, while the old woman tottered after them
to the threshold, and peered at the crowd from under her shaking hand as
she shaded her eyes from the sunlight.

Presently a wagon came up with eight or ten men walking behind it, or
riding in it in the midst of a quantity of miscellaneous articles of
which Barney took no particular notice. As he went forward, smiling in
a frank, fearless way, he recognized a familiar face among the crowd. It
was Nick Gregory's, and Barney's smile broadened into a grin of pleasure
and welcome.

Then it was that Nick's conscience began to wake up, and to lay hold
upon him.

As the sheriff looked at Barney he hesitated. He balanced himself
heavily on the wheel, instead of leaping quickly down as he might have
done easily enough, for he was a spare man and light on his feet. Nick
overheard him speak in a low voice to the constable, who stood just
below.

"_That_ ain't the fellow, is it, Jim?"

"That's him, percisely," responded Jim Dow.

"He don't _look_ like it," said Stebbins, jumping down at last, but
still speaking under his breath.

"Waal, thar ain't no countin' on boys by the _outside_ on 'em," returned
the constable emphatically; he had an unruly son of his own.

The sheriff walked up to Barney.

"You're Barney Pratt, are you? Well, youngster, you'll come along with
us."

There was silence for a moment. Barney stared at him in amaze. Not until
he had caught sight of the constable, whom he knew in his official
character, did he understand the full meaning of what had been said. He
was under arrest!

As he realized it, everything began to whirl before him. The yellow
sunshine, the gorgeously tinted woods, the blue sky, and the silvery
mists hovering about the distant mountains, were all confusedly mingled
in his failing vision.

He looked as if he were about to faint. But in a few minutes he had
partially recovered himself.

"I dunno what this air done ter me fur," he said tremulously, glancing
up at the officer whose hand was on his shoulder.

"Hain't ye been doin' nothin' mean lately?" demanded Jim Dow sternly.

Barney shook his head.

"Let's see ef this won't remind ye," said the constable, producing the
bit of jeans and the button.

As Nick watched Barney turning the piece of cloth in his hand and
examining the button, he felt a terrible pang of remorse. But he was
none the less resolved to keep the freedom from danger which he had
secured at the expense of his friend. To explain would be merely to
exchange places with Barney, and he was silent.

"This hyar looks like a scrap o' my coat," said Barney, utterly unaware
of the significance of his words. As he fitted it into the jagged edges
of the garment, the officers watched the proceeding closely. "'Pears
like ter me ez it war jerked right out thar--yes--kase hyar air the
missin' button, too."

His air of unconsciousness puzzled the sheriff. "Do you know where you
lost this scrap?" he asked.

"Somewhars 'mongst the briers in the woods, I reckon," replied Barney.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10