The Kentucky Ranger

E >> Edward T. Curnick >> The Kentucky Ranger

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During the first half of the second mile Turner knew that it was
necessary for him to lessen the distance between himself and Hiram
Ketcham, and LeMonde realized that he must soon close the gap
separating Turner and himself. Almost at the same time they gave their
horses more rein, and they sprang to their work with increased speed.
Ketcham had taken advantage of his lead by crossing the track and
taking the narrow arc of the circle. The three horses were trotting in
a line, all hugging the inside track. Very soon the distance between
the sorrel and the black was diminished, and before the half mile point
was reached the monster dwarf turned his horse toward the center of the
track to pass Ketcham. Just beyond the half-mile point Turner's black
passed Ketcham's sorrel, and LeMonde's bay was neck and neck with the
black. A few rods more, and it was plain to be seen that the bay was
forging ahead of the black.

The monster dwarf saw at once the advantage of his rival, and hissing
through his teeth in a low voice the words: "Dat's my holt," brought
his short cowhide whip down with force upon the withers of Velox. It
was the act of a jockey utterly without principle, an act execrated by
every true Kentucky sportsman.

The splendid animal never before had felt the lash of a whip. The blow
had the effect desired by the dwarf. It broke the gait of the bay
horse. The stroke was so unexpected and painful that the horse gave a
bound forward and upward that almost unseated the rider. Then he
plunged along the track with irregular strides, sometimes rushing to
the sides and then to the center.

Though taken by surprise George LeMonde acted with decision and
judgment. He held his mount with a firm hand, and added to the strength
of his arm the soothing effect of his voice: "Steady, steady, Velox!
Your master did not strike you. He loves you. Steady, steady, good
horse! Velox! Velox! Velox!" By these means young LeMonde renewed the
race, though the other horses were a considerable distance in advance.

In the meantime a large number of the spectators had seen the
despicable act and roared their disapproval. Some shook their fists at
the monster dwarf, and cried for speedy punishment for his vile trick.
This outburst of indignation made him fear again to molest the bay
horse.

Now George knew that the time had come for Velox to use his utmost
powers. He knew that the horse had great reserved fountains of strength
in him, and believed he could still win the race. As for the horse, he
seemed alive to the situation. Perhaps he felt a proud resentment at
the insult and injury put upon him. His eyes flashed fire. His nostrils
were dilated until the red blood showed through his veins. Man and
horse gave to each other courage and confidence; they appeared no
longer to be two creatures, but had been merged into a single unit of
astonishing force and capacity. LeMonde's whole soul was absorbed with
one thought--to pass the other horses and to cross the line first. He
leaned farther front in the saddle, lowering his head to reduce the
resistance of the air. His face almost touched the flying mane of his
horse.

Again he spoke to his mount: "Steady, my Velox boy; we are nearing the
end. It will soon be over; but you must pass these horses, and win the
race." With this remark LeMonde gave free rein to his horse, pressed
his knees a little tighter against the animal's sides, and gave him a
light touch with the whip. The noble horse instantly responded to his
master's urge. He released fold after fold of knotted muscle, his
stride increased, and when his hoofs descended, they seemed to spurn
the ground. Now as steady as a Corliss engine this ultimate unit of the
animal and mechanical world rushed on, and was seen to be gaining on
the other horses.

At a quarter of a mile from the home stake the sorrel horse was passed,
but still the result seemed uncertain. Then young LeMonde appeared as a
Jehu incarnate. He pressed the horse's flanks with his heels and
shouted into the very ears of his mount: "Velox, we must win, we will
win, we are going to win." With this remark, for the first time in his
life he brought the whip down hard upon the glossy hide of his steed.
The animal increased his speed, and went thundering down the home
stretch after the black. It is a case of blood against time and space.
The bay gains! He has closed the distance between them! His head is on
a line with the other's shoulder! They are only one hundred yards from
the goal! The grand stand is wild with shouting! Those standing near
the track, unconscious of what they do, are throwing hats,
handkerchiefs and umbrellas into the air, and yelling like mad men! The
judges are sighting the line! They see a horse's brown head and
shoulders pass the line, then a black head appears, and Velox has won
by a neck's length.

CHAPTER VIII.

Prayer In a Dance Hall.

When the three horses crossed the finishing line, covered with sweat
and foam, LeMonde and Ketcham soon brought their mounts to a stop. Not
so the monster dwarf. Fearing that the crowd might do him personal
injury he rode the black horse directly to the stable. He was almost
beside himself with rage and disappointment. He ground his teeth
together, and froth showed upon his lips. His face was hideous in
expression. He shook his fist in the direction of the race course, and
cursed the victorious horse and rider with terrible oaths.

To Sam Wiles, who had come up, he said: "Anudder chance will come. I'll
git even wid dat proud aristocrat yit. I'm goin' to git back all de
money I lost today, and mo' too."

A different scene was taking place near the grand stand. When George
LeMonde, with flushed face and bright eyes, dismounted from his horse,
he was at once surrounded by an admiring crowd who showered him with
congratulations. They praised his skill as a horseman, his coolness
in a time of danger and emergency, and his good nature under great
provocation. Many were the admirers of Velox. They patted his
shoulders, stroked his head and commented on his beauty of color and
form. The horse took it in good part, and seemed to consider it a
proper tribute to the steed who won the race.

Among the rest who shook George heartily by the hand was a stout,
broad-featured man of about forty, who was dressed in a good suit of
blue jeans and wore what was uncommon in those days, a large diamond
pin in his shirt front. His name was Costello Nebeker, and he was a
tavern keeper on a country road not many miles away. The girl with a
white dress and shapely arm whom George saw as he flashed past the
grand stand was Stella Nebeker, the sixteen-year-old daughter of this
tavern keeper. She came forward, and in a happy way congratulated him
upon his success. They had known each other for some time; for we are
sorry to say, George on various occasions, having been at the tavern
with some of his young friend, had indulged in the liquors which
Nebeker kept for sale. While at this tavern George had become
acquainted with Stella Nebeker, and she soon found a place in his
affections. She was comely, vivacious and sensible, fond of society, a
natural leader among her set, having most of the accomplishments
furnished by the schools and social gatherings of their neighborhood.

Nebeker said to George in his loud and hearty way: "LeMonde, today you
have covered yourself and horse with glory, and incidentally have put a
good many dollars into my jeans pocket. Now you and your friends must
celebrate this victory by a layout (feast) and dance at my house. Next
Saturday will be moonlight, and Stella and I will invite our friends
and you must ask yours to come, and we will have a jolly supper, and
wash it down with some first-class Kentucky whisky, and wind up the
meeting with a party dance."

George agreed to this proposal; and after bidding the tavern keeper and
his lovely daughter a kind adieu, he departed to the stable, whither
his faithful servant, Mose, had led his horse.

Costello Nebeker lived about ten miles from Mr. LeMonde's plantation in
rather a rough and hilly country. For a number of years he had kept a
public house; and as his place was the only one of this kind for many
miles around, and as it fronted on a much-traveled county road, he had
many customers at his bar and guests in his tavern. His house was a
large frame structure, the lower part of which was used for a bar and
lounging place and the rear for a dance hall. On the second floor were
several sleeping rooms, some of which were occupied by the keeper and
his family, and the rest were prepared for travelers.

The sky was clear and the woods beautiful on the following Saturday
evening. As the sun began to hide his brilliant rays behind the noble
hills covered with regal forests, and the moon, nearing its full, was
already throwing a silvery light over the scene, those invited to the
supper and dance were making their way, some in buggies along the main
road, but most on horseback, coming down hills and across valleys, all
moving to a central point, the tavern house.

It is not our design to dwell upon that feast, which consisted of most
of the good things then in season in Kentucky, but to come at once to
the dance and to a striking incident which occurred there.

Rather late in the evening, after dancing had been going on for some
time, Jasper Very rode up to the tavern. He had been on a long
preaching tour, and was tired and hungry. When he had dismounted, he
asked the proprietor if he could lodge there for the night. Mr. Nebeker
politely told him he could stay, but he was afraid he would not enjoy
himself very well, as a dance was in progress. Jasper then inquired how
far it was to a suitable house where he could put up for the night, and
was told seven miles. He felt in his present condition that this was
too far, and said that if the tavern keeper would treat him civilly and
feed his horse well by his leave he would stay. This was promised him,
and Very dismounted and went in. He quietly took a seat in one corner
of the room, and the dancing continued. While musing upon many things
and wishing in his heart he could do those people good, and having
finally made up his mind to ask the privilege of preaching there the
next day, he was surprised to see a beautiful and ruddy young lady, who
was no other than Stella Nebeker, walk gracefully up to him, drop a
handsome courtesy, and pleasantly, with a winning smile, invite him to
dance with her. Jasper Very in his life had been in many strange
situations, but this was an experience unlike any he had hitherto
passed through. He could hardly understand his thoughts or feelings,
but in a moment he resolved on a desperate experiment. He arose as
gracefully as he could, with many emotions crowding upon his mind.
Stella with much grace moved to his right side. Jasper grasped her
right hand with his left hand, while she leaned her left arm on his
right arm. In this position they walked on the floor.

The whole company seemed pleased at this act of politeness in a young
lady shown to a stranger. The colored musician began to put his fiddle
in the best order. Jasper here asked the fiddler to hold a minute, and,
addressing the company, said: "Friends, for several years I have not
undertaken any matter of importance without first asking the blessing
of God upon it, and I desire now to ask God's blessing upon this
beautiful young lady, who has shown such an act of politeness to a
total stranger, and upon the whole company."

Here he grasped the young lady's hand tightly and said: "Let us all
kneel down and pray." With this he dropped upon his knees, and began
praying with all the power he possessed. Stella tried to get loose from
him, but he held her tightly.

This unexpected act threw the whole company into excitement and
disorder. Stella seized by an emotion which she could not control, fell
upon her knees. Some of the dancers kneeled, some stood, some sat still
with curious looks upon their faces, while others fled as in terror.
The fiddler ran off into the kitchen saying: "Lord a marcy, what de
matter. What's dat mean? Prayin' in a dance hall! Dis beats anyting dis
niggar ever saw."

Jasper Very continued to pray with loud voice and great unction. Some
soon began weeping softly, others cried out aloud in their deep
feeling, and some asked God for mercy. After a while Jasper arose from
his knees and commenced an exhortation, after which he sang a hymn.

Stella Nebeker was so affected by the service and by the deep
convictions of her heart that she remained for a long time prostrate on
the floor, crying earnestly for pardon. This strange meeting continued
nearly all night; and when it was ended, fifteen of those dancers had
obtained pardon for their sins. Stella was one of them, George LeMonde
was another and the tavern keeper was a third. From this dance room a
great revival spread throughout that part of the country.

CHAPTER IX.

Wanted, a Mission School.

Let us follow Miss Viola LeMonde and Miss Henrietta Harvey in their
effort to organize a Sunday School among the "Poor Whites."

It was a beautiful day in September when the two young ladies seated in
the phaeton drawn by Velox and Dolly and driven by faithful Mose made
their way into the hill country. Their object was to visit as many
families in a remote section as possible, and try to get their consent
to join the proposed school.

After riding a number of miles they came to the family of Mart Spink.
The two-room cabin in which they lived had the distinction of being
built of hewn logs. It also had a "lean-to," or low ell, attached to
the larger part.

Fortunately they found the "old man," Mart Spink, at home. He seemed
surprised to behold such a fine turnout stop at his door, but showed a
native gallantry as he came to the carriage.

"Howdy, ladies, I'se glad to see you. Won't you 'light, and walk into
de house?"

"Thank you," replied Viola. "My name is Viola LeMonde, and this is my
friend, Miss Henrietta Harvey. We have come to consult you on some
important business, and shall be glad to step into your cottage."

With this remark they both dismounted from the phaeton, and passed into
the house.

Here they found the whole family, and Mr. Spink introduced them in
order to the ladies--his wife, Lucinda, his oldest daughter, Susanna,
then Elmira, Robert and Jonathan.

Mart Spink invited the ladies to be seated, and they sat down on
splint-bottom chairs.

Viola LeMonde opened the business in hand: "Mr. Spink, some of us
living in the bottoms, knowing that you dwell so far away from any
church that you and your neighbors cannot well attend public religious
services, have decided to start a Sunday School in this locality, if we
can find a suitable place, and if the people are willing to come to it.

"Not long ago Rev. John Larkin, whom perhaps you have seen, suggested
your house as the best place in these hills in which to begin a school.
What do you say to the proposition?"

Mart Spink replied: "Well, I was born in Nashville, Tennessee, and
lived thar with my parents till I was eight years old. I went to school
thar and learned how to read and write a little. I also went to church
and Sunday School some.

"Then they took up land here in de backwoods, and since that time I
have had mighty little chance to larn out of books and to go to
meetin'.

"Yes, I would be rale glad to have you start a school in my house, if
Lucinda is willin'. What do you say, wife?"

Lucinda: "Let us have de school by all means; de sooner de better. I
want it for your sake, Mart, and mine, but specially for our boys and
girls."

So the consent was given and the matter settled.

Susanna Spink, the oldest child, sat opposite Viola LeMonde during the
conversation. She was fourteen years old, and was of such striking
beauty that both the visitors were impressed by it. Her chief
attraction was her eyes. Once seen they could never be forgotten. The
eyebrows were dark and of medium size. The lashes were black and long.
Her eyes were large, clear, deep blue in color. One could look down
into their wondrous depths and imagine one could see the very soul of
the child.

Susanna was all attention during the talk about the school. She spoke
no word, but the look of her eyes spoke volumes to Viola. She knew that
the child was intensely interested in the project. That hour by an
invisible and mysterious power the souls of the woman and child were
welded together into a union of friendship and devotion which death
itself could not part. Neither suspected at this time what a test of
this devotion was to appear in the future.

Highly pleased with the success of their first visit the ladies entered
the carriage, and Viola directed Mose to drive to the home of the Wiles
family. Arriving there they were greeted by the furious barking of a
pack of dogs and by the staring looks of some of the children. Mrs.
Wiles was in the front yard hanging out some faded and frayed clothing
on the line.

We must give the names of this interesting family. Those at home were
Mrs. Deborah Wiles and her children Ephraim, Priscilla, Martha, and
Ruth. The father, Simon, was absent, and also his precious son, Sam,
whose acquaintance we have already made. The remaining son, Reuben, was
visiting a near neighbor about three miles distant. However much of
original depravity existed in this family the parents were determined
that they should be fortified with biblical names.

Mrs. Wiles showed small courtesy to the strangers, for she did not call
off the dogs or speak to the visitors till she had hung out to dry the
last remaining piece of washing.

Then she turned to the carriage, and inquired of the ladies what they
wanted. Viola and Henrietta without any invitation stepped down from
the vehicle, and made known their mission.

Mrs. Wiles expressed herself unfavorable to the idea. She said they
were gittin' along well enough without any church meetin's, and they
did not want any of de high-toned people from de bottoms to come up
there, putting on airs, treating them as ignorant, and no 'count white
trash, and making fun of their farms and houses.

But different words sprang from the lips of Ephraim and Priscilla.

Ephraim, the boy who a few years before had discovered Wind Cave, now
grown to a good sized youth, said: "You are wrong, ma. Most of us
around here are a low down set without books or religion. If these
ladies are willin' to spend their time to come all this way and teach
us larnin' and de Bible, I say we ought to thank them, and help them to
start de school."

Priscilla said she agreed with her brother and thought it was time they
"were gittin' out of their pore way of livin'," and she would be glad
"to jine de school" if her mother would let her.

Mrs. Wiles gave a cold consent, and the carriage drove away, the ladies
thankful that they had secured at least two more advocates of their
scheme.

Mose spoke to his mettled steeds and soon they were drawing the
carriage over an unfrequented road through a deep forest to the cabin
of Harrop Sneath. He and his house were typical of the poorest of the
"poor whites." His cabin consisted of one room, about fourteen feet
square, with one door and no windows. It was made of unhewn logs
plastered with clay. The only daylight which entered the cabin came
through the door when open and down the chimney. On the inside stood a
bedstead made of poles stuck between the logs of the angle, the outside
corner supported by a crotched stick. The table was a huge hewn log,
standing on four pegs. A log bench or two took the place of chairs. The
cooking utensils consisted of an iron pot, which hung in the big
chimney, a kettle and skillet and a few pewter and tin dishes. The loft
was the sleeping place of most of the children. It was reached by a
ladder of wooden pins driven into the logs.

Harrop Sneath was too lazy and shiftless to work much. He cultivated in
a careless way a small piece of cleared ground around his cabin on
which he raised a little Indian corn. The meat for his family was
provided by his rifle, for the woods abounded in game--deer, wild
turkeys, etc.

It was in such a cabin that Abraham Lincoln was born in another part of
Kentucky about this time.

When Viola and Henrietta entered the clearing Sneath was sitting in the
sun on a log bench in front of his cabin. He was a man in middle life
and like most of the hillside settlers was the father of several
children.

The young ladies addressed him pleasantly, and asked after his family
and his crops.

He replied, that "de old woman and de kids war right peart; that de
crops were most a dead failure because of de dry spell." He "'lowed a
dry spell war mighty bad for crops on hillside farms." In this he was
quite right.

By this time the "old woman" and some of the kids had come into the
yard. Among them was Jemima Sneath, the oldest daughter. She was
apparently about twenty years of age, and was a large, healthy young
woman.

Henrietta Harvey was the speaker this time, and in a clear and emphatic
manner made their mission known. She told them about the school, what a
blessing it would be to the community, the families and each one. It
would improve their minds, help to remove the evils which all knew
existed in the hills, help to put the farmers on their feet by showing
them how to raise better crops.

Trying to awaken a greater interest in the father she said: "Mr.
Sneath, when you are not working on your place or hunting, how do you
pass the time?"

He answered with a slow drawl: "Well, most ginerally I sot on de bench
in shade in summer and in de sun in winter. Sometimes I sot and think,
and sometimes I jest sot."

Such a man they felt it difficult to arouse, but when Viola added her
invitations and arguments to those of her friend, poor Sneath awoke
enough to the situation to hold his head up higher and widen his
shoulders a trifle.

The one most interested was Jemima, the oldest daughter. She promised
to attend the first meeting and to become a member of the school.

Viola now directed Mose to drive them still farther through the woods
to the home of Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf. They would not have
dared to beard this lion in his den, but knowing he had left the county
for the time being, they wished, if possible, to interest his mother
and sister in the school.

As they drew up to the house the dwarf's mother stood in the doorway,
her daughter looking over her shoulder. The mother might have been a
twin sister of Sycorax, the dam of Caliban. She was tall and slim,
dressed in a coarse, hand-woven dress. Her long, scant hair fell down
over her shoulders. Her face was that of a hag. Her few teeth were
stained yellow with tobacco.

As soon as Viola spoke of the school, this vixen, raising her right arm
to its greatest height and clenching her hand, broke out in wild
vituperation:

"What do de like of ye, comin' into our hills in yer fine carriage to
see how pore we air and to look down on us? Woud you uns larn us to be
good in yer school? We uns air as good as you uns even if we don't live
in big houses and drive fast hosses. Away with you! Me and mine will
have nuthin' to do with yer mission."

In a similar vein she continued to pour out a volley of loud and
abusive words, interlarding them with such oaths and curses as would
have surprised a Billinsgate fishwoman.

Viola tried for a brief time to reason with her, and present their plea
for the mission school, but, finding it was useless to remain longer,
told Mose to drive away. When they had reached the shelter of the woods
the slave said: "Ah neber hurd a deck han' on de ribber cuss and swear
lak dat po' white woman."

Still these noble ladies, inspired with a high resolve to help the
lowly, undismayed continued their work. In the course of two or three
days a sufficient number of persons had agreed to attend the school to
warrant its being opened with much promise.

CHAPTER X.

The Mission School Established.

The time set for beginning the mission school was the first Sunday in
October. The place, Mart Spink's sitting-room.

Mr. Spink had added to the seating capacity of his cabin by taking some
long slabs and with an auger drilling holes in their round sides. Into
these holes he drove wooden pegs, and thus provided serviceable benches
without backs. These together with his other benches and his chairs
gave sufficient seating accommodation for those who came.

It was a motley but interesting crowd that assembled in the
sitting-room at two o'clock that Sunday afternoon. Of course the Spinks
were there, and some members of the Wiles and Sneath families were
present, and others from different homes in that section. Fourteen
girls, ten boys and a few adults had come to the meeting. Besides these
there were the preacher, John Larkin, Viola and George LeMonde,
Henrietta Harvey, and Stella Nebeker in attendance. Jasper Very wished
much to be present, but a preaching engagement kept him away.

The children were dressed somewhat better than on week days but at that
their clothing was nothing to boast of. The girls were shy and ill at
ease, the boys half shy and half bold.

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