THE ROOF TREE



BY



CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK






























GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO


DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY


1921





With the wish that it were a richer

and worthier tribute^ this book is

lovingly and gratefully dedicated


TO MY WIFE










THE ROOF TREE




CHAPTER I


BETWEEN the smoke-darkened walls of the

mountain cabin still murmured the last echoes

of the pistol's bellowing, and it seemed a voice

of everlasting duration to the shock-sickened nerves

of those withm.


First it had thimdered with the deafening exaggera-

tion of confined space, then its echo had beaten against

the clay-chink wall timbers and rolled upward to the

rafters. Now, dwindled to a ghostly whisper, it

lingered and persisted.


But the house stood isolated, and outside the laurelled ^j;^

forests and porous cliffs soaked up the dissonance as a ^W

blotter soaks ink. i


The picture seen through the open door, had there

been any to see, was almost as motionless as a tableau,

and it was a starkly grim one, with murky shadows

against a fitful light. A ray of the setting sun forced

its inquisitive way inward upon the semi-darkness of

the interior. A red wavering from the open hearth,

where supper preparations had been going forward,

threw unsteady patches of fire reflection outward. Indie

pervading smell of dead smoke from a blackened chimney

hung the more pimgent sharpness of freshly burned

gun-powder, and the man standing near the door gazed

downward, with a dazed stare, at the floor by his feet,

where lay the pistol which gave forth that acrid stench.


8




^




4 THE ROOF TREE


Across from him in the dead silence — dead save fojr

the lingering of the echo's ghost — stood the woman, her

hands clut(£ed to her thin bosom, her eyes stunned and

dilated, her body wavering on legs about to buckle in

collapse.


On the puncheon floor between them stretched the

woman's husband. The echo had outlasted his life and,

because the muzzle had almost touched his breast, he

sprawled in a dark welter that was still spreading.


His posture was so uncouth and grotesque as to filch

from death its rightful dignity, and his face was turned

downward.


The interminability of the tableau existed only in

the unf ocussed minds of the two living beings to whom

the consequence of this moment was not measurable in

time. Then from the woman's parted lips came a long,

strangling moan that moimted to something like a

muffled shriek. She remained a moment rocking on her

feet, then wheeled and stumbled toward the quilt-

covered four-poster bed in one dark comer of the

cabin. Into its feather billows she flung herself and lay

with her fingernails digging into her temples and her

body racked with the incoherencies of hysteria.


The man stooped to pick up the pistol and walked

slowly over to the rough table where he laid it down

noiselessly, as though with that quietness he were doing

something to offset the fatal blatancy with which it had


{'ust spoken. He looked down at the lifeless figure with

>uming eyes entirely devoid of pity, then went with a

soimdless tread, in spite of his heavy-soled boots, to the

bed and spoke softly to the woman — ^who was his sister.

"Ye've got ter quit weepin* fer a spell, honey," he

annoimced with a tense authority which sought to re-

call her to herself. **I'm obleeged ter take flight right

speedily now, an' afore I goes thar's things ter be studied

out an' sottled betwixt us/*




• • •







THE ROOF TREE 5


But the half -stifled moan that came from the feather

bed was a voice of collapse and chaos, to which speech

was impossible.


So tJie brother lifted her in arms that remained

imshaken and sat on the edge of the bed looking into her

eyes with an almost hypnotic forcefulness.


"Ef ye don't hearken ter me now, I'm bound ter

tarry till ye does," he reminded her, "an* I'm in right

tormentin' haste. Hit means life and death ter me."


As if groping her tortured way back from pits of

madness, the woman strove to focus her senses, but her

wild eyes encoimtered the dark and crumpled mass on

the floor and again a low shriek broke from her. She

turned her homfied face away and surrendered to a

fresh paroxysm, but at length she stammered between

gasps that wrenched her tightened throat:


"Kiver him up first. Ken. Kiver him up ... I

kain't endure ter look at him thetaway!"


Although the moments were pricelessly valuable, the

man straightened the contorted limbs of the dead body

and covered it decently with a quilt. Then he stood

again by the bed.


"Ef I'd got hyar a minute sooner, Sally," he said,

slowly, and there was a trace of self -accusation in his

voice, "hit moutn't hev happened. I war jest a mite

too tardy — ^but I knows ye hed ter kill him. I knows ye

acted in self-defence."


From the bed came again the half -insane response of

hysterical moaning, and the young mountaineer straight-

ened his shoulders.


" His folks," he said in a level voice, " won't skeercely

listen ter no reason . . . They'll be hell-bent on

makin' somebody pay. . . . They'll plum hev ter

hang SOME person, an' hit kain't be you.^^


The woman only shuddered and twisted spasmodically

as she lay there while her brother went doggedly on:




6 THE ROOF TREE




«




Hit kain't be you . . . with yore baby ter be

bomedy Sally. Hit's been punishment enough fer

ye ter endure him this long . . . ter hev been

wedded with a brute . . . but ther child's got hits

life ter live . . . an' hit kain't be homed in no jail

house!"


"I reckon — " the response came weakly from the

heaped-up covers — " I reckon hit's got ter be thetaway.

Ken."


" By God, no ! Yore baby's got ter w'ar a bad man's

name — ^but hit'U hev a good woman's blood in hits

veins. They'll low I kilt him, Sally. Let 'em b'lieve

hit. I hain't got no woman nor no child of my own ter

think erbout ... I kin git away an' start fresh

in some other place. I loves ye, Sally, but even more'n

thet, I'm thinkin' of thet child thet hain't homed yit —

a child thet hain't accountable fer none of this."




That had been yesterday.


Now, Kenneth Thornton, though that was not to be

his name any longer, stood alone near the peak of a

divide, and the mists of early morning lay tluck below

him. They obliterated, under their dispiriting gray, the

valleys and lower forest-reaches, and his face, which was

yoimg and resolutely featiu^ed, held a kindred mood of

shadowing depression. Beneath that miasma cloak of

morning fog twisted a river from which the sun would

strike darts of laughing light — when the sun had routed

the opaqueness suspended between night and day.


In the clear gray eyes of the man were pools of laugh-

ter, too, but now they were stilled and shaded under

bitter reflections.


Something else stretched along the hiaden river-bed,

but even the mid-day light would give it no ocular

marking. That something which the eye denied and




Ik




THE ROOF TREE 7


the law acknowledged meant more to this man, who had

slipped the pack from his wearied shoulders, than did

the river or the park-like woods that hedged the river.


There ran the border line between the State of Vir-

ginia and the State of Kentucky and he would cross it

when he crossed the river.


So the stream became a Rubicon to him, and on the

other side he would leave behind him the name of

Kenneth Thornton and take up the less damning one

of Cal Maggard.


He had the heels of his pursuers and, once across the

state line, he would be beyond their grasp until the

Sheriff's huntsmen had whistled in their pack and gone

grumbling back to conform with the law's intricate

requirements. At that point the man-hunt fell into

another jurisdiction and extradition papers would in-

volve correspondence between a governor at Richmond

and a governor at Frankfort.


Durinjj such an interlude the fugitive hoped with con-

fidence to have lost himself in a taciturn and apathetic

wilderness of peak-broken land where his discovery

would be as haphazard an undertaking as the accurate

aiming of a lightning bolt.


But mere escape from courts and prisons does not

assure full measure of content. He had heard all his

life that this border line separated the sheep of his own

nativity from the goats of a meaner race, and to this

narrow tenet he had given unquestioning belief.


^^I disgusts Kaintuck'!" exclaimed the refugee half

aloud as his strong hands clenched themselves, one

hanging free and the other stiU grasping the rifle which

as yet he had no intent of laying aside. ^^I plum dis-

gusts Kaintuck' ! "


The sun was climbmg now and its pallid disk was

slowly flushing to the wakefulness of fiery rose. The sky

overhead was livening to turquoise light and here and




8 THE ROOF TREE


there along the upper slopes were gossamer flashes of opal

and amethyst, but this beauty of unveiling turrets and

gold-touched crests was lost on eyes in which dwelt a

nightmare from which there was no hope of awakening.


To-day the sparsely settled countryside that he had

put behind him would buzz with a wrath like that of

swarming bees along its creek-bed roads, and the posse

would be out. To-day also he would be far over in

Kentucky.


"I mout hev' tarried thar an' fronted hit out," he bit-

terly reflected, "fer God in Heaven knows he needed

killin' ! " But there he broke off into a bitter laugh.


" God in Heaven knows hit . • • / knows hit an'

she knows hit, but nairy another soul don't know an' ef

they did hit wouldn't skeercely make no differ."


He threw back his head and sought to review the

situation through the eyes of others and to analyze it all

as an outsider would analyze it. To his simplicity of

nature came no thought that the assumption of a guilt

not his own was a generous or heroic thing.


His sister's pride had silenced her lips as to the

brutality of this husband whose friends in that neigh-

bourhood were among the little czars of influence. Her

suffering imder an endless reign of terror was a well-

kept secret which only her brother shared. The big,

crudely handsome brute had been " jobial" and suave of

manner among his fellows and was held in favourable

esteem. Only a day or two ago, when the brother had

remonstrated in a low voice against some recent

cruelty, the husband's wrath had blazed out. Wit-

nesses to that wordy encoimter had seen Thornton go

white with a rage that was ominous and then bite off

his imspoken retort and tiun away. Those witnesses

had not heard what was first said and had learned only

what was revealed in the indignant husband's raised

voice at the end.




THE ROOF TREE 9


"Don't aim ter threaten me, Ken. I don't suffer no

man ter do thet — an* don't never darken my door hence-

forward."


Now it must seem that Thornton had not only

threatened but executed, and no one would suspect the

wife.


He saw in his mind's eye the "High Court" that

would try the alleged slayer of John Turk; a court

dominated by the dead man's friends; a court where

witnesses and jurors would be terror-blinded against

the defendant and where a farce would be staged: a

sacrifice offered up.


There had been in that log house three persons. One

of them was dead and his death would speak for him

with an eloquence louder than any Uving tongue.

There were, also, the woman and Thornton himself.

Between them must he the responsibihty. Consci-

entiously the fugitive summarized the circumstances as

the prosecution would marshal and present them.


A man had been shot. On the table lay a pistol with

one empty "hull" in its chamber. The woman was

the dead man's wife, not long since a bride and shortly

to become the mother of his child. If she had been the

miu^dered man's deadly enemy why had she not left

him; why had she not complained? But the brother

had been heard to threaten the husband only a day or

two since. He was in the dead man's house, after being

forbidden to shadow its threshold.


"HeU!" cried Thornton aloud. "Ef I stayed she'd

hev ter come inter Cote an' sw'ar either fer me or

ergin me — ^an' like es not, she'd break down an' confess.

Anyhow, ef they put her in ther jail-house I reckon ther

child would hev hits bomin' thar. Hell — ^no!"


He turned once more to gaze on the vague cone of a

moimtain that stood upHfted above its fellows far be-

hind him. He had started his journey at its base.




10 THE ROOF TREE


Then he looked westward where ridge after

emerging now into full summer greenery, went

endless billows to the sky, and he went down th

toward the river on whose other side he was to I

another man.


Kenneth Thornton was pushing his way We

quarry of a man-hunt, but long before him a

Kenneth Thornton had^qpme from Virginia to Ker

an ancestor so far lost in the mists of antiquity t

descendant had never heard of him; and that mt

had been making a sacrifice.




CHAPTER n


SPRUNG from a race which had gone to seed like

plants in a long-a);)andoned garden, once splen-

did and vigorous, old^ Caleb Harper was a pa-

triarchal figure nearing the sunset of his lif e«


His forebears had been mountaineers of the Kentucky

Cumberlands since the vanguard of white life had

ventiu^ed westward from the seaboard. Prom pioneers

who had led the march of progress that stock had re-

lapsed into the decay of mountain-hedged isolation and

feudal lawlessness, but here and there among the wast-

age, like survivors over the weed-choked garden of neg-

lect, emerged such exceptions as Old Caleb ; paradoxes

of rudeness and dignity, of bigotry and nobility.


Caleb's house stood on the rising ground above the

river, a substantial structure grown by occasional

additions from the nucleus that his ancestor Caleb

Parish had founded in revolutionary times, and it

marked a contrast with its less provident neighbours.

Many cabins scattered along these slopes were dismal

and makeshift abodes which appeared to proclaim the

despair and squalor of their builders and occupants.


Just now a yoimg girl stood in the large unfurnished

room that served the house as an attic — ^and she held a

folded paper in her hand.


She had drawn out of its dusty comer a small and

quaintly shaped horsehide tnmk upon which, in spots,

the hair still adhered. The storage-room that could

furnish forth its mate must be one whose proprietors

held inviolate relics of long-gone days, for its like has


11




12 THE ROOF TREE


not been made since the life of America was slenderly

stnmg along the Atlantic seaboard and the bison

ranged about his salt licks east of the Mississippi.


Into the lock the girl fitted a cumbersome brass key

and then for a long minute she stood there breathing the

forenoon air that eddied in currents of fresh warmth.

The Jime simlight came, too, in a golden flood and the

soft radiance of it played upon her hair and cheeks.


Outside, almost brushing the eaves with the plumes of

its farthest flung branches, stood a gigantic walnut tree

whose fresh leafage filtered a mottling of sunlight upon

the age-tempered walls.


The girl herself, in her red dress, was slim and coloiu*-

ful enough and dewy-fresh enough to endure the search-

ing illumination of the June morning.


Dark hair crowned the head that she threw back to

gaze upward into the venerable branches of the tree, and

her eyes were as dark as her hair and as deep as a soft

night sky.


Over beetling summits and sunlit valley the girl's

glance went lightly and contentedly, but when it came

back to nearer distances it dwelt with an absorbed

tenderness on the gnarled old veteran of storm-tested

generations that stood there before the house : the wal-

nut which the people of her family had always called

the "roof tree*' because some fanciful grandmother had

so named it in the long ago.


"I reckon ye're safe now, old roof tree," she mur-

mured, for to her the tree was human enough to deserve

actual address, and as she spoke she sighed as one sighs

who is relieved of an old anxiety.


Then, recalled to the mission that had brought her

here, she thought of the folded paper that she held in

her hand.


So she drew the ancient trunk nearer to the window

and lifted its cover.




k




THE ROOF TREE 13


It was full of things so old that she paused reverently

before handling them.


Once the grandmother who had died when she was

still a small child had allowed her to glimpse some of

these ancient treasiu^es but memory was vague as to

their character.


Both father and mother were shadowy and half-

mythical beings of hearsay to her, because just before

her birth her father had been murdered from ambush.

The mother had survived him only long enough to bring

her baby into the world and then die broken-hearted

because the child was not a boy whom she might suckle

from the hatred in her own breast and rear as a zealot

dedicated to avenging his father.


The chest had always held for this girl intriguing

possibilities of exploration which had never been satis-

fied. The gentle grandfather had withheld the key imtil

she should be old enough to treat with respect those

sentimental odds and ends which his women-folk had

held sacred, and when the girl herself had "grown up" —

she was eighteen now— some whimsey of clinging to

the illusions and delights of anticipation had stayed

her and held the curb upon her curiosity. Once opened

the old trunk would no longer beckon with its mystery,

and in this isolated life mysteries must not be lightly

wasted.


But this morning old Caleb Harper had prosaically

settled the question for her. He had put that paper

into her hand before he went over the ridge to the corn-

field with his mule and plow.


"Thet thar paper's right pointedly valuable, leetle

gal," he had told her. "I wants ye ter put hit away

safe somewhars." He had paused there and then added

reflectively, "I reckon ther handiest place would be in

ther old horsehide chist thet our fore-parents fotched

over ther moimtings from Virginny."




14 THE ROOF TREE


She had asked no questions about the paper itself

because, to her, the opening of the trunk was more im-

portant, but she heard the old man explaining, imasked:


"IVe done paid oflF what I owes Bas Rowlett an* thet

paper's a full receipt. I knows right well he's my trusty

friend, an' hit's my notion thet he's got his hopes of

bein' even more'n thet ter you — ^but still a debt sets

mighty heavy on me, be hit ter friend or foe, an' hit

pleasures me thet hit's sottled."


The girl passed diplomatically over the allusion to

herself and the elder's expression of favour for a par-

ticular suitor, but without words she had made the

mental reservation: "Bas Rowlett's brash and uppety

enough withouten us bein' beholden ter him fer no

money debt. Like as not he'll be more humble-like

a'tter this when he comes a-sparkin'."


Now she sat on a heavy cross-beam and looked down

upon the packed contents while into her nostrils crept

subtly the odoiu* of old herbs and spicy defences against

moth and mould which had been renewed from time to

time through the lagging decades imtil her own day.


First, there came out a soft package wrapped in a

threadbare shawl and carefully bound with home-

twisted twine and this she deposited on her knees

and began to unfasten with trembling fingers of ex-

pectancy. When she had opened up the thing she

rose eagerly and shook out a gown that was as brittle

and sere as a leaf in autumn and that rustled frigidly as

the stiffened folds straightened.


"I'll wager now, hit war a weddirC dress," she ex-

claimed as she held it excitedly up to the light and

appraised the fineness of the ancient silk with eyes

more accustomed to homespun.


Then came something flat that fell rustling to the

floor and spread into a sheaf of paper bound between

home-made covers of doth, but when the girl opened the




k




THE ROOF TREE 15


improvised book, with the presentiment that here was

the message out of the past that would explain the rest,

she knitted her brows and sat studying it in perplexed

engrossment.


The ink had rusted, in the six score years and more

since its inscribing, to a reddish faintness which shrank

dimly and without contrast into the darkened back-

ground, yet difficulties only whetted her discoverer's

appetite, so that when, after an hour, she had studied

out the beginning of the document, she was deep in

a world of romance-freighted history. Here was a

joiunal written by a woman in the brave and tragic days

of the nation's birth.


That part which she was now reading seemed to be a

sort of preamble to the rest, and before the girl had

progressed far she foimd a sentence which, for her, in-

fused life and the warmth of intimacy into the docu«

ment.


"It may be that God in His goodenesse will call me

to His house which is in Heaven before I have fully

written ye matters which I would sett downe in this

joumall," began the record. "Since I can not tell

whether or not I shall survive ye cominge of that new

life upon which all my thoughtes are sett and shoulde

such judgement be His WiUe, I want that ye deare

childe shall have this recorde of ye days its father and I

spent here in these forest hills so remote from ye sea

and ye rivers of our deare Virginia, and ye gentle re-

finements we put behind us to become pioneers."


There was something else there that she could not

make out because of its blurring, and she wondered if the

blotted pages had been moistened by tears as well as ink,

but soon she deciphered this unusual statement.


"Much will be founde in this joumall, touching ye


^^ee which I planted in ye first dayes and which we have


named ye roof e tree after a fancy of my owne. I have




16 THE ROOF TREE


ye strong f aithe that whilst that tree stands and growes

stronge and weathers ye thunder and wind and is re-

vered, ye stem and branches of our family also will waxe

stronge and robust, but that when it falls, likewise will

disaster fall upon our house."


One thing became at once outstandingly certain to

the unsophisticated reader.


This place in the days of its founding had been an

abode of love unshaken by perils, for of the man who had

been its head she found such a portrait as love alone

could have painted. He was described as to the

modelling of his features, the light and expression of

his eyes; the way his dark hair fell over his "broade

browe" — even the cleft of his chin was mentioned.


That fondly inspired pen paused in its narrative of

incredible adventures and more than Spartan hardships

to assure the future reader that, "ye peale of his laugh

was as clear and tuneful as ye fox horn with which our

Virginia gentry were wont to go afield with horse and

hound." There had possibly been a touch of wistful-

ness in that mention of a renounced life of greater

affluence and pleasure for hard upon it followed the

observation:


"Here, where our faces are graven with anxieties

that besette our waking and sleeping, it seemeth that

most men have forgotten ye very fashion of laughter.

Joy seemes killed out of them, as by a bitter frost, yet

he hath ever kept ye clear peale of merriment in his

voice and its flash in his eye and ye smile that showes his

white teeth."


Somehow the girl seemed to see that face as though

it had a more direct presentment before her eyes than

this faded portraiture of words penned by a hand long

ago dead.


He must have been, she romantically reflected, a

handsome figure of a man. Then naively the writer had




THE ROOF TREE 17


passed on to a second description: "K I have any

favour of comeliness it can matter naught to me save as

it giveth pleasure to my deare husbande, yet I shall

endeavour to sette downe truly my own appearance


The girl read and re-read the description of this,

ancestress, then gasped.


"Why, hit mout be me she was a-writin' erbout*'*

she murmiu-ed, "save only I hain't purty."


In that demure assertion she failed of justice to her-

self, but her eyes were sparkling. She knew that here-

about in this rude world of hers her people were

accoimted both godly and worthy of respect, but after

all it was a drab and poverty-ridden world with slow and

torpid pulses of being. Here, she found, in indisputable

proof , the record of her " fore-parents ". Once they, too,

had been ladies and gentlemen familiar with elegant

ways and circumstances as vague to her as fable.

Henceforth when she boasted that hers were "ther best

folk in ther world" she would speak not in empty de-

fiance but in full confidence !


But as she rose at length from her revery she wondered

if after all she had not been actually dreaming, because

a soimd had come to her ears that was unfamiliar and

that seemed of a piece with her reading. It was the

laugh of a man, and its peal was as clear and as merry as

the note of a fox horn.


The girl was speedily at the window looking out, and

there by the roadside stood her grandfather in con-

versation with a stranger.


He was a tall young man and though plainly a

mountaineer there was a declaration of something dis-

tinct in the character of his clothing and the easy grace

of his bearing. Instead of the jeans overalls and the

coatless shoulders to which she was accustomed, she

saw a white shirt and a dark coat, dust-stained and




18 THE ROOF TREE


travel-soiled, yet proclaiming a certain predilection

toward personal neatness.


The traveller had taken oS his black felt hat as he

talked and his black hair fell in a long lock over his

broad, low forehead. He was smiling, too, and she

caught the flash of white teeth and even — since the

distance was short — ^the deep cleft of his firm chin.


Framed there at the window the girl caught her hands

to her breast and exclaimed in a stifled whisper, "Land

o' Canaan ! He's jest walked spang outen them written

pages — ^he's ther spittin' image of that man my dead

and gone great-great-great-gran'-mammy married."


It was at that instant that the yoimg man looked up

and for a moment their eyes met. The stranger's words

halted midway in their utterance and his Kps remained

for a moment parted, then he recovered his conver-

sational balance and carried forward his talk with the

gray-beard.


The girl drew back into the shadow, but she stood

watching until he had gone and the bend in the road

hid him. Then she placed the receipt that had brought

her to the attic in the old manuscript, marking the place

where her reading had been interrupted, and after lock-

ing the trunk ran hghtly down the stairs.


"Gran'pap," she breathlessly demanded, "I seed ye

a-talkin' with a stranger out thar. Did ye find out who

is he?''


" He give ther name of Cal Maggard," answered the old

man, casually, as he crumbled leaf tobacco into his pipe.

" He lows he's going ter dwell in ther old Burrell Thornton

house over on ther nigh spur of Defeated Creek.'*


That night while the patriarch dozed in his hickory

withed chair with his pipe drooping from his wrinkled

lips his granddaughter slipped quietly out of the house

and went over to the tree.




^




THE ROOF TREE 19


Out there magic was making wider an early summer

moon that clothed the peaks in silvery softness and

painted shadows of cobalt in the hollows. The river

flashed its response and crooned its lullaby, and like

children answering the maternal voice, the frogs gave

chorus and the whippoorwills called plaintively from the

woods.


The branches of the great walnut were etched against

a sky that would have been bright with stars were it not

that the moon paled them, and she gazed up with a hand

resting lightly on the broad-girthed bole of the stalwart

veteran. Often she had wondered why she loved this

particular tree so much. It had always seemed to her

a companion, a guardian, a personality, when its in-

numerable fellows in the forest were — ^nothing but

trees.


Now she knew. She had only failed to imderstand

the language with which it had spoken to her from child-

hood, and all the while, when the wind had made every

leaf a whispering tongue, it had been trying to tell her

many ancient stories.


"I knows, now, old roof tree," she murmiu-ed. "IVe

done foimd out erbout ye," and her hand patted the

close-knit bark.


Then, in the subtle influence of the moonlight and

the night that awoke all the young fires of dreaming, she

half closed her eyes and seemed to see a woman who

looked like herself yet who — ^in the phantasy of that

moment — ^was arrayed in a gown of silk and small satin

slippers, looking up into the eyes of a man whose hair

was dark and whose chin was cleft and whose smile

flashed upon white teeth. Only as the dream took

hold upon her its spirit changed and the other woman

seemed to be herself and the man seemed to be the one

whom she had glimpsed to-day.


Then her reveries were broken, jln the shallow water




/




20 THE RCKDF TREE


I of the ford down at the river splashed a horse's hoofs

j and she heard a voice singing in the weird falsetto of

! moimtain minstrelsy an old ballade which, like much

; else of the life there, was a heritage from other times.

So the girl brushed an impatient hand over rudely


awakened eyes and turned back to the door, knowing


that Bas Rowlett had come sparking.




CHAPTER m


IT WAS a distraite maiden who greeted the visiting

swain that night and one so inattentive to his woo-

ing that his sUences became long, under discourage-

ment, and his temper sullen. Earlier than was his

custom he bade her good-night and took himself moodily

away.


Tlien Dorothy Harper kindled a lamp and hastened to

the attic where she sat with her head bowed over the

old diary while the house, save for herself, slept and the

moon rode down toward the west.


Often her eyes wandered away from the bone-yellow

pages of the ancient document and grew pensive in

dreamy meditation. This record was opening, for her,

the door of intimately wrought history upon the past of

her family and her nation when both had been m their

bravest youth.


She did not read it all nor even a substantial part of it

because between scraps of di£Scult perusal came long

and alluring intervals of easy revery. Had she followed

its sequence more steadily many things would have

been made manifest to her which she only came to know

later, paying for the knowledge with a usury of ex-

perience and suflFering.


Yet since that old diary not only set out essential

matters in the lives of her ancestors but also things

integral and germane to her own life and that of the

stranger who had to-day laughed in the road, it may be

as well to take note of its contents.


The quaint phrasing of the writer may be discarded


21




22 THE RCX)F TREE


and only the substance which concerned her narrative

taken into account, for her sheaf of yellow pages was a

door upon the remote reaches of the past, yet a past

which this girl was not to find a thing ended and buried

but rather a ghost that still walked and held a con-

tinuing dominion.


In those f ar-oflF days when the Crown still governed us

there had stood in Virginia a manor house built of brick

brought overseas from England.


In it Colonel John Parish lived as had his father, and

in it he died in those stirring times of a nation's painful

birth. He had been old and stubborn and his emotions

were so mixed between conflicting loyalties that the

pam of his hard choice hastened his end. Tradition

tells that, on his deathbed, his emaciated hand clutched

at a letter from Washington himself, but that just at

the final moment his eyes turned toward the portrait of

the King which still hung above his mantel shelf, and

that his Ups shaped reverent sentinients as he died.


Later that same day his two sons met in the wain-

scoted room hallowed by their father's books and filled

with his lingering spirit— a library noted in a land where

books were still few enough to distinguish their owner.


Between them, even in this hoiu* of common bereave-

ment, stood a coolness, an embarrassment which must

be faced when two men, bound by blood, yet parted by

an imconfessed feud, arrive at the parting of their ways.


Though he had been true to every requirement of

honoiu* and punctiho, John the elder had never entirely

recovered from the wound he had suffered when Dorothy

Calmer had chosen his younger brother Caleb instead of

himself. He had indeed never quite been able to for-

give it.


"So soon as my father has been laid to rest, I purpose

to repair to Mount Vernon," came the thoughtful words

of the yoimger brother as their interview, which had




•\




THE ROOF TREE 23


been studiedly courteous but devoid of warmth ended,

and the elder halted, turning on the threshold to listen.

"There was, as you may recall, a message in General

Washington's letter to my father indicating that an

enterprise of moment awaited my imdertaJdng," went

on Caleb. ""I should be remiss if I failed of prompt

response."


^^ ^^ ^^


Kentucky ! Until the fever of war with Great Britain

had heated man's blood to the exclusion of all else Vir-

ginia had rung with that name.


La Salle had ventured there in the century before,

seeking a mythical river running west to China. Boone

and the Long Hunters had trod the trails of mystery and

brought back corroborative tales of wonder and Ophir

richness.


Of these things, General Washington and Captain

Caleb Parish were talking on a day when the summer

afternoon held its breath in hot and fragrant stillness

over the house at Moimt Vernon.


On a map the general indicated the southward run-

ning ranges of the AUeghanies, and the hinterland of

wilderness.


"Beyond that line," he said, gravely, "lies the future!

Those who have already dared the western trails and

struck their roots into the soil must not be deserted, sir.

They are fiercely self-reliant and liberty-loving, but if

they be not sustained we risk their loyalty and our back

doors will be thrown open to defeat."


Parish bowed. "And I, sir," he questioned, "am

to stand guard in these forests?"


George Washington swept out his hand in a gesture

of reluctant affirmation.


"Behind the mountains our settlers face a long pur-

gatory of peril and privation. Captain Parish," came

the sober response. "Without powder, lead, and salt.




i




24 THE ROOF TREE


they cannot live. The ways must be held open.

Communication must remain intact. Forts must be

maintained — ^and the two paths are here — ^and here."


His finger indicated the headwaters of the Ohio and

the ink-marked spot where the steep ridges broke at

Cumberland Gap.


Parish's eyes narrowed painfully as he stood looking

over the stretches of Washington's estate. The vista

typified many well-beloved things that he was being

called upon to leave behind him — ordered acres, books,

the human contacts of kindred association. It was

when he thought of his yoimg wife and his daughter that

he flinched. 'Twould go hard with them, who had been

gently nurtured.


"Do women and children go, too?" inquired Parish,

brusquely.


"There are women and children there," came the

swift reply. "We seek to lay foundations of perma-

nence and without the family we build on quicksand."




Endless barriers of wilderness peaks rose sheer and

forbidding about a valley through which a narrow river

flashed its thin loop of water. Down the steep slopes

from a rain-darkened sky hung ragged fringes of cloud-

streamer and fog-wraith.


Toward a settlement, somewhere westward through

the forest, a drenched and travel-sore cortege was plod-

ding outward. A handful of lean and briar-infested

cattle stumbled in advance, yet themselves preceded by

a vanguard of scouting riflemen, and back of the beef-

animals came ponies, galled of wither and lean of rib

under long-borne pack saddles.


Behind lay memories of hard and seemingly endless

journeying, of alarms, of discouragement. Ahead lay

a precarious future — ^and the wilderness.




k




THE ROOF TREE 25


The two Dorothys, Captam Caleb Parish's wife and

daughter, were ending their journey on foot, for upon

them lay the duties of example and noblesse oblige — but

the prideful tilt of their chins was maintained with an

ache of effort, and when the cortege halted that the

beasts might blow, Caleb Parish hastened back from

his place at the front to his wife and daughter.


"It's not far now," he encouraged. "To-night, at

least, we shall sleep behind walls — even though they be

only those of a block-house — ^and under a roof tree."


Both of them smiled at him — ^yet in his self -accusing

heart he wondered whether the wife whose fortitude he

was so severely taxing would not have done better to

choose his brother.


While the halted outfit stood relaxed, there soimded

through the immense voicelessness of the wilderness a

long-drawn, far-carrying shout, at which the more timid

women started flutteringly, but which the vanguard

recognized and answered, and a moment later there

appeared on the ledge of an overhanging cliff the lithe,

straight figure of a boy.


He stood statuesquely upright, waving his coonskin

cap, and between his long deersldn leggins and breech

dout the flesh of his slim legs showed bare, almost as

bronze-dark as that of an Indian.


"That is our herald of welcome," smiled Caleb

Parish. "It's young Peter Doane — ^the yoimgest man

we brought with us — ^and one of our staimchest as well.

You remember him, don't you, child?"


The younger Dorothy at first shook her head per-

plexedly and sought to recall this youthful frontiers-

man; then a flash of recognition broke over her face.


"He's the boy that lived on the woods farm, isn't he?

His father was Lige Doane of the forest, wasn't he?"


"And still is." Caleb repressed his smile and spoke

gravely, for he caught the unconscious note of con-




26 THE ROOF TREE


descension with which the girl used the term of class

distinction. "Only here in Kentucky, child, it is as well

to forget social grades and remember that we be all ^ men

of the forest.* We are all freemen and we know no

other scale."


That fall, when the moimtains were painted giants,

magnificently glorified from the brush and palette of the

frost; when the first crops had been gathered, a spirit of

festivity and cheer descended on the block-houses of

Fort Parish. Then into the outlying cabins emboldened

spirits began moving in escape from the cramp of

stockade Hfe.


Against the palisades of Wautaga besieging red men

had struck and been thrown back. Cheering tidings

had come of Colonel WilUam Christian's expedition

against the Indian towns.


The Otari, or hill warriors, had set their feet into the

out-trail of flight and acknowledged the chagrin of de-

feat, all except Dragging Canoe, the ablest and most

implacable of their chiefs who, sullenly refusing to

smoke the pipe, had drawn far away to the south, to

sulk out his wrath and await more promising auspices.


Then Caleb Parish's log house had risen by the river

bank a half mile distant from the stockade, and more and

more he came to rely on the one soul in his Kttle garrison

whose life seemed taUsman-guarded and whose wood-

craft was a sublimation of instinct and acquired lore

which even the yoimg braves of the Otari envied.


Yoimg Peter Doane, son of "Lige Doane of the for-

est," and not yet a man in years, came and went through

the wilderness as surely and fleetly as the wild things,

and more than once he returned with a scalp at his

belt — ^for in those days the whites learned warfare from

their foes and accepted their rules. The Httle com-

munity nodded approving heads and asked no questions.




^




THE ROOF TREE 27


It learned valuable things because of Peter's adven-

turings.


But when he dropped back after a moon of absence^

it was always to Caleb Parish's hearth-stone that Peter,

carried his report. It was over Caleb Parish's fire that

he smoked his silent pipe, and it was upon Caleb

Parish's little daughter that he bent his silently adoring

glances.


Dorothy would sit silent with lowered lashes while

she dutifully sought to banish aloofness and the con-

descension which still lingered in her heart — ^and the

months roimded into seasons.


The time of famine long known as the "hard winter"

came. The salt gave out, the powder and lead were

perilously low.


The "traces" to and through the Wilderness road

were snow-blocked or slimy with intermittent thaws, and

the elder Dorothy Parish fell ill.


Learned physicians might have found and reached the

cause of her malady — ^but there were no such physicians.

Perhaps the longings that she repressed and the loneli-

ness that she hid under her snule were costing her too

dearly in their levies upon strength and vitality. She,

who had been always fearless, became prey to a himdred

unconfessed dreads. She feared for her husband, and

with a frenzy of terror for her daughter. She woke

trembling out of atrocious nightmares. She was wast-

ing to a shadow, and always pretending that the life was

what she would have chosen.


It was on a bitter night after a day of bUzzard and

sleet. Caleb Parish sat before his fire, and his eyes

went constantly to the bed where his wife lay half-

conscious and to the seated figure of the tirelessly watch-

ful daughter.


Softly against the window soimded a guarded rap.

The man looked quickly up and inclined his ear. Again




28 THE RCX)F TREE


it came with the four successive taps to which every

pioneer had trained himself to waken, wide-eyed, out of

his most exhausted sleep.


Caleb Parish strode to the door and opened it cau-

tiously. Out of the night, shaking the snow from his

buckskin himting shirt, stepped Peter Doane with his

stoical face fatigue drawn as he eased down a bulky

pack from galled shoulders.


"Injins," he said, crisply. "Get your women inside

the fort right speedily!"


The yoimg man sUpped again into the darkness, and

Parish, lifting the half-conscious figure from the bed,

wrapped it in a bear-skin rug and carried it out into the

sleety bluster.


That night spent itself through a tensity of waiting

imtil dawn.


When the east grew a bit pale, Caleb Parish returned

from his varied duties and laid a hand on his wife's fore-

head to find it fever-hot. The woman opened her eyes

and essayed a smile, but at the same moment there rode

piercingly through the still air the long and hideous

challenge of a war-whoop.


Dorothy Parish, the elder, flinched as though under

a blow and a look of horror stamped itself on her face

that remained when she had died.




Spring again — ^and a fitful period of peace — ^but peace

with disquieting rumours.


Word came out of the North of mighty preparations

among the Six Nations and up from the South sped the

report that Dragging Canoe had laid aside his mantle of

sullen mourning and painted his face for war.


Dorothy Parish, the wife, had been buried before the

cabin built by the river bank, and Dorothy, the daughter,

kept house for the father whom these months had aged





THE ROOF TREE 29


out of all resemblance to the former self in knee breeches

and powdered wig with lips that broke quickly into

smiling.


And Peter, watching the bud of Dorothy's childhood

swell to the slim charms of girlhood, held his own coun-

sel and worshipped her dumbly. Perhaps he re-

membered the gulf that had separated his father's log

cabin from her uncle's manor house in the old Virginia

days, but of these things no one spoke in Kentucky.


Three years had passed, and along the wilderness road

was sweUing a fuller tide of emigration, hot with the

fever of the west.


Meeting it in counter-ciurent went the opposite flow of

the faint-hearted who sought only to put behind them the

memory of hardship and suffering — ^but that was a Ught

and negligible back-wash from an onsweeping wave.


Caleb Parish smiled grimly. This spelled the begin-

ning of success. The battle was not over — ^his own

work was far from ended — ^but substantial victory had

been won over wilderness and savage. The back doors

of a young nation had suffered assault and had held

secure.


Stories drifted in nowadays of the great futiu-e of

the more fertile tablelands to the west, but Caleb

Parish had been stationed here and had not been re-

lieved.


The pack train upon which the little community de-

pended for needed supplies had been long overdue, and

at Caleb's side as he stood in front of his house looking

anxiously east was his daughter Dorothy, grown tall

and pliantly straight as a lifted lance.


Her dark eyes and heavy hair, the poise of her head,

her gracious sweetness and gentle coiu-age were, to her

father, all powerful reminders of the woman whom he

had loved first and last — ^this girl's mother. For a

moment he turned away his head.




so THE ROOF TREE




"Some day," he said, abruptly, "if Providence per-

mits it, I purpose to set a fitting stone here at her head."


"Meanwhile — ^if we can't raise a stone," the girl's

voice came soft and vibrant, " we can do something else.

We can plant a tree."


"A tree!" exclaimed the man, almost irritably. "It

sometimes seems to me that we are being strangled to

death by trees ! They conceal our enemies — ^they choke

us imder their blankets of wet and shadow."


But Dorothy shook her head in resolute dissent.


"Those are just trees of the forest," she said, whim-

sically reverting to the old class distinction. "This

will be a manor-house tree planted and tended by loving

hands. It will throw shade over a sacred spot." Her

eyes began to glow with the growth of her conception.


"Don't you remember how dearly Mother loved the

great walnut tree that shaded the veranda at home?

She would sit gazing out over the river, then up into its

branches — dreaming happy things. She used to tell

me that she found my fairy stories there among its

leaves — ^and there was always a smile on her Hps then."


The spring was abimdantly young and where the dis-

tances lengthened they lay in violet dreams.


"Don't you remember?" repeated the girl, but Caleb

Parish looked suddenly away. His ear had caught a

distant sound of tinkling pony bells drifting down wind

and he said devoutly, "Thank God, the pack train is

coming."


It was an hour later when the loaded horses came

into view herded by fagged woodsmen and piloted by

Peter Doane, who strode silently, tirelessly, at their

head. But with Peter walked another young man of

different stamp — a young man who had never been here

before.


Like his fellows he wore the backwoodsman's garb,

but unlike them his tan was of newer wind-burning.




THE RCKDF TREE 81


Unlike them, too, he bowed with a ceremony foreign to

the wilderness and swept his coonskin cap dear of his

head.


"This man/* announced Peter, brusquely, "gives the

name of Kenneth Thornton and bears a message for

Captain Parish ! ' '


The yoimg stranger smiled, and his engaging face was

quickened with the flash of white teeth. A dark lock

of hair fell over his forehead and his firm chin was

deeply cleft.


"I have the honour of bearing a letter from your

brother. Sir," he said, "and one from General Washing-

ton himself."


Peter Doane looked on, and when he saw Dorothy's

eyes encounter those of the stranger and her lashes

'•???


I




CHAPTER Vm


TO THE man lying in the soaked grass and moss

of the sandstone ledge came flashes of realization

that were without definite beginning or end,

separated by gaps of insensibility. Out of his limbs

all power and volition seemed to have evaporated, and

his breath was an obstructed struggle as though the

mountain upon which he lay were lying instead upon

his breast. Through him went hot waves of pain under

which he clenched his teeth until he swooned again into

a merciful numbness.


He heard in an interval of consciousness tiie thrash-

ing of his companion's boots through the tangle and the

curses with which his companion was vainly challenging

his assailant to stand out and fight in the open.


Then, for a little while, he dropped endlessly down

through pits of darkness and after tJiat opened his eyes

to recognize that he was being held with his head on

Rowlett's knee. Rowlett saw the fluttering of the lids

and whispered:


" I'm goin' ter tote ye back thar — ^ter Harper's house.

Hit's ther only chanst — ^an' I reckon I've got ter hurt

ye right sensibly.'*


Bas rose and hefted him slowly and laboriously,

straightening up with a muscle-straining effort, until

he stood with one arm imder the limp knees and one

imder tiie blood- wet shoulders of his charge.


For a moment he stood balancing himself with his

feet wide apart, and then he started staggering doggedly

down the stony grade, groping, at each step, for a foot-


68




THE ROOF TREE 69


hold. In the light of the sinking moon the slowly

plodding rescuer ofiFered an inviting target, with both

hands engaged beyond the possibility of drawing or

using a weapon, but no shot was fired.


The distance was not great, but the pace was slow,

and the low moon would shortly drop behind the spruce

fringe of the ridges. Then tie biu-den-bearer would

have to stmnble forward through confused blackness —

so he hastened his steps until his own breath rattled into

an exhausted rasp and his own heart hammered with

the bursting ache of efiFort.


When he had reached the half-way point he put his

load down and shouted clamorously for help, until the

black wall of the Harper house showed an oblong of red

hght and the girl's voice came back in answer.


"I've got a dyin' man hyar," he called, briefly, "an'

I needs aid."


Then as Maggard lay insensible in the mud, Bas

squatted on his heels beside hun and wiped the sweat

drench from his face with his shirt-sleeve.


It was with unsteady eyes that he watched a lantern

crawling toward him: eyes to which it seemed to weave

the tortuous course of a purposeless glow-worm.


Then the moon dipped suddenly and the hills, ceasing

to be visible shapes, were felt like masses of close

crowded walls, but at length the lantern approached

and, in its shallow circle of sickly yellow, it showed two

figures — ^that of the old man and the girl.


Dorothy carried the light, and when she held it high

and let its rays fall on the two figures, one sitting

stooped with weariness and the other stretched un-

conscious, her eyes dilated in a terror that choked her,

and her face went white.


But she said nothing. She only put down the lantern

and slipped her arms imder the shoulders that lay in

the wet grass, shuddering as her hands closed on the




70 THE ROOF TREE


warm moisture of blood, and Rowlett rose with an efiFort

and rallied his spent strength to lift the inert knees.

While the olid man lighted llieir footsteps the little pro-

cession made its painful way down what was left of the

mountainside, across the road, and up into the house.



When Maggard opened his eyes again he was lying

with his wounds already bathed and roughly bandaged.

Plainly he was in a woman's room, for its clean par-

ticularity and its huge old four-poster bed spread with a

craftily wrought "coverlet'/ proclaimed a feminine pro-

prietorship. A freshly built fire roared on a generous

hearth, giving a sense of space broadening and narrow-

ing with fickle boundaries of shadow.


The orange brightness fell, too, on a figure that stood

at the foot-board looking down at him with anxiety-

tortiu-ed eyes; a figure whose heavy hair caught a bronze

glimmering like a nimbus, and whose hands were held

to her breast with a clutching little suspended gesture

of dread.


Voices vaguely heard in disjointed fragments of talk

called him back to actuality.


The old man was speaking:


". . . I fears me he kain't live long. . . .

Tears like ther shot war a shore deadener. . .'' and

from Rowlett came an indignant response ". . . I

heered ther crack from right spang behind us ... I

wheeled 'round an' shot three shoots back at ther flash."


Then Maggard heard, so low that it seemed a joyous

and musical whisper, the announcement from the foot

of his bed:


" I'm goin' ter fotch Uncle Jase Burrell now, ter tend

yore hiui:s, Cal," she said, softly. "I jest couldn't

endure ter start away twell I seed ye open yore eyes,

though."




THE ROOF TREE 71


Maggard glanced toward Bas Rowlett who stood

looking solicitously down at him and licked his lips.

There was an acknowledgment which decency required

his making in their presence, and he keyed himself for

a feeble effort to speak.


"Rowlett thar. . . ."he began, faintly, and a

cough seemed to start fresh agonies in his chest so that

he had to wait awhile before he went on.


"Mighty few men would hev stood by me . . .

like he done. . . . Ef I'd been his own blood-

brother. . . ." there he gulped, choked, and drifted

off again.


Cal Maggard next awoke with a strangely refreshed

sense of recovery and a blessed absence of pain. He

seemed still unable to move, and he said nothing, for in

that strange realization of a brain brought back to focus

came a shock of new amazement.


Bas Rowlett bent above his pillow, but with a trans-

formed face. The eyes that were for the moment

turned toward the door burned witl\ a baleful hatred

and the lips were drawn into a vicious snarl.


This, too, must be part of the light-headedness,

thought Maggard, but instinctively he continued to

simulate unconsciousness. This man had been his

steadfast and self-forgetful friend. So the wounded

man fought back the sense of clear and persistent

reality, which had altered kindly featiu-es into a gar-

goyle of vindictiveness, and lay unmoving until

Rowlett rose and turned his back.


Then, through the slits of warily screened eyes, he

swept a hasty glance about the room and found that

except for the man who had carried him in and himself

it was empty. Probably that hate-blackness on the

other face was for the would-be assassin and not for

himself, argued Maggard.


Rowlett went over and stood by the hearth, staring




4




72 THE ROOF TREE


into the fire, his hands clenching and unclenching in

spasmodic violence.


This was a queer dream, mused Maggard, and more

and more insistently it refused to seem a dream.


More surely as he watched the face which the other

turned to glare at him did the instinct grow that he

himself was the object of that bitter animosity of ex-

pression.


He lay still and watched Rowlett thrust a hand into

his overalls pocket and scatter peanut shells upon the

fire — objects which he evidently wished to destroy. As

he did this the standing figure laughed shortly imder his

breath — and full realization came to the wounded man.


The revelation was as complete as it wals ugly. As

long as he lay immoving the pain seemed quiescent, and

his head felt crystal clear — ^his thought efficient. Per-

haps he was dying — ^most probably he was. If so this

was a lucid interval before death, and in it his mind

was playing him no tricks. The supposed friend loomed

in an unmasked and traitorous light which even the

preconceived idea could not confuse or mitigate.

Maggard did not want to give credence to the certainty

that was shaping itself — and yet the conviction had

been bom and could not be thrust back into the womb

of the imbom. All of Rowlett's friendliness and

loyalty had been only an alibi! It had been Rowlett

who had led him, unsuspecting, into ambush!


Maggard's coat and pistol-holster himg at the head-

board of his bed. Now with a cat-soft tread upon the

creaking puncheons of the floor Rowlett approached

them. He paused first, bending to look searchingly

down at the white face on the pillow, and the eyes in

that face remained almost but not quite closed. The

hand that rested outside the coverlet, too, lay stiH and

limp like a dead hand.


Reassured by these evidences of imconsciousness.




THE ROOF TREE 73


Bas Rowlett drew a deep breath of satisfaction. The

diabolical thought had come to him that by shaking the

prone figure he could cause a hemorrhage that would

assure death — and the evil fire in his eyes as his hands

stole out toward his intended victim betrayed his

reflection.


The seemingly insensible listener, with a Spartan

effort, held his pale face empty of betrayal as the two

impulsive hands came closer.


But as quickly the arms drew back, and the expres-

sion clouded with doubt.


"No . . ." reflected Bas without words. "No,

hit ain't needful nohow ... an' Jase Burrell

mout detect I'd done hit."


The bending figure straightened again and its hands

began calmly riflmg the pockets of tJbe woimded man's

coat.


Through the narrow slits of eyes that dissembled

sleep Maggard watched, while Rowlett opened and

recognized the threatening letter that had been nailed

to the door. The purloiner nodded, and his lips twisted

into a smile of triumph, as he thrust the sheet of paper

into his own pocket.


No longer now could there remain any vestige of

doubt m Maggard's mind— no illusion of mistakmg the

true for the untrue, and in the vengeful fury tiiat

blazed eruptively through him he forgot the hiui: of his

wounding.


He could not rise from his bed and give battle. Had

the other not reconsidered his diabolical impulse to

shake him into a fatal hemorrhage he could not even

have defended himself. His voice, in all likelihood,

would not carry to the door of the next room — if indeed

any one were there.


Physically, he was defenseless and inert, but all of

him beyond the flesh was galvanized into quicksilver




74 THE ROOF TREE


acuteness and determination. He was praying for a

reprieve of life sufficient to call this Judas fnend to an

accounting — and if that failed, for strength enough to

die with his denunciation spoken. Yet he realized the

need of conserving his tenuous powers and so, gauging

his abilities, he lay motionless and to all seeming un-

conscious, while the tall figure continued to tower over

him.


Cal Maggard had some things to say and if his power

of speech forsook him before he finished it was better

not to make the start. These chances he was calculat-

ing, and after Rowlett had tiumed his back, the man in

the bed opened his eyes and experimented with the one

word, "Bas!"


He found that the monosyllable not only sounded

clear, but had the quiet and determined quahty of

tone at which he had striven, and as it soimded the

other wheeled, flinching as if the word had been a

bullet.


But at once he was back by the bed, and Maggard's

estimate of him as a master of perfidy mounted to

admiration, for the passion clouds had in that flash of

time been swept from his eyes and left them disguised

again with soUcitude and friendliness.


"By God, Cal!" The exclamation bore a counter-

feited heartiness. "I didn't skeercely suffer myself

ter hope y'd ever speak out ergin ! "


"I'm obleeged, Bas." Maggard's voice was faint but

steady now. "Thar's a thing IVe got ter tell ye afore

my strength gives out."


Beguiled by a seeming absence of suspicion into the

belief that Maggard had just then awakened to con-

sciousness, Rowlett ensconced himself on the bedside

and nodded an unctuous sympathy. The other closed

his eyes and spoke calmly and without raising his

lids.




THE ROOF TREE 75


**Ye forewarned me, Bas. . . . We both of us

spoke out p'int blank . . . erbout ther gal . . .

an' we both went on bein' . . . plum friendly."


"Thet war ther best way, Cal."


"Yes . . . Then ye proffered ter safeguard

me. ... Ye didn't hev no need ter imperil yore-

self . . . but ye would hev hit so."


"I reckon ye'd hev done likewise."


"No. I misdoubts I wouldn't . . . anyhow

. . . right from ther outset on you didn't hev ter be

friendly ter me . . . but ye was."


"I loves fa'r mindedness," came the sanctimonious

response.


A brief pause ensued while Maggard rested. He had

yet some way to go, and the last part of the conversa-

tion would be the hardest.


"Most like," he continued at last, "I'll die . . .

but I've got a little bitty, slim chanst ter come

through."


"I hopes so, Cal."


"An' ef I does, I calls on God in heaven ter witness

thet afore ther moon fulls ergin . . . I'm a-goin*

ter kill — somebody."


"Who, Cal?"


The white face on the pillow turned a little and the

eyes opened.


"I hain't keerin' none much erbout ther feller thet

fired ther shot. . . ." went on the voice. "Ther

man I aims ter git ... air ther one thet hired

him . . . He's goin' ter die . . .^ hardy*


"What makes ye think" — ^the listener licked his lips

furtively — "thar war more'n one?"


"Because I knows who . . . t'other one is."


Rowlett rose from his seat, and lifted a clenched

fist. The miscreant's thoughts were in a vortex of

doubt, fear, and perplexity — ^but perhaps Haggard








76 THE ROOF TREE


suspected "Peanuts" Causey, and Rowlett went on

with an admirable bit of acting.


" Name him ter me, Cal," he tensely demanded. " He

shot at both of us. He's my man ter kill!"


"When ye lay thar ... by my house . . .

watchin' with me. . . ." went on the ambushed

victim in a summarizing of ostensible services, "what

made ye discomfort yoreself, fer me, save only friend-

liness?"


Thet war all, Cal."


An' hit war ther same reason thet made ye proffer

ter take away thet letter an' seek ter diskiver who writ

hit, wam't hit . . . an' ter sa'rch about an' find

thet peanut hull . . . an' ter come by hyar an'

show me a safe way home. . . . All jest friendli-

ness, warn't hit?"


"Hain't thet es good a reason es any?"


The voice on the bed did not rise but it took on a

new note.


"Thar couldn't handily be but jest . . . one

better one . . . Bas."


"What mout thet be?"


"Ther right one. Ther reason of a sorry craven thet

aimed at a killin* . . . an' sought ter alibi hisself ."


Rowlett stood purple-faced and trembling in a trans-

port of maniac fury with which an inexplicable fear ran

cross-odds as warp and woof. The other had totally

deluded him imtil the climax brought its accusation,

and now the immasked plotter took refuge in bluster,

fencing for time to think.


"Thet's a damn lie an' a damn slander!" he stormed.

"Ye've done already bore witness afore these folks

hyar thet I sought ter save ye."


"An' I plum believed hit . . . then. Now I

knows better. I sees thet ye led me inter ambush

. thet ye planted them peanut hulls . . .




THE ROOF TREE 77




Thet ye writ thet letter . . . an' jest now ye stole

hit outen my pocket/'


"Thet's a lie, too. I reckon yore head's done been

crazed. I toted ye in hyar an* keered fer ye."


"Ye aimed ter finish out yore alibi," persisted

Maggard, disdainfully. "Ye didn't low I seed ye steal

ther letter . . . but I gives ye leave ter tek hit over

thar an' and bum hit up, Rowlett — ^same es them pea-

nut hulls ... I hain't got no need of nuther

them . . . nur hit."


Rowlett's hand, imder the sting of accusation, had

instinctively pressed itself against his pocket. Now

guiltily and self-consciously it came away and he

foimd himself idiotically edboing his accuser's words:


"No need of hit?"


"No, I don't want nuther law-co'tes ner juries ter

help me pimish a man thet hires his killin' done second-

handed . . . All I craves air one day of stren'th

ter stand on my feet."


With a brief spasm of hope Rowlett bent forward

and quickly decided on a course of temporizing. K he

could encourage that idea the man would probably

die — ^with sealed lips.


"I'm willin' ter look over all this slander, Cal," he

generously acceded; "ye've done tuck up a false notion

in yore light-headedness."


"This thing lays betwixt me an' you," went on the

low-pitched but implacable voice from the bed, "but ef

I ever gits up again — ^you're'^goin' ter wisht ter God in

Heaven ... hit war jest only ther penitenshery

threatenin' ye."


Again Rowlett's anger blazed, and his self-control

slipped its leash.


"Afore God, ef ye wam't so plum puny an' tuckered

out, I wouldn't stand hyar an' suffer ye ter fault me

with them damn lies."




78 THE ROOF TREE


"Is thet why ye was ponderin' jest now over shakin'

me tfll I bled inside myself? ... I seed thet

thought in yore eyes."


The breath hissed out of.Rowlett^s great chest like

steam from an over-stressed boiler, and a low bellow

broke from his hps.


**I kin still do thet," he declared in a rage-choked

voice. "I did hire a feller ter kill ye, but he failed me.

Now I'm goin* ter finish ther job myself."


Then the door opened and old Caleb Harper called

from the threshold :


"Did I hear somebody shout out in hyar? What's

ther matter, Bas?"


As the menacing face himg over him, Maggard saw it

school itself slowly into a hard composure and read a

peremptory warning for silence in the eyes. The

outstretched hands had already touched him, and now

they remained holding his shoulders as the voice

answered:


" Cal jest woke up. I reckon he war outen his head,

an* I'm heftin' him up so's he kin breath freer."


Old Man Harper came over to the bed and Rowlett

released his hold and moved away.


"I've done been studyin' whether Dorothy's goin'

ter make hit acrost ter Jase Biurell's or not," said

Caleb, quaveringly. "I fears me ther storm hes done

washed out the ford."


Then he crossed to the hearth and sat down in a

<^air to light his pipe.





CHAPTER IX


CAL MAGGARD lay unmoving as the old man's

chair creaked. Over there with his back turned

toward the fire stood Bas Rowlett, his barrel-

like chest swelling heavily with that excitement which

he sought to conceal. To Caleb Harper, serenely un-

suspicious, the churlish sullenness of tibe eyes that

resented his intrusion, went immarked. It was an

intervention that had come between the woimded man

and immediate death, and now Rowlett cursed himself

for a temporizing fool who had lost his chance.


He stood with feet wide apart and his magnified

shadow falling gigantically across floor and wall —

across the bed, too, on which his intended victim lay

defenseless.


If Cal Maggard had been kneeling with his neck on

the guillotine block the intense burden of his suspense

could hardly have been greater.


So long as Caleb Harper sat there, with his benign old

face open-eyed in wakefulness, death would stand

grudgingly aloof, staring at the woimded man yet held

in leash.


If those eyes closed in sleep the restive executioner

would hardly permit himself to be the third time

thwarted.


Yet the present reprieve would for a few moments

endure, since the assassin would hesitate to goad his

victim to any appeal for help.


Slowly the fire began to dwindle and the shadows to

encroach with a dominion of somberness over the room.


79




80 THE ROOF TREE


It seemed to the figure in the bed as he struggled against

rising tides of torpor and exhaustion that his own

resolution was waning with the firelight and that the

murk of death approached with the thickening shadows.

I He craved only sleep yet knew that it meant death.


With a morose passion closely akin to mania the

thoughts of the other man, standing with hands

dencied at his back, were running in turbulent freshet.


To have understood them at all one must have seen

far under the surface of that bland and factitious nor-

mality which he maintained before his fellows. In his

veins ran a mongrelized strain of tendencies and vices

which had hardened into a cruel and monstrous sum-

mary of vicious degeneracy.


Yet with this brain-warping brutality went a self-

protective disguise of fair-seeming and candour.


Rowlett's infatuation for Dorothy Harper had been of

a piece with his perverse nature — ^always a fiame of hot

passion and never a steadfast light of unselfish love.


He had received little enough encoiu*agement from

the girl herself, but old Caleb Harper had looked upon

him with partiality, and since, to his own mind, posses-

sion was the essential thing and reciprocated aJffection

a minor consideration, he had imtil now been confident

of success. Once he had married Dorothy Harper, he

meant to break her to his will, as one breaks a spirited

horse, and he had entertained no misgivings as to his

final mastery.


Once unmasked, Bas Rowlett could never regain his

lost semblance of virtue — ^and this battered creature in

the bed was the only accuser who could immask him.

If the newcomer^s death had been desirable before, it

was now imperative.


The dock ticked on. The logs whitened, and small

hissing tongues of blue fiame crept about them where

there had been fiares of vermilion.




^




THE ROOF TREE 81


lake overstrained cat-gut drawn tauter and tauter

until the moment of its snapping is imminent, the

tension of that waiting grew more crucial and tortured.


Bit by bit into Cal Maggard's gropings after a plan

crept the beginnings of an idea, though sometimes imder

the stupefying waves of drowsiness he lost his thread of

thought.


Old Caleb was not yet asleep, and as the room grew

chill he shivered in his chair, and rose slowly, complain-

ing of the misery m his joints.


He threw fresh fuel on the fire and then, over- wearied

with the night's excitement, let his head fall forward on

bis breast and his breath lengthen to a snore.


Then in a low but peremptory voice Maggard said,


**Rowlett, come hyar."


With cautious but willing footfall Rowlett ap-

proached, but before he reached the bedside a curt

undertone warned him, "Stop right thar . . . ef


fe draws nigher I'll call out. Kin ye hear me? . . .

aims ter talk low."


"I'm hearkenin'."


"All right. Give me yore pledge, full-solemn an*

in ther sight of God Almighty . . . thet ye'U hold

yore hand till I gits well ... or else dies."


"Whar'fore would I do thet?"


"I'll tell you fer why. Ef ye don't . . . I'U

wake old Caleb up an' sw'ar ter a dyin' statement . . .

an' I'll tell ther full, total truth. . . . Does ye

agree?"


The other hesitated then evaded the question.


"S'posin' I does give ye my pledge . . . what

then?"


" Then ef I dies what I knows'll die with me . .' .

But ef I lives . . . me an' you'll sottle this

matter betwixt ourselves so soon es I kin walk abroad."


That Maggard would ever leave that bed save to be




/




82 THE ROOF TREE


borne to his grave seemed violently improbable, and if

his silence could be assured while he lay there, success

for the plotter would after all be complete. Yet

Rowlett pretended to ponder the proposition which he

burned ardently to accept.


"Why air ye willin' ter make thet compact with

me?" he inquired dubiously, and the other answered

promptly :


"Because ter send ye ter suiter in ther penitenshery

wouldn't pleasure me ner content me ... no

more then ter see ye unchurched fer tale-bearin\

YeVe got ter die imder my own hands. . . . Ef ye

makes oath an' abides by hit ... ye needn't be

afeared thet I won't keep mine, too."


For a brief interval the standing man withheld his

answer, but that was only for the sake of appearances.

Then he nodded his head.


"I gives ye my hand on hit. I sw'ars."


Something like a grimt of bitter laughter came from

the bed.


"Thet hain't enough . . . fotch me a Bible."


"I don't know whar hit's at."


"I reckon they've got one — ^in a godly dwellin'-

house like this. Find hit — ^an' speedfly ... or

I'll call out."


Rowlett tiumed and left the room, and presently

he returned bearing a cumbersome and unmistakable

tome.


"Now kneel down," came the command from the

bed, and the command was reluctantly obeyed.


"Repeat these hyar words atter me . . . *I

swa'rs, in ther sight an' hearin' of God Almighty . . .'"

and from there the words ran double, low voiced from

two throats, "*thet till sich time as Cal Maggard kin

walk abroad, full rekivered ... I won't make no

eflFort ter harm ner discomfort him ... no wise.




THE ROOF TREE 83


guise ner fashion . . . Ef I breaks this pledge I

prays God ter punish me . . . with ruin an' death

an' damnation in hell hyaratter ! "


"An' now," whispered Maggard, "kiss ther book."


As the weirdly sworn malefactor came slowly to his

feet the instinct of craft and perfidy brought him

back to the part he must play.


"Now thet we onderstands one another," he said,

slowly, " we're swore enemies atter ye gits well. Mean-

time, I reckon we'd better go on seemin* plum friendly."


"Jist like a couple of blood-brothers," assented

Maggard with an ironic flash in his eyes, "an' now

Blood-brother Bas, go over thar an' set down."


Rowlett ground his teeth, but he laughed sardonic-

ally and walked in leisurely fashion to the hearth.


There he sat with his feet outspread to the blaze,

while he sought solace from his pipe — ^and failed to

find it.


Possibly stray shreds of delirium and vagary min-

gled themselves with strands of forced clarity in Cal

Maggard's thinking that night, for as he lay there a

totally unreasonable comfort stole over him and seemed

real.


He had the feeling that the old tree outside the door

still held its beneficent spell and that this magic would

regulate for him those elements of chance and luck

without which he could not hope to survive until

Dorothy and Uncle Jase came back — and Dorothy had

started on a hard journey over broken and pitch-black

distances.


Fanciful as was this figment of a sick imagination, the

result was the same as though it had been a valid con-

viction, for after a while Old Man Caleb roused himself

and stretched his long arms. Then he rose and peered

at the clock with his face close to its dial, and once

more he replenished the fire.




84 THE ROOF TREE




«'




Hit's past midnight now, Bas," he complained with

a querulous note of anxiety in his words. "I'm plum

tetchious an' worrited erbout Dorothy."


For an avowed lover the seated man gave the im-

pression of churUsh unresponsiveness as he made his

grumbling reply.


"I reckon she hain't goin' ter come ter no harm. She

hain't nobody's sugar ner salt."


Caleb ran his talon-like fingers through his mane of

gray hair and shook his patriarchal head.


"Ther fords air all plum ragin' an' perilous atter a

fresh like this. ... I hain't a-goin' ter enjoy no

ease in my mind ef somebody don't go in s'arch of her —

an' hit jedgmatically hain't possible fer me ter go my-

self."


Slowly, imwillingly, and with smouldering fury Row-

lett rose from his chair.


He was a self -declared suitor, a man who had boasted

that no night was too wild for him to ride, and a refusal

in such case would stultify his whole attitude and stand-

ing in that house.


"I reckon ye'll suffer me ter ride yore extry critter,

won't ye?" he inquired, glumly, "an' loan me a lantern,

too."




After the setting of the moon the night had become

a void of blackness, but it was a void in which shadows

crowded, all dark but some more inkily solid than

others — and of these shadows some were forests, some

precipices, and some chasms lying trap-Hke between.


Dorothy Harper and the mule she rode were moving

somewhere through this world of sooty obscurity.


Sometimes in the bottoms, where the way ran through

soft shale, teaming wheels had cut hub-deep furrows

where a beast could break a leg with a miscalculated




THE ROOF TREE 86


step. Sometimes, higher up, a path wide enough only

for the setting down of foot before foot skirted a cliff's

edge — and the storm might at any point have washed

even that precarious thoroughfare away in a gap like a

bite taken out of a soft apple.


But along those imcertain trails, obeying something

surer than human intelligence, the beast piloted his

rider with an intuitive steadiness, feeling for ms foothold,

and the girl, being almost as wise as he, forebore from

any interference of command save by the encourage-

ment of a kindly voice.


Once in a swollen ford where the current had come

boilmg up mount and rider were lifted and swept down-

stream, and for a matter of long moments it was a toss-

up whether water-power or mule-power would prevail.

Through the caldron roar of storm-fed waters, then,

the girl could hear the heavy, straining breath in the

beast's lungs, and the strong lashing of its swimming

legs. She caught her lip till it bled between her teeth

and clung tight and steady, knowing her danger but

seeking to add no ounce of difficulty to the battle for

strength and equilibrium of the animal under her.

And they had won through and were coming back.


At her side now rode Uncle Jason, the man of diverse

parts who was justice of the peace, adviser in dissension,

and self-taught practitioner of medicine.


He had been roused out of his sleep and had required

no urging. He had listened, saddled, and come, and

now, when behind them lay the harder part of the

journey, they heard other hoofs on the road and made

out a shadowy horseman who wheeled his mount to ride

beside them.


Then for the first time in a long while the girl opened

her tight-pressed lips to shape the gasping question

which she was almost terrified to ask.


"How is he, Bas? Air he still alive?"




86 THE ROOF TREE


When at last they stood by the bedside, the vol-

unteer doctor pressed his head to the hardly stirring

chest and took the inert wrist between his fingers.

Then he straightened up and shook a dubious head.


"Thar hain't but jist only a flicker of pulse-beat left,"

he declared. "Mebby he mout live through hit — ^but

ef he does hit'll p'int-blank astonish me."




CHAPTER X


THROUGH the rest of that night Old Jase lay

on a pallet spread before the fire, rising at in-

tervals out of a deathlike slumber to slip his

single suspender strap over his bent shoulder, turn up

the lantern, and inspect his patient^s condition.


On none of these occasions did he find the girl, who

spent that night in a straight-backed chair at the bed-

side, asleep. Always she was sitting there with eyes

wide and brimming with suffering and fear, and a

wakeful, troubled heart into which love had fiashed

like a meteor and which it threatened, now, to sear like

a lightning bolt. It seemed to her that life had gone

aimlessly, imeventfully on imtil without warning or

preparation it had burst into a glory of discovery and

in the same breath into a chaos of destruction.


"Kain't ye give me no encouragement yit. Uncle

Jase?" she whispered once when he came to the bed-

side, with a convulsive catching at her throat, though

her eyes were dry and hot, and the old man, too

ruggedly honest to soften the edge of fact with evasion,

shook his head.


"I hain't got no power ter say yit — afore I sees how

he wakes up termorrer," he admitted. "Why don't ye

lay down, leetle gal? I'll summons ye ef airy need

arises."


But the girl shook her head and later the old man,

stirring on his pallet, heard her praying in an ahnost

argumentative tone of supplication :


"Ye sees. Almighty God, hit don't call for no master


87




88 THE ROOF TREE


big miracle ter save him . . . an' YeVe done

fetched ther dead back ter life afore now."


That night Dorothy Harper grew up. For the first

time she recognized the call of her adult womanhood

which centred about one man and made its own

imiverse. She would not be a child again.




The town of Lake Erie was no town at all, but a scant

cluster of shack-like buildings at the crossing of two

roads, which were hardly roads at all, either.


The place had been called Lake Erie when the vet-

erans who had gone to the "War of Twelve" came

home from service with Perry — ^for in no war that the

nation has waged has this hermit people failed of re-

sponse and representation.


This morning it stood as an unsightly detail against

a background of impressive beauty. Back of it rose

wooded steeps, nmning the whole lovely gamut of

greenery and blossoming colour to a sun-filled sky which

was flawless.


The store of Jake Crabbott was open and already

possessed of its quorum for the discussion of the day's

news.


And to-day there was news! A dozen hickory-

shirted and slouch-hatted men loimged against the

wall or on empty boxes and broken chairs about its

porch and door.


The talk was all of the stranger who had come so

recently from Virginia and who had foimd such a

hostile welcome awaiting him. Spice was added to the

debate by a realization in the mind of every man who

joined in it that the mysterious firer of those shots

might be — ^and probably was^— a member of the present

conclave.


Jake Crabbott who ran the store maintained, in all




THE ROOF TREE 89


neighbourhood differences, the studious attitude of an

incorruptible neutral. Old Grandsire Templey, his

father-in-law, sat always in the same low chair on the

porch in siunmer and back of the stove in winter, with

his palsied hands crossed on his staff-head and his

toothless gums mumbling in inconsequential talk.


Old Grandsire was querulous and hazy in his mind

but his memory went back almost a century, and it

clarified when near events were discarded and he spoke

of remoter times.


Now he sat mumbling away into his long beard, and

in the door stood his son-in-law, a sturdy man, himself

well past middle-age, with a face that was an index of

hardihood, shrewdness, and the gift for knowing when

and how to hold his tongue.


On the steps of the porch, smiling like a good-

humoured leviathan and listening to the talk, sat

"Peanuts" Causey, but he was not to be allowed to sit

long silent, because of all those gathered there he alone

had met and talked with the stranger.


"I fared past his dwellin' house day before yistiddy,"

declared Causey in response to a question, "an' I

'lowed he war a right genial-spoken sort of body."


The chorus of fresh interrogations was interrupted by

a man who had not spoken before. He rose from his

seat and stepped across toward Peanuts, and he was not

prepossessing of appearance as he came to his feet.


Joe Doane, whom the pitiless directness of a rude

environment had rechristened "Hump" Doane, stood

less than five feet to the crown of his battered hat, and

the hat sat on an enormous head out of which looked

the seamed and distorted face of a hunchback. But his

shoulders were so broad and his arms so long and huge

that the man had the seeming of gorilla hideousness and

gorilla power.


The face, too, despite its soured scowl, held the alert-




90 THE ROOF TREE


ness of a keen mentality and was dominated by eyes

whose sleeping fires men did not lightly seek to fan into

blazes of wrath.


No man of either faction stood with a more un-

compromising sincerity for law and peace — ^but Hump

Doane viewed life thiough the eyes of one who has

suffered the afflictions and mortification of a cripple in a

land that accepts life in physical aspects. His wisdom

was darkened with the tinge and colour of the cynic's

thought. He trusted that man only who proved his

faith by his works, and believed all evil until it was dis-

proven. Like a nervous shepherd who tends wild sheep

he feared always for his flock and distrusted every pelt

that might disguise and mask a possible wolf of trouble.


"What did ye say this hyar stranger calls hisself,

Peanuts?" he demanded, bluntly, and when the other

had told him he repeated the name thoughtfully. Then

he shot out another question with the sharp peremptori-

ness of a prosecuting attorney, and in the high, rasping

voice of his affliction.


"What caused him ter leave Virginny?"


The stout giant grinned imperturbably.


"He didn't look like he'd relish ter be hectored none

with sich-like questions es thet, an' I wasn't strivin' ter

root inter his private business without he elected of his

own free will ter give hit out ter each an' every."


Young Pete Doane, the cripple's son, who fancied his

own wit, hitched his chair backward and tilted it

against the wall.


"I reckon a man don't need no severe reason but jest

plain common sense fer movin' outen Virginny inter

Kaintuck."


Hump swept a disdainful glance at his offspring and

that conversational volunteer ventured no further re-

partee.


By ther same token," announced the elder Doane,




THE ROOF TREE 91


crusliinglyy "thar's trash in Virginny thet don't edify

Kaintuck folks none by movin' in amongst 'em."


Young Fete, whose entrance into the discussion had

been so ruthlessly stepped upon by his own sire, sat now

sulkily silent, and his face in that sombre repose was a

study. Though his name was that of the ancestor who

had **gone to the Indians" and introduced the red

strain into the family there was no trace of that

mingling in young Feter's physiognomy. Indeed the

changes of time had transferred all the recognizable

aspects of that early blood-line to the one branch

represented by Bas Rowlett, possibly because the

Doanes had, on the distaff side, introduced new blood

with greater frequency.


Young Fete was blond, and unlike his father had the

receding chin and the pale eyes of a weak and impres-

sionable character. Bas Rowlett was a hero whom he

worshipped, and his nature was such as made hun an

instrument for a stronger will to use at pleasure.


The sturdy father regarded him with a strange

blending of savage affection and stem disdain, brow-

beating him in public yet ready to flare into eruptive

anger if any other recognized, as he did, the weaknesses

of his only son.


The crowd paused, too, to receive and question a

newcomer who swung himself down from a brown mare

and strolled into the group.


Sim Squires was a fellow of medium height and just

under middle-age, whose face was smooth shaven — or

had been some two days back. He smiled chronically,

just as chronically he swung his shoulders and body with

a sort of swagger, but the smile was vapid, and the

swagger an empty boast.


"I jest heered erbout this hyar ruction a leetle while

back," he announced with inquisitive promptness, ^an'

I rid straightway over hyar ter find me out somethin'."




92 THE ROOF TREE


"Thar comes Bas Rowlett now/' suggested the

storekeeper, waving his hand toward the creek-bed road

along which a mule and rider came at a placid fox-trot.

"He's ther feller that fotched ther stranger in, an' shot

back at ther la'rel. Belikes he kin give us ther true

sum an' amoimt of ther matter."


As Sim Squires and Peanuts Causey glanced up at

the approaching figure one might have said that into

the eyes of each came a shadow of hostility. On

Sim's face the chronic grin for once faded, and he

moved carelessly to one side — ^yet imder the carelessness

one or two in that group discerned a motive more

studied. Though no one knew cause or nature of the

grievance, it was generally felt that bad blood existed

between Bas and Sim, and Sim was not presumed to

court a collision.


When Bas Rowlett had dismounted and come slowly

to the porch, the loungers fell silent with the interest

accordcNl one of the principal actors in last night's

drama, then the hunchback demanded shortly:


" Bas, we're all f rettin' ourselves ter know ther gist

of this hyar trouble . . . an' I reckon ye're tibier

fittin' man ter tell us."


The new arrival glanced about the group, nodding in

greeting, imtil his eyes met those of Sim Squires — ^and

to Sim he did not nod. Squires, for his part, had the

outward guise of one looking through transparent

space, but Peanuts and Bas exchanged greetings a

shade short of cordial, and Peanuts did not rise, though

he sat obstructing the steps and the other had to go

around him.


"I reckon ye've done heered all I kin tell ye," said

Bas, gravely. "I'd done been over ter ther furriner's

house some siv'ral times bekase he war a neighbour of

mine — an' he seemed a mighty enjoyable sort of body.

He war visitin' at old man Harper's las' night an' I met




THE ROOF TREE 9S


up with him on ther highway. He*d done told me he'd

got a threatenin' letter from somebody thet was skeered

ter sign hit, so I proffered ter walk along home with

him, an' as we come by ther rock-dift somebody shot

two shoots ... I toted him back ter Harper's

dwellin' house, an' he's layin' thar now an' nobody don't

know yit whether he'll live or die. Thet's all I've got

ther power ter tell ye."


"Hed this man Maggard ever been over hyar afore?

Did he know ther Harpers when he come?"


Hump Doane still shot out his questions in an in-

quisitorial manner but Bas met its peremptory edginess

with urbanity, though his face was haggard with a

night of sleeplessness and fatigue.


"He lowed ter me that his folks hed lived over hyar

once a long time back . . . Thet's all I knows."


Hump Doane wheeled on the old man, whose life had

stretched almost to the century span, and shouted:


** Gran'sire, did ye ever know any Maggards dwellin*

over hyar? Thar hain't been none amongst us in my

day ner time."


"Maggards . . . Maggards? ... let me

study," quavered the frosty-headed veteran in his

palsied falsetto. "I kin remember when ther boys

went off ter ther war of Twelve ... I kin re-

member thet. . . . Thar war Doanes an' Rowletts

an' Thorntons.


"I hain't askin' ye erbout no Doanes ner Thorntons.

I'm askin' ye war thar any Maggards?"


For a long time the human repository of ancient

history pondered, fumbling through the past.


"Let's see — ^this hyar's ther y'ar one thousand and

nine himdred . . . Thar's some things I disre-

members. Maggards . . . Maggards? ... I

don't remember no Maggards . • . No, siree!

I don't remember none."




94 THE ROOF TREE


The cripple turned impatiently away, and Bas

Rowlett speculatively inquired:


"Does ye reckon mebby he war a-fleein' from some

enemy over in Virginny — ^an' thet ther feller followed

atter him an' got him?"


"Seems like we'd hev heered of ther other stranger

from some source or other," mused Hump. "Hit

hain't none of my business nohow — onless — " the

man's voice leaped and cracked with a belligerent

violence — "onless hit's some of Old Burrell Thornton's

feisty kin, done come back ter tek up his wickedness an'

plaguery whar he left oflF at."


Bas Rowlett sat down on an empty box and his

shoulders sagged wearily.


"Hit's Old Burrell's house he come ter," he admitted.

**But yit he told me he'd done tuck hit fer a debt. I

hain't knowed him long, but him an' me hed got ter be

good friends an' ther feller thet shot him come nigh

gettin' me, too. Es fer me I'd confidence ther feller ter

be all right."


"Ef he dies," commented the deformed cynic,

grimly, "I'll confidence him, too — ^an' ef he lives, I'll be

plum willin' ter see him prove hisself up ter be hcmest.

Twell one or t'other of them things comes ter pass, I

hain't got nothin' more ter say."




CHAPTER XI


THE room that Dorothy Harper had given over

to the wounded man looked oflF to the front,

across valley slope and river — commanding the

whole peak and slqr-limited pictxu^ at whose foreground

centre stood the walnut tree.


Unde Jase came often and as yet he had been able

to offer no greater assurance than a doubtful shake of

the head. Bas Rowlett, too, never let a day pass with-

out his broad shadow across the door, and his voice

sounding in solicitous inquiry. But Dorothy had

assumed an autocracy in the sick room which allowed no

deviations from its decree of uninterrupted rest, and

the plotter, approaching behind his mask of friendship,

never foimd himself alone with the woimded man.


Between long periods of fevered coma Cal Maggard

opened his eyes weakly and had strength only to smile

up at the face above him with its nimbus of bronze set

about the heaviness of dark hair — or to spend his

scarcely audible words with miserly economy.


Yet as he drifted in the shadowy reaches that lie be-

tween life and death it is doubtful whether he suffered.

The glow of fever through his drowsiness was rather a

grateful warmth, blunted of all responsible thinking,

than a recognized affliction, and the realization of the

presence near him enveloped him with a languorous

contentment.


The sick man could turn his head on his pillow and

gaze upward into cool and deep recesses of green where

the sun shifted and sifted golden patches of light, and


95




96 THE ROOF TREE


where through branch and twig the stir of summer

crooned a restful lullaby. Often a squirrel on a low

limb clasped its forepaws on a burgher-fat stomach,

and gazed impudently down, chattering excitedly at

the invalid. From its hanging nest, with brilliant

flashes of orange and jet, a Baltimore oriole came and

went about its housekeeping affairs.


As half -consciously and dreamily he gazed up, be-

tween sleeping and waking, the life of the tree became

for him that of a world in miniature.


But when he heard the door guardedly open and dose,

he would turn his gaze from that direction as from a

minor to a major delight — ^for then he knew that on the

other side of the bed would be the face of Dorothy Har-

per. "Right smart's goin' ter deepend on how hard he

fights hisself ," Unde Jase told Dorothy one day as he

took up his hat and saddle-bags. "I reckon ef he feels

sartin he's got enough ter live fer — ^he kin kinderly holp

nature along right lavish."


That same day Maggard opened his eyes while the

girl was sitting by his bedside.


His smile was less dazzUng out of a thin, white face,

than it had been through the tan of health, but such as

it was he flashed it on her gallantly.


"I don't hone fer nothin' else ter look at — ^when

you're hyar," he assured her. **But when you hainH

hyar I loves ter look at ther old tree."


"Ther old tree," she rephed after him, half guiltily;

"I've been so worrited, I'd nigh f ergot hit."


His smile altered to a steady-eyed seriousness in which,

too, she recognized the intangible quaUty that made him

seem to her different from all the other men she had

known.


He had been bom and lived much as had the men

about him. He had been chained to the same hard and

dour materialism as they, yet for him life had another







THE ROOF TREE 97


essence and dimension, because he had been bom with

a soul capable of dreams.


"Thet fust night — ^when I lay a-waitin' fer ye ter

come back — ^an' misdoubtin' whether I'd last thet

long," he told her almost under his breath, "seemed like

ter me thet old tree war kinderly a-safeguardin' me."


She bent closer and her lips trembled.


Mebby hit did safeguard ye, Cal," she whispered.

But I prayed fer ye thet night — ^I prayed hard fer ye."


The man closed his eyes and his features grew deeply

sober.


"I'd love ter know ther pint-blank truth," he said

next. "Am I a-goin' ter live or die? "


She struggled with the catch in her breath and

hesitated so long with her hands clenched convulsively

together in her lap that he, still lying with lids closed,

construed her reticence into a death sentence and spoke

again himself.


"Afore I come over hyar," he said, quietly, "I reckon

hit wouldn't hev made no great differ ter me nuther

way."


"YeVe got a chanst, Cal, and Unde Jase lows,"

she bent closer and now she could command her voice,

"thet ef ye wills ter live . . . survigrous strong

enough — ^yore chanst is a better one . . . then ef

ye . . . jist don't keer."


His eyes opened and his lips smiled dubiously.


"I sometimes lays hyar wonderin' whether I truly

does keer or not."


"What does ye mean, Cal?"


He paused and lay breathing as though hardly ready

to face so vital an issue, then he explained:


"Ye said ye wasn't mad with me . . . thet

night . . . imder ther tree . . . but yit ye

said, too ... hit war all a sort of dream . . .

like es ef ye wam't plum shore."




98 THE ROOF TREE







"Yes,Cal?''


** Since then yeVe jest kinderly pitied me, I reckon

. . . an' been plum charitable . . . IVe got

ter know . . . War ye mad at me when ye pon-

dered hit in ther daylight . . . stid of ther moon-

shme?''


The girl's pale face flushed to a laurel-blossom pink

and her voice was a ghost whisper.


I hain't nuver been mad with ye, Cal."

Could ye — "he halted and spoke in a tense imder-

note of hope that hardly dared voice itself — "could

ye bend down ter me an' kiss me . . . ergin?"


She could and did.


Then with her young arms under his head and her

own head bowed until her lips pressed his, the dry-eyed,

heart-cramping suspense of these anxious days broke

in a freshet of imrestrained tears.


She had not been able to cry before, but now the tears

came flooding and they brought such a balm as comes

with rain to a parched and thirsting garden.


For a space the silence held save for the tempest of

sobs that were not unhappy and that gradually sub-

sided, but after a little the rapt happiness on the man's

face became clouded imder a thought that carried a

heavy burden of anxiety and he seemed groping for

words that were needed for some dreaded confession.


"When a man fust falls in love," he said,

"he hain't got time ter think of nuthin' else . . .

then all ther balance of matters comes back . • . an'

needs ter be fronted. Thar's things I've got ter tell ye,

Dorothy."


•*What matters air them, Cal? I hain't thought of

nuthin' else yit."


"Ye didn't know nuthin' erbout me when I come hyar

. . . ye jest tuck me on faith, I reckon . . ."


He halted abruptly there, and his face became drawn




k




THE ROOF TREE 99


into deep lines. Then he continued dully: "When I

crossed over ther Virginny line ... a posse was

atter me — they sought ter hang me over thar . . .

fer murder."


He felt her fingers tighten over his in spasmodic in-

creduUty and saw the stimned look in her eyes, but she

only said steadily, " Go on ... I knows ye hed ter do

hit. Tell me ther facts."


He sketched for her the grim narrative of that brief

drama in the log cabin beyond the river and of the guilt

he had assumed. He told it with many needful pauses

for breath, but refused to stop imtil the story had

reached its conclusion, and as she listened, the girl's

face mirrored many emotions, but the first iinguarded

shock of horror melted entirely away and did not re-

turn.


'*Ef ye'd acted any other fashion," came her

prompt and spirited declaration when the recital

reached its end, "I couldn't nuther love ye ner esteem

ye. Ye tuck blame on yoreself ter save a woman."


For a time she sat there gazing out through the win-

dow, her thoughts busy with the grim game in which

this man whom she loved had been so desperately in-

volved. She knew that he had spoken the whole

truth . . . but she knew, too, that over them both

must hang the imending shadow of a threat, and after a

little she acknowledged that realization as she said with

a new note of determination in her voice :


"Thar hain't no p'int in our waitin' over-long ter

be wedded. Folks thet faces perils like we does air

right wise ter git what they kin outen life — ^whilst they

kin."


"We kain't be wedded none too soon fer me," he de-

clared with fervour. "Albeit yore grandpap's got ter

be won over fust. He's right steadfast to Bas Rowlett,

I reckon."




•V42.<^««>.




1




100 THE ROOF TREE


As anxiously as Dorothy followed the rise and fall

in the tide of her lover's strength it is doubtful if her

anxiety was keener than that of Bas Rowlett, who be-

gan to feel that he had been cheated.


Unless something unforeseen altered the trend of his

improvement, Cal Maggard would recover. He would

not keep his oath to avenge his way-laying before the

next full moon because it would require other weeks to

restore his whole strength and give back to him the use

of his gun hand, but the essential fact remained that he

would not die.


Bas had entered into a compact based upon his belief

that the other would die — a compact which as the days

passed became a thing concrete enough and actual

enough to take reckoning of.


Of course Bas meant to kill his enemy. As matters

now stood he must kill him — ^but he would only to-

hance his own peril by seeking to forestall the day when

his agreement left hun free to act.


So Bas still came to inquire with the solicitude of

seeming friendship, but outside that house he was busy

breathing life into a scheme of broad and parlous scope,

and in aU but a literal sense that scheme was a violation

of his oath-bound compact.


It was when Cal sat propped against pillows in a

rocking chair, with his right arm in a splint, and old

Caleb smoked his pipe on the other side of the window,

that Dorothy suddenly went over and standing by Mag-

gard, laid her arm across his shoulders.


**Gran'pap," she said with a steadiness that hid its

underlying trepidation, " Cal an' me aims ter wed . . .

an' we seeks yore blessin'."


The old moimtaineer sat up as though an explosion

had shaken him out of his drowsy complacency. The

pipe that he held in his thin old fingers dropped to the

floor and spilled its ashes unnoted.








THE ROOF TREE 101


He gazed at them with the amazement of one who has

been sittmg blindly by while miseen forces have had

birth and growth at his elbow.


Wed?" he exclaimed at last in an injured voice.


Why, I hedn't nuver suspicioned hit was nuthin' but

jest plain charity f er a stranger thet hed suffered a sore

hurt."


"Hit's been more then thet sencfe ther fust time we

seed one another," declared the girl, and the old man

shifted his gaze, altered its temper, too, from bewilder-

ment to indignation, and sat with eyes demanding

explanation of the man who h^,d been sheltered and

tended imder his roof.


"Does ye aim ter let ther gal do all ther talkin'?"

he demanded. "Hain't ye got qualities enough ter so

much as say *by yore leave' fer yoreself ?"


Cal Maggard met his accusation steadily as he

answered :


"Dorothy 'lowed she wanted ter tell ye fust-off her

ownself . Thet's why I hain't spoke afore now."


The wrath of surprise died as quickly as it had flared

and the old man sat for a time with a far-away look on

his face, then he rose and stood before them.


He seemed very old, and his kindly features held the

venerable gravity and inherent dignity of those faces

that look out from the frieze of the prophets. He

paused long to weigh his words in exact justice before

he began to speak, and when the words at last came

they were sober and patient.


"I hain't hed nobody ter spend my love on but jest

thet leetle gal fer a lengthy time . . . an' I reckon

she hain't a-goin' ter go on hevin' me fer no great spell

longer . . . I'm gittin' old."


Caleb looked infirm and lonely as he spoke. He had

struggled through his lifetime for a realization of

standards that he vaguely felt to be a bequest of honour




102 THE ROOF^TREE


from God-fearing and self-respecting ancestors — ^and in

that struggle there had been a certain penalty of aloof-

ness in an environment where few standards held. The

children bom to his granddaughter and the man she

chose as her mate must either carry on his fight for

principle or let it fall like an imsupported standard into

the mouldy level of decay.


These things were easy to feel, hard to explain, and

as he stood inarticulate die girl rose from her knees and

went over to him, and his arm sKpped about her waist.


"I hain't nuver sought ter fo'ce no woman's will,"

he said at last and his words fell with slow stress of

earnestness. "But I'd always sort of seed in my own

mind a fam'ly hyar — ^with another man ter tek my

place at hits head when I war dead an' gone. I'd

always thought of Bas Rowlett in that guise. He's a

man thet's done been, in a manner of speakin', like a

son ter me."


"Bas Rowlett " began Dorothy but the old man


lifted a hand in command for silence. "Let me git

through fust," he interrupted her. "Then ye kin hev

yore say. Thar's two reasons why I'd favoured Bas.

One of them was because he's a sober young man thet's

got things himg up." There he pausai, and the quaint

phrase he had employed to express prosperity and thrift

summed up his one argmnent for materialistic con-

siderations.


"Thet's jest one reason," went on Caleb Harper,

soberly, "an' save fer statin' hit es I goes along I hain't

got nutliin' more ter say erbout hit — albeit hit seems ter

me a right pithy matter fer young folks ter study erbout.

I don't jedgmatically know nothin' erbout yore affairs,"

he nodded his head toward Maggard. "So fur's I've

got any means ter tell, ye mout be independent rich or

ye mout not hev nothin' only ther shirt an' pants ye

sots thar in . . . but thet kin go by, too. Ef my





THE ROOF TREE lOS


gal kain't be content withouten ye, she kin sheer with

ye . . . an' I aims ter leave her a good farm with-

out no debt on hit."


The girl had been standing silent and attentive while

he talked, but the clear and delicate modelling of her

face had changed imder the resolute quality of her

expression imtil now it typified a will as unbreakable as

his own.


Her chin was high and her eyes full of lightnings,

held back yet ready to break, if need be, into battle fires.


Now her voice came in that low restraint in which

ultimatums are spoken.


"Whatever ye leaves me in land an' money hain't

nuthin' ter me — ef I kain't love ther man I weds with.

An' whilst I seeks ter be dutiful — thar hain't no power

imder heaven kin fo'ce me ter wed with no other!"


The old man seemed hardly to hear the interruption

as he paused, while in his eyes ancient fires seemed to be

awakening, and as he spoke from that point on those

fires burned to a zealot's fervour.


"Nuther one of ye don't remember back ter them

days when ther curse of ther Harper-Doane war lay in

a blood pestilence over these hyar hills . . . but I

remembers hit. In them sorry times folks war hurtin'

f er vittles ter keep life in thar bodies . . . yit no

man wam't safe workin' out in his open field. I tells

ye death was ther only Lord thet folks bowed down ter

in them days . . . and ther woman thet saw her

man go forth from ther door didn't hev no confident

assurance she'd ever see him come back home alive.

My son Caleb — Dorothy's daddy — ^went out with a

lantern one night when ther dogs barked . . . and

we fotched him in dead."


He paused, and seemed to be looking through the walls

and hills to things that lay buried.


"Them few men thet cried out fer peace an' law-




104 THE ROOF TREE


abidin' war scoffed at an' belittled . . . Them of us

that preached erginst bloodshed was cussed an' damned.

Then come ther battle at Claytown ter cap hit off with

more blood-lettin*.


"One of ther vi'lent leaders war shot ter death — ^an'

t'other one agreed ter go away an' give ther country a

chanst ter draw a free breath in peace onc't more."


Again he fell silent, and when after a long pause he had

not begun again Dorothy restively inquired: "What's

thet got ter do with me an Bas Rowlett, Gran'pap?"


"I'm a-comin' ter thet . . . atter thet pitch-

battle folks began tumin' ter them they'd been laughin'

ter scorn . . . they come an' begged me ter head

ther Thorntons an' ther Harpers. They went similar

ter Jim Rowlett an' besaught him ter do ther like fer

ther Rowletts an' ther Doanes. They knowed that

despite all ther bad blood an' hatefulness me an' Jim

was friends an' thet more then we loved our own kin an'

our own blood, we loved peace fer every man . . .

us two!"


Cal Maggard was watching the fine old face — ^the

face out of which life's hardship and crudity had not

quenched the majesty of imassuming steadfastness.


"An' since we ondertook ter make ther truce and

ter hold it imbroke, hit's done stood imbroke!" The

old man's voice rang suddenly through the room.


"An' thet's been nigh on ter twenty ya'rs . . .

but Jim's old an' I'm old . . . an' afore long we'll

both be gone . . . an' nuther one ner t'other of

us hain't sich fools es not ter know what we've been

holdin' down . . . Nuther one ner t'other of us

don't beguile hisself with ther notion thet all them old

hates air dead ... or thet ef wild-talkin', loose-

mouthed men gains a hearin' . . . they won't

flare up afresh."


He went over to the place where his pipe had fallen




THE ROOF TREE 105


and picked it up and refilled it, and when he fell silent

it seemed as though there had come a sudden stillness

after thunder.


Then in a quieter tone he went on once more:


**01d Jim hain't got no boy ter f oiler him, but he

confidences Bas. I hain't got no son nuther but I con-

fidences my gal. Ther two of us hev always lowed thet

ef we could see them wedded afore we lays down an'

dies, we'd come mighty nigh seein' ther old breach

healed — ^an' ther old hates buried. Them two dans

would git tergither then — an' thar'd jest be one peace-

ful fam'ly 'stid of two crowds of hateful enemies."


Dorothy had hardly moved since she had spoken last.

During her grandfather's zealous pronouncement her

slender uprightness had remained statue-like and

motionless, but in her deep eyes all the powerful life

forces that imtil lately had slept dormant now surged

into their new consciousness and invincible self-asser-

tion.


Now the head crowned with its masses of dark hair

was as high as that of some barbaric princess who

listens while her marriage value is appraised by am-

bassadors, and the eyes were full of fire too steadily in-

tense for flickering. The arch of her bosom only re-

vealed in movement the palpitant emotion that swayed

her, with its quick rise and fall, but her voice held the

bated quiet of a tempest at the point of breaking.


"I'd hate ter hev anybody think I wasn't full loyal

ter my kith an' kin. I'd hate ter fail my own people —

but I hain't no man's woman ter be bartered oflF ner give

away." She paused, and in the long-escaping breath

from her lips came an unmistakable note of scorn.


"Ye talks of healin' a breach, Gran 'pap, but ye

kain't heal no breach by tyin' a woman up ter a man

she kain't never love. Thar'd be a breach right hyar

under this roof ter start with from ther commence-




i




106 THE ROOF TREE


ment." That much she had been able to say as a pref-

ace in acknowledgment of the old man's sincerity of

purpose, but now her voice rang with the thrill of

personal liberty and its deeper claim. Her beauty grew

suddenly gorgeous with the surge of colour to her cheeks

and the flaming of her eyes. She stood the woman

spirit incarnate, which can at need be also the tigress

spirit, asserting her home-making privilege, and ready

to do battle for it.


"Fam'ly means a man an' a woman — ^an' children,"

she declared, "an' ther man thet fathers my babies hes

need ter be ther man I loves I "


Caleb inclined his head. He had spoken, and now as

one closes a book he dismissed the matter with a

gesture.


" I've done give ye my reasons," he said, " but I hain't

nuver sought ter fo'ce no woman, an' hit's too late ter

start. Ther two of ye sets thar like a jury thet's done

heered ther argyment. My plan wouldn't be feasible

nohow onlessen yore heart war in hit, Dorothy, an' I

sees es plain as day whar yore heart's at. So I reckon I

kin give ye my blessin' ef ye're plmn shore ye hain't

makin' no error."




CHAPTER Xn


THE old man struck a match and held it to his pipe

and then as he turned to leave the room Maggard

halted him.


"I kain't suflFer ye ter go away without I tells ye

suthin'," he said, "an' I fears me sorely when ye hears

hit ye're right like ter withhold yore blessin' atter all/*


The patriarch wheeled and stood listening, and

Dorothy, too, caught her breath anxiously as the young

man confessed.


For a time old Caleb stood stonily immovable while

the story, which the girl had already heard, had its

second telling. But as the narration progressed the

gray-haired mountaineer bent interestedly forward, and

by the time it had drawn to its dose his eyes were no

longer wrathful but soberly and judicially thoughtful.


He ran his fingers through his gray hair, and incredu-

lously demanded, "Who did ye say yore grandsire was? *'


"His name was Caleb Thornton — ^he went ter

Virginny sixty ya'rs back.**


"Caleb Thornton!** Through the mists of many

years the old man was tracking back along barefoot

trails of boyhood.


"Caleb Thornton! Him an* me hunted an* fished

tergither and worked tergither when we wasn't nothin*

but small shavers. We was like twin brethren an* folks

called us Good Caleb an* Bad Caleb. I was ther bad

one!** The old lips parted in a smile that was tenderly

reminiscent.


"Why boy, thet makes ye blood-kin of mine • . ,


107




^ 108 THE ROOF TREE


hit makes yore business my business . . . an* yore

trouble my trouble. I'm ther head of ther house now —

an' ye're related ter me."


"I hain't dost kin," objected Cal, quickly. "Not

too clost ter wed with Dorothy."


"Ey God, no, boy, ye hain't but only a distant cousin

— ^but a hundred an' fifty y'ars back our foreparent war

ther same man. An' ef ye've got ther same heart an'

the same blood in ye thet them old-timers hed, mebby

ye kin carry on my work better than any Rowlett — ^an'

stand fer peace and law!" Here spoke the might of

family pride and mountain loyalty to blood.


" Then ye kin give us yore blessin' atter all — despite

ther charge thet hangs over me?"


" My blessin' ? Why, boy, hit's like a dead son hed done

come back ter life — an' false charges don't damn no man! "


The aged face had again become suflFused with such a

glow as might have mantled the brow of a prophet who

had laboured long and preached fierily for his belief, imtil

the hoar-frost of time had whitened his head. It was

as if when the hoiu* approached for him to lay down his

scrip and staflf he had recognized the strength and

possible ardour of a young disciple to come after him.


But after a little that emotional wave, which had un-

consciously straightened his bent shoulders and brought

his head erect, subsided into the realization of less in-

spiriting facts.


"Atter all," he said, thoughtfully, "I've got ter hev

speech with old Jim Rowlett afore this matter gits

published abroad. He's done held ther same notions

I have — ^about Dorothy an' Bas — an' I owes hit ter him

ter make a clean breast of what's come ter pass."


The woimded man in the chair was gazing oflF through

the window, and he was deeply disturbed. He stood

sworn to kill or be killed by the man whom these two

custodians of peace or war had elected in advance as a




THE ROOF TREE lOflU


clan head and a link uniting the factions. If he himself

were now required to assume the mantle of leadership,

it was hard to see how that quarrel could be limited to

a private scope.


"When I come over hyar," he said, steadily and

deliberately, "I sought ter live peaceable — an' quiet.

I didn't aim, an' I don't seek now, ter hold place as head

of no feud-faction."


"Nuther did I seek ter do hit." The old man's voice

was again the rapt and fiery utterance of the zealot.

"Thar wasn't nuthin' I wouldn't of chose fust — ^but

when a man's duty calls ter him, ef he's a true man in

God's eyes, he hain't got no rather in the matter which

ner whether. He's beholden ter obey! Besides" —

the note of fanatical exaltation diminished into a more

placid evenness — "besides, I've done told ye I only

sought ter hev ye lead toward peace an' quiet — ^not

ter mix m no warfarin'."


So a message went along the waterways to the house

where old Jim Rowlett dwelt, and old Jim, to whose ears

troubling rmnours had already come stealing, moimted

his "ridin'-critter" and responded forthwith and in

person.


He came, trustful as ever of his old partner, in the

task of shepherding wild flocks, yet resentful of the

girl's rmnoured rebellion against what was to have been,

in effect, a marriage of state.


Before starting he had talked long and earnestly

with his kinsman, Bas Rowlett, and as a result he saw

in Bas a martyr nobly bearing his chastening, and in

the stranger a man unknown and tinged with a sus-

picious mystery.


Jim Rowlett listened in silent politeness to the an-

nouncement of the betrothal and presently he rose after

a brief, imbending visit.


"Caleb," he said, "through a long life-time me an'




110 THE ROOF TREE


you hev been endurin' friends. We aims ter go on

bein', an albeit I'd done sot my hopes on things thet

hain't destined ter come ter pass, I wishes these young

folks joy."


That interview was in the nature of a public an-

noimcement, and on the same day at Jake Crabbott's

store the conclave discussed it. It was rmnoured that

the two old champions of peace had diflFered, though

not yet in open rupture, and that the stranger, whose

character was untested, was being groomed to stand as

titular leader of the Thorntons and the Harpers.

Many Rowlett and Doane faces darkened with fore-

boding.


"What does Bas say?" questioned some, and the

answer was always the same: "Bas hain't a-talkin'




none."




But Sim Squires, who was generally accredited with

a dislike of Bas Rowlett, was circulating among those

Harpers and Thorntons who bore a wilder repute than

did old Caleb, and as he talked with them he was stress-

ing the note of resentment that an unknown man from

the hated state of Virginia should presume to occupy so

responsible a position when others of their own blood

and native-born were being overlooked.




One afternoon the girl and her lover sat together in

the room where she had nursed him as the western

ridges turned to ashy lilac against a sky where the sun

was setting in a fanfare of delicate gorgeousness.


That evening hush that early summer knows, be-

tween the day's full-throated orchestration and the

night song of whippoorwills, held the world in a bated

stillness, and the walnut tree stood as unstirring as

some age-crowned priest with arms outstretched in

evening prayer.




THE ROOF TREE 111


Hand in hand the two sat in the open window. They

had been talking of those little things that are sudi

great things to lovers, but over them a silence had fallen

through which their hearts talked on without sound.


Slowly the sunset grew brilliant — ^then the fore-

grounds gave up their detail in a soft veiling of purple

dusk, and the tree between the house and the road

became a dark ghost-shape, etched in the unmoving

majesty of spread and stature.


"Hit hain't jest a tree." whispered the girl with an

awe-touched voice, "hit's human — but hit's bigger an'

wiser an' stronger then a human body."


The man nodded his head for so- it seemed to him,

a woodsman to whom trees in their general sense were

common things. In this great growth he felt a quality

and a presence. Its moods were as varied as those of

life itself — as it stood triumphing over decades of

vicissitude, blight, and storm.


*'I wonder ef hit knows," said the girl, abruptly,

**who hit war thet shot ye, Cal?"


The man shook his head and smiled.


"Mebby hit don't jedgmatically haaw^^ he made

answer, seeking as he had often sought before to divert

her thoughts from that question and its secret answer:

"But so long es hit stands guard over us, I reckon no

enemy won't skeercely succeed.*^




CHAPTER Xm


THE blossom had passed from the laurel and rho-

dodendron and the Jime freshness had freckled

into rustiness before the day came when Dorothy

Harper and Cal Maggard were to be married, and as

yet the man had not been able to walk beyond the

threshold of the house, and to the people of the neigh-

bourhood his face had not become familiar.


Once only had Cal been out of doors and that was

when leaning on the girl's arm he had gone into the

dooryard. Dorothy did not wish the simple ceremony

of their marriage to take place indoors, but that when

Uncle Jase, the justice of the peace, joined their hands

with the words of the simple ritual, they should stand

under the shade of the tree which, already hallowed as a

monument, should likewise be their altar.


So one afternoon, when the cool breath of evening

came between sunset and dusk, they had gone out

together and for the first time in daylight he stood by

the broad-girthed base of the walnut's mighty bole.


" See thar, Cal," breathed the girl, as she laid reverent

fingers upon the trunk where initials and a date had

been carved so long ago that now they were sunken and

seamed like an old scar.


"Them letters an* dates stands fer ther great-great-

great gran'mammy thet wrote ther book — ^an' fer ther

fust Kenneth Thornton. They're our fore-parents, an'

they lays buried hyar. Hit's all in ther front pages of

thet book upsta'rs in ther chist."


The ground on which they stood was even now, for


112




V




THE ROOF TREE US


tHe mounds so long ago heaped there had been levelled

by generations of time. Later members of that house

who had passed away lay in the small thicket-choked

burial groimd a hundred yards to the side.


"Hit*s a right fantastic notion/' complained old

Caleb who had come out to join them there, "ter be

wedded outdoors imder a tree, stid of indoors under

a roof," but the girl turned and laid a hand on his arm»

and her eyes livened with a glow of feeling and tender*

ness.


"Hit was right hyar thet we diskivered we loved one

another," she said, softly, "an* ef ye'd ever read thet

book upstairs I reckon ye*d onderstand. Oiu* fore-

parents planted this tree hyar in days of sore travail

when they'd done come from nigh ter ther ocean-sea

at Gin'ral George Washington's behest, an' they plum

revered hit from thet time on."


She paused, looking up fondly into the magnificent

fulness of branches where now the orioles had hatched

their brood and taught the fledglings to fly, then her

eyes came back and her voice grew rapt.


"Them revolutionary folk of oiu* own blood be-

queathed thet tree ter us — ^an' we heired hit from 'em

along with all thet's good in us. They lays buried thar

under hit, an' by now I reckon hits roots don't only rest

in ther ground an' rock thet's underneath hit — ^but in

ther graves of our people theirselves. Some part of

them hes done passed inter thet old tree, I reckon, ter

give virtue ter hits sap an' stren'th. Thet's why thar

hain't no other place ter be married at."


The July morning of their wedding day dawned fresh

and cloudUess, and from remote valleys and coves a

procession of saddled moimts, ox-carts, and foot travel-

lers, grotesque in their oddly conceived raiment of

festivity, set toward the house at the river's bend.

They came to look at the bride, whose beauty was a




114 THE ROOF TREE


matter of local fame, and for their first inquisitive

scrutiny of the stranger who had wooed with such

interest-provoking dispatch and upon whom, rumour

insisted, was to descend the mantle of dan leadership,

albeit his blood was alien.


But the brid^room himself lay on his bed, the victim

of a convalescent's set-back, and it seemed doubtful

whether his strength would support him through the

ceremony. When he attempted to rise, after a night of

returned fever, his muscles refused to obey the mandates

of his will, and Uncle Jase Burrell, who had arrived early

to make out the license, issued his edict that Cal Mag-

gard must be married in bed.


But at that his patient broke into defiant and open

rebellion.


"I aims ter stand upright ter be wed," he scornfully

asserted, "ef I don't nuver stand upright ergin! Ask

Dorothy an' her gran'pap an' Bas Rowlett ter come in

hyar. I wants ter hev speech with 'em all together."


Uncle Jase yielded grudgingly to the stronger will and

within a few minutes those who had been summoned

appeared.


Bas Rowlett came last, and his face bore the marks

of a sleepless night, but he had imdertaken a rdle and

he purposed to play it to its end.


In after days, days for which Bas Rowlett was plan-

ning now, he meant that every man who looked back

on that wedding should remember and say of him:

"Bas, he war thar — ^plmn friendly. Nobody couldn't

be a man's enemy an' act ther way Bas acted." In his

scheme of conspiracy the art of alibi building was both

cornerstone and ardi-key.


Now it pleased Cal, even at a time when other in-

terests pressed so close and absorbingly, to indulge him-

self in a grim and sardonic humour. The man who had

"hired him killed" and whom in turn he meant to kill





"Even Bos Rowlett, whose nerves were keyed for an

ordeal, started and almost let the leaning bridegroom

fall"




V




-• 1 '. iC L '







-J




PROPERTY




feCIET




THE ROOF TREE 115


stood in the room where he himself lay too weak to rise

from his bed, and toward that man he nodded his head.


"Good momin*, Bas," he accosted, and the other re-

plied, "Howdy, CaV


Then Maggard turned to the others. "This man,

Bas Rowlett," he said, "sought to marry Dorothy his-

self . Ye all knows thet, yet deespite thet fact when I

come hyar a stranger he befriended me, didn't ye, Bas? "


"We spoke ther truth ter one another," conciured

Rowlett, wondering uneasily whither the conversational

trend was leading, "an' we went on bein' friends."


"An* now afore ye all," Maggard glanced compre-

hensively about the group, "albeit hit don't need no

more attestin', he's goin' ter prove his friendship fer me

afresh."


A pause followed, broken finally from the bed.


"I kain't stand up terday — an' without standin'

up I couldn't hardly be rightfully wedded — ^so Bas air

agoin' ter support me, and holp me out thar an' hold

me upright whilst I says ther words • • . hain't

ye, Bas?"


The hardly taxed endurance of the conspirator for

a moment threatened to break in failure. A hateful

scowl was gathering in his eyes as he hesitated> and

Maggard went on suavely: "Anybody else could do hit

fer me — ^but I've got ther feelin' thet I wants ye, Bas."


"All right," came the low answer, "I'll aim ter con-

venience ye, CaJ."


He turned hastily and left the room, and bending over

the bed Uncle Jase produced the marriage license.


"I'll jest fill in these blank places," he announced,

briskly, "with ther names of Dorothy Harper an' Cal

Maggard an' then we'll be ready fer ther signatiu-es."


But at that Maggard raised an imperative hand in

negation.


"No," he said, shortly and categorically, "I aims ter




116 THE ROOF TREE


be married by my rightful name — ^put hit down thar

like hit is — Kenneth Parish Thornton — all of hit!"


Caleb Harper bent forward with a quick gesture of

expostulation.


"Ef ye does thet, boy/* he pleaded, **ye won't

skeeroely be wedded afore ther oflScers will come atter

ye from over thar in Virginny/*


"Then they kin come," the voice was obdurate. "I

don't aim ter give Almighty God no false name in my

weddin' vows."


Uncle Jase, to whom this was all an inexplicable

riddle, glanced perplexedly at old Caleb and Caleb stood

for the moment irresolute, then with a sigh of relief, as

though for discovery of a solution, he demanded:


"Did ye ever make use of yore middle name — over

thar in Virginny?"


"No. I reckon nobody don't skeercely know I've

got one."


"All right — ^hit belongs ter ye jist as rightfully as

ther other given name. Write hit down Parish Thorn-

ton in thet paper, Jase. Thet don't give no imdue holt

ter yore enemies, boy, an' es fer ther last name hit's

thicker then hops in these parts, anyhow."


In all the niunbers of the crowd that stood about

the dooryard that day waiting for the wedding party to

come through the door one absence was recognized and

felt.


"Old Jim Rowlett didn't come," murmured one

observant guest, and the announcement ran in a whisper

through the gathering to find an echo that trailed after

it. "I reckon he didn't aim ter coimtenance ther

matter, atter all."


Then the door opened and Dorothy came out, with a

sweet pride in her eyes and her head high. At her side

walked the man whose face they had been curiously

waiting to see.




THE ROOF TREE 117


They acknowledged at a glanoe that it was an un-

common face from which one gained feeling of a certain

power and mastery — ^yet of candour, too, and fearless

good nature.


But the crowd, himgry for interest and gossip,

breathed deep in a sort of cJiorused gasp at the dramatic

circumstance of the bridegroom leaning heavily on the

arm of Bas Rowlett, the defeated lover. Already Uncle

Jase stood with his back to the broad, straight column

whose canopy of leaf age. spread a green roof between

the tall, waving grass that served as a carpet and the

blue of a smiling sky.


Through branches, themselves as heavy and stalwart

as young trees, and through the myriads of arrow-pointed

leaves that rustled as they sifted and shifted the gold

flakes of sunlight, soimded the low, mysterious harping

of wind-fingers as light and yet as profound as those of

some dreaming organist.


The girl, with her eyes fixed on that living emblem

of strength and tranquillity, felt as though instead of

leaving a house, she were entering a cathedral — ^though

of man-built cathedrals she knew nothing. It was the

spirit which hallows cathedrals that brought to her deep

yoimg eyes a serenity and thanksgiving that made her

face seem ethereal in its happiness — ^the spirit of bene-

diction, of the presence of God and of hmnan sanctuary.


So she went as if she were treading clouds to the

waiting figure of the man who was to perform the

ceremony.


When the clear voice of the justice of the peace

soimded out as the pair — or rather the trio — stood be-

fore him at the foot of the great walnut, the astonish-

ment which had been simmering in the crowd broke

into audible being again and with a rising tempo.


The tone with which old Jase read the service was

full and sonorous and the responses were dear as bell




118 THE ROOF TREE


metal. On the fringe of the gathering an old woman's

whispered words carried to those about her:


" Did ye heer thet ? Jase called him Parish Thornton

— ^I thought he give ther name of Cal Maggard!"


Even Bas Rowlett, whose nerves were key^ for an

ordeal, started and almost let the leaning bridegroom

fall.


The loft of old Caleb's bam had been cleared for

that day, and through the afternoon the fiddles whined

there, ^temating with the twang of banjo and "dulci-

more.'* Old Spike Crooch, who dwelt far up at the

headwaters of Little Tribulation, where the "trails jest

wiggle an' wingle about, " and who bore the repute of a

master violinist, had vowed that he "meant ter fiddle

at one more shin-dig afore he laid him down an' died" —

and he had journeyed the long way to carry out his

pledge.


He had come like a ghost from the antique past, with

his old bones straddling neither horse nor mule, but

seated sidewise on a brindle bull, and to reach the place

where he was to discourse music he had made a "soon

start" yesterday morning and had slept lying by the

roadside over night.


Now on an improvised platform he sat enthroned,

with his eyes ecstatically dosed, the violin pressed to

his stubbled chin, and his broganned feet — with ankles

innocent of socks — ^patting the spirited time of his

dancing measure.


Outside in the yard certain young folk who had been

reared to hold dancing ungodly indulged in those various

"plays" as they called the games less frowned upon by

the strait-laced. But while the thoughtless rollicked,

their elders gathered in small clumps here and there and

talked in grave undertones, and through these groups

old Caleb circulated. He knew how mysterious and

possibly significant to these news-hungry folk had




THE ROOF TREE 119


seemed the strange circumstance o£ the bridegroom's

answering, in the marriage service, to a name he had

not previously worn and he sought to draw, by his own

strong influence, the sting of suspicion from their ques-

tioning minds.


But Bas Rowlett did not remain through the day, and

when he was ready to leave, old Caleb followed him

aroimd the turn of the road to a point where they could

be alone, and laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.


"Bas,*' he said, feelingly, "I'd hate ter hev ye think

I hain't a-feelin' f er ye terday . I knows right well ye're

sore-hearted, boy, an' thar hain't many men thet could

hev took a bitter dose like ye've done."


Rowlett looked gloomily away.

I hain't complainin' none, Caleb," he said.

No. But I hain't got master long ter live — ^an'

when Jim an' me both passes on, I fears me thar'll be

stressful times ahead. I wants ye ter give me yore

hand thet ye'U go on standin' by my leetle gal an' her

fam'ly, Bas. Else I kain't die satisfied."


Bas Rowlett stood rigidly and tensely straight, his eyes

fixed to the front, his forehead drawn into furrows.

Then he thrust out his hand.


"Ye've done confidenced me until now," he said

simply, "ye kin go on doin' hit. I gives ye my pledge."







CHAPTER XIV


A MONG the men who danced at that party were

A\ Sim Squires and Pete Doane, but when they

?^ -^ saddled and mounted at sunset, they rode diver-

gent ways.


Each of the two was acting under orders that day,

and each was spreading an infection whose virus

sought to stir into rebirth the war which the truce

had so long held in merciful abeyance.


Aaron Capper, who was as narrow yet as religious as

an Inquisition priest, had always believed the Thorn-

tons to be God's chosen and the Doanes to be children

of Satan. The bonds of enforced peace had galled him

heavily. Three sons had been k£Qed in the battle at

Claytown and he felt that any truce made before he

had evened his score left him wronged and abandoned

by his kinsmen.


Now Sim Squires, mounted on a swift pacing mare,

fell in beside Aaron, his knee rubbing the knee of the

grizzled wayfarer, and Sim said impressively:


**Hit looks right bodaciously like es ef ther war's

goin' ter bust loose ergin, Aaron."


The other turned level eyes upon his informant and

swept him up and down with a searching gaze.


"Who give ye them tidin's, son? I hain't heered

nothin' of hit, an' I reckon ef ther Harpers war holdin*

any council they wouldn't skeercely pass me by."


"I don't reckon they would, Aaron." Sim now spoke

with a flattery intended to placate ruffled pride.

*'Ther boys thet's gittin' restive air kinderly lookm' ter


120




THE ROOF TREE 121


you ter call thet council. Caleb Harper hain^t long fer

this life — an' who's goin' ter take up his leadership —

onless hit be you?"


Aaron laughed, but there was a grim complaisance in

the tone that argued secret receptiveness for the idea.


" Teared like hit war give out ter us terday thet this

hyar young stranger war denoted ter heir thet job."


"Cal Haggard!" Sim Squires spat out the name con-

temptuously and laughed with a short hyena bark of

derision. "Thet woods-colt from God-knows- whar?

Him thet goes hand in glove with Bas Rowlett an'

leans on his arm ter git married? Hell!"


Aaron took refuge in studied silence, but into his eyes

had come a new and dangerously smouldering darkness.


"I'll ponder hit," he made guarded answer — ^then

added with humourless sincerity, "I'll ponder — ^an'

pray fer God's guidin'."


And as Sim talked with Aaron that afternoon, so he

talked to others, even less conservative of tendency, and

Pete Doane carried a like gospel of disquiet to those

whose allegiance lay on the other side of the feud's

cleavage — ^yet both talked much alike. In houses re-

mote and widely scattered the security of the long-

standing peace was being insidiously imdermined and

shaken and guns were taken furtively out and oiled.


But in a deserted cabin where once two shadowy

figures had met to arrange the assassination of Cal

Haggard three figures came separately now on a

night when the moon was dark, and having assured

themselves that they had not been seen gathering

there, they indulged themselves in the pallid light of a

single lantern for their deliberations.


Bas Rowlett was the first to arrive, and he sat for a

time alone smoking his pipe, with a face impatiently

scowling yet not altogether indicative of despair.


Soon he heard and answered a triple rap on the barred




122 THE ROOF TtlEE


door, and though it seemed a designated signal he

maintained the caution of a hand on his revolver until a

figure entered and he recognized the features of young

Peter Doane.


"Come in, Pete," he accosted. "I reckon ther

other feller'U git hyar d*reck'ly."


The two sat smoking and talking in low tones, yet

pausing constantly to listen until again they heard

the triple rap and admitted a third member to their

caucus.


Here any one not an initiate to the mysteries of this

inner shrine would have wondered to the degree of

amazement, for this newcomer was an ostensible enemy

of Bas Rowlett's whom in other company he refused to

recognize.


But Sim Squires entered unhesitatingly and now be-

tween himself and the man with whom he did not

speak in public passed a nod and glance of complete

harmony and imderstanding.


When certain subsidiary affairs had been adjusted —

all matters of upbuilding for Rowlett*s influence and

repute — ^Bas turned to Sim Squires.


"Sim," he said, genially, "I reckon we're ready ter

heer what ye've got on yore mind now," and the other

grinned.


"Ther Thorntons an' Harpers — ^them thet dwells

furthest back in ther sticks — ^air a doin' a heap of buzzin'

an' talkin'. They're right sim'lar ter bees gittin' ready

ter swarm. I've done seed ter that. I reckon when

this hyar stranger starts in ter rob ther honey outen

thet hive he's goin' ter find a tol'able nasty lot of

stingers on his hands."


"Ye've done cautioned 'em not ter make no move

afore they gits ther word, hain't ye — ^an' ye've done

persuaded *em ye plum hates me, hain't ye?"


Again Sim grinned.




^




THE ROOF TREE 123




€€{




Satan hisself would git rightfully insulted ef any-

body cussed an' damned him like I've done you^ Bas/*


"All right then. I reckon when ther time comes both

ther Doanes and Harpers'll be right sick o£ Mr. Cal

Maggard or Mr. Parish Thornton or Mr. Who-ever-

he-is."


They talked well into the night, and Peter Doane was

the &st to leave, but after his departm-e Sim Squires per-

mitted a glint of deep anxiety to show in his narrow and

shifty eyes.


"Hit's yore own business ef ye confidences Pete

Doane in yore own behalf, Bas," he suggested, "but ye

hain't told him nuthin' erbout me, hes ye?"


Bas Rowlett smiled.


"I hain't no damn fool, Sim," he reassured. "Thar

don't nobody but jest me an' you know thet ye shot

Cal Maggard — ^but ye war sich a danm disable feller on

ther job thet rightly I ought ter tell yore name ter ther

circuit-rider."


"What fer?" growled the hireling, sulkily, and

the master laughed.


"So's he could put hit in his give-out at meetin' an

shame ye afore all mankind," he made urbane ex-

planation.




July, which began fresh and cool, burned, that year,

into a scorching heat, until the torrid skies bent in a

blue arch of arid cruelty and the ridges stood starkly

stripped of their moisture.


Forests were rusted and freckled and roads gave oflf a

choke of dust to catch the breath of travellers as the heat

waves trembled feverishly across the dear, hot dis-

tances.


Like a barometer of that scorched torpor, before the

eyes of the slowly convalescing Thornton stood the




124 THE ROOF TREE


walnut tree in the dooryard. A little while ago it had

spread its fresh and youthful canopy of green overhead

in unstinted abundance of vigour.


Now it stood desolate, with its leaves drooping in

fever-hot inertia. The squirrel sat gloomily silent on

the branches, panting under its fur, and the oriole's

splendour of orange and jet had turned dusty and

bedraggled.


When a dispirited wisp of breeze stirred in its head-

growth its branches gave out only the flat hoarseness of

rattling leaves.


One morning before full daylight old Caleb left the

house to cross the low creek bed valley and join a work-

ing party in a new field which was being cleared of

timber. He had been away two hours when without

warning the hot air became insuflFerably dose and the

light ghost of breeze died to a breathless stillness. The

drought had lasted almost four weeks, and now at last,

though the skies were still dear, that heat-vacuum

seemed to augur its breaking.


An hour later over the ridge came a black and lower-

ing pall of doud moving slowly and bellying out from

its inky centre with huge masses of dirty fleece at its

margin — ^and in the little time that Dorothy stood in the

door watching, it spread imtil the high sun was obscured.


The distant but incessant nmibling of thimder was a

chorussed growling of storm voices against a back-

ground of muffled drum-beat, and the girl said, a shade

anxiously, **Gran'pap's goin* ter git drenched ter ther

skin."


While the inky pall spread and lowered imtil it held

the visible world in a gray-green corrosion of gloom the

stillness became more pulseless. Then with a crashing

salvo of suddenness the tempest broke — ^and it was as

though all the belated storms of the summer had

merged into one armageddon of the elements.




THE ROOF TREE 125


A rending and splintering of timber sounded with the

shriek of the tornado that whipped its lash of destruc-

tion through the woods. The girl, buflFeted and almost

swept from her feet, struggled with her weight thrown

against the door that she could scarcely dose. Then

the darkness blotted midday into night, and through the

unnatural thickness clashed a frenzy of detonations.


Out of the window she and her husband seemed

looking through dark and confused waters which

leaped constantly into the brief and blinding glare of

such blue- white instants of lightning as hurt the eyes.

The walnut tree appeared and disappeared—^waving

arms like a high-priest in transports of frenzy, and add-

ing its wind-song to the mighty chorus.


The sturdily built old house trembled under that

assaulting, and when the &st cyclonic sweep of wind

had rushed by the pelting of hail and rain was a roar as

of small-arms after artiUery.


"Gran'pap," gasped Dorothy. "I don't see how a

livin' soul kin endure — out thar!"


Then came a concussion as though the earth had

broken like a bursted emery wheel, and a ball of white

fire seemed to pass through the walls of the place.

Dorothy pitched forward, stunned, to the floor and at

the pit of his stomach Cal Maggard felt a sudden sick-

ness of shock that passed as instantly as it had come.

He found himself electrically tingling through every

nerve as the woman rose slowly and dazedly, staring

about her.


"Did hit strike . • . ther house?'* she asked,

faintly, and then with the same abruptness as that

with which darkness had come, the sky began to turn

yellowish again and they could see oflf across the road

through the amber thickness of returning daylight.


"No," her husband said, hesitantly, "hit wam't ther

house — ^but hit was right nigh!"




126 THE ROOF TREE


The girl followed his startled gaze, and there about

the base of the walnut tree lay shaggy strips of rent

bark.


Running down the trunk in the glaring spiral of a

fresh scar two hand-breadths wide went the swath

along which the bolt had plunged groimdward.


For a few moments, though with a single thought

between them, neither spoke. In the mind of Dorothy

words from a faded page seemed to rewrite themselves :

"Whilst that tree stands . . . and weathers the

thunder and wind . . . our family also will wax

strong and robust . . . but when it falls !"


Cal rose slowly to his feet, and the girl asked dully,

" Where be ye goin' ? "


"I'm goin',*' he said as their eyes met in a flash of

understanding, "ter seek fer yore gran'pap."


"I fears me hit*s too late . . ." Her gaze went

outward and as she looked the man needed no explana-

tion.


"Ef he's — still alive,'* she added, resolutely, with

a return of self-control, "ther danger's done passed now.

Hit would kill ye ter go out in this storm, weak as ye

be. Let's strive ter be patient."


Ten minutes later they heard a knock on the door

and opened it to find a man drenched with rain standing

there, whose face anticipated their questions.


"Me and old Caleb," he began, "was comin'

home tergither . . . we'd got es fur as ther aidge

of ther woods . . ." he paused, then forced out the

words, "a limb blew down on him."


"Is he . . . is he . . . ?" The girl's ques-

tion got no further, and the messenger shook his head.

"He's dead," came the simple reply. "The other

boys air fotchin' hun in now."




CHAPTER XV


INTO the grave near the house the rough pine coffin,

which had been knocked together by neighbour

hands, was lowered by members of both factions

whose peace the dead man had impartially guarded.


No circuit-rider was available, but one or two godly

men knelt there and prayed and over the greeli valley,

splendidly resurrected from the scorch and thirst of the

drought, floated imtrained voices raised in the old

hymns.


Then as the crowd scattered along its several ways

a handful of men delayed their departure, and when the

place had otherwise emptied itself they led Cal Maggard

to his front door where, without realization that they

were selecting a spot of special significance, they halted

under the nobly spread shade of the tree.


The walnut, with the blight of dry weeks thrown oflf,

had freshened its leafage into renewed vigoiu- — ^and

though its scar was fresh and raw, its vital stalwartness

was that of a veteran who has once more triumphed

over his wounding.


The few men who had remained were all Doanes, in

clan affiliation if not in name, and they stood as sol-

emnly silent as they had been by the open grave but

with heads no longer uncovered and with a grimmer

quality in their sober eyes.


It was Hump Doane, the man with the twisted back,

who broke the silence as spokesman for the group, and

his high, sharp voice carried the rasping suggestion of a

threat.


"Afore we went away from here," he said with a note


127




128 THE ROOF TREE


of embarrassment, "we lowed thet we hed need ter ask

ye a few questions, Mr. Thornton."


"I*m hearkenin' ter ye," came the non-conmiittal

rejoinder, and the hunchback went on :


"Ther man weVe jest laid ter rest was ther leader of

ther Harpers an' ther Thorntons but over an* above

thet he was ther friend of every man thet loved peace-

abidin' and human betterment."


That tribute Cal acknowledged with a grave inclina-

tion of his head, but no word.


** So long as he lived ther truce thet he'd done made

endured. Now thet he's dead hit would be a right

distressful thing ef hit collapsed."


Haggard's candid eyes engaged those of the others in

level glance as he inquired, "Is thar any self-respectin'

man thet feels contrariwise, Mr. Doane?"


"Thet's what we seeks ter find out. With Caleb

dead an' gone, no man kin handily foretell what ther

Thorntons aims ter do — ^an' without we knows we kain't

breathe free."


"Why does ye come ter me?"


"Because folks tells hit thet ther old man named

ye ter stand in his stead — an' ef ye does thet we hev

need ter put some questions up ter ye."


"I hain't said I sought no leadership — ^but speak

right out fer yoreselves," invited Maggard.


"All right. We knows thet ye come hyar from some-

whars else — ^an' we don't know whar from. Because

ye're old Caleb's heir, what ye does an' what ye says

gets ter be mighty pithy an' pertinent ter us."


"I've done come ter kinderly reelize that, myself,

hyar of late."


"Ye comes from Virginny, folks says; air thet true?"


"Thet's true."


** An' ye give one name when ye come an' tuck another

atter ye'd been hyar a while, air thet true likewise?"




THE ROOF TREE 129


Maggard stiffened but he bowed his head in assent.


"AU right, then — ^I reckon ye kin see fer yorself thet

ef weVe got ter trust our business in yore hands tor'ds

keepin* ther truce, weVe jedgmatically got ter con-

fidence ye. We seeks ter hev ye ter tell us why ye left

Virginny an* why ye changed yore name. We wants

ter send a man of our own pick an ' choosin ' over thar an*

find out fer ourselves jest what yore repute war in yore

own home afore ye come hyar."


Cal could feel the tingling of antagonism in a galvanic

current along his spine. He knew that his eyes had

flashed defiance before he had quelled their impulse and

controlled his features, but he held his lips tight for a

rebellious moment and when he opened them he asked

with a velvety smoothness :


**Ye says nobody didn't mistrust Caleb Harper.

Why didn't ye ask him, whilst he war still a-livin',

whether he'd made an heir outen a man thet couldn't

be confidenced?"


" So long es he lived," came the hunchback's quick and

stingingly sharp retort, "we didn't need ter ask no ques-

tions atall an' thar wam't no prophets amongst us ter

f oresay he was goin ' ter die suddent-like, without tellin '

us what we needed ter know. Will ye give us them

facts thet we're askin' fer — or won't ye?"


"I won't," said Maggard, shortly. "I stand ter be

jedged by ther way I demeans myseft — an ' I don't suffer

no man ter badger me with questions like es ef I war

some criminal m ther jaa-house."


The grotesque face of the hunchback hardened to the

stony antagonism of an issue joined. His dwarfed and

twisted body seemed to loom taller and more shapely as

if the power of the imprisoned spirit were expanding

its ugly shell from within, and an undeniable dignity

showed itself flashingly through the caricatured fea-

tures.




130 THE ROOF TREE


Back of him, his silent colleagues stiffened, too, and

though they were all tall men, with eyes flaming in un.

spoken wrath, they seemed smaller in everything but

bodily stature than he.


After a brief pause. Hump Doane wheeled and ad-

dressed himself to his companions. "I reckon thet*s

all, men," he said, briefly, and Cal Maggard recognized

that the silence with which they turned away from him

was more ominous than if they had berated him.


Yet before he reached the stile Doane halted and

stood irresolute with his gaze groundward and his chin

on his breast, then summoning his fellows with a jerk

of the thumb, he turned back to the spot where Cal

Maggard had remained unmoving at the base of the

great tree, and his face though still solemn was no

longer wrathful.


"Sometimes, Mr. Thornton," he said with a slow

weighing of his words, "men thet aims at accord faUs

ter comprehend each other — an* gits ther seemin* of

cavillin*. Mebby we kinderly got off on ther wrong

foot an* I kain't go away from hyar satisfied without

I'm plum sartain thet ye onderstands me aright."


Maggard had learned to read the type of human fea-

tures and human contact clearly enough to place this

man in his rightful page and column of life. He recog-

nized an honesty and sincerity that might be trusted

under the test of torture itself, purposes undeviatingly

true — ^and the narrow intensity of fanaticism. He

would have liked to make an ally of this man, and a

friend, yet the question that had been raised could not

be answered.


"I hain't only willin' but plum anxious ter hear all

ye've got ter say, Mr. Doane," he made serious r^ly,

and the other after a judicial pause went on:


"Hit hain't no light an' frivolous sperit of meddlin'

thet brings me hyar askin ' ye questions thet seems imp '-




b




THE ROOF TREE 131


dent an* nosy. Hit's a dire need of saleguardin' ther

peace of our folks — ^aye, an* thar lives, too, like es not.**


He paused, leaving room for an answer that would

make easier his approach to an understanding, but no

answer came, and he continued :


"Ye hain*t got no handy way of knowin' like me an*

some of these other men thet's always lived hyarabouts,

what a ticklish balance things rests on in this section.

A feller mout reasonably surmise thet a peace what hes

stood fer twenty y*ar an* more would go on standin* —

but mebby in yore time ye've done seed a circus-show —

hev ye?'*


Maggard nodded, wondering what moral was to be

drawn from tan-bark ring and canvas top, and his inter-

viewer continued:


"Then like es not ye*ve seed one of them fellers in

tights an* tin spangles balancin* a ladder on his chest

with a see-saw atop hit — ^an* a human bein* settin* on

each eend of thet see-saw. Hit looks like he does hit

plum easy — ^but ef he boggles or stumbles, them folks up

thar falls down, sure as hell's hot.**

I reckon thet's right."


Wa'al, thar's trouble-makin' sperits amongst both

ther Doanes an' ther Harpers — ^an' they seeks ter start

all thet hell up a-bilin' ergin like ther devil's own

cauldron . . . Ef we've done maintained peace

'stid of war fer upwards of twenty y'ars hit's because

old Caleb an' a few more like him hes been balancin*

thet ladder till th'ar hearts was nigh ter bustin' with

ther weight of hit. Peace hain't nuver stood upright

amongst us by hits own self — ^an* hit won't do hit now.

Ef ye stands in old Caleb's shoes, Mr. Thornton, ye've

got ter stand balancin' thet ladder, too."


"We hain't hed no disagreement es ter thet, Mr.

Doane. I craves law-abidin' life an' friendly neighbours

as master strong es you does."







1S2 THE ROOF TREE


"An* yit," continued the cripple, earnestly, "e£ thet

old-time war ever busts loose afresh hit'll make these

hyar numerous small streams, in a manner of speakin',

run red with men's blood an' salty with women's tears,

too, I fears me. I've done dream't of a time when all

thet pizen blight would be swep' away from ther hills

like a fog — ^an' I sought ter gain yore aid in hastenin'

thet day. A man kain't skeercely plead with his enemy

but he kin with his friend — an' that's how I hoped

I'd be met."


"Yore friend is what I'd love ter be." Maggard stood

with his hand resting on the bark of the tree, as though

out of it he might hope to draw some virtue from tibe

far past which it commemorated or from the dust of

those wiser men whose graves its roots penetrated. His

eyes were darkly clouded with the trouble and per-

plexity of his dilemma. To refuse still was to stand on

a seeming point either of over-stubborn pride or of

confessed guilt. To accede was to face the court that

wanted him for murder and that would prostitute

justice to hang him.


"Them things ye dreams of an' hopes fer," he went

on in a voice thrilling with earnestness and sincerity,

"air matters thet I've got heart an' cravin' ter see come

erbout. An' yit — ^I kain't answer yore question. Hit's

ther only test ye could seek ter put me ter — ^thet I

wouldn't enjoy ter meet outright "


"Then, even atter what I've told ye, ye still refuses

me?"


"Even atter what ye've told me, an' deespite thet

I accords with all ye seeks ter compass hyarabouts,

I've got ter refuse ye. I hain't got no other choice."


This time Hump Doane and his delegation did not

turn back, but crossed the stile and passed stiffly on.


Thornton, for now it was useless to think of himself

longer as Cal Maggard, stood straight-shouldered until




s




THE ROOF TREE 133


the turn of the road took them beyond sight, then his

head came down and his eyes clouded into a deep

misery.


That night the moon rode in a sky where the only

clouds were wisps of opal-fleece and the ranges were

flat-toned and colossal ramparts of cobalt. Down in

the valley where the river looped its shimmering thread

the radiance was a wash of platinum softly broken by

blue-gray islands of shadow.


Dorothy Thornton stood, a dim and ghostly figure of

mute distress, by the grave in the thicketed burial

ground where the dods had that day fallen and the

mound still stood glaringly raw with its freshly spaded

earth, and Parish Thornton stood by her side.


But while she mourned for the old man who had

sought to be father and mother to her, he thought, too,

of the sagacious old shepherd without whose guidance

the flocks were already showing tendencies to stampede

in panic.


Parish Thornton would have given much for a word

of coimsel to-night from those silent lips, and hardly

realizing what impulse prompted him he raised his eyes

to the great gray-purple shadow-shape of the tree. Its

roots lay in those Revolutionary graves and its top-

most plumes of foliage seemed to brush the starry slqr,

where the spirits of the dead might be having their

longer and serener life.


Half comprehended yet disquieting with its vague

portent, a new element of thought was stirring in the

mind of the young man. By nature he was an in-

dividualist whose mherent prompting was to walk his

own way neither interfering with his neighbour nor

permitting his neighbour to encroach unduly upon him.

Had he been a quoter of Scripture his chosen text might

have been, "Am I my brother's keeper?"


And if that had been the natural colour of his mind




134 THE ROOF TREE


and nature it was deepened and intensified by his

circumstance. The man whom the law seeks and whom

it charges with murder must keep to himself and within

himself if he would escape notice and capture. Yet

now the older impulses that had driven and urged his

pioneering ancestors were beginning to claim voice,

too, and this voice demanded of him "can any man live

alone?"


Somehow that plea from the himchbacked Doane had,

with its flaming sincerity, left its unforgettable mark

upon him. His own affairs included a need of hiding

from Virginia sheriffs and of reckoning with Bas Row-

lett, and yet he began to wonder if his own private

affairs were not after all only part of a whole, and as

such smaller than the whole. If a man is bom to play

a part greater in its bearings than the merely personal

he cannot escape his destiny, and to-night some stirring

of that cloudy realization was troubling Thornton.


"Let's get some leaves offen ther old tree," suggested

the girl in a hushed voice, "an' make a kind of green

kiverlet over him." She shuddered as she added,

"Ther groimd's plum naked!"


When they had performed their whimsical service —

these two representatives of a grimly unimaginative

race of stoics — they went again and stood together

under the tree and into the girl's grief and the man's

forebodings crept an indefinable anodyne of quiet and

consolation.


That tree had known death before, and always after

death it had known rebirth. It could stand serene and

placid over hearts bruised as was her own because it had

heard the echoes of immortality and seen the transient

qualities of human grief.


Now she could realize only death and death's wound-

ing, but to it the seasons came and went as links in an

imbroken chain. Beneath it slept the first friends who




i




THE ROOF TREE 135


had loved it. Somewhere in the great, star-strewn spaces

above it perhaps dwelt the souls of unborn men and

women who would love it hereafter. Somehow its

age-old and ever-young message seemed to come

soothingly to her heart. "All end is but beginning,

and no end is final. The present is but hesitation be-

tween past and future. Shadows and sunlight are

abstract things until you see them side by side — ^filtered

through my branches. Winds are silent until they find

voice through my leaves. . . . My staunch column

gives you your standard of uprightness . . . beneath

me red men and white have fought and whispered of

love ... as my bud has come to leaf and in turn

fallen so generation has followed generation. For the

present I bear the word of steadfastness and courage.

For the future, I bearjthe promise of hope."


Dorothy's lissome beauty took on a touch of something

supernatural from the magic of moonlight and soft

shadow and the man slipped his arm about her, while

they looked oflf across the tempered nocturne of the hills

and heard the lullaby of the night breeze in the branches

overhead.


I war thinkin', Cal," said the girl in a hushed voice,


of what would of happened ter me ef ye hedn't come.

I'd be ther lonesomest body in ther mountings of Kain-

tuck — ^but, thank God, ye did come."




An agency for disturbing the precarious balance of

peace was at work, and the mainspring of its operation

was the intriguing mind of Bas Rowlett.


Bas had had nothing to gain and everything to lose

by weakening the pacific power of old Caleb, whose

granddaughter he sought to wed, but with a successful

rival, whom he must kill or be killed by, usurping the

authority to which he had himself expected to succeed.







136 THE ROOF TREE


his interests were reversed. If he could not rule, he

could wreck, and the promiscuous succession of tragedies

that would follow in the wake of such an avalanche had

no terrors to give Bas pause. Many volunteers would

arise to strike down his enemy and leave him safe on

the outskirts of the conflict. He could stand apart

unctuously crying out for peace and washing his hands

after the fashion of Pontius Pilate.


Manifestly the provocation must seem to come from

the Harper-Thornton faction in order that their Doane-

Rowlett adversaries might righteously take the path of

reprisal.


The device upon which the intriguer decided was one

requiring such delicate handling in both strategy and

marksmanship that he dared not trust it to either young

Pete Doane or the faithful Sim Squires.


Indeed, he could trust no one but himself, and so one

evening he lay in the laurel back of the house where

dwelt his universally respected kinsman, old Jim Row-

lett.


Bas had no intention of harming the old man who

sat placidly smoking, yet he was bent on making it seem

evident and certain that someone had sought to as-

sassinate him, and so it was not at the breast that he

aimed his rifle but at the peak of the tall-crowned

slouch hat.


The sights of his rifle showed clean as the rustless

barrel rested on a log. Bas himself lay stretched full-

length in that position which gives the greatest surety of

marksmanship.


His temples were moist with nervous sweat, and once

he took the rifle down from his shoulder and flexed his

muscles in rest. Then he aimed again and pressed the

trigger.


He could not tarry now, but he paused long enough to

see the punctured hat spin downward from the aged




THE ROOF TREE 137


head and the old man rise, bewildered but unhurt, with

a dazed hand experimentally rubbing his white crown.

Then Bas grinned, and edging backward through the

brush as a woman rushed screaming out, he made his

way to the house of Parish Thornton. The first gun

had been fired in the new Harper-Doane war.


Bas knew that the tidings of the supposed attempt

on the patriarch's life would go winging rapidly through

the community, and it pleased his alibi instinct to be

at his enemy's house at a time which would seem almost

contemporaneous with the shooting. To have reached

his own place would have taken longer.


But when he arrived Thornton was not indoors. He

was strong enough now to move about the place a little,

though he still fretted under a weakness that galled

him, so Bas found Dorothy alone.


"I reckon, leetle gal," he made a sympathetic begin-

ning, "yore heart's right sore these days since yore

gran'pap died. My own heart's sore fer ye, too."


"He was mighty devoted ter ye, Bas," said the girl,

and the man who had just come from an act of periGidy

nodded a grave head.


"I don't know whether he ever named hit ter ye, Doro-

thy," came his slow words, "but thet day when ye war

wedded he tuck me oflF ter one side an' besought me al-

ways ter stand by ye — an' befriend ye."


"Ye acted mouty true-hearted thet day, Bas," she

made acknowledgment and the conspirator responded

with a melancholy smile.


"I reckon I don't hev ter tell ye, I'd do most any-

thing fer ye, leetle gal. I'd hed hopes thet didn't turn

out — ^but I kin still be a friend. I'd go through hell fer

ye any time."


He rose suddenly from his seat on the kitchen thresh-

old, and into his eyes came a flash of feeling. She

thought it love, but there was an unexpectedly greedy




138 THE ROOF TREE


quality in it that frightened her. Then at once the

man recovered himself, and turned away, and the girl

breathed easy again.


"I'm beholden ter ye fer many things,'* she said,

softly.


Suddenly and with no reason that she could explain,

his recent words, "I'd do most anything fer ye," set her

thoughts swirling into a new channel • • • thoughts

of things men do, without reward, for the women they

love.


This man, she told herself in her ignorance of the

truth, had sacrificed himself without complaint. She

knew of only one greater sacrifice, and of that she could

never think without a doud of dread shutting oflF the

sunlight of her happiness.


Even Bas would hardly have done what her husband

had done for his sister : assumed a guilt of murder which

made of himself an exile and a refugee whom the future

always threatened.


Then somehow, as Bas sat silent, she saw again that

hunger in his eyes, a hunger so wolf -like that it was

difficult to harmonize it with his record of generous self-

effacement; a hunger so avidly rapacious that a dim and

unacknowledged imeasiness stirred in her heart.


But at that moment they heard a shout from the

front, and Peanuts Causey came hurriedly around the

comer of the house. His great neck and fat face were

fiery red with heat and excitement, and he panted as he

gave them his news.


"Old Jim Rowlett's done been shot at from ther

bresh!" he told them. "He escaped death, but men

says ther war's like ter bust loose ergin because of hit."


"My God!" exclaimed Bas Rowlett in a tone of

shocked incredulity ; " old Jim hain't got no enemies. A

man would hev need ter be a fiend ter harm him ! I've

got ter git over thar straightway."




h




THE ROOF TREE 139


Yet the crater did not at once burst into molten up-

blazing. For a while yet it smouldered — held from

eruption by the sober coimsel of the man who had been

fired on and who had seemingly escaped death by a

miracle.


Adherents of the two factions still spoke as they met

on the road, but when they separated each turned his

head to watch the other out of sight and neither trusted

an unprotected back to the good faith of any possible

adversary.


To the house of Aaron Capper, unobtrusively

prompted by Sim Squires, went certain of the Harper

kin who knew not where else to turn — ignoring Parish

Thornton as a young pretender for whom they had

little more liking than for the enemy himself.


The elderly clansman received them and heard their

talk, much of which was wild and foolish. All dis-

claimed, and honestly disclaimed, any knowledge of

the infamy that had been aimed at old «rim Rowlett, but

even in their frothy folly and yeasty clamour none was

so bereft as to deny that the Harpers must face accoimt-

ability. If war were inevitable, argued the hot-heads,

it were wisdom to strike the first blow.


Yet Aaron, who had during the whole long truce been

fretting for a free hand, listened now with a self -governed

balance that astonished his visitors.


Men,'* said he with a ring of authority in his voice,

thar hain't no profit in headlong over-hastiness.

I've been foreseein' this hour an' prayin' fer guidance.

We've got ter hev speech with yoimg Parish Thornton

afore we turns a wheel."


Sim Squires had not been enlisting his recruits from

the ranks of those who wished to turn to Thornton, and

from them rose a yelping clamour of dissent, but Aaron

quelled that mutiny aborning and went evenly on.


"Ef warfare lays ahead of us we hev need ter stand




ft

tt




140 THE ROOF TREE


tergether solid — an' thar's good men amongst us thet

wouldn't nuver fergive aJSFrontin' old Caleb's memory

by plum lookin' over his gal's husband. Thet's my

counsel, an' ef ye hain't a-goin' ter heed hit "


The quiet voice ripped abruptly into an explosiveness

under which some of them cowered as under a lash.


" Then I reckon thar'U be Thorntons an' Harpers thet

toill — ^an they'll fight both ther Doanes an' your crowd

alike."




CHAPTER XVI


PARISH THORNTON sat on the doorstep of the

house gazing abstractedly upward where through

soft meshes of greenery the sunlight filtered.


Here^ he told himself, he ought to be happy beyond

any whisper of discontent — save for the fret of his

lingering weakness. Through the open door of the

house came the voice of Dorothy raised in song, and the

man's face softened and the white teeth flashed into a

smile as he listened. Then it clouded again.


Parish Thornton did not know all the insidious forces

that were working in the silences of the hills, but he

divined enough to feel the brewing of a storm, which, in

its bursting, might strike closer and with more shattering

force than the bolt that had scarred the giant tree trunk.


Two passions claimed his deep admowledgment of

allegiance and now they stood in conflict. One was as

clear and flawlessly gracious as the arch of blue sky

above him — ^and that was his love; the other was as wild

and impetuous as the tempests which sprang to un«

governed life among these crags — and that was his hate.


When he had sworn to Bas Rowlett that the moon

should not "full again" before he avenged his betrayal

with death, he had taken that oath solemnly and, he

sincerely believed, in the sight of God. It was,- there-

fore, an oath that could be neither abandoned nor

modified.


The man who must die knew, as did he himself and

the heavenly witness to the compact, that his physical

incapacity had been responsible for his deferred action —


141




142 THE ROOF TREE


but now with returning strength he must make amends

of promptness.


He would set out to-day on that enterprise of cleans-

ing his conscience with performance. In killing Bas

Rowlett he would be performing a virtuous act. As to

that he had no misgiving, but an inner voice spoke in

disturbing whispers. He could not forget Hump

Doane's appeal — ^and prophecy of tribulation. By

killing Bas now he might even loose that avalanche!


**An' yit ef I tarries a few days more," he argued

stubbornly within himself, ** hit's ergoin' ter be even

wusser. Fm my own man now — ^an* licensed ter ack fer

myself.'* He rose and stiflFened resolutely, against the

tide of doubt, and his fine face darkened with the blood

malignity of his heritage.


He went silently into the house and began mak-

ing his preparations. His pistol holster should have

fitted under his left arm-pit but it was useless there now

with no right hand to draw or use it. So Parish Thorn-

ton thrust it into his coat pocket on the left-hand side,

and then at the door he halted in a fresh perplexity.


He could not embark on a mission that might permit

of no returning without bidding Dorothy good-bye —

and as he thought of that farewell his face twitched and

the agate hardness wavered.


So he stood for awhile in debate with himself, the

relentlessness of the executioner warring obdurately

with the tenderness of the lover — ^and while he did so a

group of three horsemen came into view on the high-

way, moving slowly toward his house.


When the trio of visitors had dismoimted, an elderly

man, whose face held a deadly sort of gravity, ap-

proached, introducing himself as Aaron Capper and his

companions as Sim Squires and Lincoln Thornton.


"Albeit we hain't well beknowest ter one another,"

Aaron reminded him, ** we're all kinfolks more or less —




^




THE ROOF TREE 148




an* weVe done rid over ter hev speech with ye eon-

s'amin' right sober matters."


"Won't ye come inside an' sot ye cheers?" invited

Parrish, but the elder man shook his head as he wiped

his perspiring and dust-caked face on the sleeve of his

shirt.


"Ther breeze is stirrin' tollable fresh out hyar," sug-

gested Aaron, "an thet old walnuck tree casts down a

right grateful shade. I'd jest es lieve talk out hyar —

ef hit suits ye."


So under the tree, where a light breeze stirred with

welcome tempering across the river, the four men

squatted on their heels and lighted their pipes.


"Thar hain't no profit in mincin' matters none,"

began old Aaron, curtly. "I lost me three boys when

they fit ther battle of Claytown twenty y'ars back — an'

now hit looks powerful like ther war's fixin' ter bust out

afresh. Ef hit does I aims ter take me full toll fer

tha'r killin'."


Parish Thornton — ^who had ten minutes before been

planning a death infliction of his own— raised his brows

at this unsoftened bluntness of annoimcement, but he

inquired of Aaron Capper as he had done of Hump

Doane: "Why does ye come ter me?"


"We comes ter ye," Aaron gave him unambiguous

answer, "because ef ther Harpers hev got ter fight, thar

hain't no health in divided leaderships ner dilatary

delays . . . Some men seems ter hold thet be-

cause ye wed with Old Caleb's gal, ye're licensed ter

stand in Old Caleb's shoes . . . whilst others

seems plum resolved not ter tolerate ye atall an' spits ye

outen thar mouths."


"Which of them lots does you men stand with?"


The question came soberly, yet something -like a

riffle of cynical amusement glinted in the eyes of Parish

Thornton as he put it.




144 THE ROOF TREE


''I hain't made up my mind yit. All I knows is thet

some fellers called on me ter head ther Harpers • • .

an' afore I give 'em any answer, I 'lowed thet hit be-

come us ter hev speech with ye fust. We owed ye thet

much because ther Doanes'll pint-blank deem thet ther

trouble started when ye wed Bas Rowlett's gal — ^an*

whatever we does, they^ll hold ye accoimtable."


The heir to Caleb Harper's perplexities stood lean-

ing against the tree. There were still moments when

his strength seemed to ebb capriciously and leave him

giddy. After a moment, though, he smiled quietly and

glanced about the little group.


"When I come over hyar," he said, "I didn't ask

nothin' but ter be left alone. I married Dorothy, an' old

Caleb confidenced me. I've got my own affairs ter tend

an' I'm satisfied ter tend 'em. So fin* es frayin' an'

fightin' goes" — ^his voice mounted suddenly and the

half -whimsical humour died instantly in his eyes — " I've

got some of my own ter study erbout — an' I don't have

ter meddle with other folkses' quarrels."


"Then ye aims ter stand aside an' let things take

thar own coiu-se? "


"Thet's what I 'lowed ter do, but ye've jest done told

me thet the Doanes don't aim ter let me stand aside.

S'pose ye tells me some more."


"All right," said Aaron, brusquely. "Ef thet's what

ye wants I'll tell ye a lavish."


Dorothy had come to the front door and looked out,

and seeing the men still mopping hot faces, she had

brought out a pitcher of cool buttermilk and a pewter

mug.


The bad^s of the three visitors were turned toward

the house, and her feet on the grass had made no sound

so that only Parish himself had known of her coming

and he had, with a lifting of the brows, signalled bier to

wait until old Aaron finished speaking. ^




THE ROOF TREE 145


"IVe done sought by prayer an' solemn ponderin

ter take counsel with Almighty God" declared the

spokesman. "Ther blood of them three boys of mine

hes been cryin' out ter me fer twenty y*ars but yet I

knows thet ef ther war does come on again hit's goin*

ter bring a monstrous sum of ruination an' mischief.

So I comes ter ye — es Caleb Harper's heir — ^ter heer

what ye've got ter say."


Dorothy Thornton's eyes widened as, standing with

the pitcher and the ancient mug in her hands, she

listened to that speech. Then as the full import of its

feudal menace broke upon her understanding the

blossom coloiu" flowed out of her smooth cheeks and

neck, leaving them ivory white.


She saw herself as the agency which had drawn her

husband into this vortex, and bitterly reflected that

this had been her dowry and the gift of her love!


Parish's glance held by that stunned fixety in her

expression attracted the attention of the others and old

Aaron Capper, turning his head, saw her and let a, low

oath of exasperation escape him.


**Send her away!" he snapped, angrily. "This hyar

hain't no woman's business. How much did she hyar? "


Parish Thornton went forward and took the pitcher

and pewter mug from his wife's hand, then he shook his

head, and his voice altered to a new ring, quiet, yet

electrically charged with dominance.


"No," he ripped out, shortly. "I hain't ergoin' ter

send her away. Ye says hit hain't no woman's busi-

ness, and yit she's Caleb Harper's gran'daughter — ^an'

because of her weddin' with me — ^Harpers an' Doanes

alike — ^ye won't suffer me ter foUer out my own affairs

in my own fashion, onmolested!"


Aaron came to his feet, bristling indignantly and with

new protests rising to his lips, but an imperious gestiu-e

of command from Parish silenced him into a be^dered




146 THE ROOF TREE


obedience. It had become suddenly impossible to

brow-beat this man.


** Dorothy," said her husband, "I reckon ye heered

enough ter laiow what brought these men hyar. They

norates thet ther Doanes holds me accountable fer

whatever ther Harpers does — good or evil — ^because I

stands as heir ter yore gran'pap. They tells me likewise

thet ther Harpers hain't got no sottled leader, an* only

two things hinders me from claimin' thet job myself:

Fust place, I don't crave ter mingle in thar ructions, and

second place they won't hev none of me. Seems like

I'm ther gryste betwixt two mill-stones . . . an'

bein' es ye're my wife, thet's a state of things thet con-

sams you es well es me."


A Valkyrie fire glowed in the dark eyes of the yoimg

woman and her hands clenched themselves tautly. The

colour that had gone out of her cheeks came back with a

rush of vividness which seemed to transform her as a

lighted wick transforms a candle.


"When my gran'pap war a-strivm' agmst all manner

of odds fer peace," she said, disdainfully, "thar was

them thet kept hamperin' him by whoopin' on ther

troublemakers — an' I've done heered him say thet one

turrible hard man ter reason with bore ther name of

Aaron Capper."


The elderly spokesman of the delegation flushed

brick-red and his heavy lashes gathered close in a

menacing scowl.


"No man didn't love Caleb Harper no better'n me,"

he protested, indignantly, "but ef we've got ter fight hit

profits us ter hit fust — an' hit hard."


"Now, I've got somethin' ter tell ye," went on

Parish, and though they did not know just when or how

the change had been wrought, each of the three visitors

began to realize that a subtle shifting of places had come

over their relations to their host.




THE ROOF TREE 147


^ At first they had spoken categorically and he had

listened passively. Now when he spoke they felt the

compulsion of hearkening to him as to one whose words

carried authority. Personalities had been measured as

are foils in the hands of fencers, and Parish Thornton

was being recognized to hold the longest and keenest

blade.


"IVe done sought ter show ye, outen yore own

mouths," he said, soberly, "thet at one an' ther same

time ye was demandin' ter know what I aimed ter do

an' tellin' me I couldn't do nothin'. Now I tells ye

thar's one thing I jedgmatically hain^t a-goin' ter do, *

an' thet is ter stand by an' suffer them two millstones

ter grind me ter no powder."


He paused, and the girl had moved forward until she

stood at his side with her outstretched hand resting

against the bark of the old tree in a reverent touch of

caress. She ignored the others and spoke to her hus*

band.


**Back thar in ther beginnin's, Cal," she said, clinging

to the name by which she had first known him, "our

foreparents planted this tree — an' foimded this coun-

try — ^an' held hit erginst ther Injims. They was leaders

then — afore any man hed ever heered of Cappers an'

Squireses an' ther like. I reckon ef men needs a

leader now, hit runs in yore blood ter be one . . .

but a leader fer betterment — an' one thet gives orders

'stid of takin' 'em."


She tinned then, and with her chin regally high, she

left them, and a brief silence held after her going.


"I reckon I couldn't hardly hev said hit thet well, my-

self," annoimced Parish Thornton, quietly, "butyithit

erbout siuns up my answer ter ye."


" Whatever ye says from now on, erbout takin' me er

leavin' me, ther enemy* s done picked me out es ther head

man of ther Harpers — ^an' what they'd love best would




148 THE ROOF TREE


be ter see ye all eavillin' amongst yoreselves. Caleb

Harper picked me out, too. Now I aims ter stand by

his choosin* — ^an* I aims ter be heeded when I talks."


Aaron and Parish stood eye to eye, searching and

measuring each other with gazes that sought to pene-

trate the surface of words and reach the core of charac-

ter. The older man, angry, and insulted though he

felt himself, began to realize about his heart the glow of

that unwilling admiration which comes of compulsion

in the presence of human mastery and pays tribute to

inherent power. The quiet assurance of this self-

announced chieftain carried conviction that made argu-

ment idle — and above all else the Thorntons needed an

unchallengeable leader.


"Afore God," he murmured, "I believes ye're a

man /*' Then after a pause he added: "But nobody

don't know ye well enough — ^an' afore a man kin be

trusted ter give orders he*s got ter prove hisself."


Parish Thornton laughed.


"Prove yoreself, then, Aaron," he challenged, "ye

talks erbout yore hunger ter avenge yore dead boys —

albeit they fell in a pitch-battle an* ye don't know who

deadened 'em — an' ther fire of thet wrath's been coolin'

fer a f uD score of ya'rs. Why did ye let hit simmer so

long?"


"Because I was pledged ter peace an' I wasn't no

truce-buster. I sought ter remain steadfast and bide

my time."


"All right. Then ef fresh war-farin' kin be carcum-

vented, ye still stands beholden by thet pledge, don't

ye?" ^


"Ef hit kin be, yes — ^but how kin hit be?"


"Thet's what I aims ter show ye. Ye talks erbout

yore grievance. Now listen ter mine. Ther bullit

wound hyar in my shoulder hain't healed yit — ^an' thar

hain't no hotter fire in hell then my own hate fer who-




THE ROOF TREE 149


ever caused hit. So when ye talks ter me about

grievances, ye talks a language I kin onderstand with-

out no lingster ter construe hit."


He paused a moment, unconscious that his term for an

interpreter was one that Englishmen had used in

Chaucer's day, and, save here, not since a long-gone

time. Then he swept on, and Sim Squires listening to

this man whom for hire he had waylaid felt an un-

manning creep of terror along his spine; a fear such as he

had not felt for any human being before. The sweat on

his face grew clammy, but with a mighty eflfort he held

his features mask-like.


"But atter you an* me hed evened our scores — ^what

then? Air ye willin' ter bum down a dwellin* house

over ther heads of them inside hit, jest ter scorch out a

feisty dog thet's done molested ye? Is thet leadin' men

forwards — or jest backwards like a crawfish?"


"Ye talks," said Aaron Capper, sharply, "like es if

I'd stirred up an' provoked tribulation. Them fellers

air a-plottin' tergither right now over at old Hump

Doane's house — ^an' hell's broth air a-brewin' thar."


The younger man's head came back with a snap.


"Ye says they're holdin' a council over thar at

Hump Doane's?" he demanded.


"Yes — ^an' hit's a war conference. I've hed men find

thet out — ^they're right sim'lar ter a swarm of hornets."


Parish Thornton took a step forward.


"Will ther Harpers stand to what ther two of us

agrees on tergither in fuD accord — an' leave cavillin' an*

wranglin' amongst ourselves fer a more seemly time?"


Aaron nodded his head. "So long as us two stands

agreed we kin handle 'em, I reckon."


The young man nodded his head in a gesture of swift

decision.


"All right then! I'm goin' over thar ter Hump

Doane's house — ^an' reason with them hotheads. I'm




4




>




150 THE ROOF TREE


goin' ter advocate peace as strong es any man kin — ^but

I'm goin' ter tell 'em, too, thet ther Harpers kin give 'em

mishirted hell ef they disdains peace. I'm goin' ter

pledge ourselves ter holp diskiver an' penitenshery ther

man thet shot at old Jim Rowlett. Does thet suit

ye?"


Aaron stood looking at Parish Thornton with eyes

blankly dumfomided, and the other two faces mirrored

his bewilderment, then the spokesman broke into

bitterly derisive laughter, and his followers parroted

his mirthless ridicule.


"Hit Tnout suit me," he finally replied, "save only

hit denotes thet ye're either p'intedly wishful ter throw

yore life away — or else plum bereft of reason."


"Thet's a secret meetin' over thar," interposed

Lincoln Thornton, grimly, "with rifles in ther la'rel ter

take keer of trespassers. They'd stretch ye dead afore

ye got nigh enough ter shout out — ^much less reason

with 'em. Some things is practical an' others is jest

damn foolery."


"I took thought of them chances," replied Parish,

quietly, "afore I made my proflFer."


This time there was no laughter but Aaron shook his

head decisively. "No," he declared, "hit won't do.

Hit's a right bold idee but hit would be sartain death.

Ye're ther man they're cussin' an' damnin' over an'

above all others, over thar — aright now."


"All right then," asserted Thornton, crisply, "ef I kin

stop 'em from cussin' an' damnin' me, mebby they mout

quiet down again an listen ter reason. Anyhow, ef ye

agrees ter let me bind ye by my words, I'm a-goin' over

thar."


After that the talk was such a discussion of ways and

means as takes place between allies in complete har-

mony of agreement.


"Afore God in Heaven," exclaimed the old clansman




THE ROOF TREE 151


at its end, "ye air a man thet's cut out ter lead! Hev

ye got yore pistol handy?"


** Hit's handy enough," answered Parish, "but I don't

aim ter go over thar armed — ef they kills me like ye fore-

tells they will, they've got ter murder me coldblooded —

so all men kin see wh'ar ther fault lays at."




CHAPTER XVn


PARISH THORNTON and Aaron Capper stood

for a few moments watching the departm-e of

the two other horsemen, one of whom was a

spy and a traitor — ^f or Aaron himself meant to wait here

mitil he could ride home with some knowledge of the

outcome of his new ally's mad project.


But Parish could not wait long, for the summer after-

noon was already half spent and his depleted strength

would make travelling slow.


The thought that now oppressed him with the poig-

nancy of an immediate ordeal was the need of saying

good-bye to Dorothy, and neither of them would fail to

understand that it might be a last good-bye. There

was no room for equivocation in this crisis, and as he

gazed up into the full and peaceful shade over his head,

a flood of little memories, bound tendril-like by sounds,

sights, and fragrances to his heart, swept him with dis-

concerting violence.


He steadied himself against that assaulting and went

resolutely into the room where Dorothy was standing

with her back half turned so that she did not at once see

him.


She stood deep in thought — ^artlessly posed in lance-

like straightness, and on the smooth whiteness of her

neck a breath of breeze stirred wisps of bronzed and

crisply curling hair. The swing of her shoulders was

gallant and the man thanked God for that. She would

want her courage now.


Dorothy," he said, softly, standing dose at her side,

I've got ter do somethin' thet ye're goin' ter hate ter


152







THE ROOF TREE 153


hev me ter ondertake— an' yet I knows ye'll want me

ter do hit, too."


She wheeled at the tenseness of his voice and he

wondered whether some premonition had aheady fore-

shadowed his announcement, for her cheeks were pale as

she raised her hands and locked her fingers behmd his

head, standing off at arms' length so that she might

look into his face.


He felt the hands tighten and tremble as he explained

his mission, and saw the lids close over the eyes as if to

shut out pictures of terror-stricken foreboding, while the

lips parted stiffly in the pain of repressed and tidal emo-

tions. Dorothy swayed uncertainly on her feet, then

recovered self-command.


With a passionate impulse of holding him for herself,

her arms closed more rigidly about him and her soft

body clung against his own, but no sound of sobbing

came from her lips and after a little she threw back her

head and spoke rapidly, tensely, with the molten fierce-

ness of one moimtain-bred :


"I hain't seekin' ter dissuade ye ... I reckon

I kinderly egged ye on out thar under ther tree . . .

but ef any harm comes ter ye, Cal . . . over

yon . . . then afore God, even ef I'm only a

woman . . . I'll kill ther man thet causes hit !"


It was Dorothy who saddled and bridled the easy-

paced mule for the man with the bandaged arm to

moimt, and who gave him directions for reaching his

destination. As he turned in his saddle he summoned

the spirit to flash upon her his old smile in farewell and

she waved as though she were speeding him on some

errand of festival. Then while old Aaron paced the

dooryard with a grim face of pessimism bowed low over

his chest, she tiu'ned into the house and, beside the bed

where her lover had so long lain, dropped to her knees

and clasped her hands in prayer.




154 THE ROOF TREE


Parish Thornton had told Aaron that he meant to go

unarmed to that meeting, but so many thoughts had

crowded upon him that only when he settled back

against the high cantle of his saddle was he reminded, by

its angular hardness, of the pistol which bulged in his

pocket.


He drew rein to take it back, then shook his head and

rode on again.


"Goin* over an' comin* back," he told himself, "I'd

jest as lieve be armed, anyhow. Afore I gits thar I'll

dimb down an' hide ther thing in some holler log."




Hump Doane's house was larger than many of those

lying scattered about it, but between its long walls

hung that smoky air of the rudely mediaeval that made

a fit setting for so grim a conclave as that of to-day.

About the empty hearth of its main room men, un-

couthly dressed and imbarbered, sat, and the smoke

from their pipes hung stale and heavy. A door at the

back and one at the front stood wide, but there were no

windows and along the blackened rafters went strings of

peppers and "hands" of home-grown tobacco. A duD

glint here and there against the walls proclaimed leaning

rifles.


On the threshold of the back door sat Bas Rowlett

gazing outward, and his physical position, beyond the

margin of the group proper, seemed to typify a mental

attitude of detachment from those mounting tides of

passion that held sway within.


"I'm ther feller thet got shot at, men," declared old

Jim, rising unsteadily from his chair and sweeping them all

with his keen and sagacious old eyes, "an' imtil terday

ye've all stud willin' ter hearken ter my counsel. Now

ef ye disregards me an' casts loose afresh all them old

hates an' passions, I'd a heap ruther be dead then alive."




%




THE ROOF TREE 155


"Afore God, what fer do we waste good time hyar

cavillin' an* backbitin' like a passel of old granny-

women?" demanded Sam Opdylke whose face was al-

ready liquor-flushed, as he came tumultuously to his

feet, overturning his chair and lifting clenched fists

above his head.


"When this hyar unknowed man come from Virginny

ter start things up whar old Bmrell Thornton left *em

oflF at, he brimg ther war with him. Thet trouble-

maker's got ter die — ^an' when he's dead hit's time ter

parley erbout a new truce."


A low growl of approval ran in the throats of the

hearers, but Hump Doane rose and spoke with his

great head and misshapen shoulders reaching only a

little way above the table top, and his thin voice cutting

sharp and stridently.


"I've always stpod staunch by Jim Rowlett's coun-

sel," he announced, soberly, "but we kain't handily re-

fuse ter see what our own eyes shows us. Ef ther Har-

pers hed any survigrous leader thet hed come out strong

fer peace, I'd still sanction givin' him a chanst, but who

hev they got? I talked solemn with this new man.

Parish Thornton, an' I didn't git no satisfaction outen

hem."


From the door Bas Rowlett raised an even voice of

hypocrisy :


"I knows ther new man better then ai^y of ye, I

reckon . . . an' I believes him when he says he

wants a quiet life . . . but I don't skeercely deem

ther Harpers hev any notion of heedin' him."


"Men," old Jim, who felt his power slipping from

him, and who was too old to seize it bade with the

vigour of twenty years ago, rose again and in his attitude

was the pathos of decayed influence and bitter failure at

life's end.


"Men," he implored, "I beseeches ye ter hearken ter




156 THE ROOF TREE


me one time more. A man thet's got ter be kilt kin al-

ways be kilt, but one thet's dead kain't be fotched back

ter life. Hold oflF this bloodshed fer a spell yit . . .

Suflfer me ter counsel with two or three Harpers an*

Thorntons afore ye goes too fiu*!"


So long had this man's voice held a wizardry of in-

fluence that even now, though the spirit of reconcilia-

tion had faint life in that meeting, a silence of respect

and veneration followed on his words, and while it en-

dured he gazed beseechingly around the group to meet

eyes that were all obdiu'ately grim and adverse.


It was Hump Doane who broke the pause.


"Save fer a miracle of luck, Jim, ye'd be a dead man

now — ^an' whilst we tarries fer ye ter parley, you an'

me an' others besides us air like ter die. Over-hastiness

is a sorry fault — ^but dilitariness is oftentimes sorrier."




Back in the house that had grown around the nu-

cleus of a revolutionary cabin sat the woman who had

been for such a short time a wife-and who might so

soon be a widow.


She had risen from her knees at last after agonized

praying, but even through her prayers came horrible

and persistent pictures of what might be happening to

the man who had smiled as he rode away.


The insupportable dread chilled and tortured her

that the brief happiness of her marriage had been only

a scrap and sample, which would leave all the rest

of life and widowhood bleaker for its memory and

loss.


Dorothy sat by the window with a face ghost-palKd

and fingers that wound in and out of spasmodic clutch-

ings.


She closed her eyes in an eflfort to forget her night-

mare imaginings and saw only more fantastic visions of




THE ROOF TREE 157


a body sliding from its saddle and lying still in the creek

bed trail.


She rose at last and paced the room, but outside in

the road her gaze fell on old Aaron who was uneasily

pacing, too, and in his drooping shoulders and grimly set

face j^e read no encouragement to hope. That morose

and pessimistic figure held her gaze with a fascination of

terror and she watched it until its pacing finally carried

it around a twist of the road. Then she went out

and stood under the tree which in its wordlessness was

still a more sympathetic confidant than human beings.


She dropped on her knees there in the long grass at

the roots of the straight-stemmed walnut and for the

first time some spark of hope crept into her bruised

soul. She began catching at straws of solace and had

she known it, placing f ait£ and reliance in the source of

all the danger, yet she f oimd a vestige of comfort in the

process — ^and that was something.


"I*d done f ergot," she exclaimed as she rose from her

knees. "Most like Bas Rowlett's thar — so he'll hev

one friend thet men won't skeercely das't ter defy-

Bas'U stand by him — ^like he done afore."




CHAPTER XVm


RIDING with the weariness of a long convales-

cence. Parish Thornton passed the house where

^ for two days only he had made his abode, and

turned mto an upward-climbmg traU, gloomily forested,

where the tangle brushed his stirrups as he rode. On a

"bald-knob" the capriciousness of nature had left the

lookout of an untimbered summit, and there he drew

rein and gazed down into the basin of a narrow creek-

valley a mile distant, where, in a cleared square of farm

land, a lazy thread of smoke rose from a low roof.


That house was his objective, and from here on he

must drop downward through woods which the eye

could penetrate for only a few paces in any direction;

where the poison ivy and sumac grew rank and the

laurel and rhododendron made entanglements that

would have disconcerted a bear. He realized that it

was a zone picketed with unseen riflemen, and advisers,

who were by no means alarmists, had told him that he

.




IVe done come ter both of ye. I knows full well

I'm speakin' right now in ther hearin* of numerous men

hyar — ^albeit they're hidin' out from me."


Again there was silence, then Parish Thornton turned

his eyes, following the cripple's gaze, toward the open

door and found himself gazing into the muzzles of two

rifles presented toward his breast. He laughed shortly

and conunented, **I thought so," then glancing at the

cock-loft he saw other muzzles and in the back door

which swung silently open at the same moment yet

others gave back a duU glint of iron from the simlight,

so that he stood ringed about with levelled guns.


Hump Doane's piercing eyes bored into the face of

the intruder during a long and imeasy silence. Then

when his scrutiny had satisfied itself he asserted with a

blunt directness :


"Ye hain't skeercely got no means of knowin' who's

inside my house without ye come by thet knowledge

through spyin' on me."


Prom the darkness of the cock-loft came a passionate

voice of such rabid truculence as sounds in the throat

of a dog straining at its leash.


"Jest say one word, Hump . . . jest say one

word an' he won't know nothin' a minute hence ! . . .

My trigger finger's itchin' right now!"


"Hold yore cacklin' tongue, Sam Opdyke, an' lay

aside thet gun," the cripple barked back with the

crack of a mule whip in his voice, and silence * again

prevailed up there and fell upon the room below.


Again the householder paused and after that he

decided to throw aside futile pretence.


"Come on back in hyar, men," he gave curt order.

"Thar hain't no need of our askin' no man's lieve ter

meet an' talk nohow."


Slowly and somewhat shamefacedly, if the truth

must be told, the room refilled itself and the men who




162 THE ROOF TREE


trooped heavily back through the two doors, or sKd

down the lowered ladder, came rifle and pistol armed.


Parish Thornton had no trouble in identifying, by

the malevolence on one face, the man who had pleaded

for permission to kill him, but the last to saimter in — ^and

he still stood apart at the far threshold with an air of

casual detachment — was Bas Rowlett.


"Now," began Hump Doane in the overbearing tone

of an inquisitor, "we don't owe ye no explanations as

ter which ner whether. We've gathered tergether, as we

hev full right ter do, because you Harpers seems hell

bent on forcin' warfare down our throats — ^an' we aims

ter carcumvent ye." He paused, and a murmur of gen-

eral approbation gave force to his annoimcement, then

he added, "But hit's right p'intedly seemly fer you ter

give us a reason why ye comes oninvited ter my house —

at sich a time as this."


It was to old Jim Rowlett that Parish Thornton

turned now, ignoring the spokesman who had addressed

him, and his voice was clear and even:


"When I come hyar from Virginny," he declared, "I

didn't never seek no leadership — ^an' ther Thorntons in

gin'ral didn't never press me ter take over none — ^but

thar was men hyar thet wouldn't look on me in no

other guise, an them men war you Doanes.^*


"Us Doanes," broke out the red-eyed Opdyke,

explosively, " what hev we got ter do with yore feisty

lot?"


"Yes, you Doanes," Thornton shot back at him with

a stiflFening jaw. "When ther Harpers didn't want me,

and I didn't want them, you men plum fo'ced me on

'em by seekin' ter hold me accountable fer all thar

doin's. Ef I'm goin' ter be accountable, I'm likewise

goin' ter be accounted to! Now we've done got ter-

gither over thar an' they've despatched me hyar ter

give ye our message an' take back yore answer."




THE ROOF TREE 163




«i




Thet is ter say," amended the firebrand with sig-

nificant irony, "providin* we concludes ter let ye take

back any message ataU.*'


Thornton did not turn his head but held with his

eyes the faces of old Jim and Hump Doane and it was

still to them that he addressed himself.


**I'm licensed ter bind ther Harpers an' Thorntons

by my words — an' my words air plain ones. We

proffers ye peace or war, whichever ye chooses: full

peace or war ter ther hinges of hell! But peace air

what we wants with all our hearts an' cravin's, an' peace

hit'll be onlessen ye denies us." He paused for a mo-

ment only, then in altered voice he reminded them:

"Ef I don*t go back, my death'll be all the answer they'll

need over i^ar — ^but ther guilt fer bloodshed an' what

follers hit will rest on ther Doanes henceforth. We've

done our damnedest."


"We're wastin' time an' breath. Kill ther damn

moon-calf an' eend hit," clamoured the noisy agitator

with the bloodshot eyes. . " They only seeks ter beguile

us with a passel of fair-seemin' lies."


" No, we hain't wastin' breath, men ! " Old Jim Row-

lett was on his feet again with the faded misery of defeat

gone out of his eyes and a new light of contest kindled in

them.


"Every man hyar, save a couple of clamorous fools,

hes declared hisself thet ef ther Thorntons hed a trust-

worthy leader, he favoured dealin' with him. This

man says they've got tergither. Let's hear him out."


A muttering chorus of dissent soimded inarticulate

protest that needed only a spokesman and Hump

Doane raised his hand.


"I've done already hed speech with Mr. Thornton — •

who come over hyar by another name — ^an' he refused

ter give me any enjoyment. I misdoubts ef he kin do

mudi better now. Nonetheless" — ^he stepped for-




164 THE ROOF TREE


ward and turned as he spoke, swinging his glance with

compelling vigour about the rough circle of humanity —

"Nonetheless, he's done come, an' claims he's been

sent. Stand over thar, Mr. Thornton, in front of the

chimbley — an' I aims ter see thet ye gits yore say!"


So Parish Thornton took his place before the hearth

and began an argument that he knew to be adversely

prejudged.


"Thar's grievances festerin' amongst ther men of

yore crowd an' mine alike, but warfare won't ease 'em

none," he said at the end; "I've got a grievance myself

thet calls fer avengin' — but hit hain't no Harper-Doane

matter. I hadn't dwelt hyar amongst ye three days

afore I was laywayed — an' I hadn't give just oflfence

ter no man so fur es I knows of."


"But sence ye've done tuck up preachin' a gospel of

peace," came the sneering suggestion from the fringe of

the crowd, "I reckon ye're willin' ter lay thet grudge by

like a good Christian an' turn t'other cheek, hain't

ye?"


Thornton wheeled, and his eyes flamed.


"No," he exclaimed in a voice that filled the room.

"I'd be a damn hypocrite ef I claimed thet. I swore

thet night, whilst I lay thar, thet thet man belonged ter

me ter kill, an' I hain't altered thet resolve no fashion,

degree ner whipstitch. But thet's a thing thet's sepa-

rate an' apart from ther war. . . ."


He paused, realizing the difficulty of making clear so

complicated and paradoxical a position, while an out-

burst of derisive laughter fell on the pause as he reached

his period. Then someone made ironic comment:

"Hit's all beginnin' ter come out now. Ye aims ter hev

everybody else fergive thar enemies an' lay down like

lambs tergither — atter ye gits teetotally done with yore

own shootin' an avengin',"


But Hump Doane seized the hickory staff that




THE ROOF TREE 165


leaned against old Jim's chair and pounded with it on

the table.


** Silence!" he roared; "suflFer ther feller ter git

through!"


**I don't aim ter bushwack ner lay way nobody,"

went on Thornton, obdurately. "Hit wouldn't content

me ef I wasn't facin' my enemy when I sottled with

him — ^an' hit's a private business — ^but this other matter

te'ches everybody. Hit denotes y'ars of blood-spillin'

an' murder — of women an' children suflferin' fer causes

thet hain't no wise th'ar fault ner doin'."


The cripple still stood regarding the man by the

hearth witii a brow knit in absorption, and so tense was

his expression that it seemed to bind the others to a

brief, waiting silence until Hump himself slowly broke

the tension.


"I said I aimed ter give ye a chanst ter hev yore say

out . . . Hev ye got fur enough ter let me ask ye a

question?"


The nodded head of assent gave permission and

Doane inquired briefly :


"Does I onderstand ye ter plead fer ther Harpers an'

ther Doanes ter 'bide by ther old truce — an' yit ter seek

ter stand free yore own self an' kill yore own enemy? "


Old Jim Rowlett leaned forward gripping his staff

head with eyes of incredulity, and from the ciest of the

others sounded long-drawn breaths, inarticulate yet

eloquent of scorn and sneering repudiation.


But Parish Thornton retained the earnest and reso-

lute poise with which he had spoken before as he

made his answer.


"I means thet I don't aim ter suffer no craven be-

trayal an' not hit back. I means thet ther feller thet

sought my murder is my man ter hilly but I aims ter kill

him in far combat. Hit jest lays between him an' me

an' hit hain't no Harper-Doane affair, nohow."




166 THE ROOF TREE


Hump Doane shook his head and there was in the

gesture both decisiveness and disappointment.


"What commenced ter look like a mighty hopeful

chanst falls flat right hyar an' now," he announced.

"I'd begun ter hope thet atter all a leader hed done riz

up amongst us, but I sees when ye talks erbout peace

ye means a peace fer other folks thet don't bind ner

hamper yoreself. Thar hain't nuthin' but folly in

seekm' ter build on a quicksand like thet."


"I told ye fust-off thet we war a-wastin' time an'

breath," broke out Opdyke, furiously. "A man only

courts trouble when he seeks ter gentie a rattlesnake —

ther seemly thing ter do air ter kill hit."


Parish Thornton turned his eyes and studiously ap-

praised the hare-brained advocate of violence, then he

said, again addressing Hump Doane:


"An' yit hit's a pity, Mr. Doane, ef you an' me kain't

some fashion git tergither in accord. We've got ther

same cravin's in our hearts, us two."


"I come ter ye onc't afore, Mr. Thornton," the

cripple reminded him, "an' I asked ye a question thet

ye didn't see fit ter answer. Now I asks ye ter lay by

one grudge, when ye calls on us ter lay by many — an'

hit happens ergin thet ye don't see fit ter yield no p'int.

Mebby me an' you have got cravin's fer betterment in

common betwixt us — ^but hit 'pears like thar's always

one diff'rence risin' up thet balks everything else."




CHAPTER XIX


EVEN the peppery Opdyke did not venture to

break heatedly in on the pause that followed

those regretful words. Into the minds of the

majority stole a sense, vague and indefinable it is true,

that a tragic impasse was closing on a situation over

which had flashed a rainbow gleam of possible solution.

Ahead lay the future with its sinister shadows — darker

because of the alternative they had glimpsed in its

passing.


Old Jim Rowlett came to his feet, and drew his thin

shoulders back — shoulders that had been broad and

strong enough to support heavy burdens through try-

ing years.


" Mr. Thornton," he said, and the aged voice held

a quaver of emotion which men were not accustomed to

hearing it carry, "I wants ter talk with ye with ther

severe freedom of an' old man coimsellin' a young 'un —

an' hit hain't ergoin' ter be in ther manner of a Doane

argyfyin' with a Harper so much es of a father advisin'

with a son."


The yoimg Thornton met those eyes so full of eagle

boldness yet so tempered with kindness, and to his own

expression came a responsive flash of that winning

boyishness which these men had not seen on his face

before.


"Mr. Rowlett," he made answer in a low and rever-

ent voice, "I hain't got no remembrance of my pappy,

but I'd love ter think he favoured ye right smart."


Slowly the low-pitched voice of the Nestor began to


167




4




168 THE ROOF TREE


dominate the place, cloudy with its pipe-smoke and

redolent with tlie stale fumes of fires long dead. Like

some Hogarth picture against a sombre background

the ungainly figures of men stood out of shadow and

melted into it: men unkempt and tribal in their fierce-

ness of aspect.


Old Jim made to blaze again before their eyes, with

a rude and vigorous eloquence, all the ruthless bane of

the toll-taking years before the truce. He stripped

naked every specious claim of honour and courage with

which its votaries sought to hallow the vicious system

of the vendetta. He told in words of simple force how

he and Caleb Harper had striven to set up and maintain

a sounder substitute, and how for the permanence of that

life-work they had prayed.


"Caleb an* me," he said at last, "we didn't never

succeed without we put by what we asked others ter

forego. Yore wife's father was kilt most foully — ^an'

Caleb looked over hit. My own boy fell in like fashion,

an' my blood wasn't no tamer then tiiet in other veins —

but yit I held my hand. Ye comes ter us now, frettin'

under ther sting of a wrong done ter ye — ^an' I don't say

yore wrath hain't righteous, but ye've done been vouch-

safed sich a chanst as God don't proffer ter many, an'

God calls fer sacrifices from them elected ter sarve him."


He paused there for a moment and passed his knotted

hand over the parchment-like skin of his gaimt temples,

then he went on: "Isaac offered up Jacob — or least-

ways he stud ready ter do hit. Ye calls on us ter trust

ye an' stand with ye, an' we calls on you in turn fer a

pledge of faith. Fer God's sake, boy, be big enough ter

bide yore time twell ther Harpers an' Doanes hev done

come outen this distemper of passion. I tells ye ye

kain't do no less an' hold yore self-esteem."


He paused, then came forward with his old hand ex-

tended and trembling in a palsy of eagerness, and




^




THE ROOF TREE 169^


despite the turmoil of a few minutes before, such a taut

silence prevailed that the asthmatic rustiness of the

old man's breath was an audible wheezing through the

room.


The young messenger had only to lift his hand then

and grasp Uiat outheld one — ^and peace would have

been established — ^yet his one free arm seemed to him

more difficult to lift in a gesture of compliance than

that which was bandaged down.


His own voice broke and he answered with difficulty :

** Give me a leetle spell ter ponder — ^I kain't answer ye

oflF-hand."


Thornton's eyes went over, and in the lighted doorway

fell upon Bas Rowlett sitting with his features schooled

to a masked and unctuous hypocrisy, but back of that

disguise the wounded man fancied he could read the

satisfaction of one whose plans march toward success.

His own teeth clicked together and the sweat started

on his temples. He had to look away — or forget every

consideration other than his own sense of outrage and

the oath he had sworn to avenge it.


But the features of old Jim were like the solace of a

reef-light in a tempest; old Jim whose son had fallen and

who had forgiven without weakness.


If what Parish knew to be duty prevailed over the

passionate tide that ran high in temptation, what then?

Would he live to serve as shepherd when his under-

taking under the private compact had been waived and

the other man stood free to indulge his perfidy?


Finally he laid his hand on the shoulder of the

veteran.


"Mr. Rowlett," he declared, steadily, "IVe got ter

ask ye ter give me full twenty-four hours afore I kin

answer ye fer sartain. Will yore men agree ter hold

matters es they stands twell this time termorrer?"


Jim Rowlett glanced at Hump Doane and the cripple




4




170 THE ROOF TREE


nodded an energetic affirmation. He was hard to con-

vince but when convinced he was done with doubt.


"I'd ruther heer Mr. Thornton talk thetaway," he

declared, crisply, **then ter hev him answer up heedless

an' over-hasty."


With his knee brushing against that of old Jim

Rowlett, Parish Thornton rode away from that meeting,

and from the sentinels in the laurel he heard no hint of

sound.


When he had come to the place where his pistol lay

hidden he withdrew it and replaced it in his pocket, and

a little farther on where the creek wound its way

through a shimmering glade and two trails branched,

the veteran drew rein.


"I reckon we parts company hyar," he said, "but I

feels like we've done accomplished a right good day's

work. Termorrow Hump an' me'll fare over ter yore

house and git yore answer."


"I'm obleeged," responded the new chief of the

Thorntons, but when he was left alone he did not ride

on to the house in the river bend. Instead he went to

the other house upon whose door his first letter of threat

had been posted, and hitching his horse in its dilapidated

shed he set out on foot for the near-by place where Bas

Rowlett dwelt alone.


Twenty-four hours had been all he could ask in reach-

ing a decision on such an issue, yet before he could make

answer much remained to be determined, and in that

determination he must rely largely on chances which he

could not hope to regulate or force into a pattern of

success.


He had, for example, no way of guessing how long it

would be before Bas returned to his farm or whether,

when he came, he would be alone — ^and to-morrow's

answer depended upon an unwitnessed interview be-

tween them.




%




THE ROOF TREE 171


But he had arrived on foot and taken up his place of

concealment at the back of the log structure with only a

half -hour of waiting when the other man appeared, rid-

ing in leisurely unconcern and imaccompanied.


Thornton loosed his pistol and drew back into the

lee of the square stone chimney where he remained safe

from discovery until the other had passed into the

stable and begun to imgirth his saddle.


The house stood remote from any neighbouring

habitation, and the road at its front was an infrequently

used sledge trail. The stable was at its side, while badk

of the buildings themselves, angling oflf behind the

screening shoulder of a steep spur of hillside, stretched

a small orchard where only gnarled apple trees and a

few "bee-gimis" broke a small and level amphitheatre

into which the possible passerby could not see.


The lord of this manor stood bent, his fingers wres-

tling with the stubbornness of a rusted buckle, when he

heard at his back, low of tone but startlingly staccato in

its quality of imperativeness, the single syllable, "Bas!"


Rowlett wheeled, leaping back with a hand sweeping

instinctively to his holster — ^but he arrested that

belligerent gesture with a sudden paralysis of caution

because of the look in the eyes of the surprise visitor

who stood poised with forward-bending readiness of

body, and a revolver levelled in a hand of bronze

steadiness.


**I'm on my feet now, Bas," canie a quiet voice that

chilled the hearer with an inexplicable rigour. "I

reckon ye hain't f ergot my promise."


Rowlett gave way backward imtil the wall obstructed

his retreat, and in obedience to the unspoken command

in the eyes of his visitor, he extended both arms high

above his head, but while he stood immoving, his

adroit mind was racing.


He knew what he would do if the situation were re-




i




172 THE ROOF TREE


versed, and he believed that the other was waitmg only

to punish him with a castigation of vengeful words be-

fore he shot him down and left him lying in the tram-

pled straw and manure of that unclean stable.


Now he had to brace himself against the tortures of

a physical fear from which he had believed himself

immime. So he stood breathing unevenly and waiting,

and while he waited the temper of his nerves was being

drawn as it is drawn from over-heated steel.


"Come on with me," commanded Thornton.


The surprised man obeyed sullenly, casting an

anxious eye about in the slender hope of interruption,

and when they reached the orchard where even that

chance ended Parish Thornton spoke again:


"When us two tuck oath ter sottle matters betwixt

ourselves — ^I didn*t skeercely foresee what was comin'

ter pass. Now I kain't seek ter make ther compact

hold over till a fairer time, ner seek ter change hit's

terms, nuther, without ye're willin'."


"Suppose I hain't wiUin'?"


For answer Parish Thornton sheathed his weapon.


"Now," he said with a deadly quiet, "we're on even

terms. Either you an' me draws our pistols an' fights

twell one of us draps dead or else "


He paused, and saw the face of his enemy go green and

pasty as Rowlett licked his lips yet left his hands hang-

ing at his sides. At length the intriguer demanded,

"Or else— what?"


Thornton knew then beyond doubt what he already

beheved. This man was quailmg and had no stomach

for the fair combat of duel yet he would never relinquish

his determination to glut his hatred by subterfuge.

Or else ye've got ter enter inter a new compact."

What's thet?" A ring of hope sounded in the

question, since in any fresh deal lies the possibility of

better fortime.







\




«




THE ROOF TREE 173


**Ter go on holdin' yore hand twell this feud busi-

ness blows over — an' I sarves notice on ye thet our own

private war's opened up ergin."


"I reckon," said Rowlett, seeking to masquerade his

relief under the semblance of responsible self-eflFace-

ment, "common decency ter other folks lays thet need

on both of us alike."


I'm offerin' ye a free choice," warned Thornton,


but onless ye're ready ter fight hyar an' now ye've

p'int-blank got ter walk in thar an' set down in hand-

' write, with yore name signed at ther bottom, a full con-

fession thet ye hired me shot thet night."


"Like hell I will!" Bas roared out his rejection of

that alternative with his swarthy cheekbones flaming

redly, and into his rapidly and shiftily working mind

came the comfort of a realization which in that first

surprise and terror had escaped him. It was not to his

enemy's first interest to goad him into a mortal clash,

since that would make it impossible to give a favour-

able answer to the leaders to-morrow — and incidentally

it would be almost certain to mean Thornton's own

death.


Now he straightened up with a ghost of renewed

bravado and shook his head while an enigmatical grin

I twisted his lips.


"S'posin'," he made insolent suggestion, "I don't see

fit ter do nuther one ner t'other? S'posin' I jest tells

ye ter go ter hell?"


Parisli had anticipated that question and was pre-

pared, if he were forced so far, to back threat with

execution.


**I aims ter make ye fight— or agree — either one,"

he answered, evenly, and when Bas laughed at him he

stepped forward and, with hghtning quickness, struck

the other squarely across the face.


Though Uie blow fell open-handed it brought blood




174 THE ROOF TREE


from the nose and spurts of insane fury from the

eyes.


Rowlett still kept his arms down, but he lunged and

sought^to drive his knee to his adversary's groin, mean-

ing to^aw and fire during the moment of paralyzing

pain that must ensue.


As it happened, though, Parish had also anticipated

some such manoeuvre of foul fighting, and he sprung

aside in time to let the unbalanced Rowlett pitch

stumblingly forward. When he straightened he was

again lookmg into the muzzle of a drawn pistol.


Rowlett had been drawing his own weapK>n as he

lunged, but now he dropped it as if it had scalded his

fingers, and once more hastily raised his hands above

his head.


The whole byplay was swift to such timing as belongs

to sleight-of-hand, but the split-second quickness of the

left-hander was as conclusively victorious as if the

matter had been deliberate, and now he had margin to

realize that he need not fire — ^for the present.


"Ef ye'd been jest a mite quicker in drawin', Bas,"

he declared, ironically, "or jest a mite tardier in throwin'

down thet gun — ^I'd hev hed ter kill ye. Now we kin

talk some more."


The conflict of wills was over and Rowlett's voice

changed to a whine as he asked beseechingly: "What

proof hev I got ye won't show ther paper ter some out-

sider afore we fights hit out?"


"YeVe got my pledge," answered Thornton, dis-

dainfully, " an' albeit ye knows ye don't keep 'em yore-

self, ye knows thet I don't nuver break 'em. Ye've got

ther knowledge, moreover, thet I hain't a-goin' ter be

content save ter sottle this business with ye fust handed

— ^man ter man." He paused there, and his tone altered

when he continued: "Thet paper'll lay whar no man

won't nuver see hit save myself — unless ye breaks yore




\




THE ROOF TREE 175


word. Ef I gits murdered, one man'll know whar thet

paper's at — ^but not what's in hit. He'll give hit over

ter ther Harpers an' they'll straightway hunt ye down

an' kill ye like a mad dog. What does ye say? "


The other stood with face demoniacaUy impassioned,

yet fading into the pasty gray of fear — ^the fear that was

the more unmanageable because it was a new emotion

which had never risen to confront him before.


"I knows when I've got ter knock under," he made

sullen admission, at last, ^'an' thet time's done come

now. But I hain't ther only enemy ye've got. S'pose

atter all ther war breaks out afresh an' ye gits slain in

battle — or in some fray with other men. Then I'd hev

ter die jest ther same, albeit I didn't hev no hand in ther

matter."


Thornton laughed.


"I hain't seelan' ter make ye gorryntee my long life,

Bas. Ef I falls in any pitch-battle or gits kilt in a

fashion thet's p'intedly an outside matter, ye hain't

a-goin' ter suflFer fer hit."


As the long-drawn breath went out between the

parted lips of Bas Rowlett he wilted into a spectacle of

abject surrender, then turning he led the way to the

house, found pencil and paper, and wrote laboriously as

the other dictated. At the end he signed his name.


Then Parish Thornton said, "Now I aims ter hev ye

walk along with me till I gits my horse an' starts home.

I don't 'low ter trust ye till this paper's put in a safe

place, an' should we meet up with anybody don't

forgit — ^I won't fail ter shoot ef ye boggles!'*




/




CHAPTER XX


THE siin, dropping into a western sea of amber

and opal, seemed to grow in diameter. Then it

dipped until only a flaming segment showed and

the barriers darkened against the afterglow.


Still Parish Thornton had not come home and

Dorothy standing back of the open window pressed

both hands over eyes that burned ember hot in their

sockets.


Old Aaron Capper had moimted his horse a half-hour

ago and ridden away somewhere — and she knew that

he, too, had begun to fret against this insupportable

waiting, and had set out on the impromising mission of

searching for the ambassador — who might already be

dead.


A nervous chill shook the girl and she started up from

the seat into which she had collapsed ; frightened at the

incoherent lack of sanity that sounded from her own

throat.


She went again to the door and looked out into a

world that the shadows had taken, save where the

horizon glowed with a pallid green at the edge of dark-

ness. Leaning limply against the uprights of the frame

and clasping her hands to her bosom, she distrusted her

senses when she fancied she heard voices and saw two

horsemen draw up at the stile and swing down from

their saddles. Then she crumpled slowly down, and

when Aaron and Parish Thornton reached the house

they found her lying there insensible.


They camed^her to the four-poster bed and chafed


176




%







THE ROOF TREE 177


her wrists and poured white whiskey between her pale

lips until she opened her eyes in the glow of the lighted

Uunp.


"Did they hearken ter ye?" she whispered, and the

man nodded his head.


I compassed what I aimed at,** he told her, brokenly,

but when I seed ye layin' thar, I feared me hit hed

done cost too dear."


" I*m all right now," she declared five minutes later; " I

war jest terrified about ye. I had nervous treemors.**


The stars were hanging low and softly magnified

when Aaron Capper mounted to ride away, and at the

stile he leaned in his saddle and spoke in a melancholy

vein.


"I seeks ter be a true Christian," he said, "an* I ought

ter be down on my marrow-bones right now givin*

praise an* thanksgivin' ter ther Blessed Lord, who's

done held back ther tormints of tribulation, but — **

he broke oflF there and his voice trailed oflf into some-

thing like an internal sob — "but yit hit seems ter me

like es ef my three boys air sleepin* res'less an* oneasy-

like in th*ar graves temight.**


Parish Thornton laid a hand on the horseman*s

knee.


"Aaron,** he admitted, "I was called on ter give a

pledge of faith over yon — an* I promised ter bide my

time, too. I reckon I kin feel fer ye.'*


Informal and seemingly loose of organization was

that meeting of the next afternoon when three Harpers

and three Doanes met where the shade of the walnut

tree fell across dooryard and roadway. The sun

burned scorchingly down, and waves of heat trembled

vaporously along the valley, while over the dusty high-

way small flocks of white and lemon butterflies himg

dr^Ning on lazy wings. From the deep stillness of the

forest came the plaintive mourning of a dove.




f




178 THE ROOF TREE


Jim Rowlett, Hump^Doane, and another came as

representatives of the Doanes, and Parish Thornton,

Aaron Capper, and Lineohi Thornton met them as

plenipotentiaries of the Harpers.


When commonplaces of greeting had ended, Jim

Rowlett tmned to Aaron Capper as the senior jof his

group:


** Aaron," he said, "this land's hnrtin' fer peace an'

human charity. We craves hit, an' Mr. Thornton hyar

says you wants hit no less. We've come ter git yore




answer now."




Jim," responded Aaron, gravely, "from now on, I .

reckon when ye comes ter tiier Harpers on any sich

matter as thet Parish Thornton's tier man ter see.

He stands in Caleb Harper's shoes."


That was the simple coronation ceremony which

raised the yoimg man from Virginia to the position of

responsibnity for which he had had no wish and from

which he now had no escape. It was his acknowledg-

ment by both clans, and to him again turned Jim Row-

lett, with an inexpressible anxiety of questioning in his

aged eyes.


Then Parish Thornton held out his hand.


"I'm ready," he said, "ter give ye my pledge an' ter

take your'n."


The two palms met and the fingers clasped, and into

six unemotional faces flashed an unaccustomed fire.


"Thar's jest one thing more yit," suggested the

practical minded hunchback. "Some few wild fellers

on both sides of ther line air apt ter try out how strong

we be ter enfo'ce our compact. Hit's kinderly like

young colts plungin' ergainst a new hand on ther

bridle-rein — ^we've got ter keep cool-headed an' patient

an' ack tergether when a fefier like thet shows up."

^ Parish Thornton nodded, and Hump Doane took oflF

his hat and ran his hand through his bristling hair.




b




THE ROOF TREE 179


"An* now,** he announced, "we'll ride on home an'

pass ther word along thet matters stands es they stud

in old Caleb's day an' time." He paused then, noting

the weariness on the face of Jim Rowlett, added tenta-

tively: "All of us, thet is ter say, save Old Jim. He's

sorely tuckered out, an' I reckon ef ye invited him ter

stay ther night with ye, Mr. Thornton, hit would be a

kinderly charitable act."


"He's mighty welcome," declared the host, heartily.


" Dorothy '11 look atter him like his own daughter an*

see that he gits enjoyed."




At Jake Crabbott's store the loungers were in full

attendance on the morning after Parish Thornton's ride

to Hump Doane's house, and the rumours that foiuid

currency there were varied and for the most part in-

accurate. But the fact that Parish. Thornton had

ridden through picketed woods, promulgated some sort

of ultimatum and come away unharmed, had leaked

through and endowed him with a fabulous sort of inter-

est.


Yoimg Pete Doane was there, and since he was the

son of the man under whose roof the stirring drama had

been staged, he assumed a magnified importance and

affected a sphinx-like silence of discretion to mask his

actual ignorance. Hump Doane did not confide every-

thing he knew to this son whom he at once loved and

disdained.


Young Doane stood indulging in rustic repartee with

bright-eyed Elviry Prooner, a deep-bosomed Diana,

who, next to Dorothy Thornton, was accounted the

"comeliest gal along siv'ral creeks."


When Bas Rowlett joined the group, however, in-

terest fell promptly away from Pete and centred

around this more legitimate pole. But Bas turned on




i




180 THE ROOF TREE


them all a sullenly uncommunicative face, and the idlers

were quick to recognize and respect his unapproachable

mood and to stand wide of his temper.


After he had bought twist tobacco and lard and salt

and chocolate drops, Bas summoned Pete away from

his temporary inamorata with an imperative jerk of his

head and the youthful hillsman responded with the

promptness of a lieutenant receiving instructions from

his colonel. When the two were mounted, the son of

the hunchback gained a more intimate knowledge of

actual conditions than he had been able to glean at

home.


**Ther upshot of ther matter's this, Pete," declared

Bas, earnestly. *'Sam Opdyke lef* thet meetin' yes-

tidday with las mind made up ter slay this man Thorn-

ton — an' ther way things hev shaped up now, hit won't

no fashion do. He's got ter be halted — ^an' I kain't

afford ter be knowd in ther matter one way ner t'other.

Go see him an' tell him he'll incense everybody an'

bring on hell's own mischief ef he don't hold his hand.

Tell him his chanst'll come afore long but right now, I

say he's got ter quit hiV^


An hour later tibe fiery-tempered fellow, still smarting

because his advice had been spiuned yesterday,

straightened up from the place outside his stable

door where he was mending a saddle girth and

listened while the envoy from Bas Rowlett preached

patience.


But it was Bas himself who had coached Sam Opdyke

with the incitement and inflanunatory counsel which he

had voiced the day before. Now the man had taken

fire from the fiames of his own kindling — ^and that fire

was not easy to quench. He had been, at first, a

disciple but he had converted himself and had been con-

temptuously treated into the bargain. The grievance

he paraded had become his own, and the nature Bas




%




THE ROOF TREE 181


had picked for such a purpose was not an April spirit to

smile in sunlight twenty-four hours after it had ful-

minated in storm.


Opdyke gazed glumly at his visitor, as he listened,

then he lied fluently in response.


**A11 right. I had my say yestidday an' now I'm

done. Next time ther circuit-rider holds big meetin'

I'm comin' through ter ther mourners' bench an' howl

out sanctimony so loud I'll bust everybody's ear-

drums," and the big man laughed sneeringly.


Yet an hour later Opdyke was greasing and loading

his squirrel gun.




When the supper dishes had been cleared away that

night. Old Jim and Parish Thornton sat for a long while

in the front room, and because it was a sultry night and

peace had been pledged, both door and window stood

open.


Dorothy sat listening while they talked, and the

theme which occupied them was the joint effort that

must be made on either side the old feud line for the

firm enforcement of the new treaty. They discussed

plans for catching in time and throttling by joint action

any sporadic insurgencies by which the experimentally

minded might endeavour to test their strength of leader-

ship.


"Now thet we stands in accord," mused Old Jim,

"jestice kin come back ter ther cote-house ergin — an'

ther jedge won't be terrified ter dispense hit, with

me sittin' on one side of him an' you on t'other. Men

hev mistrusted ther law so long es one crowd held all

hits power."


Outside along the roadside margin of deep shadow

crept the figure of a man with a rifle in his hand. It

was a starlit night with a sickle of new moon, neither




4




182 THE ROOF TREE


bright nor yet densely dark, so that shapes were

opaquely visible but not clear-cut or shadow-casting.


The man with the long-barrelled rifle none the less

• avoided the open road and edged along the protecting

growth of heavy weed stalk and wild rose thicket unt3

he came to a point where the heavier shadow of the big

walnut tree blotted all shapes into blackness. There

he cautiously climbed the fence, taking due account of

the possible creaking of unsteady rails.


"I'd love ter see men enabled ter confidence ther

co'te ergin," said Parish Thornton, answering his old

guest after a long and meditative silence. "Hit would

ease a heap of torment. Up ter now they've hed ter

trust tha'r rifle-guns."


As he spoke his eyes went to the wall by the door

where during these weeks of disuse his own rifle had

stood leaning, and his wiie smiled as her glance followed

his. She was thinking that soon both his arms would

be strong enough to use it again, and she was happy that

he would need it only for hunting.


The man outside had by this time gained the door-

yard and stood beside the tree trunk where the shadow

was deepest. He raised his long barrel and steadied it

against the bark, not knowing that as coincidence

would have it the metal rested against those initials

which had been carved there generations before, making

of the tree itself a monument to the dead.


Through the raised window he could see two heads

in the lamplight; those of Parish Thornton and his

wife, and it was easy to draw his sights upon the point

just below the left shoulder blade of the man's back.

Old Man Rowlett sat too far to one side to be visible.


High in the top of the walnut a shattered branch had

hung in a hair balance since the great storm had

stridden it. High winds had more than once threatened

to bring this dead wood down, yet it had remained




»




THE ROOF TREE 183


there, out of reach and almost out of sight but still pre-

cariously lodged.


The wind to-night was light and capricious, yet it

was just as the man, who was using that tree as an am-

bush, established touch between finger and trigger, that

the splintered piece of timber broke away from its

support and ripped its way noisily downward until

a crotch caught and held it. Startled by that unex-

pected alarm from above, given as though the tree had

been a living sentinel, the rifleman jerked his gun up-

ward as he fired..


The bullet passed through the window to bury itself

with a spiteful thud in the wall above the hearth. Both

men and the woman came to their feet with astonished

faces turned toward the window.


Parish Thornton reached for the pistol which he had

laid on the mantel, but before he had gained the door he

saw Dorothy flash past him, seizing his rifle as she went,

and a few seconds later he heard the clean-lipped snap

of its voice in a double report.


"I got him," panted the yoimg woman, as her hus-

band reached her side. " Git down low on ther ground ! '*

She did likewise as she added in a guarded whisper, ^*I

shot at his legs, so he's still got his rifle an' both hands.

He drapped right thar by ther fence."


They went back into the house and old Jim Rowlett

said grimly: "Now let me give an order or two.

Thornton, you fotch yore pistol. Gal, you bring thet

rifle-gun an' give me a lantern. Then come out ther

back door an' do what I tells ye."


A few minutes later the voice of the old Doane was

raised from the darkness:


"Whoever ye be over yon," it challenged, "lift

up both yore hands. I'm a-goin' ter light a lantern

now an' come straight to'rds ye — ^but thar's a rifle-

gun ter ther right of ye an' a pistol ter ther left of




184 THE ROOF TREE


ye — an' ef ye makes a false move both of 'em'U begin

shootin*."


Out there by the fence a voice answered sullenly in

recognition of the speaker — and realization of failure:

"'I hain't ergoin' ter shoot no more. I gives up."




CHAPTER XXI


THEY helped Opdyke into the house and band-

aged a wound in his leg, but old Jim sat looking

on with a stony face, and when the first aid had

been administered he said shortly: "Parish Thornton

an' me hev jest been a-studyin' erbout how ter handle

ther likes of you. Ye come in good season — ^an' so fur

as kin be jedged from ther place whar thet ball hit, no

man kin say which one of us ye shot at. We aims ter

make a sample of ye, f er others ter regulate theirselves

by, an' I reckon ye're goin' ter suiter in ther penitenshery

fer a spell of y'ars."


And when County Court day came there rode into

town men of both factions, led by Hump Doane and

Parish Thornton, and the courtroom benches were

crowded with sightseers eager to hear that examining

trial. It had been excitedly rumoured that Opdyke

would have something of defiant insurgency to say

and that perhaps a force would be found at his back

sufficiently strong to give grim effect to his words.


The defendant himself had not been ^^ hampered in

the jail-house" but had walked free on his own recog-

nizance, and, if report were true, he had been utilizing

his freedom to organize his sympathizers for resistance.

All in all, it promised to be a court day worth attend-

ing, with a measimng of neighbourhood influences, open

and hidden.


Now the judge ascended the bench and rapped with his

gavel, and when the name of Sam Opdyke was called,

heads craned, feet shuffled, and an oppressive silence fell.


185




186 THE ROOF TREE


Then down the centre aisle, from rear door to crescent-

shaped counsel table, stalked Opdyke himself with a

truculent glitter in his eyes and a defiant swing to his

shoulders, though he stiU limped from his recent wound-

ing. A pace behind him walked two black-visaged in-

timates.


He looked neither to right nor left, but held the eyes of

the man on the bench, and the judge, who was slight of

stature, with straw-coloured hair and a face by no means

imposing or majestic, returned his glance imwaveringly.


Then at the bar Opdyke halted, with nothing of the

suppliant in his bearing. He thrust a hand into each

coat pocket, and with an eloquent ringing of iron-

mongery, slammed a brace of heavy revolvers on the

table before him. The two henchmen stood silent, each

with right hand in right pocket.


"I heered my name called," announced the defend-

ant in a deep-rumbling voice of challenge, " an' hyar I

be — ^but, afore God on high, I aims ter git me jestice in

thisco'te!"


Had the man on the bench permitted the slightest

ripple of anxiety to disconcert his steadfastness of gaze

just then pandemoniiun was ripe for breaking in his

courtroom. But the judge looked down with imper-

turbable calm as though this were the accustomed

procedure of his court, and when a margin of pause had

intervened to give his words greater effect he spoke in a

level voice that went over the room and filled it, and he

spoke, not to the defendant, but to Joe Bratton the

** high-sheriff" of that county.


"Mr. Sheriff," he said, slowly and impressively, "the

co'te instructs you to disarm Sam Opdyke an' put him

under arrest fer contempt. An', Mr. Sheriff, when I

says ter arrest him ... I mean to put him in ther

jail . . . an' I don't only mean to put him in ther

jail but in a cell and leave him there till this co'te gets




r ^



MM



1



K^^ 1



^B



i- t




i







PROPERTY


" OF THE

NBW YORK

SOCIETY LIBRARY




» •


t




THE ROOF TREE 187


ready for him. When this co'te is ready, it will let

you know." He paused there in the dead hush of an

amazed audience, then continued on an even key:

**An', Mr. SheriflF, if there's any disquiet in your mind

about your ability to take this prisoner into custody,

an' hold him securely in such custody, the co'te in-

structs you that you are empowered by law to call into

service as your posse every able-bodied man in the

jurisdiction of tliis county . . . Moreover, Mr.

SheriflF, the co'te suggests that when you get ready to

summons this posse — ^an' it had ought to be right here

an' now — ^you call me fer the fust man to serve on it, an'

that you call Hump Doane and Parish Thornton fer

ther second an' third men on it . . ."•


A low wave of astonished voices went whispering

over the courtroom, from back to front, but the judge,

ignoring the two revolvers which still lay on the table

fifteen feet away, and the livid face of the man from

whose pockets they had been drawn, rapped sharply

with his gavel.


"Order in the co'teroom," he thundered, and there

was order. Moreover, before the eyes of all those

straining sight-seers, Opdyke glanced at the two men

who composed his bodyguard and read a wilting spirit

in their faces. He sank down into his chair, beaten,

and knowing it, and when the sherifiF laid a hand on his

shoulder, he rose without protest and left his pistols

lying where he had so belligerently slammed them

down. His henchmen oflfered no word or gesture of

protest. They had seen the strength of the tidal wave

which they had hoped to outface, and they realized the

futility of any eflFort at armed resistance.



It was when he had ridden home from the county seat

after attending that session of the Coimty Court, that




188 THE ROOF TREE


Parish Thornton found Bas Rowlett smoking a pipe on

his doorstep.


That was not a surprising thing, for Bas came often

and maintained flawlessly the pose of amity he had

chosen to assume. In his complex make-up paradoxes

of character met and mingled, and it was possible for

him, despite his bitter memories of failure and humilia-

tion, to smile with just the proper nicety of unrestraint

and cordiality.


Behind the visitor in the door stood Dorothy with a

plate and dish towel in her hand, and she was laughing.


*' Howdy, Parish," drawled Bas, without rising, as the

householder came up and smiled at his wife. **How

did matters come out overthar at co*te?"


"They come out with right gay success," responded

the other, and in his manner, too, there was just the

proper admixture of castiahiess aiid established friend-

ship. "Sam Opdyke is sulterin' in ther jail-house




now.




"Thet's a God's blessin'," commended Bas, and then

as Dorothy went back to the kitchen Parish lifted his

brows and inquired quietly, "Ye war over hyar yis-

tiddy an' the day afore, wam't ye, Bas?"


The other nodded and laughed with a shade of taunt

in his voice.


"Yes. Hit pleasures me ter drap in whar I always

gits me sich an old-time welcome."


"Did ye aim ter stay an' eat ye some dinner?"


"I 'lowed I mout — ef so be I got asked."


"Well ye gits asked ter go on home, Bas. I'm askin,

ye now — ^an' hereatter ye needn't bother yoreself ter

be quite so neighbourly. Hit mout mek talk ef ye

stayed away altogether — ^but stay away a heap more

than what ye've been doin'."


The other rose with a darkening face.


"Does ye aim ter dictate ter me not only when an'




THE ROOF TREE 189


whar's we fights our battles at, but every move I makes

meanwlule?"


**I aims ter dictate ter ye how often ye comes on this

place — ^an' I orders ye ter leave hit now. Thar's ther

stile — ^an' ther highway's open ter ye. Begone!"


"What's become of Bas?" inquired the young wife a

few minutes later, and her husband smiled with an art-

less and infectious good humour. "He hed ter be

farin' on," came his placid response, "an' he asked me

ter bid ye farewell fer him."


But to Bas Rowlett came the thought that if his own

opportunities of keeping a surveillance over that house

were to be circumscribed, he needed a watchman there

in his stead.


In the first place, there was a paper somewhere under

that roof bearing his signature which prudence re-

quired to be purloined. So long as it existed it ham-

pered every move he made in his favourite game of

intrigue. Also he had begun to wonder whether any one

save Caleb Harper who was dead knew of that receipt he

had given for tiie old debt. Bas had informed himself

that, up to a week ago, it had not been recorded at the

court house — ^and quite possibly the taciturn old man

had never spoken of its nature to the girl. Caleb had

mentioned to him once that the paper had been put for

temporary safekeeping in an old "chist" in the attic,

but had failed to add Siat it was Dorothy who placed it

there.


Then one day Bas met Aaron Capper on the highway.


"Hes Parish Thornton asked ye ter aid him in gittin'

some man ter holp him out on his farm this fall?" de-

manded the elder who, though he religiously disliked

Bas Rowlett, was striving in these exacting times to

treat every man as a friend. Bas rubbed the stubble on

his chin reflectively.


"No, he hain't happened ter name hit ter me yit,"




190 THE ROOF TREE




he admitted. "But men's right hard ter git. They've

all got thar own crops ter tend."


"Yes, I knows thet. I war jest a-ridin' over thar,

an' hit come ter me thet ye mout hev somebody in

mind."


"I'd love ter convenience ye both," declared Bas,

heartily, "but hit's a right bafflin' question." After a

pause, however, he hazarded the suggestion: "I don't

reckon ye've asked Sim Squires, hev ye? Him an' me,

we hain't got no manner of use for one another, but he's

kinderly kin ter y(m — an' he bears the repute of bein'

ther workin'est man in this county."


"Sim Squires!" exclaimed old Aaron. "I didn't

nuver think of him, but I reckon Sim couldn't handily

spare ther time from his own farm. Ef he could,

though, hit would be mighty pleasin'."


"I reckon mebby he couldn't," agreed Bas. "But

ther thought jest happened ter come ter me, an' he

don't dwell but a whoop an' a holler distant from PiEtrish

Thornton's house."


That same day, in pursuance of the thought "that

just happened to come to him," Bas took occasion to

have a private meeting with the man for whom "he

didn't hev no manner of use," and to enter into an agree-

ment whereby Sim, if he took the place, was to draw

double pay: one wage for honest work and another

as spy salary.


Tliee days later found Sim Squires sitting at the

table in Parish Thornton's kitchen, an employee in

good and regular standing, though at night he went back

to his own cabin which was, in the words of his other

employer, "only jest a whoop an' a holler away."


Household affairs were to him an open book and of

the movements of his employer he had an excellent

knowledge.




I




CHAPTER XXn


THE earliest frost of late September had brought

its tang to the air with a snappy assertion of the

changing season, when Parish Thornton first

broached to Dorothy an idea that, of late, had been con-

stantly in his mind. Somehow that morning with its

breath of shrewd chill seemed to mark a dividing line.

Yesterday had been warm and languorous and the day

before had been hot. The ironweed had not long since

been topped with the dusty royalty of its vagabond

purple, and the thistledown had drifted along air

currents that stirred light and warm.


"Honey," said the man, gravely, as he slipped his arm

about Dorothy's waist on that first cold morning, when

they were standing together by the grave of her grand-

father, "I hain't talked much erbout hit — ^but I reckon

my sister's baby hes done hed hits bomin' afore now."


"I wonder," she mused, as yet without suspicion of

the trend of his suggestions, "how she come through hit

— ^all by herself thetaway?"


The man's face twitched with one of those emotional

paroxysms that once in a long while overcame his self-

command. Then it became a face of shadowed anxiety

and his voice was heavy with feeling.


"I've done been ponderin' thet day an' night hyar of

late, honey. I've got ter fare over thar an' find out.'*


Dorothy started and caught quickly at his elbow, but

at once she removed her hand and looked thoughtfully

away.


"Kain't ye write her a letter?" she demanded.


191




192 THE ROOF TREE




"Hit's walkin' right inter sore peril fer ye ter cross ther

state line, Cal/'


**An' yit," he answered with convincing logic, "I'd

rather trast ter my own powers of hidin' out in a coun-

try whar I knows every trail an' every creek bed, then

ter take chances with a letter. E£ I wrote one hit

would carry a post-oflBce mark on ther envellop ter tell

every man whence hit come."


She was too wise, too sympathetic, and too under-

standing of that clan loyalty which would deny him

peace until he fulfilled his obligation, to offer arguments

in dissuasion, but she stood with trouble riffles in her

deep eyes until at last she asked:


"When did ye aim ter start — over yon?"


"Hit ought ter be right soon now, while travellin's

good. Come snowfall hit '11 git ter be right slavish

journeyin' — but I don't 'low ter tarry there long. I

kain't noways be content away from ye."


The thoughts that were occupying Dorothy were for

the most part silent ones but at length she inquired:


" Why don't ye bring her back with ye, ter dwell hyar

with us — ^her an' ther baby?"


Thornton shook his head, but his heart warmed be-

cause she had asked.


"Hit wouldn't do — ^jest yit. Folks mout seek ter

trace me by foUerin' her. I kin slip in thar an' see her,

though, an' mebby comfort her some small degree — an'

then slip back home ergin without no man's knowin'

I've ever been thar."


Instinctively the wife shuddered.


"Ef they did find out!" she exclaimed in a low voice,

and the man nodded in frank comprehension.


"Ef they did," he answered, candidly, "I reckon hit

would be hangin' or ther penitenshery fer me — but they

hain't agoin' ter . "


"I don't seek ter hinder ye none," she told him in a




THE ROOF TREE 193


faltering voice, ** despite hit's goin' ter nigh kill me ter

see ye go. Somehow hit seems like I wouldn't be so

skeered ef ye war guilty yoreself . . . but ter hev

ye risk ther gallers fer somethin' ye didn't nuver do "


The words choked her and she stopped short.


"I'm goin' ter hev a mouty strong reason fer seekin'

ter come home safe," he said, softly. "But even ef hit

did cost me my life, I don't see as I could fail a woman

thet's my sister, an' thet's been facin' her time amongst

enemies, with a secret like thet hauntin' her day an*

night. I've got ter take ther chanst, honey."


A soimd came to them through their preoccupation,

and they looked up to see Bas Rowlett crossing the

stile.


His case-hardened hypocrisy stood valiantly by him,

and his face revealed nothing of the humiliation he must

feel in playing out his farcical r61e of friendship before

the eyes of the man to whom it was so transparent.


"I war jest passin' by," he announced, "an' I 'lowed

I'd light down an' make my manners. I'd love ter hev

a drink of water, too."


Without a word Parish turned and went toward the

well and the visitor's eyes lit again to their avid hunger

as he gazed at the girl.


Abruptly he declared: "Don't never fergit what I

told ye, Dorothy. I'd do most anything, fer yow."


The girl made no answer, but she flushed under the

intensity of his gaze, and to herself she said, as she had

said once before: "I wonder would he do sich a thing

fer me as Cal's doin' fer his sister?"


The scope and peril of that sacrifice seemed to stand

between her and all other thoughts.


Then Parish came back with a gourd dipper, and

forced himself for a few moments into casual conversa-

tion. Though to have intimated his purpose and

destination would have been a fatal thing, it would




194 THE ROOF TREE


have been almost as foolish to wrap in mystery the fact

that he meant to make a short journey from home, so as

Bas mounted Parish said:


"IVe got a leetle business acrost in Virginny, Bas,

an* afore long I'm goin* over thar fer a few days/*


When Elviry Prooner had consented to come as

temporary companion for Dorothy, it seemed merely an

adventitious happening that Sim, too, felt the call of the

road.


"I don't know es IVe named hit to ye afore. Parish,'*

he volimteered the next day as the three sat around the

dinner table, **but IVe got a cousin thet used ter be

more like a brother ter me — ^an' he got inter some leetle

trouble."


"Is thet so, Sim?" inquired Parish with a ready in-

terest. "War hit a sore trouble?"


"Hit couldn't skeercely be holped — but he's been

sulterin' in ther penitenshery down thar at Frankfort

fer nigh on ter two y'ars now. Erbout once in a coon's

age I fares me down thar ter fotch him tidin's of his

folks. Hit pleasures him."


Thornton began to understand — or thought he did,

and again he inclined his head.


"I reckon, Sim," he said, "ye wants ter make one of

them trips now, don't ye?"


"Thet's a right shrewd guess. Parish. Hit's a handy

time ter go. I kin git back afore com-shuckin', an' thar

hain't no other wuck a-hurtin' ter be done right now."


"All right, Sim" — ^the permission came readily —

" light out whenever ye gits ready — ^but come back fer

com-shuckin'."


When Sim related to Bas Rowlett how free of com-

plication had been the arrangement, Bas smiled in

contentment. " Start out — ^an' slip back — ^an' don't let

him git outen yore sight till ye finds out whar he goes

an' what he's doin'," came the crisp order. "He's up




h




THE ROOF TREE 195


ter suthin' thet he hain't givin* out ter each an* every,

an' I'd love ter know what hit is."


Along the ridges trailed that misty, smoky glamour

with which Autumn dreams of the gorgeous pictures she

means to paint, with the woods for a canvas and the

frost for a brush.


Bas Rowlett had shaved the bristle from his jowl and

chm and thrown his overaUs behmd his cabin door. He

had dressed him in high-laced boots and donned a suit

of store clothes, for in his mind were thoughts livened

and made keen with the heady intoxication of an at-

mosphere like wine.


He knocked on the door of the house which he knew

to be manless, and waited until it was opened by Elviry

Prooner.


His swarthy face with its high cheekbones bequeathed

from the shameful mixing of his blood in Indian veins

wore a challenging smile of daredeviltry, and the

buxom young woman stood regarding him out of her

provocative eyes. Perhaps she owned to a revival of

hope in her own breast, which had known the rancour of

unacknowledged jealousy because this man had passed

her by to worship at Dorothy Harper's shrine. Perhaps

Bas Rowlett who **had things himg up" had at last

come to his senses and meant, belatedly, to lay his heart

at her feet. If he did, she would lead him a merry

dance of doing penance — ^but she would nowise permit

him to escape.


But Bas saw in Elviry only an unwelcome presence

interfering with another tSte-a-t&te, and the hostile

hardening of his eyes angered her so that the girl tossed

her head, and wheeling haughtily she swept into the

house. A minute later he saw her still flushed and

wrathful stalking indignantly along the road toward

Jake Crabbott's store at Lake Erie.




196 THE ROOF TREE


So Bas set his basket down and removed his hat and

let his powerful shoulders relax themselves restfully

"^against the door frame. He was waiting for Dorothy,

and he was glad that the obnoxious Elviry had gone.


After a Uttle Dorothy appeared. Her lips were in-

nocent of the flippant sneer that the other girl's had

held and her beauty was not so full-blown or material.


Bas Rowlett did not rise from his seat and the young

'woman did not expect it. Casually he inquired: "Is

Parish hyar? "


The last question came so innocently that it ac-

complished its purpose.


Bas seemed to hope for an afltonative reply, and his

manner robbed his presence of any apparent intent of

visiting a husbandless wife. Since no one but himself

knew Qiat his jackal Sam Squires was at that moment

trailing after Parish Thornton as the beagle courses after

the hare, he could logically enough make such an inquiry.


"No. Didn't ye know? He started out soon this

momin'. I reckon he's fur over to'rds Virginny by

now."


"Oh!" Bas Rowlett seemed surprised, but he made

prompt explanation. *"I knowed he hed hit in head ter

go — ^but I didn't know he'd started yit." For more

than an hour their talk went on in friendly channels of

reminiscence and commonplace, then the man lifted the

basket he had brought. "I jpotched some 'simmons

offen thet tree by my house. Ye used ter love 'em

right good, Dorothy."


"I does still, Bas," she smiled with that sweet

serenity that men found irresistible as she reached for

the basket, but the man sat with eyes brimming

melancholy and fixed on the violet haze of the skyline

until she noticed his abstraction and inquired: "What

ails ye, Bas? Ye're in a brown study erbout somethin'."


He drew back his shoulders then, and enlightened,




THE ROOF TREE 197




«




Sometimes I gits thetaway. I fell ter thinkin' of

them days when you an' me used ter gather them

'simmons tergether, little gal."


**When we was kids," she answered, nodding her

head. "We hed fun, didn't we?"


**God Almighty," he exclaimed, impetuously and sud-

denly. "How I loved ye!"


The girl drew away, and her answer was at once sym-

pathetic and defensive. "Thet war all a right long

time back, Bas."


The defeated lover came to his feet and stood looking

at her with a face over which the passion of his feeling

came with a sweep and surge that he made no effort to

control.


In that instant something had slipped in Bas Rowlett

and the madman that was part of him became tempo-

rarily all of him.


"Hit hain't so long a time ago," he vehemently de-

clared, " thet I've changed any in hits passin'. So long

es I lives, Dorothy, I'D love ye more an' more — ^till I

dies."


She drew back another step and shook her head re-

provingly, and in the gravity of her eyes was the dawn-

ing of indignation, disappointment, and astonishment.


"Bas," she said, earnestly, "even ef Cal hadn't of

come, I couldn't nuver hev wedded with ye. He did

come, though, an' — in thet way of carin' — thar hain't

no other man in the world f er me. I kain't never pay ye

back fer all thet I'm beholden ter ye . . . fer

savin' him an' fotchin' him in when thet craven shot

him ... fer stayin' a friend when most men

would hev got ter be enemies. I knows all them things

— ^but don't seek ter spile none of 'em by talkin' love

ter me . . . Hit's too late. . . I'm married."


For an instant he stood as though long-arrested

passions were pounding against the dams that had held




198 THE ROOF TREE


them; then his words came like the torrent that makes

driftwood of its impediments.


**Ter hell with this man Thornton! Ye didn't never

hev no chanst ter know yore own mind ... Ye

jest thinks ye loves him because ye pitied him. Hit

won't last noways/'


^'Bas/' she spoke his name with a sharp and stinging

note of command, "I'm willin' ter look over what ye've

said so fur — ^because of what I owes ye — ^but don't say

no more!"


In a frenzy of wild and sensuous abandon he laughed.

Then leaping forward he seized her and crushed her to

him with her arms pinioned in his and her body close

against his own.


Her struggles were as futile as those of a bird held

in a human hand — a hand that takes no thought of how

severely it may bruise but only of making firm its im-

prisoning hold.


**I said 'ter hell with him'," repeated the man in a

low voice but one of white-hot passion. **I says hit

ergin ! Prom ther time thet ye fust begun ter grow up

I'd made up my mind thet ye belonged ter me — ^an' afore

I quits ye're goirC ter belong ter me. Ye talks erbout

bein' wedded an* I says ter hell with thet, too! Mebby

ye're his wife but ye're goin' ter be my woman!"


The senses of the girl swirled madly and chaotically

during those moments when she strained against the

rawhide strength of the arms that held her powerless,

and they seemed to her hours.


The hot breath of the face which had suddenly grown

unspeakably horrible to her burned her like a blast, and

through her reeling faculties rose that same impression

of nightmare that had come to Parish when he lay

wounded on his bed: the need of altering at a flash her

whole conception of this man's loyal steadfastness to a

realization of unbelievable and bestial treachery.




THE ROOF TREE 199


The fact was patent enough now, and only the hideous

possibilities of the next few minutes remained doubtful.

His arms clamped her so tightly that she gasped

stranglingly for breath, and the convulsive futility of her

struggles grew fainter. Consciousness itself wavered.


Then Rowlett loosened one arm and bent her head

upward until he could crush his lips against hers and

hold them there while he surfeited his own with an end-

lessly long kiss.


When again her eyes met his, the girl was panting

with the exhaustion of breath that soimded like a sob,

and desperately she sought to fence for time.


"Let me go," she panted. "Let me go — thar's

somebody cominM"


That was a lie bom of the moment's desperation and

strategy but, somewhat to her surprise, it served its

ephemeral purpose. Rowlett released his hold and

wheeled to look at the road, and with a flashing swift-

ness his victim leaped for the door and slammed it

behind her.




CHAPTER XXm


AN INSTANT later, with a roar of fury, as he

/A realized the trick that had been played upon

•^ -^ him, Bas was beating his fists against the panels

and hurling against them the weight of his powerful

shoulders. But those hot moments of agitation and

mental riot had left him breathless, too, and presently

he drew away for a quieter survey of the situation. He

strolled insolently over to the window which was still

open and leaned with his elbows on the sill looking in.

The room was empty, and he guessed that Dorothy had

hurried out to bar the back door, forgetting, in her

excitement, the nearer danger of the raised sash.


Bas had started to draw himself up over the sill when

caution prompted him to turn first for a look at the

road.


He ground his teeth and abandoned his intention of

immediate entry for there swinging aroimd the turn,

with her buxom vigour of stride, came Elviry Prooner.


Rowlett scowled as he folded his arms and leaned

by the window, and then he saw Dorothy appear in the

back door of the room and he cautioned her in a low

voice : " Elviry 's comin' back. I warns ye not ter

make no commotion."


But to his astonishment Dorothy, whose face was as

pale as paper no longer, wore in her eyes the desperation

of terror or the fluttering agitation that seemed likely to

make outcry. In her hand she held a kitchen knife which

had been sharpened and re-sharpened on the grindstone

until its point was as taperingly keen as that of a dirk.


200




i




THE ROOF TREE 201


She laid this weapon down on the table and hastily

rearranged her dishevelled hair, and then she said in a

still and ominous voice, more indicative of aggressive

temerity than shrinking timidity:


"Don't go yit, Bas, I'm comin' out thar ter hev speech

with ye — ^an' ef ye fails ter hearken ter me — God Imows

I pities ye!"


Waiting a little while to recover from the pallid

advertising of her recent agitation she op>ened the front

door and went firmly out as Elviry, with a toss of her

head that ignored the visitor, passed around the house

to the rear.


Dorothy's right hand, armed with the blade, rested

inconspicuously imder her apron, but the glitter in her

eyes was unconcealed and to Bas, who smiled indul-

gently at her arming, she gave the brief conunand,

*Xome out hyar under ther tree whar Elviry won't

hear us."


Curious and somewhat mystified at the transfor-

mation from helplessness to aggression of bearing the

man followed her and as she wheeled to face him with

her left hand groping against the bark, he dropped

down into the grass with insolent mockery in his face

and sat cross-legged, looking up at her.


**Ef I'd hed this knife a minute ago," she began in

a low voice, throbbing like a muffled engine, "I'd hev

cut yore heart out. Now I've decided not ter do hit —

jest yit."


"Would ye ruther wait an' let ther man with siv'ral

diflf'rent names ondertake hit fer ye?" he queried,

mockingly, and Dorothy Thornton shook her head.


"No, I wouldn't hev him dirty his hands with no

sich job," she answered with icy disdain. "Albeit he'd

far hit out with his bare fingers, I reckon — ef he

knowed."


Bas Rowlett's swarthy face stiffened and his teeth




202 THE ROOF TREE


bared themselves in a snarl of hurt vanity, but as he

started to speak he changed his mind and sat for a while

silent, watching the splendid figure she made as she

leaned against the tree with a breast rising and falling

to the storm tide of her indignation.


Rowlett's thoughts had been active in these minutes

since the craters of his sensuous nature had burst into

eruption, and already he was cursing himself for a fool

who had prematurely revealed his hand.


"Dorothy,** he began, slowly, and a self -abasing pre-

tence of penitence sounded through his words, "my

reason plum left me a while ago an' I was p'int blank

crazed fer a spell. IVe got ter crave yore pardon right

humbly — ^but I reckon ye don't begin ter know how

much I loves ye.*'


"How much ye loves me!" She echoed the words

with a scorn so incandescent that he winced. "Love's

an honest thing, an' ye hain't nuver knowed ther meanin'

of honesty ! "


" Ye've got a right good license ter git mad with me,

Dorothy," he made generous concession, "an' I

wouldn't esteem ye ef ye hedn't done hit — ^but afore

ye lets thet wrath sottle inter a fixed hate ye ought ter

think of somethin' ye've done fergot."


He paused but received no invitation to present his

plea in extenuation, so he proceeded without it :


"I kissed ye erginst yore will, an' I cussed an' damned

yore husband, but I did both them things in sudden

heat an' passion. Ye ought ter take thought afore ye

disgusts me too everlastin'ly much thet I've done

loved ye ever since we was both kids tergither. I've

done been compelled ter put behind me all ther hopes I

ever hed endurin' my whole lifetime an' hit's been

makin' a hell of tormint outen my days an' nights hyar

of late."


He had risen now, and into his argument as he bowed




THE ROOF TREE 203


a bared and allegedly stricken head he was managing

to put an excellent semblance of sincerity.


But it was before a court of feminine intuition that

Bas Rowlett stood arraigned, and his specious con-

triteness fell flat as it came from his Ups. Dorothy was

looking at him now in the glare of revelation — ^and see-

ing a loathsome portrait.


"An hour ago," she declared with no relenting in the

deep blaze of her eyes, **I beUeved all good of ye. Now

I sees ye fer what ye air an' I suspicions iniquities thet

I hedn't nuver dreamp* of afore. I wouldn't put hit

past ye ter hev deevised Cal's lay-wayin' yoreself . I

wouldn't be none astonished ef ye hired ther man thet

shot him . • . an' yit I'd nigh cut my tongue afore

I'd drap a hint of thet ter him."


That last statement both amazed and gratified the

intriguer. He had now two avowed enemies in this

house and each stood pledged to a solitary reckoning.

His warfare against one of them was prompted by

murder-lust and against the other by love-lust, but the

cardinal essence of good strategy is to dispose of hostile

forces in detail and to prevent their uniting for defence

or offence. It seemed to Bas that, in this, the woman

was preparing to play into his hands, but he inquired,

without visible eagerness :


"Fer why does ye say thet?"


Out of Dorothy's wide eyes was blazing upon him tor-

rential fury and contempt. Yet she did not give him

her truest reasons in her answer. She had no longer

any fear of him for herself, but she trembled inwardly

at the menace of his treachery against her man.


"I says hit," she answered, still in that level, omi-

nously pitched voice that spoke from a heart too pro-

foundly outraged for gusty vehemence, "because, now

thet I knows ye, I don't need nobody ter fight ye fer me.

He trusts ye an' thinks ye're his friend, an' so long es ye




204 THE ROOF TREE


don't lift no finger ter harm him I'm willin' ter let him

go on trustin' ye/' She paused, and to her ears with a

soothing whisper came the rustle of the crisp leaves

overhead. Then she resumed, "Ef he ever got any hint

of what's come ter pass terday, I mout es well try ter

hold back a flood-tide with a splash-dam es ter hinder

him from foUerin' atter ye an' trompin' ye in ther dirt

like he'd tromple a rattlesnake. . . . But he stands

pledged ter peace an' I don't aim ter bring on no feud

war ergin by hevin' him break hit."


"Ef him an' me fell out," admitted Bas with wily

encouragement of her confessed belief, "right like

others would mix inter hit."


"But ef / kills ye hit won't start no war," she re-

torted. "A woman's got a right ter defend herself, even

hyar."


"Dorothy, I've done told ye I jest lost my head in

a swivet of wrath. Ye're jedgin' me by one minute of

frenzy and lookin' over a lifetime of trustiness."


"Ef I kills ye hit won't start no war," she reiterated,

implacably, ignoring his interruption, "an' betwixt ther

two of us, I'm ther best man — because I'm honest, an'

'ye're as craven as Judas was when he earned his silver

money. Ye needn't hev no fear of my tellin' Cal, but

ye've got a right good cause ter fear tw^/"


"All right, then," once more the hypocritical mask

of dissimulation fell away and the swarthy face showed

black with the savagery of frustration. "Ef ye won't

hev hit no other way, go on disgustin' me — ^but I warns

ye thet ye kain't hold out erginst me. Ther time'U

come when ye won't kick an' fly inter tantrums erginst

my kisses . . . ye'U plum welcome 'em."


"Hit won't be in this world," she declared, fiercely,

as her eyes narrowed and the hand that held the knife

crept out from under the apron.


The man laughed again.




»




THE ROOF TREE 205


"Hit'll be right hyar on y'arth," he declared with

undiminished self-assurance; "you an' me air meant ter

mate tergither like a pair of eagles, an* some day ye're

goin* ter come inter my arms of yore own free will. I

reckon I kin bide my time twell ye does."


** Eagles don't mate with snakes," she shot out at

him, with a bosom heaving to the tempest of her disgust.

Then she added: "I don't even caution ye ter stay

away from this house. I hain't afeared of ye, an' I

don't want Cal ter suspicion nothin' — ^but don't come

hyar too often ... ye fouls ther air I breathes

whenever ye enters hit."


She paused and brushed her free arm across her lips

in shuddering remembrance of his kiss, then she con-

tinued with the tone of finality:


"Now I've told ye what I wanted ter tell ye . . .

ef need arises ergin, I'm goin' ter kill ye . . .

this matter lays betwixt me an' you . . . an' no-

body else hain't agoin' ter be brung inter hit. . .

Does ye onderstand thet full clear? "


"Thet's agreed," he gave answer, but his voice

trembled with passion, "an' I've done told you what

I wants ye ter know. I loves ye an' I'm goin' ter

hev ye. I don't keer no master amoimt how hit comes

ter p^iss, but sooner or later I gits me what I goes atter —

an' from now on I'm goin' atter youJ^


He turned and walked insolently away and the girl,

with the strain of necessity removed, sanJc back weakly

against the cool solidity of the walnut trunk. Except

for its support she would have fallen, and after awhile,

hearing Elviry's voice singing oflF at the back of the

house and realizing that she was not watched, she

turned weakly and spread her outstretched hands

upward in embrace against the rough wood, as a fright-

ened child might throw its arms about a protecting

mother.




206 THE ROOF TREE


When Sam Opdyke had been taken from the court-

room to the "jail-house" that his wrath might cool into

submissiveness, and when later he had been held to the

grand jury, he knew in his heart that ahead of him lay

the prospect of leaving the mountains^ The hated low-

lands meant to him the penitentiary at Frankfort,

and with Jim Rowlett and Parish Thornton united

against him, this was his sure prospect.


The two men who had shared with him the sen-

sational notability of that entrance and the deflated

drama of that exit had gone home rankling under a

chagrin not wholly concerned with the interests of the

defendant. '


Enmities were planted that day that carried the in-

fection of bitterness toward Harpers and Doanes alike,

and the resentful minority began taking thought of new

organization; a thought secretly fanned and inflamed

by emissaries of the resourceful Bas Rowlett.


Back in the days following on the War of Secession the

word Ku Klux had carried a meaning of both terror

and authority. It had functioned in the mountains as

well as elsewhere through the South, but it had been, in

its beginnings, a secret body of regulators filling a void

left by the law's failure, and one boasting some colour of

legitimacy.


Since then occasional organizations of imitative origin

had risen for a time and fallen rapidly into decay, but

these were all gangs of predatory activity and outrage.


Now once more in the talk of wayside store and high-

road meeting one began to hear that name "Ku Klux"

though it came vaguely from the tongue as a thing of.

which no man had seen any tangible evidence. If it had

anywhere an actual nucleus, tiiat centre remained as

impalpable and unmaterial as fox-fire.


But the rumour of night meetings and oath-bound

secrecy persisted, and some of these shreds of gossip came




k




THE ROOF TREE 207


to Dorothy Thornton over the dooryard fence as

passersby drew rein in the shadow of the black walnut.

Nearer anxieties just now made her mind unreceptive to

loose and improbable stories of that nature, and she

gave them scant attention.


She found herself coming out to stand under the tree

often, because it seemed to her that here she could feel

the presence of the man who had gone away on a parlous

mission — ^and it was during that time of his absence that

she found more to fear in a seemingly trivial matter

than in the disquieting talk of a mysterious body of

avengers stirring into iSe.


"When she looked up into the branches that were

colouring toward autumnal hues she discovered here and

there a small, fungus-like growth and leaves that were

dying unnaturally, as though through the agency of

some blight that diseased the vigour of the tree.


Her heart was ready to be frightened by small things,

and through her thoughts ran that old prophecy:


"I have ye strong faithe that whilst that tree stands

and grows stronge and weathers ye thunder and wind

and is revered, ye stem and branches of our family alsoe

will waxe stronge and robust, but that when it fails,

likewise will disaster fall upon our house."




CHAPTER XXIV


FROM the shallow porch of a house over which

brooded the dismal spirit of neglect and shif t-

lessness a woman stood looking out with eyes

that should have been young, but were old with the age

of a heart and spirit gone slack.


Evidences of thrift cast overboard bespoke the de-

jection that held sway there, and yet the woman had

pathetic remnants of a beauty not long wrecked. Her

hollow cheeks and lustreless hair, the hopeless mouth

with a front tooth missing, served in their unsightliness

to make one forget that the features themselves were

well modelled, and that the thin figure needed only the

filling out of simken curves to bring back comeliness of

proportion.


The woman was twenty-two and looked forty-five,

but the small, shawl-wrapped bundle of humanity

that she held in her arms was her first child, and

two years ago she had been accounted a neighbourhood

beauty.


Under her feet the flooring of the porch creaked its

complaint of disrepair and the baby in her arms raised

a shrill and peevish howl of malnutrition.


As the mother clasped it closer and rocked it against

her shrunken breast a second and older woman ap-

peared in the doorway, a witch-faced slattern who

inquired in a nasal whine:


"Kain*t ye, no fashion, gentle him ter sleep, Sally?"


The mother shook her head despondently.


*'My milk don*t seem ter nourish him none," she


208




THE ROOF TREE 209


answered, and the voice which had once been sweet

carried a haunting whine of tragedy.


Into the lawless tangle of the "laurel-hell" that came

down the mountainside to encroach upon the meagre

patch reclaimed for human habitation, a man who had

crept yard by yard to the thicket's edge drew back at

the sight of the older woman.


This man carried a rifle which he hitched along with

him as he made his slow progress, and his clothes were

ragged from laboured travel through rocky tangles.

Small stains of blood, dried brown on his face and hands,

testified to the stinging obstruction of thomed trailer

and creeping briar, and his cheeks were slightly hollowed

because for two days he had avoided human habitations

where adequate food could be obtained.


Now he crouched there, gazing steadfastly at the

house, and schooled his patience to keep vigil until the

mother shoidd come out or the other woman go away.


At least. Parish Thornton told himself, his sister and

her baby were alive.


Out of the house door slouched a year-old hound

puppy with shambling feet and lean ribs. It stood for

a moment, whining and wagging a disconsolate tail at

the woman's feet, then came suddenly to life and

charged a razor-back hog that was rooting at will in

what should have been a potato patch.


The hog wheeled with a startled grunt and stampeded

into the thicket — ^almost upsetting in its headlong flight

the man who was hiding there.


But the dog had stopped and stood rigidly sniffing

as human scent proclaimed itself to his nostrils. The

bristles rose erect as quills along his neck and shoulders

as a deep growl rumbled in his throat.


That engrossment of interest and disquiet held until

the woman with the baby in her arms came down the

two steps, in curiosity, and crossed the yard.




210 THE ROOF TREE


Then Thornton let his whisper go out to her with an

uttemess of caution: "Don't say nothin', Sally . . .

Walk back inter ther woods . . . outen sight of the

house . . . it's me . . . it's yore brother, Ken/*


For an instant she stood as tremulous as though

she had seen or heard a ghost, while in her thin and

shrimken bosom her heart pounded. Then she said:

"I'll be thar d'reckly. I'll take ther baby back ter

Mirandy."


"No," commanded the man, "bring hit with ye. I

hain't nuver saw hit yit."




Parish Thornton had come safely home, and in forest

stretches where fallen leaves lay crisp and thick under

foot the razor-backs were fattening on persimmons and

mast. Along the horizon slept an ashen mist of violet.

"Sugar trees" blazed in rustling torches of crimson and

in the sweet-gums awoke colour flashes like those which

glint in a goblet of burgundy.


Before the house in the bend of the river the great

walnut stood like a high-priest lording it over lesser

clerics: a Druid giant of blond maturity, with out-

stretched arms that seemed to brush the drifting doud-

fleece by day and the stars by night. It whispered with

the wandering voices of the little winds in tones of

hushed mystery.


Mellow now and tranquil in its day of fruitage it

had the seeming of meditation upon the cycles of bud

and leaf, sun and storm; the starkness of death and the

miracle of resurrection.


Yet the young wife searched its depths of foliage

with an eye of anxiety for, though she had not spoken

of it, her discernment recognized that the fungus-like

blight was spreading through its breadth and height

with a contagion of imhealth.




h




THE ROOF TREE 211


Beneath it Parish and Dorothy were gathering and

piling the wahiuts that should in due season be beaten

out of their thick husks and stored away for winter

nights by the blazing hearth, and in their veins, too, was

the wine and the fragrance of that brief carnival that

comes before the desolation of winter.


Dorothy straightened and, looking off down the road,

made sudden announcement.


"Look thar, Cal. Ef hit hain't a stranger ridin* up

on hoss-back. I wonder now whp is he?"


With unhiuried deliberation, because there was lan-

guor in the air that day, the man rose from his knee, but

as soon as he saw the mounted figure his features

stiffened and into them came the expression of one who

had been suddenly stricken.


Dorothy, still looking outward, with the inquisitive-

ness of a land to which few strangers come, did not see

that recognition of a Nemesis, and quickly, in order that

the stranger himself might not see it, the man drew a

long breath into his chest and schooled himself to the

stoic bearing of one who calmly accepts the inevitable.


By that time the horseman had halted and nodded.

He dismounted and threw his rein over a picket, then

from the stile he accosted Thornton: "Ken, I reckon

ye knows me," he said, "an' I reckon ye knows what

brought me."


Parish went forward, but before he reached the stile

he turned and in a level voice said, "Dorothy, this hyar

man's Jake Beaver. He's ther high-sheriff — ^from over

in Virginny ... I reckon he seeks ter take me

back."


Dorothy stood with all her pliant sinews inordinately

tensed; with her deep eyes wide and terrified, yet

voiceless of any outburst or exclamation, and near her,

ill at ease, but seeking to treat the affair as an in-

escapable matter of business, and consequently a com-




i




212 THE ROOF TREE


monplaoe, the sheriflF shifted his weight from foot to

foot, and fanned himself with his hat.


The exact wording of the warrant was after all of

no particular consequence. The announcement of its

purport had carried all its necessary significance. Yet,

before he spoke again, Kenneth Thornton, also known

as Parish Thornton and as Cal Maggard — ^these names

being included in the document as aliases — ^read it from

preamble to signature and seal at the end.


Then he inquired : " How come ye ter diskiver wh'ar

I was at, Jake?"


The oflScer shook his head. "Thet's a question I

hain't got ther power ter answer ye. Ken. Somebody

over thar got tidin's somehow and drapped a hint ter

ther Commonwealth's Attorney."


With a nod of comprehension the man who was

wanted accepted that explanation. He had not ex-

pected a fuller one.


Then, turning, he complied with the demands of

courtesy. "Dorothy," he asked, "hain't ye goin' ter

invite Jake ter come in an' eat him some dinner?"


The woman had not spoken. [For her, stoic-bred

though she was, it was impossible to separate calmly the

personal side of this stranger from the abstract and

menacing thing for which he stood. Now she gulped

down a hot and inhospitable impulse of refusal and said

briefly to her husband, " You kin invite him ef ye've a

mind ter, Cal. I won't." ,


The officer flushed in embarrassment. Sheriffs, like

bloodhounds, are frequently endowed with gentle

natures, and this mission was not of Beaver's own

choosing. It was a pursuit he followed with nothing

of the sportsman's zest.


"I reckon I mout es well git over an' done with all

ther onpleasant jobs I've got on hand," he announced,

awkwardly; "air ye willin' ter waive extradition. Ken,




\




THE ROOF TREE 213


or does ye aim ter fight goin' back? Hit's jest a matter

of time either way — ^but yeVe got the privilege of

choosin'/'


The man he had come after was carefully folding the

warrant of arrest along its folded lines as though it were

important to preserve the exact creasing of the paper.


"Does I keep this hyar thing, Jake," he asked, "or

give hit back to ye?"


"Keep hit," replied the sheriff, with an equal gravity.

"Hit b'longs ter youJ^


There was a brief silence after that then Thornton

said :


" This is a right grave matter ter me, Jake. Afore I

decides what ter do IVe got ter hev speech with some

of my neighbours."


The foreign oflScial inclined his head.


"I hain't drapped no hint ter no man es ter what

business brought me hyar," he volunteered. "I 'lowed

ter talk with ye in private fust. I knows full well I'm

amongst yore friends over hyar — ^an' I've got ter trust

myself in yore hands. This hain't no welcome task.

Ken, any way ye looks at hit."


"I gives ye my hand, Jake," the accused, reassured

his accuser, "no harm hain't goin' ter come ter ye.

Come on indoors and sot ye a cheer."


Parish Thornton stood under the black walnut again

that afternoon and with his jackknife he was carving a

small basket out of one of the walnuts that had fallen

at his feet. About him stood a group including the

custodian of "the peace and dignity of the Common-

wealth of Virginia" and the man who held like re-

sponsibility for the state of Kentucky.


Between the two, unexpressed but felt, lay the veiled

hostility that had grown up through generations of

"crossing the border" to hide out; the hostility of con-

flicting jurisdictions.




214 THE ROOF TREE


Hump Doane and Jim Rowlett were there, and

Aaron Capper and Lincoln Thornton — sl handful who

could speak with the voice of public opinion there-

abouts, and while he carved industriously at his watch-

charm basket. Parish Thornton glanced at the cripple.


"Mr. Doane," he said, "once, standin' on this identi-

cal spot, ye asked me a question thet I refused ter

answer. This man hes come over hyar, now, ter

answer hit fer me. Jake, tell these folks what brought

ye hither."


The sheriff cleared his throat and by way of preface

remarked: "I didn't come of my own choosin', gentle-

men. Ther state of Virginny accuses Parish Thornton

of ther wilful murder of John Turk. I'm high-sheriff

over in Lee County whar hit tuck place."


A grave restraint prevented any expression of sur-

prise, but all the eyes were turned upon Thornton him-

self, and the accused gave back even glance for even

glance.


"Now I'm goin' ter give ye my side of hit," he b^an,

though to give his side in full justice he would have had

to reveal a secret which he had no intent of disclosing.


**My sister, Sally, married John Turk an' he abused

her till she couldn't endure hit no longer. Her pride

was mighty high an' she'd hev cut her tongue out afore

she'd hev told her neighbours ther way she war mis-

used — ^but I knowed hit." As he paused his eyes

darkened into sombre memory. "I reasoned with John

an' he blackguarded me, too, an' ferbid me ter darken

his door . . . Deespite thet command I feared fer

her life an' I fared over thar ... I went in at ther

door an' he war a-maltreatin' her an' chokin' her. I

called out . . . an' he hiui; her wusser . . .

hit war his life or her'n. Ef hit war all ter do over

ergin I wouldn't act no diff'rent." He paused again

and no one offered a comment, so he resumed his




i




THE ROOF TREE 216


statement: "I hain't told ye all of hit, but I reckon

thet's enough. Thar wam't no witnesses ter holp me

come cVsLT an' ther co'te over thar wouldn't vouch-

safe me no justice . . . Hit's jedge b'longed

ter John Turk's kinfolks body an' soul ... so I

come away."


"I reckon ye'd be plum daft ef ye didn't stay away,"

remarked the Kentucky sheriflF with a sharp and

bellicose glance at his colleague from another state.

"Virginny oflScers hain't got no power of arrest in

Kaintuck."


The Virginian bit a trifle nervously from a twist of

"natural leaf."


** Hit's my bounden duty, though," he declared,

staunchly, "ter call on you ter arrest him an' hold him

till I gits me them extradition papers from Frankfort

— ^an' then hit's yore boimden duty ter f otch him ter ther

state line an' deliver him over ter me."


"I'm ther man thet decides what my duty is," came

the swift retort, and Thornton raised a hand to quell

incipient argument.


Thet hain't ther p'int, men," he reminded them.

Ther law kin reach in an' take me out finally. We all

knows thet — onless I forsook my home hyar an' lived a

refugee, hidin' out. Atter they once diskivered whar

I was, I mout jest es well be thar es hyar."


"Ther boy's right," ruled Hump Doane, judicially.

"A man kain't beat ther law in ther long run." Then

the cripple wheeled on the sheriff.


"Mr. Beaver," he said, "we hain't got no quarrel

with ye fer doin' yore plain duty, but whether ye calls

this man a criminal over thar in Virginny or not we

knows over hyar thet he's a godly upholder of ther law —

an' we don't aim ter see him made no scape-goat fer un-

lawful wrath ef we kin hinder hit. In so fur es we kin

legally compass hit we stands ready ter fight ther state




<«

«




216 THE ROOF TREE




s




of Virginny from hell ter breakfast. All he's got ter do

is jest give us ther word."


"I hain't seekin' ter contrary ye none es ter thet,

Mr. Doane," the oflScer gave ready assurance.


"Ef Mr. Thornton takes my counsel," went on the

deformed leader, "he'll bid ye go back thar an' tell

them folks ye comes from thet ef they'll admit him ter

bail, an' pledge him a fa'r day in co'te, he'll come back

thar without no conflict when ye sends fer him. But

ye've got ter hev 'em agree ter let him stay over hyar

till ther co'te sets ter try him. Es fer his bond ye kin

put hit at any figger ye likes so long es thar's land

enough an' money enough amongst us ter kiver hit."


The Virginia sheriff turned to the Kentucky officer.


"Will ye arrest this man an' hold him safe till I gits

my order?" he demanded, and the Kentuckian in turn

inquired of Parish, "Will ye agree to hold yoreself sub-

ject ter prompt response?"


Thornton nodded and casually the local officer

replied:


"All right, Mr. Beaver. Ye kin ride on home now

whenever ye gits ready. I've got this prisoner in a

custody thet satisfies me right now."




CHAPTER XXV


HAD those enterprising spirits who had under-

taken to organize a vigilance committee,

modelled upon the old Ku Klux, been avowedly

outlaws, banded together only for the abuse of power,

their eflForts would have died of inanition. The sort of

lawlessness that has given the Appalachian mountaineer

his wild name is one that the outer world understands as

little as the hillsman understands the outer world, and

the appeal which the organization made was a warped

and distorted sense of justice, none the less sincere.


So now though the organizers of the new body were

scheming rascals, actuated by the basest and meanest

motives, the tissue and brawn of their recruiting was

built up from the adventure-love of youth or the grim

and honest insurgency of maturer age.


As yet the membership was small and it met in shift-

ing places of rendezvous, with weird rites of oath-bound

secrecy. To-night it was gathered around a campfire

in a gorge between towering diflFs to which access was

gained by a single and narrow gut of alley- way which

was sentinel-guarded.


The men were notably bi-partisan in make-up, for

Sim Squires of the Harper faction sat on the same short

log with young Pete Doane of the Rowletts, and so it

ran with the rest.


"Couldn't ye contrive ter persuade Bas Rowlett ter

jine us, Pete?" inquired one of the two men who had

swaggered with Sam Opdyke up the court-house aisle,

and gone out in crestfallen limpness. "Hit looks like


217




218 THE ROOF TREE


he'd ought ter hold with us. He war entitled ter leader-

ship an' they cast him over."


Pete shook his head and answered with the import-

ance of an envoy:


**Bas, he's fer us, body an' soul, an' he aims ter

succour us every way he km but he figgers he kin com-

pass hit best fashion by seemin* ter stand solid with

ther old leaders."


Sim Squires said nothing but he spat contemptuously

when the name of Bas Rowlett was mentioned.


"Ther fust task that lays ahead of us," declared the

voice of Rick Joyce who seemed to be the presiding

oflScer of the meeting, "is ter see that Sam Opdyke

comes d'ar in cote. When ther Doanes met in council,

Sam war thar amongst 'em an' no man denied he hed as

good a right ter be barkened to as anybody else. But

they rid over him rough-shod. A few men tuck ther bit

in their teeth and flaunted ther balance of us. Now we

aims ter flaunt them some."


"How air we goin' ter compass hit?" came a query,

and the answer was prompt.


"When ther panel's drawed ter try Sam we've got ter

see that every man on the jury gits secretly ad-

monished thet atter he finishes up thar, he's still got ter

answer ter us — an' meantime we've got ter handle some

two-three offenders in sich a fashion thet men will fear

ter disobey us."


So working on that premise of injustices to be

righted, malcontents from the minorities of both fac-

tions were induced with fantastic ceremonials of initia-

tion into the membership of the secret brotherhood.

And though they were building an engine of menacing

power and outlawry, it is probable that more than half

of them were men who might have turned on their

leaders, as a wolf pack turns on a fallen member, had

they known the deceit and the private grudge-serving




THE ROOF TREE 21»


with which the unseen hand of Bas Rowlett was guiding

them.


The dreamy languor of autumn gave way to the

gusty melandioly of winds that brought down the

leaves from the walnut tree until it stretched out

branches disconsolate and reeking with only the more

tenacious foliage left clinging. Then Dorothy Thorn-

ton felt that the sand was running low in the hour glass

of respited happiness and that the day when her hus-

band must face his issue was terribly near.


Indian summer is a false glory and a brief one, with

alliuing beauty like the music of a swan-song, and it had

been in an Indian summer of present possession that she

had lived from day to day, refusing to contemplate the

future — ^but that could not go on.


The old journal which had fired her imagination as a

door to a new life had lain through these days neglected

— but they had been days of nearer and more urgent

realities and, after all, the diary had seemed to belong to

a world of dreams.


One of these fall afternoons when the skies were

lowering and Parish was out in the woods with Sim

Squires she remembered it with a pang of guilty neglect

such as one might feel for an ill-iised friend, and went

to the attic to take it out of its hiding and renew her

acquaintance.


But when she opened the old horsehide trimk it was

not there and panic straightway seized her.


If the yellowed document were lost, she felt that a

guardian spirit had removed its talisman from the

house, and since she was a practical soul, she remem-

bered, too, that the note-release bearing Bas Rowlett's

signature had been folded between its pages ! With her

present imderstanding of Bas that thought made her

heart miss its beat.


Dorothy was almost sure she had replaced it in the




220 THE ROOF TREE


trunk after reading it the last time, yet she was not

quite certain, and when Parish came back she was

waiting for him with anxiety-brimming eyes. She told

him with alarm in her face of the missing diary and of

the receipt which had been enclosed and he looked

grave, but rather with the air of sentimental than

material interest.


" Thet old diary-book was in ther chist not very long

ago," he declared. "I went up thar an' got ther receipt

out when I fared over ter Sam Opdyke's arraignin'. I

tuck hit ter ther co'te-house an' put hit ter record thet

day — ^ther receipt, I means."


" How did ye git inter ther chist without my unlockin'

hit?" she inquired with a relief much more material than

sentimental, and he laughed.


"Thet old brass key," he responded, "war in yore

key basket — ^an ye wam't in ther house right then, so I

jest holped myself."


That brass key and that ancient record became the

theme of conversation for two other people about the

same time.


In the abandoned cabin which had come to be the

headquarters of Bas Rowlett in receiving reports from,

and giving instructions to, his secret agents, he had a

talk with fis spy Sim Squires, who had come by appoint-

ment to meet him there. In the sick yellow of the

lantern light the lieutenant had drawn from his pocket

and handed to his chief the sheaf of paper roughly

bound in home-made covers of doth whidi he had been

commissioned to abstract from its hiding place.


" Hit's done tuck ye everlastingly ter git yore hands on

this thing," commented Rowlett, sourly, as he held it,

still unopened, before him. "But seems like yeVe done

got holt of hit at last."


"Hit wam't no facile matter ter do," the agent de-

fended himself as his face clouded resentfully. "Ef I




THE ROOF TREE 221




let folks suspcion me I wouldn't be no manner of use ter

ye in thet house."


"How did ye compass hit finally?"


** Thornton's woman always kep' hit in the old hoss-

hair chist in ther attic an' she always kep' ther chist

locked up tight as beeswax." Sim paused and grinned

as he added, "But woman-fashion — ^she sometimes fer-

got ter lock up ther key."


Rowlett was running through the pages whose

ancient script was as meaningless to him as might have

been a papyrus roll taken from the crypts of a pyramid.


"Old Caleb," he mused, "named hit ter me thet he'd

done put thet paper I wanted betwext ther leaves of

this old book inside ther chist."


He ran through the yellow pages time after time and

finally 'shook them violently — ^without result. His face

went blank, then anxious, and after that with a pro-

fane outcry of anger he fiung the thing to the fioor and

wheeled with a livid face on Sim Squires.


"Hit hain't thar!" he bellowed, and as his passion of

fury and disappointment mounted, his eyes spurted

jets of fury and suspicion.


"Afore God," he burst out with eruptive volleys of

abuse, "I halfway suspicions ye're holdin' thet paper

yore own self ter barter an' trade on when ye gits ther

chanst . . . an' ef ye be, mebbe ye've got thet

other document, too, thet ye pretends ye hain't nuver

seed thar — ^ther one in ther sealed envellup!"


He broke oflf suddenly, choked with his wrath and

panting crazily. Suppose this hireling who had once

or twice shown a rebellious disposition held his own

signed confession ! Suppose he had even read it ! Bas

had never suspected the real course which Parish

Thornton had taken to safeguard that other paper and

he had not understood why Sim had been unable to lo-

cate it and abstract it from the house. Thornton had.




4




222 THE ROOF TREE


in fact, turned it over to the safekeeping of Jase Burrell^

who was to hold it, in ignorance of its contents, and only

to produce it under certain given conditions. Now

Bas stood glaring at Sim Squires with eyes that burned

like madness out of a face white and passion distorted,

and Sim gave back a step, cringing before the man whose

ungovemed fury he feared.


But after an unbridled moment Bas realized that he

was acting the muddle-headed fool in revealing his fear

to a subordinate, his hold over whom depended on an un-

broken pose of mastery and self-confidence.


He drew back his shoulders and laughed shame-

facedly.


"I jest got red-headed mad fer a mjnute, Sim," he

made placating avowal. "Of course I knows full well

ye done ther best ye could ; I reckon I affronted ye with

them words, an' I craves yore pardon."


But Sim, who had never served for love, foimd the

collar of his slavery, just then, galling almost beyond

endurance, and his eyes were sombrely resentful.


"I reckon, Bas, ye'd better hire ye another man,"

he made churlish response. "I don't relish this hyar

job overly much nohow ... Ye f o'ced me ter lay-

way ther man . . . but when ye comes ter makm'

a common thief outen me, I'm ready ter quit."


At this hint of insubordination Rowlett's anger came

back upon him, but now instead of frothy self -betrayal

it was cold and domineering.


He leaned forward, gazing into the face upon which

the lantern showed spots of high-light and traceries of

deep shadow, and his voice was one of deUberate warn-

ing:


"I counsels ye ter take sober thought, Sim, afore ye

contraries me too fur. Ye says I compelled ye ter lay-

way Parish Thornton — ^but ye kain't nuver prove thet —

an' ef I hed ther power ter f o'ce ye then hit war because




THE ROOF TREE 223


I knowed things erbout ye thet ye wouldn't love ter hev

told. I knows them thmgs still!" He paused to let

that sink in, and Sim Squires stood breathing heavily.

Every sense and fibre of his nature was in that revolt

out of which servile rebellions are bom. Every element

of hate centred about his wish to see this arrogant

master dead at his feet — ^but he acknowledged

that the collar he wore was locked on his neck.


So he schooled his face into something like composiu'e

and even nodded his head.


** You .got mad unduly, Bas," he said, "an* I reckon

I done ther same. I says ergin ef ye hain't satisfied

with ther way IVe acted, I'm ready ter quit. K ye air

satisfied, all well an' good."


Bas Rowlett picked up the diary of the revolutionary

Dorothy Thornton and twisted it carelessly into a roll

which he thrust out of sight between a plate-girder of

the low cabin and its eaves.


Jerry Black came one Satiu'day night about that

time to the wretched cabin where he and his wife, a

brood of half-clothed children, two hound-dogs, three

cats, and a pig dwelt together — ^and beat his wife.


For years Jerry had been accustomed to doing pre-

cisely the same thing, not with such monotonous

regularity as would have seemed to him excessive, but

with periodical moderation. Between times he was a

shiftless, indulgent, and somewhat henpecked little man

of watery eyes, a mouth with several missing teeth, and

a limp in one "sprung leg." But on semi-annual or

quarterly occasions his lordliness of natiu-e asserted it-

self in a drunken orgy. Then he went on a "high-lone-

some" and whooped home with all the corked-up

effervescence of weeks and months bubbling in his soul

for expression. Then he proved his latent powers by

knocking about the woman and the brattish crew, and




224 THE ROOF TREE


if the whole truth must be told, none of those who felt

the weight of his hand were totally undeserving of

what they got.


But on this occasion Jerry was all unwittingly per-

mitting himself to become a pawn in a larger game of

whose rules and etiquette he had no knowledge, and

his domestic methods were no longer to pass uncensored

in the privacy and sanctity of the home.


His woman, seizing up the smallest and dirtiest of her

offspring, fled shriekmg bloody murder to the house of

the nearest neighbotu*, followed by a procession of other

urchins who added their shrill chorus to her predomi-

nant solo. When they found asylum and exhibited their

bruises, they presented a summary of accusation which

kindled resentment and while Jerry slept off his spree

in uninterrupted calm this indignation spread and im-

paired his reputation.


For just such a tangible call to arms the ** riders," as

they had come to be termed in the bated breath of

terror, had been waiting. It was necessary that this

organization should assert itself in the community in

such vigorous fashion as would demonstrate its exist-

ence and seriousness of purpose.


No offence save arson could make a more legitimate

call upon a body of citizen regulators than that of wife-

beating and the abuse of small children. So it came

about that after the wife had forgiven her indignities

and returned to her ascendency of henpecking, which

was a more chronic if a less acute cruelty than that

which she had suffered, a congregation of masked men

knocked at the door and ordered the quaking Jerry to

come forth and face civic indignation.


He came because he had no dioice, limping piteously

on his sprung leg with his jaw hanging so that the

missing teeth were abnormaUy conspicuous. Outside

his door a single torch flared and back of its waver stood




THE ROOF TREE 225


a semicircle of unrecognized avengers, coated in black

slickers with hats turned low and masks upon their

faces. They led him away into the darkness while

more lustily than before, though for an opposite reason,

the woman and the children shrieked and howled.


Jerry trembled, but he bit into his lower lip and let

himself be martyred without much whimpering. They

stripped him in a lonely gorge two miles from his abode

and tied him, face inward, to a sapling. They cow-

hided him, then treated him to a light coat of tar

and feathers and sent him home with most moral and

solemn admonitions against future brutalities. There

the victims of that harshness for which he had been

"regulated" wept over him and swore that a better

husband and father had never lived.


But Jerry had suffered for an abstract idea rather

than a concrete offence, and both Parish Thornton and

Hump Doane recognized this fact when with sternly set

faces they rode over and demanded that he give fliem

such evidence as would lead to apprehension and con-

viction of the mob leaders.


Black shivered afresh. He swore that he had recog-

nized no face and no voice. They knew he lied yet

blamed him little. To have given any information of

real value would have been to serve the public and the

law at too great a cost of danger to himself.


But Parish Thornton rode back later and alone, and

by diplomatic suasion sought to sift the matter to its

solution.


"I didn't dast say nuthin' whilst Hump war hyar,"

faltered the first victim of the newly organized "riders,"

"an* hit's plum heedless ter tell ye anything now, but

yit I did recognize one feller — ^because his mask drapped

off."


"I hain't seekin' ter fo'ce no co'te evidence outen ye

now, Jerry," the young leader of the Thorntons as-




^




«26 THE ROOF TREE


sured him. **I'm only strivin' ter fethom this matter

so's I'll know whax ter start work myself. Ye needn't

be afeared ter trust me."


" Wa'al, then, I'll tell ye.'' They were talking in the

woods, where autumnal colour splashed its gorgeousness

in a riot that intoxicated the eye, and no one was near

them, but the man who had been tarred and feathered

lowered his voice and spoke with a terrorized whine.


"Thet feller I reecognized ... hit war old

Hump Doane's own boy • . • Pete Doane."


Parish Thornton straightened up as though an electric

current had been switched through his body. His face

stiffened in amazement and the pain of sore perplexity.


"Air ye plum onmistakably shore, Jerry?" he de-

manded and the little man nodded his head with ener-

getic positiveness.


"I reckon ye're wise not ter tell nobody else," com-

mented Parish. "Hit would nigh kill old Hump ter

lam hit. Jest leave ther matter ter me."




CHAPTER XXVI


THE window panes were frost-rimed one night

when Parish Thornton and Dorothy sat before

the hearth of the main room. Tliere was a

lusty roar in the great chimney from a walnut back-

log, for during these frosty days the husband and his

hired man, Sim Squires, had climbed high into the

mighty tree and sawed out the dead wood left there by

years of stress and storm.


As it comforted them in summer heat with the grate-

ful cool of its broad shadowing and the moisture

gathered in its reservoirs of green, so it broke the lash

and whip of stinging winds in winter, and even its

stricken limbs sang a chimney song of cheer and warmth

upon the hearth that pioneer hands had built in the

long ago.


Through the warp and woof of life in this house went

the influence of that living tree; not as a blind thing of

inanimate existence but as a sentient spirit and a warder

whose voices and moods they loved and reverenced — ^as

a link that bound them to the past of the overland

argonauts.


It stood as a monument to their dead and as the

kindly patron over their lovemaking and their marriage.

It had been stricken by the same storm that killed old

Caleb and had served as the council hall where enmities

had been resolved and peace proclaimed. Under its

canopy the man had been hailed as a leader, and there

the effort of an assassin had failed, because of the warn-

ing it had given.


227




228 THE ROOF TREE


And now these two were thinking of something else

as well — of the new life which would come to that house

in the spring, with its binding touch of home and unity.

They were glad that their child would have its awaken-

ing there when the great branches were in bud or

tenderly young of leaf — ^and that its eyes would open

upon that broad spreading of filagreed canopy above

the bedroom window, as upon the &st of earthly sights.


"Ef hit's a man-child, he's goin' ter be named Ken,"

said the young woman in a low voice.


"But be hit boy or gal, one thing's shore. Hits

middle name's a-goin' ter be T-R-E-E, tree. Dorothy

Tree Thornton," mused Parish as his laugh rang low

and clear and she echoed after him with amendment,

"Kenneth Tree Thornton."


They sat silent together for a while seeing pictures in

flame and coals. Then Dorothy broke the revery:


" Ye've done wore a face of brown study hyax of late,

Cal," she said as her hand stole out and closed over his,

"an' I knows full well what sober things ye've got ter

ponder over — ^but air hit anything partic'lar or new?"


Parish Thornton shook his head with gravity and

answered with candour:


"Hump and old Jim an' me've been spendin' a heap

of thought on this matter of ther riders," he told her.

"Hit's got ter be broke up afore hit gits too strong a

holt — an' hit hain't no facile matter ter trace down a

secret thing like thet."


After a little he went on: "An' we hain't made no

master progress yit to'rds diskiverin' who shot at old

Jim, nuther. Thet's been frettin' me consid'rable, too.'*


"War thet why ye rid over ter Jim's house yestid-

day?" she inquired, and Parish nodded his head.


"Me an' Sim Squires an' old Jim hisself war a-seekin'

ter figger hit out — ^but we didn't git no light on ther

matter." He paused so long after that and sat with so




i




THE ROOF TREE 229


sober a face that Dorothy pressed him for the inward-

ness of his thoughts and the man spoke with embarrass-

ment and haltingly.


"I lowed when we was married, honey, that all ther

world I keered fer war made up of you an' me an' what

hopes we've got. I was right sensibly aflfronted when

men sought ter fo'ce me inter other matters then my

own private business, but now "


"Yes," she prompted softly. "An' now what?"


**Hit hain't thet ye're any less dear ter me, Dorothy.

Hit's ruther thet ye're dearer . . . but I kain't

stand aside no more ... I kain't think of myself

no more es a man thet jist b'longs ter hisself." Again

he fell silent then laughed self-deprecatingly. "I

sometimes 'lows thet what ye read me outen ther old

book kinderly kindled some fret inside me . . .

Hit's es ef ther blood of ther old-timers was eallin' out

an' wamin' me thet I kain't suJBFer myself ter shirk . . .

or mebby hit's ther way old Hump and old Aaron

talked."


"What is hit ye feels?" she urged, still softly, and the

man came to his feet on the hearth.


"Hit's like es ef I b'longs ter these people. Not jist

ter ther Harpers an' Thorntons but ter them an' ther

Doanes alike . . . 'Pears like them of both lots thet

wants right-livin' hes a call on me . . . that when

old Caleb giv me his consent ter wed with ye, he give me

a duty, too — ^a duty ter try an' weld things tergither

thet's kep' breakin' apart heretofore."


Yet one member of the party that had gone to old

Jim's had gained enlightenment even if he had held his

counsel concerning his discovery.


The investigators had encoimtered little diflSculty in

computing just about where the rifleman had lain to

shoot, but that had told them nothing at all of his

identity. Yet as the three had stood on the spot where




230 THE ROOF TREE


Bas Rowlett had crouched that day Sim's keen eye had

detected a small object half buried in the earth and

quietly he had covered it with his foot. Later, when

tJie other two turned away, he stooped and picked up a

rusty jack-knife — and he Imew that knife had belonged

to Bas Rowlett. Given that clue and attaching to it

such other things as he already knew of Bas, it was not

hard for Sim to construct a theory that, to his own

mind at least, stood on all fours with probability.


So, when the mercenary reported to Rowlett what

had occurred on that afternoon he omitted any mention

of the knife, but much later he carelessly turned it

over to its owner — ^and confirmed his suspicions.


"I diskivered hit layin' in ther highway," he said,

innocently and Bas had looked at the corroded thing

and had answered without suspicion, "Hit used ter be

mine but hit hain't much use ter me now; I reckon I

must hev drapped hit some time or other."


Bas Rowlett disappeared from his own neighbourhood

for the period of ten days about that time. He said

that he was going to Clay City to discuss a contract for

a shipment of timber that should be rafted out on the

next "spring-tide"; and in that statement he told the

truth, as was evidenced by postcards he wrote back

bearing the Clay City postmark.


But the feature of the visit which went immentioned

was that at the same time, and by prearrangement.

Will Turk came from over in Virginia and met at the

town where the log booms lie in the river the man

whom he had never known before, but whose letter had

interested him enough to warrant the journey and the

interview.


Will Tiu-k was a tall and loose- jointed man with a

melancholy and almost ministerial face, enhanced in

gravity by the jet-black hair that grew low on his fore-




k




THE ROOF TREE 231


head and the droop of long moustaches. In his own

country the influence which he wielded was in effect a

balance of power, and the candidate who aspired to

public oflBce did well to obtain Will Turk's view before

he announced his candidacy. The judge who sat upon

the bench made his rulings boldly only after consulting

this overlord, but the matter which gave cause to the

present meeting was the circumstance that Will Turk

was a brother to John Turk, whom Parish Thornton

was accused of killing.


"I 'lowed hit mout profit us both ter talk tergether,"

explained Rowlett when they had opportunity for dis-

cussion in confidence. "I'm ther man thet sent word

ter ther state lawyer whar Ken Thornton war a-hidin'

at."


"I'm right obleeged ter ye," answered Turk, noncom-

mittally. "I reckon they've got a right strong case

ergin him."


Bas Rowlett lighted his pipe.


"Ye knows more erbout thet then what I does," he

said, shortly. " I heers he aims ter claim thet he shot in

deefence of ther woman's life."


"He hain't got no proof," mused Turk, "an' feelin'

runs right high ergin him. I'd mighty nigh confidence

ther jury thet'll set in ther case ter convict."


Bas Rowlett drew in and puffed out a cloud of smoke.

His eyes were meditative.


Here was a situation which called for delicate han-

dling. The man whom he had called to conference was,

by every reasonable presumption, one who shared an

interest with him. His was the dogged spirit and

energy that had refused to allow the Virginia authorities

to give up the cold trail when Kenneth Thornton had

supposedly slain his brother and escaped. His ,was the

unalterable determination to hang that defendant for

that act. Bas was no less eager to see his enemy per-




232 THE ROOF TREE


manently disposed of, yet the two met as strangers and

each was cautious, wily, and given to the holding of his

own counsel.


Rowlett understood that the processes of nominal

law over in that strip of the Virginia mountains were

tools which William Turk used at his pleasure, and he

felt assured that in this instance no half -measures would

satisfy him — ^but Bas himself had another proposition of

alliance to offer, and he dared not broach it until he and

this stranger could lay aside mutual suspicions and

meet on the common ground of conspiracy. If there

were any chance at all, however slight, that Parish

Thornton could emerge, alive and free, from his predica-

ment in court Rowlett wished to waylay and kill him

on the journey home.


Over there where Thornton was known to have en-

emies, and where his own presence would not be logi-

cally suspected Bas believed he could carry out such a

design and escape the penalty of having his confession

published. This man Will Turk might also prefer such

an outcome to the need of straining his command over

the forms of law. If Parish could be hanged, Bas would

be satisfied — ^but if he escaped he must not escape far.


"I'm right glad ter talk with ye," said the Virginian,

slowly, "because comin' from over thar whar he's been

dwelling at, ye kin kinderly give me facts thet ther

Commonwealth would love ter know," and that utter-

ance sounded the keynote of the attitude Tiu^k meant

to assume and hold.


Bas was disconcerted. This man took his stand

solidly on his lawful interests as the presser of the prose-

cution, but declined to intimate any such savagery of

spirit as cried out for vengeance, legal or illegal.


"Suppose he comes cPar over thar, atter all?'*

hazarded the Kentuckian, sparring to throw upon his

companion the burden of making advances.




THE ROOF TREE 233







Tve done told ye I'm con&dent he won't."

CoB&dent hain't plum sartain. Ef thar's any slip-

up, what then?"


Will Turk shrugged his shoulders and shook a grave

head. He was sitting with the deeply meditative ex-

pression of one who views life and its problems with a

sober sense of human responsibility, and the long finger-

tips of one hand rested against the tips of the other.


"I'd hate ter see any dedsLvit of jestice," he made

response, "an' I don't believe any eo'te could hardly

err in a ease like this one . . . Ken Thornton war

my brother-in-law an' him an' me loved one another —

but ther man he kilt in cold blood war my own brother

by blood — an' I loved him more. A crime like thet

calls out louder fer punishment then one by a feller ye

didn't hev no call ter trust — ^an' hit stirs a man's hate

deeper down. I aims ter use all ther power I've got, an'

spend every cent I've got, ef need be, ter see Ken Thorn-

ton hang." He paused and fixed the stranger with a

searching interest. "I'm beholden ter ye fer givin' us

ther facts thet led ter ketchin' him," he said. "War he

an enemy of your'n, too?"


Rowlett frowned. The man was not only refusing to

meet him halfway but was seeking to wring from him

his own motives, yet the question was not one he could

becomingly decline to answer, and if he answered at

all, he must seem candid.


"Him an' me got ter be friends when he come thar,"

he said, deliberately. "Some enemy laywayed him an'

I saved his life . . . but he wedded ther gal I aimed

ter marry . . . an' then he tuck up false suspicions

ergin me outen jealousy ... so long es he lives

over thar, I kain't feel no true safety."


" Why hain't ye nuver dealt with him yoreself , then ? "

inquired Turk, and the other shook his head with an

indulgent smile.




234 THE ROOF TREE


"Things hain't always as simple es they looks," he

responded. " Matters air so shaped up, over thar in my

neighbourhood, thet ef I had any fray with him, hit

would bring on a feud war. I'm bounden in good

conscience ter hold my hand, but I hain't got no


sartainty he'll do ther like. Howsomever " Bas


rose and took up his hat, "I writ ter ye because I 'lowed

a man ought ter aid ther law ef so be he could. Es fer

my own perils, I hain't none terrified over 'em.. I

'lowed I mout be able ter holp ye, thet's all."


"I'm obleeged ter ye," said Turk again, "ye've al-

ready holped me in givin' us ther word of his wh'ar-

abouts. I reckon I don't need ter tax ye no further. I

don't believe he'll ever come back ter pester nobody in

Kaintuck ergin."


But both the Virginian and the Kentuckian had

gathered more of meaning than had been put into words,^

and the impression was strong on Turk that the other

wished to kill Parish in Virgmia, if need be, because he

dared not kill him in Kentucky. In that he had only

an academic interest since he trusted his own agencies

and plans, and some of them he had not divulged to

Rowlett.


As he rose to take leave of his new acquaintance he

said abstractedly:


"I'll keep ye posted erbout ther trial when co'te

sots so thet afore hit eends up ye'll hev knowledge of

what's happenin' — ^an' ef he should chance ter come

cla'r, ye'll know ahead of time when he's startin' back

home. A man likes ter kinderly keep tabs on a feller he

mistrusts."


And that was all Bas needed to be told.


One day during Rowlett's absence Parish met young

Pete Doane tramping along the highway and drew him

into conversation.


"Pete," he suggested, "I reckon ye appreciates ther




^




THE ROOF TREE 235


fact thet yore pappy's a mouty oncommon sort of man>

don't ye?''


The young mountaineer nodded his head, wondering

a little at what the other was driving.


"Folks leans on him an' trusts him," went on Thorn-

ton, reflectively. "Hit ought ter be a matter of pride

with ye, Pete, ter kinderiy foller in his footsteps."


The son met the steady and searching gaze of his

chance companion for only a moment before he shiftily

looked away and, for no visible reason, flushed.


"He's a mighty good man — albeit a hard one,"

he made answer, "but some folk 'lows he's old-fashioned

in his notions."


"Who 'lows thet, Pete— ther riders?"


Young Doane started violently, then recovered him-

self and laughed away his confusion.


"How'd I know what ther riders says?" he demanded.

"We don't traffick with 'em none at our house."


But Parish Thornton continued to bore with his

questioning eyes into the other face until Pete fidgeted.

He drew a pipe from one pocket and tobacco crumbs

from another, but the silent and inquisitorial scrutiny

disconcerted him and he could feel a hot and tell-tale

flush spreading on his face and neck.


Abruptly Parish Thornton admonished him in the

quiet tone of decisiveness.


"Quit hit, Pete! Leave them riders alone an' don't

mix up with 'em no more."


"I don't know what ye're talkin' erbout," disclaimed

young Doane with peppery heat. "I hain't got no

more ter do with them fellers then what ye hev yoreself .

What license hev ye got ter make slurs like them erginst

me, anyhow?"


"I didn't hev nothin' much ter go on, Pete," re-

sponded Thornton, mindful of his promise of secrecy

to the unfortunate Jerry Black, "but ther way ye




«36 THE ROOF TREE


flushed up jest now an' twisted 'round when I named

hit put ye in a kinderly bad light. Them men air

right apt ter mislead young fellers thet hain't none too

thoughted — ^an' hit's my business ter look inter affairs

like thet. I'd hate ter hev yore pappy suspicion what

/ suspicions erbout ye."


"Honest ter God," protested the boy, now

thoroughly frightened, "I hain't nuver consorted with

'em none. I don't know nothin' erbout 'em — ^no

more'n what idle tattle I heers goin' round in common

talk."


"I hain't askin' ye whether ye've rid with 'em hereto-

fore or not, Pete," the other man significantly re-

minded him. " I'm only askin' ye ter give me yore hand

ye won't nuver do hit ergin. We're goin' ter bust up

thet crowd an' penitenshery them thet leads 'em. I

hate ter hev ye mixed up, when thet comes ter pass.

Will ye give me yore hand?"


Readily the young member of the secret brotherhood

pledged himself, and Parish, ignorant of how deeply he

had become involved in the service of Bas Rowlett,

thought of him only as yoimg and easily led, and hoped

that an ugly complication had been averted.


When Joe Bratton, the Kentucky sheriff, came to the

house in the bend of the river to take his prisoner to the

Virginia line, he announced himself and then, with a

rude consideration, drew off.


"I'll ride ter ther elbow of ther road an' wait fer ye.

Parish," he said, awkwardly. "I reckon ye wants ter

bid yore wife farewell afore ye starts out."


Already those two had said such things as it is pos-

sible to say. They had maintained a brave pretence of

taking brief leave of each other; as for a separation look-

ing to a speedy and certain reimiting. They had

stressed the argument that, when this time of ordeal had

.been relegated to the past, no cloud of fear would re-




THE ROOF TREE 237


main to darken their skies as they looked eastward and

remembered that behind those misty ranges lay Vir-

ginia.


They had sought to beguile themselves — each for

the sake of the other — with all the tricks and chimeras

of optimism, but that was only the masquerade of the

down who laughs while his heart is sick and imder

whose toy-bright paint is the gray pallor of despair.


That court and that jury over there would follow

no doubtful course. Its verdict of guilty might as well

have been signed in advance, and, while the girl smiled

at her husband, it seemed to her that she could hear the

voice of the condemning judge, inquiring whether the

accused had "aught to say why sentence should not

now be pronoimced" upon him.


For, barring some miracle of fate, the end of that

journey lay, and in their hearts they knew it with a

sickness of certainty, at the steps of the gallows. The

formalities that intervened were little more than the

mummeries of an empty formula with which certain

men cloaked the spirit of a mob violence they were

strong enough to wreak.


Parish Thornton halted at the stile, and his eyes

went back lingeringly to the weathered front of the

house and to the great tree that made a wide and

venerable roof above the other roof. The woman knew

that her husband was printing a beloved image on his

heart which he might recall and hold before him when

lie could never again look upon it. She knew that in

that farewell gaze and in the later, more loving one

which he turned upon her own face, he was storing up

the vision he wanted to keep witii him even when

the hangman's cap had shut out every other earthly

picture — when he stood during the seconds that must

for him be ages, waiting.


Then the hills reeled and spun before Dorothy Thorn-




238 THE ROOF TREE


ton's eyes as giddily as did the fallen leaves which

the morning air caught up in little whirlwinds. Their

coimterf eit of cheer and factitious courage stood nakedly

exposed to both of them, and the man's smile faded as

though it were too flippant for such a moment.


Dorothy caught his hand suddenly in hers and led him

back into the yard where the roots of the tree spread

like star points which had their ends under the soil

and deep in the rock of which those moimtains were

built.


"Kneel down, Cal," she whispered, chokingly, and

when they had dropped side by side to postures of

prayer, her voice came back to her.


"Lord God of Heaven an' y'arth," trembled the

words on her bloodless lips, "he hain't goin' so fur away

but what Yore power still goes with him . . . keep

him safe. Good Lord . . . an' send him back ter

me ergin . . . watch over him thar amongst his

enemies . . . Amen."


They rose after their prayer, and stood for a little

while with their hearts beating close in a final embrace,

then Dorothy took out of her apron pocket a small ob-

ject and handed it to him.


"I nigh f ergot ter give hit ter ye," she said, "mebby

hit'll prove a lucky piece over thar, Cal."


It was the small basket which he had carved with

such neat and cunning workmanship from the hard shell

of a black walnut . . .a trinket for a country-

man's watch chain — ^and intrinsically worthless.


"Hit's almost like takin' ther old tree along with ye,"

she faltered with a forced note of cheer, "an' ther old

tree hain't nuver failed us yit."


Joe Bratton and his prisoner rode with little speech

between them imtil they came to those creek bottom

roads that crossed at Jake Crabbott's store, and there

they found awaiting them, like a squad of cavalry, some




THE ROOF TREE 239


eight or ten men who sat with rifles across the bows of

their saddles.


Aaron Capper and Hump Doane were there in the

van, and they rode as an escort of friends.


When their long journey over ridge and forest,

through gorge and defile, came to its end at the border,

the waiting deputation from Virginia recognized what

it was intended to recognize. East of the state line

this man might travel under strict surveillance, but thus

far he had come with a guard of honour — ^and that

guard could, and would, come further if the need arose.




CHAPTER XXVn


PARISH THORNTON had used aU his per-

suasion to prevent Dorothy's going with him to

Virginia. He had argued that the solace of

feeling her presence in the courtroom would hardly

compensate for the unnerving eflFect of knowing that

the batteries of the prosecution were raining direct

fire on her as well as on himself.


Twice, while he had waited the summons that must

call him to face his ordeal, the attorney who was to de-

fend him had come over into Kentucky for conference,

and it was to the professional advice of this lawyer, al-

most clairvoyant in his understanding of jury-box

psychology, that Dorothy had at last yielded.


"We'll want to have you there later on," he had told

the wife. "Juries are presumed to be all logic; in fact,

they are two -thirds emotion — ^and if you appear for the

first time in that com-troom at precisely the right mo-

ment with your youth and wholesomeness and loyalty,

yom* arrival will do more for yoiu* husband than any-

thing short of an alibi. I'll send for you in due season

— ^but until I do, I don't want you seen there."


So Dorothy had stayed anxiously at home.


One crisp and frosty morning she went over to Jake

Crabbott's store where she f oimd the usual congregation

of loimgers, and among them was Bas Rowlett leaning

idly on the coimter.


Dorothy made her few purchases and started home,

but as she left the store the man upon whom she had

declared irreconcilable war strolled out and fell into


240




THE ROOF TREE 241


step at her side. She had not dared to rebuflF him before

those witnesses who still accounted them friends, but

she had no relish for his companionship and when they

had turned the bend of the road she halted and faced

the fellow with determined eyes.


About them the hills were taking on the slate grays

and chocolate tones of late autumn and the woods were

almost denuded of the flaunting gorgeousness which had

so recently held carnival there, yet the sodden drabness

of winter had in nowise settled to its monotony, for

through the grays and browns ran violet and ultra-

marine reflexes like soft and creeping fires that burned

blue, and those few tenacious leaves that clung valiantly

to their stems were as rich of tone as the cherry-dark

hues that come out on well-coloured meerschaum.


"I didn't give ye leave ter walk along with me,

Bas," announced the girl with a spirited flash in her

eyes, and her chin tilted high. "IVe got a rather es ter

ther company I keeps."


The man looked at her for a hesitant interval with-

out answering, and in his dark face was a mingling of

resentment, defiance, and that driving desire that he

thought was love.


"Don't ye dast ter trust yoreself with me, Dorothy? "

he demanded with a smile that was half pleading and

half taunt, and he saw the delicate colour creep into her

cheeks and make them vivid.


I hain't afeared of ye," she quickly disavowed.

Ever sence thet other time when ye sought ter insult

me, I've done wore my waist bloused — ^a-purpose ter

tote a dirk-knife. I've got hit right now," and her hand

went toward her bosom as she took a backward step

into the brittle weed-stalks that grew by the roadside.


But Bas shook his head, and hastened to expound his

subtler meaning.


"I didn't mean ye war skeered of no bodily vi'lenoe.







242 THE ROOF TREE


Dorothy. I means ye don't das't trust yoreself with

me because ye're aflFrighted lest ye comes ter love me

more'n ye does ther man ye married in sich unthoughted

haste. I don't blame ye fer bein' heedful."


"Love ye!" she exclaimed, as the colour deepened in

her cheeks and neck, then went sweeping out again in

the white and still passion of outraged indignation. "I

hain't got no feelm' fer ye save only ter despise ye

beyond all measure. A woman kain't love no craven an*

liar thet does his fightin' by deceit."


Bas Rowlett looked off to the east and when he spoke

it was with no reference to the insults that cut most

deeply and sorely into moimtain sensibilities.


"A woman don't always know what she loves ner

hates — all at onc't. Betwixt them two things thar

hain't no sich great differ noways. I'd ruther hev ye

hate me then not ter give me no thought one way ner

t'other . . . Ye're liable ter wake up some day an*

diskiver thet ye've jest been gittin' ther names of yore

feelin's mixed up." He paused in his exposition upon

human natm^ long enough to smile indulgently, then

continued: "So long es ye won't abide ter let me even

talk te yer, I knows ye're afear'd of me in yore heart —

an' thet's because ye're afeared of what yore heart hit-

self mout come ter feel."


"Thet's a right elevatin' s'armon ye preaches," she

made scornful answer, "but a body doesn't gentle a

mad dog jest ter show they hain't skeered of hit."


"Es fer Parish Thornton," he went on as though his

musings were by way of soliloquy, "ye kain't handily

foUer him whar he's goin' ter, nohow. He's done run

his course already."


A hurricane gust of dizzy wrath swept the woman

and her voice came explosively: "Thet's a lie, Bas

Rowlett! Hit'lL be you thet dies with a rope on yore

neck afore ye gits through — ^not him!"




\




THE ROOF TREE 243


"Ef I does," declared the man with equanimity, "hit

won't be jest yit. I grants him full an* free right of

way ter go ahead of me."


But abruptly that cool and disconcerting vein of

ironic calm left him and he bent his head with the sul-

len and smouldering eyes of a vicious bull.


"But be thet es hit may. I claims thet ye kain't

stand out erginst my sweetheartin' ef ye trusts yoreself

ter see me. You claims contrariwise, but ye don't dast

test yore theory. I loves ye an' wants ye enough ter

go on eatin' insults fer a spell. . . . Mebby ther

Widder Thomton'll listen ter reason — when ther jury

an' ther hangman gits done."


The girl made no answer. She could not speak be-

cause of the fury that choked her, but she turned on her

heel and he made no effort to follow her.


The steeply humped moimtains on either side seemed

to Dorothy Thornton to dose in and stifle her, and the

bracing, effervescent air of the high places had become

dead and lifeless in her nostrils, as to one who smothers.


That evening, when Sim Squires came in to supper, he

made casual annoimcement that he understood Bas had

gone away somewhere. His vapid grin turned to a

sneer as he mentioned Rowlett's name after the never-

failing habit of his dissembling, but Dorothy set down his

plate as though it had become suddenly too hot to hold.


"Whar did he go?" she demanded with' a gasp in her

voice, and the hired man, drawing his platter over,

drawled out his answer in a tone of commonplace:


"Nobody didn't seem ter know much erbout hit.

Some 'lowed he'd fared over ter Virginny ter seek ter

aid Parish in his trial." He paused, then with well-

feigned maliciousness he added, "but ef I war inter any

trouble myself, I'd thank Bas Rowlett ter keep his long

fingers outen my affairs."


Gone to help Parish ! Dorothy drew back and leaned




244 THE ROOF TREE


against the wall with knees grown suddenly weak. She

thought she knew what that gratuitous aid meant!


Parish fighting for his life over there in the adjoining

state faced enemies enough at his front without having

assassins lurking in the shadows at his back !


Perhaps Bas had not actually gone yet. Perhaps he

could be stopped. Perhaps her rebuflF that morning had

goaded him to his decision. If he had not gone he must

not go ! The one thought that seemed the crux of her

vital problem was that so long as he remained here he

could not be there.


And if he had not actually set out she could hold

him here ! His amazing egotism was his one vulnerable

point, the single blind spot on his crafty powers of

reasoning — ^and that egotism would sway and bend to

any seeming of relenting in her.


She was ready to fight for Parish's' life in whatever

form the need came — ^and she had read in the old Bible

how once Judith went to the tent of Holifemes.


Dorothy shuddered as she recalled the apocryphal

picture of the woman who gave herself to the enemy,

and she lay wide-eyed most of that night as she pon-

dered it.


She would not give herself, of course; The beast's

vanity was strong enough to be content with marking,

as he believed, the signs of her gradual conversion. She

would fence with him and provoke him with a seeming

disintegration of purpose. She would dissemble her

abhorrence and aversion, refashioning them first into

indulgent toleration, then into the grudging admission

that she had misjudged him. She would measure her

wit against his wit — ^but she would make Kentucky

seem to him too alluring a place to abandon for Virginia !


When she rose at dawn her hands clenched them-

selves at her sides. Her bosom heaved and her face

was set to a stern dedication of purpose.




THE ROOF TREE 245


**ni lead him on an' keep him hyar/' she whispered

in a voice that she would hardly have recognized as her

own had she been thinking at all of the sound of voices,

"But afore God in Heaven, I'll kill him fer hit atter-

ward!"


So when Rowlett, who had really gone only on a

neighbourhood journey, saimtered idly by the house the

next afternoon near sunset, Dorothy was standing by

the stile and he paused tentatively in the road. As

though the conversation of yesterday had not occurred,

the man said :


"Howdy, Dorothy," and the girl nodded.


She was not fool enough to overplay her hand, so her

greeting was still disdainful, but when he tarried she did

not send him away. It was, indeed, she who first re-

ferred to their previous encounter.


"When I come home yistidday, Bas," she said, "I

sot down an* thought of what ye said ter me an' I

couldn't holp laughing."


"Is thet so?" he responded. "Wa'al what seems

ridic'lous to one body sometimes seems right sensible

ter another."


"Hit sounded mighty foolish-like ter me," she in-

sisted, then, as if in after thought, she added, "but I'd

hate mightily ter hev ye think I wasn't willin' ter give

ye all ther rope ye wants ter hang yoreself with. Come

on over, Bas, whenever ye've a mind ter. Ef ye kin con-

vert me, do hit — an' welcome."


There was a shade of challenge in the voice such as

might have come from the lips of a Carmen, and the

man's pulses quickened.


Almost every day after that foimd Bas Rowlett at

the house and the evenings found him pondering his

fancied progress with a razor-edged zest of self-com-

placency.


"She'll hold out fer a spell," he told himself with large




246 THE ROOF TREE


optimism. **But ther time'll come. When an apple

gits ripe enough hit draps oflFen ther limb.'*




Over at the small county seat to the east the squat

brick "jail-house" sat in the shadow of the larger build-

ing. There was a public square at the front where

noble shade trees stood naked now, and the hitching

racks were empty. Night was falling over the sordid

place, and the mountains went abruptly up as though

this village itself were walled into a prison shutting it

oflF from outer contacts.


The mired streets were already shadowy and silent

save for the whoop of a solitary carouser, and the evening

star had come out cold and distant over the west, where

an amber stretch of sky still sought feebly to hold night

apart from day.


Through the small, grated window of one of the two

cells which that prison boasted Parish Thornton stood

looking out — ^and he saw the evening star. It must be

hanging, he thought, just over the highest branches of

the black walnut tree at home, and he closed his eyes

that he might better conjm^ up the picture of that

place.


With day-to-day continuances the Conunonwealth

had strung out the launching of his trial imtil the pa-

tience of the accused was worn threadbare. How

much longer this suspense would stretch itself he could

not guess. . ^


"I wonder what Dorothy's doin* right now," he miu*-

mured, and just then Dorothy was listening to Bas

Rowlett's most excellent opinion of himself.


It would not be long, the young woman was telling

herself, before she would go over there to the town east

of the ridges — ^if only she could suppress imtil that

time came the f lu'ies that raged imder her masquerade




I




THE ROOF TREE 247


and the aversion that wanted to cry out denunciation of

her tormentor!


But the summons from the attorney had never

come, and Bas never failed to come as regularly as

sunrise or simset. His face was growing more and more

hateful to her with an imearthly and obsessing an-

tipathy.


One afternoon, when the last leaves had drifted down

leaving the forests stark and unfriendly, her heart ached

with premonitions that she could not soften with any

philosophy at her conunand.


Elviry Prooner had gone away when Bas arrived, and

the strokes of Sim Squires' axe sounded from a distant

patch of woods, so she was alone with her visitor.


Bas planted his feet wide apart and stood with an

oflFensive manner of proprietorship on the hearth, toast-

ing himself in the grateful warmth.


"We've done got along right well tergether, little

gal," he deigned to announce. "An hit all only goes

ter show how good things mout hev been ef we hedn't

nuver been hindered from weddin' at ther start."


The insolent presumption -of the creature sent the

blood pounding through Dorothy's temples and the

room swam about her: a room sacred to dean memories

that were being defiled by his presence.


"Ther time hain't ripe," she found herself making

impetuous declaration, "fer ye ter take no sich master-

ful tone, Bas. Matters hain't ended yet." But here

she caught herself up. Her anger had flashed into her

tone and it was not yet time to let it leap — ^so she

laughed disarmingly as she read the kindling of sullen

anger in his eyes and added, "I don't allow no man ter

brag thet he overcome my will without no fight."


Bas Rowlett roared out a laugh that dissipated his

dangerously swelling temper and nodded his head.


" Thet's ther fashion ter talk, gal. I likes ter see a




248 THE ROOF TREE


woman thet kin toss her head like a fractious filly. I

hain't got no manner of use fer tame folks."


He came close and stood devouring her with the

passion of his lecherous eyes, and Dorothy knew that her

long effort to play a part had reached its climax.


He reached out his hands and for the second time he

laid them upon her, but now he did not seek to sweep

her into an embrace. He merely let his fingers rest,

'unsteady with hot feeling, on her shoulders as he said,

"Why kain't we quit foolin' along with each other, gal?

He hain't nuver comin' back ter ye no more."


But at that Dorothy jerked herself away and her

over-wrought control snapped.


"What does ye mean?" she demanded, breathlessly.

A sudden fear possessed her that fatal news had reached

him before it had come to her. "Hes anything hap-

pened ter him?"


Instantly she realized what she had done, but it was

useless to go on acting after the self -betrayal of that

moment's agitation, and even Rowlett's self-complacent

egotism read the whole truth of its meaning. He read

it and knew with a fullness of conviction that through

the whole episode she had been leading him on as a hun-

ter decoys game and that her slow and grudging con-

version was no conversion at all.


"Nothin' hain't happened ter him yiU so fur's I

knows," he said, slowly. "But ye doomed him ter

death when ye flared up like thet, an' proved ter me

thet ye'd jest been lyin'."


Dorothy gave back to the wall and one hand groped

with outstretched fingers against the smoothly squared

logs, while the other ripped open the buttons of her

waist and closed on the Imife hilt that was always con-

cealed there.


Her voice came low and in a dead and monotonous

level and her face was ghost pale.




THE ROOF TREE 249


"Yes, I lied ter ye ter keep ye from goin' over thar

an' murderin' him. I knowed ther way ye fights — ^I

hain't nuver feared ye on my own account but I did

fear ye fer him ther same es a rattlesnake thet lays

cyled in ther grass."


She paused and drew a resolute breath and her words

were hardly louder than a whisper.


"Thar hain't no way on y'arth I wouldn't fight ter

save him — even ef I hed ter fight a Judas in Judas

fashion. So I aimed ter keep ye hyar — ^an' I kep' ye."


"Ye've kep' me thus fur," he corrected her with his

swarthy face as malevolent as had ever been that of

his red-skinned ancestors. "But ye told ther truth

awhile ago — ^an' ye told hit a mite too previous. Ther

matter hain't ended yit."


"Yes, hit's es good es ended," she assured him with

the death-like quiet of a final resolve. "I made up

my mind sometime back thet ye hed ter die, Bas."


Slowly the right hand came out of her loosened blouse

and the firelight flashed on the blade of the dirk so

tightly held that the woman's knuckles stood out

white.


"I'm goin' ter kill ye now, Bas," she said.


For a few long moments they stood without other

words, the woman holding the dirk dose to her side, and

neither of them noted that for the past ten minutes the

sound of the axe had been silent off there in the woods.


Then abruptly the door from the kitchen opened and

Sim Squires stood awkwardly on the threshold, with a

face of wooden and vapid stupidity. Apparently^ he

had noted nothing unusual, yet he had looked through

the window before entering the house, and back of his

imobservant seeming lay the purpose of averting blood-

shed.


"I war jest lookin' fer ye, Bas," he said with the

artlessness of perfect art. "I hollered but ye didn't




>




250 THE ROOF TREE


answer. I wisht ye'd come out an holp me man-

power a chunk up on ther choppin' bloc^. I kain't

heft hit by myself."


Bas scowled at the man whom he was supposed to

dislike, but he followed him readily enough out of the

room, and when he had lifted the log, he left the place

?without returning to the house.


A half-hour later old Jase Burrell drew rein by the

stile and handed Dorothy a letter.


**I reckon thet's ther one yeVe been waitin' fer," he

said, "so I fotched hit over from ther post-office.

What^s ther matter, gal? Ye looks like ye'd been

seein' hants."


"I hain't seed nothin' else fer days past," she de-

clared, almost hysterically. "IVe done sickened with

waitin', Unde Jase, an' I aimed ter start out soon ter-

morrer momin', letter or no letter."




CHAPTER XXVra


A CROSS in Virginia, Sally Turk, the wife of the

f\ dead man and tiie sister of the accused, had

-^ -^ rocked her ansemic baby to sleep after a long

period of twilight fretfulness and stood looking down

into its crib awhile with a distrait and numbed face of

distress. She was leaving it to the care of another and

did not know when she would come back.


"I'm right glad leetle Ken's done tuck ter ther

bottle," she said with forced cheerfulness to the hag-

like Mirandy Sloane. "Mebby when I gits back thar'U

be a mite more flesh on them puny leetle bones of his'n."

Her words caught sob-like in her throat as she wheeled

resolutely and caught up her shawl and bonnet.


Out at the tumble-down stable she saddled and

mounted a mule that plodded with a limp through a

blackness like a sea of freezing ink, and she shivered as

she sat in the old carpet-cushioned side-saddle and

flapped a long switch monotonously upon the flanks of

her "ridin'-critter."


The journey she was imdertaking lay toward the

town where her brother was "hampered" in jail, but she

turned at a cross-road two miles short of that objective

and kept to the right until she came to a two-storied

house set in an orchard: a place of substantial and

commodious size. Its windows were shuttered now

and it loomed only as a squarish block of denser shadow

against the formless backgroimd of night. All shapes

were neutralized under a clouded and gusty sky.


Dogs rushed out barking blatantly as the woman


251




252 THE ROOF TREE


slid from her saddle, but at the sound of her voice they

stilled their clamour — ^f or dogs are not informed when

old friendships turn to enmity.


The front door opened upon her somewhat timid

knock, but it opened only to a slit and the face that

peered out was that of a woman who, when she recog-

nized the outer voice, seemed half minded to slam it

again in refusal of welcome. Curiosity won a minor

victory, though, over hostility, and the mistress of the

house slipped out, holding the door inhospitably closed

at her bad^.


"Fer ther land's sakes, what brings ye hyar, Sally

Turk? " she challenged in the rasp of hard imreceptive-

ness, and the visitor replied in a note of pleading, "I

come ter see Will . . . IVe jest got ter see Will."


The other woman still held the door as she retorted

harshly: "All thet you an' Will hev got ter do kin be

done in co'te termorrer, I reckon."


But Sally Turk clutched the arm of Will Turk's wife

in fingers tJiat were tight with the obduracy of despair.


"I've got ter see Will," she pleaded. "Fer God's

sake, don't deny me. Hit's ther only thing I asks of ye

now — ^an' hit's a matter of master int'rest ter Will es

well es me. I'll go down on my knees ef hit'll pleasure

him — ^but I've got ter see him."


There was something in the colourless monotony of

that reiteration which Lindy Turk, whose teeth were

chattering in the icy wind, could not deny. With a

graceless concession she opened the door.


"Come inside, then," she ordered, brusquely. "I'll

find out will he see ye — ^but I misdoubts hit."


Inside the room tiie woman who had ridden across

the hills sank into a low, hickory-withed chair by the

simmering hearth and hunched there, faint and word-

less. Now that she had arrived, the ordeal before her

loomed big with threat and fright, and Lindy, instead of




THE ROOF TREE 253


calling her husband, stood stolidly with arms akimbo

and a merciless glitter of animosity in her eyes.


"Hit's a right qu'ar an' insolent thing fer ye ter do,"

she finally observed, "comin' over hyar thisaway, on

ther very eve of Ken Thornton's trial."


"I've got ter see Will," echoed the strained voice by

the hearth, as though those words were the only ones she

knew. "I've got ter see Will."


"When John war murdered over thar — ^afore yore

baby was homed," went on Lindy as though she were

reading from a memorized indictment, "Will stud

ready ter succour an' holp ye every fashion he could.

Then hit come ter light thet 'stid of defendin' ther fame

of yore dead husband ye aimed ter stand by ther man

thet slew him. Ye even named yore brat atter his cold-

blooded murderer."


The huddled supplicant in the chair straightened

painfully out of her dejection of attitude and her words

seemed to come from far away.


He war my brother," she said, simply.

Yes, an' John Turk wasn't nothin' but yore hus-

band," flashed back the scathing retort. "Ye give hit

out ter each an' every thet all yore sympathy war with

ther man thet kilt him — ^an' from thet day on Will an'

me war done with ye. Now we aims ter see thet

brother of youm hanged — ^and hit's too tardy ter come a

beggin' an' pleadin'."


Kenneth Thornton's sister rose and stood swaying on

her feet, holding herself upright by the back of the

chair. Her eyes were piteous in their suffering.


"Fer God's sake, Lindy," she begged, "don't go on

denyin' me no more. We used ter love one another

. . . when I was married ye stud up with me . . .

when yore fust baby war bom I set by yore bedside

. . . now I'm nigh heart-broke ! "


Her voice, hysterically imcontrolled, shrilled almost







254 THE ROOF TREE


to a scream, and the door of the other room opened to

show Will Turk, shirt-sleeved and sombre of visage,

standing on its threshold.


"What's all this ter-do in hyar?" he demanded

gruffly, then seeing the wife of his dead brother he

stiffened and his chm thrust itself outward into bulldog

obduracy.


"I kain't no fashion git shet of her," explained the

wife as though she felt called upon to explain her in-

effectiveness as a sentinel.


Will Turk's voice came in the crispness of clipped

syllables. " Lindy, I don't need ye no more, right now,

I reckon I kin contrive ter git rid of this woman by my-

self."


Then as the door closed upon the wife, the sister-in-

law moved slowly forward and she and the man stood

gazing at each other, while between them lay six feet

of floor and mountains of amassed animosities.


"Ef yeVe come hyar ter plead fer Ken," he warned

her at last, "ye comes too late. Ef John's bein' yore

husband didn't mean nuthin' ter ye, his bein' my

brother does mean a master lot ter me — ^an' ther man

thet kilt him's goin' ter die."


"Will," she began, brokenly, "ye was always like a

real brother ter me in ther old days . . . hain't ye

got no pity left in yore heart fer me. . . ? Don't

ye remember nothin' but ther day thet John

died. . . ?"


The drooping moustaches seemed to droop lower and

the black brows contracted more closely.


"I hain't f ergot nothin' ... I wanted ter

befriend ye so long es I could • . . outside my own

f am'ly I didn't love no person better, but thet only made

me hate ye wusser when ye tinned traitor ter our blood."


She stepped unsteadily forward and caught at his

hand, but tJie man jerked it away as from an infection.




THE ROOF TREE 255




"But don't ye know thet John misused me. Will?

Don't ye know thet he war a-killin' me right then?'*


"I takes notice ye didn't nuver make no complaint

till ye tuck thought of Ken's rferfence, albeit men

knowed thar was bad blood betwixt him an' John. Now

I aims ter let Ken pay what he owes in lawful fashion

. . . I aims ter hang him."


Sally retreated to the hearth and stood leaning there

weakly. With fumbling fingers she brought from inside

her dress a soiled sheet of folded paper and drew a long

breath of resolution, passing one hand over her face

where the hair fell wispy and straggling. Then she

braced herself with all the strength and self-will that

was left her.


"Ken didn't nuver kill John," she said, slowly, forcing

a voice that seemed to have hardly breath enough to

carry it to audibility. "I kilt him."


For an instant the room was as still as a tomb with

only lifeless tenants, then Will Turk took one quick step

forward, to halt again, and his voice broke into an

amazed and incredulous interjection:


"Fow kilt him?"


"Yes, I kilt him . . . He hed done beat me an*

he war chokin' me. . . . His misuse of me war

what him an' Ken fell out erbout ... I war too

proud ter tell anybody else . . . but Ken knowed

. . . I was faintin' away with John's fingers on my

throat • • . We was right by ther table whar his

own pistol lay ... I grabbed hit up an' shot

• . • Ken come ter ther door jest es hit went ofif."


Facing this new statement of alleged fact the brother

of the dead man remained in his unmoving posture of

amazed silence for a space, then he responded with a

scornfully disbelieving laugh. In a woman one would

have called it hysterical, but his words, when he spoke,

were steady enough.




256 THE ROOF TREE


"Thet's a right slick story, Sally, but hit don't pull

no wool over my eyes. Hit's too tardy fer right-minded

folks ter believe hit."


The woman sought to answer, but her moving lips

gave no sound. She had thought the world stood al-

ways ready to accept self-confessed guilt, and now her

throat worked spasmodically until at last her dumb-

ness was conquered.


"Does ye think . . . hit's ther sort of lie I'd

tell willin'ly?" she asked. "Don't hit put me right

whar Ken's at now . . . with ther gallows ahead

of me?" She broke ofif, then her words rose to a shrUl

pitch of excitement.


" Fer God's sake, heed me in time ! Ye seeks ter hang

somebody fer killin' John. I'm ther right one. Hang

me!"


Will Turk paced the room for several meditative

turns with his head low on his breast and his hands

gripped at his back. Then he halted and stood facing

her.


"What does ye aim ter do with thet thar paper?"

he demanded.


"Hit's my confession — ^all wrote out . . . an'

ready ter be swore ter," she told him. "Ef ye won't

heed me, I've got ter give hit ter ther jedge— in open

co'te."


But the man who gave orders to judges shook his head.


"Hit won't avail ye," he assured her with a voice

into which the flinty quality had returned. "Hit's

jest evidence in Ken's favour . . . Hit don't jedg-

matically sottle nothin'. I reckon bein' a woman ye

Aggers ye kin come cl'ar whilst Ken would be shore ter

hang— but I'll see thet nothin' don't come of thet."


"Does ye mean" — Sally was already so ghost pale

that she could not turn paler — "Does ye mean they'll

go on an' hang him anyhow?"







THE ROOF TREE 257


Will Turk's head came back and his shoulders

straightened.


Mayhap they will — ef I bids *em to," he retorted.

Listen at me, WiQ," the woman cried out in such

an anguish of beseeching that even her present auditor

could not escape the need of obeying. "Listen at me

because ye knows in yore heart I hain't lyin*. I'm

tellin' ther whole truth thet I was afeared ter tell afore,

I let him take ther blame because I was skeered — ^an'

because ther baby was goin' ter be homed. I hain't

nuver been no liar, Will, an' I hain't one now!"


The man had half turned his back as if in final denial

of her plea, yet now, after a momentary pause, he

tiuned back again and she thought that there was some-

thing like a glimmer of relenting back of his gruffness as

he gave curt permission : " Go on, then, I'm hearkenin'."


Late into that night they talked, but it was the

woman who said most while the man Ustened in non-

committal taciturnity. His memory flashed disturb-

ingly back to the boyhood days and testified for the

supphcant with reminders of occasional outcroppings

of cruelty in his brother as a child. That outward guise

of suavity which men had known in John Turk he

knew for a coat under which had been worn another

and harsher garment of self-will.


But against these admissions the countryside dictator

doggedly stiflFened his resistance. His brother had been

killed and the stage was set for reprisal. His moment

was at hand and it was not to be lightly forfeited.


Yet to take vengeance on an innocent scapegoat

would bring no true appeasement to the deep bruise of

outraged loyalty. If Ken Thornton had assimied a

guilt, not his own, to protect a woman, he had no

quarrel with Ken Thornton, and he could not forget that

until that day of the shooting this man had been his

friend.




258 THE ROOF TREE


He must make no mistake by errmg on the side of

passion nor must he, with just vengeance in his grasp,

let it slip because a woman had beguiled him witii lies

and tears.


Finally the brother-in-law went over to where Sally

was still sitting with her eyes fixed on him in a dimib

tensity of waiting.


"Ye compelled me ter harken ter ye/' he said, "but

I hain't got no answer ready fer ye yit. Hit all de-

pends on whether ye're tellin' me ther truth or jest lyin'

ter save Ken's nedk, and thet needs ter be studied. Ye

kin sleep hyar temight anyhow, an' termorrer when I've

talked with ther state lawyer I'll give ye my answer —

but not afore then."


Will Turk did not sleep that night. His thoughts

were embattled with the conflict of many emotions, and

morning found him hollow-eyed.


In its sum total, this man's use of his power had been

unquestionable abuse. Terrorization and the prostitu-

tion of law had been its keystone and arch, but he had

not yet surrendered his self-respect, because he thought

of himself as a strong man charged with responsibility

and accoimtable to his own conscience. Now he re-

membered the Ken Thornton who had once been almost

a brother. Old affections had curdled into wormwood

bitterness, but if the woman told the truth, her narra-

tion altered all that. Somehow he could feel no resent-

ment at all against her. If she had killed John, she had

acted only at the spur of desperation, and she had been

feminine weakness revolting against brutal strength.

As he pondered his determination wavered and swung

to and fro, pendulum fashion. If she were lying — ^and

he would hardly blame her for that, either — ^he would be

her dupe to show mercy and likewise, if she were lying,

mercy would be weakness.


Sally Turk rested no more peacefully than he that





THE ROOF TREE 259


night) and when in the gray of dawn she looked search-

ingly into his face across the kitchen table, she could

read nothing from the stony emptiness that kept guard

over his emotions.


A little later she rode at his saddle skirt in a crucial

suffering of suspense, and whenever she cast an ago-

nized glance at him she saw her companion's face staring

stiflSy ahead, flintily devoid of any self-revelation.


Once she ventured to demand, "Whatever ye de-

cides, WiQ, will them co'te-house fellers heed ye, does

ye reckon?"


For a moment Turk glanced sidewise with narrowed

eyes.


"I don't seek ter persuade them fellers," he made

brief and pointed reply, "I orders 'em."


At the court house door Will Turk left her with a nod

and went direct into the judge's chamber and the

Commonwealth's attorney followed him — ^but of what

law was being laid down there, she remained in heart-

wracking ignorance.


Beyond the court house doors, plastered with notices

of sheriff's sales and tax posters, the county seat sim-

mered with an air of excitement that morning.


Street loimgers, waiting for the trial to begin, knew

the faces of those who had been neighbours, friendly or

hostile, for many years; but to-day there were strangers

in town as well.


Soon after daylight these unknown men had arrived,

and one could see that they came from a place where

life was primitive; for even here, where the breadth of a

street was at their disposal, they did not ride abreast

but in single file, as men do who are accustomed to

threading narrow trails. They were led by a patriarchal

fellow with a snowy beard and a face of simple dignity,

and behind him came a squat and twisted hunchback

who met every inquisitive gaze with a sharp challenge




260 THE ROOF TREE


that discouraged staring. Back of these two were

more than a dozen others, and though their faces were

all quiet and their bearing courteous, rifles lay balanced

across their saddle-bows.


But most challenging in interest of all the new-

comers was a young woman whose bronzed hair caught

the glint of morning sunlight and whose dark eyes were

deep and soft like forest pools.


"Ther Kaintuckians/' murmured onlookers along

the broken sidewalks as that cavalcade dismounted in

the court house square to file quietly through the en-

trance doors, and eyes narrowed in a sinister augury of

hostile welcome.


These visitors seated themselves, together in a body

on one side of the aisle and when the old bell had

clanged its summons and Sheriff Beaver sang out his

"Oyez, Oyez," the judge looked down upon them with

more than passing interest.


From the door at one side of the bench Ken Thornton

was brought in and as a gratuitous mark of indignity he

came with his wrists manacled.


But from the Kentucky group, even from Dorothy

herself, that circumstance wrung no murmur of resent-

ment and the accused stood for a moment bjefore he

took his seat with eyes ranging over the place until

they came to the section of the dingy room where he

encountered the unscowling faces of friends.


There were his supporters who had come so far to raise

their voices in his behalf, and perhaps to share the brunt

of hatred that had been fired into blazing against him,

and there — ^he felt a surge of emotion under which his

face bmned — was Dorothy herself !


They had not brought her to the jail to see him, and

on the advice of Jim Rowlett she had not signalized her

coming by insistence — so their eyes met without prior

warning to the man.




THE ROOF TREE 261


It was to Kenneth Thornton as if there were sunlight

in one comer of that eobwebbed room with its un-

washed windows and its stale smells, and elsewhere

hung the murk of little hope. A few staunch friends, at

least, he had, but they were friends among enemies, and

he steeled himself for facing the stronger forces.


Back of the rostrum where the judge sat squalidly

enthroned a line of dusty and eobwebbed volumes

tilted tipsily in ironical reminder of the fact that this

law-giver took his cue less from their ancient principles

than from whispers alien to their spirit.


A shuffling of muddy feet ensued; then a lesser sound

that came with the giving out of many breaths; a sound

that has no name but which has been known since days

when men and women settled back in the circus of the

Csesars and waited for the lions to be tinned into the

arena where the victims waited.


From the bench was drawled the routine query, "Has

the Commonwealth any motions?" and the ConMnon-

wealth's attorney rose to his feet and straightened the

papers on his desk.


"May it please your Honour," he said, slowly, "in

the case of the Commonwealth against Kenneth

Thornton, charged with murder, now pending on this

docket, I wish to enter a motion of dismissal and to ask

that your Honour exonerate the bond of the defend-

ant."


The man in the prisoner's dock had come braced

against nerve-trying, but now be bent forward in an

amazement that he could not conceal, and from the

back of the courtroom forward ran an inarticulate sound

from himian throats that needed no words to voice its

incredulity — ^its disappointment.


There was a light rapping of the gavel and the

state's representative went evenly on :


"The trial of this defendant woidd only entail a




262 THE ROOF TREE


fruitless cost upon the state. I hold here, duly at-

tested, the confession of Sally Turk, sister of the ac-

cused and widow of the deceased, that it was she and

not Kenneth Thornton who shot John Turk to death.

I have sworn out a warrant for this woman's arrest, and

will ask the sheriff to execute it forthwith and take her

into custody/*


Kenneth Thornton was on his feet with a short pro-

test shaping itself on his lips, but his eyes met those of

his sister who rose from her place against the wall as

her name was spoken and he read in them a content-

ment that gave him pause and an unspoken plea for

silence.


Answering to the restraining hand of his own lawyer

on his elbow he sank back into his seat with a swunming

head and heard the calm, almost purring voice from the

bench directing, "Mr. Clerk, let the order be entered.**

After that, astonishment mounted to complete dum-

f ounding as he saw standing in the aisle WiQ Turk, the

backbone and energy of tie entire prosecution — ^and

heard his voice addressing the judge:


"May it please your Honour, I*d love ter be tuck on

Sally Turk's bond when ther time comes. IVe done

satisfied myself thet she kilt my brother in self dee-

fence.**




I




CHAPTER XXIX


OUTSIDE on the straggling streets clumps of

perplexed men gathered to mull over the

seven days* wonder which had been enacted

before their eyes.


Slowly they watched the Kentuckians troop out of

the court house, the late prisoner in their midst, and

marvelled to see Will Turk join them with the hand-

shaking of complete amity. Many of these onlookers

remembered the dark and glowing face with which

Turk had said yesterday of the man upon whom he

was now smiling, "Penitenshery, hell! Hit's got ter be

ther gallows!"


Public amazement was augmented when Kenneth

Thornton and his wife went home with Will Turk and

slept as guests under his roof.


"Ye needn't hev no fear erbout goin' on home, Ken,

an' leavin' Sally hyar," said Turk when he and Thorn-

ton sat over their pipes that night. "I gives ye my

hand thet she's goin' ter go free on bond an' when her

case is tried she'll come cl'ar."


Kenneth Thornton knew that he was listening to the

truth, and as his fingers, groping in his pocket for a

match, touched the small walnut-shell basket, he drew

it out and looked at it. Then turning to Dorothy, who

sat across the hearth, he said seriously: "Ther luck

piece held hits charm, honey."


But an hour later, when Kenneth had gone out to see

to his horse in the bam and when Lindy was busied

about some kitchen task, Will Turk rose from his seat


263




264 THE ROOF TREE


and standing before Dorothy began to speak in a low-

pitched and sober voice:


"Ye seems ter me like a woman a man kin talk sense

ter," he said, "an' I'm goin' ter tell ye somethin' either

you or yore man ought ter know. Ken hain't plum

outen danger yit. He's got an enemy over thar in

Kaintuck: an* when he starts back thet enemy's right

like ter be watchin' ther trail thet leads home."


Dorothy held his eyes steadily when she questioned

him with a name, "Bas Rowlett?"


Will Turk shook his head as he responded deliber-

ately: "Whatever I knows come ter me in secrecy —

but hit was at a time when I miscomprehended things,

an' I sees 'em different now. I didn't say hit was Bas

Rowlett ner I didn't say hit wasn't nuther, but this

much I kin say. Whoever this feller is thet aims ter

lajrway Ken, he aims ter do hit in Virginny. Seems

like he dastn't ondertake hit in Kaintuck."


Dorothy drew a breath of relief for even that assur-

ance, and for the duration of a short silence Turk again

paced the floor with his head bent and his hands at his

back, then he halted.


"You go on home termorrer an' leave Ken hyar,"

he enjoined, "he wants ter see his sister free on bail afore

he leaves, anyhow. When he gits ready ter start back

I'll guide him by a way I knows, but one a woman

couldn't handily travel, an' I'll pledge ye he'll crost

over ter Kaintuck es safe as he come."


So on the morrow Dorothy rode with the same

cavalcade that had escorted her to Virginia, and near

sunset a few days later, when low-hanging clouds were

lifting down a thick veil of snow and the bare woods

stood ghostly and white, Bas Rowlett lay numb with

cold but warm with anticipation by the trail that led

from the coimty seat in Virginia to the gap that gave a

gateway into Kentucky.




i




THE ROOF TREE 265


He huddled under a tangle of briars, masking an

ambuscade from which his rifle could rake the road and

his eyes command it for a hundred yards to its eastern

bend, and he had lain there all day. Kenneth Thornton

would ride that trail, he felt assured, before dark, and

ride it alone, and here, far from his own neighbourhood,

he would himself be suspected of no murderous activity.


But as Bas lay there, for once prepared to act as

executioner in person instead of through a hireling,

Kenneth Thornton and Will Turk were nearing the

state border, having travelled furtively and unseen by a

** trace" that had put the bulk of a moimtain between

them and ambuscade.


The winter settled after that with a beleaguering of

steeps and broken levels imder a blockade of stark hard-

ship. Peaks stood naked save for their evergreens,

alternately wrapped in snow and viscid with mud.

Morning disclosed the highways "all spewed up with

frost" and noon found them impassably mired. Night

brought from the forests the sharp frost-cracking of the

beeches like the pop of small guns, and in wayside

stores the backwoods merchants leaned over their

coimters and shook dismal heads, when housewives

plodded in over long and slavish trails to buy salt and

lard, and went home again with their sacks empty.


Those who did not "have things hung up" felt the

pinch of actual suflFering, and faces in ill-lighted and

more illy ventilated cabins became morose and pessi-

mistic.


Such human soil was fallow for the agitator, and the

doctrine which the winter did not halt from travelling

was that incitement preached by the "riders."


Every wolf pack that nms on its food-trail is made up

of strong-fanged and tireless-thewed beasts, but at its

head runs a leader who has neither been balloted upon

nor bom to his place. He has taken it and holds it




266 THE ROOF TREE


against encroachment by title of a strength and bold-

ness above that of any other. He loses it if a superior

arises. The men who are of the vendetta acknowledge

only the chieftainship which has risen and stands by

that same gauge and proving.


Parish Thornton, the recent stranger, had come to

such a position. He had not sought it, but neither,

when he realized the conditions, had he evaded it. Now

he had made a name of marvellous prowess, which local

minstrels wove into their "ballets." He was accounted

to be possessed of an almost supematiu'al courage and

invulnerabiUty; of a physical strength and quickness

that partook of magic. Men pointed to his record as to

that of a sort of superman, and they embelhshed fact

with fable.


He had been the unchallenged leader of the Harpers

since that interview with old Aaron Capper, and the

ally of Jim Rowlett since his bold ride to Hump Doane*s

cabin, but now it was plain that this leadership was

merging rapidly into one embracing both clans.


Old Jim had not long to Kve, and since the peace had

been reestablished, the Doanes no less than the Har-

pers began to look to, and to claim as their own, this

young man whose personal appeal had laid hold upon

their imaginations.


But that is stating one side of the situation that the

winter saw soKdifying into permanence. There was

another.


Every jealousy stirred by this new regime, every ele-

ment that found itself galled by the rearrangement, was

driven to that other influence which had sprung up in

the community — ^and it was an influence which was

growing like a young Goliath.


So far that growth was hidden and furtive, but for

that reason only the more dangerous. The riders had

failed to free Sam Opdyke, and Sam was in prison — ^but




\




THE ROOF TREE 267


the riders were not through. It pleased them to remain

deceptively quiet just now but their meetings, held in

secret places, brought a multiplied response to the roll

call. Plans were building toward the bursting of a

storm which should wreck the new dykes and dams —

and the leaders preached unendingly, under the vicari-

ous urging of Bas Rowlett, that the death of Parish

Thornton was the aim and end beyond other aims and

ends.


The riders were not striking sporadic blows now, as

they had done at first, in petty "regulatings." They

were looking to a time when there was to be one ride

such as the mountains had never seen; a ride at whose

end a leader living by the river bend, a judge, a Com-

monwealth's attorney living in town and the foreman

of a certain jiuy, should have paid condignly for their

oflfences.


Christmas came to the house in the bend of the

river with a crystal sheeting of ice.


The native-born in the land of "Do Without" have

for the most part never heard of Christmas trees or the

giving of gifts, but they know the old legend which says

that at the hour when the Saviour was bom in a manger

the bare and frozen elder bushes come to momentary

bloomagain in the thickets and the "critters and beasties"

kneel down in their stalls, answering to some dumb

mandate of reverence. This, however, is myth, and the

fact is more substantially recognized that at this period

the roisterous ride the highways, shooting and yelling,

and the whiskey jug is tilted and tragedy often bares her

fangs.


But Dorothy and Parish Thornton had each other,

and the cloud that their imaginations had always

pictured as hanging over the state border had been

dispelled. Their hearts were high, too, with the

reflection that when spring came again with its fra-




268 THE ROOF TREE


grances and whispers from the south there would be

the blossoming of a new life in that house, as well as

along the slopes of the inanimate hills.


But now on Christmas morning, as Dorothy looked

out of a window, whose panes were laced with most

delicate traceries of frost rime, there was a thorn-

prickle of fear in her heart.


Parish came in and stood looking outward over her

shoulder, and his smile flashed as it had done that first

day when it startled her, because, before she had seen it,

she had read of just such a smile in a journal written al-

most a century and a half ago.


"Hit's plum beautiful — out thar,"she miuinured,and

the man's arm slipped around her. It might almost

have been the Kenneth Thornton who had seen Court

life in England who gallantly responded, "Hit's still

more beautiful — ^in hyar"


There had been an ice storm the night before, follow-

ing on a day of snowfall, and the mountain world stood

dazzling in its whiteness with every twig and branch

glaced and resplendent under the sun.


On the ice-bound slopes slept shadows of ultra-

marine, and near the window the walnut tree stood, no

more a high-priest garbed in a green mantle or a wind-

tossed cloak of orange-brown, but a warrior starkly

stripped of his draperies and glitteringly mailed in ice.


He stood with his bold head high lifted toward the

sky, but bearing the weight of winter, and when it

passed he would not be found unscarred.


Already one great branch dropped under its freight-

ing, and as the man and woman looked out they could

hear from time to time the crash of weaker brethren out

there in the forests; victims and sacrifices to the crush-

ing of a beauty that was also fatal.


Until spring answered her question, Dorothy re-

flected, she could only guess how deep the bhght, which




^




THE ROOF TREE 269


she had discovered in the fall, had struck at the robust-

ness of the old tree's life. For all its stalwartness its

life had already been long, and if it should die — she

closed her eyes as though to shut out a horror, and a

shudder ran through her body.


"What is it, honey," demanded the man, anxiously,

as he felt her tremor against his arm, "air ye cold?"


Dorothy opened her eyes and laughed, but with a

tremulousness in her mirth.


"I reckon I hain't plum rekivered from ther fright

hit give me when ye went over thar ter Virginny," she

answered, "sometimes I feels plum timorous."


"But ther peril's done past now," he reassured her,

"an' all ther enemies we had, thet's wuth winnin' over,,

hev done come ter be friends."


"AD thet's wuth winnin' over, yes," she admitted

without conviction, "but hit's ther other kind thet a

body hes most cause ter fear."


Into the man's thought flashed the picture of Bas

Rowlett, and a grim stiffness came to his lips, but she

could hardly know of that remaining danger, he re-

flected, and he asked seriously, "What enemies does ye

mean, honey?"


She, too, had been thinking of Bas, and she, too, be-

lieved that fear to be her own exclusive secret, so she

answered in a low voice:


"I was studyin' erbout ther riders. I reckon they've

done tuck thought thet you an' Hump hev been seekin'

evidence erginst 'em."


The man laughed.


"Don't disquiet yoreself erbout them fellers, honey.

We hev been seekin' evidence — ^an' gittin' hit, too, in some

measure. Ef ther riders air strong enough ter best ua

we hain't fit ter succeed."


The smile gave slowly way to a sterner and more

militant expression, the look which his wife had come




270 THE ROOF TREE


to know of late. It had brought a gravity to his eyes

and a new dimension to his character, for it had not been

there before he had dedicated himself to a cause and

taken up the leadership which he had at first sought to

refuse. Dorothy knew that he was thinking of the fight

which lay ahead, before the scattered enmities of that

community were resolved and the disrupted life welded

and cemented into a solidarity of law.





CHAPTER XXX


SIM SQUIRES was finding himself in a most

intricate and perplexing maze of circumstance;

the situation of the man who wears another

man's collar and whose vassalage galls almost beyond

endiu'ance.


It was dawning on Squires that he was involved in a

web of such criss-cross meshes that before long he

might find no way out. He had been induced to way-

lay Parish Thornton at the demand of one whom he

dared not incense on pam of exposures that would send

him to the penitentiary.


His intended victim had not only failed to die but

had grown to an influence in the neighboiu'hood that

made him a most dangerous enemy; and to become, in

fact, such an enemy to Sim he needed only to learn the

truth as to who had fired that shot.


Squires had come as Rowlett's spy into that house,

hating Thornton with a sincerity bred of fear, but now

he had grown to hate Rowlett the more bitterly of the

two. Indeed, save for that sword of Damocles which

hung over him in the memory of his murderous em-

ployment and its possible consequences, he would have

liked Parish, and Dorothy's kindness had awakened in

the jackal's heart a bewildering sense of gratitude such

as he had never known before.


So while compulsion still bound him to Bas Rowlett,

his own sympathies were beginning to lean toward the

fortunes of that household from which he drew his

legitimate wage.


271




272 THE ROOF TREE


But complications stood irrevocably between Sim

and his inclinations. His feeling against Bas Rowlett

was becoming an obsession of venom fed by the over-

weening arrogance of the man, but Bas still held him in

the hollow of his hand, and besides these reefs of menace

were yet other shoals to be navigated.


Squires had been compelled by Rowlett not only to

join the "riders" who were growing in numbers and

covert power, but to take such an active part in their

proceedings as would draw down upon his head the

bolts of wrath should the organization ever be brought

to an accounting.


There was terrible danger there and Sim recognized

it. Sim knew that when Rowlett had quietly stirred

into life the forces from which the secret body was bom

he had been building for one purpose — ^and one purpose

only. To its own membership, the riders might be a

body of vigilantes with divers intentions, but to Bas

they were never anything but a mob which should some

day lynch Parish Thornton — and then be themselves

destroyed like the bee that dies when it stings. Through

Squires as the unwilling instnunent Rowlett was

possessing himself of such evidence as would undo the

leaders when the organization had served that one

purpose.


Yet Sim dared reveal none of these secrets. The

active personality who was the head and front of the

riders was Sam Opdyke*s friend Rick Joyce — ^and Rick

Joyce was the man to whom Bas could whisper the facts

that had first given him power over Sim.


For Sim had shot to death Rick*s nephew, and though

he had done it while drunk and half responsible; though

he had been incited to the deed by Bas himself, no man

save the two of them knew that, and so far the murderer

had never been discovered.


It seemed to Sim that any way he turned his face





THE ROOF TREE 273


he encountered a cul-de-sac of mortal danger — -and it

left him in a perplexity that fretted him and edged his

nerves to rawness.


Part of Christmas day was spent by the henchman in

the cabin where he had been accustomed to holding his

secret councils with his master, Bas Rowlett, and his

venom for the man who had used him as a shameless

pawn was eclipsing his hatred for Parish Thornton, the

intended victim whom he was paid to shadow and spy

upon. For Dorothy he had come to acknowledge a

dumb worship, and this sentiment was not the adoration

of a lover but that dog-like aflfection which reacts to

kindness where there has been no other kindness in life.


It was not in keeping with such a character that he

should attempt any candid repudiation of his long-worn

yoke, or declare any spirit of conversion, but in him was

a ferment d panic.


"I'm growin' right restive, Bas/' whined Sim as the

two shivered and drank whiskey to keep themselves

warm in that abandoned shack where they were never so

incautious as to light a fire. "Any time this feller

Parish finds out I shot him, he'll turn on me an ' kill me.

Thar hain't but jest one safe way out. Let me finish up

ther job an' rest easy."


Bas Rowlett shook his head decisively.


"When I gits ready ter hev ye do thet," he ruled,

imperiously, "I'll let ye know. Right now hit's ther

last thing I'd countenance."


"I kain't no fashion make ye out," complained Sim.

"Ye hired me ter do ther job an' blackguarded me fer

failin'. Now ye acks like ye war paid ter pertect ther

feller from peril."


Rowlett scowled. It was not his policy to confide

in his Myrmidons, yet with an adherent who knew as

much as Squires it was well to have the confidential

seeming.




99




274 THE ROOF TREE


"Things hev changed, Sim," he explained. "Any

heedless kiUin's right now would bring on a heap of

trouble afore I'm ready fer hit — ^but ye hain't no more

fretful ter hev him die then what I be — ^an' thet's what

we're buildin' up this hyar night-rider outfit ter do.


"Thet's another thing thet disquiets me, though,

objected Squires. "I'm es deep inter thet es anybody

else, an' them fellers, Thornton and Old Hump, hain't

nuver goin' ter rest twell they penitensheries some of

ther head men."


Bas Rowlett laughed, then with such a confidential

manner as he rarely bestowed upon a subordinate, he

laid a hand on his hireling's arm. " Thet's all right, Sim.

Ther penitenshery's a right fit an' becomin' place fer

them men, when ye comes ter study hit out* We hain't

objectin' ter thet ourselves — in due time."


Sim Squires drew back and his face became for the

moment terror-stricken. "What does ye mean?" he

demanded, tensely, " does ye aim ter let me suiter out my

days in convict-stripes because I've done s'arved yore

eends?"


But Bas Rowlett shook his head.


"Not you, Sim," he gave assurance. "I'm goin'

ter tek keer of you all right — ^but when ther rest of 'em

hev done what we wants, we hain't got no further use

fer them riders. Atter thet they'll jest be a pest an'

burden ter us ef they goes on terrifyin' everybody."


"I don't no fashion comprehend ye, but I've got ter

know whar I stands at." There was a momentary

stiflfening of the creature's moral backbone and the

employer hastened to smooth away his anxiety.


"I hain't nuver drapped no hint of this ter no man

afore," he confided, "but me an' you air actin' ter-

gither es pardners, an' ye've got a license ter know.

These hyar riders air ergoin' ter handle ther men that

stands in my light — ^then I'm goin' ter everlastin'ly bust




>




THE ROOF TREE 275


up ther riders. I wouldn't love ter see 'em git too

strong. Ye fights a forest fire by buildin' baii-fires,

Sim, but ef ye lets ther back-fires bum too long ye're

es bad oflf es ye war when ye started out."


"How does ye aim ter take keer of me?" inquired

the listener and Bas replied promptly: "When ther

time comes ter bust 'em up, we'll hev strength enough

ter handle ther matter. Leave thet ter me. You'll be

state's evidence then an' we'll prove thet ye ji'ned up ter

keep watch fer me."


Over Sim Squires' face spread the vapid grin that he

used to conceal his emotions.


" But thet all comes later on," enjoined Bas. " Mean-

while, keep preachin' ter them fellers thet Thornton's

buildin' up a case erginst 'em. Keep 'em skeered an'

wrought up."


"I reckon we'd better not start away tergither," sug-

gested Sim when they had brought their business to its

conclusion, "you go on, Bas, an' I'll f oiler d'reddy."


When he stood alone in the house Sim spent a half-

hour seeking to study the ramifications of the whole web

of intrigue from various angles of consideration, but

before he left the place he acted on a sudden thought

and, groping in the recess between plate-girder and

overhang, he drew out the dust-coated diary that Bas

had thrust there and forgotten, long ago. This Sim

put into his pocket and took with him.




The winter dragged out its course and broke that year

like a glacier suddenly loosened from its moorings of

ice. A warm breath came out of the south and icicled

gorges sounded to the sodden drip of melting waters.

Snowslides moved on hundreds of steeply pitched

slopes, and fed sudden rivulets into freshet roarings.


The river itself was no longer a clear ribbon but a




276 THE ROOF TREE


turgid flood-tide that swept along uprooted trees and

snags of foam-lathered drift.


There was as yet neither bud nor leaf, and the air

was raw and bone-chilling, but everywhere was the rest-

less stirring of dormant life impulses and uneasy hints

of labour-pains.


While the river sucked at its mud bank and lapped

its inundated lowlands, the walnut tree in the yard

above the high- water mark sang sagas of rebirth through

the night as the wind gave tongue in its naked branches.


But in the breast of Sim Squires this spirit of restless-

ness was more than an uneasy stirring. It was an

obsession.


He knew that when spring, or at the latest early sum-

mer, brought firmness to the mired highways and deeper

cover to the woods, the organization of which he was a

prominent member would strike, and stake its success

or failure upon decisive issue. Then Parish Thornton,

and a handful of lesser designates, would die — or else

the "riders" would encounter defeat and see their

leaders go to the penitentiary.


Bas Rowlett, himself a traitor to the Ku IGux, had

promised Sim safety, but Sim had never known Bas to

keep faith, and he did not trust him now.


Yet, should he break with the evil forces to which he

stood allied, Sim's peril became only the greater. So

he lay awake through these gusty nights cudgelling his

brain for a solution, and at the end, when spring had

come with her first gracious touches of Judas-tree and

wild plum blossoming, he made up his mind.


Sim Squires came to his decision one balmy afternoon

and went, with a caution that could not have been

greater had he contemplated murder, to the house of

Hump Doane, when he knew the old man to be alone.


His design, after all, was a simple one for a man versed

in the art of double-crossing and triple-crossing.




THE ROOF TREE 277


If the riders prevailed he was safe enough, by reason

of his charter membership, and none of his brother

vigilantes suspected that his participation had been

unwilling. But they might not prevail, and, in that

event, it was well to have a friend among the victors.


He meant, therefore, to tell Hump Doane some

things that Hmnp Doane wished very much to know,

but he would go to the confessional under such oath of

secrecy as could not recoil upon him. Then whoever

triumphed, be it Bas, the white-caps, or the forces of law

and order, he would have a protector on the winning

side.


The hunchback met his furtive visitor at the stile and

walked with him back into the chill woods where they

were safe from observation. The drawn face and the

frightened eyes told him in advance that this would be

no ordinary interview, yet he was unprepared for what

he heard.


When Squires had hinted that he came heavy with

tidings of gravest import, but must be given guarantees

of protection before he spoke. Hump Doane sat reflect-

ing dubiously upon the matter, then he shook his head.

**I don't jest see whar hit profits me ter know things

thet I kain't make no use of," he demurred, and Sim

Squires bent forward with haunted eyes.


" They 're /ocfo," he protested. "Ye kin use them

facts, only ye mustn't tell no man whar ye got 'em

from."


" Go ahead, then," decided Hump Doane after weigh-

ing the proposition even further. "I'm hearkenin', an*

I stands pledged ter hold my counsel es ter yore part in

tellin' me."


The sun was sinking toward the horizon and the

woods were cold. The informer rose and walked back

and forth on the soggy carpet of rotted leaves with

hands that clasped and unclasped themselves at his




278 THE ROOF TREE


back. He was under a stress of feeling that bordered

on collapse.


The dog that has been kicked and knocked about

from puppyhood has in it the accumulated viciousness

of his long injuries. Such a beast is ready to run

amuck, frothing at the mouth, and Sim Squires was not

unlike that dog. He had debated this step through

days and nights of hate and terror. He had faltered

and vacillated. Now he had come, and the long-

repressed passions had broken all his dams of reserve,

transforming him, as if with an epilepsy. His eyes

were bloodshot, his cheeks were putty-yellow and, had

he been a dog instead of a man, his fangs would have

been slathered with foam.


Heretofore he had spoken hesitantly and cautiously.

Now like the epileptic or the mad dog, he burst into a

volcanic outpouring in which wild words tumbled upon

themselves in a cataract of boiling abandon. His fists

were clenched and veins stood out on his face.


"I*m ther man thet shot Parish Thornton when he

fust come hyar," was his sensational beginning, "but

albeit my hand sighted ther gim an' pulled ther trigger

hit was another man's damn dirty heart that contrived

ther act an' another man's dollars thet paid fer hit. I

was plum f o'oed ter do hit by a low-lived feller thet hed

done got me whar he wanted me — a feller thet bull-

dozed an' dogged me an' didn't suflfer me ter call my

soul my own — ^a feller thet I hates an' dreads like I don't

nuver expect ter hate Satan in hell!" 1


The informer broke oflf there and stood a pitiable pic-

ture of rage and cowardice, shaken with tearless sobs of

unwonted emotion.


"Some men ruins women," he rushed on, "an' some

ruins other men. He done thet ter me — ^an' whenever I

boggled or balked he cracked his whip anew — ^an' I

wasn't nuthin' but his pore white nigger thet obeyed




I




THE ROOF TREE 279


him. I ached ter kill him an' I didn't even dast ter

contrary him. His name's Bas Rowlett!"


The recital broke oflF and the speaker stood trembling

from head to foot. Then the hearer who had listened

paled to the roots of his shaggy hair and his gargoyle

face became a mask of tragic fury.


At first Hump Doane did not trust himself to speak

and when he did» there was a moment in which the

other feared him almost more than he feared Bas Row-

lett.


For the words of the hunchback came like a roar of

thunder and he seemed on the verge of leaping at his

visitor's throat.


"Afore God, ye self-confessed, murderin' liar," he

bellowed, "don't seek ter accuse Bas Rowlett ter

me in no sich perjury! He's my kinsman an' my

friend — ^an' I knows ye lies. Ef ye ever lets words like

them cross yore lips ergin in my hearin' I'll t'ar ther

tongue outen yore mouth with these two hands of

mme!


For a space they stood there in silence, the old man

glaring, the younger slowly coming back from his mania

of emotion as from a trance.


Perhaps had Sim sought to insist on his story he

would never have been allowed to finish it, but in that

little interval of pause Hump Doane's passion also

passed, as passions too violent to endure must pass.


After the first unsuspected shock, it was borne in on

him that there are confessions which may not be

doubted, and that of them this was one. His mind be-

gan to reaccommodate itself, and after a little he said in

a voice of deadly coldness :


"Howsoever, now thet ye've started, go on. I'll hear

ye out."


"I'm tellin' ye gospel truth, an' sometimes ther

truth hurts," insisted Sim. "Bas war jealous of




280 THE ROOF TREE


Dorothy Harper — ^an* I didn't dast ter deny him. He

paid me a patch of river-bottom land fer ther job, albeit

I failed."


Hump Doane stood, his ugly face seamed with a

scowl of incredulous sternness, his hand twitching at the

ends of his long and gorilla-like arms. "Go on," he

reiterated, "don't keep me waitin'."


Under the evening sky, standing rigid with emotion.

Squires doggedly went on. He told, abating nothing,

the whole wretched story from his own knowledge: how

Bas had sought to bring on the war afresh in order that

his enemy Parish Thornton might perish in its flaming;

how with the same end in view Bas had shot at Old

Jim; how he himself had been sent to trail Thornton

to Virginia that his master might inform upon hhn, and

how while the Virginian was away, in jeopardy of his

life, the arch-conspirator had pursued his wife, until she,

being afraid to teU her husband, had come near kiUing

the tormentor herself.


"Hit war Bas thet stirred up ther riders into formin',"

declared the spy in conclusion. "He didn't nuver take

no part hisself , but he used two men thet didn't dast

disobey him — two men thet he rules over like nigger

slaves — ^an' ther riders hev got one object over an'

above everything else, thet he aims ter hev 'em carry

through. Thet is ter kill Parish Thornton."


Hmnp Doane walked over and stood looking up from

his squat, toad-like deformity into the face of the man

who towered above him, yet in his eyes was the blaze

with which a giant might look down on a pigmy.


"Ye says he used two men, Sim," the falsetto of

the hunchback's voice was as sharp as a dagger's

point. "Ef ye came hyar fer any honest purpose, I

calls on ye, now, ter give me them two names."


Squires' face turned even paler than it had been.

The veins along his temple were pulsing, and his words




s




THE ROOF TREE 281


caught and hung in hesitancy; but he gulped and said in

a forced voice: "I was one of 'em, Hump."


"An' t'other one? Who war he?"


Again the informer hesitated, this time longer than

before, but in the end he said dully:


"Hump, t'other one war — ^yore own boy, Pete."




CHAPTER XXXI


STRANGELY enough it was as though the old

man's capacity for being shocked or infuriated

had been exhausted. There was no roar of mad-

dened wrath or denimciation of denial now. Never

had Sim seen on a human face such a despair of

stricken grief. Hump Doane only passed an open

palm across his forehead. Somehow this hideous

recital, which had made him an old man in the space of a

few minutes, blasting him like a thimder bolt, could not

be seriously doubted. It was not allegation but revela-

tion.


Pete was young and impressionable. He was day

upon the wheel of Bas Rowlett's domination, and of late

he had been much away from home.


The father tried to straighten his twisted shoulders

and his warped back. He turned his eyes to the west

where the fires of simset were crimson and purple, then

he spoke again in a manner of recovered and hard-held

self-control.


"Ef these things ye tells me be true," he said, "I

hev need ter know *em an* I*m beholden ter ye. Ef

they're false ye've done struck me a blow I kain't nuver

fergive, an' I don't see how you an' me kin both go on

livin'. I aims ter find out fer myself, an' meanwkQe —

I'll keep my pledge ter ye." He paused, then the

leader triumphed over the stricken individual.


"Keep right on goin' ter every meetin' ther riders

holds," he directed, quietly. "Don't suffer 'em ter

suspicion no falsity."


282




THE ROOF TREE 288


But when Sim had left him Hmnp Doane stood there

while the smiset f aded, while the afterglow livened and

died, while the cold twilight settled.


He was thinking of the son he loved and despised^

of the soft human metal that had been hanmiered into

debauchery by this other man whom he had trusted.


He was aelmowledging, too, that if the riders num-

bered among their secret adherents such men as Bas

Rowlett and his own boy, his fight was upon a poison

that had struck deeper and more malignantly into the

arteries of the community than he had heretofore

dreamed.


He must talk with Parish Thornton, whose strength

and judgment could be trusted. He would see him to-

night.


But at that point he halted. As yet he could not

reveal his unsubstantiated information to another. A

pledge of sacredly observed confidence had been the

price of his learning these things — ^and over there at the

Thornton house a baby was expected before long. It

would be both wise and considerate to defer the inter-

view that must of necessity bring the whole crisis to

violent issue until the young father's thoughts were

less personally involved. It was a time to make haste

slowly. Old Hump Doane laughed bitterly. He was

a father himself, and to-night he had learned how the

heart of a parent can be battered.


But before he went to his bed he had talked with his

son, while his son sat cowering. It had been a stormy

interview during which Pete had denied, expostulated,

and at the end broken down in confession, and when

Hump Doane rose he had abandoned that slender shred

of hope to which, in the teeth of conviction, he had been

clinging, that his boy might still be able to dear himself.


"YeVe done lied ter me, an' yeVe done broke my

heart," declared the hunchback, slowly, "but yeVe




i




384




THE ROOF TREE




done confessed — an' I'm too damn weak ter turn ye

ter ther law like my duty demands. Don't nuv«

ter no other meetin', an' ef they questions why ye i

come, tell 'em ter ask me! An' now" — the old

crumpled forward and buried his great head ii

knotted hands — "an' now git outen my sightferai

fer I kain't endure ther sight of ye!"


But when he rode abroad the next day no man

pected the catadysm which had shattered B

Doane's world into a chaos of irretrievable wreck.


A closer guard of caution than ever before he set

his speech and bearing, while he sought to run (

those devastating truths that had come to him

such unwelcome illumination.




In those days of first bud and leaf Dorothy Thoi

looked out of her window with a psychological am

If the Brst hint of life that came to the great tree

diseased or marked with blight, it would be an omi

ill under which she did not see how she could f ao

hour, and with fevered eyes she searched the

branches where the sap was rising and studied

earliest tinge of green.


"Ef harm hed done come ter hit," she argued

herself, "hit would show, by this time, in them 1

buds an' tosaels," but she was not satisfied, and n

ing through the attic window she broke off from d(

day bits of twig to see whether the vitality of rising

or the brittleness of death proclaimed itself in the n


Slowly, under soft air and rain, the buds broke

tiny spears, too small and tender, it seemed to he

live against the unkind touch of harsh winds, and

rudimentary filaments spread and grew into leaves


But the time that seemed to Dorothy to lag a

terminably was passing, and the veils of misty f




THE ROOF TREE 285


that had scarcely showed through the forest grays were

growing to an emerald vividness. Waxen masses of

laurel were filling out and flushing with the pink of

blossom. The heavy-fragranced bloom of the locust

drooped over those upturned chalices of pink, and the

black walnut was gaunt no more, but as brightly and

lustily youthful as a troubador whom age had never

touched.


Warm with swelling life and full throated with bird

music the beginnings of summer came to the hills, and

the hills forgot their grinmess.


But Old Jim Rowlett, over there in his house, was

failing fast, men said. He prattled childishly, and his

talon-like hands were pitiSfully palsied. He would

scarcely see another spring, and in the fight that was

coming his wise old tongue would no longer be avail-

able for coimsel. So toward the yoimger and more ro-

bust influence of Parish Thornton his adherents turned

in his stead.


In those places where secret night sessions were held

were the stir of preparation and the talk of punishing a

traitor — ^f or young Pete had deserted the cause, and the

plotters were divided in sentiment. A majority ad-

vocated striking with stunning suddenness toward the

major purpose and ignoring the disaffection of the one

yoimg renegade, but a fiercer minority was for making

him an example, and cool coimsels were being taxed.


To Dorothy Thornton's eyes contentment had re-

tiu-ned because gay and hopeful young flags of green

flew from every twig of the tree of augury, and in her

deep pupils dwelt the serene sweetness that broods on

thoughts of approaching motherhood.


Then one morning before dawn Unde Jase Burrell and

a neighboiu* woman, versed in the homely practises of

the midwife, came to the room where Parish Thornton

sat with tightly clenched hands before the ruddy hearth.




286 THE ROOF TREE




"He's done been homed," said Unde Jase, cheerily;

"he's hale an* survigrous an* sassy — ^an* he*s a boy.**


Sim Squires had not gone home that night, and now

he rose from his chair and picked up his hat. "I reckon

1*11 be farin* on,** he announced," hit*s all over now but

ther shoutin*.** At the door, though, he turned back

and from his coat pocket drew a roll of sheafed paper

bound in a limp clotii.


"I found this hyar thing layin* behind a barrel up

thar in ther attic,** he lied, as he restored the lost journal

of the revolutionary ancestress. "I *lowed hit mout be

somethin* ye prized.**




One night, when June had come to her full-bosomed

richness, yoimg Pete Doane did not return to his

father's house and the old hunchback's face darkened

anxiously.


The warm night was a blue and moonlit glory of sum-

mer tranquillity and from the creek bottom came the

full-throated chorus of the frogs. Back in the dark

timber sounded the plaintive sweetness of the whip-

poorwills, and from everywhere drifted an intangible

blending of fragrances.


But Hump sat alone and morose in the house where

no one dwelt but himself and his son — save the neigh-

bour woman who came in the daytime to cook and

clean house for the widower. He sat there until mid-

night had passed and the moon was riding low to the

west; he was still sitting in the darkness that comes be-

fore dawn, and young Pete had not yet come. Then

when even June could not make gracious that dismal

hour that brings fog and reek before the jBrst gray

streaks the east, the old man heard a voice outside his

door and rose heavily to answer it.


He was a marked man, and should not have been so




THE ROOF TREE 287


incautious, but in these days death held no threat for

Hump Doane. It was life that brought him* torture.


So he ignored those precepts of wariness which had

been taught him by years of experience, and when he

stood unarmed in the doorway, against a background of

pale lamplight, he felt the thrust of a rifle muzzle

against his ribs, and heard a disguised voice ordering,

"Come with us."


Hump did not flinch or give back. Neither did he

obey. Instead, he laughed with a hollow callousness

and replied, "Shoot ef yeVe a mind ter. I hain't goin*

ter stir a step ter foUer ye."


But masked men closed in and caught his misshapen

elbows, and the voice that had first accosted him went

on in the level tones of its disguise:


"We don't aim ter harm ye. Hump; leastways not

yit — ^but we aims ter show ye «omethin' we've brought

ye fer a gift."


They led him, too dull and apathetic of spirit to resist,

too indifferent of any consequence to protest, out and

across his own fog-wrapped yard and down to the sledge-

trail road.


There in the bleak obscurity of blackness his eyes could

make out a squad of silent figures, but nothing more.


"Ye kain't rightly see hit yit. Hump," announced the

spokesman, " but thar's a fodder-sledge standin' thar at

ther aidge of ther road — ^an' on hit thar's somethin' thet

b'longs ter ye. Hyar's a pine faggot thet's soaked with

kerosene — ^an' hyar's matches ter light hit with — ^but —

on pain of death — wait twell we've done gone away."


Into the heavy indifference of the old man's mood

flashed a sickening shaft of dread. He took the torch

and the matches, and then with a cowardice that was

alien to his character he stood trembling like a

frightened child, while the dark figures disappeared as

though they had melted.




288 THE ROOF TREE


Hump Doane was afraid to kindle his torch, not

afraid because of any threat to himself, but terrified for

what he might see.


Then he braced himself, and with his back turned,

struck the match and saw the guttering flames leap

greedily upon the oiled pine splinter-

Slowly he wheeled, and his eyes fell on the illuminated

sledge — ^his own sledge stolen from his bam — ^and there

stretched lifeless, and shamefully marked with the

defacement of the hangman's rope, lay what was left of

his son.


Old Hump Doane, who had never stepped aside from

any danger, who had never known tears since babyhood,

stood for a moment gulping, then the light dropped

from his hand and the agony of his shriek went quaver-

ing across the silent hills and reechoed in the woods.


The pine splinter burned out in the wet grass and old

Hump lay beside it insensible, but after a while he

awakened out of that merciful sleep and crawled on his

hands and knees over to where the sledge stood, and he

knelt there with his face buried on the lifeless breast.


"God fergive me," he murmiu^ with a strangled

voice. "He didn't nuver hev no mammy ter raise him

up aright. I reckon I failed him when he needed me

most — ^but Bas Rowlett's accoimtable ter me I**


When the neighboiu* woman came the next morning

to prepare breafiPast she fled screaming away from the

gruesome sight that met her eyes: the sight of a dead

man lying on a sledge, and a hunchback, who seemed

dead, too, stretched unconscious across the body. It

was so that men f oimd them later, and carried them in,

and it would have been more merciful had Hump

Doane been as lifeless as he seemed instead of coming

back to the ordeal he must face.




THE ROOF TREE 289


Through a community stimned and appalled into

breathlessness the news ran like quicksilver, and the

easy-pacing mule from Parish Thornton's bam was

lathered with sweat as the young man called upon it to

annihilate time and space over the broken ways be-

tween his house and that of his stricken friend.


At Hump Doane's stile Thornton flung himself out

of his saddle and paused for no word with those neigh-

bom's who stood gathered about the dooryard. He

heard the whine of a saw and the pounding of a hammer

oflF somewhere to the rear, and knew that volimteer and

amateiu* imdertakers were fashioning a coffin — ^but he

hurled himself like a human hurricane across the thresh-

old and demanded briefly: "War's Hump at?"


The room was dim and miu-ky at its comers, but

through the two doors poiu^ a flood of morning light,

and into its shaft projected an unhinged shutter sup-

ported on two saw-horses, with a sheeted biu-den upon

it. As his eyes became more accustomed to the gloom

beyond the room's centre, Parish could make out the

himched figure that sat at the head of the body, still

mercifully wrapped in something like lethargy and too

numbed for full acuteness of feeling.


Other figiu'es to the number of two or three moved

as silently as dark wraiths about the place, but when

Parish entered they drifted out, leaving him alone with

his friend, and one of the doors closed upon their going.


Then the lightnings of outraged wrath that seemed

to crackle in the young clansman's eyes stilled them-

selves and altered into something like tenderness as he

moved with catlike softness of footfall to where the

elder man sat, and let a hand fall on his malformed

shoulder.


"Hump," he said, briefly, "my heart's plum sufierin'

fer ye. I jest beared of hit."


Hump Doane stirred and looked stupidly at him for




290 THE ROOF TREE


a space, then with laboured slowness he came to his feet,

and his only answer was the eloquent gesture with which

one hand swept toward the dead body.


A stupefaction of grief had held him since they had

brought him in this morning from the road where they

had found him, and thought had moved so haltingly

that it had scarcely been bought at all.


But now the vitalizing light of sympathy and outrage

in those other eyes seemed to rouse him out of his long

coma with an awakening like that which comes after

ether.


As gray dawn quickens gradually out of darkness,

a numbed indignation in his pupils began to liven into

unquenchable wrath.


"I hain't been able ter talk . . . ter these hyar

kindly neighbours of mine. • . ." he faltered,

"but somehow, I believes I kin with yow."


"I'm hyar ter s'arve ye, howsoever I kin, Hump,"

Parish assured him. "Ef ye was my own father I

couldn't love ye better."


Hump Doane held out a crumpled paper that had

been crushed in his taut hand, and Thornton stepping to

the light smoothed it and read, pencilled in roughly

printed characters, "A warning to all traitors."


"Hit war pinned on him . . ." explained the

father. "Ther riders done hit . . . he^d done

jined;em . . . an' he quit."


Parish Thornton stood with the light full on his face

and the paper grasped in his hand. The angle of his

clean-cut jaw seemed to harden from the plastic texture

of flesh to the hardness of granite, and in his narrowed

feyes spurted jets of those blue-and- white fires that hold

intensest heat.


"I always aimed ter raise him up in godly ways,"

went on the father with self -accusing misery, "but I

war a hard man, an' I never gentled him none. I reckon




THE ROOF TREE 291


I driv him ter others . . . thet debauched an'

ruint him/'


He had been, to that point, the man conscious only of

his hurt, but now his face became contorted and livid

with a sudden hurricane of rage.


"But them thet hanged him," he cried out in abrupt

violence, **vile es they war . . . they wam't

nothin' ter ther man thet made a dupe out of him . . .

ther man thet egged them on . . . Bas Rowlett's

accountable ter me — ^an' afore ther sun sets I aims ter

stand over his dead body!"


Parish Thornton flinched at the name. He had

turned his face toward the sheeted figure, but now he

wheeled back, crouching and straightening with the

spasmodic quickness of a boxer who sidesteps a blow.


**Bas Rowlett!" he echoed in a low but deadly tensity

of voice. "Steady yoreself, man, an' construe what ye

means!"


Hump Doane had shaken off his torpor now and

stood trembling under all the furies of repressed years.

His words came in a torrent of vehemence that could

not be stemmed, and they mounted like gathering

winds.


"I've preached peace day in an' day out. . .

I've striven ter keep hit . . . an' I knows I did

aright . . . but this day I'm goin' ter stultify my-

self an' km a man . . . an' when I finishes him,

I'm going ter keep right on till I'm either kilt myself or

gits all them thet's accountable fer this I" He paused,

breathing in gasps, then rushed on again: "I trusted

BasRowlett. . . . I believed in him . . . some

weeks back I Tarned some things erbout him thet

shocked me sore, but still I held my hand . . .

waitin' ter counsel with you atter yore baby hed been

horned."


"What war hit ye Tamed, Hump?" The younger




i




292 THE ROOF TREE


man's voice was almost inaudibly low, and the answer

came like volley-firing with words.


"Hit war Bas thet hired ye laywayed. . . . Hit

war Bas thet egged Sam Opdyke on ter kill ye . . .

Hit war Bas thet sent word over inter Virginny ter be-

tray ye ter ther law. . . . Hit war Bas thet shot

through old Jim's hat ter make a false appearance an'

foment strife. . . . Hit war Bas thet stirred men

up ter organizin' ther riders . . . an' used my boy

fer a catspaw!"


"Listen, man!" Parish Thornton was breathing his

words through lips that scarcely moved as he bent for-

ward with the tautness of a coUed spring. "I knowed

Bas Rowlett hired me shot . . . but we'd done

pledged ourselves ter sottle thet betwixt us ... I

held my hand because of ther oath I give ye when we

made ther truce . . . but these other things, I

hain't nuver even dremp' of ther like afore. Does ye

know aught more of him?"


"I knows thet whflst ye war away in Virginny he

went over an' sought ter make love ter yore wife . . .

an' she come nigh killin' him fer hit . . . but she

feared fer bloodshed ef she bore thet taJe ter yow."


The old man paused, and Parish Thornton made no

answer in words, but between his lips the breath ran out

with the hiss of sobbing waters.


"I kain't prove none of them things in law," went on

Hump, and his eyes travelled back to the hideous

fascination of the sheeted body, "^t I knows, in my

heart, every one of 'em's true — ^an' thet's enough fer

me. Now I'm goin' ter be my own law ! "


The cripple turned and walked unsteadily to the

corner of the room, and from its place behind a calico

curtain he took out a repeating rifle.


"Thar's my co'te of jestice," he declared, and his

voice trembled as with hunger and thirst.




^




THE ROOF TREE 293


But Parish Thornton had thrown back his head and

unaccountably he laughed as he laid on the other's arm

fingers that closed slowly into a grip of steel and raw-

hide.


"Hump," he said, "hit would be a turrible pity fer us

ter quarrel — ^but I don't aim ter be robbed, even by

you 1 Thet man belongs ter me . . . an' I aims ter

claim him now. When my blood war bi'lin' like a mor-

tal fever . . . right hyar in this room . . .

didn't ye fo'ce me ter lay aside my grudge till sich day

es ye give me license ter take hit up ergin? . . .

an' hain't thet day come now? . . . Prom thet

time till this I've kep' my word . . . but hell hit-

self couldn't hold me back no longer ... Ye

kain't hev him, Hump. He's mine /"


He paused, then with something like a sob he repeated

in a dazed voice, "An' ye says he aimed ter fo'ce Dorothy

with his love-makin'. God!"


Hump Doane was still clinging to the rifle upon which

Thornton had laid his hands, and they stood there,

two claimants, neither of whom was willing to surrender

his title to a disputed prize — ^the prize of Bas Rowlett's

life.


But at length the older fingers loosened their hold

and the older man took a stumbling step and knelt by

his dead. Then the younger, with the gun cradled in

his elbow, and a light of release in his eyes — a light that

seemed almost one of contentment — went out through

the door and crossed the yard to the fence where Us

mount was hitched.




CHAPTER XXXn


SIM, standing at the bam door, had watched

Parish Thornton ride away that morning with

a troubled heart, as he wondered what sequel

these events would bring for himself. Then he went

to the house and called softly to Dorothy. She was

crooning a lullaby, behind the closed door of her room,

to the small mite of humanity that had come, in healthy

pinkness, to the comparatively mature age of one

month.


"Thar hain't nuthin* ter be done right now,'* the

hired man told her, "an' I've got ter fare over ter my

own place fer a spell. A man's comin' ter haggle with

me over a cattle deal."


But Sim was not going to his own house. He was

acting under standing orders which might in no wise

be disobeyed.


The organization that had been bom in secret and

nurtiu^ to malignant vigoiu* had never held a day-

light session before. No call had gone out for one now,

but an understanding existed and an obligation,

acknowledged by its membership in the oath of alle-

giance.


If ever at any time, day or night, shine or storm, such

an occasion developed as carried the urge of emergency,

each rider must forthwith repair to his designated post,

armed and ready for instant action.


This prearranged mobilization must follow automati-

cally upon the event that brought the need, and it in-

volved squad meetings at various points. In its sup-


294




\




THE ROOF TREE 295


port a system of signalling and communication had

been devised, whereby separated units might establish

and hold unbroken touch, and might flow together like

shattered beads of quicksilver.


Unless Sim Squires was profoundly mistaken, such a

time had come.


But Sim went with a heavy heart of divided alle-

giance. He dared not absent himself, and he laiew that

after last night's happening the space of twenty-four

hours could scarcely pass without bringing the issue of

decisive battle between the occult and the open powers

that were warring for domination in that community.


He realized that somehow a hideous blunder had been

committed and he guessed with what a frenzy of rage

Bas Rowlett had learned that the organization into

which he had infused the breath of life had murdered

one of his two confidential vassals.


At the gorge that men called a "master shut-in*',

which was Sim's rendezvous for such an emergency

meeting, he found that others had arrived before him,

and among the faces into which he looked was that of

Rick Joyce, black with a wrath as yet held in abeyance,

but promising speedy and stormy eruption.


The spot was wild beyond description, lying in the

lap of mountains that had in some day of world infancy

been riven into a mighty boulder-strewn fissure be-

tween walls of sheer and gloomy precipices.


It was a place to which men would come for no le-

gitimate purpose; a place which the hounded bear and

deer had avoided even when hard driven, and inviting

only to copperhead, skunk, and fox. About it lay

"laurel-hells" thick-matted and gnarled, briars that

were like entanglements of barbed wire, and woods so

black of recess that bats flew through their corridors of

pine at midday. But these men had cut, and used

familiarly, tortuous and hidden zig-zags of entry and




296 THE ROOF TREE


exit, and they came separately from divergent direc-

tions.


When Sim arrived they were waiting for their in-

formal quorum, but at last a dozen had assembled and in

other places there were other dozens. Each group had

a commander freshly come from a sort of staff meeting,

which had already decided the larger questions of policy.

There would be little debate here, only the sharp giving

of orders which none would venting to disobey.


Rick Joyce took inventory of the faces and mentally

called his roll. Then he nodded his head and said

brusquely, "We're ready ter go ahead now."


The men lounged about him with a pretence of stoical

composure, but under that guise was a mighty disquiet,

for even in an organization of his own upbuilding the

mountaineer frets against the despotic power that says

"thou shalt" and "thou shalt not."


"Thar's been treason amongst us," announced Rick

Joyce, sharply, and every man seemed to find that

wrathful glance resting accusingly upon himself.

"Thar's been treason that's got ter be paid in full an*

with int'rest hereatter. Thet thing thet tuck place

last night was mighty damnable an' erginst all orders.

Ther fellers thet did hit affronted this hyar army of

riders thet they stood sworn ter obey."


Whether among those followers gathered about him

there were any who had participated in last night's

murder Rick Joyce did not know, but he knew that a

minority had run to a violence which had been neither

ordered nor countenanced. They had gotten out of

hand, wreaked a prematm^ vengeance, and precipitated

the need of action before the majority was ready. But

it was now too late to waste time in lamentation. The

thing was done, and the organization saddled with that

guilt must strike or be strud: down.


The Ku Klux had meant to move at its own appointed




THE ROOF TREE 297


time, with the irresistible sweep and force of an ava-

lanche. Before the designated season a lighter snow-

slide had broken away and the avalanche had no choice

but to follow.


To-morrow every aroused impulse of law and order

would be battle-girt and the secret body would be on

the defensive — ^perhaps even on the run. K it were to

hold the offensive it must strike and terrorize before

another day had dawned — ^and that was not as it had

planned its course.


"Hit's too late now ter cry over spilt milk/' declared

Joyce with a burr in his voice. " Later on we'll handle

our own traitors — aright now thar's another task thet

won't suffer no delay."


He paused, scowling, then enhghtened his hearers

briefly :


"We warn't ready ter finish up this matter yit but

now we hain't got no choice. Hit's ternight or never.

We stands disgusted by all mankind, an' in sheer self-

defence we've got ter terrify mankind so they won't

dast utter what disgust they feels. Old Jim's nigh ter

death an' we don't need ter bother with him; Hump

Doane kin wait — one blow's done fell on him aheady —

but thar's yit another man thet won't never cease ter

dog us whilst he lives, an' thet's Parish Thornton — so

ternight we aims ter hang him."


Once more there was a pause, then as though point-

ing his moral the spokesman supplemented his remajrks :

Hit hes need ter be a thing," he said, solemnly,

thet's goin' ter terrify this whole coimtry in sich dire

fashion thet fer twenty y'ars ter come no grand juror

won't dast vote fer no investigation."


There remained those exact details that should cause

the elaborate operation to function together without

hitch or miscarriage, and to these Rick Joyce addressed

himself.







298 THE EOOF TREE


The mob was to participate in force of full numbers

and no absentees were to be tolerated.


"When ther game starts up hit's got ter go quick

as a bat flyin' through hell," enjoined the director.

"Every man teks his slicker an* his false-face, an' goes

one by one ter ther woods eround Thornton's house es

soon es dusk sottles. Every man's got ter be nigh

enough afore sun-down ter make shore of gettin' thar on

time. Then they all draws in, holdin' ter ther thickets.

Ther signal will be ther callin' of whippoorwills — a

double call with a count of five betwixt 'em. When

we're all drawed up eround ther house, so no way hain't

left open thet a rabbit could break through, I'll sing

out — ^an' when I does thet ye all closes in on ther run.

Thar's a big walnuck tree right by ther door ter hang

him on — ^an' termorrer mornin' folks'll hev a lesson

thet they kin kinderly take ter heart."




On his way back from Hump Doane's house that

morning Parish Thornton made a detour for a brief

visit upon Jase Burrell, the man to whose discretion he

had entrusted the keeping of Bas Rowlett's sealed con-

fession. From the hands of that faithful custodian he

took the envelope and thrust it into his breast pocket.

Now that his own pledge of suspended vengeance had

been exonerated he would no longer need that bond of

amnesty. Moreover, he knew now that this compact

had been a rope of sand to Bas Rowlett from the begin-

ning, and would never be anything else. It only served

to divert the plotter's activities and treacheries into

subtler channels — and when the sun set to-day there

would be either no Bas Rowlett to bind or no Parish

Thornton to seek to bind him.


Then he rode home.


Thornton entered his own house silently, but with the




THE ROOF TREE 29»


face of an avenging spirit, and it was a face that told his

story.


The rigid pose and the set jaw, the irreconcilable

light in the eyes, were all things that Dorothy under-

stood at once and without explanation. As she looked

at her husband she thought, somehow, of a falcon or

eagle poised on a bare tree-top at a precipice edge.

There was the same alert restiveness as might have

marked a bird of prey, gauging the blue sky-reaches

with predatory eye, and ready to strike with a winged

bolt of death.


Quietly, because the baby had just fallen asleep, she

rose and laid the child on the bright patterned coverlet

of the fourposter, and she paused, too, to brace herself

with a glance into the cool shadows and golden lights of

the ample branches beyond the window.


Then she came back to the door and her voice was

steady but low as she said, " YeVe done found out who

did hit. I kin read thet in yore eyes. Ken."


He nodded, but until he had crossed the room and

laid a hand on each of her shoulders, he did not speak.


"Since ther fust day I ever seed ye, honey," he

declared with a sort of hushed fervour, "standin' up

thar in ther winder, my heart hain't nuver struck a

beat save ter love ye — ^an' thet war jest erbout a y'ar

ago.


"Hit's been all my life. Ken," she protested. "Ther

time thet went ahead of thet didn't skeercely count

atall."


Her voice trembled, and the meeting of their gaze

was a caress. Then he said : " When I wedded with ye

out thar — ^under thet old tree — ^with ther sun shinin*

down on us — ^I swore ter protect ye erginst all harm."


"Hain't ye always done thet. Ken?"


"Erginst all ther perils I knowed erbout — ^yes," he

answered, slowly, then his tone leaped into vehemence.




800 THE ROOF TREE


**But I didn't suspicion — ^until terday — ^thet whilst I

was away from ye — ^ye hed ter protect yoreself erginst

Bas Rowlett."


"Bas Rowlett!" the name broke from her lips with a

gasp and a spasmodic heart-clutch of panic. Her well-

kept secret stood unveiled! She did not know how it

had come about, but she realized that the time of reckon-

ing had come and, if her husband's face was an indica-

tion to be trusted, that reckoning belonged to to-day

and would be neither diverted nor postponed.


Her old fear of what the consequence would be if this

revelation came to his knowledge rose chokingly and

overpoweringly.


Why had she not killed Bas herself before Sim

Squires came in to interfere that day? Why had she

allowed the moment to pass when a stroke of the blade

might have ended the peril?


Atavistic impulses and contradictions of her blood

welled confusedly up within her. This was her own

battle and she wanted to fight it out for herself. If

Rowlett were to be executed it should be she herself who

sent him to his accounting. She was torn, as she

stood there, between her terror for the man she loved

and her hatred for the other — a, hatred which clamoured

for blood appeasement.


But she idiook her head and sought to resolve the

conflicting emotions.


"I hid ther truth from ye. Ken," she said, "because I

feared fer what mout happen ef ye found out. I wasn't

affrighted of Bas fer myself — ^but I war fer you. I

knowed ye trusted him an* ef ye diskivered he war a

traitoi-— ?"


" Traitor ! " the man interrupted her, passionately, " he

hain't never deluded me es ter thet since ther fust night

I laid in thet thar bed atter I'd been shot. Him an' me

come ter an' understandin' then an' thar — ^but he swore




THE ROOF TREE SOI


ter hold his hand twell we could meet man ter man, jest

ther two of us."


A bitter laugh came with his pause, then he went on :

"I 'lowed you trusted him an' I didn't seek ter rouse up

no needless fears in yore heart — ^but now we both knows

ther truth, an' I'm startin' out d'reddy ter sottle ther

score fer all time."


Dorothy Thornton caught his shoulders and her eyes

were full of pleading.


"Ye've done built up a name fer yoreself. Ken," she

urged with burning fervour. "Hit war me tiet told ye,

thet day when Aaron Capper an' them others come,

thet ye couldn't refuse ter lead men — ^but I told ye, too,

ye war bounden ter lead *em to'rds peace an' law.

Ye've done led 'em thetaway. Ken, an' folks trusts ye.

Harpers an' Doanes alike. Now ye kain't afford ter

start in leadin' 'em wrong — ye kain't afford ter dirty

yore hands with bloodshed. Ken. Ye kain't afford ter

do hit!"


The man stood off looking at her with a love that

was almost awe, with an adSiniration that was almost

idolatry, but the obduracy persisted in his eyes.


"Partly ye're talkin' from conscience thet don't

traffic ner barter with no evil, Dorothy," he made sober

response, "an' partly, too, ye're talkin', woman-fashion,

outen a fear thet seeks ter shield yore man. I honours

both them things, but this time I hain't f ollerin' no fox-

fire an' I kain't be stayed." He paused, and the hand

that closed over hers was firm and resolute for all the

tenderness of its pressure.


"Hit's warfare now ter ther hilt of ther knife, honey,

but hit's ther warfare of them that strives fer decency

an' law erginst them thet murders in ther night-time.

An' yit ther riders has good men amongst 'em, too — ^men

thet's jest sorely misguided. I reckon ye don't know

thet, either, but Bas Rowlett's ther one body thet




302 THE ROOF TREE


brought *em ter life an* eggs *em on. When he

dies ther riders'll fall apart like a string of beads

thet's been cut in two. Terday I aims ter cut ther

thread."


The woman stood trembling with the fervour of out-

raged indignation as he told her all he knew, but when

he finished she nodded her head, in a finale of exhorta-

tion, toward the bedroom. Possibly she was not un-

like the lawyer whose duty is to argue for legal ob-

servances even though his heart cries out mutinously for

a hotter course.


"Air hit wuth whfle— orphanin* him— an* widdprin*

me fer — Ken?**


"Hit's wuth while his growin* up ter know thet he

wasn't fathered by no craven, ner yit borne by a woman

thet faltered,** answered Parish Thornton; then he set

Hmnp Doane*s rifle in the corner and took out his own

with the particularity of a man who, for a vital task,

dares trust no tool save that with which he is most

familiar.


When he had gone Dorothy sat down in her chair

again. She remembered that other time when her

mind had reeled under anxieties almost too poignant

for endurance. Now she was nursing a baby, and she

must hold herself in hand. Her eyes wandered about

the place, seeking something upon which her mind

might seize for support, and at length she rose and ran

up the boxed-in stairway to the attic.


When she came bade again to the bedroom she

carried the journal that had been so mysteriously lost

and recovered, and then she drew a chair to the window

and opened the docmnent where she had left oflf in her

reading. But often she laid the book absent-mindedly

in her lap to listen with an ear turned toward the bed,

and often, too, she looked out into the spreading soft-

ness of golden-gs-een laced through by dove-gray and




\




THE ROOF IBEE 303


[lich played baffling reflexes




of soft and mossy colours.




Parish Thornton did not approach the house of his

enemy from the front. He came upon it from behind

and held to the shelter of the laurel as long as that was

possible, but he found a padlock on the door and all the

windows closed.


For an hour or more he waited, but there was no re-

turn of the owner and Parish carried his search else-

where.


Bas, he reflected, was busy to-day conferring with

those leaders of the riders from whom he ostensibly

stood aloof, and the man who was hunting him down

followed trail after trail along roads that coidd be ridden

and "traces" that must be tramped. Casual inquiries

along the highway served only to send him hither and

yon on a series of wild goose chases.


This man and that had seen Bas Rowlett, and "Bas

he seemed right profoundly shocked an' sore distressed, '*

they said. They gave Thornton the best directions

they could, and as the clan-leader rode on they nodded

sage heads and reflected that it was both natural and

becoming that he should be seeking for Bas at such a

time. The man who had been murdered last night was

Rowlett's kinsman and Thornton was Rowlett's friend.

Both men were prominent, and it was a time for sober

counsel. The shadow of the riders lay over the country

broader and deeper than that which the mountains cast

across the valleys.


So from early forenoon until almost sunset Parish

Thornton went doggedly and vainly on with his man-

hunt. Yet he set his teeth and swore that he must not

fail ; that he could not afford to fail. He would go home

and have supper with Dorothy, then start out afresh.




804 THE ROOF TREE


He was threading a blind and narrow pathway home-

ward between laiu^l thickets, when he came to the spot

where he and Bas Rowlett had stood on that other

June night a year ago, the spot where the shot rang out

that had wounded him.


There he paused in meditation, smnming up in his

mind the many things that had happened since then,

and the sinister strands of Rowlett's influence that ran

defacingly through the whole pattern.


Below that shelf of rock, kissed by the long shadow

of the mountain, lay the valley with its loop of quietly

moving water. The roof of hiis own house was a patdi

of gray and the canopy of his own tree a spot of green

beneath him. At one end, the ledge on which he stood

broke away in a precipice that dropped two hundred

feet, in sheer and perpendicular abruptness, to a rock-

strewn gorge below. Elsewhere it shelved oflf into the

steep slope down which Bas had carried him.


Suddenly Thornton raised his head with abrupt alert-

ness. He thought he had heard the breaking of a twig

somewhere in the thicket, and he drew back until he

himself was hidden.


Five minutes later the man he had spent the day

seeking emerged alone from the woods and stood ten

yards from his own hiding place.


This was a coincidence too remarkable and providen-

tial to be credited, thought Thornton, yet it was no coin-

cidence at all. Bas knew of the drama that was to be

played out that night — ^a drama of which he was the

anonymous author — ^and he was coming, in leism^ly

fashion, to a lookout from which he could witness its

climax while he still held to his pose of detachment.


The master-conspirator seated himself on a boulder

and wiped his brow, for he had been walking fast. A

little later he glanced up, to see bent upon him a pair of

silent eyes whose message could not be misread. Tn




THE ROOF TREE 305


one hand Thornton held a cocked revolver, in the other

a sealed envelope.


Rowlett rose to his feet and went pale, and Parish

advanced holding the paper out to him.


"Ther day hes come, Bas," said Thornton with the

solemnity of an executioner, "when I don't need this

pledge no longer. I aims ter give hit back ter ye

now.'*




N




CHAPTER XXXm


ONE might have counted ten while the picture

held with no other sound than the breathing of

two men and the strident clamour of a blue-jay

in a hickory sapling.


Rowlett had not been ordered to raise his hands, but

he held them ostentatiously stiD and wide of his body.

The revolver in its holster under his armpit might as well

have been at home, for even had both started with an

equal chance in the legerdemain of drawing and firing,

he knew his master, and as it was, he stood covered.


Now, too, he faced an adversary no longer fettered by

any pledge of private forbearance.


This, then, was the end — ^and it arrived just a dam-

nable shade too soon, when with the falling of dusk he

might have witnessed the closing scenes of his enemy's

doom. To-morrow there would be no Parish Thornton

to dread, but also to-morrow there would be no Bas

Rowlett to enjoy immunity from fear.


"Hit war jest erbout one y'ar ago, Bas," came the

even and implacable inflection of the other, "thet us two

stud up hyar tergither, an' a heap hes done come ter

pass since then — don't ye want yore envellip, Bas?"


Silently and with a heavily moving hand, Rowlett

reached out and took the proffered paper which bore

his incriminating admissions and signature, but he

made no answer.


"Thet other time," went on Thornton with madden-

ing deUberation, "hit was in ther moonKght thet us two

stud hyar, an ' when ye told me ye war bef riendin ' me I


306




THE ROOF TREE 307


war fool enough ter b'lieve ye. Don't ye recoUict

how we turned and looked down, an' ye p'inted out thet

big tree — in front of ther house?"


The intriguer ground his teeth, but from the victor's

privilege of verbose taunting he had no redress. After

all, it would be a transient victory. Parish might "rub

it in" now, but in a few hours he would be dangling at a

rope's end.


"Ye showed hit ter me standin' thar high an' wide-

spread in ther moonlight, an' I seems ter recall thet ye

'lowed ye'd cut hit down ef ye hed yore way. Ye

hain't hed yore way, though, Bas, despite Satan's un-

flaggin' aid. Ther old tree stiU stands thar a-castin'

hits shade over a place thet's come ter be my home — a,

place ye've done vainly sought ter defile."


StiD Rowlett did not speak. There was a grim vestige

of comfort left in the thought that when the moon

shone again Parish Thornton would have less reason to

love that tree.


"Ye don't seem no master degree talkative terday,

Bas," suggested the man with the pistol, which was no

longer held levelled but swinging — ^though ready to

leap upward. Then almost musingly he added, "An'

thet's a kinderly pity, too, seein' ye hain't nuver goin'

ter hev no other chanst."


"Why don't ye shoot an' git done?" barked Rowlett

with a leer of desperation. "Pull yore trigger an' be

danmed ter ye — ^we'll meet in hell afore long anyhow."


When Thornton spoke again the naked and honest

wrath that had smouldered for a year like a banked

fire at last leaped into untrammelled blazing.


"I don't strike down even a man like you outen sheer

hate an' vengeance," he declared, with an electrical

vibrance of pitch. "Hit's a bigger thing then thet an'

ye've got ter know in full what ye dies fer afore I kills

ye — ^ye hain't deluded me as fur es ye thinks ye have — ^I





808 THE ROOF TREE


knows ye betrayed me in Virginny; I knows ye shot at

old Jim an' fathered ther infamies of ther riders; I

knows ye sought ter fo'ce yoreself on Dorothy; but I

didn't git thet knowledge from her. She kep' her

bargain with ye/'


^^A man right often thinks he knows things when he

jest suspicions 'em," Bas reminded him, with a forced

and factitious calm summoned for his final interview,

but the other waved aside the subterfuge.


"Right often — ^yes — ^but not always, an' this hain't

one of them delusions. I knows ther full smn an' sub-

stance of yore infamies, an' yit I've done held my hand.

Mebby ye thought my wrath war coolin'. Ef ye did ye

thought wrong ! "


Parish Thornton drew a long breath and the colour

gradually went out of his brown face, leaving it white

and rapt in an exaltation of passion.


"I've been bidin' my time an' my time hes come,"

he declared in a voice that rang like a bronze bell.

"When I kills ye I does a holy act. Hit's a charity ter

mankind an' womankind — ^an' yit some f oreparent bred

hit inter me ter be a fool, an' I've got ter go on bein'




one.




A note of hopefulness, incredulous, yet quickening

with a new lease on courage, flashed into the gray de-

spair of the conspirator's mind and he demanded

shortly:


"T^liat does ye mean?"


Thornton recognized that grasping at hope, and

laughed ironically.


"I hain't goin' ter shoot ye down like ye merits," he

said, "an' yit I misdoubts ef hit's so much because I've

got ter give ye a chanst, atter all, es ther hunger ter see

yore life go out under my bare fingers."


Slowly dying hope had its redawning in Bas Row-

lett's face. His adversary's strength and quickness were




THE ROOF TREE S09


locally famous, but he, too, was a giant in perfect con-

dition, and the prize of life was worth a good fight.


He stood now with hands held high while Thornton

disarmed him and flung his pistol and knife far back-

ward into the thicket. His own weapon, the Harper

leader stiU held.


**Now, me an' you are goin' ter play a leetle game by

ther name of *craven an' danm fool','' Thornton en-

lightened him with a grim smile. ^^I'm ther danm fool.

Hit's fist an' skull, tooth an' nail, or anything else ye

likes, but fust I'm goin' ter put this hyar gim of mine in

a place whar ye kain't git at hit, an' then one of us is

goin' ter fling t'other one offen thet rock-dift whar she

draps down them two hundred feet. Does ye like thet

play, Bas?"


"I reckon I'll do my best," said Rowlett, sullenly;

"I hain't skeercely got no rather in ther matter no-

how."


Thornton stripped off his coat and rolled his sleeves

high and the other man followed suit. Bas even

grinned sardonically in appreciation when the other at

length thrust his pistol under a rock which it strained

his strength to lift. The man who got that weapon

out would need to be one who had time and deliberation

at his disposal — ^not one who snatched it up in any short-

winded interval of struggle.


Then the two stood glaring into each other's faces

with the naked savagery of vnld beasts, and under the

stress of their hate-lust the whites of their eyes were

already bloodshot and fever-hot with murder-bent.


Yet with an impulse that came through even that

red fog of fury Parish Thornton turned his head and

looked for the fraction of an instant down upon the

gray roof and the green tree where the shadows lay

lengthed in the vaBey — ^and in that half second of

diverted gaze Rowlett launched himself like a diarging




310 THE ROOF TREE


bull, with head down to ram his adversary's solar

plexus and with arms outstretched for a bone-breaking

grapple.


It was a suddenness which even with suddenness

expected came bolt-like, and Thornton, leaping side-

wise, caught its passing force and stumbled, but

grappled and carried his adversary down with him.

The two rolled in an embrace that strained ribs inward

on panting lungs, leg locking leg, and fingers clutching

for a vulnerable hold. But Thornton slipped eel-like

out of the chancery that would have crushed him into

helplessness and sprang to his feet, and if Rowlett was

slower, it was by only a shade of difference.


They stood, with sweat already flowing in tiny

freshets out of their pores and eyes blazing with mur-

derous fire. They crouched and circled, advancing

step by step, each warily sparring for an advantage and

ready to plunge in or leap sidewise. Then came tiie im-

pact of bone and flesh once more, and both went down,

Thornton's face pressed against that of his enemy as

they fell, and Rowlett opened and clamped his jaws as

does a bull-dog trying for a grip upon the jugular.


That battle was homerically barbaric and starkly

savage. It was fought between two wild creatures who

had shed their humanity: one the stronger and more

massive of brawn; the other more adroit and resource-

ful. But the teeth of the conspirator closed on the

angle of the jawbone instead of the neck — ^and found no

fleshy hold, and while they twisted and writhed with

weird incoherencies of sound going up in the smother of

dust, Bas Rowlett felt the closing of iron fingers on his

throat. While he clawed and gripped and kicked to

break the strangle, his eyes seemed to swell and burn

and start from their sockets, and the patch of darkening

sky went black.


It was only the collapse of the human mass in his





THE ROOF TREE 311


arms into dead weight that brought Parish Thornton

again out of his mania and back to consciousness. The

battle was over, and as he drew his arms away his

enemy sank shapeless and limp at his feet.


For a few seconds more Thornton stood rocking on

unsteady legs, then, with a final and supreme effort, he

stooped and lifted the heavy weight that hung sagging

like one newly dead and not yet rigid.


With his burden Parish staggered to the cliff's edge

and swung his man from side to side, gaining momentum.


Then suddenly he stopped and stood silhouetted

there, sweat-shiny and tattered, blood-stained and

panting, and instead of pitching Bas Rowlett outward

he laid him down again on the shelf of rock.


How much later he did not know, though he knew

that it was twilight now, Bas Rowlett seemed to come

out of a heavy and disturbed sleep in which there had

been no rest, and he found himself lying with his feet

hanging over the precipice edge, and with Thornton

looking intently down upon him. In Thornton's hand

was the recovered pistol — so there must have been time

enough for that.


But his perplexed brain reeled to the realization that

he still lay up here instead of among the rocks upon

which he should have been broken two hundred feet be-

low. Presumably the victor had waited for returning

consciousness in the victim to consummate that atrocity.


But Thornton's imaccoimtable whims had flown at

another tangent.


"Git up, Bas," he commanded, briefly, "yore life

b'longs ter me. I won hit — ^an' ye're goin' ter die —

but my fingers don't ache no more fer a holt on yore

throat — ^they're satisfied."


"What air — ^ye goin' ter do, now?" Rowlett found

words hard to form; and the victor responded promptly,

"I've done concluded ter take ye down thar, afore




812 THE ROOF TREE


ye dies, an' make ye crave Dorothy's pardon on yore

bended knees. Ye owes hit ter her."


Slowly Rowlett dragged himself to a sitting posture.

His incredulous senses wanted to sing out in exultation,

but he forced himself to demur with surly obduracy,


*^ Hain't hit enough ter kill me without humiliatin'

me, too?"


"No, hit hain't enough fer me an' hit's too tardy fer

you ter make no terms now."


Bas Rowlett exaggerated his dizzy weakness. There

was every reason for taking time. This mad idea that

had seized upon the other was a miracle of deliverance

for him. If only he could kill time until night had

come and the moon had risen, it would prove not only a

respite but a full pardon — capped with a reserved

climax of triumph.


Down there at that house the mob would soon come,

and circumstance would convert him, at a single turn of

the wheel, from humbled victim to the avenger ironic-

ally witnessing the execution of his late victor.


After a while he rose and stood experimentally on his

legs.


"I reckon I kin walk now," he said, drearily, "ef so

be ye lets me go slow — ^I hain't got much of my stren'th

back yit."


"Thar hain't no tormentin' haste," responded

Thornton; "we've got all night afore us."




When they reached the house, it stood mistily

bulked among shadows, with its front door open upon

an unlighted room.


The men had tramped down that slope in silence, and

they crossed the threshold in silence, too, the captive

preceding his captor; and the householder paused to

bolt the door bdiind him.




THE ROOF TREE 313


Then, holding a vigilant eye on the forced guest who

had not spoken, Thornton lighted a lamp and backed

to the closed bedroom door at whose sill he had seen a

slender thread of brightness. In all his movements he

went with a wary slowness, as though he were held by a

cord, and the cord was the Kne of direct glance that he

never permitted to deviate from the face of his prisoner.


Now while his right hand still fondled the revolver,

he groped with his left for the latch and opened the

door at his back.


"Dorothy,'' he called in a low voice, "I wisht ye'd

come in hyar, honey."


From within he heard a sound like a low moan; but

he knew it was a sigh of relief loosening tight nerve

cords that had been binding his wife's heart in sus-

pense.


"Thank God, ye're back, Ken," she breathed, "Air

ye all right — an' unharmed?"


"All right an' unharmed," he responded, as he

stepped to the side of the door frame and stood there a

rigid and unmoving sentmel.


But when Dorothy came to the threshold, she took

in at once the whole picture, pregnant with significance:

the glint of lampUght on the ready revolver, the relent-

less, tooth-marked face of her husband, and the figure of

the vanquished plotter* with its powerful shoulders

himched forward and its head hanging.


On the mantel ticked the small tin clock, which Bas

Rowlett watched from the tail of a furtive eye.


As Dorothy Thornton stood in gracious slendemess

against the background of the lighted door with a nim-

bus about her head, she was all feminine dehcaqy and

allurement. But in that moment she stiffened to an

overwhelming rush of memories which incited her to a

transport of wrath for which she had no words.


She saw Bas Rowlett stripped naked to the revolting




314 THE ROOF TREE


bareness of his unclean soul, and she drew back with a

ahudder of loathing and immoderated hate.


"Why did ye dally with him. Ken?" she demanded,

fiercely; "don't ye know thet whilst ye lets him live

yere jest handhn' an' playin' with a rattlesnake?"


"He hain't got long ter hve," came the coldly confi-

dent response, "but afore he dies, he wants ter crave

yore pardon, Dorothy, an' he wants ter do hit kneelin'

down."


Bas Rowlett shot a sidelong glance at the clock.

Time was soul and essence of the matter now and

minutes were the letters that spelled life and death.

He listened tensely, too, and fancied that he heard a

whippoorwiU.


There were many whippoorwiUs calling out there in

the woods but he thought this was a double call and

that between its whistlings a man might have counted

five. Of that, however, he could not be sure.


"I hain't got no choice, Dorothy," whined the man,

whose .craven soul was suffering acutely as he fenced for

delay— delay at any cost. "Even ef I hed, though, I'd

crave yore pardon of my own free will — ^but afore I

does hit, thar's jest a few words I'd love ter say."


Dorothy Thornton stood just inside the door. Pity,

mercy, and tenderness were qualities as inherent m her

as perfume in a wild flower, but there was something else

in her as well— as there is death in some perfumes. If

he had been actually a poisonous reptile instead of a

snake soul in the body of a man Bas Rowlett could

have been to her, just then, no less human.


"Yes," she said, slowly, as a memory stirred the con-

fession of her emotions, "thar's one thing I'd like ter

say, too — ^but hit hain't in no words of my own — Chit's

somethin' thet was said a long spell back."


From the mantel shelf she produced the old journal,

and opened its yellowed pages.




THE ROOF TREE 316


"IVe been settin' hyar," said Dorothy Thornton, in

a strained quietness of voice, "readin* this old book

mighty nigh all day — ^I hed ter read hit — " her voice

broke there, then went steadily on again — "or else go

mad, whilst I was waitin' — ^waitin* ter Imow whether Ken

hed kilt ye or you^d kilt Aim." Again she paused for a

moment and turned her eyes to her husband. "This

book sheds light on a heap of things thet we all needs

ter know erbout — ^hit tells how his f oreparent sought ter

kill ther tree thet our ancestors planted — ^an' hit's

kinderly like an indictment in ther high co'te."


While Dorothy Thornton accused the blood sprung

from the renegade and his Indian squaw out of those

ancient pages the men listened.


To the husband it was incitement and revelation.

The tree out there standing warder in the dark became,

as he listened with engrossed interest, more than ever a

being of sentient spirit and less than ever a thing of

mere wood and leaf.


To Bas Rowlett it should have been an indictment, or

perhaps an excuse, with its testimony of blood strains

stronger than himself — ^but from its moral his mind was

wandering to a more present and gripping interest.


Now he was sure he had heard the double whippoor-

will call! In five minutes more he would be saved —

yet five minutes might be too long.


Dorothy paused. "Ye sees," she said with a deep

gravity, "from ther start, in this coimtry, our folks hev

been despitef ully tricked an' misused by ther offspring

of thet Indian child thet our foreparents tuck in an'

befriended. From ther start, ther old tree hes held

us safe with hits charm erginst evil! Ever since "


She broke off there and paused with astonished eyes

that turned to the door, upon which had soimded a

commanding rap. Then she rose and went over

cautiously to open it an inch or two and look out.




316 THE ROOF TREE


But when she raised the latch a man, rendered un-

eognizable by a black slicker that cloaked him to his

andkles and a masked face, threw it wide, so that the

woman was forced, stumbling, back. Then through

the opening poured a half dozen others in like habili-

ments of disguise.


All held outthrust rifles, and that one who had

entered first shouted: "All right, boys, ther door's

open."


Parish Thornton had not been able to shoot at the

initial instant because Dorothy stood in his way.

After that it was useless — and he saw Bas Rowlett step

forward with a sudden change of expression on his pasty

face.


"Now, then," said Bas, exultantly, "hit's a gray hoss

of another colour!"




CHAPTER XXXIV


WHEN Parish Thornton had brought his captive

down the slope that afternoon he had left his

rifle in safe concealment, not wishing to ham-

per himself with any weapon save the revolver, which

had never left his palm until this moment.


Now with the instant gone m which he might have

used it to stem the tide of invasion, he was not fool

enough to fire. A silent and steady current of black-

clad humanity was still flowing inward across the

threshold, and every man was armed.


Yet at the ring of victorious elation in Bas Rowlett*s

voice the impulse to strike down that master of deceit

before his own moment came almost overpowered

him — ^almost but not quite.


He knew that the bark of his weapon would bring

chorused retort from other firearms, and that Dorothy

might fall. As it was, the mob had come for him alone,

so he walked over and laid his revolver quietly down on

the table.


But the girl had seen the by-play and had rightly

interpreted its meaning. For her the future held no

promise — except a tragedy she could not face, and for a

distracted moment she forgot even her baby as she

reacted to the bitterness of her vendetta blood. So she

caught up Hump Doane's rifle that still rested against

the wall near her hand and threw the muzzle to Row-

lett's breast.


"I'll git yoUy anyhow," she screamed between clenched

teeth, and it was a promise she would have kept; a


817




318 THE ROOF TREE


promise that would have turned that room mto a

shambles had not one of the masked figures been

dexterous enough in his intervention to reach her and

snatch the gun from her grasp — still unfired.


Dorothy stepped back then, her eyes staring with

the fury of failure as she gazed at the man who had dis-

armed her — ^while one by one other dark and uniformed

figures continued to enter and range themselves about

the wall.


The night-rider who held the captured rifle had not

spoken, but the woman's eye, as it ranged up and down,

caught sight of a shoe — ^and she recognized a patch.

That home-mending told her that the enemy who had

balked her in the last poor comfort of vengeance was Sim

Squires, a member of her own household, and her lips

moved in their impulse to call out his name in de-

nunciation and revilement.


They moved and then, in obedience to some sudden

afterthought, closed tight again without speaking, but

her eyes did speak in silent anathema of scorn — and

though she did not know or suspect it, the thoughts

mirrored in them were read and interpreted by the mob-

leader,


Dorothy crossed the floor of the room, ringed with

its border of grimly cloaked humanity, and took her

stand by the side of the man who leaned stoically at the

comer of his hearth. At least she could do that much

in declaration of loyalty.


Thornton himself folded his arms and, as his eyes

ran over the anonymous beings who had come to kill

him, he fell back on the only philosophy left him : that

of dying with such as unwhining demeanour as should

rob them of triumph in their gloating.


At length the door closed, and it was with a dramatic

effect of climax that the last man who entered bore,

coiled on his arm, the slender but stout rope which was




s




THE ROOF TREE 819


to be both actual instrument and symbol of their pur-

pose there.


Parish felt Dorothy, whose two hands were clasped

about his folded arm, wince and shudder at the sinister

detail, and unwilling to remain totally passive, even with

ibe end so near and so certain, he chose to speak before

they spoke to him.


"I knows right well what yeVe come fer, men,*' he

said, and in the level steadiness of his voice was more of

disdain than abjectness, ^'but I hain't got no lamenta-

tion ter make, an' somehow I hain't es much terrified as

mebby I ought ter be."


"Ye've got a right good license ter be terrified,**

announced the disguised voice of the masked leader,

**onlessen death's a thing ye favours over life. Even

ef ye does thet, hangin's a right shameful way ter die.'*


But Parish Thornton shook his head.


"Hit hain't hangin' hitself thet's shameful,'* he

corrected the other, "hit's what a man hangs fer." He

paused, then with the note of entire seriousness he

inquired: "I reckon ye don't aim ter deny me ther

privilege of sayin' a few words fust, does ye? I've

always heered thet they let a man talk afore he got

himg."


"Go on," growled the other, "but mebby ye'd better

save hit, tweU we've done tried ye. We aims ter give ye

a hearin' afore ye dies.'*


Thornton inclined his head gravely, more sensible

of the clutching grasp of his wife's fingers on his tensed

biceps than of more fateful matters.


"When ye gits through hangin' me," he told them

by way of valedictory, "I wants ye ter recall thet thar's

somethin' ye hain't kilt yit in these hills — ^gn* won't

nuver kill. Thar's a sperit that some of us hes fostered

hyar, and hit'll go on jest ther same without us — hit's a

bigger thing then any man, an' hit's goin' ter dog ye till




320 THE ROOF TREE


hit gits ye all — every sneakin' mother's son an* every

murderin' man-jack of yore sorry outfit! What

things we've ondertook hain't a-goin' ter die with me

ner with no other man ye gang murders — ^an' when ther

high co'te sets next time, thar'll be soldiers hyar thet

hain't none affrighted by ther repute ye b'ars!"


He paused, then added soberly, yet with a conviction

that carried persuasiveness: "Thet's all I've got ter

say, an' albeit Fm ther victim right now, God in

Heaven knows I pities all of ye from ther bottom of

my heart — ^because I'm confident that amongst ye

right now air some siv'ral thet, save fer bein' deluded by

traitors an' cravens, air good men."


The individual who was acting as spokesman bent

forward and thrust his face close to that of the man'they

had come to Ijnich.


"Nuther yore brag nor yore' threats hain't agoin'

ter avail ye none. Parish Thornton — ^because yore time

is done come. Thar's a hugeous big tree astandin' out

thar by yore front door, an' afore an hour's gone by,

ye're goin' ter be swingin' from hit. Folks norrates

thet yore woman an' you sets a heap of store by thet

old walnuck an' calls hit ther roof tree, an' beheves hit

holds a witch-spell ter safeguard ye. . . . We're

goki' ter see kin hit save ye now."


He paused, and at the mention of the walnut Dorothy

clutched her hands to her breast and caught her breath,

but the man went on :


"Ye hain't no native-bom man hyar, Thornton, al-

beit y e' ve done sought ter nm ther country like some old-

time king or lord beyond ther water. ... Ye

hain't nuthin' but a trespassin' furriner, nohow — ^an*

we don't love no tyrant. This roof-tree hain't youm

by no better right then ther'nest thet ther cuckoo steals

from ther bird thet built hit. . . ."


Again he paused, then added with a sneer:




THE ROOF TREE 321




«




We don't even grant ye ownership of thet old wal-

nuck tree — ^but we aims ter loan hit ter ye long enough

ter hang on/' He halted and looked about the place,

then with cheap theatricism demanded:


"Who accuses this man? Let him stand ter ther

front."


Three or four dark figures moved unhurriedly toward

the centre of the circle, but one who had not been re-

hearsed in his part stepped with a more eager haste to

the fore, and that one was Bas Rowlett.


"I don't know es I've rightly got no license ter

speak up — ^amongst men that I kain't r^^cognize," he

made hypocritical declaration, " but yit, I kain't hardly

hold my peace, because ye come in good season fer me —

an' saved my life."


After a momentary pause, as if waiting for permission

to be heard, he went on:


"This man thet I saved from death one time when

somebody sought ter kill him laywayed me an hour or

so back, an' atter he'd done disarmed an' maltreated me,

he f otched me home hyar ter insult me some more in

front of his woman — afore he kilt me in cold blood. . . .

He done them things because I wouldn't censure an'

disgust you men thet calls yoreself ther riders."


Parish Thornton smiled derisively as he listened to

that indictment, then he capped it with an ironic

amendment.


"We all knows ye're ther true leader of this murder-

gang, Bas — ^ye don't need ter be bashful erbout speakin'

out yore mind ter yore own slaves."


Rowlett wheeled, his swarthy face burning to its

high cheekbones with a flush that spread and dyed his

bull-like neck.


"All right, then," he barked out, at last casting aside

all subterfuge. "Ef they h'arkens ter what I says I'll

tell 'em ter string ye up, hyar an' now, ter thet thar




322 THE ROOF TREE


same tree you an' yore woman sots sich store by! TU

tell 'em ter teach Virginny meddlers what hit costs

ter come trespassin' in Kaintuck." He was breathing

thickly with the excited reaction from his recent terror

and despair.


"Men/' he bellowed, almost jubilantly, "don't waste

no time — ther gallows tree stands ready. Hit's right

thar by ther front porch."


Dorothy had listened in a stunned silence. Her face

was parchment-pale but she was hardly able yet to

grasp the sudden turn of events to irremediable

tragedy.


The irrevocable meaning of the thing she had feared

in her dreams seemed too vast to comprehend when it

drew near her, and she had not clearly realized that

minutes now — ^and few of them — stood between her hus-

band and his death. Her scornful eyes had been dwell-

ing on the one figure she had recognized: the &g\xre of

Sim Squires, whom it had never occurred to her to

distrust.


But when several night-riders pushed her brusquely

from her place beside her man, and drew his hands to-

gether at his back and began whipping cords about his

unresisting wrists, the horror broke on her in its ghastly

fullness and nearness.


The stress they laid on the mention of the tree had

brought her out of the coma of her dazed condition into

an acute agony of reality.


There was a fiendish symbolism in their intent. . . .

The man they called a usurper must die on the very

tree that gave their home its significance, and no other

instrument of vengeance would satisfy them. The

old bitterness had begun generations ago when the

renegade who "painted his face and went to the

Indians " had sought to destroy it, and happiness with

it. Now his descendant was renewing the warfare on




THE ROOF TREE 323


the spot where it had begun, and the tree was again

the centre of the drama.


Dorothy Thornton thought that her heart would

biwst with the terrific pressure of her despair and help-

lessness.


Then her knees weakened and she would have fallen

had she not reeled back agaipist the comer of the

mantel, and a low, heart-broken moan came, long

drawn, from her lips.


There was nothing to be done — ^yet every moment

before death was a moment of life, and submission

meant death. In the woman's eyes blazed an im-

appeasable hunger for battle, and as they met those of

her husband they flashed the unspoken exhortation:

"Don't submit . . . die fighting!"


It was the old dogma of moimtain ferocity, but

Parish Thornton knew its futility and shook his head.

Then he answered her sflent incitement in words:


"Hit's too late, Dorothy. . • • I'd only git you

kilt as well as me. ... I reckon they hain't

grudgin' you none, es things stands now."


But the mob leader laughed, and turning his face to

the wife, he ruthlessly tore away even that vestige of




reassurance.




We hain't makin' no brash promises erbout ther

woman, Thornton," he brutally annoimced. "I read

in her eyes jest now thet she r^eco'nized one of us — ^an*

hit hain't safe ter know too much."


They were still working at the ropes on the prisoner's

wrists and the knots were not yet secure. The man had

gauged his situation and resigned himself to die like a

slaughter-house animal, instead of a mountain Uon — ^in

order to save his wife. Now they denied him that.


Suddenly his face went black and his eyes became

torrential with fury.


His limging movement was as swift and powerful as




324 THE ROOF TREE


a tiger-spring, and his transition from quiet to earth-

quake violence as abrupt and deadly as the current of

?die electric chair.


His shoulders and wrists ripped at their bonds, and

the men busied about them were hurled away as with a

powder blast. The arms came free and the hands

seized up a chair. A human tornado was at work in a

space too crowded for the use of firearms; and when

the insuflScient weapon had been shattered into splinters

and fallen in worthless bits there were broken crowns

and prostrate figures in that room.


Faces were marked with bruise and blood and lacera-

tion — ^but the odds were too overwhelmingly uneven,

and at last they bore him down, i>oimded and kicked,

to the puncheon floor, and when they lifted him to his

feet again the ropes that fastened him were firm enough

to hold.


Then Parish Thornton spoke again: spoke with a

passion that seemed almost as destructive as the short-

lived chair he had been swinging flail-like, though the

panting exertion made his voice come in disjointed and

sob-like gasps.


"Ye hain't done yit," he shouted into their maddened

faces as they crowded and yapped about him. "By

dint of numbers yeVe done tuened and a line of men filed out, bringing to his

shameful end a human creature who shambled with the

wretchedness of broken nerves.




334 THE ROOF TREE


Over the lowest branch, with business-like precisian*

Sim Squires pitched a stone on the end of a long cord,

and to the cord he fastened the rope's end. All that

was needed now was the weight which the rope was to

lift, and in the blue-ink shadow that mercifully cloaked

it and made it vague they placed the boimd figure of

their man.




\




CHAPTER XXXVI


AS THOUGH to mask a picture of such violence

f\ the tree's heavy canopy made that spot one of

-^ -^ Stygian murk, and even the moon hid its face

just then, so that the world went black, and the stars

seemed more brilliant against their inky velvet. But

the light had held until the grim preparations were

finish^, and then when, Bas Bowlett had taken his

appointed place, tethered and wearing the hempen

loop, when the other end of the long line had been

passed through the broken slat of the closed window

shutters, where it would be held by many hands in

assurance against escape, Sim Squires kept hii»

promise.


His followers trooped callously back into the house

and he himself remained there, on watch, only until

with the stiffness of a sleep walker Dorothy Thornton

appeared for a moment in the open door and came

slowly to the foot of the tree.


She could scarcely see the two men shrouded there in

the profundity of shadow, and she had almost walked

into the one who was to die before she realized his near-

ness and drew back shuddering.


Then Sim, who was holding the loose end of the rope

so that it would not slacken too freely, put it in her

hand and, as their fingers touched, foimd it icy.


"Ye'll hev ter take hold of this," he directed, "we've

got t'other end indoors. When ye're ready for us —

or should he seek ter git away — ^jest give hit a light

jerk or two. We won't interfere with ye ner come out


385




S36 THE ROOF TREE


till we gits thet signal — ^but don't suffer him ter parley

overlong."


Then the man left her, and the woman found herself

standing there in the darkness with a terrible sense of

Death hovering at her shoulder.


For a moment neither spoke, and Dorothy Thornton

lifted her eyes to the tree from which had always

emanated an influence of peace. She needed that mess-

age of peace now. She looked at the dark human

figure, robbed of its menace, robbed of all its own paltry

arrogance, and the furies that had torn her ebbed and

subsided into a sickness of contemptuous pity.


Then the doud drifted away from the moon and the

world stood again out of darkness into silvery light; the

breeze that had brought that brightening brought, too, a

low wailing voice from high overhead, where the walnut

tree seemed to sob with some poignant suffering; seemed

to strive for the articulate voice that nature had denied

it.


That monument to honoured dead could never shed

its hallowed spirit of peace again if once it had been

outraged with the indignities of a gibbet! If once it

bore, instead of its own sweetly wholesome produce,

that debased fruit of the gallows tree, its dignity would

be forever broken ! There in the flooding moonlight of

the white-and-blue night it was protesting with a moan

of imeasy rustling. The thing could not be tolerated —

and suddenly, but clearly, Dorothy knew it. This man

deserved death. No false pity could blind her to that

truth, and death must ride at the saddle cantle of such

as he; must some day overtake him. It might overtake

him to-night — ^but it must not be here.


"Bas," she broke out in a low and trembling voice

of abrupt decision, "I kain't suffer hit ter happen — ^I

kain't do hit.''


The varied strains and terrors of that day and night




4




THE ROOF TREE SS7


had made her voice a thmg of gasps and catching breath,

but while the man stood silent she gathered her

scattered powers and went on, ignoring him and talking

to the tree.


"He needs killin', God knows," she declared, **but

he mustn't die on yore branches, old Roof Tree — ^hit was

love thet planted ye — ^an' love thet planted ye back

ergin when hate hed tore ye up by ther roots — ^I kain't

suffer ye ter be defiled!"


She broke off, and somehow the voice that stirred

up there seemed to alter from its note of suffering to

the long-drawn sigh of relief; the calm of a tranquilized

spirit.


The young woman stood for a moment straight and

slim, but with such an eased heart as might come from

answered prayer in the cloistered dimness of a cathedral.


It was, to her, a cathedral that towered there above

her, with its single colunm; a place hallowed by merpy,

a zone of sanctuary; a spot where vengeance had always

been thwarted; where malevolence had failed — ^and her

voice came in a rapt whisper.


"Ye stands temight fer ther same things yeVe always

stud fer," she said, "ye stands fer home an' decency —

fer ther restin' place of dead foreparents — an' ther

bomin' of new gin'rations — ^fer green leaves an' happi-

ness — ^an' ther only death ye gives countenance to is thet

of folks thet goes straight ter God, an' not them thet's

destined fer torment."


Inside the room the conclave maintained a grim

silence. The shuttered window screened from their

sight the interview to which they were submitting with

a rude sense of affording the man they had condemned

some substitute for extreme unction: an interval to

shrive his soul with penitence and prayer.


But through the opening of the broken slat, high

up in the shutter which gave sliding room, passed the




338 THE ROOF TREE


rope, and at its other end stood the man upon whose

neck it was fixed: the man whose hands and feet were

tethered and whose movements were being watched by

the woman.


They shifted uneasily and impatiently on their feet

in there. Sim Squires and Rick Joyce standing shoulder

to shoulder held the free end of the rope in their hands.

The others breathed heavily and their faces were im-

placable, restive of this time being vouchsafed to an

idea, yet steadfast in their resolve to keep the word

given their victim.


"She's lettin' him talk too long," growled a voice,

and in monosyllables Rick Joyce growled back, "Shet

up — She'll be dead a long time."


But outside Dorothy had turned again to the man.


"You an' yore foreparents hev plotted an' worked

evil since ther fust days ther white man come hyar,

Bas," she declared. "Thar hain't no death too shame-

fid fer ye — an' ther hain't no hate deeper then thet I

feels ier ye. Ye've betrayed an' wronged me an' every-

body I ever loved, an' I swore I'd kill ye myself ef

need be. I'm half sorrowful I didn't do hit — ^but from

them fust days this hyar tree hes spread peace an'

safety over this house an' them thet dwelt in hit. Hit's

been holy like some church thet God hed blessed, an*

I aims ter keep hit holy. Ef they hangs ye somewhars

else, I reckon they'll do simple jestice — ^but hit hain't

goin' ter be on this tree. My child hain't ergoin' ter

look up in them branches an' see no shadow of evil thar.

I hain't goin' ter lay buried in hits shade some day with

yore black sj)erit hoverin' nigh. Sin ner shame hain't

nuver teched hit yit. They hain't nuver ergoin' ter.

Ther bright sun an' ther clean wind air goin' ter come

ter hit an' find hit like hit's always been. God's breath

is goin' ter stir in hit ther same es hit's always done."


Just then a heavier cloud shut oflE the moonlight, and





THE ROOF TREE 3S9


still holding the rope steadily enough to prevent its

sudden jerking in premature signal, she came close to

Bas Rowlett and ordered in dipped syllables of con-

tempt, "Turn round! I aims ter sot ye free."


She handed the loose rope to the man, and knowing

full well the vital need of keeping it undisturbed, he

held it gingerly.


The other end of that line still rested in the hands of

his executioners, who waited with no suspicion of any

confederacy between their victim and the woman.


Dorothy loosened the noose and slipped it from his

neck, and her fingers busied themselves nervously with

his wrist-knots.


She worked fast and anxiously, for she had promised

to set frugal limits on the duration of that interview and

the interval of clouded darkness was precious, but while

she freed the cords, she talked :


"I hain't doin* this fer yore sake, Bas. Ye richly

merits ter die — an* I misdoubts ef ye escapes fur — but

I hain't ergoin* ter suffer ye ter contaminate this tree —

an' I aims ter give ye a few minutes' start, ef I kin."


Now she rose from the ankle fetters and the man took

a step, to find himself free.


** Begone," ordered the woman, tensely. "Don't

tarry — an' don't nuver let me see ye ergin'!"


She saw him cross the fence in the heavy shadow,

hardly discernible even to her straining eyes that had

grown accustomed to the dark. She heard the light

clatter of his feet and knew that he was running, with

the speed and desperation of a hounded deer, then she

straightened and lifted her eyes to the rustling masses of

cool serenity overhead.


Across the ranges came a warm, damp scent that

promised rain, and the clouds once more parted bringing

the tranquil magic of a silver-toned nocturne. The tree

stood with its loftiest plumes moving Ughtly, as though




340 THE ROOF TREE


brushing the heavens, where the clouds were flakes of

opal fleece. Then the breeze stiffened a little and the

branches swayed with an enhancement of movement

and sound — ^and the murmur was that of a benediction.


Dorothy waited as long as she dared, and her soul

was quiet despite the anger which she knew would

shortly burst in an eruption over the threshold of her

house. When she had stretched her allotted interval

to its limit she gave the rope its designated signal of

jerk, and saw the door swing to disgorge its impatient

humanity. She saw them coming witib lanterns held

high, saw them halt halfway, and heard their outbursts

of angry dismay when the yellow light revealed to them

the absence of the victim they had left in her keeping.


But Dorothy turned and stood with her back against

the great trunk and her fingers clutching at its seamed

bark, and there she felt the confidence of sanctuary.


"I couldn't suffer hit — ^ter happen hyar," she told

them in a steady voice. "Us two was married under

this old tree — Glut's like a church ter me — ^I couldn't

let no man hang on hit — ^I turned him loose.'*


For an instant she thought that Sim Squires would

leap^upon her with all the transferred rage that she

had thwarted on the eve of its glutting. The others,

too, seemed to crouch, poised, waiting for their cue and

signal from Sim, but Parish Thornton came over and

took her in his arms.


Then with an abrupt transition of mood Sim Squires

wheeled to his waiting cohorts.


"Men," he shouted, "we kain't handily blame her —

she's a woman, an' I honours her fer bein' tenderhearted,

but any other tree'll do jest as well ! He kain't hev got

fur off yit. Scatter out an' rake ther woods."


She saw them piling over the fence like a pack of

human hoimds, and she shuddered. The last man

carried the rope, which he had paused to pull from the




THE ROOF TREE 341


limb. They had ah*eady forgotten her and the man

they had come to kiU. They were running on a fresh

scent, and were animated with renewed eagerness.


For a few minutes the two stood silent, then to their

ears came a shout, and though he said nothing, the

husband thought he recognized the piercing shriUness of

the hunchbadk's voice and the resonant tones of the

8heri£P. He wondered if Hump Doane had belatedly

received an inkling of that night's work and gathered a

posse at his back.


There followed a shot — ^then a fusilade.


But Parish Thornton closed Dorothy in his arms

and they stood alone. "Ther old tree's done worked

hits magic ergin, honey," he whispered, **an' this time

I reckon ther speU will last so long es we lives."




THE END




^r*^




MW Vr


SOCIETY yy





THE COUNTRY UFB PRESS

GARDEN aTY, N. Y.




s




s