CHAPTER IV
DAVID SPENDS HIS FIRST DAY AT HIS CABIN, AND FRALE MAKES HIS CONFESSION
Doctor Hoyle had built his cabin on one of the pinnacles of the earth,and David, looking down on blue billowing mountain tops with only thespaces of the air between him and heaven--between him and theocean--between him and his fair English home--felt that he knew why theold doctor had chosen it.
Seated on a splint-bottomed chair in the doorway, pondering, he thoughtfirst of his mother, with a little secret sorrow that he could not havetaken to his heart the bride she had selected for him, and settled inhis own home to the comfortable ease the wife's wealth would havesecured for him. It was not that the money had been made in commerce; hewas neither a snob nor a cad. Although his own connections entitled himto honor, what more could he expect than to marry wealth and be happy,if--if happiness could come to either of them in that way. No, his heartdid not lean toward her; it was better that he should bend to hisprofession in a strange land. But not this, to live a hermit's life in acabin on a wild hilltop. How long must it be--how long?
Brooding thus, he gazed at the distance of ever paling blue, andmechanically counted the ranges and peaks below him. An inaccessibletangle of laurel and rhododendron clothed the rough and precipitous wallof the mountain side, which fell sheer down until lost in purple shadow,with a mantle of green, deep and rich, varied by the gray of thelichen-covered rocks, the browns and reds of the bare branches ofdeciduous trees, and the paler tints of feathery pines. Here and there,from damp, springy places, dark hemlocks rose out of the mass, tall andmajestic, waving their plumy tops, giant sentinels of the wilderness.
Gradually his mood of brooding retrospect changed, and he knew himselfto be glad to his heart's core. He could understand why, out of theturmoil of the Middle Ages, men chose to go to sequestered places andbecome hermits. No tragedies could be in this primeval spot, and here hewould rest and build again for the future. He was pleased to sit thusmusing, for the climb had taken more strength than he could well spare.His cabin was not yet habitable, for the simple things Doctor Hoyle hadaccumulated to serve his needs were still locked in well-builtcupboards, as he had left them.
Thryng meant soon to go to work, to take out the bed covers and airthem, and to find the canvas and nail it over the framework beside thecabin which was to serve as a sleeping apartment. All should be done intime. That was a good framework, strongly built, with the corner postsset deep in the ground to keep it firm on this windswept height, andwith a door in the side of the cabin opening into the canvas room. Ah,yes, all that the old doctor did was well and thoroughly done.
His appetite sharpened by the climb and the bracing air, Davidinvestigated the contents of one of those melon-shaped baskets whichCassandra had given him when he started for his new home that morning,with little Hoyle as his guide.
Ah, what hospitable kindness they had shown to him, a stranger! Herewere delicate bits of fried chicken, sweet and white, corn-bread, aglass of honey, and a bottle of milk. Nothing better need a man ask; andwhat animals men are, after all, he thought, taking delight in the mereacts of eating and breathing and sleeping.
Utterly weary, he would not trouble to open the cot which lay in thecabin, but rolled himself in his blanket on the wide, flat rock at theverge of the mountain. Here, warmed by the sun, he lay with his facetoward the blue distance and slept dreamlessly and soundly,--verysoundly, for he was not awakened by a crackling of the brush andscrambling of feet struggling up the mountain wall below his hardresting-place. Yet the sound kept on, and soon a head appeared above therock, and two hands were placed upon it; then a strong, catlike springlanded the lithe young owner of the head only a few feet away from thesleeper.
It was Frale, his soft felt hat on the back of his head and the curl ofdark hair falling upon his forehead. For an instant, as he gazed on thesleeping figure, the wild look of fear was in his eyes; then, as hebethought himself of the words of Aunt Sally, "They is a man thar," theexpression changed to one more malevolent and repulsive, transformingand aging the boyish face. Cautiously he crept nearer, and peered intothe face of the unconscious Englishman. His hands clinched and his lipstightened, and he made a movement with his foot as if he would spurn himover the cliff.
As suddenly the moment passed; he drew back in shame and looked down athis hands, blood-guilty hands as he knew them to be, and, with loweredhead, he moved swiftly away.
He was a youth again, hungry and sad, stumbling along the untrodden way,avoiding the beaten path, yet unerringly taking his course toward thecleft rock at the head of the fall behind the great holly tree. It wasnot the food Cassandra had promised him that he wanted now, but to lookinto the eyes of one who would pity and love him. Heartsick and weary ashe never had been in all his young life, lonely beyond bearing, hehurried along.
As he forced a path through the undergrowth, he heard the sound of amountain stream, and, seeking it, he followed along its rocky bed,leaping from one huge block of stone to another, and swinging himselfacross by great overhanging sycamore boughs, drawing, by its manywindings, nearer and nearer to the spot where it precipitated itselfover the mountain wall. Ever the noise of the water grew louder, untilat last, making a slight detour, he came upon the very edge of thedescent, where he could look down and see his home nestled in the coveat the foot of the fall, the blue smoke curling upward from its greatchimney.
He seated himself upon a jutting rock well screened by laurel shrubs onall sides but the one toward the fall. There, his knees clasped aboutwith his arms, and his chin resting upon them, he sat and watched.
Behind the leafage and tangle of bare stems and twigs, he was so farabove and so directly over the spot on which his gaze was fixed as to beout of the usual range of sight from below, thus enabling him to seeplainly what was transpiring about the house and sheds, without himselfbeing seen.
Long and patiently he waited. Once a dog barked,--his own dog Nig. Someone must be approaching. What if the little creature should seek him outand betray him! He quivered with the thought. The day before he haddriven him down the mountain, beating him off whenever he returned.Should the animal persist in tracking him, he would kill him.
He peered more eagerly down, and saw little Hoyle run out of the cowshed and twist himself this way and that to see up and down the road.Both the child and the dog seemed excited. Yes, there they were, threehorsemen coming along the highway. Now they were dismounting andquestioning the boy. Now they disappeared in the house. He did not move.Why were they so long within? Hours, it seemed to Frale, but in realityit was only a short search they were making there. They were longerlooking about the sheds and yard. Hoyle accompanied them everywhere, hishands in his pockets, standing about, shivering with excitement.
All around they went peering and searching, thrusting their arms as faras they could reach into the stacks of fodder, looking into troughs andcorn sacks, setting the fowls to cackling wildly, even hauling out thelong corn stalks from the wagon which had served to make Thryng's ridethe night before comfortable. No spot was overlooked.
Frequently they stood and parleyed. Then Frale's heart would sink withinhim. What if they should set Nig to track him! Ah, he would strangle thebeast and pitch him over the fall. He would spring over after him beforehe would let himself be taken and hanged. Oh, he could feel thestrangling rope around his neck already! He could not bear it--he couldnot!
Thus cowering, he waited, starting at every sound from below as if torun, then sinking back in fear, breathless with the pounding of hisheart in his breast. Now the voices came up to him painfully clear. Theywere talking to little Hoyle angrily. What they were saying he could notmake out, but he again cautiously lifted his head and looked below.Suddenly the child drew back and lifted his arm as if to ward off ablow, but the blow came. Frale saw one of the men turn as he mounted hishorse to ride away, and cut the boy cruelly across his face and arm withhis rawhide whip. The little one's shriek of fright and pain pierced hisbig brother to the heart and cause
d him to forget for the moment his ownabject fear.
He made as if he would leap the intervening space to punish the brute,but a cry of anger died in his throat as he realized his situation. Theselfishness of his fear, however, was dispelled, and he no longercringed as before, but had the courage again to watch, awake and alertto all that passed beneath him.
Hoyle's cry brought Cassandra out of the house flying. She walked up tothe man like an angry tigress. Frale rose to his knees and strainedeagerly forward.
"If you are such a coward you must hit something small and weak, you canstrike a woman. Hit me," she panted, putting the child behind her.
Muttering, the man rode sullenly away. "He no business hangin' roun'we-uns, list'nin' to all we say."
Frale could not make out the words, but his face burned red with rage.Had he been in hiding down below, he would have wreaked vengeance on theman; as it was, he stood up and boldly watched them ride away in theopposite direction from which they had come.
He sank back and waited, and again the hours passed. All was still butthe rushing water and the gentle soughing of the wind in the tops of thetowering pines. At last he heard a rustling and sniffing here and there.His heart stood still, then pounded again in terror. They had--they hadset Nig to track him. Of course the dog would seek for his old friendand comrade, and they--they would wait until they heard his bark of joy,and then they would seize him.
He crept close to the rock where the water rushed, not a foot away, andclinging to the tough laurel behind him, leaned far over. To drop downthere would mean instant death on the rocks below. It would beterrible--almost as horrible as the strangling rope. He would wait untilthey were on him, and then--nearer and nearer came the erratic trottingand scratching of the dog among the leaves--and then, if only he couldgrapple with the man who had struck his little brother, he would draghim over with him. A look of fierce joy leaped in his eyes, which weredrawn to a narrow blue gleam as he waited.
Suddenly Nig burst through the undergrowth and sprang to his side, butbefore the dog could give his first bark of delight the yelp was crushedin his throat, and he was hurled with the mighty force of frenzy, ablack, writhing streak of animate nature into the rushing water, andthere swept down, tossed on the rocks, taken up and swirled about andthrown again upon the rocks, no longer animate, but a part of nature'sown, to return to his primal elements.
It was done, and Frale looked at his hands helplessly, feeling himself asecond time a murderer. Yet he was in no way more to blame for the firstthan for this. As yet a boy untaught by life, he had not learned what todo with the forces within him. They rose up madly and mastered him. Witha man's power to love and hate, a man's instincts, his untamed natureready to assert itself for tenderness or cruelty, without a man'sknowledge of the necessity for self-control, where some of his kindwould have been inert and listless, his inheritance had made him intenseand fierce. Loving and gentle and kind he could be, yet when stirred byliquor, or anger, or fear,--most terrible.
His deed had been accomplished with such savage deftness that nonepursuing could have guessed the tragedy. They might have waited long inthe open spaces for the dog's return or the sound of his joyous yelp ofrecognition, but the sacrifice was needless. The affectionate creaturehad been searching on his own behalf, careless of the blows with whichhis master had driven him from his side the day before.
Trembling, Frale crouched again. The silence was filled with pain forhim. The moments swept on, even as the water rushed on, and the sunbegan to drop behind the hills, leaving the hollows in deepening purplegloom. At last, deeming that the search for the time must have beengiven up, he crept cautiously toward the great holly tree, not for food,but for hope. There, back in the shadow, he sat on a huge log, his headbowed between his hands, and listened.
Presently the silence was broken by a gentle stirring of the fallenleaves, not erratically this time, only a steady moving forward of humanfeet. Again Frale's heart bounded and the red sought his cheek, but nowwith a new emotion. He knew of but one footstep which would advancetoward his ambush in that way. Peering out from among the deepestshadows, he watched the spot where Cassandra had promised food should beplaced for him, his eyes no longer a narrow slit of blue, but wide andglad, his face transformed from the strain of fear with eager joy.
Soon she emerged, walking wearily. She carried a bundle of food tied ina cloth, and an old overcoat of rough material trailed over one arm.These she deposited on the flat stone, then stood a moment leaningagainst the smooth gray hole of the holly tree, breathing quickly fromthe exertion of the steep climb.
Her eyes followed the undulating line of the mountain above them, risingtree-fringed against the sky, to where the highest peak cut across thesetting sun, haloed by its long rays of gold. No cloud was there, butsweeping down the mountain side were the earth mists, glowing withiridescent tints, draping the crags and floating over the purplehollows, the verdure of the pines showing through it all, gilded andglorified.
Cassandra waiting there might have been the dryad of the tree come outto worship in the evening light and grow beautiful. So Thryng would havethought, could he have seen her with the glow on her face, and in hereyes, and lighting up the fires in her hair; but no such classic dreamcame to the youth lingering among the shadows, ashamed to appear beforeher, bestowing on her a dumb adoration, unformed and wordless.
Because his friend had maudlinly boasted that he was the better man inher eyes, and could any day win her for himself, he had killed him.Despite all the anguish the deed had wrought in his soul, he feltunrepentant now, as his eyes rested on her. He would do it again, andyet it was that very boast that had first awakened in his heart suchthought of her.
For years Cassandra had been as his sister, although no tie of bloodexisted between them, but suddenly the idea of possession had sprung tolife in him, when another had assumed the right as his. Frale had notlooked on her since that moment of revelation, of which she was soignorant and so innocent. Now, filled with the shame of his deed and hisdesires, he stood in a torment of longing, not daring to move. His kneesshook and his arms ached at his sides, and his eyes filled with hottears.
Quickly the sun dropped below the edge of the mountain. Cassandra drew along sigh, and the glow left her face. She looked an instant lingeringlyat the articles she had brought, and turned sadly away. Then he took astep toward her with hands outstretched, forgetful of his shame, andall, except that she was slipping away from him. Arrested by the soundof his feet among the leaves, she spoke.
"Frale, are you there?" Her voice was low as if she feared other earsthan his might hear.
He did not move again, and speak he could not, for remembrance rushedback stiflingly and overwhelmed him. Descrying his white face in theshadow, a pity as deep as his shame filled her heart and drew hernearer.
"Why, Frale, come out here. No one can see you, only me."
Still tongue-tied by his emotion, he came into the light and stood nearher. In dismay she looked up in his face. The big boy brother who hadtaken her to the little Carew Crossing station only two months before,rough and prankish as the colt he drove, but gentle withal, was gone. Hewho stood at her side was older. Anger had left its mark about hismouth, and fear had put a strange wildness in his eyes--but--there wassomething else in his reckless, set lips that hurt her. She shrank fromhim, and he took a step closer. Then she placed a soothing hand on hisarm and perceived he was quivering. She thought she understood, and thesoft pity moistened her eyes and deepened in her heart.
"Don't be afraid, Frale; they're gone long ago, and won't come back--notfor a while, I reckon."
He smiled faintly, never taking his eyes from her face. "I hain'tafeared o' them. I hev been, but--" He shook her hand from his arm andmade as if he would push her away, then suddenly he leaned toward herand caught her in his arms, clasping her so closely that she could feelhis wildly beating heart.
"Frale, Frale! Don't, Frale. You never used to do me this way."
"No, I never
done you this-a-way. I wisht I had. I be'n a big fool." Hekissed her, the first kisses of his young manhood, on brow and cheeksand lips, in spite of her useless writhings. He continued muttering ashe held her: "I sinned fer you. I killed a man. He said he'd hev you. He'lowed he'd go down yander to the school whar you war at an' marry youan' fetch you back. I war a fool to 'low you to go thar fer him tofoller an' get you. I killed him. He's dade."
The short, interrupted sentences fell on her ears like blows. She ceasedstruggling and, drooping upon his bosom, wept, sobbing heart-brokenly.
"Oh, Frale!" she moaned, "if you had only told me, I could have givenyou my promise and you would have known he was lying and spared him andsaved your own soul." He little knew the strength of his arms as he heldher. "Frale! I am like to perish, you are hurting me so."
He loosed her and she sank, a weary, frightened heap, at his feet. Thenvery tenderly he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the greatflat rock and placed her on the old coat she had brought him.
"You know I wouldn't hurt you fer the hull world, Cass." He knelt besideher, and throwing his arms across her lap buried his face in her dress,still trembling with his unmastered emotion. She thought him sobbing.
"Can you give me your promise now, Cass?"
"Now? Now, Frale, your hands are blood-guilty," she said, slowly andhopelessly.
He grew cold and still, waiting in the silence. His hands clutched herclothing, but he did not lift his head. He had shed blood and had losther. They might take him and hang him. At last he told her so, brokenly,and she knew not what to do.
Gently she placed her hand on his head and drew the thick silken hairthrough her fingers, and the touch, to his stricken soul, was abenediction. The pity of her cooled the fever in his blood and sweptover his spirit the breath of healing. For the first time, after thesin and the horror of it, after the passion and its anguish, cametears. He wept and wiped his tears with her dress.
Then she told him how her mother had been hurt. How Hoyle had driven thehalf-broken colt and the mule all the way to Carew's alone, to bring herhome, and how he had come nigh being killed. How a gentleman had helpedher when the colt tried to run and the mule was mean, and how she hadbrought him home with her.
Then he lifted his head and looked at her, his haggard face drawn withsuffering, and the calmness of her eyes still further soothed andcomforted him. They were filled with big tears, and he knew the tearswere for him, for the change which had come upon him, lonely andwretched, doomed to hide out on the mountain, his clothes torn by thebrambles and soiled by the red clay of the holes into which he hadcrawled to hide himself. He rose and sat at her side and held her headon his shoulder with gentle hand.
"Pore little sister--pore little Cass! I been awful mean an' bad," hemurmured. "Hit's a badness I cyan't 'count fer no ways. When I seed thatthar doctah man--I reckon hit war him I seed lyin' asleep up yander onHangin' Rock--a big tall man, right thin an' white in the face--" hepaused and swallowed as if loath to continue.
"Frale!" she cried, and would have drawn away but that he held her.
"I didn't hurt him, Cass. I mount hev. I lef' him lie thar an' neverwoke him nor teched him, but--I felt hit here--the badness." He struckhis chest with his fist. "I lef' thar fast an' come here. Ever sence Ikilled Ferd, hit's be'n follerin' me that-a-way. I reckon I'm cursed tohell-fire fer hit now, ef they take me er ef they don't--hit's all one;hit's thar whar I'm goin' at the las'."
"Frale, there is a way--"
"Yes, they is one way--only one. Ef you'll give me your promise, Cass,I'll get away down these mountains, an' I'll work; I'll work hard an'get you a house like one I seed to the settlement, Cass, I will. Hit'syou, Cass. Ever sence Ferd said that word, I be'n plumb out'n my hade.Las' night I slep' in Wild Cat Hole, an' I war that hungered an' lone, Itried to pray like your maw done teached me, an' I couldn' think ofnothin' to say, on'y just, 'Oh, Lord, Cass!' That-a-way--on'y yourname, Cass, Cass, all night long."
"I reckon Satan put my name in your heart, Frale; 'pears to me like itis sin."
"Naw! Satan nevah put your name thar. He don't meddle with sech as you.He war a-tryin' to get your name out'n my heart, that's what he wartryin', fer he knowed I'd go bad right quick ef he could. Hit war yourname kep' my hands off'n that doctah man thar on the rock. Give me yourpromise now, Cass. Hit'll save me."
"Then why didn't it save you from killing Ferd?" she asked.
"O Gawd!" he moaned, and was silent.
"Listen, Frale," she said at last. "Can't you see it's sin for you andme to sit here like this--like we dared to be sweethearts, when you haveshed blood for this? Take your hands off me, and let me go down tomothah."
Slowly his hold relaxed and his head drooped, but he did not move hisarms. She pushed them gently from her and stood a moment looking down athim. His arms dropped upon the stone at his side, listless and empty,and again her pitying soul reached out to him and enveloped him.
"Frale, there is just one way that I can give you my promise," she said.He held out his arms to her. "No, I can't sit that way; you can seethat. The good book says, 'Ye must repent and be born again.'" Hegroaned and covered his face with his hands. "Then you would be a newman, without sin. I reckon you have suffered a heap, and repented aheap--since you did that, Frale?"
"I'm 'feared--I'm 'feared ef he war here an' riled me agin like he donethat time--I'm 'feared I'd do hit agin--like he war talkin' 'bouts you,Cass." He rose and stood close to her.
The soft dusk was wrapping them about, and she began to fear lest shelose her control over him. She took up the bundle of food and placed itin his hand.
"Here, take this, and the coat, too, Frale. Come down and have suppahwith mothah and me to-night, and sleep in your own bed. They won'tsearch here for one while, I reckon, and you'll be safah than hiding inWild Cat Hole. Hoyle heard them say they reckoned you'd lit off downthe mountain, and were hiding in some near-by town. They'll hunt youthere first; come."
She walked on, and he obediently followed. "When we get nigh the house,I'll go first and see if the way is clear. You wait back. If I want youto run, I'll call twice, quick and sharp, but if I want you to comeright in, I'll call once, low and long."
After that no word was spoken. They clambered down the steep, windingpath, and not far from the house she left him. She wondered Nig did notbound out to greet her, but supposed he must be curled up near thehearth in comfort. Frale also thought of the dog as he sat coweringunder the laurel shrubs, and set his teeth in anguish and sorrow.
"Cass'll hate hit when she finds out," he muttered.
After a moment, waiting and listening, he heard her long, low call floatout to him. Falling on his hurt spirit, it sounded heavenly sweet.