The Call of the Cumberlands

None the less, the vital affairs of the clan could not be balked by

consideration for a stranger, who, in the opinion of the majority,

should be driven from the country as an insidious mischief-maker.

Ostensibly, the truce still held, but at no time since its signing had

matters been so freighted with the menace of a gathering storm. The

attitude of each faction was that of several men standing quiet with

guns trained on one another's breasts. Each hesitated to fire, knowing

that to pull the trigger meant to die himself, yet fearing that another

trigger might at any moment be drawn. Purvy dared not have Samson shot

out of hand, because he feared that the Souths would claim his life in

return, yet he feared to let Samson live. On the other hand, if Purvy

fell, no South could balance his death, except Spicer or Samson. Any

situation that might put conditions to a moment of issue would either

prove that the truce was being observed, or open the war--and yet each

faction was guarding against such an event as too fraught with danger.

One thing was certain. By persuasion or force, Lescott must leave, and

Samson must show himself to be the youth he had been thought, or the

confessed and repudiated renegade. Those questions, to-day must answer.

It was a difficult situation, and promised an eventful entertainment.

Whatever conclusion was reached as to the artist's future, he was,

until the verdict came in, a visitor, and, unless liquor inflamed some

reckless trouble-hunter, that fact would not be forgotten. Possibly, it

was as well that Tamarack Spicer had not arrived.

Lescott himself realized the situation in part, as he stood at the

door of the house watching the scene inside.

There was, of course, no round dancing--only the shuffle and jig--with

champions contending for the honor of their sections. A young woman

from Deer Lick and a girl from the head of Dryhill had been matched for

the "hoe-down," and had the floor to themselves. The walls were crowded

with partisan onlookers, who applauded and cheered their favorite.

The bows scraped faster and louder; the clapping hands beat more

tumultuously, until their mad tempo was like the clatter of

musketry; the dancers threw themselves deliriously into the madly

quickening step. It was a riotous saturnalia of flying feet and

twinkling ankles. Onlookers shouted and screamed encouragement. It

seemed that the girls must fall in exhaustion, yet each kept on,

resolved to be still on the floor when the other had abandoned it in

defeat--that being the test of victory. At last, the girl from Dryhill

reeled, and was caught by half-a-dozen arms. Her adversary, holding the

floor undisputed, slowed down, and someone stopped the fiddler. Sally

turned from the crowded wall, and began looking about for Samson. He

was not there. Lescott had seen him leave the house a few moments

before, and started over to intercept the girl, as she came out to the

porch.