The Call of the Cumberlands

Several soberer men closed around the boy, and, after disarming him,

led him away grumbling and muttering, while Wile McCager made apologies

to the guest.

"Jimmy's jest a peevish child," he explained. "A drop or two of licker

makes him skittish. I hopes ye'll look over hit."

Jimmy's outbreak was interesting to Lescott chiefly as an indication

of what might follow. He noted how the voices were growing louder and

shriller, and how the jug was circulating faster. A boisterous note was

making itself heard through the good humor and laughter, and the

"furriner" remembered that these minds, when inflamed, are more prone

to take the tangent of violence than that of mirth. Unwilling to

introduce discord by his presence, and involve Samson in quarrels on

his account, he suggested riding back to Misery, but the boy's face

clouded at the suggestion.

"Ef they kain't be civil ter my friends," he said, shortly, "they've

got ter account ter me. You stay right hyar, and I'll stay clost to

you. I done come hyar to-day ter tell 'em that they mustn't meddle in

my business."

A short while later, Wile McCager invited Samson to come out to the

mill, and the boy nodded to Lescott an invitation to accompany him. The

host shook his head.

"We kinder 'lowed ter talk over some fam'ly matters with ye, Samson,"

he demurred. "I reckon Mr. Lescott'll excuse ye fer a spell."

"Anything ye've got ter talk ter me about, George Lescott kin hear,"

said the youth, defiantly. "I hain't got no secrets." He was heir to

his father's leadership, and his father had been unquestioned. He meant

to stand uncompromisingly on his prerogatives.

For an instant, the old miller's keen eyes hardened obstinately. After

Spicer and Samson South, he was the most influential and trusted of the

South leaders--and Samson was still a boy. His ruggedly chiseled

features were kindly, but robustly resolute, and, when he was angered,

few men cared to face him. For an instant, a stinging rebuke seemed to

hover on his lips, then he turned with a curt jerk of his large head.

"All right. Suit yourselves. I've done warned ye both. We 'lows ter

talk plain."

The mill, dating back to pioneer days, sat by its race with its shaft

now idle. About it, the white-boled sycamores crowded among the huge

rocks, and the water poured tumultuously over the dam. The walls of

mortised logs were chinked with rock and clay. At its porch, two

discarded millstones served in lieu of steps. Over the door were

fastened a spreading pair of stag-antlers. It looked to Lescott, as he

approached, like a scrap of landscape torn from some medieval picture,

and the men about its door seemed medieval, too; bearded and gaunt,

hard-thewed and sullen.