"What ye warnin' 'bout now, Tom?" she asked, with much interest.

"Go 'long, gal. Ye ain't been raised in this country fer nothin'! Ye know what I've been warnin' 'bout well 'nough, 'thout axin' me. They's a-goin' ter be h.e.l.l raised in this country to-night. That's what I've been warnin' 'bout. Now do ye know, durn ye!"

"I reckon I do. Who's a-goin' ter git it this time?"

"Aw, ye want to know too much all to once. Jest wait 'til ye see ther blaze 'long erbout midnight, an' ye'll know all ye want to know."

"I mout be asleep then." Nora spoke feelingly. She desired to know more, but hesitated to ask direct questions.

"Yes," said Tom, "I reckon ye will be asleep when ye think somethin's a-goin' to be a-doin'. Them durn big black eyes of yourn'll see everything in the whole blame valley afore mornin'. Ye kin see plum through ther mountain when ye want to, an' they'll be a plenty fer you ter see to-night, an' ther newcomer----!" Tom stopped suddenly and Nora looked hastily up, inquiringly, hoping to hear him finish the sentence, but he spoke never another word.

"What's. .h.i.t about ther newcomer, Tom?" she asked after a moment's hesitation.

"Nuthin'. What'd ye keer if hit was anything about him?"

"I don't; but ye was about ter say somethin' about him. That's why I axed ye. I don't keer nothin' about him no mor'n anybody else." Nora did have some anxiety about his safety, however, but she did not wish to show this to Tom. She knew her brother's failing.

"Well," said Tom slowly, "seein' as how ye don't keer, I was a-goin' ter say that he'd git his fill of peekin' 'round here afore he's many days older, d'ye hear me?"

Nora did hear, and felt a pang peculiarly new to her pa.s.s over her heart. Having now finished milking the old brindle cow, she raised up, gave her a kick on the legs, and poured the milk into a larger pail conveniently near. For one moment she studied the features of her brother, then spoke to him tenderly.

"Now, Tom," she said, "what has ther newcomer done that ye've got it in fer him?"

"Nuthin'," sullenly. "Nuthin' 'tall. Thought ye didn't keer so much 'bout him?"

"I don't."

"Then ye air mighty interested in somethin' down that away. What made ye ax me that fer?"

"Aw, go 'long, will ye? Ef ye don't know nuthin', keep yer lips b.u.t.toned; ef ye know somethin', tell it, an' don't be so tight with yer knowin's."

"Ye air sa.s.sy, sis. Well, they hain't nuthin' ther matter with him, but he acts like he mout do somethin' ef he hain't checked fust. Ef he opens his mouth too much 'round here ye know good an' well what mout happen ter him putty quick, don't ye?"

Tom gave Nora a slap in the face and followed on after his horse.

Old Peter Judson came out of the barn and, upon seeing Tom, asked if he had given the warning to everybody. He had, he said, "and what's more, everybody'd be thar."

Nora took up her milk pails and hurried into the house, where she found her mother busily engaged in getting supper on the table. After straining the milk and putting it away in its accustomed place, she a.s.sisted her mother in the work.

Silence prevailed within her soul. Not a word escaped her lips as she busied herself over the meal. Somehow she felt a strange foreboding. Her heart was full of thought for the safety of the newcomer, in whom she felt a peculiar interest.

He, not at all like other men she had known, had spoken kind words to her, and they touched a tender spot in her heart. He had a.s.sisted her to find the old brindle cow and had helped to drive her home. What was it that attracted this wild flower of the mountain to this man? And what was it that caused the unhappy throb when Tom remarked concerning him?

These remarks were anything but rea.s.suring. She worked on amid her soliloquy.

Mrs. Judson could not refrain from remarking the contrast between this thoughtful girl and her own Nora.

"Ye air mighty quiet, Nora," she said, her face drawn up gingerly.

"What's ther matter of ye, that yer tongue hain't a-waggin' as usual?"

Nora stood for one moment thoughtfully pondering, while she deftly dried, for the third time, the saucer which she held in her hand, then throwing the dish towel over her shoulder, she faced her mother.

"Cain't a feller be quiet 'thout somebody a-thinkin' somethin's wrong?"

She was smiling deeply, the dimples in her cheeks showing beautifully.

"Not 'round this hyar kintry," replied Mrs. Judson. "Ye know yerself that when everythings quiet like 'round this hill somethin's 'bout ter happen. Now what does ail ye? What is ther matter with yer?"

"Tom says theys a-goin' ter be doin's 'round here to-night," replied Nora, "an' I reckon he knows, ef anybody does."

Mrs. Judson now a.s.sumed an air of utter silence. She knew full well that her daughter spoke the truth, that when Tom said that something was likely to happen about the valley it usually did happen, and very soon thereafter.

Tom and his father came into supper and ate quietly, while the women served them, this being the custom in this country. The fact that they were non-communicative now was because no doubt they had said, before entering the room, all that was necessary concerning the plans for the night. Nora remained in silence, ate her meal and cleared away the dishes, still holding the silence. She gazed up at the twinkling stars dancing in the heavens, at the great moon shining brightly, sending darting rays through the foliage of the large trees overhanging the cabin. A silvery mist hung over the mountain and flitted through the valley, the while the stars smiled down on the troubled earth. Troubled?

Yes, all mankind is troubled down the valley. Over all the deep blue of the heavens dropped a shining sheen to cover the already beautiful landscape. From afar over the mountain the voice of the night-bird came gliding through the mist, the "hoot" of the night owl sounded a note of warning, the sleepless animals of darkness pealed forth their notes of joy as they gamboled over the green mountainside, and down, far down in the depths of the rich valley, the cow-bell tinkled as the cow nibbled the sweet green gra.s.s. None of these had thoughts of fear, none of these discerned the great danger to humanity, none of these felt the deep heart throbs that beat in the breast of humanity.

It is growing late, but Nora Judson did not retire at her usual hour.

She dared not, lest she should lose the sight that had greeted her on many similar occasions. However, she should not fail in one duty, her evening prayer. This had been a lifelong duty, taught her early. Even in the roughest and most rugged parts of this great universe the children are taught that G.o.d liveth and reigneth. Somehow G.o.d gets into the most seemingly forsaken communities in the remotest corners of the earth, and lets it be known that He is the Almighty. He a.s.sumes power everywhere.

The child of the wildest region learns some form of prayer. Mrs. Judson had taught Nora in her earliest days to say "Now I lay me down to sleep," but knowing that she was not going to sleep this night Nora said to herself, "What shall I do? what shall I do? fer I hain't a-goin' to lay me down ter sleep this night. I hain't. O Lord, what shall I say?"

Strange as it may seem, it had never occurred to her that any form of speech other than she had been taught would be a prayer, therefore she was utterly lost to know how to proceed. She looked wonderingly heavenward as if to catch inspiration. Then it was that the thought was aroused within her, the thought that she should pray for others. Her pure young heart had found a way to speak to G.o.d, so she bowed her head and clasped her hands and said tenderly, "O G.o.d,"--she hesitated as if gathering thought for expression,--"kin Ye keep a secret? Ef Ye kin, don't tell anybody how the old brindle cow got under the wire. Don't, fer goodness' sake, 'cause ef ye do, hit mout git _him_ into trouble. O G.o.d, he is so nice. Them han'some eyes of his'n is a-hauntin' of me yet, an' he was so good ter help me find old brindle an' drive her home. I _was_ askeered to come up ther road by myself, but I didn't want to let on to him like as ef I was, 'cause he mout a-thought I was weak, an' he was so good an' spoke so tenderly an' kind-like.

"No man hain't never spoke to me that away afore, not even Al Thompson; but I 'spect I don't keer nuthin' 'bout Al, an' maybe I never did; an'

_he_ said he was here for his health an' would raise ter--he said to-bac-co. He knows, an' that must be right. O G.o.d, I hope Ye didn't let Tom see him as he was a-goin' back ter his shanty, 'cause ef ye did, hit mout bring on more trouble fer him, an' I know Ye don't want him to get into trouble. Tom's a good boy an' don't mean anybody harm, but----"

Nora stopped and leaned forward, straining her ears to catch the weird sound. From toward the mountain there came the clattering of many horses' feet as they fell heavily upon the rocky hillside. On they came.

Nearer and nearer, louder and louder, the clattering sound grew.

Every strike of a hoof upon the rocky way was like a needle driven into her breast over her heart. With few words she cut her prayer short.

Looking heavenward she muttered imploringly, "Save him, an' let old brindle git out again sometime."

She stepped over to her one lonely, paneless window, pulled the latch string, shoved the wooden panel aside and, peering out into the gloom, listened with heavy beating heart to the clatter of the horses' feet as they drew nearer. Heretofore this same sound had been as sweet music in her ears. She had grown up in the midst of it, and her heart bounded with great pleasure whenever she heard such a sound; but now it was different, somehow she did not enjoy it. The many hors.e.m.e.n drew nearer, until she could see them bounding rapidly down the mountain road.

Outside she saw two lone hors.e.m.e.n in saddles, standing by the gate, as immovable as statues. Silently they sat, neither horse nor rider moving, not a sound escaping their lips. The mighty throng of hors.e.m.e.n were now pa.s.sing directly in front, and the two silent watchers of the night quickly joined the mad race. Not a word escaped any of them until they were nearing Jack Wade's cabin. Then one fellow leaned over and whispered, through his heavy dark head-gear, to his companion nearest him, "Wonder if he'll fall in, too?" There was no reply. Perhaps one was not expected.

On they flew, black demons of darkness, destructive vultures of freedom, cutting the wind as if they had been a two-edged sword; slashing the mist with their foaming steeds, dark steeds, as dark as the starless night; enshrouded in caps as dark as the cloud-covered moon, speaking never a word, but groaning destruction deep down in their revengeful souls.

Jack Wade was awakened from a peaceful slumber by the thundrous tramp of the horses' heavy feet as they galloped swiftly by. He rose stupidly and went out, but as he looked, saw nothing, yet it seemed to him that the very atmosphere of the valley was alive with fantastic dancers. The weird spectacle grew before his sleep-ladened eyes, until the devils of h.e.l.l seemed encrouched about him. Evidently they were bent on tearing his heart asunder, for there they were preparing to spring upon him.

"Begone, ye devils!"

The beat of the horses' feet falling upon the softer ground grew fainter and fainter, until the sound could be heard no more. Wade sat in his doorway pondering and wondering over the strangeness of the people among whom he had taken up his abode. He knew that the noise which woke him had been made by the tramping of many horses, but knew not whither they were bound, nor what their errand. He sat for a long time looking down through the lowlands, dreaming, pondering. Ever the great dark eyes of the valley girl danced in the moonlight s.p.a.ce before him. Her soft stare, tender hands, and innocent expression haunted him. Out in the deep distance a dog was baying. The hors.e.m.e.n had no doubt awakened him as they had awakened Wade, and he was entering his protest in loud and continuous bays. Behind him a rooster was crowing the midnight hour, his own wall clock tolling the same hour. Overhead the moon was shining brightly, sending her silvery rays to greet all the earth.

Suddenly there arose over the valley the shout of many voices, mingled with the baying of as many dogs, then the midnight air was rent in twain by the vibrations caused from the firing of pistols and rifles.

"What now?" thought the ponderer. "Ye G.o.ds! this is a fearful condition."

Some two miles away a faint red light grew up out of the mist. Wade strained his eyes in an effort to discern more clearly the cause. The light grew until the watcher could clearly discern the flickering blaze as it leaped high into the heavens, apparently bent on devouring the very stars that gave light to the darkened earth. Still the blaze grew, sending forth sparks like great balloons of fire. Over a little way beyond another light sprang up to greet the straining eyes of the watcher, and also grew in brightness, until the whole landscape for miles over the valley was one bright sea of flame. The sight was too much for Wade; he could not sit longer and watch it from such a great distance. Hastily saddling his horse he rode toward the conflagration, having two specific objects in view. One, and the lesser, to witness the great conflagration; the other, to learn something of interest to himself.

The road over which he was traveling was so entirely new to him that he found it quite difficult to make any speed, therefore he resigned himself to a jog-trot, picking his way over ravines and around low growing shrubs, sometimes emerging out into the open and traveling beneath the large forest trees. He often wondered how it was possible for the hors.e.m.e.n who had gone on ahead of him to have kept up such a terrible speed on such a road. They knew the earth beneath their horses'

feet, every inch of it, and feared not, he concluded. Their horses were fully acquainted with the rough way, and hesitated not. How friendly the light of the waning moon appeared to that lonely traveler in that silent dark region! How beautifully shone the little friendly stars, those small heavenly bodies, from their homes in the clear blue sky! One does not realize the full value of the moonlight until one has real necessity for it, then its great value is known--indeed no value can be placed upon it then.