"Good-by, Nora."

There was something attractive in young Jack Wade's bearing that caused Nora Judson to look long after him as he wended down the road toward his own cabin. Once he looked back and saw her still standing at the gate, where he left her. Her hands were clasped before her, she stood erect, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but straight in front of her. Jack waved his hand, but she did not return the wave. When he was a long way off he turned and looked again. She still stood motionless, gazing out into the far beyond, her dress waving in the gentle wind, her tresses, wafted by the gentle breezes, falling about her crimson cheeks.

CHAPTER IV

The cool air of the early morning, blowing down from the mountain, is refreshing and invigorating to Jack Wade, who is standing in the door of his cabin leaning against the facing leisurely, taking in with his eye the broad expanse of the valley before him.

He inhales deeply of the pure fresh Kentucky morning air, while his athletic frame quivers in the light of the rising sun. The eastern horizon was all aglow with the brightness shining through the flitting snow-white clouds. It was a beautiful picture, so he stood silent, drinking in the scenery of the surrounding country with great pleasure.

Behind him, unknown to his waiting heart, stood a pure, sweet girl, gazing out through the deep mist of the morning, as if to penetrate the very depths to a distance where she might get one glimpse of the single man who had unconsciously awakened within her soul a new life, a new hope. A new being sprang up within her, her soul longed for the time when she could see him and hear his musical voice speaking to her inner life and vibrating to the deepest depths of her quivering young heart.

Wade thought of her often, but only as a newborn, unopened bud. He thought of her oftener than he felt he should, but he couldn't help that. Still, a flush of feeling came into his heart when he did think of her. What was it? What was this dark-eyed daughter of a tobacco planter to him that he should quit his pondering when the memory of her crossed his mind or when her crimson face rose like a vision before his eyes?

She must be regarded as secondary. Other matters claimed his attention first, and should receive strict and careful consideration. But he could not resist. Temptation, ah, temptation! thou art the power which overcomes strong man. Wade threw the saddle on his horse, strapped his rifle on the saddle, and rode up the road toward the climbing sun, toward the towering mountain, intending to take a few hours in hunting, and casting over the views on the other side. When he reached Peter Judson's cabin he hesitated. "The attraction, the hoss, hit brung him."

Old Peter was stringing some new wire along the outer fence and did not notice Wade's approach; if he had noticed him he did not let on.

"Busy this morning, neighbor," said Wade, pulling up. Old Peter turned abruptly, spat out a great stream of "terbacker" juice and replied: "Ther durned old cow gits out too often. Gotter double ther wires.

'Light an' hitch, won't ye?"

Wade would, as he wished to become better acquainted with his nearest neighbor. He had called before, he said, but had found Mr. Judson gone out on business, and he was glad to find him at home on this beautiful morning. While Wade talked with Old Peter Judson, he could feel the power of those piercing dark eyes as they penetrated the window pane behind him. The vision was again before him. The bewitching smile, the great rows of pearly white teeth, the dimples in either cheek, he saw, though she sat somewhere in the dark recesses of that little old cabin.

But this did not deter him. He spoke of the great prospect for another crop, while the old man leaned against a fence post and occasionally spit a stream of dark red tobacco juice.

Once he took deliberate aim at a young chick and missed him about a half inch. He would have drowned him had he hit the mark.

"Ye haint got chickens down ter yer shanty?" said the old man questioningly.

Wade had a few old hens and a rooster, he said. The hens were not laying,--they were not the laying sort,--but he hoped to raise a few chickens along just for his own pleasure, to get diversion from other duties. He spoke so kindly and firmly that Peter Judson thought he was going to like him, unless he took to different ways, unless he was "agin" the poor man, unless he "mout do something terrible." There was a chance that he was all right and there was a chance that he was all wrong. The "Wolf, Night-Watch," had discovered things that did not at all seem right, and until they were proved false or true an opinion would not be entertained. While one talked with him, there arose a doubt as to whether the Wolf, Night-Watch, might not be utterly mistaken. That would be determined later. For the present he was perfectly all right.

Wade was also making discoveries of which he thought his neighbors knew nothing. He was in the community, he told Judson, to aid and a.s.sist his neighbors, especially those who showed an inclination to a.s.sist him and a friendliness toward him. He had sufficient funds, he said, to enable him to go through life easily, and therefore his sole aim was _not_ to make money, but to regain lost health. Old Peter opened wide his eyes, making occasional replies.

Though thoroughly uneducated, Peter Judson was no fool by any means, and he had a mathematical way of his own to figure out problems which confronted him in every-day life. He was plain, but staunch, was glad to know his neighbor, and hoped he would call often. They were immediate neighbors, he said, and should be friends: Peter even invited Wade to come back and take dinner, and Wade accepted, pleased with the opportunity that should lead him into the family of which he desired to learn more. He wanted to know their home life, their inmost thoughts, and he therefore gladly accepted the kind invitation to lunch. Wade turned to go, but some supernatural power impelled him to hesitate, and that hesitation brought forth her whom he of all people most desired to see. Nora, seeing that the conversation between her father and the newcomer was about completed, stepped out, with flushed face and throbbing heart, to thank him for the book which she said she had read and enjoyed.

"I have others," he said. "I shall bring another to you soon."

"Thank ye. Are ye goin' a-huntin' fer game, er what?"

"For game."

"I can show you where ye can git lots of birds."

"That she kin," said Peter. "I most forgot. Jest take mine an' Tom's guns an' leave yer rifle here, an' that gal'll show ye how ter hunt in this kintry. She knows ther haunts o' every bird an' every squirrel in the mountain."

This arrangement was very agreeable to Wade, who accepted with beaming pleasure, leaving his rifle while he took a shotgun, as suggested by Nora Judson's father. Wade desired to saddle a horse for Nora, but she protested stoutly, saying that she could throw a saddle on a horse quicker than he could, which he readily agreed was true. Together and happily they rode toward the mountain, with light hearts--they were both young--conversing as freely as if they had been lifelong acquaintances.

Over the rugged mountain side they rode, sometimes down the little ravines or nitches, sometimes beside the rough boulders, always side by side, talking, laughing, joking, until they reached a spot where they were to hitch the horses and traverse farther in on foot. The sweet wild mountain flowers waving in the breeze nodded their little dew-dipped golden heads in the light of the summer sun as they pa.s.sed them by.

Wade dreamed of their beauty and fragrance as they peeped up from their rocky beds with a look of entire approval and recognition. He stopped once to pluck a flower, which he gave to Nora, and which she accepted blushing. This one simple act carried to her heart, inexperienced as it was in the ways of the world, greater significance than Wade had meant.

He was so thoroughly unacquainted with the customs of these mountain people, and didn't know. She was silent for a brief spell,--she was always very silent when thinking,--then as if impelled by the spirits of the air she thanked him in her simple, innocent way, while her head dropped until her chin rested on her bosom.

"I read your book through," she said, breaking the silence, "and hit--it has done me so much good."

"Tell me about it." They had reached an open gra.s.sy spot bordered by thick brush and tall trees. "Sit here while you tell me something from your heart."

Wade had not failed to notice that she often corrected herself in speech at times when she deliberated.

"And the birds?" she asked, looking toward the blue sky with a far-off expression.

"Never mind them,"--hastily. "We shall get all the birds we shall want to take home later. Now, let us have one good talk together out here in the open, on the side of this lovely mountain, where none save G.o.d shall see us or hear us, where we can open our hearts to each other."

She sat down in a manner not unbecoming anywhere, and he sat opposite her.

"It must be mighty lonely fer ye all by yerself--yourself," she said.

"It is, quite, just now; but I shall have company soon."

She looked up sharply, inquiringly. "When and who?" painfully.

"Can't just tell when, but sometime in the near future."

She was still looking at him questioningly.

"I'm going to have a family on the Redmond farm," he continued; "am building there now."

She felt relieved.

"Haint ye got a sweetheart back yonder in the big city?" she asked.

He looked into her eyes, but she cunningly evaded the stare.

"Won't you be my sweetheart?" he asked, smiling. He saw the crimson creep to her face and she lowered her head.

"Ye didn't answer my question," she said softly, head still drooping.

"I have not. I have no sweetheart anywhere. Women never cared for me"--sorrowfully.

The little brown poppies waved their heads in wild delight, while the chirping birds sang songs of rejoicing from the treetops, as they looked upon this peculiar mountain scene.

"What did ye come into this country for?" she asked abruptly.

He smiled.

"You don't believe me. If I should say I came here to rid the country of the terrible band of destructive Nightriders, would you believe it?"

She started violently.

"Don't say that," she said; "don't ye do it."