Part 23 (1/2)
The man was sickened of the husks; his prodigal heart was turning again toward the mountains. His mind was yet strangely clogged, and his thoughts and memories were returning to his brain one by one, like carrier pigeons over a stormy sea. But Coltrane was satisfied with the progress he had made.
Bethel received the surprise of its existence that afternoon when a Coltrane and a Goree rode amicably together through the town. Side by side they rode, out from the dusty streets and gaping townspeople, down across the creek bridge, and up toward the mountain. The prodigal had brushed and washed and combed himself to a more decent figure, but he was unsteady in the saddle, and he seemed to be deep in the contemplation of some vexing problem. Coltrane left him in his mood, relying upon the influence of changed surroundings to restore his equilibrium.
Once Goree was seized with a shaking fit, and almost came to a collapse. He had to dismount and rest at the side of the road. The colonel, foreseeing such a condition, had provided a small flask of whisky for the journey but when it was offered to him Goree refused it almost with violence, declaring he would never touch it again. By and by he was recovered, and went quietly enough for a mile or two. Then he pulled up his horse suddenly, and said:
”I lost two hundred dollars last night, playing poker. Now, where did I get that money?”
”Take it easy, Yancey. The mountain air will soon clear it up. We'll go fis.h.i.+ng, first thing, at the Pinnacle Falls. The trout are jumping there like bullfrogs. We'll take Stella and Lucy along, and have a picnic on Eagle Rock. Have you forgotten how a hickory-cured-ham sandwich tastes, Yancey, to a hungry fisherman?”
Evidently the colonel did not believe the story of his lost wealth; so Goree retired again into brooding silence.
By late Afternoon they had travelled ten of the twelve miles between Bethel and Laurel. Half a mile this side of Laurel lay the old Goree place; a mile or two beyond the village lived the Coltranes. The road was now steep and laborious, but the compensations were many. The tilted aisles of the forest were opulent with leaf and bird and bloom.
The tonic air put to shame the pharmacopaeia. The glades were dark with mossy shade, and bright with shy rivulets winking from the ferns and laurels. On the lower side they viewed, framed in the near foliage, exquisite sketches of the far valley swooning in its opal haze.
Coltrane was pleased to see that his companion was yielding to the spell of the hills and woods. For now they had but to skirt the base of Painter's Cliff; to cross Elder Branch and mount the hill beyond, and Goree would have to face the squandered home of his fathers. Every rock he pa.s.sed, every tree, every foot of the rocky way, was familiar to him. Though he had forgotten the woods, they thrilled him like the music of ”Home, Sweet Home.”
They rounded the cliff, descended into Elder Branch, and paused there to let the horses drink and splash in the swift water. On the right was a rail fence that cornered there, and followed the road and stream. Inclosed by it was the old apple orchard of the home place; the house was yet concealed by the brow of the steep hill. Inside and along the fence, pokeberries, elders, sa.s.safras, and sumac grew high and dense. At a rustle of their branches, both Goree and Coltrane glanced up, and saw a long, yellow, wolfish face above the fence, staring at them with pale, unwinking eyes. The head quickly disappeared; there was a violent swaying of the bushes, and an ungainly figure ran up through the apple orchard in the direction of the house, zig-zagging among the trees.
”That's Garvey,” said Coltrane; ”the man you sold out to. There's no doubt but he's considerably cracked. I had to send him up for moons.h.i.+ning once, several years ago, in spite of the fact that I believed him irresponsible. Why, what's the matter, Yancey?”
Goree was wiping his forehead, and his face had lost its colour. ”Do I look queer, too?” he asked, trying to smile. ”I'm just remembering a few more things.” Some of the alcohol had evaporated from his brain.
”I recollect now where I got that two hundred dollars.”
”Don't think of it,” said Coltrane cheerfully. ”Later on we'll figure it all out together.”
They rode out of the branch, and when they reached the foot of the hill Goree stopped again.
”Did you ever suspect I was a very vain kind of fellow, Colonel?” he asked. ”Sort of foolish proud about appearances?”
The colonel's eyes refused to wander to the soiled, sagging suit of flax and the faded slouch hat.
”It seems to me,” he replied, mystified, but humouring him, ”I remember a young buck about twenty, with the tightest coat, the sleekest hair, and the prancingest saddle horse in the Blue Ridge.”
”Right you are,” said Goree eagerly. ”And it's in me yet, though it don't show. Oh, I'm as vain as a turkey gobbler, and as proud as Lucifer. I'm going to ask you to indulge this weakness of mine in a little matter.”
”Speak out, Yancey. We'll create you Duke of Laurel and Baron of Blue Ridge, if you choose; and you shall have a feather out of Stella's peac.o.c.k's tail to wear in your hat.”
”I'm in earnest. In a few minutes we'll pa.s.s the house up there on the hill where I was born, and where my people have lived for nearly a century. Strangers live there now--and look at me! I am about to show myself to them ragged and poverty-stricken, a wastrel and a beggar. Colonel Coltrane, I'm ashamed to do it. I want you to let me wear your coat and hat until we are out of sight beyond. I know you think it a foolish pride, but I want to make as good a showing as I can when I pa.s.s the old place.”
”Now, what does this mean?” said Coltrane to himself, as he compared his companion's sane looks and quiet demeanour with his strange request. But he was already unb.u.t.toning the coat, a.s.senting readily, as if the fancy were in no wise to be considered strange.
The coat and hat fitted Goree well. He b.u.t.toned the former about him with a look of satisfaction and dignity. He and Coltrane were nearly the same size--rather tall, portly, and erect. Twenty-five years were between them, but in appearance they might have been brothers.
Goree looked older than his age; his face was puffy and lined; the colonel had the smooth, fresh complexion of a temperate liver. He put on Goree's disreputable old flax coat and faded slouch hat.
”Now,” said Goree, taking up the reins, ”I'm all right. I want you to ride about ten feet in the rear as we go by, Colonel, so that they can get a good look at me. They'll see I'm no back number yet, by any means. I guess I'll show up pretty well to them once more, anyhow.
Let's ride on.”
He set out up the hill at a smart trot, the colonel following, as he had been requested.