Part 10 (1/2)

”Why, I never-”

The girl paused and caught her breath. It all came to her like a flash.

Those stealthy movements on the mountain had been made by some of Black Blevens' men. They had been spying on her. She blushed as she realized that they might have seen her sleeping there in the leaves. But her face was flushed with anger as she realized that, having seen her pocket that all but harmless pistol, they had taken a mean advantage and had sworn out a warrant for her arrest.

”Don't you keer,” said the little mountain man, putting a hand on her arm. ”Don't you keer narry bit. This store's mine, an' all them goods.

I'll mortgage hit all to go your bond. You go right on teaching your school. We'll take keer of old Black Blevens and all them of his sort.”

Quick tears blinded her, but she brushed them away. It was hard to be treated as a criminal in a strange land and by the very people you were trying to help.

Quickly, instead of tears, there was a gleam of battle in her eyes.

”We'll beat it!” said Ransom, clinching his fists hard. ”Down here in the mountings law's a club to beat your enemies with. Hit's quare, but hit's true. We'll git a lawyer from the court house. We'll beat old Black Blevens, just you wait and see!”

Three times more that morning Florence was reduced to tears by rough-clad, shuffling mountaineers who came to knock timidly at the schoolhouse door and to a.s.sure her that they had heard of her plight and were ready to go her bail and to help in any way. ”If hit takes the roof off from over my ole woman an' the last hog shoat I got runnin' in the branch,” as one of them expressed it.

It is always good to know that one has friends, and when one is among comparative strangers it is gratifying indeed.

And yet, as the day came to an end and the sudden mountain darkness fell, it found Florence with a heavy heart. To be tried by a Justice of the Peace for a crime, this was a cross indeed.

”Tried by a Justice,” she thought to herself. ”Who is the Justice?

Pellage Skidmore! One of Black Blevens' henchmen! It's a plot. They'll fine me and let me go; perhaps give me ten days in the county jail. Ten days in that place!” Her heart stopped beating. She had seen that jail-a dark and dirty place full of vermin.

”Oh, I couldn't!” she breathed.

Then of a sudden a new thought came to her. The least fine that could be imposed was twenty-five dollars; one of the men had told her that.

”In the Const.i.tution of the United States,” she whispered to herself, ”it says that in trials over matters amounting to twenty-five dollars, or over, the defendant may call for a jury. I'll call for one. If I must have a trial, I'll have a real one!”

At that she stamped the ground with her foot and felt immensely relieved.

There is a great comfort to be had sometimes when one has something to say about his own hanging.

CHAPTER VIII THE SILENT WATCHER

Troubles never come singly. Florence's second shock came close on the heels of the first. Having decided to make the best of a bad situation and to allow her friends and fellow clansmen to arrange the legal battle over her trial for carrying a concealed weapon, she went to her work next day with a brave heart.

With all her strong resolves, the look on the faces of her smaller charges came near melting her to tears. All knew of the impending trial.

A few greeted her with a gla.s.sy stare. These were children of her enemies. For the most part they looked at her with such a sad and sorrowful longing as one might expect to find on the face of a mother whose son has been ordered shot.

”Surely,” Marion said to her, ”being tried by a jury in the mountains must be a solemn affair.”

”It is,” said Florence, swallowing hard, ”and Ransom Turner told me last night this was the first time in the history of the mountains that a woman has been tried for carrying concealed weapons.”

”It will be a great occasion!” Marion could see the humor of the situation. ”When is it to come off?”

”Ransom says that the judge has set the trial a week from next Monday.”