Part 10 (1/2)
”Why, good Lord, Cap'.” he exclaimed, ”what 'ud the boys say?--Poteet's gal married an' no stools [Footnote: Invitations] give out! No, siree!
Not much. We hain't that stripe up here, Cap. We hain't got no quality ways, but we allers puts on the pot when comp'ny comes. Me an' Sis an'
Puss hain't had many weddin's 'mongst us, an' we're thes a-gwine to try an' put the bes' foot foremos'. Oh no, Cap! You fetch your frien's an' we'll fetch our'n, an' ef the house hain't roomy enough, bless you, the woods is.”
When Hog Mountain heard the news, which it did by special messenger, sent from house to house with little pink missives written by Sis, it was as proud as Teague himself. Fat Mrs. Hightower laid aside her spectacles when the invitation was translated to her, and remarked--
”They hain't n.o.body on the face er the yeth good enough fer Sis, but that air feller's got the looks an' the s.p.u.n.k. I'll set in this very day an' hour, an' I'll bake Sis a cake that'll make the'r eyes water.”
And so it went. Everybody on Hog Mountain had some small contributions to make.
The wedding, however, was not as boisterous as the boys proposed to make it. They had their frolic, to be sure, as Sid Parmalee or Tip Watson will tell you, but an incident occurred which took the edge off their enjoyment, and gave them the cue of soberness.
Two of Woodward's friends--young men from Atlanta--bore him company to Hog Mountain. At Gullettsville they fell in with Uncle Jake Norris, at all times a jovial and companionable figure.
”Roundabout man, roundabout way,” remarked Uncle Jake, by way of explaining his presence in Gullettsville. ”My house is away an' beyan'
frum Poteet's, but I says to myself, s' I, in obejunce to the naked demands of the law I'll go this day an' git me a jug er licker that's bin stomped by the Govunment, an' hide it an' my wickedness, ez you may say, in league's hoss-stable. Yes, frien's, them wuz the words. 'Let the licker be stomped by the Govunment for the sakes of the young chap,' s' I, 'an' I'll hide the jug along er my wickedness in Teague's hoss-stable.' So then, frien's, yess be a sojourneyin', an' ef you feel the needance er somethin' quick an' strong for to brace you for endurance, make your way to the lot, an' feel behin' the stable-door-- an' watch out for the kickin' mule! I give you my intentionals cle'r an' clean. What does St. Paul say?--'Ef you can't do good by slippance, do it by stealth.'”
They journeyed along as rapidly as the nature of the mountain road would permit, but before they reached Poteet's the shadows of twilight began to deepen. The road, like most mountain roads, wound itself painfully about. At one point they were within a short half-mile of Poteet's, but a towering wall of rock barred their approach. The road, accommodating itself to circ.u.mstances, allowed the towering wall to drive it three miles out of the way. Uncle Jake Norris, turning readily to reminiscences, connected the precipitous shelf with many of the mysterious disappearances that had at various times occurred in army and revenue circles.
”Natur' built it,” he said lightly, ”an' a jaybird showed it to the boys. Teague, up thar, he 'lowed that a man wi' grey eyes an' a nimble han' could git on that rock an' lay flat of his belly an' disembowel a whole army. Them wuz his words--disembowel a whole army.”
While Uncle Jake was speaking, the travellers had pa.s.sed beyond the wall, but the declivity on their left was still too steep to accommodate the highway, and so they rode along with the shadows of night on one side of them and pale symptoms of the day on the other.
Suddenly a thin stream of fire, accompanied by the sharp crack of a rifle, shot out of the side of the mountain straight at Woodward, and seemed, as one of his companions said afterwards, to pa.s.s through him.
His horse s.h.i.+ed with a tremendous lurch, and Woodward fell to the ground.
”He is shot!” cried one of the young men.
”What devil's work is this?” exclaimed Uucle Jake. ”Cap, you ain't hurt, is you?”
Receiving no reply, for Woodward was stunned into semi-unconsciousness, Uncle Jake addressed himself to the bushes--
”Come forth,” he cried. ”Jestify this deed!”
There was a moment's silence, but not a moment's inaction. Uncle Jake leaped from his horse, and, telling the frightened yoxing men to look after Woodward, ran up the mountain-side a quarter of a mile, placed his hands to his mouth, and hallooed three times in rapid succession.
Then he heard Poteet's dogs bark, and he hallooed again. This time he was answered from above, and he turned and ran back to where he left Woodward.
When he got there he beheld a sight and heard words that made his blood run cold. Woodward was still lying upon the ground, but by his side was kneeling a gaunt and hollow-eyed woman. Her thin grey hair hung loose upon her shoulders and about her eyes, and the ragged sleeves of her gown fluttered wildly as she flung her bony arms in the air. She was uttering loud cries.
”Oh, Lordy! it's little Ab! I uv done killed little Ab over ag'in! Oh, my little Ab! It's your pore ole mammy, honey! Oh, Mister! make little Ab wake up an' look at his pore ole mammy!”
The two young men from Atlanta were paralysed with horror. When Uncle Jake Norris ran up the mountain to alarm Poteet, the witch-like figure of the woman sprang from the bushes and fell upon Woodward with a loud outcry. The whole occurrence, so strange, so unnatural, and so unexpected, stripped the young men of their power of reasoning; and if the rocks had opened and fiery flames issued forth, their astonishment and perplexity and terror could have been no greater.
But if they had been acquainted with the history of this wild-eyed woman,--if they had known that for weeks she had been wandering over the mountain bereft of reason, and seeking an opportunity to avenge with her own hands the murder of Ab Bonner, her son,--they would have been overcome by pity. Uncle Jake Norris understood at once that Ab Bonner's mother had shot Woodward, and he forgot to be merciful.
”Woe unto you, woman, ef you have done this deed! Woe unto you an'
your'n, Rachel Bonner, ef you have murdered this innocent!”
”That he wuz innocent!” exclaimed the woman, swaying back and forth and waving her hands wildly. ”The unborn babe wan't no innocenter than little Ab!”
”Woe unto you, Sister Bonner!” Uncle Jake went on, examining Woodward and speaking more calmly when he found him breathing regularly. ”Woe unto you, and shame upon you, Sister Bonner, to do this deed of onjestifiable homicide, ez I may say. Let flesh an' min' rankle, but shed no blood.”