Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1915-01-26
CHAPTER L

CHAPTER 1.
Close to the serried backbone OF the
Cumberland ridge through a sky OF
mountain clarity, the sun seemed nesi-
tating before its descent to the norl-
zon The sugar-loaf cone that tow
ered above a creek called Misery was
nointed and edged with emerald trac-
cry where the loftiest timber thrust
ND it's crest plumes into the sun. on
the hillsides it would be light Tor
more than an hour yet, but below
whore the waters tossed themselves
along in a chorus Of tiny cascades the
light was already thickening into d
cathedral gloom. Down there the "1ur-
riner" would have seen only the rougn
course of the creek between moss
velveted and shaded powders OF
titantic proportions. The native would
have recognized the country road IN
these tortuous twistings. great plocA
of sandstone, to whose summit man
standing in his saddle could scarcely
reach his fingertips. lowered above
the streams, with a gnarled SCRUB OAK
cIineing tenaciously to its apex. Loft
ily on both sides climbed the noun
tains cloaked in laurel and timber.
Suddenly the LEAKAGE was thrust
aside from above by cautious hand'
and a shy, half-wild girl appeared IN
the opening. For an instant she matt
ed, with her brown fingers holding
back the brushwood, and raised her
face as though listening. AS she
stood with the toes Of one bare foot
twisting in the gratefully cool moss
she laughed with the sheer exhilera-
ton of life and youth, and started out
on the table top Of the huge rock.
But there she halted suddenly with
startled exclamation and drew instinc-
lively back. What she saw might wen
have astonished her, for it was thing
she had never seen before and OF
which she had never heard. Finally,
reassured by the silence, she slipped
across the broad face Of the fiat rock
for a distance of twenty-five feet and
paused again to listen.
At the far edge lay pair of saddle
bags, such as form the only practical
equipment for mountain travellers.
Near them lay tin box, Uttered with
small and Misunderstanding tubes OF
soft metal, all grotesquely twisted and
stained, and beside the box was
strangely shaped plaque of WOOD
smeared with a dozen hues. That this
plaque was a painters sketching pal
ette was thing which she could not
know, since the ways Of artists hao
to do with q world as remote from
her own as the life of the moon or the
stars. 1t was one Of those vague mys-
teries that made up the wonderful lie
of down below" Why had these
things been left here in such confu-
sion? If there was man about VINO
owned them he would doubtless return
to claim them. She crept over, eyes
and ears alert, and slipped around to
the front of the queer tripod, with all
her muscles poised in readiness for
flight.
A half-rapturous and utterly aston
ished cry broke from her lips. She
stared a moment, then dropped to the
moss-covered rock, leaning back on
her brown hands and gazing intently.
Hits purity" she approved, in
low, musical murmur. Hits plumb
dead beautiful"
OF course it was not a finished pic
ture-merely a study of what lay be-
fore her-but the hand that had
placed these brush strokes on the
academy board was the sure, deft
hand of a master of landscape, who
had caught the splendid spirit Of the
thing and fixed it immutably in true
and glowing appreciation. Who he
was; where he had gone; why his
work stood there unfinished and aban-
doned. were details which for the mo-
ment this half-savage child-woman
forgot 20 question. She was conscious
only of sense of revelation and awe.
Then she saw other boards, like the
one upon the easel, piled near the
paint box. These were dry, and rep
resented the work of other days; but
they were all pictures Of her own
mountains. and in each Of them, as
in this one, was something that made
her heart leap.
To her own people these steep hill
sides and "coves" and valleys were
matter of course. In their stony soil
they labored by day. and in their shad-
ows slept when work was done. Yet
someone had discovered that they had
a picturesque and rugged beauty; that
they were not merely steep fields
where the pillow was useless and the
hoe must be used. She must tell Sam
son-Samson, whom she held in an
artless exaltation Of hero worship;
Samson, who was so smart" that he
thought about things beyond her un-
derstanding; Samson, who could not
only read and write, but speculate on
problematical matters.
Suddenly she came to her feet with
a swift-darting impulse of alarm. Her
ear had caught a sound. She cast
searching glances about her, but the
tangle was empty of humanity. The
water still murmured over the rocks
undisturbed. There was no sign of
human presence, other than herself,
that her eyes could discover-and yet
to her ears came the sound again, and
this time more distinctly. 1t was the
sound of a mans voice, and it was
moaning as if in pain. She rose and
searched vainly through the bushes Of
the hillside where the rock ran out
from the woods. She lifted her skirts
and splashed her feet in the shallow
creek water, wading persistently up
and down. Her shyness was forgotten.
The groan was a groan of human
creature in distress, and she must find
and succor the person from whom it
came.
Certain sounds are battling as to di-
rection. A voice from overhead or
broken by echoing obstacles does not