Saturday morning came after a night of torrential rain, which had left
the mountains steaming under a reek of fog and pitching clouds.
Hillside streams ran freshets, and creek-bed roads were foaming and
boiling into waterfalls. Sheep and cattle huddled forlornly under their
shelters of shelving rock, and only the geese seemed happy.
Far down the dripping shoulders of the mountains trailed ragged
streamers of vapor. Here and there along the lower slopes hung puffs of
smoky mist as though silent shells were bursting from unseen artillery
over a vast theater of combat.
But, as the morning wore on, the sun fought its way to view in a scrap
of overhead blue. A freshening breeze plunged into the reek, and sent
it scurrying in broken cloud ranks and shredded tatters. The steamy
heat gave way under a dissipating sweep of coolness, until the skies
smiled down on the hills and the hills smiled back. From log cabins and
plank houses up and down Misery and its tributaries, men and women
began their hegira toward the mill. Some came on foot, carrying their
shoes in their hands, but those were only near-by dwellers. Others made
saddle journeys of ten or fifteen, or even twenty, miles, and the
beasts that carried a single burden were few. Lescott rode in the wake
of Samson, who had Sally on a pillow at his back, and along the seven
miles of journey he studied the strange procession. It was, for the
most part, a solemn cavalcade, for these are folk who "take their
pleasures sadly." Possibly, some of the sun-bonneted, strangely-garbed
women were reflecting on the possibilities which mountain-dances often
develop into tragic actualities. Possibly, others were having their
enjoyment discounted by the necessity of "dressing up" and wearing shoes.
Sometimes, a slowly ambling mule bore an entire family; the father
managing the reins with one hand and holding a baby with the other,
while his rifle lay balanced across his pommel and his wife sat
solemnly behind him on a sheepskin or pillion. Many of the men rode
side-saddles, and sacks bulky at each end hinted of such baggage as is
carried in jugs. Lescott realized from the frank curiosity with which
he was regarded that he had been a topic of discussion, and that he was
now being "sized up." He was the false prophet who was weaving a spell
over Samson! Once, he heard a sneering voice from the wayside comment
as he rode by.
"He looks like a damned parson."
Glancing back, he saw a tow-headed youth glowering at him out of
pinkish albino eyes. The way lay in part along the creek-bed, where
wagons had ground the disintegrating rock into deep ruts as smooth as
walls of concrete. Then, it traversed a country of palisading cliffs
and immensity of forest, park-like and splendid. Strangely picturesque
suspension bridges with rough stairways at their ends spanned waters
too deep for fording. Frame houses showed along the banks of the creek
--grown here to a river--unplaned and unpainted of wall, but brightly
touched with window-and door-frames of bright yellow or green or blue.
This was the territory where the Souths held dominance, and it was
pouring out its people.